Beyond Hades: The Prometheus Wars (16 page)

An aerosol hiss like spray-paint reached his ears a moment before more pain shrieked through his wounded scalp. Staggering upright, but careful not to crack his head again, he stumbled over to the wall, grasping his head. Slowly the agony subsided.

Glancing up, Talbot realized the internal wall was much like the external in that it was silvery and somewhat reflective. His distorted reflection gazed back at him, and he noticed something white contrasting against his darker hair.

"What the hell have you done?" Talbot grated through clenched teeth.

"It's called medi-foam, mate," answered Wes chirpily. "Awesome shit for field-dressing wounds."

"It hurts," winced Talbot. "Badly."

"Yeah, it'll do that." Wes's tone was short, businesslike. "Now get over it, we don't have time for you to cry."

Talbot began to splutter a response, but Wes spun and strode away. Talbot's gaze followed him across the space and all thoughts of argument washed away as he focused on the area the SAS commando had moved to.

The bridge.

It was beyond anything Spielberg could imagine. Rodenberry's Enterprise paled in comparison. Stunningly, utterly, and completely... bare!

The normal systems he would expect on any vehicle were absent. There were no control panels, instruments, or even windows. No screens of information were visible to Talbot.

And yet it wasn't featureless. The entire control area appeared to be some kind of strange, flexible, liquid-like metal. Not liquid as a pool of water was liquid; more that the shapes of the bridge shimmered and flowed like the ocean, while still appearing firm enough to manipulate. Kind of like Jell-O. It wasn't until Wes stepped up to a column-like apparatus that Talbot realized how close his observation was to the truth.

The Australian commando extended both arms toward the column and it expanded laterally, flowing completely around and surrounding him. It swiftly molded itself to his body, encapsulating him from neck to toe, leaving only his head clear.

"Get on up here, Professor," called Wes. Talbot took position beside him. "Stand in front of that other Physical Control Modulator - better known as a PCM - and point your fingers toward it."

Talbot did as instructed and instantly the metallic substance reached for him. He leaped back, out of reach, and the PCM swiftly reformed to its original shape.

"We don't have time for you to be a pussy!" barked Wes. "This thing won't move unless you're properly secured. So get back in position and stand still!"

Hesitantly, Talbot shuffled back, dread in his every movement. Too soon he found himself once more standing before the PCM. It grasped his fingers, sliding over them and around his arms like quicksand, locking them in place as it encapsulated his body. The texture of the PCM felt cold, gloppy like... like....

"It's like swimming in snot, eh?" said Wes with a grin, obviously reading his expression. "Everyone says the same thing."

As utterly disgusting as the commando's observation was, Talbot found he had to agree with it. The feel of the PCM was foreign, yet the image Wes suggested came horrifically close to the truth. Talbot suppressed a shudder. He was swimming in snot within some sort of spaceship which had formerly disguised itself as a septic truck. So much for intelligent life in outer space....

Finally, the PCM finished encasing him and seemed to harden slightly, partially relieving the uncomfortable quality it had previously held. Talbot found he was still able to move within the coating and, glancing over at Wes, he soon understood why.

Two lumps moved beneath the shiny surface of Wes's PCM, indicating his hands were manipulating something.

A mist appeared about a foot and a half in front of the commando's face, swiftly solidifying. Talbot strained to see what it was, making out a thin film, barely a millimeter thick.

Wes noticed Talbot craning his neck, trying to get a look, and he grinned, manipulating another control within the confines of the PCM. A similar film began to form in front of Talbot's face, suspended midair without any sort of support. In his shock, it took Talbot a moment to realize it was actually some sort of screen, identical to what was hovering in the air before Wes.

Buzzing across the screen were groups of numbers and equations, moving too quickly for Talbot to fully take in. Glancing over at Wes, he noticed the commando seemed to have no problem with the intense speed of the calculations flying before his eyes. Wes's casual expression changed little as mathematical equations which would have baffled most minds whizzed inches in front of his face.

Who is this guy?
wondered Talbot for the hundredth time.

He realized he knew almost nothing about the man he now relied upon to protect him, other than his former involvement with the Australian Special Air Services. Somehow this man commanded the respect of everyone he came into contact with, even the President of the United States.

"Stop staring at me, princess," snapped Wes, though he was still looking at the screen before him. "It makes me horny."

Talbot shook his head slightly and returned his gaze to the screen before him. Once more numbers and patterns seemed to almost come into focus, but then his attention failed, and he lost the concentration required. Even if he had been able to follow what was going on, it would have been useless unless he were an expert mathematician.... What the...?

The numbers, while moving too fast for his mind to grasp, were human in origin. There was no way that a coincidence could be that huge. They were in an alien spacecraft, and it was displaying human numeric equations on a screen no thicker than a human hair.

"Why are the numbers human, Wes?" he asked.

"About time you caught on," replied the commando. "I was starting to wonder if that 'Doctor' before your name was the type that came with chewing gum. You see, this ship ain't exactly alien."

Talbot gasped. "It can't be from Earth. Our technology is nowhere near as advanced as this!" He went to point to the ship with his hand, but his body was still trapped within the PCM. He satisfied himself by indicating around with a sweep of his head.

"Yeah, it's not," agreed Wes. "At least not yet."

"You mean...?"

"Yep. This baby was designed and built right here on Earth by scientists working for the Australian military about sixty years from now."

"Holy shit," muttered Talbot.

Wes chuckled. "Come on. Put the rest of it together, Professor."

Talbot's mind raced and his gaze snapped up, met calmly by the Australian SAS commando who nodded. "Say it out loud; it might help."

"You're from the future?"

"Bingo!" replied Wes. "Well, kind of, anyway. But none of that matters. This was my ship which accidentally tore through time instead of space and landed me here. I lost control and tried to land on that aircraft carrier, but... well, you already heard how that turned out." Wes grinned, but there seemed little humor in his expression. "And before you ask, I can't tell you anything about the future. It's a part of the agreement I made with your President when they granted me free reign."

"Holy shit," murmured Talbot again, certain his brain would explode at any minute.

"Anyway," continued Wes, "Time to go."

Without any preamble, the screens before their faces lifted and the entire wall of the ship's bridge swirled and disappeared. After a moment of panic where Talbot thought half the ship had dissolved, he realized it'd merely become a huge, semi-spherical viewing screen. He watched several scientists pulling instruments out of the way as an enormous steel door ponderously retracted, revealing the evening sky, stars twinkling in the ebony twilight.

Talbot couldn't help but grin... until the ship shot forward at such velocity he was sure he'd have snapped his spine if not for the encapsulating PCM which had surreptitiously formed a support for his head. The total swaddling effect of the PCM must have assisted in other ways as well; enabling him to remain conscious under conditions which would have surely rendered him dead in any other circumstances.

After a moment of absolute terror, Talbot pried his eyes open and stared in wonder at the incredible sight before him. Clouds shot by them so fast he barely had time to register them. The ground beneath them, interspersed by smatterings of water and eventually ocean, became a blur of indistinguishable landmarks as they flew less than a mile above it.

Incredible.

Breathtaking.

SPLAT!

Something... some kind of animal which could only be a bird was now smeared across the viewing area.

"Sorry about that," said Wes calmly from beside him.

Tearing his gaze from the scene, Talbot realized for the first time that the ship was completely silent. No sound came from any sort of engine. Normally this would have intrigued him.

Nothing about this trip was standard. A quiet engine was the least of his worries.

Returning his gaze to the screen, he was just in time to see an intense blue light. All traces of the mangled bird were gone, leaving the viewing screen clear once more.

"Bessie has high-powered electricity-cleaning," said Wes, answering his unspoken question. "I hit way too many birds and shit."

Waves whipped by beneath them as a vast expanse of ocean spread all the way to the horizon... but not for long. Within moments, Talbot glimpsed shades of brown rapidly approaching.

"Get ready," said Wes calmly. "I'm gonna bring it in hard, fast and close to the mark to avoid any sort of detection."

Talbot's gaze snapped back. They couldn't be there already, it'd only been minutes! Sure enough, however, they were soon skimming a hundred yards above the orange dirt typical of the Australian outback. Talbot looked around expectantly for kangaroos before catching himself.

Kangaroos? At a time like this? Keep an eye out for monsters, you fool!

True to his word, Wes banked the ship sharply, and the ground rushed up toward them. The craft landed silently, not raising so much as a grain of the orange sand. Amazing.

The PCM suddenly swirled away and released him, causing Talbot to stagger and fall lightly to the floor.

Wes's laughter filled the cabin. "Yeah, she has that effect on ya', that's for sure," he said, stepping away from his own PCM.

Talbot scrambled up off the floor, forming a retort, but was forestalled as Wes held up a hand. "We've got no time for posturing, Doc. Even though that trip took bugger all time, we still have to get in there and stop this thing. If what I heard about things on the other side of that rift thingy is true, time means fuck all, but it's still ticking. So we got about two hours of our time to fix shit. Let's go."

The solidness of the hull swirled, the exit hatch appearing in its side once again. Wes placed his hand on the wall, and a storage space appeared. He grabbed a pack, looping it lightly over his shoulders, and exited the vehicle, Talbot following. A ramp had formed this time, and they moved down it silently to the desert floor.

Arriving at the bottom of the ramp, Talbot raised his gaze and saw it. Towering and rust-hued like the surrounding desert, Ayers Rock - or Uluru as it was called by the Anagu tribe, - stood out starkly on the predominantly flat landscape. He swung his gaze back in time to see Wes push his hand against the hull of the ship, which abruptly swirled and changed into a septic truck once more.

"I broke it when I crashed into the aircraft carrier," said Wes with a shrug. "At least it looks less conspicuous like this."

"Yeah," replied Talbot. "I'm sure they get New York septic trucks out here in the Australian desert all the time.

Wes grinned. "Looks like you're starting to harden up a bit there, Spongebob. The guy you were when I first met you would have pissed himself before being a smart arse like that."