Jonathan and Melanie used the water bucket to clean their feet. Their footprints were drying quickly in the hot sun. The deep holes made by Greg’s claws were black with shadow.
“You coming?” Melanie asked him, shoes in hand.
“Yeah, I guess so,” Sam said. He was at a mall and had three hours to himself. Time to forget about the complexities of the universe for a few minutes.
He caught up with Melanie, ignoring the stares. She was crouched over a square.
“Matt Damon was here!” she squealed. “Awesome!”
Armen laughed. “You’ve been billions of miles from Earth, you’ve made contact with an alien species, and Matt Damon makes you scream?”
Melanie squinted up at him. “Go ahead and be all cool and ironic - I think this is awesome.”
“It’s not bad,” Armen said.
“Look, even Nat is getting into it!” Melanie said, pointing to Nat kneeling next to a dark grey square. Nat glanced up at her name, with a tight smile.
“Hey, guys,” Nat said, “Can somebody take a picture for me?”
“Uh, sure.” Sam went over and grabbed a little camera from her. She leaned over and placed her hand over Julie Andrews’ print.
“You should smile or something. We’re all having such fun, remember?” Sam said.
Nat grinned, surprising him. He snapped the picture quickly.
“So, Julie Andrews, huh?”
“It’s for Akemi. I’m supposed to fill this up for her,” Nat said, pointing to the disposable digital camera.
“But Julie Andrews? Akemi is sixteen.”
“But she loved Princess Diaries.”
“Sure she did, but I’m betting she’s way more fond of Will Smith or Taylor Lautner these days,” Sam said, pausing by his square. “Get over there.”
Nat knelt again, smiling for the camera. He helped her get another good six pictures and then she gestured to the lions. “I need one of you,” she said.
“Really? Why?”
“Akemi. She wants to show off that she knows you.”
Sam put an elbow on the lion, looking off into the distance in his best inscrutable pose.
“Oh, that’s good. She’ll like that,” Nat said.
Sam followed her to the escalator and into the mall.
They found Armen contemplating a Nestle Tollhouse cafe with tears in his eyes.
“We have arrived. Years of horror cannot sully this moment. This is one of the best chocolate shops in the world,” Armen said.
“You’re going to cry, aren’t you?” Sam asked. “This is embarrassing. Crying isn’t exactly the image I was hoping to project with this Hollywood thing.”
Nat glanced around. “No, go ahead, cry. The reporters need some good homecoming shots. And here comes Downy.”
“Well, that should be distracting,” Sam said. “Do what you need to do.”
“Shut up and come in here, you freaks.” Armen grabbed their arms and dragged them into the café, away from the cameras.
A large mirror was mounted in the wall of the cafe, and Sam caught a look at the three of them as they entered. Their tattoos were the most striking thing about them. Sam was about a foot taller than Armen. Nat was even shorter, but her bearing made her seem taller than she was.
“What are we getting?” Sam said. “’Cause if you throw up in front of the cameras I want it to look good.”
Armen sighed rapturously. “You guys do whatever you want. I’m getting a triple chocolate mocha ice cream shake with an oatmeal chocolate chip cookie on the side.” He said this last bit to the woman behind the counter.
Her eyebrows had been tacked about an inch too high since they came in, but at this she smiled a little.
She grabbed the scoop and slid open the ice cream container.
“You didn’t have any chocolate up there, huh?” she asked without looking at them.
Armen laughed. “Oh no, they imported food occasionally. If there had been none - well, I would have been the first suicide off planet.”
“You nearly were the first suicide,” Sam said, “Remember the nitrogen lake?”
“Really, Sam? You shame me in front of this nice lady?” Armen exclaimed.
The woman laughed. “Nitrogen lake? That sounds exciting.”
“Not nearly as exciting as what you’re doing with that little machine,” Armen said in a sexy voice. She was holding the lid on the food processor as she blended his shake.
She laughed for real this time. “You’ve been gone a long time alright.”
“Anything else for you three?” the lady asked, handing Armen his shake and a cookie in a napkin.
“Yes,” said Nat, “I’ll have an Original Chocolate Chip Cookie.”
They asked the lady to take their picture before they left and she had them stand next to the big Nestle sign on the wall. Sam draped his arm over Nat’s shoulders. She flicked his hand, but he just grinned at her. “Come on, Akemi will love it.”
Nat rolled her eyes. “She doesn’t need encouraging. Neither do you apparently.”
Sam laughed and the waitress clicked a couple pictures.
She pulled out her phone. “Can I get one with you?"
They grouped around her and Nat snapped a picture of them with the phone.
“Cool! My friends will be so impressed.”
When they came out of the café Sam saw several cadets giving interviews at different spots in the mall. Others sat by a huge fountain in the center, enjoying fast food and sun. He was satisfied. If eating burgers at a mall didn’t make the cadets seem human and sympathetic, what would?
He found the flyer on the way back from the bathroom. It lay under a trashcan. Someone must have shoved it in the hole, but it slipped between the side of the bag and the can and ended up on the ground.
“Remember the dead,” it said on the top, with a picture of former President Gottman. In the picture, Gottman sat with the first lady and their adult son and two grandkids. Sam remembered that campaign. Gottman had been in the White House about a year when the terrorists attacked the Hadron Collider in Switzerland. Most of Europe was suddenly gone. It caused atmosphere-poisoning, tsunamis in the Atlantic, plunging temperatures everywhere. The world fell on its face. And then the Spo came.
They weren’t concerned about public opinion (not then), and swept in with brutal control. They told people they would preserve Earth, but it looked a lot like an invasion. Gottman and hundreds of other world leaders made a joint statement denouncing the aliens and their brutal methods. So the Spo killed them. All of them. The Spo killed Gottman’s brothers, children, grandchildren, cousins, everybody. They did the same with the other leaders. The Spo rarely executed anybody alone. They believed in killing whole families, if they killed anyone. They felt it was merciful.
“Ruthless Killers Can’t be Trusted!” was typed under Gottman’s picture. “The spooks caused the Hadron Explosion! We must fight!"
No name, no phone number, no website. Stupid propagandists, Sam thought. What good did they think they were doing? Human terrorists destroyed the Hadron collider and caused Europe to go up in a cloud of radioactive froth. Of course, the Spo killed a lot of people when they came. The question was, what if they hadn’t come? Humanity would be hanging on by the merest thread without Spo technology cleaning the atmosphere and predicting the worst earthquakes and fallout.
He crumpled the sheet up, prepared to drop it in the trash, when he saw the writing on the back. In blue ink, very small, it said, “908 498 5558, Independence Day.”
Sam memorized the number quickly, as the spooks had taught him, and threw the flyer away as Armen and Downy caught up to him.
“Ooohhh, I feel good,” Armen groaned.
“Your groan says it all,” Sam said. “Did you buy another shake?”
“Diligence is the mouth of success,” Armen said, quoting a Spo proverb.
“Diligence in the mouth, remorse in the stomach,” Sam said.
“That’s not what tha
t means,” Downy said. “And I thoroughly enjoyed my malt. It was the epitome of Earth - rich, frothy, and soft.”
“A malt!” Armen cried. “I resent being personified as anything but a candy bar. I feel I’ve earned that at least.”
“I wasn’t finished,” Downy said. “Frothy and soft – and too expensive. Besides making my second stomach convulse.”
Armen grabbed Downy’s arm. “That was… sarcasm,” Armen said. “Downy, buddy, you’ve arrived.” He slapped Downy on the back. “Let me teach you irony.”
“Don’t totally corrupt him,” Sam said. “He may never go home.”
“That’s right,” Downy said. “I’m not going home anytime soon. I have time to learn your insulting ways.”
Sam was silent as they went down the escalator to the theater courtyard.
The new tile was in place. A few camera crews filmed last shots of the scene for their news report. When the lingering reporters caught sight of Armen, coming down the escalator with his arm thrown around Downy’s bony shoulders, the cameras swiveled in their direction.
“Cadet, who’s your friend!?”
“How do you feel about the evacuations this week?”
“Do you feel the casualty level was high?”
“Are you readjusting to Earth?!”
Armen removed his arm and waved at the press. “I just had a triple chocolate shake and a cookie. I’m readjusting just great.”
“Who’s your friend?”
Greg appeared behind them, nodded approval. Armen obediently stepped closer to the cameras.
“This is Downy. He’s not bad, actually. Loves sheep and used to sneak me the occasional Snicker bar on Spo,” Armen said.
“Downy, as in fabric softener?” a reporter asked.
“Yes, I think so. Right, Downy?” Armen said.
“That is correct. Longer lasting freshness.”
There was a general laugh and another round of flashes.
Chapter 8
Shara watched Greg push his claws into the wet square of cement and planned her first murder. She stood in the middle of the crowd, blending in and eyeing her target. She didn’t want to draw the attention of the security guys, or even worse, Greg himself. If anyone could identify her as a Rik assassin, it was him.
Even Greg would need a lot of luck to identify her in this crowd, however. She felt relatively safe. After all, she was human now, not Rik.
When Greg was done pop-starring himself, the cadets began to scatter. The sun beat down on the pale concrete, making the courtyard blaze. Most of the tourists had on sunglasses. She should have gotten some. Sam and a few of his friends continued to speak to the press, others clumped in groups, talking among themselves. Sam and Nat were among her primary kill targets, but today was for Target One, Jonathan.
Jonathan was one of five cadets who would be primary witnesses in the Earth’s trial. He was the primary for the Los Angeles group, and he was her task today. The other primaries, in the other cities, would be taken care of today also.
Shara knew his personality profile by heart. He was friendly, homely, and brilliant. He had an eidetic memory, probably part of the reason they chose him. He was also one of the few cadets who’d been disciplined for ‘inappropriate behavior,’ during his Spo training. Shara suspected that he’d been fooling around with one of the girl cadets. He was a good target.
He stepped away from the crowd into a tiny shop at the back of the courtyard. Shara followed him. The shop sold postcards and fake Golden Globe awards that said, “#1 Grandson,” and things like that.
The store was two steps lower than the courtyard, and she stepped down into the dimness with a feminine sway to her hips. That’s what her tutor taught her in his ‘seductive technique’ lesson. Jonathan was in here, all right, looking at postcards of women in small bathing suits.
Shara got close to him, a matter of a few steps, and looked at some of the postcards. They didn’t appeal to her very much. The women would look better with fitted clothes and maybe some knee high boots. Shara wore a pair of fantastic velvet Capri’s she’d discovered in the clothing district. Earth culture never ceased to amaze her. The sheer volume of their output was remarkable. For instance, these pants hugged her bottom just right, and she’d found some wonderful earrings at Rocks and Runes. She felt pretty and sexy, all those human hormones were fantastic. The outfit was just right for seducing and kidnapping a cadet. She might change clothes before she did the killing, though. This outfit didn’t say, “Killer,” to her. Something more yellow, perhaps.
She saw Jonathan glance at her, and she looked up at him with wide eyes. “Oh wow. You’re one of them, huh?” She giggled. “Can I take a picture with you?"
“Uh… sure.” She snuggled up and put her arm around him, pulling out her cell phone to snap a picture.
“Thanks!” she said. “How long do you get to hang out here?”
“A couple hours…’till four.”
Shara held onto him. “Did you know we’re right next to the Hollywood Bowl? I was gonna go check it out. Do you wanna come?”
“I’m not supposed to leave,” he said, taking a step toward the door.
“Are you sure?” Shara asked. “It’d be so much fun to see it with you. See, I’ve had this goal.” She lowered her voice, getting close to him, and whispering, “I want to make out on the stage of the Hollywood bowl. But my boyfriend dumped me last week. Can you believe it? Now I don’t have anybody. What can I do?”
Jonathan turned pink. “I would come. But if I disappear, there’s security – “
“Oh, I’ll bring you back in time!” Shara said. “We’ll just have some fun first. Don’t they let you have any fun?”
Jonathan took the bait. “Why not?” he said, with an attempt at nonchalance. “What can they do to me, right?”
She laughed. “Let’s get out of here.”
She took him to the Hollywood Bowl. It wasn’t actually right next to Grauman’s Chinese Theater. It was several miles away, nestled into the Hollywood hills in a natural basin. It was closed to the public during weekdays. It wouldn’t open to the hordes of concertgoers until 6:00 that evening for the Los Angeles Philharmonic. Shara was hoping to come to the performance when she finished with Jonathan.
She snuck him through a locked gate with a wide gap between the doors. They wound around the outside of the amphitheater, up the numerous stairs until they finally emerged about halfway up the bowl. It could hold 10,000 people, making it comparable to the great Colossae of Rome, which Shara had seen on TV, but it reminded her of the giant death chambers on the Merith planet.
“Wow,” Jonathan said. “This place is huge. It’s pretty cool."
Shara agreed. They headed down the stairs toward the stage. When a janitor came into one of the bottom sections to mark off seats with a red rope, Shara and Jonathan dropped to their hands and knees, hiding behind the stone benches. They laughed breathlessly, and Shara found it natural to kiss him, with their faces so close together.
When they got back up, he held her hand, and she swung his exuberantly.
“Aren’t you glad you came?” Shara asked.
“This is great. I haven’t done anything fun, on my own, in – ever.”
Shara laughed. “This should be a big day for you then."
She put her free hand in her purse, fingering the small spray bottle inside. It contained sasoikeo, a very efficient neurotoxin that the Spo developed. It could be gaseous, liquid, or baked into a solid, though that was time consuming. Her bottle contained a diluted liquid version. A small amount, squirted in the face, would cause instant paralysis. Another dose, squirted up the nose, or in the mouth, or onto any open membrane of the body, would cause death.
But… she didn’t feel like squirting him yet. She was enjoying him.
Somehow, two hours later, she still hadn’t squirted him.
“This is… I’ve had a great time,” Jonathan said. “But I probably should head back now. I’m sure Greg is flippin
g out if he’s noticed I’m gone.”
“Do you really want to go back?” Shara said. “I mean, they basically kidnapped you right? Why don’t you just leave?”
“Oh, I would. But these – ” he gestured to the tattoo on his cheek. “I’d be easy to track, wouldn’t I? Plus I have some stuff to do for them. Then I’m going to take off.”
Shara nodded. Time to get busy.
Back in her car, she drove onto the 101 south.
Jonathan talked about his family a little bit, about the cadets. Shara didn’t really listen. He just looked so cute with his orange T-shirt and his black spiky hair. She smiled when she caught him looking at her legs.
She had to quit it. She was going human.
“You missed the exit,” Jonathan said, looking out the window now. “It was right back there.”
Without giving herself pause to think, Shara grabbed the bottle from her purse and squirted him in the face. She trained for this job for two years, she couldn’t blow it for one cute cadet and raging hormones.
Shara sat in the parking lot of the Malibu beach across from Pepperdine University, with Jonathan slumped in the passenger seat. Coming here had been a gut decision. Shara wasn’t used to having those. The electrical nuances of her new brain would get her in trouble if she didn’t get control.
On the other hand, now that she was here, she could think of several good reasons for it. She smiled.
Jonathan was perfectly still in his seat, with a bit of drool dripping onto his orange shirt. The car air conditioner blew cold and hard in his face but he didn’t blink. His pupils were tiny dots, and every now and then his eyeballs twitched wildly.
“It’s time for me to kill you,” Shara explained. She rubbed the cold bottle of sasoikeo. “The cadets go for runs here. They’ll find your body soon.”
Finding his body would be good for lowering morale and building fear and frustration, which was part of her larger plan. It would undermine the whole group. Except…
“Except I don’t feel like killing you,” Shara told him. “And don’t get me wrong, I don’t mind killing.” She used a Kleenex to wipe his drool. More eye twitching.
Manipulate (Alien Cadets) Page 6