The Osiris Invasion: Book Two of Seeds of a Fallen Empire

by Anne Spackman

  Professor Faulkner, the top geneticist from The Genetics Research Institute in Sydney and a theorist of some merit, had been invited to be the guest speaker for two days but had done little speaking so far this afternoon, as experts in biochemistry and metallurgy presented their recent analyses of the evidence obtained near Statue City.

  Knightwood had listened quietly as they presented their initial hypotheses—hypotheses she knew had already been suggested by scientists at the UESRC shortly after the battle—and then reviewed the data, reaching similar conclusions. Everyone seemed to have hit a common impasse—who the aliens were, where they came from, and exactly what they were after remained as much as mystery as they had the day the aliens arrived.

  "...so you see, the presence of silicon as well as carbon in the organic remnants suggests that the lifeforms in question evolved along unfamiliar lines..." Professor Najita, a rather tall, middle-aged Japanese man with slightly curly hair, continued in a pedantic monotone.

  “Not again,” Knightwood thought—she had heard it all before back at the UESRC. As his developmental project neared completion, she and Cameron, along with Dr. Liu, the UESRC's genetics expert, had attempted to decipher the organic clues left at Statue City. Unfortunately, the quality of the alien remains were too poor to deduce very much from them.

  With the destruction of only a few enemy fighters, the alien pilots within them had been vaporized to little more than genetic sludge, molecules of carbon, nitrogen, hydrogen, phosphorous—in different ratios than expected but enough like the building blocks of life on Earth to raise a few eyebrows. Except that the odd element had been thrown into the jumble—silicon composed a bare fraction more of the alien chemistry than any life form on Earth. Still, Knightwood thought her fellow scientists gave too much consideration to that fact at the expense of other issues.

  "Thank you, Professor Najita," Faulkner nodded his approval. "And now, the task in hand would seem to be discovering how these pieces fit into a much larger puzzle. In the past couple of days, with time to review the material, I have come up with my own evolutionary theory, which might explain the hostility and intent of our alien foes." He paused for effect, glancing about the great conference table to redirect all eyes towards him.

  Aidan Faulkner was average in height but long-legged, a natural sportsman and a natural speaker, with a clear voice, full lips, wheat blond hair and small, wide-set, light brown eyes that flickered with hidden intent. Faulkner’s face was tanned from the Australian sun, from days spent collecting specimens in the rural zones in the island's interior. Faulkner was an attractive man in his late thirties, by no means effeminate, and twice divorced; yet while Knightwood found his appearance appealing, she instinctively mistrusted him.

  "We know from the density and formation of the metal and crystalloid fragments taken from Statue City that the home world of these Charon aliens was likely a planet more highly active than our own, with greater climactic and volcanic upheaval that brought the dense, heavier elements to the surface, constantly reshaping the planet's crust." Faulkner continued in his not-quite Australian accent; he was not a native, though he had lived in Sydney a score of years.

  "Under such conditions, it seems reasonable that any species to evolve would have to be hardy, adaptable—able to survive a rapidly changing environment." Wide gestures accompanied his words. "Most likely, such a species might view life in general and other forms of life less benevolently than we. Eons of evolution would have ingrained an instinctive need to struggle. Evolving into a civilization capable of intergalactic travel freed them from their age-old struggle against nature, but they could not escape their own evolution.

  "We cannot determine how long they have wandered space since escaping their home, if indeed they came from such a world. It may be that the forces capable of resurfacing a planet drove them from a home they could no longer inhabit. Or perhaps the promise of a better world beckoned them. Yet if they had wanted the Earth, I believe they could have taken her by now. Thus we must wonder what has drawn them to our solar system, why they circle us waiting to strike—why they seem to enjoy the suffering of the prey.

  "But the point is: now that we have an idea who they are, we must find a way to stop them."

  Nods of agreement followed the geneticist's hypothetical scenario. The theory Faulkner presented conformed to the evidence, created a logical method to the alien madness, and yet Knightwood doubted it. Though the UESRC team had not come up with an alternative hypothesis, another explanation had to exist to explain the clues. Knightwood hated to believe that an entire race would provoke a conflict just because it was supposedly in their nature.

  Faulkner looked about himself in satisfaction, pressing his lips together, his hands clasped at his waist. The assembled scientists and politicians digested his hypothesis over the next few minutes. Most of them seemed pleased that he had settled their questions. If no one spoke, Knightwood thought it was because none of them wanted the responsibility of disrupting the neat little package he promised them or the burden of starting over again.

  Faulkner frowned as his gaze found Knightwood, his fair brows furrowing, deepening the crease in the center of his forehead.

  Blast her! She was a pest, a thorn in his side wherever he went. Faulkner often thought that he would enjoy putting her in her place, though he admitted he wasn’t certain how best to do it; at the same time, deep down, he also admitted he enjoyed their seasonal confrontations. There were few things he looked forward to like he did the chance these conferences allowed him to combat her latest arguments and theories with his own contradictory, undeniable proof. At the moment, however, he was well aware that he had nothing but flimsy conjectures to support his hypothesis and little solid evidence at all behind him.

  Blast her. What animal instinct made Knightwood capable of sniffing out his secrets? He wondered. Oh, she certainly seemed sure of herself, and that she knew him better than anyone. What was going on in that little head of hers? He wondered in irritation.

  In truth, Aidan Faulkner was a shrewd, brilliant man with perhaps the single largest store of ambition in his bones since Napoleon. There was little he wouldn’t do to advance his own career and little he cared about apart from a few tacit interests that gave an outlet to his general ambition: his own career had begun as a launchpad towards achieving worldwide renown, until he actually discovered that he loved what he did, and that he enjoyed the outdoor excursions into the Outback rural zones his work frequently made necessary.

  He was not a soulless man, in his own estimation; certainly a man of great passions with the one prevailing vice of surrounding himself as often as possible with women of little talent or wit but great beauty, and he made his way from one to another with the alacrity of a wandering honey-bee collecting pollen.

  Blast that woman, Knightwood. He thought, as she frowned. He felt that she did not like him, and found he didn’t care for the sensation.

  "Something you wish to add, Knightwood?" He asked at last, certain of her disagreement. "Does the UESRC propose another solution?"

  "No—we have no other suggestions," Knightwood said quietly. "But if the Charon aliens have achieved interplanetary travel, it seems to me that they could find other uninhabited worlds and systems capable of sustaining them aside from the Earth."

  "Your point?" Faulkner said, his eye drawn to the small arch of one of Knightwood's dark brows.

  "That they came here for a specific reason." Knightwood continued. "Now, if they are looking to provoke a fight, why did they come here? Why bother antagonizing such a backward civilization as ours, a civilization still in the cradle of its own solar system? If, as you say, they enjoy the struggle—why didn't they find a civilization, a planet that could present some kind of a challenge?"

  Faulkner said nothing.

  "The aliens have developed a superior space vessel, proving that their technology far surpasses o
ur own. If they could reach the Earth, it seems safe to assume that they could have as easily visited other worlds in the area—

  "Again, what has that got to do with their evolution and reason for being here?" Faulkner interrupted, with a flash of a smile and bright, blinding white teeth.

  "Simple—how do we know that they didn't evolve on a different planet than the one you're suggesting, that they didn't come from one world and use resources obtained on another, richer planet to build their ship? We have no proof where they evolved. My point is that we cannot make assumptions as to their origins and nature without more accurate evidence of their biochemical composition. Find me some proof, and I'll believe the simple neighborhood bully explanation."

  "You don't call their behavior so far evidence enough?" Faulkner shook his head like a father chastising a wayward child. "These creatures came to our solar system without warning and picked a fight as soon as they got here."

  "Don't forget," Knightwood said, "the other ship that arrived first."

  "Are you suggesting that the alien ship on Earth is their objective?" Faulkner allowed himself a chuckle.

  “Well, you UESRC chaps may have access to classified fragments of the first alien ship—but the rest of us aren't at leisure to review them, so let's leave them out of this, shall we?” Faulkner gave a derisive toss of his head. “Anyway, the UESF released word that the testing done on them proved inconclusive—that the hull had been composed of an unknown alloy unlike the scraps found at Statue City." A slow smile crept across his face. "Tell me Knightwood, are you hiding something?"

  "If you're implying that I have privileged information regarding the composition of the first alien ship, then the answer is no." Knightwood replied evasively.

  "Then I will restate my initial question: if the earlier ship were the objective, does it not stand to reason that our Charon aliens would have located the remnants by now and moved onto the site? Wouldn't they be interested in searching the area? Explain to me why they haven't if they're so smart!"

  Knightwood could not tell him that the first alien ship had literally disappeared; its anti-radar cloak was the stuff of fantasy, not reality as it was conceived on Earth. Meanwhile, Faulkner's eyes narrowed, sensing her hesitation, and he pressed on.

  "Then without proof, dear Knightwood, you cannot ask me to believe that the two ships are connected. Just look at the video reports—the two vessels don't even resemble each other. Conclusion—two random incidents, pure and simple. Highly astounding, the more so!”

  "Are you suggesting that three technologically advanced species have come into contact randomly—what are the odds of that happening?" Knightwood asked.

  Irritating woman! Faulkner thought, strangely pleased nonetheless.

  "You know we can't possibly know about the odds." Faulkner said with a casual shrug. "Because until recently human beings thought all life in the universe existed here on Earth. It may be that hundreds of civilizations exist and have only just now taken interest in the Earth—that a conglomeration of civilizations are out there. Perhaps two worlds discovered the existence of life on Earth at the same time and raced to see who could get here first."

  "A galactic race?" Knightwood arched an eyebrow. This was an interesting idea.

  "Not exactly, but in the history of Earth great enterprising nations rushed to claim the New World and gain territory." Faulkner countered.

  "But they would have marked us and moved on, or at the least attempted colonization by now, or some sort of contact." Knightwood protested.

  "Remember, no assumptions—we don't know if they are even like us, much less if they think like us." Faulkner shook a finger at her, his tone of voice admonishing her. He turned around to face the general assembly, as if to terminate the discussion. But Knightwood wasn't finished.

  "Exactly." Knightwood had risen in her chair. Her voice carried in the still air, drawing the assembly's attention again and bringing Faulkner's eyes around to face her. "So let's take the information from Statue City at face value until we have more evidence." That devil of a man.

  That bitch, thought Faulkner.

  Back to square one.

  * * * * *

  Richard Mathieson must have clicked and unclicked the end of his light pen a hundred times as he sat at his training station in the Kronos East Wing Docking Bay.

  His mind would not allow him any peace, but endlessly worked over his problems. Only four months had passed since he had assumed his new duties. Almost a month ago, it had become his turn to collect Erin from the supervised indoctrination facility. Fortunately, Zhdanov had finally approved a schedule that left him a few hours off in the afternoon.

  Richard could hardly believe it, but a year had passed since Erin had joined their family, and in that short time it appeared she had recovered well from her early childhood ordeal—as far as anyone could tell, at least emotionally. Already she had learned to understand English, many months quicker than Cameron had predicted. By Christmas, she had written her own stories about an imaginary friend, Kai. But even now, four months later, she was taciturn, only speaking in answer to specific questions. However, she lingered on the periphery of the action, missing nothing with those wide blue eyes.

  Still waters run deep, Richard often thought. She was quiet as a mouse.

  Yet, as time passed, Sasha thought Erin's imaginary creation was doing her more harm than good and had, rather diplomatically to Richard’s way of thinking, suggested encouraging Erin's friendship with Major Arnaud and Madeleine Brasseau's little five-year old girl, Colleen. The girls had met in the children's center before the Charon aliens appeared, before their parents' schedules had been rearranged.

  Erin tended to be quiet and observant—traits often mistakenly confused with having a “reserved” nature.

  Richard could trace the beginning of his concerns back more than two weeks, to Erin's one year evaluation. One of Cameron's medical colleagues had supervised a few scanning tests, and the computers had registered normal functions. However, though Erin showed progress beyond everyone’s hopes towards a complete psychological recovery, she still could not remember her life before Sasha had found her.

  Richard and Sasha had taken Erin in a week ago for an additional session with a child psychologist specialist from Central City, who claimed that Erin suffered from a severe form of the dissociative disorder psychogenic amnesia known as psychogenic fugue.

  But Richard didn't agree with any of the results since Cameron's departure from the UESRC and suggested taking Erin to the medical center in Coast Charles for a more thorough examination, to see if her memory loss had some medical explanation. One of the attending physicians had been more interested in Erin's odd pallor and recommended some comprehensive blood tests. He'd recommended Dr. Tor Bredesen, an expert in diseases of the blood; Richard and Sasha had allowed the tests, expecting nothing.

  The only problem was, it was taking Bredesen much longer to analyze the results than the good doctor had estimated.

  And that could only mean that something was very, very wrong.

  Chapter Twelve

  A week later, Dr. Bredesen finally sent a message that he had finished analyzing Erin’s test results. Richard was sitting alone in the kitchen petting the grey cat, Ruffles, before breakfast when the communications line sounded and began to display information across the vidscreen on the wall. They had two cats, Ruffles and Squeaky, the seal-point Siamese.

  "Sasha!" he called, and waited, dropping Ruffles to the floor. Ruffles purred and strode away, nonplussed. "Identify sender," Richard said in a monotone to the sensitive computer panel.

  "Dr. Bredesen." The computer chimed. Richard stood rooted by the screen, staring at the printout he had asked for when Sasha came into the kitchen, her hair damp about her shoulders.

  Sasha retrieved the video message.

  "To Mr. Mathieson and Ms. Bl
air, this is a message from Dr. Bredesen calling to inform you that our tests have confirmed the presence of abnormal cells in your daughter's circulatory system.

  “Please do not be alarmed. We would like to verify before we begin to consider possible treatments. We feel positive about our procedures and estimate a full recovery within six months. I would like to confirm an appointment with your daughter some time today, if possible. I'll be available later this afternoon. Sincerely, Dr. Tor Bredesen."

  The truth slowly worked its way through them, overwhelming them in one final, dawning realization. Before Sasha could break down, Richard reached for her and held her tightly. Though Erin was only recently adopted, they loved her very much already.

  They said nothing as they held on to each other.

 

  * * * * *

  Situated around the fertile green woodland zone of sector seven, twelve hundred kilometers south and a thousand kilometers west of the UESRC, Central City had become an important industrial center in the production of new spacecraft. Around the same size as Statue City before the alien raid and another prime target for invasion, Central City had fortified herself over the past five months even though there had been no sign of the aliens re-mobilizing against the Earth.

  Dr. Cameron found himself wishing that Zhdanov and Knightwood were with him as he gazed out the observation window to the main hangar below in the Central City base, where the newly finished Pioneer made ready to depart for the Pluto orbit.

  Lines of pilots, many of whom he recognized as former members of the UESRC training staff, as well as numerous ex-trainees newly graduated to positions among the fighter squadrons, boarded the new spaceship. For the past several months, they had been familiarizing themselves with the new model planes in preparation for the maiden flight of the Pioneer. They had devoted hours of practice in the UESRC simulation room and in the actual planes on the outskirts of Central City, but many still wondered if it had been enough.