by Peter Ponzo
David has evidently been on the chief Godship, the one that stayed well above the surface of the Pacific. The video image was fuzzy, but David had been able to capture much of the hollow interior and smooth walls. The walls had tall gray panels and small flashing red lights. Then a strange thing. A section of wall had detached itself and started sliding toward the camera. Then another section of wall until it seemed that a dozen or more tall, skinny panels were moving toward David, each with flashing lights. It had been observed that, just before the Godships had left to continue their galactic journey, they had shrunk to about half their size. The video capture of the collapsing of the wall panels seemed to confirm that assumption.
When the craft had first arrived, years ago, it was felt by many that they had increased in size. Those first impressions must have been correct. They must have become larger. Now, before leaving, they reverted to their original size. Perhaps the smaller size was galaxy roaming size as opposed to planet hovering size.
There was no audio on David's transmission, but I imagine that he was saying something because the camera became very jerky as though he were jumping or shaking. Then his hand appeared to cover the camera and the video went black. Global communication networks had picked up a communication between Godships, just before all the clones had resurfaced from the Pacific. They managed to isolate a single audio passage. It was a gurgling cry–a cry more of alarm than laughter.
CHAPTER TWO
Part 2.1
For years I had been going almost daily to Susan's Grill. I came to realize that it wasn't for the burgers, though she made pork burgers served with a mountain of fried onions and they were delicious. It was Susan herself: she was always cheerful, radiant, she made me feel good, I couldn’t wait to see her again–and again. I guess it was just a matter of time before I asked her to marry me. She hesitated, looked at the ceiling, placed her chin in her hand, began to hum, then said yes, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. I'm sure she noticed that I looked upset at her hesitation. So she gave me a big hug and kissed me hard on the lips. That was actually the first time we kissed. In fact, we had never been on a date, not even to a movie or dinner or anything and certainly no sex.
Now that I look back, it was a strange relationship. I guess couples are expected to sample the wares before committing themselves, but that never occurred to me. I just couldn't imagine life without Susan nearby. It's always seemed sort of abnormal that she should accept my proposal when we never had a close relationship. In fact, shamed as I am to admit it, I'm perhaps the dullest guy around. My range of interests is Lilliputian. I don't like classical music or opera or tear-jerking movies or even Japanese cooking. I can't stand people who talk about themselves as though I were interested. I avoid social gatherings for that reason. If I have to attend some meeting, I sit next to some old codger and he tells me about his job, his kids, his travels and the tools he has in his garage. Should I be interested? Hell, no! In fact, now that I think of it, I usually talked about myself to Susan. I can only recall one occasion when we talked about her and that was when I asked her how she came to own a burger joint. So why did she accept my proposal of marriage?
After Susan and I married we spent a lot of time each summer at the cottage. She was a great cook as one might expect, having owned the Grill for years. After six years of marriage, her father died and she sold the Grill and got a job as assistant professor in the English department at Burlington College. It was something she always wanted to do: teach. She had taught high school, but it was a compulsory course and the students hated it. At the college, her students loved her, as I did.
She had kept Susan's Grill in deference to her father, but she was happy to get rid of the headaches after he died. In fact, her father had insisted she change the name to Susan's Grill. After she sold it, it became a McDonalds. We never ate there. The hamburgers were no longer pork burgers with fried onions. Besides, I was on a low calorie kick. I was always on a low calorie kick and I read the labels on any box of cereal or can of soup I bought. Although it didn't prevent my consuming the contents, it was something to talk about: 'Did you know that All Bran only has a hundred and eighty calories per cup and a dill pickle has just five?' Everybody was concerned with eating healthy. Everybody listened. Having people listen was a novelty, for me. Usually I did the listening. Except for Susan, of course. She always listened and seemed thoroughly interested. At a party, if you want to be known as a great conversationalist, just ask the guy next to you to talk about himself. He'll provide a thirty minute monologue and think you're a great guy.
When I married Susan, I didn't know she had a dog, a Yorkshire Terrier, Sandy. I don't particularly like dogs. With a name like 'Sandy' I didn't know if this mutt was boy or girl, but when it pissed on the rug I knew: it squatted. When I asked Susan how she chose the name Sandy for the gal dog, she said Sandy was a boy dog. Now I was sure I didn't like dogs. This one didn't know enough to piss properly. Any self respecting boy dog would lift its leg, not squat–and certainly not piss on the rug.
And it barked at everything: when the mailman dropped off letters, when a car horn honked, when the phone rang, when the TV first came on and even when we spoke certain words, like 'let's go' or 'okay, do it'. However, Susan loved the little mutt so I learned to tolerate its presence. In fact, each day when I returned from work, Sandy would get all excited upon my arrival. I never had any one or any thing get excited when I showed up and it was kind of nice. The little mutt insisted that I pick him up so he could lick my face. That was really disgusting. I had no idea what he had been licking last, so I always held him at arm's length then placed him on his doggie-bed. What was also disgusting was taking the dog for a walk. He'd shit on the sidewalk and I had to grab the shit with my hand wrapped in a plastic bag. I'm convinced the dog had a smile on his face when he hunkered down to drop a load.
It was hard for me to understand what Susan had for this animal: a bed, a pee station, sweaters, shoes, toys that looked like tiny bears and a dozen treats that looked just like his poop–but lighter in color. Anyway, Sandy and I got along. What was more important, Susan and I got along.
Susan was everything I could want in a woman and a wife. She's smart except for scientific things. She has a pretty face and a great smile and a remarkable body that can only be appreciated when we shower together. I only had one girl friend when I was a teenager and that didn't last long. I always suspected that girls found me boring, uninteresting, given to talking about myself. I recognize these shortcomings and now try to refrain from hogging the conversation. I seem to spend a lot of time examining myself, my faults as well as my virtues. The occasional times I've been at a party or summer picnic, I sit next to some old fella and ask a question. He then talks continuously for ten minutes and, when done, believes that I'm a great conversationalist. People are funny that way. Have I mentioned that before? Maybe. I should also mention my lousy memory.
Susan, however, always asks me how work went, or what I'd like to do on the weekend or what the council meeting was like or what we should have for dinner. Is she really interested in all that stuff? Is she just asking to be nice? When I remember, I try to ask similar questions of her. Often, in bed at night, she lets me go on and on about my day, my dreams, my goals. I can smell her perfume, lilac. She's one cool gal. I can't imagine growing old without her by my side. Still, I sometimes think she finds me boring. In fact, I know I'm boring.
I was still with the local Space Council, but I was now a regular member, representing Lakeshore South. Harry Clemens was still chairman and George Falcon still the associate chairman and Bev was still sleeping at the end of the table. She had retired from real estate and was looking slightly worn, but when she was awake her remarks were right on the button. Alas, there was little for the council to do these days. At the last meeting, Bev had stuck her finger in the air and said, "All in favor of dissolving the Council raise their hand". Almost all hands went up. However, like a bad habit, the Council was still
around.
The last interesting meeting was after the Godship left, almost seven years ago. I wrote up a mammoth report which included a reference and description of David's video. Copies of the video were in libraries in most major cities and the original was held by the Global Space Council. I had been interviewed a thousand times. In fact, I had become a sort of celebrity, an expert on the aliens. My only claim to fame was the video, but I put on a great show, making senseless comments for the benefit of every reporter. When I think back, it was a foolish display on my part.
After the Godship left, church attendance rebounded. Ministers spent months giving thanks for the messengers that God had sent. Sex-cults that had sprung up around the world still flourished. They expected a return of the alien messengers to coincide with the end of the world. That was their vivendi ratio, their reason to live involved being carried to a paradise flowing with milk and honey and cannabis.
Susan and I had moved to a larger apartment, still overlooking the lake but near the College. There was a play area for the dog. I had become rather fond of the mutt and actually enjoyed watching him run about on the grass. He was ecstatic, racing from one end to the other until his tongue hung out. Susan would walk to work in good weather. Since becoming a full member of the Council, I was rarely required to do anything to earn the small stipend so I took a tech job with Burlington Communications. It was involved in providing local residential cable, phone and Earthnet services.
Since my major at college had been electrical engineering, I felt right at home. The nice part, for me at least, was access to the antenna array just outside the city. It was directional and I could point it in almost any direction except straight up. The array didn't move, not physically; it was an electronically steerable directional array. It was used to download, from various remote locations, software and documents and sometimes audio and video files. When the array wasn't in use I could point it east, over the lake where there were no structures to impede reception. Pointing just above the horizon, I'd pick up curious radio signals that no one in the office understood. In fact, they made a point of ignoring the signals. Just static, noise they said. It had a flat power spectral density and contained no useful information. However, I often felt I could discern certain patterns. When I told Susan she would pat me on the head and say, "Yes, dear. It's the Godship talking." Sad to say, but I missed the alien craft.
It was late in September. I heard a gurgle. I had built some digital audio conversion hardware and turned it on so it could work on the radio reception from just above the eastern horizon. That way I could listen and tell if it was just white noise or something more contrived. I usually spent the day at the computer, modifying and storing files, so I'd listen to the audio while I worked. It was definitely a gurgle. My heart was pounding. It was something real, not just static. I reached over and switched on the audio recorder. I'd take a diskcopy home to let Susan hear it. It only lasted for a few seconds and was almost unrecognizable with all the background noise, but I'm sure she would identify it as old man David. Were the Godships returning? Was David on one of the spaceships? I couldn't wait to get home. Susan would be astounded- and happy, I'm sure.
The clock showed 5:00 PM when Jerry came in. He was my replacement for the evening shift and always arrived at exactly 5 o'clock. I already had my briefcase packed and my coat on. I said nothing about the audio I had captured. I had returned the antenna array to point due west, away from the lake, turned off the audio conversion software and wished Jerry an uneventful evening. Then I grabbed my briefcase, stuffed in the audiodisk and headed home. Susan would be astounded, and happy, I was sure.
Part 2.2
"C'mon Gordon, that's just static."
Susan was not convinced, but I'm sure it was old man David. She always called me Gordon when she was upset or angry or disagreed with a comment.
"Listen to it again," I said. "Try to ignore the background noise."
I played the few seconds of audio many times, but Susan was not buying it.
"I think you're devoted to some kind of Godship fable," Susan sighed. "Aliens visit Planet Earth, they abscond with an old man who giggles, they return years later to fill up their water bags again and..."
"Okay, let's just wait," I said. "Let's see if I hear it again tomorrow."
"Have you told Harry Clemens?"
"No. He's such an ass and..."
"Gordon Blend! Stop being so negative about people! Harry tries hard to manage the council meetings. He barely graduated from high school, so you have to admire what he's made of himself. He has a thriving business. Have you got a thriving business? He drives a BMW. Do you drive a BMW? At the last council party he was kind and thoughtful and spoke softly and I never heard him criticize others. Do you? In fact, he spoke highly of you. Imagine that!"
I was taken aback by Susan's outburst. She was usually so quiet, reserved.
"Okay, Susan. I'm sorry. You're right. I don't know why I'm always running people down. Do you think it's because I'm not too happy with my own life?"
"Oh, so marrying me was a big mistake, was it?"
"No! No! I'm sorry. I didn't mean that. In fact, marrying you was the only good thing I've done in years–in my whole life. It's just that...well, I don't particularly like my job and I haven't really done anything to brag about and you, on the other hand, have all these bright young minds hanging on your every word and..."
"Yeah, right. Okay, so feel sorry for yourself, but don't take it out on others. You're just like your father, hypercritical of every one."
That was a low blow. Susan only knew my father from my descriptions. I felt like an ass. Perhaps I'd made my father out to be worse than he was. I was the ass, not Harry Clemens. In fact, Harry wasn't such a bad guy when I think about it.
"Sorry. I don't know, maybe I'm just imagining things–like that giggle."
I began to wonder whether I really was hearing things. Maybe I was desperate to hear a giggle. Maybe the old days of the Godship were so fascinating that I wanted to relive them, again. Working at Burlington Communications was boring. Every day was the same as the day before. At least Susan had students with personalities, who laughed at her jokes, who visited in her office, whom she could enlighten. I had a wall full of monitors, a table strewn with keypads and acres of disk storage. The only thing of any interest was the antenna array and even that provided little relief from the monotony.
For the next few days I heard nothing but noise. I spent so much time just sitting at the console that it was hard to stay awake. I needed something to do, some cerebral activity, so I decided to write software to analyze the frequency spectrum of the noise. The power associated with each short frequency interval would be the same. That's white noise. However, when the giggle occurred–if it ever occurred again–there'd be something different, a different power spectral density. I'd be able to demonstrate something unique, something...
The phone rang. It hardly ever rang. I grabbed the phone.
"Burlington Communications. Gordon Blend here," I said.
It was Harry Clemens.
"Gord, we need a meeting of the Council, soon," he said.
Horrible Harry always forgot that I was no longer council secretary.
"What's up," I asked.
"The Global Council has reason to believe that the Godships are returning."
I almost dropped the phone. I knew it! That giggle was old man David! My Godship was coming back!
I was sitting at the kitchen table by 6:30 PM. Susan was fussing with pots and pans by the stove and chopping vegetables.
I said, in my most casual voice, "They're coming back." I guess my smile said it all: I was happy.
Susan said, "I thought they had moved to Mexico, permanently."
"Mexico? Who moved to Mexico?" I asked.
"Michael and Jill," she said.
"Why are we talking about Michael and Jill," I said.
"You said they were coming back," she said.
"No! No,
I'm talking about the Godship."
Susan stopped chopping vegetables. Her back was to me, but I could see she was surprised. She turned slowly.
"The Godships are coming back? Why? For more water?" she said. "And do they expect mass hysteria?" Susan asked, her chopping knife poised.
"You mean like the H.G. Wells radio program," I said. "In 1930-something, about a war between worlds? I remember reading about that one."
"You got the wrong Welles, Gordie my dear. It was Orson. He was reading an adaptation of the novel by that other Wells."
"Oh. Anyway, I have no idea why they're coming back," I said. "We're having a Council meeting tomorrow. There'll be information from the Global Council who said they have evidence of their return–the Godships. Back to Earth. No doubt with old man David on board. Water? Maybe, I guess. If old man David is on board we may get a chance to talk to him, see where he's been, what he's done, whether he saw any..."
"Hold on, Gordie," Susan said. "Don't you think it's unlikely that they'll stop at the same places as last time? If it's water they want, there are lots of watering holes available on the planet. I'd suggest an ocean or, if they don't like saltwater, then there's Lake Superior, the largest in the world. It'd accommodate a hundred Godships."
"Yeah," I agreed. "I guess you're right."
"But they've been away for years," Susan said. "Why do they come back now? Did they collect water and it's taken four or five years to consume so now..."
"It's been years to us. Maybe not to them," I said, remembering Susan's earlier comment about their time being different from ours.
Susan brought the plates of vegetables to the table and sat down. Since our marriage, we've eaten mostly vegetables. After years of running a burger joint, it was a surprise to find that Susan was quasi-vegetarian. She wasn't too excited about eating dead animals, she said. Though I loved a good steak, her vegetable preparations were delicious and I rarely pined for red meat. In addition to the vegetable medley there was a sweating bottle of Chablis, the genuine article from France. It had always been my favorite white wine and now it was Susan's as well.
