Chapter One
In the Beginning
July 1917 - Earth calendar
The silver starcruiser burst through the portal of a time/space continuum connecting two distant solar systems. It was nearing the end of a three month journey on a mission to the planet humans call Earth. The massive, perfectly round spaceship, a half-mile wide in diameter, reversed its inverter thrusters to drop below the speed of light. Pluto, a gaseous icy chunk smaller than most moons, flashed by as the silent craft streaked through space's airless vacuum. The crew was busy charting a course to bisect eight other crisscrossing planetary orbits to reach its final destination on the far side of the system. The sphere shined bright as it raced between Mercury and the Sun. The scorching rays had no effect; they bounced off the vessel's flowing liquid-silicon hull. Likewise, the craft's antimagnetic fluxers neutralized the burning star's gravitational pull. Flying at a snail's pace in comparison with the speed of the previous tunnel warp, the ship whipped around Earth's solitary moon and lined up toward the bluish-white, cloud-covered world. The shell glowed white hot as the craft plummeted through the heaviest atmospheric stratum - a fiery spark silhouetted against the dark side of this small oxygen/nitrogen breathing planetoid. After clearing the burn-zone the falling globe brought on line its non-reflective, defensive force field.
Even though thirty Earth years had passed since the last Test and Correction Mission, any new weapons developed by the inhabitant's still-primitive technology would present no threat. The vessel's fuzzy-black, absorbing dampers were activated making it invisible to electronic detection as well as near impossible to be seen by the naked eye. It dropped quickly and leveled off ten miles above the North American Continent. Cruising within the northeast quadrant at a thousand mph, it crossed Lake Superior as its programmed life-form scanners swept the target area below.
Blip! Blip! The two selected earthlings had been pinpointed!
The command came immediately, "Close and apprehend."
Thunder Bay, Ontario, Canada
His father's midnight-blue, Model T Ford was parked on the side of the country dirt road running parallel to Lake Superior's rock strewn shoreline which connected Thunder Bay, their home, with the village of Nipigon to the northeast. Night was falling; the daytime breeze had cooled, lowering the temperature to a pleasant 18 degrees Celsius. An endless line of forest-green pine trees served as a backdrop for the woodland clearing covered with seasonal soft grass. Rumor had it, on a clear winter's night from this isolated point of land, Mariner's Lookout which jutted southward into the lake, the lights of Isle Royale's fishing camps could be seen more than thirty miles to the south. Although both were natives, neither André LeBlanc nor Michelle DeBlois had ever beheld this unusual occurrence. Their justified concern was that no prudent or cautious person should be interested in viewing some hazy flickers across the black watery expanse this close to winter. Why even in the late fall if a bit of bad luck befell or an unseasonal Artic blast swept in they could freeze to death in short order. They had been taught to be ever vigilant of the clouds and sudden temperature drops. And here on The Lookout one should also be wary of, The Legend of the Dancing Lights, which had allegedly spirited away many a hapless soul in the past - some never to be seen again. The pair were youthful, romantic and sometimes foolhardy but not enough so to challenge the perilous, unpredictable subzero temperatures or the Supernatural.
Besides, these were serious times with no room for such nonsense. A terrible war raged in Europe; Germany and her lackeys were giving the good guys a thrashing. Newspapers and wire services were calling it a World War and André's father concurred saying, "Half of civilization is embroiled in the conflict." He also surmised, "When the end finally comes and the forces of Good prevail over Evil as they always do, the historians will refer to it as, The War to End all Wars, never to occur again - thank God." But alas, his Dad had no idea when it would cease and the battles had already been raging for three long years.
Both André and Michelle, childhood sweethearts, spoke fluent French as did most of their countrymen. In some provinces such as Alberta, still considered to be a frontier, it was the primary language. It didn't seem long ago they had picnicked on this very same spot and fantasized about using their second tongue in Paris on their future honeymoon. But the war had pushed the lover's dreams aside and even worse, in addition to their nuptial disappointment they now were forced to accept the almost certainty of André soon being deployed to France as a soldier. For two weeks ago, he had received orders to report to the Royal Canadian Army boot camp within this upcoming fortnight. The young man, who recently turned eighteen and graduated from high school, had enlisted along with several of his buddies. These young patriots expected nothing less than to be sent 'over there' and remained steadfast regarding doing their duty to set those dirty Jerries straight - for God and country!
Michelle sat with arms folded across her raised knees on a homemade, quilted blanket spread upon the flat, grassy swale between the distant road and the water's edge fifty yards away. Her legs were demurely covered by her stylish long-sleeved, cream colored, ankle-length dress. She brushed back a strand of auburn hair, "What time is it, André? You know we have to be home by nine." It was easy to lose track of time in this beautiful, serene surrounding. The strawberry sun had set an hour earlier with the twilight surrendering to an infinite starry canopy harboring a bright white half-moon reflecting off the endless sea.
He plucked his pocket watch from his vest, tilted it toward the small campfire's aromatic, crackling, yellow flames, "It's eight o'clock; we have twenty more minutes. That'll get you home with time to spare." A crooked grin, "We don't want to worry our folks... hé, mon chéri?"
She cast a sorrowful glance at her handsome fiancé's strong back while thinking, "I'm sure they'll have plenty of time for worry later, all of us will every day and especially I - each waking moment until you return." The grim face of war had so far spared the small community of Thunder Bay: none of the town's confident, cocky young men had yet returned in pine caskets.
Bending over, he unfolded the newspaper bought on the way to pick up his betrothed. He spread it on the ground, "Michelle, did you hear the latest developments?" Reading aloud from the front page lead column, "French and British infantry forces suffered many casualties in heavy fighting outside Lyon today. The American relief column coming to their aid has been cut off in the Saint Etienne Valley forty miles to the southwest by a German armored division. Yank commanders, reinforced by heavy artillery predict a breakthrough sometime early tomorrow. Let us pray it is not too late for our brave lads trapped within the Devil's claw."
"Awful," she whispered.
"Yes, I'm afraid it is," agreed the future soldier and continued, "In Milan, Italian partisans liberated..."
Michelle was only half-listening; her heart felt heavy with the proximity of his departure and didn't want to hear any more news about the conflict, except it was finished.
Suddenly, her attention became distracted by an internal, silent alarm. She tuned out André's voice in order to identify its source. Reflexively she sat up, placing her hands straight-armed on the blanket. Ever since she was a child she had possessed the ability to detect an unseen presence. Someone or something was lingering in the darkness. André had this ability also but had not as yet noticed the intruder. Absorbed in reading the paper by the campfire's dim glow, he remained unaware. She concentrated. "It doesn't feel like a human being," she thought. "Could it be a large animal confusing me, perhaps a bear or a moose? No, that's not right - it's something other and much larger... a group scattered about?"
She perceived several immediate environmental changes: the air had become still - not a single blade of grass moved. The crickets were silent, no longer chirping and the light was much dimmer than just moments before. Unsettled, she directed her attention from side to side. A nervous chill ran down her spine and raised tiny goose bumps on her arms. Using her acute night vision, Michelle peered d
eep into the encircling countryside, the trees, foliage, road - all seemed normal. André droned on to himself, oblivious of her dilemma when a second and clearer subliminal message jolted her. She thought she heard, "We're above you." The ghost story of The Dancing Lights flashed to mind and the child in her became afraid of what she may see if she looked up.
Michelle began arguing with herself, "Above? That's impossible! I'm being silly. There can't be anything over us."
The invisible pressure intensified. Finally challenging the fear, she tossed her head back with her pupils enlarged like a cat's and scanned the heavens for the source of her alarm. She immediately discerned the beautiful half-moon which had been shining continuously during this cloudless evening, was missing. Craning her neck, eyes circling, she was baffled. "No moon? Less stars? How could it be? Is it an eclipse?"
She quickly ruled that out: André would have known about it - he loves to read the Almanac and would have told me so we could view it together. Her mind was confused, her nerves began to fray, she was being pushed by the undefined presence toward an abyss of hidden terrors and she didn't understand why or how. Michelle made a last ditch effort to temper her alarm and reason with herself as she stared into a vast void, empting of stars and a missing moon. Blinking, disbelieving of what she thought she saw, she called softly to André using a voice pleading to be heard yet fearful of drawing attention to herself. Running her eyes around the outside perimeter of the black void she saw a surrounding halo of stars, but the dark circle in the center was growing larger! The realization hit her like a thunderbolt: the blackness above was moving down towards them! Huge, blocking the sky, it descended on the two, tiny figures. In a flash she understood the warning, This is the intruder! Her brain shrieked, "It's alive and coming after us!" Dark, gigantic, sinister, unknown, the fright roared in full force. Tearing her eyes away and flinging herself in his direction, she screamed, "André!!!"
The newspaper went flying; he spun around on his knees, the pitch of her voice shocking him. The young man reacted instinctively: springing to his feet, he crouched. Blazing eyes darted from side to side - ready to leap and defend his love from danger. André's extrasensory powers surged and were now synchronized to the threat Michelle was feeling. Her head pressed against his chest as she pointed toward the invader. Following her direction, he jerked his chin upward, "What the...?" and together they beheld the massive, floating starcruiser. Stunned by its magnitude, the pair were momentarily transfixed by the looming entity. A low pulsing bass drone from the ship's outer surface muffled all other sound, 'Humm, Humm, Humm'. The campfire was snuffed out and darkness immediately swallowed the terrified couple. André cried out, "It's falling!" and snatched her arm. "Run or we'll be crushed!"
A deep, indigo-blue shaft of light flashed from the bottom of the impenetrable sphere before they could take a single step. Dense, surreal, it trapped the pair within a tight circular, force-field. They were unable to move or speak, frozen motionless in place. Their eyelids began to droop and their bodies to sag as if sleep were overtaking them. They fell in slow motion, collapsing like rag dolls on the soft tundra, unhurt and unconscious. Sparkling silver specks materialized in the thick, luminescent light tunnel and began whirling faster and faster. The captured humans began to rise slowly inside the spaceship's antigravity transporter beam - floating up akin to bubbles rising in a thick liquid. With Mother Earth three hundred yards below, the two subjects traversed the span from ground to ship in two short minutes and were absorbed through the craft's hull. The droning from the gigantic ball ceased; the beam extinguished and the spaceship with its quarry aboard retreated skyward to avoid detection.
Two hours later...
André and Michelle were back at the campsite. The fire burned anew - casting its light on the pair lying side by side, feet pointed south, hands folded across their chests and laid out as neatly as corpses in caskets at a funeral viewing. Another silent signal interrupted their slumber and the teenagers awakened, tired but unafraid. Now relaxed, the couple again viewed the hovering black, alien spaceship which had spirited them a hundred miles above and later returned them to their original location. Neither of the two had any recollection of the time passed or of what had transpired aboard the vessel.
As before, the countryside lay still, serene... every living creature's attention was directed to the visitor from beyond. The ship's surface began turning lighter colors: charcoal, grey, slate - until it resembled a giant stainless steel ball suspended a quarter of a mile directly above the prone, frail humans. The intergalactic traveller slowly backed away toward the spacious night sky, leaving them unharmed, but not unchanged...
Strangely, André and Michelle felt a personal closeness - a kinship with the retreating sphere. Their raised their left hands in a friendly gesture of farewell and whispered, "Au revoir." Then, almost as an instinctive movement they placed their right hand over their appendix and rubbed with a gentle motion. Deep inside it felt different, an unusual coolness. The spacecraft paused, bobbed in acknowledgment then streaked upward, blending into the starry firmament. The young man and woman lay at peace, their thoughts joined.
"Michelle? André? Are you all right?" Two concerned fathers suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Neither of the young people had heard a car approach and park behind theirs.
The couple's surreal state was broken. Rising quickly at the waist the young man asked, "What's the matter?"
His dad answered, "It's after ten o'clock; we thought you had automobile trouble and came to look for you."
"Oh, my gosh!" Checking his pocket watch, the young man saw it had stopped at 8:04 p.m. Puzzled, "We must have fallen asleep. We're alright; so sorry to worry you."
"Did you see it?" cooed Michelle as she leaned on one elbow, her face radiating contentment as she gazed dreamy-eyed at the sky.
"See what?" questioned her father, following the girl's line of sight.
A tranquil smile on her face, "The space..."
"Shush!" interrupted André. Leaning close to her face, as their eyes met an unspoken message passed, "Best not to say anything. They wouldn't understand."
Mister DeBlois repeated, "See what, Michelle?" as both parents scanned the heavens.
"The stars, Papa," she stammered. "They are so beautiful; they look like tiny diamonds."
Her father scowled, "Stars? Swell," in a disappointed tone - annoyed by her apparent lackadaisical attitude. He wondered, "Eighteen... is this girl ever going to grow up?" He forced his irritation aside, "It's late; we're glad to find you two all right. Figured you would be... However, your mothers are a tad upset, if you know what I mean and I can't say I'm too pleased myself."
The two fathers conferred and agreed not to reprimand them too harshly. A few chosen but kind words after returning home would suffice. After all, the boy would soon be away at war and they were confident their children's conduct had been quite proper.
Mister Leblanc patted his son's shoulder, "Douse the fire, André. Let's be on our way; Mama's waiting."
Obedient, with more apologies for losing track of time, the young people got into their parent's respective automobiles while contemplating all the things they would have to talk about tomorrow, in private. Each suspected they had been altered internally in some way. Indeed, this was true. André and Michelle had become the newest members of a very select group: Earthlings who have been abducted and repaired during the last hundred years.
October 1948
The olive-drab bus with U.S. Army printed under a white star on either side of the vehicle, closed its folding front door with a 'Thud' of finality. A military policeman sat in each front seat behind the driver on both sides of the center aisle. "Secure," one MP reported to the private first class behind the wheel while the second MP kept close watch on the twenty-three passengers. The pfc (private first class) driver flashed his headlights as a signal to two more military policemen in the jeep ahead that they were ready to leave. A few minutes after 7 a.m. the small convoy with
a second jeep in the rear, rolled out of the main gate of Fort Ord, California. A sentry saluted as they passed, then logged the time of their departure.
The apprehensive and quiet passengers consisting of nineteen adults and four children were not there by choice. It would be a stress filled, two-hour nonstop trip to their destination: Camp Redwood Detention and Processing Center. All had been snatched away from their homes within the last four days under the government's pretense of a contagious disease/medical alert which required further evaluation in a fictitious research laboratory. It had not taken long for the first so-called patients to become vocal about the situation, especially after observing no one appeared ill in any degree. As individuals, they had concluded they must be victims of some hoax, mistake or conspiracy. Their complaints fell on deaf ears and stony faces, and as the group grew with several additional pickups of newcomers who also had distinguishing characteristics similar to their own - subtle but different from the general public's, the abductees wondered to themselves, "Have I been singled out because my eyes appear strange in the dark? Or is it for the other things? My secret abilities, the ones I can't talk about? How much does the Government know about me and what's going to happen to us?" Stolen glances at one another only served to heighten their private fears.
The convoy turned south on US 101 at a point connecting the long, sparsely populated stretch between the towns of Salinas and Soledad. After five miles they changed directions again, this time to the left onto an unmarked access road, the only one which led to and entered Camp Redwood, encircled by foothills and located twenty miles to the east.
An hour later at the camp headquarters, "Excuse me, sirs. The front gate is on the radio; the first contingent is arriving."
"Thank you, Corporal. Advise the Officer-of-the-Day to have the troops assembled in ten minutes," then returned the enlisted man's salute.
"Yes sir, right away, Captain," as he turned heel and hustled out the open office doorway to perform his orders.
The officer's superior, a visiting one star general, standing and smoking a Lucky Strike cigarette while gazing out the window at nothing in particular remarked: "First group... time to begin indoctrination." Then reflected silently to himself, "My God, it's the Japanese-American citizens war-time scenario happening all over again!"
Ten minutes passed before the three vehicle convoy entered the compound's main staging area, turned counterclockwise in the courtyard's large circular driveway and stopped parallel to the assembly on their right. The Headquarters building stood behind the rows of soldiers at attention. From left to right, the General, the Captain, the OOD (a Lieutenant), the First platoon's Staff Sergeant and eight infantry soldiers positioned to their rear armed with M1 rifles. In addition, a buck sergeant with a trained, attack Doberman Pinscher was stationed thirty yards to the formation's left.
The passengers surveyed the isolated camp layout with trepidation as the two MPs and driver dismounted to make official their arrival to the OOD who had taken a step forward for recognition. The newcomers could see four dingy, faded white barracks in a row, flanking both sides of the Headquarters building, plus three more to its rear. All the structures with their interconnecting narrow dirt paths were in disrepair due to their classification as temporary housing. Another single barracks behind each group of these comprised the living quarters for the First, Second and Third platoons - the guards posted to this compound. A few smaller structures scattered about far in the distance completed their initial view of the bleak, desolate twenty-five square mile holding facility.
The unhappy travelers were herded out of the vehicle and formed into a single straight line facing their captors. The adults held the children's hands to comfort them. Of the twenty-nine now, none were blood-related although they all felt a common bond in an undefined way.
The sergeant's dog, Geronimo snarled and pulled taut on his short, three-foot long choker leash. The Doberman was sick; he had thrown up earlier and was extremely agitated by all these strangers and commotion. The sergeant trying to control him belatedly reasoned, "I should have brought the other dog. This animal needs to see a vet. He's acting erratic. Maybe it's because he's overdue for his distemper and rabies shot?" The handler was unaware a diseased prairie dog had bitten Geronimo three weeks earlier.
When the MP's check-in procedures were completed the commanding officer addressed the anxious civilians, "I am the United States Army general in charge of this facility. Welcome to Camp Redwood. I know you must be wondering why you have been brought here, admittedly against your will, but unfortunately I am not at liberty to divulge that information at this time." The new detainee's reaction was immediate and sharp which erupted into a loud stream of protests and complaints. These peaceful, law-abiding people had their fill of these unexplained and unwarranted arrests. They were demanding an explanation!
The K-9 sergeant, listening to the confrontation, didn't notice his dog had become wild-eyed and was now foaming at the mouth. The General using his megaphone, raised his voice over their objections, "I can tell you this much! This is a temporary measure! More of your kind will be joining you on a daily basis and all or you will processed for relocation in the near future." His words generated a fresh wave of objections.
"Relocation! Why? Where?" cried out the angered citizens. "What is this garbage?" "What about the medical problem?" "We have rights." "What are you trying to pull?"
The harried officer held both hands aloft, "I told you I cannot give you those answers at this time..."
Geronimo, spurred on by the shouting, tugged hard. The well-worn leash snapped. The sergeant, feeling the brute animal's break shouted, "Heel!" The Doberman stopped short and paced excitedly in a circle with his tongue out, panting. The detainee's attention switched immediately to the agitated, twitching creature. His handler, recognizing the dog was about to take off again, reached into his pocket for his whistle to recall the animal, then seize its collar. He yanked it out quickly - too quickly. He watched in alarm as it slipped through his nervous fingers and went flying through the air into the dirt a dozen feet away. The feverish canine not having restraints, physical or otherwise, lathered itself into a frenzy and turned toward the line of civilians. A last second desperate verbal command of "Geronimo, sit!" had no effect. It was too late! Teeth bared, growling, he crouched - readying to pounce on the closest human to him - a little girl at the end of the line. The monster's hunched shoulders were nearly level with her little head. His rippling muscles hardened, tiny red veins in the corners of his eyes accentuated his fury.
Realizing the military attack dog had set his sights on her, the child's eyes first widened in terror then she slid into a trance and stood motionless as a stone pillar. Mechanically, with nary a word spoken, all the bus passengers turned their bodies in unison as would a precision drill team in order to concentrate on the enraged canine poised to kill. The Doberman began his attack. Head lowering, his nape hairs bristled like a wire brush as his strong hind claws ripped into the packed dirt. His eyes blazed with rage, he would sprint the short distance to the child in a heartbeat.
The twenty-nine remained firm, unwavering as they collectively focused on the charging beast. Forty feet and closing - a black blur. The soldiers were startled, helpless spectators. The Doberman's jaws opened wide to seize and rip its prey's flesh. Suddenly he yelped and snapped his head back as if something invisible had wacked him in the face! He skidded to a dead stop, a cloud of dust formed at the ankles of the stationary child who had never even blinked. The dog was trembling; he whined. The girl, with confidence, slowly reached out her tiny hand. The adults made no attempt to stop her. Geronimo's saliva dripped on the ground, his wet nose glistened, then the momentarily tamed animal licked the child's offered hand!
The dog backed away, confused and disoriented - knowing these visitors were not the source of his torment. He began paced up and down the assembled bus line, not daring to meet the people's unremitting stare. Finally, he shook his head, howled,
threw himself on the ground, rolled over and sprung up snarling at the eight soldiers in front of the HQ building. His anger had renewed itself and his diseased mind was again filled with a consuming blood lust.
The General, reacted this time and shouted, "Shoot him! Now! That's an order!"
The two MP's who rode on the bus sprang from behind the civilian line, whipped out their forty-five, semiautomatic pistols and fired twice apiece into the tormented canine. The spinning, end-over-end, lead slugs ripped through the animal's body. The one hundred and twenty-pound war dog flipped over sideways in the air from the force of the impact and landed stone-dead with a heavy, sickening, 'Thump'.
The base Commander, incensed by this ghastly interruption bellowed, "Get these people inside! Process and show them to their quarters, Captain. On the double! And put the canine sergeant on report!"
"Yes sir!" Orders were relayed down the chain of command which ended with four infantry soldiers in the rear systematically sorting the people into male and female groups and began escorting them inside.
As the buck sergeant dragged his dead dog away the brass conferred. The General directed, "I'll address the second contingent arriving from Camp Pendleton this afternoon and afterwards relinquish the base command to you. This evening I'll be returning to San Diego to direct the national operation." Casting a steely eye on the subordinate, "You will still be under my immediate command and mark my words. I had better not receive a report of another incident like this one. Understood?"
"Yes, General. It won't happen again, sir."
"And one more item, Captain. Get rid of the other guard dog." Jerking a thumb toward the two columns of shuffling, dejected citizens, "Apparently, the animals are a danger to us, not them."
Later that evening at the base mess hall, two soldiers, a private and another pfc, who had been present at the reception fiasco were chowing down their evening meal. The Company's Administration corporal carried over his food tray and took a seat on the wooden bench with them, "I heard it got a little hairy out there this morning fellas."
The private, a good olde boy, answered in his southern drawl, "Hairy ain't the word, Corp. It was downright spooky."
His buddy, the pfc interjected, "I'm not so sure spooky is the proper word. I suspect our boy here got a little... how should we say, overly concerned." He grinned and shook his head, "Lordy, Lordy, I woulda never guessed a little doggie woulda bothered a farm boy. I am surprised."
The private, who was regarded as a country bumpkin, took immediate offense. Ears reddening, he fired back, "What you talkin' about? That Doberman? Forgit that stupid dawg; he weren't nothin'. Din't you see what those people done when the mutt went after the lil' girl?"
His friend was caught off guard by the unexpected rebuttal, "The civilians? Uh, no. I was watching the Dobie. Did I miss something?"
The big man became excited, "They stared him down, Boy! Those people stopped the dawg dead in his tracks right when he was chargin'... just by lookin' at em'." Now challenging his friend and antagonist, "You missed seeing thar eyes, Dummy. They got all black! The color part of their eyes turned black as coal."
"Their eyeballs turned black?" chided the pfc. "Who are you trying to kid?"
"Wha... who... kid?" stammered the big man. His voice rose, "You weren't paying atten'shun, as usual." Other soldiers in the mess hall started turning in their direction. He pointed at his own iris, "I said the colored part; they looked like two big black holes."
"Are you sure?" downplayed his buddy. "I was there too; I didn't see that. Besides, they all have big eyes." Laughing, "Bigger than ours. They look like damn comic book characters."
The country boy conceded that specific point but countered, "They sure enough do. But that ain't the all of it. Thar's a whole lot more!" He snickered to himself, "Appears Mister Smarty Pants here missed the important stuff."
"Like what?" followed the corporal.
The private waved his fork at his antagonist, "Do you remember when the General was talkin' at em' and said, "more of your kind?" Didn't it strike you as being a bit peculiar?"
"Yeah, yeah... I think I do remember those words as a matter of fact."
"Well then I started watching those folks real close-like. I wanted to see what he was talkin' about and I did. Yes, indeedy," as he nodded importantly and took another mouthful.
His friend and the corporal both smirked then the pfc ragged him some more, "I heard moonshine over a long period of time will permanently affect your vision and make you afraid of animals."
The big man got the barb and he'd had enough. With brows knit and eyes narrowed, he spat out, "Let's git somethin' straight right now! That hound didn't scare me none. I coulda spit on em' and killed his sorry butt. We got a lot meaner dawgs back home in Alabama than that mangy mutt."
His friend, not realizing he had crossed the line kept hammering, "Okay... if it wasn't the dog it musta been a vision problem. Have you been having headaches or sipping licker?"
The country boy's face turned crimson. He pounded the table with a heavy, calloused hand, "I warned you; don't you mess with me!" Half rising from the bench, "I'm gonna bust yer face open right now!"
Truly surprised, "Whoa, partner; take it easy." The pfc wrapped his arm across the big man's shoulders and gently pulled him back down to the bench.
The soldiers, and especially his friend, finally realized they had pushed him too far and made profuse apologies. After they were sure he had calmed down, one of them made a peace offering. "Tell us what else you saw... the important stuff... please."
The big man gulped a drink of water, wiped his face with his sleeve and stared hard at the pair to make sure they weren't still messing with him. When he was satisfied he had suitable respect, he nodded, "Well then, after the dawg got shot two of them people turned and looked straight at me." He paused to find the correct words. "It... it felt like somebody punched me right in the forehead. They was lookin' clean inside my haid and I could hear words bouncin' around in my brain." His voice rose, "But they wasn't speaking to me. I watched their lips but they weren't moving. When I started see'n' pictures flash before my eyes I almost dropped my rifle and took offa runnin'."
His listeners grew quiet; they were skeptical but afraid to anger him again. The corporal asked innocently, "What kind of pictures did you see, buddy?"
"Cain't say, they din't make no sense," as he cut a piece of his creamed chipped beef on toast.
"Do you think anyone else saw what you did?"
"Maybe. The Chief mighta. The Injun was standin' next to me." The private took a quick scan around the mess hall and easily spotted Daniel Nashota, a young Navajo code talker, due to his long, shiny black hair. (a government concession granted only to native Americans) "Hey, Chief, looky over here," to the man sitting alone with his back to them one table away. The Indian responded to the hailing with a turn of the shoulder. "You heard what we've been talkin' about?" Nashota nodded, "Yes", he rarely spoke to anyone unless directed to do so by a superior. "Did you see what I saw? Tell these boys if'n so."
"The private speaks the truth," he answered. The Navajo then returned to his solitude and pondered anew the significance of the bizarre event and the strange new people. Daniel had already made a mental note to discuss the experience with his grandfather. He, as the tribal historian, a Seeker of Signs and being knowledgeable regarding visions and portents, perhaps the elder could make an interpretation.
"See thar; the Injun bears me out." The country boy gave an exaggerated shiver, "Tell you one thing fellas; I'm stayin' away from them people. Yes sir-ree, far away."
After a moment of meditation, his friend spoke in a serious tone, "I wonder who they are? Where are they from?"
The company corporal answered, "They're from all over the country, everywhere. I heard the General talking in the Captain's office. The door was open; I wasn't spying." Hanging onto his every word, they waited for him to continue. "As I said, they're from all over the United States. The government
has hundreds of them rounded up. They're being held in all the biggest military bases; Army, Navy, Air Force even the Marine Corps. The military police are transporting all of them here."
"What for?"
"Dunno, I didn't hear that part."
"So, do these people have a name?" asked the pfc.
The corporal paused trying to recall the exact words the General used. Finally remembering, a satisfied smile crossed his face, "Oh yeah, it comes to mind now. The General called them the Omega people. Yep, that was it. The Omega people."
"Omega?" echoed the private. "Sounds mysterious or foreign to me."
"It should, it's Greek," informed the corporal. "I remember it from high school. It's the last letter in their alphabet. It means: The End."