Boy Gone

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  She said, “I just want you to know, I’m here to help you in any way I can. What you’re doing here is incredibly important. I really do know that. And I want to be a part of that.” Alison rose up on her tippy-toes and gently kissed his cheek.

  It was a tender gesture that momentarily stopped his heart—stopped time itself.

  In his peripheral vision, Scotty saw a shadow appear beneath the door. The doorknob began to turn …

  Chapter 51

  Scotty observed the chubby man standing in the doorway, wearing a business suit. His face was round and overly red—perhaps a skin condition? Both Scotty and Larry stood perfectly still, their energetic forms nearly invisible beneath the bright florescent lights.

  “Sorry that took me so long, Ms. McGuire.” The portly man handed over a lidded cup that Scotty assumed was coffee. “I hope it’s still hot enough for you,” he added.

  “When can I get out of here, Mr. Borkner?” Alison asked flatly.

  “I prefer, Secretary of Space Force. Or, simply Secretary will do.”

  Alison nodded without correcting herself. “I’ve told you everything I know. I’d like to get back to my duties.”

  “Have a seat, Alison. Please. May I call you Alison?”

  She let out a breath and blinked several times impatiently.

  “You have the unique distinction of having personally interfaced with one of them. With Scott Sullivan.”

  “He goes by Scotty,” she volunteered.

  “Do not concern yourself about returning to your office in Massachusetts. I’ve personally spoken to your supervisor and cleared your current case load.”

  Scotty could practically feel the anger emanating off Alison.

  “You have been in close contact with the subject. With this Scotty Sullivan. So, there are quarantine procedures we’ll be initiating.”

  “Seriously?”

  Borkner waved her question away. “Now, what do you say we start from the beginning? When you were first assigned the case … ”

  Scotty used this period time to try to connect with Seve. Worried about her, he knew she wasn’t doing well. He honestly didn’t know how he’d be able to carry on without her involvement—without all the remaining Vallic-Humans’ involvement. They’d each paid, both individually and collectively, the ultimate price for their own world’s one colossal mistake. The few original Vallic, now Vallic-Humans, who were still alive had mere weeks, perhaps only days, to live. What then? Did Scotty and the others have enough root knowledge to complete the task? A monumental task—one encompassing Humanity’s very survival? He half-listened to Alison recount her involvement with himself. He could detect her frustration, the growing fear in her voice.

  He then directed his thoughts to his Orand-Pall, conveying his happiness to be speaking with it again as well. Once again, Scotty felt the small creature’s bliss—its contentment at being a part of his physiology. I need to speak with Seve. Can you contact her Orand-Pall … quickly now, please. He waited while the tiny creature established communications.

  Organism’s Communications: Protocols Initiated…

  Absolute Command: Searching Broad Spectrum Spatial Coordinates …

  Absolute Command: Intermediary Base Ship Identified …

  Absolute Command: Intermediary Specific Organism Identified …

  Absolute Command: Synchronizing To Intermediary Orand-Pall 012333 …

  Absolute Command: Initiating Direct Contact With Host …

  Absolute Command: Communications Established …

  Scotty was instantly relieved to learn Seve’s Orand-Pall was still receiving. She was alive. In that moment, he missed her terribly. Although she had never presented herself as such—she had been as much a mother to him as his own biological mother now sitting in the next room over mere feet away.

  Scotty’s Orand-Pall mentally conveyed that it was ready to convey any message he wished.

  Seve … how are you doing?

  It took another moment for the two Orand-Palls, both his and Seve’s, to better synchronize their back and forth thoughts and feelings. From prior experience, he knew the exchange would become more normalized, faster, over time.

  Seve: The same, Scotty. Thank you for asking. More importantly … how goes the mission? I have been waiting for an update from you. I assume you have made contact with Hank … through his Orand-Pall?”

  Scotty inwardly cringed. He’d had multiple communication requests from his professor/teacher whom he assumed was still back on Hope. He needed to connect with him. Find out what is, or was, so damn important.

  Scotty: I apologize. I will speak with Hank. There have been complications. But I’m where I need to be right now. I am at NASA headquarters in Houston, Texas. There are those in government here that want to hinder, perhaps even stop completely, our directives.

  Seve: You know that was anticipated, Scotty. You must remember what is at stake. Not one person, or any group of persons, can be allowed to derail what must happen. What must be done today … right now. I suggest you locate the person named Paul Mannford there. He is the flight director of the International Space Station program. We have determined he is sufficiently convinced regarding Earth’s imminent peril.

  Scotty was still half listening to the exchange going on between the man called Borkner and Alison.

  “ … you do realize that Earth will soon be completely annihilated … do you understand, Secretary? That we have very little time to do what needs to be done in order for any of us to survive?” Alison pleaded.

  “We need to take a little extra time now, just to verify all the facts. To make sure these aliens have our best interests at heart. You can understand that, can’t you Alison?”

  “How much time are you talking about?”

  “Maybe a few weeks; a month or two at most,” Borkner said back, stealing a glance at the screen on his constantly vibrating smart phone.

  “From what I understand, countless people will possibly die with even the slightest delay.”

  Borkner answered her comment with a patronizing smile. “Now, now, let’s not get overly dramatic. Personally, I don’t believe there’s any imminent danger at all. Earth has been spinning on its axis for what? Billions of years? It’ll keep on spinning for several billion more, I’m sure. What I’m not going to let happen is for our world to be taken over by aliens with hidden, nefarious intentions.”

  Scotty turned his whole attention back to Seve.

  From Scotty: Seve, I do not believe any one person, or group of persons, will make enough of a difference here … not in time. We anticipated that could be the case; we developed alternative actions for just such a scenario.

  From Seve: We also determined that the results could be devastating. We never wanted to be perceived as an enemy. Not when the complete opposite is true. You must be careful, Scotty … I fear any deviation from our planned course of action could spawn disastrous consequences. Then all will be for naught.

  From Scotty: I still think Humans are good at heart. It’s the governments, the ones in power, who will never allow us to fulfill our directives.

  From Seve: It is your decision, Scotty. Please be careful. Be mindful that after today, I probably won’t be here to help you.

  Scotty let that sink in. He wanted to argue with her—tell her she was wrong … that she would be fine. But he knew better. He also knew the agents next door would soon be sounding the alarm that one of their own had been killed. After that, all hell would break loose.

  From Scotty: I understand. Here is what I need you to do for me …

  Chapter 52

  Some twenty-four hours had passed since NASA Flight Director Paul Mannford last received communication from the alien vessel. Within that same timespan, he’d watched personnel from other government agencies, namely, he surmised, from the NSA, take up positions within the MCC, not so much supplanting his own people, but certainly observing them—overseeing them. Now there was also a military presence. No less than te
n heavily armed soldiers had assumed a position around the room’s perimeter. As of early this morning, in and outgoing communications with outside support personnel had been terminated.

  Mannford had been working with some of the world’s greatest minds, reviewing the immense amount of alien data regarding the impending Gamma Ray strike. The team included such notables as Stuart Church from Georgia Institute of Technology, an expert on space exploration, who also had a background in Astrophysical Cosmic Microwave Cosmology. As well as Mary Moot from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, an expert in environmental monitoring from space, planetary exploration, and climate change impacts. And Daryl Conway, ‘retired’ from NASA’s Jet Propulsion Laboratory, and an expert on just about anything related to outer space. Each one had reviewed the complex files that were downloaded from the alien vessel. Individually, they would take advantage of the spacial coordinates provided them. Each had unique access to the recently deployed James Webb Space Telescope. Bar none, there was no instrument better suited for the job.

  Decades in the making, the successor to the Hubble Space Telescope was nothing short of miraculous. The size of a three-story home, the Webb telescope was the largest telescope ever deployed into space. It was an amazing one hundred times more powerful than the famed Hubble. The new telescope could not only see things in the far distance, but could also virtually see back in time—how long it had taken light from galaxies far away to reach Earth. This feature would allow the Webb telescope, using infrared wavelengths, to even view the first stars and galaxies formed billions of years ago—even going back to the Big Bang.

  Mannford was concerned that he still hadn’t heard from any of his independent experts. Hadn’t heard back what their individual findings were concerning the fast-approaching Gamma Ray. He suspected that they indeed had verified the findings but maybe had been persuaded to keep their findings to themselves. He looked about his MCC, at the lurking agency personnel and the military presence around, and feared not only for his nation, but his own family. It all came down to one man: Borkner, an arrogant, stupid man, but one who just happened to have the president’s ear. For the umpteenth time, Mannford tried to figure out what the man’s end game was. What would motivate someone to ignore the immense amount of science provided?

  CapCom’s Margaret Haskell abruptly stood up, excitedly pointing a finger toward the wall of monitors. “You’ll want to see this, Paul!”

  Mannford stood up straight and stepped away from his typical position of leaning against the back wall. A hush fell over Mission Control as one-by-one the large monitors came to life on the forward wall. Until that very moment, there’d been no visuals taken of the alien craft. Seeing it now for the first time, it truly was immense, like nothing Mannford had seen before. There was nothing conventional about it. Nothing that directly correlated to what one’s mental expectations were—what an alien spacecraft should look like. He was already aware of the Vallic’s predisposition to utilizing some kind of living, organic technology, but this was far beyond anything his imagination could have ever conjured up. The vessel had soft curves and strange, nonsymmetrical, bulbous areas. Now, as the vessel rotated, sunlight struck a portion of the hull—the color of darkened flesh, arterial vessels could be seen pulsing with life deep within its surface.

  Everyone now was up on their feet.

  “We’ve got operational tracking sensors coming back online!” someone yelled out. A myriad of super-imposed data elements appeared on the largest monitor. Spatial coordinates, constantly updating orbital positioning matrices, plus a whole slew of other numeric calculations, were being presented in real time.

  Mannford mentally calculated that the alien ship had roughly the same exterior size footprint as one of the US’s big Nimitz-class aircraft carriers.

  “She’s descending, sir,” Drake Reinhold announced from the Trajectory workstation three rows up.

  * * *

  Forty-five seconds after being alerted to the alien ship’s visual appearance, now commencing its slow descent to the surface, Gordon Borkner barreled his way through Building 5D’s east-side exit, out into the bright Houston sunlight. Buffeted by the wind, almost immediately his tie resumed its frantic attempt to escape over his shoulder. Not quite at a run, Borkner hurriedly strode in the direction of the MCC. Shit! He’d forgotten about the horde of network news trucks parked in a neat line outside the entrance. He considered making a U-turn, entering through the MCC’s rear entrance instead, but that would take too much time. No, things were happening now. He’d just have to ignore them.

  There was nothing inconspicuous about the new Secretary of Space Force, Gordon Borkner. Overweight, ruddy-faced, and perspiring heavily in the humid Gulf of Mexico climate, he was spotted forty yards out by a CNN assistant producer. Borkner heard the young woman’s alerting voice, “I’ve got Borkner, coming in fast from the west!”

  He saw them, en masse, making frantic preparations—camera operators and sound techs readying their equipment. News correspondents, throwing on suit jackets, with makeup personnel rushing along near their side, dabbing concealer and powder onto overly shiny faces.

  “There he is!”

  The stampede came toward him like the running of the bulls. All Borkner could do was trudge forward with focused determination. He was well aware that to them he was some kind of newly found celebrity, though very little of the media’s attention had been positive thus far. In fact, it was dismal. Much of it centered on his almost meteoric rise from a mid-level, temporary, government NASA position to obtaining one of the most influential and important jobs in government—answering directly to the President of the United States. And, of course, all the recently snapped photos of him—and all the live video streams of him—only highlighted his unsightly facial skin condition. He was the man who habitually wore a snarky, self-righteous expression and had a fucking red balloon of a face.

  The reporters drove toward him, their microphones positioned out in front, like a charge of bayonet-wielding soldiers storming toward the approaching enemy. Within seconds, they were all around—engulfing him.

  “Are we being attacked by the aliens?”

  “Secretary Borkner, what’s the President’s position on their arrival?”

  “When are you going to bring our ISS boys back home?”

  “What makes you think you’re qualified to run Space Force, sir?

  “What’s going on with your … um … splotchy complexion?”

  By the time Borkner reached the MCC entrance, his shirt was completely doused in sweat—his sparse hair plastered onto his pink scalp.

  Glaring at the MP opening the door for him as he approached, he snarled, “You couldn’t fucking clear a path for me out there?”

  * * *

  Paul Mannford was in the process of speaking to the on-screen Astronaut Commander Jack Landon, seated next to Fischer and Mirkin. The three looked well—relaxed, even. They appeared to be seated, with only their upper bodies framed in one of the monitors, while the other monitors covered various perspectives of the now rapidly descending spaceship.

  “So, you’ll be taking up a static position near the MCC, right offshore?” Mannford asked.

  “That’s right. Hell … I suppose you’ll be able to view the spacecraft right from there, on the rooftop of the MCC,” Landon replied.

  Heads turned as Gordon Borkner, followed by two MP’s, entered the control center. He made an undecipherable gesture, twirling one hand over his head, shouting, “Cut that transmission. Cut that transmission, right now!”

  The space center went quiet as Borkner strode toward Mannford. He looked angry. Hell, he looked crazy.

  Four of the newly arrived men, whom Mannford assumed to be NSA government personnel, were busy setting up sturdy-looking folding tables. Next, a series of big black equipment cases were hefted up onto the table surfaces, then unlatched and swung open. Military hardened devices were powered on—dark computer screens instantly coming to life. Six blue-unif
ormed Air Force personnel filed in from somewhere, taking a position at the tables behind the complex-looking computers. Mannford, ex-military himself, had little trouble recognizing it as a Surface to Air Missile system. All this was the very latest in SAM’s deployment, guidance, and control gear, the kind with the cutting-edge, laser-guidance technology.

  One of the young Air Force crewmen suddenly spun around toward Borkner. “Bogey is being tracked. We have an active lock on the target. Ready to fire on your command, sir.”

  Chapter 53

  Scotty told Larry to stay with Alison. He moved through the cinderblock wall as easily as if it weren’t there at all. Once out in the deserted corridor, he listened as he made his way to the next door. He heard a distant television, an excited newscaster’s voice, and pictured virtually everyone in the building huddled in front of department TV’s, watching the historical event unfold right before their eyes. The Vallic vessel was descending toward Earth as planned. Good! From this moment on, things for the Human race would never, ever, be the same.

  Standing at the door in his Human-Vallic energetic state, Scotty reached a nearly invisible hand through the door’s locking mechanism, and then used projected gravity waves—a well-practiced ability—to empower natural forces to manipulate solid matter. The internal latch retracted with an audible Click. Scotty opened the door then stepped inside, already transformed again into his Human physical state.

  “Hi Mom! Ready to go?”

  Like Alison, Brianna was seated on a metal chair in front of a metal table—both were bolted onto the floor. What Scotty didn’t expect to see were the two men, garbed in business suits, seated directly across from her. Both glanced up, alarmed expressions on their faces. His mother’s eyes were red-rimmed—clearly she’d been crying. Fighting his first impulse to kill the men right where they sat, he simply motioned for his mother to come with him. She stood without looking at her interrogators then walked past them and out the door. Scotty waited for one, or both of them, to reach for a weapon, but neither one did. Instead, the man on the right said, “Do what you have to do. I … we … have zero doubt about who you are and what you’re here to do. Go.”