The MacKenna Saga

Where It Started

In 1997 while my partner Jo and I continued to evolve the Tyranny Series, I began to consider various ideas for a series  I wanted to develop.  On the third day of a science fiction convention I attended, I found my attention riveted on an amusing conversation between a group of five self-proclaimed alien hunters. They were in the midst of a heated discussion about what if anything Area 51 holds, the supposed aliens at Wright-Patterson, the Dulce Papers and the granddaddy of all the alien conspiracies, Roswell, New Mexico.

I listened until  a voice behind me said, “They all sound a bit off-center, wouldn’t cha say?”

Right away his brogue caught my attention. I tunred and the first thing I noticed about the old gentleman was his stature. Just a bit shorter and I would have thought I was being addressed by a leprechaun. His mischievous, luminous green eyes glowed from his  merry and infectious smile. His full head of dark red hair made me jealous and yearn for my youth.

I shrugged. “Everyone is entitled to their own opinion.”
“What are your thoughts about visitors from outer space?” The man  said.
“I have a far different idea about life beyond this world.”
He winked, pointed and said, “I overheard you speakin’ ta that man earlier about human life on other worlds.”
I winced. “I thought I’d kept that quiet.”
He laughed, “Not so you’d notice, and me age hasn’t affected me hearing.”

We fell into a conversation that had me skipping the next two lectures I’d signed up for. I have to tell you, an Irish brogue always fascinates me. Shakespeare may have written english masterfully, but the Irish make it musical. After listening to this man’s stories, he came around to his point.
 
“If you’ll be stoppin’ by the place my grandson and I are rentin’ ‘til the end of the week, I’ll share with you some records of people from outside our world. I promise you it is worth the trip for a tale worth retellin’.”
I laughed. “What’s the catch? How much will it cost me to see these records.”

The old man gave me a patient smile, no doubt developed by dealing with other belligerent skeptics such as myself. He pulled out a business  card and wrote an address on the back. “It’s the chance of a lifetime, lad. I’ve approached three other authors and I’ve been laughed at in the same manner. You’ve until Friday and then we’re gone.” He  rose and I watched him turn the corner and disappear.

Ax murders, con men, aliens in disguise? Something in the old man’s eyes and his story rang true. I ran to my room, emptied my wallet of everything except a few twenties and my drivers license. ( Just in case.) I grabbed my laptop, (A boat anchor by todays standards) and raced downstairs to the parking garage. I drove across town and arrived before he returned home.

A smile spread across the old gentleman’s face when he saw me. He invited me in, and led a bedroom set up as an office. Across one wall, a bank of IBM computers squatted on metal baker’s racks. The machines whirled, lights blinked and the display screens were all busy. In the far corner sat a large, upright trunk, hinged down the center. After he checked on the computers, he stepped over to the trunk and pulled the two halves apart. I stared, open-mouthed upon their treasures of old scrolls, journals and one very unusual book.

Sidebar