Trespassers: a science-fiction novel (2 page)

Stewart had foiled the abduction, but he knew very well that his life was never in any danger. Abduction tended to be harmless for the earthling, and abduction was about one thing .
.
. vaccination. It wasn
’
t concerned with brain scans, or anal probes, or body snatching, as many might have you believe. Abduction was simply a matter of necessity. Every planet was littered with toxins, diseases, fungi, bacteria, and viruses. Earth was no different. Just because the climate and atmosphere created a welcoming environment, didn
’
t mean a traveler from another galaxy could simply bound from his ship and take a quick dip in the pool or frolic on the beach without dire consequences. Even for earthlings, crossing an imaginary line into another country presented health hazards. This was why alien visitors needed a dose of native antibodies, which required a fresh blood sample from a local human.

Stewart, who was one of those local humans, marched confidently into the control room.

“
I
’
m in,
”
he reported, over the radio.

This ship was breaking the rules for entering Earth
’
s atmosphere, and that
’
s the reason Stewart was here. Sometimes these violations were merely clerical errors
—
someone forgetting to file the proper paperwork. Other times they were examples of flagrant disregard for authority. Furthermore, Code 5.14(b) of the Stellen Agreement established that visiting vessels shall not carry any earthlings, so abductions were not officially allowed on Earth. Earth
did
provide vaccines to alien visitors, but most aliens didn
’
t trust the canned vaccines and preferred to harvest their own fresh blood samples. Either way, it didn
’
t matter to Stewart. At the moment, he had a job to do.

Stewart was authorized to confiscate any such ship and to arrest those aboard, which was exactly what he was doing. This type of violation was officially known as a trespass, and those who were involved were known as trespassers. This area was a hotbed of alien activity. The 121-mile radius around Muncie, Indiana, was home to what was known as an
optimal cone of entry
. It was where alien pilots liked to bring their ships in, thanks to an inviting convergence of factors: barometric pressure, radiation patterns, magnetic flows, and so forth. This area kept Stewart and his team busy.

On the ground below, still on top of that red-and-white blanket with those black lines crisscrossing its surface, Mindy exhaled for what seemed like the first time since she watched Stewart disappear. Stewart had explained very little to this point, and Mindy was eager to learn. This was her first abduction
—
her first day in the field for that matter. She had been more of a desk person to this point in her career. She was very good at being behind a desk. She could transform mounds of notes and unintelligible scraps of paper into articulate, informative reports that never failed to impress. Whatever administrative task was dumped on her desk came out the other side in pristine condition. Whatever Mindy did, she managed to do it effortlessly, without any fits or panic attacks, without kicking the copy machine or cursing at her computer screen, even without pounding the keyboard a little harder than necessary when it failed to cooperate.

Had she merely graduated college and landed an office job, she would be the assistant that all the executives fight over. She would be the secret behind a great person
’
s greater success, doing all the work and yielding the glory. However, Mindy did not take this route. From high school she went directly to Stanford, where she spent six years getting the kind of degrees that prevent you from being anyone
’
s assistant.

Mindy wasn
’
t the kind that grappled to get ahead, though. She just enjoyed doing a good job. She never had to look for the light at the end of the tunnel, because she never imagined herself as being in a tunnel. She didn
’
t watch the clock, and she didn
’
t engage in office politics. She was never passed over for a promotion, but if she had been, she wouldn
’
t have noticed. To her, life simply wasn
’
t a competition. It never dawned on her to think of it that way.

Two weeks ago, the latest in a long string of promotions landed Mindy in the office of Darren Kemp, the assistant to the boss of bosses in the government
’
s
Internal Data Processing Division
, which was the intentionally nondescript name for the agency that managed all the paperwork in the Redundancy Class of the US government
—
the government
’
s highest level of secrecy. You see, if you stamp TOP SECRET on a document, foreign governments will lie, cheat, and steal, just to take photos of it with one of those miniature spy cameras. However, if you stamp REDUNDANCY on a document, you could pin it to the ceiling of a dentist
’
s office. One doesn
’
t name a group
The Secret Service
and actually expect that group to be a secret. Even the word
division
in
Internal Data Processing Division
was chosen because research had proved that people were far less curious about a
division
than they were about an
agency
.

Anyway, while standing in Darren Kemp
’
s office, Mindy was given a surprising opportunity.

“
Anywhere you want,
”
he repeated.

“
Anywhere?
”
she asked, trying to grasp the size of the word.

“
Anywhere,
”
he said with a single, proud nod.

Mindy slipped into one of the two chairs in front of his desk. Her face hadn
’
t yet formed an expression. This was a very large word to comprehend. Darren waited for her response, trying to conceal a grin in order to maintain a professional appearance, but he genuinely felt excited for her. It truly was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to pick any agency assignment in the US government.

“
Of course, we
’
d want to keep you in the Redundancy Class, if we could,
”
he added.

Just as she felt she was getting a grasp on the decision before her, his words blew the boundaries wide open. She hadn
’
t even considered any post outside the Redundancy Class. It had been her home for many years now. Suddenly, the whole world was opening up to her. If she said she wanted to work in the White House, instantly she would have a post at 1600 Pennsylvania Ave., Washington, DC.

Mindy couldn
’
t help but daydream about this scenario: walking past the two marines standing guard outside the ceremonial entrance to the President
’
s home, one of them holding the door for her and saying,
“
Good Morning, Ma
’
am,
”
as she strolled in for work. She knew this wasn
’
t the route the staff members take into the White House, but she couldn
’
t keep the image from entering her mind. Before the daydream was even finished, her answer burst forth.

“
Limestone Deposits,
”
Mindy said, quickly darting her eyes to meet Darren
’
s.

If her choice sounds boring to you, then once again the government has succeeded. The
Limestone Deposit Survey Group
was the name selected for the agency that was tasked with regulating alien activity on the planet Earth. Since everything about this agency
’
s mission commanded attention, it needed a cover that would chase away any interest.
Limestone Deposit Survey Group
was chosen after considerable research. The final choice came down to two possibilities. The other was the
Geological Survey Group
. But research showed that if a swarm of agents from the
Geological Survey Group
descended on a town, imaginations would start to race with thoughts of precious stones, earthquakes, or toxins in the water
—
a few even thought they dug up dinosaur bones.

On the other hand, it was discovered that the boredom of
Limestone Deposits
sent people in the other direction, making it perfect for an agency that
’
s too busy with aliens to bother with random questions from curious strangers.

Darren released a full smile upon hearing Mindy
’
s choice. At least she was staying in the Redundancy Class.

Limestone Deposit Survey Group
had just leapt out of her. As she shifted her eyes to the ceiling and gave it a quick thought, she reasoned that it probably came from Max Dugan .
.
. or perhaps his name was Doug Maxin
—
she couldn
’
t remember. But a few days ago he was leaning on her desk, explaining that it was vital to her health and happiness that she (1) step outside her comfort zone; (2) do something adventurous; and (3) get out of the office.

His point was meant to be that she should go out on a date with him .
.
. instead, his seduction speech led her to join an agency of alien chasers. It was outside her comfort zone; it was adventurous; and it was entirely, 100 percent out of the office. Thanks Max .
.
. or Doug. Mindy
’
s eyes came down from the ceiling. She swallowed any doubt or second thoughts that might be forming. She would be the newest member of the Limestone Deposit Survey Group. She embraced her decision, and she wouldn
’
t look back. She had a special gift for not second guessing herself. It had always served her well.

At this moment in time, it had her lying on a red-and-white blanket with black lines crisscrossing its surface, in the middle of a field, staring up into nothingness, listening to all the somethingness taking place over the radio.

“
The console has some kind of lock-out mechanism,
”
Stewart
’
s voice reported through the earpiece.
“
It
’
ll take me a second to figure this out.
”
Mindy didn
’
t really understand what she was hearing, and she felt a bit like an eavesdropper, since Stewart probably wasn
’
t talking to her
—
there were other agents on this frequency. One was in the woods nearby, monitoring a laptop that displayed all types of information, from changes in barometric pressure to static electricity in the air. If anything out of the ordinary was going to happen, it was his job to know it.

He sat Indian style in the unzipped doorway of a one-man tent shaped like a small, camouflaged pyramid. A small satellite sat on the ground next to him, hooked to the computer in his lap. He was the technical specialist, and his name was Gregory Webster, but everyone just called him
Webster
or simply
Web
. He wore wire-frame glasses, had dark black skin and thick kinky hair that politely did whatever it wanted. He was a husky kid who grew into a husky adult. He carried extra pounds with him, but he carried them well. The innocent grin on his face was sculpted by a soft, privileged, prep-school life. He latched on to computers in grade school and rode them all the way through college and into his current profession of sitting at the edge of a tent evaluating microscopic changes in the atmosphere.

“
You
’
re all clear,
”
Web responded into the headset that was in his nest of wiry hair.
“
Take your time.
”

Resting against Web
’
s leg was a pair of binoculars with a keypad into which a code must be typed before each use, allowing the user to see right past any stealth generators. Web didn
’
t need these binoculars at the moment, though. His computer display was telling him everything he wanted to know.

The last member of the field team was simply called
New Guy
, and he was perched out of sight, at the top of the ridge, where he would have the best view. A sniping rifle rested just beneath his chin. A magazine of deadly .308 rounds lay nearby, but what was loaded into the high-powered weapon was a stack of specially modified tranquilizer darts. It was his job to watch for any stray civilians who might wander into the operations area and neutralize them before they stumbled across something they shouldn
’
t see.