Paranormals (Book 2): We Are Not Alone
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Authors: Christopher Andrews
Tags: #Science Fiction/Superheroes
PARANORMALS
We Are Not Alone
Other Works by
Christopher Andrews
N
OVELS
(Bronze IPPY winner for Horror)
C
OLLECTIONS
S
CREENPLAYS
(written with Jonathan Lawrence)
(written with Roberto Estrella)
W
EB
S
ERIES
V
IDEO
G
AMES
Bankjob
PARANORMALS
We Are Not Alone
a Novel by
C
HRISTOPHER
A
NDREWS
B
OOK
T
WO IN THE
P
ARANORMALS
SERIES
Copyright © 1980, 2012 by Christopher Andrews
Paranormals: We Are Not Alone
ISBN Number: Hardcover #978-0-9824882-4-9
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the creator’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
This book was printed in the United States of America.
Rising Star Visionary Press hardcover edition: November, 2012
A Rising Star Visionary Press book
for extra copies please contact by e-mail at
or send by regular mail to
Rising Star Visionary Press
Copies Department
P O Box 9226
Fountain Valley, CA
92728-9226
T
ABLE OF
C
ONTENTS
TAKAYASU, SHOCKWAVE, AND COOPER
SHINING STAR AND THE PARANORMALS
TAKAYASU, SHOCKWAVE, AND COOPER
VORTEX, POWERHOUSE, AND THE TAALU
COOPER, TAKAYASU, SHOCKWAVE, AND VORTEX
VORTEX, SHINING STAR, TAKAYASU, AND SHOCKWAVE
PARANORMALS AND THE SHINING STAR
For my friend,
David Vance
,
who created the original version of the Shining Star
(back when he was “Silver Star,” before Jack Kirby
snagged the name).
For my daughter,
Arianna
,
may she come to love the genre as much as I do.
And, as always, for my wife, editor, and Imzadi,
Yvonne Kristina Isaak-Andrews
,
without whom this novel would still be stuck
in the limbo between naps and diaper-changes.
ONE YEAR AGO
TAKAYASU AND VORTEX
Construction had begun on the new PCA headquarters. Normally, such destruction would have taken much longer to clear away, but with the paranormal help that Shockwave, Powerhouse, and others provided, things were moving along quicker. Powerhouse was a full-fledged agent of the PCA now, and he’d embraced his new job with gusto — they even let him keep wearing his ski mask. He was also Tommy and Sarah’s new legal guardian.
In a temporary office set up nearby, Michael sat and considered the costumed man before him.
“Congratulations on your promotion,” Steve told him. “I understand it’s ‘Lieutenant Takayasu’ now.
Full
Lieutenant, right?”
“Yep,” Michael confirmed. “Normally, I’d be required to hold the rank of Ensign for a minimum of a year before even making Lieutenant Junior Grade. Circumstances have changed. And don’t try to change the subject.”
Steve sighed, wishing he could take off his mask. But the Lieutenant still had not voiced his knowledge of Vortex’s true identity, and Steve was reluctant to cross that line first. “I’m not trying to change the subject. I told you, I ... I’m just not prepared to join the PCA at this time.”
“Which leaves me in a bit of a dilemma, doesn’t it?” Reaching into his desk drawer, he produced a copy of the local newspaper. He didn’t bother reading the article or headlines aloud — the grainy-but-recognizable photograph of Vortex (obviously posing) up on a rooftop spoke volumes for itself. “I can’t afford to lose your help, but I can’t have you running around outside of the law.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Vigilantism is still illegal, Vortex. Technically, that makes
you
a rogue.”
“I know that, but think about it. Think about the reaction Lincoln had to the
idea
of Vortex. If I can inspire more people that way—”
“That’s something you could do from within the PCA.”
“Maybe, maybe not. I have something I want you to read ...”
Fishing into a recently-added pocket on the inside of his cape, Steve produced Jeffrey Lawrence’s now-crumpled essay.
Michael read it. Read it again. Thought about it, for several long minutes.
Steve waited.
“All right. You’re on your own,
for now
, and I’ll look the other way as best I can. If some other agency goes after you, I can’t help you, but I’ll keep the PCA off your back.”
“Thank you.”
“Just don’t go too far, Vortex,” Michael warned. “Always remember: We’re supposed to be the
good guys
.”
Steve chuckled and made a show of slipping the essay back into his cape. “I think that was the point
I
was trying to make.”
Michael smiled in return. “Yes, I suppose it was. Just don’t expect me to shine some ridiculous ‘Vortex-signal’ into the clouds when I need your help.”
Steve laughed openly. “No, we don’t have to take it that far. But ... if you do need to reach me ... I think you’ll know how.”
Michael said nothing, merely nodded very slightly.
Vortex stood. Lieutenant Takayasu joined him.
And they shook hands.
SETI
“Doctor Foster?”
Charles Foster, Ph.D., looked up from his computer screen. One of his interns, Ken Starkey, that kid who looked like a long-haired Seth Rogan, stood in the doorway to his office, his hand hovering near the doorjamb as though he hadn’t decided whether or not to knock before his vocal cords settled the matter. “Yes, Ken, what is it?”
“I got some stuff here you’ll want to take a look at.”
“Sure, come on in.” Charles dropped his pen and picked up his
I Grok Spock
coffee mug, a holdover from his own days as an intern — his wife kept buying him replacements for it, and he kept quietly leaving them at home. He started to take a sip, but the lack of heat against his lips warned him in time; he needed a refresher. He kicked away from his desk, his wheeled chair coasting backward to the pot on the lower shelf behind him. “Have a seat. Coffee?”
“Nah, thanks.” Ken sat across from him. “Just downed a Red Bull.”
Charles made a face. “My son loves that stuff. I don’t see how you can drink that caffeinated cough syrup.” His beverage topped off and warm once more, Charles scooted his chair back into place. “What can I do for you, Ken? Did UT identify another new signal?”
“Uh, that’s not why I’m here, but since you bring it up, yeah, he identified two more right before lunch.”
UT, as in “Universal Translator,” was their nickname for Sam Bassett, the paranormal linguist who worked for Charles’ branch of SETI. An absolute Godsend to their work, UT could break down and translate the fundamentals of any language, no matter how complex, in record time; some elements — such as idioms, metaphors, personal nouns — were beyond him, but he could still manage in mere hours what might take normal linguists weeks, months, or longer.
Talk about job security
, Charles mused from time to time.
“Code or spoken language?” he asked.
Ken consulted his ever-present tablet, dragging his finger over the screen. “Uhhh ... one of each, actually. The spoken one’s going to be a real bitch, too. He thinks the speakers might be insectoid, or something. The other’s just another outer space version of Morse Code. He says he’ll have that one handed over to the ancillary team before he goes home tonight.”
Charles nodded, and as always these days, a part of him bemoaned the fact that something as wondrous as detecting signals of extraterrestrial origin — not just one, but two! and both of them from just this morning — had become so pedestrian in five short years.
It wasn’t always like this, of course. Not at all, God knew. Charles had been on duty when that first signal had come in, and it had been as explosive as that scene in the movie
Contact
— if anything, Charles and his team had been
more
frantic and ecstatic than the actors in the film.
Charles, then still a year away from his Ph.D., had been on duty with his two partners, Justin and Zeek, here at the Very Large Array in New Mexico, but their attention hadn’t been on their job at first. This was less than twenty-four hours after the White Flash, and every news station was still trying to discern the proper focus of their attention — tangible fallout from the White Flash, like the million or so car accidents that followed ... or these perplexing, outlandish reports of some people developing superhuman powers?
That particular broadcast was, in fact, the moment when the term “paranormals” was coined: The President was finally going to issue a formal statement to the press, and the White House Press Secretary had come out to settle some preliminary matters. A few reporters posed straightforward questions about the many accidents and the new stars in the sky, and then one bold fellow asked if the President would be commenting on the rumors of a doctor allegedly going on a rampage in some hospital, reportedly killing people with a mere touch, and a runway model turning invisible in the middle of an exclusive fashion show.