Prelude To Comms

Getting back to normal life was difficult. Everything paled in comparison to this new world that had opened up in front of me.

Since my third or fourth week of PPD school I had been dreaming intuitively. It was the strangest kind of dreaming you could imagine. In these dreams, my subconscious would create a traditional dream where things would unfold in a typical disjointed dream-like sequence, then mix it with my intuitive abilities which would be grounded and very reality based. The IC part of my dreams would be strangely realistic. I would wake up thinking I had just experienced what I was dreaming of.

The dreams were so realistic that I was constantly questioning whether I was actually awake while I was, indeed, awake. The dreams subsided once I got back to my home base and started my regular job up again. I was glad because I started to question whether I was dreaming during the course of a regular day. As you can imagine, it was disconcerting at best, frightening at worst.

Things didn’t slow down much. Only a few months after I returned from my school at NSA, I received relocation orders. I knew these orders would take me to my first PPD related assignment. I wasn’t disappointed. I was ready for a change.

As I prepared for the move to another base, it occurred to me that things had been happening in my career up to this moment that all of sudden made sense. For instance, when I came into the USAF in 1982, I enlisted originally as a security policeman. While I was stationed in Korea, in 1984-1985, I met a man who was in the electronic intelligence career field. He spoke so highly of it, he convinced me that it was the field to be in. I always remembered something he said to me; he told me that I needed to put in for a cross train to be an ELINT specialist because my life would change forever.

Well, I absolutely hated being in the security police field, so several years later when I was eligible to apply for cross-training into another career field, I applied. I made it well known that if I wasn’t approved for cross-training into the electronic intelligence career field, I was going to get out of the Air Force altogether. At the time, approvals for cross-training had been denied left and right. As a matter-of-fact, cross-training was closed off to the security police career field just days after I turned in my paperwork. Everyone told me that my chances of receiving approval would be close to nil.

About a month later, my paperwork came back approved and I had a school date in February of 1990. Everyone was astonished and teased me that I must have known someone to get the approval through. Knowing what I know now, I have absolutely no doubt that it was part of their master plan for me. My friend in Korea had planted the seed and I followed through with it. I still wonder what they would have done if I hadn’t applied for the cross-training and proceeded to get out.

So I re-enlisted to give this new job a try. I went off to technical training in San Angelo, Texas.

After technical school I was sent to Offutt AFB, in Nebraska. While stationed there, as my most recent 4 year enlistment drew to a close, I made it known once again that I was going to get out. I had told my co-workers that the only way I would entertain thoughts of re-enlisting was if I received orders to Korea. I had already been stationed in Korea twice and I desperately wanted to go back. A month later, I had orders to Korea. At the time, I just looked at it as good fortune. Of course, I know now, there was probably a more involved process going on.

I never made it to Korea though, because it was only three or four months later that I received orders to attend EA280 at Fort Meade/NSA. While I was going through PPD and ELINT school, I was told that my orders to Korea had been canceled. Meanwhile, I had already re-enlisted for another 6 years. (I re-enlisted for a full 6 years because I was entitled to a larger bonus than if I had re-enlisted for 4 years.) I was a bit upset by this new turn of events but I had PPD on my mind at the time. I knew I would most likely be going somewhere else soon anyway.

I see now that there was a lengthy history of people somewhere pulling the strings of my career without me ever realizing it. Amazing when I look back on it.

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PPD Base #1

My new Operations Officer and First Sergeant met me at the airport. It was a long flight with a tedious layover, but I was finally at my new base. I arrived at night so the drive to the base from the airport was very unfamiliar. Foremost on my mind was the third party introduction. I was perplexed as to how Captain White was going to notify me of my next PPD contact when he was thousands of miles away.

I was there almost a full month before my clearances arrived. During this time, I was driving myself crazy trying to second guess what might happen next.

After my clearances arrived, I went through the necessary briefings and other things that were necessary for me to start my regular job.

Still no introductions.

I started to wonder if this was actually the place I would begin my PPD duties when the introduction finally came. I was awakened from sleep in my dorm room by someone banging on my door. It was one of the other dorm residents. After establishing who I was, he told me there was someone on the phone for me.

Our doors opened out onto an outdoor balcony, so I walked around the balcony to the phone in the hallway on the other side of the dorm to answer my call. On my way to the phone I was trying to figure out who would be calling me since I didn’t know anyone on base yet and no one from back home knew how to call me at the dorm. I had concluded that it would probably be someone from my new work center when I picked up the phone.

It was Captain White.

I wasn’t able to hide my surprise very well. I had just recently convinced myself that I would, most likely, not be doing any PPD work here.

In our brief conversation, Captain White told me to expect someone from my new unit to approach me regarding “the program,” as he referred to it in our conversation. I was waiting for him to tell me the “code” word that I would need to listen for in order to identify my new PPD contact or some other mysterious type of identifying remark. He told me that I would receive a call at this same phone after we ended our conversation and I was to stay at the phone to answer it. This person would not be identifying himself on the phone, but will tell me where and when to meet him.

That was it!

After the captain hung up I waited by the phone for my next call. It came about 30 seconds later. The ring startled me. I quickly picked up the receiver and said, “Hello.” I was asked if I was Sergeant Sherman. After I replied that I indeed was, he said to meet him at the gate to the site in 30 minutes. He would be standing in front of the gate with his arms crossed waiting for me.

He hung up.

Manners surely weren’t mandatory in this program, I thought to myself as I walked back to my room. The site he was referring to was where my new unit was located. I was assigned to a unit that conducted all their operations within a fenced off compound, with its own security personnel and security cameras. It had one security gate everyone entered and exited the compound through, manned by security personnel.

I quickly changed clothes putting on my uniform, not knowing the appropriate dress for the occasion. I didn’t want to take the chance of doing something I wasn’t supposed to do.

The site was only a three or four minute bike ride from my dorm room. As I was approaching, I could see my new PPD contact standing in front of the gate to the site. I had already been introduced to this person. When I met him for the first time, almost a month prior, I had suspected that he may be my new PPD commander. I was expecting a captain, and now my expectations were met.

I dismounted from my bike and parked it near the fence. My new PPD contact introduced himself. It was Captain Stanley, the site operations officer. He was one of the two unit personnel who picked me up at the airport almost a month earlier.

After we had our identification checked and our security badges swapped out for our on-site security badges, Captain Stanley led me through the gate and down the sidewalk towards the operations building. I knew little of what lay ahead but I was certainly excited at the prospect of finding out.

The captain led me into the operations building which I had already been in a few days earlier when my security clearances finally arrived. We walked back to the conference room which was nestled in the back of the small, main operations office. As we walked through the main operations office, I could see filing cabinet type safes lining almost every wall. All had magnetic signs hanging on the front of them signifying whether the safe was “OPEN” or “CLOSED.” Each filing cabinet had a built-in dial lock like the type normally found on a heavy-duty safe. In essence, that’s what these were, only in drawer form so as to allow for easy organization and storage of classified materials.

I sat in the conference room with another new person to the unit. It was Don Thomas, a friend with whom I was stationed at my last base. He and I had received orders to this new base at the same time. I wondered why he was here because I thought I would be receiving my PPD briefing. It was obvious the briefing would have to wait. I had no idea if Don, or anyone else, was part of PPD. At the time, there was no question in my mind that I was the only IC capable person on site. Of course, this was only an egotistical assumption on my part. Later, I found I was the only one but I shouldn’t have been so sure at the time.

Captain Stanley excused himself and went back into the operations office and closed the door behind him. Don and I looked around the room as we waited. The room was normal looking in every sense. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I looked around the room for anything out of the ordinary. There were several posters hanging on the wall, all with an Air Force theme. Amidst all the posters there hung a solitary plaque. I was curious what the plaque said so I got up to read it. It was from former President Reagan congratulating our unit for outstanding performance.

The captain came back into the room, this time with several people behind him. Don and I were introduced to Sergeant Larsen, our new supervisor and Non Commissioned Officer in Charge of the mission that we would be working with during our tour at this base. The captain excused himself once again as Don, my new supervisor, and I talked. We began to discuss our past assignments, who we mutually knew...etc. This small talk went on for about an hour.

I was getting anxious to find out more about PPD when Sergeant Larsen started our indoctrination to the overall mission that Don and I would be working with. He began the briefing by explaining the onion effect. This was the same concept Captain White had explained to me prior to starting PPD school, only this time Sergeant Larsen stopped short of the “grey” mission.

It dawned on me that he was not going to go any further because he was not part of PPD or, for that matter, anything alien related. He didn’t even know the existence of alien programs. It was a great feeling to know something he didn’t. As he was explaining the classification level of the mission I would be working with and how it related to other missions around the globe, I remember thinking to myself, “Buddy, if you only knew what I know.”

Of course, just like all things PPD related I had to keep these types of comments to myself. It was unfortunate because I felt I had such a great nugget of information, knowing aliens existed.

Sergeant Larsen had just finished our security briefing when Captain Stanley came back into the room.

“Sergeant Larsen. Go ahead and take Sergeant Thomas around the site for a mini tour and I’ll go ahead and take Sergeant Sherman.”
Don and Sergeant Larsen left the conference room. The captain motioned for me to close the door. “This is it,” I said to myself. “D-day has arrived.” I had waited for over 7 months, from the time I left school to now, and the time was finally here.
“As you probably know by now, Sergeant Sherman,” the captain began, “You are here to do more than one job.”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied. I was so glad to find out more about the actual duties, I was hanging on his every word.
“In a moment we’ll be going over to your new work center. I want to familiarize you with the computer terminal you’ll be working from. It’s the same terminal you will be documenting your IC comms on. Before we do that though, I’d like to mention a few words on security. You do realize you’re not to speak of this project to anyone at any time besides me, right?”
“Yes, Sir,” I replied again. I knew from what Captain White had told me that I was not to speak to anyone unless I had a third party introduction. Captain White had told me to speak to Captain Stanley, and I presumed the next person I spoke to about PPD would be introduced to me by one of them and so on.
“Great,” the captain went on. “Due to the nature of your regular job here, you will not be able to access the van you’ll be working in without being accompanied by another cleared person. This presents a problem when you are documenting your comms as you will soon see. The van you and a partner will be working in is extremely cramped, therefore any documentation of comms you take down will be susceptible to being seen by your partner. Because of that, we have taken the necessary steps to make sure that does not happen. You’ll see what I mean when we tour the van. Do you have any questions before we do that?”
I knew exactly what he meant but evidently he didn’t know that I knew. He was most likely talking about the blank reporting screen. He was probably unaware that I was taught this in school.
But I did have a question. “How am I to know when to start communications with my alien contact?” I asked.
“Just for the record, Sergeant Sherman, never say that word. It’s referred to as “grey.” Please get used to not referring to it at all, but if it is unavoidable the word is “grey.” In answer to your question though, I have no idea. You’re the expert in that area, not me. You are the first IC that I have ever worked with.”
This revelation was a bit shocking. “How long have you been in the program, Sir?” I asked, hoping I didn’t sound too presumptuous or naive.
“That is unimportant, but suffice to say that not many people have worked with the actual IC personnel. I don’t know if you know this but you and the other IC capable personnel represent the culmination of 30 some years of ‘wait-and-see.’ It’s been a long time coming and is very exciting to the people involved. You are part of the first wave of what will be a small but steady stream of IC capable and trained personnel. For most of us this is all new territory we’re charting so if it seems like something isn’t as organized as you would expect it’s because we’re flying blind sometimes. Let’s make our way to the van and I’ll show you your new computer terminal.”

We made our way through the operations office and out the double security doors. In order to enter the operations building we were in, you had to enter a code into a cipher lock to get through the first door. A cipher lock is a sequence of numbers you must push, which are printed on a row of numbered levers. After pushing the correct sequence of numbers, the door buzzes telling you that you have approximately 5 seconds to pull the door open.

The second door was a two foot thick vault door with its own combination lock and a big wheel that required turning like a bank vault door. Turning the wheel would slowly retract the bolts that held the door in place. During normal duty hours this vault door was open.

After duty hours, the vault door was secured and alarmed with signs posted saying:
 

AUTHORIZED ENTRY ONLY
RESTRICTED AREA
WARNING
USE OF DEADLY FORCE AUTHORIZED
 

As we walked to the van where I would be working, I attempted to take in some details of the site. We walked by the shredding room where all the paper waste from the site was shredded with a machine bigger than a car. Every scrap of paper from the site had to be shredded in case something classified had, for example, been written on the margins of a newspaper; or the ink imprint from a classified document somehow transferred inadvertently to an unclassified piece of paper.

All trash cans at the end of the day had to be physically dumped out and gone through by a security monitor so that any paper item was separated and thrown in the shred box. One incident that happened to me after I had been there a few weeks effectively demonstrated the tight security measures. I had punched holes in some unclassified paper so that I could place it in a binder.

The tray attached to the bottom of the hole punch needed emptying, so I took it out to the trash can located outside the operations door and discarded them there. I came back in and my supervisor immediately asked what had I just done. Recognizing instantly that I had committed a security violation, I told him that I had dumped the little paper circles from the hole puncher in the outside trash.

I spent the next 2 hours in one of the outside buildings with the trash can emptied out in front of me with scotch tape wrapped around my hands (sticky part facing out) dabbing at the paper dots until I had retrieved every one of them. When I was finished, I had to get my supervisor to check it to make sure I had retrieved every one, with no exception. This incident would always stay with me and became the biggest lesson I ever learned regarding the importance of adhering to proper security measures.
 

We walked up to the C-Van that I would be working in. “C-Van” stood for “Communication Van” but was only a military term used to describe this type of van, regardless of whether it would actually be used for communications or not.

The site had several C-Vans with separate operations and missions. All of them looked like a big metal box. None of them had any wheels, resting on blocks instead. They’re designed to be semi-portable and moved when necessary, but these particular ones were set up for permanent operations. Each C-Van was approximately 15 feet long, 7 feet wide and 8 feet tall. The entrance of the one we were approaching was at one end of the van. There was a lever-like door handle about 12 inches long that was secured by a heavy padlock.

The captain explained that the regular mission I would be working with has certain hours and we were entering the van now during non-duty hours, hence the van was locked. We went into a break room located about 50 feet from the C-Van and used the phone to call the front security gate to notify the security officer that we would be entering the C-Van. In order to gain access to one of the C-Vans on site you had to call the security gate and tell them you wanted access to a particular “security zone.” After going through an authentication process, you were given authorization to break the security barrier. From that moment, you had 10 minutes to gain access to the C-Van.

We went back out to the van. The captain opened the padlock by dialing in the proper combination which changed every week as part of the elaborate security measures. He opened the first door and we stepped into a vestibule. He turned and closed the outer door. The inner door could not be opened until the outer door was secured. He quickly opened the inner door and stepped through. I could hear a high pitched beeping noise.

The captain stepped over to where the noise seemed to be coming from and punched a code into a small box hanging on the wall, the face of which was a numerical pad. The LED readout above the numerical pad was flashing a warning that there had been a breach in the security zone corresponding with the zone we had just entered. After he punched a numerical code into the box it became silent and the LED readout went blank.

The van was awfully cramped. There was just enough room for two people because of all the electronic equipment. As you entered the inner door, directly in front of you was a chair that faced a console to the right. To the left side of this chair was another chair also facing to the right towards the console. The console contained some of the same equipment I was already familiar with from my last base and some that was unfamiliar to me.

The captain sat in the furthest chair away from the entrance to the van, giving me room to sit in the other seat closest to the door.

“Along with your normal duties which you’ll be trained on in time, you will also be documenting your comms here at this terminal.” The captain pointed to the terminal directly in front of me. It was a computer monitor almost as big as the one I used in PPD school.
“You will be assigned to the organization that sits what we call ‘right seat’ and you will have a partner that will sit ‘left seat.’ In order to access this van you will always have to have two people, you and your partner. We have a two person buddy system because of the security requirements. You’ll learn more about this later. However, this places a constraint on your access to reporting comms in private. That is why your reporting terminal will appear to be blank.”

The captain began to power up the computer terminal which had been off when we entered the van.

With the computer booted up, he proceeded to show me how to access the screen I would be reporting comms through. He clicked the right mouse button and hit the F10 key at the same time. A screen came up with several options, including “Staunch-118.” I remembered this from school. My instructor told me that it would always show my code name when opening a comms window.

The captain told me my password and said, “If for some reason you feel it needs to be changed in the future let me know and it’ll be changed.”
He typed in the password and a blank screen immediately appeared. It had a black background and the cursor was not visible. It looked exactly like the screen I learned on at school.
“The screen is black to hide the information you’ll be typing from anyone who may be looking on while you type.” The captain went on. “It’s purely a security precaution. As soon as you’re done with a comm, simply use the Alt/F10 combination. This will exit you out of the comms window. If the window goes unused for more than 1 minute, you’ll have to do the mouse/F10 combination again. You’ll be able to continue where you left off at that time. But if you Alt/F10 out of the window, the comm will be sent. So if you start again, it’ll be a new comm.”

I asked where the comms went after I reported them. No answer as usual. I had learned by now that questions such as that one would be ignored because I didn’t have a need-to-know. I knew they were processed by NSA, but I didn’t know where and by what organization. Just like many of my other questions surrounding PPD, they would go unanswered.

There was one question that was pertinent to my job so I asked it.

“Will I only receive comms during my normal duty hours or will I have to come in during my off duty hours?”
The captain replied, “Again, Sergeant Sherman, you’re the first IC capable person I have worked with, so I can’t answer that question. I can say that you will not be able to get into this van without your crew partner because of the buddy system. So that would tell me that you will be unable to do any comm reporting until your shift starts. I would imagine you’ll have to tell them to put it off until your shift. Cross that bridge when you come to it.”

I thought it was odd that he didn’t know as much as I would expect. Every time I talked with Captain White and now Captain Stanley, I got the feeling they didn’t know quite what was going on, but they knew enough to get through to me which direction to take next. It was as if someone were telling them things only five minutes before I got wind of it. It was quite frustrating because I never really had total confidence in the information I received, but had no other choice because they were my only authority.

While we were in the van I started to ask about all of the other equipment. The captain told me that I would learn about my other job soon enough. His job was to brief me on my PPD duties and to make sure I was clear on how to access my comm window and support my IC mission. All other duties would be trained and supported by the on-site personnel.

We backed out of the C-Van in the same way we entered, only in reverse, with all the security zones requiring re-establishing.

With all this new stuff to learn, I could tell I had some interesting days ahead of me.

I started training for my normal duties the very next day. As was typical Air Force style, vast amounts of information were being shoved into my brain in a very short period of time. I was being inundated with knowledge pertaining to my new job and at the same time wondering when I was going to receive my first comm.

A week passed without receiving anything. I was beginning to wonder if I had lost my abilities since I hadn’t practiced them for almost 9 months. Every time I passed Captain Stanley he would nod a silent hello or give an audible one but nothing about PPD and what to expect. I felt very isolated and out of the loop. Of course, this would be a constant feeling and one that would never leave me as an Intuitive Communicator.

I also began to worry why I hadn’t been told to take, or been given any, pills like I was taking at the school. Before leaving my training at NSA, Captain White had told me that I would not need the pills anymore until I was told to start taking them later. Maybe this was why I was not receiving any comms yet.

Regardless of the reason, I was becoming anxious to use this ability I had worked so hard to discover and strengthen.

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Enter Spock

Time marched on and still no comms. Within six weeks of beginning my training for my normal duties I was officially certified to operate my station without the presence of my trainer. It wasn’t long after that that I finally received my first operational comm.

I’m not sure if it was intentional or not, but I received my first comm the night of my first shift as a newly certified crew member.

I got to the site a bit early since this was my first night without someone supervising me. I wanted to make sure I did everything correctly. My crew partner showed up and we authenticated properly with security personnel in order to open the C-Van for the 12 hour shift ahead of us. As we made our way into the C-Van, I had just silenced the alarm box and started to power up my equipment when I intuitively received the message, “prepare for information string.”

I was so startled I uttered some unintelligible noise, then followed that with an audible “wait!” My crew partner asked me what he was to wait for.

“Oh, sorry, just talking to myself,” I said automatically, not wanting him to think I was crazy.

I wasn’t quite sure what to do about the impending comm since my computer was not up and running yet. It took a certain amount of time for the computer to boot and I had at least 2 or 3 minutes to wait still. At the same time I had audibly said “wait”, I had also sent back a comm saying “wait.” I realized this only after I mentally replayed the situation later. I had never vocalized any comm before. I never did it again either, but the comm took me by such surprise that my auditory facilities were effected along with my intuitive abilities.

I felt so out of sorts. Even though the act of intuitively communicating was something I could do, the psychological ramifications of realizing you’re communicating with a non-human entity takes a little getting used to as you might imagine.

They seemed to have listened since I didn’t receive anything until my computer was up. Waiting for my computer to boot was the absolute longest 3 minutes of my entire life. I was about to have a two-way communication with an alien. Up until this moment it had all been motions I was going through because someone told me I had to. Now, all the training, the nights laying in bed awake wondering what it would be like to actually communicate, all of it was coming together. It was actually happening. This wasn’t a spectator sport anymore. I was the quarterback, receiver and the fan in the bleacher, all rolled into one.

After the computer finished booting, I started to get butterflies in my stomach and I began to wonder if my abilities were good enough to do the job correctly. A hundred things were going through my mind when I hit the right mouse button and the F10 key as I had been instructed many times to do. After I opened the window and typed in my password I intuitively sent a ready message and waited to receive the first of what would be hundreds of comms.

I began to type in the blank window that I had just opened. My crew member was doing his own tasks on his computer so I didn’t have to be concerned about whether he was going to start asking questions. I was thankful for that. During this first assignment as a mission ready IC, my comms were very uneventful and mundane. I had no idea the meaning of what I was typing. After the first month of receiving comms, it became very routine and no longer held the level of mystique to me that it did during that first month.

A comm would begin with what I called the “preamble.” The preamble consisted of the same sequence of numbers that differentiated very little. I would always receive a three digit number first, which was the number that identified me to whoever the information was going to when I sent out my report. This number was 118. There would be timed pauses between each phrase or expression. The pause was always the same. I never got the stop watch out but the rhythm of it was constant so it was evident it was the same all the time. The pause was probably about 3 seconds. (Except for the pause between the comm that would tell me to “prepare for information string” and the time the information string would begin. This pause would be as long as it would take me to prepare to receive the comm.)

After the number “118” would be passed, another string of numbers would usually follow. This string would be a 5 digit number that varied but often was repeated in other messages. I called this the zip code. (Because it had five digits, not because it related to a location necessarily.)

After these eight numbers however, there was no rhyme or reason to the comms most of the time. A sample comm at this point would have looked similar to this:

118/67555/995500400043/47477899055/9400///

The comms would simply be a series of numbers separated by a “/” character. This was the way I was taught to separate comm sections while in school. Anytime there was a pause, I would place the “/” character in between phrases. Sometimes I could pick out obvious things like latitude and longitude. When I first noticed lat/longs being communicated, I wanted to look them up on a map but we didn’t have detailed maps in our C-Van and I was terrified of writing anything down and taking it with me. I soon lost motivation to look up the locations.

I got to the point, finally, of taking most things for granted. It became a very boring task to receive these comms and type them in this blank window. It certainly wasn’t very challenging and I lost all interest in it simply because it was only a one way communication for all intents and purposes. Once in awhile I would send back a comm saying “repeat last phrase” or something like that. But most of the time, it was a one-way street and not an exciting job.

After some time had passed since that first comm, I took the liberty of naming the grey contact I communicated with “Spock.” My best friend had always been a big Star Trek fan and it seemed a befitting name. It was also because I perceived a great deal of logical structure in his communications.

It felt a bit sad to come up with such a deliciously ironic name as Spock and have no opportunity to share the humor of it with anyone.

My suspicions about the pills I had been taking at the PPD school proved justified midway through my tour at this new assignment. Around April of 1993, about five months after I had arrived this new base, Captain Stanley came into the C-Van while I was on duty and asked my crew member to step out for a moment.

I began to get nervous since the captain had not said one word to me in private since our first PPD meeting. Was I doing something wrong in my comms? Were they correct? These were the types of questions running through my mind as I waited for my crew partner to step out of the van.

The captain sat down in the seat vacated by my partner. He reached into his pocket and brought out a shiny gray bottle.

“Sergeant Sherman, do you remember taking some pills while you were at school?” the captain asked as he placed the bottle on the counter in front of me.
“Yes, Sir. I took two tablets every day I attended school. I was wondering if I was ever going to take them again.”
“Well, that’s what these are. We need you to start taking them again until further notice.”
I started to get a little more bold in my questioning, especially since I hadn’t had any questions answered for a long time.
“What are they, Captain?” I asked.
“I actually have no idea, Sergeant Sherman. I’ve just been instructed to have you start taking these again.”
Pushing further, I continued on, “Do you take them?”
“I can’t answer any questions about the pills, Sergeant Sherman. I know you’re naturally curious, but I honestly cannot talk about them anymore. Take two every shift. You’re to keep them in your safe drawer here in the C-Van. I know you know better, but I have to say it anyway: don’t try to take them from the site. It’s important that you take them as instructed. I know this sounds heavy handed but we’ll know if you haven’t taken even one so please follow the instructions to the letter.”

With that, he left the van.

What in the world were in these things anyway? I never felt any abnormal physical effects while taking them but I was curious what they were and what effect they had on my abilities.

I was sitting there looking at them when my crew partner came back into the van. I was beyond caring whether he asked any questions. At that very moment I was very bitter at PPD and the world. It was the same feeling I had felt in the past and would continue to feel. It was as though I had no control over my own life. It seemed everything I did was dictated by someone else. Of course, in the military this was not uncommon. But this situation went deeper. My partner did the obvious; he asked what the bottle was for. I told him they were for headaches. As far as I was concerned at that particular moment, that was the truth!

As he shrugged and turned to his computer I popped two of the pills into my mouth and swallowed dryly. I had no choice. I had to bark when the master said “speak.”

My tour at this base was quick as I was only there for about 11 months. But the end was the most exciting part.

About three months before I was to leave I had an unusual comm with Spock. It started out like all the rest, with the normal preamble and subsequent, mostly numerical information. Because all the comms were from 30 seconds to 45 seconds long, I could tell the comm was coming to a close when I suddenly “tripped” and stepped up in my comm “level.” This is very difficult to describe, but the closest analogy I can find is what happens when you take too much mouthpiece into your mouth while playing a reed instrument. The beautiful sound you may have been making a moment before is quite suddenly replaced with a screeching sound. Although there is no sound associated with comms, it’s the closest I can come to describing what happened.

Spock immediately picked up on my accidental mental leap and “met me” on this other level. I was startled because I didn’t even know this other level existed prior. Spock immediately asked if I had intentionally changed planes.

(Note: I have no choice but to write the contents of the comms with my alien contacts in a conversational format, like two humans talking. The actual comms were much more rich in texture and informational in content but in ways I am unable to convey to the reader on paper.)

I answered “no” and told him that I didn’t even know this “plane” existed.

I use the word “plane” in this explanation because I can’t think of another alternative to how Spock referred to it. If Spock and I had been communicating vocally, I would have asked what was meant by that “word.” When you intuitively communicate, though, the rules are not the same. You understand things that otherwise make no sense in linguistic terms.

Spock immediately signed off and I was left wondering what had just happened. I knew from Spock’s response that this event was totally unexpected not only by me but also by him.

That night in bed, I replayed in my mind what had happened. I was trying to figure out what might have occurred differently that precipitated this unusual turn of events. I had been getting much better and quicker at interpreting the data. Did my proficiency have anything to do with this moving to a higher plane? I was just getting used to the intangible nature of my abilities and this hits me from left field.

My next comm after the “higher-plane” event came two or three days later. I gave the go-ahead and Spock sent the routine preamble and continued with the comm. I was nervous, wondering if he would refer to what had happened. I was somewhat concerned that it was perhaps an unauthorized comm. Of course, I had no idea if there was even such thing as an unauthorized comm. If there was, I was concerned I had initiated one.

Nothing happened. The comm ended as usual and that was it. Now I started to wonder why he hadn’t addressed it. I actually began to wish he had so I could find out more about why it happened.

I thought about trying to do it again, but I was hesitant, still unsure as to whether communicating on this other plane was something I was supposed to be doing. But I knew that if Spock wasn’t going to refer to it, sooner or later curiosity would get the better of me and I would breach the subject on my own.

A few more comms went by without Spock referring to it. I was getting impatient and my curiosity was becoming overwhelming.

It was two weeks after the plane changing event that I finally got up enough nerve to try it again. I received the normal comm “prepare for information string.” Conveniently, my partner had gone out of the van to use the restroom. (Short lapses in security were tolerated for such urgencies.) I sent back the go ahead and began to type the incoming comm in the blank screen. I knew I had mere seconds to decide whether I was going to try to change planes again. I knew the comm was coming to an end so I started to gather up the nerve. As soon as Spock had finished and I sensed he was terminating comms I lunged forward with what I thought would duplicate what I had done last time. Nothing!

Spock was gone and I sat there wondering what had happened. It felt different. It was definitely not the same feeling I got when it happened last time. I figured I must have done it wrong or something. I sat there dumb-founded, trying to remember what had happened the last time that may have been different. I couldn’t figure out how to repeat it. I sat there thinking about it the rest of my shift. I couldn’t get my mind off of it.

Thereafter, I kept trying to change planes each time I received a comm but to no avail. I started to think that it was a simple fluke and that I wouldn’t be able to repeat it when it finally happened again. It was about two months from when it happened originally when I finally broke through again. Although I had been attempting to do it at the close of every comm with Spock, I was finally successful. It didn’t take me by surprise this time, either, because I was more in tune with the mechanics of what was happening.

Spock immediately picked up on what I had just done. Again, he asked if this was something I had done intentionally. This time I answered “Yes.”

Spock replied that it was an interesting turn of events and that he ignored it the first time because he felt it was an anomaly.

“Is this an unauthorized comm?” I asked.
“There is no harm in communicating on this plane,” he said nonchalantly.
I was surprised by how effortlessly he had said that. Here I had been sweating out the fact that I might have been doing something wrong and he acted as if it was no big deal.
“How come you are comm’ing so candidly on this plane and you don’t during our normal comms?” I asked.
“You have never given me reason,” he replied.
I stopped to think about this. It was true. I hadn’t attempted to ask any questions or to communicate anything except what pertained to our regular comms. I had always assumed we were not to discuss anything else.
My impression of Spock was one of being official, with no room for emotion. Even as we now communicated on this other plane, I still felt a sense of rigidity. Perhaps this was just how they were.
Pressing forward with my curiosity, I asked whatever came to my mind first. Since I was thinking of how formal Spock sounded I continued with that line of thought. “Do you have feelings like humans?” I asked bluntly.
“We are quite alike in our emotional makeup, 118,” he said, referring to me as my PPD code number. “We react to our surroundings, just as you do, but are much less impacted by what we sense. In the absence of markedly increased stimuli, emotion is not readily useful.”

Wow! I was constantly reminding myself I was actually having a conversation, of sorts, with an alien species. Up to this moment I hadn’t internalized the meaning of it. Until now, I might as well have been receiving information from a computer somewhere on the other side of world.

There was no meaning to it. Now I was actually communicating in such a manner that we could easily start talking about the Cowboys winning the Superbowl if we wanted. It was quite a shift in perception for me.

A million questions came to my mind. I managed to pick one and throw it out before I lost my new friend’s attention span.

“Why did you think it was unintentional when I first comm’ed with you on this plane?”
“Until now, we thought it impossible for a water-human to sustain communication on this plane. But we are continually being surprised by other IC’s abilities as well.”

(“Water-human” is the closest I can come to an accurate translation of how Spock referred to humans. Other alternatives would be perhaps “water-vessel” or “water-entity.”)
I realized by now that I had stopped typing our comms into my reporting window as soon as we had jumped to this other plane. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to continue or not.
“Am I supposed to report our comms while on this other plane?” I asked, wanting the answer to be “no” so I could concentrate on what was being communicated.
To my surprise Spock said, “No, that is not necessary. Our communications are only being monitored through your reports so as to calculate an accuracy factor. Your communicating on this plane was never anticipated and therefore will never be known unless you discuss it with your chain of command.”
“Will anyone get upset if they find out I have communicated with you on this other level?” I asked. I was still slightly paranoid about what rule I might be breaking, if any.
“I am unaware of your people’s standards for this. However, we are not adverse to communicating with water-humans on this plane. It is interesting to us that we are able to communicate with water-humans as it is, but communicating on this plane creates even more interest.”

I sensed an underlying current of scientific interest in our communications that I had previously only sensed during our first few comms. I was thinking of this when Spock broke through my thoughts and said “comms will cease” and signed off.

Just like that.

I sat there, staring at my computer screen, thinking how amazing it was that I had just carried on a conversation with an alien species. I must have been in a daze because I had allowed my other job to go by me unnoticed. My crew mate jolted me out of my deep thoughts.

“Are you okay, Dan?” my crew mate asked, obviously noticing I was in a daze.
“I’m okay Brad, thanks,” I answered. “Just a bit tired, that’s all.”

I went on with my duties, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my latest comm. I kept replaying it in my mind during the rest of the shift.

I stayed awake most of the morning after my shift had ended. I just couldn’t go to sleep. There were so many questions that I had to ask. Unfortunately, I was close to being relieved of duty in order to leave for my next assignment. I was anxious for my next comm to come so that I could get some answers to my other questions.

My next comm never came at PPD Base #1. I was relieved of duty two weeks after that last comm. I felt so frustrated. I wasn’t sure whether I would ever be communicating with Spock again. I didn’t even know for sure whether or not I would be conducting PPD duties at my next base. I assumed that I would still be communicating with Spock if I did.

It turns out that my fears were unfounded. I never communicated with Spock again, but my communications took on a whole new life at PPD Base #2.

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