by J. K. Scott
A melodious echo said, “Dak, are you seeing the aurora lights?”
Acknowledging the dancing aurora lights in the bright electrical charges, I didn’t understand. “Where am I?”
Sara mentally communicated that we were near the village of Kennebunkport, Maine. “It is Friday, September 2, 1859, after midnight. You are experiencing the historic Carrington Event from a massive corona mass ejection, or CME, that created massive aurora lights over the northern sections of the planet.”
My consciousness felt dreamlike. “I don’t understand,” I said, questioning if I was mentally or verbally speaking.
“We are present in the year 1859 to witness the Carrington Event. Do you understand now?”
I struggled to unscramble my thoughts. I gazed at the awesome aurora lights, wondering how I could be back in time.
“You’ve been transported to the largest corona mass ejection in current history. Do you understand?”
Sluggishly, I collected my worldly thoughts and continued to scan the horizon. I stood on a scruffy cliff that overlooked a shadowy ocean. The year 1859 sank into my mind. I slowly began to comprehend the scene.
Becoming more coherent, I said, “Wow, wow, I understand!”
“What about your images?”
Sara’s question flooded my mind as I stepped closer to examine the sloping hill and boulders below. I gazed around at the shifting rainbow lights reflecting on the ocean as charged particles interacted with atmospheric gases, exposing flashes of red sprites in the ominous horizon. This plasma event, considered the fourth state of matter, contained the forces to trigger devastating damages to the planet and civilization. I deeply felt convinced the images were about a rescue.
Sara’s words in my mind said, “We need to understand the severity of this event. The Carrington Event happened over several days, with earlier solar flares and a smaller CME, followed by a larger impacting CME to Earth, creating the perfect solar storm. Unfortunately, solar storms were unidentified at that time. We currently know that a solar storm has the power to devastate life on this planet and collapse the grid. Could this be the rescue mission from a solar impact?”
I wondered, “Was there knowledge about weakened magnetic fields during the Carrington Event? We now understand the sun flips its magnetic field approximately every eleven years without disturbances.”
“We know during the Carrington Event, the sun, Earth, Venus, and Jupiter were aligned,” Sara prompted in my mind.
Comprehending Sara’s thoughts, I understood why we were here. The skies continued to display the high-energy charges. I viewed them more intently as my mind became clarified.
Sara communicated, “Some scientists predict there’s a twelve percent chance another CME like the Carrington Event will happen in our century.”
I thought, “Am I really in the past?”
“Yes, you are in my past memory. I lived in Kennebunkport in 1859 and saw the solar flares and CME, which later became known by Carrington’s solar flare discoveries.”
“You were here during the Carrington Event over two hundred years ago?”
“We live in a vast universe that is far more complex than can be imagined. My story is unique but not impossible. Other intelligence exists in the universe, but the majority of humans decide to ignore it. You have the ability to understand these invisible forces. Over five hundred years ago, an intelligent race rescued me as a child. They gifted me longevity to work on projects protecting human evolution on Earth. I met Turbero a long time ago in Peru protecting sacred sites.”
Sara’s stunning story drifted into my mind. My worldview had changed many times. I believed in intelligent life in the known universe, but it wasn’t readily accepted on humans’ terms. How could I not believe Sara? I glanced around at the scintillating aurora lights and asked, “Who was president in 1859?”
Sara communicated, “James Buchanan from Pennsylvania. He served from March 1857 until 1861. He’s ranked historically as the worst president because he didn’t address or lead us in the turbulent times with a country divided over slavery, which led to a civil war.”
“You experienced the Civil War?” I replied in my mind.
Her thoughts seem to burst with my response. “I worked with the underground movement through the Northeast Corridor. I stood on this same hill overlooking the ocean when the CME occurred.”
Are you sure this isn’t a dream? my mind kept thinking.
Sara moved closer and touched my hand. It felt overwhelming as charged energy flowed through me.
I awakened in front of a motionless Urstar, staring as the group appeared amazed. Sara wasn’t there. Then a flood of heightened awareness overwhelmed me.
Turbero, Peter, Maya, and Cajun still appeared expressionless. They stood and filed out in silence. I followed them through the escape door and boarded the bullet train. I took a seat behind them to contemplate what I had seen. The experience with Sara slowly pressed upon my mind with unbelievable clarity. I closed my eyes, and my thoughts expanded exponentially. I was thankful to be sitting alone.
36
MULLING OVER THE Carrington Event, I was aware that science had spent billions on multiple satellites to monitor and collect data on the sun. Technology couldn’t prevent corona mass ejections or sun flares from flooding our magnetosphere, but we could be forewarned to protect ourselves. It takes seventeen hours for a cloud of charged particles along with the CME’s detached magnetic loops to impact Earth. It was a sobering thought for our planet. Loss of the electrical grid and satellites would cripple the public, who’d never experienced life without the internet.
I suspected the DWJ group had a hidden agenda for the usual self-interest reasons, which notably excluded my input. I was still pondering whether Sara had slipped away to avoid me or to wait until I regained my senses. Mired in questions, I exited the train, knowing the situation was more complicated.
I was the last to leave the train. Turbero waited for me. With a firm voice, he said, “Dak, we have a few hours left. You have an hour in the sleep tank to prepare for your final analysis.”
He escorted me back to Andromeda. I slipped into the warm water, inhaling citrus scents and still analyzing various bidder agendas. Exhausted with overthinking, I focused on recalling the Carrington Event’s visual display.
Clothes and personal items were on the bench again. I quickly dressed to a waiting Peter outside the door. “Are you ready?” he asked.
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” I said, expecting to relay my experience with Sara.
“We have a four-minute jog to the Arbitrator Theater,” Peter said as he hastened our pace. Unexpectedly, he told me that I’d have the opportunity to speak in my defense.
Angry about Peter’s forewarning, once again, I was uninformed of their plan. We had two hours left, and I had minutes to prepare to speak.
The Arbitrator Theater opened to a wide marble lobby. I noted a black steel door and assumed it was for the technical staff. The double doors opened to a typical theater room. It had a back wall with a dark tinted-glass window that overlooked the theater. We descended the steps to the front row. Peter waited for me to sit next to Maya, Cajun, Rio, and Allan as he took the aisle seat.
Turbero stood at the stage’s podium with a large screen behind him. Turbero firmly announced we had two hours and eighteen minutes to conclude this project. The screen displayed a large digital clock. Maya sighed as she glanced at me and arched her eyebrows. I expressed concern that I had to speak. She indifferently shrugged her shoulders. Irked by her response, I felt deflated, preferring encouragement.
The presentation began with my thermal image. I was lying on my right side in Cascade’s bedroom. My vitals displayed the aberrant beats. Discouraged by the scene once again, I felt even more apprehensive about speaking. The showing changed to a video we had viewed one time too many. I listened to my haunti
ng voice detail my experience with the shadow messenger. Afterward, Turbero pointed to an inset screen, showing Cascade’s vital signs recording, saying, “Dak’s physical reaction indicates this was real to him.”
Turbero switched the recording, showing a giant aurora on the planet Jupiter. It was a hundred times brighter than Earth’s aurora lights. I stared at the massive aurora lights accompanied by strange sounds. The Carrington Event on Earth was minor compared to Jupiter’s giant mass.
Minutes later, Turbero introduced me, saying I would report on the courier’s images. I ambled to the podium and silently cleared my throat. I said, “I’ll start from the beginning.
“The first few days viewing the images, I couldn’t decipher the origin or the fragmented objects. And in my job, often, I’ve viewed many unexplained patterns from outer space. After I experienced the shadow messenger, the images became an obsession. My first impressions were they appeared to be rescue objects. In the first two decades of the twenty-first century, the Advanced Aviation Threat Identification Program (AATIP) was leaked by two Pentagon officials suggesting we are not alone. The public majority still seemed not to take it seriously. Only the UFO community clamored. They knew the government had been withholding information. However there had been claims that UAPs hovered and neutralized nuclear sites; this too was ignored by the majority of the public.”
The tantalizing objects appeared on the screens. As I was staring at the objects, it hit me that the courier’s bones could only be a few years old but the SD card far older. My mind flashed on the void, wondering if this was what I could have overlooked. I wanted to shout to Turbero and the group about my thoughts.
Without any responses behind the glass window, I had to continue defending my position. I said, “After working with the Florida group, the one object appeared to be a torus-style form, and the other circular object appeared to be an intelligent object that seems to be linked to the torus. I’m not a scientist, but what if the torus is resurfacing or cycling charged particles or ions in our atmosphere to resolve a weakened magnetosphere to protect Earth from extreme weather or an influx of cosmic radiation? Or protect it from a solar CME?”
I paused, took a deep breath, and continued, “I’ve always been curious and have read ancient history that had stories of past cataclysmic events. We need to ask ourselves: What did the people of Göbekli Tepe in Turkey know? Twelve thousand years ago, they buried their advanced city and vacated it. Why?
“What if an immense plasma solar storm quickly dissolved the ice shelves from the Artic and Antarctica, creating vast rising sea levels or floods? What if a gigantic tenth planet influences our orbit or a fluctuation by our axis pole? Could these cataclysmic events extinguish life on this planet? Past civilizations passed on these stories to forewarn future civilizations. Are the UAVS warning us that our destructive nuclear bombs are unacceptable and could destroy us and planet?”
More confident, I gazed at the front row only, avoiding the glass window above. I firmly said, “My shadow messenger repeated, ‘I am you,’ and a second event messaged a void. This could be my future self or my consciousness warning that the images are part of an intelligent rescue program. Or could invisible forces penetrate our dimension, exposing the orbs and UAVs that appear and disappear in our atmosphere? Some believe these invisible forces could impact our evolutionary future? What do the bidders know that we don’t? Do we abide by the warnings or ignore them?
“Only a small percentage of the populace could survive a massive plasma storm today with the intensity of the Carrington Event. The majority of the population would collapse without the energy grid. My messenger told me to solve it. These images should be transparent if they are a warning about a future cataclysm,” I said in my defense.
I was relieved to share my insights, but neither the front-row group nor those behind the window responded. I felt uneasy there weren’t any boos, claps, or questions.
Cajun joined me at the podium. I stepped aside, unsure if I should leave.
John whispered, “Stay here.”
With a strong voice, Cajun said, “The Causeway computer has analyzed numerous scenarios this past week. We have discussed the impact of invisible forces on our magnetosphere. ESA’s Swarm satellites are observing and measuring the invisible forces, such as electric currents, atomic particles, and cosmic radiation that could devastate our planet. The invisible forces delivered by the solar winds cause havoc on our weakening magnetics. Some scientists believe we are in the onset of another ice age, and others believe a massive solar flare could melt all of our ice shelves. The computers could not confirm any of these events are happening in the near term.”
Cajun continued, “However, any of these could be a serious planetary calamity. It could take months, years, or decades to happen or return to solvency. Currently, we don’t have the means to prevent another Carrington Event, but with a warning system, thousands could survive in our underground facilities.
“The Causeway has calculated many possibilities. The results indicate the biggest threat is still the unknown. In consideration of Dak’s messenger, I suggest we consider our options.” Cajun looked directly at the tinted glass, concluding, “It’s time to vote. Do you agree these images pose a near-time threat to our planet that needs to be considered?”
Within seconds, the screen showed a count inside red and green boxes—ten green lights and twenty-three red lights. I wondered if there could be bidders behind the glass window. I stood frozen, gazing at the red count vote.
The screen’s twenty-three red lights stayed on the screen.
John said, “Without a DWJ majority, the vote to consider a threat did not pass.”
Cajun left the podium while I stood there, petrified by the red votes, which meant that they didn’t believe the objects were a threat at this time and chose not to heed options for our future.
Turbero stepped to the podium and thanked Cajun and me for sharing our thoughts and conclusions. We returned to our seats, and I avoided looking at the glass window, frustrated they voted not to consider an imminent threat on our planet.
Turbero appeared pale, and his unruly ponytail seemed to be in a tangled mess. With slumped shoulders, he seemed to glare at the tinted glass. Then he lifted his shoulders before speaking.
“We are prepared for several outcomes. The Causeway computer has analyzed possible bidder motivations. Number one is control, and second is the power to govern who decides. Decades ago, Antonin Scalia, a Supreme Court judge, indicated that outcomes are decided by who decides. At this moment, we are responsible for the decision.
“We have one more vote. With the majority vote that our planet does not have a current threat, we need to vote on releasing the images and our analysis to the winning bidder and negotiating for Dak’s life.”
I gasped. My life depended on their decision to release the images to the bidders. Unclear was my status or any escape from this nightmare.
Turbero announced, “We have one hour and fifteen minutes left. We need to vote on whether we agree to release the images to the bidders. The bidder or bidders would control the outcome to withhold or disclose the information. Take fifteen minutes to consider your vote.”
I heard the murmurs from the front row as I sat stunned and confused by the process. There had to be another agenda unknown to me. I seethed over the possible outcome of me being a prisoner. Escaping from the DWJ became my focus. I mulled over my options, so furious I couldn’t think.
Peter left his aisle seat, unable to look at me. Turbero took his seat and leaned close. Unexpectedly, he put his arm around my shoulders. I wanted to push back, but his head moved close as he whispered, “Do not panic, Dak. Go to the bathroom, read this note, and then destroy it.” He removed his arm from my shoulders, grasped my left hand as if shaking it, and pressed a note into my palm. He patted me on the shoulder and left. I held the note in my sweaty palm, hoping this cou
ld be an escape plan to leave.
37
WITH THE WADDED note clinched in my hand, I waited for Turbero to disappear behind the stage. I glanced around to see if others were watching me, fearful what this message was about. I asked Maya for directions to the restroom. Disappointed it was on the opposite side of the theater. I identified an empty row to cross and climbed the steps to the bathroom. I hoped those behind the window would not notice my movement to the restroom. My heart sank when a tall man in black stood guard at the restrooms. Behind the tinted window area, I heard voices. I smiled at the guard and continued to the lobby to read the note before my sweat erased it. Alone, I unrolled the note, and my eyes widened as I read, “Vote will be no. Two government bidders are in the enclosed room. The images were captured by DARPA’s military surveillance telescope tracking space objects decades ago. Destroy this!”
With a shocked expression, I was aware cameras were watching me. Instantly, I pretended to be rehearsing a speech in a normal voice. I noted the man dressed in black step into the lobby. Louder, I voiced, “I want to thank DWJ and the staff for their support and dedication.” I continued mumbling for a few more moments until the guard returned inside the theater.
I wadded the note to return. Casually, I coughed and discreetly put it into my mouth. Distastefully, I chewed and chewed. Returning, Turbero stood at the podium. His eyes followed me as I took my seat. I could only imagine what he was thinking.
Turbero said, “We will vote on the following: do we release the images to the bidders?”
Relieved to be aware of the outcome, I carefully watched the red and green votes cover the screen. The majority green votes ruled to release the images to the winning bidder or to the clandestine government. This vote devastated me. I was grateful Turbero passed me the note to forewarn me. That prevented me from collapsing in my seat.
Turbero finalized the vote by saying, “The image analysis will be retired to the historic vault in Andromeda. The winning bidder will receive the original fragments without Dak’s interpretations. Dak’s identity will be protected and cleared from any records. DWJ will classify the images as fraudulent. We will disburse this project as disinformation on the dark web.”
