“It won’t last.”
“How do you know?
“We’ve seen it on other exile planets. When we’re discovered, there’s a period when they like us. Then something happens. Something always happens. That’s why exiles remain hidden from the planet’s inhabitants.”
Jack wondered whether her pessimism had something to do with the “Palliation,” whatever that was.
• • •
“Wow, the whole city is here!” exclaimed Jack, as they walked arm-in-arm into the sprawling Capital Convention Center ballroom. Every bit of its vastness was crammed with formally dressed luminaries. They were all eager to meet history’s most famous celebrities: Mythicals.
The Wardens had requested—actually decreed—that the Mythicals worldwide would hold events to introduce themselves to the planet’s inhabitants. As long as the Mythicals had revealed themselves, believed the Wardens, the best course was to try for acceptance. Otherwise, another exile planet would have to be located, and the exiles transferred—a massive logistical undertaking.
And so, Mythicals hosted hundreds of similar huge receptions in convention centers, city squares, and even stadiums.
As Jack and Sam negotiated the crowd, a circle of fascinated people would briefly part to reveal a glimpse of one or another Mythical. A fairy would be revealed fanning its wings; a hilariously drunk troll singing; an elf screeching a complaint at being jostled; an angel ascending above the crowd to admiring aahs.
Sam would not have been taken for an alien species at first glance, but just another stunningly beautiful young woman. She wore a ruby red gown that accentuated her delicate curves. Her eyes were green, indicating that she was exuding a pheromonal signal. So, as she glided through the throng with Jack, her exquisite emanations made the men forget whatever woman they happened to be with. They would turn toward Sam, beatific expressions on their faces, gazing longingly at her, until she was out of range, leaving them to a huffy scolding by their wives or girlfriends.
In his rented formal wear, Jack shook his head in sympathy. He had been under her spell long enough to at least try and appear poised.
“Can I leave you long enough to get you a drink?” he asked.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m fairly adept at dealing with the males of your species.”
“I love you,” said Jack, almost reflexively. It embarrassed him, but he couldn’t seem to stop.
“I know.”
He turned to find his way to the bar, but stopped, realizing he should ask a question he had never thought of before: “Are you of legal age?” He tried to make the ridiculous question sound offhanded, even joking. He’d never thought to ask. Sam looked young, but fully mature. But one never knew.
“It’s been seventy-five years since I hatched,” said Sam matter-of-factly.
Jack’s expression morphed into a swirling maelstrom of bewilderment.
“Oh God!” he thought. “I’m enchanted by a woman who’s an alien . . . who looks too young for me . . . but is ancient . . . and was hatched!”
He wandered off, befuddled, past Vlad the vampire, who was enjoying the flirtations of a flock of giggling young women.
At the bar, an ogre was downing two beers at a time, threatening the bartender if he didn’t keep the drinks coming. It appeared to be Mike, but all ogres looked alike. It wasn’t until the gray-green hulk clapped him on the shoulder that he was sure.
Mike returned to his prodigious imbibing, and Jack managed to secure drinks for Sam and himself, when an introduction came over the sound system from the distant stage of “two of the most prominent Mythicals, who would like to say a few words.”
A’eiio and E’iouy stood resplendently naked on the stage, a sight that had become somewhat less disconcerting to Jack. But the shocked murmurs among the crowd conveyed their discomfort.
A’eiio began with a quietly recited list. “Fairies, pixies, trolls, werewolves, ogres, goblins, vampires, leprechauns, mermaids, angels, elves, gnomes, satyrs, bigfoot, sirens . . .”
The crowd grew dead silent.
“. . . all of us were once a part of your lore. But now you know that we are real. We hope you understand that we have lived among you in peace. We hope you will understand that we mean to continue this peace, and to help your species prosper in any way we can. We hope you will consider the steps we have outlined to ensure your continued progress and prosperity.”
Jack reached Sam to find her surrounded by swooning men who were ignoring the speech. He managed to extricate her and escort her to a place less crowded with susceptible males.
“Uh . . . we’ve got to talk. About the age difference . . . and . . . uh . . . about you being hatched.”
Sam smiled, an amused twinkle in her green eyes. “Well, as for the age, that’s pixie years. I’m still considered very young.”
“Okay, but did you really hatch? Do you lay eggs?”
She laughed that alluring, melodious laugh. “It was a joke. Pixies can joke, you know. We give birth like your females. We are perfectly compatible with your species in every way. Our evolution was parallel enough for viable births. In fact, there are a fair number of offspring from such matings.”
Jack had lost himself in considering the mating possibilities, and was startled by the eruption of applause when the fairies finished their speeches.
“See? People love you,” he whispered in Sam’s ear.
“I know. But not for long.”
“Really. My people have accepted Mythicals, welcomed you. You’re wrong.”
“I wish I were.” Now her expression grew somber, and she shook her head, looking around in sad resignation at those who, for now, regarded the Mythicals with wonder.
Wendy the angel soared from the back of the Hall of Nations, high over the gathered delegates, coming to rest beside the lectern. She folded her snowy wings, smiling benevolently, as the awestruck delegates gasped at the sight.
Standing in the back, A’eiio watched her entrance with satisfaction. The fairy thought it best that the delegates’ first formal sight of the Mythicals was a creature most revered as a comforting symbol of their religions. And, after all, it was the angels who had created the dire computer model predicting their species’ terminal fate.
Fanning her wings to liftoff velocity, A’eiio rose and swept over the delegates and landed beside Wendy. She stepped to the lectern. The other Mythicals—Steve, Robin, Mike, Ryan, and Vlad—filed in, to another round of excited chatter.
Senator Warren Lee was notably absent. The werewolf had disappeared after the news conferences a week earlier. Nor were the delegates there that had formerly represented three of the countries. They had been dismissed when they had revealed themselves to be Mythicals—a vampire, a male fairy, and a troll.
The General Secretary called the assembly to order, and invited A’eiio to speak.
“We have lived on your world in peace,” she began. “Although we are not of your species, and are exiles from our home planets, we have come to you as fellow sentient beings that wish to help you survive on your own planet. The computer simulations done by the race you call angels have revealed that you will not survive to the next century. You are committing suicide. The angels are providing the data to your scientists, so you can verify them.”
A’eiio paused, taking a deep breath. Now, she faced the critical moment when the frustrating creatures of this planet would either accept the measures necessary to save their species. Or, they would denounce the aliens who had presumed to prescribe to them. But the alternative advocated by the werewolves—the Palliation—was horrific.
“The damage you are doing to your ecosystems will soon be irreversible. So, our Wardens have given us permission to propose a Remediation. These steps, the models show, will preserve your planet and save your species. The Remediation comprises four laws that we urge your countries to enact:
“The Zero Carbon Law specifies that you will immediately begin to phase out all fossil fuel burning and l
aunch a major initiative to replace it with solar, wind, and safe nuclear power. We will offer all the necessary technologies to enable this transition. Our own civilizations have made this change, and you are welcome to all our knowledge. We can dispose of any nuclear waste using our wormholes.” A murmuring arose among the delegates, its tone dark.
“The Biodegradability and Health Law will specify that all artificial chemicals such as plastics will be formulated to biodegrade to harmless products and not be toxic for reproduction and health. Again, our materials scientists will share with you any technologies necessary to render all your materials safe.” Some of the delegates began to shake their heads, their expressions dour.
“The Ecosystem Preservation Law will require all nations to set aside sufficient areas to preserve your extraordinary diversity of species. Our ecosystem computer models can define those areas.”
Now A’eiio hesitated. The next law would stun the delegates and their world, especially most of the leaders. But it was necessary.
“The Genetic Fitness for Leadership Law recognizes a sad reality about your species. Our analysis has shown that about half of you are genetically deficient. Unlike many of our species, you harbor a deviant population that possesses a truncated piece of genetic material . . . a sex chromosome . . . that causes them to be significantly more aggressive and less rational. As leaders, they have started all the wars among your species. They are the most murderous. They are responsible for almost all crime and violence. The Genetic Fitness Law would help protect your species from their aberrant behavior by training and equipping another clearly genetically superior group of your species to take most leadership posts in government and industry.”
The General Secretary interrupted, his expression puzzled. “And who are these genetically superior ones?” he asked.
“Females.”
“And who are these deviants?”
“Males.”
• • •
Flaktuckmetang crouched in the thick brush of the woods, waiting on his prey. He felt only a slight twinge of conscience. After all, the denizens of this exile planet weren’t as intelligent as his species. So, killing one, or perhaps several, would not be like killing one of his own, a practice which had been abolished centuries ago. Besides, as a soldier, he had killed many, many times on this planet’s battlefields. This was like that killing—necessary for preservation. On the battlefield, he killed to give the advantage to whatever side he was fighting for. Now, he would kill to advance the Palliation, which was critical for the survival of the whole species.
So, killing today was permissible. And, in fact, since the prey wasn’t his species, eating was permissible.
But he would give his prey a fighting chance. He would choose one that carried a weapon. So, it would be like killing in battle, but with a nourishing bonus.
And, in a sense, he had the permission of his Warden, who had told him he could do whatever was necessary to ensure the Palliation. And that meant sabotaging the Remediation that the faint-hearted fairies were proposing.
He yawned, peeling back coal-black lips to reveal his substantial fangs. He flexed his claws. He would need all his weapons.
The rattle of an engine rose in the distance. The sound grew, and an all-terrain vehicle came racing along the trail, carrying a large male. A rifle case was strapped behind him. Flaktuckmetang could have easily leaped out and torn him from the vehicle, but that would not satisfy his sense of fair play.
Instead, the werewolf launched himself on a parallel course, loping through the woods slightly behind the hunter’s path. After a mile, the hunter stopped his machine, climbed off, and unpacked his rifle, loading it and slinging it on his back. Now he was armed. Now he was worthy prey.
But still the werewolf hesitated. He was glad he did. The hunter had mounted an automatic game camera on a tree so that it would capture any activity in the area.
Excellent! Even if the police were too stupid to conclude that the hunter had been killed by a werewolf, there would be incontrovertible images.
The hunter began to haul himself up the ladder to his tree stand. He settled his bulk into its seat, unslung his rifle and readied it for his hunt.
This would be an excellent kill. The werewolf circled around the area so that the camera would capture his attack. He tensed his muscles.
He leaped from the thicket and bounded across the clearing toward the tree, fangs bared, claws extended.
The hunter bellowed in alarm, bringing up his rifle and leveling it at the monster racing toward him.
The loud crack of a rifle shot echoed through the forest, but the werewolf had veered left, dodging the shot. Another explosion, but the werewolf evaded that bullet, as well.
He reached the bottom of the tree, and the hunter screamed in horror and sought to swing the rifle barrel downward. But the werewolf had already climbed near enough to reach up and tear the rifle from his hands.
The hunter barely managed to utter the beginning of another scream as, in one leap, the werewolf mounted the tree stand, tore open his throat with powerful jaws, and ripped his stomach open with razor-sharp claws.
The hunter hung from the tree stand, limp, bloody, and lifeless. Now he was dead prey. And Flaktuckmetang took his time feeding upon that prey, choosing the most delectable parts to tear off.
Once satiated, the werewolf climbed down, using leaves to wipe the blood from his muzzle and claws. He took one last look at the hunter’s remains, now a well-gnawed corpse.
Plenty of evidence.
• • •
“Thank you for wearing clothes . . . Senator.” President Amar Eller said the last word with a subtle sarcastic emphasis. He didn’t smile, nor did A’eiio expect him to.
She stood at the door of the president’s office, wearing a red silk dress that contrasted with her pale skin and silver hair, respectfully waiting to be asked to sit. Her wings opened and closed in gentle strokes.
Jack stood beside her, shifting uneasily from one foot to the other. He was trying to decide which was more nerve-wracking. Meeting the president or being seen in public with aliens.
“And this is . . . ?” asked the president.
“Jack March,” said Jack. “I’m a reporter. I’ve asked to be the person to report on the Mythicals.”
“You’re one of us?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re in league with these . . .” The president didn’t finish the sentence, leaving unsaid whatever epithet he’d considered using.
Eller was a tall, brawny figure with an erect bearing and a mane of white hair coiffed to a luxuriant pompadour. He waited some time before issuing the invitation for them to sit, standing beside his desk, regarding them coldly. He finally gestured for them to take the couch across from the presidential science adviser, Balin Litt, whose glasses, spare frame, and salt-and-pepper beard gave him a kind of sage authority.
The president moved to sit in one of the armchairs by the fireplace, where he had posed for photographs many times, across from some head of state in the other chair. He pointedly did not invite A’eiio to take the other chair, as portentous as was the first visit of a known alien to the White House. He left her sitting in the chair by his desk. And he pointedly had not asked the photographers in.
“I would have hoped you would have allowed other Mythicals to join us,” said A’eiio.
The president shrugged. “My security agents were concerned enough having you here. But an ogre? A vampire? A troll? Even an angel? They decided the risk was too great.”
“Mr. President, the Mythicals have lived among us for a thousand years,” said Jack. “And there has never been an incident.”
“They are criminals.”
“We are exiles,” said A’eiio, indignation thickening her voice. “Transgressions on our planets are quite different from the serial killers, rapists, and others you deem criminals.”
“This Genetic Fitness Law you want us to enact . . .” The President leaned forw
ard, his jaw tight in anger. “Basically you want us to pass a law that makes it harder for somebody like me to become president of the country!”
“Not at all,” said A’eiio. “It merely remedies a deficiency in your race, by promoting the more peaceful ones to leadership positions.”
He rose, looming over her, glaring. “I worked hard to get to this position, and you’re telling me I’m genetically deficient?”
A’eiio regarded him coolly, deciding whether to provoke the president even more by pointing out that he was showing the very aggression that illustrated the species’ males’ lack of fitness for leadership. She decided to say nothing.
“I see that many delegates walked out on your speech when you suggested that males were unfit to lead,” he said.
“Proving our—”
“And the other laws, the ecological laws,” the president continued, pacing the room. “Politically unworkable.”
“We have given your scientists all our data, all our models proving that all four laws are necessary for the survival of your species.”
The science adviser Litt spoke up. “And as you know, there are doubts in our party that this climate change we are supposedly causing is real.”
“There are no doubts among your own scientists!” declared A’eiio, her wings fanning in exasperation. “Your own computer models show the very same things . . . that unless you take the steps we have recommended, your species is on a suicidal course to extinction.”
“Well, the response has not been positive,” said the president. He picked up a tablet computer and swiped its screen. “The National Business Journal says, and I quote ‘As stunning as was the revelation that we harbor a menagerie of alien species was their outrageous presumption in proposing a wholesale change in how we conduct our political affairs.’”
“Ah, but there is also support,” said A’eiio. “The Environmental Action Council supports the environmental laws. And the National Women’s Council says that, at first glance, the idea of discouraging males from positions of power seems silly. But when they looked at our data, they see it as a perfectly logical idea.”
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