Christopher Nuttall - Their Darkest Hour

Gavin nodded, looking down at the reports from the pair of doctors who had examined the living alien. Most of what they said tied in with the reports from the handful of aliens who had been dissected around the world, but there were some interesting additions. The alien seemed to have undergone some form of surgery at some time, yet it seemed cruder than anything humanity had devised for itself. Their best guess was that the aliens actually seemed to be able to take more punishment than humanity, but any serious injuries healed slower than comparable damage to a human. It didn’t make much sense to Gavin, yet the doctors seemed convinced that it fitted in with what they’d observed about alien behaviour.

Added to the files they’d pulled from the alien computer network, they’d also been able to identify different ranks, at least for alien soldiers. Their military appeared to be strictly top-down, without any of the special arrangements human forces made for their Special Forces, although their intelligence service — which appeared to be completely separate from the military — had no formal rank structure. Gavin suspected that they were missing something, if only because that little datum didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the alien structure. But their intelligence service might not keep its files on the general system, if only because they would fear hackers from Earth.

The two technicians finished working with the alien and left the chamber, leaving the alien alone in the heat. He seemed to prefer bright light, even at night; the technicians had shown him knobs that he could twist to adjust the light and heat to whatever he considered natural. Some of the researchers had wondered if the alien homeworld was permanently illuminated — they’d come up with all kinds of models to demonstrate how a habitable world could float at the gravitational point between two stars — but Gavin suspected that the alien simply didn’t want to be in darkness. He was alone, miles from any of his own kind — and light years from home. If humans could get uneasy being only a short distance from their own kind, how would an alien feel when the distance to his homeworld was something unimaginable?

He stepped into the chamber, one hand half-covering his eyes against the glare. He’d had to leave his Browning outside the chamber, leaving him feeling oddly naked. The alien’s heaving mass was stronger than him, although he could move quicker if he had to dodge the alien’s grasp. One of the laptops had been left on the bench, proofed against damage caused by the humidity. He picked it up and sat down facing the alien. Dark eyes looked back at him. The alien seemed to be taking his captivity well, all things considered. Humans would probably have been bouncing off the wall by now, demanding release.

There was a note on the screen waiting for him. The alien’s name is Maz’Bak . Gavin read it quickly and then looked up at the alien, Maz’Bak. No one really understood how the alien names went together — if there was a forename and a surname, or if there was some other way they constructed their names — but it was an issue that would hopefully be addressed once the war came to an end. Who knew? Perhaps they could force the aliens to accept something less than total conquest of Earth. And the key to unlocking many mysteries was right in front of him, breathing heavily. Up close, there was a faintly musty smell around the alien. It wasn’t entirely pleasant to the nose.

He tapped the laptop, bringing up the translation program. “My name is Gavin,” he said. The translation program produced a number of grunts, followed by his name. It was clearly smart enough to recognise that there was no direct translation of Gavin. “I am here to ask you some questions.”

The alien made an odd motion with one hand. It seemed almost a shrug.

“Start with the easy question,” Gavin said, dryly. “Why are you here?”

There was a pause, and then the alien grunted back. “I was captured by some of your men and transported away from my people,” the laptop said. Gavin had to smile. “They brought me here and put me into the care of your doctors.”

“That isn’t what I meant,” Gavin admitted. There was something almost simplistic about the alien’s reply. He had to remind himself sharply that the translation program would be simplifying things as much as possible, perhaps editing out some or all of the meaning in the process. A Star Trek -style universal translator would have been very useful. “Why have your people invaded Earth?”

The alien grunted, several times. Gavin listened carefully, but as far as he could tell it was just grunts. The subtle points were impossible for humans to hear. “This world is in an important location for us,” the laptop said. “We chose to claim it to forestall others from claiming it.”

“Interesting,” Gavin observed. “So you have enemies? Races on the same level as yourselves?”

The alien said nothing.

Gavin looked up at the dark eyes. “We have videos of what your human allies were doing to your prisoners,” he said. “We could attempt to force the information from you.”

“And then the State will extract its revenge,” the alien said, through the laptop. Gavin had to admit that the alien had a point. The aliens were in a position to extract revenge, simply by bombing human population centres. “Your world is ours because we were strong enough to take it from you. We do not understand why you did not climb into space and secure yourself from races like us. And yet there is much about you that can be added to the State. Your race is a wealth of knowledge for your superiors.”

Gavin glanced at the laptop, suspiciously. He’d tried primitive translation programs before in Afghanistan and they’d never really impressed him. If the alien was speaking truthfully — and the translator was working perfectly — the aliens had taken Earth because they could, rather than any desperate need for real estate… unless their mysterious enemies had wanted to take Earth and the Leathernecks had wanted to get there first. It struck him as oddly primitive, but it tied in with other statements the aliens had made since the invasion had begun. They didn’t bother coming up with elaborate justifications for their actions. They just did what they thought needed to be done.

“You’ve been rounding up military personnel and computer specialists,” he said. “What happens to them?”

The alien seemed to rock forward, slightly. “We intend to use your knowledge to enrich ourselves,” he said, finally. “Your computer specialists will assist us in creating the next generation of warship computers, giving us an edge over the…”

Gavin frowned. The laptop had declined to translate the final grunt. If that was the name of their enemy… it did make a certain kind of sense. They had an enemy out among the stars, maybe more than one. And human computers were generally better than alien designs… of course they would want to add human technology to their warships. It would be an unpleasant surprise for their enemies when they restarted the war.

In fact, he could think of several other things the aliens might want. Ever since HG Wells had written a story about invaders from Mars, humans had been writing vast science-fiction epics that explored all kinds of fictional technology. But the aliens didn’t find it fictional — they already had some kind of FTL drive, even if their computers weren’t up to human standards. What if they started to implement ideas humans had devised into their warships, or their tactics, or…? There were thousands of possibilities. Maybe tactics from Star Wars could be used, or Babylon 5 , or even Doctor Who .

“So you’re taking the specialists away from Earth,” he said, slowly. There were thousands of reports of people just taken away by the collaborators, leaving friends and families behind. They would never know what had happened to their missing relatives, not unless the aliens deigned to tell them — and it seemed unlikely that they would even understand the human need for closure. “What are you doing with the military personnel?”