Ch. 2
"Stop putting it off; you're as bad as me." Phil was sitting on the couch in the sparsely decorated television room of their two-floor firehouse attempting to get through to his colleague sitting adjacent on the brown woven cotton sofa. Scott was blankly staring at the television's changing channels as the remote sat limply on his leg. "You know we need another team member. You need to start scheduling interviews. I did my part and put out advertisements. Now it is up to you to finish responding to the dozen calls we've received in the past couple weeks."
"I have already interviewed five people, and the reason I sit here surfing channels is that I don't want to deal with it again. All we've had come through the doors are nut jobs and jokers," says Scott apathetically.
"How do you know the other candidates won't be serious," asks Phil. "Five people I could understand, but there is probably going to be someone in twelve candidates very serious about joining us."
"And it will take both of us several months to become accustomed to this new person who will be working with us, eating with us, and sleeping in the same building as us," replied Scott. "I'd really rather get someone you or I know well."
"But you have no problems speaking to our clients," retorts Phil.
"I don't have to be around them twenty-four-seven. It is easy to put on a professional façade for a few hours at a time. Constantly is another story," states Scott with emphasis.
"Well, at least listen to the messages left by the candidates. There might be someone who one of us knows that wants to work with us."
Scott just groans and continues his mindless channel surfing. Still he wears a look of someone deep in thought. Phil gets up from the sofa and heads over to the kitchen to get a snack. He's digging in the freezer for a couple of garden burgers when he hears from the television room, "I KNOW WHO WE SHOULD GET!"
…
Patrick finished the memo and sent it out to the project head for approval. He hated paperwork, but as low-man-on-the-totem-pole most of it fell on him. With a shrug, he pulled up the current design iteration he was supposed to review. He had been lucky to get this job so soon out of college, even if it was just a month-long contract.
It really did prove the saying "it's not what you know, but who you know." His dad had dropped word with a retired Navy friend who just happened to have a short-term opening. A bus ride out to Keyport and a quick meet with the team had gotten Patrick the job. Overall, it had worked out well, though he would have preferred a longer-term position. A month just wasn't long enough to get a really good design for something like this. Still, it should be enough money to buy a car. That would expand his availability and make getting another job easier. Plus he'd have some good references when this was over.
His attention jumped back to the design as an idea struck him. If we change the fin angle by a degree and open the end a little, it should reduce cavitation enough to achieve required torque. A few quick calculations showed that the motor's power input could be reduced about two percent, so he shot an email off to the team to double-check. It was unlikely they'd thank him though, they had less than a week to finalize the design before manufacturing started and this was just one more consideration before that could happen. He couldn't just let it lie though; once he started a job, Patrick had never been able to settle for less than his best, even if it meant more work.
He finished reviewing the current design and drew up his alterations before signing off for the day. As usual it was a long bus ride home, but he always kept a book handy, so it passed quickly.
…
Upon returning home, Patrick finds a surprising message waiting for him on his phone from his old friend, Scott. Patrick had known Scott for just a short time; through an anime club they both had attended. But he had no idea what Scott was doing for work, or why he would call.
"Hi Pat, Scott here. I don't know what you are doing for work, but there's this position open with my company. I had heard you say in the past that you want to come back to Portland someday. This would give you an opportunity, because this firm is based in the Rose City. It would also allow you to use your engineering skills and to do innovative work in a field that is still largely unexplored. Call me at 971-555-2536 and I'll tell you more. Later!"
…
"I hope that phone message you left wasn't too vague. You said your friend Patrick was supposed to call soon. We've still got to interview those campers who had the strange encounter up in a campground near Oregon City. They're waiting upstairs."
"Yeah. He's probably just finishing up his workday," replies Scott, as he and Phil ascend the staircase toward the television room on the second floor.
Inside the room, two younger men sit comfortably on the same brown couch that Scott had listlessly occupied not long ago. These guys look like outdoorsy types.
"Good afternoon. I'm Scott Jackson and this is Phil Wickmore, with Ghostbusters. You guys want some ice-water or coffee?"
"Hello. Coffee would be nice," says the first man. He wears khaki shorts, grass stains faded over repeat washings, and a white marathon t-shirt. "I'm Alex Sector."
"I'm his brother, Jonathan," chimes the other man. Scott studies him. He has on jeans with holes in the knees and a plain yellow striped t-shirt that looks straight out of the seventies.
"Pleased to meet both of you. Now, we received your short e-mail. You said something to the effect of an alien encounter in the woods? Before you begin, will you allow Phil to tape-record our conversation? We will use it only for our notes, and anything you tell us will be kept confidential."
"Yes, that's fine," begins Alex. "There were six of us camping out at the Beaver Creek campground near Oregon City. It was about two-thirty in the morning, a couple of people got up to go for a short hike and get some air. We hadn't had any alcohol and none of us do illegal drugs. Anyway, they were gone about fifteen or twenty minutes when the other four of us had decided to go to bed for the night. No more than five minutes after we had entered our tents, me and my brother saw a bright light above our tent, sorta' like a spotlight. We then heard our dog Sal barking like crazy at something, before hearing Sal whimper and go silent…"
"Hate to interrupt," states Phil. "But we'd like to hook you guys up to this device here. It measures psychokinetic, biological, and psychological responses from your mind. It doesn't hurt or anything. I'll just put these electrode caps on your guys' heads."
After a little reluctance, Alex and Jonathan agree and Alex continues the story.
"So the two guys that had gone hiking were on their way back when they saw a large metallic object hovering over our campsite. Something; a large creature, was standing outside one of the tents looking in!"
"Now we had two tents. We were in the large four-person tent with one other girl, and the other tent had our buddy's wife, Sheila, alone. He was one of the two people who had gone hiking," added Jonathan. Phil notices Jonathan's heart rate rising slightly on the monitor of the device as his brother continues the story.
"Anyway, she said she was terrified. So terrified that she was unable to move or scream. She just sat there staring at this thing. Time seemed to stop for all of us. It was as if Mother Nature said 'shhh.' Then the creature came over and hovered near our tent."
"So it hovered rather than walked?" inquires Phil.
"Yes. It was ground level, but it looked like something invisible was pushing it along. All three of us saw the shadow of this creature when it passed by our tent. It was six or seven feet tall, very slender, and had huge eyes that glowed red in the night. I'm not sure what they wanted, but they made believers out of us that night!"
"Okay, did Sheila tell you how the creature looked?" Asks Scott.
"Damn right she did!" exclaims Jonathan. "Her tent was lit very well, between our campfire and the strange spot light. Sheila told us it had leathery skin, like a reptile, except it was pockmarked, like bad acne. Its huge eyes glowed red and were at the top of its head. Its face seemed to be very furry, like it had a long beard that hid its mouth."
"Did this thing hurt any of you?"
"That's the funny part," says Alex. "All of us were unharmed and we didn't lose any time. Even Sal was okay. This whole thing must have lasted ten minutes. As soon as the spotlight - the space ship - left, the creature disappeared!"
"Did anyone else see it?"
"I don't know. We were the only campers in the immediate area, but the light had to get everyone else's attention, so I'd guess yeah," surmises Alex.
"Have any of you had after-effects of your encounter," asks Scott.
"Well, Sal occasionally gets spooked by things that aren't there. That dog runs and hides under my bed after something as random as staring at a wall. Sheila says that she's had recurring nightmares with several of these creatures taking her from her bedroom up to the light," says Jonathan.
"Anything else you guys want to add?" asks Phil.
"That pretty much covers it. Me and my brother want to show you the campsite where this all happened," insists Alex.
Phil stops the tape recorder and motions to Scott.
"Will you guys excuse us for a moment?" asks Scott. He and Phil go out to the main hallway and discuss the situation.
"What did you find on the Electropsychogram?" whispers Scott.
"Well, neither of them seems possessed. And according to the web crash course in EPG interpretation Spengler and Stantz hosted, their brain activity was normal, and Jonathan's pulse quickened in a logical place - when Alex described the creature. They seem to be telling the truth; at least they think they are," replies Phil, in a whisper. "Why don't we just go with Alex and send his brother home?"
Scott and Phil reenter the interview room. "Okay, we talked things over and we want you to show us the campsite, Alex. Jonathan, we won't need you to come along. We're taking the company truck and so will be on call when we go out there, and want as few non-personnel with us as possible if something should come up."
"Yes, that's fine. Alex and I took separate cars here," replies Jonathan. All four men exit the makeshift interview room out into the main hallway and down the stairs back to the building's vehicle bay. They exchange pleasantries with Jonathan and let him out before escorting Alex to Ecto-A. The familiar beeping of his cell phone interrupts small talk, as Scott is about to enter the ambulance. He answers to Pat's voice.
"Hey, it's Patrick. You left a message about a job opening?" he asks hopefully.
"Yeah. It's an – ahem - start-up company. We've been in business around three months now and even though there are peaks and valleys in demand for our services, you can earn enough to craft out a very comfortable living for yourself," continues Scott.
"Well, what is it that you do?" asks Pat.
"Well, um, we conduct professional paranormal investigations and eliminations," replies Scott, hoping not to scare off his applicant. "As a matter of fact we're on our way to an investigation right now."
"I remember seeing something on the news a couple months back with that freak snow storm... Ghostbusters or something? Stuff like that?"
"Yeah," replies the paranormalist. "We took down the cause of the storm, a huge monster called Wendigo. If you like action as well, you'll see plenty of it. We had to fight off zombies while beating Wendigo. And like I said, there would be plenty of opportunity to develop and test your own theories in the physics - well, metaphysics - and engineering fields." This prompts a few seconds of stunned silence from Scott's conversation partner.
"Wait, you're telling me that this stuff's real? I thought the 'global warming screwed with the weather and then El Nino hit' theory was more convincing," Pat questions.
"Well, we've got at least two witnesses that can attest to all of it being real. Surreal is more like it. I still can barely believe we made it out alive," Scott grins with nostalgia before continuing. "Would El Nino really cause Antarctic weather in a climate such as Portland's in May?"
"I didn't say I was convinced, just that it was more convincing," Pat continues. "What kind of hard science do you have to work with? They don't teach paranormal, so I'd need hard evidence to really be able to contribute anything."
"Many sub-fields mostly physics related," Scott replies. "Engineering, meta-physics, physics; also detection-type sciences: forensics, research, that sort of thing. And we may just have some hard evidence for you after tonight's investigation. Well, evidence that we could actually send electronically. If you came down to the office, I could show you a laser-protection grid full of hard evidence."
"Well, I'm interested, but I'm working all this week. I got a contract job that ends this week, so we're scrambling to finish on time. I should be more or less free after that."
Scott almost cannot believe what he hears. "Excellent. Well, how about we fly you out on Tuesday morning of next week?"
"If you have somewhere I can crash, I could drive down. It's only three hours and I'm planning to get a car with most of my paycheck. Seems like a waste to fly when it's an hour to the airport at either end," reasons Pat.
"We have another couple of beds in the sleeping quarters, because our office is an old firehouse. But booking you a flight is no problem."
"Flying just seems a waste for such a short trip. My family drives it on a semi-regular basis. When and where should I meet you?"
"Could you make the drive Tuesday morning?" requests Scott. "We've got a case on Monday."
"That's fine, around noon then?"
"Yeah, the address is Nineteen-Fifty-Two-Southeast Seventh Avenue, between Harrison and Lincoln Street, a block up from the Goodwill store."
"Okay, I'll see you there. Thanks for the offer," replies Pat.
"Have a good night!" says Scott cheerfully.
"You too. Bye."
Scott hangs up and grins quickly at Phil, driving Ecto-A toward the campground site of the alien encounter. "He's set to interview on Tuesday." Scott then glances back to Alex in the rear passenger seat. The guest quickly fixes his gaze out the window. He wears an expression as though caught listening into a secret conversation. Something in the back of Scott's mind momentarily unnerves him about their client's gaze, but the thought quickly passes.