

### Sleeper Seven

By Mark Howard

Copyright 2013 Mark Howard

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition License Notes

Thank you for downloading this free ebook. Although this is a free book, it remains the copyrighted property of the author, and may not be reproduced, copied and distributed for commercial or non-commercial purposes. If you enjoyed this book, please encourage your friends to download their own copy at Smashwords.com, where they can also discover other works by this author. Thank you for your support.

To my wonderful wife Jean,

for always being infinitely supportive

of my latest ridiculous obsession.

And also to our wonderful daughters,

Mia and Dhara.

Chapter One

The feeling was always the same.

It happened with a random regularity — not every time, maybe only a few times per month, but always at the same places. It could be on the Brown line between Chicago and Sedgwick, the Red line between Fullerton and Belmont, or the Blue line between Jefferson Park and Harlem. Anywhere there was more than a mile or so of open track between stations, where the engineer could hammer the throttle down — if only for a few seconds.

It began with that familiar little twinge from deep in her gut. Whatever currently absorbed her attention — thoughts of the days work, her snail-like Kindle progress on _Infinite Jest_ , the latest _This American Life_ podcast — all of this, along with the entire meaning-making infrastructure beneath, suddenly cleaved off like limestone into the sea. The unstoppable autonomic chain of events began: heart rate and respiration increased, pupils dilated, muscles tensed, and attention became laser-focused, to the exclusion of all else, on one thing: the movement of the train. Because the twinge told her the train was out of control.

More terrifying was the isolation imparted by this knowledge. Absorbed in their own bubbles, nobody else knew the engineer was almost certainly slumped over the controls with the throttle open; any future application of the brakes no longer guaranteed. They weren't conscious of the subtle, nauseating cues of maximum speed: the smallest grade changes amplifying into reverberating bounces, the oppositional swaying of the cars over the twisted track, the wind whistling through the rubber window seals.

How much further, actually, could those coiled steel springs compress until they lost their absorption ability entirely? How close _were_ the wheels from vaulting over the inch-and-a-half steel lip of the track? Just how much brutality could this aging snake of loosely interlocked seventy-mile-per-hour steel shoeboxes take, before one weather-corroded, or out-of-spec, or hairline-stress-fractured link in the chain gave way to a mechanized death?

Inevitably, of course, came the pull: the signal of disaster averted, this day at least. Even a hard pull didn't matter — some engineers seemed to almost relish being abusive with the brakes — but to her, it only meant a faster stop. In just a bit longer than it took to tear down, the foundation of her reality reconstructed itself. The book, the podcast, the looming meeting: all were levitated and placed back on their pedestals as she retook her throne amongst these binary amuse-bouches and carefree analog thoughts. By the time the doors opened and the station announcement bells rang, all was well and forgotten. Until the next time.

She knew enough about psychology to understand a feeling isn't the germ of a thought, rather, it is the reverse: a thought generates a feeling. Most people would object, believing emotions to be things unto themselves, projected and identified amongst folks at turns like a game of amygdalic hot potato; utterly clueless about the underlying socio-cultural belief systems from which they spring forth. In her case, she reasoned, the twinge was her subconscious mid-brain generating a feeling within her body as a way of alerting her conscious forebrain about some impending disaster. The triggering, unthought thought: _Something is wrong. We are going far too fast, for far too long_.

She wondered about the ultimate source of this odd hypothalamic wiring, having never previously experienced any plane, train, or automobile-related trauma. And though utterly terrifying, the emotional fuse impotently burned itself out within about thirty seconds, so like the old dog who lay growling on top of the exposed porch nail, she was never motivated enough to get off her ass and do something about it. When it came, she let it play itself out, knowing at a meta level that, similar to a panic attack, it was not _The End_ , and would be over soon enough.

It came as a shock to her, then, given her fine-tuned attentional and emotional predispositions in this unique arena, to discover she wasn't the first person to notice, the day it all came true.
Chapter Two

Stan wasn't especially concerned; his total cholesterol was well under two-hundred — one-fifty exactly — and his bad cholesterol was a crazy-low eighty-seven. The problem was his good cholesterol, the one that cleans out the pipes, the HDL — that was too low as well, around thirty. Between them, the ratio was good, so not an emergency situation or anything, but these days the docs say you gotta be at forty or higher on the HDL regardless. He had already landed a blow against his couch potato lifestyle the previous year by starting to jog, which is supposed to help bring up the HDL, so now he just had to get the blood draw and wait for the results to come back confirming it.

What was killing him was the required "fasting lipid profile", meaning a minimum of twelve hours of nothing to eat or drink, except water, beforehand. As his appointment was late in the afternoon, in the interest of getting a good test, he not only skipped breakfast and lunch, but also dinner the previous night — giving him a good twenty-four-plus hours of fasting going in. It was worth it to him to get an accurate number — the last time, he forgot and ate breakfast beforehand, and always wondered if that had screwed up his numbers. _If I'm gonna base my whole lifestyle on these numbers,_ he thought, _I can survive a few more hours being hungry to get a more accurate reading, right?_

The other thing he dreaded was telling them about his condition. He used to just say he had a history of fainting after blood draws, but one time, after he told the nurse, he overheard her tell the doctor he had "Sing-co-pee". So he Googled that when he got home, and ever since, every time he got a blood draw he made sure to tell the nurse he had _Syncope_ , so that they knew right away. Also it sounded better than just saying he's a fainter.

Five years back was the worst: he had blood drawn by this medical company that comes in to the main office once a year and tests everyone who wants to for cheap. So they drew, band-aided him up, gave him an orange juice, and sent him on his way. He got on the elevator with another guy, and about ten floors down he's confused, cause this other dude is asking him, real loudly and nervously, "Are you OK, man? Are you OK?"

Looking down, he notices that he is slumping against the side of the elevator — still standing mind you — but leaning heavily and bent at the knees, his orange juice spilling onto the elevator floor. For a few seconds there, he was gone, man, just _gone_. But his body still had some capacity to stand and hold a drink — to a certain extent — which was kind of weird, when he thought back on it later. Anyways, elevator dude is all concerned, and so to make the guy _not_ be so concerned, he goes and sits down outside the elevator — by now they are at the first floor — and he waves dude off, saying he had a blood draw, and that this just happens to him, no biggie, and he secretly hopes he's speaking English, and he guesses he is, because dude leaves him alone to his embarrassment.

But it hadn't happened, not that bad anyway, since he was fifteen and had a blood draw for school, and in the bathroom a few minutes later he starts sweating, and sees tunnel vision creeping in for the first time in his life, and there is only a small circle of reality left, and all that remains outside it is a furiously buzzing darkness.

That time too, he was standing, and never during this tunnel vision meltdown did he think to himself _Gee, I should probably sit down so the blood can reach my thinkin' parts easier_ , so he stood and made it worse, because when you don't have enough blood in your brain there's no thinking your way out of it, now is there?

So nowadays he has a lay down when the nurse draws, and today this nurse starts having him breathe in and out quickly while it was happening, and she told him later she does it to keep nervous patients or children from focusing on the draw, which she could've kept to herself, because he wasn't a kid, and he wasn't scared or nervous, he just has _Syncope_ , as he already told her, so he just needs a lay down and a few minutes to rest afterwards, is all.

The doctors office is pretty convenient, too, only a few blocks from the Damen Blue Line stop, so he called in beforehand to arrange a swap-out on the 431. Only he was late now — he had rested too long afterwards, and _shit_ , now he couldn't even get that coffee and donut he planned as a reward for himself. Hurrying to the station, he looked down the track and saw the 431 inbound already, rising up out of the tunnel, and it's rush hour now, so it's packed. He would catch hell for making a Friday rush hour train even a minute late, so he skipped the elevator and bounded up the stairs, running to meet the first train car at the far end of the platform just as it stopped.

Squeezing through the passengers, Stan nodded slightly to the departing driver — no high-fives during rush hour, now — before sidling into the six-by-three foot cab and locking the partition door closed behind him. This is where the work of driving the train is done, the tight space consisting of a small metal seat that folds down from the wall, large buttons for the recorded station announcements, the door controls, and a master panel under the windshield. The panel's got a cluster of large red and green buttons, a speed indicator, and finally the throttle: a steel handle with a black knob on top, worn from years of daily usage, that rotates up to increase speed.

Reaching behind his head, Stan pulled a clipboard from a hook on the back wall and updated the shift sheet to note the driver change. After setting it back, he slid the small side window down and stuck his head out while simultaneously pressing the button that triggers the door-closing announcement. As he waited for the crowd to squeeze back in after releasing the disembarkees, Stan relished the late April evening air for a few seconds before his fingers automatically felt for the door close button. Pulling his head back inside the cab, he slid the window upwards till it clicked shut.

Only after coming in from the cool air did he realize how hot he felt — beads of sweat had suddenly started to form on his brow. The chair stayed folded into the wall; standing while driving was a new lifestyle habit he had chosen as part of his fitness overhaul. So he stood, and slowly brought the throttle up and around, giving the customary salute to the friendly yellow spaceman as the serpentine train rolled out towards the Western Avenue stop.

He had gotten up to about twenty-miles-per when he felt a surge of heat throughout his body. The beads of sweat coalesced and rained down his face as a wall of fatigue slammed into him. The only thought he had time for was: _Not good, buddy_ , before the roiling, spinning emptiness started to encroach upon the edges of his vision.

Slumping forward over the console, he purposely relaxed himself to buy more time. Keeping his hand firmly on the throttle under his chest, he raised his head just enough to keep his eyes fixed on the track. He could see the edge of the Western station a half-mile ahead in his diminishing circle of vision, and focused what was left of his consciousness on keeping that red tile roofline in sight, lest he pass out and force his hundreds of passengers to walk the trestle all the way back to Damen, forty feet in the air at that.

Twenty seconds and another quarter-mile later, his vision had degraded to a shivering blackness, punctuated with a stubborn dime-size circle of color that remained in the center. He knew he wasn't coming out of this quickly, but still kept his focus on that red tile — _Just another quarter mile,_ he told himself, _then I can let go_. When the circle of color finally collapsed fifteen seconds later, he had a few hundred milliseconds to convince himself he could guide the train into the station by sound alone, but that thought — along with all the rest — extinguished as a loud buzzing arose in his ears.

It would have been fine if Stan had collapsed into a heap on the floor — the throttle had a spring-loaded dead-man's switch, which would have killed the juice. Problem was, he didn't completely collapse — his blood-pressure drop drained crucial flow from his frontal lobes, but it wasn't enough to completely take out his cerebellum at the base of his skull. This left him standing, barely, but also leaning forward with the weight of his torso pushing against the throttle, holding it open. The dead-man's switch was of no use — because Stan was not a dead man.

He was a zombie.
Chapter Three

Jess settled into an available single seat — a perk of being able to leave work at four — and after pulling out her iPad, slid her bag underneath it. Most days she took the Brown line home, but on days like today, when she wanted to get home quickly, she headed underground and jumped on the Blue line, which was a shorter trip but required a bus ride for the final leg.

By the time they rose above ground at Damen, she was engrossed in a medical article she was editing. This was a super-weird one about _Capgrass Syndrome_ , where a patient believes their closest friends or even spouses have been replaced with body doubles. Even after editing thousands of medical articles, she never lost her fascination for these strange disorders; unlike many of the physicians she worked for, who only see symptoms, diagnosis, and course of treatment.

So it barely registered when she heard the groans and muttered "WTF's" of the passengers waiting to get off at Western as they flew by the station without stopping. Had she taken notice, she might have rationalized it away by convincing herself it was an Express train, and the asshat driver had simply neglected to inform them of that fact. Instead, she kept on reading, as the train picked up speed and began the familiar lifting and swaying motions she might have dreaded, had she been paying attention.

It was only when they barrelled past the California stop, accompanied by louder groans and general pissed-offedness, that someone started to notice that the horn wasn't blowing. When a train runs Express, the driver always blows the horn — a high-pitched beep — when coming into the stations, as a warning to the waiting passengers that they might want to step back from the edge of the platform.

She finally emerged from her book when she heard a woman telling those around her "This train's not stopping, this train's not stopping" over and over. This woman, on any other day, might have been shouted down as a nutbag, or as a neurotic stirrer-of-shit, except most everyone else _also_ felt there was indeed something out-of-order that day; they knew the express announcement had never been made, and the express horn had never blown, and this free-floating anxiety now coalesced around this woman's words, such that they knew she was not saying, in effect, "this train is running express" or "this train is missing stops", but they knew _just_ what she was communicating, and this knowledge washed over the passengers with a suddenness, and became: _This train is not going to stop, ever._

An almost identical process of realization occurred in each of the nine train cars at just about the same time, give or take ten or twenty seconds either way. Jess' car, though third in line, was a bit late to the party, so to speak.

Looking up from her article, she immediately sensed the motions of the train, along with the anxiety of her fellow passengers, and her historical apprehensions regarding driverless trains flooded back with a vengeance, as that probabilistic wave function collapsed into her reality. Fear becoming fact also had the effect of reducing her anxiety, and she made a mental note of this, under the arguably mistaken notion that she might have a future block of time in which to ponder it further.

Although Jess had rehearsed the discovery of this situation many times, she had not actually planned what she might do as a consequence. A new theory also quickly filed away: _Would the planning of possible courses of action have resulted in her feeling more empowered now, while also reducing her anxiety in the past?_ Seemed plausible, and she regretted mightily _not_ planning beforehand, not so much for any historical anxiety reduction, but for the natural utility such planning might have provided in the present moment. In any case, something needed to be done, and the planning would have to be now; though clearly not an ideal time for it.

Ten seconds past the California stop, Jess decided that the driver _was_ clearly incapacitated or insane, and so she must reach the head car and do... _Something_. She silently cursed herself for boarding the third car: she always avoided the first two cars as the Blue line terminus was O'Hare, and they were predictably full of passengers and luggage.

Dropping her iPad, she raced up the aisle as the other riders came to terms with this new reality. Reaching the emergency door at the end, she slid the handle clockwise and pulled it open, filling the car with a rush of wind and the squealing of steel wheels. Stepping between the bouncing, swaying trains, she reached for the forward car's door handle when suddenly a whoosh filled her ears, and all was plunged into roaring darkness.

They were back underground, racing towards the Logan Square station. Realizing she wasn't quite dead yet, Jess shoved the door open and stumbled into the second car as it shut behind her with a heavy spring-loaded _thwack_. Instead of the stunned silence of her car, this one exhibited a fair amount of wailing and crying, interrupted momentarily by her loud entrance.

Stepping over a man in a yellow hoodie crouched in the aisle, she passed one seated woman who, holding some prayer beads, made the mark of the cross. A smattering of other seated riders were hunched down, hands interlaced behind their head, airplane-crash style. _Well that's stupid_ she thought to herself as she pushed forward. Most of the others were busy furiously calling or texting on their phones, either to 911 or their loved ones, depending upon their level of optimism. The remainder just sat silently and stared ahead wide-eyed, bracing for the end.

Fumbling past people and over the predictable luggage, she made it to the middle of the car, and looking ahead, realized she wasn't the only potential hero or heroine on this train. A crowd of people was funneling into the first car ahead of her, just as others began to stream in behind her. Like her, many others also apparently felt the need to get to the front car and do their own... _Something_.

The Logan stop streaked by as Jess inched forward, a few bodies from the next door. Trapped for a moment between two large men, she glanced out the window towards the platform, at the startled and confused faces whizzing by in a blur. One young woman, however, seemed to understand perfectly what she was witnessing. Jess' eyes locked with hers for only a second, but the look of horror on her face chilled Jess to the bone, because that young girl knew was she was seeing: she was seeing Death, happening right in front of her.

The girl's reaction motivated Jess to push forward harder, lest she succumb to the same impotent shock and awe, and she squeezed her way again into the swirling, black abyss between cars, her back pressed taut against the safety chain, as she maneuvered around three others and agonizingly birthed herself into the front car.

Ahead of her lay a sea of other struggling bodies — _My God, it's full of North Face logos,_ she thought. After pushing past a few more people, she found herself stuck again, and so, reaching up, she leveraged a few convenient shoulders to vault herself up and over the seats. The steel grab handles in the seat backs made for a decent foot path as she stepped forward, her hands pressed against the ceiling to steady herself.

From her vantage point, she could see a solid block of people jammed up against the driver compartment door ahead. The black accordion privacy curtain prevented them from seeing Stan in his semi-catatonic state, so the writhing masses yelled and banged on the glass with their hands, briefcases, and backpacks; one enterprising young woman even used her aluminum Sigg bottle, all to no effect. The lack of space prevented any one person from gaining enough backswing to break through the double-layered security glass; instead they accomplished little more than polite taps. Streaks of blood appeared on the glass, as one man with a pocketknife desperately began slicing through the rubber seal surrounding it, cutting himself in the process.

It was clear she couldn't fight her way to the front of this crowd, and even if she did, she hadn't come up with any better ideas anyway. Her goal now became the nearest doorway. Flinging herself around the pole dividing the seats from the doors, she slipped into a small pocket, grabbed the red knob embedded into the ceiling, and yelled "Move back!" The crowd pulled back a few inches, giving her enough room to slip into place facing the doors, and she pulled down on the handle with her full weight, lifting herself off the floor. Through the knob, she felt the click of a spring-loaded mechanism as the doors automatically retreated into the side walls.

Swirling, sucking wind entered the car as the crowd pulled back further into the relative safety of the driverless train. Jess considered her options, mentally reviewing the route as the wind buffeted her face, but she couldn't recall any safe place to jump — there were no lakes or river crossings the whole distance to O'Hare. A platform suddenly appeared in front of her, populated with more shocked, blurred faces, followed by open space again. Throughout the previous two minutes she had thought only of the next immediate goal, and now, with some time to finally _think_ , nothing came to her. Like a shark, though, she had to keep moving, or die. _Could I climb to the roof?_ she wondered. _There were no more tunnels on the route, at least until the end of the line_ , she recalled with a twinge of dread, _But once out — what then?_

Grabbing the emergency handle again, she lifted her body up and swung her right leg outside the car. Finding purchase on the rippled aluminum exterior, she levered herself up higher as her right hand groped about for a hold on the top of the car. Discovering a sharp lip where the aluminum exterior of the car was crimped to the roof, she grabbed onto it and found she was able to support her weight.

As she began to swing her left leg out as well, a hard tug on it caused her to lose her footing completely, and she dangled in open space as the steel lip cut into her right hand. Fumbling to regain her holds, Jess found herself feeling more pissed than terrified. Planting her left Fluevog-clad foot onto what she presumed was the face of her moronic "rescuer", she discouraged any further attempts with a satisfying, meaty stomp.

Clinging to the skin of the car, she noticed the next station quickly approaching and pulled her body closer against the metal. The platform's foot-wide blue safety strip flashed by inches beneath her heels as she felt a series of whacks on her hindquarters that almost knocked her from the train; several surprised commuters on the platform would later discover buttons ripped clean from their jackets.

The blue strip vanished, replaced by a blur of brown railroad ties set on top of a steep embankment. There would be no jumping off point here. She thought of the small driver's window: whatever was happening in that cab, she would have a better shot at dealing with it from outside than those futilely banging away inside. Slowly, she inched herself forward as the riders inside watched this new development with a mix of horror and disbelief. The rippled surface of the car gave way to the forward set of doors, which lacked any footholds — she would have to swing her way across the four-foot opening. Though her hands were now cramping, the pain was tolerable, considering she was a mere seven feet from her goal — that little driver's window. Letting her feet dangle, she tried to swing, but failing to achieve any momentum, finally resorted to inching her way across the chasm hanging by her cramped, bleeding fingers alone. Reaching over with her right foot, she found support once again, and slid into place hugging the car just in time for arrival at the next station.

Not wanting to repeat the abuse she received at the last station, Jess tilted her head back and startled the waiting crowd ahead with a shout of " _Get_ _BACK!_ ". As they scurried out of the way, she was relieved to feel nothing on her sore rump but the wind.

Back in the open air, and knowing they were only a few stops from the end of the line, Jess quickly scooted over to the sliding-glass window. Finding no handles on the outside of the glass, she pressed her hand flat against it and slid it open.

Looking inside, she found Stan still bent over the console, throttle jammed under his torso, a trail of saliva leading from his mouth to a pool near the window. Thinking him dead, she found herself relieved: she was half-expecting to discover a maniacal driver with a death wish. Reaching inside, she grabbed a handful of his denim overalls and pulled his body towards her. As he slid sideways onto the floor, the throttle wound itself back, sending the passengers inside careening against each other in a violent, bruising group hug as the integrated braking system kicked in.

Jess didn't feel anything, however, being in mid-air and all.
Chapter Four

The second she was thrown, time slowed to the point where she looked back upon the train, as it slowly receded from her, and believing the driver to be dead, began to worry about his family and how they would handle their loss. A moment later she recalled her own predicament, and snapping her head around, charted her current trajectory down the steep embankment. Time instantly returned, but just as the sound of the buffeting wind again filled her ears, a ripping, popping sensation banished it once more, and she was at peace.

She was fine, though: she hadn't hit anything, and looking down, was startled to see a body lying in the gully below. Pinned between two clusters of bushes, it was scratched and bloodied, with one arm bent at a grotesque angle. It looked more like a mannequin than a human, and she turned away with disgust, only then realizing the clothing seemed strangely familiar. Her gaze returned to it, and she thought to herself: _That's my body down there,_ with a certain measure of dispassion that was almost casual.

_Jess herself,_ however, that is, her consciousness, appeared to be just dandy. Confused, she took inventory, and found she had retained all her limbs with nary a scratch to be found. She even wore the same clothing as the body below, only perfectly clean and unbloodied. Her attention was drawn away from this self-evaluation by the wailing of multiple sirens: it seemed every squad, ladder truck and ambulance throughout the city had been activated and summoned to the scene.

Two police cruisers, zig-zagging through traffic on the highway beside the tracks, skidded to a stop sideways, blocking all four lanes. Three burly cops emerged and ambled over a four-foot chain-link fence separating the highway from the CTA right-of-way before climbing up the embankment towards the train. By this time, many of the passengers had disembarked onto the narrow path beside the train, some of them shouting and pointing towards where Jess' body lay. The officers, ignoring their pleas, shoved past them, one boarding the train while the other two carefully approached the front of the lead car with guns drawn. Observing no activity within, one officer holstered his pistol and climbed up to peer into the windshield. After ruling out terrorism in favor of a medical emergency, they radioed a request for the jaws of life, and only then did one of the cops take any interest in her body.

Keeping his gun drawn, the officer skidded down the embankment into the gully to where her body was sprawled out in the brush. Holstering his gun, he scrambled towards it, issuing a " _Jesus_ " between heavy breaths. He had seen enough dead bodies to know what they look like.

The EMT's, close behind, maneuvered a stretcher through the craggy path from the highway to her body. Jess found it slightly amusing how much of a fuss was being made — she wasn't down _there_ , she was up on the tracks, and felt just fine. More than fine. Taking a moment, she examined this new state of hers. Where a moment before she was full of adrenaline, in pain, drenched with sweat, and almost sick to her stomach, she now had none of those concerns. She felt calm, had no pain or nausea, no worry, and nary a drop of sweat. Everything was just grand.

Something began to take hold in her consciousness, however, something just on the tip of her tongue — something she was forgetting, as if she had just awoken from sleep with a fading swirl of emotion, and was desperately trying to remember the dream from which it sprang. Then it hit her, and in an instant she became aware of the strangeness of feeling absolutely no concern for her body below. She needed that body to _live_ , and right now she wasn't alive — not in the conventional sense of the word. Apparently, she reasoned, she was _dead_.

Panic set in as she tried to move closer to that pale, mangled contraption that was her body below. The effort was made more difficult with the discovery that she wasn't exactly _walking_ along the railroad bed; she was _gliding_ over it instead, and had difficulty controlling her movement. Her anxiety increasing, she desperately began to swim down through the air towards her body. As she painstakingly closed the distance, she overheard the cop tell the arriving EMT: "Take your time, she's gone" — sending her further into despair.

A few feet away now, she felt a revulsion towards this twisted wreck; there was no way she wanted to go back in _that_ , but the thought of losing the rest of her life terrified her more than the disgust she felt. Positioning herself a few inches over her body as best she could, she closed her eyes, and willed herself to feel her legs, arms, torso, head — anything to reconnect to her human senses again. Within a few moments, a small tug at the back of her head burgeoned into a violent pull as she was yanked downward — head first, then torso, then limbs — and snapped back into place with a _thunk_ , like a ping-pong ball caught in a vacuum cleaner.

As her previous state of pure consciousness solidified within her body, she felt every cell of her being newly burdened with a distinct weight and thickness, a heaviness, a substantiality, a _humanity_ ; and it was, frankly, disgusting to her. This process of unification was accompanied by numerous high-pitched, descending tones, reminiscent of a poorly auto-tuned song, which finally resolved into a chorus of shouting voices and sirens.

And then came the pain.
Chapter Five

"Welcome back, sweetie."

Her eyes slowly opened, and after a few blinks, the cloudy haze cleared to reveal the smiling face of a nurse in blue scrubs.

"I'll be right back, don't you go nowhere," she ordered, quickly shuffling out of the room. Jess could feel the pain lingering just behind whatever painkillers she had been given; a dull ache that she knew would catch fire once the drugs wore off. Bandages covered her arms and legs, and a sling supported her right arm, but she found, with relief, no Plaster of Paris anywhere.

The nurse reappeared as promised, joined by three doctors: an older man followed by two young interns — one male, one female — who stood behind him like children hiding from an overly-affectionate aunt. The elder doctor approached and flicked a light back and forth between her eyes.

"Good evening, young lady. You're back from your trip, eh?"

She tried to muster a "Guess so", but her throat and mouth felt terribly dry, so it came out more like "Guckth...".

"Do you know where you are? Do you know what happened to you? And _who_ you are, for that matter?"

"Uh, ahem, yeah...train wreck," she managed, trying to force a swallow.

"Well now, you're not _that_ bad off, considering," the doctor replied, misunderstanding her answer. In the meantime, the male intern, overcoming his fear, walked around him to stand at the other side of her bed.

"You _expired_ , you know," he informed her, a touch of amazement in his voice.

_What a strange, rude, word,_ Jess thought to herself, _Talking about me like sour milk_. She frowned at him, as did the older doctor before quickly changing the subject.

"Ah, how are you feeling...any pain?"

"Huh uh."

"Well you rest up now, we'll check back on you in a bit." He rose, noted something on her chart, and after instructing the nurse to provide only ice chips, left with the female intern in tow.

The young man lingered, however, staring at her awkwardly as he backed away towards the door. It seemed he wanted to say something, but after a long moment, he turned and left as well.

She dozed on and off for a few minutes, or a few hours — she couldn't tell which — until awakening to a visitor entering the room.

"Hey, Messy! They said you were in and out, you in?"

"Gavin," she squeaked, turning her head to see him. He giggled, and grabbing a styrofoam coffee cup from the table next to her bed, offered her some partially-melted ice chips. Taking them, she smiled an icy smile at him.

"Lady, don't you worry, I made it clear to them that there is no dying in here for you today, so you got zero worries, I got you covered."

"What happened?" she whispered, wondering how much he knew of what she remembered.

"You crawled out on a train, you damn fool! Trying to be all _Wonder Woman_ or something. Don't ya remember? Then they shut down the power and you went all _Air Jess_." He whistled while drawing an arc in the air with his finger, and punctuated it with a Pop, eliciting a wince from her.

"You got a dislocated shoulder, three bruised ribs, and of course this," he said, sprinkling his fingers back and forth over her bandaged body, "...this is all branchy and scratchy and just plain ol' _crazy_ , but other than that, you're all good."

She realized from his description that they didn't know she had stopped the train, or that she had in fact... _died_...for a few minutes, at least.
Chapter Six

After the short visit, she slept fitfully through the evening and into the night, as vivid dreams of the entire eight-minute drama replayed in her mind. In some variations the train derailed, in others it barreled into the platform at the end of the line, but in none of them did things turn out as well as they had in reality. What did remain constant in each dream version was the moment of impact, when she was torn from her body, and into that place of peace and detached observation.

Shooting pains in her side dragged her consciousness to the surface, and groaning, she opened her eyes to find it was 3:30 AM. She lay there half-asleep, the jolts of pain intensifying as the meds slowly wore off. Finally, unable to take any more, her hand began to reach for the call button, when with a _thunk_ , the discomfort instantly receded.

The pain was replaced with a gentle tickling sensation, which started at the base of her spine and worked its way up, spreading across her back. It then morphed into a soft, fuzzy feeling, whereupon it changed again into something more metallic and sharp, but not painful. The relief from the pain was so great that instead of analyzing these strange new sensations, she simply enjoyed them as they rose through her body and floated away.

Gradually becoming aware of a slow, methodic, deep breathing, she remembered her single-occupancy room, and upon opening her eyes, was annoyed to discover that not only had she been moved while asleep, but that she was now in the lower portion of a bunk bed, with another patient sleeping above her! Her annoyance turned to bewilderment as she looked around and found herself actually lying on the floor underneath a single bed. She slowly rolled out from underneath, careful not to wake the person above, and stood, only to gaze down upon her own sleeping form.

_This must be the most realistic dream I have ever had,_ she thought. She hadn't had one like this since her teens, when she read a book on lucid dreaming and started experiencing a few on occasion, but she soon lost the ability as her interest in the subject waned.

The strange thing about this dream was her ability to ponder it — her previous lucid dreams quickly collapsed, awakening her, if she actively thought about them too much. But not this time — she even said to herself _I am asleep and dreaming, and I am fully aware of this,_ yet the dream kept progressing without any dissolution.

_Well this is certainly new and unique,_ she marveled, and she decided to see what else she could get away with in this dream state before it all inevitably fell away from her. Turning away from her slumbering body, she glided — she noted she could glide in this dream — towards the door. Grabbing for the handle, she felt only the sensation of metal, as her hand, finding no purchase, passed right through it.

Intrigued, she gently pushed on the large wooden door, only to have her fingers sink into it, creating a cold, dense, fibrous feeling within them. Pulling her hand out abruptly, she then punched at the door, sinking her fist into it up to her wrist, which produced only a faint knock.

_OK,_ she thought to herself, retracting her hand, _let's tell this lucid dream who's boss. I want this door to open...now!_ she commanded, yet it stubbornly ignored her. _This is supposed to be_ my _reality,_ she thought, confusion and frustration setting in. Slowly and carefully, she slid her arm all the way through the door, as though reaching out to pet a strange dog. With no resistance all the way to her shoulder, she dipped her head forward, unsure if her dream-state awareness would be affected by this intermingling of substances. Reminding herself it was only a dream, she mustered her courage and dove in.

As she had predicted, her consciousness _was_ affected by the intermingling with the door material: her vision blurred as an atonal mixture of randomly changing frequencies assaulted her hearing. Noticing no ill-effect on her awareness, however, she bobbed her head slowly back and forth through the door, finding the strangeness only occurred when the door material intermingled with the areas of her brain in charge of those particular senses, as opposed to the physical sense organs themselves. For example, if she moved her head through facing forwards, she could still "see" the door even when her "eyes" exited the other side; it was only when the back of her head, containing her occipital lobes, entered the door that the visual dulling effects manifested.

Feeling more confident, she quickly stepped through the door and into the hospital hallway. This action produced a jumble of sensations internally, but nothing externally, save for a faint _thump_. Standing in the hall, she discerned the noise of shuffling papers, and turning to discover the source, spotted a nurse's station down the hallway. The shuffling stopped as someone's head leaned out over the station desk and looked directly at her. Startled, she froze, hoping she wouldn't be noticed. The nurse, staring intently, caught her breath and waited a few moments before speaking.

"Plymouth? That you making the rounds? You sure gave me a start there, you gotta quit with that now."

Relieved she wasn't in trouble, Jess was nevertheless confused as to why she was being addressed as Plymouth. As the nurse returned to her paperwork, Jess relaxed and headed down the cold tile hallway towards the desk, stopping unnoticed directly in front of her. After a few moments, the nurse appeared to sense Jess standing before her, and pausing her busywork, gathered herself and quickly looked up.

"Uh!" she uttered, falling back in her chair. Recovering herself, she rose, and without acknowledging Jess, turned and quickly walked away while holding her hands to the sides of her head like blinders.

"No. No. No. No. No. Uh-uh, that is NOT ok, I told you...I told you...Uh-uh," she muttered, kicking through the double doors at the end of the hall.

_This dream is just getting freaky now,_ Jess thought as she returned to the door of her room. Hearing another door open further down the hall, however, she watched a doctor dressed in blue jeans and a white coat emerge from it. Recognizing him as the young intern from earlier, she froze as he approached, wondering if he would bust her for being out of her room in this super-realistic dream.

As he neared, he did indeed notice her, and slowed his pace as he stared at her with a furrowed brow. _Well,_ she thought, _it's clear I'm not invisible, but it's just rude to stare, considering this is my dream and all_. Coming alongside her, he suddenly looked forward and hurried his pace towards the same double doors the nurse had gone through. Jess couldn't help but be offended, it was the second time her presence wasn't even acknowledged in the course of thirty seconds!

Along with the frustration, Jess felt a bit tired at this point, but not tired exactly, more like _drained_. Her anger dissipated as her energy levels dropped, and she soon wanted nothing more than to sleep. Turning, she drifted in a fugue-like state through her closed door and lay down over her sleeping double, completely forgetting the searing pain coursing within that form that had been the trigger for this mini-adventure. With a series of pops, she was sucked back into place, and the pain came flooding back into her with a vengeance. Groaning, her eyes shot open as she frantically reached over and clawed for the call button, before passing out altogether.
Chapter Seven

Dapples of sunlight played upon her eyelids, gently awakening her. Though groggy, she felt much better than the previous night, which seemed hazy and distant now. Hearing a commotion approaching, she sat up just as the door opened, revealing the doctor from the previous day along with the male intern — the one from her dream. He looked tired.

"And...she is awake," he pronounced. "Feeling better this morning? Well you should! Jay tells me you created quite a stir last night, so we upped your meds. Good news is you can go home tomorrow, and we'll send some of those very same happy pills home with you." Looking over his glasses, he leaned down to her. "Now, no more jumping off trains for you young lady, all right?" he offered with a chuckle, which elicited an eye roll from Jess. After scribbling a final note on her chart, he turned and left, while the intern remained.

"Right out of central casting, that one," Jess remarked to the man. "Anyway, um, did you hear my call button last night?"

"I did. I was in the break room with the on-call nurse. You were writhing around in pain...we had to sedate you — you don't remember?"

"Not a thing. I think I passed out...but thanks anyway."

"Not a problem."

"Your name is Jay? I thought maybe it was Plymouth."

Jay's eyes suddenly widened. "Ah...no," he stammered, "but um, why would you say that?"

"I thought I heard the nurse call you that last night. Who's Plymouth? Such a strange name."

Forcing a half-smile, he caught himself, determined to regain his composure. " _He_ is our resident ghost," he informed her casually. "In fact, the nurse I was with claims she saw him just last night — that's probably what you heard," he added with a knowing half-smile, reminding her of her father's Christmas Day tales of seeing reindeer tracks on the roof.

"You saw him too," she stated coldly, annoyed by his condescension.

Struck dumb, he paused, cradled his chin in his palm, and exhaled deeply, giving away the charade. Curiosity beat out professional objectivity, and he rubbed his forehead while staring at the floor.

"Well. Yes. I believe I did," he admitted, looking up at her.

"It was me you saw."

He glanced away, a flush of heat building within him. He knew he was in the weeds now, and though his right-brain screamed _psych-consult_ , he ignored it.

"Where," he asked, still looking away, not really wanting to hear the answer he knew was coming.

"Just outside the door here," she answered, pointing. "You saw me and skedaddled."

He nodded an affirmation, but still couldn't bring himself to look at her. Forcing a smile, he changed the subject to break the tension. "Come on, you need to get out of here — let's take a stroll to the cafeteria," he offered, lowering the side rail of her bed. The large bandage binding her ribs tightened as he helped her swing her legs over the side, and she grimaced as she eased into her slippers. Sliding down off the bed, she felt the weight of her body sink into the soles of her feet like ballast, and it felt like a herculean effort was required to push each ponderous leg forward by turns, in the simple act of maneuvering her one-hundred-and-twenty-pound mass towards the door.

"So...what happened to you?" he asked casually as they reached the busy hallway.

She supposed his question was not specifically about the events of the previous night, but she wasn't going to go into all that just yet, so she pretended it was.

"I thought I was dreaming. Turns out I might not have been. What did you see?"

"Well I thought I saw a cloudy, swirling mist or smoke in the general shape of a person. Strange thing was, it didn't appear to drift or dissipate. Of course, it was late, and I had been working thirty hours already," he hedged, unwilling to commit himself to what they both knew he had seen.

"Yeah, and you were wearing jeans then. Why?"

_Boy, this one doesn't beat around the bush,_ he thought to himself.

"I...was going to grab a nap in the break room, and I changed so I wouldn't wrinkle my fancy doctor pants," he said, pulling the sides of his dress pants out to display their fanciness. "So, have you...done this before?"

"No. In fact, I wasn't sure it was even real until you confirmed it for me just now."

"Oh. Well, yay. Great for me, then." He suddenly regretted not calling for that psych consult.

"It also happened when I fell from the train, though."

"Hmmm..." was all he could muster at this point.

"So, have you had other patients with these experiences?"

He shook his head slowly. "Noooo...but I don't really have a lot under my belt yet," he explained, as she unthinkingly glanced below his literal belt. Catching her, his face flushed with embarrassment as he forced a premature finish to his thought. "...so this is definitely a learning experience for me!" he spat out, his voice rising an octave and echoing over the din of the busy hallway.

Jess laughed aloud, then, attempting to stifle it, held her ribs and grimaced as her body shuddered. "Yeah, me too," she admitted between breaths, wiping the tears of pain and laughter from her eyes.

"Listen, don't tell Dr. Bell about this stuff," Jay asked. "I don't think he would be as, ah, _open_ , to it. I do remember reading about a doctor in the UK who was investigating something like this, though. Let me Google it and get back to you, okay?"

Before she could answer, an older couple began hurrying towards them down the hall, yelling "Jessica!". Recognizing her parents, she smiled, and protecting her ribs with one arm, fended them off with the other, yelling "No hugs! No hugs!"

"Well I'll leave you to them," he whispered, and turned to backtrack down the hallway.

"Thanks!" she called out sarcastically to the back of his white coat, as he successfully made his escape.
Chapter Eight

After an eternity of reassurances as to her well being, Jess was back in her hospital bed, her parents safely corralled in a nearby Hilton. Though feeling better, she was loathe to inform the nurses, so as to remain on the higher dose of pain meds in an effort to avoid a repeat of the previous night. As she lay staring up at the pock-marked ceiling tiles, she wondered if it was possible for her to "slip out" purposely. Knowing she could safely return, if needed, eased her fears and stoked her growing curiosity about this new state of consciousness.

Closing her eyes, she visualized herself as two intertwined bodies, the physical and the... _less_ physical. Focusing on the lighter body, she tried to move her leg and step out slowly. No luck. Then she tried rolling out sideways, falling down through the bed, sitting up, drifting up...nothing. Giving up for the night, she simply set her intention: I _would like to consciously control this new experience of leaving my physical body,_ then let it go. _Oh well, maybe tomorrow,_ she thought as sleep began to overtake her.

But then, deep down, she felt something else — a tiny buzzing, as if a bumble bee had suddenly awoken at the base of her spine. The sensation, climbing upward through her torso, took on a more electric feeling as though she were being shocked. Opening her eyes, she glanced around to see if an exposed wire was touching her body somewhere, but found nothing. Fearing this strange new sensation, she resisted it, and sighed with relief as it slowly subsided. Empowered by the feeling of control, however, she once more closed her eyes, and clutching the oversize hospital-bed remote, thumb hovering over the call button, she searched for the feeling again. It returned quickly, as though waiting in the wings to be summoned again, and spreading upwards, filled her head, where she not only felt the buzzing, but heard it as well.

Slowing, the sensation descended into a tangible vibration she could feel in her bones, before consolidating into a full-body swaying motion. The fear returned, and gripping the remote, she told herself that if she began to feel dizzy, she would press the button. The dizziness never came, and so she simply observed as the periodicity slowed, and the arcs lengthened, swinging her back and forth, until at one final forceful apogee she felt the popping sensation, followed by stillness and silence.

The heaviness gone, she knew instantly she was out. The first thought she had was, again, how strange it was — the simple _density_ of her body. Only now, dis-embodied, was she able to assess the difference, and it felt so natural without it, so free, that it seemed embodiment was quite an _unnatural_ state — an imposition of sorts — an onerous tax on the fact of being.

Rising, she headed for the door again, but then decided to try the wall this time. Like the door, she felt the density of the wall material, but this new substance was more granular and chalky, with the middle section less dense and somewhat metallic tasting.

At one point, she felt a vibrating sensation near her left hand, and looking down, saw it had intersected an electrical junction box. As she slowly waved her hand back and forth through the box, Jess noticed the fluorescent lights of the hallway flicker on and off. Moving completely through the wall into the hallway, she turned towards the nurse's station to see a different woman peering over the desk, no doubt curious about the flickering lights. Jess quickly slipped backwards to avoid a repeat of the previous night, peeking out after a moment to see if she was still being watched. This nurse apparently had no personal history with "Plymouth", however, and had gone back to her work without attempting any spirit contact. Jess moved into the hall again, slowly this time, and sped in the opposite direction.

Reaching a turn in the corridor, she followed a rhythmic sound, eventually discerning it to be _Start Me Up_. Heading towards the source, she found a door ajar, and peered through the crack to discover a small windowless office. Jay was leaning back in a swivel chair, feet propped on a small metal desk piled high with manilla folders, papers, and binders. Hands clasped behind his head and eyes closed, he appeared to be either enjoying the music, or asleep.

She slipped through the partly open door and stood before him unnoticed. Reaching forward, she moved her fist through the desk, producing three slight thuds. Jay's eyes instantly flew open and he stared straight at her, while remaining frozen in his chair. After a few seconds, she spoke.

"It's me, Jessica," she announced, eliciting no reaction.

"Hellooo!" she yelled, but still...nothing.

It was clear that whatever form she was taking was unrecognizable as human. Frustrated at his lack of response, she reached forward and rapped on his desk again, causing him to tumble forward out of his chair. Standing up quickly, he backed himself against the far wall, never taking his eyes off her. Finally, she heard a small sound from him, choked out almost. It was a single word, and it was " _Go_ ".

She had gone too far, she told herself, as she quickly retreated through the door, ashamed and dejected. Hurrying back to her room, she felt repugnant, thinking if ghosts _did_ exist, she now knew why they stuck to lonely attics and dark basements. No tears came, yet a deep sadness shuddered within her. _Never again,_ she told herself, as she lay down and slipped back into her sleeping body.
Chapter Nine

Jess awoke to the murmurs of Gavin and her parents discussing her discharge procedure with the day nurse, who was providing instructions on how they should care for her while she recuperated at home. Jay, however, was nowhere to be found. The memories of the previous night returned as she sleepwalked through the discharge process, the feelings of rejection only increasing as she was wheeled out the front door. He hadn't even returned to say goodbye.

Back at home, Jess felt a tiny bit better. The familiar sights and smells, the company of her kitty, along with the pampering by her parents, did much to assuage her emotional and physical wounds. She lived in the third story of large Greystone, which she rented from Gavin and his partner Joel, who occupied the first two floors. Gavin was a close friend from her publishing company, who left the previous year to start his own small design firm at home. That same year Gavin and Joel had traveled to China to adopt their two-year old daughter, Lenora, and the sight of her also cheered Jess immensely — with the single exception of her adorable, yet painful, habit of frowning and saying "ow" as she pressed her finger full-force into Jess' bandages.

April slipped into May, and Jess felt better with each passing day. The parents had returned home to Michigan after the second week, just about the same time Gavin had informed her, with a smile, that her demands had become _tiresome_. Between this and her dread of watching one more Oprah-spawned "Dr." show, she decided to return to work.

The first day back, she was surprised by a _Throw Jess From The Train_ welcome back party, complete with an aptly decorated cake. Though most of the younger staff missed the reference and were offended by the title on her behalf, Jess could care less. She appreciated the genuine care and concern of her coworkers, and anyway the vanilla-frosted chocolate locomotive cake was moist and tasty. Soon enough she was back to editing obscure psychological journal articles, and her hospital experience faded into the background.
Chapter Ten

It was early June when Jess fell out again. She had just had another nightmare about the train experience, this one particularly vivid, focusing on the girl she saw in the underground station. Jess viscerally felt the emotions flowing through her, and watched from her perspective as the train, filled with terrified passengers, flew by, until suddenly she felt the familiar _thunk_.

She awakened to find herself entranced by a strange lamp protruding from an intricate medallion embedded in the clean white floor. It took a moment for her to realize she was positioned upside-down, and staring at her own ceiling light fixture. In this state, she seemed to have little positional awareness, whether due to the effective lack of gravity or lack of vestibular organs, she wasn't sure.

At the hospital, she seemed to recall having a bit more mass, and although she didn't walk then, but glided, still — it felt a bit like walking. Now, however, she felt more freedom to move about, less tied to the imprint of how her physical body moved, and this freedom was intoxicating. Her "never again" commitment forgotten like a tequila hangover, she began to explore and play. If she imagined herself as her physical body, she found herself becoming more substantial, and sunk to the floor as gravity took hold. Likewise, if she imagined herself as a small floating ball of energy, she felt even lighter, and could travel much faster, zipping from place to place with ease. It seemed she could manage her density by focusing her thought patterns, reminding her of her graduate course on self-hypnosis, which worked on similar principles. Finding the lighter state to be much more fun, she sped through the door and into the hallway without a sound.

In the hall, she moved vertically, spiralling down through the floor to suddenly find herself in Lenora's room. She quietly watched over the little one soundly asleep in her crib, her soft breaths barely audible over the hum of a white-noise-producing fan. She hadn't realized Lenora's room, which she had been in so many times before, was just below hers. It seemed the little girl's bedroom was in a different place entirely, yet in reality it was separated from hers by only a few inches of insubstantial material. If she were embodied, she might have begun to contemplate the idea that most barriers between people were simply mental constructs, but in her state it didn't seem to merit much attention.

As she watched the girl sleep, she felt such love towards this little person that it seemed to actually flow out of her and into the child. Coincident to this, Lenora began to stir, stretching and yawning while grasping onto the side rails of the crib. Her sleepy eyes opened, and searching around, found Jess. "Ow" she murmured, and with a slight smile, drifted back to sleep. An overpowering joy coursed through Jess, as her earlier feelings of rejection, buried in her subconscious, were excavated and incinerated in the light of this happiness.

She returned to her body, relieved of a large burden, and slept soundly.
Chapter Eleven

Jess began a nightly habit of visiting little Lenora, discovering that the simple act of setting the intention for a visit as she drifted off to sleep would result in her awakening outside her body around three-thirty in the morning. During most of these visits, Lenora would not awaken, but the times she did, she would again softly say "ow", or present a small loving smile, or a giggle, before slumbering off again.

Jess soon began to feel uncomfortable about these visits, as she was, in a sense, invading her friend's privacy, but rationalized it away in so much as her intentions were loving. Still, it nagged at her, and knowing Gavin — he had unabashedly confessed to experiencing spiritual visitors in the past — she thought he might be more accepting if she fessed up to her nocturnal breaking-and-enterings.

One night, after a visit, she traveled to his bedroom, only to discover Joel asleep alone in the bed. Embarrassed, she backed out into the hall where she noticed a light on in the unused third bedroom — now an office — at the front of the house. Slipping towards it, she turned the corner to discover Gavin sitting at his desk, gazing intently at his laptop.

Although she knew her approach was silent, he immediately glanced up from his work and looked in her direction. His face contorted with confusion, painfully reminding her of her visit with Jay. Frozen with fear, she stood as still as possible, not knowing in what form she appeared to him, but determined to avoid detection. After a few seconds, Gavin — unlike Jay — remained seated, and with a quizzical look on his face, called out.

"Jess?"

A cooling relief washed over her, and nodding, she replied in the affirmative, yet he didn't seem to hear her.

"I'm not sure who you are or what you want, but I'm a little busy right now, so I'd appreciate some privacy."

Jess, noticing the stress in his words, blurted out: "It's me Gavin! Jess!"

This time, there was no reply at all, and he returned to his laptop. After a few moments, however, he looked up furtively, as though checking to see if she was still there. Noticing her again, he quickly looked back down and began to type. She backed out of the room, being careful not to move through any solid material, to avoid disturbing him further. As she rose through the ceiling back into her apartment, she heard a distinct "Thank you" echo down the hall from Gavin's office.
Chapter Twelve

"How did you know it was me?"

It was morning, and Jess was at Gavin's door. Gavin, wearing a white bathrobe and holding a mug of coffee, looked tired, but the question perked him up straight away.

"Oh, I could just tell," he said casually.

"But you couldn't hear me? I was screaming at you!"

"Not a word, honey. By the way, _what the hell?_ You freaked me right out. I had a mind to go pound on your door to see if you were still _with_ us. How did you do that?"

"Just something I picked up," she said with a half-smile. "So...what did I look like?"

"It — ah, _you_ , I guess — were just like a swirly, smoky thing. Like someone had been there smoking a cigar or something, and had just left. That's why I was confused for a second, then I realized there was no smell, and the smoke wasn't clearing, you know, like spreading out or thinning or whatever, but it was like mixing and swirling within itself, right? Then your name just popped into my head. That's when I started to freak a little, cause I didn't _know_ it was you, cause you're, like, alive and all, and it didn't look like how my Auntie looks. So now you got to dish: how in the hell did you learn to go astral?"

Jess had heard the term before, but Gavin's saying it made her giggle. "Oh my god that's so 70's!"

"OK, how about _out-of-body_. Is that better, _Science_?"

"Yeah. Just a tad more objective. So anyway, I have a confession. Before I visited you, I have been visiting Lenora at night for awhile now. So...sorry?"

"Really," he said squinting his eyes at her, "well, I guess that's OK, but honey, stay your _behind_ out of our boudoir. And no more midnight office visits. Who knows _what_ I might be looking at on my laptop next time."

"NOT A PROBLEM," she teased back. "So, let's talk later, huh? I gotta go, I think my ride's here," she called back, heading down the stairs.

In the taxi on the way to work — taking the El was still out of the question — she rebuked herself for not trusting Gavin more and telling him right away. At work, she was distracted, and couldn't even focus on a paper involving a severed corpus callosum — splitting the brain in half to control epilepsy — which had some fascinating side effects which normally would have kept her rapt attention.

It was around two — tea time — that while checking her Twitter feed, she decided on a whim to Google _dissociative disorders_ , the clinical term for what she thought she was experiencing. The closest match she could find was _Depersonalization Disorder_ , which she vaguely recalled from school. Symptoms included the feeling that one's consciousness has left the body and is observing themselves and their life as if it were a movie. That didn't quite fit her experience, she decided, for a couple of reasons. First, since it is classified as a mental disorder, there is obviously mental distress involved. Her experiences were somewhat distressing in parts, but not overwhelming — in general it was a positive feeling. Second, people with this disorder reported seeing the world through a thick haze, or gauze, or cloudiness. She, on the other hand, could perceive clearly, as if it were even _more_ real than reality. And finally, one common — and strange — symptom was a powerful aversion to fluorescent lighting; and once again, she had none of this, in the body or out — and the hospital had been full of them.

Unsatisfied, she thought of Gavin and Googled _astral travel_. Scrolling through the Wikipedia entry, she pored over a vast history of similar experiences described throughout most religions, until a modern sounding name finally caught her eye: Raymond Adams. From this link, she learned he was a pioneer of this practice back in the seventies, who had, in fact, funded and developed a center to promote the study of the experience, which continued to thrive — decades after his passing.

Reading through the materials and testimonials, she was surprised that there were people who were willing to pay thousands of dollars for "retreats" in order to learn how to do what she had accidentally stumbled onto. A few clicks later and she was sending a book to her Kindle — Adams' seminal classic _Adventures in the Astral Body_.

By the end of the workday, she had read through a quarter of the book, and was captivated by his experiences, which she found eerily similar to her own. What was strikingly different, however, was that his travels rarely resulted in any verifiable evidence, and it seemed his senses were somewhat dulled, while hers remained perfectly intact. Apparently, she was an accidental astral-traveling pro. Halfway through the book, in the cab ride home, Jess knew she wasn't going back to work the next day. She was going to the Adams Center.
Chapter Thirteen

Citing ongoing mental health issues related to the accident — true, to a certain extent — Jess took a leave of absence from work the next morning. Minutes after the confirmation email from Human Resources, she booked a nine-fifty A.M. flight to Asheville, North Carolina, the closest airport to the Adams Center. After hastily stuffing some clothes into a duffel bag, she headed down to tell Gavin. Predictably, he was fully supportive of what he called her "Journey" or "Vision Quest" or somesuch, but most importantly, he agreed to continue taking care of her cat while she was away.

In the taxi, she reflected on how she had never acted so impulsively before; she didn't even call the Adams Center to let them know she was coming, much less book the $1,800 retreat package. Somehow, she knew that her job was just to get there, and the rest of the pieces would fall into place.

Her flight arrived at eleven-twenty, and by noon she was barreling eastward down I-40 in a rented Kia, heading out of Asheville and towards Black Mountain. Twenty minutes later, her iPhone, guiding her on the dash, led her off the highway and onto a twisty two-lane road deep into the heart of the Blue Ridge mountains. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, sprinkling over the car as she sped around the curves, and darkening only as she passed under the occasional patch of wild kudzu that blanketed the trees hanging over the road.

Twenty minutes into the twisties, a gnawing feeling took hold in her stomach. Unable to entertain the idea that she was having doubts about this whole adventure, she convinced herself it was her lack of lunch, combined with the numerous switchbacks. A minute later, she emerged from the mountains, coasting downhill into an open valley as the road untangled itself. She caught a glimmer of a lonely, rusted sign as it flew by on her right: _This way to the Runaway Cafe (2mi)_.

Fortunate to have a distraction from the nagging impulse to turn the car around, she spotted the roadhouse set upon a natural ledge embedded into the hillside up ahead. Slowing, she turned up the steep gravel drive, the Kia's tires spitting pebbles onto the undercarriage. She passed a large outdoor stage constructed of rough-hewn timbers, bereft of any live music on this weekday afternoon, and drove over to the parking area to slip between a minivan and a pickup, the only other cars around.

Jess locked the car out of habit, and steeled her nerves as she explored the outdoor seating area while looking for the entrance. It was hot, and the only company she found outside was a carpenter bee the size of a hummingbird, which greeted her by brazenly hovering within inches of her face. Ducking and weaving, she shooed it away as she spied the entrance and made a run for it. After checking to see if anyone had spotted her embarrassing dance of avoidance, which they hadn't, any attempts at further discretion were thwarted as the wooden screen door swung shut behind her with a loud _thwack_.

A few locals finishing their lunch glanced up, but soon went back to their meal, utterly uninterested in her dramatic entrance. Another table held a family of four, whose bickering children had distracted the parents from even noticing her. Relieved, she headed towards a large ornate bar in the back, where a friendly-looking older woman was tidying up.

"Hey honey, just one a ya?" she hollered to Jess. "Sit where you like, I'll be with y'all in a minute."

Jess made her way through the maze of tables and perched on a barstool, then turned to smile at the family of four behind her, who looked like they were out-of-towners as well. She took a chance.

"Hi, are you here for the Adams Center?" she asked, mentally kicking herself as she realized they were probably _not_ here to teach their kids how to astral travel.

"Why no, dear, what's that?" the mother replied, wiping ketchup off her young daughters arm. The boy, who looked about six, answered for her.

"That's where the sun house is at!" he exclaimed excitedly. His mother, ignoring him, continued on.

"Is that near the lake, then?"

"Mom, that's the place just nearby," the boy continued, prompting the father to join in.

"Oh, yeah," he recalled, turning to his wife. "The place with the dome."

"Yeah — the big sun!" the boy repeated, vindicated.

"Shhh...Finish your lunch," the father whispered to him, then turned back to Jess. "So...what exactly goes on there?" he asked, with a casualness that betrayed a distinct curiosity.

"We'll it's like a retreat, I think...it's my first time, actually."

"Well you're almost there, it's just up the road," the mother interjected. "I think it's like a spa or something, probably some crystal healing too, or maybe pyramid power stuff? Well...what did you sign up for exactly?"

It was clear neither had any clue about the goings-on there, and were not-so-subtly prying for information.

"Well I haven't actually signed up, I guess I'm just a walk-in. What are you here for?" Jess replied, changing the subject.

"Oh, we're on our way to the lake, we're renting this year, but we're in the process of building a summer home here."

Apparently there was some sort of resort down the road; Jess had no idea. In any case, they were no help in calming her nerves about the center; their curiosity only increased her latent anxiety.

Returning from the kitchen, the waitress reappeared with a notepad, interrupting their awkward conversation — which was just fine with Jess.

"Specials are up on the wall, soup is New England clam chowder, and there's $2.00 Stellas all day long. Can I get you a drink?"

Jess ordered the special — blackened catfish — and a root beer, and after taking her order, the waitress hesitated for a moment.

"Adams Center, huh?"

"Yeah," Jess replied, "have you heard about it?"

"Well sure! It was a big deal back in the 70's and 80's. We used to go there every year. Decided in '88 to skip the drive from Portland and just pack it all up and move here! I'm Kal, by the way," she said, placing her pen behind her ear and offering her hand.

"Jess, thanks." _Why did I just say thanks?_ she asked herself.

"Yeah, mostly it's a vacation for old-school new-agers from the 80's, like us, 'cept with money," Kal added with a throaty laugh. "Did pry open our minds a bit though, which is always good! You say you don't have a reservation? What's yer deal here sweetie?"

"I'm not really sure, but definitely interested in what's going on there. So...what goes on there?" Jess asked with a wry smile, as the parents behind her shushed their kids.

"Well it's different for everybody, so I guess you'll find out soon enough," she answered mysteriously. "When you get there, though, ask for Terry, tell him you talked to me, OK? Oh goodness, I'm sorry — we've been gabbing so long, I haven't even put your order in." She headed back toward the kitchen, shouting "Hal! One dirty kitty!"

Jess checked her Twitter feed on her phone — painfully slowly over the old-tyme EDGE connection she was getting — until her order arrived. She wolfed down her meal, anxious to get going and finally resolve the mystery of the Adams Center. Belly full, she settled her bill and yelled her goodbye to Kal as the screen door slammed shut behind her.
Chapter Fourteen

A few minutes down the road, Jess saw something large and yellow behind the trees to her right. Coming around a bend, she spotted the massive dome rising from the ground in the distance. It seemed to be a couple hundred feet in diameter, but it was hard to tell as the far side was embedded into the slope of a small hill. A ribbon of forested hills splayed out behind it, merging with the blues and greens of the aptly named mountains that shimmered on the horizon beyond.

Glancing back at the road, she almost missed a faded white wooden sign at the edge of the partially-hidden sloping driveway. Slamming on the brakes, she made the turn even before she had time to fully read the sign, which stated, simply: _Adams Center for Consciousness Studies — est. 1972_. Heading down the gravel drive, an old Victorian-era mansion appeared on her left. The large house, still in relatively good condition despite her age, was skirted with a wide wraparound porch, and nestled within a shaded grove of tall pines. The driveway continued further towards a scattering of other outbuildings — and the dome itself — but as this appeared to be the main house, she parked the car in front.

A grizzled older man in overalls, his doughy, shirtless paunch peeking out from underneath the blue denim, sat reclining in a peeling white rocker on the front porch. His large, rough hands, interlaced over his belly, rose and fell with the rhythm of his breath, and a straw hat covered his face as he slept. Her arrival hadn't seemed to stir him, and after climbing the steps up to the porch, she stood before him, wondering what to do next. The buzzing of two flies wound past them and disappeared around the side of the house.

"Howdy," he rumbled, without lifting his head — or his hat for that matter.

"Um, Hi," Jess replied, startled. "I'm looking for Terry. Ah, Kal at the Runaway sent me."

"Inside. Kitchen," he replied, with a voice like the loose gravel of the driveway. Raising one hand from his belly, he lifted his hat and dropped it back to his face — eyes still closed — in a parting gesture clearly optimized to require the minimum energy expenditure possible.

Opening another wooden screen door — they seemed ever-present here — and entering the house, she was reminded of a bed and breakfast. Antique furniture and knick-knacks were scattered throughout the living and dining rooms at the front of the house, and down the main hall beside a large ornate wooden staircase, a potbelly stove poked out of the doorway to what she presumed was the kitchen. Hearing some shuffling coming from that area, she headed back to investigate.

"Hello...I'm looking for Terry?" she queried, knocking on the rail of the staircase as she approached. A shock of white hair, perched on a bespectacled head, appeared in the kitchen doorway.

"Hi!" the head said joyfully, before disappearing again to take care of some kitchen business, then re-appearing, body in tow. The tall, thin man headed towards her, smiling as he wiped his hands on the large checkered apron he wore. Reaching her, he held out his hand and shook hers, but only smiled, and said no more.

"So...you're Terry?" Jess asked, trying to jumpstart the conversation.

"Oh, yes!" he replied, as if also remembering it himself, "Yes, of course. And you are?"

"Jess, Jess Armitage. Kal from the Runaway told me to ask for you."

"Kal! Yes, of course. Kal...wonderful soul. Well! Come on back, I'm fixin' up some granola."

Jess stifled a laugh as she followed him back; _Of course he's making granola,_ she thought to herself. Standing in the small kitchen, she watched as he returned to mixing the contents of a large white ceramic bowl. She figured she would wait for him to say something this time, but after a few minutes, the silence became almost unbearable to her. Making a game of it, she decided to see how long she could go. She wondered if he was playing this game too, but had a hunch he wasn't.

"So! You're here now," he finally offered, after a few more long, painful minutes of conversation-less mixing had elapsed. She took that as an opening, but unsure how to respond, decided to play along.

"Yes, I'm here now. Just arrived from Chicago."

"Chicago! Wonderful place. I remember Second City, back in the day. Used to smoke the Ganja with John Denver. Oh, and the Old Town Ale House! Yes. And _Del!_ How could I forget Del? Oh my. Wonderful. _Wonderful_." He seemed lost in reverie, and began absentmindedly stirring again, much too slow for any tangible effect on the ingredients.

"Got crabs from a girl there once..." he mused. This had the effect of utterly blowing through Jess' defenses, and she let out a long, hearty laugh while holding onto her mostly-healed ribs. He regarded her overreaction curiously, but then began giggling as well, as if agreeing with her that it was indeed funny.

"OK, you win," she said, relenting.

"Oh, no, no, no...there are no winners here. On the flip side, no losers either. So it's like a nice warm bath. But it's not _Communism_ ," he lectured sternly, while shaking an oats-and-brown-sugar-laden wooden spoon at her, dropping dollops onto the floor. "So don't even start up _that_ alley _Young Miss_."

Holding her ribs tighter, she laughed aloud again. She couldn't tell if he was baiting her or not, but he _did_ glance at her with a sideways smile this time, which gave away...something. Maybe. He either had a deviously dry sense of humor, or was a very, very confused man.

"Aaaaaand round two goes to you," she retorted, composing herself. "The challenger remains...the challenger. So _anyway_ , I'd like to find out a little bit more about what goes on here."

"Well, you're in the right place for that, aren't you?" he replied, then balancing the bowl on his hip, turned and leaned toward her as if sharing a secret. "You have got to taste this when I get it out of the oven," he whispered. " _Some_ people think it's better the next day, like meatloaf, but I like it nice and hot, and I need somebody else on my side in this." With a wink, he turned back to the counter and began to spread the mixture onto a baking pan.

"Not a problem," she replied. She was beginning to think she would never discover what this place was all about. "Um, do you mind if I have a look around?"

"Please do...and oh, if you have any bags just leave them at the foot of the stairs."

_Well I guess I have lodging — at least for tonight,_ she thought as she returned to the front of the house.
Chapter Fifteen

On the other side of the central staircase was a formal dining room with a long oak table, neatly decorated for afternoon tea. There were peanut butter cookies, ladyfingers, and small slices of sandwiches, along with an array of liqueurs; but no one around to partake. She went out to her car, and after retrieving her paisley duffel bag from the trunk, lugged it up the path to the house. Reaching the porch, the gentleman in the rocker — now fully conscious — addressed her.

"Stayin' a spell, ah?"

"At least for tonight, yeah, maybe longer."

"Well if ya hear like a woman gettin' kilt tonight, don't let it bother ya none. S'jes the squatches a-hollerin back 'n forth."

"Oh, ah, ok...thanks?" she said. She waited a moment for him to introduce himself, but when he disappeared back under his hat, she walked back inside, shaking her head at his un-Southern hospitality.

As she set her bag at the foot of the stairs, the strains of a distant conversation wafted in through the open front door. Closing it, she peeked out the living room window and spied a group of four walking up the gravel drive from the direction of the yellow dome. A younger gal led two middle-aged women, one tall and large and the other simply tall, and one older man. All, except for the leader, were engaged in an animated discussion, which she couldn't quite make out until they neared the porch.

"...It didn't register that it was the farm until just now, it was like I couldn't _recognize_ it from that perspective," said the larger of the two women.

"There was definitely the presence of something powerful — _that_ I could feel," the other woman replied.

The man, lagging behind, didn't seem half as animated, and contributed little to the conversation. They quieted down as they passed the troll on the porch, and upon entering the house the leader of the group noticed Jess.

"Looks like we have a new guest, everyone!" she announced, extending her hand to Jess. "Hi, I'm Sophie, and you are?"

"Jessica, thanks...call me Jess," she replied, as Sophie reeled her in by the arm and embraced her in an arguably non-consensual hug.

"Oh, well, sure," was all Jess could muster, holding her arms above her new friend's back and gently patting her shoulders politely in return.

"Welcome!" Sophie reiterated, with a final, painful, squeeze. "This is Melody, Nancy, and Jan." Jan, referring to the older man, was pronounced _Yahn_ , and they all shook her hand politely, in marked contrast to Sophie.

"I don't remember seeing a fourth on the registration this week," Sophie said with concern, "and unfortunately you're a few days late already. Was there a miscommunication somewhere?" This was clearly a polite way of asking Jess what her deal was.

"Well I guess you could say I'm a walk-in, I'm sorry, I don't really have a registration, and I don't want to intrude, but something brought me here, I don't know what exactly, but..." Jess realized she had said too much and cut herself off. This woman was clearly more with it than Terry, and now she worried that her confused blathering would cause her to be shown the door.

" _Slow down_ Jess! Got plenty of time here, and don't worry one bit. You're not the first to be _drawn_ here," she added, glancing at her other charges. "Let's get you working with Terry to see where you are, and then perhaps we can get you caught up in a day or two. Sound good?"

"That's perfect, thank you." _I guess the freaks get stuck with Terry,_ she thought to herself with embarrassment.

"Well, looks like we have our tea ready, come on and join us, Jess," she offered. As Sophie headed toward the dining room, she almost tripped over Jess' bag. "Oh, this must be yours, do you have a room yet?"

"Well not really, is there one open?" she asked meekly.

"Surely! Take the Tannenbaum, up top and to your right."

As Jess hefted her bag up the creaky stairs, she thought how strange it was that no paperwork was filled out, no credit card number taken — nothing. _Was this southern hospitality, or just this place?_ she wondered. Entering her room, she was reminded again of a bed and breakfast: it contained a springy antique double bed with far too many decorative pillows arranged on top, a lovely little balcony facing towards the dome and mountains beyond, and, to her relief, an en-suite bathroom, with adorably tiny original porcelain fixtures.

After she had finished unpacking her things into the large wooden dresser, she headed downstairs to join the group for tea. She had little to contribute to the conversation, she felt, but that didn't seem to be a problem as Melody and Nancy kept it going all by themselves; apparently they had a "session" at the dome today, and were rehashing their progress.

There was talk of L2's, L3's and various states of consciousness, and the effects of these on their "spiritual progress". They both seemed totally self-absorbed, frequently talking over each other instead of having any meaningful conversation, and Jess tuned them out after a few minutes. As Jan didn't seem like much of a talker either, she finished her tea, grabbed a blueberry scone, and headed back into the kitchen.
Chapter Sixteen

Terry wasn't there, but he soon appeared from out back carrying a wicker basket full of freshly picked herbs and vegetables.

"Hey there, you! All settled in?"

"Yeah, all good. You prepping for dinner already?"

Terry set down the bushel and heaved a sigh. "I'm a little slow, so yes. Julian usually does the cooking and other kitchen stuff, but he went to town, so this is all they get. Why don't you help me chop some of this lettuce?" he said, offering her a large knife. As she held the scone in her mouth and settled into chopping, he suddenly caught her off guard.

"What can we do for you here, Jess?"

"Oh, yeah, that," she mumbled, removing the scone from her mouth. "Uh, well, I guess I've recently discovered I have this ability...that relates to what goes on here, so..."

"You leave your body," he offered, more a statement than a question.

"Yeah."

"Well then, you're at the right place. Can you verify?"

"Um, I don't know what you mean?" she asked, puzzled.

"Can you produce third-party testimony, conscious or un-?"

Jess raised her eyebrows and shook her head slowly back and forth in confusion. He stopped and turned to face her.

"Can other people see you."

"Oh, yes! Sorry, yes, my friend saw me while he was awake, he said I looked like smoke. And a doctor I had — I mean, who treated me — I'm pretty sure he saw me."

"Well good, that tells me something. Can you go full body if you wanted to?"

"Again, with the..." she said, raising her eyebrows once more.

"Full body is when you can manifest as a whole body, either solid or semi-transparent. Smoke is more of an unconscious manifestation, so if you were conscious, this tells me you haven't learned to fully control your energy yet. When did you say was the first time you left your body?"

"About six weeks ago, I think?"

"Six weeks, huh?" He paused, went back to his chopping, then paused again.

"Are you sure? Never had a high fever as a kid, and found yourself floating above your bed? No dreams of exiting your body? Nothing like that?"

"No, nothing like that."

"And you can do controlled exits at will? Or it just happens randomly."

"Well it started by accident, but I can make it happen now when I want to."

"Wonderful! Wonderful. Mind my asking what happened?"

"Ummm, huh?"

Terry stopped again to look at her.

"Ever try to pull two magnets apart? It's like they're of a piece, until you force them to separate. Well the subtle body is like that too, so unless you've had a lot of practice, it doesn't come out so easy. So something must have pushed it out, right?"

"Well, I died, so..."

"Yup, that'll do it. Probably just a scare though. Did you hear a loud pop?"

"Yeah, well, no: a bunch of little pops, like a ripping sound."

"That's the bodies separating. Means you didn't die," he explained. "When you die it slides up the ladder and goes out the crown into the cord, no popping." Taking the long knife in his hand, he tapped the top of his head with it, then flung it upwards. Smiling at Jess' obvious look of incredulity, he leaned in close again as if to share another secret. "Ask enough doctors over a drink or two," he whispered, "and you'll get one of 'em to admit that every once in awhile they've caught a glimpse of a tiny swirl of smoke rising from the head of one of their patients at the moment of death."

"But I did die, I saw my body, the police said I was dead."

"Nope. Uh-uh. Death is when the cord is severed; fact of your talking to me right now means your cord's just fine."

"OK, full stop. Define cord please?"

" _Astral_ cord. Ties you to source. Comes down and condenses into the ladder."

Jess spun her hand as if reeling in a fish, but thought maybe she was the one being reeled in. "Okay...and ladder now?"

" _Jacobs_ Ladder. Spinal cord. Your crown chakra — your _brain_ ," he said with mild disgust, "is simply an exit point for your cord, it actually goes all the way up into the ether. Honey you got a lot to learn!" he remarked with a hearty laugh, and went back to his chopping, stranding her.

Overwhelmed, Jess silently returned to her work as well. When they were both done, Terry once again broke the silence.

"Let's take a walk down to the chamber."
Chapter Seventeen

As the gravel crunched beneath their feet, Jess asked him about the man on the porch.

"Helen. Sure. He's our handyman, been with us going on twenty years now."

" _Helen?_ "

"Well, Len for short. If you feel the need to satisfy your gender circuit, that is," he said curtly.

"Whatever. But he is a little odd, though. He mentioned not to be afraid of the screaming 'squatches' at night?"

"Now, durnit," Terry said, becoming visibly angry. "I've told him about that stuff before." Then, softening his tone: "He shouldn't have said that to you, I'm sorry about that."

In addition to the amusement at having this Zen hippie get his mellow harshed, Jess was intrigued as well — why would he be so apologetic about a weird joke? Not really wanting to know, she forged ahead anyway.

"So, _is_ there screaming at night I should be concerned about? And if so, then... _what the hell?_ "

A sheepish look crept over Terry's face. "Well they hardly ever wake anyone up, and we usually just say it's bobcats if they do."

"So...then...what are they now?"

"Well it's the squatches, like he said. But we try not to talk about it to the guests, takes away from the focus on their experience here, we've discovered."

"I'm going out on a limb here and assuming you mean Sasquatches, like Bigfoot?"

"Ayup."

"You've got to be kidding me," she muttered, mostly to herself. She had tried to convince herself to keep an open mind through all of this, but now with _Bigfoot_ on the table, her faith in this place — and her entire journey — was shaken again. By now they were getting closer to the dome, so she didn't push it, and he didn't continue, which was just as well to her.

"Now this is the Chamber, where the fun happens," Terry presented, with an immaculate Price-is-Right-model hand gesture.

In front of the large yellow dome looming above them stood a boxcar-sized addition constructed of grey cinderblock, with no windows and only a single door. A red lightbulb, currently unlit, hung upside-down in the doorway.

"Why yellow?" Jess asked, referring to the dome.

"Ha! Well, it was pretty funky a ways back, all covered with rainbows and galaxies and some such, we repainted it yellow in the late 80's when the original paint started to peel. Simpler, but still something positive and uplifting. Allow me," he said, holding the door for her.

The addition was a small but long room, and a desk with several small Sony monitors and a large microphone took up most of one side, giving it the appearance of a T.V. studio. Terry led her through a second inner door, which let out a _whoosh_ upon opening.

Inside, the enormous main chamber was bathed in a bright, sourceless, pink-hued glow. Arrayed in a semicircle were six tiny wooden houses the size of backyard tool sheds. Bundles of wires emanated from each one and snaked their way around the perimeter, leading back towards the control room. The small houses seemed quaint in this featureless expanse; they reminded her of outdoor saunas.

"These are our Sec-U's — Seclusion Units. Each one is wired up to the hub so we can pipe in white noise — or chants, or music, or whatever is preferred — to provide an assist. We can also hear what is going on inside, in case an excursion has any issues which need intervention."

Jess was curious to know what kind of "issues" they ran into.

"Wanna give it a spin?"

Jess was taken aback. She had been at this place for less than two hours, and now she was going in a "Sec-U".

"Sure, I guess...I mean, it's safe?"

"Well, is sleeping safe? And like I said, I'll be listening in, so..."

He walked towards the closest unit and pushed the door open for her. Entering, she found a single cot, covered with a patterned quilt, taking up the bulk of the small space. A pair of large black headphones hung from a peg above it, and to the side stood an antique dresser. Along the wall were hooks with hangars, presumably for clothing, while a camera was mounted in the corner of the ceiling, pointed at the bed.

"Uh, I can keep my clothes on, right?" Jess asked with a nervous laugh.

"Of course," Terry said, taking her question seriously. "Some people exit best when sleeping, so it's whatever you need as a jump start. You can use the headphones if you want — generally we use them for a guided exit — but since you can already self-exit, I don't suppose you'll need my help. Oh, and there's a toggle switch above the bed, flip it when you are ready to go, and just let me know if you need anything else, OK?"

Without waiting for an answer, he slowly shut the door until the latch clicked, leaving Jess alone. She opened the dresser drawers, half expecting to see a Gideon Bible, but found only a few folded blankets. Lying down on the bed, she noticed a slight hissing in the headphones above her. Pulling them down off the peg, she donned them only to discover white noise, but with some sort of underlying tones wavering in stereo. Placing them back, she closed her eyes, relaxed, and reached up to flip the switch which was labeled _Ready_. After a moment, she heard a small chime, like a meditation bell, from outside.

Relaxing her body, she focused her consciousness and searched for the vibrating feeling in her gut. Finding it easily, she focused deeper until the rocking feeling took hold. On one end of a wide arc she effortlessly rolled out, and found herself looking sideways at the dresser, though it felt as though she were still looking up. Reorienting herself, she got her bearings, and slowly rose up through the ceiling into the open pink space above.

It seemed easier to rise in this space — she didn't know if it was due to the particular design of the structure, the geographical area itself, or some other nebulous trophic factor. Nearing the apex, she observed the tops of the little houses. Each had a different picture painted on top, faded through time: hers had a large yellow smiley face, the one next to it had a peace symbol, followed by an old _Keep on Truckin'_ graphic, a Felix the Cat, a spiral galaxy, and the final one, Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue.

Amused, she rose even higher, into the substance of the roof, which felt gritty yet had a strong metallic taste. Especially thick, it slowed her progress considerably, compared to the thin walls and doors she had previously passed through with ease. Finally exiting up and out, into the pristine blue sky, she discerned a giant picture painted atop the dome — a bright orange sun emanating rays that followed the curve of the dome downwards, fading gently into the yellow paint. She wondered how many others had beheld this hidden gem.

As she hovered, the sunshine and warm breezes flowed through her, leaving an energizing quality in their wake. Turning to face the sun, she found she was able to view it without pain, even though it was impossibly bright. It contained a multitude of new colors — well beyond what could be seen with her physical eyes — and she felt she could gaze upon it forever.

Turning her attention back towards terra firma, she spied a shimmering silver weathervane perched on the crest of the main house's roof, which beckoned her closer. Consisting of a series of spiral rings encircling a figure rising within, she found her attention fully absorbed in the intricacy and detail of it, and the entire object appeared alive with movement. Reluctantly, she willed her focus away, only to find herself entranced once again, this time by a single green roof shingle. She marveled at the texture, focusing on each minute glass and asphalt particle, which sparkled as if they were also each unique, living entities.

A bothersome droning sound interrupted her shingle-gazing, and focusing her attention, she determined it was a voice, though she couldn't discern the words. Turning, she headed back towards the dome, and caught a glimpse of the red light above the outside door, which was now lit. Closing the distance, her speed increased as though being pulled, and the last thirty feet were a blur as she snapped back into place. A few moments later she heard the click of the speaker above her head.

"The excursion is now complete, please return and re-integrate," announced Terry softly.

Pulling herself up slowly, Jess felt more energized than drained. But before she could arise fully, Terry was already rapping at the door.

"Come on in," she said brightly.

"How did it go?" he asked, entering the small space and sitting cross-legged on the floor.

"Nice paintings! I like the Einstein one, I had that poster in my dorm room. A classic," she replied.

"You saw them! Wonderful, wonderful. So you went up. How many were you able to make out?"

"What do you mean? All six of them."

"All six! Well that's great, in fact that's pretty rare — people usually come back with one or two images at most. Fabulous!"

"When I got to the house though, it seemed like I was hyper-focusing on things, like kinda spaced-out. Everything seemed so...enchanting. It was strange — kinda like being high — but I was also _there_ , fully, at the same time, if you know what I mean. I've never felt that way before."

"Hold on sweetheart, you exited the chamber? With full awareness?"

"Uh, yeah. It was sort of tough getting through it, but yeah. I made my way to the house and started getting distracted by things."

"Wow, that's phenomenal Jess. Super-rare. Oh, hey, did you notice the picture up top?"

"Yeah, it was a Sun."

Pausing to take this in, it was clear Terry was impressed.

"Amazing, Jess, really. For most people, it's like a dream state where you can sense certain things, but it's hard to have full awareness, or if you have full awareness, then you can't bring it all back when you return. Even then, they only bring back one or two pictures, never all five. And getting outside is a big effort too. So you started 'spacing out' near the house?"

"Yeah, it was like I was just _amazed_ at every little detail of everything, like I could see each little molecule and they were all alive...it was pretty incredible, actually."

"See, that's more typical of a spiritual experience, which some people get right off the bat, but they never get any further than that. It sounds like you got the ego consciousness, with all the recall, until you get further away from your physical, then it starts to degrade. Let's do some distance work tomorrow, if you're up for it?"

"Sure, I feel great," she replied, but she felt more than great: her suspicions about this special ability of hers were confirmed, and she had a way forward now — a way to develop this into something. Having a calling, or purpose, energized her; this was why she knew she had to come here.

Terry lowered his voice. "In the meantime, you wanna help me finish dinner prep?"

Smiling, Jess nodded and followed him out. She was famished.
Chapter Eighteen

As they walked up the drive in the early evening light, Jess looked back several times to gaze at the setting sun, comparing it to what she saw earlier. Back in her body, it hurt to look at, as though the light rays were _impacting_ her now instead of passing through. It also seemed more yellow — not as brilliant — and was missing the extra colors she discerned earlier. Terry noticed her furtive glances but didn't say anything.

Dinner was fully organic — vegan, in fact — and, to Jess' surprise, completely delicious. A few glasses of red wine didn't hurt her assessment either. During dinner, she gently declined their entreaties regarding her own afternoon experience; for one she didn't feel close enough to them to open up about it, and secondly it would probably cause a fuss that she just wasn't prepared for. She simply smiled politely, while the others shared their own experiences of nebulous dream states, or foggy visions of people and places far away.

After finishing her meal, Jess excused herself to return her plate to the kitchen, then escaped out the back door. Walking along the edge of a large herb garden just beyond the house, she saw someone — Julian she presumed — stacking wood in a fire pit. He appeared just a bit older than herself, with long blond hair cascading down the back of his blue and white Hawaiian shirt. She walked up behind him.

"Campfire later?" she inquired.

"Yup," he responded, slowly turning to her, "ever' night." Finishing the stack, he arose with a grunt, clapping his hands free of wood dust before offering her his hand.

"Julian," he stated, squinting at her. "Don't recall meetin' you before."

"Jess," she replied. She didn't feel the need to explain her presence further, so she simply smiled as she released his hand.

"Beauty of a night," he continued, unfazed by her lack of disclosure, and took a seat on one of the logs surrounding the pit. "Picked a good time to drop by. Skeeters ain't out full force yet. Fire'll keep 'em at bay later though."

"So, Terry mentioned that you and Len take care of this place, huh?"

"Yup, this place keeps us busy well enough, being almost a half-century old and all, seems somethin's always goin' south on us, but we keep 'er spinnin' right along."

"Do you self-exit too?" _What a strangely personal question that is,_ she immediately thought to herself. She felt a bit like a new member of a nudist colony, who was probing into the very thing that was supposed to be taken for granted. _But hey, that is what they do here, right?_ she reasoned.

"Yup," he replied with a smile. "Seen a great many things. Some useful, some not. Don't let it take over your life though, bodies'r meant for full-time residency."

She wondered if it _was_ bad form to discuss it, since he didn't go into any further detail, but she barreled ahead anyway: she was here to learn, after all.

"How far can you go?"

"Oh, most anywhere I put my mind to. Can't bring it all back sometimes, but I get verifies, so I know I made it there at least."

The slamming of the back door interrupted them as an animated conversation filled the still evening air, signalling the arrival of the others. Lighting a match, Julian leaned forward and threw it onto the kindling in the pit.

"Can you stoke this up for me?" he asked, handing her a stick. "I just need to grab a few things, I'll be back in a minute." He stood and headed back towards the kitchen. As she worked the fire, the others began to congregate around her, laughing and talking. A few minutes later, Julian returned as promised with Terry in tow, both of them saddled with various types of African drums.

_Of course, a drum circle. I could've predicted that,_ Jess said to herself, smiling. In the end, she picked a tall Senegalese one, and as the concussive beats rose and danced in the air along with the swirling, crackling sparks from the fire, she was pleasantly surprised to find she was enjoying herself immensely. The s'mores that Julian cooked up later were the topper, and she went to bed thoroughly tired, but happy.
Chapter Nineteen

Jess was awakened before daybreak by a light rapping at her door. In her clouded hypno-pompic state, she guessed it was the maid service, and rolling over, ignored it. The knocks returned, though, more insistent this time, and finally remembering where she was, she determined it was most likely _not_ a maid. Rising from the bed, she threw on a sweatshirt and jeans, and opened the door in her bare feet. It was Terry, dressed in khakis and a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Though also slightly disheveled, unlike her, he was very much awake.

"Come with me. Hurry."

_No 'Good Morning' or anything,_ she thought with annoyance, as she trudged over to the bed and put on her shoes. _Are we going hunting for breakfast? A sunrise meditation perhaps?_ she thought, but held her tongue. Whatever it was, why the hurry, and why hadn't they told her about this?

"What's up?" she asked groggily, pulling on her sneakers. Terry simply smiled, and motioning for her to follow him, quietly led her downstairs, through the kitchen, and out the back door. He was sporting a brown backpack and a small blue walkie-talkie that bounced on his hip as he led her down the drive toward the dome. She wondered why they would be doing Sec-U work this early, when at the last minute he cut left and followed a well-worn path snaking into the woods.

As they entered into the dark canopy of the trees, the walkie squawked loudly, startling her. "...Spielberg, I think..." whispered the voice, as Terry fumbled to lower the volume.

"Northwest; from the southeast," came a slow, measured reply.

They continued deeper into the woods, where despite the imminent sunrise, it remained dark as night. They had been walking for several minutes when a new voice came on the walkie, this one loud and brash.

"Hey, Hey, _Hey!_ Got 'em glassed ah? One more hour and the case is yours," it taunted.

"Damn it JoJo!" Terry exclaimed hoarsely, scrambling to lower the volume even further.

Jess was wide awake now, and after a few more minutes winding through the forest they came upon a clearing, just as the sun began to filter through the treetops overhead. Instead of entering the clearing, however, they skirted around it until they encountered a small rise. Lying down behind it, Terry slowly crawled forward on all fours until he reached the top. Producing a pair of binoculars from his knapsack, he held them up and looked over the ridge, then motioned for her to join him.

She crawled forward, staying low, and poked her head over the rise to see what he was looking at. At first she couldn't see anything; it was just a clearing with some tall grasses waving in the light morning breeze. Then she noticed a man standing stock-still near the tree line to the left of them, staring at something in the clearing. She followed his gaze, but saw nothing except a tall burnt-out tree stump in the middle of the field.

"What are we looking at?" she inquired.

"There," Terry replied, pointing to the stump. "See it?"

"Yeah, a stump. And...?"

Terry handed her the binoculars. Looking through them, she panned across the clearing until she found it. A breeze came up, causing a fine black moss to lift from the stump and flutter in the wind. With a start, she realized she was seeing _hair_.

"What is that? A dead bear?" Jess asked aloud, still clutching the binoculars to her eyes. Terry shushed her but said nothing. Zooming in and panning up, she spied two large brown eyes fixed in a stare towards the man at the tree line.

"Oh my god," she hissed, dropping the binoculars in the grass as she turned to Terry.

"What...the... _hell_...Terry! What is that?" Her stomach dropped, and a feeling of dread overtook her. Whatever was happening here was not okay with her.

Terry retrieved the binoculars and raised them to his eyes, transfixed. "When they're seen by humans out in the open, they freeze. They can stay like that for hours. It's fucking _amazing_."

This was the first time she had heard Terry swear. She could only manage a quiet " _Oh no._ " She felt sick, but Terry continued on, oblivious.

"It's like a staring contest. As soon as Julian breaks his gaze, he'll drop into the grass and stay there. See, us humans have an extremely limited attention span, and they use this to their advantage. To a fella in Julian's place, it'll seem like the big guy just disappeared, and he'll question his own sanity for a minute, but then he'll get back to the more important matters of the day, and just move on and forget about the whole thing. Which is their goal, see. Meanwhile, the big guy's just lying there, biding time until _he_ can move along on his own way, unobserved. _Incredible_."

Jess wanted to run back to the house; this was too much. Falling back, she crawled back down the rise and sat holding her knees to her chest. After a few minutes, she couldn't take it anymore.

"Can we go now?" she squeaked.

Finally grasping her discomfort with this whole affair, Terry dropped the binoculars and made his way back to her.

"It's a shock, sure, I know — but they're harmless. Don't know any case where they ever harmed anybody, except for their scaring the bejesus out of 'em, and maybe reorienting their whole world view. Come on now, only twenty minutes or so left on the clock."

"Twenty minutes? What happens then?"

"Well, then Julian wins us a case of Old Style from the boys two peaks over. And it'll be mighty sweet to get those boys this time, for once."

"Terry, please," Jess pleaded, scared and frustrated. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"Oh, sorry, keep forgetting. There's a research camp about a mile and a half that way," he explained, pointing a thumb behind them, "and we got a friendly little competition with them when one of their big fellas wanders round here. Squatch stare-down. Record's almost two hours, and Julian's gettin' pretty close now."

The radio squawked once again, almost on cue. "Can't do it guys, I got to head out soon, but mostly I gotta pee."

Terry grabbed the handset. "C'mon buddy," he replied in a loud whisper, "I got Jess here, let's give her a show!"

JoJo broke in again, this time with a heavy Russian accent. "Ah, ah, ah. Dah. No drink for you, hombres pequeños."

"Nope, nope, nope," Julian conceded, "guys I gotta go. Sorry. I'll give it ten for y'all."

Terry motioned quickly for Jess to come back up to the ridge, and held out the binoculars to her. Reluctantly she joined him, still feeling a bit sick.

"Keep your eyes on the big fella, don't look at Julian, he's gonna break in a few seconds."

Jess focused again on the dark thing in the clearing. As the sky had lightened, she could now see it wasn't completely black, but more of an auburn color. It was keeping it's head down, with it's chin buried into it's chest. The wide mouth and thin lips were framed by a greyish-silver mustache and beard, but there was no hair around the nose and eyes, exposing tanned, leathery skin. The forehead seemed more caveman than ape, accentuated by a prominent brow ridge that rose into the conical skull. The back of the head was draped in long flowing reddish hair, reminding her of an Irish setter as it shone in the sunlight.

Just as she was panning down to focus on the torso, the thing seemed to disappear on her. She could tell it had dropped, as the high grass in the area was now leaning outward as though something were pressing on it, but it was so quick, like a magic trick, that she could understand how ordinary people would think it had just disappeared into thin air.

"OK, shows over," Terry announced, breaking the silence as he rose from the ground. "Let's head on back and get some grub. So, whaddya think about all that, huh?"

The sick feeling in her stomach wasn't gone, but had subsided a bit. "So what happens now," she asked, standing to face the clearing. "Do you go out and get them?"

"Oh, no, no, no," Terry replied with a chuckle, "we have our fun, but they got to live their own lives too, so we just leave 'em well enough alone. He's probably already late for where he's supposed to be."

"What do these researchers do, do they hunt them?"

"Well the only shooting is through the lens of a night-vision camera, if that's what you mean. They're hard enough to find at night, and it's pretty rare to force 'em out into daylight like this."

"But, why don't scientists know about them, I mean people think this is a big joke!"

"Well, you of anybody should know by now truth is stranger than fiction, right? I don't know, I guess it's easier just to laugh at it and all that."

The rest of the walk back to the house was silent, and Jess began to doubt herself. Had she been a sucker? Was this all an elaborate practical joke? She never saw the thing actually _move_ — it could have been just a prop, or a statue, and they could have remotely pulled a string to make the thing fall over. Was it possible? It would have been a lot of work getting all the details right, though, and all just for her benefit? To what end? Testing her gullibility? Making her a believer in whatever they might say later? She didn't know what to think; by the time they reached the house her head was spinning a web of paranoia and conspiracy theories. The simplicity of accepting what she had just seen as fact was too hard to swallow, and her brain grasped blindly for any alternatives, plausible or not.
Chapter Twenty

Breakfast was Belgian waffles — just what she needed — and strong coffee, which ironically helped calm her stomach. Nobody mentioned the morning's excitement, and she didn't bring it up either. It seemed like it was a special event for her alone to witness, _if indeed it was real at all,_ she thought skeptically.

A morning excursion to a local Goat milk farm was on the schedule, to which Jess politely declined, preferring no further adventures for the day. Lounging in her room, she browsed a few of the old hardcover books arrayed on her dresser. One, titled _Annals of the SPR_ , seemed to be from the late 1800's, the subject matter relating to early paranormal research. Another, dated 1923, was written by a woman who was apparently a famous medium at the time. The third was a first-edition, signed copy of the Adams book that brought her here.

Thinking she needed a break from all the not-normal, Jess decided to sun herself in the wicker chair on her private balcony for a bit. She soon found herself nodding off, until the crunching of gravel below broke through her slumbering consciousness.

"...and she got out. She's _got it_ Len, definitely a traveler in this one."

It was Terry; she could tell without opening her eyes. She sank lower in her chair so she couldn't be seen from the drive.

"Seven," Helen grumbled.

"Yeah," Terry agreed, and as the crunching receded, Jess slipped back to sleep.

She awoke sometime later, to the sun shining in her eyes. Checking her phone, she noted it was almost one, and checking her stomach, she further noted she was hungry. Downstairs, she found Julian in the kitchen.

"Afternoon, ma'am, like some lunch?" He held out a sandwich plate and coffee that was obviously kept for her.

"Thanks, just what I needed," she replied, taking the offering into the dining room as Julian followed her with his own cup of tea. There was no one else around, and only the ticking of a large grandfather clock interrupted the peaceful silence. Jess felt comfortable broaching the subject as they both sat sipping and munching at the table.

"That was pretty cool this morning, huh?"

"Yeah, real amazing, and rare too. You're lucky to have seen it."

"So...how did you find it?"

"Ya mean _him?_ " he answered with a smile. "Well I keep my radio on all night, cause it sorta interests me what JoJo's team does over there, so I heard one was headed our way, and went over and just waited in the dark, ya know, making some wood knocks and calls." Retelling the story seemed to energize him all over again.

"Sure enough 'bout twenty minutes later here he comes crashin' through the woods and right smack into the clearing — I could see him pretty good cause of the full moon. I was downwind, so he had no idea. When he heard my radio he made like a tree. I had him for 'bout ninety minutes, or more even. We don't usually bring others, so, uh, keep that under yer belt, huh? Terry must think of you somethin' special. Hey, by the way, he asked me to work a session with ya, so just let me know when you're ready."

"Sure, sounds good."

As he headed back to the kitchen to clean up, she continued her meal in silence. She was still trying to decide which angle to believe, but didn't have much success. When she finished, they left together and headed towards the chamber.

"Today let's see how far you can go. In distance work, you don't use your subtle body to travel, ya know, like through walkin' or floatin' around: you need to transport yourself Star Trek style, right? And the way you do that, is you meditate on the place you want to go and envision yourself being there. Simple as that. Now for most people, they can't recall much when they get back — cause once they try to think about why they are there and to remember the details, they get pulled right back. Even if they keep their thinking corralled, and focus on the feeling of the experience, they do better, but they still can't really get a lot done or focus on anything in particular. They just get impressions, some of which may be useful, mostly not. My theory with you is, since Terry said you seem to be a hundred percent aware locally, that maybe this won't happen to you. So when you get there, try to focus on things around you and think about the experience in the abstract — like be self-aware about it, OK?"

"Well I've definitely had that same experience of 'losing it' when I played around with lucid dreaming years ago, but this seems different — I _can_ think while in the middle of it, definitely, but I get caught up in the details. I'll let you know how it works. Where should I go?"

"Somewhere meaningful to you would be best, to start."

After choosing the Sec-U with Albert Einstein again, she lay down on the bed and tried wearing the headphones this time. The phase-shifted white noise still didn't seem to have any effect either way, and she popped out just as easily as she had before.

After exiting, she hung around in the chamber until realizing she hadn't chosen a place to go yet. She imagined Gavin's office back home, trying to recreate the details of the place in her mind: the old wood smell, the design of the parquet floor, the dark green spines of the classics on his bookshelf — and set an intention to be there. Eyes closed, she felt a pull, a feeling of movement, and then exponential acceleration. There was no sense of drag, and no violence to it, just the feeling of her whole entirety being propelled at enormous speed.

Opening her eyes, she found herself travelling within a glowing tunnel as streaks and flashes of colors streamed past. A dark spot appeared at the end, and grew to encompass her entire field of vision before she came to a sudden halt. The glow of the tunnel faded behind her as the darkness ahead resolved into the wooden bookcases and furnishings of Gavin's office.

She could see each individual book in exquisite detail, the gold embossed letters on the bindings appearing particularly vibrant. Breathing in the scent of the leather bindings, she found she could both taste and feel them as well.

Once again, she found herself entranced by these normally inconsequential details, but this time she could tell that her consciousness was different from her experience outside the dome. What she felt now was the pure living energy radiating from each individual physical particle of the objects in this space. There was no thinking at a level of abstract concepts, much less a focus on _things_. There was simply power and beauty overwhelming.

Soon, as before, a disturbance wiggled its way into this peaceful state of awareness. It was a feeling of persistence, of determination, of _pressure_ — which was totally at odds with the knowledge that nothing is needed, and there is nothing to be done. Instead of subsiding, however, it only increased, developing into a waveform, rising and a resolving, over and over. A tiny thing, the pattern seemed familiar, somehow, and curiosity attracted her consciousness to it, away from bliss. Like pieces of a puzzle falling into place, the waveform suddenly made sense. It was a single word: "Jess".

As the concept of the word coalesced within her consciousness, she identified with it, and the pulling sensation overwhelmed her as she was suddenly sucked backwards into the tunnel. Her name kept repeating over and over, growing louder and dropping by octaves as her density increased. Snapping back into her body in the Sec-U, she felt heavy again — just like the first time.

"Jess!"

"Ahhhh!" she screamed, her eyes flying open. "Stop! Please!"

Julian was leaning over her, fear in his eyes.

"Oh, thank God! I thought you weren't coming back," he exhaled, slumping onto the end of the bed and cradling his head in his hands. As he caught his breath, she watched a drop of sweat fall from his brow.

A dull ache and a wave of fatigue suddenly enveloped her. "Oh man. I've got a splitting headache," she moaned, pushing herself up and cradling her own head. "Why were you screaming at me?"

"Jess, you were gone for _two hours_. I was afraid I was going to have to call in backup. Terry'd be pretty pissed too, I didn't follow protocol, I thought you'd be alright. I'm so sorry."

"Oh, shit. Wow. It was literally, like, seconds," she replied, reclining back on the bed with her hands still pressed against the sides of her head. "Well, I guess I'm done for today, obviously."

"I'll give you some time alone. Sorry again," Julian said apologetically, as he slowly backed out of the room. She lay there for several minutes before getting up and returning to her room in the main house, where she took a long nap.

By dinner, she was feeling better, though still quite drained.

"Rough riding today, eh?" Terry asked, winking at her as he entered the dining room with a bowl of mashed potatoes. _Apparently he did tell Terry,_ she thought. Terry seemed to sense enough to give her some space and didn't press her for details. He gathered, correctly, that she needed a rest and recharge, and the dinner proceeded apace. Like the previous night, Jess enjoyed the meal much more than the conversation, today especially so.

That night's diversion was an evening nature walk, which Jess didn't even have to decline — everyone seemed to expect her to be antisocial, as they could plainly see she wasn't on the 'standard' program. She was _Special_. Whispered rumors about her had been swirling since she arrived, so at dinner she was left well enough alone, and was glad for it. Taking an early bedtime, she fell asleep to the droning of the cicadas outside.
Chapter Twenty-One

She found Terry downstairs the next morning, once again filling in for Julian in the kitchen.

"Hey, glad you're up," he greeted as she peeked her head into the kitchen. "Let's do an early session today, since the group has the chamber this afternoon. So right after breakfast meet me back in here and we'll head down."

"No more distance work today I hope?"

"No, no, no — after talking to Julian, it's clear we need to do some energy manipulation work first. Distance comes later."

Intrigued about 'energy manipulation', she agreed, and after a pancake breakfast, they walked together down to the dome.

"So, tell me everything that happened yesterday," he asked excitedly. He had obviously been waiting to ask since the previous night.

"Well, I went back to my house in Chicago to visit my friend Gavin, but he wasn't there. Then I just sort of spaced out again, and couldn't remember why I was there or anything. A few seconds later I heard my name being called, then I was pulled back, and Julian said I had been gone for two hours. It was pretty intense."

"Yeah, well, he overheard me talking about your abilities and clearly thought you were ready for that, which I knew you weren't. I do apologize."

"Not a problem...but, can someone get stuck like that? Like, spaced out and separated, forever?" she asked nervously.

"No, not really. If the energy in the physical body is running low, the subtle will automatically return, but if it's fully rested, and fed, and recently emptied," he added with a smile, "you can travel for _much_ more than just a few hours."

Arriving at the chamber, he held the door for her. "Today we'll do the same as the first day, so please, stay nearby. But this time, what I'd like for you to do is two things. First, when you're out, come on over to me, I'll be waiting in the Sec-U next door with Felix on it. Then, if you can hear me, just follow my instructions from there, alright?"

"What exactly will I be doing?"

"That's a secret...well, no, not really. I just want to test your comprehension and focus in that state, you'll see. No worries."

By this time, they were at the door of the Einstein Sec-U, and after entering she began to prepare. Jess soon heard the click of the door closing on the little house next door, and a few minutes later she was out. Going directly to him, as instructed, she entered the little house to find him lounging on the bed. Seeming to sense her presence, he sat up.

"Jess, I'm going to assume that's you," he announced to the empty room, a little louder than necessary. "I sensed a shift in energy, and just now, looking over near the door, I can see a waviness, kind of like heat coming off a highway."

Reaching over to his side table, he switched on a device a little larger than a cell phone, which emitted a high pitched whine that descended lower and wavered.

"I am getting a pretty high EMF reading," he said, examining the device, "so someone is here, gonna assume that's you Jess. Let's continue." Silencing the device, he set it back on the side table.

"What I'd like you to try, for starters, is see if you can materialize yourself a bit, by focusing on your body — what it looks like, how it feels. Grasp the feeling of being in your _body:_ feel your arms, your torso, your legs...feel the pressure of gravity pushing up on your feet planted on the floor."

She did as he asked, and once again, it reminded her of being in a meditative self-hypnotic state.

"I'm seeing the heat shimmer start to swirl and darken — it looks more like smoke now. You're doing fantastic, keep it up. Focus more specifically on one part of your body now. Imagine it clearly, each line and wrinkle and scar, turning it over in your mind as if it were real."

She focused on her left hand, and began to feel a tingling sensation in that area.

"Good work, I am seeing something take form just in front of the door knob. It is getting noticeably colder in the room too; what you are doing is harvesting the latent heat in the air, which is just perfect. Oh wow, I think I can see fingers now — this is incredible work here Jess — it is definitely your hand. Can you wave to me?"

Keeping her eyes closed, she raised her hand and waved it back and forth. She was concerned that opening her eyes would break the 'spell', but in sneaking a quick peek, she saw her hand as nothing out of the ordinary.

"Excellent job, I can see motion now. Try to focus on your arm, let's see how far we can extend the manifestation."

Feeling bolder, she opened her eyes and gazed down at her forearm, imagining it solidifying, and the tingling traveled upwards from her hand.

"Great, great, great. I can see up to the elbow now, and I can see you are projecting the yellow shirt you have on as well. Oh, but now I see that some of the hand is fading. Can you bring the hand back? Try focusing on the arm and hand as one unit."

She did so, and the tingling spread back downward. The feeling reminded her of an odd trick she would occasionally perform as she was about to go to sleep. As far back as she could remember, she had been able — through some odd mental and muscle mechanism near the area behind her ears — to shoot an electrical sensation throughout her body. It wasn't painful — and though not necessarily comfortable either — it was novel, and strange. She wondered what would happen if she tried activating it now, and so she did. The reaction from Terry was immediate.

"Oh, Jess, what the heck! What did you do? You were full body for just a second, that was quite a feat! How did you manage that from just an arm? Remember to tell me later. Can you do it again?" he asked excitedly.

She waited a moment and tried again.

"Oooh, really, really cool. It's like a light switch is flipped on, then flickers out after a second. Never seen that before. I could clearly make out your features except for your face. But that's always the hardest to project."

She tried once more, but the source of whatever energy she tapped into seemed to have been depleted.

"Yeah, not so much this time, I think that battery needs a little charge. That was great though! OK, enough of that, let's go in the other direction, it's always easier. _Now_ try to imagine yourself as a single point of awareness, no body whatsoever: no hands, no arms, no legs, no torso, no head, just the ever-present awareness that is _you_. Now, after doing that for a minute, I want you to move around the room some. But don't try to move, just imagine going to another spot, then another, then another. I'm going to turn off the lights to help me out here, so hold on just a second."

She began these mental machinations as he stood and flicked off the overhead light.

"Just to let you know Jess, it is pitch black in here for me, but you probably are able to see a little bit."

He was correct, she could still see the room fairly clearly, and began to move around it.

"I think I'm seeing something...there's a dull glow, wait, no...I think you've got it, I clearly see a little shine there. There's a little point of light. Oh, there you go! I just saw you shoot over to the dresser and fade out. Can you center your energy again and come back towards the door?"

Jess was having fun with this; even her astral body felt like a burden now, the way she was flying around the room.

"There you go, I saw you zip to the door and do a little swizzle-type jig over to the far corner. Pretty neat! OK, I think you've got that figured out. Now if you're not too out of it — if you've still got your energy up — let's try one more thing. How about you try to talk to me. But not normal talking, that won't work. It's too high for me to hear. And I'm not saying yell and scream either, it's not a question of that. Like your manifestation earlier, you've got to imagine your speech organs in exquisite detail, while at the same time thinking the words to say. Now I left this for last, as it's the hardest, so don't fret if we can't do a thing here just yet. So start with your lungs, then your larynx and vocal chords, forming the muscles around them, and encase all that in a throat, leading up to a tongue, mouth, and lips. Try to keep all that in mind, then see if you can force a word out from this motley apparatus."

As she attempted what Terry was asking, she reminded herself to study the anatomy of it all later, as she couldn't quite remember what some of these things even looked like. The word she focused on was _Terry,_ but not sure how exactly to produce it, she simply tried pushing some air through. She could hear the result as well as Terry, and it was a shockingly awful noise.

"Hoooo... OK. There we go. That was...something. Unless I accidentally just stepped on an asthmatic baby duckling. Lets try to smooth it out a bit, perhaps bringing it down an octave if you can."

She tried again, but all she could manage was something that sounded vaguely like a breathy, wheezy " _haaaaiirrr_ ".

Terry chuckled again. "Alright. That's enough of that. Creepies!" He shook out his hands as though drying them while shivering with mild revulsion. "Don't sweat it though, the best I ever heard was a whisper, cause it's the easiest to do — just need a mouth and some moving air."

"Oh, here's one last trick I forgot to mention; on the distance thing where you were getting overwhelmed. Well it's pretty common. The farther you get from the physical, the less grounded you are to the bodily method of interpreting reality. Our perceptive organs actually dial down the intensity of reality in the processing of it, and in certain altered states like this, the filters are removed completely, so yeah it can be a little stunning. So now, expand back into your subtle body, and try to manifest a pair of sunglasses to wear. Seriously, I know, right? But just try it."

She concentrated on a pair of Wayfarers, and as she did so, she found her vision darkening from the tip of her nose to the sides of her head.

"If you can train yourself to do that, over time it'll go a long way to keeping your awareness present at a distance. Cuts down on the spiritual glare, as it were. And keeps Julian from having a heart attack maybe. OK, that's enough for today, that was some good work, let's pack it up and get an early lunch."

Jess returned to her own Sec-U, settled back into her body, and groggily joined him outside the chamber.

"Now, you've gotta tell me how you did that flickering thing, that's a new one on me," Terry inquired.

"Oh, it's just a thing I do with my nervous system, I'm not sure I could explain it much less teach it to anyone."

"Well it was pretty powerful, let me tell you, and good to have in your bag of tricks. You did real good!" he affirmed, giving her a hug and patting her back as they walked back up the drive. She had been here only three days, but already this place was feeling like a second home.
Chapter Twenty-Two

After lunch, Jess continued her routine of a daily nap, something she was certainly getting used to. When she awoke, she noticed a piece of paper had been slipped under her door. Retrieving it, she found it was a business card, with a name embossed on it: _S. Blackstone, Security Analyst, Department of Homeland Security_. The other side of the card had _Runaway, 4pm_ handwritten in blue ink.

Her stomach dropped as a flurry of questions spun through her mind. What could the government want with her? How did they get up here? Was this whole operation _connected_ to the government somehow? That last question, upon reflection of her time with the residents there, she discarded pretty quickly. But what of the others? Should she even go, or just ignore it completely?

Deciding she would follow this thread wherever it led her — the whole idea of going to this place in the first place — she showered, changed, and headed downstairs to tell Julian she was going to the Runaway for a drink. There were only fancy liqueurs at the Center — no beer — so it sounded like a halfway decent excuse at any rate.

A few minutes later, she parked in the lot at the Runaway, and with the engine still running, gave herself one last chance to turn around and go back. Shutting the car off, she relinquished that chance, and headed for the entrance.

Upon entering, she didn't see Kal anywhere, and of the few people there for an early dinner, none of them looked like government folks. Then she noticed in the back, at the bar, a woman waving to her discreetly. It was the chatty, rosy-cheeked woman from the Center. _Oh great,_ she thought to herself while making her way over, _What was she doing here?_

"Hi Jess! Sorry for the late notice, but it's tough finding any time to get out of there," the woman said curtly, extending her hand. "Sylvia. Sylvia Blackstone."

Jess took her hand but was too stunned to shake it. The woman's whole demeanor was different — she had dropped the ditzy act and was now all business.

"It's never easy outing yourself, I hope you'll forgive me? Nature of the beast I'm afraid." She spoke like a doctor, oblivious to — or unconcerned with — any of the messy emotions she might stir up in others as she plowed ahead.

"I would appreciate your keeping this meeting, and my identity, to yourself, of course, for obvious reasons. I understand you are quite talented in your abilities at Adams, and we could use someone like you to further our progress in keeping America safe."

Jess finally had a moment to speak. "Um, are you like, _recruiting_ me or something?"

"Of course," she said, as if it were obvious. "We need people like you."

"Is this something that's _done_ here? I mean, have you recruited others?"

"Oh yes, we're always on the lookout for talented folks. People with special skills like yourself can help us keep America safe, and possibly save thousands of lives — even help us in ending, and preventing, wars."

Retrieving a silver case from her jacket pocket, she opened it, and removing a cigarette, tapped it on the bar. "You?" she offered as an afterthought, which Jess politely declined. "America's enemies are still out there you know," she said, lowering her voice conspiratorially, "Remember bin Laden? The CIA told our President there was an eighty percent chance he was living in that compound. Do you seriously think the President risked a shot at re-election on an _eighty percent chance?_ No way."

She leaned back, paused to light her cigarette, and ignoring the 'No Smoking' sign, took a long drag.

"That eighty percent figure was the official, top-shelf, direct intelligence. But _we_ provided them with _lateral_ intelligence: at least as accurate, if not more so, but obtained via alternative sources. We had a Sleeper positioned one hundred yards from that compound up until five minutes before those stealth Apaches arrived, guaranteeing our package would be delivered while the _one-hundred percent confirmed_ recipient was home." She rapped the nail of her index finger on the table to reiterate this last point, then sat back to take another drag, as if resting her case.

"Now, are you interested?"

Jess was no stranger to being overwhelmed with information lately, but this was a bit too much. Though generally anti-war, she had to ask herself: _Was it true that she could use her abilities to save thousands of lives, or even to prevent wars?_ She was definitely put off by this woman, between her abruptness, insensitivity, and especially her assumption that Jess would jump at the chance she was being offered. But still...

"So, how does this work?" Jess inquired tentatively.

"I need to go back to the Center and finish out my week. You go back right now, say: _'Thank you for the experience, it was miraculous and transformational, be in touch',_ blah blah blah, settle up with them, and return your car to the airport. I'll have a plane waiting for you."

"A plane waiting? Today? Just for me? Like a Lear jet?"

"Almost _exactly_ like a Lear jet," Sylvia oozed, smiling out of one corner of her mouth while exhaling a plume of smoke from the other.

_This is too cool,_ Jess thought to herself, _like something from one of those schlocky ninety-nine cent e-books I get on my Kindle_.

Sylvia leveled her gaze at Jess.

"So you gonna help us get the bad guys, or what?"

"Yeah," Jess agreed. "Let's do it."
Chapter Twenty-Three

After returning to the Center, Jess found Julian and asked to settle up her bill. Julian, concerned, went in the back office, ostensibly for the paperwork, but this was clearly a ruse as he soon returned with Terry.

"Julian informs me you're going to take your leave of us," he said regretfully.

"Yes...I've had a great time, but something has suddenly come up, and I need to leave." She felt awful for doing it like this, but she wasn't lying.

Terry looked disappointed. "Jess," he said tenderly, putting his hands on her shoulders as he looked her in the eyes, "there is so much more we need to work on. You know that."

"Terry, I appreciate all you and everyone has done for me, but right now I need to leave," she replied, with a firmness that surprised even her. Softening it, she added, "I _will_ be back, I promise."

"Alright then," he surrendered, removing his hands. "This is clearly your path. Good luck to you, Jess, and don't forget about us." Smiling, he opened his arms for a hug, which she willingly obliged.

Ten minutes later, all settled up, she threw her bag into the back of the Kia and was on her way. It had been forty-five minutes since receiving the note under her door.

Arriving at the airport, she returned the rental car, then wandered around the terminal looking for the private flight area. She asked a stewardess who had just come off a flight, and was directed towards a plain white door. Entering it, she found it simply led to the tarmac outside. She could see smaller jets about a quarter mile away, so she began walking towards them, her bag slung across her back. About halfway there she noticed a black golf cart speeding towards her, with two men in it, a blue mars light rotating on the dash between them.

_Oh shit,_ she thought. She had figured it wasn't a big deal to be out here at this small regional airport, but clearly she had been wrong. The cart spun sideways, skidding to a stop a few feet in front of her. The passenger, closest to her, spoke first.

"Jessica Armitage?"

"Yeah, how...?" she stumbled, but then noticed this was not airport security, but some private security company. The name _PremierJet_ was embossed in black and gold on the side of the cart.

"You're supposed to walk _outside_ the fence. There's a whole sidewalk and everything," he said sternly, sliding over to make room for her. "Get in before you get into some real trouble." She squeezed in, holding her duffel awkwardly on her lap as they sped off.

They skidded to a stop a minute later next to a small black jet, apparently waiting solely for her, just as Sylvia had promised. The two men stepped aside, allowing her to ascend the stairs to the fuselage first, then boarded behind her. The inside was opulently appointed in creamy white leather, with only a few rows of standard seating, two seats per side. In the rear were seats configured with small tables between them, and all the way in the back was a large conference table flanked by custom leather couches.

She chose the first seat, while the surly guy chose the one across the aisle from her. The golf cart driver had disappeared into the cockpit, and she didn't realize until she heard the whine of the jet engines spinning up that he must be also the pilot. _Close-knit operation,_ she thought to herself.

"Wow, golf carts and jets, he does it all, huh?" Jess joked. The man turned to her, stared for a moment, and faced forward again without responding. As they ascended into the North Carolina evening sky, Jess addressed him again. "Ummm, by the way, where are we going?"

He turned again, and this time smiled at her with a row of dazzling white teeth. " _Vegas,_ baby."

For all its luxury, the jet ride was still, well, a long jet ride. She was provided a granola bar and, strangely, a chocolate milk, dearly missing the food of the Adams Center already. After 'dinner' Mr. Surly Teeth Whitener Guy fell asleep in his seat, so she unbuckled and went back to lay down on the couch. She awoke a short time later to the sound of two dings, and assuming that was the landing signal, returned to her seat and buckled in.

They began to descend, and a few minutes later the chirp of the tires announced their arrival at McCarran International airport. A few more minutes of taxiing, and they finally stopped as the engines powered down. The pilot appeared, and the two men led her off the jet to a black SUV that was waiting for her. _Why is it always black with these guys? So obvious,_ she thought to herself. The surly man handed her duffel off to the driver who was leaning against the truck. Stowing the duffel in the back, he returned to greet her.

"Hope you had a pleasant flight. Welcome to Las Vegas. Please," he entreated, opening the back door and motioning for her to get in. She felt like a celebrity, and not wanting to ruin the moment by revealing her ongoing ignorance of their destination, kept her mouth shut and got in.

It was prime time in Vegas, and as they inched through bumper-to-bumper traffic, Jess observed the masses of humanity flowing up and down the sidewalks from one casino/bar/show to another. _I was one of those people, once,_ she thought to herself. The driver, like the other two men before, remained silent. _Were they instructed not to speak to me?_ she wondered. _If so, is it because they know about me, or just because they were told I was a VIP?_

Turning off the strip, the driver meandered on the service roads behind the casinos, finally emerging onto the circular drive of the grand entrance to the Mirage. The volcano out front was attracting a crowd at this time of the night, and she wistfully recalled the last time she stood at that fence a few years prior, until the driver stopped the SUV and turned to her.

"Here's your room key, this is where I drop you," he announced, passing her a small envelope. Then, leaning out the passenger window, he motioned to a waiting porter, and while whispering something to him, slipped him a fifty-dollar bill. She got out while the porter retrieved her bag from the back seat, and after stowing it on a push cart, he led her into the hotel lobby. Passing through the entrance, she navigated around a group of drunken young women heading out to celebrate someone's 21st birthday. A part of her wanted to run and join them, without a care in the world, as she turned and rushed to catch up to the porter.

The small envelope holding her keycard was unmarked, and as they waited for an elevator, she pulled it out. Turning it over in her hand, she found 'PS One' embossed in gold on it. Once in the elevator, the porter pressed the button for the top floor. _Penthouse Suite!_ she thought to herself.

And indeed it was: the size of a large apartment, it contained separate kitchen, dining, and bedroom areas, along with an expansive view of the strip below. The porter gave a quick but thorough tour of each area, and then closed the door behind him before she could even rifle through her bag for a tip.

It was strange there was no one to greet her — after all this careful chain of custody, she was now apparently dumped here and left to her own devices. A creeping thought niggled at her: this was all going to cost her, somehow — monetarily or otherwise.

Pushing that thought away, she collapsed on the king size bed and grabbed the room service menu from the side table. Unsure if someone would come for her tonight, she didn't dare leave the room, so she ordered a substantial dinner. It was just as well, considering she was too exhausted to even consider going out. Before long, she lay passed out on the bed amongst an array of room service plates in various states of gluttonous dishevelment.

Vegas, baby.
Chapter Twenty-Four

Rising above the mountains over Lake Mead to the east, the Sun's rays streamed through the floor to ceiling windows, and slowly made their way up the bed and onto her face, awakening her. There still had been no visitors, no notes slipped under doors, not even a phone call. She checked her phone and found Gavin had texted, asking how her trip had been. _Long and strange,_ she replied, then perused the breakfast options on the room service menu.

As she waited for her food, she watched a parade of Bail Bondsman, nightclub, and liquor store ads on the wall-mounted flatscreen until a knock at the door signaled breakfast had arrived. Opening the door, she expected to see a waiter with a tray, but instead found a tall dark-haired woman in business attire standing before her.

"Jess. Holly," she said abruptly, grabbing Jess' hand and squeezing. "Good to finally meet you. We've heard a lot about you, and we're looking forward to seeing what you can do for us. Come on down to breakfast with me."

"Actually I just ordered room service..."

"That's alright, they'll just leave it in the hall," she replied with a joyless smile as she held the door open for her.

"OK, but I haven't even showered or changed yet, I'm sorry, but I didn't know what was on the agenda today."

"Plenty of time for that later, right now it's time to get to work," she said, then added somewhat awkwardly, "for the country." The woman led her back down to the lobby, explaining in the elevator that they shouldn't talk in her suite, for obvious reasons. Jess wasn't sure what was so obvious, but didn't question it.

After foraging through the breakfast buffet, Jess returned to the table, her tray piled high with pancakes, eggs, and various cooked meats. Holly had collected only a slice of buttered toast and coffee, and gave Jess a sideways glance after seeing her tray. _Lack of self control,_ Jess could almost hear her mentally noting to herself. After taking a sip of coffee, Holly got down to business amidst the bells and clangs of the nearby slot machines.

"There was a bit of a rush to get you here, I know. And I apologize. But there is something happening in town today, and we wanted to test out your abilities in gaining certain information. This is a situation we are particularly concerned with regarding certain materials and business transactions in the Far East having to do with national security. Two parties are meeting today just down the street at the Wynn. What we are looking for are product numbers, quantities, and especially dates of shipment and delivery. What's your range?"

Jess, trying to keep up with this rapid fire data download, took a moment to respond.

"Uh, my range?"

"How close do you need to be?" Holly replied, impatient with her new charge's inability to keep up.

"How close...to do what?"

Holly let out an audible sigh. "My understanding about you people is there are limits to recall at certain distances."

_Boy, she's getting downright pissy now,_ Jess thought. "Yes, of course, I understand. Let's see..." She thought about the distance from the dome to the house, where she lost her focus, back at the Center.

"Maybe two hundred feet?"

Holly set her coffee down hard, almost spilling it.

" _Two hundred feet!_ Are you kidding me? We're a _quarter-mile_ from the Wynn. Christ on a cupcake. Gimme a minute." She got up just as Jess' custom-ordered waffle arrived. Jess could see her near the slots making a call; it was clear she was angry, and that she was giving the unlucky person on the other end of the line a pretty hard time.

Jess knew this was finally the comeuppance she had been expecting — those flakes at the Adams Center had built her all up, and now, to someone in the real world, she wasn't as great as she thought: she was a fraud. She suddenly lost her appetite, and watched the whipped cream slowly melt onto her waffle.

"We're moving," Holly said curtly, returning to the table. She didn't even bother sitting back down; it was clear she was still simmering. "We're getting you a room at the Wynn. Go back to your room, get your stuff and meet me there in forty-five minutes. We've got to work fast, the meeting is a working lunch scheduled for noon, and possibly going well into the evening."

She abruptly walked off, leaving Jess with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. At this point, she just wanted to go home. This was important, though, she reminded herself — she couldn't let her own feelings of inadequacy, and her distaste for some of the people involved in this, get in the way of the big picture. Retrieving her things from the penthouse, she gloomily returned to the lobby, still un-showered, unchanged, and with an aching hunger, but zero appetite.

As she left the hotel entrance, two tourists emerged from a limo in the circular drive: a large middle-aged man, and presumably his wife. Both of them were adorned with matching American flag shirts and shorts, USA baseball caps, and flag sunglasses, tags still attached. They clumsily blocked her way, and annoyed, Jess maneuvered around them with an audible sigh. Swiftly repositioning themselves, they blocked her way again.

"Excuse me young lady, can you help us out, we need to find our way to our hotel, this one here ain't it," the woman asked her in a deep southern drawl, grabbing onto Jess' arm and pulling her towards the limo.

"It'll take just a minute, sweetie."

"T'would be real helpful, like," the man added, taking her other arm.

"Really, I don't have time for this..." Jess protested, struggling from their grasp. It had been a tough morning already, and she was fed up. Pausing, the woman lowered her sunglasses and looked into her eyes.

"Please. Come with us," she asked earnestly, the drawl suddenly gone.
Chapter Twenty-Five

There was something familiar about this woman. Confused, Jess looked closer, trying to place the face, as she reluctantly handed the bag to her male companion. While climbing into the back of the limo, he gently pushed down on the top of her head, ensuring she wouldn't bump it. That was the giveaway — these were cops.

The man entered after her, slamming the door as the driver chirped the tires and sped off. Ensconced in the protection of the tinted town car, he removed his sunglasses and cap then turned to face her.

"Sorry about that, we had to disappear you," he said, also suspiciously losing his southern twang. "You have been deceived, young lady."

Taking a closer look, there was something familiar about this man as well, but she couldn't place it.

"Well, I'm pretty much being _abducted_ now, so which is worse?" she retorted, and turning back to the woman, watched her also remove her getup. Suddenly she knew why they looked so familiar.

"Hell no! _Kal?_ " she exclaimed, as Kal smiled back at her. Jess turned to the man and recognized him as well, even though he was freshly shaven. "Len!" She felt like Dorothy at the end of The Wizard of Oz. "What the hell is going on here! Who are you!" she cried, slumping into the black leather seat and holding her hands over her eyes. "Holy cats, this is _too much!_ "

"They told you they were the Feds, right?" Len asked.

"Well they're not. _We_ are," Kal explained.

Looking back, she hadn't seen — nor had she asked for — a single piece of identification from Sylvia, other than her business card; and the jet she arrived on _did_ appear to be more commercial than government-owned.

"So the thing about bin Laden...?" she asked weakly.

"I have no idea what she told you, but I can almost guarantee it ain't true. They really suckered you in, huh?" Len teased.

"But how do I know _you're_ not the ones lying, and they really are the government?"

"Think about it Jessica," Kal replied slowly, "how much paperwork did they have you sign? Now here's our proof," she offered, handing over a manilla envelope filled with documents, followed by a pen.

"If you really want to serve your country, we need your John Hancock on all of these."

Jess knew she wasn't going to sign anything just yet, not after all this. She needed to know more.

"Who were they, then?"

Kal sighed. "They're corporate," she remarked dismissively. "They've recruited a couple others out from under our noses over the years. I knew Nancy — _Sylvia_ — was with them, but dang it all, I wasn't working at the Runaway when you met her there. If I was, I would've intercepted you then. When I found out you were there with her, I put it all together, and with Len's help we traced y'all here. We just got in forty-five minutes ago. Can you tell?" she asked, tugging on the bill of her hat. "Too much? Well we're just proud _'Muricans_ is all."

"So what company do they work for? And what did they want from me?"

"Well, it's not really a _single_ company," Len explained. "They're sort of a syndicate of freelance 'information gatherers' who ultimately get paid by a few of the bigger hedge funds. The Consumer Electronics Show is here this week, and there are some big players dealing behind the scenes. They were lookin' to see which way the wind was blowing in the semiconductor industry, so they could get some leverage."

_Well they sound convincing so far,_ Jess thought, _and at least they're nicer._

"OK. But before I do anything, here are my conditions, and I want these written in." She was determined to be a partner now, instead of just a pawn. "One: I will not do anything against my will. Two: I will not use my abilities to harm others, either directly or indirectly. Three: I will only use my abilities to help others in distress. I want that all in there."

Kal smiled tenderly. "Well honey," she responded, "that kind of narrows our options a bit, don't it? What if you have to hurt somebody to save somebody else's life? There's all kinds of scenarios you just can't plan for."

"That's true, but that will be _my_ decision to make, and not yours to dictate to me. Capiche?" She realized she was the one with leverage here — _she_ had what _they_ wanted, after all.

Len looked at Kal, then back to Jess. "OK, boss, agreed. We'll write it in. We can't force you to do anything anyway. Well, at least not in this branch."

As she went through the papers, Jess glanced out the window and found they were heading south on the strip, back towards the airport.

"So where am I going today?"

"Can't tell ya," Len replied with a wink, "You didn't write full disclosure into your demands."

"Nice. _Real_ nice. Can you have your driver drop me back with Sylvia, please?" Jess retorted. "Better company, she was."

"Well honey," Kal interjected, "it's not that we _won't_ tell ya, it's we _can't_ tell ya. Where we're going don't have a name to it."
Chapter Twenty-Six

They turned off of the strip near Mandalay Bay — earlier than they should have if they were headed to the main terminal — and pulled up to the entrance of a fenced-in parking lot. Stopping at a small security booth, the driver held out a badge for the guard, who scanned it before raising the gate. After driving past several rows of parked cars, they stopped in front of a separate, smaller terminal. The driver unlocked the doors with a _pop_ and Jess exited the limo, hoisting her duffel bag over her shoulder.

"What is this?"

"It's our own little private airport," Kal revealed. "No lines, no scanners, no TSA feelin' ya up. It's good to be the government."

Walking through the entrance, the layout reminded Jess of a small town airport: a large open space with a few gates at the edges, all surrounding a central food court; but like Kal mentioned, no sign of any scanners. They led her straight through the building, out through a doorway, and onto the tarmac, shimmering in the late morning desert heat.

Jess spotted the Southwest jets taxiing near the public terminal farther away, then focused on the activity around her at this 'airport within an airport'. It seemed they were walking on a gigantic parking lot for jets: there were a couple of turboprops off to one side, a larger 757 jet on the other, and in the center a cluster of 737's. What was even stranger, these jets were all painted white: no brands, no advertisements, and no markings other than a long red stripe along the fuselage and an FAA registration number on the tail.

Jess followed Kal and Len towards a 737 with its air stairs deployed, and after a security guard stationed in front scanned their retinas, they ascended into the aircraft.

Although bigger, these jets were certainly plainer than the one she arrived on — no opulence or creamy leather here — and on top of that, it smelled old; stale even. She settled in one of the front-most seats — what would be business class on a commercial jet — and Kal and Len took the pair across from her.

"Well if I can't know where I am going, can I at least know how long it'll take?" Jess asked.

"We'll be back on the ground in about forty," Kal answered, leaning over the aisle and patting her arm, "so don't get too comfy."

Jess tried to calculate how far a jet could travel in forty minutes, but quickly got bored with that exercise and checked her phone instead. _And down the rabbit hole I go_ she texted Gavin, before stowing it away. Only afterwards did she realize that she probably shouldn't have done that, but nobody seemed to have noticed.

A few minutes later a pilot boarded, sans crew, and they were soon in the air. While watching the Vegas strip recede into the distance, she spied the snow-covered peak of Mt. Charleston from her window, and determined they must be traveling north.

Not thirty minutes later they began to descend into the desolate and mountainous terrain, and as she wondered where they were landing, it suddenly hit her. Barely concealing her excitement, she turned to Kal.

"Oh my God, is this _Area 51?_ "

Kal turned to Len and gave him an eye-roll, then looked at Jess, and putting her finger to her lips, whispered "Shhhh..." with mock seriousness.

_Holy crap — Area 51!_ she thought. _What will I see? Even if it's all B.S. and it's just a military testing facility, how many people could say they went to Area 51?_ she wondered. Realizing she wouldn't be able to tell anyone about this, of course, her heart sank. She suddenly felt bad for all the other people that work there.

Surreptitiously checking her phone for a reply from Gavin, she found none, but strangely, she noticed the cellular carrier, usually listed as 'AT&T', now displayed 'GOV'.

"Yeah, we're gonna have to take that," Len insisted, holding out his hand. She sheepishly handed it to him, and in exchange, he handed her back a lanyard with ID attached.

"Here's your golden ticket, wear it at _all times_. I'm serious about that."

She took the lanyard and turned the ID over. The picture on the front wasn't even current, it was her high school yearbook picture — from sophomore year at that.

"Really? With the _braces?_ You couldn't hack into my Facebook and get like, _any_ other more recent picture of me?"

"Ah, rush job, whaddya expect?" Len replied gruffly, then smiled. "It's good enough for government work."
Chapter Twenty-Seven

Disembarking was a disappointment. There was nothing much to see: just a couple of long — _very_ long — runways stretching to the horizon in each direction, with clusters of large hangars and various outbuildings arrayed on one side. The only other people around were guards, dressed in camouflage gear and outfitted with appropriately intimidating automatic rifles. Other than that, anything interesting here appeared to be behind closed doors.

Jess was led aboard a white school bus — with windows painted black — which lumbered down a frontage road for several minutes, before stopping in front of one of the larger hangars a mile or so down the runway. While exiting the bus, two security guards immediately raised their rifles and trained them on Len, while one yelled " _Halt!_ ". Len, standing perfectly still, slowly extended his arms to his sides, palms open. A third guard, his weapon also drawn, stepped in from the side, and approaching him cautiously, used the tip of his rifle to carefully turn over the badge on Len's lanyard, revealing his picture. The three guards stepped back, and standing down, allowed him to pass without a word. For Len's part, he seemed to take no offense, and indeed the entire incident seemed to be a rather banal affair to all but herself. Looking down, she verified her own badge was oriented correctly before stepping forward, where they were all scanned in, via badge and retina this time, once again.

After a short walk to the hangar, they were scanned a final time at the entrance. As they entered through the small door — the large hangar door was closed — Kal flipped on a cluster of wall switches, slowly lighting the large open space with rows of ancient industrial lamps hanging from the girders above. As the filaments burned brighter, Jess was amazed to see, standing in the center of the hangar, an exact replica of the dome at the Adams Center.

"What is this? _Another one?_ "

"You'd be surprised how much money was put into this program during the Cold War," Kal replied, motioning Jess over to a small seating area. The tables and chairs arrayed along the hangar wall were all coated with a fine layer of dust, which Jess wiped away briskly before taking her seat.

"There was some success with it, too," Kal continued. "Certain features of Soviet military installations were precisely identified and recorded. Unfortunately, these hits were only verified years later when the newer hi-resolution satellite imagery became available, and after the program here had already been dismantled. Regardless, the bigger problem was that it was unreliable. We couldn't get specific enough features, at the particular time we wanted them. It was utterly frustrating for everyone involved, most of all the Sleepers themselves. They'd get a good hit on something one day, but when asked for followup, they'd get nothing, or worse, misinformation. We never found out if that was due to the Sleeper's own unconscious resistance to the pressure to perform, pure confabulation out of a need to please their superiors, interference from the other side, or what. Maybe a combo of all of the above. So eventually the funding was cut to a trickle, and the whole thing was labelled a failure — regardless of the hits we were able to reverse-correlate later."

Len picked up the story from there. "Then the Wall fell, and the whole program was mothballed. It's only been revived in the last ten years or so to combat terrorism, and only because they found that the world of financial espionage — as you recently discovered — was having some success with it. Problem is, the good ones, like you, are hard to come by. I heard what you're capable of: full consciousness and recall within a hundred yard radius, and that is rare. We were lucky they were so sloppy in handling you. Prolly cause they never had to work very hard at recruiting. They started out by giving a nice chunk of the haul they took from their trades to the informants, which worked on a few, for awhile, but then their 'special abilities' would fade over time without rhyme or reason. Maybe people like you generally aren't as concerned with the money, or at least aren't as unsavory as they are about how they get it, so maybe they were working at odds with their unconscious. Who knows. In any case, they would get a lot of burnouts. It's only lately they started impersonating the government, trying to recruit people by using their good intentions against them. When that doesn't work, they resort to scare tactics, telling 'em thousands will die if they don't deliver the info to prevent an 'attack'. So that was the fun you were in for with those folks."

"You're the first one we poached from them before they could really get started," Kal revealed. "We're pretty stoked about that."

"Yeah, but unfortunately," Len countered, "the others we debriefed sort of swore off the whole business after their negative experience, so we really don't have a whole stable of folks for this operation."

"What he means is," Kal explained, spreading her arms to encompass the entire hangar, "this is all for you."
Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jess started her tour of the hangar with the dome, while Kal and Len trailed behind, outlining the history of the place to her.

"They had the same contractor who built the one in Black Mountain come out about a decade later and build this one," Kal explained. "At the time they thought the structure itself helped produce, or at least enhance, the abilities. Turns out it's mostly just an awfully expensive concrete igloo. All you really need is a quiet space and some white noise, for the good ones at least. The rest is pretty much just decoration."

"Actually, the material makes it harder to exit the structure," Jess said, mostly to herself, as she followed the curved wall of the dome with her hand. She was in awe of what they did here; the dome was the exact shape and size of the twin out east, even down to the yellow paint. As she entered, she noticed the structures inside were also similarly configured. Upon entering her Einstein duplicate, however, she found the furnishings different.

"How long has this place been mothballed?" she asked, dragging her finger through a thick coat of dust on the dresser.

"Let's see," Len mused, glancing at Kal for help. "Probably twenty-some odd years?"

"And how many people passed through here?"

"Oh, well, in its heyday, if the Adams Center had a hundred guests a year, I suppose we would have had about ten percent of that. All told, probably looking at ninety, a hundred."

"That's it? Through the whole program?" Jess was incredulous at the amount of money and effort spent for less than one hundred people.

"Yeah — remember, folks like you aren't a dime a dozen, and we had the cream of the crop coming through here."

"And most of _them_ were duds too!" Kal added with a grin.

"So how many people like me did you find?"

Len answered without hesitation.

"Six," he said, suddenly staring off into space, "there were six."

Jess had to ask. "Are they all...dead?"

Snapping out of it, Len smiled widely. "Oh _hell_ no! It was all worthless, remember? Who'd want to kill a bunch of spaced-out Clouseau's batting ten percent? They went back to their lives, probably forgot about the whole thing. Come on, let's get something to eat."

Len led them outside the dome and to the rear of the hangar, then through a connecting doorway leading to a smaller building. This space, clearly a cafeteria, contained several rows of tables and chairs along with a large open window to an industrial kitchen in back. Along one wall, however, were several doors spaced about ten feet apart and labeled alphabetically, with the exception of the final door which was labeled 'Monitor'.

"This here is the canteen, mess hall, monitoring room, and dorms for up to twenty-four people, though we never had that many at once, like I said. They were a little too optimistic when they built it I guess. We don't have any cooks, of course, so we'll have to take care of our own meals for now. Pick a room and drop your stuff, then you can take a nap if you want, cause we're gonna prep the kitchen and get an early dinner started."

A nap sounded like a good idea, so Jess picked the first door. Behind it, she found a simple eight by twelve windowless cinder-block room, containing a bunk bed and small wooden dresser. After unpacking her clothes, she slowly folded over the dusty grey blanket covering the bottom bunk, lay down, and promptly nodded off.

She awoke to the clattering of pots and pans, and emerged from her room to find a meal, ready to eat, waiting for her: a fiberglass tray holding a metal bowl of spaghetti and meatballs alongside a warm can of coke. Kal and Len were already in the kitchen cleaning up after their own meals, as she had slept longer than they expected. Jess tucked into her meal while listening to the two bicker about how thoroughly, or not, to clean the pots. Len wanted a simple rinse, but Kal demanded a full sudsy cleaning.

"That's cause you never do these back home!" Kal exclaimed.

Jess couldn't believe she had missed this, and barging in on them, she exclaimed "You're married!"

Sudsy pot in hand, Len's look of mild shock turned to remembrance as he muttered under his breath, "Yup, that's what the preacher man did say." Kal twisted his nipple as he let out a yowl.

"Do people know this?"

"Well they know about _this_ ," Kal replied, pointing back and forth between her and Len, "but they don't know about _this_ ," she added, spinning her hands in wide circles as if she were mixing two large kettles.

"We told them we were going for a quick trip to Vegas — no lie there," Len explained, "and that we'd be back in a few days. Which we will, can't take this canned stuff for much longer than that. Hey, now that you're up, how about we run through a bit of testing when you're done?"

She agreed, and after finishing the dishes they headed over to the monitoring room to set up. Jess finished up, and after returning to the dome, entered her doppelganger Einstein shack and lay down to await their instructions.
Chapter Twenty-Nine

The speaker above her head clicked on, followed by Kal's voice.

"Okay now, the first thing we want to do is get you out and about. Taped above the headboard is a set of GPS coordinates, see if you can project yourself there when you're out, okay?"

Glancing behind her she found a small strip of paper, secured to the wall with yellowing scotch tape, containing a set of latitude and longitude numbers typed on it.

"Ummm, I've never done that before; how does that work?" Jess asked curiously.

"Well _we_ certainly don't know, we're a lower pay grade than you young lady, but we know it's possible. Just focus on the numbers and let's see what happens," Kal replied confidently.

Jess lay back down and performed her exit procedure. When she was out, she turned and focused on the numbers, repeating them in her mind. The pulling sensation returned, and she was catapulted forward into the sparkling tunnel, heading towards a pinprick of white light at the end.

Seconds later, the pinprick engulfed her, and she was deposited into a brilliantly white, formless space. She remembered what Terry had said, and concentrating on the thought-form of a pair of Wayfarers, her vision darkened enough to be able to maintain her focus.

The room was devoid of any objects — it was simply a closed-in area, without doors or windows, lit by a sourceless, diffused white light that reminded her of the domes. Looking closer, she examined the walls and discerned the mortar seams of the brick construction, as well as the white paint that covered the surface. The floor and ceiling, also painted white, had no seams, but instead appeared to be of concrete slab construction, with several visible imperfections from the pouring process. These details helped her to determine this was a _physical_ place, and not solely a creation within her mind.

Glancing about her, she noticed something in this empty space: a small strip of paper, similar to the one in the cottage, which was also fastened to the wall with yellowing, peeling scotch tape. It read:

Puzzled, she wasn't sure what to do, so she waited for a few minutes until she felt the small buzzing sensation. Taking this as the signal to return, she imagined herself in the Einstein shack, and was quickly transported back, snapping into her body. The speaker above her clicked on.

"Repeat. Jess. Come on back now."

"I'm here," she replied groggily.

Another click.

"What did it say?"

She slowly raised herself into a sitting position, thinking back to the white room.

"It was like a nursery rhyme or something. No, wait, it was 'Jack and Jill'. On the wall. Was that the test?"

"Yup, nice work. You made good time, one of our best. But I expected as much," Kal replied.

"Where did I go?"

"Let's see...you're in Einstein, so those coordinates would be near Rendlesham Forest, in Suffolk, England."

"That was _England?_ Cool, I've never been there before!" she exclaimed. Kal clicked the speaker on so Jess could have the benefit of hearing their laughter over the intercom.

"But it was a real, physical place, right?"

"Yeah," Kal confirmed, "it's a room underneath an old joint Air Force / RAF base. Most of the newer bases have one designed in from the start, but the one you were at was an older base that was retrofitted. The architects generally didn't ask any questions, they just designed it in as requested, but the contractors always thought it was a mistake and fought 'em hard on it — what good is a fully enclosed, lighted room with no doors or windows, right?"

"Anyway, onward and upward. Ready for more?"

"Sure, what's next?"

"Outside, behind this hangar, there's a twelve-foot thick monolith. We need you to travel all the way through it from front to back. When you're done, come on back and let us know how it went."

She exited again, and leaving the hangar, quickly found the structure out back. Nine feet high and painted black, it had a line marked _Start_ on the ground in front of it. Jess moved forward into it, immediately detecting a heavy metallic sensation. Further in, she sensed a strange earthy taste, like dirt or rock. Beyond that was a material with a gentle, but firm, resistance, which she couldn't pass through: each time she tried she would be slowly pushed back out.

Remembering what she had done at the Center, she imagined herself as a single point of light, ignoring her embodied selves — astral and physical — completely. Only then was she able to easily pass through the dense material. One more thinner level awaited her, which felt like moving through thick honey even in her lighter form, and then she found herself in daylight again. Expanding back into etheric body, she smiled when she looked down and spotted the _Finish_ line below her feet.

"I'm baaaack!" she teased upon returning to the shack.

"Great, how did it go? Did you get through?"

"Yeah, the last two materials were tougher, so I had to get super tiny to squeeze through."

"There you go. Terry did well with you, the short time he had ya. Great job. By the way, those last two layers were lead and gold. Come on out, unless there's anything else you wanted to try."

Jess declined. They didn't bring up the possibility of disembodied speech, or projecting a full body apparition, like she had done with Terry, and she didn't offer them up. Those abilities she kept to herself, at least for the time being.
Chapter Thirty

She awoke late the next morning to the smell of pancakes and bacon. Rising from her musty army cot, she discerned the now familiar sounds of bickering — this time over how to cook the eggs.

As they ate, breakfast was interrupted by the distant ringing of a telephone bell which echoed within the hangar outside the cafeteria. Len left to answer it, and returned a few minutes later, a big smile on his face.

"We got it!" he proclaimed to Kal, high-fiving her.

"Oh, that's great news. We couldn't do it any other way."

"What's going on?" Jess asked, smiling. "You pregnant?"

Kal unleashed a hearty laugh. "No honey, I quit _that_ work years ago," she replied. "This is my retirement. What's going on," she explained, scooting over and placing her hand on Jess' wrist, "is we have a real live mission for you."

"Are...are you sure I'm ready?" Jess protested, a complicated mix of nervousness and excitement rising in her stomach. "I've only been here a day!"

"You're pretty far along the path...but 'are you ready'? Well I guess that's up to you. The deal is, this is somewhat of an urgent situation, and the way we'll set it up, it'll be an in-out thing. Low impact."

"Low impact, okay, I like that...what's the objective?"

"We've got a high value target in a sticky situation," Len explained. "We need to get him out, and soon. We know in general where he is, but we don't know exactly, and this is where you come in. We'll need you to pinpoint his location."

"How far away is this? I mean, I can't do this from here. I can go to the white room without anything to distract me, sure, but any real location..."

"Yeah, we know, we know," Kal interrupted, "distance is always an issue, even for the best. That's why we have a hybrid approach to these things. C'mon."

Arising from the table, she followed them as they led her behind the hangar, past the monolith, and down a footpath tucked between the rear of the hangars and the scrub of the desert foothills.

"We'll get you as close as we can, physically," Len clarified. "The rest is up to you."

"So where then am I going, exactly?"

"Pyongyang."

Jess was dumbfounded. "North Korea? That's like the most dangerous place on earth! How am I going to get in there? I can't even play basketball!"

"You are not going to set foot in North Korea," Kal reassured her, as they reached a smaller hangar marked with a large white number six.

"I'm not following you here. How do I get as close as possible without entering the country? Also, that's like a day of flying to get there, right?"

Kal stopped and stood in front of her. "Oh, you'll be in the country all right. But like I said, you won't set foot — literally anyway. As for getting there, well, that's the thing, you're correct in there's no easy way to get into North Korea using _conventional_ methods. That's why they come to us."

She stood aside as Len slid open the smaller hangar door behind her.

"Here's your ride!" he announced, stepping back.

Inside the hangar, perched on three wooden sawhorses, stood a matte-black metallic object about seven feet across.

"What the heck is this?" Jess asked, entering the hangar to examine the object.

There were so many odd angular surfaces that she had difficulty discerning the true shape of it. It was certainly unconventional, looking somewhat like a slice of pie impaled on a pyramid: the 'slice' made up the central section, while the pyramid point protruded from the top, and the base rested on the sawhorses.

"This belongs to another group here," Len stated, "whom you, unfortunately, won't be able to meet." He stood aside so Jess could view the far end of the hangar, where a half-dozen people milled about in the shadows, apparently waiting for them to leave.

"It's a rental; we got it just for you, for this mission alone," he continued as he came alongside Jess, who was intensely studying the surface of the object.

Close up, she could see it wasn't truly _black_ per se — the color appeared to change depending upon how she looked at it. Placing her hand on the surface, it felt perfectly smooth, but lacked the coldness or hardness of metal.

"How does it work?" she asked, crouching down to peek underneath. "Where's the engine?"

Len moved around to the rear of the craft. "Engines, you mean, and I'm not sure I could honestly tell you — they tell us how to run it, but I can't fathom how it does what it does. You want to know how to operate it, huh? Well, this is the best part."

Digging into his pocket, he produced her confiscated iPhone.

"There's an App for that," he quipped, tossing the phone to her. "Scan your thumb for me, then go into the App store and download the _Krazy Kats_ game. That's with two 'K's."

She looked at him sideways while unlocking the phone via thumbscan, then searched for the game. "Looks pretty lame, only got one star ratings, seems like most of them say 'WORST GAME EVAR'."

"Just download the app already," Len retorted impatiently.

"At least it's free," she quipped, scanning her thumb again to authorize the download. And indeed it was a lousy game, consisting only of two poorly drawn cat heads floating about the screen. Poking one of the heads would prompt a recorded cat yowl, while a number at the bottom incremented by one.

"Wow, this is really lame."

"Well, the goal was to have people just ignore the app, but it turns out it was so bad it became sort of a thing on the Internet. Now there's all sorts of Krazy Kats fan sites. You can even get a hat if you want to," Len added, chuckling.

"Hey, I've actually seen people wearing those! I never knew what it was all about."

"Yeah — they all got 'em around here too," he noted, motioning towards the engineers still anxiously waiting in the wings. "OK, so anyway, wait until one of the heads hits the bottom of the screen, and when it does, shake the phone twice then swipe down with three fingers. She did so, and a shade dropped over the game, revealing a new screen with the familiar map view and blue dot indicating her location.

"Cool. OK, now what?" Jess asked, pinching and zooming around the map screen.

Len came around to look over her shoulder. "It's natural-language based. First we need to tell it which ship you want."

He whispered into her ear, "Say _'OK Mustang Three, Enable'_."

"OK Mustang Three, Enable," she spoke aloud.

"Authorize new pilot?" the app replied in a Siri-like voice, as it popped up a Bluetooth pairing code screen.

"Oh yeah, forgot about this part," he said, "punch in four zeros to pair it."

"Really? Four _zeroes_ Len?" she chided derisively while entering the code. "My bluetooth keyboard has better security."

When the pairing completed, she spoke the incantation again, and the craft responded with a quick succession of faint chirping noises, beginning at the front and progressing along the sides to the rear, until finally joining together in a barely audible hum.

"Enabled," the app declared.

"Why is it called a Mustang?" Jess asked, curious about the name. "After the car?"

"No, not the car, but the car's own namesake: the P-51," Kal explained. "Which if you know your history, was a revolutionary aircraft for its time. It performed better at low altitudes, and was initially used for long-range recon missions, which is exactly what you'll be doing in number Three here."

Jess hadn't seen any wheels during her examination, but nevertheless didn't even consider that this might be a flying machine — it didn't seem to have any wings on it.

"This thing flies? And this is the remote?" she asked credulously, holding up her phone.

"Oh boy, does it fly. And it ain't no toy, neither. Tell it to open."

"OK Mustang Three, Open."

The craft emitted a hiss as a horizontal seam appeared around its midsection. Another hiss, and a vertical seam appeared down the length of the top. The two newly separated halves of the canopy swung back and away gracefully, like a beetle's wings, revealing a dazzlingly white interior. It contained two small reclining seats, yet little else: there didn't appear to be any controls or indicators whatsoever inside the vehicle. She did notice a single white wire coiled within a cavity between the seats, and looking closer was amused to discover it was an iPhone charging cable.

"It's pretty much cruise control all the way," Kal explained. "You tell it where to go, and it goes. You can override it for manual control if needed, just ask. She'll be prepped and ready for you in the morning, cause we've got to get you out of here before breakfast tomorrow. We need to head back now, though, as the team here needs to do some final prep work."

"Au Revoir, ma chérie," Len called to the craft, ushering them both outside and sliding the hangar door closed behind them.

Chapter Thirty-One

That afternoon and evening they went over the plan. The subject was being held in the largest hotel — indeed, the largest building — on the entire Korean peninsula. They didn't know which floor he was on; it was her job to figure that out using her abilities. Physically, she would remain in the craft at all times. When his location was discovered, she would make contact, in whatever manner necessary, and lead him to the craft for the return flight home. The plan was to get her there at 4:00 AM local time, which would give her an hour of darkness for the extraction before the sun began to rise.

After a final prep the next morning, she boarded the craft with nothing but her phone, a bottle of water, and a few granola bars. Kal provided her with some critical last minute instructions.

"Now, the only facilities on board is gonna be that water bottle when it's empty, so you wanna make sure _you're_ empty before you head out, alright?"

Jess laughed. "Taken care of. Ready to go."

"OK then, good luck to you," she said, suddenly looking very serious. "Bring him back for us. It's more important than you know." She and Len both shook her hand, and then stood back from the craft.

"OK Mustang Three, close please," she requested with a slight crack in her voice; Kal's seriousness had thrown her.

The top halves of the craft swung over her head and locked into place, joining to form one seamless surface. Instead of darkening, however, it was still brightly lit inside. Feeling momentarily disoriented and claustrophobic, Jess was relieved when the triangular windscreen panels in front of her turned transparent, followed by the footwells, and then the sides. She had a crystal clear view up, down, and around.

The craft, via her phone, began speaking to her in the familiar Siri voice.

"Ready for departure to programmed destination. Distance five thousand nine hundred ninety-six miles. Acceleration slope adjusted for current occupant body mass index of twenty-two point two. Maximum speed will be one thousand three hundred and eighty-four miles per hour, attained one hundred and eighty-two seconds after departure. Estimated travel time is four hours, twenty-three minutes, and fifteen seconds. Originating location time is currently six-thirty-seven A.M. Pacific standard time. Destination location time is currently eleven-thirty-seven P.M. Korean standard time. Destination arrival time will be four A.M. Korean standard time. Shall we go?"

_One thousand three hundred miles per hour?_ Jess marveled to herself. She couldn't remember how fast commercial jets flew, but she knew it was less than the speed of sound, which was around seven hundred miles per hour. _I'm going to be zipping along at Mach II in this thing that's no bigger than a Cooper Mini?_ she thought nervously. They told her how long the trip would take, but she didn't think to calculate how fast she would be traveling. _OK, Jess, let's put on the big girl pants,_ she thought, calming herself. What she was doing was important: she was willing to believe that.

"Yes, let's go."

The craft began a round of chirping again, settling into the high-pitched hum, which sounded louder from the inside. Though Jess couldn't feel any movement, she watched the floor of the hangar recede slowly as the craft lifted away from the sawhorses. Leaning back, she found the seats to be more comfortable than any other seats she had been in; in fact they were so cozy as to be a little disturbing. It felt like she was being hugged by the thing, as if it were alive.

The craft rotated until it faced the open hangar door, then paused a moment before swiftly gliding forward. She had time for a quick wave to Kal and Len as they sped by on each side. _They were saluting me,_ she realized, and suddenly choked up, had no time to turn and salute back before they were gone, and she was outside, rising. The acceleration increased smoothly, like a roller coaster, pushing her back into her seat. Lifting itself over the foothills of the approaching mountain range in a jagged stair-step fashion, the craft seemed to be automatically following the contour of the ground one hundred feet below.

She watched the rocks, scrub, and mesquite trees stretch into a blur of reds, browns, and greens as they sped past beneath her. Above the hum, a high-pitched whine emanated from the front of the craft. Increasing in volume, it reached an ear-splitting crescendo before exploding into a series of thunderous _pops_ , as if she were inside a popcorn machine. The noise subsided as the craft surged forward violently with additional speed, while a cloud-like mist formed ahead of her, blocking a portion of her forward vision.

"Sound barrier crossed. Slipstream envelope active and stable."

The craft continued onward, traveling up, over, and then down the far side of the mountain range in a span of minutes, while maintaining a consistent, yet disturbingly low, elevation.

"Maximum speed achieved," the craft announced as the acceleration abated. As the hum of the engines receded, Jess began to relax and take in the view. Staring out the side window at the desert landscape, she began to space out. A sudden jolt jerked her attention back to the craft; it had suddenly rocked to one side and then back again, as though hitting a pothole in the sky.

"What the hell was that?" she yelled out, tightly clutching the arms of her chair.

"Avian avoidance maneuver," the craft nonchalantly answered.

Though still unsettled, Jess was somewhat reassured, if not by the actual explanation, then at least by the craft's self-confidence, and so she leaned back again. Below, the ground rushed by unnaturally, like an old silent movie, making her dizzy. Looking ahead, she spied a blue line on the horizon which began to expand towards her, until a flash of yellow beneath her feet signalled the demarcation between land and sea. Her forward view, now, consisted of only differing shades of blue: lighter above, and darker below.

As the sun was behind her, Jess leaned forward and searched for a moment before finding the small dark shadow of the craft on the water below. Getting dizzy again, she focused on the horizon, and watched as a wall of what looked like lego blocks rose from the sea, until below them emerged the massive red bow of a container ship. As she was trying to read the name painted on the hull, the craft banked hard to the left, pushing her into the side of her seat. Already knowing the answer, she felt the need to ask anyway.

"What was that?"

"Merchant marine vessel avoidance maneuver," the craft responded, again with the same confidence, but also with a hint of seeming annoyance at her paranoid questioning. Closing her eyes, she settled back and asked no further questions about the sudden bumps, potholes and violent banking they encountered, for fear the craft would lose any remaining respect for her.

She awoke thirty minutes later, and while searching again for their shadow on the water, unsuccessfully this time, she found the sky had taken on a distinctly orange-ish hue. Confused, it took her a moment to realize the craft, with its tremendous speed, had been outrunning the sunrise, and would soon reverse the daybreak entirely, returning the sun below the eastern horizon behind her. _Am I going back in time?_ she wondered groggily, but of course that didn't make any sense, though it certainly did feel as though the previous night was indeed returning.

An hour later, in darkness, her confusion was put to rest as the craft interrupted her contemplative star gazing.

"Crossing International Date Line."

_Of course,_ she mused to herself, as she recalled from the mission briefing the fact that Pyongyang was fifteen hours ahead of them. She had not slipped back into the previous night, but was instead propelled forward into the early morning hours of the next day.

"What are we over right now?" she queried the craft, her curiosity drifting from above to below.

"We are currently thirty meters above the Bering Sea," the craft replied. _How cute that she uses the royal 'We',_ Jess reflected, until she digested the rest of the statement: she thought they had been traveling West the whole time, yet here they were above the waters off Alaska.

"Where are we going!" she exclaimed with alarm. She didn't care what the craft thought of her at this point — she could be an abductee of this sentient iPhone-powered craft for all she knew.

"Pyongyang, North Korea. Time to destination one-hour and fifty-three minutes," the craft replied calmly, without a hint of annoyance this time. Jess relaxed again, and made a mental note to check a globe later to see what kind of circuitous route they were taking. In the meantime, she gazed out across the dark sea, thinking of the fishermen below who plied these waters.

Looking up, the blanket of stars stoked thoughts of the seafarers who once used the sky to navigate this endless expanse. _Speeding through a seemingly endless darkness can't help but make one a little philosophical,_ she cogitated.
Chapter Thirty-Two

Placing her focus back on the mission, and not the least bit tired from her time travel forward into the following night, Jess passed the remaining time in the darkness going over the plan. The destination, she recalled, was a tall triangular building which she would 'park' the craft next to — halfway up the side — while she exited her body and investigated the floors one by one. Once she found the room containing the subject, she would maneuver the craft as close as possible to his window, then alert him to her presence. He would board the craft with her, and off they would go. Easy-peasy; at least that was the idea.

While going over possible contingencies, she noticed scattered lights zipping by below; she was over land again.

"Where are we now?" she inquired.

"Petropavlovsk-Kamchatsky, Russian Federation."

She felt like a real spy now, flying low over Russian airspace in the dead of night. A few minutes later and she was back over water, the 'Sea of Okhotsk', her craft informed her.

Jess continued to mull over the plan: all the permutations, the probabilities, and how she would handle each contingency. While she was deciding whether she might be over-thinking it, the craft conveniently interrupted her with the news they were only fifteen minutes from their destination. Not even realizing they were over land again, she looked down to find a smattering of faint lights speeding by below.

After a few minutes, she noticed a cluster of lights ahead — a city — and what looked like a large Christmas tree in the midst of it. The craft began to decelerate, pulling her body forward as the cloudiness around the nose dissipated. On the approach to the city, she realized how massive the building was — it utterly dominated the skyline, and though the other structures around it stood twenty or thirty stories, this one must have been a hundred at least. Other than this giant, there weren't many other lights on in this, the largest city in North Korea, and though four A.M. local time, it still appeared more like a sleepy American suburb than a vast urban metropolis.

Closing in, the craft remained scarily low, a few tens of feet above the concrete, as it violently weaved its way between the buildings instead of rising over them. Her adrenaline flowing, she clutched the armrests tightly, even though she knew intellectually that she could trust this craft to get her the final few miles on this six-thousand mile journey.

Tall apartment buildings flew past, devoid of any lights, the roads below similarly empty. It felt dead here; almost post-apocalyptic. After banking around one large apartment complex, she found herself on a direct approach to the target. Composed of three massive wings that rose from the ground and converged to a single sharp point, the building looked to Jess like a gigantic dagger stabbing upwards towards the sky.

The craft decelerated further as it climbed towards the mid-point of the structure, just as planned. Pushing her hands flat against the forward viewing panels, Jess gritted her teeth as the craft silently glided to a dead stop inches from the mirrored glass that covered the building.

Although the large decorative lights running up each wing of the building were lit, there were no individual lights on in any of the rooms — like many of the other buildings in the city. Looking straight ahead, Jess noticed a faint glow emanating from the hotel window a few feet in front of her. It took her a moment to realize it was only the reflection of her own phone's screen, which she quickly pocketed.

"OK, here we go," she announced to the empty cabin. _That was a pretty lame pep talk,_ she thought to herself, as she lay back and closed her eyes. Dropping out, she slipped below the craft. The height was dizzying, and forgetting herself momentarily, she instinctively clawed her way towards the wall of the building, until she regained her composure and drifted steadily down to ground level.

Entering the main doors to the building, Jess found the lobby could only be described as _garishly depressing:_ a long white marble front desk to the left, attended by a dozing female clerk, opposite a plaid-upholstered lounge area to the right. Straight ahead stood the centerpiece of the lobby, a tremendous cylindrical waterfall. Descending from three stories above, the murky water streamed past long strands of green algae tenaciously clinging to the faux rock face, before collecting in a bubbly yellowish froth at the bottom. The water feature, adorned with colorfully large flora and fauna, was surrounded by a bright green carpet of grass. Everything, except for the water itself, was made of plastic, and the echoes of a Korean cover of _Girl from Ipanema_ just barely registered above the din of the falling water. Even in her subtle body, Jess could somehow smell the decay permeating the place.

Noting nothing else of interest, she ascended to the fourth floor to find herself in a circular hall, with corridors that branched off into each of the three wings. Choosing one at random, she proceeded down it, poking her head through the doors into each individual room. All of them were empty — no furnishings, fixtures, or even carpeting; nothing but cold empty spaces defined by the concrete walls, floors, and ceilings — more akin to jail cells than luxury hotel rooms. She had inspected almost twenty of these rooms when she realized the futility of her search, considering the hundreds of rooms that remained. She was on a race against the sunrise, after all, that she had already escaped once just a few short hours ago.

Gathering her energy into a pinpoint of light, she zipped through the walls from one room to the next, finishing the entire floor in under a minute. Moving up a floor, she found herself outside due to the incline of the hotel. This gave her an idea, and she began traveling in a wide arc around — and through — the arms of the hotel. Once the outermost rooms were cleared, she tightened her radius until she arrived back at the central core. Then she went up a level and repeated the spiraling maneuver outwards, a pattern of inside-outside-inside as empty rooms and open air flew past her at intervals. It was thrilling, and more important, fast and effortless.

Only when she reached a third of the way up the building did she see any sign of finish work, and even then it was randomly distributed in certain rooms instead of across the entire floor. She passed her craft, still hovering patiently outside the fiftieth floor, forgetting entirely that her body lay within it. Finally, at the seventieth floor, she found entire floors that had been almost completely finished, yet all were still unoccupied. A few floors later she at last came upon a smattering of rooms containing actual sleeping guests, and though they were all male, none matched the description of the man she was looking for.

Only at the highest floors were the rooms fully finished and occupied, and at this point she was spiraling in a tight circle only a few hundred feet across. One room caught her attention only because its lone resident was asleep on the floor. She backed up to investigate further and discovered a bloody gash on the man's head. He was breathing, but possibly unconscious instead of asleep. Most importantly, he was a good seven feet tall, which was a key feature of her target.

Approaching him, she expanded into her subtle body, and leaning down, moved her fist quickly through the floor next to his head. The soft thuds produced didn't even stir him, but after making several louder raps she noticed one eyelid flutter briefly.

Suddenly, the door to the room flew open and a man dressed in crisp military garb, bayonet rifle slung across his back, entered and charged towards them. She flew backwards, trying ineffectively to hide herself, but he completely ignored her presence. Speaking angrily in Korean, he found no response from the man on the floor, and for a moment he stood silently, eyeing his captive with suspicion. Stepping forward, he kicked the man in the stomach, and after receiving nothing but a grunt in return, stormed out and slammed the door.

Jess chastised herself for not clearing the area before trying to wake him, and proceeding down a few rooms, peeked into the center hallway from a safe distance. The same guard, along with another, were stationed on each side of her target's door, standing at full attention — even though it was half-past three in the morning. _Crap,_ she thought to herself. They had simulated this scenario in Nevada, but assumed the guards would be asleep, or at the very least seated and drowsy.

She moved further down the curving hallway, bringing her out of sight of the guards. On this side of the building, she found a few remaining unfinished rooms. Two didn't even have windows in place yet, just sheets of heavy plastic covering roughed-in holes in the concrete, which alternately stretched taut and rippled from the wind outside.

Focusing her energy, Jess sped down at an angle towards her waiting craft. After bringing herself back into her physical body, she instructed the craft where to go.

"Rise to just below the top of the building then corner around...um, actually, is there a manual control mode?"

"Manual controls active," the craft replied. Grabbing her phone, she watched the map view slide down to reveal a plain gray screen.

"What the hell?" she despaired, thinking the app had crashed on her. She poked at the gray screen three times, each tap resulting in a pronounced jiggle of the craft. Freezing her hand in mid-air, she lowered it and gently touched the screen. Sliding her finger slowly forward, the craft accelerated forward. Sliding back brought it to a halt. Twisting two fingers turned the craft in place, and two finger slides moved the craft vertically as well as horizontally. _Nice,_ she thought, getting the hang of it.

After silently piloting the craft to the higher floor where her target lay, she maneuvered it around to the other side, just outside the unfinished room, and after aligning it as close to the window as possible, took a moment to prepare herself.

"Return to autopilot, hold position, and open, please." The screen slid back to the map view, and as she pocketed the phone, the canopy separated, sliding apart with the familiar hiss.

The cold wind plastered her hair to her face as she eyed the rippling plastic opening a few feet away. Taking a deep breath, she leaned out over the edge of the craft, and reaching forward, struggled to tear the hard plastic sheeting with one hand, while firmly grasping the lip of the open cockpit with the other. After muttering some choice curse words, she was finally able to poke a hole and tear a two foot gash in it. Lifting one leg outside of the cockpit, she placed her foot against the hull of the craft and leaned further, reaching her forearm into the opening. Grabbing hold of the interior window sill, she let go of the craft and pulled herself in.

Tumbling onto the bare concrete floor with a thud, she lay still for a moment, but heard only the wind flapping through the gaping hole in the sheeting. As her eyes adjusted to the dark room, she could see the faint light of the hallway under the door. After army-crawling into the nearest corner, she curled up in a fetal position to keep warm, and began to exit again.

Once out, she left the room and traveled down the circular hallway, towards the brightly lit finished area. Rounding a curve, she observed the two guards, again standing stock still and with eyes wide open. Her improvised plan now was to make a commotion, drawing them away from the door and giving her enough time to get back into her body, physically enter the room, and drag her charge — if necessary — back to the idling craft.

Beyond the guards stood a bank of three elevators in the core support cylinder of the building, and further down she spied an open stairwell. Gathering herself to a point, she flew unnoticed above the guard's heads and dove into the stairwell, spinning downwards a few flights. She circled a moment, listening to see if she was spotted, but heard nothing. As she spun around, she imagined herself heavier and denser, and after having gained some momentum, plowed directly into one of the iron railings.

The intensity of the metallic clang that ensued surprised even her, and upon hearing a shout from above, she flew back up to observe the result. Instead of both guards leaving their post to investigate, however, one remained in an attack pose, gun drawn and ready, while the other was nowhere to be seen.

Speeding down the hall in the opposite direction, she came upon the second guard circling around from the other side, who was quickly checking each room with a flashlight. An ice-cold chill ran through her as she discovered he was only one door from the room where her body lay.

Before she had any time to think about contingencies, he was in the room, shining his flashlight on her body huddled motionless in the corner. Drawing his gun, he shouted again, and she heard the footsteps of the first guard running down the hallway towards them. Appearing in the doorway, the second guard entered the room and trained his gun on her body as well. Frozen with fear, she could only watch, helpless, as this scene from a horror film came to life in front of her.
Chapter Thirty-Three

Receiving no response from the body in the corner, the two guards seemed befuddled as to how to handle this strange situation. The second guard, noticing the flapping of the open window, sidestepped over to it and carefully peered through the hole. Jerking his body back like a cat escaping a paper bag, he shouted to the other guard while fumbling with the radio on his belt. Speaking haltingly into his handset, she could tell he was having difficulty explaining the situation to whoever was on the other end.

The first guard, realizing the prone form on the floor was an intruder — and a strange looking one at that — lifted his gun to his shoulder, stepped forward, and kicked her body in the stomach. She heard herself emit a muffled _'oof'_ as her body writhed in pain, but in her current state she felt nothing, except for a rising anger, stirring her from the shock of being discovered.

Spinning in a tight circle, she imagined herself as dense as a billiard ball, and flew into the back of the guard who had kicked her. She felt the impact to his rib cage, at which point her mass must have depleted, as she propelled through his torso without any further resistance. Disgusting as it was to feel the hot bone, marrow, lungs and heart, each of which she could clearly distinguish, it had the intended effect of knocking him to the ground where he lay groaning and writhing in pain.

The remaining guard swung around wildly, searching for whoever had attacked his partner. If he had turned off his flashlight, he might have noticed a dim light gaining speed in a wide arc around the room. Instead, he flailed about ineffectively until receiving an unexpected punch to the solar plexus that sent him reeling. Crumpling to the ground, he projectile vomited — to Jess' dismay — directly onto her shoes.

She quickly returned to her body, and waking up, was assaulted a second time with the stench of her handiwork. "Agggh!" she exclaimed, and holding her shirt sleeve over her nose, stood and wiped her pukey shoe on the guard's pant leg. Confiscating their weapons, she slid them out the window opening to the ground, then dragged the guards one by one to the elevator bank down the hall. After pressing the call button, she shoved them into the first car that arrived, and sent them, groaning, down to the lobby.

That task complete, she entered her target's room to find him sitting up on the bed, cradling his head in his hands. He looked up, and without a word stood and shuffled towards her, as if he already knew what she was there to do. Positioning herself alongside him, she threw an arm around his waist and helped him down the hall to the empty room.

Behind them, she heard the ding of an arriving elevator car, followed by the shuffling of several pairs of boots in their direction. It was either the reinvigorated pair, or reinforcements, but Jess was unwilling to stay and find out.

Leaning him next to the window, she scrambled through the opening, landing roughly in the open cockpit outside. Spinning around, she stretched back through the window opening, hooking her vomity shoes onto the sill of the craft, and reached out to him.

He grabbed her arms with both hands, leaning forward as she pulled back, and was almost out when Jess spotted flashlights behind him scanning the room. The beams quickly converged on them, and just as he had grasped the edge of the cockpit, she felt a hard tug and heard the grunts of the men inside as he was pulled backwards, away from her.

Quickly removing her shoes with one hand, she fired each of them into the window opening, then grasped his free arm and braced her stocking feet against the wall of the cockpit.

"OK Mustang Three, move back ten feet!" she ordered.

The craft slid backward as if on a rail, dragging her subject through the window along with several other arms, until they lost their grip — or their nerve — and let go. His legs fell, pulling her forward as he dangled over the side of the craft. As she struggled to pull him aboard, a trio of rifle stocks emerged from the plastic hole.

"Descend to the ground!" she ordered, and instantly they plummeted downward as shots rang out in the sky above them. Still holding his arms, Jess didn't have the strength to pull him in, and so she just held on, waiting for the ground to arrive.

As the craft gently slowed to a stop above the concrete plaza, they found themselves hovering in the midst of three military troop transport trucks, the occupants of which were now a hundred stories above them. The lone remaining soldier, a driver enjoying his smoke break, stared mid-puff as a small, shoeless Caucasian redhead hoisted a supremely tall man with white hair — neither of which he had seen before in his life — into a strange-looking tiny black car that had silently descended from the sky.
Chapter Thirty-Four

Her subject safe inside the cockpit, Jess ordered the craft to close. As the roof sealed shut and the panels cleared, she laughed aloud at the sight of the gentleman, folded into the seat of this tiny craft, which was clearly designed for occupants no more than five feet tall.

He glanced at her with a slight grimace, holding his head as if he had a wicked hangover. She offered him some of her water, and after drinking it, he leaned back as best he could and closed his eyes again. Her concern for him was interrupted by movement out of the corner of her eye: reinforcements had arrived, and had begun firing upon the craft with abandon. Strangely, she felt no impacts, nor heard any ricochet sounds, though they were shooting from less than a hundred yards away. Unwilling to see how much of this abuse the craft could take, she ordered it home.

As the craft ascended, she watched the men below futilely continue to fire, even as their impenetrable target sped up and away. As they rose, sunlight flooded the cockpit; it had finally, inevitably, caught up to her. Looking down again, at the dawn of a new day in this strange city, she glimpsed a modicum of street traffic, surprisingly little considering the size of the city. Craning her neck back towards the hotel one last time, she spotted a dozen or so military vehicles converging on it from different sections of the city, not realizing their prey was long gone.

She examined her new companion. Although out of it, his eyes were open now, and he seemed to be coming around. Relaxing into her chair, she was able to steal a few moments of rest despite the sunshine-filled cabin. Gazing down, she watched the greens and browns of the countryside pass by, marred suddenly by a long coil of white smoke below them. As she squinted, examining this strange cloud, another joined it, this one below their left side. Jess clearly saw the object leaving this new trail: a small, pointed red cylinder.

Looking aft, she spotted two nosecones quickly approaching. Both jets shot by, one on each side, before turning hard in opposite directions, presumably to circle back around and fire upon them again.

"Go faster!" she commanded the craft, instantly feeling the result of the acceleration. The jets had already circled around, however, and were gaining on them. Several follow-on missiles flew above, to the right, and underneath them. She wondered if they were just poor shots, or if there was something about this craft they just couldn't lock onto.

The jets, still retaining a slight speed advantage, crept up astride them. Jess made eye contact with the pilot twenty feet off of their bow; above his oxygen mask his eyes showed a burning anger, even hatred, towards them. He suddenly banked hard to his left, away from them. As she leaned over the gentleman to see where he went, the craft rocked sideways, pitching her back into her seat.

"Avoiding aircraft," the craft announced calmly, as Jess twisted to her right to find the nosecone of the second jet mere feet off their starboard side. As the craft continued through the hard bank, the second pilot gave up and pulled away, just as the first jet came around again. Positioning his aircraft ahead of them, he banked sharply, cutting them off, with the clear intention of bringing both aircraft down.

"Avoiding aircraft," the craft repeated as it skidded right, throwing her roughly on top of the gentleman. Jess saw the confusion on the pilot's face as he looked up at them through his canopy, he vertical and they horizontal, while their craft followed the parabolic arc of his hard bank perfectly, avoiding a collision by inches.

"Go faster! Outrun!" she ordered the craft, as she extricated herself and slid back into her seat.

"Unable to comply," the craft countered. "Acceleration slope computed based on body..."

"Override! Ignore!" Jess interrupted. "I authorize _faster!_ _Maximum discomfort!_ "

"Understood," the craft announced, as the roar of thousands of additional chirping engines filled their ears, and the sudden eight g-force acceleration plastered them back into their seats. If Jess had been able to turn her head, she might have seen the incredulous expressions on the faces of their pursuers as they receded into the distance.

The familiar mist began to form as they transitioned through the sound barrier, the drawn out _'pops'_ from before exploding this time in a matter of seconds, like the sound of a gatling gun.

"Slipstream active and maximum velocity achieved," the craft informed them, as the acceleration abated and they regained the ability to move. They were over the ocean now — Jess had no idea where — but they were facing the sun, so she assumed they were traveling east. Remembering her guest, she looked over at him as he turned and gave her a wan smile, along with a thumb pointed sideways, as though grading her rescue effort.

"My name is Jess," she offered, extending her hand awkwardly in the small space. He looked at it, looked at her, smiled again, and touched her palm with two of his fingers, but said nothing. Then, reaching forward, he brushed the featureless white console with three fingers, twisting them in a circle. A hologram of a spinning globe manifested in front of them, which he deftly manipulated in mid-air, zooming in to a location within Mongolia. Touching it, he twisted his finger in place, and the craft instantly responded with a one hundred and eighty degree turn. She looked at him quizzically as they headed, once again, away from the rising sun. Giving her the same wan smile, he wordlessly curled back into his seat.

"Where are we going?" she demanded. He turned and smiled at her again, as though a parent entertaining the babble of an infant.

"Take us home," she commanded. The craft turned back toward the sun.

"Vishu" he countermanded, and the craft turned back westward. Again, she ordered it home, but found it — for the first time — unresponsive to her. Sighing angrily, she lay back in her seat, wondering how long this detour would take. Her bladder was killing her.
Chapter Thirty-Five

After several minutes of tense silence, her subject — and now captor — rose from his stupor and turned to her, as if remembering something.

"Come and knock on our door!" he sang, painfully off-key. She looked at him quizzically as he entreated her, a look of joyful expectation on his face.

"We've been waiting for you!" he continued, in a deep, throaty nordic accent, still looking to her for some type of acknowledgement. She vaguely recognized the massacred tune from somewhere, but was gobsmacked as to what this was all about.

"Ahh...OK," she nodded in faux fellowship, smiling at him warily.

He took this as the confirmation he had been searching for, and with a victorious, knowing look on his face, he nodded back at her, winked, sat back again, and said nothing more.

Jess anxiously charted their progress on the holographic globe, and forty-five minutes later they descended into a clearing within a vast expanse of forest, still dark in the twilight hour. Upon landing, she immediately hopped out and made herself scarce for a few minutes.

Returning to the craft, she couldn't find the gentleman anywhere. This was her charge, and though he was out of immediate danger, she had lost control of the mission objective: to return with him safely in tow. Dismayed, she searched the area frantically, finally discovering him standing motionless next to an enormous, vine-covered tree, peering into the darkness of the forest. Sidling up next to him, he ignored her until she pulled at his garment, as if to lead him back towards the craft. He acted as though annoyed by an insect, and refusing to comply, simply shook his head 'No' while continuing to stare off into the trees.

Not knowing what to do, she stood with him, as the silence slowly gave way to the synchronized buzzing of swarms of cicadas, which joined together in a rhythm that danced around the forest. To Jess, it sounded as though they were surrounded by thousands of tiny maracas, their earlier arrival having temporarily interrupted this nightly concert.

The rhythm captured her attention until the cadence began to slow and trail off, and once again the entire forest was still. Hearing the buzz of a faraway engine, Jess searched the trees and spotted a pair of lights navigating slowly through the brush. Back and forth they moved, inching closer at turns. Disappearing for a moment behind a low rise, they reappeared much closer, at which point she could see it was a dark green jeep with two occupants.

The vehicle made its way towards them, driving over tall grassy brush which scraped the undercarriage only to spring back up behind them. They came to a halt fifteen feet away, without entering the clearing. The driver was an Asian male in his late twenties, dressed impeccably — if peculiarly — in a light gray business suit. Stranger still were the large pair of sunglasses he wore, since the forest had little light in this pre-dawn hour.

The man was nothing, however, compared to his passenger: a tall Caucasian woman, her red hair perfectly coiffed, who was draped in a sparkling red evening gown with black and green alligator pumps. As the Jeep came to a stop, she rose and stood on the sideboard, grasping the edge of the windscreen for support. Unlike her companion, she wasn't wearing sunglasses, and stared curiously at Jess with hypnotic blue-grey eyes. This bewildering scene was interrupted by her gentleman friend, who, suddenly acknowledging Jess' existence, turned to her and offered his hand.

"Thank you," he uttered in his gravelly voice, as she took his hand. He then slowly made his way to the Jeep, and taking the woman's hand, hoisted himself up into the back seat. The woman gave Jess one final look before she, too, turned away and sat down. The driver, still facing forward, fired up the Jeep and they began inching their way back into the darkness of the forest.

"You're welcome!" she yelled, as they turned out of sight behind a stand of trees. Jess stood in stunned silence for several minutes, until the engine noise receded to silence and the singing of the cicadas slowly returned. She was suddenly angry — angry at herself for letting him go, angry at him for abandoning her in this place, angry at the confusion that swirled around this entire situation. If she was going back empty-handed, she decided, she was at least returning with some answers — if for nobody but herself.
Chapter Thirty-Six

Jumping back into her craft, she requested — and was given, to her immense relief — manual control. Navigating forward, she entered the forest, heading towards the area where the Jeep had disappeared. Maneuvering carefully among the trees, she found the craft small enough to slip between most of them, and smart enough to automatically tilt when she failed at estimating the clearance properly. She could clearly see branches and underbrush striking the craft; inside, however, it was silent but for the slight hum at her back. What she couldn't see was any sign of the Jeep: no trail to follow, no headlights, nothing. After several long minutes of fruitless zig-zagging, she feared she had lost them.

Raising the craft above the forest canopy, she scanned below, yet found nothing. Looking back up, she noticed a faint glow about a mile distant, and assumed it was the Jeep. As she moved the craft closer to it, she discovered a halo of pulsating light within the forest below, alternating between pure white and white with a reddish tint to it, without any visible source. Descending back into the trees, she found herself engulfed within this light, and upon opening the hatch to listen for any associated sounds, discovered the forest to be utterly silent — with the notable exception of numerous songbirds chirping and flitting about the trees, tricked as they were into thinking it was daylight.

From below, she followed the light upward until finally discovering the source. It was what she didn't see, though, that defined it, and why she couldn't see it from above. Darker than the pre-dawn sky surrounding it, a tremendous triangular form the size of a football field hovered just above the treetops, seemingly punching a hole in the firmament.

Maneuvering her craft directly beneath the massive form, she found that although the shape was perfectly equilateral, the corners were not sharp, but beveled, like a billiard rack. Below the rounded corners were large circular impressions, each harboring within it a perfect sphere of roiling, white fire. These three spheres were the sources of the white light, and yet despite the startling brightness, Jess found she was able to look upon them without discomfort.

After a moment, the domes of white fire suddenly darkened. As her eyes adjusted, Jess saw they were still there, but they now emitted a darker amber glow, not even bright enough to light up the treetops twenty feet below them. The dimming of the lights also revealed a smaller red light in the center of the ship's underbelly, which slowly pulsated on and off at one second intervals. Other than these lights, she could see no markings, protrusions, or appendages of any kind — the ship was exceptionally sleek, and appeared more than a bit sinister. As she watched in awe, the huge ship began to simultaneously rotate and slide away, silently and effortlessly, as though on rails.

So far, Jess had successfully pushed certain pressing thoughts to the back of her mind, but her strategy had now become untenable: this gigantic, silent... _thing_...could only be an otherworldly craft. And if her target had boarded it, well then this whole mission was something other than she had imagined it to be. An apprehensiveness towards her own craft also took hold: the similarity to this mother ship, the small size of the seats, the ability of the gentleman to control it...she now felt certain her craft, as well, was not of earthly origin.

Closing the hatch, she rose above the trees and followed the larger ship from a safe distance. As the red light pulsated, its reflection on the ship's underside revealed subtle patterns etched into the surface, whether Hieroglyphic or geometric she couldn't quite discern. While attempting to memorize these patterns, the ship seemingly blinked out of existence. Hearing and seeing nothing, she noticed the treetops below where the ship had stood were strangely unaffected: not a single branch was swaying. Doubting herself, Jess began to wonder if she ever saw anything at all. Piloting her craft higher above the trees, she once again spied the amber lights of the ship — now a mile and a half distant.

As it was once more moving fairly slowly, she sped up to catch it, but as she neared it the large ship halted, then initiated a rapid ascent. Banking her craft upwards, she attempted to intercept it, but the three amber lights turned pure white again as it shot vertically skyward in a flash. Following the faint light trails left on her retinas, Jess looked up and spotted the ship several miles up, the three massive lights now appearing as a tiny triangle — indistinguishable from faint stars in the dark blue pre-dawn sky. Defeated, she gave up on any idea of catching up to them before they shot off somewhere else, and aborted her climb.

Then she remembered — she had other ways of traveling. After descending into the trees, she lay back and dropped out of her body. She set her intention, and the tunnel formed around her as the pulling sensation drew her forward and up. A moment later, she stopped, and the brightness of the tunnel slowly melted away.

She was aboard the ship.
Chapter Thirty-Seven

After remembering to dial down her vision as Terry had instructed her, the first thing Jess noticed was how small the inside of the ship was, considering the apparent size from the outside. She stood in a circular room twenty feet across, and ten feet in height. The walls and ceiling were curved, with the texture of brushed aluminum, but a gunmetal grey coloration. Embedded into the perimeter wall encircling the room was the exposed half of a large, two foot diameter glass tube. This circular tube contained a silvery liquid which spun counter-clockwise around her. The flow exhibited a corkscrew pattern internally, manifesting as rapidly forming and deforming swirls along the sides of the glass. Running above and below this tube, two strips of soft white light-emitting material illuminated the space.

Besides the liquid tube, the other prominent feature was a four-foot diameter cylinder anchored in the center of the space. Halfway up the side of this cylinder a wide lip extended outward, functioning as a workspace that supported four computer workstations arrayed crosswise from each other. Most surprising of all, however, were the four young men with crew cuts that manned these stations, none more than twenty-five years old, and all clad in olive green one-piece flight suits with green suede boots. It was clear to Jess immediately that this behemoth was _not_ of alien origin.

The four men, facing each other over the central cylinder, were intently focused on their consoles. Each man's shoulder sported an identical circular patch, consisting of a black triangle with a picture of the Earth — not centered on the United States, but the Atlantic ocean oddly enough — superimposed on it. Two gray lightning bolts were striking the planet from space, and the perimeter of the patch had the words _Omnis Vestri Substructio_ embroidered on it.

The men, quietly uttering commands or responses to each other via headsets, were all snugly strapped into their seats with four-way restraints, which appeared to Jess as life-size versions of infant car seats. Four fold-down jump seats with similar restraints were embedded into the wall behind the men. Above each jump seat, a set of hand-holds led to a hatch on the ceiling. Only one of these jump seats was occupied, by her gentleman, whose freshly bandaged head lolled against the side supports as he dozed with eyes half-shut.

The space was spartan and clean, but did have certain items of flair, providing it with a measure of personality. Sitting below a large American flag pinned to the perimeter wall, one pilot, his name patch labeled THATCHER, sported a small stuffed purple bunny that hung from a silver chain clasped to his breast pocket. To the right of Thatcher, another man, Finn, had a small picture tucked into the lower right corner of his monitor: a silver disc-shaped UFO, with the words _"WE'RE HERE"_ typed underneath. Across from him, the third man, Franti, had an older red iPod secured to the side of the large central cylinder with a length of duct tape, while the headphone cord ran to a port in his console. Finally, the fourth man, Hardin, had no flair at all at his station; she assumed correctly that he was the Captain of this vessel.

" _Stea_ -dy ten thousand," the Captain uttered into his headset. "Red One re-questing exit clearance." He spoke the way all pilots are taught to speak in flight school: calm and measured, oozing with self-confidence, and with a slight southern drawl.

"Exit clearance granted," he announced to the crew. " _Re_ -questing approach clearance."

More typing, more waiting, and finally: "Approach clearance granted. Sync one, two, three."

"One-two-three synced," Franti replied.

"Acoustic dampener disabled," Finn added, as the roar of a jet-engine on full thrust arose from outside the ship. "Camo disabled."

"Plasma envelope one-zero-zero. Disruptor steady at four-five even," Franti added.

"Drop one-two-three to ten. Maximum disruption," the Captain ordered.

"Dropping to ten...Disruptor tracking."

The roar outside faded, but inside, Jess watched as the gray lines of the swirling material suddenly elongated, accompanied by a loud hum emanating from the ring. The ship began to shiver and shake, and she noticed the purple bunny attached to Thatcher's pocket jostling about as if in slow motion. Looking around, she saw the same effect with the gentleman's hair; it would rise and fall with the ship's movement, but in delayed, slow-motion waves.

"Disruptor at eight-five dot niner. Lifting to one-zero-zero," Franti announced.

As they accelerated, the ceiling and floors transitioned from opaque to transparent; whether they were windows or high-def displays she couldn't be sure. Jess watched the darkness of the forest below recede until the line separating daytime and nighttime — the terminator — appeared on the landscape below, splitting it in two.

Rising further, the curvature of the earth became visible below, and Jess looked up to discover twinkling stars in the emptiness above. Except for a slight pull, Jess didn't feel the effects of this meteoric rise, most likely due to her lack of mass in this state, she guessed. The physical occupants didn't appear to be affected by this acceleration either, however; at this rate, they should be flattened into into their seats, yet they were comfortably poking away at their consoles.

"One-zero-zero. Holding for dock," Franti announced, as they came to a gentle stop. It had been less than a minute since they were no higher than a hot-air balloon, and yet here they were now, at the edge of space. Jess was alternately amazed at the capabilities of this ship, yet dismayed at the billions spent on conventional means of transportation — risking the future of the planet with carbon emissions — when this technology was available, and clearly had been for some time. But that was something to ponder later.

A few moments after stopping, darkness spread over the upper panels, blotting out the stars. Several long seconds later a _clink_ sounded, and one of the hatches opened with a hiss: the one above the gentleman. Unbuckling himself, he bowed to the men, then climbed up into the hatch.

"Happy trails, Senator," Finn called out after him, as the Captain shot him a dirty look. After the hatch closed with another hiss and _clink_ , and the twinkling stars above returned, they all seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. Thatcher was the first to break the silence.

"Was he one of..."

"No...no, he wasn't," the Captain slowly replied, cutting him off. A few moments of silence elapsed, then the Captain spoke again. "Dock complete. Transport complete. De-sync one-two-three."

"Requesting minimal dampening for re-entry, sir," Franti asked, with the slightest of smiles.

"Do we have enough cap charge?"

"Yes sir, full charge banked."

"It's been a good days work," the Captain replied, looking at his watch. "Granted."

Thatcher responded to this with a loud clap as the others busied themselves again at their consoles.

"One-two-three de-synced," Franti announced with newfound enthusiasm.

"Acoustic dampener maintain disable. Camo enabled day mo-" Finn began, before the Captain interrupted him.

" _Disable_ camo. Let's give the early risers a show."

"Disable camo," Finn repeated slowly, "yes sir."

"Plasma envelope decreasing to one-zero even," Thatcher said.

"Disruptor to zero on my count," Franti relayed. He locked eyes with the other two pilots as they coordinated their final commands.

"Three...Two...One...Drop."
Chapter Thirty-Eight

The loud hum issuing from the tube ceased, as the spinning liquid halted and instantly solidified. As they quickly lost altitude, Jess began to drift upwards, while the pilots lifted in their seats, held back only by their harnesses, as though plummeting through the first drop on a roller-coaster. Finn even held his hands up, grinning ear-to-ear. Buffeted on all sides, the ship began rocking back and forth, accompanied by unsettling metallic creaks and groans from the stresses on the superstructure.

"It's getting a little squirrelly already, give us ten more on the envelope," the captain requested, betraying a hint of nervousness.

"Envelope to twenty," Thatcher replied. The buffeting began to abate, though their speed kept increasing.

Franti, reaching forward, held his finger above the play button on his iPod while looking at Thatcher expectantly. Thatcher then performed something on his console which killed the cabin lights and illuminated red dots of emergency lighting along the floor. Apparently that was the signal, as Franti pressed play and _Starships_ by Nicki Minaj began to fill the cabin.

They continued to fall, gaining more and more speed, for another half-minute. By the time the song reached its crescendo, the buffeting had returned, along with the creaks and groans, which began to drown out the music. Compensating, Franti increased the volume.

"On my count!" Franti shouted over Onika's auto-tuned voice. "Three...Two...One... _Engines Online!_ "

Each pilot coordinated their commands as the thrusters roared to life, propelling them horizontally through the fall. Finn, taking the brunt of the sudden acceleration, was pitched down and back into his seat. Thatcher and Franti slid sideways, straining against their harnesses, while Captain Hardin shot forward, his five-point harness the only thing keeping him from receiving the Heimlich maneuver from the edge of his station.

A vicious shaking consumed the ship as the whine of the engines crescendoed, and the darkness below gave way to large swaths of green and gold land as they were catapulted into daytime. Though still very high up, Jess watched the earth speed by beneath them, by her reckoning at least twice as fast as the snails pace seen from the window of a commercial jet.

"OK boys and girls, show's over," the captain announced as the acceleration slowed, "Now let's get some real speed going, not just the feeling of it."

"Yes sir," Franti replied. "Thatcher, envelope to one hundred, s'il vous plait."

"Envelope push complete," he replied after a short delay.

"Acoustic dampener enabled," Finn added.

"OK, discharging cap into disruptor and setting to max," Franti announced.

The roar of the engines receded to near silence, only to be replaced by a loud hum from the circular tube as the material inside began to melt, creating streaks on the glass as it spun around within. The land traveled by even faster as the liquid gained speed, and in a few minutes the varying colors below were replaced by the crystal blue of the ocean.

Though they were traveling much faster than her smaller craft, after twenty minutes there was still nothing but blue below them, and she began to worry about her body. She thought of popping back to check in, but was concerned she wouldn't be able to make it back to the ship, and didn't want to miss this opportunity to see what would happen next.

The pilots talked casually throughout the journey, but nothing useful was revealed about the gentleman or the circumstances surrounding his capture and return. It seemed these guys were no more than space-faring taxi drivers.

"Twenty-two minutes out," Thatcher announced. "Camo enabled, day mode."

Soon they were over land again — North America, she assumed — and continued on across the continent at a slower pace for another hour. Taking the scenic route, they flew low over forests and open plains, but mostly followed the waterways. If they were minimizing encounters with the populace, she figured, then they were fairly successful. Of the few people she did glimpse below — a lone backpacker, a woman on a horse, and later a group of river kayakers — none showed any sign of having seen them, even though the shadow of the ship speeding along the ground was clearly visible. They zipped by so fast, though, that by the time anyone could turn their head to look, the ship would have been gone.

"Slow to six hundred and drop the mast," the Captain suddenly ordered.

"What's up Captain?" Thatcher queried.

"We're gonna make a call."

"Slowing to six...and...deployed, sir."

"Hail Bender Mountain."
Chapter Thirty-Nine

Thatcher smiled wryly.

"Bubble check?"

"Bubble check," the Captain confirmed. Grinning surreptitiously at each other, the pilots busied themselves again at their consoles.

"Bender Mountain, this is Red One," radioed Finn.

"Bender Mountain, go ahead Red One," came the reply within seconds.

"Do you require a bubble check," the Captain interjected.

"Yes sir, we are in need of a bubble check, please provide ETA," replied the voice on the other end. They could hear whoops and howls in the background before the transmission cut out.

"We are ten minutes out, approaching from the northwest. Please verify no cabling or other obstructions between the bubble and the barracks," Finn radioed.

"Standby Red One...confirmed, bubble to barracks is clear."

"Please verify status of air traffic and...oversight."

"Optimal conditions here, sir," came the reply.

"Six minutes. Over and out."

"Retract the mast and change course for Bender as appropriate, gentlemen," the Captain ordered.

"Yes, sir," they replied in unison.

Soon they encountered foothills which led into more mountainous terrain, the ship tracking closely to the rising ground and plateauing out upon reaching the peaks. Jess figured they must be in the Rockies somewhere.

"Twenty-four miles out and locked, ETA two minutes," Thatcher announced. Their consoles displayed the snow-covered peak of a lone mountain in the distance, adorned with a large geodesic dome, and a small barracks on a nearby ridgeline. It looked to Jess like some sort of military radar installation.

"Yup, here they come to see the show," Thatcher announced, as their screens displayed a half-dozen tiny figures running out from the barracks and lying down, taking up positions on the snow-covered ridge.

Another minute went by with nervous anticipation. "Six miles out, still locked," Thatcher reported. "Wait, what the fuck? Captain, they didn't say anything about an initiate."

Jess looked closer on the screen to see a single figure standing in front of the group lying in the snow, with one arm raised, as if flagging them down.

"Shit," the Captain said, "Franti, blow out the envelope, two miles at least, or this asshole is toast."

"No time to spin it up for the push, sir, we're almost on top of 'em."

"OK, then. Stutter run fellas."

"But Sir...the wash..." Finn asked nervously.

"So we give 'em all some temporary hearing loss. Or would you rather we take that man's arm clean off, Lieutenant?"

"No, sir," he replied obediently.

"Well then. Thatch, you got him?"

"Yes sir, looks about six-one with two-foot extension."

"Clear him, then book. Jackasses think we can do no wrong in these things."

"Isn't that true Captain?" Franti asked jokingly, as the Captain reclined back in his seat with a sigh.
Chapter Forty

Private Grainger looked behind him at the rest of his crew dug into the snow.

"What now, a-holes?"

"Eyes forward, Private!" one man barked.

He turned back around, but still saw nothing. He hadn't been able to get his socks on, and the snow was creeping into one of his boots, freezing his ankle. His arm, too, began to ache, but there was no way he was lowering it now. Although it was all more than just a little unnerving: his buddies dug in like that, and him out here like the Statue of Liberty. Now his legs started shaking. He told himself — and the others later — that it was just because of the cold.

"Direct, eleven!" a voice called out. Grainger turned to the north and saw it: a dark speck on the horizon. It spread outwards quickly — too quickly — as if it were manifesting in front of him instead of traveling towards him. And it was big. This wasn't the F-15 he was expecting, or even an F-22. This thing was a warehouse, and it was coming straight for him. He knew if he kept his eyes open, he would reflexively flinch, so he closed them, expecting it all to be over in a moment.

But it wasn't over in a moment. Off in the distance, a sound like rolling thunder shook the sky, growing in volume and power until the successive blasts washed over him, pummelling his torso and abdomen like a prize fighter. As abruptly as they began, they ended, followed by the ripping sound of the echoes reverberating amongst the neighboring peaks. The sound dissipated, only to be replaced by a deep, bone-shaking hum that vibrated Grainger to his core, followed by a warm breeze that rose and swirled around him. He suddenly felt as though he were inside a subwoofer.

Opening his eyes, he was confronted with the enormity of the ship as it inched towards him, the leading edge mere feet from his still-upraised arm. As it passed over him, he reached up, the tip of his middle finger just brushing the textured, dark gray surface as it slid by. The hum felt like it held him; like it kept him safe. He trusted this thing as much as he trusted anything in his life, which was not so much a choice, as an autonomic reaction, in the face of such power and beauty overwhelming.

The leading plasma engine darkened just before reaching his exposed hand, and he felt no residual heat as the concave area that housed it passed overhead. As the circular opening ended and his finger began to trace the underside again, he felt the ground soften beneath his aching feet. At the ship's mid-point, he found he could effortlessly balance his entire body weight onto one pointed boot, and stretching upwards, he palmed the ship's warm surface.

As the ship continued past him, he found himself involuntarily leaning backwards, and then being slowly dragged along, suspended in some sort of flux, as his boots created small furrows the snow. He never bothered to look down, even when he felt two strong hands from each side grab onto his ankles, holding him in place until he was safely beyond the ship's influence.

As the weight sunk back into his boots, his palm separated from the ship, yet he continued to trail his finger over the ridges of the bumpy tiles, marveling at this magnificent beast — this _dragon_ — that had come down with such fierce gentleness, to allow him this.

As his finger finally left the surface, he turned to gaze at the ship with a silly grin as it drifted beyond the ridge. Finally looking down at his crewmates still lying prone in the snow, he found that they, too, were watching in awe, but with hands held tightly to the sides of their heads and teeth gritted. He wondered why.

Thirty feet out, the forward engine sparked back to life, and as the plasma bubble grew to fill the cavity, the humming rose an octave. Sensing its imminent departure, the Private held his palm up in a farewell gesture, as his buddies looked away, covering their heads with both arms and burying their faces in the snow. Just as before, the ship seemed not to leave, exactly, but condense, or shrink, back into the same black dot, like an old tube television turning off.

Less than a second later the thunderclap hit him.

It was like the hammer of Thor had descended upon his head. His next memory was of seeing blue sky, as he discovered he was lying flat-assed in the snow. Several frequencies of loud tones rang simultaneously in his ears, and he raised his head to see his crew mates approaching from thirty feet away, laughing and smiling. One of them was yelling at him.

"What?" he screamed, shocked that he barely heard his own voice over the internal din. The crewman approached, got down into the snow and yelled directly into his ear.

"Like hearing a whisper from God, huh!"
Chapter Forty-One

"How'd the bubble look. Anyone catch it?" the Captain queried. The pilots looked at each other warily until one of them finally spoke up.

"Bubble good sir!" Franti replied.

"Fine then, fine. Drop the mast and let 'em know, whydontcha?"

"Yes sir," Finn replied, dialing up the station.

"Bender Mountain, Red One. Your bubble checks out."

"...Bender Mountain. Thank you Red One, and God speed to you," came the reply. Though the message was serious, they could hear more laughter in the background.

"Sounds like they got a little juiced from our visit," the Captain commented. "Wellm, I believe our work here is done. Set a course for the garage, Thatch."

"Sir, request permission for a CE2 prior to return to base," Franti asked quickly, before Thatcher could reply.

There was a pause before the captain answered. "Jesus. Really? You're like a buncha damned kids. It's been a long day. And haven't we reached our quota already?"

"No, sir, we have three left in the bank."

The captain looked at his watch. "Well, we do have daylight overflight clearance, and we got some time to kill before curfew. Where now?"

"Manchester, Vermont," Franti replied, "I have an uncle who's a bit of a...skeptic," he said, as the others chuckled.

"We can schedule for 2010 local and be tucked in by 2045," Thatcher offered helpfully.

"That's within our profile. Go ahead and punch it up," the captain replied. "But Finn, please remember to enable camo when we get close. And _night mode_ this time, OK?" They all laughed at this in-joke and turned to look at Finn, who, blushing, stared down at his console while giving them two middle fingers, the Captain excepted.

The sun hung low in the sky when they finally reached the east coast an hour later.

"Camo _night-mode_ enabled," Finn announced, and they all laughed again.

"How about a little mood music?" Franti asked, and dialing up a song on his iPod, Richard Hawley's _Tonight the Streets are Ours_ filled the cabin.

The ship angled down until they were silently gliding just a few feet above the treetops.

"He'll be out on his deck smoking a cigar after watching the sunset. Creature of habit. Navy man of course," Thatcher explained, cracking them all up again. "Three miles out."

As they came to a hover above a desolate logging road, Jess maneuvered closer to Thatcher to observe what he was so intently viewing on his console. A fuzzy green-screen video image of trees and houses shot left, then right, as he searched using a long range night-vision camera. Finding his target, the white siding of a house, he gently guided it to the left to reveal a portly man, clad only in boxers, leaning back in a white plastic lawn chair, his feet propped on the railing of a wooden backyard deck. Indeed, he was smoking a cigar. And scratching himself. Franti and Finn burst out in peals of laughter; apparently they had pulled up the same camera view on their consoles also.

"Got him."

"Disable camo and hit the brights," ordered the Captain.

"Camo down, lights up."

"Standard approach, keep a watch for tourists."

Below them, she could see the reflection of their lights on the grassy hills as they began moving slowly towards their target.

"He acquired us yet?" the Captain queried after a minute of slow movement.

"Believe so, but can't be sure yet. He's got to at this point...Yup, there he goes."

She watched the man slowly place his cigar in an ashtray on the deck, rise out of his chair, and lean forward on the deck railing. He was staring intently, directly at them.

"Hold position," the captain ordered.

As they hovered, the man backed himself up to a pair of French doors, and never averting his gaze, turned his head to call out to someone inside. Sure enough, a woman in a bathrobe came rushing out to join him at the railing.

"And we have Aunt Sarah come to join the party. She's a believer — there'll be _'I told you so's'_ all night after this," Thatcher asserted, spurring a round of chuckles.

A golden retriever, tail wagging, bounded through the open door after the woman. Joining them at the railing, he raised his front paws onto it, and pulling his head up, perked his ears while staring intently at them as well. Unlike his owners, however, he didn't stay long. His wagging tail stilled, then dropped, as his ears flattened against his head. Lowering himself from the railing, he slowly backed up a few paces, before twirling his body and shooting back inside the house.

"Wait for intent," the captain reminded them cautiously.

Aunt Sarah pulled a small flashlight from the pocket of her robe and passed it to her husband. He pointed it at them and began to strobe it on and off.

"Established," the captain said. "No stopping, kids. Just a drive by tonight."

As they approached, Jess expected the couple to get all excited and run around looking for a camera, but they did none of that. They just stood and stared. Thatcher slowly panned the camera down to keep them in view as they advanced, until Jess could see them through the floor panels directly below. They were still staring up at them, wide-eyed and unmoving.

"Here we are," Thatcher sang out softly, "go tell your friends and neighbors."

As they passed over the roof, the couple suddenly hustled back inside, only to reappear at the front stoop, resuming their fixed stare as the ship drifted slowly and silently over their street.

"How 'bout a pinwheel, Captain?" Franti proposed, breaking the silence. "They'd eat it up — look at 'em!"

"Pinwheel huh...sure...what the hell, I just can't say 'No' to you pricks today," replied the Captain, waving his hand casually. The men laughed and began to coordinate their commands once again, similar to their re-entry procedure.

"Roger that," acknowledged Franti. "Lift at two-hundred yards out, on my count. Aft up, to starboard."

"Aft up, starboard, check," Thatcher replied.

"Three...Two...One...Mark."

Each pilot entered their commands as the muffled sound of the thrusters engaging filled the ship. The image on the floor panels, which had been displaying a neighbor's backyard swimming pool, suddenly flipped up to reveal Franti's Aunt and Uncle still standing on their front stoop across the street, but this time appearing upside-down.

"Aft up," Thatcher confirmed.

"Three...Two...One...Burn it fellas!" Franti requested with unrestrained glee.

A rumbling took hold of the ship, and the image of the couple spun out of view as though they were in a giant clothes dryer. Jess found herself drifting in circles about the cabin, the static air pressure alone not enough to hold her ultra-low-mass body in place. Flattening herself against the perimeter wall, she was able to maintain her position and watch the other pilots hoot and holler as they enjoyed the ride.

"OK gentleman, we're a mile out," the captain informed them as the spinning decelerated. "Nice execution. Normalize orientation, enable night camo, and take us back to O-hi-o. Finn, review the tapes for any tourists and write up the report. Did anybody see any flashes?"

"No, sir," Franti responded, "I don't even think we had a single collateral observer, it was a clean run."

"Well in any case, you're on social media review when we're back at the ranch just to be safe."

"Crap," Franti mumbled under his breath, as the viewing panels re-oriented to normal and they began to pick up speed.
Chapter Forty-Two

Utterly confused by this entire chain of events, Jess had seen enough, and would parse the details later. Right now she was more concerned that she had been away from her physical for far too long, and so she took her leave of the crew. The journey that took these men hours in their magnificent flying machine took Jess under a minute; one of the benefits of a nearly one hundred percent reduction in mass, she supposed.

Awaking in her craft in the middle of the Mongolian jungle, bathed in the late morning sunlight, she found her body had a splitting headache. Tired and hungry, she also had to pee again. _Bodies are so high maintenance,_ she thought with annoyance as she pulled herself out of the craft. Afterwards, she had a picnic of granola bars, then meditated to the chattering of exotic birds and the faraway sound of rushing water. After a short walk around the craft to stretch her legs, she re-boarded and lay back for the long journey home. In moments, she was fast asleep while the craft sped eastward above the jungle.

She awoke in darkness. Glancing at her phone, she found she had slept for almost the entire trip — just under five hours — as the map showed her descending into the Nevada desert. Two jets approached and flanked her, giving her a start, though their intentions didn't seem as hostile as the last time that had happened. She couldn't tell how far up she was in the darkness, and was surprised when they split off after a few minutes of shadowing her.

Suddenly she was barraged by lights: straight ahead, a mile-long runway lit up in front of her, bright blue and white lights running down the length of it on each side. It seemed a little overkill, however, as the craft expertly descended to a perfect stop in the middle of the runway next to her hangar. A moment later, the runway lights were killed, plunging her back into darkness. As her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting of the base, her craft began taxiing towards an idling military truck in front of the hangar. Two camo guards emerged from the back, followed by Kal and Len, who walked briskly towards her. Popping the hatch, she climbed out to greet them. Before she could let them know how sorry she was for coming back empty-handed, they engulfed her in a group hug.

"Great job this morning, Jess!" Kal said. "We got word the subject is safe and sound."

"Yeah," Len added, "Heard there was a few wrinkles, but that's pretty much expected in this line of work. Important thing is, you did it, kid. Come on back and let's debrief."

Arms around her shoulders, they accompanied her into the hangar. Sitting in a debriefing room wired for video and sound, she told them all about the experience. When she got to the point in the jungle, they listened without surprise as she described the strange situation with the Jeep and its surreal occupants. Then she hesitated. Len, sensing her equivocation, reached for a small remote and paused the recording. He leaned forward and looked at her with concern.

"What's going on, Jess?"

She wanted to know all about the situation — who the subject was, where he went, and why he was being held in North Korea to begin with — but more importantly, she had questions about the larger ship she boarded. How is it they have access to this amazing technology, but use it only for hot-dogging and terrifying civilians, for one. But she knew that those experiences were outside of her mission parameters, and she worried about their reaction if she revealed them. She decided to keep them to herself, for now.

"Who was that man, was he...human?" she asked, deftly pivoting her hesitation into curiosity about her subject. "And where did they take him?"

"Sorry, honey," Kal said apologetically, "we don't know much more than you do on some of this stuff. It's all compartmentalized, for everyone's safety, including yours."

Len continued solemnly. "Jessica, when you believe in this country, you take it on faith that they're doing the right things, and you leave your curiosity at the door. If you saw some strange sights, well honey, you just forget that ever happened, and focus on the success of your mission."

_If they only knew,_ she thought to herself.

"C'mon now," Kal said encouragingly. "Let's finish up here and have you a little celebratory midnight snack,"

Based on their reaction, and complete lack of curiosity about the bigger picture, Jess knew she had made the right decision to withhold what she had seen. She was on her own now.
Chapter Forty-Three

The next morning, after Jess packed up her things, they escorted her to the tarmac to await the daily flight from McCarran. As the 737 descended, she joked about the carbon cost of transporting her alone in this huge jet.

"Oh honey, you're not the only one this time, you'll see," Kal contended. As the jet taxied to a stop in the shimmering morning heat of the Nevada desert, she watched upwards of thirty people descend the stairs. They looked like normal people — young, old, male, female, of varying races, hairstyles, and clothing options. _Don't seem military at all,_ she thought, _but then maybe that was the point, considering._ A few were laughing and joking with each other, while the rest kept to themselves.

Several more white school buses with blacked-out windows arrived, and the new arrivals boarded them before speeding off towards different areas of the base. She initially thought she was pretty much alone here, but now realized she just happened to miss the daily commute when she arrived. The place was as tight as a drum, a seeming ghost town, with nobody around to give even a hint of anything happening behind those closed hangar doors.

When the dust settled, they boarded the newly empty jet. The flight back was uneventful, with the exception of Kal and Len reiterating to her the importance of the papers she had read and signed, regarding the information she obtained within the employ of the U.S. government, and how revelation of this information was tantamount to treason against the country and would be swiftly prosecuted, and that this information is required to be taken to her grave, yadda yadda yadda. She was not even to answer questions about her experiences in the negative; if asked, she simply was not to respond at all.

Strangely enough, they spent a solid minute or two focusing on the fact that there would be no deathbed confessions either, and if there were, there would be consequences for her remaining family and descendants, not in terms of harm — that they made clear — but in terms of defensive misinformation and damage of reputation, in order to minimize credibility of the claims. Jess was a little freaked out by all this, especially the talk of deathbed confessions, which were a good seventy years out — if she were lucky.

They then discussed their relationship, and how she was an independent contractor to the U.S. government, and not a member of any armed services branch, and that from time to time she may be called to perform special projects, but without any specific contract of employment. At the end of this standard red-tape speech, they handed her an envelope and asked her not to open it until later. They were soon back on the ground, and they bid her adieu as they bundled her into a taxi.

It was strange being dumped back into the real world, watching the tourists head to the strip, not a care in the world other than what shows they would see, and how much money they might win — or lose. Perhaps they would do some things that would stay in Vegas, as the saying went, but at least it would be _their_ choice to keep those secrets.

Her head swimming, she suddenly had no idea where to go. She finally asked the patient taxi driver to take her to the main terminal; she had decided she just wanted to go home. She missed Chicago.

On the short drive around the airport perimeter, she remembered the envelope, and retrieving it from her bag, opened it. Inside was a check, made out to her, from 'Straubel-Guillen Services LLC' in the amount of fifty thousand dollars. Shocked, she stared at the figure for a full minute, until the taxi stopped at the main terminal.
Chapter Forty-Four

After landing at O'Hare, Jess immediately took a cab to her bank and deposited the check. Arriving home, she collapsed on the couch, her cat greeting her by taking up residence on her stomach and purring loudly. Gavin must have heard her trudge up the stairs, as there was soon a knock on her door. Eliciting a yowling complaint from the cat, she arose to open it.

"Look who's home! Hey Girl!" Gavin exclaimed, attacking her with a hug. Dragging her to the couch, he sat down and pulled her down next to him.

"So how was it? I haven't gotten a text from you in a few days, so I got worried. Were you able to get in on a program?"

"Oh yeah, I was able to get in on a program all right. Gavin, you won't believe what has happened over the last few days. I don't believe it."

"Try me. What, did you go astralling all over the universe or something?"

"Well, not quite...I mean the Center was fantastic, but then I got poached."

"Oh babe, did it hurt?" he asked, frowning.

"NO! Stop it! Gavin, seriously, this, like, undercover lady from the government flew me to Vegas, and tried to get me to do some corporate espionage work, but then the real government people rescued me, one is a bartender and the other is a handyman at the center, and they're _married!_ Can you believe it? And then there is some other stuff I totally _can't even tell you about!_ "

"OK, babe, you're sounding like a bad TV movie here. Slow down. You went to Vegas? To be a spy?"

"YES! But now I am freaking out. Gavin, I think I'm in over my head. I did some stuff I wasn't supposed to, and saw some stuff I wasn't supposed to, and now I KNOW! But I can't tell anyone what it is! And it is KILLING me! What do I DO?" she yelled, shaking Gavin violently by the shoulders.

Gavin gasped loudly and covered his mouth. "Did you sleep with a Russian agent? I always knew you were a double-crosser, you little firecracker!"

" _Seriously_ Gavin," Jess begged, "I need help with this. What do you do when you know too much?"

"OK, OK. Well, what do you want? Do you want to have a happy life? Then just forget about it and move on. Go talk to my therapist if you need to. Do you have PTSD?"

"Gavin! It's not like that. I know some...stuff...like stuff that people don't believe in...OH MY GOD I FORGOT TO TELL YOU BIGFOOT IS REAL! I can tell you that! I saw it with my own eyes! Unless I was set up. They could have done that...I haven't totally discounted that possibility...but I seriously don't think they did, and if not, then...OH MY GOD — BIGFOOT!"

Gavin's joking smile gave way a little. "Shit, Jess. Come on now. You've been gone for like five days and you come back to tell me your a government spy and you've seen Bigfoot? Let's go to Marie's and get a drink. You obviously need one. And no talk about Atlantis or the Loch-Ness monster, okay?"

Twenty minutes later, sitting at a long oak bar, Gavin ordered two bottles of Bell's Oberon. Then he turned and gave her his serious face.

"Now let's get down to brass tacks. You saw some shit, you can't un-see it, you can't let it go, and you can't tell anyone. Does that sum it up?"

"Yes. Exactly. I mean, it's so momentous, so gigantic...and so...strange."

"Well you said before it was something people don't believe in, and since we both obviously believe in ghosts — and you already mentioned Bigfoot...Oh my God Jess, did you see _aliens?_ "

Her eyes grew wide as saucers as she held her bottle to her mouth mid-drink.

"Jess! Oh my God! I _guessed_ it! You didn't tell me! You didn't tell me!" Gavin exclaimed, then lowered his voice. "Holy crap, there really are _aliens?_ Well I always figured, but really? That's so cool! _Noice,_ Jess," he added, high-fiving her. Then under his breath, to himself: "I _knew_ there was aliens."

"Wait, are they here to harm us or help us?"

Jess froze in place, her mouth full of beer, unable to confirm or deny, or even to say the truth — that she didn't know exactly.

"Oh, right, you can't tell me. That's like my therapist, she said if someone calls and asks if I am a client, she can't even tell them either way. She says it's an ethics violation to even give an answer, yes or no. She just has to say she can't answer those questions. OK, so don't tell me anything. We're gonna be like old school _Don't Ask Don't Tell,_ all right?"

Jess, spitting out her mouthful of beer, laughed a long, violent, choking laugh while grabbing at napkins to wipe up Gavin, the bar, and herself.

"Jesus, look at me. I'm a mess," she commented between coughs.

"Yeah, you are. But one thing you're not is sketchy. I know you won't tell anyone anything. Remember when I downloaded a torrent of _This is 40,_ and after watching it, you went online and bought a theatre ticket you didn't even use?"

"It was a good movie! And I wanted to support the director. I like him," she replied apologetically.

"Yeah, well you made me buy one too!"

"It's the right thing to do, Gavin," she added testily.

"See what I mean! Your logic's a little twisted there, but I know your heart's in the right place. Pretty much S.O.P. for you."

"I know, right? But anyway, I've gotta go further, I need to know more. It doesn't make any sense. I can't go through life with this. How could I live a normal life, knowing this?"

"You know I'll support you best I can, sugar-smacks. Whatever you need. For now, though, have another," he said, sliding over a fresh bottle while daintily retrieving the slobbered-on one for disposal.

They ended up talking, drinking, and eating well into the evening, discussing everything about her trip — except for the best parts. As they stumbled home, Jess looked up at the few stars they could see in the city sky — actually planets, mostly — and she wondered where that ship was now, and whom they would be buzzing next. She needed to know what was going on. This wasn't her prying into their business — they were inserting themselves into the business of private citizens, and _she_ was a private citizen, so...it was her business now too, she rationalized. But she wasn't an ordinary private citizen. She could see more, hear more, discover more, than most everyone out there.

And she would, beginning that very night.
Chapter Forty-Five

As she lay on her bed, she found she was exiting even before starting her procedure; being buzzed certainly didn't seem to hurt the process. _I wonder if they know this at the Center,_ she thought, _I'll have to email them about it later, might help to bring in new business. Maybe set up a deal with the local wineries_. Once out, however, she was perfectly sober, and instantly horrified at the monstrous snoring noise emanating from her body. Ignoring it, she placed her focus and intent on the ship, and felt the familiar pull of the tunnel.

She arrived to find the ship dark and empty. Moving outside the structure of the ship was difficult, as she became stuck several times due to the density of the material, but she eventually found lower density pathways to squeeze through.

What she found outside astounded her. She was inside a large airplane hangar, similar to the ones in Nevada, but this one was packed like sardines with dozens of similar black triangles. They were parked with only a few inches of clearance edge to edge, and opposite eachother, such that the rows of triangles formed a herringbone pattern all the way to the end of the hangar — easily a half-mile. From there, two other rows returned with smaller versions of the ship: one hundred foot and twenty-five foot spans, as compared to the larger versions like hers which were closer to three hundred feet on a side.

Interestingly, she didn't see any examples of the tiny craft she piloted to North Korea; these were all the same type of equilateral triangular ships with the rounded-off corners. Also, Jess could see these ships were supported by tripod legs that extended from the bottom, unlike her craft, which had no built-in supports. The smaller ones here also appeared to be pilotless drones, as they didn't even have the width to contain a usable cockpit like her small craft did.

She was able to get a good look at the exterior of the ship, as the waning light of the day filtered through an array of dirt-covered windows near the top of the hangar wall. The ship's surface was a textured matte-black with no reflectivity; it seemed to absorb most of the light hitting it. Embedded into one rounded corner were two large horizontally-directed headlights, which reminded her of the bluish halogen lights on newer cars. The half-sphere indentations underneath each corner were perfectly smooth with no nozzles or hardware within; they simply looked like giant ten-foot diameter golf ball dimples. Recalling her first sighting of this ship in operation, these were the areas that held the spheres of white fire, so she assumed these were the thrusters.

Across the middle of the ship's underside was a larger circular indentation about forty feet across, but shallower — only six inches deep at the most. Running in all directions within this area were small, inch-deep channels that formed the Hieroglyphic or Aztec patterns she sighted from her craft, whether decorative or functional, she had no idea. Near the perimeter of this inner circle were three large rectangular openings from which the supports extended down at an angle. In the exact center of the circle, enclosed in a red-tinted glass and wire cage, hung a single Edison filament light bulb, which looked quite out of place considering the technology of the machine it was affixed to.

Jess moved up and over the ship to view the top, which was featureless, with the single exception of a large diameter dome, similar to the depression on the underside in that it rose to only a few inches at its highest point. As she examined it, a twinkle caught her eye. Moving in closer, she observed a light at the apex of the dome, but embedded underneath the surface — not protruding like the red one below. This light was clear, but had a rainbow of different color filters within a rotatable housing, allowing the color of the light to change dynamically. This close inspection led her to take a longer look at the surface of the ship. The flat black finish was arranged into tiles, each of which contained an array of minuscule dots or bumps, reminding her of something that she couldn't quite place.

Although amazed at the engineering of this machine, the overall impression she got from this extended examination was more than a little confounding. The relatively small space for the crew meant this wasn't some sort of cargo or troop transport vessel, and the lack of any weaponry she could see — unless the thing shot lasers — meant it wasn't a fighting vessel. All of it added up to one thing — this machine was for stealthy observation only; a reconnaissance ship.

What still made no sense to her was that a ship designed for stealth would have an array of extremely bright lights on it. Perhaps they were needed in certain situations where stealth was not required, or maybe they were even part and parcel of the stealthiness. If the lights could dynamically change color, then they could imitate the standard running lights of any aircraft. Then again, they could also demonstrate that this was not a ship of this world — if that was the intended goal.

Something was just not right about it though. Jess knew the government already had hi-res satellite tracking, as well as high altitude recon planes, not to mention the standard stealth fighters that could do most anything these ships could do. Perhaps not with the finesse of this advanced ship, but still, there seemed to be no compelling reason to spend the billions of dollars that must have been invested to design, build, and test these things for the incremental value in recon. It seemed like a project the cold war mentality would generate, like the moon mission, where money was no object. In the relative safety of the post cold-war era, however, it just couldn't be justified in her mind.

What also couldn't be justified was the use of these things against an unknowing populace. That is what galled her. And she knew from Kal and Len that they were perfectly willing to run smear campaigns to discredit those trying to bring the truth forward. She wouldn't just carefully document the machinery and methods of use and try to raise awareness — there were probably people out there already doing this, to little effect. The majority of the population had no idea these things existed. It was like the Bigfoot she saw — nobody will believe in it until there is a body on a table somewhere. Jess realized she had to put the body on the table, so to speak. She had to provide incontrovertible evidence of these machines that were being actively used to harass innocent citizens, without a warrant — or any clear oversight whatsoever. So that's what she would do, she decided. She would take one.

Re-entering the ship, she moved towards one of the four consoles, the one with the UFO picture in the corner. Watching the pilots previously, she knew the ship was operated fully through these touch screen panels, so she attempted to manifest just the tip of a finger to operate it. Feeling it coalesce, she stabbed at the screen, causing it to spring to life. By varying the density, she found she didn't need to manifest any physical matter in order to operate the panel; there was some inherent property to the touchscreen design where just the hint of energy registered as a touch, and so she found it easy to manipulate.

The panel had four sections, with no text labels, only pictures. One section contained a triad of circles which she assumed was the three engines. Another showed a rotating 3D profile of the ship surrounded by some kind of force-field, which she surmised must be like the slipstream feature in her smaller craft. A third section had different options for camouflage, with pictures of day and night scenes, a box containing a picker for different types of conventional aircraft, and an icon of a muted speaker. A fourth section held various icons related to navigation or other miscellaneous options. Each section had sliders below it indicating the currently chosen degree of operation. Touching a section would bring her into a more detailed view of that component with both main and fine tuning controls.

When she felt comfortable with the layout, she attempted to bring the engines online. The familiar dull roar of the thrusters, similar to a jet engine, permeated the hangar. Switching panels, she increased the noise-cancellation effect on the stealth panel, and though this resulted in a considerable decrease in volume, it didn't abate the noise entirely. As the ship was still firmly on the ground, she raised the engines even further, to forty percent. When this had no effect, Jess tried to recall any exterior straps or tie-downs that she might have missed, and punching through the various panels, searched for something like an anchor icon, but found nothing.

Knowing she had little time, she abandoned her search and simply raised the engines higher, to seventy percent. Although the craft began to shudder, it still wasn't enough to lift even one support away from the hangar floor. Racking her brain, she couldn't understand what was holding back this advanced craft. Then she remembered the ring.

Navigating to that screen, she found the ring was fully disabled. Raising the power to maximum, the loud hum instantly drowned out the engine noise as the material liquified and spun up. With a jolt, the ship shot upwards, smashing an enormous hole through the roof of the hangar before Jess could regain control.

Rising at a dizzying speed, the ship began to vacillate wildly as the ground dropped away below. She remembered the action of the other pilot on re-entry, and stabilized the ship by enabling the slipstream-like feature. This calmed the ship's jostling, but had the side effect of facilitating an even faster ascent.

Flipping back over to the thruster console, she lowered the output to ten percent, slowing the climb. Looking up, however, she was confronted once again by a blanket of pinpoint starlights against the blackness of space: the ship had traveled twenty miles straight up in a matter of seconds. While stabilizing all of the systems, Jess began to experiment. Teaching herself how to manage the engines independently to initiate lateral movement, she glided the ship back down through the atmosphere in wide arcs, like a giant leaf falling from the night sky. With the ring online, maneuverability of the massive ship felt effortless. Bringing it all the way down to the treetops, she hovered and pulled up the navigation screen; the ship was currently in a rural area over southwestern Ohio, outside of a small town called Oxford. Watching the headlights of a distant car on the lonely country road below, she paused to consider what she wanted to accomplish.

She wasn't _stealing_ the ship necessarily. They would get it back — she was sure of that — but she needed to make a statement. Not a wimpy couple-second drive-by like they do, but a _real_ statement. She thought of bringing it back home to Chicago and landing it next to the Bean sculpture in Millennium Park. Fitting, yes, but at this time of night it might be hard for her to see the ground, and she was concerned about the physical safety of the people below her. Mental safety, not so much — she was going to freak the hell out of a whole bunch of folks — but she didn't want to squish anybody in the process. Then she thought: _Wrigley Field_. The Cubs were hosting a night game, and she could drop it smack dab in the middle of the brightly lit field, with only a few people to worry about scurrying out of the way. It was perfect.
Chapter Forty-Six

It took Jess twenty minutes to navigate her way north by northwest over the fields of Indiana, and she narrowly missed hitting several giant white turbines as she zipped through a massive wind farm. Approaching Chicago from the east, over the darkness of Lake Michigan, she enabled maximum noise cancellation. Descending to a few hundred feet, she silently glided the ship over Lake Shore Drive, just clearing the tops of the century-old condo buildings that lined it. Although the visual camo was disabled, the ship was naturally so dark that she didn't notice any obvious observers.

Maneuvering the external cameras, she visually guided the ship slowly towards the lights of Wrigley. Slowing to ten miles per hour, she dropped even lower as the field came into view. A sea of blue caps appeared through the bottom viewing panels as she drifted over the rooftop bleachers across the street from the field. A cheer suddenly exploded from the crowd as the Cubs put three runners on base, and they all stood high-fiving each other, ready to see a Grand Slam.

Then, one girl on the rooftop happened to look up. She didn't see anything, which was the problem — she instead saw the _absence_ of something: the night sky. Grabbing her friends, she pointed up, and soon everyone on that rooftop was ignoring the action on the field and gazing up at the sleek black mass sliding mere feet over their heads.

After crossing Sheffield Street, she slowed the ship until it sat directly above the playing field, motionless. The players below noticed it one by one. Glancing over at the scoreboard, Jess was bummed to see the Cubs were beating the Red Sox nine to seven in the eighth, and issued a silent apology for ruining their likely win. The ballplayers didn't appear to be upset, however: they simply stood in place, staring at her ship in awe, their gloves at their waists. The cheering in the stands died down, until only the music of the pipe organ remained; the operator of which obviously was not paying attention to the field.

She had expected the stands to clear out in a panic. Instead, as the organ player finally halted mid-chord, an eerie silence descended upon the field as if time were frozen. Though waiting for the crowd's reaction, Jess finally realized _they_ were the ones waiting, expecting something from _her_.

Her next thought was to land, but the players below just remained in their field positions, staring up at her. _Well if they want a show,_ she thought, _I'm gonna bring it_. Accessing the camouflage screen, Jess slowly cycled through all the available options. From below, the spectators suddenly saw the massive black object, which almost completely covered the field, begin to glow a purplish hue, then transition to the bright blue of the morning sunrise. Images of wispy clouds flew across the sky-blue bottom of the ship, increasing in number until they joined together, creating an overcast day. The clouds cleared as a deep orange sunset coloring appeared, fading to darkness in the transition back to night. Hundreds of tiny lights twinkled, and for a moment one could be forgiven for thinking the object had disappeared, yet a second later this virtual star field shot across the belly of the ship at warp speed.

The light show, possibly mistaken as an odd form of entertainment or new advertising stunt, seemed to stoke the crowd's curiosity: the players below remained rooted in their positions while the expected mass exodus from the stands failed to manifest. For her next trick, Jess wanted to up the ante and display what the ship was physically capable of. Raising the ring speed to maximum, she synced the engines and pushed them to one hundred percent. From the field, the black triangle ascended vertically into the night sky so quickly that most everyone thought it had simply disappeared. A few sharp observers pointed upwards, trying to convince those around them it had actually shot skyward instead.

A few seconds later she reversed the process, dropping the ship straight back down, slowing back to a hover over the field. The remaining players below involuntarily ducked, and then coming to their senses, most of them jogged to the safety of the dugout, warily eyeing the ship the whole way.

_These folks paid good money for those tickets,_ Jess thought, _so the show must go on_. De-syncing the engines, she cycled through each in turn, rotating the ship in place. She could almost hear the _oooh's_ and _aaah's_ from the crowd as the corners of the ship almost brushed the field during its gyrations.

Settling back to a hover, Jess noticed a few gutsy players still standing their ground below her, preventing her from landing. Disabling the noise cancellation, she bombarded them with the crushing sound of the thrusters, now idling at only ten percent. This had the intended effect, and convinced the final holdouts in the outfield to scramble up the ivy-covered walls, retreating to the _relative_ safety of the Wrigley bleachers.

Jess lowered the ship to the ballfield, and this, combined with the din of the engines, finally seemed to awaken the people in the stands to the reality in front of them: this thing was _not_ entertainment, it was _not_ part of the game, _and it was coming in for a landing_. The panic Jess had initially predicted finally, suddenly, erupted en-masse.

By the time the ship's tripod supports had found purchase two feet into the turf, close to eighty percent of the fans had already abandoned their seats, making a run for the exits. The other twenty percent remained; out of fear, curiosity, or both.

Jess shut down the ring and the engines, bringing an awkward silence back to the field. The organist, in true form, broke the tension momentarily by playing the five-note melody from Close Encounters. Appreciating the reference, Jess chuckled as she quietly slipped back into her physical, lying in bed a few miles north.
Chapter Forty-Seven

After awakening, Jess ran downstairs and burst into Gavin's apartment. Finding him in his office, she grabbed him and forcibly sat him in front of the living room TV. Cursing, she searched for WGN with the remote while Gavin sat, dumbfounded.

"Here, let me help you with that, bumble bee," he insisted, taking the remote from her delicately. "Now what are you looking for, exactly?"

"Cubs!" she squeaked.

Gavin entered the proper channel number, and the T.V. screen displayed a wide panning shot of the nearly empty Wrigley stands. The few remaining fans stood staring at the field, Old Styles still in hand.

"What...?" Gavin pleaded, looking at her.

"Wait for it!"

A moment later the screen switched to a shot displaying the entire field, which was obscured by a giant, black...something. Jess' poached ship fit almost perfectly within the friendly confines, with only a narrow patch of green turf between it and the ivy-covered walls.

"What...is _that?_ " Gavin asked, suddenly intensely interested.

"I did that!" Jess declared with gusto. She was proud of herself for executing such a perfectly aligned landing, and although this answer failed to dispel any of Gavin's confusion, he was too entranced to question her further.

They both watched, transfixed, as a few players emerged from the dugout and made their way towards the ship, stopping every few steps to consult with each other. A ball boy ran forward, bat in hand, and after handing it to one of the players, ran crouching back to the dugout. Approaching the nose of the ship, which hung seven feet above home plate, the player with the bat reached up with his free hand and caressed the curved surface. Absent-mindedly dropping the bat to the dirt, he placed his other hand on the ship as well, as the other players stepped forward to do the same.

Gavin turned the volume up on the remote. "...just an amazing spectacle...if this is some sort of stunt...I don't know...it's just _all black_. No advertising or markings on it. Folks, I can't say what's happening here, but Ortiz has now reached this thing...it looks shut down now. But quite a show it put on for us just a few short minutes ago..."

The announcer seemed to have lost his train of thought, as there were several seconds of dead air until his partner cut in. "...and now more and more coming onto the field," he commented, before yelling off-mike, into the crowd: "Folks! Get back! Please, for your own safety!"

"I have a mind to leave right now, to be frank," the first announcer continued. "This thing might be radioactive, who knows what this is...in fact, I'm feeling a little light-headed right here, Len."

Gavin switched to another local channel, only to find an empty anchor desk, occupied in short order by a newscaster striding in from off-camera. He sat down and affixed an earpiece into his ear.

"We seem to have a situation this evening at Wrigley Field on the north side: just a few short moments ago there appears to have been a possible plane crash — or purposeful _landing_ — interrupting a night game in progress; let's go for a live look right now..."

As they cut to the same feed from WGN, husky men in yellow ponchos marked 'SECURITY' could be seen running around the perimeter of the field, forcing the players back into the dugout while yelling into walkie-talkies.

"It appears...it looks like a stealth fighter may have crashed — or more like it intentionally _landed_ — dead center in the ballfield..."

The channel suddenly went black, then quickly cut back to the anchor, who, caught off-guard, was looking down and pressing his earpiece to his ear.

"...Well...it looks like we may have lost our feed, we'll try to get that back for you just as soon as we can. We now have a crew rushing to the scene for a live report, please stand by for that. If you are just joining us..."

Gavin switched back to the main WGN feed, but found it had gone black, replaced a few seconds later with a picture of a cartoon repairman — complete with visible butt-cleavage — working at the base of a transmission tower. Turning back to the local news station, they found that one gone too, replaced by a test pattern. The rest of the cable channels appeared to be fine; they flipped through cooking shows, reality shows, and 70's reruns, but none of the other local channels were operational — they were either black, or showing a 'technical difficulties' screen, or a test pattern.

"What the _fuck,_ Jess!" Gavin screamed at her. "What the hell did you do!" He got up and paced around the living room.

Jess lowered her head. "I took a ship," she answered sheepishly. "Like I told you about." She was beginning to regret her rash decision.

Their conversation was interrupted by a loud warbling screech. A white band appeared at the top of the blank TV screen, switching to red as words began to scroll across it.

"THIS IS NOT A TEST. THE DEPARTMENT OF HOMELAND SECURITY HAS ISSUED AN ALERT INSTRUCTING ALL RESIDENTS OF THE FOLLOWING COUNTIES TO REMAIN WITHIN THEIR HOMES OR CURRENT LOCATION UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE: COOK... ...LAKE... ...DUPAGE... ...LAKE (IN)... ...GRUNDY..."

Gavin held his hand to his mouth and stared at her, wide-eyed, as both of their cellphones also began to emit the warbling alert. To top it off, an air raid siren began to wail outside.

Joel casually strolled in the room, breaking their freak-out trance. "What's with the tornado siren? There's not a cloud in the sky."

Gavin ran over to him and grabbed him by the shoulders. "A stealth fighter just crashed into Wrigley!"

Jess, suddenly angry, emerged from her stupor.

"Gavin! I told you. _I_ did this! It's not a _stealth fighter_ , and it didn't _crash_. I _landed_ it — perfectly, I might add."

Joel squinted at both of them. "You guys were down at Marge's, weren't you?" he asked accusingly. "Yup, I always get stuck being the baby sitter, sure, fine with me..." he added sarcastically, retreating to the back bedroom.

Jess turned back to Gavin. "Wait a second," she said conspiratorially, "They're just locking this whole thing down, this is _not_ a safety issue! Gavin, we've got to go, we need to be a part of this!"

While dragging him down the hall to the back porch stairs, she turned and yelled to the closed bedroom door. "We're leaving and I'm taking Gavin!"

"Go right ahead, ya no good drunkards!" came the muffled reply.

Jess continued to drag Gavin down the porch stairs and into the garage, where he stored the Stella scooter he continually obsessed over, but never seemed to ride.

"Jess, we are in no condition..." Gavin protested, as she mounted the scooter and fired it up.

"Shhh, just shuddup and put yer brain-bucket on!" she ordered, shoving a helmet into his hands.
Chapter Forty-Eight

Flying down the back alleys towards Wrigley, sirens filled the air from all directions; it seemed everyone — Fire, Police, EMT — had been fully activated. Emerging onto Grace street, they were confronted by the red and blue flashing lights of a Chicago Police cruiser blocking their way. The officer was directing refugee Cub fans past his car and away from the field. Noticing them, he aimed his bullhorn in their direction. "Turn around!"

Twisting the throttle, she shot back into the alley; but there was no way she was going back. Backtracking instead, they emerged two blocks further west, and skidding up the side of the nearby Metra embankment, Jess decided to use the train tracks to bypass the roadblocks below.

Hurtling over the rail onto the tracks, the scooter — along with their teeth — rattled from the railroad ties. "Jess! You will pay!" Gavin shouted into her ear. "You will _literally_ pay for this!"

An oncoming headlight, swaying left and right, emerged from the darkness ahead of them. As Gavin shrieked in her ear, she cut left, bumping over the rail again and skidding back down the embankment, just as the massive diesel engine thundered by in a tumultuous din, buffeting them with warm exhaust.

Heading the wrong way down a one-way street, Jess soon found it choked with cars and people. Swerving up onto the sidewalk, she skirted around the masses of Cub fans drunkenly shambling in the opposite direction.

As the lights of Wrigley glimmered ahead, they noticed two cruisers arrayed in a 'V' formation blocking off the next intersection. Avoiding them, Jess pulled into a side alley and came to a stop. Beyond the police cars, they watched several large white DHS SUV's screech to a halt. Dozens more arrived behind them, and lining up one after the other, they formed a second perimeter inside the police blockade.

Firing up the engine, Jess tore out of the alley and bottomed-out on the high point of the cross street, leaving a shower of sparks in their wake. As Gavin shouted a string of curse words into her ear, she ducked into another alley for the final push. Two blocks further down, she cut across, ahead of the forming chain of vehicles, and screeched to a stop a block from Wrigley. After dismounting, she and Gavin, who, though cooperative, was still muttering curses at her, rolled it behind a row of tall bushes.

Ducking low, they snuck behind the nearest building and climbed the back stairs to a rooftop deck overlooking the field. Multiple news choppers hovered above with their spotlights shining down, so upon reaching the roof they took shelter under a covered bar. Over the course of the next few minutes, each helicopter extinguished its spotlight and departed the area until they were all gone. Feeling less vulnerable in the darkness, they crawled out from under the canopy and huddled next to a large stainless steel grill, where they peeked over the brick railing by turns to view the action on the field.

There were no fans left anymore, and no players, either. Dozens of policemen patrolled the decks and bleachers, searching for any stragglers, and occasionally stopping to eyeball the ship. Gavin peeked over the edge and turned back to Jess. "Oh my God, it's huge!" he whispered, crawling back to the safety of the grill.

A series of dull roars echoed in the distance, and pointing upwards, Gavin tugged at Jess' shirt and mouthed the word Jets. The reason for the news choppers departure soon became clear, as they also heard the _thwock_ — _thwock_ — _thwock_ of heavy military choppers over the noise of the jets. Arriving and joining in formation above the field, six large helos beamed down high-powered spotlights, all centered upon the ship.

Occasionally one beam would skirt away, scanning the nearby streets and rooftop decks, and they narrowly missed being seen at least once. Mostly, though, the spotlights darted around the ship itself, examining it all over, giving Jess the impression the crew in the choppers were just as amazed by it as everyone else.

Shouts from outside the field caught their attention as camouflaged military trucks arrived, dispensing fully armed soldiers. Outside the opposite entrance, dozens of black-clad SWAT team members emerged from a 'Mobile Command Unit' semi-trailer. Some took up strategic positions outside the stadium, while a core team jogged single-file inside.

Behind the stadium, out of their line of sight, they watched the reflections of mars lights against nearby buildings and heard the occasional honk of a fire truck or _bwoop_ — _bwoop_ of a cruiser. This United Nations of first responders included the numerous white SUV's they had encountered earlier, as well as a different Mobile Command Unit; this one without any windows, but with an overabundance of radio antennas. It was total chaos, completely uncoordinated, and it appeared that no particular agency was in charge.

The fatigue-clad soldiers entered onto the field and took up positions around the ship, bringing the action to a standstill for the next twenty minutes, during which Jess whispered to Gavin the details of what she had done. Finally, a man dressed in a white oxford shirt and jeans, accompanied by two guards, entered the field and inspected the ship. They walked back and forth underneath it for several minutes, after which they re-emerged and departed.

At this point, someone higher up must have taken the reigns, as the SWAT team members began to disperse, along with the firetrucks and swarms of police, all of whom began to slowly pick their way through the morass of eachother's vehicles and equipment on their way back to their stations. Before any of them were able to leave the scene, however, Jess and Gavin watched a team of men in dark suits scatter through the crowd and intercept each one. After a short chat, they were each handed a clipboard with a document to read and sign. After these non-essentials had been processed and sent home, the only forces that remained were the DHS and the Army, who moved to fill the positions in the security ring that the local first responders had vacated.

The heavy choppers also departed at about the same time, casting an eerie silence over the nearly empty field. Suddenly, the floodlights illuminating the field extinguished, plunging it into darkness. A minute later, a small black helicopter appeared from the west, landing in the McDonald's parking lot across from the stadium. Four men, dressed in fatigues but unarmed, disembarked and made their way onto the darkened field, their headlamps lighting the way, until they disappeared underneath the ship.

A few moments later, a variety of strobing lights flashed across the surface of the ship; Jess wondered what they thought about finding nobody aboard. The lights stopped, and a familiar low hum began to rise and fall. After a few seconds, the floodlights lit up the field again, blinding them for a moment. As their vision recovered, they discovered the soldiers in fatigues traversing the field on hands and knees, searching the ground in a grid pattern. But like a magic trick, the ship was gone.

"How did they get it out of there? Where did it go?" Gavin whispered to her incredulously.

Jess motioned for him to keep quiet and follow her. After creeping back down from the rooftop, they rolled the scooter to the edge of the alley and peeked out to discover a DHS vehicle blocking the road. Retreating, they found an open gangway between apartment buildings and walked the scooter through it to the street out front. Staying in the shadows, they continued rolling it down the sidewalk until they were a block away; far enough for them to start it up and zoom off without alerting anyone.

There was no sign of anyone around, which wasn't normal for this time of night — especially on a game night. Three blocks further down, they turned a corner and discovered why: another roadblock of DHS SUV's impeded their escape. Not every vehicle was occupied, and while attempting to slip between two apparently vacant ones, they woke a driver who had been asleep in the reclined front seat. " _Stop!_ " he yelled, clambering out of the truck. Ignoring him, Jess gunned it, and after a half-hearted foot chase, he gave up the pursuit and returned to his vehicle.

Though they had successfully bypassed the second roadblock, Jess became concerned when they traveled several blocks and the streets were still empty. As she was pondering where the next perimeter might be, another white SUV screamed around the corner, heading straight for them. Cutting the lights, Jess took a hard left into the nearest alley, skidding through some loose gravel and almost losing Gavin in the process. The truck, catching up to the turn-off point, guessed wrong and barrelled down the opposite alley.

Emerging back onto a main road, Jess zig-zagged through the vacant streets until sighting the third roadblock ahead. This one, clearly the finale, had scores of people milling about behind blue police barriers. Veering out of sight again, Jess found another gangway, and after dismounting and walking the scooter through it, they emerged to freedom on the other side.

Firing back up the engine, Jess and Gavin scooted over to where the crowd was gathered. Several people were arguing with the police officers at the scene; it was obvious the residents were tired of waiting to return to their homes. As Jess had guessed, the whole area had been evacuated.

"We probably could have ridden right through it," Gavin whispered in her ear, in reference to the distracted and harried officers.

After a blessedly uneventful return trip home, they stashed the scooter in the garage and quietly climbed the back stairs to Gavin's apartment. Still wired from the night's excitement, they set up camp in his living room as Jess turned on the TV. The local news channels were back on the air, with reporters at the scene covering the drama taking place at the perimeter barriers. The special live news report, although already titled 'Incident at Wrigley', didn't seem to have much information on what exactly the 'Incident' was.

"Tensions are running high here at this checkpoint," the reporter explained, "with many residents wanting to know when they can return to their homes. Authorities have not released any information on what kind of risks exist behind these barriers, within what they now call a 'National Security Area', and frankly, the residents aren't too concerned about that: they are simply tired, hungry — and as many were hastily evacuated from their homes without warm clothing — cold. Without any information forthcoming, they believe that whatever happened earlier tonight has been overblown, and shouldn't prevent them from returning to their homes. What we _can_ tell you about the incident, from our interviews with witnesses, is that some kind of stealth-type aircraft either landed or crashed in the middle of the field during the eighth inning of the game. There were no reports of injuries, and we'd like to stress it doesn't appear as though this was a terrorist act at this time. We understand that most of the first responders have been dismissed from the scene, and that there will be a joint press conference at nine A.M. tomorrow with Mayor Emanuel and the Department of Homeland Security. Back to you, Tim."

"Thanks Walt. As a reminder, in addition to the ground evacuation effort, the authorities have now declared the airspace within a perimeter of five miles of Wrigley Field a National Defense Zone, with no commercial or civilian flights allowed below eighty-five hundred feet until further notice. This is affecting flights out of O'Hare, with delays growing up to four hours as only one west-facing runway is currently available for departures..."

They watched for another hour or so, until the alcohol and adrenaline-fueled night finally caught up with them, and they both passed out on the couch, exhausted.
Chapter Forty-Nine

Jess awoke just after ten-thirty the next morning, Gavin's throw pillow patterns etched in red across her face. She listened to him talk with Joel in a lowered voice as he futzed around with the coffee maker, until they noticed she was awake.

"Mornin' Princess," Joel announced, delivering a cup of coffee to her over the back of the couch. Propping herself up, she accepted it and took a sip, then raised a hand to her aching head and groaned. "Looks like you were on Candid Camera last night," he added with relish.

Jess looked quizzically at Gavin, who shrugged his shoulders. "He saw the press conference earlier — they said it was a hoax," Gavin explained.

Jess jerked herself up on the couch, almost spilling her coffee. " _What?_ " she spat out in disbelief. "How could they say that? Gavin, you were there! You saw the ship, the pilots...everything!"

"I'm with you one-hundred, babe. But the huddled masses," he whispered, not-so-surreptitiously pointing a finger towards Joel, "are under the spell. He even admits that the Men in Black have been here, so there you go."

"Yeah, well not quite, but when I was jogging earlier this morning I _did_ see a freaky white van slowly cruising down the alley, Jess. It followed me all the way down Winchester. Probably some kind of pedophile, my guess."

"Fella, you held up pretty well, for sure, but you're delusional if you think you're still pedo-bait," Gavin teased, pinching a hunk of flab on his midsection. "They was MIBs _fo' sho'_."

"Sure it wasn't a Homeland Security SUV?" Jess queried. "There were tons of them around last night."

"Nope, plain ol' van," Joel replied. "Like old-school Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine, but white, tinted windows all around. Creepy," he added with a shudder.

"So back to the thing, is that all they said? A hoax? No other explanation?"

"Nope. But hey, maybe they'll see it again. They're continuing the game this afternoon — they said it was stopped due to an 'Alien delay' at the conference. Got a big laugh."

"Oh wonderful. It's a big joke now." Jess was furious. "Seriously, how did they explain it?"

Joel sighed. "They said it was a hoax, that they were still investigating, that it was likely a group of UK jokers called the 'Yes Men' or something, it was all a publicity stunt for a reality show, and there was never a threat to national security. Apparently it was made of paper mache and Christmas lights, and they deconstructed it last night and hauled the junk away."

"You have got to be kidding me! Seriously? Right. That's a load of bullshit and they know it, and everyone at that game knows it. Gavin..." Jess implored, but he threw his arms up and walked over to the kitchen, shaking his head.

"Okay crazies, I'm off to the real world, so help me," Joel said, gathering his things, "Gav, Norah is in the back room on the iPad, I already gave her some Cheerios. See ya."

"Gavin. You _have_ to go to Wrigley with me today," Jess pleaded. "I want to talk to people about this."

"Sorry Jess," Gavin replied apologetically, "I've got Movement with Norah later."

" _Really? Movement?_ Oh, whatever. But seriously, you're on my side in this, right? You've got my back?"

"Correct, I am just as insane in the membrane as you are."

After downing her coffee, Jess stormed up to her apartment. She was gobsmacked at how blatantly they were spinning — no, make that _lying_ — about what happened the previous night. She guessed that was their right, they were just defending their secrets, after all...but _still_. After showering, she ate, then took a long walk over to Wrigley in the sunshine. Everything seemed back to normal, and with the surreality of last night gone without a trace, life felt normal again.

After finding a scalper out front hawking tickets, she forked over a twenty — a pretty reasonable entrance fee. Just after her purchase the guy was shooed away by security, at which point she noticed a decidedly heightened presence. Mostly undercover guys, though, the kind that are obvious in their forced normality: always with the jeans, bright polo shirt, cap, dark sunglasses (not mirrored — that would be too obvious), and requisite flesh-toned earpiece, if you can spot it. But beyond the attire, the dead giveaway is the expressionless face and the aimless meandering about, without friends or seeming purpose.

She found her seat behind first base, and though she had arrived early, there were some fans already seated around her. She scooted closer to a nearby family.

"Hey, so what did you all think of what happened last night?" she asked casually.

Their two boys answered simultaneously. "Cool!"

"It was something else, alright," their mother added. "Never seen a trick like that before, and _I've_ seen David Copperfield."

"So you think it was a trick?"

"Well, yeah..." she replied, looking at Jess uneasily.

Jess moved to the other end of her row, where three twenty-something guys clad in Cubs gear were already hard at work on their second or third Old Styles.

"Did you guys see the thing last night? What did you think of it?"

"You weren't here? It was awesome! That thing was _huge,_ " the closest one replied, spreading his arms to communicate the immensity of it, and spilling beer onto his buddy in the process.

"Oh sorry Bro, my B," he conceded, high-fiving the third Bro while emitting a seal-like laugh.

Beer-victim-Bro had something to say about the thing too, but only after knuckle-punching the first Bro in the family jewels as payback. "Dudes, I saw the crane though! There were wires coming down."

"Bullshit, dude! That was some Class-A Area 51 stealth fighter shit last night!" first Bro replied, high-fiving the dry Bro again.

Jess slinked away in her own stealth mode, unnoticed by the Toasted Bro Trio. She didn't need to go any further with this, she decided — it seemed everyone had their own explanation for what happened, regardless of what the media had told them. She was surprised and disappointed, however, that none of them seemed to have any deeper curiosity or interest in it, other than it being a good story. Nothing short of a full-on invasion, Orson Welles style, would have any _real_ effect on them, she concluded.

Leaving the ballpark, Jess walked back home, dejected. All she had risked, and all the problems she caused in attempting to raise the curtain on these government secrets, had amounted to nothing more than an entertaining spectacle, soon to be forgotten.

Lost in her despair, she was already halfway home by the time she noticed the van.
Chapter Fifty

It was plain white, an older model — just as Joel described — and it was trailing a block behind her. Though only early in the evening, its lights were already on, and she couldn't see who was driving through the tinted windshield. She sized up her options. There was an El stop two blocks away, but she was still loathe to board another train at this point, even if her life depended on it. Then she noticed the Metra embankment up ahead, and more importantly, the pedestrian tunnel beneath. After a count of three, she broke left in a full sprint towards the tunnel as the van gunned its engine behind her. It caught up to her just as she entered the tunnel opening, but instead of stopping, she heard it speed up and drive away behind her.

Backtracking, she peeked out the entrance to watch the van turn into an underpass a block down — they were trying to catch up to her on the other side. Exiting the tunnel, she backtracked and made a break for the Irving Park El stop around the corner.

Entering the station, she swiped her card and collapsed on the stairs inside, out of breath and drenched in sweat. After a few minutes of not seeing the van, she gathered her courage and trudged up the stairs to await the next train. Scanning over the platform railing, she expected to see the van speed by on the streets below, but there was nothing but ordinary street traffic. A train finally rumbled into the station, and though her nervous system was on high alert, she boarded it and sat down.

By the time it pulled out of the station, her heart was beating faster than it had been when she was running from the van. Beads of sweat gathered on her brow as she began to feel a nauseous, twitchy feeling in her stomach. _I am going to puke on this train,_ she thought to herself. Breathing heavily, she felt the saliva collecting in her mouth. Lifting her bag from the floor, she opened it on her lap, tilted her head down, and waited for the inevitable.

She glanced sideways, in order to see who might be a witness to this unholy display, when she noticed him. Though sitting directly across from her, she could've sworn there was nobody in that seat when she boarded the train. He was paging through a copy of the Reader, but from what she could see of his head, and his lanky frame, she knew it was him. It was the man she had rescued in North Korea.

The shock of seeing him distracted her from her twitchy stomach, and bit by bit the nausea receded. Catching herself drooling into her bag, she quickly wiped her mouth and placed her bag back on the floor. Embarrassed, she looked around to see if anyone had noticed, only to discover there was no one else on the train.

This confused her even more, as she was sure the train had at least a few riders when she boarded. She turned back to look at the man again. He was wearing jeans, grey sneakers, and a Cubs jersey, but she was sure that he was the gentleman: he was the same height, had the same white hair, and the same fair appearance. It was him. Confused, she thought to herself _What are you doing here?_

Lowering his paper a few inches, he looked directly at her as if in answer, the hint of a smile on his face. As she locked eyes with him, the train car seemed to recede into the background, muffled and out of focus, as a hazy golden glow enveloped them.

Suddenly, as if a light switch had been flipped, the glow was gone, and the train car was back to normal, filled with the passengers she initially saw. The gentleman, of course, was also gone. Looking around for him, she was interrupted by the announcement for the next stop.

As she exited the station, she searched again for the gentleman — completely forgetting about the white van — and after not finding him, began to walk home. There was a feeling within her, a sense of peace, of strength, yet she was oblivious as to the source. It was as if she had awoken from a most pleasant dream, where the memory had already faded, yet the feelings still lingered.

She didn't quite know what had just happened, but one thing she did know: she wasn't afraid anymore.
Chapter Fifty-One

Her phone began buzzing — it was Gavin.

"Uh, hi, what's up," she answered distractedly.

"Jess, glad I got ahold of you, are you still at the game? If so, don't come home, there's the same...thing...Joel saw last night right out front."

Her chest tightened with fear, which almost as quickly melted away.

"It's okay, G, I'm almost home, see you soon."

"Jess! Did you _hear_ me? Don't come..."

"Yeah, see you soon," she interrupted, hanging up on him.

Rounding the corner to her street, she spotted the white van idling at the end of the block. Headlights blazing, it peeled out towards her. She began to run, but _towards_ the van, like a crazed bullfighter forgetting which side of the cape he was on. As it closed to within a hundred feet, she stopped in the middle of the road, holding her ground. Swerving at the last minute, the van screeched to a halt beside her as the white smoke from its exhaust caught up, engulfing them.

The heavy side door slid open with a loud _thunk_ as the smoke cleared, revealing an older man with long, scraggly hair crouched in the opening. He wore a pair of wayfarers, board shorts, and an unbuttoned Hawaiian print shirt, which did nothing to hide his bramble patch of graying chest hair. With a wide smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes, he tossed a small object to her.

"Welcome to the club!" he shouted, as she instinctively reached out to catch the object. The van door slid shut with another loud _thunk_ as they roared off, rounding the corner with tires squealing.

Heart pounding, she breathed a sigh of relief as she looked down at the small gray plastic box in her hand. It looked like an old flip phone, and a bulky one at that. A plastic antenna extended from the top corner, and turning it over she noticed a large worn out 'M' on the back, which she recognized as the old Motorola symbol. She opened it and tentatively held it to her ear.

"Hello?" she asked, but heard nothing. A loud warbling suddenly screeched in her ear.

" _Shit!_ " she swore, dropping the phone to the pavement. _No wonder it's all scratched up,_ she thought to herself as she picked it up and pressed the green button.

"Jessica, will you meet with us?"

It was a woman's voice, but the line was staticky, and between that and a pronounced echo, Jess could barely hear her. It reminded her of how her father described long distance phone calls in the olden days.

"Is this you, Kal?"

"No. My name is Star. You won't be hearing from them anymore. The van is behind the Starbucks, they're waiting for you."

The static abruptly ended, signalling the call was over. She stood for a moment, staring down at the phone, then turned around to look at their house. Gavin was staring out the window at her, mouth agape. He looked so comical, and coming down off her adrenaline high, she couldn't help but break out into uncontrollable giggles.

Raising his hands up he mouthed "What the hell?" Regaining her composure, she held her hand to her ear and mimed "Call you later" as she took off running down the street.
Chapter Fifty-Two

Turning into the alley behind the Starbucks, she found the van idling just as Star had promised. Walking up to it, she peeked through the tinting to find the front seats empty, so she tentatively rapped on the sliding door. A terrific clattering ensued before the door finally slid open, revealing the man who handed her the phone, along with the driver, sitting crosswise on the carpeted floor. Smoke billowed out of the door opening as she spied a tall purple bong between them.

"Hey! It's Wonder Woman! Get in here, gal!" exclaimed the driver, a younger fellow with dirty blond dreadlocks spilling out from underneath his rainbow knit cap. The older man, who had been taking a hit, snorted at the remark, spilling bong water all over his Hawaiian shirt in the process.

"Shit," he exclaimed, laughing. "Well I guess I'm done, you want?" he said, offering it to her.

"Ah, no, and what the _fuck?_ Who are you guys and what is the deal here?"

"Hey man, _chill_. Don't harsh the _mellow_. Terry told us about you. Honestly we kind of blew him off at first, but then, well, _this!_ Come on aboard, we'll fill you in."

Jess waved her hands, clearing away the smoke, before hoisting herself into the van. It had been reconfigured with bench seats along the sides, and the floor — and walls and ceiling — were covered in a plush deep-pile purple carpet. A few posters hung on the walls, one showing a Peace sign and the other a butterfly; both worn and fraying. At the very back stood a makeshift table of milk crates supporting an old laptop and various phone gear. The whole van reeked of B.O. and weed as though they lived in it.

"Hey, I'm Sag. From my sign," offered the younger one. In addition to his knit cap, he wore an old Replacements t-shirt, cutoff jean shorts, and wooden sandals. "And you're Jessica?"

"Yeah, uh, nice to meet you," she said, handing back the phone.

Taking it from her, he tossed it deftly into one of the milk crates before maneuvering back into the driver's seat. "We're totally psyched you came, you got quite a party waiting for you."

"Yeah," continued the older fellow, "You're the hero of the hour! I'm Roper, by the way." He removed his sunglasses, exposing bloodshot eyes, and taking her hand, guided her to a bench seat. After reaching over to close the sliding door, he sat down opposite her and smiled expectantly.

"So...you've sorta got a whole 'New Age Cheech and Chong' thing going here, huh?"

They both broke out into entirely too much laughter. Sag started the van, and as they drove off the laughter diminished, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.

"And so, uh, where are we going today, fellas?" she probed.

"Oh...yeah, you don't know what's going on here, huh?" Roper remarked, as if the thought had just occurred to him. "Heading to the homestead out west. Outside Galena. Should be there before dinner. You'll get fed, don't worry! Star's a great cook. Great pilot too. You do know all this stuff is cause of you, right?"

"What stuff, the van?"

This remark was apparently hilarious as well. Jess was beginning to think it might just be the ganja, and not her natural comedic talents at work here.

"No, man, most of the Net's down! Don't you know? Like, I would think you kids would be all plugged in and shit. Yeah. Since this morning. It's a distraction, don't let anyone tell you different."

He leaned in and lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Used to be they would take down the power grid for a good part of the country when things didn't go their way, that we know for sure, right Sag?"

At this, Sag laughed a long, loud, hyena-like laugh, while Roper continued.

"But they got a lot of heat for that, so they finally cut that shit out. Internet's better — some people need electrons to live, but nobody needs bits, at least not yet, right? And as long as it takes up the column inches they don't care. Internet blackout to the rescue!" he shouted, and they both laughed hysterically once again.

Jess did not join in, and Roper, eventually sensing her discomfort, dropped his wild grin. "Hey now, we're just having a little fun here, been up all night driving to come get you since we got the call; a little loopy. You know how it is..."

Jess leaned closer, and speaking in a whisper, pointed to Sag in the driver's seat. "Whatever...but should he really be driving?"

Roper laughed again. "No problemo, man," he loudly exclaimed, "that's just the way he is! He only had one hit before you joined the party, so it's all good."

Sag, issuing another barking laugh, thought the insult particularly hilarious.

"So, what's in Galena, besides, like, bed and breakfasts and antiquing?"

"Oh yeah, yeah," Roper replied, forgetting again that she had no clue what was happening. "Well that's where we keep our ships."

"Ships? What, like steamships? On the Mississippi?"

This brought more laughter, which was becoming less amusing to Jess by the minute.

"No, man! Starships."

"The hell you mean, starships?" she demanded.

Roper leaned over towards the driver's seat. "Hey, man, I think we got the wrong chick." Then, leaning back, he took another bong hit, and after slowly exhaling the smoke, regarded her accusatorially.

"Did you or did you not, Miss Jessica Delaney Armitage, without authority — or much ability, I might add — pilot a heretofore unknown U.S. government starship to an unauthorized geographical location, and exhibit a completely unprecedented ( _y mucho verboten_ ) display of technological grandeur, never before seen by the American public, much less the publics of any of the other great nations of our times, but eighteen short hours ago, at approximately 20:30 hours, on the Day of Fri, the month of Junius, the Year of our Lord Twenty-Fifteen?"

Jess was momentarily speechless — she had never thought of the ship as a _starship_ before. Regaining herself, she accepted the charge proudly.

"Guilty."

They both exploded into peals of laughter from their seemingly bottomless well of mirth, Roper leaning back so far the bong in his lap tipped backward, spilling more water onto him — which just tickled Sag's funny bone even more.

"But how do you know all this?" Jess asked, after they had calmed down somewhat. "And what's the backstory on you guys?"

"Ha. Well," Roper replied, setting aside the bong and wringing his shirt out onto his shorts. "Refugees, man. Or escapees, maybe. We're Sleepers, mostly, like you. Couple of us came from Gateway, few younger ones like Sag here, Terry sent our way. We just want to raise the vibrational level of this planet, man, strap a booster rocket onto human consciousness, man, _straight up!_ Sixties never _died_ , man; they live on, just below the surface."

He took another long gurgling hit while Sag drove on, paying more attention to Roper's speechmaking than the road.

"But we had to change our _tactics,_ man. Government-endorsed, tax-deductible, neo-Randian, Calvinist-capitalized fuck-your-neighbor, advertising-sponsored, high-fructose injected, parent-approved, patriarchal, protectionist, NSA monitored, and hand-sanitized for your protection bullshit culture co-opted _them,_ " he railed, motioning towards Sag, "and made us out to be the freaks."

"They're not freaks," Sag called out in solidarity, "they're Trust to Power!"

" _Truth_ to Power, man. _Truth_ to Power," Roper whispered to Sag, before turning his attention back to Jess. "But we're _not_ freaks, man, we're _them_ — unshackled. That's what they've always been afraid of." Roper said all this with a painful seriousness that was almost touching.

"They put lead in the gasoline to stop the magic from happening, man, poisoned the atmosphere and made a whole generation of dulled, angry, competitive people that were easier to contain and control. We finally got the lead out back in '84, man — like, literally — and you're seeing the fruits of that in the young people now." Again he waved his hand towards Sag, which to Jess was not exactly a ringing endorsement of his theory.

Sag looked confused. "You really think they did that on purpose? With the leaded gas?"

"Yeah, man!" Roper responded angrily. "Well, who knows? _I_ don't know. Do _you_ know? _Someone_ knows!"

"I dunno man...that's pretty out there," Sag countered timidly.

"Fact is, lead's a known developmental neurotoxin. Fact is, atmospheric lead emissions reached their peak in 1979. Fact is, our movement was a joke by the 80's. We went from 'Peace, Love, and Harmony' to 'Greed is Good'. Woodstock to Wall Street. Put it all together, man, it's causality in action, tic-tac-toe. A little too _convenient,_ wouldn't ya say?" Roper shot back.

Jess jumped in, short-circuiting this convo that had veered way off course already. "That's Cool and the Gang, but how does a group like you, ah, get into this business, and, like, _why?_ "

Roper closed his eyes, allowing his anger to dissipate before responding. "Global transformation is only possible at the level of the individual," he replied softly, eyes shut. "We learned that decades ago. We're out doing the same thing they're doing, but our intentions are different, and that _matters,_ man. We enlighten, and yeah, sometimes we 'scare', but we don't intimidate like they do. That's not our bag. If we scare someone, that's just the Ego getting a jolt, the Ego that thinks society's got it all figured out; we're not concerned with that vestigial organ. In the long run, the experience gets integrated. It opens them up. It expands 'em. Brings 'em to a higher place," he explained, spinning his fingers upwards in a spiral.

"Just so we're clear on this, you guys have ships, that you take out and terrify people with, just like the government does?" Jess asked incredulously.

"C'mon man. Now that's just _unfair._ There's a difference. What we do _changes_ people. What they do _conditions_ people. Totally different. Skinner is alive and well mi amigo, don't let anyone tell you different."

"I still don't get why the government would do this to their own people, there's gotta be billions of our dollars in these things, we've got a right to know about these things we bought and paid for!"

"Well, they got a lotta dough in makin 'em, yeah, but they sure didn't invent 'em," he replied. Then, rubbing his stomach, he reached over and began searching the back of the van for something. "Hey Sag, let's get off at that Shoney's outside Rockford. I'm gettin' the munchies _real bad_ back here."

Twenty minutes later, they were off the highway and seated in the restaurant. While Roper and Sag argued over which menu item could best be passed off as vegan, Jess continued to question them.

"So how many ships do you have, and how did you get them?"

"We got three," Sag answered, as Roper pondered the menu intensely, "two smaller ones, Libra and Scout, and Big Mama. Libra's a Gen-one and is out of commission, she ran outta juice back in '02, so she's just a museum piece now. Scout's a newer model, mid-nineties, and at nineteen percent, so she's good for another decade or so, we think. Big Mama's almost brand new, though, provisioned in '08, and we picked her up in '12. We have a _lot_ of fun with her."

"And how did you get all these ships? Government surplus auctions?"

"Ha, naw. We stole 'em, just like you."

"We'll...I didn't really _steal_ it," Jess rationalized, taken aback by his bluntness, "more like _borrowed_ it, for a time, ahhh, yeah." She looked up to find the server waiting on them with an upraised eyebrow.

"Borrowing ain't stealing, in my book," she confirmed, "now what can I get you all?"

After a quick and greasy meal, they were soon back on the road. Jess had joined Sag up front in the passenger side captain's chair, which was springy and comfortable despite the various ancient stains and burn holes. Roper, sporadically nodding off in back on the shag carpet, lazily munched from the decidedly un-vegan bag of Doritos he insisted on getting.

Awakening from his stupor several minutes later, Roper broke the food coma silence that pervaded the van.

" _Sag,_ " he scolded accusingly.

"What, man?" Sag replied, a bit defensively.

"Dude, there's a lady with us. Manage yourself, bud."

"Sorry," he confessed sheepishly, "I couldn't hold it anymore. It _hurt_ dude."

"Saaaag," Roper sang out, angrily now.

"What!"

"Please tell me you didn't fish those Spawn-of-Satan fiber bars out of the trash did you?"

"But they were sooooo goooood..."

" _C'mon man!_ " Roper shouted, severely harshing the mellow. "Now we gotta live through this, like, literal _shit,_ for the next two hours? Dude, how can you let this happen again? I told you never to eat anything with that nasty chicory..."

"...root extract," Sag added. "I know, I know. Yeah, I'm payin' for it now. I won't do it..."

"We're _all_ payin' for it now, friend," Roper interrupted angrily. "Oh, we are _all_ payin' for it. No more! Where are they. I should'a chucked 'em at the gas station. Where _are_ they!"

"Ummm..."

"Where. Are. They."

"...I ate 'em all."

Roper sat with his back against the wall, defeated.

"Damn you, Sag," he grumbled with disgust. "Damn you and those fiber bars straight to Hell." Ducking into the back of the van, he opened the vents on the rear windows.

"Huh, Huh, Huh," Sag muttered, cracking his own window open.

"NOT funny. NOT funny, man," Roper scolded from the back. "Jess honey, I'm gonna set up camp back here for awhile, feel free to join me. Or stay up there with the Sag-stench, if you dare. Dude's _fermenting_ up there."

"I'm...fine," Jess replied, half-laughing and half-gagging, as she pulled her shirt up to her face and stared out the window.

A few minutes later, she rose and quietly joined Roper at the back of the van.
Chapter Fifty-Three

The rolling countryside gave way to picturesque turn-of-the-century hotels, curio shops, and restaurants as they rolled down Galena's South Main Street a few hours later. Instead of stopping to join the other antique hunters and bed-and-breakfasters, however, they continued heading north, out of town. Ten minutes on, they turned into the circular drive of an old whitewashed farmhouse, set on a large expanse of gently rolling green fields.

"Star must be out back," Roper surmised, "no lights on."

Sag continued driving past the house, turning onto a dirt two-track that trailed off behind it. As they crested a rise, a collection of far-flung outbuildings came into view, all dwarfed by a very low and wide structure set back into the tree line at the far edge of the property.

As they approached this long building, Jess noticed a set of twenty-foot wide doors hinged together to open like an accordion. Built with wood timbers, the building resembled a cross between log cabin and gigantic garage, reminding her of an uncle who lived in a runway community where the preposterously large garages held planes instead of cars. A diffuse bluish-white light, emanating from the door panel seams, suddenly blinked out as they parked the van in front.

Roper led them around the side, revealing a nicely landscaped garden accented with a flagstone patio, cedar chairs, and a fire pit. Jess imagined them eating brats and sipping lemonade after taking their starships out for a Sunday drive.

"Come on in!" Roper proclaimed, opening a screen door on the side of the building with a rusty yowl. While ushering them through a second inner door, the first thing Jess noticed was the cool, dry air that whooshed out, as though the building was pressurized. Closing the door behind her, they were all temporarily plunged into darkness. As he led them down a set of stairs to the concrete floor six feet below ground level, Jess' eyes adjusted to the dim blue lighting. She noticed a wide platform extending across the open space, creating a loft-like area above. Looking closer, however, she was shocked to discover there _was_ no second level, and the platform was actually the edge of an enormous ship.

Similar in shape to the triangle ship she had taken, this one seemed a bit larger: it looked to be at least three hundred feet on a side, and easily twelve feet thick. The edges, also rounded off and beveled, contained the same recessed circular openings on the underside of each corner. Unlike her ship, however, this one had a row of smaller openings around the bottom edges, connecting the larger ones.

The color of this one was different too — it wasn't flat black like hers, but had more of a dark grayish-greenish color to it, and the texture wasn't tiled and bumpy, but smoother — more like suede. It appeared sleeker, and certainly more awe-inspiring, but Jess also realized this was the first time she viewed a ship like this up close with her physical senses, which seemed to impart a more emotional reaction.

It sat, silently suspended, eight feet above the concrete floor. Squinting her eyes, she searched for the tripod supports, but found none; it simply sat fixed in place, as if it were bolted onto the ceiling somewhere.

Jess turned back to Sag. "This ship is _huge,_ " she marveled, "how is it being held up?"

He looked at her strangely. "Ah, whatdaya mean 'how is it being held up'?"

Roper intervened before she could reply. "Well here's the thing, we don't shut 'er down..."

"You don't shut it down?"

"Well, we shut down everything but the ring."

"So you just let it sit here hovering twenty-four-seven? That's crazy!"

"Now listen here, young lady, I don't suppose you know how much energy it takes to get the ring up to speed do ya? You keep shutting it down and powering it up every day you can almost watch the juice leak away. Easier to just keep it running."

"But what about the thrusters? They must be off, right?"

"Yeah, but remember, this is a Gen III — they got the ring efficiency up to a hundred percent, so the thrusters are only for relative motion. Maneuverability is amazing when you don't need 'em for lift."

"Still, seems like such a waste of energy..."

"Your thinking is stuck in the past on this Jess, energy ain't an issue. Big Mama, as she sits, is good for another quarter-century, assuming three missions a week. Maybe longer, who knows."

"Twenty-five _years?_ That's insane! What do these things run on anyway? And can't you just recharge them?"

Sag snorted, and Roper gave him a look as if to say _This lady has a lot to learn_.

"Jess, we can't recharge them. Don't know how. To be honest, we ain't qualified to anyhow, even if we did know. There's somethin' pretty close to a reactor that powers her."

"You mean these suckers are nuclear?" Her stomach dropped as she realized she had piloted a nuclear reactor over her hometown, and landed it in a stadium full of people. She crouched down and put a hand on the floor to steady herself. The boys, sympathizing with her reaction, bent down to console her.

"Listen, Jessica," Roper said gently, "we're against nukes more than you even know. But these aren't like what we have now. Not even close. What's out _there_ is fifty-year-old tech. _This_ is fifty-year-new tech, and it's safe. It's all self-contained. You could turn off the ring at the edge of space, drop this thing ten stories into the ground, and it would just sit there, happy as a clam, for centuries."

Still a little dizzy, she steadied herself, and as they helped her up, a voice rang out from the darkness.

"Quite a sight, huh?"

An older woman, red-haired like Jess and dressed in work coveralls emerged from the shadows, walking towards them with a slight but noticeable limp. After wiping her hands clean with a handkerchief, she pocketed it, and was about to offer her hand to Jess in greeting when she noticed the boys holding her up.

"Nice to finally meet ya, I'm Star...ah, what's this, honey? A little too much?"

"Nah, she just thought she was Dr. Strangelove there for a second with her little stunt," Roper explained. "If she knew how many hours these things logged over populated areas the last forty years she wouldn't be so concerned."

"Yeah, don't fret it," Star reassured her. "As much as I think what you did was pretty damned reckless, the ships themselves are safe as rocks. 'Bout as heavy as 'em too. Guess how much this one weighs? No, wait: guess how much the smaller one _you_ took weighs?"

Though still a little light-headed, Jess had retained her curiosity. She knew a large car was about two tons, so she imagined them lined up in the shape of the triangle, stacked two high, and did the math.

"Hmmm, I'm thinking maybe thirty tons?"

"Try closer to fifteen _thousand_. And that's for your _smaller_ one. This girl tops twenty-one thousand tons. _Yeah_. Give you some perspective, think of the biggest old-time steam locomotive you can. Got it? She's fifty-five of them, and then some. That's half the weight of the Titanic suspended up there. Wanna go walk under it?"

Jess thought she was joking, but then she made a move toward it, and they all followed. _Clearly this woman relishes showing off her baby to visitors,_ she thought, hurrying to catch up with them.

"The weight of this ship is just about the same as an equal volume of water at thirty-nine degrees Fahrenheit," she instructed as they walked under the leading edge. "I'll leave it to you to ponder the significance of that tidbit."

Looking up, Jess examined the row of smaller circles that lined the outer edges of the ship's belly. Like the larger ones, they simply looked like oversized golf ball dimples, while powered down at least. Pulling a mag-lite from her breast pocket, Star pointed it upwards, and scanning back and forth slowly, quietly admired the underside of the ship.

"Beautiful, beautiful. It's art, really. Anodized Niobium alloy, the whole of it," she marveled to herself, as much as to the rest of them. "Course you never had a chance with that weight thing Jess; I was cheating a bit. Most of that weight's in the ring itself. The rest is pretty light, comparatively."

"What's the deal with the ring?"

"Well, that's where the magic happens. It's a super-compressed plasma that's spun up like a centrifuge. Takes the weight away. Well, I guess technically the weight's still there, let's just say it don't really matter at that point. Doesn't break the law of gravity, though, just confuses it a bit. It's powered by three Graphene super-capacitors, which in turn are trickle-charged by that nuclear stuff, like they mentioned."

Walking further, she continued to quietly admire the underside until they came upon one of the larger circular depressions at the corners.

"These are the ion engines that you use for vertical travel mostly, but they need to be in sync. If they're not in sync and you apply too much to one engine, you'll tip the ship. A couple tens of degrees of tip at full ring speed and you're suddenly a bullet from the angular momentum alone. You're lucky you lifted a Gen II, they were a lot more forgiving in that department, cause the ring was less efficient at nullifying the total weight."

"What about sonic booms? When I was onboard I didn't hear a single one, and we were going pretty fast. Or is that something you don't hear when you're inside?"

"Well, you wouldn't, true, but these don't cause sonic booms anyway. That's another little secret technology in itself — a superheated plasma field forms around the ship above a certain speed, using the waste heat from the ion engines. It burns the air around it, so there's no surfaces to allow a shockwave to form. These guys knew what they were doing. Now hold on a sec, you said 'we', I thought you were alone when you took the ship?"

"No, I meant originally. That's how I learned how they work, I went for a ride-along over in Mongolia."

"Mongolia? What in Sam Hill were you doing over there?"

"Long story...but I tailed one of them and put myself onboard before it got too far up. Then rode it home with some of the fellas. They were having a bit of fun with it — like taking out Daddy's Porsche when he's at church. But then afterwards, they 'visited' a civilian couple in Vermont. That pissed me off, honestly."

"Yeah, well. That's what they do. They got their reasons. As do we. Rip — you haven't met her yet — took Scout to about a hundred and twenty thousand feet once, but we wouldn't let her go higher than that. They'd probably work in the black, but we don't even know if they're rated for that, much less any sort of interplanetary travel. They're so hard to come by, we don't dare push the envelope on 'em — plus our work is down here, not up there. But say, how far up did you go?"

"I don't honestly know how high we got, but I could see the curvature of the earth. Then we docked, and this one fella left to board whatever we docked with — which I couldn't see — and then we dropped back down like a stone. Quite a thrill ride, for them anyway."

All three of them became very interested at this point. "Wait a second, back up. You docked? At the edge of space? Who was this guy? Was he tall with kinda fair skin?"

"Yeah, yeah, but I have no idea who he was. One of the pilots called him Senator on the way out though."

Star and the others looked at each other with raised eyebrows.

"Guess they mended that fence," Roper mumbled to Star before turning back to Jess. "Darlin' if you haven't figured out by now — he wasn't one of us."

Jess wasn't exactly shocked, but there was a part of her that wanted to believe he was human; it was all just too fantastical. A warm swimming sensation enveloped her, but then she decided to believe they meant he was Russian. _Yeah, that'll do for now,_ she thought, as the feeling subsided.

"Boy, you got a lot done in your few days with the federales. No vetting either, huh? They must've needed you in a hurry. What were you doing out there, anyway?"

"Well, this guy was being held in North Korea. I busted him out," she said with a hint of bravado. They looked at each other again, impressed, and spoke in hushed tones, but loud enough for her to overhear.

"I told you they were working that angle," Roper whispered.

"Wonder what happened," Star mused, "must've been desperate for them to call on the G-Men."

"Whatever it was, they were caught with their pants down, that's for sure. It's only when they get nicked, they gotta follow the prime directive all of a sudden," Roper added, bringing a chuckle from everyone but Jess.

There were so many questions to ask, Jess couldn't hardly think straight.

"Star, you mentioned on the phone — by the way guys, what's up with the twenty-year-old cell phone?"

"That's the last of the old analogs," Sag explained. "The bug-ment don't care or even know how to tap those guys anymore. We got kinda like pirate-radio cell relays set up for it."

"Oh, wow, OK," she replied, genuinely impressed. "So anyway, Star, you said that my contacts in the 'bug-ment' wouldn't be calling me anymore, how did you know that?"

"C'mon, Jess, it was pretty easy for us to figure out you were involved in this. Maybe not if you dropped the thing down in Kazakhstan, but seriously, Wrigley Field? They know it was you, they've de-commed you already, you'll never see them again, believe you me."

"They mentioned that to me, that they'll run disinformation campaigns if I cause any trouble, but am I in any real danger?"

"Well, they won't send a hit man out for you, but they can make your life a living hell, that's for sure. Ever been worried about identity theft? How would you feel about identity assassination? It ain't death, but it ain't fun neither, is it now," Star said, looking over at Roper.

"Yeah, your wallet is probably already a relic," Roper added. "Good thing people still love cash though, otherwise we'd never get anything done. Did ya notice you haven't gotten a call or a text in the last twelve hours or so?"

Jess thought about it, and was surprised to discover she hadn't. "Ah, no...let me check though," she replied, nervously pulling her phone from her bag. "No, nothing. Hey wait, signal bar says 'Insert SIM'?"

"Yeah, they burned it remotely," Sag said. "I hate to say it, but I think they totaled you. Hope you didn't have much in your 401K. On the other hand, if you maxed out your credit cards, well you don't have to worry about _that_ anymore either."

"Oh my God." Jess thought of every electronic record tied to her name, gone just like that. "What about my college transcripts?" she asked, starting to tear up.

Star stepped in and took her hand compassionately. "Sorry to say, they do tend to do a scorched-earth type of thing here, honey, considering what you did. On the bright side, if there's any physical record, like a yearbook or something, then they can't kill it completely, so they just mess it up."

"Yeah, so they like just probably turned your A's into D's," Sag offered.

"Not helping!" Roper scolded, as Jess' teary eyes widened.

"C'mon," offered Star, putting an arm around her shoulder. "We have something to attend to might make ya feel better; let's head up to the house."

Forcing a smile, Jess wiped her eyes and sniffled as she went with them back to the house.
Chapter Fifty-Four

Leaving the building in the fading evening light, they headed back up the two-track towards the farmhouse. Lights from inside the house illuminated the gravel driveway outside, where an older model Subaru hatchback had appeared.

Entering the house, they led Jess into the kitchen where an older gentleman with short white hair, mustache and goatee turned to greet them. Sporting a sunflower-clad apron and oven mitts, he held before them a large pan containing a freshly baked cake. The words 'Disclosure 2015' were written on it in purple icing, above a cartoonish saucer-shaped silver UFO flying into the night sky. The assembled crowd applauded and whistled as they patted Jess on the back.

"Thanks for delaying her, folks, we didn't have any food coloring for the icing so I had to run into town. I hope it wasn't too obvious. Well anyway, _some_ of us," he intoned, glaring at Star, "have been waiting for this day for decades, and look at this young whippersnapper who gives all of us a comeuppance! Congratulations, Jessica!"

Setting down the cake, he removed his mitts and delicately held out his hand to her. She couldn't help smiling at his immaculate presentation, juxtaposed with the amateurishly decorated cake, and took his hand with a slight bow.

"Victor. Charmed, I'm sure," he proffered, bowing even deeper in return. "That was quite a performance! And _Wrigley Field,_ too. Style through and through. I like it! We have some copies of the YouTube videos before they were taken down this morning, if you'd like to see them later. Beautiful things they are. And the acrobatics! We _must_ discuss. But first, cake."

Moving into an adjoining dining room, they all crowded around a long oak table. The style of the house was clean but definitely of the period; it had the appearance of a typical farmhouse from a hundred years past. Circular, yellowing portraits, presumably of the original owners, hung by wire from picture rails along each of the four walls. Behind the pictures, a yellowing wallpaper barely hid the large cracks in the horsehair lath and plaster. Her inspection of the spartan furnishings was interrupted by a slice of cake placed in front of her, the one with the flying saucer dead center, along with a cup of lemonade in a rocket-ship themed paper cup with handle.

"So, Jessica, tell us more about how you did it, if you don't mind. For starters, how did you get the codes?" Victor asked.

"Ah, codes...for what?" Jess replied, perplexed.

"Nah, that was a second gen, what she got, remember?" Roper reminded Victor, before turning to Jess. "The first and second-gen models didn't even have any startup codes — that's how confident they were of their security apparatus. Even after we got Libra. Then after Scout, they finally wised up and thought maybe they should add a password to these things!"

"So if the third-gen models have codes, then how did you get Big Mama?" Jess asked.

"She was a project," Roper continued, "lemme tell ya. Let's just say we have a little birdie on the inside who's aligned with our interests. Not everyone believes in what they're doing over there."

"OK, so let's back up a second, can you please explain to me what the deal is with these again? What is the goal here? Seems like a just a big waste of money."

"Well, they got a couple goals. And sweetie there's a whole backstory to this going on at least half a century that we know of, so this isn't just some shiny new thing. From what we've gathered over the years, we think one reason is that they're trying to co-opt public opinion on the whole UFO mess. Trying to own the story themselves."

"But I don't get it. Why? Nobody even believes in that stuff nowadays — it's a big joke. It's just, like, X-Files stuff."

"Maybe to some," Star interrupted, finishing a mouthful of cake, "but listen honey, over thirty percent of Americans believe that aliens have visited our planet. And over eighty percent believe the government has covered up information about UFO activity. So it's not as wild as you think. And talk about the X-Files, if you only knew the brouhaha that shit stirred up back in the 90's; a lot of 'em were totally against letting them go ahead with a few of those story lines — just too damn close to the truth. But the older, smarter ones prevailed — they knew putting it on T.V. would forever make it fiction. Feeding into the Crazy been workin' for 'em over thirty years now — much better tactic than the Keystone Cops coverups before then. 'Yes officer, all's I saw was Venus, that thing big as a house hovering over my backyard'...ridiculous."

"Yeah, swamp gas, right?" added Roper, laughing. "It's complicated though, man, they also sorta wanna keep that sci-fi thing going, as a cover story for what they have. So they keep it on the down low, but don't tell me the military brass of other countries don't know about it. That's part of it. 'Look what we have, we can fly right over your capital if we want, don't even try to start something with us.' Buncha cock-swagger 'sall."

"Also, these types of ships have been around since the late sixties," Star continued, "and as I remember well, back then nuclear power was _not cool_. Not cool at all. Think 'Three Mile Island' not cool. And it still isn't — look at Fukushima a few years back — there's renewed resistance to it, just when people were starting to forget the risks. And these guys know that as long as the power plant designs from fifty years ago continue to be used, there will continue to be accidents which will never really clear up nuclear's tarnished rep."

"Now these," she explained, gesturing her fork towards the hangar, "are the opposite of all that. They are full-on nuclear powered — there is enough stored energy in the momentum of that ring, resting as it is right now, to power a good-size city for a week straight; never mind the actual reactor output that trickle charges it. And they have clearance — not from local authorities, mind you — but at higher levels — to operate at will over heavily populated areas. Now _we_ have enough experience to trust this tech, but the general population? Forget about it. Never. And you can't redesign it any other way. Whatcha gonna do, unplug the reactor and slap solar panels on the top?"

At this, Star let out a long hoarse laugh, triggering fits in the others. It was sadly ironic for Jess to see old hippies laughing at the perceived impotence of solar power.

"OK, I get all that. I think. So there's a couple of reasons. But what's the bigger picture to all this?"

"Well, now, that is subject to opinion. But the consensus from our angle is that it is preparatory."

"Preparatory; for what?"

"For you, Jess," Star said, forking another slice out of her cake, "for disclosure."

"Now what you did," she continued after finishing her slice, "was _inadvertent_ disclosure — from their perspective — but they've been well prepared for that too, and you've seen what they've done with it so far. It's no joke — there have been so many incidents through the years they've got it down to a science. But listen, your little stunt out there — regardless of whether you think it was effective or not — moved the needle on this big time. It cleaved an opening for the UFO nuts to reach the public. There's no denying this tech now, regardless of how they spin it, there was thirty-five thousand people who saw it with their own eyes, in person, and a whole bunch of them know the government-controlled media spin is bullshit. Maybe they haven't accepted it consciously yet, but trust me, they know. It's out there now. And that's what they've been afraid of. So now there's two ways about it. The public can believe it was a government ship, which they won't, because why would the government land a ship in the middle of Wrigley Field, or they can think it was Extraterrestrial, which the government has now covered up — once again. It plays so nicely into the whole long-lived Roswell theme, so that's what it'll be, in my humble opinion. Without knowing it, you became our first public alien ambassador."

"So what is their next step?"

"Well, they've prepared for this day and you've seen the start of it. Coverup and disinfo campaigns. They'll encourage all sides of it, too — discreetly pushing all the different theories: E.T., government recon ship, elaborate hoax, etc. to sew confusion. You'll notice they won't even deny the actual truth, and that's the trick. Ever heard of Black-Ops? Well there is also White-Ops, and Gray-Ops. White-Ops deals with public, truthful knowledge. Gray-Ops mixes White-Ops with Black-Ops — truth and lies — to breed confusion and disagreement. Add a little truth to a stew of lies and a whole bunch of people will lap it all up. Keep your enemy muddled and a coordinated reaction can't gel together. Then they sit back, watch the bickering, and wait for everyone to get tired, and then the whole thing will blow over without too much collateral damage. Will it grow the ranks of E.T. believers? You bet. Will it obviate religion and government order? No way. This is not a turning point, but it's a step. As long as people have food, jobs, a roof over their head, and a big TV in it, there won't be any street protests calling for disclosure. This isn't the 'Alien Spring' here. Honestly, we've all talked well into the night, many nights, about what would happen in the event of a full disclosure of their presence, and we don't think a whole lot — given the assumption they wouldn't invade or try to rule over us — which from our collective experience they have no desire to do. But the G-Men always hedge their bets — especially if they can use the fear internally to keep getting those massive black budgets approved — and so they prepare for any disclosure by showing off their tech now. It's grass roots, like us, but theirs is a storyline they're slowly building, so they can come back later and say it was them all along, that they're still large and in charge."

Jess, thrown by Star's intimation of an actual 'alien presence', decided to continue her strategy of dismissing it, since she had still seen no concrete proof to support such conclusions. "Still seems like an awfully ridiculous amount of resources going into this whole thing, for such a low probability outcome as alien contact."

"Well, they don't have the faith we do, neither in humanity or them," Star said, gesturing upwards, "and they're paid to be paranoid. Remember, it is their job to protect us, after all. But mix a noble cause with borderline psychotic paranoia, then add in whole lot of money with no parental supervision, and this is what you get — some kind of crazy."

Jess finished her cake and lemonade as Star rose to retire into the adjoining living room. The others, who had all been surreptitiously listening to the conversation, followed her lead, leaving Jess alone at the table. Victor cleared the empty plates, then brought out trays full of tapas from the kitchen, along with a few bottles of wine. Jess sampled each dish slowly, trying to process all of this information, before joining them all on the couch.

"Now," Star said, slapping her knees with both hands, "we've told you what we know, and glad to do it. Let's talk about how _you_ can help _us_."

"Sure, but how? It seems like you've got a good thing going here."

"We've got the land here to support two more Big Mamas, and we want 'em. We have another unlock code, too, but they've upped the security — they keep the Gen III's underground now. We can find it remotely, given enough time, but we can't do what you do."

"So...you want me to swipe it for you," Jess replied, motioning toward the hangar outside, "and bring it back here."

"Would be awful sweet of ya," Star replied with a smile.

"Look, I respect what you all are doing here — but I've got different goals in this. I want full disclosure — even of the things I don't know about yet — and I am going to continue down that road. So you can have the ship, but only after I raise my own type of awareness with it. And I can't guarantee I'll get back to you in one piece, if at all."

"Now hold on a second here," Star countered with a measure of annoyance, "these codes don't come up very often — this here's a special opportunity for us."

"I get it," Jess said. "And I'm offering my help, but if you think you can get it yourself, then that's your business. I will say though, if you offer me the opportunity on this one, I will work my darndest to get it back to you when I'm finished with it."

Star paused for a second, and then glanced at Roper, who after a moment gave a quick nod. Then she looked over to Victor, standing in the doorway wiping his hands on his apron. Without delay, he also gave a confident nod along with a thumbs up.

"Yeah, I could'a predicted that; she's got _you_ in her left pocket," Star mumbled to Victor before turning back to Jess. "That's acceptable to us," she said brightly, shaking Jess' hand, then turned to Sag.

"Get Tweetie on the line, honey bunch."
Chapter Fifty-Five

Sag led Jess to a cramped upstairs dormer room, which contained a comically small child-size roll-top desk supporting an enormous and ancient ham radio set. Two black wires, one thick and one thin, led from the back of the radio to the outside of the house via the sill of a newspaper-covered window. On a side table next to the ham equipment stood a smaller, portable radio with a large analog frequency dial in the center surrounded by various toggle switches. Below it sat a triangular glass ashtray, holding the remnants of a stale joint.

On the wall next to the rig was affixed a map of the world with different colored pushpins stuck into it. Although most of them were located within the United States, a few other countries — the U.K. was a prominent one — were also represented. Within the states, there were about a dozen spread across the eastern seaboard, but the majority appeared to cluster in the southwest states of Texas, Utah, and California. Looking upwards, she noticed a prominent grouping of purple pushpins as far north as the Arctic Circle, which she found odd. She was about to ask about them, when Sag began transmitting.

"X-ray Tango One-Zero-One-Seven. Calling for Wolfram Foxtrot Zero-Six-One-One."

A minute of radio silence elapsed before Sag tried to raise him again, but still there was no answer. "Must be offline. It's a little early for him anyway. We'll try again in a bit. Hey, in the meantime I want to show you something."

He flipped on the smaller shortwave radio and turned the dial. A rush of alternating static, voices, and songs filled the small room until he settled on a particular frequency. A woman's voice could be heard reading random numbers, one after the other. After several had been read, there was a pause, then a short tone, and then more numbers.

"What is this?"

"This is the source for the fleet management carrier," Sag explained. "It's a station that broadcasts worldwide, twenty-four-seven. It's been online without fail since the late sixties at least."

"What the hell? It's super creepy."

"Yeah, used to be they thought it was the Russians communicating in code to their spies, and it may have been at one time. But doesn't make any sense now, twenty-six years after the wall fell, does it?"

"So she just reads numbers all day long?"

"Yeah, well we _assume_ it's a recording, not an actual chick in her seventies sitting there all day long! But anyway, we found out that it had been co-opted in the mid-nineties to be a carrier for the ships. I guess they figure everybody knows about it, and attributes it to the Russians, so what better cover is there? Anyway, the numbers don't matter anymore, there's a subcarrier synchronized by the tone which keeps the ships checked in. Like a heartbeat. They need to use this frequency because standard ship to shore communication frequencies are blocked by the EMF field around the ship when stationary, and these things move so fast that regular radio waves aren't reliable at speed — they get distorted. So special equipment onboard monitors this particular shortwave frequency to maintain a heartbeat, and also to listen for the subcarrier, which lets the ship know which ELF to lock into to for more detailed commands."

Jess looked askance at him. "Ah, elf?"

"Sorry, Extremely Low Frequency. The longer wavelengths have an easier time breaking through the EMF fields. So if a fleet management command needs to be transmitted, the shortwave heartbeat will modify the subcarrier temporarily, redirecting the ships to a specific secure ELF data channel. Then they broadcast the command over the ELF channel, to the particular ship they're targeting."

"Wow, you're like a rocket scientist in here. When I first met you you didn't seem that..." Jess quickly bit her tongue, but Sag finished the sentence for her anyway.

"...bright?"

"Umm, yeah, sorry. First impressions, and all."

"Yeah, that was just the ganja. Taking the frontal lobes offline once in a while is good for the spirit. Life isn't all about directed thought you know. You should read the _Dao de Jing_."

"Can't seem to find the time these days, but I'll take that under consideration," Jess replied with a smile. "Anyway, that makes sense what you said about the comms — when I was onboard I didn't hear a single communication to a tower or home base, except when we were docking, and later when we did a fly-by of a base."

"Yeah, those were probably through ELF channels, which change regularly on a coordinated schedule. Usually they slow or stop the ship and drop an antenna to receive the message. And it's not a high speed data link either, it's generally used just for sporadic fleet management commands or emergencies. I mean these things are stealth, so there wouldn't be much communication anyway, regardless of the technical hurdles."

Sag attempted the transmission again, and after a moment a crackling began issuing from the speaker.

"Wolfram Foxtrot," came the slow, steady reply, as though from someone answering the phone after viewing a suspicious phone number on the caller ID.

"Foxtrot, X-ray Tango looking for a meet-up. Local option. Coffee and tea?"

"That's affirmative. Seven-thirty?"

"Yup."

"Usual suspects?"

"Affirmative, and a plus-one."

A few moments of silence elapsed before there was another tentative reply. "Vetted?"

" _Wrigley,_ " Sag transmitted.

"Ha! Gotcha. See you then. Out."

"Out," said Sag, returning the mic to the table. "Boy he sure is excited to meet you! Let's catch up in the morning, its been a long day."

Sag led Jess to her bedroom, next door to the radio room. Brushing her teeth in the tiny bathroom, she had some time to think about the day's events. What _have I gotten myself into? And when will I get out of it?_ she thought, as she lay on the bed wide awake. But the din of the crickets outside, along with the sporadic sound of a distant freight train, conspired to take her frontal lobes offline, and soon she was fast asleep.
Chapter Fifty-Six

An actual rooster awoke her, as the first glint of sunlight shone through the lace curtains. Arising, she stretched and went to the window. Before her lay an idyllic scene of gently rolling green fields leading to the edge of the forest beyond. Near the back corner of the property something reflective twinkled in the sunlight, catching her eye. As she squinted to examine it closer, her attention was distracted by the clink of pots and pans from downstairs, followed by the smell of bacon wafting into the room. Deciding it wise to abandon further investigation, she dressed and headed downstairs to find Roper and Sag preparing fresh bacon and eggs for the crew.

"Mornin!" Roper greeted her. "How do you take 'em?"

"Scrambled, please, thanks. Smells amazing."

After deftly breaking three brown eggs into a bowl with one hand, Roper added some milk with the other, then chucked the egg shells through the open kitchen window into the yard.

"Order up, Vic!" he called out the window after them.

"Where is he?"

"Oh, he's out working in the garden. He's usually in charge of the kitchen but he's got some weeding to do. So I understand you've got a meeting this morning."

"Ayup, down in Texas, y'all," Sag answered on her behalf, as he sat at the small kitchen table absentmindedly folding over the edge of a placemat.

"Well...don't mind Tweetie if'n he ain't too friendly at first," Roper warned Jess, mimicking Sag's bad accent. "He's got a lot on the line with this deal. We don't know where he gets all his info, as he's pretty low on the totem, so there may be a chain in operation he's overly protective of. Sometimes he doesn't fully trust the judgement of us damned dirty hippies."

"Yeah, he seemed that way," Jess agreed. "Well I guess I don't blame him, considering. Hey, by the way, what's the big shiny thing in the back corner of the field?"

Roper frowned at Sag, but Sag knew immediately what she meant. "Oh yeah, that's Libra."

"Libra! You mean the Gen I model?"

"Yeah, that's what you do out in the country when yer car tain't work no mores. Ya set 'er out ta pasture," Sag replied, now a midwestern farmer.

_Accents must be the only entertainment they have out here,_ Jess thought. "Yeah that's fun with the voices and all. So anyway, about Libra, are you kidding me? It's just...out there? In the wide open? What about, like, Google satellites snapping pics of it?"

"Honey, nobody's gonna care what's out here. She's in the weeds, man, and she's almost gone anyway."

"What do you mean, _almost gone?_ "

"They sink, Jess," Sag replied. "Without the ring operating you'd need a serious foundation just to support the dead weight. In two years time she'll prolly be completely buried. Might keep goin' too, unless she hits a layer of solid granite or something."

She pondered this, as Roper served her a plate of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs with a sprinkle of pepper. Returning to the kitchen, he poured more eggs into the pan, and Jess listened to them sizzle as a rooster crowed out back. The surreality of discussing the fate of worn-out spaceships in this setting was not lost on her.

After breakfast, they all took a long walk down to the back of the property. Star, waiting for them at the hangar, took them inside and led them around Big Mama to the Gen II model parked in back.

"This is our commuter, Scout. Big Mama, and all the other Gen III's, are night runners only. They removed the visual camouflage functionality on 'em, so you can't take them out during the day. Personally, I think the camo gear was always overkill, and I think they figured that out too. Works well enough — when it works — but there have been some spectacular failures. Imagine seeing a huge triangle flying above your house lit up with TV static. That really happened, and not just once! Talk about stealth, huh! Covered those up by saying they were malfunctioning advertising blimps."

This new ship, Scout, was more similar to the ship she took than to Big Mama, but was half the size. Though it emitted a low hum, it was also supported by three four-inch square timbers set into concrete footings.

"What's with the wooden posts supporting this one — does that mean you turn it off?"

"Well, the tripod supports on her stopped working about six years ago, so Roper put these posts in. Supposed to be a quick fix, but you know how those things go. And no, these posts certainly couldn't support the full weight. In the earlier models, like this one, the ring only compensates for about nine-tenths of the mass. We don't want to be running the thrusters in here in the summer, cause of the waste heat, so we support the rest of the weight the old fashioned way. Like I said before, with Big Mama they got the grav-null efficiency up to one hundred percent, so that's not an issue with her."

"So if Big Mama can account for all its weight, why are there still the three big thrusters on the bottom?"

"Well you still need 'em for a quick getaway straight up, and also all the systems are integrated, so you need the waste heat to generate the plasma envelope. So they're kinda like an appendix, but still useful in some ways. Also, if you noticed last night, on her they got a bunch of smaller recessed thrusters spread out along the edges. They're not needed for lift either though, just for station keeping."

Walking underneath the older model ship, Star reached up and grabbed a recessed lever. Pointing to the lever was a red arrow outlined in white, with the words _Pull for Release and Rescue_ stenciled underneath. As Star pulled it down, three circular hatches above them slid open with a heavy metallic _thunk_.

"Jess, you take that one," Sag said, pointing to the hatch farthest from them. "You're gonna need a boost, though." Walking over with her, he lifted her until she was able to catch hold of a grab bar within the hatch. After climbing a few rungs, she emerged into a darkened crew compartment, with tiny white lights embedded into the floor blinking in sequence, leading the way to the three open hatches.

With some effort, Star climbed aboard, and after hitting a few keystrokes at a workstation, illuminated the cabin. Jess noticed immediately the crew compartment of this ship was almost an exact replica of the one she had piloted, even though the exterior dimensions were smaller. Unlike the government ship, however, there were no items of flair, with the exception of a Jolly Roger hung on one wall, and an American flag opposite it.

Star, situated at the Captain's workstation, pulled a pair of small reading glasses from her overalls pocket and put them on. Squinting at the screen, she began hunting and pecking at the keyboard. As she did so, the video panels in the floor and ceiling cleared, revealing the dim light of the hangar, while the hum of the ring rose in pitch and volume.

"Wow, this girl is loud!" Jess remarked, buckling herself into a chair. It reminded her of Six Flags when they turned on the juice to the bumper cars.

"Well she is a bit long in the tooth," Star maintained, "but she gets the job done."

"Doors are open," Sag announced, climbing aboard and taking his place at the workstation across from Star.

"OK, call Vic and get clearance."

Sag pulled a giant off-white brick of a cellphone, complete with long black rubber antenna, from a large pocket on his cargo shorts and began dialing it.

"Yeah, all set, how's it look?" Sag said into the brick, and after a few moments, looked towards Star and nodded. "...perfect day for flying. Nobody within two miles. OK then."

"We gotta check the area just in case," she informed Jess. "At low altitudes it's pretty easy to see the outline, even when I'm projecting a perfect image of the sky above us."

Star leaned towards her console and hunted and pecked some more, until suddenly Jess was startled by a loud boom from her left that jostled the ship. A second followed, from her right, and then a third from just beneath her. Looking around wildly, she grabbed the arms of her chair as her co-pilots chuckled. The thrusters, increasing their cycling rate, eventually joined the higher pitched hum of the ring. She noticed several pairs of headphones velcroed to the center console, but unlike the government ship, nobody here bothered to wear them. _It didn't seem this loud on my ship,_ she thought to herself, as the rumbling vibrations shook her viscera.

Rising a few feet to clear the posts, Star piloted the ship slowly towards the hangar opening. Without enough lateral space to maneuver around Big Mama, however, she deftly lowered the ship to the dusty cement floor, passing underneath the larger ship with only inches to spare.

"Now you know why we keep 'er up so high, huh?" Star joked, noticing Jess once again clenching the sides of her chair.

"These girls are pretty smart though, they generally won't let you crash into anything, unless that's your intention. And they know it too. We haven't quite figured it out, but there's a kind of sentience in 'em, so you can get attached to 'em, like to a pet. Dare say you can love 'em, huh, Sag?"

"Man's best friend, right girl?" Sag replied, patting the center console. Jess began to laugh, but caught herself as she realized they weren't joking.

"Just wait 'til you get your own, you'll see," said Sag defensively, prompting a hearty guffaw from Star.

Reaching the exit, Star raised the ship to clear the threshold. The cool air they pushed out ahead of them hit the warmer outside air and instantly condensed into a fog, from which the ship emerged to ascend over the green pasture. The noise of the cycling thrusters faded as the walls of the hangar fell away, the ship becoming nearly silent as it slipped into the blue sky.

"Now I suppose you flew with the training wheels on like I am right now — the thrusters," Star said as they rose above the farm and came around to a hover. "Not much choice in these models. But like I said, a lot more capability in Big Mama — her full-on grav-null, plus the higher ring speed, means you can use momentum alone for propulsion by tipping where you want to go. In this gal, though, we always need to have the thrusters active both for hover and directional assist."

As if to demonstrate, Star gently tipped the nose of the ship down, and as the hum of the ring increased, they began to slide forward. Pushed back into her seat, Jess watched the landscape below slip into a blur. The acceleration didn't subside until they slowed thirty seconds later, and coming to a hover again, Jess found the land below had now become a turbulent mix of grayish-green water.

"...And that was twenty-six miles, ladies and gentlemen," Sag, as airline captain, announced. "If you look below, you'll get an up close and personal look at the Old Man himself, the mighty Mississippi."

Star, ignoring him, continued with her lesson. "Now if the thrusters are Kindergarten and tilting is High School, then College is using the ring alone to maneuver, without any outside help. It's possible to adjust the rotational patterns of the plasma within the toroidal flux, which directly affects the momentum, and thus the orientation and travel of the ship. Takes a steady hand though, to avoid a wobble. Right Sag?"

"Right, Star," replied Sag dryly. _Jeez, I guess every crew needs a mascot,_ Jess thought to herself, _but at least the ribbing was relatively good-natured._

"How about a little rock-a-bye?" Star asked.

"Ugh, _really?_ " Sag replied contemptuously. "You really want her to heave. On our nice little Sunday drive."

"Ah, he's no fun," Star asserted to Jess, smiling. Abandoning her idea, she tipped the ship again, slower this time. "We use the rivers as our highway system; generally less observers, especially at night."

"Or if our camo is broke," piped in Sag.

"Yeah, the camo on this one is busted."

"Well, except for one feature..." Sag hinted.

"I was waiting to see when you'd bring that up," Star said derisively.

"Why not?" countered Sag.

"Fine, fine, fine." Star replied begrudgingly, and righting the ship, she tapped at her console, initiating a climb.

"Wait, aren't we exposing ourselves up here?" Jess inquired.

"Not for lo-ng," sang Sag, as he worked at his own console. A mist soon began to form over the viewing panels. "Voila, instant cover."

"Oh, so we're in a cloud?"

"Well, you can do that too, sure, but right now it's nothing but blue sky, so we're making our own."

"Huh?"

"The waste heat from the thrusters can also be redirected to combine with water in onboard baffles, creating an instant fog around the ship. The water's superheated and dispensed at high pressure from tiny nozzles all around the ship."

"When you're moving fast, though, won't the wind strip it right off?"

"At the edges, yeah, but at high enough pressure and low enough speeds, it's stable for a good three feet out from the hull," Sag explained. "It's pretty awesome."

"Oh, now that's a load of bullcrap right there," Star countered. "Even _I_ think it's cheesy as hell, and I'm from Wisconsin. I, for one, am glad they discontinued it along with the other camo in the Gen III's. It's like an 80's Bond film gimmick. You should see it from the ground, Jess. A weird, smoky cloud, flying a hundred miles an hour in the opposite direction of the wind. Like that's not obvious. Ridiculous."

"Yeah, but you gotta admit it's cool to demo..." Sag replied, sounding like a wounded puppy.

"It's pretty cool, Sag," Jess offered, coming to his rescue and crinkling her nose at Star. Looking down at the panels, she noticed the fog dissipating. "Why is the panel clearing now — did we run out of water? And where do you get the water anyway? And what happens to the waste heat when you don't heat the water with it?" Jess thought the feature _was_ pretty neat, but mostly just wanted Sag to feel better.

"Well first, it's just plain water we can get from any lake by dropping an intake tube. And if we're not cloud-making, the waste heat from the thrusters is just jetted out from the same nozzles, but without the water."

"And that's another knock against these Gen II's," Star interrupted, "Even in full camo mode, if the atmospherics are right, you can clearly see the heat shimmer all around the ship. It's a dead giveaway."

" _Anyway,_ " Sag continued, ignoring her, "we can see down below now because I lowered a camera mast. Kinda like a reverse periscope."

"Wow, that really is some James Bond stuff there. Why did they get rid of it again?"

"Just too damn complex," Star answered, butting in again. "This was the 80's, they had plenty of black project money, and they got their rocks off on all the doo-dads. They all thought they were 'Q'. Then, over the years, the crews realized how useless and unreliable most of this camo stuff was, and just plain didn't use it. And you know what? The reports didn't go up one iota. Nobody freaked out seeing these huge black triangles with insanely bright thrusters just silently floating above their houses, fields, and highways. Well, not in any large numbers, anyway — nothing meaningful. I think the reportage rate stayed pretty much the same — one report for every two hundred sightings was their internal estimate. They had a upper threshold of one report for every fifty sightings, and as long as the needle didn't go above that, they didn't care. They underestimated the ability of human psychology to deny, forget, or just plain not give a shit about the weird stuff people see, especially when they made sure it was a solitary experience. If you suspect you're crazy, you don't generally share that with your friends and family. Course, fearing you're crazy is the first sign you're not — but never mind that. So they capitalized on that little loophole of human reasoning and instituted processes and procedures — not technological doo-dads — to make sure it didn't become an issue. Things like ensuring large groups didn't see one — _no stadium flyovers_ — or that the hovering time in a single area didn't exceed a few minutes, tops. There were actually studies on this! A close-range, twenty minute sighting is much more damaging than a thirty second one — with the shorter ones, folks are more likely to go back to whatever they were doing at the time and forget about the whole thing. It just doesn't make a lasting impression."

As Star explained all this, she kept slowing the ship to a stop, then speeding off again in a slightly different direction each time. Jess was curious about this, but waited until she was done talking so as not to interrupt her train of thought.

"So what's up with the course corrections?"

"Well, this isn't really a leisurely stroll here; since we're in daylight, time is of the essence. So each leg is a quick hop. But before I can commit to the leg, I need to ensure the way is clear, so to speak. Don't want to sneak up on some unsuspecting Lear jet or Piper Cub, much less a 727, right? There's a hell of a lot of air traffic during daylight hours that we need to account for. So we send out a radar signal, the ship computes trajectories for all objects within range of our intended course, and if it's all clear she'll go. Now, the government ships can do this dynamically without human intervention, but since we're off the grid, I need to do it manually. It's a big pain in the ass if you ask me, which is mostly why we don't go out during the day."

"So wait, this grid, is this the ELF network you were telling me about, Sag?"

"Yeah, same one," he replied, then turned to Star. "I told her about the fleet management aspects of it."

"Yeah, the grid is another thorn in our sides, environmentally speaking. You tell her the backstory behind it?"

"Nope," Sag replied. "But go right ahead."

"Well back in the 80's and 90's they were deploying this worldwide ELF communication infrastructure, basically the biggest, baddest radio station in the world, without telling anyone. It used a grid of antennas blasting out these longwave radio signals into the ground, and who cares what it was doing to the livestock, much less the humans, that lived near all this stuff. So the government finally admitted it was for nuclear submarine communication, but they still had to scale it back significantly due to the heat they were getting. They shut it down, mostly, but it still exists, like Sag said, for minimal data bursts of fleet management stuff and clearpath confirmations now. Wish we could hack into it — make our lives a little easier! But of course, if we did, Big Mama would probably get bricked pretty quickly."

"Yeah," Sag continued, "they never got a response to their kill command back when we took her, since we had shut the receiving equipment down first thing, but they still send the command every few days just in case we forget and turn it back on."

"How do you know this?" Jess asked.

"Oh, because I record the ELF channel and I can pick out that little warble — it's different from all the other comms I hear."

"Flight attendant," Star announced, looking at Sag, "prepare for arrival."

Jess noticed the cloud starting to form again outside the bottom window, but realized it was just Sag retracting the camera mast. Then the mist dissipated fully as a stand of pine trees came into view beneath them.

"Just a quick stop first to get her topped off," Star explained as she navigated to tree-top level and stopped over a small clearing containing a pond. As she lowered the ship to just a few feet over it, Jess noticed the water below remained as smooth as glass.

"Why don't the thrusters disturb the water?"

"They're vectored at an angle," Sag explained, "and highly diffused, to avoid any big downdrafts. It ain't like a rocket. It's part of the stealth; when you hit people with a blast of air they tend to look up."

Sag managed the intake tube for a few minutes before reporting back.

"OK, we're topped off."

The ship rose, and they took off above the treetops, speeding over open fields and then miles of arroyos. Several minutes later they began to descend, and Star announced their arrival as she halted the ship a few feet above the ground.

"Grab your packs and water," she said as the thrusters cycled down, "and watch your feet."

With a _thunk_ , all three hatches shot open and small swirls of red dust entered the cabin. Sag was the first to descend, and after reaching the ground, he ran over to assist Jess. Star was last, dropping to the red earth below with a thud. As they walked out from under from the ship, a blast of warm air hit their bodies, like that from a high-speed hand dryer.

"And _that's_ why you want to stay a minimum fifty or so feet above anything in these Gen II's," Sag explained, referring to the draft from the thrusters, "if you want to remain undetected."

"So we're just going to leave it here, hatches open, in the middle of nowhere?" Jess asked. As if in answer, they heard the thunk of the ship's three hatches closing behind them.

"The lower it is, the less people are able to see it, so yeah," Star replied, "but don't worry, she'll be just fine."

They headed out over the arroyos, with the late morning Texas sun beating down on them. After forty-five minutes, they came to a dirt road that led to a small town in the distance, and after a few minutes walk down that road, an old pock-marked sign welcomed them to LeMar, Texas.

"The founders must have had some sense of humor," Jess commented, however they didn't seem to get her meaning.

"Le Mar — the sea. This is pretty much the opposite of a sea," she explained, as they looked at her crosswise. "Oh forget it," she added, finally provoking a laugh.

Star led the way down the main thoroughfare of the rusty old town. As they came upon an old building containing a cafe, Star had them stash their gear along the side, behind a doghouse — complete with an old, snoring Great Dane.

Walking around to the front, Sag opened the screen door with a creak, and after allowing the ladies passage, let it slam shut behind them.
Chapter Fifty-Seven

Julio pedaled as fast as he could, swinging the bike wildly from side to side. Catching some good air on the small dirt mound, he lifted his feet and twirled the bike underneath him. Aaron and Dominick, watching from the sidelines, both gave him thumbs down as he landed and skidded to a stop.

"You got to do three, man, at least," Dominick commented, shaking his head.

"Yeah, can't get the speed. Let's head down some more," Julio replied, pedaling away. "There's a big one my brother used last year down this way," he yelled back to them.

His two friends followed as they pedalled up and down the gravelly arroyos, catching a few inches of air at each apex. Reaching the larger hill a few minutes later, they easily found the well worn-trail. Starting at the top of a medium-sized mound, it mainlined straight down, then up to the apex of the larger hill for the jump. The trickiest part would be navigating the rocks embedded in the slot on the way down.

"I'ma do this one," Aaron declared, walking his bike up the steep slope of the send-off hill. The others pedaled off to the side and perched on a small rise to get a good view. Aaron found his launch spot and took a breath. As he steadied himself in the slot, it seemed much higher than he originally thought, but there was no chance he was going to back out now, with everybody in position. It would be worse to back down than to wreck and bust a leg — at least then he would still have his pride, and a story to go along with it. He had to go big, and to go now, before his friends sensed his hesitation, otherwise they would be merciless.

With a final deep breath, he pushed off and slotted the wheel in the rut. He risked a spill if he navigated left or right, so he had to take the rocks jutting up from the rut head on as he pedaled furiously. With relief, he found the bottom, and pedaled even harder on the upslope, gaining more momentum. The hesitation was gone now.

Reaching the top, his friends watched him swing his legs back and up, but instead of putting one foot back down to spin the crossbar of the bike, he seemed to freeze in mid-air, and swan-dived hard straight down, below their line of sight.

"Oh shit!" they yelled, speeding off towards where they saw him disappear. Cresting the hill they could see him lying on the brushy slope, struggling to remove the bike from on top of him. The fact that he was moving, and not screaming in pain, was their cue to begin laughing hysterically.

"What the fuck, dude!" Dominick yelled to him between laughs, "You dropped like a turkey!"

Untangling himself, Aaron mounted the bike across his shoulders and slowly climbed towards them. He had some bloody scratches on his arms and legs but otherwise looked OK. Strange thing was, he didn't even look pissed, he just kept slowly making his way to them. By the time he reached them, they had stopped laughing.

"You had the ramp, but you need a little work on the air, muchacho," Julio chided, expecting a reaction that didn't come. Aaron just stared at them, while pointing off into the distance.

That's when they saw it.
Chapter Fifty-Eight

The reaction they got to their entrance was stereotypically comical: the handful of older, weatherbeaten farmers and ranch hands all stopped mid-conversation to stare at the three strangers as they stood in the doorway. Without missing a beat, Star headed towards a booth near the back while calling out to a waitress.

"Mornin' Marilyn, can we get a couple cups'a coffee, black, please, hun?"

"Coming right up, and good to see you again sweetie!"

At least the waitress gave her a smile, Jess noticed, unlike the patrons.

Sidling into a booth, they sat in silence as the clinking of flatware and muffled conversations slowly resumed. A ceiling fan spun lazily overhead, the pull cord oscillating in a slow oval, as a fly landed on the peeling Formica table before them. After sampling several areas of the table and finding no prize of crusty syrup or dried butter, he sped off to continue his search elsewhere.

Marilyn appeared with the coffee, and as she poured, she made a point to smile at Jess, indicating she knew Jess was the new one at the table. She didn't say anything, though.

"Y'all gonna be eatin' today, folks?"

"Ayup," Star replied, "but we got a fourth should be along any minute now, so we'll hold off, thanks."

Marilyn twirled away with a wink, just as the screen door opened again and a rotund, balding man entered. Dressed in coveralls and steel-toed black work shoes, he noticed them and slowly shuffled to their table. Sag stood up, allowing the man to slide slowly into the booth, his hands levitating in the air over the table as if to steady himself. After internally verifying that he was indeed seated solidly, he reached behind him, and removing a handkerchief from his back pocket, mopped the beads of sweat from the top of his head. He then carefully took the side of his right hand and coaxed the last few precious strands of hair across his shiny dome. All this he did with the precision of a watchmaker, and when finished, he methodically cleaned his hands with a napkin. After sitting quietly for a moment, he appeared to suddenly realize he had left something undone, and reached his hand out towards Jess with a welcoming smile.

"And who'da thunk _El Libertador_ would be a little Miss. Hiya, I'm Norfolk. Call me Noly," he offered, freezing his hand in midair and shifting his gaze to Star, "unless this is perhaps a sister of yours I don't know about?"

Star laughed, in such a way that Jess immediately knew why this had to be a face-to-face meeting and not a simple phone call.

"Jessica, but I go by Jess," she said, taking his hand and bowing her head slightly.

Noly, still holding onto her hand, pulled her in towards him. "Now I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into with these jokers," he whispered conspiratorially. "Thieves, they are, ever' last one. But I can tell — you're a cute young thing all right — but still, I can tell — you got a bit of the pirate in you as well. The fire, 'tis."

With a wink, he slowly withdrew his hand and leaned back in his seat, smoothing the non-existent tablecloth before him. Sag and Star sat silently grinning as they watched the show; they had seen Noly perform before and were clearly relishing it.

"Is she here?" Noly asked Star expectantly.

"Are you kidding me? We took Scout."

"Ach, maybe next time," Noly said, looking crestfallen, as though this was a middle school dance and his crush hadn't showed.

Jess noted again the slightly disturbing way that he, too, regarded these ships as more than just machines. Boats and cars are commonly referred to as women, she knew that much, but this was something...different.

Noly perked up as Marilyn returned to take their order. Pie with coffee was the popular choice, and Jess went with their recommendation of a slice of blueberry crumble along with the coffee, black.

When Marilyn had gone, Noly slammed a hand on the table, jiggling the flatware. "Now! How can I ruin my life's work for you today?" His mood lightened, which seemed to be the cue that the show was over, and the audience could now speak.

"Well, we understand you might have a number for us," Star said.

"I do. Indeed I do. Problem is, it's all I have. No Lat/Long."

"True. But we have _her_ now," Star responded, grabbing Jess by the shoulders. "Number Seven."

Noly raised his eyebrows at her in genuine surprise. "Well, well, well. A _very_ interesting situational development." After a moment, they furrowed again as he dismissed whatever idea had been brewing.

"Even so, they're collapsing 'em," he stated matter-of-factly. "This breach was a big, big deal. Bigger than the Big Mama heist. All the facilities out east have been transferring 'em to the western states. This one's already been moved out west to make room for the new arrivals. No more above-ground storage, for anything — new policy. By the way, they have no flippin' clue how this one was done. None. They are batshit insane about this thing."
Chapter Fifty-Nine

None of them said anything for the longest time. They just stared, trying to make out what it was. It was only about three hundred yards away, this dark, black, thing that just sat silently over the rocky soil. A hazy heat shimmer left the edges undefined, but the center was clear enough. It looked cigar-shaped from the side, but from their angle above it, they could just make out that it was actually triangular.

"What da fuck is that, bro?" Julio said slowly. After he had broken the silence, Aaron pushed forward, propelling his bike down the hill towards the object. The others, as they now had to, followed.

"Yo, man, that might be border patrol! Like a drone or some shit!" Dominick yelled to Aaron, but regardless, none of them stopped pedalling.

"No way," Aaron replied, "that shit's a stealth fighter!"

Up and down a few more hills, and they were soon on top of it, skidding to a stop about thirty feet away.

"Bro, its got no legs! It's a hovercraft, man!"

If they hadn't seen the exhaust shimmer, they might've thought it wasn't doing anything but sitting there in the desert heat. But even from this close, they heard nothing but the sound of a steady wind.

"Im'a touch it," Dominick decided. Nobody stopped him as he dropped his bike and walked towards it. They all knew this was going to be an Alpha opportunity, but this time there was no race — they were both happy to let Dominick have this one.

"Shit, man, be careful," was all Julio could say as Dominick reached the edge of the vessel, his hair temporarily flattened as he walked through the wash.

Reaching up, his hand inches away, he glanced back at his friends. His look was a mixture of _Should I do this?_ and _Check this out, assholes_. Receiving neither encouragement or discouragement from his audience, he moved his fingers forward tentatively, as though it were a live electrical wire, and touched it.

"It's warm!" he yelled back, placing his hand flat against the textured surface. Moving further under the vessel, he gazed up at it with wonder.

"It's got like, little tiles, they're kinda bumpy," he shouted, and reaching the center, he noticed the recessed release handle.

"Dudes, there's a door handle!" he yelled excitedly, "There's nobody in here — otherwise they woulda seen us by now — come on over, let's get in!"

"No way man, this one's all on you," Aaron yelled back, while Julio nodded his head in agreement.

Dominick felt the fear and doubt creeping in. He was used to it — they all were. It was just like when trying out a new trick, or boarding down a new railing, or high diving into the lake. They all had developed the ability to fight these feelings with immediate action, lest they take hold. Mostly, everything turned out fine; ninety percent of the time fear and doubt are useless, they discovered, designed to keep anything new and different out of their life. The ten percent though — that's when they get the dislocated shoulder, or the broken rib, or the concussion. But if that ten percent results in stopping them from what they want to do, then it's all over.

He reached for the handle and pulled.
Chapter Sixty

"If you can get me the code, I can do the rest. All I need is a general idea of the location," Jess said, as Marilyn, noticing the intense discussion, discreetly delivered the slices of pie.

Noly stared at Jess for a long time, until they had all been served. Then, slowly pulling a table napkin towards him, he unearthed a pen from his front pocket. Snapping it to attention on the Formica, he wrote down two strings of hex codes. As he slowly pushed the napkin across the table to her, she placed her fingers on it as well.

"First one's ID, second one's Unlock. Now, let's eat," he announced with satisfaction, removing his hand from the napkin.

After carefully folding and pocketing the napkin, Jess dug into her blueberry crumble. It was just as good as they told her it would be.

"So, what is your...investment...in all this?" she inquired.

"Well," he replied with a mouthful of cherry pie, "as Star likely told you already, we all got our own reasons. Best to keep it at that. But in general I think I can say we're all tied together with a sense that it's just plain offensive. I mean this has been going on for close to fifty years, this thing."

As they finished their pie, Noly and Star began their own side conversation, and Jess, with a wink from Sag, was smart enough to leave them to it.

"So, how's the weather over there Sag?"

"Jus' fine, hows about yer side?" Sag replied. Oblivious, Noly and Star continued their conversation, eliciting stifled giggles from the third and fourth wheels.

After they had all finished their pie, Noly took care of the bill, of course. Leaving the cafe, Jess noticed a beautifully restored antique car parked out front. It was an early twentieth-century touring car, dark blue, with huge flowing fenders, a split windshield, suicide doors, and a beautiful chrome grill adorned with a hood ornament of a woman in a flowing gown holding a torch. Unlike many restored cars of that era that had been transformed into flaming red, chrome-covered hot rods, this one was taken back to factory mint condition.

"Now, she's a beauty," Jess commented, "Yours?"

"Ayup," Noly answered with pride, "1938 Packard Six Touring Sedan. Thirty-six thousand miles. This was my Dad's car when I was a boy. Tracked her down myself in the eighties and gave it back to him before he passed."

Touched by the story, Jess uttered a precious " _Awww,_ " which was promptly ignored by Noly as he quickly changed the subject.

"Y'all need a ride?" he offered, levering open one of the rear suicide doors. After quietly tiptoeing past the still-asleep Great Dane, they retrieved their gear from the side of the building and ambled aboard. An audible groan issued from the springs as Star climbed into the front seat, which was politely ignored by all.

Jess was fascinated by this beautiful automobile. The flowing lines, the simple dark colors — it reminded her of the ships. Even when Noly started the car, she could hear the individual clicks of the pistons clattering away under the thin metal hood, just like the cycling of the thrusters on Scout. The ships definitely contained technology far in the future compared to the rest of the world, but then again, there was something very... _old_...about them.
Chapter Sixty-One

Nothing happened. Dominick tried again, harder this time. The handle simply snapped back into place, with no effect.

"Ahhh, it's locked." As he hadn't been immediately electrocuted, they started to approach him.

"Hey, it's buzzing now!" he yelled back to them after a few steps. Although unable to hear the noise from where they were, they knew that that couldn't be a good sign, and stopped in their tracks.

"Dude, it's going to self-destruct!" Aaron shouted.

"Check it out!" yelled Dominick, as he pointed to his hair, which had begun to rise around his head like a gnarly, tangled version of a halo.

The ship's hum rose through the subsonic frequencies, quivering the boy's insides as it cycled faster. Once it had reached a crescendo, it receded into a muffled silence which descended over the area like a wet blanket.

"You gotta get outta there!" Aaron yelled, a moment too late, as the thruster igniters fired. Three circles of red light lit up the rocky ground below each corner, as the half-spheres of swirling amber plasma descended from the ship like bubbles of hot magma. Dominick hit the ground, and covering his head, looked up only once to call out to his friends.

"Guys, come get me!" he screamed, his voice sounding oddly high-pitched, as though through helium. He was utterly unaware that these, his possibly final last words, would become a catch phrase that would haunt him for years to come. For now, though, his friends stood rooted in place, less amused and more terrified, as Dominick began clutching at his throat.

The swirling amber spheres transitioned to blue-white, and a red mars light above Julio's head started to blink, as the ship began to slowly rise. When the ship reached ten feet above the ground, Dominick, still holding his throat, began to rise as well. Suspended in mid-air like Wile E. Coyote, he flailed his legs comically until the strange pull of the ship loosened, dropping him to the scrub below.

Silently accelerating upward, the ship punched a triangular hole through the stratocumulus clouds above, exposing the crystal clear blue sky beyond. Aaron and Julio felt a warm breeze blow past them, but felt no vibration nor heard any engine noise, as the heavy silence lifted and the ambient sounds of the desert returned.

Dominick sat up in the dirt, in a state of shock as his hair slowly returned to his shoulders. Emerging from his reverie, he searched for his friends, only to find two dust trails receding into the distance.
Chapter Sixty-Two

The horns of the Glenn Miller Orchestra permeated the still heat of the Texas afternoon as Noly's car rounded a low hill.

"You know, my other girl's a Tesla Model S," he informed Jess over the music. "Now that's about as far off from this gal as Big Mama is from a 787. But no matter the age, both of my gals are beautiful inside and out, you can tell the love that went into 'em."

"Now gettin' back down to business," he continued, "the ship you're gonna be looking for, well its been moved out west like I said, to a facility in northern Cali. Somewhere near a dam, inside of a mountain. Where exactly, Sag might know, but it'll be up to y'all to figure."

"So, how do you know all this information anyway?" Jess asked.

Noly waited a few beats to consider his answer before replying.

"Don't suppose you ever heard of the Xerox nine-fourteen, have you young miss?"

"Um, nope, but go on."

"Well, back in the early sixties, it was the height of the cold war — if you remember from your history books. We had U2's up in the air, Cuba was a big threat by proxy, and there was espionage everywhere. What we didn't have, though, was any intel on what the Soviet embassies were collecting and sending back home, from right here in our own backyard. So these folks from the CIA, they were doing recon on these embassies, and noticed that the only non-Soviet personnel allowed inside was the Xerox repairman, who back in the day had to go tune up these newfangled contraptions about once every two weeks."

"See, the Soviets, they never were so much different from us, in that they were just as lazy as we were. They hated tediously hand-copying all their secret documents, and so they found this new wonder machine, the Xerox nine-fourteen, that could do the job for them with the push of a button."

"So what the CIA did is, they got hold of this repairman from Xerox, recruited him for some freelance work — so to speak — and taught him how to install a small film camera, designed to fit in that machine as if it belonged there from day one, as part of the maintenance. And every two weeks he would go in there and unload the negatives of every document they copied, replacing it with a fresh roll."

"That copier repairman, not in a small way neither, helped us win the Cold War."

Jess waited for more, but for the remainder of the ride he was silent. When they reached the absolute middle of nowhere, he finally stopped the car and got out.

"Give her a pat for me, Star," he said, unloading their gear from the fold-out rumble seat in back, "I do miss her somethin' terrible."

"One of these days," Star said, giving him a hug. Maneuvering himself back into the driver's seat, they all waved to him as the clattering beauty slowly turned and made her way back into town. Without any modern point of reference, Jess imagined it was 1938 as she watched him slowly drive off into the distance. When they reached Scout, she thought, she would be able to imagine it was seventy-seven years into the future.

Being full of pie, there wasn't much talk on the hike back. It had gotten hotter, and it seemed to take twice as long going back. They finally reached the spot, but found no ship waiting for them. Jess looked around with concern, but nobody else seemed to be panicking. After pulling a bottle of water from the side pocket of her pack, Star dropped the gear to the dirt and sat on it.

"Guess she had a fright," she remarked casually, taking a long swig. "She'll be back for us."

"What do you mean, a fright?" Jess asked nervously. "How long are we going to be stuck out here?"

Sag, perched on a mound a few yards away, pointed off into the distance. Following his finger, they noticed a single dust trail rising amidst the heat shimmer of the desert.

"Prolly an ATV rider or something. Looks pretty recent, so she should be back within an hour or so," Sag offered.

Having nothing better to do than to wait patiently, Jess let her mind wander across all she had taken in over the last few days, until she came upon something that stuck in her craw.

"Hey, Sag. So, about this remote kill signal you mentioned yesterday. You say they still keep repeating it, hoping Big Mama will come back online someday, right?"

"Yeah, every couple days they blast it out. Why?"

"Have you figured out how it works?"

"Well, sort of. At least the first part. There's a preamble, sorta like _attention, attention,_ and then there is a ship identifier, meaning which ship the command is meant for, then there are two following sections which I don't know what they do. But obviously some form of disablement command. It's all in binary strings of hex characters, like the unlock codes."

"Do you know if it's encrypted at all?"

"No, and that's the funny thing about it: I don't think it is. But then, there are so many layers of security to even get to the transmitting apparatus, and such a limited bandwidth on the ELF channel, that I think they figured it probably wasn't worth it. Just like how the Gen II's didn't even need a code to operate, as you discovered. Ignorance, meet arrogance."

Star broke in. "I know where you're goin' with this, you wanna disable their ships. We've talked about that before. Problem is, A, we don't know what the ships codes are. Two, we haven't deciphered what the commands actually do. We assume it disables the ship, but what if there's a self-destruct in there too? We're not about to go killin' folks — not our style. We're more Peace and Love orientated — less chaos and death and all that."

"And finally," Sag added, "the big one is, we don't have the massive antenna arrays to relay an ELF signal around the world. Ain't gonna happen."

Jess sat for a bit, squinted up at the sun, and thought to herself.

"Can't we change the numbers lady?"

"Huh?" Sag responded quizzically.

"The numbers lady. Can't we redirect the ships to listen to another non-ELF frequency that we _can_ transmit on?"

Now it was Sag's turn to sit and think. Star got up off her bag and paced a bit, a frown on her face.

"I don't know...we could possibly override the signal, for a short time at least," she said, "if we take out the main shortwave transmitter — do you even know where that is, Sag?"

"Yeah, believe it or not, other Hams have triangulated it already, it's down in Cuba — Guantanamo Bay. That's probably why the Feds haven't shut that place down yet. Anyway, I could broadcast a recording with a modified subcarrier frequency on the same wavelength, that tells the ships to listen for commands on another frequency we control, but I don't know how we could take out the main signal. They have more transmitter power than we do by a long shot."

Sag rubbed his forehead as he pondered the idea further.

"Maybe we don't have to take it out...maybe we just need to degrade the signal enough so ours is primary. Only thing I can think of is to park a ship right on top of the transmitter. The ring's field would disrupt it for sure, but that's risky for obvious reasons, and hell, it's not very elegant to boot."

"Hey, whatever works, Rambo," Star said, her mind spinning now, "when you get back, can you check Big Mama's kill receiver to see if she's even able to tune into the shortwave band for the redirect?"

"Even if it is possible, Star," Sag replied, "we agreed before not to mess with the kill signal. We made a pact that we're not gonna harm nobody."

They all sat quietly for a few more minutes, until Jess broke the silence.

"You _won't_ harm any body," Jess remarked to herself, before turning to them: "I'm number seven."

They both looked at her, the realization hitting them as well, as Scout silently descended directly behind them.

"Ride's here!" Jess shouted.
Chapter Sixty-Three

They boarded the ship and stowed their gear as Star began the startup sequence.

"OK, here's what we do," Jess proposed once they were under way. "You all drop me at the edge of the base, and I squirrel myself in there and find the target ship. Now Star, you need to park yourself over Radio Free Guantanamo while Sag broadcasts the recording with the redirected command and control frequency. This all has to happen just as I snag the ship, so they can't kill it before I even get it out of the mountain. I take it out over the sea, and then Sag sends the kill signal, so just in case it self-detonates or whatever, at least it'll be away from any population centers. If we determine that it's a nondestructive disable, then we know we can take out all their ships safely. So once you hear from me that it's all good, you can send the kill signal to all of them. No harm no foul. Just the most powerful government, sans any Gen III surveillance hardware, is all."

" _Assuming_ this is how it all pans out," Sag offered skeptically, "the ship ID hex codes are sixteen characters long, and we don't know what any of them are except for the one Noly gave us. It would take weeks to send out the millions of possible hex codes for all the ships out there."

"Just use all F's," Jess replied casually. "I had a problem with my WiFi router once — the network address was set to all F's, turns out that was the broadcast address."

Sag stared at her, and after a moment turned a shade of crimson; he had not thought of that before. "Yeah...um, that might work, actually. It's worth a try anyway," he said sheepishly.

"There you go, think positive!" she maintained, putting her arm around his shoulder.

"I...have an issue with this," countered Star distractedly as she continued to pilot the ship. "The moment I leave the vicinity of that radio tower, they regain control, and could possibly undo any damage we did within minutes with a couple of counter-commands. I'll go along, but only if this plan includes compromising the entire ELF array for good, not just temporarily. And I don't like the idea of going down over the ocean either. Ocean's not a dumping ground."

"Well, OK, so...first, what do we know about this ELF array?" Jess asked Sag.

"The broadcast messages are generated in Virginia, but that's a small piece of the puzzle, and very secure. The final relay point and main broadcast antenna are in northern Wisconsin, called the Clam Lake array. All this infrastructure was supposedly decommissioned in 2004, at least officially, but they still use it for the ships, that I know."

"OK, so do we know any weak points in the system we can mess with?"

"Well, yeah: the antenna itself. It's just a half-inch diameter copper wire; problem is, it's thirty-two miles long. There might be redundancies, too, I don't know. You'd have to take it all out, to be sure. The plus side is, it's all strung out in the middle of the forest, so it's pretty isolated."

"So it's buried or what?" Jess asked.

"No, it's just on wooden poles like any old telephone line."

" _Poles?_ Well hells-bells, this is gonna be a cakewalk, I thought this was going to be some Death Star shit. So I knock out thirty-two miles of poles. Ship'll take it, right?"

"Oh sure, that shouldn't be an issue, they'll snap like popsicle sticks," Sag replied, then turned to Star. "Hey...Roper would love to see that in person, wouldn't he."

"Oh yeah," Star recalled. "Jess, honey, you don't know, but he chainsawed down a couple of poles himself back in the early nineties — part of a protest against their use of ELF as a nuclear first-strike tool in the cold war. Took the whole thing out for a couple days; did ninety in County for it too," she recalled wistfully. "Good times, those were."

"Wow, Rope's a real enviro rock-star, huh?" Jess said. "OK, so instead of going out over the ocean, I fly the ship to Wisconsin and take out the array. Roper's at the scene and confirms it, and then you can send the kill signal to shut me down over the forest."

"You're forgetting one thing," Star said, "there's no comms on the ship, plus you won't have no body. How are you supposed to let us know how things are goin' through all this? Twitter ain't gonna work up there."

"Crap on a cupcake. Yeah. Well..I can jump back into my body in California and call you on my cell phone, I guess?"

"That sounds like a total hack right there," Sag commented.

"Yeah, it kinda sucks, doesn't it," Jess agreed. "Well...it's all I can do. So I jump back to give you a status update when I'm about to grab the ship, and at any other point in the plan where I need assistance. I mean, it's not like the ship is going to drop out of the sky if I scoot out of there for a few seconds."

Star slowed as they approached the homestead, and after a quick radio check with Roper, maneuvered Scout downward and slipped into the hangar to park behind Big Mama. They continued their planning discussions over an early dinner, and decided they had to work fast, while they still knew where the target ship was. The second largest heist of U.S. government property would take place the next night.
Chapter Sixty-Four

Buckled into a jump seat on Big Mama, Jess went over the plan in her head while Star piloted the ship somewhere over Oklahoma. Sag already knew the general location of the facility Noly mentioned, and provided the coordinates to Star. After dropping Jess near the base — how Jess would find it and get in would be up to her — Star would fly Big Mama to the Florida Keys and lie in wait for the go-ahead to disrupt the Guantanamo transmission.

Sag would remain at the homestead, monitoring for the signal drop, which was his cue to play his hacked recording, announcing to the ships that they needed to tune into a new shortwave band that he controlled at 1.8MHz, instead of the ELF channel at 76Hz. He was pretty confident this would work, as he had confirmed the previous night that Big Mama was indeed able to tune into the new, higher frequency.

Finally, Roper was going to drive up to Wisconsin and wait for Jess to take out the ELF array, at which point he would call Sag and let him know he could send her ship the kill command. Assuming Jess' ship was disabled safely and non-destructively, Sag would then send out the broadcast kill command, hopefully rendering the government's advanced fleet a collection of super-sized nuclear paperweights.

"Hey, sleepyhead, grab your gear — time for some camping."

Jess had been dozing through the last leg of the journey, and rousing herself, she unbuckled, grabbed her pack, and opened her lower hatch, filling the cabin with the high-pitched whine of the thrusters.

"OK," Star yelled over the din, "you gotta move at least thirty feet away, so's you don't get caught in the bubble when I leave. Good luck, we'll be rooting for 'ya, but whatever happens, it's gonna be a good night!"

Using her foot, Jess shoved her gear into the manhole-sized opening, where it plummeted to the dew-covered grass ten feet below. Lowering herself into the hatch, she reached the last rung and let go, dropping herself on top of it. While dragging the heavy canvas bag a safe distance away through the brush, the cacophony from the thrusters morphed into a heavy, low hum as she passed through the noise-canceling boundary. The solitary circle of white light on the ground behind her winked out as the hatch noiselessly slid shut.

Jess was pulling tent poles from her gear bag when the trio of dark crimson thrusters turned bright blue-white, and suddenly the ship was gone. She felt a few strands of hair drop back onto her head as the heavy silence lifted, and holding a mag-lite in her teeth, she finished assembling the one-person tent as the chirping of crickets surrounded her. Before crawling into the tent, she shut off her flashlight and admired her surroundings. She was utterly alone, on a random mountainside in the middle of California, and it was beautiful.

Her phone alarm woke her at two in the morning. After groggily touching the screen to mute it, she searched blindly through the gear bag for her granola bar breakfast and wolfed it down. She headed outside for a quick bio break, just in case, before returning to work. Lying down, she began the exit process.

Once out, Jess maneuvered herself downslope, using the large dam as a geographical reference — just as she had practiced on Google Earth the night before. The entrance was likely behind the oddly out-of-place twelve-foot cyclone fence she had discovered during her virtual run-throughs, and this she found easily enough in real life. Before passing through it, she noticed a section of the fence further down had already been pulled away. She wondered if she was not the first to breach this facility.

Beyond the fence, she followed an old two-track for another quarter-mile, which ultimately led to an overgrown cave entrance in the mountainside. After passing through the brambles, the thirty-foot diameter corrugated metal walls made it clear this was actually a man-made tunnel, and she followed it three hundred feet further in, until it dead-ended into a large concrete wall. In front of the wall stood a rusty metal staircase that led up to a heavy security door set in the middle of the concrete plug. The door had no window or exterior knob, and a metal plate protected it from being jimmied — a suspiciously high level of security for such an out-of-the-way location.

Passing up the stairs and easily through the door, she found herself in a darkened entry room, containing a small desk, some white hardhats on wall pegs, a pair of dusty work boots, and little else. A second interior door with a taped-up four-pane window was the only item of interest here; beyond it she could hear the whooshing sounds of water and mechanical pumps. Jess wondered if this was the right place after all.

Moving through the interior door, she emerged into a long, dark, cavernous area, containing a row of seven enormous circular structures, large enough to have stairways leading up to them and catwalks on top. Based on the hum they emitted, she guessed they were giant turbines, generating electricity from the release of the dam water. Finding nothing else in the large space, Jess was losing her confidence in Sag, even though he had seemed confident this was the place.

Noticing waves of cooler air at the far end of the space, she made her way past the turbines and discovered several heavy gauge electrical cables diverting away from the main lines at each station. They all eventually joined into one large bundle, only to disappear into the far wall.

Her curiosity piqued, she followed the bundle to the end of the space and through the wall. _Bingo,_ she thought to herself, as she entered into another enormous space — this one brightly lit, and easily the size of a Costco — which contained six Gen III ships, lined up neatly in the same herringbone pattern as she had seen in Ohio. Four of the ships, apparently out of service, were supported by tremendous cement footings, but the remaining two hovered freely, emitting the familiar low hum.

Two workers, a man and a woman both dressed in blue coveralls, emerged from a set of swinging double doors along the far wall, and pushed a wheeled cart which held a four-foot high and two-foot diameter black cylinder. Jess sped closer to examine the device. Appearing similar to a giant-size version of the Mac Pro computer, it had no controls, labels, or other markings, and Jess assumed it was a solid mass of material until the workers rotated the cart, revealing a tiny, one-inch square aperture which emitted a bright blue glow.

As one worker maneuvered a second, empty cart underneath the ship, the other gently guided another black cylinder, this one emitting a much fainter blue glow from its aperture, as it descended from within the belly of the ship to rest on the empty cart. Swapping in the cart with the fresh cylinder, they attached an assistive mount and lifted the cylinder until some hidden mechanism within the ship took hold, ingesting it fully.

Curiosity satisfied, she went about her business of finding the right ship. Sag had told her that the last three hex digits of the ship's ID code would be etched into the surface under each corner. The first ship she checked was the disabled one closest to her. It didn't match, but what she did find interesting was an insignia on the bottom of that ship which had been covered over. Through the black paint, she could make out the shape of a triangle encompassing a globe with two lightning bolts striking it, identical to the military pilot's shoulder patches.

Moving onward, she checked two more disabled ships without success, and then realized the one transferred from Texas was most likely one of the active ships. Indeed, she confirmed it was the one next to the ship that had just had the cylindrical object replaced. Before entering the ship, however, she surveyed the surrounding area. Following a dotted yellow line on the concrete floor, she discovered it led to a massively wide, though shallow, tunnel. Clearly a passageway for the ships, she found it opened to the outside night air a quarter-mile further down.

Jess rushed back to the ship, and after slipping aboard began to dial in the unlock code. Although the problem of how to get out of the mountain seemed eminently solvable, she ran into another issue — the newer capacitive touch screens on these Gen III ships were more difficult to operate in her body-less state. Each time she tried to adjust the controls, it either didn't register, or registered a touch outside of the area she was aiming for. She could only get the proper touch target to register after four or five tries — and dialing in all sixteen hex digits was taking several minutes longer than she expected. As the seconds ticked by, her paranoia increased: _Had they changed the system to deter operation by Sleepers like herself? Were they slowing down the code input as a delaying tactic while they were silently notified of the subterfuge?_

As she hovered over the screen, about to enter the final digit, another problem manifested: two headlights appeared at the end of the tunnel. It was yet another Gen III ship, which silently glided to a stop in an open slot next to the disabled ships. She waited a minute for further activity, and seeing none, she entered the final digit of the unlock code, whereupon the ship emitted three happy sounding chimes.

Star had already lectured her on the differences between the Gen II's and III's, so Jess knew she could maneuver this one using the ring momentum only, since no active thrust was needed. As the ship was already in a hovering state, all she needed to do was orient the leading edge towards the exit, then tip the ship forward a few inches.

The flaky touchscreen, however, misreading her input again, began to rotate the ship in the opposite direction. Overcorrecting, she swung the ship too far back, almost clocking a worker walking by on the way to the newly arrived ship. Halting the ship's movement, she watched in horror as the worker stopped and looked up from a tablet he was working on. Though he must have felt the rush of wind from the massive machine's movement, he appeared puzzled only for a moment, then continued on.

Unwilling to continue her attempt at straightening the ship, Jess decided instead that she needed to get out, now. As she dialed up the small station-keeping thrusters in the rear, the behemoth tipped and began to slide down the tunnel towards the exit. Inside, the ring emitted a louder hum, as if to complain about the loss of equilibrium.

Halfway down the tunnel, Jess checked her aft camera to see the worker with the tablet running back to the door along the wall. Attempting to increase the thrusters, Jess activated the wrong control again, and the ship careened into the tunnel wall. The screeching of metal on rock filled the tight space as it simultaneously lit up in a shower of sparks. Overcompensating again, she accidentally veered the ship towards the opposite wall, and girded herself for the impact. The ship, however, internally assessing its operator as having a skill deficiency _,_ took control, and after righting itself, rotated to face the opening.

Buoyed by the assistance, Jess tilted the ship further forward, picking up speed. A few hundred feet from the exit, however, her stomach dropped as another pair of headlights descended into the entrance ahead, blocking her escape.
Chapter Sixty-Five

T _hey couldn't have scrambled a ship that quickly,_ she thought to herself, and the idea that there was a sentry ship standing guard at the tunnel entrance seemed ludicrous. _This must be just another ship coming in for storage,_ she surmised, and punching the rear thrusters, she tipped the ship another foot, slingshotting it forward.

With no room for the ships to pass each other, once again Jess braced for an impact, but instead of a crash, the ship shuddered violently while the hum of the ring became deafening. Looking up, Jess saw the other ship right off her nose, but backing away just quickly enough to avoid a collision. Once outside the mountain, the other ship jerked upward, yielding the way, and she easily slipped by underneath.

Cleared of the impediment, the shuddering stopped while the momentum continued to rocket her over the valley below. Speeding into the opposite ridgeline without any time to register a reaction on the console, she closed her eyes and felt a violent thrust upwards, as the ship took over once again, clearing the top of the ridge.

In the open air, Jess finally had time to control the ship and bring her around. Whatever the disembodied version of anxiety was: a sizzling, jumpy feeling — minus the pounding heart and sweaty palms — she had it. Calming herself, she recalled what Star had told her about the built-in intelligence of these ships, and assumed the two had negotiated amongst themselves to avoid a collision.

With dismay, Jess realized in the confusion of stealing the ship, she had forgotten to inform Star beforehand; at any moment the kill command might be transmitted, rendering the whole operation a bust. Considering this significant oversight, along with her inability to pilot the ship across the country in her present state, she decided she needed to pick herself up.

It took several anxious minutes for Jess to maneuver the ship back around towards where she was camped. Just as she found her tent and parked the ship above it, a pair of high-powered spotlights appeared on the opposite ridge. There were two ships now, and they were clearly looking for her.

As Jess returned to her body, the pent-up anxiety instantly manifested as a physical reaction: sweat poured out of her, and her body shook uncontrollably, as if she were experiencing a grand mal seizure, for a full thirty seconds before subsiding. Exhausted, she fumbled around in the dark for her phone to call Star. After unlocking it, though, her heart sank when she saw no dots of cell signal.

"Shit! Shit! SHIT!" she swore, clumsily exiting the tent and chucking the phone into the brush. Sitting down cross-legged, she waited for them to find her — or for the disable command to hit her brand new ship hovering six feet above — whichever came first. It didn't really matter to her now; she couldn't care less if they detonated it directly over her head. The mission was a failure.

Laying her head across her folded arms, she began to sob, until she noticed a prickly sensation climbing up her back. Reaching up, she felt strands of her hair standing at attention. Immediately realizing her mistake, she jumped up and ran to the scrub brush. As she frantically searched for her phone, the spotlights from the search ships lit up the area: they had spotted the dim light of her thrusters, and were on their way over.

Thanks to the lights, she found the phone next to a rock — screen shattered, but still functional. Bolting further away from her ship, she watched the dots of cell signal increase. Star answered on the first ring.

"What's the good word?" she asked, as she walked barefoot through the foamy surf of a dark and deserted south Florida beach. Big Mama quietly hummed behind her above the gently cresting waves.

"Go! Go! Go!" Jess shouted, running back to her own ship.

"Got it. Safe travels!" Star yelled back, pocketing the phone and reaching down to grab her sandals before hoofing it over the wet sand back to Big Mama. She would be over Cuba in less than two minutes.

Jess quickly collapsed her pop-up tent and awkwardly shoved it up into the hatch of the ship as the sleeping bag and other gear jostled about inside. She shut the hatch just as the two search ships rose from the valley below, blocking her way out. Catapulting the ship forward, she hoped to push them out of the way again. This time, however, the ship halted abruptly, like a roller coaster coming into the station, sending her reeling across the floor. _Apparently the negotiation algorithm isn't on my side this time,_ she guessed.

Seizing their opportunity, the other ships closed ranks and forced her ship, with a grinding shudder, backwards up the mountain slope. Grabbing the captain's chair, Jess pulled herself from the floor and buckled in, just as the ship angled sharply upward and oscillated wildly in place, futilely attempting to maintain stability while stuck between the two pursuers and a sheer rock face.

She was trapped.
Chapter Sixty-Six

Jess waited for...whatever was going to happen. And she waited. And suddenly she realized: _They couldn't do anything._ These were surveillance ships, not attack ships. They were waiting for the kill signal to hit her, which Jess knew — if Star was in position, as she should be — would never come.

De-synching the thrusters, she fired each in turn, executing the pinwheel maneuver she witnessed on the government ship. Slipping free, the ship cartwheeled upwards a mile into the night sky. Synching the engines, Jess returned to horizontal, and looked below to see the powerful search lights growing larger as the pursuing ships quickly rose to meet her.

Crossing her fingers that there was no major air traffic ahead, she tipped forward and sped off west into the darkness. Her primary goal now was to get out over the ocean, away from any populated areas. When she saw nothing but darkness below her a minute later, she checked the aft camera and was shocked to see the two sets of bright lights only a few hundred feet behind her.

She tipped downward while angling left, but it was too late. Two jolts rocked the ship as they bumped her from behind. Attempting to turn right, she found the controls unresponsive: the ship only turned a few degrees before refusing to go further. Turning left produced the same muted result. As she furiously punched through the control screens looking for the problem, the ship began turning of its own accord.

Flipping back to the camera view, Jess saw the two ships on each side of her now, just off her stern. Unmoving as they continued through the rolling turn, she realized they were somehow linked to her ship in a delta formation, and were forcing her back to land. Try as she might, she was unable to break free, and her furious efforts at extraction only delayed their ultimate goal to force her back around. She was overpowered.

Slumping in her chair, she watched the lights from the shore come into view on the horizon as they turned her around. So close, she thought regretfully. Resting her head on the console, she tried to think of a way out of this mess. _Hold on,_ she thought, _they aren't physically connected to me_.

Attacking her console, she de-synched the engines and burst the forward thruster. The sudden jolt flipped the front of her ship upward, while the rear corners remained linked to the chase ships, who were still in level flight. Falling backward, her ship locked into place between the two pursuers, as the formation morphed from a triad to a trapezoid. Upside down now, Jess killed her forward thruster and opened up the rears, pushing the front of the formation angling downwards towards the dark sea.

Unable to break free, she hoped instead this game of chicken would shake them loose. The chase ships attempted to stabilize the formation by turns, but succeeded only in twisting the group to the right or the left. Finally, the two ships coordinated a simultaneous burst of their rear thrusters, pushing further into the dive, and angling them away from the water at the last second. Now, however, _they_ were inverted, righting Jess in the process.

Jess, having fun now, had already anticipated their maneuver, and immediately reversed her new switchblade trick, dropping her rears to zero and pushing her forward thruster to max. Flipping her ship out front once again, she synched all three engines and opened them up, once more sending the group plummeting towards the sea.

Too low this time, the pursuing ships couldn't compensate, and Jess braced herself against the console. Eyes closed and teeth gritted, she felt only a slight bump as they plunged into the dark water. She opened her eyes to see a wall of green seawater shooting by no more than six feet beyond the ship's hull. Loosening her death grip on the console, she switched her view to the forward camera to observe a bright white orb a hundred feet or so ahead of her ship. This ball of sizzling light, a high-tech Moses, was rending apart the seawater like a hot knife through butter, allowing the ship easy passage.

She watched, entranced, as the orb began to grow in size, until a low double-tone sounded from the console opposite her. Flipping her display to the other console's screen, a graphic of the triad of ships appeared, with an elongated bubble — the envelope — surrounding them. Highlighted in yellow, the graphic contained a bar graph within it, displaying 45%. As she watched, the number reduced to 40%, prompting the console to issue the low double-tone once again. Glancing at the panels above and below for confirmation, it was clear to Jess the seawater was slowly closing in.

Flipping back to the navigation panel, she noted their current depth of 2,700 meters and pressure of 268 atmospheres. Based on the percentage of envelope remaining, she quickly calculated the critical point to be approximately four thousand meters. Flipping the console to the aft cameras, she sat back and waited for her pursuers to lose their nerve and break off, as the tones became louder and more insistent.

When the indicator reached fifteen percent, however, beads of sweat formed on her forehead as Jess began to lose her nerve. Sitting forward, she intently watched the screen, willing the chase ships to break their hold on her ship. Five percent came and went as the wall of rushing seawater encroached to within a foot of the hull. Flipping to the engine management screen, she held her fingers above the console in order to fire the thrusters the moment her pursuers disconnected, or when the envelope threshold crossed below one percent. But they were still on her, reminding her of the tenacity of the North Korean jet pilots, who were willing to die in order to capture or to kill her.

Beginning to panic, Jess was about to engage the thrusters, when suddenly, as the indicator passed one percent, a calm came over her. Deep within, she heard the same soothing voice, or remembrance — she couldn't be sure which — but it said to her: _Run into the fear._ Removing her hands from the console, she sat back in the captain's chair, tightened her harness, and took a deep breath.

The warning chimes increased in frequency until they merged into a constant tone, before ceasing entirely. A boom suddenly rocked the ship, and Jess scanned her console to find not only all of her thrusters, but those on the other ships as well, firing wide open, slowing their descent. This maneuver, executed beyond human control, was from the ship's own systems, coordinating amongst themselves in a last ditch attempt at self-preservation. They had come to the consensus opinion that the human pilots, abandoning their responsibilities, had intended to self-expire.

" _No,_ " Jess calmly stated. Reaching forward, she shut down her engines one by one, before cutting power to the ring itself. Solidifying around her, the thickening silvery mass instantly became a tremendous anchor, inexorably pulling the trio downward. The seawater flew past the panels as they sank like a stone into the darkness.

The algorithms of the chase ships, taking into account this unexpected new variable in their equation, furiously recalculated contingency b-tree pathways for a total of seven-hundred and nine milliseconds, before shutting down their six remaining thrusters. Even the machines, now, had accepted their combined fate.
Chapter Sixty-Seven

As the envelope indicator reached zero percent, it became eerily quiet — the eye of the hurricane. Jess continued to breathe deeply, no longer concerned with the chase ships. Sixteen seconds later, the envelope collapsed completely.

The seawater smacked into the hulls with a thunderous crack, rocking the ships. The chase ship's pilots, who were also now dead in the water, hurriedly init'ed their ship's systems into single-user recovery mode using a red USB key at each Captain's console. Back up and running, they detached from Jess' ship with two loud _clunks_ , and manually blowing their thrusters, ascended towards the surface.

As for Jess, she sat quietly as her ship, free now, sank further down. Deep groans and concussive metallic pops rocked the cabin from all sides. The fore and aft cameras were the first to go, screens frozen on the last green pixellated image captured before their lenses collapsed. Heavy thuds issued from the left rear of the ship, as one of the thrusters went dark on the console. Additional thuds from the other corners indicated the remaining thrusters had met their fate as well.

A final jolt, accompanied by a terrible, metallic ripping sound, reverberated through the cabin as the viewing panels turned from jet black to light gray. The ambient lighting faded as the red dots of emergency lighting appeared on the floor, and the darkness allowed Jess to witness millions of previously invisible, tiny particles streaking upwards against the viewing panels. After a minute of detached fascination, her zen-master spell was broken, as she realized with horror that the ship had breached the seafloor, yet continued to sink with alarming speed deep into the silt.

Turning her attention back to the console, Jess found the ring still operable, and brought it back online. As it spun up, the reassuring low hum returned to the ship, as did the ambient lighting, greatly calming her nerves. The engine console, though, was toast — the thrusters were not only all offline, but no longer even appeared on the display. Same for the camo console. The hull seemed to be intact as Jess detected no obvious leaks, but the majority of the subsystems were critically impaired.

The powerup of the ring had halted any further downward movement, but the ship wasn't rising either, and without any thrusters, she was stuck. Out of ideas, and knowing that time was short, she decided to escape, leaving her body behind. Placing her head on the console, she exited, wondering with trepidation if this would be the final resting place for her physical form.

Once out, she called the image of Big Mama to her mind, pulling herself to it until the ship resolved around her. Star, hunched over a console, glanced up with a start.

"Oh, shit!" she exclaimed, rushing over to search the area. Jess, confused, moved away from her to the far side of the cabin. Halting her search, Star looked up, confused, until sighting Jess again.

"Who is that!" she barked.

Utilizing her parlor trick, Jess shot a jolt of electricity through her nervous system, giving Star a quick glimpse of her form.

"Holy Guacamole! Jess! You scared the piss outta me, I thought there was a fire. Anyway, neat trick, girl! But hey, what's up? Something gone wrong?"

Recalling what Terry had taught her, she attempted to form some etheric speech organs. "Bottom," she croaked out. "Water... Stuck... Help."

"What? Your bottom-water's stuck? Jess, honey, I can't hear you, it's all garbled."

Jess, for her part, felt like Lassie all of a sudden. Smacking her etheric head, she slid over to the Captain's console and began typing.

"STUCK EMBEDDED IN SEAFLOOR UNDER PACIFIC ENGINES GONE HELP WHAT DO I DO"

Star, hearing beeps from her console, ran over and read her message.

"OK. Slow down first. Are the thrusters out?"

"YES NOT EVEN ON SCREEN"

"OK, that's bad honey. Is the ring online?"

"YES STUCK IN SILT BUT STOPPED SINKING"

"All right, now that's not so bad. Now remember what I said, with that one, you can use the ring all by itself. Spin it up, then adjust the flow pattern inside using the nozzle icon, it should propel you out. Oh crap — but you don't have the envelope, do you?"

"NO"

"Well, it's gonna be slow going, just make your way out best you can. Listen, gonna be honest, I don't know how much time I have here, I already see a patrol on the way, so I can't say how long I can hold out here before they scramble a coupl'a ships. Good luck, honey."

"THANKS" Jess replied, before returning to the tunnel. Back on her ship, she lifted her head, and wiping the drool away from her mouth, spun the ring up to one-hundred percent. When the hum stabilized, she touched the nozzle icon Star had mentioned, shifting her to a new screen showing a circular animated graphic of the tube. By touching different parts of the animation, she was able to distort the flow pattern. Rapidly swiping it, Jess put a strong spin on the material, causing the ring's hum to degrade into an ear-splitting _Wah-Wah-Wah_ pattern, like a clothes washer out of balance. Settling down, the steady hum returned, but at a significantly lower ring speed. More importantly, the directional momentum had shifted, jostling the ship free, but sending it sliding further down into the muck.

Spinning the ring up again, she reversed the flow distortion, sending the ship sliding upwards in response. Giggling, Jess clapped her hands and did a celebratory butt-dance in her chair. Following the pattern of power-up, then flow disruption, she agonizingly pulled herself upwards through the seafloor, as though rocking a car out of a snowdrift, until she reached the inky darkness of the seawater again.

Fearful of losing her momentum, she continued the rising maneuvers until she heard a _plunk_ sound, signifying the envelope re-forming around the ship again. Feeling safer, she reoriented the ship to horizontal and experimented with different flow patterns to find the most optimal maneuver. As the envelope expanded, each disruption became more effective, and upon reaching three thousand meters, she flew through the water without any resistance whatsoever.

A sizzling white pinprick, like a fourth of July sparkler, appeared on the surface of the dark Pacific, swiftly dilating into a hundred-meter-wide circular void ringed with luminous white flame. Propelled through the opening, the ship silently launched into the night sky, as the empty cavity contracted behind it.

Although the nav console couldn't auto-pilot the ship due to the loss of the thrusters, it still displayed her relative location. Working with different flow pattern adjustments, Jess was able to rise above air traffic level and set a course eastward before finally leaning back for a break. After a few minutes of idly watching her progress across the continent, the ship issued an electronic grunt and shifted slightly downward. Thinking she may have hit something, Jess scanned across the various consoles but found nothing. A few seconds later, it happened again, and then again.

Confused, she looked down through the floor panels toward a small cluster of lights below. According to the nav map, that was supposed to be Salt Lake City, but to Jess the entire metro area appeared tiny. Checking the nav console, she found her current altitude to be one-hundred kilometers above sea level. After some quick math, she discovered with a shock that she was sixty-two miles up. With no auto-pilot, she had neglected to follow the curvature of the Earth and had been bumping up against the edge of space like a stone skipping across a pond. As she angled the ship downward, she wondered if these truly were 'starships', as Star and her gang assumed, or simply terrestrial ships, restricted by policy, physics, or both, to operation within Earth's atmosphere. _If that was the case, what else were they mistaken about?_ she wondered.

While pondering this, Jess was distracted by a light from above. It was a glowing white orb, the size of a basketball, which had caught up to and kept pace with her ship. Two more came into view below, a bright red one and a blue one the color of a stove burner.

Instead of feeling alarm at the appearance of these objects — some type of weapon or tracking device was not out of the realm of possibility — she, oddly, felt no anxiety whatsoever. Perhaps it was the way they moved — their personality — that seemed so non-threatening: they seemed to simply fly along with her, bobbing and weaving, like dolphins in her wake. She kept her attention on them as she continued to descend, but after a few moments they slowed, and trailing above her, soon disappeared.
Chapter Sixty-Eight

Roper had been sitting in the van all night, and his coffee thermos was almost empty. He had _Truckin'_ blasting on the eight track, yet his head continued drooping and rising, like one of those drinking bird toys. Shaking himself awake, he thought back to the early nineties, when last he had been here. That time, he had a chainsaw. He shut down the entire array for two days, a small but potent success, which raised the visibility of the secret project in the backwoods of northern Wisconsin, and prompted local residents to question the purpose — and long-term health effects — of pumping all that energy into the ground.

Although suspended twenty feet up on poles, at each terminus of the twenty-six mile long span the wires bored hundreds of feet deep into the bedrock of the Superior Upland Shield, which is exposed at the surface in this geologically interesting part of the country. This ingenious hack of an antenna design utilized the earth's own mantle as a radiating body; without it, the copper wire itself would have needed to be hundreds of miles long in order to produce the necessary long-wave frequencies, where each cycle can be as vast as a quarter of the earth's diameter.

The eventual shutdown of the ELF array was a true success story — rare in Roper's field of work — in that it was operational for less than two decades: from the late eighties through 2004 when it was "officially" decommissioned. Of course, it helped that the cold war had ended just as the site had begun transmitting, and when the public learned the transmissions were not for defensive purposes, but mainly for nuclear first-strike capability, the resistance was emboldened and the project further demonized. Between these factors, and the concurrent Congressional scrutiny of this and other DOD boondoggles, Project ELF was not long for this world.

When the hoopla had died down a few years later, however, the shuttered operations buildings were re-opened for limited use — 'environmental assessments', they called it. But Roper heard word through their internal grapevine that the real purpose was the new fleet management capabilities, including the kill signals, over the ELF channel — the only radio waves able to carry low-bitrate data transmissions through the magnetic field of the ships. The security of the channel was ensured: it was a multi-million dollar antenna array highly unlikely to be copied by anyone else. Even the Russians, with their competing ZEVS system transmitting out of Murmansk on 82Hz, couldn't interfere with the U.S. ELF array without massive reconfiguration.

The upgrade to provide clearway transmissions came later, after a near miss between an Alpha version Gen III and a United Airlines Boeing 727 over North Dakota in 2006. After that incident, clearway transmissions became mandatory, with missions strictly limited to late night and pre-dawn hours, minimizing the risk of further incidents with commercial traffic.

All this, of course, was generally unknown since it was funded by black operations budgets, which are by definition exempt from any congressional oversight. But Roper knew. If Jess was able to take out the entire array, the Feds wouldn't have the political capital to build it again — anywhere. If they lost the kill channel and the clearways, well, that would severely hamper their operational capabilities going forward.

Roper heard the tapping before waking completely. In a dream-state, he imagined it to be a tinsmith fashioning an old Roman warrior helmet on an anvil — but instead of silver, the helmet was matte black. Roper lifted his head from his chest as the sound grew into successive echoing booms, puncturing the night air like the concussive fireworks they always save until the end of the show — the pure white balls of light that you can feel like a punch to the chest.

The glow of the ship appeared over a hill on the right-of-way a few miles distant. Roper watched the ship take out the telephone poles like toothpicks — they were cleaving away from the hull as if it were a twenty-one thousand ton snowplow — before hearing the echoing thuds several seconds later. Raising his phone to his ear, a smile crossed his face as he dialed Sag. This had been a long time coming, and it felt good.

"It is DONE! And it is fuckin' GREAT!" he shouted into the phone, turning away and plugging his free ear as the ship sailed low in front of him, lighting up the forest and sending a jagged three-foot section of pole careening into the dirt with a heavy thud, just a few feet in front of the van.

"Give her thirty seconds, then it's go time!" he shouted over the din, and throwing the phone on the dash, leaned back and cackled with glee.

Reaching the end of the run, Jess rose up and arced the ship back over the van as her signal — in case the flying telephone poles weren't enough of a hint — before bringing it to a spot a safe distance away. She knew Roper had already called it in, and since they didn't know she was physically onboard — they never would have issued the kill command if they did — she needed to get off the ship ASAP.
Chapter Sixty-Nine

Sag sat at the children's rolltop desk, an unlit joint balanced in his ashtray. _That'll be for later, if all goes well_ , he thought, _or if it doesn't_. Twenty minutes earlier, he heard the Guantanamo signal drop, and had overpowered the station with his hacked recording of the numbers lady redirecting the ships to his alternate frequency. The next step was to anxiously await the call from Roper confirming the destruction of the Clam Lake array. He had the script for the custom kill transmission already typed in, and his finger nervously hovered over the Enter key when the phone finally rang. After hanging up with Roper, he paused for a moment to consider Jess. _But she's in Cali, it's just her etheric onboard_ , he reassured himself, before jamming the key down.
Chapter Seventy

Jess felt uneasy. Although confident the command wouldn't detonate the ship — that just seemed a bit too dramatic — still, she felt like she needed to get out, pronto. Whizzing over the treetops, she searched in vain for a suitable clearing, but finding none, put the ship in a hover and opened the hatch.

Unbuckling herself, she ran towards the opening and scrambled down. Reaching the final rung, she gripped it tightly with one hand as she lowered her body outside the ship, where it floated in zero-g ten feet above the treetops. If she let go and drifted too far down, outside the influence of the ring, she would drop like a rock.

Distracted by a glow from above, she glanced up to discover the hull of the ship completely shredded. The exquisite Niobium alloy panels were buckled and twisted from the pressure and violence of her undersea adventures, and the rounded corners housing the thrusters had completely collapsed in upon themselves. All of this was easy to see, as a pure white light issued from behind every mangled seam.

Turning her attention back to terra firma, Jess was scouting for a nearby branch to drop onto when the kill signal hit. The lights inside the ship darkened as the red glow of emergency lighting lit her from above, and hearing a whoosh, she felt a shooting pain as she looked up to find the hatch had closed on her forearm. Her piercing screams drowned out the grinding noise issuing from the hatch mechanism, which, eventually realizing it wasn't fully closed, opened back up. Jess pulled her arm out just before the hatch re-engaged, closing fully this time, and her body spun upside down before she was able to steady herself by catching the sharp curl of a buckled panel with the toe of one shoe.

Worse than the pain in her arm, however, was the sound of the hum rising from within the ship as the treetops below began to slip away — it was leaving. Still caught within the ring's field, however, she floated along below the ship as it continued to accelerate. Unwilling to hang around and discover what floating in a plasma field would feel like, she planted her other shoe on the hull and launched herself into the forest below.
Chapter Seventy-One

Roper had been watching the ship as it pulled around, over, and past him, finally stopping to hover a quarter-mile away. The thing looked all tore-up, the skin all mangled and all three corners completely collapsed; there were even some long strands of seaweed hanging from several jagged panels. Expecting it to either detonate, drop the ground, or do nothing, he was surprised when instead a figure emerged from one of the lower hatches. _Jess must be crazy to hijack a manned ship!_ he thought to himself, as he exited the truck and began to run towards it.

A few moments later when it sped off, he expected to find a severely injured — or dead — pilot when he arrived at the scene. Finding nothing, he heard instead the crackling of tree limbs above him. Looking up, he watched Jess slowly descend from the boughs of a tall Pine tree with one arm, cradling the other against her chest.

"Jess!" Roper yelled between heaving breaths, after running a quarter mile for the first time in a quarter century. "You... Alright?"

"Yeah, well it hurts like a mother, but I'll make it," she uttered between clenched teeth. Helping her down from the last bough, Roper turned around so she could drop onto his back.

"Surprised you didn't break a leg too on the way down," he said, trudging back toward the truck with his new burden.

"Yeah, well, I guess I was still 'under the influence' — I dropped slow enough to grab onto a branch. Then all my weight came back with a vengeance."

"Speaking of the ship, what the hell you doing on it! And I thought it was supposed to be a brand-new Gen III — what in Sam Hill did you take?"

"Uh...what do you mean?"

"That jalopy was all beat to hell, young lady. Looked like she'd been stored underwater for about twenty years, too."

"Well it _was_ brand new when I got it about forty _minutes_ ago," she explained between agonized breaths. "But, you know, _shit happens_."

"Well if this is how you deliver the goods, maybe we'll be passing on your offer," Roper joked. "So, why are you here, like, in your body, anyway? It's supposed to be in Cali right now."

"Yeah, well, I couldn't navigate well enough without my body, so I had to pick myself up. Sorry, but I couldn't tell you guys — you wouldn't have sent the kill signal if you knew. So I guess the signal just locks the ship down and returns it to home base. Which makes sense; I knew they weren't going to brick a multi-billion dollar piece of hardware. Kind of a bummer for us though, huh."

"Yeah, you don't get to land this one in Soldier's Field or whatever the hell you wanted to do with it. Well, honestly it wasn't that bad of a day — you got the rig here taken out real good — but do ya always gotta be this dramatic about it?" Roper said, as he gently stepped over a section of splintered telephone pole. "Ya almost took my head off with that one," he added, pointing to the particularly nasty shard rising from the ground in front of the van.

"By the way," Jess said, "Did you call Sag to have him send the kill signal to the rest of the fleet? It's safe enough I guess, as long as you aren't dangling beneath 'em."

"Let's get you situated first, priorities now," Roper replied, as he opened the van's sliding door and gently set her down on the carpet inside. "Can you move your hand?"

Jess wiggled her fingers. "Yeah, but ow...shit!" A purple bruise had formed on her forearm, which had already swollen considerably. "Hey, I look like Popeye," she joked, with tears welling in her eyes from the throbbing pain.

"Probably not a break then, but still pretty nasty. Let's have Star look at ya back home. Used to be an EMT ya know. Meantime there's some ice in the mini fridge, let's get a pack made up for ya."

"Call Sag first," she pleaded.

He grabbed the phone from the dash and dialed. "Yeah, she did it. Got her fool-ass on board though. Yeah her _real_ ass. I have her here now. Ship went lockdown and got the hell outta here, home we guess. She totalled the damn thing anyway..." he added, smiling at her.

"...yeah, so probably back home to either Texas or Cali if they updated it...seems safe enough, no fallout up here! Sky still dark, yup! Yeah but what's the point now if they just go back home...oh yeah, didn't think of that. OK. Welp, you have yourself a damn pleasant morning, we'll meet up with you over breakfast I suppose — yeah four hours out. Bah."

"So what's the plan?" Jess asked, as Roper threw the phone on the dash and headed back to the fridge.

"He's gonna send the fleet-wide signal. Very least, it'll interrupt whatever missions they got going on now, and let them know they're no longer secure, but prolly they already know that, right?" he said, winking at her. "In any case, it'll keep 'em tied up and they'll ground the fleet temporarily — Gen III's at least — for some retrofitting to fix it."

Ice pack in place, they were only a few minutes down the road when they got a return call from Sag. "Heya...you did? Any chatter? Still got it...cool...Where's she now? ... _Robust_...yeah...she's doing fine, a real trooper...yeah took one for the team on this. Dumb though, but that's these youngsters for ya — such thrill seekers. 'YOLO' and all. No damn sense. Yeah alright, see ya."

Jess leaned her head against the shaggy van wall and closed her eyes, in a futile attempt to Zen her way out of the throbbing pain, which was tempered only slightly by the ice packs. Giving up, she groaned aloud.

"Oh shit, I forgot, you wanna aspirin?" Roper reached over to the glove compartment, and after rifling through it, pulled out a bottle and threw it back where it landed at her feet.

"Umm, Pamprin? _Really?_ " she complained.

"All I got...Sorry," he said as she glared at him. "Crap on a cracker," he exclaimed, realizing she wasn't in any condition to open a tamper-proof pill bottle. Pulling the van over, he climbed back to her and explained the situation as he twisted the cap open.

"Well, he sent the signal. He still had control over the frequency too. Some patrols came out after Star, but they just observed her with spotlights for awhile, didn't fire on her or anything, had no idea what to do, I guess. Eventually someone high up was notified 'cause a coupl'a helos were scrambled. She outran 'em no problemo, of course. Anyways, you get some rest now, got a long drive ahead. Just think about the tremendous breakfast gonna be waitin' for us as you head off to dreamland. And if the Pamprin ain't doing it for ya, remember I got the herbal medicine..."

"Yeah between this and your driving I may need it."

After taking three pills, she folded her arms across her chest like a mummy and lay down on the floor of the van, while Roper climbed back in the captain's seat and set off down the bumpy forest service road.
Chapter Seventy-Two

Roper was right about the food; they arrived at 9:30 A.M. to a veritable feast awaiting them. Victor had prepared Belgian waffles with whipped cream and fresh strawberries, with sides of smoked salmon, sausage and scrambled eggs. Before partaking, however, Jess took a long hot shower upstairs. Her bruised arm had turned a lovely shade of greenish-purple, but the swelling had gone down some in the last few hours, and doubling up on the Pamprin kept the pain at bay. She got dressed and enjoyed the wafting smell of fresh coffee for a moment before heading back downstairs.

At the dining room table, she found Sag and Star already eating, though they looked equally worn out from their own late night adventures. They greeted her with congratulatory, yet delicate, hugs.

"So I assume Roper told you the whole story?"

Star reprimanded her. "Yes, and we agree yer a dern fool. You coulda just let me know, we woulda figured something out." Then, softening her tone, "But we've all been young and stupid, I guess." She glanced at Roper. "Some of us are old and _still_ stupid, and it usually works out in the end anyway."

Victor pulled out a chair for her and they sat down to eat. Jess had several questions, but needed to get some coffee and waffles into her. Priorities.

"So what happened?" she asked Sag, after downing a few savory mouthfuls. "Were you able to send the fleet-wide kill signal before Star had to skedaddle?"

"We sure did, and it was close — she had some company come by, so she scooted out of there, but I had already broadcast it."

"So what do you think happened? Did it affect their fleet at all?"

"Well we're waiting for Noly and our other contacts inside, but obviously they may be occupied right now — probably tired as hell after being debriefed all night in post-mortem incident meetings with some pissed-off higher-ups."

Star jumped in. "Yeah, we think probably it just locked down any ships they had out and returned them to their home bases, so that's something, but certainly not what we'd hoped for in terms of a permanent grounding."

Victor emerged from the kitchen, stirring a bowl of waffle batter while holding a cordless phone to his ear. Passing them by, he walked quickly into the living room. As they all looked at eachother curiously, they heard the click of the old T.V. turning on.

"Team meeting in the living room," Victor called out.

A cacophony of chairs scraping the hardwood floor filled the air as they all shuffled into the living room. A local station out of Dubuque was airing a live CNN feed from Wichita, Kansas, where a large crowd had gathered in the middle of a freshly planted bean field. Jess was wondering why the heck they were stomping all over those fresh plantings, when they cut to a news reporter interviewing a man clad in a green John Deere shirt.

"...and when did you first notice this?"

"Came out this mornin' to feed the pigs and saw this thang just a settin' there. Tain't moved an inch in the last three hours."

"And what do you think it is?"

"I don't know _what_ in the hell it is. We all was a hopin' _you_ would!"

The screen cut to a wide shot of the field, where just a few hundred feet over the rows of freshly planted bean sprouts sat a pristine Gen III ship, silently suspended as if bolted to the sky.
Chapter Seventy-Three

An audible gasp arose from the crowded living room.

"What the fuck!" Jess shouted, as Sag took off running up the stairs.

The broadcast then cut to a split-screen of the reporter in the lower left-hand corner, along with the wider shot of the ship over the field. The reporter seemed to be receiving word of something in his earpiece when they cut back to the main studio.

"Some amazing images out of Kansas, and apparently they are not the only ones — incredibly, _another_ object has now been discovered over downtown Portland, Oregon, we go there live, to our KATU affiliate, now."

The screen changed to a street-level city view, showing of a gathering of bystanders, along with several policemen waving their arms in the air in an attempt to back the assembled crowd away from the scene. The camera tilted up, revealing one corner of another Gen III ship peeking out from behind an office tower, before an officer covered the camera lens with his hand.

Victor turned the channel to find yet another live newscast, this one showing an old farmhouse with a third ship poised just fifteen feet over the roof.

"Jesus, how many of them do they have out at a time? And what happened to them!" Jess remarked.

"Oh shit, check out dude!" Roper exclaimed, pointing at the screen. A man in a Carhartt jacket and work boots was climbing the shingles of the steep farmhouse roof, and upon reaching the crest, retrieved a long branch-cutting pole passed up to him by another man on the ground. Straddling the roof line, he stood up, and as his hair rose around his head, he slowly extended the pole towards the helpless vessel.

"He's gonna poke it, the crazy motherfucker!" Roper yelled. The room roared with laughter as the man tapped three times on the bottom of the ship. Raising his fist victoriously, he threw the pole to the ground, then scrambled down to the cheers of the gathered crowd.

Everyone in the room shouted and high-fived each other, while the man on T.V. did the same with his buddies on the ground, until two burly officers pushed through the crowd and roughly took him into custody.

The news reporter was nearly struck dumb at the spectacle. "Ahh...apparently we just witnessed a bystander climb onto the roof and literally _poke_ this mysterious airship. I...I'm honestly not sure what to say about this...twenty-two years of reporting, and I never..."

In the meantime, Sag had snuck back down from upstairs. "So, yeah," he interrupted, as they all turned to look at him. "Uh, that was all me, guys," he added sheepishly.

"Yeah... So, there was a...bug...in the fleet-wide transmission script I ran last night," he continued. "Seems like it only got the first command through, so none of the ships ever got the second command that Jess' ship got, which apparently is the 'return to base' one. Looks like they just got the 'halt' one." Appearing as if he were about to cry, Jess felt bad for him, until the previously silent room erupted in peals of laughter. The group pulled him onto the couch, violently administering a plethora of high-fives, nouggies, and pats on the back.

"You couldn't a done it better if ya tried, matey!" Roper roared at him.

They spent the next hour flipping through T.V. channels, documenting the carnage they had semi-inadvertently unleashed. Four more stranded ships were discovered: one outside of Texarkana, Texas, another near Bolinas, California, a third over the town square of Westboro, Massachusetts, and the final one over a freeway twenty miles north of Miami, Florida.

"And we thought the big news of the day was going to be the wanton destruction of the cold-war antenna in the woods of northern Wisconsin!" Star remarked, to more laughter.

Small private aircraft and news helicopters filled the air over each site, until green military choppers (along with some strange unmarked black ones) shooed them away. The coverage of the events, over-dramatically labeled by CNN as 'Invasion: 2015', included more and more talking heads, while local, state, and federal authorities began cordoning off and restricting access to the affected areas on the ground.

One enterprising news crew in Texarkana was able to take telephoto video of a firetruck hook and ladder crew rescuing what were clearly human military pilots emerging from the bottom hatch of the ship. Someone in Westboro launched a remote control quadcopter which inspected the helpless ship up close from every angle; the video feed was shown live on MSNBC and later published in full HD to YouTube for posterity.

The news channels had not forgotten the clumsy Wrigley coverup either, and now openly referred to it as such. It was undeniable that the ship in that incident was very similar to these hijacked vessels, and the standard government disinformation campaign just didn't hold water anymore. That vindication alone did much to lift Jess' spirits.

Sag had been monitoring the shortwave, and although the Feds had reclaimed the radio transmission at Guantanamo the previous night, they were still redirecting the ships to the original ELF channel, which was now fully out of commission, thanks to Jess. It wasn't until late that afternoon that they had figured out the trick of redirecting the ships to another shortwave frequency, and had begun re-broadcasting the kill commands on that channel in an attempt to push the "return home" command through.

Even then, they didn't know the 'all FF's' trick Sag had used, and were sending them out serially. Sag imagined the confusion and havoc that must have been happening in those hidden control centers, and relished it all. By that evening, it was clear that even their new kill commands sent serially were not working — all those ships hanging in the air were bricked.

A camera crew for the paranormal TV show _Ghost Adventures_ , driving down to the Keys to investigate a haunted lighthouse, made a detour to document the Miami ship. Using their FLIR night-vision cameras, they watched from a distance as Huey helicopters with heavy cargo-carrying nets were brought in under cover of darkness. After several attempts, the nets were clumsily hooked to the back two corners of the ship, and it was literally towed away through the air. The entire operation was filmed, and made the ten o'clock news for the west coast feed.

Jess watched all this play out while lying on the couch under an Afghan blanket, as everyone played nursemaid to her. Declared 'Queen for the Day' with a paper napkin crown, she was, to her delight, presented with a bell to ring whenever she wanted something — which turned out to be quite often.

The international media reaction to this strange American incident was one of amazement at the advanced state of their technology, along with derision towards 'those silly Americans', who couldn't keep anything under wraps these days, considering Wikileaks, the NSA PRISM project, and now this.

Politically, the reaction was muted; perhaps because a handful of Euro-block leaders were quietly informed that their own ships had also been disabled. As the event occurred during non-operational daylight hours on their side of the planet, however, they were all safely hangared at the time.

Back in the U.S., at approximately nine P.M. Central time, a news rumor began circulating that President Obama would be addressing the nation within the following hour. Although the rumor seemed well sourced, the time came and went, and there was no conference. Given the nature of the day's events, no plausible explanation was dismissed, and some pundits proffered that unknown individuals behind the scenes had convinced the President's staff to toe the historical stance — that _zero_ information is better than _any_ information, whether confirmation or denial.
Chapter Seventy-Four

The next morning was sunny with clear skies — no more UFO's — and all the talk shows were abuzz with the previous day's activity, showing YouTube clips, interviewing witnesses, and theorizing about what the ships were, and what had happened to them. Stan Fieldman — the man who climbed his roof to touch the Iowa ship — became an Internet sensation, and was officially crowned 'PokeyMan: The PokeMeister General' by Ellen DeGeneres, live on her show.

It was clear from all the footage that this _was_ U.S. government hardware. Still, the Feds chose to say nothing, for reasons of secrecy, plain old humiliation, or both; and therefore no ire was raised, public or private. It simply became an _event_ , without an explanation.

UFO experts, now a staple of the cable news channels, puffed their feathers as their belief system — for so many years relegated to the realm of crackpots — was suddenly validated. The gloating was palpable, with many overt _'We told you so's'_. Most, however, lost their newfound status within days, as they continued to vociferously promote the idea of alien visitation, which despite the amazing footage available, still had no evidential support.

In fact, this was the most public UFO event in history — and there was not a single actual extraterrestrial to be seen. This set the cause of the true believers back substantially, as the conventional wisdom — never one to see shades of gray — decided that all UFO's, present and historical, had _always_ been advanced human technology. Ironically, the alien proponents came to be looked down upon even _more_ than before, if that was even possible.

Over the following days, spotting parties were organized across the country, and they stayed up until the wee hours to see if they could catch the ships on their nightly maneuvers. Night vision equipment became the number one item on Amazon, and the makers had a field day, as the target market expanded from niche paranormal groups and T.V. show producers to one in every five households overnight.

The watch parties, in addition to being a boon for Starbucks, also resulted in a surprising number of hits: several hundred sightings each night, fully documented on video. Scores of thermal and night-vision recordings were posted online, and with the help of the latest low-light sensitive cellphone cameras, the days of blurry and indistinct images were no more. The world was awash in high-quality footage of UFO's.

After several days, the adjustment process to this new reality began to shift from simple awe towards the more pragmatic direction Jess was hoping to see emerge. With U.S. unemployment still hovering in the high single digits, calls went out to open up this advanced technology and make it available to American industry, in the hopes of bringing about a revolution in the transport, travel, and manufacturing sectors.

Investigations into historical black-budget programs were also re-opened with renewed vigor, and it was later determined that, over the course of seventeen years starting in the mid-seventies up until the early nineties, close to two-hundred billion dollars had been siphoned off into black budgets with no accountability or congressional oversight. Although this mystery funding was never top-secret information, the taxpayers seemed to accept it at the time, trusting the government was using the money wisely in defense of the nation.

The sudden exposure of these advanced craft, which, despite their obvious utility in the theatre of war, had never been seen in the decades of combat operations since they were developed — along with the fact that they continued to be spotted over the U.S. nightly in apparent homeland surveillance operations — infuriated the public. They demanded answers, and for the first time in history, black budget programs were vociferously questioned just as the other, more public military pork-belly boondoggles had been. Massive online petition campaigns forced congressmen to schedule hearings on the issue.

The first roadblock, however, was finding someone to blame. It seemed that many, if not all, of these black projects had been constructed in such a compartmentalized manner that nobody was clearly in charge. The government employees, contractors, and independent experts that were found and called forth to testify were doggedly questioned as to why this technology, which had clearly been in use for twenty years or more, had not been deployed in any of the wars of the early twenty-first century, or even whether there were _any_ future plans to integrate it into the traditional branches of the armed forces.

No satisfactory answers were provided, and the stonewalling from the harried underlings was as much a defensive tactic as it was legitimate ignorance. The public, however, met these denials with absolute derision, in utter disbelief that billions of tax dollars could be sucked into a black hole of absolute unaccountability, over a span of decades.

If the heat on the government from the spending oversight committees was bad, the privacy zealots were worse. All the focus was taken off of the latest smartphone data-leakage scandal, ad-tracking conspiracies, NSA wiretapping, and Google data collection uproars, and directed towards what these ships were doing — and continued to blatantly do — every night, in the middle of the night, over populated areas of the country.

Were they doing their own data collection? Illegal wire tapping? Wi-Fi signal intercepts? The jurisdiction of the Senate Judiciary Sub-Committee on Privacy, Technology, and the Law was expanded from oversight of the private sector to include incursions by the government itself, and more hearings were held. These, too, were met with a brick wall of _'I am not privy to that information, sir'_ and fifth-amendment pleadings, stoking the public — and now congressional — anger even further.

Star's prediction — that objections based on the nuclear-powered propulsion system would be the most damaging — never came to pass. Without a full understanding of the ships composition, weight, and methods of propulsion, nobody knew there were operational nuclear reactors on board. Some speculated they were nothing more than high-tech blimps, and disinformation in this regard continued to protect the government, at least in this area.

If the results of the investigations were unsatisfactory, at least there was momentum and a path forward: proposals were floated to whitelist, or at least greylist, all black budget projects dollars going forward. One of the Oversight Committee goals was to track the ship's overflights publicly, publishing the purpose and scope of each mission. Legislation would eventually be introduced on both items, but, at great political cost, vetoed by the President.

But that was all in the future.
Chapter Seventy-Five

For the moment, Jess reveled in the fallout of their combined actions as she recuperated at the farm. Victor made another cake the next day, a triangular chocolate one decorated with 'Disclosure 2: Electric Boogaloo', as other members of the group converged on the farm for a party lasting well into the night.

Jess, who never felt like a true member of this motley crew, asked for a ride back into Chicago a few days later. She missed Gavin, and Nora, and city life in general. She would find out how exactly her identity and finances had been destroyed, and try to rebuild as best she could.

After hearing her trudge up the stairs, Gavin was the first to greet her. It had only been two weeks, but to him it seemed like years since he last saw her running down the street after a strange white van.

"So, was this all...you?" he asked, referring to the exposure of the government ships that was still making the news every night.

"Yeah. So, whaddya think?" she answered with a half-smile.

Gavin lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "No... _really?_ "

"Yup, pretty much."

"Oh I see, you'd have to kill me. Well, I'm just glad you're home. Joel and Nora missed you. Me, not so much."

"Yeah right, you probably been gettin' yer drink on, you be missin' me so much."

"Not really, but hey — what a great idea. Gimme a minute," he said, heading into her kitchen.

After setting down her bags, Jess collapsed onto the couch and cuddled with her kitty as Gavin searched for a fresh bottle of wine. Suddenly, she heard a song emanating from her bag: it was her phone — the one that had the SIM card deactivated.

Reaching down, she excavated the phone from the bottom of the bag and hesitantly answered the call from the unknown number. "Uh, hello?"

The voice on the other end was frantic. "Jess, it's Kal. We've been searching for you for days."

"Kal!" Jess repeated, surprised that she was still on speaking terms with them after all she had done. "Um, yeah, so, sorry about that thing, there. Um..."

"Listen, forget about it. We have. Anyway, this thing has blown everything up. We had no idea about all this. Len and I are out. But we need you."

"Need _me?_ Why?"

"Ever since the incident, all ships — _all ships_ — have been grounded."

"Well, not _all_ ships, they're being seen every night, like, all over. Pretty ballsy, in my opinion. Just watch the news."

"That's just it, Jess. _They are not ours_."

"Not ours? What do you mean? Well whose are they then?"

"That's what we're trying to find out, but we need you, and any resources you may be in contact with, to confront this."

"Look, I've been through the wringer on this thing already. I'm done."

"You wanted to expose these ships for what they are. Correct?"

"Yeah..."

"Well then, your job isn't done. You just peeled off the first layer. We need you on this."

"OK then," Jess mused, reclaiming her cat-bird seat, "I want _everything_ re-instated. Not just the phone. Everything you burned."

"We can't do that Jess, not directly; we're out, like I said. But we can help you somewhat, we know things, we know people. If you help us."

Gavin entered the living room carrying two full wine glasses and handed one to her.

"Call me back in ten minutes. Priorities," she said, hanging up the phone as she accepted the glass.

"That was the Commissioner," Jess explained, "they just put up the Bat-signal."

"Already? Seriously Jess, is this what you are now? Are you going to go?"

"I don't know. Let me decide after this," she said, holding up her glass. "It always enhances my decision-making abilities."

"Cheers to that," Gavin agreed, as Jess clinked her glass to his.

###

Thanks for Reading!

-Mark

http://www.sleeperseven.com

<http://facebook.com/SleeperSeven>

<https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/markhoward2015>

