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Text copyright © 2014 by Michelle Brown
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First edition 2014
Printed in the United States of America
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication data
Brown, Michelle
Tales of an alien invader / Michelle Brown. – 1st ed.
p. cm.
eISBN 978-1625175694
US Softcover ISBN 978-0692205853
Summary : Felix Winters, an 11-year-old Bopton, is sent on his first scouting mission to Earth where he must blend in, observe his surroundings, and ultimately decide the fate of humanity.
[1. Extraterrestrial—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. Schools—Fiction. 4. Baseball—Fiction.] PZ7.B8166434 Ta 2014
[Fic] --dc23 2014907514
To my wonderful children, Emma and Liam, and my loving husband, Dustin-you are my inspiration, my heart, my everything.
CHAPTER 1
“Get up. We are going to be late.”
Shaking off the grogginess of sleep, I squint at my father’s green-glowing eyes looming above me, the only source of light in the darkness. Disorientated, it takes me a moment to remember why my father is bothering me in the middle of the night. The reason for his intrusion tickles the edge of my mind, annoyingly just out of reach. Today. There is something special about today. Shooting upright, reality slams into me like an asteroid. It’s Launch Day. More specifically, it’s the most important day of my life.
Climbing out of bed, my skin ripples with excitement. My father wordlessly glides out of the room to let me get ready. My eyes follow him as he leaves, and an emptiness seems to swell in the room with his departure. I wish he would offer some words of advice or even an understanding glance. But that’s not my father’s way. Like most Boptons, he pays little mind to trivial things such as emotions. Sometimes I wonder if he has them.
Easing into a crisp white ceremonial robe, I pause to look at myself in the shimmering reflection pool at the far end of the room. The thick fabric trails along the ground behind me, and my own green-glowing, oval eyes seem even wider than normal. I take a moment to stretch and allow my arms to extend all the way to the ceiling, my fingertips brushing the smooth surface above. It will be a long time before I’ll be capable of doing such a thing again. My new body will have some…limitations.
Whirling around, I glide quickly towards the door, accidentally knocking over the holomaker as I go. The holograms of various stars and planets that had been circling above my bed disappear in a wobbly flicker, but I don’t stop to fix it; after all, no one will be sleeping in here anytime soon. Rushing into the hallway, I wonder if all the other 11 Years are feeling the same anticipation, if everyone else also feels like they’re going to explode from the inside. A Bopton’s first scouting mission is a very big deal, a rite of passage that symbolizes the first step from childhood to maturity. I will complete four of them before being assigned to other duties by the Elders.
My parents will be waiting for me in our common room, ready to give me any last pieces of information I need before lift-off. Reaching the door, a sudden hesitation makes me pause before entering. I’m hit by a wave of emotion, which is quite peculiar for my race, but not for me. Normally, I would focus on suppressing my feelings, but today I allow myself to feel the full force of them. Bopton is my home, and today I leave it. Leave the comforting familiarity of structure and routine. Up until now every day in my life had followed the same pattern: studies, followed by logic drills/simulations, followed by various chores and duties assigned by the Elders. Even special occasions, such as holidays or trips to colonized planets, had set guidelines. And everything was done in the name of the Bopton words, “for the good of all.” Hardening with resolve, I move forward.
I join my mother and father in the massive circular dome where our family meetings are held. Sitting at a long, white table are three humans, two adults and a boy. My father is gliding back and forth in front of them silently, while my mother attempts to make eye contact with the female, trying to shoot her a reassuring look. Fascinated, I hurry toward them. These are the first humans I’ve seen up close, and their features are even more curious than they were in the transmission feeds I studied.
The female has long blond hair, which extends far down her back. It seems silly to me that she would keep her dead cells attached to her body that way, but I remind myself that humans have a very odd sense of “fashion,” which includes styling their dead cells on a regular basis and wearing the skins and furs of animals. I shudder at the idea.
The female’s eyes look red and swollen, and she gazes at me in terror. Well, that is silly—after all, no one here is going to hurt her. Though I suppose being abducted from my home planet and taken to a strange world trillions of miles away would frighten me as well. Next to the female is the boy, who is looking at me with caution rather than terror. He has short brown hair, a pointy nose, and long, slender limbs. His hair is sticking up on various parts of his head and his blue shirt matches the color of his eyes. I glance for a second at the adult male beside him, a large specimen that seems to be exhaling at a faster than normal rate. It’s the boy that keeps my attention, though.
So that is what my body is going to look like.
It is going to be quite an adjustment, getting used to the jerking motions of human limbs, the blurriness of their vision, the odd workings of their bodily functions, but it will be worth it. As long as I complete my mission.
My father glides forward and lays a small disc on the table, display screen up, from which a hologram appears and shows us a planet—Earth. “You will be stationed here.” He points to a location on the globe. “Though you will first land over here.” He points to another location, across an ocean. “You will have to take an airplane to reach your destination. Do you remember airplanes from your research?”
“Yes, sir. An airplane is a manmade vehicle built for air travel. It has four main components: the fuselage, wings, engine, and tail section, which consists of a vertical and horizontal stabilizer. There are three axes of motion: roll, pitch and yaw, each controlled by specific—”
My father raises a hand to stop me. “That’s all correct, son,” he interrupts, “but do you remember the procedure for boarding a plane?”
“Yes. Check-in, baggage check, security check, locate gate, give attendant a boarding pass, board plane, and find seat.”
“Excellent. You will land in a remote area a few miles from the airport. Our own technology will not blend in well among the humans, so you’ll have to use this.” He hands me a human computer tablet, the same model I’ve been practicing with.
“The humans you’ll be staying with believe you are their nephew. They haven’t seen you in a very long time, as you travel the world with your parents, who are archaeologists. Remember, archaeologists study their planet’s ancient cultures through remains…” I nod impatiently. I know what an archaeologist is.
He continues. “Your aunt and uncle are under the impression that your parents have decided that you need some stability an
d, therefore, are sending you to stay with them for a year while your parents take their work to a remote location. As an added advantage, your aunt and uncle will only be able to communicate with your parents periodically through electronic correspondence, or what the humans call “email,” due to the remoteness of your parents’ location. We will answer all correspondence here on their behalf.”
The humans have been listening silently, though obviously they don’t understand our language, so I’m sure it all sounds like nonsense to them. The female, looking wildly around, tries to get up, but she only succeeds in nearly knocking over the chair she is strapped to. The force field straps are invisible; they hold captives in place through pure energy, which I imagine makes the experience more frightening to the humans—to be locked into place by something you cannot see, let alone understand. Looking at all three of them secured to the chairs, a flicker of worry courses through me.
“The humans will be okay here, right? I mean, they’re not going to be locked up the entire time, are they?”
“The humans will be fine. They will be staying here with us and treated with the utmost respect while we study them. After, with their memories modified, they will be returned to Earth unharmed and blissfully unaware of this whole ordeal.”
I should be satisfied with the answer, but a knot of concern still tugs at my insides. I know a little about what “studying them” entails, and I have visited other planets that Bopton has colonized. No, they won’t be harmed, but they won’t be treated as equals either. An image from my research of a dog holding a bone in its mouth flashes through my mind. That is how the humans will be treated—like pets.
My mother glides forward with a bag, a human piece of luggage. Opening it, she lays it before me. “This should be everything you need. Put the computer your father gave you in the bag until you need it.”
Surveying the contents of the bag, I recognize various human objects. A toothbrush, comb, common clothing for human males (most of which are neon green, orange, and yellow—my favorite colors), two pairs of sneakers, a couple of books, a device for listening to music, and a bar used for suppressing the smell of human secretions—deodorant.
“Now listen carefully.” My father leans over and picks up one of the books. “This book contains the only piece of technology from our planet you are allowed to have with you during your time on Earth. It’s called a Helomax. It is only to be used on the date and time we discussed. It’s vital you do not lose it because if this fell into the wrong hands, the consequences could be devastating. You’ll need to complete your mission by the time you are meant to use it. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Father.” Feeling the weight of responsibility upon me, I try to put on my bravest, most adult face. “I won’t let you down.”
“Good. The only other thing you will have from our planet is this.” He takes out a chain which has a metal globe strung on it. “Wear this around your neck at all times. Remember to take three drops of the serum within it every week, or else you will return to your original form.” From the table he retrieves a golden chalice that is used in special ceremonies. The gold shines dully in the muted light and is engraved with familiar intricate symbols. “This chalice contains the first dose, though you’ll have to drink the entire glass this time.” His green eyes darken as he looks at me. “I’m not going to lie, it does not taste good.”
Steeling myself, I take the chalice from my father’s hand. The liquid floating inside is a deep violet with swirls of crimson floating throughout. It begins to bubble slightly at the surface, emitting vapors that cloud the contents inside. It can’t be that bad, I think, deciding to swallow as much as I can at once. My eyes slide to my father, who is watching expectantly, and to my mother, who tilts her head in encouragement. Taking a generous swig, I immediately begin to choke. The putrid, acidic liquid has set every single taste bud on fire. As I struggle to hold onto the chalice, a burning sensation licks its way down my throat and into my belly. I fall to one knee, though I manage to keep the liquid from spilling. Glancing up at my parents, I see disapproval is thick on my father’s face. I force myself to gulp down more, sputtering and coughing as the fire inside me spreads. Vision blurred, I hear my mother say something, but my father tells her to be quiet.
Somehow I bring the chalice to my mouth for one last drink. The world around me shifts as I feel my limbs begin to grow and harden, like I am being encased in a stiff shell. My nose begins to stretch, and my eyes dim, reducing the world to the limited spectrum of colors humans can see. Slowly, the burning subsides and I gasp in a few short, desperate breaths in my new form. Peering up, I see my parents towering over me.
“Say something,” my mother murmurs, leaning over to help me up.
“In English,” my father adds, though he doesn’t move to assist me.
My first attempt results in a wheeze, my second a high-pitched squeal. You can do this; it’s your body now. “I forgot to ask,” I croak, my voice sounding hoarse and strange to my ears. “What’s my name?” It is an important detail, one I will need to commit to memory, to pound into my brain until embedded, so I respond to it naturally when called.
“Felix,” my father says in perfect English. “Felix Winters.” Behind him, the female human faints.
* * *
After rousing the female human, who screamed hysterically upon consciousness, we pack up our transporter and proceed to the station. Struggling to sit still in my seat, I scratch at my hair, my armpit, my ankle. This new body itches, like I’m allergic to it or something. Thinking about the humans, I whisper to my mother beside me, careful to lower my voice so Father doesn’t overhear.
“The humans, they seemed scared, especially the female. Maybe if you could talk to them, in their own language, and explain to them that they are not going to be harmed and that they will be returned to Earth, maybe they’ll feel better about everything.”
Mother takes my human hand and squeezes it. “You are a good boy. Always have been. I will look out for the humans, I promise you.”
Relieved, I allow myself to think about other things as the world outside passes in a blur of color. Right now, all of the other 11 Years are heading to the station, each in their new bodies, each with their own missions. We’re not allowed to discuss our assignments; to do so would be regarded as treason. So for the past year, I have studied Earth on my own, while the other 11 Years studied whatever planet they have been assigned. I learned about some of the other habitable planets in general studies, though.
My best friend Roctin could be a giant black squid-like creature called a vilisor right now. Prodeon, the class know-it-all, could be a lerp, a bubbly, gaseous creature that emits a pungent burp every time it speaks. And Tresidon, the most logical 11 Year girl I know, could be a chicnik, a slimy, blob-shaped being that feeds off the emotions of others. Humans, in comparison, are a lucky assignment. Though there are some puzzling aspects of their culture, such as their attachment to pets and their strange holidays like Halloween.
Our transporter slices through the air, whipping us to our destination at extreme speed. We slow down when we arrive at the city, its crystal buildings jutting high into the sky like daggers and coming into focus as the transporter cuts back its momentum. Our city is just one of many on our massive planet, which houses an equally massive population. We’re constantly running out of space, not to mention resources, which is why scouting missions are so important. Out the window I can see other transporters, each heading in the same direction. Sleek, bronze, and capable of lightning speeds, I imagine the transportation I will encounter on Earth will be dull in comparison. Humans are what my father calls a primitive species, though in my studies I found they have made remarkable advances in technology in a short period of time.
Pulling into a dock, my father lands the transporter and the hatch promptly opens above me. The ride went by much faster than I had expected. I find myself not quite ready to leave the familiar, comfortable inside of the transporter. I hea
r my father’s voice in my mind as I hesitate. Never show weakness. It is one of his favorite sayings. Climbing out of the hatch, I try to recapture my earlier feelings of excitement. My parents and I exit the dock and move down a narrow hallway with the glow of blue lights illuminating the way. The only sounds are the faint hum of the lights and the rustling of clothes as I walk. The hallway curves and a door looms before us; the last barrier between us and the ship that will take me to Earth.
The ship is located in its own private launch dock, so there’s no chance I will see any of my classmates or their families. It would have been nice if the 11 Years had been able to see each other before take-off. It would have given the day more of a celebratory feeling, something to commemorate, the start of a great adventure. Instead, the vast silence of the station gives the feeling of solemnity, of duty, and, of course, of responsibility.
My father pulls open the door and there it is: a scientific feat in speed and precision. The ship is a sleek, silver disc, designed for light speeds and armed with cloaking devices. It’s reinforced with automatic defense weapons, though they are hardly ever needed. As we walk towards it, I feel my palms begin to perspire, a human sensation I’m not familiar with. Hastily, I wipe my hands on my shirt, struggling to keep pace with my father as he glides to the ship.
My father punches a code into a keypad next to the door and the door to the ship opens with a gentle rasp, exposing a small chamber inside. Just the sight of it makes me feel claustrophobic, but this time I don’t hesitate; I climb in. My parents hover in the doorway to give me my last set of instructions.
“You’ll need to lie down on the table,” Father says. “Once you’re in position, the sensors will be triggered and they’ll strap you into place. A mask will come down, which will cover your nose and mouth. The mask contains doze gas, which will put you to sleep until you arrive on Earth. Once you’ve landed, you’ll have five minutes to leave the ship, which will depart as soon as you exit. Then, you’re on your own.” Father leans forward to place the chain with the globe around my neck. “Three drops every week.”
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