Alien Deception

by Tony Ruggiero

  Leumas began the short walk back to his ship, wanting to put distance between himself and this planet as soon as possible. Whoever is behind this is very clever and demented, he thought. Pausing at the entry port, he turned back one more time to look at the surrounding area.

  "Damn you, whoever you may be," he said aloud. "Damn you."

  * * * *

  Later, Leumas reclined in his chair on board the Blessed after he'd finished programming the coordinates for the return flight to Earth. As he sat, he tried to organize what had occurred on Beta-747.

  Why was Scarg killed and where were the other two bodies? Lay out the facts, he told himself. Was it possible that the attackers came from the planet's population? All reports indicated the inhabitants were a peaceful race; one of the major reasons why they were approached. They revered life and all creatures. He doubted strongly that the murderer or murderers were natives. Did they come from off-world then?

  But what purpose could it serve to murder the agents? Who knew we were there? Just the Council. And the delayed mind push… The research of the planet showed no telepathic capability. Could they have been wrong?

  He rubbed his forehead. He was tired, angry, sad—a veritable hodgepodge of emotions. He needed to rest his mind from the images of his dead friend for a while so he would be able to think clearly. There was something he had missed, something just inside the shadows waiting to be exposed; he could feel it. He closed his eyes and willed his thoughts to another direction.

  Influencing through thoughts had initially developed as an hereditary ability on Zire after war-induced radiation produced a useful mutation, but the natural ability to influence other species had eventually been lost. Now it required physical cerebral alteration followed by a strict mind-training regimen in order to control the ability and to keep the altered life form from going mad. The odds of success were less then two percent on a good day. Still, having more time now to focus on the task, Leumas’ success rate in developing new agents had been gratifying. With the help of Dora, his computer, he had—

  "Dora," Leumas called aloud, breaking his own train of thought. Now that his mind had cleared from his earlier troubled and confused state, he wondered why he had simply not asked Dora in the first place.

  "Yes."

  "Do you have all the background data on Beta-747?"

  "Yes."

  "What is the probability that the inhabitants of Beta-747 discovered the agents and killed them?"

  "Working…" Dora stated. "The probability of such an event is twenty-one percent."

  "What is the possibility the inhabitants have the mental abilities and equipment to produce a delayed mind push?"

  "Working…" the female voice said again. “The probability of such an event is eleven percent."

  "Dora, what is the probability of both those events occurring simultaneously given those same inhabitants?"

  "Working…the probability is nine percent."

  "It has to be an outside party, then," Leumas said. "It's the only thing that makes sense, considering how perfect everything was up to this moment. Someone from outside this world has done this. But why?"

  Then, as if a giant light bulb had gone off in his head, the factor he had missed came to him. If someone were able to procure the equipment to perform a delayed mind push, even possibly possess some mental capabilities, they might have been capable of using influence on the agents. It was a long shot, but if this turned out to be the case then their problems were only beginning.

  All those capable of using influence were supposed to be under the Council’s cognizance or so they had thought. If a person or group had developed this ability or was surgically altered and was outside the control of the Council, they could do a great deal of damage.

  "Dora, in the cargo hold area is a body. I want you to scan the brain and determine if there was any mind tampering, altering or influence applied. If so, try and establish a record of the brain pattern that applied the outside influence."

  "Working… The solution to your query will take approximately ten-point-two-five hours to compute."

  "I've got time." Leumas began to contemplate these revelations he did not like. He tried to imagine what a rogue that possessed such power would be capable of.

  "Incoming message from the Leader of the Council," Dora said, startling him.

  "Patch it through."

  "Leumas?"

  "Greg, we've got problems," Leumas began without even any form of greeting. The nervous energy inside him engendered by what he was considering was consuming him. "The agents on Beta-747—"

  "Are dead," Greg said, finishing the statement for him in a nonchalant manner that shocked Leumas so much he was silent for several seconds.

  "How did you know?" he asked finally.

  "Get back as soon as you can. We've got trouble. Big trouble," Greg said, ignoring Leumas’ question.

  "I'm on my way. ETA is in five hours."

  "Good, I'll see you when you get here."

  "What kind of trouble are you referring to?"

  "Communication terminated at the source," Dora said. "Do you wish to reestablish?"

  "No," he said, wondering at Greg's abruptness. That was not normal for him. On the other hand, given the circumstances, normalcy would seem to be the least of their problems at the moment.

  Leumas exhaled deeply and closed his eyes. The fond memories of the past two years faded from his mind.

  Chapter Six

  “I’ve never liked reporters who feed the populace a mixture of scum and discontent. However, at times I wonder if they are fulfilling a need of the human psyche?”

  Sarah McClendon

  "I don't understand what you mean, Mr. Schume," Sarah said, trying to hide the fact his accusation had caught her off-guard. She needed a few seconds to regain her composure, so she opted to let him talk and find out exactly how much he knew. More importantly, though, how did he know—and from whom?

  "I think you know exactly what I mean, Ms. McClendon," Schume replied, smiling sardonically. "And I believe President Samuel knows what I am talking about also."

  Edward stared at the reporter without any sign of emotion.

  Schume turned to the other reporters and announced, "I said it once and I will say it again. I claim that the president and a select group of individuals have developed an alliance with some secret organization staffed with aliens. This organization's headquarters is here on Earth." He paused for effect, then continued. "They conduct clandestine meetings to decide the fate of this world and many others. In fact, this organization has been tampering with the progress of several planets in order to ensure they develop in accordance with some alien blueprint. Our own lives at this very moment are being altered without the people's knowledge or consent."

  Sarah maintained an outward look of disdain, but inside she was appalled at the level of the man's knowledge. She looked out of the corner of her eye at the president.

  "Perhaps we should stop right now," he murmured.

  Sarah shook her head. She knew it would be best to disprove what the reporter had said. They couldn't end the conference on a note of indecision or doubt. It had to be a freak coincidence that Schume knew, but damn, he was pretty accurate.

  "Do you know how absurd that sounds, Mr. Schume?" she said with a look of disbelief, smiling and rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.

  "Yes, I do. But, Ms. McClendon, I haven't heard you say that it is not true," he rejoined calmly.

  He's trying to catch me in a lie in front of everyone. "Of course, it's not true," she stated. "Why do you believe such a story? Who has told you this outlandish fabrication? Inquiring minds want to know, Mr. Schume."

  She had to talk with Greg. The reporter's knowledge was too close to the truth. It indicated there was a deeper problem, perhaps even a leak of information from within the Council to discredit Greg, her and even the Council’s future.

  They had feared there might have been some leftover Copolla followers on
some of the Council worlds. He had been extremely well-connected, but most of those who had joined him in his plot did so out of fear rather than personal loyalty. It was possible someone might try to step into his established network and take over where he had left off, but if there were any covert followers, they had been hiding and not drawing any attention to themselves.

  Leumas had assigned a team of trusted agents to keep an eye out for such events. He wanted to ensure that any elements of Copolla's reign were identified and ousted before they could do any harm. It was the only assignment the team had.

  Sarah concentrated on contacting Greg. She summoned all the mental powers her alien/human body and mind possessed. She focused all her thoughts on this one endeavor, drawing into herself.

  ::Greg,:: she called. ::Greg?::

  "My sources of information cannot be exposed at this time," Schume was saying. "However, I have indisputable proof to verify my story." The statement pulled Sarah back to the press conference and out of her attempt to contact Greg.

  "What proof?" she asked, knowing she had to turn this around. Schume was the one in control and leading the press conference now. "That's impossible! This is some hoax or charade you're pulling to grab media attention. We will not allow your outbursts to quell our exciting scientific achievement with a lot of false accusations."

  "But I assure you, they are quite true," Schume stated.

  She saw amusement in his eyes and knew she was in trouble. He had some damning evidence and she had nowhere to go until she knew what it was. A moment later, she did.

  "I've come into possession of an alien body," Schume called to the other reporters, his voice slapping Sarah like a whip. "One of the spies who sneaks onto other worlds and changes people's minds by influencing their thoughts to do someone else's bidding. It's being delivered to a hospital for examination at this very moment." He smiled triumphantly at Sarah. "Now, Ms. McClendon, do you have a comment?"

  "I have no comment regarding a subject on which I have no knowledge, Mr. Schume," Sarah said as calmly as she could while panicking inside.

  Where the hell did he get an alien body? It was a setup and I followed along perfectly.

  Seeing Sarah was at a loss for words, Edward stepped forward and stood by her side, placing his hand on her elbow, gripping it firmly but gently. His expression indicated for her to be silent.

  "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, projecting a calm and confident image. "Unless there are any more questions relating to the original press conference topic, we'll leave these unsubstantiated accusations until there's proof they actually have any basis in fact. We thank you for your time." He turned and led Sarah toward the exit.

  "Mr. President, how do you respond to these allegations?"

  "Mr. President, is it true? Have there been secrets kept from the American people?"

  "Is this related to the alien autopsy video? Mr. President? Mr. President?"

  Once she and Edward were backstage, Sarah took a deep breath, trying to quell her nerves. "What the hell was that all about?" she asked Edward.

  "I don't know, but let's not discuss it here," he said as he saw his press secretary heading toward them.

  "Mr. President," Monroe began with a worried look. "We should rebut the reporter's accusations immediately."

  "First things first," Edward said calmly. "Let's find out what that reporter is talking about. He said the body is going to a hospital for examination. Let's find out if there's any truth to that before we say anything. Find out which one. Get a team over there to check it out. Otherwise, we'll stand out there in front of the country playing guess-my-next-move with those vultures from the media."

  "Yes, sir," Monroe said stiffly and hurried off.

  Turning back to Sarah, Edward said in a low tone, "There's a secure room over here where we can't be overheard."

  Sarah nodded and headed toward where he had indicated. The president's White House security escort followed at a discreet distance and took post outside of the room after they entered. His personal escort always included a detail of six personnel. By his own choice, one of them was always a member of the UCDW, picked by Leumas and trained through normal Secret Service channels. He gestured for the agent to come over to him.

  "Make sure you're on the team that checks out this body at the hospital," Edward ordered in a whisper. The young man nodded once and left.

  As soon as the door closed with a resounding thud and evacuation of air indicating the airtight seal, Sarah said, "You don't think there can be any truth about the body, do you?"

  Edward sighed. "I'd like to believe not, but Schume is too close to the actual truth about everything else to be making it up. Besides, we both know that as much as we dislike Schume, he has a track record of breaking a big case every once in a while.”

  “Agreed, but he also has long periods of pure sensationalistic reporting as well. The overall consensus with most of the public is a wait and see attitude when he reports things. Still, it’s best if we talk to Greg," Sarah said, her lips tight. "I tried to get hold of him earlier, but my concentration was so frazzled from that reporter, I couldn't make contact."

  "We also need to develop a contingency plan to combat the leak," Edward added. "Someone must be spying on us. That's the only way he could've known. If the body is truly an alien's, that'll take a lot of explaining, but we can talk our way out of it by just acting as surprised as everyone else."

  He paused, considering the implications of what had just happened, breathed in, and then continued. "But if he has any hardcore evidence of the existence of the Council and our involvement, that may be slightly harder to explain."

  "‘Slightly harder' is putting it mildly," Sarah said. "We may as—"

  ::Sarah. Sarah, can you hear me?::

  ::Yes, I'm here, Greg::.

  ::I need you and President Samuel back here as soon as possible. We've got a problem.::

  ::We've got problems here, too. A reporter claims to have the body of an alien and also knows a lot about the Council and their mission. He's on the mark too much for it to just be a coincidence.::

  ::It's begun then. Come as soon as you can.:: He broke contact abruptly, sending a wave of dizziness through her mind and causing her knees to momentarily buckle.

  "Sarah, are you okay?" asked Edward as he steadied her.

  "Yes, I'm fine," she said, wincing and confused by Greg's abruptness. "That was like a telephone being slammed down on my head instead of in my ear. Greg wants us to get back to headquarters as soon as possible."

  A knock on the door sounded. The president opened it and was greeted by his press secretary.

  "What have you learned?" Edward demanded.

  "They have someone…something at Walter Reed," Monroe answered breathlessly. "The body has been dead for a while. They will be autopsying it later tonight."

  "Great. It's going to turn into a media circus around here." Sarah sighed.

  * * * *

  Many of the reporters turned toward Schume, unsure of what to make of his accusations. He had the reputation among them for being brash and sometimes too eager to jump the gun on issues. He had his moments in the spotlight, but usually the odds were running sixty-forty against him. They knew they had to be careful. But with a story this earth-shattering, perhaps literally, no self-respecting reporter could afford to ignore Schume's accusations lest he or she be caught flatfooted should it all prove to be true.

  Raymond Schume's firm belief was that everyone had something to hide…everyone. He was quite adept at finding those things and using them. He loved being in the limelight, but he also needed the money. Having two ex-wives and a current girlfriend required substantial alimony payments and shopping expenses respectively. The bottom line was good, scandalous stories paid well. This one would be the climax of his career. He envisioned television shows and a book deal before he was done, as long as his mysterious informant kept him going.

  He watched with smug delight as he saw the look on his colleague
s' faces. Those who had scorned him in the past he refused to acknowledge at all. Piss on them, he thought. His response to other eager queries was short and succinct.

  "Sorry, folks, strictly exclusive on this one."

  The other reporters backed off and went their own ways, many hurrying to find a phone and track down to which hospital the alleged alien body had been transported.

  Chapter Seven

  “What we see in our dreams, we shall see again in life.”

  Greg Carlson

  Greg awoke to a gentle shaking by his personal assistant, Reveb.

  "What time is it?" Greg asked groggily.

  "It is 1400 hours and there is a session of the Council at 14:15 which requires your presence. I stopped by to ensure you did not forget." Reveb's soft voice sang softly.

  "I must've dozed off." Greg yawned. "I didn't sleep well last night."

  “I am sorry,” said Reveb.

  Reveb was a Monoc, humanoid in appearance except smaller, barely five feet tall and weighing no more than one hundred and ten pounds. His facial features were half the size of the average human. He had no hair on his face or head. His duties were to schedule all of Greg's activities and appointments, and see to his personal comfort. His quarters were near Greg's and he was available whenever needed. It was not in the Monocian nature to be abrupt or voice sentiment. They were extremely soft-spoken, which made him perfect for this job—inconspicuous but available. There could be no accusation of a Monocian's attempting to sway anyone.

  "I am sorry," Reveb stated again, although the tone in his voice only indicated his usual blandness.

  Although Greg did not wish to have a personal assistant, the members of the Council had swayed him through the tireless necessity of having to reschedule their appointments with him continuously. Reveb had come highly recommended by planetary officials; most Council members had at least one Monocian on their staffs. He had been with Greg for the past eighteen months and Greg was glad to have him. At least now he was usually on schedule.