People of the Sun

by Jason Parent

  Kazi lifted a chunk of his chain and dropped it back onto the floor. It landed with an obnoxious clunk that seemed to further unnerve Ted. The human winced but stood his ground. Kazi smiled. They send the meek to barter with a god?

  “Yes, well, we’re prepared to offer you and your colleagues freedom, immunity, and several acres of government land in exchange for your help in examining your late commander’s body,” Ted said. Beads of sweat materialized on his forehead despite the coolness of the air. His weak poker face revealed all.

  Kazi was insulted, but he kept his revulsion hidden. He doesn’t even believe what he’s telling me. They could have sent me a better actor. Or better yet, they should have made him believe the offer was real. He stifled a chuckle. Are there no bright minds among them?

  Kazi rubbed his chin, pretending to contemplate the proposal. He debated whether to ask follow-up questions to play up his ruse, but thought too little of human intelligence to deem it necessary. Besides, Ted seemed to be holding his breath as he waited for Kazi’s answer. He didn’t want the poor fool to die, not yet anyway.

  “Sounds fair,” Kazi said. “Will you remove this chain now?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not authorized to do that,” Ted responded. “It stays on until you complete your task. We’ll bring the body in here for your perusal. You understand why we can’t take everything you say at face value, don’t you?”

  Kazi didn’t respond, but he couldn’t prevent a snicker from escaping. Oh, I know it all too well. Nothing the humans said could be taken at face value. As for his own words, deceit worked so much better than honesty. Truth was overrated.

  “We have to be prepared should you attack us or should your kind decide to invade,” Ted said. He seemed to be growing more confident. Kazi found it off-putting. Does he dare to talk down to me? Any foolish attempt at bravado, no matter how insignificant, was too much for his liking, warranted perhaps by the appearance of their respective positions but not by reality as Kazi saw it.

  “Lenyx’s body is your specimen then?” Kazi asked. “And you want me to help you find out his, and hence my own, weaknesses? Yet you speak of trust?”

  “It’s much better than using a live specimen,” Ted said with a nervous giggle. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Had Kazi been a bit more impulsive, he might have plucked Ted’s eyeball from its socket for that remark. The look he shot Ted seemed sufficient to inflict the requisite amount of fear back into the human. Impetuous fool, Kazi thought, now struggling to hold back his disdain.

  “All right,” he said after a pause to collect himself. “I’ll help you on the terms you set forth. Bring me the body. I’ll begin immediately. I trust you will have someone ready to bring me whatever I need?”

  “Of course,” Ted said. “But for security’s sake, you won’t be given much in the way of sharp objects. We’ll do the cutting under your supervision and guidance.”

  “Have it your way,” Kazi said, nodding his understanding. “Now, bring me the body before I change my mind.”

  ●●●

  “He claims to have no information regarding their whereabouts,” Defense Secretary Araujo said. “But he said that the first time, too, and he still drew one out at the lake.”

  “Yeah, about that one,” Cameron said. “Why do we have to detain him so close by, and in the middle of a highly populated area at that?”

  “We’re keeping him downtown for convenience. It’s the easiest way to expedite our tests on him and the deceased alien.”

  “Let me be clear, Javier,” Cameron began. “I don’t want any civilians harmed because of our actions. That includes Dr. Gaudreau. He isn’t the enemy here.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  President? he thought, not yet used to the promotion. To Cameron, it was a shallow title. He hadn’t earned it. Cameron always aimed for the Presidency, but he wouldn’t have wanted it if he’d known it would come at the cost of another’s life. Obtaining the office was, at best, a pyrrhic victory.

  “Have General Schroeder’s man release him,” he ordered. “Follow him, but not too closely. If he does have some kind of link with the aliens, let him bring us right to them. We’ll make our move when we’re sure we have a solid location.”

  “And if it turns out that he is helping them regroup or aiding their escape?”

  “If that’s the case…” Cameron hesitated. A war hero, he had killed many in the name of Uncle Sam in the so-called War on Terror, but ordering the execution of Connor Gaudreau didn’t seem all that presidential. Still, he was the President. The office required him to make the tough decisions. He wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice one for the welfare of many.

  “If that’s the case, we arrest him first and try him for treason. But if he becomes a threat to one of our soldiers, take Dr. Gaudreau down.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Connor had had plenty of time to consider the President’s untimely demise. He was there when it happened. He saw the look on Lenyx’s face. It was fraught with uncertainty, confusion, even fright.

  But it wasn’t Connor’s perception of the events that convinced him that Lenyx didn’t intend Allison Kennedy’s death. It was stone-cold logic. The Symorians had no reason to assassinate the President unless they were, as the media-driven paranoia had pegged them, “evil alien conquerors.” But if that were so, the Symorians would have had free rein to murder half the world’s leaders in one fell swoop had they simply waited for the United Nations Assembly scheduled to follow the President’s press conference before turning humans into cinders. Panic would have ensued. Regimes would have been ripe for toppling. A new government of Symorian design could have been implanted in the country of their choosing. The world might have been theirs for the taking… to the extent it was within the Symorians’ power to take it.

  Instead, the aliens decided to kill one replaceable politician, incur the world’s wrath and go into hiding? Connor couldn’t believe they had such a plan. He was shocked by the fact that so many of his countrymen did, and particularly he was amazed that those in charge believed it. The aliens weren’t stupid.

  But if Lenyx didn’t intend to kill the President, how did she die? Connor couldn’t shake the feeling that someone else had been involved. Someone had to know something. Was that someone human or Symorian? Why would someone intentionally strive to bring about war between the two species? Who could possibly gain from it?

  Connor couldn’t help himself. He needed to know more. He thought he had bonded with Milliken and maybe even the others. They knew everything about him. They sought his help. They placed their trust in him. And Connor let them down. He wanted to make it up to them.

  Of the four, he’d spent the most amount of time with Milliken. Though hesitant to call him such, Connor thought the alien a friend. But to trust them after all that had happened? The Symorians had followed his advice, and it had gotten one of them killed. Connor owed them the same faith. He resolved to give it to them.

  On nothing more than a hunch, Connor grabbed his passport and headed north to the Canadian border. From there, it was a six-hour drive into the rural Nord-du-Quebec. Connor remembered the land having a million trees for every home, with those living there—primarily Inuit, Métis or the aboriginals of the First Nations—treasuring their privacy and the freedom solitude brings. They were people who took only what they needed from nature, people Connor respected, who scoffed at materialism and waste.

  Connor’s grandparents were such people. At their cabin, Connor had spent the summers of his youth. As far as he knew, the cabin had always been his grandparents’ home. The lot on which his grandparents’ cabin stood had been owned by his family for as far back as any recorded deed could determine. The present cabin was built sometime after the turn of the twentieth century. It was old and weather-beaten when Connor visited it years ago. After his grandparents died, the cabin went unused and unmaintained, except for the occasional squatter and passer-throug
h who left signs of their brief habitation, their garbage spoiling the beauty of the majestic landscape.

  Connor visited the property once every year following his grandmother’s death, bringing Suzette there each summer so that she could enjoy the blissfully cool water and pristine quality of the lake. But Suzette had long since grown up and moved away from him. It had been quite some time since Connor had seen the cabin or Suzette.

  Now, Connor suspected the cabin hosted a new kind of squatter, one not merely looking for a place to shit and bed down for a couple of nights. Rather, he expected to find a pair of refugees, hiding from the long-arm “justice” of the law. And why not? Of all the places he’d been to in his life, Connor could think of no better place for them to disappear.

  As he wound down dirt streets and forgotten paths, many barely as wide as his Subaru Outback, Connor hoped his hunch was correct. He owed them solace and prayed for their forgiveness, his guilt as heavy as the planet he hoped to spare from their wrath. The burden of Lenyx’s death hung on him like an albatross around his neck. Along with the many tree branches he removed from the sparsely trodden path, his guilt made his travels slow and insufferable. Forgiveness, like trust, had to be earned.

  As he drew closer to the cabin, Connor’s mood lightened a bit. The dark woods around him appeared uninhabited, a safe haven undisturbed by humans. He wondered if he’d made a mistake in going out there. It was a hell of a long way to travel to be wrong. His family had abandoned the property for a reason. Despite the land’s grandeur, despite its solitude and peacefulness, the cabin offered severe winters and rugged isolationism. In an age where communities gathered around supermarkets and megamalls, the cabin shunned convenience and practicality. It was built for harder men in harder times. Connor was no such man.

  Like many frontier children, Connor’s father turned to books, academia and city life long before Connor was born. Connor had no idea how to maintain the cabin, never mind how to fend for himself in an often unforgiving wilderness.

  Beings from a far-off planet seemed even less adapted to survive Earth’s climates. He began to doubt whether they’d choose such a place from his memory banks. Then again, Milliken and Tryst did seem to be harder persons, well fit to face what was for them harder times.

  As he pulled up to the cabin, Connor’s heart sank. The pitch black of night had set in. No light shone from inside or out, the moon’s reflected rays largely blocked by the tall trees around him. Connor had only his Subaru’s headlights to guide him. He turned the car off and sat in it for a while, defeated and alone in the dark.

  He sighed. I’m not even sure I can get in. It’s far too dark to find my way out of here. Looks like I’m spending the night either inside the cabin or inside my car. He grumbled quietly, disappointed with himself. Way to go, Connor. This was rather impulsive, even for you. Might as well spend a night in the city or hit Montreal on the way back so this trip isn’t completely wasted.

  As he sat silently berating himself, Connor was startled by a tap on the window. He turned to see Milliken’s large oval eyes studying him as if he could be lunch.

  “Sorry we left you here so long,” Milliken said through the closed window. “Unfortunately, we had to determine your intentions first to ensure our own safety. I hope you will forgive us our trespass.”

  “Into my mind?” Connor asked. He gave his key a quarter turn in the ignition, powering up the vehicle enough to lower his window. “There’s nothing in there you haven’t seen already. You learned all my secrets back at the lake.”

  Milliken studied the ground. Did I offend him somehow?

  “I hope you understand that we had to be cautious,” the alien said softly.

  “Yeah, I get it. I didn’t mean anything by it. I trust you, Milliken. Where’s Tryst?”

  “We were taking a late-night swim when you pulled in. She should still be at the lake. Come on out of there, and we’ll go get her.”

  Milliken backed away from the door. Connor exited his vehicle. Together, he and Milliken walked toward the lake.

  As they arrived, Tryst emerged from beneath the surface’s crystal-like shimmer. There, in the opening, the moon and stars shone brightly in the clear night sky, their rays dancing across the water’s rippling surface.

  In that light, Tryst’s pale-gray skin glowed like the moon. Her hair was slicked back, black as night. As more of her body arose from the water, Connor could see that she was naked. She walked proudly, unabashed and unashamed, into his unobstructed view.

  For the first time, Connor saw that she was female, though he always knew her to be. In her uniform, she looked masculine, fearfully strong and warrior-like. Absent clothing, Connor saw her curves, her body remarkably human, except for the absence of a bellybutton and demarcations in the skin at her sides that resembled gill slits. In fact, they weren’t slits at all, but dark grooves underlining each of many ribs.

  She was beautiful, muscular and toned, yet graceful and feminine. Connor admired her, not in a desirous or lustful way, but as one admires a work of art. For that she was, until she smiled and revealed the animal within, a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

  “Hello, Connor,” she greeted politely, her fangs exposed as she spoke. “You took a chance coming here. How’d you know you’d find us?”

  “I didn’t. It was a lucky guess.”

  Droplets of water swirled on Tryst’s skin. By the time she reached Connor, they were gone. She looked as though she’d never stepped foot in the lake. She walked past him, continuing on toward the cabin.

  “Well, are you two coming inside?” she asked without turning to face them. She headed into the structure.

  Milliken smiled. “You’re always welcome here, Connor,” he said. “After all, it’s your place.”

  “After you,” Connor replied, waving an upturned palm to indicate he’d follow. Milliken walked toward the cabin. Connor followed closely.

  “Oh, and Connor,” Milliken said, glancing back at him.

  “Yes?”

  “You can trust Tryst, too.”

  Connor’s face reddened with shame. He was glad Milliken turned away so that he could at least fool himself into believing that his every emotion wasn’t available for Milliken’s review. Although he knew his distrust was warranted, Connor regretted Milliken’s perception of it. But the feeling passed quickly, replaced by defiance. After all, the Symorians didn’t fully trust him. Why should they expect differently in return after all that had happened?

  As Connor walked up the cottage’s front steps, he thought about the times he’d vacationed there. His grandparents were alive back then. They were dear to him. They would take him for nature walks or canoeing and fishing in the lake. His memories of those times were among his fondest. It disheartened him to know they were memories of a distant and irretrievable era.

  The sight of the cabin in shambles added to his heartache. Its rotting beams were covered by cobwebs and infested with termites. The building paled in comparison to the vigor of its younger days. He wondered if he had shamed his grandparents’ memory by letting it fall into such ruin.

  Yet, the cabin was lived in again, albeit not by the Gaudreaus. And Tryst and Milliken’s welcoming smiles, sincere and apologetic, made it feel like a home again. For that, Connor was thankful.

  “We’d offer you something to drink, as is your custom,” Tryst said. She had already dressed, boots and all, by the time they made it inside. “But I’m afraid we have nothing to offer. We weren’t expecting company.”

  She sounded almost human. How well she adapted, and even her pleasantness, surprised Connor. He studied her face, looking for cracks, any small sign that she was not as calm and collected as she let on. He’d seen another side to her, an aggressive warmongering side that had been pasted all over the television and Internet. He knew better than to piss her off.

  “I imagine going shopping might be difficult,” he joked, offering light conversation to ease the tension hanging in the air with so many unasked a
nd unanswered questions. The aliens laughed, seemingly appreciative of his usually human-detested humor.

  “You were smart to find us here,” Tryst said.

  “You were smart to come here.”

  “We realize that to you, this place may not be much to look at—” Milliken began.

  “But we are content here,” Tryst interrupted. Her enthusiasm seemed genuine, and it was contagious.

  “As far as I’m concerned, the place is yours to do as you see fit for as long as you like. But…” Connor hesitated. The elephant in the room clogged it like an artery. He needed to know the truth.

  “What happened back there?”

  “We don’t know for sure,” Milliken said.

  “Kazi,” Tryst answered, hissing.

  “I don’t understand,” Connor said. “Everyone was going as rehearsed. I… what is it?”

  Milliken leapt from his seat and rushed toward the door. His smile had vanished, gravity turning it dreadfully sour. He leaned against the door, his ear pressed flat against it.

  “Humans,” he said. “They’ve found us.”

  Milliken slammed the inner door shut. He reached for a wooden plank propped against the wall and slid it atop two metal pipes affixed to the cabin wall on each side of the door, extending out and upward. The plank barred the door, preventing entry or exit.

  That’s new. The six-inch cylindrical canister that crashed through the window a moment later sent Connor’s panic spiraling into full gear. Smoke filled the room at an alarming rate. His eyes began to water. A tickle rose in his throat.

  “Holy shit!” he yelled, kicking the canister under the sofa. Smoke puffed out from beneath it.

  “What are your orders?” Milliken asked his commander. He sounded infinitely calmer than Connor felt.

  “This is our home now,” Tryst said. “We defend it.”

  “You can’t!” Connor shouted, his voice screeching.

  “What would you have us do? This is the only place we’ve found that has given us some semblance of belonging.” Tryst appeared hostile; Connor thought it was directed as much toward him as it was toward whoever was outside. Tryst confirmed his suspicion.