Sergeant Jerry Bumgarner of the Setzer's Ford police department sat in his patrol car at his favorite speed trap at 9:18 on a Friday night. He was parked on the inside of a curve where the speed limit changed from 55 to 35. Behind him was a tired country road and in front of him was a new neighborhood. Thus he could easily catch and stop the people who came zooming around the curve, and write a lucrative '15 over the limit' speeding ticket.
Thus it was that Bumgarner saw the searing, dark purple light that fell from the sky and then oozed with disconcerting slowness into a window of one of the houses on the edge of the development.
In several swift sure motions, Bumgarner turned on his siren, shifted his car into gear, accelerated down the road, and turned on his radio. "HQ, I am investigating a disturbance at the Brookhaven development on Smyre Mill Road. Possible use of illegal fireworks."
In less than a minute, he had pulled into the driveway, which contained a small, green economy car and a large, old, white work van with "Tayeb Brothers Carpet Installation" printed on the side. He parked behind the van, noticing as he turned off the siren that the house and yard seemed oddly still. Neither the inhabitants nor the neighbors had reacted to the purple light or his siren.
Bumgarner stepped out of the car, revealing a stocky 5'10" middle-aged man with a tanned face, close-cropped brown hair and a bushy moustache. He had a few gray hairs, especially in the moustache, and there was some fat on his stomach, but overall he looked strong and tough. He moved with grace and caution, examining his surroundings and ringing the doorbell as he did so.
He did not like what he saw. The house and yard were nice enough; they were new and well cared for. But the whole place seemed, somehow, dead. The bushes and flowers were withered and dry, especially the ones close to the house. Bumgarner did not believe that this was due to neglect. It even seemed that the plants were more withered now now than when he had pulled into the drive.
Bumgarner sniffed the air, wondering if this had been caused by some chemical residue from a burning firework. But with every passing second, he doubted his initial conclusion more and more. He made sure that his gun was loose in his holster as he rang the doorbell again.
The policeman waited thirty more seconds in growing unease, but the door was not answered. He could tell from the arrangement of the driveway that the family owned no other car. They must have been in the house. He turned on his flashlight and moved around the yard to where the light had gone through the window.
There was no evidence that anything had happened. No window was broken, no grass had been disturbed, and there was no residue of any kind. But when Bumgarner looked closer, he saw that the grass was more dry and dead here than it had been in the front of the house.
At this point, Bumgarner should have left. There was no cause for him to be here, no disturbance that would warrant the presence of an officer of the law. He should have gotten back into his car and reported that nothing was wrong. But he did not. He looked in the window.
The blinds obscured most of the room, and so Bumgarner got the barest glimpse of what was inside. But what he saw was enough to make him run back to his car. He turned on his radio, and shouted, "All Units to 45th Laurel Street in Brookhaven. Repeat, all units. This is an emergency." Then, without any further delay, Bumgarner kicked the front door in with his gun in one hand and his flashlight in the other.
For Bumgarner had glimpsed, through the blinds, an image of blood and terror. He did not know exactly what was happening, but he knew that it was very bad, and that it was his duty to stop it.
Bumgarner charged through the Tayeb house, guided to the right room by the unearthly light, and so it was only a few seconds before he saw the horrible scene. Seeing it in full was much worse than seeing it through the window. Bumgarner simply could not look at the people and what had been done to them, so he averted his eyes and focused on the other beings in the room.
They could only be described as Things. Their shape shifted with the speed of thought. One second they had the shape of humans, the next second they took the shape of wolves, and then they were shapeless blobs, and soon after that they took a form that cannot be described to or by a sane person. Their motion was just as erratic, and bore no relation to the form they took. When they were in the shape of lumpy blobs, they moved with the grace of dancers, and when they looked lean and agile they moved like molasses.
But one part of the scene did not change. The Things were constantly studying the horribly living pieces of people, poking and prodding them, moving them around, and generally acting like little boys pulling apart live toads.
Bumgarner saw all of this in the space of a few seconds. That was the time it took him to overcome his shock, avoid throwing up, level his gun, and double-tap one of the Things in what seemed to be its center of mass.
The bullets hit the Thing like corks landing in a draining bathtub. They stopped at its surface, bobbed in place, drifted erratically for a few seconds, and then swirled slowly down into the inexplicable nothingness that composed the body of the Thing.
After that happened, the Thing looked at Sergeant Jerry Bumgarner.
Bumgarner recoiled. It was the same instinctive reaction that made him jump back whenever he was walking through the woods and suddenly saw a snake a few inches from his feet. But Bumgarner controlled himself, lowering his gun as he looked around for something else to do. Shooting the Thing had obviously been ineffective.
The Thing started moving toward Bumgarner. He knew that he needed a distraction.
The sergeant saw a remote control sitting on the armrest of a chair. He lunged forward, grabbed it, and jumped back as he turned on the television.
A flickering, ghostly light began to fill the darkened room. It was an episode of the Andy Griffith Show. The Things all turned around, looked at the slowly moving black and white images, and then turned back to whatever they had been doing before. The one that was heading toward Bumgarner was still closing in.
Bumgarner saw that this had been more effective than his shots, but that it was not good enough. He needed something that would capture their attention better. He changed the channel to 47.
A music video began blaring from the television. Full-color lights danced frenetically across the room and a cacophony of sound replaced gentle dialogue. The Things took notice of this. They abandoned their studies and began to slowly circle toward the glowing television. For nearly a minute they drew closer, seemingly mesmerized by the lights and sounds. Bumgarner watched this, waited, and planned.
When they were all right in front of the television, Bumgarner aimed between them and shot the screen. He closed his eyes just in time to avoid being blinded by the searing flash of light that issued in one great blast from the ruined cathode ray tube.
There was a horrible chorus of screams. The wounded Things cried out in pain, and their cries nearly drove Bumgarner mad. He ran out of the house, screaming and staggering. Somehow he managed to get his gun back in its holster before covering his ears with his hands. But covering his ears did nothing to keep the sounds form entering his mind.
Bumgarner collapsed onto the grass, which was now completely dead, brown and brittle. Bizarre, horrible thoughts rushed through his mind. It was like he was trapped in a nightmare. Slowly, and with great effort, Bumgarner raised his head to look at the door he had just left. He saw a Thing coming out of the house. It seemed to be limping, if a blob could limp.
Bumgarner forced himself to his feet. The world was spinning around him, and he it took a great effort to remember who he was. He staggered toward his car, opened the door, sat down in the driver's seat, and closed the door. Acting on some instinct, he turned on his siren again.
The steady, orderly sound cleared his mind. By focusing on the rhythm of the siren, Bumgarner could remember that he was an officer of the law, and that he was working to make sure that justice and the rule of law prevailed in Setzer's Ford.
Bumgarner saw that there were now four Things in the yard, all approaching him slowly. He turned on the car, switched his headlights to high beams, and turned the car while reversing it, so that the beans stayed focused on the Things.
It worked. They shrank away from the bright light. But they also oozed sideways and spread out, so that some of them were outside the beam. These continued advancing on the car.
Bumgarner did not think of running away. He knew that if he kept reversing and turning the right way, he could keep the Things in the headlights and away from him until backup arrived. He did this for several tense minutes, moving his car all around the yard, herding the Things in his headlights, and keeping them at bay.
But it was to no avail. The Things finally managed to flank and surround the car. No matter which way Bumgarner moved the car, he would run into one of them. So that is what he did. The police officer shifted the car into reverse and floored the gas.
It was if he had hit a brick wall. The Thing was not at all affected, but the car's rear bumper was mangled and the back windshield smashed at the collision with a Thing that now had the form of a thin, spindly insect.
With this collision, the Things realized that they had the power to destroy the strange metal thing that had been chasing them. Slowly, almost casually, one of the Things in the front of the car reached out with thin, whip-like tentacles and smashed Bumgarner's headlights. The other one moved in for Bumgarner himself, holding huge, hairy, apelike hands out in front of it.
Bumgarner shined his flashlight in its face. The thing flinched slightly, but kept coming. Bumgarner looked behind him, and saw that he was surrounded.
The policeman was not thinking about the impossibility of the criminals he now faced. He was not thinking about the awful cosmic truths they represented. He was not thinking about the horrible things that that would do to him after they overpowered him. What he was thinking was, "Where the hell is my backup?"
But there were no sirens, and no voices on his radio. Nobody was coming, and no one was telling him why nobody was coming. The unstoppable Thing with the ape-like hands prepared to smash the window of the car. Bumgarner felt an overpowering sense of isolation and hopelessness.
With another great burst of willpower, Bumgarner snapped out of these unproductive thoughts. The police officer scooted over to the passenger seat just in time to escape the giant fist that smashed the driver's side door in. He yelled then, with a great liberating bellow that seemed to break some spell of silence. As he yelled, Bumgarner unlocked the door and then flung it open with a savage kick. The door caught the thin tentacled Thing in its midsection.
The Thing actually staggered backwards. This did not make any sense. The metal of the car had no effect on them when propelled by the engine, so how could it arrest their movement when propelled by a mere boot?
Bumgarner decided not to think about this. In a flash of insight, he realized that the Things he faced were beings of thought. They controlled thought, and bent it to their will. To think was to enter their territory, and to enter their territory was to die.
So Bumgarner stopped thinking. He simply attacked. He bit and kicked and punched and twisted limbs in a mad frenzy. The Thing attached him back, raking and stinging and smacking with appendages that constantly changed shape. But Bumgarner was stronger, and had far more experience moving around in three dimensions. He forced the thing to the ground, and they both began to roll away from the house as they attacked each other in a desperate wrestling match. Bumgarner forced the Thing into a patch of tall healthy grass. It slowed down. Bumgarner took this opportunity to grab the bit of the Thing that currently looked like a head, and twist savagely.
The Thing shattered into a thousand pieces, like an ice sculpture. Shards of pure darkness bounced and skittered over the soft, grassy ground like pieces of a plate dropped on a marble tile floor.
Bumgarner looked up to see the remaining three Things closing in on him. He realized how exhausted he was; the fight had drained all of his energy. He also realized that he was bleeding from several wounds.
The Introduction to the Guardians
But then, as the Things were closing in, the officer heard the welcome noise of a helicopter rotor overhead. Judging by the sound, it was a police helicopter. Finally, someone was coming to help him. A floodlight illuminated the Tayeb yard, causing the Things to slow down and focus on the new arrival.
It was not until a door of the helicopter opened to reveal a beefy young man in a red shirt that Bumgarner's exhausted mind remembered that the Setzer's Ford police department did not own a helicopter.
Several things started to happen all at once. A black woman in a white dress jumped out of the helicopter, floated through the air above the Things, and threw spheres of light down at the horrible monsters. A white woman in a black dress also jumped out of the helicopter, before growing huge bat-like wings and flying around throwing ribbons of fire at the Things. The man in the red shirt jumped out of the helicopter wielding a massive longsword that shone with blue light, and landed on top of the entities with a flurry of motion and a rebel yell.
The unfathomable Things from beyond space and time shattered under the onslaught in mere seconds. As their shards bounced across the ground, the black woman said something to the white woman, who flew over to the porch of the Tayeb house, folded her wings under her trench coat, and went inside.
Bumgarner saw the man in red and the woman in black exchange a glance, and then the woman came over to him. "You must decide now. Fight, or forget."
Bumgarner did not hesitate. With the last of his strength, he growled, "Fight."
The woman nodded, and held out her hand. Bumgarner was surrounded by a bright light, and suddenly his exhaustion and the pain of the wounds vanished.
The man bent down to help him up as the woman said, "You must come, quickly."
They led him inside the Tayeb house and to the living room. The mangled bodies were still there, but they were no longer floating and no longer alive. It looked like the work of a serial killer, not an alien presence.
The woman in the black coat was busy scratching bizarre letters onto the walls and floor with a freaky-looking knife.
"Stand here," said the black woman as she guided Bumgarner to a random spot on the floor with a grip that was gentle but surprisingly strong. "Do not move."
The two women nodded to each other. That was the only warning that Bumgarner got before the room, and everything inside it, was twisted into shapes that mocked the laws of geometry. Bumgarner felt like he was printed on the face of a playing card that was being shuffled, and that the shuffler knew how to stack the deck.
Suddenly, with a small popping sound, the room returned to normality. A peaceful, hardworking immigrant family sat in their living room watching Andy Griffith as if nothing had ever happened.
Bumgarner looked at where the strange young people had been standing, but there was nobody there. He was alone, uninvited and unannounced, in a house that he had no business being in.
As his mind raced to come up with a good explanation, there was a tug at his arm. He looked down, and realized that he could not see his arm. He was invisible. No part of his body could be seen. It was if he was nothing more than a pair of eyeballs floating around.
Bumgarner experienced a wave of vertigo, and almost fell down from the confusion. But he kept his balance, and followed the invisible hand out of the house.
The yard was green and healthy again. There was no evidence of dead grass, or tire tracks, or even of his patrol car. The helicopter appeared, as a hazy outline, and the hand led him toward it.
Bumgarner climbed silently into the helicopter, and the copter took off just as silently. For a short time, there seemed to be nothing beneath Bumgarner's feet, but soon the vehicle began to fade back into reality.
At this point, Bumgarner realized that he was in the custody of unknown and powerful people, and headed toward a fate and a destination that was entirely up to their inscrutable will. As if sensing this unease, the black woman said, "Relax. We are allies; we mean you no harm. Rest, and recover your strength. We will explain everything when we arrive."
The Contemplation on the Flight
Officer Jerry Bumgarner sat in the back of the helicopter, trying not to think but failing. He considered his situation. These people said they were going to explain everything, and they had shown no sign of hostile intent, but he knew that if they felt like simply killing him, they could. He still had his gun and body armor and police radio; they had made no effort to take these away. They didn't need to.
He wasn't sure which was worse, opening his eyes or keeping them closed. If he closed them, he saw the horrible things that had happened in the Tayeb household. He saw the mother and father and three children, horribly murdered, their bodies ripped apart and spread out in midair. He also saw the Things that had happened to the Tayebs, the Things that broke the laws of physics by simply existing, the Things that should not have existed in any sane world.
It gave him no comfort at all to know that these Things had been summarily dispatched, and that the Tayebs were now calmly watching television, unaware that anything had ever happened to them.
But if he kept his eyes open, he had to look at the people he was riding with, the people who had saved him and the Tayebs. There were all quite young, barely out of college. It was apparent to the trained detective that they had known each other for some time, and that they had been in the same class and graduated together.
Everything about them seemed, somehow, wrong. Perhaps that was because they looked and acted so casual after what they had seen. They were chatting and joking, gossiping about one of those horrible reality TV shows. But was that really so different than the medical examiners talking about last night's ball game as they performed autopsies on murder victims? People can get accustomed to anything. Bumgarner wondered how long they had been doing this. It didn't matter; these actions were not the cause of his unease.
Perhaps it was because he sensed who they were beneath the trendy twenty-something exteriors. Maybe it had something to do with the hunch that had led him into the Tayeb household in the first place. Maybe encountering those Things had altered his mind and sensitized him to whatever forces were at work here. Or maybe it was simply the experience of a long-serving police officer had leaned to tell when the situation was not as it seemed.
Nobody was piloting the helicopter. Either it didn't need to be piloted, or they were controlling its motions with pure thought. They were currently flying over a heavily forested area to the north of town. They had said that they were going back to their base. Bumgarner had no idea what to expect next. Visions of comic book castles buried in dark forests hovered at the edges of his mind.
He willed himself into a calmer state of mind, and started to stare out the small window at the barely visible trees rushing past in the gloom of the night. Normally it was very calming to watch scenery rush by, but tonight his mind turned the shadows and dim outlines into reflections of the horrible Things he had seen. He hastily turned around to look once more at the other three occupants of the helicopter.
The most dominating figure was a beefy white male with close-cropped blond hair wearing a red sweater and blue jeans. Bumgarner sized him at about 5'11" and 230 pounds, and there was not an ounce of fat on him. He moved with a grace and energy that suggested many years of training in sports or martial arts. He spoke in loud, deep, commanding tones, and most people would assume that he was the leader of the group.
Bumgarner knew better. The real leader was the slender black lady. She was wearing an old-fashioned white dress that reminded Bumgarner of what little old ladies might wear to church on Sunday morning. Her eyes shone with intelligence and gazed with piercing insight. When she spoke, she controlled the conversation. She never wasted a movement and never seemed surprised.
The most dangerous of the three was undoubtedly the short, fat, white female with long, dark, frizzy hair. She was, in some indescribable way, suffused with the dark anger of a hardened killer. She wore a haphazard collection of loose dark clothes festooned with belts, chains, and bangles. It was the perfect outfit for concealing firearms, but Bumgarner didn't bother to look for one. If she decided that she needed a gun, it would be hidden beyond the ability of mortal eyes to see.
Without their powers, they would be the party jock, the student council leader, and the bad Goth poet. Bumgarner did not particularly like any of these kinds of people. But these were even worse. Their powers magnified them, transformed them into the perfect example of their group. It was almost as if they were forced to embrace a stereotype in order to do what they could do.
Bumgarner thought, "What have I gotten myself into?"
The Equipment
After nearly an hour, the helicopter began to slow down. Bumgarner saw that they were headed toward a small, new office building built well away from the main road. It would look normal enough to a passerby at ground level.
But Bumgarner had an aerial view, and to look for signs of unusual activity. He saw a large generator, the kind that normally provides backup power for medium-sized factories. He saw over a dozen tanks and hoppers, enough to supply chemicals or raw materials to some kind of manufacturing plant. He saw large vents, and other evidence of a substantial HVAC system, one larger than any small office would require. He saw an array of satellite dishes and large antennas.
There was also an abundance of large abstract sculptures. They looked exactly like the kind of senseless postmodern glass and metal monstrosities that infest university campuses and office parks. But their placement seemed odd to Bumgarner. They did not seem like a decorative part of the landscaping. Instead, their position and spacing somehow reminded Bumgarner of artillery pieces guarding a military encampment.
And there was also a helipad where there would normally be a parking lot, built so it would not be seen from the road. As the helicopter settled down for a landing, Bumgarner saw a small, thin Mexican male standing near one of the doors of the building.
Bumgarner followed his silent hosts out of the helicopter. They walked away from Bumgarner as the Mexican walked toward him.
Bumgarner sized him up. He was about 5'9", and looked to weigh 130 pounds. Like the others, he was in his early twenties. Unlike the others, he was shabbily dressed, in rumpled flannel, stained jeans, and large steel-toed work boots with frayed laces. His face was marked with acne scars. His forearms were marked with welding scars. His hands were callused, stained by chemicals, and coated with oil and grit.
In short, he seemed to be a down-trodden factory worker. But Bumgarner knew better. The array of tools and technology on the Mexican's large leather belt was the first clue. Bumgarner saw a sleek cell phone, a handheld computer, a very nice multi-tool, and many things he did not recognize but recalled seeing on the belts of electricians, telephone installers, and computer repairmen. The experienced cop guessed that the Mexican was just as comfortable in front of a computer screen as he was under a welding hood.
Also, the Mexican had none of the dull attitude or blank stare of a simple worker. His eyes, like the eyes of the black lady in the helicopter, glowed with intelligence. But it was obvious by the way he did not analyze Bumgarner that his genius was not people. He was looking at Bumgarner's belt, with the holster and handcuffs. He was also following the outlines of Bumgarner's body armor. Bumgarner guessed that this one would not remember his name or recognize his face if they ever met again.
But he was considerate enough to introduce himself, unlike everyone else. "Good evening, sir. My name is Jose Suarez."
"Sergeant Jerry Bumgarner. Pleased to meet you." The officer could sense no contempt or duplicity in this one. He seemed motivated by a general amiability and a respect for authority.
"First of all, Sergeant Bumgarner, I would like to thank you for agreeing to help us out. You have chosen, and been chosen, to help us police the supernatural world. What you are experiencing may seem completely foreign to you, but I think that you will be a fine agent in very little time. You have certainly shown your ability to cope, and after we give you the proper resources you will be able to help us and the community."
By this time, the three people from the helicopter had all gone through a door in one wall of the building. Jose waved his hand toward another door on a different wall. "Please, follow me."
As they walked, the Mexican spoke again, this time in a lower voice. "I would also like to apologize for the apparent rudeness of my friends. They are good people, but a lot has been going on in the past few weeks and we have all been very stressed. They were very happy to meet someone like you, even if it doesn't show."
They were at the door now. Jose pressed his hand against a plate and keyed in several numbers on a keypad. The door unlocked with a click, and they entered what looked like the reception area for a normal office. Bumgarner could not find anything out of the ordinary here, even though he was looking. There was the standard array of chairs, tables, plants, and coffee table books. One of the tables had a briefcase on it.
Jose walked over one of the chairs and plopped down gracelessly. He leaned back in the chair, propped his feet up on the table, closed his eyes, and said lazily, "Before we get started, I imagine you may want to relax a little. The break room is through that door. You can use the bathroom and help yourself to anything in the fridge, but make sure you don't eat anything that looks like a science experiment."
Bumgarner felt that he didn't really need a break; he had spent the last hour sitting in a helicopter waiting for something to happen. But he went into the break room anyway, emerging fifteen minutes later with a sports drink and an apple. Suarez was still relaxing in the chair, but he sat up when he heard Bumgarner enter. The Mexican pointed to the chair nearest the briefcase. "Please, sit down."
Bumgarner did so, while examining the briefcase. It was made of black leather, and looked slightly battered and utterly ordinary. Jose let him look it over, and then said, "Open it."
Bumgarner handled the briefcase hesitantly, wondering what supernatural mysteries awaited him. He pulled it toward him, breathed deeply, and released the latches.
The briefcase contained a pile of battered manila folders, a paperback novel, assorted pens and pencils, a half eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwich in plastic wrap, a ruler, and a deck of playing cards. Tacks and paper clips, other random office supplies, and small change were scattered about. Bumgarner looked up, wondering what was going on.
Jose smiled. "You will use this briefcase for all of your ordinary needs. Use it as you would use any other briefcase. You will carry it with you as often as possible. Its contents will register as normal on any metal detectors or x-ray scans. Keep nothing in this section that would indicate the existence of supernatural objects, with one exception. Look in there again."
Bumgarner did so, wondering what Suarez meant by "this section." He noticed the deck of cards. There was a logo on the pack with words that were written in cheesy imitation old-style script. He picked up the deck. It said, "Creatures of FarRealm" and beneath that there was smaller, ordinary print that read: "The exciting new computer game from Astral World Software"
Bumgarner opened the pack and pulled out a card at random. It was the eight of clubs. The card face was dominated by a picture of a squat, warty man in shabby clothes. Beside this picture there was a partial silhouette of a human. The creature came to the human's waist. To the side, there were smaller silhouettes, front and side pictures of the warty creature. Large text at the bottom of the card said: "Gnome" Beneath that, in smaller text, there was, "Talk, be friendly. Watch for pranks."
He pulled out another card, the three of hearts. It showed a grisly walking corpse, with the same arrangement of picture beside a human silhouette, and front and side images of the thing. The text said, "Zombie. Shoot on sight. Use Crystal ammunition."
The next card he pulled out of the pack was the ace of spades. It showed a horrible thing that seemed to be a cross between a squid, a fish, and a frog. The human silhouette only came to its knee. The text read "Elder Star Spawn. Run and hide."
Slightly shaken, Bumgarner pulled out another card. It was the jack of diamonds. It showed a tall, muscular, green-skinned, but surprisingly handsome creature dressed in a primitive-looking tribal costume. The caption was "Ogre Mage. Talk. Bluff. Call for backup."
Bumgarner looked to Jose for an explanation. "You are holding a deck of encounter recognition playing cards, similar to what the military issues to its soldiers. They contain a list of what you might meet, with brief instructions on how to deal with them. You must know these instructions by heart. Feel free to use these cards in public. Our cover story is quite sound. Astral World Software has released several titles, pays its taxes, and is legally registered just like any other corporation. You might not have noticed the sign as you came in, but these are our corporate offices."
"Now, set the lock on the briefcase to numbers that you are familiar with. They should represent something ordinary and mundane."
Bumgarner entered the date of his wedding anniversary. After he did so, Jose reached over and waved a crystal rod over the briefcase. Something clicked inside of it.
"The code for that section is now set. Now scramble the combination, enter today's date in the lock, and open it again."
After two references to "this section" and the implied use of the briefcase as a normal cover, Bumgarner knew to expect something different. He was not disappointed. As he opened the briefcase, he saw that the contents had changed completely. Instead of a messy pile of junk, there was an impeccably arranged assortment of gleaming new equipment. He saw, snugly encased in fitted foam padding, a leather-bound notebook, a pair of sunglasses, and a cellular phone with a headset attachment. There were a lot of other pouches and compartments as well, but the most prominent item was a handgun of exactly the same make and model as his force-issued firearm.
"There are four aspects to your duties as a Guard. They are, in order of importance, Knowledge, Perception, Communication, and Combat. We'll start with Knowledge. That notebook is our field manual. In some ways, it is little more than an expanded version of the deck of playing cards. It has descriptions of what you will meet and how to deal with them. But it also contains a reasonably full listing of what you need to know. There is information on the history, society, and culture of various supernatural things you will encounter. The more you know, the better you will be able to do your job. We don't insist that you memorize, for example, the seventeen formal Fey greetings and the proper uses of each one, but it would make your life easier."
"In the back of the notebook you will find a CD-ROM database with more complete information that can be searched and cross-referenced. Use it for background research on specific cases. The book also tells you how to access the section of the Astral World corporate website that is reserved for Guardians. The website has the most complete, and most up to date information. We post important developments in it, so check the site regularly. This website, too, is disguised as information for a computer game, so there is no security risk if someone monitors your Internet access."
"Now, on to Perception. Put on the sunglasses. You must wear them constantly. There is a prescription in the mundane pocket of the briefcase that proves that you have a vision problem that requires them."
Bumgarner was not completely comfortable around this briefcase, but he was determined not to show it. He reached in swiftly but calmly and grabbed the glasses. They felt solid and well-made, but odd. The wraparound frame looked like plastic, but felt like oily stone. It was black with a slight greenish hue. The lenses were pure black, and looked like high-quality polarized lenses.
Bumgarner closed his eyes, put the glasses on, and opened his eyes. The first thing he noticed was that there were five closed briefcases resting snugly on top of the open briefcase. The new briefcases were dim, faded, and translucent, like colored shadows of briefcases. Bumgarner could not see their contents; he just saw right through them. The open lid of the real briefcase passed right through the closed briefcases. Bumgarner reached out to touch them. His hand felt no resistance and passed right through.
Jose waited patiently for Bumgarner to become adjusted to this development. After some time, he said, "There actually are fourteen briefcases. You can see the rest of them under the table."
Bumgarner looked down. He saw eight more shadow briefcases suspended in a stack, one of which was halfway embedded in the table. Still looking under the table, he gently slid the real briefcase across the tabletop. The shadow briefcases moved too, as if they were magnetically attracted to the real one. Except, of course, that one of the shadows was sliding through the tabletop rather than clinging to the bottom of it.
Bumgarner looked above the table again, and closed the briefcase. As he did so, the shadow briefcases slid down, so that the real briefcase was fifth from the top rather than sixth from the top. Bumgarner entered his anniversary and opened the briefcase to reveal the pile of mundane clutter. He then closed the briefcase, and entered the date. When the final letter had clicked into place, the shadow briefcases slid up, and he opened the real briefcase to reveal the equipment.
As Bumgarner continued to investigate the briefcase, Jose said, "As you can now see, the different briefcases are stacked and connected to one another, like pieces of paper in a book. The combination you enter determines which page the book opens to. It is a simple application of the fourth spatial dimension."
"Each section is full of items you may require. Some of the combinations will not be revealed to you until we decide that you are capable of properly using their contents. Today, we will concern ourselves with the only the two sections you have already seen."
"The third part of your task is Communication. Not surprisingly, the cell phone is your tool for this. It is capable of receiving most known forms of supernatural communication and translating them into English for you. It can also translate your words into the other languages. The default is to convert to whatever language you were last addressed in, but you can also choose a language manually. It's all in the instruction manual, but it will take some getting used to. The best way to practice using the phone's features is to use it to talk to cats."
"The phone can also do anything a cell phone can, of course. You should cancel your current plan. This one always has perfect reception and you never have to worry about interference; we use a portion of the spectrum that the FCC doesn't even know the existence of.
"And finally, Combat. As you saw tonight, it is often unavoidable. There's not much I can teach you about that. except to keep your wits about you and always use the right kind of magic bullets. Make sure you are really good at combat reloads, you often have to switch to a different clip in a hurry."
The Interview
Jose paused and looked at Bumgarner. "Well, that's it for the big introduction. Any questions?"
Bumgarner did not hesitate, but immediately asked, "How often do you get attacks like the one I saw?"
Jose shrugged. "That depends on what you mean by 'like.' We see Void Babies like the ones you saw about five or six times a month, but we can usually stop them before they interact with people. Of course there's lots more threats than Void Babies. There's a whole mess of monsters, spirits, and demons native to Earth, and sometimes we get something really nasty from another dimension."
"A full-scale interaction requiring an arcane reversal spell normally happens about once a week, but we've been slammed recently. That's where you come in. We can equip you to deal with the low-grade pests, leaving us free to prepare for the big nasties."
Bumgarner nodded. "How many people like me are there?"
"We have a couple dozen Guardians, spread out over the state. You're the only government official or police officer, though, and one of the few people over 30."
"Is there anybody I might know?"
"We got a paramedic named Blake Keever who works at Valley Regional hospital."
Bumgarner searched his memory, then said, "I know the hospital, but I do not recall meeting him."
Jose nodded. "Look him up sometime. His username on the website bulletin board is 'Scout'. Good fellow; He does a good job of healing up people after incidents, and making sure that nothing suspicious gets into the medical records."
Bumgarner frowned. "Why do you care so much about secrecy? Why do you want to keep all of this hidden? Lack of awareness puts people at risk."
"It's like this. The more people believe in the supernatural, the more supernatural stuff happens. We're not sure exactly why, but it's a fact that we have seen time and time again. Belief in strange things either causes or attracts it. And as you have seen, the more supernatural stuff happens, the more people get hurt."
Jose leaned forward, his face very serious. "It is not just a matter of a few random crimes. If this stuff gets out of hand, the very laws of chemistry and physics get warped. I've seen it, and it's not pretty. On a large scale, it could cause the fall of our civilization. You have to trust me on this; we need to keep this a secret, or it will get a lot worse."
Bumgarner considered this. He wasn't sure he that the young man was telling the whole truth about this, but he would follow instructions for now.
The police officer then changed the subject by asking, "You said that you have people spread out over this state. Who controls supernatural stuff outside the state?"
Jose's eyed widened. "You're good; most people don't catch that at first. The answer is a bit tricky. We are not a part of any big organization; we all stumbled onto this stuff by ourselves. But we can tell that there are other people, also working in the shadows like us. Sometimes we see the results of their work, or even glimpse them at a distance. There has been no formal communication, but we have an informal understanding about jurisdictions."
The police officer scowled. He didn't like the murkiness of this, and it sounded too much like politics. "What do I need to know?"
Jose thought for a few seconds. "It's not a matter of what you shouldn't do, it is a matter of what you don't need to do. Stuff outside our state gets dealt with. Stuff on Native American tribal lands gets dealt with. Things involving churches get dealt with. Other things, we have to deal with. Nobody has ever really stopped us if we cross a border, but we learned soon enough not to take more work than we need to.
Bumgarner nodded, then said, "You must have some kind of surveillance system. Am I to assume that I will be dispatched when you need me to do something?"
Jose nodded. "Basically. We'll try to avoid interfering with your job. We do not want you to get in trouble or cause suspicion. In fact, most of the time, what you do can be disguised as responding to or preventing a normal crime, so you should get commendations."
"So, what about my patrol car? Losing one of those without explanation will get me in big trouble."
"Oh, yeah, it's in the parking lot. And don't worry about the last couple hours. When they told me about you, I fixed things up. You found that someone had been setting off fireworks but that they had fled. You collected the spent fireworks in an evidence bag, which is now in your trunk. Then, you went back to the curve, caught three speeders, and gave them tickets, which will be paid without complaint. You have already called the dispatcher and told her that you were going home for the night. Tomorrow, nobody will know that anything happened."
Bumgarner was stunned. "You manufactured all of that in an hour? And what about my second radio message?"
Jose shrugged. "Your second message was intercepted and jammed; we knew that we had an incident at that point. As for the rest, it's what I do."
At this point, Bumgarner decided to stop the conversation. He did not trust himself to keep talking to someone who would so blithely manipulate his life. He was tired, and needed to sleep on things.
Bumgarner stood up. "Well, thanks for everything. I would like to get home now. I'm sure that we will be in touch."
"Don't forget your briefcase," Jose replied innocently.
No comments:
Post a Comment