He’d seen aliens before, but this one seemed different, somehow. The alien looked almost nervous, glancing upwards time and time again as he inched towards the boat. Mathew remembered that the aliens might well be watching — after all, their high command had authorised the excursion — from high overhead, looking down from their starships. It gave him an uncomfortable feeling to know that America no longer ruled the skies, an odd sense of empathy with those he’d fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. The thought made him smile. There had been limits to even the best satellite and drone coverage and chances were that the aliens had the same limitations. If not, the war — when it finally came into the open — was likely to be short, bloody and a total human defeat. What little Mathew did know about their surveillance technology suggested all kinds of possibilities for population control. The USSR would have sold its soul — if they’d been willing to admit that souls existed — for the technology the aliens deployed regularly. And Mathew and his team had to fool it.
“Come on,” he called, cheerfully. The security officers blinked at him, clearly wondering if they’d gotten the right boat. Mathew wasn’t wearing a uniform, merely a civilian outfit that seemed to provide little space for guns or ammunition — or any of the other equipment that SEALs carried on a routine basis. “The water’s fine.”
For a being that had crossed uncounted light years, the alien seemed remarkably nervous as he inched up the gangplank and onto the boat. Mathew found himself whispering reassurance, as if the alien was a worried child taking his first trip out onto the ocean, although he couldn’t tell if the alien understood. Maybe it was the very faint rocking that was making the boat shiver, or maybe it was the thought of what he was about to do. The alien high command, however it was organised, wouldn’t take too kindly to defectors. If they ever realised what was about to happen, they’d demand the defector be returned — or else Earth’s cities might pay the price. And if that happened, Mathew knew, the President would have no choice, but to surrender. The weak, he knew, must often feel ashamed.
He helped the alien down into the small lounge and invited him to sit in a chair that had been specifically designed for an alien rear. They seemed to dislike human chairs and looking at the alien, Mathew understood why. A flat-bottomed chair would be uncomfortable for their posterior. Shaking his head, he passed the alien a drink and headed back up to the deck. It was time to cast off and head out to sea. They could worry about if aliens suffered from seasickness later, if there was a later.
“Time to go,” he said. “Get us out of here.”
The boat cast off from the pier and started to head out to sea. Norfolk was one of the busiest shipping areas in the United States, with the Norfolk Naval Shipyard providing repair and modernisation services for every type of ship the USN possessed. As the boat headed out, Mathew saw amphibious vessels, submarines, guided missile cruisers, and a pair of giant aircraft carriers. Most of them were due to be decommissioned, in accordance with the terms set by the Galactic Federation, although he had a suspicion that some people in high places were deliberately dragging their feet. The new carrier under construction in Northrop Grumman Newport News, located on the other side of Hampton Roads in Newport News, would probably never be finished. One by one, they passed the signs of American naval might and shaped a course out to sea. The plan they’d filed with the authorities was to head down to Charleston, allowing the alien a chance to experience life on the water, and then perhaps head further down to Florida. It was a sign of alien arrogance, he suspected, that they hadn’t even questioned the use of a top-flight SEAL team to guard one alien. He would have been suspicious if the SEALs were involved.
He glanced back down into the lounge and saw the alien climbing up the steps to the deck. It didn’t look as if the alien had proper sea legs, which made him wonder how they’d designed boats on their homeworld. They would probably be happier with ramps than ladders, although he had a feeling that the alien could probably have scrambled up a ladder far quicker than a flight of steps. It looked as if the aliens had stronger arms than humans — and the SEALs could have pulled themselves up just using their arms. He grimaced at the faint smell as the alien approached him, and then stopped, both scaly hands clutching the railing. It was impossible to be sure, but the alien looked somewhat uneasy at the vast spread of water. Or maybe it was because he had placed his fate into the hands of the human race. God knew humans weren’t always very kind to their own people. What sort of alien, on the run from his own people, would expect good treatment from humanity?
The alien didn’t seem interested in small talk, for which Mathew was profoundly grateful. Leaving one of the other SEALs to watch their passenger — the alien might not be able to swim if he fell overboard — he walked along the deck to the pilot cabin, which someone had laughably labelled THE BRIDGE. The SEAL at the wheel looked up at him enquiringly, but Mathew had other priorities. A quick glance at the GPS showed that they were well on their way to the rendezvous point; a longer glance at the security sensors proved that the alien had at least two transmitters on his person. One was the voder, Mathew knew; the other was embedded within the alien’s skin. They would have to be very careful when they got the alien out of the boat. A single transmission and the Galactics would come down on them like the wrath of God.
“This mission could go horrendously wrong,” his superior had warned him. “If it does, we never heard of you.”
It wasn’t a pleasant thought, but Mathew had been doing deniable missions for the last four years. If his name went down as a rogue SEAL — a distant possibility — at least God and his family would know the truth. And maybe sometime in the future, after humanity had beaten the Galactics, the truth would be told openly. He might even get a good mention in the official histories of United States Navy’s Sea, Air and Land Teams.
The hours ticked away until they reached the right position. This was the chancy bit, Mathew knew; far too much could go wrong. He escorted the alien back down into the lounge and warned him to remain seated; seconds later, a dull thud echoed through the craft. The alien started, clearly shocked, but Mathew motioned for him to remain still. A moment later, a hatch opened in the bottom of the boat, revealing the head of another SEAL. The minisub had arrived. Quickly, working with frantic speed, Mathew motioned for the alien to remove the voder and the small container the alien had brought with him, leaving them both in the boat. They’d discovered that the aliens had small charges implanted within their bodies to destroy them in case of death without any hope of recovery, something that — Mathew hoped — would quell any suspicions the Galactics might have about what had happened. The container, they’d been promised, contained enough of the explosion compound the Galactics used to leave traces behind afterwards.
“Come on,” he hissed. The alien seemed even more nervous, almost claustrophobic, as he approached the hatch. Mathew hesitated, and then picked up the alien and pushed him down the hatch, into the submarine. He’d known civilians be just as nervous when it came to climbing into a submarine, even though there was nothing to fear. It stood to reason that someone who had never seen a submarine, let alone travelled in one, would be nervous.