At first, I was sure it was a dream; outrageously vivid, but nothing more than that. It didn't take long to realise the truth of the matter.

I'd been zooming back to Prime in the orbital, eagerly anticipating my first proper view of the starship, when my head exploded with the most insane pain I'd ever known. It had started with a tickle, a vibration like the one in the library which had preceded my transport, but very quickly advancing to something much more, something much worse. Suddenly, my brain was on fire, a network of lasers slicing through me as I collapsed to the ground, clutching my head and screaming in agony. Somehow, through the wails and thrusts, the gnashing of teeth, I became aware of Kodahr above me, the warmth of his hand passing slowly across my face, whispers in some language I couldn't understand. And then I woke up in bed and it was over.

As is the way with dreams, the scenes of aliens, planets and palaces retreated the moment I opened my eyes, and by the time I'd finished preparing breakfast, they had just about gone. Considering how present I'd been, it was remarkable how soon it all disappeared.

"Use this object for your meditation," he'd said. It was the final thread which joined me to that world, the last thing which stayed in my mind. For a few brief moments, his voice was so clear - the depth, the wisdom. But I looked around and there was no object, and then no voice. It was over.

And so I returned to the world of humans, starting with the search for a new job. I'd been doing some freelance programming at the time and had greatly enjoyed the flexibility, but with work drying up, I'd resigned myself to taking a full-time position with someone else. I spent the next month looking around. With a Masters in Economics and my extensive programming background, any number of options should have been available, but nothing seemed to fit. In truth, I had no idea what I wanted to do. Things which only weeks before had driven such passion now struck me as lifeless and dull, and as I walked the cold streets of Boston, observing the people in their suits and long skirts, their dreary faces and misshapen shoulder pads, I felt a great sadness creeping over me, a terrible sense of loss.

It was then that the sequence returned, the 12-stage rectangular flow which had come in the park just before I'd been transported to Prime. As before, it seemed very familiar to me. It appeared like this:

This sequence became my constant companion. It was with me the moment I woke, inside my mind the rest of the day, and often returned in dreams which were especially bright and vivid. There was something about it which made me happy, the feeling that somehow this thing was my friend, that somehow it was watching over me. It helped to lift me out of my depression.

It was February 2003, I still unemployed, but becoming more positive. I looked around and things seemed less ugly; I could even forgive those shoulder pads, that focus on a life I'd once understood. With some savings in the bank, it wasn't essential I find a job straightaway, and so I set my search aside, giving myself over to this 12-stage sequence and the thoughts it was calling in me.

One night a few weeks later, in the middle of one of the flying dreams which had become a recurring theme, I woke up on the floor of the meeting room, the bright white space in the starship Prime which is both there and elsewhere. The Prophet Kodahr stood tall before me, extending a hand and inviting me to rise. "Welcome," he said. "Let us begin."

And so we began again, a journey both the same and so different, for now I remembered it all. And when the object appeared one day, the clear, vibrating weight with the black rectangle inside, I knew that it all was real.

I went there every night, and very often during the day, sometimes multiple times. The Prophet was my guide at first, showing me more of Prime and his people. He told me that a new procedure had been created just for me, a special protection they'd never needed, and which had taken engineers several weeks to develop (apparently a very long time for them). The procedure was the shield applied to humans when we first came into their world, distancing us from things around us, so that we didn't become overwhelmed. It made things look not quite as they were; true enough that we could begin to understand them, but filtered to soften the blow. For some reason, the standard form hadn't worked properly for me.

I began to learn of the spiritual sects, the three main colours, and the Prophet's central role. I took more trips in the orbital, learning more of Yenaa and her moons, why it was that her sun was kept hidden from me. Our trips at first were as before, brief flybys where Kodahr monitored me very closely. But I had no reactions and we soon went deeper, he showing me the rest of the floating palaces, speaking more of Qedin, the network of power. And then our first trip to the great city Tor… I will write much more of these things.

Kodahr became less of a presence, his position taken by a number of other guides, each with a different specialty, and they taught me different things. The most time was spent with a woman, Ley, who wore a white robe similar to the Prophet's, but without the hood, so that her loving face was revealed. We clicked the moment we met and quickly became firm friends; I was less close with the other guides, several of whom seemed to regard me with some suspicion.

Ley taught me meditation, a specific approach which used the clear object - a multidimensional key, she revealed, joined to my chip and certain channels of Qedin. She spoke to me of the sequence, revealed that my first work would involve extending it to other humans, that it would form the base of important work to come by strengthening the flow of Qedin to Earth.

I had never really been one for meditation, at least not the sitting still kind, but I took to this style very easily. I came to know the sequence in a much deeper way, began to understand the operation of the 12th, empty stage, and as I entered into that empty, final quarter, a number of changes came over me. I began to develop psychic and other spiritual abilities, things which had struck me as rather fanciful before becoming an everyday part of my life, such as astral projection and the observation of auras.

I had kept much of the alien stuff to myself, but it was reaching a point where I really needed to speak with someone about the wild things that were happening. I mean, this was great, wasn't it? Meeting with aliens, working with them to help save humanity from self-destruction. This was pretty compelling stuff! And yet, I knew how ridiculous I would appear if I tried to tell my "normal" friends about it.

So I started to move in more metaphysical circles, hanging out with the odd sort of people one encounters when one investigates such things, and with whom I used to spend a great deal of time. I began to speak more openly of the Mekeer, of some great work I was meant to be doing, but even among people one would expect to be more amenable to this sort of thing, I felt I was being judged, misunderstood.

It was June now, my funds just about alive, and despite the sense of alienation, I was greatly enjoying my time. My meditation had deepened significantly, the object assuming a new sort of vibration very different from before. While it felt less strong to the touch, inside it felt much more expansive. Ley said this was a very good sign, that it meant it was time to meet others of the Behehn, other soldiers of the Mekeer's sacred army who would help me in my work.

I found that a new capacity had come, the ability to recognise other Behehn, as well as the chipped of the old guard. Ley explained that while it would take some time before I could look at someone and say "Yes, you are Behehn!", with careful thought I could see them now.

So off I went on these funny walks around Boston, down streets, through parks and shopping malls, staring at these humans around me, trying to discern who might be chipped. I smile when I think back at all the people I approached, convinced they were chipped, yet wondering how I could ask them without actually asking them! After a while, I said to hell with it, and just strode up to them and said: "Do you, like me, have an alien implant in your brain, an organic microchip placed by the Mekeer, for whom you now work as a member of the sacred army, striving to save humanity from self-destruction?"

Needless to say, I got a lot of strange looks, but perhaps more by luck than design, I eventually found two fellow Behehn, a brother and sister who have become such central figures in my life. (They have requested that I not reveal their identities in this article.) They confirmed they were chipped and in communication with the aliens, who had informed them they would soon be approached by a peer and asked to assist with the development of TELEPORT, a multidimensional transport system which would open the Earth to Qedin. Ah, what a day that was! To find some others - some other Behehn. And the very ones who had been called to join me in this work. My God, how wonderful that felt.

We were nearing the end of July by now, when Ley informed me that by the end of the next work week, the TELEPORT system would be ready and presented to the world. I laughed, wondering how the three of us could create such a thing in such a short period of time. That was before I experienced what happens when three Behehn are in contact with each other, what happens when they meditate and create together, the incredible things which arise.

There isn't space here to go into all the details, but suffice to say for the next five days none of us slept, kept awake and perfectly aware by a joint creative force plugged into Qedin. That power flowed in from the planet Yenaa, from millions of physical and metaphysical lives, and brought the life to our work.

It was a week of impossibilities. On the first day we formed a company, Red Kore Communications, to develop and market this TELEPORT system, which would open Qedin by transporting humans to other, non-physical dimensions. We designed a logo and business cards, and the various other things which would make us look "official". At lunchtime, a fat envelope arrived in the mail, stuffed with a hundred hundred-dollar bills to cover our costs and the debt I'd recently fallen into. It came from the Ashram of Peace, Love and the Seventh Way, my future employer.

The next day, during an incredibly deep group meditation, I channelled the words of Plan ? ("Delta"), the document which would guide our development and later serve as instructions for TELEPORT. Through a mantra-style chanting of Plan ?, I was propelled into the wildest astral flights I'd ever experienced, during which the concepts of TELEPORT were formed, the 12-stage sequence becoming the base and passing through a number of permutations. The sister had recently worked in consumer packaging, the brother in marketing, and together they devised brilliant ideas for how to turn my often abstract thoughts into a workable product.

The base sequence was the core, and would be formed into patterns, or letters. By the end of the second day, the three of us were fluent in the language of TELEPORT, and we used it to bring in other ideas, other shapes which suggested this product was but the first in a series. It was decided that the system's symbols, a collection of codes and geometric oddities, should be printed on white plastic cards, like credit cards, and boxed and wrapped in a manner which suggested alien communication. We would include a plastic sleeve and lanyard, so that people could wear their cards round their necks, and a cute little magnet for the fridge.

Of course, before we invested in all of this stuff, we needed to actually test the system. We did this on the third day, transporting ourselves to the palaces and beyond. It was obviously working very well, and while we wondered whether as Behehn we had some special access and should really test the thing on the "normal" people we were targeting, all of it seemed so right to us that we decided to just go with it. Orders were placed with the various suppliers, and by the sort of miracle we were coming to expect, everything arrived the following morning: cards and boxes, sleeves and lanyards, and latex gloves to put the kits together.

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On the fourth day, the kits were constructed - these trips, we now called them, which would open Qedin. This would be the Rectangle Trip, and we would use the language of TELEPORT to speak other shapes into Earthly existence.

And then, on the fifth day, the end of the work week, we released the Rectangle Trip, sold through our website for a very reasonable $19.95. It was slow going at first; as I'm sure you can imagine, marketing a multidimensional transport system to a mainstream audience isn't the easiest proposition. But after one of Sweden's largest technology news sites published an article on TELEPORT, it took off in a very big way. Before we knew it, the orders were pouring in, requests from all sorts of people, from geeks, to spiritual types, to business people. For a few glorious months, it seemed like the whole world had gone mad. As I'd hoped, people started wearing their cards, hugging other trippers as they passed on the street and inviting "strangers" to impromptu dinners where matters of depth were discussed. I ran daily workshops, many attended by celebrities and other important people, providing techniques for activating the cards and, on Ley's advice, releasing signed copies of Plan ?. While it was clear that most people didn't have much idea what they were doing, and probably weren't transporting the way they should, they were obviously getting something out of it, at least tapping some peripheral layer of Qedin, and this seemed perfectly fine. Ley agreed, reminding me that this was but the first stage, a preparation. And then there were others, those who knew very much what was going on, a few of whom I immediately recognised as fellow Behehn, drawn from across the country and the globe for this opening of the gates.

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It was then, just when things were getting most exciting, that it all so dramatically fell apart. I have written briefly elsewhere of the forces on Earth who oppose the Mekeer, and now I met them for the first time. TELEPORT had become very popular in the local club scene, ravers replacing their former cocktails of ecstasy, LSD and ketamine with the cards hung round their necks, dancing the night away to the most natural of highs. A promoter who represented some of Boston's biggest clubs started organising TELEPORT parties, all-night raves where you wore your cards and went on "Mind-blowing group adventures! SO HOT!". This sounded kind of cool, so one night I, the brother and sister, and some graduates from a recent series of advanced workshops got dressed up in our best alien-style dancing gear and hit a club where one of the TELEPORT events was being held.

And yes, it was cool at first, whistle-blowing kids out with their cards, waving them around and getting down with Qedin. But things quickly turned much darker, a group of beautiful olive-skinned women who were clearly part of some collective twirling around the dancers and encouraging them to organise into groups of 12 and perform weird rituals with their cards, things which involved drugs and the removal of clothes. My team and I tried to break things up, tried to channel the true spirit of Qedin, but the dancers were far too drunk with the rituals, dazed into some other, unsavoury world, and only snapped out of their trance when the police arrived to whack them with truncheons and make their arrests.

Obviously, this wasn't the best publicity, and with similar TELEPORT parties cropping up in major cities across the country, things quickly got out of control. When a Boston teenager died during one of the rituals, the writing was very much on the wall, and within days the state had passed legislation banning TELEPORT. Within a week, every state in the country had done the same and I became a pariah, suffering a very cruel sort of treatment, mocked and jeered wherever I went. For some reason, it became fashionable to throw California rolls at my head and yell "Incoming!". By the end of the year I'd had enough and I left the United States, returning to my home town of London.

It was a total change of scene. TELEPORT was gone, the sequence was gone, and for the next three years there would be no more aliens.

This article is published under a Creative Commons Attribution-Non-Commercial-Share Alike 2.0 license creativecommons.org.

Visit Marc Fiszman's website: marcfiszman.com.