by Clyde Key
* * *
Washington, DC. The White House had taken on a completely different appearance. The grass was gone from the front lawn and there was an alien pit dug on either side of the walk. The pits touched the walk on either side and each was as large as it could be to fit on the lawn and still be perfectly round. Several aliens shuffled about in the pits and a few were on the walk leading to the front door of the White House. Others sluffed sloppily along on the front walk.
Guards? The aliens certainly looked like guards patrolling the premises. But that could not be, because there was a human guard standing at the gate. Wearing the familiar blue-and-white White House Guard Corps uniform and a nametag that said R. Rollins, the guard was armed with a shoulder laser weapon. And he also wore a holstered laser pistol hanging from his belt.
“This place smells worse than an old-fashioned dairy farm!” said Ed. “When did this happen?”
“What? Identification, please.” Rollins pointed to the sensor plate mounted on the gate, and Ed placed his hand on it. “Edward Halloran. We were told you’d be here soon.”
“Yeah, it’s me. And it’s urgent that I see President Litton immediately.”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Halloran.” Rollins took the pistol from its holster and pointed it in the general direction of Ed. “You’re under arrest for subversion.”
Ed couldn’t believe it. He stared at the guard who kept the pistol trained at his midsection. “What for? Subversion? Litton knows better than that!”
“It’s not President Litton’s order. She’s ill. This is from acting president Macklin.” Tears were now streaming down the Rollin’s face. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what else to do.”
“You could turn me loose,” said Ed. “Pretend you never saw me.”
“That won’t work, Mr. Halloran. You checked in on the Identifier, so everybody knows you’re here now.”
“Yeh. And I sure couldn’t run away because even your old grandmother could catch me.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said the guard. “I won’t be too careful since you’re so old. Give me a little shove when we get next to the pit.”
Rollins dropped the pistol to his side and gave Ed a little shove. “That way. I’ll say when.” Ed started up the walk, a half step ahead of the guard. “Now,” said Rollins, quietly, when they were adjacent to one of the pits. Ed gave him a feeble push but it was enough because the young man tumbled off into the pit. Rollins’ weapon discharged when he landed, scorching three or four aliens in the process. Ed hurried back toward the gate as fast as his arthritis would allow.
Two aliens waited perfectly still beside the gate, one on either side of the walk. Ed couldn’t tell if they were watching him since aliens don’t watch in a human manner. Perhaps they were waiting for him, but maybe they weren’t, so he started out between them. Then just as he was even with them, long skinny arms zipped out from slits on the sides of each. Their thin fingers unfurled and wrapped tightly around Ed’s arms. Ed tried to pull away but these aliens were very strong. And they were very heavy. Ed couldn’t budge with the aliens holding tightly.
“Turn me loose!” yelled Ed. He struggled but could not get away. His arms began to burn where the aliens held him, and their grip was so tight that it cut off the circulation. Then his hands were becoming numb. Then Ed’s chest began to pound and pain permeated his body. “Turn my arms loose!” he cried. “I’ve got to have my medicine!” The aliens maintained their hold and Ed tried to twist around so he could see if anybody was coming to help, but he could not. Then his legs turned rubbery and he slumped, supported by his arms by the aliens, until the world around Ed faded.
