The Roswell Protocols

by Allan Burd

  Rebecca crouched low, holding her gun straight ahead, and spun quickly around the next corner. It too was empty. “Drop a green here. So, what about you? He didn’t seem too interested in your well-being.”

  “I don’t think he cares if I die. He doesn’t respect me and now he thinks I’m useless to him.”

  “Are you?” asked Rebecca, deciding to test his male ego.

  Logan didn’t bite. “Only time will tell.”

  “So he only challenged Steele to see if he would be a liability to the team. Makes sense,” commented Rebecca.

  “It’s more than that. I think he did it because he respects Steele as a fellow warrior. They’ve both served. I’m just a civilian. In his mind, that probably makes me a second-class citizen.”

  Colonel Chase and Dr. Blaze yanked the doors wide open. Gaines hesitated a moment, waiting for any possible hostile activity. When nothing bolted out of the room, he ran in. He immediately looked left and right. The room, silver and metallic like the storage facility, branched out in circular arcs behind the door.

  Chase quickly joined him. He signaled Gaines to go around to the right. He would go left. Ten seconds later they met on the other side of the circular room. Towards the center was another door leading back to the hallway they just came from. Above the door was a flat platform which ran above the ceiling of the short corridor. They couldn’t see if anything hid on its surface. About eight feet above the platform was the top of the domed ceiling. Pressing his back against the wall, Chase signaled Gaines to look above from the opposite side.

  Gaines climbed onto one of the devices in the room to bring the surface of the platform into view. “It’s clear,” he said.

  Blaze opened the other door which led to the hallway, which led back to the door they used to enter the room. “The upper level is secure, Colonel.”

  Chase looked around the room. It was circular, the hallway at its core obscuring one side of the room from the other. Scattered throughout were four freestanding devices somewhat similar in shape to that of an overhead projector. They were made out of a copper alloy with a silver-tinted liquid on the flat portion and bulbous stems protruding in various directions. Along the walls were scattered alien writings and what appeared to be instrument panels.

  Chase asked Dr. Blaze for his expert opinion. “What do you make of it?”

  “Don’t know,” Blaze answered. “Looks much more complex, but everything’s dead. I need to locate the power source that will turn all these machines on.”

  Much more complex than what? thought Major Gaines. “I’ll tell you what I think. I think this is the cockpit. We’re on the highest level of the ship and that groove across the ceiling means it probably opens, giving the pilot of this ship a nice view. I’ll even bet he sits up there.” Gaines pointed to the platform.

  “On what? There’s not a speck of furniture in this room,” responded Chase.

  “Maybe they stand,” said Blaze. “I tend to agree with the Major, Colonel. This would be the ideal spot to pilot the craft.”

  “Any chance you can restore power?” asked Chase.

  “Not sure. I would need a lot of time to trace the source,” said Blaze, examining one of the devices.

  “Good enough. Stay here. Gaines and I will secure the rest of the ship,” Chase ordered.

  Major Gaines did not like the sound of that. “Like hell. We all stay together.”

  “Argue all you want. I’m going. He’s staying. You can do whatever you wish,” said Chase, dissing Gaines as he left the room. Blaze just shrugged his shoulders at Gaines and began studying the alien equipment.

  “Shit!” Gaines knew he had no choice. He didn’t know what they were up to, if anything, but he wasn’t about to let Colonel Chase wander the ship without him—even if the thought of Chase alone against a squad of aliens was appealing. However, he did decide to leave Dr. Blaze with a disturbing thought. “For your sake, I hope there really are no aliens left, because you’re on your own. Personally, though, I think they’re around here somewhere,” he said cynically as he departed.

  A few seconds after, Blaze thought he heard a thump behind one of the walls. He turned around in panic, a million unsettling thoughts filling his head at once. What if Gaines was right? He did just battle the extraterrestrials, and his team lost. There had to be more of them. But where were they? Maybe they killed every one of them, except the one we saw leave. Doubtful, there has to be more. I’m all alone. No, cut it out, he’s just trying to rattle my cage. Damn, did a good job too.

  A bead of sweat dropped from his forehead as he removed a Smith & Wesson from his knapsack. He hadn’t planned on using it—he was averse to killing—but self-preservation was another matter. He searched the room again, making a complete circle around the room. He studied the walls and noticed access hatches in three different places, each one large enough for a human, or an alien, to crawl through. It was very possible that something was behind these walls.

  He took a long deep breath working up the courage to open a hatch. His heart pounded in his chest so loudly he could hear the palpitations. He took another deep breath to calm himself, then another. He knelt down making sure he didn’t hear another sound. He undid the safety on the gun. Wedging his fingernails in the seam, he pried the hatch open.

  39

  Steele was growing tired and dizzy. He was wounded much worse than he’d let on and his pride was about to get the better of him. When he returned to consciousness from his initial encounter with the aliens, the first thing he did was remove the piece of oak stuck in his leg. It wasn’t the first time he removed shrapnel from his body on the battlefield, but he had forgotten how excruciatingly painful it was.

  He was then relieved to see what he initially perceived as his bone protruding through his skin was actually the inner lining of his protective suit. His leg hurt like blazes but he took comfort knowing it wasn’t broken. He was also relieved to see his other wounds were mostly superficial. He reached for his hip flask and poured the vodka he was saving for a victory drink onto his leg to sterilize the wound. The overwhelming pain burned his nerve endings. Tormenting impulses were sent to his brain, but he muffled his scream, conscious that the enemy was still about.

  Long moments later, he recovered enough strength to tear pieces of the suits lining into strips and used them to bandage his wound. It was makeshift at best, but good enough to stop the blood loss and good enough to continue the fight.

  Now, guarding the only known entrance to this flying saucer, Steele found the blood loss was proving too much. He had pushed himself too hard and was paying the price. He struggled to maintain alertness but with each passing moment the effort increased exponentially. Despite his guts, and his spirited heart which wouldn’t even consider letting his men down, he knew in his head he would only last a few minutes more before he passed out.

  “You think they have automatic defenses in here? Or worse, a self destruct program? Maybe that explains why there are no aliens around. They don’t want to be here when their ship explodes,” rambled Logan.

  “I think you talk too much,” answered Rebecca.

  “Just covering all the angles.” Logan turned the corner right behind Rebecca. He felt safe with her. She was always alert—clearly a professional who could handle herself. He pointed up ahead to a marker sphere they had previously placed. “There’s a blue one.”

  “Yeah, I see it. Looks like we’ve covered all the corridors. You ready to try a door?” There was one just a few feet to her right.

  “Yes, but not this one,” said Logan

  Rebecca looked at him strangely.

  “It’s these symbols—the alien’s written language on these panels. I’ve been watching them as we passed by every door. The first two symbols on the third line are the same on most but the first two lines differ. I’m willing to bet that those symbols mean a room. I mean a bedroom or living quarters of some kind. The aliens have to sleep somewhere, so I figure, like a hotel, there are more bed
rooms than any other type of room and there are more rooms with these symbols than any other room. The first two lines must be the occupants’ written names or room numbers. However, this one’s different. It only has one line, three symbols.”

  “So?” Rebecca wasn’t completely following Logan’s logic.

  “So, if you open a bedroom, we’re only likely to face one, maybe two aliens. If we open up a kitchen or a work room there may be more—a lot more.”

  Rebecca thought about it for a second. In any other situation she might have scoffed, but this was unique and Logan did seem to have a gift for cognition. “Doesn’t matter. We have to check them all anyway.” She placed her hand on the panel and pushed every button. Nothing worked. “Hold this.” She handed Logan her weapon. “If you see anything, shoot first, talk to it later.” She placed her fingers in the slight crack between the doors. Leaning to one side she tried to pry it open. It didn’t budge. She stared at the panel by the door then pulled at it until the cover fell off.

  Logan admired the mechanisms—the flow of the alien circuitry, the brilliance of the layout. Whatever they lacked in arts, he thought, they sure made up for in the sciences.

  “Step back,” said Rebecca. She found a latch and pulled it down. With a loud array of clicking noises both sides of the door slid apart, returning to their sheaths within the walls.

  Logan froze. His heart rate increased dramatically. He pointed the weapon straight ahead and prayed. The room was about twenty by thirty feet in area, all the walls made of the same bland silver metal he was quickly learning to hate. He breathed a deep sigh of relief that it was empty.

  Dr. Blaze leaned into the access tunnel which ran behind the walls and beneath the flooring. He looked both ways down the five-foot by five-foot passage. No life signs—just tons of advanced technology for him to learn from. Thin crystalline strands led along the walls in spidery trails. He smiled. A lattice design more advanced than any man has ever dreamt of, left for only him to decipher. This was the work he was born for.

  He was sure he could figure out how to restore power to this spaceship. Since metal crystals are a great conductor, he was sure the crystalline strands were used to run electricity to every part of the ship. It was just a matter of figuring out which strands were connected to which machines and then following those strands back to their power source. From there, he would either discover the power source was dead—and he’d have to learn how to bring it to life—or somewhere along the way the circuit array was disrupted and the power was no longer able to go where it needed to. He got back to his feet, trying to decide which device on the “bridge” was a good starting point. They were all pretty much the same so he just arbitrarily chose one.

  He just had one final thing to do before he left this room. He removed his knapsack and placed it on the floor. He reached in and pulled out a metallic device shaped like a smoke alarm and attached it magnetically to the upper wall. He looked at the time on his watch, added fifteen seconds to it, and entered it onto the display panel of the device. The only difference was that the device kept time to the nanosecond. When the times became synchronized, he pressed the on-button causing the red digital display to change quickly, indicating the passing of time to the nanosecond. A minute later he compared the time on his watch to the clock on the device, ensuring they were perfectly synchronized. Satisfied everything was in working order, he entered the tight passage behind the wall and began tracing his chosen circuit back to its source.

  “One more,” commented Rebecca.

  They had already covered eight rooms, all made of the same smooth silvery alien metal as the rest of the ship. But they weren’t completely empty. Various objects and alien clothes were found scattered on the floor. What was odd was the pattern these objects were found in—as if they had been simply dropped instead of thrown about from the impact of the crash. It was a riddle they would ponder over later.

  “You get the feeling the entire ship is abandoned?” asked Logan.

  “No. Keep alert,” said Rebecca. She knew it would be foolish to let her guard down because they had been lucky so far.

  They had approached the final door on the first level. Falling into the routine they had established, Logan knocked the panel off and unlocked the door while Rebecca stood ready to enter. However, this time the door didn’t open, not even a crack. They glanced at each other as their alertness levels shot up one hundred percent.

  “It’s not opening,” said Logan with a shrug. “What’s your call?” he asked.

  Rebecca tried to pry the door open but it didn’t budge. She looked around searching for options. A few yards ahead of the door she spotted a hatch on the floor. A quick decision later, she bent down, lifted the hatch off, and slid it to the side. She got down on her knees, holding her gun out in front of her and poked her head down into the hole. She thought she caught a glimpse of movement, but before she could confirm Logan grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her up.

  “Let me do that,” he said sternly.

  “Spare me the macho act. I thought I saw something down there but it was too dark to be sure,” said Rebecca.

  “Let me go,” Logan asked again.

  She stared him directly in the eyes taking his measure. He was serious. She stood up and let him go.

  Logan got on all fours and took a long deep breath. This was the stupidest thing he had volunteered to do on this mission, he thought. Even stupider than making himself a target for the alien outside the ship. At least that maneuver had a purpose. He wasn’t even sure why he was doing this. Perhaps being protected by a woman for the last twenty minutes was proving too damaging to his ego. Perhaps he felt the need to conquer the fear he acquired when the alien pointed its weapon at him. Either way, he was committed.

  He lowered his head, scanning quickly in all directions. It was dark—much darker than the hallways they were traversing now. He could barely see anything. “Pass me a flashlight.”

  Rebecca got one from her backpack and placed it in Logan’s outstretched hand. He turned it on. The tunnel was about five feet high and five feet across. It stretched in two directions, one going directly beneath the door, the other away from it. The floor was flat and brown in color. The walls were engraved with alien symbols and almost half-covered with crystalline strands that weaved in and out. Logan picked his head up, swung his knees beneath him, and jumped down feet first.

  From this vantage point he got a better look as the beam from the flashlight shone down the tunnel. Pointing away from the room, the corridor extended way down branching in many different directions. Towards the room it went further than he could see. Both ways were empty. “It’s clear. Come on down.”

  Rebecca jumped down. She quickly looked in all directions with her gun ready just in case Logan missed anything. She saw the tunnel led underneath the door and cautiously proceeded in that direction, having to crouch slightly as she walked. Several steps after they crossed over where they thought the locked door was, they spotted another hatch in the ceiling. She pushed the hatch but it didn’t budge.

  She signaled Logan to try. He placed his palms on the hatch and when she gave him the sign, he thrust upward hard, forcing the hatch from its position. Rebecca sprang to her feet so her head and arms, gun included, stuck through the hatch above floor level. The first thing she saw was two large jet-black eyes only inches away from her own.

  40

  LATE AFTERNOON

  OTTAWA, CANADA

  Commander Britton lit up the stogie, took a drag, and leaned back in his soft leather chair. It had been a long day and it wasn’t over yet. First that crazy meeting this morning and now this. An officer had just dropped a report on his desk concerning the odd maneuvering of a Japanese aircraft carrier in the North Pacific. It was in international waters, but still a little too close for his taste. He needed to come to a decision on how to act.

  He studied the Cuban cigar as if it held the answer. He always smoked one before making a big decision. M
ost people thought it was because they calmed his nerves, allowing him to think more clearly. The truth is, every time he lit one up and tasted the first inhalation, it made him feel powerful. To him, the cigar was a symbol of strength, a reward for the successful, especially a hand-rolled Havana. He didn’t like those commies, but by god they made a great cigar. Each puff reminded him of the prestige of his position, each exhalation, of the power at his disposal. If he chose to give the command, surely the lesser nations of the world would tremble. He reached for the phone.

  “Yes, sir,” answered Landeau.

  “Landeau, we have anything on the Japs today?” Britton asked smugly.

  “Just a moment, sir.” Britton heard the ruffle of some papers in the background. “Yes sir. Intelligence reports indicate that they’re testing new stealth weaponry today. Helicopters, sir.”

  “Any indications as to where?”

  “Reports indicate test site base as an aircraft carrier named Tsunami, sir.”

  Britton rechecked his report. It was the same aircraft carrier that was too close for comfort. “I’ll assume that we’re watching.”

  “That’s correct, sir. We have one of our ships following it as we speak—plus satellite surveillance.”

  “Are they aware of our presence?”

  “Most likely they are aware of our ship, sir. I can only speculate about their knowledge of our satellites.”

  “Hmmm. All right, Major, I’m giving you new instructions. If that carrier comes any nearer to our borders, I want you to make sure our presence is known. Don’t confront them. Just let them know we’re ready and we don’t appreciate having them in our neighborhood. Understood?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good, keep me posted.” Britton took another puff and hung up.

  41

  Rebecca nudged the alien’s head with the barrel of her gun.