"First contact is often a bloody affair." Casteneda frowned. "Whose brilliant idea was it to put the silicone-enhanced Fawnda in charge of the greeting party?"
"It was a request from the Kalgzar." Ortiz shuffled uncomfortably. "They're fascinated by Earth popular culture; they have nothing like it. Fawnda is the leading 3V superstar; her shows are rated number one around the world."
"I love 'Get it on with Fawnda!'. What a babe!" Guzik's broad grin slowly faltered at Casteneda's expression. "I guess you... never saw that one..."
"So, what do you expect me to do?" Casteneda looked like she'd stepped in something unpleasant. "I don't imagine 'Fawnda' is exactly unused to having her clothing removed. Once she's calmed down, stage an apology by the Kalgzar and I'm sure everyone will soon forget they've been insulted. I'm no diplomat, as I am sure you've realized by now."
"You don't understand." Ortiz rubbed his forehead. "Ever since we made contact with the Kalgzar we've been fighting prejudice. They errr... don't look like us and that's triggered some 'unrest'. We call it the 'evil-alien syndrome'."
"It would be virtually impossible for a separate line of evolution to create something vaguely similar to humans. Who would imagine that they would?"
"Well, on 3V, aliens always appear pretty much like us. It's created an expectation that..."
"You're telling me that people actually base their idea of extra-terrestrial life on 3V shows?"
"Worse. Creatures with tentacles..." Ortiz coughed. "Well, they tend to be the bad guys."
Casteneda sighed. "Whenever I think I've seen the worst of human stupidity, something reminds me that I haven't."
"It may be irrational." Ortiz shrugged. "But we have to deal with it. It's a sensitive issue for the Kalgzar."
"That's hardly surprising." Casteneda folded her hands in her lap. "They mastered interstellar travel while humans were still struggling to cross open water in hide-wrapped boats. They've advanced us technologically and culturally. And what is our return to them? We resent them and think of them as monsters."
"This is what those damn aliens were after all along. They've been setting us up." Guzik fingered the gun at his waist. "We should take 'em out. Teach them they can't walk in here and start raping our women."
"Of course..." Casteneda's lips were a tight line. "We have our own ‘men’ for that."
Guzik jumped up from his chair. "I don't have to-"
"You're right, you don't." Ortiz’s teeth crunched slightly as his jaw tightened. "You're reassigned as of now. Get back to the office and wait for your next duty."
Guzik's mouth opened and closed twice. Then, without another word, he stomped past Casteneda, leaving behind only the overpowering scent of his aftershave. The sound of office workers busy in adjacent rooms seemed thunderous in the silence that followed.
"Sorry. That's the kind of thinking we have to worry about. He's not a bad man, but this situation has everyone wound up. We need to find something that will tell the world they have nothing to fear from the Kalgzar."
"Do you really believe that to be the case?" Casteneda asked. "They have the power to travel from one star-system to another; they could undoubtedly wipe us out easily."
"They're just not like that. You don't know Dh'Aht. He wanted this meeting so much. He genuinely thought humans and Kalgzar could help each other."
"Even if what you say is true, that in itself could be seen as suspicious. They're far more advanced. What could we possibly give them?"
"I'm not sure exactly; it was a cultural thing from what I could tell. Dh'Art once said the Kalgzar were tired; as a race they needed to learn from our dynamism and inquisitiveness." Ortiz hesitated. "Of course, the Agency and the High Council is worried we've offended them so much that we do have to fear them."
Casteneda was silent for several moments. "Will they talk to me?"
"I don't know. They haven't responded to any of our signals."
"Remote communication isn't the answer. I need to talk to them face-to-face."
"They don't really have faces as such." Ortiz's smile crumbled slowly against Casteneda's long silence.
"The first thing is to understand what happened. Get me transport to their ship."
***
The Kalgzar ship dominated the south side of the airport. It was the only available area both big enough and reasonably secure. Casteneda felt like an ant next to a garbage can as she strode towards the main hatch.
To her surprise, the hatch started to swing out as she approached and by the time she reached it several Kalgzar were waiting for her.
One of the group slid forward, the underside of his tentacled body undulating rhythmically. The Kalgzar didn't have legs as such. They resembled purple fleshy fire hydrants, a curtain of tentacles running all the way around their circumference, with no visible eyes and a large sharply-toothed mouth.
"I First Command Lr'Rax. Forgive, I trained not Earth speak. We know not you."
"I'm Casteneda. The Security people asked me to talk to you. They're worried about what you'll do. This is a bad thing."
"Yes. Yes. Bad, bad thing. We know much shame. Much much shame. Come."
Lr'Rax led Casteneda through a series of low arched corridors; Kalgzar were only around a meter tall and Casteneda had to stoop as she moved. There was an odor that she couldn't place, a mix of burnt rubber tinged with the metallic overtone of ozone and she forced herself not to wrinkle her nose.
Eventually they stopped in a widened area bordered on one side by a transparent wall. It wasn't glass or anything solid, but Casteneda sensed that nothing would pass through it.
On the other side of the wall a Kalgzar was strapped to the floor.
"Dh'Art?" Casteneda pointed at the figure.
"Yes. Dh'Art" Lr'Rax guided her closer with a gentle pressure to her hand. "Talk. Dh'Art."
She stopped a few centimeters from the wall. There was a pulsing sound, almost inaudible and Casteneda wasn't sure if it was coming from the equipment around her or if it was something more powerful at a distance. "Dh'Art? Do you hear me? I'm Casteneda. I'm here to help if possible."
"Casteneda? Human? Scum human. How dare you talk to me! You and all other Earth creatures. Scum. You will all die! You do not deserve our help. Why should we help such inferior creatures? We should destroy you. Eat you. Ravage you. Let me out. Let me have this human and I will show you how to treat such low born sc'llz. Let me have her. Let me have-"
One of the other Kalgzar touched a wall panel and Dh'Art slumped lower, his gray leathery skin relaxing into a slight pulsating movement. Some kind of sedative, thought Casteneda.
"Cs'neda. Here."
Lr'Rax indicated a blank wall and Casteneda examined it closely. Their visual sense was obviously very different—this was going to be harder than she'd thought.
"I don't see anything."
Lr'Rax manipulated something unseen and an area of the wall phased through different colors and shapes. Then the outline of a Kalgzar appeared.
"That's it. Good."
Lr'Rax changed the controls and Casteneda watched in fascination as the image seemed to peel back layers of the subject on display.
"Dh'Art?"
Lr'Rax shivered, his fringe of tentacles vibrating and Casteneda guessed that the movement was the equivalent of a nod.
The image changed again, revealing a loaf-shaped mass of tissue. On one side of the loaf was a throbbing blue lump that somehow appeared out of place, even though Casteneda didn't know the first thing about Kalgzar anatomy.
"Dh'Art. Thinkplace." Lr'Rax hesitated. "Computer, not mineral. Flesh. Main Kalgzar part."
"That's his brain?"
"Yes. Brain." A tentacle stretched out to the display and brushed the blue pulsing area. "Not brain. Bad. Hurt brain. Change Kalgzar."
Casteneda took a deep breath, a sense of excitement and relief rushing through her. "Of course!"
***
"From what I understand, it's a form of swelling on the brain. It r
arely happens in Kalgzar, but when it does it changes their personalities completely. They become forceful, belligerent and, as everyone saw, subject to frenzied behavior." Casteneda waited patiently for the information to sink in.
"This just happened?" Ortiz hastily activated his DataPad and scribbled a few notes. "Sorry, I'm relaying this directly through to the Agency and the High Council. They need to know."
"It must have been there for some time. Usually the Kalgzar involved is the first to know and arranges for treatment. In this case it seems that Dh'Art was overtaken by his determination to complete the diplomatic mission and ignored the warning signs."
"Will he recover?"
"They're not sure. If it's caught early they can treat it, but in Dh'Art's case it may be too far advanced."
Ortiz shook his head. "Poor guy. We need to get this message out. No one can blame the Kalgzar if their representative is ill. But how do we make it clear?"
Casteneda smiled for the first time. "I might be able to help with that."
Around the world the rumor mill and calls for action faded as the official story was pumped vigorously into every channel; headlines proclaiming the news.
"Abcess Makes Dh'art Grope Fawnda!"
The End
My work contract ended temporarily and gave me the opportunity to focus on writing - a true luxury and one I grabbed eagerly. I enjoy a good feghoot after reading several by the master, Isaac Asimov. Wikipedia describes a feghoot as "a humorous short story or vignette ending in an atrocious pun (typically a play on a well-known phrase) where the story contains sufficient context to recognize the punning humor. A little time spent musing over a suitable pun gave me my ending and I realized that Castenada was the perfect character to offset the silliness of the pun. Castenada first appeared in my story "Reboot" and I loved her bristling, no-prisoners-taken acerbic attitude. I knew somehow that I'd have to revisit her.
He Who Controls
Tom Sheetman buzzed through to his secretary. "I'd like to talk about the report on Finister and Sons, Miss Logie."
"I'll be there in a few minutes."
Tom turned to his computer and checked his clippings on the flat screen. He was late for a deadline and it wasn't the first time. If he didn't get something together by the afternoon Logie would be jumping all over him. She was a first class bi-
"Sheetman? Have you checked the main line flow? It's backed up like a sewer and there's going to be hell to pay." Logie sounded harsher through the desk speaker than she did in real life.
"I'll put a repair crew on it right away."
Tom slashed his hand through the holoscreen to blank the display and strode over to the window. People scurried through the gray concrete streets below, but he found it almost impossible to focus. His head ached; the mindless throng shifted and reformed, like an ever changing monster consuming everything it touched. He rubbed his forehead, his fingers rasping against the smooth skin.
"Mr. Sheetman? This is important."
Tom turned to see a slight, rat-faced man sat by his desk. "Yes? Sorry, of course it is, Mr. Colby."
"This is the fifth consecutive period your company has defaulted. I'm afraid the bank can't allow this to continue."
There was something wrong with the conversation, but Tom couldn't put his finger on it. "You'll get paid, but I'm not going to lay people off." Some of them had been with him since the first; he wouldn't let them down. "We just need time to get through this slump."
"You don't have any more ti-"
Tom doubled up, his stomach on fire as he staggered toward the desk. Colby was gone, but where? Was he hallucinating? Had he eaten something? He slumped into the padded chair and buzzed his admin assistant.
"Please... get my wife on the phone, Miss..." He stopped. What was his secretary's name? Then it came to him. "...Miss Benedict, I need her to pick me up"
"I can call her..." Miss Benedict sounded confused. "But your divorce went through last week, remember?"
Divorce? Tom's whole body started to shake uncontrollably. What the hell was happening? "I'm taking the afternoon off. Please cancel my meetings."
"Meetings?" The pleasant male baritone on the speaker paused. "Sorry, you are?" The line clicked several times and then went dead.
Tom ran from his office and threw himself into the nearest elevator. He heard a ripple of shouts behind him, but couldn't pick out individual voices. He fought to press the right button on the elevator as his hands trembled. The elevator rattled several times, then stopped in the basement garage. A faint smell of gasoline and oil caught in Tom's nostrils when the doors opened, almost making him vomit. He hurried over to his car, scrabbling in his pocket for the key. He reached to open the door and stopped. His hand was empty, though he was sure the key had been there a moment earlier.
The red Porsche definitely wasn't his. It was in his spot, but his car was... His head pounded as he tried to remember his car's color. Blue? Silver? The dingy lights made it difficult to make things out clearly, but it didn't matter. Whatever the color, it sure wasn't a Porsche. It was a-
Tom shook his head. His heart felt like it was pumping straight into his temples, the wet pounding sending waves of nausea through his stomach.
How stupid, he thought. He hadn't brought a car, that's why he didn't have the keys. No-one with any sense drove in the city. He'd come on the Metro like any sane person. The station was only a block away on Fifth. An easy walk, even in the worst weather.
"You there!"
Tom turned and saw a security guard approaching, the crispness of his uniform at odds with the stubble on the man's jaw.
"What are you doing?" The guard danced his flashlight beam from Tom to the car and back. "That's not your vehicle, is it?"
"I don't... That is, I'm not sure... I think, maybe..."
The guard stepped closer, his name badge coming into view as he walked under one of the few working bulbs.
"Logie?" The name seemed familiar, but Tom's thoughts seemed to fall apart when he tried to think about such details.
"Do I know you?" The guard squinted at Tom then winced, grunting heavily. "What the..."
The guard doubled up and Tom moved instinctively to help him. But before he could, a dark-blue Nissan squealed to a halt beside them.
"Tom? Are you okay?"
Tom didn't recognize the car or driver, but any escape from the guard's suspicious scowl seemed like a sanctuary. He lurched towards the car and jerked the passenger door open, then hesitated. What if the guy in the car was some kind of weirdo? His eyes closed as he felt the pressure of his own attempt to think dissolve into chaos.
"My friend isn't well," the stranger called out. "He called me to pick him up... must have forgotten."
The guard fingered his radio. "Maybe... he's acting real suspicious. Like-"
Silence.
Tom looked around. The guard had vanished, almost as if he'd never been there; the Porsche was also gone. Even the garage lighting seemed brighter; the grimy, yellowed bulbs were somehow now overhead strip-lights.
"Get in. If you value your sanity—get in the car."
***
"Do you recognize me?"
"Should I?" Tom was grateful his stomach had started to settle since sinking into the passenger seat.
"Alan Ballo." He guided the car into the first auto-drive lane, released the controls and turned to face Tom. "You don't remember me?"
Tom examined Ballo's broad features, but had no recollection of seeing him before. "Are you a friend of my wife's?" It was a question driven by social instinct only.
"I'm a friend of yours, actually." Ballo seemed disappointed. "I was hoping you'd remember me at least. I guess our paths don't intersect in this 'now'. Whatever that is."
The cars around them flickered. Tom tried to focus on them, but couldn't. His head started to ache again and he wasn't the only one; when they stopped at an intersection he saw a man convulsing at the side of the road. The cars and people seemed to change shap
e, size, and even number as he watched. The buildings alongside the road were similarly indistinct, as if they couldn't quite decide what shape to be.
The street branched sharply. Tom found himself pinned against the inside of the door as the car skidded around the abrupt turn. Ballo swore and wrestled with the controls, finally switching the Auto-drive back on when the street seemed to stabilize.
"Temporal shock-waves are affecting everything, including basic infrastructure. It was a risk using the car, but I didn't have much choice. I'm not sure how long we have left."
"Left? This is a gag, right? Are we being filmed?" Tom glanced around trying to spot any hidden cameras. "Did my brother put you up to this?"
Ballo's wide brow furrowed, "If only. I was trying to block quantum noise to study dark energy. I'd just fired up the shield to do preliminary tests at my lab. That's when I saw everything around me doing this." Ballo gestured at the ephemeral view around the car. "The shield didn't work the way I expected. Instead of blocking quantum noise it blocked the temporal shifts."
"Tempura what? Please don't mention food...." Tom held his stomach, which was still a little upset from earlier.
"Temporal. As in time." Ballo sounded annoyed. "Time shifts are occurring constantly. I think there's some kind of unusual resonance or feedback happening that's-"
"Time shifts? You mean as in time travel? So you're a scientist working on time-travel? Look, I'm not that stupid. Let me out here—the joke's over. Tell Jimmy I'll punch his lights out if he's lost me my job."
"Please." Ballo put his hand on Tom's knee, but pulled away abruptly when Tom stiffened. "This will be difficult, but I need you to believe me. We're almost at the lab. Give me a chance to explain to you calmly—after that you can just walk away if you want. I won't stop you. Just ten minutes."
Tom thought about how the security guard and Porsche had vanished, the strange scenes in the streets. It must have been a trick, but he was damned if he could figure out how it was done. "Okay, ten minutes."
Ballo nodded, his dark features relaxing a little. "Thanks."
Dead Reckoning and Other Stories Page 14
