A Quick Primer

In the year 2013, Earth had an unexpected visitor – a futuristic starship led by a mysterious human hellbent on the planet's destruction. The cradle of humanity (aside from the city of Dublin) was spared from total annihilation only by the efforts of unlikely saviors; an international task force of secret agents, ex-special forces and part-time astronauts led by the unflappable Commander Gorman. Through herculean efforts and finally vindicated taxpayer money at work the Agency was able to rout the extraterrestrial forces and board the mothership as it attempted to flee beyond the solar system's bounds. All understood this particular mission was likely a one-way trip.

The agents fought hard as they traversed the ship's inner sanctums, before confronting its maniacal captain, and the object the ship was seemingly designed to protect – a strange, tall, gray and green obelisk. While the mastermind behind the attack on Earth lay defeated before the remnants of the Commander's squad, the obelisk took hold of Gorman, searing a supranatural series of blood-soaked, dread-inducing images into his mind. There was no time to process any of it, with mere moments to spare before self-destruction the Commander abandoned ship, his last agents making the ultimate sacrifice.

Being trapped in an escape pod is one thing. Being trapped within a capsule within an escape pod is another, and where he ended up. And so he drifts, on an apparently automated course a million miles from home, barely making out something blue and spinning out of the last traces of his blurry vision as it fades…

"Two possibilities exist: either we are alone in the Universe or we are not. Both are equally terrifying."

– Arthur C. Clarke

1 – The Heart of Darkness

For the first time in too long, the Commander felt exhausted. Thoroughly exhausted. The average person would have ran out of steam days ago, but adrenaline propelled him far beyond reasonable limits – just enough to ensure the massive starship was obliterated and the planet saved. Whether the billions groundside knew it or not, Earth (aside from the city of Dublin) was safe from obliteration at the hands of the mysterious "Jacob". All of the other agents were dead and gone. The Jacobian flagship had gone up in a tremendous explosion. All that was left was the escape pod…flying at speed in an unknown direction, and containing a weary Commander.

Gorman stretched out his senses – to little avail. His eyes neglected to open. His ears heard a faint whirring. There was no way of even making sure he was breathing at this point, but the strange capsule he haphazardly stumbled into when cracking into the pod at least allowed him the gift of thinking.

The problem was that there was too much to think about. Between still being in shock from the very notion of an attack from outer space to the near-misses brushed off in the heat of several battles once the enemy ship was boarded, his mind was throbbing. The prevailing thought, however, was of what he had seen in the innermost sanctums of "Jacob's" vessel. An off-white obelisk with green markings in the center of command was arguably the least interesting feature of the area, but something seemed to gravitate every ounce of Gorman's will toward it. As Jacob lay defeated, the obelisk grasped him, hoisted him upwards like a marionette, and showed him something…terrible.

Simply saying that the Commander "saw" what the obelisk conjured would never do enough justice to what he experienced, limp above the floor. He was made present at scenes of incomprehensible slaughter – death on a scale unimaginable, destruction to the molecular level, screams of damned generations – and although he couldn't even begin to understand why, he knew that there was something oddly…mechanical about the horror…and that it was slowly approaching. These were not particularly clear images, instead faded and jumbled like a faulty tape recording, but the sheer intensity rang through every numb bone in his skeleton and bored into his brain. It was so unbelievable to see through his own eyes and listen to with his own ears that it could not be mere fiction. It was no mere dream. It was blood-red, it was incoherent, it was vicious, and yet, it was now seared into Gorman's brain with force.

Within the capsule his body may have been at an unnatural rest, but his mind was once again subject to the visceral catastrophe implanted by the obelisk. Why did Jacob possess something like that? What purpose did it serve, and why did it collapse when it eventually relinquished control over him?

There was no time to tell the other agents before they sacrificed themselves to destroy the ship. Somebody needed to know about what the obelisk showed him, and to know about everything they accomplished so far away from Earth. The Commander's superiors needed to hear that the planet was saved, after all. Although contact was very shortly lost with headquarters and Director Whyte when the agents began their ascent to intercept the mothership, surely a follow up mission would be in the works.

How much time would that take, however? As far as Gorman could tell, the escape pod was still whizzing away in the farther reaches of the solar system. He could only hope that out of all the futuristic technology glanced over as the agents fought deck by deck through the ship, the escape pod he now found himself in had some manner of emergency beacon that would relay a distress signal –

Suddenly the capsule's transparent covering flung open, letting out a burst of steam.

Gorman opened his eyes.

A second later, he was spat out of the capsule like a spring uncoiled, quickly raising his arms to avoid the incoming ceiling. With a crack, he bounced from the impact to find that he wasn't falling back into the capsule – gravity had totally given up.

The next thing he realized was that it was pitch black, save for a pulsating red light at the end of the pod.

Loud, gritting noises were coming from beyond – and getting louder, audible even with a shrill pod-wide alarm drilling through Gorman's ears.

For but a moment, the Commander levitated there in intermittent darkness. He was exhausted, surprised, and frightened well beyond regular cognition. The escape pod was somewhere out in the incredible vastness of space…and now someone – or something – was trying to board. A rescue attempt? Nothing at the agency ever trained him for this, but coming to expect the worse had seen him take down Jacob against all odds. He clung to the ceiling, and reached for the sidearm at his thigh. He knew for a fact it was loaded – unlike his rifle drifting aimlessly somewhere behind him.

The alarm was unrelenting, but the sound of mechanical gnashing ceased. The flashes of the red light that bathed the pod's interior were gaining speed to the same rhythm as the Commander's heartbeat. He could feel his body tense up, his finger muscles wrap around the handgun's trigger, the beads of sweat forming on his brow…and the unusual sensation of them staying there in suspension.

With a thunk, the circular hatch bulged forward. It hinged at a crawling pace, revealing a crescent of dim light – and soon the silhouettes pushing the door open. Two suits of bulky armor revealed themselves, from clanking boots clamping down on the metal to thick shoulder-pads cracking as its arms reached for something at its back. Their helmets were large, round and obfuscating anything resembling a friendly face – save for round lights peering left to right as the helmet swiveled. Four lights…each.

One produced what it was looking for from its back, namely an oblong block. Squinting as best he could, it bore particular traits that the Commander recognized – a stock, a trigger, a barrel. While there was little time for a full technical analysis of Jacob's weaponry, this was distinct in its own style. A true unknown. The armored suit's counterpart began to reach for its own back. Gorman had to make a decision. It was time to face the odds that this was no rescue mission. He took a deep breath, took aim, and squeezed his handgun's trigger.

There was a bang, louder than all the other overwhelming noise in the pod…and several more immediately after.

Gorman could only watch in surprise as the bullet whizzed around, ricocheting aimlessly. What seemed to be a translucent, dazzling blue-tinted field warped for a moment around the armored figure. It was almost like a mirage, a cobalt haze that persisted just long enough for the figure to recoil backwards in its own daze. "Jacob" had once boasted about having a personal shield, something that could deflect bullets in a manner as demonstrated, but the Commander and his agents never got the chance to find out if they truly existed, having thrown the would-be conqueror of Earth out of his own ship's airlock.

Gorman could feel eight lights quickly latching onto his eyes, and blocky weapons being raised towards his patch of ceiling.

It was time for plan B.

Just as the capsule before spat him out, he unfolded his legs, propelling with speed towards the assailants. He was just in time, crashing into the figure in a textbook rugby tackle as its rifle-like construct fired a silvery bolt past his ears. The figure, to Gorman's continuing shock, kept its feet planted on the ground as if nailed down, although his impact had caused the armor to buckle backwards over itself. The other suit was now scrambling to react, standing in fear as the Commander planted his handgun right against the four lights. Another shot rang out – this time, there was no fizzle of a shield to protect it. Blood spurted out, dangling in zero-g.

The second attacker had finally come to its senses, barrel raised, but it was too late. Gorman was just that bit quicker, firing as many bullets as he could in rapid succession. The blue aura sparked furiously as bullets bounced around its armor. Overwhelmed, it couldn't have had the strength to stop Gorman from prying the rifle from its grasp, twisting it in his favor, and despite a muffled protest, unleashing a bolt straight through the shield, plate and bone with slamming force. Electronics behind the suit sparked with indignation, and the Commander could feel a minute airflow start to slowly be sucked through the newfound hole through all those layers. A new alarm, of course, now started, barely audible over the others. The armor's shield crackled one last time before fading away, and the four lights fell dark.

For just a moment, the last man standing stood there, not so much basking in the glory but breathing while he still could. With much trepidation, he approached what remained of his enemy – the one anchored to the wall, that is – and reached for its crown. He yanked, he pulled, but eventually he twisted the helmet the intended way. With a puff of oxygen released from within, it gradually lifted upwards.

The Commander's heart sank. His brain had to take a second to ensure that he was actually seeing what his eyes were pointed at. His knees suddenly felt weak, stomach in a knot, hands giving up. The helmet slipped away. Just what in the world was he looking at?

Whoever "Jacob" was and whatever his ship was may have come from outer space, but he and his henchmen were, with very little room for doubt, still human. As for what Gorman was face to face with now, however, there was little certainty that he was looking at someone from the only planet in the known universe that can sustain life. He was staring into the four eyes of an alien. An actual alien. And it was damn ugly.

The skin was leathery, bald, and a sickly green that almost caused the Commander to gag. The head itself was oval, but had jowls so pronounced one could mistake them for tubes connecting whatever was where the nose should be to somewhere else down the body. The four eyes were striking in their pitch blackness, stacked on top of each other in two rows, and giving the wall behind Gorman an unrelenting glare. The mouth was ajar, a murky blood floating forward over a multitude of tiny spikes. It resembled nothing the Commander had ever seen, definitely not one of Mother Earth's wayward children, but between the eyes, teeth and innumerable skin folds, it almost looked like a two-legged spider. He didn't get the opportunity to find out if it could speak, but it could shoot…and it wanted to shoot him.

Gorman shuddered, trying to breathe, but contrary to such a small hole in the pod, air was starting to pick up speed in its escape. He recoiled from the alien corpse, gave it another look of bewilderment, finally plucked his own rifle from mid-air, and turned towards the open hatch. Cautiously, he clambered across, and collapsed instantly to the ground as gravity kicked back in. He arose, pushing with all his might the bay door behind him shut.

The alarm from within the pod cut, but Gorman's ears were still ringing. He dropped to his knees, head in his hands, and swore. Time passed. His mind was burning…but it was still going. As with anything over this never-ending mission, he just needed to keep going forward. He'd find a way back home, he'd tell Director Whyte that Jacob was defeated, and he'd marry his girlfriend. Maybe move to a nice house on Cape Cod, or take up rugby again.

He rose to his feet, brushing his faded agency-standard turtleneck off. Only now did he take a long glance around his new surroundings, what could only be the interior of another spaceship. The aliens' craft, no doubt. It was dimly lit by wall-mounted fluorescents, perhaps a power-saving measure. There were tiny slits for windows mounted underneath each light, and beyond, pitch black – he was definitely still somewhere in space. An identical hatch stood opposite the Commander, another docking bay. To the sides, however, were open hatches. The one to his left was where Gorman investigated first. A much larger viewport is what he was greeted by, alongside a less-than-inviting metal chair, several straps and an incomprehensibly complicated series of buttons, levers and switches adorning control panels in front and overhead of the seat. He took a minute to gaze out the window. Stars as far as sight allowed. The heart of darkness. Silence.

Silence interrupted by a strange noise coming from somewhere behind him. The Commander was jolted upright, instinctively grasping his sidearm and swerving around. The noise broke out again, very much muffled, from the far-side open hatch. Gorman gave it his attention, and found that it led to a stairway. As he stepped forth to investigate, he glanced down at his handgun. Despite overcoming the aliens, it took a lot more luck than loaded ammunition. The escape pod would still have the alien weapons…but as he came up to a window slit his fear was confirmed – the pod was now fully disconnected from his current ship, drifting silently in the cold vacuum, its oxygen likely having fully dissipated by now. Whatever lurked in the bowels of the ship, a Walther P99 would have to do.

The Commander crept down the stairwell muzzle-first. Whatever was making the noise, it sounded more and more like a voice, and was alternating in phrases. There was something alive and kicking down there. Gorman descended with a final thud as his boots hit the floor of what appeared to be a crew quarters of sorts. Strange oblong cabinets were haphazardly strewn across objects resembling tables and chairs. Various instruments dangled from the ceiling. Battle implements? Whips? Kitchen utensils?

Gorman stopped in his tracks. At the end of the room, on either side, were separate chambers with a patchwork of bars and chains keeping him out…or whatever lay inside within. He hugged the wall. The sound echoed out one last time from the cell around the corner.

"Je suis ici!"

With yet another deep breath Gorman twisted around the corner, facing the cell, handgun drawn. He immediately lowered it and let out an unimaginably relieving sigh. He was looking at a man inside, arms raised in shock, eyes wide, beard scruffy. A human. The first human Gorman had seen since his agents on Jacob's ship, what felt like years ago.

He was tanned and thin, wearing a tattered shirt and dirty overalls, which made his bright blue eyes all the more striking. The brown beard did well to compensate for the lack of hair on his head. He couldn't have been too much older than the Commander, but the clear weariness he presented added a decade to his appearance. The more Gorman sized him up, the more he realized what a sorry state he was truly in. Scratches and cuts on his hands and face, more emaciated than thin if anything, Gorman wondered if this would have been his own fate if he had not dispatched the man's apparent captors.

"Dieu merci, un humain! J'ai entendu les coups de feu," he sputtered, smiling and clasping his hands with gratitude as the Commander's gun lowered.

"That's right…I'm human," replied Gorman, slowly realizing that as one problem was solved, another had taken its place. "You…speak English?"

"Bien sûr que non. Vous n'avez pas de traducteur?" scoffed the man, his own smile fading.

The Commander nodded, kept nodding, and gave up as he then realized he had been asked a question. What language was this guy speaking? Spanish? Of all the problems to have…

"As-tu une clé?" the man asked after a sigh. Gorman racked his brain to no avail. The man pointed at a junction in the bars and chains that was clearly significant. It looked like a switch from the ship's control panels, only a singular version.

"A…key?" guessed Gorman with a wince.

"Oui! Une clé!" the man exclaimed, giving the switch another series of points.

"Uh…I don't have one."

A rapid-fire set of words flew from the captive's mouth. The Commander knew better than to assume he was singing his liberator's praises.

"Right then," began Gorman, pulling up the Walther. The man raised a quizzical eyebrow, and took a few steps back, putting his hands over his ears. "I swear, if this lock has one of those blue shields too…" Gorman stuck the gun up to the mechanical patchwork's center, and let loose a bullet. There was a loud bang and a crack. The switch, now missing a chuck, fell to the floor. The gridwork of metal swung open, and the man practically leapt out of his cage.

"Mon Dieu, je ne pensais pas… Ça marche!" laughed the man, slapping Gorman on the arm. "Tu es un idiot! Mais tu m'as libéré et tué ces batarians, donc je suppose que je peux vivre avec ça."

"I…um…agree, those aliens were idiots alright!" was Gorman's response alongside a confused chuckle. "Look, I need to get home," he continued, holstering the gun and forming a planetary circle with his gloved fingers. The man was again giving very puzzled impressions. "Okay, I…" he started again, this time pointing at himself. "I need to go…" he performed an exaggerated shuffle on the spot, "to Earth." Again, the finger circle was produced. The man gave an unyieldingly unamused reaction, before turning face and proceeding along the corridor towards the stairs.

"Tu n'as aucune idée de la chance que tu as," he muttered as he went.

"…Hey! Wait! Are you saying there's a chance we'll go to Earth, or…" stammered the Commander. He flung his arms up in frustration. This was certainly no way to treat the man who led a team that saved the planet from the Jacobian threat…but realistically the only people left who knew about that mission were himself, Director Whyte, Barack Obama, and the night shift crew at Cape Canaveral.

As he stood there, his ears had finally subsided in ringing, but were greeted by new sounds – a gentle humming. The lights aboard had gotten brighter, and as Gorman then ascended the stairway, he just about feel the ship…moving. He gave a look towards the cockpit, and his new friend was there, murmuring away to himself and somehow taking command over the countless controls of the vessel.

The Commander felt a sense for the first time in ages – there was nothing urgent to do. No alien monsters attempting to kill him, no doomsday devices that needed to be blown up, no oxygen leaks to plug. He stumbled downstairs, dumped his weapons on a table and slumped into one of the chair-shaped objects. It was hard and cold, but to his aching body it might as well have been a queen-size bed. He tried to think of the last time he slept…just before he set foot on a rocket ship bound to intercept an unknown threat. His muscles gradually released their tension, and as he imagined himself standing back on solid ground, before he knew it he had fallen into a slumber.