Indistinguishable From God
by G. Dedrick Robinson

EXCERPT

CHAPTER ONE
ANNOUNCEMENT

Queenston, Virginia

The main ballroom of Shenandoah State University seemed an unlikely place for a middle-aged geology professor to change the world forever.

Dr. Gregory Neale gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows lining one side of the room, which afforded a magnificent view of the Blue Ridge Mountains ten miles east. The vaporous haze that lay above their crests softened the profile.

Greg sometimes wandered into the seldom-used ballroom just to enjoy the view. Now, heavy cables snaked across the floor, nourishing a forest of metal tripods holding video cameras, microphones and blinding klieg lights. Student workers scurried back and forth. Camera operators checked their settings, technicians tested lights and mikes. Reporters and campus police officers took their stations.

Waiting nervously in the corner of the room behind the raised platform used for awards dinners, the planetary geologist stroked his close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard, then stretched his wiry six-foot frame and straightened his tie. He cleaned his thin dark-rimmed glasses for the third time that morning, and when he replaced them, he caught sight of Christine Shelburn’s amber-blond hair. The sight of her never failed to stir him. At twenty-five years old, she was not only drop-dead gorgeous, but the smartest graduate student Greg had known in his seventeen years at SSU.
“Hell, Greg, are you really going through with this?” Christine approached and squeezed Greg’s arm.

He reflexively stepped back. “Got to. Maybe I'll look as foolish as someone walking across an artillery range holding an umbrella. But there's no other way.” He smiled thinly attempting to hide the anxiety churning inside. Without the lab reports, his announcement would not be convincing, but he knew they’d never get so many reporters here again.

“I thought the police hadn't recovered anything. Without evidence, what can you say?”

“I'll think of something. Maybe I'll sound more believable without my prepared statement.” The events of the past few days made Greg feel as if he was trapped on a giant Ferris wheel that wouldn't stop spinning to let him off.

Greg spotted first-year physics professor Ricardo Martinez pushing people aside as approached. Greg had thrown the broad-shouldered young professor off the investigation after his repeated attempts to hijack it and put himself in charge. Rick swiped at the inky black hair that liked to slip down over his forehead. “I knew what you had before anyone else,” he said in a tight voice. “You try to cut me out, and I'll see you in court.”

Before Greg could reply, Jennings Ross, director of Media Relations at SSU, interrupted. “It's time. Everyone ready?”

Greg glanced at Christine and nodded.

Ross strode to the podium at 10:04 A.M., only a few minutes behind schedule. He tapped the microphone and started the proceedings.

Greg leaned close and whispered in Rick's ear. “Calm down. I had planned to have you stand beside me at the podium. I'll introduce you as a co-investigator.”

After brief remarks welcoming the out-of-towners to the campus, the director of Media Relations introduced Greg and relinquished the podium.

Greg was still figuring out what to say as he marched to the microphones hoping to convey a confidence he did not feel. How’d I get myself into this? I’ll sound like a kook when I say the evidence was stolen. Maybe I should postpone it like Christine said.

He looked out into the lights over the throng of reporters and cameras, but recognized only one face, Louise O'Keefe. The attractive local TV anchor and former student in Greg's planetary geology class was ensconced directly in front of the podium, hard to miss.

Greg started by calling Christine and Rick onto the podium and introducing them as co-investigators. He quickly summarized why he and Christine had been in Antarctica collecting samples and Rick's early help in characterizing the discovery.
Then he got to the meat of it, his voice tense. “I had planned a longer presentation, but in light of the burglary last night of my office and lab, I will make my remarks brief and then take questions.” He paused, noticing a disturbance in the back of the room, where several police officers had closed ranks around two men in dark suits, one towering over the over. “What I am about to announce may strike you as irrational or even ridiculous. You will certainly recognize that it is not the first such claim. What I want to emphasize to you, however, is that a U.S. government laboratory has verified all our results.”

The disturbance became a commotion as the police and dark-suited men ran toward the front shoving people out of the way. What the—? Greg increased his tempo and volume determined to get his story out. I’m sunk if it’s Dreelin’s men. “Because of the theft I will be unable to present the evidence today.” Cops surrounded the podium and scrambled onto it from all sides. Grabbing one of the microphones, Greg shouted into it as a phalanx of police swept around him. His words were drowned out by a cacophony of yelled questions mixed with screams from the horde of reporters. He gripped the microphone with all his strength struggling to describe their discovery, but pain knocked the breath from him as the larger of the two men in suits tackled him and dragged him toward the rear exit.

Greg saw the shorter of the men in suits dash to the podium holding an ID card high over his head. “FBI! FBI!” the man yelled. “We've just received word that a terrorist may have planted a bomb in this room. Everybody out! Evacuate the building!”

Greg caught just a glimpse of the ensuring melee of crashing equipment and people stampeding toward the exits before the big man opened the door and shoved him through.

Beyond some scrapes and bruises and a couple of banged-up cameras and broken lights, no serious damage was done. Within a few minutes the gathered reporters were milling around in the front courtyard, hoping to find someone who knew what the hell was going on. Jennings Ross was happy to talk to them, recognizing a chance to plug SSU on national newscasts. Their interest in Ross wilted however, as soon as they found out he had no idea what Greg wanted to announce. Several reporters tried to find one of the people introduced at the beginning, but the campus police, acting on instructions from the dark-suited men, had already hustled them from the area.

Louise O'Keefe had seen the FBI agent drag Greg though the rear door and had scurried in that direction, but a throng of people had jammed the door, and by the time she made it outside Greg had disappeared. She found her assistant, who'd gone out the front door with the camera, but there was no sign of Greg, or anyone else who knew anything.

The reporter decided to head back to Greg’s building, McGeary Hall, to see if she could learn any more about the burglary. She knew something unusual was going on, felt it all the way to her marrow. She was particularly curious about a word she'd heard Greg scream as he was forced away from the microphone. Artifact. He had used the same word earlier that morning when she had stood outside his office door in the hall as the police questioned him. Was that the reason for the news conference?

No one she talked to mentioned it. Could she be the only person who'd heard him? If she could find him, it could be the break she craved so much she could taste it.

The man who had hustled Greg out the door, a huge brute, had used his bear-trap grip to throw Greg into a waiting police car. He remained oblivious to Greg’s stream of questions during the short drive to McGeary Hall. Blocking the door with his bulk, he stood wooden-Indian-style as Greg fidgeted nervously, seated behind his desk. Two uniformed police officers, stationed at each door to the building, carefully checked identities before letting anyone in or out. They were particularly vigilant at keeping reporters out.

After nearly an hour, the shorter man joined his partner in Greg's office, ominously slamming the door behind him. His pecan-brown hair was straight, his steel gray eyes cold and his muscular shoulders and bull’s neck stretched the fabric of his slate-colored suit coat.

“Dr. Neale, as you know, we are here to take custody of the object General Dreelin discussed with you yesterday evening. Are you prepared to cooperate?” His voice carried the same emotion as a computer generated response.

“Of course I am, Greg answered. Or was. Don't you know that burglars hit us last night? They got it all.”

“I know that's what you were saying for those TV cameras. That was just for public consumption, right?” He locked eyes with Greg. “After telling General Dreelin you'd hand it over, you needed some scheme to get out of that news conference. That about cover it?”

Greg felt the coldness of a glacier emanating from the man. “Like I told General Dreelin, I'll work with you. But I didn't plan on a burglary. Somebody else beat you to it. If you don't believe me, search the place.” Who is this General Dreelin? he asked himself. What kind of government agents try to intimidate people like this?
“You weren't thinking of double-crossing us, were you? For your sake, I hope not.”
Greg could contain his outrage no longer. “What right do you have to talk to me like this? And while we're at it, what right did you have stopping the news conference? We discovered this thing, not Dreelin. He wants me to cooperate, he calls me up and apologizes.”

At a slight nod from the shorter man, the taller agent moved close, towering over Greg on one side of his chair. Greg looked back at the short agent, who seemed to have spotted something interesting on his right hand and was examining his fingernails, one at a time.

“You guys have been watching too many bad TV shows. I do not respond to threats.” Despite his bravado, he felt his face drain of color and beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He looked from the short man to the giant and back, but both faces remained blank as new cue balls. Who are these guys? They can't be from the government.

The brute suddenly grabbed Greg out of his chair and locked his arms in vicious hammerlocks. A white flash of almost electric pain shot though Greg's body.
The short agent stepped in front of Greg's face, drill-sergeant close. “You're fuckin' lying.”

fiction writers writing software