Also-Ran *HF* Chapter 1
By Harbinger
Yeah, look at me, I'm writing HF. Woohoo.
Chapter 1: Dropped In
August 9th, 2002. Gaston, Indiana.
A blinking little space warp brought Cronos to his destination--the south end of Sycamore Street. Ordinarily, he'd never have
been caught dead in a tiny town like this. But today was hardly ordinary, and if what he suspected was true... well, that
just wasn't going to happen.
He headed for the center of town, dodging an ungodly number of potholes along the way. The street was in desperate need of
repaving, but the town's budget remained in no condition to do anything about it. The town itself demonstrated quite
painfully its monetary inadequacies--the housing was barely middle class, if one defined "middle class" as meaning income
under $30,000 a year. By Cronos' definition, the place was a slum, plain and simple. Not that he had a problem with slums.
Their residents tended to be impressionable. In a large city, they would be hardened. In a small town, gullible. Either way,
he had his strategy set. His investigation would proceed. Several individuals had mysteriously disappeared over the past
several weeks, and it was his full intention to put a stop to it. He did this not because he gave the slightest care for the
residents, but because such activities clearly exceeded his self-designed mission parameters--a situation out of his control
that he wanted to--had to--rein in.
The ravaged roads were mostly clear of traffic, it being the middle of the business day. He downloaded and analyzed satellite
maps as he walked, scanning and indexing phone directories in between. Within minutes, a complete database of information
regarding this town was at his disposal. Not much later, he hit the intersection of Elm and Sycamore--center of town. A gas
station, a bar, and a post office surrounded him. One of Gaston's two police cars zipped past, and Cronos did his best to
look "normal." He'd shown up in plain clothes: jeans and flannel. They made him intensely uncomfortable. Fabrics from his
time never chafed, never irritated. These atrocities just made him want to scream.
A small bell chimed and rattled as he stepped into the Shell station. A young woman loudly chewed her bubble gum, popping
bubbles and generally annoying him. She watched him from behind the counter. He took the opportunity to approach. "Are you
very familiar with this town?"
She shrugged. "I've lived here a while."
"Well, I'm new here. Could you tell me anything about the recent disappearances? I'm a little spooked."
"We all are." She pointed to a stack of newspapers by the entrance. "All we know's in there, honey."
"Thank you," he acknowledged, making for the exit. He simultaneously snatched a paper and swept the girl's mind clean of any
memories she may have formed of his presence. No sense taking any chances.
The paper told him nothing he didn't already know, of course. The town of 1,010 was down to 1,002. Police were baffled,
meanwhile instructing residents not to venture out alone, especially after dark. It was noted that all those who disappeared
were alone and away from public areas. The most disturbing fact, at least to the residents, was that some vanished from their
homes, without warning, without sound, and without reprieve. No consistency could be found in the attributes of the victims--ages ranged from 15 to 80, male and female. Cronos felt a nagging suspicion about all of it. It smacked heavily of abduction by non-humans. By aliens. He smirked at the old clichè, opting to suspend his conclusions until he had better evidence. All he knew was that people were turning up missing for no apparent reason. He knew nothing of why, or where they were being taken. What bothered him the most was the fact that Inferno's scans of the town produced erratic results--a very bad sign. It spoke of scrambling and deliberate deception by an advanced level of technology. Technology small-town folks were extremely unlikely to possess.
Crossing the street, he paused for a moment to lean against the front wall of the post office and examine the newspaper further. Nothing interesting, though he'd expected as much. He was distracted by the sound of a siren. The red squad car that had passed him earlier was now speeding in the opposite direction. He quickly tuned in the appropriate radio band.
"Dispatch, 2 10-76 to 105 South Broad."
"10-4, 2. 10."
"10-4, dispatch."
Guess they're in a hurry. I'm sure they already know they're too late. So what's with the sound and fury? Probably don't get much action in this dump... I should probably follow them, anyway. Maybe get a fresh trail on what's causing this. Tossing his paper aside, Cronos set himself into pursuit. He'd get to the bottom of the whole mess, even if he had to destroy this worthless planet to do it.
--End Chapter 1--