Alien Deception

by Tony Ruggiero

  "Do the FBI and CIA have any leads? Where are they looking?"

  "Nothing conclusive yet. We're coordinating our efforts with local authorities and other agencies, including our foreign allies."

  "How soon do you expect to have information about this group? Have the military been alerted?"

  "We hope to have more information soon. The military has been briefed, but no further action has been taken. Until we know what the threat is or who the threat is from, we will not create panic by speculation."

  "What kinds of security precautions are being taken?"

  "Until we know whether there is an actual, credible threat of more incursions or if this was an isolated event, I would advise caution at this point. As soon as we have more information, we'll make a decision about heightened security measures."

  "Mr. President, I have a question for Ms. McClendon, if I may?"

  "Of course, Mr. Schume," the president said as he made way for her to step up to the podium. As she passed him he whispered, "Watch out for him. He's too anxious."

  She smiled and nodded as she took his place and stared at Mr. Schume with what she hoped was well-hidden trepidation.

  "Ms. McClendon," Schume said. "How do you respond to the statement there's an alien organization on this planet and that this administration is conspiring with them to enslave the people of Earth?"

  "Normally I would not respond to such an absurd question, Mr. Schume, but in your case I'll make an exception in the interests of dispelling the rumor you have conveniently started," she replied.

  "Thank you."

  "There is no alien organization I am aware of that's planning to enslave the people of Earth." She turned away from him. "Are there any more—"

  "You don't see any possibility there may be even the slightest amount of truth in the allegations I've made?"

  "As I said, no, I do not. This bizarre story goes beyond the realms of logic." She wondered where he was going with this repetitious line of questioning.

  "Ms. McClendon, I would think a woman of your…background would give a little more leeway to a theory such as mine. I mean, stranger things have happened that contained as little or less chance of being true," he said as he scanned his notes.

  "What does my background have to do—"

  "Your own past contains a pretty incredible incident that defied logic. Yet you won't budge a bit on my theory?"

  "I don't follow what you mean, Mr. Schume." She was worried now as she began to suspect where he was leading. The question was how far was he going and how much did he know? A moment later, she learned the answer to both questions.

  "Why don't you tell us all about your experience two years ago when you supposedly died, but then miraculously returned to life? Wouldn't you call that a little strange, Ms. McClendon?"

  "It was a mistake…a misdiagnosis by the hospital," Sarah said as she composed her words cautiously. "There was an error in the diagnosis, but fortunately, everything turned out all right. It is an event that caused me much personal and emotional stress. I don't like to talk about, Mr. Schume." She hoped he might be steered away.

  "That was one heck of a mistake," he commented, unaffected by Sarah's statement. Rather, he appeared to relish the opportunity it presented like a wild animal that has gotten the scent of blood. "Yes, a rather bizarre incident; yet you still will not concede there is the possibility of truth in what I'm claiming."

  "That was something totally different. Much more explainable than what you're claiming. Really, Mr. Schume, alien conspiracies and governmental cover-ups?" She said it with an air of confidence, hoping to throw the focus back on him by suggesting how ridiculous his claims were. "Now, if you don't mind, let's keep the questions to the subject you brought up originally and not my personal life."

  His savage expression faded as the crowd of reporters saw her confidence. Schume and Sarah stared at each other as she waited for the next attack. Schume made no indication of continuing. Instead, he remained quiet and returned his gaze to his notes. President Samuel stepped back up to the podium.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see, we have supplied explanations to all of the relevant events that have occurred. I hope we've put to rest the questions of alleged alien plots and, for some of the American people, the fear that venturing out into space will destroy our identity as a country if it's achieved through the cooperation of many nations together. Are there any other questions?"

  There was a long moment of silence, followed by the sounds of TV equipment being dismantled and the departure of the print and radio reporters to file their stories.

  "Thank y—"

  "I have one more for Ms. McClendon," Schume said loudly over the sounds of the other reporters. By the time he finished his statement, the room had become quiet again. The gaze of the other reporters spilt between Schume and Sarah.

  "Mr. Schume, I think we've entertained your notions enough today," Edward said, careful that his voice now showed frustration at this line of questioning.

  "I'll be brief, Mr. President," Schume said as he turned toward Sarah. "Ms. McClendon, do you mind?"

  "Ask your question, Mr. Schume," she said, trying to appear impatient despite her trepidation.

  "I understand your wish to not go into that tragic past event you experienced, and I assure you I'm very sympathetic to that. You claim this alleged ‘misdiagnosis' was easily explainable and I'll unwillingly concede to you on this point. But what about the coincidence of two such events occurring at the same time?"

  "I don't know what you mean," Sarah said, but felt herself beginning to perspire again with fear. Now what?

  "Were you aware, that while you were recovering from your near-death experience in New York, a man in New Orleans was going through the exact same thing at exactly the same time?"

  "No, I wasn't aware of that." She immediately regretted her response. He wouldn't be asking the question if he didn't know she very well did know. We have to get out of here.

  "Now, that's interesting, Ms. McClendon. But I'm afraid I'd have to disagree with you. I did some investigating into this and learned that the hospital has conveniently lost the records concerning a certain young man. I found them in the newspaper's archives. Both ‘misdiagnoses' occurred within an hour of each other… Exactly the same type of cases. The young man's name is Greg Carlson. Does it sound familiar?"

  "One has nothing to do with the other, Mr. Schume."

  "So, you don't deny it then?"

  "I'm not denying anything, Mr. Schume. There are some things that are better left alone when it deals with the personal welfare of—"

  "Ms. McClendon, would you like to reconsider my question about the government's involvement in a conspiracy with aliens?"

  "Thank you, ladies and gentlemen," Edward interjected. "We have another appointment that requires us to leave at this time. Thanks for coming," the president said as he grasped Sarah by the elbow to escort her off.

  "Oh, Ms. McClendon," Schume shouted as they began to walk off.

  The other reporters watched him carefully. His rude and boisterous behavior was inexcusable, but he had something and their curiosity made them stay.

  "I'll leave this picture of you and Greg Carlson. Maybe it'll refresh your memory." He placed the large brown manila envelope at the base of the stage, then stepped back. "But you know what? This whole issue gets stranger by the minute," he continued, shaking his head from side to side as if in disbelief.

  "It's very odd. Since Greg Carlson's release from the hospital, no one has seen him and no one has a clue where he is. It's as if he has disappeared off the face of the earth. Yet, here he is in a picture with you. You don't think that could be connected to my ‘conspiracy theories' now, do you?"

  Sarah felt her whole body go numb. Her legs were no longer willing to keep her moving, but Edward increased his pressure on her elbow and kept her moving.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “If I am to be remembered for something, it is that I saved the
Council in a time that there was no logical way by which it could be done. Yet I…how do the humans say…cast the dice and let them fall where they may.”

  Leumas

  After Greg saw Leumas off to Acuba, he made his way back to his quarters. He passed other members in the corridors and quietly acknowledged their presence even though he was deep in thought. It troubled him to have to send Leumas to Acuba, but there was no one more capable and they needed answers fast. Down deep and hidden from the watchful eyes of the Council members, Greg was concerned for his friend's safety. Nothing good was going to come from Acuba. He was sure of it in his mind and soul, but no other choices presented themselves at the moment. He wished Sarah was here to talk and be with, but she was still busy with Edward in Washington.

  Once inside his quarters, he felt his fatigue kick into overdrive. All these events plus the inability to get any undisturbed sleep were wearing him down mentally and physically. He felt as if he had no strength left. He was dead-tired and his inability to understand what was going on was worsening the fatigue. He barely made it to his bedroom before he collapsed and drifted off.

  He didn't know if it was minutes or hours later when he felt a tugging at his awareness that brought him awake. He thought his eyes were open, so he was shocked with fear when his physical sight told him everything around him was black. Not just darkness, but an exclusion of any type of light.

  Am I blind? All I see is darkness!

  ::You are inside your own mind,:: a voice answered calmly in his mind. ::There is no reason to be concerned. You are in no immediate danger and I mean you no harm. I am sending my thoughts to you telepathically as you are accustomed to.::

  Although alarmed by this intrusion into his mind, Greg felt a reassuring calm in this voice. He forced himself into a less agitated mood so he could converse with this mysterious visitor.

  ::Who…what are you? Are you human or alien? Where are you from?:: Greg asked.

  ::I am neither and I am from many places. I don't have what you call a home.::

  ::I sense you're a type of being I haven't encountered. You're very different, yet I feel some kind of trust or friendship with you.:: Greg wondered if it was wise to share those thoughts right now. ::Can you not tell me more about you or your people?::

  ::Not now, maybe never::, the voice answered without emotion. ::It is not relevant to the things that must be done.::

  ::You say that I am in my own mind?:: Greg asked, trying to return to a point where his questions would be answered. It was obvious only certain areas of discussion were going to be allowed.

  ::That is correct. You perceive it as dark because you have only begun to learn how to…see.::

  ::To see what?::

  ::Everything.::

  ::I don't understand,:: Greg persisted. ::I thought I possessed a certain ability that allowed me to predict or see somewhat into the future.::

  ::You see only one path when there are many to choose from. Imagine you come to a point where tangents originate at various angles. The number of tangents may be infinite. You only see one tangent in the field of many.::

  ::Who are you?:: Greg asked in awe.

  ::I am many things and I am nothing.::

  ::I don't understand?:: Greg grumbled. ::Do you have a name?::

  ::Some have called me ‘the one of many faces.' Others call me ‘the shifting sands of time.' You may call me what you like.::

  ::Are you always so direct in your answers?:: Greg asked. ::Still, I must call you something, so how about… Vague?::

  ::I answer the best I can so you may understand. If ‘Vague' is what you have chosen, then that is what you may call me.::

  ::Why are you here?:: Greg said, feeling exasperated.

  ::To teach you how to see,::, Vague repeated. ::To see is to experience the all-encompassing forces of the universe or to observe the insect that crawls along the floor with only survival its concern. But, for now, we will concentrate on one level. Behold…::

  Greg was suddenly enveloped by images of the planets he had seen earlier in his dream. It was as if a bright floodlight had suddenly been turned on in his mind as the visions flooded his senses with such force he felt as if he had lunged into the image itself. He saw them all: the planet with the large moon, the one of sands and the other with oceans. Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, they were gone. The darkness slowly settled upon him again.

  ::You caused all that?::

  ::No, you did, with a little help from me. You have the power, but not the tools to harness it.::

  ::How is it done? Do I actually travel? Or is it just my consciousness?::

  ::We have done enough for now; we will talk again later,:: the voice said.

  ::Wait!:: Greg demanded. ::When will we talk again?::

  ::Later.::

  ::Why are you here? Why do you want me to see?:: Greg pleaded, and for the first time, the voice hesitated.

  ::There are things you must do, if you don't get yourself killed before we finish. But you must do what you must do, even if it changes everything—or maybe nothing.::

  Shocked and confused at the last statement and wanting to ask what his strange visitor meant, Greg felt himself being drawn back as his heightened senses dissolved and his mind slipped into sleep. He knew he would not dream anymore for a while; he needed rest and that was what he would receive. He understood that Vague would make sure of it because they had a long way to go and only a little time in which to do it.

  Time was always an adversary that was hard to control.

  * * * *

  Leumas arrived at the spaceport on Acuba not having a clue where to start looking or even what he was looking for. However, if there had been any doubt in his mind on how corrupt this place was, it was removed within a few minutes of landing. An argument between two Rigusians, a race with snake-like characteristics, culminated in one being shot by the other right in the middle of a busy thoroughfare. The victor casually replaced its weapon under its skin and slithered away.

  What was so awkward and bizarre was not the lack of law enforcement officials, because he knew there were none to really speak of, but the indifference. The other passers-by just continued casually along as if nothing had happened. It would be easy to disappear on a planet like this and never be heard from again, he thought.

  He would have to be extremely cautious not to step on anyone's toes or attract any attention. This, he knew, would be extremely difficult in his case. Information came from questions, but questions asked on this planet weren't welcome from outsiders.

  The Arcturian ambassadors had included this planet in their message, Greg had seen it in a dream, and now he was here. All they knew was this planet might be linked with the attack on the Arcturian ambassadors' ship and maybe something else. Leumas decided he would snoop around the spaceport before going too far away from his ship in case he needed to make a hasty departure. He almost told himself to look for anything odd, but that applied to the whole place, so he decided careful conversation was likely to be the only way to find anything out.

  He stopped outside the first establishment he encountered after leaving the spaceport, less then a kilometer away. The sign designated it as the "Social Club." He snickered at that designation. These were grungy bars, mere holes-in-the-wall for one to acquire things through far from legal channels. He stepped through the entrance.

  At first, he thought the place was closed because everything was dark and silent; but as his eyes adjusted to the low light he could make out objects, including the extensive glass light-sound shield he was standing in front of. This device kept all sounds from leaving. Whatever happened inside here was not for outside ears. Stepping around it, he entered the club for the second time.

  The large room he moved into was amazingly quiet. He suspected portable sound shields were located around the room to eliminate overheard conversations. To his left, he saw environmental rooms. These were adjustable chambers where one could set the atmospheric conditions to whatever th
e occupant chose. Price determined the size, anywhere from closet size to a small room. Most appeared in use and, in some cases, by more than one occupant.

  Anything for a price, especially the pleasure of companionship.

  To his right was the bar, where every seat was filled by some of the ugliest clientele he'd ever seen. On those that wore it, clothing was filthy and tattered. Many showed signs of previous battles: missing limbs and eyes, heavily-scarred flesh. As he took a step further into the bar, his nostrils were greeted with the smell of the stale air fermented with the stench of the unkempt customers. He fought back a gag and finished his observation from his previous location.

  The bar crowd sat and drank under the watchful eyes of a Simosa Night Walker. A multi-armed and multi-eyed creature, it made the perfect bodyguard. In its seven hands rested various weapons from one with a low stun grade for more subtle troublemakers to the higher level weapons that killed for the more serious offenders.

  Since his arrival, Leumas had noted not one of the customers had looked in his direction. Nor were any of them engaged in any conversation. Apparently, this place was not for socializing, despite its name. An unlikely place to find information, but he was here so he might as well try.

  He caught sight of some secluded tables and made his way toward them. He selected a table in a corner where, if he were to engage in conversation, he would not be overheard.

  "What can I get you?" the waitress asked, her yellow phosphorus eyes peering at him ominously while her hair changed color in streaks every few seconds.

  "I'd like an Arcturian brandy," he said as he studied her. He could swear he saw lumps move in numerous erotic directions under what little clothing she wore.

  "Oh, such a gentlemen's drink," she mocked him. "Are you sure you're in the right place?"

  "Most definitely," he answered as he placed a twenty-five-credit chip into her hand. The waitress eyed the chip and looked at Leumas cautiously but with an amused smile.

  "And what might we be in the market for, my…friend?" she asked as she rubbed up next to him. "My name's Carlotta." The moving lumps appeared to converge at this point and he felt them press against him in a rhythmic action that immediately caught his attention.