by Ian Taylor
She returned to the books on ufology. It wasn't exactly like meeting old friends, but as she turned pages she found herself absorbed … as if she’d been studying the subject for years. This is where I belong, she thought, eying a picture of a celestial sphere. This is my new life. The world is a mess, with continued use of fossil fuels and consequent global warming, beyond anyone's power to heal. What had Ashtaroth to offer in the way of a transformation? She urgently needed to know his plan without revealing her deception. An impossible task it seemed.
She projected her hopes in Ashtaroth's direction, thinking of him as Ashtar, the kindly Roman senator. She willed him to receive her thoughts. After a while, she felt calm and knew he’d heard. Slowly, she sensed herself filled with his power.
She was standing at the top of a long flight of steps, addressing a large outdoor gathering. Below were the upturned faces of hundreds, maybe thousands, of listeners. A giant screen and sound system had been set up, from which her face and voice were relayed around the globe. The long campaign had been successful. There had been immense loss of life, but the alien force had finally withdrawn. They would have to colonise a different planet—this one had proven too difficult for them.
She could see the figure of Ashtar in the corner of her eye. He was standing behind a pillar, like a theatre producer in the wings. He was controlling the words she spoke as he had always done and simultaneously syphoning energy the crowd was directing towards her. But he left her with enough to sustain her constant feeling of euphoria and the self-belief that had, almost of itself, guaranteed victory.
"My friends," she shouted from the steps, "we have won the greatest battle in the history of the human race!"
A resounding cheer erupted from the assembled multitude. She soaked up the adulation, then felt it absorbed by Ashtar.
"We are one people. One people! The rightful inheritors of Planet Earth. It is our world and we have earned the right to possess every inch of it. Thank you for standing solidly behind the Earth First movement. Thank you for supporting the brave leaders who have gained this historic victory. Now we must go forward and make Planet Earth the paradise we all know it could be!"
A great roar went up from the host of listeners. The screen showed crowds of people all over the world leaping to their feet and shouting support. She let herself fill with their energy until she thought she would explode. Then she felt it being sucked out of her by the figure glowing eerily behind the pillar.
"Let us move forward," she cried, raising an arm. "Let us make the New World!"
She roused from the dream—the revelation—as if waking from a session of hypnosis. It took a few minutes for churning emotions to settle. So this was Ashtaroth's plan. How wonderful. How completely inspiring. She was one hundred per cent behind it and eager to play her part in his visionary future. She could hardly wait to get started!
Jan filled with stupendous confidence and energy. Oh yes, she thought, this was life. This was how she had always wished to be.
Like a revenant from a discarded world, Russell poked his head into the room. "Message for you. It's just come in."
"Who from?" she asked, thinking of charismatic Ashtar in his toga.
"Someone who signs off as G. It came to the general mailbox. Is your email insecure?"
She shrugged. "Probably."
He passed a hastily scrawled note that read“change your phone and ring me tonight”. A phone number followed.
"It's just one of my sources," she lied.
"You're working on something?" he prodded with undisguised interest.
"It's early days," she replied with an innocent smile.
"Anything I can help you with?"
She shook her head. "Don't think so. It could take years off your life."
For once she felt famished and tucked into a hearty lunch of chicken au gratin with side salad. She ate in an up-market restaurant as befitted her new role as leader in waiting of the Earth First Movement.
She was finishing her second caramel-infused latte when she caught sight of the checkered-raincoat man walking past the window. She felt like flinging a knife at his face. How dare he follow her? If he was here because of Ashtar, she wasn’t amused. Didn't he trust her? She was committed to his New World plan and wanted no more spies. To her shock, she saw the man wrench her knife from the back of his head as he glared at her. . “Serves you right,” she mouthed. “Now disappear!”
That she’d developed an unwanted psychokinetic ability disturbed her. What other unknown talents did she possess? The power of the evil eye, perhaps? The ability to lay curses on enemies? She chose not to speculate further and returned to her office, continuing to read until the early November dusk crept over the city’s roofscape. Then she cleared the desk and drove out of town.
Jan parked herself on a flat stone in the abandoned quarry and waited. A souceless hazy glow illuminated the area. There was no wind. No sound. The bushes were as still as carvings. It had happened again: the seamless transition.
Ashtar's voice came from behind, making her jump. "You see now that you can shape the new world. You see now that I can give you that power."
She turned slightly, trying to keep him in the corner of her eye. He was in that flowing multicolor robe, smiling like Jesus before the multitude at Bethsaida. She could see that his offer could prove very flattering to the egos of many people. Tempted by that persuasive tone, she could understand why less self-critical individuals could fall for it. And even if they realised the trap, they’d willingly succumb to Stockholm Syndrome rather than fight. Quickly, she buried the thoughts deep in her subconscious.
"Why are you doing this?" Jan asked nonchalantly. "What do you gain from it?"
"I will gain nothing. You will be the one to benefit."
His persuasiveness was working on another level. Besides ego enhancement, which was easy to handle, so she thought, she could feel her self-possession weakening. He was drawing resources from her, ones she’d need to keep his powerful will from swamping her. What could she do to prevent it? Any attempt to outwit him would be read in advance. Regardless, she forged ahead.
"Let's leave this new world for a moment. Whatever your plans for that might be, they're flawed. Most people aren't ready to be part of it. They haven't shaken off the centuries of conditioning. What kind of new world could possibly work for them?"
"I'm not here to talk about most people. You’re the one who’ll lead them. I’ll give you the vision to inspire them. Fear will drive them into your embrace. You’ll elevate their minds."
"We're talking about the disenfranchised, the marginalised, are we not?
"They will trust and follow you."
She didn't reject his words as mere manipulation, but absorbed them into her consciousness, to be dealt with later, in relative safety.
Crossing her arms, she glanced at him directly for the briefest of moments. "I came here because I want answers to straightforward questions. Who are those men who look like detectives?"
"They’re nobodys."
"Do they work for the military?"
"Not directly."
His evasiveness was beginning to infuriate her, but she tried to keep her cool. "What's that supposed to mean? Do they or don't they?"
He was trying to move before her and she did her best to prevent his full-on presence from overpowering her. She knew through her research that, at any moment, he could transform from benign senator to terrifying being or beast.
"They fulfil a function. They don't even know who they work for." His voice was light, pleasant and mesmerising, the once harsh metallic tone confined to the past.
She felt her mind melting, her thoughts losing focus. "I could have guessed as much myself," she said, mimicking his tone and manner. "If you know everything, why can't you answer simple questions? You're more evasive than a politician."
"Ask me anything," he said simply.
"You know what I want to know—the truth about the light in the field. Why
not tell me? There's no mileage in playing guessing games."
"Be patient. You’ll have all the answers you need. I’ll guide you."
It was clear the meeting was over. She’d not been able to draw unambiguous answers from him and he’d not managed to undermine her independent thoughts. So far, it was a stalemate.
Slowly he dissolved into an aura-like glow and vanished.
She wanted to shout after him, as she would have done with anyone else. Demanding answers from tight-lipped officials suggested they had something to hide. But this demon was new territory. She’d have to be extremely smart to get any further with him. If she pushed too hard, he might lose patience and kill her. Trying not to waste vital energy on anger, she left the quarry.
Jan sat in the car, parked in the darkest corner of the little-frequented car park between the canal towpath and the inner ringroad of the city, west of the Half Moon Inn. The nearest street lights were close to the road; the BMW was almost invisible in the shadows.
She must let Ashtar think he’d brainwashed her. She tried to send a direct telepathic message: “I am intrigued by your talk of a new world. We must speak again soon. I am ready to play my part.” She had no doubt he’d respond. But how?
Gripped by an irrational fear that he might suddenly appear and smother the BMW with his hideous demonic wings, she drove into the middle of the car park, ready to leave quickly if necessary. Was he sending a threatening message, or was it paranoia?
She took her new mobile from her bag and keyed a number.
A muffled voice answered."Hello?"
"It's me."
"Are you alone?"
"Of course."
"How are you?"
"Getting paranoid."
"At least you know that. Where are you?"
"In the loneliest car park in the world."
She gave cryptic directions and rang off. Her conversation had been so banal, she doubted Mr A, as she now thought of calling Ashtar/Ashtaroth, would have bothered to pay it any attention.
When ten minutes had passed, a gleaming Harley-Davidson roared into the car park. A figure in biker gear dismounted and approached the car. The figure removed his crash helmet when he reached the vehicle; it was Greg, looking handsome with a ponytail and heavy designer stubble. She opened the window.
"This is the latest incarnation, is it?"
"Gerry Reynolds, at your service," he grinned. "Otherwise known as Big G."
"Feel like letting me know your real name?" she asked with a wry smile. "For old time's sake?"
"How would you know I was telling the truth?"
They laughed.
"A bike's a bit conspicuous, isn't it?"
"Not when I'm wearing this." He indicated the crash helmet. "And it's a great means of escape from dangerous situations."
"How long have you got it for?"
"Three days. But that's plenty of time."
"For what?" she asked, intrigued.
"Proof."
She decided to tell the truth and see how he reacted. "I'm working for Mr A, so we have to be extra careful. You'll find his CV in any number of ancient demonologies."
His look of horror gave way to one of deep respect. "That's incredibly brave."
"There's no other way."
"I guess that's right. Just watch your reactions. He's quick."
"I'll do my best."
It was a night of muted moonlight and towering horizon cumulus. The Half Moon Inn was a silent block of darkness against the sky. Jan and Gerry, in protective clothing, stood by the gate to the field where the strange light had come down. The rumble of traffic came from the main road and the wind whistled thinly through long grasses by the gate.
"According to Mr A you're a false witness." She tried to sound casual. His amused reaction was unexpected.
"He would say that."
"You know this guy?"
"We're old opponents. But I knew him as Ashok. The irony of the name wasn't deliberate, I'm sure. These guys don't do irony."
"And he knows you're with me."
"It seems he does. But that shouldn't compromise your whirlwind romance. Just focus on your new role. Keep it in the front of your mind. Give me bad press if you must."
"He'll see through your change of identity, even if no one else does."
Gerry shrugged. "We'll have to play it out. I did wonder if you were his target from the start. How many other reporters were here when the incident occurred?"
"None. I didn't think about it at the time. I was just after a scoop."
He scanned her face thoughtfully. "It seems you were singled out from the beginning."
"But why?"
"I've no idea; he must have been drawn to you. But don't let it go to your head."
His comment set her mind racing. What could possibly have attracted this demon to her?
"On that night, you're certain the guys in police uniforms stayed in their vehicles?"
"Apart from Hemingway. And the one you spoke to. And the robot on the door."
"It seems they definitely knew the site was toxic. We won't be here long."
They climbed the gate into the field. He carried a Soeks Quantam Professional Geiger Counter, with two Geiger-Muller counters. She had a notebook and caver’s lamp. Halfway down the field, she stopped.
"I'm sure this is the spot where the light landed."
"We'll soon find out," Gerry said grimly. "Keep focusing your thoughts on Mr A's new world. We don't want him arriving while we're working."
As they stepped into the area she’d indicated, the Geiger counter's audible clicks accelerated until they became a continuous barrage. She leaned close so her lamp illuminated the counters.
"It's off the scale," he exclaimed.
After measuring the area and assessing the levels of radiation, she wrote the information in the notebook, trying as best she could to keep her mind focused on the privilege of playing a major role in the future of the planet. After fifteen minutes, her colleague decided they’d done enough.
Placing their protective clothing into a sealed container in the back of her car, she drove quickly down the main road. She set the radio on white noise to pre-empt any chance that Mr A could pick up on their conversation.
"I'd say the light–I'm thinking of it now as a very sophisticated vehicle–had a radius of between nine and ten metres, " he began. "But the readings are still high outside that circle. And this was most likely only a small experimental device."
"So it was definitely some kind of secret weapon." She shuddered.
"It's not going to stay secret for long," he said angrily. "We'll have to get this info out there, but it could be too compromising to put on your blog, unless you let me take it over."
She suddenly felt possessive about the blog. "I'll have to think about that."
"Don't take too long."
"I'd like to return in daylight and take photos. There could be visual evidence to back up the Geiger readings."
"Photos can be easily faked. But we can try it."
"Have you reached any conclusions about what's going on?" she asked, eying him closely.
"Incredible as it may seem, I think a rogue element in the western military could be working with demons on some unimaginably terrifying project. Am I close?"
"Too close." Excitedly, she told him about her vision of the future, as if she was already selling it to media-led multitudes.
"Wow," he exclaimed. "That's amazing! I really hope it's a success. And I really want to be a part of it. Really!"
He was playing the game. But they still had to be wary.
"Mr A's precise plans are far from clear to me. All he'll talk about is this vague new world he's making."
"If it wasn't for that light and what's happened to those two girls, I'd have said that sounds like his usual bullshit.” He scratched his temple thoughtfully. “But this time, I think it could be genuine … as far as anything can be with his kind."
He fell silent, re
fusing to speculate further, but she was pleased he was with her again. Truth be known, she was much more pleased than she’d ever care to admit.
Next morning, Gerry sat on the Harley while Jan leaned into the field gate and took numerous photos, using one of Alec's spare zoom lenses she’d 'forgotten' to return.
"There's distinct circular discolouration on the grass. I can pick it up from here without needing to get closer."
"That might be from heat. Don't suppose there's any sign of blast damage?"
"Nothing I can see,” Jan replied with a shake of the head. “The surrounding area looks normal. Any wildlife casualties would have been removed." She pondered. "So it's a totally silent device and possibly a highly selective killer."
"That looks like a UFO and can be blamed on aliens. An inspired move, thanks to our old pal, Mr A."
"To be used against whom?"
"I dread to think."
"It won't work," she stated emphatically. "It's too incredible. No one will buy it."
"They will if the corporate media goes for it. They've sold other unlikely scenarios. The unbelievable has been accepted more times than you'd think. Holocaust denials got a fair bit of traction. And disinformation on climate change got much more–look at the damage those lies have caused in the last fifty years! Anyway, believing in an alien attack is your job as the inspired persuader of the people."
"There'll be doubters, in spite of me. I can only do so much to convince them." With a wry smile, she warmed to her task. "I can shout from the rooftops, but they might not choose to hear."
"Believe me, the captive media will sell the idea that we're under attack from space. The mainstream outlets will be full of it. We're halfway there already with all the sci-fi movies, fantasy novels, and videogames, plus so-called extraterrestrial visitations on the fringe. The main doubters will be older folks. Most young guys will accept it, certainly in the US, especially when they see convincing images. The West has faked war footage for decades. Even in these extreme times, young people haven't had the chance to become as cynical as we are."