Beta walked past all of this activity.
In one of his earliest visitations, Salvion had informed Beta RAM that the item that fell to Earth during the famous Roswell incident had been an escape pod from his own ship. Also on the pod was a group of Squiltas that Salvion had been conducting to a penal colony on Pluto. The evil aliens had transmitted the coordinates of the planet to their home world before being recaptured. Salvion had rounded all of them up-or so he thought.
One had escaped, and this lone Squilta had coordinated the rise to power of the Association of Evil on Earth.
The White Sands Missile Range eventually became a landing strip, as well as a departure point, for the Squiltas on Earth. The arrival of the end time would be made obvious by the increased activity in the desert around the secret base.
Beta thought that the climactic moment he'd been awaiting had finally come the night before, when the lights in the sky swept the desert all around White Sands and Fort Joy. A lot of the people at Camp Earth had begun to pack up their belongings in preparation for boarding the ark. Only when their lookouts stationed in the desert below confirmed that the lights belonged to ordinary terrestrial helicopters did depression finally set in at Camp Earth. With the disappointment came the drinking.
Walking away from the nausea-inducing breakfast smells, Beta RAM was trying to purge himself of that awful hungover feeling by pulling in deep breaths of clean mountain air.
His head felt like a balloon that had been filled to twice its capacity.
Blinking, tasting the film that had collected on his tongue, Beta paused at the edge of the plateau. The sight was breathtaking. It was a sheer drop down to the Rio Grande far below. In the distance the river snaked off around the side of another hill of rough rock.
Faced with the combination of the awesome majesty of nature and the gallon of cheap whisky and beer in his otherwise empty belly, Beta RAM, Prophet of Salvion, Guardian of Camp Earth, Preparer of the Great Migration, could do only one thing. He vomited as if there were no tomorrow.
It took more than ten seconds for the puke to hit the river. By then, Beta was already vomiting again. He puked and puked and puked some more until he thought his stomach would come up through his mouth. It was ten long minutes of painful, ceaseless retching.
When his stomach was at last empty, Beta RAM wiped the bile from his chin. With a thick snort, he pulled back some mucus from his nose.
"Time for breakfast." He coughed, spitting a glob of phlegm into the sparkling river.
He turned and headed back for camp.
Before Beta had even reached the first tin house, he knew something was wrong. The pilgrims of New Earth had abandoned their fires and breakfast plates. They were moving en masse to the mouth of the narrow road that led down to the flat desert on the other side of the rocky hill.
Beta heard the shouted voice as he approached the rear of the crowd.
"Intruder alert! Intruder alert!"
The voice echoed up from the road, filtered through a tinny megaphone. The speeding jeep crested the hill a moment later, skidding to a stop near the line of vehicles belonging to the Camp Earth inhabitants.
The men in the jeep were fellow Salvion disciples. They were part of the crews that toured the desert around the flat hill. As Camp Earth's first line of defense, they would warn the residents of any Squiltas invasion.
Beta RAM pushed his way through the excited crowd, catching up with the breathless arrivals as they jumped from their vehicle.
"What's going on?" Beta demanded.
"Someone's coming!" the driver said excitedly. "We spotted him moving up the road a few minutes ago."
Beta glanced at his disciples. "Squiltas?" he asked nervously. The people behind him withdrew in fright.
The driver shook his head. "Human. At least he appears to be."
"I think it might be Arthur Ford," the other man said, panting. "I couldn't see too good with the binoculars."
Beta RAM relaxed somewhat. He knew Arthur Ford. The ufologist was not a disciple of Salvion, but at least he was a believer. But since he would not be part of the chosen few invited to board the ark, Beta had no idea what Ford would want at Camp Earth.
A few minutes later, Ford's jeep raced up the path and squealed to a rapid stop, kicking up a cloud of sand and stones. Ford hopped out before the jeep had rocked to a stop.
"What can the people of New Earth do for you, friend Arthur?" Beta said by way of greeting. Ford was covered with desert grime. His eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with black from lack of sleep.
"We've got trouble," Ford announced seriously. "On a galactic scale."
Without further warning, he reached in through the open door of his jeep. With a yank, he pulled off the blanket he had thrown over Elizu Roote.
The pale, sweating form of the Army private hunched uncomfortably in the rear footwell of the jeep. The heat had caused red hives to erupt on his doughy white skin. Although hours had passed since his encounter with Smith at the Fort Joy motor pool, he remained unconscious.
Beta RAM leaned over to examine the almost phosphorescent-white body. Ford had crammed Roote in the back of the Jeep so tightly, Beta couldn't see him very well.
"Who is he?" Beta asked, turning to the ufologist.
"An alien," Ford insisted.
Beta raised an eyebrow. "A Squilta?" he asked. "I thought they were supposed to be amorphous," Ford said, confused.
Some in the crowd snorted derisively at Ford's obvious ignorance.
"They're capable of taking on human characteristics," Beta said impatiently. "Bill Gates? Need I say more?"
Ford shook his head. "I don't think he's Squilta. At least he hasn't manifested any signs to me."
"I'll be the judge of that," Beta announced. He ordered his followers to carry Roote into the light. They did as they were instructed, stretching the Army private out in the dirt before the jeep. Beta stooped to examine the pale, wasted form more carefully. He found the finger pads immediately.
"What are these?" he said, awestruck.
"Defensive system," Ford explained. "Used only when threatened by the United States military."
A thought occurred to Beta. "All that junk going on in the desert last night, was that him?"
Ford nodded. At this, Beta RAM whistled his approval.
Continuing his exam, Beta found the spot of ragged flesh at the rear of Roote's neck. What little blood was present had dried.
Beta tapped a finger against the partially exposed subcutaneous plate. It clicked.
"No doubt about it," he said, standing. "This boy's not human."
The people of Camp Earth accepted their leader's conclusion with surprising ease. After all, for some of them, this was not their first alien.
"He doesn't look too healthy," commented one of the men who had been first to see Ford approaching.
"Probably the contact with Earth's polluted atmosphere," Beta said, looking down on Roote's stricken body. "Damn Squiltas." Scratching his belly, he glanced up at Ford. "What can we do to help?"
Ford smiled, excited and relieved to finally be among people who truly understood what Roote was.