A Learning Experience Read online

  It couldn’t be human, Steve realised, feeling a sudden lump in his throat. The others were silent, lost in their own thoughts. There were VTOL fighters and tilt-rotor aircraft, but nothing as large and capable as the craft facing them. As far as he could tell, it didn't have any exhausts or anything else that might have suggested how it worked. It might as well be magic. But, as the light faded away, he realised that the hull was scorched and pitted. Cold ice ran down his spine as old instincts awoke. Alien the craft might be – and he was convinced it was far from human – but it was a warship.

  “Shit,” Vincent said, breaking the silence.

  There was a dull crunching sound as the craft touched down. Steve shook himself, then concentrated on observing as much as possible. There were no landing struts, as far as he could see; the craft had just settled down on the soft ground. For a long moment, all was still ... and then the craft’s hatch opened. Bright light spilled out, illuminating strange alien creatures.

  Steve caught his breath. He’d expected, he realised now, tiny grey aliens. Instead, he found himself fighting the urge to panic as the aliens came into view. They looked like eerie crosses between humans and spiders, perhaps with some crabs worked into the mixture too, as if someone had stuck a human torso and head on top of a giant spider and merged them together. Each of the aliens had six legs, greenish-red skin and dark eyes set within an armoured head, as if they had no skin covering their skulls. They’d have difficulty walking on uneven ground, Steve suspected, although as they pranced forward it became clear that they were more limber than he’d realised. It was impossible to determine their sex from their appearance. Or, for that matter, if they even had the concept of males and females.

  He’d seen countless aliens on television and movies, ranging from men in bad makeup and poor suits to marvels of CGI. There was no reason, he was sure, that Hollywood couldn't produce aliens as strange and inhuman as the ones facing him. But somehow he knew they were real. There was something about them that utterly destroyed any disbelief he might have felt, a sudden awareness that they were very far from human. Besides, he had a feeling that even a small human couldn't have fitted into an alien-sized suit.

  The sense of danger grew stronger as he realised what the aliens were carrying. Four of them were carrying silver tubes that seemed to be made for their hands, the fifth was merely holding a silver box in one clawed hand. He also had a silver band wrapped around his skull, perhaps a badge of rank. The silver tubes were weapons, Steve was sure, even though they were nothing like any human-built weapon. But there was something odd about the way the aliens were holding them, as if they’d never used them before. And yet ... that was absurd, wasn't it?

  Mongo leaned forward as the aliens spread out. “This is real, isn't it?”

  “Sure looks that way,” Charles said.

  Steve nodded in agreement, his mind working frantically. What was this? An attempt to make First Contact without trying to fly into the secure airspace surrounding the White House and the Pentagon? Or was it something more sinister? He found it hard to believe that any alien race invading Earth would bother with a handful of campers ... unless, of course, they intended to dissect Steve and his friends. Or interrogate them on the state of the planet’s defences ...

  Kevin took a step forward. The aliens chattered suddenly – a high-pitched clattering that only added to the sense of inhumanity – and raised their weapons. Whatever they were actually saying, the meaning was all-too-clear. Kevin froze as the aliens aimed their weapons at his chest.

  Part of Steve’s mind noted, dispassionately, that the aliens might not intend to use headshots – and, given their armoured heads, that might make sense. Or, for all they knew, the alien brains were actually located in their torsos, rather than their skulls. But it didn't matter, he realised. The aliens weren't acting friendly. Steve had been at enough meetings in Afghanistan between Coalition troops and local villagers to understand what compromised a healthy respect for security ... and what was outright paranoia. The aliens were acting more like they intended to take prisoners than talk to the humans facing them.

  The unarmed alien – Steve cautioned himself not to assume the alien was actually unarmed – lifted the silver box to his lips. There was another burst of alien speech, followed by a dull masculine voice coming from the box – a translator, Steve realised. He felt a flicker of envy – a portable translator would have been very helpful in Afghanistan – as the alien voice grew more confident. It spoke in oddly-accented English.

  “Do you understand me?”

  “Yes,” Steve said, when it became clear that no one else was going to speak. Perhaps the aliens would have tried French or Russian next if they couldn't make themselves understood through English. “We understand you.”

  There was another chattering sound from the alien. “You will board our craft,” the alien said. It – he, Steve decided – pointed one clawed hand towards the hatch. “Step through the hatch and into the hold.”

  “Wait a minute,” Vincent said, shocked. “Where are you taking us?”

  “That is none of your concern,” the alien informed him. He indicated the craft again, his claw flexing open and closed. “You will step through the hatch.”

  Vincent reached for the pistol at his belt. There was a flash of light so bright that Steve moved to cover his eyes instinctively. Vincent’s body fell to the ground, a smoking hole in his chest. Steve stared in horror; he’d seen wounds from gunshots, IED strikes and even training accidents, but he’d never seen anything quite like this. The damage would have been instantly fatal, the dispassionate part of his mind realised; Vincent had been dead before his body hit the ground.

  He balled his fists, then forced himself to relax. The lessons from a dozen Conduct after Capture courses rose up within his mind. There would be an opportunity to escape, he told himself firmly. He saw the same understanding in the eyes of his friends. The aliens would relax, sooner or later, and they would make mistakes. And, when they did, their human captives would be ready. The aliens might have advanced weapons, but advanced weapons didn't mean anything in close-quarter combat. No one knew that better than the soldiers who had fought terrorists and insurgents for the last twenty years.

  Be a good little captive, he told himself, as the aliens motioned for them to walk forwards, into the craft. Vincent’s body was simply left on the ground. Part of Steve’s mind wondered if it would be discovered before it decayed. What would a autopsy show if any traces were left when it was found? He pushed the thought aside and concentrated on observing the aliens. Bide your time and wait.

  Chapter Two

  Fnfian Horde Warcruiser Shadow Warrior

  Earth Orbit

  The interior of the alien craft was oddly disappointing. Steve had been expecting something thoroughly ... alien, but instead it looked more like the interior of a military transport aircraft, one of the planes that moved US troops from one trouble spot to another. There were no seats, no portholes ... the aliens motioned for the humans to stand up against the bulkhead, then stepped backwards, keeping their weird eyes firmly fixed on their captives. Steve watched them back, feeling a cold burning hatred burning through his mind. There would be an opportunity to strike ...

  An odd sensation washed over him as the craft shuddered slightly, then faded away into nothingness. A faint whine echoed through the cabin – he looked towards the far bulkhead and noted the hatch there, which he assumed led to the cockpit – but there was no other sound. In some ways, it was better than any of the transport aircraft he’d endured in his long military career. But the whining sound might prove to be more irritating, in the long run, than the roar of an aircraft’s engines.

  “No acceleration,” Mongo muttered, through clenched teeth. “Are we actually moving?”

  Steve thought back to all the science-fiction books he’d read. Logically, if the craft was flying back out into space, there should be some sense of acceleration. But they weren't being pushed down to t
he ground by an irresistible force. It suggested the aliens had some form of internal compensation protecting the craft’s passengers, which made a certain kind of sense. The interior of the craft certainly didn't look as though it was designed for spaceflight without a compensator.

  “I think so,” he said. Any doubts he might have had about the experience being real had faded with Vincent’s death. No TV producer would kill someone just to add extra realism to a TV show. The very thought was sickening. “We must be going up to the mothership.”

  “Or maybe this is their starship,” Kevin suggested. “For all we know, this is their version of a Hercules.”

  Steve shrugged, then looked back at the aliens. They looked oddly uncomfortable – he had to remind himself, again, not to read anything human into their movements – as the craft powered away from Earth. Their legs moved and twitched constantly, their eyes blinking rapidly; he couldn't help wondering if they were used to flying. There were strong men who whimpered when their transport aircraft hit a particularly nasty patch of turbulence, yet surely the aliens had plenty of experience with their spacecraft. Or was he misreading them completely. It wasn't as if most humans could remain still indefinitely.

  The craft shuddered slightly, the gravity field – something else they had that humans lacked – growing weaker. Steve looked at the aliens, noted how they seemed more comfortable and wondered if they had evolved on a low-gravity world. Their spider-like appearance probably couldn't have evolved on Earth, where there were very real limits to the size of spiders and crabs. Or maybe the aliens were the products of genetic engineering and splicing. Someone with the right science and not enough scruples might manage to create their very own warrior race. It was the theme of a dozen SF television shows he’d watched.

  A dull thump ran through the craft, then the faint whine faded away to nothingness. They had arrived at their destination, Steve realised, but where were they? A mothership? The moon? Another star system entirely? If he’d been invited to come with the aliens, he knew he would have accepted without a second thought. The chance to see another star system was not something he could have let pass. But instead they were prisoners.

  The hatch opened and, for a moment, the aliens were distracted. Steve moved without thinking, all of the tension in his soul unleashing itself in one smooth moment. His brothers and Charles followed as he lunged into the aliens. One alien weapon fired, scorching the bulkhead, but the others were unable to fire before the humans were on top of them. Steve lashed out with all his strength, aiming for the thin alien necks. One by one, the aliens were overwhelmed and killed. The unarmed alien was the last to die.

  “Interesting,” Mongo said. “Look.”

  Steve followed his gaze. The silver band on the alien’s head had detached itself and fallen to the deck. There was something about it that called to him; he found himself reaching for the band without being quite aware of what he was doing. It tingled when he touched it, as if it carried a faint electric charge ...

  “Grab their weapons,” Charles snapped. His voice brought Steve back to reality, back to the fact that they were trapped in an unknown location. In hindsight, they might have picked the wrong time and place to fight back. “Come on!”

  He led the way through the hatch. Steve followed, one hand still gripping the silver band. Outside, there was a large shuttlebay, crammed with a dozen craft identical to the one that had taken them from Earth. A handful of aliens milled about, staring at the humans in disbelief. Some of them started to reach for their weapons, others ran for the hatches or dived into their smaller shuttlecraft. Steve couldn't help noticing, as they fired on the armed aliens, that there was something odd about the hatches, as if they hadn't been designed for their alien enemies. They were too narrow for the aliens to move through comfortably. Coming to think of it, he realised as he opened fire, the hatches were tall enough for a creature twice as tall as the average human.

  “So,” Mongo said. “Where now?”

  Steve laughed. “Fucked if I know,” he said. There was another electric tingle from the band, which had wrapped itself around his wrist. “I ...”

  “So we go onwards,” Charles said. He led them towards the largest hatch, weapon in hand. “We’ll find a way out of here somehow.”

  There was a third tingle from the band. Steve stopped, staring at it, then felt an irresistible compulsion to put the band on his head. Slowly, not quite aware of what he was doing, he followed the compulsion. A stab of pain flashed through his head, then ...

  “Connection established,” a cold voice said.

  ***

  “They broke free!”

  “Yes,” Cn!lss said. It never failed to amuse him just how many of his superiors felt the urge to point out the obvious. But then, most of their subordinates were so stupid it probably needed to be pointed out, time and time again. “They are currently expanding out of the shuttlebay into the lower levels of the ship.”

  The Subhorde Commander slammed his claws against his carapace, a gesture of fury – and maybe just a little fear. “Send two hordes to intercept and exterminate them,” he ordered. “We can take other subjects from their homeworld afterwards.”

  Cn!lss understood the fear. The Varnar cyborgs were devilishly effective on the battlefield, striking fear into the hearts of their enemies. Everyone had assumed that the cyborgs were programmed to be so effective – primitive races were not protected against the meddling of their superiors - but what if such fighting prowess was natural to the human race? If that was the case, the Subhorde Commander was in real trouble. He’d taken a group of deadly warriors onto his starship!

  And if he lost the ship, all of his family connections wouldn't save him from savage punishment.

  “You’ll have to send the orders,” he reminded his superior. “They don’t listen to me.”

  ***

  “Connection established,” the voice repeated. “Species 8472; designate human. Direct neural link activated. Awaiting orders.”

  “Awaiting orders?” Steve repeated. “What orders?”

  Kevin turned to face him. “Steve? What’s happening?”

  “I can hear a voice,” Steve said. He reached up to touch the headband and discovered that it seemed to have merged permanently against his skin. It felt weird, yet somehow natural to the touch. “Can't you hear it?”

  Kevin shook his head. Further down the corridor, Charles took up a defensive position, backed up by Mongo, and prepared to hold their position against a charging line of enemy warriors. They didn't seem very experienced, part of Steve’s mind noted; they were charging towards the humans as if they were unaware that the humans were armed with their own weapons. Even the Taliban had eventually leant the folly of mass human wave attacks. But it added yet another piece of the puzzle concerning the aliens. Steve just wished he understood what it meant.

  “What are you?” He asked, touching the headband. “And what’s happening to me?”

  “This unit is a direct neural interface linked to the current starship’s computer nodes,” the voice said. “The interface has currently linked into your mind, providing direct access to the computer systems.”

  Steve blinked. “What?”

  “This unit is a direct neural interface linked to the current starship’s computer nodes,” the voice repeated. There was no hint of patience or impatience, merely ... a complete lack of emotion. “The interface has currently linked into your mind, providing direct access to the computer systems.”

  “I see, I think,” Steve said. “Why did the link interface with me?”

  “You donned the neural link,” the voice said. “The link activated automatically.”

  “I felt compelled to put it on,” Steve said. There was no response. For a moment, that alarmed him, then he realised he hadn't asked a question. “Why was I compelled to wear the neural link?”

  “The device is designed to attract attention from cleared users,” the voice informed him. It was an alarmingly vague answ
er – how was the attention actually attracted? – but he had a feeling he wouldn't be able to get much more out of the system. “You were the closest to the neural interface when it separated itself from the previous user.”

  “Wait a second,” Steve said. “I’m a cleared user?”

  “There is no specified list of cleared users,” the voice stated. “All compatible mentalities may claim full access to the control systems, should they don the link.”

  Steve fought down an insane urge to giggle. All of a sudden, it made sense. “They didn't build this ship, did they?”

  “Clarify,” the voice ordered.

  “The aliens who kidnapped us,” Steve said, more carefully. “They didn't build this ship or their weapons, did they?”

  “Affirmative,” the voice said. “This starship was constructed by the Tokomak and passed though seven successive owners before finally being purchased by the Horde.”

  Steve shuddered. The Horde. Even the name conjured up bad impressions.