“We have the big picture here, Mark, acquired through many years of hard work.” He was slathering butter on a corn muffin the size of a fist. Despite myself, I wanted that muffin so much I almost snatched it from him. He cut a small piece and laid it on my plate. I gobbled it down. “These aliens appear to be scientists,” he continued, “looking for ways they can interact with humans. We think they’re preparing.”
“For what?”
“For when, or rather if, they decide to make formal contact with us. And for that, they don’t appear to be in any big rush. So it’s up to us to be ready when or if that time comes. You see, Mark, we certainly wouldn’t want these aliens thinking that the Russians, the Chinese, --or, God help us, the French-- or anybody else for that matter, would be the easiest, the most conducive, for them to make their first open contact with. It has to be with us, with our government. So of course the more we know about them the more ready we’ll be to welcome them, establish ties with them, seek a mutually beneficial relationship. You’ve seen their technology. Would you want that to be introduced to some other country, not ours?”
“No,” I said unsure of myself. “But what if I don’t want to be a part of it, of your... effort?”
His shoulders slumped and his eyes drooped.
“Oh I hope you don’t decide that,” he said, crestfallen. “You’re a step forward for us, a giant step. You remember the aliens, you remember being taken. Most of our returnees need considerable help to remember. And the spaceship, Mark, the ship! In the many years we’ve been at this, we’ve obtained very few alien artifacts, and then you show up with an entire spacecraft! We need your help. You wouldn’t turn your back on your country would you?”
The utter earnestness of his voice ignited misgivings in me, and, standing up to politely excuse myself and walk away to think things over, my legs buckled and I crashed to the floor.
He was instantly there, scooping me up in his massive arms like a child, cradling me with deep concern etched throughout his face.
“Where are you hurt?” he asked urgently.
“Probably his big dumb ass,” a woman’s scornful voice said.
I looked behind me and saw Caroline of the Beautiful Eyes laughing at me.
“Caroline,” the Doctor said gently, his voice tinged with a hint of irritation.
“I’m fine,” I sputtered, mortified that this woman was gawking at me being held in another man’s arms like a helpless baby.
“Didn’t you figure out your muscles ain’t gonna do it for you your first day back, Stupid?” She plunked herself down uninvited in the Doctor’s chair as I struggled for him to release me. “He pullin’ that food shit on you? Nathan, Nathan, when you gonna stop that crap? Here.” She pushed the plates of food over to me. “He ain’t your Daddy, sneakin’ you treats you should be grateful to him for. He’s your jailer, man. He told you that yet?”
I was horrified.
The Doctor pushed me in my wheelchair up to the table and chuckled. “Mark, this is Caroline. Caroline, Mark.”
“Jailer?” I gulped.
Montgomery shook his head and laughed in mock exasperation. “Hardly,” he scoffed, his eyes flashing sharply at Caroline. “As you saw yesterday, Caroline, Mark here has just arrived. We haven’t had much of a chance to speak yet, so I’m going to have to ask you to excuse us. Mark needs to get, uh, acclimated.”
“Bastard,” she said venomously. “No, not you, Stupid, him!”
“Dr. Montgomery’s seemed pretty okay so far,” I responded irritably, angry that this woman had called me Stupid not once but twice now.
“He’s a peach,” she said bitterly. “He’s such a peach, you tell him to call you a cab, tell him time for you to leave now. See what happens.”
That somehow didn’t seem like a wise idea at the moment. “Are you a... returnee?” I asked uneasily.
“Goons,” she said, fleeing the table.
I felt a hand clasp onto my shoulder. A large hand.
“Hello, there,” I heard behind me. “Guess we have a lot to talk about, Son.”
I looked up and saw the huge Air Force man I’d seen in the forest standing above me. General Peerless. I remembered he’d told me his name just before a hypo was plunged into my arm.
“Well,” I muttered to him. I should have punched him in the nuts just on principle. I wish I’d done something like that at Little Island, at least once. Come to think of it though, I guess in my own way I did.
“General,” the Doctor said icily leaning forward in his seat, “Mark and I have not completed our initial interview, much less our orientation sessions.”
“I’m sure, Doc. But Mark here is kind of a special case. Sorta doesn’t fit our rules now, does he?”
“Even so, I am charge of initial treatment so I’ll have to insist that you leave.”
“What about you, Mark? You have any objection to my sitting in here? You don’t, do you? Just a fly on the wall, that’s all I’ll be.”
I got the unnerving impression I was being fought over, like a rabbit between two houndogs.
“General,” I said indignantly, “I appreciate all you’ve done for me and all the Doctor has done. But really, this alien thing isn’t something I care to get further involved in.”
“This alien thing?” the General repeated casting a suspicious look at me which he instantly softened into a forced smile of friendship. “You seem to know a lot for a returnee who’s just arrived.”
“My memory is fine,” I snapped.
“What about that ship? You said you stole it?”
“General!” the Doctor erupted, losing the battle to keep the edge from his voice. “This man, our guest, is a civilian, and you have no jurisdiction over him yet.”
Yet? I wondered in stunned disbelief. I didn’t want that military gargantua to have jurisdiction over me ever.
The Doctor was staring at the Air Force man murderously, willing him to leave, looking like he was on the verge of using some kind of coercion I could only guess at.
The General smiled at me again. “We’ll talk later,” he said, his eyes narrowing to a hard stare.
“Not until I approve it!” the Doctor hissed, his voice laced with threat. The General, rigid and towering, glared disdainfully at him but did slowly walk away. I noticed none of the people on the terrace looked at the General when he passed and some actually scurried out of his path.
“I’m truly sorry about that, Mark,” Dr. Montgomery said, an unsettled tone in his voice. Or maybe it was fear. “The General can be a bit prickly.”
“Prickly?”
“Let’s get back to what we were talking about. You were telling me what you remember.”
None of it felt right. “Jailer” Caroline had said. TRUST NOT. I was scared and clearly out of my element so I did what anyone suspecting it is they who are the imbecile in the room would do. I would find out as much as I could about them and make my move out.
“Doctor,” I said crisply, hoping I sounded decisive, “I’m sorry but I just don’t wish to discuss this further. Besides, you apparently know as much about these aliens as I do, so you don’t need my assistance.”
I expected him to be angry or at least take a try at keeping me talking. Instead, he just made a gesture with his hand indicating he interpreted my reticence as an insignificant temporary inconvenience that I would soon get over.
“Then why don’t you look around here, Mark? Talk to the other returnees, get your feet planted firmly back on the ground. Get comfortable. Anything you need or want, you just ask for it. When you’re ready, we’ll talk again. How’s that for fair? No pressure. Despite that calm exterior of yours --which I compliment you on-- I know you must be overwhelmed by this. There’s no shame in that, none. I’m here for you and I will absolutely help you get past the rough spots. But one thing I want to say. What you did, getting away on your own like that, I think you’re phenomenal. Truly.”
His compliment leveled me. And Dr. Montgomery, he jus
t walked away. He not only walked away, he left me alone for four whole days, as well as (I’m convinced) kept Peerless away from me too. I realize now that his tolerance of my intransigence was not the result of any respect for my wishes or desire for friendship, but concern over my mental condition. Returnees, I later learned, often came back in tenuous shape and Little Island had learned the hard way to go easy on them at first. The result was that I had a four day “honeymoon” period, left pretty much to my own devices.
I did not, as Caroline had suggested, ask for a cab, my reason being that I was fairly sure I’d be refused and I didn’t want to force the issue before I was sure of my rights and opportunities at Little Island. Also, the plain fact was that I was still feeling awful and didn’t relish leaving their pampered comfort for a lonely flight back across the country and for what? I’d been away too long already, the semester was blown, so what was the point?
By my second day at Little Island I was up on my feet, tottering I admit, but up and looking for admittance to that very select group of people who know for sure whether UFO’s exist.
None of the other returnees, however, would talk to me. They all said “After.” After what?
It was on the fifth day that Peerless’ men came for me. I was led through hallways, hallways and more hallways. At last I entered a large building that didn’t appear to be part of the main complex. We’d been buzzed in past many locked doors to enter it, each of which, I noticed nervously, locked behind us.
The building looked like a combination warehouse-laboratory of some kind. The General was standing before it with a group of Air Force people who all turned and stared at me.
“Is that it?” I shuddered, my testicles shrinking at the sight of that alien spacecraft. I’d never seen it clearly from the outside before. How had they transported it here, I wondered. Heck, how had I transported it here?
“You don’t recognize it, Son? Hell, you say you flew it. Deserves a medal,” Peerless added hastily, to which the others around him nodded quickly in agreement. He turned to me.
“You sure no one’s inside this thing?”
I felt like throwing up. I didn’t want to even be in the same room with that spaceship.
“No,” I said weakly, “I came back alone.”
“Open it.”
“How?” I asked, flabbergasted at the suggestion.
“Look,” he rounded on me, a vein now bulging in his neck, “you had to have opened it to get yourself out, so you must know how. Give it a try.”
He was right, I had opened the door but was thankfully not idiot enough to repeat the act for him.
“Interrogation,” he snapped angrily. “Take him to Interrogation. We’re gonna get some answers here and you’re gonna help us. One way or the other we’re going to get that door open.”
Well he was right about that anyway.
Alien Advantage on Amazon.
The Dangerous Path of Loving Jaesha
by
Lorain O'Neil
Chapter One
Kenneth
Her back was to me, she was standing in front of her easel, paintbrushes in hand, staring at a painting. Whatta cute little ass I'd thought. Darn, I'd let my mind roam, I was noticing the backsides of garage artists? In truth I was just bored, my girlfriend had left me and perhaps I was a bit lonely, but regardless you know your life's on the skids when...
"Ms. Hampstead?" I asked. She turned. My God she had purplish-blue eyes, I'd heard of that color but had never seen it before. "My name is Kenneth Stone, I believe you drew this portrait of me? For an employee of mine, Joan Lexington?" I held up the ripped canvas and smiled though admittedly didn't put much effort into it.
She sucked in her breath at the sight of that slashed canvas, walked toward me and inserted her finger into the tear precisely at the point where my inked crotch was.
What the hell?
"Bad break up?" she laughed. "Heh better this," she wiggled her finger still in the portrait, "than you, eh?"
I wouldn't do that if I were you.
It was absolutely true but I didn't appreciate her mentioning it. I had broken up with Gloria who'd taken a knife to the drawing while I'd thought she was packing her things. All my own megalomaniac fault if you believed Fraulein Gloria.
"I was wondering if you could repair it?" I retorted acidly giving the impertinent artiste my most lethal glare.
Completely unflustered she removed her finger, took the portrait from me and began walking around the room holding it out in front of her, studying it. The portrait had been a joke of Joan's, who was head of my vetting department. Joan checked out every business, government or person that wanted to work for or with me. But Joan's true love was art and I'd told her she could do all the art for my new South African hotel.
Joan had known I displayed no personal mementos of myself anywhere, not photos, awards, degrees, nothing, so when she'd spotted a portrait this woman had drawn in a local art shop, a fluke, she'd tracked her down to the garage (which I'm sure she thought of as her "studio") and commissioned an ink portrait of me drawn from photographs. Joan's ostensible joke was that the sketch had been her first "selection" for the hotel, but in reality it had been a feeble excuse to give me a personal gift. Joan had had a thing for me for years, something I'd never encouraged because she was a world away from my type. God, sex with Joan would've been like drowning in a vat of lemon-rhubarb crème custard, and not quickly either. But I'd hung the portrait Joan had given me up in my house because I'd liked it. Unfortunately Gloria had known that.
"Sort of," cute-assed-little-artist finally said as she gave me a totally fake smile I knew meant she was thinking of how much money she'd get for the repair. And it sure looked like she needed it. Her garage would've been a dump if it could've afforded the permit. And it was only one thin wall away from "Abdul's A-1 Auto Transmission Service", cramped and scruffy, and intermittently noisy. Her paints, canvases, easels, and all the rest of an artist's accoutrements were crammed into the small space. The door of the garage was rolled up against the ceiling, a sliding glass door (there was a crack in one corner) in its place so she had lots of light, but the workspace was nevertheless confined and shabby. A narrow staircase led to a second floor that I'd noticed upon arriving contained apartments, she no doubt lived over her "studio." I idly thought what a dismal life for such a pretty young woman.
And shoot, she was pretty, especially those ridiculously violet eyes. Perfectly proportioned, a few more pounds she would've had a shot at beautiful even. About twenty-two or three I judged, seven years or so younger than me. Her hair was long, brown, at least until she moved into a shaft of sunlight where it flamed deep chestnut. She was tall and thin, but not the fashionable thin women strive for, but a didn't-get-enough-to-eat thin that tugged at me mightily. Probably chose art supplies over food every time. I made a mental note to pay her well for the repair.
"Here's the thing," she said as she regarded me intently, "I know a guy who can repair the canvas, then I can ink it over. No one will see the damage except you 'cause you'll know it's there. But this guy, he'll charge you two-fifty, five hundred if you walk in dressed like that, and then there's two hundred on top of that for my work. So in the end you'd be paying almost as much as what your employee paid for it in the first place."
I was shocked at how little Joan had paid her.
"And it's not very good," she continued, her tone clipped, "portraits from photos never are, and your employee selected the really cheap canvas for you. Can't get the same clarity, the same crispness. And you're not in it at all, it's just a drawing of somebody, none of your essence is captured in it."
My essence? Uh oh, she was building up to it, a bait and switch. I'd created a conglomerate worth hundreds of millions of dollars every dime of which I owned personally and she thought she was going to pull that shit on me? No doubt she wanted me to commission her to draw my essence, at substantial cost. She looked dirt poor but she could obviously spot wealth --and
opportunity-- when she saw it. Oh baby I'd smirked, you are so out of your league.
"And how much would that cost me?" I scoffed before I could help myself.
"What?" she asked and I saw she was genuinely confused. Crap.
"A drawing that captured my essence."
"Oh that's two thousand, it's live sitting, I wasn't talking about that. Just that maybe this really isn't worth repairing, or even buying another." There was a frostiness in her voice as she tried handing the portrait back to me with a contemptuous snort to show that I'd offended her and she was ending our meeting. I wondered what kind of a trainee she'd make.
HUH?
I felt badly, I had no choice. Got myself into that one.
"No, I think I'd like to do it," I said, chagrinned. "How many 'live sittings' are we talking about?" I looked around her garage and wondered how many hours the whole stinking ordeal was going to cost me. Her eyes followed mine revealing her irritation.
"Not here," she said and I saw how insufferable she thought I was (but she wanted the money), "at wherever you're going to hang it, I have to do the drawing to fit the ambiance of the room. Sitting time three half hour sessions but for you I'll make it two," she added snidely. Her mouth twitched in tight-lipped humor. Oh sweetie what I could do to that mouth. I envisioned folding her over a few of her paintings, explain to her who was the boss, make her freakin' purr. It was very entertaining.
"My office," I decided on the spot. Gloria II whoever she would be (there were two candidates I was trying to muster interest in) would not be getting her hands on that one. I pulled a card from my wallet and handed it to her.
"How much for the deposit?" I asked.
"If you want the good canvas --and I hope you do-- five hundred."
I definitely had her full attention as I handed her my money and restrained myself from the admonishment that she try buying some food with it.
"Monday nine a.m.?" I asked.
Angelique Rising Page 24