Redeeming Factors (Revised)

by James R. Lane

  After all, most people rightfully reasoned, the aliens were really nice people, and it sure was great having them around!

  * * *

  Few things better showcase independence in a country than private transportation. The personal automobile—motorcycles, boats and small aircraft of all kinds notwithstanding—remained an international symbol of that stubborn independence, and Americans did the lion’s share to keep the global industry healthy.

  The world had undergone tremendous change since the advent of the jumperdrive, and among the drastic economic revisions was the breakup of most of the business monopolies and mega-mergers that threatened to destroy independent businesses, not only in America but world-wide. In America, the automotive dealership mergers and buyouts that were relentlessly forcing independents like Ross out of business had been summarily dissolved by congressional decree. Even the cutthroat Internet automotive price shopping had for the most part stopped when dealers everywhere realized that it was ultimately destroying their livelihood. All this kept Ross’ dealership profitable and his employees happy, something he had promised his father he’d try to do as long as possible.

  At the end of S’leen’s third month on Earth Ross decided she was ready to take the next step in independence, and few personal social achievements proclaim independence better than acquiring a driver’s license. Having a member of an otherwise meek and passive species achieve that level of self-sufficiency was, Ross knew, more than an individual achievement. S’leen would be an example to her people, and Ross hoped she would be an incentive for other H’kaah to strive for a similar measure of personal and species independence.

  Over S’leen’s rather strenuous objections he wisely decided to have her professionally trained at a driving school that specialized in teaching foreign nationals. He had to give them an “A” for attitude; when he told them just whom he wanted them to train they never balked.

  “Mr. Ross,” company president Alfred Brenner told him over the phone, “A-B Driving Academy has successfully trained over twenty five hundred foreign nationals. Some of these people had never ridden in a modern automobile before coming to the States; some had never ‘driven’ anything more demanding than a donkey.” He laughed at his own joke, then finished with, “You put her in our hands and we guarantee she’ll have her license by the time her class is over or you’ll owe us nothing.”

  If the school was successful, Ross knew, the not-so-modest price quoted him for the course would be nothing compared to what it stood to make from a successful training session and the subsequent advertising campaign. A-B Driving Academy: we trained the first non-human to drive, what’s YOUR excuse? He was just relieved not to have the dubious pleasure of being her instructor; teaching his two children to drive had been worse on his nerves than running a covert military operation in enemy territory.

  Two weeks later Ross used his personal starship, Jane, to ferry S’leen to the driving school, a discreet residential campus located in Great Neck, on the outskirts of New York City.

  Most of the flight was spent pushing their way through the thin upper atmosphere, but it was still a far quicker means of travel than anything else available. It was also the first time S’leen had been in a starship since being brought to Earth by Patrons, and she spent most of the three hours the flight took asking questions, lots of questions.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” Ross finally stated after trying unsuccessfully to explain airplane flight dynamics versus the self-sustaining jumperdrive effect as it applied to their small craft. “You get your drivers’ license and prove to me that you can handle an automobile in a responsible manner, and I’ll see to it that you receive flight training as it applies to jumperdrive-powered ships.”

  “You would trust me to…to pilot Jane?” she asked, disbelief written all over her face.

  “One step at a time, S’leen,” he said with a smile. “First you learn to drive, then we’ll see about teaching you to fly.”

  He was more apprehensive than the H’kaah when it came time to leave her in the hands of company president Brenner, but he knew she would be safe and well-guarded. The academy was the school of choice for foreign nationals, including high-ranking politicians and people with world-class financial clout. They liked it because it offered secure on-campus lodging along with its own private security team.

  S’leen would get the best of care; Ross was more worried about how HE would manage without HER.

  “Dear,” he said with forced cheer as he prepared to leave, “I want you to enjoy yourself, and call me every night before you go to bed, regardless of how late it is. OK?”

  From the beginning of their relationship Ross and S’leen had agreed it would be best for them to use discretion in any public displays of affection. While that agreement had, at times, been difficult to abide by, they both believed it to be a major factor in the public’s acceptance of their unusual relationship. Still, as Ross prepared to leave the H’kaah for the first time since they had met, they both wanted very much to break that agreement. They compromised with a quick hug and Ross’ immediate departure.

  He didn’t want anybody to see him cry.

  * * *

  A-B Driving Academy delivered “the goods”, on time and exactly as promised. Brenner had stated it should take no more than three weeks to train the H’kaah, after which she would take and hopefully pass the test and receive an international driver’s license, and to the day that’s exactly how long it took.

  That those were also three of the longest weeks in Ross’ lifetime, nobody—not his friends, not his employees— doubted in the least. As promised, he talked to S’leen every evening, but as he had feared, talking to her on the telephone wasn’t the same has having her with him every night.

  His office at the dealership was in a second-floor loft, and it had a large window that overlooked the expansive, glass-walled showroom. Ross liked the idea that customers could see that “The Owner” wasn’t a faceless, unseen entity, and while the office had vertical blinds that could be closed for privacy, they seldom were—

  —Except for the three weeks S’leen was gone. Partway through day one of her absence Ross rose from his desk, and after standing forlornly at the window for ten quiet minutes he rolled the blinds shut. The sales staff on the showroom floor, long used to being casually observed by The Big Guy, suddenly found their moods chilled, their casual, often biting banter muted. None of them knew that Ross’ H’kaah companion would be gone for a time, but several speculated out loud on possible reasons for Ross’ gloom.

  “I tell you,” rookie salesman Daryl Polk stated with conviction after various opinions had circulated for the better part of the afternoon, “his little blonde boink-bunny’s hopped out on ‘im. He wanted ‘strange’, he shoulda bought hisself a dog; at least when you feed ‘em they’re loyal.” He brayed with laughter at his own crass joke.

  “Polk, you’re an asshole!” senior sales rep Lisa Thomas snapped. Her heated response raised eyebrows all around; she was normally far more genteel, having made it plain, early on, to all her male co-workers that she didn’t appreciate crude language and comments. “I’ve had about all your twisted macho-crap I can stomach,” she snarled. “You don’t have any business talking about Jack and S’leen that way. He’s a decent man and she’s a sweet person—who happens to be a lot more cultured and better-educated that you, buddy-boy!”

  “Aw, Lisa,” Polk whined, knowing full well that he’d royally screwed up. The other salesmen had told him on his first day at work that if Lisa Thomas blew up in your face you were probably one step away from the unemployment line.

  “Don’t ‘aw-Lisa’ me, wise ass. You’re so far out of line you’re likely to find yourself heading out the door with Jack’s size 10 shoe up your butt.” She looked at the other men now standing mute and chagrined, and she softened and lowered her voice, saying, “Terry Bernhard and I were here when Jack went through his divorce, and we also saw the effect his ex-wife’s murder had on h
im.” She frowned, lost for the moment in her thoughts. “Right now he just looks ‘lost’, not devastated the way he’d be if S’leen had taken a hike. If in fact she’s gone I’d bet she’s either back on her homeworld— family emergency, family celebration, something temporary like that—or she’s away on business here on Earth. You know—like that Reebok ad.” Before anyone could bombard her with questions and comments Thomas added, “Understand, I don’t know anything for sure; just call it an educated guess.”

  She turned and walked toward a potential customer who had just pulled into the parking area. “That’s also the end of my speculation for now,” she tossed over her shoulder, “and I’d suggest we all cut him some slack. Besides the fact that he’s our boss, Jack’s also a damned good guy. He deserves better than this.”

  Rumors and gossip surged and ebbed over the next two-and-a-half weeks, but Ross would volunteer nothing concerning his H’kaah companion beyond confirming that she was, indeed, “away”. His mood, while not cheerful by any stretch of the imagination, quickly settled into one of dogged endurance. He was polite yet distant, he laughed at jokes but offered none, nor did he smile when he was not being observed. Like a man suffering through a restrictive diet, Ross had a hunger that could not be satiated.

  And so the stoic man immersed himself in the day-to-day business of running the auto dealership that bore his name, dealing with cranky customers, brainstorming with advertising representatives, solving the never-ending multitude of mini-crises that blew in with the hot summer breezes. Near the end of the third week, though, his mood began to lift. It was noted that he had taken interest in some sort of personal project, details of which he apparently wouldn’t share with anyone.

  Except Lisa Thomas.

  “Please close the door,” Ross told her as she entered his office in response to a summons over the PA system. Not knowing why she had been summoned really didn’t worry the woman. She and Ross had enjoyed a solid friendship/ working relationship for many years; she did her job well and in a professional manner and he and his managers basically left her alone to do it, not routinely subjecting her to the weekly pep talks and motivational meetings required of the other sales staff.

  When you’re constantly the top sales representative you get rewards beyond a fat commission check.

  Thomas noticed that Ross appeared nervous, and she worried that he had gotten some sort of bad news about S’leen. That worry changed to delight as he began outlining details of what his personal project involved, and the part he wanted her to play in it.

  * * *

  Ross brought his private starship down through a layer of low clouds over New York City, carefully avoiding the restrictive air travel lanes and equally restricted no-fly zones scattered about the area. The small mini-motorhome-sized ship was a visual copy of the campy, cartoon-like space ship from the old science fiction movie Flash Gordon. What Ross’ ship did not do was drone like a propeller-driven DC-3 airliner (which the movie version did), nor did it shoot sparkler-type pyrotechnics or wispy smoke from its fake rocket engines (as was done by the movie version).

  Inside, the ship (named Jane for reasons Ross would not divulge) was nothing like its movie sibling. Instead of bare-bones appointments it had comfortable low-back captain’s chair seating taken straight out of a mini-van (two chairs in the front, two in the middle and a fold-down bench seat in the third row), a complete RV-style galley and an enclosed zero-gravity toilet. Plush carpeting covered the floor and automotive-type-padded upholstery covered the other surfaces, including the roof. The controls, while in no way as complicated as a modern airplane, were logically arranged across a wide, wood-trimmed dash panel.

  Instead of a conventional windshield with windows all around, a trio of flat, wide-screen video displays stretched across the front wall of the cabin. Fed by three forward-looking high-resolution video cameras, the displays could quickly be switched to live feeds from any of seven other cameras; aft, sides, top and bottom. The movie version of the ship had few external windows, and Ross wanted his copy to be as visually accurate as possible.

  All vital operational systems were doubly redundant, and that including the jumperdrive module itself. Electrical power was provided by a small bank of sealed gel-cell batteries, which were augmented by solar panels mounted in the top of the hull. Ross had built the ship with the help of his dealership’s body shop crew, and everyone who worked on it got to fly in it at least once. Their signatures were engraved on a brass plaque permanently mounted on the aft bulkhead.

  Jane was an expensive, indulgent toy, but one that triggered appreciative grins from old movie buffs that recognized the distinctive shape. Ross flew her with pride.

  The parabolic flight path from Ross’ north Florida home was calculated to bring Jane back to Earth literally in the A-B Driving Academy’s secluded parking lot. As the ship slowly descended like a silent helicopter the final few feet Ross found himself far more excited than he had been on his first visit to Patrons. At that time his companion was only a concept; now she was a living, laughing person who meant the world to him, and he felt like an anxious teenager picking up his dream date for the prom.

  He had told S’leen he would arrive around four p.m. that Friday, and as Jane drifted over the surrounding trees and buildings Ross saw the green-clad alien start jumping joyfully and waving as she caught sight of the absurd-looking ship. Alfred Brenner was standing a safe distance away from the excited H’kaah, a restrained smile on his thin face. After an uneventful touchdown Ross quickly secured Jane ’s controls and leaped the short distance to the rear hatch. Once Ross unlocked it and swung it open he didn’t bother unfolding the steps; he jumped down literally into S’leen’s welcome embrace. Their parting had been carefully restrained, but their reunion was far less so. Ross reasoned that if Brenner had a problem with it, it was Brenner’s problem, not theirs.

  “I believe she’s glad to see you, Mr. Ross,” Brenner dryly said, then broke out with a genuinely happy grin that matched Ross’ own. “I know it sounds trite but I say this with all sincerity: I wish all our students were as delightful and talented as S’leen.”

  “When word of this gets out, Mr. Brenner, you’ll probably wind up with more non-human students than you can handle,” Ross stated. “I’ll personally see to it that a referral to your school is added to the Patrons brochure.” He returned his attention to S’leen, saying, “Well, young lady, let’s see it.” When she looked momentarily puzzled he added, “The license. You worked hard to earn it; don’t you want to show it off?”

  She squealed with joy and quickly reached into her small green nylon fanny pack, pulling out a shocking pink wallet that was just big enough for a VISA card, a few new millennium dollars and a brand-new international driver’s license. “See?” she said while thrusting the laser printed plastic card to within an inch of Ross’ nose. “It even has a photograph of me, but it cuts my ears off.”

  Carefully taking her hand and moving it far enough away for his middle-aged eyes to focus on the small colored image, Ross deadpanned, “Doesn’t it hurt when they do that?” When S’leen again looked puzzled he added, still in a serious tone, “I’d hate for somebody to cut my ears off, even if they glued them right back on.”

  Chapter 4

  *Party Animal*

  “I still can’t believe how quickly you caught that joke,” Jack Ross commented to the cheerful H’kaah as she leaned over the back of his chair, her arms draped possessively over his shoulders. She played with his shirt buttons and the sparse hair on his chest and nuzzled his neck, clinging to him like a furry second skin. Despite S’leen’s pleasurable distractions he was having no problem piloting their ship toward home. “I also can’t believe that you bit me in front of Mr. Brenner,” he said, incredulously. “And that he laughed!”

  They were well into a high parabolic arc on their way back to Florida, Ross’ little movie-reproduction starship, Jane, cutting through the thin stratospheric air like a meteorite. S’leen play
fully nipped Ross on his left ear, and when he quit yelling she said with a mock pout, “Such a big baby! I didn’t even break the skin on your arm, yet you acted like I was trying to…to eat you.” She nipped him again on the abused ear, apparently in the same tender spot.

  “YEOW!” he screamed, jumping so violently he jiggled the flight controller joystick, which instantly caused the aerodynamically challenged ship to bobble precariously in its supersonic flight. S’leen squealed, then prudently danced out of his reach, but to her apparent disappointment he didn’t give chase. Instead, he spent the next few moments working intently on the ship’s unconventional flight controls, which mainly consisted of a Toshiba notebook computer that was clamped to the dash panel and connected by a thick, shielded cable to the jumperdrive module. A track ball, a fancy video game joystick and two small banks of toggle switches and rheostats were tied into the computer, and were secured to the panel where they could be easily reached by a seated pilot. A dozen conventional VDO dial gauges mounted nearby in a small rack displayed current internal and external physical environment information as well as performance readouts.

  Natural rabbit curiosity soon brought her back close enough to see what Ross was doing, but all she saw was his fingers flying over the little computer’s keyboard, its color display flickering and flashing in response to his input. “And—” a few more keystrokes, a final display change, “— NOW I don’t have to worry about you crashing us,” he stated, flashing the H’kaah a benevolent smile. “This thing doesn’t have an ‘auto-pilot’ feature the way many conventional airplanes do, but that doesn’t mean the Ol’ Maestro here can’t improvise.”