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

by Don Cook

  But at one game, for no reason at all, trouble exploded like a hydrogen bomb...

  Dr. Khraa-Veh ven-Bonhoeffer

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

  My Cosmos-Spanning Memoirs

  GOPHER STATE HOCKEY ARENA,

  MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA

  13 JANUARY 9 PM CENTRAL TIME

  “Bluebeards’ penalty to Number 12, Vinnie Ventura” spoke the announcer over the arena’s PA in the third period. “Two minutes for charging. Time: 15:59.”

  With less than five minutes remaining in regulation play, the Blue Hawks’ teenage fans jeered, as burly right defenseman Vincent “Vinnie” Ventura of the Jefferson Stanton High Bluebeards — the Douglas MacArthur High Blue Hawks’ main rivals — began his two-minute stay in the “sin bin”, giving the Blue Hawks a fortuitous power play opportunity as the fiercely played game was tied at 2-2. That fact was not lost at all on Glenn, as he, his teammates, and the remaining Bluebeards skated towards the right faceoff area behind the Bluebeards’ blue line for a faceoff. Mike and Khraa/Astra were thrilled as they eagerly leaned forward in the stands.

  “Okay, Bonhoeffer,” Barry Straker, the Blue Hawks’ tall, handsome center-forward/team captain said to Glenn, “I’m counting on you to make like a jet fighter and put one in the oven like you always do.”

  “Just back-pass it to me,” Glenn said, “and I’ll do the rest.”

  Each Blue Hawk and Bluebeard took his position and assumed a faceoff stance, with Barry facing his counterpart, brash, brawny Pete Leduc. The crew-cut yellow-haired referee dropped the puck. Barry passed the puck back to Glenn, who stickhandled it with amazing skill. Blue Hawks fans cheered, repeatedly chanting “Big Ten Glenn”, as Glenn speedily wove his way to within a foot of the Bluebeards’ crease, shot the puck, and scored!

  The Blue Hawks fans roared their cheers for Glenn, some of them still chanting “Big Ten Glenn” with even more fever-pitched repetitive abandon.

  “Blue Hawks’ goal scored by Number 10, Glenn Bonhoeffer!” spoke the announcer with a sportscaster’s gutsy joy, followed by the roaring cheers of every Blue Hawks fan in the stands, especially Mike and Khraa/Astra. “Assisted by Number 6, Barry Straker. Time: 17:59.”

  The cheering for Glenn increased as the players from both teams assumed center-ice faceoff positions. While Barry and Leduc lined up against each other for the faceoff, Vinnie, who always held a grudge against Glenn that goes back to their first game against each other, had served his two minutes in the penalty box and rejoined his fellow Bluebeards on the ice. Vinnie was out for blood, Glenn’s blood, and nonverbally made no bones about it.

  Vinnie gave his equally brawny teammate Brad “Big Bruiser” Armbruster a slight nod. The referee, fully aware that more trouble involving Vinnie was about to flare up, dropped the puck, and the game was back on. Barry took the puck and skated down the center of the ice with it. Armbruster, in turn, gave Barry a hard body-check, which released the puck from Barry’s stickhandling custody and temporarily knocked Barry off his skates. As Barry got back up, the puck slid to the right, directly into Vinnie’s path. Vinnie took the puck with his stick and seemed to have the next goal practically sewn up.

  Meanwhile, Khraa/Astra felt a strange, terrifying tingling sensation she always received when some being with telepathic powers was about to do or instigate something harmful.

  Bash Bonhoeffer into rice pudding, boy, Mephistula’s voice sounded within Vinnie’s teenage mind. Vinnie, seduced by teen male pride and Mephistula’s dark mental suggestion, relinquished the puck, went after Glenn, and body-checked him. Glenn, knowing it was Vinnie, was alright as he skated away from a possible fight, and focused his attention on the game, but Vinnie wouldn’t let it go at that.

  I said Bonhoeffer’s dad is dating a whore, boy, Mephistula’s voice thundered again within Vinnie’s already testosterone-controlled mind.

  “YOUR OLD MAN’S GIRLFRIEND’S A HO!” Vinnie shouted with cursing abandon. Glenn ignored Vinnie’s taunt, but Vinnie skated quickly up to Glenn and shouted, “HEY! BUNNY-HOPPER! I SAID YOUR DAD’S GAL IS A HO, HO, HO!”

  Vinnie grabbed Glenn in the Bluebeards’ right blue zone, trying to make it look as if Glenn was provoking a fight, and swung at him, striking Glenn in the right shoulder. Instinctively, Glenn hit Vinnie in his left shoulder, and a bench-clearing hockey brawl erupted like a volcano as the players from both teams skated onto the ice in support of their brawling teammates. Vinnie let forth a brashly unintelligible light-year long blue streak, followed by a middle-finger salute hurled in Mike and Khraa/Astra’s direction.

  “I SAID YOUR OLD MAN’S DATING A HALF-BLACK HUSSY, BUNNY-HOPPER!” racist Vinnie snarly-shouted at Glenn before flailing him, with all present fully aware that “Astra Downey” was multiracial.

  The Blue Hawks defenseman simply defended himself within reason while the referee and linesmen speedily skated towards the brawling boys to stop the fight.

  While helping Vinnie in flailing Glenn, Armbruster shouted at his quarry, “BUNNY-HOPPER! YOU’RE ALSO A MOTHER —!”

  “THAT’S ENOUGH, VENTURA, ARMBRUSTER!” the referee said, as he and the linesmen grabbed and successfully pulled Vinnie and Armbruster off Glenn amid the boos, hisses and cat-calls from the crowd.

  Khraa/Astra, having seen that her boyfriend’s son did not start the fight, quickly planted a telepathic suggestion of what truly happened into the minds of the game’s on-ice officials as they broke up the fight.

  “OKAY!” the referee shouted. “WE ALL SAW THE WHOLE THING, ARMBRUSTER, VENTURA, AND YOUR RACIST/SEXIST POTTY-MOUTHS JUST GOT YOUR ASSES EACH A GAME MISCONDUCT!” The referee, pointing towards the Bluebeards’ dressing room, shouted at Vinnie and Armbruster, “SHOWERS — NOW!”

  Vinnie and Armbruster skulked away off the ice for their dressing room as the announcer’s voice boomed over the PA, “Bluebeards’ penalties to Number 12, Vinnie Ventura, game misconduct.” A fierce chorus of boos and cat-calling came from the Bluebeards’ fans, as the announcer went on, “And to Number 13, Bradley Armbruster, game misconduct. Time: 19:21.”

  As the Bluebeards’ fans kept jeering rudely, the referee then spoke with Glenn and asked, “Are you okay, Bonhoeffer?”

  “Yes, Ref, I am,” Glenn said. “Honestly, I didn’t start it —!”

  “I know you didn’t, Bonhoeffer, and I believe if a player who was attacked tries to skate away from a fight like you did, he stays on the ice, even if he strikes back to defend himself. You did the right thing the best you could. Bonhoeffer, you can either say you’re not up to playing, or stay in the game. How about it?”

  “I’m staying, Ref” Glenn said. “And thanks.”

  “Good choice, son” the referee said.

  “Oh, and Ref?”

  “Yes?”

  “Could you do me a favor?”

  “What is it?”

  Glenn waxed satirically poetic as he wittily defended Khraa/Astra, “Would you be good enough to educate Sirs Ventura and Armbruster, along with the other knights of the Bluebeard table, with the information that my father’s beloved belle is a fine and fair multiracial maiden? And yes, good referee, I do have an artistic side.”

  “Will do, Lord Bonhoeffer!” the referee said with a chuckle, appreciative of Glenn’s artistic wit, before he motioned every non-goalie player to the right blue zone faceoff area.

  With just 39 seconds left, the players took up their positions. The referee dropped the puck. Barry passed it to tall, blonde right forward Isaac “Ike” Isaacson, who passed it back to Glenn as he neared the Bluebeards’ goal line, and, with a mere 34 seconds remaining, Glenn slapped the puck into the Bluebeards net again.

  The Blue Hawks’ fans cheered wildly again and chanted “Big Ten Glenn”.

  Glenn relished the moment, as the announcer’s voiced blared from the arena’s speakers, “Blue Hawks’ goal scored by Number 10, Glenn Bonhoeffer —!” More crazy cheers flooded the arena for their “Big Ten Glenn.” The anno
uncer proudly continued, “Assisted by Number 6, Barry Straker, and by Number 8, Isaac Isaacson. Time: 19:26.”

  The cheers grew louder and louder, with Mike feeling like the proud hockey dad he was, and with Khraa/Astra happily settling, for now, to be a proud hockey dad’s girlfriend.

  The teams assumed faceoff stances. The referee dropped the puck, and the Bluebeards tried to scramble for a surprise victory, or at least to save face, but to no avail. The game-ending buzzer sounded, followed by the blaring victory siren and the flashing victory lights, as every Blue Hawk fan went wild with victorious joy.

  The announcer’s voice proudly sounded over the PA, “The final score: MacArthur Blue Hawks 4, and the Stanton Bluebeards 2.”

  After he showered and changed into his street clothes, Glenn met Mike and Khraa/Astra near the concession stand around 9:59 PM.

  “That was an awesome game, son!” Mike said.

  “It would have been better had Ventura and Armbruster decided not to brawl me!” Glenn said.

  “I know, Glenn” Mike said. “But it wasn’t your fault. Like we say when you lose, did you give it your best shot, beyond trying to skate from a fight?”

  “Yes, Dad” Glenn said. “Yes, I did.”

  “And did you have fun playing?” Khraa/Astra said.

  “Well…” Glenn mused for a moment. “Yeah!”

  “That’s what counts, Glenn, and you won it fair and square” hockey dad Mike said. “What did the coach have say about your war-wounds?”

  “He made an appointment for me to see Dr. Brolin tomorrow.”

  Mike turned to Khraa/Astra and asked, “Astra, can you take him? I’ve got work to do at the Bureau tomorrow.”

  “Sure, Mike” Khraa/Astra said. “I’ll take Glenn to see Dr. Brolin.”

  HOME OF MALLORY STANTON

  WASHINGTON, DC

  SAME MOMENT (11:01 PM EASTERN TIME)

  “Ooohh…” Stanton said as she sat on her large living room sofa, physically sickened after Glenn’s hockey victory hundreds of miles away. “I feel sick!”

  Stanton ran to the nearest bathroom, where she vomited heavily.

  It seems that once New Year’s Day had passed, things became worse for my Mike and his family.

  Donny’s social studies teacher Leah Walton, the substitute teacher for the kindly Mrs. Burton (who was on pregnancy leave), was a 20-something woman whose attitude was that of a mean, crotchety female from at least seventy Earth-years ago.

  Miss Walton — she hated the more feminist-friendly title “Ms.” with a fiery passion — had no real love for kids, and lacked the knack a schoolteacher needs to have when dealing with children. But there was a shortage of qualified teachers that year, and Donny and his classmates got saddled with Miss Walton. Walton, raised by utterly strict Southern Baptists, never praised any of her students when they did right — and dealt them the harshest treatment for even the most minor infractions or errors.

  Even most pre-1960s Terran schoolmarms weren’t that hostile...

  Dr. Khraa-Veh ven-Bonhoeffer

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

  My Cosmos-Spanning Memoirs

  ROOM 333, HARRY S. TRUMAN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

  MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA

  23 JANUARY 1:13 PM CENTRAL TIME

  “Now, everyone, I want you to learn all the capitals of all the States off by heart” said prissy, raven-haired Southern-accented social studies teacher Leah Walton. Always wearing her hair in an old-fashioned bun with a mean attitude that made her come across as being a crotchety old lady, she believed that a teacher can never be too harsh with pupils. She continued meanly, “And if you don’t, I’ll make you learn them again and again and again until you recite them in your sleep!”

  Every student, including Donny, already scared of “Darth Leah” (nicknamed indirectly after two Star Wars characters by the kids at Truman Elementary School), felt mixed fear and hatred for her. Miss Walton, although a teacher with the progressive Minnesota public-school system, viscerally hated every American legislator, governor, judge and law enforcement official at any level of government, including Donny’s FBI Agent-father. She blamed with vengeful hostility every church, the state, Hollywood and the press for every social ill that created, in her opinion, “Liberal Hitler Youth USA.”

  Miss Walton snarled, “We’ll start in alphabetical order! Now, repeat after me.”

  Miss Walton and her scared students began, “The capital of Alabama is Birmingham. The capital of Alaska is Juneau. The capital of Arizona is Phoenix. The capital of Arkansas is Little Rock. The capital of California is Sacramento. The capital of Colorado is Denver. The capital of Connecticut is Hartford. The capital of Delaware is Dover —”

  Donny Bonhoeffer is a very bad boy whose butt NEEDS THE STRAP BADLY, Mephistula’s voice viciously sounded within Miss Walton’s already-mean mind, making the terrible teacher fall silent, and her pupils puzzled.

  “Let’s take it from…” Miss Walton paused briefly. “Oh, yes.”

  Miss Walton and her class resumed their recital of the state capitals as they spoke, in unison, “The capital of Florida is Tallahassee. The capital of Georgia is —”

  I SAID, WHOOP DONNY BONHOEFFER’S BUTT NOW, Mephistula’s voice thundered within Miss Walton’s mind again, as she was about to recite Georgia’s state capital. The class stopped their state capital recital dead in their voices’ tracks.

  Wrongly obeying the evil voice in her mind, although she did not know why, Miss Walton whipped herself around and faced Donny, hurling at the young boy the evilest, hateful, if-looks-could-kill stare any woman could flash at another human being.

  “DONALD IAN BONHOEFFER!” Miss Walton angrily bellowed at Donny so loudly that she could be heard two classrooms away in either direction and across the hallway. “YOU DID SOMETHING VERY, VERY BAD, YOU LITTLE COMMIE GANGBANGER WANNABE!”

  Every other kid looked at Donny with hatred and suspicion on steroids immediately after Miss Walton bellowed out her wrongful description of him. Since he was all alone, Donny was practically scared for his life.

  APARTMENT 1214, BELLA VILLA APARTMENT COMPLEX

  MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA

  SAME MOMENT

  “Thank you very, very much, Luther, for speaking with us today about the New World Order,” said Khraa/Astra, in casual dress attire, while she interviewed graying African-American former Missouri congressman and anti-New World Order activist Luther Calvin from her den for her next news podcast.

  “It’s my pleasure, Astra,” Luther Calvin said. “Thanks for having me on.”

  Khraa-Astra terminated the Skype connection and then the recording for later editing.

  Suddenly, she telepathically picked up on the disastrous unfolding of events surrounding Donny, Miss Walton and possibly Mephistula by having violent spastic chills throughout her entire body. She realized Donny was in trouble not of his making and quickly sent volleys of strong telepathic suggestion at Truman Elementary School’s direction.

  ROOM 333, HARRY S. TRUMAN ELEMENTARY SCHOOL

  MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA

  SAME MOMENT

  “YOU, GANGBANGER!” meanly ranted Miss Walton at a terrified Donny, as the other students looked on, viewing Donny as the latest object for hatred and bullying. “YOU ARE THE REASON WHY —”

  FERMEZ LA BOUCHE, fiercely sounded Khraa/Astra’s voice deep within Miss Walton’s mind, as she telepathically suggested into the screaming teacher’s mind abject terror. This caused the teacher to collapse onto the floor in an inexplicable screaming and spastically gyrating fit that scared the students more than her wrongful tirade against Donny.

  Kids, Khraa/Astra telepathically suggested deep within the minds of each child in the classroom with utmost sternness, Donny Bonhoeffer is your friend. Treat him like you’d want him to treat you.

  “You okay, Donny?” Veronica “Ronnie” Eccles, a long-haired brunette girl who sat to Donny’s right, asked pretty much for everyone else in
the class, as Miss Walton kept on convulsing.

  “Yes,” Donny said, confused but relieved, “Uh, I guess.”

  Realizing Miss Walton was in trouble, Donny shouted, “Gotta get help!”

  Donny ran out of the classroom and a moment later, came back with tall, blonde school Principal Ms. Ruth Teschmacher.

  As suddenly as her fit began, Miss Walton stopped convulsing, sat up and began to weep hard for all her hatreds, all her meanness, and her inability to be merciful to anyone.

  “I — I — I’m sorry, Donny…” Miss Walton sobbed. “All of you kids, I’m very, very sorry. Ms. Teschmacher, please let me quit. I don’t deserve these fine kids.”

  She sobbed some more, as she realized her upbringing by abusive parents who attended a hostile extremely conservative Southern Baptist church warped everything within her, and made her just as bad as the liberals whom she saw has having devastated society bit by bit.

  “Especially someone like Donny. He’s a good student. Get him some good teachers. And I really need help. Do you know of anyone?”

  “I do, Leah,” Ms. Teschmacher said softly to Ms. Walton, as she understood that Miss Walton was undergoing some sort of nervous breakdown. “I do. We’ll talk about some next steps later. I’ll take over from here, okay?”

  “Okay, Ruth,” Miss Walton said, as she rose to her feet, and left the classroom, still sobbing a little, but thankful that she might be getting a second chance somewhere else, in some other vocation.

  “You okay, Donny?” Ms. Teschmacher asked kindly.

  “Yes, Ms. Teschmacher” Donny said, shaken and sobbing a little, but as good as could be expected.

  “Here, Donny, you can have the rest of the day off. I’ll call your Dad. Let’s go.”

  As Mrs. Kramer, the girls’ short-but-muscular scarlet-haired gym teacher, walked in to take over from Miss Walton, Ms. Teschmacher turned to the rest of the class and said, “Okay, kids. Mrs. Kramer will take over from here.”