Feeling bolstered by my psychological evaluations of the path I’m being forced to walk, I move through the second perfectly round tunnel feeling true confidence. Not in the knowledge that I know how to defeat the Others, but in the knowledge that such a possibility exists.
The space beyond is half the size of the hangar behind me, but no less impressive. What looks like a large crystal covered in sharp jutting spires rises from the center of the space. It glows with a dull blue, casting the several dozen Grays in a death-like parlor. The rest of the space is featureless, with smooth and curved walls, carved out of solid rock.
I expected to find some kind of modern facility built inside the mountain. But I realize the need for manmade walls, lighting, décor, and signage is decidedly human. Which the Others are not. While the Others are far more advanced, they also seem to be a bit more in tune with living as part of the Earth, rather than remaking it the way people do.
The circle of Grays stand motionless, their big black eyes on the crystal. But they’re not who I want to see.
“I’m here,” I say, and feel a little silly. Maybe this is just another stop along my journey? But I’m committed, so I add, “Show yourself.”
The Grays shift their gaze to me in unison, unnerving me for a moment.
The Others are watching me through their automatons’ eyes.
I’m about to demand an audience when a familiar voice says, “Behind you.”
I don’t need to turn around to know who’s speaking.
And I don’t want to.
Because it means the worst has happened.
It means I’ll be no different than all the people who have given in to the Others’ demands.
“Turn around,” Wini says, her voice monotone. “Look at me.”
45
I obey.
What choice do I have?
The Others have possession of the person I care about most in the world.
Trying to conceal my emotions behind a mask of indifference, I turn around and say, “There you are,” addressing the being controlling Wini, rather than Wini herself.
Hiding my surprise becomes nearly impossible when I see Wini. She’s stark naked and covered in goosebumps, courtesy of the subterranean sixty-degree temperature.
They’re trying to demoralize me. Or make me angry. Stop me from thinking.
And they’re succeeding.
Why? I wonder. Why cloud my mind?
I’m missing something.
“We’ve met before,” a new voice says. Godin, also naked, steps out of the darkness at the room’s fringe. He works his way through the still-staring Grays, showing no discomfort at their proximity, or any emotion at all.
“At the ranch,” Young says, slipping between the Grays.
I look for Reg and Randy, but there’s no sign of them. The men either escaped, were killed, or were deemed not worth taking because I have no emotional connection to them.
When Wini speaks again, I feel a measure of relief, not because she’s herself again, but because they’re not also using Jacob against me, though I suspect that will come later. The Others are master strategists. They won’t show their entire hand until it’s needed.
“At the brothel,” she says.
“Guns, guns, guns,” Young says, an awkward smile on his face. Do the Others feel humor? Do they understand how silly the name is?
“You are impressive,” Godin says. “But men just like you come and go, and all reach an agreement.”
“Why?” I ask, my subconscious scratching the back of my head, shouting, you’re missing the obvious!
“Evolution,” Wini says. “As the human race becomes more, new arrangements must be made for the sake of survival.”
“Whose?”
“All species,” Godin says.
“You want me to believe that your relationship with the humans is codependent?”
“Coevolved,” Young says. “Old agreements have become invalid. There is a place for you in the new arrangement.”
“Because of what I can do,” I say.
Wini, Godin, and Young nod in unison.
“Your predecessor was an unreasonable man,” Wini says. “I attempted reason, and allowed him to believe he was helping. But your…involvement…”
“The ranch,” I guess. “One kid here, one kid there, you can live with that, but at the Ranch, that hurt. Losing…” I stop short of saying his name and revealing my fears. “…those kids. They were important.”
All three nod again.
“For what?”
The Grays, along with Wini, Godin, and Young, squint at me. My trio of friends ask as one, “Why are you not afraid?”
It’s a good question, and I’m certain it has more to do with Jacob’s influence on my nerves than my natural ability to be unfazed by the otherworldly. But I’m not about to reveal that. There’s a chance they don’t know the full extent of what Jacob can do. “Because fuck you.”
Wini shakes her head and says, “Human vulgarities have no—”
“Fuck you,” I repeat.
“Your attempt to—”
“Fuck. You.”
Wini clamps her mouth shut, and I catch a whiff of exasperation rolling off her. She turns to Godin as he turns to her and reaches out.
What are they—no!
Godin’s big hands wrap around Wini’s neck and squeeze, the pressure increasing steadily.
“No!” I shout, and I attempt to pry his hands away. But he’s indifferent to my efforts and I’m pretty sure he won’t feel any pain I inflict. Stopping him would mean killing him, and I will if it comes to that, but it will wound me forever. “Stop!”
Wini’s face turns red.
And then, she’s returned, gagging and choking, desperate, tear-filled eyes darting toward me.
“Are you ready?” Young asks. “To dialogue? Or would you rather this woman die?”
“I’m ready!” I shout. “I’ll do what you want!”
Godin’s hands release Wini. She falls to the floor, gasping and coughing. I crouch beside her, hands on her bare back. “I got you,” I whisper. “I’m here.”
“Every man has a weakness,” Godin says. “Even those who believe they have already overcome them.”
They’re referring to Nathaniel, I realize, whose possible existence nearly allowed them to take over my mind. Lindo said that it was possible for the strong-willed to resist their influence, but I couldn’t do it without his help, and that’s clearly the case for Godin, Wini, and Young as well.
And while the nanites coupled with my opening the envelope might shield my mind, it does nothing to protect my heart, which at this point in my life is focused on the life of a sixty-five-year-old woman.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
Her voice is raspy, but hers. “This sucks ass.” She clutches my hand. “Kill it, Daniel. Kill it n—” Her face goes slack as her mind is taken over.
Tears in my eyes, I grasp the sides of her head and look into her eyes, hoping she can see me. “There is nothing on this planet, in the stars, or living beneath our feet that would stop me from saving you, understand?”
The briefest twitch of her face is the only indication that I’ve reached her. But it’s enough.
Then her retreating mind is replaced by another’s.
By the Others.
No, I think, that’s not right either.
And then I realize the truth.
It’s been hidden in plain sight all along, just like Kuruk, only appearing in the nuances of speech. Like any common criminal or seasoned serial killer, the truth is revealed by what is and isn’t said, in this case by those whose minds are being controlled, and now confirmed by Wini.
I replay memories of prior conversations in perfect clarity, noting every word. The term for mankind’s enemy, coined by Lindo himself, is incorrect. Our adversary, our enslaver, is not the Others.
It’s the Other.
Single.
Solitary.
&nb
sp; The last of its kind.
A species on the brink, clinging to life, desperate to make a deal and hide within the Earth from a truly more powerful species. It might have a small army of Grays and UFOs at its disposal, but if they crash on occasion, I’m sure they can be shot down, too. Hell, a good punch dropped one of the Grays. Had there been more Green Berets with shielded wills, this might have all ended in the ’60s.
The real subterfuge of the Other, isn’t that the world believes aliens come from the stars, it’s that the people who know that’s not true still believe they are submitting to a superior force.
“I want to know the truth,” I say.
“About?” Young asks.
“The children.”
Young’s body relaxes. It’s subtle, but there. The Other is afraid I’ll learn what I’ve already deduced. It’s vulnerable. The problem is, it’s not here.
“And then?” Godin asks.
“I will agree to whatever you want as long as you do not harm these three…and the boy you took from me.” I add Jacob to the mix because he’s the reason I came all this way and risked everything. To not ask for his return would be suspicious.
“Follow,” Godin, Young, and Wini say together, and then they start across the large room, their bare feet slapping against the stone floor. When I follow after them, the Grays follow me with their vacant eyes, each of them a vessel for the Other’s consciousness that, while solitary, is powerful enough to control multiple people and all of these automatons simultaneously.
As vulnerable as it might be, I can’t underestimate it.
As I’m led past the twenty-foot-tall luminous crystal, I feel drawn toward it. At first it’s like a longing to touch it, and then an almost desperate pull to become part of it.
What the hell?
The feeling fades as I follow the others across the room, but I very nearly embraced it like some long-lost friend. Or wife and son. The only thing that kept me from doing so was the knowledge that it’s just a big freaking crystal and not actually someone, or something, that I care about.
Little feet tap the stone floor behind me.
The Grays are following.
While I’ve agreed to abide by the Other’s demands, it doesn’t trust me, and rightfully so. I have a history of ruining its plans in explosive ways, and it can’t read my mind, which I imagine is disconcerting for a creature accustomed to rummaging through people’s thoughts.
I’m led to another tunnel, this one leading down at a sharp angle. When we emerge into a chamber that can only be described as vast and horrifying, I conclude that my deduced nugget of information about the Other’s identity isn’t going to give me an advantage of any kind.
This is bigger than I can handle alone.
I stop short, staring at the thousands of bodies locked in solid rock, and ask, “Where is he? Which one of them is Jacob?”
46
“Recent arrivals are not kept here,” Wini says. “The boy you call ‘Jacob’ is being…processed.”
I sense the intelligence behind Wini’s words searching for a non-threatening term for what Jacob is undergoing, but I’m guessing it doesn’t have much experience with chicken nuggets. As innocuous as ‘processing’ can be, in this case I’m leaning on the ‘about to be blended’ side of things, just to be safe, and to make sure I’m not caught off guard.
Can we take a closer look? I think to the nanites, quickly following it by, Wait! Expecting eyeball crushing pain to throw me to the ground and reveal what I’m doing, I try to stop the change. But it’s too late.
My vision narrows in on a distant portion of the cavern. Best guess, my vision is at 15X zoom, providing a clear view of people’s faces several hundred feet away. There’s a moment of disorientation as every heartbeat, breath, and micro-shift of my body’s many muscles redirect the view. Then the nanites step in, perhaps adjusting my eye, my brain, or both. The end result is comparable to a steady-cam view. Big movements still affect what I’m seeing, but the jittering comes to a stop.
I focus on an American Indian woman, her skin a dark tan despite being held underground. Her black hair hangs over her naked shoulders. Her weathered face puts her at roughly sixty. “I thought you only took children?”
“All were children,” Young says. “In the beginning.”
“How long have they been here?” I ask.
“Days,” Godin says. “Years. Decades.” He looks me in the eyes. His are dead, staring through me. “Millenia.”
“Are they…”
“Dead?” Wini says. “Not as you would define it, but they do not exist. For them, there is no time. No world. No fear, nor pain, nor even dreams. They experience nothing. It is a merciful existence compared to life in a fallen world. Would you not agree?”
It’s trying to find common ground. That’s probably not possible, but I’ve got to play along until…I don’t know what.
“Being alive isn’t always easy,” I say, “but the most rewarding aspects of life take the most work. Like a marriage. Or being a parent.”
“And we do what we need to for our progeny,” Young says.
“Is that not your way?” Godin asks.
“Is that how you see these people?” I scan a line of faces, seeing all races represented along with a complete spectrum of ages from maybe ten to older than a hundred. I pause on a man whose eyes are too large, and whose head is oblong, stretched out in the back like those Peruvian mummies. They’re hybrids. All of them. Created in partnership with humanity and sold for a life of eternal non-existence. But these people didn’t just go from being a few mindless cells in a womb to a mindless meat stick encased in a stone prison. They had lives. Families. Friends. People they loved and who loved them. Their lives as hybrids were probably difficult, but I doubt a single one of these people would have volunteered for non-existence.
“No,” Wini says with a trace of humor. “Humanity is…a resource to be cultivated for a higher purpose. A noble purpose if that helps your conscience.”
“It might.” It won’t. This place is basically a big refrigerator where human beings are stored and sustained, their bodies being used, but for what?
I nearly choke on my own spit when I come across a woman whose arms have been removed. Where there should be shoulders, there are two depressions, the limbs removed and the flesh sealed over the joint. I scan for more physical abnormalities and it doesn’t take long to find them. Some people are missing eyes, bits of their faces, and others, judging by the scars, their brains or some portion of them. With all of them encased mostly in what I thought was stone, but now looks like some kind of solidified secretion, there’s no way to tell how many are missing limbs or organs.
Were this mass of people set free, how many of them would regain consciousness only to fall down dead a moment later?
A lot, I decide. But just as many, perhaps more, would survive.
Would live again.
Would exist again.
I think.
I hope.
I decide to not ask about the missing parts or exactly what they’re being used for. There will come a point where my compliance will be hard to believe. The Other knows I care about Wini, and that I’ll do nearly anything to save her, but it also knows my character, through our confrontations, and Wini’s own memories. If I learn too much, it will know I’m lying.
A sharp poke in my back spins me around. I nearly roundhouse a Gray, but am unnerved by its face and its proximity, along with the thirty plus standing behind it, their emotionless faces somehow still conveying hate.
“If you’re collecting people, and can control people, why use these things?” I ask.
“People, even those under my control, are fallible and frail.” Wini pinches the chub of her stomach. “Humanity tires, requires sustenance, and constant guidance, and they do nothing to promote my narrative. The ‘Grays,’ as you call them, are my perfect creations—carrying out my desires without pause, without question, without all this talking.”<
br />
“Come,” Godin says.
We move toward another tunnel. I take a look around, trying to figure out how the people are moved to and from the wall. There are no stairs. No lifts. No visible technology of any kind. For an advanced species, they’re not big on showing off their advances. It feels like a simple lack of pride or showmanship, but the Other is the apex showman, deceiving the whole world with a tale of aliens. But that’s not it, I decide. It’s a simple lack of time. I don’t know how long the Other has been down here, running its strange empire and human-abduction ring, but between all that and its true purpose, the Other has no time to add flare or grandiosity to its own space.
It’s trying to survive, I remind myself, solely focused on the task and the complicated web it must weave to achieve it.
The next tunnel is like all the others. Uniform in width, grade, and distance. The next chamber is a hub leading to many more tunnels, some leading up, some down. Up until now, I had memorized how to backtrack to where my tour began. Then again, no matter where we go, I can use the nanites to retrace my steps. But it’s not like returning to the sealed tunnel will help at all. Without the ability to walk through solid objects, I’m going to need a real door, or the assistance of a Gray, whose will to help or not help does not exist. They, like the people held in the nightmare chamber behind us, do not really exist. Unlike the people, the Grays don’t even have the possibility to exist.
The path becomes a confusing maze of turns and non-descript tunnels. They look like lava tubes except for the layers of strata streaking the walls, revealing the region’s geological history. The surface is perfectly polished, too. My blurry reflection stares back at me in the low light. Whatever made these tunnels, it wasn’t lava.
The only thing I learn from this tour is that the base is vast, filling the majority of the mesa, and likely the earth far below it. Maybe there really are tunnels stretching as far as Los Alamos.
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