Here Comes Earth: Emergence

by William Lee Gordon

  HERE COMES EARTH

  Emergence

  By William Lee Gordon

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  Text copyright © 2014 William Luznicky

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Medsabi

  Frisco, TX

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Dedication

  This work is dedicated to the love of my life, my wife Consuelo.

  17 years ago in a beautiful mountain valley just outside of Cali, Colombia we held our wedding reception for extended family, friends, and anyone else that happened to wonder by.

  I was the American stealing the local princess away from her family, friends and culture. As was tradition, I made a speech to her in front of everyone, in a second language that I am far from perfect in, with only my sincerity and heart able to win the day.

  What follows are the words I have never regretted and that are truer today than ever before…

  Consuelo,

  Every good man has dreams for his future. In my life I have had many trials and tribulations in my quest to pursue my dreams. Each defeat has made me stronger and each victory has been well earned.

  My vision for the future is very strong.

  I have worked hard to build financial security for a wife and children. I have worked hard to earn social positions of respect and integrity that my family would deserve. The hardest work I have done, however, has been on myself; to mature and learn and grow so that I can be the best husband and father that I can be. To learn patience, to earn wisdom, to learn respect, to conquer fear. The woman of my dreams would deserve no less.

  There are some people that do not understand why I would travel this far to pay court to you. They do not realize that traveling around the world is the easiest thing I have done to be worthy of you.

  Now that I have found you, I thank God for saving you for me.

  And now that my prayers are answered, I find that my dreams are only beginning.

  I love you Consuelo.

  Chapter 1

  Dr. Mark Spencer

  It’s not the cleavage that distracts a man; it’s the movement. It’s the total lack of self-consciousness or guile when leaning over a table, climbing onto a barstool, or laying out in the sun. Depending on who you talk to, they say that Latin women are the most beautiful in the world and I certainly wouldn’t argue. There’s something about a bikini clad, brown skinned beauty holding your gaze; it’s almost as if her wide smile is daring you to break eye contact and roam southwards. To succumb to that temptation or not, that is the question that for many a man has determined the course of the next few hours, week, or lifetime.

  My name is Dr. Marquis Spencer; Mark to my friends and everyone else except the Federal government. I am (was) by vocation an up-and-coming history professor; already published, complete with two other PhDs (anthropology and sociology) and other assorted credentials - credentials that up until about fourteen months ago I was very proud of. I truly believed that I knew more about the history of mankind than 99% of anyone that had ever lived.

  I knew as well as anyone on the planet then, the fate of less advanced cultures being confronted by those that were vastly superior. There’s only one winner and the guy trembling in his boots witnessing magic ain’t it. Like Native Americans or the Aborigines of Australia or the Incas of Peru, I’d studied and helped document civilization after civilization that collapsed after being exposed to a superior culture. Who could blame me then for being one of the first to realize our fate?

  You see, on one gorgeous October evening everything changed. That’s the day everyone on the planet learned that we’re not alone.

  It shouldn’t be surprising then that I eventually took a leave of absence to spend a few months soul searching, mojito drinking, and brown body chasing – just to get my perspective back. I wasn’t really sure if it was working but then I wasn’t all that concerned about it. I figured I’d find balance sooner or later or die trying … and after all, it wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.

  It was a Monday or Tuesday – or maybe a Thursday? – when she first approached me. This in and of itself wasn’t unheard of. I’m a reasonably attractive man. At exactly 6 ft. I’m not too tall and my body type is what some people call Vatta – more of a swimmer’s build than a bodybuilder. It’s not that I don’t work out (when I remember or have time), it’s just that I’m naturally a low body fat kind of guy and it’s not totally unheard of for a woman to decide she wants to know me better. That is how it happens, you know. This entire machismo charade about guys picking up girls by wooing them with candy, flowers, great restaurants and shows is straight out of the movies. Men have only one option when it comes to the mating game; we can make our presence known. That’s it. All other decisions lie in the hands of the woman; if, what type, and how long any potential relationship might last is totally at their discretion from that point on. A colleague of mine in the Sociology Department once explained to me that this is the historical root cause for all sports – for men to get themselves noticed by women. Judging from the lifestyle of several pro athletes I’ve known I’d say it’s still working.

  Anyway, it wasn’t totally unheard of for a woman to place herself in my path in order to size me up a little better. It was a little unusual for it to happen so early in the morning, and it was downright strange for her to be feeling my pulse and gazing deeply into my eye while she held my eyelid up with the ball of her thumb. I’ll admit I was having trouble deciphering the sweet little nothings that lovers so often whisper into each other’s ear as my lightning sharp intellect was coming around to the conclusion that I’d never seen this woman before. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t even brown skinned and the sweet little nothings turned out to be phrases like, “it’s just a hangover.”

  Instinctually knowing that I had a narrowing window to make a good first impression, I said the most intelligent thing I could think of, “Where am I?”

  ∆∆∆

  “Beach cabanas in this part of the world tend to be oversized outdoor beds with no walls and thatched roofs,” I explained. There was certainly nothing undignified about sleeping through the night in one. As I contemplated the more problematic aspects of not having been able to find
my clothes, or the fact that mine wasn’t the only naked body passed out in the cabana, I cleverly steered the conversation onto more dignified ground.

  “Besides,” I said. “It’s quite common in Costa Rica.”

  “We found you in Puerto Rico.”

  “Whatever.”

  In my defense it was quite disconcerting to be having this conversation at an altitude of 20,000 ft. from the cabin of what I deduced to be a Gulfstream IIX, wearing only borrowed coveralls (no underwear) and no shoes, speaking to whom I was belatedly realizing was a very attractive blonde haired blue eyed government official.

  I’ve always had a keen ability to size up a situation and if there was ever a time to go on the offensive this was it. I said, “Ok miss CIA, NSA, HS, or whatever other spook agency you work for, I think it’s about time you told me what’s going on. It’s been some time since we discovered that we’re not alone in the universe and I can’t imagine a bigger crisis than that but apparently we’re in it. The government doesn’t send out a top agent in one of its VIP Gulfstreams to abduct a trained specialist unless there is an immediate and urgent need, and although I admit that I can’t quite imagine why you would need my particular specialty it’s obvious that you’re willing to go to great lengths to get me. So why do you need me and why am I so valuable?”

  After what seemed an eternity of silence Little Miss Blue Eyes started to giggle. “Ah, Dr. Spencer, while I do work for the government it’s not as any kind of agent. I’m an inspector for the Fish and Game Commission. My daddy sits on the Board of Regents at your university and asked me if I wouldn’t mind collecting you on my way back from a conference in San Juan – apparently your Department Head has been trying to track you down for two weeks. I guess they do want to talk to you, but I don’t have the slightest idea why. The plane is my daddy’s and he sometimes lets me use it for long trips – and for the record, it’s a Citation.

  ∆∆∆

  That was this morning and as I sat waiting in the Dean’s office I found my mind equally divided between: trying to remember what I’d been drinking that would still leave me with a pounding headache 24 hours later, trying to figure out why I’d been called to this meeting, and resigning myself to the fact that it would be professional suicide to call the phone number Little Miss Blue Eyes had slipped into my coverall pocket.

  It was right about this time that the door opened and Dean Richards walked in along with two other people. “Dr. Spencer, it’s about time you showed up. Keep disappearing like that and people are going to think you’ve gone crazy like all the other lunatics out there.”

  I had to admit there was a lot of truth to what the Dean was saying. The revelation that we were not alone in the universe, that our technology was inferior in just about every way, and all the now incumbent questions of our true origins had driven quite a few otherwise stable people over the top. Our society wasn’t quite in disarray, but thank God there were a fair amount of well-grounded people like myself to keep things going.

  “Dr. Spencer, I want you to meet agent Mulley and agent Sculder. They’re here to brief you and I just want to say that the university is mighty proud to have you on faculty. Damn proud. It takes a lot of courage to volunteer for an assignment like this and I just want you to know that your position here at the university will be held open for you in perpetuity; you’ll always have a home to come back to. Now I have a pressing appointment so I’m going to leave you in the good hands of these two agents.”

  As Dean Richards walked out the door, my mind was racing. What did I volunteer for? When did I volunteer? Why would they need to hold open my position indefinitely? Come back from where? What would Little Miss Blue Eyes look like in a bikini?

  ∆∆∆

  It wasn’t until the next night that the truth came out. Agents Mulley and Sculder (if that were their real names) had grilled me for hours and had been very helpful when it came to informing me of exactly where I’d need to be at what time and what day, of what I would need to bring, and of exactly who I could (or more realistically, couldn’t) talk to this about. Other than some vague reference to the remote possibility of permanent quarantine, nothing was said about the length of my absence or where I was going.

  I have found that my best insights often occur in that twilight state between waking and dreaming. It was early that next morning when I was laying in just such a contented state that I had a brilliant flash of intuition; all of the pieces suddenly came together for me. I rolled over and said, “Say that again.”

  Little Miss Blue Eyes responded, “They’re sending you off planet.”

  ΔΔΔ

  A few hours later she kissed me on the cheek and patted me on the rump as she loaded me and my one allowed bag into the backseat of a limousine and I sped off to yet again another private airport. This time I’m sure it was a Gulfstream IIX and I would’ve confirmed it if I hadn’t slept the entire trip.

  Upon landing, I disembarked and nearly lost my lunch so intense was the heat and brilliance of the sun. After a short bus ride we entered a warehouse and I was loaded into a large freight elevator and again nearly lost it when the floor literally fell out from underneath me. Deep in what was apparently an empty underground complex I was assigned a room, shown the ‘head’ at the end of a deserted hall and told about the adjoining commissary. With instructions not to venture out of this area I was blissfully ignored and somehow managed to find my bed all on my own.

  ∆∆∆

  I awoke and stumbled out of my room 12, 24, or 36 hours later (my watch was an antique analog). I had vague recollections of making my way to the bathroom at the end of the hall once (several times?) but this was the first time I’d felt coherent in recent memory – and the smell of bacon was driving me crazy.

  The hallways were no longer empty and the commissary was especially busy. I grabbed a tray and plied two plates high with eggs, pancakes, bacon, and everything else I could find. It was only then, as I turned away from the buffet line, that I realized a lot of people were staring at me. Ok, so maybe I was the only person in the room without a shirt and come to think of it I didn’t see anyone else wearing boxers either (at least that I could tell). I am too enlightened and accepting of the universe to ever feel self-conscious but, I rationalized, my legs were still weak and I probably should quickly find a place to sit down – except there weren’t any empty tables. After several false starts I surprised myself with the amount of gratitude I felt when several people from across the room started waving me over.

  “I told you it was him,” Julie said. We'd made quick introductions before I'd launched into my breakfast. Of the three people already at the table, two were women and one of them was gorgeous. I'm not normally wowed by beauty, but Julie was beautiful in a way I'd never seen before. It wasn’t just the small gold cross necklace that gave me an excuse to study her perfect cleavage; she had a wholesome, youthful look that could have graced the cover of any college recruiting brochure worldwide. She looked fresh, healthy, and happy – and was therefore irresistible. Unfortunately she was also giving me a hard time.

  “Do you always come to breakfast in your underwear, or do you just have an aversion to khaki?” was the first thing she’d said to me after shaking my hand. Apparently, we had all been issued government clothing but I hadn't bothered to open my closet. Actually, I hadn't bothered to even think about it but I didn't believe this would be the most circumspect time to admit it. Instead I rightly pointed out that I'd been spending a lot of time in the islands lately and that this was perfectly acceptable dress there. From Julie’s incredulous look I realized she wasn't tracking so I did the most diplomatic thing I could think of - I dove into my breakfast.

  It turns out that all of us at the table were assigned to the same field team (squad). That's how Julie knew who I was; she’d reviewed my file. Apparently we were all being divided up into teams of specialists and were expected to get to know each other and form a working relationship. For that reason, we'd all been gi
ven team member files downloaded onto our government issued smartpads (mine was in my room, with my bag, in that same closet that I'd never bothered to open). It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to go look at it. After all it contained our mission brief and (since I had no idea what I was doing here) it probably contained things I needed to know…

  ∆∆∆

  It was about at this point that my reality kind of started snapping back into place. I’d spent the last number of months in a mental fog (could it have really been three months since I’d left the University?), and for months prior to that I’d felt a hopeless sense of dread as I watched many of the normally sane people around me give in to The Crazies.

  That’s what they were calling it: the tendency for otherwise normal people to just stop doing what they were doing and start doing something else. In an eighteen-month period as much as 17% of the working adults in North America, Europe, and much of Asia changed careers. My banker became my gardener and Uncle Jim decided he wanted to be an Alaskan tour guide – not that there’s anything wrong with that but he was a stock broker from Manhattan and had never been to Alaska. I wasn’t terribly surprised to hear he’d accidently shot off his foot some time later. Auto racing seemingly overnight became the largest sport in the country (with the majority of races utilizing street legal vehicles). Turn on ESPN4 and you’d have a good chance of catching Mini-Vans fighting for position or SUVs bouncing through a Moto-Cross track. It wasn’t that people weren’t working (they still had to eat), it’s just that they were working on less productive things in a less than organized manner. I seem to remember the President addressing the nation urging people to think through their career decisions carefully before making a change.