Coalescence (Camden Investigations Book 1)

by Gary Starta

  “That’s right. We should all take a lesson. We should appreciate what we have before it’s gone.”

  Iris searched Ron’s face, but he ignored her barb. Or maybe he hadn’t. He continued to stare into Tawa’s eyes.

  “Excuse me.” He swiped at a tear rolling down his cheek. “I haven’t allowed myself to ‘see’ beauty for a long, long time. Oh . . .” He choked back a sob.

  “Beauty makes all efforts worthwhile,” Dan chimed in. Tawa yipped.

  “On that point, I cannot argue.” Ron tickled Tawa behind her ear. He bit his lip. “I want to live again. I want to see again. Tell me how I can achieve this? How can I help?”

  Iris blinked away tears. She gave Ron her hand and lifted him off of his recliner.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THE NEXT FEW days were all about meditation, relaxation, and purification. Bill, holed up with Ron in the backroom of the camper, chanted and played soothing ethereal new age music. Flutes and rapid staccato beats of moccasin drums permeated the cramped living quarters. As expected, the musical styles clashed, and as a consequence so did the attitudes of a captive audience.

  Whether Ron was responding to Bill’s efforts was debatable. Yet all agreed the immediacy of converting Ron from a frightened mouse to a soaring hawk necessitated 24/7 hand holding, meaning there wasn’t much opportunity for uninterrupted slumber. If musical beats could contain Ron’s excitable, neurotic thoughts, not only the group, but the entire world stood a much better chance of withstanding the impending attack. The drawback: Everyone would lose sleep. The benefit: Ron would become their eyes and ears in outer space. Gavin equated it to an alien spy novel. Iris was uncertain if this was a vote of confidence or a jab of mockery. Surprising Iris, Evan supported Bill’s tactics. Chanting wasn’t just mumbo jumbo; it was a means to control the chatter between two brain regions, he claimed. Synchronization of brain rhythms was proven in peer-reviewed studies to give humans peace from undesirable inner voices. Kassidy argued if this peer reviewed science had tested their theories on people altered by aliens. Mimicking Kassidy’s tone and facial expression, Evan answered, “it just might keep him totally chilled. But we can always resort to alcohol, I guess.” An ensuing long and uncomfortable staring match between the two served to clear the camper, except for Bill, Ron, and Tawa. Ron’s tether to Tawa, Iris concluded, was just as strong as any meditational exercise Bill could muster. Iris observed that Ron stopped his incessant rocking motion whenever he petted the collie.

  The group convened for a few minutes of welcome silence in the desert heat. Iris mopped her brow with a towel and then proceeded to wrap it bandana style around her head. The muffled pulse of a beat felt as if it were miles away instead of contained mere yards in a camper. As the noise grew tinier and distant, a flood of emotions competed for Iris’s attention. For a moment, she wished she had stayed inside. At least the constant noise kept her mind from focusing on a myriad of problems including the impending plague, her sister’s varied genetic coding and the strained relationship with her Dad.

  Mitchell cupped a hand around her forearm. “Hey, it can’t be that bad. At least we haven’t been zapped yet.” There he’d said it. It’s what everyone’s been thinking. The consequences of failing . . .

  Iris clasped a hand over Mitchell’s. She attempted a smile. She hoped it thanked Mitchell. Words had become cumbersome in the past days. With the threat of rapid evolution, Iris seriously considered a world where humans no longer communicated verbally. Maybe everyone, at least those that survived, would commune telepathically. She mimicked Mitchell, who seemed to release stress by tracing lines in the sand with his feet while pondering. She placed the point of her shoe in the sand and squiggled tiny marks resembling roadways. Funny thing was, the roads always came forked. Which direction to take? The age-old philosophical conundrum had become a lot more ominous in the past weeks.

  “At least I know the tradition will continue,” Mitchell remarked, eyeing Iris’s art.

  “I can’t be expected to do all your toe art. It’s a lot of work in the heat.”

  Mitchell hushed his voice. “You will continue for me. Won’t you?”

  Iris shook her head. With her head capped in the towel, she felt as if she were the living embodiment of the stereotypical specter. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He pointed to Evan. “He can help you. He should survive. He can help you continue my work.”

  Iris blinked rapidly. “It’s more important to you than your life, isn’t it?”

  Mitchell cocked his head. “I never had a choice. It’s my calling. And I entrust you to carry on.”

  “But Evan is educated in these matters.”

  “You’re a better investigator.”

  “It’s going to be pretty hard to investigate matters of science without knowing science.”

  “Stop making excuses. It’s important that you tell me you’ll do this. It’s my way of always being with you.”

  She nodded. “In that case, how can I refuse?”

  They embraced and kissed. Iris hid her face in his shoulder to conceal her tears.

  When Mitchell broke the kiss, Iris frowned. “What’s the matter? You hear something?” She paused. “I mean something other than drums and flutes?”

  “No. It’s just that . . . I always feel your father is watching.”

  “He’s out walking. You know he’s been doing that a lot. Doesn’t feel too great about what he’s done. It’s his penance.”

  Mitchell smiled with his eyes. “You say that as if you’re enjoying it.”

  “I know it’s sadistic. But I do. He needs to make amends.” Iris nodded her head as if she had to convince herself.

  “You would think DJ’s condition would be—” Mitchell stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry. That was beyond callous.”

  “Ah. I don’t know how to talk about it, either. I mean, what do you call it? It’s not a really a condition if you consider her mother was probably in love with an alien. She is kind of cross species. Yes. I think that’s politically correct. Anyway, it shows how DNA can be changed. I am beginning to believe that everything and everyone can be changed. I just hope somebody doesn’t change my love for you.”

  Mitchell cupped a hand over her forehead. “You sure the heat’s not getting to you? You just sounded way too rational to be Iris Camden.”

  “The scientific approach must be getting to me.” She watched DJ and Darian re-enter the camper. Moments later, Kassidy and Rachel retreated. Finally, Evan, Gavin, and Rusty sauntered over to within conversational distance.

  Evan spoke for his group. “We’re going to make a supply run. Gavin is concerned our beverage options are decreasing.”

  Mitchell scratched his chin. “How you going to get to a store, fly?”

  Evan nodded. “I found out Rusty can fly Bill’s helicopter. It should be an experience. But don’t worry we’ll be back soon before Ron gets a vision. I can feel these things.”

  “You shouldn’t let Kassidy hear you say something like that,” Mitchell responded. “You’re Mr. Empirical Data as far as she’s concerned.”

  “Yes, that reminds me. We’re going to need vodka.” He pretended to jot a note on his palm.

  “We’ll hold down the fort. If we’re not here when you get back—”

  “I know, Mitch,” Evan responded. “It means you’ve taken the dial back to the pueblo.”

  “It also means I might never see you again.” Mitchell embraced Evan. “Just make sure you keep Iris on the scientific path for me, okay?”

  “Anything for you, but this is just worst case scenario banter. The kind you hear people say in disaster movies. We’re not going to have a disaster. We’re prepared. Remember, amigo?” Evan clapped Mitchell on the back.

  “Oops. Didn’t mean to disturb your moment—”

  “Dad!” Iris hush screamed at her father’s intrusion.

  “Sorry, but I can’t walk around the pueblo forever. I just need some water and use of facilities, an
d I’ll be back on track, so to speak.” He squinted from the sun glare. “I know you’re all not very fond of me. Especially my daughter, here . . . but what I want to say is that when it comes to reconnecting the artifact, I’m the man for the job. That’s going to be my purpose. At least I can go out knowing I tried to save my daughters and their friends from the evil bug bastards.”

  Iris pursed her lips. “Damn, you always know what to say. Okay, I can’t stay mad at you . . . for right now.” She waggled a finger at him. “Consider this a grace period.”

  Dan nodded and paced toward the camper. “I assume that means I have permission to board.” He eyed the home away from home and groaned. “Ah, that music; will it ever cease?”

  “Wait until you see the light show again,” Evan commented. “That will be a real concert.”

  Dan spun around. His eyebrows were knotted. “What light show?”

  “You couldn’t have forgotten about it so soon,” Iris said to her father. “When I reconnected the object,” she made zigzag lines in the air with her index fingers, “it produced some pretty slamming colors, Aurora Borealis kind of slamming colors.”

  Dan shook his head. “Look, I know I’m getting older. But I didn’t see any lights out here.”

  Evan cupped his chin with his hand. “Mr. Camden, you’re not crazy. I’m pretty sure you didn’t see the colors. And I think I know why. It’s just that . . .”

  Iris glared at Evan. “It’s just that . . . what?”

  “It might mean the dial has intelligence. It’s not just a complex machine. It may even be considered alive. And it all makes perfect sense. It probably instructs the OBOLs with a kind of communication.” He scratched his cheek. “It’s fascinating. Because it means we’ve communicated with the dial only we don’t know it. It has to be integrated with our brains.”

  Mitchell interrupted. “You mean with brain waves?”

  “Exactly and I think it bonded with us because it sees us as allies or maybe even protectors. It would explain why it would exclude Mr. Camden. He would surely pose a threat to its mission, its existence.”

  Dan nodded. “I must correct you. Did pose a threat, past tense.”

  Iris slapped Mitchell on the back. “It does make sense. It’s why the cavalry hasn’t been called. I mean what else explains the total apathy. And even if the police chose to ignore this area because of space kooks, don’t you think at least one space kook would have been poking around here by now.” She waved a hand. “Sorry, no offense to space kooks.”

  Mitchell folded his arms across his chest and raised an eyebrow Spock-style. “Oh, none taken.”

  Gavin tugged at his ear lobe. “So, that means this city lights up and no one notices. Ships come and go, and no one notices. This probably was some kind of optical illusion used eons ago to protect the canyon. It explains a lot. Why a culture, a city, or even an alien race goes unnoticed . . . because it never was noticed.”

  Rusty nodded. “It sounds like the star people I’ve heard about. They traveled in secrecy, only allowing a few to know of their presence.”

  “But even today,” Evan interjected, “it explains why only some of us see UFOs. It would seem that this technology or ability allows the aliens to disengage the senses. It would be akin to using some sort of cloaking device. They are essentially hiding in plain sight.”

  “Oh, man.” Mitchell paced a few steps away and shielded his eyes. “That might also mean the enemy shares the same kind of technology. If so, they . . .”

  “Could be watching us right now.” Iris finished his sentence. “But how?” She slammed a palm against her forehead. “I don’t feel like my brain regions are being separated.” The words came out full of sarcasm and bitterness.

  Mitchell raised a hand toward Iris and addressed the group. “Let’s all get back inside. Evan, guys, I’m sorry about the beverage run but maybe it should wait.”

  The sound of something slamming against a wall interrupted.

  “Is that what I think it is?” Evan asked.

  “It must be Ron. Let’s get inside!” Iris commanded.

  Dan shook his head. “At least the guy is doing something other than rocking back and forth like some flower child.”

  Chapter Twenty-three

  IRIS BRUSHED back the curtain separating Bill, Ron, and Tawa from the rest of the camper. She cringed not from the sight but the sound. Thwack! Mitchell and Evan squeezed past her with scowls, no doubt finding what they had expected. Ron’s head slamming backwards against paneling. It was indeed the source of the noise. Bill craned forward, scooping a hand behind the afflicted man’s head. But Ron’s quivering and squirming made it near impossible for the Hopi elder to keep a firm grasp. Tawa danced in snipped circlets as if inviting rain.

  Fighting the physical restraints of cramped quarters as much as his squirming target, Mitchell grabbed ankles and dragged Ron away from the paneling. Evan skipped as if jumping rope and bounded over Ron. Placing his wrists underneath Ron’s armpits, Evan signaled a “one, two, three” count and hoisted. Iris murmured “gently” as the men lowered him onto the bunk. Seconds later, Bill hovered over Ron, resuming a chant.

  By now, everyone was circled as best possible around the cot.

  Kassidy stood with hand on hip. “Shouldn’t we consider stopping the chanting? I mean, isn’t that what caused him to bash his head against the wall in the first place?”

  Rachel pushed through the crowd with a damp cloth. Ron had ceased quivering enough to allow Bill to lift his head off the pillow. Dabbing at the back of his head, Rachel repeated the exercise and examined. “Not too bad,” she reported. “Just a few blotches of red. I’ll get the hydrogen peroxide.”

  After Rachel squirmed back through the throng, Iris spoke. “I would request we back off and allow Bill to continue his work.” To Bill she said, “I apologize for any and all insulting remarks. It’s just that we’re all strained and tired. But we do appreciate all you are doing for Ron. Please continue . . . whatever you were doing.” Her face flushed red.

  Bill smiled weakly. “I am attempting to ground our friend. Sometimes I feel Tawa does a better job.” He cocked his head at the dog. “Isn’t that right, girl?” Tawa yipped. “But in all seriousness, Ron needs to experience the vision without interaction. It’s as if he’s on a spiritual quest. Imagine he is a hunter. He stalks and fights the prey in his dream. And in that moment and place, the hunter is safe until . . .” he pointed a finger upwards, “the prey finds a means to enter his waking world. That is what I fear. We may not be able to benefit from his vision without a price.” Bill lowered his head and resumed a chant. The words were unintelligible to Iris. No doubt Hopi words. If so, she pondered, how would Ron, even at a subconscious level, interpret their meaning? She concluded that maybe Bill somehow was relaying images with the words much like Galloway had done with her and Mitchell.

  After a few moments, Bill addressed the throng. “I believe his visions of the ship have come. But they are intermittent.”

  Dan interrupted. “You mean like labor contractions? This reminds me of how I felt when your mother delivered you, Iris.” He patted at his wrist as if his watch were still there. “It’s much like labor I take it. The visions will come more often. Stronger?”

  Bill nodded.

  Iris glared at her father. She wasn’t so mad at his remarks but of his knowledge of how visions operated. His many secrets probably could fill a volume or two of an encyclopedia, that’s if they still produced encyclopedias in the digital age anymore.

  Evan nudged Mitchell in the ribs. “Shouldn’t we prepare the dial?”

  Mitchell nodded. “If you’re asking if this is the time, then I believe this is the time. Only you’re not going, Evan. I would like to invite Iris, Mr. Camden, and Rusty to accompany me on this little away mission.” He raised a stop sign hand. “No time for arguments. Let’s prepare.”

  Evan shook his head and stalked toward the other end of the camper to retrieve the shrouded dial.

/>   Iris wanted to take charge, but she fell silent. There were so many things that could go wrong. She scolded herself. Sorry, make that so many things that need to go right. Stay positive. She perused her mental list. Beyond Ron’s psychic map questing, the team would depend upon the artifact to indeed to be as intelligent as Evan had conjectured. The OBOLs would need to be instructed to create a massive time disturbance rather than create a perimeter of defense against the light weapon. And finally, all who entered the time slip must somehow keep their heads. Bill had individually ingrained an image of a clock, much like the image of the object, in everyone’s subconscious via meditation. But would that work on everyone, especially Kassidy whose snarky remarks only served to embarrass her in front of Bill? Essentially, would everyone but herself and possibly Bill undergo a major freak out? Iris was confident her experience with Galloway had primed her for this time journey, but she couldn’t be sure about Mitchell. Despite his recent telepathic experiences he was a novice. And for her family, all bets were off. Sure DJ was mentally strong. But would her dormant alien DNA remain dormant in the time slip? And what about her Dad? On one hand, he worked a job experiencing “the weird.” On the other, he had recently disconnected his brain from a device that shared a symbiotic relationship with him for decades. Ah yes. All bets were off . . . At times like these it was complicated to be a Camden girl. But she had to admit, it made her feel the most alive she had felt in years. Like Mitchell, for good or for bad, she was destined to be an investigator. And as illogical as it seemed, despite all the worries she harbored for friends and family, she enjoyed this kind of stress. She couldn’t determine why other than it sent the tides of life coursing through her veins. Cutting hair paid some bills. That’s what the mundane was good for. But the mundane never made you feel as if you pulsed. And that’s what stars did, they pulsed.

  Mitchell knocked her out of her stupor. “Are you ready to roll?”

  She mumbled. “Don’t you mean soar?”