Here is the complete Prologue and Chapter 1 of The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.
The scout ship, UurBereck, skimmed over the arid plain of Planet HG-281 at better than 700 miles per hour. The gravity drive was barely audible as no real effort was required to maintain the integrity of the anti-gravity pocket surrounding the space craft at such a low speed. Sitting in the command couch was DrrTrr Zennk, a ruthless officer of the Chrysallaman race, who had spent the last six months of his life trying to determine if HG-281 was suitable for colonization by his people. The ultimate decision was in the hands of the Emperor, but from everything Zennk had seen and heard, Planet HG-281 was a perfect prize. Excellent climate, gravity, fertile soil, and inhabited only by a primitive, animalistic culture so physically and technologically inferior they truly deserved to be annihilated to make room for the Chrysallamans. Zennk grinned to himself as he thought about the elevation in rank and privileges he would enjoy as a rewarded member of the exploration team that found the new world and claimed it in behalf of the Empire.
Standing beside him watching the view screen that covered nearly half the bulkhead in front of the ship's main control panel was his son, WrrNrr Zennk. Bringing the 12-year old on the mission had been the decision of the kid's mother who berated Zennk constantly, badgering him to agree to go on the exploratory mission and take their son with him. She had claimed the boy would gain valuable experience from the journey making him more apt to be selected in the future for military service. DrrTrr had finally agreed to take the kid with him. After all, agreement would stop her nagging, and HG-281 was 30 light years away from Chrysalis, the home planet of the Chrysallamans. DrrTrr and his son would sleep away the years in stasis while his horrid wife would continue to grow older. With a 60 year round trip and 6 months on the ground at HG-281, Zennk would return to a wife almost 61 years older than when he left. Fantastic! Maybe she would be dead by the time he got back. Wonderful!
Taking his eyes off the view screen and glancing at his son, DrrTrr Zennk was appalled at how much the boy looked and acted like his mother. All emotional and weak-minded. It was definitely for the best that he had spent the last 6 months with WrrNrr, teaching him respect for the power and dominance of the Chrysallaman military and its way of life.
"Father, why are we flying so slowly?"
"On this planet the speed of sound is 768 miles per hour. If we go over that speed our ship will create a shock wave audible to the animals on the ground. Flying silently gives us the advantage of stealth."
"Are we almost ready to go home?" the youngster whined. "I'm getting tired of being cooped up in this metal can all the time."
"Yes, our mission is virtually complete," DrrTrr responded. "If you're bored perhaps we can find something to stir up some excitement."
Pointing his finger at a faint bluish glow on the left side of the view screen, Zennk said, "See that glowing indicator on the view screen?"
WrrNrr nodded his head and crossed his arms with childish impatience. "Father, I don't want to do any more exploring. I just want to go home!"
"Yeah, yeah," DrrTrr mumbled.
Pressing a stud on the comlink built into his combat vest, Zennk linked up with his onboard crew and announced, "All personnel. Prepare for capture of two animals. I want to stock up the larder. If we're going to be heading home in the next week or so, I want to enjoy some fresh meat before we get stuck in stasis for another 30 years."
A loud buzz sounded from the control board and Zennk looked up just in time to watch the ship's automatic defenses use a cutter ray to blast a silvery object out of their flight path.
"Father, what do you think that floating silvery thing was?"
DrrTrr smiled at his son and said, "It matters not. There is nothing on this planet that can harm this ship."
Turning his attention back to his control panel, Zennk swiveled the joystick that controlled the directional heat ray and locked its targeting sensor on the bluish image glowing now in the bottom center of the view screen. A look of smug confidence covered his face as he pushed the activation button.
There is a widely held belief that on the evening of July 8, 1947, a disc shaped spacecraft crashed in the desert near Roswell, New Mexico. Just look up the references yourself.
What really happened was one of the most closely guarded secrets the U.S. Government ever kept. The key word in that last sentence is ‘was’. This story spans more than 6 decades through some of the most turbulent times in World history. Hidden secrets of the highest governmental agencies had to first be discovered and then cleared for dissemination before this narrative could be published. As a result of your government sponsored indoctrination (I mean education) you probably harbor some skepticism at this point. Beware. I am about to rip your skepticism out by its roots.
John Paul Moon Seeker was born Navajo and after 35 years in the New Mexico desert felt comfortable with his Native American heritage. Constant exposure to the sun had already begun etching the permanent dark creases at the corners of his eyes and mouth despite his young age. Ignoring the history lessons from his Grandfather, he had grown up a cowboy at heart and had spent way too much of his hard earned cash on the huge steel belt buckle engraved with his initials wedged between his stomach and saddle. Years of sand and rough stones had etched deep scars in the well-worn leather boots pushed into the stirrups of his equally well worn saddle.
John Paul loved to take his horse for a trot in the desert after sundown. The searing desert heat dropped a good 30 degrees from mid-afternoon to dusk, and the peace and quiet of the sand muffling his horse's gait was like music to his ears. This was a daily personal time where he could be alone with his thoughts. Only thing was, tonight was the last time Moon Seeker would be alive to enjoy his peaceful desert.
One thing about being out in the quiet desert, evening after evening, is that your brain knows what is normal. Mountains don’t change. The positions and angles of giant boulders don’t change. The color of the sand doesn’t change. Human eyes are built to recognize change because change could indicate a threat. Whether John Paul realized it at the time, his human eyes were doing their hereditary job. Movement made his eyes twitch to the right. Just coming over the top of the mountain range to the north, a couple of miles away maybe, he spotted something. The sky was clear, and John Paul’s eyes locked on the movement and focused.
The movement became a speck that darted at tremendous speed towards him. To say that John Paul Moon Seeker was startled, shocked and curious was an understatement. He stared as the speck grew from the size of a marble to the size of a baseball. As the speck got bigger, a weird humming vibration seemed to come out of nowhere, deeper and louder as the object came nearer.
There was a wavy, blurry, mist-like corona around the glowing ball, and the brightness intensified to the point it began to take on the appearance of a welding arc. The light became so brilliant and strong John Paul threw his arm up to shield his eyes. The humming vibration kept growing stronger, escalating until his teeth hurt like he had just bitten down on a frozen ice cream bar and broken out a filling to expose a raw nerve to the cold.
The inside of his head began to feel warm, then hot. His nose began to drip as if his sinuses suddenly started to drain. His horse started shaking its head as if it was being tormented by stinging flies buzzing its ears. Just before he lost consciousness, there was a moment of unbearable heat behind his eyeballs and a warm gush down the back of his neck. As their brains baked inside their skulls, Moon Seeker’s body and that of the horse he was riding toppled over and lay deathly still.
The humming continued for a short time and then faded like the volume on a radio lowers when the dial is turned. The ball of light continued to grow in size as it approached the bodies until hovering overhead, its size and shape were plain at last. It was a disc shaped object about 40 feet in diameter and 20 feet in height at its center from bottom to top. The lower half of the craft was all that now glowed and appeared blurry. A spotlight spiked out of the underside of the disc and illuminated the dead rider and horse. What happened next was unexpected and violent.
From three hills overlooking the death scene, puffs of smoke flew into the air. The dimming light of dusk made it easy to follow the red glare of the rounds as they bracketed the flying disc. Two thundering explosions rocked the object, and even with its size and apparent weight it shook and lurched to one side as a massive fireball burst out where one of the explosive shells impacted. It became apparent the disc was trying to rise into the sky and the glowing blurry light seemed to ooze from the bottom of the craft upwards but when the blurry region reached the hole blown in its side, the craft wobbled like an off-balance pie plate on the end of a juggler's stick. After elevating 200 feet, the disc seemed to run out of air like a deflating balloon, and at that moment it gained speed on the side opposite from the gaping hole and rammed itself into the desert floor with a resounding crash, shaking the ground with tremendous force. The disc skipped like a flat stone thrown at a pond, leaving gouges in the earth as it propelled itself in short hops to its final resting place half a mile away. White steam mixed with an orange glow curled up from several gashes torn in the metallic hull of the craft.
All was quiet for about 5 seconds. Then a line of vehicles appeared and sped towards the downed craft. Armored personnel trucks, jeeps pulling large spotlights and trucks with mounted cranes all seemed to come from nowhere but actually were emerging from camouflaged tent-like coverings. The hidden equipment had blended so well into the desert landscape all of it had remained undetectable. Large dust clouds billowed behind the lines of trucks and jeeps converging on the grounded disc.
“Approach with caution," growled from the radios. Military men don’t really need to be told this but saying it made Colonel Daniel Grant feel better.
“I can’t believe we were so lucky tonight," said Cpl. Tom Unger, the communications expert.
“A lot luckier than that guy on the horse. His number came up and that’s all she wrote. Definitely wrong place at the wrong time for him,” replied Captain Jim Blunt, a pensive look shadowing his face.
“I want a medical team pronto to take the cowboy and his horse. Full autopsy on both,” ordered Colonel Grant. “I want to know precisely what happened to him!”
Blunt barked, “Alpha Team. Take the lead. I want a minimum of 7 men inside that thing. Take control of it. Shoot anything that even looks like a threat! Keep in constant radio contact! Remainder of Alpha Team, cover all possible points of escape from the hull!”
“I want lights on that thing like it was daylight!” Grant ordered.
Illuminated by the powerful searchlights, the craft’s hull was revealed in stark detail. There were no rivets or obvious fastenings holding the metallic looking plates to a hull reflecting a dull sheen ranging from dark gray to darker gray. The only visible opening into the interior was the gaping hole blown inward by the shells that had ripped the craft out of the sky. There were no obvious antennae or other projections jutting from the smooth hull. The trajectory of the crash had left the disc leaning at about a 30 degree angle when it plowed to its final resting place on the desert floor.
Per instructions, 7 members of Alpha Team inched their way towards the gash blown into the hull and crept inside. The remaining team members took positions in a semi-circle covering the opening. There was radio silence for about 10 seconds.
“Place is a mess. No resistance so far. Corridor inside opens up left and right. TAKE COVER!!”
Automatic gunfire drowned out any further words. Two streaks of silver light about the width of a cigar flicked out of the jagged rip in the side of the craft into the night sky. One of the light beams glanced off a curled piece of the blasted hull with a sizzle like bacon frying. Silence followed. Seconds can seem like an eternity when utter silence follows the sound of gunfire. A weird scream broke the ominous silence. There was something about that scream, some quality that raised the hairs on the back of the neck and arms. It was not a human sound. The guttural tone seemed come from a throat thick with mucus.
A body flew out of the hole in the hull of the craft as if it had been shot from a circus cannon. It flew at least 50 feet through the air before it began to fall to the ground, ending its unnatural flight in a crumpled heap. More gunfire erupted. Out of the blasted hole came three soldiers, Master Sgt. Deke Williams, Cpl. Eddie Smith and Cpl. Donald Carson, and as they backed out they fired back into the hull breach. A hand-like appendage came out of the hole and gripped the edges. Pulling itself out into the searchlights was what appeared to be a muscular, tail-less iguana. Standing like a human, the creature moved its head back and forth as it surveyed its enemies. Reptilian-slitted black eyes with darker black pupils focused on the soldiers, and the creature’s mouth appeared to turn up in a grin. Gunfire from the covering positions that touched the lizard wasn’t reaching its body. Sparks could be seen flashing near its chest as the bullets glanced harmlessly away.
One of the tanks positioned around the craft started firing its 50 calibre machine gun at the lizard, but just like the small arms fire from the rifles of the surrounding soldiers, the larger bullets and the tracers built into the machine gun fire glanced off the reptile without ever touching its body. Tank commander John Green watched in horrified fascination as the 50 cal bullets firing from Walter Burns' tank ricocheted off the alien. Several of the rounds deflected back to pound against the armor of Green's tank with a sound like a muted bell.
"Hudson," he shouted.
"Aim the big gun directly at that thing's chest and fire at will! Let's see if it can handle a cannon shot!"
The turret of Green's tank was already pointed at the saucer. Private George Hudson made a quick site adjustment and with a gliding movement, the tank's cannon focused on the alien lizard. Just as the targeting bullseye centered on the creature's chest, Hudson pulled the activator.
In the meantime the iguana alien, confident in its safety from the gunfire, took a step and reached out like a striking snake. Grabbing Cpl. Smith around his waist, the lizard jerked him close. Holding Smith tightly, the creature took hold of the man's left arm with its other hand. With apparent ease the creature jerked the arm off Smith’s shoulder with an audible tearing sound. Throwing the writhing body of Smith off into the night, the lizard casually dropped the torn off arm. Advancing a step towards Sgt. Williams, it began the movement to grab him around the waist.
It was at that moment the tank commanded by Green shot the lizard full in the chest with an artillery round. The high velocity explosive shell was well aimed. The creature exploded, spewing entrails over a wide area.
In the sudden silence that followed the massive explosion you could hear Green and Hudson off in the distance screaming triumphantly. "Weren't expecting that were you, Asshole?!"
As medics rushed to the aid of Cpl. Smith, trying as they could to stanch the fountain of blood gushing from his mangled shoulder, Master Sgt. Williams and Cpl. Carson looked at each other and with matching nods of their heads picked their way back into the broken hull. After what seemed like an eternity, really only a couple of minutes, a terse radio burst from Williams broke the silence. “CLEAR!”
Now more soldiers began clambering up the craft’s hull to the ripped gash. Squishing and sliding on various pieces of alien body parts, they disappeared inside.
“Recover Junior One," Grant barked.
“Problem, Sir. Junior One destroyed. UFO trajectory was right through it as the cowboy was attacked. It’s laying in pieces about 2 klicks NNE of our current position. Looks like Junior was targeted and destroyed as they zeroed in for the kill.”
Grant didn’t like hearing his eye in the sky was no longer there. The Observation Balloon called Junior One was one of more than a dozen put into service in the 1,000 square mile trap area. It'd been lofted over a week ago to give a quick warning about unusual aerial phenomena. Made from a top secret silvery foil-like material that could stay up for months, each balloon carried a package of long range cameras, heat and sound sensors and recorders, radiation detectors, barometric and thermographic tracking devices and was in constant radio communication to ground units. These so-called weather balloons were like having a full-time squad of human observers on-site 24-hours a day. Tethered at selected locations, it was the analysis of reports from Junior and its siblings that had led to the positioning of the tanks that had blown the UFO out of the sky.
The whole operation had taken several months to plan and execute. World-wide reports of UFO sightings over sensitive military facilities in the U.S., Great Britain, U.S.S.R., India and South Africa, had caused concern at the highest government levels charged with protecting national security. People were still sensitive about military security following the aftermath of WWII. It was obvious that someone or something was determined to observe and to interfere with humans. The need to do something more than simply respond after the fact had been deemed necessary by the highest military and civilian governmental authorities. Was there a threat? If so, what was the threat? How could the threat be removed?
Trying to predict when and where to confront the unknown adversaries became priorities. Info from the Juniors was updated every 4 hours with any substantive info then being prioritized to hourly updates and eventually minute-by-minute updates. Location Chihuahuan03 had become very active over the past 2 days for whatever reason. The tank trap had been set.
“Captain Blunt. Send a team to recover all traces of Chihuahuan03. I want this entire area scrubbed. I want every bolt and nut, scrap of paper, metal shavings and body parts; everything bagged up and removed to the Nevada facility. Carry on!” Grant ordered.
“Sir," replied Blunt as he trotted away.
A hint of a frown and deep worry lines across his forehead were the only outward displays of emotion from Grant as he watched the silver body bags being removed from the broken, dark gray craft. Five of them human. Four others, including the tattered body of the creature blown to bits, were too large for body bags and so were wrapped in tarpaulins and dragged out.
“God help us," Grant thought.
“Captain Blunt, we have a live one!”
“Say again, Alpha Team. A live what?”
“Sir, you have to see this to believe it! A real whatsit! Hiding under a cabinet of some kind!”
Blunt trotted out to the downed craft, clamored up the angled hull and moved inside the gaping hole. Just inside the ruined outer wall of the craft was a wide corridor that appeared to circle its inner core. The artillery explosion had blasted through not only the outer hull but through the inner core wall as well. As Blunt worked his way down the slanted deck toward the inner core, he could see three of his men surrounding a metallic cabinet-like object lying blown over against a table creating a shelter. His men had their weapons aimed at a smaller version of an alien iguana creature hunched down and trying unsuccessfully to hide as much of itself as it could under the cabinet. The creature’s size wasn't immediately apparent, but its eyes were not near as large as the one the tank blew up so the first impression was it had to be a young one.
As Blunt stared into the black eyes, impressed by the size of the dark pupils, he felt a tugging in the front of his head right behind his eyes, and despite his original misgivings he had the distinct feeling, in fact, he knew there was no threat from the creature.
“Lower your weapons. Stand down,” he ordered as he moved to get a closer look at the lizard.
All the men slowly lowered their weapons on his command, but quick as a wink, as if it had been waiting for the opportunity, the lizard flipped up what looked like a toy ray pistol you might buy your kid at Woolworth’s as a Christmas present and proceeded to kill each soldier with practiced ease. A beam of silvery light about the size of a fat cigar swept across the middle of the nearest man and sliced him in half at the waist. The creature then moved on to the next soldier. Almost instantly two men were down, and the beam was moving toward the third.
Jim Blunt had never moved so fast in his life. He dove at the iguana, grabbed the creature's hand holding the ray pistol and forced it down right on top of the creature’s foot. The silvery beam had the same effect on the iguana’s foot as it had on the now dead soldiers. It sliced off half the foot, and Blunt was pleased to hear a keening wail coming from the iguana as he wrestled the ray pistol from its grasp.
Blunt pointed the ray pistol at the creature, but again made eye contact with it, noticing the size of the thing’s pupils and how completely black they seemed. He again felt the now familiar tugging in the front of his head, right behind his eyes. But this time he was both scared and prepared. He broke eye contact and pressed what he hoped was the activating stud on the ray pistol. The silvery light beam erupted from the pistol barrel, slicing the other foot, the whole foot, off the iguana. The creature flopped to the deck writhing in pain. There was no blood where the silver light touched the soldiers or the iguana. It appeared the beam cauterized the flesh as it sliced through. The tugging feeling in Blunt’s brain ceased.
“Stings like hell, doesn’t it?” he shouted toward the lizard creature as it rolled around on the deck.
Blunt pulled off his jacket and threw it over the head of the now docile, whimpering lizard, tying the arms of the jacket around the thing’s neck to make sure its eyes stayed covered. Only after he finished tightening the knot did he pick up his walkie-talkie and order in a medical team.
“I want this thing wrapped in duct tape like a mummy. Do NOT remove the covering from its eyes under any circumstances! Put it on my plane for the trip to the Nevada facility!”
Taking the ray pistol with him, Blunt exited the craft and moved quickly to his jeep. The trip to the airfield with the iguana youngster seemed to take an eternity.
Hisspat Zeck reclined on his flight couch watching a monitor where glowing blue dots showing the global positions of his five scout craft on the planet below danced around the screen.
"Soon," he thought with great satisfaction, "I'll be able to start the journey home. It has been many years since any exploration team returned with news of success. I will be famous!"
Grinning with smug satisfaction, Zeck imagined how he would describe planet HG-281 to the fawning press.
"Yes, Ladies and Gentlemen, HG-281 is a grand find. The planet is imminently suitable for habitation with a relatively weak race of odd beings infesting it. The animals call themselves humans. They are easy to control or kill. In fact, the humans are actually quite tasty when ground into a nice, gritty paste." At the thought of eating, Zeck's stomach growled with a petulant murmur.
Six months of local planet time his research team had observed and measured, captured, tested, killed and eaten the planet's bipedal humans as they called themselves. The humans were no match for the physical strength of his men and were easily subdued and captured. In fact, his soldiers had to be very careful when handling the beings since they were so easily injured. There were only a handful of the humans who had been able to resist mind control, and those had been eliminated quickly. Various weapons had been used to measure effectiveness for easy kill. The directional heat emitter and the cutter ray were most effective in this regard. The humans had no space flight capability, and what aircraft they had were so primitive they might as well have been paper toys flung into the air. Their power production was limited to burning a mineral they called coal or a liquid they called gasoline. Large military weapons were limited to explosive devices. The misguided humans had banned chemical weapons for some odd reason. The only real danger was from their Level One atomic explosives. The Chrysallamans had surpassed Level Fifty in atomics over 200 years ago. This planet was already part of the Chrysallaman Empire. Its inhabitants just didn't know it yet.
Zeck's mental musings were interrupted when one of the glowing blue dots turned orange, expanded slightly and reduced itself to a pulsing orange tinted cinder.
Jerking erect, Hisspat's fingers flew over his entry pad, keying symbols that flashed reports across his monitor indicating one of the scout craft had been severely damaged. He tried to contact DrrTrr Zennk, commander of the scout ship, UurBereck, but just as the comlink built into Zennk's combat vest linked up, showing him outside his craft reaching for what appeared to be a uniformed combat human crouching near him, a flashing explosion destroyed the communicator and flash blinded Hisspat Zeck with its intensity.
The look of stunned disbelief on the countenance of Hisspat Zeck was almost comical. After pushing the communicator activating key several times without success, Zeck became convinced the impossible had happened. DrrTrr Zennk was dead or at the very least his communicator was destroyed. The only way Zennk would have been outside the UurBereck was if he had landed to pick up more samples, or if somehow the humans had disabled the UurBereck, and it had crashed. Logic indicated the explosion shown by the communicator in its final transmission meant a planned attack by the humans.
Impossible! DrrTrr Zennk was one of his best commanders. Dedicated, ruthless, cunning. How had the humans known where to find the UurBereck? They had no known technology capable of locating a Chrysallaman craft let alone the power to disable one. Yet there before his eyes was the proof.
Hisspat Zeck pushed the toggle that recalled all his remaining scouts from the planet back to his mother ship's docks. His monitor showed the glowing blue dots begin rising from the planet's surface in response. Only the orange tinted cinder remained in the western area of the land mass called the United States by some of the captured humans. Wrinkles formed in Zeck’s brow. He keyed a sequence of commands on his entry pad to search for crew life signs onboard the UurBereck. Comlink data indicated no survivors. The young son of DrrTrr Zennk, WrrNrr Zennk, wasn't equipped with a comlink since he was not officially military. Since all other crew members were dead, Hisspat decided WrrNrr Zennk was dead as well.
Planetary exploration protocol dictated that the loss of any scout craft required immediate recall of all remaining scouts to the mother ship, shutdown of any reconnaissance and return to Chrysallaman home base. The whole point of the stealthy reconnaissance explorations was to discover new planets for possible colonization without alerting the planetary inhabitants.
Zeck was truly upset as he pondered the awful events of the last few minutes. "No scouting mission in the history of Chrysallaman lore had ever suffered a loss. Curses be heaped upon these humans!" he thought to himself as his large black eyes narrowed.
He could just imagine the report that would be issued for all to see. "Never in the history of the glorious Chrysallaman Empire has a scout ship been harmed, let alone destroyed, and Hisspat Zeck was the commander of that ill-fated mission. Hisspat Zeck was stripped of all rank and privileges just before his humiliating death."
Revenge against the human worms for their atrocity would be so sweet, but Hisspat knew his duty, and he must obey his masters. The need to obey your masters was ingrained in the psyche of all Chrysallamans. He would return to home base and report. There was no choice. A slight shudder ran over his torso and his dark green skin turned a shade lighter.
"At least," Zeck thought, "Stasis during the 30 year journey home will be a welcome reprieve to avoid thoughts of the ingenious ways the Emperor will attend to my death."
Glancing down at his indicator board and seeing the four remaining scout ships had completed their docking maneuvers, Hisspat Zeck flipped the warning lights and 10 seconds later, a blurry, glowing fog enveloped the Chrysallaman mother ship, VrrSilliac Xur, and it flashed away from the planet Earth toward its home world 30 light years distant.