UFO FanFic - Chapter 3

[Alitorious]

"Hey, Sanjay? You awake?" Daniel asked again of Sanjay Deet. Sanjay's form was slumped over a workstation, and beside him was an empty mug of coffee.

 

"Huh... oh... yeah?" he looked at his empty mug with an almost betrayed expression.

 

"You should get more sleep," Daniel chuckled. "But I was going to ask how the CAL interface is going?"

 

They had made some progress in researching the integrated circuits built into the alien alloys. They appeared to be a crystalline version of the generic alloy. The biggest discovery, though, was that these crystal alien alloys, dubbed 'CAL,' were not only electrical conductors, but also near-perfect optical transmitters. The aliens had taken fibre-optics to the next level.

 

"I need it to continue working on their computer console thing, you know," Daniel continued.

 

"Oh, I finished the - what time is it?" Sanjay said, finally.

 

"About four-thirty. Afternoon." Sanjay blinked while doing the math in his head. After a couple seconds he gave up and continued.

 

"Where was I... I took a nap after I finished the prototype, you see. You can use it." Sanjay passed over an odd device, which appeared alien except for the soldiered components and pencil marks decorating it.

 

"Have to get hacker to program computer to read it," Sanjay's speech started slipping. "I'll back to sleep now, thank you." With that, Sanjay once more slumped over the desk, and Daniel knew it would be a waste of time to try to wake him, so instead he examined the prototype. It was meant to take the combined electrical and optical signals in a CAL line and convert them into multiple electrical signals that could be read by a computer. Sanjay was thoughtful enough to put in four small lights - one of red, blue, and green to display the optical signal, and one yellow for the electrical component.

 

That would be enough for now, Daniel thought. He could at least get something out of it.

 

--------------------------

 

"All right, what did you call me up here to see?" Genega asked Theodore Dherzhin. They were currently in one of the surface hangars, which were much warmer than the underground ones. Currently only two aircraft took up space in the cavernous building - an out of place business jet and the Hurricane that crashed from Terrick's EMP.

 

"Well, you asked for a report on the status of the Interceptor."

 

"Let's have it, then! I don't have all day. Can we get this plane to fly again?"

 

"Uh, yes and no." Genega crossly waited an explanation. "Structurally the airframe's sound. The airframe took minimal damage in the crash, and the engines, aside from having a bit too much sand in them, are fine."

 

"That's the 'yes.' Now explain the 'no.' "

 

"The electronics are completely fried from that EMP. The computer systems will have to be gutted and replaced. It's just..."

 

"What?" Genega obviously didn't like the news, and he could sense more bad news was to come.

 

"You see," Theodore continued, "This plane was designed to operate to operate in a nuclear warzone. That is, it should be shielded against electromagnetic attacks. It shouldn't have gone down."

 

"Then why did it? These planes are expensive as it is"

 

"Sabotage. Someone destroyed the electronic shielding."

 

"Terrick." Genega grimaced. He never could figure out why he was conked on the head while all alone in the hangar. Terrick must have knocked him out so he could sabotage the high-tech jet and allow him an escape route. Unlucky for him it didn't pan out completely.

 

-------------------------

 

"Okay, that's it" Dana muttered as she walked into the workshop where Daniel was working. "I'm putting switches on the laser guns so they can turn off the antiphoton mix and stop the complaints about them. 'Means less power but no radiation. I wonder if anyone ever mentioned to those knuckleheads how much radiation they get exposed to on a high-altitude flight? Much more than just firing a darn raygun indoors"

 

Daniel didn't respond, being intensly focused on a particularly interesting component of the alien computer console. Seeing as he didn't answer, Dana tried again, louder.

 

"I said - "

 

"I heard you, Dane. Knucklehead mixes raygun.... but this... thing, here, now... come see." Dana could hardly believe what was distracting him. He was simply twirling one of the smaller components in circles, and watching a few blinking lights.

 

"What is that?" She moved up, with a skeptical look on her face.

 

"Part of the alien computer, probably a navigation console. This bit looked easiest to connect to Sanjay's interface. It doesn't draw much power, I can power it on a flashlight." Sure enough, looking around Dana saw a flashlight connected to a fibre-obtic tube, which was connected to the interface box Sanjay made, which was clipped onto the output leads from the device Daniel was moving around. After they discovered that the crystalline alien alloy circuits also acted like fibre-optic cables, a few scientists managed to get alien components working by shining bright light in them. Presumably the alien's power supply also generated a lot of light, but it would be a while before the scientists could apply it in laser technology.

 

"It's probably a lot like running a sports car on lamp oil, I bet, but it works. But it must be some kind of sensor, maybe it detects energy or something. As I move it in the same pattern, the lights change the same way. 'Might have something to do with the fluorescent lights above or something. Maybe it's alien radar."

 

Dana looked at the interface box, and sure enough the four coloured LEDs grew bright and dim and flickered as Dan waved the device around.

 

"The weird thing is that it flickers brightly when I move it up and down, like this... but side to side it's dimmer. And if I rotate it just so... only one light flickers."

 

"Hunh. Let me see," said Dana, and her hand shot out to grab the device. A trio of lights flickered in response. She stopped cold. Daniel just stared.

 

"Did it just...?"

 

Dana nodded. She drew her hand back slowly, watching carefully - the lights flickered slowly. Then she moved her hand towards the device and back again quickly.

 

Sure enough they flickered quickly.

 

"Dan, I think you just found your motion scanner."

 

-------

 

"I think it's their altimeter or artificial horizon, just like in our airplanes," Daniel Morlone explained to Daniel Gomez. "Dr. Zager knew that their propulsion device affects their entire ship equally or the crew would just hit the walls at high speed when their ship changed direction quickly. Splat! But any inertial dampener would also affect a gyro like we use, so this thing can probably detect the gravity well independent of their own gravity field and use it to know which way's down. But it seems to be able to detect subtle changes in gravity fields that until now we had no way of doing so, but the math still holds true on this and we can code up a way to isolate the Earth's field and -"

 

Photon held up a hand to silence Psawhn. "I'll read the report, don't worry. How soon can you get a prototype tracker?"

 

"Not long. We already have most of the mathematics done. It should take a few days."

 

"I want it in my hands by the weekend."

 

Dan knew he could get it done sooner.

[Alpha_Monkey]

Jacob Mosovich lifted his binoculars again, and sighed inwardly.

Not more than half a mile away, through the dense foliage and thin haze of smoke, sat his objective.

 

Two days ago, a military reconnaisance satellite had apparently suffered a malfunction somewhere in low orbit over the Pacific Ocean, and had subsequently plummeted to earth, where it had since sat patiently while his squad of ex-special forces were dispatched to quietly retrieve its data and dispose of the remains before it could fall into "the wrong hands".

While Mosovich understood the needs of national security, he had to admit, the likelyhood of anyone finding it here were slim at best. Even if the natives did happen across it, he suspected that Amazonian Tribesmen were as likely to worship it as some shiney aluminium diety as they were to report it to a foreign intelligence agencie.

 

His unit was made up of ex-Delta, SEAL, and CIA operatives, most of which were supposedly dead already, himself included. They were blacker than black, and had carried out highly illegal orders in most parts of the globe. Between the five of them, they'd taken part in every major war to have occurred over the last two decades. Indeed, they'd taken part in a fair few wars that had never occurred at all.

 

However, in this case, it seemed they'd been sent on a simple milk-run. He'd may as well still be in the boyscouts, he thought nonchalantly.

 

"All clear, chief?"

Meuller, his demolitions man. He'd been no more impressed with the mission so far, and, professional as he was, was likely looking at the chance to blow something up as the high point of the entire trip.

 

"Looks clear, undisturbed. Pretty beat up though, data extraction could take a couple of hours."

Mosovich looked up, contemplated the ever darkening sky.

 

"We make camp at the objective. Get what we came for, then rig demo charges and head for extraction at first light."

 

----------------------------------

 

Morgan sat, silently, dimly aware of the bizarre chittering and chirping of the local wildlife. They never shut the hell up. Having set up a perimeter of tripwire flares and claymores over an hour ago, more to ward off the local predators than any notional enemy, he now had little more to do than lay in wait until his watch was over. The data had been secured, they just had to wait 'til sun-up and head for pickup a days hike out.

He considered badgering the sleeping Sunday for the hell of the conversation, even if he was an ass at times, but decided against it as being unprofessional. He chided himself for the thought, before shifting blame onto the damn noisy bugs. They were ruining his focus, and he was finding their incessant buzzing somewhat hypnotic. It was although they were drilling into his mind....

 

------------------------------------

 

The crack of rifle fire jerked Mosovich awake and into action before he even knew what was happening. Screaming. He started towards its source, before realising it was merely feet away. Sunday lay there, screaming, holding his guts in his hands. Mosovich sensed movement in his periphery, and snapped his head around just in time to see Morgan fire another burst into his squadmate, grinning manically.

Mosovich hesitated for just an instant, before his instincts kicked in, and he found himself with his sidearm drawn and levelled at the apparently psychotic trooper.

 

"Drop the weapon, Sergeant! Do it now"

 

Meuller and Woolf were already by his side, doing much the same thing.

For a moment, Morgan appeared to hesitate, eyes snapping back and forth spasmodically. The barrel of his M4 dipped, first slowly, then less so......

 

The jungle lit up, the scene suddenly bathed in an orange hue. The flare had gone up with a hiss, and now drifted lazily through the canopy, its light casting eerie shadows over the men.

 

In an instant, Woolf had spun instincively toward the sound, knowing the potential threat it represented.

 

The rifle came back up. Behind it, Morgans face was again grinning demonically.

 

Mosovich's Colt .45 barked, once, then when its taget again wavered in hesitance, twice more. Morgan dropped.

 

Twenty metres away, a boom shook the jungle, and again, as the perimiter claymores were tripped. Mosovich dropped into a crouch, weapon pointed out into the once again darkening jungle, his men already taking up positions on his flanks.

 

Something chittered, out in the darkness. It almost sounded like it was laughing.

 

Iridiscent emerald beams reached out, burning......

 

===============================

 

Mosovich was awake, bolt upright in his bunk, sweat beaded on his brow and soaking his bdu's.

 

Christ, it had been a long time ago, and he still had the dream. Every night.

 

He had been found by an SAR bird, eventually, badly burned and barely alive. Though to this day he wasn't sure how, he had managed to break contact and melt away into the jungle. Though not with losing his entire team, and not without catching a glimpse of his enemy. He wished he hadn't.

 

He had spent 3 months under heavy sedation in a burns unit after that, haunted by memories of that night.

He was under no illusions. His rescue was never more than a secondary concern, they wanted the satellite images. After such a clusterfuck, and particularly after hearing him stick vehemently to his report of little green men one time too many, the government decided they no longer had use of a crippled, possibly incompetent, and probably delusional black operative. But still, he stuck to his story. He knew what those things were, and where they were from. He'd seen their ship. Not in person, but in the images from the RORSAT he'd bought back.

 

He hald expected them to finish him right there, in the hospital. Make it look like an accident. But instead, they simply let him go, with no support, no identity, and no hope of either.

 

Until he was approached by a man. A man with an offer.

He had simply appeared, one night, in his room, his texan drawl being the first sign of his presence. He was tall, lean. In good shape for his age. Also, clearly a spook. He never gave a name.

 

He claimed to know of an organisation that could use his....experiences, and offered to arrange a point of contact. And as unlikely as it had been, it had worked out as promised.

 

And now, after a several more near-suicidal intelligence gathering missions.... here he was. Bunked up under an aussie airbase in the ass-end of nowhere. With the promise of revenge on the little grey sonsabitches that had haunted him all this time, along with the faces of the friends he'd lost to them.

 

His fingers trembled. With Fury. With fear. With anticipation.

He was awake now, he didn't want to sleep again, to dream again. He'd be meeting the rest of his squad at 0600, and he wanted to be focused on the task at hand.

 

He got up, and headed for the firing range.

[Dumb_Commander]

Sergei sighed, he had a hell of a life back with the 'Vympel'. Scandals, sabotage, love affairs and blackmail. He just wanted out of that place of lies, deceptions and such. Sighing again he looked out of the transport helicopter's window, remembering how he got into this mess.

 

***

 

It was eight in the evening and Sergei Ivanovich had returned home. Nobody knew that a simple Russian construction worker was from a Spetsnaz unit 'Vympel' which formerly was an elite cold war-era KGB sabotage unit.

 

'Except certain individuals.' Thought Sergei as he reminisced that day.

 

"Mr. Zaicev?" as soon as those words sounded the ex-spetsnaz commando practically whipped his head around and came face to face with a thin looking man in a black Smith-esque (Matrix) suit. Sergei's left eye twitched as he saw that the spook had slicked back black hair and shades that looked like the Smith agent from the movie he watched, it was called The Matrix.

 

***

 

'How the hell do I get into these messes?' mentally groaned Zaicev as he cradled an urban-camo bag in his hands. He always was a little sentimental with certain things. Like his first firearms a Tokarev model 1933 which he diligently kept in working order, an AK-74 and couple of clips. Sighing again Sergei continued to sit and wait until he arrived to his destination. Pine Gap military base.

[Bomb Bloke]

The whistling of the wind was near deafening and Howitz resisted the urge to squint through his goggles. The sand was kicked into his face even at this level - three stories up. The gutted building seemed to be mostly made of thick concrete, seemingly bombed at some point. Steel reinforcements stuck out of the crumbling walls. Bent, twisted, rusting.

 

Luckily, his modified coveralls included a hood that covered most of his head, and a mask for the lower half of his face. The eye glasses were a lucky extra in the bad conditions, but that wasn't what they were intended for...

 

He sighed, and poked his rifle out through a suitably narrow crack. Not being the best with a ranged weapon he'd decided to hole up where his reflexes wouldn't be pushed to hard. This was a definite factor in his battle plan, as the burns he'd picked up not so long ago gave a notable but brief stab of pain with every sudden movement. The other advantage was that from there his (failed) attempts to rain death on the figures below went unnoticed. The wind muffled the noise of his laser discharging.

 

One of the things he'd been hopeful of when he'd first grabbed one of the new weapons was lack of tell-tale noises. Unfortunately things hadn't quite worked out that way, as they made a rather loud whine whenever he loosed a shot. He wasn't quite sure what caused it, but the techs seemed to think the only way around it would be to slap on a sound proof layer (which would make the things overheat). It was a shame, because the lack of recoil nearly made them perfect for Jack.

 

Nearly. Or perhaps he really could learn to shoot again?-

 

His mind wandering, the sudden movement in the corner of his eye caught him off-guard. He swung himself around and fell against the wall, built up sand flying and cascading, weapon aimed in the general direction of the stairs. Too late! The figure already had it's aim set, and with a sudden flash it was all over...

 

"Dammit!"

 

Ripper pulled his mask down just far enough to reveal a smirk, and twisted his head towards his shoulder radio. "Bomber boy is out, one to go."

 

Groaning as what felt like a litre of sand slowly found it's way down his neck, Howitz slumped and listened to his victor stomp towards the ground level. No, perhaps it was better to stick with explosives for now.

 

--------------------------

 

Rick grinned as Donovan's report came through, and waited for the other man to reach him at the foot of the stairs. The miniture battle hadn't been overly taxing so far, with only three per side - the remaining four team members weren't allowed out of the sick bay.

 

His "laser" had a somewhat awkward grip to it. Essentially being an advanced version of the toys used in mock battle ranges, it had various bits of metal welded onto it to make it feel and weigh more or less like the real thing. Although the end result of the dummy design looked more like a normal battle rifle with knobs on someone had loosely painted the thing according to the gun he'd used at Buenos - and reprogrammed the chatter speaker to match as well. It was a concept similar to the paint ball guns used in previous training sessions though in this case a hit was determined by the sensory body suits they'd put on.

 

The goal was to get used to using weapons that didn't have recoil. Typically this was the last thing a soldier wanted to do, but now weapons with no kickback were available it made sense to add them to the training schedule. Likewise, plasma weapon training had been revamped by modifying paint ball guns. Sure they wouldn't give off the same heat levels but green paint balls were easier to replace then the limited supply of alien clips.

 

Plus they didn't rip smoldering holes through people when you used them in the "arena", the name given to the small camp structure a short distance from the main top side training areas. A definite bonus.

 

He looked around as Donovan came closer. He'd clearly been taking one step per flight, and the building had visibly shook as he'd come crashing down onto the floor with each leap. Nothing like the slealthy, bouncing way he'd climbed up. Obviously he didn't consider the last target to be a threat.

 

Distracted by his own team mate, Rick nearly dropped his rifle as a buzzer went off in his ear. Shot! On reflex he spun around, but when he pulled the trigger there was no response - he was out...

 

Tammy swung her pistol up past the startled squad leader, attempting to get his partner as he appeared at the bottom. But he came flying down the last set of stairs the same way as all the others - Top speed. Skidding over the sandy floor as he landed (nearly bowling over his already stricken squad leader), he had his aim set before he even hit the ground. The match was over.

 

--------------------------

 

Flipping through pages of photos of the newly sighted aliens, Genega listened with half an ear as Zager droned on in the background.

 

"We can't fly their ships, they've got protection modules built into the computers. But now we've got an idea as to how those systems work. We can also work their metal, and we could even build the engines if we had the funds."

 

"How long until we can refit one of their craft for our hangars?"

 

"We can't." Zager paused for a moment as he considered his next statement. "Any tampering with the computers renders the entire thing inoperable. You see, everything's integrated via the hull-"

 

"Can't we do something with them?"

 

"Well, a ship made out their alloys will at least be lighter and better armored then our current craft. Then we could probably link a nav system through one of our own computers and get that to talk to the engines..."

 

"How long?"

 

"Well, we still need to look further into how everything fits together, so to speak, but we could probably get a prototype ready in about a month and a half. With a large enough budget, of course..."

 

The Commander sighed at the prospect of yet another bill to pay. It'd be worth it of course - The only way to stop the aliens landing wherever they damn well pleased would be to catch them up in the air. No way around it.

 

"Weapons?"

 

"Can't be done." The elderly scientist said it flatly. "The wiring - which includes those protection modules I mentioned - goes all the way through the hull. It's like a hundred spider webs rolled into a ball, it'd take us years to work out how to operate the things without their passcodes. But it may be possible to nut out the design of their field weapons and then build a larger model."

 

Putting the papers down and rubbing his forehead, Genega put forward the other question he'd been wanting to ask. "Do we know how far can their ships fly?"

 

Clearly ready for this, Zager was quick to answer. "Not exactly. But going by the capacity of the power generators and the amounts of Elerium we found in them, it's a surprisingly short distance. Obviously they'd be using a lot more fuel while in our atmosphere, but not because of gravity - These things effectively ignore it. Friction is what causes them trouble, and probably inertia too."

 

"So when they leave Earth...?"

 

"They wouldn't be able to get too far away. Certainly not outside our solar system - Navigation through the asteroid belt would be too demanding. Understand that they totally rely on Elerium for fuel, solar panels and so forth are useless to them. They'd need to re-fuel somewhere, so chances are a larger ship is out there somewhere acting as a space station. They might even have installations on some of our nearby planets."

 

"How many of these "bases" could we be looking at?"

 

"Too early to tell. The craft numbers seen thus far would suggest only one, but to call that an uneducated guess is an extreme understatement."

 

Genega nodded and dismissed the scientist, redirecting his attention back to the report from the Bio labs. It was worrying to find out that the little grey men were not the only attackers on the planet. Presumably the two forces were allied - They used the same craft and technology, though they were obviously two entirely different races. Quite possibly the larger beings had been deployed as a result of X-Com's resistance so far, even though the new breed didn't seem to be that much more effective.

 

Even though X-Com was still taking casualties - Only once had an alien encounter gone without a fatality amongst his ranks - They were taking a lot more heads in combat then they were giving. Perhaps the grey ranks had been thinned?

 

An admittedly optimistic thought, but one that nearly brought a smile to his lips. He'd hang onto it for now.

[The Veteran]

Three days had passed since X-Com's triumph over the new race of aliens discovered terrorising Buenos Aires, though for the half dozen troopers holed up in the sickbay it may as well have been three years... Even with Tammy playing Florence Nightingale, time seemed to pass excruciatingly slowly for those unlucky enough to have had a close encounter of the hostile kind.

 

While some troopers had managed to talk their way out of medical incarceration, there had been an increasing number of escape attempts in the last 24 hours, most probably inspired by Fitzwilliam's break for freedom. Rick had managed to avoid the gloved hand of Pine Gap's medical staff completely but was under near constant observation by Tammy, not a bad thing by any means but she still hadn't forgiven him for that pool game!

 

Meanwhile the base's compliment of demolitions experts was back up to 60% strength with Brick now fighting fit and Howitz continuing to recuperate in his own personal quarters. Gaston still had a little more healing to do until he was due for release and so far even his thickest charm had been ineffectual on his nurse.

 

Warlord and Ki-tat had been lucky enough to avoid a lengthy observation period after the incident at Buenos Aires by acting out a pre-meditated conversation in full view of the medical staff. While they were still struggling to hear even now, the staff had bought it and signed them both as fighting fit. Either that or they knew a lost cause when they saw it. Besides they had enough work already and not too much free space these days...

 

Today though, it was time for the penultimate release that would see Gaston once again left on his lonesome. Trigger had been itching to get out of sickbay since his run in with Terrick's cronies and today was the day it would finally happen. At last, he thought, back to mess-hall portions and seconds. At this point he wagered his stomach would be too atrophied to handle thirds right away...

 

Trigger had been lucky in his company since the crash at least, with Rick visiting often and Gia barely leaving his side. Now he was again waiting for Rick but he was all set and ready to go. He felt like a child again, waiting for his parents after a school trip!

 

Right on time, unlike his parents often were, Rick turned up just as the medical staff finished up his paperwork. And not a moment too soon he thought. He'd already missed lunch so he wanted a front row seat for dinner! In the mean time he was due in the bar, where Rick had promised the first drink would be on him.

 

"Hey TJ," called Rick as he came into view, "how's my flightless bird doing today!"

 

After so long in medical confinement, Trigger was more than happy to take the jibe. After all he wouldn't be getting in an aircraft again for a good few days and his plane was trashed anyway!

 

"You all done here or what? Thought you might want to go and swing by the hangars on the way to the beer. I don't know what's been happening there while you've been gone but I know your Hurricane's still there if you want to check it out."

 

"Sure, be good to meet again on better terms now we both aren't leaking vital fluids!" Trigger smiled and felt happy for the first time in days. He may still be out of action but at least he was free again. They laughed and joked all the way to the hangar, Grizzly being subject to many jibes and the odd comment by Rick on how Gaston didn't look like such a ladies-man stuck full of drips.

 

Eventually they arrived at the hangar where Trigger's interceptor should be but he couldn't make out whether it was his or Grizzlies as there were no numbers and several parts were being worked on. The majority of the base's flight crew were present and Trigger could see Gilbert Huillard and Heather O'Reilley working on what looked like some routine maintenance in the back of the hangar. Theodore Dherzhin was sat up in the cockpit with a clipboard doing something beyond Trigger's expertise, pre-flight checks had never been his strong point.

 

Before there was an opportunity to interrupt the crew already at work, he felt a hand on his shoulder as Flight Lieutenant Dan Forrester welcomed him back into the fold. "I guess they couldn't keep you away anymore then huh?" he inquired.

 

"Hey Dan," replied Trigger turning to put a face to the hand, "uh,sir..."

 

The Lieutenant chuckled, a friendly working relationship could be confusing at times, like party invites that said 'smart casual'. "You got beat up pretty bad huh? Dan's fine and you know it is. When there are no aliens around anyway... How are you feeling? I hear Gia's been keeping a close eye on you?"

 

"Too right she has," the pilot responded with a sigh. "The company was great you know but every time I tried to make a break for it she grassed me up! She said the sickbay was 'the best place for me' until I got better."

 

Forrester laughed. "It seems she's been taking as much care of you as she has of your Hurricane."

 

"What? I thought only I called it 'my' Hurricane?" queried a baffled Trigger.

 

"Well, unofficially of course... She's been down here a lot though, probably most of the time she wasn't with you in fact. The rebuild's coming along much faster than it would've done without her, just like your own recovery I think?"

 

Trigger smiled, he knew it was true. Sure he could've spent an extra day out in the base but it would've probably added another 2 days to his healing. "Yeah, I think you might be right there. I think I should probably do something for her when she comes off the night watch but I've no idea what. That sort of stuff isn't really my area of expertise you know?"

 

Rick laughed and had to throw in a quick "Yeah we know!"

 

"Says the ladiesman," retorted Trigger. "You're just in ALL the girls goodbooks aren't you?" He smiled and Rick stopped. "Anyway, so this is my number one huh? It looks amazing, what's missing?"

 

"Well you can see the engines are out, getting a deep clean and rewire. Apart from that, Teddy is running a systems check on the new cockpit fittings and then he needs to do the same for the weapons systems. Maybe 2 more days work before she'll be ready for a test flight? Although maybe 3 without Gia to speed things along..."

 

"Either way it sounds like she'll be back in the air before you are hey mate?" Rick started smiling again, knowing the pilot would be off his feet for a good while yet.

 

"Well we'll just have to see about that won't we." he retorted. "Does this mean we still only have one fighter on site Dan? Seems a bit risky if you ask me..."

 

"You're not wrong," replied Forrester. "But it's actually worse than that. That Terrick guy clearly didn't know what he was doing when he wrecked these birds. The damage he did to the electronics in Grizzlies plane in order to disable it's EMP protection was just insane. It's a wonder the thing still flies at all!"

 

"So?" queried Trigger.

 

"So... We have no Interceptors ready for active duty... Some minor remedial work has been carried out on number 2 but it remains in such a condition that it's ready for use in emergencies only."

 

"Um, lieutenant?" voiced Rick. "We're at war with spacemen. Isn't pretty much everything an emergency right now?

 

"Well yes in a way," chuckled the Flight Commander, "but considering the value of these craft, not to mention pilots capable of flying them, it's been my recommendation to pursue only those craft that pose an immediate threat to the world's populace. We let a probe go yesterday but if we see anything much bigger we're going to be in trouble."

 

"So when will we be up in the air again then Dan?" asked Trigger. "We can't wait 3 days with no aircraft. Even then it'll be more time to get Davies' bird back in the air."

 

"That's why we're taking delivery of a third Hurricane tomorrow," replied the Lieutenant with a smile. "Given that we've already lost the Lightning and had 2 craft immobilised, I told the Commander we need to invest in a more comprehensive air fleet. This time next week we'll have 3 Hurricanes, armed and fully operational."

 

Trigger looked up at his aircraft and smiled. "Nice..." He was shaken from his idolisation by a rough slap on the back.

 

"Come on Munty," said Rick, "let's get to the bar!"

[Bomb Bloke]

Deep underground Pine Gap, Conner lounged holding a copy of one of various x-rays in his broken right hand. He wore a blue cast that was more glove then anything else; it allowed reasonable freedom of movement for his pointer and thumb, while keeping his other fingers held straight. With it on, it was difficult to hold a weapon (let alone fire one), and so he was excused from weapons training for the time being.

 

The photos that had his attention were not of his busted finger, however, but rather of the skull he'd wrecked it on; that of the flying alien he'd grappled with at Buenos Aires a few days prior. The actual corpse lay on a table just a few meters away - a nervous Chris Black was poking around the contents of its skull, unused to an audience of any sort. He wished the other man would leave, but didn't have the nerve to ask.

 

"So these freaks ever had legs? I'm guessing they're not born this way..."

 

Chris glanced sideways at "Ghost" Conner, head bobbing down when spoken to briefly. "Um, yes, it- it would appear most likely... but not for long, at least, n-not these specimens. Judging by the multitude and stretching of the scars near their abdomens, they're most likely replaced at an early-"

 

He was interrupted, not out of intentional rudeness, but rather as the other man was only half paying attention - fascinated with the images in front of him, and his mind racing with questions.

 

"What about these bones? They don't look like much on paper, but these things pack a punch! You got one of their skeletons out yet?"

 

His eyes flicked to Vampire, who, eyebrows raised, nodded at a curtain in a corner of the poorly-lit lab. Ghost darted up and flicked it aside with his good hand, promptly recoiling at the horrific smell.

 

The skeleton was one of the more mangled specimens, chosen due to the mutilation of the flesh; though this was impossible to tell, as the bio-chemist had simply tore off that which he could, hacked off whatever was left, then sprayed the result over with chemicals to aid the decay of the rest. The result was far from the science-class model Conner had been hoping for - instead of being held together by wire, it hung by the strength of its cartilage, and segments of flesh still remained on many of the bones. The metallic base was missing altogether. Much of the stench arose from the collection of unpleasant fluids that'd dripped into a wheeled basin underneath the suspended corpse, and a wheeled trolley containing an assortment of noxious chemicals combined to assault his senses. And next to that... a uncovered bin of mulched and seemingly rotting flesh. He gagged, and quickly pulled the curtain shut.

 

"Fuck!"

 

He rubbed at his eyes, staggered backwards and leaned against the autopsy table, gasping. The Floater there was relatively untouched, and other then a hole burned in its chest (and another where Vampire had invaded its cranium), produced nothing like the stench of the dead greys - let alone the horror behind the curtain. Presumably the cauterisation of the laser helped in that regard.

 

He'd been considering asking for a skeleton for the mess haul, but that entry had suddenly been bumped down a few entries on his christmas wish list.

 

Black stared at the man a moment, then suddenly jumped - "Ah! Sorry! I forgot the rest of it was still back there!" He reached up and pulled a second cord hanging from the overhead light, and an air-conditioning system near the hanging curtain kicked noisily into life.

 

The other man panted, leaning back with his eyes closed, stomach churning. "It's ok." He took a step forward, leaned down and re-collected the x-ray sheet he'd dropped in his shock, then returned to lean forward against the bench.

 

"Those bones... Most of them are pretty skinny for such a chunky alien. They all like that? That one on the table packed a fair punch."

 

Black nodded, holding his probes still in the Floater's head. "They're quite thin, but wider at the joints. They don't really need to be too wide, as they're far denser then our bones."

 

"Denser?" Ghost raised an eyebrow.

 

"Yes, probably due to hormones added to the creature's system via the life support system. It otherwise wouldn't be very strong, you see."

 

"You can tell that from its DNA?"

 

Vampire flashed a wry smile. "If only. No, these creatures fly, and poorly at that. They can't operate very well within our gravity - presumably they're primarily space-faring, or live on a planet with a weak gravitational field. That would typically lead to muscular and skeletal dystrophy, and it's unlikely they could perform any forms of serious weight-related exercises."

 

The soldier's eyebrow creased. "What about pull-ups? Can't they turn off the grav unit and work out that way?"

 

"Turning off the antigrav unit would be ill-advised", smirked the bio-researcher. "Under our gravity, at least, the weight of the suspended life support system would probably be sufficient to tear it from their body."

 

Ghost closed his eyes again, in a futile attempt to avoid that mental image.

 

"In any case, the bodies of these creatures exhibit nearly no signs of stress. The don't achieve their power through exercise, they simply grow that way... And they're all the same!"

 

"Ok, ok, fascinating. So where would one aim to hurt these things?"

 

"Head, or the anti-grav unit. These creatures don't appear to use the organs they have left - the lungs and heart are there, but they're seriously atrophied through lack of use... The entire nervous system is also re-routed through the grav unit, which would presumably allow signals transmitted to the limbs to be strengthened to produce greater effect, or signals FROM the limbs to be dampened to decrease pain output."

 

Noticing the soldier's bemused look as he started to ramble, he attempted to cut to the point. "Anyway, it extends throughout most of the lower body, and isn't terribly well shielded around the abdominal area - where our friend here" - he pulled a knife out of the head of the creature in front of him, and tapped it on what passed for a nose - "got shot."

 

"Worth trying a punch there?" Ghost waved his stricken hand, thumb curled over index, though the other fingers sticking out ruined the effect of a fist.

 

"You could, and a hard blow there might indeed permanently incapacitate or even kill one of these creatures. I wouldn't try it against the head, though, or anywhere else; you might cause them to wobble for a while, but it'd take a giant to punch these beings over - they'd best wear a boxing glove should they wish to try. Most veins and arteries are either cushioned under muscle or routed through the padded joints."

 

Conner grinned, and snorted in a way that could nearly pass as a laugh. "I'll keep that in mind. Well, thanks, I'll leave you and your friend to your business."

 

He'd very nearly reached the door before the Vampire reached up and absent-mindedly killed the air conditioning. The noise bothered him far more then the smell.