The Return of the King

by Gregory Hansen

The Delegates were assembled and waiting when Jik slid into the room, waiting like grey-green anthills in their holes. They leaned forward to greet him, showing their fangs politely and gargling a joyous welcome song. But Jik could tell from the odor and oiliness of their hides that none had good news for him today.

Except for one. Jik almost closed his mouths when he saw the little one on the end: covered with garish yellow excitement spots, his belly flesh glistening with saliva. Disgraceful, showing such emotions at a meeting like this! The little one trembled, quivered, sent bubbles of spittle floating across the room. Jik was tempted to drop him for rocket fuel but rolled his eye and settled into his hole instead. Time for that later.

“Greetings, Delegates!” Like glassware in a clothes dryer the sound of Jik’s voice crashed over them, and the welcome gargle faded. “I will hear your report of the blue planet now!”

The Delegates held very still, looked at the fat one two places below center. With a start the fat one spoke. “Mighty one!” A boxful of test tubes dropped to the floor. “Our lurk at the blue planet is complete and was most successful!” Jik worked his jaws in exaggerated approval as the others grinned uncomfortably. Except the little one, who beamed and fidgeted at the foot of the table.

“Wonderful,” jangled Jik. “And?”

“The... the aliens were most cooperative, only a few landings proved necessary after the initial reconnaissance. Eavesdropping proved to be incredibly easy... they communicate by beaming coded electromagnetic signals into space!” The fat one laughed at this as though it were a joke; a nervous, shrill laugh like scrap glass pouring into an empty steel dumpster.

Jik slowly blinked his eye, and the fat one ended his outburst with an unconvincing cough. The Delegates on either side of him seemed to draw back a bit.

“The planet is ripe for development,” the fat one continued meekly, cubes of broken safety glass under a hard-soled shoe. “The aliens have used most of the oil but have hardly tapped the methane. And conditions on much of the planet are ideal for insect production. If we quadruple the size of the indigenous cockroach, the world could still support one million times its current roach population! Ah, roaches are considered vermin there,” the fat one remarked, to a sudden, jagged babble of outrage. Even Jik’s passions inflamed at the thought. Vermin indeed!

“Then there’ll be no mercy this time!” Jik crackled. “When does the invasion begin?” The Delegates shrank, looked at the ground. Ah, thought Jik, the bad news.

“M... mighty one, that’s just it. We, ah,” the fat one looked hopefully at his neighbors, who had definitely slid away from him, at least a foot. “We’re not sure that invading the blue planet is the best course of action,” he finished quietly. Tiny shards tinkling on carpet.

Jik trained his eye at the fat one, looked at the others. “And why not?” he cracked, dangerously.

The fat one hunched in his hole and leaned forward, talking fast now. “Technology,” he said. “These aliens are more advanced than any of the others have been. Their weapons are crude but can hurt us. They are bipeds, and they’re quite agile, and they’re smart.”

Jik flatulated his frustration, setting off a smelly, sympathetic chorus. “So they can walk and feed themselves!” he roared, like a fluorescent bulb exploding on a hardware store floor. “They’ll make better slaves!”

The fat one was jet fuel and he knew it, so he looked Jik in the eye and held his ground. “It isn’t worth it,” he said evenly, like a diamond tipped blade testing bulletproof glass. “There are other planets with less advanced populations. These aliens are mixed-up, unpredictable! They speak different languages and have different forms of government, and infighting is common. But when threatened they pull together. One form of popular entertainment actually depicts them combining to destroy alien invaders!” A few of the delegates shuddered, one made the long, sad sound of a starship exploding.

“They know about near-light travel and the ansible,” the fat one bravely continued, “and some of their intellectual elite have traveled to other planetary systems and written about them... though not to any of our systems,” he added quickly when Jik raised his eyeflap.

Jik glared at the fat one, then leveled his laser beam stare at each of the others. He saw the same sick fear and defeat in each of them. What pathetic cowards! All shrinking in their holes, cowering from a bunch of sickly, skinny, roach-hating aliens. All, that is, but the little one.

Jik looked at him tiredly. His excitement spots were blistering and he leaned forward, eager, oblivious to Jik’s ire. Might as well listen to him, thought Jik. “I suppose you have something to say?”

“Oh yes, Mighty One, a most brilliant plan!”

“An idea of great potential success!”

“A stratagem most worthy of your Mighty consideration!”

Jik closed his eye and ground his teeth, a great shudder sent waves oscillating through his backflesh. He fought the urge to whisk them all to the fuel smelter without further comment. “One... mouth... at... a... time!” he managed at last: glass bricks at the business end of a swinging sledgehammer.

“Your pardon Mighty One,” said the small one with little in the way of contrition. “Blargo is right, these aliens are often at odds with each other. They even believe in numerous different gods. But many of them worship a god named Jesus, who lived on the world with them and vowed to return one day... in a pillar of fire.” He grinned, waiting for approval.

“So close to death and you choose to give me a history lesson?” Jik’s tone was sharp and dangerous; a few of the other delegates blew tentative sounds of disapproval. The little one looked puzzled for a moment before continuing.

“But Mighty One, there are millions of aliens waiting and watching for the god Jesus to come. I thought that if we arranged to be the returning Jesus, we would be welcomed and...”

...And we’d be able to bypass and disengage their planetary defenses, Jik thought, drawing his own conclusion. Hmm. “So you think these aliens are foolish enough to believe one of us is their returning hero,” he said bitingly.

“Oh no!” the little one replied. “Not one of us. We can send one of the prisoners! In fact I believe prisoner 34B is well suited. He already has great status among the aliens.”

Jik glowered. It was preposterous, insane! But it was better than nothing. And if it didn’t work, they’d be out one prisoner, an antiquated rocket lander and a couple of lousy Delegates. He made his decision.

“You!” he said, pointing to the fat one, who cringed as if struck. “You’re in charge. You’re stupid but at least you have backbone. Well, not really, but you know what I mean. And you!” to the little one, “you’re pathetic and disgusting but it’s your idea, and you’ll help plan the operation.

“The rest of you will now see the fuel smelter from the inside.” The other delegates had a moment to look surprised before the floors of their holes disappeared, followed by themselves. “If you’re going to make a decent pillar of fire, you’ll need a lot of fuel,” Jik growled at the remaining two. “Now get to work!”

Things had not gone well for the King since stumbling out of his Las Vegas hotel room, seeing a bright light and waking up on a starship twenty-five years ago. He was eighty pounds lighter — a diet of oatmeal and vitamin supplements will do that to a man — his jet black hair was mostly grey, and his face had gone to wrinkles. Though not having a mirror in his cell he had no way of knowing this.

His clothing had long ago fallen to tatters, but he’d saved the sequins, and kept them in a small, lidded container. Which he shook like a castanet when he sang the old songs and the many, many new ones.

He stood slowly when the door dissolved and revealed two of the slugs lying in the hallway. Their multi-mouthed grins, rows of needle sharp teeth still made him uneasy, even after all this time. One was covered with yellow welts and the other was slightly larger than average. I'll cooperate this time, he vowed to himself suddenly. Anything they want. Anything to get out of this cell for a few hours, or even just one hour! Anything.

“Greetings, Prezlee!” croaked the smaller of the two. “We have a job for you!”