Voice of the Elders

by Greg Ripley

  “Thanks, Bob. Is Special Agent Reynolds here yet?”

  “He should be with you shortly. Why don’t we go ahead and get you settled in?” he said.

  The first two agents followed them as Bob showed them to a room, stationing themselves outside as Bob gave them the brief tour. As it was a dorm room with two beds, two dressers, and little else, the tour consisted of Bob pointing out where the bathroom was. Bob once again reminded them to let him know if they needed anything and left them alone.

  “Boy, this brings back memories,” Rohini said.

  “Of time spent at the FBI?”

  “No, just this dorm room; it reminds me of college. I feel like I should be hanging up posters or putting a quilt from home on the bed.”

  “Let’s see, were you more the boyband type or the Bob Marley type?” Jane teased. “I’m guessing reggae.”

  “I like some reggae, but I think the Bob Marley posters are more of a guy thing in college,” Rohini replied, putting her hands on her hips and cocking her head to one side.

  “Let’s see, you’re idealistic… maybe Gandhi? No that would be too cliché, and probably a guy thing too. How about Malala? Does she have posters? Oh, I know. What about that woman who lived in the tree, what was her name?”

  There was a knock at the door, so Jane abandoned her good-natured ribbing of Rohini and went to open it. One of the Secret Service agents was outside with a suitcase in each hand.

  “They dropped off your things from DC. I can’t vouch for their packing job, but I’m sure they grabbed everything.”

  “Thanks. Just put them anywhere.”

  The agent set the bags down in front of the closet and left. There was another knock on the open door as the agent was leaving.

  “Jane, how are you? I didn’t expect to see you here again.”

  “Oh, come on. It’s not like they kicked me out,” Jane replied.

  Rohini’s ears perked up. “Jane was in the FBI?”

  “She was, although she didn’t go by Jane back then. Anything beyond that is for her to tell, I’m afraid,” the man said.

  “Rohini, this is Special Agent Burton Reynolds, known affectionately to his friends as the Bandit.”

  “Wait, Burt… like the movie? So, you’re like Smokey and the Bandit all rolled into one? Please tell me you don’t drive a Trans Am.”

  SA Reynolds smiled. “Rohini, I’m impressed. Most kids these days don’t know the classics.”

  “Yeah, my dad liked to watch all those old movies from his childhood with me,” Rohini replied.

  “While I don’t drive a Trans Am, I do appreciate fast cars.”

  Jane chuckled. “That’s an understatement,” she said. “Burt is a legend on the driving course. He aced it his first attempt as a trainee and later spent time as an instructor—but we can discuss late-seventies cinema and the Bandit’s infamy behind the wheel another time. Are you fully up to speed on this, Burt?”

  “I just got off the phone with the Director,” Burt said.

  “Do we know anything yet about who has taken an interest in Rohini?”

  “No, they don’t have much to go on yet. They’ll start chasing down leads and should have something solid to go on in the next few days. What are your plans?”

  “I’m not sure yet. We’ll stay here for now, but I think at some point we’ll have to come out into the open again. I’m sure they’ll want to do some publicity with the ambassadors eventually. Until then I think this is as good a place as any to keep a low profile and train Rohini.”

  “Alright, I’ll let you settle in. You’ve got full access to the facilities. Give me a shout if you need anything.”

  11

  The FBI Academy

  Quantico, Virginia

  The next morning Jane woke Rohini for their planned run.

  “I’m actually glad… we’re here in a way.” Rohini huffed between breaths as they ran. “I mean… I’m not glad someone… tried to kidnap me… but it’s nice… to be able to go… for a run in the woods… instead of the city.”

  Rohini felt at home among the trees, more herself. She’d always preferred running outside, especially in the woods for just that reason. Running along a trail through the trees always awakened some deep primal feeling in her. She felt less in her head and more in her body and at the same time more connected to her surroundings.

  In the city, everyone was in their own little bubble, like marbles rolling around trying not to bump up against each other. She usually ran with earbuds when she jogged in the city, drowning out all the discordant noise of the streets with music, but when she was in the woods she wanted all her senses open and alive. She loved hearing the birds and insects and was thrilled when she stumbled upon something singular, like a grazing deer or a magnificent mushroom.

  “You’re not feeling nauseous, are you?” Jane joked, as they walked back towards the dorm.

  “No, I’m fine.” Rohini replied.

  “We’ll have to fix that. Race you to the dorm!” Jane said as she took off at a full sprint.

  Oh crap, Rohini thought, taking off after her. They ran all-out for about a minute before they arrived in front of the dorm. Rohini started to gain on her at first, but she faded quickly. When she caught up to Jane she bent over and put her hands on her knees, taking several heaving breaths.

  “You really do want to make me puke, don’t you?” she said after she’d recovered enough to speak. Jane, on the other hand, hardly seemed winded.

  Jane smiled. “Not necessarily, although that would have been a bonus. You never know when you might have to run flat out. If I hadn’t been there yesterday that might have been your only viable option. You did good creating space with those two that grabbed you. If you had then taken off at a dead sprint you might have been able to get away.”

  “That makes sense. I didn’t think about it, I just reacted.”

  “That’s right. You’ve obviously drilled those movements enough in your life that they were available to you without thinking. If you took those drills one step further past the strikes to the escape; that would have been there automatically as well.”

  They headed inside to the cafeteria and grabbed some breakfast. Jane filled Rohini in on the training schedule she had put together for the next several weeks. After consulting with the White House, she had decided they would stay at Quantico for at least six weeks. Jane wanted to take Rohini out in the field eventually and she had learned from the White House that they were planning to have some public events for the ambassadors. They would hold a press conference to announce the selected candidates in two months. Then the ambassadors would be reassembled two months before the Elders’ expected return to train together as a team.

  As they ate, Rohini wondered who the others would be; not only her American counterpart, but also the rest of the international contingent. She always found it fascinating to spend time with people from other cultures, thriving on learning new ways of looking at things.

  She had found in the past that learning how people from other cultures viewed life often gave her deeper insight and more appreciation for her own. Although coming from a family with a mixed cultural background as well as just growing up in America—itself a hybrid of many cultures—she didn’t always have a clear idea of what her “culture” meant.

  Rohini often felt stuck in-between growing up not quite Indian, not quite American. At least not American in the same way her father’s family was. They might have Norwegian roots, but the family had been in the US for generations. After her mother died, her aunt Priya had tried to fill that space for her, becoming Rohini’s link to her Indian heritage, but it wasn’t the same. She loved her aunt, but never felt completely at home in the Indian community in New York.

  Rohini thought of herself as a citizen of the world before being an American. The way she saw it, she was a human first, a wom
an second, and an American third. Maybe I’ll have to change human to Earthling. Now that we know there are other beings out there that seem to be human too. It amazed her once again how this one bit of knowledge was such a profound paradigm shift. She imagined the further ramifications of this would be playing out for years to come.

  As they left the cafeteria, Jane elaborated on their schedule. “We’ll keep to a two-a-day schedule for physical training,” Jane explained. “We’ll alternate running and strength training in the mornings and work on CQC in the afternoon.”

  “CQC?”

  “Sorry, close quarters combat,” Jane replied. “I forget you’re a civilian. First, I want to evaluate what your strengths and weaknesses are. Once we know where your gaps are we can fill them in and put it all together. Have you done any martial arts or anything?”

  “I did a little Taekwondo as a kid, but that’s it,” Rohini said.

  “Have you had any firearms training?”

  “My grandfather took us shooting once out on their farm, just a couple of old deer rifles. I think a twenty-two and something like a thirty-aught-six? Is that a thing?”

  “Yes, that’s a thing, .30-06. What about pistols?”

  “No, I’ve never even held one.”

  “Well, we’ll make sure you know your way around a variety of weapons while we’re here. I mainly want to make sure you understand the basic principles well enough that whatever weapon you come across you can quickly figure out how it works and how to use it effectively. That’s true whether we’re talking about firearms, edged weapons, or even a broomstick. Improvised weapons could be your only option in many situations.”

  * * *

  The next few days began to settle into a rhythm. In the morning they would either go for a run or head to the gym. Rohini enjoyed the contrast. As much as she liked being outside in nature, she also appreciated being in the gym. There was something empowering about lifting heavy weights, especially if they were at or near your limit.

  “It’s good to get back into the swing of things. I used to work out pretty regularly in New York, but after the Elders showed up at the UN, I slacked off. I haven’t done much in the last month or so.”

  That afternoon they also continued with the CQC training they had begun earlier in the week. Jane had been impressed with Rohini’s coordination, though to her it was obvious that the little bit of training she’d had was more sport oriented. There was a distinctly different character to techniques meant to maim, kill, or otherwise incapacitate an enemy versus winning a friendly bout or putting on a performance for judges.

  But their training wasn’t all brutality. Rohini was developing a good base in striking, but she didn’t have much experience with throwing or grappling beyond a brief foray into Aikido one semester in college. It had been just long enough for her to learn how to take a fall. That came in handy when Jane started throwing her around like a ragdoll one afternoon.

  “Wow, even when I know what you’re going to do, I’m still surprised when that moment comes where my feet leave the ground and my body is no longer under my control and I’m flying through the air. It’s like a ride at an amusement park—a really quick, kind of painful ride at the amusement park,” Rohini said, sitting on the mat in the training hall where Jane had been showing her a few throws.

  “Let’s try a few solo drills now. You can practice these on your own as well to get the body mechanics right. We won’t do too much of this but it’s helpful to have something to practice when you don’t have a training partner around.”

  Jane led her through a series of Shuai Jiao line drills across the mat that mimicked the body mechanics of performing throws.

  Rohini continued with the drills until Jane stopped her a few minutes later. “OK, let’s take that first movement, run through it one time for me,” Jane said. She watched Rohini go through the motions. “Good. Now let me show you how to apply that pattern to a throw.” Jane took Rohini through the first throw several times slowly.

  “Got it? OK, now try it on me.”

  Rohini tried the throw several times until it was fairly smooth. “It still feels a bit awkward, but I think I’m starting to remember it,” Rohini said.

  “That’s where those solo drills come in. This is definitely a different way of moving your body, so the solo drills give you a chance to get those movement patterns ingrained in your muscle memory until they eventually become second nature,” Jane replied.

  They continued for another hour or so, Jane walking Rohini through each of the drills she had taught her, showing her how they each translated into a throw. “Alright, that’s it for today, kid,” Jane said.

  “Thank God, I’m starving,” Rohini replied.

  12

  Marseille, France

  Jean-Luc awoke in a state of confusion. He could have sworn his eyes were open, yet he couldn’t see anything; it was pitch black. Have I gone blind? There was no sound either, or at least very little. As he strained to hear, he could make out the faint rumbling of passing traffic outside.

  He tried to move and realized with a start, he couldn’t, or at least not much. He could squirm around a little, but his ankles and wrists were stuck in place. He began to slowly get his bearings. I think I’m sitting up, but why can’t I move? I’m tied down. There must be a bag over my head. He felt his own hot breath against his face. As he turned his head from side to side, a little light crept in from below. There was also a slight pain in his left arm at the crook of his elbow. It reminded him of how it felt getting his blood drawn at the doctor’s office.

  He heard a door squeak open, then close, followed by approaching footsteps. Then someone spoke.

  “Hello, Jean-Luc, I’m your new friend. I’ve got a few questions for you,” Gruber said, setting the stage. “How you choose to answer them will determine what happens next. I expect honest answers from you, Jean-Luc, or else we may have to pay a visit to see your mother, and little Chloe and Hugo.”

  Jean-Luc whimpered. His mother was a widow and had taken in his niece and nephew, Chloe and Hugo, after his older sister and her husband had died in a car accident. Those three were his whole world. “Please, I’ll tell you whatever you want to know, just don’t hurt them,” he said.

  “No harm will come to them as long as you tell us what we want to know and never mention this to anyone,” Gruber replied. “Now, tell me about the aliens. Were you in contact with them before they appeared at the UN?”

  “No, how could I be?”

  “I’m asking the questions here, Jean-Luc,” Gruber said, a menacing tone in his voice. Gruber clapped his hands loudly next to Jean-Luc’s ear, causing him to flinch. “Tell me about the ambassador program. Do you know who the others are?”

  “No, I was only told that there were a few others who the aliens asked for,” Jean-Luc replied, hesitantly. “I don’t know who they are.”

  “When will the ambassadors be assembled together,” Gruber asked. “Have they at least told you that?”

  “Yes, there is going to be an event to announce the ambassadors in the United States,” Jean-Luc replied.

  “Ah, good. Now we’re getting somewhere. Tell me everything you know about this event,” Gruber said.

  And he had.

  Gruber smiled to himself as he prepared to inform Mr. Simms of what he had learned. The Frenchman was a pushover. Although with Gruber’s expertise and the latest generation of pharmaceutical interrogation aids at his disposal, he could have broken anyone. Gruber had learned over the years that torture was a waste of time if you wanted to get information. It was too unreliable. Using torture, you could get people to admit to being guilty of something they’d never done, in a place they’d never even heard of, if you wanted. You can never trust what they’re telling you.

  That was fine if you were trying to frame someone—or simply torturing them for the sake of torturing them—
but if you were trying to get real information out of someone, drugs were the way to go. Of course, a little leverage never hurts. Gruber would never hurt a child—that’s where he drew the line—but Jean-Luc didn’t need to know that. Jean-Luc had told him everything he needed to know. This was solid, actionable intelligence. Mr. Simms will be pleased. A plan was already formulating in his mind as he dialed his employer.

  * * *

  Jean-Luc woke to find himself sitting cross-legged on a dirty blanket, slumped against a wall. A wide-brimmed hat tilted low over his face and a large plastic cup sat in front of his legs. As he stirred into consciousness, the cup fell over and some coins spilled out onto the sidewalk. One rolled across the sidewalk and off the curb, clanking as it bounced twice on a storm drain before disappearing into the depths below.

  In his initial confusion, Jean-Luc wondered, Am I a homeless person dreaming I’m an ambassador chosen to visit an alien world, or am I an ambassador to an alien world dreaming I’m a homeless person? Then, with a start, he remembered his abduction.

  As the sudden memory of what had happened sent a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins, he realized he must have been left there to look like a sleeping homeless person. No one would pay any attention to me at all. He was just another one of those nameless, faceless people that society turned a blind eye to, scurrying past, eyes glued to their smartphones.

  The realization made him wonder about the actual homeless. Who knows what kind of awful things may have happened to them? He’d never be able to callously walk past them again without at least acknowledging their presence, and trying to help them out in some small way. While not rich by any means, he realized he could certainly afford to give a few dollars whenever the opportunity arose. What’s one less pint or cappuccino in the grand scheme of things? Certainly his humanity and compassion were worth more.

  Jean-Luc checked for his cell phone, which he found in his left front pants pocket where he normally kept it. He fished it out and checked the time. It had only been three hours. He’d almost be willing to think he had dreamt the whole thing except for his splitting headache and the fact that he couldn’t imagine any other explanation for waking up here, like this. He’d never been a black-out drinker and he’d never taken any illegal drugs. There was a slight twinge in his arm when he put his phone back. He rolled up his sleeve and there on his left arm was the telltale mark where the IV had been.