The Other Option - By Clif High
Clearly Cogitating: Who are you going to call?
“They tried to kill each other”, the driver shouted over the din of clanging and banging as the Humvee lurched slowly over the uneven surface. He turned slightly toward the two passengers in the back to try to make himself heard, “all of them. They went fucking crazy.”
The old man in the back seat looks to his companions, his bushy eyebrows arched and bristling.
“You say they went fucking crazy. How did it manifest?”, the woman passenger queried the driver.
“I don’t know”, the driver yelled back over the noise. “First Sargent said that they were all shooting and hitting at each other...it was a real brawl in there. I don’t know much more than that...just that they were there only minutes, and tried to kill each other.”
“Did any succeed?” asked the old man, holding onto his case as the Humvee rose, fell, and bounced slowly forward into the deepening dark of the in-creeping night.
“Yes. Some of them were killed.” The driver responded before turning his attention back to his task.
Somewhere, in the receding distance of the dark, damp night, dogs were howling at the long convoy of heavy vehicles slowly moving through the forest.
The Humvee rolled over the last of the logs acting as a bridge over the small creek, its armor giving the impression of a hippo trying to walk a tightrope as the thick tires dropped down, displacing the gravel on the hastily created road and sinking into the rain softened, sandy soil. As it bounced down off the log bridge, the Humvee’s headlights flash across the small and large stumps littering the area, piled into dark, tall lumps of twisted black masses, the gnarly roots holding each other like hands desperately gripping each other.
The driver had his face up against the window of the Humvee, squinting into the deepening darkness as the last of the day’s light faded behind him. There was a steady, misty rain filling the air that the locals called ‘hanging dew’. The vehicle he drove seemed to cut a tunnel through the fog of the dew as the lights from the convoy behind him flashed as each vehicle in turn dropped the 6 inches off the end of the log bridge onto the road, hastily cut through the forest late that afternoon as the Engineers were preparing the site chosen for Operation Response.
The Humvee leveled out as all the tires came down on the gravel road. The driver increased speed slightly as his passengers sorted out their bags and cases of gear.
The trio were a surprising group, not only to their assigned driver, but to all the military people along the way of their transport to the Operation Rescue site. The helicopter pilots were certain that only the old man had been in a Chinook before. His two companions, though younger, were still middle aged, parent figures to the two young pilots who were both taken aback, and somewhat charmed by their VIP passengers’ excitement over the flight. The two ‘younger’ passengers were nearly giddy as they stored & lashed their equipment under the old man’s direction.
When the Humvee driver had collected his three VIP passengers at the hastily created helipad field about 20 miles down beach from the Operation Response site, he was surprised to find that they were in uniform. Unlike the first batch of VIPs that had been brought in, four of whom he had driven who were dressed in suits, this new group was all in uniform. True, they were uniforms unlike anything he had seen in his Army career, but they were clearly uniforms. Tactical pants and shirts, field jackets, though these looked like Navy issue, and hard fabric, tactical caps. The old man’s jacket had Captain on his center patch, while the woman was identified by her patch as Commander, and the younger man was a Lieutenant. Their unit patch said Field Team, while their organization was identified as Human Contact Foundation.
The driver was relieved to see the uniforms descending off the Chinook. Even more relieved to see the old man jump off the helicopter and start pointing out a few small boxes to the flight crew to be moved to the Humvee. The few boxes only would fill the Humvee, leaving the two 6 ton trucks empty.
“Sir,” the driver said, addressing the Captain with a sharp salute, “is there more gear to be moved? Both trucks are here with crews at your disposal.”
The Captain looked around, waved in the general direction of the trucks with a quizzical look on his face. “No, this is it. All our gear. Should fit in your rig there.” he said. “Why did they send trucks?”
The driver responded as he offered the Captain a sealed, bulging, mission packet envelope. “The previous group had lots of stuff. They brought maybe 10 tons of equipment. It took us hours to get loaded. The General thought maybe you, too, had lots of stuff.”
It took nearly an hour for the Humvee to cover the 20 miles of rural oceanfront roadway to the take off road rudely carved out of the buffering forest and head down the steep foothill terrain toward the dunes on the other side of an inconvenient creek. Once the log bridge had been traversed, it was barely five more minutes of groaning engine pushing the Humvee through soft salt marsh before they arrived at their destination, the prep site for Operation Response.
The three HCF personnel were rapidly moved into the tent where they greedily accepted proffered coffee, and met the General in charge of the operation.
The General had barely begun to introduce himself when the HCF Captain spoke up from slurping coffee. “General. What happened to the previous group?”
The General, annoyed at being preempted, waved at a Major down the table who jumped up and spat out, “Three dead on site. Three died on the way to the medics. Three were ‘retrieved’ alive.” the Major intoned, then continued, “we don’t know where the other 10 are. No sign of them. And of course we can’t ask.” This last was met with a passing snarly face from the General.
The old man, the HCF Captain, clearly older than the General, held up his left hand as the General started to speak. He went back to drinking down the rest, then passed the coffee cup back to the mess attendant for a refill, before looking up at the assembled mass of worried faces across the table.
“Has The Effect altered? Stopped? Reduced? Has there been any changes while we traveled?” asked the HCF Captain.
“No sir. No changes.” the General responded. “We have it under direct, and electronic observation. Those screens over there are the various IR, and other cams. No movement since the initial contact.”
“And the field?” asked the HCF Commander.
The General again waved to the Major.
“Yes, Ma’am.” Said the Major. “The field is still visible. The object is still there, still floating about 20 feet up off grade. It still does that wobble every 21 seconds. “
“No reaction from the object when the other team went batshit?” The HCF Captain asked the Major.
“No sir. It just sat there the whole time.” The Major said, reaching for large photos on the table and sliding them down to the HCF team. “Even when we sent the bomb disposal drones into retrieve the bodies and the wounded...no reaction. It just sits there.”
The Major continued, pointing at one of the photographs, “the object wobbled just as the team’s truck was entering the field, but no way to know if it was a catalyst. The science team just went crazy within minutes of getting in to the field. They had barely started to set up their gear when they started attacking each other.”
A long silence followed carried on the shuffling of papers and clang of metal coffee cups.
“Ok, Captain.” The General spoke the rank with a sarcastic sharp edge, “what now?”.
“Well, General”, replied the HCF Captain, “we three will get to work...”
“..and do what? Exactly?” The General’s tone rose with him as he stood up, leaning his bulk on the table. “You people were forced on me by chain of command. What the fuck are you going to do that the best science team in the world could not?! Those 19 people were from the top universities and government think tanks on this planet. And you? Who the fuck ever heard of Human Contact Foundation?”
“No one.” responded the HCF Commander. Standing up as well, and moving her hands in sweeping gesture indicating the whole of the planet outside the confines of the tent. “We work as we work. You are not supposed to know about us. We emerge with need. Which is now.”
The HCF Captain waved them both to sit. “General, if I had been allowed to continue…”, he picks up the coffee cup, empty again, waving it around until taken for a refill. “General, the power structure of this planet is freaking out. Right now. All around the world. They have a situation that they put YOU in charge of handling, and it is not going well! The Powers That Be had a hand picked team collected from all over this planet, brought here to deal with this situation, and they just shat themselves mentally, and died.”
A slurp of the new coffee, and he continued. “Guys, this is the point where you listen to me. Not only hear me, but listen…. We…”, the HCF Captain gestured at his companions, “….are The Other Option.”
“That previous team was sent by the WEF. That is the World Economic Forum. They were the top dogs of academia and NGO-world, personally selected by the top power of the world. They were published scientists. They were at the top of their game, and at the top of the social order’s organizations devoted to the politics of science.” The HCF Captain looked around for understanding on the faces of the attendees before continuing. “We, on the other hand, are just some people who like to think. We think a lot. We think deeply, and we think clearly. We thought up the Human Contact Foundation BECAUSE we can think clearly about a subject, and its ripples, and ramifications in our reality. We knew that a need would arise, so the HCF was set up to provide us a vehicle to interact with ‘normie-world’, where, as you may have observed, not many people think, or think well.”
“The previous team, the WEFfers, did not think clearly about things. They cannot think clearly about our reality because of their basic approach to Life, Universe, and Everything.” The HCF Captain said, nodding to the HCF Lieutenant, who produced a file folder from his case, handing it over to the General.
“As you can see General, from those notes made over 4 years ago, we had anticipated something very close to this situation developing, and have thought about what to do.” Stated the HCF Captain. “It must be obvious from the results, that the first team, the WEFfers, did not...think that is. And now a bunch are dead, and the rest missing, or ….what? Probably something close to catatonic, would be my guess..?”
“Correct.” The Major spouted off rapidly, surprising everyone.
“Our thinking is based from a different approach to Universe than the WEFfers. Here’s your history lesson for today”, said the HCF Captain, looking around the room, then settling his gaze on the General. “There have only, ever, been two theories about reality devised; the quantum mechanics view of reality as being composed of atoms randomly bumping into each other, and the understanding of universe as arising from the field dynamics of the Aether.”
The HCF Captain stood up, and said, “the WEF team were atomists. Plus being mainly administrators, corrupt fuckers, and not actual scientists….not actual thinkers. They were blind to the field dynamics of reality, even though they were here to investigate the field holding that object up off the ground with no apparent means of support. We are Aetherists. We grok fields. Simple as that. Plus we have had a lot of time to think about it, while waiting for this development.”
“So, you ask what next…, well, what we are going to do is to put on some special clothing we had made, anticipating just this form of field appearance, such as our copper, conductive boots, and go have a look at this object. Maybe have a conversation with whomever sent it.” Said the HCF Captain. “They are probably thinkers too. Now, let us get to work!”
As the HCF team rose to follow the Captain, the Lieutenant put a stack of cards on the table. On one side was written:
Space Aliens!
Who are you going to call when your contact attempts go sideways?
While on the other was a telephone number, and
The Human Contact Foundation.
We think clearly.
###End###
The WEFfers are evil bastards!
No doubt about it. The members of the World Economic Forum gang are fuckers at a global level. The WEF is the face of the alpha dog of evil conspiracy on this planet. The WEF members are politicians, NGO founders, corporate functionaries, and other high profile people.
The WEF is the face of the global conspiracy to rule the world which came pretty close to actually manifesting. It won’t, but not for lack of the WEF members working for it.
As a conspiracy, the WEF plan was pretty slick. It has many vulnerabilities which are being exploited now, as it is falling apart, but the plan itself was clever. One of its major flaws was the reliance on politicians, another on using blackmail and murder as tools for coercion. Politicians, not known for their intelligence, are, at best, a very unreliable tool, especially in an age of corrupt institutions. The WEF plan required both corrupt politicians, and corrupt institutions. The implementation by the WEF of infiltration, and subversion via individual corruption did work, sort of, but it has the effect of segregating the population by susceptibility to corruption, which, turns out is highly correlated with intelligence. So, in essence, the WEF plan has naturally built a global crew of incompetents and stupid people.
Stated another way for comprehension, the entire power structure, reinforced over time by the WEF, as a side effect of its design, aggregates, and collects, and supports stupidity, and provides it with power to replicate.
Do you really want to leave THE MOST IMPORTANT CONTACT ever for Humanity in the hands of the WEFfers? They are assuming that they are in charge of this, as well as all other aspects of YOUR life.
The Human Contact Foundation does not.
It’s real.
They are out there…. thinking.
https://www.weforum.org/agenda/2016/03/these-planets-could-host-alien-life/
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