The Osiris Invasion: Book Two of Seeds of a Fallen Empire

  Knightwood descended the gangway first; she was a bit shorter than Sasha, with light brown skin as clear as honey, huge, mercurial, brown eyes with long, dark lashes, smooth, round cheeks, and a long, thin, aquiline nose. Her accent and bearing were quite proper, but her language and bold behavior often shattered this image of propriety.

  To Mathieson's mind, there was a look of efficiency and fearlessness about Knightwood; with Knightwood, one came to expect the unexpected. An air of supreme effectiveness moved through and around her like a mist; her presence alone seemed enough to guarantee that not only had all been planned, but all would go as planned.

  The recon crew knew Zhdanov and Cameron, the latter of which had remained silent up until now. Sasha and Richard had been friendly with the doctor for a long time; for that reason, Cameron's presence took them completely by surprise.

  Cameron was well-known on the base as a brilliant, self-effacing man whose demeanor had become more grim and reserved in later life, though he had once been, by all accounts, quite amiable. Rumor had it that Cameron's personality had changed markedly when his wife died nearly forty years before; Cameron had never remarried.

  Cameron was that rare kind of genius that came around once a century. Nevertheless, the man was, to the world’s collective astonishment, completely unassuming, even taciturn. Cameron had been dubbed the world's only living Renaissance man, and as a scientist, he had proven that he deserved that title. At one time a renowned cellular biologist and medical research doctor, Cameron had given up his profession in mid-life on what his peers had regarded as a whim, only to become a leading astrochemist and pioneer of new frontiers in radio astronomy; Sasha had been one of his subordinate research physicists eight years before.

  However, Cameron had met Richard Mathieson when he developed an interest in astro-engineering; five years ago, Cameron had acted as one of the project managers, and Richard Mathieson had briefly worked in his engineering team.

  Cameron's knowledge in astro-engineering had, in only a few years, grown as deep as that of his previous fields of study; in a short time, Mathieson and the other engineers had developed a great respect for the man. In truth, it was difficult not to admire him. Cameron was one of those rare people with an instinctive understanding of how things worked and an inventive mind that saw where there was a margin for improvement. He was highly analytical but at the same time creative and surprisingly tolerant—a maverick scientist in attitude if not in bearing and a natural technologist and inventor.

  Cameron had, in essence, devoted his entire life to the study of the sciences—to anything scientific that piqued his interest—and to the study of how the various branches touched another; he was always working on some new, ambitious project and looking for opportunities to expand his knowledge. Cameron was now rarely seen outside the perameters of the UESRC research labs.

  Sergei Zhdanov, too, seldom left the labs. He was a man in Cameron's mold, hand-picked by the older scientist as the newest senior member of the UESRC, replacing the former head of the chemistry department, Maria Guzman, who had retired after nearly a century of work. Zhdanov was, by all accounts, a mathematical genius and brilliant chemist, a fact which had initially brought him to Cameron's attention.

  Yet Zhdanov had struck Cameron as a decisive force, a breath of fresh air that the UESRC badly needed. And importantly to Cameron’s mind, Zhdanov was also very pleasant to deal with, a natural at explaining the complex in simple terms and thus the perfect UESRC spokesman.

  Zhdanov himself vaguely remembered the shorter, wiry blond man, Gurney, and the husband and wife team from several years ago, when he had met them all on a brief visit to the UESRC. Cameron had mentioned them a few times since then, but Zhdanov was still trying to put names to all of the faces at the UESRC. The three pilots had established themselves as promising potential alpha centauri flight crew. But, Zhdanov thought, who knew if that venture would come to anything now?

  Zhdanov signaled the recon team over to the gangway to see if they had any weapons packed away—just in case any aliens on board the spaceship turned out to be less than friendly. Zhdanov shuddered at the thought of meeting any. Then he smiled to himself.

  “Strange thing to be toting a laser gun,” said Zhdanov. There were few weapons on Earth.

  The shuttle crew had a few small laser stun guns, most often used to fend off large animals on expeditions into the rural zones.

  “Could we use the hand-held laser batteries as weapons?” Gurney asked.

  “We could give it a try,” said Zhdanov. The laser batteries power packs had been stowed on each ship in case of emergencies, to repair, weld or cut a way out if necessary.

  “Agreed,” said Knightwood.

  Gurney, Sasha, and Richard retrieved four heavy tubes with pencil-thin nozzles, then slung them across their shoulders before Knightwood took the lead. There wasn’t much point to bringing any more weapons; even if there were hostile aliens on the alien ship or around it, the Earth possessed no weapons that would adequately defend them against any alien technology, which obviously surpassed that of the Earth. Weapons of any kind were almost pointless, but the team still wanted something to use in self-defense.

  “Ready as we’ll ever be,” said Richard.

  The ground felt sludgy and hot even through their flight boots. They took tentative, strained steps across the yielding ground, gradually tiring with the effort; about two meters from the ship they halted. There hadn't been any apparent signs warning them to stay away. In the eldritch atmosphere created by the steam, no sound could be heard except the shuffling of the material of their uniforms swishing as they edged closer, yet the heat had a nervous effect upon them.

  At long last, thought Cameron.

  Much to Knightwood's surprise, Cameron was the first to step forward and raise his hand to stroke the hermetic surface of the alien vessel. For a moment, they all waited with baited breath for something to happen, but after a few minutes passed uneventfully, they each began to breathe freely again.

  "No one seems to be home," Gurney suggested, shrugging.

  "That may be, or they don't much care for our welcoming party." Richard said. "But they're actually probably studying us. Waiting—for us to do something first."

  "You think they know we’re here?" Gurney asked, stepping back reflexively.

  "I’d say definitely," Richard guessed as he stared up at the sheer face of the ship that stretched upward to the clouds. It was so beautiful, a liquid-looking midnight blue. How could anything so beautiful have been fashioned by hostile creatures? he wondered. It was unimaginable. Yet this thought offered him small comfort; he kept expecting to be incinerated by some kind of evil, energy ray.

  "They could have all died in the crash, though, couldn't they?" Gurney retaliated.

  "It’s possible, I suppose, but not likely," Knightwood said.

  "Maybe the ship was automatically set to approach the nearest planet that could sustain life," Gurney suggested. "Or—maybe not," he shrugged, noticing how Knightwood studied his words.

  “Hmmm,” she replied. “That is an idea. I do think we are being watched.” She added. “And if these creatures are far more technologically advanced than we are, perhaps we interest them. Perhaps they may watch us rather than destroy us. What would they hope to gain by annihilating us, if they can create ships like this that can fly all the way to our galaxy?”

  “Good point,” Zhdanov said with a nod.

  "What does it feel like, Cameron?" Sasha asked curiously, standing close behind the scientist. In a minute, she avowed silently, she was going to see for herself no matter what anyone else did.

  "Remarkably smooth." Cameron declared, still touching it with the flat of his palm.

  "Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sasha remarked appreciatively. “It looks seamless," she commented, equally impressed.

  "It does, doesn't it?" Cameron
agreed with equal admiration. "In that case, I vote we all look around for a way in."

  "What?!" Gurney protested, shaking his head. Had Cameron had lost control of his mental faculties?

  "I don't mean we'll be paying a visit." Cameron amended himself. "I must admit I'm more than a bit curious as to what exactly this is. However, I'm not as foolhardy as you might think. I merely wished to suggest that we at least try to figure out where they might disembark, if indeed there is a way out."

  “You think there might not be? So, is it a tomb of some kind, then doctor?” Richard asked.

  “I’m not saying that necessarily,” Cameron replied, shaking his head. “It could be anything. But it does appear to be remarkably well sealed. It could be an alien refugee ship under some kind of quarantine for all we know.”

  "Yet you’re suggesting we walk around it?" Zhdanov asked skeptically.

  "What else?" Cameron shrugged. "Since we’ve failed to discover anything by using a scanner. And a ground shuttle might be perceived as threatening."

  "I suppose," Zhdanov admitted.

  "Anyway, someone has to go first." Cameron threw out, in a manner that was disturbingly fatalistic to the others.

  "Who does he mean?" Gurney whispered to Richard.

  "We will all go, of course; we’ll divide here and each group take one direction around. I only meant that someone has to take the risk first." Cameron explained, remarkably composed under the circumstances. "If it isn't us, then it'll be someone else.”

  “Only why did it have to be us?” Gurney said under his breath.

  “Anyway, you can be certain whoever's inside has a plan." Cameron continued hastily, to cut off any interruptions. "We can't change that. If they wanted to kill us, they could have done so by now; when they decide they've learned enough about us, they still may. And if they exterminate us, you'd better believe that we won't be the last.

  “But the point is: whatever they decide to do, it's out of our hands, at least as long as we stay here without doing anything, without trying to learn anything about them. If they've got a plan, we might as well try to figure out as soon as possible what that is. Someone has to."

  "What if they aren't hostile at all?" Sasha wondered. "Suppose they came here because they need our help?" she suggested, her pale eyebrows raised. Gurney turned to offer her a galvanizing grin. "I don't know, perhaps they need supplies—" Sasha continued, then conceded defeat. "Okay Gurney—knock it off—" she sighed, ignoring his antics. After all, what could these aliens need from the Earth?

  Meanwhile, Knightwood regarded her mentor thoughtfully, astounded by Cameron's sentiments. She had thought he would swear off the thing like bogeymen were inside. Here he was agreeing with her, more or less, even if they had little choice anyway but to look for some sign of activity.

  There was only a handful of other scientists around the world who would know what to look for around the spaceship or know how to read the signs and take useful data, as they did; Knightwood had tried to make it easy on herself by volunteering for this mission, before she was ordered to go, not that anything would have kept her from it. She was a patriotic fool when it came to this little planet called Earth.

  And even any fool could see that the fate of the world was at stake.

  Chapter Four

  From the far distant trees, came the cry of some kind of owl. After an hour and a half in fruitless searching, the two teams made their way back to rendezvous at their initial arrival point.

  "Good to see you," Gurney mouthed, hailing them from a distance.

  Richard thought he detected relief in Cameron eyes when the others approached, but all he said was, "They took their time, didn't they?" in tones of mild reproof.

  "Not much this way," Gurney was breathing hard as he spoke, now within hearing. Their team had been absorbed in the search and had to hurry to make it back by the designated time.

  "We think we found an airlock." Richard said, relishing the two other scientists' reactions.

  "Can you be sure?" Knightwood asked excitedly, looking directly at Cameron for corroboration.

  "Well, actually no," Cameron admitted, arms akimbo. "We did find a seam in the smoothness of the hull. I ran my finger over it, but I couldn't feel a depression. I'm inclined to believe we found an entrance, but we couldn't get it to budge. Not that I ever thought we would."

  "Is he always this optimistic?" Gurney whispered to Richard behind his hand. Richard only shrugged.

  "I know what you're thinking, Cameron," Zhdanov said, wagging a finger at the older scientist.

  "You do?" Cameron stood his ground but seemed curious to hear it.

  "We'll have to wait for their move now, whatever that may be."

  "Yes, well, I suppose I would have said something along those lines," Cameron admitted, then coughed. “I had not thought myself so predictable.”

  "You think maybe the entrances aren't at ground level?" Knightwood suggested, to no one in particular.

  "Maybe we just can't detect them," Sasha offered.

  Cameron nodded. "In either case, I suggest we head back to the base, make a report, and discuss the situation with our colleagues. We've done all we can. Besides, if I know Hollendar, he'll have the entire base up in arms if we don't get back soon."

  "What if they're waiting for us to leave before they come out and zap the place?" Gurney asked, looking towards the ship.

  "You may be right," Cameron responded, "but there would still be nothing we could do about it here."

  "All the same, I think we ought to look around the impact sight first and take some samples of the ground and vegetation. We may learn something crucial about where this alien dreadnought came from," Zhdanov suggested.

  And we could still get that encounter you're looking for, and end up wishing we hadn't gone poking our noses around here, Gurney thought to himself.

  "All right, we'll start at the edge of the impact crater," Knightwood agreed.

  Cameron muttered something about protocol but did not object.

  "We'll accompany you," Richard said.

  "Yeah, I don't think I want to stick around here," Gurney whistled, looking back to the ship, thinking he wouldn't mind putting some distance between it and himself. "I've got a date with Nina tomorrow, and I don't want to miss it."

  "Well, you could go back to the recon shuttle and wait there by yourself," Sasha suggested.

  "I'd rather not," Gurney rejoined in good humor.

  A few minutes later, Knightwood had gone ahead to the tree line while Zhdanov stopped to collect a few rocks from the impact crater. The recon escort team lagged a little behind with Dr. Cameron, who appeared willing to let his colleagues take the samples by themselves.

  "Always rushing about," he laughed, this time in approval. Richard and Gurney exchanged confused glances. Her eyes fixed on the tree line where Knightwood was preoccupied gathering the samples, Sasha suddenly halted. On her left, Cameron, Richard, and Gurney continued walking. Sasha shook her head and tried to continue but lagged a few steps behind the others, slowing when a vague sound came to her ears again.

  * * * * *

  "Stop," Sasha called ahead. "What’s that noise?"

  Mathieson and Gurney turned around. "What noise?" they asked in unison.

  "If I knew that, I wouldn't have asked," Sasha returned. "But I think it came from over there." She pointed a few hundred meters to the left of the spaceship and to their far right, where the surviving tree line began.

  "There are a lot of strange noises around here." Gurney shrugged, then looked ahead and noticed that the recon shuttle team had turned around. Knightwood looked up, wondering why she hadn't heard anything.

  "We can't rule out the possibility that some animal out there was hurt by the impact." Cameron said to Sasha. "If we find an injured animal worth saving, we can take it back to the la
b and take a look at it to see if or how it was affected by the radiation. Why don't you go with Mathieson and Gurney and check it out—I'm sure we'll be fine without an escort." He said, stepping towards Zhdanov and Knightwood. Sasha nodded.

  "All right then, we'll follow you," Mathieson announced; almost at once his wife headed in the direction from which she had heard the sound, not waiting for anyone to catch up with her.

  She peered around in the steamy air and pressed forward until she felt that she was near the area where the call had come from. Vaguely, she sensed that Richard and Gurney weren't far behind her. After a few minutes, she stopped and leaned against a large oak tree, wondering if the sound had only existed in her imagination, when she heard another call, loud this time, and nearby. This time, the call sounded human.

  "Hello? If you hear me, please answer. I'll try to help you." Sasha cupped her hands to amplify her speech and waited, listening attentively. This time she recognized the answering sound as a kind of cry. She followed it, pushing back branches and stooping under boughs in her way. Then she came upon the person who had been calling to her.

  It was a little girl dressed in some ragged piece of clothing, sitting forlornly under a tree and rubbing a bare, mud-caked foot with her hand. The girl heard Sasha coming and stopped crying, then scrambled to her feet, looking about with bewildered eyes.

  Sasha stared at her. She was a remarkably beautiful child, with a mess of wild, unruly blond hair that had been covered by a layer of moist, clinging dirt; sapphire-colored eyes bright as a fish's scales reflecting sunlight peered out of a dirty face. When she saw Sasha, the little girl took a step back and regarded Sasha anxiously. After a few seconds, she suddenly burst into tears and ran toward Sasha, then clasped tiny, deceivingly delicate arms around Sasha's leg and squeezed hard, burying her face there.

  The cut on her arm was beginning to disappear.

  The others arrived moments later.

  "Well I'll be damned!" Mathieson exclaimed, looking down at a wild creature that resembled a little girl, clinging tightly to his wife. Muddy streaks had marked Sasha's white uniform near the child's face. "Where did that little tyke come from?"