Illegal Aliens (13 page)

Prof. Rajavur bowed to the Gees, who did the same to him.

“In the name of the planet Terra, I greet you,” he said sincerely, as the Icelander had done a thousand times before in practice sessions before his bathroom mirror. Then to Mohad he added, “Honestly, I don't suppose they can understand a word of what I’m saying. Mohad, could you enable your computers for inter-Bunker translation?”

“Most certainly,” Dr. Malavade said, and he got busy at the controls.

“There is no need for such complexities,” the female alien said in husky tones. “We have our own translation devices that allow us to converse with any sentient species.”

“Excellent, that will certainly facilitate matters,” Rajavur said, recovering nicely from the shock of being addressed directly. With due formality, he introduced his team, using their full rank and titles. The golden beings bowed to each of them in turn.

“I am Avantor,” the female said, gesturing to herself. Then she pointed to the male nearby. “This is my 17.”

The FCT's sociologist just couldn't restrain himself any longer. “Forgive me, Avantor,” Sir John gushed. “But is that your name, title or job description?”

“Yes,” she answered obligingly.

Hmm. “And you, sir?” he continued doggedly.

The male proudly threw out his chest and tilted his head to display his fine, wide nostrils. “I am our ship's 17.”

Sir John paused a moment before replying, “Of course.”

Only pretending to be casual, the two beings strolled about the Command Bunker, taking advantage of the opportunity to study its complex facilities.

“How strange,” Avantor said to her assistant. “In here, they exhibit a much higher level of technology then we believed possible. Interesting. Most interesting.”

Bronson and Wu exchanged smiles.

“Yes my liege, but who is that man behind the glass wall?” The 16 asked, pointing unerringly at Nicholi. “I see he holds a weapon of some sort. Your guard, I presume?”

The Russian general cursed under his breath, but did not relinquish his grip on the pistol. The phrase “ . . . powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men . . . ” came unbidden into his mind and his finger tightened on the trigger.

Leaning closer, Dr. Wu intently studied the alien's black eyes. “You must see further into the infrared spectrum than we do,” she deduced. “If so, the mirror would only be frosted glass to you.”

Seriously displeased by the security breach, Bronson unconsciously began tapping the pistol at his hip. The 16 noticed the motion and prudently stepped between him and the avantor.

“Our physiology is not important,” Avantor said, the circumspect action of her assistant not going unnoticed. “What is important, is that we apprehend the criminals in that starship as soon as possible.”

“Yeah, well, we’re working on it,” General Bronson grumbled.

“What are your results so far?” she asked.

“Nada, zilch, the magic goose egg.”

Avantor blinked. “I do not understand.”

Suddenly a light started to flash on his console and Dr. Malavade began to gesture wildly. “Incoming transmission!” he warned the room.

The aliens allowed Sir John to herd them over by Nicholi's mirrored wall where the video cameras on the monitor could not focus on them. Courtney scurried back to his console just in time for the swirling effect to clear.

“AND ANOTHER THING,” Hammer said without any preamble. “WE WANT NEW EPISODES OF STAR TREK PUT ON TV WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST, THE FORMULA FOR COCA-COLA, AMERICA TO BE RENAMED ZIP-A-DEE-DOO-DAH-LAND AND ALTERNATE-SIDE-OF-THE-STREET PARKING IN NEW YORK CITY TO BE SUSPENDED FOREVER. MORE LATER.”

Sneaking a peek at the wall monitor, this transmission upset the aliens as much as the humans.

“That was not the Sazinian we seek,” the avantor observed stepping forward to assume a military stance. “Where is Leader Idow?”

“That depends,” Sir John replied, biting a lip. “Are you religious?”

Brusquely, Rajavur took over the conversation. “Idow and most of his crew are dead. The people controlling the ship are the test subjects they brought aboard. A group of young Earth criminals that we call a street gang.”

Primitives in control of a starship? Both of the aliens felt their knees go weak and gratefully they accepted the chairs Sir John brought over to them from the kitchen area. The sociologist knew the therapeutic value of sitting down after a terrible shock.

General Bronson agreed with the alien's response and thoughtfully rubbed his prominent jaw. Clearly, things were getting out of hand. “Maybe . . . ” he reflected aloud, glancing towards Nicholi.

“If you are planning on using nuclear missiles,” Avantor interrupted hastily. “I would advise against it.”

“Why is that?” Prof. Rajavur asked curiously.

“Because of the simple fact they would not work. Even if you had a fusion bomb powerful enough to penetrate their force shield, nothing could damage the ship itself.” She frowned. “Deflector Plating, you see. Absolutely impervious.”

Bronson and Nicholi's ears pricked up at that. Fantastic! It was the ultimate armor. Whatever country controlled the substance could rule the Earth. Then the two generals glanced at each other and nodded. Each would make sure the other received full technical information. There would be no monopoly. The balance of power between their nations would be maintained.

Nonchalantly as an illegal
vis par
dealer, 17 touched the hand of his commander, the woman's distended nerves made contact with his and telepathically the male asked her:
What the Void are you talking about? There is no such thing as Deflector Plating.

17, what is the first law?

To Protect.

And the second?

 . . . ourselves.

Correct. The fusion missiles of these primitives will obliterate
All That Glitters
, but the blast will also kill us. I say we take the ship by guile, and live to tell our version of the story. Agreed?

“Deflector Plating,” The 16 said heartily. “Toughest thing in the universe. Nothing can harm it.”

Drumming fingers on his console, Prof. Rajavur was both delighted and perturbed by this news. In their present situation this Deflector Plating was a major obstacle to overcome, but afterwards, a defense like that could mean an end to the threat of nuclear war. Somehow they must get a sample of the material for analysis, to assure the survival of humanity.

Meanwhile, Dr. Malavade filed his tape recording of the Gee's incredible statement under a triple security seal, and electronically sent a copy of it to every member of the United Nations, and Dr. Wu began to amass notes on the theoretical construction of energy-repellant matter.

Strolling over to the wall monitor, the female Guardian of the Galaxy studied the picture of the huge white ball. “17, can you identify the model of that starship?”

“Affirmative, my liege. It's a Mikon #2, or #3.”

“How familiar are you with the Mikon series?”

“Totally,” he replied confidently. “I have the complete blueprint for every spacecraft used by known criminals memorized.”

Avantor smiled. “Excellent. How may we enter the ship?”

17 pursed his lips. “Doors and hatches access only from the inside. Mostly they use the teleportation beam, although it is slow.”

Her face shifted into a frown. “That's not what I asked.”

The golden male squirmed uncomfortably under her stern gaze. “Yes, of course, my liege. I would have to build an override key, but yes, it could be done.”

“Splendid.” She turned to the FCT. “Prof. Rajavur, do you have access to any military personnel?”

General Bronson answered instead. “We have our pick of the United States Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, CIA, FBI, NSA, Secret Service, Green Berets, Delta Force, city, county, state police, National Guard, NATO, French Foreign Legion, the Russian Federal Security Agency, the Pathfinders, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, InterPol and one guy named Remo. What do you need?”

“What we need is for your street gang to lower that force shield,” she countered. “If only for an instant. The problem is how can we make them perform the desired action.”

That was the crux of the matter. A problem indeed. Then a cough sounded from the loudspeaker in the corner and everyone in the bunker turned towards Nicholi as he de-mirrored his wall.

“I know how to make them lower the shield,” he flatly stated. “It is simplicity itself.”

THIRTEEN

“You do?” Prof. Rajavur inquired surprised. “How?”

Nicholi swiveled his chair away from his console to face them directly. “It is easy,” he smiled. “What we have to do is—”

“Everybody, shut up,” Dr. Wu ordered, her attention riveted onto the readouts of her console.

Wisely, the beings in the room did so, her uncharacteristic rudeness clearly announcing that something was seriously amiss.

“I don't like this,” Wu said frowning. “My sensors are indicating a mobile radiation source in Central Park.”

Resembling melting butter, Avantor frowned. “Impossible,” she stated bluntly. “The
All That Glitters
is not atom powered.”

“I said it was mobile,” Dr. Wu snapped irritably. “It is moving towards the white ship.” She paused, meticulously checking the testimony of her dials again. “Nicholi, I think you’d better alert the troops. There's a Snoopy in the park.”

A lightning bolt exploding across the bunker couldn't have produced a more startling reaction than the woman's words.

Appearing as if he had just been hit with a brick, Bronson dropped the cigar from his mouth. “A Snoopy? You sure?”

“Yes, damn it! There's a mobile radiation source approaching the alien craft at walking speed. Now do something!”

“Jesus, I’ll try,” he said, grabbing his phone, flipping open his code book and punching in an emergency number that he had seriously thought he would never have to use.

The two aliens were plainly puzzled. “A what?” Avantor asked, with a quizzical look.

“This is unpardonable!” Prof. Rajavur raged in moral outrage. “Who authorized this insanity?”

“Who could have?” Sir John asked, his face flushed with ill- controlled fury. “Only you and Nicholi have that kind of power now, Sigerson.”

“None of my Snoopys are missing,” the Russian general averred, from behind his plexiglass wall. “But I will double check.”

“Do so,” Rajavur ordered.

Holding an earphone with his left hand, Dr. Malavade snapped the fingers of his right hand for attention. “Perhaps it was the Secretary General,” the philologist suggested sagely. “He has been most unhappy with our performance so far, and has already demonstrated his willingness to take matters into his own hands.”

“And ordered an assault on the starship!” Rajavur shuddered at the possible implications. “The fool! Mohad, get me Geneva on the phone. Fast!”

In oft-practiced ease, the communications expert flew to the task.

The 16 took a hesitant step forward. “I beg your pardon,” he said. “A Snoopy?”

“Yuki, give me the location,” Bronson interrupted. “I’ve got a man who can handle the situation, but he needs to know precisely where the device is.”

“Vector 4, section 3 on your map of the park,” Dr. Wu replied crisply. “Over by the statue.” Her voice faded away to nothing, and then returned strong. “What the Hell is that?”

An astonishing sight filled the wall monitor. A full division of tanks flying hand-made Greek flags were crashing through the greenery of Central Park, the metal juggernauts smashing trees into kindling under their heavy treads. With obvious intent, the indomitable war machines headed for the alien starship; their 120mm guns and armor-piercing rockets aiming straight and true.

“Nicholi,” Sir John threatened in a low voice.

“Not me again,” the Russian general protested in innocence. “Those tanks forced their way through my cordon, nearly killing several of my people. They’re NATO troops, but operating independently. I have no control over them.”

With a grimace, he touched his earphone. “My men want to know if the orders still hold about non-interference, or if they should join the assault on the ship.”

“Please, have them do nothing,” Rajavur requested franticly.

Just then, Dr. Malavade gave him the go ahead and Rajavur snatched at his phone. “Hello, Switzerland?”

Discreetly, The 16 touched Avantor.
They act concerned, and yet refuse to talk to us. Could this be a trick of some kind?

No,
she replied telepathically.
Observe their faces. Whatever is going on is urgent, and simply too important for them to waste time with us.

“Yuki, what's its power?” Sir John asked, enabling the calculator function of his computer.

Engrossed in her work, the Chinese scientist answered without lifting her head. “At a guess, half a kiloton. It depends on how advanced a model they have.”

“Then it can't harm us down here,” he muttered, thinking aloud. His dancing fingers tapped in figures. “But everyone on the surface will die within, say a kilometer, that's 20 city blocks! Wow. Nicholi, those tanks must be a diversion just to keep the street gang from noticing the real attack. The bomb!”

“Oh, thank you, John,” the Russian general mocked in a syrupy sweet tone. “I never would have figured that out myself. Now go teach your grandmother how to suck eggs. I’m busy.”

Bomb? Kiloton? At last, Avantor understood. “This Snoopy you keep referring to is some form of atomic weapon?”

“Hmm?” Rajavur glanced away from his phone and saw the aliens as if for the first time. “Ah, yes. Yuki, do you mind?”

Formally polite, the Chinese physicist stood. “It's a portable fission bomb of the type built during the Cold War. Weighing approximately 22 pounds, the device fits inside a normal attaché case.” Dr. Wu reached under her console and retrieved the briefcase she carried her daily newspaper in. “Quite similar in size and shape to this.”

The aliens were scandalized. An atomic weapon that you could carry like a lunchbox? What level of madness was necessary to create, much less build, such a horror?

“The tanks have ordered the Bloody Deckers to surrender or be fired upon,” Dr. Malavade said shocked. “But this is lunacy. They must know their shells can not penetrate that force shield. Are men to die just so the Snoopy can get close to the alien ship?”

“How close?” Sir John demanded practically. “Yuki, how close should it get for maximum effect?”

“Touching the force shield would be optimum,” she replied, fine-tuning her sensors to even greater sensitivity. “But the bomb has been in firing range ever since it entered the park.”

“Wayne, how goes it?” Nicholi asked in concern, over the loudspeaker.

The American general laid aside his phone and lit a fresh cigar. “Who knows, my friend?” he puffed. “I’ve done what I can. But if I were a religious man, I’d start praying right about now.”

* * *

Whistling a Broadway showtune, a slim, neatly dressed man, calmly strolled beneath the leafy green trees of Central Park, with the equivalent of 500,000 pounds of TNT swinging in his right hand. The park grass, dried from the summer heat wave, crunched beneath his polished shoes, and each step raised a cloud of dust that dirtied the legs of his otherwise spotless uniform.

For this mission, Agent Taurus was dressed as a Major in US Army Intelligence. That got him past the NATO cordon easy enough. Now all he had to do was find the force shield surrounding the alien invader and release the handle of the attaché case he carried. Mother Nature, with a little help from Albert Einstein, would do the rest.

Filling his horizon, the mammoth white ball towered over him: a sight to intimidate anyone, but this man smiled. What he held in his grip was greater then the alien invaders: the power of a miniature sun locked inside 864 cubic inches, and his to command. During his rushed briefing session, the Secretary General had advised him to get as close as possible to the ship to maximize the bomb's effect. He had also been warned that the renegade FCT might try to stop him, so in case of trouble Taurus was to detonate the Snoopy immediately, no matter where he was.

Faintly from the other side of the gigantic ship, he could hear the diversionary tanks ordering the murdering criminals inside to surrender. Soon they would open fire and he would attack, trusting to science to complete the job, as he would never know the outcome of the blast. That is, unless Heaven had a good view of Central Park.

Just then, someone in a policeman's uniform dropped on him from the trees and locked a muscular arm around his throat. Contrary to what he would have liked to do, Taurus offered no resistance to the killing attack. Instead, he simply released his grip on the Snoopy.

Or rather, he tried to, but the policeman had his own hand wrapped tight around the handle, preventing that very action. Taurus was infuriated. A nuclear counter-agent! Betrayed by one of his own kind!

Locking two of his fingers together, the man jabbed them directly into the eye of his enemy. But the crippling blow was deflected by the back of a hand, which then circled into a fist that punched for his face. Taurus grabbed the hand in an iron grip, and for a moment the two men stood there, locked face to face, neither able to move.

“Taurus,” the phony Army officer grunted, straining to crush the policeman's bones.

“Virgo,” his adversary replied, struggling to do the same.

The amenities over, Taurus kicked the man in the groin, but only hit the thigh as the counter-agent dodged to the left. Virgo butted with his head. Pain blinded Taurus as his nose broke. Blood flowed into his mouth and he spat it out. With brutal force, he buried a thumbnail into Virgo's wrist, crushing a nerve center. The man gasped in agony and released him. Without wasting a second, Taurus chopped down with his free hand and the arm holding the bomb snapped, but the stubborn policeman held on. Then his own ribs cracked from Virgo's fist. Panting for breath, the two agents broke apart, joined only the their death grip on the leather briefcase. One was determined never to let go, the other unwilling to relinquish control and fail his mission.

In the background, the NATO tanks began their attack, the rockets, missiles and shells exploding harmlessly on the alien ship's impenetrable force shield. But they created the kind of racket that nobody could fail to notice.

* * *

Inquisitively, Trell tapped a power meter with his finger. No, it wasn't a minor fluctuation in the reactor. They were under attack by the forces of Dirt. How amusing. He activated the viewscreens to show the pitched battle to the gang, and to Trell's surprise their reaction was quite different from his.

“Holy spit!” Drill cried, nearly falling out of his chair. “There's a goddamn army out there!”

The blood drained from Chisel's face. “What we gonna do, Hammer? Surrender?”

“Deckers don't surrender,” the ganglord angrily reminded him. “Besides, they’d kill us on sight.” Nervously, he cracked his knuckles. “Trell, how long can that forcefield shield thing hold?”

“Against this sort of attack?”

“Yes, you freaking idiot! How long?”

The alien technician shrugged. “Oh, I don't know. Thirty or forty of your years.”

“Thirty,” Chisel said.

“Or forty,” Drill continued.

“Years,” drawled Hammer, finishing the sentence.

Trell nodded in agreement. “Depends upon whether or not we turn on the air conditioner.”

“Then they can't hurt us?” Chisel cried out happily.

Glancing scornfully at the viewscreen, the alien exhaled. “Not with those toys.”

Relieved, Drill returned his feet to atop the control board, and reclined in Gasterphaz's old chair, his hundred and eighty pounds of hard muscle not even creasing the cushion. “Well, okay then.”

Almost against his will, Hammer grinned at the viewscreen, the light flashes from the explosions nearly hypnotizing him. So this is what being invulnerable feels like. No wonder Superman was always smiling.

“Okay Trell, get on the horn and tell those UN creeps that they get this try for free, but only this one.” He chuckled at the alien's lack of comprehension. “Don't worry about it, stud, they’ll understand.” Hammer narrowed his eyes. “But just to make sure, let's show them what a starship can do.”

Leaning into the screen, the ganglord looked over the armored division like a housewife picking ripe tomatoes. “I think we’ll start with . . . him!”

* * *

As the last Greek tank melted into a glowing steel puddle, its gun crew dashing about, frantically beating their pants to extinguish the fire, Dr. Malavade snapped his fingers at his teammates. “The Bloody Deckers say that if we try such an action again—”

“That they’ll do horrible nasty things to us,” Dr. Wu finished for him in gallows humor.

Quite startled, the linguist blinked. “How did you know?” he asked.

“I’m psychic.”

“Yuki can read lips, too,” Sir John explained, spoiling the effect. He was in no mood for jocularity of any sort, even though he understood its therapeutic value in tense circumstances such as these. The Scotsman supposed that his own nerves were cracking a bit. His job was to relay and analyze information. But against a direct physical treat there was nothing he could do. A sense of futility welled within his throat like bile, and he forced it down with a swallow of tepid Icelandic coffee. Blah.

“Hello, Geneva?” Rajavur asked stiffly. “Let me speak to the Secretary General please . . . yes, it is an emergency . . . thank you . . . Emile? Sigerson here, I formally place you under arrest for crimes against humanity. Eh? You’re already in the custody of NATO security force? Good! Hope you enjoy the color prison gray, you rockheaded buffoon. See you in fifty years, Emile. Goodbye.”

* * *

Chop, block, jab, thrust, kick, punch; the life-or-death battle between the two nuclear agents went on and on, each man fiercely fighting for what he truly believed was right.

This is getting us nowhere, thought Taurus, gritting his teeth against the pain. They were too well matched. So in a desperate gamble, he tried the unexpected and released his hold on the Snoopy. Caught off-guard, Virgo stumbled backwards. That was when Taurus launched his final assault.

Summoning every ounce of his remaining strength, he lunged forward in a double hand chop, a martial arts move not meant to hurt, or maim, but kill your opponent. Designed as a last resort, the attack could fell a moose. There was no known defense, expect for not being there when it hit.

It hit.

 . . . the Snoopy, which the crippled Virgo swung in front of himself for protection. Built to withstand anything short of its own detonation, the briefcase went unharmed. Taurus fell screaming to the ground with virtually every bone in both of his hands smashed. Then the terrible pain overwhelmed his training and the man fainted, broken at last in body and spirit.