Book 6 – The Beta-Earth Chronicles Series
So, on that February day, when six aliens in the Marivurn spaceship touched down on the white sands of Doctor’s Cave Beach, they landed at the most ideal location possible. In less populated places, local law enforcement and other government entities would have immediately done everything possible to suppress the news of an alien landing. Such matters, most governments would have felt, should be cloaked in secrecy, fearing how the public would react.
But there was no way there could be any secrecy with the arrival of the Marivurn. From the moment it appeared in the bright, clear sunny skies over Jamaica, for miles video-phones and cameras began recording the strange craft’s descent. Almost immediately, videos of the unexpected sight were sent to online sites all over the Internet.
At Doctor’s Cave, even more recorders focused on the ship when it glided down for its landing. The only time the ship was hidden from view was when it approached the ground and thick, white beams coming from its bottom kicked up clouds of beach sand and debris into the air. It looked nothing like anything anyone had seen before. With its pulsating, throbbing, rumbling hum that quickly went away once the craft settled on the sand, it sounded like nothing ever heard.
The triangular hull was a deep-black, corrugated metal that shimmered and rippled in the sunlight as if it was a living thing. Its edges looked rough and sharp. There were no obvious windows, lighting, or hatches. That part of the ship was around thirty feet long with a flat middle peak running front to back around seven feet tall towards its back end. Behind the triangle were two large, round metal bulbs that looked about twelve feet in diameter. “That Thing is kind of eerily beautiful,” one onlooker whispered into his camera’s microphone. “It’s kind of menacing, all black on this white beach.”
Interest in the craft grew even more when a side hatch opened and six passengers slowly stumbled out onto the sand. As the aliens became visible, many amateur photographers climbed onto chairs and tables to shoot over the heads of the scattered groups of the beach-goers. Gasps of surprise burst from all over the beach, especially from so many amazed children who raced away from their water sports to join in on the excitement. In particular, those who saw the large-chinned Hamed pilots didn’t know if they should be startled, frightened, or laugh out loud. The other four bodies, looking so normal, didn’t get as much attention. Mostly, the people watched how the two men and two women had difficulty standing up.
But only for a few moments. It didn’t take long for two of the humans, the pair carrying black satchels over their shoulders who looked very much like average teenagers, to rise wobbly to their feet and start looking around. After they said a few words to each other, the young man raised his right hand in greeting and called out, “Greetings, my fellow humans of Alpha-Earth! My name is Malcolm Renbourn III and me and my sister” – he indicated a smiling Olrei beside him – “come to you from our home planet which we call Cerapin-Earth!”
“And the others behind us,” Olrei called out, stepping forward towards the crowd, “include our brother and sister from another earth as well, their home planet called Beta-Earth! All our earths are part of our shared multi-verse which we have come to tell you about! All our planets, including yours, share the spaces in between the swirling masses you call atoms!”
Malcolm III and Olrei looked around them, not certain how far their voices had carried considering how loud the rhythmic music of the synthesized horns and guitars, thumping bass, and the melodic pounding on the steel-pan drums was in the background. They needn’t have worried. They had everyone’s undivided attention, to put it mildly. Some people were even applauding, thinking the show was some sort of creative entertainment.
By this time, Malcolm II and Kalmeg had staggered to their feet, their eyes also looking all around them. They couldn’t have known it, but many cameras carried by male watchers were tightly focused on Kalmeg’s perfectly sculpted hour-glass figure. Instead, the Betans heard Olrei call out, “Oh, before I forget, let me introduce you to our Cerapin pilots back there, the Hamed brothers! I know they might not look it, but they too share our common humanity, the humanity that populates all our worlds!”
While Malcolm III and Olrei began walking towards the gawking people who stared at them with open mouths and wide eyes, Malcolm II and Kalmeg simply looked back at the onlookers. If the aliens intrigued the local folk, well, the Jamaicans and their guests were equally interesting sights for the Renbourns. Under the coconut trees that dotted the beach, people were sitting beneath large shading umbrellas or were walking around wearing sunglasses, hats, and wildly colorful shirts and shorts. Without question, the most eye-catching sights were the swimsuits and the bodies wearing them.
“Father’s people,” Malcolm observed happily, his eyes drinking in the tan and dark-skinned women displaying all that human flesh in those swimsuits.
“It would be nice to think,” Kalmeg replied, her own eyes appreciating the hard-bodies of the other gender, “they arranged this party just to welcome us!”
However, it was quickly evident the aliens weren’t as welcome as they hoped. Suddenly, several official vehicles pushed their way through the crowds. Four and then six uniformed men came running at them. Holding out pistols gripped in both hands, five of them wore white and blue striped short-sleeved shirts and black serge trousers with red stripes down their seams. The one in front, the obvious leader, wore a khaki jacket, shirt and trousers, with epaulettes on his shoulders. He wore a deep blue peaked cap with a black band and silver braiding on the peak.
He was the one to call out, “All of you, down on your knees! Now! Toss those satchels away from you, away from the crowd! Now!”
The four Renbourns looked surprised, but slowly dropped to their knees. Not understanding a word they heard, the Hameds followed suit.
The officer who had called out the commands came closer. “Now, let me see your papers!”
“Papers?” Malcolm III looked up. “Papers?”
“Your entry visas, your passports, your official permission to land that craft over there!”
“Ah, I guess you didn’t hear. We are from other planets. That spaceship just jumped across three universes. These are our very first minutes on your earth.”
“Ah ha. And I’m Bob Marley’s ghost. Flat on the ground, all of you! Put your hands behind your backs!”
Return to Alpha, by Wes Britton, is available through these online booksellers. Click on any of these links to find out more.
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Wes Britton's Beta-Earth Chronicles 