Transmission: Book One of the Heavenly Treasures Trilogy

By Patrick Alden

Have extraterrestrials visited Earth? Do they live among us now, covertly shaping the course of human history? In present-day North America, a college professor named Julius Niles enlists the aid of two Mormon missionaries in a cross-country search for lost gold plates. The missionaries Ben Young and Scott Speck believe their discovery will unlock the door to a new golden age. But Dr. Julius Niles intends to open the way for an altogether more horrific epoch.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Patrick Alden
• Release date: Aug 8, 2019
• ISBN: 9781370368570

Patrick Alden

Patrick Alden is the pseudonym for two friends who met in Tempe, Arizona, back in the day. Connect with Patrick Alden on Twitter (https://twitter.com/pataldenscifi). Book Two of the Heavenly Treasures Trilogy is coming soon!

Book preview

Prologue

Near Payson, Arizona

Present Day

Ben Young looked back on that night with Scott and the professor as the last time in his life in which he could have done things differently. Three days later the professor shattered the skull of a maintenance worker at the VLA radio astronomy observatory in Socorro, New Mexico.

Young remembered taking deep breaths, trying to remain calm. He had thought about making a run for it. Surely there was some place out there among the trees where he could hide until Tina Banks and the private investigator came to rescue him. But he agreed to stick to the plan unless he felt a sure sign of danger. Above all, Young wanted to be back in Los Angeles with his missionary companion, Scott Speck, doing their missionary work—not driving through the forests of northern Arizona in the dead of night with a stranger.

Professor Julius Niles, the driver of their vehicle—the stranger—broke the silence to address his two junior passengers, Ben and Scott. Brace yourselves, gentlemen. The road ahead is about to turn rough.

The Jeep’s headlights illuminated a changing landscape. Desert gave way to forest. Spiky succulents nudged against ponderosa pines. Scattered saguaros thrust upward like reverent antennae.

Ben was about to call out for Scott when the vehicle lurched forward as the professor shifted into a low gear and then turned off the main road onto a dirt trail. The Jeep began to pitch back and forth over the rough terrain, so Ben reached for the overhead handle but slipped sideways, knocking his head against the roll bar.

The professor glanced into the rearview mirror for a moment and continued to drive, taking them deep into the forest and up the mountain. On switchbacks and over huge moguls the vehicle rocked from side to side, its all-terrain tires spitting gravel into the wheel wells.

After some thirty minutes the road leveled out and they rolled to a stop at a bridgeless riverbed. Professor Niles cut the engine and cleared his throat. We shall have to traverse the rest by foot, gentlemen. However, I recommend waiting twenty minutes or so for our eyes to adjust to the darkness.

Ben got out of the vehicle and stretched his legs. It was a relief to feel solid ground beneath him. The ride had been harsh and harrowing, punishing both body and spirit. He tried to focus on the landscape but the forest breeze stung his eyes and made them water.

Ben stared out at the dense thicket of buckthorn and sagebrush and attempted to gather his courage. He thought he saw something move in the distance, yet the darkness made him unsure of himself.

Uh, excuse me, Ben said turning back to the others. Are there any reptiles out here?

Scott hopped out of the Jeep, holding a duffle bag. What do you mean by reptiles, Ben?

You know, those really big ones… like Komodo dragons.

Scott chuckled nervously. Uh, I think you mean Gila monsters. Say, Dr. Niles, there aren’t any Gila monsters out here, are there?

Niles tested the batteries of his flashlight. No, dear Elders, fortunately that species of lizard thrives in warmer weather.

* * *

Moments after Niles cautioned the boys to watch their step, Ben caught a face-full of pine needles. The sting of the impact left the sensation of creeping insects. Ben swatted his cheek but that only made it worse.

After an hour of strenuous walking over uneven terrain, Niles abruptly stopped. Scott managed to check himself but Ben stumbled into the back of Scott’s heels.

Niles gestured for them to keep still as he stood listening for subtle shifts in the forest’s ambiance. Then he led them to a small clearing in the wood and circled the area twice while tracing the perimeter with the beam of his flashlight. Eureka, he said at last. See that section of raised earth?

Scott stooped down nodding. What is it, sir?

Niles smiled. The last vestiges of an ancient civilization, Elder Speck. Fortunately for us, its residents succeeded in leaving behind certain artifacts upon which our mission vitally depends.

Niles gathered together all the flashlights and propped them up on rocks in a semicircle. Now, then, he said, if you will kindly assist me in clearing the site.

Scott and Ben got right to work, stripping the area of rock and tree branches and other debris.

Good work, Niles said. I can see part of the opening.

After twenty minutes, Scott and Ben stopped to observe the fruits of their labor—an exposed ridge, four feet high and six feet wide.

What’s in there? Scott said, nudging closer as he struggled to catch his breath.

A rather immense cave, Elder Speck, what once was a mine. If this mission is to succeed—as, of course, it must—we need to gain access to the interior. Regrettably, we are unable to enlarge the opening without the aid of heavy machinery or explosives—neither of which we have at our disposal.

Niles looked at Scott, then at Ben, and back at Scott.

Scott knew what he had to do and stepped forward at once. I’ll do it, he said. I’ll go in by myself.

Ben grabbed Scott by the arm. No, Scott—don’t. Think about what you’re doing.

I already have, Scott said, wriggling free. You heard Dr. Niles. One of us has to go in. It should be me.

I commend you, Elder Speck, on your unwavering commitment to the mission. However, before you disappear inside the Earth, I first need to give you some instructions.

Niles watched as his two young assistants went and sat down by the cave’s opening to await further instructions. The plan was unfolding as expected. The key events had been set in motion. In just a matter of days, communication would once more be possible. Niles’ superiors were sure to be pleased with him. His sacrifice and service to the mission had been substantial. For countless years he had executed his assignment with peerless expertise, ultimately enlisting the aid of these two etlutu, ‘chosen ones,’ to help procure the device that would lead him to the gold.

As the first light of dawn appeared above the horizon, Niles gazed out at the expanse of forest leading up to the Colorado Plateau. Though he longed for The Land of Utmost Well-Being, he knew that he would miss Earth’s natural beauty. It even saddened him when he imagined the state of the planet on the day his lord would come to speak the words that may not be unspoken. Ati me peta baka. ‘Gatekeeper, open your gate to me.’

* * *

As Scott knelt before the cave entrance, he considered the magnitude of the task before him. The tablets were within reach—a new set of Golden Tablets containing a new revelation. Some two centuries before, the prophet Joseph Smith had unearthed the first set of Golden Tablets that went on to become the Book of Mormon.

Scott had been fascinated by the story of Joseph and the Golden Tablets for as long as he could recall. He and his childhood friends would sometimes meet up after school to discuss it, their youthful minds filling in the missing details.

And now it was about to happen again. A new set of tablets containing a new revelation. What the revelation consisted of exactly, Scott couldn’t say. Dr. Niles had said only that it was directly related to the first set of tablets, and that its rediscovery would dramatically alter life on Earth.

To procure the tablets, all Scott had to do was photograph some markings on one of the cave walls. These markings in turn would reveal the tablets’ whereabouts.

Scott said a short prayer and then flipped onto his back. Gripping the lip of the ridge, he carefully maneuvered his body through the crack feet-first, wiggling his underside and shoulders to gain purchase on the slippery soil.

As his head slipped inside, the conditions became cold, damp, and very dark. Scott reached up and switched on his helmet lamp, watching as light filled the interior. It felt good to banish the darkness simply by looking at it, but all Scott could see was a mound of rubble obstructing his path forward.

Cocking back his legs, he kicked hard into the debris and then paused to listen. He could hear the sound of dirt and rock falling somewhere in the interior, so he raised his backside and began to inch himself along on his forearms, keeping his heels flush to the ground, while pausing at intervals to kick at the dirt.

Some twenty feet on, the cave floor began to slope downward just as the rubble was thinning out. Scott bent his legs further and dug his heels into the cave floor to slow his momentum but started to slip on the loose dirt and went cascading into the bowels of the Earth, his cries echoing off the stone walls.

1

Scott Speck

Two Weeks Earlier

Los Angeles, California

Scott Speck stood on the front porch of a residence in the neighborhood of Mar Vista, tracing out the last of the Korean characters in his notebook.

예언자

"Not profit, Ms. Moon. Prophet. Yea-onja. Friend of God."

The woman looked puzzled. But gold book…?

Yes, Ms. Moon, gold book. But free. Free of charge.

The woman still looked confused, so Scott reached into his backpack and withdrew a copy of the Book of Mormon, an attractive leather-bound facsimile of a first edition.

F-R-E-E. Okay? Scott said.

Ms. Moon began to beam. "Yeppuda... yeppuda," she said smiling and blinking excitedly.

Scott smiled back. "That’s right, Ms. Moon—and even more yeppuda on the inside." Opening the book, he displayed some its more impressive illustrations, watching as the woman’s eyes widened with growing interest.

He then closed it and offered it to her, but as she went to accept it, he held it back just beyond reach and then shook his head. "Before I give it to you, I need something—a com-mit-ment."

Scott took out a slip of paper and wrote something on it, then handed it to the woman. Read these lessons for tomorrow. Okay?

To-morrow, Ms. Moon said as she absently deposited the slip of paper into her purse. To-morrow I read… okay.

At last Scott relinquished the book and said goodbye, and then turned and walked away.

On his way back to his bike, his mind turned to the state of the mission. He had to admit to still being upset with Ben. Of all the times to get sick—just as they were on the brink of breaking the record for most baptisms in L.A. in over twenty years. Such an achievement would guarantee them coveted positions in the church, transforming them into local heroes.

As Scott turned the key on his bike lock, he stood for a moment to weigh his options. On the one hand, proselytizing alone was strictly forbidden and could land him in a heap of trouble. On the other hand, he and Ben had achieved far too much to quit now and let it all go to waste. No, as Scott saw it, there was just one option. At the next opportunity, he would have to inform Ben that the mission would continue—with or without him.

2

Tina Banks

From the south promontory of the Getty Center the skyline of Los Angeles resembled a conglomeration of stars from a nearby galaxy. Perched atop two ridges of the Santa Monica Mountains, the Getty campus included galleries, a research institute, gardens, libraries and the Harold M. Williams Auditorium.

Tina Banks stood away from the glare of the auditorium’s entrance to enjoy the last of the evening’s twilight. She glanced at the program—a talk on fifteenth-century Venetian fresco techniques by Dr. Julius Niles.

Banks and her late husband, Mark, had honeymooned in Venice, Italy. As she gazed at the silhouette of the San Bernardino Mountains in the distance, she reminisced about their travels through the northern Italian countryside. Since his death, Banks had found it therapeutic not to think about Mark most of the time, but once or twice a year she chose one occasion to remember their time together.

The Getty Center event calendar indicated that Dr. Niles would discuss Giovanni Bellini’s Madonna and Saints. In Venice, Tina and Mark had chanced upon the San Zaccaria, the church where the painting resided. They were struck by the painter’s peculiar use of light and gazed at the work in a trance-like state. Lounging in their pew, to the locals they must have looked inappropriately comfortable. After being scolded by an elderly woman who gesticulated before the cross and departed in a huff, the newlyweds returned to their hotel room.

These memories flooded back as Banks gazed at the reproduction of the painting on the program. Those patrons still mingling outside began to move toward the entrance of the auditorium. Banks folded the program and moved inside with the crowd.

* * *

After the museum’s host finished his introductory remarks, he asked the audience to please welcome Dr. Julius Niles. Applause filled the auditorium as Niles approached the lectern. He shook hands with the curator and smiled at the audience. But Niles’ attention was elsewhere. At the back of the auditorium a video camera sat behind a glass pane in the projectionist’s booth.

Before focusing his eyes on the small window, Niles felt a pulse of electromagnetic static gently brush his face and hands. He knew before spying the small red light glowing near the rear wall of the auditorium that the recording equipment was on.

When humans began to employ commercial radio and television transmissions, Niles was able to surreptitiously achieve one-way communication with his civilization through the use of a simple transmitter. As video recording became more widely available, Niles combined his communications with his facility for hypnosis, honing his ability to entrance large groups of listeners. He could easily transmit his reports in the privacy of his home, but the thrill and challenge of recording his transmissions in the presence of the enemy renewed his interest in the mission. After so many centuries, Niles allowed himself an occasional indulgence.

As he looked down at the gathering before him, Niles’ instinct detected something dangerous. He took a moment to survey the faces in the crowd, quickly ticking off each visage until his gaze landed on a woman in the near center of the seventh row. After studying the woman for a few seconds, Niles decided to proceed with the lecture. The threat he detected was not one of discovery or violence but of some yet-to-be-identified talent or personal attribute that produced a discordant impression on Niles’ mind. He would allow the quality to reveal itself in its own time. Niles had learned that potential threats were more easily dealt with when the antagonist was ignorant of his knowledge of their power.

Niles rested one hand on the podium and adjusted the microphone with the other.

Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.

* * *

Tina Banks opened her eyes, as if awoken from a dream. She looked at her watch—forty-five minutes since the professor began his lecture. The lights in the hall had dimmed and a single voice filled the space. Banks turned to the man on her left. He stared at the speaker with glazed eyes and a slackened jaw. She looked past him to his neighbor, who wore the same expression. Banks pivoted to her right, stealing furtive glances of nearby faces. Only stupefied, drowsy expressions. Was the entire audience under hypnosis? Seized by paranoia, Banks wondered if she was the only one in the hall awake, aware of herself.

Banks couldn’t recall a single detail of the talk. Nor could she remember anything at all of the last forty-five minutes. As she struggled to recall what had occurred in the last three quarters of an hour, it hit her. The voice. The speaker had a distinctive voice. The voice compelled you to listen. And being honest with herself, Banks had to admit the professor was unusually handsome—George Clooney in tweed.

She turned her attention back to the rostrum. The tone and cadence of the scholar’s speech relaxed her. Banks thought of Garrison Keillor. The early morning broadcast of The Writer’s Almanac used to numb her mind, transporting her by the rhythm and timbre of Keillor’s voice. Fighting the desire to let the professor’s voice calm her, she recognized a dual quality in the sound, as if two radio stations were playing at once—one pleasant, one not.

Banks realized the man was looking in her direction. Was he looking at her specifically?

Then she noticed the movements of the professor’s lips. At first she believed his words corresponded to the shapes made by his mouth. Now doubt crept into her mind. Were his lips saying something different than what she heard?

She focused on the speaker’s facial movements and tuned out the sound emitting from his throat. She casually moved her right hand to her right ear and covered it, pressing the tip of her pinky into the ear canal to mute the sound. After a moment she did the same with the left. She hoped the dimly lit auditorium obscured her movements.

Banks couldn’t remember ever focusing so intently on her subject, even as a girl when she first learned