The Clermont farm had been handed down through four generations, but Miles would be the last heir of the family’s land, for his destiny lay amongst the stars rather than in the earth.
Every day was pretty much identical on the farm. It was a lonely existence, but Miles had little use for company or conversation. In truth, he enjoyed the isolation. People just had a habit of rubbing him the wrong way, and besides, there was a place over in Bridgeport he could go to when he felt the urge to get rubbed in the right way.
Summer harvest brought the addition of some temporary help: strong hands and backs willing to work for cash in hand with the added benefit of speaking little English.
Miles walked his way to the barn, his eyes requiring little light as the long shadows held few surprises for him after a life spent on the farm.
His mind was drifting to a fully awake state when he suddenly stopped in his muddy tracks, his thick heavy work boots coming to a splashing halt in a deep puddle.
He looked all around him, unable to comprehend just what was causing the hairs on the back of his neck to stand up on end, tiny soldiers all rising to attention and ready for war.
Miles looked all around him, desperately trying to find the source of his unease, but there was seemingly nothing out of place, save for the bitter taste in his mouth, the taste of something about to go terribly wrong.
From one of the large sheds, the cattle suddenly broke into a terrified chorus of fear, and he could hear the huge heavy animals slamming themselves against the corrugated walls in a desperate attempt to flee.
Rooted to the spot, all Miles could do was to feel the crackling electricity in the air as the sky was suddenly torn apart by a blinding light and deafening roar.
The air rushed past him, and he was blasted off his feet by some kind of object falling from the sky at a startling velocity as it passed over the farmhouse until it struck the earth some 100 feet or so past the outbuildings. The impact into the ground was monstrous, and even from this distance, Miles was showered with dirt that felt hot on his skin.
He was lying on the ground dazed but able to look up and see a brightly coloured dancing vapour trail that had scorched the air above him and now led to the impact site.
Slowly, he climbed back to his feet and stood on shaky legs. His first thought was that a plane had crashed, but when he looked up, the sky was still split open by swirling purple and white electrical charges where the object had passed, and you didn’t get that with any kind of plane he’d ever heard of.
His first thought was to run away, and his feet even turned to flee, but his father’s voice was strong within his bones and he quickly swallowed his fear and took a deep breath. Now, although he did turn away from the crash site, it was with purpose.
Quickly, he ran back to the farmhouse and ducked inside; when he emerged a few seconds later, he was carrying the comforting weight of a shotgun cocked and loaded.
He rushed towards the fallen object, his quickened pace mainly to avoid the temptation to turn back.
The earth had been exploded upon impact, and great mounds of it had been flung to one side to accommodate the now partly protruding silver disk.
Obviously, his mind had already run towards the idea of a UFO – he was human, after all, and that purple electrical discharge still hung overhead – but his father’s rational mind was telling him that he was a fool.
“Could be some kind of scientific equipment, I suppose?” he mused out loud. “Satellite? Weather monitoring thingy?”
His father’s voice told him he was still an idiot child and always would be.
“So what do you think it is then?”
His father was uncharacteristically silent.
“That’s what I thought, clever-clogs.”
Miles moved closer to the edge of the half-filled crater. One hand held the shotgun, and he reached out with the other to touch the silver, metallic-looking disk protrusion.
He expected it to be red hot, but instead, it was freezing cold to the touch, so much so that his bare fingers were momentarily stuck to the surface. He yanked them away, startled, and tore some skin from the fingertips.
“Son-of-a…”
His curse was cut short as there was a sudden gasping rush of air that sounded like the brakes of a large bus, and Miles staggered backwards as part of the disk began to open.
The shotgun raised almost on its own and quicker than Miles could consciously think; he suspected that his father had a hand in that.
The disk had split open in the middle and was now spilling white smoke out into the dawning morning.
“HELLO?” he called out nervously.
There was no answer, but he could hear someone or something moving.
“This… this is private land,” Miles said, striving to keep the fear from his voice, but it still came out cracked and shaky like a prepubescent teen.
A dark silhouette started to emerge from the white smoke and Miles took aim with a rattling shotgun.
“YOU STAY RIGHT THERE!” he yelled.
The figure started to stand up straight and appeared to be humanoid, albeit far taller than average at around seven feet. Its shape was partially obscured by the thick swirling smoke, and Miles gasped when he saw the thing’s head – a huge bulbous round dome.
“Oh, sweet Jesus…,” he murmured as the creature stepped out of the wreckage and started to reach out towards him.
The Miles Clermont farming line ended with a simple and – in hindsight – innocent sound. Something exploded within the creature’s craft. It was not a particularly loud bang, but to Miles’ heightened senses, it was enough to spook him; to him, it was a weapon. What followed were two flashes and one loud noise.
Firstly, Miles pulled the shotgun’s trigger and a storm of buckshot flew towards the alien. Next, there was an involuntary reaction from the visitor as a flash of energy flew from its fist and Miles’ chest exploded outwards through his back.
There were a few seconds before Miles died where he was able to look down at the charred hole through his chest before he sank to his knees.
“No, no, no, no…,” the alien cried out as it rushed to Miles’ side, catching him just before he hit the ground. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”
The alien’s voice was distorted, but its words were English, albeit with a slightly strange accent.
It held Miles until he was dead and then set him down gently on the ground. It pressed a button on the centre of its silver flight suit and there was a small rush of air as the catches on its helmet released.
The large dome was removed and now it looked down at Miles’ body with genuine regret and sorrow. Yellow horizontal eyes that resembled a reptile’s leaked a tear and fell onto a bright green cheek. A large fin on the top of its head unfurled, no longer flattened by the helmet.
The visitor’s superior hearing had already detected the sounds of approaching sirens even though they were still several miles away.
The fin rippled and he detected three vehicles coming, but he knew that there would be many more before the day was over. He looked briefly down at the body of the farmer and knew that this wasn’t the way he’d hoped to announce himself to the people of Earth. He knew that they could be a primitive and superstitious society; it wasn’t a good combination. Their fears would already be high simply by his appearance, and as he looked down at the body of the farmer, he knew that this wasn’t going to be a good introduction.
The man had fired his weapon first, but the prehistoric buckshot had offered little in the way of a threat to his flight suit. The trouble was that his own reflexes had been too sharp, and now the man was dead.
The humans wouldn’t find any weapons on him, but his body generated energy blasts far in excess of anything the people of Earth had to offer outside of a nuclear bomb. This wasn’t something he wanted to share until he was ready.
Sirens were now only a mile or so out, and he made a quick decision; it wasn’t a good choice, but it was the best
option available.
He grabbed hold of the farmer’s legs and dragged them over towards the downed craft. With incredible strength, he used one hand to lift the protruding rear of the ship up and laid the human underneath it. He closed his eyes and let the craft drop onto the body, flattening it instantly with a wet splat.
Lights had appeared now at the farm’s entrance, and several vehicles with flashing red and blue lights started down the track towards the crash site.
The alien, who would soon become known to the world as Cosmic Jones, stood and waited for the authorities with a message of peace, flattened farmers notwithstanding.
chapter 2
NOW - JAMIE-LYN
Jamie-Lyn Anderson stood at the back of the ARK News television studio and watched the worker bees buzzing about intently.
It had been several years since she had sat behind the anchor desk reading the nightly news, and while her once-partner Bruce Manners was still allowed to age like a fine wine, she had been relegated to the sidelines of field reporting once she’d hit the dreaded 4-0.
Wilson Fontaine was the captain of the good ship ARK, but in truth, it was only one of a multitude of companies that flew under his banner.
He was a large man with a larger appetite for acquisitions and dominations. He ran his empire with an iron fist and nobody had ever stood against him and metaphorically lived to tell the tale, although Jamie-Lyn had often wondered if there were any literal chapters in that story.
She had always found him to be a slimy toad of a man, the sort with wandering hands that were given free reign due to his perceived power.
He had tried it on with her at a Christmas party once, not long after she’d first started with the station, not that it made her special in any way. He’d left her with a hint of mutual benefits from a more intimate working relationship, a well-practised hint that managed to stay on just the right line of any HR investigation.
She had cut him off in his tracks, and back then, she’d joined his company after being headhunted once she’d left the government with a unique insight into the world’s first alien visitor. But she knew that she’d been one of the very rare lucky few whom Fontaine wanted in his company more than his bed.
She turned to a nearby window and appraised her reflection, partly pleased by what she still saw from the 48-year-old face staring back at her but also hating the sense of vanity that made her look in the first place.
While she was comfortable about her looks, there was an easy, natural beauty to the likes of her replacement.
Summer Sloan was in her twenties, at least that was her claim. Jamie-Lyn thought that she had perhaps crossed that particular threshold a couple of years ago. But whatever her age, she still positively sparkled on screen: a bottle blonde, who barely seemed to eat, existing seemingly on coffee and compliments.
The young woman was rumoured to be the latest to take Fontaine up on his offer, but Jamie-Lyn didn’t know what was fact and what was merely rumour at ARK.
The workplace might have been changing, but it was a slow evolve, and any attractive woman who climbed the ladder was still the subject of malicious jealous gossip.
“Jamie-Lyn? I thought you were off this week?”
She turned to see the station manager, a warm gregarious man by the name of Chris Adams. He was a kind man, but even when he was forced to play the game, his genuine good nature meant that he was actually sorry when the hard calls had to be made.
“I am. I… I just had to collect a few things.”
“Well that’s bullshit, and we both know it.” Chris grinned back. “But I won’t tell anyone if you don’t.”
Jamie-Lyn shrugged, caught in the lie. The truth was that the studio was hosting a special guest today, one who had once been her sole property, in a professional sense at least. As for personal? Well, they had been close friends – perhaps the closest.
“Did you read that piece in News Day last week?” she asked, thinking back to an editorial she’d read in the notoriously right-wing paper.
“Hmm?” Chris responded distractedly.
“There was an article in News Day, last week,” she pressed.
“What sort of article?”
“About them, about the Queen’s Guard.”
“So?”
“Well doesn’t Fontaine own News Day?”
Chris thought for a moment. “I think that’s one of his; why?”
“Because the piece wasn’t exactly complimentary.”
“So what? News Day is a right-wing rag. As far as I’m aware, they only write articles for click bait: conspiracy theories and wild accusations are their bread and butter.”
“There’s not… there’s nothing you’re not telling me about today, is there, Chris?”
“Like what?”
“Like some agenda?”
“Against who?”
“Against him… them.”
“I’ll check my notes,” Chris replied. He looked through the pages on his clipboard. “No…, no. I can’t see any secret plans on here.”
“You’re hilarious. Is he here yet?” she asked as casually as she could manage.
“And who might that be?” Chris replied, still grinning.
“Ha-ha.”
“No, he hasn’t arrived yet, but you know him.”
“I certainly used to.”
“It’s a call from upstairs. You know, if I had my way, then it would be you interviewing him, but my opinion doesn’t stack up to much, certainly not in the face of viewer demographic analysis and advertising data.”
“It should be me up there today, Chris – not her.”
“Look, kid, you… you know how this business works…” Chris started, uncomfortably.
“I certainly know how Fontaine runs his business and what a shitty business it can be. Bruce Manners there can get old, he can get fat, he can go grey, and no one says a thing. Me? I turn 40 and it’s ‘thanks for the memories, don’t let the door hit you in the ass on the way out.’”
A woman’s voice startled her from behind. “You know, you didn’t seem to mind the system too much when you were coming up. Remember Barbara Walsh? Wasn’t she the ageing anchor while you were the young hotshot? I bet you didn’t mind how the system worked back then? I find it hard to picture you rooting for changes to a patriarchal system when it was working in your favour? ”
Jamie-Lyn turned to find that Summer Sloan had joined them. The young anchor seemed to silently creep across the ground even in six-inch heels .
“Summer, so nice to see you.” Jamie-Lyn smiled, using her best fake smile. “Are you okay? You’re looking a little tired, sweetheart. Not getting enough bed rest? Or maybe you’re just lying in the wrong bed.”
“Chris, I need you. NOW!” With that, Summer turned and stormed away, leaving the station manager looking uncomfortable.
“I’d better…” he said, glancing around towards Summer’s departure lane.
“Go, go.”
“You okay?”
“Hey, I’m just pissed because she has a point, but don’t you ever tell her that!”
“My lips are sealed.”
She watched him leave. He caught up with the storming star, and Jamie-Lyn had to watch her berate him while he took it. She could only hope that she had been half the monster that her replacement was.
In truth, while she might never admit it aloud, and certainly not to Summer, she had actually found herself preferring the life of a field reporter instead of the pampered and plastic news anchor. At least now she got to write her own copy instead of simply reading an autocue. The only days she really missed the studio were days like this, days when you got to sit down with an interview subject, one that really mattered.
Just then, the studio started to buzz, and she felt the electricity in the air. She knew that he had arrived.
More than 30 years ago, she had been a minor reporter on a local paper who’d struck gold.
She had been the only staff member in the offic
e when a call had come in about a potential light aircraft that had crashed out in farmland.
The rest of the paper’s reporter pool had all been out the night before, drinking themselves into a collective coma at one of the old fossils’ leaving do. As a result, she had been dispatched to cover the incident, and her life had been altered forever – along, of course, with the rest of the planet.
She had a slight involuntary shudder as she thought back to the first time that she’d laid eyes on him, a green lizard-like reptilian that walked and talked like a man.
Even to this day, she was sure that if she hadn’t been on the farm that day, then their visitor would have been quickly whisked away from prying eyes. But her smarts and camera had been quicker than the minds of the authorities surrounding the crash site, a bunch of helpless police officers and paramedics unable to process what their eyes were telling them.
Of course, trying to convince her bosses at the paper had taken some doing. They had obviously dismissed the whole thing as a hoax and her as a wide-eyed child fooled by a prank; that was until she’d brought the alien in for an interview.
Even back then, she’d instinctively known that the visitor’s best bet was to announce himself to the world before he could be secreted away for governmental study on a vivisection table. The only true way to keep him safe had been to place him under the biggest of spotlights, a light so bright that no shadowy figures could get at him.
She had looked at her own reflection enough times since that fateful day to know that it hadn’t been a purely altruistic endeavor; their visitor had also been her ticket to the big time.
30 YEARS AGO
Jamie-Lyn exited her shitty car and slammed the door hard enough to make a point. Her most expensive shoes (which were still a long way from being expensive by any standards) squished in the farmland mud, and, not for the first time, she cursed her inexperience but also made a mental note to learn the lesson; it was a growing list.
The Churchfield Gazette was a long way from the big time. Her usual beat tended to include cat shows and fundraisers, along with anything else that was deemed too trivial for the rest of the male room. But now, something at long last had actually happened, and she was the only one here.
Capes Page 3