The Third Craft Read online

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You can repair the damage. It’s not serious.”

  Joe screwed up his face. “I don’t understand. I have no powers,” he said weakly. “I’m going to throw up.”

  “Hold on. I don’t want you puking.”

  “Why did you hit me?”

  “Couldn’t take a chance that you’d turn your powers on me.”

  “What ‘powers’? What are you talking about?”

  “Don’t know. That’s just it. I don’t know what you can do.”

  “I can puke.”

  “No special powers?”

  “None.”

  The stranger nodded reluctantly in agreement. “Probably not. I don’t sense any Signature from you. You seem to be just a normal Earth kid. Aren’t you Kor’s kid? God, has someone made a mistake here?”

  Joe grimaced and started to dry heave and bleed from the nose. His head hung low against his chest. “Help me. The pain …”

  The stranger wasted no time. Realizing there was no trickery involved, he quickly untied Joe and half dragged, half lifted him down the corridor. His orders did not involve fatalities. He awkwardly shoved Joe into the Learning Stall.

  “Get in there. The medic program will repair your injury and correct your chemical trauma. Lean back against the wall.” He held Joe up with one arm, then reached in past him and touched various lights against the far wall. Then he withdrew his arm quickly. Before Joe had a chance to sag against the wall, the door shut and the chamber flooded.

  Ten minutes passed before the door flew open. The stranger had his weapon aimed at Joe’s face.

  “Whoa. Easy, buddy.”

  “Now how do you feel?”

  “Fine. I feel fine,” Joe answered, cornered in the small stall. “Can I get out of here?”

  The man stepped back, not taking his eyes from Joe and not lowering his pistol. “Head toward the bridge. I assume you know where that is. If I see even the hint of a shield come up, I’ll shoot. Understood?”

  “Understood.”

  “Good.”

  “What’s a shield anyway?”

  “I thought you said you understood.”

  “I did, sort of. Except for the part about the shield.”

  “Don’t mess with me, OK kid? Just move.”

  Joe turned and walked in front of the man. He turned slightly and said, “Can I ask a question?”

  “Depends.”

  “Who are you and why did you slug me?”

  The man hesitated a moment, as if weighing the risk of divulging any information, then answered. “My name is Cringen, DIA. This craft belongs to the U.S. government. The reason I slugged you, as you so eloquently put it, is because I didn’t know what your strength was. I figured you had your father’s powers.”

  “Father’s powers … what are you talking …?”

  “You and your brother have stolen government property,” Cringen said, ignoring Joe’s confusion.

  “What, this?” Joe said gesturing grandly to the walls as he walked ahead. “This is not government property!”

  “I didn’t say which government,” Cringen said, half to himself.

  They reached the control room. “Sit down. OK, let’s start again. What’s your name?”

  “Joe Grayer. Frank is my dad.”

  “Then you are Frank’s kid.”

  “Look buddy, my dad works for the Department of Defense. You and your friends are in trouble.”

  Cringen laughed. “Your father is interfering with a government operation. He’s the one who’s in trouble, not us.”

  “I don’t believe you!”

  “Never mind that, kid. Where are your friends? When are they coming back?”

  “Why should I tell you anything?”

  “True. You don’t have to tell me squat. On the other hand, I can easily find them and incinerate them as they walk back to shore. Want that?”

  Joe decided he didn’t like that option. “They’re on shore waiting to be picked up.” He glanced at his watch.

  “How do you know when to pick them up?”

  “They have a flashlight. They’re going to signal with it.”

  Cringen pointed to a control chair. “Sit down and put your hands behind your back.”

  Cringen moved behind Joe and bound his hands tightly. Then he tied his ankles to the chair. “Comfy?”

  Joe just glared back at him. “And just who is going to fly this ship?”

  “I am,” was the calm reply.

  “You!” Joe laughed. “What do you know about flying spacecraft?”

  “I know enough,” Cringen said. “I was a flight officer, and I served aboard this very ship. It knows me and will follow my every command. I can easily override your lock-out commands, for instance.” He looked over at Joe. “You could learn a lot from me, kid. But I’m not in the mood for teaching.”

  Cringen walked casually over to the control panel. A voice greeted the man. Cringen smiled arrogantly and looked over at Joe. “English for our young friend here.”

  The computer responded in English. Then Cringen closed his eyes for a brief moment in concentration. There was immediate movement upward. The craft bobbed to the surface. It was dark outside. All the side screens were activated. The only thing they could see were the village lamps in the distance. Hawk and Bohr had not returned yet. A few minutes later they saw short bursts of light from the shore.

  “I think your friends have arrived. Let’s pick them up, shall we?”

  Cringen guided the craft toward the shore. As the ship approached the light signal, it slowed and stopped a few feet from Bohr and Hawk.

  They stood staring up at the craft. There was a moment’s hesitation before the portal door opened. It was dark inside. For once, the ship suddenly seemed foreboding.

  Hawk turned to Bohr. “Where’s Joe?” he asked.

  The pair entered.

  “Joe?” Hawk called out.

  “That’s funny,” Bohr said. “You’d think he would be here to greet us explorers.”

  “I don’t like this,” Hawk said. His voice had dropped.

  “Probably nothing.”

  “Joe, where are you?” Hawk felt the pinpricks of unease.

  “Let’s go straight to the bridge,” Bohr said.

  The craft lifted off the ground and began to gain altitude. This alarmed Bohr, because the plan had been to stay there overnight. They began to run.

  As the pair burst into the control room, Bohr said, “Joe, I thought we agreed to stay put for a while. What are you doing?”

  “I’m tied up!” Joe said gloomily.

  “Easy does it, fellas,” Cringen said from behind.

  They spun around and stared into the muzzle of Cringen’s M1911. Bohr and Hawk exchanged glances.

  “Don’t even think about it!” Cringen said. Then he motioned toward the chairs. “Kindly sit down next to the young man.”

  He threw Bohr a strand of transparent thin material that resembled Scotch tape. “Bind the other kid, will ya, Pops?”

  Bohr did as he was told. Then Cringen tied Bohr up. He walked behind the trio and tested the bindings.

  “Joe needs medical attention,” Bohr said, nodding toward the bags on the ground. “We bought some supplies in town.”

  “Take a look at him. He’s all better now, aren’t you, Joe?”

  They looked at Joe and it was true. No bloodstains, no cuts or scrapes. He looked perfectly normal.

  “It’s true. I feel fine. He put me into the Learning Stall after he bushwhacked me. I’m not sure what goes on in there exactly, but my injuries are all better.”

  “Bushwhacked? Joe, who the hell is this guy?” Hawk said.

  “He must be monkey man. He slipped in before the portal closed back up.”

  “Then he lay low until you guys left. I went on an inspection round and he slugged me from behind.”

  Cringen ascended and leveled at seventy thousand feet.

  Beneath, the coa
st of South America was visible in the pale lights of the coastal cities and towns that dotted the shoreline. To the west, there was the faint glow of a sun long since set. To the east, there was the faintest hint of a new day, as black night skies surrendered to gray interlaced with wisps of pink.

  The trio, bound hand and foot, watched as Cringen guided the spaceship north through the night sky. Ahead, on the far horizon, was the glow of big-city lights that illuminated the U.S.

  Cringen gave a voice command, and the flight deck of another, identical ship flicked into view in a separate viewing window. The chairs were empty, the bridge deserted.

  “This is Cringen. I have successfully captured the ship. I am en route. ETA two hours. Please advise further.” He signed off and the view window dissolved.

  CHAPTER16

  When Frank Grayer arrived back in Washington, he found himself in a bit of a moral quandary. On the one hand, he felt obligated to keep the Defense Department up to date on the status of the newly discovered spaceship. On the other hand, he felt reluctant to discuss his sons’ involvement in the ship’s disappearance. He decided to wait until he had better intell. He sat at his desk and began to make a few inquiries.

  He pulled the dossier on Corey Wixon first. It was no surprise that Stell had risen through the ranks so fast. Although he wasn’t qualified through education, he became a senior officer at the National Military Joint Intelligence Center. He was now second in command to H.

  “Jeez. He still works for H,” Grayer whispered to himself. After their chance meeting in 1977, he had run a file check on Wixon. The file showed that Wixon had run a check on him, too.

  Grayer read on. Wixon’s file was thicker than the last time he reviewed it. There were references to relationships in other departments. Grayer flipped through the pages. There was a report that listed all the reports Wixon had requested since 1977.

  It was clear that Stell was searching for something. His search spanned the globe. His search methods included ultrasonic sound impulses and infrared satellite high-resolution photos. He had also performed magnetic anomaly searches along with anti-matter radiation tracing. Grayer took special note of those. Clearly Stell was searching for the missing spaceship, or parts of it, just as he was.

  He fingered through the files one by one. Wixon had had several classified meetings with a handful of DIA people over the years. The file did not disclose the itinerary or the subject of those meetings. That was somewhat unusual – interdepartmental meetings almost always had an official itinerary. Grayer noted that the meetings were usually with the same people. Another curious item was that Wixon usually met with people who were at a lower security level than he was. There was no mention of their respective department heads clearing the meetings or being aware of them.

  Grayer was looking for a pattern, and he gradually saw that pattern emerging. He was suspicious that Stell had planted his crewmembers among government employees in sensitive areas of intelligence. Stell had infiltrated senior members of the DIA. Smart move, because the DIA had access to the fastest computers and latest intelligence.

  Wixon’s bosses no doubt believed that he was looking for intelligence on Soviet espionage or terror groups – and they were right. But as Grayer knew, Stell was really focusing on his search for the remains of the missing spaceship.

  Grayer logged on to a highly secret intra-government dial-up connection. Soon he was into the files of the DIA and CIA. His logon code gave him the highest clearance there was. No data was denied him. It did not take him long to understand that there was an unusual amount of communication between Stell and other members of the DIA.

  Grayer discovered that Stell had redirected the priorities of several agencies. He had slowly prioritized his singular interest: the recovery of the missing spaceship. Certain names began to reappear frequently. They were James Cringen, Steve O’Sullivan, Hunter, and Connelly. Grayer pulled the file on Cringen first.

  James K. Cringen

  Career began right out of university, Ohio State

  Recruited initially for the FBI

  Trained out of Chicago

  Bumped to DIA (his request)

  Has done some wet work involving organized crime

  Career took off a few years ago

  Grayer pulled O’Sullivan’s dossier. Similar pattern. His career had also skyrocketed a few years before. Made some smart political moves, no doubt assisted by Stell’s behind-the-scenes manipulations, he suspected.

  Cringen and O’Sullivan were now high-level spooks. They were most likely original shipmates of Stell’s who had taken over human bodies. The other two, Hunter and Connelly, were lower-level ops who did as they were told. They were probably human.

  Cringen and O’Sullivan were dangerous because they had the power to eliminate any opposition at will. Really dangerous, because they were probably aliens with special powers. So was Grayer, of course, but Stell and his team outnumbered him. He tried to recall if he had met these men, but of course he hadn’t – he would have seen their Signatures immediately. They had cleverly dodged face-to-face meetings with him throughout the years.

  Grayer had read enough. He rang up the Secretary of Defense, Dwight Gerst, and requested a return call. The Secretary wasn’t in, so he left a message emphasizing urgency. He shut down the computer and got up to stretch his legs.

  He strolled to his office bathroom and glanced in the mirror. He wondered how long it would take for a return call from Gerst. He absently ran his fingers through his black hair. At his age, his hair should have been streaked with white. His skin should have been wrinkled. It wasn’t. His alien genetic code was able to override the human genes within his human body. The alien genes realigned their human counterparts. Attaching themselves to the human genes like a friendly parasite, they corrected most, but not all, of the evolutionary flaws that were the cause of cell degeneration. In other words, the alien presence in the body helped guide its human host cells to delay aging.

  Grayer had no idea how long he would stay alive. There was no precedent, but his best guess was about two hundred years.

  Gerst was one of the few people who knew that he was an alien residing within a human host called Frank Grayer. Grayer smiled back at his image in the mirror, recalling the first time Gerst had been briefed by his predecessor. Dwight could hardly believe that Grayer was from another world. He stared and stared as if he was trying to see some horrific monster inside him.

  His unease disappeared as Grayer’s peaceful intentions were revealed. Once that became clear, many resources within the intelligence community were put at his disposal. Grayer’s origins were a closely held secret. Only a select few knew about him. The President knew. As the Democrats and Republicans traded the Oval Office, each was briefed about the alien in their midst.

  In 1977, Grayer had reported that Stell was among them and that, in his capacity as Wixon, number two to H, he had access to high-level security. The Secretary decided not to take action against Stell because of the Government’s satisfaction with his performance. He did agree, however, to keep Stell’s activities under surveillance. With H’s cooperation, Grayer and the Joint Chiefs of Staff had kept him on a short leash since 1977. What no one knew at that time was to what degree Stell and his crew had already infiltrated the U.S. military-industrial complex.

  Looking back at these events, Grayer thought about why the military had not gotten rid of Stell immediately because of the risks he posed. It was pretty clear to him.

  First, the military were not completely confident about Grayer himself. What if Stell/Wixon was in fact “the good guy” and Kor/ Grayer was “the bad guy”?

  Second, since Stell knew that Grayer knew who he was, he made himself indispensable to the U.S. military by sharing bits of low-level alien technical know-how with them. This enabled the U.S. to leap ahead of its perceived enemies in the arms and intelligence race.

  Third, no one knew who was aligned with Stell. Every good intelligence operator knows the
importance of patience when involved in counterintelligence. The Government began covertly gathering information on Stell and his circle of friends in order to get a clearer picture what they were dealing with.

  While Gerst never pushed Grayer to feed him advanced alien technology, he hinted broadly at the idea from time to time. Both he and Grayer knew that Stell was supplying information to H. However, Grayer felt that he should not interfere with the evolutionary technical development of his human hosts.

  Grayer felt that humans would do the smallest amount of harm if they were confined to elementary weapons. He watched Stell feed biometrics and genome technology to the humans. Not weapons. He watched as he guided the humans with advanced computer technology. Not weapons, not yet. He kept watching.

  The phone rang, breaking into his thoughts.

  It was the Secretary. “Frank, I got your message to call.”

  “Thanks for returning my call, Dwight. Let me get straight to it. As you know, I went under deep cover to find Stell and his crew. I also wanted to protect my two sons.”

  “And something has happened?”

  “Yes. I tracked Stell to Sudbury in Canada. Two young men reported finding a buried UFO. It turned out that the report was genuine. Stell had a select group of men investigate. It seems reasonable that these handpicked men must be part of his original crew. They discovered that the craft was airworthy. Stell and his men tried to take possession of the ship, but the young men who discovered the craft decided to take the ship themselves. They escaped with the spaceship. That was several hours ago.”

  Grayer explained in brief the events of the last two days in Canada.

  “What about Wixon and his men?”

  “Don’t know. Those two young men …”

  “Yes …?”

  “They are my sons.”

  The Secretary groaned. “Why did I know you were going to say that?”

  “I want them back safe and sound,” Grayer said. “If Stell and his men catch up to them, I am afraid he’ll kidnap them.”

  “Why?”

  “The short answer is simply that they are my sons conceived here on Earth with an Earth mother. They are unique. They have the genes of two species. They pose a potential threat because nobody knows what alien genes they possess. In other words, nobody knows their evolutionary powers. Even more problematic for Stell is that my sons are my heirs. They are princes of the House of Narok, the ruling family back home on our planet. On our planet all people were automatically vassals to our family. Thus Stell would be a vassal of my sons.