ILLEGAL ALIENS

The great panels of frosted plastic swirled like a snowstorm to finally cleared and show a large room with wood paneling and a row of computer consoles. Sitting behind those were what the gang would classify as Big Money types. There was a football player in a military uniform, two college professors; a gray hair guy in a blue suit, and one with glasses and a moustache in an expensive three-piece job, a hot Oriental chick in a flowered dress, and a skinny dark guy in somebody else's suit. The professor started to speak and the viewscreen speakers crunched and hooted louder than an elephant raping a Volkswagen.

"Well, the same to you fellow!" Drill answered rudely, sticking out his tongue at the screen.

That stopped the translator cold. In swift computations, it harmonized itself with the operating being and started again. This time performing the arduous processes of translating English into English.

With both fists resting on his hips, Hammer glared at the viewscreen belligerently. "Okay, so who the hell are you clowns?"

* * *

In their underground bunker, the FCT exchanged perplexed looks.

Ceremoniously, General Bronson removed the cigar from his mouth to speak everyone's unspoken question. "And since when," he growled, "do street punks talk like the damn Prince of Wales?"

"I REITERATE," the wall monitor demanded. "PLEASE IDENTIFY YOURSELVES POSTHASTE."

Taking charge, Sigerson faced the monitor squarely. "I am Professor Rajavur, in command of the United Nations First Contact Team." He motioned to the people about him. "This is General Bronson, Dr. Wu, Sir Courtney and Dr. Malavade. We are the official representatives for Earth in this situation. Are you all right? What has happened to the aliens?"

"WE ARE UNDAMAGED AND THE PRESENT SITUATION IS UNDER CONTROL. FIGHTING IN SELF DEFENSE, MY ASSOCIATES AND I WERE FORCED TO DESTROY THE CRIMINALS WHO HAD KIDNAPPED US. THE ALIEN MENACE HAS ENDED. THIS STARSHIP IS NOW UNDER OUR CONTROL."

With these words, the world rejoiced, the previous communications blackout forgotten with this overwhelming good news. Earth had been saved by the Bloody Deckers! Hooray! Hurrah! Historic enemies hugged and kissed each other, cops and crooks, blacks and whites, Arabs and Jews, Democrats and Republicans. The glorious sounds of popping champagne corks, car horns and church bells filled the globe as Humanity celebrated their deliverance from what had been almost certain doom.

Deep in their underground Command Bunker, the FCT did not join the revelry, as their cerebral teeth were buried in a puzzling mystery. Via their throat mikes and earphones, the team held a fast conference.

"The translation device?" Dr. Malavade postulated scratching his chin. "Could it still be in operation?"

Dr. Wu made a rude noise.

"I agree with Yuki," Sir John sub-vocalized. "If so, then why is it converting the street gang's idiomatic sub-tongue into colloquial English?"

"Could be broken," Bronson guessed, adjusting his necktie. "Damaged in the Decker's no doubt violent takeover of the ship."

"Logical," Rajavur whispered. "But no, I do not think so."

"Telepathic then," Dr. Malavade offered softly as explanation. "And the machine has tuned itself to its new masters."

Now there was an unpleasant thought. Did the street gang realize just how powerful was their position? Dr. Wu reached for the phone on her console but the instrument rang before she could touch it. Lifting the receiver, the scientist listened intently for a moment, then sullenly replied in the negative.

Snorting in annoyance, Nicholi hung up on his colleague. Damn. There had been hope on his part that Russia's ion cannon could breach the force shield surrounding the alien ship. The general was fast running out of options. It was possible that nothing in his arsenal but nuclear weapons could penetrate that immaterial energy blister.