I am very worried about the activity of the federal government. They have lied to the public, stonewalled senators and have refused to tell the truth in regard to alien matters.
– Phil Schneider
Just when John thought he was going to die, a man came up behind the Police Officer, as if out of thin air, and whacked him over the head with a thick log! The Sergeant was out cold. “I’m Otto,” he said and knelt down beside the cop; he grabbed the handcuff keys off his belt and moved closer to John, “turn around.” J.C turned his back to him. Otto undid the cuffs and got up again. “C’mon, we gotta get out of here! We need to go to a motel or something; a public place wouldn’t be safe now. Trust me, these guys don’t play games,” he looked at the downed Sergeant, “before you know it they’ll have a nationwide APB out on you! But I still think you got off easy: being framed for murder is better than dead.”
“Wow, lucky me.” Quipped John. He threw the handcuffs to the ground, then bent down and picked up Thomson’s unregistered gun. He put the safety on and unscrewed the silencer, putting it in his pocket. After that, he unstrapped the ankle holster, placed the Ruger in it and fitted the holster onto his own leg. J.C glanced up at Otto and noticed the puzzled look on his face. “Can’t be too careful, right? I guess I’m gonna be a wanted man now; might as well have a gun to match my outlaw image. And, besides, his report’s gonna say it belongs to me, so I’m going to play the part like a good little boy.” John winked and stood up.
“I’m beginning to like you already,” Otto crouched down beside the unconscious cop, “and you just gave me an idea actually.” He started to unbutton the man’s shirt.
“Um, what are you doing…?”
“I’m impersonating an Officer! Got a problem with that?”
“Nope. None whatsoever.”
Otto removed Thomson’s shirt, then took his hat and handed it to John. After finding a nearby tree with a thin enough trunk to put the policeman’s arms around, he dragged him up to it, lifted him up and cuffed him to it. Thomson, who was now stuck to the tree whether he liked it or not, moaned and started to come to. Before he could say anything, Otto gagged him with the cloth the Sergeant had used to wipe down the Ruger, tying it into place with part of the policeman’s own undershirt after he tore it off his back. He turned to John, who stood a few feet away. “He won’t be going anywhere for a couple of days.” Meanwhile, muffled sounds of protestation could be heard
as the desperate Sergeant tried in vain to free himself from the tree.
“You know, I think the tree hugging might actually do him some good; he seems to have a lot of anger issues.” John said. “Poor guy, it’s probably ‘cause he was bullied in high school.” He then looked at the policeman. “I bet you haven’t meditated once in your entire life, have you? I highly recommended it: it’s even better than tree hugging, trust me. No, really, it is. And, by the way, please don’t take any of this personally.” The cop became even more frantic now. Otto wore the shirt over his black sweater as he walked up to John and, after taking it back from him, put the police hat on.
“What do we do with the dead cop?” John asked and turned to look at the fresh corpse a few feet behind him.
“Nothing. It’s best not to go anywhere near the body, otherwise you’re just giving the forensics teams more ammunition to use against you. As it stands, even if they found Thomson five minutes from now, they can’t pin anything on you right away without a murder weapon or witnesses; so it’ll take them at least a few hours, maybe even a full day, before they can trump up some charges against you and put out the APB. See, framing you was never part of their plan: this was a summary execution, pure and simple! Mr. Anger Management over there,” he glanced at Sergeant Thomson, “would’ve planted the gun on you –matching prints and all– only after he’d blown you away. So now we’ve somewhat thrown a spanner in the works and bought you a little bit of time…but not that much time. To be honest, you should be glad I showed up when I did; otherwise you’d be dead right now!”
“Right…” said a thoughtful J.C, “and I just realized: in all the excitement, I forgot to thank you for saving my neck.”
“Don’t mention it. Okay, let’s split,” Otto buttoned up the shirt as they walked towards the road, “I’m going to be Sergeant Thomson for the next five minutes and take a little peek at their Mobile Computer, while you sit by your shiny bike over there and pretend you’re still being booked for speeding,” he turned to John and grinned, “and let’s hope nobody notices there should be one more cop in the car.” He then motioned to the police car a few feet ahead of them, “It’s truly amazing what you can learn in those things sometimes.”
“I bet. Don’t you think I should take just a little peak?”
“Not a good idea. It already looks suspect enough that we’re coming out of the woods like this without a second cop.”
“So how did you know I was here anyway?”
“Your last Facebook message: when you said you were running late ‘cause you were pulled over, I knew something was wrong right away, so I came looking for you. Luckily, a trucker was just leaving the diner at the time and was kind enough to let me hitch a ride; he was heading west and, since you already told me you’d be coming from eastside,” he tilted his head to the left, “I knew I’d bump into you. Believe me: finding you wasn’t going be the hard part. Finding you alive…? Now that’s a whole ‘nother story. See, I know how these scumbags work; I’ve been doing this most of my life. These people have been after my family for generations! This definitely wasn’t just a regular speeding ticket.”
“Say, you’re, uh – you’re German, right? So where’s the part where you do the cheesy, thick German accent?”
“Oh, right, the accent; you’re the millionth person to ask me that. I was born in the US and moved to Germany later on, in my mid teens. Been going back and forth ever since. My dad was German, my mom American. So I automatically qualified for dual citizenship. I’ve lost count how many times I’ve travelled to and fro; I practically live on airplane food.”
“Sounds delicious.” John stared at him as Otto reached for the door handle; he’d only just noticed that he reminded him of his favorite German metal singer.
“What?” said Otto.
“Oh, nothing, you just, uh – you kinda look like a German power metal singer, Hansi –
“Kürsch?”
“Right! So I guess I’m not the first one that’s noticed.”
“Quite a few people have mentioned it before; I’m a big fan of Blind Guardian myself, actually. So I kind of like the idea that I look like him.”
“I think Germans have a special talent for music making. It’s not just the power metal bands I like. Classical is my favourite type of music overall and the Germans take the cake there, too: Beethoven, Pachelbel, Mozart48; I mean, especially Mozart!”
“Well, technically, he was Austrian.”
“Yeah, but he’s still Germanic. Not much difference between the two, if you ask me.”
“If you say so.” Otto rolled his eyes.
“Music’s one of the few things I like about this joke of a planet, so I could talk about it till the cows come home, but I guess now is not the time and place to be talking about epic German metal bands. I’ll just go and wait near the bike, like we agreed.” John headed for the Ducati.
Otto pressed the space bar and the screensaver disappeared to reveal a file on John. He had seen hundreds of these kinds of Police and Intelligence Agency files before. It seemed to be a standard one, except for the entry at the very bottom: INSOMNIA 9. “Weird; I wonder if this is some kind of code…” A moment later he got out, since there was nothing more he could find. He took off the shirt and hat, threw them into the car through the window and started towards the bike. John looked at him expectantly. “Find anything helpful?”
“I found something,” Otto frowned as he gave him his driver licence back, “and it wasn’t just your licence. But I’m not sure if it was helpful.”
“Here, put this on,” J.C handed Otto his helmet, put his licence in his pocket and mounted the bike, “so what was it?”
“This might sound strange, but do you, uh, have trouble sleeping at all?”
“Say what?”
“Sleeping? Do you sleep well at night or not?”
“What the hell has that got to do with anyth –”
“Just something strange I read in your file is all: Insomnia nine; probably some codeword I’m not familiar with, never mind.”
“They think I have trouble sleeping? I guess that explains why the noble Sergeant Thomson was trying to help put me to sleep back there. Permanently!”
“This is serious though, John. I think it means something deeper than we can guess right now.”
“Well, whatever it is, I don’t wanna know. C’mon, jump on; I know a motel not too far from here. They won’t think to look there; at least not right away they won’t.” Otto put on John’s helmet and got on the motorbike.
They were now right outside room ninety nine of MacGuffin’s Motel. Otto had suggested they get the room under his own name instead of John’s, in case the APB went out earlier than expected and the Police traced them there. John turned to him. “The big reveal. This had better be worth it.”
“Oh, trust me, it’s more than worth it.” said Otto; he slid the key into the keyhole and turned it right. A moment later, he pushed the door open with his free hand. They stood and watched each other for a few seconds.
“After you…” said John and motioned to the room.
Both men were extra cautious. Even though Otto had saved his life, John didn’t know what his true agenda was. This was why he’d gone for Thomson’s unregistered gun as soon as possible. After Otto uncuffed him, J.C had also taken care to kick away the Sergeant’s standard issue handgun the second he got up from the ground. His mysterious new friend, on the other hand –who, by the way, had seen J.C do this– was aware that John suspected him and, from reading his file, he already knew he was dealing with an expert martial artist, and one who seemed to possess cunning survival instincts at that.
Otto obliged and walked into the motel room first. John followed right behind and then, as he often liked to do, shut the door with his right foot without turning around. Otto sat in the only chair in the place; it was in the right hand corner: an old, light brown, checkered armchair, a few feet from the wide open bathroom door. The single bed was directly across the bathroom. John sat on the edge of the bed, facing Otto. “So…here we are then,” he said and spread his hands out for a moment, then placed them just above his knees, “I’m all ears, but I got my eyes open, too, if you know what I’m saying to you. Nothing personal; you gotta understand: it’s been a hell of a morning.”
“Indeed it has,” Otto said, “so, you seem to be pretty handy with guns and have an instinct for survival in general. If I took a guess, I’d say you’ve got some kind of military background.”
“Well, you know, you tend to pick up a thing or two when your dad’s a Rear Admiral in the US Navy. He’s retired now, but I grew up surrounded by scores of his military pals: Admirals, Colonels, Commanders…you name it, we had it! Now let’s do you:” said J.C and stroked his chin with his right hand as his elbow rested on his thigh, “if I took a wild guess, I’d say you got a great big neon sign over your head that says spook in capital letters.” Otto hesitated. John continued, “Well…? C’mon, don’t be shy now: sharing is what group therapy is all about.”
The German-American finally spoke. “You might choose to believe me, you might not, but, truth is, agencies like the CIA look like girl scouts compared to the group I work for.”
“Oh?”
“Believe you me, all that stuff you see in James Bond and Bourne Identity, well, it’s just child’s play when you –” the barrel of the Ruger SR22 facing right at him was enough to make Otto pause.
“Is that right is it?” Said John. “Well, if you’re even hotter than double-o-seven, it means you got a piece on you; or a knife. Either way, I know you’re carrying something,” John put out his left hand and motioned for Otto to hand over whatever weapon he had on him, “c’mon, cough it up; slowly now…”
Otto reached behind him, down to his lower back, and grabbed the gun he kept there: an SP-01 Phantom 9mm Luger. He handed it to John, holding it by the barrel. Just before John took it, Otto paused and spoke, “I was wondering: were you planning on shooting me with thin air if things got a bit funky in here?” John’s face lost its color. Otto quickly flipped his gun around and cocked it. “You really thought I’d let you carry a loaded weapon around?? You could’ve been anyone; an impostor, for all I know!”
“What do you want from me? Who are you?”
“Who, me…?” Otto said and touched his chest with his free index finger. “I’m just a guy who’s doing all he can to help the planet get out of this mess. You have no idea what I’ve seen; what I’ve been through…the risks…the sacrifices! You do this sort of thing long enough, after a while certain people get real pissed at you; powerful people. So I need to be extra cautious; nothing personal: it’s been a hell of a morning, right?” He motioned left with the gun, “Drop the weapon and get over there. Go! On the other side of the bed, quickly.” He briefly glanced at the door to his left, “We wouldn’t want you making a run for it, now, would we?” John reluctantly complied and now sat at the head of the bed, in the front left corner of the room, while Otto stood a few feet away, between J.C and the front door. He continued. “See, I’m going to need a blood sample from you, chief. I have to be certain.”
“Certain of what?”
“You know, for someone who has a gun pointed straight at ‘em, you ask a lot of questions.” Otto then pulled out a switchblade from his right pocket and tossed it on the bed next to John, “Like I said: blood sample!” Next he took out a small, black device from his back left pocket. It was like a twenty first century iPhone, except circular in shape and smaller –about the size of an ancient mini disc. “Here,” he threw it into J.C’s lap, “a few drops should do it; on the little screen there.” John stared at him in disbelief. “C’mon, make it snappy, navy boy, we haven’t got all fuckin’ day!”
John put the device on his right thigh and held the knife with his left hand. He pressed the release button: the blade flicked out. He then placed his right hand a foot above the device, palm facing upwards, and brought the tip of the knife to it. “Like this?” he said. “Yeah, that’s right. Get on with it!” Otto grew impatient.
“On second thought, I – I can’t; the sight of blood makes me faint actually. I won’t be able to do it. You’re gonna have to do it for me.”
“What! Are you serious?!”
“I’m not shittin’ you: one time, I remember there was this bedside lamp,” in what seemed like a blink of an eye, J.C dropped the knife, grabbed the lamp a couple of feet to his right and smashed it against Otto’s left shoulder, “and I whacked it against this asshole’s head!” the gun fell from Otto’s hand.
By the time he could react, John got up and gave him a roundhouse kick with his right leg. Otto blocked with his right forearm, grabbed the leg with both hands and threw John to his left and onto the front window! The window smashed and J.C fell on the floor. He got out of the way just in time to avoid his throat being sliced open by a large shard of glass. Then he saw Otto’s gun on the ground a few feet ahead of him and reached for it. Otto stepped on his hand before he could grab it, pushed the Luger to the side with his other foot and kicked him in the stomach; John replied by punching him in the groin with his free hand. Otto was winded and buckled over from the pain. J.C jumped to his feet, grabbed his left arm and judo flipped him onto the bedside table, which broke under his weight. While Otto lay on the demolished table, moaning and holding his groin, John turned and saw the gun was now at the other side of the room, near the bathroom door. He leapt to the floor in an attempt to get it. Just when it was within his grasp, he felt a searing pain in the back of his right thigh and screamed: Otto had stabbed him with the switchblade! He then lifted him by the shoulders and threw him onto the bed, face down. Otto bent over, with effort, and picked up the gun, which lay a foot away from him. He fitted the silencer onto his pistol, all the while watching John like a hawk. John soon heard the Luger’s familiar click and, not a second later, felt the cold steel of the suppressor pressing against the back of his neck.
“Turn around!” Otto demanded.
“Okay, okay…” J.C slowly turned and Otto backed away. Then, in a surprise move, John slashed Otto’s forearm with a small window shard he’d picked up from the floor earlier and, after quickly jumping to his feet, he grabbed his assailant’s wrist, forcing his arm upwards in an effort to disarm him. During the scuffle, the gun misfired into the ceiling. John then head butted him in the nose, kneed him in the stomach and threw all of his weight on him, which caused Otto to stumble back: they both dove through the open bathroom door and landed on the bathtub. Otto fell inside. John, with gun now in hand, soon got up. “Looks like you have a nose bleed there, buddy. I think I got just the thing for it.” he said and turned the cold water tap on. All the while he made sure to keep the gun aimed at the troublesome German-American. He held it in his left hand, while pressing against his leg wound with the right. “Let’s try again, shall we: why did you want a blood sample so badly? Answer me!”
“You know why,” said Otto, his voice nasal, “don’t play dumb.” he squinted as the shower stream brushed against his face.
“No, actually, I don’t know! Do I look like I’m fucking pretending?”
Otto realized John wasn’t lying. “Jesus, you really don’t know do you…? I – I had to make sure you were human, of course.”
John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What? What do you mean make sure I –”
“You do know we’re at war with Reptilians, right??”
J.C could feel the truth in his words. “Please tell me I’m dreaming...” a moment later he limped towards the toilet to his left, put the seat cover down and sat on it. He stared at the ground as Otto spoke.
“What’d you think this was? A Sunday picnic? My father died to get me what I’m about to give you! They killed my grandfather, too…it’s only a matter of time now before they get to me as well. If you ask me, it’s a goddamn miracle I’ve survived this long as it is!”
After an extended period of silence, John spoke again. “Alright; to prove to you that I’m on your side, I’ll give you your precious blood sample; even though I don’t really have to, since I’m the one with the gun now. But I’ll do it.” He went and turned off the running water. “Sorry about that, by the way,” he glanced up at the old, rusty showerhead, “I guess you needed a cold shower after our intense workout.” Otto nodded in acknowledgment. J.C then went into the other room and got the device and knife from the ground. Meanwhile Otto climbed out of the bathtub and followed right behind. By the time he had walked through the bathroom door, John was already sitting in his original spot on the edge of the bed.
“Just sit over there, like you did before,” John said and a drenched Otto made his way to the armchair, his Levis 501 Dark Stonewash jeans sticking to his legs like leotards, “we might as well get this over with and bail before the motel manager comes to check what all the ruckus is about, and sees what a fine mess we’ve made. Give me a moment…” gun in right hand now, John made a small incision into his right palm using Otto’s knife. He winced. Then he tossed the knife to the other side of the room, grabbed the device, which sat right beside him on the bed, and held it under his hand. A drop of blood fell onto the gizmo…then another…and another. To John’s amazement, however, the droplets went right through the screen as if it was some surreal sink drain that led straight to a black hole! Where the heck did those droplets go, to another Dimension? He put his thumb to the screen: the surface was solid alright. He was mystified and turned it over and over, examining it from all sides. The machine then beeped and a little green light on its outer edge started to flash. Otto’s eyes widened as John turned it right side up again.
A moment later, a foot long, full color, 3D Hologram of a DNA helix, which rotated around its vertical axis, appeared over the contraption’s surface and John jerked back. “What the fuck?” He dropped both gun and gadget simultaneously. It sat on the floor now, between the two men, who were fixated on it. Soon, a computerized female voice spoke. “DNA: unclassified. Unknown species. Have a nice day.” The Hologram then faded. Otto looked like he’d just seen a ghost and stared at John in awe. “It – it just said your DNA is not in its database! Do you have any idea what that means?”
“No, but I do know those drops of blood went to another fuckin’ Dimension or something! Stuff like that’s only meant to happen in the Twilight Zone, not in real life!” John eyed Otto up and down. “Who are you…and where would you even get a device like this?”
The Hansi Kürsch lookalike gaped at him for a little while longer and then, after coming back down to Earth somewhat, responded. “Oh, you aint seen nothin’ yet,” he took the eight ball out of his right pocket, as he held some toilet paper to his bleeding nose with the left, “say hello to what is probably the most important device on the planet right now.”
“Is this some kind of joke? I used to play with those when I was a little k –”
“Not with one like this you didn’t,” he winked and extended his hand, “here, take it and see for yourself.”
“What does it do?”
“Just take it, Mr. DNA Unclassified.”
John snatched the eight ball from Otto’s palm and waited. At first, nothing happened. About ten seconds later, however, he experienced the most incredible thing: he saw strong, but fragmented, visions of what seemed to be an advanced Alien civilization. In fact, they weren’t just visions; it felt like he was actually there. It soon became too overwhelming, so he dropped the sphere on the ground and it came to a stop right next to the DNA reading machine. He looked at Otto. “I saw – I don’t even know what it was; another world…advanced…on a Higher Dimension I think. And I didn’t just see it, I was there! I – I can’t really put it into words. Have you –”
“Yes. Though, just like you, I only get glimpses; I can’t make much sense out of it. That’s the only drawback right now: no one can really figure it out. The only thing we know for certain is it’s Arcturian.”
“Arcturian…?” John was confused for a few moments, but then realized what was going on. “Wait, you’re tellin’ me Arcturus, the star of the Boötes constellation, is –”
“Inhabited, yes. Well, one of the planets orbiting it, to be precise.”
“Funny that I never really stumbled onto the Arcturian thing till now; I’ve read up on the Pleiadians and the Andromedans quite a bit though. The latter was thanks to Alex Collier. He’s such a badass.”
“Yeah, I like Collier, too. And, even though some idiots are trying to make him out as being a fake, he’s a hundred percent legit; telling it like it is. As for the Arcturian thing, you know what they say: when the student is ready, the master appears. Thing about the Arcturians is that they’re the most highly evolved race in the Milky Way, so a person learns about them only when they’re truly ready, I guess.”
“So, pretty much, you’re saying I synchronistically happened upon the Arcturians because I’m reaching a new phase in my Spiritual development.”
“Bingo! And it’s definitely no accident I chose you for this. Well, actually,” Otto looked down at the Crystal Quartz-like ball, “it’s more like the eight ball chose you.”
“The eight ball?”
“That’s what we call it, yeah. There’s no official name for it as of yet. Hell, to be honest, we don’t even know what it is. I guess they gave it that name because of the drug-like effects it produces. As you probably know, eight ball is slang for cocaine, so…” John gave him a funny look; Otto continued, “well, I think it’s a good nickname, anyway.”
“So, uh, when you say it chose me?” he eyed Otto intently.
“It’s a long story.”
“Give me the short version then.”
“Okay, let’s just say the eight ball has got a Mind of its own. That’s all I can tell you right now. And it’s not because I don’t want to say anymore; it’s simply impossible to explain unless you experience it firsthand. And, believe me, when you become acquainted with this little baby,” he pointed at the artifact, “you’ll definitely have your fair share of surreal experiences. What you saw before was just a teaser.”
“Here’s an easier one for you then: where the hell did you get it?”
“From a downed Arcturian ship they keep at Area 51. My father…” Otto felt the familiar tightness in his chest whenever he talked about his father lately, “he – I don’t know how on earth he pulled it off, but, by some miracle, managed to smuggle it outta there early this year, without getting caught. At least not for a couple of days, anyway,” Otto looked to one side, lost in thought, “luckily, he was able to get it to me before they killed him.”
“Sorry to hear that.”
“That’s okay; I guess we all do what we gotta do. He died for a very great cause.”
John nodded. “So how have you gotten away with it for so many months?”
“Like I said right before our little morning sparring session: I’m in deep with some guys that make agencies like the CIA, MI5, and the like, look like a bunch of pencil pushers, but I can’t s –”
“Sure you can. It’s not nice to stop at the cliffhanger; you gotta get to the end of the story. I mean, it’s not like we’re inside a serialized novel or somethin’. We’ve even taken a shower together,” J.C looked towards the bathroom, “so we’re way past the what-do-you-do-for-a-living talk by now, don’t you think?”
Otto didn’t exactly appreciate John’s sarcastic brand of humor. “What’s with all the sarcasm? Seriously. I’m sure you’re not deliberately being an asshole, but are you, like, one of those guys that are stuck in permanent sarcasm mode or something?”
“Something like that; and whenever I’m in a stressful situation, it gets worse. I guess it’s my own little way of dealing with life’s bullshit, I don’t know. And you’re right, by the way: I don’t do it to offend. I just think it’s the best type of humor there is, that’s all. I guess most people don’t see it that way though.” John shrugged.
“Fair enough. So you got like a wise ass, Jack Burton thing going on there.”
“He’s one of my all-time favorite movie characters, actually,” John smiled, “so I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Otto returned to the previous topic. “Now back your question: I can’t tell you what the group is called or where we’re based or anything like that,” Otto leaned in closer, “but what I can say is this: our entire operation revolves around fighting Reptilians.”
“You mean the flesh and blood kind?”
“Yes,” Otto looked J.C right in the eye, “I mean the flesh and blood kind. While researchers on the Net mainly talk about the Lower Astral53 repts, what most people don’t seem to realize is that there’s thousands of 3D, physical Reptilians underground.” he looked down at the floor.