Inside Man

By M J Herbert

ETHAN: a panoply of light heralding the arrival on Earth of Extraterrestrial life.

The watcher: forever haunted by what he witnessed on a hot African night.

The journalist: on the cusp of the greatest story in history.

The Major: intent only on personal gain, whatever the cost.

The alien: one billion places to hide. <

• Language: English
• Publisher: MJHerbertauthor
• Release date: Mar 6, 2023
• ISBN: 9781915889270

Book preview

PART ONE

ARRIVAL

1.

Dawn, skies over North America

USAF Shaw-1 to Shaw Base, over.

Shaw Base to AF-1, receiving, report status, over.

AF-1, Nothing visible at our current height, still two minutes from pre-set co-ordinates, over

AF-1, do you have AF-2 and 3 in range, over.

AF-1, both in range, no reported sightings from them either, over.

How many more times, thought Captain David Morrell, as he raced across the skies in his F-15 Eagle, beside him, a mile to each side, Jed Abbott and Mary Stills flew, probably having similar thoughts to his. Another wasted scramble, with air hours squandered on another UFO sighting that would, like as not, turn out to be a deflating weather balloon, an unusually shaped cloud formation, or some other trick of the light. For some odd reason it always concerned him of the cost to the Nation of hurling three elite attack aircraft into the skies at a whim. Even though that whim involved National Security, it worried him, nonetheless. This scramble had come during the late hours of darkness, and they were only now heading east into the rising sun, so, perhaps the latter two instances were not a likelihood on this occasion.

Minutes passed as the trio headed north east, the scene below them changing from the dull, seemingly endless prairie lands of the central western States, to the greener lands approaching the Great Lakes area, then his radio sprang to life again, Shaw Base clearly concerned at the lack of an update from the task force.

Shaw Base to AF-1, what is your current level? Over.

What appeared, on the face of it, to be a vague query, which could relate to his Fuel, current height or Air hours, he interpreted as to be a loaded question, as was the way when broadcasting on open wavelengths. He replied with his current height, after a glance at his digital Altimeter, a modern feature of the new breed of F-15’s. These single-seaters were an upgrade of the Planes commissioned, and introduced, in 1976, and had proved their worth seeing active service in the Gulf War amongst others, and through various upgrades, to such success that they were due to remain in service up to 2025. They carried a variety of weaponry, including Sparrow, AMRAAM, and Sidewinder missiles, along with Vulcan Gatling guns. In readiness for scrambles such as this, his plane, alongside Jed and Mary’s, had been ready and prepared for an immediate departure in its Hangar, fully armed with its optimum weaponry payload.

AF-1, 32,000 feet currently, over, he continued.

Base to AF-1, you have correct elevation, suggest you move down-range to W56-N55, stay on your current trajectory at your H & S, over.

AF-1, Wilco. Out.

Morrell bit his lip thoughtfully as he concentrated hard on the skies ahead of him, reconsidering his earlier opinion. The reference points they had been given comprised a grid area of 100 square miles, G to S, (Ground level to the extremity of Space), so while elevation would not normally be a concern as opposed to air speed and position within the grid framework; there was evidence of there actually being some purpose to the scramble on this occasion. There seemed to be a pattern emerging as the references were adjacent, and consistently moving away from them on a north easterly bearing. He felt a slight unease that began deep in his stomach. The unknown should have that effect, he thought, it was what made the difference between an airman, and an elite pilot.

It appeared that they could really be chasing something that was moving quickly across the sky over America’s heartland, but on a course that if unaltered, eventually take it into Canadian airspace. Visibility was almost perfect now, as the early morning sun shone from clear blue skies which stretched as far as he could see. His new instructions gave him reason to contact his two co-pilots, who amended their heading in line with his, in what was now changing from what had seemed to be a ‘Recce and Observe’, and becoming a ‘Search and Destroy’. No Codes, no specific orders, no information that could be overheard by the many amateur enthusiasts that listened in, or more importantly, agencies with a darker reason for monitoring U.S activity, had been given. It was purely experience that told him all was not quite what it had seemed. It was built into their training that they should appreciate the subtle differences within certain order structures. Only at a suitable time, when weaponry may need to be used, did the orders take a more definitive tone. The move down-range had brought him to understand that their objective was not simply the piece of Meteorological apparatus, as he had initially considered. Deflating Weather Balloons never went any other way but straight down, nor cover such a wide area.

As he scanned the far horizon, something seemed to emerge from the distant line of darkness where the sky joined the land far ahead of them, something that was too regular in shape to be mistaken for the horizon. It appeared to be something moving fast in the skies ahead, faster even than his own high-tech machine. Below him he could make out the shoreline of Lake Michigan as he flew east, below him the ugly grey blotch that was Chicago, clutching at the edge of the lake as it spread in both directions like a giant claw, north to include Milwaukee, and south to Gary, and Port Michigan, in a seemingly endless conurbation, spotted with occasional areas of green parkland.

Shaw Air Force Base, and; the strange thought came into his mind; safety, was now far to the west, as was the Hoover Dam, one of many potential terrorist targets they were always prepared to defend. Now, as he streaked away to the north-east, the distant far shore of Michigan came into view. Flat coastal areas evolved into a more mountainous landscape as he continued, following another report to base, and check with his two co-pilots, their heading remained north/north east. There was some airborne traffic even at this early hour, redeyes heading into O’Hare, as they closed on the borders with Canada, so it became increasingly obvious that there was a real purpose to this mission. Where they had started the mission under the auspices of DCA, (Defensive Counter-air), this had moved smoothly to being under ACC, (Air Combat Command), authority. The three planes of the 9th Airborne, based in Nebraska, were a long way from home now, and into a new phase, with the possibility of ‘use of Arms in combat’ being the next instruction.

As if to echo his thoughts, Jed was on their local frequency.

AV-3 to Leader, any ideas boss? his voice unusually crackly on the Comm. Their equipment was state of the art, and its digital technology did not normally cause such an effect. Is there something going down?

Leader to AV-3, if only I knew, he answered, at this stage keeping quiet about what he thought he had seen. It was, of course hard to describe the indescribable, ‘possible UFO activity’ was the whisper.

Seems a bit odd for this type of report so close to sun-up, weird lights are usually associated with hours of complete darkness.

I agree Jed. David kept formalities to a minimum between the three of them, a friendly approach towards those that were friends when at ground level, though such familiarity was obviously frowned upon by their superior officers, it was appreciated that they were an exceptional team, and a blind eye was turned.

Let’s just play it by ear, see what we see, yeah? Their evening had begun at what they referred to as Zero-Dark-Thirty. An operation in the twilight hours between midnight and 5am, though it was almost 6 o’clock now.

Almost the instant the conversation ended, Mary reported in on the same frequency.

AV-2 to Leader, I have a visual up ahead, David, not sure what I’m seeing… Mark two over 9 zero, do you see it?

Morrell replied through gritted teeth, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Mary, prepare for a simple reconnaissance only, for now.

Av-2, I am going in for a closer look, over. The two comments had been spoken almost simultaneously, and his instruction had not been heard by the woman.

Mary, don’t go in ahead of me, wait till I get a look.

Even as he said it, he saw Mary’s Eagle shooting ahead alongside him, streaking away as if he was standing still.

Quickly he hit the gas but could merely follow her vapour trail as it made ground ahead of him. He fiddled with the Comm-link as he kept closely on her heel, and ordered AV-3 to follow at a safe distance. No point them all going in hell for leather.

Once again, he mused, she was trying too hard to prove herself, being the only female member of the squad. It was a problem he had tried to resolve on a number of occasions, but she remained her hot-headed self, determined to show that whatever the men could do, she could do better. In fact, this was probably true, she was an exceptional pilot, and had a big future in the air force ahead of her, if she could only channel her strengths in the right way.

David was briefly aware that he had not kept to protocol, and called in the sighting, and Mary’s response to it. This he knew would come back to bite him, when the post-mission review would take place. Black box and internal communication recordings would be examined, and his, and his teams every action scrutinised to the limit, prior to a thorough de-briefing with the Top Brass before the day was out. The fact that they were faced with a complete unknown would make his following the rules even more important, and his failure to do so could possibly even mean a demotion, or if seen as a dereliction of duty, go so far as to lead to a court martial. But what was happening was not in the rule book. Nothing in their training had prepared them for this. It was of a different ilk to anything he had seen in the skies before.

There, ahead of them, lighting up the sky was a broad band of incandescence, streaking across the heavens, rising to their height due to their closer proximity from the view they had had of it on the distant horizon, like a ring around the world. It disappeared in both directions, ahead of where it moved forward seemingly toward Canada, and behind, where the worm-like tube seemed to have no end. He tried to estimate its size, but had no reference points, and gave up on the thought. It would make little difference, other than to enable him to give some kind of a description back to base. As they headed towards it, it seemed to glow in the early rays of the sun, at the edge of their range of visibility. What the hell, thought Morrell, is it? Like nothing he had seen on Earth or in the sky, much less even heard about. Amongst his fellow fliers, tales were spun, like sailors of old with their yarns of incredible sea monsters and fabulous distant shores, but not much normally fazed him. A pilot of many years’ experience, he had been at the forefront of the Kuwait/Iraq confrontation, Desert Storm… but this…

It was there, but strangely, it was indefinable, insubstantial, somehow appearing and almost fading to nothing, then as substantial as it had been before, as it pulsed in the sunlight, almost as if it dispersed the light, taking on that worm-like appearance, and as he approached, it was obviously something of a more physical nature. He recalled images of the clouds of the planet Jupiter that he had seen, and the worm appeared to have a similar appearance, forever moving and twisting as if permanently attempting to form into something more recognisable and solid. As he watched it the realisation came to him of the vastness of it. It stretched to both horizons, seeming to crawl across the sky toward the distant Atlantic, though it filled the space ahead and behind itself, it seemed clear that its progress was most definitely towards the east. Strange, but awesome, in its simple complexity, colourless, yet at times bright with reflections of amber’s, rust’s and gold’s. Yellows, ochre’s and brick, colours in profusion, though in the distance at either end it seemed to meld until it was colourless, a compelling sight that seemed to draw you in like a Lorelai, and that was the most concerning feature of it, as it began to fill the sky before them. so much larger than it had appeared just a few moments earlier. Of all things that occurred to him as he took in the images before him, there was no doubt whatsoever in his mind.

This was something unutterably alien.

Their heading had taken them in a long slow arc, that saw them on an approach towards the Canadian border, though they were still over the northern parts of Michigan, with no orders to allow them to cross into Canadian airspace. Within minutes they were facing the apparition side on, so it now filled the sky to right and left of them. Here, now, for the first time, it’s appearance was even more wormlike, and he began to connect with Base to report the sighting, and also checked his frontline cameras to ensure he was getting some evidence of what they were witnessing, but all thoughts of reporting in vanished in an instant, as he watched Mary’s Eagle continuing its headlong rush toward the unnamed spectacle in their path.

David screamed at Mary to slow down, as he watched the impulsive woman diving straight at the vision spread across the sky ahead of her. Too late, the response was negative, and Morrell was filled with a sense of dread, like witnessing an accident and being powerless to intervene. For long seconds, there did not seem anything untoward with her plane, but, even as he watched, her Eagle almost visibly shut down before his very eyes. As it flew close to the ‘worm’, the F-15 commenced a slow balletic dance, suddenly tumbling out of the sky, and plummeting irrevocably down to hit Michigan dirt, exploding in a series of giant, though to the watching Morrell, silent, balls of fire. The sight alarmed him to the extent that he lost concentration momentarily, and suddenly found himself in as close a vicinity to the apparition that Mary had been, and he wrestled with the controls to extricate himself from a similar fate.

It seemed the worm-like apparition was sweeping up to him, though of course the opposite was correct, it was in reality moving in the same direction as he was, and it was his plane that was diving headlong toward it. It was almost as if it had a magnetic quality, and was pulling the plane towards itself, as he attempted evasive action. He ordered Jed to stay back, having no idea where the third fighter was, and hoped that the loss of Mary’s plane had been warning enough. There was no information on his display as to Jed’s position, so he kept shouting into his mic, Stay clear, Jed, stay clear.  All thoughts of reporting the loss of the plane, and the current situation to base was the last thing on his mind, as what had commenced as a reconnaissance flight had suddenly become a fight for his very existence.

Even as he yelled at Jed, all his screens blanked out, and the craft powered down in a noisy buzz of static, and warnings, which were cut short by the diminishing level of power. Briefly the standby circuit cut in, but almost immediately shut down too. He reached for the ejector seat, trying to recall if he had seen Mary’s fly out, but there were too many things on his mind, and too little time for absorbing that type of information. As he shot forwards with the momentum of his previous speed, the plane seemed to buck up and over the worm, rather than hit it, and he came over the other side and took on a similar path to the one he had seen of Mary’s final moments. As he realised the immense danger of the situation, and the instant recognition that he was certainly doomed, his mind turned briefly to thoughts of his wife and children, and their homely little residence in the small-town American estate that served the Base.

All the while, the radio was repeating, AF1, report to Base, AF1, are you receiving me, AF1 report to Base….. As he fought desperately to work the ejector, he realised that it was as effective as every other powered utility on board, though he believed it was designed to operate independently of the craft, but it was as ineffective as every other part of the multi-million Dollar machine. Then came his final moments as the composite fuselage of his machine suddenly exploded, as he collided with Jed, as the other came from below the worm, similarly bereft of power. Explosion after explosion filled the morning sky, as the two planes fell finally to became the second and third victim to the effects of the alien visitor.

The debris fell quickly down to earth, spread out across the mountainous, wooded landscape below. Fortunately, this area of northern Michigan, so close to the Canadian border, was not densely populated and there was no further loss of life.

In the skies above, the un-earthly visitor continued its aimless voyage, oblivious to the carnage it had wreaked. Its form continued to coalesce, ever changing, as it raced onward over Canada, its tail eventually disappearing as it headed north-east, leaving only a distinct electrical static singing in the heavens.

2.

The Watcher

He twisted his prostrate body to fully line himself up for as much comfort as was possible whilst lying on the rocky surface, and to assist his view of the distant object on which his whole focus was intent. Raising his Leica Ultravid BR50 binoculars to his eyes, he focussed on the recent arrival to the landscape. While the glasses had seemed to be an extravagant luxury, now at last they were proving their worth. He had paid in excess of £1,000 for them and had found them to be far too good for the purposes for which he normally used them. Now, in the viewing field he saw the debris lying strewn across the valley floor far below him, deep within the lower strata, but spread across a relatively flat area of the plateau between two high ridges. These formed the ramparts of the huge Rift Valley that stretched across this part of east Africa.

It was from this vantage point that the watcher was still attempting to make himself more comfortable, where he had lain for some time now, while trying to decide his next course of action. The object of his interest, (at this point he was entirely unsure exactly what it was he was looking at); though the circumstances that led him to be here should have prepared him for any eventuality; was certainly not moving, and following the events of the previous evening, unsurprisingly so. Neither, for probably the same reasons, he could see quite clearly even from this distance, was it native to Earth, of that he was certain. It was this fact that kept him in the position that was currently causing him so much discomfort. There, on the sandy, and rocky floor between the deep rilles, lay a creature the like of which he had never seen before, amid a thousand shards of what appeared to be a shattered metallic…what? A Rocket? No, there were no pieces visible that had the appearance that he might recognise as being a part of an engine. Something had brought a strange creature to Earth, but had not protected it in any way, the fact that it was dead was apparent, even from his current lofty position. He unclipped his ancient Kodak Brownie camera from his belt, and gazed through the viewfinder. It would not pick up much from this distance, he thought, and wished he had upgraded it to a decent digital model. He had loved the old thing when given it as a Christmas present by his parents, all those years ago, but the cost of film and developing them had caused him to lose interest. The fact he still had it was an example of how such things were precious to him, it had become an important part of his life, and he valued it far above its current value.

Briefly, he wondered how old the film inside it was, he remembered taking some shots of the house when they had moved in, but that was a few years ago now, and it may well have deteriorated. Still, he had no other devices, he would snap away in the hope that he got some good images. Though who would he trust to develop the pictures of what he was seeing, and who, indeed, would accept them as being real? He put the camera to one side, a photo from this distance would show little of worth, at some point he would venture a bit closer, then take as many shots as there were left.

He concentrated on the scene below. Something about the circumstances puzzled him, but he shook his head to clear away the thoughts, there were too many other things to mull over. Briefly he looked away from the subject of his interest; for which he was unable to give a name; to check for signs of anyone else happening on the scene, which, after the previous evening’s events, was very much a possibility. Seeing nothing, he considered moving closer, possibly to somewhere there would be less pressure on his neck and shoulders, but the steep angle of the ridge would suggest he would not find such a vantage point. While it was advantageous, he was concerned to keep his presence as low key as possible, a long-imbued habit that controlled all his actions, though he seemed to be totally alone at this moment in time, so for the time being he decided to retain his current position. Slowly the early morning light was improving, and his hours of waiting were now proving to have been worth it. Had he left it until dawn, he may have found it difficult to locate the subject of his interest. As he had approached the scene during the hours of darkness, its position had been illuminated well, but the lights that had heralded its arrival had quickly faded, and it would have been harder to locate had he left it until daybreak.

He rubbed tiredness from his eyes, the long night, now turning into day, was beginning to take its toll after all. He knew he was getting a bit too old for adventures like this. That was no reason for him to have let things alone, and gone to bed, probably to lie there unable to sleep, wondering if he should have acted on the vision that had appeared before him. Probably so. His actions, he was convinced now, were correct.

A flicker of movement at the periphery of his vision, ensured he maintained his current position a little longer. His heightened senses working overtime, it was his hearing that gave the clue that his lonely vigil was broken by the presence in the sky of vultures. The New World Carthartidae, with their distinctive featherless neck and head, were already gathering in anticipation of a meal to be had. That the carcass below was something completely unknown to their kind would be of no matter to them. The dead in any form was their singular focus. It was also, of interest to the watcher, who now found himself in the situation of having to take a more proactive stance.

Another scan of the area to ensure he was still alone was made, while he reconsidered his options, which included the possible removal of the objects, or reporting them to the relevant authorities. Here in the Kenyan countryside, the importance of this find was not one he felt could be entrusted to the locals. His Land Rover was on the opposite side of the ridge to the one he was on, but he knew it would be a long and circuitous route for even that motor to handle to be able to get close to his find.

From this distance, he was unsure of the size and scale of what he was looking at, or whether he would be able to get it into the truck on his own, though it was fitted with a hoist, which came in handy for pulling stricken motors from bogs, or deep rilles the drivers unused to the terrain had not shown enough respect for. Whether it was safe for him to do so had crossed his mind but been discounted in favour of the benefits this find could bring him. Such a decision is sometimes forced on you by interactions over which you have no control at all, and such was the case here. As a former British Army soldier, with his most recent field experience being in the Iraq war, he had survived to retire in semi comfort here in Africa, after which his wife had passed away from the cancer that had overtaken her, and left him alone to fend for himself, while considering whether to remain in what had been her homeland.

His tour of Iraq had been brought to a premature end by a left tibia smashed by a bullet. He had been returned home via Basra, and eventually invalided out of the Army, his age playing a part in the decision-making process. He still riled a little at the unfairness of the system that had allowed a civil servant to make the final decision. A desk-bound job was not for him, and he had taken retirement, though he had been unsure of the move to this strange new land, with its nomadic, varied inhabitants, not least the tall, proud, Masai. Marita, his beloved wife, who he had met while still at University back home in England, so many years ago now, had convinced him to make a new life here in her home country, to while away her final years.  He had been entranced by the stark beauty of the landscape, and the friendliness of Marita’s people, but now, following her passing, he felt very alone. The cancer had come, and consumed her as she refused treatment instead insisting she wanted to return to her homeland, so now, alone in a strange land, he was still considering all his options.

The watcher strove to bring his thoughts back to the realities of the Great Rift Valley. Here it took the form of an actual valley but, generally speaking, the designated area known by that name, for wont of a better more precisely descriptive one, was a geological scar stretching across much of east Africa, from the northern limits of Kenya, across the border to the south in Tanzania.

He strained to keep his concentration levels high, as he shifted on the rocky ground, where his elbows dug into the surface to give him support. With the binoculars steady, nothing in the tableau below had changed. Decision time, he realised, before even in this rugged environment, things changed. What was considered to be an uninhabitable region of western Kenya, was in fact home to many Masai, the proud warrior race who had refused the government assistance which aimed at bringing them into the modern world, to help to populate Nairobi, and other major towns. Marita’s town folk had a settlement close to where he was now, theirs had once been a nomadic existence, changed now by, in the 19th Century, British Imperialism, and the assumption that Land was not always free to all, as had always been the Masai credo. Now they built more solid houses, and tended to stay in one place, though the dramatic change in lifestyle had been difficult for them to adapt to.

Due to the closeness of the Masai village, there remained the possibility that other eyes than his had observed the aerial acrobatics early that morning, that had prompted him to load up the Rover, and head for the crash site. A spurt of sand drifted up from the dry, dusty floor of the valley, probably an inquisitive lizard, or sand rat, exploring near to the object that lay broken and twisted amongst the wreckage, on the dark pitted ground. It was enough to convince the hovering vultures circling above, that there may still be life left in their prospective meal. For the time being they rose to a higher level, then flew off beyond to the rocky tors on the opposite side of the valley to where the watcher lay. Alone again, he prepared to consider exactly what he should do, theoretically he should call the local authorities, but now he had almost decided to take the bounty home, and further consider his actions with time and safety on his side. He had someone in mind to contact, when he had made some sense of his findings. Surely, he reasoned, there was money to be made from such a discovery.

Suddenly a flash of colour across the valley caught his eye, and he realised he was no longer alone. It, he saw, as he focussed the Leica’s, was the distinctive red of the attire of a Masai tribesman. The native people always took such pride in their appearance, a legacy of their fore-fathers, and to this day many of them still chose to still wear the ancient tribal dress, adorned with multi-coloured beads and copper jewellery. The Manyatta settlement was only a few kilometres from here, on the highland ridge that lay on the opposite edge of the Valley, before it sloped down to the Kenyan flatlands where it gave way to the grassy plains and woodlands leading down to the Indian Ocean. It was this varied topography that had lured him, along with his wife’s ministrations, to settle in these ancient lands. Circumstances, such as the purchase of his little homestead, had made the move less financially viable than either of them had imagined, however, and he had found an opportunity to improve on them. Occasional jobs as a tour guide along this very Rift valley, and to the nearby Aberdare National Park for tourists from the coastal complexes, had helped a little. They had proved to be quite enjoyable, and certain extras made them more lucrative. There was a seemingly endless supply of wealthy single ladies looking for some extra-curricular activity, and it was to the young local men that they looked, with his assistance being well rewarded. Not that he mentioned this at home of course, for fear of being suspected of being involved in the activities himself.

It was strange how a simple evening drinking on the veranda of his home, had led him to this discovery of, what he was becoming more and more convinced, could only be extra-terrestrial life. Luck played such an important role in life, he mused, the reasons for him even being here so multi-faceted, that it could not involve anything other. After a quiet, lonely, dinner, he had sat down in his favourite chair, to wash it down with a couple of Buds, as he watched another glorious sunset over the Rift valley nearby. They were precious bottles, as hard to obtain as they were expensive, and for him, harder to keep for long once they had found their way out of his fridge and delighted his palate. The veranda had been a late addition to the Farmhouse, built on the north facing wall of the farm, though that was not the obvious position, going by the layout. That it was designed with just this purpose in mind was clear, and he appreciated the foresight of its designer immensely.

It enabled fantastic views of the sunsets that fell across the high ridges, and on this occasion, gave a stark background for the aerial display that brought the final moments of the wormhole flight through the atmosphere to an end. Two Buds were not enough, he knew, for him to be imagining things, and with the trusty Leica’s conveniently by his side, he watched as the vision tailed down to the surface, and actually witness the round, dark, object that could be clearly seen hurtling along inside it, eventually to come crashing down on the other side of the hills. It was something never witnessed before by mankind, playing out its ghostly dance of death in the Kenyan skies. Almost instinctively, he had leapt from his chair, gathered a few tools, including his rifle, into the back of the Rover, and reached the site of the wormholes landfall as quickly as he could. Now, hours later, as dawn broke through to shed some light on the nights event’s, he was beginning to see the import of what he had discovered.

Keeping close attention to the Masai on the opposite side of the valley, he now knew he was not the only witness to the previous evening’s events, unless the youngster had happened along completely by chance. Unlikely, he thought, as starkly beautiful as the landscape was, it was also barren, and few found good reason to visit this area of the Valley, so the next question was whether anyone else had witnessed the lights, meaning others could be joining him shortly. It was clear that the youth was intent on one thing, and one thing only. That the night arrival was his sole destination was certain, as he headed straight towards it. He clambered nimbly over the rocky terrain, as adept as any of the indigenous creatures that made the valley their home. Keeping his eyes firmly ahead on the body that lay there, he was making good time as the watcher kept him in his viewing field.

His attention was briefly disturbed as something flashed brightly under the morning sun towards the north, where the valley headed to the Ethiopian border at Lake Turkana; the former Lake Rudolf, renamed after independence; but nothing of any substance could be seen. Probably a plane on its landing trajectory as headed in towards one of Nairobi’s airports. The tall youngster had quickly reached the lower levels of the foothills and was making good progress towards the flatter area of the floor of the valley. For a moment the youngster hesitated as he took in the spectacle before him. So intent was the youngster, that he had not noticed that he himself was the subject of other eyes. In no time, he had jogged across the rocky terrain, and was soon standing over the wreckage strewn all around, but by now the watcher himself had sprung in to action, scrambling down the rocky slope as quickly as he could.

In truth, neither quite appreciated the importance of this moment in the history of mankind, the first genuine contact between humankind and sentient alien was about to take place. It would certainly not be in any way similar to the myriad imaginings of Sci-Fi authors, for none could have come up with a scenario akin to the one about to be played out under the hot African sun, and which would change both their lives for ever.

3.

The Alien inside

Even for a creature as unusual as this one, there were moments which it could describe as memorable. Such was this, even to a being only able to understand the concept of death, in that it happened to other creatures. It appreciated the enormity of its arrival on another world, and, viewed from the carrier beast, now free of the smashed protective dome, the landing had been survived. The carrier, of course, had not. When the dome had finally been released from its journey as the worm made landfall, it had cracked apart on impact; there being no means of control; but it had served its purpose, protecting the carrier while on the fringes of space, and more importantly, it’s even more precious cargo. Through the still open eyes of the carrier, it surveyed the area in which it had landed, as it considered the differences between this and Homeworld. These were much as had been expected, gravity, atmosphere, light, all combined to add a strangeness to what, for it, was a totally alien scene. None, however, were different enough to cause it any great concern, as by its very nature it would not be directly affected while inside another host, leaving only the most important of the criteria for success of its mission.

It would continue to survive for some considerable time, the carrier having been selected specifically for this purpose. Until such a time as the body began to decompose, it would survive inside it very easily, feeding on the nutrients of the host body, purposely having had its stomach filled to capacity, to aid in the continued existence of its inhabitant. The lack of control of the final landing point of the wormhole meant there was the possibility that it might be a long time before a suitable replacement carrier appeared. This was, however considered a possibility of only a few percentage points, according to the Plan. Due to the nature of its arrival, it would certainly have attracted some attention from this world’s sentient inhabitants. Unless it had been unlucky enough to land in one of the more remote and inhospitable areas that all the target planets seemed to possess, but that again was considered unlikely. A landing on water was the most-feared possibility on this particular target world, as it was known to possess vast oceans. That this would occur was not too much of an issue for it, it could actually survive within the seas more easily than it could on land without a carrier, a sea landing though, merely made the transition to intelligent beings far less likely in the short term. The possibility that the planet might have no life that was suitable for it to inhabit was the most negligible of all the possible scenarios that had been given consideration.

Small rocky worlds, at the particular distance from the correct type of star, as this one was, were almost guaranteed to be swarming with life, as had been found by the long cycles of research that had preceded the commencement of the great mission. Somewhere within its strange body, it felt something akin to pride in being a forerunner in this search for a new beginning for its kind. From one small creature, a dynasty would be born, given new hope, on a new world. The vast oceans of this world merely increased the likelihood a thousand-fold, for without water, the possibilities of life taking hold to the level required was almost negligible. Life as they knew it; of course; the universe was boundless, and who could fully imagine what strange life forms could have evolved in the most unlikely of environments somewhere within it.

It had been one of a number of carefully considered target’s, and been one of the most favourable, being so similar to Homeworld. The arid, dry and dusty landscape in which it now found itself, did not appear to be too conducive to life being abundant, however, but as it knew through racial memory, life could take hold in the harshest of places. Tiny creatures had already been observed, skittering through the sandy floor below where the body of the carrier lay. This area, it knew, was not indicative of the planet as a whole, as it was also known to have extremely verdant areas, particularly those immediately adjacent to the great seas and oceans. That was a hopeful sign, though its exact landing position was unclear, in real terms it felt it could not be far from areas of more lush terrain. There was no doubt that the manner of its arrival would have been noticed by any intelligent species indigenous to this planet. Soon it was hoped, the opportunity would arise for it to do what it had been sent to this world to achieve, to take over the body of any such intelligent creatures, hopefully without its knowledge. Inside the body of the dead carrier, it would continue to monitor the locale, on an almost 24-hour basis. It needed very little re-energising time, it did not sleep, as such, and was continually sourcing its requirement of nutrients.

Without the need to continue the usual processes of controlling the functions of its host, as it normally would to help to prolong its life, but also to control it, now it simply had to lessen the inevitable onset of decay to the best of its ability. This was conducive to both parties of the arrangement, to make its own, and its hosts life, the best that it could possibly be. Although in extreme circumstances it could move outside the protection of a carrier, it was slow and almost blind without a hostable creature of reasonable proportions. Something the size of a (it imagined a creature similar to a cat or dog that lived on its home world) while perfectly suitable, would be difficult to gain entry to, it found intelligent bipeds the easiest to enter, though cleverer than an animal, they were slower and less excitable.

Also, without the protection of the carrier, the heat appeared to be too intense for comfort, and its appearance could cause alarm to any prospective host, and proximity was necessary for it to achieve its aim. Just one other concern for it. Did another form of life similar to itself already live within, and control, the intelligent beings of this planet? Did intelligent beings on this planet have the secret of Wormhole technology? The possibility of a return to Homeworld was a strong yearning within it.

Though never alone, as it lived within others, it still felt a deep loss of contact with others of its own kind.

There was much to learn of this planet, it knew, and something akin to excitement flowed through its gelatinous membrane.

Suddenly… a movement in the sky... It began to make the necessary changes in readiness for a transfer to a potential new living host. What appeared to be large, and predatory, birds circled ominously overhead, the dead carrier having obviously drawn their attention. This may at the very least, give it an opportunity to escape the carrier; it certainly did not wish to be still inside it if these birds were intent on making it their dinner; should it feel the need to do so, while it repositioned itself close to the outer skin. Once airborne it could discover more of the world on which it had landed. From previous experience, it knew that its own weight could have only a minor effect on reasonably sized birds, these were certainly big enough, with large wing spans, to make entry and flight, a very distinct possibility. It watched as best it could through the inert eyes, as the vultures flew around above it.

It continued to withdraw tendrils of its gelatinous multi-cellular body from the outer areas of its host, gathering itself, preparing for an assault/transfer; dependent on your point of view; to one of the birds that would inevitably soon be preparing to rip the host creature to pieces. But their raucous cawing diminished abruptly, and through the still open eyes of the carrier, it saw them fly away to gather on the distant hills, presumably alarmed by the presence of another creature. So, it could wait. Time was irrelevant to it. The protection of self was its basis for existence. The carrion, it knew, would be sure to return, if similar to ones it knew from Homeworld, they were of a cowardly and skittish nature, so there was no doubt that they would return, the lure of a free dinner impossible to resist.

It waited. For that which could not die, the longest wait was a mere heartbeat.

4.

President. (7am)

President Raymond Turner eyed his Vice-President with a look that could only be described as full of malice. Behind that worthy, an elite group of trusted Generals and Senators, with accompanying Aides, shifted uncomfortably, hands, eyes, and feet twitching. VP Mort Bernstein was a good man, Turner knew, and they had been fast friends for many years, and it was obvious that, for that reason, he had been selected to be the one to impart bad news. The group had made slow progress as they had walked towards the Oval Office, here in the true seat of power of the U.S government, the White House.

Turner had questioned the assembled minions as to the reason for raising him from his bed so early this morning. Not an unusual thing in times of political upheaval, natural disasters, or threats from abroad, but he was unaware of the existence of any of these. Turners PA had opened the Oval Office door and ushered them in to the palatial room. Its thick carpets, and the large mat with its design of the US emblem, and central medallion displaying the Bald Eagle, the national bird of the United States, swallowed the sound of their footsteps as they entered, and stood before the somewhat old-fashioned, but still imposing, desk that had adorned the room since its purchase by one Harry S. Truman. Each President, when taking office for the first time was allowed to make whatever design changes to the room they liked, but Turner had asked for the room to remain the same, particularly the historic desk, with the addition of the mat chosen by Bill Clinton, to be returned to replace the one his predecessor had preferred.

Turner, still in ignorance of the reason for this meeting, settled in to his huge leather chair and took a moment to take in the view of the grounds, and the early morning bustle that was Pennsylvania Avenue, a haze partially covering the Washington skyline beyond, that he had come to know, and love, since his inauguration earlier that year, before it burned off in the morning sunshine. Then he swung around to look into the faces of the assembled Politicians and Forces staff in front of him, as they settled into the hastily assembled seats.

His victory in the Presidential elections, had eventually been won quite comfortably, but he had been surprised at the intensity of the in-fighting that took place along the hallowed corridors. Far too many hangers-on, the financial supporters who now felt him obliged to them, with a long list of their own demands requiring governmental backing, seemed to take him away from the real problems of modern-day America. The very problems he had fought so hard to identify as key elements of his manifesto, were now on the back burner, as he fought to gain a foothold as the Worlds, not just America’s, most important leader. He had been forced to take a long hard look in the mirror and realise that he was just one in a succession of former leaders who had had to put up with the same problems once they arrived in high office, nor would he be the last.

He had, he knew, the resolve and ideology to lead his country with strength and determination, he would overcome these early setbacks, and come out stronger. An unexpected crisis so early in his regime was not part of his great plan, however. The harsh realities of the uppermost echelons of government, and particularly, the Presidency had been brought home to him. The public had got what they wanted, a nice guy, in the highest office, but four years suddenly seemed a long, long time to him. Having a close ally as Vice President, as Bernstein was, had proved