Читать книгу Wake-Up Call - Joaquin De Torres - Страница 12

LeMarcus Henderson stood outside the perimeter fence of Pittsburg’s Mirant Power Plant with his new laptop. From Willow Pass Road, he surveyed the massive facility that sits on the southern shore of Suisan Bay. Some four miles east along the same shore of the San Joaquin River in Antioch, sits the Gateway Generating Station. The massive natural gas and electric plant would be the next place Henderson planned on visiting. The Mirant plant’s gigantic cooling towers, its farm of oil tanks and gigantic iron-scaffolding architecture of the main plant was Pittsburg’s most recognizable landmark. Seen by millions of commuters on Highway 4 each day and night, it stood tall and proud in the flat delta valley like a steam-vomiting castle fortress. Over 2,000 megawatts of power were pumping in that fortress, and Henderson had to find a way to get to them.

He looked at the main entrance where employees drove into the site. It was about 100 yards from the main road. There was a gated guardhouse where guards checked IDs before raising the entrance gate. He turned away from the plant and walked on towards the town and in the direction of Antioch. He was in the right place; it was just a matter of time before he found a way in. He looked up into the sky and smiled. He had time.

* * *

It was a very quiet lunch. Doogie had lunch with other patients at the institution under the supervision of Ellen and the lunch attendants. I, Zelda and Ivana left the facility and went to a local Chinese restaurant. Yet, despite the delicious items we were eating, we barely spoke, each of us contemplating what we had witnessed hours earlier. For me, I was thinking of Doogie and how he would perform on Zelda’s upcoming test.

“What if he fails your test?” I asked finally. Zelda shook her head dismissively.

“It doesn’t matter. It just eliminates one possible, but highly improbable idea that I’ve considered.” She shrugged and pulled a large shrimp out of her chow fan with her chop sticks and slid it into her mouth.

“What highly improbable idea?” asked Ivana.

“That he’s been fed these facts from an exterior source.”

“What exterior source?” I asked, but she shook her head again and waved it off.

“Look, it doesn’t matter. Doogie is still an extraordinary subject of research for someone who is deeply mentally disabled. Plus, he’s still connected to Patricia because of three unexplained phenomena: the disc drawings, this “commander” guy, and your dreams. These three things tie all of you together. It’s still a breakthrough case study for Ivana’s aggregate intelligence and memory reflex theory.”

“You’re forgetting a fourth connection,” reminded Ivana. “The story of the two Russian generals. The second general had drawn the disc perfectly as well.” Zelda nodded firmly in recognition as she picked through the sweet and sour pork. “And there could be more.”

“Okay,” I held up my hand as if trying to place things in order mentally. “What if Doogie passes your test? What will that prove?” Zelda took in a breath and let it out slowly.

“Then it means something has happened to these patients that cannot be explained rationally; and if it can, it will change the way we think about our lives on a global scale.”

“Is this your highly improbable idea?” Ivana asked using her fingers as quotation marks. Zelda nodded again.

“Yes, but I don’t want to discuss it until I’m done with the test.” Unable to contain my impatience, I turned squarely to Zelda.

“You know, Zelda, when I stumbled on Doogie the first person I called was Ivana because she’s the only person I can trust in this world. She called you, that means she trusts you; and that means I have no choice but to trust you. We’re now a team and we’re at each other’s mercy no matter how unconventional or ridiculous our theories may be.” I suddenly felt embarrassed about this admonishment, but I couldn’t stop the words from leaving my mouth.

“Now, I don’t care about Nobel Prizes, book deals or international recognition. If you’ve got a few of these lined up and this case is going to deliver them, I’m happy for you. But that’s not my concern right now. We’ve got two patients, maybe more, who are crying out for our help. I’m here to help them. Ivana’s here to help them. If you have any ideas on how we can do this, we need to know; which means, we need to know what you’re thinking despite how it might impact your personal agenda or your personal beliefs.” I stopped when Ivana’s hand softly clutched mine. It was her way of saying “Okay, you’ve made your point.” Zelda took her napkin and touched it on her lips.

“Zelda, I’m sorry,” I began. “I have no business lecturing you.” She raised her palm, and rolled her large eyes up to me. I could see an inner struggle between what she wanted to say and what she shouldn’t.

“No, you’re right. I’ve let a personal prejudice erect a wall around a certain idea that surfaced once I watched the Patricia clips.” She looked at Ivana then back to me. “My improbable theory is this: What if their knowledge was implanted in them?”

“What do you mean?” I asked. She leaned forward slightly.

“What if the knowledge they have was placed in them by an outside source?”

“You mean, like brainwashing or subjective memory theory?” asked Ivana.

“No, I mean, like storage.”

“Storage for whom?” I asked, but Zelda didn’t reply right away; in fact, she looked away. “Zelda, storage for whom?”

“For extraterrestrials.” She looked at both of us, perhaps waiting for us to burst out laughing. We didn’t. She continued. “Alien entities.” The conversation died for a moment as we all decided it was time to think about this. We began eating again, ravaging our food and gulping down our beers in an attempt to give us more time to consider the possibility.

“Another beer?” Both women nodded, so I caught the waiter’s attention with my hand, raised my beer bottle and showed three fingers. When he came back with the beers, Zelda looked up to him.

“Can we have another order of Mongolian beef?”

“And Kung Pao shrimp,” added Ivana. The waiter smiled and left. We obviously entered a new realm of consideration and needed some more time.

“Have either of you heard of Dr. Joseph Terlaje?” Zelda asked. We shook our heads. “He’s the creator of Suppressed Cognitive Implantation Theory. It’s a theory that if aliens planned to visit Earth, they would first implant data into society’s subconscious to prepare us for that coming; and that implantation has been going on for decades for a visitation that he believes will occur very soon.”

We stared at her in our uncomfortable silence, afraid of saying something utterly ridiculous. But she Zelda was used to our expression by now, so she shook it off and continued.

“Okay, anyway; I met him at an astrophysics conference in LA where he was giving a lecture on alien contact scenarios two years ago.” Zelda’s eyes drifted away from us as she talked, taken by the memory of that time.

“. . .We all know from history that if you want to take a castle, or a city, you have to plant spies or moles within it so you can get information from the inside,” Dr. Terlaje said into the mike, looking around at the packed house of USC’s lecture hall. “Defensive positions, castle architecture and layout, tower fortifications, weapons stores, sentry guard changes, for example. Even mundane facts like when the soldiers eat, when they train, where the horses are kept, where the moats drain out-all of this, is golden information to a commander before a siege.”

Zelda remembered Terlaje well. A Pacific Asian-Islander from the tiny island of Guam in the Western Pacific; 64 years old with a full head of graying, slicked back hair. He was handsome; with a sharp Spanish nose, high forehead, tanned skin and a thick beard and mustache that hid a strong chin.

“You send in people, dressed as merchants, farmers or slaves; and let them blend into the population. They spend months, maybe a year amongst the people and all that information. At a certain point in time, those moles are recalled and the information is delivered and a siege is planned out perfectly.”

“So, Dr. Terlaje, you believe there are aliens within the human population now just gathering information for a future invasion?” asked a young man to the chuckling urges of his friends.

“No, I don’t believe that at all. Assimilating our human biology to the point of near cognitive perfection would take millions of years of evolution,” Terlaje answered flatly as he strolled the front of the amphitheater lecture hall.

“And cloning wouldn’t work because once the embryo is fully adult, his or her life will have been shaped, modified and evolved by his environment. The physical carbon body wouldn’t be a problem to replicate given time, but the interaction among the people would be a severe problem for aliens hoping to infiltrate our society because of natural human idiosyncrasies, tendencies, emotional consistencies, and mental interpretations. Visceral reactions, for example, can be naturally seen and studied throughout the world. Happiness, excitement, grief, pain-all, are the same in our human culture. A person crying desperately in New York looks and feels exactly the same as a person crying desperately in the Sudan. A person pleading for his life in Mexico looks and feels exactly the same as a person pleading for his life in the Netherlands. It’s a human thing that can’t be replicated. You can’t clone a human on an alien ship, per se, or a distant planet; transport it back here, and expect it to act, react and live like an Earth-born human. That crap exists only in Hollywood!” This brought out a roar of laughter. Zelda, too, had laughed. Another person raised his hand and stood up from the center row.

“Dr. Terlaje, I’m Professor Vince Malcolm. I teach Economics up at Cal Berkeley.” The auditorium immediately welcomed him with a light-hearted chorus of boos. Terlaje laughed.

“Wow! Dr. Malcolm ! You’ve got more courage than I do. Let’s see, two weeks ago your Cal Bears massacred the Trojans by three touchdowns! Are you sure you want to be asking questions on this campus?” The audience shared the laugh with Malcolm. “Please, sir, go ahead.”

“Dr. Terlaje, first let me say that your appearances on “Ancient Aliens”, “Science Tech Tomorrow”, PBS and other Discovery Channel shows are amazing! I’m such a big fan!” This prompted the auditorium to quake with thunderous applause. “I read your book discussing the actual space travel theories and how aliens have been visiting Earth for thousands of years implanting people, and I agree with all that. But your latest book talks about whether their future visit or visits could be benign in nature.

“Given the fact that they’ve watched us evolve into a very hostile species, and they’ve monitored what our weapons can do, they understand that we know how to destroy. In fact, quite sadly in my opinion, human suppression and destruction are what we seem to be very good at as a race. My question is: What makes you think they, the aliens, wouldn’t just come and clean house, sort of speak, and populate our planet with their own species?”

“Well, Dr. Malcolm , if they wanted to “clean house” as you suggest, they could have done it a long time ago. Also, keep in mind that our planet’s atmosphere, biology, pressure, gravity, and chemical makeup may not be suitable for alien life. They most likely can adapt, but no planet has the exact same ingredients to sustain universal life. With China, America, Russia, India and Japan-the top five worst polluters in the world-destroying our world’s oxygen content continuously, the aliens would probably not want to breath the shit we call air.” The audience laughed again.

“Think of visiting an aquarium. We see through the glass a reef teeming with life and animals, but could we ever live there? Would we want to? No, because when we’re at an aquarium, we’re just visiting; just looking into a world that fascinates us. So, I don’t think global destruction is their plan, nor do I think colonization is their plan.” Terlaje stopped pacing and faced the audience, silent with anticipation.

“So, you’re going with the peaceful, benign contact angle? More ET and less War of the Worlds?”

“Dr. Malcolm , contrary to many scientists in our field, I don’t believe that the Earth is the trailer park of the universe. If intelligent life is monitoring our progress, as I believe, they would know that our planet is a baby compared to the multiple billions of stars and galaxies out there, and that we need time to grow, evolve. Such time takes tens of thousands of years.

“I’d like to think that tens of millions of years or more of their own evolution has given them a galactic wisdom, a cosmic patience, when they gaze upon us. They don’t need to destroy us; they need to nurture us and perhaps, give us some help.” Terlaje let that settle into the audience’s thought stream before raising the mike to his lips again. Before he could speak he noticed another hand in the upper reaches of the auditorium.

“Go ahead, miss.”

“Good afternoon, Dr. Terlaje. Dr. Zelda Snow, head of the Physics department at UCLA. I’ve read all your books, as well, and I eagerly await your next one.” This comment also elicited a warm round of applause.

“Thank you, Doctor.”

“My question is: If we are to assume a visitation is likely sometime in the future, whether benign or aggressive-if you take the approach of an alien knowing what you know about us-how would you do it? How would you come to us to actuate your plan?”

“I would come in peace,” Terlaje said firmly despite small pockets of laughter. “If I am the alien race, I would prove to this primitive life form that I can do things that they can’t, but in a positive and constructive sense. Give the Earth signs that I was there already, and that I imparted good will before actually showing myself.”

“What do you mean by that, Doctor?”

“Perhaps cure a few of their ills first, like clear an oil spill overnight; or put out a raging forest fire; clear out 75 percent of the air pollution, if that was even possible. Maybe raise the people’s level of cognitive intelligence; maybe even heal some of their sick just to show as proof. But I wouldn’t land a space vehicle down unless I was absolutely sure that the human race understood that I meant no harm, and make sure that they had the ability to accept our gestures and powers.”

“Raise their level of cognitive intelligence?” Zelda asked.

“Yes, I would implant within people an intelligence or a mental capacity to be able to do incredible things, and accept incredible things to be done for them. I would give them a set of cognitive tools-an extraterrestrial intelligence-and show them how to use it. Like they did with the Mayans, Aztecs, Incas and Egyptians. I mean, does any intelligent person actually think these civilizations thought up all of that math, physics, architecture and astronomy knowledge by themselves without a history of prior learning?” Terlaje’s question was followed by a wave of verbal and bodily acknowledgements from the crowd.

“THANK YOU!” yelled out a student in appreciation.

“Doctor, can you elaborate on that concerning those cultures?” asked a different voice from the front.

“Okay. How could a race like the Mayans, who practiced ritual human sacrifice, worshipped the jaguar, and had no concept of the wheel, do mathematical equations so advanced that they counted numbers into the millions? Why would they even need to count that far?” The crowd fell silent as they considered the question. “The only thing in the millions in their existence were the stars. And without the help of telescopes and modern sextants, they were able to predict celestial events like solar eclipses, the summer and winter solstices, the procession of planets-not only in their day, but for thousands of years into the future.” He looked at the audience and opened his arms. “Number one, why was that important to them? And number two, who the hell showed them how to do it?” The crowd remained silent.

“The Egyptians, Aztecs and the Incas. How could these races quarry stones that weighed more than a house, move them over miles of jungle or desert, up steep slopes and mountainous terrain, lift them to great heights without iron cranes, wheel technology, chains, nylon rope, or hydraulic lifts; then fit them together so precisely, at such perfect angles, that you can’t even slip the edge of a razor blade between them?

“In the case of the Egyptians, the Great Pyramid of Giza, supposedly built in a span of 15 to 20 years. The mass alone is around six million tons; the volume of it is 2,500,000 cubic meters. Fifteen to 20 years? REALLY?!” Terlaje’s incredulous and snarky tone made the audience laugh again. “Let’s go with the longer estimate. If it took 20 years to build it, archeologists and masonry experts say that the masons at the time would have to set about 800 tons of cut stone every day. At 2.3 million total blocks, workers would have to move an average of 12 blocks into place, every hour, day and night without one day’s rest.”

The audience gasped at the scope, some shook their head in skepticism.

“And if that doesn’t blow your mind, or make you raise the bullshit flag, all four sides of the pyramid have an average error rate of just 58 millimeters in length! The Great Pyramid is almost perfectly lined up with the magnetic North Pole. How do you build something that huge, and align it magnetically without a compass?” He stepped forward and made a fist for emphasis.

“This is NASA precision, people! This is the highest level of architectural advancement from a race that had stone and low-density metal tools.” He looked at the audience and raised his eyebrows disbelievingly. “Really? I mean, ask yourselves-REALLY?” He shook his head as he strolled, chuckling at the absurdity.

“There is so much evidence that shows that these great buildings couldn’t have been built solely by people, much less the Egyptians of 4,000 years ago; in fact, they were built way earlier than that. It’s well documented that all three pyramids line up perfectly with the angular position of the three stars of the Belt of Orion. It’s famously known, and forced-fed to the public, all tourists, stargazers, and Egyptologists who make their money off fun facts like that.

“However, astronomers know that the pyramids and Orion don’t line up now because of celestial movement, inclination, procession, etc. But when they went backwards in time based on those calculations, the pyramids lined up perfectly with the Belt in 10,500 BC.” Terlaje took a sip from his water and looked at the astounded faces. “You all can Google the various theories, proof, myths, and calculations and decide for yourself. Plus, I’ve discussed this several times on the documentaries I’ve been on.” He took another sip. “And even if they did do it, my questions are still salient: Why was that important to them? And who the hell showed them how to do it?

“All these monuments, pyramids and temples from Mexico to Egypt, from Peru to Thailand, to Great Britain-all of them, have obvious and intentional cosmic significance. They all are aligned, arranged, pointing to, or dedicated to specific stars or constellations. None of it is random.”

“Dr. Terlaje, do you feel the same about the Nazca Lines of Peru?” asked a person somewhere off to the side.

“The Nasca Lines in Peru are one of my favorite examples,” he answered. “Stretching across 50 miles, and 190 square miles of unfertile Pampas de Jumana, geoglyphs of animals, natural objects, beings and geometric shapes so massive that they can only be seen from the air, were etched in the ground. For whom? Who was in the air around 1,360 years ago when they were constructed? Is there any doubt for whom they were made?” Terlaje opened his palms as if waiting for the obvious answer.

“Oh sure, some scholars,” using his fingers to make quotation marks around the word scholars, “have stated everything they could to discount these geoglyphs as being associated with outer intelligent life. From stating the formations were tributes to nature, to gods of rain and mountains; to claiming they are part of the Nazca people’s religious symbology for an ‘exploded planet’ cult. A professor from the University of Kentucky even took a team up there to,” again using his quotation fingers again, “recreate some of the shapes for National Geographic to prove that anybody could make these lines. Well, isn’t that original!?” The audience chuckled amusingly. “National Geographic was so impressed that it said the recreated images were ‘remarkable in their exactness!’” He looked around as he smiled sarcastically. “You know when I sing Frank Sinatra in the karaoke club, I too, am told that my singing is ‘remarkable in its exactness!’” The audience belched laughter.

“Pardon my French when I say, who really gives a shit if you can copy something that’s over 1,300 years old?” His face turned cold. “These lines can be seen from satellites; they can be seen from space. Recreating them means nothing; why they created them and for whom, is the question! Of course, aliens themselves didn’t create them, humans did! The pre-Nazca people did; but why? Well, how about this? To say, ‘We see you! We’ve heard of you! We want you to come back!’

“And the more these so-called scholars argue that such enigmas are nothing more than art forms, religious artifacts, cults or temples to their Pharaohs or gods, the more I’ll argue that these same scholars are afraid of things they don’t want to bring themselves to face!”

Terlaje’s face etched anger at the temerity of such an group whom he should have considered intellectual colleagues. Instead, he called them deniers, cowards and hypocrites. The audience remained silent as they watched his passion spew from his mouth and his heart. They dared not interrupt him now.

“That technology exists outside this wonderful planet and people throughout time have tasted it! The more critics and scholars discredit this, the more I’ll laugh at their notions that the human race is the only race in the universe. And even more so, I’ll spit in the face of Old Testament evangelical scientists who STILL believe the Earth is just 6,000 years old! The fact that these wondrous edifices in Egypt, Mexico, Machu Picchu, Baalbek in Lebanon, Easter Island, Great Britain, Nazca, Thailand and elsewhere, were constructed at a time when the local populace couldn’t possibly know what they were doing, or had the tools to do them, should tell them something real and special.” Terlaje paced around the room, his eyes sharp yet full of annoyance.

“But Dr. Terlaje,” he mimicked a humorous, geeky voice. “there are 67 pyramids in Egypt and they don’t have astrological significance!” The crowd laughed. “Yes, there are 67 pyramids in Egypt, but other than the three at Giza, the rest all suck! Cheap imitations of those three. I’m of the group that believe that the three were built 10,500 years ago by an alien technology who showed them how to use the technology of superconductivity and levitation. They showed them how to quarry stones so perfectly and how to move them, align them, and place them, so that they would be markers seen from space. The other 64 pyramids were imitations of the perfect three, and you can see the results of their shoddy human work without the real technicians and their tools present.

“But, but, but Dr. Terlaje!” he mimicked the voice again to the crowd’s delight. “Carbon dating says that the three were built at the time of Pharaoh Khufu between 2500 and 2566 BC!” He snickered with contempt. “Carbon dating is good, but it’s only an estimation and can be manipulated based on surrounding excavations. If Khufu did, in fact, commission to have the great pyramid built in his honor, don’t you think he would have dedicated an entire chamber within the pyramid to illustrate it all? You don’t think these guys didn’t have egos the size of the Nile!? With all the artists and hieroglyph painters decorating the living hell out of tombs and temples at Luxor, Alexandra and Karnack, wouldn’t he have done the same upon the greatest structure ever to stand on the Earth?” The audience reveled in Terlaje’s impassioned thunder, clapping their hands and cheering when he hit his points.

“But he didn’t! Not a single painting, fresco, etching, or hieroglyph is there. There’s not one wall that is painted in honor of him; not one plaque to say officially that ‘I, King Khufu, commissioned this edifice under the eyes of Osiris or Ra or Darth Vader, and dedicate it to the gods that I may be eternally virile, bla la bla!’” He didn’t wait for the laughter. He was not done.

“NO! There’s nothing! Do you know why? Because he didn’t do it! It was already there! He planted his flag and his name to claim them because they were on his land. Archeologists came around and found that he was ruling at that time, saw the pottery, dated the other buildings, read the writings of recorders expected and paid to write what the pharaoh wanted, and said, ‘This fits just perfectly in our carbon dating theory! And the people have called it the Pyramid of Khufu for thousands of years, it must be his!’” The audience roared again, but Terlaje lowered his voice and raised his index finger.

“The three pyramids are so perfect in their structure, in their symmetry, in their celestial alignments; too perfect for a people who couldn’t even design shoes, much less the tools needed to build such megaliths. If you divide the perimeter of the great pyramid by two times the height, you get the equivalent of Pi, exact up to 15 digits. It took until the sixth century for Pi to be calculated just to the fourth digit! Yet, there are no mathematical records or hieroglyphs showing that Egyptian architects knew of Pi.” He scanned the room.

“How could that be? The great pyramid is lined up almost exactly with magnetic North Pole. How could the ancient Egyptians have done this without a compass? How did they know about the poles at all?” Terlaje’s face was now chiseled in stony repudiation. There was no doubt of his skepticism; and no hint of acquiescence. He refuted hundreds of these notions and theories in his books, and he stood to defy them there.

“There are other mind-bending facts about their architecture that you can Google yourself; the point is, whenever they were built, the pharaohs couldn’t recreate them again in their geometric or trigonometric perfection. Successive pyramids were poorly built, and are now in decay or crumbled. That doesn’t seem right when you think of evolutionary progression, does it? Should not the architects want to make better pyramids? Or, at least make them look just as epic as the three of Giza?” He shook his head.

“No. Because they couldn’t. They didn’t know how. The Egyptians were proud and meticulous record keepers throughout history, yet there are no definitive records of the pyramids being built. How do you leave that out of history? You’d think that if great architects created blue prints for them, those prints would be guarded for eternity somewhere, in a chamber, recorded on tablets, or passed down through generations of architects.

“Clearly, there should have been mention of the man or men who drew the plans. The pharaoh would have been proud of this man! Educated, trained in all the ancient and modern technologies. Pampered, and favored politically within the pharaoh’s inner circles. Given everything he needed to relax and generate his creative powers. He would have had his own chambers, and dined with the royal family. But where is this guy? We don’t have a single name to give credit for these magnificent monoliths except for Khufu, and even he didn’t boast about them. The pharaohs had massive egos, and what better place to have his army of glyph artists and historians immortalize him than within the halls of the pyramids themselves? In those huge chambers where, as we know, are completely bare of art, glyphs and writing.”

He raised a challenging eyebrow to the crowd.

“And why? Because there wasn’t any one Egyptian architect. The Egyptians of that period didn’t build them.” He sighed with regret. “They were built thousands of years before. These facts are written off; these scholars dare not look into space for answers but try to discredit, simplify and recreate them to prove that it’s all quite reasonable that they are nothing more than dedications to deities and tributes to human kings.” He raised his head and arms to the ceiling with theatrical effect.

“THANK THE GODS FOR THE HUMAN RACE!” The crowd ate up the dramatic sarcasm and applauded.

“THANK THE GODS FOR SCHOLARS! Because without them, there wouldn’t be such a simple, logical human rationale for all this! Figure the odds! These ancient people didn’t have help? OH, REALLY!” Again the laughter. “They didn’t have the wheel, they didn’t have Pi, they didn’t have a compass, or telescopes, binoculars, carts, a sextant, or cranes! BUT ALAS! They triumphed! They pulled it off on their own, these loin-cloth-wearing, gloveless, barefooted peoples! It was human ingenuity after all!” He rolled his eyes in disgust. “Jesus Christ, the arrogance!” The crowd applauded thunderously.

“You can doubt the Bible; in fact, you should!” More applause. “You can doubt the existence of God; and if you’re stupid enough, you can even doubt climate change and evolution. But you can’t doubt what’s still on the planet for all to see. These things were constructed, and we have to deal with them no matter what you believe.” The crowd delivered another strong round of applause. He took the time to return to the podium and drink from his bottled water. A hand raised in the audience.

“Dr. Terlaje, do you agree with scholars who believe that these civilizations did not learn or build on their existing technology, but were given it?”

“I do. This is where I believe that aliens not only implanted technology, but showed those ancient cultures how to apply it. Consider this: There is no written evidence that shows that these cultures learned the advanced geometry, trigonometry, astronomy, and physics they needed to chart the stars, predict celestial events, or build these structures over time. No time-honored textbooks, scrolls, trade papers, diary notes that a culture could store and use throughout time. No record of masonry schools, architecture classes or materials workshops handed down through time.” He looked inquisitively at the crowd.

“You mean to tell me that such knowledge just happens!? The Mayans are the first civilization to use a number system that counted into the hundreds of millions. Now, I asked earlier: Why would a civilization need numbers like that? Well, we know that they surveyed the movement of the universe, and calculated the passage of time. One just needs to look at their famous calendar which is divided into cycles 3 million years long.

“The question remains: why? Why would a culture, known for its savagery in war, village pillaging and human sacrifices feel the need to be so accurate with their numbers? The answer is in the heavens. The Maya accurately calculated times when the sun would rise and set, and even more amazing, they determined the length of the solar year to be 365 days. A tropical year is actually 365.2422 days long. Amazing, right? They calculated that there were exactly 149 moons over a period of 4400 days, which works out to an average lunation of 29.53 days. This is remarkable accuracy, given that the actual average lunation is 29.53059 days. Okay, the moon and the sun calculations were relevant for crops, tidal readings, dry and rainy seasons, etc.

“But what of other calculations? Mayan astronomers determined the synodic period of Venus, how long it takes Venus to orbit the sun, to be 584 days, which is again incredibly close to the actual period of 583.92 days. Why the hell would they need that information? And HOW THE HELL did they know about Venus!?” The crowd chuckled at his animated posture and tone. “Remember, they had no telescopes or magnifying devices. Everything they did was with the naked eye!” The audience, although familiar with some of the ancient history and of Terlaje’s emphatic proclamations from his shows, were still amazed with the facts and numbers he laid before them.

“They also calculated the synodic of Mars as 780 days; our actual calculation is 779.936 days! And let’s not forget Mercury! The Mayan calculation was 117 days; ours 116 days! They predicted the coming of eclipses, and the revolutions of Venus to an error of one day in 6,000 years!” Terlaje held up his hands and dropped them hopelessly to their wild delight.

“I ask you, people: What. . .the. . . FUCK!?” The auditorium roared. “They predicted solar eclipses, Super Moons, and planet alignments hundreds of years into the future! They knew of procession, synodic periods, the ecliptic, and are the only pre-telescopic civilization to demonstrate knowledge of the Orion Nebula, the Pleiades star cluster, the Cygnus, and Sirius constellations. It’s absolutely mind-blowing to think they came up with all this by themselves!” Terlaje moved back to the podium and took another long swig from his bottle of water.

“I’m telling you, people, if you don’t think we’ve been visited before, then you think about those cultures and ask yourself: How in hell could they have done what they did with what they had? We don’t have the technology to replicate the great pyramids in that scale TODAY! We have super cranes, hydraulic lifts, mega loaders, industrial forklifts, computer architecture, infrared topography, monster trucks, earth movers, electric stone shavers, rock slicers, cutting and sanding tools! We have these tools because we started with wood and rock, then with bronze, then with metal, diamonds and titanium; we had through horses, then with steam, then electricity, then fuel, etc. THIS is evolution over time. The Olmecs, the Mayas, the Incas, the Aztecs, the Egyptians, the Sumerians-they had none of these things. All their information and technology was not evolved, but handed to them.” The auditorium was hushed as each person took in the magnitude of the information. As they contemplated, Terlaje drank from his bottle.

“Dr. Terlaje,” Zelda said rising to her feet again. “Just one more question, sir. In today’s culture, when you talk about the aliens implanting technology into ordinary people for a future visit; specifically, what types of information would you implant, in whom would you implant it, and why?”

“I can tell you’re a physics expert, Dr. Snow; you’re able to ask three questions in one pass with perfect equilibrium!” The audience laughed with Zelda. Terlaje took another sip of water and came to the front of the floor.

“If I were the alien visitors, I would implant knowledge important to both worlds. I’m talking about mathematics, physics, astronomy, chemistry, medicine, and biology. I would download massive amounts of it into certain human beings, using the information to strengthen their minds to prepare for my arrival. They would need to know these subjects in order to deal with me, communicate with me, and accept my technology so we could help each other. That covers the what.” He stopped his slow walk and stood facing Zelda.

“The who of your question, Dr. Snow, is compelling. One would think that the world’s smartest minds or highest IQs would be the preferred candidates for this cognitive download; like physicists, doctors, mathematicians, architects, and scientists. But I don’t agree. I’m going to think outside the box now and I invite all of you to join me. If I wasn’t going to visit for a long time, I’d implant the information into more, how shall I say this? Dormant minds.”

“Dormant minds?” asked a voice off to his right.

“Yes, I wouldn’t want to spread the knowledge immediately unless I was coming immediately. But if I wasn’t coming for years or decades, I’d want such information saved, stored in people whom had no reason or compulsion to use it, or the mental capacity to know they even had it.” He looked around and measured their stares. They didn’t understand. “I’m talking about people who are shut out of the public’s consciousness, unnoticed, or ignored by society. Who would be good candidates for this?”

“The homeless,” suggested one young woman. Terlaje nodded affirmatively, and pointed at her in confirmation. Other people volunteered their answers.

“Prison inmates?” Terlaje shook his head and grinned.

“Nuns and monks?” He laughed, and shook his head.

“Children?” He shook his head again.

“The mentally ill?” He nodded slowly and stepped forward.

“Remember, if I’m not coming to Earth for awhile, I’d download the information and store it into people that I knew would not divulge it, or use it for his or her own benefit until I actually arrived. Imagine if I implanted medical cures for cancer, AIDS or flu viruses into a real doctor. He’d use the information to make himself rich, claiming it all came from himself! That’s not what I’d want. Implants would be vessels, storage containers of information, living their lives or surviving just to hold it all in the deep recesses of their minds, ignorant of it until I dictated. At the right time, as I make my way towards Earth, I’d activate the knowledge. Those implanted would “come alive” or begin to show signs that they’ve been touched by some miraculous being.

“They would exhibit a grand knowledge that people knowing them couldn’t possibly imagine or believe they possessed. The mathematics and physics would spill forth effortlessly from them; the knowledge of space, the stars and its mysteries would be voiced as easily as a nursery rhyme. If they were deaf or blind, they’d suddenly acquire hearing and sight if I could provide that; if they couldn’t walk, they’d suddenly stand and move normally. They could take a pencil and with no design experience or art lessons, draw the pyramids perfectly to scale on a sheet of paper.” Terlaje’s eyes seemed to gloss over as he envisioned his thesis.

“The why? to your question, Dr. Snow, is this: This would be my proof that something is coming to bring relief. Who better to represent that relief than those who hardly get relief at all.” The crowd applauded respectfully at this.

“The meek shall inherit the Earth” as the popular third Beatitude of Jesus goes. Despite being homeless, infirmed or mentally ill, they are people after all, and should have voices. These people would speak for me because they would know that they would never starve or suffer human ills again. These people whom I implanted would be the results of my pre-contact, my welcoming committee, proof that I was coming in peace, and that I was bringing good things.”

“That’s fucking awesome!” a young voice exclaimed. The crowd laughed and applauded loudly. Several hands then shot up, but Terlaje raised his own and respectfully patted them down. He was looking up at Zelda, who was still standing.

“Hold on, everybody! Don’t worry! I’ll get to all of you,” he encouraged still looking at her. “I’ll answer all your questions. But I believe Dr. Snow has one more question.”

“GO FOR IT, GIRL!” yelled another young voice that prompted cheers.

“I swear to the audience, this is my final question!” She took a breath, and then her face turned serious. “Unlike you, sir, I’m a little cynical concerning human nature and how we would receive or perceive you in such a scenario.”

Terlaje took his water from the podium, grabbed a nearby chair and put it in the center of the floor. He sat down and nodded to Zelda.

“Go ahead, Doctor.”

“I, for one, do consider the Earth and the human race the trailer trash of the universe. Because after hundreds and thousands of years of human evolution and technology, we are still power-hungry, self-serving, self-worshipping, arrogant, indifferent, murderous, and corrupt sons of bitches.” The crowd applauded in agreement.

“We may be in our cognitive infancy, but we have technology enough to take care of every person on the planet. We can feed them, house them, inoculate them, and give them work; yet, we don’t. Americans, in particular. Our government, our politicians, our lawmakers, our Supreme Court-blatantly and unapologetically subservient to the rich-can better our nation, but they don’t. We can end homelessness and poverty, but we don’t. We can share our wealth and resources so that our neighbors don’t suffer, but we don’t. The rich rule this land, not the visionaries like yourself. The rich rule the land, the people, the resources, and the military; and that alone, defeats your theory.” Terlaje nodded as he considered her strong words, sentiments that he completely agreed with.

“Don’t get me wrong, I agree with everything you’ve said. But I’m a physicist, I deal with facts and calculations, not hopes. So, here’s my scenario, Dr. Terlaje. There is a real human reality here, and that is: Money and power will crush all hopes of humanitarian and planetary improvement.” She paused to take in a deep breath. “I think that those who are implanted with those gifts you describe, would be rounded up, isolated, imprisoned, or made to disappear after they’ve exposed their skills to the public.” Almost half of the packed auditorium applauded.

“The police, then the government would be called, whether it be some FBI X-FILES team or military scientific team, to end the notion that something greater than us is near. Those brainless, despicable policemen who pepper-sprayed the Occupy protesters are just one example of our society’s stupidity.” The crowd yet again voiced their agreement.

“Dr. Terlaje, I strongly feel that those implants would never be allowed to be a voice for an alien life form, because such an admission would threaten those who hold sway over our planet. I’m talking about our political establishment and the military.” Terlaje took her reasoning to heart, feeling the kindred spirit of one who shared his same beliefs. “I’m cynical enough to believe that our government and military would hide, as they’ve done all this time, any evidence that life exists outside our planet because it keeps them in power; and, like those scholars that discount alien life, keep the public ignorant by using doubt and terrestrial explanations. And for those millions who are not as educated or have a sense of intellectual curiosity, they would keep them in fear by evoking religious and apocalyptic dogma.” More applause erupted.

“To allow an alien race to visit Earth would threaten the government’s politically-engineered occupation as the world’s policemen and brain trust. They wouldn’t be able to do that job anymore with a new big brother watching. Our country wouldn’t be able to attack nations for their oil fields; Wall Street wouldn’t be able to manipulate financial institutions for their own greed; Congress wouldn’t be able to crush the middle and lower classes to enforce subservience to the rich; the military couldn’t decimate the budget by purchasing more weapons. They wouldn’t be able to hide behind the Constitution; because, with an alien big brother around that piece of parchment that has been ever manipulated to support the agenda of wealth and social control, would be rendered obsolete.” The crowd roared.

“Although I believe countries like Japan, South Korea, Canada, Australia, the European Union and South America would welcome the visitors, our country would be the first to begin a militarized and media-funded scare campaign against it. And let’s face it, if this took place in countries where human rights are a joke; I’m talking China, North Korea, Africa, the Middle East or Russia, those implanted people would be tortured, experimented on, and killed outright.” Zelda’s face remained stony as the crowd applauded again. Terlaje simply stared at Snow, taking in her truth, her passion, her soul.

“So, Doctor, here’s the question finally: What would you do as an alien race if you saw the people you implanted persecuted, dragged away, beaten, maimed, killed? And on the eve of your arrival, saw that our planet’s weapons and defense systems went on full alert; that they were locked and loaded to repulse your visit? Earth’s way of saying ‘You’re not welcomed here!’ What would you do?” Snow sat down. The audience became dead silent as all eyes turned away from her and swung back to Terlaje. His hands were clasped together, fingers interlaced on his lap as he contemplated the scene with his eyes closed. He opened them and stood up, his expression grim.

“I would have already been prepared for such a contingency, expecting as much from a cosmically infantile and perennially aggressive race. To counter this, I would have already implanted several people with different skills-skills in electronics, computer engineering, and mass utilities operation. If your scenario occurred, Dr. Snow, I would activate them to hack into the nation’s power grid and black out the cities, turn off public utilities like gas and water. I would have my computer expert implants take down the Internet either through viruses or an electric plasma charge to burn out the telephone and cell phone service hubs and providers. I would bring the area into complete darkness, silence and powerlessness, like they were in the Stone Age.”

The lecture hall was a tomb as they dreaded what they were afraid he might say next. Although the scenario was frightening enough just imagining being in total darkness and without communications, they knew there was more. Terlaje’s face was grave. He lowered the boom.

“Then, as Dr. Malcolm so eloquently put it, I’d clean house. I’d decimate the countries using reflected solar radiation and particle beam technology. Those nations that posed no threat, raised no weapons, would be spared.” Whispers and groans drifted throughout the auditorium. Terlaje shook his head in bereavement. “Sometimes the petulant child needs to be spanked.”

* * *

I sat stunned at Zelda’s detailed recollection of her encounter with Dr. Terlaje. I looked at Ivana who was biting her lip and looking exhaustedly at her glass of beer.

“Talk about foresight,” she breathed. “Dr. Terlaje described what we are actually seeing now.” Zelda took in another deep breath and looked at us.

“You really think Patricia and Doogie are implants?” I asked, trying to wrap the concept around my head.

“I don’t know what I believe right now,” answered Zelda. “But we all saw what Patricia wrote; we all saw what Doogie did in the puzzle room. Javier, you know what he said to you in that park.” She shook her head to clear her thoughts, or at least, reset them. “Look, all I know is that this looks like Dr. Terlaje’s Implantation Theory, and based on that lecture-” she drifted into silence then bit her lip. “He said the implants would most likely be homeless and mentally ill people. So, we’re two for two!”

“Just playing Devil’s Advocate here, Zelda,” I interjected. “But have you considered that they’re probably thousands of scientists out there who think Dr. Terlaje is a crack pot?” She rolled her eyes irritably.

“All geniuses with theories outside the box are thought of as crackpots, but that’s because people are either afraid of new truths, or too stupid to let go of old prejudices.”

I couldn’t help think that the last part was aimed at me. She continued.

“But if Doogie and Patricia are implants, and they’re waking up now, then-”

“A visitation is at hand,” finished Ivana. “We need to find out if there are more people waking up. There’s got to be more of this phenomenon if we’re actually going to place stock in this theory.”

“Do you still have Dr. Terlaje’s number?” I asked.

“Why would I have a crack pot’s number?” Zelda spat, rolling her eyes at me. Then I knew that last part was for me. I chuckled. “I can get that easily enough from his website,” she answered. “He’ll remember me.”

“Good, because we may need him.” This time I was serious as I folded back comfortably into the team.

“What now?” asked Ivana.

“We head back,” I answered. “Doogie’s got an exam to take.”