The Alien's Secret Volume 3. Robert M. Doroghazi

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      The Alien’s Secret

      Volume 3

      Hero or Villain?

      Robert M. Doroghazi

      Copyright © 2015 Robert M. Doroghazi, MD

       [email protected]

      All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical or by any information or storage and retrieval system without written permission from the author or publisher.

      Cover art by Jessica Parks

      Edited by Geoffrey Doyle

      Published in eBook format by AKA-Publishing

      Converted by http://www.eBookIt.com

      ISBN-13: 978-1-9421-6805-8

      AKA-Publishing

      Columbia, Missouri

      Author’s Note

      I hated college English class. The word symbolism brings back nothing but unpleasant memories. My interpretation of everything was inevitably different than the instructor’s, which meant I was always wrong. A guy in a wife-beater undershirt kills a woman in a drunken rage with a pick ax between the eyes: that sounded pretty nasty to me. Sorry, Robert: you didn’t appreciate the irony, the sarcasm, the pathos, and the inner turmoil. Nope, guess I missed that. I’m not sure whether it was my crew cut, or that I suggested we read Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island or Mark Twain’s Huckleberry Finn, rather than Eldridge Cleaver’s Soul on Ice that upset them. I was told I would never get into medical school with an attitude like that. You’re lucky to get a B minus there, fella. Looking back, I think they were all just a bunch of pot-smoking hippies.

      I’ll save you all that phooey and tell you straightaway what this story is about. There is no doubt who the bad guys are: they say bad things and do bad things; they manipulate people, steal from them, lie to them, and abuse, then discard them. The good guys are the Lone Ranger, Sergeant York, Audie Murphy, June and Ward Cleaver type: clean-cut, hard-working, loyal, honest people of character, willing to die for what they believe in.

      Since political (in)correctness now mandates trigger warnings, I caution you that this book will make you sad, mad, and happy, make you laugh and cry, make you feel humbled, proud and embarrassed, make you want to hug and kiss your kids­—and could offend you.

      Chapter Forty-Two

      Finally Back on Track

      Hoken glanced at his watch: 0615 Thursday morning. He had hoped to make up more than three days on the trip to Earth. But because of the supernova event, he had not made up any time and had even lost an additional four hours. There were now barely thirty hours before the appointed time—thirty hours to get to the boarding house, take over #1, familiarize himself with the workplace, stalk and then ambush Rennedee.

      Hoken looked up at the sky. It was more than ten minutes after sunrise, but the moon was still visible. It looked so small as compared to the view Hoken had just an hour ago, and it seemed so bland in comparison to Oria’s two moons. Hoken contrasted the off-white pale cheesy-yellow pasty color of Earth’s moon with the golden yellow of Auric and the green of Alcuinn.

      The Earth’s sun was only slightly smaller than the Orian sun Mhairi, but looked tiny because of the absence of the Rankin Cube, which was so huge that it dominated almost 10 percent of the Orian sky. It made Hoken think back to the pictures in the history books showing the pre-Rankin sky with the three moons and no Cube.

      Hoken quickly checked his pants pockets; everything was where it should be. He took off the backpack and checked all the flaps: everything intact. Nothing had fallen out.

      Hoken looked around. The only traces of his landing were the broken trees branches, some leaves on the ground, and some nondescript marks in the dust. No re-entry suit, no Sergeant, nothing else to betray him or his alien identity. Aside from Tonto or the Indian guide “Billy” in Predator, no one else could tell what had just taken place.

      Hoken had to cover six kilometers in less than an hour to get to the boardinghouse where #1 was staying before he left for work. As soon as he started north toward the railroad tracks, he heard an engine. Oh no, he thought, not again. He quickly discovered it was the Sergeant’s car; the engine was still running and the headlights were on. Hoken had wondered how Wiggans could have surprised him and now he saw why. Because of the path of the road, the headlights were never really pointed in his direction, and the slight bank on each side of the road and the gently rolling terrain had blocked the sound.

      He had no intention of using a black and white police car for transportation, but he did want to do anything he could to prevent drawing attention to the car. He opened the door, turned off the lights (this was before they went off automatically), then the engine, closed the door, and gave the keys a good toss. The land was open with no place to hide the car. It was easiest just to get as far away from the vehicle as quickly as possible.

      Hoken was in the country. The area was chosen for the landing zone because there were no residential dwellings for almost a kilometer in any direction. It was pasture land, with a few scattered head of cattle, lots of road apples, and a few trees. With no obstructions, Hoken could move fast.

      Hoken had by now completely recovered from the crash landing and felt strong and refreshed. Even though his rations had been sparse over the last three days, they were nutritionally adequate. He instantly appreciated that his strength was magnified by almost a third. Running seemed effortless. He was gliding along, and with each stride his spirits were buoyed. With the temperature a cool thirteen degrees and just a whiff of breeze, Hoken was barely sweating. The bad stuff was now all behind him; he had made it to Earth and the mission was back on track.

      Look out, Rennedee, he thought, because I’m coming to get you.

      Hoken came to a small rise, barely two meters high, but because the rest of the land was so flat, he could see a good distance in all directions. Hoken knew from studying the maps that more than a kilometer behind him to the south was a concrete plant. He could see the awkward-looking concrete mixers and the cars driving into the parking lot, several with their headlights still on, men and a few women showing up for another day’s work. On Andddla, thought Hoken, the ants would be taking care of all of this sort of work.

      Hoken kept running straight north. He could now see his first goal, the railroad tracks about four hundred meters away that angled to the northeast. A freight train was on the tracks moving in that direction, the same direction Hoken was headed, to the city. As Hoken ran toward the tracks he counted the cars—in English—of course. There were three engines, the first two pointed forward, the third pointed backward, all with the MKT, Missouri, Kansas, and Texas logo. There were 97 cars and one caboose, exactly 101 cars in all.

      When Hoken reached the tracks, he veered to his right (northeast), to run alongside the train. Because the train was approaching a metropolitan area, the tallest buildings now easily visible in the distance, it had slowed down and was barely moving faster than he was. He glanced at the frame of one of the boxcars just next to his left shoulder. It was manufactured by General Steel Industries, Granite СКАЧАТЬ