The Omega Seed Read online

  Chapter Seven

  The truth hurts

  Natural Bridge,

  Navajo, First American's Reservation, Arizona

  Joshua Nashota stood with his head tilted back, eyes closed, arms folded across his chest and swayed in rhythm to the chant of his own voice. Deep and low he recited an ageless story from the folklore of his people - the Diné. It was one of thirty-seven his father, Daniel, had taught him during the sixty-three years of his life. This particular tribal tale, alleged to have originated thousands of years ago, depicted the scattered nomadic, Navajo people who had gathered at the summons of the First Shaman to hear and obey his words. As with the Israelites who chose Moses to lead them, the Diné had selected their first chieftain and spiritual leader, and it was he, who over the years, recorded the tribe's significant historic events by painting pictures and symbols on animal skins, as the written word was not known. These treasured scrolls had been wrapped in sacred blankets, carefully stored and passed down from one generation to the next into the hands of the firstborn son of the current ranking shaman. As time passed the portable illustrations chronicling their history deteriorated and became indecipherable, eventually crumbling into bits of dried leather and wisps of hair - thus initiating the art of storytelling by song.

  At the zenith of the Navajo nation's prominence, the Chief's main functions had primarily evolved to leadership and coordination. In this dual task he was assisted by a council of advisors, each member with a specialized area of responsibility: medicine, religion, food procurement, defense and history - the latter now being Joshua's contribution under the direction of his father who had become the tribe's current shaman due to his seeing two separate ( holy ) signs many years ago when he was in his late forties. Now, in his eighties, his physical limitations prevented him from performing his services outside the immediate communal complex. His son, Joshua, did the traveling and acted in his stead with his father's authority and blessing. Soon, the elder would volunteer to abdicate his position to his son since Joshua had already observed the required two signs himself and was a thoroughly trained believer.

  Every new moon Joshua made the sacred trek, via jeep, from his home in Moenkopi, a trip of thirty miles, to the place where legend said the First Shaman received his teachings directly from the Great Spirit. Here, beneath the stone archway, Joshua chanted every song his father had taught him, opening his eyes only at each conclusion - perchance to behold a portent associated with that particular story. First, he would search the heavens, since most portents were said to appear above, if nothing showed there, he then turned full circle and surveyed the countryside. Only when no vision appeared did he continue the ritual with the succeeding canto.

  Joshua, as his father's custodian of the ritual by lineage, insisted his two sons join him twice a year to practice the tradition. The middle-aged men, with families of their own, resided in nearby Flagstaff, not on the reservation as their father and grandfather chose to do. The sons had transcribed and recorded the words and rhythms rather than memorizing and singing the songs themselves. His children leaned more toward today's modern culture and didn't take the old customs too seriously. As far as they were concerned the sole value of this part of their heritage served their interest as a conversation piece at social functions - no more. After all, they reasoned they had been participating for thirty years to appease their father and had never observed anything out of the ordinary other than his antics. The elder sadly admonished them many times, saying: "Your hearts lack faith. Therefore, when I pass on my spirit will have to return to give you the strength to find the truth." They did not accompany him on this occasion.

  Joshua, now in his mid-sixties, had seen during his lifetime only two distinct signs alone, both of which occurred many moons ago. His father had experienced seven and stated his great, great grandfather said he often spoke directly to the spirit messengers. In his heart, Joshua feared he may become the last Navajo storyteller and grieved when he heard rumors of the other tribal Nations were suffering the same fate. He wondered, "Who will be left among our people to carry on the sacred traditions?"

  Dancing orange flames rose from the rounded fire-pit, which had been constructed according to the lore: its dimensions were measured five hand lengths across (one for each council member) plus one additional, larger hand (for the Chief). The flickering light reflected dimly on his mud-caked, red pick-up truck fifty yards behind him. The temperature sat in the low eighties; the air smelled dusty dry, yet unspoiled and all was quiet. Nashota's well-worn, cowhide boots gritted upon the loose sand on top of the large flat shale boulder as he turned slow-motion in a circle and began a story portraying the Innocents praying for their deliverance from the Evil One. "Ha-ya, ha-ya, ha-ya". Each phrase meant, "Hear me".

  Halfway through this chapter of oral history, he felt movement between his feet and a mysterious brushing on the inside of both ankles. A sudden gust of air blew through his scraggly, silver, shoulder-length hair. The wind, coming from the west, felt cool and appeared clear of dust. He slit his eyes and they began to water. Wiping them dry with his shirt sleeve, Joshua glanced down to find the cause of the pulling pressure on the outside of his boots. A full-grown King Diamondback rattlesnake, weighing at least forty pounds and as thick as his forearm, had curled into a figure eight pattern around his legs! The serpent's flatten, oblong head waved hypnotically from side to side. Its tiny, coal-black eyes were riveted on the western horizon, the ribbon of its black glossy tongue flicked, its rattled tail swayed in line behind Nashota's knees. Joshua gasped in shock and his eyes went wide in fear. He dug deep within himself to fight his panic and inborn instincts to dive to safety. He steeled himself and stood fast, entrusting his well-being to the Great Spirit's care. Shaken but determined, he tore his attention away from the venomous serpent in order to survey the western sky and perhaps receive the rest of the message.

  There! Two shooting stars, long white streaks falling earthward formed an acute 'V' at the horizon before disappearing behind the distant mountain range. A low, two-toned moan, like the wind whipping through a hollowed log, resounded in Joshua's ears. Could it be the voice of his god, the Great Spirit speaking directly to his faithful follower? Nashota obediently closed his eyes again, ignored the snake's steady warning rattle and continued singing the story. He felt as if the warm glow of fatherly love had descended upon him and he then understood what he must do next. When he had finished his song, he found no trace of the serpent. The Earth and the elements had returned to its previous state as if nothing had occurred. The aged historian had a strong premonition what he experienced was to be of great future importance... and for more than just the First American nations. He believed this message was intended for the entire tribe of mankind!

  Joshua stepped down from the natural platform of flat rock, leaving the other eleven cantos unsung and trod purposefully to the dwindling campfire. He began forming in his mind possible scenarios based on his training from his father and grandfather. To him the message was distinct and clear, the portents were unmistakable. The cold wind represented death. The snake wrapped around his ankles represented the encircling legions of evil and the shooting stars pointed to the way he must journey. His body quivered with trepidation. Another strong wind whipped up and Joshua perceived the Great Spirit whispering directly into his ear - it resounded in his mind. He unmistakably heard, "Reddd... wooddd!"

  Seven hundred miles to the west, beyond his horizon, Nashota's two shooting stars continued to flame earthward and converged at a point one hundred miles seaward on the route from San Francisco to Hawaii. The alien starcruisers deliberately had not activated their cloaking force field. It was time for the primitive Earthlings to receive the message: "Beware, we are coming!"

  He returned to the compound as quickly as he could and immediately went to his father's abode. They discussed his incident in relation to The Lore through the night and concurred on a course of action; all of his information and their joint conclusions neede
d to be reviewed and hopefully, approved by the Chief and his Council in the morning.

  During the night, Joshua learned that in The Lore - their history foretold someday the La-e-cih (the Others) would return to this world. It was unknown as to why. They were Gods compared to mankind but not gods in themselves: there is only one Great Spirit. "The La-e-cih may possibly be acting as tools of the Father, messengers, helpers or even warriors to punish the evil ones of the earth," explained Daniel. "There will be no misunderstandings by the nations; they know every language because they were here soon after The Beginning and learned all of the tongues as they came to be. Their return will change the world as we know it. All of mankind will be touched to the bone."

  "The crossed falling stars mark the location of where they are certain to return," explained Daniel. "They also could descend in a multitude of many other places at the same time. If that comes to be, it is not our concern. As for our sign, the snake who bound you acted as the dual symbol of great strength and a deadly force, which by its grace is permitting you to proceed forward - to take the needed journey. Redwood, the name the wind spoke to you, I know this place. I camped there many moons ago, after the end of the White Man's second Great War. It is a dark, secret place filled with magic. The captured people living there are strange and possess great powers. The whole world is afraid of them and this is why they are being kept hidden. Be careful my son; I once by accident became connected to them and it was a terrifying encounter. Who knows how hostile they may have become after many decades of enslavement? I will draw you a map of how to get there and the camp's layout. The soldiers will not welcome you; they are trying to hide their country's sins. I suspect the Army base has grown much larger and has now drawn the La-e-cih's attention. You are being sent as a representative of all the First Americans tribes to sue for peace with the ancestors from the sky. May the Great Spirit guide and protect you my son."

  Early the next morning, at Daniel's urgent request to the Chief, the full tribal council had been assembled - nothing was more important than a message from the current, Talker to the Spirits. His father, who had just relinquished and transferred his official position to his beloved, trustworthy son at the beginning of this audience, sat proudly at Joshua's side. Together, the two spiritual leaders had stayed up all night evaluating his experience and agreed the revelation had been of the utmost importance - it was a true sign with a vital message for all.

  It was of no surprise and warmly received by Joshua and his father, that the Chief and his Council members totally supported their report of the event and assessments. "Proceed without haste!" they directed. "Travel forth, our son. Speak to the La-e-cih in behalf of the Diné and our other brothers," bade the Chief. "Return safely, Joshua with a new hope for the tribe of all mankind."

  Ten hours later at 8 p.m, Joshua was driving on Interstate 40, towing a 15-foot long covered utility trailer containing eight, long wooden poles, leather bindings and several bundles of cured animal hides, stitched together for constructing a teepee after he arrives on the outskirts of Redwood. He was weary and it had become late. He hadn't slept in thirty-plus hours, but knew he must press on in spite of his fatigue. Time was of the essence. It would require a full day, maybe more, to travel and establish a campsite, then perform the purification ritual - he'd have to take naps between tasks, as the warriors of old had done between their campaigns.

  Joshua had memorized the map; his father had described it well in relaying many details from his being stationed there as an Army code-talker. The camp's name obviously hadn't changed since 1948 and he was certain there wouldn't be any road markers to make finding the hidden base in the hills any easier. His father believed, The Sign his son had seen showed that the camp's function had remained the same for all these years: The imprisonment of the Innocents and as for his son, faith and truth would reinforce him if faced with ominous difficulties.

  Joshua father, like all the other men who had served there and were transferred elsewhere after their tour's completion or left the military service, believed the detainees had been later released or relocated as promised. Now, five decades later, he realized they all had been deliberately deceived. The spirits had exposed the hoax. Joshua felt certain that access to the base, or any observations points within a close proximity, would be challenged, therefore he would have to make his campsite at least a full mile from its solitary access point, the front gate. If discovered by the military, they would think he was just another foolish, old Indian wandering around in the desert searching for yesteryear.

  After he had stopped driving, he unexpectedly remembered his grandfather foretelling him when he was a child his destiny would someday be interwoven with a tribe called the Omega. He had never heard that name before or since. Perplexing, his father hadn't mentioned this. "I wonder if that is what these strange, captured people are known as? I shall ask for enlightenment. Ha-ya, ha-ya, ha-ya."

  Hamburg, Germany

  Mason Armstead was ushered into a two-story, brownstone apartment located in an outlying suburb of the previously war-torn city, now beautifully restored, and situated one hundred and thirty miles northwest of Berlin. The journey had lasted seven hours and his pair of rescuers offered no explanations en route, merely saying all his questions and more, would be answered to his satisfaction soon after their arrival. Mason believed them. That overriding, mystifying, inherent-trusting feeling he experienced with the dying Omega on the train had resurfaced. Although two of his three encounters with these people had ended with violent confrontations, even death, his instincts were insisting a true revelation of the facts was indeed forthcoming.

  "I trust you had a comfortable trip, Mister Armstead," greeted a slender man clad in a charcoal-grey suit standing in the living room. "Welcome, I'm John Smith," extending a handshake with a wry smile at the courier's reaction to the phony name. Before Mason could reply, "I understand your reluctance in accepting this name. Sorry, but I can't use my real one for matters of security. I have many relatives who could be exposed if you are recaptured. Eradication of entire families with impunity has already been reported. I'm sure you can appreciate my caution." His two escorts murmured their agreement. "Truly, the world's governments are poised on the brink of utter insanity."

  "I am aware you are full of questions: the whys, wherefores and now that we have finally met face-to-face, the newest and most vexing question of all: Who are these people? But I'm getting ahead of myself... first, and please excuse my deplorable manners, may I introduce your two rescuers, Enrique from Barcelona and Leland from Edinburgh?" A fourth person glided into the room carrying a tray of bread, fruit and a pitcher of distilled water. "And this vision of exquisite loveliness is Elke from Stockholm." Mason made a surprised evaluation of this Nordic goddess of five foot, eleven inches tall, straight, pure blond hair - slightly longer than shoulder length - and cobalt-blue eyes. John smiled at Armstead's reaction, "Relax, Mason, she creates the same striking effect on everyone. We all love Elke; each of us is boyishly captivated by her stunning beauty."

  Armstead, admiring her delicate smooth, glowing skin and trim figure, had difficulty returning his attention to the speaker as he asked himself, "Is it possible she feels the same attraction to me? Or am I merely 'captivated by her beauty' also, as Mister Smith said?"

  Mason grinned sheepishly and stammered, "Hi."

  "Hi, yourself, Mister Armstead," as she offered a glass of refreshment.

  Their fingers touched in the exchange and Mason received an ever-so-slight tingling on contact. His logic told him it must be the usual vexation, static electricity, while his heart wanted to say it was magical. "Thanks," her natural feminine scent wafted to him as soft perfume, further intoxicating his imagination.

  "Were you able to rest on the way here, Mason?" asked John.

  "Yes, I dozed off for about an hour."

  "Dos... er, sorry, two," Enrique corrected himself - he didn't speak English very well.

  "Yes, Enrique, two," commended
John. "I wish I were as proficient in multiple languages as you are." He then addressed Armstead, "You must be well rested, being physically similar to us." Next, and speaking to all, "I'm sorry but there's been a change in our plans, we have to depart shortly. I'll brief Mason en route to the airport."

  Armstead interrupted, "Wait a minute, I'm grateful for your getting me out of that nasty situation at the hotel but I'm sure it's all an unfortunate mistake. A quick phone call to Chad Parkerson at the U.S. State Department will rectify it."

  "No, Mason," advised John. "It was Director Parkerson who ordered your apprehension, per Ambassador Rhinemann's inquiry." Armstead knit his brows in confusion.

  "I see," Smith continued, "we'll slow down a moment here and clear up a few items... Let me ask you this, did those hard-nosed, ex-convicts give you a blood test? If so, did it turn blue?" He nodded, as if anticipating Mason's assent. "The blue results denote you are carrying a unique enzyme in your circulatory system found exclusively in the people the world governments have labeled the Omega. There is no mistake. If you tested positive then you are by blood, one of us - an Omega." He waited a moment then offered the now terminated, ex-U.S. State Department courier a snapshot.

  Mason inspected the 3x5" Polaroid glossy of a middle-aged woman holding the Washington Post's front page near the camera lens - she looked very familiar and the newspaper's date appeared legible: Sept. 5, four days ago. "Where have I seen her before?" he wondered aloud. "She looks so familiar, I think I know her... but I can't quite place the face."

  "That's because the lady has aged a few years since you last saw her and she has also changed her hair color and style. Her name is on the back."

  Mason flipped it over - it read, Michelle LeBlanc. Turning it again, he scrutinized every detail, "Amazing, she bears an uncanny resemblance to my deceased grandmother. She has the same name also. Is this a relative of mine, perhaps a distant aunt? Did my mother have a sister she didn't tell me about?"

  "Logical reasoning Mason, but not the correct answer. This lady works for us in the Federal Bureau of Investigation's medical records department, Washington D.C. In espionage jargon, she's what you would call a spy or a mole. Michelle data inputs medical files, including blood tests results, sent to the Bureau by public hospitals and clinics from all over the United States. By altering just one specific code as she transcribes the incoming data to the FBI's computer memory bank, she has hidden over a thousand people, effectively saving their lives - including yours. That's how you, and a handful of other Omega government employees, have thus far escaped detection. Michelle's changing an information box from a 'y' to an 'n'. I repeat, our undercover agent, Missus LeBlanc, has been aiding the cause which is solely survival, for over twenty years." Smith paused to let the information to sink in.

  Mason's thought process was in conflict. Still unable to relinquish his mind set as the ever law-abiding, rule-following government employee, he was aghast at the admittance of private, confidential intrusions. "This is illegal! You're falsifying official government records! There must be another way to escape detection!" Then in the same breath and admitting, "All right, I don't understand. If what you say... someone's... or our alleged blood type is different to some extent, so what? And, even more important, what are you talking about, this saving of lives?"

  John continued to explain, "Because, for the last fifty years the Omega have been sentenced to life imprisonment without a trial just for merely existing. And just recent, that long-standing edict has been altered to implement the immediate execution of any newly discovered persons. And... it gets worse. It also has been recently decided by the WSC, every person presently being held in their existing secret, illegal captivity sites - man, woman and child will be collectively exterminated on a soon-coming, designated date and time. Think of it, Mason! More than fifteen thousand lives will be snuffed out in the established concentration camps hidden worldwide from the public - effecting a simultaneous global genocide of who they believe to be a threatening race."

  "And, the few Omega who are still free by having avoided detection thus-far will always have an immediate death warrant hanging over their heads," added Leland.

  "Correct," continued Smith. "As for us, a hunted, make-shift resistance group, we have devised and will attempt a last-resort rescue attempt in two of the larger camps. Unfortunately, the date you were carrying in your briefcase would have informed us of how much time we have left for preparation. In our effort to obtain it beforehand, we had to make sure you personally were selected to transport the document to Berlin. To achieve this, it had become necessary to take out of commission your department's top two couriers. Their proficiency with weapons and self-defense presented an extreme danger to all parties. Don't worry; neither of the other transporters were harmed. One, we infected with an innocuous virus. The second was led to wander aimlessly in a tropical rain forest with our guide who ensured his safety by carrying a hidden mobile telephone just in case a true emergency arose. Those two ventures went well, but the overall operation was carried out at a dreadful price: two of our friends failed and gave their lives attempting to obtain the information. Try to understand, Mister Armstead time is of the essence. The absolute best we can hope for is to perhaps 'break-out' two thousand people. Of that number, we estimate a minimum of at least fifteen hundred will be hunted down and killed within twenty-four hours by the pursuing militia. This would leave perhaps a mere few hundred souls alive to later find and join the other fragments who have been lucky enough so far to avoid detection. Rather a bleak picture isn't it?"

  "But why?" questioned an anguished Mason. "Still, why would they pick us out of all the minorities worldwide? Our differences are not threatening - it doesn't make sense."

  "Yes and no, Elke contributed. "Mankind has always feared - and destroyed what it doesn't understand. Over the centuries, alleged witches, seers, empathics... any person who possessed elevated abilities, they have died by the tens of thousands for being different. I know you also have some special abilities, we all do in varying degrees. John, here, is the most advanced, being of the third generation following a successful corrective operation."

  "Operation? I've never had an operation, unless you count having a broken nose reset from a blocked soccer kick in college."

  Smith continued, "Not you, Mason. Michelle LeBlanc, formerly DeBlois... your grandmother - the woman in the picture."

  Armstead again dumbly gazed at the photo, "This really can't be Grandma; she died when I was six years old. She...," hard, cold reality leaped out at him. Mason gasped for breath as he searched John's, Enrique's, Leland's and Elke's face for deception. Of course, there was none. It had to be true, all true, everything they'd said and it rocked him to the bone. All of a sudden he felt light-headed, "Grandma...?" Mason weakly dropped down on the couch, clasping the picture. He couldn't take his eyes off it. "She left the family to save me?"

  "Yes, thanks to her dual citizenship: Canadian/ American and having an uncle in the personnel records division, she was able to obtain a job in a related department almost thirty years ago when you were a small child. We don't know how, but Michelle suspected selected individuals were being tricked or outright abducted and being taken to secret military camps worldwide. Our subsequent investigations over a period of time confirmed her fears, but this truth came too late to warn her daughter Irene and her husband - your father and mother. And, after a few additional years had passed, she took the opportunity to transfer to the position she's held to the present. Once there, she had access to old, confidential medical files and discovered the US government had in fact begun its illegal seizures and arrests back in 1948. Some of these first prisoners were not even Omega. The blood testing procedure hadn't been perfected back then, therefore hundreds of so-called, normal people over the years, who became detainees, died of natural causes, old age, sickness and 'other non-related issues' as a result of their ever on-going tests. Many simply vanished during the night, murdered and buried in unmarked gr
aves to cover-up their experiments. The majority of the real Omega prisoners are still alive due to their exceptional life spans, like your own, which is why you appear so much younger than your age in comparison to the general populace. Being second generation by birth in the Omega bloodline you should live between one hundred and ten to twenty years. A third generation's life expectancy is one hundred and forty. Those of ten generations or more will live to the maximum of two hundred years. Barring accidents, both of your offspring will achieve one hundred and forty. Note: your mate - all Omega women, bear only two children- one of each sex and disease is not a limiting factor.

  "Amazing... and the enzyme explains why I've never been sick!" declared Mason.

  "Yes, plus a host of other advantageous capacities such as night vision, close proximity sensing, low body temperature, efficient food processing, to name a few gifts on a long individualized and variable list.

  Mason marveled, "It's gratifying to find other people with characteristics similar to mine, but I still don't understand why I'm considered a threat. I wouldn't object to being studied for the benefit of mankind. I'd volunteer."

  Smith nodded his agreement, "They know why we're different, Mason. It's due to the operation I mentioned earlier. Unfortunately, we're not looked upon as saviors of humanity - indeed, just the opposite! We've been chosen to be the sacrificial lambs and led to the slaughter. The world governments have voted to exterminate us as a show of force in a defensive ploy called Operation Omega established to resist the alien fleet gathering and hiding beneath the oceans, which ironically may not have any connection to our plight at all. But then again it may. I really don't know."

  Mason's jaw dropped, "Pardon? Are you saying The Cold War is back on? Some country is threatening to start a Third World War using nuclear submarines?"

  "Sorry, Mason," returned Smith, "I wish it were that simple. I said alien. Our intelligence network has learned there is a fleet of extraterrestrial spaceships hiding on the oceans floors all over the world. Alarming as it may sound, and it certainly is in its own right, this is not our immediate problem. We will tell you everything we know about them later."

  John retrieved the photo from Mason's limp fingers, "Sorry, I have to destroy this." He lit a safety match, burned the picture and washed the ashes down the stainless steel kitchen sink. "If all goes well, you'll meet your grandmother in about a week. Possibly sooner, if you elect 'not' to join us in our rescue efforts since you know her whereabouts now. Rest assured you're free to choose. We won't coerce you to be with us or hinder your own personal pursuit - you've been warned of the dangers. However, I strongly recommend you at least accompany our party back to the States. It would be most difficult for you alone to evade the authorities here in Europe. Again, a word of caution: if you should decide to contact your grandmother, know that you are a shoot-on-sight, no trial, wanted man. So be careful how you establish a meeting - you could jeopardize Missus LeBlanc's life. Be advised, the National Security Council will eliminate you just as they did your father when he was searching for your mother. She was one of the many kidnapped under the pretense she had a contagious disease. Irene was taken to Camp Redwood Detention and Processing Center in California which is one of the bases we're planning to attack and with a bit of luck, liberate."

  Mason suddenly remembered. "The gunman on the train... he said, "Your mother misses you". It didn't make sense at the time. I figured it was a dying man's ravings." Armstead felt as if the room were spinning, his whole life had turned upside down in the last twenty-four hours. He didn't know whether to laugh or cry for joy. Elke sat next to him and held his hand to calm him after his overwhelming emotional shock.

  The three men conferred. "Do you think Michelle can hack into the WSC main frame to obtain the date?"

  Leland acted as the spokesman for the pair of rescuers; Enrique understood but got tongue tied. "No, she only has a grade four security clearance; which limits her to low-level FBI menus and medical transcripts."

  Leland inquired if there were any possible outside contacts to the various conference representatives.

  "No, I'm afraid Armstead was our best chance. We'll have to pick our own date to attempt a rescue and hope we're not too late."

  Enrique, engrossed in the gist of the conversation, forgot to speak in English and suggested, "Hoy en ocho... ay, perdonenme. Ah, sorry amigos, how about a week from today?"

  Smith looked around the group, who were all in agreement and consented. "First of all, I have to call, Victor, our American coordinator from a safe phone."

  Mason, frowning as if he were concentrating on making a connection with some half-remembered information, unexpectedly galvanized in protest, "No, no. That would be too late!"

  All eyes centered on him, silently wanting... demanding an explanation for his outburst. His voice shaking as he announced, "I think I know the date... No, I'm sure I know the date! I heard it on the train when Talbert opened my case and read the document aloud. September thirteeth, zero six hundred, Zulu. They're going to enact their plan on September thirteenth at six in the morning... beginning at Camp Redwood. Where my mother is being held..." His voice trailed off, "A week from now would be too late..."

  Leland verified his watch calendar, "In four days? Redwood is halfway around the world! What on earth can we possibly do in four short days?"

  Smith answered, "Our best, Leland, even if it comes down to storming the perimeter fence with in stick of dynamite in my teeth. We must try!" The three men joined hands, placing one over the other; Elke clasped the top and bottom, "Freedom! Libertad!"

  Mason remained seated, mute. These people are committing themselves to a suicide mission. He realized his life's safe foundation had shifted under his feet and placed him across an invisible line into unknown territory with new loyalties. Their plight, the Omega, had now become his own.

  U.S.S. Constellation, ninety miles southwest of San Francisco

  Three Super Tomcat fighter jets were returning from a reconnaissance and training exercise along the coast of central California. Bird Dawg One, flown by a Navy commander, had been given clearance for the trio of front line attack aircraft to land on the nuclear carrier's flight deck. Being the flight leader and instructor, he would follow them each in and proficiency grade number's Two and Three, a lieutenant and a lieutenant jg (junior grade) - both recently assigned to Pacific Fleet Naval Operations. Their mission tonight was twofold: first to assist the Coast Guard in identifying a rust bucket freighter of undetermined nationality steaming north by performing a low-level, fly-by while utilizing their Night Owl infrared scopes and secondly, to practice night-time carrier landings and aborts. The first operation had been completed satisfactorily. In their slash-shaped (/) formation cruising at 55,000 feet, 600 air knots (700 m.p.h.) they were returning to the carrier to commence phase two. The pilots could clearly discern San Fran's hazy lights far off portside. The ocean below loomed dull black; fog had enveloped the harbor and most of the city, dissipating two miles seaward.

  A radio call interrupted a verbal checklist the commander had been giving his two wingmen, "Bird Dawg One, this is Home Run. We have two bogeys in your sector. Do you read?"

  "I read you, Home Run," as the leader scanned his radar screen - it displayed blank. He checked with his wingmen, "Two, Three, I'm clear, do you see any bogeys?"

  "Negative," returned Two. "I have a clean screen."

  "I am negative also," from Three."

  The flight leader reported back, "Home Run, this is Bird Dawg One, we have negative readings on bogeys, over."

  "Stand by, Dawgs," as the Flight Control began analyzing why the Tomcat's radar had no echoes. The carrier had a far greater sweep, but their instruments indicated the bogeys were less than fifty miles from the squadron - well within the fighter's scanner range. The Signal Officer determined the problem and directed the jets to get their noses up, "Bird Dawg One, bogeys are at ninety thousand, forty miles, one o' clock."

  The Commander wondere
d, "Ninety K? What are we dealing with? High altitude spy planes?" The trio began climbing at one o'clock and when they reached twenty miles, 111,000 feet, the two blips edged onto the top of their scopes. "Home Run, we have the bogeys on screen. Going in for a look-see."

  The lieutenant on his starboard side remarked, "Looks like they're coming down, sir."

  "I roger that," agreed Dawg Three in his Tennessee drawl. "Real quick-like."

  "Dawg squadron, use caution, we're receiving large echoes," advised Flight Control, "It could be a twin pack," referring to two tight formations of multiple aircraft.

  "Roger, Home Run." Then the leader instructed, "Fan out boys. Pass wide; I'll split the middle. Get ready to break and hustle." The three supersonic fighter jets reduced speed to 500 knots, swept upward and opened a mile gap between each other as they closed on the two targets. Fifteen miles: the flight leader's eyes were locked on his screen as he reported, "Home Run, I still have a solid, twin pack with no separation."

  The lieutenant jg took a quick peak up from his instruments. He gasped, then shouted, "Commander! Twelve o'clock. Break off!"

  "What?" the Commander's head popped up.

  Two, giant silver starcruisers, dropping like rocks, were on a collision course with the Navy interceptors.

  Bird Dawg Three veered hard right, and streaked away with his wing tip pointed vertical to the ocean. Number Two pulled straight up in an eight G vertical climb - the pilot was mashed into his cockpit seat, almost losing consciousness. Bird Dawg One reacted too late. His jet was off center and couldn't split the spaceships without crashing into one of their sides. The Commander rammed the stick forward, his flaps snapped downward. He tried to dive under the right plummeting metallic ball. "Can't make it!" The starship's bulk filled his cockpit window, certain death appeared imminent. In a split second he would be smashed to bits against the alien's hull. He braced himself, gritted his teeth and uttered a primal growl, "Arrgh!" which quickly changed to silent, eye-popping amazement. Miraculously, it seemed the starcruiser slowed a fraction, just enough to allow the Navy jet to skim beneath it.

  The shaken pilots quickly recovered from their initial shock and commenced to circle back. Their maneuvers resembled those of tiny fireflies buzzing twin silver neon lights. The aviators abandoned flying solely by their sophisticated instruments - they could easily discern the giant, half-mile wide spheres gleaming in the moon light. One of the spaceships continued its steady descent while the other - the Commander's near miss, came to a halt and hovered at seventy thousand feet.

  The flight leader, a veteran combat pilot, quickly reacted and barked, "Home Run, this is Bird Dawg One. The bogeys are not a cluster. We have two UFO's, and these babies are each bigger than ten battleships put together! I repeat: unidentified flying objects! We have a clear, unobstructed visual. Do you read?"

  "Affirmative, stand by." A few moments passed, "Bird Dog One, can you get footage?"

  "Roger that. Bogey Alpha is stationary, a sitting duck and so bright I don't need infrared." He slowed his jet to its minimum speed, a hundred and forty knots, and flew straight at it from ten miles incoming, "There are no markings or protrusions; it resembles a giant steel ball bearing." Leveled and centered, "Activating camcorder, now."

  The lieutenant interrupted, "Commander, the second one is still dropping."

  "Roger, let's call her Beta. You pursue it. I'm lined up on Alpha. See if you can get some pix for the inquiring minds back home."

  Number Two broke his circling pattern and went into a wide spiraling dive to observe and be able to take evasive action if necessary.

  "Commander," hailed number Three. "Our bogey, Alpha is on the move again, it's drifting at three o'clock."

  "Affirmative, stay with me, cover its six and don't get in the damn thing's way," ordered the squadron leader.

  "Roger that, One," as the spaceship drifted horizontal to the west. It abruptly accelerated, achieving a speed of a thousand mph in less than five seconds.

  "Holy cow! Alpha's got some horses under the hood," jabbered number Three.

  "Let's go get 'er," directed Bird Dawg One and both jockeys put the petal to the metal by kicking in their super-charged afterburners. They closed within ten miles after thirty seconds, "This is close enough," declared the Commander. "Those damn things can stop on a dime and we can't."

  "Home Run, we're pursuing bogey Alpha, please advise."

  "Stay close, how's your fuel?"

  "Less than one-quarter to the big red E, thirty seconds more on the 'afters' and we'll have to pack it in."

  "Hey, check this out," blurted number Three. The starcruiser had taken a ninety degree turn to six o'clock.

  "I've got him," returned number One. "Closing," as he cut off the angle and realigned his camera sight. "Watch the birdie and say cheese, big guy," as he zeroed in.

  The spaceship hurdled toward the black waters below with the two Tomcats racing down in hot pursuit.

  "Twelve thousand... nine thousand... six... the critter better put on the brakes purty-dang soon," assessed the Tennessee pilot.

  "Roger that, Three, level out," ordered the Commander. "If she hits she'll make a two thousand foot high cannon ball splash."

  "What's your status, Bird Dawg One?" requested the aircraft carrier.

  "Looks like Alpha gonna Deep-six, Home Run," reported the squadron leader.

  "Possible tidal wave; alert local shipping," added number Three.

  The two Navy jets nosed up to circle at five thousand feet; the pilot's eyes were glued on the starcrusier, still falling at full bore toward the ocean.

  "There she goes!" exclaimed number Three as the alien craft touched the surface. After an uncomfortable short period of time, "What happened? Did you see that, Commander?"

  "I sure did, but I don't believe it."

  "Status, Bird Dawg One," crackled the ship's radio room. "We've lost your bogey."

  "Roger that, Home Run. The Bogey made a controlled crash-dive. It melted into the water like an Olympic gold medal diver. No splash, not even a ripple."

  Tennessee initiated a circle down, "Goin' in for a closer look, sir."

  "Roger, Three. But don't pass directly over it. She may bounce back up."

  The lieutenant jg made a couple of tight circles, He reported, "Nothing happening, Boss, absolutely nothing. Can you imagine how many kilotons that puppy must have weighed?"

  "No idea, maybe it was filled with air and popped like a balloon on contact."

  "No way, sir. I saw the water cover it."

  "Bird Dawg one, sit tight," ordered Home Run. "Relief is on the way. Verify your coordinates."

  Two Hornets roared off the carrier deck toward the northwest to relieve the on-site, near empty Tomcats. An additional two more jets were revving their engines, preparing for immediate take-off to relieve Bird Dawg Two. Nearby, a Navy Seal chopper crew scrambled. Their assignment was to mark the area of the UFO splash and drop underwater reconnaissance vehicles at daybreak. A deep-water submarine was also being dispatched from San Diego.

  The lieutenant, Dawg Two, had been following bogey Beta, which had descended to one thousand feet and cruised landward at 200 knots. The starcruiser halted twenty miles offshore, and projected a blue shaft of light which encircled a two-mast, schooner drifting below. There was no movement onboard; it appeared abandoned. The beam tightened, silvery flecks whirled within a deep indigo-blue luminescent tunnel. The Tomcat pilot did a double take when he saw an object ooze through the hull of the spaceship in slow motion. He made another pass, but couldn't quite identify its hazy shape. He reported his situation to Home Run and turned about for a third fly-by. Bird Dawg Two, this time, was able to distinguish the details. The figure, with no visible means of support, floating down inside the swirling, eerie beam of light, appeared to be that of a man! Within two minutes the airborne body had been gently deposited on the schooner's deck and the ray extinguished. The lieutenant continued circling and provided a running dialogue to the carrier. H
is Night Owl was activated and he observed the man make a gesture - it seemed to be a wave or possibly an informal salute directed toward the sphere. The two Hornets, sent in relief, bolted overhead as the spaceship began to rise. Bird Dog Two had been ordered to return. The starcruiser streaked upward with one Hornet chasing it, to no avail, the second jet stayed with the schooner. Relief Hornet One returned and the UFO moved off the Constellation's radar screen, disappearing a hundred miles up into space in less than ten seconds.

  Daybreak, twenty-five miles southwest of San Francisco

  The Coast Guard cutter, Dauntless and a carrier helicopter gunship were holding the American schooner in check at a thousand yards. The single, frustrated sailor aboard leaned his elbows on the wooden railing and awaited a boarding by the authorities for questioning or hazard testing - he suspected they feared radioactivity had been induced from the spaceship. Then again, he wasn't surprised by the delay in the least, having served two years in the Navy. He knew the ship's captain needed higher authorization for anything more than a routine butt scratch, and this sure enough qualified. Radio communication with the cutter proved fruitless, the USCG had ordered him to stand-fast until further notice. No other information had been offered. The mariner, waiting in a soft seaward drift for five hours, felt fatigued. The Coast Guard personnel noticed the civilian sailor on occasion massaged his right side and wondered if he'd been injured. At 0610, under orders from the World Security Council, two air-to-sea Sidewinder missiles fired from attacking Constellation Tomcats, blasted the schooner into a splintering, fiery ball.

  The gauntlet had been thrown down!!!

  0800: the site of bogey Alpha's splashdown.

  Three sub-killer class destroyers, one nuclear sub and four frigates had not been able to locate the sunken starcruiser resting six thousand feet below on the ocean's floor. The Chief of Naval Operations rationalized the spaceship had either slid off at an angle after its submersion then powered away undersea or had hunkered down in a deep-water subterranean fault -located 10,000 feet or more below.

  In contrast, the WSC believed the alien craft lay silent on the bottom, hidden where it made its dive and was operating a cloaking device. The reason the WSC had analyzed the situation differently than the Navy was based on the persuasive opinion of the newly appointed Acting Deputy Chairman, Ito Yamoto, who was also responsible for the schooner being destroyed - he had convinced them this was one of the ways the aliens were planting enemy spies in Earth's infrastructure. Although, no one in the U.S. Naval chain of command for combat operations had yet heard of Yamoto or was aware of his low rank, they obeyed the orders from 'the top'. Showing therefore, the Japanese Major had attained upper power control and subsequently commanded the U. S. Secretary of the Navy to withdraw all vessels from the UFO's entry point and establish a thirty mile, secure, circular blockade. At 1200 hours, after all commercial and pleasure craft had been escorted out of the area, and with reluctant Presidential approval, a Stealth bomber was dispatched from nearby Vandenburg Air Force Base. The coal-black, Mantra ray shaped fighter-bomber released a tactical/low yield, three megaton atomic bomb set to trigger at minus five thousand feet below sea level. It failed to detonate. The starship, detecting the threat, had neutralized its volatile core.

  Subsequent Earth military actions were curtailed pending further evaluation.