Alien Deception (33 page)

He wanted to call Sarah and talk to her, but she was in Washington D.C. tending to her advisory position to President Edward Samuel on space-related matters. She was spending too much time there and not enough here, he thought selfishly. But she was a perfectionist in everything she did. It was one of the things he loved about her. So there were short, stolen meetings here at the hidden headquarters of the United Council for Developing Worlds, but most of the time she was in Washington.

Greg left his contemplation of the mountains to turn on the coffee machine. Since he had assumed the role of leader of the UCDW two years earlier, his quarters had slowly undergone the transformation from a sterile environment to one in which he felt comfortable. He had added personal touches to his quarters that amused his good friend Leumas: the Mickey Mouse clock in his kitchen, the Coca-Cola bottle memorabilia and the antique kitchen tools. But his favorite addition, and one that always received an evil stare from Sarah, was his Marilyn Monroe poster that hung in his living room. The famous still from
The Seven Year Itch
with her dress billowing up around her thighs. It always seemed to hold Leumas’ interest for more than a casual few seconds, too.

Leumas might have been able to offer Greg some help with his current nightmares, but he was on the planet Beta-747 investigating some unusual occurrences in the planet's development. A team of initial-contact agents was currently "influencing" some of the inhabitants to ensure a stable progression toward space flight. The latest and most disturbing event was the mysterious loss of communication with the team.

The sound of the coffee machine beeping brought Greg back to the moment. He poured a cup and returned to the window. He turned his view from the mountains to the radar-cloaked landing area for the ships of the Council members. It was illuminated with lights that gave the unique shapes of the crafts an eerie appearance.

Like creatures poised to attack,
Greg thought. The silent ships arrived and departed at all hours. It used to offer Greg some amusement at times just to sit and watch them come and go; now they were only the images of some dark and impending doom.

Dawn was approaching, the sky lightening to pinks and red.
Those were the colors of death and war in ancient times,
Greg thought as he stared and sipped the warm coffee. Death and war? What was happening to him? These chaotic and morbid thoughts of his dreams were consuming him. His hand began to shake, the coffee spilling over the sides of his cup and running down his hands. Now even his conscious thoughts were preoccupied with death and destruction.

This sense of impending disaster had begun six months earlier, replacing the images of positive future time lines he had seen up to that point and which were likely if the correct decisions were made in a timely fashion. Although there were numerous scenarios he could normally explore, now they were obscured from him for some reason he could not understand. He was beginning to feel he could no longer lead the Council effectively if he could not "see" clearly; if these strange premonitions were not dispelled from his sleeping—and now waking —thoughts. Perhaps his sanity was breaking. Another result of the human/alien hybrid? A mental overload? The feelings were gradually increasing in intensity and if they didn't stop soon…

"Why? Why does it have to happen?" he said aloud, as if speaking to someone on the other side of his window. "We have come so far in this short time. Made wonderful progress. And for what?"

He placed the cup on the end table. Forcing all thoughts from his mind, he allowed the warmth of the sunlight to soothe him into a momentary sense of calm. He closed his eyes and let the light bathe him. He drifted off, but not into sleep.

Chapter Two

“I never doubted my decision the day I became a partner with the alien race and the United Council of Developing Worlds. I hope history feels the same.”

President Edward Samuel

Washington D.C.

0900 EDT

"Are you ready?" Edward Samuel, President of the United States, asked as he straightened his tie and finished his last-minute check of his appearance before the press conference.

"Sure," Sarah McClendon said confidently as she organized her notes. Her conservative business attire accentuated her slim and petite figure. Her green eyes were clear and sharp, a startling contrast to her dark hair, and carried within them a glow of determination that had become her trademark amongst her associates.

"Some of these reporters can ask some pretty strange questions, Sarah," he said, knowing he sounded a bit overprotective. "Just stick to the facts of the announcements. Don't let them sidetrack you into other areas. Once they get you off the subject, it's like a pack of wild animals in a feeding frenzy."

"Yes, Dad." She laughed. "I can handle myself, you know. I think you're more nervous than I am."

"I know," he confessed, chuckling. "It's just that this is our first real public announcement and I want it to go perfectly. After all, this was a major issue that got me elected."

"It will go just fine, Edward. This is really great news." Sarah hugged him.

The president's obviously nervous press secretary, Robert Monroe, a short stubby man whose brow was dripping perspiration, gathered them together and ushered them toward the entrance to the stage.

"Okay, here's the schedule," Monroe murmured, sounding winded. "Mr. President, you will make the preliminary announcement of the successful test of the new space drive engine, then you turn it over to Ms. McClendon for the details. And please, Ms. McClendon, don't forget the economic implications. Got it?"

They nodded.

"Then let's do it. Mr. President, you come out as soon as you hear your introduction. Ms. McClendon, you follow one step behind." He headed out on stage, looking as if he were on the verge of a heart attack.

"Is Robert going to be all right?" Sarah asked, noting the little man's face had escalated in redness at least two shades in the past ten seconds.

"Oh, sure. He's always like that."

They laughed.

"How's that young man of yours?" he asked.

"Fine." Sarah felt her cheeks flush at the thought of Greg.

Since the first time they'd met, she had always had that reaction about him. Just the mention of his name would fill her with warmth and an anticipatory excitement. They had been through so much together over these past two years, and their bond had become increasingly strong.

"I haven't been able to get back there in the past couple of weeks with all of this going on and his busy schedule with…" She stopped in mid-sentence and looked around to make sure she was not overheard. "With Council business. I sure do miss him," she added wistfully. Although she understood the commitment and importance of their jobs, she wished they could spend more time together.

"After this is over, take some time off. You deserve it," Edward said, seeing the longing in her eyes.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States," the press secretary announced from the podium, giving them a sharp return to the present.

The president and Sarah made their way onto the stage. The room was brimming with reporters, television cameras and radio microphones. Edward walked to the podium while Sarah claimed a spot beside and just a bit behind him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the president began. "When I took office two years ago, I promised we would begin our movement out into space as part of our social and economic development program. Ms. McClendon, my advisor for public relations for our campaign to move us out into space, and I are here today to share with you the major accomplishment we have made." He paused for a few seconds. "Our scientists have successfully tested the new space drive that will propel us to the stars. Not only did it meet our expectations, but it exceeded them by over one hundred and fifty percent."

There was a large murmur of approval from the mass of press as hands began to rise.

"Before we open this up to questions," he continued, stilling the reporters, "Ms. McClendon, who has had major oversight of the developmental project, will share the details of our incredible success. Ms. McClendon."

Sarah replaced Edward at the podium. "The new space drive, developed by a consortium of scientists from the US and our allies, has successfully passed the test requirements for its application for a manned rocket flight. This new design will allow us to travel within our own solar system at first, and then will be improved to expand our boundaries for travel even further out. The new design improves our speed capacity by over three hundred percent."

She paused for effect. "The economic forecast for the construction of these engines and associated equipment will increase the global employment market by a minimum of fifteen percent in the beginning and then settle off somewhere around twenty-five percent. We anticipate educational and technical requirements to invigorate the educational base of many countries and spur tremendous economic growth through the next century. Are there any questions?"

Hands rose again from the crowd of reporters.

"Mr. Caper."

"Ms. McClendon, the original timetable suggested that this type of space drive would not be invented for another two to three years. What occurred to accelerate the development?"

"We attribute this to the sharing of knowledge among all the countries associated with the project. Again, it serves as proof of what we can accomplish when we work together. Ms. Longetti."

"Ms. McClendon, how soon before we actually see the effects of this development?"

"The next phase is to develop a hull for a spacecraft that will be able to withstand the force and speed of the propulsion unit. Our estimate is that we'll have the design in six to nine months and begin production of the prototype. Mr. Schume."

"Ms. McClendon, don't you find it a bit strange that, all of a sudden, scientists who didn't have a clue about what they were doing are producing these giant leaps of technology?"

Sarah was caught a bit off-guard by the question. She took in the appearance of the reporter, quickly equating him with an old television show,
Kolchak: The Night Stalker,
where the reporter always looked like he had just rolled out of bed. Schume had the same wrinkled clothes, tousled hair and the remnants of an old, unlit, half-chewed cigar clamped between his yellowed teeth.

She looked directly into his eyes. "As I indicated earlier, Mr. Schume, the joint effort of scientists has—"

"Please, Ms McClendon, spare us that ‘joint effort' babble," he sneered. "What do you have to say about the allegations that there are forces—outside forces—involved with this project helping the scientists?"

Sarah felt her heart thudding in her chest, but managed to answer calmly. "What forces are you speaking of, Mr. Schume?"

"Mr. Schume," Monroe began, his face once again flushed. "Will you please—"

"I'll tell you what I mean." Schume ignored the press secretary with a confidence that said he was ready for any answer Sarah might have. "That this president, you and a secret organization, for some unknown reason and without the knowledge of the people of this planet, have made some pact with aliens to develop our space program."

Sarah was unable to answer. Schume smiled at her, obviously knowing full well what he had done and enjoying every minute of it. The other reporters remained poised for her response.

Chapter Three

“At times I find myself thinking I am human. But when I look in the mirror and see my good looks, the original thought vanishes. That’s a joke.”

 Leumas

Planet Beta-747

0930 Earth EDT

Leumas checked his appearance in the mirror while his ship, the
Blessed,
descended to planet Beta-747. He removed the newly-acquired item Greg had introduced him to, the pocket comb, from the inside pocket of his jacket. He marveled at the simplistic, yet invaluable way the device combed his thick blond hair into place.
Humans,
he thought,
a bit slow in sophisticated matters, but light-years ahead in their cosmetic care.

Satisfied with his hair, he did a sideways glance to check his clothing. He was getting on in years, but his stomach was still flat and his shoulders broad. He considered himself not too tall, but not too short either, the perfect height at slightly less than six feet tall. He smiled and winked at himself in the mirror.

The inhabitants of Beta-747, the Rigusians, were a plain people, humanoid in appearance. No color in their clothing. The traditional garb for the area was brown pants, a low v-necked brown shirt and a light three-quarter-length jacket; of course, brown in color. Although the clothes were rather drab, he smiled at how good they looked on him. But more importantly, he felt confidant he would blend in with the culture if he were to encounter any of the inhabitants. Lastly, over his hands he slipped flesh-colored gloves that hid the webbing between his fingers, his one obvious sign of alien heritage.

He was descending, shielded from any detection devices, into an area outside of one of their major cities where he hoped he would meet his agents. They had been assigned the task of influencing the Rigusians by placing the introductory concepts of an early design for spacecraft engines into the minds of native researchers who had become stymied in their progress. Until a few days ago, their assignment had been progressing with satisfying steadiness.

The key to successful influencing was to be very subtle about it; to make the subject feel that the thoughts were their own. No matter how many races Leumas encountered in his job as initial contact agent, he always found that pride was always very strong in each one. It was best to let them believe they had done it on their own which, in most cases, was true. They just needed to be nudged in the right direction.