by Steve Rzasa
So yeah, trespassing. I figured DEXA would put in a good word with the local LEOs if we got caught. Which we wouldn’t.
The map showed the largest building was the main house, two and a half stories in white with a gray roof. There was also a squat modular house, one story, with blue paint. The other buildings were sheds and the like.
Nil leaned in closer. “That seems to be an acceptable vantage point.”
“Funny. The words I was thinking were, ‘This is awesome.’ ”
“I would hardly say it is worthy of awe. You humans label even the most trivial things with that descriptor.”
“Your home planet must be a barrel of laughs. Remind me never to book a tour there.” I landed the drone in the upper branches. Tapped an orange panel. The left and right side cameras split a screen to show me two tiny claws latching onto thick branches. Good thing too. I remembered Wyoming wind.
Could’ve used that puppy in Casper, or something like it. But the batteries sucked when she was in flight—I’d have been lucky to cover ten blocks before it needed to land. She had a solar panel for emergency recharging but they don’t work so hot at night.
“Is your device in place?”
“Yep. Give it some time, Nil.”
“I will endeavor to do so, but our time is limited.”
Yeah. Remembered that. “Don’t worry about it. We keep an eye on Fisk with the drone, catch a look at whoever stops by to say hey, and eventually, whenever he comes out, we tail him. Go for a casual introduction.”
“You assume he will leave his domicile.”
“Even thieves get bored. Look, I’d feel better if he had a pal who could make the intro for us. It helps up the trust factor. But if not, well, we try to just run into him.”
“By causing a vehicular accident? That reeks of unsafe practices.”
“No, not a car wreck.” I rubbed my forehead. Was it bad I could use a drink right then? Probably. “Just let me handle it, okay?”
Nil nodded. “Very well. You have given this much thought.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. C’mon, let’s get out of here.” I was tired of defending my modus operandi to this qwaddo anyway.
We got back in the Bimmer. I don’t think we’d gone a quarter mile back toward town when Nil said, “Now will you tell me about the female?”
“What? What female?” Hey, I didn’t sweat it. He took me by surprise, yeah, but how many times in all this time playing at being someone I wasn’t and peddling lies do you think somebody asked me a surprise question? All the time. I didn’t blush.
“Your agitation is accompanied by the scent of a female.”
“I met a lot of females in the library. Everyone who worked there was a lady.”
“But this female touched you.” He rested his lower left hand on my shoulder. “Here.”
“Get off!”
The car swerved. It kicked up some dust. Thankfully, only a handful of pickup trucks witnessed my bonehead maneuver.
Nil stared at me. My heart thudded in my chest. I wanted to shove his four-armed, arrogant alien carcass out the door. “You keep your hands off me. I don’t let any qwa—alien touch me. Ever.”
There we go. I almost dropped the Q-bomb. Loya had warned me about it.
Nil’s eyes narrowed. His teeth showed. “You humans are all alike, are you not? Thousands of years spent huddled on this blue planet, so sure of your superiority, never once considering that sentient beings with souls might exist elsewhere.”
“What do souls have to do with this? You guys think you’re so superior and advanced—”
“Are we not deserving of both labels? All those present whose species have conquered interstellar space travel, raise your hands.” Nil raised all four.
I stared at him, mouth open.
He showed his teeth again. “You show your prejudice so readily. It cuts through your mask.”
Couldn’t argue that. I hated that he could find my weaknesses that easily. “Forget it. Sorry about the, you know, Q-thing.”
“It is not the only time I’ve heard it. Nor is it the last.”
“Right.”
“What is it that my species ever did to offend you, Foss?”
“You’re kidding. Do you know how many people I went to church with back in Boston, in my college days? A lot. You know how many stopped going after 6/16? Almost all of them. You seen how many churches here are shut down? Three.”
“That is not my transgression.”
My hands tightened around the steering wheel. “Aliens come down from the sky and start calling the shots, and lots of people stop calling on God. That’s all I can tell you.” That’s all he needed to know, anyway.
Nil was quiet for a while, thankfully. “The female.”
I blew out a breath. We were working together. And I would get a million bucks out of it. Not to mention the whole avoiding-armed-occupation-of-Earth thing. “We dated.”
“She was your consort?”
“Consort? She was a girl. We went out.”
Nil shook his head. “Your scent says otherwise.”
“I . . . forget it. Fine. We were engaged.”
“To be mated.”
“No, I’m pretty sure we mated a couple of times before that.”
Nil raised his eyebrows.
“What? You got modesty now or something?” You asked, qwaddo.
“I apologize. I did not realize the depth of your relationship.”
“Don’t worry about it. We’re done.” Very done. Yet when she touched me, there were sparks. At least on my end of the connection. It reminded me that Laci’s number was still somewhere in my cell phone.
“Can you assure me she will not provide interference?”
“Interference with what? Our investigation?”
Nil cocked his head toward me. “Of course.”
“Yeah, uh, no. I’m not planning a date in the middle of tracking down alien art injected into an ex-soldier.” Well, probably no dates. Maybe. Then again, it would be a good cover.
Man, I’m hopeless.
“Such is the way with females. They are complex creatures, yet so lovely.” Nil looked out the window.
No comment there. It was hard to think about the qwaddo—okay, Nil—as someone with relationship problems. Girl problems. Alien girl problems. Gotta change this subject. It gave me the creeps. “You sure like looking out the window for someone who’s flown through space.”
“Your planet is beautiful. It makes me ache for home.”
“That painting at the hotel. Is that really what your planet looks like?” I dug through my memory of our conversation last night. “Ceghezhu is the name, right?”
“Yes, it is the correct name, and yes, the painting is accurate.” Nil waved both right hands at the windows, one at the front and one at the rear. “But every inhabited planet to which I’ve traveled has had its beauty.”
“How many have you been to?”
“Three, including my homeworld. Before this, I was posted on the Ghiqasu colony of Jadkovqasrigh.”
Mouthful.
“Earth is different. You humans are an interesting species.”
I slowed us down behind the semitrailer loaded with cows. What an amazing stench. My eyes watered a bit, even with the windows up and the AC on. “How’d you get assigned to Earth, anyway?”
“I requested this posting when I realized Earth’s importance to Qas.”
“To your alien god? Yeah, right.”
“You are unfamiliar with the Call to Return.”
“Apparently.” The road curved enough to let me pass the semi. We zipped around it. That smell finally blew away. Funny Nil didn’t complain about it—but then again, they were cows.
“Long ago, darkness came into the galaxy. It spread throughout the worlds, carried by the invisible ones, infecting all life. There was no hope, until the Death for All transpired.”
Death for All. I shook my head. “You’re making this all up.”
“No.” Nil pulled a cylinder the size of my pinky finger from his shirt. It was silver with rainbow patterns that shimmered in the light. Strange swirling script covered its sides. Looked like qwaddo alphabet, from what I’d seen on the Web. He tapped the top of the cylinder. Its sides unfolded like a flower’s petals shifting to catch the sun. A spray of holographic text burst out in an arc as big as my palm.
“That’s—wow.” Way cool. “Is that your Lexicon?”
“It is. And this is the passage that speaks of the Death for All. It happened on Earth. And all peoples of the galaxy are free to partake of its gift.”
My insides went cold. This sounded really familiar. Too familiar. “You must think you’re clever, cribbing stuff from the Bible.”
Nil stared at me through the glowing text. “I do not understand.”
“Shove it. I know the drill. ‘For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten son, so that through Him all might live.’ Amen, brother!” The engine purred loudly. Must’ve stomped on the accelerator. I glanced about for cops, saw none, and slowed down before someone figured out I just did fifty-five in a thirty-five zone.
The hologram disappeared. Nil tucked the Lexicon away.
Tension? Yeah, plenty. “You mock my faith.”
“I mock your ripping off Christianity to get on my good side for this investigation. Why don’t you just zip it for a while?”
“Zip . . . ?”
I punched on the radio and turned up the volume. It was Nickleback, one of their whiny songs, but any noise was better than that four-armed freak trying to tell me he wanted to find Jesus.
<<<>>>
We stopped at the Dash Inn for lunch. Linoleum floors, yellow patterned wallpaper, plain old office-style fluorescent lighting, swivel wood seats in the middle of soldierly rows of benches and tables—it was just, you know, a burger joint. But the way everyone seemed to know who was coming and going, how they all struck up conversations with each other in line, that was what made the place. That and the smell of greasy foods. Drool. A quartet of burgers helped shut Nil up for a while. I punched at my tablet and halfheartedly nibbled at the meal on my plate. Mashed potatoes with gravy, fried chicken, coleslaw in a Styrofoam cup, toasted bread with so much butter it was unnaturally yellow. Heaven, usually, but right then I didn’t want to think about heaven.
Nil got a couple of greetings from the Engineer-type qwaddos, the Biqasohon. See? I remembered stuff. He probably thought I’ve got half the brains he does. He knew I had half the sense of smell. Make that less than half.
Checked my tablet. The feed from the drone’s cameras didn’t show much interesting. Just a bunch of guys driving back and forth from the house. None of them Tyler Fisk. I sent a couple of images off to Rutherford’s email. Hopefully he could use facial recognition on whatever devices he had.
One vehicle never left the house, though. It was a tan Toyota Land cruiser, 1984, with huge tires perfect for off-roading. Nicely restored. In better shape than the Bimmer’s hood, that’s for sure. I had the drone zoom in on the license plate. Nice. I emailed that image to Rutherford with the note: “Run those plates. Might be Tyler Fisk. No sign of him among anyone leaving the house.”
A moment later, my phone buzzed.
[Will do. Nnothng on face regoniton yet.]
“Can’t even use his email,” I muttered. “Might spell better that way.”
Nil looked up, mid-chew of his third burger. “I do not understand.”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
A mom and a trio of little kids came by. She was carrying a tray buried with enough food to feed an entire police force—or maybe just Nil. The oldest kid, a girl with blond ponytails, stopped at our table. “You’re a big alien.”
Nil looked down at her. He did not smile. She reached up and patted him on the nose. I choked on mashed potatoes.
“Jane! Don’t touch it!” The mom yanked her away by the arm.
Her tray almost tipped over. A few fries fell to their doom.
“But Mommy! He’s friendly!” Jane jerked her arm out of her mom’s grasp. “You are friendly, right?”
“You should listen to your mother, little one.” Nil’s voice was low and about as warm as I’d heard it so far.
“Don’t speak to her.” The mom’s face twisted. She was ticked. Glad I wasn’t Nil. “Come on, Jane.”
She swept her kids along. Jane whined something I couldn’t hear. Other diners chose that moment to look back to their food.
So help me, I felt kinda bad for Nil. Even though I understood the lady’s attitude, 100 percent. “She was pleasant. Like a root canal.”
Nil put his burger down. “I can forgive the mother for her hate, but it is more difficult to see her poison the child.”
“She sees you as the poison, you know.”
“Yes, I do.”
My tablet dinged. Saved by the bell. It was an instant message from someone on Facebook. Name came up as a Larry Shackleford. No profile picture. He used Bender the robot from Futurama, chomping on a cigar.
{Danny Lorenz put in a good word. I heard you’re in Wyo. Interested in far-out stuff?}
If Danny referred the guy, odds are this was something the tribal authorities didn’t want sold. I grinned. Right up “Lancaster’s” alley. {Whatcha got? Sioux? Navajo?}
{Think unique.}
My heart skipped. Unique. Not stolen tribal art. Could be code for “alien.” I’d seen it used before. Goodness knows there were other bits of alien artwork an interested buyer could get, legally or otherwise, but it was tricky.
All right. Stay cool. {Sounds good. I’m in Buffalo this week. You?}
{Billings. I can be there tomorrow.}
{Good deal.}
{Cash only. I’ve got Sioux too. Your alien client interested in that?}
I looked up at Nil. “We got a possible two-for-one. How would you like to buy some Native American relics while I look at offworld goodies?”
Nil made an expression I’d catalogued as his version of a frown.
“We’re not gonna keep them, Nil.”
“Very well.”
{He’s game. And I got plenty of cash. Only way to go!}
{What’s your number? I’ll call when I get to town, probably tomorrow PM.}
I gave him the number. We both signed off. I made sure Nil saw the record of our conversation before I closed the window.
“Do you know this man?” Nil asked.
“No, but I’ve dealt with Lorenz before. He’s a pretty reliable middle man for people out West who have stolen art they want quickly sold. The point is, we’ll make this deal. It might not lead us any closer to Fisk, but if he’s looking to sell your sculpture, he’s gonna hear about this Shackleford guy, especially if Lorenz is involved.”
“Very good. Once we finish our meal it would be best to return to the hotel and plan our actions accordingly for tomorrow. I shall report our progress to my superiors.” Nil put his chin down. The orange light blinked in his earlobe.
Good. Let him have his phone call. Meanwhile I tapped in a name on Facebook. Yeah, you guessed it.
My finger hovered over the {Send a Friend Request} on Ally’s Facebook profile. Of all the times to see her. Did I really want to open those wounds up again? There were so many other women out there. Trust me, I’d dated a few. Okay, so maybe “dated” is a loose term.
I pressed it. {Request sent.}
Probably she’d just ignore it. I mean, she knew enough about me to know I was Lancaster Foss on a job, and also that only he had social media presence. Caz Fortel pulled the ghost routine on the Internet. Good luck finding me.
My previous attempts to get in touch with Ally were similarly—what’s the word? Oh, yeah. Terrible. Like that time I got plastered on New Year’s and sent her a long email about how we should at least talk sometime. Never heard a word. Truth be told I was relieved, and severely hung over.
“Your plan carries an off scent, but I believe we have my supe
rior’s support.”
Nil’s voice made me jump. “Give a guy some warning, please.”
“I am sorry. If you had a cerebral transmitter our communications would be swifter and less prone to annoying tangents.”
Annoying tangents? “Nil, you’ve worked on Earth for a while.”
“Yes.”
“So do you make it a habit to carry our currency?”
“Certainly. I make sure to carry several forms of American, European, and Chinese—”
“Fine. You’re paying.” I scooped up the last of the potatoes. “As soon as I finish my lunch.”
My tablet alerted me. Ally. She’d accepted the Friend request.
I grinned.
<<<>>>
Back at the hotel, I pulled up the drone’s feed again. No messages on my phone from Rutherford, so I figured facial recognition hadn’t brought up anything good. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to skim back through some of the video I’d missed.
The car was getting its inanimate object version of a makeover. Finally. It was sitting in a shop, getting the dents in the hood courtesy of Nil’s feet banged out. And the side mirror replaced. Paid the shop enough extra to guarantee the guys would bring it back to the hotel tonight. It was turning into one of those expensive trips. I kept telling myself: one million dollars.
We spent the next several hours just, well, sitting around. Nil read the local news rag at a table by the windows. I bounded back and forth between my email and Facebook, chatting with this Shackleford guy. Sounded like he did have something more than the Sioux artifact—and if he didn’t, hey, no problem. We could pass his name onto the FBI and nab him for stealing those. There was no way those headdresses were legit purchases.
I kept the TV on in the background. Fox was running highlights from the House Speaker’s speech. He yakked on about American independence and good old-fashioned values, strength in the face of encroaching aliens, blah blah blah. Like fusion plant industries weren’t putting the government’s budget in the black for years to come.
