Zorg543

1966- 1970 over 150 Ummite documents were received by various persons totalling well over 1000 pages. Strangely enough further documents would continue surfacing for many subsequent years. The author of these documents remains UNKNOWN to this day.

UNKNOWN...UNKNOWN...UNKNOWN...

In the documents there is reference to the discovery of earth which was 15 years prior to their arrival in 1950 a Norwegian ship by chance contacted them through Morse code enabling them to find out vital information which later allowed them to bring back a group of explorers to gather more information on the earth.

From the letters gathered it was clear that the The Ummites were amazed, seeing the multi-cultural society that existed on earth, but they were also worried and frightened about the chaotic state of the world. Apparently their civilisation had more advanced technology, and that they weren’t interested in disturbing our social evolution.

Some letters gave great detail in their civilisation as well as detailed drawings of ‘vehicles’ and other graphs of their world. Philosophy and "the concept of God" are strongly featured in the Ummo letters. Several letters are devoted entirely to these subjects. Also mentioned are Ummites' morals, ethics, human beings' free will, man's role in the universe, the end of existence, the soul, and the collective unconscious (or collective soul as the Ummites call it). In several letters the Ummites discuss Earth's problems, including abortion, the oppression of women by men, and problems they see in our education and political systems.

Many scientific subjects are described in detail, including network theory (or graph theory), astrophysics, cosmology, the unified field theory, biology, and evolution. Some of this information is thought to be dubious pseudoscience, but much of it is scientifically accurate. However, Jerome Clark notes that Dr. Jacques Vallee argued that the scientific content of the Ummo letters was knowledgeable but unremarkable, and compared the scientific references to a well-researched science fiction novel -- plausible in the 1960s, but dated by the standards of the 1990s.

[notes] Hypotheses and proposed explanations

Several hypotheses about the real authors have been offered:

* It's been proposed that the Ummoism is genuinely what it claims: Communication from extraterrestrials.

* Some people think some class of secret service, such as the CIA or KGB, may be responsible, but their motivations and aims are unknown, and no proof of such a scheme has been presented.

* Dash notes that some suspect that the Ummite material was "an attempt by a socialist group to publish radical material that could not otherwise appear under General Franco's dictatorship." (Dash, 300)

* Others suspect one or several religious sects, but the Ummo authors do not, in any letters, at any time, suggest that their beliefs become the foundation of any "rite", or worship. Nowhere in the documents is an incitement to such activities.

· The most popular hypothesis, however, seems to be that the entire affair is an elaborate hoax, perhaps perpetrated by a student group composed of scientists and philosophers. As noted above, a Jose Luis Jordán Peña claimed in 1992 that he had instigated Ummoism, but people who have met him say that he does not have a sufficient background to have authored the texts.

I turned the pages.

Upon discovering that there was a fatal error in the system which I was aware of what sort of calculations it did but unaware what was the purpose or use for such software system, I realised that the calculations keep on coming up with Zorg543. What was Zorg543? A name of a system, a supercomputer? It didn’t make sense as the calculations were always contained with a certain subset of numbers even when different calculations occurred.

I put the book down it was too much to take in, what did this have to do with anything. Besides it didn’t make any sense.

Chris Linton

I opened my eyes, blinked in rapid concessions for a bit just trying to get accustomed to the light, streaming in the large train window. I could feel a nice little wet spot on my shoulder jacket, a bit of drool leftover from my sleep. I became aware of a man with his stomach peeking out of his Hawaiian shirt sitting in front of me, little pockets of fat bulge here and there nicely complementing his man breasts. He wore a bright blue baseball cap that had faded letters displayed on it that I could not work out, little tufts of dark brown hair ran over his ears and down the nape of his neck. I couldn’t make out his eyes or his face.

“Uh-hello,” He said taking his cap off. I could see his light blue eyes now and his sagging tanned face.

“Hi,” I said, looking down at his camera that was out on the table. It was a bulky one, with a large screen display.

“…You from around here?”

“Well not too far,” I said not really interested in giving any details away to a stranger.

“I’m on my holidays now, thought it about time to get away from it all, that means my wife mainly.” He chuckled, a deep guttural laugh. I could tell by the laugh and the look in his eyes that his was a pleasure holiday, the wife out of the picture, on his own.

“Digital?” I asked pointing at the camera.

“Yeah,” He said looking out of the window, “Got some fine photographs of the countryside, you know with cameras like this these days anyone can be a photographer, quite simple really, just point and shoot.”

I looked outside the window, admiring the sea like sky undulating like foaming waves, rippling a rich deep blue. It had been a long since I had sat back and admired the beauty, everything was taken for granted these days, in fact I didn’t think much of most things that were around me anymore.

I glanced back to the manuscript that was sitting on the table. Forgetting about the passenger opposite me, I flicked through the thick volume, wondering if it was even worth reading such a thing.

“What’s that you’re reading there?”

“Umm,” I glanced over . “just some manuscript” I flippantly exclaimed.

He must have seen something or recognised who I was, “You like that Tom Bates guy, who know the son of that murdered guy who bought the book off Charles Neville who strangely enough was also murdered.”

I glanced out the window while the fat man plunged his finger into his nose, thinking no one was watching pulled out a little bit of sticky snot rolled it around in his fingers for a bit and then flicked it hurriedly away. I turned by attention towards the man.

“Yeah, I’m Tom Bates,” I replied, hoping I didn’t have to shake his hand, who invented handshakes anyway?

I thought about it for a second as the train slowly ground to a halt. As far as I knew there was no one person that invented the handshake it just seemed a normal practise for so long. Definition for handshake I thought: A handshake is a custom where two people grasp their right or left hands, this is normally followed by a short shake of the grasped hands.

When is the handshake initiated? Well normally at meetings, greetings, partings, offering congratulations, or completing an agreement. Its purpose is to convey trust, balance, and equality. Handshakes possibly originated as a gesture showing that the hand holds no weapon.

I glanced up at the stranger well his hands weren’t holding anything so he was no threat no weapon in his hands.

“I’m Chris Linton,” He replied a grin stretching across his face, “Just call me Chris.” No hand raised for a handshake and no gesture followed on my part, he must have realised that I had spied him at his dirty little habit.

“So what brings you out here? I mean other than for sight seeing not many people come out to the country anymore you know with all those outbreaks of foot-and-mouth and the crazy chicken virus it’s just safer to stay in the city.”

“A cousin,” I replied. “She has been bothering me for so long, ringing me up all the time to come over for a visit. I gave up on her persistent nagging so here I am.”

“You know I’ve thought about divorcing my wife and marrying one of those Asian brides you know the ones you can get of the internet. I always wanted a petite Thai girl, we would start a new life somewhere out in the country.”

I shook my head, what a strange thing to say.

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind me, I’m just full of nonsense these days, I think it has something to do with old age setting in.”

The useless chit-chat continued, as I tried to look interested but I was somewhere else, thinking about the book, the disappearance of Samantha, my father’s death and my search for Mr. Retro.

A few stops later Chris Linton disembarked off the train, wishing me luck with my visit to see my cousin. A little smile crossed my face, a strange character and some strange topics of conversation too; I straightened myself out and got back to trying to make sense of the book.

One Ticket and Ummo

I bought my ticket to Chapelhill, which was the closest I could get to Whitely by rail from there I would have to take a bus. I boarded the train, I picked a car that had a few passengers dotted about on the seats, I sat next to the window on my own, opened by backpack and began to read.

I skimmed through a few pages as the train jolted a bit as it prepared to pull out of the station; a little cry from a baby was carried down the carriages. Nothing was of interest really, I listened to the whine of wheels as the train gather momentum over the rail tracks.

SHEEP more mention of SHEEP. I shook my head, where was all this going? It seemed like a typical Charles Neville book, nothing out of the ordinary, the same over the top, believe this if you want type of thing, but you know I’m pulling your leg.

I turned a few pages, when something caught my attention to the next chapter entitled Ummoism next to it was scribbled the words – second-half of last century – claims of aliens from the planet of Ummo –communicating with people on earth.

During 1960 through to 1970 a series of letters and documents detailing Ummoism was sent in large to UFO enthusiasts. These works have been considered a hoax, though to put it in a more charitable light- a work of fiction.

It is unknown as to who started this wild story but a certain individual named as José Luis Jordán Peña has claimed responsibility for instigating Ummoism. An interesting group to note is the strange Bolivian cult who call themselves the Daughters of Ummo”

I put the book down for a second and thought about Samantha and the strange language she was studying and how she believed that the language she was studying would be a benefit to mankind sometime in the future. I tried to think what it was that she was studying but for the life of me I couldn’t think of the name. I picked up the book again.

Important dates

March 1950 Ummites land on Earth in the southern French region of Alpes-de-Haute-Provence, in the area of Digne-les-Bains. The letters that were received nearly ten years later mention three spacecraft with some explorers coming from their planet. They describe how they found planet earth, their arrival on Earth, analysis of our habits, their language, and scientific descriptions of their activities.

February 6, 1966 -Madrid. Jordán Peña reported a close encounter of the first kind saying he saw "an enormous circular object with three legs and, on its underside, a curious symbol: three vertical lines joined by a horizontal bar. The two exterior lines curved outward at the edges, which made the pictogram resemble the alchemical sign for the planet Uranus." (Dash, 299)

Other such contacts were made that year such as Fernando Sesma receiving typewritten documents claimed to be from an alien race known as Ummites. Photographs also showed up in mailings.

I put the put the book down, sighed, and whispered to myself, “So that’s the language Samantha’s learning. Strange!” I looked outside the window the rolling green hills in the distance slowly neared as the train shuttered, flew past a few farms and into the darkness of a long black tunnel.

The Message and an Introduction to SHEEP

I dialled the number with my mobile, and listened to phone on the other end ring over and over again. No one was picking up. I continued to listen until the answering machine took over and a deep gruff voice said: “Charles Retro here, meet me in Whitely, 15 Careview Estate, come alone.”

A beep followed, but there was no point leaving a message.

I hung up, thought to myself the significance of the message, the code must have been right, I must have deciphered something.

Contact Charles Retro?

I did that and now his voice was telling me to meet him in Whitely which was a good ways a way. I scratched my head, trying to think.

What did Charles Retro have to do with anything, what did he have if anything to do with me? I unzipped my back pack and pulled out the volume that my father had bought off Charles Neville entitled “Essential Things About Life,” I flicked through it something in my mind told me to read it, so I positioned my back to the wall and started reading.

In 1947 September 18, The National Security Act in the United States created the Central Intelligence Agency, or CIA. Elsewhere a new committee was formed called, SHEEP this handled and transmitted errors within a complex software system that until now has remained a secret.

This manuscript is the sole ownership of Charles Neville, who forms part of the SHEEP committee.

While all previous writings have been debateable as to their source, the writer as taken great care to describe and relate all he as been privy to over the years.

I turned the page

A few years back I was approached rather veraciously to join this team and to be in such a committee. Certain trial runs were done on trivial errors on some system subset nothing noteworthy or even thinking about, after which I was accepted.

Each error within the system was given a unique identifier. The format of these identifiers was usually standardised in the early stages of the system construction.

Errors were categorised by sub-type, usually relevant to the domain of the project.

The committee was composed from members in the system. The committee meetings were never of the personal nature and communication was done solely by e-mail correspondence.

A member of the committee team proposes the error, after which a debate occurs then followed by a between all members to determine if it is indeed an error and if it should be included in the list of errors. In most cases a majority vote was required but in certain instances certain members were had more weight in voting matters than others.

I put the book down, a strange book, to say the least, I surveyed the mess in room once again, thinking about Samantha and how she wanted the book, and how she had disappeared. Judging by the state of my apartment they were looking for something. I shook my head and continued to read.

I have been a member of SHEEP for three years now and my time working on such a committee has yielded certain truths and strange occurrences that I have not been able to explain. One thing that this work entails is secrecy no information regarding such a project is to be mentioned not even as small talk. Though since working on such an endeavour I find reason to write down my experiences and suggest that there is something greater than you and I.

I put the book down. It all sounds so absurd, I thought shaking my head.

SHEEP. Something greater than you and I?

So Charles Neville found religion? I shook my head again. Something was telling me that it wasn’t absurd and I had the book for a reason. Maybe someone was looking for the book, the detective mentioned it maybe they thought Samantha had it? Maybe Charles Retro could help? I threw the book in my backpack and slowly lifted myself off the ground. I would have to go looking for some answers--it was time to go to Whitely.

Some Sort of Code

I decided that I was not going to stick around not when someone had grabbed Samantha by the arm. The boy had given me no description of the man nothing to go on, not even a he was wearing sunglasses comment. I useless walked around the shopping centre looking for clues, looking for glimpses of the girl that I was supposed to be meeting. A few shoppers glanced at me, gave me looks like that they knew me, probably seen my face on TV or something. After a useless ten or fifteen minutes of wandering around I went home not knowing what course of action was to be taken.

My apartment had been turned upside down, the TV was lying face down on the ground, the couch ripped to shreds and the material shelled out, The books from the book cabinet were strewn all over the floor books from my college years were torn out and littered all over the floor. The kitchen was strewn with saucers, and cutlery, the contents of the fridge were thrown about as if a tornado had entered. A little lonely bruised tomato sat in the corner of a counter top all alone from all the other bits of vegetables that had seemed to have it in for that little lonely tomato that even the vegetables had been calling a fruit.

My room was a disaster the bedding had been stripped from my bed the mattress shredded, picture frames were smashed all my clothes littered across the floor. Aftershave bottles kicked around the room made the room smell like a perfume factory but it didn’t do much to lighten my mood.

I threw the backpack on the ground, after which I followed hitting the floor of bedroom hard. What were they looking for? Who was it that had entered my apartment? Would they come back? Were they waiting for me outside, somewhere? Were these the same people that had taken Samantha? Who really was Samantha?

I took the napkin out of my pocket. Studied it, puzzled and bemused all at once. Now it did not look too complicated, come to think of it, it was a lot easier than it looked

01 000001 000001 00000001 01 01 00000001 01 0001 01 0000001 00001 001 0000001 0000001 001 00000001 0000001 000001 000000001 00001 001 0000001, 1

I assumed immediately that it was a code a simple code, consisting of only ones and zeros meaning it was binary. I found a sheet of paper and assumed that each number was to correspond to a word perhaps. These binaries would most probably represent a number as I vaguely remembered one of my previous co-workers was trying to explain Unary coding to me one day. He said each sequence of binary numbers corresponded to a number so assuming one was one and two was zero one, one could keep up this sequence. This was a simple example of such a code. So with a pen in one hand I wrote out what I assumed might be the corresponding number

1 1

2 01

3 001

4 0001

5 00001

6 000001

7 0000001

8 00000001

9 000000001

10 0000000001

From that I looked at the napkin and wrote out the corresponding numbers.

2, 6, 6, 8, 2, 2, 8, 2, 4, 2, 7, 5, 3, 7, 3, 8, 7, 6, 9, 5, 3, 7, 1

Half through doing this I realised how overly simple the entire code was and all I needed to do was to count the numbers to get the corresponding numbers. Now that I had the numbers I had to think about what they were supposed to lead me to.

My phone started to buzz from my trouser pocket, alerting me to a message I received on my phone. I picked it up and read the message informing me of cheaper rates with my service provider.

I looked at the phone, the key pad and then back at the message. My eyes then brought me back to the keypad realising that a number corresponded to three letters.

Try that, I thought.

2 – a, b or c? B maybe?

6 – perhaps o?

6 again? n

8? T?

No

Start again. 2 – a

6- m

I was confused; I itched the nape of my neck thinking that might help things.

Start again.

2- c

6- o

6- n

8? T, u or v? Perhaps t?

2- had to be A and then I realised that it spelt contact. I double checked it. C-O-N-T-A-C-T. Looked good.

After all the stupid little letters I came up with something: Contact Charles Retro. Though the last few numbers meant nothing and made up no word. Looking at it again I realised that perhaps it wasn’t supposed to make up a word but was supposed to be exactly that numbers, Charles Retro’s number -95371.

So I had Charles Retro’s number? The criminal who was on the run? Why would Samantha ever have his number?

I would have to ring him to find out.

Waiting

I arrived at the cafeteria at exactly 3:58. Two minutes to spare. I looked around at the people passing by, an old lady in a pink poka dot dress looked oddly out of place, perhaps she had already started reliving her years as a young girl. A large pregnant looking man with green shoes was brought to my attention, he squeaked and squawked when he walked past me. A little red head boy next to a water fountain with his mouth full of chocolate ice-cream was screaming like a little red fire engine.

Smiths was within eyesight as I stood with my back leaning on the window of the cafeteria. Two minutes passed and then it was four no sign of Samantha, I recalled the conversation on the phone checking and rechecking in my head what she had. Over-thinking was beginning to take over.

“Meet me at four at Smiths, I’ll be by the cafeteria, and bring the book.”

“Meet me at four at Smiths, I’ll be by the cafeteria, and bring the book.”

“Meet me at four at Smiths, I’ll be by the cafeteria, and bring the book.”

It was starting to annoy me this sentence playing and replaying inside my brain.

Maybe she said, “Meet me at five at Smiths.”

Maybe I dreamt it. Maybe…maybe… I blinked my eyes a few times realising there was this young kid with a red baseball cap and and a wine coloured apron around his waist. He was standing in front of me, trying to get my attention and break my gaze.

“Excuse me, excuse me…”

I drew back, his pimply adolescent face was too close to mine for comfort.

“Heh?”

“I just cleaned those windows a half hour ago, you know how long it takes to get smudges off…?”

I stopped listening and tried to survey the scene behind his head, looking out for Samantha. I looked at my watch – 4:03.

I focused my eyes on the boy in front of me and said: “Sorry, just waiting for someone didn’t mean to be a prick and all messing your windows up that took you so long to clean.”

He scowled somewhat, sensing the sarcasm in my voice.

But he ignored offering a curt answer back and replied, “Waiting for someone?”

“Yeah, just waiting, didn’t mean any trouble.”

“Don’t worry man, I mean no harm just my boss is a bit of a bitch sometimes always getting on my case, you know I think she had it in for me at the start and she’s just looking for an excuse to fire me.”

“Yeah, I know what that’s like,” I smiled.

“Well now that you mentioned it there was a woman waiting for someone in pretty much the same place you’re standing in not long ago, she had a coffee inside and then she took up her waiting position here.”

“What did she look like?”

“She had blonde wavy hair, kind of reddish and brown if you ask me. She was about your height and slim. I’d say on a rating from one to ten, I’d give her an eight, and I don’t give girls eights very often.”

I smiled ahhh the good old days of puberty.

“So you scoring with her?” he gave me a playful nudge on the shoulder.

“Huh?” I replied a little disarmed, my eyes fluttering around the shops trying to keep a look out for Samantha and then return my attention to the boy I was talking to.

“Or is she just some project you are currently working on.” He chuckled to himself. A roar came out of the café, a loud bark of a roar that made him turn his head inwards.

“My boss, got to go. But if it helps any she left with a man, she looked frightened, he had a firm grip on her arm, don’t know why. When I cleaned up her table there was something written on her serviette like she was trying to get a message out, I put it in my pocket for some strange reason. I thought maybe she was leaving me her number or something, but it's some strange long number sequence like God knows what.”

He took the napkin out of his pocket, it was all crumbled up now. I took it from him and said thanks and let him get back to his job.

It was 4:10

Charles Retro – Most Wanted Man

Charles Retro was the one to blame for revisiting the Bestow tragedy, bringing up the past that apparently had been erased. Somewhere men in dark corners sat in echelons of power shaking in their black polished shoes. Charles Retro had to be disposed of quickly and quietly.

He sat on the same chair his grandfather sat on, a musty arm chair with faded grey flower stitching. He positioned himself as close as he could to the fireplace where a wood fire danced, the shadows leaping up on the walls licking over the thick drapes that stopped any light from getting in. He stared into the fire and then the mirror that was over the mantle piece realising his eyes were just as red as the flames.

What to do? What to do?

He glanced over at the news paper on the floor, the headlines read:

Charles Retro – Most Wanted Man

A cool breeze ripped through the small room, as he shuttered thinking of what bacon and croissants would taste like with a bit of melted butter, a dribble of maple syrup would go down a treat. He shook his head to rattle out any more trivial thoughts he might have and thought of the article in the paper.

A song popped into his head:

“Baa, baa, black sheep have you any wool…”

This time he lifted his hand in the air and struck his temple, the previous rattle hadn’t been enough. He studied the picture of himself on the headlines it looked more like a mugshot:

Brown curly mop of hair

Green serious eyes

A scrunched up nose

A pouting mouth

In need of a shave

Conclusion- serial killer

He looked at himself in the paper and then ran his hand over his curly dark brown beard. Thinking. He was always thinking, thinking of some far away place, thinking of what plan of action to take, was the little cool breeze earlier really a warning a foreboding of things to come? To much thinking is bad for you, makes one go cuckoo. He knew this; he developed grey hairs from over thinking, developed long lines on forehead, and constantly checking behind his back. Now a fugitive has to constantly check behind his back, because after all a fugitive is on the run for whatever reason. He closed his tired eyes, enough thinking, maybe he would give up and hand himself in and then it would all be over. He would sleep on it.