The Strangers Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Information

  Dedication

  Quote

  MARS

  1 Invitation

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  MARS

  2 Contact

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  MARS

  3 Disturbance

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  MARS

  4 Confrontation

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  5 Decisions

  MARS

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  6 Disorder

  MARS

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  7 Accordance

  LENA

  MARS

  LENA

  LENA

  About the Author

  How I Did It

  Urgent Plea

  The Strangers

  E.M. Haeger

  Copyright © 2017 E.M. Haeger

  The Strangers

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author except in the case of brief quotation embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  To you. For downloading this story and giving it a chance.

  "Let every eye negotiate for itself and trust no agent."

  -William Shakespeare

  MARS

  When the Etrallia came to Earth, they didn't come one by one. They came all at once and waving a white flag. Or at least, that's how we interpreted it.

  In reality, it was a radio signal that scrambled our broadcasts, interrupting all communication with the orbiting space stations. It might have been threatening except that the intent was clear:

  We come in peace. So, don't shoot us out of the sky.

  It took us a while to crack that one. And you can bet the U.S. military was ready to do exactly that. For all intents and purposes, we were at war, half a dozen governments prepared to defend against these strangers who dared invade our airspace. It was the most remarkable global initiative I'd seen in years.

  Thankfully, we had intelligence on our side, the world's top cryptography experts and linguistic pros working round the clock. Turns out the signal was some form of military cipher, not unlike our Morse code. Eventually, our guys worked out a pattern to the madness, not that I could tell you how.

  When they arrived, I was busy testing soil samples, Lena Cordell was tending to patients in the ICU, and Charles Rhine was firing on combatants in the East Indian War.

  She was a doctor, but no ordinary civilian. I was a scientist, but no diplomat. And Rhine, well, he was a military man and the furthest thing from a savior.

  Still, we ended up on that shuttle. Some call it fate, but I only believe in chance. Probabilities. That's all it really came down to.

  My whole life people joked that with a name like mine, I was destined to be an astronaut. Ironic, then, that I had never been to space the day they put me on that damn ship.

  Lena was the least prepared of all. Her eagerness to make contact made up for it, though. Even the Major was on edge during the ride, but the doctor was as calm as a rock in a gale. Years of practice, I suppose.

  So that's how Lena Cordell ended up in the second envoy. And thank God she did.

  Because now she was the only thing standing between us and total annihilation.

  The Etrallian had his hand on the big red button.

  Yes, that button.

  Granted, it wasn't red, it was gray, but you get the picture. If he pushed it, we'd all be dead. Asphyxiated in the cold darkness of space.

  I forced in a lungful of air and held tight. Half the military we'd come aboard with were sitting pretty in the airlock beside us. A lot of good they'd done.

  Lena was still pleading with the Etrallian. She begged him not to do it, to reconsider, to think of the future. The other Etrallians watched mutely.

  We were already dead and Lena was the only one who didn't seem to know it yet.

  He opened his mouth. "I'm sorry."

  Or at least I imagined that's what he said. I reached for my ear and realized my comm device was missing. The cadence of the alien words washed over me in a throaty purr.

  His claw settled over the button.

  My heart hammered madly against my ribcage.

  Lena made a sound, muttered something unintelligible. I hoped it was enough to make him understand. I hoped there was still some semblance of humanity left in this person--this Etrallian. He may have been our friend once, but I knew what I was asking.

  I was asking for a goddamn miracle.

  1

  Invitation

  LENA

  I eased Mr. Reynolds gently back into the wheelchair and turned to look for my partner. Someone screamed in the distant. I could only hope Chuck was already headed in that direction. To block out the sound, I concentrated on moving the wheels along the dusty road, on the sun beating down upon my back.

  "Never thought I'd start to miss those IVs." Reynolds chuckled. "I'd carry one of those poles around with me any day."

  Grunting, I navigated the chair around a pothole. "And you'd get mugged for your trouble." The image came all too readily. A body in an alley, skull cracked open like an egg.

  Reynolds laughed, deep and gravelly. "Suppose you're right. No water for the weary. We'll be the first to go, you know. The old folk and the children." He coughed, clearing his lungs of dust. "Just look at history. In times of plague and famine, the weak and the frail always die first."

  I could think of at least one instance where that wasn't true. The Dust Bowl of the 1930's had taken the lives of thousands of men, women, and children alike.

  I forced a smile. "Not if I can help it."

  I wasn't sure what I had expected from an old man forced to leave his home. A shred of gratitude would have been nice, but these were rough people. Tough. They lived off the land as surely as their ancestors had, making do with what they had.

  "If you don't mind my asking, why'd you wait so long? The desert's no place for a rancher, even an experienced one."

  Reynolds leaned to spit onto the dry, cracked earth. "Wasn't always a desert, girl. When the lake dried up, we thought it was a drought. The worst we'd had in years, but a drought all the same."

  "You thought you'd wait it out?"

  The man squinted, his weather-lined face assessing me. "You live here, you get used to seasons with little water."

  The wheelchair bumped over a rock in our path.

  "But when we couldn't drink no more—when there was no water to be found—that's when we realized. It weren't going to get better anytime soon."

  "I see."

  "Nah." Reynolds grinned at the sky as he shook his head. "You don't see, girl. You don't know what it used to be like, this land. It was my mama's and before that my granddaddy owned the place. The Reynolds' been here at least a century. It's home."

  He'd expected to die on this land, same as his mother. It made sense in a desperate sort of way. That was why he and so many others had ignored the warnings and refused to evacuate. He was lucky we'd come for him. At the same time, he was unlucky. With no home and no strength to start over, he'd likely live out his days in the medical center.

  "How much further?" Reynolds grumb
led. "Do you intend to bake me alive?"

  "We're nearly there," I assured him.

  The medical center was a bustle of activity in the middle of an otherwise silent desert.

  But Reynolds was right.

  Southern California used to be quite pleasant, home to lemon groves and orange trees, cafes and warm sea breezes. Now it was as barren as New Mexico, half its cities burnt to ash, or worse, full of struggling natives who refused to live elsewhere.

  The automatic doors slid open with a hiss, ushering us into an air-conditioned oasis. The clean tile floor and straight angle of the hallway contrasted with the dusty, rutted road outside. The doors slid shut and I inhaled deeply, grateful for the cool, clean air. The wheelchair rolled forward with minimal effort and I steered it toward the nearest elevator.

  We passed the emergency care facility where the shouts of doctors rang out above the commotion. The urgent beeping of machines faded with a whoosh and Reynolds was silent as I jabbed the button for the fourth floor.

  The elevator groaned and jolted upward.

  "I ain't dying," he mumbled.

  "No," I conceded. Not yet anyway. "But you're dehydrated."

  Upstairs, a group of nurses stood clustered under the TV, gawking like a bunch of school children as a reporter gestured to an object in the sky. I tightened my grip on the wheelchair and steered my newest patient toward the west wing.

  "What're they watching?" Reynolds eyed them suspiciously. "Don't they know there's people dying out there?"

  I continued to stride purposefully down the hall. "It's nothing," I told him placidly. "Probably just a hoax. Besides, they say the government's dealing with it."

  Reynolds craned his neck. "What?"

  "Alien spacecraft apparently. Been there for weeks."

  "Huh." He looked as if he was trying to decide whether I was playing with him or not. Satisfied with what he saw, he threw one last glance toward the nurses. He shook his head and shrugged, as if in defeat. "This planet's going to hell. Don't matter much if some alien buggers want it."

  Quickly, I rounded the corner. The others could stand around gaping all day as long as no patient lives were at risk, but I would do what I had come here to do.

  "Here we are, Mr. Reynolds." I pulled him into a private room. He wouldn't have to share for now, but there would be more.

  As I wheeled him toward the bed, Reynolds uttered his first protest.

  "Hold on, now. I'm just fine. Don't you trouble yourself." He eyed the standard hospital cot as if it was some sort of death sentence.

  "There's no need to wait for a nurse, Mr. Reynolds. I lift patients all the time." I kicked down the brakes on the chair.

  "I'd rather sit for now."

  "Suit yourself." I sighed internally and left him where he was.

  The cabinet with the IV fluids had double security measures in place to ensure restricted access. I was surprisingly used to it by now, flicking my card past the infrared light before pressing my thumb to the fingerprint scanner.

  "You get the fancy stuff today," I joked. "This thing's got more water than the whole county combined."

  The old man smiled half-heartedly. He didn't resist as I fixed up the IV and inserted the tube in the back of his hand.

  "I bet you feel five years younger in a few days. We'll even feed you here. How's that sound?"

  Reynolds nodded.

  This wasn't the end for him as much as he expected it was. The world wasn't so lost as to resort to killing innocents in order to preserve humanity. Not in this country, at least. There was still enough water to go around as long as we were careful. Five years from now, though...I couldn't say.

  As my patient relaxed in his chair, I stepped out of the room. In one smooth motion, I detached the phone from my belt and pressed on the smooth glass surface.

  "Miranda," I said. "Please come to room two-forty. I've got an elderly patient here with severe malnutrition and dehydration. Room two-forty."

  Much to my surprise, Miranda came at once. No more than a few minutes had passed when my intern showed up, hair askew and blood splattered across her blue scrubs.

  "We've got five in the ER in critical condition."

  "Thanks, but if you could keep it down, that'd be much appreciated." I nodded toward Reynolds. "He's had to face enough bad news for one day."

  Miranda's eyes widened. "Sorry, Dr. Cordell."

  I sighed. "Listen, I know you want to help downstairs, but you're assigned to me for the week. That means attending my patients."

  "Of course, Dr. Cordell." The girl frowned. "I was planning on it, but you weren't back yet."

  "And by attending, I mean watch over him. These people need fluids, but there's enough staff to go around. No one's going to die if you sit by his side for a while."

  Miranda nodded, but her displeasure was clear. She was a smart girl. Smart enough to realize how valuable her skills could be in this wasteland. But she was young and committed only to efficiency.

  While getting everyone their daily fluids was important, I preferred to get to know them as well. The only way to truly create trust was to understand the person first.

  At least, that was how I got myself through the long, blazing hot days as we searched empty towns for stragglers. Getting to know my patients wasn't a luxury, it was necessary. Unfortunately, Miranda had little talent when it came to bedside manner and I had little time to teach her.

  "Right, that should be all for now. I need you to monitor him regularly."

  The girl nodded. "I'll get him something to eat."

  "Thank you."

  "Oh and Dr. Cordell."

  I paused in the doorway.

  "I'm sorry, I almost forgot." The girl ran a hand through her hair. "Dr. Noran needs to speak with you. He was looking for you this morning."

  I digested this slowly. It didn't make much sense, but if the head of the hospital wanted to speak with me, it was nothing good.

  MARS

  The world wasn't always messed up. Some people think it was, but it was never as bad as it was then. I knew it most of all.

  One day I was surfing off the coast of Australia, whiling away my time like nothing mattered, and the next, I was being recruited to work for a top-secret government lab. It took me longer than the flight back to the U.S. to face the fact that my five-year vacation was finally over.

  In truth, I'd been considering getting back to work ever since the first reports broke out. It didn't matter so much that the world was getting warmer. On a sunny Australian beach, I would have welcomed it. But while sea levels were rising, lakes, rivers, and reservoirs were drying up.

  This was a dire problem, as the news reporters repeatedly liked to point out. A colossal, looming problem that wasn't getting better anytime soon and certainly not without hundreds of the finest brains working to develop a solution.

  In the end, I didn't value my journey of self-discovery enough to let my eight years of education go to waste. If there was something I could do, I'd have to try. Then, at least I'd be able to say as much. I figured if the world fell apart anyway, I'd die less of a loser than when I'd started.

  So far, the numbers were clear. In terms of survivability, we had half a century, maybe less, and that was if people miraculously stopped having babies in order to keep the world's population constant. Since the odds of that were zero to none, my estimates put us at less than twenty years. When you considered the number of people who would die of dehydration before then, you could squeak out an extra year or two. Twenty-two years if you were being optimistic.

  I wasn't.

  In terms of a solution, I could see little chance of our desalination efforts working on a large enough scale to support billions of people. As it was, we could only support 1% of the country with the plant over in California where millions of gallons of seawater were turned into clean drinking water. To keep people going all over the world without creating greenhouse gas emissions, it would take decades, and a massive amount of energy to conve
rt enough water.

  When considering these facts, I suppose I wasn't doing too well at all. But it wasn't my fault. I was a geologist, not some kind of energy specialist. I was considering this particular predicament when the head of the research facility barged into my office.

  "Gladwyn."

  I tensed, jerking away from the microscope.

  "Message for you. Seems urgent." Lawrence squinted down at the paper in his hand as the door slammed behind him. His shirt was ruffled, tie slightly askew.

  As much as he'd hate to admit it, Lawrence was no scientist. Not anymore. The man had become a suit, an administrative puppet who probably hadn't stepped foot in a lab all week. Sometimes I felt bad for him.

  "Hand it over." I gestured for the paper, sighing internally. Nothing good ever came by snail mail anymore.

  "You've received a summons," Lawrence explained.

  My eyebrows jumped. "I'm going to court?"

  "No, I believe the President of the United States has requested your presence." Lawrence straightened his tie.

  "Damn." My eyebrows stayed raised. "Didn't know she fancied scientists. This my invitation?" I unfolded the paper, suddenly curious.

  "Dr. Gladwyn." Lawrence's voice turned stern. "This is serious business. It's about our current...situation."

  "Ah." I flashed him a grin. "The situation. Well, if the President wants something done about it, she should probably just let me do my work. I really--"

  The message was brief. A mere six sentences that looked to be an email Lawrence had printed off his machine. It was indeed signed by the President of the United States.

  It appeared I was being recruited.

  Again.

  LENA

  The blaring of the helicopter engine rattled my eardrums as it touched down on the tarmac outside god knows where. All I knew was that only a few hours had passed since Dr. Noran calmly explained to me that I had received a summons from the government.

  Not too long after, a helicopter arrived, like the ones we used to evacuate people, except this one wasn't meant to help survivors, it was here for me. As the initial shock wore off, I'd managed to gather what few belongings I'd brought to California and reluctantly bid my coworkers farewell. I had no idea how long I'd be gone. All I knew was that when the government called, you answered. And in times like these, you couldn't afford to ignore the government.