by Rachel Ford
“Oh, of course. Forgive me. I forget that your species has a limited range of sensory perceptions.”
Alfred blinked at this apology that sounded more like an insult than anything else. “We…do?”
“Yes,” Li answered, quite matter-of-factly.
“Oh.” He frowned. “Well, I got food.”
“Ah.” Li’s pale blue face flushed a navy, almost as dark as his eyes, with excitement. “I am in your debt, Alfred Favero.”
Alfred watched in fascination – and, if he was really honest with himself, mild horror – as the alien downed item after item. He’d eaten an armful of cheeseburgers, tacos, pizza slices and chicken sandwiches in less than five minutes. Now, he turned to the frozen goods. Pulling a chocolate covered ice cream cone from the bag, he unwrapped the frozen treat then stared at it.
“What manner of food is this, Alfred?”
“It’s an ice cream cone.”
“Ice-cream,” he repeated slowly. Then, he brought it to his nostrils. They twitched. “And it is edible?”
“In theory,” Alfred answered. “I don’t know how long it’s been in the freezer though.”
Li considered this, then shrugged. He opened his mouth, and somehow – the human wasn’t quite sure how – slipped the entire cone inside. Alfred cringed, and rushed to explain that it was not meant to be eaten in one bite. But the alien seemed quite content, distended jaw notwithstanding, so he fell silent and watched.
His cheeks bulged and flexed and finally returned to their normal state. Then, Li smacked his lips. “Ice cream, you say, Alfred? I’ve heard of this ice cream before, but I had never tasted it. That stuff’s the bee’s knees.”
Chapter Fifteen
Alfred slept a little during the day, but his companion’s constant consumption of television roused him more than once. He shortly came to the conclusion that Li was straightforward almost to a fault, and as a consequence easily amused. Nothing he saw gave him pause. He wept at the soap operas, laughed at the sitcoms, and fretted over news broadcasts. And as soon as one ended, his emotions evolved to match the landscape of the next.
Throughout this, the taxman managed to glean something of Li’s people. It happened after one of the soap operas concluded. The alien, brushing tears away, said, “Ah, but your human mating rituals are a source of endless drama.”
This was true enough, though Alfred resented the idea of measuring human interaction by soap operas. It was almost as bad as viewing reality through the prism of reality TV, and he told Li as much.
The alien seemed confused, and for a minute they were silent. “You are one of the males of your species, aren’t you, Alfred Favero?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“And you?” the taxman ventured. He’d assumed Li was male, but the fact was, he wasn’t always certain. There was a distinct ambiguity to the alien that made assigning a gender rather difficult.
“Oh, my people are – how do you say it? Genderless.”
“Genderless? Really?”
“Yes. You tend to perceive us as male, but we never had a need to evolve into distinct genders. Our reproduction is asexual.”
“Asexual?” Alfred couldn’t help but pity the species. That didn’t sound like much fun.
“Yes. So, you see, we spare ourselves the drama that you must suffer, if your species is to survive. We do not take mates, as you do, but rather we choose life partners based on interests and compatibility. It is not so…” He hesitated for a moment, as if searching his mind for the right word. “Sentimental as your traditions. But, neither is it so fraught with disappointment or chaos.”
“Do you fall in love?” Alfred asked.
“We have the utmost regard for our partners,” Li assured him. “When I am of age, I shall be matched to a partner, and I’m sure we will be very compatible.”
“Sounds…very romantic,” the human said, managing to keep most of the sarcasm out of his tone.
“Oh, no. Not at all. My people do not indulge in anything so foolish as romance.”
“Your people?” Alfred wondered. “Who are they?”
“Our name – in our own language – is rather difficult for your people to pronounce. But we are called by humans Geejays.”
“Geejays?” he repeated.
“Yes,” Li explained. “For the name of our planet, according to your star charts, is GJ two hundred seventy-three b.”
NASA clearly didn’t assign their best brains to the naming committee, Alfred thought. Aloud, though, he said, “That’s, uhh, an interesting name.”
“Yes,” the alien smiled. “It sounds rather pleasant. Musical. We like it.”
“Oh. Well, that’s good.”
Their conversation moved to other topics, and Alfred quickly ascertained that, for all Li’s lack of guile, his were a clever people. Their advances in space travel technology were years ahead of Earth’s. “Ten thousand years ahead, by our estimates,” the alien assured him.
Their culture was ancient, too, predating human existence by tens of millions of years. “And all carefully chronicled. Your planet, you see, has been at war for most of your species’ existence.” He hesitated. “The dawn of your species, in a sense, was like your Earth catching a virus; it has raged in the system ever since. Perhaps you will kill the host, or perhaps the host will kill you.”
Alfred blinked at this dire outlook. “You mean…our planet might exterminate humanity?”
“We have seen it on other worlds, with other species that behaved as yours does,” Li offered, with not much more emotion than one might express over a dead chipmunk. “Destabilizing the crust, polluting the air and waterways, warming the atmosphere: the consequences can be cataclysmic.
“But, I confess, I do hope that your species follows the third path.”
“What’s the third path?” He was almost afraid to ask.
“To come to live in harmony with your world, of course.”
“Oh.”
“We learned this lesson many millions of years ago. And so our records are exhaustive. Do you know, Alfred Favero, I can trace my lineage back thousands of generations? I can know the professions, the interests – the crimes, in some cases – of all my forebearers, for millions of years.”
The taxman’s head swam at the very idea, and he shivered. “Good God. Millions of years of family history?” If his own family was anything to go by, a few decades of knowledge more than sufficed to quench any further curiosity.
Li, though, missed the horror in his tones. “Indeed so. I know who the – how do you say it? Squares, were.” Alfred was quite sure he had never said it before in his life, but he didn’t interrupt. “I know who the cool cats were. I know who the chuckleheads were, and who the geniuses were. I know where they were educated, what planets they visited, how many qualdrecs of the universe they’ve covered.”
“How many what?”
“Qualdrec. It is a measure of distance. Similar to your light years.”
“Oh.”
“But do you know what?”
“What?”
“I still find your scant, fleeting human history more interesting.” He frowned, the eyebrowless ridges of his face lifting. “Perhaps it’s the mystery of your people. You’re so unpredictable, so erratic – so chaotic.” He smiled even as Alfred frowned. “It’s very exciting. It’s exciting just being here.”
“Well…uh…I’m glad you think so.” That was one way to look at being kidnapped and locked in an underground prison facility, he supposed.
“I do hope we will see more of your world, before my ship returns.”
“I hope we can,” Alfred said, not entirely truthfully. “But we have to be careful. We can’t risk getting caught.”
“Yes,” Li nodded. “I do not want you to end up in the cooler.”
“Thanks. I think.”
The alien nodded. “Anyway, I do not mind being here. Your conversation is very stimulating, and I find your television programs to be
very entertaining. Although, sometimes, the language is a little shocking.”
Here, Alfred was compelled to agree. The man who passed his four-letter thoughts through an internal filter had a hard time abiding what made it past the network censors.
“Still, it is a pleasant change of pace. I could not watch the shows when I was with the other humans. I spent much time answering questions there. There was not much left for enjoyment.”
Alfred felt ashamed at this – ashamed of his government, for subjecting such a trusting, easily pleased, almost simple, creature to endless interrogation. “I’m sorry about that,” he apologized.
The alien smiled. “You are very kind, Alfred. But it is no matter. Now, I will see my shows and converse with you.”
Chapter Sixteen
Nancy texted him three more times, and tried calling once, during the day. He ignored her messages. She couldn’t know that he was out of the area. She couldn’t know what he was doing. That would only endanger her.
And he? Well he couldn’t let himself think of Nancy. He needed to stay strong for his mission.
And he was entirely committed to that mission. Li’Muldan was as gentle and unprepossessing a creature as he’d ever encountered. He would not – could not – surrender him to torture or interrogation.
Eventually, dusk rolled around, and it was time to head out. Alfred had gathered their scant belongings, and was in the process of transporting the last of Li’s food wrappers – he’d had another three generous feedings since morning – to the waste bin when he heard his phone buzz from the dresser top.
He’d put the phone on silent mode, so as not to have to explain why he refused to answer his calls. But it would be Nancy. He knew that. He turned away, the familiar feeling of sadness settling in the pit of his stomach.
Li, though, got up at the same time. A moment later, the taxman heard him say, “Alfred, your communicator is malfunctioning. It’s not alerting you that you have an incoming transmission.”
“Oh, that’s –” Alfred began, about to explain that he didn’t need to take the message.
But Li’s voice sounded again, “Alfred Favero’s communicator.”
The taxman’s eyes bulged, and he spun around, racing toward the phone. A flurry of discarded trash hit the ground behind him. “No!” he screamed.
It was too late, though. Nancy’s voice came across the line, “Alfred, why haven’t you – oh my God!”
Alfred seized the phone, only vaguely registering Nancy’s wide-eyed expression. Naturally, it had been a video chat, and Li’Muldan’s mottled blue face had been the first thing she’d seen. He hung up the call.
The alien blinked at him. “Are you not allowed to accept transmissions?”
“Something like that,” the taxman said.
“Oh. Still, I hope she does not think me rude.”
This, of course, was the last thing on Alfred’s mind. His disappearing act had just been upended. Nancy not only knew that he was up to something, but she knew exactly what he was up to.
The phone rang again, and Alfred started as it buzzed in his hands. Sugar cookies. It was Nancy, trying to initiate a second video call. He pressed the decline button, and the buzzing stopped.
Or, more accurately, it paused, for she called again. And when he refused the second redial, she dialed another time. Finally, after the third refusal, she sent a text that read, “Answer that goddamn phone Alfred, or so help me I’m going straight to Caspersen and telling her everything.”
Then, the phone rang again. Alfred swallowed, his hand hovering about the buttons. To accept the call meant to put Nancy right back in the center of everything. But to refuse meant calling her bluff. And something told the taxman that she wasn’t bluffing.
He answered the call, and forced an air of nonchalance that was so stiff it was painful even to act out. “Nance,” he said with an airy laugh. “Sorry about that. Dropped the phone. What’s up?”
She, though, cut straight to the chase. “What the hell are you doing with that alien, Alfred?”
“Alien?” he pulled a surprised face. “What are you talking about?”
Her forehead creased. “Don’t bullshit me. I saw him!”
Li, meanwhile, began to plod over. Alfred flailed his arms vigorously to signal that he should stay put. “I’m not bull – that is, lying. It’s just bad lighting here. Whatever you saw – thought you saw – was probably just the lighting.”
“You want me to go to Caspersen?” she threatened.
“Caspersen?” He laughed nervously. “About what? I’m on suspension, I’m not on the clock.”
“Did you break into Area 51? Are you nuts, Alfred?”
All at once, the taxman was aware of Li’s presence. The Geejayan had inserted himself directly into his personal space, and now poked his head into visual range. “Oh,” he said in his characteristically dulcet tones, “what a bitchin communicator! It even makes video.”
Alfred yelped, yanking the phone away.
“I just saw him again,” Nancy declared.
“Yeah, me too,” another voice – Josh Stevenson’s voice – put in.
Alfred frowned, pausing from his mad scramble to hide Li to study, actually study, the screen. She was there, alright, but she wasn’t alone. Like a lingering cold, Josh was back again. “Look,” he said, “you said you didn’t want to be part of this. So just hang up the phone and leave me alone.”
“Alfred!” Nancy was aghast. “Hang up the phone? What are you talking about? What are you doing with the alien? How did you even find him again?”
“Alfred Favero found me in the concrete home below the surface of your world,” Li put in, most unhelpfully, “and brought me to his rocket. We drove through the sand prairie and-”
“Never mind that,” the taxman interrupted.
“You broke into a government facility?” Nancy gasped. “An underground prison?”
“A black site,” Josh added. “You really are insane.” Then, he frowned. “Also, what kind of shitty security do they have, if you – you – can break into a top-secret prison?”
“Look,” Alfred said, “the more you know, the more at risk you are. Why don’t you leave me be, Nance? Let me do what I have to do-”
“Leave you be?” Even through the video feed, he could see her eyes flash. “Just, what? Let you get yourself killed? Where are you, even? Some kind of hotel?”
He blinked. The bland walls and generic art, he supposed, were a good giveaway, but still, he hadn’t expected her to catch on so quickly. “Maybe.”
“You’re just hiding out? Thinking they won’t catch you?”
He tried to ignore how close to the mark she was. “Please, stay out of it. Don’t get involved.”
“You know I can’t do that, Alfred.”
“Nance,” he said, and he was more worried than annoyed. “The whole point of me doing it this way was to keep you out of it.”
“Well,” she said, “now I’m in it. Tell me where you are.”
“They’ll say you’re an accessory,” he warned.
“Just by not turning you in, we’re breaking laws,” Josh sighed. “It’s your call, Nance, but I vote we turn him in.”
“It’s not funny, Josh,” she said. Alfred was quite sure the marine wasn’t joking, though. “He’s going to get himself in real trouble here.”
“And us with him,” Josh observed, “if we get involved. More involved.”
Chapter Seventeen
Nancy Abbot was not to be persuaded to abandon her friend in his hour of need – of madness, as she put it – though. Alfred was at once heart-warmed and stricken. His heart warmed for all the obvious reasons: her loyalty, her courage, and her regard for him were so strong as to risk crossing Uncle Sam’s men in black. Still, he was stricken by the fact that her loyalty put her in danger. And, if he was entirely honest with himself, there was something painful in her use of the word “friend” to describe him.
Nancy was, to him, so much m
ore than a friend. He couldn’t expect anything more from her – not with Josh’s great paws always wrapped around her, signaling as clear as anything where her affections of that nature lay. Still, it cut to the bone.
In the end, though, it was decided that Nancy and Josh would meet Alfred and Li. “You’ll need a disguise for him,” she’d said. “There’s no way you can bring an alien in public.”
“What kind of disguise?”
“Oh,” Li crowed, “you mean I’m going undercover? How exciting!”
Nancy frowned in thought. “You look very nearly human, Li.”
“He’s got blue skin,” Josh objected.
“Other than that.” She nodded. “Makeup should do the trick.”
“Makeup?”
“Yes. I’ll send you a list, Alfred.”
“Where do I get it?”
“I’ll send you an address. There’s a shop not far out of your way.”
The taxman grumbled. He’d never bought makeup before. He didn’t want to go into a makeup store.
“Would you rather get caught?”
“No.”
“Then buy the makeup. I’ll bring a few wigs.”
“Wigs?” Alfred blinked. “You wear wigs?”
“When I’m cosplaying. Of course.”
Josh grinned. “These, I have to see.”
She rolled her eyes at him, but smiled; and that was that.
A few seconds after they’d hung up, Nancy sent Alfred a series of text messages. The first contained an extensive list of creams, primer, foundation, highlighter, bronzer, finishing spray, and brushes. Each item was listed with its brand name beside it.
The second warned ominously, “And don’t get any heroic ideas about vanishing into the night to ‘protect us’ either, Alfred. I’ll find you. You know I will.” That she followed it up with a gif of Liam Neeson from the movie Taken, warning that she’d use her skills to find him, didn’t help. Neither did the winking emoji that followed it particularly lessen the threat.
Not that the warning was misplaced. The idea of disappearing as soon as he was off the phone had been floating around in his mind since it became obvious that she was determined to help him. This, though, decided him against any such course of action.