Alien Deception

by Tony Ruggiero

  Greg cleared his throat and ventured, "Excuse me, sir?" There was no response, so he raised his voice slightly, and said again, "Excuse me, sir?"

  Still there was no response. Greg looked back at Sarah, who made the motion of tapping someone on the shoulder. He nodded in understanding, then turned toward the man and tapped him on the shoulder. Or, at least, he tried to tap him on the shoulder, because his hand simply passed right through him.

  "Holy shi…!" Greg yelled, jerking his fingers back as he saw them disappear into the nothingness of the man's shoulder.

  * * * *

  Leumas picked the lint from his neatly tailored clothes as he watched his staff run preliminary tests on the newly revived subjects from Earth. For some strange reason, he found himself having difficulty remembering their names. "Greg and Sarah, Greg and Sarah." He repeated the names aloud several times in the hope that it would make his mind remember. His chants drew a few odd looks from his staff, but they just shrugged at each other. They were all accustomed to his strange ways and accepted his actions.

  The bodies had been slowly warmed and the brain activity restarted. He had seen this performed on numerous aliens with relatively few problems, but each time he still felt nervous. His staff, monitoring the vital signs on the screens in front of them, confirmed that both were doing fine.

  Leumas sat down and took a break. He had been quite busy the last couple of days. He thought about his plan to acclimate the humans to their new positions but, at the same time, he tried to piece together the plot that Copolla was conniving, and this drove him back up to his feet. He rose and began to pace the control room. His staff ignored him while he paced; they had also seen all this before, too often. Stopping by a mirror, he used his fingers to comb his hair, and then straightened his shirt. Satisfied, he began to prowl the room restlessly again, his mind churning.

  He knew he could not take this as just another routine Council action. Copolla must know something, something he did not. He would never embark on something unless it had a very high probability of success. This whole attempt on the planet Earth's admission into the UCDW was somehow all wrong, yet Copolla had managed to slide it past the Council. Surely he can't—

  "Sir, we have a slight problem." A voice interrupted Leumas’ thoughts. Leumas turned toward the voice that belonged to a young technician.

  "How slight?" Leumas asked harshly, staring at the alien, a Sentrifica whose head was only about the quarter the size of his own.

  "There has been a miscalculation. Somehow, the two subjects' time of unconsciousness has been underestimated. They're, uh…awake," the technician said as he stared at the floor.

  "Now?" Leumas shouted. "Do you realize how dangerous that is? Put them back under, immediately! Use the Med robot!" Leumas’ nostrils flared as he continued to shout. "They are not supposed to be conscious until the third phase! Do it now! Initiate the dream sequence before the whole thing is screwed up!"

  The technician should have planned for this situation, he thought, trying to control his anger. The Sentrifica alien slunk away without saying another word to accomplish what Leumas had demanded.

  Leumas rubbed his head with his hands. "What else can possibly go wrong?" he asked, but then raised his hands skyward. "No, no, that's okay. I should know better than to ask that question, especially if I don't want to know the answer."

  But he would know the answer because not ten minutes had passed before he saw the image of Greg on the simulation screen, attempting to touch another person.

  "There is not supposed to be any interaction between the subjects and the holographic images!" Leumas cried in surprise and anger, pushing his way through his five assistants. He studied the view screen carefully and checked the subjects' thought processes. "Nor are their memories of their deaths supposed to be so prevalent and intense!" he yelled, pointing to colorful spikes displayed on the screen.

  "Come on, team!" he said, clapping his hands together. "Somebody tell me what's going on here!" He pointed at one of the nervous technicians. "You! Let me see the program for the dream sequence." He shook his head, speaking more to himself than to his startled assistants. "Damn it! They should have ignored all the other people. They shouldn't have tried to touch them!" He brought up the programming sequence of events for the bar scene on his console display.

  "This was supposed to be a smooth transition process in a casual atmosphere, not one full of conjecture and speculation," he said, banging his fist on the terminal. His assistants watched him guardedly, their eyes darting from him to each other. The screen glow illuminated his face, which was now glistening with new sweat that highlighted his forehead. As he scanned through the images on the screen, thoughts of concern raced through his mind. The whole simulation process could be compromised if the subjects lost their confidence in the images provided to them. It would lead to a lack of credibility in any future attempts in providing information to them.

  He stopped at one screen, pointing. "Here it is! This is why the subject tried to touch one of the images. Someone has altered the program, which created doubt in the credibility of their surroundings." He turned away from the screen, tight lipped, and faced his assistants. Four out of the five were there. He mentally ticked them off in his mind. Wers, Derg, Pler, Greta. But no Biom. He looked at each one carefully, and asked in a dangerously calm voice, "Where is Biom?"

  The remaining four assistants offered no response while they intently stared at the ground, with the exception of Greta. Greta stared Leumas straight in the eye.

  "Does anybody here want to tell me anything?" Leumas asked, his eyebrows rising questioningly.

  The sound of silence was deafening as nearly fifteen seconds ticked by.

  Leumas sighed heavily. "You are all dismissed. Except for you, Greta. Please stay."

  The other three assistants crept out of the room. Leumas faced Greta. He knew her very well. She'd been a trusted assistant and his friend for many years. If Leumas trusted anyone, it was her.

  "How bad is it, Greta?" he asked her.

  "It's bad, sir," she replied as she let out a sigh of frustration. Her thin hand moved to her head where she ran her bony fingers through her shoulder-length green hair. "Very bad."

  Although Greta's humanoid body appeared malnourished, this was characteristic of the people of her home world of Setam Seven. A light gravity planet, she could lift over five times her weight.

  "Copolla has a lot of influence with many people," Greta began. "Whether they are willing or not. It is almost common knowledge that this assignment you have been given is destined to discredit you, and your assistants along with you."

  "Unless, of course, you are willing to help Copolla by sabotaging or providing information," he added flatly.

  "That is probably a correct hypothesis," she responded in a toneless voice, her dark eyes looking into Leumas’ face.

  "I had no idea that Copolla was this intent on getting rid of me. I have underestimated him, a deadly mistake." Leumas sighed. A moment of silence passed as Greta stood still as to not disturb him. Leumas turned toward her suddenly, and asked, "Where is Biom?"

  "According to the security check I made a few minutes ago, he has not left the building. I have suspected him but until now, I was not sure enough to act."

  Leumas was running for the computer terminal. "If he hasn't left the building yet, he must be planning other things to slow me down." He looked back over his shoulder to Greta and yelled, "Find him! I am going to have to go into the simulation to try to get it back on course again. It will be very tricky, but I won't give up without trying."

  As Greta left the control room, she removed a stun weapon from the security locker that only she and Leumas could open. Leumas hurried to his desk and placed a headset similar to the one that Greg and Sarah were wearing as they slept peacefully in their beds. Placing it on his head, he activated the tie-in to the central computer.

  "Here goes nothing," he said, sighing again. He sat back and tried to think a
bout what he was going to do. At the moment, he didn't have a clue.

  Chapter Eight

  GREG & SARAH MEET AN ALIEN

  Greg caught Sarah just before she fell out of her chair in a dead faint. "Sarah! Sarah!" he yelled, wrapping his arms around her limp body in an effort to keep her from plummeting to the floor. He had to admit the sight of his hand disappearing into a person was a bit tough for even his mind to comprehend. He wasn't exactly sure what to make of it.

  He gently cradled her light body in his arms, feeling her warmth. He was genuinely concerned about her, but holding her was also nice and it gave him a feeling he enjoyed and probably could get used to very quickly. A sudden thought sprang from his subconscious. Am I thinking about some form of commitment to a woman?

  This was a new one for him. He had never thought he could feel something for a woman…not like this. But, whatever it was, it would have to wait, as Sarah suddenly stirred in his arms.

  "Sarah, come on now. Wake up. It's okay," he said in a soft voice, as his eyes drifted over the smooth features of her face. Her eyes fluttered opened briefly as she struggled back to consciousness. He lifted her gently and placed her into a chair. He began to gently rub the sides of her face with his hands to help her circulation return to her pale face.

  "Come on, Sarah, not now, don't do this to me! I need you awake to help me figure all this stuff out. Please, Sarah!"

  "I'm okay, Greg, really. Just give me a minute," she said as she blinked her eyes, trying to focus on his face. She stared at him for a few seconds, and once again, her first thoughts amazed her. You know, he is kind of cute, and such a kind face, too.

  Under normal circumstances she would have never considered such a bold thought. But there was something about him she found different from other men she had known. Clearing her eyes and mind, she looked back in the direction of what had caused her to faint.

  She shook her head and smiled wanly, "The disappearing hand into the man thing just caught me off guard a little. I'll be okay." Then she spoke more gently, looking into his eyes. "Thanks for helping me out, Greg."

  "You're very welcome," he returned, blushing as he realized their eyes had locked on each other. During that brief exchange, he thought some kind of understanding of what each was thinking or feeling toward the other, passed between them.

  Seated back in her chair, her color returning, Sarah began organizing her thoughts in her usual methodical manner. She knew she must have answers to figure this situation out.

  "What do you really think is going on here, Greg?" she asked.

  Greg stroked his chin, and then said simply, "I don't know. I guess these people are like projections, holographs or something. Someone has added some sort of background, I assume, for us. Then we appear as the center attraction for whatever is going on. I guess everything else is just for decoration."

  "But why?" she asked, still puzzled.

  He shrugged and again said simply, "I don't know."

  A thought suddenly came to him. "Earlier, when you were upset, you were talking about what had been happening to you recently, all these near accidents. It sounds oddly similar to what has been happening to me too."

  "What do you mean?" she asked looking at him with an expression of inquisitiveness.

  "Listen and then tell me what you think." Greg began as he got up and started to pace. "First, I almost lose my head to a flying box of file records. Then, I'm getting ready to leave work; I head to the elevator and almost step down into an empty shaft. Then, when I walk down the steps to the parking lot, a three-hundred-pound door coincidentally breaks its hinges and almost nails me, just as I come by. Then comes the climax of the whole day as some garbage truck takes me out in the parking lot. What a way to go!"

  He stopped long enough to suck in a large breath and then continued. "The next thing I know, I wake up from this God-awful dream in a hospital or something. I can't move and there are some pretty odd-looking devices coming toward me. Then I'm here, in a 1940s club of some sort that I've been dreaming about. I don't have any idea where any of this coming from. But out of all of this, there is you, which is undoubtedly the best part of it all," he said, smiling at her.

  Sarah returned the smile and said, "Why thank you Greg, that's really sweet." She paused for a few seconds, considering what he had said, then continued. "Well, it sure sounds like we both had a full and interesting day. But I would propose that there must be a common denominator to all of this. Like you, I had several similar incidents that were peculiar. A truck also entered my life abruptly this morning, and then a slight electrical problem tried to give me a permanent wave. Perhaps if we list all the occurrences in their chronological sequence, we can narrow the probabilities down some, perhaps even solve this mystery."

  Greg wasn't paying attention to what she was saying. He had drifted off into his own private space to consider all of this. Then, suddenly, he turned toward Sarah, startling her, and said, "Don't you see it, Sarah?" He looked around the room as if searching for something.

  "See what, Greg?" she asked, also looking around, trying to see what he was talking about.

  "The coincidences! Don't you see it? I may not be a master sleuth or anything, but it doesn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that something weird is going on here and that we're both connected to it in some way."

  "Greg, weren't you listening to what…" she began, but then stopped. Perhaps he has a different perspective, she thought. "Can you please explain what on Earth you mean," she said, frowning.

  He continued. "Okay. Look, we both have several near-miss accidents, and then I suppose the real thing actually happens. You know, me with the truck and you with the, uh…curler."

  "Wrinkle remover," she corrected him.

  "Yeah, that's what I meant, wrinkle remover." He cleared his throat and continued. "Well, as I was saying, we both had a mysterious accident today. Then we both wind up in some hospital. We both have a strange dream the day before and now…we're both here."

  "It's as if this is all being arranged," she said with sudden cognizance. Her fear appeared to wane slightly with this newfound theory, but even this brought about another barrage of unanswered questions.

  "Now, the next logical question would be, by whom?" Greg said. They pondered the question in silence, gazing around the room, searching the faces of the images that shared the space with them.

  "Do you think there is a real, well—person among them, or are they all just images?" Sarah asked as she continued to peer around the room.

  Greg shrugged his shoulders. "We could go up to each one of them and tap their shoulders until we found one that was solid," he suggested. Sarah shook her head at this idea.

  While they were debating this idea, the sound of footsteps came from behind them. They turned in that direction simultaneously. A man appeared, seemingly from nowhere. Judging by his dress, Greg assumed he was the bartender. His red-and-white striped vest and black bow tie made him appear as if he belonged in a barbershop quartet.

  They both stared at the man and followed him with their eyes as he headed toward them. He stopped mid-way to check his bow tie in the mirror, tugging at both ends to ensure it was tied tightly and was level under his chin. He patted his blond hair, which appeared to be coated with oil or something. Finally satisfied, he winked at himself in the mirror, smiled and continued toward them.

  He stepped up to the opposite side of the bar, taking his place as bartender. He removed a rag from underneath the counter and began to wipe the surface in a circular pattern for several seconds as he hummed a tune in a deep tenor. He replaced the rag back under the counter, and then lay down two crisp white napkins on the bar in front of them.

  Greg and Sarah stared, stupefied, wondering if the bartender was real or not. All the other images had pretty much ignored them up to this point. As the bartender continued to hum his tune, the two of them stared at one another, waiting for something to happen, or someone to speak. Sarah motioned to Greg with her hand, in
dicating that he should try to touch this figure as he had done earlier. He shook his head and pointed at her, clearly indicating that it was her turn.

  Resigning herself, she sighed, and began to reach toward the bartender's red-striped shoulder when, suddenly, he smiled at them and spoke.

  "Can I get you folks something?" he asked, startling them. "So, what will it be?" he continued, smiling congenially at Sarah. "We have a special tonight, ladies drink free," he said tipping an empty glass toward her. Seeing her look of disdain, he continued, "How about a Shirley Temple or something? Contains no alcohol at all. Glass of soda, perhaps?"

  No luck there either so he turned toward Greg, smiling the same congenial smile and offered, "How about a beer for you, sir? Best draft anywhere. That's your favorite, isn't it?"

  Neither of them said anything and they continued to simply stare at this new addition to their dream. Greg had to admit this surprise interaction had caught them both completely off-guard.

  Sarah suddenly poked Greg in the ribs, hoping the bartender didn't notice. He looked toward her, befuddled. She motioned him to move away from the bar. Fearing another jab, he responded promptly.

  "Would you, uh, well, uh, excuse us for a minute?" he stammered to the bartender, as they backed a few steps away from the bar.

  "Take your time," the bartender said, still smiling, "We have…some time."

  Sarah directed him to a small table in the corner of the bar. She motioned him to sit by her. She leaned closer and whispered, "What do you think we should do?"

  "Hell, I don't know, Sarah." He saw her earlier calmness and enthusiasm drain from her face. Seeing her look of distress, he continued more assuredly. "I guess it wouldn't do any harm to talk to him. What do we have to lose? Maybe we can get some information from him."

  She glanced back over her shoulder at the bartender, and then turned back to Greg and whispered, "Do you think he is real?"