A Gift From the Stars

It was a cruel oversight on their part that Rick and Jill Tom named their boy Thomas. He would thereafter be mocked by other boys, as Tom Tom. And so, his childhood was peppered with unending ridicule: muted drumming of fingers on books and beneath desks whenever he'd answer a question in class, feathers left in his books and derisive references to "Injun Tom" when Tom Tom wasn't sufficiently insulting, causing Thomas to retreat from others and become a loner.

During his high school years, the drumming would be taken up by one of the class clowns, then by others, "

Tom

, tom, tom, tom;

Tom

, tom, tom, tom;

Tom

, tom, tom, tom..." and so it went until Thomas had answered the question.

Over time, though he knew the answers to most of his teacher's questions, Thomas found ways to avoid answering them by slouching out of sight or hunching over a notebook, while pretending to take notes. Because he dutifully completed his homework, tended to score high Bs and low As on exams, and due to the drumming that arose whenever he was called upon, his teachers were eventually conditioned to ignore him, which is what Thomas sought. More than anything, he wanted anonymity.

Other than his unfortunate class nickname -- one neither he nor his parents chose for him -- Thomas was otherwise an ordinary boy who'd just turned 18, intelligent though not brilliant, athletic though playing no sport, and good looking, though without girlfriends. He was, in a word, utterly forgettable. He had no friends and sought none. Girls similarly avoided him, as what image-sensitive teenage girl would want a boyfriend who was the joke of the school?

His senior yearbook picture said it all. Beneath his portrait, a description read as follows, "Thomas, known as 'Tom Tom,' is an avid hiker and backpacker, having climbed several peaks. He plans to travel following graduation."

Thomas planned to travel, because he wanted to get as far away from Middleton High School as possible. To avoid others, he had no plans to attend college or a trade school, to join the military or a monastery. Those all required dealing with other people and Thomas just wanted to be left alone.

At spring break, Thomas had planned just such a trip, a backpacking trip across the wild open spaces of Nevada. He planned to explore the Great Basin wilderness, carrying light backpacking gear and with no one around to bother him. His plan was to ride his old motorbike on U.S. 50, the loneliest highway in America, park it somewhere safe yet hidden near park headquarters, then spend spring break hiking across the park, while climbing a few of its lonely peaks, before returning to his last few months of captivity as a senior at Middleton High.

Thomas had told no one, not even his parents, where he would be going while on spring break. With mostly As and a few Bs and never a reason to question him, Jill and Rick Tom had gotten used to Thomas' frequent backpacking trips. The only aspiration he'd ever told them was that he hoped to solo hike the Pacific Crest Trail from Mexico to Canada, some day. So, when he said he'd like their permission to go backpacking during spring break, they didn't question where he planned to go and just said, "You've worked so hard, you deserve it."

Near the end of his week in the park, Thomas sat alone on the western slope of Granite Peak at the southern end of the Great Basin Wilderness, filled with peace and gazing up at a clear, black sky that was airbrushed with trillions of points of light. He'd started his hike near Pyramid Peak in the middle of the park, then traveled south to Mount Washington and Lincoln Peak before setting camp on his fourth day in the park at Granite Peak. The isolation and peace had so filled him that he considered, for a moment, never leaving, though he knew there was little way to survive for long in so remote a place on the scant supplies he'd carried with him.

As he considered how he might find a way to live a life of solitude in so remote a place, he noticed a green light that seemed to be growing in intensity far off above the horizon of peaks that lay beyond the park. In what seemed to be a moment, the light brightened to greenish-blue as it streaked toward Granite Peak.

Seconds before the light was to crash into the mountain, Thomas dove for the cover of a large boulder, which lay between his campsite and the crashsite, a hundred yards away. Thomas lay curled into a ball pressed against the backside of the boulder, his arms crossed over his head, as if mere flesh and bone could protect him from the force of the impending crash.

The blue streak light slammed into the mountain, then bounced upward skidding along its flank in a firey trail of blue, white and green phosphorescent light, setting off a deafening thud and shaking the mountain so that boulders and rocks shook loose and tumbled down its slopes. Thomas closed his eyes tightly as pebbles and debris fell across a wide area, momentarily deafened by the noise of the crash.

A moment later, peace had returned to Granite Peak. A few brush were aflame and smoke and dust hung in the air, but these would die down as the occasional bush was consumed. Yet, during that moment, the air smelled of fireworks, cordite and dirt, until blown away by the mountain breeze. The crackling and popping of dry brush being consumed by fire soon died away. Within an hour, all that could be sensed of the crash site was a faint glow of burning embers and a lingering carbon smell.

"Wha, the hell?!" Thomas said to himself, then tried to put the incident in perspective. He'd witnessed a meteor hit Earth and lived to tell about it, he reasoned. In the morning, he'd go check it out, though for the rest of the night, he would spent if fitfully, leaning against the boulder shivering and unable to move.

As dawn began to paint the sky pink, long shadows kept the west slope of Granite Peak obscured. Thomas stood shakily and walked around the boulder to see what remained of the meteor. To his astonishment, the crumpled form of a silver-grey craft lay a hundred yards away. A blackened skid of charred rock and brush led from the impact point where it sat, steaming. A door on the side of the craft was bent open and a body lay half out of the craft.

"Ohmigod!" Thomas shouted, then took off running toward the craft. As he ran, the craft became clearer to him despite the shadows. It was some sort of military aircraft, though one he hadn't seen before. Its wings and tail had apparently been torn from the main body of the craft and had disintegrated. "They test these nearby, don't they?" Thomas thought to himself. As he approached the craft, he weaved his way through large boulders, similar to the one he'd hidden behind. As he came around one, he saw that the craft was now about 25 yards away. The body was now recognizable, causing Thomas to stop suddenly. His eyes widened with recognition. It was a Grey.

Greys are a type of alien lifeform with large heads and eyes and skinny bodies. He'd seen guys wear Grey costumes, with their rubber masks, and silver cloaks during Halloween. Thomas never dressed up for Halloween, as that would mean socializing with those who ridiculed him. He thought, "Boy, will they ridicule me now, once I've said I saw a UFO and the body of a Grey!"

The Grey was slumped out of the door of the craft on his back, his large eyes clouded, his mouth open as if gasping for air. "Do they breathe our air?" Thomas thought to himself? He stood for a moment looking at the body, then say that lights were still blinking inside the craft. He then moved slowly toward it. As he did, it was obvious that the Grey in the doorway was dead, clearly dead. This would be the evidence UFO hunters had often sought, an actual craft and body of an alien from outer space.

As Thomas came nearer to the craft, he could hear lyrical tones softly sounding. Looking inside, he saw that the craft's control panels were covered with writing, a type of hygroglyphics similar to what Egyptians or the Mayans used, only the oddly shaped polygonal characters were colored and glowing. Some changed from cool colors to warmer ones as he touched the side of the craft. It had cooled, though was still warm to the touch. "Stupid," he thought, "what if I'd burned myself?"

The craft was badly damaged, crushed at points. The colored characters and the warm sunrise light filtering into the cabin illuminated yet another Grey who was lying. thrown to the side, his harness still holding him to his seat, a gelatinous bright yellow cup that seemed to form to his body. The second Grey also seemed to be dead. It appeared as if he'd been working to remove a device from a cavity that bore its polygonal shape. The Grey's grip had loosened from the device and it lay in the craft, glowing blue and pulsing green.

Thomas leaned forward to take the device from the craft and as he was about to grab it, the eyes of the Grey inside the craft opened. The Grey made an expression of surprise and pain, holding up his hand as if to warn Thomas not to touch the device. Startled, yet committed, Thomas reached in quickly and grabbed it.

Thomas was suddenly stiffened by a force that coursed through his body, freezing him in place as an invisible current of thought ran through every one of his cell and synapses. It was as if an overwhelmingly bright, green-blue light was filling him with knowledge and power carried to Earth across millennia and from a more powerful world. His body pulsed with energy, then the surge overcame him and he collapsed, still holding the device.

When he became conscious again, minutes later, he emerged from a stupor to see that the injured Grey inside the craft was slowly pressing polygonal buttons. Each lit a different color, until the last. When he touched it with his long, spindly fingers, all the buttons within the craft turned from greenish-blue and purple to yellow, then orange, then red. As they did, they began flashing, slowly at first, but then faster. The Grey turned to look at this earthling with apparent sadness.

Thomas realized the lights indicated a countdown. He stood hesitantly, holding the device. The Grey reached out as if to indicate that Thomas should give the device to him, though Thomas turned and began to run.

At the first boulder, 25 yards away, he looked back. The Grey's hand was extended toward him, palm facing him and those long fingers pointed upwardly. Then, the Grey slowly clenched his hand, looked down dejectedly and gestured toward Thomas by flicking his hand away, as if to say, "Run!" And, Thomas did. He ran like he had never run before.

As Thomas ran, he could hear a type of mournful music building, quiet at first, then increasing in tone and intensity. As he neared the large boulder that had protected him from the crash, the tone was still audible and now stretching out into a single tone. Thomas dove again behind the boulder that sheltered him from the crash as everything around him turned blue then white.

He shut his eyes, held the device close to his body and cowered behind the huge rock as streams of blue-white light shot from the craft, brightening the mountainside, then imploded back into it with one sucking wheeze of a sound. Then nothing.

Thomas lay curled up behind the boulder, seemingly for minutes on end. Then, standing up, he saw that the rest of his gear, his tent, sleeping bag and stove, had evaporated. Half the boulder was gone as well, as if it had been eaten away by acid. White ash led from the crash site in all directions. Nothing was left of the craft or the Greys. There was no evidence they'd ever been there, save the small device he cradled in his arms. With the destruction of the craft, the device seemed to have lost all power. It no longer glowed blue or green, though its dark metal carried a greenish-blue iridescence when bathed in the morning light.

Thomas looked around the camp. He glimpsed a bit of red peeking behind a shattered boulder. It was his pack where he'd leaned it the previous evening. Somehow it had survived, though nothing else remained. Thomas stood surveying the scene for a moment, then feeling hunger, he placed the device into the pack beneath soiled clothing, hung the pack over his shoulders and began the long slow walk back.

Two hours down the mountain, he heard the tell-tale whirr, whirr, whirr of a helicopter. The event had not gone unnoticed by other visitors and staff had been alerted. They'd sent out a rescue helicopter.

The helicopter crew had seen no one else on Granite Peak. Thomas was its sole visitor... just as he'd planned. He was flown to park headquarters where he was debriefed about the "meteor." Thomas described that he was awake when he saw the meteor approaching and was lucky to have sheltered himself behind a large boulder that was partly incinerated by the crash. He said that upon rising from behind the rock, the scene was as he left it, charred white and devoid of any remains of the meteor. Near daybreak, the remains of the red-hot meteor began making noises and he was so close to it, that he worried it might explode. So, he again hid behind the rock, just as it exploded. That, he said, was the bright light all had seen from within the park.

They accepted his description, made sure he wasn't injured and insisted that he stay. Thomas spent another four hours doing what he hated most, explaining to others what he'd lived through. Why couldn't they all just leave him alone, including the park employee who introduced himself as a freelance writer? As a minor, Thomas argued with park officials that his parents be called. When they did call them, his parents asked that he be allowed to return home and officials relented. Later that morning, he retrieved his motorcycle from where he'd parked it and took off for the return ride to Middleton on U.S. 50.

For a short while after his return, Thomas was a sort of hometown celebrity, described by the freelancer in his

National Enquirer

article as the rare survivor of a meteor. There was, of course, the obligatory sidebar story about the odd things that happen in the desert, UFO sightings, Area 51. The Enquirer even used the drawing of a Grey, when a UFO hunter patrolling elsewhere in Nevada claimed to have seen a UFO that evening, though the U.S. Air Force denied anything unusual had been sensed.

To the scientists and naturalists of the National Park Service, it was a celestial event, but a more mundane one... just a spectacular meteor whose impact site would forever more be studied by scientists. The impact area on Granite Peak was made off limits so that university researchers could study it, though nothing would be found, other than the crumpled and melted remnants of one of Thomas' aluminum water bottles.

As for Thomas, his name would forever be linked to the meteor crash, as the backpacker who happened to be on the mountain the night it hit. He soon disappeared into obscurity and wasn't even mentioned in news articles a year later when local papers mentioned its anniversary and interviewed the park superintendent over what scientists had learned, since. A lot of nothing, would be his reply. It remained a mystery.

However, unseen changes were also beginning to form within Thomas, ones that meant he was never the same after the impact, and yet he was just beginning to recognize that it had changed him. The one thing that was outwardly certain, was that the event forever changed Thomas' nickname from Tom Tom to T&T.

The contradiction of Thomas' explanation of the colorful and explosive meteor impact, in contrast to his reclusive manner, caused the

Enquirer

writer make the teen seem more interesting than he was and he chose to refer to Thomas Nelson Tom as "TNT" in the article. The nickname took and soon others began calling him TNT. Thomas liked it better than what his antagonists used to call him and accepted the new nickname, though he'd always be "Thomas" to his parents.