The Good, The Bad and The Undecided

First Contact • Clean Sci-Fi • 1947 Roswell

Ambition. Temptation. Consequences.

Rated PG-13 for psychological and ethical conflict.

In 1947, just after the Roswell incident, General Greg Newman is desperate to rise through the ranks. When two powerful superiors each extend an offer—one promising friendship, the other the promotion he craves—Greg decides to accept both.

For a moment, everything seems perfect. Until he realizes he’s been drawn into a web of deceit that could destroy not only his career, but his soul.

Trapped between loyalty and self-interest, Greg must confront the truth about who he’s become… and whether redemption is still within reach.

Earth’s Secret Alliance delivers clean, family-friendly, uplifting science fiction with heart. These one-to-two-hour short reads explore moral choices and human nature more than technology—perfect for readers who enjoy Star Trek’s optimism and Contact’s compassion.

(Part 3 of From Roswell to Area 51 — each story also stands alone in the Earth’s Secret Alliance universe.)

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Prefer the full novel?

Clean-read promise: no profanity • no on-page sex • non-graphic violence • uplifting tone.

Genres & tags

First Contact • Alternate History • Historical Sci-Fi • Clean Sci-Fi • Hopepunk • Military-adjacent (non-grim)

Ideal for

13+ readers who enjoy smart, hopeful sci-fi; teachers & librarians seeking high-interest, low-barrier entry points.

Reading Paths

Start with the Novel

From Roswell to Area 51 revises & expands the early episodes (including this one) and threads Charlie’s retrospective narration.

Read the novel

Or read by Episode

Each stands alone; reading order adds depth.

Length: 17k words
Formats: eBook • Paperback • Audiobook (planned)
ISBNs: 978-1-7781914-0-4 • 978-1-0698372-0-2

Reviews & Reader Notes

★★★★★ “Very interesting story. A mystery, science fiction at its fascinating best. The characters are strong, the protagonist is believable and if I say more it will ruin the enjoyment of discovery.” – Amazon Reviewer

★★★★★ This might be one of my favorites in the series, it worked well with the world that was set. It had what I was looking for from Tony B. Richard, and I enjoyed how good it all worked. I enjoyed the scifi elements and am excited to read more from the author.

Look Inside

Chapter One – General Newman

General Gregory “Greg” Newman didn’t know who to trust. In the span of a week, he’d gone from ambitious officer to reluctant spy, caught between a general who spoke in riddles about aliens and another who’d just threatened to destroy his career. And now he’d made the kind of mistake that could get people killed.

July 1947

Major General Greg Newman was in his office as his adjutant, Lt. Samson, handed him his newspaper.

‘High-Altitude Balloon Crash Lands in Roswell’. He huffed and tossed the newspaper back onto his desk without even bothering to read the article. “That’s more like it. Just a few days ago, they claimed they found a flying saucer. How gullible do they think we are?”

Newman was a practical man—a man of facts. Had been all his life; it was how he got where he was. He’d never bought into conspiracy theories like the nuts out there. “Who believes in aliens? Probably the same nuts who think the Earth is flat.”

Samson’s poker face did not change. “Yes, sir. Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave today?”

Newman sat back and formed a triangle with his fingers, his usual thinking position. Then he said, “Yes, I almost forgot. I’m visiting my mother tomorrow, and I need a bouquet for her. Contact the shop in the city that I usually deal with. Nothing expensive, just a basic bouquet. I’ll pick it up on my way out tomorrow and pay for it when I get there—from my own pocket. Don’t put it on the base’s account.”

Newman narrowed his eyes briefly. While he’d love to outsource the expense, the boutique’s name on his record wouldn’t look good. Newman was on the promotion selection list, and if he was going to make Lieutenant General, he’d need to keep things professional.
Samson’s lips quirked up proudly. “Already done, sir. I saw your monthly visit in your calendar.” He glanced at the papers in his hands.

Newman nodded. “Dismissed.”

Three seconds later, the door closed, but Newman didn’t notice. In his mind, the adjutant was already gone.

Newman returned to his paperwork with a grunt and a frown. Hopefully the higher ups will be impressed with this report. I caught the traitor.

Newman scrawled smoothly over his paperwork with his favorite pen, marking the details of his plan and how he’d executed it flawlessly. There had been a traitor among his soldiers, and all he’d had to do was lay the bait and sit back. He smiled to himself, remembering the look on the rat’s face when he’d been caught. Now the traitor was in jail where he belonged, and Newman could go back to his paperwork.

It was the one part of his job that he hated, but he knew it was better to do it himself. Especially with such an important report as this, one he hoped the higher ups would read, and that it would help him with his promotion. He never entrusted the critical reports to anyone else, since that one time his assistant had logged a mission wrong. His ex-assistant, that is.

#

Newman was seated alone in the corner at a diner along the highway for lunch for some real food. Food on the base wasn’t bad, but it was too bland for Newman’s taste.

Annoyed, he sat alone in the corner, watching the young folks in their booths chattering around him. In one hand, he held a mug of black coffee, every sip of which he savored. It was hot and bitter and just what he needed to get through a visit with his mother. He loved her dearly—very dearly—but she had a way of trying his nerves.

The young waitress set down his sandwich. “Anything else I can get you, sir?” she asked, flashing a bright smile.

She was fishing for compliments. All waitstaff were like that nowadays, flaunting themselves in hopes of an extra juicy tip. “No thanks, doll,” he replied. His eyes trailed after her as his ex-girlfriend, Sheena, filled his head again. He scowled and took a bite of his sandwich.

The meal had been thirty-five cents, so he tossed it down and a penny before he left. In the corner of his eye, he could see the waitress’s frown as she cleared the table. He ignored it. One cent was his usual tip, and he worked hard for his money. If the diner couldn’t afford to pay its staff proper wages, that wasn’t his problem.

His next errand took place at The Happy Florist, his mother’s favorite boutique. It smelled strongly of roses no matter the season, and even though he didn’t have allergies, the air always made Newman’s nose itch. If the shop’s tinkling bell didn’t alert the clerk to his presence, his following volcanic sneeze sure did.

The clerk smiled at him. “Hello, Mr. Newman!” She bustled in and out of the back room, returning with a large, colorful bouquet. “We know your mother really likes gladioli, and they aren’t in season for long, so we went ahead and put together the bouquet.”

Newman took a step toward the door without the flowers, but then turned around. “I asked for a cheap bouquet. I don’t see the point of spending so much on flowers that will just die in a couple of days.”
The florist dropped her head and shoulders in disappointment.

Newman looked at her sad eyes. “But Mom does love them, and I only see her once a month. Hopefully, this will make up for missing last month’s visit.”

“That will be three dollars,” she said hesitantly.

Newman’s eyes popped. That’s almost four pounds of steak! He frowned as he reached for his wallet, withdrew the money, then paused before laying it on the counter.

The drive to his childhood home was a quiet one, with far fewer cars on the road than he’d anticipated. Traffic would’ve given him a chance to prepare himself for the visit. Newman’s mother was a kind and gentle woman, but the memories of his childhood haunted him all the same. An image of his father flashed before his eyes just as the white-sided house came into view, and Newman shook himself.

He walked up the central path, past the perfect lawn and the garden beds bursting with flowers. He remembered playing out on this lawn as a boy. The hot days, the cold days, the rainy days—it didn’t matter. He’d never been bothered by the elements. He reached the porch and remembered his mother’s face, wet with tears, standing there when he was seventeen and heading off to West Point. That was the moment he’d turned his life around and never looked back.

Now, here he was again, a major general, and he could visit his mother every month in this home that held so much sadness. The difference was, now he was strong.

He knocked on the door.

“Gregory, darling!” his mother cried in delight as she opened the door. “You’re here!”

He leaned down to press a quick kiss to her cheek. “Hi, Mom. These are for you.” He thrust the bouquet forward, hoping she wouldn’t dote on him like she usually did. Her eyes lit up.

“You remembered how much I love gladioli! Let me just get them in some water. Come in.” Gladly taking the bouquet, she wandered back into the house to find a vase.

By the time she set them on the dining table, Newman had already dealt with his boots and coat, and was admiring an old picture of her. She was once a beautiful young lady with blonde curls, and that beauty had stayed with her as she aged. Though she’d lost much of her height and her hair had gone gray, her face was creased with happiness, not worry.

She stood back to admire the flowers. “They are beautiful, thank you,” she said as he walked up behind her.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

“I am a little tired, but I’ve been doing OK.” She quickly ushered him to the table to sit, fussing about how tired he must be. “I was worried you weren’t coming today. You didn’t last month.”
Newman sighed. “I’m sorry, Mom. You know I had important business to take care of.”

“Yes, I know dear. It just gets so lonely here without you. So, have you finished that big project you were working on?”

His chest swelled, and a bright smile overtook his lips. “Yes. It was a great success.”

“I never doubted!” his mother claimed, clapping her hands. “My boy, first an honor student, now a general in the army. I’m so proud! Come on, let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

She disappeared into the kitchen, only to reappear with two steaming plates of pasta. On another trip, she produced a fresh garden salad and a pitcher of lemonade. Newman eyed the food as she set it out, not at all surprised. It was the same dish she always prepared for his visits. Sometimes he wondered if she lived on the stuff.

She smiled at him. “I know spaghetti has always been your favorite.”

Yeah, when I was a teenager.

She continued chattering the entire time they were eating, asking how he’d been, if he’d been up to anything interesting, if he’d read about that weather balloon incident in the papers. Apparently, it was all her lady friends could talk about. “Betty thinks that they’re using the story to cover up a big conspiracy. Aliens! Wouldn’t that be exciting, dear?”

“Aliens aren’t real, Mom. We’ve been over this.”

She huffed. “For someone who always did so well in science, I don’t understand how you could be so closed-minded.” Annoyed, she changed the subject, and unfortunately, the new topic was one he’d much rather avoid. “How come you haven’t been bringing around that lovely lady of yours? What was her name? Sheila?”

“Sheena,” he corrected, “and we split up months ago. She kept trying to push me into buying her a ring.” She was pretty, but she had strong opinions of just about everything; he knew they weren’t a good match. They would have spent their lives arguing about every little thing.

His mother pressed her lips together. “Gregory, you are not getting any younger, and it’s time you settled down and started a family. I was so sure you two would be married by now.”

Newman ground his teeth for a moment, but held his tongue. Marriage was a topic his mother would never let go. She wasn’t old, but she was getting there, and she wanted grandkids before she passed. In part, she and Sheena were alike. They were both stubborn—and they both wanted Newman to do something he didn’t want to do.

“I don’t have time to start a family. I’m already forty-five, and I’m still just a lackey two-star general; have been for two years now. If I distract myself with marriage, I may as well just stay treading water! No, I need a promotion. They only give the real jobs to the three- and four-star generals.”

“And if you get your promotion, then will you find yourself a nice lady?”

“Mom, I’d sooner see your aliens falling from the sky than let anything distract me from this job.”

Chapter Two – The Banquet

WASHINGTON, D.C.

Newman straightened his dress uniform and entered the hall for the president’s banquet. He received the invitation only a couple of days ago, and wondered why it was so sudden, but he was determined to impress. He wasn’t going to be the youngest general in the room, but he was the youngest two-star general, and the youngest one gunning so strongly for a promotion.

It was a vast room bathed in warm light, and immediately upon entering the room, Newman scanned the attendees. It was crowded. The air was rich with strong perfumes and colognes competing for his attention. Many people—men in military uniforms with well-dressed ladies on their arms—were milling about the room with drinks or sitting at tables. He focused on the men’s faces, recognizing a few of them. Armstrong, Smithers, Dale. He steered clear of the younger generals, the one-stars and two-stars; they couldn’t help him here. The two most prominent generals were Jones and Scornson. Either one of them had enough influence to have him promoted by the committee; all he had to do was impress one of them.

To his surprise and utter delight, though he wouldn’t show it, a graying man in his mid-sixties approached him first. His name tag said ‘Jones’.

“You’re Newman, aren’t you?” the older general asked.

Newman studied him, having never seen the man in person. He was taller than expected, and from his posture alone, Newman could tell that Gen. Jones was every bit the level-headed man that he’d heard about. “Yes, sir. General Jones, I’ve followed your career, and I must say, I’ve always been so impressed.” This man was truly outstanding. Jones smiled at him the way he might smile at a colleague, an equal, and Newman felt something he didn’t know how to define. It was a good feeling though, maybe that’s why it made him uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” Jones said. He turned slightly and swept his arm out toward the young man standing next to him. “This is my recruitment clerk, Corporal Dow.”

The corporal saluted.

Newman turned his attention to the man. He wasn’t a general, so Newman had disregarded him at first. The young black man carried himself with an air of standard military professionalism. Newman returned the salute. “Corporal Dow,” he greeted the man.

“Nice to meet you, General Newman,” Dow replied.

“Now that the pleasantries are out of the way,” Jones said, nodding sharply before facing Newman again, “have you heard that I am heading a new project down in New Mexico?”

“I believe so, yes. A weather balloon crashed in Roswell, correct?” he asked, and Jones nodded again. Newman took that as a sign to continue. “What really happened? Did you catch an enemy spy? Or should I believe the papers about the aliens?” he joked. It must be a high-level spy, if anything. The kind that would cause a lot of tension with foreign governments if they knew we had him.

“Which would you prefer?” Jones asked, catching Newman entirely off guard.

“Umm….” He’s joking, right? It was certainly a strange question. What would he prefer between an alien and a spy? It’s a spy; it’s got to be a spy. “Either one is fine with me, sir.”

The other general cocked his head to one side. “If you were in charge, how would you approach the situation?”

He knew that Jones always approached things logically. The man never jumped to conclusions. What could he say to impress him? “I would assess their intentions, sir,” he settled on. “I’d interrogate if hostile, debrief if friendly.”


“So, you are saying you would treat an alien and a spy the same way? If they are friendly or hostile, treat them as such?”

Jones seemed completely serious, but why would he need to use a hypothetical to explain spies? A sudden cold feeling washed over Newman. Maybe he was serious. What if it is aliens? Would I really treat them the same? He mentally shook himself. He would not allow himself to fall into a stuttering wreck because of some conspiracy theory. No. It’s a spy. It can’t possibly be aliens. Aliens don’t exist. “Yes, sir. If a spy is defecting, you are more likely to get information from him by treating him with respect.”

Jones looked at Dow. When Newman turned his attention back to the corporal, he was surprised to find that the young man was studying him intently. After a few seconds, Dow turned and nodded to Jones. The older general smiled.

“Good answer,” he said. Then, completely changing the topic, he asked, “Do you play chess?”

Newman would never admit it, but he sputtered, momentarily at a loss for words. He regained his composure. “O-of course, sir. Yes.”

“Would you like to play a game next week?”

“Yes, sir. It would be an honor, sir.”

“Good, good. I’ll have Corporal Dow contact your office.”

“Thank you, sir,” Newman nodded.

The general and his assistant excused themselves shortly after that, having other people to speak to before the banquet’s mingling time ended. Newman’s gaze followed them as they left, and he saw them pass the other prominent general, Scornson. Beside Gen. Scornson was a hulking white man about Dow’s age and Newman saw the two young men exchange heated glances. He wondered what that was about.

He didn’t have long, though, because Scornson and his guest were headed straight for him. Wow, this is my lucky day! The two men I wanted to approach are both approaching me! Then Newman suddenly found himself pinned under an intense stare, and his heart seemed to leap up into his throat. It wasn’t fear, exactly, but something about Scornson’s eyes stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt since he was a little boy. He shoved it back down where it belonged. If I’m going to get a promotion, I must be confident, he told himself, clearing his throat.

“General Scornson, sir,” he said. “I am Newman. Major General Newman. You have quite an impressive career, sir.”

Scornson looked down his nose at Newman, then around the room, and back to him. “Newman. Hmm. I’ve heard about you. Still only major general, huh? I was already a lieutenant general by your age.”

Newman’s shoulders hunched only an inch before he straightened his posture. He pulled in a breath and pressed his lips together. That may be true, he thought, but I’m sure I became a major general younger than you. And, if I get it this year, I will make lieutenant general the same age as you.

Scornson continued, either unaware or uncaring of Newman’s discomfort. “This is my grandson, Sergeant Lawless.” He waved in the young man’s general direction, but his attention was elsewhere as he cast his gaze around the room again. He found Jones in the crowd. “So, what did Jones want with you?”

“General Jones was just inviting me to a game of chess,” Newman replied.

“I see.” He glanced back at Jones. “I’m looking to expand my team. Are you interested in a promotion?”

Newman nodded, and Scornson’s lips twitched at the corners.
“Of course you are. Good. I want you to keep in touch. Here’s my card.”

Newman took it. “Yes, sir.”

As the general and his grandson were walking away, they were speaking in low tones.

“…doesn’t know…” Scornson was saying, “…aliens…keep looking…”

Newman’s eyes widened in alarm. There it was again. Is ‘alien’ a code word for something? Are they talking about foreigners? He knew he wouldn’t get any more information on the matter, so he turned his attention back to the rest of the room. He still had some time to mingle with some other generals before supper was served.

For Educators & Parents

High-interest, classroom-friendly. Discussion prompts available in the Classroom Guide. Themes: courage, conscience, bystander intervention, diplomacy vs. fear, bias & first impressions.

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