CHAPTER 31
The man who enjoys
marching in line and file to the strains of music falls below my contempt: he received
his great brain by mistake; the spinal cord would have been amply sufficient.
- Albert
Einstein
"Ideas and Opinions"
Renoldson was worried as he looked over the
set of three levers. Surely one of them
would open the giant, nearby door that led to the outside and to freedom. Or was it all three of the levers? Or perhaps some combination of them?
The chubby preacher shook his head. What should he have expected? A big, red button with a neon sign saying,
"Push here to open door?" He had about ten minutes before the spaceship
was ready to fly. The saucer still sat
behind him, at the bottom of the broad ramp that led up to the wide door. The levers that Renoldson studied were in a
corner near the bottom of the ramp.
There was nothing else around that looked like controls to the door, so
he had to assume these were the ones.
No soldiers had reappeared after the first
one he and Sarwin had encountered earlier.
The sentry had clearly seen the hole that Sarwin cut through the inner
door to reach this hangar and Renoldson couldn't understand why the place
hadn't come alive with alarms and guards.
The anomalous quiet made him uneasy.
He was trying to decide whether he
should fiddle with the levers now, to learn how they work, but also risk giving
himself away too soon; or to wait until the last minute and try then, but risk
not being able to get the door open fast enough.
He determined he would try now and
he would then use the laser that Sarwin had given him to destroy the door's
mechanism, so that it could not be closed again before they were ready to fly.
Renoldson's fingers danced over the
levers, trying to decide which to pull.
Eny Meany Miny Mo... I'll take door number two, Monty, he thought,
and pulled down the center lever. He
winced as a loud squealing noise filled the room, but them felt relieved as he
saw a crack of light appear at the bottom of the door. It was opening, slowly, and the pre-dawn
glow that filtered in was as lovely as an angel's aura to the perspiring
preacher.
Figuring he would check on the
saucer while the door slowly opened, Renoldson turned, but stopped dead before
he could take a step. Five men stood
between him and the ship. Four of them
were pointing M-16's at him.
Renoldson checked his shroud field
to make sure it was on. They
should not be able to see me, he thought. The five men formed a semicircle around
Renoldson, effectively trapping him in the corner in which he stood. The four men pointing rifles at him were
dressed in camouflage and looked like soldiers, but he couldn't see any
insignia.
The fifth man in the center looked very
different from his clean-cut, squared-away comrades. He wore a very crumpled blue suit with no necktie. The man looked like he had just rolled out
of bed. He had unkempt hair, which was
long overdue for a cut and a grizzly beard that
only half hid three awful scars on the side of his face. Although he was the only one not pointing a
gun at him, Renoldson could see the handgrip of a small revolver tucked in the
man's waistband.
"We know you're
here," spoke up the disheveled man, in Renoldson's direction, but not
directly at him.
Renoldson realized they could not see him.
"We knew you'd come here,"
he continued, "We were waiting.
You can't escape."
Renoldson stayed very still. Sarwin had told him that as long as he
remained motionless, the shroud field would render him perfectly
invisible. But if he were to move too
quickly, the distortion of the field compensating for his movement might be
noticeable, especially to someone already looking for it.
He decided he would move very slowly
to his right, toward the ramp, hoping they would not see him. Without even realizing it, Renoldson was
holding the laser torch the alien had given him. No one had ever pointed a gun at him before and he was terrified.
He took one small half step to the
right and froze again, watching for their reaction. There was none. They were
aiming their guns in his general direction, but not specifically on him. He could see their eyes twitching left and
right, trying to catch a glimpse of something.
Anything. That made him feel a
little better. He took another step.
Suddenly the largest of the
camouflaged soldiers moved and Renoldson froze again. But it wasn't that they had spotted him. The soldier put his hand up to his ear and
Renoldson could see a small earpiece there, with a wire that led to a radio at
his belt. Renoldson realized the
soldier was receiving a transmission.
The suited man noticed it also.
"What is it, Meyer?" the
frumpy civilian asked the big soldier.
"An alarm's been tripped in the
medical lab," replied Meyer.
Merely by that terse exchange,
Renoldson could tell the civilian was in charge and that the big soldier was
not too happy about it. Renoldson also realized
who was probably setting off that alarm.
He hoped it was one of Sarwin's intentional distractions and not the
alien himself.
"You'd better check it
out," ordered the suited man.
Meyer said nothing, but gestured to
the two soldiers on the other side of his boss. They nodded curtly in response, then turned and bolted off toward
a nearby door. The remaining three men
fanned out, maintaining their encirclement of Renoldson's corner, but now there
was more space between them. The
civilian boss was now at the far right, nearest the ramp, with Meyer in the
center and the other soldier on the left.
With his manpower suddenly cut in
half, the civilian must have felt a little more uneasy. He pulled his revolver from his belt, but
held it at his side. The two soldiers
continued to point their rifles toward the corner. Renoldson could see that if they fired now, they would miss
him. It bolstered his confidence and he
took another step.
Suddenly, Meyer tapped his earpiece
again, a telltale sign of another transmission.
"He's moving to the
right!" he shouted.
Instantly, all three guns were
pointed straight at Renoldson. Did he
move too fast? Did they see him? He glanced down at the floor, which in this
corner of the hangar was covered with black, rubber matting. He realized his last step had carried him
over a joint between two separate mat sections. He looked to the edge of the matting and saw wires coming out of
the edge. Pressure sensors! They could track his footsteps over the
different sections of the mat grid!
They had planted the mats here, knowing that anyone wanting to steal the
saucer would have to come to this corner to open the outside door.
Renoldson felt a panic attack
beginning to overtake him. He hadn't
had one in years, but this was as good an excuse as any to start up again. Unconsciously, he clutched the laser torch
so tight his knuckles turned white.
Then inspiration struck. The float harness! He could go airborne and not touch any of the sensors! With his free hand, he fumbled for the
harness control at his waist. In his
panicked state of mind, he didn't even remember that Sarwin had never showed
him how to control the thing. Small
matter, he would worry about that later.
He turned the device on and felt the now welcome sensation of the
painful harness straps, as he was lifted upwards.
Meyer put a finger on his earpiece
again. "We've lost him!" he
shouted, "No pressure anywhere on the grid!"
"Shit!" yelled his boss in
reply, "We can't lose him! Take
him down!"
Without question, both soldiers
pulled their triggers. Their invisible
target was now mostly above their line of fire and the most of the bullets
passed around and beneath Renoldson's legs.
Most of them.
Renoldson screamed in horror and
agony as a bullet stuck his lower left leg, shattering his fibula. The soldiers heard his shout and he could
see them raising their weapons toward the source of the sound. Beyond all rational thought, Renoldson
pointed the laser torch in their direction, depressed the trigger and waved the
weapon around blindly, like a madman conducting an unseen orchestra.
As Sarwin had warned him, firing the
laser with the shroud field on shorted out the field's mechanism and the shroud
melted away, exposing Renoldson to anyone looking. The shroud mechanism must have been linked with the float harness
also, because as soon as the field dissipated, he fell to the floor heavily,
his already shattered leg getting battered in the spill. Renoldson screamed anew at the redoubled
agony.
After what seemed like an hour, but
was probably only a minute, he as able to think past the pain. Mustering his strength and fighting the
pain, he sat up and leaned against the nearby wall, taking stock of the scene around
him. The first thing that hit him was
the smell; like charred meat. Through
the thin haze of lingering gun smoke, Renoldson could see the shapes of the
three men, none of whom were standing.
He could see that the two soldiers had been cut clean in two by the
laser, the top halves of their bodies having fallen at comically horrific
angles from their legs.
Then Renoldson heard a whimpering
sound. He looked at the bearded man,
who was sitting on the floor, cradling his right arm tight against his
chest. The man was rocking back and
forth and groaning. Renoldson then saw
that, lying a couple of feet away and still holding the small revolver, was the
man's right hand, which had been neatly sliced off just above the wrist. There didn't seem to be much blood, probably
because the intense heat of the beam had cauterized the wound.
Renoldson's own injury, however, was
a different matter. He saw he was lying
in a pool of his own blood, which was leaking profusely from his shattered
leg. He realized he wouldn't be
conscious for much longer if he didn't stop the bleeding. He fumbled at the buckle of his belt, hoping
he could use the belt as a tourniquet.
He was starting to feel a bit light-headed and the horrid scene around
him faded in and out of focus.
"Renoldson!"
The shout of his own name snapped
him back to full consciousness. With a
little effort, he focused his eyes in the direction of the sound and they fell
upon the now one-handed man in the frumpy suit, who was looking back at him
with a glaring scowl. The man had
seemed to overcome his pain enough to address the injured preacher.
"Do we know each other?"
Renoldson choked out.
"What the hell is your fat ass
doing here?" snapped the man, ignoring Renoldson's question, "Jesus
Christ, you cut off my fucking hand!"
"Well, you haven't done my leg
much good."
"You were supposed to be
Sarwin! Or at least one of those creepy
lizard bastards," shouted the man, "Where did you get that
technology?"
"Sarwin?" Renoldson played stupid, "Lizards? What are you talking about?"
"Bullshit!" shouted the
man, staggering to his feet. He nursed
his charred stump against his chest, under his jacket. "I let you transmit that damn interview
of yours so they would know we had one of them and come here to try and rescue
her. But you show up instead, with
their technology. So you must be
working with them. That means they're
probably here with you. Probably in the
med lab now. Is Sarwin here? Tell me, damn it!" The man bent down and with his left hand,
picked the revolver out of his severed right hand, and pointed it at Renoldson.
Renoldson looked at the three
hideous scars on the man's face and his mind drifted back to years ago, when he
had last been in this place. He also
recalled Sarwin's clawed, three fingered hands.
"I know you now," he said,
"You're the man I saw with the green alien all those years ago. You were the man with the bandaged
face. She did that to you, didn't
she?"
"Fuck her!" snapped the
scarred man, "What she did to me isn't important. What her kind is going to do to the world,
now that's important.
And here you are helping them to destroy humanity. What the hell kind of human being are you
anyway, Renoldson?"
"Destroy humanity?" Renoldson was starting to feel groggy again,
"They don't want to harm us. They
don't want to destroy humanity. From
what I understand, we have been holding one of their people captive against her
will. It sounds like we're the evil
ones here, not them."
"Idiot!" shouted the
one-handed man, "Who told you that?
Them? Sarwin? You have no idea, do you?"
"No idea about what?"
snapped back Renoldson, "They are a peaceful people. Yes, I have talked with this Sarwin. He seems a decent... soul. Why would they wish us harm? What could we have that they would want to
take from us? All they want to do is
get home."
"This is their
home!" screeched the man and pointed toward the floor with his gun. His anger was obviously boiling, forcing the
pain of his recent amputation out if his mind.
"What are you talking
about? This isn't their home. They come from another planet. Come on, you saw one of them yourself. They ain't from here, mister."
"Wrong!" shouted the man,
"They're not space travelers, you imbecile, they're time travelers! They come from an alternate planet Earth,
one on which humans never evolved. They
evolved from dinosaurs. Can you believe
that!"
The man was
pacing back and forth, scratching his scalp with the muzzle of the
revolver. His eyes had the wild look of
a kitten that had completely surrendered itself to the chase of a string. He seemed to Renoldson like a man not fully
in control of himself.
"But something
happened..." the man continued, "Some sort of accident. It changed history and now we’re
here, instead of them. So now
they're trying to go back in time to undo the accident and restore their
world. Do you know what that
means? Do you? That means our world is destroyed in the
process! Everything! Gone! And here you are, helping them do just that!"
"You're wrong. Sarwin is a decent being," choked out
Renoldson, "He doesn't want to hurt anyone. I can tell."
"You can't tell shit,"
retorted the man, his voice dripping with contempt, "I've run DNA
tests. Tests that didn't exist when we
first captured her. They originated
here on earth. There's no doubt about
it."
The one-handed man stopped pacing
and regarded the pallid preacher.
Seeing he wasn't getting through to the man, he seemed to soften a bit,
adopting a false air of empathy, which Renoldson might have caught onto if his
brain wasn't so deprived of blood. The
man tucked the revolver in his belt.
"Look..." the man
continued, "You've obviously gotten to know this Sarwin and I'm sure he
really is the decent being you think he is.
But the fact is, he's lost his world.
His entire life. And as I
understand it from his wife, he is at least partially to blame for it. Trust me, no matter how good a... soul... he
is, he'll do whatever it takes to get his world back. No price would be too high.
Certainly not our lives, that's for sure. Don't you see? Humanity's
very existence is in the balance here.
Everyone you've ever loved or cared for. Everything. You have to help me,
Renoldson. Tell me where to find
them. I know you know where they
are. I promise you... Sarwin and his cohorts will be well treated
if they give themselves up. They can
live long and happy lives in our generous custody."
Renoldson tried to focus on the man,
but his head was swimming.
"And we'll reunite Sarwin with
his wife," continued the man, "I promise."
Renoldson thought back on his
conversations with Sarwin. The alien,
or whatever he was, had indeed seemed racked with guilt over something.
"He did say something about the accident
changing everything here," he finally confessed to the bearded man.
"Yes!" exclaimed the man,
"You see?! I'm telling the
truth. Will you help me find
them?"
Renoldson sighed. His thoughts drifted over his friends and
family... his congregation... even
grouchy old Mephistopheles.
"I can only help you find
Sarwin," he said at last, "He's the only one here with me. If you swear he'll be well treated."
"Good... That's good!" said the scarred man,
"He's the leader. The brains. If we capture Sarwin and keep this saucer out
of their hands, we can delay them long enough to find and capture the others
quickly, before they can regroup. Good
man, Renoldson! You're doing more for
humanity than you'll ever know."
"Not really," gasped out
Renoldson, "Sarwin doesn't matter.
The saucer doesn't matter. And
if what you're saying about them is really true, soon we won't
matter."
"What do you mean?" asked
the man, his agitated demeanor returning, "Why?"
"Sarwin told me his people are
going home this day," Renoldson rasped, "whether he rejoins them or
not. They're waiting somewhere in space
for him to meet up with them. If he
doesn't show up, they'll just leave without him. He said they don't really need this saucer to get home. It would just make it easier for them, but
it’s really not needed. I had assumed home
meant another planet, but if you're telling the truth, they're going back in
time. And that means our time here is
almost up."
"Jesus," said the scarred
man, looking wildly around the room, first at the saucer, then back at
Renoldson, as if panicking. Then he
stopped and, with his remaining hand, pulled out a cigarette from his jacket
pocket and put it to his lips. Then he
produced a lighter and lit it up. He
took a long drag and seemed to relax a little, as if he had made a decision.
"That changes everything,
Renoldson" he finally said, "Time to take a different approach to
this problem."
He pulled the revolver out of his
belt.