Wicked Messenger by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview
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Chapter 2
ACCEPTANCE, ELI, 5-9-98476, 5-9-2058 EARTH CALENDAR
In the morning Joshua was sitting in an overly fastidious, modern office, his controller set on neutral, engaged in conversation with his boss. He was comfortable after the usual morning shower, was drinking coffee and heard the hum of the central air conditioning. Its waves of cool air tingled his face and hands, his only exposed skin.
“The speed of light to the fifth power.”
“The speed of light to the fifth power?”
Cronos Titanby, Galaxy Director of the Eli Galactic Department answered; “Yes. Pretty **** fast, isn’t it?” as he casually checked his fingernails.
Joshua Foucalt, Senior Galactic Executive, widened his eyes in amazement and asked; “How’d you guys pull that off?”
“Easy. We told the brilliant Completions, the descendants of the flaky scientific geniuses that we captured during the last World War, that we would slowly and painfully torture them to death if they didn’t come up with something pronto.”
Joshua fondled the narrow lapels of his light blue, pin-striped suit and laughed heartily.
Pleased with himself, Cronos looked Joshua straight in the eye and seriously said; “So, now the ball is in your court. As
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our most accomplished flyer and overall get-it-done-guy, it is your job to get the rocket to Earth.”
Though he had previously heard a few things of the blue planet, Joshua decided to appear somewhat ignorant and said;
“Earth?”
Cronos grimaced and said; “Yes, Earth. You may not be aware of this. Our scientists never paid much attention to it previously. But, now that we can reach it, priorities have changed. It seems that it is the only accessible planet which can sustain Eli life.”
Joshua said; “Aha,” in an inquiring way.
“Problem is that it’s full of beings, armed violent beings, which look like us and call themselves ‘human.’ No chip, though.” Cronos sneeringly laughed and was joined by Joshua.
Joshua attempted to be sarcastic in saying; “Okay. I think I understand. You want me to fly this untested rocket at breakneck speed to Earth, announce that I am from the planet Eli, and inform the killers that thirty million more of us are on the way.”
“No, no, no, no, no. That would either get you into a mental institution or a career as guest on public access television. We want you to go there un-noticed. Blend in with the ‘humans’ and find out everything you can about them. Then inform us of their weak points and most importantly, how we can
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most efficiently and ‘humanely’ eradicate them.” He flashed the briefest of forced incisor grins.
“That sounds like a tall order. First I have to navigate a rocket with steroids coming out the kazoo at a speed never before done. Then I have to determine how to exterminate these
‘humans.’ If that was so easy, I suppose that they would have eliminated each other a long time ago.”
“Point well taken, Joshua. However, I must remind you that our lives depend on it. If there were some other possibility
.........”
“Establish a colony on unused land?”
“Do you really think they would allow that? Their economies depend on continual growth and in no time someone would try to get us under their wing. We’ve worked to attain peace for too long to lose it again. Besides, any unused land is somewhere no Eli, at least no “Sunny,” would want to live, even though some of that is ‘human’ occupied.”
“Tell them that out of necessity, we come in peace?”
“Joshua, for god’s sake. You’re sounding unpatriotic.
You’re one of the few people trusted with a personal “silver bullet”. I wouldn’t want to have to rethink my recommendation.
If we merely tell them that we’re coming, there is a good chance that they won’t put out the welcome mat. Our position is better
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if unannounced, we launch a surprising attack and immediately get the upper hand.”
“Please don’t get me wrong. You’re right. You’re right.
It’s just as you say. We spent so long getting to peace that it is in my bones. My great-granddad died in the last conflict and I’ve grown up without having to see any.”
Law questioned; “Great granddad?”
“Maybe great great.”
“I understand. Peace was my hope too. It was probably the hope of every rational Eli. But, who would have expected that the sun would quit on us?”
Joshua looked at the floor and shook his head.
ACCEPTANCE, ELI, 5-10-98476. 5-10-2058 EARTH CALENDAR
2AM the following morning, under the bright but dying sun Joshua was escorted to the launch pad, where a red rocket, the size of Vicky’s foot, sat. “The Law” wished him luck and they said their grimacing and respectful goodbyes.
Joshua shrugged and said; “I hope your Completions know what they’re doing.”
“They better. If the ship blows up they’ll wish they hadn’t been born.” Law smiled without cracking his face, as it was a display of disdain.
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Joshua reached into his pocket and retrieved his chip controller. He pushed a series of buttons, shrunk to an inch in size and entered the rocket.
ESPERANZA, ARIZONA, 5-10-2058
Joshua thought that he might be seeing a water tower on stilts in the near distance. Expecting that to be part of some town, he considered it wise to be able to give a good accounting of himself. He sat in the shade of a giant saguaro and went through his pockets. He found a bundle of cash and his wallet held a photo driver’s license and credit cards issued to Harold Simpson of Glastonbury, Massachusetts. The picture looked like him. He also found a tiny plastic rocket ship. He decided to keep it, thinking that he might give it to some kid.
Simpson-Foucalt found the confusing chip controller and as most men would do, he stood up and proceeded to push all the buttons. He didn’t notice that his mood swung from contented to morose and made several stops in between. The controller angered him in its perceived penchant to do nothing he could detect. He decided to throw it to the cholla, but in doing so inadvertently pushed another button and activated the right side of his brain, shutting the left. He then decided to keep it, just in case. He put it back in his blue jeans’ pocket and pulled out a silver, tubular device with a button near the center, the size of a
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lipstick canister, currently unbeknownst to him called a “silver bullet.” He pushed the button down and it emitted a ray which hit a giant saguaro, vaporizing it. He thought; “Cool,” and pointed it at another giant. Again he pushed the button and again the cactus was vaporized, leaving no sign of its former existence.
While he enjoyed the activity, he found it very easy, like target practice. He looked around to see if he could find a moving object, when he heard; “Hey, cut that out. Those things are alive.” He turned to see a little girl, in a yellow sundress, emerge from behind another saguaro. He inadvertently pointed his silver tube at her. She ducked back behind the cactus, causing her brown, long hair to fall over her face and said; “I should say WERE alive.” When she saw that she was not going to be the next thing zapped, she peered at him and added;
“You just can’t kill things willy-nilly like that.”
Harold felt embarrassed, pocketed his “silver bullet,” and said; “I’m sorry. I got carried away. It surprised me.”
Feeling a bit safer, the little girl stood straight, pushed back her hair and chastised him, saying; “Tell the giant saguaros that you’re sorry for all the good it will do. You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I am. I truly am.” For some reason he truly was.
“Where did you get that thing?”
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“It was in my pocket. Do you have one?”
“No, and nobody else around here has one either. Do you have any idea how long it takes saguaros to reach that size? And in an age of ecological responsibility. God.”
“No, I don’t know. But, I bet you’re going to tell me.”
“My grandpa told me over one hundred years. Keep that thing in your pocket and promise me that you won’t use it again.”
Harold was somewhat relieved, thinking that it was less evil to have merely vaporized something that had lived its years. He said; “I promise. I promise. I feel terrible.
............. And how old are you?”
“Ten ................. on June fifteenth.”
Harold smiled at her apparent anxiousness to grow up. He extended his right hand and said; “I’m Harold Simpson and I’m
.................................” He didn’t know his age, so he retrieved his wallet and looked at the driver’s license.
“Thirty-five years old.”
She warily shook his hand, saying; “I’m Becky Hawley.”
Something flashed in his mind, but he found it indecipherable. He blinked.
She was compelled to add; “I know what you’re thinking.
What a stupid name. Becky Hawley sounds like someone doing baby talk. My real name is Rebecca, but nobody calls me that. My dad started calling me Becky a long time ago and it stuck. Rebecca
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Hawley sounds like a good name for a movie star. That’s what I want to be when I grow up. Then I can get out of this gloomy sand dune and live in California with the stars. You know there are towns like Carmel, where everybody ........................
Sorry, I’m babbling. I’m trying to stop doing that. It’s just that everything is so quiet here and I .................” She put her hand over her mouth, faintly giggled and said; “There I go again.”
Harold wasn’t completely sure of what she was saying and had particular difficulty with California, stars and Carmel. But he thought that she was extremely cute. He leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees and said; “Well, I think Becky is a pretty name for a pretty girl.” He took her hand and they walked toward town.
“Oh, it is not. At school the other kids call me Pecky and Wacky. You know Harold is a funny name too. I’m going to call you Harry. That’s a little improvement.”
“Then we’re friends.”
“Yeah, as long as you don’t shoot any more cactuses.”
“Promise.”
Becky grinned and said; “If you see any rattlesnakes, it’s all right with me.”
“Rattlesnakes? How do I know one when I see one?”
“You’re not from around here. Are ‘ya? They rattle.”
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Harry felt cheerfully silly and said; “Tell me, what are you doing out here?”
“I was sitting on the water tower and saw you. Don’t tell anybody. I’m not supposed to go up there.”
“That will be our little secret. And you don’t have to tell anybody about the cactuses. Right?”
Becky said; “Right,” and then asked; “What are you doing out here?”
Harry shook his head slightly, clenched and released his free fist and said; “I don’t know. I really don’t.”
Becky sensed a sadness or some kind of trouble within Harry. She wanted to sound encouraging and said; “Well, I guess you need a place to stay. You’re in luck. My mom and dad own a boarding house and there are rooms available. Internet, Cable TV, bathroom and everything. ........................ Well, I mean my mom and dad don’t really own it. Grandpa does, but he doesn’t get around too well anymore. He mostly likes to sit on the porch and tell lies. Not really lies; exaggerated stories about what things were like when he was young. He says it was better then, but I think that’s what all old people say. Anyway, mom and dad have to do all the work; and sometimes me. Like they always tell me to .................... I’m babbling again.”
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Harry said; “You are adorable. I’ll bet you’ll make a great actress someday.” He reached into his pocket and said; “Here, I want to give you a present,” and handed her the plastic rocket.
Becky properly said; “Oh, thank you,” and tried to seem enthused. But, she thought; “Isn’t this more of a present for a boy?” She put it in the pocket of her sundress and added; “I’ll keep this with my china animals.”
As the sun started to tease the horizon, they approached a gigantic, graying, two floor house on the outskirts of town. It had a sign over the porch, which said; “ROOMS.”
She said; “Here we are.”
“I don’t suppose you get too many guests.”
“We get our share. Migrant farm workers, mostly.”
Harry didn’t understand and said nothing.
Becky sensed that, but decided not to tell Harry everything about Arizona on the first day and succeeded in not babbling.
They climbed the two steps to the porch. She pushed open the wooden screen door and they went in.
Waiting at the improvised “counter” in the living room was Dad, AKA Charles Hawley. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and the portly man said; “Where have you been, Becky?”
She responded; “I’ve been walking in the desert with Harry.”
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Charles looked at Harry discerningly and said; “Out here to pick?”
Harry was at a loss, but decided to say something innocuous; “Checking things out.”
As Harry’s skin was an olive tone from a lifetime in the sun, Charles said: “Up from Mexico?”
Harry recalled what was written on his driver’s license and said; “No, Glastonbury, Massachusetts.”
Charles didn’t show his surprise in saying; “I guess things are tough all over.”
Harry said; “Sure are,” and shook Charles hand.
Becky said; “He needs a room.”
Charles said; “Baggage?”
Harry said; “None.”
Charles said; “Car?”
Harry said; “No.”
Charles asked; “How did you get here?”
Becky didn’t want to hear Harry say “I don’t know,”
thinking that it could lead to some sort of unpleasant fiasco and interjected; “Hitched.”
Harry didn’t know what that meant, but had come to trust Becky. He nodded a small “Yes.” Charles looked at him strangely, but found his cash was impressive, and he gave him a room.
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Becky went in with him, leaving the door wide open, and said; “You know how to use the internet?”
“No.”
“Oh, it’s great and it’s easy. Let me show you. It tells you anything you want to know.”
They took seats in front of the computer and Harry watched Becky navigate. He got excited as he saw that he might find out who he is. But he sobered and asked; “Who puts the information in here?”
“Anybody. Watch.” She went to a website that maintained a list of the top 100 novels of all time. She picked number one;
“The Great Gatsby,” and typed in that it was slow, stupid and very redundant, its substance worthy of only a whiny short story.
Getting some ideas, Harry thought; “Oh,” and said; “Did you really read it?”
“Yes and no. I started it. But, I disliked it so much I didn’t finish it. Somebody just made a movie out of it for the three hundredth time. I guess they still think they’re going to have a hit. You know the story?”
“No.”
“I should have said; ‘Do you know the non-story?’ This rich guy loves some girl across the water, but she doesn’t return the favor. While parties are going on, he pines out the window,
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looking across the water and thinking of her. God, there are other fish in the sea, man.” She put two fingers down her throat and forced a gag.
“Isn’t that a little calloused for a little girl?”
“Not really. I can understand feeling that way for a while.
But, come on already. Jeez.”
Something registered with Harry when he heard “feeling that way.” It seemed to go way back and he didn’t recall the specifics. He thought; “Feeling. Feeling. Feeling. Where? What?”
He laughed, patted her head and said; “You convinced me.”
Charles knocked gently on the door and entered. He said;
“Come on, Becky. It’s time for dinner. Would you like to join us, Harry?”
As Becky walked out, Harry stayed seated at the computer and said; “No. No thanks. I’ve got work to do. Thanks again, maybe I’ll take you up on it tomorrow. Good night.”
Dad shut the door as he and Becky left.
Harry immediately searched for “Harold Simpson of Glastonbury, Massachusetts.” He was excited to see three websites saying that they had found him. His mood tempered when he learned that each of them automatically send that message and then ask you to re-input the information. He did discover that there were hundreds of Harold Simpsons in the US alone, but none resided in Glastonbury. They ranged in age from 18 to 91. Harry
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was desperate, and for forty bucks apiece, he saw that he could get further information about them, such as their home phone number, if listed, their e-mail address, their home address and arrest record. He considered obtaining the expensive, further information on those near his age. But, then he had a strange thought. What if he did get further information about Harold Simpson? How could he know that the information was about him?
It would be better if he could find a relative who could identify him. He decided that he was more likely to find himself if he e-mailed all the people named Simpson, but that would get extremely time consuming. He then realized that if he could e-mail all the Simpsons that he was bound to get an abundance of replies saying that they knew him as there were so many Harold Simpsons. How about all the Simpsons in or near Glastonbury? He checked and there weren’t any. He laughed and thought; “I’m the man who never was.” What to do? ..............................
Ask Becky tomorrow.
In the meantime, he reverted to instincts, and he thought the best thing to do was to try and relax. He found YouTube and listened to the New Riders of the Purple Sage.
After dinner Becky put her new rocket with her china animals and thought she detected a buzz, but dismissed it.
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