The Eternity Legion, Book Two: The E-Files
By J.C. Lords
Author's Note: Thanks for your comments and e-mails. As you can see, I'm posting a bit faster now. The next chapter should be rather longer, as we approach the climax of this story…
Disclaimers: See Chapter One.
Chapter Four
Chicago County Hospital
7:40 a.m.
Mulder knelt by the large corpse; Scully stood behind him. Here they were, face to face with a genuine alien. Not the slight elfin Greys of UFO lore, but something far larger and brutal. Neither agent knew quite what to say.
A few feet away, Arnold sat up, his midsection soaked in blood. John Connor reached him at a run. "You okay, man?"
"I'm 97% operational. The damage was largely cosmetic," Arnold reported.
Something in the dead body started making a strange chirping noise. The sound was coming at regular intervals. "I don't like this," Mulder said. He gingerly searched the corpse. An object on its wrist was making the noise. The FBI agent fumbled with it, and the cover of the square device flipped open, revealing a digital display of some sort, with symbols that were shifting in time with the sound. "I think this is a countdown," Mulder said. He and Scully started waving people away. "It's a bomb! Everybody move away from here!"
Arnold stared at the inhuman corpse, his cybernetic senses scanning it thoroughly. "I am sensing an energetic buildup," he announced. "The resulting detonation will have a force equivalent to 9.76 thousand pounds of TNT."
"Thousand?" Mulder said incredulously. "That's going to take out a whole city block!"
"Holy shit," John said. "We've got to stop it." His eyes widened. "The rings! Arnold, give me your ring."
The Terminator complied, and John took off his own ring. "They generate a force field," he explained to the FBI agents. "They might stop the explosion." He thought about it. "You should move people away, anyway, just in case."
"We're on it," Mulder said. He and Scully rushed into the hospital. "Everybody down! A bomb is going to explode! Find some cover!" And pray, Scully thought. If a ten-thousand pound bomb did go off in the parking lot, almost everybody in the building would die, cover or no cover.
John slipped the rings over the fingers of the dead Predator. The thin metal bands automatically adjusted their size to fit onto the huge clawed fingers. "Hope that's enough."
"Force of the explosion will be reduced to 2 percent of initial projection," Arnold reported.
"Two percent? That's what, 20 pounds of TNT?"
Instead of responding, Arnold picked John up, took two bounding steps, and leaped halfway across the parking lot, landing behind a parked car.
An instant later, the Predator exploded, unleashing an expanding fireball that engulfed two nearby ambulances and set them on fire. One of them exploded as well, adding its fuel tank to the conflagration.
The glass doors of the ER were shattered into a hailstorm of slashing fragments. Fortunately, most people had heeded the FBI agents, and were behind cover. There were no fatalities; the worst case was a patient who stood up to "see what was going on" and lost an ear when a spinning pane of glass flew past his head like a runaway propeller blade. Smoke filled the ER for several moments.
Mulder shook assorted debris off him, and stood up. He had landed on top of Scully moments before the explosion. She accepted his proffered hand and he helped her to her feet. People were screaming all over the place, but they sounded faint after the roar of the explosion.
"Are you all right?" he shouted.
She nodded.
Somebody put a hand on Mulder's shoulder. He turned and saw Sarah Connor; Ellen Ripley was behind her. "We have to get out of here," she said. "Are you coming with us?"
It was really, really bad form for an FBI agent to leave a crime scene, let alone the site of what could be described as a terrorist attack. On the other hand, Mulder needed answers, and he was positive he wouldn't find any by staying at the hospital. "Yes, we're coming with you."
Surprisingly enough, Scully didn't protest.
Chicago Loop, Chicago
8:05 a.m.
The van plodded through morning commuter traffic, loaded with five transdimensional travelers, two FBI agents, and assorted weapons and gadgets.
"What about the little alien?" John asked. It was the first time anybody had spoken since they had jumped into the van and driven off.
"I shot it," Sarah said. "I got it while Arnold and Ripley were dealing with the big one." She gestured towards the canvas-covered body.
It was funny. Mulder had come face to face with a chimera he had chased for most of his adult life, and yet he felt nowhere near as elated as he thought he would be. A young woman Ripley had introduced as Call was driving, Ripley at her side. The rest of them were sitting inside the van, on two benches set up on the sides. Besides its passengers, the van was loaded with weapons and ammo, enough to start a small war. Mulder felt some obligation to comment on that, but he decided to wait for a better time. Too many things were happening too fast.
Scully was looking dazedly at Arnold. Shortly after getting in the van, she had tried to tend to the big man's wounds. "It's not necessary," Arnold had replied, seemingly in no pain despite the blood soaking his lower torso. Scully had insisted, examined the wound -- and seen the mechanical skeleton beneath the torn flesh.
"Arnold is a cyborg," John Connor had explained proudly, as if he had built Arnold himself -- and for all Mulder knew, maybe he had. "Half flesh, half machine, although it's more like 20% flesh, 80% machine."
"Organic material accounts for 24.73% of my body mass," Arnold had amplified. "All my essential components are mechanical, however."
Scully hadn't said much since then.
Even Mulder, a lot more open to the strange and unexpected than his pragmatic partner, had needed some time to mull things over. He felt ready to start talking now, though.
"So where are we going?" he asked.
"Away from the hospital, first of all," Sarah Connor replied. "That place is going to be crawling with cops for a long time."
"And then?"
"Actually, we were hoping you could help us with that."
"I think we might help you," Mulder said. "But we're going to need some straight answers from you."
"It's going to sound pretty unbelievable," Sarah warned him.
"If my guesses are on the money, you're probably right," Mulder pressed on. "You people are not from this world, are you? Or this timeline, to be more accurate. In this -- continuum, I guess, Sarah Connor died in a car accident some years ago. And Arnold looks exactly like an older Special Forces soldier."
Sarah nodded grimly. "I checked on my counterpart when we first arrived here. I don't know why I did it. Maybe to see what kind of life she had… " She smiled sadly. "At least, she seems to have been happy. Although I wouldn't have believed it -- me, marrying Matt." Sarah reminisced. Before the Terminator had entered her life, she had been a lot more carefree and happy. Matt wasn't the brightest guy, but he had been sweet, even though he was seeing her roommate at the time. Maybe something could have happened between them, in another world, another life. The smile vanished. In her own world, the Terminator had murdered Matt while trying to kill her. She turned back towards Mulder. "So, you are right, yes. A very good guess on your part, by the way, but we were told you two were good."
"And what do you want here?" Scully asked suddenly. She seemed to have recovered from her initial shock.
"We're the Eternity Legion," John Connor retorted. "And we're here to save the world."
Sarah grimaced and put an affectionate hand on her son's shoulder. "Well, that's the short, corny version," she explained. "But it is largely true."
"Care to elaborate?" Mulder said.
"The… Legion -- yeah, I'm not too crazy about the comic-book name -- is the creation of humans from the far future. The real far future; we're talking millions of years from now. At some point in time, the universe has two possible ends. One is endless entropy, the destruction of all matter, and all life. The other is the unification of all sentient life, working to preserve the universe; it's about as close to Heaven as one can get in this life, supposedly. There is a rival faction that wishes to bring entropy into being, however. A war is being fought in the distant future, and all the timelines of all possible universes will be involved." Sarah paused for a moment, letting it sink in. "Humanity plays a big role in the conflict. Every timeline in which humanity is wiped out weakens the anti-entropy faction. The Legion travels cross-time, to critical timelines -- nexus points that will spawn thousands, perhaps millions of timelines -- and works to prevent the end of humanity there."
"So, in effect," Mulder replied, "you are here because humanity is in danger of being destroyed."
Sarah nodded. "According to our briefing, there are two major threats. You have dealt with one of them before -- the alien colonization effort. The other one is this new infestation. I'm not sure what role this third group of aliens plays in this situation, but I suspect they may have been responsible for the infestation in the first place."
"That's some story," Scully commented.
"It's the truth," Sarah said firmly.
Scully looked at Mulder, then nodded. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I believe her, Mulder."
"I always knew I could make a believer out of you," Mulder said. "If it's any consolation, I wouldn't have believed it without all the evidence." He pointed at the corpse, and then the blood-soaked but very much functional Arnold. He turned back to Sarah. "We will help you."
Unnamed Facility, Montana
2:30 p.m.
The signs on the razorwire-tipped fences surrounding the perimeter only said PRIVATE PROPERTY: NO TRESPASSERS. Should anybody make it past the automated gate, they would eventually come through a second fenced perimeter. This second fence was electrified, and had watch towers on every corner, manned by armed soldiers. The wooded area between the two fences was constantly patrolled by soldiers and attack dogs. The 200 people working at the facility rarely left it; those who did were flown out by helicopter to Missoula or Bozeman. The nearest neighbors were seventy miles away; the surrounding lands had been purchased, and the ring of seemingly normal farms around the facility were actually the first line of defense against intruders.
It might not be enough, given the stakes of the game. Which was why the smoking man had brought an outsider to oversee security. It was a calculated risk, but a necessary one.
While Colonel Schaeffer was given the tour of the exterior of the facility, the smoking man entered the main building, a one-story nondescript structure which could have easily contained offices, manufacturing facilities, or laboratories. It had some offices, but most of the rooms were empty. The walls were unusually thick, too -- the building could easily double as a bunker in an emergency. And the upper level was the tip of the iceberg; the real work was being conducted underground, fifty feet below the surface.
Several checkpoints and an elevator trip later, the smoking man met with several scientists. Nobody shook hands; they got right down to business.
"So what do you have to report?"
"The organisms have hatched," the lead researcher said. "Their growth rate is remarkable. Two men were injured when we moved to isolate them in individual cells. There is some question as to the suitability of the containment facilities."
"Start preparing countermeasures immediately," the smoking man ordered.
"We have. We are developing a neutralizing foam to deal with their acidic secretions -- they are quite capable to burn through concrete and steel, otherwise. Dissecting the creatures is going to be a chore; fortunately, we have laser cutters available."
"Very well. Are we ready for the first test?" Underneath the impassive façade, the smoking man was nearly trembling with anticipation. This test would reveal whether this was just merely another oddity that needed to be covered up, or something profoundly important.
"We were just waiting for you. Follow me."
The monitoring station had a dozen screens, each monitoring a containment unit. Alien beings, their movements oddly sinuous, occupied six of the cells.
"We've selected this one," the scientist explained, pointing to a screen. "A warrior-drone, like four of the others. The largest one appears to be a female." He spoke into a microphone. "Proceed."
Above the alien's head, a small faucet opened up. A stream of black liquid ran down the wall and pooled on the floor. The alien looked at it with mild interest. It opened its double-mandibles and hissed when the black liquid started flowing towards it, seemingly of its own volition.
Black oil. The vector of alien infestation. So far, most vaccines and antidotes against its effects had met with only partial success.
The viscous liquid surrounded the alien. It ran into every cavity -- in a few seconds, all the oil had disappeared within the creature's body. For nearly a minute, the alien stood quivering.
Then, with a mighty heave, it vomited. A jet of steaming fluid shot out of its mouth, a black-and-yellow ooze that pitted the floor and the walls, burning for several seconds. The alien resumed its movements as if nothing had happened.
"It killed the oil," the scientist said breathlessly. "Well, er, it appears to have rejected it."
"Yes," the smoking man all but purred. "This might be just what we were looking for."
Chicago County Hospital
3:00 p.m.
"What's that?"
The man in the biohazard suit didn't answer right. Instead, he reached out with a metal forceps and picked up the lifeless multi-legged creature. With careful movements, he placed it in a large canister. The movements were so smooth, nobody would have realized he had a prosthetic hand. "All clear," he finally said. "This is what we came for."
The rest of the team – all wearing the sealed suits, all fit and young, with military crewcuts – made way for their leader. Alex Krycek walked past them, down the stairs to the mostly-empty ER.
The hospital had been shut down. All patients had been evacuated while teams of agents from the FBI and the CDC examined the site of the explosion. Krycek's team had methodically cleaned up any evidence of paranormal activity. Their ID identified them as CDC officials. In reality, they worked for no U.S. agency. They were part of the Consortium, the Syndicate – the power brokers who had betrayed humankind in order to save their own skins.
Krycek remained cool and collected, but he beneath the calm façade boiled a sea of emotions. According to his superior, the Project's conclusion – and the choices it would force the Consortium to make – was close at hand. This cover-up was vital. Nobody could be allowed to interfere. Even Fox Mulder, who in the past had been spared, would not be suffered to get in the way. And Mulder had been here. The story his team had managed to get out of the local witnesses was jumbled and confused, but it seemed that one more exo-form had been here, that Mulder and some unknown associates had killed it, and that a so far unknown person had detonated a bomb in the hospital parking lot. The exo-form's bullet-riddled body had been found, which was the important thing, however. Finding Mulder was secondary, for now.
Krycek and his team jumped in an unmarked van and drove off, carrying the alien's body with them.
Or what they thought was the alien's body.
Their briefing hadn't been precise enough. They had not been fully informed of the two stages of growth of the alien exo-forms. In all fairness, even Sarah Connor, who had been fully informed about aliens, had thought she was shooting the alien in question. In a way, she had – the alien had been in the process of shedding its first shape, and becoming something else. The bullets had hit the outer shell, without doing significant injury to the alien.
In the darkness of the hospital, the alien lurked. It was growing very fast now, already larger than a normal human. Soon, it would need to feed.