by Tom Holloway
They can inflict great pain if needed or numb pain and then go completely unnoticed, only detectable with a very sophisticated head scan. Or for a kinder use, they will repair wounds if instructed; they are used for all soldier surgeries. They have saved many a soldier by pulling out bullets or repairing large wounds on the battlefield.
They all can be used as a source of energy, as they can transfer energy, working off of and transferring energy from the mother ship. Because of this it becomes a Taser weapon if needed, automatically thrusting high-voltage strikes when threatened by an enemy. They can kill quickly if they are triggered or become unstable. They explode inside the host, thus causing a quick, messy death. A better kill is when the slip operates just like a blood clot going through the heart. The host dies from a heart attack fast. Plus, there’s no evidence of our having been there.
The little weapons are the most effective, the little things you never see coming. I have used them many times in different worlds, and they work better than all the other serious weapons known to the universe.
Unfortunately most of my little slips have one weakness. They depend on energy and activation from the mother ship plus mission support. They can operate only a short time on their own stored power. Then they go into hibernation, waiting for their activation and the energy generated by the operations of the mother ship or an energy host. They need to be supplied mission directives and orders, too. The mother ship must be in range to supply the energy needed, although the range can be a long way depending on the operating conditions.
Anyway, I am now impatient, ready to start my visit, no time to waste and a world to see again!
Chapter 8
Bookstore Visit
Sounds crazy, but as I said, my first stop is going to a bookstore, specifically the Barnes & Noble located up the road on Hurstbourne Avenue. I want to see people, read newspapers, and buy books and music, lots of music; maybe have a cup of real coffee and read everything that happened in the last ten years. It is all critical to me. This is my lifeline to my humanity, my escape from becoming more alien. I need enough humanity to last me ten more years, until the next visit.
I was born at a time when a real book was a big deal. I have loved books since I was a little boy. They were my gateway to the life and opened my mind to possibilities. Books are also healing. Look at me now—I still need them. Books are so human, showing the thought patterns, the emotions, the passion, and the love for life. This helps in opening my mind to opportunities to stay human. It also refuels my humanity by subduing the alien side of me, to once again feel the joy of being human, through the eyes of the many human authors.
I am also delighted by the voice of a woman singing a soothing song; it always touches my heart! I love to feel the depths of her emotion, the passion and the ache. I have learned that being human is living as part of the human tribe, so it’s necessary to feel their emotions, as the interaction is critical. Being away so long also creates a deep loneliness, then shyness, then fear of connecting, and then you become a recluse. In danger of becoming this, I desperately need real human contact during these visits.
A home-cooked dinner is a dream, and sitting around a kitchen table with humans making small talk is good, too—laughing, joking, conversation, and drinking coffee…wonderful!
I also like to shop, though I rarely buy. I walk through stores just to see the changes and to people watch. The changes in clothing styles are astonishing, especially the variety between young and old. The tattooed heads are a trip, too. Shopping also gives me an excuse to talk to real people, and so I spend as much time as I can in stores when I am here.
Just looking at people and talking and listening to them are great. Even better is being part of their activities. To see families together and supporting one another, maybe at picnics, laughing, seeing their friends, praying, going to church. A high school baseball game is a delight. Three trips ago, or about thirty years in the past, I attended a game in upper New York State, in a small town. It was a warm summer night, and it was so pleasant to watch families together. The love between them was obvious and it reminded me of my own family many years ago.
I plan to take the Ship Tender down from the Cyclone, which is now about eight hundred feet up above the shopping center. The ship’s tender is our small landing craft stored in a rear lower hold, built for small missions. It is used for landing troops and picking up cargo. It also has a surrounding force field for security—not as good as the Cyclone’s but good enough when activated. The little ship is easy to defend, as it is armored. Plus it has offensive weapons and is incredibly fast when needed. However, it is short range, no more than twenty thousand miles of cruise range. I use it in camouflaged mode as much as possible, as I need it to stay hidden when landing in strange places.
The ship is snub-nosed, with a black windshield up front and ugly lines going back, like rectangular blocks fastened together, definitely not sleek, more like an army tank. It is only forty-two feet long and twenty-four feet wide. It has no real wings, just slanted extensions eighteen feet out on each side, ending in extended lips, with two massive rocket-engine thrusters attached by arms underneath the main body. The front of the ship has a ten-foot slant on the front nose. It is about sixteen feet tall from its bottom floor, then maybe another twelve feet off the ground to allow space for the thruster funnels, when landed with landing pods down, for unloading from the back doors. There are hatches that open from below also. It has an ugly dull, flat black finish. The ship is sinister-looking, with a threatening appearance; it scares the hell out of anyone who sees it come in, which is the right emotion. It is lethal. I let it bring me down to the ground. I get off in the deserted back parking lot and send the tender back up about eight hundred feet, reloaded in the Cyclone, hovering above.
This Barnes & Noble will be my first stop and my home until it closes tonight. Maybe it will be crowded, and like a man who has been in a desert without water, I will not be able to get enough of it. I will savor the time there. I am out on the pavement quickly, not spotted. I look like I always do when here, dressed to not draw attention, wearing faded blue jeans with a brown leather belt and a blue oxford cloth shirt with a button-down collar, an old brown tweed sport coat, old loafers, and no socks. I purchased all of it by mail order, from L.L. Bean, and had it sent to my New York address. I have been a customer for a long time.
Now I need to find the front door of the bookstore.
In a human assessment of myself, I like to think of myself as good-looking. I am slender and tall, a little over six feet, light-brown or almost-blond hair. Most of the time my hair is a little long yet still military style, as in World War II, and easy to comb. I have big brown eyes and handsome facial features, or I think handsome. My body’s best attributes are big shoulders and a narrow waist, as I am always in excellent physical shape. I am military muscled, required to be strong, yet not too bulky. I guess my body looks similar to the one I had in 1944—nothing fancy.
Unfortunately I am awkward with people, especially human females. One real issue is I am behind the times—old-fashioned. I am aware I have not kept up with the culture, and I have to be careful not to give myself away. I’m normally shy with all people, find it hard to open a dialogue, yet once I meet them, I have always found it easy to talk, and thankfully, girls like to talk to me. I think they find me attractive, although nothing has happened since my World War II girlfriend; no relationships with women have been possible. The end result is that my experience on earth is limited. I am not good with human relationships, really never had much chance for meaningful interaction—meaning I have had no real relationships since World War II.
I am also mentally old in comparison to this generation, a man from another era, which is not helpful in mixing with the new generations of people. The other unfortunate part of my looks: I look like who I am, a soldier from another era. Still, I’m proud of my generation. We felt responsible for the weak and the downtrodden and defended freedom from tyr
ants, the evil men who sucked the life from anyone too weak to defend themselves. I saw firsthand what the Nazis had done, and I think I am still fighting that war.
Of course I know we won World War II, and overall I am delighted and proud of the wonderful things done by mankind in the last seventy years. The rebuilding of Europe, discovering nuclear power, inventing computers, landing on the moon, creating the Internet, developing cell phones, inventing TV and video games, writing great books, creating art and terrific movies, even Monday night football. Then there is the Olympics, plus all the water and snow sports, and the production of amazing music, super spectator sports, golf for everyone, new churches, more parks, and new skyscrapers. I think of mankind as a mostly smart, very kind, and generous people, now almost seven billion strong worldwide. From what I can observe and report back to Gabriel, I think most humans have meaning in their lives, try to help one another, raise their children, and try to earn honest livings. There are lots of challenges in living on Earth. It is not easy. I wish I could help mankind, as there are all these amazing gifts I could bring to them, unbelievable technology; plus I could give them much longer lives and help them be free of poverty. No one would ever be hungry or sick.
Yet Earth is still a dangerous place, not safe for many people, as the weak are brutalized; evil still prevails. I could certainly quickly help with this issue. I always come here prepared for defending against an attack. I am armed, with my troops, in an extremely lethal military ship that can kill any world in ten minutes or destroy all the armies in any world in two hours. Unfortunately I am strictly forbidden from interfering with the events here. Gabriel says Earth is not ready for me. I have to be careful when I do help, pick my best opportunities. As in many worlds, there are some really difficult people here, some probably evil, others just misguided. There are also some bad political situations on Earth, or, I should say, unhealthy cultural issues. The top of the list includes genocide, starvation, crime, corruption, injustice, and oppression.
Another worry about this planet, resulting from natural weather cycles and the nearly seven billion people living here, are the changes in the landmass, the atmosphere, and the oceans. All are under stress. Every time I’ve come here over the past years, we’ve measured the chemistry of the Earth, both air and water, which is more polluted on every visit. There are too many toxins, coming from several sources. This, combined with a hotter sun, presents a bad forecast for human survival in the future.
Absurdly enough, and hard for me to understand, the rubbish from human consumption is everywhere. The planet is being covered with trash by every country, some more than others. Also, the methane and carbon dioxide seem to be a real issue, as too much is lethal in the atmosphere. It is coming from lots of places both natural and manmade. Burning carbon-based compounds in land vehicles and forest fires create some problems. Plus the exploding volcanoes cause many of the carbon dioxide issues. Human and animal waste, marshes, bogs, natural gas wells, extensive rice cultivation all contribute to dangerous methane levels. Not sure of the immediate resolution to the problem; it’s somewhat complicated to solve yet certainly solvable. Not much I can do to help in ten days. I think it will be solved here, as many smart people know about it, and they are making suggestions.
And, as always, I think it is difficult that Earth is outside my jurisdiction, as I am here only every ten years. If I were here more often, maybe I could have fixed a few things over the years. On the other hand, who am I to talk? I never married, no girlfriend, no children, no family, a lonely military life, and work for an alien civilization. My only real pleasure is my visits to Earth, and they total only seven times, ten days each, or a total of seventy days—hardly enough to make me an expert on mankind. Even my friendly benefactors warn me not to meddle. They say I could make it worse, much worse.
As I had hoped, the Barnes & Noble is crowded, offering more people for me to see. After coming around to the front doors of the store, I am now inside, looking at everything. I am delighted, although I look stupid, foolishly smiling at people everywhere and saying “Hi” like this is a country boy’s first visit to the city. I try to take it all in visually and mentally. Looking at everything is wonderful, and even the smelling is good. All kinds of odors—everything has its own fragrance. Then the books. I’m looking in the new-fiction and nonfiction shelves, then in the newspaper section, where I read six different magazines and two newspapers. What a treat! I do reconnaissance of the store; walk around several times to make sure I see everything. There are books everywhere, and my last stop is my favorite, the music section. I decide to go to the help desk first. A lovely girl smiles and asks me if I need anything. I say I need a cart, as I plan to buy quite a bit. She leaves and then comes back with a cart the employees use in the store.
I feel compelled to talk to her. I smile. “Are you in school, or do you work full time here?”
She smiles back and quickly answers: “I’m part time. I go to the University of Louisville. I’m in the nursing program there. I love books, and this is a great place to work. My name is Susan, and I have some time, if I can help you find a book.”
I look more closely at her. She is pretty and very young, has big brown eyes, almost soulful, dark-brown hair worn long with bangs. She is small in stature, slender, looks like a book lover. She has the fragrance of a sweet soap. For some reason I feel protective, like a father.
I smile again and say, “Susan, my name is Henry, and I am certainly glad to meet you. Yes, please, maybe you can help me. I need to know about some music groups, maybe singers or bands you like, or recent albums that are popular among people your age.”
She says, “Follow me,” and off she goes. We are soon in the music section of the store. She points to several rows, saying they are all good; she likes all of them and tells me to look through them. She smiles at me and says, “You will like this music as you don’t look that much older than me.”
I respond, smile at her warmly and say, “Thank you,” and then ask, “Do you have family here in Louisville?”
“I’m from Richmond, Virginia. My parents and sisters are there. I’m the youngest. I just turned twenty-one. Fortunately I do have a grandmother here, and we’re close. She is special. Although I stay in the dorm on campus, I see her every week. I also have a roommate who’s wonderful, like a sister.”
I ask what her favorite books are. She mentions several, recommending three I should buy if I like historical fiction and World War II stories.
She declares, “My grandfather fought in World War II, and I’ve heard his stories. We’re all proud of him.”
“You should be proud of your grandfather. Do you know what division he served in, where he was stationed?”
She says, “I’m not sure. Are you familiar with Normandy? I think he was there on D-Day.”
I light up and say, “Yes, I know it well. I’ve studied that part of the war, and it was a real critical battle! Maybe I could meet your grandfather.”
She looks sad. “He died three years ago.”
“I am so sorry,” I say with obvious sadness.
“Do you live here?” she asks.
“No, not now. I used to live here. I still like the area—wish I lived here again.” I decide to give her my cover story. “I’m finishing up on a PhD from Indiana University in Bloomington, down here just to look around. I want to teach history and political science someday at the university level. I’m working on my dissertation and going to Washington, DC, tomorrow to do some research.”
She asks, “What’s your dissertation about?”
“I’m writing about our culture’s reaction to other off-world civilizations. Yes, aliens. What thoughts does this culture have about our place in the universe, as if we actually know we’re not alone? What if a visit occurred? Just how would we behave differently than we do now if we thought there were others out there who might judge us? What if there was an alien civilization talking to us that was far more advanced, many years ahead of us
and much more powerful? Of course they might be much different from us, look strange, maybe better, a kinder species, like angels maybe or wise beings, and able to read our minds. Is that scary? What would our elected leaders do, and how would other countries behave? Or just plain people, how would they react? Would they be friendly or not friendly? Would there be fear, panic? What would the media do, knowing this as a new reality? Real aliens are out there. The universe is more than ten billion years old, plenty of time for many civilizations to develop, and each of them could be millions of years old. That’s a lot of time to develop the expertise, philosophies, and technology for starship travel.”
A surprised look crosses her face. “That is remarkable. I think it’s a wonderful idea for a dissertation, to think others in the universe might judge us. We might scare them, too, just as they scare us. Probably everyone would be terrified. Maybe they’d scare us into doing better. Maybe honesty with one another is a good start, no hidden agendas. Actually, I think real contact with aliens would be a shocker. I’m not sure the world could take it! Just wondering about it happening is a fright.”
“You’re thinking the right thoughts. I think it would change everything, and I’m not sure the world could handle it either.”
After pausing I continue: “Enough of that. You probably have better things to do than listen to me. I need to go find my music and books before the store closes. Would you ring me up when I’m done? I’ll have a lot. It might be at the end of the day. By the way, what time does the store close?”
She smiles. “We close at eight o’clock tonight. Don’t worry; I’ll wait until you’re finished.”
I smile back. “Thanks! See you in a bit.”
The next few hours are pure enjoyment. Drinking lots of coffee, which is so good I buy some canisters of it. I also end up with thirty-eight books and sixty-four CDs of all kinds of music. I go looking for Susan, easy to find, back at the help desk. It is eight o’clock, and they are starting to close. I look at her as I get near, walking quickly, pushing the cart, and she hears me and she looks up.
