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Shepherd |
| Written by C.D.Walker | |
| Tuesday, 08 July 2008 | |
 I wake up to an alarm clock every day. No vacations, no days off, my life given to work everyday. I’m called the Shepherd. I guide sheep everyday, but the sheep I guide live in space, have two legs, and walk upright. Everyday my sheep hop into simulators to control space fighters’ light-years away, and everyday they help save humanity. These poor sheep. Without them, humanity wouldn’t be the only species wiped from the universe. Since childhood, I’ve dreamed of flying. I used to watch old movies with fighter scenes and every time a plane took off or engaged in combat, my skin would tingle and my hairs would stand on end. I wasn’t scarred, I was thrilled, just watching fighter planes got my adrenaline up, even as a kid. I imagined it was like being a shark, swimming in the air faster than sound, searching for prey, knowing you’re the king of the air. After graduating from the Air Force Academy I was stationed on the brand new aircraft carrier the USS Westerner. The pilots all got together over the first few weeks for camaraderie, carousing, and just getting to know the men whom you would kill and be killed for. During these evenings we all recalled why we wanted to fly and what we thought it would be like. We called ourselves the “Sky Shark’s” and took to the air like fish to water. Those were the days. I remember being so young and indestructible, a double ace by 28. Sharks die if they stop moving, and I wasn’t old enough to retire, or die, but the thought of sitting behind a desk analyzing data, or teaching snot nose kids, made my gun hand itch. When the call came about test piloting a new, radical plane, I was agreeing before I really heard what was being said. At least when your young you can attribute mistakes to being dumb, but at the time all I heard was, “fly again”, “no wife, kids, or family”, and “first to fly the U.S.’s only operational space fighter.” The words “fly again” was fantastic bait, I was so busy nibbling that morsel; I didn’t hear the speech about how perfect I was because I lacked a safety net, a family, a wife, or a child. When the words “you will have the honor of being the first to fly the United States first functioning space fighter craft.” hit my ear, it was like a fisherman setting the hook. I never stopped to think about the effects just learning the existence of the first operational space fighter craft would entail. Here’s a quick translation to all the civilians lucky enough to be alive right now; for the better part of my life I’ve been held strong and hard by the curled and sensitive short hairs. Just knowing a secret like that makes you an angel. An angel only in the sense, the closer you are to God the less control you have over your life. Imagine you know a secret so vital to the security of the human race; your life has less value than the average Joe, whose ignorance makes him safe. If the average Joe knew what I knew, the panic in the streets would be just like opening Pandora’s Box. Rioting and looting, people screaming for help, and from what? Irrational mobs who only form at the worst possible news, like evil looking for an excuse to cause mayhem. What do you think would be the reaction of the public at large if it were leaked that Aliens have not just been visiting our planet for the last 2,000,000 years, but shaping our very existence? Would your ideals on God be tested if you found out Aliens visiting our world 2,000,000 years ago gave our cute and curious ancestors the gift of intelligence. Aliens have messed with our DNA and have been shaping world events since before we could talk; all with the intent of helping them survive a war. The sheep I shepherd are children plain and simple, yet not so simple. We all know kids are the fastest learners, with lightning quick reflexes; those two attributes make them superior to any 26 year old traditionally trained fighter. Plus learning to work with the aliens isn’t like working with a pet actor on a movie. Actually, it could be like a movie, like working with a guy in costume. Yeah, who am I kidding, they still freak me out. The aliens look like those little grey men you hear reported. Nothing about them scares me, in a physical confrontation any 14 year old could whoop them, but trust me, its all about their technology. Here’s their story in a nutshell; they are a very old species of carbon life form from far, far, really, far away. Exploring to them would be like playing football to you and me, so they started exploring the known universe about the time dinosaurs started walking the earth. Traveling for them also entails wormholes and how they can bend space back and forth like a folded piece of paper. Time, space, and distance mean nothing to them. About the time our earliest monkey-like ancestors started evolving, they found the “Enemy”. I have never seen the enemy, no pictures have ever been put in front of me, but they say we have an “Enemy” so certain nations of the world let the aliens use their children in the simulators. I shouldn’t say “let”. I wouldn’t be thinking at all if it were not for the minor genetic tampering done to us 2,000,000 years ago, and a few times since I might add. We were found, we did evolve out of single celled organisms here on earth, but we have been tampered with. Made better, smarter than what we would have evolved into on our own. With that being said; the aliens, whom we owe our very existence, designed us to be mind controlled. I know it sounds horrible, but how else do you think the pyramids got built perfectly, or how all the holy books came about. The process isn’t’ perfect, that’s the reason all the holy books are different; same idea, different interpretation due to region, culture, and history. To make us learn to accept differences in heritage, culture, and appearance were the reasons given to me as to why we look different, talk different, and believe in different ideas. When we learn to accept each other, then we will be ready to meet our makers. Back to my sheep here in space, mindless but not mindless, walking with purpose yet never talking. The way I understand the process, the aliens simply invert our conscious and our subconscious. When the flip occurs our little grey friends project a reality they want into your mind, so you’re conscious, but dreaming, sleepwalking in a sense. I herd 35 year old space fighter aces, inside 6th grade bodies, the likes of who will never grace the skies of earth. One sheep, in his or her fighter, could take on dozens of the earth’s militaries best. Roswell and other so called crashes are nothing more than dying aliens volunteering to take outdated craft down for the advancement of humanity. Obviously direct interaction is impossible at the moment, but then that’s part of the “Plan” they have for us. We will be free one day, but today we are sheep helping to slaughter the Enemy who drove the aliens from their ancestral home. The children come from all industrialized nations. You know the government mandated testing done to third graders? Geometry, problem solving, and mathematics are key while language skills are not as important due to the lack of social interaction once the kid’s consciousness’s get flipped. Each child is engulfed in their own little world. Whatever social interaction the child goes through, it’s all in his head. Can you believe it? Comatose, sleepwalking genius’s saving humanity every moment they breathe. The system works like this; if the kid tested high, a special class is pitched to the parents to see how well the child does in an advanced atmosphere. The whole better education idea with a free ride to very private school far away from where the parents live, to make visits less frequent, can be quite powerful. Once in the class, if the child shows exceptional learning ability or high above average, the offer is fully extended and the kids go away. The parents think the kid is in some great school with a bright future guaranteed. Parents feel they did a great job obviously for doing the nasty and combining their genes just right. The parents are all tracked and if some decide to visit unexpectedly, the parents get stalled while our friends zip the child back to school. When the kid gets un-flipped, our friends insert whatever knowledge the tike should have learned so as to not draw suspicion from parent or child. In fact, most kids go on to do some fantastic stuff in the civilian world because of their “Education”. Did I forget to mention the kids never remember their time with me? The system gets a cog in a machine of death undreamed of by the small minded generals of earth, and I get another sheep. Every once in a while, maybe five or six in a generation, a child is tested and offered a free ride to the school immediately. Over the years these special kids have amazed me with some of their abilities. I have been privileged to meet the kid who, literally, is one in a trillion. Once strapped in, this kid fly’s like the Red Baron, Chuck Yeager and Rickenbacker’s illegitimate love child. He is the Orca, Blackfish, Seawolf, the Shark killer, or my favorite, Space Wolf. The kid is like a wolf too, always alone in his world. The other kids are all the top dogs of their fighter squadrons, it gives them interaction, social contact, chain of command, and a structured life. Spacewolf is the exact opposite. When we have a crazy stupid suicide mission, this kids our man. As an exercise to test the sharpness of our ace pilots, we’ll throw the best four or five Sheep against the Wolf in a simulated environment. I’ve yet to see five Sheep take down the Wolf. Unlike the Sheep, the Wolf’s childhood was disastrous for him, but it made him what he was. He learned at such a young age what actions have what consequences, and how to solve problems. The Wolfs dad was black op man who did whatever was needed to be done to secure America’s superiority over world affairs, if only to secure the program I run. The man knew all about what he was damning himself for, but he also knew what humanity needed. He was asked to raise and protect the child with his life. When you raise a child to rival Alexander the Great, you need a plan, a purpose, and a love for the child and humanity so great, you will be the devil. You will torture the child to produce the best and worst of what a human can be. I didn’t raise him; I don’t think I could do that to a child to prepare him. I feel for the kid, he reminds me of me, except harder, meaner, trickier, and more cunning. Since I will retire one day I’ve been trying to figure a way of telling my tale without invoking mass panic, or getting myself killed for exposing secrets the world is not ready to accept. One day it hit me; a science fiction writer could spin my reality into a creative piece of fantasy, the world none the wiser. With writing I could finally tell the adventures of Space Wolf and how, almost single-handedly he’s saving our species from destroying each other, along with a few others in the universe, from total extinction. The world deserves to know. Copyright 2008 C.D.Walker |
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