The Mekeer: Preparatory - Part II
by Marc Fiszman
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The Mekeer: Preparatory - Part II
by Marc Fiszman

Posted: 11:15 August 26, 2008

In this second article in the Mekeer series, extraterrestrial specialist Marc Fiszman introduces the aliens' plan to rescue humanity from self-destruction.

I walked to the side of Kodahr, the two of us flanked by two of his assistants. They were dressed as he, in soft, hooded robes, though in blue rather than the shimmering white which flowed down and about the tall Prophet's body. The assistants were around my height, average for a human, a foot or so shorter than the man who led us. The hoods kept all of their faces cloaked in shadows, or even something more, for try as I might, it was impossible to see anything but pure blackness inside.

We passed a steady stream of others - these Mekeer, I now knew - as we moved along a wide, white, gently curving hallway which continued into the far distance. A few wore the same hooded robes, a mixture of blues, yellows and reds, but most were dressed in what I presumed was the ship uniform, brown, leather-looking trousers and a tunic done tight to the neck, the whole thing hugging their lean bodies. Their black boots made no sound on the white ground.

Many of them seemed occupied and paid our group little or no attention, speaking quietly among themselves. Others took greater interest, looking at me and smiling. They all smiled when they looked at me, and even those who weren't smiling, who were busy with other matters, seemed happy and involved. Nearly all of them looked to be in their early twenties, in human years at least.

"They are the crew," Kodahr said, "the ones in uniforms. Those in robes belong to the three main spiritual sects. They are preparing for a conference, where I will speak. There are citizens on other levels. The ship holds one million."

They looked not so unlike humans, these Mekeer, a little taller, perhaps, with larger, more oval-shaped eyes, but otherwise pretty much the same. There was as broad a range of hair colour and skin tone as you would find on Earth. I recall noticing the smoothness of their skin, looking for imperfections and finding none. All of the men were clean shaven, and it was hard to imagine hair on their faces.

We were walking down the centre of the hallway, the flow of people parting to make way for us, where necessary. The crew would sometimes offer a quiet nod to the Prophet, a brief closing of the eyes and gentle dip of the head; those in robes nodded as well, though they did so without exception, and in a more pronounced fashion.

It was not as bright as it had been in the meeting room, the light appearing, as there, to come from nowhere. There were silver panels at regular intervals along the inner wall; rectangular portholes with rounded edges lined the outer one, looking out into space. A misty, purple planet and two bright moons floated in the distance.

A panel just ahead slid open with a whoosh and Kodahr placed a hand to my back, directing me towards it. We passed through and into a darker room. Uniformed people sat in white chairs at black consoles, working quietly at screens which floated before them. The screens seemed holographic, or something of that nature, presenting grids in different colours with scrolling rows of numbers, stars and planets, geometric designs. It was unclear how the crew interacted with the screens. Many of them seemed to just be sitting there, staring; others ran their hands across the smooth, empty surfaces in front of them. There was barely a sound.

We passed through another panel and into a room similar to the last one, though much smaller. There was just one console, an older uniformed man sitting and watching his screen, and us through it. A large porthole behind him looked out into empty space. As we came closer, I noticed that his face was more lined than I'd seen elsewhere, and he was more heavily set. He looked to be somewhere in his fifties. He smiled and motioned towards the two chairs before him. Kodahr's assistants peeled away to walls on opposite sides of the room, as he and I sat down. The screen flickered and disappeared.

The man looked at me for a moment, then said: "You are not surprised." And it was true that I wasn't, not in the slightest. I felt… well, nothing really. I was on a spaceship with alien beings, and everything seemed absolutely normal.

"I have Welcomed him," the Prophet said, sounding less gentle than I'd heard so far. "His emotions have passed. For now."

"Yes, of course," the man said, his eyes still on me. He watched me for another moment, then said: "My name is Vek. I am the Captain of this ship, whose name is Prime. Do you know why you are here?"

"Because you have activated my chip," I said.

"That's right. Do you feel abused?"

"No."

"Good. There are those who do, despite our Welcome. These we must leave. Others are unsure, and we do our best to show them our true intentions. In the end, of course, it is entirely up to the individual about whether or not to proceed. Would you like to proceed?"

"Yes."

"Good,' he smiled, running a hand across the console as the screen flickered back into view. He stared at it, the same way those outside had stared, and a grid appeared in green. Shapes in a darker green began to attach themselves to it, a diamond of crosses, some rectangles, all arranged in a symmetrical pattern which clearly had some sort of order, and which struck me as vaguely familiar. The shapes were hard, there were no round edges. Space Invaders came to mind.


"This is a representation of your chip," Vek said. "You already recognise it, as all who have been chipped do, and you will come to see it better. As you know, it was implanted in your brain when you were one month old. It has now been activated, allowing us to communicate with you, and you with us. Are you comfortable with this?"

"I am."

"Good. The chip is an organic structure. While dormant till now, it has still developed to become an integral part of you. As we start to communicate, its connections with the brain and the rest of your system will deepen, allowing for cleaner transmissions and the opening of certain… capacities." His eyes flicked to Kodahr and back to me. "In time, you will come to understand what these are. They are essential for the work you will perform. Are you comfortable working for us?"

I hesitated. For the first time since I'd left the meeting room, things didn't seem quite right. "Are you benevolent?" I asked.

"You mean, are we concerned with the best interests of human beings?"

"Yes."

"We are. Very much so."

"Then yes, I am comfortable."

"Good," he said, sitting back in his chair and looking to Kodahr. The Prophet slowly rose, moving around the console to the porthole at the back of the room, hands linking behind him. Vek swivelled in his chair to track him, as he stopped and looked outside.

"Humanity is at a key point in its evolution," the Prophet said, still looking away. "It is our belief that without assistance, you will soon destroy yourselves. For reasons I cannot get into now, it is essential this not be allowed to happen. For hundreds of years, we, the Mekeer, have visited your world, preparing for this time. Thousands of your people have been recruited by us, brought here, as you, and either joined us in this work, or resisted and been returned to their lives, memories of their encounters wiped, as they must be." He turned to face us, hidden in a blackness which seemed even darker than before. "Many forces have opposed our work, both on your planet and elsewhere, and while we have overcome most of them, they have delayed our efforts significantly. The placement of core energetic nodes, which was expected to take at most 20 years, has dragged into centuries, and time is running out. The programme has therefore been accelerated, a new, far more advanced form of communication established with the new guard, of which you are one. We call you the Behehn, the sacred army."

He slowly returned to his chair and sat down, turning to face me, and I him.

"How do you mean, accelerated?" I asked.

"I mean," he said, "that certain capacities that were not due to come to your people for several more centuries must come to them now. These capacities are to open first in the Behehn, and then, through their work, in the rest of humanity. Are you comfortable with this?"

"Do I have any choice?"

"Of course, you always have a choice."

I thought for a moment, but there was nothing there. "Yes, I am comfortable," I said.

"Good," he said, sounding gentle again, as he had when I first met him. "Then let us visit our planet, Yenaa. You will see the seven floating palaces, and learn of your mission."

This article is published under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 2.0 license creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/uk

Visit Marc Fiszman's website: marcfiszman.com.


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