Time Will Tell

by Mary S. Palmer

  “Do you know that reporter Mona Stewart from The Times? Well, her best friend told me that Mona claims to have been taken up into space and even into another era — the future. She’s always been, well, way out, but this proves that she’s just flipped. What a tale. I don’t know what’s happened to our newspapers these days. Hiring people like that. They just don’t insist on competent, qualified employees. Just so they sell papers.”

  Mona stopped speculating as she fixed her first meal in a week. Using what she had, she dropped four pieces of bacon into an iron skillet. Analyzing further, she realized that he main reason for not telling the story wasn’t its effect on her, but its effect on those three people that were depending on her. When she was completely in their power, they had seen fit to protect her and bring her back to her own planet. Now, she was obligated to return the favor, no matter how long it took or how much it cost. She vowed to do it.

  An unexpected buzz of the doorbell brought her back to reality. She shook, everything startled her right now. She attempted to regain control of her emotions before she answered. Impatiently, the bell rang again.

  “Yes, who is it?” she asked before opening the door.

  The reply came, “Paper man.”

  For once, Mona was glad her former boyfriend insisted on having a paper delivered, even though she got one free at work. Letting the delivery man in while she wrote a check, Mona decided it would be a good chance to verify the date. “Let’s see now, Mr. Swift, this is the eighth and I owe you for two months?”

  “Yessum,” he replied, and Mona was satisfied that the day was Friday, July 8.

  “I came by on the first,” he told her, “but you weren’t home. Been on a trip?”

  She nodded. She’d been on a trip all right. She was glad he didn’t ask where she went.

  Instead, looking up over the top of his horn-rimmed glasses, Mr. Swift asked apologetically, “Could you do me a big favor, Miss Stewart? It’s my grandson’s birthday next week and I promised to buy him a bike. Do you suppose you could pay me for six months? That way I’ll get my commission early. I guess I shoulda’ saved up for this, but since the wife died — well, I jes’ ain’t much good at managing money.”

  “Of course I can,” Mona agreed without hesitation. “And don’t worry about it. I know how it is. I work for the paper, too.”

  He brightened up and thanked her profusely. “Oh, Miss Stewart, you don’t know how much this means to me. Eddie’s turning nine, and he wants a bike so bad. All his friends already got one. He don’t have no daddy, and his mama jes’ can’t afford it. You’re so kind. I know I’m imposin’. If I can ever do somethin’ for you, jes’ let me know.” He patted her hand.

  She liked the little man anyway, but after her experience, she wasn’t thinking too much about money. All that was on her mind was that outer space experience and her promise to help the King. She imagined that feeling would soon pass and she’d be Earth-oriented again in no time.

  When Mr. Swift left, Mona returned to the kitchen to the tempting aroma of bacon sizzling. Pep begged for some, and she took a piece from the pan to give him his share. With the other three pieces, she made a nice fat pumpernickel sandwich, layering it with mayonnaise, cheese, lettuce, and tomato. Savoring the flavor with every bite, Mona thought that at that moment not even the finest steak could have tasted better. Better yet, things seemed to be returning to normal.

  After topping off the meal with a bowl of strawberry ice cream, she decided that she should call her insurance agent and advise him of her wreck. She’d have to buy another car immediately since today was the last day of her vacation. Monday, she’d need transportation to go back to work. She thumbed through the paper and the telephone book and decided what she wanted. Her agent made arrangements to get the car and check it out right away. He assured her that any bona fide dealer would work with them.

  After checking with a nearby dealer who promised, “Come on down and we’ll put you in a fine little car today,” she slipped on a dark green suit with a matching blouse of a lighter shade, wanting to look professional in order to have a bargaining edge. Then, she called a cab. At the first place she tried, she was lucky enough to find what she wanted in just one stop. Better yet, it only took thirty minutes’ haggling to agree on a price. So just one hour after she reached the showroom, she found herself signing papers.

  For the first time in her life, Mona had a brand new car. She chose a champagne-colored Buick Century with all the extras. She was excited enough to temporarily put aside the space ship and the accompanying problems. However, she learned one thing. Life was short. Because of that experience, she decided to live while she was alive and hang the consequences. On the way home, she stopped by a coworker’s house to show him her new prized possession.

  “Hey, now. That’s a mighty fine looking automobile. Hm-m, air, keyless entry, CD — it’s got it all, even real leather seats,” Rob Parker said enthusiastically as he ran his hands through his graying dark brown hair. “Say, Mona, I’m surprised. Back from vacation with a new car; how come?” He stooped to lower his six-foot body enough to inspect the inside more closely.

  She replied without emotion. “I had a wreck. My car went over a ravine. Luckily, I didn’t.”

  “My God. I didn’t see any news article. How’d you get out? Where? When?”

  “Oh, it was way out on some country road. I slowed down and just jumped out. They haven’t gotten the car out yet. Pep was with me. He wasn’t hurt either.” She paused before saying when. Until now, it hadn’t occurred to her that someone might wonder what she did without a car for a week, how she got back home, and why her car was not reported wrecked before.

  Rob was also an experienced reporter, and Mona feared that if she said more, he’d see right through her fabrications. It dawned on her that nobody except her and the Svarians knew when the wreck happened. She could say that she walked from the site just as she did — without saying when. Her agent didn’t even know; he’d gotten an emergency call while they were talking and said he’d finish the paperwork later. She could say it happened yesterday. Even though a person jumping from a moving vehicle would normally be at least scratched up some. She was making no claim for injuries, so they’d have no reason to insist that she go to a doctor. It ought to work.

  Rob took her word for what happened and let the details drop. Maybe he assumed her injuries were on private parts of her body. “Well, you sure were lucky. Looks like you’re not even scuffed up,” he said and directed his gaze to the sleekness of the Buick. “Mighty nice car.” His sideways grin caused the dimple in his chin to deepen. It also made Mona aware that, even at age forty-four, he was a very handsome man. She knew he was unattached and she was attracted to him in a way, but he seemed more like a father-figure than someone she’d date.

  However, Mona had just come out of a bad relationship, plus an experience in outer space and her commitment to help the Svarians, that moment wasn’t the time for romantic thoughts. Nor was it the time to open up any doors. To avoid further questions, Mona left as soon as she could break away.

  The newsroom buzzed when she arrived at work the next Monday morning. A downtown building was on fire, and Mona got the assignment. She went to the location and found it to be an old dilapidated boarding house. Derelicts sat on the curb and watched the firemen attempt to put out the blaze.

  Mona queried the firemen, “Could you tell me how the fire started, sir? Were any of the building’s occupants hurt?” The answers were both negative. After a couple more questions, Mona left the scene. She returned to the newspaper office to write her story.

  Immediately, Rob plopped a typewritten sheet on her desk. “See if this is accurate, Mona,” he asked good-naturedly.

  Seeing that it was the story of her wreck, Mona smiled slyly and gave it back.

  Questions came as soon as Frank Dees saw the story. Mona anticipated it. In a couple of minutes, the editor was at her desk. He slammed his fist down on it and almost shook h
er keyboard onto the floor.

  “Damn it all, Mona, you could tell me when you nearly kill yourself. But, no, I have to wait and read the copy.” Dees was known as a hard man, but Mona knew that down deep, he was sincerely concerned with her welfare.

  “Sorry, Mr. Dees. But I saw no need to worry you with my problems.”

  “Worry me? Who the hell’s worried? I just like to be in on what happens around here. I suppose if you’d been killed I’d have to find out when I read your obituary.” He left out a huff, but he made Mona smile at the concern he was unable to conceal.

  Life on Earth wasn’t so bad after all. I’ll take it over Svar’s dullness any day, she thought, still wishing she had somebody she could confide in — somebody who would believe her. Frank Dees might be that man, but she couldn’t bring herself to take that chance.

  All day long, she looked for an assignment near Wolf Road, but nothing was happening out there. The closest activity was miles away. She was going to have to make some excuses to go to that vicinity after work, because if someone happened to see her there, they would wonder what she was doing. She decided to tell her coworkers that she liked that area where the wreck occurred and that she was looking for a parcel of land to buy nearby. That would give her a reason to go back more than once. She made a big deal of it. With vague interest, her coworkers listened while she expounded on the advantages of living in a quiet, woodsy place far removed from the hustle and bustle of city life.

  As she drove back toward the gully off of Wolf Road after work, a frightening thought suddenly hit her: today the people from the wrecking company were to pick up her demolished Volkswagen.

  Good Lord, she thought, suppose they see the ship. Floor-boarding the gas pedal, she hurried to the site.

  There was no need to worry. Climbing down the embankment, Mona saw that the VW had been removed. Nothing else was disturbed. Reaching the bottom, she could not find the space ship, either. Almost instantly Eric came up behind her.

  “We have hidden the ship,” he told her and led her over to a stand of trees and brush that she had not seen before. The camouflage job was excellent. He pulled back limbs so that she could enter.

  As agreed upon earlier, Mona brought food. The plan was to substitute real food for the one pill a day that they’d been taking — gradually building up to a complete food diet. It was hoped that after a time, the anticipated reversal of facial and nose distortion would take place and their appearance would return to normal for humans. But they had no assurance that it would happen. They also expected to return in time to the age this era would make them. But the results of this experiment were yet unknown. Things could go either way.

  In any event, they had to try. A light diet was the starting fare. Their taste buds didn’t work, so the food had no more flavor than their pills. They chewed up the bits of chicken in the soup and forced down one slice of bread each. It was a chore. For the three inhabitants of another planet, that small eating exercise was more than they were accustomed to.

  “Well, how did you like it?” Mona asked.

  “Thank you for bringing it, but it’s all bland to us,” Lydia replied.

  Mona was disappointed because she hadn’t realized that they wouldn’t taste the food. “I’m sorry,” she replied. Thinking that exercise might help, she made a suggestion. “Look, you’re trying to get back in shape. Why don’t you sneak out every day and walk around a bit?”

  Fearing discovery, Eric replied, “Not yet. Maybe when our appearance changes.” His confidence that a change would come encouraged the others. They wanted to look normal and be useful again very badly.

  Daily, Mona brought them nourishment, each day adding a little until they built up to two meals a day and only one pill. By the end of the third week, they were ready to eliminate the pills. But it was risky. They might all become ill; they could even die. Still, it was time to take the chance.

  The next evening, Mona had a late assignment and could not get to the hiding place until after dark. Pulling her car into the secluded area where she parked every day, she clamored down the incline. Eric met her saying, “Lydia is ill.”

  Fortunately, when Mona neared the place where Lydia lay resting, she heard several burps and knew what was wrong. She took an antacid from her purse.

  “Here, Lydia. This’ll help.”

  Lydia took the pill and it relieved the indigestion right away. They were all glad the simple solution worked, and Mona was relieved that Lydia had simply experienced one of the minor irritations that plague humanity. Maybe that was a good sign.

  But there was another problem. Marcus had been monitoring the radio and had heard strange noises from outer space. They could not tell where it came from or what threat it posed, but it was disturbing; it might be a problem. It was possible that the Aliens had managed to crank up one of the ships left behind and had reached this secret place.

  Eric expressed his concern. “We do not know, but they could have gotten hold of our records from the previous trip. If they did, they will use them and try to come right here,” he said. “They know we have information and knowledge they do not have. I am convinced that Torpi and his clan will follow us, if they can.” Eric seemed upset at the prospect, justifiably so. He feared that Torpi would not hesitate to endanger all of them if necessary. But all they could do was wait and see what happened.

  The signals continued, and two days later, their worst fears were realized. Torpi himself came on the airwaves. Mona, Eric, Lydia, and Marcus listened.

  Torpi’s message was clear: “Fellow Svarians,” he began in a sarcastic tone, “even though you are traitors and have betrayed those of us who have become Aliens, we still seek you out. We know where you are and we will be there soon. We will find a way to let the Earthlings know what is going on, too. We have devised weapons, so you are not as safe as you were on Svar. We will get all of your secrets — one way or another — and then destroy you. Yes, and we want the Earthling, too. The job must be complete.” He gave a loud, wicked laugh and signed off.

  This new development presented a double danger. First was the eminent danger of being confronted by Aliens with weapons. Secondly, if Earthlings were notified, they’d surely investigate. Pressure would come from both sides.

  Realizing that they knew about her frightened Mona. She considered what might be the best course of action. Thinking that here on Earth they’d need her to provide them with food just as the Svarians had, Mona suggested revealing themselves and taking the chance of favorable consequences.

  But Eric would not hear of it. “Torpi is smart. He has probably devised a plan to survive hunger. And he will keep his word. He won’t hesitate to kill us. Besides, I want to come back in time as a human. If I can’t do that, then I don’t want to exist at all.”

  Marcus and Lydia made a weak effort to persuade him otherwise, but nothing they said would sway him from his stand. When Mona said, “You need a way to defend yourselves. I can provide some weapons,” the only thing their leader would agree to let her bring to the ship was knives. However, Mona thought of her father’s gun collection. In a fight, guns would be much more useful than knives. So, when she left, regardless of what Eric said, she planned to bring back both.

  The ten o’clock news had no startling reports of space ship sightings, so Mona switched off the television set in her apartment and unlocked the closet where she stored the guns. Handling those guns brought back memories. When she was a little girl, her father taught her respect for guns. He’d often take her to the rifle range and let her shoot. But when he died suddenly five years ago, she locked them up and had not touched them since, never suspecting that she’d take them out for such a bizarre purpose as the defense of aliens. Her heart ached as she placed them on a table one by one.

  They were all shapes and sizes. It was quite a collection, more than she remembered. Many were handguns, both pistols and revolvers, somewhat like Colts and Smith and Wesson’s without a brand name on them, but there were two ri
fles and a shotgun in the collection. All were in good working order. She had cartridges and bullets for each. Mona wrapped the box of small guns in brown paper and took down an old violin case of her mother’s for the dismantled rifle. She giggled when she thought of all the gangster movies that portrayed characters carrying guns in a violin case. The shotgun she chose to leave behind. It was late, so she put them back in the closet. Tomorrow evening when she got off from work, she planned to pick up the guns and take them to the space ship. How she’d get them down that steep hill, she had not figured out.

  The next evening when it turned dark, as she piled the box of guns into her car trunk, she wondered what would happen if she got stopped by the police. Pep panted on the seat beside her. She leaned over close to the little dog’s ear and confided in him: “Pep, old boy, if I get arrested tonight we may both be in jail for a while.”

  He wagged his tail and stuck it in the Coke she’d set in the cup holder. As she dumped out the remaining liquid, she said aloud, “Oh, damn. I forgot the knives.” But she dismissed them as being unimportant. The guns would do. She could bring the knives tomorrow. She wanted to pick up tacos on the way, and she needed to get back to the ship.

  Reaching the top of the gully, Mona found another car parked in her place. It scared her at first, but when she saw that its occupants were just two teenagers making out, she pulled up behind them and shined her bright lights into the car. Their eyes widened liked scared rabbits. Mona backed out. She finished the last bite of a taco that was her dinner, neatly folded the wrapper into a small square that she put on the seat beside her and waited. The kids thought it was the police, and they wheeled out as fast as they could. It was all clear. Mona pulled in and braked the car.

  Contrary to the struggle she expected, sliding the box of guns down the hill was an easy task. She pushed it with her foot and it slipped along on the dew-moistened grass as if it were greased. When she leaned over to guide the box, she saw the taco wrapper stuck to her shoe fall to the ground. Despite the anti-litter ads she’d just passed on the highway, and though it was uncharacteristic of her, she just let it lay. No need to risk getting found out. She could pick it up on her way back.