Chapter 6

"Colonel Lake."

Virginia Lake straightened so suddenly at the hail that the printout she was studying crumpled loudly between her hands; it was the only sign of tension she showed. She smoothed it deliberately even as she spun on Ford, hair bobbing on the shoulders of her tan tunic. "What is it, Lieutenant?"

He gestured her closer with a jerk of his head, pointing to the myriad groups of numbers scrolling down his screen. "Report from meteorology, ma'am. Snow squall has moved off-shore. Wind speed no longer sustained twenty knots."

"Is visual contact restored?" Not waiting for an answer, she stabbed a control with her fingernail; the monitor changed images, now showing a high altitude satellite shot. White still veiled most of the picture though it was thinner than before, the tops of even low mountains clearly visible above the clouds. "Still obscured. What about thermal and magnetic?"

Ford typed in a command on his keyboard and the picture changed yet again, this time to a computer generated representation of the area, the colors mixed haphazardly with lines of static. "Solar activity is still high enough to render all EM-based equipment useless at that latitude. We're still using the emergency laser link with Moonbase, but communications is more or less functional elsewhere."

White incisors caught her lower lip, light eyes narrowed. "Order Sky-1 to make a low altitude fly-by of the area. I want his cameras running in full sensor mode; have the images transmitted directly to the A.I.'G. for decoding. If he can fly low enough, we should be able to minimize distortion."

"Yes, mar'm."

Ford switched to a scrambled frequency directly to SkyDiver-1, cruising the north Atlantic, while Lake moved to stand behind the dark haired Ayshea Johnson. "Lieutenant. Contact Njordsberg Base. Tell them to forget the snowcat -- I want a helicopter standing by in the area. They'll be going in as soon as the wind drops. Have them coordinate with Sky-1 for area conditions."

Johnson nodded briskly, and Lake turned away, again unconsciously crumpling her printout. "Maybe now we'll see what's going on up there."

***

Straker led the way out the tunnel, automatically wincing at the frozen air that cut even through the parka and ski mask. He and Alec resumed the belly crawl that had safely protected them from view earlier, keeping low until they reached the low wall of rock and glacial ice that marked the rim of the shallow, bowl-shaped depression in which they and the U.F.O. were situated. Irregularly ice-coated and slippery, the thirty-five foot wall proved a difficult but not completely insurmountable barrier for two men armed with little more than screwdrivers and sheer determination. Straker, however, heaved a sigh of relief once they'd topped the ridge and were safely concealed once more from enemy eyes.

"No reaction to us from the Ufo," he muttered to Freeman, settling more securely on a wide ledge. "If there's anyone aboard, either their sensors are out or this little bit of snow is hiding us better than we expected."

"If there's anyone aboard," Freeman returned, using his screwdriver to chip out a sturdier handhold. "Most of these guys ... we think ... travel solitarily. Our only enemy is probably the one we're hunting."

"...the one we're hunting." The words brought a thin smile to Straker's lips, badly needed confidence melting the icewater in his veins. Obviously, Freeman had snapped out of his funk; Straker was glad. He'd nearly forgotten how much he depended on the sturdy Welshman for support in these encounters. "Then let's finish the job," he said aloud, rubbing his palms together briskly. "I still want a look inside that Ufo before it destructs."

Freeman clapped him on the back and moved off to 'round the right side of the rim, Straker going left and circling behind the ice-bound U.F.O. Intending to check his coordinates, he paused approximately halfway to his target position -- one that would put him equidistant from Freeman, and poised so as to give the alien no hope of reaching cover. He was scrambling in a circle some fifteen feet below the top, even more motivated to caution once he'd seen the sheer dropoff on that side, some chasms dropping thirty and more meters. The terrain otherwise was even more mountainous than that over which they'd been travelling, and dotted with great gashes in the Earth's crust through which steam rose.

Carefully not looking down, he scrambled forward until achieving a section that was more or less flat -- the frozen mound of the glacier itself -- then climbed the remaining few feet to the top and peeked over, rising an inch at a time so as not to alert his prey should the alien happen to be looking in that direction. Bereft of even such meager shelter as the ridge, the wind whipped stinging pellets of ice into his face, burning the semi-exposed skin and making his eyes tear. He swiped the already freezing droplets off onto his sleeve and peered down to find himself looking down at what appeared to be a long, gentle slope consisting of grayish, thick looking ice. It ramped to an abrupt dropoff, marked by a rounded silver shell about the size of a house, studded with pinpoints of softly glowing green lights.

"I have to see inside," Straker murmured, large blue eyes burning with an inner fire. The astonishment that he'd felt upon spying his first Ufo back when he worked for NASA had never faded with uneven familiarity, the shocked realization that humans were not alone in the universe, the dismay that, rather than friends, they were bound to fight their first extraterrestrial visitors for survival itself.

Allowing himself only this fleeting moment, he traced again the spherical configuration of the craft, the tubular projections that marked the weapons. The primary nozzle was bent and charred; perhaps the main laser was damaged beyond use?

From where he lay he couldn't see the access in the craft's bottom, though his imagination filled it in as an inviting door to unbound knowledge, power ... and victory. "We will win," he growled, fingers digging in to his purchase, then pushing decidedly off to continue his mission. He flash remembered hunting other men in another war so many years ago. Those killing fields had been snow capped as well, though the war with Mongolia had never developed into full scale conflagration; had it done so the world might have ended without outside help. Now as then, his military mind was focussed, following a quicksilver trail to his chosen target. That must come first before the intelligence gathering could continue.

He took one last reconnaissance look around the field, having to make a quick snatch on the ice when his base crumbled suddenly beneath him. He couldn't see Alec Freeman; naturally, since Freeman too would be travelling undercover. Briefly, Straker thought about his friend, drawing comfort from the fact that the fierce Welsh intelligence agent was backing him. During a friendship spanning two decades, he'd found Freeman to be utterly reliable, and nearly as ruthless as Straker himself when a task needed accomplished.

He continued his spider-like trip, using hands as efficiently as feet to traverse the rocks. A daring glance at his watch showed the time to be nearly 16:15; it would soon be time for Foster to fire off the rocket gun. He needed to have the alien covered by then or all could be lost. He hoped Paul was up to the task; he hadn't been in fighting trim when they'd left him. There was no real worry, though; he'd known the young man for less than two years but, but in that time had grown to trust his abilities completely.

Straker was starting to puff seriously by the time he'd reached his estimated point of sniper range. The rocks had grown more slippery, parts of the slope now comprised of solid ice. Once more he climbed, this time forced to extend his arms straight over his head and jump into space, hooking his fingers over to top and hanging his full weight. "Come ... on ... Ed," he grunted, biceps bulging under his coat. A deep breath, a heave, and he'd reached the semi-security of a tiny niche at the peak, just large enough for him to kneel. "Gotta ... hit the gym ... more often," he gasped, expanding his chest several times. The arctic air burned his lungs, forcing a muffled cough, but it cleared his head, the cobwebs temporarily banished by the extra oxygen.

Thus renewed, he unlimbered the oddly shaped G-57 rifle off his shoulder, flopping on his stomach and flipping up the dual sights. Foster was right, he reflected, the G-57's aren't made for sniper fire. But the only Armalite they'd carried had been in Mobile delta, the wreckage of which had finally burned out. There was a comforting weight to the weapon, however, the knowledge that its stopping power was fourteen times that of the Armalite and would puncture the armor of a tank. The transmitted shock from a simple graze would end the battle at once.

He sighted along the barrel at the gray-and-red suited figure in the very hollow of the wind-carved valley. The alien invader was still examining the wreckage of delta, scattered pieces of equipment having been tossed haphazardly across the snow. It's helmeted head was down now concentration focussed on the barely recognizable shape it was extracting from the still searing hot metal.

A body, Straker realized with sick horror. Either Chapman or Mehdi. He swallowed the bile that rose in his throat, and firmed his grip on the rifle, drawing a bead on the precise middle of his target's back. His marksman's eye had already calculated the distance and angles, disclosing to him the fact that he would never be able to hit the creature from his position -- the range was too great. Movement caught his eye from directly across the field, and he squinted until he could make out the barely visible form of Alec Freeman only as a brown smear against gray white ice. It's got to be Alec's shot.

As though on cue a muffled report rang out from the direction of the one remaining snowcat. The alien jerked upright, turning toward the sound, then rose straight up into the air, flying backward several meters only a fraction ahead of the second, louder crack of a rifleshot. There was a pause, then Freeman stood up, waving the rifle in signal before starting down the slope. He was going to ensure the kill.

Straker nodded invisibly to his companion, leaving it to him to check though there was no uncertainty at all but that the alien was dead. A single glance showed no was down from his own position, and he reversed his direction, retracing his route on the treacherous slopes back toward the mobile. Ten minutes sweating, cursing journey finally afforded him a more shallow grade into the hollow, and he took it gratefully, sliding down the ice and achieving ground level without incident.

His new course took him within meters of the U.F.O.; from this vantage he could see the open portal dimly backlit. He approached cautiously, drawn by a siren call from within, a burning hunger reigniting in his gut to see what lay beyond.

'Lasciate ogni speranza voi ch'entrate!' he quoted with a thrill. 'All hope abandon, ye who enter here.' Posted at the gates of hell itself. Maybe not too inappropriate.

As he got closer he became aware that the surface upon which he walked was less solid than the crystallized water he'd trodden earlier; to a distance of about twenty feet from the door, the snow was impregnated with an odd green fluid only now starting to gel in the arctic cold. Curious, he knelt, scooping some up and bringing it closer to his face. At first glance it seemed to be the same type fluid that the aliens used inside their spacesuits. "Maybe it spilled out when they opened the door?" he asked aloud, continuing his journey. "If so, maybe their airlock was damaged in the crash?"

Obviously true. By now he'd reached the ship itself. Both sections of the double hatch were indeed open, the inner one to a width of two feet, the outer fully retracted into the hull. Looks warped, too, he thought, giving the second an experimental tug. To his astonishment, the entire panel gave way, falling forward and forcing him to scramble out of the way. It landed with a little poof in the snow, crackled as though filled with an electric charge, then disintegrated.

Dismay filled Straker's face even as he forced himself back into motion. "Ship's been exposed to atmosphere too long. Once the shields go around its power supply, the whole thing will blow."

Filled with a new sense of urgency, Straker peeked through the access and, sensing no movement from within, entered, eyes darting in all directions. His heart beat faster, adrenaline filling his veins at this first look at extraterrestrial technology. He sniffed, then sneezed as his nostrils filled with a fetid odor, reminding him of rot and decay. He steeled his stomach to ignore the stench and look around, blue eyes growing wide with wonder. The chamber in which he found himself was circular, about twelve feet in diameter, the walls covered with an assortment of light panels grouped in pyramid configurations. The center of the room was dominated by what appeared to be a control console, eight feet high and ten paces around, studded with more of the light panels and irregularly spaced with what appeared to be monitors. There was neither seat nor provision for comfort from what Straker could see, nor any window.

With growing excitement he circled the chamber, part of him noting that everything was wet and sticky, his boots squishing when he walked. "So their ships are fluid filled," he remarked, idly running his finger across the nearest panel, then rubbing the ooze off onto his jacket. "But how do they prevent a vortex from the high velocity revolutions when they travel? They'd be plastered to the walls every minute."

There was no immediate answer to be found. He scratched his ear thoughtfully and neared the central command console, staring hard at the monitors. Colors swam in seemingly uncoordinated patterns, shapes vague and meaningless. He turned his head until he was focussing on the far wall and examining the monitors only with his peripheral vision; they almost made sense then, less picture than impression. Finally, he shook his head. "Are alien eyes that much different than human?" he wondered in a murmur. "Their eyes are human, as near as we can tell. Maybe they're just not tuned right."

To test this theory, he touched one of the light panels under the nearest monitor. There were six of them, also in pyramid configuration, each colored a different hue and scaled for human touch. He pressed one and waited; nothing happened. The monitor continued to show its slow swirl meaningless swirl. He splayed his fingers trying two, then three, then all at once. Still nothing. Growing frustrated, he left his hand where it was, and bit his lip, thinking furiously. If not the sensors, maybe these are used to move the ship.

The lights he was touching changed from multi-colored to a solid block of red; something shuddered deep inside the ship, a panel popping free from the ceiling and nearly hitting Straker before it reduced to powder. Alarmed, he snatched his hand away, clutching it to his chest; the shuddering stopped and the lights returned to normal. "That was interesting," he breathed, shaken to the core. He took a deep breath, and directed his attention to the hole left by the fallen panel. There were what looked like wires revealed, clear and about the diameter of a pencil; they looked to be conducting a clear blue fluid from and to points unknown.

"Could their whole technology be fluid based?" he wondered aloud. He watched the wires and touched the panel again; this time nothing happened. "What made it react? I thought it might move the ship...."

Once again something shuddered, and he released the panel and stepped back, mystified. Giving up on the central console, he wandered the room. There was nothing recognizable: some levers, mostly more colored light panels. When he reached the side of the chamber opposite the entrance he found one light set off by itself in a small recess; he touched it gingerly. "Move the ship ... or something?" he vocalized hopefully.

The effect was not what he expected. A low whining noise filled the chamber, its origin deep within the wall itself., There was a click and the recess plus a six foot section of the wall suddenly slid open. For a split second Straker found himself staring slack jawed at a solid green wall, then the surface tension broke and he was being slammed backwards on a thundering green tidalwave. Air was forced from his lungs by the impact, the weight driving him backward into the central column. He struck it headfirst, the point of impact emitting a nova blast of light before going momentarily dark.

Light returned after seconds, and with it the realization that someone was poking his chest. Straker blinked, starting violently when his vision cleared to reveal expressionless, milky eyes set in green skin not inches from his face. Unruffled, the alien stared calmly back. As a human, the woman might have been attractive, for she had lush dark hair and perfect bone structure. Now deep wrinkles were beginning to appear in the forehead and cheeks, the result of the rapid aging brought on by exposure to Earth's atmosphere. For several seconds the only movement from either was the rapid opening and closing of the creature's mouth not unlike a landed fish, and Straker noticed then that it did not wear a helmet. Without the oxygenated green fluid, it could not survive long.

He panted a protest when the once-female hooked claw-like fingers in his jacket and dragging him to his feet. They were of a height, and Straker caught his breath at the look in those inhuman eyes -- emotionless, without pity or empathy. Panicked, he erupted into action, bringing up his fist and landing it against the female's mouth. Her head snapped back, but his weight had not been behind the punch and she did not go down. Still gripping his jacket, she spun, slamming Straker back against the central column again with bruising force. Once, twice his back, shoulder and head struck unyielding metal. The third time he went slack, unable to gather strength to resist.

Sensing the fight was temporarily over, the alien dragged him physically through the new access into the next chamber beyond, Straker sliding easily on the wet floor. Making a little gasping noise, it hauled him physically up onto what appeared to be a combination pallet-equipment bank, snapping first his wrists then his ankles in metal vises.

"Don't do this!" Straker blinked at the blood trailing into his face from the reopened head wound. His voice was raspy, and contained a pleading note he couldn't immediately as his own. "You-you were human once. Don't you remember that?"

There was no reaction, from the alien. Without so much as glancing at him, it donned a metallic gray suit, then snapped on a helmet with a bottle attachment not unlike one of SHADO's own spacesuits. A twist of a valve and the helmet filled with green fluid, dimming but not obscuring the woman's face from view. She/it then turned back to Straker and reached for the zipper on his jacket.

For one of the few times in his life panic welled within Straker, blotting out sight, sound and thought, then the supreme irony of the situation presented itself. He struggled vainly against the metal clamps as gloved alien fingers undid both jacket and shirt, flinching away from the cold metal nozzles which pressed against his chest. "It's going to ship me back," Straker realized, fighting the urge to laugh aloud. "It's trying to make me one of them."

***

Alec waited until Straker has acknowledged his wave before slinging the rifle across one shoulder and beginning his own trip down to the valley floor. It was a less difficult climb than the one the other man was facing, his side consisting of a gentler slope and more rock than ice. He needed to use the screwdriver cum pickax only twice to slow his downward slide, but he arrived at the bottom unscathed. He slipped the screwdriver into his belt and regripped the rifle, keeping it trained on the body; the alien looked dead -- probably was -- but Colonel Alec Freeman was far too experienced a soldier to take unnecessary chances.

If truth be told, it was more than precaution that drove him across the crusted snow toward his fallen foe. He was also curious to examine the body closely, and not only to ensure that it was dead. Freeman lived with the secret dread that someday he was going to remove one of those fluid filled helmets and recognize the once-human inside -- something that had not happened since the war had begun to be fought in earnest, at least, not in toto. DNA identification had been able to put a name to one single body part -- a heart -- belonging to a relative of a SHADO operative. In Freeman's opinion, however, it was only a matter of time before other remains were identified. A friend. Relative. Lover. A comrade staring back through dead, film covered eyes. How much more horrible would that recognition be than the anonymous unter menschen to be shot down without a pang of regret.

The Welsh intelligence officer fought back the taste of bile, fists tightening on the rifle as he steeled himself for the unveiling. According to their scientists' best guesses, at the speed the alien ships travelled, it probably took several months real time to make the journey through the vast reaches of space from the alien homeworld to Earth. Subjectively for the pilots, travelling at Sol eight plus -- eight times the speed of light -- a much longer time must have elapsed, possibly many decades, to account for the rapid aging once they'd left their antigerontological fluid environment. Freeman didn't know. Hyperspace theory was not his specialty. Humanity was.

Every nerve tingled as he neared the body, a muscle beginning to twitch in his jaw. He risked a glance around but didn't see his friend; either Straker was still travelling on the other side of the ridge, or the uneven terrain was hiding him from view. Either way, Freeman would have felt better with maintained visual contact; the buddy system had saved both their lives in the past.

Fluid leaked slowly from a jagged hole in the negative environment suit, staining the snow a sickly shade of peasoup green. A box-shaped gauge of some kind lay by the creature's gloved hand, blinking serenely in the twilight. Freeman kicked it out of reach, then bent awkwardly and turned the body over, staring hard at the face through the clear visor. It was hard to see much in the fading light, but the slack face conveyed the impression of extreme youth, maybe even teenage years. Unlined features that might have belonged to a boy lay swimming in fluid, a shock of light hair spilling forward over the forehead. Both relieved that the lad was unknown to him and appalled at the waste of childhood, it took several seconds for Freeman to note one important fact: milky eyes lay open behind the faceplate and were even now staring back at him.

With a smothered gasp he reared back, not fast enough to avoid the crude punch that caught him flush in the face. He spilled onto his side, losing his grip on the rifle, instinct alone scooting him backward out of range of a follow-up blow that might have crushed his skull had it landed. The alien's fist whistled harmlessly by, even as Freeman fought to regather his scattered wits. The gun! he thought, watching with dismay the creature pick the weapon up. Rather than aim and fire, it swung the stock in a wide arc. It missed Freeman by inches, slamming into a buried rock. Wood splintered from metal barrel, dropping into the snow, and the alien advanced on the still sprawled human, arms outstretched.

Alec rolled clumsily to his feet, retreating step-by-step toward mobile zeta. "Now look," he blustered, holding both hands defensively in front of him. "Can't we talk this over?" Apparently not. In eerie silence the creature continued to come, features expressionless behind the glass. In desperation, Alec tried the offensive, swinging a powerful right into his opponent's midsection, then following up with a left cross that terminated under the helmet seal in a rough approximation of the larynx. The alien doubled over but did not fall; rather, it brought both arms around and together, catching Freeman in a bearhug hold that would have done Hulk Hogan credit. They rolled together in the snow, locked in fatal embrace. Freeman, skilled in the art of judo, brought his left arm across to break his opponent's grip, while twisting his body violently in the opposite direction, winning his freedom. He kicked out, forcing the other away, and gained his feet.

"Better ... part of ... valor," he panted, turning to run. The alien stood between him and the relative safety of Mobile gamma, but if he could circle the ridge and make his approach from behind, he had a chance at reaching shelter before it could cut him off. Hope the boy has gamma rightside, he thought desperately. We may need her cannon before this is through.

Until now for simple ease of travel, he and Straker had kept as close as possible to the tread marks mobile gamma had made, and Freeman could trace the long, curving course neatly paralleled by zeta's caterpillar treads. Even after descending from the rim, Alec had made a beeline for the tamped down snow, using those tracks to travel close to where the body lay. Now he left the area altogether, heading on an angle cross-country in the general direction of the valley's maw. It was a kilometer away, perhaps -- an impossible distance for an exhausted man running in the drifting snow. But the human targeted it as a beginning; the course would change the moment the alien was angled far enough and bogged down deep enough for Freeman to make it back to the [hopefully] working snowcat. If he didn't tire he would most certainly reach the nearest ridge; a climb should certainly be easier for him that for the bulkily clad alien.

It was within sixty seconds of making this optimistic plan that he felt something give slightly under his boot. Puzzled, he skidded, trying to stop despite the respectable forward velocity he'd achieved. ... Too late! Ice, snow and footing gave way beneath him, a full thirty foot section of assumed ground vanishing in an instant. The loosely packed snow must have been gathering for months, delicately balanced on whatever fragile bridge had supported it over the hidden crevasse. It had never been designed to support a running man however, and it collapsed now, precipitating him into open space. Clawing fingers grabbed a projecting piece of rock ... slipped ... held, long enough for him to pry the screwdriver from his belt. He could hear ice shattering against rocks far below even as footsteps crunched closer, the enemy nearly upon him.

"Not ... done ... yet," he grunted, gripping the screwdriver firmly. He pulled back, then slammed it home in the ice, transferring his weight cautiously from his left hand just as it slid free of its tenuous perch. He dropped a grand total of nine inches, frozen sweat breaking out when the screwdriver wobbled. It held his weight, however, while his feet scrabbled for purchase against the icy canyon face. He calmed with an effort, concentrating his senses downward, locating a minuscule niche in the ice just large enough for the toe of his boot. It too held his weight and he sighed with relief as the strain was temporarily removed from his right shoulder. "Easy climb," he encouraged himself, lifting his head to forestall his accidentally looking down.

He looked up ... and up, past trampled white, following the gray X-E suit to the helmeted face. The youth stood on the very brink of the precipice, staring dispassionately down at Alec Freeman as one might an amoeba. "Bloody cannibals!" he yelled, impotence mixing with rage to bring a raspy scream from his throat. "Earth belongs to us! D'ya hear?"

If so, it made no reaction. The invader stared at him a moment longer, then shifted its weight backward, lifting one boot and positioning it high over Freeman's head; a single kick would be sufficient to send the human flying into space to a certain death on the rocks below. It held the pose for a long moment, while Alec prepared for death.

The explosion was unexpected -- violent -- loud enough to dwarf into insignificance both the rifles' discharges and Foster's firing of the rocket propelled pitons. More, it came from the direction of the Ufo. Startled out of its impassivity, the alien being jerked around toward its transport, leg flailing in midair. Freeman saw his chance -- the only one he was likely to get. Exerting every muscle to the full, he heaved himself upward fully two feet, wrapping his fingers around the other's booted ankle and pulling with every iota of weight and strength at his command. Off balance, the creature windmilled its arms frantically but was unable to fight the inevitable effects of gravity. It made a perfect swan dive into open space, beginning a rolling tumble that ended with a thud on the rocks below.

Alec Freeman squeezed his eyes closed at the sound. Muscles trembling with fatigue, he pushed himself up those critical additional inches, bellyflopping onto terra firma and turning around until he could hitch one eye over the rim. Far below -- farther than he cared to think -- a gray- and-red figure lay sprawled on a colorless boulder, leaking bubbling green fluid from a dozen different rents. Freeman shuddered and inched away from the edge, only then remembering the explosion that had distracted the alien from its final killing blow. "The Ufo!" he gasped, making it to his knees with an effort. He struggled to stand, shielding his eyes in an attempt at seeing the alien spaceship from his current position. The area it once occupied was easy to spot -- it consisted of a blackened hole in the glacier wall, scattered shards of glowing metal ... and nothing more.

"Was Ed in the area of that blast?" he breathed, brown eyes growing wide. "If he decided to go inside...." Thought ended and he began to run, drawing on reserves long spent, not knowing if he was going to find the remains of his friend in the wreckage from another planet.

***