Blurred Vision: Seven billion voices about to be silenced

by Chris Botragyi

  Blood and brain fragments trickled down the wall, mixing with the dusty floor like a thick lentil soup. Unfortunately, the others were close enough to witness the carnage; they looked on, terrified. The gaping holes in the General’s head spilled all of his remaining humanity. His life, his soul and his memories slid away in a collapsed pile of bone and organ. Another snap and buzz to the General’s shoulder jolted his body; it was as if the creatures were expecting him to awake. The Grey dropped the corpse to the grating like a discarded piece of trash.

  ‘General!’ shouted Mark as he looked to Hargreaves, and then to the alien that faced him.

  The creatures circled the body as they gazed at its weak shell, before slowly backing off. The leader of the three stared towards the being that had killed the General; it responded by grasping the human’s right foot and pulling the body out of the door with ease. Hargreaves’ glazed eyes looked back at the remaining three humans – the fear had finally overcome the tough soldier. The harsh lined features were frozen in time upon his glistening red face.

  The door slid across, cutting off the rest of the corridor. A mixed trail of blood, brains and bone was all that remained of the General. Insects could be heard scampering across the floor as they investigated the scent. They lapped up the nourishing feed with voracity, consuming every part of the messy remains.

  Mark slumped to the floor. He knew that their best chance of survival had greatly diminished. ‘That’s it, it’s over,’ he said, covering his face with trembling hands.

  John placed his hands upon his head as he paced the floor nervously. ‘What do we do now?’ He looked to Mark. ‘We’re dead, we’re fucking dead!’

  ‘We were dead anyway,’ said James, raising his voice. ‘They’ve got what they wanted – we’ve entertained them.’ He curled up in the corner, holding his knees loosely to his chest. ‘Why we ever thought that we could escape, it’s beyond me.’

  ‘Yeah, like you helped!’ said John, looking angrily at the shivering ball.

  ‘Stop it, both of you. Let me think,’ said Mark as he held his hands up in front of him.

  James rubbed his head with both hands. ‘Mark, let it go. You’ve just said yourself that it’s over. There’s nothing to think about – it’s done, finished.’ His eyes were full of tears as he looked up at the Professor. ‘Anything we do from this point forward is futile.’

  An aggressive sneer dominated John’s face. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’

  ‘Leave it, John.’ Mark squatted against the wall. He placed his elbows upon his knees, and balanced his forehead on the tips of his fingers. ‘He’s right, we’re finished. Our best chance, if there ever was one, has just gone out of that door in a pile of mush.’

  Chapter 6:

  Interview with an Alien – The General’s Story

  THE room was dark, but for the bright spotlight and red dot that glowed from the video camera. The camera’s metal tripod cut an imposing figure as it stood dominantly proud in the corner. A basic brown wooden desk took centre stage in the room. Thick cigarette smoke swirled in the air – its dance mesmerising to the grey being that sat on one side of the desk. Several military personnel, including scientists and doctors, muttered amongst themselves. They all stared, intrigued, through the four-foot wide rectangular one-way mirror that adorned the wall opposite the desk. Three silhouettes sat guarded.

  ‘My name is General James F. Hargreaves, and for the benefit of the camera’s audio it is 11.49 a.m. Wednesday 24th September. Sat to my left is the head of the Theoretical Physics Department, Dr. Steven Hatfield.’ The General gestured towards his young blond-haired colleague. Hatfield in turn nodded his acknowledgement as he gazed at the large black oval eyes before him. ‘I suppose the first question would be to ask where you are from?’ said Hargreaves in a deep, yet upbeat husk.

  The alien being cocked its large round head to one side. Its leathery skin seemed to wrinkle, then tighten momentarily.

  Hargreaves shook his head sharply as though regaining focus. ‘So, I have just established that you can communicate by telepathy, which is astounding.’ He took off his hat and placed it carefully on the table in front of him, desperate to avoid any contact with whatever dust lay on the formica surface. ‘For the record though, can we please all speak out aloud? Thank you.’

  The alien looked at Hargreaves. A blank, emotionless stare drank in the General’s solid build that betrayed his years. The only giveaway were the ageing lines in the rough skin that framed his square jaw. His cropped, receding silver hair sprouted like prickles over his head.

  Again, the alien leant its head to one side. ‘It is irrelevant where I am from, but let me ask you: where are we?’ it said in a vibrating humanoid tone. It looked around the smoky room cautiously. ‘I can’t tell as you all blank your thoughts around me when entering this structure.’

  Hatfield couldn’t work out if the alien was looking around in curiosity or fear, though he suspected it was more likely the former. The Doctor sat hunched, his soft clean fingers intertwined in front of him. He was fascinated as he gazed at the way the alien’s skin breathed, looking smooth yet slightly wrinkled.

  ‘I see that you are as curious to my appearance, as am I to yours, Dr. Hatfield,’ said the alien as it turned its heavy head towards the doctor.

  Hatfield shifted his slim body uneasily in the collapsible metal chair. He seemed hypnotised by the alien’s eyes; they reminded him of hard black onyx stones.

  Hargreaves coughed into his thick fist as he interrupted, sensing that the interview was rapidly falling apart. ‘Well, we are at Groom Dry Lake Air Force Base, Nevada. It is a heavily restricted area, known more commonly – or referred to – as Area 51.’

  The alien focused its attention back towards Hargreaves. Its eyes were endless voids as it surveyed the navy blue uniform that was decorated heavily in tiny pins, buttons and stars.

  ‘We don’t have names in the traditional formality as you do; there is no need as we all communicate via telepathy. From our birth, all important information is technologically implanted. It would be like what you call an encyclopaedia of your entire history, past and present, being placed into your brain.’

  ‘Amazing,’ said Hatfield as his blue eyes sparkled.

  ‘This also works for every piece of knowledge our race conceives. So, by seeing one of our species whom we don’t recognise in terms of rank or intelligence, the data is automatically uploaded into our consciousness. This is how we determine who is who.’ The alien paused for a few seconds. Its nasal holes twitched at the strange smells that congregated within the room. ‘You will have to forgive me if my speech and pronunciation seem inadequate at times,’ it said as its thin lips gingerly moved, ‘but we are not used to verbal communication.’

  ‘No, you’re doing absolutely fine,’ interjected Hatfield as he shuffled in his crisp white laboratory jacket. ‘Your grasp of the English language is exceptional.’

  The alien nodded respectfully.

  ‘Can you tell us more about this brain technology… the consciousness?’

  ‘It is simple, Doctor. Think of your mobile phone devices, and how you access social media over your Internet.’

  Hatfield grinned at the thought of the alien’s knowledge of human technology. A creature from another planet talking about mobile phones and the Internet! How weird is that?

  ‘Well,’ the alien continued, ‘it is the same process. Look at the Internet and the breadth of knowledge and understanding that you can benefit from, learn from. This works in a way akin to our brains. Think of it as having the Internet, and all of its worthwhile information implanted into your head. The technology then acts as the server, allowing your eyes to view whatever you wish. This transports the required data immediately to our brains, thus we then have the knowledge of that data, and how to apply it.’

  Hatfield sat astonished. ‘Wow, that is incredible. So, if I wished to learn… say for example to fly an airplane, then the years of learning that it takes
to accomplish this goal would be sent automatically into my brain?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And I would instantly be an expert in flying said airplane?’

  ‘That is correct.’

  Hatfield’s mouth dropped open, overwhelmed at the creature’s vast intellect as he looked to Hargreaves. The General raised his eyebrows as though the admission was an everyday occurrence.

  The alien sensed the fact that Hargreaves was less than impressed. It could read the way he responded, as though suspicious of how it came to know such human technologies.

  It looked at the General. ‘We study everything human, as no doubt you study everything alien. Don’t forget, we were once at your level of being.’ The alien suddenly looked away from the men. ‘Who are those humans that stand over there?’ it asked, distracted as it pointed a spindly index finger in the direction of the one-way mirror.

  The two men turned their heads as they followed the finger from the four digit extraterrestrial hand. ‘Oh, that’s just some of our more curious colleagues. You see, this is the first time that some of them have viewed an intelligent life form such as yourself. It’s a monumental occasion in many of their lives,’ said Hargreaves, his thoughts becoming more concerned at the alien’s increasing abilities.

  Thank you. Its facial skin quivered as it projected the courtesy into the General’s mind.

  Hargreaves’ tight lips parted in a wry smile. Even extraterrestrials have a sense of humour.

  ‘Why am I here, and what happened to my pilot?’ asked the alien as it changed tack.

  Hargreaves hoped that the pleasantries weren’t at an end. ‘You are in this facility because your ship crashed out here in the desert, three days ago. We brought you here for your own safety; after all, we didn’t know at that time whether or not you could survive our atmospheric conditions. As for your pilot? I’m sorry, but he didn’t survive the crash, he was too badly injured.’

  Hatfield averted his eyes in respect at the alien’s loss.

  Its skin around its wide forehead creased as the wafer-thin eyelids dropped, narrowing its eyes. ‘What have you done with the body? I would like to see the body.’

  Hargreaves began fingering the small gold cuff buttons of his blazer. ‘Yes, of course, but later,’ he agreed, his own eyes firmly fixed on the being.

  The alien looked at both of them in turn. ‘I wish for the body to be left untouched. I hope this is not a problem, General, Doctor?’

  Hatfield looked to the General, then back at the alien. ‘I’m sorry, but you might not approve. We had to perform an autopsy to find out how it – sorry, your pilot died.’ He raised his eyebrows hesitantly. ‘Do you understand?’

  The alien remained silent for several seconds before responding firmly. ‘No experimentation.’

  Hargreaves leant forward as he placed his elbows upon the desk, which creaked under the considerable weight. He stared with an air of authority at his weaker colleague, before returning his gaze back to the alien. ‘Look, here on Earth we perform an autopsy on our dead. It’s a way of telling whether or not they died naturally, or by any other means, you know, purposely killed.’

  ‘If my pilot died in the crash then you know, don’t you?’ said the alien with caution.

  Hatfield stared at the alien as beads of sweat gathered around his own flat forehead. ‘Yes, but we needed to know if it was the crash or the atmosphere that killed him. As was said earlier, we didn’t know at the time if your kind could survive our atmosphere.’ He could instantly feel the creature trying to penetrate his mind. Either that or he was becoming increasingly paranoid. ‘Anyway, your compatriot died as a result of its – his overwhelming injuries.’

  The alien glared through Hatfield. ‘Okay, Doctor. I understand.’

  Hatfield smiled as he nodded at the alien. He felt pleased with himself at the way they both now appeared to have this mutual understanding, a kind of trust.

  ‘So, where is my ship? Is it badly damaged?’

  Hargreaves coughed as he shuffled his large body in the small frame of the chair. It looked like it was fighting a losing battle to accommodate him. ‘Well, your ship was quite badly damaged. I don’t think you will be going anywhere soon,’ he replied with a sarcastic smile.

  ‘Let me see it, and I shall judge for myself the extent of the damage.’

  The General grimaced. ‘Yes, but later.’

  ‘General, you may as well know that your people will be unable to study the ship – I know that you have already tried. It is protected by a powerful energy field that acts as a security device if events such as these occur.’ The minuscule muscles twitched slightly in its neck. ‘Besides, I shall not be here for long, you do know this, don’t you?’

  ‘How so?’ asked Hargreaves, his mouth and eyebrows bent downwards, puzzled.

  He was beginning to enjoy the battle of wits that was now forming with the alien; the glint in his eye was obvious enough to all who watched through the one-way mirror.

  ‘General, Doctor, I appreciate the medical care that you and your people have given me, but are you suggesting that I am a prisoner of this facility?’

  Hatfield looked at the pulsating bulbous veins that held the alien’s life force. He was fascinated. By squinting hard enough he could see the otherworldly blood flowing through its arms. ‘No, of course not. You are a guest of this facility and the government organisation that funds it,’ he said in a friendly manner, almost embarrassed by the question.

  ‘So, I could actually get up and leave at any point if I chose to?’

  Hatfield attempted a reply which turned into a bumbling stutter. He looked at the General for an intervening answer.

  ‘Well, you could, but that wouldn’t be advised,’ said Hargreaves as he sensed that things were becoming uncomfortable for them all. He sat back in the chair. His broad physique swallowed the vertical metal back rest. He ran his right hand down his face, squeezing the tired flesh. ‘Look, all we would like is for you to help us answer some questions about yourself and your species. It’s not everyday that one comes across beings from another world. Some have waited a lifetime for just a glimpse of one such as yourself. You see, it’s an extremely rare position that we are in – an extremely fortunate position at that. All we require is some insight. After that, I will personally take you to see your deceased pilot and to survey the damage to your craft.’

  Hatfield watched as the alien’s exterior seemed to soften, as though releasing a burst of energy.

  ‘Okay, that seems fair, General. Ask what you may.’

  The alien returned to its previous calm demeanour, all to the relief of the humans who watched.

  ‘How do you communicate telepathically?’ asked Hatfield as he thrust his youthful head forwards.

  ‘Our brain structure is slightly different to yours. We have an over developed frontal lobe that is considerably larger than your own. This is why our cranial shell appears wider – to compensate for the expansion when used telepathically. You must know this already if you’ve done an “autopsy” on my pilot?’ it said, turning to the General. ‘If not, then ask your colleague.’

  Hatfield frowned. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Hargreaves smiled again, he knew.

  The alien stared again at the General. ‘There is a female human with abilities like mine, standing with your colleagues. I have felt her trying to access my brain channels since the beginning of the interview.’

  Hatfield turned swiftly to the General, he required an immediate answer.

  ‘I don’t have to explain anything to you, Doctor,’ said Hargreaves angrily before turning his blue eyes back towards the alien. ‘Over the years we have brought in all manner of people: mediums, psychics, spiritualists – all in the real hope of understanding telepathy. But no firm conclusions were ever formed, we could never reproduce it in an ordinary human mind,’ he explained, again concerned. What other information has it extracted from me?

  He pulled a white papery cigarette packe
t from his silky inside jacket pocket. The alien watched as the General placed the small stick between his lips, and snapped open the lid of his gold coloured Zippo lighter. Its head once again tilted, startled as the flame lit one end of the stick as the human sucked on the other.

  ‘So, telepathy is your main form of communication. What about the practice of telekinesis, can you achieve this also?’ he asked, extremely interested as he blew the thick smoke from his mouth.

  ‘Yes! Very good, General,’ the alien exclaimed, the raised tone of its voice the only sign of emotion. ‘Telekinesis, as you refer to it, is our main way of flying our crafts. We need a fuel type that does not exist on this planet. It is an extremely unstable combination, not unlike the elements within your nuclear fission, but even more hazardous. You see, your nuclear energy requires powerful blasts for propulsion. Also add the fact that the temperatures would be extremely hot, dangerously erratic.’ It looked to the two men whom hung on its every word before continuing. ‘Now, whilst we have perfected the propulsion techniques and cooling systems required for such travel, the fuel contained in our crafts makes it very difficult to negotiate great distances. This is why we use our telekinetic abilities to control our crafts, to steady them safely as we navigate distance and travel.’

  Hatfield could have sworn that he saw a flicker of excitement in the alien’s eyes as they discussed the subject. He himself certainly was excited. ‘Yes, I understand that, it makes perfect sense.’ He paused for a breath as an enthused, childlike smile adorned his smooth face. ‘What about wormholes, are they also a part of your travel, to quicken the journey from where you came?’

  ‘Yes, that is correct, Doctor,’ replied the alien. ‘Wormholes, as you call them, are an essential part of our travel. While our fuel sources are inexhaustible, they are unstable as I have previously stated. Yes, we can give stability by using our telekinetic abilities, but this we cannot do for an extended period of time – it is too dangerous for our kind.’