Mankind's Worst Fear

by David L Erickson

“The Book of Genesis does stipulate that the sons of God consorted with human women, creating giants in the land. It’s quite plausible to interpret the scriptures literally...and many do...even today. These ‘giants’ could very well have been our ancestors...or passed themselves off as the offspring of God.”

  “You’re inferring that civilization evolved because aliens copulated with humans?”

  “Quite, quite. They are obviously an advanced race, both technically and biologically. We can only hypothesize their age.”

  “Look, Tammer. I’ve checked them. They aren’t anatomically equipped to mate with humans.” O’Brien twisted and the chair swung forward. “Besides, that discussion should be left to theologians. Right now, it’s the least of my concerns.”

  “Right you are, Colonel. Let the lessons begin, shall we?” Tammer reached past O’Brien and pointed to a series of labeled triangles in the upper left corner of con before O'Brien. “That translates loosely as converse or discuss. Probably a com. And here," he indicated squares and rectangles at the center top, “I believe says go or take, maybe deliver, more likely it has something to do with flying this alien pig crate.”

  For the better part of an hour Tammer explained what he could, what he was and wasn’t sure of and, once O’Brien caught on to the primary functions, began breaking down the panels into ever more concise patterns.

  Adept at mastering symbolic codes, O’Brien found the alien language far less convoluted than he had assumed. In no time, he was helping Tammer decipher new patterns and accessing ever more sub-systems. The groupings were fairly straight forward. Basic symbols delineated program batchings which, when selected, opened up new menus. Communications alone held twenty-seven, navigation one hundred-twenty-two. The system denied them access to weapons, though the program requested no password. Nonetheless, he was satisfied with their progress.

  “Okay, let’s take a break. My neural augmenter can retain only so much.” He stood and stretched. ”Once the data is imprinted permanently in the natural folds of my mind, I’ll be ready to assimilate more.”

  Tammer leaned back and reached out his arms as far as he could, inhaled noisily, then closed his eyes and exhaled in a great rush. His meaty hands fell to his lap. “You know, for a while there I felt like a non-paying passenger, pretty much useless. I’m glad I’m able to offer something to help even the balance.”

  “Every one of us is a player here. You’ve been just as essential to our survival as any of my crew.”

  “Thank you, Colonel. I appreciate the sentiment.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  O’Brien gazed up at the visual representation of space displayed before them. Stars twinkled in the twilight cast by the distant emanations of the sun — all that could be seen. He thought of Earth, that beautiful blue ball streamed with white gauze, and wondered if it still shone with the power and presence he remembered. No one could approach the planet without becoming captivated by the very oddity of its existence among its lifeless solar mates. Behind him, Linda coughed, bringing him crashing back to reality.

  “Doctor...uh Linda...how’s Doomes doing?”

  “I just checked on him, Colonel. Still out, breathing normally. Vital signs are fine for what he’s been through.”

  O’Brien frowned as he nudged the chair around, then straightened when he faced her. "A meddoc?"

  “Basic biomeds was part of my training.” She shrugged. “I may not be able to treat him as a physician could, but I can read the instruments.” Getting a good look around, her eyes narrowed. “How’d you get this place cleaned up so fast?”

  “Little yellow turtles. Damnedest thing you ever saw.”

  Linda appeared to have recovered from the shocking aftermath of Doomes’ fight with the aliens. He knew the emotional deluge would come later, when she had the time and presence of mind to deal with it. He wondered how much more she could take.

  She pursed her lips and nodded. “Have you heard from Paider and Garson?”

  “No.” Damn. I'm slipping. Should have by now. “No, I haven’t.”

  “Shouldn’t you be worried?” She crossed her arms and chewed her lower lip.

  A comforting image flitted across his thoughts: the two of them, an azure sea, diamond-dimpled waves rolling up a white sand beach, a pale blue sky peppered with straggles of clouds. O’Brien brushed the tantalizing vision aside. “Yes and no. They went down to the Mars Explorer, but I imagine they’ve done some exploring as well.”

  He slid off the chair and offered her his hand. "We have to learn to run this ship. May take a while. We'll have time to relax, get to know each other." How long had it been since he was even mildly interested in a woman? His relationships rarely went well. Women expected more than an occasional dinner, vid and a warm sleeper, but his reluctance and myriad duties refused to allow him to become deeply involved than that.

  She placed her hands in his. A pink pinch to her cheeks and he took heart. Her gaze slipped away from his, hinting at a shyness he hadn’t expected.

  Where was he going with this? The flirt had forced its way past his lips without forethought. Did she wield that kind of influence over him?

  “Uh, Colonel.” Tammer interrupted from the con. Sprawled over the canted panel like a beached sea lion, he reached for a quadrant easily accessible to the alien giants. “I believe I’ve just figured out how to access internal communications.”

  O’Brien almost laughed outright, but instead gently squeezed Linda’s hands and smiled. Once again the cool professional, he was beside Tammer in two steps, the poignancy fading like the sweet taste of chocolate as the last nibble melts away. “Like an intercom?”

  “Yes, I'm certain. Look here.” Tammer indicated a half dollar-sized green cone beside a block diagram of the ship’s levels. “When I do this and this,” he splayed a fat digit on the cone, then tapped a mockup of a cabin on the bridge level, outlining it in red, “I believe we can talk to whoever is in there, and they can talk to us.”

  “How do we know if anyone is there, besides asking...or can we do a broadcast?”

  “Ah, yes. I assumed you would ask that, Colonel.” Tammer grinned, apparently enjoying himself. “It blinks if there’s someone present. Here.” He pointed to a third level corridor with moving red periods, tapped the cone and the spot, and outlined the corridor sector. Four faint dots within glowed orange.

  We're looking for two men. This shows four."

  "Shall we determine who they are, Colonel?" Without waiting for approval, Tammer looked up at the ceiling. “Gentlemen. Can you hear me?”

  “Holy shit! That you, Tammer?” It was Paider.

  “Yes indeed, Lieutenant. We’ve accessed the ship’s internal com. Do you have others with you?”

  “The Colonel there too?”

  “I’m here, Paider.”

  “We captured two crewmen hiding in the engine room. Tammer’s orb picked them out like they were waving neon signs.”

  “Did they put up a fight?”

  “Nah. One was sucking on some slimy green stuff and had blood all over him, but he isn’t wounded. Must have found one of Doomes’ victims. The other one was tucked up like he was trying to crawl into himself.”

  “You’re bringing them here, correct?”

  “Yes, sir. They understood well enough when I pointed a lasrifle at them, but I don't think they speak English.”

  “Good work, Lieutenant. Can you speak Hebrew?”

  “Hebrew, Colonel? No, I can't.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll see you when you get here. O’Brien out.”

  Tammer touched the spot again. The outline and dots faded. He grinned and leaned back in the chair with a self-satisfied sigh.

  “Well, Mr. Tammer.” O’Brien turned away from the console. “Looks like we’ll be able to fly this alien pig crate home. Providing one of these spacers is a pilot.”

  Tammer pursed his lips, all signs of joviality gone. “We can't do that on our own?”

  “With time,
yes.”

  “How much time, Colonel?” Linda asked, standing on tiptoes beside O'Brien, looking over the con.

  “I don't know. At least several days to learn the systems well enough...and get in some practice. Why?”

  “No reason...well yes, but I...uh, this...this...ship gives me the creeps.” She shivered and bowed her head sheepishly. “Maybe these monsters can regenerate or maybe they sent a distress signal. What if this was a set up, to show them where Earth is.”

  “We're not that important, Doctor My...uh...Linda. This ship of giants gives me the creeps too.”

  “Ah hah! I’ve got it!” Glowing with accomplishment, Tammer lunged back in his chair and leaned around until he faced O’Brien. “Weapons requires a palm print to access, Colonel.”

  “Any way to bypass it?”

  "In time. Would be easy if we had a bridge officer."

  “Colonel.” Paider and Garson arrived with the two alien captives, their massive hands clasped behind their necks.

  O’Brien grabbed a black energy weapon off the con and whipped around. The closest alien jerked back, but a prod from a lasrifle and it straightened. Handsome and poised, its deep brown eyes revealed nothing. O'Brien held its stare. Its companion fidgeted, head bowed.

  “Tammer,” he motioned with his head, “find out if one of them is a bridge officer."

  Shifting his great bulk, Tammer brought the chair around and glowered at the giants. With a determined set to his jaw, he squared his shoulders and spoke to them with quiet authority. He queried the first captive in Hebrew, paused, then continued, his voice climbing an octave. It shrugged and reeled off an answer.

  "This is a research vessel people with scientists, mostly. However, its secondary responsibility is astral navigator." Tammer said.

  "Give it the coordinates I jotted down earlier. Tell them if they take us to Earth, we’ll release them, unharmed.” Not accustomed to lying, O'Brien stared intently at the beings sufficient to conceal his unease. Oddly enough, the thought of executing them once their usefulness was outlived garnered neither revulsion nor satisfaction. He was compelled by his humanity to release them, or otherwise see to their welfare, but logic demanded otherwise.

  Tammer interpreted. The being shook his head and spat a blunt answer. Tammer repeated and got the same response. A blur, the journalist snatched a second pistol from the con and fired. The alien screamed and fell to its knees, hugging the stub of its left forearm to its chest, its ashen face twisted in cruel agony and contemptuous disbelief.

  Tammer aimed at the other giant’s chest and repeated what he'd said. Out of the corner of his mouth he whispered hoarsely to O’Brien, “You needed a palm print.”

  Hands still clasped tightly behind its neck, head bowed and quivering, the alien faltered when it answered. Crouched on the deck beside it, the navigator whimpered and rocked, and muttered pityingly.

  “This one will pilot the ship, Colonel.” Tammer's shrouded, scathing glare locked on the alien. "Under my watchful eyes."

  “Give it a go.” One swift motion, O’Brien scooped up the severed hand and slapped it down on the console. The con vid produced a block location diagram of the ship’s external weapons, and what he assumed were relative stats. They were on the uppermost level. Targeting arrays of white circles and red triangles sprouted across the vid screen.

  The uninjured captive jerked away, to be painfully checked by the barrel of Paider’s lasrifle jammed in its side. Eyes cast down, it nodded and gestured toward Tammer’s chair.

  "Mind you, Mr. Alien, I'll be second guessing your every move." Tammer snapped in Hebrew. A watchful eye on it, he lay on his belly and slid to the floor, but kept a tight grip on the gun and stayed where he could monitor the con.

  “Tammer. Tell the other one to lie face down on the deck. Paider, keep a rifle on it, and Garson, I want the pilot to feel the barrel of your weapon, so it doesn’t get the urge to do something stupid. Any resistance on his part...take him out.”

  “Sure, Colonel.” Paider agreed.

  Garson trained his lasrifle on the new pilot while the giant took Tammer’s seat, then nudged it with the barrel. It jerked away and threw its hands in the air. Tammer spoke harshly to it, and it visibly relaxed.

  The alien spoke, and a new display emerged on the console. Above them, the vid morphed into a digital representation of the solar system with symbols arranged in vertical columns beside each planet, moon and a series of solar anomalies, including a gaseous cloud and an asteroid trail. Abruptly the vid reverted to star-speckled space. Bracketed by distant stars, an enormous vessel appeared.

  “What the hell....we’ve got visitors, Colonel!” Garson's warning was charged with both fear and resolute determination.

  “Tammer! On weapons! I don't care how you do it, but unload everything we’ve got at that damn ship!” Bristling, O’Brien stepped back until he had a clear shot at both captives.

  Tammer struggled into the vacated chair as quickly as his bulk would allow, then laid his weapon on the con and reached for a high square. Before anyone could intervene, the seated alien shoved Tammer aside and snatched the weapon.

  With surprising agility, Tammer deflected the brunt of the attack, recovered and sprang. He grappled a long arm and twisted. The weapon discharged, searing a corner of the vid and port bulkhead. A sharp gasp and Linda fled the bridge.

  On his feet, the being towered over Tammer, but the risk of shooting Tammer was too high, O'Brien decided. He waited, gun cradled in both hands while the being slammed Tammer against the con, loosing Tammer's grasp. Lightening quick, Tammer rebounded, latched onto a monster hand and chomped down on a hot dog sized finger. Face contorted with rage, the alien lunged back, but could not shake the human. Snarling, it jammed its weapon into Tammer's belly, but, the alien's grip on the handgun was too low for it to depress the firing pad.

  "Ahhhggggg!" Tammer jerked away, lips bloody. His attacker regripped its handgun and aimed.

  O’Brien fired. The yellow beam sliced diagonally through the being's shoulder and neck. For an instant the giant locked eyes with him. A dead man's eyes. Its legs buckled and its eyes went blank. Fingers convulsed, discharging its weapon. The beam narrowly missed Tammer and carved away a corner of the chair back. The corpse sprawled in a twisted heap, its nearly severed head skewed to one side. Adrenaline edgy, O'Brien lowered his weapon, but remained vigilant. The fight wasn't over.

  Tammer breathed, "'Mother of God!", clamored into a chair and set to work. Menu after menu mushroomed across the con until much of it was a cacophony of color.

  Bridge illumination faded to pale green. Blended with the background noise, a gentle hum suddenly intensified until the very air they breathed vibrated. The ship lurched, pitching Paider, O’Brien and Garson to the deck. Abruptly the hum ended, then built anew. On the main vid, a pulsing blue, semi-hauler sized energy burst streaked across kilometers of space and slammed into a shimmering, translucent bubble encapsulating the other vessel. Blue shattered into querulous yellow-green tendrils, each seeking a different path to the hull. At O'Brien's feet, the surviving giant cried out with dismay.

  Garson jabbed it with his lasrifle. “Get in that damn chair and finish what your buddy started.” The fuming anger inherent in each, concisely pronounced word, was not lost on the being.

  Tammer repeated Paider’s order without the expletive. Hesitant, the alien pulled itself to his feet while Tammer turned to the con and punched a red square. The ship jumped, but this time, O'Brien was braced for the surge. The hum ceased, then renewed. Horrified, the alien clung to the seat back, staring up at the vid. The second plug impacted the bubble.

  The shield's sheen waffled and faded. Unimpeded, the pulse tore into the ship, enveloping the black hull in bluish-green waves of sparkling plasma energy. Yellow flickers danced through the haze and a corner of the black domino, the size of a city block, tumbled away. Clouds of white bloomed about the rupture and quickly dissipated.

  “Tammer! Tell it to ge
t us the hell out of here! Now!” O’Brien prodded the alien in the back with his fist as it slid into the seat vacated by his dead comrade, and reached for the con.

  As a warning, Tammer stuck his gun in the giant's side. It grunted, flinched away, then tapped an orange triangle. Everything turned ghostly white. They were suspended, neither here nor there, seeing, yet unseeing, deaf and mute. Paider’s mouth open in a half-issued command, Garson frozen in mid-stance, his lasrifle aimed at the alien's back. Immobile as they, O'Brien noted the scene with tremendous clarity, and counted. Seven and he blacked out.

  Realization returned, like coming out of a dark tunnel into full daylight. Eyes closed to narrow slits, O'Brien watched the bridge solidify and green illumination fade to white, momentarily blinding him.

  Garson fell forward, but caught himself with the back of the chair. Behind him, Paider stumbled to his feet, cursing under his breath. Tammer peeled himself off the console and retrieved the weapon that had flown from his hands. A high pitched screech and the alien jabbed the con and made a grab for Tammer’s gun. The ship changed course and accelerated.

  Without hesitation O’Brien blasted the alien. Sparks flew as the yellow beam ripped off the top of the chair, surged through living tissue and tore into the con. A shallow gasp and the alien’s severed halves toppled forward. Its hands grasped spastically at nothing before death ended its struggle and the top half tumbled to the deck.

  Overhead, the vid flickered and disintegrated into thousands of disjointed images that failed to disguise what they saw. Hurtling towards them was a dirty gray ball, half concealed in darkness. Earth, O'Brien wondered?

  Blessed Father of us all!” Tammer brutally shoved the alien remains aside and clamored into the shattered seat. He hesitantly touched menu selections. His fingers twitched. "I can't decide what to do here, Colonel. Are we to die, smashed to bits on that planet down there?"

  Leaning over the con beside him, O’Brien scrutinized Tammer's every move, but the journalist was too fast and he barely followed the changes. Dirty gray soup gave way to pressure waves of orange and yellow as the ship slammed into Earth’s mesosphere. Mechanical warnings sounded. The ship shuddered and yawed, buffeted by powerful winds and slowed by atmospheric friction that heated the hull to enormous temperatures. Popping and groaning, the vessel began to shake, making it difficult to stand.