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May 22, 2440 – 12:00:00 AM
The lights came up just as the knock on the door registered.
“Enter,” Leonard called wiping the sleep from his eyes. “You are a godsend, Ellen,” he added, standing and stretching, wishing he had picked the couch for sleeping rather than its commanding presence. “How’s the mod on the floor?” he asked her, “and thanks for the coffee,” he added. Not even his wife brought him coffee the way he liked it after thirty years of marriage.
“That is the job of a senior NCO,” SGM Ellen Bacchus chuckled, taking a seat. “Truth is I just don’t know how to read it. There are too many eager beavers who want to claim a piece of history. What I can say is they are too focused on the ship that is going to land this morning and not the seven others that will be here in five days.”
“Not you?” he asked knowing the answer. At thirty-six years in service with twenty of it as a sergeant major he knew this woman was unflappable.
May 22, 2440 – 1:00:00 AM
“They’re entering atmo,” the tracking officer said tensely, fingers flying across the console. “Looks like they’re pulling thirteen Gs.”
“What was that?” General Leonard Octavius Wood demanded, leaning forward.
“The ship… it appears to be caught by Earth-based beams, originating from unknown Beacon technology. They’re slowing it down and stabilizing it.”
“Earth-based?” Leonard’s eyes narrowed. “Do we have a trajectory?”
“Not yet, sir. It’s decelerating too smoothly, like it’s being cradled. Descent is too slow for standard reentry. We can’t predict a final landing site.”
Silence settled over the command center, thick and electric. The only sound was the hum of holographic displays, flickering with alien telemetry.
Then…
“General! We’ve got movement!” another tech called out. “Objects are ejecting from the ship—hundreds, maybe thousands. Small, drone-like. They’re spreading out in a wide formation.”
Leonard’s jaw tightened. “What the hell are they doing?”
“Pulsing lasers, targeting the Earth’s surface!”
“Are we under attack?” Leonard’s voice sharpened.
“Negative, sir. They’re scanning topography. The data’s… being sent directly to us.” The officer paled. “This is incredibly detailed. It looks like they’re mapping the planet in real time. I think they’re looking for a landing site.”
May 22, 2440 – 3:00:00 AM
The command center erupted into focused chaos, maps updating by the second, alien data flooding the systems.
“Earth Command,” a new voice came through the speakers, clear and steady with a hint of strain. “This is Sub-Captain K’Rem T’all, navigator and acting captain of the V’ren refugee ship under Progenitor control. Eight possible locations have been identified as suitable by our automated systems. Here are the coordinates. Estimated landing in twenty-four to twenty-eight of your minutes.”
“Where?” Leonard barked.
“Three in the western desert, two in Kansas, one in Missouri, one in Indiana, one in West Virginia,” the tracking officer reported.
“Great, yokels and hillbillies,” muttered Colonel Neils.
“Sir, the options are down to two, Missouri and West Virginia,” the officer said. “The others have been rejected.”
May 22, 2440 – 5:00:00 AM
“Sir, the ship is slowing further. Final approach pattern confirmed. Missouri is the likely landing site.”
Leonard snapped into action. “Then we’re focusing everything there. I want a full security perimeter, medical teams prepped, and air support on standby. Every asset, now.”
The command center shifted into a disciplined sprint, orders flying, teams mobilizing.
Leonard’s expression darkened.
“Missouri,” Colonel Neils scoffed.
“We have an operative on the ground in the projected path. Former Logistics Command, Special Services. Inactive since his wife died nine years ago, but he owns most of the land near the projected crash site,” Jeff Adams said, looking through the list of assets
“What’s he doing now?” Neils asked.
“He’s still in logistics. Runs a small distribution network and farms his ancestral land under a freehold title. according to the CCA note.”
“Get him on the line.”
The call buzzed, then connected to a gruff voice.
“Matthew Jonathan Boone Marmaduke here. What the hell do you want?”
