“I won’t. I’ll just watch.”
He nodded and went on unpacking while I finished my article and sent it to Nadine for review. Nadine was right—the writing exercise was cathartic. That evening, after dinner, I supplemented my knowledge by reading more MILAB documents from Daniel’s archives.
In the morning, Chester, Daniel, Mike and I took one of the Proxima Foundation vans up to Petulli’s place. After about 5 miles along a ridge, we passed through a gate, and there was the Petulli mansion—massive and castle-like, made with sandstone bricks. On one side was a large three-car garage, on the other an observation tower that was topped with a dome, presumably the observatory where Petulli kept his telescope.
Daniel rang the doorbell. A surveillance camera peered down at us. Petulli answered a moment later. He was 5’9” with short hair, in his 60s but looking younger than his age. We exchanged greetings and introductions. I wondered if he’d seen my Hot Reports article on the Proxima Foundation and what his impression was of me.
Mike and Chester headed immediately down the hallway to a door leading to the basement.
Petulli looked over his shoulder at them. “Complete the checklist, but don’t turn anything on, not without me present.”
“Roger that. Safety first,” yelled Mike before he and Chester disappeared.
Petulli led Daniel and me down a long hallway, its walls lined with old framed photos and awards. Many of the images were of airplanes, some of him and his father in blue flight suits and mirrored aviator glasses, posing in front of different types of exotic experimental aircraft.
We entered a great room open to a large kitchen area with granite counter tops. The walls of the great room were lined with floor to ceiling shelves of books. Several plastic models of rockets and airplanes were on a table in the center of the room. No traces of a woman’s touch anywhere.
A book caught my eye: Ancient Aliens & JFK: The Race to the Moon and the Kennedy Assassination. I pulled the book out.
“You like books, Ben?” Petulli asked.
“Of course,” I replied, pushing the book back and moving on to the next shelf. Petulli came over to make sure the book was pushed all the way back in, showing that he was the kind of man who needed everything in its place.
“I was about to have some nourishment; would you like some?”
“We’d love some,” said Daniel.
A large tabby cat appeared and rubbed up against Petulli’s leg. The cat meowed affectionately. “It’s not feeding time yet, Mr. Snickles,” Petulli said equally affectionately.
Petulli went into the kitchen and poured a frothy green substance from a large blender into three tall glasses, then returned, handing glasses to Daniel and me.
“This will put hair on your chest,” Daniel said to me as he took a drink.
“More than that,” said Petulli, “it will extend your life by ten years.”
I looked at the glass of chalky green liquid in my hand and smelled it. It was odorless and tasted like raw vegetables and fruit.
“Soylent Green?” I smiled, thinking that Pettuli would get the science fiction reference.
“No, a synthetic mix of anti-oxidants,” Petulli said in serious tone.
“Synthetic?” I was wondering if I should be worried about what I’d just swallowed.
“Proprietary blend of essential oils,” he said.
“Just drink it, Ben,” Daniel said, wiping his green mustache.
I asked Petulli about his photos and his experimental work in aviation design. He had 50 patents on designs and instruments. I also asked about the large observatory upstairs, and he suggested I return sometime for a tour and look through his homemade Dobson telescope.
We finished our “nourishment,” and headed down to the basement. In the center of the basement room was a chair with a helmet with electrodes and a large Plexi-glass box with a sloppy array of tubes and wires attached.
“This is a transdimensional 3D printer or T3DP,” Petulli announced. “Through Daniel’s mediation protocol, we can focus intention and receive transmission intra-dimensionally from our EBE friends, and it prints what they want to send to us.”
Alas, I knew what the secret the device was. “Wow. How did you know how to build this?”
“The EBEs sent the plans on how to build it. To Daniel. Telepathically,” Chester explained. He was standing next to a large AC power switch on the back wall in a white lab coat with a pair of plastic goggles around his neck.
Did they really think the T3DP was going to receive something from aliens on Proxima b? “Does it work? Have you made anything with it?”
“Oh, it works,” said Chester.
“You are going to witness a technological miracle today, Ben.” Daniel added.
Chester handed me a pair of googles. “Its standard Personal Protective Equipment, in case there are any particulates or other unwanted objects that come flying out,” said Chester.
“Unwanted objects? What would cause that?” I asked.
“Transient thoughts,” Daniel answered, now in the chair and donning goggles.
Chester placed the helmet device on Daniel, Mike rechecked the wire connections, and Petulli readied things at the computer. Petulli motioned to Daniel that everything was a go, and Daniel gave Chester the nod to flip the power switch. Daniel closed his eyes and began to meditate. The overhead lights flickered and a strange hum resonated through-out the room, increasing in pitch and amplitude. Then the printer started, its nozzle moving at light speed and shooting resin in rapid fire. Within a minute, an object began to take form—an oblong, warped tic-tac shaped object about two feet in length and slightly larger on one end.
Looks like a giant penis, I thought, holding back a grin.
Daniel’s eyes were still shut, his forehead now glistening with sweat. After a few minutes, the printer slowed, then stopped. Petulli raised his hand, motioning to Chester to turn the power lever off. Daniel, looking exhausted, opened his eyes to behold the object. “It works!” Well hot damn! It works!”
“I knew it would,” said Chester.
“What is it?” I asked.
Petulli removed the object from the printer housing and held it up for everyone to see. “It looks like you received a model of a Proximian space craft, Daniel.”
Petulli handed it to Mike who handed it to me. I looked it over. Was this a technological miracle or a farse?
Petulli returned to the logs on the computer screen. “Daniel, you hit theta waves for nearly three minutes and the amplitude is off the charts. The bandwidth is incredible.”
Daniel was still smiling. “Let’s try again,” he said.
Petulli, still at the computer, said, “I’ll need to make a few power adjustments and make sure of the calibrations. If we are off, you could receive faulty plans and who knows what kind of danger that could cause.”
“Like if they send the entire plans for a craft they want us to build,” Chester added.
“Like in that movie Explorers in the 1980s,” I blurted. “Several boys had the same dream about a technological device they built in a basement. It works, and they’re shot up into the night sky where they rendezvous with a giant, adolescent alien.” No one seemed to get the reference.
Daniel said, “This is no movie, Ben. I do believe that this technology will help get us to the moon, and well beyond. Interstellar space travel will be in reach in just a few years.”
“Are you absolutely certain that this design came from the Proximians?” I asked Daniel.
“Certain?” He looked at Petulli. “Let’s try it again, only a local test this time. Chester, hook me up.” Daniel sat back and donned the goggles while Chester readied the helmet. “Ben, concentrate on an object, any object.”
“Any object?”
“Yes, anything that comes to mind, something tangible.”
Tangible. “Okay, I’ll give it try.”
I slipped the goggles on and Chester flipped on the power. I tried to think of something ta
ngible. At first, random objects came to mind—Nadine’s statue of Quan Yin, the rubber duckie on my key chain, my laptop, the claw machine at Ramblin’ Joe’s—but my mind’s eye came to rest on the face of a Proximian, staring me down with its black eyes. Now I couldn’t not see it.
The printer came to life, moving slowly, then full tilt. I peeked my eyes open—everyone was stating at the printer. Except Daniel, who’s eyes were shut.
When the printer came to a stop, Petulli removed a full-sized replica of a Proximian head and held it out for everyone. “Well there you have it. It works,” he said.
I was both impressed and horrified. Either the head appeared by chance or it was an actual telepathic connection between Daniel and I. Either way, the thing gave me the creeps.
“How did you know that I was thinking about that?” I asked.
“Telepathy, Ben.” He addressed Petulli. “It’s time Robert. We need to let the world know about what we’ve accomplished here. Don’t you agree?”
“I don’t think we are ready for primetime just yet, Daniel. We’d better make sure that it’s going to operate as planned,” Petulli suggested.
Daniel nodded, then turned to me. “Ben, would you like to write a press release for the Proxima Foundation on this?” He probably saw my hesitation because he added, “The government can’t stop us now, Ben. The Proximians can send us all kinds of transformative technologies, like a zero-point energy system. Once we get this out, there will be no way that they can shut us down. But we need to be calculated in how we release the information. Can you do it, Ben? Write a teaser release? We should do it right away.”
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said.
That night, Nadine gave me the go ahead to publish my abduction experience blog on the Foundation website. There were thousands of shares within an hour. I felt good about the blog—that I’d accomplished something. I also got to work on the intra-dimensional 3D printer press release, and sent it off to Daniel for approval when I was done.
20: The National Press Club
The National Press Club is more than just a conference center for Washington elites; it’s known as “The Place Where News Happens.” Daniel wanted that, and that’s what he would get.
We had lunch in the Club restaurant and then headed into the main conference room. Daniel sat in front of a microphone at the center of a long table, his name displayed prominently on a large placard. To his left was Dr. Steiner, and to his right, Richard Mazzotti. Mike and I sat together in the front row and watched people trickle in—other UFO experts, government officials, and of course, the press. Cameras and photographers were lined up in back. Daniel’s face was serious but glowing from all of the attention on him.
At exactly 1pm, Daniel cleared his throat. “Ladies and gentlemen, thanks for coming to this important briefing. For years, my esteemed colleagues and I have been advocating, for all of humanity, that the governments of the world release the truth about our alien visitors. Our federal government must take the lead. We the people demand it, which is why I’ve organized this press conference: to demand this release and share the truth openly with the people of the world. I’ve asked several experts to join me today to communicate to the government and public what we know to be fact—that the Proximians are no threat to humanity, and that the government has been staging alien abductions for more than two decades in order to scare the public and test new technologies on unsuspecting, unwilling participants.”
Reporters began shouting questions.
“CNN News. So how long has the government known about this, if what you say is true?”
“It is true. Various departments and agencies of the government have known for 75 years. Isn’t that right, Dr. Steiner?”
Steiner leaned into the microphone. “Yes. Everything that Mr. Byrne has said is true.”
“What do their ships look like?” asked a reporter from NBC.
“We have been tracking two types: triangular ones, which we think are tactical in nature; and egg-shaped ones, or “tic-tac” shaped, as they’ve come to be known, which appear to be probes for surveillance. We’ve known about these since 2004. Tracked off of San Diego.”
Once the press conference was over, Daniel was encircled with Mike at his side. I waited in the main lobby on the first floor, checking social media and the news. There were already reports about the press conference. Eventually, Daniel and Mike showed up.
“Sorry, Ben.” Daniel said, “I was called to a special briefing with some government officials. Looks like our conference today did the trick: The government is definitely listening now. They want to meet with us at the Sheraton in 30 minutes to discuss disclosure strategy. Come on, we’d better get a cab.”
At the Sheraton, we went to the top floor, Room 5601, where a man wearing a dark designer suit led us into the suite where two other men were seated, also in dark designer suits. Were these Men in Black characters? Daniel, Mike and I sat down on a large sofa facing the men.
Daniel smiled. “So where should we start?”
One of the two men was not smiling when he said, “We want you to cease and desist your public talks about alien visitation. We don’t care about your UFO lectures, but you must stop talking about this fake abduction nonsense.”
So these government men weren’t there for Daniel’s advice.
But Daniel was adamant. “You know that I can’t do that. You can’t stop people from learning the truth about MILAB operations.”
The other man said, “Maybe you did not hear us clearly. You will stop all discussion about MILABs immediately, and you will stop building the telepathy device, do you understand?” He leaned forward, letting the gun tucked under his suit jacket become visible.
“Who are you guys?” I interjected, my heart racing. “Why don’t you want him to talk?”
“Quiet, Ben, let me handle this,” Daniel said confidently. He looked at the lead man. “You don’t want the public to know the truth about what the government is doing, but I have a cache of information that I will give to the public if you try to stop me.”
The lead man sneered. “Go ahead, release your cache, we don’t care. But stop all press releases and social media about MILABs and your experiments.” He looked at me. “That goes for you, too, Mr. Davenport.”
“Or what?” said Daniel.
“Do you love your wife, Mr. Byrne?” said the lead man said calmly.
Daniel stood up, his face hardened. “Now you listen to me. If you lay a hand on her I’ll…”
A quick scuffle ensued, but when Daniel was pushed out onto the balcony and against the railing, I stood to go to his aid, only to be pushed back onto the sofa. Mike looked like he was shitting bricks.
“Now, you listen to me,” the man at Byrne’s throat was saying, “you think that you are on top of this, but it takes nothing to make you fall. Am I getting through to you, Mr. Byrne?”
Bone-chilling fear showed in Daniel’s face. “Yes,” he grunted.
“You remember what happened last time, don’t you?” said the man.
“I do,” said Daniel.
Daniel coughed and came back into the room. His composure regained, Daniel gestured to Mike and me. “Let’s go,” he said.
“See you around,” one of the men said as we left.
In the elevator, I turned to Daniel. “Why didn’t they stop you before you did the Press Club briefing?”
Daniel shrugged. “It’s the federal government.”
“Are you going to stop talking about the MILABs? What about the intergalactic 3D printer?”
“Go ahead and post the blog about the printer, and you might as well write one about what just happened here. Nothing can stop me from getting the truth out. I’m used to this kind of intimidation, it comes with the territory.”
21: Cosmic Woodstock
Daniel, Mike, Chester, and I took a Proxima Foundation van to the Missoula County fairgrounds late Saturday morning. There must have been two thousand people already there; famil
ies with children, cadres of teenagers, and lots of people in alien masks and costumes. A thousand more were expected for Daniel’s afternoon appearance and the concert, and fireworks later.
We checked in with the festival program people and made sure that everything was all set. We inspected the stage area in the pavilion with its massive PA speakers and big screen TVs paid for by the Proxima Foundation. Daniel tasked me to help with the sound check and to keep up with social media updates throughout the event. Mike was the usual security detail, and Chester was to help with whatever else Grand Marshal Daniel needed.
During a break, I went to use one the many porta-potties and afterwards took a shortcut through the food vendor and beer garden area where I ran into Brenda working one of the booths. She had an apron over her t-shirt and black short skirt and black leggings. She asked me what I was doing in Missoula.
“I’m living and working here now at the Proxima Ranch.”
“With the culties? Why?”
“A lot has happened, including something incredible.”
“Oh yeah? I want to hear this. What happened?”
She removed her apron and suggested we sit at one of the picnic tables.
I took a deep breath. “I had an abduction experience about two months ago.” I then told her the short version.
She looked at me like I thought she would. “Are you smoking some shit? You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“I’m serious, Brenda, it happened, and I can’t fully explain it. I came to talk to Daniel Byrne about it. He’s the expert, and I’m hoping that he can help me to figure out what it’s all about. I’m just looking for the truth.”
She stood up. “I need to get back to work.”
“No, wait, Brenda. I’m not playing with you. Hear me out.”
She sat down again. A few high school kids walked by in alien-antenna hats. “Do you really think he’s going to have answers for you?” she asked, her sarcasm obvious.
“I don’t know who else to talk to. I’ve researched everything I can find about fake abductions, and it’s all the same conspiracy stuff that leads no closer to the truth. Something definitely happened to me, that, I know. It wasn’t all in my head. It was physical—I mean, it felt physical, and someone or something made a mark on my chest, and sometimes I still have a ringing in my ears. Byrne has information. If it’s true, then maybe he has some answers. Daniel really knows his stuff. He really does. He even knew about the exoplanet Proxima b before NASA did. I know that you probably think that I’m crazy.”
The Goldilocks Zone Page 15