by Peter Ness
The aliens had narrow chins and large rounded heads, slightly elongated towards the back. With no noticeable eyebrows or eyelashes, they were otherwise completely bald. Their alien faces were pale grey with faded markings, like faint leopard spots, with a light satin-gold color around the edges of the eyes. These markings were much stronger highlighted, and emphasized on the taller females. The big rounded pitch-black eyes smiled intelligently. Thin slits, gills, on the sides of the neck kept opening and closing. And the fine bubble-like hollow structures where the ears should be vibrated in and out like a radio speaker. Bipedal, the creature’s arms were proportionally long with respect to their legs, with four rather long, slender fingers. The arms dangled limply at their sides as they walked ungainly. Neither ape nor human, they were nimble.
Molded to fit the body, their almost transparent white overalls had no pockets and no seams. The background scenery shone through their clothing creating Chameleon camouflage.
Otherwise, from such a distance they might pass as human to someone like Ashton who was in desperate need of glasses.
The oats around the outside of the spacecraft were leveled, and the area below scorched a carbon black. Two small beings wandered around the base of the spacecraft making cicada-like clicking, humming noises with intermittent grunts and clicks. One (Reda) limped slightly, presumably injured. He held an instrument of some kind. Walking around and around the craft now he kept pointing it at various plants then looking up and clicking to those standing at the top of the entrance ramp to the spacecraft.
Three more aliens stood in a small huddle near the edge of the trees. After briefly exchanging glances, they peered down into a small divot, a hole they had excavated into the ground. Lena, the female with the strong golden leopard-like markings on the sides of the temple of her smaller female head, towered above the others. She pointed an electronic instrument into the air one handed, then into the opening in the ground.
Another small alien in this group peered down the hole. He held a small slender rectangular object with a screen. Images, including spectra, appeared in mid-air above the screen as he scanned the vegetation. He pointed the instrument at a small plant and a hologram emulation of it grew dancing above the screen. Chemical shapes and DNA spirals again appeared as three dimensional images. He wiped his hand above the screen then pointed at the ground, grunting and clicking. Yes, they needed a sample of that plant. He pointed at it and Lena, the taller female, took a sample and placed it into a clear hollow tube.
The third small being peering down the excavation, Ravi, wore a felt hat. He kept stopping, doing hand-stands. Ashton focused, his eyes zooming in on the hat. Even without his glasses he felt certain that it was an Australian Army slouch hat.
The little fellow wearing the hat (Slouch-hat Ravi) now stood staring intently at a small head-high gum tree. Pulling off a leaf he analyzed it with his instrument, and then decided to sample it. The taste of eucalyptus was too pungent so he spat it out in disgust, hurriedly grabbing several leaves and placing them into a bag. Some plants were growing closer to the ground, so Slouch-hat Ravi bent down and snatched several samples, sniffing a plant which was already showing signs of flowers. He sneezed. Hearing Ravi’s clicking one of the others came up and took a look, pointed at the purple flowers and held out a bag. A mouth-like shape opened up from the top of bag subsequently devouring the sample with a gulp. Then, a flash sucked it into a hidden compartment in his arm, like magic.
Interestingly, just two of the creatures wore any protective suit or breathing apparatus. These chaps appeared to be doing repairs to the under-carriage of the craft. Vapor vented from the sides of the base of the craft. The mist sunk down encompassing, swirling, about their feet.
Dad scratched his head wondering whether the vapor modified the local atmosphere at the base of the craft, or whether the craft was just venting smoke like a conventional engine.
The second creature walking around the craft (Oki) looked across, then spying Ashton and Jesse pointed, emitting a clicking, gurgling grunt.
‘Hey! Look! It is them smelly human beings that Lena, Mira and Izumo tagged,’ Oki clicked.
‘Yes. They’re the ones that we tagged in the war zone,’ Lena, the tall thin female replied, laughing. ‘I can smell their markers on the life-signs sensor array.’
‘I feared them then and I fear them now,’ Mira clicked moving back up the ramp to safety. ‘They again have killing weapons and again we have no protection.’
‘Ah! But for the prophecy,’ Lena added.
The other aliens turned and stared intently at the humans, who stared back. They traded glances inquisitively for a few seconds. Then one of the creatures, the one with a limp (Reda) then made a gesturing sign to the visitors, a bit like a wave — as if to let them know they meant no harm. And then he turned and hobbled back up the ramp into the craft. Reda then walked back out and down the ramp again. Then Reda, the much taller Lena, and other the short creature that seemed to be in charge (Oki) now moved behind the craft. There they became obscured in the vapor-like mist and vanished from view.
Meanwhile, the little beings under the flying disc made repairs to the base of the craft, in an area with a large serrated gaping hole. The craft had been fired on and appeared severely damaged. One of the beings pointed some object at the gaping hole and the craft slowly repaired itself, like it would were it an organic life form.
The remaining aliens stared across towards the ugly, smelly, revolting humans, and then hurriedly finished what they were doing. A noisy shuffling ensued as the creatures rustled up the ramp to re-enter the craft. They weren’t hanging around here!
Now, a cloaked and hooded figure of a tall man with a pale white face, bright piercing blue eyes with white pupils emerged at the top of the ramp. His complexion decidedly European, the man stood peering towards the humans. A pendant hung from his neck, dangling, swinging slightly from side to side in the breeze. Izumo lifted his hand, waving at the strangers in friendship. Yes, he remembered their foul smell from Vietnam too. So, they did survive.
‘Ah! But, for the prophecy,’ Izumo grunted with a shudder. ‘I don’t see the Prima, but the smell of his pendant is in the air.’ He sniffed, turning his head back towards the road where we children were. Then he sniffed again. ‘Where the pendant is, so too is the Prima.’
‘Yes, the prophecy,’ Slouch-hat Ravi repeated as he moved past Izumo and into the craft.
‘But, Pray Lord, tell us. What is a Prima?’ Mira asked.
‘You’ll know one when you see one,’ Izumo replied, ‘and then you’ll know fear.’
‘Oki, Reda and Lena, they did not return up the ramp?’ Mira queried.
‘No. They go to seek out the Prima,’ Izumo, the Tall Pale alien, replied. ‘Ah, but for the prophecy.’
‘He sure looks like a monk,’ Dad suggested out loud. As if in response, Izumo raised his hand and waved. Ashton’s eyes focused in on the Pale faced alien.
‘Yes. He’s a monk for sure. From the Vatican, no doubt,’ he replied confidently.
And then, now that everyone that was going to do so had boarded safely, the ramp slowly lifted closing shut with a loud clunk.
The vaporous smog that swirled, hugging the base of the craft, gradually dissipated. An almost silent whirring came from the craft as it rose up, wobbling unstably to start with. And then, it glided smoothly off past the Ghost House, disappearing over the tree tops to the south-east. Soon, and with a sharp flash, it was gone from sight.
‘What do you make of that?’ Dad asked, a deep furrow forming in his forehead.
‘I have no idea. Jesse. What do you think? Was it the Japs? They looked about the same height,’ Ashton suggested, ‘Except for the tall Catholic monk.’ His face clouded over and he winced as an intense pain seared through his neck, so he clicked it.
‘Ashton. Are you joking? Did you leave your brains in Nam? They’re not from around here,’ responded a rather surprised Dad. ‘They looked like aliens to me—.
’
Ashton shook his head, dazed, confused as to what had just happened. The grub in his neck slid a tentacle of wire up into the hippocampus and began messing, scrambling with his thought processes, resetting his brain.
‘Aliens? Like, you mean ET—? Those things don’t exist. Are you honestly saying you think they’re little green men?’ Ashton replied cynically. ‘No way.’
‘Yes. At least that’s what they looked like to me, only they weren’t green. They were grey,’ Dad said, ‘Except for the Tall Pale one who looked decidedly human.’
‘Oh! I get it. Like aliens from Lost in Space?’ Ashton smirked. He meant the television series. ‘Der! You have to be kidding me Jesse. They were Yanks, Ruskies, or Japs. And that tall guy, he’s an Italian Vatican monk for sure, recognizable anywhere.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. Darn. The neck stung now, so he winced. A small red glow emanated from the area. Messing with his mind, the grub fed it with false information.
‘Is that so? Well in any case I’m going to phone the police and then the army,’ Dad replied. ‘They can come out and analyze the dark burnt crop circle and tell us what they think. Then, if they agree with you, so be it.’
‘Jesse, are you god darn out of your god dammed frigging mind? They’d think we’ve gone crazy. No way!’ Ashton spat back. The grub in Ashton’s neck re-routed his thought processes.
They opened the gate and wandered over towards the circular burn mark, which took some time. A large blackened circle cut a swathe through the edge of the waist-high green oats, which waved back and forth in the gentle breeze. The crop just outside the rim of the burnt area had been flattened. Three triangular markings, each roughly several paces across dug into the sandy loam.
Over to one side they found several holes excavated into the ground, with a small pile of soil nearby and some long thin ape-like footmarks, with three and sometimes four toe marks indented in the sand. Ashton picked up a piece of eucalyptus leaf one of the occupants had spat out onto the ground in disgust. He screwed up his face and tossed it back onto the ground.
‘Excuse me! Hey! Maybe ye can help us?’ the voice of an Irishman called out to them, from the row of trees covering the fence.
‘Sorry, we were hoping you could help. Our car broke down in Gullabilly National Park and we need a lift,’ an American voice added.
Ashton and Dad turned to see two men emerge from below the canopy of the trees. Both were in their mid to late thirties or early forties. The first, a short Texan, sported a thin bar-code haircut. The second taller man had black-hair almost down to his shoulders and a stubble beard. He badly needed to shave.
Walking towards the Australian farmers, Goto turned to Robin Grady.
‘Do you think they saw us get out of the disc?’ he asked in a soft voice.
‘No. They amn’t see us leave the spacecraft,’ Robin replied in a low voice, almost a whisper. He lifted his hand up in gesture, and raised his voice towards Ashton and Jesse. ‘Hi! My name’s Robin Grady. And this here is Goto. We’re from the university. We were on our way over to see yer neighbor, Jack Henton.’
‘What’s that?’ Dad asked pointing.
‘You mean this gravity meter here that I’m lugging?’ Robin asked. ‘It’s for measuring fluctuations in the earth’s gravitational field. I’m wondering whether ye could point us in the right direction.’
‘Jack lives just on the other side of the road behind you,’ Ashton said. ‘And that looks heavy. Maybe it’s easier if we just give you a lift?’
‘Sorry, but what do you make of this?’ Dad asked, pointing at the burn mark and the tripod markings.
‘Hmm. I amn’t say for certain but it sure looks a lot like a crop circle,’ Robin said.
‘Either that or it’s a lightning strike,’ Goto added. ‘Sorry. Where’d you say your vehicle was?’
#
Early in the morning, the next day, Ashton’s Place:
Just after sun-up a car drew up to Ashton Hani’s back door. A pudgy-looking police officer, Art, climbed out. He leaned back against the front of the police car as Ashton and Dad walked over. After shaking hands, they all leant over the front of the bonnet. Ashton bent forward now, pointing at a map. Looking up, he pointed towards the chimney of an abandoned house in the far distance. Shortly afterwards, the men climbed into the police car and it puttered off in that direction.
‘What’s going on, Mom?’ Brian asked his mother, Rosa Hani.
‘Someone killed some cows. The policeman’ll help Dad catch them and put them in jail,’ Rosa replied, waddling over to the kitchen table with a plate loaded with vegemite toast.
‘Well, it wasn’t me. Anyways, I heard Dad say it was just the Japs or the Yanks, Mom,’ Brian said, ‘But, I think that they are talking about what Heni and I saw yesterday.’
‘Japs—, Yanks—? What on Earth are you talking about? Your Dad said they had technology like the Americans or the Japanese, that’s all,’ answered a rather irritated Rosa ruffling her short dark curly hair. Rosa halted to look at her rather short plumpish rounded body in the mirror. Hmm. She needed to lose weight, but that diet could wait a few more weeks.
‘Oh! So the policeman is here to kill the men who killed the cows because they are making out they are Japanese or American, then?’ Brian asked.
‘What the—? No Brian. Of course not! You’ve seen too many American movies. This is not America. The police here don’t go around killing anyone. And, your Uncle Jesse seemed to think the folk they saw were quite friendly. From the way he talks I’m surprised that he never invited them home to dinner. Now go inside now and eat your cornflakes. The milk is on the table. No Brian! It’s not in the fridge. I said it’s on the table,’ Rosa spat out in an annoyed voice. ‘Mother of Mary! Sometimes you act retarded,’ she added. ‘Oh! That must be Jesus Revierra, the reporter. Can you get the door Brian?’
‘Hi Brian. Are your parents at home?’ a well-dressed Jesus man asked Brian. ‘I came about the crop circles. Fido’s trying to hump my leg. And, I also brought my gear for band practice.’
Chapter 15: The insect Orb
The next day, at Crackatinnie School: Thursday, September 20th, 1973, 3:15 p.m.
Pops picked us up from school at precisely 3:15 p.m. that Thursday afternoon. I stood in line in my grey shorts, with my open collar blue shirt only half tucked in, waiting patiently for our muddy yellow square-nosed Crackatinnie School bus to arrive. Children scrambled, pushing, shoving and jockeying for positions while chatting noisily. And then, they clambered onto their respective buses. Our bus pulled up in a puddle, splatting mud into the air as it groaned to a halt. Long-haired Raymond Henton and I both hastily moved backwards to avoid the mud splatter. Mud dribbled off the bare leg of his elder brother Charlie. Rubbing mud of his backside, the unkempt red-haired immediately hurled abuse and gave the driver a two finger salute. Then, he wiped mud off his hand onto his dangling gungy blue shirt and long grey pants with holes in the kneecaps. Then he kicked his bag up the line roughly. Crunch! Something broke inside, a ruler perhaps? Picking it up one-handed now he hauled it onto the bus complaining incessantly.
The words “Caution — School Bus”, written in black ink below the grimy, splattered, back window were etched below a thick brown rust of dusty, mud. At the back of the line, a lanky mousy brown-haired Raymond Henton tugged at my arm. He pointed with a broad grin at the little yellow car shuddering past. Vibrating and shaking, its breaks creaking, Pops’ greenish-yellow Volkswagen drew up with a groan in front of the bus. It misfired on one cylinder and creaked to a squeaking, trembling halt. The bus in front of him roared off in a pile of black soot, just as Pops stuck his neck out of the car window. He yelled out at Jo in a soft, hoarse, voice. As Jo trundled past the Volks-mobile the faint whisper of her name spat past like confetti floating in the wind. Stopping suddenly, she jerked her head around sharply.
‘Oh, it’s you. Hi Pops.’ Jo chucked her bag into the vehicle.
‘Bye Raymond.’ I lugged my heavy s
chool bag over, tossed it in and then slithered like a sardine into the small car. Glancing back across at Amanda I lifted my hand and smiled. Our eyes met briefly and she waved back with a confident smile. Pops nodded at Amanda through the window, and then began adjusting his wig in the rear vision mirror. Noting my cheesy grin he chose to give me some friendly advice as we puttered off.
‘As a young scrapper, I once fell in love with two women at the same time. They were all over me begging me to take them on dates, to buy them things, to come to their houses and meet their parents, and to study with them. I didn’t know which to choose. As it turned out, I never had to. They both just used me.’ Pop’s eyes spat out hate. ‘One used me to get an introduction to my rich cousin Jim Porter, who still owns the Used-car Depot down the street. The other girl used me as a study jock, so she could pass her college entrance exams. After the war, I turned up with a bouquet of flowers. The first girl opened the door with my inebriated half-sloshed cousin Jim in tow, leaning on his arm.
‘I bumped into the other girl down the street a few days later. She treated me like a stranger — didn’t even recognize me.’ Pops paused, with a saddened sigh. ‘You may think that girl likes you Heni, or that she’s your girlfriend, but don’t assume too much too soon.’ Pops readjusted his wig. ‘Demoralized, I decided to end it all there and then. Since I had nothing left to live for, I would take my own life. So, I strode back down the street, bought the smallest, cheapest dingy from Cousin Jim, took a packed lunch and headed out to sea towards Twosacrowd Island. That’s just on the other side of Justanuva Island.
‘It seemed like a nice day to die so I decided some fishing wouldn’t hurt before ending it all. But, the blasted fish foiled my plan. The blighters just kept jumping on the line, and into the boat. Soon the boat was overflowing, brimming with the flicking of silver-tails. Looking at the huge pile of fish it seemed a waste to catch them and throw them all back. I could always sell them, buy a decent meal and come back to top myself tomorrow. As I slowly rowed the heavily laden dingy back towards shore, water began lapping in over the sides. Then it started taking in water, seeping in through its rotten wooden floor. Soon it began to sink. Yes. You guessed it. My cobber, my best mate Cousin Jim, had deliberately sold me a dud knowing full well that shit would happen the first time I used it. Well, the dingy just sat there ebbing and flowing, with the occasional wave rocking it violently, as I threw a few of the smaller fish over the side and bailed out water frantically.