Genesis

by Lawrence P White

  “Sorry, sir, I thought I’d have a harder time getting to see you. Don’t you have security here?”

  “I’m ancient history now, son. No one needs what I know any more. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like a few words with you, in private if possible.”

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Greg Hamilton. Who I am is part of what I’d like to talk to you about. I have a pretty strange story to tell. If my story interests you, I’d like to offer you a job.”

  Grayson frowned. Greg could imagine the questions going through the admiral’s mind, but he could not address those questions without the admiral’s consent.

  “A job? At my age? Who do you represent?”

  “No one you’ve ever heard of, sir.”

  “Now you have me worried. Maybe I’ll beep security. You strike me as an American. Are you?”

  His question caught Greg off guard. “Yes, I am,” he answered instantly. Then after a slight pause, “Well . . . I used to be. I’m not sure any more.”

  The admiral’s eyes narrowed, and his hand stole slowly toward his pocket. Greg smiled. “Go ahead, sir. Call security if you’d like. Just know that we’re on the same side here. You paid your dues as a sailor, and I paid mine as a special operations soldier. I’ve studied and admired your career for years, I’ve read most of your publications, and I’ve even used them in my own teaching. I need help on a project, and you’re the person I’m turning to for that help. I’m no threat to you, and I do not threaten the United States, but I have an intriguing offer for you, should you be interested.”

  The admiral stared long and hard at Greg. “Very well, Mr. Hamilton, but let’s do our talking out here. Would you care to go for a walk?”

  Greg’s smile stayed in place. “I like your style, sir. I’d be delighted to go for a walk. My only condition is that our conversation be private. If you carry a wire for security, I ask on your honor that it be turned off.”

  “Hmm. You used to be an American but aren’t sure if you still are one, you’ve studied me in depth and sought me out, you’re highly security conscious, and you want me to turn off my wire. Are you some kind of nut or what?”

  “Admiral, this isn’t going the way I had imagined.” Greg rubbed his chin, searching for words that would work. “I want to be frank with you, but I will say no more if you have a wire.”

  “I no longer need a wire. Who would want to listen to all the drivel in my life? I have a panic button, however. Pushing it will bring a quick response, and my finger is on the button.”

  “In that case, I’ll tell you that I just traveled four thousand light-years for this meeting. Does that get your attention? If you want proof, I’ll supply it. And no, I’m not an alien, but I represent aliens—a whole bunch of them.”

  He lifted an arm to the sky and said, “There’s a war going on out there in the galaxy, a war that Earth knows nothing about, a war that could extinguish all life here as we know it. Earth deserves to have a say in that. If what I just said does not interest you, then I’m talking to the wrong man. Push your button.”

  Grayson stood absolutely still for a long time, his gaze never leaving Greg’s. Then he approached Greg and stopped only inches away. “Why would a bunch of aliens be interested in a seventy-year-old has-been?” he asked.

  Greg leaned forward, almost touching noses with the admiral, his reply soft and matter-of-fact. “Actually, sir, they’re not. But I am. I’m here to talk to a mature, seventy-two-year-old peacemaker who’s been put out to pasture before his time. You can believe your life is behind you, that it’s spent, or you can believe that everything you’ve done up to now has been preparation for what is to come. It’s your call, sir.”

  “Preparation for what?” the admiral asked softly.

  “Do you care? Wouldn’t you like to end your boredom? I know you well enough to know your answer. I’ll sweeten it up a bit though. If you accept my offer, the fate of humanity will rest in your hands—well . . . yours and mine. If you join me, I will lay claim to every erg of energy that’s left in that old body of yours. I promise you no reward other than that you will not regret it and that you will be working to uphold everything you’ve spent your career protecting.”

  The color drained from the admiral’s face. “If only that were true,” he breathed softly. He backed away and shook his head hard, blinking as if he had just awoken. But he reached a decision and removed his hand from his pocket. “You probably are a nut, Mr. Hamilton, but you’re an intriguing nut. Let’s go for a walk. That will be private enough. You mentioned proof?”

  “Yes, sir.” They turned and left the yard side by side, the admiral continuing to wipe his hands on the towel.

  “I’m surprised you haven’t asked for my assurance that I won’t talk about this to anyone else if I don’t take the job. I would think most UFO nuts think that way.”

  “They do? Sir, I wouldn’t have come to you if I hadn’t known you were discreet, but one of the things I need from you . . . no, one of the things you will need is your old contacts. Your first job is to get me in to see the President. Your next job will be to recruit individuals in whom you have absolute confidence. And choose wisely—you will be their commanding officer.”

  “The President. Of course. Is this something you got out of a science fiction novel?”

  “There are times I wish it was all make-believe, but it’s not, and I will prove it to you.”

  “What’s your proof?”

  “Will a ride on a starship do?”

  “When?”

  “After dark.”

  “If you think I’m going anywhere with you after dark, you’re crazier than I thought.”

  “I know how this sounds, sir. Believe me, I know. But if I were a nut, why would I call on you? How would I even know who you were?”

  “You’ve got me there, son, but anyone can do their homework. Being a nut does not mean you’re stupid.”

  “You’re not making this easy. Let’s try another tack. Have you heard anything about the discovery of a crashed spaceship in central Canada?”

  “No.”

  “Do you know anyone who would know about such a discovery?”

  “I might.”

  “I don’t know if anyone found it, but if it was found, they’re definitely looking for me. They would have found the wreckage in two sections a mile or two apart. My fingerprints are all over the inside of one section. Why don’t you make a call?”

  “I don’t bother these people on the whim of a nut, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Consider the stakes if my story is true, Admiral. Isn’t it worth a little embarrassment if it means saving the world? Make the call.”

  The admiral considered, then he reached reluctantly into his pocket for a cell phone. He must have had a direct line right into someone’s office.

  “Hello, Max. It’s Harry. Got a minute?” He paused to listen, then he continued. “Does the name Greg Hamilton mean anything to you?” Grayson’s eyebrows lifted. “The name is familiar, huh? Would it have any connection to an accident investigation that took place in central Canada within the past few years?”

  Greg heard squawking from the phone, and Grayson’s eyes narrowed as his gaze burned into Greg’s. Into the phone, he said, “He claims you would have found two sections of wreckage, and his fingerprints are all over one of them. Is that true?”

  He listened for a time, then handed the phone to Greg. “He wants to talk to you.”

  “I’ll bet he does.” Greg took the phone. “To whom am I speaking?” he asked.

  “I’m Max Henderson, Chief of Naval Operations,” the voice said. “This line is not secure. We’ve been looking for you. Is it possible you’ve been out of reach?”

  “You could say I’ve been light-years out of reach, Admiral.”

  “Are you available to talk with us?”

  “I am, but on my own terms. I’m too busy to spend the rest of my life under a microscope.”

&
nbsp; “Name the time and place, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “Admiral Grayson will discuss it with you later tonight. I suggest you meet with him personally at his home around midnight. He’ll be busy until then.”

  Greg had visions of pandemonium in the admiral’s office as attempts were made to trace the call. “Sir,” he asked, “don’t send someone to bring me in. There’s far too much at stake here. I give you my word that I will answer your questions tomorrow. I’ll give you back to Admiral Grayson now.” He handed the phone to Grayson without waiting for a reply, knowing he could not convince Henderson.

  Grayson took the phone and listened, then he responded. “No, Max. If this guy is real, it would be a grave mistake. Trust me on this. We’re involved at a diplomatic level, and the President’s name has come up. I think it would behoove you to let him know. If this pans out, we’ll need some time on his schedule tomorrow.”

  Greg heard more squawking from the phone. Grayson’s eyes twinkled as he looked at Greg. He covered the mouthpiece for a moment, saying, “I’m so glad I’m out of that now.” Then he turned his attention back to the phone. “Max . . . Max, listen to me. How would you like to study the real thing instead of just a wreck?”

  The squawking stopped. Grayson grinned as he waited for Max to speak again. It took a while. Grayson listened, then he spoke again. “No, I can’t say if this guy is the real thing. You’re the one with the fingerprints. I didn’t know anything about this until a few minutes ago. He has a lot of convincing to do. Why don’t you give me a little time? If he’s able to convince me, I’ll give you a call before you come over.”

  He listened some more, his mouth turning down into a frown. “No, Max. If you do, and if this is the real thing, you’ll regret it. I know you’re risking your career, but that’s what all those stars are for. I’ll do my best to keep you in the loop. Give me a little rope on this one . . . Okay, I’ll call you every thirty minutes. Bye.”

  Grayson ended the call, then he stared for a time at Greg. “Let’s start over,” he said, sticking out his hand. “I’m Harry Grayson. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Hamilton.”

  Greg smiled as he grasped Grayson’s hand. “I really didn’t want to make that call. Do I have a little breathing room?”

  “You do. But you have some convincing to do.”

  “The rest will have to wait until after dark.”

  “Very well. Why me?”

  “Because you spent a career preaching readiness, sir. Though a warrior, your goal is to prevent war, to keep the peace. You are a true peacemaker, as am I. So are they,” Greg said pointing up to the sky.

  The admiral followed his gesture, but he did not nod his head in agreement. He was far from convinced that Greg was not a nut. “So you say,” Grayson stated evenly.

  “Yes, so I say.” They walked up a curving sidewalk toward a main thoroughfare that bustled with cars and trucks. “My job, yours as well if you accept, is not to prevent war but to end a war. And if I can sweeten the challenge a bit, we don’t even know who the enemy is yet.” The admiral turned to him sharply, but Greg met his outthrust chin with a grin. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. That’s my job, among lots of other things.”

  “I think you’d better start at the beginning, Mr. Hamilton. Just who are you, and what is going on here?”

  “Who I am is definitely not the beginning of this tale, Admiral. You know how these flying stories always start—there I was minding my own business when . . .

  “. . . so I rescued her from her crashed spaceship, nursed her back to health, then she got sick and darn near died on me. She managed to teach me the rudiments of flying her ship, then she took the cold sleep medicine and was out of it.”

  “Sorry, Mr. Hamilton, but you’re asking me to believe the impossible. Our astronauts train for years just for one mission. How could you learn to fly a spaceship in just a few hours?”

  “Remember typewriters, sir?”

  “Eh?” Grayson looked like he had been slapped. “What do typewriters have to do with flying spaceships?” he asked angrily. Then he peered into Greg’s eyes. “Are you old enough to remember typewriters?”

  “Barely. But think back. Remember how hard and time consuming and messy it was to make corrections with a typewriter? All that white-out? Remember the first time you typed on something besides a typewriter? It might have been an old system using cards, or it might have been something with a screen big enough to hold a line or two of text. Remember what an incredible improvement that was, to be able to correct things before they ever reached paper?”

  “I went through all that. And, yes, the improvements were amazing.”

  “And today?” Greg continued. “Laptop computers, voice-activated smart phones, smart watches, and virtual reality. No one even considers typing on a typewriter anymore.”

  “Where are you going with this?”

  “If you had presented a fully functioning personal computer to anyone back then, they’d have been lost. Yet, kids today pick right up on it. All you have to do is point-and-click. The ships I fly are a little like that, sir. Point-and-click. If someone hadn’t designed space travel to be easy, it would not have succeeded.”

  “Nor can it be point-and-click, Mr. Hamilton.”

  “It’s Greg, sir. And no, it’s not point-and-click, but almost. These are really smart ships. That ship and I got out into space, we were attacked by aliens called ‘Harbok,’ and that was just the beginning. Both sides wanted a secret cargo I carried, and a huge battle erupted between two full fleets, the largest battle to date in space. I managed to get away by doing something stupid, or depending on your perspective maybe it was smart, but I got away only to be lost in no man’s land between the stars. Then I got sick from the same thing that got Arlynn.”

  “Uh, huh. So, you died and came back to life as an alien, huh?”

  “No, sir. The aliens rescued me and brought me back to Arlynn’s home world where I learned more about her people. What I learned was frightening. Sir, they haven’t had wars among themselves for millennia. They don’t even have a military. Until meeting the Harbok, they hadn’t needed a military.”

  “So now they need someone to teach them how to fight?” he asked.

  “Not exactly. That would be the easiest solution, but I’ve been trying to do that for three years and have gotten nowhere. It’s not that they don’t know how to fight—they’re intelligent, their ships are incredible, and can they fly! They can do everything needed to fight and win a war except for one thing—they can’t pull the trigger. They are so incredibly peaceful that they can’t find a way to justify taking the life of any intelligent being, even if it means forfeiting their own lives.”

  “That’s pretty hard to swallow.”

  “It is if you’re from Earth, but they’re aliens, sir. It’s a fundamental aspect of their nature. In a way, they’ve become what we’d like to be some day.”

  “Sounds like a nice place to live.”

  “They are a truly wonderful people. Helping them is definitely helping the good guys, but my story gets more complicated. They’ve been engaged in minor skirmishes with the Harbok for years. I was involved in two major battles, and my guidance helped them carry the day. But in the process, I discovered something: the Harbok are not the real enemy. The Harbok’s actions were strange enough that I became curious. My research concluded that the Harbok have been standing alone against a Fourth Race. It appears to be all-out war for them against this Fourth Race, and there are some indications that they might not prevail. If they lose, this Fourth Race will eventually discover the An’Atee and Earth.”

  “Earth!”

  “Yes, sir. Earth. I believe strongly that the Harbok have been protecting the An’Atee and Earth for many years, at significant cost to themselves. Their engagements with the An’Atee are, I believe, an effort on their part to teach the An’Atee how to fight. In that, they will fail.”

  “I’m hearing a lot of guesswork here.”

  �
��You are. The Harbok refuse to communicate in any way with the An’Atee. Some of what I’ve told you is speculation, but that speculation is based on concrete Harbok actions. I’m pretty certain of my footing here.”

  “I see. So, you want me to get a few of my old friends together to train these people, to raise a space navy to fight these Harbok, or this Fourth Race.”

  “Not exactly. I want you to pick leaders with good judgment who will personally pull the trigger when necessary. I need front line sailors, but I need maturity as well. The men and women you pick might work together as crews, or we might spread them out among the fleet we’re building. I don’t know exactly how it’s going to work out. That will be up to you. But they will be front line warriors and ships’ captains.”

  “And where do you fit into all this, Mr. Hamilton?”

  “The An’Atee are forward thinkers. They created the Alliance, an organization charged with the long-term task of forming an interstellar union whose purpose is to ensure peace and fairness between member races. What goes on inside member civilizations is the business of the individual members. The Alliance will deal only with external disagreements between members.”

  “Like the UN?”

  “Like the UN, but with one major difference. All space-born military forces will be under the umbrella of the Alliance. So will exploration.”

  “You expect these Harbok to give up their military forces?” Grayson asked incredulously.

  “Not yet, but when they do, they won’t be giving up the store. They’ll be transferring control to an Alliance which is made up, in part, of their own space forces. The Alliance will assure their protection from outside aggressors, so they won’t need their own space forces.”

  Grayson rolled his eyes. “Not in a million years. We would never give up our military.”

  “No? Just how effective do you think the 7th Fleet will be against this Fourth Race if it chooses to attack Earth?”

  Grayson swallowed, then swallowed again and rubbed his chin. “I see what you mean. Our most advanced systems are suddenly rubbish, aren’t they?”