The interrogation room was a sterile white space, entirely empty save for the faux wood folding table positioned squarely in the center, three folding chairs positioned around it. Glen Cross sat in one of the chairs, facing the door. Having waited for hours, he impatiently tapped his fingers against the surface of the table in droning rhythm.
Two chairs were set opposite him, presumably for the goons who would try to double team an answer out of him regarding what he had done to the loading manifest. The young man was eager to see who they would send at him; a high-ranking official, or some flunky with only boot camp experience from which to draw his wisdom.
His dark eyebrows rose in anticipation as the door jostled, the knob turning before the sound-proofed room was violated by two familiar individuals.
"Wow!" He exclaimed, leaning back in his seat. "It's the big guns themselves!"
General Tomlinson was clearly not amused. He marched in with purpose, his larger than average frame taxing the low-budget chair as he plopped himself down. Ambassador Butler closed the door behind them and walked a bit more casually, looking over Cross as he entered.
The subject was a young man; likely no more than twenty-seven or twenty-eight years of age. He was surprisingly well groomed, for a longshoreman; his black hair shining with some sort of glossy product that made it look wet, his whiskers shaven closer than seemed humanly possible. His face was well defined, almost chiseled looking. Glen Cross would be right at home on the cover of GQ Magazine -- if not for the oddness of his glowing eyes.
"General... Ambassador..." He began. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
"Have you been read your rights?" Tomlinson asked sternly, his own eyes locked intently on the peculiar stare of Cross.
"No." Glen responded plainly. "Why? Am I under arrest?"
"Something like that..."
"Should I ask for my lawyer and bring an end to this questioning quickly?"
"You could ask for one, but you're in my world now." The General continued. "I'll tell you he's on his way, if that makes you feel better... but he won't be joining us either way. Since no one has advised you of your rights under these circumstances, let me get the legalities out of the way by spelling it out... you have no rights! I will keep you here, until I feel that you've given me all the information that you could possibly have. When we're done, I'll set you free. Free, however, is an abstract concept. If I see fit to kill you, I'll do it -- and no one will ever ask what's happened to you. You clearly know who we are -- and don't be fooled, we know who you are just as well. We're gonna cut through all the bullshit real quick and get right down to the brass tacks!"
Cross started laughing; a quiet chuckle at first, growing into a hysteria that echoed through the room and made it difficult for Butler to think. He was tempted to cover his ears, but Tomlinson had told him of the importance of maintaining an air of control and power. The Ambassador had never sat in on any sort of questioning conducted by the General before; he was clearly an expert in his craft. The preparations for this interrogation were nearly as intense as those made by Fathers Merrin and Karras in the climatic scenes of The Exorcist, and the stakes were clearly just as high.
"Is something funny?" Tomlinson asked, straight faced.
"I'm sorry, Rich." Cross returned. "I've just always found you very humorous! They say that you think you know it all -- and you've lived up to your reputation!"
"How so?"
"You said that you knew who I was -- yet you clearly have no idea!"
"I know exactly who you are; you're a filthy Phloxan here to interfere with The Polyphemus Project. You know that if I get it back into the sky, your people are all but finished. A younger man might even say fucked!"
"A Phloxan?" Cross answered. "Guilty as charged; but which Phloxan? You speak as though we're all the same, but our society is just as hierarchical as this joke that you call Mankind. I could be Viceroy Umlatta... Lord Viiten... perhaps even Count Zeenadi."
"Count Zeenadi?" Butler piped up anxiously. "The Conquistador Of Kahnik? We were told he was killed..."
Cross smiled. "Don't you wish, stinking Keeper. There's no point in hiding in that suit of flesh; I can smell your wretched gaseous body so intensely that I may puke."
"I figure you're a bottle bum." Tomlinson jumped in. "Or whatever you call the slime that lines the bottom of the barrel on your world."
"Brave words, for a human. Since your kind is far to primitive to understand what's really happening here, let me address the slightly more advanced entity in the room. Ambassador -- do these creatures not understand our power? Have you neglected to tell Mister Tomlinson here that I could make his head explode with a simple thought?"
"Perhaps you could, if you were in your own body." The General returned, denying Butler the opportunity to reply. "I assume you have no power in this form; that was pretty obvious when I gunned down your pal on the interstate. Correct me if I'm wrong, Conrad -- but, if I'm not mistaken, killing our friend in this frail human body would likely mean a disgusting insect carcass would start rotting on that ball of rock he calls a home."
Butler didn't know, of course, but he had been told to play along with whatever the more experienced man said. "That's right, he'll be as dead as the Darcon Cluster."
Glen laughed again. "You truly have no idea what you're talking about, do you? This link is no different than what your children -- if you had taken the time to have any -- would experience in playing a simple video game! You'd kill my character, Mister Cross, but then I'd just take another and try my hand at the level once more!"
Before he could blink, the man was staring down the barrel of The General's pistol. It was clear in his demeanor that he wasn't opposed to using it; he had no qualms about firing a red hot slug directly through the skull of the man sitting face to face with him.
"Gee, I thought our research was pretty thorough." He bluffed, clearly ready to pull the trigger.
The smile faded rather quickly from Cross' face, leaving him looking deadly serious - if not frightened at the concept. "Go ahead." He said coldly. "Kill this innocent man -- there are plenty of others for me to take... maybe I'll choose one of you? Imagine the havoc I could wreak in one of your flesh outfits!"
"And maybe Elvira's titties are made of apple sauce. We're not a couple of rookies that you can sit here and spook out of their skins, pal! Let me make myself clear about how this is gonna work; when I ask you a question, you will answer it! If I do not like your answer, I'll put you out like a beef scented candle at a vegetarian convention! You seem to think you'll be fine to continue on your slithering way once I've dispatched this Mister Cross, but I beg to differ! I think you know as well as I do what will happen if -- when, rather, I pull this trigger! Maybe there's a way we can avoid that nasty little measure... but that's gonna be up to you! Do we have an understanding here?"
"Bold creatures, aren't they Ambassador?" Cross said snidely. "I'll speak with you -- so long as it suits me. Perhaps, when I've had enough, I'll exterminate you like the worthless pest that you are on the face of the universe."
The General holstered his weapon, fatigue at holding it up contributing more to his decision to do so than satisfaction with the answer given by Cross.
"First things first, then." He began. "How are you doing this -- this thing that you're doing? Projecting yourselves onto people the way that you are."
Cross seemed amused again, his mouth dropping open as he looked back and forth between his interrogators. "He doesn't really expect me to answer that, does he?" He said, looking to Butler. "I mean -- how ignorant would that be? A good magician never reveals his secrets, General -- even when the trick is that he really has the power to make his assistant float. Next question, please, I'm already growing tired of this. We'll call that strike one, friend."
"I guess I should prepare myself for strike two, then -- because what I want to know next is why you're here to begin wit
h. What are your plans for Polyphemus?"
"Believe it or not, I'll answer that one. You'll know soon enough anyway, I'm not giving too much away. That thing you so foolishly crammed into the back of a rolling box is a weapon of unimaginable power! That's clearly why the pitiful Keepers invested so much of their precious remaining time and effort into bringing it back into existence. What we intend to do is what every other superior power has done when a presumptuous maggot of a race has acquired something of value... we're going to take it. This logic isn't foreign to this backwards planet you call Earth -- I believe the very land on which we're sitting once belonged to a group of people who were less powerful than those who crossed the ocean from abroad. Where are the original owners now, General? They're right where you will be... festering in the ground like so much garbage!"
"You intend to use Polyphemus against us? How? What means do you have to control it?"
"What sort of lies have you told these people, Ambassador? Do they not understand the nature of this thing that you've brought to them? We don't need a means to control it, Rich -- we need only to turn it on! It will make quick work of the fleas of the Earth... three, maybe four days should be all it needs. Once it's made you pay for aiding and abetting your doomed little friends, we'll likely let it play around here for a while until we need it elsewhere.
"Having it will allow us to press on with our own Manifest Destiny, disinfecting planets without ever having to set foot on the soil. It's perfect for worlds like this one, actually -- those fostering creatures with limited means to protect themselves, posing no substantive challenge and therefore offering no thrill of conquest. It's the ultimate roach bomb! Isolate the room, toss in the fogger and come back later to sweep up the corpses!"
"Why this game, then?" Tomlinson inquired as he sorted through the details in his mind. "Why alter the manifest and lead us on a goose chase? The fact that you're here demonstrates the power of your race -- why not just bust the trailer open and let it loose?"
"Because we aren't here yet, dipshit!" Cross chuckled. "If we haven't acquired it by the time our ships arrive, that's exactly what we'll do!"
"No, that's not it." The General pondered. "It can't be that simple. You seem to have a pretty tight leash on the bodies you've possessed... there's nothing to stop you from having one of these avatars simply crack open Pandora's Box and let everything else take its course. Hell, you could possess the driver pulling the real load, just like you did to that woman... then it would be all over with. There must be another reason for your stalling... unless...
"Unless what, Rich?" Butler jumped in, wondering what his friend could be thinking.
"You don't know which truck it's on, do you?"
"Of course we know, don't be ridiculous!"
"Bullshit!" The General smiled as he barked back. "You don't! If you did, you'd have it by now! You had your hands on the manifest, but you didn't know the code! You have no idea where it is!"
"Even if that were the case -- it would make us even! Thanks to the incompetence of those you trust, you have no idea where it is either!"
"That makes it a race!" Tomlinson realized, announcing it aloud in his excitement. "He who finds it first wins it all! Of course! That's why we're going through this charade!"
"It makes sense." Butler spoke up again. "I've never known The Phloxans to waste time -- unless they were stumped."
"They are stumped!"
"Believe whatever gets you through the night, boys." Cross continued. "I can't recommend sleeping, though, because I'd hate to see you waste what little time you have left. Personally, I'm having trouble closing my eyes -- I'm very excited about getting to see what Polyphemus is capable of first hand! The wreckage will be incredible, it's a shame you won't be around to witness it! Most of your county will be a crater when it's done... it will crush the rest of North America before moving on to the South... crossing the ocean will take it only hours, then it will march over Europe -- Asia next, finally Africa and Australia.
"The fires will be its playground... perhaps it will amuse itself by toying with some of your nuclear reactors for a while after you're gone -- maybe even while some of you are still left. There's no telling what this little blue ball will look like when we eventually come back to retrieve it. It will be dead, however... that much is certain."
"Yes, this is all very interesting." Tomlinson interrupted. "How far out is the fleet? We heard as much as two weeks."
"Strike two, General."
"How many ships?"
"What does that matter? One would be enough... you know that."
"Is the detachment closing in intended to invade Parousia? The home world of The Keepers?"
"I'm plenty familiar with the planet called Parousia, Rich, I should call that strike three simply for the offensive nature of your comment."
"Is the conquest of Parousia the mission of this fleet?"
"Of course! It won't stop there, however, it will press on through the cluster until The Keepers are extinct -- and all of their little puppets with them."
"Which puppets are those?"
"Please! You think we're not aware of the efforts they've made to protect themselves from us? Oh, how they fear us -- let me count the ways! The Knoxians, The Xelliats, The Neephis -- The Humans! It's a wonderful thing, really, how they've brought all of you out of the shadows for us! A shame that our leaders have decided to snuff you out now instead of waiting for you to mature a little. It will be like shooting fish in a barrel, as you might say. It's for the best, though, because we've learned of an incredible species beyond even what The Keepers thought was the edge of the universe. Everything we've seen of them says they are very powerful -- our forces will be taxed in the war we will wage with them. With them on the horizon, we might as well get our own corner of the heavens cleared out before we venture further beyond."
"Who will lead the campaign?"
"Count Zeenadi, of course! He is ruthless! It will be fun under his command... For me, that is -- not for you, of course."
"Why?" Butler asked. "Why is your race so -- savage? The Universe is big enough for all of us... what drives you to destroy every living thing you encounter?"
"Because inferiority disgusts us, and superiority is impossible! When Thig created us in his image over six million years ago, he bestowed upon us the understanding that we were his master work! He was old and near the end of his life -- having grown tired and weak with the ages. He told us of the others that he had spawned throughout the expanse... the mistakes that he had made in his spirited youth. His final directive was that we were to dedicate our existence to cleaning up after him... wiping clean the canvas of the universe. We've served him well, but our work has only just begun. The Keepers seem to consider themselves a significant hurdle in our path, yet they represent no more than a speed bump. They are a misguided species; the universe will be better off without them."
Tomlinson furled his brow, Butler shaking his head at the notion proposed by whatever was controlling the body of Glen Cross. The room was silent for a moment, the revelation about this deity Thig and his directive representing the most significant information ever uncovered about The Phloxans and their motivations.
It was a lot to digest and a fascinating mythology -- somewhat egocentric, but no one expected anything different from the enemy, who were highly dedicated to their convictions. It only made sense that they acted on the behalf of some God to whom they were devout. What else could inspire such passion for destruction?
"Would you like for me to tell you more about the teachings of Thig?" Cross asked, licking his lips in preparation for a lengthy dissertation.
"No," The General began. "I think we've wasted enough time with you."
"But the tale of Thig is so much more vivid and entertaining than that of this Jesus Christ you pray to... besides, you would be the only non-Phloxans to ever hear of his glory."
"Than
ks, but no thanks."
Tomlinson groaned as he urged his haggard body to stand, sliding the over-stressed chair in which he sat back away from the table. Butler was anxious to hear the story, theology being among his chief interests. He wasn't sure what The General was doing, but he hoped it amounted to little more than fetching a cup of coffee. His heart sank when Tomlinson, instead, drew his pistol and leveled it off in the face of Glen Cross.
"You question the name of Jesus Christ, you cross the magic line!" He said. "You may have the count at two strikes, but consider this a line-drive right back in your face!"
A blinding muzzle-flash was accompanied by a deafening pop that made The Ambassador's ears ring. He covered them instinctively as a geyser of blood erupted from the back of Glen Cross' head. The young man slumped over the table, dead -- his purple eyes still glowing as the stray air left his body.
"Christ, Rich!" Butler cried. "Why the hell did you do that? We could've learned a lot from him!"
"He was wasting our time, Conrad!" Tomlinson snapped. "Stalling us! We're still in the game, buddy, but we've got to put our head down and charge forward if we hope to score!"
"This is a young man it was in, you didn't have to kill him!"
"He would've died sooner or later anyway - and he's more valuable this way than he was alive. Get him to the coroner to compare against that woman -- they must have some common bond that allowed The Phloxans access to them. If we can figure out what it is, maybe we can stop them."
"But you've shot him through the head! If it's something about the brain that opens the door -- you've destroyed the information!"
Tomlinson shrugged. "Oooops. Honest mistake -- he pissed me off. Go with the corpse - make sure none of those violet-eyed bastards fuck with it. Call me when they figure something out."
"And what are you gonna do?"
"Try to find that damned truck -- what else? It's out there, somewhere... we have to get our hands on it before they do."
Butler moved to Cross' side of the table and rotated his limp neck a bit to examine his peculiar irises. His eyes were drawn to the man's lifeless hand, resting lightly on the surface of the table. Showing beneath the cuff of his long sleeve shirt was a strange blemish the likes of which The Ambassador had never seen. Curious, he ran his finger across the discolored skin, nudging the sleeve further up.
"Oh my!" He exclaimed, discovering that this mark was a plaque-like lesion that ran half way up Cross' forearm. "Rich, get a look at this!"
"What is it?"
"I have no idea -- but it's purple... maybe it has something to do with the possession?"
"Ask the coroner -- I'll call if I need you."
Chapter 15