Morning Encounterby Albert J. Manachino |
Part 1 appears in this issue. |
| conclusion |
The odometer indicated that I was still about forty miles from MacArthur but the road seemed brighter ahead. Probably the lights of a hamlet my map had overlooked. Or it could have been MacArthur itself. Nothing about a Hackmobile ever really worked well, including the odometer. Lights meant habitation, and habitation usually meant hotels, motels or just plain rooming houses.
Predictably, the engine conked out as I rounded a wooded bend. But the lights were there... right across the road. A hundred feet of split-log fence had been flattened on either side. The thing glowed like moonlight only much brighter.
Of course there are no such things as flying saucers. The Defense Department has repeatedly assured us on this point. I thought of Dr. X and the TV film crew supposedly at the Royster House. I guessed the boys were up shooting some early-morning rural atmosphere. Whatever; it was impossible for me to drive around it even if the Hackmobile had been working. I relaxed and waited for the little green men. Annette slept on.
“I say there; please open your window.”
He wasn’t little and he wasn’t green. Height about five feet, ten inches, I’d guess. The make-up department hadn’t stretched either its budget or imagination. They’d stained his skin yellow and shaved his head and eyebrows. His head was padded to make it look a little larger. The implication was that I was being faced by a superior intelligence.
Night driving never brings out the best in me. “You represent an advanced civilization,” I told him. “Use your superior technology. I’m petrified with fear.”
“Oh dear! This is distressing. I hadn’t intended to frighten you.”
Marvelous, he could speak English. He wore what even I could tell was supposed to be a lightweight spacesuit sans helmet. My alien could, conveniently, breathe our atmosphere without apparent discomfort. A slipover vest was appropriately be-metered and instrumented. One of his hands clutched a wand or flexible antenna, the base of which disappeared into a shoulder pack. To heighten the exoticism he wore a golden chain on which dangled, for lack of better description, an old-fashioned GI dog tag.
He pointed the wand, made an adjustment on his vest and my window slid open. This minor miracle was something I could seldom get the Hackmobile’s electrical system to perform for me. Of course I knew about induction circuits.
“Fantastic,” I praised. “You must show me how to do that. I’m forever locking the keys inside.”
“Elementary by-pass circuitry. Regrettably I am under stricture. It is against the law to reveal technological advances to backward civilizations. We wish them to evolve within the structures of their own cultures.” He grimaced in an imitation of a smile which was supposed to pacify me.
My alien lacked teeth and his chin was entirely too small to denote masculinity; undoubtedly a supporting actor. In a moment he would introduce himself as Din’Jon or by some other equally extraterrestrial name.
“I’m Ch’Jin.”
I inclined my head gravely in acknowledgement of the introduction. “I’m Mr. Manachino. And this,” indicating my still sleeping companion, “is Annette.” I reached out to take his hand. Hurriedly he backed away. I understood. “Germs. You have to be very careful to avoid contagion, don’t you?”
Ch’Jin seemed embarrassed. “Oh no, I’m completely immune. You have a peculiar odor I find disagreeable. You don’t mind if I don’t approach too closely?”
“Not at all. The peculiar odor is onion; you find it growing on hamburgers. But, if we’re going to converse through this open window could you let me have a bit of heat? It’s a bit nippy at this time of year.”
“Forgive me, I didn’t intend to be inconsiderate.” An adjustment on the vest and my heater came on.
For the first time, I experienced a disquieting sensation. As far back as the twenties Marconi had developed a gadget that could suppress an automotive ignition system but this was a little too marvelous. I didn’t think Marconi went into power transmission on so selective a basis. Annette slept on.
“You know what I am, of course?”
“Yes, Mr. Ch’Jin, you’re a...”
He interrupted. “Please! Professor Ch’Jin.”
“... Professor Ch’Jin, you’re a scientist-explorer from a planet outside our solar system. Your people have been observing us a number of years to ascertain our level of civilization. Your monitoring devices brought us to your attention by registering an atomic explosion in 1945; our calendar, that is.”
His acting ability left a little to be desired but I could sense an attempt at amazement. “That is correct.” Ch’Jin’s pronunciation was stilted as if reciting from a prepared statement. “Are you not even curious as to how I am able to speak your language?”
“Not at all. Your people have been monitoring our broadcasts for generations. I assume your interpretive devices enabled you to decipher our languages.”
The professor was visibly impressed. “How are you aware of all this?”
I nodded toward the sleeping Annette. “She told me.”
He pointed the wand, vest fumbled and scrutinized the meter reactions. There didn’t appear to be any. “...tranquil under unusual circumstances; a highly civilized attribute. Evidently she is in complete harmony with the cosmic forces.”
“As a matter of curiosity, Professor, how familiar are you with a condition referred to by my people as sleep?”
He imitated blank. “Sleep? We’ve heard the expression on your broadcasts but do not understand its meaning.”
“I thought not.”
“What is sleep?”
“Sleep is a degree of tranquility.”
“I see. Mr. Manachino; what are the symptoms?”
“Immobility... a state of dormancy.”
“Is it anything like death?”
“Only superficially. Death is a complete cessation, sleep is a temporary suspension. Arrestment of physical activity enables Her Highness to stimulate her intellectual processes and apply them in unorthodox ways to the solution of intricate researches. Her specialty is the odor analysis of hydraulic components.” Translation: Annette liked to investigate fireplugs.
Professor Ch’Jin touched me with the wand and again examined the vest meters. “Hmm. No curiosity... regrettable. Curiosity is an intellectual component. I assume you’ve learned everything you are telling me by rote but do not really understand what you are saying.”
“I’ve been told I don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“Have you no intellectual pursuits or interests of a personal nature?”
“I am continually engaged in a mathematical endeavor referred to as making ends meet.”
“Ah! Something akin to squaring the circle?”
“Much more complicated,” I assured him.
“Is this something peculiar to yourself?”
“No, the entire nation is involved in this game.” It dawned on me that my choice of words was a poor one.
“Game? Well then, you pursue this only for your amusement.” Ch’Jin eliminated my pretense to intellectual pursuits.
Actually, I was becoming a little curious. I was wondering when they were going to remove the stage set so that we could proceed on to MacArthur.
“Do you know why I landed on your planet?”
“Her Highness informed me that you are obligated to collect specimens immediately prior to the return to your native planet.”
Ch’Jin attempted awe. “Absolutely correct. She is amazing.”
I didn’t see anything marvelous and deduced that educated guessing also was alien to his scriptwriter.
He noticed Annette’s collar tags. “What are these?”
A four-letter word passed through my mind. Aloud, “They’re honors. Each was presented to her by an extremely prestigious scientific society.”
He glanced at my neck... nothing. I hung my head in shame.
The gag was wearing thin. I kept hoping that the rest of the cast would spring out of the flying saucer, shout “Surprise! You’re on Candid Camera” and let us proceed on our way. I supposed that the film crew was inside the stage set monitoring everything through telephoto lens. Nothing again; the gag was to continue.
I gazed pointedly at his chain. Ch’Jin fingered the solitary disk self-consciously. “For ionospheric magnetic field research,” he explained. “But,” he added hurriedly, “I should be eligible for another award when I submit my monograph on the subject of semi-civilized planets.”
I touched Annette’s rabies vaccination tag. “This award was an acknowledgement of her electron flow theory.” The license... “This was presented in commemoration of her photosynthesis discoveries.” The disk bearing her name, our address and a one hundred dollar reward for her return: “This was bestowed upon her by a special convocation of industrial science for her exploding pot roast analysis.” One more; the tag with her blood type and religion: “This is for her ultraviolet spectrum theory.”
Almost humbly he aimed the wand at Her Excellency. By this time I was able to interpret the meters almost as well as he could. “Calm, utter tranquility... not a single turbulent emotion... a beautiful disposition.” The wand pointed to me. “Barely suppressed hostility... impatient... not a plus factor at all. I don’t understand how she tolerates you; she must have great forbearance.”
“Her Highness has a grudging fondness for me. I’ve saved her life on a number of occasions.” I didn’t explain that I’d done this by removing her food dish before she could eat herself to death.
“Ah, I understand... The bonds of gratitude.”
“A lovely nature,” I added.
“I can see by her serene composure that she trusts you implicitly.”
“Implicitly,” I underscored.
“I dislike having to do this but I have my orders.” A wave of the antenna and the Hackmobile doors sprang open. It was at this moment the grim possibility occurred that no one was going to spring out of the flying saucer shouting, “Surprise!”
Grimly, “What are you going to do?”
“My mission, as Her Highness has probably informed you, is to return with a specimen of the most intelligent species of this planet.”
My heart sank. Somewhere out there, among the lonely stars, was an alien planet. I would never see my home again. My family would wonder and search and pray and eventually become reconciled to my disappearance. No more growling and bickerings. No more reconciliations and kissings, no more give and take. I’d miss the old broad who had been my wife for almost thirty years and I was pretty sure she’d miss me; for a while, anyway.
Let’s face it; anyone who has stuck together through thick and thin as long as we had would miss the other. The survivor wouldn’t be able to tolerate the peace and quiet. He or she would either pine away or join the French Foreign Legion.
An abandoned Hackmobile would eventually be found on an almost deserted country road. My disappearance would be as complete and baffling as Judge Crater’s.
I slumped against the Hackmobile seat in complete resignation. Well, not quite complete; if Professor Ch’Jin got close enough to me he was going to receive one of the most uncivilized shots to the jaw on record. His planet wouldn’t have a leg to stand on if it wanted to contest his eligibility for the Purple Heart.
The damned wand was my undoing. A slight wave and I couldn’t even move my fingers.
“Can’t take chances with such a brutish disposition as yours.”
Ch’Jin levitated slightly and floated in my direction. “Good-bye, Dear Earth,” my silent farewell.
He reached over the seats and gathered Annette up in his arms, doggie mattress and all. Then he floated back to the flying saucer with the most intelligent specimen he’d been able to find.
A hatch closed behind him. My paralysis wore off. Helplessly I watched the saucer spring into the sky and vanish. I hoped that his planetary council would present him with at least three awards, but somehow I doubted it.
Copyright © 2011 by Albert J. Manachino
