A Beginner's Guide to Invading Earth

by Gerhard Gehrke

  Jeff made it to the closed hatch that led out of the hangar. He swatted Oliop's hands away, made fists, and turned like he was going to fight. Oliop raised his hands, got low, put his ears down. “Please don't hit. I'm here to help you, Jeff Abel.”

  Jeff paused for a moment and lowered his fists. His attention turned to the big hatchway that blocked his path.

  An indicator read “Locked”. The hatchway had a multiple of handles and buttons, designed by one of the Galactic Commons committees that firmly believed that complexity of design was not only a virtue but a higher calling. Jeff hit a button. Pulled a latch. Some colored lights came to life, changed color. Something clicked. But the hatch remained closed. The human flailed away and worked at the door like it was an exercise machine.

  “That's not how you do it,” Oliop said.

  “Just get it open and get me out of here!” Jeff said.

  “Oh, that's easy,” Oliop said. He stood and smiled. The things he could tell this human about this door and how it operates. Most beings just use the doors and never take a moment to think about things like that.

  From the office just up the ramp, the Grey emerged. Its enormous eyes narrowed. “Whistle! Come out here,” it shouted. “Oliop, stop there.”

  Hearing the Grey's voice made Oliop's fur flatten.

  “Open the door!” Jeff said.

  Oliop stepped over to the hatch with his identity reader and tried to open it using the Grey's DNA. The door refused to budge.

  “Come on,” Jeff said.

  Above them, Whistle emerged from the office and stepped past her tiny boss. She started down the ramp towards them.

  Oliop began to try different switches. None worked and the door stayed locked.

  Jeff went to a fire-neutralizing canister on the wall and removed it. He tested its weight. He braced himself for Whistle's arrival.

  “You don't know how to open it?” Jeff asked.

  “I do,” Oliop said. “I did. I mean, I still might.”

  “Hurry.”

  Whistle was now on the bottom of the ramp. There would be no getting past her.

  From above, the Grey said, “Oliop, you're in enough trouble. Stop what you're doing.”

  “I can write a virus to infect the door,” Oliop said. He began pecking with his fingers at his wrist device. He executed a few of his favorite macros, swiping aside the half-dozen games and social apps that flashed their icons for his attention.

  “There's no time for-” Jeff said.

  “Done,” Oliop said. Three programs waited in the wrist device's queue. He double tapped the screen and they executed simultaneously. The hatch slid open with a deep hum. Alarms went off.

  Whistle was now in arms' reach of Jeff. Each of her massive hands could palm the human's head. Jeff threw the canister at her. It bounced off of her chest like a wad of paper.

  “Run, Jeff Abel,” Oliop said, grabbing him by one of his sleeves.

  They ran out the door, leaving the lumbering Whistle and the shouting Grey behind them.

  ***

  “Stop,” Whistle said even as the two fleeing figures vanished into the warrens of the hangar district. “Or else. Surrender. Yield.” This she said with little enthusiasm.

  She stood at the open hatchway but didn't move beyond it.

  “That's enough,” the Grey said, now at her side. It closed the hangar door. “Let them go.”

  “You sure this will work with the human on the loose?” Whistle said. “And Oliop wasn't expected. It could be trouble.”

  “Oliop's a fool. And the human? Let's see the Happy Alien Welcome Committee work him into their plans now. The human will do some of our work for us. And then when we're ready, it won't be hard to track him down and reacquire him.”

  CHAPTER 19

  JEFF GAPED AT THE SKYSCAPE of the city around him. Towers, cylinders, and slabs with square edges loomed above him, but most structures were free form and beyond Jeff's imagination of what was possible or desirable for a building. They reached up into the silver sky, some even flirting with the lower purple clouds. A few were squat and less ambitious. A large variety of beings moved about the streets between. Points of entrance and exit included traditional doors, membranes, escalators, ramps, and slides both up and down with a disregard for gravity, as well as blobs that scooped up visitors and zipped them to their destinations. One building had a river of green slime that ran through some kind of organic, pulsating circle. Visitors jumped into the slime without hesitation and vanished, presumably delivered into the interior of the organic structure, but Jeff couldn't be sure they weren't consumed and processed out of the back of that building, victims of a gooey abattoir.

  The variety of buildings was matched by the citizenry. Jeff stared and tried not to touch any of the hundreds of pedestrians in close proximity. He saw fur, scales, and skin of many vibrant colors. Things moved past on two, three, or more legs. When he and Oliop passed close to a silvery, feline creature walking on six legs, Jeff reached out to pet it.

  “Don't,” Oliop said.

  He pulled Jeff's hand back and led him away. Jeff followed.

  “Why not?” Jeff asked.

  “Its fur is poisonous,” Oliop said. “Or, if it's in cycle, it could initiate a mating ritual.”

  The silver creature gave Jeff an alluring glance as they walked away from her. And then a wink.

  “When are you going to tell me what's going on?” Jeff asked. “Where are we? And where are we going?”

  “Hopefully someplace safe,” Oliop said. “And then we can talk.”

  “How about at least tell me where we are?”

  “Soon.”

  Oliop navigated them past some blocks of sentient concrete that inched along with a rumble. Jeff held on tight to Oliop's hand.

  “Are you taking me home?” So many things to see. He almost stomped on Oliop's foot.

  “I don't know.”

  Another obstacle, this one looked like an elephant. Oliop halted Jeff to let it pass.

  “What's that?” Jeff asked.

  “An elephant,” Oliop said. “The carnivorous type. You're safe if you don't smell like a rodent, but there's deodorant for that problem.”

  “How do you keep all these creatures straight? Like knowing that cat creature is poisonous?”

  “An implant app,” Oliop said, a finger to the side of his head like he had an idea, or was about to shoot himself. “Or one you can put into a device. Also personal experience. Keep walking, Jeff Abel.”

  They moved through an open plaza of stone and glowing trees. No one gave Jeff a second look, while he stared at everyone. Oliop led Jeff to a tall, taupe building replete with flowery vines that climbed towards dull metal vents that sprung out of its sides like knobby thorns. A set of conventional stairs led down to a door below the level of the sidewalk.

  “Is this your hideout?” Jeff asked.

  “No,” Oliop said. “This is Fizz.”

  The door was locked but someone buzzed them in. They walked through a wide corridor crammed with vats and tanks and exposed plumbing. An earthy smell permeated throughout. Oliop took Jeff to the center of a large room off the corridor. They stopped at a circle of odd furniture arranged around a tank filled with white, foamy liquid.

  “Please sit and make yourself comfortable,” came a voice from the tank. “I am Fizz.”

  “You're kidding,” Jeff said. Sitting sounded good, though. With so much to take in, he felt a bit woozy.

  A tentacle popped up from the foam, a thin vine of green that tapped a control at the side of the tank. The tentacle retreated back under the liquid.

  “No, I'm not kidding,” Fizz said. “You don't want to know how your name sounds to me, Jeff Abel.”

  “How does everyone seem to know who I am?” Jeff asked. He examined a chair with a large gap in the center of the seat. Not built for humans.

  “That is an excellent question which we will answer,” Fizz said. “In due time.”

  “Tha
t's a recurring theme,” Jeff said. A second chair looked too small. He moved on to a stool that might work, but it was sticky. Jeff remained standing. “Does everyone here also know that I was kidnapped?”

  “No,” Fizz said. “Most of the citizens are indeed concerned with their own business. But the induction of new species is the providence of the Happy Alien Welcome Committee.”

  Before Jeff could say anything, Fizz said, “And no, I'm not kidding.”

  Oliop nodded sagely in agreement.

  “So the two of you are on this 'Committee?'” Jeff asked.

  “Neither of us are,” Fizz said. “Oliop works for them as a technician. I have no connection with them at all. But the Committee's doings are made public for those interested as all species of the Galactic Commons are privy to the Committee's meetings and minutes. It's just few pay much attention to it, or any other of the Commons governing apparatus.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Jeff said. “So humankind gets to join this club?”

  Two green tentacles emerged and braced themselves on the tank's side. An eye atop another thicker appendage raised up from the center of the liquid. It blinked once and looked at Jeff. More eyes appeared on the eyestalk as it rose higher.

  “No,” Fizz said. “Something happened when we tried to extend the invitation. The Committee's envoy died an accidental death.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” Jeff said.

  “So the Committee tried again. Another envoy died. And a third. A fourth. A total of ten attempts with either the envoy or team of envoys dying in the process. Our target inductee proved elusive.”

  “What, was he some kind of psychopath that you tried to invite?”

  Fizz chuckled. The tentacle with the eyeballs moved closer. “No, Jeff Abel. You were the target inductee.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” Oliop said with a nod and a knowing smile across his hairy face.

  “I never received any invitation or met up with any aliens until I was kidnapped!”

  “That's what is so strange,” Fizz said. The eyes gave Jeff a once-over. “No one even managed to get to you. And with each attempt, a Committee member or three died in some kind of mishap. But you were the one chosen for first contact.”

  “'Were'? So I'm not any more?”

  The bubbles around the tentacles roiled. “The Committee has given up on your race for now. The events proved both shocking and bewildering. The Committee thinks your species is not ready for contact due to some unseen variable in their calculations.”

  “But I never got a chance,” Jeff said. “The only alien I ever saw was this guy here. So does this mean that whatever happened to that alien in the desert is because of me somehow? It was trying to contact me before that guy ran it over?”

  “So it would seem,” Fizz said.

  Jeff folded his arms, looked at Oliop. “And what did you say your name was?”

  “I'm Oliop.” He smiled. A crust of pink dried blood had formed on his mustache and lips.

  “Sorry about the nose,” Jeff said.

  Oliop touched his nose and winced. It had stopped bleeding. “It's okay.”

  “When did you encounter the human?” Fizz asked. “And how?”

  Oliop looked down, then up, then to the sides. The tentacle with the eyes waited.

  “I, uh,” Oliop said, “took an elevator without asking anyone and thought I'd see what all the fuss over Jeff Abel was.”

  “Interesting,” Fizz said. “And perhaps illuminating. You didn't perish during the encounter. I seem to be alive as well, and the Commons have not come apart at the seams. We'll have to run some tests.”

  Jeff backed away from the tank. “Tests? No thanks. I've been through that once before, and I didn't like it.”

  “The Grey ran tests?” Fizz asked. “What kind?”

  “Yes, he ran tests,” Jeff said. “Pointy tests. Pokey tests. Some I'd rather not describe. Machines everywhere. And I'm not going through that again.”

  “Ah, the Greys and their tests,” Fizz said. “They like that kind of thing.”

  “So further testing is out,” Jeff said.

  “But, Jeff Abel,” Fizz said, “This won't be for any mundane science but for our mutual edification. We need to know what was done to you.”

  “And it might not hurt this time,” Oliop said.

  Fizz rose from the tank, his body a drab olive. A tripod of thin legs supported a tiny insectile torso, a trio of tentacles, and a single eyestalk. He didn't appear to have a mouth.

  “I thought maybe you were part liquid,” Jeff said.

  “No,” Fizz said. “This is just my lunch break.”

  ***

  Fizz's tests felt like a cursory doctor's exam with no prodding or probing. Jeff stood in the center of a comfortably warm lab filled with more tubes and pipes and machines. Fizz moved around him with sensors and lights, and within moments, he backed away and struck a pose of studied reflection, a tentacle tapping the side of his eyestalk. Oliop watched, hunched atop a desk, while his tail absentmindedly pilfered the contents of an unlocked drawer.

  “Hmm,” Fizz said.

  “Indeed,” Jeff said.

  “Nothing added,” Fizz said. “No nanobots. No cultured virus. No engineered virus. No change in your body temperature if my baseline is correct for your species. I don't see any kind of chemical packets. Radiation normal. Not even a trace of their pheromones. There's much here that says that you are indeed human, but that would go without saying, wouldn't it? So what did the Grey do to you?”

  Jeff shrugged.

  Fizz said, “Oliop, put that down and come here.”

  Oliop obeyed. Fizz scanned and studied the technician. Oliop giggled a few times when Fizz touched him with a tentacle or the tip of a sensor.

  “No transference of anything human on you,” Fizz said. “Nor any contagion.”

  Oliop smiled. “I'm clean.”

  “There are other possibilities,” Fizz said. “Other tests.” The tentacled creature examined his machines and muttered about those possibilities.

  Jeff looked close at one of the machines. A computer of some kind? It made him uneasy, just like a computer would back home. He ran his fingers around the edge of a group of pearly oval keys but didn't depress any of them. A green eye appeared on the top of the machine and looked at him. Jeff drew his hand away. The eye sparkled, looked Jeff top to bottom, and snapped closed. Jeff took a step back, but the eye didn't reappear, and the machine continued to sit idle. He found somewhere else to stand and watch.

  Fizz fiddled at one of his computers, all three tentacles tapping away at a keyboard, absorbed in his task.

  Oliop moved back to the desk and leaned on it. With his tail, he went back into the open drawer and resumed rummaging. Placed a few choice items in his belt pouch that never got full. Jeff gave him a look. Oliop winked at him and continued his pose of studied attention as Fizz rambled. He tried to pull something large out of the drawer, but it got stuck and made a rattling sound. Suddenly, Fizz was beside him. He grabbed Oliop's tail with a tentacle, another tentacle snatching the pouch from Oliop's hip.

  “Eep!” Oliop screamed. “I didn't take anything! It wasn't me.”

  Fizz released Oliop and went through the contents of the pouch. The tentacles reached inside the strange container, seeming to vanish as Fizz began to pull things out like a magician with a magic hat producing a series of white rabbits. A small pile of sundry items and tools grew on the floor of the lab.

  “There's a reason you're not welcome here,” Fizz said.

  Fizz sifted through the pile and recovered a pair of pen-sized tools and an orb that, when Fizz picked it up, displayed a hologram of two intertwined tentacled creatures. One might have been Fizz, but it was hard for Jeff to tell. Fizz clicked off the hologram and placed it in another drawer of the desk.

  Jeff saw his staple gun amongst the pile of things on the floor.

  “Hey, that's mine,” Jeff said.

  “You have to watch out for this one,�
�� Fizz said, pointing a tentacle at Oliop. “He can't help himself. Or he helps himself too often.”

  “I didn't steal it,” Oliop said. “You left it in the elevator. Finders keepers, right?”

  “May I see that?” Fizz asked.

  “Be my guest,” Jeff said.

  Fizz picked up the stapler and took it to one of his machines.

  “I checked it,” Oliop said. “No human contaminants.”

  “This is a tool you used before you were abducted by the Grey?” Fizz asked.

  “Yes,” Jeff said.

  Fizz ran his tests on the staple gun. Jeff watched the machines and sensors and their many lights blinking and fading. Then he noticed Oliop on the move again. Oliop's tail began a slow migration towards a closed cabinet from which Fizz had produced some of his testing tools. Jeff grabbed the tail and held it fast.

  “Hmm,” Fizz said again. He held a metal prod to the stapler. A line on one monitor began to oscillate. “And aha. There is a small, deteriorating trace of particles here that I can't identify. What's left is almost gone. ”

  “Then how do you know they're even there in the first place?” Jeff asked.

  “Particles take up space,” Fizz said, as if the matter was settled. After a moment, he continued. “So if something that I can't detect is indeed here in this tool...”

  “It's a staple gun,” Oliop said.

  “This staple gun, then,” Fizz said.“There will be some kind of interaction with the particles that comprise the tool, like how a balloon floating in air would displace and push aside the gas molecules in this room. I'm detecting that kind of disturbance in its structure, but not enough to identify what the mystery particles are. My catalog and database can't identify it. It's possible it was designed by someone.”

  “But the staple gun looks fine,” Jeff said. “It's always worked. There isn't anything missing or added. I don't remember scraping my hand on the staple gun or bleeding on it. Maybe my fingerprints are what you're detecting.”

  “Nothing from you would show up if Oliop did indeed decontaminate it. But the amounts of what I'm talking about are so small, it would be like a teacup measure of liquid poured in an ocean,” Fizz said with an expansive gesture, like he was painting the air with one of his tentacles. “And the liquid from that figurative teacup is dissipating to almost nothing as we speak. Somehow, if I were to guess, I would say that the particles originated with you. But you don't have any trace of this mystery particle on you while your staple gun does.”