We Are Them

by L. K. Samuels

  I glared at Tommy. “Ever wonder why you never get promoted?”

  “Sure, but Big Al’s scheme could spiral and flush everyone down a gnarly sinkhole. Not pretty.”

  “Unlikely. It’s just a little program and it’s voluntary. Nobody has to pay any attention to it. So why the hostility?”

  Tommy shrugged. “Not sure, man. I just have this bad vibe. Something does not seem right. I sense peril at the visceral level. As if the earth will be swallowed up when our galaxy collides with another galaxy. And then it will resemble…”

  “Tommy,” I interrupted. “You’re just imagining this because of what Rant said. You need to refocus. Don’t go off half-cocked.”

  “How about fully-cocked?” Tommy said with a childish tone that seemed too cute to resist.

  “Sure, why not?” Poor Tommy. He just could not focus on anything important. Yet I was starting to understand his reference to his “don’t feed the bear” analogy. Actually, if he had expressed it more coherently, it might have been rather profound. It might have been brilliant. But Tommy was never going to get any attention with such crazy notions.

  “This is why,” I said with a heart-felt sincerity, “you’re always going to be a rider and never a driver. Understand?”

  Tommy lowered his head.

  And with that said, I was sure that someday Tommy would face his hungry bear and discover the truth that he had been avoiding for so long.

  Chapter 5

  Within several weeks, our DED office had finally opened down the street from city hall. Everybody had settled in with big offices, computer equipment, and a desire to serve the helpless public. As I walked near the front entrance, I stopped and watched a distant man rushing towards me. He swung the front glass door open and darted inside.

  At first glance, he looked like a government official who was investigating an important case. But as he drew close, I could see that he was sporting a stain on his rumpled tie. He appeared to have stayed awake all night, his hair unkempt, face unshaven, and exhausted. Whoever he was, his rough appearance was more befitting of a homeless transient bereft of shelter or income.

  The man was middle-aged with strands of gray hair and a scraggly mustache. He stopped in front of my desk and tapped his shoe impatiently. He peered down at me as if I were a stuffed monkey. I simply stared back at him with a thin, determined smirk. Frankly, his politeness was so damn charming that I had to return the favor. With a blast of cold air and narrow-slit eyes, I asked, “May I help you?”

  “So, you’re the head honcho of the DED?” The man huffed with an unamused tone.

  “Second-in-charge.”

  He bowed sarcastically. “Please accept my condolences.”

  “So, our reputation has proceeded us. Don’t take rumors as fact. You might regret it later.”

  The man waved his hand in a sign of disapproval. “I’m not here to discuss formalities,” the man scoffed. “Frankly; I don’t care about your piddly-diddly department. I need to talk with Spencer Crane.”

  I immediately stiffened my back. “How about that. You’re a lucky man. You’ve just found your piddly-diddly man.”

  “You?” he snapped.

  “Yeah, who would have thought? I only do this part-time. On my days off, I substitute for the mayor.”

  “Fine! I’m James Montgomery.” He reached out with his long right hand to shake mine. “I come from an agency that I cannot name.”

  “Well, that’s okay,” I ignored his hand gesture. “I’m accustomed to working with nameless and clueless government agencies. In fact, most of the people here can barely spell their own names.”

  “Really?” James squinted his eyes with a glare of suspicion.

  “Which agency did you say you were with?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Well, you pass my cognitive screening test. Did you know that most idiots can never keep a secret?”

  “It wouldn’t matter,” James boomed. “Nobody has ever heard of my agency. Nobody!” His hand slowly reached down to caress his hip holster. “But if you had, I would have to shoot you.”

  “Okay,” I raised my hands. “I surrender. You won this pissing contest and the Golden Urine Award.”

  James shot out his hand and ring-wearing finger. “Good. Now kiss my championship ring.”

  “Whoa!” I quickly jerked back in my chair. I thought I had become accustomed to such emotional outbursts by Big Al. But this mystery man had a flair to scare the heebie-jeebies out of anyone. Without moving my face, I averted my eyes to search for a guard, but they were never around when you needed one.

  James stepped back, grinned and soon displayed a warm, but faint, smile. “I was just fooling. My associates tell me that I should have been a comedian. Especially one who employs self-parody, dark humor. You see, I like my humor dark, without any cream or sugar. What do you think?”

  I nodded with a sense of nervous urgency. I had no idea whom I was dealing with. For all I knew, he was a homeless man with delusions of self-importance. Then again, perhaps he was working for a super-secret agency that even the U.S. President didn’t know of.

  “You really should talk to our director. Big Al should be back from lunch soon.” Actually, Big Al took two or three-hour lunches, but who was counting. Nobody cared if Big Al was out to lunch for the whole day.

  “No, I want to talk to you.”

  “Why?”

  “Listen tight. I’m investigating a mysterious explosion in the sky two weeks ago. My job is to interview anyone who has firsthand information. I understand you witnessed the event?” He pulled out a small notebook and a pen. He opened it and started writing. “Go on.”

  “Not much to tell. I was in the mountains near Idyllwild. A bright object flew overhead and disintegrated over the city. It seemed to have first hovered over the city and then exploded with the intensity of 100 suns. Kooky. Right?”

  “Sure. You can say that without any top-level clearance.”

  “But why are you interested in an astronomical oddity?”

  James hesitated and carefully looked over his shoulder. Next, he scanned the entire large office room, which was sparsely populated. Most of the office workers were still out to lunch. Before I could regain my composure, he suddenly flopped into a nearby office chair. With a beaming smile, he wheeled his chair next to mine. This was getting a little too personal.

  “Why the curiosity? Well, there are a number of good reasons,” James inched closer and whispered into my ear. “First, the object has been described as rather large, and should have hit Earth’s surface and knocked down everything within a 60-mile radius.”

  “Like the Tunguska Event in Siberia in 1908?”

  “Precisely!” James backed away. “You know your astronomical history. And secondly, it seems that nobody saw the explosion except those on the outer perimeter of the city.”

  “You mean nobody in Hemet saw it?”

  “Correct.”

  I began to think of freakishly crazy science fiction stories that had no meaningful links with reality. There had to be a logical reason. Good reasoning or not, Tommy was going to love this enigma. Wild speculation and crackpot conspiracy theories were his forte. He had a knack for chasing down a nonexistent wild goose.

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but the guys above my pay scale conjecture that the object should have lit up the sky like a dozen atomic bombs over Hiroshima! Anyway, we have a crack team running all over Hemet interviewing citizens. We have another team of geologists and meteoricists searching for the impact area. So far we have found no trace of any meteorite or comet.”

  “There must have been some debris.”

  “None.”

  “Why would the Pentagon be interested in fireballs?”

  “I’m not with the Pentagon.”

  “Oh,… Right.”

  “We need to solve this oddity. There is something more to this story.”

  “Yeah, but wouldn’t NASA be more equipped to handle an astron
omical anomaly?”

  “I’m not so sure,” James said. “This phenomenon doesn’t seem to be a routine investigation. Normally, we refrain from chasing inanimate objects that fall from the sky. Actually, that would be a job for a team of geologists and geochemistry graduate students with experience in meteorite falls. However, we speculate that it was something more. That’s my guess.”

  “Then you have experience in astronomy or astrogeology?”

  James cocked his head to one side and brandished a wagging finger. “What planet did you come from? I am not a scientist; I’m an investigator. Let the eggheads do geochemistry testing and analysis. Like I said, I investigate.”

  All of a sudden, I found this man refreshingly honest for someone in an unnamed agency that had a non-military capacity. Maybe not everyone from the top echelons of government was a screwed-up moron. Perhaps it was just the city of Hemet.

  “You want to know the real reason I took this job?” James leaned forward.

  I nodded with a serious look on my face.

  “Because this case resembles an X-file case. It is a real humdinger of a mystery, begging to be solved. Besides, I once had an uncle in Roswell, New Mexico, in 1947. He said that the authorities came to his house and told him the object that fell from the sky was just a plain old weather balloon. They told him not to say anything, which was easy since he never saw anything. But, in my mind, if it had been a weather balloon, they would not have threatened my uncle. The mere fact that the U.S. Army was jumping all over Roswell indicates something extraordinary had happened.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know. But it wasn’t a weather balloon. That’s for sure.”

  “Well, but shouldn’t someone at the Pentagon know the answer?”

  James smirked. “Give me a break! The Pentagon is so large that the right arm doesn’t even know it has a left arm. I have heard that they have secrets so hush-hush that it is a secret to know that it is a secret. And you better believe that Roswell has one of those nobody-knows classifications.”

  “Well, I wish I had more information.”

  “If you hear or see anything more about the fireball, call.” James handed me his card. “I just love solving a good mystery. I should have been a Sherlock Holmes detective, or a comedian.”

  With those few parting words, he stood, shook my hand again, and rushed back to the front entrance.

  I settled back in my chair and exhaled. Now that was a whirlwind meeting. I did not know what to think, except that James probably knew more than he could officially reveal.

  Within minutes, my world ratcheted down. Big Al had finally come back from his extended lunch hour. Now I could relax. At least that was what I thought. It seemed that someone had already informed Big Al about my mysterious visitor. With little decorum, he darted to my desk and towered over me with a stupid smug grin that would make the Cheshire Cat jealous.

  “So, what is the scuttlebutt?” Big Al asked in a flash. “I mean, did anything happened when I was away? Anything?” His inquiry seemed more like a demand than a question.

  “Not really.” I settled into my chair, all comfy again, and crossed my arms behind my head.

  “I heard we had an unusual guest.”

  “You mean that investigator from the Pentagon?” I said. “Yeah, well, he wanted special information from me.”

  “I assume he wanted to talk to me. Right?”

  “He wanted to talk with anyone who had seen that fireball a few weeks ago.”

  “He wanted to see just you?” Big Al had two personal traits that made him rather unpopular with the public. First, he was nosy about everything. Secondly, he had a bona fide craving to be the center of attention. He pried into everyone’s business, especially office romances and any indiscretions pumped out of the rumor mill. In fact, I often felt he was snooping on me just to see if I had any deviant sexual practices like cross-dressing, sadomasochism, or public nudity. Of course, I had no sexual anything, not even with my wife.

  “Didn›t you see the fireball?” I asked.

  “What fireball?” Big Al eyed me with suspicion.

  “A meteorite exploded over the city. It occurred on a Saturday night two weeks ago,” I said. “I’m sure you heard about it.”

  Big Al rubbed his neck. “That’s a lot of hooey-blooey. I was outside that night cooking on my new gas-turbo BBQ. Made some marvelous ribs. Anyway, I did not see a thing. I think the Pentagon man is just making it up to find a fall guy. That’s what they’re good for, blaming the innocent, and spying on rivals. I do not want you or anyone talking to those meddling people. They’re just trying to cause trouble for my department.”

  This was strange. Big Al was egotistical, wrong-headed, and mule-stubborn, but he had never shown any outward signs of paranoia. Now I got the feeling that he was hiding something from me. He usually loved to suck-up to bigtime governmental officials in hopes of climbing higher up the chain of command.

  * * * * *

  After arriving home that night, I found Sarah in the living room reading a book, which in itself was unprecedented.

  “Want to hear something crazy?”

  Sarah quick put down her book and looked at me with a penetrating gaze. “Sure. I would love to.”

  I almost did a double take, uncertain to whether I had walked into the right house. “Well, I had a wacky episode at work with an agent from the Pentagon. At least it seemed that way.”

  “Pentagon? How do you know?

  “I don’t. That was crazy part about his visit. He would not say where he came from. Very hush, hush.”

  Sarah laughed. “You mean a secret agent.”

  “As secret as they get.”

  “But why?”

  “Something to do with the big explosion over Hemet.”

  “Finally, someone is showing interest.”

  “Yeah, but they don’t seem to know any more than we do.”

  “Well,” Sarah said, “what do you expect?”

  “Yeah, that what I thought, too.”

  Sarah sat there and found everything I said astounding. We had a meeting of the minds. She listened to my every word, and I did the same. I could not figure out why she would engage in light conversation with me. Normally, she barely acknowledged my presence when I came home from work. What had gotten into her? It felt like I had come home to a strange woman.

  After our delightful exchange, I started to drift into my pre-determined routine. After microwaving a TV dinner, I dined on a wooden TV tray in front of my living room television. I would watch unrealistic crime shows, stale sitcoms, and uninspiring sports. If everything on the boob tube was really bad, I could go to my wall-to-wall collection of videotapes and DVDs. I was set for life.

  Sarah considered my obsession with Hollywood films an addiction not worthy of any great social value. That was fair. Then again, who needed a nagging wife when a guy could experience the whole world and galaxy in the comfort of an easy chair? Realty was painful, full of responsibilities and sacrifices. I was determine to escape from the gravity of reality and embrace the fantasy worlds of Steven Spielberg. That was my long-term goal, but for some inexplicable reason, I started to find the virtual world empty and devoid of life. Instead, I felt a pulling force, as if I were being drawn towards Sarah for some reason. That was crazy, but I was actually enjoying my conversation with her, sharing stories, experiences and a bit of humor. That seemed more satisfying than any science fiction fantasy.

  “So, what do you think about the Pentagon man,” I asked as she ate her TV dinner. “Don’t you think he is hiding something?”

  “Of course. There is far more to this story.”

  “Agreed,” I replied.

  “Have you filed the divorce papers yet?” Sarah changed the subject.

  “I’ll get to it.”

  “I suppose we still have plenty of time.”

  “Sure,” I said. “All the time in the world.” I could see that Sarah was wavering on the divorce. There w
as no real rush. We could get divorced at any time. Las Vegas was only a four-hour drive.

  “So, your Pentagon man saw aliens crash at Roswell?” Sarah inquired. “Little green people?”

  “Oh, he never mentioned anything about seeing aliens. He just speculated on why our military would try to cover up an incident that was merely a broken weather balloon.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Sarah replied.

  “Oh.”

  I waited for a hostile reply that would discredit my memory, logic, or racial heritage. She would often interrogate me like a well-seasoned attorney from Hell or worse—Los Angles. Except for this time, Sarah had nothing disparaging to utter from her normally derogatory lips. She just sat there waiting for me to correct her misinterpretation. I leaned closer. “Are you all right? Do you have a fever?”

  “I’m fine. I just thought that the Pentagon man might have gone deeper into the Roswell incident. That’s all.”

  “No, but he did tell me that nobody in Hemet saw the exploding object. Nobody!”

  “That is impossible.” Sarah blinked her eyes and looked puzzled. “How could anyone have missed it?”

  I shook my head in agreement. “You think the Pentagon man simply lied?”

  “No, he’s just not telling the truth.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  Sarah paused and seemed to move in and out of heavy concentration, something that I had never seen. She was actually taking her time weighing the pros and cons. It was either that or she had fallen asleep or the pod people had duplicated her body.

  “He must have been ordered to hide information or spread disinformation. He might be a spy.”

  “That’s a disturbing thought,” I said, nodding.

  “But the big question is why would anyone seek you out in the first place? You said he had a horde of grunts to do his mundane bidding.”

  “I only saw one person,” I replied. “But I am sure there are more in his team.”

  “But why?” Sarah reiterated.

  I stepped back, paused, and began to rethink my opinion. Amazingly, Sarah was right. She had a good and valid question. Why me? Until today, Tommy and Rant were the only people I had told about seeing the fireball in the sky. Something was not right. In fact, nothing seemed as it should. I mean, Sarah was acting like a different person. She was showing signs of intelligent life. I could no longer put her in the category of a hopeless airhead. How was that possible?