by D. B. West
The pliers under the machine seemed to be vibrating slightly, trembling with what Reggie first thought were reverberations from the motors. As he watched, stunned, they shook violently, opening and closing of their own accord, before sliding straight to Tyler’s outstretched hand inches away.
Reggie popped straight up from his crouch, wide-eyed, just as Tyler yelled, “I got them, thanks, man!”
His mind struggled only briefly with what he had just seen. Pulling off his safety glasses, Reggie chuckled softly to himself as he cleaned them on his shirt. These thick lenses combined with this dim light, he decided quite rationally, can play strange tricks on the eyes. Going back around the feeder, he told Tyler, “You be more careful, with your tools and with Phil. With everything you’ve got going on with your family you’ll probably get off again, but I’m serious, you’ve got to clean up your act.”
Tyler waved him off, too flustered for the moment to talk any further. Reggie left him alone, putting the strange incident out of his mind as the rest of the shift passed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Thursday, August 2nd 19:38 EST.
Dr. Franklin Roman, Greensboro, N.C.
The National Guardsman had cordoned off the operating room where Dr. Roman had revived the strange humanoid. Before the doctor was escorted from the scene, he could see that they were carefully gathering all of the biological material that the cocoon had produced.
“Thank you for your help, doctor, and for making sure we were informed of your findings,” one of the soldiers told Dr. Roman as they gently led him away from the washroom. “More victims have been brought out to triage, and we’re certain that they could use your assistance. We’ll finish up here. Remember, if you have any unusual signs from your exposure to the subject, you are to report them immediately. Stay in your hazmat suit, and return here once you’re done. Understood?”
Dr. Roman nodded, then realized the soldiers likely couldn’t see the gesture in the suit he had been provided. “I understand,” he told them. He had convinced the Guardsmen that he was needed at triage, and they had finally agreed to allow him to continue working, as long as he wore a self-contained enviro-suit.
Dr. Roman walked out of the hospital’s undamaged side entrance. Underneath the thick plastic he had been provided, his clothes were stained, and the vile stench from the fluids that had washed over his shoes and pants lingered all around him. He attempted to keep his breathing shallow, and began walking back to the triage tents. His limbs were heavy with what he presumed was the exertion of the day, and they continued to tingle painfully.
As he walked around the perimeter of the hospital, he saw numerous groups of firefighters, police, and medical teams from outlying counties. Many of the first responders seemed to be preparing for a shift change. He spotted several groups who appeared to be almost as filthy and weary as he felt from the horrors of the day. Many of them were securing gear and packing up supply boxes to be taken back to their stations and refilled. His gaze was drawn to one individual who appeared to be a local fire chief, judging from the logos emblazoned on the SUV he was loading. As he focused on him, Dr. Roman felt the weight of his fatigue vanish, at the same time as his vision began to narrow, focusing towards a single point centered on the unknown fire chief.
Recognizing this sensation immediately, he crouched down and lowered his head, gasping for air before he completely blacked out. He opened his mouth to try and call for help, but the darkness overtook his vision too rapidly. The last thing he felt was a hot, rolling nausea in his stomach as his consciousness fled.
CHAPTER NINE
Thursday, August 2nd 19:55 p.m.
Fire Chief Samuel Dufresne, Greensboro, N.C.
Chief Dufresne was bent over in the backseat of his response vehicle when the man spoke, startling him so badly he struck his head while trying to turn around. “Excuse me?” the Chief grumbled, rubbing at the lump that was already forming on the back of his scalp.
“My apologies, Chief, I was just hoping for a moment of your time.” The man who had addressed Chief Dufresne was wearing a hazmat suit, holding the helmet and gloves loosely in his left hand. The front of the suit was unzipped, and there appeared to be a stained doctor’s coat underneath. The man smelled like he had been wallowing in sewage. “My name is Dr. Franklin Roman. I’ve been working in triage today helping the victims, and I just wanted to come tell you how much we appreciate you and your team’s efforts. You helped save a lot of lives today, and I wanted to tell you personally how much you’re appreciated.” Dr. Roman extended his hand, which Chief Dufresne took in a firm shake.
“No one ever wants to be a part of something like this,” Chief Dufresne said, nodding towards the pile. “We train for this contingency though, and knowing that we made a difference, well…it means a lot to hear it from you, doctor. Thank you.”
“Thank you,” Dr. Roman said, again. “For all you have done, and all you will do in the days to come.” Finally releasing the Chief’s hand, Dr. Roman nodded to him and walked away.
The Chief watched him depart for a moment, then shook his hand out. The doctor had a better grip than a crocodile, and his hand tingled painfully as though the nerves were just waking up. Flexing it until the sensation passed, he climbed into his SUV to head back to the station.
…
Dr. Roman came to his senses with an abrupt spasm, gasping as his heart galloped in his chest. Looking around at the interior of his car, he saw that it was eight-ten p.m. He recalled feeling like he might black out while walking out of the hospital, and had no idea how he had made it all the way to his car. He rubbed at a dull ache in his temples, trying to focus on what he had been doing when he had started to feel faint earlier. He couldn’t recall, but he was certain that at this hour he should be heading home.
He touched a button on his phone, and said, “Text Lucy I’m on my way home honey, and I’m wiped out. I’ll tell you all about it in a bit. Love you. Send.” Putting his car in gear, he headed towards a nearby coffee shop. He needed something to get his blood sugar up and avoid any more of those fainting episodes.
…
In the rear of an armored Humvee not very far away, the creature who called itself Zion sat across from two soldiers. His eyes had been closed since they had taken off the pillow case covering his head, after loading him for transport. The soldiers glanced at each other as those unsettling dark eyes suddenly opened and he broke into a broad smile, both wondering what could have struck him as so amusing.
CHAPTER TEN
Thursday, August 2nd 20:28 EST.
Oraki, Greensboro, N.C.
The soldiers escorting Orak and Aki had separated them after arriving at a building they identified as the FBI headquarters. Orak had been led through an airlock, and then left alone in a small room. The room was sparsely furnished with a table, sink, toilet, and cot, along with a floor to ceiling mirrored wall which Orak was certain hid a room of observers from view. Sitting down cross-legged on the cot, Orak tapped at a display on the bracer of its left arm, then leaned back against the wall.
“Aki, are you all right?” Orak thought.
“I’m fine, just tired. The humans are understandably nervous. I do wish you would let me speak with them. I do not enjoy being treated like a service animal. They put a bowl of water on the floor, and they seem determined that I should stick my face in it.” Aki’s thoughts were definitely snippy, and Orak smiled underneath the armored mask.
“Where did they take you?” Orak asked.
“As they seem to think I am a dog, they were quite free in speaking around me. I am downstairs in what they call an ‘isolation wing,’ in a cell. You are apparently in their ‘observation lab,’ where instruments can run tests on you. From what the guards discussed, I am to be tranquilized at some point in the near future so that samples can be obtained. One of the soldiers opined that he would prefer to simply put a bullet in me now, but fortunately he seemed to be in the minority.” Aki seemed more amused than u
pset by the prospect.
“Do NOT let that happen!” Orak thought fiercely.
“Of course I won’t. I’m not that tired.” Orak could hear Aki’s derisive snort through their telepathy. “Let’s focus. The humans are going to want to know what happened, and honestly, I don’t know what we should tell them. What could Zion be thinking? Why would he do this?” Aki asked.
“I’ve been thinking about that on the way over here,” Orak replied. “Why involve the humans in this? The only things notable about their race are their cruelty and capacity for violence.”
“Let’s look at it objectively,” Aki responded. “We have been focusing our observations on the humans recently, as certain individuals have begun to show signs of aether sensitivity. We have been studying and charting their progress, and logging which individuals are manifesting which traits. Correct?”
Orak’s thoughts were tinged with contempt. “Yes, despite their preoccupation with the physical universe, after millennia their kind are finally catching up. But why would Zion have any interest in coming here, with these barely sentient barbarians? Their progress has not been that remarkable.”
“Well, let’s think about this.” Aki responded. “Ever since the last Abbadon war ended, Zion has been lobbying the Assembly to renew the conflict, citing the need to take a ‘proactive stance’ against them, right?”
“I don’t know! That was centuries before I was born, Orak thought scornfully. “The Abbadon have been docile since those treaties were forged. What would they have to do with anything?”
“The treaties are what kept them docile,” Aki replied patiently. ”They were very clear that NO ONE was to contact the humans. What if Zion came here to void the treaty, hoping to provoke the Abbadon into attacking Earth again?”
“Why would he do that now?” Orak scoffed. “Zion has had ample time and opportunity over the centuries if he wanted to come slumming on this dumpster of a planet. If that would be all it took to reignite the war, he would have done it ages ago.”
“You’re absolutely right,” Aki thought. “Which is why we have to figure out what is different now, at this particular time. I think I may have an idea…” Aki’s thoughts trailed off, as though he were unwilling to continue.
“What?” Orak demanded. ”If you’ve got an idea, don’t hide it.”
“It’s going to make you angry,” Aki thought.
“You were just going on the other day about how EVERYTHING makes me angry, and what a grump I am around the base. Is this going to be so much worse?”
“All right. I’m only bringing this up because it’s relevant. Do you remember the inquisition into your aether manipulation after you accidentally bonded our souls together?” Aki asked.
“What about it?” Orak grunted.
“The Assembly had to call a special session to deal with the implications of your actions. No one had ever bonded an unwilling soul! Aki could feel Orak growing upset, and quickly continued. “You know I’m not angry. Your bond saved my life, and I know you did it with the best of intentions. You saved me, and in return, you are able to use some of my abilities with the aether. Think about this. I believe Zion’s timing in this is no coincidence. We know the humans are developing a connection to the aether, and will soon come to understand the nature of the soul. We know that you discovered, accidentally, that it is possible to bind a soul to yourself against someone’s will, and then channel the aether through that bond. What if Zion has figured out how you did it? We know that human in the hospital room was one of the aether sensitives. It only makes sense that Zion chose THAT place, at THIS time, because he thinks he can bind their souls, draw on their power, and grow strong enough to continue the war he’s wanted all this time.”
Orak’s thoughts were silent, but Aki could feel the emotional turmoil his theory had caused. “I don’t know what to say to that,” Orak finally responded. “If you’re right, if he has come here to enslave these humans who are sensitive to the aether, and continue his personal war…well, it doesn’t matter in the end.”
“It doesn’t matter?” Aki’s ears twitched violently with his distress.
“Not to us,” Orak replied. “Our duty remains the same. We have to capture Zion and take him back to answer for this. We have to stop him, no matter his intent. Our people can help the humans deal with the fall-out from his actions later. For now, we…Aki, I have to go. The humans are coming back into the room. Remember, do not let them do anything to you! If they try, stop them and then just come back up here to join me. If you need me, just call, and I will be there in moments.”
“Thank you. Remember, Orak, be patient with them. It’s not your strongest virtue, I know, but try, okay?” This thought was met with silence. Aki lay his head down on his paws, getting comfortable while he waited to see what trouble Orak got them into next.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Thursday, August 2nd 20:45 EST.
Director Nathan Spencer, Greensboro, N.C.
The automatic door hissed open, causing the two men hovering over the bank of screens to flinch. They both turned in their chairs and stood up abruptly as they recognized the man entering the room. He was a towering figure, well over six feet tall and with iron gray hair that swept back in a perfectly straight line from his high forehead.
“Director Spencer,” they stuttered in unison. “Welcome, please…come in….” They bumped into each other as they attempted to move back and make room in the small observation chamber.
Director Spencer looked at the two men wearing lab coats over their jeans and smiled gently. “At ease, gentleman,” he said. “Report.” He moved to the screens and began studying the atmospheric readings in the telemetry chamber. Almost unnoticed in his wake, a slim woman in a crisp black skirt and blazer took up a position just inside the door.
The first researcher offered the Director his chair, and backed away from the mirrored wall nervously. The second, a portly, badly shaven young man sat down excitedly.
“This is really amazing, sir. I mean, this is the shit I signed on for.” His belly stretched the fabric of his “I Believe” t-shirt taut, causing the alien head on the front to take on a grossly distended appearance.
Director Scott thought it looked remarkably like a Mr. Yuck sticker, and considered asking if his head technician believed in poisoning children. He decided against it, and instead repeated his simple command, in a firmer tone. “Report.”
The head technician leaned forward, causing his chair to groan, then grabbed the mouse to bring the Director’s attention to a graph on the screen he had been studying. “Here, the atmospheric report in the chamber. Look at these readings.” The Director stared at him instead, obviously waiting for him to explain the significance. The tech clicked an icon, and the bar graph changed to a series of multi-colored lines.
“See here?” he asked, scrolling around the markers on-screen. “This line represents the oxygen saturation in the air in the chamber. It’s perfectly straight, and has been since it arrived. Here…” he said, going to a bar that dropped slightly. “This is the nitrogen saturation…and here…” he moved it to another bar that started at zero and increased slightly. “Is a measure of nitrous oxide in the room.” He stared at the Director expectantly, who was frowning at the graph.
“Spell this out for me,” said the Director. “It appears that this indicates he is not breathing.”
“Oh, he’s breathing, all right. We’ve checked his respiratory rate. It’s around a dozen breaths per minute. But, instead of any change in the oxygen or carbon dioxide levels, the nitrogen levels are changing.” The portly researcher was grinning broadly, and almost seemed to quiver with excitement. “Do you see? His body is using a remarkably inert gas for respiration. He is burning up the nitrogen in the room! And even better, he is producing nitrous oxide. He is actually exhaling minute amounts of laughing gas. This guy is a walking whip-it!”
The skinny technician in the back leaned forward and pointed at the screen. “If n
othing else,” he said. “This would confirm that he is a completely alien life form. The process of taking inert nitrogen gas through the nitrogen cycle, and having it rendered into nitrous oxide is a complicated and slow procedure. It should be using up some of the oxygen in the room. It should also require an amount of energy that could not be produced by simple normal cellular processes. If he was exhaling ammonia…no. No, honestly we have no explanation.” He leaned backward against the wall and lapsed into a thoughtful silence.
The lead tech had been scratching at his scraggly cheeks while considering his partner. He reached under the console and came up with a soda, which he cracked open noisily. “You think that is cool? Check this out.” He clicked on another panel, and the mirrored wall suddenly became opaque, before clearing and revealing a bright red and white glow around the creature’s exposed head. “Look at his coloration on infrared.” He clicked another icon, and a digital readout appeared by the white and red figure. It read one-hundred and eight point four, and was flashing. “It looks alarmed doesn’t it?” he said, referring to the flashing digits. “It thinks he’s stroking out! See here too, how the edges are trembling? He is quivering all over. We thought he was cold first, but see…” he pressed another icon. This time, another angrily pulsing gauge appeared by the amorphous colored shape in the room. It read two-twenty over one-hundred and sixty. “Blood pressure…assuming he has blood,” he said. “It has been like that constantly, and other than the tremble, he seems to have no ill effect from it.”
The skinny researcher leaned forward again and said quietly, “This may be natural for him. Or, it could indicate that wherever he came from has a higher relative gravity or air pressure than what we experience here. This, too, is only speculation however…” He leaned back, once again seeming lost in thought.