A short while later, one of the assistants wheeled in the young male Indigene and gently placed its small body on the examination table. Dr Jameson entered the containment unit first with the two doctors behind him. The roving camera hovered above.
Dr Jameson spoke. ‘Species 31 will remain sedated until a time when we are ready to wake it. We haven’t altered the gaseous composition inside the membrane, as it seems the alien is quite capable of breathing our air without any difficulties. We can only conclude at this early stage that it requires the same gaseous composition as humans to survive. We will be bringing the alien round shortly, but we don’t know if it has the capability to understand us, or whether it speaks any language at all. How useful the information will be from Species 31 is anyone’s guess.’
Bill examined the 3D body scan of the Indigene that accompanied the video. Physically, it looked like a human and its size was comparable to that of a twelve-year-old boy.
As the roving camera trained in on the young Indigene, a flicker of movement caught Bill’s eye. It wasn’t until the Indigene’s breathing pattern changed—from long even breaths to short sporadic bursts—that the doctors also noticed.
Jameson turned to Dr White. The camera mirrored his movement. ‘How much sedative did you give him?’ White threw out some numbers. Jameson nodded, creasing his brow. He spoke into the camera, but kept his eyes on the alien. ‘What we have given to Species 31 is a dose designed for a human, but we can’t be sure if it’s too much or too little.’ Jameson turned to Henshall. ‘I think we should wake it.’
The female doctor nodded and prepared a syringe filled with liquid. The roving camera focused in on her and she explained. ‘This solution will counteract the administered sedative.’
White monitored the young Indigene’s heartbeat, which registered at thirty five beats per minute. It continued to breathe in uneven, short breaths.
Dr Henshall tied a piece of rubber around the upper part of the Indigene’s arm and pulled it tight. She slapped the arm in several places.
‘I can’t find a vein.’
‘Just use the same one as before,’ said Jameson.
She examined the arm and pulled in an extra source of light to help. ‘There’s no evidence of the original entry point.’
‘Then you’re going to have to guess.’ Jameson tapped his finger in the crease of his elbow. ‘Insert it here.’
Henshall applied too much force and the titanium needle broke twice. On the third attempt, she broke through the skin. It only took a minute for the young Indigene to stir from its drug-induced sleep. It blinked its eyes open, but squeezed them shut just as quickly, straining against the harsh lights.
‘Dim the lights by two-thirds. Now!’ Jameson paced back and forth.
The laboratory plunged into near-darkness and took on a more sinister look. The young Indigene tried to open its eyes again and this time seemed more comfortable with the level of light. Its glazed eyes looked around, confused by what it was seeing.
‘The alien’s eyes seem to be photosensitive. See the lack of pigment here?’ The lead doctor stopped pacing. The roving camera nose-dived for a better look.
The Indigene, trapped beneath leg, body and arm restraints, began to panic, twisting its arms until one broke free from its wrist clamp. White, Jameson and the assistant rushed to restrain the alien while Henshall struggled to strap down the rogue arm.
Jameson yanked the hood off his head and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘We are attempting to place further restraints on Species 31. It seems to have broken... Shit, this thing is strong! I need help over here!’ He trailed off and protected his face as the Indigene’s free arm flailed about.
A low guttural snarl escaped from the alien. The twisting and thrashing gave way to violent convulsions directly beneath the doctors’ grip. They let go and backed away from the table. Jameson shot a look at Henshall.
She shook her head and stared at the Indigene. ‘That wasn’t me.’
‘White, help me hold it down.’ Jameson attempted to restrain it once more. ‘Give it the anti-convulsion drug, quickly.’
Henshall picked up another liquid-filled syringe and quickly pushed it into the alien’s arm. The needle bent again, but the skin yielded to her urgency.
They only let go when the convulsions stopped. All four stood back from the table, watching and waiting.
Jameson was silent. His mouth fell open but he had no words to explain what had just happened.
Bill opened a new recording. The same three doctors came into view, more composed than before.
The young Indigene lay motionless on the table. The surrounding area was like something out of a horror story: bedsheets and bandages littered the floor, cutting instruments that were previously placed neatly on the tray were now haphazardly tossed around.
Jameson clicked his fingers at the assistants, and noticed the camera was still recording. They quickly removed the debris from the floor. Surprisingly, there was a lack of blood and no tell-tale incisions on the Indigene.
Jameson cleared his throat and pushed his hair out of his eyes. ‘At first we thought the epidermis was translucent in colour, but on closer inspection it was actually opaque and not as delicate as we first expected. In fact, it’s several times more durable than human skin. The laser scalpel had trouble penetrating the outer layer. Skin pigmentation is not visible. I’m not even sure there are melanocytes present in the toughened layer. Species 31 is capable of regeneration. We cut it several times but it healed in less than a minute, even in posthumous conditions.’ He touched the Indigene’s face. ‘The eyes lack pigmentation, which probably explains its photosensitivity. It can see better in the dark than we can.’
Bill had read about a case in the early twenty-first century: children in East Asia and South America were recorded as having the ability to see in the dark. Their eyes resembled round glowing dots in low light, much like a nocturnal animal. At the time, doctors had attributed the mystery to leukoderma, a rare condition which strips pigmentation or melanin production in random areas of the skin, leaving white patches. But where it affected the eyes, it would cause blindness. The medical world turned its attention towards hemeralopia—or the inability to see clearly in bright light—to explain the increase of these nocturnal-children cases. The story lost momentum when nothing beyond hemeralopia could explain it.
Bill tuned back in to Dr Jameson.
‘There’s no sign of hair papillae anywhere on Species 31’s body. We also found low levels of red blood cells in its body, other than trace remnants in the digestive system.’ He sighed. ‘Human blood accounts for seven per cent of bodily fluids. In Species 31, it accounts for less than one per cent. When we sliced the skin open, a clear fluid secreted out. It’s what gives the alien its translucent appearance.’
Dr White picked up three items and showed them to the camera. ‘We discovered these, in the alien’s nasal cavities and in the back of its throat. We think it’s an air filtration device. It would explain the scarring we found on its lungs. Species 31 didn’t die because of anything we did. It died because of too much oxygen to the brain.’
Bill turned off the video and leaned hard into the chair. He tried to dislodge the disturbing image of the panicky young Indigene from his mind.
He checked the time. There were twenty minutes to go before the meeting at seven. He closed all files and opened the communications channel on the DPad to try to pick up the wireless signal from the teddy bear. He located the unique signature code, although the sound was muffled and images were grainy at best. The bear was probably still inside the boy’s backpack.
Centring the entire investigation on Ben Watson was a bold step. Normally he wouldn’t think to place an eight-year-old in danger, but he needed answers: where their hideout was, why they’d suddenly come out of hiding. The boy must make it to his scheduled meeting.
Bill picked up a tiny earpiece and slotted it into his ear canal. He thought about the Indigene called Stephen
and wondered why it had chosen to give itself a human name. Was it the easiest way to blend in?
With a fresh cup of coffee, he scooted his chair over to the window and watched Belgrave Square Gardens. Was it luck that the ITF had chosen to rent this very apartment? Still, even with the magnification glasses, he couldn’t see the bench where the two were due to meet, which was hidden behind a clump of leafy trees.
It had been his choice to stay in his apartment and send his team out on the ground. He didn’t trust being so close to the Indigene. If there was an opportunity to apprehend it, he would tell his team to make their move. For now, the recording device inside the bear would act as his eyes and ears. Surely the Indigene would not suspect an innocent toy?
He checked in with his team, who remained on standby in the gardens, near to where the meeting would occur. With moments to go, the images changed from grainy to clear. He hit the record button on his DPad and leaned forward, staring at the screen.
9
Ben Watson had worked hard over the week to come up with an escape plan for the following Saturday. He prayed his mother would be so tired she’d sleep late again.
He planned his escape one evening with his avatar’s help. When the avatar voiced his concern about him going to meet a stranger alone, he lied and said that he had known Stephen for ages.
That morning, he rose early and crept towards his mother’s room. He held his breath as he cracked the door open just a notch. The sounds that drifted towards him put him at ease; little could rouse her when she slept that hard. But if she did wake, his avatar, Thomas, would tell her the story exactly as they had agreed it. With the child-safety features disabled, Thomas was able to lie. He carefully placed the stuffed bear in his fully stocked backpack.
Ben arrived at Belgrave Square Gardens with minutes to spare. He skipped towards the bench; this time, not caring if he was being followed. He sat down, pulled out the bear and placed it beside him.
Stephen watched Ben from behind a cluster of large replicated trees. The boy was always alone, and a feeling of empathy consumed him; a long way from the fear and loathing he’d felt the week before. He tried to shake it off and even evoked images of his dead parents to serve as a reminder of the Surface Creatures’ true nature. He thought of Pierre and Elise, the more open-minded elders of District Three. Pierre had told him not to be so quick to judge; advice from a friend of the Indigenes. Who that was, he wouldn’t say.
On the spot, Stephen shifted his body from side to side until it became just another shadowy blur. He was aware of the military figures that lingered close to their meeting spot, as they had done the week before; he had been able to pick them up by their individual scents. He wondered why they were sitting back, allowing this meeting to happen. Were they driven by something more than a wish to capture or kill him? Were they curious to know what would be shared?
Stephen could already feel the sun’s heat beginning to build. His protective eye lenses and air filtration device would only last so long. He would need to limit his time on the surface.
While he waited for the park to empty a little, he recalled the time the Surface Creatures had attacked their planet thirty years ago. The tunnels, colder than the surface, had protected his race from the blasts’ severity, but living underground was only supposed to be a temporary measure until the worst of the airborne chemicals had dissipated.
As an Evolver, he had been fascinated by the heavy door made from the impervious omega rock, which stood between the air-controlled environment and the tunnels leading to the surface. But his childlike strength wasn’t enough to budge it. He couldn’t leave District Three without someone older and stronger.
The explosions had tainted the surface air but there were soon whisperings that the air was once again breathable. Stephen had watched the first of the exploratory groups approach the omega door, dressed in outfits the females had made, ready to take their first steps up top since the air had been chemically damaged. One by one, they had returned, their faces sullen. In the midst of the Indigenes’ efforts to reclaim the surface as their own, Stephen had pieced together details about the conditions outside through their conversations.
‘Nothing remains,’ said one.
‘Everything is covered in a thick, lingering dust,’ said another.
Their cities, their homes—the places where they once socially gathered, discussed, meditated—no longer existed. The atmosphere, polluted with harsh chemicals, still aggressively burned their throats. When the explorers returned to the district, they suffered coughs which lasted for days. A few struggled with life underground while most adapted, creating large cavernous rooms off the existing tunnels. Those who possessed a heightened spatial awareness had sped up the excavation by analysing the rock’s composition and finding its weak spots.
The years passed and Stephen kept his own notes about the conditions of the surface as seen through others’ eyes. If the scientists’ and his own calculations were correct, then the last of the chemicals should have been gradually absorbed by the land. Excitement and expectation coursed through the residents of District Three, but an unexpected change in Exilon 5’s atmosphere had set everything back.
The new atmosphere contained high levels of oxygen and some nitrogen. The high oxygen levels made the air too corrosive for them to breathe. The elders had ordered the districts’ entrance points to be hermetically sealed and the areas beyond were redesigned to give them everything they needed. With their main food source gone, they had to create a synthetic protein compound that eliminated the need to hunt above ground. While the compound didn’t satisfy their hunger in the same way, it had been vital in helping to keep them alive.
Good memories about resurfacing had stayed with the Indigenes. Stephen longed for the days with grey and obtrusive skies and tiny glints of sunlight, and little or no wind to shift the cloud line.
The sun’s strength, greatly diminished by the cloud mass, had kept the air temperature at a constant five degrees centigrade; the Indigenes were more suited to living in cooler conditions. Advanced visionary capabilities allowed them to see in the dark and into light, to break it apart into its seven strands of colour. Living on the surface was like being inside a giant prism.
Stephen hadn’t quite understood the obsession of some to return to the surface, particularly after the news about the new atmosphere was released. It frightened him to learn that his parents had joined an independent group that would surface to discover the changes for themselves.
In the oxygen-rich atmosphere on the surface, the independents soon struggled for breath. Elise, an elder, stayed with Stephen while he watched his parents on a monitor inside one of the district’s rooms. When he saw his parents suffering, he bolted for the omega door.
Elise caught him before he could reach it and pulled him back inside the room.
‘Pierre, do something,’ she pleaded with her husband. ‘They’re in pain. I can feel all of them.’
‘He shouldn’t be watching this,’ he said.
‘He wants to see.’ Several times, Elise tried turning Stephen’s head away from the monitor, but each time he fought her.
‘They shouldn’t have done this,’ said Pierre.
Even then, Stephen had known he wasn’t referring to the independent group but to the Surface Creatures who had carried out the explosions.
‘Tell the others to get out there, now!’ said Pierre.
It was the first and the last time Stephen ever saw Pierre angry.
Strange patterns had soon begun to appear in the weather. Yellow and orange hues streamed through light shafts in the district. They sealed them immediately when the tunnels began to heat up. Soon after, the Surface Creatures arrived.
Stephen caught himself as he noticed that Ben had arrived. He watched as the boy sat down, removed something from his bag and placed it beside him.
Stephen darted to the bench and sat to Ben’s right. The area was secluded and there were few Surface Creatures about. Tho
se who passed by didn’t pay them much attention.
The black-haired, wiry-framed boy jumped when he noticed Stephen sitting beside him. He threw a hand over his stomach, bending over at the middle. ‘Holy cow! You scared me! Where did you come from?’
‘Just over there.’ Stephen pointed to their right.
The boy followed his finger until his eyes rested on the cluster of trees. ‘Well, don’t scare me like that again. I’m not supposed to be here. If my mum finds out—’
‘I forgot you don’t move at the same speed. That was a natural pace for me.’
Ben narrowed his gaze. ‘How fast can you move?’
‘Five, six times as fast as you.’
‘Cool.’
Stephen pointed to the object sitting between them. ‘What’s that?’
Ben’s face broke into a toothy grin. ‘It’s a teddy bear, silly! You can’t get them anymore, but this one was a present. His name is Snuffles, because his nose looks funny. Kinda upturned. Do you like him?’ He held the bear up as high as possible, so Stephen could get a better view.
‘Present from whom?’
‘My Dad.’
Stephen looked into the reflective black eyes of the toy, but made no move to take it from Ben. He brushed his hand lightly across the furry exterior. It felt soft.
Ben sat the bear on his lap, angling it so it was looking at Stephen. ‘How long have you been here for? Were you waiting for me by the trees?’
‘No, I arrived moments before you did,’ Stephen lied.
‘This is really early,’ said Ben. ‘Why are we meeting in these gardens instead of at the bus stop? Why did you want to meet at seven in the morning? I know why I’m out this early. It’s so my mum doesn’t find out where I’ve been. She doesn’t know anything about my adventures. If she did, she’d lock me in my room.’
Stephen made no attempt to loosen his rigid seated posture. He stared blankly in front of him while he used his peripheral vision to scan his surroundings. Ben rambled on about nothing in particular. When it seemed like he wasn’t going to take a breath anytime soon, Stephen moved into a more comfortable position.