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After several minutes, Jason wiped his mouth and stood up. He still had a job to do, unpleasant as it might be. He had to find out where the bodies were going. If these insect-looking beings weren't from this planet, it would make sense that they were shipping the bodies to wherever they'd come from. He had no idea how far away that might be. According to the book that Tinker had given him, the stars were a long ways away. In the book, the distance had been measured in light years, but it had been one of many terms that didn't make any sense to Jason.
Still, the bodies were going somewhere. It was his job to find out where and to then figure out some way to stop this insanity. And somehow he had to get a message to Seattle and the family to let them know that he was still alive and needed their help at once.
Once again, Jason slowly made his way through the shadows until he came to an area where the line of now-gutted carcasses ended at a large carrier shuttle.
This area of the assembly line was much cooler. It became quickly obvious to Jason, as he stepped into one of the full cargo carriers, that it was refrigerated. He fought back a shiver running along his spine and realized it wasn't just from the cold. There must be at least a hundred bodies in each shuttle, and he counted over twenty shuttles in this area alone.
He walked down one row and up another, looking into the hollow faces. Some of them had their eyes opened in a blank stare, while others had their eyes closed as though sleeping. As Jason strolled down another row, he suddenly stopped and felt his empty stomach flip once more.
Hanging there a few feet from him was Casey. And right next to him, shoulder to shoulder, was Emerald Eyes, her green eyes still brilliant, even through the cloudy haze of death.
A wave of anger replaced the wave of nausea. He whirled around, line after line of dead humans passing before him. They had no right to do this to us, he thought, as he strode towards the entranceway to the shuttle.
We weren't placed here to serve as food for some other civilization. We're intelligent life. We've got a soul. We've got a reason for living other than this. They had no right. No right to kill my friends. Kill the rest of these mindless people, but leave my friends alone. But even as he had the thought, he knew it wasn't just the death of his friends that made him so angry. It was all of this. It was so heartless, so cruel, so unjust.
Humankind was meant for better than this. Somehow, something very, very wrong had happened in the universe that the book had talked about. Somehow there had been a misunderstanding, an imbalance. Mankind was meant to explore the stars, not to be turned into fodder for some other civilization.
He had to put a stop to it, starting right now. He rounded the corner heading for the door. He wasn't sure what he was planning to do. Maybe just reach for the closest mantis he could find and crush its skull, then reach for the next and the next until he had killed them all, or until one of the guards stopped him with its weapon. It didn't really matter what his plan was, because when he reached the door, it was already closed and locked on the other side. He was trapped inside the cargo shuttle.
––––––––
"ANY LUCK?" SEATTLE said, as Tinker entered the lair.
"No, not yet," he replied. "I can't understand it. The comm-boxes worked fine. We checked them out thoroughly. I've taken mine apart and everything is in order. All I can imagine is that Jason's unit must have a short or something. Surely he's tried to contact us by now."
Seattle could tell from Tinker's furrowed brow that he was distraught at the lack of communication. She knew exactly how he felt, but was careful to keep her own concerns to herself. It was part of being a leader. You had to keep your head when everyone around you was losing theirs, or something like that.
"How about the computer?"
"Nix again," Tinker replied. "I just came from there. Wompun knows to notify us as soon as anything at all comes in." Tinker paced back and forth in front of Seattle.
Poor dear, he's so worried and is trying so hard not to show it. Seattle's heart ached to see one of her children hurt so much, but at the same time, she was proud how well he was holding up.
Still pacing, Tinker said, "We need to go in and find him."
Seattle wasn't surprised to hear the comment. She knew it was only a matter of time before someone said it. She had been wondering about it herself, but after careful thought, had made her decision.
"I know it sounds cruel and like I don't care about Jason, but I want you to know I do. I'm worried about him, also, but we just can't run the risk of going in after him until we hear from him. If we go now, whatever has happened to him could just as easily happen to us. We'll just have to wait until he contacts us."
"If he contacts us," Tinker blurted out, tears coming to his eyes. "What if they've captured him? What if he can't call us because he's locked up and they took away his comm-box? Or what if..." Tinker tried to choke back the tears, but could hold them back any longer.
"Jason is smart and resourceful." Seattle tried to comfort him but could recognize her own concerns in his. "I tell you what. We'll wait another twelve hours. If we don't hear anything by then, we'll reconsider. Okay?"
Tinker nodded. He wiped his nose on his sleeve. "I'm going back to the van to try the comm-box once more. We've got to get through."
––––––––
IT DIDN'T TAKE JASON long to find out why the cargo shuttle had been locked. Within minutes, he felt the shuttle start to move. He quickly staggered over to one of the corners where he would be less likely to be crushed by any shifting cargo. Then he waited.
Where was the shuttle taking him? he wondered, as he felt it pick up speed. More importantly, who or what would be waiting at the other end?
He didn't have long to wait. He estimated the trip took less than half an hour. So he was definitely still in the MED, but other than that he could be anywhere within thirty minutes of the Sleeper Station. The Central Church would fall in that area. It would make sense, according to the message in his mother's journal.
Not long after the shuttle came to rest, he heard the door click a couple of times. Seconds later it opened. Jason hid among the carcasses and waited, but no one entered.
The process must be almost completely automated, he thought. The mantises just supervise and do the few things that aren't automatic. He waited a couple more minutes before sticking his head out. If the last room had been huge, this one was gigantic. It was hard to believe that a space this large could be underground, probably hundreds of feet underground. These aliens had been very busy over many years to get such a system set up.
The room that Jason was in was large enough to put three or four cathedrals the size of the Central Church inside. Dozens upon dozens of entrance ways lined every wall. No doubt each one led to one or more Sleeper Stations. Obviously, the Central Church was aptly named. It was also central to the entire alien food processing system.
The most fascinating part was in the middle of the huge cathedral-like room. At first, Jason thought it was a large room lined with mirrors, but as he looked more closely, they weren't mirrors at all. They reflected some of the room around them, but it was as if a second image was superimposed over the reflection.
It suddenly dawned on Jason what the "mirrors" were when he noticed the tracks leading up to each one. Smaller shuttles, more like sleds than a shuttle, because they were completely open, passed along rails. Each one was piled high with human bodies. As they contacted the mirror-like area, they slowed down, then dissolved into the mirrors.
Jason could think of only one conclusion. These mirrored portals must be the entranceway to the aliens' world. The thought was confirmed when, a few minutes later, he noticed another shuttle coming from the other direction.
First, the mirror was blank, then a corner of the shuttle appeared from nowhere and slowly became larger and larger. On the shuttle were fifteen or twenty of the alien prisoners with three or four guards. Probably a second shift getting ready to replace another group, Jason figured.
As Jason watched, an idea began to formulate in his brain. This was the weak link, if a weak link existed at all. If somehow he could destroy the portal system, the aliens would be cut off completely from Earth. Somehow he had to destroy the tower of mirrors.
The only way to do that was to get a message to the surface. Now that he knew what was going on and what the weak link was, it was time to call in reinforcements. He pulled the comm-box out of his pocket and turned it to transmit, but with the same results as before. When he turned it back to receive, all he could pick up was static.
Jason put the com-box back in his pocket. It was time to go find a computer.
––––––––
RENGAL MORMUS WAS MAKING a mental list of all the different reasons he hated his job when the call came in. So far, he had come up with twenty-four major things that were wrong, and his mind had begun to wander to the question he had asked himself a thousand times. How had his life plan gotten so screwed up?
When he had first taken the job as a security officer and supervisor of the human processing plant, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity. But the company had withheld information. They hadn't bothered to tell him that humans died if you breathed on them hard. He had figured he would need to train one every few hundred years and that would be it, but no. Every time he turned around, his human counterpart had died, and he had to start all over again.
This idiot Carmiel was a perfect example. He didn't know anything about how to keep the plant running. He blabbered constantly, and he smelled worse than any other human Rengal had ever had to be around, and that was saying something.
The company had also never told him how stupid humans were. Thank the Cosmos he only had to deal with a few living ones. What if they had set the plant up so they had to herd living flocks around? Oh, that would be too much.
He decided to also start a list of small blessings, starting with that one.
But before he could come up with a second blessing to add to the list, the intercom interrupted him. No matter, he thought, as he pressed the receive button. Probably no other blessings to list.
"This is Rengal, and this interruption into my busy day better be worth it, or I'll plaster your hide on a drod rock and display it in the commissary for everyone's amusement."
"Sorry for the interruption," a nervous voice on the other end said. "This is Starpin in de-shelling. One of my guards came upon something quite unusual. I think you should come down and take a look."
Of course you think that, you mindless idiot. That way you don't have to be responsible for thinking. Rengal was just about to repeat his thoughts out loud when he decided to ask first what the moron had found.
"It's an empty shell." There was a brief pause on the line. "And it has a built-in trapdoor." Rengal's scales quivered. That didn't sound good. Of course, it could just be some blunder back on the surface. Some Sleeper attendant sending the wrong coffin through the crematorium, but that wouldn't explain the trapdoor.
He hated to admit it, but even though he considered his assistant to be one of the dumbest Musmacs he'd ever met, Starpin was probably right to call him. He'd better take a look.
"I'll be down in a few minutes. Don't let anyone touch anything until I arrive."
He flipped the intercom off and started to rise, then stopped. He flipped the intercom back on and pressed in a number sequence on the panel.
"This is Carmiel," came the high-pitched voice of a translator.
"Get your skinny ass down here, Carmiel. You've got problems at the de-sheller." Rengal flipped the switch without waiting for a response. How he hated going down to the line. The smell was enough to make him sick for a month. It was hard to believe he had ever liked the taste of humans. Over the years, the sight and smell of them had become almost more than he could stand. Item number 25 for his list of why he hated his job.
––––––––
JASON FOUND THE COMPUTER console in an office not far from where his shuttle had come to rest. He sat down in front of it and switched it on, praying as he did so that no one had a trace on it. Whether they did or not, he had to run the risk. It might be the only chance he had to get a message to Seattle and Tinker.
He quickly punched in the code that Tinker had given him that would get him into the correct line. Seconds later, a warning message came on stating that the code was incorrect and should be checked. Tinker had warned him that this would happen and instructed him to type in the second half of the code when it did. Jason did that now, and a few seconds later, he received the prompt to transmit.
Jason typed his message as fast as he could. In as few words as possible, he told them that he was okay and what he had found. He then typed in a list of items that he needed and instructed them to come in force.
Tinker and he had discussed various possible scenarios that might need to be addressed, depending on what Jason found under the Sleeper Station. Although no one could have guessed exactly what Jason had found, they had developed a plan in case it became necessary for Jason to call for reinforcements. Jason instructed Tinker to initiate this plan and typed in a few modifications, including upping the amount of explosive plastic they should bring with them.
Jason ended by requesting they acknowledge receipt of his message. A few seconds passed before the message was returned.
"Your message received. Holy shit!! Will forward. Wompun."
Jason switched off the computer and sat back. Now it was just a matter of waiting for the reinforcements. That, and to be sure he wasn't captured in the meantime.
He stood up and started for the door. He was about to step out into the corridor that led back to the main hall, when he heard the familiar tone of an airlift, signaling someone's arrival. He stepped back into the computer room and shut the door, leaving it open just a crack.
A few seconds later, Archangel Carmiel stepped out of the lift, accompanied by one of the mantises, who was lavishly dressed in a flowing purple robe. Standing next to the alien, Carmiel looked small and weak and paler than normal.
It figures, Jason thought, as the two walked by the computer room on their way to the main hall. Of course, the upper crust of the ULC would have to be in conspiracy with the aliens. There was no way all this could have been hidden from everyone. He wondered how difficult it was for his father to sleep at night, knowing he was the worst psychopathic mass murderer in human history.