His computer screen still displayed the threatening e-mail. He read it, then sat down and sent a message to [email protected]. Then he called Ted Barnett at The Bee.
oOo
Kerwin Frees’s heart turned over in his chest as he read the e-mail. He was going to meet the aliens. He sat back in his disreputable over-stuffed chair and stared at the pine knots in his ceiling.
Stan Schell’s message had posed one particularly disturbing question. ‘What do you want?’ What did he want? Fame, fortune, notoriety? Or did he just want to be right? Did he just want to know that there was life Elsewhere — intelligent life, life we could shake hands with, communicate with, grow to like, even befriend as Stan Schell (damn him/bless him) had befriended his alien refugees. In three days he would know (hell, he already knew) that he was right. The question in his mind was: did he need the whole damn world to know he was right?
oOo
Stan heard the back door open and close. Qtzl came in, wearing a bright yellow sun — dress with orange tulips on it.
“I have come to say good-bye, Stan,“ the alien said, and Stan read honest emotion in the odd eyes. “Ship has run a diagnostic and says we are able to leave here. I can return to my family — my world.“ He paused and tilted his head from side to side several times as if he might shake the appropriate words loose. “I will miss having fame and fortune. It was something I never could achieve on my world.“
“I know what you mean.“
“Yes. I suppose you do.“
“But just imagine, Qtzl, what will happen when you return after all this time and tell everyone where you’ve been, and how you had to brave alien danger to get home? You’ll be a celebrity then, I’ll bet. Everyone will want to know your story. Everyone.“
“If they believe me. I have been known to... exaggerate.“
“You have Ship. Would Ship lie?“
The reptilian face brightened. “No machine intelligence has ever been known to even exaggerate. But... may I take some Earth artifacts back with me anyway — a set of your novels, perhaps?“
Stan nodded, feeling a lump begin to grow in his throat.
“And this garment.“ He fingered the hem of the sun-dress which came to just above his oddly jointed knees. “May I take this, too?“
“Sure. Sis won’t miss it. Take those pine cones you’ve been hoarding, too, won’t you? I sure don’t know what to do with them.“
Qtzl’s crest bounced up and down in pleasure. “Thanks, Stan. And now I must go. Ship is requesting my presence.“
Stan checked his watch. “Yeah. Frees will be here any minute. You’d better get going.“
They paused long enough for Stan to take a photograph of Qtzl in the yellow sun-dress. It seemed the appropriate way to remember him. Then the big lizard went to where Ship lay completely right side up on its landing struts, there to load his pine cones, books and other Earth artifacts.
Stan waited. Not long. Kerwin Frees showed up punctually at his front door.
“Where are they?“ He’d barely stepped across the threshold when the words were out of his mouth.
“They’re leaving.“
“They’re — ? You conned me!“
“You didn’t leave me much choice. I couldn’t expose them.“
Frees gave him a panicked glare and bolted out the back of the cabin. Stan followed him down the hill to where Ship was overseeing Qtzl’s clearing away of the last bit of brush. It looked somewhat the worse for wear, its once gleaming sides burnt and battered. But it had assured Stan it was serviceably sound and quite capable of getting Qtzl home.
Frees had frozen at the stern when Qtzl, still wearing the yellow sun-dress turned and waved cheerily. “Oh, hello! You must be Kerwin Frees. I’m Qtzl Fhuuii. Come to see us off, have you? How nice. Isn’t that nice of Kerwin Frees, Stan Schell?“
“Very nice.“
Frees’s voice was so desperate it nearly squeaked. “You can’t leave! Don’t you understand how important this is to Earth?“
“We realize how important it is to you.“ Stan moved to stand in front of the younger man, making him have to dodge a bit to keep his eyes on Qtzl and the FRU. “Would you really have spilled this to your UFO-logist buddies — to the tabloids?“
Ship uttered the closest thing Stan could imagine to a mechanical sigh. “I believe he did, Stan Schell.“
Stan glanced up the hill toward the cabin. A small knot of people had appeared at the top of the trail, bristling with cameras and microphones. Someone shouted, and the knot loosened and began to tumble down the hill. Stan turned back to the spacecraft. “Good-bye, Qtzl. Good-bye, Ship. I think I can honestly say I’ll miss you.“ He smiled. “Don’t forget to write.“
Qtzl’s frill bounced and his crest stood up smartly. “I shall write, Stan Schell. You’ll see. Check your e-mail often.“
“I didn’t do this,“ said Frees, pointing uphill.
“Uh-huh.“
Qtzl and the FRU disappeared into the Ship.
Frees danced around, putting himself between Stan and the reporters. “I didn’t do this.“
Ship uttered a soft, keening song, like a zephyr through the pines then, moments later, lifted itself majestically into the air. Any sound it might have made was drowned in the trampling of flora under the feet of the approaching journalists. Ship hovered above the treetops — posing, Stan thought, wryly — then tilted its bow skyward and disappeared in a long streak of light.
Just like in the movies. Stan tilted his head to one side. He wondered if the video currently being shot would be blurred and grainy — like the ones in those ever-popular sightings shows.
A babble of voices swamped his thoughts. Microphones thrust into his face. On the other side of them, over a tangle of arms, Frees stared back at him, face sweating.
“What just happened?“
“What did we just see?“
“What was that?“
“Can you explain what just happened, Mr. Frees?“ Stan asked.
Kerwin Frees’s mouth opened and closed like a beached trout’s. “It was a spacecraft,“ finally emerged. Frees’s eyes lost their glazed look. He grabbed a microphone. “It was an alien spacecraft that crash-landed here months ago and was mistaken for a meteorite. There were two alien beings aboard, which this man —“ He stabbed a finger at Stan. “ — hid in his summer cabin. He used the aliens to parlay a successful career for himself as an advice columnist.“
It sounded so inane, Stan almost lost himself to hysterical laughter, but the reporters jostled him, shoving their many microphones into his face.
“What do you say, Mr. Schell?“ an eagle-eyed young woman peered at him from behind a red wind sock.
“And you’re from?“
“The Skeptical Examiner. We got a call saying that an alien spacecraft was sitting in this ravine. Was that what I just saw taking off?“
“Well, I hate to rain on your parade, but the so-called spacecraft is local. The rest of it — special effects. Hollywood.“ He smiled at the woman. “I’m sure that makes perfect sense to you.“
Frees shrieked. “That’s insane! You all saw the aliens! You all saw the ship!“
“Special effects,“ Stan repeated.
“What about the column Ask Arlen?“ asked Frees. “You didn’t even know it existed until you saw it was being run with your picture. You tracked the writer here, to your summer cabin. And you found aliens.“
Stan feigned shock. “Are you suggesting that aliens were writing an advice column?“
The reporters laughed; Frees reddened. “You know the truth.“
“I know that nobody here would believe a story like that. I certainly wouldn’t, and I write science fiction. So my line is: no comment. Now, if you’ll all excuse me, I have an advice column to get out.“
He pushed past the reporters, ignoring their cries for his attention, and made his way back up the hill. Frees, stranded below, managed to keep all but a few from following him.
Te
d Barnett met him halfway up the hill. “What was that all about?“
Stan shook his head. “I couldn’t even begin to explain.“
“Was that an alien spacecraft?“
“Wasn’t that what I said it was?“
“Yes.“
“And did you believe me?“
“I’m here, aren’t I? I leaked the information, didn’t I?“
“That begs the question. Do you believe that was an alien spacecraft?“
Barnett hesitated. “I’m not sure. I hate to sound like a rank materialist, but the more important question to me is: are you really Arlen? Or was it somebody else?“ His eyes grazed the clouds overhead.
“Why don’t you reserve judgment until you get my next column?“
Barnett nodded. “OK. How does this Frees character figure into this?“
Stan glanced down the hill to where the UFO chaser was still drowning in journalistic undertow. “He concocted a story about aliens writing the column — about me hiding these aliens in my summer cabin. He was harassing me.“
“And this is your way of getting even.“
“Maybe. Or maybe it’s my way of getting the aliens out of here safely. Or maybe it’s my way of getting more free publicity.“
He left Barnett and went back up to the cabin, where he closed and locked the door in the faces of a couple of tabloid reporters. The act gave him a perverse and childish sense of satisfaction. From his office window he watched Kerwin Frees swimming uphill against a current of microphones and cameras. At the bottom of the hill, a handful of people were going over the crash site in minute detail.
Stan frowned. He hadn’t thought of that — hadn’t considered what kind of evidential residue Ship might have left behind. He called the police and reported that he was being over-run with trespassers. Then, musingly, still not certain what he had just gained and lost and gained, Stan Schell sat down at his computer to answer the day’s letters and meditate upon the alien point of view.
oOo
Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff says that “Ask Arlen“ was “actually inspired by another science fiction story about an intergalactic advice columnist. I loved the idea, but wondered (as I often do) what would happen if I brought alien sensibilities to the task.“ “Ask Arlen“ was first published in Analog Science Fiction Magazine in 1997. It was a Nebula Award nominee.
Maya is addicted to speculative fiction. For this, she blames her dad and Ray Bradbury. She’s authored six fantasy novels and short fiction that’s appeared in Analog, Amazing Stories, Interzone, and others, and been short-listed for the Nebula and British SF awards. Her current project with writing partner Michael Reaves (co-author of Mr. Twilight), is a new addition to the Star Wars universe.
Maya Kaathryn Bohnhoff...
...is half of Maya & Jeff, a Pegasus Award-winning musical duo. They’ve collaborated on three amazing children and live in San Jose. Read/listen to Maya’s work at http://www.bookviewcafe.com or http://www.jeffandmaya.com Her books and CDs can be found at http://www.mysticfig.com
HUMANITY
Steelcollar Worker
Vonda N. McIntyre
The enormous fuzzy balloon bounced from Jannine’s fingertips, rose in an eerie, slow curve, and touched its destination. The viddydub forces took over, sucking the squashed ball into place with a loud, satisfied slurp.
“Work always reminds me of that Charlie Chan movie,“ Jannine said.
Neko, farther along on the substrate, pitched an identical elemental balloon into the helical structure. She had an elegant, overhand throw; she had played ball before she left school, but she was too small to get a scholarship.
“What Charlie Chan movie?“ she asked. “Not that I go out of my way to see Charlie Chan movies.“
“The one where he’s dancing with the globe?“ Jannine checked the blueprint hovering nearby, freed an element from the substrate, and moved it into place.
“Do you maybe mean Charlie Chaplin?“ Neko said. “The Great Dictator?“
“Chaplin, right.“ Jannine picked up a third element, tossed it, caught it again, danced on one toe.
Neko tossed an element through the helix. A perfect curve ball, it arced, touched, settled, like a basketball into quicksand. Its fuzzy outlines blurred as it melted into the main structure, still a discrete entity, but pouring its outer layers into the common pool.
“I don’t think you’d go too far as a dictator,“ Neko said.
“I don’t want to be the dictator. I want to be the guy who pretends to be the dictator.“
She leaped again, twisting as she left the ground. But the system wouldn’t let her spin. It caught her and stopped her with hard invisible fingers. She found herself on the ground, with no sensation of falling between leap and sprawl.
“Are you all right? I wish you wouldn’t do that. Jeez, it makes me nauseous just to watch you.“
Jannine picked herself up. Smiling, she glanced toward Neko, but Neko’s blurry face showed no expression.
“I’m okay,“ Jannine said to reassure her co-worker. Neko couldn’t see her expression any more than Jannine could see Neko’s. “Someday the system will handle a spin. How’ll I know if I don’t try?“
Neko picked up one more of the furry elemental balls and dropped it into place. The elementals scattered at her feet, bumping and quivering, sticking briefly to the substrate or bouncing off. Once in a while, two melded into dumbbell-shapes, then parted again.
“The system will handle a spin when you grow a ball-joint in your wrist,“ Neko said, exasperated. “You could read the documentation when there’s an upgrade.“
“Oh, when all else fails, read the instructions.“ Jannine laughed. “I don’t have time to read the instructions.“ She wished the company would let her take the manual home, but that was against the rules. You were only allowed to read the manual in the company library.
Jannine and Neko walked down the helix, positioning the elementals, now and again prying one out and replacing it.
A herd of elementals quivered toward Jannine, like bowling balls under a gray blanket. Several escaped and flew off into the sky.
“Warm fuzzies today,“ Neko said.
“Yeah.“ Jannine went to the system and asked for cooling. The elementals calmed, settled to the ground, and re-absorbed their covering blanket. Once in a while, an elemental emitted a smear.
The helix extended out of sight in both directions. Jannine and Neko had been working on this section for a week. Jannine loved watching the helix evolve under her hands. The details of substrate, helix, and elementals changed so fast that a human could alter the helix better than a robot, even better than enzymes.
A flicker in Jannine’s vision: the helix and the substrate and Neko vanished.
Jannine found herself in the real world. The couch held her among water-filled cushions, cradling her body.
Quitting time.
The screen of her helmet reflected her face, an image as unreal and distorted against the smoky plastic as Neko’s face had been, back inside the system. The screen’s color faded. The audio fuzz cut out.
The clamor and bustle of the factory surrounded her: the electronic whine of the system, the subsonic drumming of coolant pumps, the voices and shapes of her co-workers as they got out of their couches and tidied up for the day shift.
With her free left hand, Jannine opened the padded collar that secured her helmet. She raised the mechanism from her head. The noise level rose.
She shivered. The factory was always chilly. Her awareness of her body faded when she worked. She never felt cold till she came out of her workspace and back into real life. On the substrate, the temperature hovered just above absolute zero. Down there, she always felt warm. Up here, where the laboring pumps only incidentally lowered the temperature a few degrees, she always felt cold.
She unbuckled the cuff around her right wrist and freed her hand from the magnetic control.
Wiggling her fingers, clenching her fist, shaking her arm, she sli
d out of the couch. All around her, her co-workers stood and stretched and groaned in the cold. She unplugged her helmet and wiped it down and stowed it. She wished she owned one, a helmet she could impress her own settings in and paint with her own design.
Neko crossed the aisle and joined her.
Rocket Boy and the Geek Girls Page 28
