The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.

The military cargo plane carrying Diane, Jim, Whatsit and Lucy, landed at the New Orleans Lakefront Airport at 0730 on April 14, 1948. It had been decided that with all the potential candidates for DNA sampling who had to be interviewed and tested, Lucy needed to get firsthand training with the sampling protocol. The success of the trip to meet the Dalai Lama had buoyed Jim and Diane’s confidence, and they wanted to expand their live sampling as quickly as possible since the hard work of isolating the unique DNA sequences lay ahead.

The airport was constructed on a man-made peninsula jutting into Lake Pontchartrain and had been co-opted by the Army during WWII as a strategic location for protecting the Gulf of Mexico from enemy incursion. B-17 bombers were the most numerous aircraft sitting in silent rows on the concrete aprons in front of large, dark green hangars.

A strong, warm breeze was blowing in from the lake and both Hoffman and Smith had to hold on tight to their wide-brimmed spring hats to keep them from blowing away as they walked from the plane to a waiting army-green sedan. Whatsit sported a brightly decorated straw sombrero held in place by a draw cord knotted tight under his chin. The outfit they had settled on for Whatsit’s public outings was something that wouldn’t necessarily look out of place but was large enough to hide his alien body. The wide brim of the sombrero helped conceal Whatsit’s large head. The dark green trench coat served to hide his body, arms and legs. Black leather slip-on boots covered his feet, and a white silk scarf carefully bunched around his throat completed the ensemble. If he kept his hands in his pockets, the disguise was virtually complete. If a person didn’t look too closely at his eyes, they appeared to be just large dark sunglasses.

As they walked toward the sedan, Diane noticed a shadowed frown on Blunt’s face and asked, “Jim, you seem distracted. Why the long look?”

“Yes, I noticed it too,” chimed in Lucy. “Not airsick are you? I have some meds for that.”

Jim slowed his pace and turned towards them. Sweeping his arm toward the lines of B-17′s, he said, “I used to be so proud and confident of United States military aircraft.”

Shaking his head and pulling the corner of his mouth upward in a half-smile Diane had come to recognize as a cute part of his personality, he continued, “Now that I’ve seen the Chrysallaman saucer in action, I realize all that hardware is basically useless. Just an annoyance to be plowed through by the Chrysallamans.”

Diane knew she had to get him out of his psychological doldrums so she reminded him with all the bluster she could summon, “Major, we’re working on this problem right now and with maybe 65 to 70 years to plan and build, we will prevail. So get over yourself.”

Lucy looked at Diane with wide-eyes, thinking, “Get over yourself. What a great line.”

Jim stared at Diane for a moment, and with a self-deprecating smile and nod, he turned and strode to the car. Diane and Lucy watched him walk away, hesitated and followed. Whatsit, who had been watching all the Human interaction, reading the mental pictures unknowingly projected by them as they chattered at each other, turned his head from side to side, blinked his large, black eyes and followed them.

Army Private Louis Laforge had long ago learned the boot camp survival technique of keeping his mouth shut and his eyes straight ahead. Born in Metairie, Louisiana, he knew the New Orleans streets and back alleys very well from his days of delivering groceries for his Uncle John. He was 5 feet 11 eleven inches tall in his stocking feet and skinny as a rail. He held the car door open for the ladies like any southern gentleman and was surprised when the guy wearing the sombrero piled into the backseat with the women without removing the hat. He started to walk around to open the door for the Major, but the guy had already entered the front passenger seat and closed the door.

Jumping behind the wheel, Laforge turned to the Major, carefully avoiding the urge to ogle the ladies in the backseat and said in a southern drawl, “Where would y’all like to go?”

Blunt raised the flap over his breast pocket and pulled out a slim notepad. Looking at Laforge, he replied, “300 block of North Prieur Street.”

Laforge’s brown eyes narrowed and a couple of frown lines furrowed his brow. He knew that part of town. It was no place you took pretty ladies, and he said so. “Sir, y’all sure about that address? It’s not the kind of area you want to be in after dark. Kinda has a reputation for disappearances, if you know what I mean.”

Blunt’s reply was bold, if not surprising. With a sideways grin, he said, “Oh, just wait ’til you see the alley where we want to be dropped off.”

Lucy piped up from the backseat in her usual cheerful way, “It’s okay, Private, we’ve got an appointment.”

Shrugging, Louis started the car and drove in silence. The 300 block of Prieur Street was a couple of streets north of St. Louis Cemetery Number Two, a three-block expanse of typical New Orleans above-ground tombs. New Orleans had been built on top of a massive swamp, and early settlers had learned dead bodies would float up to the top of the ground when buried. The way to avoid this unhappy scenario was to build above-ground, stone crypts. Over many years, the crypts became so numerous and so elaborately decorated the cemeteries became known as Cities of the Dead.

Referring to his notepad, Blunt directed Laforge to an alleyway between a narrow, 2-story white, clapboard house and a larger 2-story red brick warehouse with concrete steps and red brick balustrades leading from the sidewalk up to a narrow porch on its second floor. The alleyway was sun-bleached concrete, badly cracked with sunburned weeds growing everywhere. Odd drawings with a mixture of straight lines, triangles and curlicues were painted across the concrete surface. Recognizing the Voodoo warnings, Laforge felt uneasy and decided he would stay with the car and guard it.

Jim got out and stuck his head back in the window as the others piled out of the backseat. He gave a no-nonsense order Laforge welcomed with a look of extreme relief. “Stay with the car. Be ready to leave the minute we return.”

He started to walk away and turned back to Laforge with a stern glint in his eye. “No matter what you hear or see, don’t leave this car to come looking for us. Clear?”

“Yes, Sir,” Louis replied as he thought, “You don’t have to tell me twice. This place gives me the creeps.”

Taking the lead, Jim walked down the alley toward the main street, carefully observing his surroundings. Prieur Street was neat and clean. Everything appeared normal. Except for the weird symbols painted in the alley, there was no indication he was walking up to the doorway of one of the most respected Voodoo Doctors in the World. Thinking about it, Jim decided he had been expecting dark skies, large trees filled with Spanish moss hanging almost to the ground and everything shrouded with a thick, white fog. Just too many scary movies he mused.

He looked sideways at Whatsit to see if there was any indication the Chrysallaman could detect the Skullreader. Unlike their encounter with Tenzin, Whatsit appeared unconcerned. Jim sent a thought picture to Whatsit asking him if he sensed any mental communications from someone in the surrounding area. Turning his dark, black eyes toward Blunt and shrugging his shoulders, Whatsit shook his head in the way he had learned meant ‘no’.

The group climbed the concrete steps leading to a heavy, wooden front door. There was no door handle. Only a large rusted metal door knocker was fitted in the door. Blunt got the distinct impression a battering ram would just bounce off the door if anyone tried to force their way through it. Painted on both sides of the door frame were identical tall, golden triangles with a circle on top. Within each triangle near the bottom, a painted open eye seemed to follow you no matter where you stood on the porch. Diane was the first to reach the door, and she grasped the door knocker and banged it three times.

In a few seconds, the thick door opened to reveal an elderly black man wearing dark pants, a white shirt buttoned all the way up to the collar and a light gray cardigan sweater. His hair was close-cropped, salt and pepper in color, and he sported a neatly trimmed beard. He was short in stature and moved easily for an older gentleman. He didn’t seem to be bothered by old age problems like arthritis, weakening muscles or bowed back.

James LaRene acted like he had never met a stranger. As he opened the door wider and gestured for them to enter, a wide, genuine smile lighted his face. His whole look and demeanor suggested a kind grandfather welcoming his grandchildren into his home for a visit. One thing drew everyone’s attention. The pupil and cornea in his left eye were clouded over with a milky appearance.

“Come in, come in and good morning. I’m James LaRene,” he said as they walked into the large entryway inside the front door.

Off to the left was a sitting room with two armchairs and a sofa, all mismatched but looking comfortable, arranged around an oval coffee table. Bright sunlight, blocked by horizontal blinds covering the windows, made the room appear cheery and inviting. There was an unmistakable odor of incense.

LaRene looked them all over, the smile never leaving his face. Extending his hand to Jim, Diane and Lucy, he called each by name and said, “It is my pleasure to welcome you into my home.”

Glancing to his left and looking Whatsit up and down from the top of his sombrero to his black boots, LaRene noticed Whatsit keeping his hands inside his coat pockets. Placing his hand on Whatsit’s shoulder, he patted him saying, “Mr. Whatsit, you are a special guest in my house. I know all about you and where you come from. Please don’t be shy.”

Jim, Diane and Lucy watched with slack-jawed amazement as Whatsit removed his green hands from his pockets and pushed his sombrero off his head so it hung behind him by the draw cord. Whatsit moved to LaRene and hugged him like some long-lost relative. Jim and Diane, who had witnessed the meeting of the Dalai Lama and Whatsit, were surprised but pleased by the display.

Lucy looked at them with wide eyes, silently mouthing the word, “Wow!”

Moving back a little, LaRene motioned to a door in the wall opposite the entryway and said, “Let’s move into my dining room. There are enough chairs for everyone.”

The door opened into a large room with a long, ornate dining room table with three chairs on each side and one on each end. The chairs were padded and well-worn, as if they had been used at many holiday feasts. The chair on the far end of the table was the only one with arms, and everyone guessed it was LaRene’s personal chair. A crystal chandelier hung over the middle of the table. Windows lined the left-hand wall with the same type horizontal blinds as the sitting room. A large, wire bird cage hung from a thin chain attached to the ceiling in the far corner. Two bright yellow canaries twittered and flitted about the cage, excitedly jumping from one perch to the next.

Lucy thought, “How nice. My Grandmother loved her canaries.”

The smell of fresh baked pastries filled the room. On a buffet table against the wall opposite the windows, a scrumptious selection of doughnuts, small cream puffs and fresh fruit were displayed on silver trays. On the far-left hand end of the buffet table was a silver coffee urn surrounded by delicate china cups decorated with pink flowers. China plates with the same floral design as the cups were stacked to one side of the silver trays. On the right-hand end of the buffet was a small plate filled with raw, ground beef.

Grandfatherly LaRene gestured towards the food and said, “Please, everyone try some of my cooking. It is not often I have such honored guests in my home.”

LaRene seated himself in the armchair at the head of the table. Whatsit picked up the plate of raw meat and sat down in the chair next to LaRene with his back to the windows because the bright light hurt his eyes. Jim, Diane and Lucy all selected their favorite pastries, filled their cups with the coffee, moved around the dining table and took seats. Blunt took the chair beside Whatsit, and Diane and Lucy sat next to each other on the opposite side facing the windows. The taste of the sweet pastries lived up to everyone’s expectations, and the coffee was rich and full-bodied. Blunt, who’d visited New Orleans several times in the past, thought the pastries and coffee were better than any he had enjoyed at restaurants in the French Quarter. Whatsit ate every morsel on his plate and then licked it clean.

After waiting a few minutes to allow everyone to enjoy their food and drink, LaRene asked, “Now that we’re all comfortable, would you please tell me why you need my help?”

Diane wiped her lips with a dainty, cloth napkin, and replied, “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Mr. LaRene. I think it quite obvious you know Whatsit is not native to our Earth, and you don’t seem the least bit surprised. You opened your home to us and didn’t show any fear or hesitation when you greeted our little friend.”

LaRene held her gaze, his smile not wavering in the least, so she continued, “It’s my impression the stories about your psychic abilities have a ring of truth.”

Lucy listened to Diane with growing admiration for her direct approach. She found LaRene’s milky eye distracting. It was the focus point when you looked at his face. She found it most difficult not to stare at the discolored eye and lose her train of thought, but Diane didn’t seem to be distracted by it. One of the birds flapped its wings, and Lucy turned to look at the cage; watching how the four birds sat on their perches side by side. Her musings were interrupted by more of Diane’s questions.

“Have you had any mental contact with Whatsit? You knew all our names when we walked into your home. Are you able to mentally communicate with him?”

LaRene, instead of answering her, looked over at Whatsit, gazed down at the plate in front of him and said in a concerned tone, “Oh dear sir, didn’t you like the meat? I have some different kinds in my fridge if you would prefer.”

Naturally, everyone looked at the plate in front of Whatsit, brimming with untouched raw hamburger. Jim seemed to remember he had watched the alien lick the plate clean. The birds in the cage ruffled their feathers. Two white cockatoos stared back at him, one of them lifting its claw and scratching its neck.

“Now that’s strange,” Blunt thought as he reached for his cup of coffee only to find there was no cup and no plate of small crumbs from his pastries. In fact, the entire dining room table was bare as well as the buffet.

Turning toward LaRene, he found himself staring at a young, black man perhaps 30 years old. The man had no beard but his smile was unmistakably the smile of Grandfather LaRene. He was bald and clean shaven. He wore a bright white T-shirt, and a small gold ring hung from his left earlobe.

Looking across the table, Jim saw Diane and Lucy staring with widening eyes, first to him and then to the young man. Their eyes darted about, filled with a mixture of surprise and growing fear. A keening wail bubbling from Whatsit jerked Jim from his reverie. Jumping up so quickly his chair fell backward, Whatsit rushed to the opening leading back to the entryway and bolted out the front door. Worried about what might happen, Jim followed him, leaving Diane and Lucy with the young man.

Lucy began to get out of her chair when Diane stopped her and said, “It’s okay. I just got an answer to my questions.”

Lucy settled back, curiosity overwhelming her instinct to follow Jim out of the building. Disoriented by the scene changes, the only grasp each woman felt she had on reality was the physical touch of the other.

The young man broke into their thoughts by saying, “You’re very perceptive, Dr. Hoffman.”

Gaining some control over her thoughts, Diane looked over the top of her glasses and replied, “So tell me what you can do.”

LaRene’s strange tale was, for lack of a better word, spellbinding. His true appearance was the young man. He used the grandfather image when he wanted to make his guests feel welcome and safe.

Lucy, still uneasy, looked at the gold ring in LaRene’s ear and said, “Yea, better to look like a kind grandfather than a pirate.”

Chuckling at her comment, young James LaRene drawled back to her, “Mos’ folks who visit a Voodoo Doctor want to see someone who looks like he knows what he’s doing, not some snot-nosed kid. ’Sides, face paint ’an chicken feathers make me itch.”

Diane took that moment to ask another pointed question. “How do we know you aren’t illusioning us right now? For all I know, we could be sitting on your front porch in a rain storm.”

Fear knotted up in Lucy’s stomach when the question left Diane’s lips. She discovered she had a strong fear of losing her grip on reality, and she wanted to fight the unfathomable power controlling her mind. Feeling her hands squeezing together into tight fists, she struggled to force her intellect to overcome the growing fear of helplessness. Unfortunately, LaRene took the opportunity to respond to Diane’s inquiry.

His left eye took on the familiar, milky appearance, and all at once the three of them were sitting in white wicker chairs on the front porch of the building. A heavy downpour was falling from a dark-gray, leaden sky. Off in the distance, thunder rolled. It was raining so hard the gutters were overflowing. A brisk wind blew a mist of rain droplets onto Lucy’s face. She could feel the cool water on her warm skin. Only this time, she knew the rain storm was not real. Fear she was losing the ability to discern the difference between fantasy and reality began bubbling into a scream as her lips trembled.

Diane seemed to be enjoying herself, but she saw the growing look of terror on Lucy’s face and realized the fun had to end. Glancing over at LaRene with narrowed eyes and a slight frown, she said, “Ok, you’ve made your point. Now get us back into the dry.”

Jerking her thumb back towards Lucy, she added, “I have some training for her, and she’s scared enough as it is. If she runs out of the house screaming, I’ll never get her back inside.”

Instantly, all three were again seated at the empty dining room table. The changing scenes had left Lucy feeling dizzy and out-of-sorts. She looked at LaRene and said in an angry, trembling voice, “Stop doing that!”

Looking down at the table, properly chastised, LaRene said, “Sorry, Dr. Smith, sometimes I get carried away. I’m not known as Skullreader LaRene, Voodoo Doctor, for nothing. You know I based that illusion on your memory of a rain storm you experienced when you were 12 years old. Do you remember the storm?”

Lucy looked down for a moment, her eyes moving back and forth as she recalled details of the storm. Turning her head toward Diane, who was holding her hand and watching her closely, she said, “He’s right. There was a storm just like that at my home in Kentucky when I was twelve. My mother was scared our yard would flood.”

Both women turned their gazes back to LaRene and saw he had again taken on the appearance of Grandfather LaRene. They both had to admit the grandfather look was less intimidating even with the distracting, milky eye.

“There is one telltale, physical sign when I use my power of illusion. My left eye always turns milky looking. I have never found a way to prevent it, so I incorporate the milky eye into my Skullreader Voodoo routine. I can pick and choose strong memories from people around me and use those memories as the basis for the illusion I create for everyone.”

Lucy began to feel her feet were once again firmly planted on the ground. Her natural curiosity was stronger than her fear of the unknown, and she asked, “Can you mentally talk to people? I mean, can you carry on a conversation with another person just with your mind?”

“No, I can pull a person’s memories so I know their names, where they’ve lived. But I can’t speak to them inside their minds. I can make them see and feel almost anything based on either their memories or my own memories.”

He continued, “Looking into the memories of Whatsit was similar to looking into anyone’s memories until I did the illusion of refilling his empty plate. He knew I had penetrated his mind, and he shut me out by slamming his mental door closed. He’s scared because he knows I got into his mind without his realizing it.”

Peering confidently at Diane and Lucy, LaRene said, “It is important for you to know something about the Chrysallamans. They have never encountered another race of beings with the power to mentally communicate with them. Their mental projections are so strong they can easily control a lesser race, such as us Humans. As a result, they believe their race is superior and has no equal. They don’t shield their thoughts since their primary method of communication, and control of subject races, is via mental telepathy. The reason Whatsit fled the building is because he knew he’d lost control of his mind to a Human.”

The scientist in Diane was resurfacing. She explained the DNA sampling technique she had used on the Dalai Lama and why she needed LaRene’s genetic structure.

LaRene had leafed through the memories of Whatsit and seen the basic plan of the Chrysallamans for the takeover of Earth. He wasn’t about to refuse to provide whatever help he could to protect humanity from the Chrysallaman scourge, and he agreed to give the sample. Showing Lucy how to take the DNA sample with the special swab was only a matter of moments for Diane.

It was obvious to both LaRene and Diane that Lucy had experienced quite enough mental gymnastics for one day. She kept edging toward the front door, gradually widening the distance from LaRene.

Diane looked from Lucy back to LaRene with a twisted smile and said, “I suppose we need to leave. I think the excitement has been a bit wearing on my friend.”

LaRene smiled back and replied, “I understand. Seen that reaction before, believe it or not.”

Laughing at the comment, Diane admitted she found both Grandfather LaRene and Young LaRene, charming. Smiling, she said, “You know your ability to cook a delicious meal is astounding. I know I ate more than I should, but I don’t feel the least bit full.”

LaRene was quick. With a genuine smile, he replied, “Thank you very much. My food always just melts in your mouth. Be sure to get a nice hamburger and fries on your way back to the airport, though, because my food is so light it’s almost like eating nothing at all.”

Laughing, both ladies again thanked LaRene and headed to the front door. Skullreader decided he would stay inside the building instead of escorting the ladies back to their car because he didn’t want to further traumatize Whatsit.

Diane and Lucy walked back to the car. As they rounded the building from the sidewalk into the alley, they saw Private Laforge stretched out on the concrete with Jim holding a damp towel over the man’s forehead.

Trotting over, they both said at the same time, “What happened to him?”

Jim replied in an exasperated tone, “Glad you finally decided to join us. Seems our driver had an adverse reaction to meeting our little, green friend in the flesh.”

“When Whatsit ran out of Skullreader’s house, he raced back to the car and jumped into the backseat.”

Jim began smiling as he thought about what happened. “Damn lizard is fast when he wants to be. I couldn’t keep up. You should’ve heard Laforge howl when Whatsit opened the car door. I didn’t think it was possible for a Human voice to reach that high a note.”

Diane was amazed Jim had such a deliciously twisted sense of humor. She was beginning to piece together what had happened. Apparently, the last thing on Whatsit’s mind as he ran down the steps was pulling his sombrero back on his head and stuffing his hands in his pockets.

Laforge began to mumble something about a Fouke. He got agitated, raised his head, eyes opened wide with white showing all the way around his corneas.

Jim pressed his hand against the towel covering the man’s forehead and said, “It’s okay, Private, everything’s okay. Just relax.”

Laforge’s head lowered back down and his eyes fluttered closed, but his mouth was still drawn into a tight line.

Lucy’s training as a xenobiologist clicked in when she heard the word Fouke. Thinking back about the many days of study for her Master’s degree, she said, “Now I remember. There is a legend of a Fouke Monster lurking in the Louisiana swamps. Part lizard and part man, it’s basically the sasquatch of the bayou.”

Jim saw the puzzle pieces falling into place in his mind. He had been pondering how to explain Laforge’s injuries when they returned to the airport base. He had it now.

Looking at Diane and Lucy, he told them what the story would be. Private Laforge had stayed with the car while everyone else went to meet the Voodoo Doctor. Having been raised in Metairie, listening to the tales of monsters in the bayou as a child and hearing locals talk of the powers of Voodoo, he had a healthy respect for the mysteries of the swamp. Well you can imagine Laforge’s reaction to what he thought was a giant, green-skinned Fouke monster, screaming like a Banshee jumping into his car. Scared out of his mind, Laforge tried to leap out to get away from the monster and tripped over his own feet. He fell and banged his head on the concrete. Knocked himself out. We’ve been tending to his head injury ever since.

Both women nodded, but a troubled look was evident on Lucy’s face as her eyes shifted to the car. Not a sound had come from the backseat since she had been standing there looking at Laforge.

Lucy looked into the backseat. Whatsit was huddled there, his arms wrapped around himself in a protective pose, face buried against the other door and back cushion. Opening the rear door, she crawled in to sit beside the young alien, stroking his head with her hand in a motherly fashion. After a few moments, a slight shudder vibrated his green body, and he turned toward her and buried his face against her, hugging her close.

Tears welled in Lucy’s eyes as she held Whatsit, thinking about how alone he was in a world full of Humans, so far away from his own people and his own world. Deep down she knew the Earth and its people needed to be saved from the coming invasion, but it was getting harder and harder for her to see Whatsit as a deadly alien invader and not just a young teenager in need of love and understanding. She suddenly wondered if her cat would like Whatsit.

The trip back to the airport was uneventful when compared to the morning’s excitement. Blunt drove with Laforge in the passenger seat holding the towel against his forehead. Laforge’s head injury turned out to be the perfect explanation for his ravings about a giant Fouke monster jumping into his car. Two burly medics loaded him onto a gurney, shot him full of morphine and hoisted him into a waiting ambulance for a trip to the infirmary. They’d seen head trauma before. They knew the wild talk about the Fouke was the result of the head wound and nothing more.