Washington, D.C. I took the M to the Capital Building from Dulles.
From there to a tram, and yet another tram. Then down several floors to a vault. I am so turned around with the new development since my last trip pre 9-11 I really don't know where I am. Nor, why I was asked.
It was a generic room, but what would I expect for a vault. In these setting I was used to taking a ribbon from a typewriter and placing it in a drawer and leaving both in the vault as I left. Typewriter... ribbon...that was not that long ago. People could pull the ribbon and read what you wrote. Remember the Iran hostage situation? They painstakingly put our shredded spy documents back together.
Still, as I wait, I really don't know why I was summoned. It has been years since early retirement from my company.
The door opened to the back, and another room. A lot of brass sitting at a table. There wasn't enough room for the egos let alone the table. This is need to know. Way need to know.. and a way out of my league.
I was instructed to sit. Aye sir (old rote never forgets.)
The table was lit, but not their faces. Still a quick scan showed an assemblage of a chest full of medals.
We suppose you do not know why we summoned you?
No sir.
Well Jay, it seems several years ago in small group you wrote an interesting approach to a problem.
Small group? I thought... haven't heard that term in awhile. TDY is a great get-away and attending a large group of small groups was always a nice for a "out of Dodge" weekend on the company dime.
A folder appeared and several pages were rifled thru... handwritten pages.
This would be your name as coordinator of the discussion Jay?
Yes that along with the members of small group. How long do you guys keep this stuff?
Well Jay, ... indefinitely. We are currently archival scanning and still have a long way to go before a searchable database is available. But there is cataloging and cross referencing and when the need arises, there is ones work.
May I? I rifled thru the yellow lined pages, written, crossed out. Arrows and circles for editing. Scrawl. The lack of a penchant for penmanship, lack of a good parochial upbringing or perhaps a direct result of. And in its midst, the concept: How to Best Inform the American Public of the Existence of UFOs.
I was tickled, it was finding an essay you wrote in third grade. No star smile face though.
Inform of the reality of UFOs. Of course I remember.
There was a silence. Then from behind the dark, behind a partition, one lone man walked forward. No Jay, not on the reality of UFOs, ...but the inevitability of.
I was always fond of that equation of how many living planets might exist just in our area of space, but I never thought of it as an inevitability, just as something that would happen. And you are...
Time and distance are no longer linked or of consequence in our technology. Hence, the Existence is now just another Reality. Another Inevitable reality. Much like the wheel lead to industrial processes.
This individual wore a suit. Not a uniform. Clean cut, clean shaven, he was unremarkable by descriptive constraints.
Our technology, then we have made an advance? No, not your technology, ours. You see Jay, we are your inevitable UFO. The people of this room are a part of a process. And interestingly enough, so are you. Of many proposal submitted, yours was somewhat too accurate. Insightful. And it covered more bases than we could find in any of a collections of submissions. Your company background makes you ideal and your insight is needed to proceed. That is why you are here.
TO BE CONTINUED...