Inheritance, Page 2

  She gave up on sleeping and turned on the light again. Across the room, the red and gold paint that covered one entire wall of Reese’s bedroom took on a darker, warmer hue. It was like being inside a womb: soft gold skin and streaks of bloodred. This was what she remembered of the adaptation chamber, which Amber had described as being similar to an incubator.

  Reese remembered painting that wall in a possessed rush, knowing only that she needed to get this image out of her brain. She had dreamed of a pliable yellow room with bleeding walls ever since she woke up from the accident in that strange hospital in Nevada, and spilling it onto the wall seemed to be the only way to exorcise it. Maybe that had worked—she hadn’t dreamed of it since she finished the painting—but she still didn’t understand the full repercussions of what had been done to her in that adaptation chamber.

  She climbed out of bed and pulled the khaki pants out of the trash. She had forgotten about the phone Amber had given her. Call us when you’re ready, she had whispered in Reese’s ear. Reese dug the phone out of the pocket. It was a plain gray flip-phone, the kind sold to technology-phobic senior citizens. She flipped it open; there were no messages. She looked through the contacts and found one listing: Evelyn Brand.

  Dr. Brand was Amber’s mother, as well as the Imrian who had overseen Reese’s and David’s recoveries at Project Plato in Nevada. Could Reese trust Dr. Brand to tell her the truth? She was doubtful.

  She put the phone down and moved to her desk, opening her laptop to go online. She needed to find out what was being reported about her and David’s abduction and return. Maybe that would give her some indication of who to trust.

  As soon as she logged into the Hub, news feeds from around the world showed that the entire globe was focused on the spaceship hovering over her house. If extraterrestrials appeared over your city, would you run for your lives or run to take a photo? one article asked. Thousands of people have chosen the latter in the last twenty-four hours, flooding into a normally quiet neighborhood in San Francisco to catch a glimpse of the black triangle from another planet. Meanwhile, others have been stocking up on supplies and taking to the back roads—just as they did earlier this summer after the June Disaster. “I’ll be prepared,” said Tom Maynard, en route to a remote cabin near Lake Tahoe. When asked what he was preparing for, Maynard replied, “You want to talk about terrorists? That ship is scarier than all of those birds.”

  Reese remembered the day after the planes were grounded, driving with Mr. Chapman and David down highways packed with people fleeing a threat they couldn’t identify. As far as she could tell, nobody had yet pinpointed the cause of that mass panic. Maybe it was only paranoia, amplified by the specter of terrorism. At least this Tom Maynard guy has something to be afraid of, Reese thought. The spaceship above her house was terrifying. She couldn’t understand why so many people were flocking here to see it, either.

  She scrolled down the screen, scanning the other news reports. Nation after nation demanded to know why the United States had concealed its cooperation with the Imria for so long. Some called for a global summit; others called for economic sanctions on the US until it explained itself. Reese and David were the subject of plenty of interest, too, with many leaders asking that they submit themselves to an international scientific board for genetic testing. And in the comments at the end of the articles, things got nasty.

  Strangers writing in broken sentences mocked Reese’s bedraggled appearance on television. Her hand holding with David caused commenters to speculate about their relationship. Some went so far as to guess how intimate she and David had been, writing things that made Reese cringe. Increasingly horrified but unable to stop, she kept reading as people criticized her for being too skinny, too fat, and for being desperate enough to hook up with a Chinese guy. The comments about David were equally awful. They made fun of his race, characterizing him as a nerd who only managed to land a white girl because of his new alien DNA. They called him names that Reese had never said aloud. There were some people who pushed back and flagged the worst comments as offensive, but the words that rang in Reese’s mind weren’t those of her supporters.

  And then there were the posts about Amber. Perhaps because she had said very little and had previously been known as the heroic savior who prevented Reese from getting shot, most of the commentary about Amber was positive. But some of it was so full of lusty innuendo about what they wanted to do to that “hot alien chick” that Reese felt as if a bucket of scum had been dumped over her head.

  She could brush off some of the nastiness—these people didn’t know her, and obviously some were trolls, but a few of the comments brought her up short. One person had written: There is no proof that anything these kids are saying is true. Telepathy? Fast-healing powers? These kids think they’re superheroes. Someone had responded: I’ll believe they’re telepaths when I see scientific evidence for it. Until then, why would I believe a couple of teens? She could see how people might doubt them, since she and David had provided no evidence of what had been done to them.

  Another commenter stated: I don’t believe these Imrians are aliens at all. How could they be aliens when they look exactly like us? I think all the evidence points to time travelers. The Imrians must be humans from the future. Reese caught herself spending several minutes pondering the probability of time travel before she shook her head and moved on to another comment: This isn’t about aliens; this is about the government trying to contain a giant secret. They’ve clearly been developing advanced technology, and these kids are about to blow this wide open. Why do you think that MIB stopped the press conference?

  She followed a link at the end of that comment to a post titled What is President Randall trying to hide? She began to skim the post and then glanced at the URL: www.bin42.com. This was the site that Julian wrote for, and it had been the first to post the video of her and David fleeing the underground bunker. The site’s header was an image of a green alien in a flying saucer. It didn’t exactly inspire confidence in terms of reporting excellence, but she knew that Julian took it seriously, and she trusted Julian. She went back to reading the post.

  WHAT IS PRESIDENT RANDALL TRYING TO HIDE?

  By Jason Briggs

  Posted August 7, 2014 at 7:43 PM

  Tags: aliens, UFOs, conspiracy, cover-up, Reese Holloway, David Li, Elizabeth Randall

  During President Randall’s press conference earlier today, she stated the following:

  “After the ship that you saw in the video lifted off, we have had no further contact from the Imria. At this point, we are alone, again, on our planet. So, I say this to the Imria: If you are watching, I invite you to make public contact with us. We will meet at a global summit. We will begin our relationship anew. And to my fellow Americans, I offer my heartfelt apologies. On behalf of all the administrations before mine that kept this secret from you: I am sorry. I hope we can move forward into a more truthful and open future.”

  Let’s take this point by point:

  1. Half an hour after her press conference ended, a black triangle appeared in the skies above San Francisco and came to rest over the Noe Valley neighborhood where Reese Holloway (one of the two teens recently returned to their families from Area 51) lives. Given all the advanced technology that the president has at her disposal, how could she not know that the Imria were still around? But let’s give Randall the benefit of the doubt (for once!). The Imria obviously have even more advanced tech than we do. They could have cloaked their spacecraft after they left Area 51 and Randall might truly have had no evidence that they were still on the planet. But the question that follows is: Why did they come back?

  2. Though Randall’s apology might appease some people, it’s hardly enough to explain the decades of silence and denial the government has perpetrated. If they’ve been secretly in contact with aliens since 1947 (and let’s not even get into the crazy significance of that date), they can’t seriously expect one tiny apology to wipe away the last 67 years of lies. If t
he United States government really wants its citizens to trust them, they need to do way more than offer one throwaway apology. How about starting with full disclosure about what happened at Roswell? Some things might need to remain classified, but I think it’s safe for the government to admit that they covered up the truth about what happened in New Mexico. That would be a great first step toward rebuilding the American people’s trust in their government.

  3. Moving forward into “a more truthful and open future” sounds good, but it won’t work if the government silences key witnesses like Reese Holloway and David Li. These two may be only teenagers, but they were trying to do right by telling the truth about what happened to them. It did not reflect well on the Randall Administration’s declaration of openness to have the teens’ press conference shut down by a man in black. It’s imperative that Holloway and Li be given a chance to tell their story. That’s why I’m inviting them to tell their story right here on Bin 42. I will do my best to make sure that their words won’t be edited or censored. Reese and David: call me!

  4. Finally, to determine whether Holloway and Li really do have fast-healing and telepathic abilities, they need to submit to testing by an independent board of scientists. If they do have these abilities, it is totally revolutionary, and could mean amazing advancements in medicine. While I’m sure they’re not eager to become lab rats, they need to realize the incredible significance of their situation. I hope they’ll let science prove to the world what they’ve said they can do.

  There were already 138 comments at the end of the post, but Reese didn’t scroll to the bottom of the screen. She saw a link in the sidebar to a video clip from the press conference, and despite the nervous twitch in her belly, she clicked on it.

  There she was, standing with David on her front steps, their hands clasped. Her hair was tangled, and there were shadows under her eyes. The clothes she wore didn’t fit well. The long-sleeved blue tee was lumpy on her, and the pants made her look hippy. The outfit looked better on David, but he also showed signs of exhaustion. His face was ghostly pale, and his hair had a cowlick in the back and was plastered down in front as if he had tried to tame it with water. Through her computer’s speakers, she heard herself talking, and her voice sounded like a stranger’s.

  That was when Amber came down the stairs and turned Reese and David around. Reese couldn’t see Amber’s face in the video—it was obscured by the back of David’s head—but she saw Amber lean into her, whispering in her ear. A moment later Amber walked around them to talk to the reporters. In comparison to Reese and David, Amber looked like a movie star. She was dressed casually in a red hoodie and jeans, but Reese knew that it didn’t matter what Amber wore; what mattered was the way she wore it. She had a face that was made for the camera, with her big gray eyes and glossy lips. When she walked through the reporters toward the erim and the small craft, the cameras followed her until the craft took off. Then, with a jerk, the video turned back to Reese and David. They looked shell-shocked, and it took a minute before the press conference returned to the subject of what had happened to them.

  After the video ended, Reese shut off her computer, but Amber’s face lingered in her mind’s eye. Reese didn’t want to think about her. She was still angry about Amber’s lies—angry and hurt. How could Amber expect Reese to believe her offer of help? She couldn’t believe anything Amber said, even if she said it by whispering in her ear. Reese remembered lying on the beach with her, Amber’s mouth against her skin, breathing her name. All of that was a lie, Reese told herself, shoving away the curl of desire that awoke in her. You can’t trust her. It’s over. You don’t feel that way anymore. A nervous energy skittered through her limbs and she got up. She needed to get away from what people were saying online. She decided to get a drink of water.

  She opened the door of her bedroom as quietly as possible and tiptoed down the stairs in the dark. The door to the guest room where her father slept was closed. In the kitchen she poured herself a glass of water from the filter and looked out the window at the backyard. Was the black triangle still out there? She opened the back door, stepping onto the brick patio in her bare feet. It was an unexpectedly clear August night, with no fog misting the air. The bricks were rough beneath her toes as she tipped her head back and stared at the dark sky. Few stars were visible, but she could see the triangular ship above, where white lights defined its three corners. It hung still and silent: a black ornament on a tree of night.

  She thought about the question raised in the Bin 42 blog post. Why had the Imria returned? There was one possibility that made immediate sense to her. They came back because they wanted her and David. Why else would that ship be hovering over her house like an omen? It wasn’t a comforting idea.

  CHAPTER 3

  Reese’s parents were sitting at the kitchen table with a pile of newspapers when she came downstairs late Friday morning. “Good morning,” her dad said.

  “How’d you sleep?” her mom asked.

  “Okay.” Reese went straight to the coffeemaker and poured herself a cup, adding milk. She heard the beat of rotors outside. “Are there still helicopters up there?”

  “They’ve been there all morning,” her dad said. “The spaceship is still there, and people are still coming to look at it.”

  She went to the back door and peered out the window. She couldn’t see the black triangle from this angle, but she could see a helicopter making an arc across the sky. “How long can they fly around up there?”

  “I don’t know,” her mom said, sounding resigned. “As long as that ship is here, probably. There’s nothing to stop people from coming to look, either. It’s created kind of a traffic jam out front, but as long as people keep moving, the police can’t force them to leave. It’s a public sidewalk.”

  Reese went into the living room, pulling the curtains aside a few inches to look out. The normally quiet street was choked with traffic and pedestrians. Cars moved sluggishly down the block, and the sidewalks on both sides were clogged with onlookers. Some of them were even carrying signs, as if this was a demonstration. She saw one that said WELCOME, E.T. and another that stated I WANT TO BELIEVE. Others weren’t so friendly, declaring ALIENS GO HOME and ABDUCTEES DEMAND JUSTICE FROM ALIENS. A man carrying a sign that stated WE WANT FULL DISCLOSURE was watching the house, and when he saw Reese peeking out the window he pointed at her, his mouth opening in a shout she couldn’t hear. In a wave, other pedestrians near him turned to look in the direction he was pointing, and the sound of the crowd—muffled by the closed windows—crescendoed into a dull roar. Within seconds, dozens of people were surging toward the house, cars honking as some demonstrators rushed into traffic to get a closer look at her.

  She stepped back in shock and tugged the curtains closed. She couldn’t sense the crowd’s emotions—maybe she was far enough away that she was shielded from it—but her heart raced as she heard a police officer speaking through a bullhorn, ordering people back. Footsteps came down the hall and her mom asked, “What’s going on? I heard something.”

  “I looked out the window.”

  “I should have warned you not to do that.” Her mom went to the curtains and peered through a narrow slit between the drapes.

  Her dad came into the living room holding the telephone. “Reese, it’s for you. It’s David.”

  “I didn’t hear it ring,” Reese said, taking the receiver.

  “We turned off the ringer. It’s been ringing off the hook all morning with interview requests.”

  Reese lifted the phone to her ear. “Hey, David.”

  “Hey,” David said.

  “I’m taking this upstairs,” Reese said to her parents. On the way to her room she said to David, “It’s crazy out in front of my house.”

  “I know. I saw it on the news.”

  She entered her bedroom and nudged the door shut. “What does it look like?”

  “You’re basically surrounded within a three-block radius. They’re all looking at the spaceshi
p.”

  “Shit.” She climbed onto her bed and set her coffee mug on the bedside table.

  “I went online to try to find out if the Imria have said anything, like whether they’re going to move their spaceship, but there’s no official news. Some people have some pretty insane theories though.”

  “I read one last night about time travel.”

  “That’s a good one. Did you read about panspermia?”

  “Pan what?”

  “Apparently there’s a theory that all life in the universe originated from one common source. Like, asteroids traveled the universe carrying life and they hit various places, including the Imrian planet and Earth, so that’s why the Imria look like us.”

  “That’s… interesting. I guess that’s as good a theory as any.” She remembered what typically accompanied these theories online. “You didn’t read the comments, did you?”

  He didn’t answer immediately.

  “You did, didn’t you? You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “Whatever, so there are trolls,” he said dismissively. “You’re not paying attention to them, are you?”

  It was her turn to hesitate. She picked up the mug and took a sip of coffee.

  “Reese.”

  “David.”

  He laughed, and it sent a tingle down her spine. She liked the sound of his laugh. She hadn’t heard it in a long time.

  “So that press conference didn’t exactly work out the way we thought it would,” he said.

  “No. Do you think we should try it again?”

  “I don’t know. How do we know Agent Forrestal or someone else won’t shut us down again?”

  “Well, this website, Bin 42, wants us to talk to them. Julian works for them.”

  “That’s the one that put up the video, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  He was silent for a second. “We could do that.”

  “What’s your hesitation?”

  “Well, a lot of the stuff online was talking about how there’s no proof that we have these abilities. Maybe we should get some proof first.”