Gardens of Destruction
CHAPTER 11

The tense air hung heavy over the base in the days following the incident with the robot. Everything happened in a whirlwind. No one could quite fathom what occurred. It was as if something struck the machine, and it began to malfunction—that moment coinciding precisely with the transmission cutoff. After the incident, General Patterson strictly forbade access to the object for some time. Remote surveillance remained the only option, much to the dissatisfaction of the scientists.

Professor Bernstein paced nervously in the base’s courtyard. Like everyone else, he found it difficult to accept what had happened. Unwillingly, he entertained the notion of peaceful extraterrestrial beings, a thought gnawing at him. The turn of events caught him off guard, and now, as he paced, he pondered where they might have erred. Perhaps the entity within the object didn’t wish to be disturbed or simply didn’t care for contact. Anything was possible. And there was the possibility of expecting only biological beings inside.

He gazed into the distance, wondering what other surprises lay in store.

“Professor, there you are. I’ve been looking for you,” General Patterson interrupted his thoughts as he stepped out from the station’s door.

“Yes, contemplating serenity, though it seems impossible amidst this military bustle around,” the professor retorted, casting a glance at the continuous movement of soldiers and machinery.

“You know we have no choice. We need to patrol the perimeter day and night in case your friends decide to make an appearance after all.”

“Don’t tease, General. You’re well aware I never intended for this to happen with the robot. There was no way to predict its reaction beforehand.”

“Ease up. I didn’t mean to sound accusatory. We all understand it’s not your fault. Circumstances simply fell into place; we were cautious enough.”

The professor didn’t seem satisfied. He nervously played with the keys in his pocket, contemplating.

“Now, what do we do, General?” he inquired, looking at his companion.

“The answer won’t please you, but it’s the only choice. We wait.”

“How long? One, two years, perhaps?” the professor’s frustration grew evident.

“As long as necessary. And what would you suggest? Sending another robot? Or perhaps people?”

“I... I don’t know, but waiting like this seems foolish.”

“Professor, if we send a team in and they don’t return, should I send you to explain to their mothers and children why they won’t see them again? How would you explain that everything was permitted in the name of science?”

Reluctantly, Bernstein admitted the general was right. Unreasonable risks, even in the name of science, weren’t permissible. He’d have to wait as long as needed.

“Ultimately, you’re right this time,” he conceded, “Still, I’d like to mention that perhaps we won’t have to wait long.”

“What leads you to that thought?” the general inquired with interest. “Is there something you haven’t told me?”

“No, you know everything. I’m simply making logical connections. Remember how much time passed before the object ruptured? Now, after several days, something new might occur. They can’t possibly wait forever in there, provided there’s anything alive.”

“What concerns you?”

“Interplanetary travels aren’t swift or easy, General. There’s a possibility that anything alive inside has perished long ago, leaving behind only some kind of automated machines following a pre-programmed agenda. Besides, whether we like it or not, the first contact has already happened.”

“How so?”

“The robot was our initial contact. They might have captured it to study. They don’t know what we look like, just as we know little about them. Maybe that’s why the object ruptured. It might have been something akin to an invitation.”

“Professor, you’re delving into fantasies again,” Patterson interjected, “As much as we guess, to me, it doesn’t seem like first contact but rather an aggression. That’s how I interpret it.”

“Of course, being a military man, how else would you perceive it?” the professor arched an eyebrow.

“Let’s stop here. Let’s change the subject. This conversation won’t lead us anywhere,” the general replied, slightly irritated.

“I wished to give you a heads-up that the Russian scientists will arrive shortly. I believe I mentioned it earlier,” the voice of caution came from the officer.

“Yes, vague recollections there. Why in all the worlds do we have more scientists arriving when we’re entrenched in such a mess? What’s their purpose? Engage in card games with us?” The professor’s tone was laced with incredulity.

“Regrettably, I’m unable to assist in this matter. You’re aware I’m no advocate for their presence here, but I’m left without a choice. The directive descended from the highest echelon. Desired or not, we’ll have to tolerate their presence for a while.”

“How did they manage to sway the president? The entire operation was shrouded in secrecy,” the professor gestured with perplexity.

“Cannot provide an answer to that. Politicians are an enigma to me. Apparently, the Russians had something to offer in exchange for access to the base. Besides, I presume they’re aware of the artificial origin of the asteroid. For a cosmic force of such prominence, gathering ample information and drawing their own deductions shouldn’t pose an issue. Moreover, a hundred-kilometer entity cannot escape notice; agencies worldwide surely track its movements through their satellites.”

“Yes, I reckon any astronomer of moderate intellect worldwide should deduce this isn’t an asteroid.”

“In any case, the specifics are irrelevant. I just wanted to forewarn you that the Russian scientists will land soon. I’d appreciate it if you’d maintain a decorous demeanor; after all, they’re colleagues,” cautioned the general.

A skeptical smile and a disbelieving shake of the head greeted this statement.

“Who would have thought! It’s typically you military men who cause all the trouble. We scientists have always managed to comprehend each other. Isn’t it a touch hypocritical for you to be cautioning about decency?”

Patterson, instead of taking offense, sported a smile.

Bernstein returned, slightly grumpy, to the base. Not that the scientist was particularly old, but the general relished in referring to him as such, believing he’d never outgrow his childlike nature. He exhibited behavior akin to that of a child; the scientist, in essence, remained one. Thankfully, he’d grown accustomed to it. Others would have incessantly quarreled with him.

The chopper’s noise pierced the professor’s thoughts, signaling its imminent arrival at the base. Glancing at his timepiece, he noted it was still early afternoon. He let out a heavy sigh and steered towards the landing area. There, he’d wait for the guests; entering the base didn’t appeal to him at the moment.

***

The Russian helicopter touched down with a sense of assurance. The weather boasted clear skies, offering the pilot a seamless landing. The rotor noise, an irksome cacophony for many, held a different significance for Mark. It signified hope. Post-operation, he and others like him yearned for this sound—the promise of rescue, the assurance of not being stranded alone amidst alien terrain under enemy fire. Events had transpired, but he preferred not to recollect them.

As the helicopter settled and the rotor blades came to a halt, the disruptive whirlwind dissipated, leaving behind a faint breeze. One after another, figures disembarked from the aircraft. It was easy to discern the scientists from their security detail, particularly the towering two-meter individual, unmistakably from specialized forces, despite the years etched on his countenance.

“Welcome, gentlemen!” General Patterson addressed them warmly and moved forward to greet them.

Among the scientists, a few exchanged cordial greetings with their Russian counterparts, indulging in lively banter. It was evident they had prior associations with these individuals. Standing out prominently was Professor Alexei Mironov, his hair streaked and elegantly groomed. He descended from the helicopter last. Despite his age, he carried himself with grace and pride. Bernstein made a beeline towards him.

“Professor, it’s an honor to meet you face to face at last!” His handshake conveyed a firm, genuine enthusiasm.

The Russian scientist, flattered by the compliment, offered a warm smile.

“And who might you be?” He inquired in reasonably adept English.

“I am Bernstein. Professor Joseph Bernstein!” He stood with an air of pride before his colleague.

“Ah, you’re the one! I’ve heard commendable tales about you, young man!” The Russian praised him in broken English, prompting the professor to flutter around him like a moth drawn to a flickering lamppost at night.

General Patterson acquainted himself with each newcomer, extending a gracious invitation to accompany them into the base. Yet, his voice lacked the zeal of the scientists. Opting to leave them to their conversations, he bade them a pleasant afternoon and excused himself, citing a plethora of duties awaiting his attention. On his departure, he noticed Captain Davidson and one of the Russian guards, a robust figure, eyeing each other warily. Patterson hoped fervently that these two wouldn’t engage in frivolous games of soldierly rivalry, potentially causing trouble. He had been instructed to furnish the Russian scientists with the necessary information but was resolute in refusing any attempt to approach the asteroid. His directive was clear: nobody was to encroach within a hundred meters, whether foreign or compatriot. Retreating to his office, he intended to tackle a few administrative tasks.

The day slipped by unnoticed, swift in its passage. They settled the newcomers, and as evening descended, the American scientists decided to commemorate the arrival with a small gathering in the cafeteria. Such social engagements had been sparse since their arrival, but tonight, the desire for a hint of conviviality seemed palpable. Tables were arranged in cozy corners, adorned with an array of food and drinks. The chef, usually reserved, spared no expense, ready to regale them. However, after the general’s discreet intervention, he relaxed, recognizing the subdued drinking corner. Thankfully, the Russian scientists appeared amply prepared for the occasion.

As time progressed, the atmosphere relaxed. The assembly boasted diversity in age and race but starkly lacked gender diversity. Women were scarce at the base. Among the military ranks, they were a rarity, and the scientist populace saw few. Yet, this didn’t dampen the evening’s cheer; they managed to conjure music from some hidden source. Even the reclusive Professor Bernstein found himself seated beside Professor Alexei Mironov, engaged in animated discourse with his colleague.

Upon entering the cafeteria, General Patterson stumbled upon this sight. He had set aside the tiresome drudgery of reports and sought a moment’s respite. He might have savored a whiskey, but it appeared he was tardy. Nonetheless, he joined the table occupied by the two professors.

“Greetings, gentlemen!” he saluted them.

They nodded, appreciative of the acknowledgment.

“General, you’re fashionably late. I fear we’ve nearly drained the whiskey,” Bernstein jested, “there’s only a smidgen of vodka left if you’re interested...”

“Don’t worry, Joseph, no issue. I’m not much of a drinker,” for the first time in a while, the military officer referred to the scientist by his given name. He typically upheld formalities with titles and surnames.

“General, it’s an honor to be among these luminaries of global science,” the elder Russian professor interjected, expressing his gratitude.

“Thank your president for that,” Patterson smiled formally.

“Professor Mironov and I were discussing intriguing concepts regarding the potential propulsion of this vessel. He’s provided me with thought-provoking ideas. Clearly, there’s a propulsion system in play unlike anything we’ve encountered,” Bernstein continued.

However, the general scarcely paid attention. “I’ve got enough other matters to attend to,” he ruminated. Now, he had to oversee the Russians as well. If, heaven forbid, any mishap occurred, it could escalate into an international debacle. That’s all he needed. As if it wasn’t enough that the entire world already knew about the American possession of nuclear warheads in orbit.

“Tell me, Professor, I heard murmurs about your desire to organize an expedition to Mars. Are these merely rumors, or have you genuinely explored such a venture?” Berenshtain persisted in his inquiries with the Russian.

“Yes, indeed, such a venture was considered, but it was terminated long ago. Now, in this era of democracy, funds never seem to suffice... or at least, they never reach us. They vanish into the pockets of those blasted politicians,” the aging professor lamented.

“Back in the communist era, such matters were unheard of. No one dared to pillage the state as they do now. Whether it’s democracy or anarchy, I’m unsure, but pilfering occurs with impunity everywhere. Tell me, how can we advance science when we barely manage to make ends meet?” he continued, venting his frustrations to his companions in broken English.

“Don’t be misled, Professor, it’s vastly different here. Without a solid sponsor, you’re adrift. You always need some corporation backing you up... or perhaps the military. Only then can you rely on adequate funding!” Bernstein interjected amidst his frustration. “To science! Cheers!” Professor Mironov raised a toast, and the cafeteria reverberated with a spirited response, glasses raised high.

The general stood quietly, apart from the conversation, consumed by his own thoughts, his attention barely tethered to the musings of the scientists.

The merriment had gradually subsided, and people started to disperse, their spirits waning. Suddenly, a flustered secretary rushed into the room, heading straight for the table.

“Sir, I must report something urgently!” his voice trembled with concern.

General Patterson swiftly exited the room, immediately sensing trouble looming.

“Something’s amiss!” Professor Bernstein remarked with a slightly inebriated smile. “I seem to have a nose for problems, perpetually tangled in them.”

“Could it be related to the asteroid?” Mironov mused.

“In five minutes, we’ll know. My bet is that the object has once again triggered something!”

The two scientists exchanged meaningful glances and swiftly rose from the table.

“Let’s head to the control room. I have a feeling everyone will be summoned there shortly anyway. The way the General dashed out of my room hints that we won’t have to wait long to unravel this mystery,” Bernstein announced, lending a hand to the elderly scientist.

Before long, most of the scientists had congregated in the control room. Their purpose for being summoned remained unknown. Instruments registered no thermal, visual, or any discernible activity from the object. A palpable nervousness filled the air. The unknown unsettled people more than anything else.

A distant helicopter landing outside the compound grabbed everyone’s attention. Scientists gathered, curious about who would disembark. Nothing particularly unusual—two military figures emerged from the machine, one carrying a massive briefcase with remarkable ease, suggesting its contents weren’t weighty. They approached General Patterson, engaging in a brief conversation. Tension hung in the air; anticipation pulsed through the scientists. Quiet conversations hinted that they considered the briefcase to house a significant object.

The conversation between the general and the two soldiers concluded, and he ushered them inside the base. Soon, they stood at the command room’s entrance. Patterson’s demeanor betrayed deep concern.

“Gentlemen, prepare the isolation chamber. We need to place something inside, and then you all can see it and share your opinions.”

“What will we see, General?” Professor Bernstein’s voice echoed from a corner.

The leader was about to exit the room, followed by two scientists responsible for the isolation chamber, when he heard the query. He halted at the door, turned, and gazed at the learned man with a vacant expression.

“It defies description, Professor! Unless you witness it firsthand, you’ll never comprehend.”

A weighty silence filled the room. They sensed that something profound had occurred. Speculations ran rampant; some believed they had stumbled upon an extraterrestrial. Others reasoned that such a colossal structure couldn’t possibly fit inside a mere suitcase.

“Bernstein, what’s your take on this?” Mironov asked tentatively.

“Whatever it is, I’m almost certain it’s not a native of that asteroid. The sheer scale of the structure suggests that beings capable of constructing it wouldn’t fit into a single suitcase. Otherwise, we wouldn’t be discussing these dimensions.”

“Sounds plausible! But logic might not be of much use here; practically, it could be anything.”

“Indeed, Professor. We’ll need a bit more patience. It seems the General wants us all gathered together,” Bernstein replied.

Moments later, one of the scientists emerged looking visibly pallid, calling out for the others to proceed to the station’s laboratory. Like eager pupils, they all hastened there, nearly jostling each other as they exited through the door’s wings.

The last to step into the laboratory were Bernstein, helping Professor Mironov who struggled to move due to age and alcohol, the professor moved slowly toward the thick glass.

What lay on the table didn’t immediately strike them as odd. At first glance, it resembled a bird, something akin to an eagle.

“What in the world is this?” whispered voices across the room.

“A Golden Eagle!” chimed in one of the biologists. “Aquila chrysaetos, quite common in America,” he added.

Inside, a lab technician, decked out in a suit reminiscent of a spacesuit, prepared an array of dissection tools. Curiosity gripped everyone in the room; at first glance, the bird didn’t seem remarkable.

Then, General Patterson entered.

“I assume you’re all eagerly awaiting an explanation,” he began, his brow furrowed with concern.

“A farmer observed this eagle circling above them and, at one point, it swooped down and killed one of the chickens roaming in the yard. The man rushed to grab his gun, only to return and find the bird still there, not feeding on the chicken but inspecting it. Quite unusual for eagles, as they typically carry their prey high to devour. Without hesitation, the man attempted to shoot it. But here comes the most intriguing part!”

The laboratory fell into a hush, anticipating the continuation of the tale. The General paused for dramatic effect before continuing.

“The farmer shot at the bird, but it didn’t falter. Even after the second shot, it didn’t succumb, much to his surprise. Instead, it turned on him. Not even the third shot brought it down. It was only when, in their ensuing struggle, the farmer drew his knife that he finally managed to kill it.”

The General’s narrative didn’t immediately clarify the situation.

“You don’t comprehend, do you?” he prodded.

Silence pervaded the laboratory; they awaited the story’s resolution.

“Parker, turn the bird over!” commanded Patterson, and the suited figure complied.

The grotesque spectacle that unfolded stirred fear and revulsion within the scientists’ souls. What lay before them was the most peculiar creature they had ever encountered.

At first glance, the entity on the table appeared as a peculiar hybrid of bird and machine. Its exposed abdomen revealed internals resembling scenes from a horror movie. Portions of its organs seemed crafted from metal or some other artificial material at first glance. The curious amalgamation of biological and non-biological tissues sent shivers through the laboratory’s occupants. It all appeared like a chaotic tableau from a surrealist artist—a blend of shapes, some gleaming with a faint metallic sheen, intertwining, enveloping each other. The unsettling aspect was how seamlessly the organic and inorganic melded together, interconnected as a singular entity.

“What in the name of Hell is this?” Professor Bernstein exclaimed.

“I expected you lot to enlighten me; after all, you’re the scientists!” the General retorted, his tone cold.

“I... I’m in shock,” the professor stammered.

“It resembles something out of a movie!” one of the biologists exclaimed. “I doubt this is human-made; at least, I’m not familiar with any such experiments.”

“So, you reckon this is the handiwork of... something inside that asteroid?” the General scrutinized them.

“We must conduct some tests before we’re certain!” Bernstein interjected, now somewhat recovered from the initial shock.

“Can we examine it up close, General?” inquired voices from the room.

“Put on your suits and enter! But be careful; we don’t know if that thing is already dead!”

“We’re not even sure it was ever alive!” the professor chimed in.

Fear filled everyone’s eyes. No one had expected to encounter something like this. In their imaginings of first contact, most had envisioned an idealized encounter with extraterrestrial intelligence. Now, faced with reality, it seemed that everything could take an unforeseen turn.

General Patterson hinted the professor to step outside the laboratory for a private conversation.

“Speak up, Sir!”

“I’m worried sick, Joseph!” for the second time that night, he addressed him by his first name.

“Indeed, General, I’m terrified to my core!”

“What I urgently need to know is the composition of the material that constructs the bird’s organs, and most importantly, how it can be destroyed.”

“Are you troubled that the farmer couldn’t kill it quickly?” the professor questioned. “Perhaps he simply missed the bird?”

“Unfortunately, that’s not the case. We’ve already checked, and all three shots hit the mark without causing serious damage. It’s lucky that the knife struck the organic tissues; otherwise, it could have ended in a brutal manner. I want answers, fast answers, because I have a feeling we’re facing a serious problem.”

“We’ll do our best, Sir!” the professor replied, visibly frightened.

“Another thing, immediately bring in a specialist who has experimented in a similar field. What’s that branch of science called, actually?”

“Bio-robotics would be the closest, General, they deal with...” Patterson nervously interrupted.

“Then bring me the best scientist in bio... something! Right away!” the uniformed officer demanded.

“Professor Johanson passed away last year; I know of one of his promising assistants, um... I forgot her name...”

“I’m not interested in names; I want her here by tomorrow, no excuses!”

With that, the conversation ended, and the General vanished into the base’s corridors, leaving the professor alone and filled with fear.

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