“And this here is Alison McGuire. She’s … ”
“I’m an FBI agent,” Alison interjected, “and also a friend. I wanted to help. I still do.”
Ernesto and then Tiffany shook her hand. Tiffany, holding on to it, said, “You do know Scotty is our leader, right? That much of the responsibility of what will ensue—the planet’s migration to planet Hope—rests on his big shoulders?”
Alison nodded then shook her head. “No, wait, there are other ships … other teams like yours, right?”
“Sure … and they all answer to Scotty Sullivan. We all do. Over the past sixteen years there were hundreds of snotty-nosed kids just like us. We were all vying to become the primary. It turned out that Scotty was most suited for the position. Though I still think I would have been a far better choice,” Tiffany said, leering at Scotty with a crooked smile.
“I don’t disagree,” Scotty said, sounding like he meant it.
Alison turned to Scotty. “So, what does that mean? The primary?”
“I think it’s best thought of one being the liaison.” He gestured to the remarkably subdued crowd looking on. “I’m the designated representative from planet Hope. More like the Human-Vallic welcome wagon guy.”
Alison, glancing down, noticed Tiffany still holding her hand.
Tiffany continued, her voice just above a whisper, “All I’m saying is that nothing can come between Scotty and his mission here. The last thing he needs is some distraction. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“As I said, I just want to help out any way I can,” Alison said flatly. “Having someone assist, one who actually works within the government, can be an asset I assure you.”
The crowd surrounding them was again on the move—shuffling now even farther backwards. Noticing that their faces were all raised toward the sky, Alison glanced up too. Two Rompers were circling downward from the spacecraft above. She then noticed Tiffany, now several paces away, seemed to be talking to herself. Not to herself, exactly, but to two others in their nearly invisible energetic forms. They must have landed in the same Romper with Ernesto and Tiffany.
As the two crafts maneuvered overhead in final descent, the crowd suddenly separated—like Moses parting the Red Sea. Only now, no less than ten armed Marines preceded the newly appointed Secretary of Space Force Gordon Borkner, as he approached. Alison briefly wondered how he would react, finding they had escaped from their respective interrogation rooms. And since he previously had no qualms at all about shooting a spaceship out of the sky—would they be dealt with in a similar manner? Hell, maybe he’d have them shot right where they stood?
The Marines looked formidable as they assumed positions around the clearing. Coming up now behind a disheveled, sweaty-looking Borkner, was another man in shirtsleeves. She recognized NASA Flight Director Paul Mannford.
Alison meant what she’d said to Tiffany. She truly did want to help; to be some part of all this. As the two men rapidly approached, she said, “Let me handle this,” then moved ahead to greet them.
“Secretary Borkner, we meet again. Flight Director Mannford … I’m Special FBI Agent Alison McGuire.”
Borkner’s eyes were focused on Scotty. Throwing a quick glance at Alison, he looked annoyed at being deterred. “I’m in a hurry, um, Miss, so please step aside.”
“I told you before, when you had me forcibly locked into that small room, that I am Special Agent Alison McGuire of the FBI. I insist you tell your men to point their weapons somewhere beside Mr. Sullivan’s center mass.” Alison wasn’t even sure herself what she was doing now. Why she was ordering the military to adjust their aim to somewhere else. But then again, in light of what had happened to that alien spacecraft, her instincts were guiding her to make a stand. They also told her something else—where, and with whom, her loyalties now truly resided, a potentially irreversible and dangerous career move.
Her comment caught Borkner’s attention. “You know who I am then. That I work directly for … ”
“Perhaps I can be of assistance here,” Flight Director Paul Mannford cut in. He then extended a hand out for Alison to shake, which she accepted. She did her best to maintain some composure, although both men were the superstars of government agencies—Mannford was the George Clooney of NASA, although certainly not in looks.
Mannford said, “It is important that we speak with Mr. Sullivan, Agent McGuire. I’m sure, in light of everything that’s going on here, you can understand that.”
“Sir, what I do understand, as the rest of the world now looks on, is that America’s first response to a friendly alien encounter was to totally annihilate their spaceship … even before exchanging any real dialogue.” Alison had no idea if that was actually true, but suspecting that it was, she went with it. “So, no, you will talk to me first for now. I officially request that you and Mr. Borkner have the muzzles of those M4’s held by those Marines pointed elsewhere.” Her eyes were on Borkner. She knew that Mannford, the flight director, had nothing to do with the Marines’ presence there.
When Gordon Borkner moved closer to her, a waft of sour body odor assaulted her nostrils—the kind of BO that often results under intense stress. Bringing up a hand, perhaps to point a finger in her face, she heard four words come from someone nearby.
“Back the fuck off.”
Alison wasn’t sure just when Officer Pratt moved to her side. She didn’t need protection from the red-faced blowhard, but she appreciated Pratt’s intentions all the same.
Scotty broke the tension by speaking calmly—even friendly. “Secretary Borkner, I am glad to meet you. Do you mind if I call you Gordon?”
“Well, I would prefer—”
“And I prefer you call me Scotty. Everyone calls me Scotty. First of all, I want to enlighten you some … it will expedite matters immeasurably. I’m sure that’s what you want too. It will dissuade attitudes of them versus us. Because, Gordon, I’m sure you truly believe you’re simply doing your job. Keeping our citizens safe—protecting America, along with the rest of the world, from potentially dangerous alien beings. Perhaps even from an alien invasion. Am I correct in my assumption?”
Borkner glanced at the ever-growing crowd now encircling them. His eyes not focused on the myriad of citizen faces out there, but on the multiple network news camera lenses now pointed in his direction. “That’s right … that is exactly what we are doing here. Why the President of the United States and I spoke just a short while ago … ”
Scotty continued, “But that’s the thing, Gordon; there is no them. There are no aliens here to speak of. Not really. You see we’re from Earth.” Scotty gestured toward Ernesto and Tiffany and, as if on cue, two other people suddenly transitioned from their energetic state into Human forms. “We’re not aliens, we’re all Humans. My mother is standing right over there. I was born in Massachusetts. Tiffany was born in … ”
“Castle Rock, Colorado,” Tiffany offered.
Ernesto volunteered, “Thousand Oaks, California.”
“The aliens, the small team that there was, have, for the most part, died off—have literally given their lives to save mankind. There are twenty other Vallic spacecraft, identical to the one above us, positioned above population centers all around the world. Soon there will be more. Manning each of those crafts are Humans, or, more accurately, Human-Vallics; beings dedicating their lives to saving Humanity. Because what is coming, coming soon to this Solar System, is total annihilation.”
“He’s exactly right,” a distant voice said.
All eyes then turned toward the procession of six men, exiting from two recently landed Romper crafts. Alison recognized the two men out in front immediately—Astronauts Jack Landon and Greg Fischer—and she briefly wondered where Russian cosmonaut Peter Mirkin was. It then occurred to her that he very well might be in Russia where another alien ship, like the one now stationed above them, had assumed a similar position.
The crowd gave them leeway as the astronauts strode closer. While Fischer a
nd the others slowed as they approached, Jack Landon did not. His haymaker punch slammed into Gordon Borkner’s jaw hard enough to spin the big man around, sending him off-balance to the pavement. He landed on his ass—looking dumbfounded.
Alison automatically moved to get between the two but quickly realized one punch was all Landon intended to throw. What surprised her most was the eruption of loud cheers and applause coming from the encircling crowd, which had easily increased to thousands. When … how … did all these people arrive here?
Commander Landon stared down at the Secretary, his hand still balled into a tight fist. “You never even asked us, never considered that I, or Greg, or Peter, might have insight into who these aliens actually were; if their intentions were, in fact, beneficial to mankind. Instead, you fired upon a spacecraft sent to our Solar System to save us. To save us all!”
Alison, surprised, watched Scotty help Borkner up onto his feet. The government official’s suit coat had split in back, making him seem even more pathetic than before.
Alison glanced over at Scotty and asked, “So what now? How’s this all going to work? How do you get over seven billion people off a doomed planet?”
Scotty looked back at her, into her eyes, and held her gaze for several long beats. “We don’t. We can’t.”
Commander Landon, nodding his head, said, “He’s speaking the truth. Something I
Learned, too, when speaking with Hank. We’ll be lucky to save half the world’s
population, and that’s if we start right now. Today … ”
Chapter 58
Scotty interrupted the astronaut, “Wait … did you say Hank? Like in Professor Hank Stiles?”
Commander Landon momentarily appeared confused, then looked off to the side—toward Tiffany. She was having a heated conversation with one of the Human-Vallic’s who’d only recently become visible. Scotty’s eyes went to the man’s ridiculous-looking boy bun then into his pale blue eyes. “Hank?”
Although Hank’s hair had turned completely white, the man unmistakably was his mentor, the professor. Hank briefly smiled back, nervously noting everyone’s attention was focused solely on him.
Hank quickly approached, his smile replaced with a look of concern, perhaps even fear. “Scotty … I’ve been trying to reach you. Didn’t you get my messages? Is your Orand-Pall no longer operational?”
“No … it’s fine. It’s me. I just haven’t had time to check. What is it? What’s up?”
“The Vallic were wrong. Having never gotten this far ahead in front of the gamma ray … their calculations … it’s not going to hit here in sixteen months. Well, not all at one time. Sure, that’s when the brunt of it will be most destructive. But it’s a gradual build-up of force … a build-up that’s already started heading our way, making its way into our Solar System … right now!”
Scotty stared into the old professor’s eyes, seeking to find some morsel of hope there, but saw none. He spoke softly, quietly, trying to keep all signs of tension free from his voice. “Come on, Hank … what we are trying to do here—the migration of Earth’s population to planet Hope—was already problematic. Nearly impossible, in fact.”
Hank glanced at him apologetically, then turned toward the mostly well-behaved mass of onlookers. Scotty barely made out the words Hank said next.
“I fear most of the populous won’t make it off Earth, Scotty. Not with what we’ve recently learned. It would take a miracle to save any more than a fraction of Human kind … ”
The End.
Thank you for reading Boy Gone, Book 1. The adventure has only just begun—stay tuned for Boy Gone, Book 2, to be released within the next few months.
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Acknowledgments
First and foremost, I am grateful to the fans of my writing and the ongoing support of all my books. I’d like to thank my wife, Kim. She’s my rock and is a crucial, loving component of my publishing business. I’d like to thank my mother, Lura Genz, for her tireless work as my first-phase creative editor and a staunch cheerleader of my writing. I’d also like to thank Kimberly Peticolas for her detailed line editing work, and Ra Inta for his science and technical guidance. Others who provided fantastic support include Lura and James Fischer, Stuart Church, and Eric Sundius.
Check out the other available titles by Mark Wayne McGinnis on the following page.
Other Books by MWM
Scrapyard Ship Series
Scrapyard Ship (Book 1)
HAB 12 (Book 2)
Space Vengeance (Book 3)
Realms of Time (Book 4)
Craing Dominion (Book 5
The Great Space (Book 6)
Call To Battle (Book 7)
Tapped In Series
Mad Powers (Book 1)
Deadly Powers (Book 2)
Lone Star Renegades Series
Lone Star Renegades (also called ‘Jacked’) (Book 1)
Star Watch Series
Star Watch (Book 1)
Ricket (Book 2)
Boomer (Book 3)
Glory for Space Sea and Space (Book 4)
Space Chase (Book 5)
Scrapyard LEGACY (Book 6)
The Simpleton Series
The Simpleton (Book 1)
The Simpleton Quest (Book 2)
Galaxy Man Series
Galaxy Man (Book 1)
Ship Wrecked Series
Ship Wrecked (Book 1)
Boy Gone Series
Boy Gone (Book 1)
Copyright © 2018, by Mark Wayne McGinnis. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Published by:
Avenstar Productions
E-book ISBN: 978-0-9992147-7-0
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Boy Gone Page 26