B.A.L.L.S.

By Randy Whittaker

George Smitherman has balls. That is to say, he works for B.A.L.L.S. The Bureau of Alien Landings, Life Forms and Sightings. B.A.L.L.S. is a government agency formed in the era of the Cold war, its glory days far behind it. Owing to government cutbacks, B.A.L.L.S. has been drained of all of its resources. It is now a sad sack of dysfunctional people, hanging around all day, doing nothing. But not George; he believes in other life forms and investigates alien claims with dogged determination.
The management of B.A.L.L.S. has been notified of a possible alien abduction case in Canada and sends their best man to investigate. George heads to Canada where he meets people stranger than any alien life form.
It seems Jim “Moose Knuckle” Jones has gone missing with a strange green goop covering his cabin. George meets the local constable, R.C.M.P. officer Clarice Lecter. She assists him in his investigation and George is more than grateful for the help. George’s meddling mother hopes Clarice becomes more than just his working partner. However, George discovers Clarice has many secrets too strange for any normal person.
The local Indian tribe tries to make George give up the investigation. Despite being threatened and assaulted, George has to figure out why the tribe wants him out of town.
From man eating black flies to the ill effects of too much moose meat, George may be in over his head in the great white north
One thing is for sure; George and his B.A.L.L.S. won’t just shrivel up and die until the truth comes to its thrilling climax.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Randy Whittaker
• Release date: Sep 30, 2014
• ISBN: 9781311650214

Book preview

B.A.L.L.S.

RandyWhittaker

Copyright © Randy Whittaker

Smashwords Edition

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Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter One

George Smitherman had balls. That is to say, he worked for B.A.L.L.S. George was a career civil servant, and his tenure at the Bureau of Alien Landings, Life Forms and Sightings had been fairly productive, for the most part. He came to the organization fresh out of college, after his recruiter had told him about a great opportunity to help his country. He started in the organization as a fresh-faced eager beaver ready to take on the challenges the new position provided for him. He was advised that the work they did was so top secret he would not be able to tell anyone about what he did for a living. His family thought he worked at the post office in Washington. His mother, constantly on him to get a wife, always downplayed the post office job.

My George will be getting a new job soon, I just know it, was the constant mantra whenever they had friends over. He still lived with his mother, or more precisely, she lived with him. He never really had time for a girlfriend, he loved his job so much. George was one of the better investigators in the department, and he was, the shining star, at one point. Countless times his reports led the director to give his information directly to the White House. The media knew nothing of what he or the department did, and as a result, no one else did. However, George knew and it gave him immeasurable pride. The director would sometimes say hi to him in the hallway when they passed and George took this as an affirmation of his worth.

The times were good for alien investigators in the sixties and seventies. The cold war had set the stage for all kinds of alien sightings and stories. Steven Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind and his follow up E.T. had America believing. America was wound up and the slightest indication that an alien might be afoot was enough to get B.A.L.L.S. swinging into action. George would often be the lead investigator in those days and he relished his role. Never one to seek the spotlight, he nonetheless knew he was making a difference. George was a firm believer in other- worldly life forms, and this allowed him to push away any doubts or trepidations the other investigators might have brought to the table. He lived for the day when he could stand face to face with an alien life form and prove to the non-believers that they were real. This desire continued to drive George every day he showed up at the office.

As the years went by, however, the media frenzy over aliens and alien life forms seemed to dissipate. George’s skill set was no longer seen as the epitome of the work B.A.L.L.S. was doing for the country. Sometimes George had the impression that the B.A.L.L.S. investigators were just hanging around, taking their orders from some prick who never gave them much attention. In fact, with each passing president, the bureau’s budget was whittled down and before they knew it, they were working out of a cramped third floor office with poor ventilation. B.A.L.L.S. was a sweaty operation at times, but George never lost his zeal for the job. He would bring his reports to the new directors, they would have him leave the reports with their secretaries, and the pile of unread reports would grow bigger and bigger. George’s star was fading and it was fading fast. If he was lucky enough to see the director in the hallway, he would, more often than not, be as unseen as the flecks of asbestos dust floating in the air. As more budget cuts came, the space allotted for the B.A.L.L.S. staff would shrink. The government knew they couldn’t drain their B.A.L.L.S. team of all of its assets but knew they needed some B.A.L.L.S. members to continue to investigate various claims of alien sightings. This was especially true nowadays, with Homeland Security being cock of the walk. The Homeland Security investigators looked at the B.A.L.L.S. team like an appendage of the government that simply hung around all day doing nothing. George did not take kindly to this attitude and sometimes stepped over his bounds, and spoke his mind to the various directors he had worked for over the years. This attitude made him look like a bit of a troublemaker. As a result, his once shining star now resembled a shriveled nut. He was seen as the expendable member of the team and as a result his office became smaller and smaller. George’s office now sat in the basement next to the furnace and the only functioning washroom.

George was sitting at his desk, poring over reports, when it struck him that it was Wednesday morning. George hated Wednesday mornings. He hated Wednesday mornings because the