David Golemon - Event

Riders on the storm, into this house we're born, into this world we're thrown...

-- THE DOORS

After shaking hands and quickly catching up, Jack explained Fielding's mission. He took it well that he was here in an unofficial capacity of "advisement" only, and that he would have to take orders from a major. He didn't bat an eye as Jack led him to a table to sign an extensive secrecy and nondisclosure form.

Fielding looked at Jack and rubbed a hand over his bald head. "Just who in the hell are you working for, Jack?"

Collins held the colonel's gaze a moment; an unvoiced answer seemed to flow between the two officers.

"Why, the same man you work for," he finally said.

"Got it, don't ask."

Jack nodded.

Collins entered the tent with Colonel Sam Fielding close behind. The colonel had taken the rest of Jack's briefing without batting an eye, only commenting, "Should have fucking known the government was covering up at Roswell."

Sam's element of 101st would be split to secure the town for the quarantine cover story and Site One security. That would free up the Event Group personnel and the Delta/Ranger contingent for tunnel teams. Jack had all of the incoming troops sign secrecy and nondisclosure orders, basically assuring the government they would have to keep their mouths shut forever.

The two men put on surgical masks as they stepped through the makeshift autopsy area. They were met by a staff doctor and shown the way into the examination area of the spacious army tent. There were several of the strange metallic boxes found at the crash site. Teams were using small tools, brushes, and cotton swabs as they gathered minute samples from the containers. To the left was a paneled-off area with a large see-through window that showed teams inside working with other high-tech gear, but most were bent over microscopes.

"Hello, Jack," Denise Gilliam said as she walked up and removed her surgical gloves.

"Denise, this is Colonel Sam Fielding. He and I served together in the Gulf a million years ago. Colonel, Dr. Denise Gilliam, our chief forensics pathologist."

The colonel and the doctor shook hands.

"What have you got so far, Doc?" Collins asked.

Gilliam turned and took in the scene around them. "Well, we have collected the DNA samples of over three hundred different species of alien life in these twenty-seven containers," she said, then saw the look of confusion on their faces. "We believe the containers are like cargo bins, they get used over and over. We also know they were empty on this particular trip, as none of them have any recent bodily material inside of them. We have sent off slides and specimens by fighter jet to Helicos BioSciences in Cambridge. But as I was saying, the cages were empty."

"All of them?" the colonel asked.

She looked at Jack, who nodded his head for her to continue. "No, sir, we have one here that was occupied upon impact." She gestured to a large crate that was mangled and torn apart. "We were successful in collecting DNA of a species of creature that is not found on this planet." She placed a hand on the ripped-open section of the metal container. "We've found hair, or what we would consider hair. Actually it's more like a porcupine quill. We believe it's part of this particular animal's sensory input mechanics as the follicles on the ends have bits of nerve ending on them. Now we're running the samples again to be positive of the results, but what it looks like is that whatever was shipped in this container is anatomically different from any life-form we know of."

"How do you mean?" Jack asked.

Denise turned and walked over to the window and looked in on the other pathologists, who were busily working alongside the paleontologists. "Its atomic structure is out of whack" she said, looking away into the area her team was working. "It shouldn't be able to exist," she said with awe in her drifting voice.

"I don't follow," Fielding said.

"It means its body should sink right to the core of this planet, Colonel. Its structure is so dense it shouldn't be able to live on this world, or any others that our space probes have reached thus far."

"Can you expand on that?" Collins said.

"I'll try, gentlemen. Have you ever tossed a rock into a lake and watched it fall once in the water?"

They both gave a quick nod.

"Well, that's what this creature would be able to do here on this world. The ground would be like water is to you or me. It would literally be capable of swimming through our soil."

"You mean it can tunnel or dig?" asked the colonel.

Gilliam looked at him for a moment in thought. "The atomic structure of this animal is not like ours and everything around us. You see, every atom that makes us or even the ground we stand on, or the furniture you sit on, is always in motion to some degree. One atom spins around another, that spins around yet another, never connecting but giving the illusion of being a solid to the naked eye. This animal is made up of atoms that are attached to each other in groupings of eight and ten, no single atoms like us, thus its structure is far more solid than our own. So, no, not tunnel or dig, Colonel. It would be able to run or whatever it does in the ground a lot faster than we can walk or run in our own atmosphere. I just used water as an example for lack of a better example. In our air or aboveground if you will, it would be eight or maybe even as much as ten times faster than we are. Just conjecture at this point because it being here and living is still, at least according to our science and universe, an impossibility."

"That means it could be a threat to my men if it finds us first," Fielding said. Like any good commander he feared for the well-being of his men above all else.

"Okay, what about these others?" Jack asked hurriedly.

"Well, they're not too dissimilar from us. They definitely died due to impact trauma. Wounds on one were severe enough that he must have died instantly. The other looked almost as if it were asleep. There was old scarring on both of the subjects, as if they had led a harsh existence. Some here think they are fighting scars, as many of them look like they were made by claws, or nails if you will, while others were clearly teeth marks. These beings may be from a harsh or combative society, or they may be a subservient species of something else."

"Doc, right now let's make the priority this creature that treats alien steel like it was tissue paper," Jack said, touching the ripped-open areas of the cage. "I think we have to--"

Jack was interrupted by shouts and warnings outside.

The three people turned and listened as yelling filled the camp and crash area. They started for the tent flap but were met by Mendenhall, just returned from town with Colonel Fielding.

"Major, we have a visitor out here, and he asked to see the man in charge of the flying saucer crash; his words, sir."

"So much for securing the area before the cover story hit the news," Collins said.

They walked outside, removing their surgical masks. The sun was blazing and made their eyes water. They stood and watched as an old man was escorted by two armed security men to where they were standing. The man wore an old brown fedora and newer-looking jeans, battered brown cowboy boots, and looked as if he had just shaved. He had at least three pieces of toilet paper stuck to his cheeks and chin, stanching the flow of blood from the nicks that were obviously inflicted by a hurried job with a dull razor.