This blog has been really heavy lately. (As are the times.) So I thought I would lighten things up with a excerpt from the novel I’m writing, Majestic Seventeen. As you may guess, it’s about the UFO Phenomenon. Another one of my lifelong obsessions.
I had the basic kernel of the story years ago, when I first read the book Mirage Men by Mark Pilkington. The UFO lore was so rich and complex, led in so many dimensions, I was surprised it didn’t appear more in popular entertainment. It would be fun to write.
I missed the whole “Glowing Auras and Black Money” article furor originally. But when the three videos GIMBAL, GOFAST, and FLIR made worldwide news I clued back in, and realized now was the time for this story.
At this point in the story my main character, Carmen Acevedo, has already been nabbed by Majestic because he’s seen too much:
“You pendejos really are spying on us!”
Quinn grunted with what seemed like amusement. “We spy on everyone. Most people are boring as shit.”
Carmen saw no need to disbelieve him. “What about Emilio?”
Whitmer fiddled with his phone, and an image came up of a terrified-looking cousin Emilio in an interrogation room. The timestamp said 12:04 AM. Three hours ago? Emilio was being badgered by three men in Air Force uniforms, but he quickly conceded and signed a paper, just like Carmen had. Then he was hustled out of the room.
“Mr. Diaz got quite a scare, but he realizes now that your message was a matter of national security. Will he be quiet?” Whitmer asked coyly.
“Yes,” Carmen said. Emilio was a stand-up guy. If asked to keep quiet by appealing to his patriotism, he would.
“Then let’s go,” Whitmer said, and exited the car. Quinn followed.
When Carmen got out of the car, he realized where they were. In the distance, lit by floodlights, was the famous Vehicle Assembly Building, looming huge and white. Closer and to the right, there was a rocket in a gantry, also lit by floodlights. The limo was parked on an ancient, cracked slab of concrete. The sound of the Atlantic surf came distantly from what must be the east.
“This is Kennedy Space Center.” Carmen had come here on a Boy Scout trip. Once seen, it wasn’t forgotten. “Why are we here?”
With an annoying smirk, Quinn pointed upwards.
Carmen looked up.
He saw nothing.
Or did he?
There was something up there—some weight or mass in the air above them. Carmen realized he could no longer hear the surf, the insects. A weird silence had descended.
Then a deep, subsonic humming arose from the silence. The sense of weight, oppression increased. The hair stood up on his arms and neck.
“What—?”
“Just wait,” Quinn said, grinning.
A column of red light suddenly pierced the darkness, shining down from— —a ship, a craft, an aircraft? It was triangular, black, and huge—stupefyingly huge. Like a building flying. Stories tall, wide as a football field. It descended over them, silent but for that humming noise—no engines, no wind from its descent. It fell eerily down from the sky, too quiet, too slow.
About thirty feet over their heads, it stopped. Its surface was matte black and featureless, except for a faint tracery of pattern—circuitry maybe. The red light had been replaced by three smaller white lights at the corners. A cylinder extended down from its underside; a door opened. A lift.
Carmen tried to speak, couldn’t. Swallowed, tried again. “Where are we going?”
“Alaska,” Quinn said, and stepped in the lift.
Whitmer gestured, after you, and Carmen steeled himself and entered as well.
Some doors you can never go back through.
I hope you like it! I’m all but done with the first draft.
Atlantis Fallen 