Alien Invasion and Other Inconveniences (17 page)

“You were just mad,” I say. “I got mad at my parents plenty of times.”

“You never stole from them, I bet.”

“Not from them. I did steal a car once and drive it into a lake.”

“Why?”

“It was dumb. My wrestling coach moved me up two weights so his son could wrestle at my weight. He was a reserve behind me. The coach said he was doing it for the good of the team. That was a lie, though, because he could have just moved his son up. He weighed the same as I did.”

“It’s bad to be moved up?”

“I was wrestling someone about fifteen pounds heavier than me. It’s a lot harder. That wasn’t what made me mad, though. It was the way he did it. Lying like that. Using his power that way.”

“So you stole his car.”

“He loved that car. I shouldn’t have taken it.”

“We all do stupid things.”

“The stupid thing was driving it into the lake. I got scared. I thought I was going to get caught, so instead of taking it back, I drove it into the lake. I don’t regret taking the car so much as doing that.”

We watch
The Two Towers
then. She leans into me and her head rests on my shoulder. She falls asleep. Then I fall asleep. I think it’s the Ents, those huge, slow-moving, slow-talking trees, that finally make me unable to keep my eyes open.

I wake up. Catlin is shaking me.

“Someone is here,” she whispers.

The TV is off. It’s dark. I don’t hear anything at first, but then I hear light footsteps.

“It’s one of them,” Catlin says.

We hold hands and join. I can join immediately with Catlin but it takes a few tries to get Lauren with us. I don’t know how much stronger it makes us, but I know the aliens are confused and disturbed by our ability to do it. That’s what I’m looking for, a second of confused and disturbed. An edge, however short-lived.

As I listen to him — not his footsteps, exactly, but his presence — I realize he’s not a Handler. I can feel the difference. A Handler radiates power. We try to make ourselves invisible. The alien is feeling his way around, checking out the house. He senses someone, but he doesn’t see us. His mind goes right past us.

He turns on lights in the kitchen. He knows someone has been here because of all the dishes in the sink, and I think he feels the memory of our presence, or something. But he’s confused. No one could have been here recently.

We need his ship,
I think.

I don’t think he’ll lend it to us,
Catlin thinks.

Can we sneak by him?
Lauren thinks.

He’ll hear us. Maybe if we wait for him to fall asleep, we can get by him
.

His mind is in the room. He’s standing in the kitchen, but I hear his mind in here, listening to us. I run toward the doorway. I don’t know if he’s going to run or if he’s trying to block us so that we can’t.

Lauren and Catlin are right behind me. He looks at the three of us. He’s confused but not frightened. He seems almost excited.

“You’re human?” he says, his voice, like all of theirs, strained by speaking out loud.

“Don’t move,” I say, like I’ve got him covered.

“Right,” he says. “You’ve got me covered. I’ve seen some of your movies. Very good.” Then he looks at Catlin. “Very small for a human, aren’t you? Are you a midget? No, wait, dwarf. One is proportionate to the larger of your species and one is not. I believe it’s dwarves that aren’t proportionate.”

“I’m neither,” Catlin says indignantly. “I’m a girl. I’m just small. Anyway, we call them little people.”

He smiles and nods appreciatively. “Yes, yes. Little people. That’s very good. I certainly intend to call them little people if I ever come across any.”

He looks each of us over; he seems pleased.

“All human?” he says, nodding. “What a welcome surprise.”

“Yes, we’re all human.” I can tell that Lauren is irritated by his enthusiasm.

“A surprise and an honor. I was looking forward to meeting humans, but I never anticipated meeting humans in the wild, the natural habitat, shall we say?”

He takes a step toward us, and we all instinctively move back.

“I’m not going to harm you,” he says. Then he frowns and shakes a finger at us. “Unless of course you attack me. I’m aware of the violent streak in your species.”

I’m angry that I jumped back. I can hear in the tone of his voice that he thinks he’s in control. Like the other aliens, he thinks we’re weak.

“Stay over there,” I order.

“I suppose you three hid somehow when the first forces came through and have managed to evade the patrols. There’ll be a lot more of them now with the second landing.”

“We didn’t —”

Lauren interrupts me. “Didn’t get caught because we are clever enough to stay out of their way.”

I realize she’s right. No need for him to know the truth about us.

He goes on, oblivious to Lauren’s lie. “I’ve never seen a conquering. I know they can be quite brutal, though. I’m sorry for your losses. What are your names? I do love human names. So short. So simple. There is much to admire about your species.”

“Who are you?” I say. I mean
Who are you?
as in
What are you doing here?
and
Why do you act so differently from the other aliens we’ve met?
but he takes it as an invitation to introduce himself.

“I’m Bartemous Mortarellius the fourth.”

I say, “Okay, Bart, but what I mean is, why are you here, out here, away from the others?”

“Bart?” he says, chuckling. “That is good. Bart. Yes, thank you. Call me Bart. The beginning of one of your famous novels, I believe. ‘Call me Ishmael.’
Moby-Duck
.”

“Moby-Dick,”
I say.

“Are you sure?”

I can tell he’s disappointed that he got the name wrong.

“I’ve never read it,” I say, “but ducks are little birds that float on lakes. They aren’t great white whales.”

Lauren interrupts. “Why are you here?”

He tries to push his mind into hers. He wants to know why she’s curious. I hear this. That’s his thought, like he’s studying her or something.

“Ouch,” he says when she shoves him out. “How did you do that?”

“I didn’t ask you in,” she says. “You were being rude.”

“But you can’t do that.” He looks from Catlin to me to Lauren. “Product can’t — humans can’t — do that. I’m an expert. I’ve studied you for a long time.”

“I guess you’re not a very good expert, then,” Lauren says.

“I am the best,” he says, obviously hurt. Then he becomes indignant. “I am considered the foremost authority. It is why I was allowed on the second landing.”

He eyes us more closely. He says, “You look like humans, but perhaps you are not humans.” His guard goes up. I feel the way his mind puts up some kind of shield and how he forces himself to be more alert.

He doesn’t seem like the others,
Catlin thinks to me.

He’s an alien,
I think.

But not like the others we’ve met,
she thinks.

“You’re communicating?” Bart says. “You cannot be communicating. Come now, what species are you? How did you get here? I really am quite cross with you. I thought I was meeting authentic humans.”

“We’re humans,” I say.

“Something is quite wrong here. I have studied humans for a very long time.”

“So you’re one of the scouts,” Catlin says.

“Goodness, no,” he says. “I’ve nothing to do with the military. I’m a scholar, a teacher in the esteemed — oh, never mind, in one of our great universities. I have been studying your culture ever since we first noticed your planet. I’ve taught several sections on you.”

“We’re human,” I say. “I guess you don’t know as much about us as you think.”

He sits down on the sofa, looking perplexed and thoughtful. He pulls a handkerchief out of his pocket and wipes his large forehead. He says, “It is quite hot out here. Brown and hot. Not at all like the brochures promise. Of course I was aware of deserts. I simply didn’t expect them to be so large and empty. You really are humans?”

Really,
Lauren thinks.
Two females. One male. Able to hear. Not product. You’ve all made a mistake
.

He tries to force his way into our thoughts again. He gets something from Lauren, though she tries to shove him out again. Catlin and I block him. He sighs sort of dramatically. He is heavier than the Handlers, heavier even than Addyen’s husband, and there’s something almost playful in those big, round eyes of his.

“No need to be coy with me,” he says. “I’m a scholar, not a government official. You couldn’t hear before we came, could you?”

“No,” I say, cautiously. He may not be like the other aliens, but he’s still an alien. I don’t want him to know about Catlin or her family.

He nods. “As I thought. There is precedent. A species with brains capable of connecting to the One, yet unable to do so until they were stimulated by contact with us. It caused quite a stir. Yes, it did. Many, many citizens of the Republic were deeply disturbed by the destruction and enslavement of a species with latent powers. For a time, all colonization was suspended. But no further cases were discovered in other colonies and, of course, the need for settlements eventually overcame conscience. I think your species is quite familiar with that compromise, even in your short history.”

I decide I should tell him we’re runaways. If he knows, then he’ll be in the same position as Addyen. He’ll have to let everyone know we’re not product. I’m about to tell him when Catlin blurts out, “We’re runaways. We weren’t overlooked — we escaped.”

She’s about to go on. I want her to, and I can tell Lauren does, too. It’s like we need to tell him, someone, anyone.

“No more,” he says. “Best you keep this to yourselves.”

“You need to know,” I say. “You need to know how they killed everyone at his house and what they did to a Sanginian who tried to help us.”

“We need your help,” Catlin says.

“It would be a very bad idea. I’m a scholar. Cowardly when it comes to the ways of the world. I live in what you call the ivory tower, which, by the way, is not at all true. Academics live in houses just like everyone else. Another one of your metaphors, I suppose. They’re quite misleading. At any rate, I certainly can’t help you. Better save your stories for a more appropriate audience, someone who can act with vigor and courage.”

“You’re already helping runaways,” I say. “Lord Vert would kill you for that. What do you have to lose?”

“Lord Vert?” he says, smiling. “That is a good name. You are certainly very creative with names.” But then his smile dies as he looks nervously around the room. “Of course, you should call him by his proper name and you should not involve me. How could I have known that you’re runaways? I’ve been in the field since I landed. No, I’m completely ignorant.”

“You’re a scholar,” Lauren says. “You should hear what’s happened to us. You should learn what you can from a primary source.”

He’s silent and then he sighs with what I think of as a fat man’s sigh, sort of puffy, and leans back into the hard sofa. “I suppose, for purely historical reasons I should hear what you have to say.”

“But you won’t be ignorant if you do,” I say.

He makes a sound that is a lot like a
humph
.

“Please,” Lauren says.

“Fine,” he says. “Tell me.”

Bart, it turns out, does not have a ship. Just our luck, he’s some kind of alien anthropologist who left his ship behind to discover America or something. He’s driving a 1976 Chevy truck — 1976! Ancient. He thinks driving an old piece of junk is going to get him in touch with our culture. I ask him how he thought driving an old truck could help him understand us more than driving a nice new sports car?

“I want to feel what the average American feels,” Bart says.

“You think the average American drives a truck over thirty years old?”

“America is my specialty,” he says, like I’m supposed to bow before his expertise.

“I am an American,” I remind him, though I guess it would be more accurate to say
was
now.

He makes a little sound. I think it might be another alien
humph
. He’s driving us down the lonely highway. The windows are open because the old piece-of-junk truck doesn’t even have air conditioning. Luckily, Bart has supplies, including water, stored in a special container, like a cooler except that it stays cool without ice. We’re going in the general direction of Taos, which is not the same thing as taking the right road, but it’s the best we can do without maps.