Ben Archer and the Cosmic Fall

by Rae Knightly

  BEN

  ARCHER

  and

  THE COSMIC FALL

  A boy with an alien power,

  caught between two alien enemies.

  Rae Knightly

  BEN ARCHER AND THE COSMIC FALL

  THE ALIEN SKILL SERIES, BOOK 1

  Copyright © 2018 by Rae Knightly.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations em- bodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organiza- tions, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact :

  http://www.raeknightly.com

  Cover design by PINTADO

  Book Formatting by Derek Murphy @Creativindie

  ISBN-13: 978-1984918666

  ISBN-10:1984918664

  First Edition: March 2018

  CONTENTS

  1. Missing

  2. The Dugout

  3. Evidence

  4. Tiwanaku

  5. Twisted eyes

  6. Mesmo

  7. Crystals

  8. The First Witness

  9. The Trap

  10. Lighthouse Park

  11. The Cosmic Fall

  12. The List

  13. The Island

  14. Spirit Portal

  15. The Crossing

  16. Black Carpenters

  17. Granville

  18. Humpback

  19. Haida Gwaii II

  20. Paddleboard

  21. The Breach

  22. The Shapeshifter

  23. Flight

  EPILOGUE

  About the Author

  CHAPTER ONE

  Missing

  BEN ARCHER KNEW THAT SOMETHING BAD HAD happened to him on the night of The Cosmic Fall. He knew this because, exactly one month after the event, he was still waking up from the same nightmare. He would sit up straight on his bed, drenched in sweat, a scream stuck at the back of his throat. Every morning it was the same thing. One minute he would be reliving that fateful night on his closed eyelids, the next he would be wide awake, sweat pearling his forehead, his mind grasping for the fading images.

  Wednesday morning, September 27th, was no different. The alarm clock yanked the boy out of his turbulent slumber, sending the dark threads of his nightmare scattering to the back of his mind where he could no longer reach them.

  A Jack Russell Terrier jumped onto Ben’s bed to check if his master was all right.

  Ben patted his faithful dog. “’Morning, Tike.” He mumbled, before sinking back into his cushion. He tried to gather his thoughts, searching his mind for the smallest hint of a memory. But it was already too late: whatever he had been dreaming about was already lost to his conscious mind.

  The family doctor had explained that it was normal to experience momentary amnesia after having been bedridden for almost three weeks. High fever could distort one’s memory and provoke terrible nightmares. When the doctor declared that Ben was healthy again, he recommended the boy take it slow but try to get back to normal life as soon as possible.

  Whatever normal means…

  Tike wagged his tail, then nudged Ben in the neck with his wet nose to encourage him to get up.

  “Ok, ok, I’m up already!” Ben grumbled.

  The boy dragged himself out of bed, then pulled on the jeans and t-shirt that lay in a heap on the floor of his messy room. He headed for the bathroom where he checked his reflection in the mirror. His cheeks still hadn’t fully recovered their color and there were dark pockets under his brown eyes. His brown hair stuck out all over the place, as though someone had tried to vacuum it during the night. He gave his head a quick brush, but had to abandon a mesh of hair that poked out from the back of his head.

  Tike was waiting impatiently for him by the front door.

  Ben opened it, saying: “Hurry up, Tike. I gotta go in fifteen minutes.”

  The white and brown dog scurried down the stairs of the apartment block, then headed out to the yard to do his morning business.

  In the meantime, Ben filled up Tike’s bowls with crackers and fresh water. He poured out his own cereal and milk before sinking into the couch to gulp down his breakfast in front of the TV. He flipped through the channels as he munched on the crispy cereal. By now it was 8.00 am, which meant the morning news was on.

  “…tensions between China and the US have once again escalated due to the event social media has dubbed as The Cosmic Fall.” A news anchor with a serious air reported on Channel 2. “A source from the US Defense Ministry has claimed of-the-record that the American satellite, which was destroyed in space five weeks ago, was in fact designed to spy on Chinese territory. The head of the FBI has denied these allegations and continues to accuse China of destroying its communications satellite. On a more reconciliatory note, the President of the United States has once again urged the Canadian government to grant access to the crash site to both Chinese and US investigators to help them determine the exact cause of…”

  Ben changed channels.

  A morning talk show came on, showing a cheerful man who was holding up a palm-sized rock to the show host.

  “…it is so compact it weighs six pounds! But wait until you hear its price-tag! Just one pound of this meteor debris is worth over a million dollars!” He exclaimed.

  The show host squealed, while gasps came from the public who were watching the live show.

  “I can picture folks frantically overturning their yards to find meteor nuggets!” The show host laughed.

  Ben pressed the control again.

  This time an old black-and-white image of hills covered in torn-up pine trees appeared on the screen, while a soothing voice explained in the background: “Thousands of hectares of trees were crushed to the ground like toothpicks by the shockwave of the exploding meteorite in Siberia in the 1970's…”

  Ben switched off the TV in a hurry. His hand was shaking over the control.

  I should know by now not to watch TV!

  He jumped when he heard a scratching on the door, his cereal spilling over the edge of the bowl.

  “Darn!” He muttered.

  He opened the door to let Tike in, leaving a trail of milk all the way from the living room to the kitchen. Having lost his appetite, Ben placed the half-eaten bowl of cereal in the kitchen sink. He tore off a paper towel, then roughly tried to soak up the milk drops on the carpet. Tike watched him curiously with his head cocked.

  “Think it’s funny, huh?” Ben uttered, as he scrubbed the floor.

  Not a sound left the dog’s throat. Ben observed the terrier who sat patiently before him.

  How come you never bark anymore?

  Ben picked himself up from the ground and threw the paper towel away. He put on his jacket, then flung a water bottle, banana, energy bar and a wrapped-up ham sandwich loosely into his backpack, before heaving it onto his right shoulder. While he struggled to zip up his jacket, he headed down the hall to his mother’s room, his backpack scraping against the wall. The door was ajar. He peaked inside. Tike joined him and peered through the crack below him.

  Laura Archer lay on her bed, fast asleep. She had recently begun working night shifts at restaurants and bars after having lost her day job. Her former boss had not appreciated her spending week after week watching over her ailing son.

  Ben hesitated to leave his sleeping mother, half hoping she would open her eyes. He wanted to tell her he’d had another nightmare. But
when she didn’t stir, he whispered: “Bye, Mom.” before tiptoeing away.

  He put on his runners. “I’m outta here, Tike. I’ll see you in a bit.” His eyes fell on his dog. Tike gave him a forlorn look that dug deep into the boy’s heart. Ben bit his lip.

  “Oh, come on, Tike! Don’t do this to me again! I have to go to school, you know that!” Ben scolded. He knelt down to hug his four-legged friend. As he rubbed Tike’s back, he felt the warmth of the dog’s fur and the beating heart inside the dog’s chest.

  We share the same fear.

  Ben stood up quickly, bothered by the thought.

  Out loud, he said: “Take care of, Mom, ok?”, then he closed the door in a hurry to avoid glimpsing at Tike’s eyes again.

  ***

  At the doctor’s recommendation, the twelve-year old had reluctantly gone back to school, which was a drag because he had missed the first two introductory weeks of September. One of Ben’s close friends had been placed in another classroom where he had already made firm friends with a new boy. Ben’s other classmates had formed tight-knit groups, they had prepared their first homework and knew which teacher taught what. Ben felt like an outsider disrupting a well-established order.

  It didn’t help that he spent the first week in a daze. He had a hard time concentrating on the lessons and was exhausted by the time he got home. His mother told him to be patient, his body had experienced a great shock, and it was still pulling itself together. Young people recover quickly, she would say, you will be fine in no time.

  I don’t think so…

  As he let himself out of the three-story building, Ben took out a plastic bag to pick up his dog’s poop before the downstairs neighbor could complain. He threw the waste in a public garbage, then jogged down the street towards his school.

  Not so long ago, he would have run down the three blocks of houses without a second thought. But although seven weeks had passed since Ben fell ill, he ran out of breath as soon as he reached the first pedestrian crossing. He slowed down to a quick pace as he hugged the walls of the houses, hunching over to fend off a sprinkling rain. He made it just in time for the school bell. He weaved his way through the groups of students, intent on reaching the main door so he could get away from the outdoors and the crowds.

  Just then he heard something rip and he felt the weight of his backpack fall away from his shoulder. He glanced down to find the strap had torn off. In his haste that morning, he had neglected to zip up the backpack all the way. Its contents spilled out onto the ground, his pens rolling over the playground, his notebook falling into a patch of mud and his water bottle emptying itself on a library book.

  Students burst into laughter around him, while others pushed past him in their haste to get inside. No-one offered to help. Ben was left to fend for himself as he painstakingly began to recover all the pieces strewn around him. By the time he was done, the last couple of giggling students ran by, their shoes thumping on the asphalt.

  Ben lifted his backpack with both arms to avoid any further embarrassing fabric tears. But no sooner had he stood up when he became fully aware of the empty playground and the immense sky above him. He was all alone, at the completely mercy of the emptiness around him, unprotected and vulnerable. His head swam around dizzyingly and his vision blurred. Ben clung on to his backpack for dear life. His heart raced and his breath came out in gasps as he experienced the burden of a full panic attack. As soon as he shut his eyes, the nightmare erupted through his brain without pity: a dark mass falling from the night sky, his Grampa shouting in warning, twisted eyes, the shadow of a man with white hair reflected in the fire, a whisper…

  Mesmo.

  Tike’s snout on his cheek.

  “Ben!” Someone shouted, shaking him by the shoulders. “Wake up! Ben!”

  Ben opened his eyes. Tike’s paws were on his chest, the dog’s face close to his own. Above him his mother was calling him anxiously. He blinked and found himself lying in the middle of the playground, surrounded by Tike, Laura and a couple of teachers.

  A school assistant came running up to them, a cellphone in her hand. “I’m calling an ambulance.” She announced, holding the phone up to her ear.

  “No!’ Laura objected. “Please don’t! I’ll take Ben to our family doctor. He’s familiar with Ben’s condition.”

  The assistant hesitated, then put the phone away.

  “Are you ok?” Laura asked Ben, frowning worriedly.

  Ben nodded slowly.

  She helped him up carefully, adding: “The school called me and said you were standing by yourself in the middle of the playground. I came with Tike as quickly as I could. You were completely paralyzed.” She accepted Ben’s backpack from one of the teachers.

  Ben was excruciatingly aware of the adults staring at him strangely. From inside the school, students were pressing their noses against the windows, pointing in his direction.

  Oh great! Nice way to blend in…

  CHAPTER TWO

  The Dugout

  AGENT THEODORE CONNELLY ENTERED THE

  office of High Inspector George Tremblay, deep into one of the Canadian Security Intelligence Service’s best-kept secret underground facilities, hidden in north-western Ontario. Although he was only 37 years old, early loss of hair had pushed him to shave his head completely. This gave him a handsome, clean look which went well with the job.

  The High Inspector was sitting behind his desk, his legs crossed, ankle over knee, the tips of his fingers drumming together as he conversed with a man whose black hair was streaked with grey over his stern-looking traits. Several files were open on the High Inspector’s desk and he closed a couple of them before standing up to greet Connelly.

  The assistant in a tidy suit and skirt who had led Connelly in gestured elegantly towards the imposing man in his early sixties. “High Inspector George Tremblay, Head of the National Aerial Phenomenon Division of the CSIS.” She said, before presenting Connelly: “Agent Theodore Edmond Connelly, Chilliwack RCMP, British Columbia.” She then left the office gracefully.

  Connelly said nothing as he stretched out his hand to greet the High Inspector. The latter gestured towards the seated man: “This is Inspector Robert Hao. He is leading the investigation you have been assigned to. You will report to him at all times and he, in turn, will report to me."

  Agent Theodore Connelly and Inspector Robert Hao shook hands, holding each other’s gaze.

  The High Inspector invited both men to sit as he went through his thick files, one of which clearly contained information about Connelly. The High Inspector made direct eye contact with the bald man, saying firmly: “Anything that is said regarding the current investigation is classified and divulging any or all information will be penalized immediately and without revoke in accordance to the law on treason to national security.”

  Connelly responded loud and clear: “Yes, Sir.”

  The High Inspector scanned some documents with his eyes, nodding satisfactorily.

  “You have made quite a stellar career, Agent Connelly.” He began, “From patrolling the streets of Chilliwack for ten years, to leading investigations at the CSIS Headquarters in the past two months. Your colleagues are already saying you’re a wonder boy.” He glanced up at Connelly and said meaningfully: “The question is whether you know what is at stake…”

  Connelly replied in a well-oiled manner: “I do, Sir. I witnessed The Cosmic Fall seven weeks ago. I was the first on site. It has become my life’s mission to investigate this event in order to protect my fellow citizens and my country. I will do anything in my power to achieve this.”

  The High Inspector clearly wasn’t impressed, but he let it pass. “Agent Connelly, you are well aware that tensions between China and the US remain high. The US is accusing China of shooting down one of its communication satellites, while China holds the US accountable for secretly spying on them. Canada, on the other hand, is maintaining its story that the satellite was accidentally destroyed by a passing meteor, whic
h then broke down into two pieces, both of which crashed on the outskirts of Chilliwack on the night of August 26. As you know, we have been feeding this story to the news media for weeks now.”

  He let his fingers run down the sides of his tie. The tone of his voice was very serious: “But we know better, of course. We know the true nature of The Cosmic Fall and the threat that it may be posing to our planet. The Canadian Minister of Defense is holding a confidential meeting of the highest order next week. Both Chinese and US military officials have been invited to the table to discuss what little we know.” He bent forward on his chair again, jabbing his index finger at Connelly: “You will be briefing this meeting.”

  After pausing for effect, he continued: “The fact that you witnessed The Cosmic Fall and that you hold a US passport through your mother has acted in your favour. The FBI has endorsed you. Inspector Robert Hao, here, also has dual citizenship. He was born on mainland China and is highly regarded by the Chinese Ministry of State Security. It is imperative that you work together. After this meeting takes place, the CSIS will no longer be the only Agency watching you like hawks. Do you understand?”

  Connelly confirmed: “Yes, Sir.”

  The High Inspector straightened the files on his desk: “Your file is impeccable...” He said, before adding slowly: “Except for one thing...”

  Connelly’s mouth twitched.

  The High Inspector removed a folder from Connelly’s thick file.

  “Your wife…” The High Inspector began, as he slid the folder over to Connelly.

  Connelly took the folder off the desk, then opened it. Clipped to the left side of the folder was a photograph of a smiling young woman. She had curly hair around a youthful, dark-skinned face. Her eyes were grey and her teeth were a perfect white. She looked like someone straight out of a magazine. The name on the descriptive form on the right side of the folder read Tamara Connelly.