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Surprised by the question a moment popped into her head. As she was about to speak he cut her off. “No,” he said. “Really think about it. A moment when you were truly happy, when everything was just right. A moment when you knew you were loved. A moment that you loved. A moment when time seemed to stand still and you wanted to hold onto that moment forever. Dig deep inside yourself and tell me about it.”

His voice was so sincere she did as he asked. She closed her eyes and tracked back across the years, until she summoned up an event that she thought she’d long forgotten. The recollection of the long dormant memory stunned her with its power. She spoke, hesitatingly at first, then faster as she relived the experience.

“My tenth birthday. My parents surprised me by waking me up together. My mother kissed me. I can remember her perfume, she always wore Dior. I sat up in bed rubbing sleep from my eyes and then my dad hugged me. I remember his face was always shiny in the morning because he’d just shaved. I used to call it his smoothy face. When my dad pulled away my mom reached down by the side of the bed and picked up something. She told me to close my eyes and when I did she placed something on my lap. I opened my eyes and saw the most perfect kitten.” She paused, the emotion welling up inside her. “I picked her up and held her to my face. As I buried my face in her, my mom and dad hugged me together. I could smell all of them. I loved them so much I could have burst and I knew that I was loved in the same way.” She stopped, overcome. She felt the tears welling up inside her.

“I feel so silly,” she choked, “but I wanted that moment to last forever.” She tried to maintain control but the power of recollection threatened to overwhelm her. Embarrassed, she stood up to grab a tissue and in that moment the stranger held her. He embraced her as she allowed herself to let go. She cried for the loss of that long ago moment. She cried for her frustration. She cried in remembrances of a feeling that she hadn’t even realised that she’d forgotten. As she sobbed she was shaken to realise that there was an ecstasy in this release. Her barriers were down. She was raw emotion. She recalled unconditional love and the nirvana of the timeless moment.

As the stranger held her, he gently smoothed her hair. “This is what this is all about,” he murmured, “This is a hint of what you wanted to experience. The harder it is to get here makes the moment even more special. You gave yourself some tough barriers. You’re very brave but you insisted on the full nine yards. The door has been opened slightly. You can build upon this. The emotions you feel right now are the only reality. You wanted to forget them so you could experience the bliss of re discovering them. It’s the work of heros.”

A cigarette later, the woman looked at her mascara-streaked face in the mirror. Normally she would have reacted in horror. Instead, she laughed, a deep, rich, vibrant laugh that had the stranger chuckling as well. “Impressed?” she said.

The man stood up and grinned. “I’ve told you all I can. I’ve helped you have a peek at what’s going on. You’ve got to work the rest out for yourself. Your rules, remember? You know where to find me.” He turned and made for the door.

She moved quickly, blocking his path. “Don’t go,” she said. “I want to talk to you forever.” “You have been,” he replied gently.

“You’re here for me right?” she chuckled. He nodded. “If I need something you’re there for me, yes?” she continued. “In a nutshell,” he responded. She leaned forward and whispered into his ear.

As she lay on the bed in the half-light, she looked through the gloom as he entered the bedroom. He leant over her and gently ran his hands over her perfect shoulders and breathed in her powerful scent. She shivered in anticipation as she caressed the white downy feathers of his wings.

- The End -

TOP SECRET

For the umpteenth time Lieutenant Colonel Chester ‘Ches’ Washington, United States Air Force, call sign
Bullseye,
suppressed a smile as he drove past a ragged group of deluded no hopers on the desert road that led to his place of employment. Bearing their usual banners of
‘Aliens are here now’
and
‘Show us the captured UFO’s’
, their amiable and enthusiastic haranguing almost made him feel affectionate.

He hadn’t always felt so sanguine about the interest his place of work engendered. Both the mad and stupid, and sometimes, to his abject dismay, the very intelligent, often posed of him the sort of questions which made him want to hold his head in his hands and sob with frustration at their gullibility. Two years previously, when he’d been selected to continue his cutting edge flight testing at the very outer limits of flight technology, his posting to Groom Lake Air Force facility had been a dream come true.

He’d graduated in engineering from a respectable college and joined the Air Force. There he discovered the unique skills needed in handling the awesome challenges of flying a fast jet were something he possessed in almost embarrassingly large quantities. This, combined with his keen engineer’ mind, came to the notice of the powers that be. After tours in Bosnia and the Gulf, the brass had encouraged him to take an Air Force scholarship to complete a PhD. Graduating top of his class, he was assigned to Edwards Air force base, the spiritual home of all test pilot elite. Like Yeager, Crossfield and Armstrong before him, for three years in the high desert he flew everything that was thrown his way. He tangled with the high concept experimental machines that were delivered from the legendary Skunk Works at Lockheed Martin and drawings boards at Northrop Grumman and others.

Noting with interest his flawless record of intelligent flight assessment and a flying logbook full of an astonishing array of aircraft types, the same generals who had encouraged him to take his doctorate conferred with shadowy colleagues in various government agencies, and a decision was made. Shortly afterwards, Chester Washington was invited to attend a meeting in the nation’s capital.

There he faced various bemedalled and very senior military types, together with a number of unnamed civilians whose function seemed a little unclear. Nonetheless, they seemed enthusiastic about him and his career to date. Evidently a full and thorough investigation had been carried out on his background, above and beyond what was normal for his position, and he’d not been found wanting. Upon hearing this he immediately assumed that he’d been selected for some clandestine CIA sponsored activity. About to protest, one of the civilians held up his hand before he could utter a word. “Colonel, before you say anything, we’d like you to sign this,” he offered and pushed a sheet of paper in front of him. It bore the legend ‘
Top Secret’ Level C1/Majestic12/a51.

Unfamiliar with the clearance level, he raised his eyebrows and again, just before he was about to speak, the same civilian spoke. “No, you won’t be familiar with the clearance level, but suffice to say it’ll put you in the top point one percentile of all cleared personnel in the US. That’s a very small and select group Colonel. Only sign if you’re prepared to be bound by it. Clearances don’t really get much higher than this.” Naturally intrigued, Chester signed it with a flourish and sat back awaiting God knew what.

A naval admiral leaned forward, cleared his throat and addressed the Colonel. “Now you’ve signed the document you can only ever discuss what we are about to tell you with the people in this room or with someone whom one of the people in this room has given you written authority to speak with. Is that absolutely clear?”

Somewhat taken back by the admiral’s brusque manner, the pilot snapped back. “How am I supposed to get written permission when I don’t know any of the names of the civilians here or what they even do?” An Air Force general smiled. “And it’s highly unlikely that you ever will, Colonel. Let’s just say, ‘Don’t talk about this briefing ever, unless it’s to your next commanding officer who is similarly cleared...and yes, you can have that in writing…from me.”

The admiral took over again. “Put simply Colonel, let me remind you of an old-but-true adage: ‘Government is too important to be left to politicians’. No, it’s not treason, it’s a fact. Please, may I ask you not to interrupt me until I have completed my little speech? We’re not here to debate this issue today, but to simply get you up to speed. For many years, very senior people in various arms of the military and various government agencies have ensured this country’s and the free world’s preparedness and superiority against all its existing and potential threats. Government, presidential or otherwise, is simply an administrative device for effective management. Democracy unfortunately makes this less efficient than it might be but we have to at least give an appearance of a free society. The people that really run this country, and indeed a great many others, respect and support freedom but we recognise that run rampant it would totally destroy itself and probably the planet as well. The great initiatives that have kept the population secure and safe have never been hatched by Congress. Indeed the really key decisions cannot be left to a bunch of squabbling, self-serving politicians. So we let them do what they do whilst wiser heads get on with it making sure things happen and work or sometimes vice versa.”

Chester’s face obviously betrayed his emotions. The admiral once again cut him short. “As I said Colonel, this is not a debate. For example, the B2 Stealth Bomber and the F-17 Stealth Fighter give us unrivalled air superiority. They enabled our Gulf War causalities to be held at a level unimaginable even a decade earlier. Our nuclear submarines are undetectable. The alloys used on our unstoppable smart missiles enable us to make them lighter and fit the targeting technology that makes collateral civilian casualties almost negligible. Look at economics. Western financial dominance is not as a result of corrupt CEOs managing their fiefdoms like personal bank accounts, but it’s due to the vast and intricate computer programs developed by various covert agencies to manipulate world markets. All these developments, and believe me, many many more, were conceived, protected and managed by people like us and colleagues throughout the civilised world. This is how things really work Colonel. The people have their security under the umbrella of what they perceive to be a democracy, while we try to keep them safe, with no interference from lesser intellects. Oh, certainly congress may have approved the budget for, say, the Stealth Bomber, but do you really believe that the costs they rubber-stamped was what it really cost? You’re way too intelligent to believe that. The real development and management cost of projects of this magnitude are in black budgets hidden well away from the eyes of civil servants. If they were published, they’d never be approved, and we’d end up a second-rate power and vulnerable from all sides with the consequent knock on effect to our economy.”

The admiral stopped to light a cigarette. Chester noticed, most unusually, that no one objected. “Of course,” the admiral continued as he took a long drag, “we’re also putting vast resources into a cure for cancer.” There were a few discrete chuckles from around the table.

The Air Force general took up the reins. “It’s the same with threats. You probably think it’s mainly militant Muslims, Columbian drug cartels, Iran, North Korea or the Russian Mafia that pose us the biggest danger. Believe me, there are far greater threats to our security that we have to manage and cope with on an ongoing basis. We have to do this in secrecy so as not to cause alarm, and give the illusion of safety so that people can go about their business in blissful ignorance.”

Unable to keep silent any longer the Colonel spoke. “If I accept, for the sake of argument, and I mean for the sake of argument, you’re not a bunch of intellectual power-crazed egotists, why are you telling me all this? I’m a test pilot, not a politician.”

“Indeed you are Colonel, and you’re a professional,” interjected one of the civilians, “as are we, and we’d like your help. What do you know about
Project Aurora?”

Taken aback yet again, Chester thought for a moment, then replied carefully, “rumours mainly. I’ve heard that it doesn’t exist.”

“You are correct,” agreed the suit. “It doesn’t exist officially. Unofficially it very much exists, and to date twenty-five plus billion dollars has been quietly invested in it and many billions will follow. This vehicle can fly higher and faster than anything even in the imaginations of design engineers in the aviation industry. When the programme is complete the machine will be capable of a performance envelope that edges into science fiction. It will be the ultimate reconnaissance vehicle. We’d like you to work on it. You’d be based at Groom Lake Air Force Base.”

He let the comment hang in the air. He had the Colonel hooked, and everyone in the room knew it. They didn’t make mistakes. Groom Lake was regarded in almost mystical reverence in the flying community. Shrouded in mystery and the source of the most outlandish rumours, Chester would have given almost anything just to have a peek over the fence. Even its official call sign was intriguing:
Dreamland.

The admiral stubbed out his cigarette. “Yes, Groom Lake, or as our little fraternity refer to it,
Area 51
. Sadly, due to the goddamn internet and the fucking
X-files
so does just about every member of the public.” Once again a low chuckle reverberated around the room. “And no, despite the supermarkets tabloid’s hysterical assertions,” he continued, “it’s not a facility for retro engineering downed UFO technology, nor are there alien corpses there, and we most certainly aren’t in league with extra terrestrials to abduct human specimens so that they can have probes stuffed up their asses. Though if I were able to arrange it I can think of a certain senator that I’d like to put on the list.”

Three days later, after a particularly unpleasantly rigorous medical, Chester found himself in front of his new commanding officer. The CO, a hoary old veteran with hawk’s blood in his veins, bade him welcome. A plaque on his desk displayed a cartoon picture of a round eyed alien with a red cross through it. Underneath the illustration were the words
‘If you think you’ve seen an extra terrestrial….YOU AINT! And that’s an order’.

Chester retuned the Co’s handshake and picked up the plaque with a smirk. “My wife’s idea of a joke,” smiled the CO. “It’s the burden we shoulder for working here. Even my teenage son doesn’t believe we’re just a flight test facility. He asked me the other day if it was true the Air Force had a Blue Beret downed UFO rapid recovery team.”

“I saw that episode,” grinned the Colonel, “I thought it was rather good.”

“You’ll have to cope with a lot of crap outside,” confessed the CO. “I’m sure you’ll manage. Truth is, we’ll be keeping you so busy you’ll be spending most of your time on the base. What did you make of the
Illuminate
?” Chester gave him a blank look.

“The board in Washington,” he continued. “A spooky bunch but very, very powerful…and they pay well…we see them quite a lot here. Still, they never cause any problems and they ask very intelligent questions and our budgets are passed without a murmur. God knows how they do the accounting but it gives us unrestricted opportunity to play with some pretty exotic stuff.”

Within a few weeks Chester had found out that the CO’s take on the word exotic took on a whole new definition of the word. Strapped into the cockpit of the sleek and massive beast that was project
Aurora
he’d initially gazed warily at the multiplicity of sensors and probes that ran from the high-tech cockpit to various parts of his body. The flight operating manual was a document the like of which he had never seen. Numerous references were made to systems and avionics that were as yet still totally foreign to him. He’d never heard of a
bio sat interface
or indeed a
cranial transponder
and the section on the pulse wave detonation engine had made his head hurt. Nonetheless, as time went by, his intelligence and engineering background ensured that he began to form an operating picture of the mind-blowingly advanced machine that surrounded him. Two years later he knew the needle nosed monster better than he knew his own body.

He gazed lazily out of the cockpit canopy at the clouds many miles beneath him as he chased the sun across the roof of the world. Here at the very edge of space, the lack of air made for an almost totally silent ride. His bio implants tingled, gently letting him know that he’d just entered the next satellite footprint and that his telemetry was being received on the uplink. He mentally recognised this fact and the onboard systems, acknowledging this thought, cut the physical stimulus. A soft chime sounded inside his helmet indicating a non-scheduled radar contact many miles below. He glanced at the radar screen and the intelligent glass on his visor interpreted his two-blink instruction and prompted the computer. Three seconds later an automated voice resonated inside his helmet.

“Target is an F22 out of Edwards Air Force Base, seconded to NASA, undergoing high altitude trials. Threat level zero.”

Chester grinned. The engineers had given the system a woman’s voice. She always sounded, well, so unflappable. This was just as well as he’d not always felt that way himself as he’d come to grips with the highly-strung aircraft. Project Aurora was the first and only trans-atmospheric aircraft in existence. Constructed of composites of a complexity that were way beyond his understanding, the craft could withstand the brutal physics that accompanied mach ten speeds and the mind-bending temperature variances that resulted. With its revolutionary propulsion system, the machine could achieve sub-orbital altitudes for a short while and a normal cruising altitude that made him undetectable from the ground. Not that that made a difference to any potential threat. His speed alone rendered him uncatchable.