The story so far:
Giant Rock: In the Beginning
by hebe6405
15 Years Earlier - August 1953
The morning air was crisp with a slight breeze whispering from the west. It carried a hint of moisture into the parched desert atmosphere. A series of tents dotted the landscape in an orderly fashion; while the nightlife returned to their burrows, the camp began to stir. The painted sky welcomed the sun and the dark shadows retreated. George Van Tassel was also there to greet the sun.
Seated on the rocks and sand, his breath was deep and regular. Practice kept his spine aligned properly and his charkas attuned. Early in the morning, distractions were at a minimum. No other place on earth could compare to this exact location; for George, meditating near the Giant Rock brought vitality and focus and peace.
Historically, the Native Americans had also used the site for religious ceremonies. The energy of the Earth’s lay lines created a power point for focus, insight and inspiration. Whereas the ancients in England had to drag their rocks over river and countryside to create Stonehenge and the Egyptians worked hard to construct the pyramids, the natural dominance of the Giant Rock made any improvements to the landscape completely unnecessary.
“George,” a soft, inquisitive voice pulled at his awareness, slowly rousing him from his meditations. He took a slow, deep breath before opening his eyes. The voice called again, seductively, “George Van Tassel?”
He blinked. The sun streamed over the horizon, momentarily blinding him. The world swirled in front of his eyes to display a haze of colors and textures not common to the desert scene. “Yes?” George responded. His voice was course and distant, even to his own ears. A cacophony of crickets suddenly overwhelmed his senses, and just as quickly, their chorus harmonized to a symphony.
“George, good day to you.”
George cocked his head to the side. The voice was unfamiliar to him and the cadence was… foreign. “Good day to you, too,” he answered, humored by the formal tone of the greeting. He focused on the feminine curves, a featureless silhouette outlined by the golden sunrise. “Can I help you with something?” The end of his sentence hung in the air as it waited for the second party to complete the introductions. Though new faces were common in the community, George made it a point to be familiar with all of them.
“You can,” the answer arrived after a strangled moment of silence. An arm of incredible length reached down, offering a hand to help him to his feet. “Or maybe we can help you.”
“Help me?” George scratched his head, then added, “We?” He smiled a boyish grin which had not been not lost with age.
“Yes, my companions are at the ship. We would like to invite you aboard.” The outstretched hand did not retreat. She waited patiently as a mother who waits for their toddler at a playground sandbox.
“Ship?” Mentally, he kicked himself for his lack of eloquence. “There’s no water around here.”
“It’s not a water ship.” Her lilt held a hint of a laugh. Their hands connected and George realized he was walking with her. He hadn’t stood up; his mind momentarily struggled to process this.
And there it was. It was definitely not a ship for the oceans; the craft was inconceivable in its beauty and design. As a pilot, George had access to innumerous magazine articles which speculated on the future design of aircraft, but what stood before him was baffling. The sands were free of all evidence from landing. There weren’t any landing struts, there were no wings for lift – it would stand a better chance in the water than in the air.
“I must be dreaming,” George spoke and his voice echoed back from the ship.
“You are not dreaming,” the feminine reply wrapped around him like silky satin. Her voice did not reverberate the way his had. George managed his first real look at her without the hindrance of the sun.
She was exquisitely lean and tall embodying the ultimate ideals of the female form set down by artists throughout the ages. Her hair flowed with an ethereal radiance, gentle curls waved in the nonexistent breeze. Every limb moved with the careful grace of a prima ballerina. And her eyes, those eyes were large and innocent, coy and curious, dark and mysterious. “Who are you?”
“Sit down, George, and we will tell you all that you need to know.”
The table appeared, initially wrapped in mist. It was solid and richly carved; mahogany or cherry, George did not know his woods well. There were chairs and walls as well. He was on the ship without having to board it. His skin pricked with nervous excitement.
“You are special George. We see in you a man of vision and the ambition to move forward with plans. And these are the plans.” She called herself Serendipity and she introduced three others which had traveled with her from Venus to share the blueprints for humanity’s salvation – the Intergratron.
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