By Abigail Falanga
Have to get out of here. No time to waste. I weave through the long corridors at the edge of the army base, counting turns, counting breaths.
The vials jangle in my pockets, though I’d wrapped them in paper before leaving the lab. If they break and the substance inside leaks, it’ll put everyone at risk. But I can’t risk pulling them out. Too dangerous. They’ll see. Security cameras track my movements. Someone will notice if I look disturbed, hurried. Don’t know who to trust. Could be any of them.
Keep moving.
The first thing I noticed was small—a shimmer on the skin of that delivery guy who stopped in twice a week to pick up a pallet of boxes. Then I started wondering about those packages. Where’d they come from? West Ridge is not the biggest base, and I should have seen something, even if I am only a civilian analyst, unconcerned about supplies. But it bothered me.
I grab a small shipping box from a supply closet as I pass.
Almost there. I check the cameras, making sure I’m in a blind spot. I pull out the vials, wrap them in a strip of packaging, and slip them into the box, along with a note I typed up at the lab. It’s almost mail pickup time. It should go out immediately.
Deep breath. Keep moving—faster.
I noticed people around the base and in town acting strangely a couple weeks ago. Not concentrating, losing track of time, mood swings. The only explanation was illicit drug use, but there was no record of substances in recent randomized drug tests. And anyway, the symptoms didn’t match expectations.
Sometimes, I had even seen suspected users’ eyes give off a faint purple glow.
Almost to the office at the outer gate, where outgoing mail is picked up daily. The truck should be there. A wide-open yard lies between me and it.
Don’t run. Steady pace. Go.
Oh, no… Vargas. Talking with someone, casual, not noticing me.
Don’t make eye contact, don’t look in his direction. There’s no reason why he should suspect. Just keep walking.
It didn’t take long to connect the apparent drug use with the unexplained pallet, especially once I noticed that proximity to the packages seemed to affect those loading it. When I found an excuse to venture near at one point, I myself felt the influence of whatever substance it contained—a weird euphoria tingling at the edge of my awareness that lingered for hours.
I found myself wanting to experience it again, but by then I was too suspicious to give in to the desire. At least not for a while. Not until curiosity became too strong. It became hard to resist after that.
The office. I almost relax, but it’s too soon. Glance back, be subtle. The small airfield at the far end of the base is quiet now, but I can see the glimmer of the chopper coming in—the craft carrying more of that drug. Because it was no ordinary helicopter.
I figured out that part by chance. One day, sitting outside for lunch, I noticed an eerie shimmer on the skin of two airmen who were unloading the chopper on a pad nearby. Curious, I ventured closer. It wasn’t a helicopter—had only been modified to look like one. The technology beneath the outer shell was like no human engineering I had ever encountered.
Startled by the discovery, I’d backed up into Captain Vargas. He knew what I’d seen. Anger flooded his face, and in that instant, he no longer even appeared human—something monstrous showed through as if he’d dropped a mask.
“Hey, Marta,” I say to the receptionist. “Am I in time to catch the mail?”
“Yeah, go on through.” She gives me a concerned look. “You okay, Dr. Fields? You look flushed.”
“Yeah, just want to get this sample out for testing. It’s time sensitive.”
Why’d I say that? I can’t risk the truth. Marta might be one of them, for all I know! I don’t dare risk a look back as I enter the mail office and—finally!—drop the box with the vials into the mail bag.
I made it.
Relief floods me.
Euphoria, reminding me how much I want that drug. Need it.
“There’s still time to get it back, you know.” The voice behind me is mocking. “Grab it quick! Get your fix.”
I spin around.
Across the empty room stands Captain Vargas, unmasked. No shimmer of human illusion lingers. Distorted, elongated limbs and weird, jerking movements bring him closer. “Potent stuff, isn’t it?” Vargas mocks. “Humans can’t resist it—not in that form. We bring it in, purified from the gas nebula that circles our world, and distribute it from here. But you knew all that already, didn’t you, Dr. Fields?”
“Why?” I demand shakily, backing away.
“We want your world. Why else? Capitalize on human greed and gluttony, sow vice among you, and you will fall. It’s simple!”
I choke on a garbled expletive. “I’ll tell everyone! That box will go to a top laboratory—they’ll analyze it and know the truth!”
“You’re intelligent for a human—don’t be stupid. We can retrieve that box even now. You’ve failed, and I will kill you anyway. The drug muddles human minds. Why else would you leave a letter explaining details and all the shipping information open on your terminal? You had to know we would be watching.”
I see my death in his inhuman eyes, but can’t help smiling anyway.
Before leaving the lab, I packaged and addressed vials to go to several labs. This package was the last—the others I’d dropped in mail bags along the way. My mind may have been muddled by exposure to the alien drug, but I knew enough to cover my tracks. The truth would get out.
With a snarl of fury and the flashing blade of a weapon, the being known as Vargas charges at me.
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