Companion
Chapter 1: Dangerous Hobby

Copyright© 2014 by MisguidedChild

The tranquil, quiet sounds of the desert canyon seemed to sooth Caleb Connor's soul, as he slowly limped down the canyon floor. It had been a long day, and he had twisted his ankle on a loose rock. Caleb could feel the peace of the desert leach away the frustration of his day job. The light breeze ruffled the creosote and sage brush, sending a slight tang into the air. A quail called a warning, ahead of him, as he carefully pushed his way past a dried tumble-weed resting against the canyon wall. He could hear the birds, and other small animals, scrambling through the brush to escape the intruder.

It was Thanksgiving Day: the first full day of his long weekend. Many Americans try to identify things they should be thankful for on this day. Caleb was thankful for the much needed break. He had driven from Phoenix the night before, and set up at his usual camping spot in the Kofa National Wildlife Refuge. He was about half way between Yuma and Quartzsite, Arizona, and his camping spot was nearly five miles east of US highway ninety-five. He had spent the day in the canyons bordering the broad flood plain of the Colorado River, far downstream from the Grand Canyon. He had been immersing himself in his boyhood hobby of geology.

Most Americans thought they should spend the Thanksgiving holiday with family. Caleb didn't have anyone with whom to celebrate. If he had stayed in town, he would have had to make up excuses to well-meaning friends, who would insist he eat dinner with them. Any invitation accepted would include meeting a female guest that 'just happened' to be single and available. For some reason, too many wives, and some husbands, thought that a single male was a crime against nature. At forty-two years old, Caleb no longer appreciated match-makers. He didn't think that a permanent female companion would provide the much needed peace and solitude that he needed, to calm down and recharge from his job.

Caleb worked as an investigator for the Arizona State Department of Economic Security: better known as DES. The job didn't match his degree in Electronic Engineering, but many things in life don't work out quite the way they are planned. He had swallowed that bitter pill several times in his life, and he refused to cry over it.

Working for DES was a good job, really. Any job was a good job in the shambles of the current US economy. The pay wasn't too terrible, honest, but it sure didn't measure up to what he had expected to make when he graduated from college. There was an advantage to working fifty and sixty hours a week with low pay. He didn't have a lot of time to spend money that he didn't have. Caleb softly snorted to himself, as he attempted to justify where his life had taken him.

Working for the government was something Caleb had sworn he wouldn't do again. He was bitter about his time in the Army, despite his successes. Caleb had been proud of serving his country. In a twisted kind of way, he felt like he was still fighting for his country by finding fraudulent welfare applicants, and freeing abuse victims. He wasn't against people getting welfare when they needed it. However, the thieves that drained hundreds of thousands of dollars from the system, while buying boats, and cabins in the mountains, needed to be caught. Unfortunately, there were too many of them. They needed to be in prison, and he was the man to put them there. As for the abuse victims, their abusers were usually anxious to be in state custody rather than where Caleb could reach them.

State employment did have the advantage of providing a lot of time off. Every time a politician passed gas, Caleb and his fellow state workers got another paid day off.

The state retirement system also took his years in the Army into consideration in their retirement calculations. Some bizarre computation, used by the state, meant that he could retire in another five years. Caleb wasn't going to argue. Maybe then he could move to an isolated place in the desert, and not be bothered by people again.

Though his job had some advantages, it had some major disadvantages, too. He had to work with politicians and government bureaucrats. Working with politicians made him feel like he needed to take an extra shower at night. Working with the bureaucrats that ran the state could try the patience of a saint. Caleb Alain Connor was not a saint, and he had very little patience.

Caleb understood that he was also a government employee, and he often wondered if that fact was an indication of a serious mental deficiency in himself. There were some very smart people working for the government, but smart did not always equate with common sense. Some of them made the proverbial 'box of rocks' look like a superstar. That was why he needed to seek the solitude of the desert canyons. The alternative was to start breaking people, literally. His boss agreed with Caleb that frequent trips to the desert was the better solution.

His thoughts, and the silence, were interrupted by a flight of CH-47 helicopters roaring overhead. He gritted his teeth when he stopped and watched as a flight of more than a dozen of the dual rotor choppers flew in the direction of the Army Proving Grounds located north of Yuma, Arizona.

"Probably some gung-ho officer bucking for promotion," Caleb muttered angrily to himself. "They're working on a holiday, so maybe some other gung-ho officer will give it to him. Either that, or something really bad is going on."

Caleb shook his head, dismissing his bitter thoughts of the Army, as the sound of the helicopters faded in the distance. He grimaced at the silence around him. The bugs, birds, and animals had gone silent at the disturbance of the aircraft.

He adjusted his pack, as he sourly wondered about his own sanity. There had to be something wrong with a forty-two year old man, that spent Thanksgiving weekend in the desert, alone, looking at rocks. His pack was full of rocks that he had found during the day. He briefly considered that box of rocks again, and wondered how he compared. He shrugged the thought away, and readjusted his pack, again. He just didn't give a damn.

Caleb was an amateur geologist. He had considered geology as a career, once upon a time, about thirty years ago. He began walking again, as he reminisced. It wasn't a pleasant walk down memory lane, but it did take his mind off his sore ankle as he walked. He wanted to reach his camp at the mouth of the canyon, before full dark.

'Women have been making men do stupid things since the dawn of time, ' is a phrase Caleb often repeated to himself. A breakup with a girlfriend, on his twentieth birthday, had caused him to do something stupid. He dropped out of college and joined the Army. Ten years later, he was shot during a recon mission in Iraq. Weeks later, US forces reached the site of the chemical production facility his team had found, but the facility and the chemical dump had already been moved to Syria. Caleb was declared medically fit a year later, and was discharged after refusing to reenlist. Less than a year after that, his wife of nine years divorced him.

Caleb couldn't blame Gina for divorcing him, but it still hurt. They had been madly like most newlyweds, when they got married. The Army moved them four times in the following nine years, and they had actually been together less than thirty-six months, total, of their entire marriage. The moving and separations were hard on the marriage. He went back to college after he was discharged. The two of them being together during college, after his discharge, was like living with a stranger. Six months after the divorce, Caleb was notified that Gina had been killed in a car wreck. That hurt worse than the divorce! Caleb continued college, and finally earned his degree in Electrical Engineering.

He stopped to rest his ankle for a moment. He lied to himself, and tried to make himself believe that he just wanted to look at an eighty foot rampart, that looked like the earth's crust had tilted sideways. These types of geologic structures were why Caleb liked to explore the area along the Colorado River. And, if he were in better physical shape, he would probably enjoy them more. Maybe he was getting too old for these types of forays.

The top of the earthwork caught the last of the setting sun. He still had about a quarter of a mile to walk before reaching his camp. Caleb watched the last streak of sunlight disappear from the top of the wall, and knew that he had less than twenty minutes before full dark. Twilight didn't last long in the dry air of the desert. He had a flashlight, but he didn't like walking in the desert after dark. Snakes came out to hunt in the dark, and Caleb was wary of the big rattlers that frequented these hills. He adjusted his pack again, and started walking, as he tried to set a faster pace.

Caleb struggled with a side pocket in his pack, trying to extract a bottle of water as he walked. Mumbling at his inability to get the water bottle out of the pouch, he swung his pack off his shoulders, and continued to walk. The draw string holding the water bottle was stuck, so Caleb fumbled with the catch to release it in the fading light.

Suddenly, Caleb was illuminated by a bright light, as a large object thundered down from the sky, shining like a newly risen sun. The ground bucked as the object crashed into the desert, not far ahead of him. Caleb was lifted from his feet, and thrown back up the canyon, by the concussion. He hit one of the many soft sand pockets deposited by flash floods on the canyon floor, and slid on his back through the sand. He plowed a deep trench in the flour-fine powdered sand, and the sand mounded around him, nearly burying him, as he slid to a stop.

Caleb's breath was knocked from him by the force of being slammed into the ground. He struggled to breathe. He was stunned. His mind fumbled with what had just happened, unable to grasp what had happened. He was gasping, still unable to breathe, when a searing flash of hot air blasted up the canyon. The roar of the passing wave of scorching air was nearly as deafening as the initial concussion of sound. Fortunately, it passed over the slight dust bowl into which the first concussion had tossed him.

It seemed like hours later that Caleb was able to force his lungs to work again. His gasping breath burned in his throat. The acrid smoke from burning creosote bushes made his eyes water, and made breathing harder.

'What in the hell happened?' Caleb wondered, unable to utter a sound yet, but with his wits beginning to function. He lay there, ears ringing, but numb otherwise. He could smell singed hair. He reached up and gently touched his face and winced. It was very tender. He tried to tell if he had any broken bones by flexing his muscles. Everything seemed to be intact, so he tried to raise himself onto his elbows to look around. It worked, but damn, he hurt!

Slowly he looked around the canyon floor. There had been scrub brush along the bottom of the little canyon earlier. Now there were only the burnt stubs of the brown plants. The depression he had created in the dusty sand bowl had let most of the heat pass safely over him.

Caleb struggled to his feet and looked around. His pack was lying about ten feet from him. The plastic snaps, that held the straps together, were broken and melted. The nylon of the pack was melted too, and he could see the metal implements he had carried in the pack had a burnt sheen to them.

"Damn," Caleb said out loud. "It is a good thing I wasn't standing up when that hit."

Which got his mind working, and he wondered again, what happened? Did an airplane crash? Did a meteorite hit? He started stumbling towards the mouth of the canyon. It was full dark now, but the sky was lit by a strange red afterglow.

Caleb stumbled from the mouth of the canyon, and looked on what he thought could be a vision of hell. His camp site was gone. His pickup truck was still there, but it was only a molten, smoking ruin. The entire little plain that he had camped on was covered by small fires. All the vegetation was gone, and the hills on the other side of the plain were covered by what was left of burning trees. Bits and pieces of metallic looking objects were scattered throughout the little valley. It looked like an airplane had crashed and disintegrated on impact. Possibly, it was one of those experimental planes with exotic fuel, from the looks of the crash site.

Three large balls of metal were lying a short distance from the mouth of the canyon. As he watched, one ball collapsed, as if folding in upon itself, and melted into a slag heap.

Caleb stumbled forward, feeling drawn towards the nearest of the two remaining metallic balls. The heat was intense, but not unbearable. He reached the nearest ball and saw a jagged crack running down the side. A pale red liquid was leaking from the ball. Caleb felt like something precious was about to be lost, before a deep sadness washed through him. The ball melted into a slag heap, like the first one, as the sadness faded. Caleb started crying from the intensity of the emotion, and he stumbled towards the last ball. He stopped before it, and looked at the intricate markings on the sides. It was nearly as tall as he was. He reached out to touch it, but jerked his hand back from the heat emanating from the ball.

Caleb fell backwards, and landed on his butt, as a click and whirring noise came from the sphere. It opened like a clam shell, and he could see something inside from the reflected red light of the fires. He saw what looked like a small man, or at least a humanoid. There was something wrong with the shape of the head. The head looked like it was shaped differently than a human's, and seemed too large for the body. A thin red liquid was running from the mouth as the man, or humanoid, as it tried to move. It fumbled with straps that held it in a cushioned seat.

"HELP ME," Caleb heard.

But it wasn't a sound. It was in his head. It sounded like a plea, and he couldn't resist it. He crawled forward, and carefully reached a hand toward the creature. It was cool, almost cold inside the sphere. He touched the straps holding the creature in the seat, and the creature grabbed his hand.

Caleb tried to jerk his hand back, but was suddenly paralyzed. He couldn't move. It was as if something had taken control of his body. He couldn't even talk. He tried to ask, "What are you doing to me?" in growing panic, but his mouth and voice box didn't work.

Caleb felt his fear fade, but knew that was unreasonable; he should be scared shitless. The knowledge that he should be scared seemed to be an interesting fact that could be put aside for now, like an interesting piece of quartz.

"Ahh," Caleb heard in his mind.

The sound seemed to reverberate inside his skull. He heard it, but not with his ears.

"You haven't reached my host's level of civilization yet. Humanoid? Yes, I understand. It means a species resembling your species." Then he felt/heard genuine astonishment as he understood, "Less than 500,000 years since consciousness, and only 50,000 since the beginning of a symbolic culture? That is much faster than other sentient species that I can remember! And already, you are at this technological level. You are still a baby, and are already equal to, or beyond many older sentient species. That could be good, or very dangerous."

Caleb felt like something was going through his memories, like a browser in a book store would flip through books. He caught glimmerings of thoughts. Some made sense, but most were so alien he couldn't relate to them at all.

Maybe Caleb couldn't feel fear, but he could feel anger surging inside himself. He sensed surprise at the emergence of an emotion that the, whatever, or whoever, didn't have immediate control over. He couldn't talk, but he could think, and if this thing was in his head then he could think at it, he reasoned.

"WHO ARE YOU?" Caleb thought, angrily.

The question was as forceful and focused as he could make it. He felt a shudder of pain and sorrow, as the other intelligence seemed to pull back, slightly. Caleb's impression was of how he would hold an interesting rock at arm's length to get a better look at it.

There was no response, so Caleb decided to try that again, and thought, "Who..." and was stopped cold.

Then he felt a gentle touch on his mind. Thoughts began forming in Caleb's mind, and after a moment, they began making sense.

"Please don't do that, Caleb. I am dying, and ... I am in great pain. Yes ... shouting at me like that increases my pain ... negates, and shortens my life. I have offended you. I have violated you. This is what you are feeling towards me."

Throughout this strange communication, Caleb could feel the gentle touches on his mind. It felt like this entity was searching for the right words to communicate with him, and explain. He could also feel a calm desperation in the communication.

"We ... I am ... yes, very sorry for ... offending you."

Caleb felt the release of his mind, and his fear surged briefly, and then rolled back with his anger like a wave on a shore. He examined himself, trying to evaluate if he was being controlled, and decided that he wasn't. He could still feel the contact of the other mind as a tenuous thread of consciousness, and he could also still feel the calm desperation that he had sensed before.

"Um ... can you, ah, understand me?" Caleb asked the creature hesitantly.

Caleb sensed the wince in the touch his mind had with the alien, and this time actually saw the physical wince in the thin body.

"Sorry," he said softly, trying to lower his thought to the equivalent of a mental whisper as he spoke.

He could feel the relief in the other being at the softer tones in his thoughts.

"Yes, thank you, and yes, I can understand you."

"Can I help you?" Caleb thought softly. Aloud he asked, "You said you were dying. Can I help you?"

"No ... Yes, YES, I see! Yes, you can help. My host will expire within moments. May I wait with you?"

Caleb was stunned for a moment. Expire, dying, wait with me?

"Wait for what?" Caleb asked as he tried desperately to make sense of this strange conversation.

"Wait with you. Wait for ... ah ... yes, rescue."

"Well, I guess it is okay," Caleb said hesitantly, his mind numb with shock.

His mind started racing as the impact of what had happened struck home. This was a space ship! This was an alien, and he was talking to it! The government idiots would be coming. He didn't want to be jabbed and poked the rest of his life.

"I don't know how I can hide you," Caleb said, as his fears of the government drones that would start arriving at any time started growing in his mind. "I don't mind you waiting with me, but I don't know how to hide you," Caleb said with growing fear.

"Thank ... Thank you Caleb. Don't fear ... no pain ... no loss. Companion I will be to you, for only a short time. I must join you, now."

A part of his mind was filled with an intense... 'fullness' was the only description that he could attribute to the feeling. His eyes could still see. He could still understand what he was seeing, but his brain felt weird. Caleb felt like he had spent a week of all-nighters, studying for an impossible college course.

The body of the small man began to melt before Caleb's eyes. The capsule began dissolving around the small man-thing, as if the consciousness of the being had been holding the molecular structure together. Caleb scrambled backwards, and landed in the sand again. He watched the sphere as it melted into the shallow depression it had made in the sand.

Caleb felt a sense of loss at the death of the alien, but he didn't feel the wave of sadness that had accompanied the other alien's death.

"Sorry," Caleb said aloud to the dead alien. "I guess you weren't strong enough to survive."

Caleb sat on the ground looking around. His sense of awe grew, and more than a little fear grew with it. Had that just happened? Had he talked to an alien? He shook his head trying to order his thoughts. He felt slightly woozy, and still had that full feeling in his head. It was almost as if his sinuses were way too full, and he couldn't blow his nose.

Slowly Caleb leveraged himself to his feet, and stumbled more than walked to what used to be his pickup, and looked around. It couldn't have been a space ship. It couldn't have been an alien he was talking to. Getting slammed to the ground, like he had in the canyon, could have rattled his brain. He probably hit his head, and there was no telling what kind of fumes he had been breathing for the last few minutes. The last half hour had provided plenty of reasons to hallucinate.

Caleb looked at his truck again, and felt a slow anger building in him. This must be something from that damned Army Proving Grounds just a few miles south of him. His completely refurbished 1975 Ford F-150 four-wheel drive was trashed. That truck would go anyplace in the desert he asked it to, and it looked good driving around town too. He had seen more than a few of the younger crowd admiring his truck. No truck now though, and he felt his anger build a little higher as lights appeared over the ridge. He soon heard the sound of helicopters approaching.

A Government response team was already coming. They must have been close. Caleb knew that he couldn't tell them that he had talked to an alien. Talking about hallucinations was a sure ticket to the loony bin, and they would never let him go. He decided his only chance was to play the angry local yokel. He would blame them for everything. That's how the government handled awkward information, so maybe he could get away with it, this one time. The beauty of the plan was that he didn't need to fake his anger!

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