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The Secret War_ A True Story About a Real Alien War
and Shadow People 2nd Edition Heidi Hollis Digital
Instant Download
Author(s): Heidi Hollis
ISBN(s): 9780983040156, 098304015X
Edition: 2nd
File Details: PDF, 2.24 MB
Year: 2014
Language: english
 OTHER BOOKS BY HEIDI HOLLIS

ADULT BOOKS:

The Hat Man:

The True Story of Evil Encounters

Jesus Is No Joke:
A True Story of an Unlikely Witness Who Saw Jesus

The Other “F” Word:

A Book on Faith in the Real (Funny) World

How to Pray Like the Angels:

A True Story About Picture Prayers

KIDS BOOKS:

Diary Blog of the Fickle Finders:

Investigates—The Other “F” Word

Diary Blog of the Fickle Finders:

Investigates—Angels or Heroes

www.HeidiHollis.com
The Secret War: A True Story About A Real Alien War and Shadow People

Copyright 1997-2014 by Heidi Hollis

Second Edition of Illustrated TSW Version May 2014
First published 2001 as The Secret War: The Heavens Speak Of The Battle

All rights reserved under the Pan-American and International Copyright

Conventions. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any
means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,
scanning, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system
without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief
quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Level Head Publishing books may be ordered at discount rates when

purchased in quantity for premiums and promotions, as well as, for
educational and fundraising uses. Special editions can also be made for
events.
For details, contact: [email protected]

Level Head Publishing books may be ordered through booksellers or by

contacting:
Level Head Publishing, LLC
Milwaukee, WI 53224

www.levelheadpublishing.com
[email protected]

Illustrations done by S. Marie King

Published by arrangement with the author
All Illustrations Copyright 2012-2013 S. Marie King and Cover by Heidi
Hollis
 (EBook) ISBN 978-0-9830401-3-2
(Soft Cover) ISBN 978-0-9830401-4-9
(Hard Cover) ISBN 978-0-9830401-5-6
 Dedication

Without ever knowing the impact the words in this book would
have upon the world—I put it out there anyway.

Without ever knowing how the words of others would

impact me—people still reached out to me anyway.

This book is dedicated to all those who dared to learn something new
and let me know that they got the message.

There’s so much more that needs to be done and there’s so much more to
say.
Just know that there are many seen and unseen heroes who are working
hard to help.

Now it’s time that we all do our part in this “Secret War” that has us all at
risk
and battling, while some still don’t even know about the fight.

Here’s to opening up all eyes to the threat and this battle of ALL battles…

Most of all~Thanks to Him for giving me the Words as He Promised!

 Table of Contents
Dedication
Foreword
A Necessary Introduction
A Short Story:
Alien Adventures
Chapter #1
Reasoning’s:
The Basics
Chapter # 2
Samantha:
A New Contact Begins
Chapter #3
Cafth Speaks:
The Introduction
Chapter #4
Alien 101:
The Download
Chapter #5
Alien 201:
The Advanced Course
Chapter #6
The Odds:
2 Out Of 3
Chapter #7
Scattered Thoughts:
Speaking Out and Finding the Courage
Chapter #8
Mission Impossible?:
Getting Down To It
Chapter #9
The Faces:
 The Reptilian Beings
Chapter #10
The MIB =
The Most Incredible Bullsh*tters
Chapter #11
Angels Everywhere:
People Are Not Alone
Chapter #12
AIDE’s =
Angels in Disguise and Evolving
Chapter #13
Positive Reinforcement in Abductions:
What’s Behind It?
Chapter #14
WWW:
What Web gets Woven by our Government
Chapter #15
The Price We Pay:
The Ultimate Price Tag
Chapter #16
A Place For Us:
Preparations Are Being Made
Chapter #17
Aliens in Our Afterlife:
Why They Follow
Chapter #18
Influences in the Past:
Monumental Mysteries
Chapter #19
Supposed Evidence vs. True Insight:
What’s Real
Chapter #20
The Efforts:
What’s Being Done and What Needs to be Realized
Chapter #21
What You Should Do:
Self Help
About the Author
 Foreword

A Necessary Introduction
Putting one foot in front of the other, a common man is seen making his
way through life.
“Oh, look! An everyday person!” Someone exclaims from a distant
corner of humanity.
“Speak to us wise and common one! “ The distant onlooker insists.
“Aliens,” says the commoner.
“What the—?! You are no longer welcomed in this community of
brilliantly closed minds! I command this in the name of all that is sacred
and in our knowledge!” The humanly-based one exclaims.
The commoner then retreats and is never seen or heard from again—
keeping all knowledge of aliens to himself.
The End.

That almost sounded too silly for even me to have just written that
down! Although, in reality this sort of scenario gets played out again and
again for those who dare to speak about something outside of societal
norms. You know exactly what I’m talking about if you’ve ever expressed
an interest in aliens, muttered the word “alien,” or even felt dumb for
thinking to yourself that aliens existed!

I know it’s odd to think that a common person with the same needs and
wants as the next person, could be shunned in any way for taking a step in
an unknown direction. But it happens. I sometimes wonder if the general
population feels that those interested in or have experienced odd
phenomena should stand out more, somehow. It seems in the movies that
those who dare to show their odd interests, lacked common sense (poked
the monster with a stick to make sure it was dead), scratched in
inappropriate places (survivors of the undead onslaught) and spoke with an
impediment of some sort (well okay—maybe they were just mostly drunk
or high so they spoke that way)!
The truth is that none of us can spot out a person who has a story that is
a little bit out-the-ordinary than what is generally known. It’s because
people like that, are people like me. We can be anyone with any assorted
background, profession, or culture. As far as I understand it, the paranormal
doesn’t discriminate against people for their differences. Instead, that pitiful
device is left for us to throw around carelessly at each other. That statement
could be seen as funny and then not so funny at the same time.
Strange things happen in life, curious answers come forward, and
people are brought into awareness’s that are truly hard and even painful to
relate to others.

Now then, what you have in your hands is a book that involves aliens
and a phenomenon that I personally named called “Shadow People.” This
book also involves myself and a good friend of mine who had some strange
encounters that we could not ever fathom to have come our way. Many
issues in here might hurdle a person towards disbelief in what they read
here, yet, others might open up and start to wonder about the possibilities.
Just know that there will undoubtedly be others who read this book and
are actually able to personally relate to what is being spoken of in here.
There may also be those who read this book and find the help they were
looking for. Some of these people might be people who we all have the
honor of knowing, but societal ridicule has left them to seek out their
answers underground and alone.
Feeling socially inadequate to speak about something so peculiar also
places wedges and draws lines between families and social circles where a
person might not even know that their own closed-mind to otherworldly
possibilities allowed that division to exist. I often feel that people might as
well get used to not truly knowing a person they care about with each laugh
they sputter out in regards to paranormal topics. Especially since there’s
always that chance you are making a difference in the emotional freedom of
another to express themselves about these topics.
How do I know this outside of my personal experience? Because these
are the people who write to me from all over the globe and tell me how
alone they feel though they are surrounded by others who claim to care
about their whole wellbeing.
Drawing some more from my own personal experience, life surrounding
this topic hasn’t been easy to integrate. Family and friends are one thing to
break the news to about my experiences. But with so little regard given to
the paranormal topic in general, I burdened myself to feel like I had to give
it my “all” or nothing. Especially so, when I could find literally no answers
or anyone to relate to in the face of my Shadow People encounters.
It felt so necessary for me to take a step forward that at one point, while
in the middle of college, I got the urge to drop school to focus more on the
paranormal. The inner calling in me urged with certainty that it was to be
one of my goals in this life to help inform people of the real world in which
we all live. It then became overly important for me to try and break down
hard to digest topics into bits that most anyone could understand.
I was lucky not to drop out of school before I came to my senses,
though. I knew that if I did that I’d be considered as someone who lacked
credibility without that little piece of paper to say that I had some form of
common sense and education. Amidst a lot of struggle in not personally
caring what others thought, I did finally graduate with a Bachelor of
Science degree in Occupational Therapy.
So I am now a nationally certified Occupational Therapist-Registered
and Licensed (OTR/L), and am currently practicing in my field. I personally
don’t feel much different about my capabilities to speak on these sorts of
topics before or after receiving my degree. It just shows another form of
conformity and acceptance that the majority looks for, or else, might shun a
person for yet another slip in rank.

So now I get to begin my life’s work with this first book of mine: The
Secret War

Within these pages are a detailing about a time in my life where

unimaginable answers came my way. To many, this story might read as a
fairytale of fantastical journeys, with villains and heroes—minus the
wizards and broomsticks. What needs to be understood is that what is
written here is not done to outright convince anyone of anything (remember
later on that I wrote this here ). I only offer to lift the veil to a world that
so many resist to share, due to the harsh criticisms that exist.
I think one of the more interesting comments I’ve received over the
years since the first publication of this book, is how “brave” I was to tell my
story! Literally using that word “brave” and also claiming that I had another
“B-word” that only resides as a part of the male anatomy! I was of course
appreciative of such an accolade, but I never once thought not to put out my
story fully in one form or another.
Had I not been born with a more than active sense of humor and the
attitude of pushing forward no matter what, I might have not spoken up
either. I’ll also warn that I do tend to write as I would speak to one of my
friends, which I believe might be evident already and if not I apologize.
Having a humorous angle to depict my emotions or thoughts are not written
in here to belittle, make light of the topic at hand, or doubt myself. In fact, I
will even refer to “you” the reader, at times. But I only do all of this in
hopes to show the very human side to understanding strange phenomena in
our world.
Keeping it real and relating “on-the-level” with others, is the best way I
know how to show that there is truly nothing outrageous about people like
me being involved in UFO and alien topics. We can be anyone and we are
everywhere.

When I wrote the first version of this book in 1997, my life had
included more peculiar interests due to some odd occurrences I always
seemed to bump into for many unpredictable reasons. Now in the face of
republishing The Secret War, I think it’s important to note that much has
changed since its first publication in October of 2001 besides its subtitle
(from “The Heavens Speak of the Battle” to “A True Story About a Real
Alien War and Shadow People”). The contact mentioned within these pages
with a being named “Cafth” has actually taken less precedence in my life. I
know now that it was necessary for my interaction with him to recede so
that even greater meaning could be revealed via a different means. Even
before the first publication of this book, my interests were peaked towards
an inspiration to what I can only describe as being an outright holy
intervention.
And no—I’m not exaggerating.
Without sounding cryptic or overly religious (but in being completely
honest still) what I learned during the adventures written of in this book—
it’s nothing compared to what came next! The experiences of this book
remain as a testament to what took place and what I learned from it. But to
compare the clarity of what I’ve learned and had happen since then—it’s
just so much higher and complete now with no comparison! Some of what I
mean and the beginning of the greater influences in my life can be seen in
Chapter 19. I actually rewrote that chapter in the year 2000 to correct my
misconceptions and outright skepticism about what I called “holy
encounters.” The full story of what occurred is now in another book I wrote
called, “Jesus Is No Joke: A True Story of an Unlikely Witness Who Saw
Jesus.”
That title sort of says it all—doesn’t it?
For now, I offer up a part of my life experiences in the world of the so-
called “unknown.” This book is truly the first of its kind, being this is the
book that presented Shadow People to the world. It wasn’t written in
response to any prior knowledge of others experiencing the same or similar
phenomenon outside of what is written here, either. So no outside
influences played a role during the process of writing this book, which
accounts for the very unique approach taken in detailing about the nature of
Shadow People.
As a note, the name “Shadow People” is a name that I used in writing
this book without ever having heard of it elsewhere! Only more recently,
with others coming forward to share their experiences with Shadow People,
that it appears even privately other individuals felt drawn to attribute this
very same name to these creatures! I find this to be a very interesting and
telling pattern in itself!
At times, I still wish that the many publishers who promised to publish
this book from 1997 until 2001 (before its actual publication in October of
2001), had actually come through. Then the research on these creatures
could have begun sooner and on a broader scale, rather than stewing inside
of my head for years. But as with anything, new ideas and topics are subject
to ridicule and subjective perspectives to say: “This cannot be so!”
Therefore, my project was passed on repeatedly though many of the
publishers were intrigued enough to say they would publish it. Then
somehow they just stopped responding, lost funding or just faded away.
It’s kind of funny to think that my paranormal topic was too unknown at
the time to have kept the interests of anyone. Now, Shadow People are like
the next best thing since the discovery of ghosts floating among us! If only
there was a venting pool, at the time, for people like me whose paranormal
experiences fell outside of the imaginary lines of the “paranormal.” I know
that I would have surely dove right in that pool to splash out what I felt and
knew of these Shadow People!
Still, my fingers are crossed that more eyes and ears might actually open
up with the contents presented herein. Then just maybe we might all truly
get to know the people standing next to us a bit more. Once we do, we will
find that there are secrets many others keep that an abundance of people see
as prohibited and tabooed awareness.
Whenever I get the chance to interact with others who have experienced
oddities, I try to encourage them to step out of what I call their “Paranormal
Closets.” This means to take a step forward and take what I call a
“Paranormal Pledge” by promising to tell at least one other person of their
outlandish experiences. We can only learn more, if we dare to share.
Yet and still, there are tons of unknown truths that are being left behind
in many peoples psyches, etched upon their souls, forever to sit there and
never expand to the next person. Sadly, these much needed clues point to a
certain time that we all need to be ready for. A time where absolute
conclusions will need be drawn to decide what side of the fence we choose
to be on during the time that I am certain points to—The End Times!
 A Short Story:

Alien Adventures

Imagine this...
Space. Deep, dark, and wondrous. You’re a traveler venturing out-
coming from a distant place of different meaning. You pass several planets
in many galaxies with lots of different life forms that are very much aware
of your presence and technology.
You move on.
You continue to meet and sometimes greet those you come into contact
with. Then you come across a particular part of the galaxy that is out of
tune from what you are used to. You see a brightly lit star with various
sized planets rotating around it. These planets look mostly barren and bleak
with nothing to offer, to explore, or to learn about.
These planets are merely gray and brown with no tolerable atmosphere
to speak of. There is no life, no one to exchange knowledge with or to speak
with. You then put your transportation into high gear to trudge onward in
hopes of passing this ghastly sight as quickly as you can.
As you come closer to this emanating star or Sun, you unexpectedly see
a marvelous glow coming into view.
You count, “One, two, three planets from the star.”
There’s a pulsating, blue hue coming from this third planet in sight. It
surely stands out from the rest and you can clearly see an atmosphere
extending far beyond the edges of this planet. There is also a mixture of
pure white clouds swirling in the midst and green permanent masses on the
surface, with large pools of blue separating them.
It’s alive!
“No doubt there are beings that live here then,” you think to yourself.
“But where are they? Why are they not here to hail and ask of my presence
here?”
You go lower for a closer look and find the inhabitants cannot see you
with their technology. You come down even closer then, and you can now
see the richness of this planet, the foliage, the water, and the very life force
of the planet itself!
You settle your vehicle down on the ground and exit. You begin to walk
among some of the inhabitants and find some can see you, while others
cannot. Some respond to you in fear, while others regard you as a god.
You soon learn from them that these beings know only the restrictions
of their physical bodies and stay within those means. They value power and
rank and are very materialistic, and yet, they are very primitive in
comparison to what you have access to. There is nothing here to learn from
in a technical sense, but they are unique in their being.
There is laughter, pain, and emotion—things that you are not as familiar
in having to deal with personally. You are astonished at how these few
things rule the society of the beings that are here. Then you are introduced
to the ones who claim to be in charge of the others living there.
They marvel at your technology and the very difference of the makeup
of your body. They seek to have some of these technologies you possess so
that they may learn how to quiet their neighbors who threaten them with
war due to their petty differences. When you look into their eyes and
through your abilities, you can see that they wish to be superior at all costs.
You then observe that nothing matters to these beings, not the planets’ well
being and not each other.
You can also see that their very souls have been neglected and that these
beings hardly regard their soul’s absolute existence. These beings need to be
taught more than technology, they need to learn about selflessness and
respect for one another.
What do you do?
There’s so much potential to go one way or the other to use this contact
to your, or their, advantage.
You call upon your roots, where you come from, and your values on
how to proceed. What you may decide could lay permanent foundations in
the relationship between these beings and those of your kind who come
along next.
For the planet’s sake, one can only hope you represent a species with
decency and morals. If you are anything like the inhabitants you have just
encountered, the contact you just started might range from them being your
friends or your victims. This planet that you have just discovered is surely
to be found by others outside of your race, which makes the odds more
likely that the range of treatment they will receive will be fully covered.

A creaking noise is suddenly heard coming from the doorway, “Who let
that light in the room?” You wonder to yourself as your vision of being an
alien visitor fades away.
A commoner peeks in and whispers, “Time to wake up. No need to
imagine it anymore—the aliens are already here!”
 Chapter #1

Reasoning’s:
The Basics

I think the majority of us believe that everyone has a soul to some

extent.
When it comes to animals, plants, and bacteria—do we consider them
into that “soul having” group, as well? They all respond to their
environment, most experience pain or discomfort and have goals to
accomplish in their daily lives. So why not include all of these examples of
life in that category as having souls?
One can easily make the distinction that if these various life forms have
souls, they are indeed different from human souls—that’s a given. Whether
or not you believe these “life-possessing” things are something more than
the shell they are in, their existence of being is a fact. Most people who
have ever had a pet in their lives would most likely stress that there is
something more to their pet than just fur and button eyes. Our little
Other documents randomly have
different content
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Death Star
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States
and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the
United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where
you are located before using this eBook.

Title: Death Star

Author: James McKimmey

Illustrator: Joseph Eberle

Release date: January 5, 2021 [eBook #64217]

Most recently updated: October 18, 2024

Language: English

Credits: Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed

Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH STAR ***

DEATH STAR
 By JAMES McKIMMEY, Jr.

For twenty long unholy years Hurtz, the

pilot, dreamed of retirement ... and found
his "acre of heaven" on a Death Star.

[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from

Planet Stories September 1953.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Hurtz went through the automatic motions of preparing himself for
their landing on the small unnamed planet, but each thing he did
was a wasted motion because it was really the boy, Jones, who was
going to put the rocket down. And what could Hurtz do now?
Hurtz touched his rough cheek with the back of his hand and swore
silently. The hard, aging muscles of his body were taut, and although
the lines about his eyes had deepened, his eyes, blue and sparkling,
still retained their old ferocity. His eyebrows, although nearly
completely gray now, intensified that ferocity with their thickness.
Jones, the boy, moved his hands and the rocket made its turn
clumsily, pointing its blazing fins at the strange globe beyond.
Hurtz shook his head and asked himself why he had ever tried to
help this cocky, all-knowing kid with the thin mouth and short-
clipped hair.
The boy had fought everything Hurtz had tried to do for him, and
right now Hurtz knew, even before he said it, that the boy would
respond in the same way he had since the trip started:
"I think you're doing all right," Hurtz said, and he tried to keep the
tone of his voice casual, as though he really meant what he said.
The boy glanced at him briefly with insolent eyes. "I know I am," he
said.
Hurtz had to clamp his jaw shut tightly to keep from saying anything
more.
There was hardly any time involved in this landing, but each second
stretched out to an individual eternity. The distant globe came up to
meet them steadily, enlarging its circumference, and the roar of the
jets was thunderous after the quiet free movement they had made
through space.
There was nothing left for Hurtz to do now but wait, and he placed
his hands on his knees, raising his curled fingers, dropping them, in
a monotonous silent tapping.
It isn't right. None of it. The feel of it—the speed, the sound, the
very movement. It isn't going to work, and why not, for God's sake,
on this one last run?
As they slipped down through the atmosphere of the planet, Hurtz
knew that he had been very foolish and sentimental and very, very
stupid for having asked to accompany the boy. The boy's first trip.
Hurtz's last. But if Hurtz still believed in the premonitions that he
could feel to the marrow of his tired bones, this might be the last
trip for both of them.
He watched the boy and he wished he could take control now before
it was too late. But this was the boy's own run, his rocket, and there
was nothing for Hurtz to do but wait.
Seconds now, and Hurtz thought of all the times he had done just
what the boy was trying to do now. Twenty years of it, from globe to
globe. Stretching the fingers of exploration, all to make the money
and finally tip his damned hat and say, "Thank you. It was nice, and
now I'm going to retire and let some other poor slob take my place."
But when the time came for him to do and say just that, he had
climbed in for one more ride, just so a kid who didn't want any help
might have had a better chance to get along in this rotten
exploratory service than Hurtz had been given.
The distance between the rocket and the widening surface of the
planet was disappearing, and in that last interval, Hurtz thought
again of his dream, the dream he had been carrying in his brain for
all of these years.

The width and breadth of his own land, that section of Mars where
he had stood twenty years ago and watched with hungry eyes, and
then ever since had sweated and cried and suffered to own. His
land, with its silent rolling hills and quiet green valleys. With its
sweet sloping clearing where he would place his house, the rippling
brook singing softly nearby.
The only place he had seen in any system that had the peace of it,
the magnificence of it. His land. Paid for finally and bound by legal
protection, waiting for him. And here he was, letting the reward for
those twenty years drift away by sitting beside a crazy, over-
confident infant, who was sure as hell going to crash this rocket.
When the crash came, however, Hurtz was still surprised somehow,
but only until he fell into the depthless darkness.
When he awoke he saw that the ship rested at an odd angle. One
whole side of the compact cabin had become a gaping open tear
that looked away to the horizon of this new world. Hurtz had a thin
cut over his left eye and a collection of stinging bruises, nothing
more serious.
Jones, on the other hand, appeared to have been smashed brutally
about the legs, and from where Hurtz lay he could see the ugly cut
in the boy's head and the unnatural angle of the boy's right arm.
"Jones?" he said to the motionless form, and then with effort he
crawled to the boy who was still clamped tightly into the swivel seat
before the instrument panel.
His hands searched and found two broken bones in the arm and leg.
The cut in the boy's head had obviously touched bone. Hurtz
gathered medicine, bandages and splints from the first-aid
compartment. He swabbed, bound, compressed, and covered the
wounds of the boy. Then with teeth tight together he set the two
bones with the rough skill of practical experience. When the splints
were bound he loosened the boy's body from the binding straps and
carried him to the rear bunk space of the cabin.
He tested the boy's pulse and regularity of breathing, then injected
enough of relieving drug into the boy's blood to keep the full impact
of pain away from his senses.
Hurtz returned to the front of the cabin to look over the damaged
radio. Tentative inspection told him he could make sufficient repairs
to send out a help call. But first, he knew, he would have to make an
estimate of their position on this strange planet.
He strapped a pistol to his waist, donned his helmet and lowered
himself to the ground. He looked about him. There was a bluish tint
to the atmosphere that hovered over the rim of the circling trees.
Yellow, pink and deep-white flowers with fragile petals nodded
silently through the stretches of growth.
Another planet, his eyes told him, another simple damned planet,
like the one before and the one before that. Vegetation and earth
beneath another shining sun.
And this is what I've earned, he told himself. Instead of my land, my
estate, my kingdom. His lips compressed and he hammered a fist
against the side of the rocket.
Well, it's not going to be, he promised himself, starting his climb
back to the cabin. Nothing is going to keep me from getting what
I've earned. Nothing. He was swearing aloud when he pulled himself
into the cabin.

Jones was watching as Hurtz straightened up inside the littered

compartment.
Hurtz unstrapped his pistol belt and tossed it to the floor. "How do
you feel, son?" he asked quietly.
The boy only stared at Hurtz.
"All right?" Hurtz said helpfully.
"All right, hell," the boy said in a thin monotone.
"You were pretty well banged up."
"That's news?"
"If you're still feeling pain I'll give you another shot."
"Why don't you save it for your head?"
Hurtz turned and went to the forward part of the cabin and the
radio. He didn't want to listen to that high, whining voice; the boy
was hurt and Hurtz recognized it, but Hurtz couldn't take too much
more, from anyone, injured or not.
"I'm not going to live," the boy called after Hurtz.
Hurtz turned back to face the boy. "What the hell kind of talk is
that?"
"I'm not going to live," the boy repeated in exactly the same tone.
"You're getting delirious."
"I'm getting dead."
"Listen," Hurtz said slowly, "I respect the fact that you've been
smashed up, Jones, but I don't want any talk like that, do you
understand?"
He tried to keep authority in his voice and at the same time, enough
softness to give the boy assurance that Hurtz could take care of him.
"We can have help here in no time," Hurtz continued. "The radio can
be fixed, and the first thing you know you'll be bedded down in
some pretty hospital with flowers, and...."
"This was your fault," the boy said, as though Hurtz had not been
talking.
Hurtz closed his mouth slowly and his lips got thin. "Why don't you
try to get some sleep?"
"Because I'm bleeding to death inside."
Hurtz blinked. It was a possibility, of course. The boy may have been
hurt worse than Hurtz had thought.
With great effort the boy raised a bandaged hand to his lips and ran
his tongue across the white gauze. The movement left a red streak.
"You see?" he said. "You see that? I'm bleeding out my guts. I'll
sleep, all right. I'll really sleep, and it'll be your fault, Hurtz."
"Listen, Jones," Hurtz said, deliberately lying, "you'll be all right.
Don't you see?"
"No, damn you. No. And if you hadn't forced yourself onto this run,
this wouldn't have happened."
"Jones," Hurtz said, trying to keep his voice soft. "These things just
happen, that's all. This is nobody's fault. You fly these damned runs,
you take your chances. But you're going to be all right, son."
"Don't call me that!" the boy said, and now his voice was higher,
louder, and Hurtz could see a little of the blood showing on a corner
of the boy's mouth. "Son, son! I'm as good a pilot as anybody. You
or Gearing or Royce or anybody in the stinking service! I didn't need
your damned help, and that's what did it. Sitting there, watching me
every minute, making me tighten up until I couldn't fly a kite. It's
your fault, and why the hell couldn't you have died or gone back to
your stupid Martian farm...." The boy was crying. A thin trickle of
blood crawled down his chin.
Hurtz took a step forward. "Kid, listen. I wanted to help you, and...."
"Keep the hell away from me!" the boy screamed.
Hurtz froze. He hadn't realized either how badly hurt the boy had
been or how much resentment had lain beneath the boy's cold
exterior. He was beginning to feel some of the guilt that was placed
on him by the look in the boy's staring eyes. "But why?" he asked
himself. "Why? When all he had wanted to do was help someone?"
"I know how you're feeling," Hurtz said, trying to be patient and
calm. "I really do, but you can't blame anyone for this."
The boy remained silent and condemning, and Hurtz knew that his
words were ringing hollowly in the cabin. Still he tried:
"Look. I've crashed before, on a dozen planets. But that's the way it
works. And that's why I wanted to help you. I wanted to quit on this
last one, don't you see? For twenty unholy years I've been trying to
own a piece of my own land where I could say, 'This is my own
world,' and what I tried to do by going with you, was make it easier
for you. Because in you, I could see myself twenty years ago. Don't
you see?"
The boy said nothing.
"I wanted to give it up and quit, but I thought if I could show you
something, teach you something...." He cut the words short because
he could feel himself pleading. There was no need for this. What he
had done had been a sacrifice, and if the boy couldn't see that, then
it was because he was hurt and in great pain.
"If I had a medal," the boy said hoarsely, "I'd shove it down your
rotten throat."
Hurtz ran the palms of his hands down the sides of his trousers. "I'll
give you another shot and then I'll get the radio set up. You'll be all
right."
The boy shook his head slowly, the bright eyes never looking away
from Hurtz. "You're not going to give me anything, and I'm not going
to be all right."
"I can't waste more time, Jones. You are hurt. Bad. And I've got to
get help." He turned abruptly and went back to the radio. There
were only wires loosened and parts slightly shaken. No irreparable
damage. His hands moved quickly.
When he heard the thump of the boy's body hitting the floor of the
cabin his stomach jumped. He turned, made a step forward, then
halted.
The boy was stretched below the bunk. Blood was spilling from his
mouth. But he was moving and alive, and in his hands now was the
pistol Hurtz had dropped.
"What the hell are you doing?" Hurtz said.
But the boy was motioning with the pistol. "Stay where you are. Stay
the hell where you are."
Hurtz waited, watching the way the boy lay on one of his arms, the
broken one. The drug would be cutting out the pain to some extent,
but he was breaking himself up. "Jones," Hurtz said, "for God's sake,
you're killing yourself."
"Oh, no," the boy said, pointing the pistol. "You're killing me. I would
have been all right, but you had to come along and this is your
work, Hurtz. You're killing me. Now you're going to get your reward
for that."
"Jones," Hurtz said, "if you think this was my fault, all right then. I'm
suddenly very damned tired. I was tired before I started this, and it's
worse now. If what went wrong was my fault, then I'm sorry. I really
am. Do what you want to about it." Hurtz felt his energy draining
out, and all he seemed to want to do at that moment was sit down
and be quiet.
"I will," the boy answered, and Hurtz could hear the click of the
safety going off. "I'll do exactly what I want to do about it. Are you
ready?"
Hurtz watched the pistol in the boy's hands. Then he threw himself
sideways, rolling across the cabin, trying to find protection as the
pistol cracked again and again. When the sound had stopped and
silence had settled itself heavily over the cabin, Hurtz lay half-
sprawled, looking at the boy.
He knew none of the shots had struck him and the surprise of this
made his position on the floor seem, for a moment, very foolish.
Then he realized what the boy had hit—the radio and the
replacement cabinet full of extra parts.
From his twisted position on the floor the boy had done a very
effective job of splintering every part of their communication system.
Sudden anger ran through Hurtz and he pushed himself up to stand
flush-faced, watching the smiling boy. "You've gone crazy," he said.
The boy shook his head, his fingers still clutching the pistol. "No. I
really haven't. But you will, Hurtz. Because you aren't going
anywhere now. No place at all. You're going to stay right here,
because you can't get help now."
"The hell I can't," Hurtz said, but he knew as he said it, that the
statement was a childish reaction, and that in truth he couldn't.
"The radio makes no difference to me," the boy said. "I'm going to
die. In a very few minutes. I can feel it crawling up in me. But I'll die
knowing you aren't going to get what you were after, Hurtz, any
more that I did. I was good, damn you. I was a damned good pilot.
I had it all in front of me, and you had to ruin it. But you aren't
going to get anything now. Your land, Hurtz? Your stupid land. How
about that? Who'll be sitting on that when you don't get back?"
"I feel sorry for you."
"Oh, that's good of you, Hurtz. You feel sorry for me while you
spend the rest of your life stuck on this damned planet, will you? I
enjoy the thought of that."
"I won't be here long," Hurtz bluffed.
"Oh, no?" the boy said, as more blood ran down his chin. "A planet
half the size of Venus? No way to send them your position? You
think they're going to send out a fleet to look for you over every inch
of this globe? They couldn't find you in forty years."
Hurtz stood silent, his eyes thin as he watched the boy with the
bleeding and smiling mouth. "I only wanted one thing, Jones. Just
that one thing."
"That's right," the boy grinned. "Just that one thing, that section on
Mars. Only now you aren't going to get it. You've got a one-track
obsession, Hurtz, like a simple damned child, even though you've
flown the universe for twenty years. This'll kill you, and you have my
deepest regrets. Here," he said, sending the pistol spinning across
the floor so that it stopped beside Hurtz's boots. "There's a round
left in it. I saved it. Just for you."
The boy began to laugh then, a kind of building laughter, that turned
into choking. He put one hand to his throat and then rolled over
suddenly, so that his eyes stared at the ceiling.
Hurtz looked at the dead boy for a long time, then he tapped the
pistol very lightly with a toe of a boot. Finally he stepped to the
broken radio and ran his fingers carefully over the useless
equipment.
When he crawled from the cabin of the rocket to the ground, his
movements were automatic. On the ground, he stood, very quietly,
his back against the ship, watching the tree leaves flutter faintly with
the breeze.
The words of the boy were still in his brain, and he could still see the
very clean-cut, very young, very dead face. So many times he'd
thought of Jones as he had been himself, twenty years ago. It was
almost as though he'd died up there himself. Worse, was the
realization that what the boy had told him was right. Somehow, this
was all his own fault. With his age and knowledge and experience,
he'd taken the confidence out of the boy. The fears, the distrust,
during the whole trip, had been communicated to Jones and so this
was the result.
He shook his head a little and pushed himself away from the rocket.
He began walking, step after step, unknowing of his movement.
Jones had been right about another thing, too. Hurtz's one-track
obsession. That was true, and it had been his motivation for
everything he had done. To get one thing. A lifetime of blindness to
everything else, while he lived through one day after another, year
after year, to reach one individual day that was as surely lost now as
the life of that boy in the rocket.
And so this is life. You fight your blind way through an entire
lifetime, and when you get to the end there isn't anything at all. His
hands knotted at his sides, and he walked with anger and a rising
bitterness.
All at once he stopped, his eyes widening. The rim of trees had
disappeared, and now in front of him lay the entire length and
breadth of it. Detail for detail. His land, with its silent rolling hills and
quiet green valleys. His land, with the sweet sloping clearing and the
rippling brook singing softly beside it. His land right in front of his
eyes.
But it couldn't be. A mirage, perhaps? Shock twisting the responses
of his brain?
Yet when he had stood there, wide-eyed, examining, he knew that
what he saw was reality and every blade of grass, every leaf, every
drop of water in the singing brook was physically there. Inch for
inch.
Lord, he thought, dropping to his knees. How could this be?
He thought about it as he looked and felt and thrilled. Perhaps, he
thought, this was the way it was on other planets, when I couldn't
see anything but a long-distant dream. Perhaps I could have had
this a dozen times in my life, and all I would have had to do was
take it. But why didn't I? Why couldn't I see this before? Did it take
twenty years for me to start seeing what was in front of my eyes?
And why twenty years? Why this time and moment? Because for
once in my life I forgot about my own damned desires and thought
about something and someone else? Is that it?
Hurtz climbed to his feet slowly. He didn't know and he asked no
more questions of himself. He simply walked forward to it, forgetting
the broken rocket and boy who broke it. He simply breathed deep of
the perfumes of the hills and the valleys, and he stepped onto the
sloping clearing, listening to the singing of the brook.
His nostrils failed to respond to the faintly acrid odor of wet dead
leaves. His eyes failed to discover the rather sharp, ugly cut of the
profile of the hills or the ungainly dip of the valleys. He was blind to
the muddiness of the brook and his ears could not hear the sucking
sound the water made as it pitched over dirty-colored rocks. He did
not look, hear, or feel as he might have on that section of Mars,
where the dream of twenty years might have disappeared like a
speared bubble to become ugly reality. He was capable of none of
the deadening response that might have been his, here on Mars,
had he been a man who had not lived twenty years to offer, finally,
one totally honest, unselfish motion in this universe.
He simply stepped to his reward, smiling.
 *** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DEATH STAR ***

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