1
The first thing that went through Cherko’s head as he stared into the deep, dark—huge—eyes within that large ungainly and pear-shaped noggin was the old gray water reservoir tank up back behind the Lake Clear house.
Was it still there?
The one his little brother, Ritchey, had been stuck in. Stuck in, he seemed to remember, yet from which he had also—somehow—managed to... extricate... himself.
Had he remembered that wrong?
He remembered—gosh, he’d forgotten this—but when he’d first found his brother that day, he’d still been inside that tank. All of his some four-or-five-foot-tall height, or whatever it was kids Ritchey’s age then were—within an eight-or-ten-foot tall rusty reservoir tank, and with no way out whatsoever.
No ladder inside.
No branches or debris within it to climb upon.
No openings.
Cherko remembered looking down into those little rust holes. Saw him in there... then... then he was out.
Simply out of the tank.
The being inside the hatchway entered the room, into what little light there was. The being was probably about the same height Ritchey had been back then.
Greetings, Captain, the alien telepathically sent Cherko.
“Is this... is this for real?” Cherko asked.
As prepared as Cherko had always thought he’d been for extraterrestrial contact, it was quite a different matter when actually confronted by it. Was a far, far cry from just reading about it, watching them on TV.
Thinking about it.
And realizing the gravity of such contact, that as much as you were sizing up the situation, so was this other intelligence a short space of common Earth air before you.
And just how did these beings think?
He was out in the middle of the New Mexican desert, aboard a land-bound ship, in the dead of night, exchanging glances with a being from another world.
And far from going stark raving mad up, out, and over the railing of this ship, there was a distinctly unambiguously calming effect to the being. A contact that should have been historic—at least to him—proclaimed around the world, but which Cherko knew must have occurred with a handful of other humans long before him. He was simply being admitted into the club. Joining the ranks of the Already Contacted.
Was it carbon based?
How did it translate human thought?
Did it eat?
Should he use the “it” or “he/she” in describing them?
There was a definite feminine quality to this being that went far beyond any so-called human definition of the expression, light-years in ways he simply couldn’t grasp, but knew was there in much the same way a blind man knows something is hard, or wet, or soft to the touch.
With just those two words of simple greeting Cherko felt a world—universes—of depth, or glimpses of insight into the very soul of this (could he really use the term individual?) standing before him.
But there was also an intense note of familiarity that niggled Cherko. Surely he’d never met him/her/it before... but something about this being emanated as though, yes, they had met, and if he could just give the two of them a minute or two more thought he’d surely remember....
I am the one called “Alan” in your reports. My on-paper description is “Alien Life Form Assistance—Need-to-know,” but you may refer to me as “She.”
“Okay.”
He remembered a line from an old seventies song, something about what would you say to a naked lady (in an elevator)?
Well, what do you say to a naked alien?
The two continued to trade looks. “She,” as the alien had just instructed him, continued to watch Cherko as he moved about the room.
Cherko was in awe, there was no use sugar-coating it, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they’d met before.
“The General says you’re hostile,” Cherko said, now standing before a trophy cabinet beside a picture of the Secretary of the Navy.
Your general—your leadership—only see what they’ve been trained to see; expect to see.
“Have we met before?”
We have. I am one of those who contacted you through your “Program,” as you call it.
“You’re part of the program?”
No.
“You only speak with your mind?”
Does it matter whether or not you physically form your communication through use of an appendage when the essence of communication originates within?
“I suppose not,” Cherko said. “Are you male or female?”
Aspects of what I am are largely understood as feminine within your culture.
“God, I have so many questions—I know what you said earlier, but why would others consider you hostile?”
She never looked away from Cherko. It was unnerving to be so intently observed by a being that never blinked. Whose eyes were large and dark enough to engulf one’s soul.
There are forces out there that would have us all believe so. Believe so as to further their own causes. Because we no longer choose to work with them, because we do not share their goals nor beliefs. Their fear.
We have something to show you.
Cherko and She stood outside the ship’s bow, just beyond the Jeep’s headlights. Cherko’s flashlight angled down into the sand. As they stood in silence, Cherko watched a scorpion approach his feet. He was surprised he felt no fear, and nudged it away with the toe of his Corframs. He trailed it with his flashlight as it scurried off into the dark. When he looked up, he found She watching him.
Suddenly the hairs on the back of Cherko’s neck stood on end and the ground around them lit up in a soft bluish glow.
He looked up.
Directly above them hovered a craft the size of a small house. It hung motionless above them, as stable as if it were anchored there in an ethereal brick-and-mortar foundation. Cherko felt a slight ionization—or some kind of electrical or gravitational effect—around them.
He didn’t know if he actually blinked or not, but as if he’d opened his eyes... he no longer stood on solid ground, but on a smooth, polished, silver-gray deck. The deck of a ship.
A space ship.
“How’d you do that?”
In your terms, it’s very much like your Star Trek’s ‘transporter beams.’
“You watch Star Trek?”
Cherko felt what he could only describe as parental amusement emanate from She.
“Holy crap...”
This is our control center.
Cherko looked around.
Like your Earth vehicles, there are many designs to our ships. Many have been reported in your numerous sightings of our kind. We have one pilot who controls the ship from over there, She said, directing Cherko’s attention to another extraterrestrial, one who stood quietly and motionless before a control panel. Its arms were to its sides, facing away from them, but when She directed him to it, it turned to acknowledge them.
“Hello,” Cherko said.
The pilot returned to face what had to be the front of the ship, because of the large screen before them. Hello, it returned.
The pilot, She continued, for this design, places their hands into the grooves on the control panel, but for others, it could be placement upon an orb, or nothing at all. All control is done with the mind. Any one of us can pilot our vessels, but—like your cars—it involves training. It is a very focused endeavor.
She’s gaze seemed to burn into him.
Was she probing him?
Within the craft, She continued, and best saved for another time, are holds, or chambers of various purposes. For the present, however, we are limiting our location to the control center.
“This is just... unbelievable!” Cherko said. “And it’s all so solid.” He stamped a foot for effect. “It doesn’t feel like we’re hovering above the ground at all. Can I look around?”
She nodded.
Cherko walked over to the pilot, who casually regarded him with the same huge, dark, expressionless eyes. Its tiny nasal openings and oral slit.
“This is all so unreal,” Cherko said to no one in particular. “You all move at, well, ‘normal’ speed, not slow motion, as portrayed in our movies. When we interact, there is so much more... an incredibly rich—psychic—density to our communications,” he said, looking back to She.
Many are frightened by our contact and do not experience what you describe. There is much you will learn and experience.
But now... to borrow one of your expressions... a road trip.
“It doesn’t even feel like we’re moving,” Cherko said, standing before a screen that showed a night sky. The pilot stared at it, but Cherko could tell it was more like he was staring beyond it. Through it. Becoming one with the act of piloting. He figured he didn’t have the descriptor for whatever it was this ET was actually doing.
“Where are we going?” Cherko asked.
We are visiting a family in northern Canada, She said.
“No kidding.”
Cherko looked between her and the screen.
“How long will it take us to get there?”
We’ve already arrived.
“There’s absolutely no sensation of speed! No feeling of accelerating... slowing down...”
We generate our own gravity. Like being on Earth as it speeds through space—you don’t feel it.
“That’s all? Independent gravity?”
She nodded.
Of course there is more to it.
During our excursion, I must ask you to not touch nor communicate with anyone in the house unless we bid you to do so. Merely observe. We are looking in on a child with certain organic misalignments, and his mother.
Cherko nodded.
The next thing Cherko knew they were in a living room. It was dark, and he could hear the ventilation system running. Doses of heat were pumped into the room. They really had to be north if the heat was on in August.
She and two other aliens were with him. The aliens turned without a word and Cherko followed. They moved swiftly, fluidly. It was actually kinda creepy. They flew through the dark house unerringly and with surprising speed, which was not as easy for him; for one thing his night vision hadn’t yet kicked in. They left the living room for a hallway, then headed up a flight of stairs. Cherko saw one of the aliens carrying something, but he couldn’t get a good look at it. It looked like a rod or baton of some kind. He wanted to ask what the thing was but was overcome by a feeling to not ask questions.
Quickly making their way down the short hallway past a nightlight, a cat poked its head out into the hallway and hissed, arching its back, hair bristling. The cat nearly jumped out of its skin getting out of the way, but none of the aliens appeared concerned. Without pause, they entered the bedroom at the end of the hallway.
When Cherko entered the room, the aliens were already grouped around the bed. Before them, and on his side, slept a small child of perhaps four. Cherko had never been any good at figuring out kids’—or women’s, for that matter—ages. One of the aliens had already held out the device Cherko couldn’t identify, over the child. The child rolled over onto his stomach and Cherko distinctly felt as if that had been made to happen by his guides. The one with the rod-like device then touched the object to the small of the child’s back and repeatedly ran it up and down both sides of his spine.
What are you doing? Cherko mentally asked.
We’re correcting his condition.
Why?
He is vital to one of your future probabilities. This act itself, what we are doing... is also required.
What do you mean?
She turned to him. All in good time.
You do this a lot? Help us out?
We have our methods.
When the one with the rod was done, the group departed the room as they’d entered—quickly and efficiently.
Cherko followed as they again made their way through the home, and unerringly made their way into another bedroom. But here they found what Cherko knew was the mother. She sat bolt upright in bed, blankets bunched about her waist, her hands firmly planted to either side of her into the blankets.
She stared at them.
“No... no, no, no... this isn’t happening, this isn’t happ—”
She reached out to the young mother.
Everything is all right. We are here to help. You are safe.
“What is happening,” the woman continued to wail, eyes wide.
Cherko could feel the fear in her... her concern for her child. She allowed Cherko to come to the woman, and he came out of the shadows and showed himself.
The woman’s eyes opened wider. “Who are you?” she asked. Her voice was thick with terror. “What do you want?”
Cherko could see the woman trembling. He looked to his guides, then back to the woman. He now felt more confusion than fear from her.
Continue, She directed.
“I am... a friend,” Cherko said. “We’re here to help. We’ve helped your son.”
“My son! What have you done to him! Where is he!”
The woman tried to get out of bed, but Cherko felt She direct... something... toward her and she remained where she was.
“Why are you here?” the woman appealed, now openly crying. “Why us? You have no right! No right!”
But we do, She said.
Cherko looked to She.
Your child is to live and grow. We’ve corrected multiple organic misalignments. He will now grow unaffected and will be a strong, healthy son. He will live a long, useful life. You will both be happy.
Cherko watched as the woman suddenly—as if on cue—stopped crying and her face went blank. She stared straight ahead—through them.
You will go back to sleep now, She continued. Nothing happened here tonight. You will both awake in the morning with no memory of us, this conversation, our actions, nor your son’s disorder. You will feel happy and safe. Your lives... safe.
The group turned as one and departed the woman’s bedroom.
* * *
“What happened back there?” Cherko asked She, back on the ship.
We help those in need of our actions.
“Why don’t you help everyone who needs such help?”
We have our methods, Captain.
“Where to now?”
We think you will like this.
* * *
Cherko watched as the screen changed to another curious image: he appeared to be looking down from on high to what looked like a cloudy Replogle display globe. From some off-center angle at the top. He could clearly see fully half of the globe illuminated, the other side dark. Though there were clouds covering large sections of the land masses, and he was at an angle opposite to those continents in the light, he could clearly make out the top of the Russian peninsula stretching toward Alaska. North America was heading into this light.
He was frigging looking at the entire Earth.
From space.
We are sorry we cannot present you with astronaut wings, She sent.
All Cherko could do was stare in amazement.
He was goddamned in space!
Orbiting Earth—well, perhaps not exactly orbiting, but certainly hovering. There, below him... was everything. For this moment in time and space, he was unique. Outside of the familiar. Outside of bills and mortgages and alarm clocks. Outside of the surly bonds of Earth. Just a sweep of a minute-hand ago they’d been in a desert-bound ship’s bow in the American Southwest; another short sweep, and he’d been in the bedroom of a child and its mother in the distant northlands of Canada. Another sweep—
In orbit.
“Won’t we be spotted? By radar, surveillance satel—”
No, She said.
“Then what of—”
Cherko felt more translated amusement from She.
You only see what we allow you to see.
“You mess with us?”
We prefer to think of it as limiting our exposure.
Cherko looked back to the screen.
But, it’s not just us you see so much of.
Cherko looked to She, then back to the screen.
“This is so unreal. It’s like... all our bickering, fighting... makes absolutely no sense from up here.”
Cherko felt an intense wave of compassion overtake him. Deep, profound, soul-wrapping kindness, concern, and sympathy. He looked up and into the large, dark eyes of She and found that this enormous sensation again originated from her.
There was also another feeling Cherko identified, also from She... a brilliant and pure sense of danger.
But as soon as he’d felt that, it was gone. Washed away by the overriding sense of love and caring, as if from—
A mother.
She looked back to the screen.
We monitor your world’s condition, She said. We cannot interfere... it is our “Prime Directive,” again, to borrow a familiar phrase from your television programs—
“It’s like you and Gene Roddenberry had something going on,” Cherko said, grinning.
We monitor the molecular structure of your atmosphere, your tectonics, your hydraulics, to levels you cannot yet conceptualize. Though there are some in your community already aware of this, it will largely be ignored until it is too late... in your terms, She continued, looking from the screen to Cherko. She held his gaze for a moment, then looked back to the screen, which now displayed the Arctic. It was a little unnerving being stared at by an emotionless extraterrestrial face that was now—and would forever be—more than just some quaint Hallowe’en mask. It was a face so much more full of texture, character, and personality than ever displayed in any sci-fi movie image or book jacket.
Cherko was about to ask what she was talking about, but held his tongue. He’d again felt that he was to hold his questions, because he was to soon be shown what she’d meant.
The Earth image on the screen grew slightly larger in size, and Cherko wasn’t sure if that meant they’d come closer or the image was magnified, but he figured it was probably a little of both. Then a second image was superimposed over this one. One that appeared to be an overlay of pixels—billions and trillions of them, he surmised—superimposed over the Arctic image. He also saw values associated with each and every pixel. It was unimaginably mind-boggling. They flowed in and out of each other, in the most brilliant, technologically advanced, and spectacular of fashions. As many as there were, as small as they were, he felt he could easily zoom in on each and every one.
Given the current state of your world, and all things considered, your world is heading toward—is already within, actually—a cyclical period of tremendous global climate change. It is not inevitable, but will shortly become so.
“Climate change?”
Global warming.
“What is that, exactly? I’ve heard of it. Melting ice caps, tropical-like-weather-everywhere kind of thing?”
Without the enthusiastic anticipation you are associating with the image, yes. Though the Earth itself can withstand and rebound from this period within its temporal timeline, Humanity, as a whole, will be greatly affected. It is not something to be taken lightly in the sense you give it.
“Sorry.”
But it is part of your heritage as a race. Not that it should be accepted and ignored; but as a forum of growth and responsibility, a medium for change. There are forces at work... that are ignoring this for their own self-serving interests, obfuscating its reality, which will bring about your world’s collapse and destruction if allowed to continue at present—and forecast—rates.
“It’s not inevitable?”
My dear Captain, nothing is inevitable nor irreparable.
Then that’s good, Cherko thought.
No information is good stored and not implemented.
But there was something more. Something She wasn’t telling him.
Cherko looked back to the screen. Studied it.
So, Humanity was on the fast-track to obliteration from the geological record and extraterrestrials were helping correct damaged children. It all seemed cosmologically comical. Futile. But nothing in nature happens without need, Cherko remembered reading somewhere. We may not know what or why, but everything happens for a reason.
So what was the damned point?
We’re all gonna die, but aliens were saving children?
That a captain from the U.S. Air Force was flying around in UFOs and trading environmental philosophies with extraterrestrials?
Or that life, as Humans understood it, was forever changing—and not in a good way?