I woke up in the dazzling glare of a laboratory. I was at least alive but, unfortunately, I now seemed to be the focus of the aliens’ investigations. They had pinned me down on a narrow table in the centre of the room, my hands and legs held firmly in restraints. My head was also strapped down so I couldn’t turn, but I could see all around me; there wasn’t much by way of kit or equipment, just the alien scientists working quietly; all their attention focussed on me.
I’d say they were about as tall as us and of similar build, as far as I could judge, beneath their bulky suits. They were taking no chances. I don’t know what diseases they were worried I’d pass on but they all wore full-cover biohazard kit at all times, long atmo-umbilicals snaking across the room behind them as they moved. Whenever they bent over me I tried to see through the dull plastic of their helmets, but I couldn’t make out a thing.
At first, once I was over the shock of having been captured, I can’t say I was really frightened. Their initial tests were fairly unobtrusive, avoiding contact with me as much as possible. They provided food and fluids at regular intervals and even seemed to have quiet intervals when only one or two of them would be in the room with me. They allowed me to sleep undisturbed during those periods.
However, after what I judged must have been about three days, their behaviour changed. It started when several of them appeared to be jostling each other, in obvious disagreement. At length, one of them seemed to have gained the upper hand; the other two were escorted from the room, still objecting and resisting those escorting them. From this point on, investigation became experimentation.
I was exposed first to very low temperatures and then to very high. Each time, they watched till I was almost unconscious and then returned the environment to a comfortable warmth. Next they tried to assess my intelligence or, at least, my mathematical ability. Connecting pads to my fingertips, linking me to some sort of input device, they showed me puzzles and graphical representations of numbers and mathematical problems. I played along, guiding a pointer to the correct answers. Having, I think, done very well on that test, I had rather hoped they might perhaps think me worthy of treatment as a visitor to their world, rather than an exotic creature to be studied. My hopes were not to be realised.
One of the later tests was to be the worst: my tolerance of pain. For an advanced race they have a marked propensity for barbarity. Electrodes were attached to me and the tests continued through increasing levels, again stopping only when I was about to lose consciousness. The process was prolonged and excruciating, but my screams failed to elicit any signs of pity or sympathy in my tormentors.
After that they left me for what seemed like several days. Food and fluids were provided and the catheter checked every few hours, but no more tests were attempted. I presumed they were using this time to analyse the results they’d obtained so far, so hope rose again that they might release me and try to communicate with me on equal terms. Still unable to move, I could do little more than rest and regain my strength. To pass the time I rehearsed the speech of welcome I had prepared to mark the momentous occasion of the meeting of our two worlds. So far, my starring role in this pivotal moment in world history was not going to plan. I’m not too sure if the project director and the politicians back home had specific expectations about how the First Contact would go, but I’m guessing their visions, like mine, had rather more in the way of hand shaking and the exchange of gifts and rather less in the way of invasive probing and attempted electrocution.
When they finally returned to the lab they were fewer in number and seemed somewhat agitated. There was another heated exchange, not as loud as before, which ended with one of them leaving the room. The winner of the argument, who seemed keen to project some authority over the remaining two, approached me while the others watched closely, perhaps anxiously. The onlookers apparent nervousness worried me and I wondered what this ‘Boss’ character was going to do. Any thoughts I might have entertained that here was the alien ambassador come to apologise, on behalf of the entire planet, for my treatment to date, were soon dashed. The Boss sidled up to the table and peered down at me. Suddenly, without notice, she jabbed something sharp into my neck and hastily stepped back. I don’t know why I’m assuming it was a ‘she’. I suppose, heavily disguised by those biohazard suits, it could as easily been male, but something about her build and deportment suggested that the Boss was female. She communicated some orders to the two witnesses then swept out of the lab.
Whatever it was she had injected in to me had a fairly rapid effect. Within hours I began to feel my temperature rising. I became feverish and was soon shaking uncontrollably and aching all over. My skin felt as if it were cracking and peeling away. Not in the way you might ordinarily slough off dry skin, but ripping, in large, painful strips. It was an agonising, burning sensation. My joints too were incredibly painful. Ludicrous as it sounds, I honestly believed that my shoulders and pelvis had lost any structural integrity and were breaking and reforming, over and over again. All my bones seemed to be in a torment of stretching or compressing.
Thankfully, I eventually passed out, but I do remember waking several times, always feeling terrible. My eyesight was being badly affected, with my field of vision reducing all the time. Each time I woke, I could see less and less, until I was only really able to clearly see what was directly in front of me. Around the sharp focus at the heart of this tunnel vision was a blurred area and around that, nothingness.
I was, by now, convinced that I was going to die. In my few lucid moments, I remember I felt angry that all my efforts; from my initial application to join the Space Corps, through the years of gruelling training, to the final triumph of my being selected for the First Contact programme, were now ending so pathetically. Compounding the anger was my feeling of foolishness. I, who had once been so proud to be the star of the Academy, now desperately hoped that no one back home would ever discover the truth of what had happened to me: better to be a lost hero, presumed dead in the line of duty; making a courageous step towards galactic integration, than to be an object of pity, a slightly ridiculous footnote in the half-remembered histories of generations to come.
It was during one of these brief waking moments that one of my hands became free of the restraints. I moved my arm across my body with the intention of loosening the remaining ties, but froze midway. As my free hand passed into the tunnel of my vision I had a terrible shock: my hand was a ragged mess of green scales and livid pink! My fingers were distorted to unnatural lengths and my arm seemed wasted and deathly pale. I cannot lie: I was terrified.
I believe I must have fainted.
I have no idea how long I was unconscious. I finally awoke perhaps three hours ago and I’ve remained conscious since then. The pain has eased and the fire in my bones and over my skin has gone, but I don’t feel that I am back to anything close to normal. My vision has still not recovered but perhaps I should just be glad I’m alive.
The scientists have been coming and going since I recovered. One by one they have been moving closer to peer at me. Whatever they’ve learned from this whole, dismal process, they’re no more reassured that I pose them no threat; they continue to wear the full suits. One of them has just come to the table, carrying a large box. Obviously I was wrong to think the testing was over.
What now? I have to turn my head to see them opening the box and taking out something shiny: a mirror. At a guess, I’d say they’re going to check if their favourite test subject is self-aware. At least this should be a relatively painless exercise.
They’re fitting the mirror into a frame to the side of the table, presumably so that it can be maneuvered overhead. More scientists have come in; I can make out quite a crowd around the table now. This is very strange. Why the sudden interest? They move the mirror across and I can’t but look up at my reflection.
My reflection? This can’t be me. What is it?
My skin looks dreadfully pale, dull and smooth. My mouth has all but closed up and my nostrils are huge. My eyes have changed shape entirely and they’re both really close together, on the front of my head.
Dear gods! What have those bloody humans done to me? They’ve turned me into one of them!