Aliens from the Fifth Space-Time

By Kamille Zaiter

A team of nuclear scientists on planet Globe in a parallel universe are approached by harmless aliens, who on the surface look like humans. These aliens are desperate to fix one of the components in their battery system otherwise they will disintegrate and not be able to return to the Fifth Space-Time Dimension, from which they came. In return for the facilitation of equipment necessary to remedy the unique problem, the scientists are offered- amongst other things- a ride in the aliens Fifth Field Vehicle. Inside this wondrous contrivance, the passengers become invisible to others , yet they themselves can see and hear everything around them.
Will the alien problem be solved in time, or will the aliens revert to more primitive existences?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Dec 8, 2015
• ISBN: 9781514441800

Kamille Zaiter

The author is a science teacher whose passion is to promote science education, particularly in impoverished societies and those torn apart by conflict. This is the author’s second book. In the first book, “Aliens from the Fifth Space-Time” friendly yet desperate alien entities called Tymans, who have an extra space dimension woven into their fabric, make contact with a group of scientists in order to seek help to fix a mechanical problem they encountered during the sojoum. All ends well and in the process the aliens pass on their cosmic knowledge which reinforces the notion that another afterlife exists beyond this one.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

A ston, a thirty-five-year-old nuclear physicist, drove his vehicle towards the entrance of Central Hospital, in Central City. It was the largest hospital of its kind, renowned all over the Globe for building medical cyclotrons and for producing medical isotopes. Aston’s department had recently built a cyclotron that manufactured positron-emitting isotopes. These isotopes, when incorporated with common organic molecules, act as pharmaceutical tracers used for medical imaging purposes.

This latest showpiece of medical technology was currently packed into a large container, ready to be shipped overseas to the United Nations Headquarters. Once at the UN, the whole system was to be inspected by the International Nuclear Agency before its transportation to Panjusta Nine, a relatively peaceful country located in the war-ridden Panjustin Peninsula.

One of Aston’s jobs that morning was to supervise the loading of the container onto a big truck that would carry the precious cargo to the airport. Another job was to deliver a package of ready-made, short half-life radioisotopes to a special government courier for transportation to a nearby district hospital.

After parking his car in the reserved space, he caught a lift to the reception level of the newly built imaging centre. In the foyer of the huge and bright reception hall – where a multitude of empty seats sat bolted to polished floors, and where vases of natural plants crept up everywhere – were various signs dangling from a high ceiling that directed people to a motley of medical imaging laboratories ranging from Ultrasound to X-rays to Positron Tomography to Magnetic Resonance Imaging. It was still 7.32 a.m., as indicated by the large digital clock situated behind the reception desk, and in less than an hour, the place would be teeming with patients and professionals.

Aston approached the desk where a lone, middle-aged nurse typed away on a computer. When he was a few metres away, her head popped up, and she greeted him with a smile wider than usual. No doubt she had heard about the Panjustin massacre that had occurred overnight and was sympathetic to any innocent Panjustin folk, like him. Because he was of Panjustin heritage, many people thought Aston was interested or involved in the politics. But he wasn’t. He just hoped that peace would prevail one day. Sometimes he was ashamed to be associated with anything Panjustin because of their violent history.

Aston did not feel like talking about the recent Panjustin massacre at that particular moment; plus he was in a hurry. He was hoping that she would not raise the matter.

Good morning, he said. Are the couriers here yet?

No, replied the receptionist.

That’s good, he said. I still need to move the Hot-Box to the delivery dock. We’re not expecting them till eight anyway. By ‘Hot-Box’ he meant the leaden toolbox that stored the radioisotopes destined for the District Hospital.

Aston turned around and was about to walk away when the receptionist brought up the subject. It’s horrible news that massacre, isn’t it? Those poor children. Do you still have relatives over there?

Aston fought back tears. The current massacre in the news brought back memories of other massacres he had witnessed as a child, which he did not want to revisit. He turned to the nurse. No, luckily all my family is here. As for those subhumans overseas, I’m sure they’ll get sick of war one day, and they’ll start thinking about the children and the future. One day they’ll learn and become more human. One day there will be peace, hopefully.

Hopefully, repeated the receptionist.

Aston then thought of his growing family: his eight-month pregnant wife Ana and his two-year-old son, Junior. A few moments went by before he turned around and headed for the office with a zillion things zooming in his head.

He approached a door marked Personnel Only. He inserted his card, and the door clicked open. Once he entered, the door shut. He walked down the corridor dotted with several doors on both sides until he reached a door labeled Hot Laboratory and a big radioactive warning sign beneath. This is where radioisotopes were prepared and stored.

Aston reached for his card to insert it and at the same time reached for the handle of the door. He stopped in surprise. The handle pushed down and the door opened without the need for the card. Aston wondered why the door was unlocked. Was anyone in there? Who and why? He was in charge of this section of the hospital.

He remembered locking the door on the previous evening after he and his two assistant graduate technicians – nicknamed by the staff of the department as Alpha and Beta – had finished packing the isotopes that were to be shipped away. The two technicians, however, were not expected until nine.

He entered the office and looked around. When nothing peculiar grabbed his attention, he made his way to the adjacent room, which served as a library where valuable medical imaging resources were kept and where files of isotope data and specifications were stored. Aston then approached a door with a sign that read ‘Preparation Room’ and swiped his card. The door slid open, and once inside the brightly tiled room he proceeded to remove his tag and jacket.

Afterwards, he proceeded to put on the protective suit, then the boots. Although the suits looked like spacesuits, they weren’t as heavy or as tight, thus allowing the wearer to move about with ease. He was about to put on the headgear when a light on one of the control panels lit up. It meant someone had just walked into the Decontamination Room. Who could it be? There was no need for any of the technicians to be in there at this time.

Aston rushed to the panel of switches near a door that led to the Geiger Chamber and activated a switch. The door slid open. He then entered the Geiger Chamber and walked towards the Decontamination Room. He pressed a button on a nearby panel. The door opened, and he cautiously stepped in only to notice a boy in a white laboratory coat about to enter the main laboratory.

Aston couldn’t believe it. He cried out loudly, Excuse me, what are you doing here?

The boy turned around and asked, Who the fuck are you?

Aston was stunned. The boy looked angry.

I work here, said Aston. Please don’t go in there.

Why not? Radiation doesn’t affect us, replied the boy.

Aston noticed that the boy had no hair on his head. He stood with his hands in the pockets of an oversized white laboratory coat that almost touched the black rubber boots he wore. The boy’s eyelids moved slowly, in a blinking manner, as they focused hard on Aston. He made several of these slow blinks before stopping. The eyelids didn’t flutter afterwards.

Aston looked around. "You said us. Is there anyone else with you, son?"

Why should there be? We are capable of completing the mission by ourselves.

Are you a patient in this hospital, son?

Fuck you, said the boy. You are so dumb. Does this coat look like a patient’s gown?

Astounded by the boy’s reaction, Aston did not argue the point. Can you at least come over here so I can measure your radiation level? He pointed to the Geiger counter.

Listen imbecile, we are aliens to this weird, diseased planet. Radiation does not affect our Grand-Spaceships. Unlike your molecular spaceships, ours have the Fifth Field. Now, we have told you enough, so get the fuck out of here and leave us alone.

Again, the ‘us’ prompted Aston to look around. The thought that the boy was a homeless street kid crossed his mind. Where are your parents, son? I will take you to them.

The boy’s eyes started to blink slowly as he went into deep contemplation. He finally spoke, but in a softer tone than previously used. You really are dumb and slow, are you not? We just told you, we are aliens. We are not one of you. Home is the Fifth Dimension. We are designed, not conceived. We are much superior to your decadent mob.

Aston wondered, when did ten- or twelve-year-old boys use such words in their vocabulary? The boy’s language and choice of words were those of an older boy, maybe even that of an adult. Could video games that were popular with the young be the reason for this boy’s colorful and sometimes sophisticated choice of words? He decided to play along.

If you are an alien, how come you speak the International Language? You also look like any other kid.

We look like kids because we are designed that way on purpose. We have a better chance to succeed in our mission if we look like a kid. No one will bother us, so our designers think. They made a mistake. They had better camouflage our battery with manure from cows and sheep rather than this horrible, child skin-like organ. We not only speak the International Language, mister, we can speak all languages in all dialects. Our engineers have deciphered the electromagnetic waves associated with your communication systems. We know everything about this downtrodden planet, and we can certainly interpret all those animal sounds you make.

The bemused Aston asked, What’s your mission then? Why are you here?

The boy hesitated for a few seconds before replying. Our mission is to spend a certain amount of time on your planet to recharge our battery and then go. The energy from your planet’s orbital motion suits us. It is in synchrony with our battery’s mechanism. But then we discovered there is a problem with the substrate of the cap that seals the battery, and we have to fix it or it will all be in vain. Yes, we have to fix our problem and then get on our way. Like every other existence, we, too, have a journey. So goodbye, farewell and whatever you imbeciles say.

Many questions crossed Aston’s mind. Was the boy drugged? Was he lost? Was he a patient? How had he gotten in? Aston no doubt wondered what was in the boy’s pockets. What was the boy hiding? Could it could be the spare tag that is normally locked up in one of the cupboards at reception? No doubt the boy had somehow gotten hold of it. What about the boy’s mental condition and his radiation levels? How long have you been in here, son? Aston finally asked.

That’s none of your fucking business. Now go and leave us in peace.

I can’t do that, said Aston. You must come with me. Is your hand broken, son? Do you need an X-ray, is that it?

No, get real. We just told you our problem.

Maybe I can help? Aston once more glanced towards the pockets.

The boy began to blink repeatedly as he thought. Afterwards, he spoke, but his gaze remained fixed onto the air above Aston’s head. What we are after is a range of positron-emitting sources, such as fluorine eighteen that will help us diagnose our substrate problem, so please, and we did say please, get the fuck out of here and leave us alone to do some research. We know where they are kept.

Aston ignored the substrate problem mentioned by the boy. Do you have a tumour, son?

"Fuck you. You are so stupid. How is it possible that we, a Fifth Space-Time entity, get a tumour?" The boy then let out a false laugh.

Aston looked at the clock hanging on a wall. It was past eight. He remembered he had to get to the storeroom and deliver the Hot-Box. No doubt the couriers were waiting, but the boy was in his way, so he took a few steps forward.

The boy stepped back and said, Do not come near us or we will cry rape, you child molester. Fuck off and do not touch us. Your kind slaughters children.

Aston stopped in his tracks and felt a combination of shame and hurt. The boy must have heard about the massacre. He was not surprised that children as young as this boy, and even younger, knew about the war and terror that was taking place. The Panjustin war and the daily acts of terror associated with it were constant news lately. Could this misguided kid be affected by events? The boy did not appear to be Justinian though.

Aston wondered what to do next. He had no option but to alert security. He remembered the emergency button in the Geiger chamber. Stay here. Don’t go in there. I’ll be back with help.

He turned around. The door to the Geiger chamber was still open. In the chamber, he rushed to one of the panels and pressed the emergency button. He also turned on the intercom line that was connected to the medical and security offices. He was about to speak into it when he heard a thud. It sounded like the laboratory door. He quickly posted a message. This is Aston. There is a boy in the hot lab. Activate emergency plan.

He rushed back to the contamination room only to discover there was no boy. The boy must have entered the laboratory. Aston rushed to the control panel near the laboratory door and activated a switch that opened the door. He entered the laboratory. He looked around everywhere, but no boy was found. Aston looked dazed.

Could the boy have escaped through the fire exit in those several seconds? The door was several metres away. He rushed to the fire exit, opened it, and looked down the twenty metre concreted corridor, but no boy was seen. Where did he go?

In one of the far corners of the huge lab was the Hot Room where the radioisotopes were stored. The boy had no time to get in there, surely, but Aston approached that room to check it out anyway. Once he activated the switch, and this took several seconds, he was inside. He called out, but there was no response. He looked beneath the rows of concreted shelves, but no feet were seen. The shelves and closed cupboards were too small to hide a child the size of the boy, so, after a second or two of pondering, he closed the Hot-Room door.

Aston then rushed to a heavily fortified gate in another corner of the laboratory. This special gate opened up to the loading dock, where materials were received and delivered. He activated the switch, and soon one part of the gate opened slowly. He popped his head out. Outside, standing around a specially built armoured van were the two couriers. Aston asked, Did you see a boy in a coat come out of here?

No, was the reply.

Aston looked worried. Okay, thanks, he muttered, and then turned and closed the gate.

He stepped back into the laboratory and from there made his way to the fire corridor, which took him back to the front office. There, waiting, were two armed security guards, a specialist nurse, and Alpha and Beta, the two nuclear technicians, a male and a female in their early twenties. The two were an inseparable item who worked and lived together. Although they didn’t say much, the love couple were efficient and smart.

Before anyone spoke, Aston, puffing a little, asked, Did anyone see a boy come out of here?

No, they all answered.

What about at reception? Aston asked.

It’s empty, the doors are not opened yet, replied one of the guards.

Aston looked baffled. The couriers didn’t see him, you didn’t see him, there’s no other way out is there?

A few seconds went by. The staff, who were familiar with the surroundings, eventually all said, No.

Then he must still be here, cried Aston. He turned to Alpha and Beta. Are you ready to suit up? We need to have another look.

Yes, of course, they replied, somewhat in unison, and promptly headed for the preparation room.

Aston turned to the guards. I think the best thing now is for you to search on the outside just in case he managed to slip out – I can’t see how, though. He is bald and wearing a white laboratory coat too big for him. Please also contact the police. We need to find him and test him.

He turned to the nurse. Please set up the emergency room; I have a horrible feeling this boy is sick. He was about to follow the technicians when the phone in the office buzzed.

Yes? It was the receptionist who reminded him that the couriers were still waiting. Okay, give me five minutes.

Aston entered the library. He looked around. There was nowhere a boy could hide – just books and folders on conspicuous shelves. He then rushed into the preparation room, where the technicians were still getting ready.

Alpha produced a tag. Is this yours?

Aston recognised his tag and put it around his neck. He then remembered the spare tag in one of the locked draws at reception given to visitors. He pressed a button on a phone pad near the control panel and was soon asking the receptionist to see whether the spare tag was in its place. Seconds later, Aston and technicians learnt that the spare tag was missing.

That’s how the boy got into this place. That’s what he was hiding in his pockets, he exclaimed.

Aston and the technicians then went through the Geiger chamber, through the decontamination room, and then to the laboratory, investigating every nook and cranny along the way. They found nothing unusual. Finally, a puzzled Aston spoke. The couriers are waiting, let’s get that box.

They then entered the Hot Storeroom and approached one of the specially crafted cupboards tucked away in an oven-like conclave. Only when they got near the cupboard did they realise its door was slightly opened. Then another of Aston’s worst fears manifested itself: the Hot-Box was missing. Oh shit. The box was not there in the cupboard where it had been left the night before. It should be there.

Aston conferred with the others. Yes, indeed, Alpha did close the cupboard and Beta did lock the room on the previous evening. Once they had locked up, all three had left the building together. For the next few minutes, they looked everywhere in that storeroom and in the laboratory for the Hot-Box but did not find it.

A terrible feeling overcame Aston. The missing box was radioactive. He was concerned about the boy and also concerned about his staff. They looked dejected. He allayed their fears. Don’t worry, it’s not your fault. We’ll find it. I’m sure the boy has something to do with all of this.

He looked around. Oh, I wish those cameras were on. Aston knew that the newly fitted security cameras that were present in every room of the Hot Lab Complex were not yet in operation. The contractors were busy working on the new children’s wing of the hospital. The installations there took priority. But surely other cameras scattered about the hospital would have captured the boy.

During the next few moments that followed, there was eerie silence. Though frozen like an iceberg, Aston’s cold-like exterior did not reflect his internal turmoil. Soon he would speak out loudly his inner thoughts. How could a radioactive box just disappear? It couldn’t have been in the boy’s pockets, I would’ve noticed. Where did that boy go? How did he vanish? He just vanished. That’s impossible.

These questions and others were repeated several times before Alpha brought Aston back to reality. The male of the Duo spoke gently. Sorry to interrupt you, Aston, but what shall we tell the couriers?

Aston shook his head, as if to shake away a strange dream. Pack what we have in stock. We can’t let them return with nothing. I’ll go and speak to them now.

The technicians nodded their heads and set about doing their work.

Once Aston finished with the couriers, he rushed to the hospital’s security office where he filed a report. After that, he rushed to oversee the loading of the container.

Later that evening, Aston was back at home holding his wife. She noticed he was worried. What’s the matter?

Should he tell her about the boy and the missing box? He drifted into contemplation. In the end, he decided not to. The poor woman had enough on her plate with the pregnancy and the war in her homeland.

Aston freed himself from his wife’s hold and headed for the shower. He was putting on his gown when his son started to cry in the adjacent room. He approached his son’s bed and picked him up. The child stopped crying.

Aston carried him to the spacious kitchen, where Ana was preparing dinner, and strapped him into the high chair. Afterwards, he flicked a remote and the TV was switched on.

Nearly every channel was reporting the massacre or commenting on it. He changed stations searching for something entertaining. He wanted a distraction from the harsh reality that was making the news. He soon sensed that Ana was not too keen either to hear of more violence. No doubt there would be retaliation to the gruesome massacre. He switched off the TV.

Aston addressed Junior, who now held a spoon and had baby food smudged all over the place. Don’t worry, son. You won’t have to put up with all of this evil. By the time you grow up, this war would have ended. Let’s hope it finishes soon.

He said this, but deep down he knew it was wishful thinking. A war that has been raging on for thousands of years doesn’t just suddenly stop. He feared that this latest outbreak of war between the Sixth Panjusta nation and its allies versus its neighbor the Twelfth and its allies could go on and off for another thousand years. No one, it seemed, could bring about lasting peace. The two nations were fighting a bloody war over disputed land rich in minerals. Each nation claimed it had been awarded to them by Emperor Justus, the first ruler of the Peninsula, some 20,000 years ago.

The people of the nations that made up the Panjustin Peninsula all worshiped Emperor Justus. They believed he was a supreme being with divine connections. They believed he was the embodiment of all the good fairies that criss-cross the skies and who are in constant battle with the evil fairies. The Panjustins believe that the Combined Spirits, that is, the total homogenous spirits of all the good fairies, were responsible for the creation of the universe and all life on it.

After dinner, Aston played around with his son, who in return entertained his father with newly acquired theatrics. For a while, Aston forgot about his troubles and concentrated on the joyous moments at hand.

Later that night, he lay awake in his bed. The massacre, the missing box, and scenes of the sick boy that ran through his head, time and time again, all combined to prevent him from getting any sleep.

CHAPTER 2

T he following morning, Aston met with Alpha and Beta in the hospital’s cafeteria, where they normally had coffee. He recalled what had happened a day earlier with the boy. The Duo, who were in many ways a mirror image of each other, looked intrigued but didn’t ask any questions. Both tied their hair back in a pony-tail; Beta’s hair reached her waistline, whereas Alpha’s reached his shoulders. Both wore matching spectacles. Both were quiet and never said much. The only striking difference between them was the short trimmed beard of Alpha and their height: Alpha towered over Beta, who was more on the short side.

Throughout the session, the detached Aston just sipped on his coffee. He had no appetite for food. Scenes of the sick boy prevented him from concentrating on any topic or performing any function. Nothing could or would distract him at that moment from the dilemma at hand. That radioactive box must be found – the boy, too. What could be done to solve those mysteries? He focused hard. After coffee, the trio made their way to the Dean’s office in the Administration Block for a meeting.

Waiting for them was the Dean of the university, Detective Wyn from Central City’s Police Department, and the Hospital’s Media Director. They were there to discuss the missing radioactive box. The scientists in the room spent the next few minutes explaining to the others the implications. First and foremost: any missing radiation was dangerous. Although the risk from the container was low, it had to be found at any cost. The radiation emitted was way below the allowed safety levels. However, if one did manage to set the correct code on the lock and open the box, and be exposed to the products, then the health risks would naturally increase. The box itself in the meantime would not be so dangerous because of the short half life of the pharmaceuticals in it. Still, once found, it must be returned to the lab and all people who had come into contact with it must be tested. All agreed that the public should be informed.

The Dean turned to a worried-looking Aston. Relax, Aston. Don’t look so bad. We’ll find it. You did well yesterday. Thank you. The container has arrived at the airport, and it will be shipped tonight. We should all feel proud. That machine is going to save lives, particularly Panjustin lives. After what those poor suffering people are going through, this new technology might open some eyes and encourage their citizens to concentrate on science and technology as a source of hope and enlightenment rather than those devilish archaic dogmas that are thrust upon their young and that set them back to the Dark Ages. They desperately need education, and then the jobs will follow. I wonder about those poor children in the camps. What is the chance that any of them will get a decent education to become a doctor or an engineer or anything like that? Anyway, good job, Aston. Thank you again.

Aston momentarily felt good. Thank you, Dean. Yes, we have built something that makes all of us proud.

Aston admired the Dean and had, on numerous occasions, expressed this publicly. Besides being his boss, the Dean, a professor of Medical Science, was also Aston’s lecturer at Central University, where Aston completed his nuclear degree ten years ago. Even then, the short and chubby man with the thick black hair combed into a fringe, wore his trade mark bow- ties and kept a cool smile. Aston could not remember a moment when the Dean looked upset or vulnerable. The well-known and respected international academic appeared to be always in control of his environment.

The Dean turned to the detective. Do you want to say something with regards to the missing box?

The bald intelligence officer, with a loose tie dangling from an unbuttoned collar, turned towards Aston. Sorry Aston, but there was no boy in a white coat on any of the hospitals cameras. No one saw the boy you described anywhere. There is no patient either that fits that description. No patient is missing from any of the city’s hospitals. There are also no police records of any sort.

There was silence, and Aston looked puzzled. He was concerned about his