The Coming of the Bullocks

by Gene Brewer

  Mike looked hard at me. “Remember how worried you were about the press conferences? You’ve been through two of them now, and once you got into them, you actually seemed to enjoy being there.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far, Mike,” I replied, lamely, almost ashamed that I had apparently seemed so nonplussed throughout those ordeals. “Anyway, answering a few questions from reporters, with the President as backup, is nothing compared to convincing the representatives of the entire world that all the killing should be stopped. I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

  “That’s where we come in. We have experts who deal with this sort of thing all the time. Put yourself in their hands. Let them help you. It won’t be as bad as you think.”

  If that were the case, why was I feeling so strange, both physically and mentally? It was almost as if I were someone else watching what was happening from the outside. Maybe this was what dissociative identity disorder was like. Some alter egos know that they are not the actual person who harbors them. How bizarre the mind is! No matter what disorder you might imagine, there is someone in the world with that very condition. Was I trying to dissociate myself from myself so I wouldn’t have to face my responsibilities, as so many mental patients do? Hold on, Dr. B. Stay calm.

  On our way down the short corridor, I asked myself again how I had gotten to this point. I thought of my first encounter with prot, and how I had erroneously assumed that he was merely a psychotic mental patient. But before we got to the meeting room, and without any sense of time or movement, I realized that I was back on K-PAX. How the hell — Well, there was nothing I could do about it. Schultz had advised me to go with it. Walter? Did you send me here? If you did, why? But there was no response from the Bullocks, or anyone else. I decided to make the best of it. Presumably they would soon send me back to Earth, where I would find myself exactly where I was, walking down a short corridor with Mike, about to enter the Task Force 1 meeting room. For now, though, I was somewhere on K-PAX.

  I seemed to be hovering, if that’s how to describe it. It was as if I were dreaming. Most of us have had that experience — I wasn’t flying, exactly, but able to move around above the surface. I floated here and there, able to go anywhere I wanted. The big red sun was in the sky, so the ambience was a bit brighter (and redder) than before, as it would be on Earth perhaps not long after sunset. There weren’t any people (human or otherwise) around that I could see, only myriad animals, some familiar-looking and others I couldn’t begin to identify. Of course they couldn’t see or hear me, so I could approach any of them for a closer look. Curiously, some of them seemed to have faces that were almost human in nature. (Prot had informed me that we’re more similar to the animals on our planet than many of us would like to believe.) I reached out to touch one of them, but of course I could not, and he or she didn’t notice me. This is all very interesting, I thought, but why am I here? “Walter?”

  No response.

  I was beginning to feel a bit of trepidation. How the hell was I supposed to get back to Earth? “Walter!” I shouted helplessly. But the Bullocks either weren’t around, or they were ignoring me. I tried to calm myself again, and I looked around for some kind of reassurance. It came in the form of a small copse of trees in the distance. Prot had told me that there wasn’t enough water on his planet to support many of them — no rivers, no lakes, no oceans. Not even any rain. The only water was underground. Enough to allow the growth of a number of plants, whose moisture then supported the animal life. But K-PAX was nine billion years old — hadn’t the inhabitants figured out how to make water? By the fusion of hydrogen and oxygen, perhaps? If so, there weren’t any big water-producing factories anywhere on the horizon.

  I caught a glimpse of the huge red sun again. Could this be a red giant, slowly swelling up to eventually engulf its planets, much like our sun will swallow us, in another four or five billion years? K-PAX was already old; how much longer could it have? Though it was thinly populated, it was far bigger than the Earth, about the size of Neptune, prot had said. What would happen to all its inhabitants when the red giant began to lap at its “shores”? I suddenly felt very sad, even though this probably wouldn’t happen for millions of years. And for the Earth as well, whose human inhabitants might have far less than that. The K-PAXians presumably could go somewhere else. So, probably, could some, or even all, humans get off the earth before it was burned to a cinder. But not if the sun exploded a year from now, the equivalent of what was going to happen if we didn’t heed the Bullocks’ warnings. Surely if I explained that to the United Nations they would listen. How could they not?

  Easy. There would surely be holdouts around the world whose ideology was unconcerned with the well-being of the human race, but only of their own principles and desires. Some of these don’t even care about their own personal survival, let alone that of anyone else. Even many Americans consider war to be a “necessary evil,” trumping all other considerations when our “way of life” is at stake. How can I, or anyone at the UN, convince any of these people otherwise?

  I wanted to find Abby. Or prot or fled or Giselle. Anyone I was familiar with, anyone I knew. But the planet was gigantic, and no one stayed in one place for long. How could I hope to find them? I started toward those scrawny little trees in the distance and found myself stumbling toward Meeting Room Two and the task force charged with preparing me to face the United Nations Security Council. Before we got there, I heard someone say, “Enjoy your trip?”

  I glanced quickly at Mike, but of course it wasn’t him. “Walter?”

  “Who else?”

  “Why did you send me to K-PAX?”

  “We sent you nowhere. It was your own idea.”

  I felt as if I had been electrocuted. “But I didn’t ask to go there. I wasn’t even thinking about K-PAX. At least not consciously. How could — ”

  “Perhaps you wanted to get away from something unpleasant. This seems to be a very human response to dealing with a problem.”

  “But I don’t know how to do that. I can’t travel to another planet!”

  “Of course you can. You just did. Anyone can do it.”

  “HOW?”

  “The explanation is on the cone. How many times must we tell you? Everything is there!”

  “But I can’t read the cone. No one can!”

  “You have deciphered the part of it that deals with space and time travel.”

  “When did that happen?”

  “When we went for a ride.”

  “But you didn’t tell me how — ”

  “Once you’ve done it, it’s like riding a bicycle, is it not?”

  “I don’t understand. Do you mean I can go anywhere I want??”

  “Anywhere.”

  “And anytime in the past?”

  “Anytime.”

  “But dammit, Walter,” I shouted. “I don’t know how to do it!”

  “Gene?”

  “Huh?”

  “You were talking to Walter, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. But now he’s gone again.”

  “Can you tell me what you were talking about?” Mike asked sympathetically.

  “About space and time travel.”

  “Did he tell you anything you didn’t already know?”

  “Only that I could go anywhere I want to. But — ” I shrugged.

  We came to the Meeting Room 2 (the walls were yellow), where I was welcomed by the chair of the Task Force on the UN Security Council Speech, who introduced himself as the President’s chief speechwriter.

  Normally I would have been intimidated by him, as would most other Americans. But I was becoming so used to meeting important people, indeed the top people in the government, that I merely nodded and shook his hand matter-of-factly.

  He frowned and asked how I was doing.

  “About as well as I could have expected.”


  He smiled, seemingly satisfied with that non-committal answer. “Are you ready for the final phase of this thing?”

  “No.”

  Everyone chuckled, though the chortles sounded forced, nervous. We all knew the “final phase of this thing” might be the final phase for everyone on Earth. But apparently there wasn’t any time to waste. He quickly introduced the others in the room (except for the Secret Service agents), who included, of course, the Vice-President and Secretary of State, both of whom greeted me warmly. “Let’s get started, shall we?” said the head speechwriter, indicating where I should sit. Chairs scraped, people thumped into them, and the meeting began.

  The first part of the session was devoted to questions about my experience in a number of areas: public speaking (I was given a bye on that one, having spoken to the world through two high-profile press conferences), debate, negotiation, history, world geography. By now I knew something about the art of negotiation, particularly with Walter, but not, of course, with world leaders. As for history and geography, I, like most Americans, was compelled to regret that I had wasted my life watching football games and the like when I could have been doing something more important. I was given a book of maps and two thin primers: one about the United Nations, which I was advised to read “as soon as convenient,” and the other a brief history of the world. I was pointedly informed that I would be tutored more fully in these subjects “if there’s time.” Then, with a big sigh, the chair finally got to the crux of the issue, the purpose for this and the other task forces, maybe the purpose of all our lives: what I would be saying to the Security Council on Saturday.

  After that, the meeting was turned over to a “special guest,” a former President renowned for his speechmaking ability. I didn’t know much about his diplomatic skills, but it dawned on me that he had probably spent much of his career pleading with the leaders of the nations of the world, as well as the United States Congress, for moderation, reason, and good sense. Indeed, he had achieved many successes, and if anyone knew how to convince the world of something it was probably him. I only wished Walter had approached the ex-President instead of me.

  “Now, Dr. Brewer,” he began, “the most important advice I can give you at the outset is to remain calm during your presentation to the Security Council. No matter what you’re thinking, no matter if you are interrupted or even sneered at, no matter what happens, you will need to remain perfectly calm. It is always best to speak in measured tones, and at a low level. You will have a microphone, and fluent translators, so you can speak in a normal tone of voice. If you feel any emotion, it should not show in your voice or your countenance.

  “For the most part you will be reading your speech from a plain piece of paper, but you should look up occasionally to the five member representatives of the most powerful nations on Earth. Briefly. A second or two. You don’t stare at anyone. It’s fine to be nervous, but at the same time you must appear confident and knowledgeable, even if your mind happens to wander or go blank.” Before I could ask how my mind could wander under such circumstances, he shrugged and said, “It happens.” Several in the room nodded. He quickly went on. “It’s okay to have a tiny smile on your lips, but there will be no humorous remarks, nor will you express any anger or frustration or scowling of any kind. You will be sitting, and this will reduce the tension you might experience by standing. It would be stupid of me to advise you to completely relax. Under the circumstances, that would be impossible.

  “Of course this all comes under the heading of preliminary advice. We will go over all these things again and again, and we will practice and practice, but you should have all this in mind at the outset. We will have plenty of time to work on your presentation. In fact, that is about all we’ll be doing for the next two days. The other task forces will take care of the other matters. From now on, the only thing all of us in this room will be thinking about, and working on, is your speech. This is true not only because it is probably the most important one of your life, or perhaps anyone’s life, but because with familiarity comes confidence. It’s like Carnegie Hall: practice makes perfect, or as nearly perfect as we, and you, can get it.”

  Without another word he turned the meeting over to the head speechwriter/ chairman, who asked, “Dr. Brewer, do you have any questions at this point?”

  “Yeah. How do I get out of this?”

  More titters, though not from the chair. “Anyone else have a comment or question?” he asked solemnly.

  A former Secretary of State, who had spoken at the United Nations many times, suggested, “Perhaps it would be worthwhile to give Dr. Brewer a collection of speeches made to the Security Council? With video if possible?”

  “Point well taken,” the chair agreed, nodding to someone at the end of the table. “Anything else?”

  “Perhaps we should give Dr. Brewer a chance to read the material and think about all this a bit before we proceed?” the Vice-President suggested.

  “Fine,” said the speechwriter. “But let’s take a little time to go into some of the issues first. Here is what we know so far.” He gazed at Mike and me before proceeding. “Please correct me if I’m wrong about any of this.” He looked down at a little brown notebook lying on the table in front of him. “Briefly, a race of aliens called the Bullocks have sent a representative, or representatives, to the Earth to demand that we stop killing each other.” He looked up for a moment and interjected thoughtfully, “Not such a bad idea, I might add — under different circumstances, of course. But we only have a year to accomplish the first phase of this program. The good news is that we only have to stop 20% of the killing in the next twelve months.

  “I’ve been informed that the total number of fatalities due to war, civil or otherwise, atrocities, protests, executions, gun violence, and all the rest, currently amounts to approximately 650,000 human lives every year. Twenty per cent of this number would amount to about 130,000 fewer killings worldwide. I personally think this is a reachable goal. Does anyone here think otherwise?”

  If anyone did, he or she said nothing to contest this optimistic assessment. Walter, regardless of his expressed view on the subject, likewise had no comment.

  “The bad news is that we need to end at least 20% more of it by the end of the second year, and to begin to curtail the killing, during that same time period, of all the other animal species that inhabit the Earth.” He glanced at me. “This means we all have to start becoming vegetarians, and to put an end to practices such as hunting and fishing, and animal-based research, and so on, and we’d better get that idea across as soon as possible, would you agree, Dr. Brewer?”

  I nodded glumly. “My daughter Abby will be delighted by that conclusion.”

  “So will a lot of animals, I imagine,” said the chair. “The other thing is that if we fail, in year one or year two, the Bullocks will eliminate human life from the planet Earth in some unspecified way. And finally, it appears they are quite capable of doing this, as evidenced by their ability to make certain well-known structures and their human inhabitants disappear and reappear at will.” He paused again to sip a glass of water. “The purpose of this sub-committee is not to determine how all these things can be accomplished, but how to convince the rest of the world that it is necessary that we do so, and that every single country in the world will need to co-operate in this endeavor. That there can be no doubt about the outcome if we fail to comply. Did I leave anything out?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said wanly, wishing I had had a little nap, “though it should be pointed out that there are inducements. An earlier visitor, this one from K-PAX, left us with a veritable encyclopedia describing in a language we can’t yet decipher, everything we might want to know about the sciences — space and time travel, the origin and fate of the universe and all that, as well as medical advances such as how to manipulate our DNA, and a lot more. I have personally experienced both types of travel, and I can assure yo
u that they are feasible. It even seems that I can do these things on my own, though I couldn’t begin to explain to you how I do them. I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  The former Secretary of State asked: “Would you be able to give the Security Council a demonstration of these things when the time comes?”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I stammered, “I — I don’t know. Even if I could, the members wouldn’t know about it. While I’m gone, time would not move for them.”

  “How is that possible?”

  “The Bullocks told me that time is like the pages in a book, where each quantum of time is one page. You can travel in another dimension without turning the pages, so time doesn’t pass for anyone else.”

  “Could you bring something back from one of these ‘journeys’?”

  “No. There is no interaction with the three spatial dimensions we know about.”

  The former President said, “That’s not quite true, is it, Dr. Brewer? You could conceivably bring back information.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Let’s say you visited the year 1492. If you could tell us something that only a scholar would know about, something about Christopher Columbus’s family, or what he might be wearing, that should convince at least the scholar that you were there.”

  “Yes, I see what you mean.”

  “Or what if you took a camera?”

  I felt like an idiot. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  Someone else in the group (wasn’t he a former patient of mine?) suggested, quite seriously, “Let’s make it easier. You could visit any of the permanent members at home the morning before your speech and tell him what he had for breakfast. We could give you his co-ordinates — ”

  “Hold it, hold it,” interrupted the chair. “Perhaps we could set up another committee to figure out the best approach to this. In the meantime, Dr. Brewer, maybe you could practice your technique. Apparently you’ve got all the time in the world once you’re in the — uh — fourth dimension. Let’s move on, shall we?”