by Peter Ness
Goto flicked his half-smoked cigarette onto the ground, and then placing his foot firmly on it he ground it in hard with his heel. As if reading Goto’s mind, the orb rose further above the ground now, flittering silently towards the service station.
Goto standing, legs planted wide apart, impatiently popped another Viscount cigarette out of its pack, deftly tossing it between his lips. Reaching through the driver’s open side window now he glanced at the matches strewn on the floor and depressed the cigarette lighter. Pop! Pulling it out Goto lit his smoke which hung limp out of the side of his mouth, sucking in the air. The end of the cigarette lighter slowly cooled from a glowing dull red to a dirty grey. Goto’s head shot up sharply as a sudden noise from the trees startled him. The cigarette lighter slid out of his twitching fingers, falling, and bouncing off the palm of his other hand.
‘Ouch!’ he cried, jerking his left hand back. He flicked the cigarette lighter off, wincing as the burning flesh smoldered. The burn mark slowly faded, then vanished as the skin miraculously healed over, repairing itself, turning a bright pink. Goto grimaced.
Several crows flew into the air flapping and cawing loudly. Goto’s eyes danced up at the crows. Something bustled in the nearby three meter canopy of shrubs. Twigs cracked. And then Goto’s eyes flashed down to pierce the undergrowth, spying nothing.
Bending now, Goto picked the lighter up from off the ground. Then he leant through the panel van’s front window pushing it impatiently back into its slot on the console. Rubbing the still-tender hand he peeled off some loose burnt skin.
‘Now that is itchy.’ He scratched at it. His eyes moved up from the fresh pink skin, towards the service station where a shiny brand new white Toyota Landcruiser was pulling up in a pool of thick billowing dust alongside a faded blue diesel fuel bowser. It drew up just behind the red-brown petrol bowsers.
‘What can I do you for boss?’ Lance, the aboriginal attendant, asked as he limped across to the vehicle. And then he halted, leaning on his broom. He rubbed his knee cap, an old sports injury, exacerbated by gout. ‘Oh. It’s you Cliff.’ Cliff Horris climbed out, slamming the door shut and passing his keys across.
‘Can you top it up with diesel please Lance,’ Cliff replied, noting that Lance was missing several front teeth. ‘He must have had a punch up,’ Cliff pondered to himself. ‘And—. Hey Lance. Mate—. Is the Daily Times in yet?’ he added, dragging his fingers back through his thick dark hair. Meticulous, he tucked the front of his red and black checkered, long-sleeved cotton shirt below his belt.
‘Yes boss,’ Lance answered, slowly removing his glasses and wiping the lens on his own shirt. ‘There should still be a few left.’ Sliding his glasses back on Lance squinted back at Cliff through them. Then he played nervously with his faded, worn, blue baseball cap deliberately pushing it on his head back-to-front. Lance picked up the bucket and with one eye on Cliff, and then he began washing the Toyota’s windscreen. The previous stranger had really freaked Lance out. The freshly-shaven familiar face of Cliff with his short brown hair, and long bushy eyebrows was a welcome sight. Cliff left Lance alone now, and trouncing across the gravel in his blue denim jeans he stepped over the puddle and walked into the building. The bell jingled noisily.
‘So you bought a new jacket?’ Lance grunted, eyeing off Cliff’s new shiny leather jacket, perched on the passenger side seat of the vehicle. ‘I was hoping you’d return with a wife. Hmm. Perhaps Cliff’s too old; looks like he settled for the jacket.’ Lance chuckled at his own joke. And then he began to work the diesel pump.
The bell jingled again, the door bouncing shut on its creaking hinges behind Cliff. Striding across now Cliff placed the newspaper on the Toyota’s bonnet, bent over it and surveyed the front page: September 20, 1973. Cliff shivered as cold air shot up his spine. A slight breeze flapped the pages of the newspaper now as the near-invisible bubble-entity hovered behind him, the girl inside peering down over his shoulder at the headlines: “UFO landing — military analyze circular burn-mark in local paddock.”
Cliff eyed off the picture of two farmers standing in the middle of a large circular black burn mark. The reporter’s name, Jesus Revierra, was written below the caption in small italic print. A third man in the photo, an Australian military officer held a Geiger counter. As Cliff looked closely the numbers on the Geiger counter seemed to spring out of the page at him, bouncing up and shining into his face. He flicked his eyes shut in shock, opening them again.
‘What do you make of this Lance?’ Cliff then asked, tapping at the picture, recollecting his own similar recent incident. ‘Jesse and Ashton Hani saw a flying saucer land in their back yard.’ Lance adjusted his glasses. Unaware of the bubble-entity hovering next to him, he poked his head over Cliff’s shoulder now, scanning the headlines.
‘That’s an unlikely story boss,’ Lance replied. ‘They probably just drank too much grog, especially Ashton. I know him well.’ Indeed he did. They were close friends.
‘Hmm, they’re your mates aren’t they?’ Cliff asked. Lance nodded. ‘So, they got back from Vietnam in one piece then?’
‘Yes boss, but only two of them. Frankie died in Nam and Jackie’s in a wheel chair. Life’s a real bitch—. And then you marry one. Well, some of us do anyway. Where’ve you been? That was ages ago,’ Lance replied. He toyed with his cap, rotating it; no wonder it was frayed.
‘Oh! Sorry to hear about that. Either no-one told me, or I plain forgot,’ Cliff said, and then he added. ‘I just got back from a stint up in Queensland, several weeks ago.’ Cliff surveyed the newspaper photo. ‘You know,’ he tapped the page with his wrinkled finger, ‘That — that — looks a lot like a black crop circle I found in my paddock just yesterday.’ Cliff turned and hawked up some phlegm, spitting it onto the ground. Lance screwed up his face and turned the other way. Cliff abruptly dismissed his own conclusions. ‘Ah! It’s probably just Jack Henton and his lads playing pranks again. What does it say here Lance?’ He squinted to read the paper. ‘Ashton Hani says they saw half a dozen midgets wandering around outside the craft. They waved to the midgets. The midgets waved right back. Would aliens do that? Hell no. Ashton concluded that it was probably just the Japs. Yep. That makes perfect sense to me.’
In those days, all the superior electronics, cars and other gadgets were Made in Japan. And, as all Australians knew back then, Japanese are much shorter than Anglo-Saxons. Many Australians these days are of Asian heritage, they know that Japanese are not that short, and the technology gap is much less. In the 1970’s our perceptions were different, biased from ignorance. However, an increasing supply of immaculately dressed Japanese and Korean tourists, laden with all the most modern accessories, helped create those urban myths. Thus, it was easier to envision a flying saucer made in Japan, or even America, than one made by aliens. And Cliff did.
‘Hey! What the heck is that?’ Lance grabbed at Cliff’s shirt, pointing at Goto’s blue orb which hovered slowly towards them.
‘What the—?’ Cliff stepped backwards startled, almost knocking Lance over. The newspaper flapped about wildly on the bonnet. The small bubble-entity rose, edging up to the safety of the top of the building now.
‘I’m not hanging around here,’ Sam said, ‘Let’s go,’ and the entity shot away at high speed.
The hovering blue spinning orb stopped, levitating, a mere twenty meters away. Stepping backwards now their eyes opened widely as the top hemisphere of the orb rose open. With a sudden humming roar a swarm of robotic insect-like creatures — each the size of a small bee, or a large fly — buzzed out. Aghast, the men both stepped backwards further, eyes searching for safety. Now, the swarm split into two groups, circling the orb in opposing directions, the humming increasing in intensity. Joining forces now the artificial robotic intelligences formed a double-helix pattern, buzzing towards the service station. And then, they spied the men. As the swarm approached him, Cliff picked up the newspaper. Rolling it up and ducking his head he swatted at them, flicking them away
, hurriedly ducking for the safety of his vehicle.
‘Get away from me you blighters,’ he croaked, jerking back in jittery jumps.
An insect-like robotic creature landed on Lance’s back, just like it was landing on a helipad at the top of a steep, wind-blown mountain. It steadied itself as a gust of wind sucked past. Then it clambered mechanically up to Lance’s collar and dove onto an ear lobe. Two tiny pale blue bulbous and beady eyes peered into Lance’s huge volcano-like ear. The creature crawled over the rim, tripping over its own eight feet. Lance tapped at his ear. Then, he flicked it off. It fell, splat, onto the ground so he stepped on it. The insect vaporized under his foot, wafting up a vomiting aroma of rotten egg gas. Lance turned his head away, dry reaching.
‘It’s not from around here,’ the thought flashed through Lance’s mind. Then his head rotated towards the building door and he hobbled hurriedly in that direction.
Now, Lance began beating, flicking, at the engulfing swarm with his blue frayed cap. That only made things worse. Another bug landed on his chin, and then crawling up his cheek it dropped its wings. They fell, like crystal petals bouncing off a trampoline, onto Lance’s shoulder. His hand rose and he flicked the insect-like creature off. Landing on the side of his neck its pale blue beady eyes checked out his dark wrinkled skin rolls. Then flipping itself end-on-end vertically, several flanges opened up and it drilled rapidly into his flesh. A sharp pain, like a scorching blunt drill bit tore into the flesh. Caught momentarily in the thin breeze the insect’s wings blew off of Lance’s shoulder.
Only a few more paces to the door. Grabbing at his neck, which was on fire now, Lance screamed from the burning agony. Fine chunks of flesh mixed with blood, matted with hair, sprayed into the air. Blood splattered out, squirting up over his shirt and the back of his head. His knees buckled, growing weak. And then Lance’s legs finally gave way, his hand clutching at, but missing, the door handle. Sliding down the door towards the ground now, he gradually lost consciousness fainting, falling face first to the ground with a dull thud! Then, a small pulsating red worm-like dot began to form, glowing, writhing beneath the skin on the back of his neck. In slow motion, the wings floated down in the soft breeze, vaporizing as they crash-landed into the cement.
Meanwhile, Cliff Horris had a few problems of his own. As the insect swarm buzzed him, he continued to beat them off with the rolled up newspaper. Hurriedly opening the Toyota Landcruiser door, he jumped inside, slamming the door shut. Now winding up the window hastily, he breathed a sigh of relief, squishing an insect with one hand. He turned his head away from the pungent odor. An insect clambered mechanically up the back of his shirt. It hopped onto the nape of the back of his neck, shed its wings, rotating end-on-end. Several small flanges opened up and the object began to whirl like a drill bit.
As it cut into his skin Cliff screamed in agony. His hands grappled at the intense burning heat of his neck. A fine mist of blood and meat splattered on and then dripped off the white vinyl roof. It covered the dashboard with red lines of blood spray. In slow motion, the wings fell, colliding with the seat next to Cliff, vaporizing. Cliff’s neck began to emit a red pulsating glow, the worm under his skin wriggling and writhing in pleasure. His head fell forward smashing hard into the horn, which blared loudly.
Further up the road Pops sat at the table outside the shop, drinking from a glass, watching the tennis game. Squinting at the woman, he wished he was decades younger.
‘Forty-thirty,’ he heard the male player yell as he smashed down a serve. It landed with a thud into the net. So did the next ball. The man’s partner, a young nurse, ran to pick up the balls, throwing them back over the fence with a loud laugh. Pops laughed with her.
‘Deuce! Now its forty all,’ she giggled. ‘You did that on purpose.’ Her face suddenly drained of color as it rotated across towards the service station. Then pointing towards the swarm of approaching insects, concern grew on her young face. Her eyes darted around for somewhere to run.
Pops, attention now focused on his bottle of cider, missed that part of the action. Hands trembling, he slowly watched the bouncing cider pour into his glass. Shaking the bottle now he extracted the last drop. Then, placing the bottle back down and picking up his glass with a shaking hand he raised it to his lips, and sucked down the cider slowly. The bubbling, soothing, cider dribbled down his parched throat. Glancing over towards the service station now Pops watched the commotion, chuckling softly. It sure looked a comedy. Lance was dancing around like a clown. Oops! He tripped over and climbed back up again. Ha! He fell over again banging into the door. And then his eyes glinted as Cliff Horris ran about like a madman beating some bees away, trying desperately to get in his own vehicle. He laughed loudly, spraying cider everywhere.
The girl in the entity had returned, watching now from a safe distance.
The shop door swung open with a whining creak. A tanned teenager — Hani the Heni — and his younger sister — Jo— ambled out, the door catching Heni’s arm as it bounced back. Hani the Heni jerked his arm away, feeling a stinging sensation. Clunk! The door bounced shut. Heni’s eyes were so dark that only a dot of light was reflected. The Jo girl, on the other hand, was much younger, only ten years old. Her hair was also brown just much darker. Curling up at the base, it covered her shoulders. The children were half-laughing, sharing some joke.
The Jo girl spied the wig on her grandfather’s head. It bounced as Pop’s head rotated back toward the service station, sliding lop-sided. She smiled in amusement, her brown eyes reflecting the light. The smile vanished as she saw the pending insect attack unfolding. Her legs wobbled gently. Her arm holding the ice-cream shook. Hani the Heni’s hands and knees trembled ever so slightly. The children’s eyes widened and their mouths dropped wide open.
A robotic bee-like insect landed like a helicopter would on the table in front of Pops. Two tiny creamy-blue sad beady eyes looked up at him, flashing a quick nervous glance across at the children.
‘And, what have we here?’ Pops asked, the old codger’s leathery and wrinkled face surveying it. Pop’s hands shook in a shaky, jerky movement; this, a result of too many strokes — blood clots in the brain — as he emptied the glass. Setting his empty drinking glass down now, Pops slowly picked up his reading glasses, sliding them on. Adjusting his wig he peered down at the creature, perplexed. ‘You are an unusual looking fellow. So—, how are we today little guy?’ Pops spoke to the artificial intelligence. Reaching across slowly he picked up the empty glass again, so as not to scare off the insect. His hand shook involuntarily in weak jerky convulsions as he rotated the glass upside down and then quickly plonked it over the insect. It blinked at him bemused. ‘Let’s see if you can get out of that one!’ Pops said smiling, tapping his wrinkled finger on the table next to the glass.
The insect’s head rotated up. Its sad beady blue eyes seemed to smile unnervingly. A faint ray of light flashed out of the insects eyes, bouncing over the inside of the glass. For a split second it stood analyzing the glass, ignoring him. Then without warning it began drilling into the glass, which abruptly shattered. Smashed fragments and slithers of glass sprayed, crashing over the table. The smile rapidly disappeared from Pop’s wrinkled face. He recoiled back in his seat. Then he winched.
‘Ouch! That hurts.’ Lifting his shaking hand to his mouth Pops sucked the blood from a cut finger. The artificial intelligence peered up into his eyes. Its wings floated off its back in slow motion. Then the insect abruptly pounced onto Pop’s hand, protruding metal flanges opening out. Then, spinning like a drill they cut a swathe into his flesh. The blood and fine meat squirted into the air, with a thin mist of spray covering the table. Eyes filling with intense pain, Pops squirmed from the burning, stinging heat. Now his head began to drop, sagging. The loose exoskeleton from the insect fell onto its side and then bounced onto the ground, where it vaporized. A red bulb-like glow writhed and squirmed below the skin of his hand. In seconds, the worm burrowed up Pop’s arm and then up his neck. A
lump finally formed below Pop’s cheek, sliding around to the back of his neck. Finally, the grub embedded itself in the area near the visual cortex. Pops smiled.
Then, Pop’s head bounced back as a pair of thin wires tore into his neck and shot rapidly into the brain, accessing the hippocampus. From there, the grub controlled both what he saw — through the visual cortex — and his short-term memory — via the hippocampus. The back of Pop’s neck began to emit a red, pulsating, writhing, glow. His head finished its descent, bouncing hard off the resonating table. Glass fragments were flung back into the air, with a resonating crash onto the table and ground. A few seconds later Pops sat up stretching his wearing arms. Yawning, he rubbed his neck. Darn! It throbbed, burning like anything. He had no recollection of what just transpired.
‘What just happened?’ Hani the Heni glanced at his sister. The Jo girl shrugged. ‘P — Pops? Are you okay?’ Heni stammered. Taking a step forward, Heni halted, eyes focused on his grandfather. A metallic pendant dangling from around the boy’s neck emitted a faint green glow. Then he dismissed it all offhand. ‘It’s just the pendant playing tricks with our minds again.’
‘Hey! That looks familiar,’ Sam, the girl in the bubble-entity, spoke to the entity. To the ignorant the pendant looked just like a brass coin with a hole in the middle. Glancing down at the pendant nervously Hani the Heni tucked it deep into his shirt pocket. It bounced out again of its own accord and began pulsating.
‘It looks real to me.’ The Jo girl took one look at the growling pendant, licked her ice-cream nervously, and reached for her brother’s hand. Jo’s knees buckled and her hands shook.