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after-skies-ananthology · 5 years

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I'm an undercover journalist investigating the President’s space force

BLACK SKY WARS

the third part

approx. 5 yrs ASE

It can be pretty difficult to decide on the kind of story you want to do sometimes. I hadn’t expected the popularity of Slice to grow the way it did. But, well, it did. I was just doing what I had always done since I was a little girl. Getting myself into trouble, getting myself out of it, and in the process acquiring that which I desired. Information. Ever since I could speak, people have been wanting to keep things hidden from me. I suppose it means I’m still childish if I admit that I can’t handle being told no, but it’s true. Dangle something in front of me so tantalizingly mysterious like that, and you’ll soon find me obsessed with it. That’s why I started Slice, it was originally just a little blog I wrote on using my old see-through Mac as a teen. I used it as part diary, part National Enquirer for my neighborhood. Basically, a lot of people in my home town who were aware of it became addicted to it. Others, well... they fucking hated it. Understandably I guess. But, I mean, it’s their fault for making themselves so... interesting for lack of a better word? I guess I’ll leave it at that. I’ll spare you the boring details of how it led me to the kind of life I wallow in now. One of a contradictory ‘shut-in by day, extrovert Renaissance woman by night’. Does that sound pretentious? It should, because it is. Those aren’t my words, but that of my co-editor and business partner, Philip. Publicly, I have him run the company side of things. Legally, he’s both the chief editor and founder, in order to conceal my preference for anonymity. I have two things that make me a better journalist than what you see out there in the pool of filth they call media these days. 1) My legs (and a good set of heels I suppose), and 2) the fact that those I deceive into narcing on themselves have never seen my face before.

Last week, Philip had texted me out of no where in the middle of the night. He wasn’t interrupting my sleep or anything. I had been up since four in the afternoon and still had that exhausted disheveled look on my face, staring at my computer screen meticulously researching random unimportant shit and generally wasting my own time. Me and him had been debating back and forth for a while now on what angle we should approach the upcoming IACS seminar from. You know, the same one where Monterrey decided to turn the whole thing into “Let’s See If I Can Start WW3: The Movie”? I opened my phone, and read his message as the light from the array of screens assaulted my retinas and danced over my face in the depths of darkness that was my apartment bedroom.

“So, try not to react badly to this but...” His text message warned. “Maybe we should explore something tangentially related to the seminar, rather than the seminar itself?”

I let out a small cackle and shook my head in disbelief. I had been trying for a month, to no avail, to get a job as a hostess where the seminar was being held. Under a pseudonym of course. For the last few weeks I’ve been consistently told by the employer that all positions are currently filled. This flies in the face of what numerous former employees of the hotel told me when I contacted them. They informed me that about two thirds of the wait staff were abruptly let go without warning a day after it was announced to them that the seminar would be held at their establishment. That’s why I even tried applying in the first place. Hearing this lie told to me, I decided to check in at that very hotel for a night to see if it were true. And to my disbelief, it was. The hotel was being run smoothly, almost, surgically. The new staff seemed nice. In a dystopian kind of way. It kind of felt like they were smiling at me only when I was actually looking at them. I had this strange sense they were scowling at me when my eyes were averted.

Let me help you understand why this doesn’t make sense to me. They fired all the waiters except those with the most time with the business. They fired all the cooks. They fired all the valets except for two. They fired the general manager of the hotel itself. I was told about the mass layoff the day it happened by a source. I applied a day after that. Within a day, they had already filled all of those positions to their satisfaction. No wanted ads, seemingly no interviews, no listings on job search sites, etc. Nothing. It was as if these new employees just showed up to work out of nowhere and started waiting tables or cooking steak. I had spent the last few nights putting together a new fake identity so I could try getting another room on the last night of the seminar next week. I had paid a lot of money to people on the dark web for this fake driver’s license and Canadian passport. And now, Philip was asking me to give up and write about a ‘safe’, ‘tangential’ topic vaguely related to space militarization.

I texted him back, “Sometimes I can’t fucking believe you.“

He did that thing when you’re texting someone and they’re typing this big ass message but you don’t realize it and as soon as you’ve hit send they hit send and... God it’s really annoying. Philip’s still a Boomer you have to realize. He doesn’t “get” technology yet. Or maybe he willfully refuses to understand it like most old people. Hmm. Either way, his giant wall of text he sent me tried assuaging my anger.

“I’m not trying to stop you from pursuing the story you want. I would never do that Clem. I mean, not anymore. Look, trust me I learned my lesson with that whole fight we had over you narrating the weekly recaps. BUT, I think I have something better than the seminar itself. I might just have the reason behind that whole hotel staff business. Will you hear me out?“

I texted him back as I let out a long, frustrated sigh. “Fine. What?” And then I sent him one more. “And it seriously better be good or I’m blocking your number for a week again.”

His reply read, “I have this guy in Needles, California. Ever heard of it?”

I told him, “No but it sounds like one of those crappy little towns between Barstow and Vegas that no one ever visits.”

Philip confirmed in response, “Well, it is one of those crappy little outskirt towns. But that’s not the point! There was this whole supposed UFO crash and some sort of military helicopters came and took it away and blah blah blah.”

“Philip I AM NOT doing a UFO story.” I told him.

“I know I know“ his message read. “That’s not the point! There’s this conspiracy theorist guy from Nevada, you know one of those Coast To Coast types? Anyways, he’s been telling me that he has some sort of bombshell information that connects the Needles crash with your seminar shadiness.”

I groaned, resigning myself to at least let him tell me. “I’m listening. What is it?” I asked.

A picture appeared on my phone. It was an airliner sitting on a tarmac at dawn painted lily white with a single red stripe along the fuselage, with no company branding or logos. “What’s with this airliner?” I asked him in my text.

“Did you know that a Janet Airlines flight arrived at a private airport near Santa Rosa the night before everyone was fired, and offloaded the exact number of people needed to replace everyone?” Philip informed me.

I was silent for a small moment. I looked at the posters on my wall drenched in neon-purple light, taking inventory of what was just said to me. I texted him back one more time, “Philip, you know I love you right?”

Flash forward to the next day, I had tried sleeping off some of my insomnia from 6 to 10 AM. I tried getting up at 10:15. Not having it. Then I tried 10:45. Again, absolutely not. So I did what I always do when I’m in a bind to meet with a source and my Circadian rhythm isn’t cooperating with me. Don’t judge. I mean, please don’t judge. I mean... Hmm, well. I did a line. I’m not proud of... well, no. Fuck you, I am proud of it. I mean I’m not, I mean... not, fuck you? Look, either way when a story like this is in front of me and my insomnia is in the way, I...

I don’t have to justify this with you. And I’m not going to.

After the white lady had gotten me out of my funk I finally took a shower, got dressed, and hopped in my car and headed down the road to the Silver State. Philip gave me the guy’s address and phone number as I left the Southland. “Frank Monterrey?“ I said to myself out loud as I read the text. I pulled over and texted Philip back, “Is that... really his name?“

“I guess so. No relation obviously. Just one of those things in life.“ He said in reply.

I continued on my journey northeast along the I-15, passing highway patrolmen, smart cars, and meth-lab RVs along the way. Noticing the run down watering holes filled with cheap signage set in contrast to flashy over priced watering holes with pretentious signage, all posed against the backdrop of the California desert and its Joshua trees. Every now and then, I would take a peak at the day time moon piercing through the blue firmament gazing back at me. I wonder, how hard would it be to get approved for a visit to Armstrong? I doubt I have the money though. I kept glancing at it, wondering to myself, are you looking at it too Will?

The coke’s getting to me at this point I think. I focus my attention to other things, turning the radio up. Let’s see. Talk radio? “You simply don’t know what you’re fucking talking about! Explain to me exactly how it ain’t socialism you dick! If it’s government, it’s socialist! That’s why the founding fathers gave us social security, to teach us responsibility.”

No.

Umm, pop? I pressed down on the seek button. The tired “Millennial whoop” burst through the speakers of my car. People who are 35 pretending to be 15, dressed in neon clothes reciting their modern chant to their contemporary God. Nothing. Safe, marketable, unoffensive, nothing.

Where is this guy’s house? I double checked my GPS. It wasn’t working suddenly. I hadn’t paid attention to it for a bit. It was flickering back and forth between my car’s position and where my destination was. Doesn’t make any difference, I’m near the exit anyway. The satellite radio I was listening to began screwing up as well. I couldn’t understand what the lyrics of the song were trying to say anymore. They were verbalizing something, but it was all mushy. I turned it off, as it strangely made me feel drowsy. Don’t want to fall asleep at the wheel. I glanced back at the daytime moon again.

What is that? I thought to myself. There was this black speck gliding along the rim of Luna’s spherical shape. It’s not a bug. It... can’t be an airplane. This is Nevada I suppose, I’m liable to see a UFO at some point. I returned the view of my eyes back to the road, and finally took my exit. His “house” was a beat up RV, not unlike the meth labs on wheels I mentioned earlier. He had encamped himself on a slice of desert in an undeveloped part of North Las Vegas, not far from the gate to Nellis Air Force Base. I parked behind it and began texting Philip to let him know I was here, just in case this guy decides to chop my head off. If that happens, at least Philip will know where to find the skin suit he’s going to make out of me. As I hit send, I heard a bang on my wind shield. And then a dozen more in quick succession. There he was, fat, receding hairline, broken sunglasses, dirty polo shirt, and openly carrying a 9mm. “Hey! Hey! Hey! You’re here! You’re the girl? You’re the girl! From the news people thing? Come on, hurry up we got to go! Come on! Come on! Come on!” He screamed at the top of his lungs. I slowly got out, somewhat regretting not bringing my own sidearm with me. I guess that’s why you shouldn’t take a hit of cocaine to wake you up in the morning. I felt a sharp edge slightly press into my chest as I stood up out of my car seat. Good. I thought, at least I have my knife with me. Hidden in the one place he (hopefully) won’t try to grope. I stuck my hand out to shake his as the car door shut. “Nice to-”

He man handled it like a maniac before I could finish. “Yep! Great great great! We really gotta go doll face! They’re gonna be there any minute!” He spouted off.

“Who?” I asked.

“Air Force Special Activities Center! Illuminati enforcement bureau. Really high level dinosauroids. Far higher level lizard people than even the Governor.” He shouted as he got into his RV’s driver seat and started the engine. Or attempted to. Several times.

I was silent. Dumb struck. “You’re Frank Monterrey, right?” I asked him.

“Shhhhhhh! Don’t say it out fucking loud! Have you even run an evasion and recovery op like this before? Quite clearly not!” He shouted. The engine finally turned over and breathed life into the vehicle.

“I have... no idea what you’re talking about.” I said as I reluctantly climbed into the passenger side. I texted Philip real quick to tell him that I hated him now. As the man shifted into drive, I looked behind me into the interior of the RV. You know that meme from Always Sunny with Charlie explaining all the crazy shit on his wall and how its all connected? Yeah, I should convince this guy to let me take a picture of him doing the exact same thing in front of all that stuff back there because it would be a one for one. As implied, the RV’s walls and windows were littered with a collage containing pictures of some spade-shaped aircraft, portraits of some women in Space Corps and Navy uniforms, a group photo of a few astronauts in their space suits in front of an American flag, grainy photos of a bizarrely shaped... satellite? Hmm. Finally there was an old Polaroid of a woman with an 80s-style hairdo in a wedding dress holding hands with someone in a gorilla costume. The entire quote unquote ‘modern-art masterpiece’ was interspersed with the occasional classified military document and incoherently linked together with red string and thumbtacks.

“We’re coming, we’re coming, we’re coming now you pricks.” He said as the RV turned onto the road heading north. He continued to say something under his breath, “Bitch, Su, you bitch, hag, you hag you’ll finally see what choosing Squatch over me really means.“

My jaw hung out for a few seconds as I just took stock of what I drove over four hours to get out here for.

I just met a mentally-ill stranger who uses the President’s name as a pseudonym, stepped into his run down RV willingly so that he can take me God knows where so that we can recover something from the government in order to steal his crush back from the Sasquatch...

I checked my phone again to see if Philip had replied yet. I was going to tell him when I see him again I’ll be giving him a castration. But he hadn’t responded to my last text, or to the one before that for that matter. I turned to ‘Frank’ and asked, “Listen, does this have anything to do with that airliner you told my business partner about?”

He cut me off before I could finish. “Oh yeah yeah yeah yeah.” He motored off. “We’re gonna get it, yes yes. We’re gonna get IT. Oh man, haha! You won’t believe how we’re gonna get it.“

“Uhhh, ok. How are we going to get ‘it’?” I asked politely.

He then proceeded to pull his pistol out of its holster and wave it around in my face with the safety off. “Good old American freedom! Hail Odin for the Third Amendment.”

I corrected him, “Second.“

He began to talk over me. “Tenth. Anyways, you women never know when you’re wrong especially when it’s that time of the month so to speak. Just like Su. Ahhh, yes. My lovely old Su.“ He looked over at me in that creepy old man I’m about to sexually harass you kinda way. My hand drew closer to where my knife was hidden. “You remind me of her. Oh yes. Oh yes.“ I now regretted the choice of clothing I made for that summer day. My legs pulled away and slammed into the door as he tried to place a hand on my thigh. I reached under my shirt and pulled the knife out reflexively. Before he could bring his hand back to where his holster sat on his hip, I instantly lunged over and pressed the blade just above it directly into where his kidney would be without breaking the skin.

“Keep your hands on the fucking wheel bitch!” I screamed at him, my eyes tearing up in rage, my head and chest pounding from the adrenaline. The RV slowed down on the empty road we had traversed to.

It was quiet. The RV stopped. He began to laugh. “Ahhh Su. Our famous lover’s quarrels. We’re not officially married until we have a few of those I suppose.”

I looked at him in confusion and disgust. “What is your problem old man? I’m not your wife, or who ever you’re talking about. I’m from the news group? Remember?”

A tear ran down his cheek. He suddenly lunged towards me and started to shout at the top of his lungs, “Su, please God just love me and not that ape!” He tried kissing me as his free hand pulled my torso into him. I stabbed into his side with the knife. And then again, and again. And then one more time until he stopped moving. He was lifeless on top of me now. I pushed him off, some of his blood gushing onto my shirt and shorts. It was so thick that when I stood up out of the RV, it escaped the fabric of my clothes and ran down my leg. Not a good look. I collected myself, thinking about where I was. On a back road in Nevada, a few miles away from my car. I could walk back to it, I thought to myself. I folded my arms as I leaned onto the door jam, staring at his body, trying to get myself to stop shaking. I didn’t cry. But I should have.

“How did you even come across that airliner?” I said out loud, and lingered on the thought. I recalled the collage of conspiracist fuel he called wallpaper inside. “Yeah. How did you come across it?” I said again, out loud. I pulled my phone out and texted Philip before I climbed in the back of the vehicle, “I need help. Now. Philip I really need your help now, please. Call me.” The message said. I started rummaging around all his stuff inside. There was a strange version of the American flag draped on a small plastic table. It was white with blue stars and vertical stripes. It looked familiar, but I couldn’t place my finger on it at the time. I looked underneath, finding a print out of a map. It showed a route from North LV to Needles to Santa Rosa, California and back. Did he actually go there? Did he take the picture himself? How did he know it would be there? I put it down and turned my attention to all the stuff on his wall. Who were these military women? Who were these astronauts? I unpinned the photo of the spade-shaped airplane from the wall and studied it, after a while glancing up to the grainy picture of the strange object and letting it catch my attention. I pulled it down next. It was shaped like... how can I describe this? It’s like I’m looking at a 3D image without 3D glasses. I pulled down some of the documents, beginning to think that this may have actually been worth it - kind of. If the red string was anything to go by, the document I was looking over right now had something to do with the uniformed young woman with glasses.

It was a transfer order of some sort from a few years ago. I’m not sure what the military would call it. It basically said this woman was to be released from the Air Force so that she may become a member of Monterrey’s new Space Corps. It said that she was to be promoted from 1st Lieutenant to Captain in doing so. It said her parent organization at the time was an intelligence squadron. Next to that it listed her weight and height. Next to that, her social security number. Next to that her last then first name.

Hayek, Poinsettia.

As I pondered over her significance, I heard the fake Frank’s phone go off. I walked over to the driver’s seat from behind his slumped over corpse, and struggled it out of his pocket. It was a text from someone named Will, which forced the image of the Will I know to the front of my mind, making me zone out. Another notification sound snapped me out of it. “Where are you? They’re almost here! This is the last chance for the We The People revolution if we miss this window! I State This Emphatically As Will Williamson, Individual, Sovereign, Citizen Of The Republic of Nevada, Independent AND Sovereign. Electronically NOTARIZED (Documented Permanently) In The Year Of Our Lord In Accordance With Common Law AND NOT ADMIRALITY LAW.”

After reading that bit of nonsense I went and scrolled up into the conversation they had over messaging and found the map coordinates of the destination fake Frank was supposed to meet him at before I stabbed him... to death. I decided that, well, since I killed him it might as well be worth it to at least see what he was taking me to. I collected everything off the wall and the table save for the flag and piled it together. I laid them on the passenger seat, got out and went around to the driver’s side. I pulled his fat, smelly, stiff body out of its place with all my strength, nearly pulling my back out in the process. After he fell onto the asphalt of the road, I leaned over and removed his pistol from his holster. I checked the magazine. It was full. Placed it back in, putting the safety on. I got into the driver’s seat he once occupied, and sped off to the location provided by his fellow freak.

It took me another thirty minutes to get there. Civilization was far from here now. I was almost certain this had to border some sort of military range or government land of some type. As I arrived I noticed a beat-up sedan with a faded paint job to the side of the road behind one of the safety barricades. I pulled up behind it and put it into park. I stared at it for a minute, seeing if anyone was there. After a while of inactivity, I got out to take a closer look. There was no one inside. There were more documents and folders in the back seat however. Then I heard a voice call out to me.

“Hey! Hey!” He shouted. He was dressed like a hobo, standing by himself far away from the road in the middle of the desert facing away from me. I squinted my eyes and realized he was urinating. He finished, turned around and began walking towards me, neglecting to put his... thing away.

“Umm, hello?” I replied.

He shouted back. “Who is you?” I could make out his crusty, sun burnt face now.

“I’m a friend of Frank. I think.” I said back.

“Who’s Frank?” He asked.

“You don’t know who-“ I looked down and realized it was still hanging out. “Oh my God. Hey look, your... member is still out.”

He looked down and made an embarrassed face. “Ooopsies. I’m sorry.” He said in a strangely childish way as he fixed himself. I got the feeling he was a bit slow or low-functioning. As he finally made his way over to me and came around the front of the car, he saw that I had a gun in my hands and began to panic. “What!? Who is you! Why you have that!” Then he saw the dried blood on my leg and stains on my clothes. He began to scream. “Oh my Jesus! You... you killeds Will! That’s why he ain’t been back! Get aways!”

I put the gun down on the roof of the car and tried calming him. “Listen! Shh! Shhh! It’s okay, listen. I didn’t kill Will okay? Someone tried to hurt me, and I... stopped them from doing that, alright? But it wasn’t Will. Okay?”

He relaxed slightly, trying not to look at me, keeping his eyes on the gun as he muttered “Okay...”

“Listen, can you tell me who Will is or what you’re doing out here all alone?” I asked him in a concerned tone.

He kicked some rocks at his feet and put his hands in his pockets. “Well... Will said we was going to stops the dinosaur guys, take the rocket ship back and start the We People rebelution.”

I put my arm on his shoulder and questioned, “Okay, and where did Will go?”

“He says he was gonna get the other American heroes and that he’d be back.” The poor man informed me.

“How long ago was that?” I asked him.

“Since the... um, the sun come up before the the last time it was down and up. I think.“ He said, possibly alluding to yesterday morning.

“You’ve been out here for two days?” I said, shocked.

He shrugged his shoulders, and said “I guess” as though he were a confused child separated from his mother.

Before I could ask him what his name was, the sound of thundering engines broke through from over the horizon. Down the road we could see a convoy. Three black SUVs. A white pickup. And a semi-truck bearing an oversized load sign on it. On its trailer sat a large object, which I first thought was saucer-like in shape. However the closer it got to us I realized that was only from the front, as it was much more spade-like from the side. “Wait, is that the thing he was talking about?” I said out loud.

The poor confused man in front of me got jumpy again all of the sudden. He pulled out a torn piece of line paper and read from it. “This is, this is what Will says would be happen! I got to do the revolt thing, for Will!” Before I could say anything, he grabbed the gun from off the roof of the car and ran out into the road, almost tripping over the barricade and falling on his face. He stopped on top of the median, and raised the pistol to the sky and tried firing off a few rounds before he realized the safety was still on. As he tried to figure out how the thing works, the semi-truck pulled up in front of him and stopped. Two of the black SUVs flanked around the truck aggressively and stopped in front of it. Suddenly, hatches opened on each of their roofs, both revealing a Gatling gun turret manned by what I assumed to be soldiers in black masks and tan helmets. A man got out of the passenger side of the SUV in front of me. He didn’t have a mask on, but he was equipped with the heavy-duty version of the military’s new powered exoskeleton. I knew this, because some more mainstream journalists I’m acquainted with had been invited to a closed door demonstration of it last year. It looked just like the one in the few photos they were allowed to take. If my memory serves me right, the program that developed it was known as “INVICTUS” which stood for something though I can’t exactly remember what.

He stepped forward in his suit towards the confused man. The torso of the suit resembled something an EOD might wear (in fact I think those bomb disposal suits were the inspiration for it originally). A plate of Kevlar jutted out from the chest area, protecting the man’s neck and covering up his lower jaw. This plate of Kevlar had a black and white American flag sticker placed upon it, with some words etched into it that read “NOYFB”. Around his stomach area sat a small hollowed out compartment built into his armor that provided a place where things like extra magazines and smoke grenades could be easily accessed by the wearer. From the right side of his body there was a black tactically dressed up 12-gauge hanging in the air via parachute cord. The weapon dangled carelessly near the grip of his palm with each step he took. From the pictures I saw, I recalled that the wearer is usually supposed to be sporting a helmet of some kind possessing all the night-vision accessories you’d expect to see on a commando like this. However, this man did not have his with him. I could see his face from the mouth up. Head shaved. Either Black or mixed-race. Hazel eyes. It sounds cliche, but he had a prominent scar running down from his temple to the corner of his mouth. He stopped about 6 or so feet in front of him. His right hand became itchy, the servos in the exoskeleton girding his arm quietly revving up and down as if they were imps begging their master to let them slaughter something.

One of the men on the turrets called out to my confused acquaintance. “Move or be moved!”

I could tell the poor guy had a lump in his throat at this point. He tried reading from the piece of paper he had, gun still in hand. “We the pe... We... People. Demands, uhhh.“ He said through the nervousness consuming his face muscles.

As he fumbled with his words I could see the man on the turret was now becoming agitated. He shook his head, and exclaimed to the man in the INVICTUS armor - “Well then I guess you gotta move him!”

Suddenly he gripped the trigger group of his shotgun, pulling down on it and breaking the parachute cord that held it. And then he did something I hadn’t expected to see that day. Remember how in certain Westerns or movies like RoboCop, when the hero un-holsters his weapon he spins it around in the air as he brings his arm parallel with the ground? Yeah, he did that. One handed. With a shotgun. The 12-gauge did one full rotation until it returned to its original position, the soldier quickly steadied it and fired a slug off into the poor confused man’s face killing him instantly. The recoil barely forced his arm up. The confused man’s body hit the ground with a loud thud, relinquishing the pistol and his torn piece of paper from his grip. I watched as the breeze carried it away into the wasteland of southern Nevada. That’s when the soldier, or commando, or security guard or whatever he was turned his attention to me.

He calmly walked towards where I was, stepping on top of the safety barricade that previously separated us. He pumped his weapon with the assistance of his other hand and proceeded to point it at me now. I stood there, frozen. He asked in a cold tone, “Who the fuck are you?”

The man in the turret spoke, “We don’t care! We’re on a schedule, pump one into her and let’s go!”

I tried bargaining with them for my life. “Hey... hey... Listen.” I said in a soothing, somewhat sexual tone in an attempt to put their guard down. I then fucked it up with “Please” as my voice cracked out of fear. I tried seeming cute and aroused to them. I forced a flirtatious smile out through my terror, bent my unbloodied leg at the knee towards him, and pulling my shirt down by the collar revealing a portion of my bra. “Tha-that’d be such a waste, Sir.” I said that bit with as much suggestive energy as I could muster considering the circumstances.

He didn’t buy it.

He smirked, chuckling a bit. “Hahaha... wooow. Really?”

I nodded as my breath became shorter. “U-uh huh.” I said nervously, still smiling like an idiot.

“Well... nah.” He replied, a nasty smile covering his face. His index finger gripped the trigger. I turned pale, collapsing into a ball, covering my head with my arms in terror.

I shouted, “No please!”

Then, I heard a click. And nothing happened. I looked up from where I had been cowering. He was still pointing that thing at me. He spoke. “Well, would you look at that? All out of rounds.” He laughed at me.

The man in the turret threw his arms into the air in frustration. “Are you fucking kidding me?” He screamed at his compatriot. He turned the barrels of his weapon towards me. “Move, I’ll do it.” He commanded the soldier in front of me. My eyes widened, how the hell do I get out of this?

As he stepped down off of the barricade, he looked into the sky behind me as if something suddenly set his internal radar off. He squinted his eyes, looking past me, and pointed once he finally found it. I turned to see what it was. A small, faint gray dot off in the distance flying in front of some clouds. I heard the man in the INVICTUS armor say - “Shit, they’ve been following us.” He yelled at the man in the turret. “I told you not to stop!”

Suddenly they were all in a panic. They retracted their turrets back into their SUVs, the soldier running back over to the one he got out of and slamming the door as he got back in. The semi-truck started its engine back up, and the convoy sped off leaving me to be showered by the dust they kicked up. The semi flattened the dead man still laying their like roadkill as it escaped. I stared as they disappeared down the road. I pinched myself just to make sure I didn’t dream that part.

“What the fuck is going on here?“ I said out loud to myself, and to my dead friend over on the road. I turned around to see what could of scared them off. The gray dot was bigger now, a lot bigger, actually it wasn’t a dot at all. More like a boomerang or something. Was it... a drone? Maybe, I know they fly them out of the middle of Nevada somewhere. It must be a drone, because I can hear its jet engine now. The drone was directly over head of me now, banking left to make a turn. Just then, I noticed something gigantic appear in my periphery vision. It was a large... blimp I guess? I’m not sure, but I couldn’t hear anything coming from it so it had to be a blimp I assumed. It was painted all black but wasn’t shaped like a traditional blimp however, more triangular than oval. It emerged from inside a massive nimbus cloud, where I assumed it must have been hiding all this time. Was this what they were running from? Soon it completely escaped the ivory clutches of the cloud and I could discern a series of turbofans mounted on the end of it.

And that was the last thing I can remember before I woke up here.

That’s right. I blacked out. I don’t remember what happened after that. I have a splitting headache now though. Probably from all the adrenaline and fear that day, but also probably from whatever drug was used to knock me out. If I was really knocked out that is. Whoever it was that drugged me left me here in the terminal at McCarran Airport south of Vegas. I was cleaned up. My blood stained clothes were replaced with some jeans and a button up blouse I had packed in my car for the trip. I shuddered at the thought of anyone undressing me while I was incapacitated. I looked around me. My computer bag I had left in my car was there next to me. My purse was no where to be found however. I had a Combined Airways ticket in my hand. My phone began to vibrate in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was Philip’s intern.

“Hello?” I answered it.

“Hey boss, did you get through security yet?“ He said over the phone.

“Umm... I don’t, yeah. Wait, what’s going on?“ I asked him, still groggy.

“What are you talking about?“ He sounded concerned for me.

“Listen, I’m sorry about how weird this must sound but can you just tell me what’s going on?“ I demanded.

“Uhh, sure. I guess. You’re about to take a flight home to SoCal because your car was stolen.“ He explained.

“And what else? You may not believe me, but I really have no idea what’s going on.” I sounded desperate.

He reassured me. “Ok ok. Calm down. You called me yesterday night and said the conspiracy theorist guy never showed up and that Philip wasn’t answering his phone. Remember?”

“I remember Philip not answering my texts...” I ran my finger through my pastel hair, losing my mind.

He continued. “Well I tried calling him but he wouldn’t pick up for me either. And he wasn’t at the office or his house today. On top of that, his girlfriend said she hadn’t seen him since he left for work yesterday. I’m kinda concerned actually. Anyways, after I got done talking to her, you called me and said you were mugged after getting some Burger Paladin last night. You said the muggers stole your car and your purse.“

I was floored. “Burger Paladin? I never eat at Burger Paladin. I hate that place.”

“Well, I mean I thought it was a little weird. I don’t know many people who go there myself.” He reasoned. He went on. “Anyways, after that you had me go buy you a ticket so you could come home. Man, I hope Philip’s not missing.”

“Me too...” I said nervously. “Look, I need to do something normal to clear my head. Can you send me the script for the recap? I have some time before my flight starts boarding.”

“Sure, I’ll email it to you now.” He affirmed.

I thanked him and hung up. My heart was beating so fast I thought I was going to pass out again. I needed something to eat. The food court was right in front of me. As I stood up from the bench I realized I had been sitting on a folder the entire time. I picked it up and opened it. My happiness returned for a fleeting moment. It was the stuff I had taken out of fake Frank’s RV, and if I’m not mistaken the stuff that was in that confused individual’s car as well. Why would they leave this with me?

I ordered a few tacos from Hornet’s, and a slice of pepperoni to boot. I sat down at a table and collected myself, opening my laptop as I crunched into the shell. I felt like crying. I started recording the weekly recap, beginning it with my signature line. “This is Slice. This is your week. This, is the world’s week.” It didn’t take me that long to finish it, they’re not that extensive usually. Never lasting more than five minutes. Things weren’t looking too good in the world. A bunch of people were taken hostage in the Indian Ocean. The government was fighting itself instead of solving it. The IACS seminar had ended earlier than expected because of Monterrey’s announcement. The Chinese were telling the world they’re prepared to wallop the U.S. in space if they tried anything. I suppose the Space Corps, if it works as advertised, will solve the problem it created.

I lingered on that thought. Space Corps. Who was it that I know in the Space Corps? That’s right... that Captain Hayek woman. I reopened the documents I had with me. I went over her transfer papers again. I found another document detailing her reassignment to the “Air Force Special Activities Center” after she joined the Space Corps. Now didn’t fake Frank mention something about that? I studied the files of these other two women. Both enlisted. One who was transferred from the Air Force into the Corps. The other from the Navy. Horace, Jessica. Gregory, Amanda. Miss Horace was promoted from a Technical Sergeant in the Air Force to Space Systems Sergeant when she switched. Miss Gregory’s transfer hasn’t happened yet but is scheduled for this upcoming week. What do these people do? What’s their job? I searched for their unit’s name on the internet. Interestingly enough, I came by a thread on a dormant BBS forum from the early 2000s. The author of the thread claimed that the AFSAC were the originators of the “Men In Black” urban legend going all the way back to the 50s. I almost screamed in fright in the middle of the food court as I read the poster’s username. Frank_Monterrey.

“It can’t be.” I quickly dove back into the documents splayed out in front of me. All of it was crazy. After action reports of AFSAC monitoring the daily routines of NASA astronauts. Commander’s authorizations for invasions of privacy, including the taping of the astronauts’ phone calls, breaking into their homes and installing spyware onto their electronics. A request asking for enough AFSAC agents to replace the wait staff at the hotel I tried getting at job at. Details of the government’s dissatisfaction with this “Blackstar” program - the aircraft I had seen all those pictures of, one document calling it the ‘XOV’. And then this thing... this ‘object’. What the hell is it? It creeps me out to look at it too long. There were additional photos of a damaged Chinese spacecraft. These labeled “inadvertent shoot down“. Wait a minute, shoot down? I double checked to make sure where exactly this spaceplane was when it was shot at. I recognized the unfinished habitats behind it. Everyone in the United States had seen these paraded around by Hood Fisher in a bunch of different soft drink and fast food commercials throughout the year. It was New America. The future space colony. But that doesn’t make any sense. I checked and re-checked the script I had been sent for the weekly recap. Last paragraph - “PLA officials also announced this week that an accident of some type has taken place at the site of the future State of New America near Lagrange point 5 that required the emergency reentry of a small group of space vehicles. No further elaboration on the details of this event has been given at this time.“

I sat back in my chair and took stock of what the evidence was telling me. We shot at the Chinese in space, just after the President announced to the world that we would no longer accept the presence of anyone else’s military in said space. And now the Chinese are covering it up? After threatening the President right back?

I looked down and let my hair drape over my face as I rubbed my forehead trying to mull this over. The headache was still getting to me. I resolved to get something more than just what I had in front of me. I sent Philip’s intern my finished recording of the recap and asked him to file a FOIA request about this shoot down near New America. As I sent the email I heard an airplane taxiing outside the window in front of me at the food court. A Janet flight. That’s not funny. That’s really not funny. Fuck you, you’re what started all this. I watched as it approached the runway and began to take off. All I could think about was how much I hated this airliner, how much I hated not knowing why the Chinese were covering up the shoot down, how much I hated that man I killed and how much I hated myself for killing him. And I thought about how much Will would hate me.

I picked up the picture of the damaged spaceplane once more. “It can’t be.” I said under my breath.

“Oh, but it can be.” I head a voice say. I looked up as a balding old white guy in a dress shirt and sunglasses sat down in front of me, closing my laptop as he did so.

“Umm, excuse me asshole.” I said indignantly. “Who the hell are you?”

“Well my dear Clementine. Ah, Clementine Forrester that is. I’m... a snake person or a lizard I guess.“ He revealed my own name to me as he laughed in my face. I watched two cops in plain clothes sit down on the table behind him, seemingly not paying any attention to us.

My heart began to pound again. I was silent for a few seconds. “How do you know that? How do you know my name?“ I asked.

He expounded. “Well, I mean, how couldn’t I know? I am the one who sold that passport to you after all. In fact, I’m the one that set you up with ‘Frank Monterrey’. And I’m the one that gave him all that shit you’ve been blowing your mind with for the past few minutes. And to top it all off, I’m the one who’s gonna get you on board one of those Janet flights so you can do some ‘personal’ journalism for me.“

I narrowed my eyes and steeled my resolve. “And tell me exactly why I would do a fucking thing for your ass?”

He cackled as he stole my slice of pizza, taking a bite of it. He swallowed and threw it back down onto my plate, leaning in as he rubbed his hands together and explained. “Well my dear, because I’m the only one who can get your business partner out of the proverbial and literal hole he’s in.”

A shiver ran down my back.

“You didn’t think he could just aide and abet a known national security threat like yourself and get away with it, did you?“ He asked me.

Well, at least I have my story now. I thought to myself.

I'm an undercover journalist investigating the President’s space force

#after skies #black sky wars

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