The Roswell Protocols

by Allan Burd

  Gaines stood up, regaining his composure. “I want their biological profiles sent to me immediately,” he said to Chase. “Autopsy reports, too.” He wanted to know exactly what he was up against.

  Chase didn’t mind this concession. It was minor, as the Canadians would have all the same data uncovered after a few weeks of study anyway. He also knew it was Gaines’ way of confirming the truthfulness of his story, or at least this part of it. “No problem.” However, he knew it would be the final part of his story that Gaines might not believe. “You ready to hear the important stuff?”

  They continued walking to put some distance between them and the extraterrestrial body. Gaines knew that within the hour Lt. Carlson’s evacuation and recovery squad would retrieve the remains, as well as every other piece of physical and biological evidence. All would be inventoried and categorized and a detailed report would be prepared for him to review later. His priority now was to figure out what to do next and for that he needed to concentrate on what Colonel John Chase had to tell him. “Go on.”

  “Just keep in mind it was the 1940’s. We weren’t as sophisticated back then. Majestic performed autopsies on the dead and held the one that was still alive in an isolated chamber. The idea was to keep it alive so we could learn as much as possible, but it wasn’t working. Every effort at communication failed and the alien’s condition was deteriorating. It had trouble digesting our food. Our medicine was insufficient. So not knowing what else to do, Majestic called in a team of top brains—marine biologists, astrophysicists, archeologists. They even called in a friggin’ psychologist.

  “The scientists did a good job too. One guy theorized that our environment had to be more deadly to them than they would be to us. He said that man had thousands of years of evolution to develop immunities to most of the viruses on this planet. The aliens had no such defense. So he risked going into the chamber totally unprotected. No plastic suit, no gun, nothing. Just walked in there and talked to it. They didn’t understand each other, but that seemed to be the turning point. The psychologist said it gave the alien hope. Who the hell knows?”

  “Is that why you weren’t wearing any biohazard suits?”

  “Yeah. The possibility is still there that an alien virus could affect us, but the odds of it surviving our atmosphere are slim. Besides, we know they’ve been back many times since then and they haven’t infected anyone yet.”

  Gaines showed surprise upon hearing that.

  “Not wearing suits was a risk,” Chase said. “But a minor one. I decided to take it to meet with them face to face, just like that scientist did.”

  “Telepathic?” asked Gaines.

  “No. That’s just another piece of disinformation.”

  “So how did they communicate with it?”

  “Badly. Like I said it was the 1940’s. Their faces are mostly expressionless, their eyes are passive, so it’s very difficult to read their emotional state. Most of it was done by pointing. We did manage to teach it some sign language, but we never got past the basics. We weren’t sure if that was deliberate on the alien’s part. One of the sci guys was a linguist. He didn’t know. The marine biologist called in an expert on dolphin communications, but he had no luck either. Who knows, it might not have wanted to tell us anything, but they still learned.

  “The alien was closer to a dolphin than a human. They changed its diet to seafood and it gradually got better. Their language is sophisticated, even though we can’t understand it. They have a poor sense of smell, excellent eyesight, and good hearing. Our scientists even speculate they can use echolocation. You know, generating sounds like sonar so you can see in the dark. The scientists were so proud of themselves. They started calling themselves ‘The Order of the Dolphin’.”

  Chase paused for a moment to let all that information sink in and then continued. “This is where it gets interesting.

  They continued their studies on the alien for four years, and during that time a rash of sightings were reported, but only Majestic’s people knew what was really going on. Its people came looking for it. Luckily, Majestic destroyed or hid all the evidence so quickly from the public that it also kept our subject hidden from its people. Majestic thought if they played it cool, basically ignoring the sightings, the aliens would give up and go away. It didn’t happen. The number of sightings increased tremendously. We even had people claiming they were abducted.

  “Nobody really believed it, but we thought it might be the aliens’ way of sending us a message. We had their people, now they had ours. As the stories leaked, they felt pressure from the politicos. The populace was beginning to panic and they didn’t like telling their constituents that unknown objects were buzzing American skies and they didn’t know what or who they were, and they couldn’t do anything about it even if they did. Remember what happened when Orson Welles made that radio broadcast. The last thing they wanted was another incident of mass hysteria.

  “So Majestic decided the best course of action would be to give up the bodies of the three dead ones. They were of no use to them anymore since they already performed the autopsies. There was fear that the aliens might think we desecrated their dead, but for lack of a better idea, they brought the remains to a UFO hotspot, figuring that would satisfy them. The next night one showed up. They signaled to it, but it didn’t respond. A white beam hit the bodies, they vanished, then the ship flew off. No one was even sure if they teleported the remains back to their ship or vaporized them. But no one cared. They all thought the mission was a success and celebrated. For the next few days, nothing was seen or caught on radar invading our skies. Majestic thought they pulled it off.”

  “And?”

  “And they were idiots. You don’t kidnap four kids and then release only three. Up until then, the aliens were unsure.

  Now they knew we had the other one, and they had no intention of leaving without ‘em. Majestic treating them like morons just pissed them off. A few days later, July 1952, an armada of saucers swarmed over the Capitol. They let us know they were there too. Caught every one of them on radar at National Airport, Andrews Air Force Base, and Bollings Air Force Base. Even the commercial pilots noticed. Some of the saucers flew at speeds as low as a hundred miles per hour, others as fast as eight thousand. Andrews scrambled a fighter squadron to meet them. The aliens shot down two before we wisely broke off our attack. Then, mysteriously, Andrews Air Force Base blacked out. They shut down an entire military installation without breaking a sweat. Scared the shit out of us. The following night, the alien was returned.”

  Gaines put on a skeptical frown. “I’m supposed to believe that?”

  “Feel free to check it out. Even though we were busy with the Korean War, the Democratic convention and the summer Olympics, the sightings made the headlines in several newspapers. Since then, we just know they’ve been watching us. In ‘69 they watched our moon launch. Heck, it was because of them that we and the Russians pushed so hard to get there. It was because of them Reagan initiated the Star Wars defense program.”

  “So where do you fit in?”

  “In 1953, after Majestic’s complete mishandling of the situation almost ended in interplanetary war—one in which we stood no chance of survival—a procedure was written up in the event any spaceship ever crashed again—The Roswell Protocols. Simply put, any crashed spacecraft must be retrieved and hidden immediately. All physical evidence must be completely removed or destroyed. Peaceful contact must be established with any occupants. They must be rescued, receive medical attention, and be returned unharmed to their race when they come for them. It’s our way of showing them that despite our past SNAFU, we are interested in a mutually beneficially relationship.”

  “In other words, don’t piss them off.”

  “Exactly,” said Chase.

  “And we killed most of them,” said Gaines realizing the full magnitude of their error. This was why Chase was so angry at him. But what consequences would they have to pay?

  “Now you unde
rstand what’s at stake. It’s not just the technology that’s important. If any other country gets a hold of this stuff, they’re not only going to use the technology against us, but they’re going to make the same mistakes we did, and I don’t think the aliens are going to react as kindly a second time.”

  “So tell me, Colonel. How come you never shared this information with the other governments of the world to prevent such an incident?”

  “Not my call. My guess is the reason back then was probably something under the guise of national security, and since then it has been put away and forgotten about.”

  “Great! Sooner or later aliens are going to come looking for their lost friends and when they do, they’re going to find them butchered and bullet riddled. We’re fucked. So what do we do now?” Gaines asked.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “Yeah,” said Gaines. What other choice did he have?

  “We get the ship and the occupants to a hidden underground base as quickly as possible. Last time their sensors didn’t penetrate underground. Then call your Prime Minister and tell him that sometime soon, he should be prepared for some pretty powerful visitors. And you’d better warn him, they ain’t gonna be happy.”

  45

  PRINCE RUPERT, CANADA

  Stacy Michaels leaned back and took a long deep breath. The air tasted as aged as the décor. The recliner she sat in was worn and softer than it should have been. She was unsure what to expect and nervous over the prospect of reliving her nightmare in vivid detail in front of her therapist and the hypnotist, Dr. Peterson.

  Jack Peterson was a pleasant looking man in his late fifties. His slightly round face was surrounded by receding salt and pepper hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He had a stocky build with a definite, though small paunch. “Would you like some water before we begin?” he asked.

  “No … no, let’s just get this over with,” said Stacy nervously. She fidgeted a moment in the chair, before settling in again and taking another deep breath.

  Dr. Peterson noted her anxiety. “Remember, it’s important to relax. If you fight me, the technique won’t be effective. I can only do this with your complete cooperation.”

  Dr. Miller sat beside Stacy and held her hand. He was eager to hear what she might reveal. “It’ll be fine, Stacy. I’m right here with you. Nothing bad is going to happen.”

  Stacy squeezed his hand tightly and took another steadying breath. Then another. Then one more. “OK. I’m ready.”

  “Good.” Jack dimmed the lights and cued Dr. Miller to start the tape recorder. As Miller did so, Jack spoke slow and calm. “You and I are going to take a journey. We’re going to go back in time … back into the hidden recesses of your mind.”

  Stacy snickered.

  “I want you to relax completely and watch my left hand,” Jack said raising his left hand up to eye level.

  Stacy snickered again.

  “Focus on my hand,” he said, extending his palm out.

  Stacy cackled. The sight of this portly, older man hypnotizing her, combined with her own anxiety, made her burst out wildly with laughter. Her eyes watered and tears began streaming down her face. Then she stomped her foot twice and slapped the arm of the chair before catching herself. She then held onto the arm tight in a belated attempt to control herself. She failed miserably.

  Miller and Peterson tried to remain calm and to keep a mask of professionalism on their faces, but her laughter was contagious.

  Jack chuckled, and Dr. Miller started laughing, appreciating the rare smile on Stacy’s face. It had been a long time since he had seen her laugh so hard. This was a pleasant and most unexpected change of behavior.

  “I think that’s a little too relaxed,” Jack grinned.

  Stacy wiped the tears from her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I’ve just never been through this before.”

  “That’s quite all right, dear.” Jack removed his glasses and wiped a tear from his eye. “I haven’t laughed like this in years,” he said with a long sigh.

  “It’s just that …” she stammered as the smile disappeared from her face. “With everything going on and the nightmares … I just can’t take it anymore. I live in fear everyday and I don’t even know why.” Her tears flowed down her blushing cheeks. She had done a 180-degree mood swing. What was funny to her a few moments ago was now terribly sad. She hiccupped and gasped for air, as the emotional strain of the last twelve hours took its toll.

  “Just let it out, Stacy. You’ve probably been holding back for quite some time now,” said Dr. Peterson. “I’ve treated many patients with problems similar to yours.”

  “I think I’ll take that glass of water now,” she said, wiping her face with her sleeve. Her eyes were red and her black mascara was running.

  Dr. Peterson motioned for Miller to get the drink while he grabbed a package of Kleenex and handed it to Stacy. “I’m glad you’re relaxed now. You should be very relaxed,” he said in a soothing voice. He spoke to her as a friend, not a patient. “Take a deep breath and relax.”

  Without realizing it, Stacy complied.

  “Let any remaining tension drain away. Just sit back. Completely clear your mind.” He noticed her staring aimlessly and proceeded further. “Concentrate on the clock. Watch the second hand slowly move … ever so slowly. Keep watching it.” The clock hand wasn’t the ideal choice, but it was all Jack could think of on short notice. “Your mind is clear,” Dr. Miller came back in with the water and Jack signaled him to stop and sit down. “Just keep looking at the second hand. It’s OK to be tired. Just let yourself go, but keep focusing on the second hand.” He spoke softly and with repetition until she became entranced.

  “Can you hear me?” Peterson asked softly.

  “Emm,” mumbled Stacy.

  “Good. When I snap my fingers I want you to go to sleep. The only voice you will listen to will be mine. I’m going to ask you some questions and you’re going to search your mind for the answers. Do you understand?”

  “Mmmm,” she answered with a small nod.

  “I need you to speak clearly. Can you do that?”

  “Yes,” she replied softly.

  “Good.” Dr. Peterson snapped his fingers crisply and put her under. “The two of us are going to be together. There might be moments that will be very frightening to you, but I assure you, nothing bad will happen. You must be strong. You must look fear in the eye and not be swayed. Do you think you can do that?”

  Stacy hesitated for a second. “Yes.”

  “Excellent. I want you to tell me about this bad dream you had last night. I want you to remember every detail vividly. I want you to become that person in the dream.”

  Stacy smiled and giggled like a little girl. It was so uncanny it startled Dr. Miller. Dr. Peterson raised his arm and held his palm outward, signaling Dr. Miller to stay still. He didn’t have to verbalize that the slightest interference would prove unsettling for the patient.

  The giggling continued.

  “How old are you?” Dr. Peterson asked.

  “Five and three quarters,” Stacy lisped in a little girl voice.

  “What’s happening?” asked Peterson.

  “My daddy’s tucking me in.”

  “Then what?”

  “I wait for him to leave so I can have my tea party with Rufus and Mr. Cuddles.” Her voice suddenly switched to an adult, a sign that on a subconscious level she was still resisting the hypnosis.

  “Who are they?” he asked.

  “They’re my stuffed animals, silly,” she said childishly. Then her voice returned to normal. “That’s when it happens.

  My room gets pitch dark except for the blue swirls. That’s when the monsters come for me.”

  Peterson recognized the pattern right away. When she would reenact an event, she spoke like a child. When she played the observer, she talked as an adult. “Tell me about the monsters. What do they look like?”

  “They look like sharks with hair.” The adult voice was taking ov
er. “Gray faces, round black eyes … powerful ugly creatures.”

  Dr. Miller picked up one of Stacy’s children’s books and showed Dr. Peterson the picture. The story was titled “Princess Zinfandel vs. the Sharkmen of Azador”. They were clearly the villain of the piece.

  “How are they coming after you?” said Peterson.

  “They’re chasing me.” The child’s voice came back as Stacy went deeper into trance.

  “Are you running?” he asked.

  “Yes, but I can never get away. They reach out for me with their ugly webbed hands. They have small claws too. I try to scream, but nobody hears me. Then they cover my mouth with sticky stuff and I can’t scream anymore.”

  “Then what?”

  “That’s when I always wake up,” her adult persona said.

  “Always?”

  “Yes … I’m not sure. I don’t know.”

  “Stacy, I need you to listen to me. Forget the dreams. I want you to go back in time to when you were five and three quarter years old. When I snap my fingers, I want you to go back to that exact moment in your life, when that dream really happened to you. I want you to become that little girl. Think back. Can you remember?”

  Stacy paused for a few seconds. “Yes.”

  “At the count of five I’m going to snap my fingers. You are going to be that little girl. One … two … three … four … five.” He snapped his fingers crisply.

  Stacy giggled.

  “Tell me what’s happening Stacy?”

  “Wheeee, wheeehahaha. Thanks, Daddy.”

  The child persona was back and neither doctor said a word.

  “Good night, Daddy.” Stacy beamed and her head tilted as if her father was really there. “He’s gone. We can play now.” Stacy continued on in real time. The tea party took longer this time than in the dream. She spoke and left silence for her stuffed animals to answer her.

  Suddenly Stacy’s facial expression changed to fear. “Uh oh!”