Here Comes Earth: Emergence
Read Here Comes Earth: Emergence Online
Authors: William Lee Gordon
HERE COMES EARTH
Emergence
By William Lee Gordon
The characters and events portrayed in this book are
fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead is coincidental and
not intended by the author.
Text copyright © 2014 William Luznicky
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a
retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic,
mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the express written
permission of the publisher.
Published by Medsabi
Frisco, TX
Table of
Contents
Dedication
This work is dedicated to
the love of my life, my wife Consuelo.
17 years ago in a
beautiful mountain valley just outside of Cali, Colombia we held our wedding
reception for extended family, friends, and anyone else that happened to wonder
by.
I was the American
stealing the local princess away from her family, friends and culture. As was
tradition, I made a speech to her in front of everyone, in a second language
that I am far from perfect in, with only my sincerity and heart able to win the
day.
What follows are the words
I have never regretted and that are truer today than ever before…
Consuelo,
Every
good man has dreams for his future. In my life I have had many trials and
tribulations in my quest to pursue my dreams. Each defeat has made me stronger
and each victory has been well earned.
My vision for the
future is very strong.
I have worked hard to
build financial security for a wife and children. I have worked hard to earn
social positions of respect and integrity that my family would deserve. The
hardest work I have done, however, has been on myself; to mature and learn and
grow so that I can be the best husband and father that I can be. To learn
patience, to earn wisdom, to learn respect, to conquer fear. The woman of my
dreams would deserve no less.
There are some people
that do not understand why I would travel this far to pay court to you. They do
not realize that traveling around the world is the easiest thing I have done to
be worthy of you.
Now that I have found
you, I thank God for saving you for me.
And now that my prayers
are answered, I find that my dreams are only beginning.
I love you Consuelo.
Dr. Mark Spencer
It’s
not the cleavage that distracts a man; it’s the movement. It’s the total lack
of self-consciousness or guile when leaning over a table, climbing onto a
barstool, or laying out in the sun. Depending on who you talk to, they say that
Latin women are the most beautiful in the world and I certainly wouldn’t argue.
There’s something about a bikini clad, brown skinned beauty holding your gaze;
it’s almost as if her wide smile is daring you to break eye contact and roam
southwards. To succumb to that temptation or not, that is the question that for
many a man has determined the course of the next few hours, week, or lifetime.
My
name is Dr. Marquis Spencer; Mark to my friends and everyone else except the
Federal government. I am (was) by vocation an up-and-coming history professor;
already published, complete with two other PhDs (anthropology and sociology)
and other assorted credentials - credentials that up until about fourteen
months ago I was very proud of. I truly believed that I knew more about the
history of mankind than 99% of anyone that had ever lived.
I
knew as well as anyone on the planet then, the fate of less advanced cultures
being confronted by those that were vastly superior. There’s only one winner
and the guy trembling in his boots witnessing magic ain’t it. Like Native
Americans or the Aborigines of Australia or the Incas of Peru, I’d studied and
helped document civilization after civilization that collapsed after being
exposed to a superior culture. Who could blame me then for being one of the
first to realize our fate?
You
see, on one gorgeous October evening everything changed. That’s the day
everyone on the planet learned that we’re not alone.
It
shouldn’t be surprising then that I eventually took a leave of absence to spend
a few months soul searching, mojito drinking, and brown body chasing – just to
get my perspective back. I wasn’t really sure if it was working but then I
wasn’t all that concerned about it. I figured I’d find balance sooner or later
or die trying … and after all, it wouldn’t be a terrible way to go.
It
was a Monday or Tuesday – or maybe a Thursday? – when she first approached me.
This in and of itself wasn’t unheard of. I’m a reasonably attractive man. At
exactly 6 ft. I’m not too tall and my body type is what some people call Vatta
– more of a swimmer’s build than a bodybuilder. It’s not that I don’t work out
(when I remember or have time), it’s just that I’m naturally a low body fat
kind of guy and it’s not totally unheard of for a woman to decide she wants to
know me better. That is how it happens, you know. This entire machismo charade
about guys picking up girls by wooing them with candy, flowers, great
restaurants and shows is straight out of the movies. Men have only one option when
it comes to the mating game; we can make our presence known. That’s it. All
other decisions lie in the hands of the woman; if, what type, and how long any
potential relationship might last is totally at their discretion from that
point on. A colleague of mine in the Sociology Department once explained to me
that this is the historical root cause for all sports – for men to get
themselves noticed by women. Judging from the lifestyle of several pro athletes
I’ve known I’d say it’s still working.
Anyway,
it wasn’t totally unheard of for a woman to place herself in my path in order
to size me up a little better. It was a little unusual for it to happen so
early in the morning, and it was downright strange for her to be feeling my
pulse and gazing deeply into my eye while she held my eyelid up with the ball
of her thumb. I’ll admit I was having trouble deciphering the sweet little
nothings that lovers so often whisper into each other’s ear as my lightning
sharp intellect was coming around to the conclusion that I’d never seen this
woman before. As a matter of fact, she wasn’t even brown skinned and the sweet
little nothings turned out to be phrases like, “it’s just a hangover.”
Instinctually
knowing that I had a narrowing window to make a good first impression, I said
the most intelligent thing I could think of, “Where am I?”
∆∆∆
“Beach
cabanas in this part of the world tend to be oversized outdoor beds with no
walls and thatched roofs,” I explained. There was certainly nothing undignified
about sleeping through the night in one. As I contemplated the more problematic
aspects of not having been able to find my clothes, or the fact that mine
wasn’t the only naked body passed out in the cabana, I cleverly steered the
conversation onto more dignified ground.
“Besides,”
I said. “It’s quite common in Costa Rica.”
“We
found you in Puerto Rico.”
“Whatever.”
In
my defense it was quite disconcerting to be having this conversation at an
altitude of 20,000 ft. from the cabin of what I deduced to be a Gulfstream IIX,
wearing only borrowed coveralls (no underwear) and no shoes, speaking to whom I
was belatedly realizing was a very attractive blonde haired blue eyed
government official.
I’ve
always had a keen ability to size up a situation and if there was ever a time
to go on the offensive this was it. I said, “Ok miss CIA, NSA, HS, or whatever
other spook agency you work for, I think it’s about time you told me what’s
going on. It’s been some time since we discovered that we’re not alone in the
universe and I can’t imagine a bigger crisis than that but apparently we’re in
it. The government doesn’t send out a top agent in one of its VIP Gulfstreams
to abduct a trained specialist unless there is an immediate and urgent need,
and although I admit that I can’t quite imagine why you would need my
particular specialty it’s obvious that you’re willing to go to great lengths to
get me. So why do you need me and why am I so valuable?”
After
what seemed an eternity of silence Little Miss Blue Eyes started to giggle.
“Ah, Dr. Spencer, while I do work for the government it’s not as any kind of
agent. I’m an inspector for the Fish and Game Commission. My daddy sits on the
Board of Regents at your university and asked me if I wouldn’t mind collecting
you on my way back from a conference in San Juan – apparently your Department
Head has been trying to track you down for two weeks. I guess they do want to talk
to you, but I don’t have the slightest idea why. The plane is my daddy’s and he
sometimes lets me use it for long trips – and for the record, it’s a Citation.
∆∆∆
That
was this morning and as I sat waiting in the Dean’s office I found my mind
equally divided between: trying to remember what I’d been drinking that would
still leave me with a pounding headache 24 hours later, trying to figure out
why I’d been called to this meeting, and resigning myself to the fact that it
would be professional suicide to call the phone number Little Miss Blue Eyes
had slipped into my coverall pocket.
It
was right about this time that the door opened and Dean Richards walked in
along with two other people. “Dr. Spencer, it’s about time you showed up. Keep
disappearing like that and people are going to think you’ve gone crazy like all
the other lunatics out there.”
I
had to admit there was a lot of truth to what the Dean was saying. The
revelation that we were not alone in the universe, that our technology was
inferior in just about every way, and all the now incumbent questions of our
true origins had driven quite a few otherwise stable people over the top. Our
society wasn’t quite in disarray, but thank God there were a fair amount of well-grounded
people like myself to keep things going.
“Dr.
Spencer, I want you to meet agent Mulley and agent Sculder. They’re here to
brief you and I just want to say that the university is mighty proud to have
you on faculty. Damn proud. It takes a lot of courage to volunteer for an
assignment like this and I just want you to know that your position here at the
university will be held open for you in perpetuity; you’ll always have a home
to come back to. Now I have a pressing appointment so I’m going to leave you in
the good hands of these two agents.”
As
Dean Richards walked out the door, my mind was racing. What did I volunteer
for? When did I volunteer? Why would they need to hold open my position
indefinitely? Come back from where? What would Little Miss Blue Eyes look like
in a bikini?
∆∆∆
It
wasn’t until the next night that the truth came out. Agents Mulley and Sculder
(if that were their real names) had grilled me for hours and had been very
helpful when it came to informing me of exactly where I’d need to be at what
time and what day, of what I would need to bring, and of exactly who I could
(or more realistically, couldn’t) talk to this about. Other than some vague
reference to the remote possibility of permanent quarantine, nothing was said
about the length of my absence or where I was going.
I
have found that my best insights often occur in that twilight state between
waking and dreaming. It was early that next morning when I was laying in just
such a contented state that I had a brilliant flash of intuition; all of the
pieces suddenly came together for me. I rolled over and said, “Say that again.”
Little
Miss Blue Eyes responded, “They’re sending you off planet.”
ΔΔΔ
A
few hours later she kissed me on the cheek and patted me on the rump as she
loaded me and my one allowed bag into the backseat of a limousine and I sped
off to yet again another private airport. This time I’m sure it was a
Gulfstream IIX and I would’ve confirmed it if I hadn’t slept the entire trip.
Upon
landing, I disembarked and nearly lost my lunch so intense was the heat and
brilliance of the sun. After a short bus ride we entered a warehouse and I was
loaded into a large freight elevator and again nearly lost it when the floor
literally fell out from underneath me. Deep in what was apparently an empty
underground complex I was assigned a room, shown the ‘head’ at the end of a
deserted hall and told about the adjoining commissary. With instructions not to
venture out of this area I was blissfully ignored and somehow managed to find
my bed all on my own.
∆∆∆
I
awoke and stumbled out of my room 12, 24, or 36 hours later (my watch was an antique
analog). I had vague recollections of making my way to the bathroom at the end of
the hall once (several times?) but this was the first time I’d felt coherent in
recent memory – and the smell of bacon was driving me crazy.
The
hallways were no longer empty and the commissary was especially busy. I grabbed
a tray and plied two plates high with eggs, pancakes, bacon, and everything
else I could find. It was only then, as I turned away from the buffet line,
that I realized a lot of people were staring at me. Ok, so maybe I was the only
person in the room without a shirt and come to think of it I didn’t see anyone
else wearing boxers either (at least that I could tell). I am too enlightened
and accepting of the universe to ever feel self-conscious but, I rationalized,
my legs were still weak and I probably should quickly find a place to sit down
– except there weren’t any empty tables. After several false starts I surprised
myself with the amount of gratitude I felt when several people from across the
room started waving me over.
“I
told you it was him,” Julie said. We'd made quick introductions before I'd
launched into my breakfast. Of the three people already at the table, two were
women and one of them was gorgeous. I'm not normally wowed by beauty, but Julie
was beautiful in a way I'd never seen before. It wasn’t just the small gold cross
necklace that gave me an excuse to study her perfect cleavage; she had a
wholesome, youthful look that could have graced the cover of any college
recruiting brochure worldwide. She looked fresh, healthy, and happy – and was
therefore irresistible. Unfortunately she was also giving me a hard time.
“Do
you always come to breakfast in your underwear, or do you just have an aversion
to khaki?” was the first thing she’d said to me after shaking my hand.
Apparently, we had all been issued government clothing but I hadn't bothered to
open my closet. Actually, I hadn't bothered to even think about it but I didn't
believe this would be the most circumspect time to admit it. Instead I rightly
pointed out that I'd been spending a lot of time in the islands lately and that
this was perfectly acceptable dress there. From Julie’s incredulous look I
realized she wasn't tracking so I did the most diplomatic thing I could think
of - I dove into my breakfast.
It
turns out that all of us at the table were assigned to the same field team
(squad). That's how Julie knew who I was; she’d reviewed my file. Apparently we
were all being divided up into teams of specialists and were expected to get to
know each other and form a working relationship. For that reason, we'd all been
given team member files downloaded onto our government issued smartpads (mine
was in my room, with my bag, in that same closet that I'd never bothered to
open). It occurred to me that it might be a good idea to go look at it. After
all it contained our mission brief and (since I had no idea what I was doing
here) it probably contained things I needed to know…