Alien Affairs

December 1960

President elect Kennedy said, “I’m not at all comfortable with this plan.”

“It’s gone too far to pull the plug now. How are you going to keep all those Cubans quiet?”

“Dammit, I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. What else?”

Allen Dulles sucked on his pipe before continuing to brief the incoming president. “In 1947 a flying saucer crashed near Roswell, New México. We captured it and four aliens, three of which were already dead.”

Kennedy looked incredulous. “You’re serious. What happened to the fourth one?”

“It was put out of its misery but since then we’ve discovered from one of the artifacts found at the crash site that they were here to destroy us.”

“My God, why?”

“According to information found at the crash and deciphered several years later, they created the human race as some kind of experiment and they were simply finished with us. They intended to release some chemical agent that makes everybody sterile and in a generation we would go extinct.”

“And you believe this?”

“I don’t accept the idea that they created us but I have to take seriously the threat to annihilate us. The concern is, we don’t know if the sterilization agent is on the earth or possibly on the moon and can be released remotely, or if they are sending another squad to try again. My people say that the soonest they can get here again is 2016, that is unless they have a base on the moon.”

“Well, we damn well better get to the moon and find out.”

“Yes, Mr. President, we could use a little help with that.”

August 1974

The political turbulence of the summer of 1974 landed Gerald Ford in the Oval Office with a suddenness not seen previously in American history. After his appointment to the vice-presidency when Spiro Agnew resigned in disgrace, he had to wait only eight months for Richard Nixon to also resign under fire. The Director of the CIA, George Bush, had to scramble to bring the new president up to date on clandestine activities.

Near the end of one such briefing session Ford conceded, “We’re going to have to learn to live with Ho Chi Minh and put the whole damned thing behind us.”

“I’m afraid that is the prudent thing to do,” Bush said.

“There is something I’ve wanted to ask you since I took the oath of office.”

“What’s that?”

“What is the truth about UFOs?”

Bush rubbed his jaw and took a deep breath. “Mr. President, since the CIA has taken charge of the matter, that information is released on a need to know basis, and just being the president does not give you a need to know.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What could possibly be so vital that it has to be kept secret even from the president?”

“Unless and until something happens that puts you in a need to know position, that must remain classified.”

Ford glared at Bush, dumbfounded.

Miles Ashly continued to read and transcribe text from the aliens’ reading device several years after Lambert Gray retired. When Ashly finally announced his retirement, Bush relegated the material to the archives and put the Department for Alien Affairs out of his mind. Ashly, a lifelong bachelor, moved into a guest house behind the home of his sister and passed his days entertaining the granddaughter of his only sibling while the child’s parents worked.

“Sweetheart,” he said to the five-year-old, “do you like secrets?”

“Uh huh.”

“Good, then we shall have a secret. We are going to learn a secret language that nobody else understands. Would that be fun?”

“Uh huh.”

Thus Carrie Player became the fourth person on earth to speak the alien language. Ashly told her it was the language of the Dogon people of Mali.

March 1981

Carrie skipped down the school bus steps and went to have milk and cookies with her Uncle Miles, and practice deciphering text that he created for her, until her mother arrived to take her home. “What’s that book about?” she asked in their secret language and pointing to the hardback on her uncle’s lap.

“It’s about a flying saucer that is supposed to have crashed a long time ago in New Mexico.”

“Is it true?”

“No, dear, it’s just a silly story.”

“Have you ever seen a UFO?”

“No, I never have.”

“Do you believe in them?”

He paused to consider the effect of his answer on an eleven-year-old psyche. “I’m sure we’re not alone in the universe, but space is so big, I don’t think anybody will ever find us.”

“I hope not. That would be scary.”

“There’s no reason to be scared. Why would people from an advanced civilization want to hurt us?”

“Take over our planet and eat us.”

Ashly got a good laugh from that. “You’ve been watching too much television.”

When his charge left with her mother, Ashly pondered what he was reading—an incident that he knew to be true but he knew nothing about thanks to the heavy hand of the government and the cunning of Allen Dulles. After thirty-three years eyewitnesses had come forth with diametrically opposite accounts of the wreckage in the sheep pasture. He contemplated his own oath of secrecy. Then he rose and fetched a snifter of brandy.

May 1988

Carrie Player’s eyes brimmed with tears. Her uncle lay on the rented hospital bed with his head slightly elevated, a cannula beneath his nose and an IV in his arm.

“No need for tears,” he said.

“But I don’t want you to go.”

“We all go sooner or later, my dear. Now, I have to tell you something important. Do you know what I did for a living?”

“Didn’t you work for the government?”

“CIA.”

“You we’re a spy?”

“Not much of a spy. I was an analyst. A linguist. I translated documents.”

“How many languages do you speak?”

“I have forgotten but the most important one is our secret language. It’s time you knew the truth about it.”

“Truth?”

“It is not the language of the Dogon people.”

“It isn’t? Why did you tell me that?”

He chuckled slightly. “Didn’t you ever wonder how the Dogon came to have words for modern technology?”

“I figured they saw things on TV.”

That drew another laugh that made him cough. “Don’t make me laugh. It hurts.”

“I’m sorry, Uncle Miles. I didn’t mean to.”

“You remember the Roswell flying saucer story and the government’s explanation that it was a weather balloon, well, that’s a lie. It was a real flying saucer piloted by four real extraterrestrials, and one of them survived the crash.”

“Oh, my God, you’re kidding me.”

“I swear it’s true.”

“What happened to the ET that survived?”

“The Air Force killed it—”

Carrie gasped. “Why did they do that?”

“They were absolutely determined that the public would never know the truth. A live alien was too big a risk.”

“What did they do to him?”

“I don’t know. They never told me any details of the incident. I had to figure it out for myself years later, but about our secret language, it is the aliens’ language.”

Her mouth fell open. “No way.”

“They recovered an artifact from the spaceship that was like an electronic book. It was my job to decipher it. You are only the fourth person to ever learn this language and soon you will be the last person to understand it.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You have to be realistic. I want you to promise me that you will put your gift to good use.”

“How?”

“The aliens came here to harm us.”

“Why?”

“They made us and they returned to destroy us, and they are coming back to try again.”

“You’re making me scared.”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you before. You’re old enough now to handle it. There aren’t many people left who know about this and the few who do aren’t doing anything to prepare for it.”

“What are you telling me?”

“Next year you are going to start college. Be sure to study Russian. In your third year I want you to write to the CIA if they don’t approach you first. The CIA usually doesn’t accept applications but you’ve got something they need. Tell them you know about the aliens’ book and their plans. The recruiter who reads your letter won’t know about it, so tell him to check with the director. Tell them you are my niece. Will you do that for me?”

“Sure, Uncle Miles. It’ll be cool to work for the CIA.”

“That’s my girl. Now, in the time I have left, I’ll tell you as much as I can remember about aliens so you’ll be prepared for them when they get here.”

“Are you expecting me to save the world?”

“Only humanity.”

January 1994

Carrie Player opted to go for a masters in languages, and therefore, did not write the letter to the CIA that she promised her late uncle until the start of her fifth year at Georgetown University. She did not get a reply.

Six months before her graduation her counselor summoned her to his office. When she arrived she found instead of a familiar face, a rather mousy looking man in a cheap gray suit. “Miss Carrie Player, I’m Agent Schwartz. Please sit. I’d like to talk to you about your letter.”

“You’re a CIA recruiter?”

“That’s right. You said some rather provocative things. We have to assume that your uncle, Miles Ashly, violated his oath of secrecy.”

“He told me those things on his deathbed. He never told anyone else and neither have I.”

“I hope that’s true for your sake.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let’s just say that because of your unique language skills, we are prepared to offer you a position after you graduate.”

“Doing what?”

“Linguistic duties. Translating documents.”

“That same document that my uncle worked on?”

“That isn’t part of my need to know, but I can say that the Company is desirous of keeping your unique skill on staff.”

“After graduation I had planned to take six months to travel.”

“That will be fine. Would you be willing to start training next January?”

“Sure.”

“Take my card. Make sure I know where you are while you’re abroad.”

November 1995

In Belfast, Northern Ireland, President Bill Clinton addressed a crowd that included some schoolchildren who had written letters asking questions and favors of the president. Clinton said, “I got a letter from 13-year-old Ryan from Belfast. Now, Ryan, if you’re out in the crowd tonight, here’s the answer to your question. No, as far as I know, an alien spacecraft did not crash in Roswell, New Mexico, in 1947. And, Ryan, if the United States Air Force did recover alien bodies, they didn’t tell me about it, either, and I want to know.”