Xenophobia (27 page)

The alien never responded.

Sitting there, she could feel a pulse running through the limp frond resting on her leg. Unlike a human heart, the alien creature pulsated like the chatter and stutter of a water pipe with air in the line.

Bower sat there by the door, peering down the road, hoping, almost willing for Elvis to appear, while dreading the awful implications of a violent gunshot breaking the still of night.

What would the alien do if it heard a gunshot close by? Bower had already picked out her escape route, a dark alley leading away from the factory on the other side of the back road. She wasn’t sure if it was heading west, but if they were sprung she figured she needed to get some distance between her and the soldiers around the factory. Anywhere that led away from the guardhouse on the main street seemed like a good idea. What would this interstellar creature do if it saw her running from the factory? Would it follow?

Minutes seemed like hours.

After an age, Bower noticed the sky lightening ever so slightly. What had been a deep Prussian blue, a skyline as dark as coal, slowly warmed. Stars began to fade. The sky on the horizon revealed a growing sense of color pushing back the black of night. There was still an hour or so before dawn broke, but Bower’s heart sank. She was alone. It was time to go.

Turning to the creature, Bower’s heart broke as she said, “Green light.”

To her surprise, the alien seemed lethargic. The creature registered her words, but it took time for it to respond and stiffen its spiky tentacle-like legs. Could Stella have been asleep? Thinking about it, she realized every animal on Earth slept at some point, some of them had a shallow sleep, but they still had a distinct, cyclical metabolic change regardless. Some, like dolphins, had the ability to shut down one hemisphere of their brains at a time in a bizarre form of half-sleep, but every animal slept, recharging its neural batteries. And yet, Bower reasoned, she could be reading her own exhaustion into the creature’s behavior. Perhaps the alien was lost in thought. As for her, she’d have loved nothing more than to curl up in a soft bed. The thought of running madly for her life was daunting, but it had to be done.

She got to her feet, leaving the gun on the floor, and began heaving the door to one side. When she turned to grab the revolver it was gone. She looked up and saw the creature holding the gun by the barrel, a tentacle wrapped around the shiny steel. Bower reached out and took the gun cautiously from the alien.

“Green light,” she repeated softly. She knew this was the command the creature had been waiting for, but even it seemed reluctant, as though it too were longing for Elvis to return.

What would happen to them on the run? How far would she get through this gun-ravaged city? Once people started moving around, how far could she go with an alien following her? Should she hide? Elvis said not to hide, but her instinct told her she should crawl into some dark hole. Who should she trust? Her judgment or his?

And Stella, the alien had trusted her, but what did Bower have to repay that trust? They would have been better off being on the move several hours ago, putting more distance between them and the rebels. Would the creature realize that and feel betrayed? Elvis hadn’t returned. She had to strike out on her own with Stella, with just one bullet to protect them, with just one bullet to attract hordes of rebel soldiers. Bower wanted to say she was sorry, to apologize to the alien in advance, but the creature would have had no idea what she was talking about.

As Bower moved out of the doorway and into the shadow of a large wooden crate, she saw a covered truck pull up at the end of the road with its lights off. Her heart leaped. Elvis climbed out of the cab and opened the back of the truck.

“Green light,” she said softly to Stella, beckoning the creature outside.

Multiple alien fronds picked up the door, manipulating it as the creature passed through the doorway, leaving the door leaning in place behind it. At a glance, it would look like the door was still closed. Clever girl, thought Bower.

Bower peered around the side of the crate, looking to see if anyone was further along the back road. Once she was sure no one was watching, she darted down the rough gravel road. Stella kept pace beside her, rolling forward on her spindle-like legs. The alien creature moved swiftly and silently beside her. Bower got the impression Stella could have easily outpaced her, but the alien remained at her side over the hundred yards or so it took to reach the truck.

Elvis was standing in the open back of the truck, waving with his hands, urging them on. The alien sprang up, landing in the cargo deck. Elvis began pulling down a canvas cover to hide her from view when Bower climbed up as well.

“You don’t want to ride up front?”

“No,” she replied, struggling to catch her breath. “I need to be with her. To let her know everything’s going to be OK. As scared as we are of her, I suspect she’s more terrified of us. She needs someone with her.”

Elvis nodded. “Hey, I got through to a Government checkpoint on the shortwave radio in the truck. They said the Americans are holed up at the US embassy. I think they mean the Rangers, so that’s where we’ll head.”

Bower reached out, touching at the thick blood seeping through his shirt, running from his shoulder down his front.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s not my blood,” Elvis replied with a grin.

How he could respond like that, she didn’t know. For her, there was nothing laudable in the violence of war, and yet she was glad he could disconnect himself in this way. His casual disregard had to be some kind of psychological defense mechanism, insulating his mind from the horrors he had to inflict to survive. One day it would catch up with him. One day these memories would haunt him, and she knew it. Although his acts were justifiable, they were odious nonetheless. Post-traumatic stress wasn’t cowardice. There was only so long a sane man could maintain the illusion of detachment necessary to survive a war-zone. When his fall came, she hoped it wasn’t from a great height. She hoped there was someone there to catch him.

The alien creature wrapped its tentacles around the wooden slats in the back corner of the truck, holding on as Elvis sped through the darkened streets. Bower sat to one side, bracing herself as the vehicle careened one way and then another. Elvis had a lead foot, both when accelerating and braking.

The canvas cover at the back of the truck flapped in the breeze, allowing the growing dawn to seep through. The sky was a dark shade of blue. Streaks of scarlet lit up clouds high in the sky, slowly transforming the night into a ruddy pink morning. With just a few clouds in the stratosphere, it was going to be another scorching hot day.

Bower sat there across from Stella wondering what she was thinking. As for herself, Bower was regretting not sitting in the cab with Elvis. Her heart pounded in her chest. There were times when the truck felt like it was out of control, careening around corners, bouncing out of potholes. Her life was out of control. In that moment, the truck became symbolic of all she’d been through over the past week, a roller-coaster ride without any brakes. She wanted to stop. She wanted to yell out to Elvis and tell him to stop the truck and let her out, but she knew her feelings were misplaced. Getting out of the truck wouldn’t solve anything. She had to be strong and endure. Looking at Stella, she knew she shouldn’t read her own emotions into the alien’s character, but she couldn’t help but think Stella felt the same way. The pulsating mass of tiny creatures at the heart of the alien appeared to grimace the same way she did with each erratic turn.

Elvis stopped the truck on several occasions, and Bower could hear him talking to Africans. As he drove away, she got glimpses of the various roadblocks they were negotiating.

Bower felt she was going to be sick. Fumes leaked in the back of the truck. The unrelenting flap of the canvas seemed to pound inside her head. In the growing heat, the sides of the truck seemed to close in on her, causing her to feel claustrophobic, nauseous. Her world narrowed and she fought not to vomit.

Finally, the truck slowed and turned sharply, as though they were entering a property rather than turning on another road. Bower could hear voices calling out, American voices. The truck rode up over the lip of a curb, its engine whining. She could hear Smithy and Jameson calling out to Elvis. Her heart jumped.

“Goddamn,” Jameson cried.

“You son of a bitch,” yelled Smithy.

Bower felt the cab of the truck rock as someone jumped up onto the running board below the driver’s door.

“Hey, babe,” Elvis said in his best Barry White voice.

“Don’t you hey babe me,” Smithy replied, trying not to laugh. “Scare me like that again and I’ll hunt you down and kill you myself.”

Elvis laughed.

Bower wondered how much Stella understood of their speech. Certainly, a figurative, idiomatic phrase like that must have been confusing. She wasn’t sure, but she swore she could hear Smithy kissing Elvis on the cheek as he drove slowly forward. Bower figured it was good Stella couldn’t see Smithy and Elvis as their contradictory verbal banter and physical expression would have been confusing.

Bower started moving toward the rear of the truck, wanting to get out of the stinking, hot, claustrophobic space. For a moment, she forgot about Stella, thinking only of her sense of relief to be safe in the presence of the Rangers again.

“Where is Bosco and the Doc?” Jameson called out.

“Bosco didn’t make it,” Elvis replied, his voice breaking. “Doc’s in the back.”

The truck turned in a semi-circle before coming to a halt. Pebbles crunched beneath the tires. Bower sat by the tailgate, ready to climb down.

“What the hell happened to your arm?” Jameson asked as he and Smithy walked with Elvis toward the rear of the old truck. Bower was somewhat awkwardly trying to climb over the lip of the tray running across the back of the truck.

“Oh, you think that’s wild, wait until you get a load of our guest.”

Jameson came around the back of the truck and, to Bower’s surprise, grabbed her like she weighed next to nothing. He swung her down from the truck, giving her what amounted to a bear hug.

“Liz,” he cried. “Damn, it is good to see you.”

Bower never was one for being touchie-feelie, but she was relieved to see him too. He kissed her on the lips, which took her back for a second. There was nothing sexual about it, perhaps it was the classic American GI in him, the liberation of Paris all over again. Her mind was awash with emotions. She was surprised by how heady she felt as he let go of her and she stood there in the bright sunlight.

Bower squinted. Colors rushed at her from all directions.

An American flag flew on a flagpole in the center of the courtyard. The truck had driven around a circular driveway, around an oval with green grass growing sedately in a carefully manicured lawn.

Green.

She’d seen greens in the jungle several days before, but they were deep greens. After days of darkness, the vibrant, spring greens of the grass lawn were astonishing. Small sprinkler heads sat recessed every ten to fifteen feet around the curb, ready to spray water over the lawn. And there were flowers around the base of the flag pole. Were there any other flowers anywhere within Lilongwe? Bower felt like she’d fallen down the rabbit hole and tumbled into Wonderland.

To one side, over against the high outer walls of the embassy, palm trees and shrubs marked the start of a tropical garden. It would have been aesthetically pleasing were it not for the black soot scattered along the cream wall, the bullet holes and the odd spray of dried blood. Like everything she’d seen in Africa, the US embassy was a violent contradiction.

Smithy was glowing. Her smile revealed her beautiful, straight white teeth. She punched Elvis gently on the chest.

“You had us worried,” she said, unable to wipe the grin off her face.

“So what happened to you guys back there in the intersection?” Jameson asked. “We had Tangos all over us. Fought a rolling action and made out a back alley carrying our wounded.

“We’ve been sending daily recons out to the market, hoping you’d drag your sorry ass there. If the natives knew anything, they weren’t talking.”

Elvis had climbed up on the back of the truck. As he rolled the canvas to one side he said, “We were captured by a warlord, some egomaniac by the name of General Adan. He -”

Jameson peered into the back of the truck, cutting Elvis off before he could finish his sentence.

“What the
fuck
?” he cried, stepping backwards. “What the hell is that?”

Smithy backed away.

“Sarge,” Elvis began. “I’d like to introduce you to a friend of ours, Stella.”

Stella stayed away from the light streaming in through the open canvas.
The alien moved across the back of the truck.

Elvis stood there beckoning the creature, coaxing her forward.

“Jesus, Mary and Joseph,” Smithy cried. “Elvis, what have you done?”

Elvis laughed. “Green light, Stella. It’s OK. Green light.”

Slowly, the seething mass of tentacles and whips moved forward. As the alien creature approached the back of the truck, Bower expected Elvis to jump down and get out of the way, but he didn’t. To Bower, working with Stella was a bit like being a lion-tamer: you kept a whip and chair in hand at all times, but Elvis held no fear of the strange-looking creature.

Jameson backed across the grass, moving away from the back of the truck.

“Mother of God,” he whispered.

Bower could see his hand instinctively resting on his sidearm. “Don’t,” she said, resting her hand on his. “That really wouldn’t be a good idea.”

Looking back at the truck, Bower got her first good look at the creature in the bright sunlight. The brilliant reds and scarlets of the alien’s tentacles were shocking to behold. They shone like polished glass, reflecting the light around them. As the alien fronds waved in the breeze they seemed to be sampling the air. Stella was trying to assess how safe it was outside the truck.

“Green light,” Bower said, reinforcing what Elvis had said.

Bower watched as slick red blades wrapped around Elvis. He was completely unfazed by the creature, and from the look on Jameson’s face that was shocking to behold. Smithy held her hand over her mouth.

The swarm of insects at the heart of the alien had an iridescent pearly sheen to their black shells. Although Bower knew they were a mass of individual insect-like creatures, in the sunlight they looked like the folds and crevasses of the cerebral cortex, a brain in motion, vulnerable and exposed to the elements.

Up until this point, Bower had thought of the brilliant red appendages reaching out from the core as tentacles, but in the light of day they looked more like brightly-colored blades of flax, only that analogy was too organic, perhaps flexible blades of colored steel or fiberglass would have been a better description. To her surprise, as they flexed they changed not only their length, but their width and thickness, adapting themselves from fine, feeler-like structures to blades that swayed like ribbons in the breeze. Stiff spikes supported the creature’s weight, stabbing back and forth like crab’s feet.

Elvis stepped down, helping the alien out of the truck.

Soft red blades enveloped the right side of his body, wrapping around him as though the creature were clinging to him more for security than anything else.

As taken back as Jameson was, Bower could see the alien was even more apprehensive. Having been harassed, corralled, fired upon, injured and threatened during its fleeting time on Earth, Stella must have felt Elvis was the only native she could trust. The only one for whom trust was mutual. Even Bower couldn’t let her guard down completely with the alien creature, but Elvis had no reservations.

Bower hoped Elvis remembered her warning, not to read too much from his own emotional responses into the reactions of the alien, and yet he clearly felt the need to protect Stella. Perhaps it was the change of environment. In their dark, gloomy dungeon, the factory floor felt like her domain. Out here, she was on his turf.

An eerie silence fell over the courtyard. Smithy crouched down, her hand still over her mouth. Like the other soldiers, she was in shock.

“Green light,” Elvis said.

“Green light,” the creature replied, still using Bower’s voice. Was that a play to be inclusive of her, Bower wondered, or was the creature simply being consistent. Regardless, Bower walked over beside the alien as naturally as she could. Despite her reservations, she wanted to show the other soldiers there was nothing to fear.

Jameson looked at Bower as the alien’s tone of voice registered with him. The shock on his face was palpable. Bower raised her hands in a gesture that indicated she had no more idea about all this than he did.

The various US soldiers around the courtyard nervously checked their surroundings, clearly thinking about any possible hostile move. For all they knew, this creature was some invincible, acid-dripping monster from another planet, and they weren’t too far from the truth, thought Bower.

Jameson, though, ever the professional, seized the moment and called out.

“All right, enough standing around. What’s the matter? Haven’t you seen an alien before? Smithy, get that gate shut. Jones, Marshall and Davies, if you’re on the wall pulling guard duty you need to face the other way. And Elvis ... Stop showing off and take our guest inside.”

Elvis grinned. “Yes, sir.”

Smithy didn’t move. Jameson tapped her on the shoulder. Slowly, she got up and went over to the gate.

Elvis walked toward the main building. Stella followed.
She was never more than a few feet from him. It was clear she wasn’t going to let him out of her sight until she felt safe. Bower followed them.

“You three,” Jameson said, coming up behind them and speaking with gravitas. “You have some explaining to do.”

Well, thought Bower, Jameson took that quite well, all things considered. And she loved his use of three, as though somehow the alien owed him an explanation. In reality, it was only Elvis that was answerable to Jameson, but that didn’t bother him in the slightest. She turned back, expecting a grumpy look on his face but he was grinning as he came up beside her.

Jameson shook his head, saying, “If it was going to be anyone, it would be Elvis.” That made Bower laugh. He was right. Was there anyone better suited to introduce Earth’s culture to an alien species
than Elvis
?

As they climbed the broad marble steps leading up to the portico in front of the embassy, Bower watch to see how Stella negotiated this as an obstacle. Her spindly feet, so reminiscent of a sea urchin, made a smooth transition from sharp, pointed spears to curved blades with some flex in them. They slapped the ground softly, wrapping themselves over the uneven surfaces, providing her with some spring in her step.

Bullet holes marred the walls. Burns and scorch marks spoke of a violent struggle. Patches of dried blood on one of the low walls indicating where the wounded took cover during the vicious firefight.

Jameson caught up with Elvis, directing him to one side. He was surprisingly relaxed given their unusual company.

“Why couldn’t you have brought home a cat or a dog like everyone else?”

Elvis laughed.

“What the hell am I supposed to do with an alien, Elvis? Honestly, do you think about these things before you do them? Shit, can you imagine the paperwork?”

And they both laughed.

Bower wasn’t too familiar with the various branches within the US military, but she could tell several of the soldiers staring
nervously
at them were either navy or air force from their blue uniforms.

“At ease, gentlemen” Jameson said, and it took Bower a second or two to realize he was joking. It was Elvis and his cocky smile that gave it away.

They entered the reception area and walked down a long corridor. The white pristine walls had fresh gouges and the odd bloodstain on them. Jameson led the way, with Elvis following him with the creature immediately behind. Bower brought up the rear with two rather awkward soldiers providing what she figured was security. They were carrying M4 rifles slung over their shoulders and weren’t in anyway threatening.