Black Desert Read online

  BLACK

  DESERT

  (or Ugly Big Aliens Attack Fat Bald Men Wearing Crops and Sandals)

  By

  Peter Francis

  I have always loved science-fiction but never written any. I started this book in about 1998 then mice made a nest from the manuscript while it was in my sister’s garage. I always wanted to finish it even if it meant starting again. This I have done and I hope you enjoy it.

  I always communicate with readers who contact me at [email protected]. If you like this – please read my other books as below. This my first and probably last science–fiction novel. When you get to my age every day is a miracle although I still have to write a real horror story.

  Death Bell

  Death Beach

  The Last Demon

  Ziggurat

  Rental from Laredo

  Ice Blue Legs

  Cold Red Blood

  Two Dead Labradors

  Dark Grey Smoke

  Flee from Zero

  The Fourth World

  The Man with the Photofit Face

  The Colour of Dying Flesh

  Dargaville

  Let’s Go Play at the Adams 2

  BLACK DESERT

  PROLOGUE

  September, 2084.

  “Will this work?” asked Jim Renfraw, a man who doubted science and loved the cut and thrust of politics.

  “I wouldn’t think so,” said his companion, a military man of obscure rank and position. “It hasn’t yet.”

  “This Limey, this English professor, this – er,” Renfraw struggled for better identification. “This woman,” he said eventually. “She has faith in it.”

  “Professor Titiana Lillishenger invented the device and most of the theory behind it. Oh, and she’s not English.”

  The two men stood together but apart from the few others milling around a strange device resting on a tarpaulin in the middle of the desert outside Barstow. Their scene comprised the device, a long folding table holding holo computers, three portable latrines for comfort and three huge military generators fed from a tank on the back of an army truck. In the centre a woman in her 50s fussed around the device which was hooked to a metal table bearing an urn about two feet high. She was close to five feet tall with long brown hair tinged with silver tied back in a pony tail. Renfraw thought she may have had that style since she was six years old and nobody had ever told her that her face was close enough to that of a horse for mistakes to be made easily. Not that he was being fair, for apart from her worryingly large teeth she looked no more like a horse than the average donkey.

  A bespectacled technician – her assistant – studied the computers in front of him, watching the holograms as they displayed every part of the big device on the tarpaulin. The images constantly rotated, using colours to identify each part and its working status.

  Apart from Lillishenger’s few assistants, there were two more military men and a couple of suits from Washington. The day was hot; a fine example of late summer in the desert. The area had been brushed by the military for snakes, scorpions, lizards and spiders. Nobody wanted a stray leg or fang polluting the machine.

  “Are the generators up to speed?” Lillishenger asked her technician, who consulted the images in front of him.

  “Maximum output in three minutes,” he replied. “We have never used this much power before. You would think this would work.”

  “Everything is theory until proven in fact,” she said.

  “You’re the boss.”

  “Yes,” muttered Lillishenger, “I am. I need a pee before we start so I’ll go now.”

  “You don’t need my permission,” said her assistant.

  “I wasn’t asking it. I was merely informing you in case you should suddenly look up from the hologram, peer around you and not be able to see me. I’ll be in the central latrine in case the pizza arrives.”

  “Pizza?”

  “That was a joke, Gutierrez.”

  “Nothing will begin until you are back with us, Professor.”

  “Excellent.” The lady had a last look round the device and shuttled off to the latrines, close by.

  Renfraw said to his companion, “I wouldn’t mind a closer look at that thing while she’s gone. She was guarding it like her favourite child earlier.”

  “It’s a bit ugly for a child, don’t you think?” said his military companion. “All those wires and mainboards and plastic bits with lights. Anyway, this has never worked yet and all the best brains say it is scientifically impossible.”

  “It’s scientifically difficult but not impossible,” corrected the suited man. “But you are correct. We should take a closer look in view of the cost of the blessed thing.”

  The two men strolled forward until they were adjacent to the machine which sat on the tarpaulin and glowered at them venomously. The technician looked up and shouted across, “Don’t touch anything, guys.”

  “Guys!” snorted the military man and turned round to look as upright and soldier-like as he was able. He muttered, “I am a General and you are wearing an expensive suit. We are hardly guys.” In the process of moving, his jacket brushed the device and dislodged a small spindle which seemed to cheer up the machine to a point where it began to chatter.

  “You can’t expect much more in this age,” said Renfraw. “The snot-nosed devils don’t live in the real world like the rest of us.”

  The general nodded as the men walked back to the safety circle way behind the device and talked again. Meanwhile the technician, also in a position considered safe, could not understand why his computer was showing a malfunction and sucking far more power from the generators than ever before.

  “Professor,” he yelled, attempting to stem the rising panic.

  A muffled voice emanated from the latrine. “I’m pulling up my drawers. I’ll be out in a minute or two.”

  “I’d try to make it a second or two or even less if I were you. The device is operating itself at full power.”

  “Imbecile,” came the muffled voice. “What have you done? I’ll be right out.”

  “Quick as you can.”

  “Has somebody touched my cloaking device?” shouted the professor as she opened the latrine door, still zipping up the side of her pants. “Turn it off.”

  “Something has shorted,” shouted back her assistant.

  At that point a blue light shot out from the machine and hit the urn which disappeared. It went beyond the urn and spread wildly, covering the latrines which also vanished along with the professor, fingers still fumbling at her fastening.

  The technician worked frantically till he successfully killed the glowing thing and raced towards the table where the urn had stood. He patted the table top gingerly at first and felt around it. Then he rushed over to where the latrines had stood and prodded the area with his feet and hands. He muttered as he worked. “This is a cloaking device. Nothing is supposed to be eliminated, just hidden from view.”

  “Looks like this has been a waste of money,” said Renfraw. “I came from Washington, all for nothing.”

  “I came from Edwardes so not so far,” said the general. “As a cloaking device, yes, it may have failed, however, as a weapon it may have capabilities. At least we had nothing to do with this chaos.”

  “Naturally not,” said Renfraw. “The device malfunctioned.”

  “Do you think the professor was blown into atoms along with the latrines and the urn?”

  “That’s the way my report will read.”

  “Mine too,” said the military man and offered his hand. “Shame about your suit getting dusty.”

  “I think it will brush off,” said Renfraw flicking the back of his hand down his lapels.

  “I hope that’s not the r
emains of that professor lady,” said the General. “I seem to have some also and believe me, she isn’t the sort of woman I would like to take home.”

  The assistant continued prodding with his feet as if to discover the atoms of all that had been sent to oblivion.

  ONE

  September 2094

  Bright stars lit the area around the small craft. The heavens were vast from here, even broader and deeper than when viewed from Earth. Behind them in the distance about 93 million miles away was the sun. Their home planet was mere spitting distance, its moon sharp as crystal on one edge and in shadow against Earth – also mainly in darkness. Ahead of them space beckoned with inviting fingers as they sat and viewed the region in their small, circular ship; air conditioned, heated and with all the military comforts of home, including lots of the colour grey.

  The ship was laughingly called Defender class because it had disrupters as weapons and was capable of firing energy pulses designed to knock out vital systems on any attacking ships. Although it was only about sixty feet across, it contained the living and eating quarters and operating areas for its crew of four, three of whom were on duty most of the time. Viewing the screens around the craft were the Captain, a Texan family man named Chas Stiers who often wore a cowboy hat; the logistics officer - an elderly Englishman with a growing paunch and balding pate and named Cecil Ogden; and a slender and attractive brunette from Bakersfield in California, in her mid twenties, named Junette Gowan. Her name stemmed from her birth in the month of June and her mother favouring a holo star named Janette.

  Absent and resting in his cabin was a Hispanic from New Mexico named Enrique Ramirez who called himself Eric. He spoke perfect American while Ogden spoke perfect English and some of the time they could understand one another.

  Junette Gowan was synchronising the craft’s recording devices and sensors for the third time that shift. It was Stiers’ way of keeping everybody busy while they were on shift. But she should have been relieved by Ramirez at least three minutes before and was impatient to get back to the tossing, turning and perpetual worry she called sleep. She had no idea how Stiers or Ogden slept and had no plans to find out. Ramirez, she knew, slept like the lazy log he was.

  The Captain read her mind. “Ramirez will be out in a minute or so,” he assured her.

  “Will he?” pondered Ogden.

  “Willy?” muttered Gowan. “That’s more than likely what he’s playing with.”

  “I heard the shower finish ten minutes ago,” said Stiers.

  The four crewmen shared a shower but had two toilets between them as in the event of an emergency in space there is no chance of finding another one floating past. The small craft had basic gravity – about half that on Earth – to avoid human waste from floating round the ship where it would have been most unwelcome. Instead, effluent was recycled through the ships engines as energy and human water was recycled for drinking purposes.

  There were actually four cabins crammed into the ship with enough space to sleep but not swing any form of feline. Tension was caused by the endless waiting although they had no idea what they were waiting for – except it sounded horrible. They were one of a hundred similar craft in this quadrant, all in touch with each other and all watching the far skies, waiting for the inevitable attack.

  “Kerchin, kerchan, it’s the man,” said Ramirez as he entered the bridge area. Not known for the quality of his poetry – or speaking in any form – he was known to invent a line or two of it from time to time.

  “You’re late,” said Junette Gowan.

  “Drop your drawers, what’s mine is yours,” he said and grinned.

  Ramirez wasn’t ugly and possessed a certain Hispanic charm but a label reading ‘pure sexist’ would not have been amiss hanging round his shoulders.

  “Think you can stay awake for your shift – you and your friend?” snapped Gowan glancing at his fly.

  “Don’t worry, honey – we’re both always ready for action.”

  “Don’t expect to see any of it around here,” said Gowan and stormed off the bridge to her own room. Ramirez took her place, which included monitoring communications.

  “Lay off the girl, Ramirez,” said Stiers. “Stop twisting her panties.”

  “Useless speaking to the boy,” murmured Ogden in his English accent. “If the two brain cells whirling round in his head ever meet, he’ll have a nervous breakdown.”

  Ramirez, who tried never to tackle the skipper, turned his attention to Ogden. “You been at the beef stew again or are you wearing a cushion to protect your stomach?”

  “The boy is joy,” sighed Ogden and raised his eyes.

  “That’s just what this ship needs – another poet – and a fat one at that,” said Ramirez.

  “Fat, never,” said Ogden. “A tad portly I will concede. It comes with age and affects most men – including poets and thespians. Your turn is coming, Ramirez.”

  “Not me.” Ramirez patted his firm belly. “I work out and eat properly. I never gain weight.”

  “You’re the same weight as when you were six, are you?”

  “Stop it, boys,” said Stiers. “We are watching for an alien ship or ships that may or may not be here to threaten old Ma Earth. Civilisation may disappear.”

  “I doubt if Ramirez will notice,” muttered Ogden. “His idea of civilisation is belching after meals if he liked the gravy.”

  “That’s a sign of politeness and respect in some cultures,” protested Ramirez.

  “In yours, certainly.”

  “Boys, boys. I’m trying to catch up with communications here,” said Stiers who enjoyed a quiet time when just Gowan and Ogden were his fellow officers. “According to this our furthest probes have identified a huge ship waiting at the edge of the solar system. We don’t know how fast in can travel – maybe as fast as our communications – so it could be here anytime.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t arrive here,” said Ramirez.

  “What’s up? You don’t want to fight?” asked Stiers.

  “Fight, yes; die, no. If we hadn’t been sending out all those damned probes since the 1970s, I doubt they would even have known we were here.”

  “That may be true,” said Stiers. “Still, we are Earth’s first line of defence.”

  “First and last,” said Ogden and smiled an apology.

  “I need to mention, pay attention,” said Ramirez. “Why are we scared of these guys anyway? How do we know for sure they’re hostile?”

  “They destroyed the first three unarmed craft we sent out to greet them after long range asteroid scanners picked them up,” said Ogden.

  “Yeah,” confirmed Stiers. “Our guys went out waving white flags and willing to show them everything from missiles to shadow puppetry and the alien ship listened to the opening dialogue then took them all out.”

  “Then it moved out of the quadrant as if on other business,” said Ogden. “We built lots of these ships for defence and now they are back on the edge of the solar system.”

  “These are hardly ships,” said Ramirez. “More like space coracles.”

  “We are well armed,” said Ogden. “We have disrupters and force-shields. I think we will stand a better chance than the peace committee.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that,” said Stiers and put aside his communication screen. “It may take all of us to put a dent in their side. Our first ships and scanners managed to compile a limited analysis of their vessel. It is huge, ugly and bristling with hardware.”

  “So it’s not a fair fight,” said Ramirez.

  “Hardly,” said Ogden but seemed unperturbed. “They are not gentlemen, that is for certain. Anyway, where did you hear the term coracle?”

  “I’m better educated than you think, Ogden. That’s why I’m on board.”

  “Fair enough,” said Stiers. “You sure didn’t get the job on your looks.”

  “When I die, I’ll do it defending my three little sisters and my two younger brothers,” said Ramirez. “
And my mom and pop and grandparents.”

  “That’s true chivalry,” conceded Ogden and Ramirez realised he was not being sarcastic.

  “You’ll die for your loved ones?” said Stiers.

  “Of course. What are you dying for?”

  “A Cuban cigar and a Lone Star beer,” said the Texan.

  “Do you have a reason to die, Ogden?” pressed Ramirez.

  “I was rather hoping to survive, old chap.”

  “Unlikely,” said Stiers.

  “You are most likely correct,” said Ogden. “I suppose I have more reasons to die than to live. My wife is dead and my daughter is estranged because I never approved of her husband. It turned out I was correct which hasn’t helped matters. She is pregnant now and if I live I shall be a grandfather who never sees his grandchild.”

  “Where’s my handkerchief?” said Ramirez. He had a sudden thought as his two brain cells connected for a moment. “Why is Gowan here? I mean. She’s a good looking woman with tits and bits. Why would she risk that out here?”

  “She is a dedicated professional,” suggested Ogden. “She wants to do something.”

  “I could give her something to do,” said Ramirez.

  “That’s the comforting thing about you, Ramirez,” said Ogden. “We never have to be concerned about what track your mind is on.”

  “I like sex, Paunchy. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Then I would say you’ve had your last,” said Stiers. “When that alien ship hoves into view, you won’t like the shafting they are going to give you – all of us.”

  “We can beat them,” said Ramirez.

  “Sure,” said Stiers. “Feed them some tortillas and tacos from Old Mexico and watch them curl up holding their stomachs.”

  “Hey,” said Ramirez, studying his holo screens. “It seems our probes have made new contact with that ship. It’s on a heading for Sector A and coming fast.”

  “That’s us,” said Stiers. “Ogden, plan us an intercept path.”

  “How quickly would you like to get there?”