Dark Dragons (12 page)

The president could almost see the alien’s
perspective.  No one could argue that humans were equal to a
highly-evolved alien civilization.  One would think that they would regard
humans in the same way humans looked at chimpanzees or dolphins——intelligent
and self-aware, perhaps, but nowhere near the level of cognition present in the
higher beings.  But Caliban viewed humanity even lower than that. 
Humans were just detestable spiders on a sidewalk to crush underfoot.

Towsley continued the conversation.  “Why are
Merge-people coming here?”

The alien stood and slowly approached the glass like a cat
sneaking up on a wounded mouse.  He approached the president in an obvious
stalking manner.

Towsley and Bennings reacted by unslouching themselves in
their seats.  The president scooted his chair back from the desk, watching
the towering figure step closer.  The guard and the three Secret Service
agents at the back of the room stepped forward toward the president, the guard
clicking off the safety to his MP5 submachine gun.

“Caliban?” Towsley replied, trying to distract him, but the
alien’s eyes were fixed on the president.  “Caliban?”

The creature’s breath steamed the glass, and he brought his
hands up to signal.

“Merge knowledge?” Towsley asked, his own hand signals
racing.

“What did he say?”

“He asked, ‘I wonder if superior-person would like to
merge.’”

Caliban’s gaze returned to the president. 
“No
knowledge, merge, merge.
”

“‘Merge’ does not mean ‘to exchange knowledge,’ does
it?  What does it mean?”

Caliban continued to stare.  The president’s hands were
now trembling. 
“Caliban already too much talk.  No more.”
 
With that, the alien returned to its recliner.

*

The president stepped out of the Containment Area and headed
for the elevator, rejoined by his Secret Service agents.  He tried to
breathe normally, but it felt like he had just ran the four hundred meter dash.

“Mr. President,” Towsley called after him.  “I’m sorry
if Caliban frightened you.  He does that sometimes when he’s upset or
depressed.”

The president stopped and turned to the colonel.  “What
did he mean by ‘I wonder if superior-person would like to merge?’  What
the hell was that all about?  Does ‘merge’ mean to exchange
knowledge?  If not, then what does it mean?”  The president shook his
head.  “I don’t like the sound of ‘merge.’  I didn’t like the way
that son-of-a-bitch said it to me either.”

“Sir, everything is all right.”

”No, everything is
not
all right.”  The
president turned for the elevator at the end of the corridor, trying to make
sense of the horrible day he was having.  “Everything is not all right,”
he repeated with a whisper.

*

After the president left the NESSTC, Towsley ordered
Bennings to pick up the conversation where it had ended rather awkwardly. 
The alien had indicated something important, but neither men knew if Caliban
had been telling the truth.  The alien’s ambiguous comment about the
“merge” suggestion meant something, and Towsley wanted Bennings to dig up clues
as to the exact meaning.

Like the president, he didn’t like the implication of
“merge” either, so when he looked up the word in his thesaurus, “merge” had
four analogous words, all of which Caliban understood: “unite,” “blend,”
“coalesce,” and “absorb.”  Towsley paused at the word “absorb.”  Were
the invaders going to eat us?  That motive was a conventional device in
sci-fi movies and a famous
Twilight Zone
episode in particular.

Nonsense.  But, Towsley had trouble trying to
distinguish between reality and illusion, because this idea of Man as a food
source did have merit.  Humans were omnivorous.  Why not
extraterrestrials?  Perhaps the aliens discriminated humans as nothing
more than cattle.  Farfetched and silly, perhaps, but a certain legitimacy
floated there with the absurdities.

Caliban’s use of the word
merge
could mean anything
really.  Perhaps the aliens were not interested in the nutritional value
of human flesh, but something else entirely.  Whatever that was, though,
raised dangerous stakes.  If Caliban felt that humanity had “no touch of
harm,” or no equivalence to himself, then “merge” meant something clearly
detrimental to humanity’s welfare.

Towsley wanted answers and wanted them now.  If it
meant refusing food and water as a means to get the replies, then he would do
it.  It wouldn’t be the first time Towsley had ordered this last ditch
effort, but it never got them anywhere.  Whenever Caliban was forced to
fast, his two hundred and eighty pound frame would drop to a dangerously
anorexic two hundred and thirty, and a strange white mucus would cover the
creature’s skin like sweat.  During these times, Caliban still would
resist and meander into a deep depression: avoiding communication, not moving
from his recliner for days, issuing those eerie throaty sounds that Dr.
Bennings still couldn’t identify.  Caliban had become more and more
reluctant to speak to Towsley after his coerced fasting, but still enjoyed talking
with Bennings, probably because the anthropologist always protested Towsley’s
harsh treatment of Caliban in front of the alien.

Which was another thing that irritated Towsley.  Dr.
Bennings treated the creature as if it were an old college buddy.  At
first, the colonel figured that the doctor was simply playing Good Cop to get
answers.  As time went on, however, Towsley noticed the doctor’s
I-can-be-a-nice-guy act was no ploy.  He actually admired the creature
like a lonely old maid who loved her cocker spaniel.

Towsley stepped out of his office to get a cup of coffee
from the galley.  The bizarre conversation with Caliban had numbed him,
and he needed a caffeine jolt to juice his brain.  He hoped Bennings could
unearth some answers.  Towsley would be leaving for George Air Force Base
later today to hook up with the rest of his team and wanted some pertinent
information in advance.  Caliban was their only——dare he think the word—
—hope.
 
So many questions.

Caliban had better damn well cooperate.

*

Dr. Bennings sat down at the desk and looked through the
glass.  Caliban rested in his recliner, making that soft, eerie sound of
his, which reverberated like a cross between a ghostly moan and a cat’s
meow.  Bennings had asked the creature before to explain the sounds, but
the alien always refused to answer that question.  Perhaps they were
Caliban’s way of crying or whimpering.  He only did it when he appeared to
be depressed.

Of course, it was difficult to discern Caliban’s emotional
state since his facial movements were different than a human’s.  Bennings
had been able to identify a few expressions, though, over the years.  When
Caliban seemed content, he uttered little throaty clicks like a dolphin. 
When confused, his eyes widened and he gnashed his large teeth.  However,
the most memorable and disturbing emotion Caliban expressed was anger. 
The creature’s eyes would narrow and his claw’s wiggle which seemed to be a
sign that the alien wanted to attack.  Caliban had been furious only three
times in the past and all during Towsley’s presence——a sign of the alien’s
attitude toward the colonel.  Caliban would slam his huge fists down on
his recliner like a sulking child.  The recliner had been Towsley’s idea,
and that association was Caliban’s way of assaulting him.

Bennings also noticed Caliban liked to study his human
captors as well, which always gave Towsley the creeps.  Bennings saw it
simply as a sign of curiosity, a trait possessed by any sentient, intelligent
creature.  Caliban really had nothing else to do anyway but draw with his
pastels or watch his captors walk in and out of his observation room every
day.  For instance, Caliban learned to recognize a person’s emotional
state whether that person was Bennings, any one of his assistants, Towsley, or
one of the guards.  Bennings had lost track of the number of times when
Caliban asked why he was confused, angry, or happy.  The alien also liked
to play mind games, learning a human’s response to different remarks, and knew
how to find someone’s buttons and hammer down on them.  A few years ago,
Towsley had been pressing the alien with the “Why-are-you-here?”-question when
Caliban suddenly stood up and defecated on the floor in front of the window,
even though the creature knew how to use the toilet built into its
recliner.  Towsley had made a bewildered expression, and Caliban’s throat
clicked with mischievous glee at the colonel’s reaction.  Bennings simply
learned that Caliban associated feces with abhorrence and worthlessness the
same way humans did.  Towsley, however, felt Caliban’s actions were
pointless and didn’t see any important significance in it.  “Interstellar
communication in the form of a turd,” Towsley had mumbled.

Bennings raised his hands and signaled,
  Why are you
sad?

Caliban lately upset.

Why?

Do not know.  Maybe miss babies?

You miss your babies?

Yes, miss babies.  Can Caliban visit babies?

Bennings wasn’t sure if he should tell the alien that all of
its offspring were dead and currently residing in jars of formaldehyde. 
The doctor, of course, always protested these dissections which Colonel Towsley
ordered, because he felt it was necessary to observe Caliban’s parental
responsibilities.  Caliban seemed willing to rear its young like mammals
on Earth, even though the creature had never been given the chance.  This
wasn’t the first time Caliban wanted to see his infants.

  This poor creature had genuine feelings. 
Bennings noticed that years ago, and he seemed to be the only human who
cared.  Towsley and Taggart just wanted answers, but Bennings felt it was
more important to understand what was going on inside Caliban’s brain. 
That was the real goal here, not frivolous answers and constant prodding. 
Being honest had to be the key.

Pondering that, Bennings decided it was time to tell Caliban
the truth. 
You cannot see your babies, Caliban . . . because they are
dead.

The alien sat up in its recliner.  Caliban widened his
eyes and gnashed his teeth.  He looked around his cell, as if something
there could tell him a reason why. 
How?

They were exterminated.  By order of Towsley.

Caliban remained still for a moment.  Then he began to
moan ghostly whimpers.

I am sorry, Caliban.  You know it was not my
idea.  I would never agree to something like that.

Yes, I know.

I truly am sorry.  I can imagine how you feel. 
I have babies too.

Suddenly, Caliban changed his demeanor so quickly that
Bennings was caught completely off guard. 
How is Anthony-person and
Michelle-person?

Bennings had talked about his two children before with
Caliban but had addressed them by name only once, and that had been years
ago.  Ever since, Caliban referred to them only as “Richard-person
babies.”  That is until now. 
Anthony and Michelle are fine.

They still breathe?

Yes, Caliban, they still breathe.

Why do they still breathe and Caliban-babies not?

Because Towsley wants to see how Caliban-people can be
killed.  Caliban has a right to be angry.

I am not angry.  Only sad.  Too sad to be
angry.

Richard liked babies.  He did not want them hurt.

Caliban got out of his recliner and paced around his
cell.  If there was some new emotion here, Bennings couldn’t read
it.  Caliban did not whimper or twitch his claws, his facial movements
still. 
Caliban have another baby soon.

Bennings nodded.  Caliban gave birth every sixteen
months, and it had been nearly thirteen months since the last delivery. 
Already, he could make out Caliban’s baby-bump.

Caliban afraid.  Do not want to have baby.

This baby will live.  Richard will fight Towsley.

Towsley-person is too strong.

Richard will become stronger.

Caliban will kill baby.

Bennings felt that response tug him in the gut. 
No,
Caliban, you will not kill your baby.

Would rather kill baby than let Towsley-person.

Let Richard-person talk to Towsley.

Caliban began to moan again, and Bennings fought the urge to
do the same.  He felt drained of energy, frustrated that he couldn’t do
anything, a helpless owner watching its pet suffer.  This creature was
light-years from home on a strange and violent world, lonely and afraid, and it
simply wanted kindness.  Despite the apparent hostile intentions of his
people, Caliban himself seemed compassionate, empathetic and no more
threatening than a mischievous dog.

The alien noticed Bennings’ look, and said,
Do not be sad
for Caliban.

I cannot help it.

It will be over soon.  Do not be sad.

What will be over soon?

Caliban looked up at the ceiling, and his eyes
fluttered. 
Caliban will kill self.  Somehow.

No, you do not want to do that.

Yes.  Nothing here but sad.

What can I do to make you happy?

The alien paused for a moment, then,
Nothing
Richard-person can do to make happy.  Except let Caliban go.

Towsley will not let that happen.

If Towsley will not let that happen, then Richard cannot
prevent Caliban-baby from death.

Listen to me.

Caliban no more talk.  Kill self now.  Know a
way.
 With that, the alien moved under the fluorescent lamp, jumped up
with amazing quickness and smashed the light out.  The cell went dark.

The alien was going to electrocute himself. 
“No!”  Bennings stumbled out of his chair and went for the door.  He
hit the emergency alarm button on the wall and raced out of the room.