by J. K. Scott
I booked a one-night stay at a local motel and changed into my new outfit. I walked around the dusty grounds, scuffing my sandals, and sat on a bench to collect the dust for a more worn look. For the final touch, I pasted Celtic cross tattoos on my wrists and a small monarch butterfly on the back of my neck. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, pleased that I didn’t recognize myself, and felt rather comfortable in my guru disguise.
I left the motel confident I wouldn’t be identified. I parked several blocks from the metaphysical center and purposely arrived a few minutes late. The ticket taker at the door apologized that all the seats were taken and I would have to stand, which was agreeable to me.
Glad I had missed the arriving crowd. I spotted a place along the back wall with a few others. I looked around and calculated that four hundred were in attendance. On the theater stage, two flutists played while two large screens displayed fluctuating cumulus clouds.
Two easels displayed a poster with a bright red-tailed comet planet labeled Planet X. The other easel displayed a photograph of the middle aged, dark-haired Kisha Anderson smiling.
The crowd clapped loudly for the flutists and through a side door appeared the attractive woman with short black hair and bronze skin, wearing a light blue business suit, which seemed unusual among the diverse styles of the crowd. With her confident, towering posture, she ambled to the podium. I was surprised by her demeanor. I’d expected Kisha to be dressed like Harmony; instead, she looked like a financial analyst prepared to discuss hedge funds. However, if evidence came forward, the topic of Planet X could be far more serious than any financial agenda.
From a side door, Harmony slipped in wearing a flowing cream-colored dress with yellow flowers in her hair. My eyes followed her to an aisle seat in the front row. The lights dimmed, and all eyes focused toward the stage. Kisha glanced around the room and welcomed the crowd. A large black-lettered name appeared hauntingly on the screen. I inhaled deeply while others sighed, and a few released moans.
In a strong, loud voice, Kisha voiced the name on the screen: “The Destroyer.” She paused and glanced around the room. She proceeded with the next screen and announced the next names in a strong voice: “The Frightener, the Sky Monster, Space Monster, the Dragon, the Red Dragon, Horned Dark Sister, Dark Star, Strange Star, Doom Shape, Shadow of Doom, Brown Dwarf, Phaeton, Typhon, Nemesis, Tenth Planet, Marduk, Nibiru, and Planet X.”
Kisha’s voice spoke the names with an eerie intonation as if she were reading a list for the guillotine. Then she repeated the last name: “Planet X.” She paused and then raised her voice. “Planet X is what we call it today.”
She continued, “Our ancestors left their messages about these events that almost devastated our planet at least four out of five times. The Sumerians, Vedics, Hebrews, Egyptians, Greeks, Chinese, Mayans, prophets, and bards have passed on stories about worldly catastrophes through the ages—orally, on stones, in caves, in ancient texts, and on monuments. It has been etched in ancient history that a planet with an elliptical path intercepts our solar system. According to translations from the Sumerian tablets, Planet X could orbit every thirty-six hundred years, or the orbit could be as long as sixty-five hundred years, according to the latest interpretations.
“There are theories that Planet X could be a rogue planet or one of many planets from a sister sun, suggesting that our sun is a binary star and our sister sun could be a brown dwarf difficult to detect in deep space. Or Planet X could be the tenth planet in our current solar system and has been shoved beyond our solar system into an elliptical path. Or this rogue planet could have been involved in a historic cosmic collision that altered our solar orbit, causing the planet to return intermittently over thousands of years.”
Kisha paused for a few seconds to let the audience absorb her announcements. She continued. “Our ancestors who survived left their stories about the destruction caused by a transiting planet sweeping by Earth—events that perhaps contributed to the previous five extinction events on Earth. In the past hundred years, with today’s technology, we have developed resources to be forewarned to prepare for our survival.
“Today, I’m asking you, do we consider our ancestors, our bibles, the Sumerian tablets, or ancient philosophers? Or do we believe that Planet X can’t possibly exist and the stories are myths? Or could they be serious forewarnings?”
The room buzzed with whispers.
Kisha continued, “I want to be perfectly clear: currently, we haven’t identified a planet hurtling toward our solar system, nor do the majority of scientists believe that our sun is a binary star. However, many pioneer scientists have presented data that our sun is a binary star.
“There are many stories about our origin, our planet, the solar system, and our extinction events. There are numerous debates among scientists, governments, private corporations, and rogue groups regarding what they consider as fact and myth. Even the maverick scientists are divided on Planet X’s feasibility. However, astoundingly, the majority of the population has never heard of Planet X, and a majority is not interested. My question is, why not?”
A few disgruntled attendees decided to leave and disrupted a whole row. Watching those who had to stand, I silently gasped, thinking I recognized someone. I moved along the wall for a different view and felt certain I saw Dr. Sonya. I kept my eyes focused on her location as Kisha continued.
“My purpose is not to frighten you but to raise the consideration that we are responsible for decisions that impact our future. Because we know these stories, we know there will be survivals. As in the past, survivors will leave their stories for the future.”
The crowd responded with a flurry of voices. Kisha turned up the microphone and said, “A wise decision would be to support your amateur astronomers, be informed, and be prepared.”
The next screen showed a list of ancient texts, current books, and films on Planet X. Kisha waited for the audience to read the lengthy list and then informed the attendees that copies were on the back table.
The crowd clapped loudly. Kisha thanked everyone and promptly left the stage, but she didn’t get far, as a few surrounded her with questions. Harmony passed out what I assumed to be copies of the book list. I watched carefully as Dr. Sonya took a copy and then slipped out the side door to the patio.
Reactively, I hurried through the crowd to follow Dr. Sonya. On the patio, people had already gathered, and Dr. Sonya swiftly moved around them and headed for the parking lot. Then a tall man with his back to me caught up with her, and they walked together. I kept my eyes glued on them.
11
THE POPULATED PARKING lot gave me cover as I edged closer to Dr. Sonya, who was talking to the tall man. Two vehicles streamed by with flashing lights reflecting off the back of the man, who had a stature like Peter’s. Moving closer, I studied them in the dim light; they were talking between two parked vehicles. Two women arrived and waited for Dr. Sonya and the tall man to get in their vehicle or move. The tall man stepped aside, and I caught a glimpse of his beard. A slow wave of nausea permeated me.
Dr. Sonya got in her vehicle and backed out. Assured the man was Peter, I followed him as he hustled to the main road and crossed the street. He hastened his pace toward a black van. I dodged a vehicle to cross over and yelled, “Hey, Peter, do you have a moment?”
Peter spun around to look at me. “Do I know you?”
Relieved to be facing Peter, I said in a firm voice, “I need to talk to you about Cascade.”
He curiously looked at me. “Who are you?” Peter’s right hand slipped into his right jean pocket.
“Peter, it’s Dak.”
He frowned. “Dak who?”
“Daren Alec Kyle. I worked at Cascade.”
His hand slipped from his pocket. “Damn, Dak, is that you?”
“Yes, it’s me. We can’t talk here,” I said as I looked around at the stream of vehicles. “Can you m
eet me at Pink’s Café on the back patio?”
Peter hesitated. “What’s this about?”
“Come on, Peter; you know what it’s about.”
“Well, you know, Dak, we should meet officially.”
“Not until my questions are answered. I don’t even know who to trust.”
“Okay, Dak, but it has to be off the record.”
“That’s fine with me,” I said, questioning what that meant and disappointed that he seemed to be nonchalant about my presence.
Peter opened the van door. “Do you need a ride?”
“I’ll meet you there,” I said.
Peter drove off in the van, and I jogged two short blocks to the café. I spotted Peter at the order counter. I walked around to the back patio to wait for him, noting there were too many people around for us to speak privately.
Peter joined me on the patio, which overlooked Oak Creek and the steep Schnebly Hill. He grinned. “Dak, you had me fooled.” He handed me a bottle of water.
Suspicious of the bottled water, I politely took it. “I’m glad you didn’t recognize me. Let’s take a walk to the creek for privacy.”
We took the steep steps that led down the hill to the creek. Peter spoke first. “I heard a rumor you left Cascade while working on a police investigation. I hope it wasn’t a BBB program; otherwise, you’d be in deep trouble.”
Surprised by Peter’s frankness, I asked, “Are you sure?”
“Sure that you were working on a police case?” Peter asked.
“Yes, I believe the project was far more.”
“What are you saying?” Peter asked.
Walking along the path, I considered what to share. I said, “I worked on a camera card found on a dead courier in the desert.”
Peter said, “Dak, I haven’t been briefed on the project.”
“Let me explain. I worked on incomplete data and decided to do my own investigation.”
Peter sarcastically said, “Who gave you permission to leave and be an investigator? What’s your problem?”
I knew by his sarcasm that he’d spoken to Dr. Sonya about it. I said, “The assigned project had data missing. And I needed to know why.”
“What are you inferring?” Peter asked.
“I have my suspicions, but I’d rather not comment.” I hesitantly took a swig of water, wondering if I should trust Peter.
Peter seemed hesitant and then asked, “Were the images of a person, a place, or something else?”
I motioned for Peter to follow me to return to the steep steps and rejoin the late-night crowd. “They appeared to be intelligently designed.”
“Should it have been a BBB project?” Peter asked.
“I’m not certain,” I said, stepping around a young girl tugging at her mother’s arm.
Peter stopped. “Every week, there are new discoveries in the solar system. Do you think the project could be related to Kisha’s Planet X lecture this evening? Is that why you were here?”
“I’m not sure about anything at this point.”
Peter looked around. “Dak, this is complicated. Dr. Sonya was at the lecture, and she advised me not to undermine Cascade.”
I was glad he’d admitted to talking with Dr. Sonya. I asked, “Do you report to Cascade?”
“No, I work for BBB. I provide operatives to our contractors who work on classified programs. Dak, off the record, there may be policy conflicts between BBB and Cascade.”
I took another swig of water. “What would you suggest?”
We walked by the parked adventure jeeps and closing shops. Peter firmly said, “I’m not sure. First, I need to be briefed on a project that isn’t BBB’s, which could be a problem. Dak, Cascade is upset, and you may have a problem because you left abruptly. Where are you staying?”
His comments bothered me, and he didn’t ask for my phone number but where he could find me.
I said, “I’m at the Lands Inn Motel, room sixteen.”
“Stay there until I contact you. I need time to investigate this further. And, Dak, keep the disguise—it’s a good look for you.”
Uncertain I could trust Peter, I decided to add more fuel to the conversation. “Peter, there’s another problem.”
“What other problem?” Peter asked with concern.
I said, “There’s a buyer-and-seller market for the courier’s images. And the buyers either know what they are about or need to have them interpreted.”
“How do you know that?”
“Trust me,” I said, thinking about Trevor’s murder.
“Honestly, Dak, I need to be briefed on this project. I’ll talk to you tomorrow at noon at the motel.”
Peter stopped at his van, which was parked behind the café. “Dak, don’t talk to anyone or leave your room until I see you.”
I assured him I’d see him tomorrow. After Peter left, I scanned my RAD over me and the water and saw a green light. I jogged to my jeep to return to the camp to collect personal items needed for the motel. I would leave my tent and camping supplies at the campground.
I arrived at the Lands Inn Motel to reserve another room and lucked out—they had a vacancy, so I could monitor my previous room sixteen for any visitors. I hoped Peter didn’t disappoint me. I couldn’t determine if Peter would assist me with my problem at Cascade and BBB or notify them of my whereabouts.
12
I SETTLED INTO THE motel room to keep an eye on room sixteen and see if Peter had told Cascade my location. Being alert and on guard weighed heavily upon me. I wasn’t prepared for this life and realized how protected I had been. I folded the guru outfit into a bag, suspecting I’d need it again. I washed the crayon markings off my stubble.
I watched the dismal news, which confronted me with international and domestic conflict, terrorism, crime, security fears, and greed, with the opinion that the world had degraded without a solution. The commercials were far more uplifting. I often thought advertisers knew we needed comic relief.
I formed a few ideas in my mind and wondered if the images were more known than any unknown origin. The added frames exposed more data, and I couldn’t determine if they even came close to the Destroyer or the Frightener’s description. Without computer simulations to calculate the dimensions, space parameters, and color contrasts, I couldn’t decide anything at that juncture.
Unfortunately, my suspicions kept piling up. An hour passed; it was time to sweep the motel grounds and check on the jeep. I pulled on khaki shorts and a light hoodie to step outside. Under a full moon, I scanned the parking lot and noticed a man leaning against the wall near room sixteen. He turned his head toward me, and my thoughts went into overdrive.
Cunningly, I paced around the parking lot in front of the rooms and mumbled to myself. I eyed the man as he became alert and watched me. I cautiously approached the burly, stocky man, who had a round face and was wearing a dark, short-sleeved shirt and jeans.
I asked him, “Hey, man, do you have a joint, vapor, or anything? I’m really bummed.”
The burly man flexed his shoulders and muscular arms and clenched his fists. He looked intimidating, but he politely said, “Sorry. I don’t indulge.”
“Oh man, I’m dying for a smoke. I don’t have wheels,” I said, shuffling my feet as if irritated.
The burly man didn’t answer as he looked around.
I put my hands on my head and said in a whiny voice, “Can you believe it? My wife kicked me out of the motel room. I should kick her out.”
The burly man turned away, obviously hoping I’d go away.
I said, “Hey, I’m talking to you. Do you have wheels? Maybe you could give me a lift downtown.”
“I’m sorry. I’m working,” he said calmly.
“What are you—the night watchman at the motel?” I asked.
Obviously frustrated, the bu
rly man said, “Listen, man, my advice is to be kind to your wife.”
“Nah, she’s waiting to beat on me.”
“Then start walking; it’s only three miles to town.”
“You’re right; it’s a long walk.” I lowered my head and staggered back to my room, deciding not to go near my jeep. He had to be motel security or spying on me for Peter. I returned to the room to get some sleep, knowing he was guarding the room. I didn’t know how much longer I could maintain my composure.
Sun streaked through the gap in the gray window coverings. I heard loud voices outside preparing to leave for the day. I had slept for six hours and had enough rest to fuel my expectations for the day. I put on my guru outfit and cracked open the door to see if the burly man was still there. He was sitting on a folding chair a few doors from room sixteen. I waited for him to be distracted with the vehicles leaving the parking lot and left the room, walking in the opposite direction to avoid his detection.
I heard a loud voice yell, “Hey, where are you going?”
Sure enough, Peter had told the burly man to look for a man in a guru outfit. I yelled, “I’m going to breakfast!”
The burly man ambled toward me and said in a husky voice, “You can’t leave.”
“Who said?” I squawked.
Ignoring my tone of voice, he followed me to my jeep. He kept repeating that I couldn’t leave. I opened the jeep door, and the burly man reactively said, “I’m going with you.”
I said, “I’m not in the mood to talk to anybody.”
He lifted his dark, bushy eyebrows. “I’m not just anybody.”
“You’re right. Nobody is.”
He didn’t draw a gun or demonstrate aggressive behavior, so I felt certain he had instructions to protect or follow me.
I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Rustler—and that’s my real name,” he said with authority.
“Hop in. I’m really hungry.”
Without delay, he climbed into the jeep, and I drove off with someone I didn’t know.
