Xenophobia

by Peter Cawdron

  Bower felt the cab of the truck rock as someone jumped up onto the running board below the driver’s door.

  “Hey, babe,” Elvis said in his best Barry White voice.

  “Don’t you hey babe me,” Smithy replied, trying not to laugh. “Scare me like that again and I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”

  Elvis laughed.

  Bower wondered how much Stella understood of their speech. Certainly, a figurative, idiomatic phrase like that must have been confusing. She wasn’t sure, but she swore she could hear Smithy kissing Elvis on the cheek as he drove slowly forward. Bower figured it was good Stella couldn’t see Smithy and Elvis as their contradictory verbal banter and physical expression would have been confusing.

  Bower started moving toward the rear of the truck, wanting to get out of the stinking, hot, claustrophobic space. For a moment, she forgot about Stella, thinking only of her sense of relief to be safe in the presence of the Rangers again.

  “Where is Bosco and the Doc?” Jameson called out.

  “Bosco didn’t make it,” Elvis replied, his voice breaking. “Doc’s in the back.”

  The truck turned in a semi-circle before coming to a halt. Pebbles crunched beneath the tires. Bower sat by the tailgate, ready to climb down.

  “What the hell happened to your arm?” Jameson asked as he and Smithy walked with Elvis toward the rear of the old truck. Bower was somewhat awkwardly trying to climb over the lip of the tray running across the back of the truck.

  “Oh, you think that’s wild, wait until you get a load of our guest.”

  Jameson came around the back of the truck and, to Bower’s surprise, grabbed her like she weighed next to nothing. He swung her down from the truck, giving her what amounted to a bear hug.

  “Liz,” he cried. “Damn, it is good to see you.”

  Bower never was one for being touchie-feelie, but she was relieved to see him too. He kissed her on the lips, which took her back for a second. There was nothing sexual about it, perhaps it was the classic American GI in him, the liberation of Paris all over again. Her mind was awash with emotions. She was surprised by how heady she felt as he let go of her and she stood there in the bright sunlight.

  Bower squinted. Colors rushed at her from all directions.

  An American flag flew on a flagpole in the center of the courtyard. The truck had driven around a circular driveway, around an oval with green grass growing sedately in a carefully manicured lawn.

  Green.

  She’d seen greens in the jungle several days before, but they were deep greens. After days of darkness, the vibrant, spring greens of the grass lawn were astonishing. Small sprinkler heads sat recessed every ten to fifteen feet around the curb, ready to spray water over the lawn. And there were flowers around the base of the flag pole. Were there any other flowers anywhere within Lilongwe? Bower felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and tumbled into Wonderland.

  To one side, over against the high outer walls of the embassy, palm trees and shrubs marked the start of a tropical garden. It would have been aesthetically pleasing were it not for the black soot scattered along the cream wall, the bullet holes and the odd spray of dried blood. Like everything she’d seen in Africa, the US embassy was a violent contradiction.

  Smithy was glowing. Her smile revealed her beautiful, straight white teeth. She punched Elvis gently on the chest.

  “You had us worried,” she said, unable to wipe the grin off her face.

  “So what happened to you guys back there in the intersection?” Jameson asked. “We had Tangos all over us. Fought a rolling action and made out a back alley carrying our wounded.

  “We’ve been sending daily recons out to the market, hoping you’d drag your sorry ass there. If the natives knew anything, they weren’t talking.”

  Elvis had climbed up on the back of the truck. As he rolled the canvas to one side he said, “We were captured by a warlord, some egomaniac by the name of General Adan. He -”

  Jameson peered into the back of the truck, cutting Elvis off before he could finish his sentence.

  “What the fuck?” he cried, stepping backwards. “What the hell is that?”

  Smithy backed away.

  “Sarge,” Elvis began. “I’d like to introduce you to a friend of ours, Stella.”

  Stella stayed away from the light streaming in through the open canvas. The alien moved across the back of the truck.

  Elvis stood there beckoning the creature, coaxing her forward.

  “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Smithy cried. “Elvis, what have you done?”

  Elvis laughed. “Green light, Stella. It’s OK. Green light.”

  Slowly, the seething mass of tentacles and whips moved forward. As the alien creature approached the back of the truck, Bower expected Elvis to jump down and get out of the way, but he didn’t. To Bower, working with Stella was a bit like being a lion-tamer: you kept a whip and chair in hand at all times, but Elvis held no fear of the strange-looking creature.

  Jameson backed across the grass, moving away from the back of the truck.

  “Mother of God,” he whispered.

  Bower could see his hand instinctively resting on his sidearm. “Don’t,” she said, resting her hand on his. “That really wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  Looking back at the truck, Bower got her first good look at the creature in the bright sunlight. The brilliant reds and scarlets of the alien’s tentacles were shocking to behold. They shone like polished glass, reflecting the light around them. As the alien fronds waved in the breeze they seemed to be sampling the air. Stella was trying to assess how safe it was outside the truck.

  “Green light,” Bower said, reinforcing what Elvis had said.

  Bower watched as slick red blades wrapped around Elvis. He was completely unfazed by the creature, and from the look on Jameson’s face that was shocking to behold. Smithy held her hand over her mouth.

  The swarm of insects at the heart of the alien had an iridescent pearly sheen to their black shells. Although Bower knew they were a mass of individual insect-like creatures, in the sunlight they looked like the folds and crevasses of the cerebral cortex, a brain in motion, vulnerable and exposed to the elements.

  Up until this point, Bower had thought of the brilliant red appendages reaching out from the core as tentacles, but in the light of day they looked more like brightly-colored blades of flax, only that analogy was too organic, perhaps flexible blades of colored steel or fiberglass would have been a better description. To her surprise, as they flexed they changed not only their length, but their width and thickness, adapting themselves from fine, feeler-like structures to blades that swayed like ribbons in the breeze. Stiff spikes supported the creature’s weight, stabbing back and forth like crab’s feet.

  Elvis stepped down, helping the alien out of the truck.

  Soft red blades enveloped the right side of his body, wrapping around him as though the creature were clinging to him more for security than anything else.

  As taken back as Jameson was, Bower could see the alien was even more apprehensive. Having been harassed, corralled, fired upon, injured and threatened during its fleeting time on Earth, Stella must have felt Elvis was the only native she could trust. The only one for whom trust was mutual. Even Bower couldn’t let her guard down completely with the alien creature, but Elvis had no reservations.

  Bower hoped Elvis remembered her warning, not to read too much from his own emotional responses into the reactions of the alien, and yet he clearly felt the need to protect Stella. Perhaps it was the change of environment. In their dark, gloomy dungeon, the factory floor felt like her domain. Out here, she was on his turf.

  An eerie silence fell over the courtyard. Smithy crouched down, her hand still over her mouth. Like the other soldiers, she was in shock.

  “Green light,” Elvis said.

  “Green light,” the creature replied, still using Bower’s voice. Was that a play to be inclusive of her, Bower wondered, or was the
creature simply being consistent. Regardless, Bower walked over beside the alien as naturally as she could. Despite her reservations, she wanted to show the other soldiers there was nothing to fear.

  Jameson looked at Bower as the alien’s tone of voice registered with him. The shock on his face was palpable. Bower raised her hands in a gesture that indicated she had no more idea about all this than he did.

  The various US soldiers around the courtyard nervously checked their surroundings, clearly thinking about any possible hostile move. For all they knew, this creature was some invincible, acid-dripping monster from another planet, and they weren’t too far from the truth, thought Bower.

  Jameson, though, ever the professional, seized the moment and called out.

  “All right, enough standing around. What’s the matter? Haven’t you seen an alien before? Smithy, get that gate shut. Jones, Marshall and Davies, if you’re on the wall pulling guard duty you need to face the other way. And Elvis ... Stop showing off and take our guest inside.”

  Elvis grinned. “Yes, sir.”

  Smithy didn’t move. Jameson tapped her on the shoulder. Slowly, she got up and went over to the gate.

  Elvis walked toward the main building. Stella followed. She was never more than a few feet from him. It was clear she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she felt safe. Bower followed them.

  “You three,” Jameson said, coming up behind them and speaking with gravitas. “You have some explaining to do.”

  Well, thought Bower, Jameson took that quite well, all things considered. And she loved his use of three, as though somehow the alien owed him an explanation. In reality, it was only Elvis that was answerable to Jameson, but that didn’t bother him in the slightest. She turned back, expecting a grumpy look on his face but he was grinning as he came up beside her.

  Jameson shook his head, saying, “If it was going to be anyone, it would be Elvis.” That made Bower laugh. He was right. Was there anyone better suited to introduce Earth’s culture to an alien species than Elvis?

  As they climbed the broad marble steps leading up to the portico in front of the embassy, Bower watch to see how Stella negotiated this as an obstacle. Her spindly feet, so reminiscent of a sea urchin, made a smooth transition from sharp, pointed spears to curved blades with some flex in them. They slapped the ground softly, wrapping themselves over the uneven surfaces, providing her with some spring in her step.

  Bullet holes marred the walls. Burns and scorch marks spoke of a violent struggle. Patches of dried blood on one of the low walls indicating where the wounded took cover during the vicious firefight.

  Jameson caught up with Elvis, directing him to one side. He was surprisingly relaxed given their unusual company.

  “Why couldn’t you have brought home a cat or a dog like everyone else?”

  Elvis laughed.

  “What the hell am I supposed to do with an alien, Elvis? Honestly, do you think about these things before you do them? Shit, can you imagine the paperwork?”

  And they both laughed.

  Bower wasn’t too familiar with the various branches within the US military, but she could tell several of the soldiers staring nervously at them were either navy or air force from their blue uniforms.

  “At ease, gentlemen” Jameson said, and it took Bower a second or two to realize he was joking. It was Elvis and his cocky smile that gave it away.

  They entered the reception area and walked down a long corridor. The white pristine walls had fresh gouges and the odd bloodstain on them. Jameson led the way, with Elvis following him with the creature immediately behind. Bower brought up the rear with two rather awkward soldiers providing what she figured was security. They were carrying M4 rifles slung over their shoulders and weren’t in anyway threatening.

  Jameson led them into a cafeteria. The tables and chairs had been used to barricade one end of the room overlooking the courtyard. A couple of the tables had been put back on the barren linoleum, but most of them still lay in chaos by the windows. Jameson gestured to the table and chairs.

  “Lieutenant McCallister is on his way,” one of the trailing soldiers said, standing guard by the door.

  “Well, he’s going to love this,” Jameson replied.

  Stella wheeled around the room as Elvis and Bower sat at the table. She was inquisitive. Bower could see her probing overturned chairs, and the shattered remains of a vending machine with cans of coke and candy bars strewn across the ground, but she was most interested in the serving benches with their stainless steel tops.

  There were two jugs full of water on the table, along with a bunch of paper cups.

  “No coffee, I’m afraid,” Jameson said, pouring water into the cups and handing them to Elvis and Bower. “Are you hungry? Can we get you some food?”

  Bower nodded, drinking the water quickly and getting a refill.

  One of the soldiers by the door slipped carefully along the wall and into the kitchen to get them something to eat.

  “And what about our friend?” Jameson asked. Bower noted that Jameson kept the table between him and the alien as the creature moved around the room. Bower and Elvis were content to sit there comfortably with the alien rummaging around the cafeteria, Jameson was still unnerved by her and didn’t sit down until Stella settled.

  “She likes water,” Bower said, trying to be helpful.

  Elvis took the glass jug over to the creature. He placed it on the stainless steel bench, saying, “Are you thirsty?”

  The creature stopped and began examining the jug. Bower was fascinated to watch as a stream of bugs raced up and down the red blades touching briefly at the jug. Before her eyes, the glass jug appeared to dissolve from the top down as the creature assimilated both the glass and the water at once.

  “Well, she liked that,” Elvis said, laughing as he sat down again. He turned to a soldier standing by the kitchen and said, “Same again, bartender.”

  Elvis turned his chair around so he could straddle the seat as he leaned on the chair back watching the alien. He was mesmerized by Stella.

  A young lieutenant walked in and froze in the doorway. Instantly, the alien bristled, all its appendages stiffening like swords and spikes.

  “Easy, girl,” Elvis said in a soft voice. “It’s OK. We’re safe. We’re among friends.”

  Whether the alien understood his words or just the tone of his voice, Bower wasn’t sure, but Stella relaxed and went back to examining the serving line. She was opening drawers and cupboards, just as Bower had seen her do on the factory floor.

  “It’s OK, Frank. Just don’t make any sudden moves,” Jameson said.

  “Is that ... Is that ...”

  “Yep,” Jameson replied. “Apparently it is.”

  The young officer never took his eyes of the alien. He moved cautiously, slowly stepping over to the far side of the table next to Jameson.

  “Are you sure this is safe?” he asked quietly.

  Elvis smiled, saying, “If you don’t shoot at her, she won’t tear your arms out of their sockets.”

  Bower wasn’t sure that helped.

  “We’ve got to call this through,” the lieutenant said. “Command is not going to believe this.”

  “So what happened back there?” Jameson asked. Bower could see him looking intently at Elvis and his withered arm.

  “We were overrun,” Elvis began. “I lost my arm while sheltering from an RPG. Stella gave me a new one.”

  “So, what?” Jameson asked. “She carries spares?”

  Elvis laughed, gesturing to his elbow as he said, “It was a bloody mess. Somehow, she regrew my arm. I don’t know how.”

  Elvis looked to Bower.

  “I saw it, but I can’t explain it,” she said, somewhat lost for words.

  “From there,” Elvis continued. “I hot-wired a truck and we came here.”

  Jameson scratched the side of his head. Bower could see the look on his face. He must have known Elvis was compressing an inordinate amount o
f detail into just a few words, but he let that slide. He was clearly impressed. Having an alien before them was just too fantastic. There would be time for a proper debrief at some point, but not here, not now.

  “And Bosco?” Jameson asked.

  “They killed him,” Elvis replied, cutting in rapidly before Bower could say anything, not that she would have.

  On one level, it was a lie, Bower knew that, and yet Elvis was right to blame the warlord. It may have been Stella that carried out the sentence, but the sentence had been passed by Adan and his men. Elvis wasn’t being forthcoming, and Bower understood why, he was protecting Stella. Given the creature’s menacing, threatening appearance, the last thing anyone needed to hear was that she’d shredded a US Ranger in barely a second. And yet Bower couldn’t leave the details so scant. She was determined to say more while being careful not to implicate Stella.

  “Adan captured us,” she said, and Elvis shot a fierce look at her, clearly wanting her to shut up. “They murdered Bosco in front of us. He never stood a chance.”

  “And the alien?” Jameson asked.

  The lieutenant sat down next to Jameson. Bower could see the glazed look in his eyes. He might not be up to logically resolving the various aspects of this puzzle, but Jameson was.

  “They threw us in with Stella. We don’t know where she came from or how they captured her, but she was there when we got there, trapped on the ground floor of an abandoned factory.”

  “And Adan captured her?” Jameson asked, pulling at the threads of the story. “You’re sure of that?”

  “Yes,” Bower replied.

  “So you saw Adan alive?”

  “Yes.”

  Elvis had his lips clenched.

  “Do you know how or when Adan died?”

  Bower shook her head.

  “We heard he was killed by a woman, a foreigner.”

  Bower looked down, avoiding eye contact with Jameson. She was afraid if she explained her part in Adan’s death she’d inadvertently give away Stella’s part in Bosco’s death.

  Jameson wasn’t satisfied, the tone of his voice revealed that, but the lieutenant was as he smiled, saying, “Well, it’s exceptional work. You’ve escaped in the confusion surrounding the general’s death, and you’ve freed an alien. God knows what we’re going to do with ... her, but you did the right thing, and that is to be commended.”