by Bill Fawcett
Claire got her breathing under control and insisted on joining the search. I let her go and went over to see if I could help Rob. The damn sculpture lit up again, but this time I didn’t even look at it. It was only on for a moment, with no sound at all. That seemed strange.
“Does it do that, often? The shorter display, I mean, with no sound?”
“Yeah. It seems to do that about every other time.”
“Weird.”
About ten minutes later a young man in a security shirt raced over to the control desk to report to Rob.
“They found her!” he gasped, out of breath from his sprint. “They just found Ms. McCaffrey. She’s OK. I came to get her chair.”
“Where was she?” I asked.
“Sitting on a couch in the atrium.”
“Upstairs?”
“No. The atrium at the Hilton. I just came from there.”
That explained why he was winded. The Hilton Atrium was two city blocks, and a hotel and a half away, a brisk ten minute walk away for a healthy, athletic person. There was no way Anne made it there on her own.
“How did she get all the way to the Hilton?” Rob asked
“She claims to have no idea. She thought she was still in the Hyatt, and that someone had taken her chair.”
I rejoined Jean Marie and Michelle, who were looking at the sculpture.
“You know,” Jean Marie crossed her arms and stared at it. “It’s kind of funny that it lit up just before Anne disappeared and again right before they found her.”
Something shifted in my brain. I hate puzzles.
“Well, I think we’ve had enough excitement,” Michelle announced. “I’m hungry. Let’s go eat something.”
It always amazed me that Michelle could eat anything she wanted and still keep that amazing model-thin figure. I had to starve myself to even come close. But food did sound good. I realized I hadn’t eaten since my breakfast protein bar. “Great idea. Calories be damned. I’ll wear the spandex another time.”
At the door to the art show, I spotted Lisa and Tyler. They waved and came over to join us. Behind us, the light show started up. I glanced back for a moment and that thing in my brain suddenly clicked into place. “Ohmigod! It’s the sculpture!” I turned back to my friends in time to see Michelle’s eyes roll back in their sockets. She started to collapse.
“Get her!” I yelled and lunged to catch Michelle. I felt Jean Marie’s hands as she grabbed her from the other side. There was a wrenching sensation, and then nothing at all.
I awoke to find myself sprawled, in a most unladylike fashion, on something hard and warm and lumpy. I opened my eyes, but all I could see was a dim purple haze. Purple? Where had I heard that before? I had a splitting headache and felt like I’d done one too many extreme yoga poses.
“Where are we?”
It was Jean Marie. Squinting to force my eyes to adjust to the dim light, I looked toward the sound and spotted her, about ten feet away, lying in an equally inelegant position across a pile of what appeared to be machinery. The dim light made it difficult to pick out details, but we appeared to be in a chamber about twenty to thirty feet across. The walls were rounded, almost organic, lacking true corners or any obvious doors or windows.
Michelle was between us, but she was laid out like the princess from Sleeping Beauty, on some sort of raised support that looked a good deal more comfortable than my resting place. Unfortunately, like Sleeping Beauty, she wasn’t moving. Shiny tubing that resembled umbilical cords ran from Michelle’s resting place to the ceiling, and piles of machinery covered most of the floor.
“I don’t know, but somehow I don’t think we’re in Kansas any more.”
* * *
“What you doing here? You no be here! Just that one!” The voice, high-pitched and whiny sounded like a badly broken power drill. I managed to focus on its source, a glowing shape at the far side of the room that slightly resembled an oversize octopus. Also, like a disturbed octopus, it was changing color—not unlike the sculpture in the art show—flashing white and blue and purple and waving what appeared to be arms. I hadn’t seen it come in, but the fact that it was here meant there had to be a door of some kind.
“You ruin all! You go! Is bad! You go!”
That voice was definitely not helping my head. And my eyes were failing, too, because the thing seemed to be growing arms and legs until it looked almost human—in a squishy sort of way. Apparently upset, it waved its lengthening arms in an agitated manner and continued to yell.
“Hey, take it easy! We didn’t ask to come here!” I snapped, struggling to get to my feet.
“Wherever here is,” Jean Marie added, climbing gingerly off her own resting place.
“Want that one! Not these ones. These ones go!”
I finally dumped the heels and managed to get to my feet. Jean Marie moved to Michelle’s side and started checking her over.
“Is she OK?”
“She’s breathing. I can’t tell much other than that.”
“No touch that one! No touch! Just go!” Our host started forward toward Jean Marie, raising its arms in a threatening manner.
I stepped between them, my hands in what I hoped was a placating gesture. “Look, we’ll be happy to go. Just give us our friend and send us back.”
“We cannot do that.”
The second voice, with much better grammar and volume control, sounded almost normal. I looked up to find our host had a companion. This one looked almost human—except for the rainbow of color changes racing over its skin.
“Why no t?”
“Because you are awake. The others think it was a dream. You know it is not. You will tell them about us.”
“As if anyone would believe us?” Jean Marie commented under her breath.
“I’m afraid we will have to kill you.”
“What! Now wait a minute. Don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”
“No. Secrecy must be maintained. You must be eliminated.”
“Eliminate! Must eliminate.” The shrieky voice gleefully joined in.
I had to try a different tactic. “Look, we know you’ve been abducting people. Can you at least tell us why?”
The two beings looked at each other. Lights raced in rapid patterns over their skin.
“If you’re going to kill us anyway, it won’t hurt to tell us why.” I pressed.
Jean Marie glared at me. The light show continued for a few more minutes.
“It doesn’t matter.” The cultured one finally responded. “The project has failed, anyway.”
“What project?”
The being seemed to sigh. “Unlike the people of your world, we lack the ability to create entertainment. We cannot make stories. But we have been watching your old broadcasts for many years and our people have become addicted to your entertainments.”
“Is that why you speak so clearly? From watching our old broadcasts?”
The creature spread his hands in an apparent affirmation.
“Then what happened to him?” Jean Marie pointed at shrieky voice.
“He is an engineer. Engineers spend all their time with machinery. That is enough entertainment for them. They don’t like fiction. But most of our world does, and they are addicted to it. Now that your world has changed to digital media, there is no longer enough residual broadcast signal on the airwaves to satisfy them. Without the calming effects of entertainment, our people are rioting. The situation threatens to destabilized our government and destroy our civilization. Our mission is to find and collect the source of the entertainment and bring back something to pacify our people. Our engineers designed a machine to tap into your creatives’ minds, and collect their energies to bring back. With that energy, they are sure we will be able to create entertainments of our own.”
“But why pick DragonCon?”
“According to our research, it has one of the highest concentrations of creative energy on the planet. The final decision was made based on the fact that the people of DragonCon already believe in life on other planets. They make up stories about them all the time. This makes it easier to hide our ‘footprints’ as you might say. Even those who remember coming here will believe they invented it themselves. We also knew we could place the transport device among the other artifacts you display where no one would notice it.”
“The sculpture,” Jean Marie blurted. “We were right. So you were abducting people. But why were they ending up in such strange places?”
The alien seemed to visibly deflate. “The mission has gone badly from the start. The transport unit was damaged during the journey. It has a flaw in the return circuit. We have been unable to repair it. We decided it worked well enough, so the mission continued.
“First we collected people we had seen in the ‘videos’ we collected, those called actors. But we discovered their energy did not work. They could not make the stories we needed. They were interpreters. We finally figured out that we needed other types of energy. So we started collecting those who made up the stories or illustrated them.”
“That’s why you grabbed Michelle.”
“She wrote a motion picture, so we knew she had the creative energy in her.”
“So you collect this energy, and that gives you what you need?”
The being colored. Dark browns merged with the blues to create a muddy hue across his body. “That was the mission. Unfortunately the machinery doesn’t work.”
The first being became extremely agitated. It started flashing red and white and waving its arms again. “I fix. I fix. These go.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t work?” I pressed, trying to keep his attention focused on me.
“The machinery collects the creative energy, but so far, we have not been able to turn it into anything we can use. We started collecting different kinds of creatives, hoping that would make the difference. We even tried using musicians—until we collected the Dethheads. Whatever they were, they were not entertaining. We sent them back immediately.”
“The problem,” Jean Marie suggested, “may have something to do with the fact that your engineers do not understand entertainment, yet they are the ones building your entertainment machine.”
“For whatever reason, the machine has not performed as hoped. I am afraid we will have to declare this mission a failure. I am truly sorry you have to die.”
“Wait! You are saying that all you need is fresh entertainment? That your people simply lack the ability to make up stories and movies and such for themselves?”
“Yes.”
“Then I have a proposition for you, Joe. Can I call you Joe?” “Joe” sort of nodded and flashed in confusion.
“Lots of people here can’t make up their own stories, either. I am what is called an agent. It is my job to get fresh stories from their source, the creatives brains. I can do it for you without a machine. I can get you as much entertainment as you want. And you won’t have to abduct anyone. Your secret can even be protected because writers and artists don’t have to know who they’re working for. I can tell them it is a new overseas cable channel or something. You can have our creatives write thousands of new stories just for you. Your mission doesn’t have to be a failure.”
“You can do that?”
“For the right price.” I looked around at all the alien technology. I always wanted my own spaceship. “I’m sure we can find something for you to trade. You can even use Jean Marie’s magazine to pick out your favorite creative artists.” I looked over at Jean Marie who was nodding emphatic agreement.
Our host suddenly started flashing a bright array of rainbow colors across his skin. He appeared to commune with his fellow for a few moments, before turning back to me. “It is, as you say, a deal.”
It took a few hours to iron out the contract, but we soon had an arrangement that would keep my writers and artists working long into the future, no matter what happened to New York publishing, and our new friend would go back home a hero. We shook on the deal and then prepared to go home.
Jean Marie and I took our places standing on either side of Michelle’s couch. I couldn’t believe we were actually going to beam down to our planet.
“Your friend will awaken when you arrive,” the being reassured us. “We will send you to a secluded spot so your arrival will not be noticed and secrecy can be maintained.”
He pressed something, and I felt that familiar wrenching sensation.
When my vision cleared, I saw several thousand people staring at us. We had materialized on stage in the middle of the masquerade. The MC looked at us in awe.
“So much for secrecy and seclusion,” Jean Marie muttered, a large fake smile plastered to her face as she steadied an awakening Michelle.
Thinking quickly I grabbed the MC’s mike, and announced, “You remember the classic movie Mars Needs Women?” The audience cheered assent. “Well, we’ve beamed to your planet to announce that we’ve taken care of that problem. We’ve given them all the women they can handle.”
Jean Marie took the cue and we quickly vamped suggestively to more cheering while Michelle stood like a dear in the headlights of an oncoming truck. “But the problem is not over. Now, Mars needs writers.”
The audience clapped and cheered as we quickly exited the stage with a very confused Michelle in tow. It was the truth, sort of, but now no one would ever believe it. The aliens’ secret was safe as a DragonCon legend.
“I have no idea what just happened,” Michelle glanced back over her shoulder as we hurriedly exited the hall, “but I’m famished. I could eat a horse right now!”
Jean Marie and I collapsed into laughter. It looked like it was going to be a successful convention after all.
THEY ONLY really saw each other once a year at DragonCon. The rest of the time they just talked over the internet, maybe occasionally called one another. Cathy looked at Jason; he was doing a handstand on a stair rail.
“Get down, jack ass, you’re going to get us thrown out,” she ordered, but not without good humor.
He smiled at her, which would have been weird enough, him being upside down and all, but Jason was wearing the makeup he always wore to this thing that made it look like his face and right arm were melting. He wore the same tattered jeans and white “blood-stained” T-shirt with the sleeve torn off, too. Of course, she couldn’t really talk, she’d been wearing a pirate costume for years.
Jason had such a good costume, and was such a regular at the convention, that people often wanted to have their picture taken with him like he was one of the celebrities.
“Come on, Jason, seriously. Get down,” she said.
“Yeah, come on, dumb ass; forget security is going to revoke our badges. What if you fall?” Evan asked.
Jason nodded then and jumped off the rail to land in front of them. “I’m not going to fall. God! What a couple of old ladies.” He pulled his shirt down quickly. “I told you I’m like a ninja. Come on, let’s go get something to eat and then go back to the gawk of fame.”
The gawk of fame was called the walk of fame by the people who ran the convention. It was where all the old movie and TV stars sat at tables with their head shots and other memorabilia spread out before them, waiting for fans to come by and buy their autographed pictures.
Jason’s favorite thing to do at the convention was to go and just walk around and look at the celebrities. One in particular, Jane Sinclair, who used to star in his favorite sci-fi show ever, Dirty Space. The show had gone off the air ten years ago and she hadn’t been in anything since. Jason was only twenty-five, and she was pushing all hell out of forty, but he was totally, stupidly infatuated. Every year he bought one of her pictures—though Cathy was sure he now had at least two of everything�
��and he always got them to take his picture with her for his personal “wall of fame.”
She obviously never remembered him from year to year, which always gave Cathy a good laugh. How could anyone not remember Jason? In make-up that face was not one she would be likely to forget.
“Christ,” Evan swore as they headed in the direction of the food court. “Have we got to go watch you drool all over Jane Sinclair, again?”
“Yeah. I haven’t done it yet this year and it’s a tradition. I think I’m going to get the picture of her running through Dirty Station again. I’ve only got two of those. You know ... I think she wants me,” Jason said, grinning.
“Come on, that’s a face only a mother could love,” Cathy said.
Jason frowned then grinned and said, “I’m pretty sure mother doesn’t even love it.”
“I don’t get why you like her so much,” Cathy said, trying to keep the jealousy from her voice as she followed behind her two friends. “I mean she looks older than I think she is, she’s obviously doped out of her gourd, and she never even remembers you from year to year. Every year you go and worship at her feet and give her money you don’t really have, and she doesn’t even remember you.”
He turned to look at her, walking up the street backwards as easily as most people walked forward, proving his ninja-like skills. “Ah, but Cathy, she always pretends to remember me.”
“It’s not her, it’s the character she played,” Evan told Cathy. “Dude, you think she’s like her character and she’s not. None of them are. They’re just people like you and me.”
Cathy remembered Jane Sinclair’s character, Burnett. Burnett had been strong-willed and arrogant, but loyal. In season three, she’d fallen in love with an alien who had a face that looked like a butt. Jane wasn’t Burnett, though. These days a better name for her would be Burnout.