'Good,' said the Elun. 'You'll come quietly then?'
'Hardly,' said Sas and Qing together.
'That's fine. I'll just kill you here then.'
The waiter's hand came to rest on the Elun's shoulder. She turned to protest, her face a mask of disgusted indignation. Her mouth opened but no words came out, her eyes widened with sudden terror.
Veel smiled to himself as he smothered her personality through Mercy's touch. The old woman had made his strategy possible, had turned probable defeat into surprising victory. He stopped himself from eating the Elun completely, even if she was an enemy; his people tried not to kill others. Besides, he needed her memories and knowledge of the Elun force on its way to earth. Digging through her mind, he was pleased to see that he had a few years before they'd arrive.
It gave him time. He gloried in having a fourth part once more, knew at the same time that the Elun would not accept him taking one of theirs even if they weren't on their way to earth to ruin it completely.
He set Qing to finding the others of his kind on Earth. If they were still alive, they could help make the task he was setting himself that much easier. Sas and the Elun, whose name among those who were familiar with her was Katr, he set to befriending key scientists, businessmen and politicians. He was going to grow large, provide humanity with technologies they could use to defend themselves with and, hopefully, save the planet.
He felt good about it, a blossoming heat within that grew warmer when he thought about stopping these apes from becoming slaves. He didn't know how many parts he'd need to influence enough of humanity in time, to provide them enough tech and awareness of their enemies’ likely tactics, but he was determined to try.
If the Elun were like humanity in their fractured, competitive state, he would bring a unity of purpose that might, if they were lucky, save them.
To the Elun, whose consciousness he suppressed only enough to have control while allowing her to experience what he was planning, he said, 'They will be ready for you.'
Welcome to Cosmic Journey
by Michael Chandos
The uniformed security guards hustled us into the auditorium: seventy-five men and women, all thirty-something, fit and university educated. No one was wearing glasses or using a wheelchair, and every race was represented. We had passed the initial personnel screenings and were about to hear the first details of this mysterious "black" project.
The auditorium reminded me of the Wizard's Hall in Oz, with dramatic lighting and floor to ceiling curtains. The guards closed the heavy, sound proof entry doors with a solid schump, and we took our seats.
"That sounded final," I said to the lady next to me.
"I wonder what all the theatrics are about. I already have a security clearance, but I still had to fill in forms about health, family, my habits - even my dirty habits." She leaned into to me to whisper. "I'm in a really sensitive Navy project, but it's not anything this pretentious."
"We're all here for the intrigue and promise of cosmic technology, I guess." She didn't catch my pun. The banner over the stage said "Cosmic Journey".
The lights dimmed and conversations evaporated as a tall man walked to the podium. A strong spotlight speared him as a huge stadium television screen to our right magnified him to Ozian proportions.
"Good morning. I am Doctor Stapp, the Director of Project Cosmic Journey." The Director had a stern, no nonsense face punctuated with soulless x-ray eyes. His magnified image on the TV screen seemed to search each of us like a lie detector, and he got our attention immediately. He spoke without notes.
"I welcome you to what may be the most important moment of your professional lives: admission to the Special Access Project known as Cosmic Journey. Four hundred of you were invited from the initial six thousand candidates because of your unique academic qualifications and your professional reputations. Further screening has narrowed that group to seventy-five. Most of you have worked high security projects for the US Government before, so you are familiar with how these projects work. Let me tell you that security is even more important with Cosmic Journey, but, I assure you, the professional rewards will be more exciting than anything you have done before."
No one spoke or even shuffled their feet. You don't interrupt when The Man speaks.
"Because security is such an important aspect of life under Cosmic Journey, we want to give you an opportunity to reconsider your application before you are exposed to Project details.
"Cosmic Journey is a high security, covert project, probably the highest priority project in the history of the United States. Our personnel and physical security requirements are correspondingly extreme. It is the personnel security system that I wish to summarize for you today."
We each were given a booklet of security rules and processes. The Project details in the booklet revealed almost nothing.
"The President and the American People demand the very best from us, and the rules are tough. If you are as well-grounded as we think you are, the provisions I am about to explain to you will never be used against you. Plainly put, you have nothing to fear if you follow the rules.
"If accepted into the Project, you will be part of a very select team with an exceptional opportunity to get your hands on a level of technology few people on this Earth can even imagine. The security system to protect this truly cosmic project is beyond what was used for the Manhattan Project and the atomic bomb during World War Two. We are serious about security.
"Let me be specific: once cleared for the Project, if, at any time, you find that you can no longer work and live within our security standards, you must inform the proper security authority so that we can remove you from further exposure to Cosmic Journey technology to minimize risk to the Project. Should you request transfer or voluntarily elect security removal from the Project, you will be reassigned, after debriefing, to another project at a lower security level, without prejudice to either you or your career. I promise you that. In all cases, you will have a permanent security requirement to maintain silence about your activities here.”
The Director glared into the hidden camera. "However, should you decide to violate our security protocols, for example, by talking to the press, by publishing 'sensational' Project details in supermarket tabloids, or by exposing the Project to uncleared people because of your careless gossip, I must tell you that we will take immediate steps to limit the damage to the Project, and you will pay the price.
"We are authorized by Presidential Executive Order to take whatever actions are necessary to ensure Project security, including force, absent deadly force, unless an extreme security situation exists. Within the US, the security resources available for these actions include the FBI and clandestine agents. External to the country, the security resources include the CIA, FBI, foreign security services and clandestine agents.
"You can be taken into custody and imprisoned. You can be reassigned to a remote location until you are no longer considered a threat, i.e., your information is stale. This could take a decade, or longer.
"There are several alternatives to apprehension and imprisonment for personnel who violate their solemn oath and become a security threat. Disinformation can be employed to discredit the problem person and their 'sensational' information. Grave damage to career and family can result. Active measures can and will be taken to recover stolen Government material, information and property, including both overt legal processes and covert methods." He smiled.
I sucked in a short breath and leaned into my neighbor. "Wow, this is like the rules in a spy versus spy role playing game," I said to the lady. She was getting restless. Perhaps she didn't see the humor.
The Director looked around the room, trying to finish with a warmth that wasn't there. "Look over your security handbook. I assure you, these provisions will never be invoked if you follow our straight forward security rules. If you have questions, ask any of the assistants in the auditorium aisles.
His s
mile disappeared. "You are exceptional people being offered a remarkable scientific and technical opportunity of the highest priority to the United States. If you are ready to join the Project, enter one of the doors to your right. If you decide to sever any further relationship with the Project, please leave quietly by the doors to the left for debriefing and transportation home."
"To those of you who select the Project: welcome! To those of you who elect to leave now, thank you for your time. Good morning to you all." He walked off the stage and the lights came up.
What can this Project be? I was fascinated, but do I want to change my life to this? I think that was what all of us were muttering. No one moved.
"I can't live and work under that system," she said. She stood up, grabbed her things and hurried down the auditorium steps to the doors on the left. Her hard heels echoed across the auditorium. The move motivated many others to do the same.
I was stunned. I was beginning to warm up to the idea of joining, not leaving. My future prospects were nil. I was an MIT graduate stuck in a Community College as a science instructor earning $300 a week with few opportunities for advancement. Here was a heavy-duty scientific project that promised amazing things.
I took a deep breath. In for a penny, in for a pound. I walked down the steps and through the door on the right.
***
I found two men in starched medical whites with no insignia sitting at a table in an undecorated room, one at a computer, the other working with files in a box. The room was cool and evenly illuminated.
"Thank you, Mister Scott. Nice to have you decide to join us. We hoped you would," said the balding guy on the right. How did he know my name? He handed me a fat folder of papers. "Please take this to one of the cubicles to review what you told us before, and please fill out the new forms as well. Take your time."
The cubicle was featureless, just three white walls, a desk more like a shelf and a folding chair. I couldn't see anyone else in the room, but I did hear the main door open several times, so I guess I wasn't the only one to volunteer.
You would think the 27-page questionnaire I filled out earlier had already asked everything the Project could possibly want to know. I was wrong. They wanted intimate family medical history, previous girlfriends and sex partners, and my personal mental history. More than I could remember on the spot.
I didn't see anything I wanted to change in the security survey. The new forms were mostly medically related. No, I've never had any diseases or even been in a hospital, wasn't taking drugs, had no current complaints. One form bothered me; it was an authorization form to take biological samples. Well, even my doctor wanted a urine sample. I signed the forms and gave them to the balding guy.
"Please give me your briefcase, phone and anything in your pockets," he said. "All your luggage will go with you, don't worry." I hadn't even checked out of the hotel yet. "Please take this folder and go through the next door. Good luck, Mister Scott."
The next area was obviously a medical area. Again, everything was white and an antiseptic smell filled the air. And it was cool. They probably expected me to take my clothes off for the examination; why did it have to be so cool? I handed my folder to another guy in starched whites.
"Hello, Mister Scott." This guy also knew my name without looking at the folder. "We will run you through an extensive panel of physical, psychological and biological tests. It will take the rest of the day. You'll get lunch after we complete the full series. Please go into the examination room and remove your clothes."
Medical personnel gave me the usual backless gown, and they began measuring, sampling, probing, draining and photographing my every square inch. Then lunch was served: low residue liquids, a creamy solid, like yogurt, and a salty glass of something pretending to be lemonade. After lunch, I went down the hall to a room filled with various medical machines. The technicians did CAT scans and x-rays, and an electrocardiogram. They tested my hearing, eyesight, Intelligence Quotient and lung capacity, took a gallon of blood, and they had me run on a treadmill for 15 minutes, open-backed gown flapping away. I lifted weights and did coordination tests. A shrink asked me about my mother. All that completed, I was escorted through a door to a new room with a single folding chair.
"We need urine and stool samples," said a disembodied voice. I couldn't see a speaker anywhere.
"Urine is a natural, but I can't promise any turds," I said.
"Try hard, Mister Scott. And we need a sperm sample. Use the sterile containers behind the small lab door to your right."
"What? Just like that?”
"You're young; use your imagination. Place the samples in the pass-through when completed and put on the provided clothing. Press the button when you've dressed."
Shelley Callahan.
That's who I thought about, in case you're interested.
I pressed the button and was escorted to the next stage. I was given a plastic-wrapped sandwich and a cold drink. The next room had a dozen cots; two were occupied.
"I suggest you eat and then nap while your data is analyzed, Mister Scott," said the starched-whites orderly.
Maybe there was something in the food; maybe I was exhausted. I ate and fell asleep in ten minutes.
***
I think I slept six hours. No clocks anywhere to be sure. While I had slept, ten of the beds had been occupied, all men. I didn't know why a small time science instructor was still here, but I was enjoying the ride. The security didn't bother me a bit.
New clothes were laid out for us when we got up, clean socks and underwear, and a zippered jumpsuit made of a slick material, all white, of course. We dressed at the same time like kids after gym class. High-top slippers for shoes. This time my name was written in English over the pocket, but underneath was some writing I didn't recognize. It wasn't Russian or Chinese. It almost looked like hieroglyphics of some kind. Maybe it was a machine-readable summary of my medical statistics. The name tag had a colored border. Mine was red, but all the others' tags had blue borders.
Breakfast was another banquet of liquids and yogurt. I would have killed for a cup of coffee.
Each of us was given a small rectangular bag to carry an extra set of underwear and socks, plus the security booklet and a pen.
The single door opened and a middle-aged oriental woman walked in. "Good morning, everyone." She was wearing the same white jumpsuit as we were. "In a moment you will board a transport to the main Cosmic Journey base. You will complete final testing and selection there. Before we leave, I need to remind you of your security obligations, and have you review the Special Access Agreement. Please read it, sign at the bottom and pass it forward."
The Agreement was the usual uninformative officialese. We signed and then were escorted through the door and down a long tubular corridor. It ended inside what must have been our transport to the base. The "room" was rectangular with rounded edges, about ten meters long by three. We strapped into elliptically-shaped shell seats, two to a row, five rows. There was nothing else to see. There were no windows and no visible equipment, just a smooth, dull, light blue skin. I assume we faced forward. I could see the seams to a door in the front bulkhead. For the first time since we had walked through that right auditorium door, we weren't escorted. The hatch sealed and we were alone.
We must have been in some kind of bus or subway car, but there was no engine noise or wheel vibration. I felt a little acceleration. I didn't know the Government had such vehicles. I estimated the trip at under thirty minutes.
***
I guess this was the main base, but it had the same featureless walls, no art or decoration, no windows, no carpet, all in shades of white. I was getting tired of the décor. The only colors were in our name tag borders and on our skin. The transport door had closed with a solid, locking noise. I guess our ability to quit was gone. We sat on benches and fidgeted. Then the doctors came in.
The five doctors were each at least six and a half feet tall wit
h a slender build. They wore white surgical gowns, turbans wrapped around their elongated oval heads and pale blue surgical gloves. Each had a darkened plastic face mask so their features were indistinct. Everything about the doctors seemed stretched. All the parts were in the right place, just longer. Especially the hands. The hands had a long thumb, but only three fingers with four digits per finger. I saw no one of normal human proportions. We definitely were not in Kansas anymore.
The doctors split us into five groups of two and escorted us into separate labs. I've never seen medical machines like this. One was a large ball, with a simple stool-seat in the center. Rods with red jewels on the ends pointed at the stool from the surrounding spherical framework. The consoles had large color displays currently showing dense graphs and tables. I didn't see any connecting wires. A brightly lit table in the far end of the room had a complicated array of pointed tubes and small circular devices hanging overhead. A bank of monitors the size of blackboards stood behind the table.
The other volunteer was led to the stool in the center of the sphere as the ruby rod ends began to glow. The guy looked apprehensive, but not uncomfortable. Two of the robed doctors studied the displays. I went to the table.
The doctors laid me out on the table like a cadaver on a slab. No cushions and it was cold. I wasn't strapped down, but I was kept from moving by something unseen. A force field? Was this some of the cosmic technology we were told about? I was pinned down like a biology specimen. I felt vulnerable and helpless. A decade of security quarantine on a desert isle was becoming an acceptable alternative.
I looked around, but I couldn't see much because the room was dark and the table was brilliantly lit from overhead. A doctor leaned into the light and examined me, hovering over my head especially. I could see his dark eyes and a small slit of a mouth through the face shield, not recognizably human. I still had my jumpsuit on, so I guess this wasn't going to be a dissection. He backed into the shadows and at least six mechanical arms appeared out of the darkness from overhead. Each articulated arm had a cluster of instruments on the end. They moved up and down my body without touching me, scanning, I assumed.
Aliens - The Truth is Coming (Book of Aliens 1) Page 16
