by Mic Shannon
“Hey, Cynt, you ready to go?” she said.
“Um,” she looked at Michael, who motioned for her to go ahead without him, although she could tell that it wasn’t what he wanted, “is it okay if Mike comes with us?”
“Yeah, that’s cool! We’ve got another seat,” Gianna said almost immediately. Bucky looked away and rolled his eyes.
“Cool,” she replied, “let’s go!”
“Are you sure…” began Michael in a cautious tone.
Cynthia grabbed his hand and pulled him along, “Stop it Mike, let’s go!”
They packed into the tiny sedan and pulled out of the school parking lot. As Bucky turned onto the main road and activated self-driving technology, the two girls were chatting away. Gianna was turned around in the front seat, talking to Cynthia in the back.
“Did Janelle get the alcohol?” asked Cynthia.
“Yes, girl, we about to get it in tonight!”
Gianna was excited about drinking. For her, it made her forget about her issues.
“So,” said Michael to Bucky’s girlfriend, “we’ve never actually met. What’s your name?”
“I’m Gianna. I’m Cynthia’s best friend. So, don’t mess with her or we’re gonna have to see each other with these hands,” she said, pretending to throw a few girl punches into the air.
“Don’t listen to her, she’s crazy,” said Cynthia, laughing.
“Well, Gianna,” replied Michael, jokingly, “you don’t have to worry about that. I don’t want any problems.”
“You’re right, you don’t,” she barked in a humorous reply.
“Shut up Gianna,” cut in Cynthia, embarrassed.
“No, all jokes aside, you seem cool though, Mike,” said Gianna with an accepting tone as she turned around and faced forward in her seat.
“Thanks,” he said with a smile, “you’re not bad yourself once you stop trying to beat me up.”
“Oh, whatever,” she said, both girls breaking out into laughter.
Bucky turned on the radio and turned the volume up, making conversation impossible without yelling. Gianna reached over and pushed Bucky’s head lightly, letting him know that she knew he was doing it intentionally and she didn’t like it. Bucky shot her a dirty look as she turned away from him and looked out of the passenger side window. The rest of the ride was silent.
--- 10:42 pm ---
When they pulled up to the party and exited the car, they could hear the music from the driveway. When they knocked on the door, a tall, muscular jock opened it and welcomed them in with a smile. He seemed much older than everyone else, a grown man, but much younger than a parent.
Stepping into the house, there were people dancing in the open area by the stairs. To the left, the kitchen had a beer pong table and alcoholic beverages, along with pizza and bottles of water. To the right, the living room had people sitting down on the two couches, talking and laughing about the prom as they sipped from their plastic cups and tapped the keg in the middle of the floor.
“Hey, who’s this guy I never seen him before,” said the tall, stocky jock in the doorway, smiling afterward to confirm that he was joking.
“This is Mike, he’s cool,” said Cynthia, vouching for him.
“Hey, what’s up man?” said the jock, extending his hand, “I’m Derek.”
“What’s up,” said Michael.
“Welcome, man. Enjoy yourself. As long as you don’t ruin my house, clog my toilet, or start any fights, we’re cool.”
“Not unless they start with me,” Michael replied, “but I don’t plan on it.”
The jock shot a look over at Bucky, cracking a smile, then looked back at Michael. “Well, I think everyone here is gonna be cool.”
--- 11:37 pm ---
As the night continued, Michael observed the festivities. Derek had a crowd of jocks from the school around him the entire night, but they didn’t seem too bad. Tony, the quarterback for their high school had offered Michael a drink, but he was too afraid to get drunk for the first time in front of everyone, especially Cynthia, so he turned it down.
He started to enjoy being the only one sober, watching the others yell over each other and stumble around. Bucky was noticeably drunk after only a few mixed drinks, drawing everyone’s attention in a display of drunken stupor. Weeble wobble, but never fall down. Everyone kept cracking jokes on him and snickering, but Bucky didn’t really say much. Derek eventually began messing with him and laughing, taunting him by making him go grab him a beer. It was an obvious show of dominance, but Bucky just went and got it, as if this was commonplace.
Cynthia had spent most of the night with her girlfriends, occasionally glancing over at Michael, who sat on the couch next to one of the honor students rolling a joint. Michael just observed everyone, keeping to himself and laughing at everyone’s goofy behavior. After a while, Gianna walked over to Michael, wine cooler in hand.
“You should, like, go talk to her,” she said, motioning her head toward Cynthia.
“Well, I didn’t really wanna interrupt,” he replied.
“Trust me, go.”
He approached her casually, sitting on the couch next to her as her friends all got up and walked away in unison, as if they had been expecting this moment the entire night. He brushed his hands over his tuxedo sleeves nervously, trying to make sure it was neat. She smiled at him and spoke.
“Hey Mike,” she said warmly, “are you having fun?”
“Yeah, yeah, the party’s cool,” he said, “what about you?”
“Yeah, well, Derek throws parties like this all the time. Our dad goes out of town a lot, so it’s kind of like the party spot. It’s pretty fun if you’re into hanging out and drinking and stuff. I usually just kick it with Gianna and her friends.”
Michael paused for a second, “So, Derek’s your brother?”
“Yeah,” she replied, “He’s cool. He plays defensive tackle for Virginia Tech. When he heard I was going to prom, he came back to throw me a party.”
“Oh, nice. So, what about you? Do you like hanging out and drinking?” he asked.
“Well, I don’t drink so…” she shrugged her shoulders and made an ‘I don’t know’ face, “but I do enjoy hanging out with the people I care about.”
Michael smiled slightly, “Do you enjoy hanging out with me?”
She looked him in his eyes and paused, cracking a smile. She looked down in embarrassment and then looked back up, batting her eyelids. She stared at him for a moment, and then put a hand on his thigh.
“Come on, follow me,” she said as she stood up and walked toward the back door.
Michael looked around, then got up and followed. She led him outside into the back yard. They walked around to the side of the house to a small staircase leading down to a doorway. As Michael crossed through the entryway, she revealed to him a nicely decorated room riddled with posters; Muhammad Ali, Michael Jordan, Jay-Z, Bob Marley. It definitely set an age for the room’s decorator. The lights were fancy, with a large flat screen television and a surround sound stereo system.
“My dad calls this his man cave,” she said, “I come down here sometimes to hang out and get away.”
“I like the setup,” he said, “What does your dad do?”
“He works at a tech factory during the day, but at night he works as a bartender at the spot up the street,” she replied, “wanna sit down?”
They sat down on the leather couch in the fancy room in silence for a few moments. He sat still, admiring her beauty. She had a shy expression on her face.
“So,” he said, “do you wanna watch TV or…”
She kissed him mid-sentence. It took him by surprise. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the unexpected moment. The kiss lasted for about five seconds; way longer than he’d expected it to last. When she pulled away, he still had his eyes closed.
He opened them and looked at her, smiling from ear-to-ear. She looked so shy and innocent in her passion. His night couldn’t get any better.
/> “I wasn’t out of line, was I?” she said, noticeably vulnerable in her embarrassment, “I just felt like…”
He kissed her back. She closed her eyes as he brought his hand up to her face, putting his fingers behind her neck to pull her closer and rubbing her cheek with his thumb. As she pushed her body up against his, he could feel his heart beating faster and faster.
She pushed him back into his seat and threw one leg over his lap to sit facing him, flipping her hair and putting her fingers underneath his chin to kiss him again. As the kissing got more intense, Michael rolled her over onto her back on the couch and pushed up in between her legs.
“Wait, wait,” she said, pushing him back and putting a finger over his lips.
“What’s wrong,” he asked, surprised. Did he ruin it? He wondered.
“I just,” she paused, “I just have to get this out okay?”
He searched his mind, thinking of what he might have possibly done wrong. He didn’t want to be too pushy. He really liked her.
“I really like you,” she said, “ever since you came to our school I always thought you were so cute.”
She had a quiet sense of sincerity and defenselessness in her voice as she spoke.
“But like,” she continued, “I just had to tell you…this is my first time.” She paused, “I mean, I’ve had guys try to sleep with me before, but I always just wanted it to be special.”
It took him completely by surprise. Her first time? She, it seemed, was nowhere near the girl that he had originally thought she was when she first came to sit at his table in the school lunch room. And to him, he was glad that he had it wrong.
“I guess what I’m trying to say is, I’ve dated plenty of jerks, but you’re different. There’s something special about you. I can see it in your eyes. Just don’t ever lose that. Don’t ever change, okay?”
Michael smiled. It was his first time too. There were a million butterflies in his stomach, prancing around while sparks shot through his body with every touch, but he had never had a more perfect moment in his life. He didn’t say anything; he just leaned back down and continued to kiss her slowly.
SAT, MAY 13th, 2034
Washington, DC, USA
10:58 am
D irector Horn sat in the White House boardroom alone, waiting on the President to arrive. In his hand, he held a brown folder marked Top Secret. He had the folder open, reading the files, still trying to piece together what could possibly be happening. He took a sip of his glass of water and sat it back down on the boardroom table.
The door opened and the President walked in quietly, sitting down in the chair next to him and adjusting her suit jacket. He dropped the thick folder onto the table with a thud and stood up.
“There’s your files,” he said as he turned and paced away flipping back his suit jacket to put his hands on his hips.
“Are you kidding me?” she said, looking down at the folder, “who does Top Secret paper documents anymore?”
She opened the folder and looked at the contents. The first thing she saw was the same circular symbol. She was immediately intrigued. The next thing she saw, affixed to the inside of the folder, was a small gray floppy disk.
“So, is that supposed to be a globe or what?” she asked, pointing to the symbol.
The Director was silent, still in his thoughts. Before she could speak again, he cut her off, looking deep into her eyes.
“Ma’am…you might want to cut the audio surveillance for this.”
She stared at him for a moment, reading the seriousness in his expression, then stood up and approached the wall nearest to the doorway. Pressing a button, she raised a concealed panel from the wall and unplugged a small security device with a blinking red LED light. The blinking stopped.
“This document,” began the CIA Director, “says that in nineteen ninety-seven we sent a group of the brightest minds to an Earth-like planet near the closest star, Alpha Centauri, to look for another habitable world.”
“Excuse me, what?” she said, squinting her eyes and scrunching her brow, uncertain of how to process the outlandishly ridiculous statement that the poker-faced man in front of her had just made.
“Well, not just us. I’ve read the entire file. This was a global effort…”
“Wait, hold on,” she interrupted, still processing, “I need you to run this by me one more time. You’re telling me, that forty years ago we sent people to another planet?”
“Yes ma’am,” he replied calmly.
“And these people are what? Coming back?” she scrunched her brow again, “How could we have launched three giant spacecrafts to another planet and no one knows about it?”
“It might be…well…a little tough to understand, but here goes,” the Director began as he sat down in the seat to her right, “In the spring of nineteen ninety-six, a research group out of Hong Kong discovered how to sustain a wormhole trajectory. Well, let me slow down. Basically, they learned how to create a wormhole through which one could travel down a fixed trajectory that would land them directly in the Centauri System.”
The President sat up in thought, listening to the story. It was beginning to go from outlandish to creepy.
“So, when they brought this to the attention of the Chinese government, the leaders of the free world convened in secret. And what they decided was that this might be their best shot at interplanetary habitation. That’s when a coalition was formed. They took elements from MSS, MI6, CIA, GRU, ISI, Mossad, RAW, BND, DGSE, ASIS, I mean, you name an acronym and they were there.”
The Director paused for a moment, taking a sip from his glass.
“They took their top pilots, their top researchers, astronauts, and even security forces, and they planned a mission. And in nineteen ninety-seven, they launched that mission…”
“Ok wait,” said the President, stopping him, “now all of this happened in nineteen ninety-seven?”
“That’s correct,”
“Jeez. I wasn’t even born until a year later. So how did they launch them without the world taking notice?” she asked.
“They used something called Optical Camouflage III. A nifty little third-generation invention created back in the nineties that allowed an object to appear invisible by bending light around it. It had originally been created for use in combat, but proved ineffective due to friendly fire incidents. They covered the disks in the material.”
“So how come we seem them?”
“That’s a good question, ma’am.”
“Do you think maybe it burned off when leaving the atmosphere?”
“I can find out what temperature OC III burns at ma’am.”
“Yes, and also see if we can get any more information from the other governments who were involved. I’m sure by now they should have taken notice of the three unidentified objects.”
He was silent.
“I don’t think they’re going to have any information, ma’am,” he remarked.
“Why not?”
Well,” he said, “this is where it gets deep. Originally, we sent four crafts through the wormhole. In two thousand and seventeen, one of them returned.”
“You’re kidding me,” she said, “well, what happened?”
“The disk contacted the headquarters in London alerting them of their landing coordinates, and crashed landed on a British countryside. The craft was beyond repair but that’s not the interesting part. There was only one person on board. Only one on the entire disk. And they had quite a lot to say.”
The President shifted her weight in her chair.
“Apparently, this was one of the researchers, sent back by the others. They said that they made it to the planet and set up operations. That they began taking samples and compiling data…until something happened. Said that we needed to send help back immediately. Something had them spooked.”
“Well do we know what that something was?”
“No, no not exactly. The documents only said that there were some strange thi
ngs about what they had discovered there. That people would die if we didn’t send help. The transcripts of the full conversation were omitted.”
“So, did we send help?”
“The launch didn’t even exist. And they made that very clear to her. The documents state it as a failed mission and says the rest of the crew was never recovered.”
“I don’t understand,” said the President, “why leave them to die?”
“It was political,” he continued, “they decided they couldn’t risk knowledge of this leaking out to the press. The world finding out that we sent people to another planet, and now they’re in danger and we have no way to get them back? I mean, imagine the chaos, the distrust, the anger. Best case scenario, worldwide unrest. Worst case scenario, a coup. So, they buried it. They buried the whole thing. Every agency destroyed proof of their involvement. But apparently, Britain kept a copy.”
“What about this floppy disk?” she asked, holding it up, “What’s this?”
“My source says they’re mission files,” he shifted his weight in his chair, “Unfortunately, they’re encrypted by the owner using a written program. They were unable to crack it.”
“Unbelievable,” she said, sitting back and rubbing her brow, “So now these people return and what? They’re forty years older with a grudge?”
“We don’t know what might happen,” he admitted, “We don’t know if they’ll even be alive. All we know is that someone launched those disks back toward Earth, and hopefully, they’ll be someone alive on those crafts who can give us some answers.”
“We need to do damage control,” she said, pulling out her PDA device, “buy us some time so this doesn’t blow up in our faces.”
“You’re telling me,” he said, running his fingers through his hair.
“Contact NASA, tell Dunn not to talk to the press. I don’t want him making any overzealous statements. We’ll have someone else do it.”
