by Greg Laurel
“Honestly, I should take some time to get used to it,” Miles acknowledged. “Maybe figure out some standards of proceeding, limits on what I do, when I do it, and how.”
“It may even be a good idea to just take that time regardless, and your adventures will come to you. Seeking out that kind of thing rarely ends favorably.”
“Aye. I’ll make sure I temper this power with wisdom.”
With that same knowing, Miles warped himself all the way back to Earth. He knew where he needed to be in the universe, and clearly this power had intuition, and no malintent. Not like a djinni who’ll give you exactly what you have asked for, and have that screw you over. He knew where he needed to be, and so did The Aura. Back in those woods near his home, he felt another power nearby. Miles walked over to the source, which happened to be where he sat and did his pseudo-meditation for however many years he did. That power was indeed a more primal and uncontrolled form of what he had now. And just as that Dragon calling himself Melaqros said, it felt like a distress call. A prayer for escape. Of course, Miles then quickly warped back into his own home, remembering the suits that were closing in on him when he was last on Earth.
The house had a very... odd sort of undisturbed feel to it. Everything was in its proper place, exactly as he had left it. But it didn’t feel correct. Yes, all of his little DIY projects were exactly as they were supposed to be, but Miles couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right with them. Miles concentrated, activating his power to try to see just what had changed...
The house was lined with bugs. Microcameras and hidden audio recorders, practically in every wall of the house, as if whoever was watching them was waiting for Miles to reveal a hidden purpose to it all, a secret lair or bunker or whatever.
Thus, Miles simply turned around and walked back outside. He kept his alert up, showing that indeed, there was a car parked in the culdesac containing undercover operatives of... something. It didn’t matter much to Miles who they were, only the fact that they were there. But it was clear whoever they were, they were much better at subtlety than a federal-issue goon. The car was an older model Civic, and the faint smell of marijuana was certainly present, much like how students from the local high school would cut class or leave early to hotbox themselves in that very culdesac. But not only had this Civic never been in the culdesac before, and even though whoever was there was indeed surrounding themselves with the smoke of weed, they were there for Miles, and knew that, even if senses were dulled and appetites were enhanced.
Miles still walked out of his neighborhood, and towards the local pub. Not as divey as one might expect, but definitely the kind of place you’d go for a few pints and not much else. But he skipped the pub, heading instead into the bakery next door, run by a Ukrainian family. He didn’t speak Ukrainian, but that may very well have changed after acquiring The Aura, and the Universal Understanding that the Prism told him about. Miles did still have a fair bit of cash in his wallet, so he could grab some tarragon soda if nothing else. He grabbed the liter-and-a-half glass bottle and brought it to the checkout.
“Just this one again?” the cashier asked in English.
“Well, unless you got a liquor license and have Slivovitz now, I’m afraid not,” Miles replied, to her surprise. Something in Miles’s head made him understand that he was talking now in her native language of Ukrainian.
“I didn’t know you spoke Ukrainian,” she replied in kind. “And personally, I prefer Medovukha.”
“Fair enough.” The rest of that casual conversation was just as such, and Miles paid and left, opening the bottle and taking a drink. Tarragon soda was about his favorite non-alcoholic drink. On Earth, at least, he figured now that he’d start having to take into account different planetary specialties.
Once again, he knew something was off. While there were people definitely in the local element, they just weren’t from here. Locals that didn’t exist till yesterday, as it were. It was at this moment Miles realized he had absolutely zero plan for dealing with whoever killed Melaqros, and whoever is giving him the willies, likely the same entity.
Miles figured it would be a very stupid plan, what he was about to do, but at least it would be unexpected. Using The Aura to figure out which car belonged to whatever shady agency was following him, Miles then approached that car, and knocked on the driver’s side window. It rolled down, and Miles looked at the driver, who still did a good job at looking like he belonged, but The Aura did not lie.
“I don’t like being followed,” Miles said. “If there’s something you want to know from me, it’s best to ask first, and then do the shady shit if that doesn’t work.”
Some time later, Miles and this organization that identified itself as ETAL-RARC (pronouncing itself “ey-tal rawrk”, and at the very least not having a tortured acronym clearly worked backwards from) found a neutral ground to meet at. Miles awaited the representative they were sending patiently, and eventually, she arrived.
“Mr. Radien, I represent the Extraplanetary Technologies and Lifeform Research and Response Commission, my name is Malin Teralce. We decided to begin keeping an eye on you due to your association with a non-earth creature, and the use of its technology.”
“Ms. Teralce, the being you refer to as an ‘it’ was a ‘he,’ and had a name that I would’ve known had you not shot him dead.”
“That shot was not fired from any of our operatives,” Malin cut in sternly as Miles had to her. “Please, just hear me out on this. I’m not going to say we’re not the bad guys, because then you’ll never believe me on it. But just... please, let me tell you what we know of what happened.”
Miles awaited her explanation.
“ETAL-RARC has only been in operation as a funded organization for maybe ten years. Before then, it was practically a backyard club of people who could talk sci-fi mumbo-jumbo, and guys smart enough to actually tinker with high-level technology. About those ten years ago, one of those founding members successfully made what he called an Energy Scanner, which picked up something astoundingly odd, and really hasn’t stopped.” She paused for a moment, taking what was likely a more refined version of the device from her pocket and putting it on the table between them. “We had to bullshit under oath to federal funding boards to get the money to actually figure out if this reading was legit, because even we didn’t know for sure. But we had to say we knew it was odd, and needed to know more.”
Malin placed a file folder on the table as well, and motioned for Miles to take a look, which he did. It showed the plans for what indeed would pick up energetic signatures of almost any kind, but not how to interpret such signals.
“We’ve been looking for that time for someone who can figure out how to better tell us: What is that energy, is it anything, how can we follow up on it? Whether that’s harness power, or prepare defense, ETAL-RARC has been in the dark on that for a decade. Then the scanner picked up something new, and it was coming from where you were witnessed taking off in a clearly alien ship.”
Miles used The Aura to scan the room for bugs and recording devices. To his surprise, there were none. So he decided he would tell his story, with a few details left out for his own safety.
“I walked to the woods near my home, basically a daily ritual of mine to just sit there and... sort of meditate. The day of the incident, a non-earth being calling himself Melaqros approached me, warning me of shady enemies and events to come to Earth. He even told me that Melaqros wasn’t his name, but a word in his language, and he must’ve had some scoop I didn’t know about, but he didn’t get to say much. A bullet later, and he was dead, and then simply, fell apart, as if his own body had a defense against leaving itself behind to be torn apart for research and weaponization. Considering the time between the impact and report of the shot, he would’ve been three-quarters of a mile away at most. He gave me the... key of sorts to his ship, and told me to get out of there. I put the key where it looked like it was supposed to go, and the ship went into orbit, and cloaked itself.
Apparently, that key also had some kind of mechanism to help me pass the time, because something knocked me out till a few hours ago, and I came back to my home to see what goons raided it, only to find how unnervingly undisturbed it was. Now I’m here because I was right.”
Malin stood for a moment, wondering if there was lie in Miles’s eyes. But The Aura was passively making sure no physical clues were given, and Miles couldn’t be called out.
“So you’re not an extraplanetary organism?” Miles nodded. “Not an established ally of this Melaqros fellow? Those frequencies I showed you from that Energy Scanner, do you even know what they are? I told my men to follow you because I thought you could identify them, that you could help!”
“Ms. Teralce, I don’t know how much help I can be to you. But I can try,” Miles said. “If you think I’m from another world, you’d be wrong. I wild-ass guessed my way into making that ship work for me off of what Melaqros told me, and I’m lucky to have been right.” He paused for a moment. “But if you want my help, you must let me help in the way that I deem necessary. I can’t have your men following me, I can’t have you slipping bugs in my pockets, because believe me, I will know, and I will not take it well. I knew that there were exactly twenty-six cameras and microphones in my house, and that the old Civic in the culdesac was yours. I approached your men in their vehicle to meet with you. If you think you can pull anything over my eyes, you will learn harshly how that is not the case.”
Malin sighed and rolled her shoulders. “I don’t much like the pseudo-threat, and I hate to admit you’re right. You pointed our boys out, as if you knew they were there before they planned to be. But don’t let this make you think we won’t be vigilant.”
“I’m not expecting you to be complacent, Malin. I’m expecting you to not be shitty.” Miles stood up, and prepared to walk out of the ‘abandoned’ office building.
“Miles?” Malin said. “If you find out what that energy is, what we’re dealing with...” Miles stopped and looked back. “Don’t tell us we can harness it. Don’t make it look like we can use it. Between you and me, none of us can be trusted. Not even me, now matter how much I might tell myself.”
Miles sighed. “I know. But if nothing else, you are wise to know it as well.”
“Twenty-six cameras exactly, huh? I didn’t even know that was the number. My men just put them where they were needed.” Malin picked up the energy scanner and pointed it at Miles, and its readout showed a new frequency. “Whatever happened in that ship, something about you has fundamentally changed. You’re exuding energy of some kind, and I’ve read and watched enough sci-fi and fantasy to just know that you can wield it. And God, I hope you can be trusted with it.”
“So do I.”
Miles stepped out of sight of the neutral ground building he and Malin met within, and warped himself elsewhere, this time to a stretch of highway in Minnesota between towns. Hard prairie for sure, nearest town: a considerable distance. The perfect place to set a sort of traveler’s stop, or maybe a secret bunker. Perhaps both. Miles always did want to open a traveler’s stop.
A few cans and scraps of litter were the only landmarks here, and you could almost see the curvature of the Earth itself. With The Aura, Miles tried to find out who owned the land on either side of the highway. All that surrounded him was just owned by the county or the state, and as long as he could last on it for long enough, he could probably even claim it without dispute. The prairie plains stretched out before him, only divided by the highway, and then he began to concentrate.
The Aura began to do its work, to create him a base to operate within. The litter of the plastic bags and aluminum cans began to collect and coalesce, even reforge the very atoms that made their existence. Atomic Reassignment. Rapid nuclear fission and fusion, whose explosive releases were being contained and re-used to fuel further processes, and even some of the ground itself was being pulled up and turned anew. As this went along, no cars drove down this stretch of lonely road to behold what Miles was doing, and soon metal became stone, became brick and mortar that built a structure, looking exactly like a family-run highway pit stop between towns. With this structure and the ground beneath it completed to their needs, Miles walked into its basement, and had a few ideas.
He warped himself to a nearby landfill, and warped himself back to this new base location with over two tons of trash and waste, and used The Aura to once again rearrange their atomic structures, pulling protons and neutrons apart and putting them back together, chaining them in compounds and chemicals that made molecules and structure. It took almost half that pile itself, but Miles soon had created a generator to power this base of his, a central catalystic crystal, a pylon of sorts, projecting raw electrical energy to power lights, equipment, tools, anything. Re-arranging more and more trash, the structure was now wired electrically, and lights were installed, and even furnishings were created to give it aesthetic life. Like a gas station convenience store, and a restaurant right inside as well. Miles figured he’d stock the place with stuff he’d just buy proper, with money likely gained from turning this trash quite literally into its weight in gold.
A bit of research and action later, and this little base of his not only served as a traveler’s stop, but even could be the front he needed to be his operations on Earth, while he stayed here to learn more the limits and rules of his power of The Aura. By the end of the week, it was even stocked, and the rest of that trash had been turned into gold bullion and either sold or stored.
Miles considered it fortunate that the circumstances that would lead to him doing something, that ‘adventure’ as one might call it did not present itself while he got this base and business ready, and even had it licensed by the state of Minnesota as a grocery store with a restaurant, permitted to serve alcohol in accordance with state guidelines, that he’d run entirely himself. That traveler’s stop he always wanted to open was now real, and even with the ridiculous name he always wanted for it: The Fourteen Werewolves.
Chapter the Fourth
With the remainder of that trash pile, Miles had also constructed for himself a supercomputer unlike any other on Earth, and with The Aura, programmed its AI to learn and adapt to his speech patterns and requests, so that it could not only think, but reason and interpret. The process was rocky at first, but after about a week, it had a basic understanding of what Miles was after when he asked for something, and its learning code would only allow it to improve over time.
“Techbooth, activate,” Miles would say at night when he wanted to get to work, or just between customers at the traveler’s stop, which was anywhere from hours to days. The place served its purpose: A way station along the highway, in case one needed it. The double monitors would switch on at his voice key, and were ready to do what was needed.
“How’s that analysis of the Energy Scanner’s signature?” he asked, referring to the one that Malin showed him months ago. The Techbooth had been trying since then to figure it out, while learning its own ropes.
“The actual wavelength and frequency is vague at best, due to the primitive nature of the scanner used to find it.”
Miles thought for a moment. “Can you cross-reference it with non-terrestrial sources? A sort of galactic network, if that’s a thing?”
“Subwave tapping frequency does detect a ‘galactic network,’ as you describe. However, it seems to be locked from this planet’s access under something described as “Conclave of Sentience Non-Interference Law”
“It must be whatever governing body handles universal-scale matters, making sure someone doesn’t fiddle about with the primitives, as it were. Can it be accessed anyway, undetectably?”
“There does appear to be non-locked information regarding what will allow access. If a native resident to the planet locked is seeking access, it is to be granted. Shall I submit an inquiry to the Conclave by that rule?”
“Yeah, go ahead. Let me know when we can get in.”
“Proximity Alert.”
That meant someone was at the door of the shop. The place itself was open 24 hours, with a sign on the door saying: HIT THE BELL IF THE DOOR IS LOCKED. I MIGHT BE WORKING. The proximity alert came in when someone hit said bell. Miles walked up from the basement the Techbooth was in, and remotely unlocked the door to let a middle-aged couple in to browse.
“Sorry about that, was working,” Miles said.
“Don’t worry about it, not like it was raining. Have you got fuel canisters here?” one of the gentlemen asked.
“I do, right over there,” Miles said, pointing at some filled gas cans for emergency fueling. “Haven’t exactly got pumps, but this is the next best thing. If the car’s hybrid-electric, I do have a charge post as well.”
“Well, in that case, I think we’d rather do that,” the other said. “But I didn’t see any charge post.”
“That was the... the thing outside. The one you were all ‘oh no, that’s not a charge post! There’s no way one would be all the way out here!’”
“Fine, I’ll go plug it in,” the younger of the two—though not by much—grumbled as he went out the door.
“It’s early in the morning, isn’t it?” Miles asked.
“Yeah, about 4:30. You didn’t notice?”
“I was working, I usually don’t notice when it comes to timekeeping.” Which was only partially true. The Aura had eliminated Miles’s need to sleep, and thus he was constantly awake and alert as if it were midday. The second half of the couple came back in after plugging their car to the charge post.
“Is this menu all-hours?” he asked as he looked at it.
“Not sure why else it’d be out there,” Miles informed. The two nodded to each other, deciding that they were indeed hungry. Miles also couldn’t help but notice that the two were looking around the ceiling and walls, where cameras normally were. They didn’t seem as nervous as they did cautious. They ordered a full Irish breakfast to share, which Miles knew how to make, which would only be supplemented by The Aura’s abilities. Walking into the back kitchen out of view of the rest of the building, Miles simply used The Aura to sort of “autopilot” himself as he made the full Irish, timing with when he began cooking the bangers, followed by the beans before the bacon and pudding slices. Less than fifteen minutes later, and the whole thing was done, which he promptly delivered to the two waiting in the sitting area.
