Black Swan Planet

by James Peters

  After a while, lights came toward me, so I did the natural thing that any citizen of the Empire would - I stood squarely in the middle of the road, held my hands out in front of me signaling ‘I need assistance’ and waited. The vehicle sped toward me, and due to an apparent malfunction of its infrared vision systems, didn’t seem to see me. At the last moment, I heard a screeching sound. It’s coming right at me! I jumped to the side; someone screamed in a savage tongue. The vehicle skidded, went into the ditch, slid for a bit, then drove back onto the road. I heard another scream, the occupant giving me a one-fingered wave. Another screech and the vehicle sped away. How rude.

  I walked with torturous steps. My crotch burned; it felt like I had a terrible infection and swelled to an ungodly size. A strange warbling noise grew louder. I didn’t know what danger approached me now.

  I tried to run, but I couldn’t. I recognized two fixed, white lights and several colorful lights rotating. The noise grew louder; the lights brighter. A spotlight hit me square in the eyes. I was blinded and heard a loud voice.

  I heard phonetically in Galactic Standard, “Getalvurge hoedstad klyneta hta jroo baltouq!” It meant nothing to me, so they said it louder. “Getalvurge hoedstad klyneta hta jroo baltouq!”

  The familiar pain from the translator implant in my cerebral cortex heating up peirced through my head. I had no idea of what they said, but I could guess the intent. I raised my empty hands in front of me, to the unidentifiable mumblings from behind the light. Two silhouettes appeared in front of the white lights. I sighed in relief to find them humanoid.

  I heard what sounded like arguing, and one of the figures moved toward me. Definitely human, male, strangely dressed with a metal device in his hand pointed at me with as an unusual design, but by the way he held it, I had to assume it to be a weapon.

  The figure motioned toward my hands. “Ahg roog getalvurge hoedstad hands hta jroo air!”

  I raised my hands high and the man pushed me to the ground. Their words became meaningful as the translator chip learned their language. My head throbbed.

  One of the men, younger and thinner than the other said, “He stinks, Uncle Rob!” His dark hair waved across his head; he had a strong jaw-line and deep brown eyes.

  “What da’ ya’ mean he stinks, Bobby?”

  “He smells like he’s crapped himself.”

  “Are yo’ sure?” Uncle Rob said.

  “I’m sure he stinks. I haven’t done a visual inspection.”

  “Great. An’ I just had the squad car warshed.”

  “Yes. I know, I was the one that washed it,” Bobby said.

  “What’s he wearin’? Is that silver?” Uncle Rob stepped closer. He was an older man; fat, balding, and had the look of a person you could convince punching himself in the stomach would kill a tapeworm. His shirt strained to contain his heft. At any moment one of his buttons might pop off with the power to put someone’s eye out.

  “I think it’s some kind of jumpsuit. He’s not from around here. Maybe he’s with one of those rock and roll bands, and they dumped him after a party. Are you with a band, stranger?”

  “I…am…” the words failed me, and I automatically cursed in Galactic Standard.

  “You hear that?” Bobby said. “I think he said “Bjork or something. Where you from, stranger? Sweden?”

  I tried to answer him, but I formed each word individually. “I…I…am…lost.”

  “Listen at ‘im, Bobby,” Uncle Rob said. “He’s definitely a dummy. We need to take ’im in. He prob’ly escaped from some ‘tard home. Oh gawd, you‘re right. He‘s crapped his‘elf. When we get back, you gonna‘ haf‘ to delouse ‘im.”

  “Jeez! Why do I have to do all the grunt work?” Bobby said, his face turning bitter.

  “Because I’m the boss and yo’ momma’ begged me to give you a job.”

  Bobby mumbled just loud enough for me to hear it. “You’re the boss at eating donuts.”

  He pushed me toward their transport while Uncle Rob opened the rear door.

  “This fella’s burning up!” Uncle Rob said, pushing me into the rear of their vehicle. “He’s got a fever. I can feel the heat comin’ off of him!”

  It occurred to me that felt ill, and not just due to all the commotion. Falling to my near-death on a barbarian planet, lost, alone, about to be taken to jail and be deloused by a primitive human, tends to upset one’s sense of well-being. But once he mentioned it, I realized I had been sweating profusely. Most likely an infection from the bite had triggered my immune system. I need medical help!

  I heard the rumblings of what sounded like an antique motor from centuries back, running on some form of explosive fuel.

  “This is Unit One calling dispatch.” Uncle Rob said, into a handheld microphone.

  A tinny voice replied through a boxy radio. “This is Marge. What’cha need, Rob?”

  “Come on Marge. You’re s’posed to call me Unit One.”

  “Fine. Unit One, what do you need?”

  “We’ve got a code… Bobby, what’s the code for an escaped ‘tard that crapped himself?”

  “There is no code for that,” Bobby replied.

  “Come on Bobby, gimme’ a code. You know we’re supposed to use that fancy code book for ev’ything now.”

  Bobby thumbed through the book and finally said, “Here it is. Code eleventy-twelve blue goose delta. Escaped ‘tard with messy pants.”

  “See? I told you that book had a code for everything! You hear that, Marge? We gots us a code eleventy-twelve blue goose delta. Check an‘ see if there are any reports of escaped ‘tards.”

  “I haven’t heard anything, number one.”

  “That’s Unit One.”

  “Fine, I’ll dial up the hospital and see if they lost anybody,” Marge said.

  We came to a stop in front of an old stone building with bars on the windows. After studying the sign for a moment, the nonsensical letters formed in my mind into the words ‘County Jail’.

  “Standard procedures, Uncle Rob? Pictures and fingerprints first?”

  “Not this time, Bobby. Take that stinker to the shower house. Grab yerself a gallon of that delousing soap. See if he’s smart enough to warsh his’elf. If not, I’d grab a brush on the way too. And wear your gloves; he’s got some kind of infection or the flu. You don’t want to catch somethin’ from ‘im.”

  Bobby directed me into the bath house. I heard the words in my head, but forming the words proved difficult. “I…can…bathe…myself.” I grabbed the soap and tried to find some privacy.

  “Sorry, partner. Until we know where you’re from and if there are any outstanding warrants for you, I have to stay right here. Believe me, I won’t like this any more than you will. Now get on with it and I won’t have to hold this gun to your head.”

  I got undressed and tried to protect my modesty as best I could, but as I turned away from Bobby, he pulled a flashlight from his belt.

  “What the hell is that?” He said, shining the light at my crotch. He pulled a large radio from his belt and keyed the microphone. “Boss, you need to get down here. You’ve got to see this.”

  “Whatcha’ got, Bobby?” said the tinny voice.

  “This guy’s not quite right.”

  “What are ya’ talking ‘bout?”

  “Anatomically. He’s not quite right. He looks like he’s got something extra. I’d have to say I’m looking at an E.T.!”

  “I’ll be right down, Bobby, to see ‘dat E.T.”

  The term “E.T.” rang in my head. There must have been a divergence over the hundreds of thousands of years since this planet had been seeded. Had these barbarians evolved differently than we had; maybe their genitalia had been internalized? If they know that I’m different, they’ll put me through tests, inquisitions, and find out about the Empire. Beheading would be a relief compared to what the Emperor would do to me if I revealed the Empire to a barbarian world. I knew that my survival depended on getting away. I tried to run, fell on the
wet floor, and Bobby put his knee on my back, holding me face-first to the floor. I felt his gun press against the back of my head.

  Uncle Rob entered the room and “Show me this E.T., Bobby, and yo’ betta’ not be screwing around.”

  “Look at him, Uncle Rob. I told you. E.T.! See, right there?”

  I struggled to break free, but couldn’t move. The thought occurred to me that maybe they’d just shoot me right now and put my body in a museum. That would probably be for the best.

  “What the hell is ‘dat, Bobby?”

  “See...E.T. He’s got an Extra Testicle.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “You’re looking at it. Right there. One, two, three.”

  “Let me look closer at that.” I felt something poking around my private parts.

  At this point, a little bit of explanation is probably needed. You see, the monkey bite on my scrotum had gotten infected, creating a cyst the size of my fist. To the fine and noble officers, this appeared to be a third testicle, until they started to poke around it with a big flashlight. With that poking, the cyst reached a critical mass of sorts and exploded right in their faces, with their slack-jawed mouths wide open. The cyst burst in a brown and yellow spray of disgusting liquid. Imagine, if you will, that the devil himself made a meal of day-old skunk road-kill (warmed at ninety-three degrees Fahrenheit for fourteen hours), sautéed in a garlic, curry, and habanero pepper sauce, served with a large side of boiled cabbage, asparagus, and a few pounds of rotting raw oysters. This sat in his upper intestines for a solid day before being rejected and ejected as a stream of high-pressure liquid. That would come close, but not quite equal the odor of the cyst’s liquid. They both dropped to their knees and started a long series of gagging, puking, coughing, swearing, and crying. I used this opportunity to make my escape.

  I grabbed the guard’s suit and the key ring from Uncle Rob’s belt loop and ran as best as I could. I got into the police car and figured out how to start it and put it in gear. I bumped into the building and a couple of other cars before I got it under control but soon drove it with relative confidence, only sideswiping a handful of vehicles in the first few blocks. Each minute that passed left me more light-headed. My head spun and I fought black curtains in my perception. I found a random road leading out of town and drove as fast as I could into the night. The road turned hilly and had multiple switch-backs as it worked its way upward. I eventually found a deep ditch that couldn’t be seen from the road and parked the car in it. I stumbled out and felt an unnatural cold breeze where its rarely felt. I need to wear something. I put the guard’s uniform back on, and as I got myself situated, I saw headlights down the road. It appeared to be a big vehicle, and as it approached I recognized it as a truck hauling some kind of livestock. At the switchback, it had to slow down considerably, so I took the opportunity and jumped on the back of the trailer. I tugged at the handle and swung the door open just as the truck gained speed again. I rolled inside to be greeted by a chorus of dozens of sheep bleating. They smelled bad and had left droppings everywhere. At this point, I didn’t care. I leaned against the wall and went out like a light.

  I awoke from being unconscious unaware how long I had been out. It had been dark when I got in the truck, and now it was the heat of the day. I felt dehydrated, starving, and ready to get out of the truck with my new four-legged friends. When the truck slowed, I made my exit. I remember picking a direction and walking as far as I could before I passed out.

  Chapter 7

  The Red Menace

  Excerpt from official police report. Filed 5/12/56 at the county office, Rhodell, West Virginia.

  Loss of police car:

  Squad Car Unit 1 stolen by unknown perpetrators. Sheriff and Deputy were protecting the peace when we encountered a group of ten to twelve Communist Cubans, mostly male. Average height and weight for Cubans; normal skin and hair coloring. They were armed and dangerous, with typical Communist Cuban weapons and got the drop on us. Took squad car and threatened to kill us if we pursued. Both Sheriff and Deputy acted heroically to save the county’s property, but we were heavily outnumbered.

  Addendum 5/28/56. Squad Car Unit 1 located, slightly damaged, but operational. No additional sign of the perpetrators. Case considered closed. Will remain ever-vigilant for Communist Cuban threat.

  Chapter 8

  Swedes, Smoked Salmon, Serpents, and Soothsayers

  I awoke to an animal licking my face. I waved my arms and it stepped away from me. a female voice came from somewhere.

  “Are you okay?”

  I pried my eyes open to see that the beast appeared to be a horse, and a woman sat upon its back.

  “I’m hurt. I need water, food, and medicine.”

  “What?”

  “I’m hurt. I need water.”

  “I don’t understand you.” The woman dismounted and brought me a container filled with water. “Have some water, and then maybe you’ll make sense.” She looked young, perhaps late teens or early twenties with straight brown hair pulled into a ponytail. She had a lovely face; not an overly made-up media darling, just pretty. Her clothes looked a little sloppy as if comfort and utility ranked higher on her priority list than fashion. But her eyes had kindness, her lips enticing, and immediately I believed I could trust her.

  I drank. The water tasted slightly metallic, but I drank it like it was ambrosia. “Thanks for stopping. My name is Raka. I’m hurt and need medical attention. Antibiotics, probably a surgeon. Can you take me somewhere safe?”

  “Oh dear Lord! You’re speaking in tongues! And your clothes are so strange and shiny, like an angel. Where are you from? What’s your story?”

  “What do you mean I’m speaking in tongues? I’m talking in very clear Galactic Standard…” I sighed as I remembered what I had learned of this new language. “I…need…your help.”

  “Now that I understood. My name is Gina, Gina Roberts, and I figured you needed help.” She touched the back of her hand to my forehead. “You look hurt and are burning up. Stay right here. I’ll ride back to get the truck and the first aid kit and be right back for you. You spoke in tongues, and that means you have the Holy Spirit in you!”

  ***

  She returned with an older male companion. He had graying hair and a strong build, looking like someone who had worked for years doing hard, manual labor; his hands rough and dirty, like his clothes. He spoke in a loud, simple manner that sounded like an order. “My name’s Henry. Gina’s my daughter. We’re here to help.”

  They loaded me into the back of a rusted, beaten-up truck and took me to a small, simple house, located kilometers away from anything but fields of a crop I didn’t recognize. They carried me inside and dumped me on a bed.

  “What happened to you, son?” Henry said.

  “Infection. Animal bite.” The words came a little easier now.

  “Where at, son?” Henry said.

  I pointed to my crotch, Henry’s eye’s opened wide and he backed away. “I hope it wasn’t poisonous. Otherwise, you’re going to die.”

  “No, not poisonous. Infected.”

  I didn’t find the need to explain that the bite had come from an intergalactic, drugged up monkey.

  “Gina, this is serious. Take the truck into town to the vet’s office. Tell him that one of the cows has another infection. Get him to give you a syringe of antibiotics and put it on our account. Go on, girl.”

  She ran out and I heard the car roar away.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Don’t thank me yet, mister. She’s going to be gone at least an hour. Do you think you can eat something? Perhaps some crackers?”

  “Yes, please.” I chewed some salty bread wafers and drank from a big glass of water.

  “Gina’s my daughter. She gets ideas in her head sometimes. She told me you spoke in tongues.”

  “What do you mean, spoke in tongues?”

  “You know, like in the Bible. You have read the Bible, haven’t you?”


  “No, sir. Can’t say that I have.”

  “You can read, can’t you?”

  “Yes, just haven’t read the Bible.”

  “Well, you need to. As sick as you are, you may not live. It wouldn’t be right for you to meet your maker and not know Jesus.” Henry got up, walked across the room and returned with a thick book. “Read this. Your salvation depends on it.”

  I started at the beginning and read it page by page. The translator implant has a benefit that few appreciate these days; you can read and comprehend written pages at an extremely high rate. I’d look at a page, process it in a matter of seconds, and proceed to the next. At the beginning, Henry watched me, not sure if I really read it, so he tested me a few times. After a while, he accepted my reading the book, and comprehending it.

  “I’ve never seen anyone read like that, son.”

  “I learned to read fast at the University.” It seemed reasonable enough. I couldn’t tell him the truth.

  “You went to a University and never read the Bible?”

  “No, sir. It wasn’t part of the curriculum. I’m going to have some questions once I complete this book.”

  “Good. I always kinda’ figured that was part of it. It is supposed to make you ask questions. I’ll leave you to your reading. Gina should be back soon. She’ll have medicine to heal you. You’ll be fine; I believe that in my heart. I think there’s a reason she found you.”

  “I am glad she did, that’s certain.”

  I returned to my reading, but after a while, my eyes blurred and I could no longer fight the urge to sleep. I fell asleep and had a frightful dream about barbarians. Cannibals chased me through wild, wooded land. I remember screaming and being held down. I called for help, but no one understood me. I awoke to horrible pain in my right butt-cheek, that felt like a giant insect stinging me and injecting its venom in my ass. I heard voices telling me to relax, but in my confusion, I thought they tried to butcher me. I struggled until the blackness overtook me.