Mechanicsburg, Ohio is a small town northeast of Dayton on Highway Four to Marysville. It had an IGA, a bowling alley, a car dealership, a elementary school and a high school. The prison and Honda plant up in Marysville provided what little business the town had. In January Honda had announced a three billion dollar aerospace research center was being built at the Marysville plant. Locals were being hired for construction but rumor was most of the new employees would be from Wright-Patterson Air Force Base in Dayton.
The black jet landed on a two thousand foot strip of asphalt southeast of town at the corner of Rosedale Road and Patrick Road. They got in a black Acura sedan that was waiting that took them on a short drive along Main Street. An unmarked road turned up by the water tower to a group of warehouses located behind the Memorial Park sports complex.
John Parker had never been to Mechanicsburg but knew the town. The solid brick buildings on Main Street just up from the grain silo and tractor garage spoke to the journalist in him. These were down to earth people with roots in the land. They’d stay here as long as they could. When he thought of them as the salt of the earth it wasn’t just a figure of speech.
John really wasn’t surprised the ‘Horse and Buggy Archive’ was here, just north of Dayton. And he wasn’t surprised that aliens had made an appearance in his story. The alux had kept popping up in all the books he had read. They were the Mayan version of fairies or goblins. Some authorities believed the mythology had been imported from the Spanish or even English pirates. Others hinted there was reality behind the myth.
Their black Acura sedan pulled up to the warehouse complex at eleven fifteen a.m. They stopped in a covered parking area between two warehouses. Leaving their luggage in the car they entered one and found themselves in a huge room literally packed full of shelves and file cabinets. Looking around John realized they kept ending up in rooms filled with file cabinets. They stood on a thick rug in front of a cute, bored receptionist as she checked their credentials. Suddenly the rug sank into the floor.
It stopped one floor down and they followed an empty hallway to a room with a table and two chairs in it. John signed a nondisclosure form on the table then Kathy called out on the phone on the table.
“Yes, I need to see Files 41 through 110. Yes. Yes. No. Yes, thank you.”
Ten minutes later there was a knock on the door. Kathy waited a moment then opened it to find a in a cart in the hall loaded with six large cardboard boxes on it. She pushed it inside and the pair began going through photos of flying saucers similar to some seen at Tunguska.
These were photos journalists would give their right arm— or almost any extremity— to see. Detailed pictures of mint condition flying saucers. But John Parker was here for his story and besides, he didn’t do that kind of journalism.
He noticed several of the saucers did look like a shield. But it was the photos of the interiors that took his breath away. They were metal panels covered with glyphs that seemed familiar. He’d seen these glyphs before. Then it hit him about the time it hit Kathy.
His eyes met hers and both said. “Nazca.”