May He bless you with understanding of this truth...

Write the things which thou hast seen, and the things which are,

and the things which shall be hereafter...

Revelation 1:19

Page 1

Introduction - Chapter Five


Introduction

Monday, October 30, 2006


Greetings:
The time has come for me to talk about the things I know best…UFOs & Visitors, or as most people call them, aliens.

Only the truth will be written here. No exaggeration, make-believe or scare tactics, just the truth.

On this new webpage, I will speak of my experiences, my teachings and the information I was given by both our Creator and the Visitors.

For those who do not believe in God, I'll pray for you, but the truth is God is everywhere. He is in every one of us, on every planet, inhabited or not. God touches our daily lives and those of the Visitors.

Of course, I'm still bound by promises in which I cannot tell you everything, at least not yet. That time of full disclosure appears to be approaching quickly. However, the things I am allowed to reveal, I will.

This will be a joint effort of Ann, the Visitors and me.

Again, you will only find the truth on these pages, nothing more…

 

Chapter One, Section One
Monday, October 30, 2006

First, let me begin with some basic information.


There are 823 living planets in our known universe. Of these, 752 are inhabited and have advanced civilizations.

When I say "advanced," I mean societies made up of post-End Time, mature, responsible human beings. Let us not forget God's own Words…Genesis 1:27, So God created man in his [own] image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.

Please take notice that in those words nothing is said about Earth or Earthlings. God created man in His own image. It is as simple as that.

"Human being" is a term used to define mankind. Women and men both fit into that description as do Visitors from other living planets. "Human being" is a general term for part of God's creation.

Among those advanced planets, live various peoples; however, they are all human beings. As we are Earthlings, there are Virums from the planet Virum. There are Reticulans from Zeta Reticuli. Tyrians from the planet Tyre, and many more. The one thing all these people have in common is the fact that they are all human beings.

Another major thing all these people have in common, and probably the main thing, is that they all live by God's Word. Christians, if you will.

They are not angels. They are not demons. They are simply people. Just like you and me, they are people. Albeit, far more advanced in their societies than we can ever imagine, they are just like us, human beings.

There are no shape-shifting green reptilian aliens who inhabit the bodies of our politicians. That was an old television show. I cannot remember the name of that show, but it was a long time ago.

The Visitors are not here to take over our planet. They are not here to hybridize us. They are not here to abduct us, although things have happened in the not-so-distant past...but more on that later. They are simply here to watch this planet until the Time of the End.

The Visitors will not lead us into our future or theirs. They are simply observing events unfolding on planet Earth.

In the next section, I will speak of Omega and how I came to personally know the Visitors…

 

Chapter One, Section Two

Thursday, November 2, 2006

 

I like to say that my life before Omega was mostly uneventful.  Ann, my wife, thinks differently. 

         

It all began at my birth, or maybe even before.  Twelve hours before my birth, no heartbeat could be detected.   My mother had toxemia.  She did not exhibit what we think of as the usual symptoms of toxemia, such as the grotesque swelling of the limbs, but she was in a coma.  I was born dead at eight twenty-five on the morning of November 29.   I was premature…barely four pounds on my birthday.   Mother became just conscience enough to actually give birth to me.  When she was told that I was stillborn, she lapsed back into the coma for an additional five or six days.  When she came around, Mom’s obstetrician, Dr. Abner Berkowitz, asked her if she would like to see her baby.

         

Mom said no.

         

“Oh, come on, now!”  Dr. Berkowitz entreated two or three more times.  “Wouldn’t you like to see your baby?”

         

Becoming angry, Mom shouted, “NO!  Why would I want to see a dead baby?” 

         

Dr. Berkowitz told my mother, before she ever saw or held me for the first time, that I must have a very special mission in life because I was now alive.

         

I was born in Brooklyn, New York, in 1951.  Mom remembers that there were at least eight pregnant women in her  neighborhood of the Flatbush area in Brooklyn during the time that she was carrying me, who had toxemia.   Seven of these pregnancies were stillbirths.  The eighth woman hemorrhaged quite suddenly;  she and her baby were lost.

 

The first memories of my life began in, or near, the delivery room.  (I understand that this is most unusual...but, there it is.)  I remember a hand covering my face, obstructing my sight.  I felt cool fingertips on the top of my head.  I felt a small, slender, cool thumb gently tilting my chin toward the ceiling.  My head was slightly pressed into the table on which I lay.  My airway was suddenly opened a little more than it had been, ever so gently.  And, as the hand was drawn away from my face, I began to breathe.  The hand disappeared from my line of vision.  Then, I saw the person to whom the hand belonged.

 

I remember seeing a figure whose skin was ash white and whose eyes were large and dark.  The face contained a small slit of a mouth and a tiny nose.  At the end of the long white arm, were the thin cool fingers I’d felt on my head.

 

I relaxed, perhaps slumbered a moment.  My next memory is of a woman running through the room yelling for the doctor, then screaming that I was alive and breathing.  I can only guess that that woman was a nurse.

 

I was a fairly sickly child.  My hearing was lost at the age of six.  Total deafness lasted for two years.  In the meantime, I taught myself to read lips by intently watching my family speak and interact and by watching people on television. 

 

Then I experienced a bout of rheumatic fever, which is notorious for leaving kids with heart problems.  I was no exception.  It left me with a heart murmur.  Rheumatic fever and the heart murmur further slowed my childhood activities. 

 

My favorite toys became those little green plastic Army men that come in a clear plastic bag.  My mother told how I would play with them for hours on end, on the bed covers.   Later on, when I was well enough, I played with them in our quiet back yard.

 

But, the one thing I wanted most for Christmas, I could not have.  A red Schwinn bicycle was my heart’s desire.  Due to the fever and heart murmur, my doctors felt that riding a bike would be just too much exertion for my heart.

         

So, of course, I became an avid reader.  I have my mom to thank for that.  Reading became my escape and my means of enjoying, although vicariously,  what I was not physically allowed to do.

 

The summer following second grade, I learned how to fish from a private dock less than a block from our home in Island Park, which is a small community in Long Island, New York.  Mom had purchased an inexpensive rod and reel.  I took my new treasures to my friend’s house and we fished from his dock and both of us soaked up some sunshine.  I learned new skills and concentrated on them all that summer.

 

Naturally, the first assignment upon returning to school in September is to write an essay about summer activities.  This must be a universal thing with teachers and young students.  My third grade teacher was surprised to discover that I’d written my essay at the tenth grade level.  She decided to enter it in several local and state-wide contests.  My fishing essay was a winner in more ways than one.

 

Then, while in my junior year of high school, I quit.  The reason for quitting was the band I was in.  We were starting to gain popularity, we were looking at a record deal and touring frequently (I played drums).  We did record an album in a studio job.  The main song was Shape Of Things To Come.  As I said, it was a studio job.  The album was given to a British rock band called the Yardbirds.  Yep, Eric Clapton and the Yardbirds.  A year later I finished high school by writing an essay about music.  Technically, I graduated with my class in 1969.  Ann just recently bought me another set of drums which I play almost daily.  It's great exercise.

 

During my junior high and high school years, I worked for some of my Italian neighbors.  I ran numbers for guys who I knew were Mafia in my younger years.  During high school, P. was my best friend.  And, at age eighteen, P. moved right into the family business.  I became his administrative assistant… and his body guard.

 

Up to this point in my life, UFOs, aliens and government coverups had never entered my mind.  I had no thoughts whatsoever on the subject.  I had no idea that such things even existed. 

         

Then one hot spring day in 1972, several light, but determined, knocks sounded on my door.  I opened the door to see two men standing in the dim hallway.

 

Each appeared to be in his mid-to-late thirties, and weighed approximately 150 to 160 pounds.  Their heights were about five feet ten inches to five feet eleven inches.  Each man’s eyes were coal black and as expressionless as I’d ever seen.  In fact, their eyes and their faces showed nothing.  Both were dressed in black suits, white shirts, black ties, black socks and shiny black shoes.  Each had a black attaché in-hand.

 

They courteously asked if I could spare some time to talk with them.  I agreed and let them in, thinking that this was a late job offer.  Quite frankly, their appearance was so nondescript that I immediately pictured them with a decade at IBM behind them.

 

The men flipped ID badges, with pictures, in my general direction and identified themselves as being with a private above-top-secret group known as Omega Agency.  Elaborating, they said that Omega Agency has secretly been in existence on Earth since 1929.  Its mission is to document the wrongs of the world brought on by agencies such as the National Security Agency (NSA), the Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) and the Federal Bureau of Investigation (FBI).  Those agencies, I was told, are subversive and dangerous and need keeping up with.

 

My only response was a sarcastic,  “Right”.

         

The men continued by saying that Omega Agency has been following me through most of my childhood, what they call recruitment. 

 

I chuckled and told them they must have had some very boring years. 

 

With that, they started verbally laying out my life to me, day by day, month by month, year by year.  These two men even reminded me of that long-forgotten third-grade essay that had originally brought me to their attention.  They told me of the presents I’d received, the Christmas lists I’d written and the wishes I’d had.

         

They went on, enumerating all of my health problems.  They continued by following my hearing problem and exactly how I’d taught myself to read lips. These two men even told me how many little green Army men I had, five hundred eighty-five.  They went on to name the books I’d read throughout my life, right down to the bookmarks I liked to use.  They described the surgeries I’d had during childhood, ears, tonsils and a double hernia.  They even offered condolences for my not being able to have the red Schwinn bicycle!

 

Well, I was totally blown away and becoming rather angry. 

 

They hurriedly assured me that no one else had access to these records of my personal information.  Only Omega Agency had this data.

         

I felt as though I were watching a tennis match as each man, in turn, finished the other’s sentences.  Then they asked me if I would consider working for this Omega Agency.

 

The agency that had spied on me my whole life now wanted to employ me?  I was furious that an agency such as this even had the technology to watch anyone so closely.

 

The kicker came when they told me of a secret wish I had had my whole life.  I had never told anyone or even remotely referred to anything about my secret wish.  What I’d wanted to be able to do, more than anything, was to serve in the military, preferably the Army.  I wanted to be a Green Beret.  I was not able to fulfill my dream because of my heart murmur.  The United States Army had classified me as 3-Y, to be taken ONLY in the event of a third world war, IF there was an existing shortage of manpower.  As I said, I’d never expressed this wish to anyone, not even to my mother as a little boy.  Knowing of my health problems, I grew up acting as if serving in the military was no big deal.  If I were drafted, I would go; if not, oh, well.

         

Now my quietly spoken, big question to the almost-Doublemint Twins was,  “How did you know about this?” 

 

They told me that the information was read from my thoughts.  They continued by telling me that the military first entered my thoughts at about the age of ten.  They related to me my dreams of being in the military and eventually attaining the rank of general. 

 

Read my thoughts?  Nice try!

 

At that point, they told me what I was thinking right that very moment.  And, that was,  if an entity such as this truly does exist, what an opportunity this would be to make my mark on mankind.

 

Now I was completely speechless.  They had just read my mind.

 

After the initial shock wore off, of just actually having had my mind read, I sat there dumbfounded for what seemed like ten more minutes.  The next moment I’d agreed to meet with them three days later for an orientation of sorts...

 

I thought about it.  Was this possible?

 

Chapter Two

Monday, November 6, 2006

 

I joined the two men with whom I’d talked three days earlier.  They met me at the train station in Island Park.  They were driving a large, brand-new Cadillac sedan with ultra-dark tinted windows.  I noticed that the license plate was a Washington, D.C. tag that said “Diplomat.”  I thought this a bit strange.  These two men did not especially act like I imagined diplomats would act, or sound as though they’d originated in a foreign country. 

 

I was driven from Island Park to John F. Kennedy Airport in Queens, New York, where I boarded a private Lear jet.  More strangeness:  The outside of this airplane was painted black, flat, dull black.  The inside, however, was not strange at all, I know now, just your usual high-class private jet décor. 

 

After a smooth and uneventful forty-minute flight, we arrived at Dulles Airport, Washington, D.C.  Then we three transferred into a black Cadillac limousine.  We were driven toward Langley, Virginia, according to the road signs. 

 

Following the scenic, peaceful drive from the airport, I was surprised when I realized where the limo had turned off of the main road.  We were exactly across the street from CIA headquarters. 

 

In my confusion, I wondered was the CIA the agency that was called Omega?

 

All three of us entered the only building that looked directly at the front entrance to CIA headquarters.  There was no security check here.  We just walked right on past an attractive brunette receptionist sitting at her desk. 

 

She smiled at the three of us, as any good receptionist would, and said, “Good morning, sir, and welcome.” 

 

I perceived that the “sir” was directed at me alone by her singular eye contact with me.  But the “welcome” was for all three of us.  We entered an elevator in the bank of elevators which was along a short hall adjacent to her desk. 

 

And then…we went down.  We went down what must have been eight floors.  When the doors opened, we walked directly into a conference room the likes of which I’d never seen or imagined.  It was a cavernous rectangular white room with an extremely large, highly polished dark wood, flat-ended canoe-shaped table in the middle of the room.  The chairs were a dream come true.  Fifty of the most comfortable looking high-backed dark green leather chairs, with arms. 

 

I love chairs with arms. 

 

Only seconds after we’d entered this spacious place, a lone man entered from a door directly across the room from where we stood.  This man, who appeared to be in his middle fifties, was well,  but conservatively, dressed.  He was completely bald;  his rugged face cleanly shaven.  He weighed somewhere around 150 pounds and was five feet ten inches tall, I estimated. 

 

The introduction was handled by one of the two men who’d escorted me from New York.  He introduced this man to me as “Mr. Z.”  The Doublemint Twins immediately re-entered the elevator and were whisked away. 

 

As I shook his hand, I thought “Mr. Z” was a very odd name for a first-time formal introduction

 

He walked to the far end of the room, motioning for me to take a seat.  He strode around the end of that magnificent table and sat in the chair opposite the one I had chosen.

 

Mr. Z began to speak about the NSA and the CIA.  He talked about their desire to control the United States of America, and eventually, the world.  He spoke about how these organizations manipulated history, altering it upon publication to fit their needs, or not publishing it at all.  Mr. Z went on to say that the NSA and CIA had covered up so many historical events as to be mind boggling. 

 

Mr. Z continued by saying that the NSA and CIA were not the agencies in control.  Controlling those agencies were what is called "The Elite."  The Elite is made up of the ten most powerful families on the planet.  The Elite, Mr. Z added, is a ruthless, dangerous group of people.  He said I would learn more of them in time.

 

I was determined to be politely quiet while I listened to this man.  After all, he was my host for the day.  But, I did think that this guy was unbelievably paranoid and out there where the buses don’t run. 

 

At that very heartbeat, he looked me square in the eyes and stated that the buses can run anywhere they please. 

 

Like a slap in the face, that brought me back to where I was, and what I’d been told three days earlier.  It had just been done again.  My mind was read, verbatim. 

 

This is getting eerie, I thought.

 

Mr. Z related that it had all started with the United States military in 1929, when the first atomic bomb was tested. 

 

I thought to myself that this guy had never read a history book in his life. 

 

Then Mr. Z said, “You are not listening.  I told you that history has been altered for their needs and you sit there thinking I’m the nut.” 

 

Damn, again, he’d read my mind.  I felt uncomfortable about mind reading.

 

“Don’t worry,” he said, “It’s easy after you learn how to do it.” 

 

“Do what?” I asked. 

 

“Reading someone’s mind,” was his reply.  “But, let’s get on with it,” he said.

 

Mr. Z  had no trouble picking up where he’d left off informing me about the testing of an atomic bomb in 1929.  He said that the military felt it to be much too powerful a weapon for the people to know about yet.  Besides, the knowledge of it must be safeguarded against other countries getting their hands on the technology.  Mr. Z  said it turned out that one of the inventors of the bomb was actually a pacifist who wanted no part of it after he had seen the destruction it had caused.  Albert Einstein was that man, and he was looking only for a new source of power for the people of the world, not a new weapon.  Yes, Albert Einstein.  And, Nikola Tesla was Einstein’s partner on this project.    

 

As I listened to Mr. Z  and looked into his eyes, he did not look one iota crazy.  As a matter of fact, he was deadly serious.  He continued by telling me when the Agency was formed and why. 

 

Group One (that’s all the name it had in its very beginning) was founded on Earth in 1929, by the presidents and CEOs of a few private corporations and foundations, to try to keep the subversive government organizations in line.  The testing of the atomic bomb took place in January of 1929.  March of 1929, saw the formation of Group One, by a collection of like-minded men.  During the month of June, 1929, Group One received the biggest shock of all time.

 

On the sunny morning of June 25, 1929, Group One was visited by people representing what is called the “Universal Governments.”  The visit began when a black triangular space craft touched down near the main entrance to what served as  Group One’s headquarters.  At that time, headquarters was located in southwestern New Mexico (just twenty-two miles southwest of where Ann and I currently live) twenty-two miles southeast of Deming, New Mexico, in the middle of the desert.   Headquarters consisted of one small office building, a couple garages, an airplane hangar and a dirt runway.  Security was tight around this small compound. 

 

The craft landed and stayed there motionless until the director of Group One appeared, curious, at the office door.  Then, the side of the craft opened and a tall, blond, good-looking young man stepped from the vehicle.  He was dressed in what we call today a jumpsuit that fit him like a glove.  The blue of his eyes was a deeper, more intense color than the pale-blue of his jumpsuit. He was built like a bodybuilder and was approximately seven feet tall.  His blond hair was waist length.  He gave his name as Salum (Za-lum), from the planet Virum, a planet in a distant galaxy not yet known to us here on Earth.  He claimed that he was a representative of the Universal Governments and that he was here to offer an idea to Group One.  An idea that could help not only the United States, but the entire world.

 

Group One’s director was intrigued.  He cordially invited Salum into his office.  He listened intently to the visitor from space during their eight-hour meeting. 

 

When Salum had stepped the six inches down to the ground of Earth out of the space craft, the door remained fully open the entire duration of the meeting.  Group One staff could plainly see five other people in pale blue jumpsuits still inside the ship.  They appeared to be constantly busy although they exuded a feeling of calm, cool collectedness.  It would be fair to say that the Group One staff were not calm, cool or collected.  No one dared to actually touch the space ship, but their necks and eyes were tired and sore from craning and staring for eight hours straight.

 

An alliance was formed between the director of Group One and the Ambassador from Virum of the Universal Governments.  The birth of Omega Agency on Earth took place on that day, June 25, 1929.  But...more about that later. 

 

Meanwhile, back at my orientation.  I felt absolutely certain that Mr. Z was gravely earnest about everything he imparted to me during those three hours.

 

We stood, stretched our legs, and departed the conference room through the door which Mr. Z  had entered.  He showed me into a nearby room that contained something I’d never seen before:  computers, row upon row of computers, virtually banks of computers.  (Supercomputers we have yet  to see the equivalent of, even now in the year 2006.)  Unbelievable amounts of information were being processed at unbelievable speeds. 

 

Following this brief side trip with explanations, we made our way down the corridor to another elevator.  The corridors were painted ho-hum beige, but the floors were a very nice, old, veined beige marble.  I noticed that all the elevators’ doors were what looked to be brushed chrome, and that the two I’d been in so far had white tile flooring.  These elevators were swift and silent. 

 

Hmmm...rather sterile.

 

 Another thing that caught my attention was the lack of elevator buttons.  Mr. Z then told me buttons were antiquated.  Now, we use DNA he said.  The elevator doors will read the DNA of the person standing before them.  If they were not allowed to enter these elevators, the doors would not open.

 

Again, it went down.  It felt like only another floor, or maybe two, and the elevator door whispered open onto what looked like a train station.  A white car of sorts glided up in front of us and stopped short. 

 

Where were the rails?  Where were its wheels?  Where had this thing come from? 

 

Mr. Z  turned to me and asked if I had ever been to Los Angeles, California. 

 

“No,” I replied instantly, expectantly. 

 

“Well, then, let’s go see the Pacific Ocean,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

 

We got into this spanking clean white little car thing… pod…whatever this …vehicle… was.  We settled into luxurious white 'leather' seats (at least, they appeared to be leather, more later), and off we went.  I noticed that the floor was wall-to-wall with what I took to be industrial black carpet.  What accents there were appeared to be chrome. 

 

Not a seat belt in sight. 

 

Nothing was said between us during the trip.  And, that was a good thing.  I enjoy going fast.  Like jet-fighter pilots, I had a need for speed.  That car moved at a rate of speed that was absolutely undreamed of, by me, anyway. 

 

But what about those infamous G forces that I’d heard the astronauts talk about on television? 

 

There were no G forces that I noticed.  I felt quite comfortable, relaxed even. 

 

Our journey lasted all of ten minutes.  The thing stopped.  Its white door whispered open.  We rose and stepped out of it.  Only to enter yet another elevator.  I was somewhat relieved as this elevator went up.

 

When the elevator came to a stop, the doors opened automatically, and as we walked out of the building, I could smell that wonderful indication that a body of salty water was nearby.  Lo and behold, there it was.  The Pacific Ocean was right across the street.  The automobiles speeding past all sported California license plates.  The weather was warm with a slight breeze coming in off the water.  California had a unique feel  to it.

 

Had this really just happened?  

 

We’d stepped into that little white pod-car in Washington, D.C. ten minutes ago and stepped out on the west coast of the United States.

 

You cannot begin to imagine what was going through my mind.  I can hardly begin to tell you.  One, these people are reading my mind.  Two, they are telling me that our United States government is altering the history of every aspect of our country.  And, three, top it off with a ten-minute ride from Washington, D.C. to Los Angeles, California. 

 

Talk about confused.  Blown away.  Whatever you want to call it -- that was me at that moment. 

 

Both of us were silent as Mr. Z  let it all sink into my brain.  Then, he turned on his heel and I followed him as he walked back to that special cinderblock building across the street.  Once more, we stood in that special elevator that went down, down, down, down.  We re-entered the sparkling white pod-car, settled in and returned to the east coast and D.C.  I had much to ponder during that second ten-minute trip. 

 

Upon our arrival, Mr. Z  explained more about the recruitment process.  He said that certain children are watched throughout their lives because of their early achievements.  I was noticed because of the fishing essay I’d written when I was eight years old.  He let that sink in for a moment or two.

 

Then he continued, “Not everyone recruited for Omega Agency will be invited.  When a potential candidate is ready to be approached by the Agency, it will only happen if there is an opening within the ranks.  If there is no slot open, the candidate must be passed over.  However, it is essential that the candidates only be approached before they graduate or enter society as a working citizen.  This is to avoid corruption.  To ensure that the candidate keeps an open mind to favorably receive the offer.”

 

I was told I was chosen because I possessed the qualities of fairness, gentleness, open-mindedness, and that I have a way about me that people, in general, feel comfortable with.  That I understand what it means to have things taken away from me; for instance, my hearing, a healthy heart, and life itself.  I was told that I am able to follow rules and instructions to the letter and make decisions based upon those rules and instructions without outside interference.  Mr. Z said that even though I had worked for corrupt people in corrupt businesses, I had not been corrupted.

 

Mr. Z also told me that candidates had to be approved by the Plajarans.  I asked, who?

Mr. Z told me I'd learn more about the Plajarans in time.

 

These are only a few of the qualities which Mr. Z  said I possess.  He casually mentioned that I would discover other attributes later in life.  “Just continue to be patient, as you have been so far, and it will all come to you eventually.”   Finally, Mr. Z  asked if I had made a decision as to whether or not I wanted to join Omega Agency. 

 

I was honest with him.  I asked for a few days to think it over, to sleep on it. 

 

He said, “Fine,” but did insist that I not talk about Omega with anyone.  That this was of “the utmost importance, as Omega, at this time, must remain secret."  Mr. Z also reminded me that if I spoke to anyone outside Omega about what I've just seen…"we will know.   Not to lie or keep it from the people of Earth, but to ensure that Omega Agency will not interfere with the evolution of Earth.”

 

Interfere with Earth’s evolution?  WHO, ME???  This conversation just got heavier and heavier.  I asked him what he meant by that. 

 

His rejoinder was that Omega Agency has the power and the means to change Earth and that would be a fatal mistake.  Besides, interference is directly against our Creator's orders, Mr. Z added. 

 

He said that more would be explained to me in much more detail later.  Our meeting was concluded with a handshake. 

 

The two somber men suddenly, quietly, appeared, and escorted me back to New York in the same manner in which I’d been taken to Washington, D.C.:   black Cadillac limousine, black Lear jet and black Cadillac sedan.

 

As you might imagine, I spent the next couple of days wandering around in a fog.  After all, this was one heck of a major decision.  We’d never even talked about salary.  And, frankly, money just didn’t seem all that important. 

 

Uh-oh.  I’d forgotten to ask how I should contact them about my decision.  Now, this was a dilemma.  How do I contact Mr. Z? 

 

Well, as it turned out, they were, of course, listening to my thoughts.

 

On the morning of June 29, 1972, I had an impulse to wear my good black suit.  Why?  I had no idea.  I didn’t have any appointments.  It was a scorching hot New York day and I wasn’t working yet.  All the same, I got dressed in my best black suit.

 

While I was out picking up a pack of cigarettes an hour later, I was met by the same solemn Doublemint Twins who had visited me at my apartment, and who had been my previous escorts. 

 

They approached me, and just said emotionlessly, expressionlessly,  “Welcome aboard.” 

 

Yep, they’d done it again.  Read my thoughts.  But, you know, this time, I didn’t mind at all.

 

Once more, I was headed for Washington, D.C., by way of the identical first-class modes of transportation that I’d enjoyed before.  And, upon my arrival at headquarters this time, Mr. Z, himself, met me at the receptionist’s desk.

 

He was all business as he asked me to look into a painting of a still life hanging on the wall behind the desk.  It took all of three seconds.  Mr. Z  patted my shoulder and informed me that my security clearance was now higher than that of any president, any general, any admiral…anyone.  I now had the clearance to enter any secure area or installation on this planet.  I'll explain about my clearance later.

 

With that twinkle in his eyes once again, Mr. Z asked if I would like some breakfast.  I nodded.  We turned together and headed for the cafeteria.

 

Chapter Three

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

 

We headed to the cafeteria by way of the ever-present listening elevator.  I saw no buttons with which to direct or instruct the elevators.  It was DNA or speech that told the elevators where to go. 

 

Mr. Z  spoke the word “cafeteria” quietly and casually.  And, down we went again.  Down, five floors this time. 

 

The elevator doors whispered open onto a vast, smoothly rounded, starkly white cafeteria.  Hundreds of people were sitting at the hundreds of what appeared to be white-painted wood and chrome tables, eating their food.  The chairs were of light-weight, durable white plastic with chrome legs. 

 

But, somehow, this did not appear to be your ordinary cheap-looking plastic. 

 

The floor was laid with white tile squares, but it was so clean as to look unreal.  In fact, the cafeteria seemed to be so clean that you could have eaten off of the floor if you’d wanted to.  The ceiling was the same bare white color, except it was, of course, plain ceiling tiles. 

 

The lighting, I thought, must be of some indirect type, as I saw no light fixtures.  The light appeared to just be.  Its configuration so subtle that the starkness of the room was not the least bit offensive to the eyes.  It was efficient but pleasant.  You might even want to call it peaceful...conducive to deep thought...no distractions. 

 

The serving trays, too, were of an unusually classy white plastic. 

 

Maybe I need to know more about plastics. 

 

The flatware was stainless steel with something white inlaid in the handles. 

Bone?  Ivory?  There were no cheap, weak plastic utensils here.  I’m tellin’ ya, first class all the way.  (By the way, the flatware is actually titanium, the white part is pearl.)

 

As Mr. Z and I approached a long stainless steel serving counter, of the typical cafeteria style, hot, fresh breakfast smells welcomed us.  The food here was freshly prepared and had not been hanging around under a heat lamp getting cold and drying out.  The servers were courteous, friendly and very well organized.  Each kept his area gleaming.  Each was dressed in a spotless white jumpsuit.  The servers are not called waiters or waitresses but 'friends.'

 

Being the typical American male, I ordered sausage, scrambled eggs, toast and coffee.  As my plate was handed across to me, I noticed the weight (or lack of it) and the quality of these dishes.  They were very much like the finest, translucent china. 

 

Wait a minute!  At the end of the line there was no cash register.  No way to purchase breakfast.  I reached for my wallet looking questioningly at Mr. Z. 

 

He simply stated that there is no charge for food within Omega Agency.  Food is a necessity of life.  It would be disrespectful to charge people for life.  Food is something all beings need for survival.  Therefore, food is free, as it should be throughout the world. 

 

Hmmm, good idea, I thought as I replaced my wallet. 

 

We left the serving line and headed for the seating area.  I followed Mr. Z  to a round table near the middle of the room.

 

Mr. Z  intently discussed the NSA, CIA, FBI and The Elite and mentioned some government cover-ups.  He talked for about forty-five minutes.  I listened, undistracted, as Mr. Z  spoke.  He had a way of speaking that really held the listener’s interest.  In fact, I was riveted.  But, when I noticed that both of our cups were empty, I got up and brought a pot of coffee to our table and refilled both of our cups.  The people here in Omega Agency love their coffee, it's everywhere you look.  This is a good thing as I love my coffee also.

 

When I’d returned to the table, Mr. Z  thanked me for the coffee but said nothing else.  We sat there and just looked each other over for several seconds when I noticed that twinkle in his eyes again.  This time I knew that there was something behind that twinkle. 

 

That twinkle hadn’t failed me yet.

 

Mr. Z  relaxed a bit and let his eyes travel around that huge white area.  So, I sat back and looked around the cafeteria as I thought about the decision I’d made to become a part of this Omega Agency.  I was in kind of a daze when something caught my eye.  Instantly, the daze was gone. 

 

My mind was sharp as a tack, at least, I thought it was. 

 

I was looking at a strange little being.  He was sitting at a table to my right about four rows from where Mr. Z  and I were seated.  He was drinking a cup of coffee,  just like Mr. Z and I were doing.  Acting very normal, just like all the hundreds of other people in the cafeteria.  Only his skin was ash white.  Seated at his table, as he was, he appeared to be short, maybe three and a half to four feet tall.  His eyes were oval, and large, and black as night.  He looked as if he only weighed about sixty pounds.  His fingers seemed rather familiar to me, long and slender.  He was dressed in a purple jumpsuit that fit his bones-only physique like a second skin.

 

Suddenly, I realized that everyone was wearing jumpsuits.  Jumpsuits of every solid color:  yellow, green, blue, orange.  I saw pastels, regular shades, and deep, intense colors.   But, he was the only one wearing a purple jumpsuit. 

 

My head snapped back to look right into the twinkling eyes of Mr. Z. 

 

I guess I started to stammer and stutter. 

 

Mr. Z  smiled a sly little smile at me and innocently asked, “What?”

 

“What!  What do you think, what?”  I blurted.  Am I hallucinating, or am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? 

 

He asked me what I thought I was seeing. 

 

I couldn’t really say for sure, but he… it… that…  was sitting just four rows from us.  So, I pointed. 

 

Mr. Z  reminded me that it is not polite to point.  He said emphatically, “I know your mother taught you better than to point at people.”

 

“People, is, ah...that a people?”  I was blurting again

Mr. Z  replied, “In your words, yes, that is a people.  He and his people are from Zeta 2 Reticuli.” 

 

I must have looked totally confused. 

 

Again, he smiled at me with that twinkle in his eyes and said, “He is what most people here on Earth call an alien, an extraterrestrial, a space man.”

 

I must have looked like an idiot just then. 

 

Mr. Z  went on to explain that Zeta Reticuli is a star cluster thirty-seven light years from Earth. 

 

“Okay, okay,” I said.  “I get it.  This is some sort of initiation prank, right?” 

 

“Hardly,” was Mr. Z’s retort.  The smile was gone but the twinkle remained in his eyes.  Mr. Z  sighed.   “Fascinating, isn’t it,”  he said very quietly. 

 

“Come on, are you serious?”  I leaned into the edge of the table, jutting my chin in his direction. 

 

His elbows resting on the table, he looked me straight in the eyes and replied, “Totally, totally serious.”  His next statement shocked me to the very core of my being.

 

“Welcome to life as you’ve never known it before,” he said with a look upon his face that told me he was being totally serious and truthful.  “Welcome to the way things really are.”  Then, he continued, “Now, would you like to meet Jona (pronounced John-a)?” 

 

“Jona?  Who is Jona?”  I asked, dumbfounded. 

 

“Well,” Mr. Z  said, “you’ve been staring at him for the past ten minutes.” 

 

“Oh, yeah, sure,” was all I could manage.

 

Jona, who was out of earshot of our conversation, or so I thought, turned directly toward me and smiled the slightest of smiles with his small thin lips.  Then, Jona stood up, picked up his cup with his left hand, and walked slowly to the table where Mr. Z  and I were sitting.  He walked straight-backed, head held high, shoulders squared.  He took small but confident steps as he walked.  He stopped at our table and stood watching me as I soaked in what I’d thought was only a myth, a legend, make believe, or maybe even a dream. 

 

Mr. Z  stood up, looked down at me and said, again, “I know  your mother taught you better.  Is it not proper to stand when a visitor approaches your table?” 

 

Gulping, I stood, apologizing for my rudeness, almost knocking my chair over, and extended my hand to Jona.  Mr. Z  started to say something but stopped when Jona reached out and shook my hand just as anyone would have done.

 

Mr. Z  exclaimed, “Now you should feel honored!” 

 

I looked at Mr. Z  with confusion bordering on consternation.  He quickly went on to explain that Zeta Reticulans normally do not make physical contact with people.  Physical contact is very personal for Reticulans.  Only then, did Mr. Z  formally introduce Jona to me. 

 

Jona said, in a small voice, moving his mouth, that it was a pleasure to meet me.  He welcomed me to Omega Agency.  Jona, as it turned out, is the station chief of Earth for Omega.

 

While I was shaking hands with Jona, a feeling of infinite peace came over me.  The feeling conveyed that some how, some where, for some reason, I was meant to be here. Jona seemed very familiar to me, almost as if we’d met before.  

 

De’ja vu? 

 

I knew I’d never met him before but the feeling was so strong, I could not shake it.  Touching his hand...well, it was cool but not unlike shaking the hand of any man or woman.  His grip was firm and sure.  Quite a fine handshake, in fact.  The kind of handshake that makes you feel really good inside.

 

I was relieved when the three of us, at last, sat down.  I think my legs were getting weak.

 

One of the cafeteria staff stopped at the table and refilled all three of our coffee cups.  She smiled at the three of us in turn and said that the coffee was on, fresh and full.  And that she imagined that the three of us would be there for a while.  She added that if we wanted anything else, all we had to do was ask.  With a slight bow and a genuinely friendly smile, she left us to our conversation.  We sat and talked in the cafeteria for more than four hours.

 

I was still wallowing in my shock.  I was at a total loss for words.  (Those of you who know me, know that that does not happen very often.  A rare event indeed.) 

 

Mr. Z  finally broke the silence by asking if I had any questions, either for himself or for Jona. 

 

But, for the next several seconds, which seemed like hours, I sat there looking from left to right and back again, totally blown away.  I wonder now if I even remembered to close my mouth.

 

Jona spoke then, assuring me that it was fine to ask questions.  He went on, saying that questions are how we learn, and that there is no such thing as a stupid question.  “Feel free to ask me anything,” he insisted. 

 

Okay, now, really, where do you start?  How do you begin to ask an alien questions? 

 

Jona looked at me and smiled again.  Then he looked in the direction of the boss.  Mr. Z  gave Jona a barely perceptible nod of his head. 

 

So, Jona continued.  “Dennis,”  he said, “we are not aliens.  We prefer to be called Visitors.   After all, we are just visiting  your planet.  We are not here to take over or to colonize Earth.  We do not need the help of Earthlings to procreate.  We are here because Earth has discovered some secrets of nuclear power.  Earth is beginning to venture into space.”  

 

Damn!  Now Jona has read my mind.  I really need to get used to people reading my mind.  I need to watch my thoughts. 

 

Jona continued aloud, having read my mind again, that reading someone’s mind is actually considered rude, nevertheless, a serious part of my orientation.  “After today, no one will read your mind without your permission.  After you have completed your orientation, you, too, will have the gift of psychic hearing and speech.” 

 

Whoa!

 

Jona continued, explaining, “Here on Earth, people call it telepathy.  You will know how to use it, when to use it and why to use it, and you will never abuse that gift.”   He went on to say that this is not a threat, but that he could feel it in me that I truly understand a person’s right to privacy.  “In your heart, you know it is wrong to just enter someone’s mind without the person’s permission.”

 

Then Jona said, “Now, let’s get back to discussing our visits to Earth.  As I said,”  he went on, “Earth has ventured into space, not deep space, but space, all the same.”  As Jona was saying this, something unbelievable, something wonderful happened.  Jona’s lips stopped moving! 

 

His lips had stopped moving but I could hear him plain as day!  

 

Jona looked at me and said, “It is wonderful, isn’t it?”  His lips were NOT moving! 

 

Jona repeated, “It is wonderful.  It is wonderful to communicate with an open mind.”  Jona elaborated by saying that one of the things he enjoyed most about being on Earth is to watch a person as he discovers the wonders of the future, the wonders of life. 

 

From that moment on, Jona only spoke with me psychically.  Except for very rare, very brief laughter, I have not heard Jona speak aloud since.  Contrast that with Mr. Z’s always speaking vocally instead of psychically, telepathically.

 

Jona changed the subject a bit and explained why Reticulans prefer to speak  psychically.  "Our vocal cords," Jona went on, "are small, as the rest of our bodies and speaking vocally eventually hurts the vocal cords making us hoarse.  Speaking psychically is far better for us Reticulans."

 

The wonders of the mind.  This is getting exciting!

 

“The exciting part has yet to come.  Be ready, my friend,”  Jona thought/said.  “Be ready for the most wonderful experiences of your life.  You have much to learn, and I have faith in you.”

 

I took a very deep breath. 

 

Never skipping a beat, Mr. Z  asked if I would like to see my office. 

 

“Of course!”  I jumped at the chance. 

 

So, the three of us rose from our chairs and left the cafeteria together.  Back into that elevator.  I thought we would go up again, but, it went down once more. 

 

Down again.  How deep does this building go?  

 

Jona answered my unspoken question telepathically, “Ten levels below the surface.  This installation also extends under CIA headquarters.” 

 

Smiling, Mr. Z  said that we need to keep an eye on them at all times.  You know, keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.

 

Chapter Four

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

 

The door whispered open into another beige hallway. We exited the fast, silent elevator on the tenth level.  We turned left and walked down the hall for approximately one hundred feet.  To my utter amazement, the door on our right had a sign that read “Dennis Bossack.”  Below this temporary name sign, painted on the door itself, was one word:  ORION.

 

I matter-of-factly stated that I was a Sagittarius. 

 

Mr. Z  and Jona laughed out loud.  What was so funny? 

 

Jona mentioned that from this point on, I would be known as Orion, a code name of sorts.  He continued by saying that my name, Dennis Bossack, would be removed from the door in a week’s time.  Just long enough for everyone to get to know me.

 

As we were just about to open that door and enter my new office, Mr. Z  asked me to not say a word until he’d cleared me to do so. 

 

Okaaay.   I looked at him, but said nothing as he’d instructed. 

 

The office was, to my mind, magnificent.  It was spacious, with a large mahogany desk in the middle of the room.  On this desk was a beautiful tan leather desk pad, note pad and holder, and a pen and pencil set, along with  a clear glass ashtray in a matching holder covered in the same fine tan leather. 

 

Desk sets this nice I’d only seen in a Levinger’s catalogue.

 

Behind the desk was a soft, green leather high-backed chair. 

 

With arms.  I love an executive-type chair with arms.   And the leather smelled so good.  OKAY!  I can handle this!

 

The walls of my new office were the identical stark white found everywhere else so far except in the beige-painted halls.  The carpeting was a gorgeous Hunter green and deeply plush. 

 

There must have been three inches of padding under it.  I could take a nap on this carpet.  Hmmm...  Funny...No response from Jona or from Mr. Z.  

 

There was a green-shaded banker’s lamp on the desk.  Typical businessman’s office, but great!  

 

No paintings adorned the walls.  But, one wall was covered with some sort of a shade type of …weird …covering.

 

Can’t tell much about that wall in one brief glance.

 

Another wall appeared to be just the starkly white-painted-wall surface.  Yet, the third wall was white, but had an odd look to it.  This particular wall was about eight feet high by ten feet long.  So far, neither Mr. Z, Jona nor I had said one word aloud. 

 

I continued looking around the room.  The last wall held the only other door and it, too, was white.  Across the room from the desk was a green leather couch. 

 

Six feet of green-leather heaven. 

 

Mahogany occasional tables were placed at either end of the couch.  On the end tables were lamps and ash trays.  The lamps had the look of expensive antiques about them.  In front of the desk were two green leather wing-backed side chairs.  

 

Additional guest seating.  They didn’t look too bad either.

 

Immediately behind the desk stood a beautiful mahogany credenza.  There was also a square mahogany table behind and to the left of the desk with what appeared to be a very large CPU.  This was not an upright computer tower.  It was laying flat on the table.  It looked to measure about three feet by two feet in size, and to be sixteen to eighteen inches thick.

 

The ceiling was covered with the same, or similar, white acoustic ceiling tiles that I’d noticed in the cafeteria. 

 

Hmmm...but none of the ceiling tiles in this building had the little holes all over them.  Nothing spectacular with the ceilings, I guess. 

 

The lighting was the same glowing, indirect lighting as everywhere else in this place that I’d seen so far.  One thing I especially noticed were the table lamps.  They didn’t seem to have any electrical cords. 

 

Okay, so they’re battery-operated.

 

Mr. Z  looked over at me and telepathically asked me to state my name, my mother’s maiden name, my home town and my place of birth, vocally. 

 

I did as he asked.  And with that taken care of, Mr. Z  asked aloud whether I liked my office. 

 

I told him it was a dream come true.  It was a businessman’s dream office--lacking only the corner windows with a view of Central Park. 

 

He said the room had been furnished to my particular tastes and favorite colors.  I didn’t even bother to ask how they knew my tastes in furniture and favorite colors. 

 

I was positive how they already knew.

 

“By the way, Orion, you will not need the carpet for napping.  Follow me,”  this from Jona. 

 

I followed obediently as they approached the wall that was merely a white wall.

 

Magically, an opening door appeared in the wall.  We walked through this new doorway and there were the living quarters. 

 

Aha, my new bedroom. 

 

Much to my surprise, this room was not done in stark white.  Quite the contrary, these accommodations were flat, dull black.  As we entered, a softly dim white light began to glow.  I could now see that the entire room was dull black, the walls and the ceiling.  The floor covering was a deeply plush black carpet.  Even the furniture was black.  There was a fine ebony chest of drawers and there were two night tables, one on either side of a king-sized bed.  Of course, the headboard was also ebony.  There was a couch here, too, of butter-soft black leather.  Completing the suite was an ebony dresser, but no accompanying mirror.

 

I looked for a light switch.  There was none. 

 

Jona thought/said, “Tell the lights how bright you would like them.”  

 

I told the room that I would like to see everything clearly. 

 

The illumination, instantly, as if by magic, brightened until the whole room was bathed in a much more brilliant glow.

 

Nice touch.   Never have to stumble to find the light switch. 

 

Even the bed linens were black.  I leaned over and ran my hand across the bedspread.  I lifted the corner I was nearest to and tested the top sheet between my thumb and index finger.  One hundred percent Egyptian cotton, to be sure.  And, at least the quality of three hundred threads per square inch.   The sheets were black, too. 

 

There appeared to be a closet built into one wall.  The other three walls were bare, save for the entrance door.  I opened that door and peered inside.  Yep, it was a closet, all right.   I was astonished to see what must have been forty black jumpsuits, each on its own very nice white plastic hanger.  

 

I pulled one out for a closer inspection.  

 

Oh, my goodness.  What kind of cloth is this?

 

The jumpsuits were constructed of an incredibly singular cloth.  I discovered the first time I put a jumpsuit on that it fit my form perfectly, but was not the least bit tight or binding.  The material stretched when necessary, when I sat down, for instance, and always resumed its original shape when the stretching wasn’t necessary.  And, it never became pointy at the knees when you stood up again.  It’s difficult to describe the total comfort of this most unusual cloth.  It regulates body temperature to the surrounding ambient air temperature.  Even though all the jumpsuits have long sleeves, I was cool in higher summer temperatures, and warm as toast in much colder winter climates.

 

These jumpsuits had no zippers, no snaps, no sticky stuff, no fasteners of any kind.  You simply touched your thumb and index finger together just above where the fabric laid across your body and…sort of…pretended to zip it up, and Presto!  the two ends of the cloth melded together, outwardly appearing to be just a seam.

 

On the right sleeve, at the shoulder, of each jumpsuit was a sewn-on patch of the American flag.  On each left sleeve shoulder was sewn a triangular patch that was unfamiliar to me.  The border of the equilateral triangle looked like very fine twisted yellow-gold rope.  Inside the triangle was a circle.  Upon closer scrutiny, I recognized the globe as planet Earth.  Striking and going through Earth were two red lightening bolts.  Above Earth, in gold thread, was the Greek symbol of Omega.  At the bottom of the triangle, below and to the right of the Earth, in gold thread, was the Arabic numeral three (3).  On the front of each jumpsuit, a name patch was sewn onto the left breast above the pocket.  Machine embroidered in gold thread was the word Orion.  On the right breast was embroidered, gold thread again, the Arabic numeral three (3).   All of the thread colors were intensely brilliant. 

 

“What are the jumpsuits for?”  I asked.

 

Mr. Z  answered, saying,  “Those are the standard uniforms of Omega Agency.”

 

“What’s the story with the triangle?”  was my next query. 

 

Jona jumped in and fielded this question, explaining that the triangle is the Universal symbol of peace, God's Holy Trinity.  That the Earth represents Omega Agency here on this planet, Earth.  The lightening bolts represent the Universal energy, which would be explained to me later.  That, of course, the Omega symbol represents Omega Agency and that the number three was my ranking, which would also be explained later.  And, that all of the symbols were on a black field representing the vastness of deep space which comprises most of the Universe, God's creation.

 

“What’s the story with the black jumpsuits?  Jona’s is purple.” 

 

Jona answered, “The black suits are reserved for The Fifteen, which will also be explained to you later.”

 

Gingerly, I put the black jumpsuit, still on its very nice white plastic hanger, back into the closet.  That’s when I noticed the four pair of black boots on the floor of the closet underneath the jumpsuits.

 

Whoa!  What beautiful boots!

 

I picked one up and examined it closely.  There was no heel, per se.  The sole was soft, straight across and looked to be two inches thick.  The sole felt like what I think of as crepe, but it had no treads.  It was smooth.  The upper was smooth leather.  There were no laces and no seams.

 

I was amazed the very first time I put on a pair of these boots.  Of course, I had to pull them on, but the effort was not like the putting-on-and-pulling-off struggle of cowboy boots.  They were supremely comfortable first time out.  I even discovered equal comfort without socks.

 

“Where is the...ah.  After all this, I need to... you know.”

 

“This way,” Mr. Z  gestured.  He led me to a neatly installed pocket door in the far wall of the bedroom.  It, too, whispered open as I approached it.

 

“That’s a great touch,” I said.  When you’re in a rush you needn’t worry about the door.  I love this place!

 

Jona chimed in,  “You will find most doors in this building and in the new complex work that way.” 

 

“Great idea,” I said, “but now I need to use the boys’ room.”

 

When I’d passed on through the portal, the door slid closed behind me.  Another pleasant surprise awaited.

 

The bathroom was a cool, pale blue, with blue glowing light.  I found the light to be very soothing to my eyes.  It was a standard bathroom:  commode, shower stall, sink, mirror and a medicine cabinet.  A small cupboard was built into one wall.  I opened it.  It was your typical linen closet with all the usual supplies.  I took care of business and rejoined Jona and Mr. Z  in the bedroom.

 

“So.  …You like?”  asked Mr. Z. 

 

“I love it, but why all the black in the bedroom?” 

 

“No distractions.  Better sleeping conditions,”  was his reply.

 

“Jona, you mentioned a new complex.  Am I out of line asking about this?” 

 

“No,” Jona thought/said.  “The new installation is located underground Albuquerque, New Mexico.  We will move in the first of the year.”

 

We walked back into the office area.  I asked Mr. Z  why we couldn’t speak upon first entering. 

 

Mr. Z  explained that the computer was reading me for security purposes. 

 

What do you mean the computer was reading me?  

 

Mr. Z  went on to explain that the computer system here is operated on voice command and can read who is in the room by picking up that person's DNA signature. 

 

“You,” he said, casually pointing his index finger at me, “had to be added to your computer.  Try it out,”  he said. 

 

“How?”  I blurted.  I’d read that computers existed.  But, the only ones I’d ever seen were the ones he’d shown me.

 

Jona said, “Think that you want to use the computer and it will hear you.” 

 

What?!  Think I want to use the computer?!  

 

“Yes,” was Jona’s reply.  “Think it, and it will read you.  The computers here work on thought as do most other things.” 

 

I squeezed my eyes shut and began thinking as hard as I could about using the computer.  I knew nothing about computers.

 

“No, no,” Mr. Z  chided.  “Just think about it normally.” 

 

With that, the computer came to life and said, “Good morning, Orion.”   It was a female voice, very businesslike, not sexy or overly friendly.  It was as if “she” was my very own personal executive secretary, who knew the inner workings of my heart and mind.  But that first time hearing the voice, took me totally by surprise.

 

Whoa!  I jumped back and Jona and Mr. Z  laughed.  “Am I keeping you two amused?”  I asked.  I was embarrassed. 

 

“As a matter of fact, yes, you are!”  They darn-near shouted in unison.

 

“Okay, so when do I get my shiny red nose and big floppy clown shoes?”  I hotly demanded. 

 

“You’re not the clown,”  Jona said, “but it is always amusing to watch a new person’s reactions to this technology.  We take it for granted around here.  You’ll see soon enough,”  Jona insisted. 

 

So, the computer was alive. 

 

“What now?”  I inquired, my feathers smoothed. 

 

Mr. Z  suggested that I ask it for a map of the Omega Agency installation.

 

I did.  Instantly that one wall that looked a little odd came to life!  It was a computer screen.  The whole damn wall!

 

On it was displayed a map of the entire complex.  Floors Four, Six, Seven and Nine were disproportionately large.  I noticed that Floors Two and Three were storage areas for supplies and foodstuffs and such. 

 

I asked about Floors Four, Six, Seven and Nine.  “Why are they so large?” 

 

“Those floors will be our next tour and then you will need some time alone to collect your thoughts and feelings,”  Mr. Z  stated flatly.

 

We left my new beautiful office behind, and headed for those whispering elevators once more. 

 

“What happens if I forget where things are until I know my way around?”  was my next question. 

 

Mr. Z  stopped by the elevator and showed me a small screen to one side of the door.  “If you ever do get lost,” Mr. Z  said, “just touch one of these screens, which are everywhere, and a map, which is set up as a personal guide for you, will appear on the screen.  It will show where your office is, the cafeteria, and so on.  Getting lost in this installation is not as easy as you might think.”

 

We entered the elevator and ascended to Floor Seven.  When the door had whispered open on the seventh floor, I was completely and totally spellbound.  I just stood there taking one deep breath after another, looking out into one humungous  room.  This place appeared to be lined with white cement.  There were people, busy people, as far as my eyes could see. 

 

I stared, open-mouthed, at Mr. Z, then I stared at Jona.  I was completely at a loss for words.  I stood motionless, frozen, feeling as though my breath had been forcibly sucked out of my chest. 

 

Finally, I managed to whisper, “Wh... what’s that?”  I was pointing, again, at...what??  I had no idea.  A second time, I tried to speak.   I only managed a breathless gasp,  “What IS that...?”

 

I had to stop cold and think.  Was this possible?

 

Chapter Five

Wednesday, November 08, 2006

 

What IS that thing? 

 

I started to shake, I guess, because Jona put his hand on my shoulder to calm me.  I took another really deep breath and settled myself down.  Even settled, I was incredibly awestruck with what my eyes beheld. 

 

It was right in front of me, not more than ten feet from the elevator door.  There it was.

 

It was the shape of a triangle.  It looked to be about forty feet on each side.  And, it was just floating about twelve inches off the floor of this cavernous room.  Seeing this thing the first time gave me such a feeling.  A feeling that is so difficult to describe that I won’t even try.  However, one thing you could feel was the power of thing.

 

I managed, at last, to step away from the elevator and into the room.  As I entered the room, I could see hundreds of people going about their assigned duties.  The room must have been, at the very least, the size of two airplane hangars.  You know, those massive hangars that Boeing uses to assemble six or eight jumbo jets at a time, all under one roof. 

 

As I slowly turned my head and took a better look around,  I saw triangular craft.  I saw disk-shaped craft.  I saw craft shaped like cigars.  The ‘cigars’ were huge.  Hundreds of feet long, these ‘cigars’ were bigger than huge.  They were enormous.  I asked Mr. Z  and Jona about these. 

 

Jona said that they are transports, very similar to the trucks, or lorries, or even trains, used here on Earth.  The transports carry goods and materials from planet to planet throughout the Universe. 

 

Intergalactic trade, was what Jona had just politely described.

 

He informed me that there are eight hundred twenty-three (823) inhabited planets discovered in the known Universe, so far.  Seven hundred fifty-two (752) of those planets have reached maturity and have achieved deep-space travel.  The planets trade all sorts of goods with each other.  Eventually, Earth will become a part of all this.  However, Earth still needs to mature.  “But, enough for now.  Let’s continue your tour,” Jona concluded.

 

We walked on through the hangar.  As we passed people working at all sorts of jobs, everyone acknowledged our presence with good mornings, top o’ the mornings, hellos, all in different accents from countries the world over, actually all over the Universe.  It simply amazed me how many different accents I heard. 

 

As we strode along the hangar’s perimeter, we happened upon a door.  The door opened suddenly.  From within emerged a tall blonde woman (very tall, maybe six feet five inches) wearing a skin-tight light blue jumpsuit.  The woman was obviously in impeccable physical condition.  Muscular, beautiful, feminine, with an unbelievable air of confidence about her.  She stopped and chatted with us for brief moments. 

 

She was absolutely breathtakingly gorgeous! 

 

She looked squarely at me and said, “Welcome to a new life.” 

 

Mr. Z  made the formal introduction, saying her name for the first time.  Her name was “Cellom” (pronounced see-loam).  “Cellom is from Virum,” Mr. Z  continued.  “Virum is in a star cluster so far from Earth, that Earth does not have the technology to see it yet.  Maybe in another couple of hundred years, but not yet.” 

 

We said our good-byes and continued on our tour.  As we walked along, Jona told me that the Virums were the people who’d first made contact with Group One in 1929.  What better people to send than the Virums:  highly intelligent, supremely confident, well-informed and anyone’s idea of beautiful. 

 

The best ambassadors you could ask for. 

 

Jona, continuing my instruction, said that the Virums are at a changing point in their evolution.  From this stage of evolution of the Virums, they will gradually become smaller in size.  Brain capacity will increase, but body size will diminish.  As evolution progresses, the body becomes more efficient.  “Smaller IS actually better,”  Jona stated proudly.  “Enough on this, you will learn much more later,”  Jona said. 

 

Walking through the hangar, seeing all the space craft and meeting Cellom, I felt like I was coming down with my first-ever case of information overload. 

 

OH!  Was this exciting!

 

We approached one of the disk-shaped craft.  As we got to within about six feet of it, a section of the bottom opened and a ramp silently extended toward us.  I followed Mr. Z  and Jona up the ramp and into the ship. 

 

Oh, this was totally incredible.  I’m actually standing inside a UFO, a space ship! 

 

Jona turned and looked at me and thought/said, “UFO is no longer the case.  You now know what it is.  To you, now, it is no longer “unidentified.”  You now know what it is.” 

 

Incredible!

 

“Remember,”  Mr. Z  said, “for now what you see here, and what you will see in the future, must, I repeat, must  remain secret.”   

 

“Yeah, I know,”  I replied sheepishly.  But I couldn’t help blurting right out, “Do you realize how this could change life as we know it?” 

 

Both Jona and Mr. Z  looked at me and almost in unison said, “Exactly!” 

 

Jonna went on to say that this is exactly why all this, for now, must remain secret.  He said that I should try to imagine the effect it would have on Earth if the evolutionary chain were to be broken or altered.  Jona insisted that, at this stage of Earth’s evolution, this would destroy the planet. 

 

“The sad part of this job is having to keep it secret,”  Mr. Z  added. 

 

I finally took a moment to look around the inside of the ship.  It was the same gray-silver color inside, as it was outside.  There were four unusual captain-type chairs in the center of the domed area.  These were located just in front of what seemed to be a control panel.  There were highly strange-looking clear tubes running along the wall. 

 

“Inside those tubes are fibre optics,”  Mr. Z  said. 

 

Oohh!   Here’s something I’d never heard of before.  Behind the control panel, approximately fifteen feet, was a silver box on the floor. 

 

“What’s that?”  I asked. 

 

Jona, again, fielded my question.  “It is the motor, or engine, that makes the ship fly,”  he said. 

 

“But, it’s so small,” I said. 

 

The box was, roughly, one foot by two feet and about two feet thick. 

 

“It is a motor like none other on this planet, not yet,”  Jona commented. 

 

“You will learn about it soon enough,”  Mr. Z  stated flatly.

 

“How do you see where you’re going?”  I asked. 

 

Mr. Z  waved his hand above the control panel.  The wall behind the panel instantly came to life.  It was a screen of some sort, showing everything and every person in the hangar.  The scene was crystal clear, no distortion at all. 

 

"Okay, this is great,” I said, “but there are no controls, no steering wheel or anything.  How do you steer it?” 

 

“Thought,” Jona answered. 

 

“Thought, like the computer?”  I asked. 

 

“Precisely,” said the both of them in stereo. 

 

“Could you give me a demonstration?”  I asked, eagerly hopeful. 

 

Whoa! 

 

Lo and behold, the craft sprang to life immediately.  The ramp closed.  The craft lifted itself to just below ceiling level, and slowly and steadily circumnavigated the room.  I couldn’t feel any movement. 

 

That’s strange.  I was intrigued.  My very next question was why couldn’t I feel it moving.

 

“The compartment adjusts itself for the needs of the occupants,” Jona explained. 

 

“Okay…but it seems as if we’re not moving at all.  Maybe that is just a picture on the screen.” 

 

Then, amazingly, the floor became transparent.  I looked down on all the people working below. 

 

Okay.  Really.   Now…I’m still not totally convinced.  That view, that picture… just could be, might be a projection screen on the floor.  I studied the situation as closely as I dared.

 

Mr. Z  shook his head, “We do not play games here.  This is very serious business.” 

 

The ramp silently extended itself.  I cautiously, slowly approached that ramp.  Then, holding on for dear life, I carefully peered out and down upon all the people and craft below us.  A few of the workers below, noticing, looked up and waved. 

 

Happily, I waved back.  This is great!  I’m actually riding in a flying saucer!  I was completely astounded. 

 

“If you think this is something, hang on,” commented Mr. Z. 

 

Jona asked me to rejoin them and have a seat.  As I sat down, the weird foam of the chair molded itself to the contours of my body.  I felt as if someone were giving me only half of a hug.  There were no seat belts.  I noticed that the silent ramp had already, magically, disappeared.

 

Jona reassured me, “Relax.” 

 

“It’s a little hard to relax when your whole life is changing,”  I was blurting again, a bit breathlessly.   I had taken the seat just behind Mr. Z, as I wanted to watch Jona run this thing. 

 

We moved slowly around the hangar, at ceiling level, just barely skirting the walls.  Suddenly, Jona started heading the thing directly at one of the walls.

 

I thought we were surely going to crash into the wall when, miraculously, the wall opened revealing a very large tunnel-type aperture.  The tunnel looked to be finished off with white cement, just like the hangar.  There were black markings of some unfamiliar design along the walls on both sides of the tunnel.  The same indirect glow-lighting was in use here also.  Upon entering the tunnel, Jona stopped the ship on a dime. 

 

“What’s wrong?”  I asked, alarmed. 

 

Jona said nothing was wrong.  That I needed to experience the full effect of take-off. 

 

Take off??  Uh-oh, the FULL EFFECT OF TAKE-OFF???  What had I gotten myself into? 

 

Mr. Z  smiled at me and with that twinkle in his eyes, he said, “Prepare yourself for the ride of a lifetime.”  You like going fast, well, as they say, you ain't seen nothing yet.

 

Okay, now I was really nervous.  I’m about to die, right here in this foreign thing. 

 

Jona turned, looked at me and said, “Relax.  If you die, so do we.  We’re not ready for that yet.”

 

I held onto the arms of that chair with everything I could muster.  My knuckles quickly sailed through the stages of purple, blue and white.  My muscles went rigid.  I wasn’t sure if I wanted to close my eyes or keep them open.  My heart was pounding and racing. 

 

I could feel my heart trying to get out of my chest.  It felt like my heart was playing that really fast drummer tune, “Wipeout.”   I began to sweat.  I even had thoughts of backing out of this ride.  Suddenly, I did not want to experience the full effects of take-off. 

 

Mr. Z, much too calmly, looked at me and said, "The ride of a lifetime, my friend.  Let’s go.”

 

Was this truly within the realm of probability?  Or, just possibility?

 

 

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