|
||
|
|
||
| PAPERBACK BOOKS | ||
The
long slender nose of the jet pointed skywards its destination the sound barrier. At
the controls sat a large solid looking middle-aged man, his large capable hands
sat firmly on the controls. Through his head phones that were attached to his
oxygen mask, came the soft murmur of voices, from base control confirming that
all was clear on his flight path for the final test of the aircraft. A
light movement from his hands and the slim supple body of the jet spun into
impossible loops. His thin well-cut lips smiled with satisfaction at the distant
boom that followed and the cheering from the guys down at the base. He had
performed the impossible now it was time for him to return to base for the final
de-briefing. His
eyes caught the shadow hovering across the radar screen. The object was moving
rapidly at an incredible speed, which made him blink. This speed he knew for
certain wasn't anything a human could do, because he had only moments ago
accomplished that. His
arm automatically reached for his camera to discover that it wasn't there.
Cursing softly he remembered leaving it in his quarters back at the base.
Grimly
he sat watching the radar screen and thought, ‘This time whoever they are,
they mean business’. He strained his eyes to get a clearer vision of the two
brilliant circular discs which now were approaching at a speed he wouldn't have
thought possible. His
mouth set into a thin straight line of anger, his eyes automatically assessed
them as being identical to the craft he'd last seen, when he had had the good
fortune to photograph them on their last encounter. Static
grated through the radio as base lost contact. The last words he heard were from
the base commander, “Major Daniels you are under attack from hostile unknown
aircraft, eject immediately.” The command fell across deaf ears. The man had
lost consciousness when a blinding light flooded the cockpit as the static was
replaced by a high pitched buzzing sound, like a swarm of angry bees that had
been disturbed. The human brain could no longer tolerate the sound, and closed
down along with the pressure that came through the earphones. Mercifully he fell
into blessed oblivion and his body slumped across the controls, as the jet
spiralled downwards out of control to be lost forever. CHAPTER
1
I
was running, oblivious to the beauty around me as the sun shone from a cloudless
sky. It was Sydney at its best, the huge curving sails of the Sydney Opera
House, that many fanciful minds said resembled a nun, with her skirts billowing
out before her, as she walked before the wind. Their clarity was etched in 3D,
adding a touch of the bizarre, unaware of a human drama being played out in the
nearby crowded streets. Tall
buildings stretched their massive heads towards the sky. A sudden glint of water
shone between them and the harbour, which danced and sparkled catching the
brightness from the sun. The shoreline reflecting into the waters like diamonds
captured by the colours of the rainbow. The massive iron and concrete girders, which linked the North
and South side of Sydney arched like a ‘coat hanger’, as the state of
Victoria had named it, much to the annoyance of nearby residents. It was a
massive masterpiece of engineering, a testimonial to the spirit of the men who
had long ago had the foresight to build. They
had laboured long and hard, often waiting for parts to arrive from the
UK. Eventually it came together to usher in the twentieth century for a new
country. This thought flashed through my mind and left just as quickly. My
feet pounded the pavement dodging between the curious faces of fellow
pedestrians. I tried, unsuccessfully, to get ahead of them but the pressure of
people was too strong. I had only
arrived in Sydney minutes ago by train and was trying to get to the Central
railway station, as were thousands of others. Impatiently
I muttered to myself, “Why must people walk so slowly? Especially when they
can see I'm in a hurry. Why
couldn't the council have built two walkways, one for slow walkers and another
for those in a hurry?” Ahead I could see the traffic lights and with my luck
they would be red when I eventually got there. My breath caught in my lungs like
fire, as I helplessly watched the lights flash from green to amber then red. Then
I noticed the burly figure of a man, striding out across the road ignoring the
red lights, as if they weren't there. My
feet developed a mind of their own, moving of their own accord. They couldn't
see the on coming traffic, ignoring shouts from enraged motorists. Brakes
squealed as a large bus narrowly missed knocking me down. Reluctantly I was
forced to return to the pavement to wait until the lights turned green.
My eyes burned through lack of sleep but I forced them to search and
probe the seething mass of humanity looking for my father. I had not been
mistaken it had been him crossing the road against the red light, but again he
had disappeared! With
detached surprise I felt moisture running down my face, I wiped the tears from
my face as despair swept over me again. Completely unaware of the curious
glances from passers by, I shook my head in denial at my thoughts. Government
officials in Melbourne had insinuated many things regarding my father’s sudden
disappearance but none that were acceptable to me. There was no truth in their
hidden innuendoes, as far as I was concerned they couldn’t see the truth if
they fell over it. He had not absconded with their latest jet fighter to defect
to a foreign power. Why should he? He
loved his work and his adopted country; I for one was determined to clear his
name. The crowd swept me forward bringing me back to this moment in time. The
lights had flashed back to green and it was the sheer force of people behind me,
which carried me across the road. Where
had all these people come from? And above all where were they going?
My memory flew back to the previous encounter I'd had with various
government officials, (regarding my father and his work), which hadn't been
pleasant. He loved and lived for his work. He was contracted out to the
Federal government and the RAAF as a test pilot. Years ago he'd been on an
exchange visit from the RAF in the UK and had applied to remain in Australia.
The request had been accepted. I
gritted my teeth at the thought; as far as I was concerned he was still alive.
A few days ago I received a call from Melbourne (I was working in
Brisbane) from a government official informing me that my father had been
officially listed as 'missing’ during the final test of their latest fighter
jet. Both he and the plane had disappeared somewhere over Bass Strait. We
both knew the risks that went with the job. The money was good and it was
something my father loved doing for a living.
My lips set tightly at the inference, however subtle or delicate it was,
enquiring about any financial problems? What evidence had they dug up to come up
with this remark? Money is the over ruling pull in today’s world, this latest
jet was at the time of its disappearance beyond price. My
feet stopped their pounding on the pavement as I became aware of being opposite
the Central Station. Sydney to me is another planet away, all those long narrow
one-way streets going nowhere. Give me Melbourne or Brisbane any day! My
hand shook as I pushed back my heavy hair from my face, unaware of the
appreciative glances from the opposite sex. Without being egotistical I know I
look good even when, like now, I'm a mess. My
eyes focused sharply as they centred on the familiar burly figure of my father
running up the station steps. Without
thinking I plunged into the oncoming traffic and zigzagged across the busy road
to reach the station steps. A bus driver and several taxi drivers made rude
finger signs at me, and blaring horns accompanied my suicidal dash.
Automatically I swerved to avoid a fast moving motorcyclist who was travelling
well above the accepted speed limit. If I had cared enough to listen, I would
have learned a whole new language! Reaching
the pavement with my breath coming in sharp gasps, I looked back at the seething
mass of humanity moving automatically towards their various platforms where
trains would carry them home. Gulping
for breath I entered the main entrance, I paused to read the signs indicating
various platforms and where the trains were travelling to. It was impossible for
me to even guess which platform he had gone to. I
was only faintly aware of the fatherly concern of the porter close by.
He noticed the stress and the dark shadows, due to lack of food and
sleep, beneath my lavender coloured eyes.
My eyes took in the crowds before me, passing over the newspaper stand to
rest on the men’s cloakroom, from which I saw my father emerge. He turned to
walk towards the far platform. My
heart leapt into my mouth and my feet took off again, frantically I pushed my
way through the dense crowds, but like many close by, I was forced to stop as an
elderly matron came into view. She resembled an ocean going liner in full sail
as she ploughed her way ruthlessly through the crowds, nothing was going to get
in the way of her reaching her destination. People automatically gave way to her bulk. If they hadn't,
she would have sailed right through them. I stood watching this firmly corseted
lady flow through the crowds quite unperturbed by the angry glances she was
receiving. Reality
returned with a jolt. I searched for my father again to see him only a few heads
in front of me. "Dad wait for
me," I cried out, ignoring the interested looks from other people around
me. At my cry, the tall figure came
to an abrupt halt then turned to face me. My blood ran cold as the crowds swept
around us. His
eyes so like mine, were empty, remote with no recognition at all. Briefly their
cold hard stare flicked over me as he turned and disappeared down one of the
many teeming platforms. Salt
touched and ran over my mouth again as tears ran unchecked down my face. I,
Martina Daniels who seldom admitted defeat was doing so now. What could I do
next? I knew no one in Sydney. I had money to see me through for the next couple
of days. My father was all I had.
My mother had died when I was born. Reluctantly
I returned to the entrance, and looked down at the endless crowds hardly seeing
them. I moved aside to let people pass and as I leant against the wall I
experienced the total loss and rejection from my father. He was everything to
me. Now it looked as if he also had changed. I was alone! All right then so I'm
not like Robinson Crusoe, but there are millions like me alone in the world.
That thought wasn't of much comfort to me! A
quiet voice behind me made me start. “Is there anything I can do to help? I
was concerned to see your suicidal dash across the road, it looked more like a
death wish. You could have caused an accident or even worse, someone else’s
death." I
shook my head. All I wanted was to be left alone with my grief. "Thanks,
but there's nothing you or anyone can do. It’s something I must figure out
myself." My voice finished on a sob and I was angry with myself because I
couldn't stop crying, and I seldom give way to tears. A
firm hand beneath my arm led me down the station steps and around the corner to
a small pub. The door was pushed open and I was led to a small table and two
chairs in the corner of the room. Like a child with no mind of her own, I
allowed myself to be pushed down into one of the chairs. Through
the mists of tears and misery a voice asked, “Would a brandy help?" I
nodded. Anything would do as long as I didn't have to think. Slowly
the dim, quiet atmosphere penetrated my mind. Blinking, I brushed the tears from
my eyes to see we were sitting in a room, furnished in ‘Ye Olde English Inn’
theme. Concealed lighting came from the swinging lanterns. Their soft amber
lights reflecting in the mirrors behind the bar.
After the noise and commotion outside, this was a place of peace and
quiet. A
steward with his back to me was standing at a sink washing dirty glasses, and I
could hear running water and the musical clink of glass making contact with the
draining board. My rescuer called
out something to him and he laughed in return. With
an effort I placed a body and a face to the voice as two glasses were put onto
the table, and as the chair opposite scraped back, a long body lowered itself
into the seat. With detachment I
noticed a pair of neat grey-trousered legs fold beneath the table.
Absently I picked up the drink he'd pushed in front of me and took a
large gulp. Immediately
I fought for breath as the fiery liquid ran down my aching throat and lungs .My
vision cleared with the sudden shock. Silvery
grey eyes laughed into mine as his thin mobile mouth quirked crookedly at the
corners, “One must always sip
brandy to get the full benefit," he said with amusement. "Thanks.”
My normally husky voice had almost disappeared through the recent stress I'd
endured. Lifting my chin I looked him directly in the eyes. “Many thanks for
your concern but I'll be alright now, I mustn't take up anymore of your
time." I
looked at his thin face, which I automatically liked, with its high cheekbones,
and a straight Roman nose. Below his mouth sat a square determined chin, which
at the moment brooked no nonsense. Thick silvery blonde hair was carefully
controlled, but a wayward lock fell across his brow. His features at the moment
were remote as he twirled the fiery liquid around his glass. With
a start I realised I had been staring into those unusual watery eyes which
locked with mine. I felt as if I was beneath a microscope. His
strange eyes gave nothing away. Well I thought, at least I could return the
drink, for it had brought a semblance of sanity back to my thinking, and he had
been kind enough to offer to help. His upper lip twitched slightly as if aware
of what I was thinking. “Would
you like to tell me what is wrong? Sometimes it's easier to talk to a stranger
than someone you know." I
looked at him dispiritedly. What had I to lose? At the moment I couldn't see the
wood for the trees. Reaching
for my handbag, my fingers searched and found my cigarettes. As I lit one and
drew the smoke into my lungs, the first sense of relaxation set in. Squaring my
chin, I remembered what the government officials had cautioned me with, not to
discuss the disappearance of my father with any one. It now meant nothing to me. My
voice was unsteady, “Thank you for your kindness but I don't think there's
anything anyone can do. What is your name?” I looked down at my hands, which
were now tightly locked in my lap, my cigarette was burning itself out in the
ashtray on the table. I caught sight of the wary expression that flitted across
his face. He
looked at me with a sheepish grin, “Darion Wilkes and I lecture in Astro
Physics at the Pacific University, Queensland." He laughed at my expression
and I felt more of my tension easing away. "Astro Physics is an exact
science, which specialises in the study of the universe; of stars, planets and
distant galaxies or what it is that holds them in place?
I am on my way back to Queensland. I discovered I had time to kill and
wondered if Central Station was as bad as many Queenslanders claimed it is.
Personally I think Brisbane at peak hour is bad enough, but here in Sydney, it
has to be seen to be believed. Then I noticed your suicidal dash across the road
and heard you call out to some bloke up ahead. I saw him stop and turn to look
down at you and the rest you know." He
looked embarrassed as he drained his glass. To me he seemed sane and sensible, I
accepted the explanation. My
throat was still painful. I replied huskily, “Martina Daniels and until
recently I lived and worked in Brisbane. My mother was an aborigine and died
when I was born, I don’t know much about her, only what my father has told me.
He has been both father and mother to me. He transferred from the RAF to the
RAAF and liked it. He then met and married my mother. My mother belonged to one
of the few full blood aboriginal tribes in Australia, when she married my father
it went against the rules of her tribe and automatically exiled her. Dad is
under contract as a test pilot with the RAAF and the Federal Government. During
the past weeks he's been putting their latest fighter jet through its paces.
During the final run he and the plane disappeared somewhere over Bass
Strait." I looked unseeingly into my empty glass, “his work has always
been bound up by government codes of secrecy. He was transferred to Victoria
where he was informed that he had been selected to be the test pilot for the
latest fighter jet. He was excited, like a big kid, especially when there were
others more qualified than he who had applied.” Smiling
I remembered his excited conversation, “Telling it like this sounds like a
James Bond movie. He loved that plane, crooned over it like a baby. The last
conversation I had with him was late last week. He was different somehow; more
reserved and that wasn't like him. He did say on a couple of flights out he'd
run into what he thought were UFOs. He didn't log it because the authorities
don’t want to know about that sort of thing. They always explain it away with
vagueness. The next time he took the jet he took his camera for evidence,
because he knew he wouldn't be believed. This time he photographed them, this
time there were many not just one. Once back in his quarters he developed the
film. All of the photographs came out and were tremendous but he was
apprehensive and excited at the same time. Again he didn't log the incident and
wouldn't say why. He said he’d placed the photos in a safe place. Only he and
I knew about it. He added that if he failed to return from a trial flight, to
get down to Melbourne as fast as I could and retrieve them. I knew then that
something was terribly wrong. I received the phone call from Melbourne,
informing me that he was officially listed as missing. I threw in my job and
flew down there.” The
small bar was slowly filling with its regular drinkers, my mind was still on my
father. “He’s such a down to earth person, he didn't believe in UFOs until
last week when he took the plane up for its final test run, then he and the
plane vanished leaving no trace wreckage or oil. From official reports it
appeared to fall from the sky. There have been extensive searches for him and
the plane but nothing has turned up as yet." The
deep ache came back. I buried my face in my hands feeling the tears seeping
through my fingers. "Sorry,"
I mumbled. "He is all I have, although we've lived apart we're very close.
On arrival at Melbourne, government officials met and hurried me through the VIP
lounge to escape media attention. They have forbidden me to discuss the
situation with anyone. A tight security blanket has been thrown across the whole
affair. I'm almost paranoid and
have a sense of being followed and watched.” I
removed my hands from my tear stained face, “I do not have a father fixation,
but we are always there for each other, only a telephone call away.” Numbly I
recalled those cold unfeeling officials offering me lip service comfort, which
they didn't mean. “He’s
not a traitor either.” My eyes swam again with uncontrolled misery. He
sat opposite me listening, making a steeple with his fingers. “Did these
officials suggest that he'd defected with the plane?" He
grinned at my indignant face. I grimaced. "Not in so many words but the
insinuations were there and couldn't be ignored. The black box, which all
aircraft are fitted with, is normal but this jet was different, it had two.
Neither has been found." His
light silvery eyes flickered over my face. I am one of those people who cannot
hide their feelings. With me it’s ‘what you see, is what you get’ and in
the past it hadn't been necessary for me to hide. It wasn't until later that I
realised he had a trained computer-like mind, which was carefully sifting all I
said and putting it away for future reference. Then
I remembered what had happened a few years back. “Do
you remember a similar incident to that of my father’s. It happened over the
Bass Strait too? Coincidentally my father’s disappearance happened around the
same area as that of the young pilot who disappeared.” He looked up and nodded
and waited for me to continue, “He radioed a May Day call claiming that he was
being buzzed by UFOs somewhere over Bass Strait. He was almost hysterical at the
time. Then silence followed as he and his plane were never seen again. At that
particular time the flight controller recorded it on tape. It went for six
minutes. The controller in the tower was in the process of relaying this to a
local radio station, but government officials and other boffins were too quick
and confiscated it. All the public heard was the first ninety seconds of the
tape. The Federal Government of the day had a difficult time explaining why they
had thrown a security blanket over the incident. The radio station was inundated
by calls, which were soon picked up by the local TV networks. When the official
explanation finally came no-one believed it. ‘The young pilot had turned his
plane upside down to see his plane’s reflection in the water below.’ They
dismissed it as a schoolboy’s prank. I remember my father saying at the time,
that it was a lot of bunkum. The plane the pilot had been flying was incapable
of flying upside down even for a second, let alone for six minutes." I
banged the table with my balled fist causing the glasses to rattle. “What is
wrong with the world’s governments’ mentality, every day there's a record of
UFO sightings?" His
eyebrows went up with a question. “What is your version then?" Once
again in control, I retorted, “At the moment I do not have one. Before leaving
Brisbane, as I've already said, I received the phone call saying that Dad was
missing. The RAAF insisted that I fly to Melbourne at the government’s
expense. On arrival I was rushed through the VIP lounge under a cloak of
secrecy. After the in-depth questioning I wondered if they'd known about the
existence of the photographs, but nothing was said. I felt they were fishing for
information, maybe they were aware of my father’s passion for photography,
either that or it was I being super sensitive.
“Afterwards
I asked permission to go to my father’s quarters. They agreed. His room was
too neat and tidy. We both share an untidy gene. I felt that it had been
thoroughly searched and no doubt a secret camera had been set up to watch my
movements. I was very careful as I looked, aware of where he had hidden the
photographs. I picked up a cameo brooch which had belonged to my mother. He'd
had her head and shoulders moulded into ebony and it is really beautiful. I
returned to the waiting officials and asked their permission to take his car as
I needed to sell it. I had no money to return to Brisbane. They looked surprised
but agreed. I drove the car off the base hoping I wouldn't see that place again.
It didn't take long to find a car yard willing to buy it, after I'd
retrieved the photos. I sold the car and with the money took the next train back
to Sydney; I had a lot to think about and needed time to think, wondering what
to do next? Money or the lack of it is always a problem with me." I
shrugged my shoulders looking into space. “The rest you know. I had only been
in Sydney for an hour when I noticed him striding towards Central Station."
I closed my eyes at the memory of my father’s cold empty eyes. Again my mind
had taken off along well-worn tracks, it was the familiar merry-go-round. My
companion hadn't moved but had concentrated on my story; the only live part of
him was his brilliant silvery eyes. Thoughtfully he nodded, drawing circles on
the table with his forefinger with a piece of ice. “It’s
a fascinating story. I do believe you because it's too way out to be untrue. The
man you saw at the station, are you sure it was your father?" I
bit back indignant words, but thought about the question. "Yes,
it was his face and body but the eyes weren’t his. They were cold and empty of
all emotion. My mother’s blood tells me that the spirit of man looks out
through the eyes. I remember vividly, it was such a shock at the time. When he'd
gone and my thinking had returned to normality I remembered thinking of the
phrase ‘North of Capricorn'." Darion
suddenly pushed back his chair. "Another drink?" he asked. I nodded,
still deep in thought, watching as he weaved in between the tables to reach the
bar and re-order drinks. He
placed the fresh drinks on the table. "Martina, that’s an unusual
name,” he said Suddenly
I smiled. He blinked and I knew it was a transformation. He’d only seen me
dissolving into endless tears. “You
really think so? But not as strange as yours as I cannot ever remember hearing
it before." With
surprise I watched a faint pink stain his cheeks. He laughed. “When my mother
was carrying me she went deeply into the Greek classics, and when my name
cropped up several times she took a fancy to it. Even if I'd been a girl it
would still have been Darion. You would have to know my mother to understand the
irony of her thoughts. Returning to your problem, it certainly fascinates me,
but my main trouble is I have a scientific brain that is always looking for
explanations, which at times cannot be found. It rejects aliens living on earth
because they couldn't survive our atmosphere (that is if there were such
creatures). The closest planet to us is Tau-Ceti, which may or may not be
capable of producing a form of life, and is twelve light years away. Perhaps in
time, but it’s highly improbable that any living matter such as we know it
could exist. Scientists are forever sending out radio signals hoping one day to
make contact with something out there in space. But as yet (as far as we can
tell) there’s nothing that travels faster than light. If by the remotest of
chances we should make contact, the possibility of a reply in our life time is
remote." He
frowned at this as if unhappy with the findings which science had taught him.
“We haven’t ruled out the possibility of life form on other planets and
galaxies. Perhaps for reasons best known to them aliens are searching the
universe for another home. I agree, over the past years there have been more and
more UFO sightings reported, which are too coincidental to be written off as an
optical illusion and they are on the increase. Unfortunately we cannot do what
your father first did, call them an optical illusion. Here in Australia we have
our own Bermuda triangle located in Bass Strait." At
this my head went up with interest and he smiled well pleased with my reaction.
“Since 1955," his eyes changed colour again shining like glass, “there
has been a loss of fifteen ships and aircraft all in the same area, never to be
seen again. One was the story of your young pilot and the latest victim is your
father. They all disappeared around the same area leaving no trace." Hope
was now stirring in me. “Then you do believe me?" I smiled across at him. He
stretched his supple body. “Why shouldn't I? Hypothetically speaking let's
assume there are aliens walking and living on earth, and believe you me they
have done their homework thoroughly, even before they dared to consider mixing
with us. This would mean they not only look and act like us, but also take on
our temperament. Assuming their technology is far superior to ours, what would
their first reaction be when they first met a human? Good, bad or indifferent?
But one thing you can be assured of they are not here for our benefit." A
look at his watch and another lightning change of subject. “Don’t
know about you but all this talk has made me hungry and we've both missed out on
lunch. I know of a good little Italian restaurant around the corner from this
pub, which makes the finest pasta outside of Italy. Care to join me?" He
was now standing beside me, his movements all co-coordinating reminding me of a
cat, his strange watery eyes glinting down at me. My stomach must have been thinking that my throat had been
cut. I was ravenous and couldn’t remember when I'd last eaten. Firstly I had
to do something with my face and hair. Smiling
I accepted. “Firstly I must attend to my face and hair." As
I walked towards the ladies room I wondered if he had a wife. In an academic way
he was quite nice looking and men like him were few and far between. Splashing
cold water across my face I stood back to get a clearer picture of myself. I
sighed at the familiar reflection, applied moisturiser and a touch of coral
lipstick across my generous mouth, and then fiercely attacked my hair with a
brush. The well-known face looked
back revealing even white teeth, perhaps my nose was too small but my eyes were
my best feature. At the moment they dominated my face, the black circles beneath
the tired violet eyes through lack of food and sleep. Searching
my bag I discovered two clips and managed some kind of control as I swept my
hair back into a French plait. For the umpteenth time I promised myself that one
day I would get it professionally styled, but that day seemed never to come. On
leaving the rest room I felt my spirits rising. Hopefully the worst was now
over. I couldn't stay down for long, it wasn't in my nature, and for me there
was always tomorrow! My father called it my ‘Scarlet O'Hara’ trait. I
couldn't say I liked the lady but I did admire her attitude. Aware
of admiring looks from the men gathered at the bar, I paused to look for Darion
and noticed him standing back in the shadows watching me, smiling as though he
liked what he saw. I could feel myself growing taller. I always preferred the
company of men to that of women, who at times were silly and bitchy. For me life
was too short.
|
||||||||||||
| All
Prices in Australian Dollars CURRENCY
CONVERTER
(c)2004 Zeus Publications All rights reserved. |
