0725 USAF Medical Facility, Groom Lake Nevada.
The physician had checked her over and done a brief mental status evaluation. Except for having no idea where she was and no memory whatsoever of what happened after she entered the Tonopah Test Range, she appeared totally OK.
"I warned you this might happen," the flight surgeon said to Slammer. "They used to use scopolamine quite a bit in obstetrics during deliveries."
"You mean for the pain?"
"Not exactly, having the baby was still pretty uncomfortable...they just didn't remember it the next day...they were still plenty upset during delivery."
"Well, will she ever get the memories back? Will she ever be able to tell us exactly what that orb was communicating to her?"
"I don't know, sir. Sometimes it happens, but not dependably. Maybe if she were to touch the orb again?"
"No thanks, doc. I'm not quite ready to go there. That thing sat there quietly for a half century, then almost triggered the destruction of the world. We are going to have to think about it for quite awhile before we let anyone touch that orb again..at least unless something goes wrong again. Would it be OK to talk to her now?"
"Sure, I think she'd like some answers herself...as many as you can give her anyway. She's getting dressed...Lieutenant DelGado is with her. I'll ask Laurie to bring her here when she's done."
"That'd be great, doc. At a minimum, she'll have to sign non-disclosure forms, but I'd like to get her to agree to let the researchers do some testing on her, if she didn't mind....and we have to track down that husband of hers, too, most likely."
"You don't approve of her husband?"
"None of my business, I guess, but what kind of a kid runs off with a sixteen year old girl and gets married...dropping out of school...leaving their parents..?"
"A sixteen year old boy, usually. Hey, I listened to her babbling under the scope...she seems happy enough with the situation and apparently so does he."
"Yeah, but the boy wasn't thinking about his future. The all balls-dick-and-no-forehead approach can work in certain situations, but he's got to look to her future too. Education...a better job than being a waitress in Tonopah.. She seems like a real nice kid...she deserves to have a future."
"You may be being too hard on the two of them, Colonel. After all, we only need to worry about the future because that young lady saved it for us. Where would we be if the kids hadn't run off...if she'd been home with her folks when that drive unit came on?"
"Well, there is that......, thanks Doc."
"No problem, sir. I'll have the Lieutenant bring her in as soon as she's ready."
0725 Industrial Area, Tonopah Test Range
The work was slowed by the need to send radiological monitoring teams out to check for the reported radiation plume from the Nevada Test Site. So far, no evidence that would confirm the findings of the automated monitoring stations. The remaining physical science people had slowly approached the remains of the storage hangar, one end apparently sucked in to the singularity along with a few tons of desert sand, but the rest of the buildings still standing..even if the nearer ones were a little warped by the intense gravitation.
No ship parts had been lost, although the were bunched up along the wall where they'd rolled or been dragged by the gravitation of the singularity. They checked the electromagnetic spectrum in its entirety, form cosmic rays right down to ELF...there didn't appear to be anything hazardous coming from the area.
Peter supervised the return of the spaceship debris to its regular positions..the FTL drive cylinder was moved to a largely intact adjacent hangar. The orb was, for the moment at least, stored with the rest of the wreckage. There was, however, a new awareness of the potential for it...it was now carefully secured. The 'gloves' that had provoked the crisis had been returned to Area 51where they were to be interred with their original owner.
Things were starting to settle down to normal for Peter, as he played his music, sipped his wine, and worked on his computer, making notes of theories and avenues of research to explore while the events of last night were still fresh in his mind. He just couldn't shake the feeling though, that someone was watching him.
The Ship had been monitoring the electromagnetic frequency throughout the night...radio...television..short wave..it now understood the principal languages of the planet almost as well as the local inhabitants. Ship realized it...or at least some of its components..had been hearing this music for years, and it found the interaction of principal notes and harmonics....soothing.
Ship quickly downloaded the contents of the notebook computer...then continued to monitor the input from the being sipping the fermented fruit juice. His input seemed logical to the Ship...given the humans priorities.
Of course, the Ship had its own priorities. Make contact with the crew...release the nanorobots...start repairs...complete repairs...get back in space for the next mission. But the most urgent need was to contact the crew. Unless the ship's parts could be energized by the remaining fusion cylinders, the orb would use up the energy it obtained from contact with the new First Officer in less than two months...and of course, the nanorobots needed release.
Thinking of the First Officer invoked a subroutine that had been set by the Ship to run autonomously...but the subroutine had made no decision..it needed input. The planned nursery was adequate for single small organics...but what about twins? Fortunately, that was not yet an issue...probably wouldn't be for years. Normally ship configuration was determined by input from the Captain but the new First Officer seemed particularly tenacious about the small organic issue...the Ship decided to withold the final decision until she could be contacted again.....
Discipline Malfunction (M/L Mature) [COMPLETE]
Moderators: Itzstacie, Forum Moderators
8:25 AM Central (7:25 Pacific) Farmer’s Co-op and Ranch Supply, Emercado New Mexico.
Old Jaime Alvarez had been farming in these areas for thirty years, and everyone at the co-op was used to doing business with him. He was a cheap old bastard, always buying old vehicles that were on their last legs at a cheap price, using them on his ranch for a few years, then leaving them to rust away in the barnyard when he found himself a new old vehicle. Over the years, his barnyard had started to resemble a junkyard and the neighbors had complained…but it was still pretty wide open country and he wasn’t the only one with a barnyard of rusted out farm equipment, so the complaints hadn’t gone anywhere.
Nobody was surprised when old Jaime drove up to the Co-op with a red 1963 GMC 1 and a half ton stakebed, it was just the kind of quasi antique the old fool always found. And when he had them crowd almost two tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer into the thing…well, that was vintage Jaime. He knew how to dodge the truck scales alright. They didn’t think anything of it when he drove off, paying cash…he always did. And tomorrow…when the REAL Jaime Alvarez showed up with the 1970 Ford 350 pulling the fifth wheel flatbed trailer and asked for ANOTHER two tons, and paid cash again….well, they’d simply assume the senile old fart had misplaced the first load. He always had been kind of a character that way.
Meanwhile, heading back toward Roswell, Nasedo changed his appearance back to normal. He was a little concerned…the truck seemed overloaded. He’d have to take the back roads to avoid the weighing stations between here and the old warehouse he’d rented….the one where he already had the fuel oil stored.
Old Jaime Alvarez had been farming in these areas for thirty years, and everyone at the co-op was used to doing business with him. He was a cheap old bastard, always buying old vehicles that were on their last legs at a cheap price, using them on his ranch for a few years, then leaving them to rust away in the barnyard when he found himself a new old vehicle. Over the years, his barnyard had started to resemble a junkyard and the neighbors had complained…but it was still pretty wide open country and he wasn’t the only one with a barnyard of rusted out farm equipment, so the complaints hadn’t gone anywhere.
Nobody was surprised when old Jaime drove up to the Co-op with a red 1963 GMC 1 and a half ton stakebed, it was just the kind of quasi antique the old fool always found. And when he had them crowd almost two tons of ammonium nitrate fertilizer into the thing…well, that was vintage Jaime. He knew how to dodge the truck scales alright. They didn’t think anything of it when he drove off, paying cash…he always did. And tomorrow…when the REAL Jaime Alvarez showed up with the 1970 Ford 350 pulling the fifth wheel flatbed trailer and asked for ANOTHER two tons, and paid cash again….well, they’d simply assume the senile old fart had misplaced the first load. He always had been kind of a character that way.
Meanwhile, heading back toward Roswell, Nasedo changed his appearance back to normal. He was a little concerned…the truck seemed overloaded. He’d have to take the back roads to avoid the weighing stations between here and the old warehouse he’d rented….the one where he already had the fuel oil stored.
0725 (Pacific Time) Security Section, Area 51 (Groom's Lake) Nevada
Robert Jackson was the new hire in security and he was getting his initial orientation tour. Jackson was new to Area 51, but he wasn't new to Security. As a Marine he'd spent the better part of 20 years at Bangor Submarine Base guarding ballistic missile submarines and the Trident missiles that went into them. Bob Davidson was the deputy chief of security and was giving him his orientation at the security complex near the security fence that constituted the last of numerous barriers protecting Area 51.
"So you don't have direct visual on all approaches?" asked Jackson.
Davidson smiled. "This isn't a nuclear weapons storage area, Bob. The Nellis Range Area is big....bigger than many states...and our mission isn't just to keep them away from the fence..it's to keep them from even seeing the fence. The range has a variety of wildlife, wild mustangs, wild burros, coyotes...rattlesnakes...and a number of endangered species. We can't just fence the whole thing and even guard towers would be out of the question. But the areas around here are protected by sensors...noise and vibration detectors in the first ring, motion detectors in the second, and cameras in the third.
A computer constantly decodes the sensor input and can automatically reject things like a mustang or coyote or other bogus inputs. Anything the computer has doubts about it hands of to Jeremy here, or someone like him. All of the sensor operators are ex-Navy sonarmen and anything the computer has doubts about, they identify."
"Does that happen often?"
Jeremy just smiled. "Yeah, all the time...at least a couple times a week we get someone, sometimes photojournalists but usually just UFO nuts trying to sneak in and get pictures. Usually wwe just vector the sector team in and they pick them up."
"Then they bring them here?" asked Jackson.
"Lord no, that's the whole point...to keep them away from here. The sector team picks them up and takes them to one of the gates. There they get processed and if it's simple trespass...and a first offense, they usually get sent away with a warning. If they broke things or stole property, or if it's a subsequent offense, then we hold them for the US Marshals," said Davidson.
"So that's what I'll be doing? On one of the sector response teams?"
"Yes," said Jackson. "We try to use the concept of overwhelming force....show up with five or six guys in a Peacekeeper armored vehicle mounting a thirty caliber M-60 and the security personnel toting M-16s. We practice that routinely. If you try to have just one guy go after an intruder, that seems like to much of a fair chance...the guy tries to run, hide, or resist you. You show up in a mob, they just come along quietly. That's why we try to have a team meet every intruder...sometimes a couple if it's a group. That generally happens only when there is a Trekkie convention in Las Vegas, or when Rachel has one of their alien themed RV gatherings....we might get a group of 25 or so then. But just the desert itself discourages people. Between the heat, the distances, the rattlesnakes....well, the most people turn around before they ever get to us."
"But not this one," said Jeremy.
"What you got, Jeremy?"
"This one's sort of unusual...came from deeper on the range..up in the northwest sector. He was in a vehicle up until about two miles ago...probably a Jeep. Now he's coming on foot. My bet would be a photographer from some tabloid. He's chosen a bad place though...right between sectors three and four."
"Kind of hitting the seam in the zone?" asked Jackson.
"Anything but. That just means that both teams will roll on him, instead of just one. As soon as he hits the outer perimeter, another 60 minutes or so, those two teams are going to be all over him."
"So do you notify the commander or anyone with an intruder like this?"
"Naw, not for single guys. We'll scoop him up pretty easily. The commander will get it in his morning report tomorrow. If it was a big group...or if there's any serious trouble picking him up, then we'd notify the exec...or maybe even the commander."
Commander's Office
Laurie lead her in to the office where Jim and Slammer were waiting.
Liz looked at the two men sort of tentatively. "Hi," she said. "My name is Beth Everett."
She watched as the men looked at each other....then at Laurie. She knew somehow that she'd already screwed up, just from the expression on their faces.
"No it isn't, Liz" said Slammer. "Why don't you just sit down and have a seat...and let me talk for a little bit, OK?"
Liz sat down in the seat waiting in front of the desk, wondering just what she'd gotten herself in to and, more importantly, how she could get back out......
Robert Jackson was the new hire in security and he was getting his initial orientation tour. Jackson was new to Area 51, but he wasn't new to Security. As a Marine he'd spent the better part of 20 years at Bangor Submarine Base guarding ballistic missile submarines and the Trident missiles that went into them. Bob Davidson was the deputy chief of security and was giving him his orientation at the security complex near the security fence that constituted the last of numerous barriers protecting Area 51.
"So you don't have direct visual on all approaches?" asked Jackson.
Davidson smiled. "This isn't a nuclear weapons storage area, Bob. The Nellis Range Area is big....bigger than many states...and our mission isn't just to keep them away from the fence..it's to keep them from even seeing the fence. The range has a variety of wildlife, wild mustangs, wild burros, coyotes...rattlesnakes...and a number of endangered species. We can't just fence the whole thing and even guard towers would be out of the question. But the areas around here are protected by sensors...noise and vibration detectors in the first ring, motion detectors in the second, and cameras in the third.
A computer constantly decodes the sensor input and can automatically reject things like a mustang or coyote or other bogus inputs. Anything the computer has doubts about it hands of to Jeremy here, or someone like him. All of the sensor operators are ex-Navy sonarmen and anything the computer has doubts about, they identify."
"Does that happen often?"
Jeremy just smiled. "Yeah, all the time...at least a couple times a week we get someone, sometimes photojournalists but usually just UFO nuts trying to sneak in and get pictures. Usually wwe just vector the sector team in and they pick them up."
"Then they bring them here?" asked Jackson.
"Lord no, that's the whole point...to keep them away from here. The sector team picks them up and takes them to one of the gates. There they get processed and if it's simple trespass...and a first offense, they usually get sent away with a warning. If they broke things or stole property, or if it's a subsequent offense, then we hold them for the US Marshals," said Davidson.
"So that's what I'll be doing? On one of the sector response teams?"
"Yes," said Jackson. "We try to use the concept of overwhelming force....show up with five or six guys in a Peacekeeper armored vehicle mounting a thirty caliber M-60 and the security personnel toting M-16s. We practice that routinely. If you try to have just one guy go after an intruder, that seems like to much of a fair chance...the guy tries to run, hide, or resist you. You show up in a mob, they just come along quietly. That's why we try to have a team meet every intruder...sometimes a couple if it's a group. That generally happens only when there is a Trekkie convention in Las Vegas, or when Rachel has one of their alien themed RV gatherings....we might get a group of 25 or so then. But just the desert itself discourages people. Between the heat, the distances, the rattlesnakes....well, the most people turn around before they ever get to us."
"But not this one," said Jeremy.
"What you got, Jeremy?"
"This one's sort of unusual...came from deeper on the range..up in the northwest sector. He was in a vehicle up until about two miles ago...probably a Jeep. Now he's coming on foot. My bet would be a photographer from some tabloid. He's chosen a bad place though...right between sectors three and four."
"Kind of hitting the seam in the zone?" asked Jackson.
"Anything but. That just means that both teams will roll on him, instead of just one. As soon as he hits the outer perimeter, another 60 minutes or so, those two teams are going to be all over him."
"So do you notify the commander or anyone with an intruder like this?"
"Naw, not for single guys. We'll scoop him up pretty easily. The commander will get it in his morning report tomorrow. If it was a big group...or if there's any serious trouble picking him up, then we'd notify the exec...or maybe even the commander."
Commander's Office
Laurie lead her in to the office where Jim and Slammer were waiting.
Liz looked at the two men sort of tentatively. "Hi," she said. "My name is Beth Everett."
She watched as the men looked at each other....then at Laurie. She knew somehow that she'd already screwed up, just from the expression on their faces.
"No it isn't, Liz" said Slammer. "Why don't you just sit down and have a seat...and let me talk for a little bit, OK?"
Liz sat down in the seat waiting in front of the desk, wondering just what she'd gotten herself in to and, more importantly, how she could get back out......
Slammer eyed the girl with obvious disapproval. "I'd like to tell you about how I feel about people I deal with, Liz. Some things about them...what they do on Maytag washers and who they do it with...well, that's none of my damn business."
Laurie shook her head slowly as the girls eyes widened and she blushed deeply. 'I sure hope the commander knows what he's doing..'
"That's not something I would ask you, Liz, or even want to know about. Everyone is entitled to their privacy...even their little secrets. But what you do tell me, well...I'd like that to be the truth. Now just to let you know..we know that you are Elizabeth Parker, daughter of Jeff and Nancy Parker, that you are only sixteen and that you ran off with your boyfriend, Max Evans. We know that he forged some ID and you used them to get married on February 25th in Las Vegas. Now if you asked my opinion, I'd probably tell you that was a real stupid idea, that you were both too young, and that you needed to complete your high school..prepare for college...and leave the Maytag stuff until later when you are old enough and mature enough to be on your own legally...but you didn't ask...what you did was start out lying to me with the very first statement out of your mouth.
Now Liz, I'd really like to give you a do-over on that introduction. Yesterday was almost a real bad day for everyone in this room...we almost died. You kept that from happening, so I really would like to be your friend...we all would. But friends are honest with one another. So let's start again, OK? Good Morning, Miss Parker. I'm Colonel Randolph....but you can call me Slammer."
The teenager looked at him for several seconds before taking a deep breath, and relaxing back into the chair. Her eyes never leaving his, she replied, "Good morning, Colonel. My name is Elizabeth Evans...you can call me Liz." She held out her hand to him and as he shook it she continued, "and about running off and getting married?? You are correct...nobody asked for your opinion on that."
"Point taken, Mrs Evans...Liz..'" said Slammer. "First, I'd like to apologize to you for for you having to be here. If you feel like you've been beaten all over, that's because immediately after you saved us, you were shot with TASERs by two people who unfortunately worked for me. Unfortunately, these were modified TASERs, once that injected you with drugs some of which, unfortunately, were not even cleared for human use. I want to assure you that the actions of these two individuals are in no way condoned by the US Air Force or anyone here today. Those two have been arrested and we intend to prosecute them fully for their attack on you.
But what I'd like to talk with you about this morning is what you did yesterday before that happened..but there's a problem. Some of what I need to tell you is highly classified. Before I can do that, we need to have you sign a non-disclosure agreement. Despite your age, being married makes you...at least according to the JAG, an emancipated minor...able to enter in to a contract. This is a contract that you will not disclose the classified material we discuss with you...not with anyone not cleared...not with your friends..not with your ...husband."
"And if I don't?"
"Well, in that case we take you back to Tonopah in a closed van so you don't see this installation, drop you off at your house, and...well, that's that. But Liz...you averted a huge tragedy, and we'd sure like to know how you did that. That's more important than you now realize, and if you sign the form...well, then we can explain it to you."
Liz looked at Laurie...Jim...finally Sl;ammer. She could read nothing threatening in their expressions. Finally she picked up the pen and signed the paper.
"Well Liz," Slammer said, "Where you are right now is a place popularly known as Area 51. The first thing you need to understand is that we aren't alone...aliens really do exist."
Slammer noticed a twinkle in the girl's eye, followed by a sort of Mona Lisa smile. "So that's what I can't tell Max? You think he can't be trusted with that information?"
"Well, since you ask I'll tell you honestly, Liz. No. I'm reluctant to trust either of you. I think that both of you behaved irresponsibly running off and getting married at your age and I'm reluctant to have you in the program, but I have no real choice if we are going to find out what happened last night. But unlike Max, you appear to have some special skill or ability that others don't have. I'm sort of forced to clear you for this information. But we have no reason to believe Max is anyone special, so we have no justification program briefing him."
"Well," said Liz, "..if I can't discuss this with Max, I don't think I want to participate in your program. You may not trust him...but I do."
Slammer started to say that it wasn't just a matter of trust, but of the need to know...but in the final analysis..it really was a matter of trust. The girl really didn't have any reason to trust them...she'd been assaulted as soon as she'd made her presence known. But she was at least making an effort to cooperate. What was it really, he wondered? Was it just that he considered the two of them..especially Max, irresponsible because they were runaways?
"Look Liz, we'd really like to have you work with us. Why don't we arrange for for Max to come in and talk to us...and then we'll see what we CAN agree on? Why don't I have lieutenant DelGado take you home...give you a chance to get squared away...then come back to Tonopah Test Range tomorrow...with Max and we'll talk further then? In the meantime, tell him nothing about the alien stuff. We have a lot of people in this world who aren't ready for this knowledge...religions that would get upset if they were told man wasn't the only sentient being in the universe. Let me sit down with this young man of yours and try to determine for myself if he can be let in on the secret. Again, Slammer saw her eyes twinkle, as if inwardly laughing at some private joke.
"OK Commander. I'll see if Max is interested in talking with you."
Five minutes later Laurie was putting a small styrofoam chest full of cold drinks into the USAF sedan.
"So..is he always like that?" asked Liz.
"The commander? He's still kind of new. But he's sure a lot better than out previous commander.. I think he likes you, actually. It was surprising that he'd back off like that...compromise with you. A lot of commanders wouldn't have done that. And of course, he's very greatful you were there yesterday...we all are."
"Can you tell me anything about that? Just girl to girl?"
"Well, yes. But only once you decide to work for us."
"Well can you give me a little hint?"
Laurie smiled. "I think that's up to the commander. Now should you decide to talk molecualr biology...well, I'm your go-to girl on that. But classified stuff? The commander makes the call."
"Molecular biology? No kidding..you're a molecular biologist? I've fantasized for years about going to Harvard and studying molecular biology/"
"Really? My PhD is from Harvard."
"No kidding? Well tell me about the program."
Thirty minutes later both Liz and Laurie were talking steadily about Molecular Biology and Harvard, as they drove down 395 toward Rachel Nevada.
Laurie shook her head slowly as the girls eyes widened and she blushed deeply. 'I sure hope the commander knows what he's doing..'
"That's not something I would ask you, Liz, or even want to know about. Everyone is entitled to their privacy...even their little secrets. But what you do tell me, well...I'd like that to be the truth. Now just to let you know..we know that you are Elizabeth Parker, daughter of Jeff and Nancy Parker, that you are only sixteen and that you ran off with your boyfriend, Max Evans. We know that he forged some ID and you used them to get married on February 25th in Las Vegas. Now if you asked my opinion, I'd probably tell you that was a real stupid idea, that you were both too young, and that you needed to complete your high school..prepare for college...and leave the Maytag stuff until later when you are old enough and mature enough to be on your own legally...but you didn't ask...what you did was start out lying to me with the very first statement out of your mouth.
Now Liz, I'd really like to give you a do-over on that introduction. Yesterday was almost a real bad day for everyone in this room...we almost died. You kept that from happening, so I really would like to be your friend...we all would. But friends are honest with one another. So let's start again, OK? Good Morning, Miss Parker. I'm Colonel Randolph....but you can call me Slammer."
The teenager looked at him for several seconds before taking a deep breath, and relaxing back into the chair. Her eyes never leaving his, she replied, "Good morning, Colonel. My name is Elizabeth Evans...you can call me Liz." She held out her hand to him and as he shook it she continued, "and about running off and getting married?? You are correct...nobody asked for your opinion on that."
"Point taken, Mrs Evans...Liz..'" said Slammer. "First, I'd like to apologize to you for for you having to be here. If you feel like you've been beaten all over, that's because immediately after you saved us, you were shot with TASERs by two people who unfortunately worked for me. Unfortunately, these were modified TASERs, once that injected you with drugs some of which, unfortunately, were not even cleared for human use. I want to assure you that the actions of these two individuals are in no way condoned by the US Air Force or anyone here today. Those two have been arrested and we intend to prosecute them fully for their attack on you.
But what I'd like to talk with you about this morning is what you did yesterday before that happened..but there's a problem. Some of what I need to tell you is highly classified. Before I can do that, we need to have you sign a non-disclosure agreement. Despite your age, being married makes you...at least according to the JAG, an emancipated minor...able to enter in to a contract. This is a contract that you will not disclose the classified material we discuss with you...not with anyone not cleared...not with your friends..not with your ...husband."
"And if I don't?"
"Well, in that case we take you back to Tonopah in a closed van so you don't see this installation, drop you off at your house, and...well, that's that. But Liz...you averted a huge tragedy, and we'd sure like to know how you did that. That's more important than you now realize, and if you sign the form...well, then we can explain it to you."
Liz looked at Laurie...Jim...finally Sl;ammer. She could read nothing threatening in their expressions. Finally she picked up the pen and signed the paper.
"Well Liz," Slammer said, "Where you are right now is a place popularly known as Area 51. The first thing you need to understand is that we aren't alone...aliens really do exist."
Slammer noticed a twinkle in the girl's eye, followed by a sort of Mona Lisa smile. "So that's what I can't tell Max? You think he can't be trusted with that information?"
"Well, since you ask I'll tell you honestly, Liz. No. I'm reluctant to trust either of you. I think that both of you behaved irresponsibly running off and getting married at your age and I'm reluctant to have you in the program, but I have no real choice if we are going to find out what happened last night. But unlike Max, you appear to have some special skill or ability that others don't have. I'm sort of forced to clear you for this information. But we have no reason to believe Max is anyone special, so we have no justification program briefing him."
"Well," said Liz, "..if I can't discuss this with Max, I don't think I want to participate in your program. You may not trust him...but I do."
Slammer started to say that it wasn't just a matter of trust, but of the need to know...but in the final analysis..it really was a matter of trust. The girl really didn't have any reason to trust them...she'd been assaulted as soon as she'd made her presence known. But she was at least making an effort to cooperate. What was it really, he wondered? Was it just that he considered the two of them..especially Max, irresponsible because they were runaways?
"Look Liz, we'd really like to have you work with us. Why don't we arrange for for Max to come in and talk to us...and then we'll see what we CAN agree on? Why don't I have lieutenant DelGado take you home...give you a chance to get squared away...then come back to Tonopah Test Range tomorrow...with Max and we'll talk further then? In the meantime, tell him nothing about the alien stuff. We have a lot of people in this world who aren't ready for this knowledge...religions that would get upset if they were told man wasn't the only sentient being in the universe. Let me sit down with this young man of yours and try to determine for myself if he can be let in on the secret. Again, Slammer saw her eyes twinkle, as if inwardly laughing at some private joke.
"OK Commander. I'll see if Max is interested in talking with you."
Five minutes later Laurie was putting a small styrofoam chest full of cold drinks into the USAF sedan.
"So..is he always like that?" asked Liz.
"The commander? He's still kind of new. But he's sure a lot better than out previous commander.. I think he likes you, actually. It was surprising that he'd back off like that...compromise with you. A lot of commanders wouldn't have done that. And of course, he's very greatful you were there yesterday...we all are."
"Can you tell me anything about that? Just girl to girl?"
"Well, yes. But only once you decide to work for us."
"Well can you give me a little hint?"
Laurie smiled. "I think that's up to the commander. Now should you decide to talk molecualr biology...well, I'm your go-to girl on that. But classified stuff? The commander makes the call."
"Molecular biology? No kidding..you're a molecular biologist? I've fantasized for years about going to Harvard and studying molecular biology/"
"Really? My PhD is from Harvard."
"No kidding? Well tell me about the program."
Thirty minutes later both Liz and Laurie were talking steadily about Molecular Biology and Harvard, as they drove down 395 toward Rachel Nevada.
Last edited by greywolf on Mon Mar 19, 2007 8:47 am, edited 1 time in total.
0830 Northwest buffer zone for Area 51 between sectors three and four
Because of the security clearances they held, the security personnel were almost all ex-military, and they had a rather unique culture of their own. They were certainly capable of incredible violence, many had fought in wars, sometimes in special forces groups that went out of their way to not get publicity. But within their own culture there was a camaraderie seldom seen in civilian society. This had already become a contest between the sector three team and the sector four team…not just to see who could find the target, but to see who could do it with the most class. And as they communicated with one another on their headsets, their was already the good-natured banter and insults of professionals trying to one-up the others.
Strangely enough, both teams started out with considerable respect …almost affection…for the target. The guy had come over range…that wasn’t easy. Already they knew he wasn’t going to be some fat Trekkie tourist who disrespected them enough to think he could just run a dirt bike parallel to one of the access roads and expect to elude them. And he’d dismounted almost four miles away and was making pretty good time over the desert, while still being stealthy enough that their cameras hadn’t picked him up. This guy was making the game interesting…the security forces were professionals, and they respected that. This wasn’t going to be some kid who’d spent his life playing video games, it was going to be someone they could respect, even if he was now their target. The chatter on the frequencies guessed that it would be a combat photographer, probably commissioned by some tabloid to get pictures for some fat fee. They’d met and respected guys like that in warzones in the past…although not here in Nevada. Maybe it’d be an old friend who, after they bounced him off the reservation, they could later meet and share a few brewskis with, to swap war stories about far away places with strange sounding names. It wasn’t like this was a personal grudge…only business.
George ‘Sandman’ Stevens had been a sniper in the military, and he was the scout for sector team three. He had deployed a mile forward of the rest of the team, along the path of the incoming intruder. He was scanning the terrain with his rifle now, not necessarily because he intended to shoot anyone…this wasn’t war, after all. But the sniper rifle had an imaging infrared sight, and the heat of a person …of any warm blooded animal, would stand out almost like a flare in the scope against the cool morning desert. As he scanned the terrain in front of him, looking for the intruder, he was communicating to his team and to the security office at Area 51 through his he was talking to his team…and to security central at Area 51 ..through his tactical radio headset.
“Three-actual-three-four…..I’m starting to get an IR image…still no visual. Damn, we need to ask this guy who makes his cammies…they’re damn good. He’s less than a mile out, and without the IR scope I’d still be floundering out here.”
“Three-four-three-actual…Let us know when you’ve got a visual.”
“Roger that…We’re damn lucky it’s not later in the day though. If the desert were hotter, I’d be damn lucky to have a target at all. This guy is pretty good at camouflage. It’ll be fun to meet him.”
Snipers loved camouflage. To them it was not just a life or death skill, but an art form. That and the ability to move stealthily was what kept them alive in combat. This guy was penetrating one of the hardest targets in the world and Stevens realized without the noise sensors and the IR sight, this target would be winning right now.
He also realized that once the team arrived….certainly once both teams arrived, there would be far too much noise in the area to be able to pinpoint the target by acoustic sensor, there’d just be too damn much activity to triangulate any individual target. An in another hour or two with the sun up, the desert would heat up enough that the IR sight would lose its effectiveness. Despite their apparent advantage over this isolated target, it would have only have taken a few breaks, and this target could have slipped right by them. The time to stop the guy was now…before he got any closer.
“Three-actual-three-four…I’ve got a visual…looks like a male teenager…damn he’s got nice cammies…face paint too…you damn near have to see his eyes to get a visual on him. He should be at the area of sensor 47 in about three minutes.”
“Three-four….keep him in your sights…we’re rolling now..be there in three minutes…three-actual out. Four actual-three-actual…you copy those coordinates?”
“That’s affirm…Team four is rolling…be at sensor 47 in three minutes.”
Because of the security clearances they held, the security personnel were almost all ex-military, and they had a rather unique culture of their own. They were certainly capable of incredible violence, many had fought in wars, sometimes in special forces groups that went out of their way to not get publicity. But within their own culture there was a camaraderie seldom seen in civilian society. This had already become a contest between the sector three team and the sector four team…not just to see who could find the target, but to see who could do it with the most class. And as they communicated with one another on their headsets, their was already the good-natured banter and insults of professionals trying to one-up the others.
Strangely enough, both teams started out with considerable respect …almost affection…for the target. The guy had come over range…that wasn’t easy. Already they knew he wasn’t going to be some fat Trekkie tourist who disrespected them enough to think he could just run a dirt bike parallel to one of the access roads and expect to elude them. And he’d dismounted almost four miles away and was making pretty good time over the desert, while still being stealthy enough that their cameras hadn’t picked him up. This guy was making the game interesting…the security forces were professionals, and they respected that. This wasn’t going to be some kid who’d spent his life playing video games, it was going to be someone they could respect, even if he was now their target. The chatter on the frequencies guessed that it would be a combat photographer, probably commissioned by some tabloid to get pictures for some fat fee. They’d met and respected guys like that in warzones in the past…although not here in Nevada. Maybe it’d be an old friend who, after they bounced him off the reservation, they could later meet and share a few brewskis with, to swap war stories about far away places with strange sounding names. It wasn’t like this was a personal grudge…only business.
George ‘Sandman’ Stevens had been a sniper in the military, and he was the scout for sector team three. He had deployed a mile forward of the rest of the team, along the path of the incoming intruder. He was scanning the terrain with his rifle now, not necessarily because he intended to shoot anyone…this wasn’t war, after all. But the sniper rifle had an imaging infrared sight, and the heat of a person …of any warm blooded animal, would stand out almost like a flare in the scope against the cool morning desert. As he scanned the terrain in front of him, looking for the intruder, he was communicating to his team and to the security office at Area 51 through his he was talking to his team…and to security central at Area 51 ..through his tactical radio headset.
“Three-actual-three-four…..I’m starting to get an IR image…still no visual. Damn, we need to ask this guy who makes his cammies…they’re damn good. He’s less than a mile out, and without the IR scope I’d still be floundering out here.”
“Three-four-three-actual…Let us know when you’ve got a visual.”
“Roger that…We’re damn lucky it’s not later in the day though. If the desert were hotter, I’d be damn lucky to have a target at all. This guy is pretty good at camouflage. It’ll be fun to meet him.”
Snipers loved camouflage. To them it was not just a life or death skill, but an art form. That and the ability to move stealthily was what kept them alive in combat. This guy was penetrating one of the hardest targets in the world and Stevens realized without the noise sensors and the IR sight, this target would be winning right now.
He also realized that once the team arrived….certainly once both teams arrived, there would be far too much noise in the area to be able to pinpoint the target by acoustic sensor, there’d just be too damn much activity to triangulate any individual target. An in another hour or two with the sun up, the desert would heat up enough that the IR sight would lose its effectiveness. Despite their apparent advantage over this isolated target, it would have only have taken a few breaks, and this target could have slipped right by them. The time to stop the guy was now…before he got any closer.
“Three-actual-three-four…I’ve got a visual…looks like a male teenager…damn he’s got nice cammies…face paint too…you damn near have to see his eyes to get a visual on him. He should be at the area of sensor 47 in about three minutes.”
“Three-four….keep him in your sights…we’re rolling now..be there in three minutes…three-actual out. Four actual-three-actual…you copy those coordinates?”
“That’s affirm…Team four is rolling…be at sensor 47 in three minutes.”
0830 Area 51 Commander's Office
Slammer was looking at the file...the Liz Evens file. Something about it was bothering him..he wasn't sure what. Actually, that wasn't quite right, there were a LOT of things about it that were bothering him, he just wasn't quite sure which was bothering him the most.
Slammer would have expected a flighty not terribly bright immature sort of girl who had run away with her similarly flighty and immature boyfriend after a spat with her parents...and as he looked at the Chaves county Sheriff's office APB's, that's clear that was precisely what HAD happened. But Liz...once she'd sobered up from the scopolamine...hadn't been the immature uneducated girl he'd expected...she'd been a surprisingly mature young lady..'who knows more than you do about ring singularities,' the voice in the back of his head reminded him. And she'd been composed...even when he'd dropped the bomb about aliens in our midst...even then, she'd seemed more amused than upset. No, Liz obviously wasn't exactly what he'd expected...but something else about this was still bugging him.
Liz was important...they needed her help for this project. It wasn't just that in over fifty years they'd barely scratched the potential of the technology laid out broken in that hangar at Tonopah Test Range, it was that they couldn't even safely dispose of it. Sure, the powerplants could probably be taken under the polar cap by a submarine and squirted out the torpedo tube. Even if they went off there..well, it might be kind of tough on the walruses and polar bears, but no one would be hurt. But how do you get rid of the FTL drive? Slammer had been certified to drop nukes early in his career as a viper pilot..that was an awesome enough responsibility, even though the ones dropped by an F-16 were generally down in the ten kiloton range or less. But an Earth-eating black hole? Even a day later his mind had trouble coming to grips with that. If Liz Parker...no, Liz Evans, she'd emphasized that enough to them all, ..if Liz Evans hadn't been there..it would all be gone. Not just Tonopah Test Range..not even just Las Vegas...but everything. Even Sandi over in Kunsan...the entire world, and most of it would have never known what hit them.
He went through the folder one last time, not really sure what about it was bothering him. He looked again at the APBs. He didn't know much about New Mexico. He'd changed planes once on a commercial flight in Albuquerque, refueled at Holloman a couple of times on cross-countrys...where the hell was Chaves county, anyway. He punched the button on his intercom and got his secretary.
"Do you know anything about New Mexico?"
"I've driven through it a few times, sir. Why do you ask?"
"I wanted to know where in New Mexico Chaves county was."
"I'm not sure, sir..but I can look it up on the internet for you..and get back to you."
"Thanks...no hurry though, just curious."
Slammer was looking at the file...the Liz Evens file. Something about it was bothering him..he wasn't sure what. Actually, that wasn't quite right, there were a LOT of things about it that were bothering him, he just wasn't quite sure which was bothering him the most.
Slammer would have expected a flighty not terribly bright immature sort of girl who had run away with her similarly flighty and immature boyfriend after a spat with her parents...and as he looked at the Chaves county Sheriff's office APB's, that's clear that was precisely what HAD happened. But Liz...once she'd sobered up from the scopolamine...hadn't been the immature uneducated girl he'd expected...she'd been a surprisingly mature young lady..'who knows more than you do about ring singularities,' the voice in the back of his head reminded him. And she'd been composed...even when he'd dropped the bomb about aliens in our midst...even then, she'd seemed more amused than upset. No, Liz obviously wasn't exactly what he'd expected...but something else about this was still bugging him.
Liz was important...they needed her help for this project. It wasn't just that in over fifty years they'd barely scratched the potential of the technology laid out broken in that hangar at Tonopah Test Range, it was that they couldn't even safely dispose of it. Sure, the powerplants could probably be taken under the polar cap by a submarine and squirted out the torpedo tube. Even if they went off there..well, it might be kind of tough on the walruses and polar bears, but no one would be hurt. But how do you get rid of the FTL drive? Slammer had been certified to drop nukes early in his career as a viper pilot..that was an awesome enough responsibility, even though the ones dropped by an F-16 were generally down in the ten kiloton range or less. But an Earth-eating black hole? Even a day later his mind had trouble coming to grips with that. If Liz Parker...no, Liz Evans, she'd emphasized that enough to them all, ..if Liz Evans hadn't been there..it would all be gone. Not just Tonopah Test Range..not even just Las Vegas...but everything. Even Sandi over in Kunsan...the entire world, and most of it would have never known what hit them.
He went through the folder one last time, not really sure what about it was bothering him. He looked again at the APBs. He didn't know much about New Mexico. He'd changed planes once on a commercial flight in Albuquerque, refueled at Holloman a couple of times on cross-countrys...where the hell was Chaves county, anyway. He punched the button on his intercom and got his secretary.
"Do you know anything about New Mexico?"
"I've driven through it a few times, sir. Why do you ask?"
"I wanted to know where in New Mexico Chaves county was."
"I'm not sure, sir..but I can look it up on the internet for you..and get back to you."
"Thanks...no hurry though, just curious."
8:30 AM Highway 395 4 miles northwest of Rachel Nevada
"Are you absolutely sure she will be unable to use her powers?" Agent Charles Anderson asked.
"Yes...positive,' replied Doctor Schreiber. "The scopolamine will have worn off, but the serotonin blockers...they'll continue to work for at least a week. We don't have to fear her powers at all."
Anderson looked at his fellow agent..the driver of the car. "There aren't any cars visible in either direction. This is as good a place as any. Do it!"
Laurie DelGado wasn't exactly an unsafe driver, particularly not on official business with a government vehicle. Still, she did enjoy the wide open spaces of Nevada and their very liberal speed limits...and lax enforcement even of those. She'd been doing almost 80 since they'd left the city limits of Rachel, assuming you could dignify the small collection of ramshackle buildings and trailers with the term city. But the sedan that had been with them since shortly after leaving Rachel had been doing pretty well itself in the speed department, and when it wanted to go faster...Laurie had no trouble pulling slightly to the right side of the lane and watching it shoot past. What she wasn't expecting, however, for it to then swerve into the lane in front of her while hitting the brakes. She pulled off onto the shoulder to miss the car, going way too fast for the gravel and skidding as she went by the car. Even so, she had quick reflexes..she would have made it if it hadn't been for the sign on the shoulder.
The last things she recalled before the car hit the sign were the airbags deploying and the car starting to roll.
"Are you absolutely sure she will be unable to use her powers?" Agent Charles Anderson asked.
"Yes...positive,' replied Doctor Schreiber. "The scopolamine will have worn off, but the serotonin blockers...they'll continue to work for at least a week. We don't have to fear her powers at all."
Anderson looked at his fellow agent..the driver of the car. "There aren't any cars visible in either direction. This is as good a place as any. Do it!"
Laurie DelGado wasn't exactly an unsafe driver, particularly not on official business with a government vehicle. Still, she did enjoy the wide open spaces of Nevada and their very liberal speed limits...and lax enforcement even of those. She'd been doing almost 80 since they'd left the city limits of Rachel, assuming you could dignify the small collection of ramshackle buildings and trailers with the term city. But the sedan that had been with them since shortly after leaving Rachel had been doing pretty well itself in the speed department, and when it wanted to go faster...Laurie had no trouble pulling slightly to the right side of the lane and watching it shoot past. What she wasn't expecting, however, for it to then swerve into the lane in front of her while hitting the brakes. She pulled off onto the shoulder to miss the car, going way too fast for the gravel and skidding as she went by the car. Even so, she had quick reflexes..she would have made it if it hadn't been for the sign on the shoulder.
The last things she recalled before the car hit the sign were the airbags deploying and the car starting to roll.
0832 Northwest buffer zone for Area 51 between sectors three and four
It had been a long night...filled with worry. Max had changed. A year ago he'd been a kid just about to turn sixteen...get a driver's license. A kid with one of the biggest secrets in the world...that was true...but still just a kid. But Max had changed a lot in the last year...especially in the last three weeks...and even a lot of it in the last 12 hours. The alien stuff...it didn't matter anymore. Keeping the secret or not...that didn't matter any more either. He wasn't a fifteen year old kid anymore...he was a lover...a husband...and a protector. What mattered was Liz, and he was determined to do whatever it took to get her back.
Area 51 had always been the boogey-man...the place they took aliens to rip their insides out..just for kicks. But it held no fear for Max Evans. Oh, Max was afraid..he was scared to death...but he wasn't afraid for Max Evans, he was afraid for his wife...for what these monsters might be doing to her. That was the thought that had terrified Max Evans for the last 12 hours, that because of her relation to him, Liz would be subjected to that. And Max Evans...the husband and lover of Liz Evans, was NOT going to let that happen.
He felt the power gathering in him...almost unbidden...his body seeming to prepare itself for any coming conflict. Max wasn't afraid of dying. He wasn't afraid of killing. He felt the power surge into him as his palms began to tingle in anticipation. He was getting Liz out of this place. Failure was NOT an option.
He heard them only seconds before he saw them, the two Defender's knifing in to cut off his path toward the base and the dry lake bed in front of him. The amplified voice came from the first armored vehicle.
"You are under arrest for trespassing on a federal military reservation. Put your hands up kid...I want to see your palms, and they'd better be empty."
As Max pointed his palms at the two vehicles he fought back a sardonic smile. 'So they want to see my palms now, do they?'
It had been a long night...filled with worry. Max had changed. A year ago he'd been a kid just about to turn sixteen...get a driver's license. A kid with one of the biggest secrets in the world...that was true...but still just a kid. But Max had changed a lot in the last year...especially in the last three weeks...and even a lot of it in the last 12 hours. The alien stuff...it didn't matter anymore. Keeping the secret or not...that didn't matter any more either. He wasn't a fifteen year old kid anymore...he was a lover...a husband...and a protector. What mattered was Liz, and he was determined to do whatever it took to get her back.
Area 51 had always been the boogey-man...the place they took aliens to rip their insides out..just for kicks. But it held no fear for Max Evans. Oh, Max was afraid..he was scared to death...but he wasn't afraid for Max Evans, he was afraid for his wife...for what these monsters might be doing to her. That was the thought that had terrified Max Evans for the last 12 hours, that because of her relation to him, Liz would be subjected to that. And Max Evans...the husband and lover of Liz Evans, was NOT going to let that happen.
He felt the power gathering in him...almost unbidden...his body seeming to prepare itself for any coming conflict. Max wasn't afraid of dying. He wasn't afraid of killing. He felt the power surge into him as his palms began to tingle in anticipation. He was getting Liz out of this place. Failure was NOT an option.
He heard them only seconds before he saw them, the two Defender's knifing in to cut off his path toward the base and the dry lake bed in front of him. The amplified voice came from the first armored vehicle.
"You are under arrest for trespassing on a federal military reservation. Put your hands up kid...I want to see your palms, and they'd better be empty."
As Max pointed his palms at the two vehicles he fought back a sardonic smile. 'So they want to see my palms now, do they?'
0835 west buffer zone for Area 51 between sectors three and four
Sandman Stevens wasn't sure just how or where it had all gone to hell, but it had happened real quickly.
He'd been watching through the scope of his rifle and it had all been going so smoothly. The Defenders had rolled in on the kid like it had been choreographed and all at once he was looking at two armored trucks, two M-60 machine guns, and eight guys with rifles and pistols. It was a classic use of overwhelming force to shock and awe an opponent into immediate surrender without resistance.
'Well so much for theory,' he thought, as he looked across the quarter mile of open space to the two burning overturned Defenders. He heard the staccato bursts of fire from the M-16s but could tell from their disjointed nature that they weren't even firing at a target. That was suppressive fire...not aimed to kill. The guys with the vehicles had no better idea of where the kid had disappeared than Sandman did himself. The target had raised his hands as if to surrender and then.....Sandman really had no idea of exactly what HAD happened then.
It was like the scope of his rifle had been overloaded by heat rays or something coming from the kids hands. The entire IR scope had turned into one big bright white light, and it had taken it a minute to recover. Sandman still hadn't recovered, the bright orange phosphors from the IR scope flare leaving purplish afterimages in his vision even now.
Sandman was trying to scan...to pick the kid up again, trying to ignore the radio chatter while the guys at the vehicles were trying to sort out strategy between the two teams...trying to explain to security ops what the hell had gone on...as if any of them really knew.
Fortunately, they didn't appear to have any men down, though they must have been shaken up a bit when the Defenders went over on their sides. 'What the hell kind of weapon does that?' Sandman wondered. 'Those suckers are built on Ramcharger frames, then armored. How do you push something like that over on its side...push two of them over on their sides...in less than a second?" Not only that, the fires from their gas tanks were making it hard to see anything with the IR scope.
The Sandman was a professional though. He continued to have those thoughts...those doubts...those questions..., but they didn't stop him from doing his job. And his job was to find the kid again...to locate him...and either vector the others to him..or take him out. And since shots had been fired and action had been joined, he was authorized to use lethal force. 'Damn,' he thought. 'He just looked like a kid...just a harmless high school kid...' But he was more than that, Sandman knew. Because no simple high school kid could take out two vehicles and eight well armed and trained security guards in less than two seconds.
'Yeah,' he told himself, '...what a SNAFU.'
But professional that he was, the Sandman had been on offense for so long he'd forgotten something. It was probably because the target HAD looked just like a sixteen year old kid, and you really don't expect when you are a former Marine Recon sniper that a sixteen year old kid is going to go on offense against you while you are searching for him. If you did, you'd keep your vision out of your high power scope with the small field of vision and watch to see that no one was stalking you. He only forgot about that for a few seconds, but it was enough. As he brought the scope down and briefly scanned the horizon, he almost missed the pair of brown eyes staring at him from twelve feet away..but he didn't miss the flash of golden light from the boy's palm that sent him into unconsciousness.
For Sandman Stevens, the situation had just escalated from SNAFU to FUBAR.
Sandman Stevens wasn't sure just how or where it had all gone to hell, but it had happened real quickly.
He'd been watching through the scope of his rifle and it had all been going so smoothly. The Defenders had rolled in on the kid like it had been choreographed and all at once he was looking at two armored trucks, two M-60 machine guns, and eight guys with rifles and pistols. It was a classic use of overwhelming force to shock and awe an opponent into immediate surrender without resistance.
'Well so much for theory,' he thought, as he looked across the quarter mile of open space to the two burning overturned Defenders. He heard the staccato bursts of fire from the M-16s but could tell from their disjointed nature that they weren't even firing at a target. That was suppressive fire...not aimed to kill. The guys with the vehicles had no better idea of where the kid had disappeared than Sandman did himself. The target had raised his hands as if to surrender and then.....Sandman really had no idea of exactly what HAD happened then.
It was like the scope of his rifle had been overloaded by heat rays or something coming from the kids hands. The entire IR scope had turned into one big bright white light, and it had taken it a minute to recover. Sandman still hadn't recovered, the bright orange phosphors from the IR scope flare leaving purplish afterimages in his vision even now.
Sandman was trying to scan...to pick the kid up again, trying to ignore the radio chatter while the guys at the vehicles were trying to sort out strategy between the two teams...trying to explain to security ops what the hell had gone on...as if any of them really knew.
Fortunately, they didn't appear to have any men down, though they must have been shaken up a bit when the Defenders went over on their sides. 'What the hell kind of weapon does that?' Sandman wondered. 'Those suckers are built on Ramcharger frames, then armored. How do you push something like that over on its side...push two of them over on their sides...in less than a second?" Not only that, the fires from their gas tanks were making it hard to see anything with the IR scope.
The Sandman was a professional though. He continued to have those thoughts...those doubts...those questions..., but they didn't stop him from doing his job. And his job was to find the kid again...to locate him...and either vector the others to him..or take him out. And since shots had been fired and action had been joined, he was authorized to use lethal force. 'Damn,' he thought. 'He just looked like a kid...just a harmless high school kid...' But he was more than that, Sandman knew. Because no simple high school kid could take out two vehicles and eight well armed and trained security guards in less than two seconds.
'Yeah,' he told himself, '...what a SNAFU.'
But professional that he was, the Sandman had been on offense for so long he'd forgotten something. It was probably because the target HAD looked just like a sixteen year old kid, and you really don't expect when you are a former Marine Recon sniper that a sixteen year old kid is going to go on offense against you while you are searching for him. If you did, you'd keep your vision out of your high power scope with the small field of vision and watch to see that no one was stalking you. He only forgot about that for a few seconds, but it was enough. As he brought the scope down and briefly scanned the horizon, he almost missed the pair of brown eyes staring at him from twelve feet away..but he didn't miss the flash of golden light from the boy's palm that sent him into unconsciousness.
For Sandman Stevens, the situation had just escalated from SNAFU to FUBAR.
0835 Security Section, Area 51 (Groom's Lake) Nevada
Bob Davidson looked up from the monitor as the Commander entered the section.
“What happened?” Slammer asked him.
“It started as a routine stop, sir. A single target…came in by Jeep from the northeast. He dismounted about an hour ago and we tracked him with the audio sensors……the guy was exceptionally good at avoiding the scanning cameras, but the scout from team three…radio call three-four, Sandman, got a visual on him. Sandman vectored not one, but two full teams into blocking position. They stopped him..told him to raise his hands…that’s when all hell broke loose. Guys were thrown everywhere, both Defenders tipped over and set afire…by the time the teams had gotten over their shock..the guy was gone.”
“What kind of a weapon did the guy have, for Pete’s sake?”
“That’s the crazy thing, sir. Nobody saw ANY weapons. He held his hands out and then it was like these golden energy beams shot out..upsetting the vehicles, tumbling everybody around.”
“Golden beams?” asked Slammer, recalling the story told by the retired Master Sergeant. ‘Omigawd,’ thought Slammer. ‘The target is an alien…’
“Bob..we need to get in touch with the security people over at Tonopah Test Range and Doctor Peter Stanbeck. Tell them to double the security on the ship. Tell them we are under attack here…by one or more aliens.”
“You’re not kidding, are you sir?” said Davidson, his face sober.
“No Bob, I’m not.”
“In that case, I have even worse news. We have a man out of contact…the scout from team three,…Sandman.”
“What do you mean, out of contact?”
“Just that, sir. He was on the radio immediately after the attack, then went off the air while the teams were still communicating what had happened. We can’t raise him.”
“Anything on the audio sensors?”
“Sorry sir,” said Jeremy. “With all those guys milling and bunching…with the burning ammo going off in the Defenders…we can’t sort anything out near there right now. When he gets further away from the area of sensor 47…well, hopefully we can pick him up again.”
“What you mean,” said Slammer, “..is that as the target gets closer to here…we might pick him up again.”
“Yessir.”
“Well, I’d suggest you pull your other teams in…condense the area for them to cover…then have everyone be still, in hopes that we can pick him out and then have more forces close enough to get to him. It sounds like the only good news we have is that the ship he’s looking for is over at Tonopah. Even if he gets in here…he’s going to come away with empty hands. And with all our forces pulled in, we should have pretty overwhelming firepower superiority, I don’t care if he has lasers shooting out of his eyes.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” said Bob Davison. “It’s just too bad about Sandman.”
“There are losses in all wars. I’m just wondering how we got in a war after a half century. Maybe it was the activation of that orb by that idiot Blaukopf.”
“I almost wish it was,” said Captain Jim Hawthorne who had come in the door only a few seconds before.
“I stopped by your office to get you before coming here, not realizing you’d already left….”
“And???”
“As I left, your secretary told me to tell you….Chaves county New Mexico….the county seat is Roswell.”
The thoughts swirled through Slammer’s head….Roswell New Mexico….he was adopted….the funny smile when he’d told her she couldn’t tell her husband about the existence of aliens..
“Max…..she said when she was doped up, that he’d come for her.”
“That’s only half the problem sir. I tried to call both Liz and Laurie while I was running over here…their phones don’t even ring…they just go to voicemail. Something’s happened to them.”
Bob Davidson looked up from the monitor as the Commander entered the section.
“What happened?” Slammer asked him.
“It started as a routine stop, sir. A single target…came in by Jeep from the northeast. He dismounted about an hour ago and we tracked him with the audio sensors……the guy was exceptionally good at avoiding the scanning cameras, but the scout from team three…radio call three-four, Sandman, got a visual on him. Sandman vectored not one, but two full teams into blocking position. They stopped him..told him to raise his hands…that’s when all hell broke loose. Guys were thrown everywhere, both Defenders tipped over and set afire…by the time the teams had gotten over their shock..the guy was gone.”
“What kind of a weapon did the guy have, for Pete’s sake?”
“That’s the crazy thing, sir. Nobody saw ANY weapons. He held his hands out and then it was like these golden energy beams shot out..upsetting the vehicles, tumbling everybody around.”
“Golden beams?” asked Slammer, recalling the story told by the retired Master Sergeant. ‘Omigawd,’ thought Slammer. ‘The target is an alien…’
“Bob..we need to get in touch with the security people over at Tonopah Test Range and Doctor Peter Stanbeck. Tell them to double the security on the ship. Tell them we are under attack here…by one or more aliens.”
“You’re not kidding, are you sir?” said Davidson, his face sober.
“No Bob, I’m not.”
“In that case, I have even worse news. We have a man out of contact…the scout from team three,…Sandman.”
“What do you mean, out of contact?”
“Just that, sir. He was on the radio immediately after the attack, then went off the air while the teams were still communicating what had happened. We can’t raise him.”
“Anything on the audio sensors?”
“Sorry sir,” said Jeremy. “With all those guys milling and bunching…with the burning ammo going off in the Defenders…we can’t sort anything out near there right now. When he gets further away from the area of sensor 47…well, hopefully we can pick him up again.”
“What you mean,” said Slammer, “..is that as the target gets closer to here…we might pick him up again.”
“Yessir.”
“Well, I’d suggest you pull your other teams in…condense the area for them to cover…then have everyone be still, in hopes that we can pick him out and then have more forces close enough to get to him. It sounds like the only good news we have is that the ship he’s looking for is over at Tonopah. Even if he gets in here…he’s going to come away with empty hands. And with all our forces pulled in, we should have pretty overwhelming firepower superiority, I don’t care if he has lasers shooting out of his eyes.”
“Sounds like a good plan,” said Bob Davison. “It’s just too bad about Sandman.”
“There are losses in all wars. I’m just wondering how we got in a war after a half century. Maybe it was the activation of that orb by that idiot Blaukopf.”
“I almost wish it was,” said Captain Jim Hawthorne who had come in the door only a few seconds before.
“I stopped by your office to get you before coming here, not realizing you’d already left….”
“And???”
“As I left, your secretary told me to tell you….Chaves county New Mexico….the county seat is Roswell.”
The thoughts swirled through Slammer’s head….Roswell New Mexico….he was adopted….the funny smile when he’d told her she couldn’t tell her husband about the existence of aliens..
“Max…..she said when she was doped up, that he’d come for her.”
“That’s only half the problem sir. I tried to call both Liz and Laurie while I was running over here…their phones don’t even ring…they just go to voicemail. Something’s happened to them.”