“If I understand the epithet, yes he is. And he was called away days ago.” The alien’s LSM gave off the faint but distinct odor of rotting eggs.
“Why?” she asked, momentarily barring the alien’s path.
“Why is Keen a bastard? Or why was he called away?”
“The second…”
“He was called away, probably for special instructions, the secrecy of which is painfully obvious to me. He and the so-called Senior Advisor have a special relationship that bypasses Torque.”
“What does this have to do with me?”
“Keen is undoubtedly confirming the orders to kill you, and discussing other secret matters.” Ruth felt a buzzing in the head and barely heard the rest of the alien’s explanation. “Your value as a prisoner was directly related to uncertainty about the whereabouts of our Little Enemies. They have now been located. You are no longer an asset. You are a liability…”
“Little Enemies? None of this is making any sense.”
“Some thought that, as a member of the Gael-Falstaff inner circle, you would know about these matters. Now others seem to know more than you do. Please follow me outside,” the alien said, waiting for her to enter the doorway.
Ruth stopped to examine the disgusting creature at close range. If this ugly creature is the representative of some “superior alien race,” spare me its fellow monstrosities, she thought. This one was a tangle of intricately coiled, rather tough looking tubes; they were like neatly coiled, exposed intestines surrounding or supporting a translucent membrane about the size of a medium sized melon. Under the membrane, she could just make out four orange “eyes”; they floated like egg yolks in a milky fluid. Attached to the membrane she saw several tiny slick, gray bladders. The creature writhed slowly on a bed of white sand. Ruth shuddered involuntarily.
“Since I have never been permitted to go ‘outside,’” Ruth said, “I’ll certainly tag along. Don’t think it’s your charm.”
“That was sarcasm, I take it. Come on, then…” The creature rolled slowly down a gated walkway, the previously locked doors opening automatically before it as it approached. “This is hardly home to me either, Rosenbaum, but I, too, begin to prefer the outside setting to the interior.”
This was very puzzling behavior for a creature, which had not spoken more than five civil words to her after the initial confrontation in the bathroom. At the sound of a bell, a heavy metal door, which turned out to be the last barrier, slid open. Wearing bathrobe and slippers, Ruth Rosenbaum walked for the first time into the atrium of her prison, into bright light and hot air, and the smell of flowers.
“Come, come,” the creature repeated, having glided past a small rock garden. Ruth followed, noticing for the first time the bird sounds and the rush of falling water. The alien waited, having parked next to a lawn chair by an elm tree in the direct sun. “Sit,” it added. Ruth settled back in the chair. “We can speak more freely here,” it said.
“So speak to me.”
“Your secondary value until now was as a hostage. But many of my colleagues doubted that Falstaff would let Gael concede anything because of you. They were right as it turned out. Meanwhile we have a ‘lead on’ – I think that is the phrase – the Little Enemies. Under the circumstances, you will be disposed of whenever Keen returns.”
Ruth fought for composure and focus. This little monster under glass was her sole source of useful information. “Little Enemies? Does this relate to those little brightly colored crustacean-looking creatures? I’ve seen pictures taken after one of the pods left the crash site in Antarctica and landed in the ocean.” Ruth said all this as evenly as possible, with no expectation her question would be answered. Her head still rang with the casual, “He’ll be confirming orders to kill you.”
“It does.”
“So they represent a threat to you?”
“A few are alive and on your planet. That is threat enough.”
“What do you have against this other species?”
“This was a long standing competition for living space between species. Now we are stranded here. I’ll omit the technical details. There is no hope of return, ever. Once here, it became a simple matter of competition for the biosphere. Regrettably, they are much better adapted to this world than we.”
“But you move around.”
“Such a small consolation. We are the unintended beneficiaries of your laws protecting the disabled. An advantage exploited at every opportunity…but a hollow one, given our confinement. Our Little Enemies, on the other hand, can freely move about and enjoy the open air, as you say, at least at the highest altitudes. They don’t even need the ‘cripple ramps.’ So, you see, we have been afraid they would take over, leaving nothing for us.”
“Obviously, they didn’t.”
“The Little Enemies can reproduce on the surface of this miserable world. We cannot.”
“But there are so very few of them.”
“My superiors think they are a threat.”
“You are talking about genocide?”
“I understand the term. My superiors would disagree. The Little Enemies can’t be wiped out as a species, except locally. No genocide, just mass murder. I love the moral distinction…You see, many of us have been afraid they will eventually take over. Even a small birth rate is a grave threat, given enough time.”
“So where are all these other Advisors of yours?”
“That is your charming name for us, not ours, obviously. A very few of us have on-planet duty at any one time. This assignment is almost intolerable because of the confinement in these ridiculous mobile environments, the high gravity, the lack of exercise and companionship. The rest of us are safe aboard our arrival vessel. Torque and his people are now calling it ‘Advisor Station’ after Torque’s ridiculous misunderstanding of our real role here.”
“Misunderstanding? What is that role?”
“Our representative on planet is a senior member of the ruling clique. He regards Torque – as do I – as a naïve fool to be manipulated at will. This is especially attractive because he is a very low profile figure who exercised great power.”
“Manipulated? To what end?”
“The ruling clique is eager to create a suitable environment for us on this planet.”
“I have an overriding concern.”
“The small matter of your personal survival?”
“Let’s get to it. When will Keen kill me? Why are you telling me this? Is this real? Are you just trying to scare me?”
“Patience, Rosenbaum. I am not trying to frighten you. These are simply the facts. My answers are: Soon… and, I will explain myself as needed…And no, I’m not trying to scare you, but fear is not inappropriate, given the peril…”
“Only a fool would trust you.”
“If I ‘took you for a fool,’ Rosenbaum, as your expression goes, I would not even bother with this conversation. You listen to what I am telling you, please. Then you can judge.”
“Fine…So do continue” Ruth slid her chair to a shady spot.
“Bear with me, please. We are stranded here, possibly forever. The prospect of cleansing your planet of human life is attractive to the ruling clique. May I continue?”
“Not just now, thank you.” Ruth said, standing. “You have neatly changed the subject from the chilling prospect of my murder to the unthinkable prospect of the extermination of the entire human race. This is a bit much, don’t you think?” Ruth was shaking and she was damned if she would let this little monster see it. “I think I would just like to walk around the garden.”
“I apologize again, Rosenbaum,” the alien said, following her. “Some of the sentimentalists among us want to keep a small population of humans alive in an enclave.”
Ruth stopped and looked down. “A human museum? How charming and generous. Am I to be the prime exhibit? Why even bother to warn me? You…creatures appear to have the upper hand.”
“Hand? Ha, ha, Rosenbaum. You only have two. Which
is the upper one? What strange metaphors! I ‘bother to tell you’ because, in a word, Rosenbaum, I am in big trouble.”
“That’s five words. Trouble? What kind? From whom?”
“The overall situation is in flux and mine is untenable. The ambitious Commissioner Torque will lose all political support among the human population, when the actions of Mr. Keen lose the cloak of secrecy. If he is understood to be doing the bidding of a species from another world, he will lose power. If my people’s secret influence is exposed, there will be a terrible backlash. The debacle in Quebec will eventually remove the cloak of secrecy. So the situation on what you call Advisor Station is…complicated.”
“So all this is supposed to mean that you are having an attack of conscience?”
“Yes and no.”
“I think, ‘no’,” she said, changing direction as she strolled the garden.
“Agreed, Rosenbaum,” the alien said, still following her. “I am dealing for my own…neck, as it were.”
Ruth returned to the lawn chair. She sat. “Who or what are you afraid of?”
“My colleague, the so called ‘Senior Advisor’ tends to rash decisions. I have just learned that Keen has given the Senior Advisor access to nuclear devices.”
“WHAT! Torque’s Commission doesn’t have access to nukes, does it?”
“Oh yes. Keen got them from a military installation in exchange for some benefit or other. He claimed that the Commission was entitled to seize samples of secret technology as part of an investigation. That was a ruse. I’ve been told that eight thermonuclear devices are being transferred to Advisor Station. The Senior wants them used on Gael, Falstaff, and the Little Enemies.”
“My God! When?”
“In less than a month.”
Ruth blinked, her face taking on a grim, cold set. “Again, why are you telling me this?”
“Surely you know by now. I want to save my own neck. I have made a study of humans. Torque is a minor figure with power only because no one is aroused against it. If my people use nuclear weapons, your people will surely retaliate and they won’t stop until we all are dead. We are not omnipotent.” The alien paused. “Did you ever see the film, the ‘Wizard of Oz’?”
“Of course. You’re saying the Torque is like the wizard’s face?”
“Yes. Yes. An apt metaphor, Rosenbaum, don’t you think? The Senior Advisor is the little man operating the wizard. Of course he has the capacity to kill a few million humans, but in the end it amounts to the same because there are too many of you and too few of us…”
Ruth sat in stunned silence. It was like talking to a paranoid schizophrenic…Seemingly rational statements suddenly veering into insanity…Could the current US administration even retaliate? Ruth thought. They might not. “What are you proposing? A preemptive strike against your own people? Forgive me, but I’m not that naïve.”
The alien appeared to laugh. The sound was like a cello tuning up. The sound died.
“My leaders are naïve. The ruling clique does not understand just how dangerous the human called Jack Falstaff is. I dealt with him early on. I hear secret stories. Falstaff trades in technology. I have heard rumors that he has traded with some of my species and even with the Little Enemies. He is rumored to have acquired something of immense value to us, something worth killing millions upon millions to acquire. I don’t know what to believe except that this will not end well for anyone. I have no idea how to resolve this impasse, but it is clearly in my interests to be on Falstaff’s side. So I am asking for your protection. I am what you call a turncoat. Although, I am not clear what a coat has to do with it. Just a phrase, I assume.”
“Why would you trust me?”
“There several human maxims that apply. ‘Any port in a storm.’ Another: ‘When you shoot the king, shoot to kill.’ Rosenbaum, my aim is simple self-preservation. I will try to help you get out of here. Failing that, perhaps I can warn Falstaff and Gael’s people.”
Ruth made fists, her hands flexing in her lap. She paused, responding slowly. “So what are you actually going to do for me?”
“I have thought about this, but I am stumped, as it were. I will attempt a call to GFE, if anyone would take it. Of course, I am open to suggestions.”
Ruth’s head began to ache intolerably. She wondered how one went about wringing the “neck” of this disgusting creature. Give him time. She elected to change the subject.
“Do you have a name?” she asked.
The creature paused. “Our species is called ‘the people.’ I really can’t vocalize that for you in our language under the glass here.”
“I meant: do you have a personal name?”
“Naturally, but most personal names are…silly. Why ask?”
“Indulge me.”
“Very well. Do you want the original or the phonic approximation? I’ve been working on an algorithm that can mimic the sound.”
“Please.”
“Very good.” There was a pause; then the speakers emitted a sound that resembled a melon dropping from a tall building onto a sidewalk. “Satisfied?”
Ruth laughed in spite of herself. “Excuse me,” she said. “Ah, how is that translatable?”
“Intriguing question, Rosenbaum. Though formally meaningless, our personal names do possess antecedent roots that can be translated. In my case…Rosenbaum are you really curious about this?”
“Yes.”
“Sand-flower.”
“What?” Ruth tried to suppress another laugh.
“Sand-flower. You find that amusing, Rosenbaum?”
“It’s a lovely name. I think I’ll call you ‘Sandy’ for short.”
“I regret my translation already. And what shall I call you ‘for short,’ Rosenbaum?”
“Rosenbaum will do just fine. Look, Sandy, while I don’t fully trust you, I now think I understand your motives.”
“And you are inclined to believe me.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“You are eager to leave this backwater planet?”
“Ah, I believe I understand the negative implications of the ‘backwater’ metaphor, Rosenbaum. In a single phrase: ‘yes.’ Were that really possible, yes, yes, yes! Realistically, I do hope to rejoin my friends and companions on my home world. Only Jack Falstaff can make that happen. Living under glass - forgive me - among aliens, is unbearable.”
“But if you cooperate with us, you might never get back to Advisor Station and I can’t imagine why or how Jack could get you home.”
“I thought of that. Perhaps I will find a way to contact your people from here. If my cooperation proves valuable, I was hoping you could construct for me a larger environment, like the Senior Advisor enjoys when here on the surface.”
“You’ve been confined too long, then?”
“Much, much too long. Perhaps my orders have been lost - or worse - I may be the object of a family vendetta…I had such potential…”
“Potential? What would you do if you weren’t ‘posted’ here?”
“I would divide my time between political intrigue and music.”
“Music?”
“Yes.” The alien produced a single note, a low ‘F’ that it held for several seconds, then was allowed to decay into the background noise in the garden. “What do you think?” it asked.
“That single note was music?”
“Philistine!” it said.
Ruth laughed once more in spite of herself. “Perhaps with practice, I will hear the nuances,” she said with mock seriousness.
“What nuances?” Sandy made the laughter sound again. “The note was an ‘F’.” Sandy laughed again.
“I might have known,” Ruth said.
“Yes…yes!” The laughter had interrupted the alien’s speech, taking on a hysterical quality. “The note was a very bad ‘F’.” The alien’s laughter was then uncontrollable; the creature’s tentacles were writhing, its four eyes rolling in the viscous milky fluid. “I’ve been st
udying your idioms! Your history! If you think my music was complex,” it said, between laughs, “wait till you see my political intrigue!”
“I get it,” Ruth said, chuckling in spite of herself. “You are here. Right?” The creature was laughing uncontrollably.
“A brilliant…ha, ha…ho, ho…musician…ha, ha…in exile!”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN - BETRAYAL
The Ranch in Quebec
While Ruth Rosenbaum was spending her nights in captivity, Hugh McCahan said goodbye to Sam and awaited instructions from GFE headquarters on the secure line the LeFevres used for their illicit “Big Cat Companion” enterprise. Sam was packing, and Hugh had just begun a post lunch walk on a blustery afternoon.
“Hugh! Telephone!” It was Nadine. They still used a quaint landline…in appearance only. It connected via a well-encrypted backbone cable to a secure communications utility located in Toronto that served the underground economy. For a tiny, fleeting moment, Hugh remembered a similar call from his grandmother many years earlier. Boy, that was another world!
Inside, the phone sat on a plain wooden desk next to a single notepad and pen. Nadine smiled and closed the door behind him. Hugh picked up. “McCahan here.”
“This is Jack. Hugh, it’s good to hear that you’re okay…” It was unmistakably Falstaff’s voice. “I was relieved to hear that Dr. Delaney is safe and sound. I have verified the security of this conversation.”
“I figured. How is Finnegan?”
“Well enough. It wasn’t a picnic, but not much of a heart attack, really. No damage at all. But he’s got his knockers in a bunch about Ruth.”
“What’s wrong?”
There was a short pause. “Ruth is a hostage. I have received a demand.”
Hugh absorbed the cold feeling; then he recovered. “What do they want?” His tone was cold, matter of fact.
“What I can’t ever give them…Hugh, we need you to get to our safe haven in Florida and stay put. Springer arrived with the bosses and I’m sending him to meet you there. Then I want you two to wait until we can locate Ruth. If you can, please bring Dr. Delaney with you. I need to get her to Australia as soon as possible. No one is safe anywhere else for the time being.”
The Stranded Ones Page 18
