A.R.: Beyond the Universe

“Are you alright?” the man asks Alex. “Can I get you anything?”

“How about some answers to a couple thousand questions, like who are you, who did I talk to on the phone, where are we going, what is happening, and why on earth are we in such a hurry? And, oh yes, WHY IS SOMEONE TRYING TO KILL ME???”

The man looks at Alex and then speaks. “I apologize for all that, Mr. Rogers. We work for a group of individuals who represent the brightest minds on our planet. For a long time, certain information has been passed from generation to generation. This information is supposed to hold the key to our existence. I am not referring to technology, aliens, or even global destruction. I am not privy to that information. I do not know what it is. I did not even know of your existence until I got a call about you 15 minutes ago. We are to pick you up immediately and get you to safety. All our lives depend on you.”

“On me?” Alex wonders.

From the attitude of the people in the car, Alex gets the idea that this is getting serious. There are no smiles on anyone’s faces, no lively conversations about last night’s ball game. Everyone is very quiet, and the woman in the front seat is constantly looking out the window or at a monitor in front of her. Alex is about to find out just how serious things are.

Other than the sound of what had to be a very powerful engine under the hood, the only thing Alex hears is MacGuyver’s panting. The little dog knows something is wrong. Every time Alex looks down at MacGuyver sitting in his lap, the dog has that “worried” look on his face. Alex does his best to assure the dog and constantly pets him. But Alex also knows dogs have a heightened sense about people when the person is worried or concerned, and MacGuyver’s senses were no exception. MacGuyver has always been able to pick up on it when Alex knows that something is wrong. It happened the day he came home from work after getting the phone call about his father passing away. It always happens when Alex is getting sick or when he has one of his many sinus headaches.

Before they get too far from his house, Alex wants to take another look at it. They have not yet turned the corner at the end of the street where Alex’s house is, so he knows he will still be able to see the house. He turns around to look through the rear window of the car. Through the bullet-riddled glass he can still see his house. He sees the men from the front yard walk up to the front of the house, go inside, and close the door. Then another large black car quickly pulls up in front of the house and four men jump out. They run to the front door, kick it open, and rush inside. Alex sees several flashes of light coming from the open door and the windows of his house. Then all is dark inside. Alex turns around and stares at the road ahead of them, wondering if he was going to see the next sunrise.

A buzzing sound comes from a phone that is in front of the man beside him. The man picks up the receiver and presses a button, types in some numbers and letters on a touch pad beside the phone and answers the phone call.

“Are you alright?” he answers.

A couple of minutes pass as he listens to the caller.

“Stay where you are. There may be others. Secure the house. A second team will be sent.” He hangs up the phone and places another call. He requests that a team be sent to Mr. Rogers’ house for cleanup and support. He hangs up the phone and turns to Alex.

“It seems that you were supposed to have company tonight. We had a break-in at one of our smaller facilities recently. We suspect that they had intercepted you email and needed to get the information on who you were, which we already had. Several of those men just broke into your home. One of them was a professional interrogator. It is his job to get what he needs no matter what the cost or method used. If he fails, and that rarely happens, it is up to his associates to eliminate the person being questioned. These people do not take hostages and do not leave any witnesses behind.”

“What did they want? Are your men OK? And, for that matter, who are you?” asks Alex.

“My apologies, Mr. Rogers. My name is Michael. My people will survive, thanks for asking. Unfortunately, they were not able to interrogate the attackers before they died. As for why they were there, they wanted you, Mr. Rogers, and what you possess.”

“But I don’t have anything that’s worth getting me killed.”

“It’s not what you have, Mr. Rogers, it’s what you know.”

“Then what is it I’m supposed to know that’s so important?” Alex asks.

“That I do not know. My superiors did not tell me. My orders are to get you out of the house ASAP and to transport you to safety. We are to protect you at all costs,” he responds.

The ride lasts about 50 minutes and goes excruciatingly slowly. No matter how many times Alex asks, he can’t get any more information out of Michael. He tries asking the woman in the front seat and then the driver, with the same results. He finally falls silent, pets his dog, and contemplates what his next move might be if things start to go badly for him.

The SUV turns onto a small, dirt-covered side road and pulls up to a large iron gate that is surrounded by a large brick wall. They sit there waiting in the car until the gate slides opens. As the car continues through the open gate, a strange green light passes over the vehicle, as if looking for something. When it changes to yellow, the car continues down the driveway for several more minutes. As they drive down the long driveway, Alex notices that there are a great number of trees on each side of the driveway. “A forest?” wonders Alex. When the vehicle finally comes to a stop, Michael pulls out a pistol, opens the door, gets out of the car, and tells Alex to stay put. The woman and the driver in the front seat follow suit and get out of the car, weapons drawn. Alex sees several other men in the area, all holding guns of varying sizes, looking everywhere except at the car. They are in what appears to be a large, open field surrounded by large trees.

Michael tells Alex to get out and to go immediately to the HC.

“The HC?”

“That,” says Michael. He points to a strange looking object sitting on the ground. It is completely black, with no markings. There are four large, round flat discs sitting on the ground. Each disc is about 3 feet across and about 18 inches thick. The top of each disc is covered with slots. Between two of the discs is a set of steps leading to an open door to the structure centered on top of the discs. The rectangular shaped box is about 15 feet long and 10 feet wide, with all corners rounded. Overall, the machine is about 10 feet high. At about two thirds of the way down the length of it, the top slopes sharply downward toward the end of the craft. The skin of the aircraft has no seams, no joints, and is completely smooth. Alex thinks it rather strange that there are no windows. Overall, it seems very sleek although odd-looking.

As Alex starts to walk toward the HC, one of the guards on the outer perimeter gives a gasp and falls to the ground, then another. Michael grabs Alex’s arm, pushes him and MacGuyver up the steps and into the HC and falls inside just behind him, almost landing on top of them. Two of the closest guards to the HC quickly dive inside it, trying to shield Alex from the incoming bullets. Without any warning, a sliding door quickly closes the opening. Alex hears a slight hiss as the door seals itself. He can also hear tiny pings coming from all sides of the craft.

“Is this thing safe? Are they still shooting at us?” Alex asks with a quiver in his voice.

“Quite so. They must have brought out the big guns. Normally you can’t hear anything in here when they shoot at us,” Michael calmly says.

“The big guns? Why are they bringing out any guns at all?” Alex yells. “What is it they want?”

“Like I said, they want you. They want to know what you have seen and then to silence you to keep you from telling what you know to anyone else.”

“I hate to disappoint you people, but I don’t know anything. Ask my ex-wife; she’ll testify in court on it! Are you sure you have the right person?” Alex asks. Irritation is clearly visible on Alex and MacGuyver is picking up on it. The dog begins to wriggle in his arms and lets out a few sharp, loud barks. Alex can tell from the sound of his barks that MacGuyver is getting very agitated.

“Mr. Rogers, thanks to your e-mail, you are now the target of a group of people who want to use what you know to advance their cause. That is what was explained to me. I cannot tell you any more.”

Alex, still sitting on the floor, is reminded of the dog he is carrying. MacGuyver is still squirming and wriggling, trying to get loose.

“It’s OK to set him down. Probably a good idea to let him stretch his legs,” Michael informs him.

Alex puts the dog on the floor and stands up.

“You might as well take a seat and relax. Would you like something to drink?” Michael asks calmly.

Alex looks at Michael and asks, “Can I at least know where you are taking me?”

“To a secure facility called the Complex.”

“The Complex?” asks Alex.

“It’s our home. It’s a large underground facility located beneath a group of mountains a considerable distance from you home. When situations like this one occur, when a life is in jeopardy, it’s the safest place on Earth.”

“I’ve never heard of it.”

“That’s no surprise. I suspect, except for those who live there, it’s a complete secret to everyone. The U.S. government, with all its recourses, is not even aware of it--and for very good reasons.”

“And those are…?”

“Sorry, can’t say anymore. You’ll have to wait to be briefed after we get there. In the meantime, how about that drink?”

Michael walks to a wall and presses some buttons on a touch panel. The floor slides open beneath the panel and a small cabinet pivots up. Michael opens the cabinet and gets out a couple of glasses.

“What do you want?”

“Normally, I don’t drink much. But in this case, I’ll take the strongest thing you’ve got. But first, I have a little dog that is a nervous wreck. Got any water for him?”

Michael opens the cabinet, pulls out a bottle of water, opens it, and empties the contents into a small bowl. He brings it over to Alex who puts the bowl on the floor. MacGuyver looks up at his master and then down at the bowl on the floor. Alex gently sets the dog on the floor and taps the rim of the bowl with his index finger, a sign that it’s OK. The little dog reluctantly walks to the bowl, sniffs at it, and laps up some of the cool liquid.

“Now, about that drink. Got any scotch?”

Michael presses another set of buttons and a second cabinet swings out from the wall. He opens the cabinet, pulls out a bottle.

“Single malt OK?”

“Sure, as long as it’s a good stiff drink” Alex tells him.

Michael pours the drink and hands it to Alex.

Alex takes the glass and pours all the liquid into his mouth. It is a large gulp and he is not used to the potent drink. When he does have a scotch, it’s usually in small sips, after an unusually long, hard day. This stuff is much stronger than what he is used to having, and he coughs hard after swallowing it. He catches his breath, hands the empty glass back to Michael, and then starts to look around.

On one side of the room, there is a large console with a woman sitting in front of it. She is wearing headphones and speaking into a mic attached to the headphones. In front of her is a set of monitors and several rows of lighted digital readouts. She turns her head and nods to Michael.

“Excuse me for a minute,” he says, and he walks over to the woman. As they speak softly, Alex takes a minute to see more of the interior.

The inside is rectangular. The corners where one of the cabinets came from look as though they have been cut off, leaving a flat wall about 2 feet long. The cabin is a space about 12 feet long, 8 feet wide and 7 feet high. On one end is a person sitting in a high-back chair. There are no windows, just solid-looking walls. Lights on the walls and ceiling provide plenty of light. The walls, floor, and ceiling all seem to be made of the same material, but Alex is having trouble figuring out what the material is. He runs his hand along the wall to find that it is warm to the touch. The material is extremely smooth, warm to the touch and seems to reflect no light.

Alex turns his attention back to the person in the high-back chair. The person is holding something about the size of a softball, which they constantly move slowly, going forwards, backwards, or side to side, or rotating left or right, but always moving. The other hand is on a flat pad lit from within. In front of the person is a solid wall covered with monitors, digital readouts, and moving dials, some of which have numbers that constantly seem to be changing. There are rows of colored bars, some which also keep varying in length. The person is wearing a tan baseball cap, sunglasses, a black tee shirt, sneakers and jeans. The chair that the person is sitting in always seems to be swiveling ever so slightly side-to-side.

Alex points towards the person. “Who is that?”

“Come on. I’ll introduce you.”

Alex gets up and walks with Michael to the seated person. “Alex, this is our pilot, Diane. Diane, this is Alex, our passenger.”

The woman turns her head to greet him. Alex is stunned by how beautiful she is. She has a smooth, dark, olive complexion and short jet-black hair. Her eyes are almost black. Even with her head turned toward him, Alex can see that her hands never once stop what they are doing.

“Diane has been flying the HC for about 3 years now, and she is very good at it. You ought to see her fly the smaller version of this thing. It’s the equivalent of a sports car to her. Last week she purposely took one into a category four hurricane, just for the fun of it.”

Alex could detect the smallest of grins on the woman’s face.

“Did he say flying? This thing flies?” thinks Alex.

He looks down at her ring finger and is disappointed to see a wedding band there.

“And, she is also my wife,” says Michael.

Alex takes a deep breath and goes back to his seat to try and take it all in.

“I can imagine that all this is a little more than unexpected and can be a bit overwhelming,” Michael says.

“You can say that again,” responds Alex. “A short while ago, I was at home, getting ready to relax and watch some TV on a nice, quiet evening. Now I’m in very odd looking whatever you call this thing…”

“It’s officially called the HCM451. But we call it the HC,” Michael informs him.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m in this thing with guys who have guns. I’ve been shot at, and my home was invaded by God only knows who…”

“For now, let’s just say the bad guys.”

“And I have no idea where I am going or when I can go home again.”

“Sorry to say, but I also have no idea how long it’ll be before it’s safe for you to go home. I suspect that it won’t be until this thing is settled.”

“And what thing is that?”

“No idea. That’s for the ones in charge to answer. It’s my understanding that you’ll be brought up to speed as soon as we land.”

“Land? You mean we’ve taken off?”

“Mr. Rogers, we became airborne as the door closed.”

Alex found that hard to believe. He knew a lot was happening when he got pushed in this thing, but there was never any feeling of leaving the ground, no sense of acceleration or movement.

“It sounds like you thought we were still on the field.”

“Of course, I did. I thought this thing was just a safe place to be in until the Calvary arrived. I never felt anything that told me we had left the ground. I knew there was a lot was going on, but I had no idea we had taken off.”

“This craft uses inertia dampeners. They produce a field that, for the most part, eliminates all inertia. That’s the stuff you normally feel when a plane takes off or when you step on the gas pedal in your car and you get pushed back into your seat. The field is automatically engaged when any movement of the HC is detected by the system. That’s why you did not feel anything when we took off.”

Alex sits there wondering how on earth he ever got into this mess. A confused look appears on his face and Michael picks up on it.

“I realize all this is a little overwhelming. You can raise the footrest and recline back a little, or you are free to walk around and stretch your legs. It won’t be a long flight--never is. We’ll be there in about an hour. While we’re waiting, do you want a snack?”

“Got anything for a dog? He’ll drive me crazy if I’m eating and he’s not,” Alex warns.

Michael walks back to the first cabinet and pulls out a plastic covered plate with a ham sandwich, a bag of chips, and a pickle on it. He hands Alex the plate of food and a can of soda.

“The sandwich ought to still be fresh; it was made just before we left to pick you up.”

MacGuyver intently watches Alex and what he is holding.

Michael goes back to the cabinet and pulls out a plastic bag full of dry dog food. He opens the bag and pours out the contents into another bowl. He hands it to Alex, who is surprised to find it is the same dog food he feeds MacGuyver at home.

“We grabbed some just before we left your house,” Michael explains. Relieved, Alex sets the bowl of food on the floor and taps the rim of it to get the dog’s attention. MacGuyver looks up at Alex, who taps the bowl again. The dog walks to the bowl, sniffs at it, and starts eating.

Alex removes the wrapping from the plate and quickly consumes the food. He had no idea he was that hungry. He gives the plate and empty soda can back to Michael and looks down to see if MacGuyver has eaten. As is usually the case, the dog has already finished his snack.

“If you want, you can stretch out a bit. The chair you’re in is a recliner. The foot rest rises by pressing the button at the end of the right-side arm.”

Alex feels for the button and presses it. A padded rectangle slowly pivots out from the front of the recliner and settles into position. Alex raises his legs and slides his feet onto the padded surface. He pushes on the arms, and the back of the recliner begins to tilt backwards. He looks for MacGuyver. The little dog is curled up beside the recliner and already asleep, having had some food and seeing that his master is OK. Alex, hearing the heavy breathing coming from the dog, stretches hard, turns to lie on his side, and tries to get comfortable.

“Try this,” Michael says and throws him a folded bundle of cloth. Alex unfolds it to discover it is the afghan from his recliner. “We try,” Michael says with a sly grin on his face. Alex covers himself with the afghan to block out the light, curls up on his side, and is fast asleep in a few minutes.