The time area was silent for many seconds.
“Oh,” the body maker said, attempting to inject surprise into its tone, “I did not realize you were done gifting me with lame and inconsequential excuses. Let me see,” it tapped its rock-hard chin with a boney digit, “this crew will need two new members, if I am one with the numbers.”
It closed its eyes, and secreted two tiny clan…what… kids? Whatever. Two little revolting things oozed from the body maker. They stood, motionless. It leaned down and breathed pure time over their hideous little bodies. They swelled, or grew, or, whatever. They became larger, quickly.
The body maker turned to the new signal maker. “Your last assignment was …” he asked.
“Re … repair maker, sewage patrol and dust remediation.” Bureaucracies. Always with the big title for minor things.
The body maker breathed again on one of his spawn. “There, you are Repair Maker-wowo. Go to your station. Do not dally here any longer.”
The new RM dashed off. He pleased the body maker in that he already knew to fear the body maker.
To the remaining bud, or whatever, the body maker said, to himself, “This one's duties I already concur with.”
He breathed on it. Vector Maker-cac, report to your station. There you will find a pestilence, befouling my ship. Kill it, eat what you can, and deliver the remainder to the nearest waste disposal availability. Do not—I repeat—do not make a mess on this station. Is that clear?”
“Yes, Body Maker-lol.”
The new crew-it sprinted over to a very wide-eyed vector maker and ripped its throat out in less than the blink of an eye. It dutifully lapped up what little he could, and toted away its predecessor.
Some might consider the lives of the clan bleak and tormented, but they certainly were efficient little buggers.
“Find me that ship,” were the body maker's last remarks to his ever-more-attentive crew. It left for its chambers, not to dance, but to stew. It hated stewing, but, what was a body maker to do, burdened as it was by such help?
The new vector maker lowered its head. “What is to constitute our present vector?”
“Resume routine time tunneling. Order all clan ships to do the same. We can feed while we hunt our prey,” replied the OOD.
SIXTEEN
Tank opened his front door, cautiously. He hated that he felt pre-guilty enough to instinctively do so, but there it was.
“Honey, I'm home,” he called out in a volume barely above a whisper.
No response.
“Maybe she's taking a nap?” he said to Sachiko.
“Does she take naps?”
“Never.”
“Ah.”
“Let's try the backyard.”
She followed without comment. The french doors were open, a breeze wafting at the curtains, playfully. Daisy stood with her back to the house, watering a patch of bright, cheery annuals.
Tank gulped. He took a big breath. He stepped one foot toward his wife, then pulled the errant foot back, like he was about to tread on a rattler. He repeated the gulp.
“It's about time you returned from the dead,” Daisy called out rather loudly, without turning. “Nice to see you, Ms. Jones. I'm betting you can find yourself out?” That was a dismissal, not an actual question.
“May I use the restroom, first?”
“If you must.”
She looked to Tank as if to say that she must.
Tank marveled at how Daisy knew Sachiko was even with him. But he knew. It was because he was in just that much trouble, that's why.
“Hey, honey, your not going to believe what Shaky and I did last night.”
Daisy shifted the stream to a row of perennials, just behind the color spots. “You want to take another swing at your first remark after dropping off the face of the Earth with your student?”
“You know, you're going to laugh when you hear just how true that remark is, how close you are to home, there.”
Daisy turned slowly, closed the hose nozzle, and set it down on a chair. “You really think you'll have me in stitches anytime soon?”
“No, I don't think I will.” His head dropped.
“Let's take this inside, sport. Old Mrs. Knight next door doesn't need to hear this one.”
“Let's pray she doesn't,” Tank groaned, as he fell into tow behind his life partner.
Seated at the breakfast table, Daisy was as stiff and silent as a statue, a very adamantine marble statue. The only sign of life she displayed were the rhythmic tapping of her right hand fingernails on the tabletop.
“Daisy, let's not—”
She stopped tapping, raise an index, and said, “Shush.”
Sachiko could be heard to be washing her hands, down the hall.
Tank re-lowered his head.
Sachiko appeared in the entry. “Daisy, this is so different than you can possibly imagine.”
Without looking to her, Daisy said, “Good bye, Ms. Jones.”
Best Sachiko could recall, Daisy had never before addressed her so formally.
Sachiko mimed to Tank to call, and left as quietly as was humanly possible.
“Before you begin, I want to say just this,” Daisy began. “I know you two weren't in a sleazy motel playing doctor and doctorate student. I also know that, wherever you were, whatever you were doing, you could have called, and you didn't.” She folded her hands, then readied herself to hear his insufficient excuses.
“Actually, wife, I could not have called. I will tell you the God's truth. You will likely not believe it. But, know this, Daisy Jane Murdock, soon, and very soon, you will know what I'm about to say is the whole truth. When you do, I will not expect an apology, and I will still be sorry for having hurt you.”
“Perhaps I should make some popcorn? This promises to be entertaining.”
“Entertaining falls several universes short of it, here, hon.”
She sat mute, waiting.
“Do you remember the Pronto Pup guy?”
She went from statue to exploding windmill in a flash. Arms flew up, her head bounced back and forth like a child's paddle toy ball, and she grunted, hissed, and growled, all at once. “Not the imaginary friend, again. Tank, thirty seconds ago I would have staked my life on those not being the first words out of your mouth?”
“You gonna hear me out, or are you going to shut me out?” he asked flatly.
“No, no. You're right. Go on.”
“You know Sachiko and I have been working very hard lately on these time-loss events.”
Daisy nodded.
“We came to the conclusion that there is an intelligent, and hostile alien at the heart of the process.”
She started to protest, but Tank's angling of his head stopped her.
“Because of this very real threat, I called on Jon Ryan to come here, to the past, to help us.”
She pointed down with both hands. “This … this is the past?”
“To him it is, yes.”
“And, where is this savior of Earth? I mean, you can end this situation by having him materialize.”
“It's complicated. For one thing, he lives in Lubbock, Texas, right about now. If he sets foot on the planet, there'll be two of him on the loose. The possibility of someone noticing is both non-zero and devastating, were it to occur.”
“Marty McFly did okay.”
“This isn't fiction. It's very real. We used Jon's ship and we not only confirmed there are hostile aliens heading our way, but we did battle with them.”
“On horseback, with lances and magic petunias?”
“I'm deadly serious, here. They kicked our butts, is what happened. Sachiko and I have returned to try and alert someone who can get to the president. The Earth needs to begin preparing its defenses.”
“Tank, either you need a shrink, or I need a lawyer. Honey, how are you going to get an insane message to the president of the United States of America?”
Tank sulked, a little, stinging from yet another unf
air barb from his supportiveness-challenged wife.
From the entryway, a dispassionate voice said, “I think we might be in a position to help you with that task, Dr. Sherman.”
They both jumped in place and whipped their heads around. Two men in black, with dark shades and all, stood there, in at-ease stances. Aside from having committed breaking and entering, they looked so very out of place. No one, but no one wore a tie in this town, let alone a black silk suit. The sunglasses stood out because it was early morning and they were indoors. They had on long trench coats and Hyde Park hats, both black, of course.
“Good morning, Professor Sherman, Mrs. Sherman,” he touched the brim of his hat.
“If you two don't get out of my house immediately, I'm calling the cops. While I'm waiting for them to arrive, I'll personally rearrange both your smug faces.”
“Honey,” Daisy interrupted, “these two men were here looking for you yesterday. They have proper IDs. They're with—” She looked over to one of them. “What agency did you say you were with?”
“That's not important, Mrs. Sherman. May we join you?” He gestured to the chair to his left.
“Probably not,” Tank said flatly. “Whatever your selling, we're not buying. It's funeral insurance from the looks of you two goons.”
They sat, uninvited, in unison. “It's rather what you're selling that we're here about, Professor,” said MIB One.
“I don't recall a desire to sell anything? So, unless you want to see a martial arts demonstration, me versus your faces, I suggest you two bug out.”
MIB One grinned. “Yes, we know of your service to our country in the Marines, Professor Sherman. We appreciate it, deeply.”
“Oh yeah? You read about it in your junior-spy magazines?”
MIB Two pretended to chuckle. “No.” A thick folder slapped the tabletop. “In your dossier, Professor Sherman.”
Tank reached over to open it.
“Ah, ah. Sorry, that's classified material.” MIB Two pulled the folder away.
Tank looked to Daisy. “I'm bored. You bored? I say if these two aren't leaving, we should.”
“We want to know about the aliens you mentioned the other day in your news conference,” MIB One said firmly.
“You're kidding me? Someone was actually touched by that farce's efforts? Ah, necessary question here, boys. Who the hell are you?”
“I'm Special Agent Collins and this is Special Agent Montgomery.”
Montgomery tipped his hat.
“What agency do you Special Agent for?”
“One of the big ones,” replied Montgomery.
“Back to the alien invasion, Professor Sherman,” pressed Collins.
“Shouldn't my associate Sachiko Jones be here for this discussion?”
“I believe you're correct.” Montgomery lifted his lapel to his mouth. “Please bring Ms. Jones in.”
“Where is she? She left a few minutes ago.”
“Turns out she didn't make it too far. She's in our van.”
“You arrested her?”
“Professor Sherman, I'm shocked. Nothing of the kind. We had a brief discussion with her and she agreed to wait and see if you were willing to speak with us, also.”
There were two raps on the door, then MIB Three, a female agent, ushered Sachiko in.
“Shaky, grab that chair and please join us.”
One she was settled, Collins said, “Back to the aliens you speculate on.”
“Did you read our press release? It's all in there.”
“We doubt that very much, Colonel,” responded Montgomery. “We read your last ten journal articles. Ms. Jones's, too. We find much missing.”
“You're shittin' me. You two Neanderthals read journal articles. They're full of big words and long equations,” Tank scoffed.
“Ph.D. in Applied Physics, Harvard,” Collins said, raising his arm. He swung his finger to Montgomery. “Theoretical physics, Oxford.”
Montgomery gave Tank a two-fingered salute. “Class of 04.”
“What's the name of the main undergrad school for physics there?”
Without missing a beat, he shot back, “Mansfield College, old boy.”
“Okay, you pass.”
“Back to the alien invasion, Colonel.”
Tank started to respond, but Sachiko laid a hand over his. “You're a colonel?”
“Professor Sherman is still in the reserves. He's a colonel,” interjected Montgomery.
“I didn't know that,” she responded, rather stunned.
He sipped his coffee. “Sort of a hobby at this point. Gets me out of Daisy's hair one weekend a month and two weeks a year. She's a big fan.”
“Now please, I must insist, back to the alien invasion, Colonel Sherman,” said Collins.
“I'll spill the beans if you stop calling me colonel. We got a deal?”
“No problem, Professor.” Collins appeared the default answerer, and was likely in charge.
“We've observed what we are fairly certain to be artificial changes in several local galaxies. Then we realized the same changes, namely the disappearance of the central singularity in our own galaxy, had occurred. Since these cannot be the result of random natural processes, we are forced to the conclusion an advanced alien race must be causing them.”
“And how certain are you?”
“Quite.”
“And do you posit these aliens pose an imminent threat to the Earth?”
“We believe they do,” replied Sachiko
“I'm certain you both know it is common knowledge that the Milky Way has never had a supermassive black hole at its center,” Collin said a bit abashedly.
“It did up until last week,” responded Tank.
“And, as we speak, the aliens are tunneling toward us at seven times the speed of light.”
The agents exchanged looks of concern. They were duly impressed.
“We all know that's impossible,” Collin said.
“It's not impossible, if someone's doing it,” Tank said with a smile.
“Professor Sherman, you teach a course in General Relativity.”
“I know. But they could use an Alcubierre drive. Maybe they can fold in and out of real space. Who knows? All we can say is that they are.”
“Those methods would require more energy than it is possible to control.”
“For you and me, maybe. I'm just saying that's how fast they move, hence, it's not impossible,” responded Sachiko.
“We heard what you announced at your press conference, and what your notes at the university reveal. But, how can you possibly know that there is an alien spacecraft heading toward Earth?”
Tank shot Sachiko a nervous glance. “Ah, with the aid of detailed radio astronomy.” He winced once he was done. That sounded too much like a question, not a statement.
“We've been looking for you two actively,” said Collins. “If you were somewhere you could access any of the big radio facilities, we would have know about it.”
“What can I say?” Tank shrugged. “We worked off our laptops at a Starbucks and got lucky.”
Collins stood. “You're scheduled to present this information to the President of the United States, his full Cabinet, and the Joint Chiefs in four hours.”
Tank looked at his watch. “No way we can make DC in four hours. We haven't packed and we don't know the flight schedules.”
“Your suitcases are packed and in our limo. Our Gulfstream 650 is fueled and ready three miles from here. The chopper is waiting at Andrews to shuttle you to the White House. You'll be on time.”
Tank turned to Daisy. “You packed me a suitcase?”
She shook her head, dumbly.
“I did,” responded Montgomery, “while the missus watered the back garden.” He nodded to the female agent. “Agent Sandoval did so for Ms. Jones.”
“Well I'll be damned,” Tank announced to no one in particular.
“We certainly hope not,” intoned Collins.
****
*****
They were actually early to meet the POTUS. That gave Tank an opportunity to yell and browbeat some other people about the invasion of his privacy and our loss of constitutional rights at the hand of Big Brother. That was good. Collins and Montgomery were tired of his rant by the time we arrived. They were glad to pass that abuse off to someone else.
Sachiko was completely impressed. Tank was fearless. It helped that he was right. Did he ever form new anal orifices for all comers on that short trip. Well, all comers up until they entered the Situation Room. He became instantly reverential. Who wouldn't? A long cramped room full of high rollers, the POTUS seated at the head of the table, frowning. Yeah, imposing.
“Dr. Sherman, Ms. Jones, I'd like to thank you for coming upon such short notice. Your country appreciates this very much.” Darn if the POTUS didn't have that cute little Southern accent in real life, too.
“Our pleasure, President Payette. I just hope we can be helpful.” Tank was one hell of a lot calmer and more collected than Sachiko was. She kept confirming which way it was to the restroom.
“This situation you have brought to light is most worrisome. I'm sure your guidance will be the very key to our success. I think it best to let you know what we know. You've met Special Agents Collins and Montgomery. They briefed us yesterday on your findings. I think we all have a firm grasp on the general idea. We will want to press you on some details of timing and response.”
“Certainly, Mr. President.”
“First off—” Payette began.
“First, I'd like to say this is all an insulting and traitorous hoax.”
Wow. Okay, the president's National Security Advisor seemed not to be a big fan. He also just accused Tank Sherman of being a traitor. Hmm. What followed certainly promised to be entertaining.
“Now, Hugh, let's not begin with a challenge,” soothed Payette. “Let's hear what they have to say, and then decide.”
“Frank, this is horse shit and everyone knows it. Things we know to be true aren't and magical hobgoblins are drinking time with big straws? Really. This wouldn't even make a lousy science fiction novel. What was that comedy routine team in the 1970s used to say? Everything you know is wrong. Bah! These lunatics are worse than that Weird Al Yankovic.”
“I'm sorry you feel that way, Hugh,” said Tank. “A couple points of order,” he turned to the POTUS, “if it's okay with you, Sir?”
Ryan Time Page 10
