Status: Finished

Genre: Other



Status: Finished

Genre: Other



A stranger is dumped off a spaceship in the Negev Desert. He very quickly comes to the notice of many powerful people and institutions on Earth. Several of them are intent on killing him despite his extraordinary charitable deeds.
Tall, blonde, twice-divorced Fiona Weir, attracts the stranger's attentions.
They meet . . . and the rest is a retelling of history.
Share :


A stranger is dumped off a spaceship in the Negev Desert. He very quickly comes to the notice of many powerful people and institutions on Earth. Several of them are intent on killing him despite his extraordinary charitable deeds.
Tall, blonde, twice-divorced Fiona Weir, attracts the stranger's attentions.
They meet . . . and the rest is a retelling of history.


Author Chapter Note

Fiona meets Xavier. Husbands and fathers---eighty-four of them----arrive in Anza Borrego within two hours.
The Welcome Home party hopes Xavier will put in an appearance to tell them how---and why?
Fiona receives some startling answers from her passenger as they tool along near 100 mph in her i8 Spyder.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 28, 2017

Reads: 50

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: February 28, 2017




A Serial

Nicholas Cochran

Chapter Thirteen


Reverend Green and Beatrice disembarked from their ship while it waited for passage through the Suez Canal.

“Darling,” cooed Beatrice, “if it gets any hotter we might as well be back in Sottsboro; any chance of a cool ride to wherever we’re going?”

Bon homie plus bags of joie de vivre hung about Harley Green’s persona. His smile was broad, his heart was light, his anticipation boundless.

Beatrice eyed her husband while she waited for an answer to her request for cool. She began to grin as well, while her husband’s overflowing ecstasy spilled into her essence, creating a lighter step, and forgotten heat.

Presently, an air-conditioned limousine whisked the enraptured couple away from Port Said to travel the two hundred and seventy-five miles to Eilat, the first known populous area that Mr.Mazel visited. 

Beatrice noticed that her husband’s mood changed remarkably as they drew closer to the city on the Red Sea. A perpetual smile grew upon Harley’s lips, a smile that became broader as they neared their destination: the fountainhead of the mystery known as Mazel.

His eyes widened; his brow perspired; his breathing quickened, while his pulse raced. 

By the time they reached Eilat, Harley Green looked very much like a man who recently saw a ghost—or was about to see one.

I’m here; it feels like a place of worship; perhaps a station of the cross; wonder; joy

*  *  *

On the border of the Anza Borrego Desert, the Homecoming Party continued to increase in numbers as well as in pleasure.

“It’s all happened so quickly; so fast,” remarked Janice Drake, “Cliff was gone—for almost two years—then he’s at the door, calling for me. I’ve never even had the chance to ask him how he got here.”

Janice stopped to take another sip of her G&T while Rebecca Rogers took the opportunity to tell of the events preceding the arrival of her husband, Geoff. 

He appeared on her stoop in much the same manner as Janice’s husband appeared in her doorway; seemingly ‘out of nowhere'.

 “And there are eighty-two others here now as well. You know,Janice, this is really creepy. This shouldn’t be happening. Eighty-four guys don’t just show up without any warning; and all at once. I still wonder if this is all some weird smoke and mirrors stuff; you know, like Siegfried and Roy run amok. What do you think?”

“I absolutely agree, Becky,” shaking her head, almost spilling her drink, “we’re all here now enjoying the moment. It’s-----”she began to cry—very softly, very helplessly, a crack in a mirror, a line, a distorted reality. Her tears were from some other sector of her soul, not welcomed but understood, considering the emotional blast which she—every one of them—received yesterday morning, all within a couple of hours.

Rebecca held her close while she patted her back and gently rocked her. 

Geoff sidled up with fresh drinks and asked what the matter was.

“It’s all this, “waving her other hand toward the delirious multitude,” Geoff, how could this really be? I mean; you all arrived within an hour or two with no notice and no memory.

“Jeez, maybe we should watch “Close Encounters of the Third Kind” again. I think maybe we missed something, some connector that allows these things to happen like this,” laughing sardonically, “yeah; like this.” She breathed in deeply while releasing her hand from Janice’s back as Geoff handed her a new drink.

*  *  *

With the top down, Fiona’s i8 Spyder glided through the gentle warmth of the evening air. Mazel held a smile for the few minutes necessary to reach I-10, a smile that increased as he watched Fiona’s hand-eye coordination rocket them to over a hundred with cool grace.

Fiona settled the car at ninety-five before turning to smile at her passenger.

“Let’s start with the easy answers first,” offered Xavier, “I do come from another planet. It is ten thousand times larger than Earth with over a thousand suns. My planet is almost three billion years older that this one.”

Fiona shot him her first look of suspended belief.

“Yes, there are several—maybe thousands—of aliens who visit here every year. All of us discovered the relatively easy method of making things invisible—in fact, your scientists have one foot in that door already; far beyond the stealth aircraft and easily done—once you know how,” laughing, “ we have the same funny phrases and laughing points at home—where I come from, as well.”

Fiona looked at the road while she used most of her concentration to listen to her new friend.

“I know something about physics, Xavier; I studied to be an astronaut” with a merry laugh, “I washed out because I’m too tall. Who would have thought; anyway, physics says we can’t go faster than the speed of light; so how do you do it; is it complicated?”

Mazel held his right arm out over his door to feel the rush of cooling air on his warm skin. “No; it’s very simple. In fact, your physicists have talked all about the solution—all around the answer. I’ll demonstrate it to you very soon. A demonstration is much more powerful than simply telling you about the answer; believe me, it will be clear instantly.”

Fiona nodded affirmatively while she guided the four-wheeled missile along the almost-empty freeway. “I look forward to that, “turning to him with a grin, “I really do Xavier. In fact, I wish you could show me now—but I understand. So, what’s next?”

*  *  *

Harley Green had done his homework. His many calls to Eilat assisted by a translator, established the Hotel, as well as the names and addresses of the staff who were among the first people to deal with Xavier Mazel.

Harley directed the driver to proceed to the Hotel, Herod’s Vitalis Spa.


Rebecca looked over Geoff’s shoulder at the desert, now glowing slightly under the quarter moon. She stared into the night as though—as in the film—a spaceship would appear in a roiling cloud, glide, and land a hundred yards from them where they could all go to ask for answers to this unnerving occurrence.


Ricoh and his unit were in possession of the Reverend’s itinerary before his ship, the Dauntless left port in Miami.

Ricoh inquired about Reverend Green’s chosen excursions into locations in the Islamic world. Eilat, the nearest to Muslim territory, was on the list.

Ricoh waited in the lobby of the Herod’s Vitalis Spa. His ‘crack unit’ lingered in the shadows near the street entrance, keeping an eye for any others who might be in the city to to meet with the Reverend; or perhaps investigators from other faiths who were checking the first moves of the man they were sworn to kill—after, of course, pleas to his good nature to endow the faithful of Allah with his significant largesse, an amount, which by this time was in the several billions.

Ricoh dreamed about meeting Mazel to ask him those very questions concerning his donating to the well-being of the followers of Islam in whatever location they are found in the world.

He, with the greatest of difficulty, was barely able to remove—in his inner eye—the fact that so far, none of Mazel’s charities had seen fit to endow the faithful with so much as a sou of his enormous piles of wealth.

No, Muhammad decided that if there was any hope at all to begin a pipeline of bounty for the faithful in the world, he, Mohammed Ricoh, must find out everything available about Mazel before engaging in a conversation, a dialogue—even a friendly chat—with Xavier Mazel, to determine his intentions vis a vis Islam.


Xavier breathed in great volumes of the fragrant evening air. “Of course there are, as with any planet; any world; any place with people; where people gather; a significant amount of purely boring matters, for me; and for you, I’m sure.

“There is one subject that I’m not even the least bit interested in any longer, only because it has been done thousands—perhaps millions—of times: terraforming.

“The earth began as a ball of seething heat, totally uninhabitable; not even the smallest forms of invisible life.

“One of our enemies began the process. Their planet is about three thousand times the size of Earth. They are a billion years younger than our planet. I cannot remember how many suns are there. Anyway, they are a dismal bunch. We have little contact with them.

"They are constantly beginning a project and then prematurely abandoning it like some child who can’t decide which candy to eat in a candy store. They are doomed, I’m afraid.

"At any rate, they began the terraforming of your planet, and I must admit that they were doing a good job of it. They wanted this planet---your planet---as a recreational spot to get away form their troubles. We all have troubling matters. Our world is no different from yours in that respect either. Then they decided to go somewhere else.”

Fiona took in the balmy breezes, while she looked up at the piece of  moon, trying to imagine a planet ten thousand times the size of Earth.

“Why are you here, Xavier?”

End of Chapter Thirteen




© Copyright 2017 Nicholas Cochran. All rights reserved.

Booksie Spring 2017 Flash Fiction Contest

Booksie Popular Content

Other Content by Nicholas Cochran

Popular Tags