Men in Black International E-Book

R. S. Belcher

• Herausgeber: Titan Books
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

The official novelization of the fourth Men in Black movie, F. Gary Gray's new movie set within the universe of the previous Men in Black films.THE GLOBAL MEN IN BLACK AGENCY is in the midst of an existential crisis. A mole in the agency's ranks is helping an agressive race of aliens known as the Hive put the universe in danger.THE MISSION will send agents across the globe, from London, to Morocco, to the Eiffel Tower.IT WILL TAKE TWO AGENTS, with the ability to see the truth where others do not, to defeat the Hive, uncover the mole, and save the universe.

Leseprobe

CONTENTS

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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Open Arms: A Short Story By R. S. Belcher

Acknowledgments

About the Author

THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATION

THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATION

NOVELIZATION BY R. S. BELCHER

BASED ON THE SCREENPLAY WRITTEN BYART MARCUM & MATT HOLLOWAY

DIRECTED BY F. GARY GRAY

TITAN BOOKS

MEN IN BLACK INTERNATIONAL: THE OFFICIAL MOVIE NOVELIZATION

Print edition ISBN: 9781789091083

E-book edition ISBN: 9781789091090

Published by Titan Books

A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd

144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP

First edition: June 2019

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidentseither are the product of the author’s imagination or are usedfictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead,business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.The publisher does not have any control over and does not assumeresponsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

Men in Black International TM & © 2019 Columbia Pictures Industries, Inc.All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrievalsystem, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without prior writtenpermission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form ofbinding or cover other than that in which it is published and withouta similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

To my children, the greatest wonders in the universe I’ve ever seen:Stephanie Joy, thank you for my Goofy, and for always making me happy.For Jonathan, for always being strong and true, but especially for having a good heart.And for Emily, my very own Agent Em, for never giving up.I love you all to the moon and back.

1

PARIS, JUNE 6, 2015

The brilliant full moon was not alone in the sky above the City of Lights. It had been a hot summer in Paris, and lightning capered across the cloudless heavens. The electrical storm seemed to have come out of nowhere. It was gathering, strengthening, above the city’s most iconic structure: the Eiffel Tower.

The black car roared through the streets of Paris, resembling more a space fighter from some science fiction movie than the typical vehicle found on the road. The car’s massive rocket engines spewed flames behind it as it swerved onto the Avenue Gustave Eiffel, spun in a 180-degree turn to a stop before the vehicle barriers that protected the tower grounds. There was a low hum as the rocket engines shifted, folded, and disappeared into the body of the car.

Two men climbed out of the now-normal-looking car. The younger of the two was handsome, bright-eyed, and clean-shaven. The older man carried himself with a coiled power and quiet authority. His mere presence implied he was competent, and hinted at him being a bit dangerous. His eyes, however, held a sadness and a weariness that sometimes comes from living too long, seeing too much. Both men were dressed in black suits and ties.

“God do I hate Paris,” the older man said, shutting his door.

“Not to worry,” the younger man replied, gazing up at the brooding clouds gathering around the apex of the Eiffel Tower, “it probably won’t be around much longer.”

* * *

The two young lovers on the tower’s lower observation deck were oblivious to the massing clouds and the fire in the night sky. They only had eyes for each other. The young man took a deep breath and then knelt before his girlfriend. The lights of Paris, like glittering jewels, were their backdrop.

She gasped, her hand coming to her mouth, when she saw the beseeching look in his eyes, and the ring he was holding up to her.

“Lisa, will you marr—” He paused as he looked past his prospective bride-to-be. “Who the hell are you guys?”

Two men stood on the deck with the couple. Both were dressed in black suits and ties. They were both carrying black gunmetal cases.

“We’re with Tower security,” the younger man said.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” the other added. He nodded toward Lisa and the still-kneeling Lars, and then toward the bank of deck elevators.

Lars glanced at Lisa. She was practically vibrating with emotion and growing frustration. This was their perfect moment, the greatest moment of either of their lives, and these two rent-a-cops were spoiling it. The sky flashed with lightning, and the young couple jumped at how close the discharge was to them.

“Did she say yes?” the older man asked Lars.

“I haven’t asked yet!” Lars snapped.

“He hasn’t asked yet!” Lisa shouted in unison with Lars.

“That’s a real shame,” the younger man in black said, pointing to a corner of the deck, “because that big blinking light back there—” They saw a black door with a red light flashing frantically above it. The door had a sign on it that said in many different languages: STAFF ONLY. “—means there’s been a breach in portal two.”

Taking Lisa’s hand, Lars struggled back to his feet.

The younger security guard glanced at his watch and continued, “Which means that in just a few minutes, the Hive—the most vile creatures in the known universe—are going to devour every last one of us from the inside out. It’s disgusting, really, the way they burrow their way through any orifice they can find…” He gave a tight but genuine smile, as if commiserating on their shared fate. Lars and Lisa both paled at the nonchalant announcement of impending doom.

“H, that’s quite enough.” The older man gave his companion a disapproving stare and shook his head curtly. “Or,” he went on to the couple, in a reassuring tone, “it could be that a rather large Parisian rat just chewed through one of our cables. We’re hoping for the latter.”

“I don’t understand,” Lisa said. She noticed that the younger man—had his companion called him “H”?—was wearing sunglasses. It ought to have looked ridiculous at night, but she was afraid. The reassuring older man was putting his own sunglasses on, as if it was a perfectly natural thing to do in the dark. Now she saw that the younger one had a small, silver, tubular device in his hand.

“Of course you don’t.” The man who had been addressed as “H” nodded to the silver wand. “All will be explained if you look right… here.”

Both Lars and Lisa followed his instructions without even thinking about what they were doing. There was a high-pitched whine and a flash of brilliant light from the tip of the device, and the couple fell into a trance-like stupor. “The Tower is closed for repairs,” the younger man told them. He paused for a second and addressed Lars, “Ask her again, on the way down.”

The couple blinked and looked around. The younger man led them to the elevators, and they followed him in a daze, allowing him to guide them into an elevator car. He reached inside the car, pushed the down button, and withdrew his hand. Lars and Lisa stared out rather blankly as the doors shut and the elevator descended.

His partner glanced at his watch. “Shall we get to work now, H?”

Before H could answer, a massive surge of red lightning cascaded down from the star-filled sky, striking the antenna at the apex of the tower. The energy blew the black door to the portals off its hinges and sent it flying into H. He was knocked backward by the force of the blast, crashed through the metal lattice of the trellis doors to the elevator and tumbled down the yawning elevator shaft.

H flailed about for something, anything, to slow or stop his fall. His fingers grazed the tips of the metal girders separating the elevator car shafts from one another, but he hurtled by too quickly. He smashed onto the roof of the descending elevator and nearly rolled off the side of the elevator, but managed to hang on. Swinging over the side of the car, he found himself witness to another touching scene through the glass. Lars was kneeling before Lisa again, ring in hand.

“Lisa, will you—”

H knocked on the window. The two lovers stared at the handsome, well-dressed stranger clinging to the side of their elevator car.

“Who the hell are you?” shouted Lars. H held up the small silver wand, and there was another flash. The young couple was again dazed by the device’s light.

“Ask her again,” H called, “down on the ground!” He launched himself off the side of the elevator car before Lars and Lisa recovered, grabbing and swinging himself up onto the network of beams between the elevator shafts. Without missing a beat, H jumped again to grab a bar on the bottom of another elevator car that was rushing upward. He watched Lars and Lisa’s car shrink as it headed to the ground level.

On the lower observation deck, H’s partner, High T, checked his watch again. Lightning flashed as he peered down the exposed shaft, searching for some sign of H. There was a ding announcing another elevator’s arrival. The door opened, and H walked out, brushing off his immaculate suit and striding toward his partner as if he were late for a lunch date, not the end of the world.

“Ah, there you are,” High T sounded as nonchalant as his partner looked. They fell into step beside one another, as if they were synchronized. The two men picked up their metal cases and strode through the damaged doorway.

They climbed a grimy metal spiral staircase. It led them to a large room covered in dust and cobwebs that was reminiscent of a train station combined with a power station. The style of the architecture summoned a nostalgia for a future that had never been, as if the whole place had been designed by H. G. Wells. Rusted steel grating covered the floor and the catwalks above. Exposed pipes of all sizes ran all over the depot, bending and disappearing into the floors and ceiling. Some were bare and utilitarian, others were ornately decorated with Victorian-style relief. They passed a wooden kiosk with an iron-barred window. It looked like a ticket counter. Scraps of crumbling timetables and announcements clung feebly to the sides of the kiosk.

Wooden benches ran along the walls. They passed numerous rolling carts covered in cobwebs. One capsized vendor’s cart bore a striking resemblance to the skeleton of an overgrown wheelbarrow. A distant wall peeked out past wrought-iron staircases and ladders leading up to the catwalks above. The wall held banks of old-style meters and gauges, their dark, filthy glass faces cracked and shattered, their needles buried.

H and High T walked to a spot on the platform that gave them a view of three large archways the size of subway tunnels. Each of the arches was illuminated with blue light and was numbered with roman numerals, I through III, above it, and each was shuttered closed by a thick metal slab of a door with a circular lock at the center that also glowed with the same blue light.

A console stood on a catwalk above the three doors, resting on a pedestal; it was made up of three equidistant circular control panels filled with antiquated gauges and levers. The whole apparatus was sculpted from polished brass.

H looked up through the ceiling’s circular skylight, wrapped elegantly in glass and steel. The moon, swollen and bright with cold light, drifted closer to filling up the skylight’s central aperture. The portals could only be accessed—would only open—when the full moon was centered in the skylight. Both men set down their metal cases in unison, knelt, and opened them. Inside were the shiny, silver-finished components of their Series-7 De-Atomizers: big guns designed with one purpose: to kill a single alien race, the Hive. The two men began assembling their weapons quickly and efficiently.

At first they worked in silence, but H didn’t seem comfortable with that. After a while he stopped and watched as High T slid the barrel into the weapon’s central housing and locked it into place with a twist and a metallic click. H grunted and checked his watch: 11:06.

“So, what’s our play here?” H asked as he attached the weapon’s stock.

High T locked the last piece of the gun into place. “We’ve been in this situation before,” he replied.

“We’ve never faced the Hive before.” H knew the Hive’s reputation well, knew it was likely they were about to die.

“They’ve never faced us.” High T knew his partner well enough to see he was worried, even though H hid it well. He went on, “Always remember—the universe has a way of leading you to where you’re supposed to be at the moment you’re supposed to be there.”

“The universe gets it wrong sometimes,” H said.

The moon’s light began to filter through the central aperture and fall slowly on a circle of alien symbols and lunar pictograms on the depot’s floor, fashioned much like a compass rose. The symbols surrounding the circle flared in the bright lunar light. There was a loud noise, a rumbling as if the tumblers of some massive lock had just turned within the archway doors. The grinding of the tumblers grew louder.

“C’mon,” High T said, standing up, futuristic rifle in hand. “I want it to be you someday. To take my place. To run MiB.”

H stood as well. “Sounds like a lot of paperwork.”

“You’ll survive.”

The two agents, two friends, nodded to one another, again in unison. They slipped their sunglasses on and pumped the actuation chambers of their Series-7 De-Atomizers like they were shotguns. The guns whirred to life as they powered up. High T and H leveled the De-Atomizers at the second portal as the chamber filled with moonlight.

The loud tumbler sound increased as the second portal’s heavy door creaked open, a cloud of long-undisturbed dust swirling around the base of the opening door. White light, pure and blinding, spilled out from the other side of the portal, filling the long-abandoned depot. Dark, undulating tendrils shot out from the light, thrashing about. H and High T opened fire, the Series-7s roaring like the wrath of an angry lightning god, blasting away the Hive’s grasping tendrils as fast as they slithered through the portal. The agents heard the howls of the injured Hive creature as even more tendrils exploded outward from the portal’s maw. The bolts of destruction from the guns flashed out, hitting the invaders again and again, but the tendrils seemed legion. High T and H stood shoulder to shoulder, not giving an inch as they held the line against the monsters coming to devour the Earth and her people.

A tendril got through. It wrapped itself around High T’s lower leg and yanked him off his feet. His De-Atomizer clattered to the floor as he was dragged toward the portal. H dived to the ground, his Series-7 still strapped to him, and grasped his mentor’s hand, pulling with all his might. The Hive was stronger. Both agents were dragged across the floor toward whatever it was that waited to devour them on the other side of the light.

H flailed out with his other hand and grabbed the edge of an exposed girder, anchoring them only feet from the mouth of the portal and the writhing bloom of Hive tendrils. H found a foothold to further brace them against the relentless pull.

“Let me go!” High T shouted over the rushing wind of the open portal and the alien shrieks that came from beyond. “That’s an order!”

“Not a chance!” H shouted. He brought his Series-7 up in a blur of motion. He thumbed the De-Atomizer to maximum discharge. Angry, red warning lights on the weapon reminded him that this was a really, really bad idea. The Hive creature pulled again, and H fired into the heart of the portal at point-blank range.

Brilliant, white light enveloped the Hive creature and the two men who stood against it. The light poured outward, illuminating the top of the Eiffel Tower, and filling the sky all across Paris. For a frozen moment, the whole universe seemed lost in the blinding light of an Earth-born star.

2

BROOKLYN, NEWYORK, TWENTY YEARS EARLIER

The stars in the plaster sky were pink, blue, green, and yellow. They were plastic and had five points and glowed softly on the ceiling of the dark bedroom. Silhouetted against the counterfeit sky were mobiles of slowly rotating solar systems and drifting astronauts tethered to papier-mâché space shuttles.

Tucked under the covers, ten-year-old Molly Wright had fallen asleep in her bed reading A Brief History of Time, by Stephen Hawking. Mom didn’t like her to stay up after bedtime so she’d been using Dad’s flashlight. She had been trying to understand Professor Hawking’s arguments about Einstein’s theories and black holes until she had drifted off. Molly’s favorite math teacher, Mrs. Edwards, had given her the book, telling her, “Your memory is already very good, Molly, and that’s why you’ve won all those spelling bees and awards. But there’s more to math and science than just memorizing equations. There’s mystery in the universe, too, and endless possibility. And there’s a lot that even the smartest people, like Professor Hawking, haven’t figured out yet. Pay attention to details. That’s really important to understanding pretty much everything. The details matter, Molly.”

Her eyes popped open when a bright light streamed through her window accompanied by a strange whooshing sound, almost like the sound a jet might make as it flew by. As she came back to consciousness, she realized it must be a car pulling up in the driveway. Molly heard the doors slam and a moment later a brisk knock at the front door downstairs. She sat up, trying to catch each word.

“That was… fast,” Mom said to whoever was at the front door.

“Yeah,” Dad said, sounding puzzled, “I haven’t even called you yet.”

“Yes, sir,” a stern voice she’d never heard before replied. “You say you saw something?”

Molly climbed out of her bed, and clambered over to the open window. Below, she could see Mom and Dad talking to two men in black suits. She couldn’t make out their faces against the bright headlights of their black Ford LTD.

“I’ll say,” Mom said, sounding more than a little panicked. “It looked like a… like a cat, but it wasn’t a cat, it was—”

“More like a big frog,” Dad blurted out, interrupting, “with hair. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The creature you saw,” the stranger with the stern voice said, “is an unlicensed Tarantian, from Andromeda Two. Very rare, very dangerous.”

“Tarantian.” Molly rolled the strange word around in her mouth as she said it quietly. The word sounded like a secret, and now she knew it.

“He’s cute now,” the man in the black suit continued while his partner silently scanned the yard, “but when these things hit puberty, they turn into real monsters.”

There was a strange sound like someone huffing in frustration combined with a cat purring. Slowly, Molly looked to her left, and jumped back from the window in surprise. The little creature that had been next to her jumped back, too, as if it was just as shocked to see her there.

The creature that had been standing on the sill next to her was small, about the size of a dog, but broad-shouldered. Its skin was covered in a fine down of gray fur. A wild mane of turquoise, green, and purple hair sprouted up above ping-pong-ball eyes that bulged out of a face that reminded Molly of a cross between a bulldog and a shovel. The tiny alien put a finger to its lips for Molly to stay silent. Its big bug eyes pleaded with the girl. She had to agree with the stern-voiced man: although the little guy was really ugly, he was also very cute.

Molly noticed the little Tarantian was trembling in fear. She also noticed, to her amazement, that she wasn’t.

“Is there anyone else in the house?” the stranger in black asked.

“Just our daughter,” Mom answered. “She’s sleeping.”

“Shhh,” Molly whispered to the little extraterrestrial. “Don’t be scared. It’s okay.”

There was a brilliant flash of light from outside the window. Molly and the Tarantian hopped back up on the sill and looked out the window.

One of the black-suited men was holding a slender silver wand in his hand, and Mom and Dad were staring at it, as if in a daze. He put the device away as he spoke to Mom and Dad. “A raccoon, that’s your problem, folks. Make sure those trash can lids are on tight—and,” he added, “we were never here.”

Molly watched the black-suited men walk back to their idling car. She noticed they had brought backup with them, two more Men in Black—a slender, young black man and an older, gruff-looking white man with a very craggy face—leaned against the hood of their own black LTD and nodded to the other two agents as they pulled out of the driveway and sped away.

Molly turned away from the window to the little Tarantian and knelt down to meet his big, dark eyes. “We gotta get you out of here,” she whispered. “Come on.”

She opened her bedroom door quietly and padded down the hallway, motioning for the Tarantian to follow her. Reluctantly at first, the alien accompanied her toward the back of the house. Near the door to Mom and Dad’s bedroom, Molly struggled to raise a window. The little Tarantian lent a hand and the window slid up easily. Wow, he’s strong, Molly thought.

Molly gestured toward the open window. Beyond it, the city skyline at night glimmered like a million stars. “Go on,” she said. “It’s okay.” The alien regarded the window and then Molly once again. “I’m Molly,” she said tapping her chest.

“Mol-ly,” he said. She smiled and nodded.

The Tarantian leapt onto the open window’s sill. He paused before he departed, turning back to the little girl, gratitude in his saucer-like eyes. “Kabla nakshulin,” he said with great formality, then launched himself from the window to the roof of a neighbor’s house, like a bouncy ball. He ran a few feet on his short, stubby legs and jumped skyward. Molly lost sight of him once he cleared another neighbor’s house and seemed to vanish into the brilliance of the swollen moon. Molly waved goodbye, her eyes filled with wonder and starlight.

“Young lady, what are you doing up?” Molly spun to see Mom standing in the hall.

“That creature, the one you saw, I let it go,” she reported.

“Creature? You mean the raccoon?”

“You don’t have to lie.” Molly shook her head. “I saw the policemen, the guys in the black suits?”

Her mom looked genuinely puzzled for a moment and then seemed to dismiss Molly’s behavior. “Honey, parents never lie. Now go back to bed. You’ll forget about it by morning.”

“No, actually,” Molly said, “I won’t.” She stomped past her mother back toward her bedroom. She paused and glanced back at her confused mother. “Well… kabla nakshulin. It means ‘goodnight’ in Tarantian.”

Back in her room, Molly jumped back into bed, trying to match the small alien’s fantastic leaps. She fell a bit short. She picked up A Brief History of Time again and began to read with a renewed eagerness to understand the universe, to understand the way it all worked. She glanced out the window at the sky full of twinkling mysteries, and turned the page.

3

SOME YEARS LATER

The walls of Molly’s Manhattan apartment were covered in college diplomas and yellowed old tabloid newspaper articles. Surrounding her framed degree in astrophysics (she’d minored in quantum mechanics and anthropology), were crumbling newsprint containing stories with lurid titles like WHO ARE THE MEN IN BLACK?, ALIEN BAT-BOY DISCOVERED IN JERRY SPRINGER AUDIENCE, AND MYSTERY UFO OVER WHITE HOUSE.

Molly had grown into a confident young woman. Her dark eyes and hair lent her a natural beauty she was dimly aware of, but her focus was on other things. She sat before a bank of monitors, wearing a coat over her rumpled white blouse and thin black tie, ready to be out of the door at a moment’s notice. Her hands danced over the keyboard, her eyes flickered from screen to screen. “You’re not getting away from me this time,” she muttered.

She had been saying that for most of her life. As a child, and then a teen, she had sought out and studied every scrap of information about extraterrestrials, planets, galaxies, and the seemingly mythological “Men in Black” that she could find, from scholarly works and scientific papers, to supermarket tabloids and the dingiest corners of the Internet.

She had excelled at college, driven by her obsession to find out the truth about aliens and the MiBs. Once she’d graduated, she had flirted with the notion of joining the FBI, CIA, or NASA, but decided that such agencies were either fronts for the MiBs, or deliberately kept in the dark about their existence. She’d even considered teaching to pay the bills, but soon realized such a career would put too much of a demand on her time and take her away from her search. She had been supporting herself through the gig economy, taking contract IT jobs, research assignments, and proofing mathematic and engineering formulas for grad students, and even professors. It paid her rent, and gave her the freedom to continue the search she had so long been pursuing—the search she was confident was going to end today.

A monitor beeped and Molly spun in her chair to read the data that flashed on the screen: ALERT: HUBBLE TELESCOPE: PERSEID METEOR SHOWER—TRAJECTORY UPDATE. ENTER PASSWORD.

Molly smiled and began entering a password. “Okay, let’s see where you are now.”

In response to the password, a new message box appeared: WELCOME BACK PROFESSOR ARMITRAGE. Next to the greeting was a photograph of a middle-aged man, apparently the real Professor Armitrage.

Molly tapped in a series of commands and a display appeared that was labeled as NEAR EARTH OBJECTS. It was tracking the speed, path, and trajectories of numerous meteors. The tracking system beeped again as one of the objects in space suddenly performed a radical change.

“I didn’t know meteors could change speed and direction. How about you, Lilly?” Molly’s long-dead houseplant gave no response except to drop a withered leaf. Molly shrugged, “Yeah, well, you’ve always been a skeptic. Lighten up, man!”

The object Molly was tracking vanished from the screen. She quickly made a note of the exact coordinates. “Not a meteor after all, is it? Definitely an unauthorized landing.” She jumped to her feet and began to riffle through stacks of tabloid newspapers, scanning the headlines quickly. She wore a black skirt and combat boots. Molly stopped at a copy of the World News Daily, nodding at the headline: “Real Housewife of Queens—‘I want back my Alien Ex!’” The photograph with the story showed a woman holding three babies, all of the children had a look about them—like they just might be from another world. A smaller headline for the same story declared: “Alien Ex Jimmy says, ‘I’m coming back, baby!’”

Molly grinned as the realization hit her. “This is it. It’s really happening!”

She quickly downloaded the Hubble data on the last known coordinates of the missing “meteor” to her phone. She gave Lilly the last of her water as the data ported over. The plant thanked her by dropping another desiccated leaf. Data in hand, Molly grabbed her wrinkled black suit jacket off the back of her chair and her black backpack as she dashed outside to meet her destiny.

Out by the curb she flagged down a taxi, still looking at the data on her phone screen. She spoke to the cabbie—who looked like a reject from the Jersey Shore cast—from the curb. “I need to get to Brooklyn,” she said to him.

The driver snorted in frustration. “Gonna need an address, lady.”

“Forty-five degrees inclination,” Molly read off the data, “sixty-two degrees declination.” The driver looked like she had just hit him over the head with a very heavy math book, and then he scowled. Molly did a quick equation in her head. “Okay, down under the Manhattan Bridge.”

The cabbie nodded, and Molly leapt in. He hit the button on the meter and the cab sped away from the curb.

4

Molly directed the driver to a quiet, deserted street that ran parallel to the Manhattan Bridge. She climbed out of the cab and handed the cabbie a twenty. “Keep it running,” she told him.

She walked down the street, checking and rechecking the coordinates on her phone. Most of the houses she passed were boarded up and seemed empty; a few were covered in graffiti. One or two of them still looked like they might have occupants. At the end of the street was a large underpass. Just before the bridge, a series of heavy, orange construction barriers squatted across the road. Past the barriers was a tall, chain-link fence that closed off the end of the road.

Molly walked between the barriers and into the shadow of the underpass, up to the fence. She could hear the rumble of the traffic on the bridge and the cooing of the pigeons flocking together on the structures above her. The metal signs bolted to the Con-Ed fence announced, in series, HIGH VOLTAGE, DO NOT ENTER, and CLOSED FOR MAINTENANCE.

Through the fence Molly could see sections of the street had been jackhammered in numerous places and open trenches were everywhere. She saw a dump truck and a back hoe parked near a pair of blue plastic portable toilets. She couldn’t spot any of the Con-Ed maintenance people, nor any other people at all. More importantly, there was no sign of any illegal alien space ship.

She checked the coordinates on her phone again and confirmed she was in the right place. She looked around and sighed. Nothing. The frustration and disappointment washed over her. After a moment, Molly spun and walked back toward the taxi. The pigeons, startled by her sudden movement, erupted into flight all around her. She ducked and turned away to avoid the madly fluttering birds, and stopped. Two of the birds were flying straight at the electrified fence—she gasped in horror, and waited for the sparks, but the birds flew on, unscathed, through the fence as if it wasn’t there, and vanished from sight.

She paused and walked back to the fence, near the warning signs that threatened swift and certain death if the chain-link was touched. She took a deep breath, preparing herself for the worst, and slowly reached out her hand toward the fence, closer, closer… and then she found that she wasn’t even touching the fence; her hand had passed right through it as if it wasn’t there, just as the pigeons had done. She couldn’t see her hand or wrist on the other side of the “fence,” but she could still feel them. Molly pulled her hand back and it magically reappeared. Stunned, Molly wiggled the fingers of her hand and then leaned in closer to the fence with her face. She closed her eyes as her head, neck, and part of her shoulders all vanished as they touched the chain-link. She opened her eyes and after a second of taking the scene in, a look of revelation and relief spread across her features. “I knew it.”

The street was not torn up. There was no construction site, no work trucks. Instead, right in front of her was an alien space ship; it had crashed in the middle of the street. And they were there. The ones Molly had been searching for, chasing, and missing for most of her life—the Men in Black.