Pierre Rousseau felt his head smack against the hard metal of the lab table and cursed violently. A coffee cup, he forgot how many it had been, spilled over onto his lap, staining the table and his worn jeans.
        "Merde," he spat, rising quickly, putting distance between himself and the brown liquid cascading on to the floor. Woozy from lack of sleep he stumbled against a chair and nearly fell backwards. He steadied himself and picked the chair up, trying to recall the number of hours of sleep in the past week and abandoned the thought. He had probably established a new world record. At least a new Swiss record.
        Electric light seeped through the window. Sun up was three and a half hours away.
        Pierre bunched some paper napkins and soaked them in the caffeine puddle. He cursed again as he gingerly picked up yesterday’s lab notes by an edge, stains running down the paper. At twenty-four, Pierre was one of the youngest students ever admitted to the Swiss CERN. After finishing his doctorate in Theoretical and Super-Chord Physics he further planned on becoming one of its youngest employees. He wiped his hands on his T-shirt and turned as the lab door opened. Enrico DeCesare walked in. Three years his elder, Enrico was the other half of the bright young team. Together they reported to Dr. Jean-Claude Morin, who supervised and controlled their progress.
        "Amico mio," slurred Enrico. "You want not to get killed. Not good for you." The Italian had been out to dinner that night, benefiting from their turn-based relaxation schedule. Pierre sniffed alcohol.
        "I smell beer." He spoke with a heavy accent, but with correct grammar. When it came to studying, Pierre could learn almost anything. "You are lucky. I drink this horrible mixture," he said pointing at the now-empty cup. The Italian threw his hands up; tomorrow it would be Pierre’s turn.
        "You know Marie?" Pierre assented. Everyone knew the brunette bombshell from Paris working in the Accounting Division. "She go with me to ristorante." Enrico smiled and smacked his lips. Pierre smiled back.
        "Cochon," he laughed. "You are a pig telling me this."
        The main computer came to life and emitted a shrill beep, a printer attached to it starting to noisily spew out paper. Pierre rose from the chair and walked over. He tapped a few keystrokes in the main console.
        "Sacre blue!" he exclaimed. Enrico looked up sharply and watched the young Frenchman turn to him, eyes wide with excitement.

        The phone buzzed loudly, waking Dr. Morin from a deep sleep. He tried to ignore the interruption but the caller was not to be deterred. Didn’t the caller understand that he had no intention of answering? Finally, the irritated scientist gave in, snatching the receiver.
        "Oui?" he nearly screamed into the phone. Then he remembered his wife and dropped his voice. "Allo?" he repeated.
        "Dr. Morin, ici Pierre." The youngster’s voice conveyed electricity.
        Ten seconds later, the head of the LEP laboratory at CERN demonstrated an agility leaving his bed that would have made his grandchildren proud.

        Dr. Morin rushed passed the security desk at the main building barely stopping to flash his identity card and puffed towards the elevators. He exited on the third floor and moved as fast as his age permitted along a corridor towards the LEP Control Section.
        CERN or the European Laboratory for Particle Physics is located saddled between Geneva in Switzerland and France. Nineteen Member countries and a further thirty one non-Member States collaborate in the world’s largest and most advanced Physics experimental facility.
        The Particle Physics Experiments group comprises over four hundred and sixty people, between staff members, fellows and associates. Dr. Morin was Head of one of the most important and prestigious groups in the PPE: the LEP Accelerator Group.
         The acronym stands for Large Electron Positron accelerator, a rambling facility consisting of 71 buildings stretched over 51,000 square meters of terrain. However, the main attraction is underground, a large circular hollow ring 26.67 km in circumference, excavated from live rock. In order to engineer this impressive facility approximately 1.4 million cubic meters of material had to be excavated. The remainder of the underground work consists of the four experimental caverns, 18 pits, 3 km of secondary tunnels and some 60 chambers and alcoves, reaching down vertically into the ground 150 meters.
        Dr. Morin burst into the LEP control room, adjusting his glasses as they slid down the bridge of his nose.
        "Dr. Morin," exclaimed Pierre as he entered. "C,est formidable," he began. Then he remembered his non-French speaking partner and lapsed into English. "The data...," he half stammered, thrusting a bunch of computer printouts into his boss’ hands.
        Morin examined the printouts eagerly, muttering to himself. Absentmindedly, he shuffled to a desk and sat down on a stool. Five minutes elapsed.
        "Mon Dieu," he muttered finally. He looked up at his two students. "The experiments are a success," he blurted.
        "Element one-fifteen," proclaimed Enrico. "We have found it!"
        Morin looked down at the data.
        Element one-fifteen, located on the Periodic Table to the right of the yet undiscovered element ununquadium, was commonly called Elerium. The ‘one-fifteen’ referred to its atomic weight. Up till now it was only present in UFO reactors and alien weapons. On that night, the young team of scientists had succeeded in producing a few atoms of it.

        X-COM Base Britain - Credenhill.

        Sergeant Bill Ramsay lay totally unmoving sighting through the night scope of his submachine gun. The Target was unknowingly making it easy, advancing through the grove of trees without much cover. Then again, the Target really didn’t have much choice; it was the only alternate route into the compound and Ramsay was well concealed. Nothing was going to pass his position, if he had any say in the matter.
        Ramsay held his fire until he saw a second silhouette detach itself from a nearby tree and trot off behind its companion. A cloud passed over the crescent moon, throwing shadows into the night. His scope adjusted to the change in brightness quickly but he lost both targets. Damn. The British ex-SAS NCO scanned the area hastily, locating his quarry crouched behind a large tree.
        Freezing rain poured on him, drenching him completely to the bone. In the past hours a puddle had formed around his prone body, adding pain to discomfort.
        "Incoming hostiles, Sector Four" he breathed into his mike.
        "Eliminate," came the succinct reply.
        Ramsay smiled grimly under his Kevlar helmet and started to squeeze the trigger.
        Suddenly, a black figure jumped soundlessly over the stone parapet to his left, landing not four feet from him, mud spattering the Brit's face. Red laser light pulsed silently in the night, striking his back. Ramsay lowered his head in frustration. "Bloody ‘ell," he spat.
        The dark figure smiled and spoke into a microphone. The language, although alien to the ex-SAS, was as terran as his own. His mike came on.
        "Eight, over." But he couldn’t answer. Officially, he was ‘dead’.

        "Gentlemen, the exercise is considered a draw." The Commander of X-COM Base Three (Britain) dropped a clipboard on a table and looked up. Stocky and barrel-chested, the sandy-haired Major let his gaze travel around his troops.
        "Which either means that you’re all the best there is or..." he paused, "the worst."
        Smiles erupted all around. There was no question about them not being the best.
        The exercise had pitted the commandos of Spain’s Team Five with those of their British counterparts. The former were tasked with overtaking the training area, a cottage located inside their base at Crendenhill, and capturing the proverbial ‘flag’. The latter team was assigned the defense of the enclosure. The Spanish team had broken into the cottage but had been ‘killed’ before they could reach the ‘flag’, hence the draw.
         Britain's first X-COM base was located in a disused RAF field a few miles away from Hereford, home of the 22nd SAS Regiment.
        Inside the warm cottage, troops relaxed in dry clothes, trading stories and jokes. International collaboration was being heavily pursued by X-COM; not only did it effectively enhance troop readiness and morale but it also strengthened X-COM as a whole. A cohesive organization was better prepared to withstand attacks and pressure from groups ready to capitalize on possible failures.
        "So who was the dark soul that got me? asked Bill Ramsay reclining in a sofa. Then he remembered that the Spaniards had a pretty good grasp of Shakespeare’s native tongue but weren’t that fluent. "Who killed me?" he repeated.
        A Spanish soldier, originally assigned to the Grupo de Operaciones Especiales, Spain’s elite counter-terrorism unit, raised his hand and gave him a wolfish grin.
        "Me."
        "Blimey mate, but you’re a silent one!"
        "Ah," dismissed the Spaniard. "With noise from rain, it is not difficult."
        "S’Okay Billy, got ’im back for you," laughed another ex-SAS.
        A young soldier rapped on the door and entered the room. Silently, he walked over to the major and handed him a piece of paper. The officer scanned it quickly and then looked at his troops.
        "Well, gentlemen. Green light for our little trip to the US for cross-training."
        "About time," someone said. "Can’t wait to try out the laser rifles."

        X-COM Base One - Cheyenne.

        Keller sat across from Catherine inside the base’s packed bar and stole a glance at her as she turned to return a comment from a passing friend. Man, was she pretty! A hard working soldier could certainly loose his head over her. He could just sit there and gaze at her liquid brown eyes and full lips all night, but that would probably look stupid.
        He kept his eyes on hers as she turned and met his stare. She smiled.
        "You’re staring," she accused.
        "Yeah, I know. At you." That caught her by surprise. "Well," he said, a laugh crossing his eyes. "It’s more interesting than staring at my drink."
        As on cue a waitress arrived. Thank God for perfect timing.
        "Can I get you anything to eat?" she asked pleasantly. They both reached for the menus and quickly ordered Italian.
        "Can I say something that might offend you?" Catherine asked sweetly. Keller winced. When women said that you just knew a whopper was coming your way.
        "I guess, but be gentle." He closed his theatrically.
        "You surprise me. I mean, beer and hard rock is more what I expected." As a birthday present he had given her two of Jacques Loussier’s best CD’s. A jazz interpretation with piano, drums and bass of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons and a selection of Bach. The recordings were incredible. A exquisite mixture of classical music and modern jazz. He lifted his Bloody Mary in a toast.
        "We try."
        "I meant...that wasn’t very bright." She suddenly switched topics. "It’s got to be a tough job. What’s it like out there," she asked suddenly. "You know, fighting the aliens."
        "Scary," Keller replied. "It’s not fun, but we have a great cause."
        She chuckled. "Yes, good ol’ planet Earth is definitely worth it. You know," she said, "you and your men are bringing in material that is incredible. The things we’re learning, the knowledge we’re acquiring is going to give the human race a strong push forward." He sensed that she was excited.
        "Let’s just hope we’re still around when the push comes."
        On the other end of the room one of his men threw back his head and whooped a little too loudly. He turned and high-fived with a friend.
        "That sounds very pessimistic," she said. He felt a certain tension rising. Maybe, he hadn’t said the right thing.
        "So far I think we’re doing a decent job. But," he looked at his drink. "I get this stupid feeling from time to time that we’re in for a real surprise."
        "You want to hear something really stupid?" she asked.
        Keller smiled and opened his hands, urging her silently on.
        "I’m kind of glad I’m here. I feel," she paused, "we’re doing something important, something that really counts."
         The noise from the end of the room grew louder and Keller glanced in its direction. The squaddie, a new man with Foxtrot team, chugged his beer.
        Keller caught Catherine’s inquiring look and hunched his shoulders. The waitress arrived with their pasta and offered them another round of drinks.
        "So, risking a cliché, how’d you land here?"

        Ridge strolled over to the table with Gonzalez in his wake.
        "Boss," he began. Keller looked up, ready to take some heat from Gonzalez. The Hispanic’s face was dead serious.
        Keller raised his eyebrows. "Problems?"
        "Could we talk with you a sec?" asked Gonzalez. Keller excused himself with Catherine and rose from the table. They took a few steps and Ridge pointed at the loud squaddie at the other end of the room.
        "Decker," he said. "New guy came in from SEAL Four. He’s been acting strange lately."
        "Oh?" asked Keller, his face suddenly hard as stone. Ridge looked at Gonzalez.
        "In the alien base," started the latter, "man, he pulled some weird shit."
        "I read the report from all squads. His actions were written down as courageous."
        "Fine line between that and damn crazy." Gonzalez was in the same squad as Decker. Keller motioned him to explain further. "The way he rushed that bug was just plain nuts."
        "Yeah," said Ridge. "He’s been carrying on all day like he’s got a Sidewinder up his butt."
        Keller tilted his head. "Sure, we’re all wired tight. What you trying to tell me, Chris?"
        "Well, we checked his room earlier."
        "That’s serious shit, Gonzalez."
        Ridge produced a transparent plastic bag from his pocket full of a white powder.
        "So’s this."
        Keller closed his eyes. "Goddamn," he said softly.

        Area 51 - Nevada. November 1st.

        Dr. Richards sat comfortably in the sedan as it sped towards Nellis Air Force Range. Beside him General Sachs scrolled through electronic documents on his laptop computer.
        The trip had come as a surprise, organized in the last minute by Sachs. Catherine, riding in the sedan immediately behind them, carried one of their two working Brainwave Pattern Emitter prototypes in a sealed metal case. Inside the third and last car rode two people that the scientist had never met. Dark blue suits but definitely not agency or military. More like business men.
        The caravan was protected by a group of heavily armed HUMVEEs riding in front and behind them and a couple of attack helicopters flying close by. Closing the convoy a van crammed full of electronic equipment.
        Their true destination wasn’t exactly Nellis AFB but an area north of it, located in the heart of a dry area called Groom Lake approximately one hundred miles NNW of Las Vegas. The controversial and famous Area 51, test bed for the Air Force’s secret Black Projects. Years ago, aircraft such as the SR-71 Blackbird had carried out their first trials from the base. More recently, the officially non-existing Aurora Projects were flown from this location.
        But the Area’s main controversy stemmed from the general public’s belief that it was the location of the Air Force’s Redlight Project, designated as a test flight facility for captured alien craft and heart of the Snowbird Project, theoretically established in the early seventies to research, develop and implement alien spacecraft technology.
        The general public was, of course, correct.
        The caravan sped on. A large fence door swung open automatically as they approached the external perimeter of the base. Richards couldn’t distinguish any soldiers around but did notice several cameras pivoting as they passed.
        Around them hard desert trailed off as far as the eye could see. Dust blew strongly in the chilly November air.
        Five miles further they reached the second perimeter, this one manned. However, the caravan didn’t slow down. Richards saw a security officer speaking into a radio as they hurried past.
        A few miles later he distinguished a low building advancing quickly to meet them. The HUMVEEs braked to a stop outside the structure but the sedans continued in through a large door, into what appeared to be an elevator. They remained seated in the cars until the elevators stopped softly. A large door slid open, strong light revealing a figure in the doorway.
        Richards followed General Sachs out of the car. The military man, a colonel Richards noted, saluted his superior officer.
        "General. Welcome to the base, sir."
        "Thank you, Colonel," acknowledged Sachs.
        "If you care to follow me this way, sir. We can go straight down to the computer lab."
        As the group started to follow, Catherine approached Richards and whispered in his ear.
        "Is this the place I think it is?" Richards simply nodded. Her eyes grew wide. "Wow," she muttered under her breath.
        Five minutes later the group entered into a large room. Computers and instruments the like of which she had never seen occupied most of the space. The room wasn’t that big, certainly not nearly large enough for the amount of people working inside. In the center of the room, on a white table an alien screen sat hooked to a myriad of cables. The screen was on.
        Catherine followed her boss as he strode into the room, arms opening wide. "Susan!" he exclaimed. A gray haired woman stepped forward, giving him a warm embrace. Old time friends.
        "It is so good to see you again," she said.
        "Too long, too long," muttered the scientist. "Friends should never let so much time pass."
        Catherine noted a twinge of regret. Maybe a long lost love?
        "Oh," said Richards, as if waking from a dream. "Let me introduce you to Catherine Clark."
        Dr. Susan Moore stepped up to Catherine.
        "Well, I certainly have heard quite a lot about you. I must say that you’re little ruse on the alien will go down as one of science’s greatest moments!" She smiled broadly and winked conspiratorially. Catherine immediately took a liking to the scientist. She seemed the perfect cross between a mother and a friend. Dr. Susan Moore was also one of the brightest minds in the country.
        "And General Sachs, whom I think you know."
        The two suits introduced themselves by name but gave no further details.
        "Yes, yes. It is a pleasure. And this," she said waving her hands around the room, "is our little home. Come," she said grabbing Catherine by an arm. "let me show you around. The rest of the group have already been subjected to the tour." Gently she led Catherine down the an aisle of equipment, explaining in a strong voice the functionality of each object. She spoke rapidly, so that the younger scientist had a hard time keeping up. Finally, they reached the center of the room, stopping in front of the alien screen.
        "The alien computer," said Catherine pointing at the white table. "We just managed to turn ours on yesterday."
        Susan Moore’s eyes gleamed, a smile crossing her lips.
        "Actually, this unit here has been on for the past thirty years. Since before you were born. Ah, makes me feel old."
        "Nonsense," said Richards behind their backs. "You look as attractive as ever." Catherine had a hard time believing what she was hearing.
        "Excuse me," she interrupted. "You’ve been interfacing with it for thirty years?" she asked incredulously.
        "Yes and no. We can use it up to a point. Then there’s wall, a password system of sorts we’ve never been able to break."
        "I’m sorry," stammered Catherine. "You must think I’m retarded. You’ve been using an alien computer for thirty years? I mean, you know how it works?" Catherine felt as if the whole world was appraising her and she wasn’t doing very well.
        "Don’t underestimate yourself," cut in Sachs. Catherine turned to face him. She noted the two suits huddled around her open case, examining the BPE prototypes with interest. "You just don’t have all the data."
        "To answer your question," said Richards. "About thirty years ago we recovered an alien vessel. Contrary to popular belief aliens bodies were absent from the crash site, as was most of the equipment we’re finding today. Just a very banged up drive, an Elerium core and two computers, one of which remained miraculously turned on and unharmed."
        "So we copied it," said Susan. "We had a computer in our hands, a technology we hardly understood. We decided to use it, to assume their technology into out world." She was looking directly into the Catherine’s eyes, waiting for a reaction.
        "Wait a second. Are you trying to tell me that our computers are based on this?" she said point at the alien apparatus. "This is crazy. You mean that the Pentium machine I bought last Christmas was designed from an alien computer?"
        "Not exactly. The first computers were based on our findings, on our observations of the alien machines. But then technology on Earth took off by itself. It was bound to follow a different path, even if the origins were common. The first designers developed circuits based on their own ideas."
        Catherine raised her hands. "Hold it. You’re seriously telling me that people like Steven Jobs knew about this when they started?"
        "Heavens, no!" exclaimed Susan. "I don’t think you could have found a more closely guarded secret. We just got things going, pushed people in the right direction and then let them go. In any case, back then we didn’t have the scientific knowledge or technological ability to replicate the circuitry. We understood what it could do and, over the years, learned how. But it was like being stranded on a deserted island. We didn’t have the tools necessary to build it. People like Jobs had no idea what we had. We just dumped the ideas into the world. Zeroes and ones. On and off states. Programming."
        "Programming," said Catherine starting to feel the strain. "You mean..."
        "No, no," interrupted Susan. "Just the philosophy behind structured languages. How to use instruction sets to make things happen, make electrons flow."
        Catherine thought of something smart to say but her mind was a mess inside a tornado. In the end she settled for a discreet ‘Wow’.
        "The BPEs," said Richards. "We saw the alien turn the computer on and use it. You see, maybe you’ve found a way to get by the system’s protection."

If you feel like contacting me with criticism (constructive, I hope) please do so at fsch@elpais.es