Trespassers: a science-fiction novel (11 page)

“
Where were you headed?
”
Agent Lawrence asked, in Denokin
’
s native dialect of Chuman (pronounced CHEW-min). Denokin respected how clean the pronunciation was. It didn
’
t make him feel as if he was at home, though.

Denokin shifted his eyes from his coffee to Agent Lawrence, then did a slow arc of the room. It was a nice interior, the kind out of a magazine. These two were alone, but there were undoubtedly more agents in other rooms. They were babysitting him, and they were being extremely polite about it. Denokin knew this politeness could come to an end at any moment. He didn
’
t like the position he was in, but he took full responsibility for it.

Denokin liked running back and forth to Earth. It was a good job, and he didn
’
t want to lose it. He took a deep breath and sipped his coffee. He liked coffee. It had taken him a long time to get used to it, but he had developed a taste for this Earth delicacy.

Easy money never works out
, he thought. He would cooperate with them, but he wouldn
’
t roll over too easily. If he played it cool, he might be able to negotiate his way out of this without losing the ship. It was a Portik, one of the finest vessels produced by Malcor. It had been handed to him especially for this job, and he shuddered to think how much trouble he would be in if he returned without it.

“
We know something dropped from your ship,
”
Agent Lawrence added. This was news to Denokin, and Agent Lawrence read that off his face.
“
Five somethings, to be exact. We believe these were passengers.
”
Stewart had instructed Agent Lawrence to mention the passengers. The response from Denokin told him to pursue it.
“
That
’
s a pretty desperate thing to do, don
’
t you think?
”
Agent Lawrence continued.
“
It
’
s almost like they
’
re running from something.
”

Denokin continued his deep, silent consideration. He was processing a lot of information.

“
They must be in some pretty big trouble to jump off a moving ship like that,
”
Agent Lawrence prodded.
“
What do you know about it?
”

Agent Lawrence leaned forward in his chair, resting his weight comfortably on the tabletop.
“
We
’
re not concerned with you. We know you
’
re just trying to make a living.
”

Denokin pushed his coffee to the side and gathered his thoughts. The truth was that he had no idea what his passengers were up to. But from what he had seen, he had formed a theory.

“
They
’
re not running,
”
Denokin finally said.

Stewart and Web stood outside the cabin. Stewart enjoyed the cool breeze coming off the lake. The cabin was always cooler than wherever you had left to get there. Something about the long winding ride into the woods managed to shave ten degrees off the thermometer.

Stone Ridge Cabin held many satisfying memories for Stewart. This was the reason he had persuaded the Redundancy Department to buy this particular piece of real estate and turn it into a safe house.

“
They
’
re after something,
”
Stewart said.
“
I guarantee you they
’
re after something.
”

“
Like what?
”
Web asked.

“
I don
’
t know.
”
Stewart tilted his head to the sky and let out a long, slow exhale, expecting to see his breath. This made very little sense in sixty-degree weather, but he was remembering standing in that very spot in the dead of winter, blowing spiraling plumes of white smoke.
“
Not cold enough, I guess,
”
he noted to himself.

A heavy wooden door swung open and thudded against the side of the cabin. Agent Lawrence leaned out and scanned the wooded horizon until his eyes found Stewart and Web.
“
You
’
re going to want to hear this.
”

Inside the cabin, Denokin laid out his story. He explained how he had been contacted, where he picked up the passengers, what he had seen, and what little he was able to overhear from them. A semicircle of agents sat across from him: Mindy, Web, Stewart, and Agent Lawrence, with New Guy standing off to the side.

Mindy wanted to look at him closely, but she didn
’
t want to be caught staring. She didn
’
t want to stand out as the new girl who had nothing better to do than gawk. Her glances shifted from the table, to the other agents, to the ceiling, down to the alien, then around the same loop again.

Each time her eyes landed on him, she hoped for something more. She hoped to catch some detail that had evaded her on the last pass. A lizard tongue or pointed ears or a third eye would be nice. This guy even cleared his throat like an earthling, though he did have a nicely convincing alien accent. As Denokin spoke, his alien words were echoed by the English translation coming from Agent Lawrence.

New Guy watched from the corner of the room. All the previous military operatives had watched similar alien encounters. But New Guy saw something different: he saw his father .
.
. not the father who had raised him, but a much more distant memory of his biological father, who had died at an early age. When New Guy
’
s mother remarried, she chose a lifelong marine.

It was this stepfather who guided his childhood with an iron fist. He had shaped that little boy into a cold and efficient marine, even by the age of eight. Push-ups, mile-long runs, jumping jacks, and 5:00 a.m. bugle calls were all a part of his upbringing. This stepfather wasn
’
t a bad man, but he certainly wasn
’
t warm. Suddenly, standing in this cabin, surrounded by alien activity, New Guy was flooded by memories of his
real
father.

His real father
—
the one who had taken him to science-fiction matinees every weekend
—
would have loved this stuff. He would have loved the excitement and wonder of it. And this bizarre situation was bringing New Guy in touch with the memory of his father in a way he had not experienced in decades.

Web sat across from Denokin. He listened, because he didn
’
t want to be left out. But the details didn
’
t matter to him. He wasn
’
t into alien politics. The newness had worn off, and it was just another day at the office.

Stewart, on the other hand, was captivated by every word. He had to be. It was his job to be. On his shoulders rested a greater responsibility. The luxury of taking a back seat and enjoying the ride was not available to him. He needed Denokin
’
s information. He needed to know the parameters of the game. He watched Denokin talk, and he listened to the translation coming from Agent Lawrence. Of the people in that room, these words meant the most to Stewart, because he was the most informed on alien politics, which were essentially the following:

Beyond the borders of the Milky Way galaxy, there were vast groups of civilized alien life-forms composed of many different races. They were skilled travelers, and the breadth of their reach was mind-boggling.

To these alien cultures, Earth was a popular resort destination. The planet didn
’
t hold any natural resources that were of much value, but its beauty was unparalleled, which could be attributed to its high percentage of surface water, which led to an abundance of plant and animal life, not to mention the beauty of the streams, rivers, waterfalls, lakes, and oceans themselves, making it a scenic paradise.

Earth
’
s defense rested in its capability to destroy itself. That
’
s right: the earthlings possessed the capability to destroy their entire planet with the press of a few buttons. Resolution 419 was designed to do just that, in the face of an alien invasion. Of course, this plan was an extreme overreaction. The aliens had no intention of invading. While Resolution 419 did give comfort to some, for the most part it was just a piece of paper in a folder somewhere. What really governed the relationship between Earth and its alien visitors was a pact called the Stellen Agreement. It outlined the responsibilities and boundaries of each party. And it served to keep the peace. There were several dozen infractions each year, for which representatives from each side would sit down annually and squabble about morals, principles, trust, and the nature of keeping one
’
s word. Then amends would be made, everyone would have lunch, and the system would continue for another twelve months.

“
They weren
’
t vacationers. That
’
s for sure,
”
Denokin continued.
“
It was like they were on a mission. One of them had a .
.
. one of those .
.
. heart trackers
—
heart-signal trackers, I think they
’
re called.
”

“
Are you sure about that?
”
Stewart asked, his words bounding off Agent Lawrence and coming out in Chuman.

“
I
’
ve seen those things before,
”
Denokin snapped.

“
And you think they
’
re tracking someone on Earth?
”

Denokin waited for the translation, then nodded.

Upstairs at the farmhouse, Jin had his shirt pulled up to his shoulders and his pants dropped to his ankles.

“
What do you see?
”
Jin asked, as he looked over his shoulder, trying to catch a glimpse of himself in the mirror across the room. But Lyntic was in the way, squatted behind him with a washcloth and a small bottle of antiseptic.

“
There
’
s a little bruising,
”
she said.
“
And a few cuts. But nothing bad.
”
She dabbed at a scrape on his calf.

“
How big?
”
he asked, still trying to get a look in the mirror.

“
Not very,
”
she replied. Jin was disappointed. He wanted to have more to show for the pain he was carrying.

“
It
’
ll probably be worse tomorrow,
”
he said.

Lyntic smiled as she dabbed another scrape on the back of his thigh.
“
Well, let
’
s hope so,
”
she joked.

Downstairs, Dexim pulled the heart-signal tracking monitor from the supply bag. It was a rectangular block, with rounded edges and a smooth finish. It had the look and feel of a hand-held video game. But it was no toy. It was the key to their mission. It would lead them to their target .
.
. or, more accurately, to the
heart
of their target.

The beat of each heart gave out a unique signal, like a fingerprint. And this device was calibrated to identify just such a signal. It was standard procedure to record the details of the heartbeat signal at birth, for identification purposes. However, this information was highly protected and only accessible through an act of the high courts in the case of an emergency, such as a missing person or a dangerous fugitive. Black-market devices existed, but were strictly illegal. The heart-signal information contained inside was even more so.

Dexim flipped the device on. The display flashed and went blank. It was
not
working. Dexim switched it off and back on. Once again it came to life just long enough to go blank and emit a single, useless beep. Dexim noticed some cracks in the top right corner. This device wasn
’
t designed to withstand a fall from a moving ship. Fortunately, their team included an electronics expert. Unfortunately, that expert was in quarantine, soaking in a bathtub.

Tobi had been in the tub for three hours, now. He rocked his head back and forth against the tile wall, following the rhythm of the radio Lyntic had found for him. He was effectively rocking himself to sleep. This swaying stopped, as he sensed a presence in the room.