by Dan Holt
“I read the Missing Midget Summary,” Wilson said, “and Azell’s report. You really believe that one of the aliens has been hanging around Roswell for fifty years?”
“Azell has never been wrong.”
“There’s a first time for…”
“In a way I hope he’s wrong. However, Agent Wilson, are you prepared to ignore his report?”
“No.”
When Stockton and Wilson approached the commuter plane, a suited figure exited a private jet sitting nearby with its engines running and walked to intercept the path of the two agents. They paused in a defensive posture. The figure held up an open palm while his other went inside his suit coat pocket and came out with his identification. He was the CIA’s Regional Director. He instructed the two agents to enter the private jet. They complied. The plane immediately taxied out for takeoff.
“Agents Stockton and Wilson,” the Director read from his memo. They both nodded. “I’m Regional Director Elliot Scanlon.”
Agent Wilson asked, “Where are we going, Sir?”
“Houston.”
The private jet lined up on a Houston runway and continued on to touchdown then taxied up to a car waiting at the parking area. Scanlon escorted Stockton and Wilson to it. They entered and the driver drove out of the airport and headed southwest out of Houston.
“Gentlemen,” Elliot Scanlon said. “You know of EBE?”
Stockton and Wilson’s eyes went to the director. “Yeah,” Stockton said, “he’s one of the aliens that crashed in Roswell in 1947 and survived the crash but finally died in 1952.”
“I heard his body is pickled somewhere,” Agent Theron Wilson added.
Scanlon smiled and paused for a few moments, then shook his head.
Stockton’s eyes widened. “He’s still alive!”
Scanlon nodded. “In ’52, he tried to escape. In his holding area, back then, they devised a trap, a net over the whole room attached to a heavy ring that could be dropped over him. That was done because they discovered that a device he was wearing around his waist had the capability of cloaking him; making him invisible at the push of a button. The device could not be removed without killing him. So, they rigged the capture net. On one of the daily routine entrances with his food, he disappeared. They triggered the trap. It got him. When it fell, it shattered one of his arms and, at the same time, it damaged the device around his waist. At least he hasn’t winked out since. They had to remove one of his arms—the right one.
“The conspiracy theorists and UFO buffs were calling so much attention to him that people in high places began to put pressure on for a congressional investigation. The CIA decided to let it out that he did die that year. It worked. Things began to settle down. We quietly constructed him a new home here in South Texas.”
“Oh, my God!” Stockton said, “EBE is still alive! Where is he?”
Scanlon smiled again. “You are about to meet him.”
“Sir,” Theron Wilson said, ‘how did this Creature get the name EBE?”
Scanlon looked at the young agent. “According to my superiors when I was first introduced to the alien, a young, brilliant, Entomologist, Dana Caray was contacted and taken to meet the alien and was asked to examine him and determine exactly what he was. Caray must be crowding eighty now. Anyway, he said the Creature was a combination of insectoid, reptilian, and hominid. He gave him the name EBE; Extraterrestrial Biological Entity. This Caray believes that the Creature was genetically engineered for space travel.”
An hour out of Houston the driver turned onto a blacktop road, proceeded several hundred yards to a gate of a fenced in area, and stopped beside a pedestal with a key pad on it. The gate and fence were some ten feet high enclosing a farming area. Inside the agents saw a tractor plowing in a field of some type of green crop. A large sign on the gate read: GMO TESTING AREA – KEEP OUT.
The driver typed in a code; the gate slowly rolled along its track to full open. He drove through it; it promptly closed. He turned to the right and drove a quarter of a mile then turned left and drove into a large open air shed and stopped the car. Scanlon got out, motioned for his fellow agents to follow, and walked into a large equipment shed.
Parked all around were several tractors and farming implements. Farther on there was a tool room against the back wall. Next to it, there was a glassed in sunroom. Beyond that, there were several agricultural offices with a staff sitting at individual desks apparently busy with their research efforts.
Scanlon approached the tool room, opened its door, escorted Stockton and Wilson inside, and closed it. He opened a panel on the wall and pushed a button. The floor of the room started downward in an elevator style movement.
“Sir,” Agent Wilson said, “I saw a sunroom up there beside the tool shed.”
“That’s for EBE. Dana Caray, the Entomologist that named EBE, was with a University here in Houston and was considered the nation’s foremost authority in his field at twenty-eight years old. The guy was a genius. He clued us in on the fact that the Creature has to have sunlight ever so often or his health will gradually go bad and we would lose him. He would have died and we would not have known why. We had that sunroom built next to the tool room and offices. He’s taken up there—daily—for a couple of hours.”
Some hundred feet or so down the shaft the elevator stopped. Scanlon opened the door again and the three agents stepped out of the elevator into an underground laboratory. There were several people, dressed in white lab type coats, working in small offices. Scanlon walked the length of the room and opened another door, then another.
Stepping through the last door, they saw him. On the right, a stainless steel mesh type wire, floor to ceiling wall to wall, cordoned off half the room. Inside was a Creature about three feet tall with a proportionately large head and a frail body. It was gray skinned and had very large eyes. Its right arm, from just above the elbow down, was missing. The remaining portion of the arm appeared to be just a skin covered bone extending from the shoulder downward about ten inches.
“Gentlemen,” Scanlon said, “meet EBE.” The two agent’s eyes went back to the small Creature.
EBE, sitting on a small bed, focused on Stockton’s mind for a moment, got to his feet, then approached the wire and looked up at him.
“They’ve come for me?” Stockton’s hands went to the sides of his head; he took two steps backward, breathing heavily. EBE hurried back to his bed and sat down. The Director grabbed Stockton by the shoulders and steadied him, then looked from him to EBE then back to Stockton’s face.
“What happened!?” he said loudly. Agent Stockton slowly regained his self-control. “He asked me if his people have come for him!”
Back in Roswell, New Mexico
The Director’s private jet touched down at the Roswell Airport. He addressed Stockton and Wilson:
“Find the Creature that sent the message Azell intercepted.” The Director’s aircraft again took to the skies.
They had to start somewhere. It seems that an alien, a very noticeable, easy to spot, very different, Creature has managed to hide himself in Roswell for half a century. He must have had help.
They would visit all the sites involved in the incident and the museum in Roswell. Maybe something would turn up. They possessed the knowledge that one of the aliens was here two days ago. It could be here right now as far as they knew. Who would likely help an alien, hide him, and feed him? Fifty years is a long time to stay out of sight.
Stockton and his cohort rented a car, drove into Roswell, and pulled up in front of the lobby of the Best Western Motel. The agents requested a room isolated as possible for an indefinite stay. They were booked into a room in the back of facility. Bag and baggage inside they began to plan the hunt.
Cha
pter 12
THE ENTOMOLOGIST
Monday morning Brandon drove through Houston to the campus of the University of Texas and parked in front of the Administration Building. He entered the offices and appro
ached an older lady occupying one of several desks half mooned around the reception area. She looked up and smiled. Brandon readied his story.
“I’m Brandon Stevens. I graduated University of Texas at Arlington. I’m looking at some research in a certain field of study. I need to talk to the University’s foremost Entomologist.
“You missed him by four years. He retired in ’94. However, he still grants interviews and/or sessions from time to time. I could call him and see if he will see you and when. What subject do you want to discuss with Professor Caray?”
Brandon paused a moment, made a decision, then continued in an even tone: “Tell him it’s about one of the subjects he examined years ago; tell him it’s about EBE.”
“EBE? What’s that?”
“It’s a nickname he picked a long time ago. He’ll know what it means.” The lady smiled and picked up the phone and dialed.
“Professor Caray, this is Dolores at the University. Sir, there’s a graduate student here that would like to talk to you about EBE; whatever that is.” She sat motionless for a moment. “Professor?” Momentarily she nodded and hung up the phone. Then looked up at Brandon.
“He said you could come to his house right now. That’s very unusual.”
Brandon smiled and nodded. “Hey, I’m lucky. How do I get to his house?”
The lady smiled and nodded then opened her pencil drawer and handed Brandon the professor’s card.
Brandon drove straight to the professor’s home to look at the area. It was one of Houston’s nicer inter-loop neighborhoods. The houses were about a block apart and recessed off the street some hundred yards or so.
“Looks like this guy did well,” Brandon muttered, then drove home. He explained the morning so far to Audrina. They made the decision to take Orion and go visit the professor. Brandon wanted to know more about Orion. They explained Brandon’s motive to Orion.
Orion knew of EBE and his fate from the many television presentations over the years. EBE had lost his life in captivity. This professor had seen him and examined him. It was a connection of sorts. Orion was glad for an opportunity to go and see him.
Brandon picked up his briefcase and took it with them, placing it in the back seat with Orion to have an excuse to open the back door of the car if, for some reason, he was being observed while at the professor’s home. Orion would be cloaked.
“Brandon drove up the long driveway of Professor Dana Caray’s home and stopped the car. He knocked on the door of the house and waited. Momentarily a middle aged lady opened it. “May I help you?”
“Yes, I’m Brandon Stevens, I’m here to see the professor.”
“What’s this about?”
“The professor is expecting me. I’m here to talk about EBE.”
“Oh, yes, Mr. Stevens, the professor’s in his study.”
“Let me get my wife,” Brandon said. The lady nodded and smiled. Brandon stepped out to the car and opened the door for Audrina, then opened the back door and picked up his briefcase and stepped back for a moment. Orion exited the car and stepped close to Audrina. With Brandon leading, they entered the house and were escorted into the professor’s study. The professor’s caregiver stepped out of the study and closed the doors. Professor Caray looked up from his diary, turned and studied Brandon’s face for a moment, then glanced at Audrina.
“How did you know it was me?”
“I took a guess, Professor, an educated guess based on the remoteness of the event, your age, and, most of all, foremost authority on Entomology. Those three things pointed to you. I was right.”
The professor nodded and smiled. Brandon spoke up: “Professor, I want to tell you a story, a true story, and then I want your permission to show you something very significant.
The professor gestured with his hand: You have the floor.
Brandon began the story with his grandfather’s find in ‘47 and continued with his narrative until he drove up the professor’s driveway this day. When finished he looked at the professor. “May I have your permission to introduce you to another survivor of the Roswell crash?” The professor sat straight up in his chair.
“Yes, you may.”
Brandon turned. “Orion.”
Orion became visible standing at the end of the professor’s desk. A big smile spread across Professor Caray’s face. “EBE could do that!”
“Too bad he died,” Brandon said. The professor looked from Orion to Brandon.
“Yeah, it was a sad day for me when I heard about it. Back in ’47 I spent a couple of weeks with him. He was underground at Andrews Airforce Base then. They were desperately trying to find out who he was, where he came from, and what he was. They were afraid that the public would panic if they knew about him, like people did during the 1938 radio show. Only, this time, with a real live alien, they were afraid of a much worse nationwide reaction.”
Professor, you examined EBE and, I understand, determined his basic makeup, right?”
“Yes, he was a genetic mix of insectoid, reptilian, and hominid. They’re the best physical traits for space travel. They figured out how to get the chromosome issue to work without a perfect match. It’s brilliant.” The professor studied Orion’s countenance again then turned to Brandon.
“Mr. Stevens, what are you going to do with Orion?”
“His people are coming for him.”
“Oh, when?”
“He doesn’t know how long it will be. He sent the message out last Friday. It could be a while.”
“If he sent out a transmission, they are now looking for him. They are very good at that; scary good at it. If you need any help shielding him, I will help. Any time you need too, you can drop him off here for a while. I’ll talk to my caregiver so he won’t give her a heart attack.” Brandon and Audrina smiled with the professor, and then the three looked at Orion. He looked from face to face and attempted a partial Earth smile.
“I’ll remember your offer,” Brandon said. “We live in the country so we should be fine until he leaves.
Brandon, Audrina, and Orion began their trek back to their place in the country. The visit with the professor was very enlightening. Brandon mulled over in his mind that there is a civilization, in Orion, that not only is into exploring space; they build astronauts as well as equipment to do the same. Perhaps it’s the only way to actually be successful at the endeavor. Space is a very harsh environment.
They left the city behind. Their destination was twenty-two miles into the country, this time, approaching from the south.
Suddenly, the back seat of the car was filled with a flash of a pinkish light. Orion became visible. Brandon quickly pulled over to the side of the road and stopped. Brandon and Audrina turned toward the back seat and stared at the belt around Orion’s waist. Brandon looked up at the traffic passing by the car. “Orion, get down below window level.”
Orion slid off the seat into the floor then looked up at Brandon and Audrina. “There’s someone else, close!”
“Are they here to pick you up,” Audrina asked.
“No!” Orion said. “It’s another member of our team!”
“Oh my God,” Brandon exclaimed, “another survivor?”
Orion removed the second Initiator from his belt and handed it to Audrina then keyed his cloaking function and became invisible again.
“Orion,” Audrina said, “did that flash make you visible?”
“No, I did it. You can’t remove the Initiator while cloaked.”
Audrina, sphere in hand, turned toward Brandon: “We know the routine.” She opened her purse, took out a note pad, then checked and logged the time. Brandon steered the car back onto the road and proceeded to the next exit a quarter of a mile ahead. He pulled off onto a blacktop road, drove 500 yards, made a U-turn, then pulled over and parked to wait for the next flash.
GMO Testing Area—Houston
EBE sat in the sunroom in a small chair slowly rubbing what was left of his right arm. It gets too warm when he’s in the Sun�
�s rays. If he ever gets home, he will get a new arm. He looked up at the Sun, then back down and through the small viewing port at the highway far in the distance across the fields of greenery. He could barely see the cars going by in both directions, going where they want to go. Without warning, the Locator function of his belt flashed a pinkish light. His eyes snapped to it.
“They are here, finally, they’re here!” He jumped to his feet and walked back and forth rubbing his damaged arm and waiting for the next flash that would tell him how far away they were. If they did not arrive before his sunroom time was up, he would have to conceal the Locator port to hide the flashes. Just over an hour later, the unit flashed again. The distance formulated in his mind in seconds. He converted it to Earth measure. Thirty-four miles….
Cha
pter 13
THE HUNT
Roswell—Monday morning, 7:00 a.m.
Agent Stockton, standing before the mirror, splashed his face with Afta Pre Shave Lotion then plugged in his razor. When he looked at his image, he froze for a moment. His mind formed a picture of EBE looking up at him and asking about his own kind coming for him. The thought grew in intensity. The image of the alien was superimposed over his image in the mirror. Stockton gritted his teeth suppressing an urge to scream then laid his hand on the mirror. The image of EBE dissolved leaving Stockton’s tense face. The agent paused a moment, took a couple of deep breaths, then began shaving.
