“In regards to the alien craft, our telescopes can resolve segmentation in the cilia, the fine tentacle like appendages surrounding the girth of the craft. The ridges covering the body of the spacecraft follow the same scaly pattern we see on snakes and lizards, with the length and breadth of each section following the Fibonacci ratio. Toward the rear of the craft, hidden in shadow, there are slits or fins, similar to what we see in the mouth of Baleen whales. Although we’ve seen no sign of chemical propellants, we suspect these structures provide propulsion. As a proportion of the overall length of the craft, they too match the Fibonacci ratio.”
Bower wasn’t sure how much of this Elvis understood, but he seemed to be listening intently, as was Jameson.
“From this we infer that the alien creatures themselves must have harnessed some biological process to construct their craft with a form of biotechnology native to their world, perhaps using the equivalent of what we would call nanotechnology. Certainly, the oily, metallic rainbow sheen seen on the underbelly in low light echoes experiments with nano-materials on Earth. At its current altitude, over a thousand miles above the surface of—”
The radio crackled.
“Sarge, we’ve got Marines holding the airport.”
Static broke up Bosco’s voice as he continued to talk. “They said fighting is fierce to the north and east, with armed militias in the south. They advise we approach from the west, coming through the city, using the supply route from Mozambique.”
Jameson’s face lit up.
“Tell them we owe them a round of beers, semper fi.”
“Roger that,” came the reply from Bosco. “Hey, could you pass a message to Elvis for me?”
“Sure.”
“Tell that Southern fucker, if he touches my stuff again he’ll be joining Elvis Presley singing Hound Dog at the Pearly Gates.”
Jameson laughed, looking over at Elvis and the grin on his face. “Consider it done. Over.”
He unfolded his map, allowing it to sit slightly on Bower and up against the dashboard as his finger ran over the lines and curves.
“OK, we’re here, about eighty clicks north of Lilongwe. We need to get off this road, cut inland and then south-west, as though we were heading for the border, before turning back to the capital.”
Bower didn’t say anything, but the thought of spending more time bouncing around in their antiquated old truck, with its tired seat springs and stiff suspension, didn’t exactly fill her with joy.
Chapter 07: Seeds
As evening approached, the Rangers drove against the exodus fleeing Lilongwe. Refugees trudged against the setting sun blazing in their eyes. Thousands of grim faces passed by silently on either side of the truck as the Rangers drove against the human current. There must have been some noise. People must have been talking, but the diesel engine seemed to be the only sound breaking the tension in the air. Africans walked on in a trance, barely acknowledging the US Rangers as they drove past. The swell of men, women and children spread out beyond the dusty track and into the surrounding plains. They shuffled on with their hand-carts, goats and cows in tow.
Bower sat there feeling numb at the tide of human misery. The truck followed the Hummer east toward Lilongwe, slowly weaving its way through the refugees.
Bower’s heart went out to those staggering on toward what they thought of as freedom in Mozambique. They couldn’t know the misery that would await them in the overcrowded camps. There was nothing she could do, nothing any of them could do. Without a concerted effort from the International Community there was no way to prevent Malawi from imploding. On they drove, kicking up dust, but the refugees didn’t seem to notice.
With the sun sitting low in the sky behind them, long shadows stretched across the land, giving the Acacia trees and thorn bushes an ominous, dark feel. Ahead, the alien mothership soared high in the sky, a thousand miles above Earth, radiant in the soft pinks and yellows of the sunset.
Fine specks of dust fell from the back of the alien craft.
Bower felt a chill run down her spine.
Her perception of majesty was replaced with a sense of dread as she realized debris was peeling away from the alien spacecraft. From where they were, tiny pricks of light appeared to trail behind the spaceship, falling behind the craft as it sailed on. Like dust blown from a window ledge, the flecks caught the light of the setting sun. Flashes broke in the sky like fireflies, flaring as thousands of smaller alien vessels entered the atmosphere. Like embers from a campfire, sparks trailed behind the alien mothership, stretching out for hundreds of miles as they slowly drifted to Earth.
Elvis saw it too.
“What the…”
Jameson looked up from his map. He grabbed the radio.
“Bosco. Are you seeing this?”
“Affirmative. What the hell is that?”
“I don’t know,” Jameson replied.
“If it’s the alien equivalent of a cluster bomb, we’re fucked.”
“No shit.”
Bower leaned forward, looking up at the sky, trying to estimate how closely overhead the craft would pass. It was difficult to tell as the distances involved were deceptive.
The alien spaceship appeared to be moving diagonally across the sky to the north of them, but the dust trail spread out like the wake of a ship. Although the trail appeared to dissipate, Bower doubted whether the particles had disappeared, just that they’d lost sight of the smaller component parts. Several larger sections cut through the atmosphere like meteors, leaving vapor trails in the stratosphere.
“Is it disintegrating?” Bower asked. “Maybe this is good. Maybe their ship is falling apart.”
Elvis and Jameson both looked at her with a look that made her feel stupid.
“How big do you think they are?” she asked.
“Big,” Jameson replied.
“That’s some serious shit,” Elvis said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. “Hey, maybe they’re sowing seeds, just like a farmer would.”
“You think they’re seeding Earth?” Bower asked.
“With what?” Jameson added.
No one answered.
No one wanted an answer.
Bower wound the crank on the radio, giving the batteries a bit of charge before turning it on. Bosco had tried to take the radio back when they stopped for lunch, but Bower had kept it with her. Somehow, because she was a civilian her possession of the civilian band radio seemed to make sense.
They had listened to a couple of broadcasts earlier in the afternoon, but the general apathy in the cab of the truck suggested it was time to turn it off, so she had. At that time, Bower found even her curiosity had waned. There was only so much gloom she could take. If this was the end of the world, she didn’t want to know.
Bower stared out at the rugged landscape, watching as fine, dark pinpricks appeared in the sky, peppering the majestic blue atmosphere as they descended slowly to Earth. She wondered if everything would change from this point forward, if this was the last she’d see of this sunbaked continent that had nurtured life on Earth for hundreds of millions of years. Bower twisted the radio handle, barely aware of what she was doing, lost in thought.
Africa wasn’t beautiful. Africa was stark. As they drove along, there were no romantic illusions to sweep them up in a sense of awe or majesty. Africa was barren, a dry husk. Driving past vultures cleaning the bones of a wildebeest kept life in perspective. Nature was cruel. And yet the harsh reality of life and death in Africa still gave relief from the unknown, the impending dread of alien contact. Now, it seemed their fears had been realized. Bower felt Jameson and Elvis silently willing her to hurry as she cranked the handle on the side of the radio.