Visions of the Unknown

By JASON E. LEE

World leaders conspire to conceal the greatest phenomenon to ever happen to mankind, while three preposterously grouped men set off together in a twist of destiny to make contact with visitors from another world and two detached lovers are brought back together to circumvent a nuclear catastrophe. Some are given visions of the aliens strange world. Though the visions fade over time, they are never gone, giving those involved a desire to explore the universe and Earths true past, because there is so much, still unknown.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 2, 2009
• ISBN: 9781462836055

JASON E. LEE

Jason Eric Lee was born in Clarinda, Iowa. He moved to and continues to reside in, the arid region of the world, often referred to as a desert. Jason has various interests including music (listening, playing, composing,) writing (children’s, fiction, poetry,) and learning everything from how plastic forks are made, to understanding the inner workings of the Large Hadron Collider. Jason is a fan of all things science fiction. Some of his favorite authors include Douglas Adams and Michael Crichton. Jason has several friends and family members, who have always been an inspiration to him.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

In the small town of Woodstock, New York, two aging men who were past their prime, but not too old to remember how it was to be young, sat on a porch, sipping beer and exchanging small talk. They sat with near awe, enjoying the waning sun in the night’s glow. The air was cool, the clouds sparse. It was a near-perfect night at the end of a beautiful day. The wind had picked up slightly with the omen of a change arising.

The two had just sat back and reminisced about the past. They talked through it, as if reading from a script, laughing at the little jokes and eccentricities that had been the story of their lives. The two knew each other better than most friends do.

At one point, the shorter of the two stood up, expressing the need to get a beer.

That is exactly when the world, as they knew it, changed.

Everything they knew disappeared. Now they were surrounded by an alien world. The two looked around, amazed at the world they saw before them.

This was not because anything in their surroundings had changed. It was that their perception, or rather their memories, had changed. In a matter of nanoseconds, through a mind-boggling, complex array of inter-dimensional shifts, each of their minds, or what is often referred to as a person’s essence, had been transported to another place, another realm. Their minds had been replaced with another from an alien world. They looked at the grass and screamed. This was not because it was hurting them in any way, but to them now, it looked very similar to a green monster from another world, which consumed everything in its path. That other world was not one that any earthling had ever heard of or seen or would ever have the capability of visiting. It was a world that is from a place that is often referred to as a parallel universe which, as it turns out, is not actually all that parallel. To these two humans with new alien minds, they had just landed in the middle of a war zone. There were plant warriors everywhere, and they were hopelessly outnumbered.

Together the two men began throwing lawn furniture at the trees and screaming in a nonhuman way.

This was not an uncommon scene to the neighbors in this small community. There were several who would create a similar scene due to medical or mental issues. Even at this house, the police had been called before to calm a shell-shocked mind from a rampage.

But as one of the neighbors called in the incident to the local police, it was obvious this was not going to be a normal incident.

Moments later, after the local authorities had arrived and taken the two into custody, they were now on their way to the local jail. Of course, they had not broken any laws, but the authorities were completely confused. They believed the two men were feeling the effects from some mind-altering drugs and had temporarily lost all sensibility.

This is not the story of only these two unfortunate men. This is the story of what happened to these two men, as well as many others, and the strange events that led up to this occurrence.

CHAPTER ONE

There’s No Bomb like the Bomb Between a Father and His Child

The greatest calamity to befall any boy is to grow to hate his father, for this hate can destroy one’s soul.

—Families by the great Altruistian prophet Aloi’am

Ted’s dreamy slumber was shattered like a large plate glass window from a child’s ball; Ted’s stubby arm swung wildly, smashing the nightstand until the racket of the alarm had been silenced. He was not a morning person, and on that Friday morning, he was particularly not looking forward to his day. Ted moved in a barrel rolled off the oversized bed and jumped to the floor. Even if he had been an average-sized man, he would have had to do this because the bed was nearly four feet off the ground. But it looked even sillier to see Ted do it with his short legs extended to break his fall and his stubby arm out to stabilize his balance. He had always been teased as a child, for as Ted explained it, little people never get respect. Ted hated being called a dwarf and barely tolerated the term little person.

Ted rubbed his sleepy dark green eyes as he clumsily made his way to his large lavatory. It was a beautiful lavatory, but Ted never gave it any thought. When he sloppily threw his pajamas into the gold hamper, which cost more than most people made in a single month; he didn’t even look to see if they had made it in. When Ted’s manservant came in, picked up the clothes, and set out a fresh pair of underwear, Ted didn’t even notice him. Ted stepped into his shower and pushed a single button. Immediately his preset programmable snapped into action—rinsing, spraying with soap, lowering the spray, waiting for Ted to scrub himself with his ivory bush, then rinsing again.

When Ted’s cursory cleaning was through, a soft, seductive voice asked, Will that be all, sir, or shall I add a few more minutes to help soothe your aching muscles?

Ted opened one eye to look at the monitor, which displayed the question in text form, and responded with a slight yawn, Give me another twenty minutes, I’m not done yet.

The water pressure immediately shot up, and the temperature increased ever so slightly, as Ted continued his rather long and relaxing shower. He followed the shower with dressing himself in his freshly pressed suit and heading downstairs to the small breakfast nook, where he had a full and hearty breakfast. He hated mornings, but he loved his breakfast. Charles, his humble manservant, had prepared his favorite eggs Benedict, toast, and a filet mignon.

Ted ate his breakfast, savoring every bit. He selected hearty portions of food with a silver fork in his left hand and thumbed through the San Francisco Chronicle with his right. Occasionally he would stop and take a sip of his coffee or tea. Ted was going through a phase of trying to decide which he liked better with breakfast: coffee or tea.

He finished off the last of his eggs as he came across a story (Bee Population Down 15 Percent) which caught his eye, reminding him of his childhood. Ted ran his thick fingers through the mop of reddish brown hair as images of his summer vacations at his grandparents’ bee farm in upstate New York, the third largest of its kind in New York, ran through his mind. Ted’s cheeks flushed with anger as the bitterness of his father rushed through his mind, like flash floodwaters scuttling through a gorge in the rampage of a monsoon.

Ted’s father was an absentee father to say the least. Ted had grown up an only child of a single mother. Despite having only one parent, he had a seemingly normal childhood. He was close to his grandparents. But Ted had never known his father and really did not even know he had existed until Ted was in his twenties. Ted had finished his associate’s degree and was just starting at the Old Yard of Harvard. His father had never tried to be a part of his family, choosing rather to refuse to accept that Ted was his son. Ted was indignant because of this absence and fearful because of the man’s power. Ted had decided to contact him when he turned thirty years old. He had written several letters and made several calls, all of which had gone unanswered. Finally, Ted got the nerve to meet his father but was turned down when he requested. After threatening to go public with the proof of what his father termed illegitimately fathering a dwarf son, Ted’s father finally agreed to meet him.

Ted thought about the day he met his father on the drive into work. He was trying to read the current President’s Daily Brief. But his mind kept running back to that fateful day when Ted had met his father for the first time. Unfortunately, on that day, Ted had made a really bad decision.

Ted had asked for money that day, and his father had quickly offered him one better—power! Ted now had a powerful position that paid more than he had asked for, but in hindsight, he saw his father’s true plan. Ted was now not only expendable to his father but also to the entire Bilderberg Group1 and whoever else was in control of the society of world leaders. Now his father did not have to pull the trigger. His father could now stand back and ignore everything going on. Because of this, Ted hated his father. He wished he were here right now so he could tell him off in person. There was only one man he wanted to hurt more than his father, and that was his boss, Mr. Davignon. Ted was a little person, but he had a large title to make up for it. He was the head liaison for human development for the Bilderberg Group.

The original Bilderberg conference was held at the Hotel de Bilderberg in the Netherlands in 1954. The meeting was said to be created over concern about the growth of anti-Americanism in Western Europe. The group’s proposed charter was to promote understanding between the cultures of the United States of America and Western Europe. This elite group met annually at luxury hotels or resorts throughout the world—normally in Europe—and once every four years. Unfortunately, the charter was not forthright about its true purpose. Members, in fact, had planned and now did run nearly every country vicariously through different diplomats, who were placed in their respective positions by the Bilderberg Group.

Ted’s secondary role was meeting with world leaders to relay information between them and the anonymous directors of the Bilderberg Group. The now-fifty-three-year-old Ted had been given this job when he had decided to blackmail his father with his existence. It would not look good for an affluent man to have illegitimately fathered a dwarf son from a common bank teller. There was no doubt that his father knew of his existence. Ted’s mother had quickly risen through the ranks to a unique position in the then-called Rockefeller Bank, now known as JPMorgan Chase.2 This transition was not due to her superior intellect or any ability to help grow this megabank. Rather, she was promoted to a position where no one asked questions, and she could come and go as she pleased.

Mr. Davignon was a very high-ranking politician and businessman, a leader in the Bilderberg Group. He was also a carrier of information between other groups, like the Société Générale de Belgique,3 Friends of Europe,4 the Carlyle Group,5 Trilateral Commission,6 and the Governing Board that oversaw all of them. Ted was never told the names of the board members and was not told the board existed. He had merely surmised this piece of the puzzle on his own. One day, Ted had overheard Mr. Davignon talking to the board in his office. And on a separate occasion, when asked by Ted about his orders, Mr. Davignon mistakenly had said, I’ll have to check with the board.

Ted had always thought that his primary role was his secondary role because in the five years of completing his tasks, he had never had a regular need to perform his primary role. Ted had begun to think his primary role was something of a joke. When initially told of this role, he had laughed out loud, but then of course, he was immediately reprimanded for not taking his position seriously enough. His primary role, as it was explained to him, was to keep track of the special events. The way it was translated was this: he was meant to keep track of all contact with extraterrestrial beings. He had asked a number of questions, which all had pretty much gone unanswered—save one: who would he contact if he did track a special event? That’s when he was handed that infernal cell phone. It was not a normal cell phone because it wouldn’t do anything but call one number. It didn’t display anything. It never rang. He was told that he would not need to charge it. He would just push the big red button, and a person on the other end would instruct him from there. Ted had always wondered who or what was on the other end. The voice was obviously masked. It almost sounded like a computer-generated voice.

Ted’s job had been open for several decades before he was assigned to it. He had asked on one occasion what had become of the last person to be assigned to his position. The only answer he had gotten was that the individual was now retired. Now being on the other side, he understood what was really meant by retired. He was one of a vast number of men who were assigned to complete the second task. The first task was all his. He was told that he would need to stay in constant communication with his contacts at the CIA,7 Secret Intelligence Service,8 Policia Federal Preventiva,9 NKVD border troops,10 and many other agencies that were part of the hidden group that carried out the orders given by the Governing Board. He would call on his contacts once a week to review current conditions, and his contacts would call him immediately in the event anything was happening.

He had received three calls over the past few years. Each call would explain some disturbance that was unexpected. Every time he had called headquarters, with his special phone, the event would eventually be confirmed as some secret operation, like a new stealth fighter conducting surveillance over foreign airspace, and the other agency that was calling in was unaware of the operation. The person at headquarters always knew what was going on.

Except for this last time—this call came as a complete surprise to the voice on the other end. What was even more surprising was what happened to Ted after the person told him to hold for a moment. The next thing he heard was a very loud whining tone. He had enough of an aversion to the loud noises that he had held the phone at arm’s length, which was good because it then promptly exploded in his hand, letting loose a single projectile from the earpiece that shot across the room and lodged itself in a painting by Claude-Joseph Vernet.

Ted remembered how dazed he was. For one brief second, Ted had become enraged at the damage done to one of his favorite paintings. How he had then sat there at his desk and thought about the fact that he had just narrowly escaped death. He had then quickly composed himself, bandaged his hand, cleaned out the safe, and taken the service elevator to the street, catching a trolley to the bay.

Ted had a small storage facility on the San Francisco Bay. There he had hastily done research on people who could give him information or protection, which is where he had found information on Charles Messier and decided he would be the best to contact in this particular situation. He had then driven to the San Francisco Airport and stashed important documents. He prepared himself for the expected life of a man on the run. He had, under a fake ID, taken a plane to San Diego.

This is why Ted had bandages on his hand now. Ted raised his hand to his face, closely examining the makeshift bandage. His wounds were seeping slightly, but the bandage would do until he landed. Then he would have to get a doctor to stitch it up. Probably at Aurora San Diego Hospital‎, he would not be noticed there.

Ted was still formulating the extent of his plan, but he knew that he had information and on something big. The threats to his life seemed somewhat manageable at this point, now that he knew they were coming after him. Now he had found someone who might know what to do with that information, someone who would help him out of this very sticky situation. Ted was so certain about what he was doing and where he was going. He laid his head back on his pillow and quickly fell asleep.

If only dossiers were that reliable . . .

CHAPTER TWO

Will That Be One Lump or Two?

Deserts are a place for meditation and reflection. But don’t forget

your drink.

—Collection of Teachings

by the great Altruistian prophet Aloi’am

Deserts are often classified as arid, that is to say that water evaporates faster than it precipitates. The more intellectual of scientists have come to decide that there are different classifications of deserts, which are hot deserts (BWh) and temperate deserts (BWk). Most humans in or around the majority of these deserts would agree that the scientists who came up with these classifications are completely off their rocker. Most humans, who don’t live in or around these deserts, often think that anyone who does live in or around these deserts is also off their rocker. By definition, the word desert has multiple meanings.11

Most scholars believe the desert is not inherently evil or even intrinsically malicious. This just goes to show how much scholars really know about the world of today, or the past, for that matter. The vast majority of people who have had the unfortunate experience of spending any amount of time in a desert region would advocate that nearly everything in that region has a very malevolent purpose, from the lack of moisture to the venomous inhabitants. Most people would agree that the desert was not even