July 1947

"As you may have guessed, Major, you're not going to be facing criminal charges in court. Do you know why?"

The tall man standing opposite the table didn't move or say anything in response to the synthesized voice. Without any lights on, his expression couldn't be made out either, but there was nothing to see. He just continued to stare at nothing with a blank face.

The man sitting at the table, submerged in shadow, couldn't be seen either. The Major would never know who'd spoken to him after he was dismissed.

"Because there are no laws governing your actions. No regulations, no protocols, nothing. As far as the law goes, what you did never happened, simply because the men who formed the law never anticipated such a thing."

The Major still remained silent.

"Every action has its consequences, I suspect you know that." The man at the table cleared his throat, and static erupted from the device that modulated his voice.

"And believe me, Major, you'll be facing consequences." He lit a cigarette, and momentarily, his face was visible, but not long enough for him to be recognized.

"I suppose you think I'm going to have you get into an auto accident?"

Silence.

"No, nothing so severe. Maybe worse, depending on how you look at it though." He paused. "As of tomorrow, Major, you don't exist anymore. You will be killed in a training exercise, and your body will vanish. No witnesses, you'll be alone when this happens. That's what the report will say anyway."

"Of course, you will remain in Roswell. You'll be held in maximum-security detention, and within an indefinite time, you will be transferred to a place where you'll put your…undoubtedly superb skills to good use."

The Major finally spoke. "Don't try to flatter me."

The man's laughter came out as a set of inhuman noises from the device. "You're in no position to tell me what to do. I suggest you keep your comments to yourself."

"I wont lie to you, Major. You're not going to enjoy your stay. You started this, so its only fair that you see it through to its end, or yours, whichever comes first. And believe me when I say that this will not end in your lifetime."

There was a long silence. The Major's strained voice was the first to break it.

"What about my wife and son, sir? Do I get to see them first?"

The man didn't answer.

This time the plea was more emotional. "Don't I even get to talk to them?"

"Major." There was no feeling whatsoever in the synthesized voice. "I empathize with you, really I do. But with something of this magnitude, there is no hope of you contacting the outside world. The potential for security leaks are just too high." He paused. "You will go, and you will go quietly. Aside from your future coworkers, the minute you leave this room, no one will ever see your face or hear your voice again."

There was another long pause, and then the Major's exasperated voice came out.

"Damn you, damn you to hell, I was only doing my job, I was following protocol, how was I-"

"I'm sorry Major, but this is the way it has to be. I must ask you to leave now. Your guards will take you to your quarters now."

---

Director Tyler,

My first report will no doubt disappoint you, as in the week since we arrived, we haven't been able to come up with much information regarding the specimens in the labs. This may be attributed to the fact that almost nothing is left of them. It's hard to believe that what we removed from the cooling units was ever anything at all, since everything decomposed almost completely, clearly well before we ever had a look for ourselves. I will account what we've been able to salvage so far.

From the actual specimens themselves, in all four cases, there isn't much to work with. Other than ash and dust from the fire, there is a little dead tissue, which we managed to separate from the residue only with great effort. Our tests on them haven't yielded anything particularly noteworthy, except for the fact that the cells seem almost devoid of proteins, which is surprising, since these were apparently whole organisms at one time. We're still investigating, but considering the state of what we have, I'm not very confident that we'll learn much more.

The specimens did leave something interesting though. In all four cases, a small pod, about the size of a tennis ball and weighing around one kilogram, was left. These caught us completely by surprise, since, compared to everything else, they were in very good shape. There was very little charring, all have a distinct brown color, and they're covered in hard shells, with tiny, sharp protrusions everywhere. They rather resemble very large seeds.

We only began work on them two days ago, however, so we don't have any relevant information regarding them. We've spent most of the time discussing just how to begin testing them, since the outer shell's composition is so tough that we cant take samples from it using conventional means, and any other methods may permanently damage whatever is inside.

There's nothing else to report at this stage, so my report will end here. If anything of note happens before my next one is filed, you'll be informed immediately.

Dr. Hartent

Report filed 11/05/47

---

He pulled the paper out from the typewriter, folded it, and sealed it in an envelope, on which he wrote 'For the eyes of Director Leonia Tyler Only'. Then, report in hand, he left his quarters.

He made his way through the well-lit corridors of the facility, feeling somewhat claustrophobic. Despite his profession, he'd always preferred open, more natural settings, though with most of his life spent in a laboratory, he'd hardly been able to spend any time in that kind of atmosphere. He still felt uncomfortable surrounded by concrete and steel. It gave him a feeling of being immersed in chaos for reasons even he didn't know, and after thirty years of being a scientist, he didn't think it was likely to change.

He took the elevator, and two floors up, he went to one of the desks and dropped off his report, which would be sent to its destination immediately. Then, he continued to the main lab, which was a short walk through the maze of corridors away.

"Morning Andrew."

"Morning Trent." He looked over at Trent Allen, his longtime co-worker, for a moment, and walked straight through the large, metal doors to the testing area.

Four containers rested in the center of the room, and one was open, letting out Nitrogen that kept the contents cool. He picked up a pair of rubber gloves and goggles, which he wore before going over to it.

He reached inside and carefully removed the small, thorny sphere. He dropped it into his open palm and held it up to see more clearly.

What are you?