Larry Goes To Space

by Alan Black

  Both Larry and Gary shook their heads. No one even bothered to check if Kenny was even listening, although Scooter, Bob and Veronica had settled onto the couch next to him. Nancy sat in the big overstuffed chair, her camera focused on the Teumessians, especially Veronica and her kits.

  Larry asked, “Did he really? The man should be a worldwide hero—”

  “How the heck would I know about Jonas Salk?” Dad interrupted. “I don’t have a clue without looking it up. I just pulled that out of my butt to make a point.”

  “And your point was?” Both Larry and Gary listened to him as they screwed the cameras into the molding, high in the corners in each room.

  Dad sighed. “Did your college education take the day off? Look, son, Salk actually gave his vaccine to the world to save humanity. Polio would still be rampant if we left things up to governments to get things done. What you’re doing is trying to save humanity by getting us into space! But, you’re planning on making a few dollars along the way, right?”

  “Right. That only seems fair.”

  Gary agreed, “More than fair. You went to space and got the stuff. It’s yours.”

  Dad snorted again. “When it comes to money, the sky isn’t even a limit anymore. Governments and large corporations are funny about that. They might just decide to take rather than buy.”

  Kenny didn’t look up from his laptop, but waved a sheaf of papers.

  Dad grabbed them and flipped through them. “Look at these printouts of your e-mails. You may not want to sell to governments, but they want to buy. India’s opening bid was five hundred million. That is US dollars, not Indian rupees.”

  He flipped through a few other pages, scanning quickly back and forth. “It looks like China was slow into the game, but they’re up to two billion dollars. France and Germany are pushing to up that amount.”

  “Two billion?” Larry was stunned. He’d thought about selling a few Teumessian art pieces for a couple hundred extra dollars, but that didn’t much sound like it was worth the time.

  Dad said, “You’re still not getting the big picture, boy. These are the big governments bidding. Russia and America haven’t even bothered with this preliminary bickering. But someone is hacking into your e-mail. How else would South Africa know to up its bid over Israel’s?”

  “So how do your cameras save the day?”

  “We’re going to broadcast everything in the kitchen, living room, and hallways. Live streaming. Any action by any government or corporate entity will be seen live by thousands of viewers. They shouldn’t be able to come at you in secret anymore.” He looked at Kenny.

  At Kenny’s nod, Dad said, “We’re live. Kenny is bouncing the signal through a dozen proxy servers across the dark web. They won’t be able to shut the signal off.”

  Larry thought a moment and then added, “Or if they do, we’ll have notice of their intent.”

  Dad smiled. “Now you’re catching on.”

  Kenny quietly handed Dad a piece of paper and left by the front door. He managed to flip his hoodie up and keep his face turned away from the cameras no matter what angle he turned. He left his laptop open and running on the coffee table.

  Gary said, “I didn’t know Kenny knew all this computer stuff.”

  Dad looked at the paper and smiled. “Your cousin is a bit peculiar. His particular peculiarities having to do with his love of sheep has led him to some strange places on the internet. The boy’s just learned a few things along the way.”

  He held up the paper to a camera, looked at the laptop display, moved and shifted the paper closer. “This says where the viewers can go to pick up live streaming video of the space aliens.”

  Nancy shouted. “Hey! You can’t do that! Larry promised me exclusive reporting rights.”

  Larry started to say something, but Dad waved him down. “You’re still doing the reporting. We have the sound off on these cameras. It’s video feed only. They have to tune in to get your voice over and this will show you showing the aliens.”

  Nancy looked reluctant.

  Dad added, “Besides, I’m charging $1.95 per hour to view the feed. I’ll cut you in for ten percent.”

  Nancy’s mercenary little heart gave in.

  Larry snorted, “$1.95! Come on, Dad. You can get more than that.”

  Gary agreed. $19.95 might be better.”

  Dad shook his head, “I can afford twenty bucks an hour. So could you boys. But not the viewers in India, Kenya, and Brazil. I’m thinking worldwide viewing, boys. I want someone from everywhere watching our six.”

  Nancy said, “Wait. Ten percent? That’s like, less than twenty cents an hour. Come on, Dad!”

  Dad pointed at the counter on the bottom of the laptop screen. The spinning numbers showed on-line subscribers. In just the past few minutes, they were well over a hundred thousand viewers and climbing so fast only the sixth digit to the left was readable and it clicked from two to three while they were watching.

  Dad tossed two more cameras each to Larry and Gary. “One at each corner of the house on the outside, boys. Let’s give our audience a complete view.”

  Larry screwed in the last camera just as a beat up old Oldsmobile slid to a stop in his gravel driveway. He was a little surprised to see Benny from Benny’s Been There Bar and Done That Grill over on Highway 74. The paunchy older man wheezed his way out of his car and waddled up to Larry, not bothering to button his coat.

  “Benny?”

  “Larry. Right. Straight to business. We’ve been friends for a long time, right?”

  Larry wasn’t sure friends was the way to describe their relationship. He occasionally took a few beers and burgers from Benny and Benny took his money for the privilege. Still, he didn’t want to be rude, so he nodded.

  “I have ten grand cash. Right now. I don’t have to go inside, but I want to touch a real spaceship afore I die and I want my picture taken with an alien. Ten big ones, Larry. Whadda ya say?”

  Larry had recently been thinking big in terms of billions, not thousands, but he nodded anyway. “Look, Benny. I can let you touch the ship, but I’ll have to check with the Teumessians to see if they agree to have their picture taken with you. They aren’t slaves or toys, you know.”

  “Of course. Of course.” He raced back to his Oldsmobile and grabbed a sack of money. “We’ve got to hurry. Heard on the radio the governor is sending state troopers out here and she’s going to call up the national guard.”

  Larry glanced at the front door of the house.

  Dad was there, nodding. His facial expression was his told you so look.

  It only took a moment to guide Benny around back. He was beaming with unrestrained joy while rubbing his palms over the surface of an interstellar spaceship. The old barman was in ecstasy as six of the seven Teumessians gathered around him for a photo op.

  Larry didn’t have the heart to tell him Jughead was watching from the bridge, so he wasn’t getting a picture with everybody. It wouldn’t have mattered. Benny broke down in tears as Veronica handed him one of the kits to hold for the picture.

  The Oldsmobile threw dust and rocks as Benny rocketed back toward his business, muttering something about solid gold frames and a place over the mantle for his new picture.

  Benny’s dust hadn’t settled before a pair of state trooper cruisers pulled into the driveway.

  Larry held up his hands, not in surrender, but in a clear stop there gesture, keeping the troopers in their vehicles. “Do you gentlemen have a warrant? Then clear off my property.”

  His nose was getting cold, so he left the police by the side of the road and trudged back into the house.

  Grandpa must have been napping in a back room earlier, but now he was awake and sitting in the middle of the living room floor. Larry patted him on the head, wiped a bit of drool from the corner of the old man’s mouth, and walked over to his Dad.

  His father was waving a thick ream of paper. “Look at these, son. All from governments of some kind or another. Here,
this one is a great bid, but do you really want your spaceship to end up in the hands of a Middle Eastern Imam? And look at this e-mail. Recognize that name?”

  Larry shook his head.

  “Me neither. I looked him up. He’s some warlord in Somalia and offering you his whole country in an even swap.”

  Larry sighed. He’d expected a spirited response, but nothing this enthusiastic. “Are we responding to these e-mails?”

  Gary said, “I’ll do it. What do you want me to say?”

  “Just say no thanks and that we’re only going to talk to private entrepreneurs for lease/use options. Nothing for outright sale.”

  Larry was about to add more, but was interrupted by a knock at the door. He stepped out onto the porch and closed the front door behind him.

  “Hey, Doug.” The Rickenhauser boys had been to his place more than once for barbeques, hunting or fishing outings, and just an occasional slow night of drinking beer around a fire, but seeing Doug alone was unusual.

  “Larry. Got a thing for you. Diane over at the cash checking place in Fredonia asked me to bring this out to you.” He handed Larry a yellow envelope.

  “What is it?”

  Doug said, “That’s a real honest to goodness telegram. I told her I was coming out this way to see you and said I’d bring it along.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Them troopers wouldn’t let me come up to the porch until I showed them the telegram.”

  “I didn’t know anyone ever sent these things anymore.”

  “Me neither. Whose it from?”

  Larry tore it open. “The King of Norway.”

  “Norway, huh? I didn’t know they had a king.”

  “Me neither. The King of Norway is offering me the whole county of Sweden in exchange for my spaceship.” Larry wondered what the war would look like if Norway actually invaded Sweden for the purpose of trading it off.

  “Um, look…um, buddy. The cops made Jeff stay in the car, but can I see one of the aliens?”

  Larry poked his head back in the door and shouted, “Dusty, would you come out here a moment.”

  The moment was tense as Doug froze in place, the troopers pumped fresh shells into their shotguns and Jeff took that moment to lean out the truck window and barf back his last few beers. Doug broke the silence when he stuck his hand out for Dusty to shake.

  Larry left them on the porch, staring at each other and unable to let go of the other’s hand.

  His plan was to make a trip into the kitchen, grab a cup of hot coffee, and settle in next to Nancy in the big chair. Mom foiled his plan by handing him the phone.

  He tried to hand it back. “Mom, I don’t want to talk to anyone now. Tell them I’m busy.”

  “I’m not your secretary, Mister Fancy Pants Spaceman. You better take this call.”

  Larry recognized his mother’s no nonsense voice and grabbed the receiver.

  “Hello?” Larry said with the same tone he often used with telemarketers selling cemetery plots.

  He listened for a bit. “Oh, well, good afternoon, Mr. President.”

  The room was quiet as Larry listened to the voice on the phone.

  “Yes, Mr. President. I understand.”

  Listen.

  “No, Mr. President. I know you can sign an executive order to take the ship, but that still doesn’t mean I’m going to just give it to you because you say so.”

  Listen.

  “Yes, Mr. President. I understand which president you are and you might think you can order the army to draft me, but that still doesn’t mean I’ll take your orders.”

  Listen.

  “Yes, Mr. President. But this spaceship and technology is my property. I understand the property can be seized through eminent domain, but I don’t think technology can.”

  Listen.

  “Really? Your legal advisors say it could, huh?”

  Listening for a long time.

  “Well, Mr. President, I am thinking about America like a good American. I’m thinking all humanity should go into space and America should lead the way.”

  Listen.

  “Yes, you can use that as a campaign slogan for your re-election. I’m sure you’ll agree that space-going technology will spread quicker by getting it into the hands of private industry. It’d get humans off this one tiny planet much quicker.”

  Listen.

  “Mr. President, I agree that humans are not mature enough to be let loose on the galaxy. In fact, I know that there are species out there in the galaxy who think that very same thing. However, I don’t believe children mature until their parents let them out of the house. Failure gives us lessons learned.”

  Listen.

  “I’m sorry you feel that way, Mr. President. And I appreciate your offer of spending the night in the Lincoln bedroom, but it won’t change my mind. It isn’t about money, so it doesn’t matter what you’re offering right now.”

  Listen.

  “Navy Seals? You could order them, but unless I’m wrong about our military’s honor, the Navy Seals would invoke Posse Comitatus and refuse to act against an American citizen on American soil.”

  A lot more listening.

  “Yes, Mr. President. You’ll have to catch me first. Good-bye, sir.”

  Larry was sure the Seals weren’t coming, but someone was. If not the American military, then some mercenary group like Graywater or Blackpool would be hired by some company in the military industrial complex to take his property in the name of national security, all funded by some three letter agency. Even ICE might have a hand in any action as the Teumessians were the epitome of illegal aliens.

  A friend loves you for your intelligence, a mistress for your charm, but your family's love is unreasoning; you were born into it and are of its flesh and blood. Nevertheless it can irritate you more than any group of people in the world. (André Maurois)

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Larry sat on the edge of the old piano bench in his living room. Not that there was an old piano to go with the bench. He kept the bench around, tucked away in a corner, just in case he ever needed additional seating. The bench hadn’t been used since Thanksgiving Day three years ago. He’d almost burnt the whole house down, bench included, after that disastrous gathering. Today was almost as weird, but the bench had a comfortable feel.

  He doubted he’d had such a strange collection of people gathered in his house since that day three years ago when Nancy tried to blend her family with his. Not that Larry had any problems with Nancy’s four sisters. They were each nice enough in their own right, but almost cookie cutter stereotypes: the farmer’s wife, the cowgirl, the biker babe, and the hippy still fighting against the Vietnam War, although nowadays, the war wore a different label.

  Mixing Nancy’s sisters — and their husbands and children — with Larry’s family, was like mixing nitro with glycerin. Doing so at his tiny house was like trying to cram five pounds of explosives into a four-pound box using a hammer. Thanksgiving Day in Kansas might find the weather anything from picnic nice to freezing rain and ice. That day was too cold to be outside. Just like today.

  He looked at Grandpa. The old man was crazy. He didn’t normally function well outside of his room at Larry’s parent’s home. Today, his grandfather was sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room playing with Veronica’s kits. The kits seemed as fascinated by the old man as he was by them. The little Teumessians were oddly attracted to the divergent feeling of the rough stubble on Grandpa’s chin versus the slick smooth feeling of his balding pate.

  The tiny female kit had accepted the role of wiping the drool from the side of Grandpa’s mouth. She hadn’t figured out why he was leaking and continued to poke her fingers in his mouth to see what was causing the problem.

  Larry hoped Grandpa remembered not to bite down, but even if he did bite, it would be a lesson for the kits, teaching them not to put their hands in the mouths of creatures with teeth. Larry learned that lesson the hard way with cows. He assumed the kits would learn fr
om the same examples he had.

  Ginger sat on the couch. She was wedged in between Larry’s cousin Gary and Gary’s wife Marcy. Ginger’s eyes were wide in amazement as Marcy sat her new baby in Ginger’s lap. Norma, the baby, giggled, cooed, and tried to stick her fingers in Ginger’s mouth.

  Dad was sitting in Larry’s favorite recliner. The old beat up naugahyde chair was Larry’s favorite because it was parked directly in front of the television. Not that the chair cared if it was Larry’s favorite or not, it was after all, just a chair.

  The television did enjoy the attention, though. If pressed into making a choice, the television would have preferred Larry watch more reality shows than he normally did. Not that the television didn’t like showing anything to Larry that Larry wanted to watch, but something about some of the police shows Larry liked disturbed the little set.

  Dad was trying to explain to Bob and Ginger about the movie they were watching. Dad was getting all twisted around trying to explain that Audie Murphy was a real person just pretending to be Audie Murphy and that this war movie was a real event, but Hollywood was recreating the war for the entertainment of its audience.

  Bob winked at Larry, having grasped the concept of entertainment long before having met Larry’s Dad, but was obviously enjoying the man’s attempt to explain the human desire to be amused. The Teumessian understood Dad and entertainment, but was horrified that humans considered watching war, death, and destruction as entertainment.

  Betty and Veronica were in the kitchen with Larry’s mother and grandmother. Fixing lunch was a flurry of culinary mixology. The females were getting on well despite Grandma’s insistence that a grilled cheese sandwich was vegan and Veronica’s insistence that it wasn’t. The odors wafting out of the kitchen were odd, yet mouthwatering at the same time.

  Larry certainly hoped Betty showed Grandma her non-meat meatloaf recipe. Even if Grandma substituted hamburger for the ground nuts and grains, it would have to be an improvement over Grandma’s normal attempts to make normal food. He hoped Mom could teach Veronica how to make a good peach cobbler, although they had already come to an impasse about using lard.