Alien Deception (34 page)

This process had become standard operating procedure for initial-contact agents once the inhabitants of a world passed the preliminary review for further introduction of technology. The Rigusians had done extremely well and had all the attributes of a fine race that, in time, would bring excellent qualities to the UCDW. Once they ventured out into space, and if they still were a peaceful race, they would be introduced to the Council and its guiding principles and offered a chance to join. If they declined, they would be left alone, as long as they did not harm any of the other member planets.

All reports Leumas received up to a few hours ago had indicated all was going as planned. He had trained this team personally, and one agent in particular stuck out in his mind. He had taken Scarg, a fellow Zirean, under his wing because the man excelled at all aspects of his training. That fact had more than outweighed any potential accusations of favoritism that might have arisen from Leumas’ being old friends with the younger man's family.

Then, suddenly, there had been indications of total failure of all influencing attempts, and shortly afterwards, communication was lost with the team. He refused to think the worst because his confidence in his agents would not let him. Maybe they just had equipment problems or curious visitors that precluded a transmission. Nevertheless, Leumas had decided to check on them when the loss of communication occurred. That loss was highly unusual, especially given the almost perfect success record of the influencing process with a civilization possessing the characteristics of this one.

The computer readouts indicated he would land within one hundred yards of the base camp the agents had established.

::Touchdown in ten seconds.::
He felt the decrease in acceleration as the craft neared the surface. Five seconds.
::What could have gone wrong,::
he wondered as he waited for touchdown confirmation.

::Touchdown,::
the computer's voice said in his mind.

::What's the weather like, Dora?::

Dora was the name he had bestowed on the computer, the name of a woman of a favorable past acquaintance.

::A comfortable seventy-two degrees Fahrenheit.::

::Thank you, Dora. I'll be back in a little while. Don't go anywhere without me,::
he teased, then added,
::and don't go fooling around with any hardware, okay?::

::I shall place all operations in standby,::
the unemotional voice said.

::That's my girl,::
Leumas praised and gently caressed the side of the craft.

As the door slid open, yellow-orange sunlight filled his vision. The rural landscape was composed of red soil, the horizon a mountainous terrain of the same color. Shrubbery and trees were a distinct blue with white flowers in bloom upon them. The air was scented with a cinnamon-like smell. He breathed deeply and thought that, under different conditions, he would have liked to enjoy the colorful scenery and scent of this world.

He quickly headed toward the makeshift shelter his agents had called home for the past six months. The shelter was designed to look like similar dwellings in this area; octagonal in shape and built from the red stone that was abundant. All the sides were of solid stone, the roofs from formed metal. Windows were not included in their homes because of the meteorite storms that frequently occurred.

It was eerily quiet. Leumas’s unease deepened when no one came out to greet him. He had been transmitting the message of his pending arrival continuously for the past several hours. Even if their communications equipment were inoperable, they would have heard his ship's arrival. The lack of anyone to greet him indicated no one was here or they had encountered some form of trouble. He hoped it was the former.

He felt for his small hand laser under his jacket, fingering the switch to ensure it was in stun mode. He left it under his jacket and continued on.

Stepping up to the entrance, Leumas touched his hand to the security plate on the door. It quickly slid open under his touch. A stench assaulted his nostrils; he gagged, removed a handkerchief from his pocket and held it over his face. The smell was uncomfortably familiar, burnt hair or something similar. Leumas tried to remember where he had smelled it before in order to associate the smell with an image, but decided his first priority should be to get some light.

The automatic light did not come on and the darkness enhanced his trepidation. He placed his hand to the right of the inside doorway to where he thought he remembered the manual override light switch was located.

He felt something wet on his hand as it followed the contour of the wall to the switch. Leumas hoped it was just condensation from the lack of air circulation, but the sticky feel of it left him uneasy. He took out his weapon with his other hand.

Soon, he felt the reassuring shape of the wall switch and slid it to on. Bright luminescence filled the room, and Leumas raised his hands to shield his eyes from the glare. Seconds ticked by as his eyes adjusted to the clean white light. Slowly, he began to lower his hands. His eyes focused on the bright red blood that covered them.

The sight of the blood triggered his memory of the origin of the smell—the burnt flesh from a laser blast.

Chapter Four

“At times I believe that we are comprised of two different egos, the one when we are awake and the other when we are asleep. But which is correct?”

Greg Carlson 

Greg waited in the Great Hall of the Council, dressed in the long black robe he wore for meetings, as the Council members took their seats. The immensity of the facility amazed him each time he entered. The hall had been carved from the interior of a West Virginia mountain, its ceiling rising several hundred feet above his head. There was a display of the galaxy on the ceiling, symbolizing the Council’s mission: the promise of life to all the races that inhabited the galaxy, a life of peaceful coexistence.

The walls were adorned with each member's contribution, a symbol of their individuality—a piece of art, writings, architecture, clothing—whatever they wished to contribute. Those walls were a symbol of their unity that flourished despite their diverse and unique backgrounds.

Greg was in his usual place at the podium on the center dais where he had a full view of the Council chambers. Everything appeared to be as it should. The delegates, at last count one hundred and fifty-six, sat, stood, hovered or whatever was the case for his or her particular species at designated tables. There were two representatives per planet per table with their planetary designation clearly displayed.

Although the room was full, it was disturbingly and unusually quiet. Normally, the mixed babble of alien dialects was rampant as the universal translators raced to keep up with the conversations. This time the Great Hall was silent.

Can I be dreaming?
Greg thought, his insides quivering as he stepped down from the podium and proceeded toward the member areas in the eerie silence.

He neared the closest table where the members of the Colupian delegation sat. Colupia was a water world, its people evolved from sea creatures. Their physical features were those common to a water species: scale-like skin that was always wet, oval mouths and slim head and body. They could live outside of a water environment for a short time, but either had to return to the water or don a breathing apparatus that allowed them to saturate their lungs with water within a few hours. Greg remembered the first time he had seen them and how badly he had wanted to ask where their fish bowl was.

Now, he addressed them in a casual tone. "Members from Colupia." He waited to be acknowledged, but no acknowledgment came. Instead, the two fish-like delegates sat perfectly still. He stepped nearer.

"Delegates of the planet Colupia?" Greg said again in a louder voice, but still there was no answer. They remained sitting, staring straight ahead without any movement or recognition of him. He looked closer, this time noticing they appeared molded in their positions, unable to move.

Their skin was normally lubricated with a liquid that kept their skin damp. He could clearly see the beads of moisture on their bodies. He turned and looked at the adjoining tables; the other members in the near vicinity appeared to be in a similar state. Frozen in time, unmoving. Perhaps dead?
Maybe not even real,
he thought.

It has to be a dream.

He reached toward the Colupian. As his finger touched its skin, its body collapsed as if ignited by some fuse. It shattered into pieces and fell in a perverse harmony, forming a pile on the ground at his feet. He stepped back quickly, feeling queasiness sweep over him.

My touch caused his death?

He dashed to the next table of delegates, a humanoid group from Zire. He received the same reception. He reached out his hand and touched the still figure. It, too, shattered with an exact precision.

Greg's heartbeat quickened. He ran from table to table in a panic; each time, the result was exactly the same. His touch caused the aliens to fall apart. He made a complete circle of the chamber and ended up where he had started. His Council robes were soaked with sweat as he was inundated with fear and revulsion. The message was clear. Whatever had happened to the Council members, it was caused by something he had done or failed to do.

All my fault! My interaction with these alien races will cause their deaths!

"What is happening?" Greg screamed out loud in frustration and rage.

A sound answered him, a soft laugh that sounded like a little child, but then rose in intensity and depth as the seconds passed. The laugh soon became a long, drawn-out howl of someone who was mad; completely and wholeheartedly mad. The sound sickened him.

"Who are you? Where are you?" he screamed as his eyes jumped nervously in his head, searching for the source of such sickness and madness.

Who could possibly laugh at what was happening?

"Did you really think that you could pull off this sham of yours?" A voice from the darkness demanded. "You and your little group? The crazy alien, Leumas, and your female friend?" The deep voice was frothing with indignation. Greg thought he recognized something in that voice.

"Who are you?" Greg demanded. "Why don't you step into the light where I can see you?" His heart felt like it would pound its way out of his chest.
Just a dream.

The voice came again from the darkness, this time mocking him again in a childlike singsong.

"The Great Council sat on the wall.

The Great Council had a great fall.

All the aliens in the galaxy couldn't

put the Council back together again and

certainly not a half-breed the likes of you."

 The voice ended its recitation and resumed laughing. This time, it sounded utterly out of control and shook the ground Greg stood on. A great fissure opened in the floor and Greg was thrown toward it. He grasped the edge and barely managed to hold on.

Suddenly, there was a burst of light from the galactic display overhead. It looked as if the galaxy itself had been split by some tremendous release of energy. However, the energy had a warm, calming effect on him, as though its emanations were life itself. Entranced, he stared at the glow so far above him, and even as his fingers groped for a better hold, he felt a strange sense of calm envelop him.

The laughter stopped for a moment; voices shouted in his mind, hundreds of them. He couldn't understand what they were screaming.

Am I going mad? Is this the way it ends?

His fingers were slipping. He peered below; the crevice was dark and he couldn't tell where it ended or if it ever did.

"Take my hand," the evil voice said. "Take my hand and you will live, but you must hurry before the light overtakes us."

"What does the light signify?" Greg asked as his grip weakened.

"You worry about the light above instead of the darkness below?"

"I must know!"

"Then die," the voice roared as Greg felt each finger slowly releasing its hold. He began to fall into darkness…

"Noooooo," he screamed as he opened his eyes to face a red sun climbing above the mountains to begin another day.

He looked around his quarters to assure himself he was actually there and not in another dream. His hand reached for the cup of coffee sitting on the table. It was ice cold.

It was another dream! Another damn dream!

He closed his eyes and wept in frustration.

Chapter Five

“We all die at some point, but when murder is committed upon someone we know, it becomes very personal. It changes even the calmest of a species to a raving lunatic who seeks nothing but the act of revenge.”

Leumas

Leumas felt his stomach lurch at the sight and feel of the sticky blood covering his hands. He turned back toward the door he had just entered, trying to regain some sense of calm, fighting back the vomit that rose into his throat. If he met an intruder at this moment, he would surely get himself killed. Better to regroup before going any further.

Just outside the door, he knelt, scooped up some dirt and rubbed it between his hands, trying to remove as much of the blood as possible. As he scrubbed, he tried to refocus his thoughts. There were three agents assigned to this planet—three agents
he
had assigned to the planet. Until the sudden silence, there had been no indication anything at all was amiss. The influencing process had been advancing according to schedule, the agents confident they would complete the task right on time. The reason for the bloodshed eluded him.

He knew the men were dedicated and qualified for the task. Yes, they were still a little green, but this planet was almost textbook perfect for a beginning assignment. Whatever had gone wrong was not of their doing, he was sure of that much.