Lost in Magadan: Extraterrestrials on Earth

Nox continued, “I am not asking for control of your military to take over your country. I am asking for control so that I can direct the research and development to create the technology I need. Your scientists and engineers are not advanced enough to handle this on their own. As I develop the technology I need, I will share it with you and your scientists. You will get better armor, better rockets, better warheads, better communication devices, better infrastructure, and equipment that will make it easier to spy on your enemies. I will give this to you because I need your cooperation in this partnership.”

“I would like a demonstration of what you can do for me.”

Nox stood and turned toward the door where they had entered the opulent room.

With his back to Stalin, and his hand on the chair that he was just sitting in, two shards of bright light flashed from the square box on the breast plate of his armor. Both guards at the door fell to their knees, and toppled to the floor; both were dead before their faces smashed into the fine marble tiles.

Stalin leapt to his feet, trembling with rage. Nox turned to him and said flatly. “You asked for a demonstration.”

Nox held his hands up to Stalin, “I mean you no harm. I thought his would be an excellent way to prove what I have to offer.”

“Those were two of my best men,” Stalin stammered.

“I’m certain you saw that I did not raise either of my hands to your men. The weapon attached to my chest is controlled by my thoughts alone. I have demonstrated my ability to produce results. Now I will demonstrate my willingness.”

With an ever-so-slight whirring sound, a pistol appeared at Nox’s hip. Nox rarely used a particle beam pistol; it was overkill when paired with his thought-control weapon. Nox withdrew the pistol from its hidden compartment and placed it on the table before Stalin.

“A gift for you,” Nox said.

Stalin lifted the weapon; it was slightly heavier and larger than the U.S. 1911 pistol.

“Fire it,” insisted Nox.

Stalin took aim at an innocent vase filled with lovely lavender flowers sitting on a marble-top table. He squeezed the trigger. A flash of light left the barrel of the handgun; the vase exploded, leaving a burnt smoking hole in the wall behind the where the vase once stood. Stalin smiled.

“Thank you for the gift. What shall I call you?”

“Nox Bellator, Marshal of the Soviet Union,” Nox replied.

Stalin stood for a moment, pondering the proposed arrangement.

“I almost forgot. I have another gift for you,” Nox said. “It is still in my fighter. Shall we walk back to the craft?”

“Of course, I would love to see the inside of it.”

“Would you like for me to take you for a ride in it?” Nox’s highest priority was ensuring that Stalin would appoint him as the General responsible for Soviet research and development.

“I would like that very much,” the dictator replied.

A handful of soldiers accompanied them back to the square where Nox’s craft was waiting. Nox disappeared back into the craft, “I’ll be right back.”

A few minutes later, Nox reappeared beneath the craft with two prisoners, one male and one female, hands tied behind their backs, with black hoods over their heads.

Stalin chuckled, “What makes you think I need two more prisoners?”

Nox pushed the two, bound prisoners toward the dictator. When they were five feet from the dictator, Nox ripped the black hoods off their heads. Stalin roared with laughter. It was Hitler and Eva Braun.

“This is the best gift I have ever received, Marshal Bellator.” Stalin nodded at Nox to emphasize the word ‘Marshal’.

“I’m glad you like it, Sir. I think it would be best if we keep this gift a secret, just between you and me,” Nox warned. Nox emphasized the word ‘Sir.’

“Of course. The Fuehrer and his bride will receive my undivided attention for the remainder of their lives,” Stalin said with a wicked grin.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Moscow, Russia

Present Day

It had been over 70 years since Marshall Bellator and Stalin had struck a deal. Nox sat at the head of a long conference room table in an underground facility, 29 levels below the surface. Underground facilities had come a long way since WWII. The conference room looked more like what you would find in a corporate headquarters in New York City than the old concrete walls of yesteryear. The table, surrounded by high ranking Russian officers, was closer akin to a board room table than the hand-carved gilded tables of the past.

Even though they were deep underground, there were faux windows that glowed with artificial sunlight. Instead of nautical charts and maps on the wall, behind him was a huge display monitor. Built into the conference room table before each of the chairs was a display that could control the big screen at the head of the room.