Manipulate (Alien Cadets)

  Manipulate

  Corrie Garrett

  Kindle Edition

  Copyright 2012

  Chapter 1

  Sam's problem with sacrificing an alien animal wasn't the blood or the smell or the guilt, although a ghost of that feeling remained with him. His problem began when he got to the brain and lifted it free... and it sat in his gloved hands looking frighteningly similar to a human brain.

  That moment always got to him. It was a moment - not of guilt - but of sympathy, and it sent a chill down his spine. If a few things had been different, that could have been him. The animals were smart, but not sentient, and that made all the difference.

  It put a tremor in his thumb when he carefully placed a brain into the black sphere. The sphere, no bigger than a basketball, was laced with the sensors and wires that would connect the brain tissue to the bio-computer. And if he did something stupid, like drop the slippery brain on the floor while having his moment of empathy, that would be unfortunate.

  Sam waited in the curving hallway of the spaceship to perform this sacrifice yet again. He held the gun and scalpel in one hand, and with his other hand tried to scratch an itch just between his shoulder blades. This new uniform was required dress code today, when the spaceship would make the final jump back to Earth, but it was itchy, and he did not need the distraction.

  The door in front of him slid sideways, and Sam’s mentor gestured with one clawed hand for Sam to enter. His mentor, a typical Spo alien, was a cross between a praying mantis and a basketball player: tall, with lots of knees.

  “You may perform the procedure now,” he told Sam. “But stop scratching. The uniforms are fine.”

  That was typical Spo too, the uniforms are not itchy: therefore you do not scratch.

  Sam nodded and entered the containment room. A narrow window on the far wall showed the blackness of space, broken only by three scattered stars. One of them was the sun, a star Sam hadn't seen in six years, but he wasn’t sure which one it was from this angle.

  In the containment room, cages lined the walls, each one holding a Spo trouncer. The trouncers were large, toad-like predators from the Spo planet, bred for their high intelligence and, ultimately, their brains.

  Sam went to the first cage and waited with the gun until a small camera glowed to life in the wall, meaning a live feed of him was now projected in the cadets’ quarters and the captain’s control room. Performing the last "sacrifice" of a space journey was an honor; and everyone watched.

  Steadying the dart gun with both hands, Sam raised and held it level with his chest. With a sharp thwap thwap, he sunk two darts in the rubbery hide of the caged animal. Its eyestalks quivered and retracted like snails before it thudded to the ground, two hundred pounds of lifeless predator.

  Sam silently handed the gun to his mentor, and switched to the scalpel. He surreptitiously wiped his hands on his jumpsuit as he unlocked the cage. Killing the trouncer was the easier part of this ritual, removing its brain took a bit of finesse.

  Sam opened the cage door and stepped in smoothly. He knelt by the animal and with one gloved hand twisted the trouncer’s head up. He thumbed the knife to life, and it vibrated comfortably in his hand. Starting behind the right eyestalk, he inserted the knife and slowly cut through the trouncer’s skull to the opposite eye. The animal’s stench, something like an onion soaked in bleach, made his eyes water fiercely. He blinked tears away while making the next cut, but they trickled down his cheeks while he made the third. Thankfully the Spo didn’t cry, so they wouldn’t connect the moisture with weakness.

  Two minutes later, Sam used a suction to pull off the skull sections he’d cut free. Carefully he withdrew the animal’s brain, severing the spinal column when it came into view. A perfect extraction.

  For one moment, Sam held the slick, grey brain in his hands, while watery green blood pooled at his feet. Bile rose in his throat, and he choked it back, along with a slightly hysterical laugh. He swallowed and forced a quick grin at the wall camera, knowing the other cadets were watching.

  His mentor held out the spherical black container, which bristled with sharp wires and contact points.

  Sam made his face blank and bowed. Don't drop the brain, don't drop the brain, he told himself.

  “I present you the means of thought,” Sam said, in the rasping Spo language.

  “I accept the sacrifice.”

  Sam slid the brain into the hole, and his mentor twisted the lid shut with a clawed hand.

  “May you journey far in the acceptance,” Sam continued, relieved to have the brain safely locked away.

  “May you stand on three feet, even four, at journey’s end," said his mentor, ending the ritual.

  This last phrase, of course, was appropriate for the four-legged Spo, not a two-legged human, but they weren’t likely to change a ritual for a simple matter of limb quantity.

  Sam’s part was over now, and he allowed himself a deep, shaky breath before following his mentor out the door. The brain would be taken to the ship’s biobank computer, and Sam could now return to his friends.

  As Sam walked to the cabin where the rest of the cadets waited, he could hear them yelling and laughing from the hall. He palmed the door open and they cheered.

  The cadets were strapped into their seats already, and Sam quickly strapped in next to Armen and Jonathan, who'd saved him a spot.

  “Any minute now,” Armen said. “Just think. Earth: Chocolate. Dr. Pepper. Bananas. I can’t wait.”

  “I know,” Sam said, tightening straps. It was their ever-changing mantra. “Earth: Beaches. Basketball. Babes…”

  Armen laughed. “We can only hope."

  He and Armen said nothing of their families, and Sam was sure none of the other cadets did either. The cadets had an unspoken rule; they never talked of their families in the daylight. Only, very occasionally, when they lay in their bunks in the dark, somebody would start, “Once, when I was nine…” or, “I think my brother might turn eight today…” They'd take turns reminiscing, but even that they rarely did anymore. It wasn't terribly painful to remember, it just felt... less important.

  Anyway, Sam wouldn't be seeing his family right away when they got back to Earth, which was just as well.

  The last time Sam saw his mother, when he was thirteen, she was screaming. She was cursing the Spo with every word he’d ever been smacked for saying, and some he’d never even heard. His dad had been at work, his sister frozen on the couch in their living room, a game remote limp in her hand. She’d been home from college, playing some video game with him. And he’d cowered under the Spo, who ever so calmly held an energy weapon on his mom while they removed him to an armored car.

  They’d had to do it that way, of course. None of the cadets’ parents could have understood what a great chance this was for their children; all they saw were scary, horrible aliens. Someday Sam hoped to explain to his mom that the Spo weren’t so bad, but that wouldn’t be any time soon.

  The cadets would live on the Spo campus in Los Angeles their first year back and Sam was secretly relieved. The thought of seeing his mom, or his sister, gave him a feeling close to panic. So he and Armen and the others only talked of the fun stuff.

  Sam felt a sharp tug in his abdomen as the ship jumped into hyperspace. It wasn’t the smoothest jump ever; the computer seemed a bit sulky about the procedure. The cadets got quiet, all staring at the fuzzy blankness in the ports.

  Then, with the slightest vibration and the emphatic whump of the air system on re-entry, the ports cleared and stars blurred into clarity.

  For a few seconds, while the ship swung grumpily around to center Earth in the viewport, there was absolute silence. The cadets breathed out th
e faint bleach-scent of the ship as the Earth slid quietly into view.

  Then one of the girls, probably Melanie, gave a little squeal, and the room erupted into yells of excitement. Sam found himself laughing like a maniac as Armen punched him in the arm.

  “This is it. This is it!” The cadets began jerking off their harnesses and crowding toward the window.

  Sam was the only one who saw their mentor pause in the doorway and turn faintly orange with disapproval at their chaos. His eyes sought Sam, and Sam shrugged, still smiling. What did he expect? They’d been six years away from Earth, a rowdy homecoming was perfectly acceptable behavior, even by Spo standards.

  His mentor really was a decent alien, just a bit too military to deal well with a bunch of teenagers. He’d taken the human name Greg, for their ease of use, and Sam used it now.

  “Don’t worry Greg. They’ll all be calm by the time the press conference starts.”

  Greg nodded his large head. “I hope they will.” His color faded a bit. “You did the procedure well, despite your human hands.”

  Sam raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, Greg."

  Greg's eyestalks twitched, his equivalent of rolling his eyes. "Don't get a big head. Your first press conference is tonight and that will be much more difficult."

  Chapter 2

  Five hours later, after the tedious approach to the planet, and somewhat anticlimactic disembarking at LAX, Sam stood on the stage of the Crystal Cathedral in Los Angeles. The Spo liked the grand architecture of the building, and they didn’t know, or maybe didn’t care, that it had all the wrong overtones as their regional headquarters.

  Sweat trickled down Sam’s back as the front rows of the cathedral filled with members of the press. The ceiling held 10,000 panels of glass, and if there was a mote of sunlight the building didn’t catch, it sure wasn’t for lack of trying. The heat was only one problem though.

  On each wall the Spo had placed huge portraits, at least eight feet tall, of the cadets. Sam’s face stared back at him from the second spot on the right, and the tattoo on his cheek looked horrible at that size. The posters had a distinctly “Hitler youth” feel to them and Sam cringed as he saw a photographer snapping shots of the horrible posters while he waited for the press conference to begin. One of Sam’s tasks was to try and make the Spo more acceptable to humans, to begin to close the breach made by seven years of occupation, and they sure weren’t making it easy.

  “The posters?” Sam asked Greg. “Where did those come from?”

  Greg’s face was still as ever. “They came from the printer located at 266 La Valente – ”

  “I mean, why? We didn’t say anything about huge, ugly – ”

  “It is time to start,” Greg interrupted. “You may continue later.”

  Cameramen were set up in the aisles and journalists filled the front rows. Greg crouched in front of the microphone, all rubber skin and folded limbs. The Spo had four legs and two arms which gave them that regrettable similarity to a praying mantis. His face was vaguely humanoid, except for the eyestalks. They were twitchy and expressive and might have been cute on a cartoon alien.

  “I can smell your excitement,” Greg said, in his tolerable English, “so I will not prison you in suspense. You will welcome the first cadets to return to Earth."

  Sam sighed. Greg always spoke in commands. The aliens had actually asked Sam’s advice on this press conference - The Return of the Cadets, etc etc. - but clearly his advice had not sunk in.

  “This is Sam, one of the top cadets from Los Angeles. He will speak next.”

  The reporters immediately began shouting questions and Sam’s stomach clenched tighter. And his back itched.

  “Have you been allowed to contact your family?”

  “What do your tattoos mean?”

  “Did the Spo brainwash you?”

  Greg flexed his legs, shifting his weight off his front feet. Sam flicked two fingers at him, meaning, give me a second. The Spo allowed human newscasters a lot of freedom, since nothing they could do would give humanity enough of an edge to overthrow the Spo government. But, and this was a big but, Greg really wanted these press conferences for the cadets to go well and he was just off kilter enough to attack someone who got belligerent, not realizing what horrible press that would be.

  “Hang on. Hold your horses!” Sam said to the reporters, forcing a laugh. “I gotta say my stuff first.”

  “I am so glad to be back!” he said, waving into the cameras. “We all are. It’s been a fascinating six years, but there’s no place like home, right? The other cadet groups will return in the next few weeks. We said goodbye to them last month, and they can’t wait to be home."

  Sam turned back to the other forty cadets on stage. They stood in ranks, looking stiff and awkward. Greg should have released footage of the cadets stepping off the spaceship at LAX or settling into their dorm, this formal press conference was a bad move, but it was too late for that.

  “Come on, guys, wave! We’re home,” Sam said.

  They took a few seconds to break from ranks, but then the energy of the moment swept them along. They began waving and then smiling, stepping out of line to get a better look at the crowd of press.

  Lights flashed as cameramen got digital shots, and the red lights of live video feeds rippled to life. Another frenzy of shouting rose from the crowd, but with a better tone. Less brainwashing talk. Sam smiled. He was performing now, and with a little luck, he could handle this crowd.

  “Not yet!” Sam said, raising his hands for silence. “I still gotta say hi to my family, I think they live in Cloudcroft now. Hi Mom! Dad!"

  “What do you want to say to the world?” a reporter said.

  “What was the planet like?”

  “Why do you all look green?”

  “Take it easy!” Sam said with a smile.

  “How about you?” He pointed to a short woman in the third row who’d shouted something simple.

  “What do your tattoos mean?” she asked.

  “Ah,” he stroked the tattoo on his cheek like it was the best thing ever. “These identify us as leadership students of the Spo nation. Pretty cool, though I know my mom would never let me get a tattoo.” He gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Mom.”

  There was a ripple of laughter, and then Sam pointed at another reporter. “You, purple tie.”

  “Are all of the children accounted for? We only count forty-one here.”

  “Oh, that’s space travel. If you get seasick, you’ll get spacesick, too. Nobody wanted to hurl on stage, so a few of them are still in the bathroom.”

  “No one was left on the Spo planet?” the reporter said.

  Sam grimaced, he’d planned to avoid that question, but he’d walked right into it. “Unfortunately, one cadet died from an allergic reaction about a year ago. I can’t release his name until we contact his family. Other than that, we are all here and in the best shape of our lives.”

  “What is the Spo planet like?” another asked.

  “Hot. Melting is a real cause of death there. And dry as heck. Parts of it are almost habitable for humans. Sort of like Nevada.” Sam smiled.

  “Can you speak their language now?” the same reporter asked.

  “Ha! Can I?” Sam cleared his throat and then grated out a sentence in the Spo language. It buzzed in his nose and scraped at his throat.

  “Learning the language was part of the reason we were taken,” Sam explained. “You want to hear a joke? ‘What’s the difference between a Spo and a cricket?’”

  Sam paused.

  “Hairstyle.”

  More uncertain laughter.

  Sam shrugged. “It’s funnier in their language, I promise.”

  They laughed more at that. A tall lady in the back row raised her hand. Sam pointed at her.

  “Why did they take you?” she said simply. There was silence after that question. This was the main one.

  Sam looked right at the lady as he spoke, maintaining eye contact across th
e crowd. Sincerity.

  “I know all the rumors that have gone around, but I promise you they weren’t using us as hostages. They didn’t brainwash us to hate Earth, either. They taught us their language and culture, and some other alien cultures, too.

  “For instance, if Earth joins the Galactic Counsel and hosts the Merith, we better keep them away from the cities, because they HATE concrete. The stuff makes them break out like poison ivy does to us.” Sam shuddered for effect.

  “Or then there’s our use of makeup. The Spo flipped out when some of the girls started using lipstick. They thought it was a suicide rite. Oh, and they thought blonde women were infertile, can you imagine? We only cleared that one up a few weeks ago, because they didn’t want to mention it.” Sam laughed and the press laughed with him.

  “There’s a crowded galaxy out there, and now at least a few of us humans know about it. For the moment, our job is to improve communication between humanity and Spo. Eventually, when the Spo are done here, we hope to be liaisons with the rest of the galaxy.”

  If, Sam thought, we win Earth’s trial first. You better hope we win or the Spo will be the least of our problems. Sam glanced back at Jonathan, a few feet away on the stage. Jonathan was going to be a primary witness in humanity’s trial, and Sam didn’t envy him the job.

  Many of the reporters nodded slightly, receptive, but one guy raised a hand, thrusting his way forward in the aisle, not waiting for Sam to call on him.

  “So what? You make a few jokes and we trade the Spooks for you, their pets?” he said.

  “No – "

  “Don’t we get to choose? The Spooks ruined our planet,” the aggressive guy shouted, coming closer to the stage.

  Sam felt impatient. When the aliens invaded, northern Europe had just been wiped off the map by a horrible terrorist attack on the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland. The Spo had cleaned up that mess, and yes, killed some rebellious people in the process, but they hadn’t done nearly as much damage as humans had.

  “If you – ” Sam said.