Alien Deception

by Tony Ruggiero

  Reveb's hands rested on Greg's shoulders as if he had been shaking the body. He jumped back as Greg opened his eyes.

  "Yes, Reveb, can I help you?" Greg hoped the unruffled tone of his voice would calm the fearful expression on Reveb's face.

  "Oh, Leader, you gave me such a scare! I called and shook you, but you wouldn't answer me," he said, out-of-breath from the shock.

  "It's okay, Reveb. It's a new kind of…meditation I'm trying. It helps to relax me," Greg tried to sound convincing. "I'm sorry if I scared you."

  "Yes, Leader," Reveb replied in his customary neutral manner, but Greg thought he saw something he had not ever seen before in those heretofore emotionless eyes. For a few seconds, the two men just stared at each other without saying anything.

  "Is there a reason why you're here, Reveb?" Greg asked, trying to return to a sense of normality.

  "I have brought you your plane tickets for the flight to Washington," Reveb said, placing them on the table. "I have also made all the arrangements for the press conference as you requested. I have rented the space and notified the agencies you specified. It was as you thought. They were extremely anxious to come to the meeting."

  "Great job. Has there been any word from Leumas?"

  "No."

  "Thank you, Reveb."

  Reveb nodded, turned and made his way toward the door.

  Greg moved toward the window; it was a beautiful day outside. He felt…good. Refreshed from his traveling. His gaze shifted to the dark mountains; he compared them to the ones he had seen on Mars and thought the red ones were more beautiful then these. As he gazed outward, he caught the reflection in the glass of Reveb standing at the door to his quarters. Greg thought he had left already.

  Greg's attention was drawn to the look of revulsion on Reveb's face. It was such a strange and twisted grimace on a face that had never before shown any sign of emotion.

  As he started to turn around to confront Reveb, he was greeted with the closing of the door and the sound of footsteps moving quickly down the corridor.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “When you have all your shit in one sock, it might stink some, but it will always lead to greater things.”

  Reporter Ray Schume

  As the reporters began to arrive for Greg's press conference, those affiliated with the broadcast media set up their cameras and radio links to have full coverage of the event. One of the cameras was already on, sending images back to the White House where Sarah sat watching.

  Sarah was nervous. Greg had never been in front of the press before. Sure, he was always in front of the Council and she was confident he would be all right, but the image of Schume and his surprising questions still daunted her. She checked her watch; there were still a few minutes before the official start time. She closed her eyes and focused her thoughts on Greg.

  ::Greg.::

  ::Hi, Sarah, can you hear me?::

  ::Got ya, Greg. How's it going? All ready for your big press conference?::

  ::Sure. Are you watching?::

  ::Have been. We have our coverage of the event. You know, special crew from the White House.::

  ::I should've guessed. Well, I've got to get started. I have a plan, so if it seems kind of weird, you know, gotta be me and all that.::

  ::Should I be worried?::

  ::No, of course not.::

  ::Remember, all Schume wants to do is prove you and I know each other. There isn't any way he can prove anything else. Don't let him sidetrack you. He's very good at that.::

  ::I know.::

  ::Keep the link open. I'll coach you through.::

  ::Okay.::

  Sarah watched the rest of the reporters take their seats as Greg stepped up to the podium. For several seconds he just stared at the audience, letting the silence settle in.

  ::Don't overdo it, Greg. Get going. Clear your throat like you're nervous.::

  Greg cleared his throat several times. "Good afternoon, my name is Greg Carlson and I am here to answer questions the media has raised. But first, I'd like to state a few things for the record, to clear up any impression of impropriety."

  ::Do you see Schume?:: she sent.

  ::Yes.::

  ::Give him the evil eye or something. Make sure everyone knows he's the reason you're there.::

  ::Got him.:: Greg's gaze settled on Schume.

  ::Good. Now get started. Slowly…::

  "It is my understanding Ms. Sarah McClendon was placed in an awkward situation in regards to having met me before. For the record, I want to state we have met; it was after our similar experiences of being misdiagnosed in hospitals in different parts of the country. Our mysterious ‘deaths' garnered the media's attention. The nature of the events and the exact same timing caused us to be a curiosity for a while a few years back,” Greg said.

  "I'm a private person by nature; this publicity was not to my liking. I asked Ms. McClendon to deny any knowledge of my existence in order for me to return to my life of seclusion. This is why she denied ever having met me. It was simply honoring my request for privacy."

  The room buzzed with conversation. Reporters talked to each other, nodded and shook their heads; some in confusion, others in anger they had wasted their time attending this event.

  "Are there any questions?" Greg asked.

  Several of the reporters raised their hands and shouted their questions.

  ::Wait for Schume.:: Sarah sent.

  "Mr. Carlson," Schume began as he slowly rose from his seat. "May I call you Greg?" He smiled, not looking at all nervous or upset about having his allegations disproved.

  "Sure," Greg said.

  "First, I'd like to offer the media's thanks for coming forward so quickly in response to the allegations raised just the other day."

  "As I said, I just want to set the record straight."

  "Well, we certainly appreciate that, and that's what I am trying to do also, Greg. Do you understand that?"

  "Of course I do. That, and make a living." Greg smiled.

  ::Nice touch.::

  Some of the reporters chuckled. Schume showed no reaction.

  "Well, yes, that also is correct. Now, would you tell us where you live?" Schume asked, looking at a sheet of paper he was holding. Obviously, he had prepared his specific questions, probably with help from his source.

  "In West Virginia," Greg answered.

  "But the incident that drew you and Ms. McClendon together was in New Orleans, correct?"

  "No. My incident was in New Orleans. Hers was in New York, I believe. We met later on in New York."

  "Ah, yes, thank you for correcting me. So, after the incident you moved?"

  "That's correct. After the incident, I moved to West Virginia."

  "Why West Virginia?"

  "I've always thought about writing as a profession. The incident that occurred made me feel the time was right for a career change. Where I'm at, it's scenic and quiet, no distractions; the perfect environment for me to work."

  Sarah knew Schume was setting him up for the big question any minute now. She wished he'd just ask it already and be done with it.

  ::Get ready. He's winding up!::

  "And where do you live in West Virginia?" Schume asked.

  "I'd rather not say," Greg answered. "For privacy reasons."

  "Is that right?" Schume demanded. "Privacy, you say. Or perhaps, is it because you are hiding something there?"

  ::Here it comes.::

  Schume's voice picked up in tempo and became strident. "Isn't it true you live in a secret compound and have the prominent role in a certain alien organization with influence over the planet that involves the highest level of the American government?"

  ::Damn him. Greg, he knows everything. Call for a break or something. You have to get out of there. Don't answer any more questions! Greg? Greg, answer me!::

  Silence greeted her.

  ::Greg, can you hear me?:: Sarah screamed in her thoughts. ::You have to get out of–::

&n
bsp; ::It's fine, Sarah. I know what I'm doing, but I have to focus to make it look perfect.::

  "Are you going to answer the question, Mr. Carlson?" Schume asked, his voice sharp and direct.

  Greg just stared straight ahead, his face emotionless as his eyes darted back and forth wildly.

  The question hung in the silence that encompassed the room. The crowd was becoming anxious. Sarah sat on the edge of her chair gripping her television and squeezing it.

  "I—" Greg began.

  "Isn't it also true," Schume continued, cutting him off, "that you have been dealing with these aliens for over two years now, corrupting the American government and political system?" Before any answer could be given, Schume fired off another scathing accusation. "Isn't it also true the president and Ms. McClendon have been directly involved in this plot since its inception?"

  Greg's brow furrowed and his eyes became glassy; he began to tremble like a man on the verge of a nervous breakdown.

  Sarah tried to remain calm, but Greg's appearance made her flesh crawl. All eyes in the audience were on him as his lips began to move, uttering sounds as he tried to form words.

  "I—I—I…promised…I…wouldn't…tell," he began, his voice low and wavering. "Yes…yes, it's all true," he went on, almost blurting it out as if he wanted to shed it from his thoughts like some grotesque abomination that inhabited his body. "I have been working with aliens to overthrow everyone, not just the American people, but the entire world."

  ::What? Where are you going, Greg?:: Sarah shouted in her thoughts to Greg.

  Schume smiled broadly at this admission as a stunned gasp was released from the others in the room. Cameras flashed. It was now his moment in the spotlight; he had his prey running as he moved in for the kill.

  "And Ms. McClendon has been involved with the whole thing also, hasn't she?" Schume pressed again, his voice oozing contempt and confidence.

  "No," Greg said adamantly as strength returned to his voice. "She's not strong enough for the cause, not like me. They came for me. They faked my death. They wanted her, but she was weak and would not succumb to their ways. It was all a plan to make everyone think I was dead. Then they took me to another planet and brought me back to life. And then we began our plan to take over the Earth, but then we…" His voice faded as if he were again struggling with the words.

  "What, Mr. Carlson? What happened next?" Schume encouraged him.

  "We…it was awful, simply terrible. We played cards to see who would control the Earth and I won." Greg was smiling now. "Then you know what? I picked me out a cute little alien. She was green and had the prettiest big black eyes you ever saw. We've already picked names out for our kid."

  ::Oh, Greg…you've got to be kidding me.:: Sarah said, trying to hold back her laughter.

  "Mr. Carlson, what are you talking about?"

  The hushed gasps of horror and astonishment were quickly changing along with Greg's story. Murmurs and chuckles of laughter were beginning to rise steadily in the room. Schume's face began to redden.

  "Well, I thought you wanted to hear my alien abduction story," Greg said. "They came and took me away to another planet and then we came back to Earth after we saw everything." He paused. Then, looking around the room with a huge grin he yelled, "Elvis said to say hello to everyone. We talk at night when it's clear. We don't talk when it's raining outside. But if it does rain, we talk every other Wednesday. And you know what? My doctor says I am making excellent progress, Mr. Schume. He says I don't take my medication as often as I should and sometimes he says that causes delusions or something like that. But isn't that good?"

  ::What an act, Greg. Oh, how I do love you. But—Elvis?::

  The realization of his utter and disastrous defeat settled on the face of Raymond Schume.

  "Great, Mr. Carlson. Just great," he said as he threw the papers he had in his hand up in the air and fell into his seat. He sat there, head in hands, looking down at his shoes.

  "Does that mean we're through?" Greg asked.

  ::We're not…but Schume is.:: Sarah thought to Greg.

  ::He wanted answers. I just gave him different ones than the ones he wanted.::

  There was no response to his question as the crowd began to dissipate rapidly, shaking their heads and laughing in amusement. As some of the other reporters were departing, they slapped Schume on the back.

  "Great job, Ray."

  "What's next? Three-headed monsters?"

  "Sex around Uranus?"

  More laughter accompanied the comments.

  Schume was clearly furious as he cursed himself, his supposed source and this whole damned affair. He had set himself up for this bashing. Greg Carlson's approach had been simple yet brilliant, and definitely not that of the insane person he portrayed. Schume had underestimated his opponent.

  Sarah watched as Greg descended from the podium and began to gather his things. She saw Schume approaching him.

  ::Watch out, Greg, here he comes.::

  "So Greg, nice act,” Schume began. “You made me look like a complete idiot, which was exactly what you wanted, isn't it?"

  Greg looked around to ensure no one would be able to hear them. His half-wit demeanor vanished and he stared at the reporter with a serious and stern look.

  "Yes, thank you. Maybe you better look for another story, Mr. Schume. I think the well has gone dry on this one for you."

  "No, I don't think so. I'm like a terrier when it comes to a real story. Once I latch my teeth into it, I don't let go. So you can expect to be hearing from me again."

  "Perhaps I can influence you to change your mind," Greg said.

  "I don't think so." He started for the door.

  Greg formed the thoughts in his mind and gently pushed them toward the reporter's mind.

  ::The story has not panned out. You will forget about this and move onto something else. The story has not panned out. You will forget about this and move onto something else.::

  The reporter turned toward Greg looking perplexed at first; his eyes momentarily glazed.

  "Well, they all don't work out now, do they?" Schume said. "Heck, if they did, it would make it too easy, wouldn't it." He turned away from Greg and left the room.

  ::Come on, tell me what he said,:: Sarah asked.

  ::Oh, he just wanted to let me know he won't be pestering us for a while.::

  ::That sounds like the condensed version.::

  ::Close enough. So what do you think?::

  ::I have to admit you had me wondering there for a while. But I think it worked perfectly. You almost sounded like you really have lost your mind. But there is one thing…::

  ::What?::

  ::Who's the cute little alien you're shacking up with?::

  ::Huh?::

  ::Close enough to the right answer. So, my half-wit, alien-chasing friend. What's next?::

  ::Now, the rebuttal from your office should be you were always aware of my failing mental state and, for privacy's sake, you felt it was best to not bring out in public that you knew me for fear of embarrassment and ridicule and so on and so on.::

  ::Already working on it,:: she said.

  ::I'm out of here and heading back to the Council. I'll talk to you soon.::

  ::Love you.::

  ::Love you, too.::

  * * * *

  Greg slept on the airplane as it cruised back to West Virginia. He figured a little rest after the successful press conference was well-earned now all indications were that Raymond Schume had been encouraged to direct his attention elsewhere.

  Leaving his body to its much-needed rest, he traveled in his mind to the planet Acuba. Things appeared different from before; everything much more vivid and in sharper focus. He assumed that as he mastered the powers he did not yet understand, his perceptions would become more and more precise. There was still so much he needed to know from Vague.

  You must concentrate on what you're doing, and only on one place at a time, he remembered Vague telling him. There was an
other mystery. Why did the process require such intense concentration? Save the questions for later, he thought, as he returned to concentrating on what he was doing.

  The moon's features slowly became visible to him as he began to make out some of the contours and geography of the surface. He realized what he was seeing was not just the layout of the mountains and craters but a face. He had always suspected this image held a key to something he needed to know, but previously its meaning had been blocked from him. Now, as the details became clear to him he wondered, why now?

  A familiar sound off to his right momentarily diverted his attention. He could see someone coming toward him, a humanoid of considerable age from what Greg could tell by its sure and carefully measured steps. Time seemed to stand still as the distance slowly decreased between them. The man had long, wispy white hair dangling around his shoulders. His face was heavily wrinkled, but his eyes had a youthful glow. He was wearing a white lab coat similar to that of a scientist or researcher, the pockets overflowing with items.

  The man stopped a few feet away and Greg poised to flee, until he reminded himself that physically he was not present. All he would have to do was withdraw his mind in a split second.

  "Who are you?" Greg asked. The old man smiled at him with a genuine pleasure that would have warmed even the most pessimistic person.

  "You have been calling me Vague. This physical shape belongs to a librarian from the planet Zire Archives named Robise. It was Robise who saved from destruction the computer core that enabled you to thwart Copolla's plans. He was killed by Journo."

  "So why have you taken his image?"

  "We can discuss that when we get back to Earth," Vague said. He suddenly appeared nervous and anxious to leave.

  "No, not yet. There's something I want to see first," Greg said as he began to turn to look at the moon.

  "Perhaps that is not such a good idea," Vague warned.

  "Why?" The image was so clear and sharp there could be no mistaking what or who it was. "Copolla," Greg murmured. "It's Copolla's face, but why? He's dead. Been dead for two years."

  Despite his own protest, Greg had harbored a suspicion that might not be so. There was something about the riddles that had suggested Copolla's hand, but he hadn't said as much to anyone else because he had hoped he was wrong.