Kilroy was Here

by Jeff South

  “All I’m saying is there are other options. And there are three of us onboard.”

  “Other options? Give me an example of another option.”

  I fetch my phone from my pocket and offer it up. “I’ve been listening to so many varieties of music. There’s some good stuff out there. Indie bands. Alternative stuff. I think you’d like it. We could listen to Twenty One Pilots or Imagine Dragons.”

  “Now you’re just hurting my feelings,” Jeff says.

  “C’mon. Give it a try.” I take the initiative to plug my iPod into the Miss America’s docking station and tap the screen. “Not ‘Bubbly,’ though, because that will wreck me.”

  “After we listen to his music,” Grandor says from the backseat, “we listen to Andy Gibb.”

  *

  Grandor’s plan reads like the fevered surreal manifesto of a schizophrenic beat poet who dabbles in real estate on the side. I’m able to piece together only a few parts that make sense. The binder contains detailed plans for deep sea excursions, polar expeditions, and a water slide covering all of upstate New York. Occasionally, I pause to ask questions and he is happy to oblige with an answer in between composing his epic haiku of heartbreak and stifling sobs.

  “Grandor, what do you mean by the deployment of the Araneae in unsuspecting humans and attach them to the hive mind?”

  “Simple, really. I would find a way to download the Araneae in humans and connect their consciousness with the hive mind. This would make them susceptible to the bidding of the super mind. That is what enslaves them.” He blows the two narrow slits in the middle of face he calls a nose.

  “What is meant by the super mind?”

  “Simple, really. The super mind is the core consciousness from which all directives will be given. The entire crowd is under the command of the super mind. Or, as I like to call the super mind, me.”

  Not every question prompts an answer that makes sense.

  “Grandor, what do you mean here in section 7.2.43, subsection A, where you reference the Hastaforian Particlysm?”

  “This universe is a reality wrapped in an illusion folded into an origami bird that flies west toward the sun into another universe and the cycle repeats itself.”

  “Is that a haiku?” Jeff asks.

  “I don’t know what any of that is,” I tell him.

  Grandor releases a groan of frustration at our lack of understanding.

  “GrandEarth is a resort. The plan was to convert the entire planet into the preferred vacation destination in the galaxy. The finest life forms from all over would venture there to enjoy a luxurious getaway. The good people of Earth would be employees. And by employees, I mean robotic slaves controlled by the Araneae. This reduces overhead like you would not believe.”

  “You want to enslave all of mankind so aliens can vacation on Earth?” My mind can’t grasp this notion. “What an awful plan! Why would you want to do that?”

  “It is the only planet in its solar system that can support the widest variety of life. Venus is unspeakably hot. Jupiter is much too large to terraform. Neptune has those pesky mole people living under its surface. As with all things real estate, it is all about location, location, location.”

  “The assholery is strong with this one,” Jeff says.

  “Indeed,” I say to Jeff. “Very strong assholery.”

  “It is not as if you humans are using the planet to its fullest potential.”

  “So, Jackleigh intends to carry out this plan?” I ask Grandor, but he only shrugs. “That doesn’t sound right. I don’t think she’s interested in real estate development.”

  “Well, enough discussion and enough of this crappy music,” Jeff says, switching off the music on my phone. “We’re about to orbit Nitz.”

  “These may be my finest verses yet,” Grandor announces.

  “Why must I suffer?

  My heart’s sphincter longs for peace

  Women, am I right?”

  Jeff taps and swipes on the dashboard console screen as Miss America floats toward a growing portal. I want to watch this entry once more now that I’m aware of what’s involved, but my attention is pulled to the last tab in Grandor’s binder. I hadn’t noticed it at first, assuming the content ended with the appendix and bibliography. I see the final tab’s title and frown.

  Fail Safe Emergency Last Straw

  The section contains a single page on which is printed a single sentence that chills my blood.

  “Grandor, what do you mean here on the last page? It says ‘Release the giant flying robot spider monster.’”

  “I think that speaks for itself.”

  *

  Miss America descends back onto Nitz and shuttles toward the entrance of Simon Tybalt’s lair. Upon arrival, Jeff eases us toward the security entrance where he previously answered a riddle to gain entry. He keys in the code and awaits a reply. Instead of the usual response, a female voice pipes over the intercom.

  “Oh, good you’re home.” It is the voice of Jackleigh. “We have dinner waiting.”

  “Shit.” Jeff bangs his head on the steering wheel.

  “Jackie?” Grandor scrambles forward from the backseat to yell into the intercom. “I will dismantle your motherboard and sell it off to privateers and then use the money to purchase the copious amounts of alcohol I will need to drink away the memory of your treachery. I also would like to know what we are having for dinner because we did not stop to eat.”

  “I don’t think she really meant that,” I say.

  “Such a lying hoe.”

  The entrance to the lair rises. Jeff taps several times on the dashboard screen then flips a switch causing the radio to rotate. A new panel now appears with several orange switches.

  “You have a F Bomb deployment console,” I say. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen such a device, but the sight of it triggers my nano and I’m instantly transported to the information about this device.

  “Flip those switches up,” he tells me.

  “This is every behavioral weapon in Simon Tybalt’s arsenal in one device.” I flip the switches per Jeff’s instructions and look ahead as we move forward.

  Jeff eases Miss America into the garage and shuts off the engine. A dozen or so lizard-like creatures stand poised with weapons.

  “Herpezoids,” Jeff says. “I hate these assholes.”

  “That computerized defector,” Grandor growls. “She left me for those dregs of the cosmos?”

  “Do you know how to defeat them?” I ask Grandor.

  “Oh, my, no. I am terribly frightened of them. I usually flee in fear when I encounter them.”

  “They don’t call you Grandor the Malevolent for nothing,” I say.

  “The name was meant to be ironic.”

  “Where did she pick up Herpezoids?” I wonder aloud.

  “See that blue button on the left?” Jeff asks. I nod. “Press it.”

  “Timer.” I press the button. “The arsenal will unleash in exactly two minutes.”

  Jeff opens the glove compartment and retrieves a prescription pill bottle. He drops a couple of red and blue capsules into his hand and offers me one.

  “Here,” he says. “Take this. It protects you from the F Bomb.”

  “Do I get one?” Grandor sounds like a child missing out on the sharing of candy.

  “No,” Jeff says. “You’ll be fine.”

  Jeff puts on his top hat as two muscular creatures approach the car. Their bodies are covered in scales the color of pond scum. They snarl their stubby snouts to reveal sharp teeth and their yellow eyes nearly glow. They’re the same eyes I saw on Clint on the Night Jeff Came Back. My stomach knots and twists in fear. I don’t like carnies, spiders, or those people in mascot costumes, but I’d take all three of those hiding under my bed over these bastards.

  “Gentlemen,” Jeff says, “let’s dance. And remember.”

  “Don’t.” I mumble without moving my lips.

  “We own the night.”

 
“What does that mean?” Grandor asks.

  “No one knows,” I say.

  The two Herpezoids now stand on either side of Miss America, forcing us to exit. The lizard dudes on each side of me are about a foot taller than I. Grandor swats at a third Herpezoid attempting to pat him down for weapons.

  “Don’t suppose you’d wanna use your powers or whatever on them?” I ask.

  “Herpezoids scary,” is all he says.

  “It’s like working with the Cowardly Lion,” Jeff says.

  We are pushed toward the front of the garage where Jackleigh stands holding Simon Tybalt in the air with a death grip. He gasps for air but manages to cough out one word.

  “Bastards.”

  “I shall make this quick,” Jackleigh faces up, one corner of her mouth curled into a smile. “You have something I need. I am choking someone you need.”

  “No need to harm anyone, Jackie.” Grandor struts forward, hands raised in mock surrender. “I will come to you peacefully if you agree to stop this villainous behavior and make amends.”

  “Oh, Grandor.” She fires a bolt from her wrist and Grandor spills backward. “No one needs you. I am here for the quintonium drive. The plans I thought I downloaded turned out to be a collection of restaurant carry out and delivery menus. I want the drive.”

  “I don’t have the quintonium drive.” Jeff strains against the two Herpezoid henchmen holding him. “I traded it to some mechanics on Mongalsonia for some bitching rims for my Vega. Told them it was for satellite TV.”

  Jackleigh responds by tightening her invisible grip, causing Simon to gasp for air.

  “Okay, okay.” Jeff holds his hands high. “Let him down. I’ll get it out of the hatch for you.”

  “No,” Jackliegh replies.

  Jeff draws a deep sigh.

  “You drive a hard bargain.” Jeff looks to me. “How much time do we have?”

  “Twenty-three seconds,” I say, knowing exactly how much time has elapsed on the F Bomb.

  “Why do you ask that?” Jackleigh asks.

  “Make your move now!” Jeff shouts. He and I hit the floor and roll away from each other. The Herpezoids all stand around looking at one another. Jackleigh releases her grip on Simon Tybalt and he falls to the floor in a heap.

  “What is this?” she asks Jeff. “Quit stalling.”

  “Wait for it,” Jeff says.

  We all wait in silence. The remaining seconds tick away on the F Bomb and I wince in anticipation of the timer hitting zero. I curl into the fetal position even though I am not convinced it is ample protection against whatever the F Bomb does, even if I did take a red and blue pill. A few more seconds pass and it becomes apparent the F Bomb doesn’t do anything.

  “I do not know what chicanery you are up to, Jeff, but it is futile,” Jackleigh says. “We shall try a different approach.”

  She points at one of her mouth-breathing Herpezoid henchmen and directs them to Jeff.

  “Grab his keys. We will take his beloved vehicle and Simon Tybalt with us.”

  “What the hell?” Jeff displays a sad mix of incredulousness and a broken heart as the giant lizard creature in the smart leather vest frisks him for the keys in his jacket pocket. “What’s happened to you? Why are you with these asshats?”

  “We met online.” Jackleigh allows herself to pout a bit. “Aw, Jeff. You were sweet. Really. You were nice to Leigh Ann and I can tell she appreciates that.” Her voice changes and ices my blood. “But, she is a new creation. I am taking her home and wait until they get a load of this.”

  A particularly tall, muscular Herpezoid stands next to Leigh Ann. His thick, perfectly toned frame makes him look like a model for steroids marketed specifically to Herpezoids. He wears leather pants and a leather vest and no shirt because of course anyone that chiseled would forgo a shirt. He sneers and bares his sharp teeth. I wonder if his leather clothes were made from a fellow Herpezoid who looked at him the wrong way. He gives off that kind of vibe.

  “You want us to kill these vermin?” the creature asks. Frankly, I’m surprised he is asking permission. He looks like a take charge kind of guy. Also, his voice is surprisingly high-pitched.

  “Not yet.” Her voice is matter-of-fact. She looks at Jeff and grabs Simon by the collar. “I am going to take your car and this guy. Bring me the quintonium drive along with its plans so I can destroy the Earth and you can have them both back.”

  I stand motionless, enveloped in a fear I most closely associate with facing an ax-wielding demonic clown who can spit tarantulas. I’m easily subdued by two Herpezoids who simply stand next to me, seemingly able to smell my fear the way I can smell pizza from miles away. I want to call my caliente lederhosen-wearing drive thru girl at Taco Haus and tell her that she needs to relish her life there. I want to kiss Marlene’s lips one last time. I want to see my parents.

  Jackleigh and Simon Tybalt enter Miss America, Simon in the driver’s seat. He looks at us helplessly. He fires the ignition and the roar of the engine fills the garage. I look at my friend and he looks at me. Grandor runs to the Vega and puts his hands on the hood.

  “My beloved Jackie! Do not do this! Come back to me my love!” His body rocks with mournful cries that have no impact on Jackie. He shakes his fists at her in one final act of anger. “You cankerous she-devil!”

  He raises his arms to unleash his power on his scorned former companion only to be greeted by a cloud of green energy from the grill of Miss America.

  “Stop, drop, and roll,” Jeff shouts and I obey.

  The cloud rolls over Grandor and envelops the half dozen or so Herpezoids who stand dumbfounded. The cloud fades and the creatures all look at one another. Three of them begin dancing and singing “One Singular Sensation” from A Chorus Line. The other three look at one another.

  “They’re starting a mutiny!” I shout at the non-dancing Herpezoids hoping at least one of them has been hit with the Gulliball component of the F-Bomb. “Stop them!”

  The three non-dancers open fire on their dancing counterparts, reducing them to a blob of mucous with eyes on the floor. Jeff dives over, scoops up two of the weapons once held by the dancers, and fires on two of the non-dancers. They dissolve in an instant leaving the same thick, green residue on the floor. I instinctively punch the remaining non-dancing Herpezoid in the snout and he is disoriented long enough for Jeff to hit him with one more shot. He dissolves into his own puddle of goo.

  “Excuse me,” he calls out from his puddle. “If you’d not step on me, I’d appreciate it.”

  One foe remains; Tall Muscular Herpezoid in the Leather Pants. His fierce snarl is now gone, replaced by a heavy sadness. His looks at the floor and gestures at his cohorts finishing up their big number.

  “I see how it is,” he says. “They get to dance and I don’t.”

  “He got hit with the passive aggressive strain,” I announce.

  “It’s alright,” he continues. “Really. I’m not that good of a dancer anyway.”

  Then, he oozes to the floor in a tiny pool, taken out by a blast from Jeff’s weapon confiscated from the now-disposed aliens. Jeff runs to the garage opening and then drops to his knees.

  “This is better really,” the disposed Herpezoid says. “Now I don’t have to worry about being a bad dancer.”

  “Now, I remember,” Jeff says. “The engine has to be running for the F Bomb to work.”

  “What are we gonna do?” I ask. “They’re headed back through the portal to Earth.”

  “Without the drive, she will not be able to do much,” Grandor says. “She will only be able to order those Herpezoid swine to inflict wanton violence and chaos while she uses the mind control element of the nanotech to enslave mankind.”

  “We gotta get my car back.” Jeff runs past us and hops into the Volkswagen bus. “C’mon, you two, let’s go.”

  “We can’t do that without the drive,” I say. “Are we gonna get it from those mechanics you gave it to?”

  “I was always le
d to believe the drive is a myth,” Grandor says.

  “It’s not a myth.” Jeff climbs into the VW Bus and fires up the engine. “It does exist.”

  “How do you know?” I ask him.

  Jeff looks back at me, sighs, and lowers his head.

  “Miss America is the quintonium drive.”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  The Cosmic VW Bus passes through the portal and creeps into a docking bay inside the terminal. We are back in the strange galactic purgatory between outer space and the portal in Poplar Bluff. I recognize all the activity from the first trip through with Jeff. The bus transitions from flying spaceship to standard automobile as it traverses the terminal and eases to the checkpoint station manned by the alien called Moonbeam.

  “Kilroy,” he says. “You have returned. Excellent journey?”

  “Moonbeam, did you see a really hot chick driving my car? Did she come through here?”

  “I’ve not seen anything, my friend. It’s the usual stuff. Although, we did have a pack of Herpezoids going through. A big caravan of them.”

  Jeff looks at me. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look genuinely concerned.

  “I must say Kilroy,” calls Grandor from the back of the bus, where he sits scrunched up knees to chest. “This vessel, while still woefully undersized, is much roomier than your Vega.”

  Jeff glances back at him and rolls his eyes.

  “Picked up some extra baggage,” he says to Moonbeam.

  “I know that dude.” Moonbeam squints his eyes at the alien in our backseat. “That’s Grandor the Malevolent. What are you doing with him?”

  “Long story,” I say.

  “As long as he’s got papers, I don’t care about the story, man.”

  “Tell me, young sir.” Grandor leans forward to address Moonbeam. “Have you ever had your soul crushed by the very being you believed would never betray you? Have you ever known a heartache darker than deepest, coldest space?”

  “Yeah,” Moonbeam mutters. “It sucks.”

  “Indeed,” Grandor says. “Honestly, I do not know how you humans manage emotions without repeated breakdowns. The euphoria. The agony. The joy. The depression. It is all too much.”