by Pamela Fryer
“Roswell was faked?”
“It was.” He frowned at her. “The data I received in hypersleep revealed this is widely believed among Earth inhabitants. Are you not one who suspects this as well?”
“I’m not largely a conspiracy theorist, no,” she admitted. Especially now. “But like most, all I can do is speculate. So there really aren’t any little gray guys with big heads?”
“There is a species known as Daolo who look similar, but they are a peaceful people who do not like to leave their own planet. The creature you are referring to is a thing of folklore created by your President Truman to control alien rumor. By inventing a fake creature, all reported sightings of it are known to be false.”
She laughed. How devious. Leave it to Truman. It took a few seconds for the obvious to kick in. Brooke was so far off her game she felt stiff. “There had to have been a reason he did that.”
Jager grinned back. “You are a shrewd woman, Brooke.”
Shrewd. How many people used that word in this day and age?
“Many hundreds of years ago, an alien species from the planet Rhion Fei came here with the intent of taking over Earth. They attacked a small island off your eastern seaboard and killed most of the inhabitants before being stopped by the Alliance. Because of that tragedy, new laws were enacted and a special division in the Universal Guard was developed to protect Earth and similar planets with intelligent life forms which haven’t yet developed the technology to defend themselves.”
Oh God. Was he talking about...? He couldn’t be. He’d said some survived. “For a minute there I thought you were talking about Roanoke.”
“Yes.”
“But they all disappeared.”
“The survivors were recruited into the Alliance.”
“Does that happen often?” She was starting to feel sick. Information overload again. Her brain cells were having a hard time absorbing all of this.
“Only in extreme circumstances.”
“Are you part of that special division?” she asked him.
“I am a lieutenant.”
“My hero.” She wasn’t entirely joking. It made her feel all ticklish inside. He was a regular knight in shining...spacecraft.
“So why did Truman develop the false alien species?”
“He was the third American president to be invited into the Interplanetary Alliance. During the birth of the Information Age when your radio and telephone technologies advanced, rumors became rampant. There had been an incident in which a theatrical radio transmission caused widespread panic—”
Brooke barked out a laugh. War of the Worlds. “Sorry, go on.”
“He developed the alien creature and faked the Roswell crash to control panic. His goal was to convince people the aliens were smaller than humans and only slightly more advanced, and to begin preparing them for eventual contact.”
“I’d say it backfired.”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
He was right. It could be debated on both sides. But Brooke didn’t have the energy to think about it now. “Are all the presidents approached by Interplanetary Alliance leaders?”
“Not since your President Kennedy. It is believed he was killed because of his decisions on alien policies. There is a secret society on Earth intent on resisting all contact, and who are developing weapons technology they believe will protect the planet against invasion.”
“I believe that.”
“They will not succeed. Outside your solar system, technology has advanced beyond the physical realm. Your secret society is a small band of rogues who resist the Alliance’s assistance because of their fear and mistrust. Ultimately they only serve to weaken the ties between your planet and the Alliance.”
“Can you blame them?” She was having trouble focusing on the road. She considered politely telling him this might not be the best time to discuss such a heavy topic, but in all fairness, she’d been the one to bring it up.
“Until your people are more advanced, both scientifically and in their mental and emotional capacity, you will remain separated from the rest of the universe. The politicians in the Alliance feel it is best to keep you pure in that sense.”
The virgin planet. “Ignorance is bliss.” Whoever coined that phrase must have been one of the people introduced early on to the Alliance.
“Brooke, your face has changed color again.”
“Earthling trait. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“I am sorry. I was not supposed to tell you anything.”
“I’m glad you did. I’ve always claimed I wouldn’t be one of the weak who panicked when the inevitable happened.” Didn’t she always suspect this day was coming? “Your secret is safe with me.” Her tongue twisted. It sounded like she said “lafe wis me.”
A wave of nausea passed over her so powerfully that she considered pulling over. Maxine’s famous Denver burrito was too much for her in combination with everything she’d been through this morning.
She felt Jager’s intense stare but kept her eyes glued to the road. There were SUVs headed the other way towing boats and campers, and station wagons filled with families headed to the coast. It would be impolite to swerve into oncoming traffic and ruin somebody’s day with a head-on collision.
Especially her own.
Chapter Nine
The fading pallor of Brooke’s skin made Jager uneasy. He glanced over again to find her tinged in green. Combined with her thirst, she was showing all the signs of infection.
She swallowed several times, as though trying to keep her stomach down. She picked up the nearly empty bottle and drank the last of the water.
“What really happened to the dinosaurs?” She stopped her conveyance in the road and waited for a large craft pulling a container to pass so she could turn in to the lane leading to the structure where they’d met.
“A meteor struck the planet and destroyed much of the life in existence.”
“Bummer.”
He wasn’t sure what that meant, but he had noticed that her sentences had become short and clipped.
“It was illegal to eat the ones that were left,” he said, testing to see if she was really listening. “Unless they were served under Alliance-approved sauce.”
She angled forward to check the area was safe to pilot her conveyance, and then turned the car into the path leading to the abandoned building.
They neared the gates, but Brooke didn’t slow the craft. She sagged forward and fell against the steering mechanism. A horrible trumpeting sound blared.
“Brooke!” He pushed her back into the seat and the loud sound ceased. It must be an alarm in case the pilot was injured during transport.
He grabbed the steering mechanism, fighting to keep them from pitching into the steep ditch on the side of the road. The conveyance struck the gates and sent them flying open. The chain securing it whipped free and landed on the front of the conveyance, chipping through its shiny red coating. He was thankful they weren’t traveling very fast.
The craft drifted through the gates, zigzagging hither and fro as he fought to control the lateral trajectory. He’d observed Brooke’s piloting techniques and knew the vessel could withstand rough treatment. He shoved the lever on the lower command console between them all the way forward, and the conveyance jerked to a stop. He then pulled up on the handle beside it as he’d seen Brooke do.
Jager leapt out of the conveyance, leaving his door flung wide. He raced around to the pilot’s side and grabbed the handle. It wouldn’t open. He reached through the open window and worked the release lever from the inside. The goddess Mira smiled upon him, and the door opened. He released Brooke’s safety harness and eased her out.
He could easily carry her to the ship, but he could get there faster in the conveyance. Besides, he had to get it out of sight. He gambled that he could operate it. He was a level five rated pilot in the Interplanetary Alliance. He could fly a Darthonian star cruiser without a copilot, and had rewired the securit
y prohibitor on a prison shuttle in near darkness to escape Parra Oneous. He could figure out an Earth transport.
If a plump, elderly female with pink hair could captain one, he could captain one.
Jager eased Brooke into the copilot’s seat and fixed her safety harness. He then squeezed himself into the pilot’s seat and grabbed the steering mechanism.
Step one. Slide the handle down. It was marked with P, R, N, D, 2, and 1. He recognized the symbols as letters and numbers, but didn’t know what they referenced. Hypersleep had taught him about edible and poisonous herbs, but had not included the reference manual on the most popular conveyance on the planet!
Brooke had left the lever somewhere in the center. He slid the device down and released the handle-lever beside his seat. Nothing happened. He moved the lever one station lower. The conveyance clunked and shifted forward. Something wasn’t right. They had been moving much faster when Brooke piloted.
He looked down. There were levers in the foot area. Brooke had moved her legs during operation. He stepped on the wide lever and the conveyance lurched to a stop.
Brooke moaned. He had to decipher these controls. Her very life depended on it. She’d been infected less than fourteen hours, but he wasn’t taking any chances.
This was entirely his fault. If he’d been faster pursuing the Tetra, she never would have come into contact with it. If he’d only turned the ship toward the distress signal without waiting for approval from the Alliance, he would have been able to destroy the life pod before it entered Earth’s atmosphere.
If only. There were a million “if onlys” but none of them mattered a Renglicsian credit now.
The only sure thing was that if Brooke died, a large part inside him would die as well. He cared about this woman with an intensity he had never experienced before.
The realization gave him a shock. He’d never let himself desire the things the Sulvariens were allowed, had always convinced himself that he was much more privileged in his role as soldier. He’d always had a tiny, secret longing, but there had never been a real reason, other than simply wanting what he knew he could never have.
Never, that is, until now. Until Brooke. She formed a real, emotional connection with some deep part inside him, and somehow being with her made him feel like more than a single person.
Jager jammed his foot onto the narrow pedal. The conveyance shimmied and then rocketed forward, aimed at the trees on the left side. He wrenched the steering mechanism to the right and removed his foot. The conveyance shuddered and slowed to a crawl. Jager touched his foot to the propulsion lever again, more gently, and corrected the direction that was now severely off course to the right.
He continued up the lane this way, angling left, then right, then left, until he’d smoothed out the trajectory.
He felt like a fool. How could this be so difficult? He’d once pursued an outlaw Velkerr through an asteroid storm in a low-altitude law-enforcement pod with a damaged left thruster and shields at ninety percent failure.
Jager removed his foot from the propulsion lever as the downed trees came into view. He realized the steering mechanism was incredibly sensitive and required only the slightest adjustments to keep on a straight trajectory. The conveyance slowed and drifted gently to a stop when he placed his foot lightly on the reverse thrusters. He slid the engine mode handle back to the topmost position, at P, and activated the handle beside his seat. He then turned the security pin as he’d seen Brooke do and the conveyance went inactive, but he could not get it free from the slot.
He ran to the other side and lifted Brooke into his arms. A sheen of sweat glistened on her forehead and her body was hot.
More signs of infection.
Brooke was a proud and independent woman, but her resistance was just plain foolish. He’d even told her what would happen to a person in the advanced stages of infection. She must have denied it even to herself.
He hurried through the forest, silently chanting a plea to his astrological guide.
“Door open.” He leapt onto the ramp before it had fully extended and turned sideways to get into the ship as the doors were still opening. “Medical one.”
Brooke moaned as he set her on her feet and the ionics kicked on, cradling her in their gentle grip. Her pitiful sound was weak and fragile, ripping through him like a spear.
He opened the medical tray where vaccination micro cells were reproducing. There were five vaccination injectors already prepared, and in the lower chambers was already a supply of micro cells sufficient enough to combat an outbreak in the nearby township. That was the worst-case scenario.
No, the worst case was Brooke could not be healed by the vaccination. There were a small percentage of beings who were resistant to it, and a small percentage who suffered severe, adverse reactions. For the latter, the infection was cured, but the side effects were deadly.
He would not allow himself to think about that. It would not happen to Brooke. If she reacted badly to the vaccination, the medical chamber would sustain her life until she defeated it.
He lifted her right arm and administered the vaccination. He imagined what she would say if she were awake. She had a sharp tongue and an even sharper personality.
“You don’t have permission to touch me.”
“I am sorry, Brooke.” He would do anything to save her, including violating her beliefs. In the span of a few hours, he’d grown to admire her as much as he admired his Patrone, the man who had raised him and trained him, whose family name he wore around his neck. Even more so. He would apologize to her later, a thousand times if necessary.
“OMaGS on. Language: Earth. Nationality: English.”
“Good day, Jager Tolon,” OMaGS responded.
“Set timer. Monitor vital organs. Update white cell count every five minutes beginning now.”
“Subject: Caucasian female,” OMaGS recited.
“Her name is Brooke Weaver,” Jager shouted, demanding the onboard system acknowledge her as more than a medical subject.
“Species: Homo sapiens. Planet: Earth. White blood cell count: sixty-five percent normal.”
Jager felt his own life force slipping away. “You asked me to warn you before I subjected you to surprises from my ship,” he told Brooke. She couldn’t hear, but it didn’t matter. The words comforted him. “That was OMaGS, the Onboard Monitor and Guidance system. OMaGS provides us with vital information necessary for safe travel, and he plays a thrilling game of Gie-Noktuyy. I’ve never beaten him.”
“Why, thank you, Jager Tolon.”
Jager remained in front of the medical chamber, hoping he wasn’t imagining the improvement in Brooke’s pallor.
“This Earth female is very strong,” OMaGS volunteered. “White blood cell count seventy percent normal.”
He sighed with relief. She was improving. Her eyes moved behind her lids and her lips parted. She was so beautiful when she looked relaxed. Just like when she’d been sleeping. The ionic current playing with the loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her gathering softened her face. Most warrior women wore their hair tightly bound at the nape of their neck, so he’d never appreciated the floating, wind-tossed quality before.
“White blood cell count eighty percent normal. Tetratoxins sixty-five percent eradicated. Hepatoxins ninety-five percent eradicated.”
“Vital organs?” Jager asked.
“Liver is ninety-one percent repaired. The Earth female suffers no additional organ damage.”
“By the blessing of Goddess Nebulas.”
Pink spots appeared in her cheeks. Her shoulders were no longer tense, and the little crease between her brows had vanished. Her lips touched, and then parted again, as if she were speaking to someone in a dream.
He thought back to the man in the alley, and the hungry way he’d looked at Brooke. On Earth, there were no laws regulating the courtship of women. Richard was obviously well beneath her social class, but nothing stopped him from pursuing her. Jager wished he could stay on t
his planet, if only to protect Brooke from vermin like that.
“White blood cell count ninety percent normal. Tetratoxins eighty-five percent eradicated. Hepatoxins one hundred percent eradicated.”
“Is there any indication of negative reaction?”
“None.”
Jager let out a tight breath. With her healing came his own.
He glanced at the medical compartment beside the botanist’s counter. In the first drawer was the Ren-yimst that would ease his sexual desires.
“White blood cell count one hundred percent normal.”
He wouldn’t take it. He would let nothing diminish the feelings he experienced for Brooke.
“Tetratoxins one hundred percent eradicated.” The medical chamber chimed and the ionics shut off except for the gentle support that kept her standing.
Jager gathered Brooke into his arms and pulled her against his chest. Relief poured over him, making his throat tight. He pressed his face into her hair and breathed in her sweet scent as he scooped her up and carried her across the cabin.
“Extend chair. Fully lateral.”
He laid her down on the padded bed and draped a thin insulator over her. “Set to seventy-one degrees.” He knelt beside her and brushed the hair back from her brow. “OMaGS, state micro cell reproduction count.”
“Vaccination level at fifteen thousand and reproducing at exactly seven hundred fifty per hour.”
This was good news. There was enough vaccination for the population count of Ridgemont, and the micro cells were reproducing at the top rate. “OMaGS off.”
“Good day, Jager Tolon.”
He leaned closer, breathing in the clean scent of Brooke’s hair. There was a light, flowery smell to it, lingering just over the sweet scent of her skin.
He’d known she would recover all along. She was too strong not to. Still, his guts twisted with worry.
“You are amazing, Brooke Weaver.”
Her eyes fluttered open. She looked at the ceiling as if trying to figure out where she was, and then she turned her head and their eyes met. He held his breath.