Thirty minutes later, Itishree’s coffee was cold and her belly sufficiently full. A relaxed warmth washed over her. She was on her way back to feeling human again. While eating her pastry and drinking her coffee, Itishree had realized she was now in America, and within the province, er, state, that she would call home for the next two years — longer if she could get her visa extended. That thought had brought on a warm smile and a single tear. A happy tear. A fierce feeling of accomplishment overtook her. She had almost arrived. One more short flight and she could sleep for at least a day and rest in her new home town.
She let all that slide, pushing aside her pride. For the next twenty minutes Itishree was transfixed with her surroundings. Trying not to be noticed by others, she closely examined the coffee and pastry shop. Itishree watched the locals, making mental notes of language particulars. She switched her attention back and forth to the TV screens that hung around the eating area and the people around her. Despite her long travels, Itishree was awake and alert, absorbing everything like a sponge. The coffee must have been magical, she thought. Itishree felt renewed and alive. A news alert caught her attention. The other travelers looked up at the headline, “Comet Over Eastern US.”
Itishree rose from the high table and bar stool, turned and began collecting her trash. She wanted time to watch this broadcast before heading back to her plane. She turned looking for a trash container. Itishree saw a largish rectangular cupboard with a drawing of a hand clutching rubbish. “Ah,” Itishree said and took a step in the direction of the garbage bin. She felt good about her quick assimilation to western culture. A smidgen of pride gave way to a small smile.
She found herself under the shade of trees. Many trees. The airport terminal and its bright artificial lighting were gone. Itishree looked down. The garbage in her hands was gone. A heavy white cotton robe replaced the clothes she’d worn for the last thirty eight hours. The sleeves and collar were adorned with shapes and designs of gold embroidery. Even though the robe was heavy, it wasn't oppressive. Itishree glanced up at her surroundings. Fifteen meters from where she was standing a small section of a river was under direct sunlight. Its bank reflected brilliantly from light brown sand. Beyond the bank, tall grasses waved in a constant breeze.
“Am I in danger?” Itishree embraced her dire change of environment. She stood under a lush stand of trees. The trees were foreign in design and not native to her memories of India. And then Itishree looked up and saw she wasn't alone. A man standing eight meters in front of her was also dressed in a embroidered white robe. Itishree noted he was tall, over two meters, olive skinned, and had plain rugged features. Itishree guessed he was in his late twenties, but she had always been poor at estimating the age of men. What stood out were his eyes. Mixed with the hints from the foliage, this man's eyes were a medium green that sparkled from the distant reflections of the river. Where Itishree had lived, people had brown eyes in various shades of dark. This man's eyes were lit from within, green as the grass beyond the river, warm and alive. Itishree had peered too long into his eyes, and she suffered a small shudder when she realized, again, she wasn't alone.
He had fallen asleep in his favorite chair. Having arrived home in a panic, Griffin bounced around his home making busy with small chores and a couple of tasks he had put off for the last couple of weeks. Anything to keep his mind busy and not thinking of what had expired earlier. The “Suzy Busy Bee” act had worked, maybe too well.
Griffin caught himself feeling guilty and wondered if he'd been rash by taking the personal time off. But after a few moments of reflection Griffin embraced his decision. After all, very strange things had happened, and he couldn’t explain any of it. It was obvious, again, he needed a break. After finishing what he could for the night, Griffin debated a chance drinking a PBR from his fridge. Instead, he opted for a tall rum and coke over ice. Griffin relaxed into his chair and pretended to be an average America, watching TV. Time passed as Griffin channel surfed with complete dissatisfaction. “How can people watch this shit?” Griffin thought. After thirty-five minutes of mind-numbing crowd manipulation, Griffin's mind relaxed. The rum helped.
Noticing his drink was nothing more than a few melting ice cubes, Griffin entertained the thought of getting another snack and refreshing his glass versus going to bed and calling it a day. Glancing at his watch, Griffin winced at the hour, 1:25 am. Part of Griffin wasn't ready for bed, and with a small amount of guilt he reached for the remote and began flipping channels desperately. Since the beach-Jesus dream, Griffin wasn't keen on sleeping in his bed. Add all the other weird shit that has happened since then, Griffin wanted to embrace a long period of mind-numbing “normal.”
An image of a comet against a black sky caught Griffin's eye. It was filmed from an unimaginable long distance by a camera fighting to keep the comet in frame. Griffin looked at the ticker at the bottom of the screen and realized this was happening now because he was watching RT, Russia TV America. Instinctively, Griffin found the volume control buttons and raised the level, neighbors be damned. The news broadcaster was speaking with an expert from NASA. Their conversation bounced between admiration of the quality of the satellite image, how the comet should breakup between the stratosphere and ionosphere, and historical similarity of other comets. Griffin rose and grabbed his glass and turned for the kitchen.
And then he was under the heavy forest canopy from his earlier hallucination. Like before he was cast is deep shadows, and he could see shards of dancing light coming through the canopy between him and the riverbank. Instinctively, Griffin looked across the river and out onto the tall grass field beyond. However, this time, no children were on the riverbank. No laughter. No play. Griffin felt a pang of grief over not seeing the children. Griffin closed his eyes tearing away from the exposed riverbank. He took in the surroundings with his other senses. The chorus of sound, balanced between the river and the forest behind Griffin, was deeply moving. His closed eyes allowed the natural sounds to wash over him. Bird calls and insect buzzes mixed with the gurgle of running water. Every few seconds a breeze pushed the canopy with haunting low wails. The rush of winds combined with sounds from taller trees with the lower canopy overhead. It was like hearing two chords from two distinctively different musical instruments. Combined the auditory experience brought a peace Griffin had never felt. He wanted to swim in these sounds. He wanted to take off his shoes and wade into that river.
Playing with the thought, Griffin opened his eyes, looked down at his feet and found he was dressed in an ornate heavy robe and wearing primitive sandals made from natural fibers. Griffin marveled at the robe's fabric. The feeling it gave on his forearms was familiar, warm in an inviting comfortable way, as if he had it for years. But it was clean, brilliantly white, with gold and black embroidery. And then Griffin remembered. He remembered the other here, in this place, who wore this same robe. Griffin looked right and saw the tree he had leaned on before. The light smooth bark and dark foliage were two paces away.
Recalling the stranger who had appeared behind him, Griffin turned left. But half way round he saw a beautiful young woman of darker skin than his own. She was wearing similar clothes to what he was wearing, a white robe of heavy material. Her robe was such a brilliant white that it seemed lit from within. And she was beautiful indeed. Her skin was a shade darker than olive. Her eyes were large and dark, and her head was partially hooded from the robe. Griffin saw the woman had not seen him or wasn’t looking toward him now. Her gaze was transfixed on nothing. Looking closely he saw she wasn’t moving.
At first Griffin had been transfixed by the appearance of this female apparition. But as he watched her go through the astonishment of being ripped from wherever to here, he knew two things. First, he wasn't hallucinating. He didn't know what else was happening, but all of this around him wasn't inside his mind. This out-of-body experience was outside his body and real. The woman was still taking in their shared “what the fuck” moment. Second, Griffin wasn’t going insane. Tum
bling over the thought allowed Griffin to relax. His shoulders fell slightly. Three things Griffin realized, correcting himself. Third, from what he was witnessing of this woman in front of him, she was in the same boat as he. Griffin made a mental note to not appear aggressive, and he froze in place. Knowing how strange and scary this must be for her, Griffin relaxed his arms down to his sides and stood calmly straight. After all, these visions were almost commonplace to Griffin now. Either more than just him were bat-shit crazy, or something amazing was taking place. Last thing he wanted to do was scare her. Besides, to Griffin this place was tranquil, almost holy, somehow. Damn, she was regal.
Griffin acknowledged neither had moved from where they came into this state of conscienceless. Griffin was fixated on her. She was frozen in place, Griffin knew her mind had been blown inside out. As Griffin continued to watch her her eyes shifted. She looked over the ground cover and out over the riverbank. Then, her eyes scanned over to Griffin. Griffin made an effort to smile. She was staring now.
“Have I died?” the Indian young woman said. Fear shot across her face. Tears welled in her eyes. Griffin was crushed with the empathy he felt for her. He wanted to approach her, to embrace her, to put her at ease somehow. But his apprehensiveness had him frozen in place. Griffin didn’t know what to say, or what to do for the woman. He made a clumsy step toward her, faltered, then took another step.
“Is this heaven?” she asked as she looked around. Griffin imagined she was looking for a “Welcome to Heaven” sign. “Tell me!” she demanded of Griffin. She backed away from Griffin's advance. Feeling her fear and confusion, Griffin stopped and brought his hands back to his sides, realizing that not saying anything to the woman was probably doing her more harm than good.
There was a sudden and quick change in air pressure and a flash of white light coming from Griffin's left. Turning, Griffin saw it was the observer from his last hallucination. Griffin heard a slight squeal from the Indian woman. She was going to pop from fear.
“It’s all right. Don’t be afraid,” Griffin said. He kept his eyes on the observer. The observer appeared as before, human like but with features resembling the children Griffin had watched.
“Gabriel, Herald of God?” Griffin asked. Gabriel nodded.
“What?” Griffin heard the woman ask.
“This has never happened before. This isn't by design,” Gabriel said as if not recognizing the other two.
“What did he say?” the woman asked.
“What hasn't happened before?” Griffin asked facing Gabriel.
“Wait!” the woman shouted, “If he is the Archangel Gabriel, who are you?” She pointed at Griffin.
“I’m Griffin DeLuca.”
“The vessel of wisdom,” Gabriel added. He gestured toward the woman. “You are Itishree, the prophet, messenger of God”
“Itishree,” Griffin said to himself, an exercise in remembering. He liked her name. Hell, he liked everything about her, he realized.
"Me? What?" Itishree yelped.
“Never before have I held the vessel and the prophet in my mind,” Gabriel said, again as if noting an attribute of an anthill.
“We’re in his mind?” Itishree asked. She looked at Griffin for confirmation.
“Yes. I believe we are,” Griffin said. And he was back in his living room still holding his near empty glass.
Itishree completed her last step towards the trash can. She stumbled a little as her mind caught up to her body. She managed not to crumple to the floor in her effort to drop in her trash. Itishree’s eyes were still wide from the off-world experience. She walked quickly to the terminal and crossed back through customs without saying a word. Itishree made her way to the plane and crashed into her seat. A feeling of weightlessness came over her and she wanted to cry, but she refused to cry.
Another thirty minutes later, Itishree was curled in her seat, full of food and under the drowsy influence of vibrations and hums of systems she imagined were normal. She opened her eyes and peeked above the small airline blanket as the pilot gave his latest report.
“We’re going to be delayed forty minutes while we wait for more information of a weather system west of Pittsburgh.” Groans came from the few passengers still awake. Itishree imagined the cabin lights had been turned down to assist in riot control.
“We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause, and thank you again for flying Delta Airlines.” The intercom fell silent.
Itishree wanted nothing more than to get off this flight in Pittsburgh, meet up with her cousin, laugh, talk about her ordeal, family, etc. and forget what happened in the terminal. She looked around, guilty of even thinking about the loss of control. “I came all this way, half way around the world, chasing my dreams — yet freak out kilometers before I reached my destination,” Itishree scolded herself. She folded under the thin blanket and drew as much comfort out of the small pillow as she could. Itishree laid her head inside the window alcove and closed her eyes, hoping when she woke Pittsburgh would be under these wheels.
Darkness and Dawn
What seemed like moments after Frank had closed his eyes, his government issued Blackberry vibrated on the night stand. Frank rolled gracefully out of bed, and slid into the hall, and closed the bedroom door gently behind him before thumbing the answer button.
“Director Lovas,” he answered without a trace of sleep in his voice.
“Frank, it's Matt Fountain, NASA Space Tele-“
“I know who you are, Matt,” Frank cut in. “And I know you don't call someone like me without a serious reason.” Frank headed down the hall thinking of coffee. After an awkward pause Frank added, “So let's have it.”
“So, as normal procedure dictates, once a NEO gets within a certain distance of Earth, we scan it with radar and other instruments to gain more information like-“
“Uh huh,” Frank growled.
Matt made an uncomfortable nasal sound. “We bathed this thing with radar-“
“Are we still talking about Green X20something?” Frank cut in.
“Yes, Green X2018d,” Matt answered.
“So, you bathed it with radar….and?” Frank asked. He was growing tired of Matt’s circling conversation.
“Frank, this would go much faster if you would let me tell you why I called.”
“All right, Matt, I'll shut up. And forgive me — I’m not a middle-of-the-night person,” Frank said.
“Frank, everyone in NASA is awake right now. Everyone!” Matt shouted. “Radar was negative.”
That got Frank’s attention.
“What does that mean, Matt?" Frank asked.
“Well, it means it isn't made of solid matter.”
“Or it's stealth,” Frank blurted.
“No, Frank, we weren't convinced it was an alien craft driven by intelligence, at that point,” Matt said.
Frank said nothing. But, his eyebrows ratcheted up a notch.
“After it slowed and executed minor course adjustments, we became concerned,” Matt continued.
Frank jumped off his kitchen stool, “Wait, Matt, are you reporting to me this is an alien stealth craft?”
“No, Frank, you're not going to hear those words come from me,” Matt said. "What we believe is that the object is an unusual ball of plasma under the influence of gravitational and atmospheric pressure.”
“Sounds like something I'm not going to be able to repeat without laughing, Matt,” Frank said. “What does your gut tell you?”
“We don't know what it is because NASA has yet to witness or theorize such matter and behavior,” Matt said after a long pause.
Frank didn't know what to think about that comment. “Do I need to ask for a military response?” Frank asked pointedly.
“Too late for that, Frank, the Air Force got involved minutes after JPL woke up,” Matt said.
Frank made a note of the skipped protocols. "I'll contact the Air Force myself to cover policy,” he said, trampling Matt's small effort at self determination
. “What are the details?”
“Two PA Air National Guard F16s will converge on the object if it makes it into our lower atmosphere. Four Air Force F22's are on stand by out of Wright-Patterson if they're needed.” After a pause Matt admitted, “Or so I overheard.”
Frank let out a sigh. “I’d better call the Air Force now before we're dropping bombs on New Jersey,” Frank said. “Matt, thanks for the heads-up, it will be an interesting day.”
“Have fun with that, Director.” Matt hung up. Frank marched off to his home office, coffee in hand, thinking of where to begin the parade of communications.
The officer on watch at this late hour was Lt. Col. Justin Braden. Braden was used to odd shifts at Wright-Patterson and was not at all slowed by the hour, but not usually one hundred percent. For the exercise of intercepting an interstellar object, Braden was wide awake. After being alerted at his duty station, Braden and his direct reports were briefed by NASA and Air Force Command and given access to data and equipment Braden hadn’t known the Air Force had until this moment. The entire operation was spooky, Braden thought.
The Air Force had five special mobile command facilities within the continental United States, someone had told him in the recent past. His duty station was the closest that had such a mobile command unit. Or, so he had learned tonight. Braden looked over the equipment of the modified tractor trailer. It was impressive. The many workstations were wheeled and covered with electronics, communication gear, speakers, computers, and many monitors. The walls of the trailers were hinged along the length of the trailer and laid down to expand the operational footprint of the mobile unit. The command platform had been driven into an unused hanger and opened up like a gigantic erector set.
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