by William Bebb
*****
They hadn't spoken since leaving the McGee's house and we're halfway to Birmingham when Agent Mendez finally cleared her throat and asked, “Where do you come from?”
“Our home world no longer exists. It was extremely far from here,” Betty said, staring at the scenery which mainly consisted of trailers, fields, and trees.
“So you're not visiting Earth. You're here to stay.”
“Correct, because there is no other option. Have you ever considered how vast space is, Agent Mendez? It might be inconceivable to you but we've been traveling here for nearly three hundred years,” Betty said, looking at her. “Earth is a remarkable planet. It's teeming with vast quantities of life, both flora and fauna. The sun is stable and unlikely to explode for quite some time. In fact, thus far, the only significant problem we've discovered on this planet is humanity.”
Mendez glanced at the girl and back at the road. They both fell silent as she drove the SUV onto the interstate that headed toward Birmingham.
“Humanity is-” Mendez started, and then paused for a few moments before saying, “...made up of all kinds of people. You can't judge a species by a limited number of examples. In all honesty, Orlando Duprat was the type I wouldn't mind seeing gone myself. But he's not representative of most people.”
“He was a symptom of a much larger problem humanity has; insanity. His actions were irrational, violent, and unproductive. What is most annoying is that there was no reason he could not have developed differently. He could have been constructive. He could have chosen to educate himself. He had great, nearly limitless, potential and chose to embrace a self destructive course that lead only to pointless death and destruction. But again he's a symptom of the problem, not the problem itself,” Betty said, looking at the early morning traffic flowing around them.
“You didn't say why you wanted to go to Children's Hospital. You're not planning on doing something destructive there, are you?”
“A boy called Jake Carver is there and a man named Professor James Anniston. The boy has intrigued some of our researchers by what he has written in the past. We believe his potential for positive impact on humanity is considerable.
Anniston knows quite a bit about our plans, but he's become unstable and unpredictable. I need to speak with him and try to explain that humanity could yet coexist with us or remove him from the equation.”
“You mean kill him?”
“Yes, and his friends, if necessary. Normally we could erase his knowledge of us, but the elderly seem more resistant to the procedure than younger people.
Take Thomas McGee for example. There was an accident that required memory manipulation yet we've detected numerous instances when he seemed to have at least partial recall.”
“So whoever was controlling Orlando's corpse, was telling the truth. If necessary you would destroy humanity.”
“If it weren't for the other alien presence amongst you and the tiny percentage of people like Jake it would be much more likely that the majority of your species would simply be disposed of, yes.
As for you, we could blank your mind and have you lose all memory of us. But there are some who feel you could be of greater service not just to us but for your people as well.”
“It's an intriguing idea. I need to think about it before deciding though. Can you tell me how many of your people are here, and coming?”
“You misunderstand, Agent Shannon Mendez. We will decide if you are allowed to assist us. Your actions will indicate whether you're a person worthy of trust. As to your question about our number, there are nearly seven hundred billion of our people here.”
“But-” Shannon said as she shook her head. “How is that possible?”
“A greatly respected author and philosopher, who used the pseudonym Dr. Seuss once wrote, A person's a person, no matter how small. We ourselves appreciate the wisdom inherent in that statement because we are quite tiny, physically.”
“So, Earth now has two intelligent species living here.”
“Actually, there are three if one considers the species we have designated the Ziffel. Unfortunately, our knowledge of them is currently extremely limited.”
“What do you know about these Ziffel people? Are they dangerous?”
“They have managed to blend in nearly seamlessly with human society but what their purpose or plans are, if any, remains unclear. We also have no way of knowing their number.
There was a theory that they are not dangerous, but the recent death of one of them named Colonel Aswan Hussein may change that. The need for further research is clear. But, thus far humanity has shown more dangerous tendencies than they have.”
“The girl I've been talking with, are you controlling her like you did with Orlando and his friend? What's her name? Is she aware you've taken control of her body?” Mendez asked, feeling nauseated at the thought that the little girl was being hijacked inside her own body by aliens.
“I am Betty White. I am also a vehicle designed to allow direct interaction with humans and facilitate our goals by appearing as a girl.”
“So, you can only control dead humans?” Mendez asked thinking of an old movie, called Plan Nine from outer space, where aliens brought the dead back to life and used the quasi zombies to try and take over the world.
“We can also control the living, but the detrimental effects to them can be quite extensive. After initial attempts, it was discovered the subjects suffered severe brain damage approximately half the time. Unless circumstances necessitate it, we have stopped using that procedure.
Of course, if it was perfected it would bring humanity to a more sane outlook on life and the necessity of extreme population culling could be avoided.”
“So, you're concerned with human overpopulation?”
“No. Our analysis and projections suggest Earth could easily sustain as many as fifty billion humans. The problem is not in the numbers, Agent Mendez, it's the kind of people that show signs of idiocy running unchecked throughout the world.
If they are allowed to continue, this planet will soon become uninhabitable to anyone,” the girl said, paused a moment and then added, “Agent Shannon Mendez, I realize our plans may seem extreme, but let me ask you a question. You face a wide variety of criminals in your profession and it is your duty to remove them from society to prevent murder and violence to the innocent, correct?”
“Within the bounds of the law, yes.”
“Laws are interesting things. Do you always enforce them and obey them?”
“Of course.”
“That's interesting, because for the last several minutes you have been operating this vehicle eighteen miles an hour over the posted speed limit.”
Looking at the speedometer, Mendez grunted and reset the cruise control to the speed limit. She wanted to say “That was just a little bending of the law” but realized it would undoubtedly sound hypocritical to them.
“You understand I have a responsibility to the FBI and the people of this country, right?”
Betty nodded. “Have we broken a law?”
Mendez drove down an exit ramp heading into downtown Birmingham and stopped for a red light. “The murder of Orlando and his buddy.”
Betty nodded again. “So, are you going to arrest us.”
As the light turned green, she drove on and shook her head. “If you've been honest with me, I can't see the point. Plus if I did try and arrest you, all of you, all seven hundred billion of you, I don't think you'd allow it. The point I was trying to make is that you can't expect my assistance if you break laws, even against scumbags like Duprat.”
“His death was a result of his own actions. It is not our intention to break laws but in the grand scheme if you had to choose between the extermination of several billion humans or the violation of a few laws which would you prefer?”
Mendez chewed on her lower lip for several seconds before answering. “Personally, I believe protecting the innocent trumps the law. Sometimes laws are pas
sed with the best of intentions but end up causing more problems than they solve.”
Betty gestured to an RV parked a couple of blocks ahead. “Park behind that large vehicle. Unintended consequences often follow idiotic laws. The laws of prohibition of alcohol in the 1930s were not designed to turn half the citizens into felons or build organized crime into a behemoth, yet they did.
But back to what triggered this philosophical discussion- our main goals are twofold. To determine if coexistence with humanity is possible and learn more about the Ziffels role here on Earth. For the same reason we have not come forward to announce ourselves to humanity, we do not plan on breaking laws that would harm the innocent. The situation with Orlando was simply a case of an unfortunate concurrence of events.”
“You mean bad luck?”
“That is what I said.”
“Let me see if I understand what you've been saying. You don't plan on breaking any laws unless you determine coexistence with humanity is not possible, in which case you'll do much more than harm the innocent; You'll murder them,” Mendez said, parking behind the RV and shutting off the engine.
“Yes. In order to save humanity and the planet that may ultimately be necessary.”
…..
Since the town of Pinson Alabama had first been quarantined only one business had stayed open, albeit operated solely by and for military and other investigators into the nuclear blast. Finches was a typical independent fast food place. The decor included pennants and posters of the local high school football players and cheerleaders. Also scattered about were a few planters of fake plastic plants and flowers. The large flat screen TV under normal circumstances would typically be showing ESPN or local sporting events, but since the blast it only showed the twenty-four hour news channels.
Despite being only a little after seven in the morning the restaurant had several patrons; including a somewhat rumpled, unshaven, and sleepy Dr. Andrew Everson.
There was a group of people in line and he joined them as a soldier, wearing a badly stained apron, behind the counter took their orders.
Standing in line and yawning hugely, Everson looked at the TV.
A much too cheerfully perky blonde woman anchor, with glaringly white teeth, smiled as she told viewers about a rash of tornadoes that had ravaged several states in the mid west overnight. “Authorities place the death toll at less than two hundred, but that number's expected to rise as rescuers continue to search the debris of several trailer parks.”
Also on TV, an older man in a suit smiled at the woman and shook his head before sharing, “When I was a boy, my mother always told me God hates mobile homes and trailers and from the footage we've seen this morning it sure looks like she was right.”
The blonde woman nodded and said, “In a few minutes we'll be talking with Mrs. Katie Puckett, from Albuquerque New Mexico, as she shares a few insights from her new book entitled A zombie ate my husband.
Stay tuned and we'll be right back after a look at other top news stories.”
“Zombies?” A soldier standing in line next to Everson asked aloud before chuckling. “You can tell Halloween is coming up.”
Two men wearing suits and dark glasses, seated at a table near the TV, exchanged nervous glances as the news program switched cameras to a news desk where an older woman sat and began talking about the jobless rate going up. One of the nervous men in dark glasses was calling someone on his cell phone as the line for food slowly inched forward.
Everson stared at a poster of the cheerleaders on a nearby wall and wondered why they always dressed so provocatively. He was lost in thought as several people got out of line and someone said, “Turn up the volume, I can't hear.”
The woman on TV said, “A special live presidential press conference is expected to begin within the hour. White House sources have suggested that irrefutable evidence has linked the nuclear blast that occurred last week in rural Alabama to a well known terrorist group.
Also, a congressional delegation has been meeting with the president to share their concerns about yesterday's confrontation between displaced residents and the military that left 234 injured and over a dozen dead, including many children.” The reporter had an insincere somber expression on her face as footage of a large overweight man carrying a manila folder appeared onscreen.
“After the meeting, Senator Howell Butler from Alabama said, 'This tragedy should simply never of happened. The people from my great state only want one thing and that is to go home. And I intend for them to do just that, as soon as possible.'”
The video changed back to the reporter. “We've received indications that possibly as early as noon today the military will be ordered out of the area and the quarantine zone removed or at least dramatically reduced in size. A Pentagon spokesman would neither confirm or deny this report.”
Turning to another camera angle, she smiled before saying, “In other news. a farmer from Dutch Oven Ohio will be joining us in a few minutes to talk about one of his pumpkins he found with the eerie likeness of former President Bill Clinton.”
*****
Coming out of the toilet stall, wearing an immense white terry cloth robe, Admiral Branson yawned as he crossed over to the small bar nearby. General Heller trailed the large man with his pistol as he went to a mini refrigerator on the counter.
“Gentlemen, I've been as honest and forthright as possible over the last few hours and frankly I'm tired. Plus this place isn't cheap, they charge by the hour, so this interview really needs to end soon or I'm going to have to take out a loan before I can get out of here,” Branson said, with a half smile as he pulled out a diet soda. “Anyone else want something to drink?” Popping open the can, he put several ice cubes and a few ounces of rum in a glass before adding the soda.
Heller looked over at the captain questioningly.
He shook his head while massaging his aching fingers. His notebook had been new when they started and there were now only a few pages left blank. Rockford stood and went to Heller, whispering that he needed to go get a fresh notebook that he'd accidentally left downstairs in the lounge. He'd been doodling in it while awaiting instructions and knew exactly which table he left it on.
Heller nodded and whispered, “Okay, but hurry back.”
While Rockford distracted Heller, Branson reached under the bar and opened a small metallic case and spread his fingers over a cube identical in size and shape to the one Aswan once had. It pulsed a dim purple light as he lifted a bowl of nuts up to the counter.
As he shoved a handful of salted peanuts in his mouth, Branson saw Rockford go back through the door to the outer room where the squad of military police were stationed. He quickly sipped his drink and yelled, sounding genuinely scared and panicked, “Where's my other jailer off to!? Preparing a water board or maybe to get thumbscrews to make me talk!? There's no need for that, Sebastian. I've told you everything I know about the aliens, at gunpoint!”
“Brent, calm down and quit shouting. If you've been honest about everything you should be fine. But for all you've said, you haven't said how high up this cover-up goes. What about the president and congress, do they know?”
“You haven't been listening to me. The aliens don't want to rule or control the world. All they want is to be left alone. Why would they want to get involved with the worst kind of scum on Earth; politicians?” Branson said in exasperation.
“You didn't answer me. Does the president know about them?”
“The president?” Branson asked with a sneer. “America goes through leaders faster than most people wear out a pair of socks. Of course, he doesn't know. None of them ever have, except for Roosevelt during the war.”
“Well friend, the secrecy is over as of today. The president needs to know, especially considering what has been going on down there in Alabama.”
“The explosion wasn't caused by them. That's why I sent Colonel Aswan to go find the blast's real origins and I'm sure he would have too, if your idiot Wilcox hadn't m
urdered him.”
“I'm glad you brought him up. Aswan had an odd glass cube thing with him. What can you tell me about it?”
The admiral set down his drink and looked at Heller. “How did you- never mind. Just please tell me your people aren't fooling around with it,” Branson said, and for the first time that evening, looking genuinely scared.
A middle-aged woman with a generously rotund body was hugging a short skinny man in the doorway of the room across from Branson's suite, as Captain Rockford went down the hall. He tried not to envision them engaged in more amorous endeavors but failed. A fluttery swirling sickness rolled restlessly as he walked down the stairs into the nearly deserted lobby.
Raising his hand in a half wave at the two military policemen, stationed one on either side of the doors which separated the lobby from the quiet upscale Georgetown neighborhood beyond, he smiled.
One nodded back slightly as the other seemed more asleep than not, leaning against the wall.
Rockford thought briefly of going over and waking him up and then shrugged. If Branson keeps spilling his guts at this rate we could be out of here before much longer. Of course, if I had a pack of giants in military police uniforms and a pissed off general on my case, I'd probably spill my guts too.
He paused by the small fountain in the lounge's entryway. It was filled with a glittering collection of coins and goldfish of various sizes. In the center of the fountain there was a short stone pillar with a large bronze statue of a young naked girl lying on her side holding a goblet up as if in the midst of a toast. From over the lip of the goblet water overflowed and splashed down off her rather large breasts, before splashing into the fountain below.
He hadn't realized he'd brought his notebook down with him and slid it into his jacket pocket as he fished out a coin from his pocket and tossed it into the water.
Rockford was thinking of the fountain's statue while humming the Foreigner song Cold as Ice as he walked into the lounge. He spotted his notebook exactly where he'd left it when Heller and his security squad arrived earlier. After picking it up he was halfway back to the fountain when he heard one of the guards start to speak in the lobby.