Consortium of Planets: Alien Test (11 page)

Wystl stepped up to him and whispered in his ear. Once again, he left the room.

Since Aydr’n had arrived on this rock in the middle of nowhere, Wystl had assigned him to keep an eye on Jonathan Visen. With the Test progressing so quickly, she had ordered him to see what the chancellor was up to once again. When Aydr’n first started to watch Jonathan years ago, he felt that any Vistolian wart slug could have done such a menial task, but as the cycles wore on, he began to appreciate the chancellor’s thirst for power and glory. Aydr’n began to draw pleasure from watching how well the Human could control events and achieve his goals by whatever means necessary. It reminded Aydr’n of what the Warrior Caste once was and what it should be again. He would take advantage of the chancellor’s greed and use him as an ally when the time was right. Once Wystl had her “accident,” he could tell the University and the Senate whatever he wanted about Earth and whether or not it passed the Test.

Obviously distracted, Wystl set the control pad down on the arm of her chair and began ordering the remaining Warriors in their native tongue. Dean gave Beth a discreet nod. Even without words, she knew what he wanted and nodded back almost imperceptibly. With a quick glance, she checked Wystl and the other aliens. So as not to be noticed, she drifted slowly away from Dean to the other side of the room. She would remain “invisible” as long as Wystl’s focus was off Dean. If Wystl turned toward Dean, Beth planned to create a diversion and try to draw the alien’s attention.

The Warriors had stopped firing at Sasha and Amy and were cautiously moving toward the unpredictable Humans. They moved so slowly that Sasha decided that there was enough time to give them a little surprise, but she needed at least one of her raised hands to pull it off.

With exaggerated resignation meant for the aliens to see, she hung her head and lowered her hands. She wanted them to think that it was part of her surrender, and it seemed to be working. With one hand, she slowly reached into her pocket and felt for her fighter’s remote control. It would be too obvious if she pulled it out. She would have to leave it in her pocket and operate it from memory.

Dean took one step in the direction of the pad on Wystl’s chair and leaned toward its shiny metallic surface. He paused with uncertainty and frowned at the multitude of buttons with strange symbols etched into them. Beth watched Wystl’s body movements and prayed that Wystl wouldn’t notice what Dean was doing. The time was now! He couldn’t wait any longer and bent over. His nose pressed against one button twice and another button once. Then he flinched in cold anticipation.

Amazingly, the same tingling sensation that he felt when Wystl first took his arms began to return. His arms were back! He grabbed the pad and haphazardly punched in more commands. Wystl reacted to Dean’s sudden movement by turning toward him. Beth started jumping and shouting – she was still trying to get Wystl’s attention when she realized that her arms had returned as well.

Sasha’s hand was still in her pocket. She rubbed her index finger across the smooth metallic top of the remote. With as little obvious movement as possible, she felt down to the third row of plastic buttons that controlled the fighter’s weapons. The sequence of presses had to be correct. She pressed the far right button twice. As she moved her finger to the far left button, the remote shifted in her pocket. After a brief struggle to control the remote and to maintain her composure for the approaching aliens, she recovered her place and found the button she was looking for.

Wystl looked at Dean. “You had better make a decision, because General Stranova is about to fire one of Earth’s most powerful weapons at us. How will you deal with it? Will you try to stop it with the control pad in your hand? Or will you let me stop it because you know you have no idea how to use the pad? Will you let all of us die? What will you do?”

“You ask a lot of questions for an alien that’s supposed to be so smart.”

Wystl didn’t react to his obvious sarcasm. Dean already knew his chances of dying were pretty good and didn’t want the alien’s badgering questions to interfere with his decision-making process. The real question was: What would happen to the black hole approaching the asteroid belt?
Without Wystl’s guidance, will it go out of control? If it remains on target a bunch of rocks will get sucked up, and that shouldn’t hurt anything, right?

He couldn’t be certain. With a fair amount of resignation in his voice, he gave in. “You win. I can’t afford to take chances with that kind of power loose in our solar system.” Dean held out the pad for Wystl to take.

The nuclear weapon flashed over the small hill and began a fiery arch toward the alien ship. Sasha couldn’t resist the urge to tense her body for the coming shock wave that would slam into her once the nuke exploded against the alien ship.

She wondered if her efforts would make any difference.
If I destroy these aliens, will they just send more? Why are they interested in Earth now? And why am I so interested in things that I can’t control?
That had never been her style and probably wouldn’t serve her well now, assuming that she lived.
Speaking of living, where’s the big bang?
She should have felt it by now.

The aliens stopped in their tracks. Every eye on the desolate lunar surface followed the fiery projectile’s rise and fall as it flashed toward their ship. Sasha had no way of knowing that when she gave up, Wystl determined that she had something up her sleeve and used that knowledge to improvise a test specifically for Dean.

Wystl looked at the control pad that Dean offered her. “Keep it as a gift,” she said. “That’s only a toy, anyway.”

She pulled out another pad from behind her back and punched it once. Two meters before the nuke collided with the ship, an opening to another dimension formed and swallowed Sasha’s surprise.

Beth was still counting to make sure she had all her fingers, but she had to ask, “Wystl, just exactly where does all the stuff go when you zap it like that?”

Wystl paused for a moment and considered the question. “I can do different things to a given object. It depends on what it is and if I might want it later, like I did your arms. I didn’t have a lot of time, but I was able to keep your nuclear weapon from hitting us. In this case, your weapon will float in the Travel Dimension until it hits something. Do not worry, you are safe from such an occurrence here.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “I’d hate to be the one surprised by that thing! Don’t you travel in the Travel Dimension?” When none of the aliens responded, Dean continued. “So, you gave us a fake control pad. You weren’t distracted at all. It was just more of your test.”

Wystl nodded with a smile and gave a light response. “It was time you got your arms back anyway, don’t you agree?” Seeing that neither Dean nor Beth was in the mood to joke about their arms, she grew serious. “Fine, I couldn’t let you have the real pad without at least two years of training. Even then, most Consortians can’t handle it. It is very complex, with forty-five levels and up to seventy-five different commands for each level. Then there is the finesse of combining the capability of the various levels and commands simultaneously. It can be like a virtuoso playing his instrument, a star athlete coming through in the big game, and a famous surgeon performing an intricate procedure all at the same time. Some Searchers show more skill than others at using the pad. Left in the wrong hands, it could become a danger to us all.”

U.D.C. Sit Room:

After General Martle ordered more support for Sasha, he turned his attention to why the chancellor had excused himself in such a hurry. As the top military man, Martel’s knowledge of the Situation Room was much more extensive than Visen’s. As a young captain, he had been heavily involved in the “room’s” initial construction and was responsible for the secret monitoring equipment that had been installed at that time. The equipment monitored a variety of angles in the main auditorium and the adjacent offices, including the one Visen had hurried off to. Watching the system’s data after training exercises in the Sit Room was invaluable to senior commanders striving for operational perfection – and for a general like Martel who needed to keep an eye on his sociopathic boss.

Martel listened as Visen told his lieutenant to use whatever force was necessary to eliminate the Swiss problem. Visen’s “problem” was really part of a large covert organization called the Network. Martle masterminded the organization to counter the chancellor’s growing power with the support of many world leaders who, for obvious reasons, wished to remain anonymous.

Those leaders wanted the military and police forces to swear allegiance to a world constitution rather than to one man. Their fears were realized when Visen had all military and security forces swear allegiance to himself. When that happened, Martle received hundreds of discreet inquiries for help against what they feared was Visen spinning out of control.

Martel secretly drew the Network’s personnel from a variety of backgrounds, including elite military organizations like Delta Force, the Navy Seals, and the Rangers, as well as from agencies like the C.I.A., the F.B.I. and Interpol. Recently, Martel had imposed a requirement on field agents to achieve high ranking in an extreme martial arts specialty of their choice. The wide variety of fighting styles and weapons would empower agents with greater flexibility and survivability on clandestine Network missions.

Martle’s next call was to the Network’s European Director. They exchanged greetings and then the Russian asked, “So, boss, how does our battle with the little green men go? It is all the mindless news people talk of right now. You’d think nothing else was going on.”

The general waited for him to take a breath and smiled. “Vlad, you aren’t really getting your information from the press, are you?” Then he answered Vlad’s question. “It’s hard to tell. Fortunately, they don’t seem to be in a big hurry to kill us all. Maybe our teams are slowing them down.”

Getting down to business, Martel started again. “Listen, Vlad, I need you to take it up to the next level in Switzerland. Visen is making a move there right now. Do whatever you need to, but I don’t want any of his people standing at the end. It’s time to send a clear message that someone doesn’t agree with his politics.”

Vlad’s tone was grave and cautious at the same time. “Well, this could mean war, and he has many more resources than we do.”

Martel knew that he was dealing with the ‘devil’ – a man who was capable of doing anything, and who had all the world’s assets to back him up. He tried to sound positive for Vlad but couldn’t get all the concern out of his voice. “I know. Our guys will just have to be better than his. Make sure that they cover their tracks so Visen doesn’t know where to turn, and of course, I’ll offer to ‘help’ Visen on this end, any way I can.” He said good luck to Vlad and listened to the line go dead. 

Chapter Eight

Alien Base:

Captain Aydr’n entered his private cabin and sat down. Awards, certificates, and pictures of dignitaries covered the walls of the otherwise austere office. Sometimes they comforted him with memories of success. Today, they reminded him of a stagnant career.

“What have you done for me lately?” he mumbled angrily to himself.

His memories watched silently from the walls as he once again did Wystl’s bidding. Using Visen’s genetic code, he punched in the coordinates and the chancellor appeared on his display. With a Human’s genetic code, Aydr’n could observe anyone on the planet without their knowledge.

Strangely, Visen wasn’t concerned with the Test. Aydr’n listened as the Human discussed something about Swiss insurgents and maintaining his power.
Faced with such an overwhelming opponent, you’d think his petty problems could wait, but Humans
are unpredictable
. Confident that the chancellor was preoccupied and held no surprises for their mission, Aydr’n turned his thoughts back to Wystl.

Shortly before he was assigned to Wystl’s investigation of the Humans, Aydr’n had been approached by the Warriors for Change, a group of senior members of the Warrior Caste. They did not agree with the Consortium policy of placing University scientists in command of warships. They feared that the scientists’ lack of military experience could place the vessels at risk. Their primary concern, the one that could create popular support for their cause, was that ships assigned to the University weren’t available for Consortia’s security. Their plan would make it seem as though there was a serious threat to Consortia and force the Grand Senate to return the University’s ships to Warrior control.

With Wystl distracted by the troublesome Humans, Aydr’n decided it was time to take back his ship. The Warriors for Change would soon have another ship, but he couldn’t communicate with them directly through the Travel Dimension; a message probe or courier traveling on a ship was the only option for communication. Wystl might notice the launch of a probe, but low-ranking Warriors were continuously transported by shuttle to new assignments. That was the safest choice. His most expendable Warrior was the inexperienced guard assigned just outside the door, and he could always send a backup message probe after Wystl was no longer an issue.

The young Warrior had been standing at parade rest in the vacant corridor for so long he had almost fallen asleep. He failed to hear the door’s soft hiss as it slid open, but his superior’s booming voice grabbed his attention as it echoed through the door from inside the cabin. He blinked a few times to shake off the fatigue and realized how lucky he was that the captain had not seen him struggling to keep his eyes open. For better or worse, Yeoman Alont gathered himself and entered the cabin with a sharp salute.

Aydr’n barely acknowledged the yeoman’s perfect military bearing and returned his salute with only a head nod. “Yeoman, I have a life-or-death mission for you. You will deliver this micro pouch to Warriors at this location on Consortia. They will expect you within one tenth of a rotation after you arrive.”

Aydr’n lied. No one knew that the yeoman was coming, but he wanted the message delivered as soon as possible. “Don’t be late. Under no circumstances are you to give it to anyone else. You must guard it with your life. Failure to do as I have instructed will result in you and your family’s execution. It is that important. Do you understand?”

Alont stood bewildered and tried not to act confused, even though that was exactly how he felt.

With impatience beginning to show in his voice, Aydr’n repeated himself. “Do you understand?”

Still not sure what to say, Alont forced words to come out of his mouth. “Yes, sir. I…understand.”

Aydr’n stood up with a glare that threatened to cut Alont in half. “Yeoman, you had better understand, because you are leaving on the next shuttle. Your gear will be sent to your home. Now go!”

With shaking hands, the untested yeoman hid the pouch in his uniform and headed for the transfer shuttle. Away from the captain, Alont had time to consider this new assignment as he hustled to catch the shuttle. He had no written orders. It was highly unusual to travel without escort when carrying critically important information, and he was headed to a very disreputable part of Consortia! He wondered if anyone but the captain knew of his mission, but he would not question the orders. At this point, he had no reason to think that they were unlawful.

Deep in his own thoughts, Alont ignored the Warriors who were surprised to see him entering the shuttle.
They want to know why I’m leaving.
He tried to separate himself from them by disappearing into the transport’s unpopular rear section. As he sat in a lonely seat on the back wall, his new mission continued to bother him. Would he have the courage to challenge the orders if the situation demanded it? Too distracted to feel the shuttle depart the Moon’s surface, Alont jerked involuntarily when it powered up to enter the Travel Dimension.

His young hands shook as he grabbed a blanket and pulled it tight around his body. He knew that he was wasting his effort – there weren’t enough blankets in the entire Consortium to stop the cold chill that always cut through him when they jumped the gap. No one ever talked about it, but everyone had a reaction to the jump. Stranger yet, everyone reacted differently when they jumped. Alont watched some cover their ears. Some of the toughest Warrior’s faces turned to masks of intense pain. A few Warriors shook uncontrollably.

Each time he watched them, Alont was glad that all he felt was a stabbing cold. Reactions to the jump only lasted briefly, and when it was over everyone acted like nothing happened. It reminded Alont of the old Earth story that he read about the emperor’s clothes. In the story, everyone pretended that the emperor was finely dressed, but in fact, he was naked.

Alont gazed intently through the portal as a tiny speck of light grew into a large, reddish-brown globe. Green life could be seen slowly reestablishing itself in random locations against the stark desert background. They weren’t proud of themselves, but several thousand cycles ago, his kind had almost completely eliminated life on Consortia. That close brush with the death of their planet was the great motivator that originally drove them to begin conquering new worlds. They needed the resources that they gained by conquest to survive and to repair their depleted world – a world that was now the center of an enormous galactic trading empire.

For some reason, no native Consortian had been able to migrate to another world for an extended time. That made bringing resources back to the planet a necessity. The questions concerning the inability to migrate had never been answered, and Alont wondered if they ever would. He felt the strong pull of Consortia slowly grow each day that he stayed on the Earth’s moon. The anxiety and relentless pull made his return inevitable. By the time the shuttle landed, the peace that he hadn’t felt since leaving Consortia had completely returned. Alont hoped that it was a sign of good fortune for him and his mission.

Alont bent low and exited the shuttle. As he passed through its narrow hatch, the heat still rose from the ship’s tortured metal surface. He guessed that the vessel didn’t like traversing dimensions any more than he did.

Looking out beyond the vessel, Alont could see Consortia’s immense interstellar spaceport. It was the Consortium of Planets’ largest port and it seemed busier than ever. The port’s wide, flat tarmacs were teaming with thousands of ships loading and unloading their passengers, crews, and cargo under Consortia’s giant purple sun. As the familiar scent of home entered Alont’s nose and filled his lungs, the thought of jumping the gap, the ship, even the time spent away from home was forgotten.

Once again, he could marvel at the elaborate craftsmanship and massive architecture of Consortia’s capital beyond the port that reached toward the clouds. Some of the large buildings were as red as the distant desert mountains; others were light brown and a few sparkled like golden glitter. Their tall spires reached into the high wispy clouds. Alont’s arms tingled as the summer breeze danced warmly across the dark fuzz that covered his greenish-gray skin. The steady wind blew through openings in the building’s specially designed spires and created beautiful but random melodies – its song softly undulated in Alont’s ears with each change in the wind’s speed.

He wanted to run through the streets and celebrate his return, but a glance at his timer put a stop to such thoughts. He had to get moving if he wanted to meet Captain Aydr’n’s Warriors on time. He joined a processing line of tired travelers that just arrived on another transport. The line snaked its way sluggishly along and finally entered one of the spaceport’s large hangar-like reception buildings.

Noticing that security seemed tighter than when he left Consortia, he instinctively felt for the pouch that he was given back on the Moon. It still rested securely in its hiding place but the line he picked to get out of the port was much too slow.

He looked ahead and saw two more Warriors stuck in the same line.
Why the change in procedures?
Normally, Warriors in uniform were allowed to flash their identification mark and bypass waiting lines. Warriors were never considered a security risk.

A heavily armed security guard stood dark and ominous in full flash gear with his back against the wall. He seemed to be looking in Alont’s direction, but it was difficult to tell where the guard was really looking due his opaque helmet visor.
They probably designed the helmet that way on purpose to make the rent-a-cops seem more impressive,
Alont smiled to himself. He knew that they couldn’t qualify to be Warriors and he would never be impressed by them.

It suddenly dawned on Alont that the guard’s helmet reminded him of an Earth insect. He stifled a laugh and asked the guard why the line was so slow. The guard took his time, shifting his posture slightly. He didn’t answer the question. Instead, he let out a bored sigh and asked, “How long you been gone, Warrior?”

Alont didn’t like the guard’s attitude and wasn’t interested in playing thirty questions with him. The two Consortians locked each other in a stare. With nothing else to do, the entire line of bored travelers were now focused on the guard who finally shook his head and explained, “Some of the Chn-maa have been blowing things up and making demands.”

Alont had to ask himself,
Who are the Chn-maa?
Then he remembered that they were just uneducated slaves that had been defeated in a battle long ago. They didn’t matter. What mattered was the line that he was stuck in. It still wasn’t moving and the guard was beginning to move away.

He called out to the guard again. “I need to be somewhere fast. Is there any way to speed this process up for me?” Everyone in front of Alont turned and gave him a dirty look. He ignored the crowd and continued to press the guard in a voice that was an octave too high. “I have orders that require me to get to a specific location at a certain time.”

The guard had heard many excuses and didn’t care about what he considered to be personal problems. He was doing a job which he took very seriously. What Alont did not know was that the guard lost his sister in one of the first attacks carried out by the Chn-maa. He blamed himself for not being there to save her. Nothing would interfere with his security guard duties again, certainly not this wet-behind-the-ears Warrior.

The guard fired back. “I don’t care if you’re the chairman of the whole Consortium, go through the checkpoint like everyone else!”

As the crowd erupted with loud approval, Alont decided to take his chances. He stepped out of line and began running for the nearest exit.

Without a second thought, the guard leveled his assault praser at Alont’s head and opened fire. A blinding flash missed its moving target by a few millimeters and shattered a large column that had been supporting the roof. The thunderous explosion knocked Alont on his face and covered his back with heavy debris. With the roof caving in, the crowd began screaming and running in all directions.

It was just the diversion that Alont needed to get away, but he couldn’t feel his third arm and his right leg was pinned under something sharp. He could feel more pressure as debris continued to fall on his back, but he remained still and didn’t move. Hoping that he was at least sufficiently hidden, Alont peered carefully through a narrow opening between two pieces of twisted metal for signs of the guard.

Through the settling dust, Alont could see that the crowd was quickly diminishing. Five guards that were visible had already established a loose perimeter. The two guards closest to him were looking up at the ceiling and saying something about how the whole roof had caved in when the support beam was destroyed. It sounded to Alont like there was so much damage that the guards had no idea where to look for him.