by Jason Parent
“Kazi will never pair with me,” Tryst said, a frown running across her face.
“It’s our custom—”
“The humans choose their own mates.”
“We are not human.”
“New planet, new rules,” Tryst said, defying millennia of pedigree breeding. Who was going to call her on it? She was in command now. “Effective immediately, I determine the protocol for choosing my partner, and you, Milliken, are my choice. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Commander.”
“Then take your hands off me. You’ll have plenty of opportunities for that later.”
“You won’t hurt Kazi?” Milliken asked, reluctant to set her free.
“I’m done with Kazi,” Tryst said, still embittered. Outwardly, she let her wrath slowly subdue into quiet indignation. But inside, it still burned hot and white. Tryst despised her conniving crewmate. “Last chance: let me go, or it’ll be you who will be disciplined. Kazi’s not here, and if we’re lucky, he’ll never return. He can’t be trusted.”
Milliken looked defeated. Perhaps he knew better than to argue with her. There was no way she’d let him win. Kazi was a traitor to his superior officer. If given the chance, Tryst was certain he’d betray them all. And for what? To appease his selfish delusions of grandeur?
Kazi needed to answer for his crimes. But for now, Tryst was content to let the humans deal with him. As far as she was concerned, Kazi was gone and could stay gone. She and Milliken were safer without him.
●●●
Kazi sat covered in needles and sap, perched high in a pine tree nearby. He had listened closely to their entire conversation. Inside him, darkness festered.
She chooses that simpleton over me. She abandons me when Milliken and I are all she has left. He sat extraordinarily still, brooding in his thoughts. A squirrel happened by, and its presence offended him. With reflexes faster than a falcon pulling a fish from water, he gripped the squirrel with fierceness and contempt. Its bones crumbled to dust in his constricting grasp. With loathing, he hurled the animal’s remains away from him. It travelled no more than a few feet before it exploded into particles of ash and dust. I will not be tossed aside so easily.
He hid in the trees, biding his time. That night, still in his perch, Kazi watched from afar as Tryst and Milliken consummated their relationship. Milliken lay still, appearing indifferent and subservient, while Tryst mounted him, unleashing a carnal appetite, savage even.
It should be me inside her, Kazi thought, cursing their union. He felt discarded, an outcast forced into exile. For that, Kazi despised Milliken, taking for his own what was rightfully Kazi’s. He swore revenge on them. And while they mated, Kazi plotted. By sunrise, he was gone.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“He can’t know the plan,” General Schroeder said. “In fact, the fewer people who know the plan, the better. That’s why I’m bypassing your immediate superiors and speaking directly to you about this. You’re the guy that has to get it done.”
“What is the plan, sir?” Jonathan asked. How he got stuck with alien-disposal duty was a mystery to him. Hadn’t he been involved in this fiasco long enough? Was he the government’s patsy should its aggressive tactics backfire? Jonathan just wanted to enjoy his leave free from aliens and homeland operations. He had no clue how to ensnare little green men, particularly those who were, in reality, big, gray and ferocious. At least Afghanistan made sense to him.
“We determine their location and drop a missile on their heads.”
“Sounds simple enough, sir. Permission to speak freely, sir.”
“Speak,” the General said. “At my rank and age, I spend a lot more time with civilians than military personnel. One begins to grow weary of the formalities of rank.”
“Dropping a bomb on American soil won’t go unnoticed. Is there a potential for civilian casualties?”
“If those damn aliens are still in the woods as our intelligence suggests, then not likely. There shouldn’t be.”
“And Dr. Gaudreau?”
“Make that one civilian casualty.”
Jonathan didn’t like the sound of that. He had no love for Connor Gaudreau, but he didn’t have any desire to kill an unarmed American civilian either. That sounded too much like unsanctioned C.I.A. stuff or an illegal hit, not the standard, everyday army operations to which he was accustomed.
“There’s no other way?” he asked.
“Well, according to Dr. Gaudreau, the aliens can read our minds, and we’ve already seen them vanish into thin air. Even on standby, we couldn’t get our soldiers in there in time. We’ll have to strike from a distance, or they’ll teleport away at the first sign of trouble. Gaudreau’s going in with you.”
“So Gaudreau’s bait. Does he know it?”
“Of course not, and he can’t know it either. That would jeopardize the whole operation.”
“All right. When do we move?”
“Immediately.”
●●●
Connor sighed. Back at Second Connecticut Lake. He’d been spending far more time there than he had ever cared to. He certainly never planned on going there with a military chaperone. But he hadn’t had much of a choice in the matter.
“Do I get one of those?” Connor asked Jonathan as he spotted the Lieutenant’s semi-automatic handgun. Not that it would do me a whole lot of good.
“Look, Dr. Gaudreau,” Jonathan said. “You’re here for one purpose and one purpose only: to attempt to negotiate their peaceful surrender. I hope you’re taking this seriously.”
A slight smirk crossed Jonathan’s face. Connor caught it and frowned, wondering what about his predicament amused the lieutenant. But Jonathan didn’t seem the type to keep his mind to himself.
“On second thought,” Jonathan began, “if you want my honest opinion, I hope you fail.”
“You might want to reconsider that opinion,” Connor replied, unable to hold back a smug chuckle. “Your little peashooters won’t have any effect on them should you incite their aggression. You of all people should know that, Lieutenant. Had you listened to me on the first go-round, one of your men might still be alive.”
Connor didn’t know how his balls had suddenly turned brass. But the way Jonathan tapped his finger on his pistol made him feel less self-assured.
“Yeah, I remember that,” Jonathan said. He clenched his jaw. Connor thought he could hear the lieutenant’s teeth grinding down to dust.
“I remember quite well how your space friends killed one of my men, then proceeded to shit all over our great country with that horrific stunt they pulled at the White House. Now, if I recall it correctly, didn’t you help get them there in the first place?”
Connor wasn’t about to engage Jonathan in a pissing contest. He let the derogatory insinuation slide. After all, it was true. The events at the press conference had left Connor with a ton of questions. Why would the Symorians risk their survival with such a deliberate act of terror? It didn’t make sense.
Lenyx’s face flashed behind Connor’s eyes, the alien leader’s shock and distress oozing from his every pore. Connor was no expert on Symorian expressions, but it sure seemed to resemble the human counterpart of those emotions. Lenyx had the same look of fright and alarming innocence he had when he inadvertently incinerated Matthew. At least, Lenyx claimed Matthew’s death was an accident. Had they been using Connor all along just to get to President Kennedy?
To what end? The Symorians retreated afterward, taking no one prisoner, making no demands. The President’s death was an act that defied logic. And, as Connor found out from his government captors later, it had cost the Symorians their leader’s life.
Then again, maybe even Symorian reasoning was alien to Connor. Maybe they were just sadistic assholes who had played him from the start. He was certain of one thing: their act was without recourse. From what he’d witnessed firsthand, if the Symorians chose to kill somebody, there was nothing anyone could do about it. Sure, they could be killed, but how m
any humans would die in their effort to exact justice?
And would the aliens’ deaths constitute justice? Hammurabi might have thought so. Connor did not.
“As appalling as President Kennedy’s death is, is it fair to conclude it was an assassination?” he asked.
“It sure as hell looked like one to me,” Jonathan said, sounding appalled by the suggestion otherwise. “But even if weren’t, there’s no way our government can let that act go unanswered.”
Jonathan glanced at his troops, all lined up before him like the army they were, this time nearly three hundred strong by Connor’s estimate. He assumed Jonathan’s earlier dealings with the aliens had something to do with the dramatic increase in those under his command. Or perhaps Jonathan’s superiors thought their numbers would protect them should the Symorians choose to put up a fight.
“Let’s move!” Jonathan shouted, circling his arm forward. As his men marched behind him, Jonathan yanked Connor close to his side. He had told Connor that he expected him to stay nearby at all times. But if it came to war, Connor wanted to be as far away as possible. He had no military experience, having been too young to be drafted into Vietnam and too old to fight in the Iraqi War.
As he prepared to march up the same path he’d walked with Matthew Simpson only a few days prior, then with the excitement of potentially discovering extraterrestrial life, Connor now prayed for an entirely different result. He wanted nothing more than for Army Intelligence to be wrong, for the aliens to have fled the woods long before the army’s arrival. But those woods were all the Symorians seemed to know.
Where else would they go? Then it hit him. A smile emerged on his face, inspired by the sudden revelation. The woods surrounding Second Connecticut Lake wasn’t all the Symorians knew. They knew what Connor knew, and Connor knew the perfect spot for them to hide. He thought back to the quiet, cozy place he’d spent many secluded evenings in his prime dating years and to the carefree summer barbecue days of his childhood that preceded his post-pubescent awkwardness. If the aliens no longer trusted their own instincts, perhaps they might trust his.
They’re not evil, Connor told himself. There must be a rational explanation for what happened.
As they marched into the park, the bulk of Jonathan’s troops filled the parking lot at its southern entrance. There, they halted. Connor evaluated the massive squadron that stood at attention behind him. The lot looked like a tailgate party for an N.R.A. event. Soldiers were heavily armed and awaiting orders. Jonathan freely barked them to squad leader after squad leader, sending their men off in seemingly random directions around the lake. But Connor knew where they were going. They were surrounding the ship.
They’ll never get close to them. The aliens will sense their presence and disappear before one useless bullet bounces off their impregnable gray skin.
“I know what you’re thinking,” Jonathan said, returning to the front of his platoon where Connor had been forced to wait. He gave the signal for his men to march toward the ship. Connor hustled to keep up with Jonathan as they headed toward what would either be disappointment or disaster. They were followed closely by nothing short of a battalion. But if things turned ugly, Connor knew that having more men meant only that there’d be more dead men.
“You’re thinking,” Jonathan continued, “that we’ll never get close to them.”
“I wasn’t necessarily thinking that per se,” Connor lied.
“It’s okay. We were thinking the same thing, which is why you’re here. We need you to approach them alone.”
“Me?” Connor asked. He didn’t have to pretend to be confused. “I think you overestimate my value to these beings.”
“Just walk toward the ship. Announce your presence; check if they’re there. If so, talk to them. Try to convince them to surrender. If they do, no harm will come to them.”
“For some reason, I highly doubt you mean no harm to them.”
“Well, they’ll have a better chance of coming in quietly if you speak to them than if I do.”
Connor didn’t trust Jonathan, but telling him to fuck off didn’t seem like a healthy course of action. They had nearly reached the ship. His status as prisoner or free man uncertain, Connor didn’t know the fate that awaited him should he refuse Jonathan’s plan. He couldn’t be certain of his fate if he obeyed Jonathan either. The Symorians likely had no desire to see another human after what had transpired.
In the daylight, without heavy fog hiding its features, the alien vessel rose like an elaborately carved tombstone jutting from an earthen grave. Connor might have been intrigued by its intricate facets and unnatural beauty had he not been so afraid that it would serve as his tombstone… not that there’d be anything left of him to bury if the Symorians objected to his presence.
His feet sank into the mud with every step, making progress slow. After walking a hundred feet or so, Connor turned back to Jonathan, who had stopped with his troops at what used to be the lake’s shoreline. All the soldiers had their weapons drawn. He hoped Jonathan would wave him back. He didn’t. Connor pressed forward.
One foot then the other, Connor plodded his way to the spaceship. Its bleak exterior blackened his spirit, a reminder of the aliens’ deadly touch. From it, no sound could be heard, no sign of life detected.
Within ten feet of the ship, Connor halted. He called out to whoever might be watching him from inside its walls. “Hello?”
Silence came in response. He strained his ears for the slightest sound, the snap of a twig, the exhale of a breath. Nothing. Connor felt exposed, as if he might be attacked at any moment from any direction. The troops were too far away to assist him should the need arise. His body ached with tension. His mouth went desert dry. Connor was easy prey stuck in the mud.
“Is anybody in there?” he hollered.
Connor’s words echoed through the hollow cave he figured to be the ship’s entrance. The massive onyx and obsidian-like structure seemed to vibrate like the tail of a rattlesnake about to strike, but Connor chalked that up to his hyperactive imagination. When the echoes quieted, he waited in the stillness for any response, preferably a friendly one. The vessel appeared cold, lifeless. Still, Connor dared not touch it.
No one’s home? Connor’s shoulders relaxed. Maybe they really aren’t here. Thank God for that.
He turned to face the soldiers, who had kept their distance. He scanned the front line, noticing for the first time that each soldier stood an equal distance from the ship as the line arched around it.
Have they figured out how far away they need to be to prevent the aliens from reading their minds? Connor scratched his head. How could they possibly know that? It can’t be an exact science, can it?
An uneasiness sprouted inside him, its source not yet known. Connor glanced at the ship then back at the soldiers. Some of them appeared to have those big shields that riot police always used in the movies. One soldier near Jonathan was crouched and appeared to be fiddling with headphones. His lips were moving, but he didn’t seem to be talking to the lieutenant.
Fuck me. Connor squirmed beneath his own skin. His predicament became clearer. Jonathan didn’t want to bring the aliens in alive. He wanted to exterminate them. Connor had walked into the path of an air strike.
His heart throbbed in his chest. His first instinct was to run, and he tried, a difficult task in shin-high mud. The ground sucked Connor’s right shoe off his foot, taking his sock with it. Wet muck oozed between his toes. He wasted no time attempting to retrieve it, instead continuing his struggles toward the shoreline.
As he moved painstakingly slowly, Connor tried to rationalize his situation and dispel his fear. There are no aliens here. So there’s no reason to drop any bombs on me. Hesitantly, he glanced up at the sky, partly expecting to see a gigantic missile careening down on him. He saw nothing. Still, his panic would not subside, and he struggled onward.
Ten feet, then twenty—Connor didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere. In truth, he’d travelled a
pproximately half the distance between himself and the army. He smiled apologetically at Jonathan, his expression pleading with the lieutenant not to blow him up. But as he approached Jonathan, as he reached out in a plea for mercy, Connor could only watch terror-stricken as Jonathan raised his pistol at him. He scanned the line of soldiers for a sympathetic eye. His heart nearly leapt out of his throat when he saw all of them with their weapons raised, no longer pointing at the ship but at him.
What the hell? Have they all gone mad? Connor couldn’t understand why they seemed to want him dead so badly, why they’d gone through so much effort just to kill him. Had it really come to this? Would they senselessly execute him on some meaningless beach for crimes not of his making? No, Connor wouldn’t accept that fate, not without a fair amount of sniveling and groveling.
“This is murder!” he yelled, his voice shrieking.
Connor stood his ground and closed his eyes. A barbaric death by firing squad seemed an unfitting end to an otherwise peaceful life.
“Hello, Connor,” a voice said behind him.
Connor opened one eye and was immediately reminded of the vomit seeking escape from his stomach by the multitude of assault rifles pointing in his direction. He opened the other eye to the sight of still more machine guns. But the voice had come from behind him.
Turn around slowly, the voice said, this time inside Connor’s head. We wouldn’t want that pretty peach flesh of your’s to be spoiled by bullet wounds.
Connor did as the voice instructed and turned to face its owner. Kazi grinned at him. Was he enjoying Connor’s torment?
“I surrender!” Kazi called out from behind Connor, apparently using him as a human shield or worse. Connor wondered if he’d been taken hostage. Kazi raised his hands up high, but he kept Connor between him and a potential onslaught of bullets. Connor tried to slink slowly away from the Symorian, but Kazi kept with him at an equal pace, the mud seemingly having no impact on his movement. Connor looked down and learned why; Kazi was walking on top of it as though he were weightless.