Canals

by Everett Powers

  It left its lair to look for a new one.

  In the canal, the water was so shallow that part of its back was exposed to the light that grew brighter each minute, so it quickened its pace. It knew where to go; this waterway ended and joined another, a wild waterway. It would be easy to find a new lair in the wild waterway.

  Then it found itself on dry land, some distance from the safety of water, and could not recall how it had come to be there. The planet’s star assailed its hide with searing, burning rays. It raced back and reentered the waterway, crawling along the bottom, hiding from the star.

  It searched its memory banks for a history of this type of occurrence with its kind and was troubled by what it found; a record, a memory, something it had learned in the past that told it there were circumstances when it was preferable, even needful, to expose itself to a planet’s bright star. The record implied that great energy could be absorbed from the star, energy that could help their kind adapt and evolve even faster than they already could.

  Everything else the creature knew told it the record could not be true, that it would be destroyed by the planet’s bright star after but a short exposure to its deadly rays. This was so ingrained into the creature’s DNA that avoiding the star was as instinctive as hunting and feeding.

  But having a false record in its memory banks was impossible. It was the dominant species because it adapted and evolved, then passed that knowledge to future generations; there were no incorrect records or data, there could not be.

  It swam in the shallow waterway, confused, struggling to reconcile the inconsistency between what it thought was a memory and the way it had lived.

  It decided the memory must be correct. If it was false, what else might be false? It climbed out of the canal, closed its eyes against the bright light and waited, but for what it did not know.

  (“How’s he going to get it to kill itself?”)

  Baskel asked Jensen after several minutes of silence. At least he couldn’t hear anything; he imagined they were talking up a storm but kept him out of the loop for some reason.

  (“He has planted a lie in the Evil One’s memory banks. It believes that your sun can be used as a source of energy.”)

  Baskel thought about that, then said,

  (“But a memory has to be triggered, doesn’t it? You can’t wait for it to dig the memory up itself. How does he trigger it?”)

  (“The Assassin can control the Evil One for brief periods of time and make it do something it otherwise would not do. When the Evil One searches its memory for similarities, it will find the lie.”)

  This lifted Baskel’s spirits, almost to the point of elation.

  (“That’s it, then?”)

  (“We can only hope. We were taught it does not always work because of the Evil One’s will to survive.”)

  (“What’s the backup plan? What do you do if the creature doesn’t go for the lie? Plant another one?”)

  She didn’t respond, nor would she answer any more of his questions.

  An incredible sensation emanated from the creature’s hide, a sensation it had never before experienced. It tried to push the new sensation away, ignore it, but could not.

  Instead, the sensation dominated its thoughts. It scoured its memory banks to search for a reason why it should desire this experience but found nothing.

  When its hide began to blister, the sensation which had no name drove out all other thoughts: it leapt back into the waterway, which by now had even less water.

  It threw psychic feelers out and sensed prey close by, clustered in small groups. It ignored them and concentrated on locating a new place of refuge.

  Then it detected a body of still water nearby, close to one of the groups of prey. It calculated the distance but was unsure if it could get there before the bright star burned it again.

  The water continued to drop in the canal and the undesirable sensation began anew. It had no choice, it had to risk exposing itself to the bright star while it ran to the new place of refuge.

  It leapt out of the waterway and raced for the body of water. Within seconds the star’s rays blistered its hide and the new sensation returned, more intense than before. It passed several of the small groups of prey and they scattered. The creature ignored its instinct to kill and eat.

  The new sensation racked its body, penetrating down into its skeletal system and reverberating through its digestive organs. Its two hearts pumped furiously to provide fuel to its muscles, which only screamed for more.

  When it dove into the small body of water, its nervous system was close to shutting down. It lay motionless in the bottom of the pool, waiting for his hide to rehydrate before initiating the process of repair.

  (“Why’d he let it get away? He had it right where he needed it, out in the sun. Why’d he let it make back to the water? Man! It almost seemed like he let it go on purpose!”)

  Jensen looked at him with tremendous sadness.

  (“You are correct, Advocate. The Assassin is holding back.”)

  Baskel couldn’t believe it. Then he remembered what she’d said earlier.

  (“Oh right. He’ll die when he kills the creature. But he knew he wasn’t going home when he went through your ... What’d you call it? Space machine? What if that was his only opportunity to kill it?”)

  Baskel was angry, upset by not only the missed opportunity but also the cryptic, evasion nature of Jensen’s language. Her one-sentence responses raised more questions than they answered.

  (“Do you love your mate, Detective?”)

  He was taken back by her question.

  (“What’s that got to do with anything?”)

  (“What would you do for her?”)

  (“I’d do anything for her, give up my life if I had to.”)

  (“Under what circumstances would you leave your mate for another?”)

  (“There are none. I would never leave her. What do you want to know for?”)

  (“You would not seek another mate if she rejected you or died?”)

  (“Well, maybe then, maybe if she died. So what?”)

  (“You love her and would never leave her by choice, yet there are circumstances where you would seek another mate. Our kind mate for life. There are no circumstances where one leaves a mate for another. Even if one’s mate dies, the survivor does not seek a new mate.”)

  Baskel still didn’t see what this had to do with anything, but thought she might get around to telling him if he waited long enough.

  (“Before the Evil Species arose from the sea, there was seldom occasion for one to live without their mate for long, for death came only to those who lived out their years. After the Evil Species came, however, there were many who lived without mates for much of their time. Death could come at any time, strike from any shadow or waterway.”)

  He still had no idea what she was getting at.

  (“The Leader taught us that our unions do not end when we pass from this existence. They continue into the next.”)

  She was looking at Lawless, and her face was wet with tears.

  Then he got it, the reason why Jensen cried and why Lawless hesitated.

  (“You two are ... mates, and he doesn’t want to leave you.”)

  She nodded.

  (“We were made only for each other.”)

  Baskel knew he was being cruel when he thought,

  (“Still, when you came here you knew—”)

  She cut him off.

  (“The Evil Species overran our planet and killed all of our kind. Other Facilitators and Assassins will die destroying the Evil Ones they were sent after.”)

  She sobbed as she said into his mind,

  (“When we die, our kind will die with us.”)

  The startled golfers ran to the clubhouse to report what they’d seen. The manager was at first skeptical, thinking the foursome was either pulling some sophomoric prank or was drunk, or both. But when he considered that two of the four had been members of the country club for twenty-five years
and that none of them smelled like alcohol, he dialed the police.

  The police told him to evacuate the golf course and close the country club immediately. Three times he was told that under no circumstance should anyone go near the pond.

  The man had barely set the phone down when he heard the thump-thump of a helicopter overhead and the distant sound of sirens. Frightened, he got right to the business of shutting the club down.

  The police set up a three hundred yard perimeter around the pond and left their vehicles idling and pointed toward the closest access road out of the golf course. Various weapons were on hand, but only out of habit. They were there to observe and keep the citizens away, but if the thing came out of the water they would jump in their vehicles and leave.

  An hour later, two news helicopters joined the police chopper hovering over the course, having caught wind of the action from their scanners and contacts inside the police force.

  Officer Howard, the department’s good-luck charm, was there with yet another new partner. The cops felt safe with him at the scene; none considered that while Howard might’ve survived two close encounters with the monster, most of the people around him hadn’t.

  Noon came and went and it got hot. A second chopper took the first’s place so it could refuel and the pilot could take a break. The cops got bored and started shutting off their idling vehicles. Some began questioning whether the monster was in the pond at all, that maybe it had gone somewhere else while the country club was being evacuated. A guy offered that it was probably working its way through the back nine, two strokes under handicap.

  Howard never shut his engine off, and never took his eyes off the pond.

  (“We must go.”)

  Jensen said to Baskel, standing for the first time in hours.

  Baskel was finishing a can of soup and a fistful of crackers, the last of the food in Jensen’s apartment.

  (“Go? Go where?”)

  (“To where the Evil One hides.”)

  (“What for?”)

  (“The Assassin will not release.”)

  (“Won’t release what?”)

  She didn’t answer, but waited for him by Lawless’s recliner.

  (“He coming with us?”)

  She nodded.

  (“Are you going to tell me what this is about?”)

  (“The Assassin lacks the motivation to kill the Evil One.”)

  (“ ‘Motivation?’ What does that mean?”)

  (“I need you to take me to where the Evil One hides.”)

  Baskel left his soup on the table and grabbed his keys.

  As they were walking Lawless through the apartment door, Baskel said,

  (“Were you people this difficult to talk to on your own planet?”)

  They put Lawless in the backseat of Baskel’s car and drove away. The country club was a good twenty minutes from Jensen’s apartment and they made the entire trip in silence. Baskel used the time to think, conjuring up possible reasons why Jensen would want to see the pond where the monster was hiding; none made any sense.

  At the golf course, the uniforms let him through and pointed him in the direction of the pond.

  He stopped outside the perimeter set up by the now-bored and hot policemen, rolled his windows down and shut off his car.

  (“Now what?”)

  (“Now he will do what he was born to do: he will kill the Evil One.”)

  (“All right, now you’re talking. You gonna tell me how, or you gonna make me wait until the book comes out?”)

  She turned, looked him in the eyes and thought,

  (“Watch.”)

  She got out of the car and he followed. Baskel and the cops watched Jensen walk out onto the fairway. One of them, seeing where she was going, shouted, “Hey!”

  He looked at Baskel, who shook his head: “Let her go.” It felt odd to speak with his mouth.

  The cop chopper pilot noticed her and maneuvered the aircraft to get a better view. The TV choppers noticed her as well and the cameramen started rolling tape, zooming in with their long lenses, pleased something was finally happening.

  When Jensen was halfway to the pond, a cop asked Baskel, “What the hell is she doing, Dave? She’s going to get herself killed if she gets too close to that pond.”

  The hairs on the back of Baskel’s neck sprang to attention.

  (“What are you up to Jensen?”) he thought to her, hoping he could project that far.

  (“There is no Sandra Jensen, Advocate. I am the Assassin’s Facilitator. I am doing what I must do.”)

  (“Which is what, goddammit?”)

  (“The Assassin will not kill the Evil One because he cares more for me and our kind than he does for you and your kind. He knows that if he dies, which he surely will when he kills the Evil One, our kind cannot make young and will be no more in the universe. He cannot make young by himself so if I die the Assassin will have no reason to live and he will kill the Evil One. A Facilitator assists an Assassin in the manner he requires.”)

  Baskel thought he finally got it.

  (“You’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do, are you? Tell me you’re not giving yourself to the monster.”)

  (“It is the only way.”)

  (“Why is it the only way? Why not shoot yourself or take a bunch of pills? Why let that thing have you?”)

  (“Our kind are not without emotion. Do you not think the Assassin will be enraged when the Evil One feeds upon my flesh? Do you not think revenge will serve as great motivation for him to kill the Evil One?”)

  She was twenty yards from the pond when Baskel began running, screaming at her to stop.

  She reached the edge of the pond before he covered half the distance. A powerful vibration shook the ground, the creature shot up out of the water and bit off the top third of her body. The remainder fell forward into the water, and Baskel could see the top of the creature’s head as it finished eating her.

  He fell to his knees.

  Then, from somewhere behind him: a scream unlike any he had ever heard or would ever hear, more horrendous than any Howard heard in the killing tent the night before.

  Baskel knew Lawless hadn’t just watched the monster kill and eat his mate, because he was part of it now, he had killed and eaten her as well.

  Baskel went to return to his car, wondering what he was going to do with Lawless. He would certainly be declared insane, and rightly so.

  He had gone twenty feet when he heard a sound, a splash, coming from the pond. He turned and saw the monster leave the water and come sprinting down the middle of the fairway, directly at him. Baskel was surprised at how fast it ran on its six short legs and how ridiculous it looked in the daylight, more like an oversized lizard than a murderous killing machine. He almost chuckled at the sight, until it opened its mouth and bared its teeth; there was nothing funny about that, and Baskel suddenly realized he should be running as fast as he could.

  But it was too late.

  The monster stopped ten feet from him. He knew he should be frightened, knew he was facing the very beast that had slaughtered and eaten hundreds of people, but he wasn’t.

  The creature wouldn’t expose itself to the sun like this of its own accord. That could mean only one thing: Lawless was controlling it. Now that he was “sufficiently motivated,” as Jensen had put it, there would be no easing off, no failing to release.

  The Assassin meant to kill it, and he meant to do it now.

  Sweating in the afternoon sun, Baskel walked up and spit on the creature and mind-thought to Lawless, hoping he could hear,

  (“You get him now, Detective. Fry his ass.”)

  The creature’s middle eye popped; green goo dribbled down its face and Baskel backed away. The parts of its hide exposed to direct sunlight bubbled and rippled, its head bobbed up and down and back and forth. It bit at the ground and tore into the grass, its legs shook and buckled. Another eye exploded, this time shooting thick black liquid ten feet into the air, pushing Baskel further away
.

  It opened its mouth and roared a silent roar, sending a powerful vibration through every solid thing within five hundred yards. Its knees buckled and it dipped its head, trying to escape the sun’s rays.

  Turning back to face the pond, it took a shaky step, then flung itself to the ground as if some invisible giant had slapped it down. The blisters were huge now and pieces of skin began peeling off, falling to the grass.

  It tried to stand but could only lift its head and tail. It thrashed about and Baskel had to move again to avoid being struck by its tail. The side exposed to the sun smoldered and cracked and filled the air with the incredible stench of cooking alien flesh.

  The uniformed police officers approached Baskel and the roasting monster, staring, mouths open in disbelief. The smell became stronger and Baskel covered his nose with a jacket sleeve.

  The creature’s hide cracked and split and thick green-black liquid oozed out, bubbling and smoking in the sun. Several minutes later it split completely open with a pop and the contents of its abdomen spilled onto the grass, steaming and smoldering in the sunlight. As the creature’s digestive tract burned off, Baskel and the group of cops could see parts of Jensen’s body.

  The monster died, but its flesh continued cooking until there was nothing left but metal teeth and ash.

  “I hope that hurt like hell,” Baskel told the smoking carcass.

  He walked away, passing through the crowd of shocked and disgusted police officers and headed for his car, where he had left Daniel Lawless lying in the back seat.

  Epilog — Five Years

  The TV footage of Sandra Jensen’s and the creature’s deaths was an international sensation for several months. Local media outlets fed off the story as long as they could, extracting as much profit from the tragedy as possible.

  Captain Bozeman’s prophecy came true: the media crucified him and drove he and his family out of state.