Escape: Omega Book 1 (Omega: Earth's Hero)

Escape

Omega: Book 1

a serial

Keith Latch

Escape (Omega, #1)

by Keith Latch

Copyright © Keith Latch 2015. All Rights Reserved

Cover art by Steve Wands

Copyedied by Kody Boye

Interior Formatting by Kody Boye

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronically, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise) without the proper written permission of the copyright owner, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living, dead or undead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

For those that despise injustice… but are powerless to stop it.

Chapter 1

July 4, 1947

Stars span our universe. In millions of galaxies far beyond our own, trillions of blazing suns exist with planetoid systems capable of supporting life we cannot begin to comprehend. There are those that say we are alone. Some say that we are nothing but a cosmic mistake and life, on any world, in any galaxy, is a fool’s notion. For millennia, humanity has cast its gaze skyward, fascinated, captivated, and enthralled by the stars filling the night sky. If only one percent of all the stars in our little corner of the Milky Way sustained life, space, long believed to be an isolated void, would literally teem with life. “Is there anyone out there?” is one of the most asked questions in the history of our race. Late in the evening of July 4, 1947, Independence Day—a perfect summer night—a handful of people in the New Mexico desert just outside the city limits of the small, almost unknown town of Roswell would learn the answer. It was an answer they were not ready for.

From beyond our neighboring planets, from beyond our solar system, across light years of empty, cold nothingness, a spacecraft approached our little blue world. At ten billion miles distant, it shot past Pluto. Disregarding the great thinker Einstein’s Theory of Relativity, the ship moved much faster than the speed of light. How this small, smooth vessel achieved such speed and in what manner it did so was a question better not asked.

The craft was tiny, inconsequential in the grand scheme of the cosmos. Chrome, sleek, without right angles, and curves instead of hard corners, it had the smooth curvature of a plump raindrop. Contrary to our own understanding of the laws of physics, the tiny ship moved without engine blast. It looked to be making way under some invisible, impossible force.

It passed the orbits of the outer planets in minutes versus the years that any scientist on Earth could have possibly conceived. The only planet that it passed closely during its zooming voyage sunward was the gas-giant Jupiter. Taking no pause to study the swirling storms that raged within the planet, the ship continued at its incredible speed. Nothing more than a small grain of sand in a vast ocean of cold darkness, the ship began to catch, and then reflect, the increasing brightness of our sun. Once safely through the asteroid belt, onboard telemetry adjusted, the course corrected for the most efficient point of approach for the third planet orbiting this star.

All went well until a few hundred thousand miles from our moon, when the ship began to experience a tremor that, while unnoticeable from the exterior, rocked the swooping vessel hard enough to damage navigation systems. The ship’s course became slightly erratic. The sky erupted in blue flame.

An explosion as massive as it was silent lacerated the velvet night sky, hiding hundreds of shimmering stars. Then, the massive cloud of brightest blue was gone, simply vanishing. A thin trail sliced through the heavens from the east to the west, spanning hundreds of miles, its vibrant blue matching, if not surpassing, the initial blaze.

The craft arced across the continent, having struck the upper reaches of the exosphere just above Newfoundland. By the time the ship plunged through the troposphere it was just over Roswell, New Mexico.

Due to its construction of elements and materials fashioned and originating from the distant reaches of space, when the object finally collided with earth’s surface in a desolate stretch of desert, the resulting damage was simply incredible. Ten miles away, the ground trembled underfoot. Jackrabbits, coyotes, and lizards scurried away from the crash site, as if Hades below had opened up to swallow them alive.

But the ship did not stop at ground level. Its terminal velocity had been so great that it had punched a hole right into the sediment as if the dry, arid New Mexican landscape were warm butter and it a hot blade. Burrowing through the rocky sediment, the ship finally came to a halt twenty meters down. After a moment, the world was silent again. No animal sounds, no shifting of dirt, no falling of rock. Only a full, bloated quiet. Nothing on the ground stirred and nothing within the ship flinched. The night was suddenly so very dead.

The spacecraft’s approach and descent, while swift and brief, was not missed completely. Almost twenty-five kilometers away, south by southwest, a special detachment of American soldiers and officers of the United States Army’s 509
th
deployed to meet and greet the alleged threat. The convoy of jeeps and trucks was halfway there before the dust even settled.

Radar control at both the 509
th
and nearby White Sands Army base initially believed the fallen object to be an enemy aircraft, most likely Russian. Lightning pealed across the sky. Thunder rumbled in the distance. More than one of the soldiers in the convoy wondered just what in the hell they were rushing into.

Those men that rode out that night knew next to nothing about what lay in wait for them. Whisperings, however, began immediately upon departure. Hushed tones spoke of things falling from space, aliens with guns that melted a man before you could blink and other, worse things, things better off not known. While most of the soldiers dismissed the talk as equal parts paranoia and speculation, they all wondered, at least a little, how much of the rumors just might be true.

When the first of the convoy arrived, they found out.

The fallen craft burrowed deep. Floodlights were quickly raised and directed in the fallen craft’s location. Many throats went dry and several of the enlisted and even a few of the officers found it a little hard to swallow for several moments. But, their training had been sound and true and even as the reality of what lay before them sank in, they started to work. Quiet at first, reserved. With the perimeter secured and transport requests radioed in, the usual banter of solider among soldier cranked up. Within an hour-and-a-half of their arrival, the quarter mile around the crash site was swarming with light and life, looking not unlike a military base unto itself. For now, the storm granted them reprieve, and they worked uninterrupted.

Still, the thunder grew closer.

Captain Garret Fallow was the HOIC, “Head Officer in Charge,” as it were. His orders had been explicit. Ascertain and recover was the first directive. The second, contain and conceal. Unambiguous orders expected to be carried out to the letter. Captain Fallow was not one to take any orders, especially ones from a full-bird colonel, lightly.

Fallow surveyed the scene, both pleased to see his instructions carried out and still a bit shaken from the sight of the mysterious object that he couldn’t bring himself to believe was actually right there in front of him. Fallow had no way of knowing that the local army base was not the only witness to tonight’s crash.

“Enough, Gladys, enough.” Barney was exasperated to say the least.

“I cannot believe you.” Gladys was in the front seat and, up until two minutes ago, snuggling up to her boyfriend. Now, while Barney was irritated, she was livid.

“I forgot. That’s all. Anyone can make a mistake.”

“A mistake, Barney,” Gladys laughed, and not very kindly. “That’s what you call it? I call it stupidity. That’s right. Pure D stupidity.”

Barney just shook his head as he stepped out into the night and walked back to the trunk. He was quite sure there was a gas can in there. He was also sure it was quite empty. Gladys was a knockout, that’s for sure. Generally, she was a sweet little thing. When that temper of hers raised its ugly head, though--well, that was a different matter entirely. As Barney raised the trunk, found the metal can, and was rewarded with just the barest of a splash, he knew there would be no kiss tonight. He the football captain, and she the head cheerleader, they should have been a match made in heaven. However, he was also of the mind that no matter how easy the girl was on the eyes, he wouldn’t be scolded every time something went wrong. Especially if it wasn’t his fault. The gas gauge hadn’t worked for over a year. He knew it. She knew it. It was her idea to go riding after the fireworks show at the town square. He could have said no, he supposed. But that pouty way she’d suggested it, the seductive leer. His mama might have a raised a fool, but if so, it was his brother, certainly not him.

“Tell me you’ve got gasoline back there, Barney. Tell me that right now.”

“Well,” he started, but gave up. What was the use?

Gladys, even from outside the car, still had a voice that made the six-foot tall high school football player’s skin shiver. Something close to fingernails on a blackboard. “Wait until I tell my father about this! I’ll bet he’ll never let you step foot back on my front porch. I’ll bet he—”

“Just be quiet for a minute, will ya, Gladys?” It came out a bit rougher than he wanted and he immediately regretted it. Gladys slung open the passenger side down and was out, half-running at him in the blink of an eye. She was already pointing at him, hateful words spilling out.

All Barney could do was straighten up and take it like a man. Nope, no kiss tonight. Not even a little one. Maybe never again.

“Let me tell you one thing, you overgrown farm boy: I’m a lady, whether you know it or not. I will not be stranded out here in the middle of nowhere and let you fool me into thinking we’re out of gas. I tell you, Barney, I will…”

Barney had been looking at the ground, studying his shoes during the rampage. When Gladys fell silent, he thought for a moment she was just catching her breath. Really, how could you yell all that with just two lungs? She didn’t say anything more. Slowly, like a frightened youngster, Barney looked up at her. Her eyes were wide, and while her finger was still pointed out, it wasn’t pointing at him anymore. Instead, it pointed towards the heavens. Her eyes were wide as saucers and her mouth stretched out like a big O.