They're Among Us

by M. L. WILSON

  The night air blowing ever so gently off the Mediterranean onto his face, this was his time to get away from the cramped spaces and the loud chatter from his fellow seamen. Peterson leaned up against a pole, took a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and made himself comfortable.

  He put a cigarette to his lips and lit it. To him, the first “drag” was always the best; inhale deep; hold it a moment, and release. If his wife could have been there with him, he knew what she would have said; Those things are gonna kill you someday.

  He smiled at the thought of his wife chewing him out. In fact, he longed to hear those words. Any words, as long as they’re coming from her.

  Ok baby. You win, Peterson said to himself as he flicked the cigarette into the sea.

  Crossing his arms, Peterson took a deep breath and looked up into the crystal-clear night sky. An aspiring astronomer, his goal was to know every star in the constellation. He began his ritualistic naming of the stars as he pointed at each one; “Sirius, Vega, Canopus.”

  As Peterson continued to name each star in the solar system, he noticed one that was unfamiliar to him, and a little brighter than the others.

  “Hmmm. I don’t know you, little fella,” says Peterson as he pulled himself off the pole. Putting his hands on his hips, he stared at the star and wondered if he missed it all the other times. Peterson noticed that the “star” seemed to be getting larger and brighter. His mentality changed from curiosity to concern as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing.

  Too slow for a missile strike, he said to himself. These were, after all, hostile waters, so the theory was plausible but quickly rejected. Peterson began to consider a series of possible answers to what he was seeing;

  Did we launch an aircraft?

  Did I just overlook that star?

  “Damn. That ain’t no star. That things getting bigger by the minute.”

  Peterson knew it was his duty to immediately report anything out of the ordinary, and he intended to do just that, but he couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of the object. An object that kept getting closer.

  CLOSER!

  Without warning, the “star” picked up speed and headed directly for the naval ship. What was once a single bright light, turned into multiple bright lights moving in unison.

  “OH MY GOD!!!” said Peterson as he witnessed what he used to believe was impossible. The “star” rapidly approached the ship and came to a complete stop just yards away from the Roosevelt.

  The ship hovered over the Mediterranean without making a sound. Peterson started to back away, but he was far too intrigued to run away completely. He had heard others tell stories about UFO’s and dismissed those stories as fabrications; people just looking for their few minutes of fame. His curiosity kicked in to overdrive as he moved toward the stern of the ship to get a closer look.

  “Ah man. Nobody’s gonna believe this. Wish I had my camera.”

  Peterson moved as close as possible to get a better look at the object, being careful not to obstruct his escape route, just in case little green men started to emerge.

  Little green men.

  Peterson couldn’t believe that he was actually considering it as a possibility. But he had to. Something was flying that craft and it wasn’t any type of aircraft that the military had in its arsenal.

  As to the question; Is there life on other planets?

  That’s a big yes.

  CHAPTER 5

  WITH THE SHIP silhouetted by the light of the moon, Peterson could clearly see the smooth, cylindrical shape of the object, which appeared to be approximately the size of a football field. The ship had bright lights across the outer edge of its hull that blinked in various colors.

  Still no sound.

  Peterson was also concerned that there hadn’t been an alert from the radar operator. Surely this had been spotted on radar.

  He watched the ship for a few more minutes, anxious to see what it would do next. The ship just sat over the water as if it were waiting for something; quietly sitting.

  Scared out of his mind, but equally captivated, Peterson decided to go for help, if for no other reason but to have some witnesses to the sighting. He knew no one would ever believe him. Probably, not even his wife.

  He kept his eyes on the ship and began to walk away when suddenly the ship emitted a bright light from its underbelly. The light seemed to be concentrated on the water as it moved back and forth in an almost circular pattern as if searching for something.

  The light startled Peterson, as he stumbled backward, falling to the deck of the ship. He scrambled to his feet in a panic, and ran inside to call for help. Fortunately, he did not have to look far, as the watch officer, Ensign Drew Reynolds, was just a few feet down the hall from him.

  “SIR! SIR!” Peterson yelled in desperation as he ran towards Ensign Reynolds.

  “Calm down Seaman,” said Ensign Reynolds as Peterson approached him in a panic. “What seems to be the problem?”

  “Sir! Outside. You gotta see this!”

  Peterson grabbed Ensign Reynolds by the arm and pulled him toward the exit.

  “Wait a damn minute Seaman!”

  “Can’t wait, sir. It might be gone. Hurry!”

  The ship apparently completed its search and turned off its search light just as Peterson and Ensign Reynolds made it to the stern of the ship.

  “Look sir,” Peterson said quietly, believing that if he yelled too loudly, he would scare off his visitors.

  Ensign Reynolds was stunned at what he saw. He just stood there with his mouth open in disbelief.

  Finally, Ensign Reynolds said, “Oh...my...god!”as he stared at the object, unable to react.

  “Come on sir, let’s get a closer look.”

  “No…I…I mean…we…”

  Peterson ignored his superior officers stammering and hurried to the stern of the ship to watch and wait; waiting for something.

  Anything.

  The ship continued to hover without making a sound and eventually descended gradually into the water as if a decision had been made. The ships contact with the water caused the water to ripple three hundred and sixty degrees, causing the Roosevelt to sway back and forth. Peterson could still see the lights of the ship as it descended deeper into the Mediterranean. It continued its descent until the lights were no longer visible.

  “Holy shit sir!” Peterson anxiously said with a smile as he turned to Ensign Reynolds. Reynolds was still frozen in place and unable to speak. Peterson ignored him and turned back to the water, hoping something else would happen.

  “Wait’ll the guys hear about this!”

  Unbeknownst to Peterson and Reynolds, this was not an isolated sighting. The Promelians were here. Thousands of Promelian ships arrived on Earth; their passengers tasked with one mission: kill the remaining Cereleans.

  PART I

  A DEAL WITH THE DEVIL

  CHAPTER 6

  AND SO, THE genocide began anew , right here on Earth and we were completely unaware of it. Promelians hunted and killed Cereleans in the same ruthless manner as they had done on Cerelea so many years ago.

  Once again, the attacks came without warning. Instead of an entire society, individuals were hunted and slaughtered like animals. Caught off guard and divided, the Cereleans were easy prey for the Promelian soldiers.

  To ensure they left no traces of the Cereleans existence, the Promelians disintegrated the bodies after each kill, using a yellow liquid substance that acts as an acid. Once the kill was complete, the Promelians injected the liquid into the Cereleans body. The acid instantly spread throughout the blood stream and immediately dissolved the body from the inside, out. Bone; muscle; sinew; evaporated in a matter of seconds.

  Rule number one; leave no evidence.

  Cereleans began to disappear all over the world. Their disappearances had become a mystery to the humans who had known them.

  But as the Promelians continued their onslaught, they discovered something they had not antic
ipated. The number of Cereleans living on Earth had grown exponentially over the years.

  The Promelians estimated that the number of Cereleans who escaped would be in the thousands. They expected their numbers to grow, but they did not anticipate the Cerelean numbers to be in the millions. It would take them years to hunt and kill every Cerelean. Time was short and they had...other plans.

  A meeting was held by the Promelian council; a meeting to discuss a way forward. They realized that they needed help in dealing with the Cereleans, so they decided to enlist the aid of the humans. They’d spent enough time on Earth to know what drives humans—money and power. The Promelians had the means of giving them both, but the cost to humans would be extremely high.

  CHAPTER 7

  February 12, 1973…12:45 a.m.

  THE HALLS OF the Pentagon were mostly vacant this time of morning except for a few security guards and a cleaning crew. Odd, that a well-dressed, middle-aged man would be strolling the halls purposefully at this hour. With his hat in his hand and his trench coat draped across his arm, the gentleman made his way unimpeded through the winding corridors to his destination.

  Even though he is unfamiliar to the security staff, he had all the right credentials that allowed him full access to every section of the building. The security staff was, none-the-less, curious about this gentleman and rightfully so, he is Promelian.

  The gentleman walked around the corner and stopped at the third door on the left.

  Ah, here we are, he said to himself as he read the identifying placard on the door;

  SECRETARY OF DEFENSE

  A single knock on the door, and he entered without an invitation. Why should he need one? He sees humans as an inferior species that could easily be conquered. He saw one man sitting behind a desk with two body guards standing behind him.

  “Come in, why don’t you,” said Secretary of Defense Albert Clayborn sarcastically. Clayborn is a very conservative person and doesn’t go in much for the theory of aliens. Fanatics is how he sees believers of an extra-terrestrial existence. He needs proof.

  Clayborn has the stereotypical look of a politician. He is clean shaven, his hair is neatly cut and he always wears the typical government black suit.

  He’s short and pudgy with a Napoleonic complex. He was the kid who got sand kicked in his face at the beach. No one pushes him around anymore though. He is both feared and respected in political circles.

  His goal was to have a J. Edgar Hoover-type reputation and he wasn’t far from it. He was the head of defense of a world superpower, the right-hand man of the president. He was the one who kicked the sand now. Turnabout is fair play, right?

  Normally Clayborn would not entertain these types of meetings. He had a staff to handle this type of stuff. But this was different. Clayborn was intrigued at the gentleman’s offer and was willing to entertain it.

  Technology that will ensure your country is the most powerful in the history of mankind.

  This is what was told to him. A gift of that magnitude does not come without a price. If the gentleman could deliver, it would be worth it. Anything that would give the United States a leg up over the Russians in this Cold War, he was willing to listen.

  “Good evening Mr. Clayborn. ”

  “You… you’re…”

  “Yes Mr. Clayborn, I am what you would call an alien,” the visitor says with a smile.

  “Don’t look so surprised. We are not the first alien race to visit your planet which is exactly what I wanted to discuss with you.”

  “Is this your natural appearance?” asked Clayborn.

  “This?” The visitor smiled at the secretary as if he were explaining something to a child.

  “Heavens no Mr. Clayborn, this is not our true appearance,” he said as he moved towards the secretary’s’ cherry oak wood desk, causing Clayborn to nervously adjust in his chair. Clayborns two armed agents instinctively reached for their weapons and moved a little closer to their visitor, just in case.

  The Promelian visitor smiled at the gesture of his hosts, confident in knowing that he could have easily killed all three of them with very little effort. Killing is not what he was here for, though. Waging war on the humans would not be in the Promelians’ best interest since the humans out number them by far. Killing the secretary of defense of the United States would certainly get them the kind of attention they didn’t need.

  “We have seen how your kind treats those that you consider… different. Suffice it to say that we feel it is best that you do not see our true appearance.”

  “So how can I be sure you are what you say you are?”

  “You will just have to trust me for now Mr. Secretary. What we have to offer will certainly cast away all doubt.”

  CHAPTER 8

  “VERY WELL. SO, why are you here? Why have you come to our planet?”

  “To answer your first question, I believe the term is quid pro quo,” said the Promelian agent as he sat and crossed his legs, making himself comfortable.

  Clayborn waited patiently for an answer, but began to find himself growing irritated with the arrogance of his guest.

  “We can provide you with knowledge of immeasurable value; cures to your most devastating diseases, weapons technology. We can help your country become the most powerful in the history of the human race.”

  Clayborn sat back in his chair and displayed a what’s the catch grin at his visitor. Clayborn had always enjoyed a good game of poker. The offer was certainly tempting, if the visitor could produce. But what would be the cost?

  “Gifts like that come with a steep price Mr.—”

  “You may call me Jacobs.”

  “Mr. Jacobs. What’s in it for you?” asked Clayborn as he anxiously leaned forward in his chair, putting his arms on his desk.

  “Ah, that brings me to your second question. We have a…how best to put this…an infestation problem.”

  Clayborn made a puzzled look at his visitor as he awaited the rest of the story.

  “You see Mr. Clayborn, we are not the only visitors to your world. Another race, Cereleans, they’re called, came here several hundred of your Earth years ago to escape the war between our two peoples. They are a war-like race, spreading death and destruction wherever they go. We are here to…eradicate them.”

  “Eradicate!”

  “Yes Mr. Clayborn.” Jacobs said with a smile.

  “Sounds to me like you got your own little Final Solution.”

  “Final Solution?” the visitor asked inquisitively. Immediately after asking, he remembered Earth’s history and the events that took place during World War II.

  “Ah yes, your Adolph Hitler. Terrible man. But, if you must make the association then yes…our own final solution. A very necessary final solution, I must add.”

  “Still not sure what that has to do with us.”

  “Our problem, Mr. Clayborn, is that we severely under-estimated the Cereleans’ numbers and their resolve. They greatly outnumber us and are putting up stiff resistance.”

  “You’re fighting your damn war on our planet?”

  “Believe me Mr. Clayborn, we are doing you a tremendous favor. If the Cereleans are left to live amongst your people, it is only a matter of time before they out number humans as well. With their war-like ways and advanced technology, mankind would not stand a chance in a war against them.”

  “And with all this fancy technology you have—”

  “They have similar capabilities Mr. Clayborn.” says Mr. Jacobs abruptly. “They also have us heavily outnumbered. Believe me Mr. Clayborn, we are your only line of defense against these animals.”

  Clayborn pondered the proposition as he studied his guest’s facial features for any gestures that would indicate that he was lying; there weren’t any.

  “So, what are you proposing?”

  “An alliance.”

  “Alliance?”

  “That’s correct Mr. Secretary. Your government joins our forces to eradicate the Cereleans.”
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  “In exchange for—”

  The Promelian smiled at Clayborns negotiation efforts. “Your planet is plagued with diseases. Your people die by the millions. We have medical capabilities that are far beyond yours. We can help.”

  “What about weapons?” said Clayborn. The question did not come as surprise to Mr. Jacobs. After all, Clayborns job was defense.

  “We have the capability of making the United States the most powerful country in the history of the human race.”

  That was music to Clayborns ears as he smiled at the possibilities.

  “We will provide you with the means to track them, and the technology to destroy them. But, there must be no evidence left behind. Their bodies must be destroyed.”

  Clayborn got up from his chair, put his hands behind his back and paced the floor behind his visitor. The offer being tempting is an understatement. Clayborn was being given an opportunity to usher in the greatest technological advances the world has ever seen. He had a chance to not only go down as the greatest defense secretary in U.S. history, but perhaps even get a shot at being president of the United States. All he had to do was agree to help kill a few aliens; aliens that shouldn’t be on Earth to begin with.

  He has ordered kills before. The decision was a no-brainer.

  "Mr. Jacobs, you have a deal."

  CHAPTER 9

  THE WEATHER WAS cold in Washington, D.C., this time of year. Ten-degrees, wind chill factor. Not as cold as it’s was going to get, but cold none-the-less. There is no cold air on Promelia. Not possible with two suns. It’s hot all year-round. It took some time for the Promelians to get accustomed to the cold. Now that he’s used to it, Mr. Jacobs actually enjoys it.