by Medley, Lisa
Technically, what he’d done wasn’t a crime. He wasn’t trying to stop the launch. He doubted Janson would see it that way. The Army men outside his door were proof of that. He grabbed his wallet and keys and shoved them into Ela’s backpack.
Indecision was the enemy in space. It seemed equally as dangerous as he debated what to do inside his living pod. Ela emerged from the doorway. Noah took one long look at her and made his choice.
He opened the door.
“’Bout time, Mr. Wright,” Janson said.
“What now?” Noah asked. Ela eased up behind him, silent, her hand pressed against the small of his back.
“Come with us, Noah. We have a problem,” Flores said. The two soldiers stepped back a pace, hands resting on the butts of their weapons.
Noah ground his teeth, cursing his decision. If Ela could only have driven that damn Bombardier, she could have been off the base by now while he dealt with these assholes. Instead, he’d dragged her into it even further. He’d be no help to her in a brig somewhere.
“Listen, Ela had nothing to do with this. Let me call Jonathan Little so he can pick her up and take her to the reservation while we hash this out,” Noah said.
“That’s not going to be possible,” Flores said. “She’s just as involved as you are now. You’re both going to want to see this.”
Confused, Noah chose to exercise his right to remain silent. He reached back for Ela’s hand. They followed an unusually quiet and contrite Janson through the complex. The two soldiers, Dover and Collins, if their embroidered badges were true, walked behind them, stoic and stern looking.
When they continued past the launch bay, Noah’s curiosity piqued. Where were they going if not to question him about the stowed cargo? Flores held the outside door open for Janson to walk through first. His gaze snapped upward, and he stalled for a second before proceeding forward. Noah followed next, spotting Montaine and a circle of nerds he didn’t recognize looking intently at something behind him. Turning a slow one-eighty, Noah followed her line of sight.
The wormhole covered the entire western horizon from ground to a solid ninety degree trajectory. Swirls of yellow, orange, and pink circled the black center in a hypnotizing rotation. The eye, if that’s what it was, seemed concentrated directly over the reservation.
“Shit,” Noah said, taking it all in.
“A storm of it,” Flores said, staring up as well.
Janson turned back to them, his face pale and drawn, his bravado momentarily dissipated. “We are open to suggestions.”
Noah sucked in a hard breath and held it, shaking his head then letting the air out in a long sigh. “Montaine is the astrophysicist. What makes you think I have any better ideas than her?”
Flores concentrated on the sky. “Maybe you could start with that crate you put onto my shuttle? Wanna explain why it’s glowing…and humming?”
So they did know.
“Is the launch still a go?” Noah asked.
“Depends on what’s in that crate,” Flores said.
“You haven’t opened it?” Noah asked.
“We thought we’d ask nicely first, before we brought in the bomb-sniffing dogs and the entire damn cavalry. So no, not yet. I’m hoping you have a real good answer so we can trust you to remote pilot the rocket.”
Noah snapped his gaze from the sky and turned to Flores. “Wait, why me?”
Janson broke from his stupor. “Captain Flores is leaving as soon as this conversation is over and flying to Canaveral. I just rented a very expensive ride to retrieve the Moon crew before it’s too late.” Janson pointed to the wormhole. “I’d suggest you hurry up and tell us what we need to know.”
Flores nodded. “You’re the best choice to pilot the ship, Noah. The crate? What is it? Why did you risk your career to put it onto the shuttle?”
Noah raked a hand across his stubble-roughened jaw and neck and looked directly at the soldiers, unsure whether to proceed. Whether to expose Ela further.
“They know….everything,” Janson said. “They came to me when the wormhole reopened. I thought… Well, they know.”
“That box holds what’s left of the alien we killed in the desert in Ela’s village. I think it’s a beacon. Unless you want to find out what’s it’s phoning home to, I’d suggest we get it off our planet. That’s what I was trying to do.”
The soldiers exchanged a glance.
A vein bulged in Dover’s forehead. “In that case, you’re gonna need a bigger rocket.”
***
SpaceXport Mission Control - New Mexico
The thirty minute launch window stretched. Eight hours later, Noah sat in the remote launch bay with one eye on the rocket outside the launch room bubble viewing windows. His hand rested on the joystick.
The payload now consisted of six glowing, humming crates, five recently retrieved and delivered from Area 51. Majors Dover and Collins stood behind him at the door, ensuring their property stayed exactly where they’d placed it, aboard the SpaceXport rocket.
Apparently, over the years, the government had been dispatching and collecting the same species of alien that Noah, Tessa, and Cole had encountered. Noah had wondered if theirs was the first, now he wondered if they had a chance in hell of making these the last. He didn’t want to think too hard on what else the government might have out there in Area 51. Ignorance was bliss.
Whatever had activated the Mescalero alien had activated the Area 51 specimens as well. The six crates looked radioactive.
The wormhole’s growth showed no signs of stopping. Flores had made it out of New Mexico just before the hole covered the state’s eastern border. Four hours later, he was strapped inside the driver’s seat of a Canaveral ISS cargo shuttle and out of Earth’s atmosphere. At this point, Flores was probably safer than Noah.
“Remember, we don’t want to deploy the EMP until you get to the edge of space, and absolutely not until it clears Earth’s atmosphere,” Montaine said, hovering over his right shoulder. “Flores will be clear of any ramifications, but we may not.”
“No backseat driving,” Noah said.
“In retrospect, our mistake on Amun was deploying the pulse prematurely. That allowed the reflection of the pulse,” Montaine said. “A reflection back to the Earth’s surface…”
“Would fry the entire Southwest. Yeah. Got it,” Noah said.
His damp fist cramped, gripping the joystick. He entered the launch codes. Flores was probably getting a great view of the backside of the wormhole. If all went well, they could have a good laugh about wormhole asses in a couple of days over beers.
If Noah wasn’t in the brig, that is. Or worse.
The EMP could go either way. Best case scenario: the pulse disrupts the power and rotation of the wormhole, dissipating and then closing it. Worst case scenario: Tessa, Cole and the crew are stranded indefinitely on the moon, the Southwest goes dark and the hole keeps growing.
Yeah. No pressure.
He caught a glimpse of Ela below, standing near the civilian viewing bay with Jonathan and the council. The reservation had been evacuated. Noah had insisted the council and their families be brought to the base and caught up to speed. Ela gripped Danae’s hand. However this played out, Ela was as big a part of it as he was.
Noah closed his eyes and steeled his nerves. “Mission Control, commence countdown.”
“Copy, rocket control. Counting down. Ten, nine, eight.”
Noah’s heart raced. Exactly. He had to be exactly right. No do-overs.
“Seven, six, five.”
“Wait, do you see that? Do you see that bright spot near the eye of the wormhole?” Montaine said, scrambling to zoom in on the monitor to Noah’s left. “Something’s coming through...”
No, no, no, no, no.
“Go or No-go?” Noah asked, dreading both answers.
“Continue the countdown,” Major Collins said. “We’ll deal with whatever lands. Go.”
“Four, three, two, one.”
&n
bsp; The rocket launched. Exhaust smoked and roiled from its base, as it raced upward. The usually jubilant launch crew held their cheers and their collective breath as the rocket and its plume vanished into the expanding darkness of the eye’s center. The two crafts passed one another just before the rocket disappeared from sight by the naked eye. Major Collins spoke rapidly in code through his walkie. Noah didn’t know the code, but the tone was one of concern as he summoned a response for the alien ship.
He watched through the rocket’s visual navigation, seeing everything he would have seen if he sat in the cockpit instead of safe on the ground. He punched the left thrusters to better steer the nose toward the dark void. Ten minutes passed, then twenty, ten thousand more feet and he’d be clear of Earth’s atmosphere. The tension in the room was palpable. Sweat rolled down his temple.
Montaine saw it first.
“Noah?” Montaine said. Pinpricks of light appeared in rapid succession, illuminating the platinum hulls of tens, then hundreds of ships exactly like the one Noah had flown home in through the wormhole.
“The army,” Noah said.
“Fire the pulse, Noah. Fire it now.” Montaine said, her voice eerily calm.
“We’re five thousand feet from optimum,” Noah said.
“Those things can’t make it through. Fire the fucking pulse.”
Noah fired the pulse.
Time seemed to suspend as they watched the monitors and waited. A wave of energy rolled across the surface of the wormhole like heat off the highway in summer, shimmering and pulsating. For a split second, Noah thought they were home free, then the lights went dark and every electronic in the Mission Control room winked out. The servers and equipment spun down in a death whine, leaving nothing but the stunned silence of a base full of engineers and Apaches.
A full minute later, the backup generators purred to life and emergency lighting sputtered and blinked like a dying candle then flamed more brightly, marking the nearest exits.
“Let’s go see if we did any good,” Noah said.
Major Collins’ walkie stuttered with static. “Repeat. I did not copy. Repeat.”
Noah hurried past Montaine and the major. His first thought was to find Ela, but he needed to see what fresh hell they had to face next. Noah made his way through the throng of base employees, running to exit the building. A crowd had gathered and was staring up at the sky by the time he made it outside. He looked up, too. A brilliant layer of red sky pierced the horizon just under the edge of the retreating wormhole. While the overall expanse of the wormhole appeared diminished, the black eye of the storm had tripled in size.
Tension curled as they watched in expectant silence.
Ela’s hand wrapped around his, and he startled, huffing out the breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He squeezed her hand tightly.
“There!” one of the engineers yelled, pointing upward.
A pinprick of yellow light pierced the dark eye, glowing like a firefly. Seconds later, a dozen more lights appeared in the void. The lights grew larger and intensified. Montaine ran up beside him and glassed through high powered binoculars, her hands shaking as she held them to her eyes.
“Take cover! They’re falling from the sky!”
Alien ships streaked like comets toward the reservation and the spaceport base, seemingly out of control.
“Get to the bunker!” Janson instructed. “Everyone, follow me!”
Noah stayed, Ela by his side. Whatever was coming, he’d face it head-on. Montaine watched and waited with him. Soon, the Mescalero council members joined them. Their families followed Janson to the bunker.
Major Dover scrambled into a nearby Humvee.
Major Collins put a hand on Noah’s shoulder. “Mr. Wright, you need to come with us. It appears you’re the expert in this matter. Let’s go meet our visitors.”
“Ela’s coming with me,” Noah said.
“Of course. Get in.”
***
The New Mexico Desert
The first of the ships crashed into the desert between the reservation and the spaceport base. The ground thundered like an earthquake, each subsequent ship causing another aftershock, as the highway began to crumble. Major Dover pulled the Humvee hard left and abandoned the road, driving off the shoulder and across the hard-packed ground. Roads didn’t lead to where they were going anyway. Major Collins barked orders into his walkie, rallying a “welcome team” to the site.
“I hope that welcome includes lots of guns,” Noah said. “They’ll bleed. Make sure your men know not to get near them or touch their blood or body fluids. Also, they like to spit.”
“Camel-hawking mother fuckers,” Collins said and resumed his walkie instructions, relaying the message.
The Humvee sped toward the fallen ships.
The wormhole continued to shrink, the black eye growing as it pulled the outer edges of the swirling sky inward, folding on itself.
Dust plumes boiled up from the multiple impact sites, darkening the sky and causing the desert to glow orange from the thickening gloom. Dover sneezed four quick times in a row. Noah pulled a bandana from his back pocket and tied it around Ela’s mouth and nose. He lifted the tail of his T-shirt to cover his own face as the air thickened with sediment.
A bright glint through the fog caught Noah’s eye. “Stop!”
Dover skidded the Humvee to a halt a few hundred feet from the first ship. Dover and Collins drew their weapons but no one exited the Humvee. They sat and watched, looking for movement.
“We don’t engage until the troops arrive. Unless we have to. I’d like a little more firepower than my service Glock behind me before our official meet-and-greet,” Collins said.
“Roger that,” Dover agreed.
The wind picked up and blew another cloud of dust their way, temporarily blinding them. Ela broke into a fit of coughing.
“I shouldn’t have brought you out here,” Noah whispered.
“You couldn’t have stopped me from coming,” Ela said, wiping at her reddening eyes.
The peal of metal being struck by metal snapped Noah’s attention forward. Whatever was inside that ship was trying to get out. The wind gusted again, stirring more debris, which hung in the air, but the ship became fully visible beneath the low-hanging dust cloud. A familiar form squeezed from the jimmied doorframe. Dover and Collins slid out to either side of the vehicle and rested their weapons on the hood of the Humvee.
“Mr. Wright, now would be a fine time to get into the driver’s seat in case bullets don’t stop this asshat,” Major Collins said.
Noah complied.
The wind lessened and the dust began to settle. Ela gasped. Dozens of ships came into view across the desert. One by one, the ships’ occupants exited their rides and proceeded toward Noah and the Humvee. Humanoid in shape, their long legs and spindly arms made them seem gangly and spider-like. The nearest alien, less than a hundred feet away, turned to look at them. Its smooth gray skin glistened with moisture. Two large black eyes stared at them from its egg-shaped head. The creature wore no clothing or visible protective coverings and carried no apparent weaponry, but a shiver of menace tracked down Noah’s spine.
He knew exactly what they were capable of.
“They don’t seem all that friendly,” Major Dover said.
“The last one wasn’t,” Noah said.
The alien started forward slowly then began to pick up its pace, covering the ground more quickly than was comfortable. Major Collins’ walkie blasted.
“Team is ten minutes out.” Collins frowned. “We’re going to have to start shooting or retreat.”
Dover clicked off his safety. The sun pierced through the clearing dust and the alien froze in place, cocking its head to the side. A high pitched wail sounded in the distance and smoke began to rise from the creatures. The alien nearest them turned back toward its ship but dropped to its knees. Its skin smoldered and turned black along its back as it crawled to the torn doorway. Dover fired at the beast
six times.
Injured, the alien pitched forward and immolated in the sun.
The others they could see succumbed to the same fate, minus the bullets.
Noah’s heart pounded.
“Huh,” Collins grunted. “Nice shots, Dover. Although, the sun seemed to do just as good a job,”
Movement in the sky caught Noah’s attention. The black eye shimmered, pulsated into a bright white light then winked out, leaving nothing but clear blue sky behind it.
Army Humvees rumbled behind them, vibrating the ground as they rolled in to flank their Humvee. Soldiers filed out to evaluate the situation, using the vehicles as cover.
“Looks like the blisters are finally here,” Collins snorted. “Show up when the work is done.”
Chapter Thirteen
Mescalero Reservation - Six weeks later
Ela sat on the blanket at the edge of Mescalero Lake, while Noah retrieved the picnic basket from the mare’s saddlebag. Ela’s hair glistened in moonlight. He’d brought her back to the reservation, at her request, as soon as the dust had settled and the Army had cleaned up the crash site. It had been a grueling six weeks.
All flights had been suspended during the cleanup, and Flores had only returned with Cole and Tessa last week. While the EMP pulse damage had been contained to a fairly local thirty-some mile radius of the base, neither the NTSB nor the US government wanted any more aircraft falling from the sky, alien or otherwise. The flight restriction had been the longest in Earth’s history.
Only a handful of them knew how near they’d come to a full-on alien invasion.
And still…still…Janson had come out squeaky clean. Somehow, he’d managed to procure a government grant and special consideration for permanent Moon construction to continue his space tourism expansion. Montaine and Flores had been recruited to Area 51 to further study the wormhole science they’d gathered and its ramifications. He had no idea what had happened to the aliens and their craft but fully expected Montaine and Flores would be sharing some office space with them. Frankly, it was above his pay grade.