The Vandle War

by Reg Franklin

  West and his scientists ran pell-mell for the relative safety of the lander. Another of the creatures grabbed a straggling doctor, screamed in his face, and tore off his arms.

  “Sweet, bloody, merciful, God!” Chris screamed at his charging opponent, this time levelling his gun and got a round into the thing’s left eye, removing half its head, finally dropping it.

  Jennifer had grabbed the third in a telekinetic grip, intent on trying to at least get a cursory probe of the alien’s mind, if only to find out what had provoked them initially. But she received a shock when, in response to her probe, it began going through some kind of seizure or convulsions before going dead limp.

  Distracted by tearing the scientist apart piece by piece, the third alien was rocked by a half dozen explosive rounds, tearing huge chunks from it, spraying one guard with at least a gallon of orange blood, before mercifully going silent.

  “Okay.” Chris panted. “Jennifer?”

  “Y-yeah.” She released her grip, allowing her alien to fall heavily to the ground. “Pretty sure this one’s dead too.”

  “Doctor West?” Chris glanced over where the scientists huddled.

  “Yes, we're okay here.” His blonde head nodded enthusiastically.

  “Doc, get the bodies onto the Alex. I need to know where the hell these things come from, why the hell they're so antagonistic, and how the hell we can kill them faster.”

  The guard who had been drenched in the thing's blood, collapsed and began seizing. “Pickman!” West hollored, charging over. “Isolate him in a stasis field!”

  Scientists bolted over, breaking out medical equipment, only to be confused by Doctor West’s stern command as he stared at a medical scanner. “Do not touch him! In fact, did anyone else come into physical contact with that blood?!”

  Jennifer looked herself over and shook her head. Chris spotted a small, dime-sized patch on his boot. “Just a little on my boot, doc.”

  Pickman now ensconced in a stasis chamber, West ran to the Admiral. “Take it off! Right now!”

  “Uh, doc, mind telling me wh-?” Was as far as he got before Jennifer telekinetically split the footwear apart.

  “Always do what your doctor says, Admiral.” She shrugged in a not-apologetic-at-all.

  West was now on a communicator. “I need men wearing hazardous materials suits down here now for retrieval! Maximum safety precautions! Double suits if you have to!”

  Jennifer picked up the now ignored medical scanner, glancing over the results. “Oh. Uh. Yeah, that's not good.”

  “Would someone be so good as to tell me what in the bloody hell is going on?!” Chris bellowed. “Last time I checked I was in command here!”

  West continued requesting materials, Jennifer glanced at him. “I’m not in your navy, so I don't exactly answer to you.” She passed him the scanner. “Understand any of that?”

  Chris skimmed the data. “Not really beyond the word ‘virulent’. Which is bad enough on its own.”

  Jennifer took it back. “What it says Admiral, is that this species’ blood is carcinogenic. At an unheard of rate.” Ashen faced, she nodded at the body of Pickman. “He’s in late stage brain, lung, and pancreatic cancers. And he just developed leukemia on top of that.”

  6.

  Callixta floated in her tank, mind wandering. She reached out, saw the people working in the Palace, felt their fears and anxieties, but also their pride and joy. She wrapped herself in the latter, relishing the sensation like a warm blanket.

  Elsewhere, she felt the alien mind Paul had imprisoned. She had declined to meet or interrogate it thus far, but if necessary she certainly would.

  Stretching her mind further, she felt the Neuromancer Academy. Young Praxus stood on a balcony, pondering his role in the Empire. Paul believed the boy to be an agent of great change. Was he? Time would tell.

  She basked in the telepathic glow of millions of conversations, thoughts, dreams; all she wanted was to again see beyond the veil, let slip the bonds restricting her and see

  -Derverstand was burning, long sinuous torsos darting in and out of the flames, there were screams so many screams not just of her people but something else something that was coming closer oh dear god what was that smell the screams just getting louder and LOUDER AND OH DEAR GOD WHAT WAS THAT THING-

  Callixta struggled to open the cover of her isolation chamber, oxygenated suspension fluid almost making it too hard to find the catch, then remembering the emergency release.

  When Stragdoc heard the alarm, he wasted no time in making his way down to his wife. She lay curled on the floor, gasping and sobbing. “Leave us!” He thundered to the emergency personnel.

  Once alone, he gathered her in his arms and returned her to his chambers. Her mind was reeling, he couldn't make coherent sense of the images she was giving off.

  He pressed his forehead to hers, attempting to give her a psychic equivalent of a slap that one would administer to someone in hysterics. But the building pressure of his mind into hers seemed to calm her down enough that she eased into unconsciousness.

  When she came to, he was sitting next to her, eyes closed. “Darling.” He whispered. “Your visions have returned.”

  She nodded. His eyes opened. “The humans are coming.”

  She shook her head now. Her beloved frowned. “A civil war?”

  Again, she shook her head in the negative. “Monsters. Bent on killing all of us. Alphites. Humans. Everything and everyone.”

  The Emperor stood. “Not today they won't.”

  “I saw them. Horrible creatures, taller than we are, white skin, tentacles in place of feet...led by…” She paused here.

  “Led by what?” Stragdoc’s eyes bored into hers.

  “It...it sounds insane...but they were led by...an ace of spades…”

  Her husband’s eyes narrowed. “That lying little houseplant…” He snarled, and left her, alone and confused.

  ---

  Stragdoc tore into Codex’s cell, fury boiling over.

  +Something vexes you, Emperor?+ The alien managed to say before being slammed against the wall.

  “You're the advanced scout of an invasion force. Shock troops consisting of tall, pale, tentacled creatures, isn't that correct?!” Stragdoc, unable to contain his anger, hauled Codex to his feet, only to throw him back against the wall.

  “Admit it.” Spittle now running down his face, Stragdoc dragged the Prelt back to his feet.

  +Tentacles and pale, you say?+ A thin line of greenish blood leaked from the slit-like mouth.

  “Tell me. Or I rip all of your secrets from your mind and leave you to die.”

  +Such. Hostility.+ Codex began coughing, or was it the Prelt’s equivalent of laughter? +I will answer you, self-declared Emperor, for I want you to know the true depths of the coming horror. I want you to know that what comes is what you deserve. You and your people shall suffer, and while we did not take a direct hand in it, the fact that we did originate the threat gives me solace that my treatment at your hands shall be avenged by an uncaring universe. It delights me to know that.+

  With that, Codex began to tell a story.

  Part II - Following Up

  After the poor Mr. Pickman was placed in stasis, both the Admiral and I were checked for possible carcinogenic poisoning. The Admiral was either saved by the thick leather of his boot, or the Paradigm compound in his bloodstream.

  Maybe even both?

  We discovered that the aliens did not tunnel under us precisely...they buried three ships just under the surface, left tantalizing bait in the blood painted deliberately on the surface, and when their ships detected most of us in their trap, they activated ejection devices.

  I cannot help but admire the cleverness of the plan. But at the same time, it horrifies me. To our eyes, these things are feral. But they can plan. Planning implies intelligence. And yes, so did the ship I saw the first time, but, for all I knew it belonged to a previous explorer the thing dismembered.

 
They have spaceflight. They hate us for no discernible reason. They would be coming.

  One other thing that terrifies me? If they look feral to our eyes, how do we appear to theirs?

  -Jennifer Safyo

  7.

  Chris moved uncomfortably in the heavy protective gear as he entered West’s laboratory. West had not wanted to waste any time, and was in the middle of dissecting the most complete of the three aliens.

  “Doctor.” He rumbled through the suit’s vox.

  “Ah. Admiral. One moment. I'm just in the process of examining it’s cardiovascular system…” He grunted. “Or more precisely, what I think is its cardiovascular system. Pretty sure at least.” After a moment, he stood back. “Yep. Definitely the heart. It’s packed full of the carcinogens that felled poor Pickman.”

  Chris peered into the incision, tried to make sense of the pale organs, black bones, and pools of orange blood, and quickly gave up. “Ok, Doctor. Give me the broad strokes on this thing. What are they?”

  West sat on a nearby stool. “I have absolutely no idea. At first, because of the tentacles, I thought perhaps it was some sort of cephalopod. But that doesn't apply because of the fact that it has bones. Even through the tentacles, they’re thin but there. So scratch that off. Reptile or lizard? We did discuss that maybe they have removable tentacles like a gecko’s tail if you recall. Except this thing seems to be warm blooded. Mammalian? No hair, and it’s reproductive system lays eggs. Avian? Bones are dense, solid masses. And to top it all off, the damn things are hermaphroditic, and can even breed with themselves!” West threw up his arms in dismay.

  “Okay doc, enough on what it isn't. Tell me what it is.”

  West sighed, hung his head for a moment, then barked laughter. “It's a platypus.”

  Chris looked puzzled.

  West explained. “There's an old joke that Earth’s platypuses were assembled by God out of leftover parts. A billed mammal that lays eggs and has poison spurs.” Here he shrugged and gestured at the alien. “The difference is that these things aren't leftovers. I'm convinced that this is an engineered species.”

  “What do you mean?”

  West leaned over the dissected corpse now, excited. “There’s no sign of evolutionary progress in these things. Forget whatever hellscape could result in this form of natural selection, but the big clue is that there’s nothing vestigial about them. We still have tiny vestigial tails, completely useless and not even external. Everything about these aliens points to purpose.” West now began pacing around the table, pointing out different things as he got more and more excited.

  “The horizontally bifurcated eyes. The upper portion sees normally, while the lower can see infrared. The mouth, it’s basically a blender, pre-digesting food before it hits the gullet, which begins converting it to fuel in what must be a remarkable speed. The hands! Perfectly symmetrical, with two opposable thumbs, the dexterity of these things has to be incredible. And the tentacles, it can move across walls, ceilings, floors, no loss of speed.” West stopped. “And the blood, ensuring that even if the creature dies, it may still eliminate its killer.”

  “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” Chris breathed. “So, what you're saying...is that these things were bred for a purpose, as living weapons?”

  West looked back at him. “I believe so, yes. Here's the really scary part. Remember, I told you that these things are hermaphrodites, capable of breeding with themselves?”

  “Oh, lord.” The horror on Chris’s face was apparent.

  West nodded. “Let's say a clutch is four eggs. Exponential progression. There could be trillions of them. And they could repopulate the species in less than a decade.”

  “We need to warn the government.” Chris decided, just as Yurikuma radioed his suit.

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but another ship just arrived. Sir, it’s the Twin.”

  Young’s ship. Damn. Chris went to rub his forehead, only to be obstructed by the hazard suit. “I’ll be on the bridge in a few minutes, Jemma. Stall.” He turned back to Doctor West. “Last question, doctor. This is the one that Ms. Safyo defeated. How did it die?”

  “I haven't opened up it’s skull yet, sir. Every other part of it is in...well, I hesitate to call pristine condition, but…”

  “All right. Let me know the instant you have cause of death, understood?”

  “Believe me Admiral, nothing would give me more pleasure than to know how to kill these things.” West clapped his hands, then glanced at the two shrouded corpses. “Uh. Kill them more efficiently, I mean.”

  But Chris was already out the door.

  ---

  Halfway to the bridge, Jemma notified him that a launch was en route from the Twin, forcing him to change course for the landing bay, swearing irritably. One the one hand, it was good that a representative of the Alliance government was here; he could sound the general alarm and get the fleet mobilized that much more quickly. But, this was Young.

  He entered the bay, to be confronted by the Councilman and a unit of soldiers, all of whom looked uncomfortable. Young didn't, of course; Chris was certain that Young had been born with that smug, arrogant look on his face.

  “Mr. Young, welcome abo-”

  Kelly Young raised a hand, and all the soldiers raised their weapons. “Admiral. You are hereby removed from command. And do give up your pet Alphite before I’m forced to give an order I’d enjoy.”

  8.

  Chris stood dumbfounded for an instant. Then he burst out laughing. “What?” He choked out.

  Young stood there, a muscle under his left eye began to twitch. “You are relieved of command. Under arrest for treason. Conspiring with the enemy.”

  Chris just howled louder. “Oh my god, are you insane?” He was bent over, gasping for air.

  Young began actively trembling with anger. This certainly was not how this was supposed to go. “What is so Goddamn funny?” He snarled.

  Chris managed to get some measure of control, but still giggling. “You are. Let me guess, you didn't even check with the Council before getting in your ship, did you? Intent on dragging me home in chains?” He wiped a hand across his face. “Jesus, Kelly, I thought you were supposed to be the Senior Councilman? You need a four-fifths majority, plus the consent of my second-in-command in order to relieve me!”

  Young ground his teeth. “Which I will have once I trot out your conspiracy to start a fresh war between us and the Psi-Omegan Empire!”

  “What in the hell are you talking about?” Chris laughed again. Young’s soldiers looked absolutely befuddled. “Stand down, men, I’m still in command. Hell, enjoy our mess hall. I think if the good Councilman is going to have diarrhea of the mouth, he best do it in private.”

  The soldiers looked at each other, shrugged, and left the enraged Young and sanguine St. George.

  “Okay, what is this conspiracy you're blathering about?” Chris was genuinely curious.

  “Do you deny that you have an Alphite aboard your ship, Admiral?” Young bit out.

  “Let's say I do. Hypothetically. How does that lead to conspiracy?”

  “Why else would you have one of the avowed enemies of mankind here?” Kelly marched forward until he was face to face with Chris. “You know you're on the verge of irrelevance. What better way to relive past glories than to secretly set up a private little agreement to start a new war?”

  Chris was utterly dumbfounded by Young’s logic...or lack thereof.

  -Don't be. There's someone in his head. Stall.

  Then it clicked. Young was being manipulated, very subtly, by someone else. Why else would the man have forgotten procedures set in place before he was born?

  “Tell me Kelly,” Chris began. “Wouldn't it be more likely that I could have an agent able to keep tabs on whatever is going on with that jolly psychopath rather than me trying to start a war with the Alphites?” Just over Young’s shoulder, Chris saw a shadow slip into the open hatch of the transport.

  “Besides, why would I
need to do something like that when we're on the brink of an invasion?”

  Young ‘s look of arrogance faltered slightly. “What invasion? What are you talking about?”

  -One more minute, that's all I need.

  “See, Kelly, that's the problem, you didn't think of why we came here. Because here is where the advanced scouts were encountered.”

  “Advanced scouts of what? What the hell are you talking about?” Kelly was back to snarling.

  “Platypuses. Whole mess of them.” Chris grinned, and Young dropped as if he’d been poleaxed. A moment later, Jennifer emerged from the lander, dragging an unconscious man by his collar.