Aliens Don't Dance

by Michael D. Britton

  #

  Although time travel was a way of life for the ChronoForce, the concept still boggled Gary’s mind sometimes.

  Temporal displacement is a simple enough science – a mere matter of controlled quantum entanglement and some calculations of fundamental particle probabilities, but there was a huge difference between the mathematics and the actual experience.

  And the risks.

  Gary hadn’t learned of some of the rules and consequences until he was halfway through his first mission. He found out – almost the hard way – that when a second team is sent in to finish or correct a botched job, the first team is killed.

  Not as a punitive measure, but as a matter of scientific reality: there was simply not enough “room” in the space-time continuum for two teams to coexist in a single displaced temporal zone. And the first team could not be returned unsuccessful because (due to causal relationships) there would be no timeline to which to return until the mission was accomplished.

  In short: FAILURE IS FATAL.

  It all made sense.

  So Gary knew it was up to him – his life was in his own hands. So was the life of Diana.

  Or perhaps, in his own feet, as this mission all came down to his ability to dance the rumba.

  Without cramping up.

  The grand inaugural ball for June Harrison was only an hour away. Gary visualized his moves, his once-again human feet shuffling gently as he pictured each step of the dance.

  To think, the future of the Reshku-Human alliance rested in his ability to shake to the music. His own fate relied on his ability to cut a rug.

  Gary himself was one-quarter Reshku. He also had Fendala and Gynst blood on his mother’s side, along with his human genes. But he was certain that whatever his human ancestry, that background had not included any dancers.

  The Master Council knew all this going in, but they insisted on Gary because of his exquisite familiarity with the era. Twenty-first century Earth history was Gary’s major back at the academy. Never mind that the rumba was invented in the twentieth century.

  All that mattered was that silly ancient humans were still gyrating in this way in 2021, and doing likewise was Gary’s only shot at influencing the soon-to-be president.

  As the minutes ticked away, Gary got more and more nervous, and the more nervous he got, the more he could feel the beginnings of a cramp tickling at his right calf muscle.

  He started rubbing at it, trying to improve the circulation in his constricted limb.

  Diane walked in and saw him massaging himself. “What? What’s the matter with you?”

  “Just trying to avoid a cramp.”

  Diane pulled a small vial out of her purse. “Here. I picked this up at the pharmacy. Take them. It should prevent any cramps tonight.”

  Gary brightened and took the proffered bottle. He immediately popped the top and swallowed the entire contents.

  He then took a look at the little empty container and casually read the label. Then his eyes widened.

  Apparently, a dose consisted of two pills. He had just downed about twenty.

  And his super-fast Reshku metabolism was already flooding the active ingredients into his bloodstream.

  He stood up on wobbly legs, feeling very, very relaxed. He smiled, chuckled gently, tossed the bottle over his shoulder and called to Diana, with an ever-so-slight slur, “Come on then, let’s go boogie, Captain!”

  By the time the limousine was halfway to the White House, Gary suspected something was quite wrong with him. Diana seemed to suspect nothing.

  As this was the big night, Gary chose to keep quiet about it, and instead focused his efforts on suppressing the desire to giggle. Everything he saw, everything he heard, everything he thought seemed powerfully, ridiculously hysterical to his drug-addled mind. From the silly human form of Diana, to the contraption in which they rode, to the whole idea of touching the new president on the neck in order to save the future of the Galactic Alliance.

  It was all just so, so silly.

  “What are you smirking at?” asked Diana, staring across at him from the opposite bench seat as the car pulled into the White House secure parking facility.

  “Hmm-mh. Heh. HA! Uh, nothing, nothing. Sorry.” Gary covered his mouth with one hand and looked out the window, struggling to control the urge to burst out laughing.

  “You better pull it together,” said Diana. “We can afford no mistakes. Focus yourself!”

  “Yes, Captain. Of course.” Gary could barely keep himself from grinning as he fought the feelings that were climbing around his brain and tickling his heart. “I’m just very pleased that our mission has nearly come to fruition. Forgive me.”

  “It’s all right. You need to practice smiling anyway. This is to be a joyous event, and we must appear to be having a good time, in order to fit in unnoticed.”

  “Yes, Captain. I will work more on my smiling.”

  Gary laughed inside, pondering the fact that he’d just said “more on.” Sounds like “moron.” Heh.

  The car came to a stop and a chauffeur escorted them out, through a high-level security screening processing station, where they were deemed to be no threat to safety, and then up an elevator to the main event.

  The music had already started. A large crowd of people dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns milled around sipping beverages.

  Gary heard the music, felt its beat course through his veins. He felt his body begin to move in time with the rhythm.

  “Not yet, Gary,” Diana chastised under her breath. “What are you doing?”

  “I – I can’t help it,” said Gary. “I just want to shake it!”

  As his superior looked on in horror, Gary shimmied quickly to the center of the dance floor, his arms flailing wildly as he cavorted to the music.

  A dee-jay with a keen eye for fun spotted him and motioned to the guy running the lights, who turned a spotlight onto Gary.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” said the dee-jay, “let the festivities begin!”

  So much for a subtle operation.

  Gary grinned and flounced and jiggled. He spun and shuffled and tapped. He was having the time of his life.

  He caught a glimpse of Diana, who looked like she was about to vomit. She stood perched at the edge of the dance floor, elbow-to-elbow with the crowd, which had formed a large circle around Gary to watch him shake his stuff.

  Without even thinking, Gary moved to Diana, reached out, and pulled her to him. She looked mortified as he draped one arm around the small of her back and whirled her away, a giddy expression on his face.

  As they pranced around together, Diana managed to lean in and whisper hoarsely, “What are you doing? We are not supposed to cause a spectacle! You must stop this at once – that is an order!”

  Gary laughed into her face. “I cannot! Ha ha! And I would not if I could. Why would I want to? Hee hee!”

  Then he lifted Diana up over his head, did a tight pirouette, and deposited her back at the edge of the crowded perimeter.

  As the song ended, Gary left the floor on the opposite side from Diana and sashayed toward the open bar, his legs, hips and shoulders still keeping time with the music that still played in his head.

  “Water,” he said to the bartender, who promptly dispensed a tall glass. He had come to love the ready availability of water on ancient Earth.

  “Those were some amazing moves, mister...,” said a female voice from behind.

  Gary turned around, his glass in hand. “Mr. Warwick, Gary Warwick. I’m here as a guest of Senator Bridges. Pleased to meet you, Madame President. Oh, and thank you. I do love to dance.”

  At least he had enough presence of mind to remember his cover story, instead of blurting out his true identity as an alien spy from the future. That would’ve gone over well.

  “Then perhaps you’ll join me on the floor when they play a rumba I’ve requested. It is my favorite dance, and since my hus
band is still recovering from his knee injury...”

  “Oh yes, of course, of course Madame President. It would be my horror. Honor! I mean, honor.”

  “Are you feeling quite all right, Mr. Warwick?”

  “Ah, yes, yes. Thank you, Madame President. I’m just horrified by your husband’s knee injury.”

  “Well, it’s not that bad. Just twisted it skiing.”

  “I would just be so devastated if I couldn’t dance. Especially if I could not dance with my wife on such an auspicious occasion.”

  “I see,” said Harrison, “that’s a sweet sentiment. Well, I’ll be looking for you when they strike up the rumba.”

  She smiled and returned to a group of elite senators and judges, flanked by giant Secret Service body guards.

  Gary breathed a sigh of relief, gulped down the rest of his water, and went to find Diana.

  “Well?” asked Diana, when he met up with her across the great hall. “I saw you talking to her.”

  “She will dance with me. The rumba.”

  “You better not cramp up.”

  “I may. It seems those drugs are already wearing off! They seemed to give me confidence, but now I feel nervous. They gave me rhythm, but now I feel awkward and clumsy. And the leg is starting to get tight. Do you have any more of those pills?”

  “Lucky for you, I came prepared.” She handed him another vial of the little red pills, and he promptly sucked down the whole bottle.

  “You do realize that a dose is only two pills?” asked Diane.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Moments later, as the extra overdose of muscle-relaxers kicked in, the rhythm once again claimed Gary’s identity and he found himself twirling and bouncing around the dance floor, free as a bird.

  There was something about the mix of those drugs and his alien physiology that turned him into a mad two-stepping tornado. He careened from one end of the floor to the other, sometimes grabbing a random partner for a brief duet before jitterbugging off in another direction.

  And then the rumba began.

  Gary started to sway from side to side.

  June Harrison entered the dance floor, and the crowd cleared off, leaving only Gary and his target.

  They came together and Harrison smiled. “Are you ready to rumba?” she asked rhetorically.

  Gary answered with his feet, deftly twirling and gently grabbing the newly-minted president by the hand and leading her through the steps with ease.

  About halfway through the song, the pair neared the First Gentleman, who was standing on the sidelines, glued to his crutch. They all smiled at one another, indicating a comfortable level of consent between all three parties.

  It was going exactly as planned.

  As the song began to reach its climax, Gary seized the opportunity to touch Harrison on the neck with his right palm – making contact for only about three seconds – just long enough for the successful implantation of the NTTs. He could actually feel the nanites as they coursed through the skin of his palm and surreptitiously made their way into his dance partner’s body.

  But as the song began to draw to a close, Gary suddenly doubled over.

  His vision blurred.

  He stopped dancing.

  He vomited violently, and Harrison stepped back abruptly before taking a step forward and laying a hand on his back. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  The answer was obvious, when Gary straightened up and stood fully erect at nearly eight feet tall. His skin flushed a bright green and his eyes darkened and grew to the size and shape of lemons.

  Somehow, the drugs, and the NTT implantation process, together with the exertion and the abundance of clean, pure water in his system – had kicked the little yellow pill right out of his system, eliminating his medical disguise and revealing him in all his alien glory.

  Harrison’s face turned to an expression of horror, and people all around began to scream and clamor for the exits.

  The Secret Service men leapt into action, hustling Harrison out of harm’s way as one big human shield around her, and drawing their weapons to train them on Gary.

  Gary was dizzy and his head pounded. He looked around at the mayhem he had caused and realized he was probably about to die.

  He spotted Diane in the crowd. She looked surprisingly unsurprised.

  Then it hit him.

  He’d been set up from the start.

  The dancing. The drugs.

  In an instant, he recalled that President Harrison had been particularly receptive to first contact with the Reshku because she had seen a similar-looking alien a couple of years prior to their full arrival.

  She had seen Gary.

  He was the “stray Reshku scout” rumored to have been spotted in 2021.

  And he was now taking his place in history.

  Gary recalled the plan, and realized why he could never remember it right. It was because, in reality, there would be no verification of the nanite implantation – the nanites were placebos.

  There would be no egress for Gary.

  No signal to the Master Council.

  Only exposure, capture, and death.

  As the Secret Service men grabbed him and took him into custody, he saw Diane nod at him meaningfully and begin her escape from the scene, having verified the mission was accomplished – just not the mission Gary had thought he was on.

  And only one of them would be going home.

  Gary knew that within sixty minutes, the Master Council would terminate his TimeStream, and his existence would melt into the space-time continuum.

  It was, after all, protocol.

  Gary knew he had danced his last dance.

  And saved the future.

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