Читать книгу Book II: The Revelations (The Fallen Race Trilogy) - Colin Patrick Garvey - Страница 7

“In the last days of June and first few days of July 1947,” Sloan begins, “the country was in a ‘flying saucer’ frenzy. A man named Kenneth Arnold witnessed nine flying discs cruising through the Cascade Mountains on June twenty-fourth. Early on the morning of July ninth, in Chicago, two men, Tommy O’Brian and Tim Donegan, saw what they described as four or five dimly illuminated objects moving southwest. About 15 minutes later, a man named William Valetta reported five or six domed discs in flight, heading east over Lake Michigan. These men all reported hearing a strange swishing noise, a blue light that surrounded the objects, and a wisp of smoke in the discs’ wake.

“Also on the same day, in Springfield, Illinois, Marvin Wright and John Alinger reported one single, shiny gray disc flying in the sky. In Idaho, a man named Dave Johnson was flying in his private plane when he reported seeing one flat disc briefly flash by him. He attempted to film the object, but when he developed the film, no image appeared.

“And of course,” Sloan says, with a sly smile, “anyone who possesses even a cursory knowledge of UFOs knows about the mysterious ‘weather balloon’ that crashed on William Brazel’s ranch outside Roswell, New Mexico, which he reported on July fifth.”

“Is that funny, Ms. Sloan?” Sean asks. “You look like you know where the ace is hiding,” he adds.

“I’ll get to Roswell in a minute, Professor.”

“You can just call me Sean-”

“There were a total of 800 sightings reported,” Sloan continues, “some corroborated and some obviously not. By the middle of July, however, the sightings and reports had diminished, but that’s when the paranoia set in.

“The newspapers and a vast number of people were convinced the government was up to something. Certain members of the press did their part to play up the sightings, and the government’s unusually tight lips about the incidents further strengthened conspiracy theories and allegations of secret military projects involving these objects. Eventually, the stories lost their momentum.

“But a new branch of science was born from the phenomenon, ufology, and this created an entirely new culture of people. These people sincerely believed the objects were from another world, and because the government appeared so secretive about the sightings, it was suggested that they were working in collusion with extraterrestrial beings. An emerging ideology of distrusting the government and other authorities began to pervade society at every level.”

“To be fair, Ms. Sloan, it also created a bunch of raving nutbags,” Sean remarks.

“That’s true, Mr. O’Connell,” she acknowledges, “but once in a while even crazy people hit the nail on the head.”

Sean hesitates a moment, then slowly says, “You mean . .”

Sloan slyly smiles.

“. . extraterrestrials?” Sean asks incredulously. He immediately thinks of Rosenstein and Abraham’s treatise he read in the coffeehouse only hours before.

“Extraterrestrial biological entities to be exact, or EBEs. And not only that,” Sloan indicates, “but contact.”

Sean is too speechless to even respond. The last few years of his life have been immersed in discussions of conspiracies, theories, and speculation about a number of major events in history. Some of the arguments raised were rooted in fact, while others took a more scenic route around the facts. Regardless, since his dismissal from the military, his perspective, and indeed his life, has taken on more suspicious undertones. His distrust of the government and his wariness of its good intentions are deeply ingrained from experience. This distrust will likely never diminish, and his hatred continues to burn ever more fervently at the way he was treated by an institution he believed was entirely pure and just, one in which he placed his faith in wholeheartedly.

Actual alien contact, however, is on a completely different level. The amount of indisputable, concrete facts associated with extraterrestrials is minimal. Sean had, of course, included the subject in many of his conspiracy courses, given that it is one of the most widely recognized and popular topics linking the government and a potential cover-up of epic proportions. However, he never truly delved into the subject in his courses with as much enthusiasm as what he deemed more material topics. When he did, he usually presented any discussion of extraterrestrials with the proviso that the government was using “little green men” as a front for their own secret manipulations. His suspicion of the government on this topic never fully ripened because, frankly, he does not believe in the existence of aliens or the idea they have been visiting our planet for some time with the government’s knowledge. Next to the JFK assassination, however, the notion of a government cover-up regarding the existence of extraterrestrials has to be the matriarch of all conspiracies.

“One of the discs Mr. Valetta saw heading east over Lake Michigan crashed, Mr. O’Connell,” Sloan explains. “Of the three-member crew, two were uninjured, while the remaining being died from its wounds, proving once again that seatbelts do save lives.”

“What happened to the other two?” Sean asks.

“They were captured,” Sloan answers.

“By who?”

“Naval intelligence actually located the ship and captured the extraterrestrials,” Sloan indicates, “but the EBEs quickly found themselves in the hands of a group known as the Foundation.”

The name instantly registers with Sean, who whispers more to himself than to Sloan, “The Foundation.”

Sloan looks at Sean and asks, “Have you heard of them?”

Sean casually replies, “A man I know mentioned that name to me once, a long time ago.”

“Dr. Rosenstein?” Sloan asks, more a statement than a question.

Sean looks at her and once again, she has that sly smile on her face that indicates she knows something he does not, which is turning out to be an awful lot.

“How do you know that name?”

“I was a student once, too,” Sloan notes.

The surprise is evident in his voice, “You were a student of Dr. Rosenstein’s?”

She nods.

Sean leans forward eagerly, “Do you know where he is?”

She smiles at his question, which only frustrates Sean.

“For Christ’s sake, tell me where he is, he knows things that-”

“I know things, Mr. O’Connell,” Sloan interrupts, with a touch of indignation in her voice. “And I’m trying to help you understand,” she adds.

Sean takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down and keep his mind focused. It seems to be veering off in ten different directions, with a whole list of questions in each direction.

“Dr. Rosenstein sent me to find you,” she states.

She pauses a moment, then continues, “He diverted me from my previous mission and when the people who hired me find out, assuming they haven’t already, well . . .”

Sloan lets the words hang in the air, an unspoken premonition of dread judging by the tone of her voice, like a thundercloud threatening to douse the unfortunate people below it. Assuming she is not being melodramatic for its own sake, and Sean doubts that she is, he can presume Sloan has risked her life to find and help him, an act he will be eternally grateful for, if that is indeed the case. Despite Sloan having saved his life, however, Sean does not completely trust her, and before he would be willing to throw himself in front of a moving bus to repay her, he needs to gather more information.

“And what was your previous mission?” Sean asks, not expecting a straight answer.

Sloan surprises him, however, and responds matter-of-factly, “To kill your friend . . Jon Kaley.”

“What?” Sean exclaims. “But why?”

“Because he knows things,” Sloan cryptically replies.

“Like what things?” Sean presses.

“Like things that occurred on a beach in Michigan last night,” she states.

“Jon knows what happened there last night?”

“Pieces of it,” Sloan indicates.

“He’s involved in this?”

“Not intentionally,” Sloan answers.

“And what do you know?” Sean prods.

Once again, Sloan flashes that sly smile, but she does not say a word.

Quietly, Sean asks, “Do you know where my family is?”

Sloan’s smile instantly disappears and is replaced by a look of anxiety. She bites her lower lip and says softly, “Sometimes . . things don’t always go as planned, Professor.”

She looks like she is going to continue, to explain further, but she remains silent, a tense look blanketing her face. When she said this, Sean thought he detected a note of sadness in her voice, as if she were speaking of her own family. Questions begin to buzz inside his head, too many for him to focus on asking only one. Sloan possesses some knowledge of his family, and Sean uses all of his willpower to hold back from shaking her to death and demanding that she tell him everything she knows.

“Can you at least tell me,” Sean pleads, “are they alive?”

“Professor-”

“ARE THEY ALIVE?” Sean demands.

He feels like he is going to explode, emotionally exhausted from the thoughts racing through his head and from trying to find the elusive answers to the questions that plague him. Sean simply wants to know if they are alive, because if they are alive, then there is hope he can find them. And if there is hope, then he has at last been thrown a lifeline over the pit of despair and anguish hollowing out his insides. The despair grows each time he thinks he might never be able to find his family, let alone discover what has happened to them.

“I honestly don’t know, Professor,” Sloan says in a near whisper. “I wish I did, but I don’t,” she adds.

No lifeline here, Sean thinks.

A few moments pass, Sean attempting to control the anger and frustration welling up inside him while Sloan stares straight ahead at the road before them. She glances at him several times, waiting to see when she can continue.

Finally, Sean breaks the silence, “Are you an assassin, Ms. Sloan?”

“Yes,” she confirms, “among other things.”

“And who hired you to kill my friend?” he asks disdainfully.

Sloan responds with a question of her own, “What do you know about the Foundation?”

“We had way too much to drink one night,” Sean recalls, “and Dr. Rosenstein blurted out something about the Foundation, and how they involved his wife in something they shouldn’t have.”

She waits for him to continue, but he says nothing more. She asks, “That’s it?”

“Listen,” Sean explains, “we were completely tossed that night and I hardly remember a thing. He never mentioned the name again and I did not feel right pressing him on it, so I didn’t ask. I don’t even know if he remembers telling me.”

Sloan continues her story, which sounds almost like it has been rehearsed, “The Foundation, Mr. O’Connell, is a clandestine group of men and women that have been secretly manipulating this country’s political, economic, and foreign policies and agendas for the better part of a century. Their power seems to have no limits, and their influence no boundaries. They are everywhere, Professor, and absolutely nowhere. They will stop at nothing and no one is safe if they become an obstacle to the group’s plans.”

She pauses a moment before continuing, “They are unbelievably ruthless and cunning, Professor, and it is this group the extraterrestrials found themselves in the company of shortly after being captured.”

“And this group hired you to kill Kaley?” Sean asks.

“Not only that, Professor,” she notes, “but recover an item from him concerning the attack. Some type of . . evidence he has on him, a disc.”

“A disc? What’s on the disc?” Sean asks.

“They did not disclose that information, but I suspect it is something absolutely damning to the group. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been called in.”

“You’re that good, Ms. Sloan?”

“I never miss,” she deadpans.

Sean’s question was asked more in jest, but he does not doubt the sincerity of Sloan’s response.

“I suspect that the man gunning for you at the gas station was also hired by the group,” she adds.

Sounding rather awkward, Sean stammers, “Thanks, by the way, for . . helping me out back there.”

My guardian angel at least deserves a thank you, Sean thinks.

Sloan nods, but does not say a word.

A few moments pass before Sean finally asks, “So how did these extraterrestrials end up with the Foundation if it was Navy intelligence who found them?”

“That’s how powerful the group is, Mr. O’Connell,” she explains. “Whatever strings they need to pull are pulled. A majority of the members occupy positions in the highest echelons of the military, intelligence, and political branches, and they collectively decide whether the group should take an active and participatory role in certain areas, and areas where a more ‘hands-off’ approach will suffice.

“The bottom line, Professor,” Sloan continues, “is that they do what they want, they direct and guide this country in whatever manner they choose, they maintain a vast army of people around the globe who do their bidding, and they are virtually untouchable. Their name does not appear anywhere except in several obscure conspiracy newsletters or on Internet message boards that ninety-nine percent of the population will never see.”

“So what is it that the Foundation did with the EBEs?” Sean questions.

“The more appropriate question,” Sloan replies, “is what they did not do to them.”

Before allowing Sean to respond, Sloan explains, “Physically, the EBEs were put through the wringer. Every type of physiological test imaginable was conducted on them. They tested their endurance, their strength, their propensity for pain, and the list goes on and on.

“But what alarmed the Foundation was no matter the amount or intensity of the exertion placed on their bodies, the EBEs always managed to astound their captors by first, passing every physical challenge presented to them, and second, the recuperation period for their bodies after a unusually rigorous or strenuous test was minimal. They could run a marathon one day and the next day they would still be able to swim the length of the English Channel.

“They are horses, Mr. O’Connell,” Sloan concludes, “thoroughbreds.”

“Sounds like they were nearly flawless,” Sean remarks.

Sloan turns toward Sean and glares at him. “You’re exactly right, Professor,” she says emphatically, “but not just were, are.”

For a moment, Sean waits for Sloan to explain what she means, but instead she continues with what seems like her linear narrative. Her indication of the present tense, however, suggests these beings are not a thing of the past, a chilling thought to be sure.

“Nearly flawless except for one thing,” Sloan notes, turning back to face the road.

She waits a moment before explaining, “Extreme cold, Professor. While their bodies are remarkably unaffected by extreme heat, and they seem to actually thrive in warmer temperatures, their ability to withstand colder environments is, well . . the best way to put it . . absolute shit. It seems to be their only real weakness.”

“They’re unaffected by bullets, knives, run-of-the-mill human weapons?” Sean wonders.

“I would not say they are unaffected. Their skin type is similar to ours, but extremely elastic.”

Sloan poses a question, “Tell me, Professor, have you heard of biotechnology?”

“Sure,” Sean nods, “I’ve heard of it, vaguely. I don’t really know the basic concepts-”

“Some scientists believe,” she interrupts, “biotechnology will one day alter the essence of what a human being is, both physically and possibly cognitively. It could change the way people are ‘built,’ and it starts cell by cell. It is essentially evolution by choice, rather than by Darwin’s theory of natural selection.

“A small minority even believe biotechnology has been happening for years, decades even, and those behind it are in the process of creating a superhuman, a person immune to all the diseases that plague mankind, a person who cannot be killed by conventional weapons, a person who requires little, if any, sleep. In short, a warrior of the future, a supersoldier.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard and read about those stories for years, Ms. Sloan,” Sean notes. “Secret military projects attempting to create the ultimate soldier, someone with the strength of a hundred men, who never needs to rest and can never be killed.”

“Well, Mr. O’Connell,” Sloan says pointedly, “our alien race may have mastered their own line of biotechnology.”

There is a moment of silence between them as Sean stares at Sloan.

“They can’t be killed?” Sean asks incredulously.

“Oh, they’re not quite there yet,” Sloan responds. “At least we don’t think so.”

That’s comforting, Sean thinks.

“When the EBEs were captured,” Sloan explains, “all sorts of medical tests were performed on them. Scans of their brains, x-rays, the whole lot. They discovered what could only be described as an extremely strong and extremely durable endoskeleton present inside their bodies. This skeleton is not like ours, with bones that are brittle and capable of being broken.

“When they performed an autopsy on the creature that died in the crash,” she continues, “they found that this endoskeleton is tough, comprised of a substance they believed to be some type of liquid metal, but they were not certain because nothing like it had ever been seen on Earth. It has the consistency of a ball of putty, but the strength of something much greater than steel. They also discovered the skeleton is extraordinarily sinuous, that it can move in any direction without having the burden of joints to slow it down.

“In essence, Professor,” Sloan summarizes, “it is a defense system, built from the inside.”

“Are you telling me,” Sean begins, “that if any kind of trauma or weapon is about to strike their bodies, this . . endoskeleton adjusts itself appropriately and braces the body for . . ?”

“Impact?” Sloan offers.

“Yes,” Sean agrees.

Sloan nods, “Something to that effect.”

“So why did one of the EBEs die in the crash and the other two survive?” Sean wonders.

“Like I said before,” Sloan replies, “two of them had been secured at the time the craft went down, while the third being was not. The Foundation speculated that there was so much trauma to the body, and in so many different places, the endoskeleton could not protect the creature from all of it.”

“Speculated?”

“Truth be told,” Sloan clarifies, “the Foundation could not determine much simply from studying the dead EBE. Since the substance was something they had never seen before, they tried to extract information about it from the surviving EBEs, but needless to say, they were not forthcoming with anything useful.”

“Language barrier?” Sean jokes.

“Not a bit, Professor,” Sloan responds evenly.

Sean hesitates, then asks, “You’re telling me they could . . speak our language?”

“Without even the hint of an accent,” Sloan notes. “Occasionally the EBEs’ grammar or phrasing sounded unusual or their pronunciation was incorrect, and they did not understand some slang words, but for the most part, it was like they had been speaking it since birth.

“In fact,” Sloan continues, “they could speak hundreds of different human languages, including a dialect spoken only by a reclusive tribe in Africa that has virtually no human contact.”

Before Sean can ask how this is possible, Sloan notes, “I’ll explain in a minute.”

She continues with her story, “While the EBEs were not forthcoming with certain information, they did encourage several rather unorthodox experiments to be conducted on them.”

“Like?”

“They requested that their captors use a lethal object on them, such as a knife or gun.”

“And did they?” Sean asks.

“Of course,” Sloan confirms. “They found the EBEs’ skin actually seems to conform around an object. For instance, when a bullet was fired into their body, their endoskeleton adjusts itself to the bullet’s velocity and mass and gives it a soft, easy landing. It’s like shooting a pillow and afterwards finding the bullet resting on top, having not even made a hole. It’s radical stuff, Professor.”

“What about hollow-point bullets, or bullets that disperse razor-like shrapnel upon impact?” Sean wonders.

Sloan looks amusingly at Sean, “Mr. O’Connell, that type of technology was not around over fifty years ago, but I would anticipate the same results.”

“So,” Sean begins, “the Foundation doesn’t have them any-”

“Besides,” Sloan interrupts, “the group has devised what they believe to be a much more efficient way to terminate these organisms.”

Sloan turns and stares steely-eyed at Sean, “That way, I believe, is what continues to give you nightmares, Professor.”

Jesus, how the hell does she know about that? Sean thinks. There is only one person she could have received that information from.

Sean had confided in Rosenstein about that day in the jungle years ago, and Sean begins to wonder who else Rosenstein told his story to. The information is highly classified, and if it is revealed Sean shared the events of that day with a civilian, he could find himself in some hot water with the government. The threat of prosecution, however, quickly takes a back seat to what he has just learned.

Sloan’s remark suggests there is a connection between that horrible day in the jungle and these extraterrestrials. Sean immediately thinks of the unusual “weapons” the brass issued to his squad to use on the villagers. Suddenly, there are several pressing questions Sean now considers.

Who or what were the targets that day? Had my team been thrown to the wolves, ordered into a fight against an enemy we had little chance of defeating? If so, were our superiors fully aware of our slight chances? Were we deliberately placed in harm’s way? Was my team and our new “weapons” the real test subjects?

Sean recalls the amount of ammunition his squad expended on the villagers, and how the enemy continued their relentless assault, as if the bullets had no effect on them. The bizarre sound of the bullets meeting their targets’ bodies echoes in his mind, and suddenly, with the new information gleaned from Sloan, things become considerably clearer from that day.

“I see Al has been sharing some stories with you, Ms. Sloan,” Sean says indignantly.

Sloan does not respond and continues to stare straight ahead.

After a few moments pass, Sean asks, “If these EBEs were so much stronger than us and had no reason to fear our conventional weapons, why didn’t they simply overpower their captors and escape?”

“Who said they didn’t?”

Sean is quiet for a moment. “So they did escape?”

Ignoring the question, Sloan asks, “Do you mind if I continue?”

Without waiting for Sean to reply, she continues, “Now, besides their incredible physical attributes, what really dusted the Foundation are their cognitive abilities. They are remarkable problem-solvers, and are able to learn new things at an alarming rate.

“The Foundation gave the pair several math problems only a handful of humans on the planet can solve, and they were able to produce the answers to them in less than four minutes; they can speak fluently any human language after hearing only a few words; they are so familiar with the names and parts of the human body, they would embarrass a veteran surgeon; they were able to land a crippled plane in a flight simulator on their first attempt; they can build anything as simple as a birdhouse or as complex as a television; they were able to read a dissertation on electrical engineering in a tenth of the time it would take the fastest speed reader to complete it, not to mention provide a complete and concise summary of it; they had perfect scores on the SATs, the bar exam, the CPA exam, and the list goes on and on.

“In short, Professor, they seem to possess an astute knowledge of everything concerning the human race and the planet we inhabit.”

“But how is that possible?” Sean desperately asks. “How could they know things, human things, they have never come in contact with before? Unless . .”

“Yes?” Sloan asks patiently.

“Unless they have been watching us all along,” Sean finishes his thought.

Sloan smirks and states, “You’re starting to catch on, Professor.”

Sean waits in anticipation, preparing for another one of Sloan’s deft maneuvers away from the subject. Instead, she slows the car and steers it toward the shoulder of the highway. It is completely black outside the car except for the illumination supplied by their headlights. Nothing and no one appears to be in the immediate vicinity.

“What are you doing?” Sean asks, looking around in alarm, half-expecting to see an EBE directly outside his window.

Without answering, Sloan reaches beneath her seat and holds up what appears to be the smallest spray bottle ever invented. Sloan brings the car to a stop and remarks, “A present from the doctor.”

She opens her window and instructs him, “Take a look outside, Professor.”

Sloan pulls the handle on the spray bottle and a light mist is expelled. Sean’s jaw nearly hits the floor of the car.

The mist possesses a greenish hue and is luminous, practically glowing in the darkness. The mist illuminates what appear to be hundreds of tiny bugs. However, unlike ordinary bugs, these have a silvery, metallic appearance.

“Do you see them, Professor?” Sloan asks.

Sean stares spellbound at them as the mist begins to dissipate.

“What are they?” he asks, transfixed by the miniscule creatures.

Before Sloan answers, she punches the gas pedal and moves back onto the two-lane highway, picking up speed and leaving the little critters in their wake.

“Are you familiar at all with nanoprobes?”

“You’ve got me there, Ms. Sloan,” Sean concedes.

Sloan explains, “What you just saw were tiny robotic crafts, sent by our galactic neighbors, who most likely have been gathering information on us and our planet for a considerable length of time. These nanoprobes may explain how they know so much about us.”

Sean stares at her dumbfounded, uncertain which question to ask first out of the dozens bouncing around inside his head.

“Just think about the absolute efficiency of it, Professor,” she points out. “Miniaturized probes that require a minimum amount of energy, thrust across trillions of miles of interstellar space. For all we know, these things could have been observing the dinosaurs on Earth sixty-five million years ago.”

“But how do they transmit information back to whoever or . . whatever sent them?”

Sloan shakes her head, “This we do not know.”

We?

“Whenever they have been ‘caught,’ the probes seem to shut down and simply turn to dust, almost like a self-destruction process. It is unknown how they gather, store, or transmit their information. The only thing we know about them is now we can see them” – Sloan holds up the tiny spray bottle – “and that they’re not ours.

“By that, I mean the human race’s,” she clarifies.

“I gathered,” Sean responds.

There are a few moments of silence as Sean attempts to digest the utterly mind-boggling information Sloan has fed him. He turns the information over and over again, trying to process it, categorize it, or simply understand it. The ramifications this information could have on the annals of history are so vast and far-reaching, his knee-jerk reaction is to remain skeptical, to doubt the validity of Sloan’s story. Sean will not allow himself to believe what she has told him as fact because it would change everything we ever thought we knew about ourselves and our history.

“Ms. Sloan,” Sean says gravely, “you are telling me that these beings have been watching us, peeking over our shoulders for possibly the entirety of our history. Everything we have ever done as a race, good or bad, is suspect of having been studied and analyzed. Our strengths . . our weaknesses . .”

Sean trails off for a moment when another thought occurs to him.

“Who’s to say they haven’t been manipulating us from the very beginning?” Sean wonders. “Steering us to satisfy their own whims or maybe even guiding us to our own destruction. Our history books will have to be re-written because we forgot to include the small but vital fact that we are not alone, we are constantly being watched and potentially manipulated, and the watchers are a far more technologically-advanced race than we could ever possibly hope to become.”

Sloan has remained silent during Sean’s brief tirade, but now she gives him a shame-on-you look. As if scolding a child, she states, “Professor, you of all people should know the history books contain the simplest version of events, with a number of distortions, omissions, even blatant lies. Keeping it simple is easier for people to understand . . and accept for that matter.”

Sean does not respond. He feels nauseous and light-headed. Everything he has learned and everything he has taught his students is now tainted by doubt. Furthermore, there is the possible implication that throughout human history, we have been mere pawns in a game controlled by a vastly superior race.

In a way, Sean also feels betrayed and a slight anger towards Rosenstein. Sloan is obviously too young to have received this information firsthand, and Sean suspects Rosenstein must trust Sloan enough to have shared all these secrets with her.

But why not with me?

The information Sloan has shared with him puts every other conspiracy theory floating around in the ether to shame. Ultimately, this is the conspiracy that could change everything, and given that this has been an area of intense study for him the last few years, he feels like a fool for remaining completely oblivious to it.

Why was Rosenstein so willing to share his secrets with this Sloan character, but not me? Did he not trust me? For Christ’s sake, I am the man’s protégé, why would he not want me to know about this? And knowing Rosenstein and his penchant for agitation, why had he neglected to blow the lid off this conspiracy a long time ago?

In all of their discussions and friendly arguments, Sean could not recall Rosenstein ever mentioning anything about alien conspiracies, let alone any writings on the topic save the treatise Sean read only hours ago. Sean simply assumed that Rosenstein shared his own mindset: that there are plenty of conspiracies to explore here on Earth without needing to delve into outlandish rumors and stories surrounding alien visitors and their nefarious plans for our planet.

Sloan suddenly breaks into his reverie, “Are you okay, Professor? Not that I blame you, but you are looking a little pale.”

Sean absently nods his head, betraying how he actually feels.

“I’d like to continue, if you don’t mind,” she says rather gently, sensing Sean is practically on information overload.

Sean manages to squeak out a word or two for her to continue.

Sloan takes a deep breath, “There is one final trait the EBEs possess, probably their most important strength and a characteristic that can make them virtually unstoppable.”

Sloan glances at Sean and sees that he is once again listening intently to her.

“The Foundation discovered it on what would essentially be the final night of the EBEs’ captivity . . when Jericho escaped,” Sloan says, with a perceptible note of reverence in her voice.

“Jericho?” Sean asks.

“Don’t forget, Professor,” Sloan explains, “this was back in God-fearing times, when most people still went to church on Sundays. They named their captured EBEs Jericho and Gabriel, biblical names if ever there were any.

“Both performed nearly identical in terms of physical and cognitive abilities. Neither seemed to be smarter or more intelligent than the other. The EBEs were questioned regarding ranks, class systems, and social hierarchy in their culture, but their captors never received clear answers to these questions. Nevertheless, the researchers sensed Jericho was what we would call the ‘alpha male’ of the two, with more leadership-type qualities and a kind of assumed dominance and superiority over Gabriel. He always seemed to ‘see all the angles,’ as one researcher noted, while Gabriel was viewed as more innocent, trusting, even naïve in his tendencies.

“Jericho seemed the opposite of Gabriel: controlling, self-assured, and, according to another researcher’s notes, ‘inherently devious.’ On the flip side though, Jericho also exuded a wealth of charm towards his human captors, even charisma. He seemed to naturally understand humans and their emotions, their strengths, and of course, their weaknesses.

“And one night, it seemed, he decided to exploit those weaknesses.”

Sloan pauses a moment and glances at Sean, who seems utterly enthralled by her story.

“No questions, Professor?” she asks.

“I’m with you, Ms. Sloan,” Sean encourages.

“As I mentioned before,” she continues, “their skin is extremely pliable, adaptable even, because of their unique endoskeleton. Without getting entirely science fiction on you, Professor, it was discovered that night the EBEs can actually alter their bodies and faces to appear as anyone they have come in contact with.”

“You’re talking about . . . shapeshifters?” Sean asks, no longer surprised at what the EBEs are capable of.

“You’re familiar with the term?”

“Of course I am,” Sean replies. “Nearly every culture in the world has some kind of shapeshifting myth, Ms. Sloan, which usually involves a human being turning into an animal or vice versa. Vampires and werewolves are probably the most commonly known shapeshifters in our culture. And several Native American tribes believe the thunderbird can change into a human.”

“Impressive, Professor,” Sloan notes. “There are also the ‘nagas,’ or snake people, prevalent in India and Nepal, who legend has it can turn into a snake or a hybrid between the two. Or the Brazilian ‘encantados,’ which are creatures, usually dolphins, with the ability to change into human form.”

“I thought shapeshifting is thought to be physically and scientifically impossible,” Sean argues.

“Well, as you may have gathered, Mr. O’Connell,” Sloan replies, “the EBEs have shattered many of our commonly-held beliefs regarding what a body is capable of, especially with the aid of advanced technology. It is thought that it has to do with their endoskeleton, but to be honest, no one has been able to determine how they do it.”

“What did they look like when they were captured?” Sean wonders.

“Good question, Professor,” Sloan indicates. “Gabriel and Jericho were initially found in the waters directly above where their ship crashed. Their features were so similar to a human’s, it was hardly questioned whether they actually looked different from us. Their faces were very sharp, angular-like, and their skin was dark. They certainly looked strange to their captors, not entirely human, but not so different as to appear like the little green men or the aliens with the bulbous heads and huge eyes that we so often have depicted.”

“That is something I want to ask you about, Ms. Sloan,” Sean says.

After a moment of hesitation, he continues, “I am curious what they look like in their, um . . well, their . .”

“Natural state?” Sloan offers.

Sean nods.

A bemused look crosses her face, “Well, if you’re picturing the creature from Predator or Aliens or something along those lines . .”

She pauses as Sean waits for her to continue.

“. . well, keep wondering, Professor. No one has actually seen their natural form, at least no one we know about.”

There’s that “we” again, Sean thinks.

“You’ll find, Professor,” Sloan explains, “that throughout history, in reports given by witnesses who claim they have seen extraterrestrials, the descriptions they provide are similar to what I just mentioned: dark skin and pointy or angular faces. The Foundation simply assumed the EBEs looked similar to humans, if not exactly like them. A narrow-minded and anthropomorphic point of view to be sure. But who would have thought they could actually shift their complexions and alter their bodies to mimic a human being?

“That night – and I do have to mention that despite the longevity the EBEs remained captives of the Foundation, the group still maintained extremely stringent containment procedures – Jericho ‘replicated’ the head of the research team, killed six security personnel, and escaped into the night, never to be seen again.”

“Jesus,” Sean breathes. “What happened to the other EBE . . um, Gabriel, right?”

“That’s right,” Sloan confirms. “Like I said before, Gabriel was the more innocent and naïve of the two, but even he realized Jericho left him out to dry, and he offered to help the group find Jericho and bring him back. But . .”

“But what?”

“But,” Sloan explains, “the head of the research team was so infuriated with Jericho, and so worried about another escapee, he had Gabriel promptly terminated.”

Despite the finality of Sloan’s statement, Sean thinks he might have misheard her.

“Terminated? As in executed?” Sean questions.

Sloan nods.

“Just like that?” Sean asks, clearly unsettled. “How did they do it? I mean, since they couldn’t be killed by conventional weapons-”

“They froze him to death,” Sloan responds deadpan, not a touch of sympathy or pity in her voice.

“I don’t understand,” Sean argues, “these creatures have managed to create a defense system that can essentially render our weapons ineffective, but their . . what was it again? Biotechnology? It can’t fend off something as simple as a cold environment?”

“I think you’re splitting hairs, Mr. O’Connell,” Sloan counters. “To devise a defense system that can virtually blunt all trauma that threatens to harm them, I would consider that an utterly remarkable feat.”

“I would agree, Ms. Sloan,” Sean acknowledges, “but being susceptible to a cold environment seems to me like a pretty significant weakness, especially on a planet like ours.”

Another thought occurs to Sean. “Out of curiosity, could this sophisticated endoskeleton be the root cause of their vulnerability to cold environments?”

“The Foundation had the exact same thought, Professor,” Sloan smirks. “That somehow the endoskeleton is susceptible to cold and breaks down in such a climate. And, in essence, taking the EBE with it.”

After a pause, Sean addresses another thought on his mind.

“How long were they in the Foundation’s . . custody?”

“Nearly two years,” Sloan answers.

“See, that bothers me, Ms. Sloan,” Sean indicates. “Since you’ve clearly noted the fact that they are physically and mentally superior to us, as well as their ability to change their appearance, why did they wait so long before escaping? In fact, I have a hard time understanding how they were captured in the first place.”

“Very good point, Professor,” Sloan nods. “And believe me, that has been widely discussed and theorized from the beginning.

“The most common and accepted explanation why the EBEs were captured was because they wanted to be captured. Many believed this was done for two reasons. First, by being in close contact with human beings for such an extended period of time as the EBEs were, it afforded them an opportunity to understand us more deeply . . deeper than, say, a nanoprobe could get. So while the Foundation conducted their tests, they had no idea that at the same time, they were being closely studied and analyzed by the EBEs, test subjects themselves in a manner of speaking.

“It was suggested that the second reason for the EBEs’ acquiescence to captivity was because they wanted to display their extraordinary abilities to their human captors. While several members of the Foundation argued that arrogance and pride are strictly human characteristics, and that it is foolish to believe the EBEs possessed such traits, the flip side to the argument is that it was a subtle method of intimidation used by the extraterrestrials on their captors.”

“In other words,” Sean states, “the EBEs were laying down the gauntlet, challenging us to try and match their technology. They were insinuating that if there is ever a war between us, we already know the end result.”

“Exactly, Professor,” Sloan affirms.

“Then, when Jericho decided he had learned enough,” Sean concludes, “and they had adequately ‘shown off’ their unique abilities to their captors, he drops one final bombshell by shape-shifting into the head of the research team and splitting, leaving his partner holding the bag.”

Sloan nods and they remain silent for a moment.

“But why leave Gabriel behind?” Sean asks. “What was the purpose of that? I mean, the way you describe these . . beings, there must have been a rationale behind it.”

Sloan shifts in her seat and shrugs, “That was never very clear. Some believed that Gabriel, despite being treated like a lab rat with all the testing and experiments, began to like his human captors. He came to admire their curious and exploratory nature, something that seemingly angered Jericho.

“Others suggested that Gabriel and Jericho were not ‘getting along’ around the time Jericho escaped. Supposedly they had several heated exchanges in their native language just prior to the escape. Some even believed Jericho was simply acting out and would return soon, that he would be unable to handle the outside world and would come back with his tail between his legs. A ridiculous assertion considering the way these beings are able to adapt to their surroundings.

“The fact is, Professor, no one really knows why Jericho left Gabriel behind,” Sloan says. “But there is no doubt this is what doomed Gabriel to his fate. And whether Jericho knew that would happen, well . . I certainly wouldn’t put it past the son-of-a-bitch.”