From Whence They Came Read online

  FROM WHENCE THEY CAME

  Eons ago, from the deepest reaches of outer space came an alien exodus that would forever change the course of earth’s history. A race of humanoids known as Phoebians colonized our planet; living amongst ancient man, helping him advance and build great empires. Over the millennium spiritual transgressions occurred against the powers that be and the Phoebians were imprisoned, sentenced to serve time in subterranean cities where they must now sanctify select humans for the Second Coming. The aliens’ past interactions with mankind has greatly convoluted our religious beliefs and spawned many conspiracy theories. Unquestionably, the course of human events is still being manipulated by this benevolent overseer – an act of providence not by their choosing!

  Southwest, Nevada

  It was still dark outside when Lieutenant Steve Coleman was abruptly awakened by a loud clap of thunder. Bolting upright in bed, his body trembled.

  “What’s wrong? Asked his wife, Jean.

  “Nothing. It’s the storm. That’s all.” His reply had a tone of concern to it.

  They both soon fell asleep again, the soothing sounds of a late winter’s rain washing away the apprehension.

  It was seven a.m. when the chrome - chiming alarm woke Steve. He heard Jean showering and laughter from the living room where the twins, Sandra and David were watching cartoons. They would usually come in on these mornings to wake their father. However, Jean made sure this practice wasn’t carried out today. For it was the day that Steve and Captain Frank Tober would pilot a test flight of the Stealth Drone Deployment Platform( SDDP-40). Nicknamed “Valithor”, this latest addition to the Air Force was in its final shakedown before production. The Valithor was cutting edge technology: a flying airfield from which scores of military drones could take off and land, be serviced and re-tooled for various long-range aerial warfare missions.

  Steve lay in bed for a few minutes thinking about the day ahead. Being deeply cognitive he would always run an entire mission mentally before ever leaving the comfort of his bed. An interruption by Jean cut short his musings.

  “Good morning,” she said while walking in from the bathroom with a towel around her. “Just did ten miles on the Pedatron while you slept,” she bragged, letting the towel slip to reveal her shapely breasts and toned body. “Going to be a little wet out there this morning. That was some rain we had last night.”

  The teasing glimpse of his wife got Steve moving, out of bed and into a pair of sweats. Blue running shoes finished his dressing. He managed a kiss --and squeeze -- for Jean and a “good morning” for the kids as he lumbered through the house and out the front door.

  The grey skies and dank chilly air made for a gloomy desert dawn. The streets were wet with puddles, which either had to be straddled or cautiously side - stepped by the lean man as he strode along. A passing car’s exhaust fumes clouded over the pavement, choking the smell of newly fallen rain; the whisper of the desert’s breeze stirred scrub pines that landscaped the better part of the neighborhood. The houses were reasonable in this part of the county where Steve and Jean decided to buy, though they were several miles from the base. The housing units offered by the government were ‘pre-fab homes’, situated alongside the airfield; something Steve wasn’t comfortable exposing his family to.

  He ran further along the county road’s gravel shoulder into the nether parts of town, passing sage grasses and a distant brothel; his mind flitting back to when he took solace in such a place. He then directed his attention far across the sands of the valley floor to the snow-capped mountains that were an hour shy of the sun’s rise, and realized how far his career has taken him -- the challenges he had endured and conquered.

  On off days he and Jean would workout at the local gym, both sharing the interest of physical fitness – Steve, mainly for career purposes; Jean a vanity issue. The two were quite happy with the lifestyle they were living. And so, nearing the end of his run Steve picked up the pace. After two miles, enough energy remained to sprint the last hundred yards or so. Heart pounding frantically he gasped the sodden air, steam shooting from his mouth after deep breaths were taken. In the end he slowed his pace to a walk and was breathing quite normally by the time he arrived back home.

  Upon entrance into the house, Steve was welcomed by the smell of freshly brewed coffee and cinnamon buns. He passed through the kitchen where the children were eating and made his way to the bathroom for a shower and shave. There, arising from the water, he noticed the ever-increasing presence of chlorine; no doubt the area’s expansion contaminating the once sought after artesian water. Art Bell would surely have something to say about that, he thought.

  “Come on Steve, breakfast,” Jean called as she was clearing off the children to ready the table for Steve and herself.

  The children were busying themselves on their computer laptops, in the living room, when Steve entered the kitchen buttoning his uniform. He sat at the table and Jean brought him a dish stacked with pancakes, coffee for them both, and a bun for her self. She sat down in a huff and took a long sip of her coffee, then said, “I’ve got everything set for our trip to my parents.”

  Steve looked up from his plate. “We’ve got over two months until Easter,” he commented.

  “You know I like to plan ahead.” She smiled.

  “Well,” Steve looked at her, “speaking of planning ahead, how about this July we drive to Tahoe and vacation at the lake. Just you and me.” He gave her a suggestive wink.

  “Nooo, no, no -- ” Jean replied, sing – song fashion. She spoke over the rim of her cup. “Now you know it’s our family tradition to visit my parents for Easter in Scottsdale, then take the children camping over the summer. They really enjoy Yosemite. And we do too.”

  Steve looked blankly at her. “Maybe we should start mixing things up? A little change? We could have your parents come here to watch the kids for a week while--”

  “Steve,” she reached over and caressed his cheek, “you know perfectly well we get our chance to ‘mix things up’ once the kids are asleep. We don’t pitch that ‘supply tent’ just for our camping equipment now do we?” She wriggled her finger into his mouth then touched her lips with it.

  They finished their breakfast and continued to talk about the vacations. Although Steve kept up his side of the conversation his mind drifted to the mission that lay ahead. He showed no signs of nervousness; the dream he’d had night before was gone from his thoughts. Steve entertained Jean’s plans for their vacations. He sat quietly and nodded gallantly at the opportune times, but envisioned himself in the cockpit of the Valithor. His months of flight preparation, schooling, and simulator time all swirled through his head, knotting themselves into a weighty anticipation.

  Steve briefly returned his attention to Jean and noted the time on the wall. Still have an hour’s drive to the base, then the pre-flight briefing, he thought. In his gentlemanly fashion he finished the conversation, and his coffee. He excused himself from her and she followed him from the table to where he kissed both of the children goodbye. The two were now seemingly unaware of their father’s presence; controlled by their video games, absorbed, hypnotized by a fantasy world created by manipulative geniuses. Steve grabbed his brief case and hat, handily located by the front door, and in the same swooping motion embraced his wife for their goodbye kiss.

  “Be safe,” Jean whispered in his ear. “I love you,” she said, nuzzling.

  “I love you too,” he replied, and kissed her hard.

  Steve opened the door. “Should be back sometime tonight. Late, I’m figuring.” He tipped his hat and winked, then strode to his car.

  After closing the front door, anxiety filled Jean. She stood behind the children, watching as they played their games,
and worried. She would always worry about Steve on his missions; test pilot, glorious but concerning. Never knowing whether he would come home safely or ---- Lost forever in some God – forsaken incident. Jean learned to rid herself of these anxieties through activity. And right now it was time for her to ready the children for school.

  Steve’s car was cold and wet, the engine sluggish upon acceleration. He kept the engine revved high so as not to let it stall when stopped at a light. The defogger whined, blowing air on the windshield to keep it clear while the wipers swiped away the mist that fell on the other side. Steve turned on the radio, but soon turned it off, for only the sporadic static from a nearby electrical storm filled the airwaves. It was after only a couple of lights and a few turns that Steve had made his way to the interstate and the car was warmed up, running properly. It was a long highway run, 70 miles of desert, until he’d turn into the main gate at the base.

  A jet roared overhead, shaking the ground with its thunder as Steve’s car cruised down its final leg of the journey. The installation to which he had been assigned greeted him with its miles of long steel fencing. He made the slow left turn and stopped where a military guard greeted him at his driver side window. Steve presented his ID badge and was scanned into the system. After the customary small talk the gate slid aside and Steve drove in.

  In the distance, passed the myriad of long low flat buildings and airfield, a jagged bolt of lightning sizzled, momentarily connecting sky and earth. The instant of jagged energy struck something in Steve’s mind – something about the dream of last night. Although vague, a sensation of helplessness and horror raced through his body. But soon as the feeling had come, it was again gone, seemingly subdued by the pelting rain that had begun to fall.

  Steve parked his car in the lot and started for the main building.

  “Hey Steve,” he heard a voice yell behind him. Captain Frank Tober was jogging towards him. He darted between puddles to catch Steve and the two headed in, the rain suddenly ending.

  “Good morning Captain,” Steve greeted. “Winter squalls,” he looked to the mountainous horizon. “Higher up there must be a blizzard!”

  “Must be,” Frank repeated. “But it’ll be plenty warm where we’re headed.”

  “Oh?” Steve wondered aloud.

  “Bermuda.”

  “How do you know this?” Steve queried.

  “I have connections.” He smiled at the female sentry as they scanned their key cards and entered through security.

  The two pilots were seated in the pre-flight room with their smart-tablets in hand. Colonel Haltz, a stout man of silver years, stood before a huge illuminated map of the Northern Hemisphere. The Colonel pointed out various contingencies of the flight as he briefed both men. Steve was surprised to see Frank had been correct in stating “Bermuda”, plainly marked as the turning point of their mission.

  “ . . . questions, gentlemen?”

  Frank and Steve relayed none. Haltz gruffly continued, “I feel this intermediate refueling maneuver over the Atlantic will expose our mission for a period of roughly four minutes after your descend from eighty-thousand feet. Non – con satellites will detect only the tanker and two fighter jets in the area, leading them to guess this is just a simple refueling exercise. Deployment and gathering of the drones aboard the Valithor will take place both before and after the mid flight refueling and turn around at Kindley. There’ll be no drone-support crew onboard this mission. All piloting of the drones will be coordinated with Langley . . . “

  Haltz’s assistant opened the door and excused her interruption. As she brought the Colonel a folder of papers, Frank’s attention shifted to her shapely figure. “Thank you, Jamie,” Haltz grumbled, glancing over the papers.

  “In closing gentlemen, I’d just like to state for the record how proud the military is for all the work you’ve put into this project. General Hammel and his staff send their regards. God speed to you both.” He saluted the men and shook their hands.

  On their way out of the room, Frank gave Jamie a wink and whispered, “Don’t forget our deal.” She quickly picked up her phone and ‘emojied’ him. Frank felt the buzz in his pocket.

  Steve looked at Frank. “Bachelors’.”

  THE FLIGHT

  The Valithor stood in majestic form. Perched atop three struts of landing gear its double–finned aft rose prominently above her sleek white circular body. Its saucer-like design reigned dominance over the trucks and machinery that serviced beneath it. The low whir of her engines back-dropped the commotion of scrambling grounds crewmen who tended last minute preparations: Technicians dialed their final adjustments to the airframe and sealed the fuselage tiles; fueling, ventilation, and electrical hoses were disconnected, reeled up and carted away.

  Steve and Frank wriggled themselves into the cockpit seats with the help of support crew who oversaw their strapping in, connecting their flight-suits with various biofeedback wiring. Positioned side–by–side, divided by a thick console amassed with throttle grip, switches, and various buttons, an intensive preflight checklist was then performed. Frank and Steve talked back and forth as to the status of systems and back ups, the two support crewmen left them, giving the thumbs up. The faint hum of engines gave a feeling of life to the aircraft; the glow emitted from clusters of instrumentation indicating vital information as to the ship’s overall wellbeing. Above the two pilots were still more dials, knobs, toggles, and buttons thoroughly encasing the two in military technology’s latest achievement.

  “Valithor to tower,” summoned Frank as they strapped tight their helmets and donned flight masks.

  “Go ahead, Valithor,” responded the tower.

  “Everything is green. We are go for roll out.”

  “Roger. Taxiway is clear. Proceed to runway 26.”

  “Roger that.”

  Switches were flicked in sequence and instruments glanced over as the two prepared for departure. Steve entered the final codes into the flight computer. The main hatchway stairwell was raised up and sealed tight, extinguishing an orange indicator light on the console. A ground support crewman, swathed in a florescent-vest, appeared several yards in front of the aircraft. He waved illuminated paddles, gesturing the aircraft’s direction onto the taxiway. Frank pulled a knob located near his left knee and released the brakes. He eased the throttle forward ever so slightly, increasing fuel to the engines, advancing their whine, bringing movement to the vessel.

  Frank peered through the windshield as he aimed the Valithor along the taxiway. Steve eyed fuel pressure, engine temperatures, turbine RPMs, and a multitude of other essential readings, which registered on the banks of gauges before him. A dial was turned to lower cabin pressure; the flow of oxygen to their masks was adjusted by yet another knob. A double switch was flicked and thin black knob turned, dimming the lights inside the cockpit. All these adjustments and ‘call out’ readings came as a synchronous flow; all of sheer conditioning during long hours of simulation and actual flight time.

  The morning’s haze was lifting from the valley floor and the sun shined over the distant white-capped mountains. Weather and aircraft data played over both pilots’ headsets via a computer-synthesized voice. From the huge rectangular windows of the control tower the saucer-shaped aircraft could be seen sweeping across the airfield, eventually coming to rest at the end of runway 26.

  “Valithor, this is the tower. The field is clear. You are go for take off.”

  “Roger, tower.”

  Frank set the brakes. He then levered a handle on the center console, which lowered the flaps. Humming hydraulics expanded out the leading edges of continuum foil at the front of the aircraft; the rogue jet lacking any contemporary design. A green light indicated their locked positioning. Frank eased the throttle forward and a high pitch emanated from the aircraft, causing it to tremble, straining to roll forward. When the engines reached median thrust, Frank released the brakes and the aircraft was propelled forward, slowly at first, then with increasing spee
d. G -forces mounted and the pilots were pushed back deep into their seats. Full throttle was implemented and a thundering roar overtook all. The long white stripes on the runway beneath the aircraft rushed by, melding into a sold blur. Frank watched the digital airspeed readout. The craft was buffeting, yearning to lift, but Frank kept it grounded until the velocity indicator allowed – which it did, flashing green, and Frank pulled back smoothly on the yoke.

  The Valithor lifted gracefully from the confines of terra firma and into the open lanes of sky. Wisps of clouds swirled over the aircraft as it sliced through the lower layers of weather and up into the clear blue, making a steep ascent for the vessel needed to gain altitude rapidly in order to clear the region’s extensive mountain range. Grey nimbus were quickly left below wherefrom snowcapped mountain summits stemmed fort; the condensed water vapor, ice crystals and jagged rock grandeur creating the illusion of a heavenly abode.

  The pilots had little time to enjoy the beauty that lay just outside their cockpit windows. They were busy monitoring developments of the flight, logging readings, anticipating any malfunction. The Valithor flew its programmed course, passing from one air traffic control zone to another on its mission across the lower forty-eight. The pilots listened only to ‘open frequency chatter’, never communicating with the FAA; they were flying in high altitude stealth mode.

  The sun was warm on the pilot’s faces as its brilliant rays lit the denser atmosphere nearest the ground, leaving the firmament above them to darken as they ascended. The curve of the earth was visible from their elevation of eighty thousand feet and the thick grey clouds that had blanketed the continental United States had thinned to a silvery white as the Atlantic met the coast, expanding east as far as the eye could see. The panorama surrounding the aircraft was inspiring: the ends of the earth were seemingly within reach