― Albert Einstein
Hard Evidence
There's a fetishistic side to man's nature. Ever since we've been on this earth we've been drawn to certain mysterious objects we venerate simply because they possess some secret power.
I was holding one such object in my hand―an alien artifact, not of this world. It felt strange to the touch and when held to the light seemed to give off a faint blue aura.
For me, it was a talisman conjuring images of a remote and unfamiliar world. I shivered as I grasped it realizing it was the product of an inhuman intelligence that was wholly other than anything I had ever known.
Touching it made me feel alien too as if the alloy itself transferred some kind of force that would penetrate my skin.
I know it wouldn't contaminate me but I had to let it go, let it rest on a side table in the den where it would not be the main focus of my thoughts.
I was trying to put it into context not make it an object of reverence or devotion...or revulsion.
It was simply a manufactured material of unknown composition, I told myself and tried to forget it was the product of an inhuman race of beings who might be like us, or spectres drawn from nightmares.
I'm safe. I'm all right, I told myself as if willing my mind to ignore the obvious. I had ventured into the unknown and if I were overawed by simply handling strange and exotic materials, how would I cope if I came face to face with an inhuman presence?
My gut wrenched and I felt nauseous. This was far too much for me to comprehend or accept. I sincerely wished I never answered Shannon Holme's overtures or seriously considered her proposal.
What the hell was I doing here anyway? I'm no adventurer―far from it.
I shiver staring into the night sky. Just contemplating the immense distances between stars produces an uncomfortable frisson within me that drives me back indoors to the primitive comfort of shelter and fire.
I'm not much removed from dwelling in caves and cringing during storms. And here I am, trying to cope with the vast unknown.
It's not me. I'm out of my zone.
Give me fire and food and another's arms to hold through long nights when storms howl and I'll pray to the gods to hold back their wrath and save me from the thunder stone.
I curl up on the couch and watch flames from the fire roll over a burning spar.
From the corner of my eye I glimpse a faint blue flash that illumines the dark corner where the alien artifact rests.
Curious, I turn my attention upon it and wait, but there are no more luminous bursts and exhausted from stress, I fall into a deep sleep.
I dream I'm with Abigail Kinsley, the RCMP agent, and we're caught in a storm.
We shelter in a small cave and light a fire. All around us the din of the storm and blue glare of lightning flashes, but inside we're safe and warm, huddled together by the fire.
The storm rages and spends its fury in gnashings and moanings, but we're sheltered from all harm, safe in our own tiny world.
When I open my eyes, it's morning. Not quite awake, I'm wrapped in a strange confusion, unsure if the events of yesterday were real or simply my imagination.
But one glance at the side table proves the events of yesterday were not a dream. The alien artifact is there, mute and palpable, exactly where I placed it.
I swear I can sense its presence at the edge of my awareness.
And I wonder about my dream, about the storm of my emotions―why was I clinging to Abigail Kinsley? Was I subconsciously reaching out for help, or comfort because I trusted her?
I felt so confused. There's so much unknown inside me hiding in the dark cave of the psyche.
I didn't know who could I trust. I needed an expert to evaluate the artifact, but wasn't sure Abigail might not decide to confiscate the material.
I needed a guarantee that wouldn't happen.
At least, I trusted Elise. I'd have to run the problem by her and see what she'd think was the best way to proceed.
I made breakfast and while drinking my second coffee, Abigail unexpectedly showed up at my door.
Was that coincidence or did I subconsciously anticipate her coming?
I made more coffee and we sat by the fire. I waited patiently for the sales pitch I knew was coming. I didn't have to wait long.
She didn't mince words. "I know Maine Blair came to see you yesterday. Anything you'd like to tell me?"
"Yeah, we had a nice visit and he left."
She shook her head and looked at me compassionately. "I'm not your enemy, Cole. You need support and protection. I can offer both."
"Since you seem to know everything about me you must know I have support and protection from CSIS."
She smiled. "Oh, I know all about Elise Crawford. She's very competent and attractive, I can see why you rely on her."
She said it as a statement of fact as if it didn't matter, but I felt it did. I had no idea how the two agencies interfaced, or if one deferred to the other.
As if reading my mind, she explained, "CSIS is a spy agency and we're a police force. If you're looking for protection, you come to us. CSIS agents don't carry weapons except outside the country in certain hot spots―they're mostly concerned with gathering intelligence and assessing threats to national security."
I nodded, "Okay, I see―so what you're saying is I need to rely on both of you, but how does that work?"
She shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes it doesn't. It's the old problem of sharing information and collaborating on cases. I won't lie to you―it's not always smooth sailing."
"What if I had something that needed to be analyzed in a lab―would I be guaranteed of getting it back without it being confiscated by you?"
She shook her head. "I can't guarantee that, especially if it's stolen material or government property. I can promise you you'd be fully briefed on our findings and fully protected"
"That's an honest answer, and something I'll have to consider."
"Well, while you're thinking about it I can put your mind at ease―we've got you under protective surveillance. I'm personally in charge of your safety."
“Good to know,” I smiled, and then, thinking of my dream, stifled any romantic notions. I didn't need complications.
Still, I wasn’t sure what to do, but made up my mind to talk it over with Elise.
Abigail seemed honest and caring but Maine trusted me with the artifact and I didn’t want it ending up buried in an RCMP vault.
The longer I delayed, the more the artifact was vulnerable to being stolen and that was an even more horrific outcome than if the RCMP confiscated it.
And then there was the sealed file Blair entrusted to me.
What to do? I had no idea.
The more I thought about things, the more complicated everything seemed.