The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

by Sam B Miller II

  A strong warm breeze was blowing in from the lake and both Hoffman and Smith had to hold on tightly to their wide brimmed spring hats to keep them from blowing away as they walked from the plane to a waiting army-green colored sedan. Whatsit sported a brightly decorated straw sombrero conveniently held in place by a draw cord tightly knotted under his chin. The outfit they had settled on for Whatsit's public outings was something that wouldn't necessarily look out of place but was large enough to hide his alien body. The wide brim of the sombrero helped to conceal the 32 inch circumference the crown needed to fit Whatsit's large head. The dark green trench coat served to hide his body, arms and legs. Black cotton slip on booties covered his feet, and a white silk scarf carefully bunched around his throat completed the ensemble. If he kept his hands in his pockets, the disguise was virtually complete. If a person didn't look too closely at his eyes, they appeared to be just large dark sunglasses.

  As they were walking toward the waiting sedan, Diane noticed a shadowed frown on Blunt's face and asked, "Jim, you seem distracted. Why the long look?"

  "Yes, I noticed that also," chimed in Lucy. "Not airsick are you? I have some meds for that."

  Blunt slowed his pace and turned slightly towards them. Lifting his arm and sweeping it toward the lines of B-17's off in the distance, he said, "I used to be so proud and confident of the military might of the United States."

  Slowly shaking his head and pulling the right corner of his mouth upward in a half smile Diane had come to recognize as a cute part of his personality, he continued, "Now that I've seen the Chrysallaman saucer in action, I realize all that hardware is basically useless. Just an annoyance to be plowed under by the Chrysallamans."

  Hoffman knew she had to get him out of his psychological doldrums so she reminded him with all the bluster she could summon, "Major, we're working on this problem right now and with maybe 65 to 70 years to plan and build, we will prevail! So get over yourself!"

  Lucy looked at Diane with wide eyes, thinking to herself, "Get over yourself. What a great line!"

  Jim Blunt stared at Diane for just a moment, and then, with an ever so slight, self-deprecating smile and a nod, he turned and strode to the waiting car. Hoffman and Smith watched him walk away for just a moment and followed. Whatsit, who had been watching all of this human interaction, reading the mental pictures unknowingly projected by them as they chattered at each other, turned his head from side to side, blinked his large black eyes and followed them to the waiting car.

  Army Private Louis Laforge had long ago learned the boot camp survival technique of keeping his mouth shut and his eyes straight ahead. Born in Metairie, Louisiana, he knew the New Orleans streets and back alleys very well from his days of delivering groceries for his Uncle John. He was 5 feet, 8 inches tall in his stocking feet and skinny as a rail. He held the car door open for the ladies like any southern gentleman and was only mildly surprised when the guy wearing the sombrero piled into the back seat with the women without removing the hat. He started to move around the sedan to open the door for the Major, but Blunt had already entered the front passenger seat and closed his door.

  Jumping behind the wheel, Private Laforge turned so he could look at the Major, carefully avoiding the urge to ogle the ladies in the back seat and said in a southern drawl, "Where would y'all like to go?"

  Jim Blunt raised the flap over his left breast pocket and pulled out a slim note pad. Looking back to Laforge, he replied, "300 block of North Prieur Street."

  Louis Laforge's brown eyes narrowed ever so slightly and a couple of frown lines appeared on his brow. He knew that part of town. It was no place you took pretty ladies, and he said so. "Sir, y'all sure about that address? That's not the kind of area you want to be in after dark. Kinda has a reputation for disappearances, if you know what I mean."

  Blunt's reply was very bold, if not surprising. "Oh, just wait 'til you see the alley where we want to be dropped off," he said with a sideways grin.

  Lucy Smith piped up from the back seat in her usual cheerful way, "It's okay, Private, we've got an appointment."

  Shrugging his shoulders, Louis started the car and drove in silence. The 300 block of Prieur Street was a couple of streets north of St. Louis Cemetery Number Two, a three block expanse of typical New Orleans above ground tombs. New Orleans had been built on top of a massive swamp, and early settlers had learned dead bodies would just float up to the top of the ground when buried. The way to avoid this unhappy scenario was to build above ground, stone crypts. Over many years, the crypts became so numerous and so elaborately decorated the cemeteries became known as Cities of the Dead.

  Referring to his note pad, Blunt directed Laforge to an alleyway between a narrow, 2-story white clapboard house and a larger 2-story red brick warehouse with concrete steps and red brick balustrades leading from the sidewalk up to a narrow porch on its second floor. The alleyway was sun bleached concrete, badly cracked with sunburned weeds growing everywhere. Odd drawings with a mixture of straight lines, triangles and curlicues were painted across the concrete surface, covering almost every square inch. Peering about, Laforge felt very uneasy and decided he would stay with the car and guard it.

  Blunt got out and stuck his head back in the window as the others piled out of the back seat. He looked at Laforge and gave him a no nonsense order Laforge welcomed with a look of extreme relief. "Stay with the car. Be ready to leave the minute we return."

  Then he started to leave and turned back again looking at Laforge with a stern glint in his eye. "No matter what you may hear or see, don't leave this car to come looking for us. Clear?"

  "Yes, Sir," Louis replied as he thought to himself, "You don't have to tell me twice. This place gives me the creeps!"

  Taking the lead, Blunt walked down the alley towards the main street, carefully observing his surroundings. Prieur Street was neat and clean. Everything appeared completely normal. Except for the weird symbols painted in the alley, there was no indication he was walking up to the doorway of one of the most respected Voodoo Doctors in the World. Thinking about it, Jim Blunt decided he had been expecting dark skies, large trees filled with Spanish moss hanging almost to the ground and everything shrouded with a thick white fog. Just too many scary movies he thought to himself. He looked sideways at Whatsit to see if he could see any indication the Chrysallaman could detect the Skullreader. Unlike their encounter with Tenzin, Whatsit appeared unconcerned. Jim sent a thought picture to Whatsit asking him if he sensed any mental communications from someone in the surrounding area. Turning his dark black eyes toward Blunt and shrugging his shoulders slightly, Whatsit shook his head in the way he had learned meant 'no'.

  The group climbed the concrete steps leading up to a heavy wooden front door. There was no door handle. Only a large, slightly rusted metal door knocker was fitted in the door. Blunt got the distinct impression a battering ram would just bounce off the door if anyone tried to force their way into the building. Painted on both sides of the front door frame were identical tall, golden triangles with a circle on top. Within each triangle near the bottom, a painted, open eye seemed to follow you no matter where you stood on the porch. Diane Hoffman was the first to reach the door, and she boldly grasped the door knocker and banged it three times.

  In a few seconds, the thick wooden door opened noiselessly to reveal an elderly black man wearing dark pants, a white shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar and a light gray cardigan sweater. His hair was close cropped, salt and pepper in color and he sported a neatly trimmed beard. He was about 5 feet, 4 inches tall and moved easily for an older gentleman. He didn't seem to be bothered by old age problems like arthritis, weakening muscles or bowed back. James LaRene acted like he had never met a stranger. As he opened the door wider and gestured for them to enter, a wide genuine smile lighted his face. His whole look and demeanor suggested a kindly grandfather welcoming his grandchildren into his home for a visit. The one thing that instantly drew everyone's attention was the pupil and cornea in
his left eye were clouded over with a milky appearance.

  "Come in, come in and good morning. I'm James LaRene," he said grandly as they walked into the large entryway just inside the front door.

  Off to the left was a sitting room with two arm chairs and a sofa, all mismatched but looking comfortable, arranged around an oval coffee table. Bright sunlight, blocked slightly by horizontal blinds covering the windows, made the room appear cheery and inviting. There was an unmistakable odor of incense hanging in the air.

  LaRene looked them all over, the smile never once leaving his face. Extending his hand to Blunt, Hoffman and Smith, he shook their hands, surprisingly calling each by name and said, "It is my pleasure to welcome you into my home."

  Glancing to his left and looking Whatsit up and down from the top of his sombrero to his black booties, LaRene noticed Whatsit keeping his hands firmly inside his coat pockets. Reaching up to Whatsit's left shoulder, he kindly patted him saying, "Mr. Whatsit, you are a special guest in my house. I know all about you and where you come from. Please don't be shy."

  Blunt, Hoffman and Smith watched with slack jawed amazement as Whatsit removed his green hands from his pockets, reached up and pushed his sombrero back off his head so it hung off the back of his neck by the draw cord. Lifting both his arms, Whatsit moved closer to LaRene, reached out to him and hugged him like some long lost relative. Blunt and Hoffman, who had witnessed the meeting of the Dalai Lama and Whatsit, were surprised but very pleased by the display. Lucy Smith looked over at them with wide eyes, silently mouthing the word, "Wow!"

  Moving back a little, LaRene motioned to a door in the wall opposite the entryway and said, "Let's move into my dining room. There are enough chairs for everyone."

  The door opened into a large room with a long, ornate dining room table with three chairs on each side and one on each end. The chairs were nicely padded and well worn, as if they had been used at many holiday feasts. The chair on the far end of the table was the only one with arms, and everyone guessed that it was LaRene's personal chair. A crystal chandelier hung over the middle of the table. Windows lined the left hand wall of the room with the same type horizontal blinds as the sitting room. A rather large, wire bird cage hung from a thin chain attached to the ceiling in the far corner of the room. Two bright yellow canaries twittered and flitted about the cage, excitedly jumping from one perch to the next.

  Lucy thought to herself, "How nice. My Grandmother really loved her canaries."

  The smell of freshly baked pastries filled the room. On a buffet table against the wall opposite the windows, a scrumptious selection of doughnuts, small cream puffs and fresh fruit were displayed on silver trays. On the far left hand end of the buffet table was a silver coffee urn surrounded by delicate china cups decorated with small pink flowers. Small china plates with the same floral design as the cups were stacked to one side of the silver trays. On the right hand end of the buffet was a small plate filled with raw ground beef.

  Grandfatherly LaRene gestured towards the food and said graciously, "Please, everyone try some of my cooking. It is not often I have such honored guests in my home."

  LaRene seated himself in the arm chair at the head of the table. Whatsit picked up the plate of raw meat and sat down in the chair next to LaRene with his back to the windows because the bright light hurt his big black eyes. Jim, Diane and Lucy all eagerly selected their favorite pastries, filled their cups with the coffee, moved around the dining table and took seats. Blunt took the chair beside Whatsit, and Diane and Lucy sat next to each other on the opposite side facing the windows. The taste of the sweet pastries lived up to everyone's expectations, and the coffee was rich and full bodied. Blunt, who had visited New Orleans several times in the past, thought the pastries and coffee were better than any he had enjoyed at restaurants in the French Quarter. Whatsit ate every morsel on his plate and then licked the plate clean.

  After waiting a few minutes to allow everyone to enjoy their food and drink, LaRene asked, "Now that we're all comfortable, would you please tell me why you need my help?"

  Diane wiped her lips with a dainty, cloth napkin, and replied rather directly, "Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr. LaRene. I think it quite obvious you know Whatsit is not native to our Earth, and you don't seem the least bit surprised. You graciously opened your home to us and didn't show any fear or hesitation when you greeted our little friend."

  LaRene patiently held her gaze, his kindly smile not wavering in the least, so she continued, "It's my impression the stories about your psychic abilities have a ring of truth."

  Lucy listened to Diane with growing admiration for her direct approach to LaRene. She found LaRene's milky eye was distracting. It was kind of the focus point when you looked at his face. She found it most difficult to not just openly stare at the discolored eye and lose your train of thought, but Hoffman didn't seem to be distracted by the eye at all. One of the birds suddenly flapped its wings, and Lucy turned to look over at the cage, watching how the four birds sat on their perches side by side. Her musings were interrupted by more of Hoffman's questions.

  "Have you had any mental contact with Whatsit?" Diane asked. "You knew all our names when we walked into your home. Are you able to mentally communicate with him?"

  LaRene, instead of answering her, looked over at Whatsit, gazed down at the plate in front of him and said in a concerned tone, "Oh dear sir, didn't you like the meat? I have some different kinds in my frig if you would prefer."

  Naturally, everyone looked at the plate in front of Whatsit, brimming with raw hamburger, completely untouched. Blunt, sitting next to Whatsit, seemed to remember he had watched the alien lick the plate clean, yet the plate was full, apparently untouched. The birds in the cage ruffled their feathers, drawing Blunt's attention. Two white cockatoos stared back at him, one of them lifting its claw and scratching the back of its neck.

  "Now that's strange," Blunt thought as he absently reached for his cup of coffee only to find there was no cup and no plate of small crumbs from his pastries. In fact, the entire dining room table was completely bare as well as the buffet.

  Turning his gaze toward James LaRene, he found himself staring at a young black man perhaps 30 years old. The young man had no beard but the smile on his face was unmistakably the smile of Grandfather LaRene. He was completely bald and clean shaven. He wore a bright white T-shirt, and a small gold ring hung from his left ear lobe. Looking across the table, Jim could see that Diane and Lucy were staring with widening eyes, first to him and then to the young man. Their eyes darted about, filled with a mixture of surprise and growing fear. A keening wail bubbling out of the throat of Whatsit jerked Blunt out of his reverie. Jumping up so quickly from of his seat that his chair fell backward into the floor, Whatsit walked quickly to the opening leading back to the entryway and bolted out the front door. Worriedly, Blunt got up and followed, leaving Hoffman and Smith with the young man.

  Lucy began to get out of her chair when Diane reached to cover Lucy's arm with her hand and said, "It's okay, Lucy. I just got an answer to my questions."

  Lucy reluctantly kept her seat, curiosity overwhelming her instinct to follow Jim Blunt out of the building. Disoriented by the scene changes, the only grasp each woman felt she had on reality was the physical touch of the other.

  The young black man broke into their thoughts by saying softly, "You're very perceptive, Dr. Hoffman."

  Diane, gaining some semblance of control over her thoughts, looked at him over the top of her glasses and replied, "So tell me what you can do!"

  LaRene's strange tale was, for lack of a better word, spellbinding. LaRene's true appearance was the young man. He used the Grandfatherly image when he wanted to make his guests feel welcomed and safe.

  Lucy, still feeling mentally uneasy, looked at the gold ring in LaRene's ear and said, "Yea, better to look like a kindly grandfather than a pirate."

  Chuckling at her comment, young James LaRene drawled back to her, "Mos' folks who visi
t a Voodoo Doctor want to see someone who looks like he knows what he's doing, not some snot-nosed kid. 'Sides, face paint 'an chicken feathers make me itch."

  Hoffman took that moment to ask another pointed question. "How do we know you aren't illusioning us right now? For all I know, we could be actually sitting out on your front porch in a rain storm."

  Fear knotted up in Lucy Smith's stomach when the question left Hoffman's lips. She discovered she had a strong fear of losing her grip on reality, and she wanted to fight the unfathomable power appearing to be controlling her mind. Feeling her hands squeezing together into tight fists, she struggled to force her intellect to overcome the growing fear of helplessness. Unfortunately, LaRene took the opportunity to respond to Hoffman's inquiry.

  His left eye took on the familiar milky appearance, and immediately, all three of them were sitting in white wicker chairs on the front porch of the building, a heavy downpour falling from a dark gray, leaden sky. Off in the distance, thunder rolled. It was raining so hard the gutters were overflowing. A brisk wind blew a mist of rain droplets onto Lucy's face. She could feel the cool water on her warm skin. Only this time, she knew the rain storm was not real. Fear she was losing the ability to discern the difference between fantasy and reality began bubbling up into a scream as her lips trembled.