Alien Caller

by Greg Curtis

  He was tearing his armour apart too, though he hadn't intended it. But bits of Dimock's suit started separating and floating away, leaving him vulnerable to bullets. That was a good thing. But better was that as a piece of his armour over his shoulders suddenly disappeared, David could hear him again. He could hear the madman screaming. And that was pure joy.

  Dimock tried to escape, knowing he was in desperate trouble, and David let him go unexpectedly. It was a perfectly timed release as Dimock suddenly found himself floating away, moving so very slowly through the air with nothing to hold on to, while David watched him go. Then he drew his gun.

  It was easy. With him moving so slowly, and several large pieces of his armour missing, David knew the bullets would not fail again. Perhaps even Dimock understood that. He certainly didn't stop screaming. Not when David put the first bullet straight into his right shoulder and a few seconds later another into his left. He screamed long and loud, the drugs somehow giving him the energy despite his injuries.

  This time it was no splash of red that escaped his wounds. It was a river flowing from him, floating gracefully in the air behind him, and David knew the battle was his. He kept firing, shooting him in the back as often as he could, and the only reason Dimock didn't die immediately was that thanks to the laws of motion he was an awkward target. Each bullet that hit him sent him spinning away in a different direction, making the next shot harder.

  But that could be dealt with.

  Judging that he was in a bad way, David launched himself after Dimock, caught him and slowed his crazy spinning. But he only did it so that he could carry him to the steel floor and then use his magnetic boots to pin him there as he killed him.

  It was surprisingly easy by then. Dimock wasn't struggling that hard any longer, and David had his space legs. He knew how to fight in this environment. It wasn't long before he had Dimock lying on the floor at his feet, staring up at him, while David had one of his boots on the floor holding him down, and one on Dimock's chest. And he had a gun trained on his face.

  He could see his enemy gasping his last on the deck at his feet. It was a miracle he was still alive actually, there being so many slugs in his back, but for once it didn’t matter. He knew Dimock was not going to survive for much longer. So did Dimock. He could see it in the foetal position he was trying to adopt as he kept trying to roll over on to his side, and hear it in the gasps coming from him. In time when he rolled him back onto his back, he could see it in his eyes. The shocked, almost hurt expression as he realized he was injured. That someone had done him harm instead of the other way around. But the old hatred still lived in David as well. And seeing him lying there, suffering, it didn't go away. It grew stronger. After all the people he'd seen Dimock do this same thing to and then murder foully, it grew much stronger.

  “You bastard. I’m going to kill you.” The words were so quiet, squeezed out between bubbly, bloody breaths that it took a few seconds for David to realise he’d actually said anything. And when he finally understood he just laughed. A bitter sound, made more terrible by the fact that he should have killed him so long ago and hadn't.

  “I don’t know anything much about my family, so you could be right about my origins. But I do know one thing shit head. I’m going to outlive you. You’re never going to harm another person again. No more murder. No more rape. No more eating people. You’re not coming back from this. Ever.” Even as he spoke he rolled Dimock’s prostate form all the way over on to his back, until he could stare him directly in the eyes. See the fear growing in them.

  “I'm a god. You can't kill me.” But he was filled with fear as he said it, something a god would never be.

  “Haven't you read Nietzsche? God is dead.”

  “Please, no.” Finally David heard the words he had ached to hear from his enemy, for as long as he’d known him. A plea for mercy, as Dimock realised he was doomed. There was no mercy in David. Not for him.

  “Say hello to all those poor souls you murdered on your way to hell.” Even as he said it he watched Dimock’s eyes widen as he understood the meaning. He watched him try to raise his arms, to protect himself though even if they had worked it would have been futile, and watched his mouth open as he tried to scream. It was all too late. David raised the weapon one last time, pointed it directly at Dimock’s frightened face from a distance of two feet, and with an overwhelming feeling of gratitude for the chance to destroy this putrid thing, squeezed the trigger.

  He didn’t stop firing until the second clip was empty and the hammer clicked on nothing.

  The resultant puddle of plastic shards, titanium fragments, brains and blood would live in his memory forever. It was not so much a triumph as a relief. Part of him, the dark savage that had been hurt by him, still wanted to shriek with triumph, but a far larger part just wanted to fall to his knees and thank God for letting him finally kill the monster. Until that moment when he saw his head explode, David had still not been able to accept that Dimock was dying. Somewhere in the back of his mind had been the horror that somehow this foul disease that walked like a man would come back. But once he had seen the fear in his eyes, heard it in his voice, seen his head disintegrate, he knew his enemy was finally dead.

  But he wasn’t finished. Death wasn’t enough. Not with Dimock, and not with the terribly advanced medicine of the Leinians. He had to make sure he never returned to life. Not a single atom of him. Reaching into his steel outer pocket he pulled out the portable respirator for the Mentan which he tossed to him, and then the packet of molecular acid he’d requested. Not to cut holes in doors as he’d claimed, but rather to put Dimock beyond all hope of being healed. Or being cloned. He was never coming back.

  David sprinkled the liquid carefully over the corpse, making sure not to spill any on himself, and watched as small holes quickly started appearing in his suit and then his skin underneath. Small holes which became bloody and then grew larger as the acid mixed with Dimock’s own blood, eating him from the inside out, while small puffs of vapour were being given off. He was careful not to stand too close to them as he knew the suit would only offer him minimal protection.

  Whatever concoction the Leinians had dreamed up for him, it was powerful stuff. In five minutes, Dimock’s corpse was already starting to sag as the suit collapsed in on itself and his bones dissolved. In ten it was beginning to look like a puddle and the deck underneath was beginning to sag. Soon he knew there wouldn’t be a single viable cell of Dimock left. Not even a chance of making a clone, if they could do such things.

  As he stared at the remains of his most terrible enemy, David knew that no matter how advanced the medical science of the Leinians, Dimock was dead. He could never come back from this. Could never attack him again. Could never harm another innocent, or commit any of the abominations he had so enjoyed. Finally David knew, he was free. Too many were dead because he had failed to kill Dimock before, but there would be no more. His duty was finally served. He hoped.

  He stood over the body for the longest time, not really doing anything except trying to take in the impossible. That the evil monster known as Dimock was dead. Finally. Years upon years of pain, fear and guilt were slowly lifting from him as he watched Dimock’s acid laden blood trickle slowly along the steel deck and cut channels into it. More pain than he had ever even realised he carried. For so long Dimock had been the nightmare of his life. The terror he knew when he closed his eyes. The shame he felt when he opened them. No longer.

  He would have stood there for many more long minutes more if sounds hadn’t made themselves known that suggested that the Mentan, his other prisoner, was starting to return to life. No doubt wondering if he had to fear the same fate.

  David turned to see the Mentan some yards behind him, standing strategically between him and the door. Ready to run, but with nowhere to run to on his dead ship. He had no need. David had no feelings towards him. None at all. He neither felt anger for what he’d done, nor sorrow for his pitiful condition, and it was clea
r Dimock had done a lot of work on him. He was bleeding badly, his green blood covering every square inch of his body. There were large gashes along all of his tentacles and burn marks too. Several of his tentacles were also missing their tips, a result of torture no doubt, and he also had a few missing eyes as well. But then considering what he had done, what he had nearly achieved, it seemed only fair.

  David ignored him. He was a safe enough distance from the acid corruption that was eating the last of his nemesis in front of him, and breathing through his respirator. And it wasn't as if he could do him any harm. Let the Leinians and his own people deal with him he figured. What happened to him was completely unimportant. His evil work was done, his career ruined by his own hand, and his people disgraced by him. Trellin would not be about to cause mankind any more harm for a long time to come.

  As David had no interest in the Mentan at all, he simply nodded to the disgraced scientist and walked over to the nearest steel bulkhead, exactly as planned. Ejecting the empty clip from his gun, and then making sure the chamber was empty, he turned the gun into a hammer, and began tapping out a message in Morse code. It was a prearranged message.

  “Victory.”

  As he tapped, he noticed the Mentan behind him, presumably staring at him as if he was mad and no doubt wondering what insanity the human barbarian was engaging in. After all, sound couldn’t travel in space. But with his communicators and translator a burnt out wreck, he couldn’t ask. No doubt he considered that David was simply insane. What he didn’t realize of course was that every tap he made formed a minor vibration in the metal of the ship’s hull. A minute distortion, which the Leinians with a precisely calibrated laser, could measure from their ship. Primitive human spying technology, showing up even that of the most advanced space faring races. There was something quite pleasing in that.

  In a few minutes he gave up his tapping. He was certain that his allies would have heard, and were preparing their shuttle for docking with the wreck. It would take time. So instead he sheathed his empty gun in its steel pocket, and sat down on one of the ungainly backless chairs and let the emotions of the day wash over him. The Mentan, at first still scared he was going to attack, backed away some more. But it slowly realized that David had no such intent and did likewise.

  As they waited, David finally found the presence of mind to study his prisoner from his new perspective as both his custodian and rescuer. Trellin even to his eyes appeared to be in a strange mood. Some of its tentacles writhed stiffly as though it was stretching, while others played continually with its empty holsters. Looking for instruments, weapons, that wouldn’t work even if it had them.

  Was it speaking he wondered? Pleading like most criminals when caught? Perhaps protesting its innocence or demanding a lawyer. Could it be calling him even more obscene names, and planning vengeance upon his people? Or was it just in pain from its wounds, asking for help? He had no way of knowing and no way of responding. But then he didn’t really care. Instead he just sat there and waited, while it had to do the same.

  It was a long twenty minutes.

  Finally, after an eternity while he watched Dimock’s corpse turn into a puddle of foul slime which slowly began seeping down through the growing holes in the steel floor to the deck below, he heard the sound he’d been waiting for. The clank of metal on metal as another shuttle docked with the ship.

  In short order several Leinians came through the doorway, all like him fully suited up. But unlike his, their suits had power. He could see their faces as the light from their instrument panels reflected off them. And he could see their power as the servos helped them to move in the heavy suits. They practically bounded whereas he could hardly stand even without gravity, as the adrenaline had finally worn off.

  Several of them wearing the white stripes of medics moved toward the Mentan. The others came directly for him and Dimock. But they stopped when he held up his hand. And then they saw the puddle that had once been a man. David made sure they didn’t get any closer.

  Touching helmets with who he thought was the leader, David told them what he’d done to it and to stay away from the corpse. The last thing he wanted was for anyone else to be hurt. Instead he told them to stop staring at it and take him and Trellin and get back on board the shuttle for the return trip. There was nothing more to do here. Except of course for the vessel’s destruction. They did just that, leading him back through the corridor to the small docking door in the outer hull where their shuttle stood ready.

  Stripping down to his underwear, he threw the space suit and guns into the main room of the ship, and grabbed at the small air bottle the others had brought with them just for the purpose. With even faint traces of the molecular acid wafting through the air, he could have irritated his lung linings for days by breathing in the vapours. Then, just before he shut the inner hatch David set and tossed the incendiary device he’d made them bring for him. It would have been detected on his shuttle when he’d arrived, but now with the ship so badly crippled, computers down and sensors off line, they could have carried a nuke on board the second shuttle without problem.

  Two minutes later, as the shuttle cleared the Mentan’s ship, he watched through the view screen as the ship slowly turned orange. A mere echo of the true inferno that was being unleashed inside it. Once it had cooled, something that was likely to take weeks rather than days, he knew that there would be nothing other than slag inside the ship, only its reinforced superstructure and hull remaining intact.

  There were many reasons for doing it, not least of which that the ship now technically belonged to the Earth. It was after all a conquered attacking vessel, and he, an Earthman, had defeated it in Earth space. But there was no way he could ever have allowed such advanced weapons and other technology to be given to them. World war three would have been a picnic by comparison with what his people could do with Mentan technology. And war would be inevitable as the different countries all fought over their share of the spoils.

  But if he was honest, the real reason for his actions was to make sure that not even a cell of Dimock survived. It had to burn for much the same reason as he had shed his blood spattered suit and left it inside the destroyed ship’s airlock. It wasn’t that it was too heavy without its power functions, or that he was worried some of the acid might have spilled on him as he claimed. He just had nightmares of new Dimocks being cloned from any of his DNA remains that had splashed on it. Later he’d have to speak with the Leinian scientists and make sure that they never saved a single cell of his from their surgeries. Every single specimen of him that they had, had to be destroyed. And then the same had to be done by his people's scientists. The ones who had created Dimock. Before they went to trial.

  One of the officers came through into the tiny cabin of the shuttle he was standing in, and David looked up, startled.

  “Your people are waiting.” He pointed at the rear wall of the shuttle, just before turning around and returning somewhat quickly to the safety of the shuttle's tiny bridge.

  Worried, David turned to the rear wall of the shuttle which the officer had indicated, to see it was no longer a blank steel wall. It had become some sort of screen. And on that screen it had a display of the assembled heads of the Earth showing. More faces and leaders than he had ever imagined existed, and many of them people he didn’t even recognize. But then he’d expected to have to report back to them if he won. He’d even prepared a short speech. It was just that he’d forgotten all about it in his relief. And he hadn't considered that he'd have to give the speech in his underwear, while bleeding heavily down one leg.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, the crisis is over. Permanently. Dimock is dead, the ship he captured is destroyed, his hostage is alive and being cared for by the Leinians, before he’s sent away to face trial for his crimes. Tell your people that. Stop the panic.” That was important. He couldn't imagine how frightened the people were down below, but he knew it had to be bad.

  “And then, when they’ve had the time t
o catch their breath again, tell them this. The Leinians are our friends. They came to Earth five years ago to assess how far away we were from space flight, and how we would adapt to meeting the other races out here. They’ve been studying us ever since, but only in the most highly ethical way. They are good people, decent people, and I'm proud to call them friends.”

  “They are also human, - or, we are Leinian. And this I know will be hard for many to accept. But their ancestors and ours were once one people, thirty or forty thousand years ago. Biologically we are one species. We can have children together. I know this without the possibility of doubt. My mate and wife Cyrea, is Leinian and our first daughter is due any day now.”