by Rob Buckman
He shifted his body, gripping the wrist, and twisted, hearing something crack. It was the bones in the alien’s forearm, accompanied by its hoarse scream in his ears. Holding the broken arm, the alien moved away from him, turned sideways, and Scott delivered a side-snap kick to the knee joint. The alien dropped to the ground, moaning in pain, the knee joint shattered. Scott stepped back and time sped up to normal as he looked around at the others.
“Anyone else think I’m food?” he snarled, lips drawn back. There was no answer. “Now then, who’s going to talk to me?” The other seven aliens looked at the one on the ground, still hesitating. Rachel shot two more, reloaded her side arm, and pointed it at another one. It put its hand out before him, as if to ward off the approaching death.
“I will tell you whatever you want to know.”
“Talk and you die,” red cape hissed through his pain, “then your offspring, then your eggs and your mates!”
Scott reached down, easily lifting red cape off the ground by its throat. “And who is going to tell them, you?” he asked, squeezing his hand. The alien gagged, eyes bugging out of his head, the one good hand clawing at the steel vise around its throat, leaving bloody gashes behind, but the grip didn’t loosen.
“Don’t kill it yet, Admiral, it might have some information we need,” Rachel said. Her words penetrated the red mist in Scott’s brain and his hand relaxed.
The alien fell to the ground, gasping for air, scrabbling backward away from Scott. To the alien, Scott was some monster out of sleep images it had as a nestling, something that came to steal its soul because it didn’t have one.
“You had enough Rachel?” Scott asked, looking at her.
“For now, Admiral, for now. Let’s get this piece of garbage inside and ask it some questions.”
“Right,” he agreed. “You lot! Back in your cells, now!” he barked, and the alien scuttled away. “Not you, asshole, you are coming with me.” He reached down, grabbed the red cape, and dragged the struggling creature back into the security block. Finding the interrogation room, he picked it up and threw it in one corner of the room, sealing the sliding door.
“Having fun are we?” Doc Chase said, coming up behind him at a run.
“Did Brock tell you?” Scott asked.
“Tell me what?” Chase asked testily. “First, you tell me why we’re shooting and torturing prisoners now.”
“These aren’t prisoners anymore, they’re dead meat. If I don’t kill them, then the rest of the people on this fucking island will.”
“Jesus, Scott! What the hell has got your panties in an uproar?”
“We found out why they’re taking children, Doctor!” he yelled in Chase’s face, nose to nose.
“All right, you tell me why, and what justifies this sort of behavior.”
“They process them for food,” Scott said in a soft voice, backing away.
“Say that again!” Chase grabbed him and jerked him back, not believing.
“These … creatures,” Scott said, unable to think of a better word for them. “They take the children off this and probably other worlds, and process them for food.”
Chase was silent for a moment at the force of emotion in Scott’s choked-out words, then began turning away, saying, “Shoot the bastard.”
“After we get answers to some questions.”
“Give me the questions and let me ask,” was his grim answer. “You’ll have your answers in less than an hour.”
“No question of the ends justifying the means?” Scott asked as he turned to walk out.
“In this case?” Chase snapped. “None whatsoever.”
“Good, do what you have to do, then go get drunk.” With that, Scott left the building.
The interrogation went on for hours while the children, both human and alien as it turned out, were brought down from the mother ship. By dawn, word had spread and more and more people knew what was going on, but they were ordered not to spread the word, yet. It would be hard to keep the lid on this news, but it was critical they did until after the funeral. Which was a somber affair, carried off with military precision, but Scott’s mind was elsewhere, planning what he would say to the president and the World Council, when he got the chance. Any reservation about using their children vanished the moment he found out what the aliens were doing. It also suggested that some members of the World Council knew what they were doing as well. Just the thought that a human would knowingly involve himself in something like this made his stomach cramp. After the piper and the bugler had completed playing the traditional tunes and taps, the parade broke up, and he cornered the president immediately.
“We have to talk, sir, as soon as possible.”
“I agree, I want a full update on the battle and everything,” President Westwood said, a grim look on his face. There was something else on his mind; that was obvious. Scott had the same shuttle standing by, and they did a repeat of the fishing trip, ending up on the same beach, but in a different location. Since Westwood typically dressed in clothing more suited for the Middle East, Scott though the plain woven garment seemed to suit the president better than it had Brock, Kat, Hiro, and Pete.
“What is all this?” Not having had a chance to speak since boarding the shuttle, Westwood blurted the question.
“First of all, tell me, what’s eating you?”
“What!” the president asked, taken by surprise.
“You’ve been walking around with a chip on your shoulder since you arrived, so spit it out, and let’s clear the air.”
“I note that we have dropped the titles, Drake, so I will get to the point.”
Scott sat down, presenting less of a threatening pose, and waited.
“You and your people have taken over just about all the orbiting manufacturing and moon facilities, to the detriment of everything else, I might add, and it has to stop,” Westwood snapped. “I insist that you hand back the majority of those facilities as of now. You have done what you said you’d do and defeated the aliens.” Westwood stood and strode back and forth for a moment before turning and glaring at Scott.
“You have also provided us with an effective means of preventing future raids, so there should be no further need for squandering resources.”
“If you believe that, you are a fool. No. Worse. A criminal fool.”
“How dare you! You have no right to speak to me that way, you retarded monster!” He stood back, glaring at Scott. “Take me back at once.”
“You aren’t going anywhere until we finish talking,” Scott retorted.
“You dare to speak to me in that tone of voice, after all I’ve done for you?” Westwood looked angry enough to hit him. “You are nothing but a throwback to an earlier age, and I wish to Allah they had never woken you up. Your disease has started to spread, and I will not have that,” he shouted.
“And what do you think you can do about it?”
“Don’t think we’re as helpless as you imagine. This is not the first time we’ve had an outbreak of your kind of sickness, and don’t think your weapons will protect you either,” he spluttered. “We will put you back where you belong, in a rehabilitation center, you, and all your kind!”
“Or dump a plague on us, like you did England and Japan?”
“What!” The president looked stunned. “That … that was before my time and I had nothing to do with it.”
“Maybe not, but the thought was in the back of your mind.”
“That’s not true—”
“You can’t stop us now, even if you wanted to. Like your old Arabian Nights tales, you let the genie out of the bottle and you have no way of getting it back in. You gave us the stars, and there is no way in hell we’re going to give that up, not for you or anyone.”
“The stars?”
“Yes. Perhaps that was one bit of information that your spies missed?”
“Spies! What spies? What are you talking about?”
“The spy system you, or someone on the council, has s
et up.”
“You are mad! Why would anyone do such a thing, we’re not like you, seeing boogiemen under every bed,” Westwood said, mimicking a ghost and dancing around.
“Then who is trying to kill me and destroy the fleet we sent out?”
“I don’t know that anyone has!” Westwood sniffed. “I only have your word on that.”
“I suppose you don’t know anything about this either, do you?” Scott took a packet of still photos out of the pocket of his kimono and handed them to the president.
At first, Westwood shuffled though them quickly, almost in contempt, then slowed, starting to really look at them. About a quarter of the way through the stack, his knees went weak and he had to sit down again. Then he started shaking his head in disbelief, his hands trembling, and tears began coursing down his face.
“Is this … are these from the inside of the alien craft you call the mother ship?” he asked, his voice cracking.
“Yes.”
“What … what are they doing?” He cringed, as if he didn’t want to know the answer.
“Processing them for food,” Scott said in a low tone.
“Oh merciful Allah, no!” Westwood’s tears became outright weeping. The photos dropped from his nerveless fingers to the sand. He buried his face in his hands, sobbing. Scott knew he was thinking of his children the aliens has taken, and a few moments later President Westwood threw up.
Scott left him then, walking down to the beach to stand at the water’s edge. The fury inside him made a reddish mist in front of his eyes. He still hadn’t come to terms with the information himself, yet he knew he must. On one level of his mind, he knew he had to deal with it, as he did with the death of his wife and children so long ago, though only yesterday in his thoughts. If he didn’t, he’d start making mistakes because of his anger, and that would be fatal. Something made him turn, and he saw the president coming toward him, his face composed, his eyes dry.
“You said there is a spy, and that someone tried to kill you, is that right?”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Scott answered, and his use of the title didn’t go unnoticed.
“I won’t ask what evidence you have, I believe you. The question is who? And what do we do about him, or them?”
“We believe that one or more members of the World Council, and probably the Ayatollah, is involved, and we have a plan to neutralize him, or them.”
“Is that why we’re standing on a windy beach dressed in nothing but these simple robes?”
“Yes, sir. We have no way of knowing how information is being passed. In our electronic equipment, our clothes, long-range surveillance, it’s all a guess at the moment.”
Westwood nodded, his eyes grave. “Now this little game of yours makes sense. I would never have thought to go so far as to suspect my own clothes.”
“We couldn’t take any chances, so we suspected everything and everyone.”
“So, tell me as much of your plan as you feel is necessary. Because, even after showing me the photos, I know I am still suspect, I would have to be.”
He saw Scott nod in agreement, then Scott said, “I’m sorry to say, but yes, you are.”
“I am not offended, in your place I would be as well. I …” Westwood hesitated for a moment. “I would like to apologize for the comments about you and your people. It was uncalled for. I now understand your reasoning.”
“I accept your apology, Mr. President, and ask that I speak to all the members of the World Council, especially any in a position of power, or those directly involved with the workings of the government. As soon as possible.”
“I can arrange that. Anything else?”
“Yes. I’d like to arrange for some of my people to take short vacations in one or two major cities, and travel around to other industrial centers, and have full access to anything and everything.”
“A vacation you say?”
“Yes sir. Many of the people who went into cold sleep with me have never seen this New World you created, including me, and they’re curious.”
“What cities did you have in mind?”
“These people come from all over,” he lied. New York, Moscow, Paris, Los Angeles, and Istanbul to name a few.”
“I don’t recognize any of those names, but I’m sure we can find where they used to be. I don’t see any problem with that, unless they’re females, excuse me, women.”
“I’d like a mixed team, men and women, but the women will be dressed appropriately.”
“And the men will of course be husbands, or family members?”
Scott hid his annoyance. Even knowing their history, President Westwood could not break away from his cultural upbringing. “Yes. If you provide the necessary documentation, I’ll make sure they are.”
“I will arrange it as soon as we reach my office. How soon will you be ‘visiting’ me and the council?”
“As soon as you can get them all together in one place. Tell them we have information that affects them, and their children.”
Westwood gave him an appraising look and nodded. “Yes Admiral Scott. I’ll call an emergency meeting of the full council the moment I return to my office.”
An hour later, after a fast flight back, Scott put his plan into motion, calling out instructions to Brock, Pete, and several others, even as he stepped off the shuttle. This had to be done fast, before any word could trickle back through the spy systems.
“I will send word as soon as I can when,” he said, “and where you can send those people on vacation. Pete, make sure our people are briefed and ready to go.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Gunny, how are the arrangements for our new training contingent coming?”
“Everything is in hand, sir,” Brock answered, knowing he was talking about the children.
“Anything new from our … guests?”
“Oh yes, sir. We have a choral society going, it’s wonderful the amount of singing you can get out of them when they’re properly motivated.” Brock’s laugh had a grim edge to it.
“By the time you get back I should have a whole songbook for you.” Doc Chase bared his teeth as he cut in, and that meant he was getting a lot of information out of the prisoners.
“That’s good news, I’m looking forward to reading it.” What use they’d make out of it, Scott wasn’t sure.
“Lady at the door, sir,” Hardwick announced.
“Who is it, Kat? Tell her I’ll be with her in a second.”
“No, sir. It’s Lady Yamaguchi,” Hardwick said.
“Will you give me a minute, please?” Scott asked. The three left, and she entered the office. “Welcome, Sensei, please have a seat,” he said, bowing.
“Thank you for seeing me, Admiral. I will not keep you long, as I know you are preparing to leave,” she said, sitting on the edge of a seat.
“Take as much time as you need, ma’am.”
“I would like you to pay a formal visit to my country when you return, as you and the emperor have much to discuss.” Her request was more than that, and Scott suspected it was an urgent demand rather than a request.
“I would be honored, the moment I return from my visit to the capital.”
“That is satisfactory. Please arrange for an extended stay if you can, say a week at least.” The look in her eyes left little doubt she was serious. Whatever it was she wanted him there for, it wasn’t just a visit.
“I will see what I can do, Sensei.”
“Good. I will see you soon.” She stood, preparing to leave. “Oh, by the way. It would be preferable if you spoke our language when you come, so I have asked two of my … people to travel with you at all times, especially on your trip to the new capital, to instruct you. Will that be a problem?”
Hira Yamaguchi knew he spoke her language, however rusty, so Scott knew she had an ulterior motive for sending someone. “No problem at all,” he said. “Two more in my party won’t make that much difference one way or another.”
“Excell
ent. Thank you again for seeing me.” She stood up and bowed, and Scott returned it.
* * * * * *
The two men kneeling on the cold deck of the empty Marine shuttle launch bay looked up at Lieutenant Hiro Naguchi. He stood there looking down at them, his dark eyes cold as the space outside of the plasma curtain, his face expressionless, as inscrutable as the two men and two women standing behind the kneeling men. Both shivered from the cold, and fear.