Sky Watchers of Oaxaca: UFO’s, A.I. and Synthetic Biology

UFO

Alex Newman woke with a huge pounding in his skull. He felt like he had been run over by a truck. The soft hum of a ceiling fan sliced through his head like a guillotine. The faint, tangy scent of citrus drifted through an open window. The room was modest. The name, Hotel Trébol, was embossed on the corner of a notepad by the bed. Sunlight spilled through gauzy curtains casting golden streaks across rustic wooden furniture and the warm, sunlit walls. For a long moment Alex lay motionless. He stared at the cracked ceiling. His mind was a blank slate. The void refused to yield even the simplest answers. He realized he wasn’t dreaming.

How did I get here? He thought to himself. The question echoed in the hollow spaces of his blank memory, unanswered. On the bedside table two keys glinted in the morning light. The larger key was samped with the hotel’s emblem. It was likely for the door. The other key bore the unmistakable Jeep logo. Next to the keys sat a folded receipt. Luggage storage – Hotel Trébol.

Alex swung his legs over the side of the bed. His bare feet met the cool, patterned tiles. The sensation grounded him for a moment. A creeping unease stirred in his chest as he scanned the room. His first instinct was to locate his gun. He found it hanging in the shoulder holster inside the closet. Casual clothing hung in the closet. He ran his fingers over the fabric of a jacket. His mind offered no recognition in return.

He struggled to remember his name. Who was he? His gaze shifted to the small dining table near the window. A sleek laptop sat closed. Its surface was smudged with fingerprints. Beside it a cell phone rested silently. Its black screen offered no answers. A slightly ajar wallet lay next to the phone. Inside was a driver’s license with his photo and the name Alex Newman. His thumb brushed over the laminated surface as his mind tried to connect the identity. There were credit cards, a Mexican driver’s license, and a firearm permit issued by the Mexican Consulate. The name, Alex Newman was recorded on each.

The name felt distant, like a character from a story. He exhaled slowly. The weight of uncertainty pressed down on him. The room closed in. The warm sunlight now too bright. The hum of the fan too loud. He clenched his fists forcing himself to focus. There were clues. The laptop was his first hunch potentially leading to answers.

He flipped the laptop open. The screen blinked to life. The mechanical whir of the machine broke the silence. A moment later the facial recognition software logged him in. The desktop was sparse save for a single file labeled Top Secret. Alex hesitated, his pulse quickening. Then he clicked the file. The document opened instantly. The document’s header was stamped with the emblem of the Phoenix Organization. The words on the screen were direct and clinical. They carried the weight of something serious.

Assignment: Locate and report on Dr. Fernando Alvarez. Last known whereabouts; The Technosol Corporation.

Alex leaned back in the chair with his mind spinning. The Phoenix Organization? The name struck a faint, discordant note in the fog of his memory. Apparently he was a private investigator. The rest, unsertain.

Who was Dr. Fernando Alvarez? Alex intuited the answer to the question would be complicated. The room seemed to grow colder as he stared at the screen. Somewhere out there answers awaited. But first, he needed to find the missing pieces of himself.

The Streets of Oaxaca

After dressing and retrieving the Jeep key, Alex checked his watch. It was mid-morning. A knock at the door startled him. A hotel maid stood in the hallway, her expression polite but curious. “¿Quiere que limpie su habitación?” she asked.

Alex shook his head. “No, gracias. Pero, ¿dónde puedo conseguir café?”

The maid smiled. “En el vestíbulo, señor.”

Apparently he spoke spanish. He wondered if other clues might emerge.

The espresso in the lobby was strong. Its robust flavor cut , cut through the haze in his mind. His faculities were intact. Without memory, his assignment would surely be complicated. Warrily he stepped into the streets of Oaxaca. The city’s vibrant energy was welcoming. Cobblestone streets twisted and turned, bordered by colorful colonial buildings. Vendors called out their wares. The air was alive with the hum of life. He recognized the chatter of tourists, the distant sounds of a mariachi band, and the delicious scent of comidas wafting from street carts. He couldn’t recall the last time he ate.

Alex’s dark hair was slightly disheveled. His sharp features were shadowed by the narrow streets and tall buildings. His blue eyes, concealed behind reflective aviator glasses, scanned the surroundings with unease. He was trained for unusual situations, but this felt different. Something about Oaxaca’s history, its secrets, and its mysteries seemed surreal. The thought nagged at him again: *How did I get here?*

Murals adorned the walls of the city, depicting rugged mountains and dense jungle canopies. The land itself seemed to breathe, its beauty shrouded in an undercurrent of something troubling. Locals spoke of strange lights in the sky with a casual surrealism. Tourists treated the phenomena as a novelty—an opportunity for blurry photos and exaggerated stories. But for the residents, the lights were woven into the fabric of their history. Zapotec ruins dotted the region, their intricate carvings and glyphs hinting at celestial gods descending from the heavens.

Alex turned a corner and passed a street vendor selling tamales. An overpowering scent of masa filled the air. He barely registered it. His thoughts were churning with the assignment. Who was Dr. Fernando Alvarez? Why did the Phoenix Organization want him found? Why not approach Technosol directly?

The Market of Secrets

Despite his handicap of memory loss, Alex began his investigation at the sprawling local market. The atmosphere was a kaleidoscope of colors, sounds, and scents. Stalls overflowed with handcrafted wares. Woven textiles in vivid reds and blues draped across tables. Pottery adorned with intricate tribal patterns stood in doorways. Jewelry hung from wooden display racks glinting in the midday sun. Rows of dried chilies and fragrant spices draped from strung lines, their pungent aroma mingling with the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted coffee beans. A popular chocolate beverage named coffee mole, was sold from wheeled carts scattered throughout the market.

Vendors called out to passersby, their voices forming a symphony of bartering and laughter. Children darted between stalls, their giggles adding to the festive scene. Yet, beneath this lively façade, Alex detected an undercurrent of tension. More than one vendor glanced over their shoulder before answering his questions.

An elderly woman selling beaded necklaces caught his attention. Her weathered face resembled a wrinkled map of wisdom. Each line told a story of hardship and resilience. When Alex inquired about the strange lights in the sky, her demeanor shifted. Her hands trembled as she clutched a rosary and leaned in close.

“They come like ghosts in the night,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the market’s din. “Almost always over the mountains. They watch us, Ellos nos vigilan.”

Her words were heartfelt. He gently pressed for more details, but the woman shook her head and muttered a prayer under her breath. She refused to say anything further, regretting she had spoken at all.

Alex spent the rest of the day in a quiet outdoor restaurant sifting through the stories he heard. The food nourished his mood. His coffee was topped off with conscientous regularity. His mind worked to separate the real from the fantastical. The process was tedious. Each tale was more outlandish and conflabulated than the last. Yet one name kept surfacing: Technosol.

His laptop proved a valuable resource for information. On the surface, the Technosol corporation specialized in solar energy technology. Their headquarters were prominently perched on the side of a Sierra Madre del Sur mountain above the city. Historical photos of the compound revealed barbed electric fences, armed security personnel, and surveillance drones. Locals spoke of robotic guard dogs patrolling the perimeter. Black SUVs bearing Technosol logos were common in Oaxaca. The company claimed to be conducting renewable energy research. Alex’s instincts thought there was more to the story.

Why would a solar energy company need extreme security? Why did it operate a private airfield used exclusively for nocturnal arrivals?

Alex contacted Technosol in person. He was met with suspicious bureaucratic resistance. The receptionist underscored their government contract as an excuse to run formal background checks on all visitors. The process could take weeks. Even months. She added they never discussed the status of personnel for confidentiality purposes. Alex declined the application and left. Without memories, filling out a background application seemed an exercise in futility.

The local authorities declined to help. Their dismissive attitude hinted at collusion. Technosol SUVs were frequently staged in front of their station, Alex declined filling out a formal missing person’s report. The dark web presented a viable option for information. The TOR program brought up a site and details of unusual shipments to Technosol. Every thread led to the same shadowy question: What was Technosol hiding?

Back in his hotel room, Alex sat cross-legged on the bed, the laptop balanced on his knees. The encrypted file labeled Phoenix Directive: Project Chimera, gnawed at him. He didn’t have the tools to crack it, but the name alone was enough to stir unease. Chimera. The word conjured images of mythological monsters. Alex searched the web for an hour. Not a single reference involved solar research. He did discover Dr. Alvarez was a brilliant geneticist frequently at odds with fellow researchers. His disregard of ethics was frequently cited in professional journals. What was Technosol involved in? And how did Dr. Fernando Alvarez fit into it?

His instincts told him to dig deeper.

Maria Vasquez

Dead ends led Alex to Maria Vasquez, a local anthropologist and tour guide with glowing reviews on Google. She was known for her deep knowledge of Oaxaca’s history and her willingness to delve into its mysteries.

Maria’s home was a cozy adobe casa nestled on the outskirts of the city. The scent of blooming bougainvillea mingled with the faint aroma of old parchment as Alex knocked on the wooden door.

When Maria answered, Alex was momentarily stunned. She was tall, with flowing black hair framing her sharp features. Her dark eyes, piercing and intelligent, seemed to assess him in an instant. She wore a paleontologist blouse, jeans and hiking boots. The outfit was the epidomy of consistency with her role as a local guide.

“You must be Alex Newman,” she said, her voice warm but measured. “You didn’t mention why you needed my help, only it was urgent.”

Alex hesitated, then handed her a folded piece of paper with the name Dr. Fernando Alvarez scrawled across it. Maria’s expression shifted, her confident demeanor faltering for a split second.

“Where did you hear about him?” she asked, her tone guarded.

“I’m trying to find him,” Alex replied. “Interested parties are concerned. I think he works for Technosol but they put up a wall of confidentiality. It feels like they are hiding him.”

Maria’s lips pressed into a thin line. She stepped aside, motioning for him to enter.

The interior of her home was a treasure trove of artifacts. Faded maps covered one wall, while shelves overflowed with leather-bound books and clay figurines. A Zapotec urn sat on the dining table, its intricate carvings depicting celestial beings descending from the heavens.

Maria poured two cups of tejate, a traditional Oaxacan beverage made from maize and cacao. Alex outlined his assignment and his concerns about Technosol. Maria listened intently, her expression growing more serious with each passing minute.

“I’ve dealt with Technosol before,” she said finally, her voice tinged with disdain. “They recently purchased land on Cerro Mirador, a sacred Zapotec site. They claimed it was for energy production, but there’s not a single solar panel in sight. Instead, they’ve been excavating and digging without the least bit of concern for ancient artifacts or respect for the local history. They could be burying radioactive waste for all I know.”

Maria said she was vaguely familiar with Dr. Alvarez’s research in genetic engineering. She made a few phone calls to her scientific colleagues and confirmed Dr. Alvarez was indeed working for Technosol. No one had seen him for months.

Alex stated he was more than willing to pay for Maria’s time. He needed a guide to show him around the area. Maria made a decision. “I have a Land Rover,” she said. “We might find it easier to snoop around Technosol ourselves. We have to keep a low profile. I have a friend in jounalism who was doing a feature story on Technosol and they went to her editor who quickly shut her down.”

Luces Misteriosas

Maria spent the afternoon driving Alex around the area while providing background information on the region, particularly its infamous glowing orbs, luces misteriosas. The stories she shared were vivid, filled with both awe and curiosity. The region was a hot spot for UFO enthusiasts.

“The first orb appeared on a humid summer evening,” Maria began, her voice low and measured. Within minutes, others lights joined it. First three, then five, then a dozen appeared. Their moves were silent and imposing.”

Alex leaned forward, captivated. “How did people react?”

She paused, her gaze distant. “Many speculated a government conspiracy. Cloud seeding was a popular theory. Alien invasion was suggested. Local farmers pointed to the sudden appearance of crop circles. City lights flickered. Radios crackled with static. Of course newspaper sales went through the roof.”

“I assume most of the sightings lacked hard evidence,” Alex commented.

“As an academic, I consider a more scientific explanation. I think drones from Technosol a more probable explanation. They control much of the mineral rights and water in the area. They control the pricing. They keep a close eye on Oaxaca. I have seen their drones hovering overhead on several occasions. They make no secret of it.”

Alex shared how he visited the local market and felt the vendors were suspicious and closed when questions were asked.

“The locals are too afraid to speak openly about Technosol for fear of reprisal. Their water could be further rationed or cut off completely. Technosol directly or indirectly owns almost everything in Oaxaca. Even the police routinely work for Technosol.” Maria said.

“If you are interested, we can take a closer look at the Technosol headquarters later this evening.”

Alex agreed. “Thank you, I would like that.”

Under the Cover of Darkness

After sharing a late afternoon meal at a local restaurant, Maria and Alex set out in her Range Rover to investigate the Technosol compound. An obscure dirt trail spiraled up the mountain providing concealment in the underbrush.

“It is best we remain inconspicuous. Technosol becomes pretty aggressive when they suspect they are being spied upon. They have run me off several times when I took videos of their construction projects,” Maria said as she steered her Range Rover up the grade.

The surroundings were alive with chirping crickets and bird calls from distant trees. The warm mountain breeze carried wholesome scents of pine, oak and teak.

After stopping behind a long line of bushes, Maria launched a drone from the hood of her Range Rover. Its sleek form disappeared into the sky. An attached night-vision camera began transmitting images instantly to her laptop. Alex watched over her shoulder as the screen displayed a series of reinforced barriers, concealed sensor arrays, and a sophisticated security grid curiously beyond the needs of the typical solar energy company.

“Look at this,” Maria whispered, pointing to a cluster of robotic guard dogs patrolling the perimeter. Their movements were unnervingly precise. Their glowing eyes scanned the darkness for intruders. Their mechanical gait looked ominous. “Isn’t this overkill for a solar company?” She asked.

As the drone flew closer, its reconnaissance was short-lived. Floodlights blazed to life. A swarm of drones emerged from nowhere with movements eerily synchronized. Within moments, Maria’s drone lost signal.

Stunned, Alex and Maria exchanged glances. “Let’s get out of here,” Alex said urgently, motioning for Maria to get into the Land Rover.

“But my drone,” Maria uttered.

“Forget the drone. I’ll buy you another. If we are caught it could lead to awkward questions and likely consequences.”

In the rear view mirror robotic dogs could be seen entering the trail behind them. Their glowing eyes peering menacingly through the darkness. Alex instinctively realized they were poking a dangerous bear with formidable claws. He agreed with Maria. It was obvious Technosol was undoubtedly hiding something. His assignment was to make contact and report on Dr. Alvarez. Despite Maria’s intoxicating enthusiasm, he thought it best not to get distracted with local issues.

At a local restaurant, they reviewed the video captured by the drone. The images corroborated in Alex’s mind Technosol was concealing something beyond the scope of solar research. They had no idea the degree of danger awaiting them both.

The following morning, black SUV’s pulled in front of Maria’s casa. Three men dressed in military fatigues stepped out. Their expressions were cold and professional.

Maria answered the door. “Your drone was found on Technosol property. We traced the registration number,” one of them said, his tone measured but firm. “Technosol is a government funded research facility. Any surveillance is strictly prohibited and forbidden by law.”

Maria feigned ignorance. “My drone lost its GPS signal. I had no idea where it flew. I apologize for any inconvenience.”

The man’s gaze lingered on her, his eyes sharp and assessing. “You understand this is your only warning,” he said with finality. “Next time, we won’t be so lenient. Unauthorized surveillance could jeopardize your research grant.” He begrudgingly handed Maria her drone.

After they drove away, Maria noticed the camera’s memory card was missing. The message was clear: Technosol was watching. With their extensive reach, Maria realized they could easily shut her research grant down. She vowed to be more circumspect in the future.

END OF SAMPLE

Buy Book