Authors: Ross H Henderson
For most of the day there wasn’t much activity. Wolfe was a little surprised there wasn’t more activity from the local farmers, but most of the work was done automatically. There was a fuel truck going in, and at about mid-afternoon there were two trucks coming with supplies, and several delivery drones leaving with grain, and coming back empty. Wolfe stopped counting them at 50, and reset his motion parameters for ground activity from 0 to 10 feet in the air.
He was a little bored and had been hoping to see something out of the ordinary, but even the road vehicles were probably auto-controlled and stuck to their schedules like clockwork. For a short time, he allowed his thoughts to wander to his fallen comrade, Josh Taylor, who had been killed on Pangaea and cloned by Gretchen Brooks, who was also a clone. He knew she was smart enough to know the clone would not necessarily feel the way she and the original Josh Taylor felt about each other. At least not once he realized his memories were implants, and that he was not actually who he thought he was.
But yet she did it anyway. She probably figured she had nothing to lose since her original Josh was already dead … and she got what she wanted: The new Josh seemed to understand her motives and feelings, and embraced Josh’s memories as his own. What else was he going to do at that point? Be content to be a clone with no identity, no purpose, and no mate? Or be Josh Taylor, a trained soldier with survival skills, in good physical condition, with a good woman who loved him? At first he remembered Taylor was something of a charmer when he wanted to be, but how much of that skill or desire was a part of the new Josh Taylor? He shared Taylor’s DNA, and most of his memories, but ultimately had his own identity.
Upon realizing his “memories” were someone else’s, how much weight did they really carry? There’s useful information like how to disarm an improvised plasma bomb, and the muscle memory that comes with being a master of several different martial arts and fighting techniques. On the other hand, there’s information that is essentially useless: memories of another man’s ex-wife and kids. Someone else’s personal life only serves to cloud the water, and probably should be buried. If at all possible, Wolfe supposed it should be completely forgotten.
Wolfe decided that if one had to be a clone, he could do a lot worse than having Josh Taylor’s DNA. He remembered that in his only interaction with Josh’s clone, he had been a little dismissive of him. It was understandable since he was introduced to him in the same moment he realized he had to mourn one of his closest friends. Even so, in a way it felt like he had disrespected Josh himself. Wolfe knew logically this could not be the case, but felt bad about it anyway. He decided when he was done with this job he would take some time off and try to reconnect with the clone of his friend. After all, if someone as hard-hearted as Tristan Evans can embrace his son’s clone as another son, maybe he could accomplish something similar with Josh’s clone.
It was starting to look like this might be a late night, so Wolfe decided to take a short nap and conserve his energy. He knew he would be alerted as soon as the drones picked anything up, so the time was right. He emptied his mind, letting it wander through imaginary places, islands, mountains, jungles, wherever. He had a good memory, and had been around the world to many tranquil locations. Josh Taylor had taught him how to do this when he first joined Green Squad, the mercenary team employed by Tristan Evans. Wolfe’s mental discipline made him a natural at it, and soon he was better at it than Taylor. He could sleep on demand, choosing his desired location as one would browse through a catalogue or a computer file folder. Wolfe didn’t need any mental exercises today; he had been awake for much of the last two days, and fell into a deep sleep.
At about 10:30 p.m. he got an alert from one of his drones, then another, then another. He looked on his screen and saw the pattern of red dots form along the road to the site.
The computer voice, a calm woman’s voice with an English accent said, “Vehicle onscreen.”
Wolfe answered it, “Follow. Stay back 20 meters.”
In the dark, Wolfe knew his tiny drones would not be detected, so there was no need to be overly cautious. The truck was old and beat-up, but it ran well. It looked like it could have been white or gray, except for the door on the passenger’s side, which was an obvious junkyard replacement. It could have been red, black, brown, or maybe navy blue. It was hard to tell in the dark with only moonlight.
There were three men squeezed into the cab of the old pickup, and the engine was very noisy. He’d have to wait until they stopped to hear anything.
Newton Paxson, Maynard Halifax, and Heath Chesterfield arrived at the site shortly after 11:00 p.m. Chesterfield got out of the truck first. Despite his good physical condition, his body ached after an hour crammed in the bench seat of Paxson’s old pickup. He stretched as he got out and made sure he could stand up straight. At 6 feet, 4 inches, he was the tallest of the three. Even though he hadn’t played a down of football since high school, he was still in good shape. He wore brown leather jacket over a red T-shirt, black jeans, and black high-top sneakers.
Heath Chesterfield looked every bit a grown man at 22 years old, except for a thin moustache, which looked like it belonged on a teenager. Heath’s moustache actually made him look younger than he would have seemed without it. It didn’t matter. He was attractive, with an easy smile, but his brown eyes reflected his burning intensity when the situation was serious.
Intensity was something Heath Chesterfield was never short of. It made him a great running back, but it also got him kicked off the football team in his sophomore year. He had a quick temper, but had been working on it for years. He also had an obsession with superheroes as a boy. He was a different man now, but at times mourned what could have been.
His anger got the best of him during a game. He saw a teammate get a cheap shot from an opposing player after the whistle had blown. No referee seemed to notice, so he took matters into his own hands. He strode up to the offending player and pushed him back a few feet. The opponent took off his helmet as he walked forward. By now players from both sides were involved. One player stepped between the two original combatants. Chesterfield swung for his face and broke his hand on the other player’s forehead. With that, both sides went haywire.
Many parties were guilty, but Heath Chesterfield was at the center and the start of all of it. He was kicked off the team, despite his insistence that he was watching out for his teammate. Heath tried to make the same case to his father, who was profoundly ashamed of his son.
Bernard Chesterfield was an older God-fearing man, and he always enjoyed seeing his son play football. He was disappointed in Heath being dismissed from the team, but more than that, Heath’s father made it clear that he had brought shame to the Chesterfield family with his inability to control himself.
That was the last conversation Bernard Chesterfield had with his son before he died of a heart attack. Heath left the house in the evening to get away from his father’s rebuke, stayed out for a few hours wandering aimlessly, and returned to find his father collapsed on the living room floor. His arm was outstretched toward the old landline phone. He was about a foot away from being able to dial 911, but never made it.
Twice in the same day Heath’s emotions had cost him everything. After a month of mourning and seething anger, Heath resolved to stay in control in every circumstance. As a regular student, he struck unlikely friendships with people who stayed by his side and taught him how to forgive himself and move on with his life.
Maynard Halifax needed Heath right now, and his friend relished the opportunity to do for someone what others did for him those years ago. He wanted to be the one who helped Maynard get his life together. As an adult, he learned real friends are worth more than superheroes.
***
“So where are these aliens?” asked Maynard as he crawled gingerly out of the truck.
Newton replied, “I don’t know if they are aliens.”
“You said they had a spaceship.”
“Yeah, but we have spaceships here on Earth too.”
“Maybe you can help me figure it out.”
“If we can find it.”
Heath saw the door appear and open in the side of the rock first. “Over there!”
Newton Paxson walked to the door while the other two stood, frozen. He turned and said derisively, “Don’t be afraid. This is what you came out here to see. It’s safe. Come on!”
The two newcomers started walking slowly toward the rock with the oddly lit, door-shaped opening.
***
Nick Wolfe had seen and heard what he needed. He observed everything from the hotel
—
it would be about two hours before they came back out. He would make sure to track all three of them to their homes, but for now all he could do was wait.
***
The three young men walked into the cavernous room, oddly lit in shades of blue and ultraviolet.
“Let’s sit down,” offered Newton.
“Is it okay?” asked Maynard.
“Yes, they want us to.”
“How do you know?”
We told him it’s allowed, and now we are telling all of you
.
Maynard and Heath looked at each other with widened eyes.
Don’t be afraid. We won’t hurt you. In fact, we can help each other.
“How?” Heath and Maynard’s voices asked in unison.
Without you to take us out of this ship, we can do nothing for ourselves, and nothing for anyone else. We want to help
.
In exchange, we can make you better ... stronger, smarter, healthier, more powerful … whatever you desire to be. Your friend Newton has already seen some of the benefits. You would like to play football like you did before you were injured. You would like to be made whole.
These were stated as observations, as facts. And neither Maynard nor Heath disagreed; they were both subconsciously nodding their heads as the presence spoke directly into their heads, in their own language.
But the process takes a little while and all we need is your permission to start
.
Maynard uttered the word, “Yes,” immediately and faded off to sleep. Heath could feel himself giving in and wanting to lose control. Not to anger, but to this seemingly all-powerful force that promised power and health in exchange for compliance. Either way, it was against his code. He would not lose control again, and he would not allow himself to be manipulated, no matter how attractive the offer. Heath knew there was always a price to pay, and that for something like this the price would be steep.
“No.”
You don’t know what you’re giving up. Your friends can make their dreams come true. They will become gods among men.
“Probably, but the quick path to dreams has only gotten me in trouble. I prefer to do it myself.”
As you wish. You may go.
Heath did not argue. As soon as the door opened, he walked out, much to Newton’s surprise. He asked the presence, “Do you want one of us to catch him?”
That won’t be necessary. No one will find us or believe him, and soon there will be enough of us: you and us, combined to make strong, perfect human beings. Once the people of the town see you and realize they can have your power too, they will be on our side
.
Heath ran for three miles, walked for another three and was met up the road by a man in a navy blue sedan.
“Hop in, Heath. I’d like to give you a ride home and ask you some questions about what you saw back there.”
Heath stared incredulously at Nick Wolfe as he slipped into the car.
“Who are you?”
“Nick Wolfe. I work for BioMek Horizons. Right now, I’m just looking for answers about the ship back there.”
“You knew it was back there, so you already know more than most.”
“Yes, but you’ve been inside. What did you see?”
“We were led into a really large room and sat down.”
“Led? By whom? What did they look like?”
“We didn’t see them, but they spoke to us … in our heads. It was weird. I thought the words were my own thoughts for a minute until I saw Maynard listening to it as well. They were talking to all of us. I could hear them, but they didn’t make any noise.”
“Why do you say they if it was only one voice?”
“Well, Newton, called them they, and it made sense when I heard the voice. They didn’t speak all at once, but they each took different words, switching between them. It sounded like different voices I’d heard saying the words, sometimes it was my own voice. After a minute they blended together into a seamless voice. It was soothing. I wanted to sleep in there. Then they promised us things.”
“Like what?”
“Like full recovery from our past injuries, the ability to play football like we did in high school. Power, strength, you name it. Newton is in the best shape of his life and he got back together with his ex-girlfriend, who had outgrown him years ago and is way out of his league. A week ago he was just another dope-smoking man-child who thought he was a lot smarter than he actually was. Now he has … presence. He acts like a man.”