Scorched Earth, Alien Wonders

The following day, we learned the true character of Steven Wilder after we trekked through the morning heat back out to the lab to find Cassie and Sara, working again on perfecting their plan. Wilder had literally bolted for the door after he told us about Borish Drake being the chairman on the Mars “Search for Aluminum” committee the night before.

Then, according to Sara, Wilder went and had himself a very assertive talk with the incarcerated attackers at the dome latrine. The three sang like canaries under the threat of being dumped onto a salt-swamp barge off the coast of Nigeria surrounded by toxic, ocean. The stooges gave up all the details about Drake hiring them to destroy the lab’s computers and research. Wilder immediately contacted Mars authorities, and had Drake and his equally corrupt sister arrested and held under heavy guard.

“Mr. Drake was always smiling during the times I visited Mars and seemed like such a gentleman,” said Sara after we were updated on the actions of a very pissed-off husband and father, who had clearly made amends with his family.

“Charming scammers can distract people from smiling, snakes in the grass,” I said lamely, because Rosen off-world assignments rarely included anything this emotional or complex.

“How are you feeling today, Sara?” asked Doc.

Sara said she was feeling better every hour, but the idea that someone had intentions to harm Cassie was very upsetting and the idea that someone would not want water brought back to their dying planet was appalling and hard to understand.

“I can’t relate to anyone doing what Drake and presumably his sister have done, just to line their pockets with more money at the expense of suffering people,” said Sara with exasperation in her voice. “They were willing to sabotage the one chance this planet might have to survive.”

“Do you suppose Drake has anymore stooges lurking around the Earth settlement?” I asked.

“Good question,” said Brown. “Depravity, caused by money and power, has strong roots in the history of this planet.”

“How many other Russian people do you have in the settlement?” Moore asked.

Cassie and Sara looked at each other with puzzled expressions.

“I...I don’t know,” answered Cassie. “There are many different nationalities in the settlement population.”

“And we can’t assume if Russians are there, that actions of a few make the rest bad people,” said Sara. “But I have a feeling my husband will question any other Russians who may be in the population, and everyone else to see if they can shed more light on what happened here.”

“It sounds like Wilder has everything under control,” said Jones, sensing the questions were making the girls uncomfortable. “How are you doing on the plan? Getting closer to being finalized?”

And with that change of subject, everyone seemed eager to move away from metaphors involving smiling, snakes in the grass and singing, canary thugs.

Cassie put on another selection of music to lighten the mood. There seemed little to be happy about at this point, except the arrival of a new baby later that summer, but these two Earth females were exceptional in their optimism.

Pharrell Williams’ classic “Happy” song did the trick with its “can’t nothing bring me down,” theme.

After getting schooled by Kevin Bacon and the gang in Footloose every Saturday night, it was hard for us not to move to the rhythm, so we didn’t bother trying to control ourselves.

“How are things coming along?” asked Jones, as she hopped over to the computer.

“Well, Jonesy, we were just talking about that,” Sara said. “We seem to be stuck with a 20-feet difference on the depth down, and can’t figure out how to make the ends meet based on what Torie will be capable of doing with his bot-nytes, even in Brown’s telepathic extension mode.”

We reluctantly stopped dancing after the music ended, and gathered around to look up at the main computer screen as Sara and Cassie began their explanation.

“I can’t believe we are so close, but at this point 20-feet might as well be 20-miles,” said Cassie, as she pointed to an equation explaining the problem.

“Only 20-feet?” asked Davis. “Geez, I could practically spit that far.”

Jones started asking questions about what possibilities they had considered and the three of them began discussing if there were a way to adjust the depth. They were in their full scientific element, but seemed to be stumped as one theory after another was rejected.

“Where’s that cocky Sheldon Cooper when you need him, huh?” Moore asked sarcastically, as he walked over and stood next to me, and we watched as the best scientific minds on the planet got stymied by 20-feet.

The blue dragonfly had been buzzing around the lab, but then it flew over to land on the end of my nose, and stare into my eyes.

“Torie, if you have something to say, come out and say it. Since when have you ever needed an invitation?” I said loud enough to get everyone’s attention.

The dragonfly left my face, and hovered for a second before swirling down, into Torie’s organic form.

“Ummm...do you remember that planet in our galaxy we explored a few years back? Remember when the female reptilian inhabitants of the Loatzoo race forced disobedient males into digging deep ditches to appease them through some kind of mean-spirited ritual?” Torie asked.

Hmmm...where could he be going with this?

“Yes, and thanks for bringing up that memory,” I answered sarcastically. “I had just recently gotten the picture of those poor bastards out of my mind.”

“I remember that mission,” said Moore. “We were disguised as non-descript marcones of the locals. We decided rather quickly that our exploration, and planet mapping wasn’t important enough to interfere with their societal customs, so we dialed up a hasty exit.”

“I’m sure this planet has some kind of digging tools, like the shovels Cassie and Sara were using to dig samples, right?” Torie asked.

Cassie and Sara agreed.

“Oh, oh,” Davis raised his hand. “I bet you want all the naughty men at the settlement to dig the final 20-feet of trench, right?”

“Well, I had in mind specifically the three naughty stooges, who deserve to be punished anyway,” replied Torie. “But in the interest of time, if there were a hundred volunteers, it sounds like that would be helpful.”

My thoughts wandered off to envision hundreds of laughing human faces at the settlement in response to a request for ditch-digging volunteers day and night, on this inferno of a planet. Would humans risk an agonizing death from heatstroke for the possibility of bringing water up from 200-miles below?

Volunteer help from a coalition of the thermally challenged seemed unlikely. There had to be another way.

Later that night, we were sitting in the burrow talking after returning from the Rabbit Hole entertainment.

Moore was chewing on a piece of tree root.

“What I would give for a big, steaming bowl of chunky, leeksian stew right now,” he said.

Changing the subject to something away from the thought of good food, I asked, “What did you think of the movie tonight?”

Grumbling from the group.

“I think it’s a miracle the human race ever made it into deep space,” was Jones’ review of the movie we saw called Gravity.

“I mean, how astronomically stupid would it be to fire a missile into the orbit of this planet to destroy an old satellite, when people are up there on a nearby walk-about?”

“Yeah, what could possibly go wrong, huh?” Davis joined in.

Everyone laughed and agreed on that point.

“But you have to admit that Sci-Fi movies are the best,” I said. “I really liked Serenity. I mean, here’s a movie where the captain stands in the middle of a spaceship with only a Colt .45 revolver from the mid-1800’s strapped to his hip and when he says, ‘I am to misbehave’ you know things are about to get very interesting, very fast.”

Everyone nodded, and chuckled as they remembered the scene from last week’s first movie in the town’s recent Sci-Fi festival.

“Yeah...but you know, that movie was deceptive in its simplicity,” said Brown. “The point about the most dangerous men being the ones who believe the evil they are doing is for a just cause was right on the money.”

Brown continued her point, as Torie’s dragonfly hovered around the burrow.

“Earth’s history is full of examples where humans were willing to kill thousands of people for what they called a ‘just cause’. I’m so glad our planet is one of enlightenment, and that we managed to evolve without wars and bloodshed.”

From the condition of man’s ailing planet it seemed that cause, effect, and consequences were the result of past complacency on almost incomprehensible levels.

But as we went to bed that night secure in our thoughts of being a more advanced race, we had no idea we were about to get blindsided by morally lacking consequences beyond anything we could ever envision.

The next morning at the lab, Sara and Cassie, along with me and my team, were all debating if we should try to entice people at the dome to volunteer for excavation duty. But there was no escaping the reality that we would be asking them to risk their lives by helping dig a trench 20 x 50 x 10 in brain-searing heat.

Then Wilder opened the door and walked in. He turned, and said something to his guards, who held sun-shielding umbrellas then he closed the door, and walked over to where we were standing in the computer lounge.

“Oh good, you’re all here,” he said. “I have something to show you.”

Wilder seemed tense, but we had only known him for a few days, so maybe he was just having a little trouble dealing with the boat-load of unrelenting problems that had recently landed in his lap.

“I want you to hear what Borish and Zatosha Drake had to say to Mars officials after getting pulled into custody for criminal involvement with the stooges,” he said as he inserted a small disc into one of the big-screen computers.

“First of all, they denied hiring the stooges, and they claimed they are the ones being cheated,” said Wilder as he pushed a button on his wrist device.

Two faces showed up on the screen.

The portly male was obviously Borish and the female, who looked almost identical, except for a messy pile of gaudy hair on top of her head, was apparently Zatosha. Wilder ran the disc on fast-forward for a few seconds, which made the characters look so comical we couldn’t help laughing out loud.

Then he stopped it in time to hear what Borish was saying.

“I was personally contacted regarding a message relayed from one of the deep-space probes we sent out from Mars months ago,” said Borish. “The message was sent by an alien living on a planet in what we call the Ssayford Galaxy, but he called it the Brahams Galaxy and said his name was Qualdron.”

Wait...what did he just say?

Wilder stopped the disc.

“I’ll cut through Drake’s bullshit, because he was doing a lot of tap-dancing, so I have very little doubt he is involved in unleashing this whole mess,” said Wilder. “But...it appears he was encouraged by this Qualdron entity to embark on plans to trade aluminum from his planet for Mars Chromium.”

“Now, the reason I know that Drake is so full of crap his eyes are brown, is because he said nothing to any of us on the Mars committee about this ‘deal’. He claimed he was waiting to confirm more information from Qualdron before bringing it to the committee.”

Moore, Brown, Doc, Davis and Jones were looking at me in total disbelief. Torie was still in his own form after changing from the dragonfly to join the earlier debate on volunteers. Now, he was just standing there next to Jones with his unsightly mouth wide open.

“You guys say you’re investigating a plan by humans to raid your home world for aluminum, so have you heard of this Brahams Galaxy or an alien named Qualdron?”

Silence...

It’s been a rare moment in my life when I was at a loss for words, but I was so caught off guard by this news, I hardly knew how to process it, much less respond. I suddenly remembered the bad feeling I had the last time I talked to Qualdron, but I never would have imagined this.

Rosenians were supposed to be an enlightened society incapable of such under-handed duplicity.

“Yes, Wilder. We are from planet Rosen in the Brahams Galaxy and Qualdron is the supervisor in charge of this mission,” I managed to explain then repeated my own thought: “Rosenians are supposed to be an enlightened society incapable of such underhanded duplicity.”

“Why would Qualdron make a deal with anyone for Chromium?” asked Moore. “We have more chromium on Rosen than we do aluminum, so why would we need more?”

“But Drake wouldn’t know that.” said Brown, as everyone tried to figure out what the hell was going on, and who was behind this shocking revelation.

“I wondered why Qualdron was being such a tool-bag over a few messages to my girlfriend,” said Torie. “He was probably afraid I had found out something about his plan, and was trying to warn High Council.”

“What would this Qualdron have to gain by launching such a misleading rumor to your leaders? It’s quite ridiculous,” injected Wilder, who was now standing between Sara and Cassie, with his arms protectively around their shoulders.

“I might have a clue to answer that question,” said Doc, surprising us all, as he adjusted his glasses. “Most of you probably don’t know that I was Qualdron’s physician this past year for the standard mental and physical exams, required for Special Forces supervisors.”

“All patient confidentiality aside, he exhibited narcissistic symptoms and illusions of grandeur, but I thought the tests must have been skewed. I intended to compare results with upcoming exams. I mean, after all, he has an impeccable reputation.”

There was silence for a few seconds as everyone tried to figure out what possible motive Qualdron could have for doing such a crazy, dangerous thing.

“If I remember right, Qualdron was passed over for promotion to the High Council by Empress Osette last year,” said Brown, who always paid attention to Rosen politics. “Maybe he set up this scenario so that he could be the one to expose the trumped-up plot, thereby making himself the big hero of the day, because High Council wouldn’t know it was all a fake plan conjured up by a trusted Special Forces supervisor.”

Interesting and plausible theory...

“Even if he is a self-serving pathetic, douche-bag, it seems like risking an intergalactic war to boost his status with Osette would be a bit extreme,” said Moore, pulling on one over-sized ear.

“I believe the human-character investigation of this job was real and sanctioned by the council, but it sounds like Qualdron seized the opportunity to add a fabricated element to the plan,” I said. “What if things got out of hand? The sick bastard would risk a war to make himself look like a cocky-ass hero?”

“I never knew of Qualdron until I hit this planet as a last minute addition to the team,” said Jones. “But after hearing his description, I think he may have been one of the two techs that rousted me out of bed, and thrust me into the transporter after a 5-minute installation of my Draxian disguise that night.”

“Yeah...that would follow,” I said, thinking out loud. “He could later make up any story he wanted, because it’s unlikely the other tech was privy to his overall plan. But he wanted you to report to him as soon as you got back, right?”

“Right, but here’s the thing that’s bothering me...

“I know this one,” said Davis, raising his hand without the clown act. “I’ll bet the transporter malfunction just as you landed Jones...wasn’t an accident.”

We all looked at each other as the consequences of what Davis implied sank in.

“He told me it had been repaired and was ready to transport us out any time up until it expires,” I said, in a disbelieving tone. “Look...apparently we can’t trust Qualdron anymore and that means we don’t have a safe way back home.”

A few seconds of silence passed as we all tried to piece the puzzle together, and no matter which way it was turned and scrutinized...the result was catastrophic for us.

“He wouldn’t want any of us to survive, so he could make up his own self-serving story to the High Council,” said Moore. “Oh, I am gonna kick his skinny ass the next time I see that rat-bastard.”

Suddenly, Torie swirled into the mini-binocs and plopped onto the ground leaving the lab reverberating with the pitiful, shrieking noise he made as he transformed.

I picked up the mini-binocs, and carefully placed them around my neck. I knew the old centurion was distressed beyond words at such an unthinkable betrayal, but the thought of not returning home, where the most important thing to him in the universe lived, was more than he could handle.

“In my last conversation with Qualdron, I asked if he had heard of Drake Industries in any of the deep-space communications and he lied through his double-crossing teeth, without blinking,” I said, as we continued trying to make sense of what Wilder revealed that morning from the Drake’s interrogation.

“So, did you tell Qualdron about the three stooges being hired by Drake?” asked Wilder.

“Of course I did...because he’s the official head of this mission and because I had no idea he was a lying, psychopathic, fraudulent, manipulating, deceptive and unscrupulous piss-weed.”

“Did I leave anything out, Brown?” I asked, casting a glance at my CO.

“Um...you pretty well covered it, Sir.”

Then Wilder set the stage for our next move, which would be full-blown damage control.

“Okay, where we stand now means that Qualdron has a heads-up that we could find him at the bottom of this steaming, pile of deceit, but he doesn’t know what Drake might do to save his own skin,” reasoned Wilder. “We need to take advantage of that, so the next time you talk to Qualdron, tell him that Drake is no longer under suspicion. You know the guy well enough, so make up whatever story you can to convince him he’s in the clear.”

“Roger that,” I replied, because I already knew what my strategy would be.

Then suddenly, there was a loud knock on the door. One of the guards stuck his sweaty face inside.

“Sir, you need to come see this!”

We all headed over to the open door, and looked in the Eastward direction where the guard was pointing.

“What the hell is that?” asked Wilder.

A massive, brown cloud covered the horizon for as far as we could see.

“Dust storm!” shouted Sara. “Everyone inside!”

The two guards lunged through the door dropping their umbrellas on the floor. Then Sara pushed an alarm that caused an exo-shell to deploy along the labs’ outside walls, window and door.

“What about the settlement?” Wilder asked.

“The alarm will sound there, too, and they will take precautions if they haven’t already,” replied Sara.

Clearly, this was something we hadn’t seen before during our mission, but unlike the shaker-quakes, it apparently was a destructive force that happened often enough for heavy-duty protective measures to be installed by the people still on the planet.

We all shuffled into the middle of the lab, where everyone stood in silence, transfixed with nervous anticipation.

Gradually, we heard a low rumbling noise that increased as the storm got closer. Within a few minutes it was so loud the walls were vibrating and it felt like the ground underneath was going to open up and swallow us all.

I jumped onto the bench and walked down to the end where Jones was standing on the floor and put my hand on her shoulder. She was trembling again.

“Don’t worry, I won’t let anything happen to you,” was the stupid thing that found its way out of my mouth, when I hadn’t the slightest clue how to protect any of us from this unknown force.

She looked at me and giggled out loud at my ridiculous bravado...and just the sound of her laughter calmed my own fear.

Suddenly, it was stone silent.