The Mothership (22 page)

Bill felt a sharp pain in his jaw as his
old metal fillings fought to tear themselves free of his teeth. Instinctively,
he clamped his jaw firmly shut, then lost his footing as the boat lurched clear
of the mud. His ex-army pistol flew from its holster and spun up toward the
vehicle, while loose change was pulled from his pockets and followed the pistol
skywards.

“Jump!” Cracker yelled, backing away.

The boat started to rise with increasing
speed. It was three meters off the water when Bill launched himself over the
gunwale and splashed down into knee-deep water. With the loss of his weight,
the boat accelerated toward the glowing red contact furnace.

Bill remembered the half full fuel tank,
and jumped to his feet. “Run!” He bellowed as he splashed out of the water
toward the rocky slope.

The others turned and followed, except Slab
who continued to wrestle for control of the last precious carton of beer,
trying to prevent it being stolen by the metal harvesting vehicle above. The
carton rose slowly into the air, lifting him off the ground, while overhead,
the fishing boat tilted stern up as the heavy engine dragged the boat to its
destruction. Both anchors along with tools and spare parts floated free,
climbing alongside the boat, then the line Wal had tied went taut, and parted.
The boat touched the glowing contact furnace, flashing into a cloud of molten
droplets and burning fuel. When the flames cleared, the metal droplets had been
extracted from the air, leaving no trace of the boat. The glowing white
nozzles, sensing a trace of aluminum remained, effortlessly tore the case of
beer from Slab’s hands. He fell onto the muddy bank as the carton shot up
toward the contact furnace and was instantly vaporized. Slab picked himself up
with mounting rage, half covered in mud, swearing furiously, as the harvester
glided silently away toward the west.

“Now we’re really screwed,” Bill said.

“No joke!” Slab said angrily as he stomped
up the bank. “No bloody boat, and no bloody beer!”

“It’s like the Bermuda Triangle,” Wal
whispered mysteriously, looking at the now empty sky.

Slab gave him an incredulous look. “There’s
nothing out here but crocodiles, aborigines and us!” Slab wiped thick black mud
from his trousers. “They’d have to be the dumbest bloody aliens in outer
frigging space to land here!”

“Yeah, well they’re here!” Wal motioned
toward the energy dome above to prove his point.

Bill started up the rocky slope. “We should
see if the camp’s still there.”

If the camp had survived, they still had
guns, food and fresh water, enough to survive. With unspoken agreement, they
scrambled up the jagged slope.

“This is the crappiest holiday I’ve ever
been on,” Slab complained as they followed the stream toward their camp. “We
should have gone to Cable Beach and got smashed.”

“No mate, then the wives would have come!”
Bill declared, bringing him back to Earth.

When they reached their camp, they found it
was untouched.

“It’s all here,” Wal declared happily.
“We’re OK!”

“You bloody Pollyanna!” Slab gave Wal’s
shoulder a back hander. “We’re hundreds of kilometers from anywhere. Aliens
have nicked our boat, swiped our beer, and left us stranded in the middle of a
million bloody crocodiles. How the hell is that OK?”

“Well, it could be worse,” Wal replied,
feelings hurt.

“How?” Slab demanded.

Wal pondered the question, then replied
seriously, “They could have slept with our wives.”

They exchanged intrigued looks, imagining
their wives being ravished by aliens, then Bill said thoughtfully, “Mate, you haven’t
seen my wife.”

“If aliens saw my wife,” Cracker exclaimed
dryly, “they’d invade another planet!”

“If we’re back late,” Bill said, “my wife
will make them wish they had!”

They erupted into laughter, dropping down
into the shade of the trees, then as they quietened, they all felt the thirst
of a Top End afternoon.

“If only those bloody aliens hadn’t knocked
off our beer,” Slab lamented miserably. “They must be cruel bastards.”

Mulmulpa led them
west along a tree-lined ridge toward the Walker River. He moved with surprising
speed for a man of his age, and seemed to know every rock and tree by sight.
Bandaka and Liyakindirr kept pace with the old man, ready to protect him should
one of the machines appear, while Bandaka’s wife and daughter followed a short
distance behind with Beckman and the rest of his team.

Occasionally, they spotted rectangular
mineral harvesters flying ahead of their line of march, but none came close.
When they neared the river, they saw a dense column of white steam rising in
the distance, then as the ridge angled north, Mulmulpa led Beckman, Markus and
Dr McInness to a vantage point at the top of the cliffs overlooking the river.
Laura followed uninvited, slipping away before Hooper realized she was gone.
After a short hike, Mulmulpa knelt behind a scrawny paperbark tree and pointed
to a narrow strip of land on the far side of the river, wedged between
sandstone cliffs and the river bank.

An imposing white cylindrical structure
dominated the strip, rising high above the surrounding trees. It was wider than
a football field, and crowned by a shallow domed roof. A series of brilliant,
glowing red rings encircled the structure’s outer wall halfway between the
ground and the roof. Shimmering waves of heat, radiating from the rings,
partially obscured a chain of long rectangular vents positioned just below the
domed roof. Super heated steam billowed from the vents, formed a single column
which boiled skywards only to dissipate at high altitude.

Spaced evenly around the central structure
were five domed buildings, each topped by a diamond-shaped projector emitting a
brilliant beam of white light toward the main building’s rings. All six
structures were spotlessly clean, and the ground they stood upon was graded
perfectly level with laser-like precision.

“Reminds me of a power plant,” Markus said,
recalling images of steam rising from curved white cooling towers.

“They’re long past thermal power,” Dr
McInness assured him. “It’s more likely to be some kind of industrial activity.”

Beckman lowered his binoculars. “They sure
built it fast. It would take us years to construct something that big.”

“It has to be prefab,” Dr McInness said.
“It probably assembled itself in a few hours. We’ve been planning self erecting
structures for Mars missions for years. Same principle.”

“Not the same,” Markus corrected. “Mars is
uninhabited.”

“This is nuts,” Beckman said. “They’ve been
watching us for thousands of years, making sure we know as little as possible
about them. Why screw it up now?”

“Different club,” Markus said cryptically.

Beckman nodded. “Yeah, that’s got to be
it.”

“What club?” Laura demanded. “What are you
talking about?

Beckman glanced back at Laura, surprised to
see her behind them. “Like the UN, only not screwed up.”

“The Local Powers clearly have agreed to
keep primitives like us ignorant of their existence,” Markus explained, “So we
don’t live in perpetual fear, or do something stupid like worship them as Gods.
That way we can develop at our own pace.”

Beckman lowered his binoculars. “Except
these guys don’t give a damn if we know they’re here or not.”

“Yeah, this is way outside the norm,”
Markus agreed. “It proves this species isn’t playing by the rules, and probably
isn’t from around here.”

“Shitty deal for us,” Beckman said.

“There is still one peaceful possibility,”
Dr McInness cut in, ready to grasp any straw. “They may be unable to hide their
presence, because their ship is so badly damaged. That dome up there,” he said
pointing skywards, “To keep us out, while they make repairs.”

Markus snorted dismissively. “That’s a lot
of ifs. Too many for my book.”

“Perhaps not,” Dr McInness persisted. “That
facility might be manufacturing what they need to get their ship back into
space. If it’s self erecting, it might also be self disassembling.”

“It would be easier to call for spare
parts, rather than manufacture them.” Beckman said warily.

“Depends how far away home is, and how
badly damaged their communication systems are. Or it could be technologically
impossible to transmit a faster than light message.”

Bandaka pointed to the sky north of them.
“Look!”

A harvester flew toward the structure from
the southeast. It came in slow, hovering above the northern end of the complex.
A dark hole appeared in the ground, then a gray stream poured from the vehicle
into the hole, creating a small dust cloud as it fell. When the craft had
released its load, it climbed and headed off to the northeast while the hole in
the ground vanished.

“I’ll be damned!” Beckman exclaimed.
“They’re dump trucks!”

“It’s industrial,” Dr McInness said, with
increased confidence. “I’d really like to get a look inside.

“Forget it, Doc. You’ll be sitting with the
backpacks when we go in.”

“You need me. Virus is in a coma, so you’re
short a technical specialist.”

“I’ll make do.”

“I didn’t come halfway around the world to
be eaten alive by bugs, and not do my job,” Dr McInness declared adamantly. “I
may not know how to use a gun, but I am the only one with the scientific
expertise to figure out what’s going on here.”

“You’re forgetting Xeno.”

“OK then, you’ll have to shoot me to stop
me!” Dr McInness added.

Beckman suppressed a desire to draw his
gun, partly because he suspected the scientist might be right. “OK, I guess I
can’t shoot you.”

“I’m glad to hear it. I wouldn’t like to be
shot.”

“It sucks, trust me.” Beckman said, then
turned to Bandaka. “Is there a way across the river?”

Bandaka nodded. “Down river. Not far.”

“Show me.”

* * * *

Bandaka guided
them to a series of rock ledges and boulders that dammed the river like a
natural weir, the same rock formation that had prevented Bill bringing his
fishing boat further up stream. It was hidden from the alien installation by a
sandstone spur that ran almost to the water’s edge, allowing them to cross in
secret.

Bandaka paused at the water’s edge. “Follow
my steps,” he said, then cautiously moved out onto the submerged ledge.

The hunter held his weapons in both hands
for balance, while Mapuruma followed close behind, at ease on the slippery
rocks. Beckman went in next, followed by the rest of the team in single file.
Halfway across, Mapuruma stopped to gaze into the gorge below the falls,
seemingly oblivious to the dangers lurking in the murky waters upstream. She
let some of the others pass her by, unconcerned by the growing distance between
herself and her father.

“That kid better move, before she gets left
behind and eaten!” Timer said.

Laura gave him an amused look. “You’re
safer with her than you are with your gun.”

“No way. Any giant freaking lizard so much
as blinks at me is going to be shoes.”

“Assuming you see it before it bites your
head off,” Laura said.

Timer glanced uncertainly at the silt laden
waters, realizing he couldn’t see very far below the surface. He swallowed, and
started pushing through the water a little faster, eager to get to the other
side.

Once across the river, they headed
northwest over the flood plain to the ridge separating them from the industrial
complex. The ridge ran west towards Parson’s Range, a large stone massif that
stood between them and the crash site. Bandaka led them up the tree covered
slope, expertly navigating a path between rock walls that would have barred
their way without his guidance. When they were more than half way up the ridge,
a harvester swept in low over the tree tops on its way to unload its cargo,
unaware of their presence. Soon after, they crossed the top of the ridge and
halted near a rock ledge where they could observe the alien structures and the
narrow flood plain beyond.

When all eyes were on the facility, Beckman
asked, “Anyone see anything that looks like defenses?”

There was a muted round of negatives from
the team.

“It’s got to be guarded,” Hooper said.

Beckman nodded. “Yeah, but by what?”

Bandaka’s eyes darted from Beckman to the
sergeant and back again. “I can find out.”

Beckman turned to the native hunter, “How?”

Bandaka gave him a knowing look as he held
up his spear and thrower. “With these.”

* * * *

Bandaka had been
gone more than an hour when an emu trotted to the edge of the forest. The tall
flightless bird hesitated, reluctant to leave the safety of the forest, then a
rhythmic beating of spears on spear throwers sent it charging at a full sprint
onto the smoothly bonded surface. It loped toward one of the small domed
buildings at fifty kilometers an hour, but was quickly frightened by the glare
of the beams and the heat from the tower’s rings. Spooked, it changed
direction, trotting a short distance toward the river then stopping,
instinctively wary of the danger lurking in the water. The emu took several
cautious steps, its tiny head turning left and right on its spindly neck,
searching for safety, then it broke into a loping sprint for the trees. It had
taken barely ten steps when it was engulfed by a cloud of black smoke. When the
smoke cleared, the flightless bird had vanished.

Tucker whistled appreciatively.

“God damn!” Steamer muttered.

“Kentucky Fried Emu!” Nuke declared.

“Anyone see where that came from?” Beckman
demanded.

Vamp, the only member of the team not
watching on binoculars, looked up from the crystal ball and shook her head. “No
movement.”

“I got zip,” Hooper said.

Nuke, who’d been filling in for Virus on
communications, listened to the recovered communicator, unable to detect any
signals. “I don’t think it’s remotely controlled.”

“That smoke indicates the bird was
incinerated.” Dr McInness lowered his binoculars and turned to Beckman. “We’re
looking for a thermal weapon.”

“Microwaves?” Markus asked.

“I didn’t see any light, so it’s probably
not a plasma weapon,” Dr McInness said. “Whatever it is, it’ll require a lot of
power, and if those small buildings are power plants…”

“Right.” Beckman said. “Break into teams,
one per building.”

Hooper organized the teams while they
waited. Soon, a rust colored dog dashed out of the trees. The dingo was so
skinny, its bones could be counted through its skin, yet its lean muscle gave
it a surprising turn of speed. When it was well clear of the forest and its
pursuers, it slowed, avoiding going too close to the unfamiliar structures. A
yell from the trees sent the skittish dingo trotting across the clearing
between the southern power plant and the central structure. The wily old
scavenger skirted the nearest domed building, sniffing the ground, then it
broke into a sprint and vanished in a puff of smoke.

More gasps and impressed whistles sounded
down the line.

“I saw a flash on the building closest to
the river,” Xeno said. “Two thirds of the way up.”

They all focused their binoculars on the
eastern tower.

“Got it,” Hooper declared. “There’s a
recess, and what looks like a turret mounted in it. It’s white like the
towers.”

Beckman carefully examined the location
with his binoculars. “I see it,” he said as he spotted a circular turret
mounted with a short translucent tube.

“Conan might take it out,” Hooper
suggested, referring to the largest of their recovered weapons.

Beckman shook his head. “It’s stationary.
Conan might not detect it, and even if it did, we have to assume that weapon
has a counter battery capability.” Beckman remembered a similar weapon in the
Andes, that could locate the source of any attack, and instantly destroy it. He
wasn’t going to risk that again.

“It might not be necessary,” Dr McInness
said cautiously. His binoculars were focused on one of the towers to the left.

Beckman pointed to the gun emplacement on
the right. “Doc, it’s over there.”

“I know,” Dr McInness said without
reorienting his binoculars. “But it’s the only one.”

Beckman furrowed his brow. “There’ll be one
on every tower, maybe two.” He was certain the facility would have three
hundred and sixty degree coverage, with overlapping fields of fire.

“I can see depressions on the other towers,
where weapons could be mounted, but they’re empty.”

“What?” Beckman said, surprised.

Every pair of binoculars on the ridge
searched the other towers for more weapons, then sounds of astonishment rippled
down the line as Dr McInness suspicion was confirmed.