‘Why? Why is it dangerous?’
He used his right hand to waft away the General’s plume of cigarette smoke that attempted to attack his throat. Hargreaves, acknowledging that the smoke irritated his colleague, begrudgingly stubbed out the cigarette in the small round foil ashtray in front of them.
‘If we use our telekinetic abilities for an extended amount of time, it causes our brains to, how would you say… heat up, fry? They become unstable themselves, like overworked machines.’
Hargreaves leant his weary head to one side. ‘Can you tell us more about these wormholes, and how they can be located, activated even?’ he said as he prodded the gold Zippo lighter in the alien’s direction.
‘No, I’m sorry, I can’t allow that,’ said the alien, the answer dampening the previous enthusiasm that had built in the room.
‘Why not?’ asked Hatfield in a delicate manner.
‘Because I was told not to.’ The alien sat quietly, devoid of emotion. Its unnerving stare, cold, as it looked through the humans. ‘We believe that your race is still an unpredictable one, like our energy sources. Your race can’t blend as one; there are so many that oppose one another still. If our technology was to be taught to you, it would be with great dread for the outcome.’
Hargreaves leant back in the chair. ‘Why?’
‘We have studied your planet for a millennia, yet only a tiny speck of change has occurred; you still hate and wish to destroy one another. I fear that humanity would obliterate itself if such scientific gifts were given to you now. Besides, my superiors would be extremely unhappy if your species managed to achieve the art of interstellar travel,’ it warned grimly. ‘It would be disastrous to let you bring the same hatred up from the Earth and into the stars.’
‘So, you are not in charge, you are not their leader?’ asked Hatfield, mesmerised at how the creature’s large head balanced upon its thin neck and shoulders.
The alien seemed intrigued by the question. ‘You assume that I speak for my entire race… very interesting.’ It seemed to ponder the question again for a brief moment. ‘Would you send in your President to meet me without knowing the potential risks?’
Hatfield conceded with an agreeable nod.
‘What do you know about our President?’ said a perturbed Hargreaves with a frown.
‘There are many who are above me in terms of authority – they will come for me soon enough.’
The two men looked at one another, disturbed by this answer.
The humans slid uncomfortably on the hard surface of the metal chairs.
‘You said that you were told not to reveal certain answers to our questions, can you elaborate on this?’ said Hargreaves as his eyes focused on the creature. ‘I mean, are you in contact with your race now?’
‘We are always in contact, General. Our form of telepathy extends far beyond the boundaries of this planet,’ replied the alien.
This was what Hargreaves had feared. ‘Okay, let’s stay on course here,’ he said, attempting to exert control. ‘Why are you here? Over the last 60-70 years there have been all sorts of U.F.O. sightings and claims of abductions. Can you give us any explanations for these?’
‘Yes, General. You have to understand that the universe is an immense place. Even with our technology it is still impossible to determine where the universe starts or ends, if indeed it does. What I mean is that because of this potentially infinite space it would be foolish of one – even vain – to assume that only our two species share the universe.’
The alien placed its long hands upon the desk in front of itself. It was taking all of the questions in a relaxed, almost obedient manner.
‘So, species-wise, there are more than the two of us?’ asked Hatfield, the childlike enthusiasm again gripping his face.
It focused its eyes upon Hargreaves. ‘Ask your General, he knows this.’
The General coughed embarrassingly as he cleared his ravaged throat from the years of a forty-a-day cigarette habit. ‘Yes, we have documents and files on five species of extraterrestrial beings, including yourselves.’
‘Five? I can assure you of around 300 separate species, including yourselves.’
Hatfield laughed as he flopped back in his chair. His mouth fell open again in astonishment as he immediately sat upright. ‘Wow! Of course, we are an extraterrestrial species to you also,’ he said, amazed. He tried to comb his blond hair out of his eyeline with his right hand. ‘300! What are the others like, are they like us?’
Hargreaves looked at the Doctor.
‘Among these species there are many like us who are peaceful. There are also many who are lower than both of us in terms of evolution. Again, those who are not ready for such knowledge as it would have a devastating effect on themselves, and potentially their nearest planetary neighbours. Add to those the races what we deem as “new borns” – races in their early evolutionary years, what you might refer to as Neanderthal man. Then there are the ancient races, much older than ours. These are mainly the originals that started the Council. They are only interested in peace and prolonging their own civilisations. They have little interest in seeking out new worlds and species.’
‘What about us? Are there any races similar to humans, in terms of physicality?’ asked Hatfield again, his whole body eagerly hanging on the suspense as he waited for the answer.
‘No, you are the only species of your kind – you are truly unique.’
Hatfield felt both deflated, yet honoured. He had always imagined an identical species living on an identical planet somewhere across the universe. Being unique, well, that he would have to settle for.
‘The real fears come from the races of the Greens and Blues.’
There was suddenly an intensely quiet atmosphere as the statement sunk in.
‘Greens and Blues?’ said Hatfield, squinting his eyes harshly.
‘Yes. The Greens and Blues are two races who are similar to us in terms of appearance – physicality as you call it – except for their skin colour. These species are incredibly hostile and dangerous. They have had many wars and disputes on many planets. Their thirst for violence goes hand in hand with their love of conflict. Fortunately, at the moment they are 200 of your Earth years behind us in terms of technology. This means that the Universal Council have some time to decide what to do about them. One day though, they will be on equal terms. This is why they love war so much, as they pillage everything from food to technological advancements from their enemy. They gain stronger with every bloody war waged. They –’
‘Wait,’ said Hatfield holding up his right hand to interrupt. ‘When you say 200 Earth years behind us in terms of technology, do you mean behind you, or us humans?’ He had loved the possibility of this. The alien races that caused mayhem in the many science-fiction movies he had watched as a child exhilarated him. Now though, he sat stone-faced at the real fact that this could happen one day. He ran his tongue over his teeth as he thought for a few seconds. ‘If these races are as dangerous as you suggest, then why doesn’t your “Council” destroy them?’
‘The Council have always believed in a universal peace. We have encountered previous races with grand designs of war, but things have always been resolved. You see, the Council consists of a member of every known race throughout the universe, selected on a strict criteria, peace being the predominant attribute.’
The alien turned once again to Hargreaves. ‘I apologise. To answer your first question, General, yes… we are responsible for many abductions, though these are for scientific purposes only. We have never harmed any race that we have taken for such curiosities. My main point in expanding on the numerous races in the universe was to show that my species is not responsible for every abduction, mutilated animal or sighting. Don’t forget other races are just as curious, some more so.’
Hargreaves nodded his head as he thought about this. ‘Do you mean that this “Universal Council” is some sort of planetary guardian?’ he asked, trying to understand the concept.<
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‘As I explained before, there are members of a Council – like the governments of your world – who decide, and act for the good of the universe,’ replied the alien.
It placed its index finger into the foil ashtray and touched the crumbling ash. It moved its digit towards the tiny nose holes that sat flush upon its oval face. Curiously, it sniffed gently at its finger; its lips curled at the displeasure of the smell. Hargreaves smiled, amused at the effect.
‘So, what would happen if these “Greens and Blues” ever invaded our planet? Would our current technology be able to defend such an invasion?’
‘No, General,’ said the alien sadly. ‘I’m afraid that the end result would be the entire annihilation of your complete species.’
‘How long would we have before these invaders would be upon this planet, or even in our atmosphere?’ Hargreaves continued, obviously interested on a military scale.
‘I’ve said enough for now. I’ve said too much.’
The alien sat in eerie silence as though in a trance. It stared again at the colourful pins that were lined in formation across the General’s left breast of his blue blazer.
They all sat for a few minutes before Hargreaves pushed back his metal chair; the scraping noise made the alien purse its thin lips.
He stood and straightened his clothing. ‘I’ll be back in a couple of minutes, I need some air,’ he said, swiftly heading out of the door.
The alien watched in stillness. It could sense that something was wrong. Human emotions offer such bizarre facial expressions, which often betray their real thoughts.
Hatfield also sat quietly. He felt lost, cautious as both he and the alien gazed at each other. The more he focused on the humanoid’s eyes, the more he felt like he was being hypnotised. He smiled awkwardly, then grimaced as he realised that the facial gesture would probably have no meaning to the alien, or so he thought.
Hargreaves returned after several minutes. He entered the room with an overweight dark-haired woman, in her mid-forties. He offered his chair to her as he took a step backwards. Hatfield shot the General an icy look so as to ask what was going on.
The alien immediately knew who the woman was.
‘Why have you brought one of your “mediums” with you?’ it said as it surveyed her large frame.
Hargreaves nodded towards the woman, who then turned and faced the alien. Her small hazel eyes lie mostly hidden beneath the bangs of her shoulder-length bob. They appeared set back, deep within the sockets as her hair framed her chubby face harshly. She focused on the creature before her; the intensity was intimidating, even for the strongest of men.
‘Why is she attempting to read my mind, and who is Harry White, the Sec Def? said the alien. ‘What does it mean?’
‘I’m sorry, but we need to know more about what you’re not telling us. I didn’t want to do this, but you haven’t given us much choice,’ replied Hargreaves.
Hatfield turned to the General. ‘Can I talk to you for a minute?’ He followed Hargreaves out of the door and stood behind the mirror, away from the other personnel. ‘What the hell are you doing, General? This wasn’t part of the agenda!’ he said angrily.
‘Look, I haven’t got time for this. Doctor, we need to know the truth. What if these Greens and Blues are really only a handful of years from getting here?’ Hargreaves pushed his square face into the Doctor’s own. ‘Wouldn’t you want to know, so you could gain a possible advantage?’
‘Yes of course, b – but –’ stuttered Hatfield.
‘But nothing! It even said itself that it had told us too much. It’s hiding something and my superiors want to know what, that’s why they’ve sent her in with me.’ Hargreaves looked through the translucent mirror, pointing towards the medium’s rotund back sitting upright in the chair. ‘I still have to take orders, Doctor, as do you.’
The alien looked towards the one-way mirror as it held its mind closed to the medium’s prying interference. ‘She is very strong. I am intrigued as to why you haven’t solved telepathy yet.’
Hargreaves gestured for an angry Hatfield to quieten down as the words echoed around the walls. The General returned his attention towards the room. What makes you think that we haven’t cracked telepathy?
The Doctor wasn’t happy as he joined his colleagues at the glass. They all gazed through its thickness back into the room. Two shadowy movements moved within the darkness, silent as they became locked in a battle of the minds, focusing all of their energies on blocking one another’s intrusions.
‘I don’t like this, General. We’ve completely destroyed any trust that we had built with it.’
‘Duly noted, Doctor. Now quit your whining, we might yet need you.’
‘Need me for what?’ whispered Hatfield in a discontented grumble.
Hargreaves turned his attention back to the Doctor. ‘Remember when it said that their telekinetic abilities only lasted for so long? Well, things could get messy.’
Hatfield shook his head as he spoke. ‘You’re hoping that it’s going to try to break out using its abilities, aren’t you.’
‘You’re catching on, Doctor,’ said Hargreaves, an aggressive sneer crossing his red face. ‘That’s why the medium is in there, to try to keep it grounded with her own abilities, as well as endeavouring to extract the relevant information.’ He looked back through the glass. ‘Eventually, as it said before, it’ll end up frying – but not before I get the truth.’
Hatfield closed his eyes tight, again shaking his head in fury. It was no use arguing, he couldn’t win.
‘We’ve been here for what… one hour and forty-seven minutes,’ sighed Hatfield as he tapped the plastic face of his digital watch.
‘Look!’ exclaimed the young ginger-haired female colleague who stood with them.
They all turned their attention back towards the mirror. The alien’s rangy arms had dropped to its side; its spider-like hands brushed the ruby red carpeted floor as it began to wilt. The black eyes had lost their darkness and were now beginning to turn a milky light brown colour. Its body began slipping down the back of the metal chair as a slight rasp exhaled from its lips.
‘For God’s sake, General,’ shouted Hatfield, begging for the torture to end, ‘you’re killing it!’
‘Almost there, Doctor. Get ready to go in.’
The table began to levitate slowly in the middle of the room. The camera tilted downwards on its tripod as its steel hollow legs began to bend and buckle. A brown liquid started to trickle from the alien’s nasal holes. The medium’s head now began to shake violently as blood started to stream from her nose and ears. Her eyes – bloodshot from the minuscule blood vessels that were bursting simultaneously – became covered in a thin red film.
Hatfield attempted to get to the door, but was forcibly restrained by Hargreaves; the Doctor’s strength was no match against the stronger, bigger man’s. ‘What the hell are you playing at?’ He winced as the General’s hold tightened around his slight upper arm. The increasing pressure was too much as he tried to prise the fingers open.
‘Not yet, Doctor.’
An ear piercing screech flew from the mouth of the alien. The medium collapsed from the chair, falling to the floor with a dense thud. The table fell from the air, crashing between them as the two minds lost their fixed concentration. The camera fell sideways, causing several small black pieces to break off and scatter across the carpet. Its light petered to a dull red before fading completely. The lights powered on, illuminating the room.
‘GO, GO!’ shouted Hargreaves as he pushed Hatfield forward, eager to get him into the room to save both human and alien lives.
Hatfield leapt to the aid of the creature, cradling its large head as he froze, unable to think straight, what to do. Hargreaves leant down towards the medium as other doctors from the compound raced to offer medical assistance. He stared into the red, wide-open eyes of the bleeding woman.
He gripped her broad shoulders with his rough hands, and hauled her h
eavy build up. ‘What did you get, what did you get?’ he repeated urgently as he wiped the blood from her full mouth.
‘They have – they have been studying us for – for years, since time began,’ she sputtered, gurgling on the excess blood. ‘We are their – their experiment, they are our gods, our creators! They bred us –’
She became cut off as the doctors battled to save her life.
‘For what? Bred us for what?’ raged Hargreaves as his spittle dotted her cold swollen face.
‘They bred us for war, their army – for war against –’
Hargreaves began shaking the dying woman. ‘Against who? Tell me!’
He sensed that the medium was close to death. Her eyes rolled into the back of her round head as more claret liquid ran from her thick nose.
‘We’re going to have to move her, and quickly,’ said one of the doctors with urgency as a gurney burst into the room.
The medium clasped the General’s hand. ‘They bred us for war – for war against the Greens and Blues,’ she whispered in a cracked breath before releasing her hold.
Despite his age, Hargreaves moved spritely towards the alien. The milky brown substance was running from its eyes, spilling all over Hatfield’s trembling hands.
The General knelt down beside the distressed young Doctor. ‘When are they coming? You tell me when they are coming, goddamn it!’
The aliens’ lips quivered slightly as it tried to speak. Hatfield looked to Hargreaves before lowering his right ear towards its slit-like mouth.
‘Pathetic humans – anything believe. We are – already. Here, we are – already here.’
The broken words entered the Doctor’s head as the alien used the last of its strength. A final musty breath blew softly from its mouth. Its thin leathery chest slowly deflated as the remaining air exited the body. Wrinkles adorned the dry withered flesh as its arms fell back to the floor.
Hatfield lowered the alien’s head gently to the soft floor. A look of heartfelt sadness washed over his face.
Hargreaves gripped Hatfield’s collar with a firm left hand. ‘Well?’ he asked aggressively, his eyes wild as he demanded an immediate answer. ‘What did it say?’
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