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Within the laboratory of the Starship Glasscoss, light reflected brightly off the pristine stainless steel walls as the gleaming white floor shone radiantly beneath the feet of the three men who stood there. Their entire bodies were covered in white suits, their faces hidden behind dark masks that protected them from the harsh artificial air meant to mimic the methane and nitrogen atmosphere of the planet known to the human race as Glaxoid. Each man stood by the foot of the platform, awaiting the arrival of their specimen. Doctor Harrison was the largest of the three and was the expert on performing these operations, while Anderson and Johnson assisted him by bringing him the tools required for the operation.
A bright blue flame lit up upon the platform as the alien being from the planet Glaxoid slowly materialized before them, its figure translucent at first, then solidifying, naked and completely paralyzed from the neck down. Like humans, this creature had two hands and two feet, yet each hand had only four digits: a thin, wiry thumb upon each side of the hand, as well as two stubby fingers with a wide girth. Upon each finger were razor-sharp retractable talons, good for cleaving the flesh of its prey. Each foot had a single toe, which ended in what looked to be a jagged point, yet the toe was soft and malleable to the touch. A phallic structure between the creature's legs would have identified him as male if not for the undulating vaginal structure beneath this "penis". Upon the creature's long, coned head its lips twitched as its sagging jowls quivered and distended. It opened and closed its small mouth, revealing tiny needle-thin incisors; previous examinations revealed that there were larger molars along the back of its jaw. The creature stood at roughly eight feet, yet despite the tremendous size and girth of its muscular frame, it was vulnerable, completely at the mercy of Doctor Harrison. The nostrils of its pig-like snout flared as its tiny black eyes rose in panic. Gooseflesh covered every inch of its cerulean blue flesh. Heart rate and respiration accelerated at a frenetic pace as the creature struggled in vain to move its body, to escape from whatever contraption was keeping it at bay.
A cognitive scan revealed a flurried maelstrom of fight or flight instincts urging the alien to escape despite the futility of the struggle. The creature had been here before in this very lab. On Glaxoid, he was allowed to forget most of the turmoil he had endured and what little he actually could remember had been vague images, fragmented memories of unknown agony, like the fleeting memories of a horrific nightmare now mostly blissfully forgotten. But the nightmare was real after all. For once more he was experiencing it, the memories flooding back in punishing waves as he once more remembered every excruciating detail of the searing, ripping agony, as though he were experiencing it this very second.
Thirty-six-year-old Don Nixon and thirty-three-year-old Nicole Simmons watched these events unfold through a high-resolution sixteen-by-nine flat panel monitor, whose sound and visuals were so vivid it was almost like watching through a glassless window, even though the lab had been on the other side of the ship. The two sat side-by-side in front of the monitor; their eyes mostly focused upon the preceding that took place before them. They occasionally gazed at one another with flirtatious eyes, as Don struggled to fix his hair so it wouldn't stick up so badly (damn cowlicks), while Nicole occasionally grabbed a strand of her flourishing brown hair (otherwise neatly combed and parted in the middle) and twirled it nervously as she looked at him.
By sharp contrast to the sterile and pristine laboratory, the control room was worn and filthy. Tiny particles of dust clung in the air, making the two occupants cough and sneeze sporadically and sometimes made their eyes itch and water as well. The grated metal floor was dull, scratched and beat up, with a few specks of dust here and there. Control panels rested upon metal platforms below each monitor, used to control the functions of each individual room and station aboard the ship if needed. Dust, lint, and even a few particles of food littered each of the control panels. The fabric of the chairs was torn and kept together loosely by duct tape whose coarse edges sometimes chaffed the small of one's back while sitting down if they did not wear a shirt long enough. It was dark as well, lit up only by the glow of the monitor screens that displayed the rest of the ship.
The crew of the Glasscoss was not required to be in this control room very often, because most of the functions such as regulating oxygen and pressure of the ship were automated by the ship itself and therefore required little human input once the ship had launched from whatever planet it took off from. However, during abductions, someone was required to manually teleport the specimen from their home into the lab, as well as ensure that the specimen was fully restrained, yet in a stable condition (the experience, while being frightening and painful, should never be life threatening). A couple of people were also required to monitor the experiments from this room and to record all findings, to be sent back to earth for further analysis.
Despite the filthiness of the room, Don liked being here. He enjoyed the panoramic view that the large window behind him gave off of the large and beautiful expanse of space, which he could not get anywhere else throughout the ship. Glittering stars twinkled across the black horizon. And just below, he could make out Glaxoid, which had been about three quarters as large as Earth, and gave off a golden hue, with three smaller moons orbiting the planet.
Don returned his attention toward the monitor, where Doctor Harrison and his assistants were just about ready to begin the operation.
Don glanced at Nicole and she smiled sweetly at him and then tried to hide it by rubbing the back of her hand against her nose, before turning away with a blush. Don placed a gentle hand over Nicole's thigh, feeling a small tingle of arousal over his crotch. Nicole giggled softly, her blush deepening as her dark eyes shyly met his to exchange a loving glance. She then rested her hand on his, squeezing tenderly as she closed her eyes for a few seconds, moaning softly. Reluctantly, she slid his hand off her lap.
He blinked and frowned. "What's wrong?"
She hesitated for a moment, trembling, and then reluctantly: "We can't. It's against company policy.""The hell with company policy," Don scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Not like those stupid sons of bitches on top know what they're doing or give a shit about us anyway. Fuck ‘em."
"I know, but—"
"Besides, they never have to know."
"If they ever find out, we'll both lose our jobs." She sighed despondently and pushed his hand away, biting her lip as she turned back toward the monitor. "I'm sorry."
There was a long awkward silence between the two of them now. From time to time, they gazed briefly at one another, biting their lip with a feeling of growing unease as they debated whether to further apologize for what had happened, elaborating further on why such a relationship between the two of them might or might not be a bad idea, or simply say something randomly to strike up an unrelated and therefore safe conversation. In the end, though they would close their mouths and say nothing, peering once more at the monitor. The silence was broken only when Nicole sneezed softly and muttered a complaint about all the dust before Don shyly blessed her. They otherwise said nothing to one another, and instead focused their attention on the action going on within the laboratory. Pangs of guilt gnawed at Don's heart, for he could understand her reservations, even if he did have little loyalty or respect for the company.
Don circled the mouse beside the keyboard in a clockwise position, panning the camera behind Doctor Harrison's shoulders, looking down upon the alien as though Don himself were standing by the foot of the platform, peering down upon the specimen through the Doctor's eyes.
He could see Doctor Harrison's hand closing around the creature's penis and resting it over the creature's abdomen as he produced a pin with his free hand, which he poked into the creature's penis before letting go. The pin plunged through the penis and now firmly pinned the unit to the creature's abdomen. The creature uttered a guttural moan of growing discomfort. And Don knew that the fear painted over the creature's countenance would soon be drowned out, replaced by a contorted face of agony with the sickening realization that that which it feared was now coming to light. Doctor Harrison's fingers tapped and probed inside the vagina, which then secreted a thick, mayonnaise-like substance.
At first the creature's anus appeared to have the same structure and texture as that of a human anus. Yet as Doctor Harrison jabbed his finger into the anus, it began to swell outward, at first looking like a prolapsed anus, and then inflating like a turquoise balloon in a helium machine, with darker blue veins and arteries palpitating over the spherical structure. For a while, it remained in this position, an undulating bladder whose sphincter shuddered and threatened to burst open. Don remembered with a soft chuckle how he had watched this very same effect take place a few months back. He and Nicole had nearly died laughing when the sphincter had opened and the good doctor wound up covered in alien shit. Oh how that mess must've been a nightmare to clean up. This time, however, the rectum did not spray any shit, but instead the "balloon" deflated as quickly as it had inflated, and returned once more to its former position.
"That's a hell of a way to defecate," Don snickered with his fingers lightly caressing the two-day stubble over chin and cheeks. The comment was made as much to make one of his usual vulgar, sarcastic remarks that had earned him the adoration of some while the prissy contempt of others who thought themselves much more sophisticated and beyond such crass and sophomore humor, as it was to break away some of the tension he had caused earlier.
Nicole grinned and giggled softly with her hand cupped over her mouth, but said nothing.
Doctor Harrison circled the platform toward the creature's head. As he stood over the panicked alien, he uttered one word, softly: "Glow." The blue flesh around the bridge of the alien's nose became transparent, revealing bits of skull, cartilage, and a network of blood vessels in that area. The creature let out yet another moan as it squinted its eyes from the searing bright light. Just above the bridge of its nose shone a piece of metal, now glowing brightly from beneath the skin. The creature hissed, squeezing its watery eyes shut as it gritted its teeth, nostrils flaring as its temples throbbed. "Glow off," Doctor Harrison commanded, and the bright glare of the metal implant dimmed, and then extinguished all together, leaving the creature's flesh once more opaque. Hot tears welled in its eyes as they fluttered open. Still wincing as beads of perspiration formed over its brow, the creature gasped as its eyes wandered through the lab.
"The implant seems to be working properly and the alien appears to be in good health," Doctor Harrison reported.
He spoke almost in a monotone, yet there was a hint of arrogance in his voice, for he knew full well who the star, the true hero of the operation had been. He was not watching the events unfold through a monitor screen, nor one of the higher ups who would review the footage later on back home. Instead, he was truly involved in the procedure, the one capable and competent enough to perform the dissection and that made him somehow better than everyone else. When he spoke, he spoke slowly, as if fearing that if he hadn't ensured that each syllable was pronounced clearly, the rest of the morons would fail to comprehend his vast and superior intellect.
"Heart rate and blood pressure are erratic," Doctor Harrison went on, "but that can easily be attributed to the utter terror that consumes it. Its responses to fear and tension are remarkably similar to that of humans and other Earthbound organisms, although its excretory functions are...vastly different." This last bit was added with a subtle hint of disgust in his voice, for he surely remembered what had happened just a few months ago. Don could certainly understand his feelings, though that didn't make the incident any less hilarious, particularly given the Doctor's mannerisms, the way he had always conducted himself as though the rest of the crew, even Anderson and Johnson, were beneath him. It had been nice to see the man dirtied, taken down a notch, however briefly that moment had lasted.
"Sometimes I wonder what would happen if that thing could actually remember what happens to it after we bring it back," Don mused out loud.
"I've thought of the same thing myself," Nicole replied. "What if the creature actually could remember all of this? Would it keep the pain bottled up, or tell friends and family members? And how would they respond? Would they be concerned, sympathetic, or would they laugh at him and assume that he must be insane?"
Don shook his head. "I don't know. From what I've observed, those things are pretty damn superstitious, so more likely, they'd believe it. And God only knows how they'd react to it."
Nicole sighed softy and shook her head. "You know, sometimes I wonder if what we're doing is right. I mean, this is a living, breathing, sentient organism. An intelligent organism. And here we are, disrupting its life, poking, prodding, and torturing it, cutting it open all in the name of science. Just to see how similar and different they are from organisms on Earth."
"I don't really think about it too much. We're just doing our jobs out here, what we were hired to do."
"Yeah, and if we ever tell anyone on Earth what our jobs are, we'll disappear forever."
Don shivered just thinking about it. "Well, were you thinking about telling anyone?"
"Of course not. Just saying, the fact that they're so adamant about secrecy doesn't make me feel any better about what we're doing. And looking at the fear and agony on that thing's face doesn't help either." She frowned, sighing dismally before burying her face in her hands. "I'm sorry, must sound stupid, but it's just that—"
Don's first impulse was to put an arm around her, hold her, comfort her, and say whatever he needed to say to help ease her guilt. Yet he stopped himself, remembering how awkward they had both felt just a few minutes before, feeling guilty about that incident all over again. With some hesitation, he placed his hand reluctantly on hers, holding it loosely his own. Nicole blushed slightly, but still looked up at him, a wan smile creasing her face.
"When I first started, it felt a little weird to me, too," Don confessed. "I told myself that I was only doing my job, following orders, and after a while, it didn't bother me too much anymore. Besides, we're not the ones running the experiments; we're just sitting here, controlling the room functions and recording the events."
Nicole sighed softly and bit her lip. "I guess you're right. We're just doing what we have to do."
Don smiled warmly and shyly put his hand over her shoulder. "Don't worry about it. Considering this is only your third abduction, you're doing fine. I had a lot of doubts at first about this as well, to be honest, but I've been doing this shit for so long that I've gotten to the point where I don't even think about it that much anymore." He shrugged. "Plus it gets me away from my bitchy, nagging, slut of an ex."
Nicole returned the smile with a sympathetic nod. "Yeah, my ex is a real asshole as well and I don't miss him at all." She then frowned and sighed glumly. "I do miss my kids, though. My beautiful little angels. I'm almost afraid to think about how they'd feel if they knew the real reason I'm out here."
"They would be ashamed of having been excreted from your vile cunt!" someone shouted from across the room, but quickly moving closer.
Don and Nicole jolted in their seats, startled by the vindictive comments. They both jerked their head to the side, and from the corner of his eye, Don caught glimpse of Jeremiah, the janitor standing there with a gun, switching aim between Don and Nicole, finger poised at the trigger as he slowly shuffled forward. He was a man around the age of twenty, with long brown hair draped to his shoulders and a beard that barely concealed the bottom of his cheeks, though was slightly thicker around his sideburns and chin. He was dressed in brown work boots as well as faded blue, stained, and well-worn coveralls. Beads of sweat dripped from his brow, yet there was not an ounce of fear in his taut blue-gray eyes, only a fanatical determination to accomplish whatever crusade he'd set out on and a willingness to kill and to die for his cause.
"Goddamn it, Jeremiah, what the hell are you doing?" Don cried, his voice beginning to rise and hitch with the sudden fear that washed over him.
"I'm putting a stop to this once and for all."
"We're right in front of the hull. You miss us and we're all dead." Don struggled to feign calmness, to display a façade of control, firmness, and to appear not the least bit intimidated by his assailant. Yet the growing stammer in his voice, his inability to speak much louder than a whisper without the crackling shrillness in his voice had betrayed his growing terror. Breathing heavily, he gritted his teeth in a vain attempt to appear tough and unafraid, yet his eyes were still wide with fright and he was sweating profusely. His heart thrashed loudly against his chest and his stomach coiled tightly around itself. "We'll all be dead!" he exclaimed with a hiss. "The vacuum will fuck up all the equipment in here, life support goes offline, and everyone dies!"
"Everyone on this ship deserves to die for their part in this," Jeremiah rebutted harshly, "for their torture of the alien. For the needless torture of all otherworldly creatures!" Through fiery passion, tears now threatened to spill from his eyes.
Don blinked, swallowed hard, and cleared his throat as best he could. "The alien will die as well."
"Better to die now than be tortured indefinitely."
"We bring it back unharmed. It won't even remember what happened." Don was amazed that despite the nearly insurmountable panic that wracked his mind and body, he was able to debate articulately and rationally, if not with the air of firm confidence he should have possessed; the conviction of one whose arguments were irrefutable.
"He'll live on to be abducted and tortured again and again. It never stops with you butchers, does it? It never fucking stops!"
"Then go ahead and do it! Blow the whole fucking ship up!" Don shouted, rage laced with fear creeping in his own voice, and he felt as if he were losing his own mind.
Nicole trembled as she gazed up, alarmed and incredulous, at him. "What're you doing?"
"Go ahead, you son of a bitch, and be a fucking hero! Be a martyr!"
"Look, maybe we can work something out," Nicole pleaded, breathing heavily as she blinked the cold sweat and frightened tears from her eyes. "It doesn't have to be this way."
"Shut up, shut the fuck up!" Jeremiah howled, shaking his head vehemently, his long hair whipping back and forth from the sudden motion, spraying droplets of cold sweat in the process. He pressed his finger even tighter on the trigger, so now any sudden movement at all would trip the hammer and fire off a stray shot, either hitting Don or Nicole or rupturing the hull. Venomous spittle flew from his lips as he bared his teeth at them, the veins in his neck pulsating so tightly now beneath his skin that they threatened to rupture. "Back away from the control panel now and keep your hands where I can see them!"
Don and Nicole complied, slowly drawing away from one another as they held their hands outward, trembling, inching their way backwards toward the wall. Their quivering lips parted but they said nothing, only gasped while biting down hard on their lower lips. They spared one another a few frightened, concerned glances, but otherwise their eyes were fixated upon Jeremiah.
On the monitor screen, what looked like a giant turret mounted upon the ceiling was slowly being lowered in preparation for the next phase of the operation. From there, a red laser would shoot out from the turret at Doctor Harrison's command, cutting an incision from the creature's throat all the way down to the abdomen so that Doctor Harrison and his assistants could examine the internal organs. Once finished, the organs would be put firmly in place, the chest would then be closed and a blue laser would shoot from the turret, fusing and cauterizing the wounds, making it appear as if the creature had never been cut open to begin with.
Jeremiah looked on as tears glistened in his eyes and trickled down his cheeks. "I won't let them hurt you anymore," he murmured as he lunged closer toward the control panel and slammed his palm down upon the RELEASE button.
"No! You can't—" Don cried, but it was too late.
The RELEASE button glowed brightly in the dimly lit control room, reflecting an amber green light against Jeremiah's intense but sorrowful countenance, making him appear ghastly yet forlorn at the same time. An alarm went off, blaring piercingly from every direction.
The creature began to tremble, shaking harder and harder as spasms jolted his newly freed body. He growled shrilly, then once more deeper this time as his left arm shot into the air, fingers clutching and tightly closing around Doctor Harrison's throat. First thrusting forward into a sitting position, the creature then leapt to its feet, tightening its grip further around the Doctor's throat, talons threatening to pierce the sides of his neck as the creature craned Doctor Harrison into the air. Harrison's legs dangled, kicking in all directions, his back swaying to and fro as he struggled frantically to free himself. Throwing his hands to his throat, he tried desperately to ply the creature's fingers loose just enough to shake himself free, but to no avail. Beneath the mask, Don could almost imagine what Harrison's face might have looked like, first scrunched up, eyes squeezing tightly shut as the tint of flesh became bluish purples. The doctor's lips would then part as he gasped and gagged, desperately trying to suck air down a closed trachea.
And then, abruptly, the creature's entire body began to convulse. Its arms flailed to the side, the motion whipping the Doctor's body into the air like a rag doll. Beneath the shrill, warbling sirens of the alarm as well as the creature's hoarse cries of agony, one could barely make out the crack of Doctor Harrison's breaking neck. Finally, though most likely not of its own volition, the creature released its hold upon Harrison's neck, and the Doctor fell, crumpled and motionless by the creature's feet.
Once more the creature howled, writhing in agony, and then could scream no more, merely whimper and hiss as its body heaved and convulsed uncontrollably. It threw its head back, the small of its back now arched sharply in a ninety-degree angle, and vomited, shooting a fountain of curded yellow fluids from its lips. Coughing and chocking, its tongue whipped out, flailing and poking into the air like a snake having a seizure while the eyes, watering profusely, glazed over. Blisters formed over its brow; a few burst open and pus oozed down its contorted features. The creature lay once more on the platform, uttering a few low, hoarse grunts, its convulsions slowing gradually until it stopped moving altogether.
The bright amber green glow of the RELEASE button had extinguished now. The ear-splitting, incessant blaring of the alarms (which Don had now somehow barely noticed in spite of everything else that was happening) had also ceased.
Jeremiah's eyes rose in horror as he watched what had unfolded. His jaw hung open, quivering, as he murmured incoherently, his face now pallid, sickened by what had transpired, horrified even more by his role in the events. "No," he said, his quavering voice barely above a whisper. "How could this have happened?"
"It's a safety measure," Don explained.
His voice had lost all of that wild, frantic firmness it had possessed before, and when he spoke now, he did so somberly. The twists and coils in his gut loosened, only to tighten all over again as his stomach lurched and rose to his throat. Nicole drew closer to him once more and he wrapped his arms around her, squeezing her trembling body tightly and drawing at least some comfort from her presence as he had hoped she had from his.
"You can't just release it with humans in the room like that. The alien will go wild and probably kill whatever humans are in the room with it. If the system detects a human presence in the lab when an alien is released, it releases a toxic gas, killing the alien before it can kill anyone else." Don looked once more at Doctor Harrison's corpse, sighed, and shook his head grimly. "Though in this case, I guess it was too late."
"I only wanted to send it home, away from all of this," Jeremiah sighed with great remorse.
"You need to hit the Return button to do that." Don drew Jeremiah's attention back toward the control panel, pointing to where the RETURN button was located, just below the RELEASE button.
Jeremiah croaked as his pallid face whitened even further. He uttered a few hoarse, retching sounds, gritting his teeth in anger and disgust as he stared at the control panel, his eyes scrutinizing both the RELEASE and RETURN buttons obsessively. He put a tremulous hand over his mouth and then gazed back up at the monitor, where the corpse of the alien still lay, its naked body and twisted, leering face cast a stark and unforgiving reminder of how grave an error he had made.
Jeremiah fell to his knees and gazed mournfully down the dark pit of his firearm. As he squeezed his teary eyes shut and pressed the muzzle of the gun tightly beneath his chin, Don and Nicole lunged forward. But before they could do anything to stop him, a loud thunderclap boomed and the top of Jeremiah's head burst open with a spray of blood and gray matter.
Several hours had passed since they had put the bodies of Jeremiah, Doctor Harrison, and the alien on ice to be inspected by the company after the debriefing upon their return to Earth. Don supposed he should be apprehensive about the company's decision after they had reported the incident, but for the time being, he couldn't bring himself to worry too much about it. There really hadn't been anything he could have done to stop Jeremiah anyway, without putting his own life or the life of Nicole at risk, though that may or may not have much bearing upon the company's final decision, since results, information, and the bottom line were more important priorities than the lives and safety of their employees, despite what they would have the public believe.
Don stared absently up at the ceiling and the four metal walls as he lay on his cot, struggling to concentrate enough so he could read the crumpled, dog-eared magazine in his hand. He couldn't stop thinking about what had happened. Jeremiah. Doctor Harrison. The alien. He couldn't get any of them out of his head. Christ, how could this have happened, Don asked himself again and again. For the first time in years, all the doubts, the buried guilt for what he had participated in had resurfaced and gnawed at his heart.
His first abduction had been the worst, leaving him sickened; appalled that he himself could participate in something as barbaric as the torture of another being for the sole purpose of scientific curiosity, with no known tangible benefits to humanity. He had wanted to leave, to wash his hands of such utter corruption, yet was too desperate for a job, any job, to support both himself as well as to make exorbitant alimony and child support payments, and so he stayed. And each subsequent abduction became easier than the last, until the guilt had been numbed so much he hadn't noticed it anymore, and the abductions simply became business as usual, something he was neither proud nor ashamed to participate in.
Until now, first with Nicole's doubts, which had reflected his own so long ago, and then with Jeremiah's attack. Jeremiah, who had acted with the best intentions, but whose ignorance in the workings of the ship's computer systems had further tortured and finally killed the being he had been trying to save. The look of shear horror and agony upon the creature's face right before he died lingered within Don's psyche, along with that of Jeremiah's horrific defeat and the overwhelming remorse. It left Don as he had been on the night of his first abduction: Nauseous with guilt; unable to eat, unable to sleep, to read, or to concentrate on anything other than the horrors that he himself had helped to make happen.
Nicole suddenly entered the quarters and asked: "How're you holding up?"
Don tossed the magazine to the floor and sat up, his back resting against the cold metal wall as he looked up at her. Here she was, a part of the corruption as he had been, yet he held no animosity toward her, the way he had for himself, only the lust, respect, and camaraderie he had felt toward her before. If anything, her presence helped to slightly ease his own guilt. "I guess I'm doing okay, all things considered." He blinked and shuddered. "How about you?"
She sat next to him, holding his hand tenderly in her own. When their eyes met, she said: "I'm leaving."
"The company?"
Nicole nodded. "I can't do this anymore." She paused with a heavy sigh, and then: "I mean, I don't agree with what Jeremiah did, how he handled things. But he was right. Even if the aliens don't remember later on, they're still suffering while they're here. What we do to them is cruel. It's wrong, and I can't be a part of it anymore."
"I can understand that."
Nicole lowered her eyes for a few minutes as she opened her mouth to say something else, hesitated, and sighed dismally. As Don put an arm around her shoulder, with a gesture that indicated that it was okay for her to speak her mind regardless of what needed to be said. Their eyes met once more and with some hesitation, she said finally: "I think you should do the same."
"I've considered it, but—"
"You're a good man, Don, I know you are, and deep down inside"—she rested her hand against his chest, feeling the rhythmic beat of his heart—"you know what we're doing is wrong. We can find other jobs, something we can actually feel good about doing."
"You're right," Don conceded. Hearing someone else echo his own thoughts and feelings—a rational mind, one not consumed in fanaticism and extremism—had been exactly what he needed to solidify his stance and his decision. For while there might be nothing he and Nicole could do to put a stop to the corruption, at least they could wash their hands of it entirely.
The end
February 13, 2006
March 13, 2006