The Chronicle of Belthaeous
by John W. Steele
Chapter 20: The Enukai
The Psy-Ops agents were the first on board. They barged into the flight lab as if they owned it. When they entered, Dr. Nacroanus swallowed hard. These were the extraterrestrial demonic humanoids he’d told me about, and I always sensed he was uneasy when he spoke of them.
He called them the Enukai, an ancient alien life form designed by Mammon. This sub-species of Vulpeculan descent survived quite nicely in the material realm and it had the ability to shift dimensions.
According to Adrian, the Vulpeculans created the Enukai by mixing their DNA with Human DNA and various recycled microchips. He claimed the Enukai possessed a hive mind mentality that interfaced with a mainframe of incalculable memory. He asserted they could access vast amounts of data in the time it took to blink an eye, but they had absolutely no creative intelligence or imagination. If the solution to a challenge could not be found in the hard drive, they were powerless to resolve the problem.
Thrangu had spoken of them on occasion, and whenever he did he laughed. He said Enukai considered themselves superior to souled humanity because they possessed higher technology and had the ability to travel between dimensions. But, in truth, they were little more than glorified automatons with a lifespan of about one hundred and fifty years.
He said these bio-bots were like disposable batteries; when their energy was depleted, the Vulpeculans threw away the shell and created new ones to replace them. He said that the biggest joke was on them, because the Vulpeculans programmed them with the idea that they were immortal and they considered themselves to be gods.
He joked that it made no difference to them if one of their comrades depleted its life force right in front of them. They did not possess the reason or intelligence to override their programming, and they were too stupid even to consider an alternative. He told me if I ever met one, I should not take them too seriously and that I should do my best to keep from laughing out loud; because, like hornets, they possessed a swarm mentality that could be dangerous.
This squad of alien tyrants wore black flight suits, unwrinkled, and sharply creased. White crew neck tees peered from beneath the lapel of their coveralls. A glistening metal chain dangled from shoulder to shoulder across their chest. The chain shimmered like quicksilver, and the colors that pulsed in it seemed to determine their rank. Formidable-looking black jackboots with silver lace studs and sparkling steel toes rose to their knees, the uppers polished to a gleam.
A deep burgundy tint glistened on their lips, as if they had been smeared with some type of acrylic gel. Aviator sunglasses with black mirrored lenses concealed their eyes.
Their faces and hands were paper-white, and their fingernails were long, sharp, and orange-colored. They emitted a unique sulfur smell, a cold acrid scent, like overripe garlic. The sight of them filled me with revulsion. Despite what Thrangu had said, they looked formidable to me.
One of the aliens appeared to be in command. He was not like the others; he looked less mechanical and more organic. This humanoid was completely bald. He had no eyelids or eyelashes. Heavy cheeks hung like raw dough on his face, and his brow bulged like a mushroom. He was shorter than the rest of them, squat and thick, with stubby legs and tiny feet. He wore a yellow flight suit with a broad pink waistband.
This alien had two bellies, one drooped from the top of the sash and the lower one hung beneath it like a semi-deflated innertube. Bloodshot eyes bulged from their sockets like green olives, and teal blue circles ringed their orbits giving him an iguana-like appearance.
I knew by Adrian’s description of this thing that this was the demigod known as Xenotula. He claimed this Fourth-Density alien was a direct descendent of Vulpeculan nobility and that his bloodline had not been polluted by any other alien race.
When he saw me, he tilted his head forward, exposing a shiny patch of skin that covered the top of his head. The crown of smooth flesh glistened with an iridescent golden luster like the belly of a game fish.
Something about this creature looked vaguely familiar. A painful recollection lit up in my head. He looked identical to the beast in glyph mounted on the litter in the Cave of the Ancients.
Colonel Falkenhorst stood behind them, an expression of rigor mortis etched like pancake makeup on his features.
The fish-man stared at me, and one of his troopers walked over and stood at my side.
Dr. Nacroanus and the Vulpeculan shared a long, pensive look, and Adrian’s throat contracted.
“Baron Xenotula,” Adrian said, his voice sweet with fear. He lowered his eyes and bowed.
The Vulpeculan responded with a croak like a bullfrog, “Wah Tu Cah.”
The Baron made not a sound after that, and they seemed to communicate telepathically. Dr. Nacroanus answered his questions, but Xenotula did not speak.
“Yes, the formula is exactly as I promised, Baron Xenotula. I’ve established contact with the etheric field in this solar system. The orange and yellow ray energies are assimilating in the Archon according to Dr. Neumann’s equations. Yes, my Lord, the plasma is capable of sustaining the etheric frequencies.”
I wanted to listen to the rest of the conversation, but the thing standing next to me interfered. “What is your name?” it asked.
“Dr. Rodney Neumann.”
“I knew that,” the man said. A fine wrinkle formed in his forehead, and his buttock-shaped cheeks morphed into a smug expression. The man wore a large amethyst-colored ear ring and his nose was pierced with what looked like a neon orange safety pin.
“Why are you’s among us?” he asked.
“I’ve been on this project for twenty-five years. Who the hell are you?”
The man raised his head proudly and gazed into distance like some kind of all-knowing seer. “My name is Croitus. I am a Fourth-Density god from a dimension beyond the scope of your limited intellect. We’s have been assigned to observe you’s. But you’s didn’t answer my question, Quasar. Maybe you’s are filled with putrefied organic waste matter up to your ears?”
I didn’t like this thing, and I wasn’t going to play his game. “I’m here because I feel like it.”
“I knew that,” he said.
Time slowed to a crawl. Adrian’s interrogation continued. I decided to reveal as little as possible to this demonic cretin.
“Where are you’s from?” Croitus asked.
“You’re strange looking, what’s wrong with your face?” I said.
The alien raised his forearm and made sign of the fist. We’s are able to shift our wavelength and enter your dimension. We’s originate from a solar system in the constellation you know as Vulpecula.”
“Vulpecula,” I said. “That’s three thousand light years from here. How did you get here?”
The spaceman touched his nose. “We’s are ten thousand years more advanced than you’s technologically. We’s can travel anywhere in the universe on the electromagnetic lattice that connects us to infinity using only the power of our thought forms. You’s are a slippery little phallus, aren’t you’s? We’s ask the questions, Quasar. I’ll repeat the query. What part of this cosmic landfill are you’s from?”
“Arkansas,” I barked.
“I knew that,” he said.
He stared at me, dots of scarlet radiance reflected in the lenses of his shades.
“You’s are meat... Hick meat,” Croitus said.
“What do you mean ‘hick meat’?” I asked.
His chin drooped like some newborn pelican and a dribble of green tinged slime leaked from the corner of his mouth. In a defiant voice he cried, “Hick, farmer, Agricola, monkey, inbred, abortion, slave, ape, crack baby, combination skin, liver spot. A bipedal genetic experiment gone bad. We’s know all about you’s, Earthling. Since your attention span is that of what you’s would call a journalist, I will query you’s again. What coordinates in Arkansas correlate with your origin, afterbirth?”
“A little town you probably never heard of,” I said.
“I know every parallel, on every meridian, in the toilet of this solar system. State the name of the town, neutrino breath.”
“Aw, shucks, Mr. Moonlight. It’s just a little place you probably never heard of, just outside of Kalamazoo. It’s called Fugyermama. Have you ever been there?”
Croitus tilted his head to the right. His eyes shifted in his skull, and his face took on a blank expression. “That coordinate does not resonate in magnetic ID.”
A high-pitched sound filled the room. Croitus stared at me. I felt his eyes probe in the back of my skull. I grew limp and unable to move. From the cuticle of his middle finger, a tiny silver shard emerged. He lifted my hand and drove the sliver into the skin above my wrist.
The trance vanished as quickly as it came. “What did you do to me?” I asked.
“It’s a minuscule token of the profound esteem we’s hold for you’s and your kind. Let’s just say we’s will be together always.”
I needed no further clarification. I’d been chipped. “I knew that,” I said.
The smug expression drained from his face. He walked back to the fish god. They turned and headed towards the door of the lab.
Nacroanus made the sign of the fist. “Hail Mammon,” he exclaimed.
When the door closed behind them, Adrian turned to me and smiled. “The Vulpeculans are well pleased with our acts of service, Rodney. They have assured me once the orange ray is fully activated in the Avatar, we will serve as the masters of destiny on this planet.”
Adrian’s eyes grew empty, and he fixed me with an icy gaze. “Time is running out, my son. You will soon be forced to choose. I cannot protect you forever. Think about it. Do you wish to rule in hell or serve in the astral?”
I lowered my head... I wished for neither.
An iron voice cut through the cabin. Dr. Falkenhorst glared from the passageway. “Your deeds have been exemplary, Adrian, but we need you well. It’s time for me to take charge of our mission. You need to recuperate after your heroic ordeal.” He said.
The colonel approached Nacroanus and rested his burly arm on Adrian’s shoulder.
“Yes, you’re right, William. It’s been a grueling experience, and you are well qualified to take command while I get some much-needed rest. Eternulum has served me well, but I need time to rejuvenate my epithelial tissue.”
Falkenhorst motioned to uniformed personnel and the soldiers enter the compartment. They inched the container that housed Belthaeous towards the eighteen-wheeler docked at the tailgate of the cargo bay.
Several black SUV’s and two fire-medic coaches awaited us on the airstrip. Like emissaries, we were escorted into the rescue vehicles.
Our bulletproof entourage departed from the airport. Three hours later, we arrived on the gated compound at Genibolic Pharmaceutical. Support personnel helped us into wheelchairs and ushered us into a huge pressurized elevator compartment.
For long minutes, the cabin hummed, and we descended deep into the earth. When we reached the main floor of the underground city, we were greeted by a staff of medical personnel. We rolled down the corridor of a sterile-looking and well-lighted medical annex.
Two orderlies and a nurse accompanied me to a luxurious private room complete with fresh flowers and a basket of cheer.
A short, portly man with red hair and a thick moustache stood by the bed and introduced himself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Neumann,” he said. “I am your personal valet. My name is Malcolm. If you need anything, anything at all, just let me know, and I will provide it for you.”
I looked hard in his eyes, and he did not blink. I studied his pupils and the pool of his retinas. I sensed he was souled, and out of desperation, I trusted him.
“I need to see a real doctor,” I said.
“Dr. Brinson will be with you shortly. Allow me to help you with your things.” Malcolm brought me a fresh robe and busied himself unpacking my bag.
I knew from Adrian’s previous discussions of this place that this was Area Thirty-seven, the most classified underground base in the Northern Hemisphere. Adrian had allowed me to peruse a top secret file regarding the compound. From the diagrams, I knew this part of the complex lay nearly a mile and a half mile beneath a mountain of solid granite.
I felt like a strung-out junkie. My skin itched like steel wool, and my tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth. The wings of paranoia fluttered in my skull, and I feared the slightest jolt would set me off.
I wasn’t prepared for the impact that sleep deprivation and amphetamine withdrawal would create in me. But I could tell these were just the early stages of what would morph into the worst hangover of my life. I lowered my hand to my crotch and ran my fingers on the inside of my thigh. The Eye was intact, right where I had taped it.
To be continued...
Copyright © 2014 by John W. Steele