The Children of Roswell (Book One) The Swift Chronicle

by Alan James

  “Yeah,” Will said, “but they’re Eniac and Univac.”

  “Can’t be,” Kelly said, “those things fill an entire building. I’ve seen pictures of ‘em. You’d never fit one in here.”

  Will smiled, “That, my friend, was nineteen-fifty-one. A lot has happened in the last three years. And,” he said, holding a finger up to make a point, “they say that in another year or three, you’ll be able to fit one in the trunk of your car.”

  Kelly looked at Will’s screen again. The only thing on it was a three-view outline of a very sleek looking jet aircraft. Other than that, the only interesting feature was the word ORDINANCE stenciled on the frame above the display.

  “So,” Kelly said, trying to pry a little more information from Will, “why do you get to sit and do nothing?”

  Will turned away from Kelly, looking once again down the length of the trailer. He spoke without looking at Kelly. “The less I have to do, the better it is for everybody.”

  “What do you mean?” Kelly asked quietly.

  Will started to speak, then stopped short. Staring at Kelly, it appeared that he wanted to say something, but instead, he changed the subject. “Do you have your orders?” he asked.

  Kelly looked at his briefcase, still sitting at the other end of the trailer where Brickman had left it, then back at Will. He was now quite sure he wasn’t going to get any more in the way of information from him, so he stood and walked the length of the trailer to retrieve the case. He sat and thumbed open the latches at each side, and, still sitting backwards in the chair, awkwardly opened the briefcase between his chest and the backrest. As he pulled his orders from between a stack of papers, a small metal container, the size of an aspirin tin, fell to the floor. Will reached down and picked it up.

  “That’s supposed to go to Dr. Forest,” Kelly said as he halfheartedly reached toward the container. When he realized that Will was not going to return it immediately, he changed his open handed grab to a sheepishly pointing finger. “That’s supposed to go…” his voice tapered off as he watched Will lift the top from the small box and carefully empty the contents into the palm of his hand. Sandwiched between two pieces of cotton-packing was a small, sealed, cellophane envelope. Will held it to the light above them.

  “Each time I see one of these, it’s smaller than the one before,” he said as he turned the envelope from side to side, front to back. Inside the cellophane was a tiny, round disc. It was no thicker than a human hair, with a diameter no larger than a twenty-two caliber bullet. Kelly was now more curious than upset.

  “What is it?” he asked as Will lowered the little package between them.

  “It’s a wafer transceiver. Our people in Maryland were supposed to implant it,” he said while holding it up to Kelly’s left temple, “right there … before you got to Tucson.”

  “Why didn’t they?” Kelly replied.

  “I don’t know for sure, but I can guess,” said Will, pausing as if, again, wanting to say more. “At any rate, their failure to do so is why Cory met you outside with a gun. We’d have known who you were, if this had been activated.” He slipped the disc back between the cotton packing and tucked it into its container and finally handed it to Kelly.

  Ben Perkins voice suddenly filled the trailer, “It’s her Ken.”

  “Are you sure?” Matson replied. “I don’t hear a damned thing but static.”

  Cory Brickman chuckled as he reached to his side and laid a hand on Matson’s shoulder. “When was the last time you ever made anything but static out of the recovery signal?”

  “Alright! Alright,” Matson barked, “so it’s her.” He took a neatly folded twenty dollar bill from his shirt pocket and tossed it over to Perkins. Ben had obviously won the bet to see who would hear the recovery signal first. For Matson, it was a losing battle. Ben had always been first to hear the signal, and probably always would. After all, he had designed the program for hiding coded messages in background static almost ten years ago. It was only natural that he would hear a signature of his own making. Matson would, however, year after year, accept the losing wager. But then, that was one of his little programs. One of his little ways of lightening the tensions over the long days filled with continual boredom. He was also responsible for Brickman’s favorite, playing cowboy, and the now defunct, “pizza run to Tucson”. The team’s original security officer had been lost during that one. He was cited for speeding in town, and, like all good soldiers, he stuck to his cover story. He was just an English professor from Seattle, spending a couple weeks photographing Indian ruins in the southwest. All team members knew that they were not allowed to return to the trailer once the civil authorities could put them anywhere in, or near, the state of Arizona. From that point on, as a team member, he simply ceased to exist.

  IDENTIFICATION

  Matson tapped his keyboard, asking for the event schedule. The green monitor blinked once, then displayed:

  EVENT SCHEDULE

  LOCAL TIME 01:46

  RECOVERY 01:44

  IDENTIFICATION 02:02

  ACCEPTANCE 02:04

  RECALL 03:01

  ACCEPPTANCE 2 03:03

  LANDING 00:00

  DEPARTURE 00:00

  Matson studied it for a moment, then spoke to Perkins, “ … you ready with the ident tape Ben?”

  “Comin’ right up,” Ben said as he reached for a small lock box at the far side of his table. He keyed the lock, opened the box and pulled out a tape cartridge marked “IDENT”. He handed it to Forest who turned it slowly in his fingertips. Raising it to eye level, he turned toward Matson. As their eyes met over the top of the tape, Forest raised an eyebrow in question and Matson answered with a quick nod, then watched as Forest slid it into the player at the base of his terminal. It swallowed it slowly; the dust cover closing with a snap. Forest’s hands went to his keyboard and his screen answered:

  IDENTIFICATION

  SEND 02:02 LOCAL

  LOCAL 01:58

  TRANSMIT SEQUENCE ACTIVATED ON

  ENTER

  Forest took a deep breath and pressed ENTER. “Now we wait,” he said, almost to himself.

  Matson, having heard Forest’s quiet refrain, turned to him and said, “She’s comin’ home this time. I can feel it.”

  Forest slid his chair back and stood up. “Well, we’ll know for sure in an hour or so, how ‘bout some coffee?”

  As Matson and Forest moved toward the cafeteria sized coffeepot sitting against the wall, Kelly closed his briefcase and set it on the floor beside his chair. Still clutching the little box which held the transceiver, he stood and slowly made his way toward Dr. Forest. As he walked, he looked at each monitor in turn. The time and event schedule now filled each screen. He watched as the LOCAL TIME blinked its way, second by second, toward IDENTIFICATION.

  Forest turned to meet Kelly, “Ah Lieutenant, what can I do for you?” His eyes moved to Kelly’s hand holding the little box. “What do we have here?” he said as he reached for it.

  It was obvious that Forest knew what was in the little package. He took it from Kelly and held it where everyone in the room could see it.

  “Gentlemen, look here. The boys in Maryland have lost all hope. They didn’t even bother to integrate our pilot this time.”

  Matson took the box from Forest. “I’ll be!” he said, turning to Kelly. “Did they tell you why they didn’t implant this? Did they tell you,” he continued before Kelly could answer, “what it was for?”

  Kelly stared at Matson for a moment. It was just as well with him that they hadn’t cut him open and placed the little disc in his head. ‘Just as well, indeed,’ he thought to himself. Matson didn’t seem angry; at least Kelly didn’t think so. It just looked to him that Matson had expected one thing, and go
t another.

  “No!” Kelly said. “No one told me a thing before I left the east coast. I’ve been sitting in Tucson for two weeks, just waiting. Then, earlier this evening they shoved an envelope with my orders under my arm and pointed me at the door; said a driver was waiting outside. On the way out someone handed me that little box with instructions to give it to Dr. Forest. The next thing I knew … I was in a motor-pool car headed here. When the car stopped, the driver said to walk toward the trailer.”

  “Then it’s true,” Matson said, “ … they have finally given up. They don’t believe she’s ever coming home.” He tossed the little box toward the back of his desk.

  “If that’s really the case,” Forest replied, “why wouldn’t they have told us … and why bother to send a pilot?”

  “Why should they tell us anything?” Matson said. “Even if they are thinking about closing us down, they’d still need us out here … for awhile anyway. Somebody has to keep track of her, at least until all the loose ends are tied up,” he hesitated, “until they find a way to destroy her.”

  “Destroy her?” Cory broke in. “Why would they do that?”

  “What do you think, Cory,” Matson said, “you think they’re just going to walk away and abandon her?”

  “Abandon who?” Kelly said. “Destroy what?” he continued.

  “Look Kellerman,” Matson replied, “if they told you nothing back east, or in Tucson, then that must be the way they want it, for now anyway.”

  Matson looked at Will Johnson who was now walking up from the far end of the trailer. Matson had a question written all over his face, and Will knew exactly what it was.

  “No boss,” he said, before Matson could ask, “I didn’t tell him a thing.”

  “Good,” said Matson, then turning to Kelly, “look, I know you’ve got a bunch of questions you want answered, but, you’re going to have to wait awhile longer. Just keep this in mind: you are our pilot. And, if you’ve got just a little patience, you just might get a chance to fly one hell of an airplane.” He reached up and placed a fatherly hand on Kelly’s shoulder. “And that, my young friend, has got to be enough to hold you for now.” Matson continued to look at Kelly, waiting for at least a nod in the affirmative. When none came, he turned and looked toward his monitor. The time had counted up to 02:02. The computer beeped once and the light on the tape player began to blink.

  Perkins was still sitting at his table, his headphones still pressed tightly to his ears. He was listening as the IDENT signal went out. Just ten seconds, and it was over. He turned to look at the others standing at the coffee pot. They were all looking back at him as he gave a timid thumbs-up.

  Matson raised his hand, gesturing toward Perkins’ screen, “Well boys,” he said, “now she knows we’re here.”

  “Yeah,” said Cory, “and in about a minute and a half, we’ll know if she gives a damn.”

  Matson, Brickman and Will Johnson moved to positions behind Perkins’ chair, watching his screen rather than their own. Forest sat down at his table to their left. Kelly found himself standing alone, and quickly moved to Matson’s table. He watched as the local time clicked upwards.

  ‘What had he gotten himself into now?’ he thought to himself. ‘And why all this mystery?’

  He stood there silently, with his hands on the back of Matson’s chair. He rose slightly onto the balls of his feet, hoping no one would notice, as the shiver that had started its way up his spine when he was outside with Brickman, now finished its little journey to the back of his neck.

  As local time on the screen hit 02:03, the display went blank. Matson bent forward, putting a hand on Perkins shoulder. “C’mon,” he pleaded at the screen.

  Perkins looked at his watch. Since the local time was no longer being displayed on the screen, he counted out loud, “Twenty seconds … twenty-five … thirty … thirty-five.”

  “Another twenty five seconds,” Johnson broke in, “and we’re outta business. Just like last year,” he paused, “ … just like every year.”

  “… fifty … fifty-five … sixty.” Perkins stopped counting as the screens came back on.

  Silence filled the room, and, after what seemed like an eternity, “Is that it Ben?” Matson said, squeezing Perkins shoulder.

  Perkins turned to Matson, “Let’s send the ident code again.”

  “Damn,” Matson half whispered.

  Perkins turned to face Matson and started to ask his question again, but Matson hadn’t finished, “Damn,” he said again, then, suddenly realizing what Perkins had said, “what? Oh hell! Ben, we sent it four times last year, and it didn’t make a bit of difference.”

  Matson looked out the long black window into the darkness. Johnson was making his way back to his chair in the rear. Brickman moved to his station and rested his head in his hands. Disappointment seemed to flood the trailer.

  Matson, still standing behind Perkins and still looking out into the night, laid both hands on Perkins shoulders. He gave him a little shake and said, “Go ahead Ben, send it again.” He paused and then shook him again, “We’ve got nothing but time.”

  Perkins started to reach for his keyboard when Kelly, who had been watching Matson’s screen, said, “Hey! Wait! Look!” pointing toward the monitor. “It’s changed. The schedule … it’s changed.”

  Perkins ran his finger half way down the screen … and … there it was. He seemed dumbstruck. He couldn’t speak. The trailer was again silent. The line, that before had read: ACCEPTANCE 02:04, now read ACCEPTED 02:04.

  Matson, still holding Perkins by the shoulders, began shaking him like a rag doll. Brickman, who had stood to see what Kelly was pointing at, now grabbed Matson. Johnson was back from the other end of the trailer, and got in on the celebration.

  Kelly stepped back and watched in mild amusement. ‘Five grown men,’ he thought to himself, ‘jumping around like kids.’ He felt pleased, and disappointed. He had been the first to notice, what was now the cause of their little celebration, but no one was paying him any attention. He looked again at the screen, then back at the men; still shaking; still dancing.

  Slowly the group started to settle down. Perkins fell back into his chair, nearly out of breath. Brickman and Johnson shook hands for another thirty seconds, turning it into a one armed Indian wrestling match, laughing all the time. Matson turned, looking for Kelly, who was standing a few steps off, still staring at them.

  “Hey, Lieutenant,” he said, “why the long face?”

  Matson took a couple steps toward Kelly and bear hugged him as another uncontrollable rush of excitement overtook him. Kelly just stood there, with both arms hanging at his side. Matson stepped back and slapped Kelly’s shoulders with both hands. “Smile,” he laughingly demanded, then paused as he looked questioningly into Kelly’s eyes. “Don’t you know what this means?” he asked.

  “Hell no, he doesn’t know,” Perkins said from his chair. “How could he? He just got here.”

  Matson regained a little composure. He tapped his shirt pockets, then his front pants pockets with his open hands as if looking for something. Brickman knew exactly what he was looking for. He reached to his shirt pocket and pulled out an old, ragged pack of Camels. He shook one up and offered it to Matson who lipped it without lighting. He never lit his cigarettes. He just used them to keep his hands busy when he was nervous. He looked at Kelly again and continued, “What this means Lieutenant, is maybe, just maybe, after three years of waiting, I’m going to have an airplane for my pilot … that’s you …,” he said poking him in the chest, “ … to fly.”

  Kelly was again bursting with questions, but he had no idea where to start. He was still remembering Matson’s little talk about being patient, so, he decided to ask something obvious.

  “So,” he said, looking around, then back at Matson, “what happens next?”

  “That’s it?” Matson asked with a smile. “Now that I can finally tell you som
ething, all you want to know is what happens next?”

  Perkins heard where the conversation was headed and broke in: “Ken, I know you want to fill the Lieutenant in … we all do, but, we’ve got a long way to go yet, and she’s a long way from being parked on the apron out front.”

  Matson looked a little disappointed as the reality of what Perkins had just said began to sink in. Perkins got up and walked over. “Look,” he said to Matson, “you’re the boss, and you can tell him what you like. But, if she doesn’t come home tonight,” he paused and motioned with a head nod toward Kelly, “then the Lieutenant here, already knows all he needs to know.”

  Matson, looking at Kelly, but talking to Perkins, said, “Yeah, you’re right. But the Lieutenant only asked what happens next. I think we can tell him that much.”

  Kelly turned and stepped over to Perkins screen and then turned again to Matson. “If all you’re going to tell me is what happens next, then you can consider my question rhetorical. It’s obvious what happens next,” he said, looking again at Perkins screen: “We wait ‘till 3:01, and do the same thing all over again.”

  RECALL

  With a little less than an hour to kill, Kelly walked back to the rear of the trailer and took his seat next to Will’s station.

  He sat facing the monitor; still nothing but the little three-view on the screen, and the ominous ORDINANCE in prominent view. Will followed, and sat beside him without speaking. To the left of the monitor was a radar screen. Will reached to his left and threw a switch on the console. Then, acting as if he had forgotten something, he stood and started back to the other end of the trailer. The CRT slowly came to life with its eerie yellow-green glow. Kelly watched as the sweep painted a couple returns. He could see echoes coming from the east and south. ‘Those had to be out over Tucson … not much activity this time of night,’ he thought, ‘just one anonymous echo and one with transponder information; probably one of those new seven-oh-sevens landing at the municipal airport.’ The anonymous was most likely a private plane. Maybe someone coming home late, or leaving early. He imagined: ‘perhaps, a business man, just getting in from a late meeting in Chicago, his wife waiting to pick him up, or maybe, a father and son heading west to the High Sierras for a little trout fishing.’