The God Class: The Third Nick Wolfe Sci Fi Adventure (Nick Wolfe Adventure Series Book 3)
Authors: Ross H Henderson
THE GOD CLASS
By Ross H. Henderson
PUBLISHED BY:
Black Capsule Publishing
Copyright 2016
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real names, places, or events are purely coincidental, and should not be construed as being real.
No part of this work may be used or reproduced in any manner, except as allowable under “fair use,” without the express written permission of the author.
Newton Paxson was alone at 2 a.m. on Friday, April 20, 2140, when the giant spaceship landed in West Kansas, outside of the small town of Healy. It was one of the few places left in North America with hundreds of miles used just for farming, with no buildings and few nearby inhabitants. Paxson sometimes liked to go to the area to look at the night sky and to be alone with his thoughts. Mostly, he liked to get high and lay down in the back of his beat-up pickup truck without worrying about anyone seeing him.
At first he thought it was a meteor as it came down from the night sky, because it looked like a large rock. But the comet tail that would normally have followed the giant rock was under it, and at times in front of it. Like rocket thrusters, but they were quieter and more elegant. More like pale blue lights than fire, there was no question these lights were propelling and halting the craft. Even after smoking a larger-than-usual amount of weed, it didn’t take Paxson long to understand this was not a meteor. No, this was something else. It was … a spaceship. It didn’t look like a spaceship. At least not like what Newton Paxson
—
or most people
—
grew up thinking a spaceship should look like. It wasn’t metallic and smooth, with lots of lights. This one had lights, but they were more like headlights or spotlights coming down from about the middle of the structure.
Now that it was closer, the structure looked like a floating mountain, about 300 feet tall and miles across. The bottom third of the mountain looked like it had been suddenly and violently detached from the earth. The mountain came to rest gently in a vast expanse of land about a half mile from Paxson and his truck. Despite the softness of the landing, there was a deep rumble in the earth as the mountain settled in. Paxson could see a large part of the ship collapsed inward.
This ship has seen some kind of action,
thought Paxson,
but was this damage sustained in space or here on Earth?
He was a little scared, but this was the most extraordinary thing that had ever happened to 24-year-old Newton Paxson, and he felt compelled to walk toward the ship. It was obviously controlled by something, but was it on some kind of autopilot, or were there alien life forms at the controls? It made him feel better to believe the autopilot theory, since he had no idea how he would handle an alien invasion.
He came up to the structure and was surprised to see a metallic door in front of him. He walked away from it as he gathered his nerve. He lost his nerve as he realized the door was following him as he walked. He was startled, fell backwards, and scraped his hand badly on rocks as he landed. After a moment, he chalked it off to the marijuana, and finally walked toward the door. He was not surprised as it opened for him before he could touch it.
Paxson walked in and could see the first half of a cavernous room, which looked spherical around the edges where the light reflected. He thought he could feel the floor shift slightly back and forth until it finally settled. The liquid-filled cylinders and scientific-looking equipment were tidy and apparently undamaged. In fact, the room looked pristine enough for the most delicate operation. He guessed there was a sort of gyroscopic force keeping the room upright no matter the position of the ship itself.
By now it was almost 4 a.m. and Paxson was a little tired. He sat down on one of the surprisingly Earth-like chairs and leaned back, dreaming of the glory and notoriety that would surely be his for discovering and exploring this alien craft. He dreamt, fell asleep, and dreamt some more.
Before witnessing the landing, Newton Paxson was alone. He was a student at the local university, majoring in English literature and working part-time at the campus library. He had had a few girlfriends over the years, but nothing that lasted as long as he wanted it to. Invariably, his need for attention and reassurance grew to be too much for any woman or relationship to bear.
He wasn’t bad looking, but was not as attractive as he thought he was. He was tall, but about 30 pounds overweight and he slouched. He had thick, straight brown hair, parted on the side, but long enough to fall into his face. He wore an army parka, which he thought hid his paunch, but actually made him look even larger than he actually was. In the shadows it made him look like a large, shapeless mass with legs.
Paxson was lonely and often resentful of the power of others. He thought about how he might better himself and his station sometimes, but never dwelled on it long enough to make any meaningful changes in his life. It was easier to blame the rest of the world for his troubles.
All of this was about to change.
He woke up in his own apartment on the morning of Sunday, April 22, about two days after falling asleep in the ship. He remembered the events of Friday morning, but only vaguely, as if the whole thing had been a dream. Still, he could not account for the lost time. Paxson turned on his news feed to see if anyone else had discovered the ship, but there was no mention of it.
He noticed his hand was completely healed and, overall, he felt pretty good. He looked in the mirror and looked as good as he could remember looking. His slouch was gone, and his clothes were even a little loose.
“I guess two days without food will do that,” he chuckled.
Invigorated from a few days of sleep and seemingly reborn, Newton Paxson was ready to attack the rest of the day and get things done. First and foremost, he resolved to go back out to the spaceship and make sure no one else had discovered it. Then he would decide whom to call first: the media, the local police, or maybe the military. He hadn’t figured that part out yet, but he was sure he needed to get back out there.
Even in the middle of the day on a Sunday, the feeling of isolation in this part of the country was a unique thing. There just wasn’t anything out there, and most people were either too content to live and play in the city and suburbs, or too scared to venture very far out. Many didn’t even see the point of owning cars since there were trains to take them wherever they really needed to go.
Paxson was in the middle of congratulating himself for being the last of the pioneers who owned independent transportation when he pulled close to the landing site. Everything looked normal, at first, as if the ship had never landed. This did not deter Paxson, who knew somehow the ship was still there. It was more than a feeling, more like a true sense that it was still there. As he walked closer, his feelings were confirmed as he saw the reflection of the now-familiar metal door sliding around a smaller looking version of the mountain he saw the other night to meet him.
“Of course,” murmured Paxson, “the ship is embedding itself to become a part of the Earth.” He knew then it would be pointless to try to tell anyone about the ship. This ship would not be found unless it wanted to be found. He still had not met whoever was running the ship, but by now he knew whoever or whatever it was, it was communicating with him. It trusted him. Newton Paxson had never felt so deep a connection with anyone in his whole life, and there was no way he would betray that trust.
He walked closer to the door and it opened. Newton walked in and sat, knowing he was welcome.
“I know you have things for me to do, but do I have to leave so soon?”
The presence communicated directly into Paxson’s brain. Paxson’s words, spoken aloud sounded like a one-sided conversation between a child and his imaginary friend.
“No, I really would.”
“I want to learn more.”
“But I don’t have anyone else.”
“I would like that.”
“I understand now. Okay, I’m going. Thank you for choosing me. I won’t let you down.”
He stopped short of expressing his love for the presence. He wanted very much to say it, but he didn’t want to look weak and disappoint it.
Newton Paxson walked out of the mountain with a purpose in his stride, and quickly made his way back to the truck. Now, more than ever, he knew he was a changed man. He even started thinking of himself as a man, as an adult, as opposed to using close-but-no-cigar terms like, “guy,” “dude,” or the simultaneously infantilizing and asexual term, “student.” It made Paxson feel a little sick and embarrassed that he had thought of himself like that only a few days ago.
It didn’t matter now. All he had to do was say yes and Paxson was a man now, with a job to do and a higher purpose. He would fulfill his destiny and become a great man, but for now he just needed to go home and prepare.
Nick Wolfe was getting ready to board a plane bound for the United States when he received a call from Tristan Evans, his employer, partner, and occasional rival. Wolfe and Evans had a long history of fighting privately funded battles in secret little wars. Wolfe and his team were an elite group of mercenaries, and Evans was their leader and financier, developing weapons and giving cover with his company, BioMek Horizons.
Evans started, “I got your message about Pangaea breaking up and flying off and I thought you had lost your mind, but our stations in New Seattle and in Atlanta both tracked a mass from the South Pacific
—
presumably your flying island. It started at about a hundred square miles, but seemingly could not stay together. It shrunk consistently in mass as giant chunks of it fell into the ocean, like a giant, over-dry, flying cookie. By the time it reached the United States it was close to the size it is now. The last of the big pieces, about a 5-mile wide mass, fell harmlessly in the Mojave Desert.”
“Harmlessly? How? If a meteor that size fell back into the atmosphere it would be like a nuclear strike.”
“Except it never left the atmosphere. It flew at about three or four hundred feet, and less once it reached land. It flew under the radar, so to speak. The US Air Force saw it, but couldn’t explain it, except to say they thought it caused the mid-sized earthquake very far east of the San Andreas Fault. They can’t afford the technology we have at BioMek, nor can they afford the human intelligence. We have people working for us almost everywhere. They do so willingly, and make it their business to be excellent at their work, because I pay them well. They actually spotted the island before you told me about it, but had no idea what it was before we talked.”
“Have you seen the rock in the Mojave?”
“I have a team out there collecting samples, but besides some unusual metals making up the rock, they haven’t revealed anything. The metals alone would be the discovery of a lifetime if I didn’t know what else had happened on the island. Rik Kronos was full of secrets.”
“So you haven’t found any of the buildings or control areas?”
“No, but we think those are in Kansas, just outside a small town called Healy. That’s where we last saw the main part of the island-ship. We haven’t detected any activity in a few days, but it slowed up in mid-air and made a gentle landing, rendering about .2 on the Richter Scale. Really, it wasn’t bad for a 20-mile wide structure of any shape.”
