Chapter 4 - Shadow of the Moon |
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A guard shack on the trail to nowhere, in the middle of
nowhere, seemed strange.
The guard house was about ten feet wide and roughly
fifteen feet deep.
It was located on a flat plane on the right side of
the trail. A
window air conditioner protruded from its side, yet there
were no observable power lines, no satellite disk, no solar
panels. A small
sign hung below the observation window reading, “U.S. Forest
Service Environmental Division.”
Then below that a second sign read, “NO
ENTRY—Classified Field Service Experimental Zone.
Biological hazards present.”
Did I mention the tall guard in his green forest
service uniform pointing a large bore military rifle
straight from a Special Forces armory?
Prune face pulled up and stopped five feet from
Smokey, the well-armed Bear.
The guard stood his ground and carefully observed
both of us through some kind of fancy telescopic site, a
kind of handless pat down.
I followed prune face’s lead and raised my hands in
the air to show that we carried no weapons.
The guard said something into the communication
device along the side of his face.
He was clean-shaven, and I noticed that his skin had
the white pallor of someone who hadn’t been out in the sun,
which was unusual in Death Valley, not to mention for a
forest ranger.
The guard lowered his gun and approached the old man.
“Good to see you, doctor,” he said, “We are all
praying for the success of your mission.”
“Thank you,” said the old man as we both lowered our
hands.
“You are clear to go, sir.”
I asked, indicating the gun, “Why the big pea
shooter?” Prune
face stared at me as if to say
shut up.
The guard smiled and replied, “Rabbits.
I love to hunt rabbits.
They come out at night, you know.”
He pointed to his night scope.
“Really,” I replied.
“Sometimes they stand upright and look like some
noisy reporters I’ve seen,” he said, patting his rifle.
“But my baby never misses.”
I felt his stare directly between my eyes.
This guy was no forest ranger.
He could drop me without even blinking.
Sometimes even I know when to shut up.
“May we go on?” asked the old man.
“Yes, sir.
You were cleared.
Godspeed.”
As we pulled away, I looked back in the side mirror.
I half expected to see the ranger’s rifle pointed at
the back of my head.
Instead, he had disappeared back into his air
conditioned shack.
“Sometimes people go missing,” commented the
professor.
After we cleared a corner and were out of sight of
the guard shack, I motioned for prune face to stop.
“What the hell?!” I asked.
The old man slammed on the breaks, stared at me for a
few seconds, then said, “You don’t listen, kid.”
“I’m listening now.”
“The life you know is over.”
“What do you mean?”
“This mission is so secret that you will be under
surveillance.
What you write, say, or think will be censored for as long
as you live.”
“I want out.
Just send me back to Baker.”
“Too late.”
“Why did you get me into this?”
“Do you think that I wanted some green kid along with
me on a mission that could be the end of our civilization?”
“Why then?”
“They wanted you.”
“Who is ‘they’?”
“That’s want I’ve been trying to figure out for the
last forty years.”
“Space aliens?”
“Aliens, yes.”
“What do you mean?”
“We don’t know where they come from.
We can’t even prove that they exist.
For all we know, they could be some kind of cosmic
illusion meant to confuse us.
They’ve told me their story many times, but I don’t
believe anything they say.”
“What do they want from us?
“You’re the expert?”
“That’s right, and a lot of folks are praying for me.
You heard the guard.”
“I don’t get it.
Of all the smart people out there, why did they pick
me?”
“Don’t know.”
I thought for a moment.
“Maybe because when we get together, we’re a
challenge, and we are going to kick their asses right back
to Pluto or wherever they come from.”
“I get it…an ex-drunk reporter and a scientist who
had a nervous breakdown—humanities’ dream team?”
“Why not?
Together we can shift the space-time continuum.”
“I thought you said cheerleaders were a collective
pain in the ass.”
“No, I said I like to look up cheerleaders’ short
skirts.”
“We’re too old for that nonsense.”
“Speak for yourself, old man.
The knights of old went to war to defend the honor of
their lady fair.
We are on a mission to preserve the most perfectly formed
female posteriors to be found in the entire universe—earth
women.”
The old man started up his jeep.
He shifted into gear and headed up the trail.
He didn’t respond, but I could swear a tear formed in
his eye. I felt
better too. I
guess the idea of cheering up people isn’t as bad as I
thought.
If this was going to be an interstellar chess match,
I was glad that the professor was my teammate because I
can’t even play a decent game of checkers.
I watched the shadows grow longer as the sun set
behind the distant mountains.
Traces of almost transparent clouds spotted the pink
sky. The cooler
air finally allowed me to take a deep breath.
The rocky trail became smooth as it opened up into a
large flat valley.
To my right, a barely readable hand-carved wooden
sign read, “Still Waters,” and then underneath it a second
sign read, “Let no man fear.”
Ahead was the ghost town.
There wasn’t much to see.
A few wooden shacks all but collapsed, and a
two-story brick building that was almost intact.
I could still read the hand-painted sign, “Still
Waters Mine Company.”
“That’s our hotel for the night,” said the professor.
“You haven’t had much to say,” I commented.
The professor’s eyes were red from exposure to the
dry sandy air.
He looked nearly as exhausted as I felt.
“You’re right, young man.
For whatever reason, it’s the two of us.
Maybe it’s the work of a higher power.”
“I just think of my high school cheerleaders waving
their pom-poms and yelling, ‘Go team, go!’”
“The cheerleaders at Cal-Tech weren’t much of an
inspiration.”
“Yes, but it was your teammates that got us to the
moon.”
“Moon…that reminds me, the town cemetery is called
Shadow of the Moon.
It’s out there to your left about a quarter of a
mile. That’s
where all the locals hang out, and from what I’ve heard,
they’re not too shy when it comes to visiting strangers.”
“Professor, I can tell you a lot about ghosts.
For one thing, they are living in a dream.
They seem to think that time stands still.
There is no cable news six feet down.”
“That’s the thing about the aliens, you never know
what channel they’re watching, but you know that at anytime
they can shut down your broadcast.
To quote an episode of
The Twilight Zone--they
can send you to the cornfield.”
“I get it.”
“That’s good because tomorrow you will make your
first contact.”
“What can I expect?”
Suddenly, we heard what sounded like a creaking
floorboard from inside the mining office.
We both turned, only to see a familiar large bore
rifle pointed in our direction.
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