Here's a short story I wrote in sixth grade (which would have been sometime around 1990-91). I remember having the beginning for a long time and then rushing to finish it, giving it its semi-ironic, cop-out ending. Remember, this is sixth grade, folks.Contact ? April 7, 2014 CSA Headquarters in Rugby, North Dakota Supervisor Ed Cott looked with disgust at his assigned crew, all hunched over their computer screens, each one just like a tiger, crouching, waiting for the right moment to pounce on its prey. At the slightest blip or beep, they would lunge at their HTs (Holographic Terminals), attacking the keyboard with a pummeling of fingers. Otherwise, they would just sit there, poised, still as statues, now and then tapping a few keys, but mainly they were still, lifeless, seemingly dead. What a bunch of lowlifes, thought Cott as he strode around the rather large room, It's hard to believe that these people were alive once, not just living, but ALIVE. Why'd those guys in the head offices put me in charge of these, these-- His thoughts were interrupted by one of the crew. "Mr. Cott? Sir, I think I have something here." His tone of voice was deadpan, as there were few ways to find much enthusiasm in this line of work. Cott looked at the man who had spoke up. He walked over to him to look at his findings on the HT screen. On it was a map of the United States, with a large moving red dot heading toward the middle of the Atlantic coast. "I've zoomed in on it, sir. It's right here." He pointed to the rapidly moving dot. "Right over Quadrant 36, sir." At the CSA (short for Continental Security Agency) the whole North American continent was divided into a series of 369 parts, or quadrants (Rugby, North Dakota was chosen to be the location of their headquarters because studies showed that it was the exact center of North America). Of these Quadrants, some enclosed entire states, some only parts of states, some were whole regions, and others only covered larger cities. The thirty-sixth Quadrant encased but one city: Washington D.C. Oh no, not Quadrant 36, he thought. He experienced a momentary burst of panic, cut short by his remembrance of the margin for error. Ed was a pessimist when it came to computers, and had little or no optimism regarding any of their abilities or applications. "You, uh, Mitchell." One of the others looked up in response to Cott's command. "Run a time lapse scan of Quadrants 29 to 37 respectively, over the last hours." "One moment, sir." There was a brief moment of tense silence. "Yes, this data confirms Cunningham's findings. An object was present in those Quadrants over the said period, sir." Ed paused for a moment, trying to remember some of the procedures for use in emergency situations that he learned throughout his six years of vigorous training. He turned toward another of the crew. "Seiberling, file a Procedure 26, subheading 41. Log onto the Network and alert the other offices of a security code three, and download a report of Cunningham's and your data. Hower, get me online with the Pentagon. We've got to act quickly with this." þ þ þ David Murphy leaned back in his chair. He placed his feet on the small section of his desk that was clear. As commandant of the recently established Security Corps, he had little spare time for relaxation so he had to take full advantage of all the time he had. This new military organization, started in compliance to the terms of the Continental Alliance of 2011, was the federal government's complement to the CSA and its branch organizations. He leaned back farther in his chair, folded his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. A moment later he would've been asleep if it weren't for his secretary's abrupt interruption. "Mr. Murphy, sir, I know you asked me to hold all your calls, but this one seems important. It is Mr. Cott from the CSA headquarters who would like to speak with you." "Send him in, Arlene," he replied, groggily. "Excuse me, sir, but it sounded like you asked me to send him in. Did you mean you wanted for me to patch him in to your line?" "Oh, yes. Isn't that what I said?" He thought for a second. "No, on second thought it wasn't." He mumbled. "Pardon me, sir, What did you say?" "Arlene, just patch him in." "Yes, sir." He watched as an image began to form on the monitor of his video phone, fuzzy at first, but slowly it became sharper. The blur rapidly began to take form as the face of a gaunt, obviously nervous man in his mid-thirties, his hand over his brow locked in a salute. "Mr. Murphy, sir." He said as he lowered his hand. "You requested to speak with me, Mr. Cott?" Murphy's voice was smooth and calm, contrasting with Cott's tense, worried tone. "Sir, at approximately 1450 hours an unidentified, as it remains, object was located by one of our satellites moving at a yet unknown speed towards the mid-Atlantic coastline--" "Approximately where I am now." Murphy interrupted. "--we are still tracking it and it is rapidly approaching your location, Quadrant 36." Murphy became tense. "Cott, can you give me any specifics on this object of yours? Have you checked for a mistake in your system?" "Sir, we have our systems running at top efficiency and we have confirmed our findings." "Well, I'll see what I can do." A light on the phone's console began to blink. "You'll have to wait a second, Cott. I have another call on the line." He pushed the alternate call button on his phone. The face of his receptionist came into view. "Sir, sorry to disturb you again but I have one of the space lab technicians on the line courtesy of NASA, and he says he needs to talk to you. He has been calling for the last few hours." "Arlene, could you put him on hold, please. I have a possible security breach here and I have no time to waste on listening to an astronaut's complaints." He hung up and got back online with Cott. "Mr. Murphy, we have been able to gather better information regarding the object from the collected data. According to this, the object is approximately one meter long and half a meter wide, and composed of known alloys. We'll fax you all the specifics." Murphy watched as his facsimile machine came to life and spewed out several pages of maps and reports. "Have you calculated the object's touchdown time and its destination?" "We have calculated touchdown at about 1620 hours and in the approximate area of Arlington, Virginia. It should become visible any time now." "Thank you, Mr. Cott. Goodbye." He hung up. þ þ þ Near the outskirts of D.C, an object was seen by some tourists, who reported it. The police, the Navy, and some reporters soon began appearing on the scene. Word finally reached the Pentagon, and Murphy's office. The Security Corps took action immediately. They moved crews towards the area of the sighting. Meanwhile, a special task force comprised of psychologists, biologists, and linguists was also being readied, in case of contact by unknown alien species, in a frenzied attempt. They soon landed in their helicopter at the object's splashdown site. The mob watched as the object landed in the river. An LCAC was deployed along with several helicopters to retrieve the object. At the same time, Murphy, in his limo, was catching up on the day's phone calls. Most were solicitors, but one caught his attention. He opened the transmission lines. He saw the face of Michael Bradshaw, one of the country's most renowned scientists who, with his colleagues, was currently in a geosynchronous orbit above the Atlantic Ocean in the space laboratory Alliance 3. "Mr. Murphy, I don't mean to disturb you but we had a small problem up here and I was recommended to call your department." "Well, Bradshaw, what exactly is this problem?" "Well, you see, sir, at about 1:30--I mean 1330 hours one of our auxiliary oxygen tanks broke loose and we have been unable to locate it." Bradshaw was drowned out by a roar outside. "Just a moment please, there seems to be a disturbance outside. Could you hang on?" He looked out his window and saw the crowd looking at the object. After ordering them to bring it to him for inspection, he realized what the mysterious object was. It wasn't an alien spacecraft, nor was it from an alien civilization. In the puzzled crewman's hands, David Murphy saw but only the charred and burned remains of an oxygen tank, the words PROPERTY OF NASA barely readable on its side. þ þ þ
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