Private Detective Iorghu Stanescu has finally taken contact with Granny about the mysterious, pale, gloved inhabitants of Vulturu. A chain of events lead Granny, Iorghu Stanescu and their group to St. Andrei Șaguna Sanitarium…
What secrets does the basement hide? Are the pale people vampires – or something worse?
Iorghu Stanescu holds Granny back. ‘Let me and Claudiu go first, we don’t know what to expect.’
She impatiently follows them through the door.
‘Oh. My. God!’
Granny stares at the huge room opening up in front of her. She realizes she has stopped net when Petre Belododia politely knocks on her shoulder, asking her to step aside or advance. ‘Whatever, just let me through,’ he says rudely and pushes past her while fumbling for his cell with his free hand.
‘A secret laboratory,’ she whispers to no one in particular staring at the strange devices lining the immaculately clean shelves that seem to go on for miles.
‘This is the scoop of the century – maybe even a Pulitzer!’ Petre Belododia shoots away with his cellphone, his gun carelessly tucked away under his arm.
The stunned visitors are quickly surrounded by a whole bunch of pale, extremely pale, lab assistants. A man in a blue lab coat and heavy rubber gloves takes off his protective glasses and steps forward. Granny recognizes him from a picture in his office, it is Varujan Torje, the Professor they’ve been looking for.
The hushed silence is only interrupted by the whispering sound of the air conditioner. The group huddle together, the men nervously pointing their weapons this way and that, trying to look intimidating. The lab people stop a few feet away, staring at them with unblinking eyes. Granny nudges her sister.
‘They look hypnotized. Do you think they are drugged?’
‘Huh?’ Missy blinks. ‘Err… I don’t know. I thought I recognized someone…’
Granny snorts. ‘I recognize almost all of them.’
But Missy doesn’t answer. She is scrutinizing the faces, one after the other, a thoughtful frown between her eyes.
Granny shivers. They are not vampires, that’s for sure. But she has a bad feeling about the whole situation nevertheless. She doesn’t think they have enough ammunition to stop all these people, and even though they have stopped advancing, they don’t seem to be worried about the guns. She looks at her friends. They have all become pale, their eyes nervously darting around the room but missing to see how one the lab technicians backs away and hurries off, his rubber soles completely silent on the polished floor.
Nobody notices, except Missy. She grabs the closest person who happens to be the good doctor, Claudiu Iliescu.
‘Claudiu, there’s someone escaping over there!’ she whispers, tugging at his arm. ‘Claudiu! Look!’
Irritated, he glances rapidly at her and shrugs off her hand. ‘Shh! Let go of my arm…’
Missy Grey has been his patient since she moved to Vulturu, and she can be so aggravatingly annoying, talking non-stop. He has learned to turn a deaf ear to her and nod compliantly, giving her the medication she needs. Personally he thinks a shrink would be of more use to her, than a generalist like himself. He hasn’t seen an old lady in such good health, ever. He returns his attention to what he had just seen moving under the shelf. He squints his eyes. What’s this? It looks like a seed? But big as an apple? And moving?
‘What’s that? A seed?’ Missy asks and bends over.
‘Nothing.’ Rapidly he bends down and puts it in his pocket.
Missy stares at him, her hands on her hips.
‘What? It’s evidence. I’ll send it to Bucharest for a thorough analysis.’ He nods towards Iorghu Stanescu talking to Professor Torje. ‘I think we should listen to what is being said.’
With a last disapproving look at the doctor’s bulging pocket, Missy turns her back on him.
The lab assistant vanishes through a door and hurries down a short corridor where bursts in without knocking.
A tall man in an immaculate lab coat is busy taking down what is written on a machine connected to a naked, greyish male in a giant incubator.
‘Dr. Franke! Dr. Franke! There are intruders in the laboratory…’
Dr. Franke listens silently to the assistant’s gasping tale. The only sign acknowledging the gravity of the incident is the firm set of his jaw and his ashen face, competing in paleness with his whitish blonde hair.
‘Return to the others.’ He waits for the lab assistant to exit the room before pulling out a small device from his pocket and action it. He turns towards the incubator. Hesitating for a brief second, he reaches out and shuts it down. He watches the body convulse and drool abundantly, the glass soon being drenched in frothing saliva. Absentmindedly he notes that he must have it cleaned. Then he walks over to the next incubator.
Dr. Franke’s device is a small alarm directly linked to the futuristic uniforms the occupants of the basement all wear. They are disciplined scientist soldiers and when the signal is actioned, all activity stops. Chairs are pushed back as the tall, green skinned, creatures rise abandoning their tasks at hand.
Without a sound, the outlandishly uniformed people leave, each having a specific task rehearsed for this moment. Computers are shut down and hard drives effectively crashed. There is no paperwork to shed, everything that cannot be destroyed is taken with them. There is a buzz of activity around the walk-in safe where small devices containing a faint, flickering blue light, are stocked. The creatures gather as many of them they can in huge, specially conceived trunks they then roll away in the direction of the underground hangar.
Others hurriedly empty the refrigerators and the Ion chromatography systems, taking as many samples as possible with them.
The ”test subjects” are put down, quickly and mercilessly.
The last creatures place devices on the walls on strategic places and trigger the countdown.
A team of five heads for the basement hangar to prepare the shuttles waiting to take them, and the research they have succeeded in saving, to the mothership.
Alex and Ferka have just the time to hide. Alex behind some barrels and Ferka in the shadows under one of the shuttles. Holding their breath, they watch the alien creatures go from vehicle to vehicle, firing them up until they are all floating in the air about a feet off the ground.
Meanwhile, Jan Dimir has left to check out the premises and comes back with some precious information.
‘There are jail cells, just behind that door. A lot of them…’
The lab staff is rounded up by the armed men and locked up in the cells. Missy wanders off, exploring but Granny keeps close to the detective who is trying to come to an agreement with Professor Varujan Torje. The Professor knows what the stakes are and tries to buy his alien coworkers time.
‘You’re evil, Professor.’ Iorghu Stanescu calls over his shoulder to Petre and Jan, ‘Lock the Professor up in a separate cell until we decide what to do with him!’
The Professor is grabbed by the arms and partly dragged into the adjoining room and thrown into a cell.
The professor keeps protesting, even when the door to the soundproof room is shut.
’Keep talking… I can’t hear you!’ Petre Belododia scorns. ‘I’m getting a Pulitzer thanks to you, old man. I’ll write an article about your evil work here. Whatever it is…’ he adds to himself and turns his back on the raging old man.
Claudiu Iliescu has locked up the last assistants. He lingers, watching them patiently stand around in the cells and look back at him with expressionless faces. His medical training makes him curious and having the voluminous “seed” in his pocket is not enough. He wants to be the one to solve the mystery before that snoopy journalist takes the honor of it all.
He leans towards the microphone and taps with his finger. The prisoners instinctively cover their ears with their hands. So it works. OK.
‘Take off your gloves!’ he commands, and they all fall to their knees, grimacing with their hands still over their ears. He checks the microphone. It seems to be sticking up right out of the table. He bends over and checks beneath. Is there no volume control on this? After throwing a glance at Petre Belododia who has taken up posture leaning on the doorframe with his back to him, he unsheathes his gun and opens the door to the less crowded cell. The lab assistants look at him with blank eyes.
‘Take off your gloves!’ They all execute his order.
‘Now, show me your hands!’ He watches with delightful horror as the lab technicians hold out their arms, showing off the skin blotchy in different shades of… green? Alien green?
He swallows and backs out of the door, feeling suddenly both hot and cold at the same time. What the Hell is going on down here?
He hurries out to tell Iorghu about his discovery. His friends are watching a few lab assistants manipulating expensive looking machines behind a thick glass window.
’I don’t think they can see us,’ Missy says, knocking on the window and waving.
Petre Belododia has joined them. ’Let’s get them out of there, and lock them up with the others.’
‘Yeah sure. Do you see a door, maybe?’
‘Well if we can’t get in, they can’t get out,’ Missy says, proud of her never-failing logic.
Claudiu can’t see any door neither. ‘Ahem… Where’s Iorghu? I have to tell him something.’
‘Over there somewhere,’ Jan points over his shoulder. ‘There must be a door. They weren’t born in there.’
Claudiu leaves them to it.
Granny has been exploring on her own. She is intrigued by the rows of identical advanced looking devices lining the shelves. There must be hundreds of them, if not thousands. Being profoundly mistrustful whenever it comes to technology in general, these cutting-edge technological devices must surely be evil. She wonders what they are used for…
‘Tara! Come and watch this!’ Missy calls from behind the door.
‘What’s written on the box there?’ Missy points triumphantly at a rectangular metal box with a small etiquette.
Granny approaches, squinting, then she takes a step back, still squinting. ‘Spectescu, Ichabod 1939-1983… Oh-My-God… Is this what I think it is?’ Granny is appalled.
Missy nods. ‘I’m afraid it is… At least it explains the fact that I saw my hairdresser in the lab. You should have thought she’d known better.’
‘Yes. Being a hairdresser and all.’
‘I don’t follow you.’
‘Her box is probably on a shelf somewhere, too. Didn’t I tell you? She electrocuted herself in her bath with her blow-dryer a few years ago. It took me ages to find someone who could get my color right.’ She sighs and turns back towards the overfilled shelves. Suddenly she slaps a hand in front of her mouth. ‘Oh my God.’
‘What now? Whose box is it?’ Granny peers over her sister’s shoulder.
‘Maybe she did it on purpose!?!’
Granny rolls her eyes. ‘Probably. I think we should take down as many names as we can. Read the names and I’ll take them down.’
Missy reads off the names and Granny takes them down in a fast shorthand she develops along the way. What’s the fuss about being a secretary? This is easy.
‘Torje, Varuhan… Hasdeu, Sanda… Synapse, Roderick… Vladimirescu, Cristi…’
They don’t have the time to finish listing all the names as they are interrupted by a commotion of running feet and shouting.
Granny stops writing. ‘Maybe we should follow them?’
‘Right. It could be important.’
They follow the sound, but as they arrive they are greeted with a strange view. They step into a long, rectangular room with a whole wall lined with what at first view looks like exposition windows in a modern art museum. Their friends are animatedly discussing in front of the individual water filled tanks, gesticulating at the mannequins floating heavily inside. Except that they are not mannequins.
’Are they real?’ Jan Dimir says to no one in particular.
‘I should hope they’re not,’ Iorghu answers, turning around at the sound of Granny’s and Missy’s approaching steps.
‘Are they alive? They look like huge Barbie-dolls,’ Missy exclaims.
‘I think they are. At least they are moving.’
Iorghu clears his throat. ‘I’ve seen enough. Let’s go back to the cell block.’ He gestures for Granny and Missy to follow him, but Missy just shakes her head.
‘Why? We just got here?’
‘We need Professor Torje to access the laptop. We have to learn what all this is about… Tara, Missy, follow me.’
‘I’d rather stay and have a closer look. But don’t mind me, go ahead.’ Missy makes a dismissive gesture with her hand. ‘Do you think they are aliens?’ she asks Petre Belodia but he doesn’t answer. He’s fiddling with his cellphone, looking at it incredulously.
‘Can anyone lend me their phone? I need to take pictures and mine seems to have run out of battery.’ He looks hopefully around him.
‘Here. Take mine,’ Jan offers helpfully. But when he tries to turn it on, he stops, frowning. ‘Mine’s dead, too.’
On their way to the cells, the detective shares his recent findings with Granny. Granny shakes her head. She is not sure she has entirely understood what Professor Torje’s taste in dead bodies implies. She just hopes it will help them share some light on this sordid affair.
‘… my colleague, in Bucharest, has dug up enough dirt to get him locked up for the rest of his life,’ Iorghu says smugly as they briskly walk back again through the winding corridors, Professor Torje and Jan Dimir in tow.
Iorghu Stanescu and Granny sit down opposite the professor, letting him access his laptop. Of course he refuses. Crossing his arms, he leans back in his chair and looks scornfully at them.
Jan Dimir takes a step forward and puts the object he had been carrying with him on the desk. He grabs the old scientist’s frail neck, but the detective waves him off. Silently he leans forward and says a name in a low voice. The old man’s face falls. Iorghu throws a triumphant glance at Granny. Mentioning the scandal is enough leverage to get Professor Torje to finally cooperate.
The mad scientist is too proud of his achievements to remain silent and is soon boasting to Iorghu and Granny about his involvement in “Operation Invisible Invaders”, confirming their suspicions about extraterrestrial involvement. He tells them about his first contact with the aliens, about his important part in the research and how the aliens had built this secret laboratory almost a century ago.
‘… without nobody noticing. Can you imagine?’ The professor sounds as proud as if the extraordinary technology is his personal accomplishment and not something straight out of a sci-fi fantasy.
He continues explaining how they have searched all over the known universe for a lifeform similar to theirs, for breeding purposes, and so far the only intelligent lifeform, whose technology doesn’t represent a threat, is the Earth’s human population.
‘Thanks to my input, we have succeeded in implanting alien souls in dead bodies but the tests effectuated extracting the human soul from a living body are very promising. Anyhow, the alien soul progressively takes over the basic functions of the body and the progress of enhancing the brain is also encouraging. The result of crossbreeding is being positive, but the offspring isn’t stable – human emotions are taking over the rational thinking, and that can be problematic.’
‘This “creature” breeds within a human host?’
‘Yes. That is what I just said, didn’t I?’
Granny and Iorghu shake their heads, incredulous. ‘Ahem. Why?’
‘Why? To save their race, of course.’
‘You mean they are on the way to exterminate us to save themselves?’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say exterminate, but yes. That’s about the general idea.’ He looks at them, eager to get them to understand.
‘The aliens have destroyed the resources of their home planet, poisoning the environment so badly they’ve had to leave and settle elsewhere. They have found a new solar system, with a planet similar to their own, lightyears from here, and they have learnt their lesson concerning pollution, but the fact remains – their race have become sterile.’
‘I needed an assistant and Dr. Franke was reluctant at first, I have to say, but the research he has been doing at his facility is approaching what is being accomplished here, so joining me was an evidence. A step- a huge step – up the ladder.’ He looks expectantly at them, leaning back in his chair. When they don’t say anything, he clears his throat and continues, eager to make them understand.
‘Ahem, the laboratory storing has room for about 30,000 souls and 10,000 younglings, ready to implant…’
Granny and Iorghu looks at each other.
‘Souls?’ Granny says at the same time as Iorghu mutters ‘Younglings?’
‘Exactly!’ The professor lights up, not getting the interrogative undertone at all. He drones on, his monologue punctuated by strange, scientific vocabulary such as “mental scan, telepathy, probing, mind control, transmuting, biopsy and recombobulation”.
The unusual vocabulary makes Granny doubt the sanity of the eminent Professor. But after seeing the laboratory and the tanks with people in them, she is ready to believe anything he says. If his explanations involve little green men from space, so be it.
’… the tests are impressive but painless. They don’t hurt. Not much anyway…’
Granny tries to follow the scientific jargon but the Professor’s bad English doesn’t help.
‘… and that brings us to the final phase: Obtaining vital samples…’
‘Come again. Phases? How many phases did you say there are?’ she interrupts.
‘To collect samples there are three… But the phases from soul to youngling to a full-fledged individual…’ Professor Torje counts on his fingers, a slight frown on his face. ‘Seven… Now, where were I? Oh, yes, the pain factor.’
He drones on.
’… but other methods; like “probing”, are more frightening.’ He nods satisfactorily to himself.
‘Probing?’ Iorghu asks.
‘Yes. We get important cells from the spinal column by using a long needle. Or directly from the brain-’
Granny gulps. She is not sure she wants to know where this is heading.
‘-the brain cells are of a better quality, but the fatalities are higher.’ He sighs, grimacing. ‘Implanting or extracting a youngling is completed with the same method. It can be a problem as the subject can’t be anesthetized and trauma seems to imprint on the cells, making unstable products.’
‘But there are ways to come to terms with an uncooperative test-subject.’ Professor Torje leans forward and pushes back the laptop slightly. He poses both hands on the table and intertwines his fingers. ‘Just like meat.’
When he sees the lost expressions on his audience, he tries to explain. ‘If you scare the animal it will release adrenaline, which uses up the glycogen and there’s not enough lactic acid left. The meat will be tasteless and tough. A calm animal tastes much better, believe me.’
Granny nods. She believes him and that’s the problem.
‘So what drugs do you use?’ Iorghu asks.
‘Drugs? We don’t use drugs. It would alter the cells in a similar way as fright. No, the aliens use mind control-’
Hypnozis? Granny lets out a relieved sigh.
‘But it’s a last resort. Better to surprise the subject…’
‘Because sometimes, really often actually, it happens the subject gets err… totally brainwashed…’ He shrugs an excuse.
’But do not worry. We won’t let a damaged subject loose on the streets. We dispose of them – safely and securely.’
Noticing the chocked look on their faces he quickly adds, ‘But usually it works just fine.’
‘And afterwards, the test-subjects show no resistance whatsoever, not even when being probed.’
But instead of sounding reassuring, Granny and Iorghu both think he sounds like a madman. A fanatical madman.
’… Of course, the importance of obtaining the samples overshadows the means…’ The professor lets the sentence trail, not sure about their reaction.
‘And what about this? What is it?’ Granny points to the pulsating blue object on the desk.
Professor Torje quickly glances at it. ‘Oh, that. That is a youngling.’
Granny peers at the tube, listening with half an ear to the professor quickly recapitulating the process using younglings. She can still see the shelves in the laboratory. Rows after rows filled with the flickering blue objects. How many had he said there were? Thousands? Enough to create an army.
‘Isn’t there a way to help the “infected”?’ she blurts out.
Professor Torje hesitates, weighing the advantages and disadvantages of playing along. His hosts must be well on their way now, their evacuation program is very efficient. He visualizes their small spaceships leaving the hospital like a bee swarm… He nods thoughtfully, focusing on his “guests”. This could be his shot at prosperity. Or at least a chance to continue his experiments and maybe not go to jail as the detective had threatened him with.
He gets to his feet and removes one of his diplomas on the wall to reveal a safe. ‘I’ve kept this for an emergency…’
Professor Torje takes out a flat rectangular device looking like an oversized iPad. He flicks it open and pulls out a test tube. Holding it up towards the light he says with not a little triumph in his voice, ‘This little jewel contains stem cells.’
‘Is it some kind of anti-dote?’
‘Err… not exactly. It has never been done before, but I strongly believe we could go through a resequencing of the genetics.’
Granny and Iorghu give the professor a questioning glance. ’Huh?’
‘Reverse the procedure… But I will need the assistance of Dr. Franke.’
Granny’s face lights up. ‘Good! What are we waiting for!?!’
Iorghu pushes back his chair and nods to Jan Dimir who leaves the room. The professor looks expectantly at them.
‘Everything needed is in the laboratory, including test subjects.’
Claudiu Iliescu and Petre Belododia bring Dr. Franke to the room where the professor is waiting. After seeing the test subjects floating in the tanks, they use a little more violence than necessary with the scientist. They push him rather roughly through the antechamber, waving their guns and screaming at him to hurry up.
Dr. Franke is suitably impressed and it is two subdued scientists who reunite in the room where they have so often conducted their experiments. They huddle together, whispering about the procedure and Dr. Franke gets even paler than he was before. He turns to the little group with an astonished expression.
‘Was this your idea?’
‘Of course not,’ Professor Torje says with his voice dripping of sarcasm. ‘You have to be a genius to come up with this kind of daring procedure. I am the person who suggested it.’
‘But you do realize it could be fatal, don’t you?’ Dr. Franke struggles between his desire to go ahead and try the experiment and fright of what these trigger happy men would do to him if they fail.
Claudiu Iliescu answers for them all. ‘They are already doomed. Let’s try to get them back to a normal life again.’
He turns on his heels and together with Jan Dimir they immediately leave to fetch a test-subject from the tanks. Granny and Iorghu help the scientists set up the room for the operation. Petre Belododia seizes the opportunity to conduct an interview, scribbling furiously on a slip of paper as his cell still doesn’t work. As soon as their friends are back with the slack, but breathing, body, they start the reverse operation.
The male subject is dressed in a white body sock and installed on the chair. The whole setup makes Granny think of a very modern styling salon, if it wasn’t for the menacing computerized machine connected to it. Dr. Franke and Professor Torje clip small turquoise spheres on the subject’s arms, legs and torso and connects the breathing device that covers his face to the machine. After entering some data, Professor Torje reverently inserts the stem cells into a slot and Dr. Franke starts the procedure.
The machine hums to life and a round glass lowers itself over the subject’s face like a giant hairdryer. The three large antenna devices on its top start glowing with a turquoise light that it soon so bright you have to look away.
After a few minutes of staring at the test subject, Granny notices a shadow spreading on its head. Is it…? Could it be…?
‘It’s working! Look at his hair!’
They watch in awe as the man’s skin goes from a ghostly whitish grey to a glowing brown and then back again to a pale, but normal, tone. The man’s eyes open wide and he convulses as if electrocuted. Dr. Franke is ready with a long syringue which he plunges into the man’s heart and the body slacks. The frenetic beeping goes back to normal again and when the scientists step back, they can see the man has opened his eyes. Granny realizes she has held her breath.
They all hug and slap each other’s backs, cheering while the scientists proceed to unhook the paraphernalia from the man’s costume and help him to his feet.
Their euphoria evaporates when the test subject staggers and gasps for breath as soon as he’s detached.
‘He can’t breathe!’
‘Put the mask back on!’
‘Something must be wrong if he can’t breathe without the mask.’
‘Maybe it’s because he was hardly alive when we took him out of the tank…’ Granny suggests.
Professor Torje isn’t ready to admit failure. ‘We should try with the lab staff, who already breathes.’
But he doesn’t have the time to develop his theory before a violent explosion sends them all sprawling.
When they open the door they can see the whole laboratory is in flames. Fragments of equipment litter the floor and there are several lab technicians who have succumbed with the blast.
‘Call 911!’ Claudiu covers his face and rushes forward to the body closest to him, but it is too late. The badly injured woman expires as he tries to give her CPR.
Granny hovers by the door. Unable to move, she stares in fascinated terror at the blazing inferno in front of her, memories of the Cove mixing with the vision before her eyes.
Professor Torje wails in despair as he watches the precious equipment disappear in the flames.
‘We have to get out of here before everything blows up!’ Dr. Franke helps the crying professor to his feet. ‘The whole basement is a trap!’
Iorghu grabs Granny by the arm and drags her towards the nearest exit.
‘Missy! I – I have to get my sister.’ Granny straightens up, trying to get a grip on herself.
‘Over there.’ Iorghu points through the smoke towards a group of people following the wall towards the door.
‘We must leave – everything is about to blow up!’ Dr. Franke shouts through the din of screaming people and the roar of the fire.
Granny staggers through the thick smoke, following the silhouettes of the people preceding her. Coughing they make it out of the main laboratory unit. The commando group escorts the survivors, running for their life through the basement.
The last door, leading to the corridors lined by offices, is stuck. Dr. Franke panics as the door won’t open, but a quick blast of a gun takes care of it.
The last corridor leading to the stairs seems endless, Granny tries to keep up, but her breathing becomes labored and she has to accept the help from Iorghu and Jan Dimir or she won’t make it to the surface.
They grab an arm each and half drags her towards the winding stairs and up, up, towards salvation.
They stop up in front of the hospital, panting and looking around them with astonished expressions on their faces. The night is just as calm as when they arrived a couple of hours ago. The only sign of disturbance is a slight tremor from the ground and sirens approaching fast.
‘Maybe it is contained…’
‘It seems safe enough.’
‘Listen to the sirens, they are heading this way. Help is on the way.’
Screeching, their vehicle stops on the curb.
Apostol Alexandrescu shouts through the open window, ‘Get in the van!’
Claudiu Iliescu slides open the door and jumps in.
‘Just Professor Torje and Dr. Franke! Let the fire brigade take care of the others.’ Iorghu pushes the reticent blond man towards the open door.
‘Shouldn’t we interrogate them?’ Petre Belododia asks.
‘I doubt they have anything interesting to tell you. They are only pawns with no special knowledge.’ Professor Torje says haughtily, looking down his nose at the journalist. ‘I am the one with special knowledge.’
They all pile into the van. Apostol Alexandrescu makes a U-turn and they drive off with screeching tires. Nobody notices the last Galaxa Space Car leave the sanatorium.
TThe commando crosses the fire trucks a few seconds later.
‘See? The people will get evacuated-’
Suddenly a deafening explosion, followed by the earth violently shaking, sends the car careening across the road.
The old apothecary struggles to get control of the car again and slows down and stops. He leans his head against the wheel, panting.
‘What the Hell was that?’
Nobody answers. The whole underground laboratory must have blown up.
‘Where are Ferka and the other guy? The handsome dark one?’ Missy peeps.
Granny closes her eyes and leans back against the headrest. They had left them to die down there. Along with the lab technicians in front of the hospital and probably the hospital all together…
The aliens don’t look back at the havoc they’ve caused… Once in their mother ship, they hibernate as pure energy also used to fuel up the engines. Only the officers will make it back to their solar system.
Part I – End of Chapter 43