Illegal Aliens (23 page)
Meanwhile, in secret locations around the globe, the remnants of the FCT were hard at work. Generals Nicholi and Bronson were at Star City in Russia assisting the proletariat to design a superfast, anti-drone ICBM. Dr. Wu was in Australia at Port Woomera, aiding and abetting the construction of Earth's first starfleet. Dr. Malavade was in the desert of New Mexico busily adapting the gigantic radio telescopes there into a battery of quasar-grade pulse transmitters which humanity would use to try and communicate with somebody out there other than the damn Gees. From Rockefeller Plaza in New York City, Sir John Courtney was constantly bombarding the masses of the world with carefully worded news announcements (propaganda, actually), that kept the populace at a fever pitch and insured their full cooperation.
Humanity was doing everything it could think of from trying to improve Deflector Plating and flashing searchlight beams into space in a hypnotic GO AWAY pattern, to sticking pins in golden voodoo dolls.
But the Great Golden Ones were also unleashing the full might of their peacekeeping forces, and that was nothing to loudly exhale through your nasal passages at either.
* * *
Meanwhile on the planet Darden, the crew of the
Ramariez
were sadly informed by the farmers that no HN cubes were available, but they were invited to wait a planetary rotation or so, when a drone cargo ship from Big would land to take on their yeast harvest. The locals felt sure the robot crew would have no objections to signaling the Great Golden Ones and asking them to bring a replacement. Captain Keller politely declined the offer and the
Ramariez
left post haste, only seconds ahead of the landing of an Emergency Data StarCapsule which brought the news that the humans were wanted criminals to be held at any cost.
Jumping to the burned out cinder of Oh Yeah?, the starship crew found numerous hyperspace navigational cubes in the riddled hulls of blasted vessels circling the dead planet. But every piece of equipment aboard the spacecrafts was so highly contaminated with atomic radiation that the cubes were useless.
As the
Ramariez
left the ominously silent planet, her captain was forcibly reminded by the grim specter of ruin that theirs was a mission of peace, and violence was to be used only as a last resort.
A short hop through hyperspace later, as the
Ramariez
approached the third choice on their short list, the crew was struck by the similarities of this unknown planet and Earth. Roughly the same size and distance from the sun, both were mostly water and had a single moon.
“Just like home,” a crewmember said wistfully.
Dr. Van Loon agreed. “The inhabitants will most likely be very similar to us in general build.”
“Or dinosaurs,” Chief Petty Officer Buckley noted, his Royal British Marine moustache stiffly abristle, but still cut short enough to fit into a space helmet. “They were on Earth long before us.”
Hiding a smile, the physician stated that the possibility was extremely remote.
“Captain?” Ensign Hamlisch called out from the Sensors console.
Keller turned from his examination of the internal circuitry of the Hydroponics station and lowered the console top into place. “Yes, what is it?”
“Sir, scanners indicate that there's a golden egg orbiting this world.”
“A what?” Keller asked, the Swiss naval officer joining the pale bony man at his board.
“An egg, sir,” Hamlisch stated. “Honest. It's of very advanced design. Beyond the abilities of my instruments to analyze.”
Scowling over his shoulder, Captain Keller peered at the tiny fourteen-inch monitor. “Put it on the main screen, please.”
“Aye, sir.” The picture of the blue/white planet before them zoomed in close. Filling the screen was a tapering, oval spheroid, yellowish-brown in color, twirling about its vertical axis. Data about construction, size and speed scripted along the bottom of the screen. Twenty eyes scrutinized its form and shape.
“About the size of a refrigerator,” an ensign muttered.
“The bridge is no place for levity, mister,” Keller snapped making the woman flinch. “Your opinion, doctor?”
Van Loon stepped closer to the viewscreen, carefully studying the rapidly rotating object. “None worth mentioning, sir.”
Captain Keller squinted an eye. It was time to call in their resident expert. “Ensign Lilliuokalani, summon Trell, please.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” The Hawaiian Communications officer pressed a button on her console and spoke into a fixed microphone. “Master Technician Trell to the bridge, Master Technician . . . sir, incoming signal!”
“From the planet?” Keller asked, climbing into his command chair.
“No sir, the egg.”
The captain buckled on his seat belt. “Translate and put it on the main speakers, mister.”
“Aye, sir.” Deftly linking relays, the astronaut flipped switches and the ceiling mounted speakers crackled to life.
“ . . . ARNING TO ALL STARSHIPS. LEAVE THIS SYSTEM IMMEDIATELY. STATUS OMEGA. REPEAT: STATUS OMEGA. WARNING TO ALL STARSHIPS.” The speakers went silent.
“Its a closed loop,” the ensign reported.
As Keller chewed the information over, the doors to the elevator opened and Trell walked in. Or rather, he started to enter, but when the alien saw the planet on the forward viewscreen, the little alien gasped and went light green.
“Something wrong?” Captain Keller asked, swiveling his chair about at the sound.
“Leave,” Trell somehow managed to say. “Now. There is nothing for us here. Go. Depart.”
As in a daze, Trell stumbled forward and the human kept abreast of him by slowly rotating his chair.
“You said you knew nothing about this world,” Keller noted.
“I didn't recognize it from the coordinates,” Trell explained starting to shake. “Let's go. Please?”
“Sir,” the Communications officer called out. “Message from the planet.”
Keller nodded, and the overhead speakers crackled once more.
“SO POND SCUM, YOU RETURN,” thundered a voice dripping with hate. “WELL, YOU WILL NOT TRICK US THIS TIME, IDOW. PREPARE TO DIE!”
Eyes popped across the bridge crew.
“Idow!” Van Loon gasped in horror. “Why would they think we’re Leader Idow?”
Captain Keller whirled about, grabbed Trell by the collar and lifted him off the floor. It was a practice the little alien was starting to get used to.
“You’ve been here before, haven't you?” the starship officer growled.
The Technician bobbled his head yes. This was a planet Leader Idow had visited when Trell was a new member of the crew. Thousands of days ago. That was why the coordinates hadn't been immediately familiar.
Captain Keller released the alien with a curse. “Red alert!” he barked frantically. “Shields, full power! Navigation, dead stop! Communications, tell them this is not the
All That Glitters
. We simply look like them.”
“Incoming!” the Weapons officer shouted, as from an orbital platform about the world there lanced out a blue-hot plasma bolt. Seconds later it struck the ship with triphammer force, bouncing the bridge crew out of their seats, but no consoles shorted and the lights did not dim.
As the humans scrambled back into their chairs and buckled on safety belts, a black cloud of missiles rose from the surface of the planet, leaving no doubt as to their destination.
“Shields?” Keller demanded.
“Holding, sir,” CPO Buckley reported, fighting to keep his voice steady. “But not against many more of those.”
The missile salvo drew closer and another plasma bolt was fired in their direction. The starship captain made a fast decision.
“Reverse course!” Keller shouted, then did a double-take as he saw the moon near them split apart and its hollow interior disgorge millions upon millions of fighting ships that charged straight towards the innocent
Ramariez
.
“GET READY TO DIE, IDOW!” the voice on the speakers screamed. “YOU SCALELESS, EGG EATING—”
“Shunt!” the captain bellowed.
The helmsman stabbed her finger on the proper button and in a burst of light, the
Ramariez
jumped into hyperspace only moments before countless missiles, plasma bolts, lasers beams and nuclear mines flooded their previous location, exploding with such horrific, space twisting, mindshattering force, that even in the non-dimension of hyperspace the
Ramariez
felt a slight tremor and the lights momentarily dimmed.
“Ship's status!” Captain Keller snapped, as the room brightened and telltales began winking on every board and console.
A few minutes passed while information was hastily gathered and processed. As the reports came in and Keller became satisfied that his ship was undamaged, he dropped their status to Yellow Alert. Then the captain ordered the forward speed cut to dead slow. In essence, the
Ramariez
was now drifting in hyperspace.
“The Gees are going to have real trouble with those guys,” Van Loon remarked dryly from the Medical console. Sick Bay was fine, and nobody hurt. Avantor and The 16 were both undamaged and resting comfortably.
Keller agreed with the physician wholeheartedly. Those folks had a real bad attitude problem.
“They probably don't have a Hypernavigational cube, either,” Trell noted pragmatically.
Lost in dour rumination, Captain Keller reclined in his chair and rubbed his dimpled chin. The operating perimeters of the situation were rapidly deteriorating. As a duly appointed officer in the United Nations space navy, he had taken an oath to obey galactic law to the best of his ability. Dag grunted. Unfortunately, the only course left open to them now was totally illegal plain and simple, and no amount of bickering or word twisting, could change that fact. So what he had to decide was, should the
Ramariez
commit trespass or receive stolen goods? A misdemeanor, or a felony? Hell, no contest there.
“Helmsman, set course for RporR,” Keller commanded. “We’re going to see how well this crew can run a fully established blockade.”
“Aye, aye, sir!” the officer replied crisply.
The following noise everybody heard proved only to be Trell fainting.
“Queen/Mother! Queen/Mother!” the RporRian guard cried out, pushing aside the beaded curtain and dashing into the throne room.
The excited insect paused only for a moment to toss a silver piece into a simple clay pot already half-filled with the coins, that being the standard surcharge for delivering a message to Her Most High, Divine Loveliness, Gather Of The Taxes, Guardian Of The Treasury, Master Breeder and Expert Penny Pincher, (squeak-squeak-thromb-squeal-chatter-gnash-grunt), the fourth. The absolute ruler of RporR.
The corpulent female was supine upon a pile of coins in a dark, moist alcove of the cavernous room, sedately enjoying a snack of crystallized sweet moss. Her lesser limbs slowed in their constant, mindless counting of the coins, and the wall-mounted, organic laser cannons flanking her tightened their focusing coronas and tracked the approach of the advancing male.
As fitting her exalted rank, she lazily raised four eyelids to gaze at the small male dancing excitedly on the marble floor before her. “What is it (hiss-spit)? Another buy one get one free sale?”
“No, Your Majesty! A starship approaches!”
“A scout returning home?” she asked, raising another set of eyelids, and beginning to show some faint sign of interest. That damn blockade of the Gees was a clever trap. RporRians could check in, but they couldn't check out.
“No, Your Greediness. It's a blue Mikon #4!”
“Aliens?” For the barest moment her sub-hands paused in their eternal work and she laid aside her claw of moss. “Oh dear, what do our sensors tell us about them?”
The messenger rattled with pleasure. “Thulium, Queen/Mother, and lots of it!”
“Wonderful,” she sighed and removed a ceremonial rasp from its long undisturbed compartment to begin filing her bargaining claws. “Then let us prepare a welcome for our guests.”
“A parade, Beloved Assessor?” the guard cried, clapping his forelegs together with the sound of castanets. “Could we hold a parade?”
She smiled widely, the act almost breaking her head in two. “That sounds like an excellent idea, (hiss-spit). Yes, they should have a parade.”
“Yippee!” the messenger/guard shouted as he started to scuttle from the room.
The Queen/Mother writhed a smile. “Oh yes, and (hiss-spit)?”
Breathless with excitement, he paused by the door, the reflected light from the glass beads casting a thousand tiny rainbows across his twitching, gnarled features. “Yes, Your Avarice?”
“Take that fake silver piece out of the pot and put in two real coins, or I will make you stand on a stepladder.” She was no longer paying attention to him, but her vestigial kneecaps crackled ominously.
Fearfully, the male swallowed hard. “B-by, your command.” Gosh, was she a Queen/Mother, or what?
* * *
As the
Ramariez
drifted through space, the green dot on their forward viewscreen rapidly grew into a picture of a lush, tropical world. However, the details were obscured by a thin gray fog that seemed to blanket the planet.
“Dead stop,” Captain Keller ordered, and the ship eased to a halt. Vainly, he studied the screen before him, trying to get a glimpse of the Gees’ blockade. Nothing.
“Tactical, Mr. Buckley.”
“Aye, sir,” CPO Buckley responded, fiddling with the dials on his console until a vector graphic formed on his monitor and information began flowing across the bottom of the screen.
“Class K star, no sunspot activity. Eight planets in the system, three before us, five aft. Nothing in our vicinity but a few asteroids. No divergent courses. Getting a high metal reading from the planet, indicative of an advanced civilization.” Then he tapped a meter with a finger. Wait a minute, those readings were going right off the scale! Hell, right off the planet!
“Sweet Jesus,” the CPO whispered, crossing himself.
“Report, mister,” Keller barked, the whipcrack tone achieving the desired effect.
“At first I thought the fog was a dust storm, or maybe pollution,” Buckley said, a calm professional once more. “But the cloud is not even in the atmosphere.”
Seated at the Scanner Console, Ensign Hamlisch worked to slave their monitors together. “What are you saying?”
“It's the Gee blockade,” Buckley confirmed, barely able to believe it himself. “A swarm of gray metal pyramids that completely surrounds the planet.”
Scowling in disbelief, Captain Keller snorted. “Visible at this range? Impossible. There would have to be millions of them.”
“Ninety-seven million,” Chief Buckley corrected, staring at his flashing gauges, “And still counting.”
Keller managed to maintain his outward facade of calm, with only the slight crunching of the metal arm of his chair arm to reveal the tension this news produced. When the Great Golden Ones put up a blockade they didn't fool around. Just calling it a blockade didn't do the construct justice. It was staggering. This was what the Gees had been in the process of erecting about Earth. For the first time, the starship officer fully appreciated what it was they were defying.
In contemplation, the captain glanced at the triptych viewscreen at the front of the bridge. The left panel was in data mode scrolling mathematical equations, the right screen displayed the planet highlighted by computer-generated color splotches indicating chemical composition and thermal activity, while the middle showed a magnification factor 10 picture of the world framed by a gray metal cloud.
“Why is the blockade thinner directly in front of us?” Ensign Soukup asked, stating the captain's unspoken thought.
“Checking,” Hamlisch said, manipulating his Scanner controls.
“Well?” Captain Keller demanded after a minute.
Ensign Hamlisch flipped a switch and frowned. “Because, sir, as far as I can tell, we are in a spiral passageway that goes through the blockade to the planet.” He nodded at the middle viewscreen. “The only reason we can see RporR this clearly is that we’ve come out of hyperspace somewhere near the end of the spiral.”
“A passageway,” the captain mused. Then he snapped his fingers. “Of course! We must be in the Gee safe route through this mine field.”
“Makes sense, sir,” Soukup conceded. “Considering whose coordinates we used to get here.”
“Skipper,” the Communications Officer announced, touching the wireless receiver in her ear. “I have just gotten a warning from a sentry device shaped like a golden beehive on the other side of the planet.”
“Ordering us to leave?”
The Hawaiian turned to face him. “No sir, just strongly advising us not to land. Or if we must, then not to breathe the air on the planet.”
“The atmosphere does not register poisonous,” a nurse at the Medical console stated in a thick Russian accent.
“Air tax,” Lilliuokalani said, deadpan.
Captain Keller wondered if the woman was trying to be funny. “Let me get this straight,” Dag said, leaning forward, elbows resting on knees. “It is only prohibited for an inhabitant to leave, but not for somebody to visit unless they pay a tax?”
“Apparently so, sir.”
With a sigh of contentment, Keller reclined in his command chair. Great. They were still semi-legal then.
“But this is much too simple,” Ensign Soukup ventured, swiveling her chair about. “Surely, the locals must see ships coming in. Why don't they just try leaving the same way?”
“They probably do,” Buckley agreed. “But the drones are so arranged that thirty percent of them can fire in unison on any target.”
“What kind of power does that entail?” Lilliuokalani asked.
Ensign Hamlisch looked apologetic. “Sorry. My gauges don't go that high.”
Captain Keller grimaced. Swell.
“Should we erect shields, sir?” Chief Petty Officer Buckley inquired, fingering the proper button.
“Unnecessary,” Keller decided. “It appears that as long as we don't have any RporRians on board, we’re safe.”
“Aye, sir.”
“Anything directly from the planet, Mr. Lilliuokalani?” Keller asked.
“Negative, sir.”
The captain considered that most odd. Surely, they knew the ship was coming in for a landing, and reticence was not conducive to good salesmanship.
“Follow the spiral in, Ensign Soukup,” he ordered. “And approach with caution.”
The Helmsman gulped. “Affirmative, sir.”
To the nervously watching crew, it appeared as if the ship was floating through an endless bank of mist, the sheer number of the Gee drones swamping the visuals.
“Entering atmosphere,” Ensign Hamlisch announced, as the viewscreen began to change from foggy gray to a clear blue. In the distance, puffy white clouds lined the horizon.
“Where should we land, sir?” Ensign Soukup asked.
Attentive to detail, Captain Keller studied the continent. Most of the land was either vast farms or smoke-belching factories. The two historical adversaries oddly intermingled. Almost as if the effect of pollution on crops was unknown, or perhaps the locals enjoyed the taste of smog. Anything was possible with an alien race. Both of the coasts were sparsely settled, and only three major cities were discernible; two resembled a military complex, and the third an amusement park.
“There,” Keller said, pointing to the left. “That city over there, surrounded by what resembles a roller coaster. It fits the description of their planetary capital.”
“Scanners indicate docking facilities for starships to the west of the capital,” Ensign Hamlisch reported crisply. “Change course, six degrees, north by northwest.”
“Affirmative,” Soukup replied, adjusting her controls.
“Belay that order!” Captain Keller snapped. “Land us at that park in the middle of the city. According to Trell it's public property and available for anybody to use for free.”
“Free?” SFC Hassan asked, from his Engineering station. “Are you sure about that, sir?”
The captain told the man yes, and to shut up.
“Ensign Lilliuokalani, have the landing party assemble in Launch Bay #4,” Keller directed. “The first team will consist of Ambassador Rajavur, Sgt. Lieberman and six Marine guards armed only with pistols. We don't want to appear threatening, or discourteous.”
“Affirmative, sir.”
“If anything goes wrong, the rescue squad is to be lead by Lt. Sakadea with every remaining Marine fully armed and in powerarmor, backed by our hover cannon, laser batteries and the main gun.”
Just the thought of the awful weapon made the Hawaiian uneasy. “Aye, aye, captain.”
* * *
“No, we’re not going to call it that either,” Sgt. Lieberman said, resting a polished boot on the edge of a bunk, the shiny leather toe making a dent in the otherwise mathematically flat cloth plane. “Look, what's wrong with calling it the UN Assault Rifle Mark One?”
“But, sarge,” a private complained, scratching her ear. “That's boring! Its gotta have a nickname.”
Lieberman scowled. “And what would you call it, Griggs? The Iron Rug, because it can't be beat?”
“How about, the D-20?” a tall, bony private suggested, in the booming voice of a radio announcer.
Sgt. Lieberman braced herself. “Okay, I’m ready. Why?”
“Because, as we charge into battle we’ll yell: Die! Die! Die! Die! Die! Die!—”
“Thank you, Furstenburg,” she said cutting him off. “We get the idea.”
“Why is that knucklehead here?” a private whispered to the corporal next to him.
At that moment, the wall speaker announced the personnel assignments for the intended landing.
“Tell ya later,” the woman said, as she and the other chosen Marines broke for their lockers and began strapping on equipment.
* * *
“RporR,” Trell sighed, gazing at the small, wall mounted, auxiliary viewscreen in Launch Bay #4.
His earlier journey to the floor had given him only a brief reprieve from the awful knowledge of what they were about to do. Land on RporR of their own free will. Which was probably the last free thing any of them would ever do, before they landed in one of the bugs’ infamous debtors’ prisons; which were filled exclusively with off-worlders who thought they could outsmart the insectoids. Proof that stupidity was a universal trait.
“What's wrong with the place anyway?” a private, asked strapping an extra ammunition belt about his waist. “Seems nice enough to me.”
After the Master Technician had given the Marines a short, at times near incoherent, synopsis of the insects’ career, even the New Yorkers among them were impressed with the bugs’ amoral greed. Those guys would put a Colombian drug lord to shame.
Located just below the equator of the huge starship, on the port side, Launch Bay #4 was a curved rectangular room whose plain steel walls had yet to be painted. Luminous yellow lines sectioned off the center of the room into twenty squares, and inside those were sleek, silver aircars.
Designed purely for atmospheric travel, the vessels strongly resembled a conventional bus with the roof removed; with plenty of seats, one driver and no cargo space. All that was missing was a No Smoking sign, a change box and gum on the floor.
Unlike the space-going shuttle craft which were named after astronauts, the aircars were christened in honor of atmospheric flyers, both real and imaginary:
Icarus
,
Wang Ping
,
Vero
,
D’Amecourt
,
Count Zeppelin
,
Orville & Wilbur
,
Kal-el
, etc.
Equipped with Rolls Royce built antigravity generators and belly turbines for lift, and heavy duty Choron ion thrusters for drive, the amazing crafts could lift an army tank full of lead and still travel at over 800 kph. The versatile aircars could also float in water for days, and had studded, puncture proof tires for emergency ground transportation. However, the Marines considered the things little more than flying deathtraps, as the aircraft had no armor to speak of and maneuvered like a dead whale on roller skates.
Dressed in tan duty fatigues and combat boots, the waiting Marines were armed with a laser pistol, five extra power packs, a Heckler Koch 10mm automatic and nine extra ammo clips. Plus, in a bulky shoulder holster, a single shot 40mm grenade launcher. Just like the captain had ordered, sidearms only. Personally, the Marines wished they could bring some real weapons with them.
