Polarian-Denebian War 5: Our Ancestors From the Future Read online

  “Rehabilitation Center at Khantangskoïe here. Commander Gulinski speaking. We’re under attack by an enemy agent using a powerful secret weapon! His disc-shaped plane is hovering over our blockhouse and we fear the worst… Send out a squadron of armed fighters immediately and…”

  “That’s hard to believe, Commander,” the voice broke in. “The west would not be so reckless as to come and attack a Rehabilitation Center in the middle of Soviet territory. Have you reported to the Commander in Chief of your division?”

  “Yes, but if we wait for orders to come out of the hierarchy, your planes won’t find anything here but ruins! Come help us right now! This disc is…”

  The Nordenskiöld base never knew what Gulinski said after this. The disc-shaped spaceship called by Zimko had just fired the powerful disintegrator ray from its cannon at the concrete block. A blinding, bluish light enveloped the vast cube. Its walls glowed bright orange, pulsed briefly and faded. Five seconds later the blockhouse had disappeared, leaving a shallow black crater in its place, the only remains of its ephemeral existence.

  The ship landed gently in the square, which had just served as a place of punishment for the convicts, and between the spheres of its landing gear a platform made of three telescopic tubes came down.

  Zimko dragged Colonel Zavkom and the physicist Petkov forward while giving the 2,000 men hiding behind the barracks a psychic lecture:

  “You’re free, friends. Zimko, Chief of the Space Commandoes in your solar system, declares it for you. I don’t have time to enter into details, but know that I wasn’t born on this planet. You can come out of hiding and gather in the open space. The blockhouse and your torturers have been destroyed.

  “You’re free of their chains but being free in this country will soon find you back in the hands of those who condemned you for ‘deviation’. I am asking you, therefore, to trust me and obey my orders that, as you will soon understand, are meant only to make you free men, ready to fight to protect this freedom that you and your fellow Earthlings have a right to. For, your freedom and your lives are in serious jeopardy. Everything will be explained to you in good time.”

  The convicts, still reeling under emotional shock, came out in groups, stupefied, looking skeptically (despite its physical reality) at the spaceship in the square where the blockhouse had disappeared.

  “The ship you see is a Polarian spaceship from a distant planet in the solar system of the Pole Star. Your partners in misfortune here,” Zimko put his hands of the shoulders of Zavkom and Petkov, “will also tell you that you can believe me. The people of my race want only to protect you. If you follow my advice you will be able to enjoy and keep your newfound freedom.”

  Colonel Zavkom and Petkov nodded their heads, too shaken up to voice their faith in their savior.

  “A huge cigar-shaped spaceship will land here in 30 of your minutes in the steppe around half a mile from this camp. Leave immediately for the south. The electric fences are harmless now. At the far left of the camp you will find an opening around 80 feet wide made by the disintegrator cannon on my spaceship.

  “Get going, Earthling friends, and get onto the spaceship that will be landing very soon. You’ll be safe inside and can then make yourselves useful to your fellow men. The planetary base where you will be brought already has many of your compatriots, most notably the world famous Professor Serge Yegov whom we freed this morning from another concentration camp.

  “Good luck, friends. We will see each other again soon in a free world where these abominable death camps don’t existed!”

  Zimko and the Russians marched side by side down one of the inner corridors of the disc-shaped spaceship that had just lifted off. The electro-luminescent metal walls emitted a uniform light that cast no shadows. When they entered the cockpit located on the axis of the ship, it started heading west at 50,000 feet altitude.

  Zavkom and Petkov stopped inside the oval hatch, the thick, reinforced door that Zimko had just closed.

  Turning around from the half-moon shaped command post sitting in the middle of the chrome floor, a young, brown-haired woman, ravishing in a purple bodysuit that hugged her admirable form, smiled at them kindly. Helmet made of pink, phosphorescent plastic sat atop her long hair. Two flaps hanging down her cheeks and connected under her chin highlighted beautifully the dimples that gave her a little mischievous look. On her stomach the buckle of her wide belt with a strip of multi-functional electronic controls had a triple row of different colored buttons.

  “Tlyka,” Zimko began, throwing his arm lovingly around the young woman’s waist, “let me introduce you to Colonel Zavkom and the physicist Petkov.”

  And to the two men, embarrassed by their wretched rags, their uncleanliness and their shaggy beards, he added, “This is Tlyka, my co-pilot and my companion… for better and for worse as you Earthlings say.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Our clothes and appearance are pretty miserable,” Colonel Zavkom said, bowing shyly before Tlyka. “But we’re still very pleased to meet you. You and Zimko saved us from a disgraceful death and…”

  Cutting him short at three thanks yous Zimko said, “Let’s not talk about that, friends. We would have done it a lot earlier if we could have found you. After the destruction of your spaceship on the Moon, when we brought you back to Russia, while Jean Kariven and his team returned to Earth3, we had no idea things would turn out like this. It was only very recently that we learned of your fate: sentenced by the Purge Committee for failing to annex the Moon for Soviet power. In spite of our psychic investigative means we had a hard time finding the camp where you were sent.”

  “One hour later and you would have found us as frozen corpses,” Petkov shivered to think of it. “What became of Kariven and his American friends of Operation Aphrodite?”

  Zimko smiled as he noticed that the American and Russian astronauts fighting together on the Moon had cemented a warm friendship. “They are all very worried about you. We’ll see them soon because an urgent task awaits us. That’s why we freed the oppressed and are reuniting the few Earth allies we made over the past few years on your planet.”

  “You mean the famous Earth-Polarian Alliance that Kariven kept talking about?”

  Zimko was about to respond but a psychic warning from Tlyka gave him no time. He rushed to the radar screen and saw three bright dots growing bigger every second.

  Tlyka, already before the controls, changed their flight trajectory and gained more altitude. The three blips were still getting closer.

  Zimko turned on the viewer and on the tilted rectangular screen three delta-winged fighter jets were speeding at 2,500 mph toward the spaceship.

  “MIG17s!” Colonel Zavkom cried out. “These fighters can go over 3,000 mph! Watch out, they’re armed with air-to-air missiles that can’t miss their target…”

  Zimko veered the ship sharply at a right angle to escape the three jets that had just launched their missiles. The fighter jets turned in tight formation, corrected their course and sped off in pursuit of the flying saucer. The six missiles were approaching at terrifying speed but as they entered the magnetic field that radiated up to 1,000 feet from the disc, they exploded without reaching it.

  “Space velocity!” Zimko ordered. “These idiots are going to enter our field and…”

  Zavkom and Petkov, staring at the screen, instinctively backed away, dazzled by the triple orange blast of terrifying brightness. The screen no longer displayed the three demolished wrecks raining down wings and fuselage.

  “The poor guys were caught in the magnetic field of our ship that spontaneously increased when they suddenly sped up,” Zimko was appalled. “Trying to shoot us down they got too close and signed their own death warrants. The jets were alerted at the Nordenskiöld base by the Chief of the concentration camp. We should have gone straight from planetary speed into space velocity when our radar detected them. These kinds of accidents won’t happen again. There were already enough victims, to our great distress,
at the start of our exploration of the planet.4”

  On his psychic order Tlyka brought the ship up to 60 miles altitude and at a slower speed headed west.

  “You must be anxious to take a bath and get out of those old rags,” the Man from Outer Space addressed the Russians. “We’ve slowed down so we’ll arrive at our next mission in three hours. So, you have time to freshen up. You’ll see in this cabin,” he pointed to an oval hatch, “two sterilizing showers, all necessary toiletries and enough Polarian clothes for you to make your choice and after getting dressed we’ll give you a bio-regenerator treatment that you need badly.”

  Shaved and with their hair evened out as best they could, after the sterilizing shower of pink jets, Zavkom and Petkov appeared to Zimko in their dreadful gauntness. Dressed in bodysuits their frames were scrawny, their bones poked out of the skin stretched thinly over their chests, bearing witness to the suffering and privations endured for two years in the awful concentration camp.

  The Polarian, upset by their sorry state, trembling with rage at the idea that Earthlings could torture other Earthlings like this, promised himself to crush the black sheep of this planet in order to make its still savage civilization progress into a state of wisdom and peace that has so far eluded humans.

  He led them into a cabin next to the shower room in the middle of which stood two, shiny metal cubes, six feet long, three feet wide by two and a half feet tall. Five feet above them hung a kind of concave, rectangular projector out of which came a bunch of transparent arches that cascaded down to the edges of the two strange, shiny boxes.

  Zimko opened a wall panel. Transparent cubes around two inches square, filled with a thick, dark red liquid, were lined up inside. In one corner of these cubes a kind of tongue stuck out, which the Polarian yanked, tipping the angle over a glass as the syrupy liquid started pouring out. He did the same with a second glass and said, “First, drink this strong restorative and lie down on the cubes there. You’ll drop off to sleep but when you wake you’ll be back to your athletic selves like you were before your internment in the death camp.”

  The Russians obeyed and with a little disgust at the gelatinous look of the red liquid they brought the glasses to their lips. The restorative, however, tasted pretty good despite its unappetizing appearance. Then they slipped under the “tunnel” formed by the cylindrical arches coming down from the projectors and lay down on the chrome boxes that were surprisingly warm. The gentle warmth spread throughout their bodies. Their blood beat in their arteries and their heads felt light at the same time as a curious euphoria arose in their minds.

  “What blood type are you?”

  The distant, deformed voice of their savior filtered through a cottony wall.

  “A… B…,” they muttered before sinking into an abyss with tenuous walls out of which came a peaceful melody of chimes, organs and harmonious murmurs.

  Zimko chose two vials containing a brownish serum and injected the unconscious Russians. Then he flipped a switch in the wall and went back to type on a keyboard next to the metal cubes. The projectors flashed, then emitted a soft yellow light over the inert bodies. The arches in turn lit up and spread their golden glow over the two patients.

  Once this was done Zimko pressed a button on the control panel and a soft vibration hummed in the room. Submitted to a rotational gravito-magnetic field the two skeletal bodies rose up a foot and a half off their beds and slowly started turning so that the entire surface of their anatomy could be washed by the golden, bio-regenerative rays of the astonishing installation.

  Satisfied, Zimko looked at his electronic space-watch and left the cabin. Tlyka welcomed him with a sad smile. “The poor men, in such pitiful condition, they must have suffered the worst hardships.’

  “There are still a lot of these unfortunate men who were deported like them to death camps. The abuse, this treatment that’s unworthy of anyone calling himself Homo Sapiens, has to stop. Now that the time has come to make official contact with the Earthlings, we’ll make sure that all these injustices come to an end. We might have to force them if the leaders don’t obey our orders, although we have nothing but their well-being in mind.”

  “A thankless task for us because even if we gain some supporters, we’ll also attract the animosity and bitterness of the oppressors.”

  “At the start, probably so,” Zimko admitted, “but the threat looming over Earth—when it will be unanimously recognized—will finally unify the Earthlings… at least I hope so.”

  “Dear, we’re flying over Paris,” Tlyka announced as she turned on the screen.

  The capital appeared, a oval smudge cut in two by the shimmering U of the Seine seen from over seven miles altitude.

  Doctor Jean Kariven, an anthropaleontologist well known for his momentous explorations and adventures, was eating lunch with his young wife, the ravishing Yuln, and their best friends: Michel Dormoy, Robert Angelvin and their two loves Jenny and Doniatchka. Tommy (a.k.a. Kariven junior), a five-year old boy, was carefully licking the last spoonful of delicious chocolate ice cream under the amused, watchful eyes of his parents and friends.

  In their luxurious apartment in Place Adolphe Cherioux Kariven and his wife often saw Dormoy and Angelvin with whom they had shared so many good and bad times that had peppered their busy life over the years.

  After bringing out the liqueurs, Yuln turned on the television that was broadcasting the third newscast of the day. The speaker, with its pleasant voice, was in the middle of a story that the guests had missed:

  “… this disc-shaped machine, propelled by 46 peripheral jets, can truly be called a ‘Flying Saucer’,” he smiled, “and will finally give some substance to the inconsistent stories of so-called saucers usually seen after a full meal with plenty to drink! The HQ of the United States Air Force can be proud of this beautiful construction whose secret trials over the past few months are now finished. We can hope that in the near future long-range airplanes will be replaced by this machine that is simply called a ‘Circle Wing.’ Flying Saucers are dead. Long live the Circle Wings!”

  Yuln turned the knob of the TV, shaking her head. Then she sighed and looked up, “How spiritual it is! The boring speaker—and a bunch of his listeners—is making a big show about the Air Force’s declaration.”

  “And nobody would know except you, Yuln,” Bob Angelvin remarked. “You’re not an Earthling but a humanoid from a solar system of the Pole Star. A perfectly human woman come from another planet actually on board a Flying Saucer that they’re mocking with so much ignorance.”

  Kariven shrugged his shoulders. “Bah, the day will come when these champions of human stupidity will be very sorry about their mistake and…”

  That day has come, Kariven.

  Kariven stopped, stupefied. His friends jumped up along with his wife. The same words had simultaneously come into their minds.

  “Zimko! Dear Zimko!” Yuln babbled, her eyes filling with tears of joy.

  Yes, little sister, the “voice” resumed telepathically. Tlyka and I are drifting seven miles above Paris right now. Excuse me, friends, for reading your thoughts, the psychic voice addressed the guests.

  “Do you mean to say that it’s time for official contact of our race with the Earthlings?” Yuln asked aloud while her young son Tommy, flabbergasted, went looking for where the words he heard in his head were coming from.

  Yes, Yuln. Right now we’re gathering the members of the Earth-Polarian Alliance that we have on the planet, as few as they might be. When everyone is together on our secret base, real official contact will take place. But first, a message for Jenny: Tell your father immediately so he can alert the members of his organization5 who should be ready to carry out our orders at the appointed time. The Investigative Committee on Flying Saucers that he’s directed in France for years will be of great use to us. Every one of his investigators or correspondents spread around the country will be needed to contact and help the people. With their advice and explanations they’ll
avoid panic among the deniers of flying saucers who are unconsciously afraid. The plan of action patiently waited for years by evolved minds whom we trust is finally entering its active phase. I’m also giving the same psychic message to our friends of the Investigative Committees in Italy, Belgium, England, Africa, the three Americas, India, Australia and New Zealand.

  Here, then, is the general order. Tonight at 10 pm local time head for the site of our first landing in France, at Guyancourt6. A spaceship will come to get you and take you to our secret base, Agharti, in the heart of Tibet, where we will join you a few hours later. I hope that the time will allow you to take care of any urgent business before leaving France.

  As you know, Yuln, during the next few days the Social Services of Agharti will take care of Tommy. Therefore, you can leave behind all the things that an Earthling mother would bring with her. I’m giving you this advice because since you’ve been living on this planet, you must have acquired a real Earthling frame of mind.

  “You can stop teasing me now,” she smiled, automatically petting her son’s blonde curls.

  One more piece of advice, friends, Tlyka cut in telepathically. Zimko forgot to say that the pilots of the spaceship that will pick you up tonight are not human. So, don’t be too surprised by their appearance. Yuln will explain to you about their morphological differences.

  “Thank you, Tlyka,” it was Kariven’s turn to smile. “Yuln described to us in detail a long time ago the different races of your admirable society of Federated Worlds. We won’t commit any indiscretions in the presence of your allies and friends who are also ours.”

  In his house in Los Angeles, Professor Red Harrington, eminent physicist and mathematician, was chatting amiably over a double whiskey with Commander Mark Taylor of the Strategic Air Command. A warm Pacific breeze was gently rustling the bushes outside the bay window, which was open on this beautiful spring evening.