The vats were about 10 feet high and full of amber or green liquid. Most of those closest to the tunnel road were full of human body parts — disembodied arms and legs, the occasional torso and sometimes head, the eyes staring wide and lifelessly out at all passers-by. Reggie tried not to look when he drove through the level, but he always found himself taking a few glances at the vats despite himself. It was what was beyond them that made his hackles rise.
Housed in cages that were perhaps dozens of rows deep were whimpering and crying and screaming humans, and some that were no longer human and that had never been. They cried out for help, for mercy, for death, for their mothers. Reggie had made the mistake one day of having his window rolled partly-down when driving through and had heard some of them, the things they said, the places they were from, their names, their kids’ names. He never made that mistake again.
Reggie shook off the thought as he entered the circular ramp that’d take him down to Level 2, the ramp reserved for big vehicles like his, and which took forever to get down at 5 mph. But Reggie’s thoughts raced ahead of his vehicle once again, this time to Level 6, Nightmare Hall. The name wasn’t a misnomer, either — the place really was the stuff of nightmares. Reggie steered the truck down the curving ramps to Level 2 but imagined instead he was entering Level 6, for he’d always quickly be awash in the pinkish-red light that illuminated the area. And what an area it was! The floors were made of latex and covered with row upon row of cages. If the vats upstairs gave Reggie the chills, these down here damn near gave him a heart attack from fright. He kept his eyes level, straight ahead, never daring to look to his side when he was driving through, even when the Reptilians, the Draco race as they were officially called, had the run of the place.
He still remembered the sight of those… things in the cages. Some had half-human half-animal combinations. There’d been the ‘man’ with the hands of a seal and the ‘legs’ as well. A woman that looked more like a unicorn, dogs with human heads, bat-like humans that were 7 feet tall, and things that looked like ten people all stuck together, their faces a mask of bewilderment, pain and anguish. It was the stuff of nightmares, there was no denying it.
The Reptilians were something else entirely. They wore no clothes, just a sort of utility belt that held some of its weapons, and had large claw-like talons on their dinosaur-like feet. What always sent a shiver down Reggie’s spine, however, were the yellow, slit-serpentine eyes shining out of those hideous, scaled-bodies. That and the God-awful hissing sound they made when angry. It was they who came to the cages and fed the creatures, and the humans that had yet to be turned into them. And feeding was no easy task. Because of the level of genetic experimentation that’d gone on, several liquid substances needed to be prepared each day, all given out according to the… things’ needs.
The proper name for Level 6 was the ‘Vivarium,’ although what the hell that meant Reggie didn’t really have a clue. He remembered when he’d first started at the base, when they’d still been passing the Manual around. It’d described Level 6 as “a private subterranean bio-terminal park, with accommodations for animals, fish, fowl, reptile, and mankind.” That was one way of putting it, but there was no way Reggie was ever going to think of cages and tanks as ‘accommodations.’
And of course those poor souls were nothing more than chattel, sustenance for the Grays, the dying race that’d started it all, from outer space that is. It began with a few abductions, then the treaties, but when humans proved incapable of giving them all they needed, cattle were turned to. How long those mutilations would be able to be kept quiet was beyond Reggie, but he suspected not much longer. And God did he hope so. The blood of the animals, and that from many of the humans as well, was used to keep the Grays alive, put into the vats where the creatures bathed and soaked up the life essence. The plasma and amniotic fluid were the best, the prime rib of the humans as far as the Grays were concerned. Thankfully they sated themselves on parasitic plants as well, the sap from some even capable of ‘powering’ them for months.
Reggie shook off the thought and slowed the vehicle as he finally came out of the last of the long and winding ramp from Level 1… and immediately narrowed his eyes.
Is that what I think… sure enough, it was. Three Zeta Reticulan Grays were standing there, the tall grey bastards with big black eyes, no nose to speak of, and that slit mouth that never spoke. Most of the time they were just called ‘Ret. Four’s,’ meaning they were from the fourth planet of the Zeta II Reticuli system, and where the hell that was Reggie had no idea. These ones were a slight shade of green, Reggie noticed, meaning they hadn’t ‘fed’ in awhile, and were more likely to be vicious because of it.
That wasn’t really what had Reggie’s attention, however. It was the large group of military personnel — the first he’d seen since entering the base — that really threw him. All had weapons, something that wasn’t odd but wasn’t that common either, and the air in the place had an edge to it, something Reggie could feel even from the safety of his cab. He stopped the vehicle a good hundred yards from the group, who, he now saw, were right near the recently installed antimatter reactor. He rolled down the window of the cab and then crouched down in the seat as best he could, staying out of sight, listening, just like he had in the mud in Vietnam.
Outside in the tunnel a hundred yards away looked to be fifty scientists accompanied by about half as many soldiers. The soldiers all had machine guns while ahead of them the Grays had flash guns. Colonel Michaels saw this and frowned, then stepped forward.
“We’re here for the presentation, like you asked. What do—”
“Quiet,” one of the Gray’s said, or more properly ‘sent,’ for the word was ‘heard’ in everyone’s mind but not by a single ear. Even Reggie back in the truck a hundred yards away got the message loud and clear.
Colonel Michaels closed his mouth and firmed his jaw and stared into the large black eyes on the Gray’s oversized head. He’d long ago gotten over his fear of the things, knowing that they sensed that emotion miles away, like they did all irrational thought. It was keeping the mind rational, logical, but also skipping about in abstract ways that weren’t easy to follow telepathically, that was the secret to undermining the Gray’s dominant hold in all situations with the humans, of which there were increasingly many.
The Gray stared back at him, then sent out the message, “disarm.”
“What?” Colonel Michaels said, looking from that leading Gray to its two companions gathered around the antimatter reactor. “What do you mean ‘disarm?’ We’ve never had to do that before.”
“You’ll do it now,” another message came, this one seemingly from one of the other Grays, although how Colonel Michaels or any of the others could tell was beyond their ability to explain.
Colonel Michaels shook his head. “I won’t.”
There was no message this time, just the feeling imparted that that was that, the conversation was over, as was the meeting and everyone’s life. It was known instantly, as you’d know a breeze was blowing your hair.
Colonel Michaels reacted and managed to get his right hand up, the one holding his machine gun, a fraction of an inch, or about as much as he could in a few fractions of a second. After that the psionic blast from the leading Gray in front of him cut into his forehead and blew his brains out the back of his head as sure as a gunshot at point blank range would. Brain-matter flew all over the soldiers behind him, but they were trained and didn’t hesitate as their commander’s body began falling to the floor. Neither did the Grays.