Rhubarb (29 page)

“Plans for Earth?” asked Lee.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” said Martin.

“Oh, don’t hold back now,” Lee said and gave Brian a nod.
Brian moved to grab Martin’s arm, but Martin shook him off.

“They’re going to turn the Earth into a giant factory to
bake rhubarb pies,” said Martin.

“Get them out of here,” said Lee. “And he is not coming on
the show.” Brian shoved Martin toward the door.

“Wait,” Stewart bellowed. Everyone froze. “I’m the proof,”
he said.

Brian resumed manhandling Martin toward the door. Lee
shouted for them to get out. Martin shoved Brian and turned to see Stewart
pluck the cannula out from under his nose.

“Stewart?” called Martin.

Stewart groped inside his shirt, even as Brian tried to yank
him off the bed. Stewart let Brian pull on one arm, but he clutched a small
object in his other hand. Stewart’s eyes met Martin’s for a moment, and then he
pressed the object with his thumb.

Stewart’s skin began to slip off like a silk sheet,
migrating toward the little device. Brian staggered back in revulsion.
Stewart’s shoes lifted off the floor and then dropped away as the appendages
changed shape. His pants twisted, bulged, and then were pulled away by a pair
of tentacles with articulated suckers on their wide pads. Another pair deftly
unbuttoned and sloughed off Stewart’s shirt. The socks and underwear were
peeled away and tossed to the floor on the far side of the bed.

The glistening body, as gray and translucent as any netted
squid, and nearly twice the size of Stewart the man, flopped onto the creaky
mattress with a squelch of flesh. Far apart, near the middle of the bulbous,
cylindrical body, blinked a pair of glassy, wide eyes, foreign but
communicative. A few inches lower, a pair of slitted nostrils swelled open and
clamped shut laboriously. Stewart pushed himself to a more comfortable position
on the bed and sagged in relief.

Another man—X-Ray the radio engineer, judging by the
headphones—strolled through the pass door from the other room. He screamed and
collided with the doorframe trying to back out skeleton-first. Stewart’s black
eyes swung in his direction, watched the man leave, and then swept back to Lee
Danvers.

His rough, aged voice emerged from the open nostrils but
originated deeper within the mass of his body. “Do you want to hear my story
now?” he asked.

~ * * * ~

Brian had locked himself in the bathroom. X-Ray had edged
back into the room, having lost his ability to blink or close his mouth. Lee
Danvers remained rooted to his spot at the foot of the bed, perhaps by two
decades of broadcast experience, although he had dropped his reading glasses.

As Stewart told his tale, Lee studied Stewart in parts, as
if trying to find the zipper. Stewart didn’t have a face to read, as such, but
Martin sensed emotion in his wriggling tentacles and hoped Lee noticed it, too.
Martin couldn’t get over how much Lee Danvers made three-dimensional flesh was
not the Lee Danvers of his mind’s eye. Lee shouldn’t be this bald, nor so much
less masculine than his voice. His pants bulged out with a spare tire under his
belt. His body pinched to narrow shoulders, and a shadow over his upper lip
said he’d spent most of his life with a mustache. Lee began to fidget and open
his mouth to speak. He’s too good an interviewer, thought Martin. He knows
Stewart’s avoiding all the details.

“Where are you from?” Lee blurted out.

“That’s not important,” said Stewart.

“I think it’s pretty damned important,” Lee said, as if he
often interviewed squiddy aliens in motel rooms. Which, for all Martin knew, he
did.

“My species lives on many worlds around this galaxy,” said
Stewart.

“How did you get here?” asked Lee.

“A transportation network. The portal’s part of it,” said
Stewart.

“And what do you want with us, with Earth?”

“We told you,” said Stewart.

“The rhubarb pie?” said Lee.

“Yes.”

“And your daughter—or, sorry, your completely human
stepdaughter—has this secret recipe?” asked Lee.

“No, but the others think she does,” said Stewart.

“And if they get the recipe, they’ll kill us all?” asked
Lee. “So who does have this recipe?”

“No one. The only people who knew it died,” said Stewart.
Martin thought one of Stewart’s eyes flicked in his direction.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” asked Lee.

“If anyone had it, we probably wouldn’t be here talking
right now,” said Stewart.

“I suppose that’s true,” said Lee. “I’ve heard a lot of stupid
stories in my time, but this one is so…blisteringly stupid, I really don’t know
what to believe. No offense.”

“It’s no joke, I assure you,” said Stewart. “You have my
word.” He raised a tentacle toward Lee. Lee backed slightly, then extended his
right hand as if Stewart’s tentacle was a frying pan of live scorpions. The
suckers on Stewart’s palm flexed open, then hissed shut, leaving a flat blade
of pale gray skin. The two appendages met. Stewart’s tentacle wrapped gently
around the heel of Lee’s hand. “Everything I’ve told you is the absolute
truth,” he said. Then, the tentacle wilted, limp and drained.

Martin stepped on the oxygen line and picked it up,
wondering if Stewart still needed it, or where he’d even position the cannula.
It might serve one nostril, or gill slit, or whatever, but not both.

“You don’t believe me?” asked Stewart.

“I don’t know what to believe. You’re…pretty believable, but
this whole thing is preposterous.”

“Why preposterous? What’s a sensible reason for my species
to come to Earth?” asked Stewart.

“I don’t know. Exploration? Scientific discovery? Contact?”
suggested Lee.

Stewart made a sound. Laughter, Martin supposed. “A hundred
thousand years ago, maybe,” he said. “These days, we come when the numbers add
up. The truck drivers take the most economical route, and they like a bit of
foreign food. My company’s here because they can make untold profit on a
novelty sure to become a dessert staple in trillions of homes. Why did you come
to Montana?”

“I…” said Lee.

“I’ll tell you why,” said Stewart. “You came to Montana
because you could charge your advertisers prime rates for a show done live from
an unexplained phenomenon before it becomes yesterday’s news. Which, because
you’re a jaded broadcaster used to dealing with such things, you’re sure has a
perfectly reasonable explanation or is an elaborate hoax. You don’t care about
the truth. You like the cash. You like the attention and the new members
dropping twenty-five bucks a pop for annual memberships to the Waker Nation for
the exclusive footage. You don’t care that your listeners are trampling this
town to death in search of a truth that you never intend to give them.”

“We’re both big fans,” said Martin. Lee looked at Martin
like he’d forgotten about him and then collapsed into a desk chair.

“Are there any more of you?” asked Lee. “Or others?”

“No. I’m the only one on the planet right now. As far as I
know. And there aren’t any others. No Grays. No Reptoids. Only me,” said
Stewart.

Through a long quiet, Lee studied the carpet, then the
horrible pattern of the bedspread, then a focal point a million miles past.
Then he found Stewart again.

“I’m glad you came to me, but…” said Lee. He looked at
X-Ray, then at Martin, then at the bathroom door where his producer was
probably shivering fetal in the tub.

“You can’t put this on the radio,” said Stewart, stating a
fact, not a demand.

“That’s right,” said Lee. “I have a section in my contracts,
my company’s insurance documents, in every deal with my sponsors. My lawyers
call it the ‘War of the Worlds’ clause.”

“You can’t start a panic,” said Stewart.

“I even have a—let’s call it a verbal agreement—with certain
representatives of the United States military, that if I am ever in this exact
situation, I’m supposed to call them immediately. Do not pass go, do not
collect two hundred dollars.”

“We’re not asking for publicity. We only need your help
getting up to the portal,” said Martin.

“And what makes you think I can help?” asked Lee.

“We figured you’d be going up there later to do the show.
That you’d have a deal with the Highway Patrol to get past the roadblock,” said
Martin.

Lee laughed a sad little chuckle. “I hate to tell you, but I
don’t have any such deal. We’re not exactly the Montana Highway Patrol’s
favorite people right now.”

A piteous, burbling, low-frequency moan emanated from deep
inside Stewart. Then he began to cough. His body contracted. Hot air and flecks
of phlegm spurted out his nostrils. He bent near his middle and rolled over to
cough into the bedspread, tentacles flailing with each spasm.

“Stewart?” Martin put a hand on his back.

X-Ray said, “He’s going to die. Aren’t you going to call
anyone?”

“Who do you want me to call exactly? 911?” asked Lee.

“911. The government. You gotta know someone who can…”

“Who can what?” asked Lee.

“What’s wrong with him?” asked X-Ray.

“He’s old,” Martin fired over his shoulder. “He’s been
squeezed in that skin since the eighties, and this isn’t exactly his home
environment.”

“He can’t die here. He can’t die here,” said X-Ray. “You
have to call…”

Lee grabbed X-Ray’s collar. “You think the United States
government is going to nurse him back to health and let him get back to
shuffleboard at the retirement home? I’m not calling anyone.”

“Martin,” Stewart choked out.

“What? Everyone, quiet.” Martin climbed onto the bed to get
nearer. Stewart coughed a few more times, then his body relaxed.

“Martin,” he said again.

“Yes, Stewart. I’m here.”

“You can’t waste any more time. If he can’t help you, you
have to go. Get Cheryl,” said Stewart. “Save her.”

“I can’t do it by myself. I don’t…”

“Martin. I can’t,” said Stewart.

“What do I do?” asked Martin.

“I don’t know,” said Stewart. “But you’re the only…”

“Stewart?”

“Oh my god, he’s dead,” said X-Ray.

Stewart’s body swelled and deflated, and the nostrils
slapped open and sucked closed with sticky effort. “He’s not dead,” said Lee.

Martin got off the bed and found himself face to face with
Lee Danvers. “I have to go,” said Martin. “And I have to leave him…”

“No,” said Lee.

“What? I can’t move him,” said Martin.

“I mean, wait,” said Lee. He grabbed X-Ray by the arm and
dragged him toward the bathroom. He pounded on the door. “Brian, open this door
right now. Or you can kiss your job goodbye.”

Lee pounded again, and then the doorknob clicked. Lee pushed
the door open before Brian had second thoughts. Martin felt a welcome waft of
cool air. Brian must have opened the bathroom window but found it too small to
escape through. Lee shoved X-Ray in before him and closed the door.

Stewart stirred with a rill of tentacles. “What’s going on?”
he asked.

“They’re arguing,” said Martin. “Trying to decide what to do
about you, I think. Are you sure you can’t move? Maybe get that skin thing back
on?”

Stewart moaned and waved a tentacle. The device whacked
against the wall and bounced on the floor. “It’s useless now,” said Stewart.

“I’m sorry,” said Martin.

“What for?” asked Stewart.

“Making you come here. Everything, really.”

“It was my decision to take off the dermis,” said Stewart.

“Are you going to die?”

“Probably.” Stewart’s nearest eye noticed the oxygen line in
Martin’s hand. “That still putting out oh-two?”

A few minutes later, Lee emerged from the bathroom with his
team, Shaken and Stirred.

“I’m not dead yet,” Stewart told them. He was holding the
cannula under one of his nostrils with several tentacles.

“I’m coming with you,” said Lee. X-Ray squeezed around
Martin and disappeared into the other room.

“Really?” asked Martin.

“Brian and X-Ray will watch your friend until we get back,
and they’re not going to call anyone,” said Lee.

“I don’t understand,” said Martin.

“You said you couldn’t do it alone, so I’m coming with you,”
said Lee.

“Um…and you know what we’re about to do?” asked Martin.

“We’re going to drive through the portal down the highway,
pop out on the other side, and rescue his daughter from a couple of aliens.”

“Stepdaughter,” said Martin.

“Oh, you think that’s the salient detail I need to get
right?” asked Lee.

X-Ray returned with an open backpack. He fished around,
checking the contents. “Okay, your iPad, a camera, an audio recorder.
Everything’s charged,” he said.

“And you’re set up to broadcast a call from my cell?” asked
Lee.

“Should be. Call and I’ll run a check,” said X-Ray.

“You’re putting this on the radio?” asked Martin. “We did
mention that we might end up out in the Kuiper Belt with some pissed-off squids
and no way back. How’s that going to sit with your lawyers?”

“I didn’t come to Brixton to sit in some fleabag motel
room.” Lee zipped the pack shut and slung it over his shoulder.

“I don’t know about this,” said Martin.

“You came to me. You want my help or not?” asked Lee.

“Martin,” said Stewart. “Take him with you. He can help.”

Side by side with Lee under the motel’s carport, Martin
said, “It’s not a fleabag.”

“No?” asked Lee.

“They have a good breakfast,” said Martin.

“Great,” Lee said.

As they walked along the parking lot that was Highway 15,
Martin worried that someone would recognize Lee and delay them, but Lee was a
radio star. “Which one is yours?” Lee asked as they turned down the side
street.

Martin pointed. “The FastNCo. truck.”