The Cresperian Alliance

by Stephanie Osborn

  Piki looked up at him doubtfully. “You... you think I am... strong?"

  "Very.” He nodded vehemently.

  She considered a few moments, then nodded her agreement. “All right. Strong face shape.” Piki hit a button on her palm computer. “Now hair color. Dark or light?"

  Bangler shrugged. “I tend to like pale blondes, myself. Other men, obviously, have different opinions. Can you change it once you do it, if you decide you don't like it?"

  "Oh yes,” Piki said. “I can... be... any woman I wish."

  Bangler wondered if he had imagined that orange bifurcated eyes could give him a seductive glance. He shook off the thought, then suggested, “Well, try blonde for a start, and we can always change it if you don't like it."

  "Blonde,” she hit a button, and different shades of blonde hair came onscreen. “Which one?"

  Wordlessly, Bangler pointed at the platinum shade. Piki entered confirmation.

  They went through lips, nose, and ears the same way, Piki offering options from the computer, and Bangler helping her choose. But when they got to her eyes, Piki got a surprise.

  "I... I dunno,” Bangler confessed. “I... can't seem to see you with any other color than the one you've got."

  "Orange?” Piki wondered. “I thought humans did not have orange eyes."

  "Well, not true orange,” he admitted. “But you can get some really interesting shades of brown and hazel that are fairly close.” He shrugged. “Make them human shaped, with round pupils, then maybe darken the orange shade a bit. That oughta work, and you'll still look like... you."

  Piki blinked. “But I will not look like this at all, Bang-bang,” she pointed out, sweeping a hand down her body. “How can I look like... me?"

  Bangler flushed slightly. “One of our poets—dam- er, dang if I know which one, said something about the eyes being the windows of the soul,” he explained. “I'd like to be able to see the Piki I know right now in your eyes, even after you've changed."

  "You... do you like me, Bang-bang?"

  Uh boy, Bangler thought, mentally backpedaling. “Sure, Piki, we're friends,” he declared. “After all that crap back in Scotland, of course we are."

  Piki smiled happily, and Bangler decided that, in spite of what he'd been told about the half morphed appearance, she definitely looked cute. He was also beginning to conclude that his nickname—especially his new one—wasn't so bad after all.

  "All right,” she declared, “dark orange eye color, and—which shape?"

  "This one,” he pointed to an image.

  Piki clicked several buttons, and the little computer built up a composite image based on the selections they'd made. She looked at it for a moment, then nodded approval and showed it to Bangler.

  Bangler had all he could do not to gasp. Dear God, she's gonna be gorgeous. Utterly, totally drop dead gorgeous. And those eyes... I can hardly stop staring. He shook himself back to normal. “Yeah, Piki, you're gonna look great,” he said in deliberate understatement. “I think that's perfect."

  "Now,” she declared, “what about body? Are my arm and leg proportions right?” She held out her arms and spun slowly in place.

  Bangler raised his eyebrows as he scanned her up and down. “I... don't see anything wrong with ‘em, so I guess so."

  "Neck? Breasts and hips? Waist?"

  Bangler swallowed hard as he scanned the green, furry, but rather voluptuous body. “It all looks good to me,” he said, then caught himself, hoping her perceptive sense hadn't caught the Freudian double entendre.

  Piki turned away briefly, ostensibly to enter the information into her little computer, but in reality she hid a hopeful smile. When she turned back to him, it was gone. “Skin color?” She held out the computer for him to see “color swatches."

  He picked a rather dark tan tone, and she entered it, then the computer built up a complete, full body, nude image. Bangler's mouth suddenly went dry.

  "Um, yeah, that'll look really nice, Piki,” he concluded. “Burroughs, you said?"

  "Yes."

  "You'll get a lot of attention from the guys, Piki."

  "As long as they are nice to me, that is fine,” she averred. “But if they are mean, and try to touch me there, they will not mate anymore, ever.” The fuzzy green face developed an amazingly fierce scowl, considering it was still half Crispy in structure.

  Bangler ran a hand over his hair. Geez, I can't let that go by. She has to understand about sex and... and that it's only bad if it's forced. That two people in love, married, are supposed to enjoy it. How the hell...? Tomlinson! Get me outta this! You and your girlfriend! Argh!

  "Piki,” he finally ventured, “touching there... between two people who want it... isn't mean."

  "Isn't mean?” she wondered, her attention suddenly focused on him. “Explain."

  "Uh boy. I don't know if I'm the right one to be explaining. Maybe Dr. Forcula or Medic Nunez would do better..."

  "Why cannot you explain, Bang-bang?” Piki insisted. “If we are friends, please explain. I do not know they so well."

  "Them,” he corrected, distracted. In it whether I like it or not, I guess, he thought. Bangler drew a deep breath and plunged in.

  "Piki, touching there is a part of reproduction for humans. And whether you believe God created us—which I know Cresperians don't—or evolution, it's SUPPOSED to be pleasurable between mates in love. Very pleasurable.” Bangler tried not to flush and failed; he could feel the heat blazing in his face.

  "But... it hurt,” Piki protested.

  "Because he didn't consider YOU at all,” Bangler explained. “He didn't love you, he was only using you to feel good, just like he was using you to ‘fix’ him. You weren't ready, physically, mentally, or emotionally. You're right, he was a bad man, and he did that badly. A good man, who really loved you, would make sure you were completely ready before he tried, and then it would feel good to you, too."

  Piki's mouth slit crumpled on one side, and Bangler recognized it as the beginnings of a human expression of doubt. “Have you ever touched?"

  Bangler felt his face get even hotter. “A few times,” he admitted. “I thought I was in love for awhile, but she turned out not to be the right one.” He paused. “I decided I'd wait until I was sure next time. It... didn't end well at all."

  "Did it hurt?"

  "In a way. The ending of the relationship did, anyway. Emotionally, though, not physically, like yours did."

  Piki considered him with that piercing orange gaze. “Have you BEEN touched?"

  "...Yes."

  "Did it feel... good?"

  Shit dammit to hell and back...

  "...Yes."

  Piki nodded. “You are a good man, Bang-bang. Some day when I am ready, I shall have you show me.” She turned toward the main conference room. “Let us join the others now. I want to show Sira what I am going to look like."

  Uh boy, Bangler thought in dismay, standing up and following.

  The next day the Sea Wolf surfaced, and Units Faith and Hope—with their adjuncts—were transferred, in rapid succession, to the battleship USS Franklin; the aircraft carrier USS Seahawk; thence by helicopter to the mainland; then by cargo planes and vans to the Enclave. It made for two excruciatingly long days.

  But by its end, Peter and Karen were starting to take on a vaguely more human shape, although they had a considerable way to go; and Piki's hair had transmuted from dark green to a pale green with lighter streaks. Her face was slowly changing as well; the semblance of a nose and ears were beginning to form, as the mouth developed thin lips and became more flexible. All in all, Tomlinson declared, it had been a successful mission.

  Then they reached the Enclave and got the news.

  "...Yeah, all hell is breaking loose,” Hand Anderson noted to the two newly arrived teams. “We got all of Operation Cavalry successfully conducted, especially the British expedition, White Horse. We lost two guys in China on Red Horse, and one in the Middle East from Black Horse, but we go
t all the Crispies home in one piece."

  "What shape were they in?” Peggy Nunez asked, concerned. “You've already gotten the medical reports on ‘our’ Crispies..."

  Hand shrugged. “The only Crispy left in China refused to change, when he saw what happened to Lau and his buddy Chu—who went SO off his rocker the Chinese themselves ended up shooting him. But they still wanted Dalunith to change, and since he wouldn't, he was tortured for it. It was sort of like the Greek myth of the guy sentenced to roll the stone up the mountain, only to have it roll to the bottom when he reached the top. They tortured him, he healed himself; they tortured some more, he healed it. On and on. The last beating was pretty severe. They banged on his head with what look to have been metal pipes. Cracked his skull. The fact he's Cresperian has to be the only reason he's not dead. But he's got brain damage he's trying to heal. He could use some help with it, though."

  "Shit,” Bangler expostulated, only to get an elbow in the ribs from Piki.

  "NICE talk,” she reproved. “You promised."

  "Sorry,” Bangler muttered. “That IS a good reason to use a curse word, though, Piki. That's a very serious injury.” To his gratitude, no one laughed, or even grinned. They were all too aware of what the Crispies they'd rescued had been through.

  "It is?” Piki asked, startled.

  "Very much so,” Sira agreed. “Think about it, Piki. You were beaten. They beat Dalunith in the head hard enough to almost kill him. And now his brain doesn't function right."

  "Oooo,” Piki muttered under her breath. “I think I am starting to understand. These ‘bad words'... they have many uses, do they not?"

  "They do,” Bangler agreed. “They can be abusive—as you experienced—or they can be a way of expressing oneself in a strong, shocking situation. I gotta admit, though, they're often overused, in our culture."

  "Agreed,” Tomlinson averred. “We're trying to tone it down for you, Piki."

  Piki nodded. “Thank you. Please, go on."

  "As to Sira's friend, Frstiminith, she had initially indicated he had changed to male,” Anderson went on. “But it seems that his transformation wasn't really completed before he realized within himself that something was... ‘not right,’ as he put it. He halted the metamorphosis, and in fact regressed it. He put forth as his excuse to his captors that something about being on Earth affected his ability, weakening it. He, too, has been abused, but after he indicated his abilities had been handicapped, they stopped focusing on him—as, of course, inferior and imperfect—and concentrated on the Crispy technology they'd confiscated from Sira and Frstiminith. So he is more or less intact. Rather badly malnourished, but intact, mentally and physically. Well,” he amended, “he could probably use some counseling."

  Sira nodded. “Frstiminith was always more sensitive than the rest of us, in every sense of the term. I believe I can help him, there. But Dalunith will have to take priority."

  "And the locations where they were held captive?” McAllister pressed.

  "Bombed to bits,” Hand noted. “But therein lies a good part of our problem, especially where the Brits are concerned."

  Mac nodded. “I can imagine. Allies attacking allies."

  "Exactly,” Hand agreed. “All hell is breaking loose, politically. The President has also given a strong public hint that India's new god, Vishnu, isn't a god at all. I mean, good God! Er, excuse the expression. But he's got four arms, and didn't even bother to change the number of fingers!” He shook his head in disgust. “Unfortunately there have been talks of retaliation, especially from the Chinese, who of course possess nuclear technology. So we're at DEFCON 1."

  "ONE?!” Wersky expostulated. “But..."

  "Exactly,” Hand said grimly. “We've never been at DEFCON 1 before."

  "Defense Condition One. That means imminent possibility of a nuclear attack, at any time,” Bangler explained softly to Piki, aside.

  "OH!” Piki exclaimed, alarmed. Tentative, she turned to Bangler. “How do you say it—damn?!"

  "Now that,” Tomlinson admitted, “is a good reason to curse."

  "It is,” Bangler agreed, nodding at Piki, who looked thoughtful.

  "What do we do?” McAllister wondered.

  "I don't care,” President Waterman declared vehemently, “if the whole damn State Department wants it. It isn't going to happen. I'm not putting that...” he bit off what he'd been about to say of the Secretary of State, “out there to give back what the lives of our men and women won, especially after hearing the report of how the Crispies were treated, across the board."

  "But sir,” Smith, Waterman's aide, said, “what do you propose, if not diplomatic negotiation?"

  Waterman flung himself into his desk chair, deep in thought. “Get me Caleb on the horn,” he said.

  "Yes, sir."

  Lieutenant General Caleb Washington called a meeting of all Crispy Operations, Research, and Development staff, to include all members and rescuees of Operations White Horse, Red Horse, and Black Horse, in the largest conference room they had short of the auditorium.

  "Here's the scoop,” he said to all the Crispies in the Enclave, as well as their human friends, associates, and rescuers. “We all know there's an international brouhaha developing out there, as a result of bringing our friends here."

  Nods went around the room.

  "The first thing I'd like to ask is: Are all of the Crispies happy with the decision to be brought here?"

  Every green head in the room bobbed as emphatically as the lack of a neck in Cresperian physiology would permit; a couple of human looking heads bobbed as well.

  "We are being treated well,” Karen Townshend, one of the British Crispies, remarked. “You care for us as beings, not as tools. You feed us well, you ensure we are healthy even though we can ensure it for ourselves, and you treat us as equals. You do not beat us or violate us or force us to do anything against our wills. Some of us,” she indicated Dalunith and Frstiminith, “are still recovering, but we have discussed it among ourselves, and we are happy you did what you did, although we are very sorry it has caused you trouble."

  General Washington nodded his graying head. “Sorry enough to be willing to help?"

  Many pairs of orange and a few green eyes looked at each other. Dalunith was the one who spoke.

  "Please forgive Englishes, I is a little slow,” he said in measured tones. “I beat in head, still repairs is. Is help, all,” he waved his hand around the room. “But we helps glad, if know how."

  "Okay. Then I need a volunteer,” Washington announced. “A Crispy who is willing to go on television and discuss how you were treated in the other countries—especially Great Britain."

  The room buzzed with astonishment for a moment, then fell silent.

  "This request comes down from no less than the President of the United States himself,” Washington continued. “We need a calm, well spoken Crispy—who looks like a Crispy, or at least doesn't look like a human yet—and was one of those rescued. Someone who can speak first hand to the maltreatment."

  Sira raised her hand. “Sir, why do you want a non-converted Crispy?"

  "Because,” the general explained, “while we are going to reveal to the public the existence of aliens on Earth, we don't necessarily want them knowing they can assume human form so closely they're indistinguishable from humans. Let alone how they do so, or that the same technique can be used to enhance and de-age humans. We already know what kind of response that information produces."

  A sigh of understanding ran among his audience.

  "We also intend to simultaneously reveal the existence of our starships, as intended to help the Crispies find their way back home,” he added. “THEN,” he continued with emphasis, “we're going to start building the fleet as fast as we can. Space is the high ground, and if we can get enough ships into space, it ought to deter any attacks from disgruntled countries like China."

  "But I thought our natural form tended to disturb most humans not used to us,” Peter
Murphy, the third British Crispy, noted.

  Washington sighed. “It does,” he admitted. “It's a risk the President is willing to take."

  Bangler sat silently between Piki and Peggy. All of them were deep in thought. Suddenly Piki raised her hand.

  "General,” the partially morphed Crispy addressed Washington, “I believe I may be able to help. As you can see, I am somewhere in between our normal form and your normal form. Perhaps if I were your speaksperson..."

  "Spokesperson,” Bangler murmured.

  "Spokesperson,” Piki corrected herself, “I could discuss our treatment at the hands of the British, adding stories from the others, without frightening unfamiliar humans too badly?"

  "But how do we explain her form being so different? Not to mention the dude claiming to be Vishnu,” Tomlinson wondered.

  "He- heck,” Bangler corrected himself mid-word as he piped up, “we have apparent differences just among Homo sapiens. Skin color, eye color, height, weight, all that stuff. Explain it like that. And the cat over in India is just flat out in disguise."

  "I like it,” Washington decided. “Ms. Burroughs, I've read the reports on what happened to you. Are you certain you want to do this? Are you certain you're up to it? You've had as much violence wreaked upon you as Dalunith, just to different effect."

  Piki drew a deep, calming breath, then let it out. “Will it stop the NICE British people from being mad at you?"

  The general nodded. “We hope so."

  "What about the other countries?"

  "Those we're less sure of, but at least it should get our allies back on our side."

  "Then I'll do it,” Piki said, firming her half formed jaw.

  "See? I told you, you were strong,” Bangler murmured to her, under his breath.

  Orange eyes lit up on his left.

  On his right, brown ones dropped their gaze to the floor.

  Preparations went quickly after that. It was decided that Piki needed clothing to ensure more conservative sorts wouldn't react badly to her apparent nakedness, despite the fact that she still had her pelt, and no details of her body showed through it. Sira took her in hand for that, and clad her in a soft rust colored suit and cream blouse. It was also decided to use a different name to protect her identity once she did finally become human. At Piki's request, Bangler was assigned as her liaison and guard for the excursion; the television appearance would take place in Washington, in the Oval Office with the President. And even he would have a different name patch for his uniform, to preserve anonymity.