The Alpha Protocol: Alpha Protocol Book 1 by Duncan Hamilton (read more books .txt) 📕

Samson wondered what the better idea was, but Smith didn’t look like he was going to divulge anything else for now. Samson supposed Smith was the ‘salvage’ expert in this case, so he decided to let it rest, and hope it all worked out.

Ali and Trev arrived back, prodding the now-manacled alien ahead of them with the barrel of a rifle. Samson looked at the unusual lavender face, and wondered what emotion its expression represented. Hate? Fear? Confusion?

Samson pointed to the ship, and made an opening gesture with his hands. The alien stared at him, but the expression on its face didn’t change. He pointed at the ship with more urgency and repeated his gesture, which seemed so obvious to him as to be a universal constant. Still the alien didn’t react.

‘Oh bloody hell,’ Smith said. He pointed his rifle at the alien’s head, but it had no effect. ‘Either this one’s got brass balls, or he’s brain-damaged after that beating you gave him.’

‘I want to get out of here with our loot if that ship arrives,’ Samson said. ‘And I can’t help but feel this bastard is doing its best to delay us until its friends can get here. I’ll bet they’ve signalled back already.’

‘Makes sense, if they knew we were here. Which I reckon they did,’ Smith said.

‘Put it up against the ship,’ Samson said.

Price prodded the alien in the desired direction with the barrel of his carbine, and it responded. Samson slapped the hull twice with his hand, and gestured to the alien. He couldn’t think of another way to indicate his wish for it to get inside. He reckoned that if the situation were reversed, it would be obvious to him that the aliens wanted to get a closer look at human technology. It didn’t seem to want to cooperate.

The alien made an expression that exposed some of its pointy teeth, but Samson couldn’t tell if it was a smile, a grimace, or something else entirely. Time was running out, as was Samson’s patience. He balanced the possibility of there still being a chance of establishing friendly relations with the aliens against the fact that they had destroyed three human warships and massacred an entire colony.

‘I can have a go at persuading him if you like,’ Smith said.

The implication in that statement was obvious, and Samson didn’t know how to react. Part of him was repulsed, but part of him desperately wanted into the ship.

‘No,’ Samson said, his anger and frustration building. ‘I’ll deal with it. Something tells me neither this thing nor its people are signatories of the New Paris Convention on the treatment of prisoners of war. Even if they were, there’s been no declaration of war between our peoples. They’ve destroyed three naval vessels, killing all hands. Hundreds of sailors. They’re pirates as far as I’m concerned, and I’m within my rights to execute it here and now. It has no rights.’

Samson slammed the butt of his rifle into the alien’s midsection. It let out a gasp and doubled over. Samson waited a moment for it to recover, then slapped the ship’s fuselage again, and gestured to the alien once more. It made no response.

Samson felt his frustration grow in equal measure to his discomfort at the path of escalating brutality he was wandering down. He had never given much thought to encountering alien life. After nearly four centuries in space, most people had given up on the possibility, content with the idea that life was a less than one in a septillion chance and that Earth was the only place that had struck it lucky. What few thoughts he had entertained ran very differently to this situation, however—sentient species sharing knowledge and taking joy that they weren’t a lonely anomaly in an infinite universe was more in line with what he’d had in mind. He had never imagined himself brutalising one in the knowledge that its friends were on their way and would turn him into a red smudge on the planet’s surface as soon as they arrived.

He reminded himself that they had mercilessly killed every human they had encountered, and the technology contained in that ship could mean the difference between thousands more sailors and colonists being killed or not.

Samson handed his rifle to Price and drew his knife. He wasn’t going to order another man or woman to carry out torture, and likewise he wasn’t going to devolve the responsibility onto Smith. There was too much to be gained, and too much to lose.

‘Hold one of its hands against the fuselage,’ Samson said.

Price cut through the plastic restraints holding the alien’s hands behind its back, and while two of Smith’s men held it, Price pulled the alien’s hand forward and pressed it to the fuselage. It seemed to realise what was going on, and made a ball of its fist, so Samson had to prise each of its gloved fingers out until its hand was splayed out against its ship. Samson held the blade of the combat knife against it and applied a little pressure. With his free hand, he slapped the fuselage two final times, and hoped the alien would give in. It glared at him and let out a quiet hiss. Samson shook his head and started to press on the blade.

Smith laughed. ‘Aren’t you the vicious bastard. If this is the way you treat pirates, I’m glad I’m a law-abiding citizen.’ His men all started to chuckle.

Samson wondered how anyone could laugh at a moment like this. The alien said something in its guttural language, and a seam on the fuselage appeared. Samson’s eyes widened in surprise, and he drew back the blade, relieved that his bluff had worked. A large, person-sized panel recessed, then slid to the side, opening the way in. Voice control. That could be a problem. At least he wouldn’t have to try flying the thing.

‘Bind its hands again and let it go in first,’ Samson said.