If anybody besides Alan G Humphrey is reading these, holler in the comments, heh.  At any rate, I keep bustin’.

Content Warnings:  Mass Suicide Mention, Cult Mention, Fandom Culture Egregion, Soldiers, Use of Guns, Implied Gun Threats, Mild Violence, Reckless Flying, Gun Shot Wounds, a Dead Body, Evidence of Sexual Assault, Unpleasant Depiction of an Unhoused Person and Drug Addicts, Mortal Despair.

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CENTENNIAL HILLS CONTINUES

by Bébé Mélange

Kirsten let Tmai sit in the back seat, for Olivia’s sake.  She didn’t know what to expect.  Maybe they’d be taking Tmai back home with them to stay, if Smar had met a bad end, or the flying saucer was unsalvageable.  But she doubted it.  She had a strong feeling the evening would end with a parting of ways, and hoped for fewer tears than before.

Tmai called out directions.  Lecht.  Right.  Steeraight.  Bag.  That was as good as they could pronounce them, and it was enough.  Kirsten did her best, but Tmai understood there were some kind of traffic regulations they had to obey.  They held Olivia’s hand with their left hand, and eyeballed their Ainavian metal fragment in the palm of the right.

They didn’t need to use all those words, ultimately.  After some initial confusion when Tmai was getting used to the restrictions of how traffic worked, they realized the best route was a long slowly curving highway south.  It was a triple wide river of concrete, bounded by gravel slopes and irregular walls.  Past the barriers, one could glimpse neighborhoods of cloned homes like Centennial Hills, and to the left the sky burned with the lights of the city.

They were driving past the big city completely, which suited Tmai fine.  Traffic on the concrete ribbon was sparse, all boxy conveyances with tinted windows gleaming like black mirrors.  They were in one such conveyance, in the company of friends, and felt confident that nobody would see them inside.

The further they went, the clearer it was.  Snar had ended up on the far side of the big city from Tmai, but they were both closer to the west side than the east, and the west had this convenient road to take.

Olivia bounced their clasped hands and smiled sadly.  The conversation at the dinner table had humbled her, made her realize the extent she’d been assuming that Goose understood her.  There was so much they’d never know about each other.

Tmai took the time to return Olivia’s expressions as best they could, for the most of the trip past the city.  But when the widest part of the road petered out into another suburb, they had to perk up their senses.  There were fewer dividing walls separating them from homes now.  Anybody might see them.

Then they became vexed again as the options for following the metal took them toward harder paths.  The big road terminated at the edge of open desert.  “Steeraight.  Steeraight blease, Geershteem.”

“I can’t, Tmai.  It’s too rough out there.”  She gestured to the rough rocky land ahead.  “Left or right only, OK?”

“Lecht.  Dang you.”

Kirsten chuckled softly.  Tmai’s “thank you” could use some improvement.

She thought of her cousin Dwayne many times that night.  He had been part of the mass suicide of a UFO cult – not even one of the famous ones.  It had seemed the last act of a desperately ill group of people, but could they have been right?  Did their souls fly away from their boring little world, to live forever in alien light and splendor?

The SUV had a gentle feeling that night, the road vibration a soothing buzz, the night air cooling the edges and heat filling out the middle.  They drove toward their destiny.

 

Pep stood inside the UFO with his men.  The interior wasn’t perfectly to his liking, but close enough for the moment.  He’d had them install insulated dividing walls to break up the interior space, adding storage compartments and a lounge, modifying the shower and commode area to better provide for humans.  All his men stood stiff but fidgety in the lounge, minds wild with imagination.  He loved to see it.

“Gentlemen, Eliza, Sander, you have my eternal gratitude.  This is everything I dreamed it could be.  But sadly, we must soon part ways.  Your severance packages should see you in comfort to the end of your days – and all for the work of this one day and night.  Any second thoughts?  Anything you’d like to share with me before you go home?”

One guy spoke up.  “It’s been an absolute honor sir.  I never would have imagined we could do it.  It’s beautiful.”

“Thanks, um…”

“Kas-”

“Kasdan, right.  Thank you, my friend.  Before you leave, one more thing.”  He went to the man closest to the exit and shook his hand.  Then he flicked his eyes that way.

The man thanked him and left, bowing a few times on his way out.  One by one, he worked his way to the end of the line.  When the last man left, all that remained was Pep and some loungers – Scuzz, Eliza, and Shammy.

“Want ta test out the game?,” Shammy asked.

“I tested it before it shipped.  I’m sure you did good work.”

Eliza asked, “Why did you not discuss a severance package with us before this project, Mr. Ambergris?”  Her voice was cold sharp rocks.

“Ms. Banerjee, by now I suspect you know the answer.”

“How long do you expect us to stay on this project?,” she asked.

“As long as we need you.  It could be days, it could be months, it could be more.”

“And we were just going to say yes, with no warning?”

Shammy asked, “What are, uh…  What’re you talking about, ma’am?”

Scuzz giggled and Pep waved at her to stop.

“I like to think this relationship we have is more than just professional.  I like to think you are my friends.  And what kind of friend would I be if I left you out of my greatest moment of triumph?”

“You want us to stay on..?”

“On the project, Shammy.  Why don’t the two of you just relax here for a few minutes.  Maybe grab a beer, put your feet up?  Scuzz dear, you’re with me.”

He walked her to the loading ramp, where they were met by four soldiers and Mr. Frankreich.  “At ease, gentlemen.”

The soldiers did not relax.  One whispered to Frankreich and he stepped onto the ramp.  Pep took Scuzz’s arm and walked down to meet him near the edge of it.  “Mr. Frankreich, would you mind staying right here for a minute?  The reason I sent my men out is because there’s one dangerous little task left aboard here.  Radiation, you know?”

“You sent them out because they’re done, Mr. Ambergris.  They were packing it in.  I insist on staying with you.  They insist.”  He gestured to the soldiers.

“You mean General Tweed insists.  Very well, but I need you to stay on this ramp until I give the all clear signal.  Scuzz can keep you company.”

“Hi, Mr. Frankenfurter.”

“Er, uh, Scuzz?  Mr. Pep!  I mean–”

“Ambergris.  I will be back in two shakes.  The signal.”  He gestured to a light at the top of the entrance that was currently red, then he spun and walked up the ramp.

Frankreich nearly followed, but Scuzz took his arm and put one alarmingly waifish hand on his face.  “Stay with me, mister.  Pep knows what he’s doing.”

He was, for the moment, cowed.

They waited a few more minutes, then a thrum sounded through the hull, rattling the entire scaffolding system.  Scuzz and Frankreich reflexively hugged each other in alarm, then backed away, nervously laughing.

“Oh my god, Mr. Frankenfurter, I’m sorry.”

“It’s…  It’s OK, ma’am.”

The light turned green, and her expression suddenly turned mean.  With the light shining on her forehead, for just a moment, Frankreich imagined she was going to hulk out.

She said her battle cry, “Krav ma-GAH!,” and kicked him center mass.

Frankreich fell off the platform and the soldiers shouldered their guns.  Would they kill the young lady?  She waved to them all as the ramp closed.  “Bye, Felicia!”

Back on the platform, agitated troops awaited orders.  General Tweed had been joined by a few more generals and the Defense Secretary, and they began arguing the meaning of things as Pep’s men came out.

Tweed had sent Frankreich to do a man’s job and regretted that decision as soon as the vibration came from the ship.  The Army chief barked for more soldiers to run out to the ship, but Air Force knew better.  The general laid a hand on his comrade’s sleeve.

“General, that nerd has probably been meaning to go to space his whole life.  Unless we blast this thing out of the sky, we’ll never see them again.”  He picked up his radio.  “Scramble the fighters and birds now.  Delta on Nellis, and hold.”

The ship rose, knocking all the scaffolding to the warehouse floor.  The farthest platforms were the least rocked, and while they did drop twelve feet and get shaken powerfully, the generals survived the ride well enough.

The UFO spun delicately, impossibly in place, and all the canvas drops slipped away, revealing its new shape.  Ambergris had cosmetically transformed it into the Millennium Falcon.

It bashed through the hangar door with a hellish roar of twisting metal, and flew away forever.

 

Nate pulled a dramatic U-turn, almost losing control, and parked on the shoulder – just ahead of two frightened people.  He hopped out and walked up on them with no hesitation.  Sensibly, they were frightened, and backed up a few paces until he stopped his advance.

Lita said, “Nate, what did you do?  What have you done?”

“Lita, I know it’s some shit, but we gotta be careful out here.  You gotta be careful out here.  I wanna let you know, in case you run into her.  Smar is strapped now.”

“Whaaat?  Did you give her a gun?  You’re terrible!”

Rennie was quiet.  He had a feeling Nate was strapped too.

“You just watch ya selves.  Maybe I’ll see you again.”

Not if we see you first, Rennie thought.

He started back toward the car.

Lita said, “Wait!  What are you going to do?”

“Gonna find her.  I got to.”  He’d left the car idling, and quickly was burning rubber.

“What are you going to do?!,” she cried.

Nate realized if Smar was going that way, Lita and Rennie would’ve seen her and done something about it – not been hitching the same sad route on foot.  He drove the other way, flooring it again.

 

Melvin detached the utility belt from the alien and draped it over a sawhorse in the small shop, then dropped the corpse in a bathtub.  He ran some cold water, then went out to grab a few bags from the ice machine.

When he got back, the thing had sunk.  He didn’t know why, but he felt he should prop its head out of the water.  In doing so, he found himself kneeling at the side of the tub, cradling its head like a lover, or a wounded soldier on a battlefield.  It hit him in the feelings.

“Alas poor Yorick, I hardly knew thee.”  He let its head sink back into the water, but just for a moment, as he let excess down the drain.  Shallow water full of ice, that was the wisdom.  He emptied the bags over the body.

Its head was exposed to the air again, now packed in ice like a fish market victim.  Melvin examined the sad remains.  Loose cuban collar shirt,  lingerie.  A bodice and stockings, but no panties.  It had been that kind of night.  It had a cloaca like a frog, which didn’t pique any interest in the straight-laced fellow.

It was the bullet wounds that were interesting.  The water had loosened up some kind of gunky white coagulation in them.  It looked like egg white foam in a soft boil.  The easiest gunshot wound to examine was in the neck.

It had come in the front, cleanly exited the back.  Whatever the alien was made out of, it did less to stop a bullet than human flesh and bone.  The exit wound was barely larger than the entry.  The opening suggested a larger caliber than Sheridan’s glock, so Melvin suspected the tissue was contracting away from the wound path.  The white must be a coagulation of the clear blood-plasm-whatever.

“What happened to you?  Before that fucking pig.”

“Losh Begas.”

Melvin scrambled away from the bathtub so fast he didn’t notice what he was doing until half out the door.  He stopped himself hard.  What did he have to fear from the pathetic thing?  He returned.

It was hard to tell what the alien was looking at, its eyes colored with undifferentiated darkness.  Maybe it was looking at him, maybe more at the ceiling – which fit the mood of the moment.

“If you’re dying, maybe you should save your breath, friend.”  He leaned close to be able to hear what it had to say.  “Do you understand me?”

“No, yesh.”  It gestured a “skosh.”

“Hm.”  He tried to illustrate his intentions with hand movements as he spoke.  “What can I get you?  Can I help you?”

“Water, ogay?”

“Is this ice OK?”  He held up a cube, tossed it away, nonverbally offered to do more.

“Ogay.”

“I’ll let you be a ET slurpee then, buddy.”  He went and came back with a few bottles of water, unscrewed a lid and passed it to the alien.  “Here you go.  I’m Melvin.”

“Smar.”  Snar drizzled a stream of the precious liquid into their throat, not having as much risk of choking as a human would.

“Smar, cool.  Man, you hafta be dying.  Like, this is just you wakin’ up to be a jump scare, like Jason or somethin’.  Now you do your big sad speech before your head goes back and your eyes close.  Right?”

“Mm.”   Snar downed the whole bottle and dropped it outside the tub.

Melvin handed them another one.  “I guess, like, any last words?  Shit, man, you wanna tasty cake?”  He picked one out of his shirt pocket – a bit mushy in its package.

“No.”  They kept drinking.

“You just let me know what you need, I’ll wait.”  Actually, he didn’t think he was going to wait much longer.  The tasty cake reminded him he was hungry for something more substantial, and a cold pizza was waiting on the edge of a bandsaw in the next room.

Snar finished the next bottle and let it drop.  They gestured fingers into their mouth and chomped on them.  “Ogay?”

“The tasty cake?”  Melvin proffered it again.

“No.”

“Alright.  I got something else.”  He got himself two thirds of a cold six, got Smar a couple more bottles of water, and balanced them awkwardly on the pizza box on the way back to the bathroom.  He resumed the position, and offered the alien a slice.  “Pizza.”

Snar accepted the thing and almost stuffed it straight in their mouth, not realizing how hungry they’d been.  But they had to evaluate its edibility.  They smelled it and licked it.  The red sauce between the rubbery layer and the hard porous layer was surely toxic.  They finally engaged both hands, only moving lower arms because of their wounds, and peeled the porous part away.  They used the edge of it to scrape the pasty sauce off.  It was a feeble maneuver.

“Just the cheese, huh?”  Melvin got up again, but took a slice with him to eat along the way.  He had forgotten to eat for hours, catching up on his wrestling shows.

Snar ate the rubber.  There was still bitter red slime on it, but much less.  The rubber had some protein slivers and chunks embedded in it, every component fatty.  Was there anything an Ainavian could make use of in the meal?  Would it cause another allergic reaction and be the last nail in their coffin?

The nice alien came back with tube-shaped strips of fatty rubber, peeling them out of their individual plastic wraps for them.  Melvin also ate the weird flat triangle layers between tasks, as they attended Snar.

“Hey, I won’t understand none of it, but you should get to say your last words here.  Like, you’re gonna die.  You got a husband thing or friends or whatever?”  He got out his cellphone and set it to record.  “Let it all out.  Say what you feel.”

Snar regarded the small computer.  They’d seen people use them to communicate, to record images.  Was this going to be broadcast to an unknown second party?  Recorded?  What did Melvin expect them to do?

Snar set aside the food, and got to speaking Ainavian.  They spoke every third word, signed all of them, and just ranted.  “Hey.  Who’s there?  Who’s on the other side?  What do you want?  You want to watch me die?  I’m tired.  I’m hurt.  I don’t like you.  Any of you.”

They were quiet again, eating another tube of rubber fat.  They realized there was some kind of nourishment to be had from the stuff, and that it was bringing them back to life.  Their coagulation was growing stronger, the cold helping the chemical bonding work faster.  Ainavians weren’t high speed regenerators, but they were on the lucky end of healing in intelligent species.  Snar would be able to walk again pretty soon, if careful.

That put them in a more contrite state of mind.  “I don’t know.  I’m sorry.  Should I be?  I don’t know what you people want.  It’s gonna kill me, I know that.”  They looked at the ceiling again and contemplated.  Part of them wanted one of those burning smoke sticks, but the food in their body was stimulating their will to live too powerfully to surrender to that urging.  “Hostile, uncontacted, industrial.  I was on my way to Erbin 2, which in some ways isn’t much better.  It’s a poorly regulated commerce planet, so ecologically horrific.  Vinudian, Welumite, and Corsimine colonists caused a mass extinction event before hashing out their problems and saving what was left, but now there are less than a thousand species of organism in the entire world, out of untold billions.  Still a lot of erbworms in the sea, so who cares?  Disgusting.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” said Melvin.  “Preach on, Smar.  Get that shit off your chest.”  Whatever you’re saying.

“Las Vegas is terrible.  I’m sorry, you tiny-headed freaks, but your planet sucks.  The fact I’m gonna die here says everything anybody decent needs to know about the place.  I’m done.”  They waved for Melvin to put away the recorder, and they complied.

Melvin kept feeding himself pizza slices and Smar string cheese, until they were both done with their respective meals.  Then he helped Smar to a couple more bottles of water, while finishing off his own beer supply.  They were pretty quiet for the rest of the solemn repast.

“Smar, is it my imagination, or are you gettin’ better?”  He showed his palms before lightly touching the neck wound.  The white stuff had puffed up from within enough to seal the wound, but it seemed a delicate fix.

“Mm,” Snar twisted the sleeve of their shirt to show tightness, then gestured to their neck.  “Ogay?”  They pantomimed wrapping something in another way, hoping not to confuse the guy.

“Bandages!  Yeah.  Wow.”  He went for a first aid kit.

–

So close now to the end of this part of the book … I cain’t wait.