“Still she let you go.”
“Yeah. I dunno, I guess that makes her even crazier than me.”
“It makes her a special lady. You were high school sweethearts, weren’t you? What girl from Tucson wouldn’t want to marry the quarterback? Then you go and become an astronaut. You’re an all-American hero, Frank.”
“Let’s just say it’s not easy being married to a spaceman. What about you? Wife? Kids?”
“Nah. Divorced. She didn’t like me drinking. Didn’t like it when she told me to stop and I kept doing it anyway. I’ve calmed down now, though. Realized I was headed for an early grave if I didn’t. Dad eventually got through to me, gave me something to live for.”
“It’s important to listen to family sometimes.”
“What would you have said to Susan if she’d asked you not to fly to the Moon?”
Borman thinks about it. “I’d have gone anyway. She knew that, too. Why she didn’t ask, I guess.”
“She coped as best she could. Like the other wives. They stick together, don’t they?”
Borman says, “Through thick and thin.”
“How is she now? Still got her problems?”
He’s crossed a line now. Borman turns on him. “That’s none of your damn business.”
30
Donald Menzel is with him in the silent darkness of midnight when the visitors arrive. By this time, the ranks of the arrival party have swelled to include Trick Stamford’s father Garrick, Colonel Wade Fallon from defense intelligence and — at Menzel’s behest — retired Rear Admiral Roscoe Hillenkoetter, the first director of the CIA after World War II.
Back in 1960, Hillenkoetter infamously went public in the New York Times with a call for congressional hearings to examine the “truth” about unidentified flying objects. In so doing, he broke ranks with Menzel and MJ-12 — the unit set up by President Truman to bury everything connected to alien visitation. Yet he’s here at Menzel’s invitation, the dissident brought back into the fold — a man of integrity and experience in such matters. But more importantly, one more man Menzel knows he can trust to speak the truth as a witness, if called upon.
Lord knows Colonel Fallon couldn’t be relied upon to speak openly to anyone. But in light of their previous association, Borman takes Fallon aside in the hope of smoothing things over with the man. “I thought you’d be trying to film all of this, Colonel. But I don’t see any cameras.”
“No point,” Fallon tells him. “The visitors don’t allow it. Last time we tried, the film was just black. Overexposed. Same with TV cameras. They’ve got some sort of electro-magnetic field that protects them from it. Which is why we’ve been so interested in the photo you took. The fact they allowed it to be taken at all seems like a good sign.”
“Yeah, about that,” says Borman. “We’re OK, aren’t we?”
“You’re asking if I’m OK about being lied to?” Fallon replies.
“I wouldn’t have put it quite like that.”
“Relax Borman, you wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t moved on. You’ve gotta understand, there’s nothing we won’t find out. When you try to outplay us, you lose.”
The arrival happens so quickly it catches everyone off-guard. One moment the tarmac in front of them is open and empty, the next their ship jumps into a landing position as if materializing from thin air. Its appearance is punctuated only by a momentary blast of air, like the start of an explosion that is snuffed out before it can do damage. The laws of aerodynamics say all that air displacement can’t happen silently, yet there is no sound. The shockwave of their high-velocity landing is somehow absorbed.
The ship pulses brightly three times then goes dark.
Borman whispers at Menzel, “Aren’t you worried the Admiral here will go to the press?”
Menzel shakes his head, unmoved. “An alien ship landing at Edwards Air Force Base? Even if he found a newspaper to print it, we’d make sure he came off sounding like a kook. Nobody would believe it.”
“I barely believe it myself and I’m staring at it. You really do have those newspapers in your pocket, don’t you?”
“One thing I forgot to mention,” says Menzel hurriedly. “Don’t call these folks the Anunnaki. That’s our name for them. They call themselves the Ryl.”
The ship is just like the one Borman photographed on the far side of the Moon. He finds it more than a little unsettling to see it here before him in this secret science show, undermining everything he thought he knew. He can feel their presence like an electrical static in the atmosphere. The air is alive with it.
There are two of them… giants at least ten feet tall. Both wear what look to be dark purple robes, like priests. The fabric of the robes throws back ambient light in rainbow hues, like reflections from an oil slick. As they walk forward, their robes somehow evaporate as if they had merely been a mirage, or perhaps an affectation of rank the visitors now wish to ceremoniously shed for their time on Earth. It leaves the Ryl garbed in simple, figure-hugging black flight suits.
Other than their sheer size, they look human in every way. Borman is immediately reminded of the tale of David and Goliath. They have no escort. Perhaps they have security staff remaining inside their ship. Either way, they appear untroubled by any possible risk to their personal safety. Borman wonders at the weaponry that might afford them such confidence.
Menzel leans in to whisper, “I’ve met these two before. They’re royalty. You should feel honored.”
Where had the doctor met them before? Borman wonders what else Menzel isn’t telling him.
The human delegation bows to their visitors, who in turn offer what might be called a curt bow of acknowledgement. Borman realizes then it is the politics of this moment that imbues the Ryl with such confidence. Once they were honored on Earth as gods, but when the humans eventually lost their faith in the ‘Anunnaki’, so the Ryl lost their power to compel. They might have chosen to wipe out their human subjects, but they did not.
Now the stakes are entirely different for both sides.
Their names are Ningal and Utu (woman and man) and they carry themselves with a distinct air of superiority. They are well used to commanding respect and awe. They acknowledge Menzel’s welcoming words in silence. While apparently able to converse in English, they are slow to speak. They gaze down upon those present, as if merely by being here they are demeaning themselves.
Ningal’s hair is long and black, pulled back into a ponytail that runs most of the way down her back. It’s strapped to her suit, presumably to avoid it becoming a hazard. Over their flight suits, each of them wears a black waist belt adorned with what looks like small cylinders. Small tubes barely thicker than a human hair run from their belts to their mouths, presumably some sort of breathing apparatus.
They move slowly over the ground between their ship and the conference area. Borman figures the Earth’s gravity must be a struggle for them, if they have become accustomed to living on the surface of the Moon. They take their seats in the conference area arranged by Menzel’s people, looking like a pair of oversized adults forced to sit at the children’s table.
Ningal is first to speak. She looks straight at Borman. “I see you,” she tells him.
“I see you too,” he replies, somewhat puzzled by the greeting.
“It was my ship you photographed,” she explains. “The reason we are here tonight.” She appears to be struggling for breath. She grabs the jug of water on the table and downs the water in one gulp. “It is many years since I returned to Earth. I find it weighs heavy.”