Secret School: MILAB Files, #2

By Christopher P. Menkhaus

What's more secret than a secret school on the Moon?

 

The story of the man behind its creation!

 

Meet Doctor Gregory Hill, mild-mannered scientist, just trying to eke out a living on the Moon. One day representatives from three different ascended alien races approached Doctor Hill and his colleagues with a proposition that would change the course of human evolution.

 

Learn the secret origin of the school attended by Ero and his friends in I Was a Teenage MILAB. Twists and turns await you on every page. Ero thought he knew what was going on in the school, but he had no idea what happening behind the scenes on Epsilon Base.

 

Download Secret School today!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christopher Menkhaus
• Release date: Nov 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9781956720211

Book preview

1

LIFTOFF

M ehta.

Doctor Gregory Hill’s companion stood up at the sound of the electronic voice.

That’s us, he announced.

Hill stifled a laugh. They were the only two people in the clubhouse. Just him and the Governor-General. Actually, there was another person in the clubhouse. The Governor-General’s driver was parked in a booth, focused on his glass-pad. He was a nondescript man performing a nondescript job. At one time, Hill would have envied him. Now, Hill was on the cusp of something larger than that man could probably imagine.

From what Hill could tell, the clubhouse was staffed solely by Grays. That wasn’t unusual for the Moon. Grays, or Bio-Reticuli, were bio-robots that were synthesized to look like smaller versions of Zeta Reticuli, the aliens with the large bald gray heads and lidless saucer-sized black eyes, slight frames and two fingers and a thumb on each hand. On the Moon, where oxygen was at a premium, a typical Gray used 20 percent less oxygen at work than an adult human male used resting.

They could also be programmed to perform any task and would never complain. The perfect workers. They stank, though. A sickeningly sweet, rotten odor that even the cleanest Gray could never be free of.

One of these Grays approached Hill and Mehta. It was wearing a blue and white argyle sweater that hung on its thin frame, and fitted white khakis. It also had a matching blue ivy cap perched on top of its bulbous head.

Tee time, gentlemen.

The sound came from a speaker fitted on a collar that the Gray wore around its neck. Grays lacked lungs, and therefore the ability to speak. Hill wondered how they were always able to have the right words come out of their speakers. Was it some kind of telepathy? Hill had not been around enough Grays to test his theory by asking one random questions.

Lunar Hills is all yours for the afternoon. Right out that door, sirs.

Let’s go, Mehta said. He winked as he picked up his bag of clubs.

Two Grays scurried around the corner and presented Hill with his own bag of clubs for the day. A rental. Hill hoisted it up onto one of his shoulders and secretly slipped a small device into one of the bag’s pockets.

Hill took a deep breath. He would not screw this up. This was the most important meeting of his life. More hinged on this meeting than Mehta would ever know. And where did the Governor-General pick to hold this meeting? His office? A fancy restaurant? No. He rented out the only above ground lunar golf course for the entire day.

Lunar Hills was the largest domed structure on the Moon. The 18-hole golf course covered over 300 acres, the entire complex lit by lights that seemed to be the equivalent of a second sun. It was an engineering marvel. The temperature was also maintained at a comfortable 75 degrees Celsius, which must cost a fortune given its location. Like many other large structures built on the surface of the Moon, this modern marvel was located on the satellite’s dark side. That way, no pesky amateur astronomers on the blue planet below could detect life on the rock above them.

The course was owned by Pynchon, of course. They owned almost everything on the Moon. Everything except Hill’s secret research lab. Though that might change at any minute. Hill hefted his bags and followed Mehta out to the first tee.

The Governor-General was not one to wait on anyone. By the time Hill had stumbled through the door with the unfamiliar mass of the golf bag, Mehta had already teed up his ball and was taking practice swings.

Ah, Governor-General, Hill started.

Please, Doctor Hill, Mehta said with a smile as white as the waiting golf ball. "Call me, sir. It’s much easier and leads to better diction."

Okay, sir, Hill started again. About my…

By the way you’re holding that golf bag, it’s apparent that you, my dear doctor, have never golfed in your life, Mehta said. "So, let me give you a