The Invader Candidate: From the Adventures of Khraa-Veh, Alien Explorer

by Don Cook

  “I suspect that Stanton, Mephistula — or whoever that opportunistic candidate is — has been conducting clandestine surveillance on Astra Downey’s activities to obtain information on her, along with others on Stanton’s rather lengthy enemies list. Thus, I must plan my next move meticulously, as well as drive back to Astra’s apartment building. End of entry, date-time stamp — subjective timing.”

  Khraa/Astra ended her log-entry, then ordered Blue 1’s computer, “Computer, transmit log-entry to orbiting satellite network for beacon-casting.”

  “Transmitting log-entry now, Captain” spoke Blue 1’s computer.

  APPROXIMATELY 630 MILES ABOVE EARTH’S SURFACE

  The derelict Canadian satellite Alouette 1 received Khraa/Astra’s survival log entry and transmitted it as an embedded part of the repeating distress-beacon outward into deep space, to whomever or whatever, in Khraa/Astra’s home-sector of space might receive it.

  * * *

  * All quotations from Khraa-Veh’s Guide to All Things Earthling are taken from its Printing #3, published in 1951 N.U.E. by Guttner & Barding Publishing-Smiths, Inc., Nov-Amstrok (Planet-State), by kindly joint permission of Lady Veh ven-Bonhoeffer and the publishers.

  Chapter 3

  ASSAULTED!

  Upon my arrival in Earth orbit and my subsequent mental absorption of Earth’s entire Internet, I realized quickly that Earth (wittily described by noted Canadian media scholar-philosopher Marshall McLuhan as a “global village”) was, as many Earthers would also describe their home planet, a “very rough and dangerous neighborhood.”

  I was also reminded that there is more than one way to attack and eviscerate people, as well as, to borrow a common Earthly saying, “there is more than one way to skin a cat.” And that either task was very, very gruesome…

  Dr. Khraa-Veh ven-Bonhoeffer

  Admiral, Platinum-Class, AMKEXPRA (Ret’d)

  My Cosmos-Spanning Memoirs

  HOME OF MIKE BONHOEFFER

  MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA

  18 OCTOBER, 8:15 AM CENTRAL TIME

  “Yes, people, just where exactly did La Mis come from?” said Khraa/Astra, as mid-fifties tall, dark-haired FBI Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge/FBI chaplain Michael Donald “Mike” Bonhoeffer, his 14-year-old twins Glenn (who looked like a younger version of Mike) and Valentina (a strawberry blonde who was nicknamed “Val”) and eight-year-old son Donald (nicknamed “Donny”, who was also strawberry blonde) watched their daily dose of The Bull-Free Truth with Astra Downey on his laptop during breakfast in their kitchen of their colonial period-design home.

  Khraa/Astra continued on her podcast, “Stanton’s gone so far off the deep end to end all deep ends, that recently, Stanton’s father, industrialist-tycoon Reggie Roddenberry, has even gone on to muse that his daughter might be possessed by Satan.

  “Look, whatever race, creed, color, or demographic persuasion you see yourself being, La Mis is feeding you horse-hooey on steroids that makes Stephen King novels look like Bugs Bunny cartoons!

  “That wraps it up for now,” Khraa/Astra began to conclude her podcast. “And remember to pick up or order some Freedom Tea from Frank Ben’s Patriotic Foods among other survival stores you’ll need for when the manure really hits the fan, as well as their helping to pay the shot for these podcasts. Until next time, this is Astra Downey saying, be well, keep safe, stay free and God Bless!”

  After the podcast ended, Mike turned off and folded up his laptop, and put it in his attaché case.

  Val asked Mike, “Daddy?”

  Mike answered in his usual yet all-too-currently rare fatherly way, “Yes, baby?”

  “After what Astra Downey said… I mean, she’s cool, but... I’m scared.”

  Val ran over to Mike, who gave her a quick, reassuring fatherly hug, as he said to her, “Me, too, sweetie. Me, too.”

  Donny said, “Me, three.”

  Glenn said, “Count me in, too.”

  A serious hush befell the dining room, before Donny said, “You know, guys, I kinda like Astra Downey. I wish she was...”

  “What, little bro?” Glenn asked. “What do you wish Astra Downey was?”

  A second brief, tense pause ensued before Donny said meekly, “Our new mom.”

  Glenn responded, in smart aleck teenage male fashion, “Hah! Dream on, little bro! Astra Downey’s more like a super-hot M-I-L —”

  “Glenn!” Mike said loudly, thoroughly disgusted at the sexually lewd statement Glenn was about to make. “We don’t use pottyspeak here now, do we?”

  “But, Dad!” Glenn said, with ignorant teenage pleading.

  “But nothing! You may not love the Lord like I do, son,” Mike said firmly, “but while you live under my roof, you will not sound like a sewer-mouth!” Mike paused, then said to Val and Donny, “And that goes for the two of you, as well! Copy?”

  Each Bonhoeffer kid said humbly, “Yes, sir.”

  Mike looked at his watch.

  “Wow! Guys, time to head off to school and work.”

  “Aww, Dad!” Val, Glenn and Donny whined in unison.

  OFFICE OF MALLORY STANTON

  WASHINGTON, DC, USA

  9:25 AM EASTERN TIME

  “Ms. Stanton,” said Stanton’s self-entitled secretary in her high-pitched voice over the intercom, “Special Agent Eggers is waiting on Skype, as per your request.”

  “Good” replied scheming, duplicitous presidential hopeful Mallory Ignacia Stanton. “I’ll take it.”

  Butch, graying blonde Stanton pressed the intercom’s off-button and switched on her laptop. The screen displayed the unrealistically smiley-faced image of Stanton’s square-headed Minneapolis-based mole-at-large FBI Special Agent Austin Reginald Samson Eggers, with whom Stanton had a first-name rapport.

  “Hi, Austin” Stanton said. “Let’s chat.”

  “Thank you, Ms. Stanton” Eggers said, with mildly excessive politeness. “So, Ms. Stanton, you wanted to Skype me about something?

  “Yes, Austin” Stanton said. “I’d like you to dig deeper and find out what more dirt can be unearthed on Astra Downey.”

  The geekish Eggers was puzzled because he assumed understandably that Stanton and her political machinery already had tons of intelligence on Downey and other social and conservative persons and groups who were against her. Enough to do more damage than even he could possibly imagine.

  Eggers asked, “But I thought you already had enough —”

  “Now, Austin,” Stanton maternally rebuked Eggers, who had a special place in Stanton’s heart, “you know you can never have enough on anyone who’s against you. Besides, her podcast attacks have become harder for me and my people to refute. I’m running out of ways to, shall we say, make Ms. Downey look less credible.”

  “I see…” Eggers said.

  “You know copy of the dossier on Astra Downey that I sent you as a refresher?” Stanton said, as Eggers opened his copy of the dossier on Astra. “Read it aloud.”

  “Astra Ruth Downey,” Eggers began to read from his copy of Astra’s dossier aloud. “Dual US-Canadian citizen born in Bemidji, Minnesota on 11 June 1982. Father, David John Downey, born 20 July 1946 in Ohio to Lt. George Downey, who served with the 332nd Fighter Group, United States Army Air Forces, and Martina Downey, nee Cassinelli, an Italian national.”

  “332nd?” Stanton said. “I know a lot about the 332nd. That means that Astra’s paternal grandfather was black, and her grandma was an Italian war bride.”

  “Her mother was Marie-Claire Beaulieu, a Canadian Métis — Ms. Stanton, just what is a ‘matey’?”

  “A Métis, Austin, is a Canadian of mixed white and native blood.”

  “Thanks,” Eggers said, as he shifted his attention to the details of Astra’s teenage years in the dossier. “It says here that after Downey’s family moved to Canapaq, Alberta when she was five and attended school there. She graduated from Canapaq High School with honors, and then briefly attended York University in Toronto before she transferred to
Fanshawe College in London.” Eggers was baffled enough to ask Stanton, “Since when the heck did Astra Downey live in England?!”

  “That’s London, Ontario, Canada, Austin,” Stanton said with corrective surliness, “not London, England!”

  “Sorry, Ms. Stanton.” Eggers continued to read from his copy of the dossier aloud, “During her time at Fanshawe, Downey studied General Arts and Sciences, Broadcasting-Television, and Advanced Filmmaking. Again, she graduated with honors in all three programs, and also took various online courses in journalism. She put herself through college as the lead singer of all-girl Moody Blues college tribute band The Moody Pinks, which disbanded shortly after Downey’s graduation... looks like Ms. Downey’s a real overachiever.”

  “Overachiever, workaholic, same thing. I can relate. Read on, Austin.”

  Eggers continued, “A few months before graduation, Downey was diagnosed with Crohn’s Disease. Because of waiting lists endemic in the Ontario health care system, her surgery was postponed until after the fall commencement. In late November, she had the surgery where much of her large intestine and appendix were removed.” Eggers paused briefly, then darkly joked, “Looks like Downey lost lots of guts as a result.”

  “It’s not always the quantity of guts,” Stanton said, “but it is always their quality. And she’s still got lots of guts and gall to boot. Bear that in mind, and please read on.”

  “Downey was hospitalized in London, Ontario and out of action for months” Eggers continued. “She couldn’t get work in her chosen field afterwards. Downey, having run out of the means to stay in Ontario, was unable to support herself and lacked the funds to move to the Hamilton-Greater Toronto Area, where she would have likely found work in film or TV. She moved back to Canapaq, Alberta, where, she worked in sales for Canapaq Food Processors Ltd. until the day of the fire at the Canapaq plant and the local chemical train derailment, known as Canapaq Double-Whammy Day.”

  Eggers looked up to face Stanton via his computer webcam and said, “Canapaq? Wasn’t that the Canadian one-horse town that had the factory fire and train derailment on the same day, and that town ‘died’ as a result?”

  “It was. She was out of town on company business that day.”

  Eggers recalled the dark day and momentarily stopped reading the dossier and looked at Stanton as he said, “I remember that! That was where the Mounties busted the meat-packing plant owners, and town council —”

  “And where the owners and local politicians were sent to prison,” Stanton said.

  “Downey survived the events of that day,” Eggers read on, “because she was out-of-town on a business trip. However, Downey’s parents, along with most of the townspeople, were killed that day either at the plant or because of the derailment. Since then, Downey has made a living as an independent investigative conservative Internet journalist. Drives a satellite dish-equipped Winnebago Fuse Class C RV which doubles as a studio for her podcasts —”

  “And has been a thorn in my side for some time,” Stanton said. “Now, I want you to monitor Downey’s movements. I want to even know when and how she goes to the bathroom. I’ll arrange for the Bureau office in Minneapolis to give us its unwitting cooperation so you can carry out my orders with their help. Copy, Austin?”

  “Roger, wilco!” Eggers said, with gutsy Millennial sheepishness.

  SUPERSTORE CHECKOUT STAND #3

  CLOQUET, MINNESOTA

  10:45 AM CENTRAL TIME

  “That’s a lot of garlic capsules, girl!” a plus-sized mid-fifties gossipy woman said to Khraa/Astra as they waited in the checkout line. “Going vampire hunting?!”

  The blonde-streaked dark-haired woman laughed meanly and loudly until Khraa/Astra, fed up with the petty hatreds of Western World Earthwomen of the gossip-monger’s generation, frowned at the catty woman-on-the-prowl as she psychically dealt the bratty femme silencing painful laryngitis that made her clutch her throat.

  IF THIS WORKS, YOU BRAIN-DEAD COUGAR, I’LL BE SAVING YOUR PLANET’S ASS, mentally scolded Khraa/Astra into the older woman’s mind. I do come in peace, dear superannuated teenage Earthling! I truly mean you and your fellow Earthlings no harm. Not you, or your whole sicko family who hate your guts, or your girl-frenemies, or your boy-toy-frenemies, or the rest of your fellow Earthpeople! That’s right! No harm at all! None! Zippo! Zee-rho! Zilch-oh!

  The gossipy woman was shamefully dumbfounded as Khraa/Astra mentally went on, Yes, I am on your side, Summer-of-Love-Child — and I’d appreciate it if you ceased and desisted with your insultingly tiring old Kathy Griffin-type wisecrack-epithets!

  Khraa/Astra quickly ended the gossipy woman’s psychically induced laryngitis. The gossipy woman got Khraa/Astra’s stern mental message as she feigned a smile at Khraa/Astra and said quietly with fake politeness to save face, “Have a nice day.”

  Khraa/Astra paid the cashier for her goods, then silently took her bags and left.

  OUTSIDE ASTRA DOWNEY’S RV

  SUPERSTORE PARKING LOT, CLOQUET, MINNESOTA, USA

  10:59 AM CENTRAL TIME

  “Hey! What are you kids doing hanging around my van?!” an alarmed Khraa/Astra said to a mixed group of eight raven-haired truant local Native American teenagers who converged around the RV to burglarize it, as she approached her vehicle.

  The teenagers, who made Khraa/Astra think of her own children and those of her colleagues back on Rubiaar IV, froze out of fear of the RV owner who seemed like a strong spirit, even for an “empowered” woman. She felt their fears, and also saw the grave state of need, want and angry despair in the teenagers’ minds — rage that was spawned by the futility instilled within them by a system rife with institutionalized ethic bigotry against the nation’s indigenous peoples and the self-defeated anger that resulted. Khraa/Astra then saw part of Earth’s dark side that made that of the rude middle-aged woman she encountered look trivial.

  Khraa/Astra took pity on them, knowing that while she could not save the Earth, she could still help these sorely disadvantaged, embittered youths, and driven by maternal compassion, developed an ingeniously simple, humane plan for all of them on the spot.

  You all seem hungry and in dire need of major hope, Khraa/Astra psychically imparted into the young minds, knowing that a good morale boost within them might do wonders. How about you stop abusing glue, booze, drugs and other stuff — and that in return, I’ll give each of you a boost in your sixth sense so you could sniff out opportunities to help you make better lives for each of you, and to pay it forward to all your Native North American brothers and sisters from Canada to Panama? Howe does that thought sound?

  The empowering idea deeply touched the psyches of each truant kid around Khraa/Astra’s RV as Khraa/Astra herself neared the vehicle.

  “Hey, guys!” Khraa/Astra said to the young truants aloud. “If you keep watch over my vehicle for a few minutes, I pay you each with a gift certificate for a certain Tex-Mex fast food joint so you can all get a new start with a hot meal?”

  All eight school-skipping raven-haired truant local Native American teenagers eagerly nodded yes, which delighted Khraa/Astra greatly.

  ASTRA DOWNEY’S RV

  CLOQUET, MINNESOTA, USA

  10:49 AM CENTRAL TIME

  Khraa/Astra felt more uneasy than usual about the podcast she had just concluded as she turned off the webcam and uploaded the video. She then got up, walked to a small cabinet and took a bottle of odorless garlic capsules from it. She knew that Mephistula was somehow behind Stanton’s evil deeds — and thus might have to take extraordinary action.

  Examining the garlic capsules bottle, she said with mild trepidation, “I hate making like a drug-junkie, but if these Earthly gar-leek capsules will help keep Mephistula off my trail, so be it.”

  Khraa/Astra opened the bottle and ingested fifteen capsules, three at a time with a sip of water. She then closed the bottle and returned it to the cabinet.

  OUTSIDE ASTRA DOWNEY’S RV

  SUPERSTORE PARKING LOT, CLOQUET
, MINNESOTA, USA

  10:59 AM CENTRAL TIME

  “Thanks for keeping watch for me, guys!” Khraa/Astra said to a mixed group of eight raven-haired truant local Native American teenagers, as she paid them each of them with a one sizably valued fast food place gift certificate for acting as lookout for intruders — as well as to keep these children out of any more trouble than they were already in. “Here you go. They’re all in the same amount, just to show I don’t play favorites.”

  “Thanks” said Giselle, the oldest girl, who looked like a black-haired Native American Svetlia to Khraa/Astra. “You really mean what you say.”

  “I do.”

  Jake, the local techno-genius nicknamed “Jake Geek-feathers” by his peers, asked, “So, Astra, are you really both American and Canadian?”

  “Yep. My Dad was American, and Mom was Canadian Métis, someone who’s half-French, half-Indian.”

  Giselle asked, “You mean, you’re also part-Indian?”

  “I am. My Grandpa Downey was an African-American who fought in World War Two, and Grandma Downey was his Italian war bride —”

  “Your grandpa fought in World War Two?” said barely teenage Isaac. “Cool!”

  “He did” Khraa/Astra said with dignified pride. “My Grandpa, Lt. George Downey, served with the Tuskegee Airmen. He was a real killer P-51 Mustang pilot who made ace three times over. Just before war ended, Grandpa shot down a Nazi Me 262 just as it dove down right towards him, ready to blow him to bits. But just as the Nazi jet plane was bearing down on him, Grandpa shot at one of its engines, and blew up the Nazi plane and its pilot. Grandpa always said God was with him that day.”

  “Cool!” Jake said. “I would have liked to have met your grandpa.”