Chapter 13: Heating Up

Kate was locked up in a VIP room, as the OBF2 team sent their signal through to homebase from Ahmadeus. Their shift had finished, and it was time for the next team to take over and monitor the Trimadian–Locum situation.

Things were heating up according to the secret transmitted codes conveyed to Sataal’s men. It also seemed the bulk of the Locum fleet was bearing closer to the Quelain Galaxy. Ahmadeus was preparing for the worst.

Over the past couple of months, with a solid alliance from Earth, the Cantals were stocking up with a variety of weaponry. Hand blasters, death lasers, dell bricks—grenades but with three separate explosions for mass impact—good in open field warfare, along with some good old fashioned nukes and conventional weaponry. “Nothing like an M16 to make you the man,” Tremaine would declare.

Ironically, a great majority of these weapons were contracted for the US military and ended up going to Divisions’ stockpiles.

Modified versions of the F111s and B2 Spirited stealth bombers could be flown into deep space. Sataal’s force field technologies rendered all frequencies and radiation emissions virtually invisible, thanks to crytaalic hulls combined with a crystal dampener agent applied to the field when activated. If any enemy sensor or scan was directed at the cloaked ship, it appeared to be empty space—as long as the enemy ship did not head directly into the cloaked ship’s path.

They had an assortment of enhanced conventional hardware like the M16 and AK47, the Uzi, Gatling, and Sten machine guns. All these could be used with ease whether in atmosphere or space. Mortars for ground control and laser controlled bazookas for enemies in the sky were, in Tremaine’s concise words “cool.” They were built lightweight, with all the comforts of laser tracking, low and high-level frequency pick-ups, built in multi-linguistic communication scan devices, and GPS. “You just wouldn’t leave the planet without one,” Tremaine would continually joke. The collective power of the S.U.E.P. seemed to have virtual unlimited source and funds.

The Cantals had their own weaponry, but stocks were now very much depleted thanks to the Trimadian skirmishes. The Cathexistomes’ evolution of technology and their sheer numbers had backed the few free Cantals into a corner. Sataal knew if it were not for the human’s discovery of Ahmadeus, the free Cantals would have become extinct. It had occurred to the OBF team to question why the Trimadians held back from bringing in their forces and wiping out the Cantal rebels completely.

“I don’t think they take us seriously, or more like, they are toying with us, wearing us down over time. Remember, warfare tactics to them is also very much psychological.” Sataal would state, “If they wanted to, they could have simply turned this land into desert. To date, they have never come close to discovering our headquarters.”

“Yeah,” stated Tremaine, “did it ever occur to you that they have deliberately left it alone.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me put it this way; do you trust all your men?”

“Implicitly!” Sataal’s eyes blazed at the insinuation.

“Fine, sorry.” Tremaine shrugged his shoulders and left it there. Besides, he had seen Sataal’s temper and, being almost a foot taller than him, who was he to argue?

However, the Locum was considered everyone’s enemy and they seemed to lack predictable battle tactics. Tremaine had described them as pit bulls. Once they latch on, they will not let go—which was the only predictable thing. The human powers that be from Graffa knew enough to realize this. Having off world battle stations was now imperative. Just keeping the Locum from entering Earth’s galaxy was one thing. It was also only a matter of time before the BSP was compromised. Battle looked like the only one true answer, but the cost was going to be high. Knowing one’s enemy, their strengths, weaknesses, reactions, weapon ability, etc, was imperative before taking them on. But to plan strategies for an unknown enemy—the thought sent shudders.

Only six percent of the modest collection of almost fourteen thousand off world sequences had a breathable atmosphere to support humankind. If it came down to it, Divisions would have to evacuate their list of “select personalities” from Earth to one or more of these worlds, but that would take time, which would be too short. It would also mean Divisions’ full disclosure to the world’s governing super powers. Would politics get in the way? Probably, but by then they could all be dead, or worse.

With help from their alien counterparts, they had reverse engineered space planes that could accommodate several dozen, but obviously they would not be enough. The problem would have to be nipped in the bud with the enemy being met head on. It was now a question of when.

All these thoughts were going through Pilcher’s mind as he sat alone in his office. Conventional air traffic controllers were known to have stressful jobs—pah! At times, he would swap that any day for some of the decisions he had to make.

Now he was facing an anomaly thrown into his lap: Kate Willard and what to do with her. He knew his boss would want her put through rigorous tests. Including and not limited to strenuous mental, psychological, and physical. The mandatory blood analysis, DNA, MIR and body scans. But would she be willing?

He could not fathom her, apart from having a pissed off attitude. He had reassured her that if she stayed as their guest for the next week, they might be able to present her with some answers, but she would need to be patient, and reasonably cooperative. She had agreed.

God, could she be a new enemy or a trick by the Locum or Trimadians?

Pilcher was not a pessimist, but he hated anomalies. Twenty-five years as top brass in the military pitted him, at times, against unusual situations that he could control to a degree. Now, as head of this private sector, this situation—no one had any experience. Kate would be treated like a normal civilian, but she would be under a weighty microscope. He felt a bit sorry for her.

Pete Reynolds was in his private study after spending almost twelve straight hours inside his code locked laboratory just adjacent. He was poring over transcripts from his own meetings as well as the initial meeting with Kate and Pilcher and going over statistical results from her subsequent tests. She was as human as he was, except for significant variants when she held that stone in her hand. The brain patterns changed and shot off the graphs. It was like a trigger being squeezed. The only difference was with a loaded gun you could make a pretty good assumption as to what was going to happen next. With Kate, that theory shot out the door.

Pete suspected she had some kind of mental power, which he was eager to explore further. He also wanted to see if she was, as he suspected, a reincarnation of the enigmatic Queen Leah. That was a wild assumption without any solid proof, aside from a drawing in a book. He had prepared general questions and concluded that she did not have a clue what was happening to her, and the word reincarnation never eventuated into her vocabulary. The closest she came to reasoning was that some spirit had moved in and taken over her, which to a degree could well be the truth.

A few days after Pilcher’s stern warnings, Sataal and he were alone. Pete, in a casual manner asked him if he knew anything about the relationship between an ancient queen, with possible mental powers that lived on Earth thousands of years ago and the Trimadian invasion. Sataal stared at him and paused in reflection as his mind gathered together the tale propagated to all Cantal children by the Trimadians regarding a human born queen and their leader.

“Why do you ask?”

Pete shrugged. “Just trying to piece our history together—forget it, more importantly, I need to talk more about your food supplies—”

Though Pete was bursting to tell him of Kate’s arrival, the drawing of her in a book, this weird stone, and her unusual powers, he decided to say nothing. If word got out to Pilcher, he was in for an ear bashing, or, at worst—ostracized. He wanted to talk more to Kate first.

He was pleased with the progress he was making with her. Though she put on a brave front and her personality was strong, he could sense she was quite vulnerable, which under the circumstances was understandable. He quickly built up a bond with her, as he found her likes, dislikes, and views on the world were quite similar to his own.

He sat back in his leather bound chair, hands behind his head. He knew this was big, real big, and he was playing in an area where he would need to tread carefully, dig slowly, and chip away at the pieces, as if it was one of his archaeological finds. She had built a psychological protective wall around her, which might have something to do with her general distrust of men, thanks to her ex-husband cheating on her.

This was probably going to be the biggest prize he would ever uncover in his lifetime!

Pete Reynolds was, for once in his adventurous and intellectual life, scared.

Isaac Mason sat in his lounge pouring a double whisky on the rocks. He was almost never at home, but tonight he needed to get away. At times of stress, the occasional whiskey did wonders, albeit for a short time. He felt after meeting Kate this was one of those times.

Mason, as he preferred to be called, always felt he had to prove himself because he was a black man.

That was why he was a classic overachiever at everything he applied himself to. He saw a challenge in using his brain or his brawn, from astrophysics to his leaps and bounds up the martial arts hierarchy. He’d been a practicing black belt for twenty years, first asserting himself at the young age of seventeen.

Inside though, he was shy and introverted and did not like criticizing or taunting others the way Tremaine was prone to do.

He had mixed feelings about Kate and, like Pilcher, could not help but feel sorry for her, as he was sure she was covering up how she felt about what was happening to her.

He was convinced, though he said nothing that she was of alien origin, no matter what barrage of tests she was thrown into, which cast his mind back to the hit sci-fi movie Species; a beautiful girl preying on would-be mates in the hope of repopulating her kind. Was Kate like this? Should he sleep with one eye open?

Gene Tremaine was relaxing in his favorite leather swing chair that evening, swigging down beer. He too needed to go home for a break.

Kate—well, he thought, nice tits—for an alien broad. He let out a hoary laugh at the thought of that, took another swig of beer, and burped. He thought she was hiding stuff and the only way to get any hidden agenda would be to put her in front of a firing squad and watch her sing. Maybe with this attitude, no wonder they did not make him C.I.C. His face fell into his habitual lopsided grin. Tremaine always believed you had to live life to the full “or it ain’t worth living.” He was the proud leader of the flagship OBF1 team and was air force for fifteen years. He considered it the only way of life for a man. Now, even though this project made him an incredibly wealthy man, he still felt out of his depth. Pure military experience just did not cut it. Things were perhaps getting, creepy.

He had a deep, quiet respect for all his colleagues, as some subjects went over his head, like advanced chemistry, pure mathematics, quantum science and astrophysics. “Gimme battle tactics and an A52 boomer (so called as it sounded like a shotgun but fired like an automatic), and you got a winner.” It was those tangible and practical tactics he could relate to.

He was not sure just how tangible the Kate situation was, and that put him on edge.

But for Kate, shut up in her small VIP room, had to wonder if she was losing her grip on reality as each minute, hour and day passed. She genuinely liked Pete Reynolds; he seemed to care about her, though he was only acting under orders. Maybe if they had met under different circumstances.

When he showed her the picture of Queen Leah, she held her breath, stunned and mesmerized by it. She was aware her reactions were being recorded and stayed calm. She could not get that picture out of her mind. Queen Leah was real.

It was early morning and Kate had just finished breakfast. She sat opposite Pete in the team’s meeting room, alone apart from two armed guards outside the room.

Pete had a range of more direct questions he had prepared for her the evening before, and just as he opened his mouth to ask the first question, i.e. how did you sleep? Kate interjected.

“You have another stone in your possession.”