PROFILE OF AN ALIEN
I think; therefore, I am.
Profile of An Alien
by Jim Williams
His first breath and his first nightmare happened in the same short eternity of one second.
March 19, 1952
He was only five years old. He could still remember the moment of impact in 1947. He also remembered something very alien to his newfound existence - fear. The turmoil inside his young mind and body had lasted for the blink of an eye, the span of the death of millions of energized electrons that had ripped the ship open like a square of butter.
The ship had streaked out of a black hole at a velocity ten times its designed rate of speed. And then an almost invisible blur shooting through frigid space, one million miles from Earth, the silver, saucer-shaped spacecraft had drastically decelerated to relatively coast into Earth's atmosphere guided by a particular coordinate - the middle of the eventual location of the Bermuda Triangle. The on-board computer was programmed to follow simple landmarks that had been picked on previous trips. At this phenomenal 'coasting rate' the ship passed over Washington DC, and, one second later, the Eiffel Tower, on a winding route blazing through the ionosphere to thwart detection and was mistaken several times as a sudden but unflaring meteorite that just disappeared into oblivion.
The event left no green radar trail but caused radar alarms to sound indicating that something had broken the airspace above the western hemisphere heading northeast. These were common occurrences with meteorite storms and, therefore, never followed up. And the technology of the day would not facilitate a follow up, only an embarrassing shrug by security chiefs.
But at the last possible moment the crew averted its intended landing at that hot spot of the Atlantic Ocean where ship resources would have been renewed via ionic transfer of ocean water molecules. A simple ionic converter as small as a bread box that worked in conjunction with sophisticated nuclear energy. The former being like an impulse device to drive the latter seriously energized warping device. Space and time were beautifully warped into universal shortcuts which caused the ship to reach seemingly impossible acceleration.
The ship was designed to go incredible distances on a drop of water. But that cataclysmic moment averted the energy revival for a more pressing priority - survival.
Many options had been considered and eliminated in the blink of an eye to determine what path was best for any chances of survival. Radar would have easily spotted the ship skipping over vast sections of the ocean, so land was opted for camouflage purposes. But one chance bolt of lightning became the proverbial can opener.
While the ship violently erupted into many parts in the lower stratosphere just several hundred feet above land, his body tumbled through space attached to the bed his mother lay dead on. Only an inner wall, sections of the floor, and the bed hurtled awkwardly into the rain soaked ground of a farmer's pasture. All disintegrated on impact, but his lightweight form needed no more than the buffer of that disintegration.
Afterward, cognition was incredible.
He awoke acutely aware of everything. He was especially aware that the premature impact and subsequent destruction of their vessel was his fault. The image of his mother's fears and the truth of her secret pregnancy were all cruelly embedded there in his mind. He was a secret until the last violent minute, when his birth was almost too late to save. He was aware of his own birth, his exodus and genesis, before his first breath. The craft had been struck by lightning the moment he was born. And because of this fortuitous moment, for the first time in the history of the universe, knowledge for one unique being was innate. He was born superior, bypassing all required steps toward superiority. Knowledge was his fount springing forth. His birth was an evolutionary miracle, his survival was impossible, yet he existed.
His body was still evolving, his cells on fire with activity.
The crew had switched their space ship's controls to manual. In automatic, ship sensors, which assimilated climitalogical data and predicted the lightning, would have played the necessary role in avoiding the supercharged bolt of energy, and would have landed the craft safely and undetected. But the moment of his first breath was the moment he not only heard the high pitch of jagged white-hot energy and the contact of the enormous natural energy with even more enormous synthetic energy, but he had felt the lurch followed by his first nightmare in the form of their violent landing.
The craft was capable of incredible speed far surpassing even the imagination of scientific minds on this planet as they discussed even the possibility of UFOs. As they approached, the craft was placed in manual. In automatic, the crew knew the craft would deflect or dodge all sensor inputs such as radar ...and lightning. This blink-of-an-eye movement, the sudden changes and tossing about of passengers, would have jeopardized the birth - his birth in Roswell, New Mexico, on March 19, 1947. The birth should have been delayed and would have except no one but the mother was aware of the pregnancy until she was screaming at the moment of contractions which gave a warning of only seconds before his entry into the madness that followed.
In that indescribable moment of electrified birth he was born in one second, but then he was reborn in the next heartbeat into a being that not only the mother, but the universe would not recognize.
Three passengers including himself had survived that jolting nightmare. However, his mother had died at the moment of childbirth. Irony. He saw life and she saw death in the same space of time. But he had known her for 9 months, so he would always know her. He had every thought she had, every experience she had. He knew her inner most emotions. Not normal for Bellatians, but the result of a split second of heated energy that found its way into his beginning and made him what he was. A true miracle of the universe. Perhaps the next evolution of being that bypassed tens of thousands of years of evolving. Like traversing the galaxies the easy way, worm holes, bypassing time and space. He had bypassed normal evolution. And now he was on his own. He was alone and isolated from his world and his people, but he had an incredible advantage. He was anything he wanted to be.
He did not look five years old. He looked like any 19 year old male on planet Earth. And in spite of the recent memories, and the worst fate any Bellatian had ever incurred, he felt great.
Since his fifth birthday, the memories constantly invaded his consciousness, but he gladly allowed these intrusions to flood his cerebral world, for he could consider, deduce, hypothesize, and size up all his options and prioritize all stimuli while sharing emotional solitude with incredible survival instincts. His brain was on fire, alive with synaptical impulses slicing through the myriad of convolutions at impossible rates. He smiled because he was aware of this and it made him feel powerful and happy. He allowed a brief moment where the memories found the worst of that shattered night and the following day when he stood in the midst of the grandest manhunt ever conceived by the human race up until that time.
And at a time when he should have been looking up into the eyes of a loving mother, and searching with his lips for the pink nipples for their fount of life-giving milk, instead, he, a new-born being in this vast universe of mystery and terror, witnessed staggering fear and paranoia by a team of beings who sought evidence, indeed, were obsessed with combing every square inch of a five square mile area as though looking for their next breath.
Thanks to a searing bolt of energy, he had been born and in the next second transformed into something else, not a Bellatian or any other identifiable being but a blob of transformed chameleon energy while he actually stood undetected next to the first victim the anxious group discovered. He had merely considered the safety of this state of being and surprisingly had become an invisible mass. Then, he had watched with rapt attention as they walked through his molecular structure several times, their boots almost exactly the size of his invisible form. At the very moment of molecular contact their essence coursed through his very essence. The empathetic vibes were powerful. He felt their anxiety as soon as they approached to carefully cover the body that had been violently tossed from the craft but still lived.
They then hurriedly carried the small form away on a stretcher to a group of noisy green trucks that were the same color as the uniforms worn by these severely focused beings. There, the soldiers, as he later learned was the term for their purpose, tucked the living but badly injured body through the flaps and onto the metal floors. The same was done with each of the two other bodies that were spread approximately thirty yards apart over the pastures that were grazed by funny looking animals that stood gazing complacently at the remarkable recovery team's efforts. Immediately the noisy vehicle sped off, following the one that preceded it. All heading for a secret outpost where nothing, not even a field mouse, would be allowed to enter this world of security and paranoia.
What did they fear, he pondered. Why were they so bent on secrecy? What did they hope to gain? They were home, he was not. He should be concerned about secrecy. His teams' arrival was supposed to be a secret, but the fatal landing became anything but a secret. Thanks to a lightning storm, the landing and subsequent cleanup became a fanatical effort by numerous men and machinery. Secrecy was impossible, so a coverup was the beings' only other option. He heard the term coverup on the news many times immediately following the desperate acquisition of all matter that had fallen in a blazing and chaotic pattern across the fields and pastures.
Profile of An Alien
And now he was aware that he gained the knowledge, complete knowledge, of anyone he came in contact with. He could actually recall their own information with greater detail than they could. His synaptic recall was perfect, theirs - far from perfect.
Profile of An Alien
MEETING OF THE MINDS