Act III - Negotiation - Chapter - 8
CONTACT!
Act III: Negotiation
Chapter 8
Earth
Gabril Arcange hovers 1,200 feet above the expansive rainforest. His suit is only a meter from Mykil “The Blonde Behemoth” Angelus’, and their legs dangle clumsily below. Aside from his altitude, Gabril’s tactical heads-up display also gave him his telemetry and heading. The readouts appeared the moment the Paladeians put their suits into flight mode. Gold belts were built into the waists of their sturdy battle armor and provided the team with flight capability. They are the primary visual difference between their PISL game suits and the ones that they all brought to Earth. Magnets, or so the co-captains had been told, rotate extremely fast inside the belts. The resulting magnetic field gives the armor well-balanced maneuverability while in flight.
The suitball veterans watch Isten cross the dark, abandoned village below them. He is accompanied by several human males. Gabril wonders to himself, which one of the earthlings is the son of a reptilian?
Mykil inquires, “Where do you think that lizard’s going?”
Arcange ignores the racial epitaph. He strains his eyes against the infrared camera image and admits, “I can’t tell. Magnify image.” The nameless village stretches across the inside of the reigning champion’s helmet. He hopes the Annunaki’s planet-wide jamming signal won’t affect his suit’s omnidirectional microphones. Arcange requests, “Activate listening mode. Use the image on my display to coordinate the aim of my long-range mics.”
“One moment.” The pleasant-sounding woman’s voice inside Gabril’s helmet tells him, “Listen mode, engaged.”
“Share audio and video with Mykil.”
The voice follows its programming. With a digital smile, it reports “Acknowledged. Establishing link. One moment. Listen mode—shared with—Mykil Angelus.”
An Annunaki-earthsuit-encased Isten removes a dark-colored canvas tarp from a white, egg-shaped spacecraft. He begins to fold it neatly. Gabril requests, “See if that ship registers on scans. Let’s find out if our sensors are still jammed.”
Mykil obliges, “On it.”
Despite the distance of Gabril’s sensitive microphones, he can clearly hear one of the humans ask, “Who are Paladeians?”
The craft opens. It spills harsh white light and a vaporous atmosphere into the jungle clearing. Isten’s very deep voice brushes off the question: “Since it does not appear as though they will be showing, I will not waste our precious time with an explanation. Suffice it to say that the Paladeians could have helped humanity. However, they chose not to.” The Annunaki climbs lankily into his vessel.
Gabril commands, “Mute listen mode.”
Distant static abruptly ceases. The Paladeian’s computer responds, “Listen mode, muted.”
Mykil reports, “That ship is not registering on scans. Nothing is registering on our scans.”
“Yea, I was afraid of that.” Far-off lightning dances behind a veil of dense storm clouds. The PISL MVP orders, “Hachi and Acan, stay in the air and keep us covered. Montu, Ira, and Lugus, if anyone is in the forest surrounding this village, flush ‘em out. Push them toward the center of all of us. Mykil and I will be waiting.”
Thunder booms. Via shortwave radio, Montu confirms, “We’re on our way, boss.”
Isten’s spacecraft lifts off from the village beneath them. The humans shield their faces from wind-driven sand. Gabril suggests, “Maybe you should stay up here for a few minutes, Mykil. I think we should just show these guys one alien at a time.”
“Good idea,” agrees the co-captain. “You know where to find me.”
The retired Galaxy center begins his descent. He commands, “Unmute listening mode.”
“Listen mode, engaged.”
Voices belonging to the three humans spring to life in Gabril’s helmet. The curious one continues, “So they’re our ancestors?”
Arcange gracefully cuts more altitude. Another older human in the trio answers, “Yes, Paladeians are our ancestors.”
All of the humans head back through the village’s center. The discerning one inquires, “But the Paladeians still exist, right? Just not on this planet?”
Arcange’s altimeter clicks below eight hundred feet. The youngest of the Earthlings sighs and says, “Yes, the Paladeians still exist, Izzy. They just don’t live on earth.”
Izzy is oblivious to the Paladeian’s aerial maneuvers, which are taking place only meters above him. The human asks, “And we’re not Paladeian? We’re just human?”
“Yes.” The youngest of them assures Izzy, “We’re just humans.”
Gabril’s descent slows.
“I’m still confused.”
The Paladeian tells his helmet, “Engage broadcast mode. Let the humans hear everything coming through this cockpit.”
“Broadcast mode, engaged.”
Gabril Arcange is silent as he lands in the sandy clearing. With a helmet-concealed smile, he says sarcastically, “It would be nice if the Paladeians showed up and helped, though, wouldn’t it?”
“CONTACT!”
None of the three humans knows which of them said it. Maybe all of them. Maybe none of them. Either way, several dozen volleys from the team’s trio of energy weapons are unleashed. It takes that long before Raji realizes their humanoid metal target is unphased. Ten or so more shots follow before Israel and David both draw the same conclusion. They all lower their weapons worryingly. Israel witnesses his final shot ripple across the blue-tinted energy field. It was invisible and now wraps itself around the six-and-a-half-foot-tall mechanical suit of armor. Izzy scoffs, “Well, that was ineffective!” The armor-plated man had taken several steps forward through the hail of energy weapon blasts. His confidence only magnified the uselessness of the terrestrial firing squad. Ominous clouds roll out. They shimmer the moon’s glow off the stranger’s laser-etched paisley shoulders.
The suit’s sound amplification broadcasts through the abandoned village. It asks, “Gabril, this is Mykil; are you okay? Do you need assistance?”
From the hidden speaker system, a different man’s voice answers, “Let’s see. System’s check.”
The humans remain frozen and trembling in fear. They exchange a flurry of puzzled glances. Surprised at the suit’s strange battle tactics, David whispers, “Is it checking how much damage we did?”
From within the battleskin, a smiling woman’s voice reports, “Shields at ninety-nine percent and rising. Hull integrity remains at one hundred percent.”
“How many of you are in there?” blurts Israel.
Despite the futility of their first attack, Raji reasserts the aim of his weapon. He screams, “Tell us who you are right now before we open fire!”
Following a nervous exchange of gazes, David and Israel hesitantly raise their rifles once more. The metallic suit raises its hands in surrender. After a sigh, its speakers say, “Helmet down.” Small plates decompress around the suit’s head and disappear into its back. They expose a white-skinned brunette man who introduces himself with a shy grin. “My name is Gabril Arcange, and please don’t shoot me again.” Emanating light from the suit's stout torso illuminates the intruder's underchin. It creates an almost angelic glow and lights up intricate electronic mechanisms. Arcange presents a large, awkward smile and waves.
Dropping both the aim of his rifle and his jaw, Israel exclaims, “He’s human!?”
“No.” The surrendered man inside the metal suit is as polite as he possibly can be. He corrects, “I’m not.”
“He’s Paladeian,” infers David. The boy turns off his rifle before resting it across his forearms.
Gabril’s raised right glove snaps and points. With a smile and a wink, he confirms, “Bingo!”
Placing his weapon’s strap over his shoulders, David remembers, “Your suit looks like the ones used in the sport that the Paladeians play. Their championship was a couple of weeks ago, I think.”
“Right again,” affirms Gabril, continuing his dimly lit smirk.
Raji’s aim remains stuck to the Paladeian’s metal chest. His fourteen-year-old nephew confesses, “Me and my uncle saw a little bit of that game. But your suit looks—different.”
“My team and I all played in that game.” Arcange tells them, “The next thing I know, my government sends us to earth with these suits. They are specifically weaponized to assist with your liberation.”
David’s resolve is hardened. He had just witnessed Annunaki weapons do no damage to the full-body mechanized armor. Because he feared letting his bunker fall into enemy hands, the boy has been harboring intense anxiety. That all vanishes in an instant.
“Wait!” Israel antagonizes the Paladeian: “You guys are just athletes?”
“Yes.” The human’s criticism is poignant. Gabril concedes, “I’m afraid so.”
“What are you doing here?” asks Raji. “Isten told us you weren’t coming.”
Despite the forty-eight-year-old’s continued aim, the Galaxy captain lowers his appendages. He explains, “We were sent here to help you fight the reptilians. Yes, we’re just athletes. But we’re not stupid. An Annunaki came to recruit us to your cause; that is correct. However, when the enemy comes to you as Isten did, you don’t just trust them; you wait. We’ve been watching your bunker and waiting for a few days now.”
Raji finally lowers the aim of his rifle. He inquires with optimism, “How many of you are there?”
Mykil Angelus emerges from the dark sky. Silently, he settles his suit in the soft sand alongside his partner. “Helmet down.” The dark-skinned, chiseled Paladeian’s helmet removes itself from his face. He answers, “There are seven of us. Gabril. We’ve better get going before Isten’s friends show up.”
Raji says, “Good Idea. He’s ducking Annunaki leadership too.”
“I bet he is,” scoffs another voice from both Paladeian suits.
“They can hear you, Montu,” grumbles Mykil.
“What?” responds the chirpy tone-of-voice. “I stand by what I said.”
“Meet us at the bunker with Ira and Lugus,” orders Gabril.
“Roger. Montu out.”
A female’s voice asks, “Do you want us to meet you at the bunker too?”
“Negative,” says Gabril into his wrist. They all proceed in the direction of the human hideout. “Hachi. You and Acan stay in the air and keep our skies clear, Gabril out. Anyway, we kept our distance because we were afraid of an Annunaki ambush. So, we just watched. We watched while you liberated your final village. We waited until Isten brought you that device. If he is in contact with the Annunaki leadership, they now think your bunker is easy prey.”
The Blonde Behemoth breaches the jungle’s border alongside his fellow Paladeian. He scoffs, “Easy prey, you are definitely not.”
“I’m Raji,” says the oldest of the humans, leading the Paladeians’ path. “He’s Israel, and the young one is David.”
“David. We’ve heard a lot about you,” remarks Gabril. His suit makes a stealthy approach to the bunker difficult. It snaps twigs loudly underfoot. The Galaxy captain asks, “What kind of defenses does your bunker have, apart from your rifles?”
“Not enough,” laments David’s uncle.
They all weave around a series of tree trunks. Through the light being cast from his suit’s torso, Mykil asks, “How many entrances are there that lead into the bunker?”
With an air of pride, the fourteen-year-old replies, “Just one.”
“Awesome!” says the Paladeian, pumping his fist in celebration. “We can bottleneck ‘em.”
Israel spitballs, “Ya’ know, one of you guys should be going up with David. The Annunaki wouldn’t stand a chance!”
“I’m no tactician,” admits Gabril Arcange. “But that nuke is all the leverage you’re going to need on a spaceship. Here on earth, our team is going to be most effective if we protect your bunker.”