The Evolution of F.O.R.C.E.

“Chellsee?”

“Mom?′

“Chellsee?”

“Cherree?”

All three of them lunged to hug each other and jumped up and down until Helleen stepped on a dead Asiddian’s body. Looking down for a moment in disgust, she shrugged and started jumping again with even more abandon.

Whatsit turned to the black ball and said, “Tom, it was way too dangerous to let Chellsee come on this mission. She’s not trained for combat.”

“She’s been training with McPherson in hand-to-hand since you left and earned his respect. Besides, she was insistent, and you know how strong-willed she is,” Tom responded. “Couple her physical skills with the new PDS and FINGER gun, and there was little danger.”

“The finger what?” GooYee asked.

“You’ll be briefed on all the new tech as soon as you get back. Needless to say, Dr. Heinbaum has been busy.”

“Yes, I see he has resorted to medieval swords with short-range killing capacity,” GooYee sniffed.

“I thought a game of Zelda had somehow found its way into the cave,” Whatsit replied.

“I’m sure the good doctor will have some choice words for your description of his work,” Tom replied with a chuckle as Human and Chrysallaman FORCE teams began arriving.

“Harrumph! Speaking of reunions, I have many sick children down here who require medical assistance,” GooYee said as MerrCrr JnnWall joined him.

Staring at the number of Chrysallamans still alive after the Asiddian assault, MerrCrr said, “It will take at least three trips to move all the Resistance families to the Destinnee.”

“Move them where?” Dunnbull asked. He’d regained some poise and the look of concern in his eyes didn’t waiver. “Did any of you even consider the possibility we don’t need your help?”

Blunt floated the black ball over until he was at eye level with Dunnbull. Picking his words with care, he said, “We’ll put it to a vote if necessary. No one is here to force your people to do anything. I happen to believe they don’t want to live in a cave under the constant threat of death.”

“My friends have appointed me their military commander. They rely on me to see the dangers posed by the Asiddians and by you. You think you bring salvation when all you really bring is disaster and death.”

Watching the survivors packing their belongings and others following rescue teams out of the cave, Tom said, “Your people were smart enough to appoint you their leader. I think they’re smart enough to recognize a change of scenery is in their best interests. It seems they’ve made their decision.”

“My people are like children. They don’t understand the nuances of your offer. They expect me to make the hard decisions. I know what is best for them.”

“Best for them or best for you?”

“I will not argue with a black ball!”

Walking to a place where he blocked the cave entrance, Dunnbull held up his arms and said, “My friends. Please think about what you are doing. These aliens offer you nothing. Don’t abandon your home for false promises.”

Heads turned and several Chrysallamans stopped packing as the general’s words echoed in the chamber.

“You don’t want to trade the safety of our home for the unknown dangers these aliens offer.”

Uncertainty began to grow on many faces. Helleen grabbed Chellsee’s hand and marched to Dunnbull.

“I believe my eyes. These Humans have returned my daughter to me unharmed and rescued us all from certain death. We’ve seen fellow Chrysallamans fighting alongside these Humans as equals. I love Chrysalis, and it will be my future home. I have been offered a chance to fight for it in a meaningful way. I’m taking it!”

Raising Chellsee’s hand over her head, she shouted, “Who joins me to fight for our home?”

Murmurs of agreement filled the chamber and packing resumed.

Dunnbull glared but said nothing at first. Turning to the black ball hovering beside him, he said, “This isn’t over!”

***

“Status report on the assault team,” General Harrier demanded.

“There’s been radio silence for the past five minutes, Sir. I’ve been recording video. Switching to a live feed now,” Sergeant Owlet responded.

The video monitor at her station lit up, and a cave flickered into view. It looked from the angle of the picture as if the camera wearer was lying on the ground. Harrier’s eyes were just beginning to pick out details of the torch-lit background transmitted by the high-definition camera when a rifle butt slammed into the lens ending the transmission. Harrier was so surprised by the unexpected jab of the rifle that he flinched.

“What happened? Get the view back on-line.”

“Impossible, Sir. The camera’s been destroyed. There are no other video feeds.”

“Rerun the recorded transmission before it was destroyed.”

There were several minutes of recorded video. If you deleted the jerky frames of dirty, ragged Chrysallamans being cut down by disintegrator beams and the destruction of the camera, what was left was most interesting. A black wraith slashed a glowing sword at the chest of the Asiddian wearing the camera. The camera wearer’s body tumbled to the cave floor revealing other commandos lying dead or injured. Movement attracted their attention. An Asiddian commando struggled to clutch a disintegrator rifle and fire it point-blank at the black figure. Instead of cutting the enemy in half, the ray dissolved into a harmless magenta-yellow light. The dark figure pointed its finger at the commando. It was the finger of a Chrysallaman. A common enough gesture until a white light filled with swirls and sparkles shot out of the tip of the finger and speared the shooter between the eyes.

“Did you see the lightning bolt come out of the fingertip, Sir?”

Narrowing his eyes as he considered what he’d seen, Harrier said, “Send the recording to Dr. Vultura with my compliments.”

Turning to leave, he ordered, “Do not allow anyone else to see it.”

If Harrier had observed the look of panic in Owlet’s eyes, he would have asked what scared her so. His questioning might have delayed her phone call to her mate describing the magical powers of the black clad wraith wearing the wide brimmed hat.

***

“The Master Computer is picking up an anomaly, Colonel,” Lieutenant Wenda Jay said.

“Explain,” Hannah Wren ordered from her seat in the Command Couch on the Bridge of the Battleship Gadwall.

Her face outlined in the glow from her screen on the darkened Bridge, Jay responded, “Some form of craft has been spotted in quadrant 1539. The whole area is nothing but ruins of apartment complexes in the southwest area of Trissalic. There’s not enough of the craft visible for positive identification. There’s no military operation ongoing in the area to explain the readings. The craft appears and disappears at random intervals. It just reappeared for the third time in the same location, or I would have dismissed the past sensor readings as a ghost image.”

Squirming in her seat, Hannah thought, “If I react to every odd report, my sub-commanders will decide I’m crying Wolf and won’t react to my orders. However, if I miss an important detail, General Harrier will kill me. Better alive than dead.”

Flicking her ship-to-ship communicator, Wren said, “Talons One and Two. Lieutenant Jay will be sending you the coordinates of a possible enemy intrusion. Investigate and destroy if found.”

Receiving confirmations, Wren said, “Lieutenant Jay, display the anomaly on the main screen. Helm, move to within main weaponry range of the object. Weapons, prepare main batteries for some target practice.”

Her face an emotionless mask, Wren watched as the view of the saucer-shaped craft enlarged as her ship moved closer. The shape of the thing reminded her of a Chrysallaman scout saucer.

Two oval-shaped Talon striker craft hovered into firing position above the object. A ramp angled down from the underbelly of the scout saucer, either for loading cargo or passengers. Movement caught her eyes, and she recognized the wide-brimmed hat and green coat of the Chrysallaman monster who’d held her captive so many weeks ago. He was running toward the shelter of the saucer. Other figures ran alongside him. It was at that moment the Talons fired.

Crossfire disintegrator beams bathed the saucer with a violence appreciated only by soldiers who have witnessed utter destruction. Everything within 200 feet of the blast zone disappeared as the high-powered beams turned the surrounding concrete structures into atomic dust. As the disintegrators did their work, the ground shook as if it was experiencing an earthquake. A hazy mist of yellow-magenta light surrounded the craft protecting it from harm, but the destruction of surrounding buildings and rubble was having an effect. Despite its safety within the protective field, the craft shuddered as the area around it dissolved.

“Weapons Master, open fire,” she ordered.

The torrent of energy smashing against the saucer increased blindingly as the Gadwall joined the fray, yet protected by the yellow-magenta mist, the craft remained untouched. An idea pushed its way into Wren’s consciousness.

Clicking the toggle for the general command frequency, Wren ordered, “Add the heat function into the disintegrator array.”

Instantly, the ground around the Chrysallaman saucer began to ooze and bubble as it melted from the combined assault of the Talons and the Gadwall. One side of the saucer tilted as its landing struts sank into the molten concrete, and Wren smiled as the hat-wearing lizard grabbed at a landing strut to keep his balance. A thick cloud of steam billowed around the saucer as water in the soil below the concrete surface boiled away. The cloud hid all the enemy combatants from view.

The starboard side of the saucer began to disappear as it sank into the muck of boiling lava. The yellow-magenta mist of protection became muted as more of the saucer was submerged.

“A lot of good your force field will do when your ship is buried in tons of red-hot lava,” Wren muttered with a scowl.

The steam cloud around the target became so thick it was impossible to see what was happening. It looked like most of the saucer was buried in a sea of lava, trapped by the hot, sticky embrace of melted rock and concrete. Without warning, a fountain of lava squirted a hundred feet into the air as if propelled by a fire hose. One of the Talons hovering over the target was caught in the discharge and crashed in a vivid explosion. As if on cue, the disintegrator-heat beams from the remaining Talon and the Gadwall shut down.

Wren was stunned speechless. She sat motionless as her brain fought to interpret what her eyes had just seen.

At last she murmured, “Lieutenant Jay, probe the plaza for signs of the enemy craft.”

After a long pause, Jay said, “The enemy craft has disappeared, Sir. There’s no trace of it.”

“What do you mean there’s no trace of it? Follow its flight path.”

“There is no flight path,” Jay muttered as she studied her display. “Sensor readings show the craft almost buried one moment, and the next moment it’s gone. As if it didn’t exist at all. The geyser of lava was caused by the body of the ship disappearing instantaneously and lava rushing to fill in the gap.”

Turning away from the monitor and looking at Wren, she said, “The ship is gone.”

***

“Final refugees are onboard, Doug. I don’t want to be here much longer. The risk of exposure to Asiddian sensors increases with every landing,” Jason’s voice rumbled in the FLR communicator bud in Doug’s ear.

“Understood. Whatsit!” Doug urged. “We’re out of here!”

“Boottall, stop screwing around!” Whatsit yelled.

“Relax, Old Man,” Boottall sneered as he stuffed the last of his belongings into a sack. “Do you see a tool? I’m not screwing anything.”

Rolling his eyes as the teenager trotted past him, Whatsit muttered, “I’m never having any kids of my own.”

Chuckling at the comment, Becky responded, “Chellsee may have something to say about your decision.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Whatsit sniffed as he ran after her toward the scout saucer Torrblennd.

It had taken two flights to ferry Chrysallaman exiles to the Destinnee. The effort had been slowed by the elderly and wounded. The exposure of the Torrblennd to discovery by the Asiddians was ever-present. There wasn’t a good hiding place for a 40-foot wide scout saucer in the rubble of the plaza, and discovery would lead to a devastating attack.

Sunlight stabbed at their eyes as they ran across the open space between the entrance to the catacombs and the scout saucer. Even though it took only a few moments to cross the distance, Doug felt an uncomfortable twinge between his shoulder blades as he raced over the dusty concrete toward the safety of the saucer’s hull overhang.

Just as he set foot on the ramp leading into the craft, the ground shook and Doug stumbled. It was like trying to stand during an earthquake. Whatsit, Boottall and Becky grabbed nearby landing supports as they tried to keep their balance. The half-light of magenta and yellow brightened around them as the special Heinbaum shield sprang into existence, surrounding them within its protective envelope. The Asiddians had found the saucer.

Chaos flared all around. The hull of the scout ship was suddenly awash in daylight as the half-destroyed buildings and rubble around the outside of the Torrblennd’s shield disappeared as disintegrator beams chewed at them. Doug realized the temperature was rising, and his face tightened with alarm as the ground outside the shield turned molten red and flowed like water. As the ground melted, the ship listed as the starboard landing struts sank. Doug felt his skin burn as the reflected heat from the lava reached him.

Pushing Doug and Becky ahead of him, Whatsit pulled Boottall up the ramp and slammed his fist down on the hatch control lever. Looking around in a frantic effort to orient in the oddly tilting companionway, Whatsit spotted the intercom.

The deck dipped to an angle impossible to stand on, and Doug slid into Becky, knocking her off her feet. Grabbing at each other for protection, they rolled and tumbled down the deck that had suddenly dropped from under their feet. Grabbing the hatch activation lever with one hand, Whatsit clutched Boottall’s arm with the other. Surprise furrowed the teenager’s face as his feet dangled over the 10-foot drop to the opposite bulkhead created when the deck listed.

Straining to climb the tilted deck toward the intercom station, Doug used every seam and protrusion to haul himself up the companionway. Missing the communicator button on his first try because of the odd angle, Doug stabbed down on it at last and yelled, “All aboard! Go! Go! Go!”

As if a light switch had been thrown, serene quiet filled the companionway where noise and vibration had ruled just a moment before. The corridor leveled, returning to normal.

The change was so sudden; Boottall slumped against the deck and asked, “Why did they stop firing? They had us for sure.”

Becky was so thrilled to be alive, she grabbed Doug in a bear-hug and buried her face in his chest. Wanting the moment to last longer, Doug hugged her back and buried his face in her hair.

After a time, she pulled back a little and smoothing her hair away from her eyes, whispered, “Are you all right?”

Doug gulped as he realized how tightly he was holding her. “Sure, you feel all right?”

“Yes.”

“It’s not time for a love scene,” Whatsit said. “Would you guys break it up?”

Tearing his gaze away from Becky’s almond-shaped eyes; Doug turned and responded, “Since when did you become an expert on Human relations?”

“I watch soap operas from time-to-time,” Whatsit grinned. “And Dr. Phil is one of my favorites.”

Grinning like a teenager caught kissing a cheerleader in the school broom closet, Doug was just about to tell Whatsit where he could shove his opinion when the communicator panel chirped.

“Come to the control room.”

***

Dr. Vultura’s lab was a jumble of glass retorts, evaporation tubes and flaming Bunsen burners. Black char coated the bottoms of several retorts boiled dry by untended flames. Half-finished equipment of unknown purpose littered every space in the room, and a layer of greasy dust covered some of the older machines. The chemical smell in the room was enhanced with ozone from burned electrical connections. The denizen who occupied the lab was an unapologetic hoarder.

Vultura had the black ball discovered by Corvus split into two halves, each held in the grip of specially designed vises. He waived a sensor over and around the halves, looking from time to time at a digital readout.

The lab door opened, and General Harrier demanded, “What have you discovered?”

Without looking away from the readouts, Vultura said in an annoyed tone, “Nothing of import. Their method of faster than light travel is similar to ours, but the power source isn’t a fusion reactor. I haven’t been able to discover how it’s energized.”

“No fusion reactor?”

“Correct. There’s a round-shaped construction between two electromagnets embedded in the shell wall. The process of levering open the shell tore into the convoluted structure. I’m attempting to reconstruct the damaged area based on the design of the remaining undamaged half.”

“How long to success?”

“The time is lengthening due to interruptions,” Vultura grated. “I expect working results in a few hours.”

“You have two hours,” Harrier replied. “Results are all I care about, not excuses. No results and your precious laboratory will be assigned to someone more competent.” Crinkling his nose, Harrier added, “and less foul-smelling.”

Vultura stared at Harrier as the General slammed the door. Returning his gaze to the intricate lacing of the sphere, he admired how the shape was designed. Someone had spent a great deal of time forming the intricate folds and creases of the object but with patience its secrets would be revealed. If he didn’t know better, he would guess the object was an antenna of some kind.

Rolling a miniature fusion reactor over to the workbench, the white-haired scientist attached its power leads to the electromagnets.

“Let’s see what happens when I run 100,000 amps into the thing.”

Setting a digital readout to the desired level, he toggled the switch. Nothing happened. Checking his instruments, Vultura confirmed the power was flowing into the alien apparatus. It was as if the power input was being sucked into a well.

Turning off the reactor, Vultura frowned at the lack of results. No glow. No discharge of any kind. Very strange. 100,000 amperes of power don’t just disappear. The law of conservation of energy dictates the power can’t be destroyed. It has to transform into something. Yet in this case it seemed to disappear.

Determined to get results within the arbitrary deadline set by Harrier, Vultura picked up a power meter and attached its alligator clips to the odd sphere. Perhaps there was something amiss with the connections to the reactor, and no power was being directed into the sphere. Designed to measure the slightest power emanation, the meter was calibrated to any impulse between .00001 and 1 million amperes. Constructed of Absorbisteel, the meter was at the same time sensitive and durable.

Turning the dial to 500,000 amps, he flipped the power switch once more. Vultura got a reaction, but not the one he was expecting. The moment the switch was thrown, lightning erupted from the wires connecting the meter to the alien orb, and the meter melted into a ball. Flash-blinded and his eyebrows burned off, Vultura threw up his arm to cover his face.

The destruction didn’t stop. A ray of white light filled with sparkles and winking, gray swirls flashed across the room from the fused ends of the power meter wires. The beam melted a hole 2-foot hole in the concrete wall and continued on through the adjoining walls. Frantically trying to clear his vision and turn off the fusion reactor took three seconds. Next day studies showed a 2-foot diameter hole 3,453.7 feet long had bored through everything from concrete walls to Asiddian soldiers to battleship Absorbisteel. Four battleships wouldn’t be space-worthy until they’d undergone three months of repairs.

Vultura danced with pleasure and wasn’t in the least surprised when Harrier barged into his lab followed by six guardsmen.