The Mothership (8 page)

Where’d it go?

A wooden plank skidded barely two meters
away. She suppressed a gasp, then looked over her shoulder, spotting a dark
shape moving silently over the debris.

How did it get up there, without me hearing
it?

Through the peepholes, she saw a metallic,
almost shiny surface, not the leathery crocodile hide she’d expected, and it
glided
above
the wreckage, rather than walked upon it. Laura swallowed,
fighting her fear as she shrank further back into the shadows. She watched the
ovoidal shape’s slender mechanical arms poke the debris with knife-like probes.
When the surveyor floated over the opening above her, it stopped, revealing a
glowing strip running along its underside. It hovered motionless and silent
while one of its frontal arms pushed pieces of wood and plaster aside. Several
planks slid away, causing bright sunlight to shoot down into the area to her
left, illuminating one of her hiking boots and catching a tiny kangaroo rat in
the sunlight. Startled, the little marsupial hopped toward the shadows as one
of the surveyor’s frontal arms speared down with blinding speed. There was a
squeal, then the arm retracted with the tiny animal impaled on its blade probe.

Laura’s eyes widened in fright as she
forced herself to remain motionless in the shadows, not even daring to move her
foot. Her heart beat furiously as a small panel opened in the surveyor’s side
and the arm deposited the tiny creature inside. After a moment, the surveyor
moved on over the ruins. She turned slowly, watching it float across the lawn
towards the lab. Now she could see the drone more clearly. The sensor disk on
top glistened in the sunlight like black glass as it studied the remains of the
research station. Halfway to the lab, it stopped to drive one of its knife-like
probes deep into the ground, instantly obtaining a chemical analysis of the
soil. It retracted the probe, then continued on to the laboratory, where it
started sifting through the debris.

Gradually, Laura’s fear subsided as the
surveyor moved away. She began observing it with the mind of a scientist,
realizing it was a piece of technology, although unlike any machine she’d ever
seen. By the way it probed its surroundings, gathered data and collected
samples, she knew if it discovered her, it would treat her like another
specimen.

Is that what happened to Dan?

The surveyor glided over the lab toward
where the animal cages had been. A probe arm speared down into the wrecked
laboratory, then retracted with a mass of color impaled on its knife probe.
Laura winced when she saw the white bandage covering one of the bird’s legs,
realizing it was the rosella she’d operated on the previous night. The surveyor
deposited the bird in another specimen compartment, then glided toward the
aviary’s nylon netting.

It’s going for my birds!
Laura thought as the birds became
agitated, chattering and flying between the trees.

The surveyor drifted outside the aviary
while its optical sensor discovered the netting was a primitive synthetic
construct. It sliced off a section of the net, then deposited it into a
compartment for later analysis. The underbrush near the aviary came alive as
seven meters of reptilian fury surged toward the machine. Massive jaws filled
with large yellow teeth clamped down on the surveyor. Electrical flashes
erupted from the machine as vital components were crushed. The surveyor’s arms
nearest the croc were pinned, while the arms on the far side arched over the
machine’s spine and speared into the big croc’s shoulders and head. The blade
probes sliced through bone and muscle, opening up a vicious wound while the
croc’s dying impulse was to shake its head, smashing the surveyor into the ground.
The black ovoid exploded, blowing the crocodile’s jaws apart, then they both
collapsed into a mangled pile of bloodied flesh and melted components.

Laura watched, horrified. Even though she
feared the big croc, she’d also cared for and studied it for almost a year. To
see it destroyed in such a way shocked her. Struggling to maintain her
composure, she climbed out of the house, dumped the backpack beside the food
and water, then approached the dead crocodile. Its headless body lay next to
the shattered black hull of the surveyor. Inside the machine were three
partially melted metal cubes. Sparks flickered from the central cube, which had
exploded and was now peppered with tiny black holes. Running along the sides of
the machine were small compartments filled with rocks, insects and tiny
animals. The rosella lay in one compartment, encased in a solid, translucent
gel like material that perfectly preserved it.

Nearby, shrapnel from the explosion had
created a four meter high opening in the aviary net, and one by one, birds were
flying through the hole to freedom. On the ground a short distance away was one
of the knife-like probes, still attached to the lower joint of an arm. She
picked it up, testing its weight. The edge was dull, making it useless for slicing,
but the sharp point made it an effective stabbing weapon.

“Better than nothing,” she murmured,
unaware that her new stabber was a solid state sensor capable of detecting many
more elements than were currently listed on the periodic table.

Laura returned to her pile of supplies and
placed them in the backpack. Fully loaded, it was heavy, but she’d carried big
packs before on field trips. She took one last look around at the ruins of her
life’s work, a place where she’d been happy, especially after Dan had joined
her. The thought of never seeing him again tore at her heart, forcing her to
choke back tears. She knew she had to focus on survival while she still had the
strength to get out and find help for Dan. If she was to grieve, there would be
time for that later.

Which way?

Gan Gan outstation was the closest
aboriginal community, but she’d have to cross both the Koolatong and Maidjunga
Rivers. Only a fool would try that, as they were both swarming with saltwater
crocodiles. That left either the southeast track through the Laurie Creek
Wetlands to the Marrkalawa Community, or the old track to the Ngilipitji
Landing Ground. The Wetlands were full of crocs and deadly snakes, while the
Landing Ground meant a tough hike over Bath Range to an air strip that might
not see a plane for weeks. She decided she’d rather wait alone at the airstrip,
than risk the dangers of the wetlands.

“Ngilipitji it is.”

Laura wiped sunscreen on her face, as Dan
would have wanted, then set off for the northwest track.

* * * *

Markus fell in
beside Xeno as they trekked through the forest. “Morning.”

She glanced at him, sensing his amiable
manner was a mask. His brown calculating eyes made her feel like she was under
a microscope, yet gave away nothing in return. He was a fraction shorter than
her, in his mid thirties, and she guessed by his manner that he was used to
getting his own way.

“I have a question for you,” he said, when
she didn’t return his greeting.

“You’re not my type.”

He smiled. studying her. She was lean,
almost skinny, and although she carried an M16 and a small silver weapon of
inhuman design, she possessed a composed, serious intellect. “That wasn’t my
question.”

“Then we have nothing to talk about,
because everything I know is classified.”

“I’ve got the highest security clearance
here. Higher even than you.”

“How wonderful for you.” She gave him a
bored look. “What’s your question?

“What do you think they sound like?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “I don’t
know.”

“You were present when they dissected a
Bug-Eye a few years ago. It’d been frozen a long time, but was still intact.
And you’ve studied tapes of other autopsies.” He paused, then added. “You must
have a theory.”

She hid her surprise. Even Beckman didn’t
know she’d been part of the bioanalysis program. “If I had a theory, it would
only apply to Zetas. They’re the only cadavers we’ve recovered.”

“Well . . . they’re the only cadavers
you’ve seen.”

She gave him a curious look, but didn’t
take the bait.

“Call it a trade,” he said. “You tell me
your theory, and I’ll see what I can do about expanding your access.” Markus
dug into his pocket and pulled out a freeze dried ration pack. He tore it open
and bit into the protein rich substance.

“You should be saving those.”

“I’m carrying more food than I need.” He
took another bite, and glanced patiently at her.

“High pitched,” she said.

“Is that it?”

“What did you expect, Pavarotti?”

“Are we talking dog whistles?” Markus
asked.

“Not exactly, but they’d need machines to
communicate with us. And our voice box can’t replicate their vocalizations.”

“So you’re a linguist, but you can’t speak
Bug-Eye?”

She gave him a reproachful look.
“Technically, I’m a xenologist, not a linguist. Sorry, but I don’t speak any of
the Zeta languages.”

Markus looked puzzled. He knew she had PhDs
in mathematics and biology, an odd combination that made her a unique talent.
“According to your file, you’re the language expert.”

“The file’s wrong.” Xeno replied. She was
one of the few scientists in the world who’d studied language data from storage
devices recovered from crashed UFOs, languages as distinct from each other as
English, Chinese and Swahili. “Understanding their languages is more like
cryptography than translation. You have to spot patterns and relationships,
which is best done mathematically. Only then do you move into actual
translation.”

“Except you’re toting a gun; a strange job
for a mathematician.”

“Someone’s got to read the labels. That’s
my job. Zeta Label Reader.”

“Why don’t you call them Grays?”

“I’m an American, not a white,” she said
simply. “I’m identified by geography, not race. The little guys come from Zeta
Reticuli, a binary star thirty-nine light years from Earth, so I refer to them
by their astronomical origin.”

“Why not call them Reticulans?”

“It’s a mouthful.”

“It makes more sense than using the sixth
letter of the Greek alphabet.”

“I know. Call me crazy, but Zeta has nice
ring to it. And it’s better than referring to them by their pigmentation.”

“Sounds like you’re trying to be
respectful, even though those bug-eyed midgets have been peeking through our
bedroom windows for tens of thousands of years.”

“Composite eyes,” she corrected. “And
they’re small humanoids, not midgets.”

“That’s political correctness, if ever I’ve
heard it!” Markus exclaimed as he watched Dr McInness stumble over a half
buried rock and fall on his face.

“I’m trained to overcome my prejudices,”
Xeno said as Vamp dragged Dr McInness to his feet by his backpack straps, then
gave the scientist a reassuring smile as he dusted himself off.
Oh my God
,
Xeno thought incredulously, gauging Vamp’s look,
she really does think he’s
cute!

“Really? I rely on my prejudices to
maintain a healthy suspicion.”

“How primeval of you.”

“What about Swedish?”

She smiled. “Swedish? I like that.” The
tall humanoids had been nick named Swedes for their white hair and skin, even
though they had little in common with Homo sapiens. “According to contactee
reports, their language is supposed to sound like a series of rapid clicks, but
the details on it are sketchy.”

“Yeah, because there have been no Swedish
crashes. Perhaps their technology is superior to the Zetas?”

“Or just engineered for safety,” she said.
“Maybe our skies are full of Unidentified Flying Volvos. So who do you think
owns that ship up ahead? Zetas, Swedes or someone else?”

Markus looked thoughtful. “Insufficient
information, but I wouldn’t be surprised if you can’t read the labels.”

“OK by me. I’d like to identify a new
language. That’s why I’m hoping it’s an unknown species.”

I’m not
, Markus thought. The Local Powers had left humanity
alone for two hundred thousand years. His greatest fear was that a newcomer
might not be so considerate.

Xeno didn’t notice Markus had fallen into a
brooding silence. “So are you going to do the spook thing, and steal their
technology?”

“In a heartbeat, if I could,” he replied
glibly, “But that’s secondary.”

“What’s primary?”

“Figuring out the ‘why’? When it comes to
UFOs, most people see only the ‘gee whiz!’ factor , the bright lights and the
bug . . . excuse me, composite . . . eyes. They miss the important stuff.”

“Which is?”

“The relationships between civilizations.”
He looked around, watching the troops hiking through the deep shadows of the
forest. It occurred to him, it really wasn’t so long ago that man had lived in
forests, barely differentiated from animals. “Sure, there’s a lot of scientific
curiosity behind their study of us, but there’s also a bit of political self
interest too.”