by A M Kirk
They went inside.
A hundred euros secured them a twin bedded room. Although the hotel was busy, most travellers were on a tight budget and were accommodated at the attached bunkhouse. The rooms in the hotel itself were pricey, it being the high season, but Janette did not want to compromise. Paying cash ensured that no electronic record of the transaction would be transmitted anywhere. Anything electronic Janette now viewed with extreme suspicion. There was no knowing just what the Soros could be doing to keep tabs on them.
A meal, a shower, and a plod up to their room were all Mark could manage. He could not even undress before collapsing on his bed and falling straightaway asleep. Janette covered him with a quilt, and then she too went to bed, still wondering if they shouldn’t just call the police.
**********
Mark dreamed.
A door slid upwards on the Soros space ship, the Museum. Warning signals were sounding faintly in the cavernous reception area and amber lights were flashing and this was to alert the human staff in their Thunderbirds uniforms that the Soros leader was about to appear. But the workers had all gone home and only a Duty Officer remained at the desk. The signals meant that the Duty Officer would contact the site’s military Commanding Officer, General Aaron Miller, using the Soros designed communication device on the desk.
“Inform the General that the Leader is on his way. Anteroom one,” said the DO softly into the mouthpiece.
“Roger that,” replied the General’s aide-de-camp. “I’ll pass that along. The General’s already on his way as planned.”
In a few moments the General’s car arrived at the foot of the metal ramp in front of the Museum. Part of his job was to act as liaison officer between the Soros and the rest of the planet, and the procedures and protocols had been developed over the years. The Soros would not leave their space ship, for reasons of safety. They maintained that the slightest tear in one of their suits could result in contamination of the suit’s environment by Earth’s atmosphere, and vice versa. It had not been overlooked by Earth scientists that the Soros could introduce some possibly damaging bacteria or viruses into Earth’s air with potentially catastrophic effects. The Soros always stressed that this risk of infection was extremely small, but neither side, it seemed, wanted to take unnecessary risks. Obviously this led to problems in conducting a dialogue.
In his dream Mark saw the leader of the Soros, distinguished by nothing other than a simple red band round the upper right arm of his suit, emerge from the inner confines of the ship and take a seat at a large round table situated in one of the partitioned areas off the main Reception Area. The room’s walls were subtly padded, giving an impression of complete safety. The Soros was about the same height as the average human but, as he (or she, or it – there was no way to tell) moved, the bulky suit conveyed the impression of massive strength tightly controlled. There was no clumsy slowness in his movements either and Mark wondered if the suit somehow gave power to the wearer. The helmet seemed to be made of the same metal as the space ship, and while it gleamed dully in the soft light it gave no reflection. It was fronted by an opaque visor that showed absolutely nothing of the creature within. The effect of this was disconcerting. The leader was alone, but Mark sensed that cameras were watching everything.
The General and his aides arrived and took their seats facing the Soros leader. Miller was a small, compact man, and wore his immaculately tailored uniform with elegance. He took off his cap to reveal short greying hair and his eyes appeared to show a sharp light of intelligence as he took a seat and observed the Soros Leader opposite him. No attempt was made to shake hands. Miller gave the impression of calm authority and a readiness to cope with any eventuality. He was one of those individuals whose age could be anywhere from forty to sixty.
Mark felt light like an intruding, eavesdropping ghost, adrift in the room, unfettered by gravity.
Consoles like computer keyboards appeared in the table’s surface. The Soros, who had, Mark noticed, a thinly gloved three-fingered hand, typed his message which was then transformed into a deep, male voice that came from a set of synthvox speakers mounted in the table. It reminded Mark, comically, of a voice from a very old film he had once seen – “The Lion King”. It’s the great circle of life…
How are you General Miller? I trust I find you well.
“Yes, thank you, very well. Is there anything in particular we can do for you this evening?”
It is rather a question of what I can do for you, said the voice from the speakers. It seemed to Mark that he was also hearing it beamed directly inside his head.
He watched as a holographic display appeared on the table top, then resolved itself into a three-dimensional photograph. Mark drew closer. It was an aerial photograph, taken by a satellite.
We are carrying out some routine surveys of this area, General Miller, as you know, and this morning as the satellite we were using at the time passed overhead, it photographed this event.
Mark recognised his home, seen from above. The photo changed, as the Soros leader pushed buttons to make it zoom in and show successive frames. Two figures appeared, obviously running – Mark and his mother. As one picture succeeded another, Mark watched himself get into the car. The Soros made the image backtrack and zoomed in further, to show the look of complete panic on both their faces.
We were aware of the explosion, of course – our sensors picked it up and once we had established that we were not in danger we began to scan our satellite images for information on the probable cause. You may well understand, General Miller, we find explosions going off in the vicinity of our ship a little concerning. We gather that the local police believe it was a gas explosion, and it is not my position to disagree. However, if you observe the expressions of the faces of the two humans in the photographs, it may look as if they are running away from what they know is about to happen. And how could they know what was about to happen, unless somehow they were instrumental in its cause?
“Yes, I see what you mean.”
We gather also that the owners of the property have not been found, and there were no bodies found in the remains.
“I don’t know much about that, I’m afraid.”
If you agree, then, that it looks as if these two are fleeing the scene of the crime, it may interest you to know that our sensors detected another, much weaker tremor a little while ago, in the area of the town you call Crieff. Not a little curious about this second event, we turned our satellite eye on to that area and saw this:
The display transformed into a holographic image now. The Hyundai estate car speeding out of Crieff, Janette tensed nervously over the wheel.
“It’s the same car!”
It would appear so, agreed the Soros.
“Did you track them further?”
Unfortunately no. Our satellite moved out of position shortly afterwards and we had no time to re-align it. Also, as you can see the road along this “loch” is lined with overhanging trees, which makes it difficult to stay in visual contact. But perhaps you, or the local police, can hazard a guess as to where the pair may be headed.
“I’ll pass this on to the Criminal Intelligence Section as soon as I can,” replied the General. “At the moment there’s not much else I can do, I’m afraid.”
The Soros helmet seemed to look up at that point. It turned left, then right, its visor mirroring the soft padded walls of the anteroom, the light cast by the holograph and the General’s face.
“Is there something wrong?” asked the General.
No, replied the Soros, after a long pause. There is nothing wrong.
Mark’s dream dissolved a little at that point, like a radio or TV station moving off its best frequency.
The General had left. Only the single Soros was left. He continued to manipulate the console keys. The keys, he noticed, were not at all like those of human design. The console, like everything else about the ship, was rather beautifully designed, but n
evertheless held an indefinable alien quality. Other images appeared in the holograph, but Mark recognised none of them.
He drifted. The door into the inner sanctum remained open. He felt himself float through it. A strange clicking noise came from behind, and he turned to find the Soros Leader was facing him, looking at him.
You can’t see me, Mark thought, I’m in a dream. My body is lying asleep in a hotel in the Highlands. I’m miles away from you.
The clicking noise he then realised was the Soros’s voice. He could have sworn it was speaking to him, but Mark could not understand. No, that was ridiculous. No way could he be seen. He turned away and drifted through the doorway, into the heart of the ship.
A door panel slid up to his left. He turned into this room. It was full of holographic images of planets, stars, solar systems. He was drawn to an image on one wall. It was a map. The colours of it were brown and yellow, but there was no way to tell if the brown represented the sea or the land. Mark was struck by the thought that perhaps the Soros perceived colour differently from humans – maybe they saw brown where we saw blue. If so, how did that affect what else they saw?
But now Mark felt that old fear again. Something was happening deep within the ship. He sensed that some thing, something awfully powerful had been turned on. Something to do with… gravity?
He had to get out. Somehow, he was in danger here.
The room, the ship, the dream, all faded, suddenly and finally.
He opened his eyes, wide awake.
Mark had no trouble remembering where he was. He threw back the quilt and swung his legs off the bed. He ran his fingers through his hair. He knew he had to write his dream down, quickly, before it faded. There was something important there.
He found hotel writing paper on the writing bureau by the window. Stopping only briefly to marshal his thoughts, he jotted down as much as he could recall in as much detail as he could. He ended by drawing the map. That bothered him. He had seen this map before.
13Logan #3
Logan sat behind the wheel of the Jeep, waiting. Light was starting to fade as the evening wore on. The hotel was in the shadow of the hills to the west, but Logan still wore his dark glasses. He heard the sports car before he saw it racing down the long road coming from the Fort William direction. He watched as the Mazda S10 turned off the road with a squeal of tyres and shot recklessly and neatly into the remaining parking space as if it belonged there. The amount of space remaining on either side meant its driver was crazy, or lucky, or extremely skilful. The driver turned off the engine and got out.
The dark glasses were a recognition convention favoured by the Human Freedom League, but Logan would have recognized Tony Cameron anyway. They had met before, several times, at League rallies. Cameron spotted the Jeep, parked away from the door of the hotel, and sauntered over. The S10, flashed and bleeped as its alarm self-activated. Logan smiled. Cameron liked his gadgets. Logan quite liked Cameron. He was the son of a wealthy Highland coach operator and took a hand in the business. He had a penchant for high-performance sports cars, of which the S10 was his latest, and he shared Logan’s passionate hatred of the aliens.
“Logan. Hi. Good to see you, man. Got the call. Came as soon as I could. “ Cameron leaned on the open window of the Jeep. “Still driving this piece of crap?”
“Yes,” replied Logan. He was not sure that, as Vice-Chairman of the League, he was too fond of hearing his subordinate refer to the Jeep as “a piece of crap”. “Let’s focus on this mission, Cameron. You got the details from the Net?”
“Sure, sure. Okay, let’s do this. Where is he? Where’s the target? Do we need to check it out first?”
“The target is in the hotel. He’s with his mommy.”
Cameron sniggered. “We’ll take her out too, man.”
“Possibly. I have no instructions about her yet. But we’ll focus on the boy first. We’ll go in, have a drink, check out the area,” said Logan. “I’ve tried to get us a room but they’re all booked up. We’re sleeping in our cars tonight.”
“Och well, I’ve slept in worse places,” said Cameron.
“But listen. We have to wait here. We can’t do anything tonight. If something goes wrong and they get away, we have to have the contingency plans in place. All we’re doing for now is observing. And try not to let the targets observe us!”
“Yeah, I understand.”
“Now, who’s covering the road north?”
“There’s my brother Jamie stationed at the lay-by on the way into Glen Coe, and I’ve got the rest of my team moving down from Fort William tonight and tomorrow. We’ll have enough to cover all this area.”
“Good. What’s communication like here?” asked Logan.
“Comms is fine. They’ve built a new set of masts across the moor, cunningly disguised as Scots pines. But it’s fine – coverage is good, now. Who else is coming?”
“I’ve got Fisher based at Tyndrum ten k down the road, and Denton’s team are in Crianlarich.”
Cameron nodded. “You’ve got them boxed in, then. Road and rail, it’s all covered.”
“Right. Good. It’s coming together. Now all we do is wait for the go from the Chairman. Got your gun on you?”
“Sure. I’ve got the weapon right here, man. Say - did you see what those bullets can do? God, man, I fired a few rounds into a deer out on the hill – it just blew right apart!”
Logan was angry. “You didn’t leave the bullets in it, did you, for anyone to find?”
“No, no. Honest, Logan, it’s all right. I got them all back. Trust me. Come on, let’s get that drink. I’m desperate.”
They put their dark glasses away and entered the Bridge of Orchy Hotel. Logan could feel the marvellous weight of the weapon against his side under his jacket. The Human Freedom League was going into action. The feeling in his gut was back, stronger than ever.
13The Train
After breakfast, they took coffee in the large, well-furnished lounge and watched as other residents departed. Some of the departing guests heaved huge rucksacks onto their backs and sauntered cheerfully past the wide windows to rejoin the West Highland Way, the long distance path from Glasgow to Fort William that passed right by the hotel; others mounted bicycles, laden with panniers; others loaded up cars and waved cheerio to fellow travellers they had met only the night before but whose company they had clearly enjoyed. All seemed happy, proceeding with holiday plans in complete ignorance of the isolated pair who watched them through the old-fashioned single-glazed windows.
Appetites, however, had been somewhat restored. Janette poured them both a second mug of tea. She had read Mark’s notes. “You’re not very good at drawing maps,” she remarked.
“No. Geography was never my best subject.”
“So tell me what you make of it. Your instincts have kept us alive so far.”
“They’ve set us up. They have suggested that we were somehow to blame for the gas explosions, in Touch and in Crieff. The police at the very least are going to want to question us. They will take us in, the Soros will know exactly where we are and – “
“Goodnight and thank you for playing?”
Mark nodded.
Janette threw down her teaspoon in a gesture of impatience and frustration. “But why? That’s what I still don’t understand.”
“Okay, let me run this by you, see how it sounds. The Soros see me as some kind of threat. Somehow I can tune into them. It seems to have something to do with magnetism. If I can tune in to them I can read their files and plans and know what they’re planning.”
“But what I can’t understand is that they’ve repeatedly said they mean Earth no harm. Those were the first words they said once communication had been established. They mean Earth no harm. Now it’s pretty clear they’ve been up to something for years and playing us for fools.”
“That’s pretty clear to me. When I think of them I get the impression of immense power, and – alth
ough not evil – a feeling of pretty strong dislike.”
“They dislike us? What, just you and me, or –“
“No – the whole human race. They really don’t like us very much.”
Janette was about to ask how he could know that, but thought better of it. She knew the answer.
Mark continued, the thoughtful look on his face: “And when you say that their first words were ‘We mean Earth no harm’, well, Earth could just mean the planet. It doesn’t have to include the people on it too, does it?”
“Hmmm.” Janette frowned.
“And when I think of those words, ‘We mean Earth no harm’ I get the definite impression of games-playing.”
“Huh. I remember, when I was a little girl, there was a TV series they used to show called ‘V’. It was about these aliens that came to take our water, because their own planet had run dry. They disguised themselves as humans, but really they were reptiles or lizards or something underneath. It was water, and I think they also wanted us for food. They had these huge space ships that hovered over our major cities – “
“Like in that old film, ‘Independence Day’?”
“Yes! Big round things, huge. And they stored our water and bodies on these space ships.” Janette lost herself in her recollection for a moment. “There was a really nice guy who led the resistance. I used to fancy him.”
“Mum! I don’t think this is the time to start remembering childhood loves.”
Janette laughed. “Sometimes you sound exactly like your dad.”
“But no,” said Michael, after a mouthful of tea.
“What do you mean, ‘no’?”
“They are not after our water, and they don’t want us for food.” Mark’s eyes took on the far away look again. “They are not a scout ship. They only have the – hey, wait a minute…” For a long moment Mark fell quiet, his face set and serious, as if scanning a distant horizon. “I see… I see the other ship. I see it in my mind’s eye. I think that was true what dad said about the mother ship. McIntyre’s field is just a landing craft. I can see the other one. They’ve hidden it, but I can actually see in my mind where it is!”