Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Chapter 3 Bubbling

(Copyright David A. Kearns)

October 1, 2014 Mall of the Americas, Camaguey Cuba – Tim Stanton walked by the Savante Kiosk and shook his head. There was nothing he could do but watch as a group of high school teenagers signed up for implant plans on their government credit cards.
They were complete mobile direct systems, just like those given to on-the-go, adult corporate executives back in the United States; with a few web roots blocked for content deemed contrary to the state of course.
The Marchista government had decided to open lines of credit for all of Cuba’s young people so they too could benefit from this wonderful technology. If you were between the ages of fourteen and thirty-five, your system was bought and paid for by the new government.
Savante’s basic system did have GPS but the full wireless package was only available to a select thousand or so students who could prove excellent academic achievement. The interesting part of that plan is that it culled weaker students away from full access to content that would eventually allow those thousand to rule the rising government. Tim knew this.
Savante was everywhere now. What had started out as a convenience for home, office and car, was now wired directly into your brain and given GPS so that you were located anywhere on the planet at anytime. The freedom you gave up was – according to the advertisement – more than compensated for, by the new trend called “bubbling.”
The term was coined, as these things often happen, by some geek in a lab who watched as the first humans were linked up to this wireless neural network by means of an implant chip - slid between the skin and bone just behind the left ear - and began pointing, talking, moving documents and windows around in front of them with their fingertips.
The neural desktop, which, of course was a holographic presentation in the mind of the user, made the recipient seem like a garden-variety patient at a mental psych ward. They just sat, or stood there, typing on keys that weren’t there, laughing and chatting with no one, executing, sending files into the net, answering emails, all the while seemingly alone and with only the air they were breathing held within their hands. They “bubbled;” percolated like insane little coffee pots. As they got good at it, their motions grew more frantic and giddy.
The network made use of and interacted with brainwaves and neuromuscular responses as a means to open the simulated desktop, in translucent fashion, before the eyes of the recipient.
The system was pioneered by Carlos Mercado, the mercurial genius of Savante Systems Inc. The man who gave us home Smartlife Systems.
“Bubbling becomes your house, your car, your job…you life!” was his pitch.
Back in the states, the activity was already forming its own pseudo-language, the way texting did back in the early 2000s.
“Free-bubbling” was the term for conducting personal business while on the clock.
“My boss is on the net looking for Free-bubblers. I can’t chat, bye!”
Bubble pop-ups, and spam interrupted the flow of business; everything from Amber Alerts to NOAA weather reports to deals on frequent flier discounts jumped up into your field of vision unbidden – just like they did on regular desktops back in the 1990s – prompting cries for government regulations on the whole bubbling phenomenon.
Sons and daughters of wealthy GenXers now went to Bubble-Raves where neural enhancers, alcohol, designer drugs and thrash-hop music ran awash with channeled and programmed images from the net; blurring the lines between reality and virtual. was already calling them “Generation Bubble.”
This was what the Marchista government wanted now for their best and brightest students. It didn’t seem to go with the whole idea of the on-going “revoluccion!” that Castro had championed; but then, that concept was so watered down now, no one cared to notice, thought Tim. As long as it remained military, with the threat of violence, interspersed with moments of vitriol spewed at the neighboring United States, and yes, there were plenty of channels for that on the net.
Tim’s cell phone whirred to life.
“Stanton,” he said.
“Tim it’s Gary Malone,” came the familiar voice from childhood.
“What’s up, Gare?”
“Remember all those reports of schizophrenia that were unexplained?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well Jay and I have been doing some digging through the documents we received from our friends.”
There was code in the mix here, Tim knew it. He was referring to the last time they had caught government agents intentionally “cranking”: setting up a hoax scenario with regard to UFOs only to debunk it later. Jay Malone had become quite good chasing down leads for MUFON. It had become his specialty. Now when ‘Our friends’ were caught doing it, they could be blackmailed to reveal intelligence documents, some of which were real. Here came another one.
“You’re not going to …”
“I bet I will anymore,” Tim said.
“Alright, then take a look on your Blackberry. Here it comes,” he said.
“Okay I pulled up the PDF, what am I looking at…”

Quantum corruptions – in interstellar travel and, seemingly paradoxically, as one is traveling toward and area of higher gravitational density from lower gravity, one slows down with regard to one’s relative self. Just as a wave breaks upon the shore causing the back of the wave to heave itself over the front, one finds bits and pieces of oneself already extant in a spot before one arrives. The event – wherein cause is preceded by the effect – displaces or bumps, pieces of the traveler entity itself out of the space- time continuum. These nicks in the mass structure have been demonstrated to reduce the associated weight of the traveler to a miniscule degree. It is only one form of quantum corruption and a very simplified view of the phenomenon. At the cellular level, where the damage is not visibly apparent, the long-lasting effects, particularly in the reproductive outcome can be catastrophic for a species. These corruptions, it has been seen in later years are only mitigated by the most precise adjustments to velocity at increments approaching areas of increased gravitational density. Even so the adjustments do not always mitigate the problem which can persist at the molecular level and remain hidden for some weeks, months or even years to come.
Compounding this are repeated episodes of space travel at near light or post light velocities. The traveler in effect becomes a sort of petris dish of multi quantum corruptions.

“Gare, we’ve known about quantum corruptions and DNA reversal for some time. They didn’t give you anything new,” Tim said.
“Read on, Tim…”

Causal quantum psychosis (aka temporal distortion sickness) The wave phenomenon has many analogues in the quantum world involving the effects of interstellar travel, not the least of which is Temporal Distortion Sickness. Eddies, crenulations and whirlpools caused by the arrival in space time of an interstellar traveler, moving at light speed plus, has produced the feeling of déjà vu and other strange mental distortions in both the traveler and those near him. The effects can range from a mild feeling of déjà vu to psychic powers to raging psychosis brought on by the hall of mirrors effect of seeing and knowing instantly many or all possible outcomes surrounding a single event or series of events. The latter has also been called a “quantum embolism” Its effects are always devastating and permanent. The cause of course is the result of the folding and whirling of space-time to such an extent, eddies in the flow impact those near someone who has arrived from plus light-speed travel. These whirls can follow the arrivee for days, sometimes even months after. They tend to disrupt normal brain function and heighten psychic abilities at the background level. The malady is distinct from a form of quantum/space-time corruption called temporal shift distortion; wherein the sufferer, those typically in very long or high intensity space-travel environment, i.e. multi-phased light speed and plus light speed shifts, has returned to find different cause and effects results than were predicated at the jump-off point. Circumstances, from the sufferer’s point of view, have changed such that their perception of past events leading to the jump off are slightly or markedly different than those whom he or she left behind. This is a quasi-relativistic effect with no known cure in that it may indeed be based in an alteration of the traveler’s fundamental reality and not merely his brain function or perception.

“This is interesting Gary. Any idea where it comes from?” Tim said.
“It has the look and feel of a government study,” he said, haltingly. He didn’t want to go further on an open line.
“Gotcha. Lemme think about it and see what we can come up with as a CM,” Tim said.
“Right-oh, I’ll be on the landline,” Gary finished.
“Tim Out,” Tim said and hung up.
Countermeasures, everything the government did, or did not do, everything the “visitors” did or did not do, had to have countermeasures.
Sometimes the government leaked stuff to Tim’s little group to see if they had thought of anything with regard to a phenomenon. This was done through a semi-trusted source who had been caught in the Florida swamps making newspaper UFOs by the hundreds. Low tech to the extreme, the story was later debunked: just kids. They never explained of course how four thirteen year olds from Kissimmee had managed to create and light five hundred of these things one night all at precisely the same moment to maximize the visibility of the effect. No one in the mainstream media ever asked the right questions, but a source was borne when Jay tracked it down anyway.
Here they were looking for answers to the alarming number of schizophrenia cases seen in society these days. They were at a loss to explain it in conventional terms. Folks who had never manifested the sickness before were blowing up with end-stage type symptoms. And these weren’t bubble-ravers either; a healthy percentage of them were low-tech or no-tech folks who had never been on psychotropics.
Here was a possible answer: some were abductees, maybe, the study was seeming to hint; some of them had been in contact with abductees, it could also be inferred; some had been in close proximity to someone or some thing that had just made the arrival jump from deep space and that someone, or something, hadn’t been careful at all in staging the arrival so that all their quantum marbles, wakes and molecules arrived on time and without too much impact on current time space continuum.
That hinted that there may be intentional quantum pollution in the works: sort of like taking your speed boat through a bathing area so that you made sure you knocked over as many waders as possible with a nice three-foot wake.
It was also possible, that the visitors here, enlisted the help of human scientists behind the information curtain to explain what was happening to their crewmen. They could be, just that stupid. The more Tim considered it, he was of the opinion that quantum jumps into deep space and back again – at light speed plus, through worm holes or any combination of the two - must rot your brain from the inside out, especially if you’re not careful.
So this was the pay-off from one Carl Jorgensen, of Kissimmee, the man who had been given $5,000 and given the tools, the primer chord, fuses, and a whole shit-load of newspaper, and instructions by federal agents, to carry out the hoax at the behest of someone in the government, paving the way for a real event sometime in the near future.
This was interesting but it was also bullshit, a tidbit on quantum embolisms to look the other way on an obvious government program to hoax the public in advance of real events. Jay was right, thought Tim, this source needs to be burned and fast. Obviously, something real was going to happen in the swamps of Kissimmee any day now, and thwarting it would piss those things off something fierce, plus, throw them off their game, whatever it was.
Here was a chance for not only a countermeasure, but a quick jab at the enemy. He made the call back to Gary.
But it wasn’t ten minutes before he got another call from Sean Cogswell on a semi-secure line.
“Seanny boy! How goes the race.”
“Excellent Tim, excellent, a lock. Listen, I just got off the phone with Gary and I had a thought, a different one, can you pick up on my reasoning or do I need to send a kite down to you?”
A kite was a code word for a message sent in a package via snail mail, sometimes within a box of returned sail kites in an overnight from one of Tim’s other Highjump locations.
“Your reasoning, let me think for a moment, ah..”
Sean was saying to let it play out, document the upcoming Kissimmee phenomenon, and then out the hoaxer.
“Different kind of scenario to the PL’s” Tim said.
“You got it,” Sean said.
PL was also code, for the 1997 Phoenix Lights incident of 1997 where the Air Force had staged a flight of F-15s dropping flares to mimic an actual event taking place at the time; this, ostensibly, to ‘calm the masses.’
What Sean was advocating could actually prove collusion between the government and those operating UFOs.
“It would require a lot of man hours babysitting in some pretty bad conditions,” Tim said.
“That’s what they do, Tim. That’s what they live for,” Sean said, and he was right. MUFON types wouldn’t mind sitting in a swamp night after night, for a month if necessary, if the payoff was documenting something real.
“Gotcha. Yes, good call,” Tim said.
“Hey I worry about your stores in Havana and the D.R.,” Sean said.
“Well if it happens it happens,” Tim said to the threat of nationalization. “In fact, that’s already been programmed into the equation.”
“Your stock will take a hit.”
“Sure it will,” Tim said.
“But you just had your IPO, what was it, six months ago?” Sean said.
“I’ll look like just another sap with egg on his face and a story to tell. Get a few interviews on CNBC. Where I can do what, Sean?”
“Get me some national media coverage?”
“You got it, buddy,” Tim said.
When they hung up, Tim worried about listening ears, but he always did that. Did he say too much? Were there key words in the mix that would trip a greater intensity to the government’s Echelon network of ears? He practically needed a teletype in his head recording conversations so he could go back over them at leisure; and, these actually were available of course, via neural desktop and Savante Systems Inc. They were expensive but with voice recognition software, it was possible.

Chapter 2 Exotic Concepts

(copyright David Anthony Kearns)

Camerdyne Systems Inc, Space Propulsions Lab. San Diego California. 10 a.m. July 22, 2013 –
“This symposium is being held for the benefit of many engineers throughout the company in conjunction with the United State’s Air Force,” said Doctor Jennifer Epstein.
She was a girl, really, who looked more like a graduate student than a tenured physics professor. Dark black hair and brown eyes, she wore jeans and a T-Shirt from a recent diving trip she had taken to Truk Lagoon.
“Ladies and gentlemen, don’t let the words “exotic concepts in propulsions” fool you. We are finding every day that they may not be as exotic as they will seem at this introductory session,” she said.
“It has long been assumed,” Jennifer continued, “That the limiting speed of light would essentially negate interstellar travel. However, new breakthroughs in technology, astronomy, physics, and quantum theory, have shown that, like any law, on any roadway, there are ways around this speed-bump in Einstein’s equations.”
An engineer in the front row raised his hand halfway through the introduction and everyone sort of slumped and sighed.
“Hello Doctor, my name is Myron Simpson, and I know I speak for many when I ask, what could possibly be the practical implications to us as engineers as we carry out our duties for the foreseeable future? You mention interstellar travel. In short I guess I am asking is, why are we here? We don’t have plans to colonize any stars in the foreseeable future, do we?” he said, then sat like a good dog.
A couple of people laughed at this, obviously annoyed, as Simpson was, to be taken away from the projects they had been working on for this symposium.
“Doctor Simpson, thank you for that question. If we can gain even one tenth of the …” she stopped abruptly, obviously rethinking her answer.
“I ask you to consider the advancements in our daily lives that were brought on by the seemingly useless task of going to the moon, landing on it, then returning: using nothing more than a tin can, a pocket calculator and a combustible fuel source. The fact we as a species achieved that enables us all to be here today,” she said.
“Now I ask you if you could hold some of those more obvious questions until the end of this first seminar. There will be plenty of time for that afterwards, just before we break for lunch,” she said.
She began by outlining the impossibility of deep space travel with an equation.
“As an object with its fuel supply, begins approaching the speed of light its mass and the mass of its fuel supply began approaching infinity,” she said.
“This is very much like a car traveling on the roadway fighting a headwind that increases directly proportional to the speed it travels. As the car speeds up, the hurricane it faces also speeded up in the opposite direction. Worse, the more the driver steps on the gas the heavier his fuel load becomes.
“Let’s solve part of the problem,” she said. “Let’s merely reduce the mass of his fuel supply to zero. Why not, we’re all engineers here, aren’t we? We can do that?”
“Impossible,” said pain in the ass man.
“Impossible?” she asked. “Not impossible at all. Here, watch me.”
And with a stroke of a pen on the overhead, she reduced the mass of the fuel supply within the equation to nothing. This zeroed out several parts of the equation and made it easier to deal with.
Pain in the ass man had more than he could take; “How?”
“Some of you were introduced to quantum physics in your studies and like me, the word ‘quantum’ threw you for a loop. Your mind shut down and you said ‘no way.’ It bespoke Gene Roddenberry and Star Trek. Your mind suffered images of Captain Kirk, Mr. Spock and Mr. Scott parked somewhere out of gas, looking for something called ‘di-lithium crystals’ and you went no further. You stole notes from anyone in your class to get through that portion of the exam and off you went with your conventional studies of physics,” she said.
Several people laughed at this.
“Suppose the fuel supply was inherent, or existed in empty space itself,” she said.
Someone else in the audience chimed in “Zero Point Energy!”
“Precisely right,” she said, adding; “And you should not be surprised to learn, by reading your programs today, as I am sure all of you have...”
Small clutches of laughter erupted. Most had not done so. Zero-Point Energy was the first on the list of topics before lunch.
“…that this kind of energy exists everywhere between stars across empty space, and between water molecules in a cup of coffee. In fact, during the 1960s Nobel Laureate Richard Feynman and one of Einstein’s protégé’s John Wheeler, proved that there was enough energy in that cup of coffee you had this morning to boil all the water in the world’s oceans,” she said.
“This energy, in a practical sense, in a classic physics setting, is nearly impossible to measure. But the more physicists sought to eliminate it from equations over the years, the more it became apparent that it was real. So physics went the other way; they began to account for it, and guess what, it can be measured. As we know from engineering if a force can be measured, it can be what?”
“Harnessed,” someone said.
“And the more it can be predicted if one knows the angles between atoms and molecules in a pure substance,” she said.
Someone had a point here. Obviously the hold-questions-until-later caveat was designed only to thwart Pain in the Ass Man at the outset.
“The force you are referring to is sometimes misidentified as the Casimir force, the attractive force between to plates over empty space that would somehow be turned outward in a vacuum. Wasn’t it demonstrated, that this would be impractical, in that you only get one use out of one of the plates before the engine is useless?”
“Yes, it was,” she said. “Which brings us back to our cup of coffee and all the unseen quantum energy contained between all those water molecules. What happens to the water as it freezes?”
“The structure becomes crystalline,” Gus answered.
“Correct, the molecule arranges itself at known angles with respect to one another, and we know precisely what those angles are, don’t we? The forces of which I speak become more quantifiable, the lower the temperature of the water, becoming most ordered at absolute zero, otherwise known as negative 273 degrees Celsius. They no longer appear random, nor do they cancel each other out in that random soup. The lower the temperature, the more ordered the arrangement, and for our purposes, the more ordered the resultant energy vector.”
“But water in a coffee cup has impurities in it,” said Pain in the Ass Man.
“Fine,” she said. “Refine the fuel source. Where do we find water in its purest state?”
One person said ice and another said steam.
“Both correct,” she said.
“The film clip you are about to see comes to us from an unknown source in Mexico. Obviously, the film is a hoax, but it brings up some important points, namely, those perpetuating the hoax were onto something,” she said.
Lights dimmed in the amphitheater as a screen descended from above the stage.
“These images were shot with a garden-variety, digital, home movie camera. The U.S. Air Force concedes that while evidence for tampering was minimal, the short length of the film combined with unexplained shadows indicates creative use of software, producing this image. The mountain is Popocatepetl an active volcano outside Mexico City and the second highest peak in the country at eighteen-thousand feet. As the caldera heats up, the ice from the mountain falls in and coverts instantly to steam. Our photographer was apparently on hand to witness a minor eruption as it started.
“Watch the steam column now rising from the caldera just before the eruption,” she said.
A small white light dashed from out of the clear sky and repeatedly dove into and out of the steam, circling back again and again like a moth circling a dancing candle flame. When the full spout of volcanic material began, the object sped off out of sight.
Lights in the theatre went up.
“The clip is only twenty seconds long. Whoever made this video was familiar with what we in this room are now talking about. And at this juncture, I ask you to not let this generate a lengthy, boring discussion about the existence or non-existence of flying saucers. The point is, someone else has been doing their homework and thought to have a bit of fun with it. How would such objects power themselves? Zero-Point Energy, from the water molecule is a viable resource,” she said.
“Say our hypothetic craft only collected two coffee-cups worth of pure water. It would have the energy required to zip back to the planet Klingon if it so desired,” she said.
“Doctor, the question of the mass of the craft itself has not been eliminated from your equations,” chimed another bright bulb.
“Good point. Let’s say the object weighs a ton. Say it only powers up to the point of one tenth the speed of light. It’s still is a hell of a lot farther along from here to the nearest star than any conventional spacecraft,” she said, erasing her notes and starting again with a more simplified equation.
“By those numbers, and substituting the distance between us and the nearest star here, we see that, it arrives here from planet Crouton in the region of Proxima, in thirty years, instead of nearly thirty-thousand,” she said and demonstrated.
“Granted all of this is speculative on coming up with the technology which brings up why you are here,” she said.
“What about inertial effects. Nothing could survive the movements demonstrated by that craft. The g forces alone would be so intense an occupant would become bug-spatter in what we’ve just seen?” a man in the center of the audience asked.
She merely shrugged.
“Say there are no living occupants. Say this is a reconnaissance drone from the planet Crouton. Now what? Further still, say you can cancel the forces of inertia with some sort of inertial dampening force, like the shocks in your Honda. Now what?”
“That would require a hell of a lot of energy and mass to create such a dampening force,” he said.
“Okay….” She paused, obviously choosing her words very carefully here. “Let’s say you have a way to knock your mass out of phase with regard to the temporal and gravitational frame of reference, sort of like the way you switch radio stations. Now the inertial effects are zero.”
“That’s a neat trick. How do you do that?” the man asked and everyone laughed.
“That’s for this afternoon’s discussion,” she said with a smile
The man said nothing.
“The point I am trying to make this morning is, if you can harness this energy source for propulsion, you can also use it to dampen, to cancel itself out, whenever you need to, and for our purposes you would have to,” she said.
“How would you harness this force?” Pain in the Ass Man asked.
“Fortunately ladies and gentlemen, those are questions that are more in your purview as practical engineer-scientists. Your job is to come up with those answers. My realm is the theoretical and, I am here to tell you, it is more than theoretically possible to produce the kind of propulsion just seen in this hoax video using what we know, using not-so-out-of-the-way physics, chemistry, and mathematics. Thank you, we’ll take a ten minute coffee break,” she said.
The camera continued to record. The faces all around the room were bright with astonishment. They had never seen anything like that craft moving inside the volcano caldera, and somehow they knew the image wasn’t faked.
Her discussion about knocking matter out of phase was being mumbled about all over the room. Obviously the young woman was privy to a great deal of information.
The film ended and Tim stood at the front of the room.
“You may not know this Sean but your father was involved in the study of these things. He was also involved in recording UFO events at the Cape for reasons I will explain to you later.”
“One of his best friends, Dr. James McDonald wrote this to the Secretary General of the United Nations,” Tim said and an image of part of the document was shown on the wall.
“…I stress also the fact that there are innumerable facets of the UFO phenomena which I can only describe as highly strange and unexplainable in terms of the scientific and technological knowledge of today. I would also like to point out that, if these objects are not extraterrestrial origin, then the mutually exclusive assumptions which would be necessary to account for them would be even odder, and perhaps of an even greater scientific interest for humanity. Therefore, regardless of what ultimate explanation is found for the UFO phenomena, the present scientific neglect and ridicule must be replaced by scientific concern and intensive study. My recommendation to the Outer Space Affairs Group is that it seek all possible means of securing worldwide attention to this problem.”

“McDonald was found dead outside Tucson, Arizona with a bullet in his head, much the way your brother was,” Tim said. “Like your brother in 2011, they called Dr. McDonald’s death in 1971, a suicide.”
“Point taken,” Sean said.
“These are the documents Ryan left for us on the roof of his room in your boyhood home,” Tim said clicking a button using a hand-held mouse. There were hundreds of images of the Mayan glyphs, of future predictions, or instructions.
“During the time of Ryan’s funeral many memories surfaced of an event that took place in Melbourne Beach back in 1981. This event included contact between myself, your brother, and a species foreign to our own. Our neighbor Myles Neiderman died as a result. Shortly after Ryan’s funeral in 2011 Myles’s brother attempted to kill me and you, thankfully, intervened,” Tim said.
“We have since discovered a few things,” Tim said.
“Such as?”
Gus stepped up and the next slide on the presentation was visible.
“We know that these so-called aliens are either using Antarctica as a base or they evolved there as a separate species from our own. We think the latter may be the answer or at least part of the overall picture,” Gus said.
“A separate species?”
“Reptilian. It explains a few things which we will be talking about,” Gus said.
“They have thoroughly infiltrated our military industrial complex by way of stoking human on human conflict. They have been doing this for ages,” Gus said.
“What’s with the Mayan stuff?”
“I was getting to that, Sean,” Gus said. “What we call Mayan writing can actually be traced to another Native American culture which emerged on the Bahama Banks some 15,000 years ago. These people not only developed a system of writing but a calendar which was shared with nearly all of Mesoamerica.”
“Their civilization was wiped out by rising sea levels and contact with our friends the aliens who appeared to them as some sort of reptile and bird composite creature that was revered for its wisdom,” Gus said.
“The remnants of that culture spread to and mixed with Central American cultures and here in Florida. But sea level kept rising,” Gus said.
The image changed to a series of underwater shots.
“These pictures were taken by our buddy Gary Malone, Sean, the day we put you on the plane heading back to Afghanistan,” Tim said. “They are of a temple complex that existed five miles off shore of our former hometown. They were built by those Native Americans who fled the destruction of what we would call, Atlantis. To them it was called Aztlan,” Tim finished.
“Holy shit,” Sean said.
“That’s usually the first reaction,” Tim said.
“So Atlantis is real?”
“Was real. Two large islands Aztlan and Posaztlan existed side by side. The native peoples were protected from many hazards other Native American cultures faced; large predators, and cold climates to name two. They developed a huge civilization that influenced the entire world. When they became too advanced, they ran into our friends, whom we would call aliens.
“A few theorists have posed that these native peoples were aided by the alien race when in fact the opposite is true. They were eventually destroyed by them and the aliens went right on chasing their descendants trying to wipe out all knowledge of their existence.”
“So they can do this again, and again, for as long as they need to. So they can use our DNA at their leisure; so they can use our nimble minds to solve problems for them. So we can build their spaceships, their satellites, their weapons and then go back to the stone age whenever they don’t need us for a while. They are a true parasite if there ever was one.”
“Now we know the creatures have been coming to these beaches here every thirty years to extract sea turtle DNA for their breeding program. They have also been extracting human DNA.”
“Take pride in this Sean; Your brother Ryan discovered all of this. He also discovered his company was working on several projects in concert with these beings. Several of these related to a stock inventory program, satellite communications, and the genetics end of their operation. He also discovered that they have a timetable for taking mankind back to the stone age,” Tim said.
“This isn’t the first time this has happened,” Gus added.
“We mean to stop it, before it can happen again,” Tim concluded.
“Jesus,” Sean said to all of this. “What has prevented all of this from getting out? Why don’t people know about all of this? It’s just so hard to believe!”
“Your father’s colleague, Dr. McDonald, had a term for what has been happening to us most recently. He called it the ‘lid of ridicule,’” Gus said.
“An institutionalized, widely-accepted disparagement of the entire phenomenon,” Gus continued. “That started with Project Blue Book and the Condon Report.”
Tim continued here; “People say, ‘if it’s really happening, prove it.’ So you show them overwhelming proof, and they go silent for a minute, then they say ‘why haven’t I seen one?’”
“And you say, ‘wait a minute, you just said show you incontrovertible proof and I did! What about that?’ and they say ‘hell I still don’t believe it. It’s crazy’”
“Crazy because our society has been condition to accept that it’s crazy. The neat part about this trick is, it has taught us to accept that if we even entertain the notion that this is happening, we must also be crazy,” Gus continued.
“Our government, which has been charged with protecting us, and keeping us all healthy and happy, has taught us that if we even investigate a scientific phenomenon, as is the right of every sentient being, we are mentally ill. And in so doing, the government has, in many cases, prompted and promoted mental illness in those who have been innocent witnesses to the phenomenon,” Gus said.
“Imagine any other scientific phenomenon, such as icebergs, Sean, or penguins or tornados. Imagine how unhealthy and malicious it would be for the government to turn a blind eye toward these, meanwhile controlling the media and the public, exuding them to consider themselves unfit to lead normal lives just because they had seen and reported on a tornado. How immoral would that be? How sinister? How detrimental?” Gus said.
“I guess the idea in the case of UFOs, might be to prevent panic?” Sean said.
“Aren’t tornadoes dangerous?” Gus asked. “Isn’t it a natural human response to fear a tornado and get out of its way?”
“True,” Sean said.
“So, if the government were doing something that made you doubt what you were seeing and hearing was a tornado, so much so that you attempted to stick out your hand to verify what you were seeing was real, would that be a moral thing for them to do?” Gus continued.
“Point taken,” Sean said.
“…But?” Gus asked. “Point taken, but you still don’t believe it?”
“That’s not it. A tornado doesn’t threaten the foundations of entire religious systems and world commerce, markets, banking, so on and so forth. The mantle of obfuscation of which you speak might just have a purpose, Gus, of protecting ourselves from worldwide collapse,” Sean continued.
“Good point, Sean. Worldwide collapse is bad. That’s no something we want,” Gus said.
“It just so happens that this is precisely what our little friends have in mind for our immediate future,” Gus said.
“That I would like to see proof of, if you have it,” Sean said.
“All we have is their past behavior to go by, Sean. They certainly aren’t going to go emailing us an itinerary,” Gus said.
“Okay, I’m gonna ask this question,” said Sean, “And obviously you’ve already got an answer to it but I’m gonna ask anyway; why haven’t I ever seen one of these things?”
“Doctor Epstein would you care to address that for Sean?”
“We’ve seen a few advances in our own technology recently, Sean. You’ll recall talk of a disastrous experiment called The Philadelphia Experiment?”
“Yeah, I seem to remember something by that name,” he said.
“It was an effort during the 1940s by the US Navy to cloak an entire battle ship using electromagnetic effects. It only half worked because what the Navy had done, in my opinion was partially knock the ship out of phase with regard to space-time; something these creatures have learned to do and can do it quite well,” she said.
“A more simple and direct method for cloaking is by the use of standing sound waves which can cause air molecules to resonate, or hum, at certain frequencies. Air carries a specific refractive index. If you cause the molecules of air to vibrate you change the refractive index. You do it enough and…”
Gus added; “you cause the light to bend right around the object you are attempting to conceal.”
“So you throw a switch in the cockpit and the object disappears,” Sean said.
“Precisely,” Gus added. “Which is the very least these creatures can do using lasers, time jumps and some of their other powers.”
“Meaning what?”
“Psychic abilities. Put it all together and they can shape shift, or appear to be in multiple places at once. They can change the shape, size and dimensions of their craft. They can carry zero space forward into another dimension; create space outside of space and insert it into a new time-space frame of reference; creating the ultimate “Clown Car” scenario,” Jennifer said.
“Well this all sounds to me as though he battle is lost,” Sean said. “How can we fight something that has these capabilities?”
“Your brother thought long and hard on that one Sean and his answer, which happens to be our answer, is quite simply, we must. Our right to exist as a species has been called into question. If we continuously allow our species to be domesticated by these things, our fate will be no better than that of livestock. The end result is precisely the same, or worse,” Gus said.
“Fighting something that can do these things seems an awful tall order Gus,” Sean said.
“Maybe not,” offered Jennifer cheerily. “ That we begin to understand how these things are accomplished, in their efforts to train our respective militaries, we begin to see their methods aren’t that difficult to master using state of the art physics and math.”
“Us? Whizzing around in flying saucers?” Sean responded to this.
“Maybe,” she said with a smile.
“Maybe there are other methods we can adopt in the meantime which would be even more helpful, decidedly human methods,” Gus said.
“When faced with superior firepower and even superior numbers, the underdog has prevailed against invaders before. I give you any number of examples from Roman times to the Sandinistas to the revolution which produced a free Irish Republic,” Wellington chimed in.
“We become the IRA to these things?”
“It’s what your brother advocated,” Gus said. “Ours is not a non-violent revolution.”
“Okay, why not?”
“We anticipate a complete lack of empathy on the part of the invader, toward the human condition,” Wellington said.
“You mean, they don’t give a shit,” Sean said.
“Correct. And why should they, they might not even possess what we humans would call a soul. Certainly their actions reflect a lack of empathy for any rights of those whom they abduct. There is absolutely no effort on their part to communicate from an equal footing with us, to even present us with a list of demands. They want us caged up, used for their breeding program, or enslaved in their factories; failing that they want us dead,” Gus said.
Sean blew out his breath.
“Un-fucking believeable. I come home, to this,” he said.
“Sean, force is the only thing that we think will bring these creatures to the table of negotiations so we can even discuss with them, what it is precisely they want with our planet and us,” Tim said.
“You’ve asked them, have you?”
“Sean, face it, we’re the Apaches here, the Navajo, the Lakota, get the picture? Did talking with pale face keep those folks off the rez?”
Sean said nothing.
“It’s not as though we’ve been hiding from them and preventing them from communicating with us. The opposite is true. They show up where they want, when they want, they ask no permission for the things they do to us. They’ve made no attempt to communicate their needs to humanity at large,” Gus said.
“Force should be the last option when dealing with an enemy of superior capabilities or armaments,” Sean said, as though quoting from a book.
“Well, how should it be?” Gus said. “What would you have us do?”
Sean exhaled. He didn’t immediately answer but he gave some of his thoughts.
“You have to stage things, when dealing with such an enemy. In some ways you have to let him feel comfortable that he’s already won…”
“Like what was done to you guys, over there,” Gus said.
In an instant Sean was lost in thought. His eyes went hazy.
He was reliving the horrific moments after an IED exploded under a humvee, the carnage and mayhem. He was hearing the sounds of high velocity rounds slamming into plate armor on the sides of his own truck.
After the explosion he had jumped out and began running toward where his men had fallen. That had been a mistake. Rounds peppered the ground around him. He ran back and forth like a cat caught in traffic. After seconds that seemed like hours, he found himself crouched down into a hole filled with burning bits of debris from the vehicle that had gotten it. The torso of a man shared this little fox hole, letting him know they were all gone. The men in this vehicle were all dead. Not one of the five had anything left of them.
The thumping from a fifty caliber machine gun had brought him back to reality and gave him cover to get back into his own transport. He had issued orders. He didn’t like them, but they were caught in a canyon of buildings. They had to turn themselves around and go back the way they came in. They had to leave the remains of their dead buddies behind.
“You have to keep your enemy from watching your movements,” Sean said at last. “You have to blend in with whatever cover you have at your disposal. You have to use his strengths against him, make them your strengths.”
“I don’t know if Americans have it in them to fight that kind of war,” he said. “It requires a lot of sacrifice.”
Gus nodded to Gary who, along with several others brought boxes of materials out of the garage.
“Faithfully reproduced for your benefit, Sean,” Tim said. “Everything your dad and Ryan had collected over the years. The whole story, all the information you would need about this particular enemy.”
“There are several groups we can begin to look at for methodology, Gus,” Sean said. “Let’s draw up a list of prisons across the country. I want to know who every shot-caller is in every major federal penitentiary.”
“There’s an example for you. I’ve always wondered how they do it. How they manage to communicate prison-to-prison with so many people watching them.”
“Working with prisoners?” Wellington said.
“This ain’t no party, this ain’t no disco, this ain’t no fooling around,” Sean said, quoting an old song.
“Ain’t that the truth,” Gus said, “Any other ideas for the moment?”
“We need to be in contact with groups that keep a low profile. And by that I don’t mean religious groups, nor crime syndicates, per say, but some fraternal organizations, groups that do community work, but no one with special causes, nor axes to grind.”
“What about the UFO groups?” Gus asked.
“No offense to MUFON just now. A smart enemy will have anticipated the movements of his foe before he makes them. That’s the first place they’ll look for us. They probably have a host of those groups already infiltrated. Not that we can’t use those groups for our own efforts, but right now, this network needs a backbone, and we have to find one that’s secure, that’s untouched, virgin,” Sean said.
“I’ll see what we can come up with,” Tim said.
“Now I suppose I should look over all this stuff,” Sean said.“You have until morning. Then we have to get you back to your hotel room,” Gus said.

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

Chapter 1 Homecoming

By David Anthony Kearns

(Commercial reuse prohibited: Concepts, characters, storyline, dialogue is the coin of the mind of author David Anthony Kearns; sole owner of contents of this blog and all others listed in blogger profile. Commercial reuse or reprint in webspace, in printed material, within film or television venues constitutes copyright infringement and will be prosecuted legally)

The book, along with the first book in this trilogy, Monster Hole, is being published on the web for the pure enjoyment, entertainment, edification of the READER. That is to include every sentient member of the human species and other parties who may be so inclined to know we are aware of your presence. This book is an attempt to understand who you are and what precisely it is you want from us. In that your answer to this question is silence and evasion, one reasonably concludes your intent is HOSTILE!

Queries, comments welcome by one and all at the end of every chapter.

The Big Lie
Book 2: Monster Hole Series

It will spread like a sickness, infecting every system of human endeavor, until such time as they are enveloped and surrounded by it. It will become vital and necessary for the uplift of human institutions, while it is sucking the very lifeblood of freedom from them. In the end, they will not know where it ends, and they begin.
- The Oracle of Pantech

2014 Wright Patterson Air Force Base, Dayton Ohio - Dr. Jeremy Sullivan sat in the computer lab with his close associate Dr. Dan Burnside.
“Burnside, let’s go over this again.”
“Look, Corso laid it all out for us in his book and this proves it, strange as it may seem. You know, it’s fiber optics, it’s semi-conductors, it’s cache memory, and random access, it’s genetics, bionics, all of that was found at Roswell,” Burnside said.
“Apart from any meaningful propulsion system,” Sullivan said.
“Right Jeremy, which means what?”
“I’m still not following you?”
“It’s a burnt offering. It was given to us. Not something we found, or even shot down. Can a Raptor even keep up with one of these things, today?”
“And yet one of good ole Verner Van Braun’s V-2s at White Sands knocks one out of these babies from the sky, and oops something similar happens at Roswell?” Burnside said.
“….I’ll agree, Dan. This wouldn’t seem to make any sense, but what are you proposing?”
“Look at what the oracle was telling us. Read these symbols again,” Burnside said.
“I have read them. I’m still not sure…”
“These things were thrown at us, like spaghetti on a wall. They were hurling them at us, all but screaming ‘looky here! Here’s another one, you crazy-assed chimpanzees!’
“You’re essentially saying …”
“Combine this data with those kooky sightings in the 1950s; men in shiny suits collecting samples with little beakers, then turning in surprise, like ‘Ooops! Shit guys, the monkeys have seen us, run!’”
“Stage drama, a cartoon they kept repeating until we…”
“You’re telling me, you think that these things, whoever they are, knew we would take all this material they crashed and begin messing with it, to come up with, say, the internet?” Sullivan said.
“….call me loony if you will, this is THE, repeat THE logical explanation...”
“Glad you realize how crazy it sounds, Dan,” Sullivan said.
“Jeremy, think of where you were and what you were doing, two years ago. Did you ever dream in your wildest moment, you’d find yourself here today, doing this, knowing what you now know?”
Sullivan sucked on his teeth and winced. The man had a point there.
“I just wish we could see the rest of that cave. Get the rest of the text from the wall,” Sullivan said at last.
“Think of it, an entire ancient Native American culture co-opted by the United States Air Force,” Burnside said.
“Shhhhhh…” Sullivan said, nodding toward the camera to his right, mounted above the door.

June 3, 2014 Melbourne International Airport - When Lt. Colonel Sean Cogswell, USMC (Rt.) de-boarded Flight 973 from Baghdad via Munich, he was exhausted. Tim could see that much.
But he looked fit. His eyes carried the steady, hawkish gaze of someone taking a survey of the room for potential enemies. When they landed on Tim’s face they softened immediately.
“Hey man,” said Sean walking over to his brother’s best friend attempting to give him a bear hug.
“Holy shit, is it ever good to see you,” Tim said, staving off the hug.
“I didn’t think you’d be here. I’m hearing so many things about you these days. It’s hard to sieve truth from fiction.”
“That’s by design. I’ve picked up a few new enemies since I saw you last,” Tim said.
“So I hear,” Sean said. “I suppose one of these days you’re going to tell me exactly what the hell has been going on.”
“That day has arrived, Sean. But there’s time enough for that. Let’s get your gear squared away in the back of my limo,” Tim said.
“Your what?”
It was then Sean noticed Tim’s curious garb. He had been dressed more like a mortician than anything else.
Tim completed the act by donning a chauffeur’s cap.
“Oh my God. You’re serious,” he said.
“Yes sir, colonel. Right this way!” Tim said loudly “Yeah and you might just have blown my cover,” Tim said sotto voce as they walked to the baggage claim and grabbed the olive drab hang-bag carrying Sean’s dress blues.
“Is this it?” Tim asked.
“Most of my life has been carry-on since I returned my weapon to the armory,” Sean said. “That and a sea of fucking paper-work that I am finally finished with.”
They walked through the busy airport lobby. Tim played his part dutifully carrying both the hang bag and the wheeled carry-on for Sean.
Through his darkened lenses, Tim looked up at CNN internet news blaring from one of the frame plasma screens hanging over the sushi lunch cart where six or eight businessmen shoveled marisco wonders into their mouths before their flights.
Deposed former Cuban president Raul Castro had been assassinated earlier in the day by the Marchistas but, no one was admitting who precisely had done the killing. A special session of the Revolutionary Parliament was set for tomorrow to decide the fate of Cuba. Its brief, two year taste of pseudo-freedom was drawing to a close, thought Tim.
At least three of the businessmen were now staring intently up at the screen, realizing that their first class return tickets might not be worth a damn if La Habana Airlines – which had been doing extremely well in recent years – was nationalized by the time they touched down. To go or not to go?
Here it comes, thought Tim. Game on.
“Where to, driver?” Sean asked.
“Somewhere safe, where you can be briefed,” whispered Tim as he ushered Sean to the limo door.
“Briefed,” said Tim in utter seriousness.
Sean sat down in the back.
“Thought I was through with being briefed,” Sean complained.
“Everything back there is for your personal use, Sean. Everything,” Tim said.
Sean looked around. He had a holo-tube at the ready at the touch of a button, a glass of Scotch and a Cojimar. After lighting the cigar he partially rolled down the window which rolled right back up. He looked into the rear view mirror to see Tim shake his head in the negative; that had been a mistake. Instead, the overhead glass slid back slightly letting the sweet smoke escape through the late afternoon breeze.
“Kick back, have a drink,” Tim said.
“I was thinking about it,” Sean said.
It was clouding up to the west.
“Rain, or it’s getting ready to,” Sean said.
“You were thinking of paddling out?”
“Yeah…have to admit I was thinking about that too,” Sean said.
“It’s been so flat recently. Only means one thing,” Tim said.
“Storms in August. Look out,” Sean said.
“Got that right, brah.”
Sean watched CNN again on the holovision as the report on Cuba continued. Tim had been listening to it.
“What a fucking mess,” Sean said taking a sip of Scotch.
“Today or tomorrow Cuba will dissolve its congress and wipe away any pretense,” Tim said. “Marchistas will insert their candidate and Cubazuela will take its place among the nations of the earth.”
“And you think this is what they will really call it?”
“Who knows, Sean. Maybe they’ll go back to the Sovietsky way; something really long, and radical just to piss us off.”
“I hear they got Chinese diplomats all set up, ready to go, ready to recognize them at the UN.”
“So you have been watching.”
“A little,” said Sean
“Then that’s good. This is going to be a big deal in the upcoming election here, Sean. You have to know how to react to it,” Tim said.
“Indeed Senator, otherwise, how will you become one?” Tim said.
“Oh shit.”
“Lot of catching up to do, Sean. A lot,” Tim said.
“And here I thought I was my own boss,” Sean said.
“Everyone feels confident that once you hear what we have been hiding from you for the last few years, you’re going to come to the conclusion you have to do something to help,” Tim said.
“And fortunately for me, my manner of doing so has been all mapped out for me,” Sean said.
“Since the day you saved my life, you’ve been an integral part of this,” Tim said.
“I just haven’t known it,” Sean said with a bemused smile.
Tim nodded; “Precisely.”
A light drizzle turned the streets glassy. The steamy hiss of cars slicing through puddles could be heard. The limo headed east, turned south and glided down Babcock Street missing the 192 interchange for A1A beachside.
“What gives?”
“Your house in Melbourne Beach is bugged to shit,” Tim said.
“Since before your mom died. They wired that place up like a zip-lined jungle. But that’s alright, we want it that way,” Tim said.
“Wired? Who wired it?”
“Feds, goons, MIBs, NSA, CIA, FBIs….all the letters of the alphabet,” Tim said. “You’ll see soon enough.”
“You’ve been watching the news lately?” Tim asked.
“Here and there, when I can,” he replied.
“You’ve heard of the cryptos?” Tim asked.
“No, can’t say as I have. What’s a crypto, something you smoke?”
“Funny. Good one. Keep that response for now. It suits you,” Tim said.
“Why would someone ask me about crytpos?”
“Because of Ryan and his associations. They’ll want to link you to them, right away. To discredit you as a candidate,” Tim said.
“But what are they?”
“Cryptomorphs; you know, chupacabra, Big Foot, mothman; that sort of thing,” Tim said.
“Ryan was looking into this?” he said rather incredulously.
“Ryan was helping design them. His software was being used as a means to construct them. One of the things he found out,” Tim said.
“Cryptos…yeah, you know, Tim? I’m wondering if there isn’t a better time to introduce me to all this stuff? I’ve kinda been through a lot in the last few days?”
“I know, Sean. I am sorry. I wish there was another way,” Tim said shaking his head.
What really sucked about the Big Lie, was, every time you found someone new you wanted to bring into the underground you have to go all the way back to the drawing board with the new guy. Including that troublesome phase where you had to prove to them you weren’t crazy and you weren’t full of shit. You had to audition the information, fight it like case-law; justify it like an expense report. It was frustrating as hell.
It made it very hard to get anything in the way of forward progress when it came to understanding these things.
Ryan never had to train, recruit and do background checks. But it would have been good to have Ryan here now for his scientific mind. Sean might be an excellent leader, just like everyone thought he would be. But did he have his older brother’s mind for science? Who knew?
And with that began a labyrinthine effort to shake any surveillance on the limousine involving a circumlocution of five blocks of downtown Palm Bay.
That completed, they drove to the Ramada Inn located at the intersection of I-95 and Palm Bay Road. There they were met by a cab parked beneath the alcove.
“You are to get out of the car, greet the woman who steps out of the cab,” Tim said. “Then you two are to ascend the elevator to room 422.”
“Don’t be a wise ass, this is serious,” Tim said.
“So I gather,” Sean said.
Sean looked at the woman in the white sequin dress and high heels standing on the curb now waiving to him.
“Who the hell is she?”
“A paid actress,” Tim said.
“….That’s too bad. She’s pretty hot,” Sean said.
“Seanny, we don’t have much time, man. I wouldn’t ask you to do this if it wasn’t crucial,” Tim said.
“I can see your point,” Sean said.
“Same Crown Vic that was parked outside the airport is right over there. It just pulled up,” Sean said.
“Damn, they’re not even trying to be discreet about it. Not good,” said Tim. “Look, dig into your wallet and hand me some cash, alright? Then get moving.”
“Try to act a little drunk when you get out. Sell it hard,” Tim said attempting to hand Sean some change.
“Keep it buddy. I just came back from the wars,” Sean said.
Tim popped the trunk and handed him his carry-on and his hang bag.
Tim then handed Sean the card key to the room.
Sean held a cigar in his hands, loosened his tie and walked unsteadily across the alcove toward the beautiful woman in the white dress. He slipped his hand around her waist, kissed her on the cheek and they moved through the front doors and to the elevators.
They exchanged small talk the way lovers would.
“How have you been?”
“Dying to see you,” she said.
“Really? Are you sure?”
“After you didn’t call me I was worried,” she said.
“It’s been so hectic over there,” he said, marveling silently at what a good actress she was.
Once inside the elevator she held her fingers to her lips. Then she leaned in and kissed him, hard.
Amused at his predicament, Sean kissed her right back. She smelled heavenly whoever she was. It was seriously turning him on.
“They’ll eventually be checking the security cameras,” she whispered to him.
“Then why not give them something to talk about,” he whispered pushing the stop button.
The tinny sound of the alarm echoed off the walls of the elevator shaft as he descended her neckline with kisses.
“Don’t be a bastard,” she whispered.
“Lady, in five years, the closest thing to an eligible female I’ve seen, had humps on it,” he said.
She pushed another button on the wall and the elevator began to move again.
“Let’s wait ‘till we get to the room, darling,” she said.
“Fine by me,” he said.
They entered the room and the woman immediately turned around a slapped Sean.
“Asshole,” she whispered.
He stood there for a moment rubbing his cheek. She smiled and so did he.
They were all over each other in a matter of seconds. By the time the knock came to the door, he had nearly stripped his shirt off.
“Go see who it is,” she said hitching up her dress.
The door opened to reveal a bell-hop with a dinner cart, the top of which was brimming with plates as well as an icy silver bucket with a bottle of chilled Moet stuffed into it.
As the door closed the bellhop began issuing orders.
“Get the plates off quickly.”
He lifted the skirting around the cart to reveal a space where Sean was to crawl for his exit from the room. He looked over at the blonde who smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
“Damn it, I was just beginning to like her,” he said.
“It’ll have to wait,” said the bellhop sardonically.
The bellhop wheeled the cart, now containing Sean, hunched over in a ball. They rolled out of the room and down the hall to a service elevator. From there the elevator descended to the kitchen. Sean could see the stained linoleum tile of the kitchen moving beneath the wheels of the cart but not much else. He fought hard to suppress his laughter. This was either very serious or the most elaborate welcome home gag he had ever heard of.
The cart negotiated a bump then traveled down a receiving area access ramp to garage beneath the building. The skirt came up to reveal a van from Germann’s Cleaning Service waiting for him.
Sean stood up unsteadily, dizzy for a moment, when a driver told him to get into the back of the van.
“Can someone please tell me…?”
“There’s no time, Sean. Move. We’ve been setting this up for months now. Don’t blow it,” the man said ushering him with shoves.
Sean complied and within seconds he was in the back of the empty van holding on to the walls while it traveled up and out of the garage and back onto the main streets of the city.
“Welcome home, Seanny boy,” came a voice from the passenger side. It was Tim’s.
“Geez Louise! What the fuck is going on, guys? Where the hell are your taking me?” he asked.
“All in good time,” Tim said.
“Feel like I’ve been kidnapped by Shia militiamen, for God’s sake,” Sean said.
Tim and the driver looked at each other and smiled.
“I told you,” the driver said to Tim.
“Had to be this way,” Tim said. “Sorry Sean.”
“Yeah, and I was just having the first good time I have had in like, three years back there!” Sean said slamming his fist on the roof of the van.
They drove the streets of Palm Bay for an hour until they were absolutely sure they weren’t being followed.
Sean was introduced to the driver, a black guy named Gus Torrence, who, it turned out, was also a structural engineer for Camerdyne who had known Sean’s brother, Ryan.
They pulled into the garage of an innocuous house in Southwest Palm Bay.
“The home is owned by an alias named Mark Stebbins,” Tim said. “He runs Germann Cleaning Services, out of this house with his unhappy wife.”
“Who’s the wife?”
“Oh, don’t you know? You’re sleeping with her at this very moment. Mark is totally unaware, of course. Her name is Lorna. How is she, by the way?”
“Never laid a hand on her,” Sean said.
“Yeah, that’s some bullshit, right there,” Tim said.
“Okay, she’s one hell of a kisser,” Sean said.
“Uh-huh, I thought so. You’ve got to learn to lie better,” Tim said.
They got out of the van.
“When they run NORA software on Lorna’s face, they’ll hit this address which is okay, we expect that, but after this meeting, we’ll have to relocate the safe house.”
“NORA? Isn’t that…”
“Intelligence software used to recognize faces, absolutely right. But that’s good, see? You’re having an affair with a gorgeous married woman, senator, not working in league with some underground shadow organization that may or may not be dangerous to the US Government,” Tim said.
“Man, Tim. You’ve really changed,” Sean said after a brief, surprised lapse in the ability to speak.
“You’ve got to misdirect the enemy, Sean. Then you’ve got to do it again, and again, when you’re fighting the sort of war we are faced with,” Tim said.
“Oh yeah? What sort of war is that?”
“Guerilla war, pure, and simple. Before long it will be a bare-knuckles brawl. Now you’ve been on the other side of just such a war for years. What do you think that does for our cause?” Tim said.
“Gives you the other perspective,” Sean said.
“Precisely,” Tim said.
“Tim I certainly appreciate you doing all this for me, but can we get down to…?”
“Right this way. Everyone’s waiting for you,” Tim said.
They entered the living room and Sean was amazed to see Smokey, Gary, Tom, Chuck, and Dave, along with about seven other people Sean had never seen before.
“Oh my Lord! What the hell are y’all doing here?”
“Hey we didn’t like riding in the damn van either, my friend,” Tom said.
After a few back slaps and hugs Tim began.
“The man who was your bellhop is Antonio Souza. He’s a graduate of Gary’s high school program for at-risk kids with a degree in business administration and with experience as a network administrator. He works at the hotel in his spare hours getting ready to put himself through a master’s program,” Tim said.
The young man stood up and smiled.
“Gus still works for Camerdyne as does his colleague Dr. Jennifer Epstein who is sitting by the fireplace,” Tim said.
The pretty, slim woman in her thirties raised her hand and smiled. She had jet black hair and sharp features.
“We have the former Florida director of MUFON, sitting to her right, Dr. Clyde Wellington,” Tim said.
“Mutual UFO Network, correct,” Tim said.
The academic looking gentleman in his fifties stood and took Sean’s hand.
“The honor is all mine, mate,” Wellington said in a pleasant Kiwi accent. “This is my wife, Meghan.”
Sean shook the woman’s hand. She rendered a sweet smile for him and said “so pleased to meet you, finally. We’ve heard so much about you.”
Sean began to feel dizzy. What the hell had his brother gotten him into?
“Sean, we’ve got this Lazy Boy ready for you. Would you like a beer, a glass of wine, or something stronger? The show lasts about an hour and you’re in for a few shocks,” Tim continued.
“Beer is fine,” Sean said.
“Tony, bring the man a shot with that beer. If he won’t have it, I will,” Tim said.
“When all of this came about, Sean, I lied to myself and said that I would make all the preparations necessary to hand all the details of the operation over to you and return to my family,” Tim said.
“But, that was not to be. Sheila left me, and I don’t blame her for that. What sane woman wouldn’t? That also fits in with their plans to weaken us, I guess. And that’s fine.”
“As you know, I started a few companies with some of the money and a few tools your brother had given me. The IRS is still sorting through the red tape and documents trying to discover how, out of no-where, in three years I was able to amass more than a half billion dollars industry,” he said.
“Highjump Products, produces high quality survival gear for a reason. We have opened up shop in seventeen countries, including Cuba, Mexico, Honduras, Ireland, Costa Rica, Spain, Canada, and Great Britain.
“We have about thirty-thousand employees worldwide, in those countries, of which one hundred managers have a fair idea what my plans are for the next five years,” Tim said.
“You want me to come work for you? This is a sales pitch?”
“God, don’t I wish. No, Sean. We want to put you in the senate, then the Whitehouse; to turn the tide on an alien invasion that has been going on since before the 1940s.
“Why me?”
“Because your brother wrote this document, which we all signed, just before he was murdered,” Tim said handing Sean a copy of Ryan’s Human Declaration of Independence.
“Now some of the language in this document is rather harsh when it comes to the U.S. Government. But if you remember back to when Ryan died, he knew what was coming in the near future, and while the exact dates of some of his predictions have since proved inaccurate, basically everything he told us has come to pass,” Tim said.
“If they’re so accurate, why don’t the dates match?” Sean said.
“Quantum physics. It has something to do with changing an outcome by knowing it, or seeking to know it,” Tim said. “It means there’s some interference in the works but, basically things work out in the direction which history is progressing.
“The fact the dates don’t match the predictions exactly says that just by us meeting and sharing with each other what we know about our common enemy we may have been partially successful in the future, but, that means there is a lot of work to do, to free mankind entirely from a parasite that has been at our throats for years and that’s where this presentation comes in, to tell you what we know, all of it. Hang on to your hat brother,” Tim said.
“You are about to experience a sort of decompression sickness,” said Gus from the back of the room.
The lights went out, and Sean was handed his beer and his shot, which by now he couldn’t resist.
The image came on a wall in front of the recliner. It was obviously a theater-styled classroom of some sort.
Gus continued; “Dealing with the day to day life of knowing your society is being invaded by hostile alien elements produces a sickness akin to battle fatigue. It also produces a kind of psychosis if you will.”
“If you look up on the screen you will see a presentation given by Doctor Epstein at Camerdyne Systems Space Labs in San Diego California during the summer of 2013. This is the day I first met her, at your brother’s urging. Just as Tim was urged to meet her, and just as we are urging, for you to listen to her and learn from this amazing woman, by watching this presentation.
“I recorded the event using a tiny camera I secreted inside my Jacksonville Jaguars sidelines cap. I doubt if anyone suspected I would record the presentation, I’d still be living today,” he said.
“Why did you record it?”
“Because I knew what she was about to tell the group of us aerospace engineers, would be earth shattering, and I wanted a record of it. I guess, I also got sick and tired of being followed, of being asked to make out two itinerary’s for myself so that someone, somewhere, would be thwarted ever so slightly in their efforts to constantly monitor my every action. I guess it was just part of my stubborn pride that said, I will not be controlled. Instead, this time, I will do the controlling,” Gus continued in that deep baritone everyone was soon hypnotized by.
“So about this decompression sickness. What you’re about to see is the room full of us, all engineers, all schooled, mature supposedly, being turned into babies by the information in front of us; information that lets all of us know, we are being indoctrinated into a university of sorts, for the reverse engineering of alien technology.
“Once this dawns on you, as a member of the freshman class, your life turns upside down. You can see glances shoot around the room alerting every sentient human in the room, that they have become part of a conspiracy to overrun the world by a species comfortable or lazy enough, to allow us to do some of the work for them. Just take a look…” Gus said as the lights dimmed.