Chapter 6: Intermission

Dear Reader. Let me introduce myself. I’m your narrator. My name is Warren Norman, and I’m a free lance journalist and newsman. Financially, it’s a rewarding business and I can afford a crew and the expensive gadgetry that makes humdrum stories spectacular. As the chef said while plating a meatloaf, it’s all in the presentation. Guess it’s up to me to shed some light on hidden things in the story.

A synopsis of what has occurred. The first mission in time was obviously going after Eve, not meeting her. “Hi Gran. What’s for supper?” Hardly! The mission outline, discover Eden, is clearly misdirection. Even Olé, not the sharpest pencil in the box, understands Eden isn’t going to be there. We can assume CC Olé’s cyborg body probably included a proximity fuse or remote detonator. Far-fetched? Doc IS detonated by the nanobots. Who knew she was a bomb? Is there any investigation as to Eve’s proximity prior to Doc explodes? Absolutely none on Doc’s part. Never crosses Doc’s mind she could wipe out humanity! That an order to execute Olé might endanger Eve and our entire species? Doc has no orders pertaining to Olé’s audience. Why kill Olé and let his disciples live to preach? They weren’t allowed, but Doc wasn’t in the loop to know.

A big clue is included in the first paragraph. On booting-up, a monitoring program squelches any ideas or feelings incompatible with Doc’s mission. Obviously planned but withheld from the actors, the mass kill was remotely triggered. The REAL target was certainly Eve. Luckily it failed. She was gone, moved on.

Later Doc asks a pertinent question which Lieutenant Halke absentmindedly ignores. “How did you know it is safe to interact with the nanobots?” Is Lt. Halke “fixed” so she can’t, doesn’t answer? Hidden inaccessible directors fund and determine, assign the missions. Are THEY monitored and tampered with? Why don’t they consider the dire ramifications of these missions? Olé does!

And why was it important to eliminate a cargo cult dangerous to the Bible’s credibility? Willing as they seem to be to commit genocide on humanity, it’s unlikely they believe in or respect the Bible. Is there some use for or secret in the Bible they need, so insuring the Bible continues is important? Who IS this Arch-nemesis of mankind? We have only uncovered the tip of the iceberg. Or, is it the tiny bit of a nanobot that is huge and complicated elsewhere?

You are not alone mistrusting nanobots. As to me, you just read about me couple short paragraphs back where I first enter the story. They sedated me and my crew! Imprisoned us in the infirmary. That’s where I am in current story time. Where I am NOW as I write this commentary, I am safe. Enjoying my third life time more or less comfortably ensconced in the past. I escaped a horrid future. Twice! This story is about how an apocalypse so miserable, unlivable, and so untenable began. I gave up everything to escape it! Into the past. Twice! Costly and Worth it! Read on.

When Warren Norman awoke, it was to chirping noises. He was immobile, strapped to a bed. Completely restrained. Nude and alone except for: A chirpy childish contralto voice said, “Bestirs.”

“Comestible?” asked a more infantile falsetto voice, Pain in his thumb. A potato-head sized creature with a head like peeled avocado and watermelon seed eyes, appeared to be sucking on his thumb. It bit him again.

“Ow.” Warren was startled by the sharp pain.

“Screeches.” said the falsetto.

“Yum.” said a bull frog warble. The biter.

“Stinks.” said contralto.

“Incontinent.” said falsetto.

He felt twiggy fingers on his genitals.

“Comestible!” said contralto.

“Yum!” said froggy, showing shark teeth in a wide grin.

Warren fainted.

“Okay, move em! Get the animatronics out of here.” Doc urged. “Ready Olé?” Olé finished applying guacamole to his dead-blow sledgehammer and hands. Doc covered Warren Norman with a sheet and put a streak of guacamole on Olé’s cheek. “My hero!” and chuckled. More soberly, waving ammonia under the nose of, “Mr. Norman! Mr. Norman? Just relax. You’re fine now. We found you. You’re safe, now.”

“What in...” Warren Norman was very upset when he regained consciousness, nearly ready to cry. He struggled against the restraints.

“Just be calm sir. We found you in time! I’ll have those straps off of you in a minute. Don’t fight me Mr Norman. I’m trying to release you. Be calm, please.” Doc was unstrapping the “alien’s” victim.

“Was that for real?” A worried Warren Norman asked incredulously.

“If I say you have been dreaming a nightmare, will that calm you?” Doc asked.

“No. It was, too ... REAL!” and Warren began shaking. Pointing a quivering finger at Olé. “What are you doing here?”

“Cleaning my weapon, sir.” Olé was smearing guacamole around the head of his dead-blow hammer, pretending to be wiping it off.

“What is that stuff?” Warren pointed at the gloppy guacamole.

“Smashed Snot-heads.” Olé snarled. “Alien lil shitz. Look like something from your nose, only bigger. Nastier! Doc sez I can’t call em Booger-heads!”

“That’s disgusting, Olé!” she was firm, “We’ll get you transported back to the clinic momentarily, Mr Norman.”

“What happened to me?”

Doc and Olé looked at the reporter pitying him. “Abducted and eaten alive! But not much! You are mostly still intact. We found you before ... they did their worst.”

Warren Norman studied a bandaid strip around the base of his thumb. Then he opened the sheet draping him and stared at a makeshift gauze diaper. Tomato sauce Bloodstained. His lips quivered and he squeezed his eyes shut, until tears leaked from the corners. Doc gently re-swaddled him in the sheet. “It’s best not to look or think about it until the trauma surgeons have done their magic for you. Are you in pain? I can give you another injection, but it’s better not to. Stuff’s terribly addictive.”

“I feel nothing.” a disconsolate Warren Norman choked out.

“Maybe tomorrow you’ll feel better. Maybe even feel like interviewing the prisoners?” Olé suggested. “But I can understand you not wanting to see them.”

“You have prisoners?” Mr Norman discovered there were a few things in life that still interested him. Revenge was one! News was another. Reporter instincts still functioned aggressively.

“Here we go. Thanks Top! Okay, lets get you on the gurney and wheel you back to your room.” Doc was supportive and cheerful. “The sooner the trauma team gets to you, the better your chances for full recovery.”

“I want to meet with my team as soon as the surgeons are finished with me.” instructed Mr. Norman. He was hurt, damaged, traumatized, but not dead. Yet! “And I still want to see your CO.”

“Can’t! He was the first et!” said Top pushing the gurney.

“ET! Eaten?” flabbergasted Norman spluttered! “Somebody MUST be in CHARGE! I understand chain of command. When the leader is taken down, the next in line steps up. WHO is in effective command around here?” Warren Norman demanded.

Olé pointed an accusing finger at Doc.

“A WOMAN?” Warren Norman opened his yap and put his foot square in the doodoo. Assuming a slightly provocative glamorous pose, Doc batted her eyelashes over her cold unamused steely eyes, and gave him a playful toot-a-Lou wriggling wave of her fingers.

“Damn! Where are the officers? Certainly there is somebody here outranks a sergeant.”

“Not any line officers.” Olé refuted.

“Line officers?” Norman knew the phrase, had heard it, read it, didn’t know it’s import.

“In line for command. Command qualified. All the remaining officers are specialists. Doctors, scientists, instructors. Not in line for, nor command qualified. No training for it or experience at it. Command Sergeant Major Franklin is qualified. Next senior, is lil ol’ me.” Olé pointed at himself, batted HIS eyelashes and mentally dared Mr. Norman to continue being an ass. The dare must have registered in his hard eyes, and the pugnacious jut of his jaw. Mr. Norman visibly deflated.

“Since you are so anxious to talk to someone in authority, talk!” Doc commanded. “Why are you here? What enticed you to come way out here to nowhere? Talk!” Warren Norman struggled to get up! Top easily kept him on the gurney with one massive paw. There was power and authority in Doc’s voice. The voice of Command. Norman may have been trying to stand to attention.

“I have a stringer in a truck-stop back up on the road. They phoned in a lead! Something military and secretive was maybe happening out here.” Norman confessed.

“Nearest truck-stop is over fifty miles from here. Explain WHY they thought secret military operations were running out here!” Doc pressed.

“Military vehicles and uniformed personnel seen headed this direction. Comments over eats and drinks ‘Have to make do with this, till we get there.’ and ‘Last Chance till base’. Not much of a lead, but I’m free lance, self assigned, and news is always where you make it.”

“Interesting phrase ‘making the news’! Don’t you agree Sergent Major?” Olé did.

“What news do you intend to MAKE of this?” Doc’s sweeping arm encompassed the entire area.

“News? Front page! National! International! World News! Headlines! Alien invasion of man-eating monsters!” Norman’s eyes glittered with avarice. “Scoop of a lifetime! I’ll be rich! Famous! Write a best seller book about it! Maybe movie royalties! Guest appearances at big premiums. Maybe host of my OWN talk show? Ceiling unlimited! Made news? This is about ME! I’ll be MADE forever!”

“Ummm, maybe. If we let you.” Doc speculated, impatiently tapping her finger.

“I’ve got rights! Freedom of the press! I’ve got press credentials. You can’t stop me!” Norman glaring belligerently was daring her to try.

Olé stepped to the plate. “Allow me, Command Sergeant Major. Taking out the trash is too menial. Beneath your dignity.

Okay, MISTER Norman, what rights are you referring to?”

“First amendment rights, boob! Freedom of speech and the press.” Norman was derisive.

“Oh! Well, where did you find these so called rights?”

“You ARE kidding, right? The Constitution! A Sergeant Major doesn’t know the Constitution? Must be an idiot. Incredible!” Norman was beginning to enjoy putting Olé in his place.