Dire Mission

By Fredric Allan Wheatley

College professor and archaeologist Peter Harrigan and his dog Chance are enjoying an early morning hike in the western desert of the United States. As they begin to turn toward home, Harrigan encounters what, at first, seems to be a child alone in the wilderness being attacked by a coyote.

This encounter ignites a chain of events that threatens the very existence of human life, and it involves the highest levels of power in Washington, D.C., and its allies, including their militaries, space agencies, and intelligence communities. In resolving this ever-expanding threat to civilization, Harrigan relies on many people in positions of absolute power and authorityfrom the President of the United States, to the chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, to the Secretary-General of the United Nationsto ensure the only possible solution can be successfully carried out, particularly when added threats suddenly present themselves.

But first, he must convince them of the truth of what he encountered when taking that quiet hike in the desert. Perhaps the most challenging aspect of it all will be maintaining the utmost levels of security necessary to prevent uncontrollable worldwide panic from erupting.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Aug 26, 2014
• ISBN: 9781480809413

Fredric Allan Wheatley

Fredric Allan Wheatley is retired from the aviation industry in which he was an air traffic controller with the Federal Aviation Administration, then later an aircraft dispatcher, manager of training and compliance, and director of training with several commercial airlines. Wheatley lives with his family in Bradenton Beach, Florida.

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Chapter 1

Thursday morning, June 10

I t was midmorning, and the man had been hiking for several hours, having gotten up well before dawn to be in place to see the rising sun illuminate the painted rocks. Now, the desert was really starting to heat up. The only living creatures to be seen moving about in the baking wilderness were the man and his dog, Chance, and they were heading back to the truck and then home to the air conditioning.

Despite the challenge of the heat, the arid conditions, and the rugged terrain—or perhaps because of them—the desert called the man back time and time again, always marveling at how beautiful its starkness could be. As an archaeologist and anthropologist, photographer and painter, Peter Harrigan tried valiantly to unlock its secrets through scientific research and by endeavoring to capture its wonder and beauty on film and canvas. Thankfully, there were enough times when he felt that he had succeeded in all aspects. And others agreed. He was the successful author of many books and articles on the history of the American Southwest, he lectured frequently at various colleges and universities on the West Coast, and his photographs and paintings were on display in numerous museums and in the homes of those who could afford his works.

He and Chance were rounding an outcropping of rock and trees when he noticed up ahead what appeared to be an animal of some sort, rooting on the ground near a clump of brush. Its actions were intense and deliberate as it apparently tried to dislodge something that was underneath the brush. There seemed to be a mixture of sound coming from that way—the growling of the animal and something else, almost human-sounding but not quite. Curious, Peter approached further. As he did, he began to catch just a glimpse of the thing that might have been making that sound, the object of the animal’s attention and frustration, just as Chance took off in that direction.

Alarmed, Peter yelled out for his dog to stop and immediately followed after him. It was not like Chance to leave his master’s side like that. The closer he got to the clump of brush, the more the object appeared to be that of a young child, and the more the animal appeared to be a coyote. As he ran faster to catch up to Chance, it became apparent that the German shepherd and the coyote, which had noticed Chance’s approach and had started to run away, were destined to collide. Peter was suddenly worried that there might be more coyotes in the area.

Knowing that there was nothing he could do to prevent any of it, Peter headed toward the child to see if it was all right, wondering what in the world a young child would be doing out in the desert by itself. He did not notice any other human activity nearby. He was, also, fearful that the coyote had had more than enough time to do some real damage. Chance would have to take care himself, at least for the moment.

As Peter neared the brush, he slowed down, concerned about what he was going to find. Behind him, he could hear the first sounds of the contact between Chance and the coyote. Peter was torn between wanting to go to the aid of his dog and helping what was probably going to be a severely injured child. He had yet to form an answer as to why this child was abandoned in the desert.

Peter arrived at the site of the attack and was immediately stopped in his tracks. What he saw trying to crawl under the brush was not a child, at least not in the human sense, but a ‘creature’ of a different sort. The head and body appeared to be like that of a young child, with the head disproportionately larger than the body, but all else was decidedly different. The skin color was a pale gray and appeared wrinkled. What appeared to be hands and feet were long, thin, and jointed, with the tips of the ‘fingers’ also disproportionately larger. As it continued to struggle for cover, its head turned in Peter’s direction. The creature was probably trying to assess its chance of ultimately escaping the attack.

When it saw Peter, it stopped its efforts and just looked at him. It was then that Peter got a good look at the creature’s face. Over the years, he had generally had limited interest in things to do with alien creatures and UFOs. He had seen artists’ illustrations of what these creatures supposedly looked like, based on descriptions by persons purportedly captured and whisked away into space for horrible physical examinations.

As a scientist, he had generally dismissed such reports over the years as either ravings of the demented or attempts for someone’s fifteen minutes of fame. Now, everything that Peter had ever seen or heard about these aliens from outer space was staring at him from under the clump of brush.

The creature still had not moved. Its large, oval-shaped eyes continued to look at Peter unblinkingly. Peter noticed two slanted openings below the eyes that no doubt were its nose and the small horizontal slit below the nose that was probably its mouth. Again, he thought how this alien being looked very similar to all of those drawings over the years. It appeared to be no more than three to four feet tall; its arms and legs were thin, without the appearance of much muscular strength.

Not knowing what else to do, Peter started to slowly walk toward the creature. When he did, the creature became wary and seemed to tense up, ready to move. Peter stopped; the creature seemed to relax—that is, until Chance suddenly arrived on the scene from his encounter with the coyote. The creature immediately began to crawl further under the brush, making noises that seemed to be a combination of fear and pain. It obviously equated Chance with the same kind of threat to its safety as the coyote had posed earlier.

Peter called out to Chance. The dog came over to him and obeyed his master’s command to sit. Peter noticed that the dog did not seem to be any the worse for wear. There were no visible marks of any kind. He was truly grateful that Chance apparently had not gotten into a vicious fight with the coyote, despite the growling and snarling, and had been able to safely return.

Now, Peter’s attention returned to it, the thing that had been the object of the coyote attack and that was now cowering farther into the base of the clump of brush. Its movement had stopped; it was lying quietly. Peter thought that he could see signs of breathing, but he couldn’t be certain. After all that had occurred, it was possible that the creature was seriously injured and in danger of dying.

After telling Chance to stay, Peter slowly continued forward. This time, the creature did not move, which further convinced Peter that it was probably gravely injured and becoming weaker. He thought that he could notice evidence of injury. There seemed to be marks on its body, possibly bite marks, and something shiny appeared on its side. The closer he got, the more it appeared to be a liquid that was flowing from an open wound. He suspected that it could be blood, but its color was definitely not red. The creature then slowly turned its face turned toward Peter. It opened its mouth and made a quiet sound, not unlike a whimper, and lifted one of it arm-like limbs. As Peter got closer, it did not attempt to move farther away from him. It lay there with the limb outstretched, its eyes fixed on Peter.

Peter had to get down on his hands and knees and crawl to get to where the creature was lying. Once by its side, he noticed for the first time that what had at first appeared to be a grayish skin color was actually a material of some sort—a uniform, perhaps. That would explain the wrinkled appearance he had noticed earlier. Its skin, however, was still gray, although a lighter color and smooth, like a baby’s. What Peter thought earlier were bite marks on the creature’s body were spots where the material was ripped, exposing actual cuts and tears in the skin beneath that were bleeding a greenish-appearing liquid. As he continued to examine the creature’s body, he noticed that one of the legs appeared to be bent at an unusual angle. When he attempted to touch the leg, the creature moved abruptly and make a louder moaning sound.

Just as the impact of what had happened was starting to settle in, and just as Peter was starting to think about what he could possibly do to be of any real help, Chance started to growl, at first softly and slowly and then with increased intensity. Peter looked back toward his beloved dog to tell him to be quiet. As he did, he was confronted with something that had been in the back of his mind all along but had not, until now, been acknowledged. Just as earlier he had been worried about whether or not there were more coyotes, because they usually travel in packs, he also had thought about—at least subconsciously—the possibility of more of these visitors being around.

Now, here they were—at least five that he could quickly count. They stood about twenty feet away, equidistant between Chance and him. Four of them were the spitting image of the injured creature near him. The remaining one was … well, the first mental image of this fifth creature that immediately came to Peter was that of a ‘Klingon,’ an imaginary creature from the vintage TV series Star Trek, except that this creature was very real and was standing absolutely still as it looked at Peter. His immediate inclination was to make a run for it with Chance, in the hope that the aliens would not pursue but would remain behind to assist their comrade. But he was mesmerized by the Klingon-appearing creature; he remained still himself, and the moment to flee was lost.

The most telling aspect of its physical appearance were the serpent-like eyes that seemed to convey a lack of any emotion and that were focused on him unflinchingly. It had the same slanted openings for a nose, but then the openings became a part of a beak-like mouth. All of this was capped off with what appeared to be scales that covered the face. This one was noticeably taller than the others as well, by at least two or three feet, and much stronger-appearing. It had well-muscled arms that ended in what looked to be claw-like hands. The tightness of its uniform revealed again what seemed to be a scale-like texture of the body.

All of the creatures walked erect on two legs, a factor that Peter had accepted at first without thinking about it but now considered it as somehow important, along with the realization that his initial reactions based on their appearance were spot-on, for he really had to be in the presence of those dreaded aliens from outer space. And he and Chance were alone with them, far from any human intervention.

The injured creature beside him again uttered moaning sounds, this time more loudly. Its mouth was moving, as if trying to speak, and its face, as far as Peter could determine, seemed to have a pained expression. It kept changing its gaze from Peter to the others that had just appeared. Peter looked back toward the other aliens with alarm, not knowing what to say or do. He noticed that Chance had quietly moved closer to him but still maintained a distance off to the side from the rest of the alien crew. They did not appear concerned about the dog, as they looked intently in the direction of their fallen comrade.

Deciding that someone, or something, had to take some sort of action, Peter slowly rose and faced the others. Not certain how to best begin, he motioned toward the injured creature as he spoke to its crew members. I know that you probably can’t understand anything I’m saying, but … He paused. What now? he thought. How do I go about trying to help out, if that’s possible, while at the same time trying to get Chance and me out of this predicament? What are these creatures doing here in the first place? Does anybody else on the planet know? And how in the hell can I even begin to communicate with them?

After several seconds, Peter bent down again and turned to take off the backpack that he had been carrying all this time. He opened it, took out a polyester jacket, and laid the jacket on the ground. Next, he looked around for any dead branches from the brush that might be on the ground. He noticed several that might be of use, thinking that the injured alien probably did not weigh much, and slowly walked over and picked them up. Approaching a little nearer to the group of aliens and holding the jacket and branches, he attempted to explain, while mimicking the actions, what he intended to do.

We need to construct a stretcher to carry your friend, he said. He has a broken leg, I think.

With that, Peter took two of the larger dead branches and laid them side by side about three feet apart. Then, he laid his jacket across the braches and started to roll up the jacket on each branch to form a carrying device. Next, he walked over to the injured creature, pointed toward its leg and, turning toward the alien group, made a bone-breaking motion with his hands. With somewhat dramatic gestures, Peter then pretended to lift it up in his arms, carry it over to the makeshift stretcher, and lay it down. Finally, he acted out a lifting motion of the stretcher and started to walk away.

He turned toward the assembled creatures and waited for some kind of response. As he did, the true aspect of this situation began to take on a more chilling, ominous form. His thoughts again centered around who these creatures were and what they might want. Where in the world (make that the universe!) had they come from? However, he began to fear that they might intend to hurt him and Chance in some way. And what was he doing, thinking that he could, in fact, make them understand anything that he was attempting to say or do?

Finishing that thought, Peter was surprised when the Klingon creature began to walk toward his injured comrade, stopped part of the way there, and then looked down at Peter’s attempt to make a stretcher. It motioned almost imperceptibly toward the rest of its crew members and made a distinct clicking sound; they moved in unison to follow him. They all assembled in front of their fallen comrade and began to gently remove it from beneath the brush. As they did, it let out the loudest sound yet. One of the creatures took out a long, shiny object and appeared to touch it to the arm of the injured member. Immediately, it stopped moving or making a sound.

As the group approached Peter’s makeshift stretcher with their injured crewmember, its leg now secured from any movement, he quickly moved to make sure that the jacket was securely rolled onto each of the long branches. He hoped that once on the stretcher, the weight of the alien creature would assure that the rolled-up jacket would stay in place while it was being carried. Peter could not be sure of exactly what he was hearing, but there seemed to be very quiet, almost murmuring sounds emanating from the various members as they lay the injured one down.

Then, they all stood up. The injured creature was now lying comfortably. The Klingon creature stood at the head to the stretcher, with the others standing along the sides. Peter had moved away and was standing near Chance. Remarkably, the dog had been lying quietly off to the side for most of the time but now had gotten up, expecting, no doubt, that all of the creatures assembled were moving out.

In fact, no one was moving. Peter glanced toward the leader of the crew and discovered that the creature was looking over toward him. It suddenly dawned on Peter that maybe they didn’t understand what the stretcher was all about. None of the aliens made any attempt to lift the stretcher, let alone walk away, carrying it.

With Chance by his side this time, Peter walked over to the Klingon. Trying to figure out what he could possible say to get things going, Peter again made a series of lifting motions that tried to mimic how the aliens would lift the stretcher together with their arms and carry it off. As he did so, the members of the alien crew bent down to grab hold of the branches that had the jacket wrapped around them. Peter was then concerned that they all might not lift it at the same time without dropping it or without allowing the injured creature to fall off.

He turned toward them, holding up his hands, and said, You need to lift the stretcher at the same time. After he said that, he counted out One, two, three and then made a lifting motion with his arms that encompassed the full stretcher. He bent down, motioning to them to do the same, and watched as they grabbed the stretcher. He counted again to three and made the lifting motion with his hands and arms. The alien crew members slowly lifted the stretcher and stood holding it. Everything seemed to be secure. The jacket did not unravel from the branches. The injured creature seemed to be resting comfortably. And everyone stood looking at Peter, as if saying, What now?

Peter looked at Klingon and shrugged, trying to indicate that the direction in which they moved depended on where they, the aliens, had to go. And that depended on where they had originally come from earlier in the day. Their camp? Their spaceship? What had they been doing that brought them out here in the first place and that had led to one of them being attacked by a wild animal? What were they doing on this planet, period?

Peter began walking in a direction that would take them toward some low-lying hills in the distance, where his vehicle happened to be parked, thinking that the aliens had to be camped out somewhere that made some sense, and the hills offered the only possible protection that he could see. Chance ran to join him. Peter looked around to see if the alien crew was following. He saw that they were and that the injured one appeared to be lying quietly on the stretcher, perhaps still oblivious to what was happening.

Klingon suddenly appeared, walking next to Peter. Peter noticed that as the alien leader passed Chance, it slowly tried to reach out to touch the animal. Chance, however, would have nothing to do with the advance. The dog quickly moved to avoid any contact and was soon crowding Peter on his opposite side. Peter tried to indicate that his pet was just wary of the strangeness of the moment. He stopped and bent down to pet the dog. As he did, he motioned for Klingon to do the same, as he gently held Chance to reassure him. The alien creature gently touched the animal and again made the clicking sound. Chance was not reassured; the dog barely tolerated the contact and then moved away.

Give it some time, Peter said to the alien, pointing to the dog. He’s really a friendly animal, once he gets to know you. He didn’t expect the creature to understand what he had just said, but he hoped that the tone of his voice carried some of the intended meaning.

After walking for nearly an hour, Peter noticed that the hills appeared somewhat closer. Maybe another hour would get them there, although he still wasn’t sure that the hills represented anything notable in this saga. He was still assuming that the aliens had to have a base of operations somewhere, and the hills, again, seemed the logical choice. At least none of the strange visitors had made any objections to walking in this direction.

It occurred to him, however, that he hadn’t really noticed any specific kind of communication between the alien leader and the rest of the troops. There had been the clicking sounds occasionally that the Klingon had made and the murmuring sounds that the ETs had made but nothing to indicate an ongoing mode of communications between them. Peter decided to find out what was going on with that. He turned to the leader.

Can you understand what I am saying? he asked the alien. He looked for some response that would indicate something in that regard, but nothing like that occurred. The leader just looked at Peter and continued walking.

Can you hear me? Peter asked, pointing to the alien and then to his ears. It dawned on him that he should see if the creature actually had ears, in the human way of thinking. He glanced at the side to the alien’s head to see if it might have something akin to where humans had ears. It was then that he noticed a slight outcropping of bone or skin on each side of the leader’s head that was partially covered with the scale-like feature that he had observed earlier. Not knowing if they were, in fact, for hearing, Peter repeated his earlier question.

Can you hear me? he asked. Can you understand me when I talk? This time, Peter pointed to the alien’s head as he spoke.

Klingon hesitated for a second and then reached for an object connected to what appeared to be a belt, something that Peter had not noticed before. Out of the container, the alien removed an object that at first reminded Peter of the outlandishly large cell phones of the eighties. Klingon attached the object to a hook-like device on his chest and appeared to punch a few buttons, followed by a continuous clicking sound. Shortly after the clicking began, Peter heard the following words:

I can hear you, a metallic-sounding voice said. I can understand you. The voice seemed to come from the device hanging on Klingon and certainly did not sound human; it seemed detached and distant. We have been studying your languages for many of your years. We can understand you; we cannot speak your languages, however. We must use the translator to communicate in other languages.

Okay, Peter replied, at least we can communicate. How about the rest of your crew? Can they understand me and communicate with me as well?

As Peter finished asking his question, he realized that they had stopped walking during the short time that he and Klingon had been communicating. The alien crew members carrying their injured comrade were standing behind them in the hot desert sun, appearing to be in some distress after their time in the harsh surroundings. The temperature had risen to the mid-nineties and still was climbing. Peter looked quickly around for Chance and found the dog patiently standing beside him, panting loudly. The hills that they had been walking toward were now quite close, though Peter could still not see any indication of an alien presence up ahead among the hills and arroyos

So far, only AKARs are authorized to use translators. replied Klingon to Peter’s previous question. That is to limit the possibility of unnecessary contact and confusion with outside life forms.

You mentioned a word that sounded like ‘a-k-a-r-s.’ Peter pronounced the word phonetically as best he could, based on what he heard coming from the translator device. He wasn’t so sure how to necessarily spell it, but at this point it didn’t really matter. What’s an ‘akars’?

I think that you would call them captains or commanders of your ships or vessels … or homeland, it said without hesitation. Only those of the First Order can be designated as an AKAR. An AKAR is one who is destined to lead, to show the way to those not in the First Order. It is an honor to serve the Council and the homeland in that capacity.

Peter was not so sure how to proceed with the direction the conversation was taking. He could only guess as to the implications of not being in the First Order, but he had a pretty good idea

As the group started to walk toward the nearing hills, Peter again thought about the implications of the unfolding events of the morning. He looked at his watch; actually, it was now officially afternoon.

Okay, I have a few more questions, if that’s all right? Peter asked. Klingon did not indicate if it was or wasn’t. First, what are you and your crew doing here, both in this part of space and here on Earth, our planet? Second, why can’t I see some indication up ahead of your ship, where you landed, or of any activity?

Klingon continued walking and looking ahead. Some time passed before the clicking sound began again. "Our civilization has been exploring what you call the Milky Way galaxy for hundreds of thousands of your Earth years. Particularly, we have been interested in the consequences of a collision that has been occurring between the Milky Way galaxy and another smaller galaxy over a period of hundreds of millions of years. We actually started observing it when we were last in this vicinity, several hundreds of thousands of years ago. It also is having an impact in our sector of the galaxy as well.

These types of intergalactic collisions occur with some frequency throughout the universe. One of the consequences, of course, is that collisions occur between various planet-size and smaller objects in the many solar systems, such as your own, as the interaction of the galaxies progresses. In the end, the larger galaxy—the Milky Way, in this case—will usually end up absorbing the smaller, dwarf galaxy. Obviously, the probability of such occurrences are of interest to us, as collisions of those magnitudes would undoubtedly not be survivable to the civilizations involved.

You are saying that this ‘collision’ is ongoing and has been for millions of years? Peter interrupted. I can’t imagine such a thing happening. How could anything survive in that case?

In the case of your planet, Klingon answered, "it almost did not survive, based on information that we have gathered. A small, planet-like object from the smaller galaxy did, indeed, collide with your planet long ago, sending out an enormous amount of debris that went into orbit around it and eventually formed your moon. Collisions between planets and suns during this phenomenon have been occurring on a regular basis, adding to the creation of new suns and the formation of additional solar systems. Such collisions are actually an integral part of the life cycle of the universe as a whole. Without them, much of the original energy created when the universe first formed would have been dissipated by now into the farther reaches of the universe, and we would be alive in a much more desolate place, if alive at all.

And so, to answer your first question, we are here in your sector of the galaxy in continuation of our research and exploration concerning the continued interaction of the two galaxies. We are here in the vicinity of your solar system as a part of that exploration and on your planet because our vessel has developed a problem that will not allow us to continue to operate at a high enough speed to span the vast distances required. In fact, at this point, we cannot even return to our planet or, for that matter, to any of our way stations.

When Peter heard that, he stopped suddenly and looked first at Klingon and then back at the individuals in his crew. The realization of the scope of their dilemma and the impact on events to follow left him numb and struggling for a suitable response. But none came.

As to your second question about not seeing any evidence so far that would indicate our presence, look around you, Klingon said.

Peter did just that, but all he saw was the same pattern of desert landscape that drew him back time and time again because of its simple and haunting beauty, and the same terrain that they had been walking for the last several hours. They finally had made it to the hills and the arroyos carved out by rains and winds over vast amounts of time. Apparently, his earlier guess as to where the aliens had their camp was correct, but he could not make out anything that would even begin to indicate where that would or could be.

All right, I give up, Peter replied.

Try not to look for anything in particular, Klingon said. Rather, let it find you.

Peter almost expected a smile to appear on Klingon’s face, as if they were playing a game here, and Klingon was the game master. He wondered briefly if the creature could smile or if indeed it had any concept of humor.

Keep in mind, Klingon went on, that what you see is only the result of reflection of light off of objects. If that reflection is in any way disrupted or distorted, then the object cannot be detected, or it will be seen but in a distorted way. We have developed the means of what you might call cloaking or disguising ourselves, by simply replacing the frequencies with which light would normally reflect off objects under certain conditions with the frequencies of other substances in their place. The effect is to make the brain ‘see’ what it would expect to see under normal circumstances. As long as the brain is happy in that regard, then reality can be whatever we want it to be.

Peter looked around again, this time with Klingon’s words hovering in his brain. On the one hand, given what the alien had just indicated, something nearby was not what it visually and mentally appeared to be. But what? The brain was processing it correctly, as far as it was concerned, except that it was processing an artificial reality. On the other hand, if he suspected what the artificial reality might be, such as an alien spaceship and somewhat of an encampment about it, then he should be able to see through the manipulation to the reality. Sort of like seeing the truth embedded in a lie. Clearly, it was a case of matter over mind.

So Peter tried to relax both his mind and body, hoping to see the truth revealed. He also had to keep in mind Klingon’s words: let it find you. He was about to admit his failure when something in his peripheral vision caught his attention. What was it, exactly? Perhaps a slight shift in light or pattern; the makeup of the hillside suddenly changing in tone and texture but only for a brief second and then back.

But then, suddenly, back again!

And then reality! His mind at last captured what was really happening, and the truth did indeed set him free—at least for that brief time. One of the hills was not a hill—imagine that!

Of course! When is a hill not a hill? When it’s a spaceship! It had been there all the time. No doubt for Klingon and crew, it had been in sight all along, because they knew it was there, so their reality was never clouded by trickery.

The next reality check came almost immediately. When is a spaceship a truly large spaceship? When it’s as big as a hill!

Klingon clicked something, Peter thought, into the translator device. As Peter continued to look in the direction of the spaceship, to maintain his grip on this new reality as much as anything else, he noticed a portion of it moved, which momentarily caused him to lose some of that grip. His mind temporarily began to drift back and forth, trying to figure out if the hatch-like opening that was expanding was doing so in the side of a hill or a spaceship. For a time, the two mental constructs overlapped, causing a sense of unbalance. The feeling eased, however, and Peter noticed the hatch continuing to move outward and downward from what was definitely a spaceship.

As it did, Klingon and the ship’s crew moved beyond where Peter was standing, with Chance still by his side, toward the ship. Still mesmerized by the apparent size of the vessel, he at last noticed the crew approaching the opening. Not knowing what else to do under the circumstance, he moved toward them. The crew, still carrying their wounded comrade, entered the ship. Klingon stood just outside, watching Peter and the dog approach.

Thank you for helping to save one of our members, Klingon said. The member was sent out with some others on an exploration mission and for some reason got separated from the rest. I will have to look into how that occurred. In any event, it probably would not have survived the attack of that predator if you had not intervened when you did.

You’re welcome, Peter answered. I have to admit that all of this is still somewhat of a shock, to say the least. I mean, I really didn’t know what was going on when I got involved—and still don’t, for that matter. If it hadn’t been for Chance, here, chasing that coyote away, it might have ended up killing your crew member before I could have gotten to it in time. Then, if you and your crewmembers hadn’t shown up when you did, I wouldn’t have known what to do with him.

Or it, he thought.

Peter felt a little uncomfortable at that moment. He had not thought at all about gender. Were the crew members male or female, at least as humans would think about it? For that matter, what would—or could—he really call these alien creatures, other than alien … and creatures? Not knowing what else to do or say, Peter remained silent.

The hatch to the spaceship was still open. Klingon remained standing at the entrance, looking in Peter’s direction. The alien seemed to be a little uncertain as to what was going to occur next. Was it going to simply wish Peter well and go inside? Was Peter going to say something like, No problem at all, and walk away with Chance to their nearby vehicle? Could this chance encounter between earthling and alien just end, as if it had not occurred at all? Not likely.

It was obvious that the eight-hundred-pound gorilla in this outdoor space was the fact that the encounter was not supposed to have happened at all. According to the rules of this game of space exploration hide-and-seek, the alien intruders would have remained undetected behind their cloaking devices, and the resident earthlings would have remained oblivious to their presence, yet suspicious of their existence nonetheless. Now, at least for these actors in the drama, that had changed.

Chapter 2

S o what are you going to do, now? Peter asked.

He had to broach the subject. The spaceship was damaged somehow, according to Klingon, and could not return its crew home, wherever that was. That meant that the crew was … what? Stranded here on Earth? Not much of a resolution to their problem and the more far-reaching consequences for all concerned—that much was certain.

Klingon’s simple response was not what Peter could have suspected. What do you suggest? it asked.

I am an archaeologist and anthropologist, Peter replied. I spend most of my time exploring this barren terrain, trying to understand the geological and human history of its formation, going back many millions of years, of course. I also teach and write on those subjects. When not doing that, I dabble in the photography and painting of the same types of natural desert scenes that we’ve been walking in these past few hours. I know nothing about what your problem might be or how to go about helping you correct it. I know little about astronomy or space, beyond watching the launches of our space shuttles from time to time. I’m sorry; if I could do anything to help you, if I even knew where to begin, I would do it.

Klingon stood looking at Peter, saying nothing and showing no indication of moving toward the still-open hatch.

Peter, though, felt that the creature was desperate to say something … but what? You don’t know what to do either, do you? Peter asked. You’re stuck here, heaven knows how far away from wherever your home is, with a broken-down ship that needs repair and probably no way to repair it yourself. Is that about right?

Yes, that is correct, Klingon replied after a moment’s hesitation. "We sent out a message some time ago to our nearest way station, but it is far enough away that any help for us is highly improbable for some time to come. What has failed us has never occurred on any of our vessels during all of our explorations throughout the galaxy over a time frame you can only imagine. We have not heard back from the way station, but it is too soon for that. In the meantime, we have to find some way to merely survive.

We are, of course, prepared to remain hidden and undetected during our stay. We took all precautions to do so, but now that has changed, at least for the moment. Our presence being known will most certainly complicate matters, both for us and for your planet. It is not what any of us are prepared for.

Now, Peter realized their immense dilemma even more. These creatures perhaps felt their extreme vulnerability for the first time ever. Having conquered space travel long ago and having extensively explored the heavens without, presumably, ever having been stranded on alien soil, they must feel utterly lost and alone, assuming that they could or did experience such feelings.

What exactly has broken down, and what will it take to repair it? Peter asked.

We have a device onboard that acts to orient and stabilize the ship, particularly at high interstellar speeds, Klingon answered. "It’s imperative to create an artificial platform that provides the ship with a constant sense of orientation in a universe in which there is no up or down, left or right. Those concepts do not exist in a universe that is infinite in all directions. Also, without this stabilized platform, travel at near light speed is out of the question, as the ship runs the risk of tumbling out of control as it reacts to the pull of constant variations in gravity from celestial bodies and the necessary correctional navigation instructions. The platform is essential because it automatically allows the ship to return to its programmed, stabilized position, crucial for accurate navigation and safe operations.

As for repairs, the device must be removed from its position. Next to the propulsion system, the stabilizer platform is the most essential element onboard. Its development was critical in building our capacity for far-reaching space exploration. That development, along with other technological advances required for travel across vast distances, took what would be many thousands of your centuries to complete. Under the circumstances we face here, repair would be impossible.

With that, Klingon appeared to start for the open hatch but then paused. Once you leave here, with your friend—he motioned toward Chance, who had been lying in the shade of a nearby cactus and some large rocks—do not come back. We will leave before the next day. We cannot remain any longer, with the risk that additional exposure to this planet’s population will bring. To do so would violate interstellar policy for our program.

But what will you do, if you can’t get back to your home base? asked Peter, surprised by the absurdity of departing if the spaceship could not survive the journey at high speeds.

We realize every time we venture out that there is that remote possibility of not returning, Klingon replied, even though, as I mentioned earlier, nothing like our current dilemma has ever occurred previously. In any event, we will go as quickly as we can back to the nearest way station. We will not be able to make it there, of course; there simply will not be enough time to cover that distance at reduced speed. But maybe we can intercept a vessel that they have sent out to rescue us. If that occurs, we will transfer the ship’s personnel to that ship and destroy this one.

That’s taking quite a chance, if you ask me, Peter replied, more forcefully than he really intended. You know, we have a space program, too. It’s not nearly to the point that yours is, but speaking of technology, we’ve developed enough with materials and manufacturing that we might be able to help you repair your spaceship, at least so you’ll stand a fair chance of making it back, rather than none at all. What you’re proposing sounds more like suicide than a reasonable chance for success. And what do you have to lose? You said that you won’t be able to make it to the way station, that you’ll be counting on a rendezvous with another spaceship that maybe they will send out.

Klingon appeared to be nodding his head, perhaps in agreement with what Peter had just said or perhaps just in contemplation of his circumstances overall and the chances of success or failure. The creature looked out toward the vastness of the desert and then through the hatch, into the depth of the spaceship. I asked you earlier what you would recommend, Klingon replied, "and you said that you did not know, that you were only an archaeologist, teacher, and writer. Now, you are trying to convince me that the answer to our problem might lie here, on your planet, through your space program, which is in its infancy, and your developing technology.

"We know about your attempts at space exploration and space travel over the years. When we first visited this portion of the galaxy long ago and first encountered your planet and your primitive life-forms, many of you were still living in the ground—in caves, I believe you call them. Others were living primitively in your forests and plains, chasing other life-forms for food and clothing. We realized at the time that continued development of your species would be prolonged, haphazard, and therefore, unpredictable.

"I do not know why I am going to say this, but perhaps you should know. In order to assure your ability to evolve to a higher order, to be able to survive through all of the obstacles and uncertainties, we introduced many of our genetic strengths into your biological makeup. In other words, over the rather prolonged time that we were among your very early ancestors, we programmed them so that they would able to evolve slowly into what you, in fact, have become—a species with the ability to eventually travel to the stars.

"You have come a long way in that development, but remember that we had already been traveling through space, had already developed many of the technologies still in use today at the time of our earlier visitations, many hundreds of thousands of years ago. You, on the other hand, have vast stretches of time ahead of you before you can even begin to approach our capabilities to build and operate interstellar spacecraft. What makes you think that, should we remain here, your civilization could come close to replicating the equipment that we would need?

"And that is not taking into consideration other aspects of the situation, such as the fact that the subject of aliens from outer space is mostly a matter of your collective imagination and speculation. What happens when it becomes a matter of stark reality? How do you—no, how do we—deal with it then? Not only do new technologies have to be developed in a short time span but in the midst of that, your entire civilization has to learn to accommodate the idea that we do, in fact, exist, and that we indeed are here.

"Assuming that what you propose has a chance—a slim chance—of working out, how do you propose to go about it? And what can you possibly do? After all, you are only an archaeologist!"

Okay, okay! Peter replied, feeling for the first time inept and inconsequential in the face of this reality. His intentions were good enough; he really did want to help. But Klingon was right. There was so much to overcome and probably not a lot of time for everything to come out just right for there to be a successful end. What, for instance, would happen when the media got hold of the story? What chance would there be for keeping events under control then? And the government—the military—would, no doubt, want to do just that! Any attempt to provide assistance to these ultimate illegal aliens would immediately start to unravel, as various interests would compete to control all outcomes. And what about Klingon’s revelation about the earlier visitations of aliens and the genetic programming of our ancient ancestors? That could cause a firestorm by itself, if it ever was made public.

It’s hard to explain exactly what the problem areas might be, Peter continued, "although you seem to have a good grasp of the overall human and technical ones. Knowledge of your existence and your presence here could—no, would—cause problems. Once our media—newspapers, television, that sort of thing—get hold of this story, they will become very demanding and will shortly begin to feel that they own the story and control events.

It will be almost impossible to maintain any secrecy when it comes to the planning and development of the huge effort to complete the necessary repairs to your craft, an effort that would, no doubt, have to involve the input from various governments and industries around the world. The public, the media, government, industry—they would all want to own a piece of the action, if you can follow that line of thinking. Is this something that you have to put up with in your world, or should I say, your part of the universe? Peter asked.

Not exactly, ‘Klingon’ said, looking and sounding now almost resigned to a fate, either here or there, that did not sound good. Do we have differences to resolve within the galaxies and among the planets and civilizations? Do we have those who try to gain ascendancy in order to control and influence events? Of course. The difference is that there is the Council that decides what will or will not be done. There is no chance of events getting out of control. The Council represents all competing interests; those interests have the opportunity to present their positions to the Council on a continuous basis and in great detail. No one interest can try to or does control all matters, because only the Council has the power to order things done or not done. Eventually, every deliberative and representative body throughout the Sphere of Influence will have a chance to send its AKARs to either sit on the Council or advise it. It is an honor.

At this juncture, Peter knew that something had to be tried or else an opportunity for both this world and the world, or worlds, of these alien creatures would be lost. As Klingon was talking about how events would be handled where it came from, an idea formed in Peter’s mind. If it succeeded, then perhaps a Council similar to what Klingon had referred to could be established that would allow for a mostly quiet and orderly process, leading to the repair of the spacecraft as quickly as possible, given the limitations of existing technologies and the vagaries of human nature.

Again, I don’t think that you have much choice, Peter said. "In all probability, you lose if you decide to depart with the stabilizer, I think you called it, inoperative. If it can’t be repaired here on Earth within a reasonable time frame, then you can always decide to leave. Now, I don’t know and can’t really say what would be a reasonable amount of time, but I think that you should be willing to give it at least enough time to get the ball rolling, as we say here on Earth. That means enough time to at least assess the probability of accomplishing a fix here.

"Now, I may be only an archaeologist, but I do know a few people who have connections to those who may be able to help. One of them just happens to be my brother, who has worked for NASA, our space program, for years. He’s one of the reasons that I even watched the launchings of the space shuttles over the years. Another is one of my fraternity brothers from college. He can probably be an even bigger help, since he’s worked for too many years in Washington, DC, which is, as you may know, the capital of my country, the United States of America. He knows just about everyone who is anyone in that town. If anyone can steer us to the decision makers in our Congress, our military, and our corporations, he can, or he knows who can.

"There are others, including a highly placed officer in the army, who knows my brother from the early NASA days. They will all be of help, at least in the short term. All I’m asking is that you postpone an immediate departure—let’s say two weeks in Earth time—to give me time to contact some of these people and get an idea of just how to get things started.

This will no doubt start slowly, because I have to be careful, initially, introducing this whole unearthly subject to unsuspecting people. For instance, I’m going to have to come up with some sort of evidence of your existence and do it in such a way that I will be convincing, without starting a panic, in order to develop an understanding and support for your plight.

Klingon continued to stand by the spacecraft’s hatch, looking at Peter with what appeared to be a noncommittal face, if indeed the creature was capable of that. The alien looked through the hatch into the interior of the craft. It seemed to be thinking and no doubt weighing the pros and cons of what Peter had just proposed. It turned back to face the human whose presence, under the circumstances, posed either a continued threat to the mission or its ultimate salvation. Then, Peter sensed distinctly that a decision had been made.

I agree, the alien creature answered. "If you are to be successful convincing these others to even try to help in whatever way, then you are going to have to know precisely what is wrong with our craft. To do that, you are going to have to see for yourself. But know that until you have achieved some progress toward discovering if there is any possibility of a repair of our ship, you must assure me that our position and the exact nature of our vulnerability will only be revealed on an as-needed basis. I cannot risk that sort of disclosure to just anyone. You must know implicitly that you can trust those in whom you will be confiding.

"There will be enough risk remaining here with the stabilizer disabled, waiting for a possible repair, if that is what we will do, without having to confront the unknown of your resident population gone crazy beforehand with knowledge of our existence. I will come up with something, an object, that you will to allowed