Chapter 1

Ben shivered. He resisted the urge to scratch and ruin his carefully applied makeup and pulled at the waist of his black turtleneck for the fourth time. Now that the sun was finally high enough to cast a golden light on the dry grasslands of the Great Basin Desert, he hoped they could start the shoot. But the director continued to converse with the camera crew as a dolly grip realigned the track for the film sequence. Unlike the deserts of his imagination, there was no scorching heat and sand, only short grasses that bowed in the chill breeze. 

Longingly, he looked at his jacket slung over a folding camp chair behind the cameras. Unfortunately, it was not part of the take that was supposed to feature him running after his nemesis, the Goblin. Each time they had tried to shoot, there had been problems. Either the cameras and track were not cooperative, or the lighting was wrong, or the props broke. For Ben it meant a lot of standing around in the mornings and working out in the afternoons with a physical trainer or fight choreographer to match the physical shape and endurance of the character he portrayed. He was beginning to wish he had taken the role in the romantic comedy he had been offered six months earlier... and he hated romantic comedies.

They had been in the cold dry desert too long.

Finally the directive came. “Start sequence.”

“Sound? Camera? Roll sound. Roll camera.” Ben ignored the responses and positioned himself in a runner’s starting crouch. His goal was to sprint past the cameras set on their tracks, out across the tall dry grasses and disappear over the rise about a half a kilometer away. Having practiced at least a hundred times he could cover the uneven terrain with his eyes closed, but the action shot called for his eyes open. Taking a moment to compose himself, he lifted his head and looked toward his destination. Over the steam of his breath a glint on the pale horizon caught the attention of his deep blue eyes. Brow furrowed, he watched as the object grew closer. Expecting it to streak past, he hesitated. Whatever it was, it appeared to be slowing down. Goosebumps formed beneath his long sleeves. He stood to get a better look.

“What are you doing Ben? We have cameras rolling.”

He remained standing, straining to hear some sound from the jet that was now hovering. If it was a jet. It looked unlike any jet he had ever seen.

“Ben?” the director’s voice trailed off as he followed the actor’s gaze. Cameras still recording, the crew stood as well and shielded their eyes to track the erratic movements of the unusual silent aircraft, unable to decide if what they were seeing was real or just another surprise from an unpredictable producer with an ever changing script and indeterminate budget.

About two hundred meters from the crew, the aircraft hovering above the ground suddenly pitched forward and dove into the Nebraska turf, sending up a spume of dust and grass. Ben held up his arm and flinched as small particles of dirt pelted his cheek.

“Is that a drone?” one of the crew called.

“Biggest damn drone I’ve ever seen,” a cameraman replied.

Ben shook his head. It looked like a drone, except it was almost as big as a military jet. Solid gray, it appeared seamless and without markings. He was taking in the tapered wings and low tail when a crack appeared in the top and what appeared to be a canopy lifted and slid back.

A slight figure climbed unsteadily out of the cockpit and balanced with one hand resting on the raised canopy before stumbling down the smooth surface of the wing. Stepping off, the individual swayed as the wing rose off the ground.

Ben realized with shock that he was looking at a small woman simply dressed in a pair of jeans and a faded t-shirt.

Reassuringly she reached back and patted the wing, and the aircraft settled back into the dust. She staggered forward a few meters, then collapsed face first into the dirt.

Ben knew the aircraft had nothing to do with the production.

“What are you doing Ben? Don’t go near that, it could be dangerous.”

He heard the voices, but his feet moved of their own accord.

“Is it an alien?” someone asked.

Ben looked down at the still figure. She was smaller than he first thought. Kneeling and taking her by one shoulder, he gently rolled her over. She mumbled softly.

“You shouldn’t touch her, she could be radioactive.” The voices echoed in the distance behind him.

His heart constricted. Blood seeped through the dirt that covered a fresh red scrape on her forehead. Another cut crusted over just below her eye where a purple bruise marred her cheek down to a swollen spot on her jaw. Her skin was cool to the touch.

“We need the doctor. Someone get the doctor,” Ben called.

No one responded.

“I said we need the doctor.” Ben looked up. To his surprise a compact man in a pair of fatigues was fast approaching. Tufts of his short hair wafted in the breeze as he bent down to check her pulse. Ben looked at the name stitched on his shirt beside the familiar medical caduceus symbol he had seen on his doctor’s wall, but the characters in the name were unfamiliar. On his collar was a silver pin of a crescent moon with a star on the upper tip. He examined the woman briefly using some type of equipment Ben didn’t recognize before looking up at Ben. Deep green eyes peered out of the lined face, assessing Ben. One hand rested on her arm possessively.

Ben had never seen eyes like this man’s. There was a second slender ring around the iris, not quite touching the first, giving the appearance of a faceted jewel. Ben realized he was staring. He looked away, not quite sure what to say. The cast and crew stood at a distance.

“Can you help me carry her?” the medic asked Ben. “I want to get her inside to treat her.”

A fresh breeze reminded Ben it was chilly out and he nodded. Snapping out of his dumbfounded trance, he slipped his arms under the slight figure and lifted, nearly over-balancing himself. She seemed to weigh nothing. Cradling her to his chest like a child, Ben considered the medic. Despite his shorter stature, the man could have easily carried her.

“I don’t think I’ll need help,” Ben told the man.

“That trailer over there then.” Not waiting for a reply, he started off briskly with Ben in tow, heading toward the trailers that housed the cast and crew. As they crossed the grassy distance across the production compound, two men approached. Unlike the medic, they were dressed in gray uniforms and were armed with what appeared to be assault rifles. Without breaking pace, the medic pointed to where the cast and crew trailers were grouped. “Joe, get my kit and meet us there.”

One of the men, the shorter of the pair whose skin was dark as midnight, bobbed his head then sprinted back in the direction he had come. As he watched him run, Ben realized that there were two other ships now resting on the desert floor. They were unlike the crashed vessel, larger and with a different wing configuration, but just as alien looking. The second soldier, a tall lanky man of impressive height and build,  joined the medic in their march across the plain.

“I can carry her.” He addressed Ben in simple clipped words. Jet black hair flopped into his nearly black eyes, and his deeply tanned skin made Ben think of a Polynesian god. He towered over Ben, blocking the way with his arms crossed. His build did not broach argument. Despite his discomfort, Ben did not relinquish the woman in his arms.

“Josh?” the man asked the medic without moving his eyes from Ben. The medic hadn’t stopped moving.

“Liam, he can carry her. Contact Alex and let him know we located the commander. See if we can get a transport,” the medic called over his shoulder. The man nodded his reply, absently brushing his dark hair out of his hard eyes, revealing a bumpy ridge that ran across his forehead.

Ben resumed his course, trying not to jostle his charge. Just before they reached the trailer, a movement in the air caught his attention. Another aircraft was hovering, similar to the second two. He studied the gray, triangular body with rounded wings that looked as if they had been attached to the aircraft backwards. Ben nearly tripped watching it lower to the ground. No visible propulsion explained its smooth maneuvers. Little sound accompanied its approach. No armaments adorned it, yet he got the impression it was built for combat.

The movie he had been filming seemed less fantastic, even after he had seen sample scenes with CGI added to the shots.