âI beg to differ, Mr. President. I can think of two very important reasons to keep them there. If we move them out, the aliens will notice and will undoubtedly assume that we are moving them so we can mount an attack. If Miss Hodges is correct, theyâd be able to defeat us without much effort. Why provoke an attack by them, if the likelihood is that we will lose?â
âGo on—.â
âEven more important, though, is that if everyone not behind the barrier leaves, there will be no reason for the Wakira to allow Miss Hodges to leave the occupied area. She is our only eyes and ears on what the aliens are doing. If the people are gone, she wonât be allowed out. Weâll lose the one asset that we have. Now, normally I would agree with the notion of getting the civilians out of the way, but not in this case. We need them there. If a sense of normalcy exists outside the barrier, the Wakira will be less inclined to be wary. And, we will continue to have the advantage of Miss Hodges providing us with much needed intel on a near-daily basis. The people must stay in place. And we need to get them to continue on as if nothing much has happened. I could have men go door-to-door telling them that the aliens have promised to not attack the people in the town. And that their remaining in town will help prevent a catastrophic war from breaking out. Weâve severed communications in and out of the town already. The only calls that people in the town are getting are ones that have been pre-approved by my staff. We should be able to sit on the situation here in town. What happens outside the exclusion zone though, is the responsibility of others. I urge you, Mr. President, that you evoke a sense of normalcy in Washington and throughout the country. Even in the face of questioning from the press and Congress. Hopefully, the aliens will get the information they want and will leave in a week or two. We need Jennifer Hodges, Mr. President. We need continued access to her. She may be our only hope—.â
Chapter 4
The walk to work the next morning was uneventful, the only difference being there were about a dozen soldiers standing guard outside the barrier, versus the two from the first morning. Jennifer was quietly pleased that Rafe, her former schoolmate, was in that group. As she had done the day before, she thanked the Wakiran guard, and stuck her hands through slowly before pushing her head through. “Human coming through!” she called out, giddily, then stepped through. “Man, that thing is unpleasant!” A wave and a smile, and she was on her way.
The morning at the clinic brought two more gawkers and no patients. Jennifer spent more than a few minutes with each of the gawkers, just to give herself something to do. Right on time, the general arrived with the day’s lunch.
“More bribery, General?” she teased.
He put the bags down on the counter and made his way around. “I don’t expect to get much information out of you this time, given the food I’ve brought.” He pulled out what looked like two chicken breast sandwiches and some carrots. “I had tried to get a salad, but all she had were these carrots.”
“What was wrong with having cheese fries again?” she asked jokingly. “Everything Mrs. Summers sells at her burger joint is locally grown. I guess she was out of cucumber and lettuce. Most of the houses in town have fairly extensive gardens. For many, their garden is the only source of food they can get. They’ll sell some of the surplus to the Burger Shack and to the All-in-One store, and trade the rest with the neighbors. Dad’s been growing tomatoes for the last 4 years, but he’s been pretty half-hearted about it.” She divvied up the meal this time.
“Anything new and exciting?” he asked.
“Well. Let’s see—. I got arrested when I went back through the barrier. Charged with treason or something.” He stared at her wide-eyed. “Remember the ‘nah nah hey hey’ thing, as you called it? They identified it as being Klingon—.”
“They know Klingon? How the hell would they know Klingon?”
“They didn’t know Klingon. They just recognized it as being Klingon. And they wanted to know what secret message I was passing on to the Klingons. And where they were located.” She sat and started picking at the carrot sticks.
“Where they were located?”
“Uh-huh. They have no concept of fiction. Everything is either historical fact or it’s a lie. So, I ended up tricking the mission commander into being my accomplice as I broke into the high school library. We left with 3 non-fiction Star Trek books. He now believes that fiction can exist, but has absolutely no idea why we have it.”
“You broke into the school—?”
Her chin dropped as she remembered the guilt had she felt the evening before. “I think that I’m single-handedly screwing up this poor man’s career. He’s violated the survey mission regulations several times because of me, and now he’s guilty of committing an illegal act.” She turned and looked at the general. “I’m a dangerous woman, General. You’d better be careful around me.” She giggled and turned her concentration back onto the carrot sticks. “I got an official apology for the kerfuffle in the name of the Emperor. I don’t know if that gets me any brownie points, or whatever.”
“Sounds like the risk of reverse contamination is ever-increasing.”
Jennifer put the carrots down and reached for the sandwich. “Yep. I suggested that he see my neighbor, David Stone, to find out more about fiction. David got his undergrad degree in medieval literature before he got his Masters of Education and started teaching. He’ll get Myka thinking some non-Wakiran thoughts.”
“You make this sound like you’re hoping to pollute them.”
“In a way, I am. If they accept our way of thinking, they may accept us. Warts and all, hopefully. I told Myka, discreetly obviously, that I felt they were planning on judging us. He neither acknowledged nor refuted the notion.”
Comiston sighed audibly. “Silence speaks volumes. My anxiety level just went up, Miss Hodges.”
She chewed on her lower lip as she shook her head. “He seems too polite, too considerate, to be planning on harming us.” She put the sandwich back down. “If they are, then there’s no way to defend ourselves. Proverbial lab mice. When it’s time to get dissected, there’s no way to resist. Dammit! Why is it every time we have lunch, my fear level scoots up another few notches?”
The rest of the meal was eaten in complete silence.
Jennifer was surprised by something she saw as she walked down Thorn Road towards home — Myka sitting on the swing chair talking with David Stone. “Hey!” she said in mock indignation. “He’s sitting in my spot!” She giggled and Stone laughed. Myka started to get out of the seat.
“Sit down, Commander,” Stone said patting him on the arm. “She was joking. Growing up, she would climb through the window from her room, and come visit. Except for that first visit,” he said looking at Jennifer, “you always sat at the leftmost spot on the swing chair.”
Myka looked at Jennifer, eyes squinting ever so slightly. “Climbed through the window? It is interesting to note that you haven’t changed in that area.”
Jennifer blushed. This time, Stone laughed at his former pupil. “Proof that the Wakira have a sense of humor. Well done, Commander.”
“I was not sure I could manage it in a language I have known for only 20 days. I still have trouble deciphering whether a — dig? slam? — is genuine or is meant to be humorous. In the language, we speak in a ‘voice’ that let’s all the parties know that the remark is intended to be funny. Voice is not a good word. We add a syllabic to the end of certain of the words to convey the intent. I’ve learned that I need to watch for certain facial expressions or changes in vocal timbre. That, and a lot more, from David this afternoon. Not just about literature and fiction.”
“I’m glad that you two have gotten along so well. It means you won’t have to rely only on me to help you with learning more about us. Speaking of which, where should I meet you after supper?”
“I had not even noticed how late it was. I have taken to sitting in one of those wooden seats that face the ship. Now that I have ordered the inte
nsity of the energy screen to be reduced, we should get to experience some of the evening breezes that David spoke so lovingly about.” He stood slowly. “I look forward to further discussions, David Stone. I have truly enjoyed my afternoon.” With that, he started walking up Thorn towards Emerald.
“He came soon after lunch, bearing gifts,” Stone told her, as the alien walked out of sight. “Books, as it happens.”
Jennifer’s smile disappeared. She started hanging her head down in shame.
“You were right when you told him that I knew of your weekend escapes to the library, Jenny. Having seen what the wrath of your mother did to Amelia one day, I had no problem with you trying to lose yourself somewhere. And I would have rathered you spent time in the library than to waste time climbing the Rock or whatever.”
“I’m sorry David. I should never have done it to begin with. Ever.”
“Tch!” He placed his hands on her shoulders. “I’m not admonishing you, Jenny. But you’re a grown woman now. And you no longer have to hide from your mom, so there’s no excuse anymore.” He gently patted one shoulder. “He gave a detailed description of how you were able to get in. I’ll be getting Kirk to fix the window lock in September. Assuming I have any money to do it.”
“I’m really sorry, David.”
“I know you are Jenny. And I’m not the slightest bit angry or disappointed in you at all. I’ll always be proud of you. Remember that.” He tousled her bangs, then went in the house. Jennifer just stood there, feeling strangely wonderful.
Chapter 5
Friday at the clinic was completely quiet — it seemed as if no one was getting sick, or walking through poison ivy, or falling down stairs. While the Rock was still accessible by walking along the creek down from where Twin Elm entered the ravine, no one was bothering to go there. Four American soldiers stood guard where the barrier sliced across the end of Emerald, just before the creek.
Comiston’s arrival with lunch gave Jennifer an opportunity to pass along information that she had picked up about their society. In particular, their practices and beliefs regarding death and dying.
“…They send their sick out to die alone?” he asked in disbelief.
“They don’t send them,” Jennifer answered. “Those who believe that they are about to die leave of their own accord. They call it going on one last hunt. The tradition predates their history, apparently. The person takes a small shelter, like a puptent, a bedroll, a spear, a day’s rations and some poison. They wander to where they want to die, pitch the tent, and get into the bedding. Even though suicide is an abomination to them, if necessary, they’ll speed up the dying process by ingesting a neurotoxin. They are considered legally dead the instant they cross the threshold of the house. No one engages with them. It is as if there aren’t there. The family and loved ones are required to wait 3 dawns before they go fetch the body. They call it ‘the shell’. Burial or cremation, like us. A nineday period of mourning. As best they can, they never die in bed, or in a hospital. They are driven to die on this last hunt thing of theirs. Personally, I think it’s callous, but it’s a tradition that they subscribe to wholeheartedly. They believe that, as the person dies, their essence — spirit I guess — comes out of the shell, and is transported to their version of Heaven. They call it ‘The Other Side’, and the process is called ‘crossing over’.” She shrugged. “That’s how they described it to me. They consider what we do — gathering with the loved one to be with them when they die to be humiliating to the person dying. They are like us, but also not like us. I’m not sure how this information will help you—.”
Saturday morning, Jennifer was wandering aimlessly around the football field with Myka, trying to explain what football was, and why she would occasionally say the phrase “Go Huskers” seemingly at random. Some of the people from the other houses behind the barrier had started coming out to look at the landing craft and the ship that hovered noiselessly several hundred feet above them. Jennifer kept interrupting her attempt to explain the game to introduce neighbors that were brave enough to venture over. Myka continued to be polite and patient, greeting each and every one of them and telling them that the Wakira were only there to find out more about humankind.
As one middle-aged lady bade farewell and wandered away (slightly mollified), Jennifer scanned the area, trying to see if anyone else would interfere with her efforts in explaining her favorite sport to the alien commander. She spotted a familiar figure descending the stairs coming down from Emerald to the north endzone. “Crap!” she said, under her breath. “Trouble, thy name is Underhill.” She considered trying to bundle Myka onto the ship on some pretext but decided against it. She gritted her teeth and pretended to smile at the approaching woman.
“Hey Candy,” she called out, hoping that she at least sounded like she was happy to see her nemesis.
“Hey Xena,” the other responded, using the nickname that she had assigned Jennifer. “Have you gotten even taller?”
“Clean living, Candy,” she said, literally looking down at the much shorter woman. “You should try it sometime.”
Myka knew something was going on, but couldn’t determine if it was more banter, or if the words were intended to hurt.
“Hello, Sugar,” Candy flashed her porcelain-capped teeth at the alien. “My name is —”
“Candy Underhill. I recognized you from the photograph I saw of you and Jennifer.”
“Photograph?” she said, confused.
“Winter regionals, 2013. There’s a picture of the two of us applauding the winning team in our division. This is Myka. He is the mission commander for the Wakira survey team.”
“I love a man in uniform. Why don’t you run along and find another alien to talk to, Xena?”
Jennifer refused to let her fake smile disappear. “Men in uniform, honey? Rafe Dixon is on guard duty just outside the barrier at Emerald and Thicket. From what I remember, you were — umm — very familiar with Rafe back when we were at school.” Jennifer’s smile broadened. Candy’s smile disappeared.
“Jennifer has been very helpful to me and to the survey. Her intelligence and ability to recall detailed historical facts has made my job much much easier.” He stopped and waited patiently for Candy’s response.
She brushed her fingertips down his cheek and rested her hand against his chest. “Well, Myka, if you ever want to interact with someone with an earthy knowledge, just look for me. I’m sure that I can make you happy, too.” She turned and looked up at Jennifer. “Seeya around, Xena.” She sashayed away without waiting for a response.
“Only if my luck turns bad, Candy,” was the near silent reply.
“Jennifer?” Myka asked as soon as Candy was a fair distance away. “What was Candy Underhill attempting to do?”
Jennifer bit her tongue and tempered the answer she wanted to give him. “She was trying to seduce you, by offering to have sex with you. In return for social status from the rest of us Terrans here, and possibly from the Wakira.”
Myka took Jennifer by the elbow and led her over to the westside stands, away from everyone else. “Why would she think that I would wish to engage in sexual intercourse with her? Was she proposing that we bond?”
“Bond? Do you mean like enter into a permanent or semi-permanent relationship?”
He blinked twice. “Terrans engage in sex while not in a permanent relationship?” He almost sounded horrified at the notion.
“Many do. I don’t. The people who knew me thought of me as being a prude. Abstaining from sex, from tobacco, from drugs and from alcohol. I hated the term, but I’m proud that I have honored my beliefs. No matter how difficult it has been.” She blushed at her confession of self-perceived weakness. “Are you bonded, Myka? Is there a Mrs. Mission Commander back home?”
“No, I have no mate yet. Though, my mother is desperate that I get a mate soon. I have promised her that I will bond soon after my return from this mission.”
“Do you have someone in mind? Is there a
female that you’ve had your eye on?”
Myka seemed to look scandalized. “Jennifer. These questions are becoming uncomfortable. These are things that males and females do not discuss between the genders.”
Jennifer considered pushing the issue, but thought that that would be rude and unfair. He was clearly feeling off-balance. “Okay. I’m sorry if I’ve stepped into an area that we shouldn’t talk about. Though, I could remind you of the conversation we had yesterday evening regarding romance and dalliances.” She waited for a moment then continued on a slightly different tangent. “You never did explain to me what Wakira do for romance and dating. Are you as abrupt and forward as Candy was just now? Is your bonding pre-arranged? How do you get a female to want to be your mate?”
“This is difficult for me to discuss. It is not done in public, nor with anyone outside of the family.” His eyes focused on his feet while he searched for what he thought would be an appropriate answer. “Our bonding is determined bio-chemically. Two or three times each year, adults enter a phase where they produce unique hormones. Translated, the term we use is cycle, though the English word fails utterly to describe the condition. When in cycle, our bodies are more sensitive to odors, particularly body odors of those around us. When the scent of a Wakira in cycle is detected by one of the opposite gender who is also in cycle, a — transformation — takes place.” He paused. “Jennifer, this is very uncomfortable for me.”
She caressed his arm. “I’m sorry, Myka. I had absolutely no intention to cause you distress. I’ll summarize what I think you’re saying. A male and a female are in cycle. After a period of time of being near each other, their bodies detect the scent of the other. And some sort of process takes place in both of them that causes a change of some kind.”
He was silent for a moment. “The change involves the pleasure center. It is sensitized to that particular scent or odor. All scents are unique. The change is permanent. I — I cannot say any more about this.” He stood, and looked at the lander that was 130 feet away.
And What of Earth? Page 6