Heated questions came fast. First, there was total disbelief. Someone used the term crackpot. Eventually he noted fearful realization, even acceptance, upon most faces. And Scotty knew the populace watching at home, or at work, was experiencing the same emotions—the same fear. He did not answer their questions, instead continued on with his story. He spoke of being placed into individual pods, along with the other abducted children, and transformed into a form of light energy prior to being shot light-years away across the cosmos toward another planetary system, to a wonderful exoplanet called Hope, a world not all that different from Earth. The crowd settled down and began to listen.
Scotty then spoke of a dangerous medical procedure called Dyad-Geneses that changed his, and would change other Human beings, genetic makeup. THis procedure was necessary to survive long term on an alien world that had higher levels of radiation, radiation levels not suitable for long-term Human habitation—but was perfectly fine for the Vallic, who were mostly comprised of energetic matter. He spoke of what life was presently like since he was no longer completely Human.
As Scotty spoke, he occasionally, and dramatically, altered his appearance. He thought of Tori, back on Hope, in the hospital where he’d seen her after her own Dyad-Geneses procedure. He then altered his appearance so only half his face was visible. Next, he switched things up a little, allowing only the upper half of his body to be visible. His words were important, but they needed to be believable too. That was absolutely essential. He wanted zero doubt to exist in anyone’s mind that he was, in fact, an alien, as well as Human, on another level. That he was still one of them.
A youngish, mousey-looking, woman reporter asked, “Scotty, can you tell us more what it is like there on Hope?” A chorus of other, similar, questions came fast from others in the crowd—they wanted to know more specifics about the distant world.
Unconsciously, a smile formed on Scotty’s lips as he thought about his second home. Suddenly, he missed being there. “Well … for one thing, there are two Sun-like stars called Spar and Lore, one is a red dwarf and the other is a farther away blue giant. When they cross paths in the sky, something amazing happens. An atmospheric condition. The Human-Vallics there call it a halo spectrum effect. Imagine a high-intensity rainbow of colors fanning out across the sky. It’s a truly heavenly part of the day there that lasts twenty to thirty minutes, depending on the time of year.” Scotty saw wonderment on their faces and kept going. “Most birds there on Hope have two sets of stubby wings as well as dual sets of tail feathers. And the birds there are far more colorful … imagine the bright colors of a South American macaw, present on virtually all bird classifications.”
A neighborhood teenager, balancing on a skateboard, called out, “What about the oceans?”
“Well, for one thing, the oceans are warm and pristine, and the beaches are comprised mostly of geodescent gravel. With such an abundance of crystalline geo rock within the ocean seabeds, the result is a shoreline that sparkles and glimmers — some beaches are more violet, others are aquamarine blue and match the color of the surf.”
Suddenly, an enormous series of explosions came from the south—from the Gulf of Mexico. It rocked the ground beneath their feet. Rising in the distant sky was a great, black and billowing, smoke cloud. Camera operators swiveled their cameras, while news correspondents excitedly spoke into their microphones, describing the dramatic scene taking place.
* * *
Several hundred yards away, deep within the concrete walls of NASA’s Mission Control Center, all eyes were glued on the forward monitors. Everyone stared in shocked silence and disbelief. The repercussions from such an attack were a visual affront to the senses. Long-lasting effects of what had occurred, what was occurring now, were sure to be profound.
But Secretary of Space Force Gordon Borkner didn’t see it that way. He threw an exalted punch into the air. “Yes! We got them, we got those motherfuckers!”
Flight Director Paul Mannford felt sick. He was beyond angry. He was beyond wanting to physically pummel the Secretary’s fat red face for what he had ordered his men to do. Instead, he just felt nauseous. Embarrassed, too, at how badly the Human race had handled their first contact with intelligent beings from another world. But other than Borkner’s outburst, no cheers were heard. There were no congratulatory pats on the back. Silence was the new norm. Even the uniformed men and women, seated in front of their mobile launch control station, looked disheartened. Mannford saw it on their faces—guilt. Guilt at taking down a clearly unarmed, massive, alien craft. It had been done violently—blasted out of the sky without so much as a Hello, or Welcome to Earth, or Do you come in peace? Now, all that remained was a torn-apart carcass of some sort—floating on the shallow shores of the Gulf’s northernmost coast.
Suddenly two, then three, then all six forward monitors switched over to a different video feed where a live broadcast was in progress. Banners with CNN, NBC, ABC, CBS, and FOX News indicated the network affiliations. A tall man in his mid-twenties, with sandy-colored hair, was speaking to a fairly large crowd.
Mannford didn’t notice at first that half of the young man’s face was gone—invisible—just not there. Then it was there, but the lower part of his body had suddenly disappeared … though not completely. NASA’s super-high definition monitors picked up a slight bluish outline showing his waist, hips and legs. Mannford listened intently to what he was saying. He quietly murmured, “Oh boy … ” as sudden realization set in. What he was witnessing was the same as, undoubtedly, what the entire world’s populace was also witnessing—that of Earth’s not so distant untimely fate. Listening, he heard the man speak of a distant world called Hope. But was there really any hope for mankind? He turned his attention to Borkner, who was back on his cell phone.
“Well … I apologize, sir. Certainly not, Mr. President! I had no idea the aliens would just take it up the ass like that. No! I don’t mean to make light of anything! Again, I’m sorry. Yes … I suppose this incident could have been handled far better. I’m watching the same broadcast you are, sir. A Mr. Scotty Sullivan is on. Believable? Well, I have no idea if he’s telling the truth, or not … but he’s certainly putting on a good show. I still believe we had no choice. Shooting down that alien vessel … well … no … of course … again, I’m very sorry, sir. I most certainly am the right man for the job! One minor setback … Yes, in retrospect, perhaps we did act somewhat impulsively. I’m leaving now, sir; should be on my way to DC within the hour. Good bye, sir.” “Shit! Shit! Shit!”
Mannford almost felt sorry for the man. Almost.
Chapter 56
Scotty had patiently waited for the reporters to refocus their attention back in his direction. But now, only renewed fear and confusion stared back at him, reflected off a thousand faces. And, beyond all doubt, the same emotions were being mirrored on millions, perhaps billions, of faces watching this broadcast around the world.
Suddenly distracted, there was a tingling on his forearm—more of a highly agitated twitching of movement. Raising his palm to the awaiting crowd, Scotty gestured that he just needed a moment. He closed his eyes and made inner contact with his Orand-Pall. Tell me … what is it that has you so unsettled? He could tell the small, embedded, emotional creature—one far more a part of his physiology than not—was more than just unsettled, it was despondent. Scotty thought it might be in reaction to Hank’s Orand-Pall’s repeated contact requests over the last few days. He felt ashamed—not even inquiring what was so important—but this was different. Scotty had ignored Orand-Pall messages before.
… trying to make contact … need to make contact! Seve’s Orand-Pall … not responding. Why is Seve’s Orand-Pall not responding? Seve’s Orand-Pall always responds …
Scotty was fully aware that all Orand-Palls constantly checked-up on each other. They were little busybodies; not so much directly communicating but checking to see who was in relative close proximity, and who was light-years away. They kept tabs on one another, not
so different from what Human family members did. Scotty suspected his own Orand-Pall also knew exactly where Seve’s Orand-Pall was at any given time. But if a host passes on, then so does their Orand-Pall. Even though he’d anticipated this moment, it still hit Scotty hard. To the point he inwardly moaned—inwardly folded. Not unlike that day, years ago, when Tori was taken so abruptly from him. Now, standing in front of this sea of concerned faces, all he wanted to do was run away—to hide and grieve. To be left alone with his memories of Seve. He pondered whether his heart might actually break in two. As his eyes filled with moisture and his throat constricted, he desperately turned to the two women behind him.
Confused, Alison hurried forward and leaned close to him. Gazing into his eyes with concern, she asked, “What is it, Scotty? What has happened?”
His voice cracked as he spoke, “I’ve only now learned of … the loss of a special friend. No … she was more than a friend. Can you … ”
Alison squeezed his arm. Nodding, she moved in front of him. His mother then positioned herself beside her. Standing together, Alison addressed the awaiting crowd.
“Hello … I am FBI Special Agent Alison McGuire. I work out of the Chelsea, Massachusetts, bureau office. Next to me here, is Brianna McGuire, Scotty’s mother. Over there, is Police Officer Donald Platt, stationed at the Nantucket Island police department.
“And the dog?” someone at the back of the crowd queried.
“That’s Larry, who at one time was the Sullivan’s family pet.” Alison then turned to Brianna to provide further explanation.
Brianna, her voice quavering some, sounded far less sure of herself. “Yes … Larry went missing along with my son. That was sixteen years ago. One moment they were playing together on the beach down by the shore, and the next minute they were gone. I saw them again for the first time only two days ago.”
A woman reporter, standing out front, yelled out, “How do you know it’s him? That he really is your long lost son?”
Brianna glanced over to Scotty, then back to the reporter. “Besides the fact he has an identical birthmark to the one my little boy had on his foot, I assure you, a mother knows her son … no matter how many years have passed.”
One of the major cable news network reporters raised a hand. “So, you’re telling us the world is coming to an end? We’re all going to be killed off by this approaching gamma ray? What are we supposed to do with this kind of information?”
Scotty had regained his emotional balance and he inwardly chastised himself for leaving out this last, most crucial, aspect. He stepped forward, standing alongside Alison and his mother. “There is still time. But we need to act, and to act soon. Sure, many will not believe the end is coming. Many will not want to leave their homes here on Earth. No one will be forced to do anything they do not want to do. But for those who decide this is what they must do, we need to prepare those people … prepare them for what will be, in essence, a worldwide migration from planet Earth to the exoplanet Hope.”
Officer Platt resumed his crowd management activities as the nearly riotous masses became unsettled—there was pushing and shoving and their excited voices became both angry and loud. Scotty had a hard time discerning new questions being asked. He envisioned what must be going on in living rooms across the world. Did they believe him? Perhaps not at this moment, but eventually they’d have to. Over the course of the past hour, he’d watched additional network news vans pull up into the parking lot. The crowd had tripled in size: more NASA employees, more reporters and crews, and more everyday people—some wearing shorts, two more kids balancing on skateboards, and moms supporting toddlers on hips.
Scotty waited as Officer Platt continued in his position as both bodyguard and crowd controller. Then he felt the familiar tingling and twitching within the confines of his right forearm. Inwardly, he listened as his Orand-Pall, now overwhelmed with happiness, conveyed to him several connections coming closer. Scotty smiled, even though the news was bittersweet in light of his loss of Seve.
“Look!”
“What is that?”
“God … it’s huge!”
Scotty glanced up to see an immense spacecraft slowly descend from high above them in the sky. Alison leaned in again. “Geez, another one? That ship doesn’t honestly think there’s room for it to land here, does it?”
“It’ll take up a position several hundred feet above us,” he said.
“Is that smart? I mean, won’t it just be destroyed by more missiles … like the first one?”
Scotty shook his head. “I don’t believe so. Unfortunately, that attack was somewhat expected. Meant to be an example. A demonstration how nonthreatening, even vulnerable, the arriving Vallic fleet of ships will be. At this stage, it will be important to convey how self-defeating all acts of violence, as with the previously destroyed Vallic vessel, would be for Humanity.”
It wasn’t long before the Vallic spaceship eased into a hovering position several hundred feet, almost directly, overhead. Alison’s words could hardly be heard above the roar of the crowd. She gestured upward, “So there are more ships like this one?”
Scotty smiled. “Yeah, at this moment they’re descending all over the world.”
A combination of military and news helicopters, like disturbed bees around a hive, were circling high above in the sky. Officer Platt moved, placing himself between Scotty, Alison, and Brianna, and the still growing crowd—now in the multiple hundreds. Police and military personnel, patrolling amongst them, were having little affect, neither controlling nor dissipating the masses.
Scotty’s mother tapped his shoulder as she stared upward. Scotty, following her line of sight, watched as a small Romper craft emerged from the spaceship, quickly descending toward the ground. The crowd quickly scurried back out of its way. Murmurs filled the air as the odd-looking Romper craft settled onto the parking lot pavement.
“This is an unbelievable, crazy mess,” Alison exclaimed, shaking her head.
A hatch door slid open on the Romper. Perhaps it was the fear of the unknown—like the sudden appearance of three-headed aliens emerging—or for any number of reasons, the throngs of people backed even farther away and quieted down. At this point, the police and military personnel had pretty much given up with their crowd control directives and had become a part of the crowd instead.
Scotty let out a long breath. This is finally happening. He took several steps into the clearing then stopped and looked back, “Mom, … Alison … you too, Donald, please come with me. There are people, friends, I want you to meet.”
They did as asked and stood at his side. Scotty took in the Romper craft and wished he’d been able to arrive here this way himself. Days earlier, Projected Transport—miserable and uncomfortable—had been his means of energetic transit, just as it had been when he had first arrived on Hope. He preferred this more traditional means by far. He saw movement within the Romper.
The first one to jump down from the craft onto the pavement below was a tall, slim, black man. Scotty returned Ernesto’s wave and smile. As if remembering where he was and what he was doing here, Ernesto turned to offer a helping hand to the next person ready to exit the craft. “Come on … let’s go, girl! People to see, things to do!”
Tiffany slapped his hand away and athletically jumped down to the pavement on her own. She looked beyond exuberant at being back on planet Earth. Her red hair, of course, was pulled back into a tight ponytail. On seeing Scotty, she ran full throttle across the clearing and into his open arms—nearly knocking him over in the process. But her cheerful laughter was short-lived. Almost immediately, he felt her shoulders shake, felt deep sobbing against his chest. A moment later Ernesto stood beside them, his arms encircled them, making it a three-way embrace. They stayed like that as the masses—both present and around the world—looked on.
Eventually, Tiffany stood upright. Regaining her composure, she sniffed then wiped her eyes and cheeks. “Is this really happening? Are we finally doing this?”
Both Tiffany and Ernesto looked over to Scotty for an answer.
“It’s already started. Here, and in twenty other locations around the globe,” he said.
“Is it true?” Tiffany asked, her expression one of full contempt. “They fucking blew-up our Vallic ship?”
Scotty nodded, almost apologetically. “It was just the one. We talked about this … an example was necessary.”
“Do we really want to bring this kind of mentality to planet Hope? I’m tempted to just say screw them all … ”
Scotty and Ernesto exchanged a look.
“Your parents, and you have a brother, are you going to leave them here too?” Ernesto asked. Tiffany simply shook her head.
Off to the side, Officer Platt cleared his throat. Scotty said, “I want you to meet my mother … and some new friends.”
Chapter 57
Alison watched the emotional reunion between Scotty and his newly arrived spacefaring friends. Obviously, she personally had no claim on Scotty. Hell, I barely know the guy, Alison reasoned. But seeing the three of them together, especially the redheaded, athletic-looking woman with those endless legs—she couldn’t deny she did feel a little jealous. And, oddly, a bit left out. She noticed Brianna looking on too, her facial expression mixed.
Scotty said, “Ernesto, Tiffany, this is my mom.” They all exchanged hugs.
“The big guy there is police officer Donald Platt. When he’s not bashing me with his flashlight, I think he’s actually helping us.”
Platt raised his chin to both of them—the full extent of his greeting.
Boy Gone Page 25
