The Cocoon Trilogy

by David Saperstein

  A faint humming sound reached Jack’s ears just as the antenna wire began to glow. The morning sun was up now, yet the light from the wire was brighter than sunlight. It looked like a triangular welding machine in operation. Suddenly, a bright red glow appeared beneath the water off to starboard. Jack estimated that was the position of the black rod. The glow broke the surface and a red beam of light flashed directly up to the silver balloon hovering above the boat. The humming increased. Jack didn’t realize that Harry had come up onto the bridge, but he felt his presence and turned to him. “What the hell is going on here?”

  Harry put his finger up to his lips to silence Jack and whispered, “Just watch ... we’ll explain shortly.”

  There was yelling from below as Mr. Bright and the two other copper-clothed men were pointing off to the starboard beyond the red beam. Entering the water was a blue beam. Jack glanced up to see the source of the blue beam was a second balloon. So he had seen two balloons! Mr. Bright shouted up to him, “Captain ... over there! That’s the place we want to anchor. Right at that spot. Quickly. Please.” Mr. Bright turned and signaled to Hal, who immediately turned off the transmitter device. One of the copper men reeled in the black rod and the bald twins let go of the antenna. The beams stopped, but Jack had already marked the spot by triangulating it with the buoy and reef edge.

  Jack looked at Harry. “So, what the hell is this all about?” Harry, who was obviously excited, assured Jack that Mr. Bright would explain it a lot better than he could. The important thing was to get to the spot quickly. He then scampered down the ladder to the deck below.

  Jack eased the Manta III toward starboard and the spot indicated. He took a sip of beer. It had a metallic taste. He set it down next to the compass. His eyes went quickly to the compass because it was spinning wildly and undulating so that the needle was hitting the glass covering the face of the instrument. It made a rapid, clicking sound. The closer he got to their destination, the faster the needle spun, and when they were directly over the spot, the glass cover popped off the compass, spilling his beer. He moved back as this happened, which was fortunate because the needle flew out of the compass, missing him by inches and whizzing off into the air. What the hell is going on here? he thought. Then, angered to his boiling point, he stopped the engines and rushed down the ladder to the deck below. But there was no deck, only a bright flash, and then a blue black void as his body seemed to melt.

  CHAPTER TWO – CARGO FROM THE STONES

  If death had an odor, then that was the first sensation Jack was aware of as he awoke. The second sensation was that his body was attached to a huge vibrator. As he opened his eyes, the pleasant face of Mr. Bright came into focus. Harry was there, too, removing a sticky white substance from Jack’s neck. They were in the below deck cabin.

  Mr. Bright spoke first. “Captain, please ... I want you to collect yourself and try not to be angry. Relax if you can and please just listen to me. I am going to tell you a story that you most likely will not believe, but in time, you most assuredly will. Let me begin by saying that we need you, and that we hope you will come to understand our requirements and help us. We thought that what we had to do here, we could do ourselves, without ... shall we say ... uh, outside help? But we now know that this is impossible. Please listen, and try to understand.”

  Jack settled back on the bunk, calmed by Mr. Bright’s reasonable and soothing voice. Harry set the white goo aside and smiled reassuringly. The deathly odor now seemed pleasant and his body stopped vibrating. He became aware of activity on the deck above as he turned his attention to Mr. Bright. “What happened to me? Did I fall? And what are you guys doing up there?” Then he remembered the compass needle and chill went up his spine. “What are you going to do to me ... to my boat?”

  Mr. Bright spoke calmly and softly. “Jack. May I call you Jack? Do you know exactly where you are? I mean, do you know what this place, the reef, is called?”

  “The Stones. I fish out here all the time.”

  “And do you know why it’s called The Stones?”

  “Sure. Because of those stone slabs imbedded in the reef. People say they are from a lost city or continent or something.”

  Bright smiled. “Fine. Now let me tell you what this place really is ... what those slabs really are ... and who we are ... and,” he sighed, “... why we are here.”

  Bright spoke for almost an hour. Jack interrupted three times—once to ask Harry to get him a beer because fear had made his mouth go bone dry; once to play spy, and once to ask the black bald man to take his face off again.

  Actually, the story was simple. Believing it was difficult. He could understand the words, but not the concept. He was just not prepared. Now he was up on deck, and, by his oath, part of the team. Three of the charter party were on deck with him: Harry, Mr. Bright, and Hal. The shiny black, whose name was Bill, was in a small yellow rubber raft about ten yards off the stern. The white bald man and the two others in copper suits were working underwater on the reef. Amos Bright had removed his copper suit and was dressed.

  The balloons were still overhead, but now Jack knew only one was a balloon, and the other was a spacecraft. What was it they had told him? Oh yeah - not really a spacecraft. A guide ship. Their mother ship was a spacecraft from Antares and was moored on the far side of the Moon. This balloon shaped vehicle was expendable and would self-destruct after it finished the mission.

  Suddenly there was excitement on deck. Bill was shouting in a shrill voice, “It’s coming! It’s coming!”

  Off to the left of the raft, the surface filled with bubbles and two copper-suited divers popped up. They were followed by a canister ... no ... more like a large white roll-on deodorant container. It was covered with a white gooey substance. Its presence filled the air with the same odor that Jack had experienced earlier when he woke up below deck.

  The copper divers guided the canister toward the Manta III. It took ten minutes and a great effort to lift it aboard. Five minutes after it was on deck a second canister popped up. Within two hours there were six more, and the Manta III resembled a World War II P.T. boat with torpedo tubes secured on bow and stern. It was only after the seventh canister was on board that the hairless white man came to the surface. Jack had forgotten about him, but at this point, after hearting the story and seeing the containers pop up, it did not surprise Jack that the man was able to stay underwater for such a long period of time. It didn’t even seem strange that he wore no breathing apparatus.

  Mr. Bright had a few words with baldy white and then turned to Jack. “This is the final member of our unit, Jack. I’d like to introduce you.” He gestured toward the shiny white figure that came toward Jack. The eyes were no longer icy and menacing. They were brown and friendly. “This is James ... uh ... Jim, yes, Jim is better.”

  Jack extended his hand, and Jim did likewise. A vibration surged through Jack like an electric shock shot and he pulled back. “Sorry,” said Jim. “I have to control that better.”

  Jack nodded and smiled as the sensation passed. “Good idea.” Mr. Bright suggested that it was getting late and that they should head back to the dock. That would be the dock at the Antares condominium complex.

  As the rest of the group packed their crate and removed their suits, Jack climbed to the flying bridge. Hal was on the bow to make sure the anchor chain was clear of the canisters. He waved an okay to the bridge. Jack started the engines and glanced at the compass. It was repaired and working perfectly. He turned the bow toward Miami and reached for another beer. He also decided to stay up on the flying bridge by himself. There was a lot to think about and only one hour to make a decision that might affect the world ... his world, and his race. The human race. The ones these people called “dwellers.” Jack definitely belonged to the “dwellers.”

  CHAPTER THREE – ANTARES QUAD THREE

  Jack mulled over Bright’s revelations as he headed toward the Florida coast. Atlantis was a misnomer. Actually, the island had been named Antares
Quad Three by those who built it. It had been a thriving Antarean colony for almost five hundred Earth years - a large island, stretching from the islands known as the Azores westward to the islands of the Bahamas. Its northern shore extended close to Greenland, and to the southernmost point of the island was a mere two hundred miles from what is now Brazil.

  Antares Quad Three was a trading post, and in its final days a military base and the site of the signing of the Quad Three Peace Agreement that settled all space wars in this quadrant of our galaxy. That happened seventy Earth years before the colony was destroyed. Antares Quad Three had been wiped off the face of the Earth five thousand Earth years ago when a section of the planet Saturn, having torn away from its orbit, passed close to Earth. The inhabitants of Antares had ample warning about the impending disaster and were able to evacuate their colony. At that time they chose to leave a portion of their army behind.

  Jack’s mind raced. Bright’s story was overwhelming, but he realized that he had to understand. He forced himself to organize his thoughts and go over the story from the beginning, just as Mr. Amos Bright, Antarean Commander and force leader, had related to him. He began with The Stones. “Yes,” Jack had said. “I know this place ... we call it The Stones because of the slabs that are beneath in the reef.” Then Bright had said, “I want you to picture a large island filling most of what you now call the Atlantic Ocean. There was an island here once. You actually suspect that, and you call it Atlantis. Well, the name was Antares Quad Three. It was our colony ... here, on this planet, in this place. We were thousands there because we were settling this quadrant, the third quadrant, of this galaxy that our planets share. You call it the Milky Way. “In the beginning we avoided contact with the ‘dwellers’ here because they were quite primitive, and we did not want to interfere. Besides, we had our hands full with some rather aggressive and advanced beings on a planet near the red star you call Rigel. We had a minor space war on our hands. It lasted sixty-one Earth years and ended with Rigelians joining in a pact of peace that is in effect to this day.

  “After the treaty, this colony became a thriving center of interplanetary trade and government. I wish it were here today so that you could see it. Beings from all over our galaxy gathered ... different languages ... customs ... evolutions. So much was happening everywhere you looked. Once we had a governmental meeting here that lasted three years, and several important ambassadors were in residence. At one time we maintained forty-seven different atmospheres for the conference.”

  At that point, Bright had a faraway look in his eyes. “I speak of those times because I was here often.”

  “But you said five thousand years and more. How is that possible?” Jack had asked. “We have a long life. There is death in our system, but it is at our choosing.” That concept startled Jack.

  “After the disaster, interest in this planet waned as we opened exploration beyond our galaxy. Ships had been developed that enabled us to enter the black holes in space and explore other galaxies. The first was in Andromeda. Ah ... those were times. We were like children with a new toy.’ “But you left an army behind, right? Jack asked. “True. Our leaders saw fit to leave a modest army behind in case the Rigelians had second thoughts about the peace treaty. That is why we are here now.”

  Jack had interrupted again and asked about the army. He had served in the army in Vietnam years ago as an artillery spotter. He was not yet sure of the actual mission these space travelers were on and felt that perhaps he was in an enemy camp. He wanted to know about their strength. He sensed Bright knew why he was asking about the army, but believed the Antarean told him the truth.

  “An army is an army,” Bright had said. “Ours numbered nine hundred forty-one, and they were some of the best combat soldiers we have. They fought in units of ten, with each unit possessing a unit leader, and nine specialties. There were ninety such units. Every ten units had a group leader.” Bright had been a group leader at one time and still carried that title along with force leader. “Then there were thirty transport beings, again in units of ten with a unit leader. They had a group leader. Their responsibility was transportation and logistics for the fighting units. Finally, there was what you would call a commander. The hairless ones who are with us ... the light and the dark ones ... they are commanders. They are special beings and we must honor them with great respect.”

  Bill had just smiled and then reached under his chin and peeled off his shiny black face. Behind it was another face. There were eyes that were slits and they wrapped around both sides of the head. Through the slits Jack could see a glow, but no more. There was no nose ... no mouth ... no ears ... no hair. Then Jack heard words inside his brain. The words were not coming through his ears ... but were just present in his brain. The voice was Bill’s voice, and it told him that he was telepathing to Jack. He said he could read Jack’s mind and control his body if he so chose. He could do this to all beings that were carbon-based. He then put his face back on and left the room. At that point Jack didn’t need any more convincing.

  Bright continued the story of Antares Quad Three. “About five thousand years ago they became aware of a celestial accident that was going to affect their colony. A comet had passed close to the planet Saturn and had torn off a rather large chunk of matter. It had also affected the orbit of the planet and caused debris to be scattered out into space. Thus, the rings of Saturn. The large piece of the planet broke out of the planet’s orbit and was pulled along by the comet for one hundred years. Then it broke free and by pure luck, bad luck, headed for Earth. The inhabitants of the colony had sixty-three years warning, so it was not a disaster as far as life was concerned. In fact, the decision was made to alter the orbit of the earth as much as possible so that there would not be a direct collision, but rather a glancing blow, at the worst. In order to accomplish this, a thruster was set on a predetermined spot on the Earth and ignited. Of course, the dwellers in the area were evacuated. They were unable to understand what was happening. The effect worked and, with some minor disturbances to life here, the planet was saved but calculations showed that the chunk of matter would pass directly over our colony and destroy it. So we evacuated. The army left behind was put into a form of life that you would call suspended animation and sealed deep in the rock of the island. Our city was destroyed. Eventually, that piece of Saturn became the planet you call Venus.

  “We have passed this way many times since that destruction. Some of you might have even seen us. You have advanced from those primitives we first encountered. Perhaps you are ready to learn more about our Universe. We shall see. Right now we have a need for our army in a place far from here. So, to put it simply, we have returned to get our soldiers. They are sealed in containers, like cocoons, buried under the Stones, waiting to be hatched. We have to get them out, and we need your help. We mean you no harm. When we have our soldiers we will go. But first the cocoons must be retrieved, opened and the soldiers reprogrammed at our base in Miami. Will you help?”

  Those words, will you help? rang in his ears. Why in the name of whatever did these advanced space travelers need him, charter captain Jack Fischer and his boat to raise nine hundred forty one cocoons from under the sea floor? Why not just buy a boat? Or build one and get the army out? And why was he believing all this fantastic mumbo-jumbo, anyway?

  He had answered, “Yes, what do you want me to do?”

  Bright had said, “Just do what we ask, and stay with us until we are finished.”

  “How long?” Jack had asked.

  “Three months. It will take three months to raise all and process them,” answered Bright. “We will pay you well and we will make you a very important man on this planet.”

  Jack sat on the flying bridge and steered toward the sun, although this time it was setting behind Miami to the west. He was still confused and unsure about what deal he had made with Bright. And those commanders who could get into his mind frightened him. They could probably will him dead or, at the very least, fry hi
s brain. But he had to admit that he was also dying to have a look inside one of those cocoons, and the idea of living five thousand years hadn’t been lost on him either. Nor had the promise of money and importance.

  The Manta III passed the hotels and condos along the beach, silhouetted by the setting sun. He steered toward the channel outside Coral Gables. Off to the port side he saw the Hatteras wending its way home, too. He had forgotten about that boat. What was it called? Terra Time? Then he remembered that he had asked Phil to call at noon. The radio had been off, and Phil should have the Coast Guard alerted. But there had been no Coast Guard. Strange. Jack wished he had run a mike up onto the flying bridge. Once again he reflected back on the Bright’s story. He spoke of their base here now. That was something he had to see.

  CHAPTER FOUR – CONDO HUNTERS

  Bernard Lewis was once known as Bernie Lefkowitz. His wife, Rose, was always Rose, except at their wedding, when the rabbi had called her Rifka. Their red Buick was a gift from their son, Craig, which made it a business expense because Bernie was still listed as the Florida representative of Bernal Woolens, and that meant that it wasn’t really a gift at all. Bernie understood that maneuver. Rose thought it was a marvelous thing for her son to do.

  When Bernie was active with the company in New York, few people ever asked him twice about the Al in Bernal Woolens. The first time one asked, he answered, “I don’t talk about Al anymore.” His tone of voice made it clear – don’t ask again. And no one did.

  Bernie and Rose were driving, in their new red Buick, to look at the Antares condominium complex. They were in the market for larger quarters. Bernie wanted to move because in the past eight months more than fifteen people had passed away at their present condominium complex, Sunset Village, because all the patios faced west. The more he lived there, the more Bernie felt that it should have been called End of the Trail. Rose had explained, “Sweetheart, old people die, and Miami is full of old people.”