ERO

by F. P. Dorchak

  Had his Program training all been a massive farce? A script written and played out by some science fiction writer, some new form of electronic equipment beaming data into his head like a maser?

  Had he really met with Erica? Had they really made love in Garden of the Gods?

  Or had he been drugged, mind-fucked, or whatever else it was psy-ops operatives did nowadays?

  Since 1932, who knew where the U.S.—or other governments—were with technology now? Heck, he’d even read top-secret intel about placing a military base on the moon! Project Horizon. That could certainly put all this flying saucer technology to good and sustained use. How else would it be so employed?

  Certainly not in delivering mundane bombs and bullets.

  Let the other “secret” projects deal with that. Projects that were more than likely cover projects for stuff just like these HEUFO programs. The more attention elsewhere focused, the better for any classified program. It’s all about living in the shadows. And, if for no other reason, just because they could.

  For the first time since his entry into the Air Force, Jimmy Cherko was truly and completely scared.

  He couldn’t trust anyone, least of all Hammond.

  He had to get out.

  3

  Erica Taylor returned to her apartment with a renewed sense of hope. Last night had been one of the strangest she’d ever experienced, but she had been reunited with a guy she’d thought to have lost forever. A guy she had fallen in love with at very first sight.

  But his story was so hard to believe!

  The government had sent him away?

  Had kept him away from her?

  It was almost too much.

  Yet there he’d been, tonight, outside her car in the dead of night in Garden of the Gods, while she had no clue why or how she’d gotten there herself.

  Bringing her arms in to her chest, she closed her eyes and hugged herself.

  And they’d made love beneath the stars.

  The smell of his skin, the touch of his lips....

  She’d never truly understood the extent to which she’d missed him until he’d come back.

  But, his entire life was now one big secret. And, apparently, if she was to believe all he’d told her, he seemed to have little control over it.

  Was that something she wanted?

  If it meant having Jimmy back—yes.

  She never wanted to go through that ever again. To be without him. Never wanted to have her heart ripped out ever again. She would endure anything to be with him. He could have the most top secret job anyone ever had, but as long as they were together it would never matter and she would never ask.

  So she threw together a strong brew of coffee, stripped, and was making her way into the shower, when a loud rapping at her door startled her.

  Throwing on a robe, Erica cautiously came to the door. She visually confirmed that her door, was, indeed, still locked, but gave the deadbolt a quick twist anyway. Outside stood an old woman and a child.

  “Yes?” Erica asked, warily, peering through the peephole.

  “I’m sorry to bother you ma’am,” the old lady said, in her creaky, old lady voice, “but could you please let us in? I found this child roaming the parking lot. She’s lost. Tired. And I need to call the authorities.”

  Erica opened the door.

  Before her stood the lady and child. The child held a stick in one hand. They both looked to her, and Erica clenched the collars of her robe, holding it tight against her chest.

  “Why yes, of course you may,” she said, smiling. She squatted down to the child’s level, and was about to say something cute, when she suddenly grew extremely uncomfortable and came back to her feet, the smile gone from her face.

  She was extremely tired.

  Was that coffee ready yet? It smelled like House Blend. Had that been what she’d bought?

  “I’m sorry,” she said, a hand momentarily to her forehead, “I’ve had a really long night, didn’t get much sleep. Come in. The phone’s right over here.” She turned and led them to the phone.

  They entered without a word.

  The lady slowly closed the door behind them.

  Erica turned to address them at the phone. She still clenched her robe to her.

  Felt incredibly drowsy.

  “You look tired,” the child said.

  “Very tired,” the old woman repeated.

  “I’m so sorry, it’s like it all just hit me.”

  Erica leaned against the wall. It was so hard keeping her eyes open...

  “You should go to bed,” the lady said.

  “To bed,” echoed the child.

  Erica yawned.

  “I should. Yes.”

  “We’ll tuck you in,” the child said.

  “Okay.”

  Erica yawned and turned to enter her bedroom.

  It was so inviting here, she thought, and began undoing her robe. She didn’t remember leaving that light on, she thought to herself as she entered the room. Nor turning down her bed.

  “It’s very cozy in here,” the old lady said. She and the child entered the bedroom behind her.

  Erica removed her robe and slid into bed.

  The old lady and the child came up along bedside. Stood there, looking to Erica. Erica looked back to them, barely able to keep her eyes open.

  “I’m... I’m so sorry,” she apologized, “I don’t know what’s come over me....”

  “It’s okay,” the child said, “we’ll let ourselves out.”

  The lady reached out and soothed Erica’s face, closing her eyes. The child extended the rod she had been carrying to Erica’s forehead. Gently touched her with it.

  She would be all right. Not that it would ever matter, but she would bring her child to term and they would have a wonderful life together.

  But she would have no memory of last night, no memory of Jimmy Cherko, and no memory of now, because—to her—none of this had ever happened.

  The last thing Erica did remember as she drifted off to sleep, was how thoughtful and kind those two had been in helping her to bed, and that she hoped the child found her parents soon. It was never a good feeling when one was lost.

  And, she also thought, what deep, dark, compassionate eyes they had... eyes you could lose your soul in....

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  1

  Dulce, New Mexico

  14 October 1987

  0025 Hours Mountain Time

  “Are we again going it alone?” Cherko asked She as their craft immediately departed Earth for altitude. He wore an aircrew member’s olive drab flight suit.

  Correct.

  Cherko nodded.

  It had been over two months since their last ride and he’d been antsy. Extremely uncomfortable at work and around Hammond. It was wearing on him having to act like he’d never found that hidden memo. Never read its pages.

  And he’d read and reread it. Until it was removed from the safe.

  He wanted to get as far away from this job as possible, and wasn’t sure how he was going to broach the topic with She and whether or not she could even help... but was sure that she’d already picked up on it, given her telepathic ability. She would bring it up when the time was right, if it needed to be brought up at all.

  For now, he just had to sit tight and enjoy the ride, as his dad always used to say.

  She looked to Cherko and he looked away, embarrassed.

  Okay, Cherko mentally responded back, I know you can read my mind, but—

  You are now going to experience something extraordinary.

  * * *

  Cherko stood in a section of the ship he’d not been in before. It was a small chamber, low lit. There was a narrow table in the center, maybe six or seven feet in length, and along each wall were what looked like drawers without handles. She and another extraterrestrial attendant stood behind Cherko as he looked to these drawers and the table. Each drawer was about four to five feet in length. There were twelve of th
em. Cherko had an anxious feeling about them.

  Flashbacks... images of lying on just such a table.

  Cherko approached the slab. Touched it. Saw the translucent nature of the table’s material. It was like

  (laying on the table...)

  he could look into it, the material of the table itself, through it...

  Cherko turned to She.

  I’ve been here before, haven’t I?

  You have.

  Cherko looked back to the table. It was a silver-gray, and also seemed to have what looked like blue flecking embedded deep within it.

  Blue flecks that vibrated? Glowed ever so faintly?

  And there was an extreme calmness that radiated from the table. He ran his hand along its edges. As he ran his hand along the table’s edge, he looked to the set of drawers to his right. He slowly made his way along the table’s edge toward the drawers. When he got to the end of the table, he dropped his hand and continued on to the wall. Stopped inches before it. There were three drawers stacked upon each other, per each wall.

  Cherko pushed the top one in. It responded by opening with a near soundless whoosh.

  Empty.

  Though empty, there was a strange material that lined the inside. Cherko reached in and touched it. It yielded to his touch, indenting. “Cool,” Cherko said, as he cast a glance back to She and the other extraterrestrial. “It feels weird. Extremely soft... almost like there’s nothing there.”

  Cherko closed the drawer then touched the one beneath it. It, too, sprang open and was also empty. Also lined with that same, soft, strangely yielding material. He splayed open his hand and pushed down into it; held it down. The material formed around his hand. There still wasn’t much of a feeling to it and that felt weird. Wiggling his hand around in it, there was a softness that was hard to describe, faintly reminiscent of an extremely light gel. He removed his hand and closed that drawer. No residue remained on his hand.

  “What is this stuff?”

  She just observed and said nothing.

  Cherko went across the room to the opposite side of the narrow table. He dropped to a crouching position and opened another drawer. It whooshed open.

  Cherko jumped back to his feet.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  She and the attendant came up to Cherko.

  All is not as it seems. Even your General Hammond does not know this.

  Cherko stared into the drawer.

  She stared back up at him from inside the drawer.

  Or the body of an extraterrestrial that looked like She and the other aliens. It’s small slit-like mouth was slightly open and its body looked smaller than its almost five-foot stature. It also felt vacant... empty.

  “Is it—”

  It is not dead. But it is, in your terms... empty. Unoccupied.

  “Empty?”

  All is not as it seems, Captain. Just as you are more than your body... your mind, your spirit... we are also more than what you understand “body” to be. We use these to interact within your world... your corporeal existence. We do not use these from where we come, but to where we go. To our existence, these are the apparel we wear, much like your clothes—but more like your flesh. They resonate with life.

  You put these on? Cherko thought.

  We do. The translation of our intrinsic structure does not... correspond... to corporeal existence... but our mental and spiritual capacity can interrelate.

  So, you’re saying that to visit our world you have to wear these?

  Yes. To physically interact with you.

  Fascinating. What is it made of—it’s really alive?

  It is, but in a way that far surpasses your current understanding of the concept. All matter is alive, but your current concepts of the term are misleading and deficient. It is a vastly superior psychological-biological-technological creation. Come.

  She and the attendant led Cherko to the narrow table.

  I’m suddenly feeling just a little nervous, Cherko said. What are you doing—

  She smiled. Nothing so worrisome. You’ve been here before. Do you not remember?

  As Cherko was accompanied to the narrow, translucent slab, flashes of imagery again came back... of him being led to a table very much like this one.

  By She.

  The table lowered and Cherko slid onto it. It didn’t feel like a normal table at all, didn’t feel hard, uncomfortable. It immediately transitioned back up to its normal configuration, and as soon as he lay back on the table, was immediately... calmed. It was as if a relaxing current or electromagnetic blanket had been wrapped around him... his consciousness.

  Was it the deep blue flecking within the table?

  He’d closed his eyes.

  Relaxed.

  He felt so relaxed. His racing mind... calmed. His tense, on-the-go body sank into the table like exhausted lead. Felt all worry and stress drain out from him...

  (into the table?)

  Then... then something really weird happened....

  2

  Hermes 1 Stack

  Cape Kennedy, Launch Pad LC-39B

  4 May 2021

  James Cherko felt the full weight of his life and body press down into the horizontal contour couch of the Multi-Purpose Crew Vehicle, known as “Orion.” They’d been lying strapped inside the crew cabin for a little over two hours performing communications checks, leak checks, listening to all launch preparations and constantly updated wind reports piped in through their helmet speakers; performed their own in-cabin pre-flight checklists. Orion was neatly stacked three hundred feet atop the Hermes 1 space launch system, also known as the “stick,” awaiting its launch from Kennedy Space Center’s launch pad LC-39B.

  It was really gonna happen, this time, wasn’t it.

  They were really gonna pop this weasel.

  But there could still be a delay, couldn’t there, right on down to T-0, when the computers ignited the boosters and you were going no matter what.

  Control’s countdown and updated wind reports continued past the T-60 seconds mark. The Stick’s shaped PBAN, or polybutadiene acrylonitride solid rocket propellant would be ignited, and in less than ten minutes they would all find themselves in orbit. Liftoff was mere seconds away...

  But, something didn’t quite feel right. He’d felt he’d been here before...

  Was that right?

  And they could still have some kind of glitch that could call the whole thing off. An abort that would activate the escape system and eject the manned capsule from the stick, sending it off on a mini-launch of its own that would land them about a mile down range. Nothing was a done deal until this candle was lit.

  Cherko’s palms sweat. His pulse quickened. All those plane rides that had caused so much airsickness, and he was about to ride the Ultimate Vomit Comet.

  “Keep your noggins stable, people,” Mission Commander Colonel Bill Dunlow uttered into their helmets.

  Cherko watched the countdown clock before him. Thirty seconds.

  Thirty seconds!

  He looked to the small mirror strapped to the wrist of his orange pressure suit. Angled it around the cabin and out the crew window. Blue sky with a hint of harmless puffy clouds.

  This was REALLY, no-shit, finally gonna happen, he could feel it. He, James Cherko, sixty years old, was really, finally, headed into space with these other astronauts—or soon to be astronauts, once clearing the statutory fifty miles, where brilliant blue sky darkened toward ultimate black.

  This was it.

  ... Five... four... three... two... one!

  T-0.

  The PBANs ignited. Cherko momentarily closed his eyes and received the biggest kick in the pants he’d ever experienced.

  And the noise.

  Anything but graceful, the Hermes 1 shuddered and rocked and jerked like all hell had broken loose and lurched free of its two-million-pound contact with dirt and concrete and metal. Spewed 2.3 million pounds of thrust out the ass end of a super-high technology fires
tick. Once these babies were lit there was no turning them off. Pad hold-down posts detonated and the launch tower’s access arms retracted, and Hermes 1 no longer rested on planet Earth. In an instant it was all an incredible inch above the ground as its fiery thrusters spewed hell and damnation out its nozzles. An instant after that, it was a little over a foot above the ground. Several instances later, it was rocketing past the launch support tower and free flying into open air, initiating a roll maneuver to place it into the proper launch trajectory. They were all at the center of all the noise and flash and vibration of the most controlled explosion ever. As the Hermes rolled, Cherko glanced out the cabin windows to watch the launch pad and cape ever so gracefully fall away beneath them. It looked just like every launch video he’d ever seen... except this was him, here, now, personally experiencing everything firsthand.

  The rocket accelerated. Continued to accelerate. Implausibly, it just kept unrelentingly accelerating.

  Cherko simply had no experiential concept around which to wrap his head. He’d never been a fighter pilot, but had been in a fast car or two over his lifetime. College. A friend’s Camaro. They’d taken it for a spin out on I-17, between Flagstaff and Phoenix back in the early eighties. That had been the first time he’d gone faster than seventy-five. Faster than eighty-five. Faster than a hundred miles an hour. As much as it’d scared the pants off him, it’d utterly exhilarated him. He’d never felt such raw power, such unbridled speed, hell, such an out-and-out adrenalin rush. Music blasting, scenery blurring past. When his friend had punched it, he’d been slammed back into the seat. As they kept screaming down I-17, he remembered getting nervous about the speed, the feeling of not being in control. He wasn’t driving, someone else was. As much as he was his friend and they knew each other, he was driving, not him, and that had been quite unnerving.

  And they’d just kept going faster...

  But, eventually, his friend had to let up, and they’d slowed to more legal speeds. Kinda.

  But now, there was absolutely no slowing down.

  No legal speed issues.

  For the next hundred-and-twenty-eight seconds they would be heading for an altitude of 200,000 feet and an insane speed of Mach 6.1. Until the second stage kicked in. And there would be no slowing down until his mission was over and he was back on Earth.