Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

In a dusty corridor away from busy areas of Area 702, two people with ill-fitting lab coats concealing their uniforms are huddled under a disconnected monitoring camera. One takes a hit on a vape stick. The other lights a cigar.
“I heard old Kendrix panicked after Prof Devensor collapsed. Nobody told me why, though. Except that Kendrix was shouting about DEFCON 1 before a security patrol got him with a tranquiliser.”
The vaping one chuckles.
“True enough. Shot him in the ass, neat as you like. Then the dipshit folded down and sat on it. He’s face down in the infirmary with a dressing on his butt. Pantroben has taken over for now.”
The cigar waves for emphasis.
“What on Earth could cause Devensor to faint? The man’s been cutting up things nobody else would touch for decades.”
“Terror. The most fundamental fear of brutal regimes: the opposition finally being able to do to you what you’ve done to them. Doesn’t matter if they’re unlikely to. The fear of getting a dose of ‘do unto others’ is enough. After all, it’s why the bad ones don’t let up until forced: too scared to consider other options.”
“Not fanaticism?”
“To an extent. But lurking under that is the fear. Bullies always fear.”
“We’re drifting off topic.”
The vaper takes another hit, then continues.
“True. Anyway, Dirry-”
“Who?”
“Dirrikillid. Prefers to be called Dirry.”
“Okay. Go on.”
“As you know, Dirry’s dying. Wants to go home. Was promised that when it stayed on voluntarily after Roswell. Which is something the current Administration wasn’t interested in honouring.”
“Am I right in getting a bad feeling?”
“Absolutely. When Dirry got told ‘no’, it just smiled, then told us the other side of why it stayed.”
“Other side? Russia?”
The one with the vape snorts.
“No. I’m sure they’ve got their own visitors hidden away, though.”
“What, then?”
“Back in ’47 Dirry was in contact with what it said was the headquarters for the portion of space that include Earth. Anyway, our Administration figured dismantling the ships put an end to that. Turns out Dirry is in direct communication with the headquarters, and always has been.”
“Bet that reveal didn’t go down well.”
“You’d win. Oh my God did it not.”
“Okay, I’m beginning to understand why you asked for a meet. Give me the rest.”
“If we don’t send Dirry home, then ‘home’ will come for Dirry. In force. With representatives from all the races involved in keeping watch over Earth. Turns out several of the ‘alien beasts’ Devensor vivisected were actually dignitaries from interstellar superpowers. Those superpowers haven’t been given the gory details of the ‘unfortunate deaths while on confidential missions’ – otherwise we’d already have been reduced to surviving in bunkers and internment camps.”
“If we don’t co-operate, they’ll be informed?”
The vaping man turns his vape off.
“Yes.”
The cigar gets stubbed out on a wall.
“The president will announce a new age of space exploration within a week. How long do we have?”
“Dirry estimates it has less than a year to live, but reassures us that we only need to get it out beyond Mars. Any vessel we send past there will be met.”
“That’s doable. Using an unmanned shuttle for the last stage, of course. Leave it with me.”
“Thanks. Good to see you again, old friend.”
“Been a while, true enough. Stay clean. I’ll be in touch.”
The vaping man reaches up and reconnects the monitoring camera. As it pans left, he walks quickly to the right. When it pans back, his old friend strides off leftwards.