By Alan J. Porter
(This story was first
published in Comicopia #74 - December 2002)
The Mysterons: sworn enemies of Earth.
Possessing the ability to recreate an exact likeness of
an object or person.
But first, they must destroy. Leading the fight, one
man fate has made indestructible. His name:
LONDON – DECEMBER 23rd
2068.
No
one heard the body fall or the squelching noise as it came to rest in the bank
of week old snow at the entrance to the alleyway.
The corpse had hardly come to a rest before it
was dragged back into the shadows between two department stores. The nearby mass
of humanity that made up the last minute Christmas shoppers never even realized
that a murder had taken place in their midst. A few may have noticed that the
usually occupied street corner spot was now empty, but it’s doubtful that they
gave more than a passing thought to its regular Yule-time inhabitant.
If they had looked closely, they may have seen
the tracks in the dirty brown slush where a pair of boot heels had dragged
furrows. The body to which those feet belonged now lay full length in the filth
and damp of the alley. The boots were black and worn over a pair of velvety red
pants. Above those the corpulent form of the victim was wrapped in a coat made
from the same velvety material, but trimmed with an off-white faux-fur. The fur
almost matched the white bushy beard that adorned the face of what, in life, had
been a jovial man. But that face now wore a frozen look of shock. The red coat
and pants complemented by the equally red pool of liquid that now collected
behind his head.
The pool of blood soon became a rivulet that
flowed towards the drain in the center of the alley. Its course, however, was
blocked by another pair of black boots. These boots also belonged to a man who
looked like he too had been touched by the hand of death. But this was a living
corpse – a man whose very essence had been sucked out of him, a man whose soul
had been violently ripped from his body, no long human he was the agent of a
malevolent alien force. He was a man dressed totally in Black.
The man in black looked down at his victim
waiting.
He didn’t have to wait too long. Two rings of
light suddenly appeared on the floor by his feet. Lights without an apparent
source. They moved along the alleyway and swept over the length of the body,
then disappeared. The man in black turned and looked in grim satisfaction of the
figure of the department store Santa who now stood by his side.
“You know what to do, Earthman,” the man in black
intoned in a voice that sounded as if it too came from the grave.
With a nod, the man in red stepped over the body
of his former self and took his place on the pavement in front of the alleyway.
Picking up his hand bell he took up his familiar refrain.
“Merry Christmas, and good will to all.”
THIS IS THE VOICE OF THE MYSTERONS.
WE KNOW THAT YOU CAN HEAR US EARTH MEN.
IN RETATLIATION FOR YOUR ATTACK ON OUR
MARTIAN COLONY
WE WILL CONTINUE OUR WAR OF ATTRITION.
OUR NEXT ACT OF VENGEANCE WILL BE TO
DESTROY…
THE SPIRIT OF CHRISTMAS.
High above the Earth’s surface, in the floating
carrier known as Cloudbase, Colonel White, supreme commander of the earth
defense organization known as Spectrum, sat at his circular command station
staring intently at the speaker on the wall in front of him. The last words of
The Mysterons latest threat fading out into silence.
The aptly named Mysterons were indeed a mystery.
No-one had ever seen them, except for the crew of the ill-fated Martian
Expeditionary Vehicle who had fired on the aliens’ outpost mistaking the sudden
appearance of a scanning probe for a hostile act. That single instinctive act of
self-defense had triggered a war of nerves between the aliens and humanity. A
war that had seen much death and destruction. Apparently without corporeal
bodies the aliens had taken to using their powers of reanimation to turn various
men and machines into living weapons, costing several Spectrum agents their
lives. How this reanimation process could work so precisely when activated from
the distant surface of Mars was part of the mystery, along with how, and why,
these Mysterons could tap into the Spectrum communications system to deliver
their threats.
Common sense would suggest that they were using
someone with inside knowledge of Spectrum’s operations. But the only member of
the organization known to have had contact with the alien methods and survived
was now their greatest nemesis.
Colonel White’s thoughts focused on the most
recent threat.
“Destroy the spirit of Christmas,”
he muttered almost imperceptibly.
The other members of the senior staff sat around
the periphery of his desk had also been pondering the same message.
“What does it mean?” asked the tall blond officer
in the blue jacket.
“How can they do that ?” came
a light female voice with an alluring French accent.
“Destiny’s right,” interjected a new voice from
behind the seated officers. All turned to look at the Communications Officer in
the green jacket. “I mean the spirit of Christmas is an idea, a concept. The
Mysterons only destroy physical objects, machines, people.”
“Then that’s what we should look for.”
All turned to look at the speaker, this man knew
more about the way the Mysterons worked than anyone alive. Spectrum’s top agent,
he had once been an instrument of death under the alien’s control when had tried
to assassinate the World President. But a second “near-death” experience while
under Mysteron control had freed him from the their servitude yet had left him
with some remnants of their power of retrometabolism. Paul Metcalfe was now
indestructible. Not truly immortal, but close to it. For the members of
Spectrum, the man in the scarlet jacket was their greatest weapon. He knew how
the enemy thought.
“I don’t follow you Captain Scarlet,”
said Colonel White.
“I mean we should look for something physical that
embodies the spirit of Christmas. That’s what they will destroy.”
LONDON – DECEMBER 24th
2068
The two World Intelligence Network agents
finished their security sweep and radioed in.
“It’s all clear, Sam,” reported the larger of the
two agents. He paused, listening to the response over the hand held radio. His
shoulders slumped in resignation as he thumbed off the radio. Turning to his
much smaller companion he sighed. “It’s no good, Joe – he wants us to check it
all again. I’ll take the luggage racks, see if you can squeeze under the seats
and check those again.”
The two agents glanced at each other, neither
saying a word as they turned around and started back down the length of the
Eurostar Trans-continental train.
“Are you’re sure you have everything, sir?”
“It’s only an overnight trip to Paris. Just a
goodwill show. There’s no need for fussing.”
“You still need to look right when you are among
your peers, sir.”
“All right, I take your point. But this isn’t a
formal summit meeting, it’s just an informal gathering of European leaders with
a couple of photo opportunities to help spread the message of the season.”
“Ah,” responded the butler dryly, “instead of a
summit meeting it’s the European Prime Ministers’ office Christmas party.”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.” The British Prime
Minister agreed. “Now where’s that invitation and ticket?”
“Here sir,” said the butler as he handed over an
envelope decorated with the Eurostar logo above a line of text that read European Spirit of Christmas Summit Meeting
“Status, Lieutenant Green?” Colonel White asked
his communications officer.
“We have senior officers in all the major cities
where we believe that The Mysterons will strike. Captain Brown is in New York,
Captain Grey is in Los Angeles, Captain Ochre is in Paris and Captain Blue is in
London.” The ambitious lieutenant looked towards his commanding officer for some
acknowledgment. All he received was a brief nod and a slight raise of the chin
which he took to be the signal to continue.
“Captain Scarlet is standing by here on Cloudbase
with a Jetcopter fueled ready to go where ever he’s needed.”
“And the Angels?”
“They are on full alert, Colonel. Destiny is
already in her aircraft ready for immediate launch; Rhapsody and Melody are
suited up and ready to go at a moment's notice.”
“Good. Now if only we knew what the target was.”
Joe and his partner Mac stepped off the Eurostar
tired and dirty after yet another exhaustive search.
“She’s clear, Joe, there’s no way on Earth that
anyone is going to get a bomb onboard that train.”
“Well, let’s just hope that the big-wigs
appreciate all our hard work when they are enjoying their eggnog on the way to
Paris tonight.”
Joe wiped the back of his grubby sleeve across his
forehead wiping away the sweat and grime from spending the last few hours
crawling between and under train seats.
Then he removed his overalls and what appeared to
be a pair of protective goggles, but just as easily could have been thick
glasses.
With the work clothes and glasses gone he suddenly
looked different, his posture reflecting his physical size. And when he spoke
again, his voice was almost child-like.
Pointing down the platform towards the security
gate at the entrance, he said with excitement:
“Hey look, they even have their own Santa on the
train.”
The sleek red Spectrum staff car pulled off the
busy motorway outside of London and made its way to a small village filling
station away from the main roads. The filling station didn’t look like it had
had a customer in years. Away from the main traffic flow it still had old
fashioned pumps and was lacking the requisite mini-mart for snacks, maps and
newspapers. It was amazing that it was still in business.
Captain Blue brought the staff car to a halt and
walked over to the small hut where the sole attendant sat reading a newspaper
with his feet up on the desk. The attendant didn’t react to the bell
that rang above the door when Captain Blue entered.
“We’re closed,” he muttered, head still buried in
the paper.
Captain Blue just said, “Spectrum.”
The attendant dropped his paper on the desk and
quickly stood up.
“ID,” he asked, even though the man before him was
in full Spectrum uniform. Better not to take chances, and anyway, uniforms are
easily faked. Although no-one outside of Spectrum should have known of this
filling station’s real purpose.
Captain Blue proffered his ID card for inspection.
The seemingly slovenly attendant now acted like a professional security agent as
he checked the credentials.
“What can I do for you, Captain?”
“For a start, I need some gas for the staff car.”
The American Captain Blue could never bring himself to say 'petrol', no matter
how often he worked in England. “And if you don’t mind, I’ll take a look at your
paper while I wait.”
“Sure,” the attendant replied, “no problem.”
Captain Blue had read two pages into the paper
when he turned the page over and his expression froze. For there on page 5 was a
small article headlined “Spirit of Christmas train ride for PM.”
Captain Blue immediately
activated the radio built into his uniform cap. The boom mike swung down from
his cap’s peak and the lights built into his jacket insignia flashed white to
indicate that his transmission was to Colonel White.
“Colonel White,” he talked briskly and clearly
with just a trace of excitement behind his professional demeanor, “I know what
the target is. The Mysterons are going to attack the Eurostar train tonight.”
Captain Blue listened for the response and his
orders. They were quick in coming and by the time the attendant returned, he
knew what to do.
As the man walked back into the small hut,
Captain Blue was straight to the point. “Forget the staff car. I need the SPV.”
“Follow me, sir.” The attendant turned on his
heels and lead Captain Blue to the rear of the filling station. “There she is,”
he pointed to what appeared to be an abandoned trailer home parked between two
trees. The trailer looked like it hadn’t been occupied for years, the paint was
peeling, the windows opaque with filth and the sides covered with green mildew
for the close trees. As Captain Blue looked on the attendant withdrew a small
device like a TV remote control from his pocket and pressed a combination of
buttons.
Suddenly the sides of the trailer folded outwards
as it opened like a blossoming flower. And in the center stood a Spectrum
Pursuit Vehicle, the most specialized piece of equipment in the organization’s
impressive arsenal. Part armored car, part tank it could withstand any sort of
attack but was also highly maneuverable and fast, quicker than any production
sports car, despite its large size.
As Captain Blue walked over to the trailer, the
garage attendant keyed another few buttons on the hand-held device and raised it
to his mouth like a cell-phone.
“Spectrum agent 042 reporting in. Spectrum Pursuit
Vehicle 105 requisitioned by Captain Blue at 17:30 hours.”
As soon as the blue light on his desk had
illuminated, Colonel White knew that this was the signal to action. Captain Blue
was not one to report in unless he had found something significant. Upon hearing
Captain Blue’s report of the newspaper article, he immediately put his plan into
action.
“Captain Blue, requisition an SPV and head for the
entrance to the Channel Tunnel. If our earlier attempts to thwart this threat
fail, then you must stop the train entering the tunnel. My guess is that the
Mysterons will try to destroy it in the tunnel, not only killing the leaders of
several European countries but also disrupting European commerce for years to
come.”
Breaking the communications with Captain Blue,
Colonel White turned to his communications officer. “Get me Captain Scarlet and
launch the Angels.”
“SIG, Colonel,” responded the Lieutenant using
the organization’s usual acronym to confirm that an order has been received and
understood: Spectrum Is Green.
Sat in the cockpit of her advanced swept wing
fighter jet on the deck of Cloudbase, Destiny heard the command she had been
waiting for all day. “Destiny Angel, immediate launch.”
She engaged the powerful engines, keyed the
catapult that would launch her aircraft off the deck of Cloudbase at near
supersonic speed and pressed the red button on her control panel that released
the pent up energy of engines and catapult. In an instant she was airborne.
“Instructions please,” she radioed in.
“Head to the London area,” she heard Lieutenant
Green’s response. “The other Angels will join you there shortly. Contact Captain
Blue for details on exact co-ordinates.”
“SIG.”
And with that acknowledgment, the fighter banked
over and set course for London’s airspace.
Behind her, the other two Angel pilots settled
into their seats in the Ops Lounge, keyed the correct sequence of buttons and
were soon hoisted on lifts straight up into the cockpits of their aircraft. Less
that two minutes after the departure of Destiny, they too were also airborne and
following the vector taken by their leader.
Shortly after the departure of the Angel
interceptor aircraft, a Spectrum jetcopter lifted off; at the controls was
Captain Scarlet receiving his briefing from Colonel White over the radio.
“The Mysteron target is a train carrying several
of the European leaders. We believe they plan to destroy it in the Channel
Tunnel between England and France. But what we don’t know is how they plan to do
it. The Angels will provide air cover in case The Mysterons plan to use an
aircraft to attack it. Captain Blue is waiting at the Tunnel entrance with an
SPV to stop it if it gets that far. We have had assurance from our colleagues at
WIN that there were no explosive devices on-board before it left. But I’m not so
sure that the attack won’t come from within. Anyone on-board that train could be
a Mysteron agent. I want you to board the train and using your unique sense for
the Mysterons, check it out and stop any attempt to destroy it and its
passengers.”
“What are those aircraft doing?” asked the Prime
Minister. His gaze firmly fixed out of the window of the speeding Eurostar
train. “They look like they are following us.”
“I’m sure it’s just a security sweep, sir,” his
aide responded. “Air cover, that sort of thing.”
“But those aren’t WAF aircraft. I don’t recognize
the type.”
“They’re Spectrum Angel aircraft, I think. Never
seen one before, but if I recall the photographs I’ve seen then that’s what they
are,” responded the aide.
Above the two politicians another aircraft kept
pace with the train. Captain Scarlet’s jetcopter had increased its velocity to
match the near 300 kph of the high speed train as it hurtled through the early
evening of the English countryside on its way towards the Channel Tunnel
entrance.
“I’m sure I saw this in an old movie once,”
though Scarlet to himself as he placed the copter on autopilot and descended
down a flimsy steel rope ladder to the speeding roof below him. Once on the roof
he found the slipstream was too strong for him and he immediately lost his
footing. With a sudden and hard bump, he crashed chest down into the roof as his
feet were swept away by the vicious winds. He reached forward in a desperate
attempt to find a hand grip. But the sleek train had been designed to be as
streamlined as possible. The roof was a smooth as glass; there was nothing to
hold on to. The Spectrum agent was swept backwards at immense speed.
As he was dragged back, Scarlet twisted onto his
back and not without difficulty, pulled his flailing arms in to his body. It
seemed to take an eternity, but Scarlet eventually brought his hands together
and flicked a switch on what appeared to be a standard wrist watch. Above him
the jetcopter performed a neat 180 degree turn and tracked his movement and
speed towards the rear of the train. Just as Scarlet’s legs started to disappear
over the rear of the Eurostar the steel ladder appeared above his chest.
Reaching out, he grabbed it. The train rushed ahead and the Spectrum agent was
left hanging from the now hovering jetcopter.
No matter what they showed in the movies, there
was no way he could board the speeding train. The only way to get on board was
to stop the Eurostar.
As he climbed back up the rope towards the
aircraft above him, Scarlet’s boom mike dropped from his cap peak. The light on
his uniform flicked blue.
“SIG, Captain Scarlet,” responded Captain Blue.
“I understand.”
Reaching forward for the controls, he brought the
SPV to life and set a course away from the tunnel entrance towards the speeding
train.
The armored vehicle was wide enough that its
tracked wheels spanned the monorail track used by the Eurostar.
Soon it was up to top speed. Captain Blue sat in the rearward facing command
chair, watching for the approaching train on the video monitor that showed what
was happening in front of the SPV.
It didn’t take long for the train to appear on
the horizon, the gap between it and the SPV closing with frightening speed.
Captain Blue brought the SPV to an immediate halt and radioed the driver of the
Eurostar.
“This is Captain Blue of Spectrum. We need to
bring your train to a halt. You will see a Spectrum vehicle parked across the
track in front of you. Stop before you reach that vehicle.”
Before he received any acknowledgement that the
message had been heard, Captain Blue pressed the buttons to operate the sliding
door and seat mechanism and soon found himself outside the casing of the SPV.
The seat gently lowered to the ground. He undid the restraining harness and ran
towards the jetcopter that was now waiting for him in a nearby field.
“Let’s hope he stops in time,” he said looking up
at the pilot.
“If he doesn’t try and stop,” replied Captain Scarlet,
“then we know that the Mysterons have already taken over the train and we can
order the Angels to destroy it. If he does stop, then I can get on board and
conduct a more personal search.”
The jolly man in the red suit stumbled as the
speeding train came to a sudden halt. The sack he carried swung over his
shoulder slipped and bumped against the back of the British Prime Minister’s
head.
“I say, watch where you’re going,” the politician
said in an annoyed tone of voice. Then, turning to glance behind him, he saw who
his “assailant” had been. The tone of voice softened. “Oh I’m sorry, Santa. I
didn’t realize that it was you. Do you have anything special for me?”
“This will be a Christmas you won’t forget,”
intoned the man in the red suit, his voice oddly flat.
“What a serious Santa,” the Prime Minister
murmured to his aide as the subject of his conversation continued down the
carriage. “I wonder why we’ve stopped?”
“I think that’s why,” responded the aide pointing
back to the rear of the train.
Walking towards them down the passageway between
the seats was another man in a red jacket, but this was no Santa.
“Excuse me, sir,” Captain Scarlet stopped by the
side of the PM’s seat. ”Are you all right?”
“Yes, why shouldn’t I be?”
“Is there a problem, Captain?, asked the aide.
“Why has Spectrum stopped and boarded this train?”
“We believe that there is a Mysteron threat
against this train and its passengers.”
“Nonsense,” replied the PM. “How could they get on
board, the only people here are the politicians and their staff – we’ve all been
through security checks.”
“Thank you, sir,” continued the Spectrum agent,
”but if you don’t mind I’ll continue looking?”
Suddenly Captain Scarlet’s world turned hazy, he
began to feel faint. The world began to spin.
This was a feeling he only ever felt when close
to a Mysteron agent. It wasn’t an infallible “sixth sense”, it didn’t always
warn him in time and its focus was imprecise, but he’d learnt to trust it.
Forcing himself back to equilibrium he looked at the Prime Minister again, this
time with closer scrutiny.
Suddenly a dry gravely voice interrupted his
deliberations.
“You are too late… Earthman.”
Captain Scarlet spun and saw the incongruous
sight of a man in a Santa suit holding a gun at him. As he stared at the
Mysteron agent, he noticed wisps of smoke starting to creep slowly out of the
collar of the man’s costume. He was a human bomb. There was no choice, Scarlet
had to get him off the train before he exploded, killing everyone on-board.
Before anyone else in the carriage could react,
Scarlet moved; he rushed straight towards the gun-wielding Santa. The carriage
was filled with the sudden report of a gun being fired. The first bullet slammed
into Captain Scarlet’s chest. He staggered, but kept moving. A second bullet
slammed into his arm. But he kept moving, getting closer and closer to the
assassin.
Then he was on top of the Mysteron agent. The gun
fired twice more, Scarlet’s body convulsed as the bullets tore into him. But the
momentum of his run and collision with the Santa carried them backwards towards
the door of the carriage. As their combined weight hit the door, it burst open
and they fell out onto the trackside.
The smoke continued to pour out of the collar and
cuffs of the assassin. He was getting closer to the point of detonation. The
wounded Spectrum agent grabbed the smoking collar and dragged the struggling
Santa towards the SPV stopped on the rail ahead of the train. He had to contain
the explosion.
Locked in a death struggle, the living corpse of
Christmas spirit and the incredible agent of order moved closer and closer to
the armored vehicle. With a final effort, Scarlet pushed the Santa back into the
open cockpit of the SPV.
But the flailing arms of the Mysteron managed to
find a purchase on the jacket of the wounded man dragging him in afterwards. The
door of the armored car closed on the two combatants.
Suddenly three Angel aircraft descended at high
speed towards the SPV and opened fire. As the deadly missiles hit the armored
car, they exploded with blinding light and deafening sound.
The SPV was reduced to a smoking pile of twisted
metal. In the fields close by, lay two bodies.
CLOUDBASE – DECEMBER 25th
2068
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Colonel White
motioned to Lieutenant Green to close the radio connection, his call over.
“How are they all feeling, Colonel?” asked the
communications officer.
“The politicians are all a little shook up, a few
are even complaining that their Christmas trip to Paris was cancelled, but most
are glad to be alive.” He paused. “The British Prime Minister in particular
wants to hold a memorial service for Captain Scarlet. I told him that wouldn’t
be necessary. He now thinks I’m callous and insensitive over the loss of one of
my own men.”
“It is difficult to explain, sir.”
“Well, let’s go and see how the patient is this
morning?”
Colonel White was unprepared for the sight that
greeted him when he pushed open the doors to the Cloudbase medical center.
Standing in the middle of the room was a man in a red Santa costume.
Instinctively, Spectrum’s commanding officer went
for his sidearm.
Santa laughed a hearty laugh. “Relax, Colonel.”
His hands went up to the white beard and tugged it down
to reveal the laughing face of Captain Scarlet. “I just thought I’d see how it
felt to be the other fellow for a while.”
The Colonel’s only response was a muted “humph!!”
Captain Scarlet removed the Santa Costume;
underneath he was dressed not in his uniform but in casual civilian shirt and
slacks, no sign of the devastating injuries he had received the day before.
He was no longer the indestructible Captain
Scarlet, he was just plain Paul Metcalfe.
Reaching round he handed a small wrapped parcel to
the man in white stood before him. “Merry Christmas.”
Captain Scarlet, The Spectrum logo and associated concepts and
characters are © Gerry Anderson and Carlton International Media .
"CHRISTMAS FAN FIC
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