Crackstone Chronicles: Extinction

Crackstone Chronicles

Extinction

Bob Henneberger

Copyright 2010 Bob Henneberger

www.temptpress.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Books by Bob Henneberger

Crackstone Chronicles – Connections

Crackstone Chronicles – Extraordinary Solution

Katz Pajamas

Katz Box

Katz Cradle

Hunting Paradise

Tempt Press

PO Box 77

Colchester, VT 05446

Published by Tempt Press

P.O. Box 77, Colchester, VT 05446

Crackstone Chronicles, v. 1

Ebook Edition, 2010

Copyright © 2009 Bob Henneberger

ISBN: 978-1-4524-3210-6

Library of Congress Control Number:  2010936730

The events and characters depicted in this novel are fictitious. Any similarity to any person living or dead is merely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the express permission of the publisher and the author. Your support of this and all authors rights are greatly appreciated.

To Sandy

We know what we are, but know not what we may be.

Contents

Author’s notes

And so it begins

Requests from the underground

Follow the bouncing ball

Oh, the friends you will make

Do you see what I see?

This could be the start of something weird

That went well

What you don’t know won’t hurt me

Best laid plans

Three card Monty with a two card deck

The teller of tales

Some of the news that’s fit to print

Questions, questions, and yet more questions

Show of force

What just happened?

No news is good news

Who’s that shooting at my door?

Marco! Polo!

Did you miss me?

Can you dig it?

What doesn’t kill you makes you scared

Stick to the plan

This is not what I had in mind

Glad to meet you, again?

I didn’t even have time to pack

Finale

Author’s notes

I’m an anomaly in the equation. I’m here, but I’m not supposed to be here. In this place time does not exist. So I’m not Billy Pilgrim at all, nor have I gotten unstuck in time. I will not live forever, and I do not know everything there is to be known. This anomaly, however, allows me to remember everything connected with John Crackstone. Whether the reader considers my telling of this story a humanitarian act, or an act of vanity, I report these events faithfully. They did happen, and they will happen.

Time is a line, time is a circle, perhaps time is a space in which we live our lives. Time could be a dimensional component of observed linear energy or maybe time is just a well told story. Before I begin to investigate the puzzle of John Crackstone, and other associated individuals, I report that this tale comes in three parts, love, realization and redemption.

Since my initial audience is human, I gear all technical references to contemporary levels of human science and social custom.

1

And so it begins

August 14

Why am I wandering in the wilderness with the unwashed weirdos tonight? Matt asked, feeling as though he perched on the border between amusement and annoyance.

Nice alliteration, William answered.

Although he was Matt’s boss, William was only seven years older and looked as if he could be Matt’s brother. Both men stood just over six feet tall, in relatively trim shape for their age. They had the same brown hair, brown eyes and slightly olive skin coloring.

Thanks. Matt raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment. But, I’d like to know why we’re here so late, we never seemed to mind the throngs of marginalized individuals watching our test flights before.

We never intercepted an encrypted transmission from them before.

William sat back down in his desk chair with a somber expression on his face.

You neglected to tell me about that when I was summoned.

Matt looked around for a chair. The office had been hastily thrown together for William, he sat in the single chair in the room, behind the desk. Perhaps he hadn’t planned it that way, but he enjoyed watching Matt look for a spot to sit down. The office was small, perhaps nothing more than an oversized storage closet; it implied intimacy, even if there were none.

I know, but we wanted that detail left secret. William attempted a playful grin.

Okay, Matt asked quizzically. What was the encrypted message? He boldly stepped up to William’s desk and shoved the lamp aside as he perched his rear end on the corner.

An image of our Aurora II craft, and some technical specs on its acceleration and ceiling height.

William opened a folder containing the transcript of the message, pushing it towards Matt.

Before you read that, tell me what you know about the Aurora II project, William added.

I know that they should have let one of the engineers name it, Matt said. Something like Boreas, or even Enterprise would be a much better moniker; the name Aurora II comes from the mind of a tedious bureaucrat.

I mean what it is. William scrunched is mouth into an annoyed contortion. You’re in the spy business, though you haven’t seen any of the specs on the mission, so what would be your guess?

It’s probably a sub-orbital two or three man craft which should do mach fifteen or so, Matt said, then thought further for a second. And, it should be the first manned prototype for anti-gravity drive, at least the first safe version of it.

What makes you say that? William asked.

Well, the Project gave the latest prototype to the Pentagon almost ten years ago and I can only assume this new platform would be the best chance to test it.

Good guess, read what the UFO crowd sent to somebody after last night’s test. William nodded towards the folder Matt now held in his hand.

It’s a fully operational space craft, the next military shuttle replacement? Matt quickly read the two pages. It holds up to eleven men, and they fitted it with both pulse jets and magnetic drive. I didn’t know all that was ready for lab testing let alone flight testing.

No one, outside of two generals and the designers, are supposed to know that.

And, mach twenty seven? Matt sounded astonished. How do the pilots stay alive? he asked, thinking about the answer while he spoke. I guess if they can completely negate all mass, it could work.

Forget you read that, William insisted.

Okay then. Matt closed the folder. You say the message was intercepted late yesterday?

Yeah. William shrugged his shoulders. We could easily trace which phone cell carried the data, but the destination is a mystery.

How is that possible? Matt asked.

Not only that, but when we tried to access the cell phone, it was no longer there.

Maybe they took the battery out? Matt guessed.

Less than five milliseconds after a transmission?

Maybe not.

Somehow they were able to bounce the data stream off two satellites and sixteen land locations in a seemingly random order and without a specific destination so we can’t unravel the thing. William sounded annoyed. We know damned well they sent it from near here, but where it was supposed to go, and to whom it was sent, we can’t figure out.

It sounds to me like whoever sent the message wanted you to know it came from here, Matt calmly said to his boss. Maybe that’s all they wanted.

That’s the obvious aspect, William replied. The from and to whom is less obvious.

So, you’re ready for answers today, and you want some eyes and ears on the ground to catch them in the act this time? Matt asked, thoughtfully.

Right, William agreed. If we can catch the sender, the rest of the puzzle will be easy.

I guess I’ll dress eccentric before I join the masses, Matt said.

…………………………

We’ll keep you informed as to when and where any transmissions emanate from that crowd, sir.

The sergeant nodded towards Matt as they parked next to a small gathering of casually dressed civilians nestled by a tall chain link fence topped with barbed wire. It was late in the day, and what little shrubbery poked above the barren landscape cast long shadows. This was the desert, dry and clear. Earth tones of reds and browns dominated the scene, dotted with tired green plants which acted more like spices than the main dish.

Just let me know where to walk, Matt replied, becoming annoyed at this whole operation.

Matt Johnson was a major in the Air Force. He was also a field agent for the National Security Agency. He was thirty eight years old, just over six feet tall and weighed one eighty five. Matt had short cropped light brown hair and brown eyes.

Why couldn’t they just triangulate any signal from the hills overlooking this spot and from inside the base? This group of ex-hippies and UFO groupies didn’t look that dangerous. It was at least a ten mile dash to get to any good sized escape road, so why was he there? Matt sort of knew why he was there, he just didn’t like it all that much. Matt had the scientific training, along with the training as a field agent to be quite useful on missions such as this, but he felt that continuing to accept these assignments might be a career limiting move.

Yes, sir, The sergeant replied as he exited the older sedan parked away from most of the other cars. I’ll be over there.

The sergeant pointed to a small outcropping of crumbling rock to their west. Matt acknowledged with a nod.

Just don’t answer when someone talks to you in your earwig. Matt grinned as he got out of the car. In spite of what you think of these people, talking to yourself out loud will make them think you’re an outsider, something other than one of them.

…………………………

Are you here because of the lights? a woman asked.

I guess so, Matt shrugged his shoulders.

She seemed to be in her late thirties or early forties, short, slightly built. A mass of curly brown hair cascaded from underneath her baseball cap, a Cubs baseball cap; Matt read all sorts of assumptions into that.

You sound like a skeptic. she turned and spoke directly to him. My name is Priscilla.

Hi. Matt returned her smile. My name’s Matt and I was born a skeptic.

So, why are you here?

Well, Matt answered quickly, A friend of mine at the Air Force base told me about the lights in the sky and I just thought I’d come out here and see for myself.

So, you’ve never seen them before? Priscilla took Matt’s right hand in hers and stepped in front of him; she patted him with her other hand. I’ve been following the lights for ten years now, and I can tell you you’re in for a treat tonight, she added.

Why tonight? Matt couldn’t help smiling, he felt like laughing, but forced it back.

The first night or two, they just fly around in one section of the sky, she answered, But by the third night, they put on a show for everyone who has gathered."

So, you think the space men are putting on a show for this crowd? Matt couldn’t help himself.

No. Priscilla looked serious. I think the pilots, whoever they are, are more interested in testing the capabilities of what they’re flying than impressing their fan club down here.

Oh.

Priscilla let go of Matt’s hand and gestured towards a crowd of about seventy people gathered outside the tall chain link fence surrounding the south east corner of Hill Air Force Range.

I know a lot of these folks, we all travel to these places when they happen.

All the time? Matt asked. He couldn’t quite shake his grin, he was hoping someone was at least taking her picture.

Only when they’re near enough, or when I have the time off from my projects.

Projects? Matt looked down at her.

I’m an artist, she replied, looking carefully at him. I do commissioned art work for large corporations. She stopped. You want to laugh at me, don’t you?

I do and I don’t, Matt replied, his smirk fading.

Wait until you see them, you won’t laugh then. Priscilla’s voice trailed off as she looked back up at the darkening skies.

Have you seen many UFOs? Matt asked.

The brightest stars were just barely visible and the moon wouldn’t rise until after midnight.

Oh, yes, she answered him cheerfully. Dozens of times.

Have you been, Matt hesitated, he didn’t want to put her off, but he did want to know. Have you been abducted?

Why? she asked mischievously. Have you?

Well. That question stumbled his thought process for a second. Not really.

Not really? Priscilla smiled more broadly. I think I’ve flapped the Air Force officer.

What makes you think I’m in the military? Matt plastered his official look quickly across his face.

First, Priscilla began. You said a friend at the base told you about this.

And? Matt was intrigued.

And, that gentleman who drove you here called you sir, not Matt, Priscilla continued. Add to that the fact that I’ve actually seen you at three other gatherings in the past six months, and I intuit that you’re an Air Force officer.

I have been to a few of these get togethers, but I don’t remember seeing you at any of them.

Matt had a good memory but really didn’t recall this woman; she stood out enough that he would have remembered her. She wasn’t exactly a hot babe, but she was striking.

Well, I was in Minnesota, Oregon and New Mexico with you. Most of the time I just wander off by myself, but something made me want to meet this military officer who keeps coming to UFO light shows.

Actually, I’m not a military officer. Matt tried to shake off his official face. I’m just interested in all this UFO phenomenon.

You never did answer my question, she insisted.

You answer mine, first, Matt insisted. I’ll answer yours after.

I have been contacted by aliens, but not abducted, Priscilla said.

I have seen some unexplainable things in the sky, but I’ve never actually seen something that could not have another, logical, explanation, Matt cautiously answered her question. And I certainly have never been abducted.

You were born skeptical. Priscilla patted Matt’s shoulder. Do you usually observe these things alone?

Usually.

Well. Priscilla slipped her arm under Matt’s, this time we’ll observe together.

Okay, Matt looked for a clear spot to sit down.

As they sat on a dusty patch of ground strewn with fewer rocks than the surrounding area, a noticeable gasp arose from the people around them. Both of them looked up into the sky to the west. The last of the direct sunlight had disappeared, now just a faint glow remained as if a far-off city lay in the distance.

Then, slowly moving from north west to south east, a dark triangular shaped aircraft at least ten thousand feet up seemed to slowly creep across the sky. It had six white lights outlining it, none of which were flashing.

That has to be an experimental aircraft of some kind, Priscilla whispered as she stared at the silent craft. It’s our own government at work, our tax dollars well spent, I’m sure.

What makes you say that? Matt asked.

The steady running lights and the relative slow speed, Priscilla answered.

So, what’s the big deal then? Matt asked.

He kept looking at the triangular airplane; he knew what it was, and she was right.

Just wait, she kept looking at the western sky.

Darting toward the three sided craft, three bright blue lights took up station at all points of the triangle. The lights moved into formation with the bigger craft at speeds many times faster, rapidly slowing down as they achieved their stations.

And, just what are those things? Priscilla looked at Matt.

Lights?

Matt, still looking at the show in the sky, pulled a small pair of folding binoculars from his front pocket. He wiped them with his tee shirt before he lifted them up to his eyes to look at the show in the sky.

Lights from what? Priscilla asked.

I can’t tell, he answered. He knew that they were remote control monitors built for speeds and maneuverability well beyond a human pilot, they were the first experimental class of craft to use anti-gravity. The anti-gravity generator gave the craft a zero mass so even a simple jet engine could move it at tremendous speeds.

Matt wiped the binoculars again, then handed them to Priscilla, Can you see anything?

As she looked through the binoculars, the three lights shot quickly ahead of the larger craft, then formed a straight line ninety degrees to the direction of the slower craft. Still in a line, the three lights sped up even more. The bigger craft accelerated after them, but the three blue lights kept increasing the distance between them and the larger craft. As the four flying objects approached the southern horizon, the three blue lights veered ninety degrees to the east, not slowing down at all. The larger craft also turned east after them, but could not make the turn as sharply. The large flying object also slowed down into the turn so that by the time it was headed east, the three blue flying lights had disappeared into the eastern horizon. The larger craft disappeared ten seconds later.

I wonder how fast all of them were going? Priscilla handed Matt back his binoculars.

I don’t know, Matt answered with a shrug. I guess it depends on how high they were as to perceived speed.

I guess all that took place at thirty to forty thousand feet, Priscilla pursed her lips in thought. So, I guess the large UFO topped out at mach twenty five or so, and the blue lights at mach thirty.

And no sonic boom? Matt asked with a grin. And how could something take that much g-force in the turns?

You know better than that, Priscilla smiled back. Inertial dampers aren’t just on Star Trek.

……………………….

August 15

There has to be more than just my fingerprints on those binoculars, Matt insisted.

No, sir, The sergeant calmly replied, Just yours.

Damn it, Matt muttered to himself. First, the photos of me and that woman were so out of focus that I didn’t even recognize myself, and now this.

Sir? The sergeant asked.

There was only one satellite tasked to take pictures of this area? Matt asked, refocusing on the images before him.

Yes, sir.

It’s kind of like, ‘where’s Waldo’, Matt mumbled as he studied a photograph on the computer screen in front of him, moving the viewable area with the mouse."

It’s a damn mystery, the sergeant concurred as he looked over Matt’s shoulder.

In one shot she’s right there, sitting on that rock. And in eight seconds, she’s nowhere to be seen. Matt stared at the images. And, I still can’t see her face.

How could she do that, sir? The sergeant stood up straight. I mean, there were more than a dozen of us looking at the entire area, and none of us saw her drive away, or run away, or anything.

I suppose it could be nothing more than she gave us the slip, Matt said, still intently looking at the image on the screen. I guess I’ll run across her at the next show.

Why did you stay with that woman and not walk around among all the other people? The sergeant asked.

Were there any transmissions? Matt asked.

No, sir.

Along with everyone else, you heard what she was saying to me.

Yes, sir.

Don’t you think it was obvious why I stuck with her the whole time?

I guess so, but how come no one could locate her after she went off to take a leak?

Now, that’s a good question to which I don’t have an answer, Matt looked up at the sergeant. But I do find it curious that some mysterious message brings all of us there just in time to see some woman disappear into thin air.

How so?

What’s the more important event? Matt pondered. The errant message containing top secrets, or the mysterious woman?

I’d say it was the top secrets being transmitted to who knows where, the sergeant answered.

I don’t know yet, Matt shook his head.

2

Requests from the underground

October 8

It’s quite unusual for someone so high up in the command structure to visit us on so short a notice, Tim McDaniel nervously observed as he straightened his tie.

Tim was a tall man, slightly over six foot two who was relatively skinny and had the physique of a long distance runner, which was his hobby. He tried to run every day, he ran in every marathon he could find the time to enter.

At forty three years old, Tim had worked for the Project for the last ten years. Before that, he was a member of a research and development team at an aerospace company. He was recruited on the recommendations of several former analysts at the CIA because of his work on unconventional propulsion systems. Unknown to the analysts, they were actually recommending him for an entirely different job. Tim thought of himself as forward thinking, especially considering his pioneering work on a practical ion drive but his administrative skills interested the project management much more than his scientific skills. Tim rose through the ranks quickly to become the lead contact manager within five years.

The Project had begun in the early 1950s by Presidential order, when circumstances forced the government to form a secret agency. The immediate problem was three off world visitors who requested permission to use the United States as a staging ground for scientific investigations of the planet Earth.

Prior to actual contact, various groups of off world visitors had been exploring and conducting experiments on their own. When several major world powers tried to shoot down the unidentified flying objects, the incident started a minor war between the strange craft and aircraft from six countries, Russia, the United States, Britain, France, Germany and Australia. No terrestrial aircraft proved capable of shooting down any UFOs; over two thousand American pilots died in the brief one sided war. Something strange did happen, though, causing many alien craft to fall from the skies, cause undetermined. Some military analysts decided this presaged a war among alien beings. They theorized that an unknown alien power was decimating their enemies. But if so, a treaty must have been made among the combatants sometime around September of 1954. After that date, much fewer alien craft fell to Earth. The three remaining alien races began official contact with Earth governments.

Contact was made and negotiations began with the United States only in 1954. Treaties were signed in 1955. The 1955 agreement was a symbiotic one; if the United States provided a base of operations for scientific exploration, the visitors would share much of the information they gathered. The aliens’ sole condition was secrecy. That seemed beneficial to the current American leadership.

By chance, previously, six off world craft had crashed in the western United States, 1945. These crashes followed the first test detonation of a fission bomb on July 16, that year, in New Mexico. The alien survey party had no clue that the explosion was to take place. Besides disabling their ship, the radiation and multi-dimensional shock wave emanating from the detonation moved ship and crew forward in time, to crash in the desert about two years later. The craft had been recovered with several live pilots

The federal government knew that they either made the deal offered by these aliens, or their visitors would choose another government, for another deal which might be disastrous to the United States. Unfortunately for the US, and well beyond their control, the aliens made side deals with other countries for reasons unknown. Over time, the pact changed slightly, making shared information sparse at best. Secrecy, however, remained a constant with large sums of assets going into maintaining that secrecy. Few citizens knew of these covert operations and those who did carried the secret to their graves.

As obvious as it was that he was nervous, Tim still tried to hide it; the short man standing in front of his desk in fact had given no notice that he was coming and Tim wondered how he got through six layers of security without him knowing about it. Tim, most of all, wondered who this creature in front of him really was.

I’m just the associate science officer assigned to this place. His visitor began to pace slowly in front of the small wooden desk. I’m new to this assignment and thought it might be a good idea to familiarize myself with some of the personnel with whom I will be working.

This man was about five foot seven in height, one eighty to one ninety pounds with brown hair and brown eyes. He seemed to be so average that any ‘be on the look out for’ police description would be useless. The only distinguishing characteristic was an expression which hinted that he knew a lot more than he let on; sort of like this was a huge inside joke and Tim was the butt of that joke.

Tim McDaniel’s office was sparsely furnished; he liked it that way. A blonde wooden desk faced the door, with an older wooden swivel chair with leather inserts in it. Two smaller wooden chairs stood in front for guests. If more than two people wanted to sit and talk, Tim would use one of the conference rooms close at hand. His work area was free of any piles of paperwork or even office supplies, only a twenty two inch flat screen monitor and a keyboard took up real estate on his desk.

Okay. Tim slowed his speech, then paused to consider his next thought. Why are you really here?

I know we don’t usually tell you about assignments, but I have a request. The man stopped pacing. Pulling a chair to the edge of the desk, he sat down facing Tim.

I assume you are new to this assignment since your people have a hard time mastering ironic subtleties. Tim remained expressionless.

Excuse me?

Your people never fail to direct our more interesting assignments.

I see.

I still don’t know who you really are and how you managed to make it into my office without setting off several alarms and causing a dozen guards to chase after you. Tim calmly leaned forward in his chair.

You did scan me as I came into your office, didn’t you? The man sat upright in his chair , then he stood back up. That shows I am who I said I was, didn’t it?

Yes, it did. Tim glanced quickly at the computer screen in front of him before continuing. But how you evaded detection up until you got to my office is the puzzle I want answered.

We have always aided you on your technological questions, and I will also be helpful in your quest for this piece of information.

Since you’re new, I’ll say this at least once. Tim halted his thought as he stared at the person before him.

Say what?

I’ll say that your people aren’t always generous with answers, information or cooperation, Tim insisted.

Then, how can I help you? the stranger asked.

That magnetic drive concept you gave us twelve years ago, Tim began.

It works just like we said it does, the other answered.

Not quite, Tim persisted.

Did you compensate for the varying solar flux as well as shifting dipoles and the lunar anomalies?

Yes, Tim answered.

Did you ever consider that your assumptions about string theory are wrong?

Excuse me?

I’m trying to say that your math is wrong, the stranger replied.

And, how is that possible? Tim demanded.

You people make too many assumptions, the other calmly said. You assume everything on a base ten numbering system, because it’s easier to move a decimal place about and because that’s how many fingers you have.

What difference does that make? Tim sounded intrigued, annoyed, but interested.

Think of one constant in the universe, the officer man calmly leaned against the chair, still not sitting in it.

The speed of light in a vacuum? Tim guessed.

That’s too variable, the other quickly answered. "No, I was thinking of pi, no matter how one may try to calculate it, it’s always the same.

Right, Tim agreed. Three point one four and a never constant string of numbers.

Now, that should be a clue. the man smiled for the first time.

A clue to what? Tim sounded confused.

I’ll give you a hint, came the answer. Pick a numbering system where pi comes out as a whole number, then look at the universe from that perspective. The alien officer hesitated as if waiting for a protest. Plus, you people have a tendency to think in three dimensions too often.

That would be a first for your people, Tim said, trying to suppress a surprised look. A science officer with an actual direct answer.

Your effusive gratitude is appreciated, but I do have my request to make first.

All right, Tim reluctantly began to agree. What is it?

There’s a small scanning satellite which is observing the other hemisphere right now, but will soon be over yours.

I haven’t been informed about that, Tim said with a concerned expression. Is it yours?

No, it’s not.

Do you know who it belongs to?

Yes, I do.

Who? Tim leaned towards the stranger

I cannot say.

Why not? Tim almost rose from his seat.

I cannot say.

We cooperate with you, and you are supposed to cooperate with us, Tim insisted; he knew better, but insisted anyway.

I am cooperating, the other said with a slight hesitation. I’m telling you about a spy satellite about to pass over part of your territory.

That’s not what I meant and you know it.

The favor I have to ask is about who you send to investigate the incident.

You’re avoiding the whole point, Tim quickly interrupted, becoming more frustrated. And, what is your name?

Excuse me?

You never told me your name.

Yuosandremetismlsh.

Is there a shorter version?

Drem would be fine, The stranger said. I suppose you can use my familiar name if the formal is difficult to pronounce.

Thank you, Drem. Tim forced himself to relax, a bit. Why won’t you tell us about who’s behind this spy satellite that I don’t know about.

It’s not terrestrial, it is not ours, nor is it from our two allies, Drem replied. It’s solely your concern and you will have to solve the problems it brings.

That’s real clear, Tim sarcastically said.

My concern is who you send to do the initial investigation.

Why would that be your concern? Tim asked. You just told me it was our problem to solve.

It is, Drem said and paused. But, there are other concerns which are ours.

And, those concerns of yours involve one of our people?

Not exactly one of your people. An awkward moment spread out between them again. The person I would like you to assign is the liaison to the National Security Agency.

Who? Tim asked, temporarily