Location: The southwestern desert.
Time 03:23 September 22, 2009.
The winds are howling. The desert has truly become my home now and I know these winds. They sing to me. They sing of vanished Indian settlements, Spanish Conquistadors, long abandoned ghost towns and empty mines. Dreams of getting rich, and the struggle to survive all are etched into the wind as it traverses and sculpts the desert.
I sit here in my Bentley gazing back up at the heavens through the astroroof. I needed to get away from it all and sit here and try to get some perspective.
Yal-hune has been given freedom to explore Shamballa and visit the various researchers working here on classified projects. I have extended unto her a facility-wide clearance. Tech2 is working on locating the EMF craft used by project MIMIR before it went off the grid in January. Finding a needle in a haystack would be easier. Whomever still has one of those craft in their possession will not likely give it up soon. My hopes is that one or more was mothballed, with other craft and devices, and can be located in one of the countless government warehouses which dot the nation.
For all intents this is more than I could ever wish for. I have more information than I ever dreamed I would have, knowledge of many secrets men have spent their lives searching for, and now I have someone who challenges me to expand and grow - to be far more than I am. Yal-hune is all any man could want and to be honest, I think she would be way too much for many men. She is too powerful, too all-knowing. It would crush an average guys ego in short order. I should be happy, I should be ecstatic - but I'm not. I'm restless. I'm agitated. It may be the overshadowers targeting me - I have to monitor my thoughts and feelings and discern the false ones. Yal-hune can't do this for me. I need to be able to weed my own garden. It's still hard to believe - or is it? I now know what those sensory-viewers look like. I know the reality of the situation and have been flipped off by a jeering blue-skinned being. It's all nightmarish and real, yet it's still hard for me to accept. Second guessing feelings seems counter-intuitive. I must. I simply must. I must fight!
The clouds overhead seem otherworldly. Even at this time of morning, they seem to glow as if somewhere the sun's light is hitting them from behind. Pinkish and bluish fringes make them surreal as the stars peek out from between them. The wind hurries them along and they morph as it does. Each instant the cloud is different. Like our lives, we are morphing from one moment to the next and are not the same person at any given time. We are like clouds, sculpted by the winds of our environment.
I know what I want. Yal-hune made that clear to me when she shielded my mind from external influence. I need to embrace that moment, and how free my mind felt during it, and keep working towards the goals I outlined. I figure the more I work towards those goals my true will shall become more dominant and the overshadowers small planted thoughts, ideas and feelings will stand out clearer for what they are - interference designed to cause me to fumble.
I start the motor, and prepare to get back onto the highway and drive back towards Shamballa. A car appears out of nowhere, joining me off the highway. I close the astroroof. And prepare for the worst. The Bentley is lightly armored but has no offensive weaponry.
It is a 1960 Chrysler Imperial all in black. I recognize the unique tail-fins. Big whitewall tires contrast with the shiny black paint. It pulls to a stop alongside. The driver gets out and opens up the door for the backseat passenger. A figure emerges wearing a dark wool trench coat and a Stetson style hat. Not exactly normal for the desert in mid-September. He walks up to my vehicle but stops a few yards away. I'm very curious as to just who this person is, but not curious enough to open the door and meet him. He grabs for something inside his trench coat. I am ready to floor the throttle and get out of here. It is a cell phone. I hear my phone start to ring.
"Greetings. My name is unimportant, but I represent a group of beings who would like to hire Yal-hune. Our world left us here almost a century ago - to banishment on this world. We have no means of communication with our home world and have never had the opportunity to be rescued. We would like to pay her to send a message to someone who can come and rescue us."
"That's very interesting. How did you get my number? How do you know about Yal-hune?"
"Some of our race are placed in positions to become privy to such knowledge. Do not be alarmed. We will not share it with anyone else."
"I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'll tell Yal-hune about your offer and see if she can assist you. What planet are you from?"
"We are from Szipir. She will know where this is."
"Okay. I now have your cell phone number in my phone. I'll have her call you if she accepts your offer. I'm curious - what is the rate of payment you offer?"
"We offer 20 million dollars and anything she wants we will attempt to obtain. Most of all we would offer our thanks."
"Hmm. Okay. I imagine you have been able to secure quite a pile over 100 years."
"Yes, and it will serve us no good after we leave this world."
"What's with the car and the outfit?"
"The outfit protects me from the cold of this world. Even here in the desert the temperature is many degrees cooler than our world. As to the car - we bought the car new 49 years ago. Things we buy or use don't age or decay as quickly. The car is just a tool we have found useful in our interactions.
"Understandable. I must be going now. What is your name?"
"Well Xiplan, good luck. I hope Yal-hune will call you an intergalactic cab or something like that."
I close my cell phone and gently step on the throttle, I watch in my rear view mirror as the figure makes his way back to the car. I never would imagine that there are stranded aliens on Earth and all over 100 years old. But I long ago realized that truth is always far stranger than fiction.
The stars hover overhead and their distant light is the only light that illumines the pitch black highway. Yal-hune is probably fast asleep and dreaming. What - and who - does she dream about?
Which poses the question - Do Extraterrestrials Dream of Alien Sheep?
(End Part 12)