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CHAPTER 5

Better a little with righteousness than much gain with injustice.

- Proverbs 16:8

Doctor James Branard did not like to be called away from his work, especially when he was so close to perfecting the compound he had been formulating for months. But Campbell had insisted he come today. The brass was pressuring Branard's team to come up with a faster, deadlier nerve agent. They feared the Soviets might soon introduce their own toxins into the escalating conflict in Vietnam. If so, the Pentagon wanted to be able to respond not just in kind, but in excess.

Unfortunately, his latest test that he conducted just this morning was a disappointment. The rhesus monkeys were still taking too damn long to die! When he unleashed his gas upon them, the monkeys screeched like they had been sprayed with acid. They pissed themselves, retched pink foam and clawed bloodily at the bars of their cages before finally and mercifully succumbing to his hellish concoction. They collapsed to the bottom of their cages; quivering, convulsing, blood and urine soaked piles of hair.

Branard remembered watching in disgust while he ate his egg sandwich breakfast, as he watched the monkeys convulse and die. His displeasure was not due to any sympathy for the primates. Repulsive creatures, he thought. You never knew what they might throw at you next; their food or their crap. No, he didn't care how many of them died, nor how horrible the death. They were just dying too fucking slow! Speed of expiration was what mattered. A gassed communist who took too long to croak might get off a last shot at an American soldier and that was not an acceptable situation.

But now, just past midday, Branard found himself in a different section of the covert government base at which both he and Robert Campbell were employed. He had never been to this part of the base before and was always curious as to what was kept here. The military managers did their best to keep everyone who worked on the base in a perpetual need-to-know status, each person being told only as much as was necessary for them to perform their individual functions. No one here was supposed to know about Branard's nerve agent experiments in his lab and he wasn't supposed to know what was going on here. Until now.

He was in a darkened observation room, watching from behind a two-way mirror, as Doctor Campbell talked with a creature so repulsive it made Branard long for the company of his test apes. Campbell had been telling Branard for weeks that he wanted to bring the younger scientist on board for a secret project. Branard tried to resist, as he was consumed with his nerve gas assignment, but Campbell insisted, saying Branard was the only one available with both the proper scientific background and enough secret clearance necessary for the assignment. Branard might have refused anyone else, but Campbell was an old family friend, so the aging scientist's request carried some weight with him. Besides, when Campbell told him it involved the study of a captured alien, Branard just had to have a look. He only wished it could have waited a few more weeks.

Though he was only in his early twenties, Branard's brow creased deeply, like that of a man much older, because he frowned so at the sight of the outlandish creature in the room beyond the mirror. Campbell had warned him about its appearance, but seeing the thing made Branard's skin crawl. It was so unnatural as to be unnerving to him. The green, reptilian being looked so unreal that Branard wanted this to be some kind of prank his old mentor was playing on him. He wanted the aberrant monster to be just some colleague in a costume who would, when they felt Branard had been suckered enough, yank off the mask and shout "Gotcha!"

But Branard knew it was no mask. He knew what modern makeup could do. He had seen the new film "Planet of the Apes" just a couple of months ago and damn if Roddy McDowell didn't really look like a chimp. However, the creature to which Campbell now spoke was no human actor. The shape of the thing's head, torso and limbs, though anthropomorphic, could not possibly be hiding a human body inside. The proportions were way off. The slender, three fingered claws could not possibly surround the bulk of human hands.

Branard shifted his gaze to his old teacher, Doctor Campbell. As always, the doctor's unkempt locks were a disheveled mop of red-orange hair that had become streaked with gray in recent years. Branard mused that when all the color was finally gone, his hair would look much like Einstein's famous coif. He knew that Campbell would have cherished the comparison, but since it was not in Branard's nature to give compliments unless it profited him, he never voiced the observation. Of course, old Albert never had the thick, red whiskers that Campbell wore, which completely covered the lower half of his face. The heavy beard had also become bedaubed with white. Campbell's piercing blue eyes occasionally glanced in Branard's direction; as if checking that the younger scientist was still there, but Branard knew he could not be seen through the mirror.

Branard could hear the two talking through the speakers and it was a strange conversation indeed. Campbell had told him that he and the alien had long since learned to understand each other's languages, but that they could not speak the other's tongue, because the differing structures of their mouths and throats did not allow it. Thus, the dialogue consisted of Campbell speaking to the creature in normal English and it replying in a series of unintelligible sounds, heavily punctuated with chirps that reminded Branard of hellish birdcalls. Campbell nodded along with the creature's ramblings, as if he understood every word. Branard shook his head in amazement.

The room in which this bizarre discourse took place looked much like an ordinary medical examination room, which was appropriate, because that was exactly what it was. Doctor Campbell was just completing a brief physical exam of the alien, which he had told Branard was routine. Campbell handed the naked alien a powder blue, terrycloth robe, in which the creature quickly wrapped its emerald body. Branard smirked at the pathetic figure. All it needed was a head full of curlers, fuzzy slippers and a cigarette hanging from the corner of its mouth and it could be the housewife from hell.

Campbell then opened a door opposite the mirror from which Branard watched and ushered the outlandish creature out. The alien walked into the next room, which from what Branard could see through the door was some sort of large apartment, complete with a table, chairs and what looked like a bed off to one side. He could see piles of books on the table and a color television set near the bed. Branard sneered. Even he didn't have a color television yet! Campbell shut the lights off in the exam room and followed the being out, closing and locking the door behind him.

Branard fumbled under his white lab coat for his smokes and lit one. Now that the examination room had been vacated, he didn't have to worry about the glow of the ember being seen through the mirror. He sank into a chair and the smoke languidly circled about him. He actually tapped his head to make sure he was awake and not dreaming this bizarre event.

Branard had known Bob Campbell for as long as he could remember, since childhood. It was Campbell who had inspired him to pursue a career in biology and chemistry, just as the elder Doctor had done himself. Campbell had been like a surrogate father to Branard. His real father had abandoned him and his mother when he was just a boy. It wasn't easy for Campbell, as Branard's teenage years were checkered with minor run-ins with the law. Nevertheless, Campbell always bailed him out and did his best to set the troubled youth on a straight course. Though Campbell never actually admitted as much, Branard felt the elder man regarded him as the son he never had. Though Branard would probably never admit it, even to himself, he would probably be serving a long prison sentence by now, where it not for Campbell.

Campbell taught the boy the sciences and Branard learned to take an interest in things biological. Early on, it was probably just the juvenile thrill of slicing up cadavers that appealed to him; but soon after, a real appreciation of science emerged. He had once considered becoming a medical doctor, but his impatience and abrasive demeanor made for poor bedside manner. So instead, he went into chemistry and zoology. With Campbell's reference, began working for the government, just like the old man. Since Branard was hardly the quintessential flower child that seemed to be everywhere these days, he ended up developing more powerful and deadlier poisons for the military.

This was a secret, of course. Even Campbell had no idea what Branard's covert task was. He wasn't supposed to tell anyone, including family and close friends. Branard didn't much care for rules. He might have told Campbell if it suited him, but he knew the old man would not approve and would sermon him about it. Campbell had quite a regard for animals, as the stinking cats and dogs the older man kept at his home attested. To be a good toxin developer, you needed the stomach to watch things die and Branard seemed a natural for the job. He drew again on his cigarette. Someone has to do it, he thought, without the slightest hint of guilt.

At that moment, the door of the observation room opened and Doctor Campbell stepped inside, flipping on the light. Campbell was a hulking man whose size and thick red fur might have given him the aspect of a grizzly bear, but his easy manner and affable disposition made him more like a out-sized friendly dog. Frightening only to those who didn't know him.

"So Jim, tell me..." asked the big man, "What do you think of Siverelle?"

Branard blinked as his pupils shrunk in response to the sudden brightness. "Siverelle? Is that what you call it?"

"That is what she calls herself," responded Campbell, a bit put off by the young man's cold reaction.

"She... right..." said Branard, gesturing behind him with his thumb, toward the exam room, "So are you telling me that you understood what it... she... was saying in there?"

"Of course," he replied, seemingly brimming with pride, "Her language is actually quite eloquent, once you learn all its nuances." He seemed rueful for a moment. "I wish I was better designed to speak it."

Branard let out a short laugh. "Then you'd look like that!" he chortled, gesturing back over his shoulder with his cigarette.

Branard had expected Campbell would react angrily to his laugh, but instead the old man looked off into space in the direction of the creature's cozy quarters, as if he could see through the walls. "There would be worse things in this universe to look like," he finally replied.

Branard pretended to rub his eyes, least his old mentor see them roll in his head. Branard had a sister now, as Campbell seemed to have adopted this thing as the daughter he never had! Branard realized he'd better play along and act respectfully. "So how long have you been caring for... Siverelle?" he asked.

The old man sat down opposite Branard and gestured to the younger man's cigarette. "You're a scientist, Jim. You know as well as I do that those things will kill you," he said, while simultaneously producing his own pack from a jacket pocket. Campbell lit one up and drew on it, sighing as the cooling smoke filled the giant chest.

"I made the mistake of lighting one of these up close to her, way back when she was first entrusted to me," he continued, the smoldering butt shaking up and down in his lips, "they don't do tobacco smoke very well, these aliens." Campbell took the cigarette out of his mouth and adopted a more serious tone.

"In July, 1947, she was brought to us here. They said she crashed in a flying saucer somewhere in the New Mexico desert. She has been in our care ever since."

"Christ," replied Branard, truly astounded, "That's twenty years! She's been here almost as long as I've been alive. You must know everything about her by now."

Campbell gave out a slight cough that might have been a laugh. "Not really," he answered, "She doesn't have a lot to say about herself."

"Not a lot to say about herself..?!" Branard was taken aback, "After twenty years you should know its whole fucking life story! If that thi... that alien... is really from a space faring civilization, there's a helluva lot we can learn from it. Think what that kind of technology could do for our military," Branard made a mocking wave with his hand, "Bye-bye commies! Do we have the saucer, too?"

Campbell looked down at his own feet. He seemed uncomfortable with Branard's words. "Yes, her ship is secured in a hangar not too far from here. It hasn't been very forthcoming with its secrets either. The eggheads have been all over it for two decades now. It's obviously very advanced, but they can't figure out how to make it work. The components are beyond anything they've ever seen and they can't read the language written on its controls."

Branard was becoming impatient. "Well then have this Siverelle show you how the damn thing works! Or at least she can translate the language for us."

"Siverelle says she can't fly it, which is part of the reason why she crashed in the first place. She doesn't know much about how the saucer works at all," Campbell replied, "She says it was built by another race who had captured and enslaved her. She was on one of their mother ships, which was passing near our solar system, when she tried to escape by stealing the saucer. She says they tried to stop her by ramming her and that, coupled with her lack of knowledge on how to fly the thing, made her crash into the Earth. As far as what's written in the saucer, she says it's their language, not hers, and she can't read it."

Branard shook his head suspiciously. "...and you believe that story?"

"The saucer does have prior collision damage that was not caused by the crash in the desert," retorted Campbell, a little defensively.

Branard again gestured back toward the alien's flat. "It doesn't look like you have any trouble sharing our knowledge with it," he said, "I saw books in there... a television. Isn't that kind of dangerous?"

"Dangerous how?" asked Campbell, "You think her star-faring people are dying to get their hands on our combustion engine technology? Besides, she's not telling anyone anything. She has no way to contact her kind."

"Well still, she could discover our weaknesses," argued Branard, "I'm still not sure I buy her 'I don't know anything about this technology' story."

"If you knew Siverelle like I knew her, you'd be more trusting," the older man said, "What would you have me do Jim, slap her around until she changes her tune?"

Branard didn't answer, instead drawing deeply on his cigarette, the ember blazing brightly in the sudden suction. After a pause, he exhaled sharply and from behind the smoke that now occluded his face he asked, "Well what have you learned from her, Bob? You've been examining her. Tell me about her physiology."

Campbell seemed a little eased that the subject was changing. "Well, as is not too difficult to guess from her appearance, she is reptilian in nature. But she is warm blooded and her kind give live birth."

"No eggs, eh?"

"No eggs," replied Campbell, snuffing out the remaining stub of his exhausted cigarette. "No milk glands either. They feed their young by regurgitation, similar to birds."

"Yummy," said Branard, flicking his used up butt into a nearby trashcan, not even checking if it was extinguished. "What about x-rays... blood analysis... stuff like that?"

Campbell eyed the trashcan nervously. Someday this guy will start one hell of a fire, he thought.

"Her skeleton has characteristics that are both reptilian and avian, but it has evolved into an anthropomorphic state; an upright shape similar to humans. Likewise, her blood has many qualities similar to our reptiles. I have a theory about her race."

"And that would be...?" Branard requested, knowing he would hear it anyway.

"I believe on whatever planet she is from, reptiles are the dominant form of life, just as mammals are, here on Earth. When a sentient being finally evolved there, it was from a reptilian source, so the end result was a reptoid, as I like to refer to her type of life form."

"Reptoid, eh?" repeated the younger man, rubbing his chin, "I guess that's as good as anything I could have come up with."

He fumbled for another cigarette. The sudden absence of smoldering tobacco was making him unsettled. Too much fresh air could kill a man.

"Speaking of me," he continued, "Why am I here? Why bring me in on this?"

Campbell seemed contemplative, then took the younger man's cue and reached for another smoke himself.

"As you know, my colleague and good friend, Bruce Jenkins, passed away a few months ago. He and I had been working together with Siverelle for the last twenty years. I remember when she first woke up in our lab, after she was brought here, so long ago. Oh, what a scream she let out when she first saw us! Then she fainted right off! Women are women, no matter where they're from, I guess!" The older man let out a big belly laugh, but it quickly degraded into a hacking cough.

"Careful there, pops," said Branard, reaching over to slap his mentor on the back. "Don't blow a lung on me here."

The older doctor recovered, taking a long, albeit wheezy breath. "Yes sir, we were as ugly to her as she was to us. But in time, we grew used to each other's appearance and it wasn't long before we realized that she had learned our language just by listening to us for a couple of months! It took us years to understand hers! Ha-ha! She's as sharp as a tack, you know. Got a one thirty-seven IQ!"

Branard was trying not to smile. The old man was going on like he was talking proudly about a daughter. Then Campbell got serious again.

"But now Jenkins is gone," he continued, "and it's just me left to care for Siverelle now. This is top, top secret you know... I think less than two dozen people on this planet know that she and her saucer even exist. Even I don't know the exact count. The agency keeps me in the dark about many things and I'm supposed to be running this show! Now that you know, you realize you're sworn to secrecy, no matter what."

"Cross my heart and hope to die," said Branard, sounding less sarcastic than he felt.

Campbell stared intently at the cigarette in his hand. "Jenkins death started me thinking about my own mortality. I'm fifty-two years old now, Jim," he went on, "I'm fat as a house and I smoke like a chimney. I won't be around forever. Siverelle will need someone to look after her when I'm gone. She tells me her kind can live well over a hundred years. Judging by the way she's holding up, I'm sure she's not exaggerating. So I need someone to take over for me... someone to take care of her. ...and I need to start training that person now, while I'm still alive and sound enough to do it."

The older man took another draw. "I'm asking you to be my replacement, Jim. You have the necessary security clearance already and you have the scientific background I need. I don't know what they have you working on now, but it can't compare to this; the chance to study and learn about a being from a different planet. I know you've had some problems in the past Jim, but I think you've become a good, mature adult. I'm proud of you. I've always been proud of you. What do you say, will you take over for me? Will you care for her?" The look of sincerity in the older man's cobalt eyes almost touched Branard. Almost...

"Let me think about this, Bob. It's tempting, for sure. There's so much to be gained here; so much to learn. Can I sleep on this and give you my answer tomorrow?"

Campbell nodded, but Branard already knew his answer. He would care for this thing. He would wrest the secrets out of it that the softhearted Campbell could not. Nerve gas would be like the Clovis point compared to the potential military power that alien spacecraft surely contained.

He would make that power his.

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