Alien Exodus Read online

  As I cleaned my mouth with Flatteracks’ ph Perfect Oral Wash in Traditional Mint Flavor, I contemplated that I never had to clean Jack’s whiskers out of our sinks. He’d had them removed thirty years or so ago for his Sheriff’s Department Space Force service. Somehow, those clever scientists had harnessed the balding experience and ended it for the head, unless, of course, you opted for it, as some had. Many swimmers, divers and spacers, for instance, opted for bald. Other parts of the body could be directed to go bald, conveniently, as well. And it could be reversed. It worked best on men, of course, baldness being a function of testosterone and certain inherited genes from Mom. But with a few tweaks, women could denude themselves, too. Anywhere. You could even make patterns appear, like tattoos. Jack could rub his face on me anywhere and I didn’t rash up. Nice.

  The future is good. I highly recommend it.

  Then I showered and otherwise cleaned myself in fresh, clear KekTan water. I thought about the woman who would be our breakfast guest, whom Jack had reported as being a Space Force physicist from Theory and Practice. T n’ P decided what Research and Development would do. They were trying to understand the Odok ships. So far they’d replicated the cookers, the recyclers, and some of the materials that made up the ship. What they really wanted to reproduce, though, was those mysterious drives.

  We were having eggs MekKop for breakfast, a twist on eggs Florentine. Stuff was piled on glorious MekKop “bubble bread”; fresh Faire spinach and tomatoes, and Philippa’s planet poached eggs. Philippa’s bacon was served on the side. The self-sufficient human Philippans were excellent protein producers, though not with factory farms and slaughterhouses. The founder, Philippa Oliver had been quite a strident vegan. Labs and clean rooms extruded Philippa products. Philippans were element manipulators extraordinaire; all the flavor and none of the salt, fat, or sugar consequences. (Their pressed duck covered in MekKop Fat Dap sauce is absolutely to live for, you betcha). Oh, and we were having chilled Mek melon soup. The sweet melon had been found growing wild on their new planet, and was now being cultivated. Mmmm, it was simply the best. We would have Faire coffee, of course, with Philippan thick cream and Utopian sugar, and orange juice, as well.

  The Mek had discovered orange juice and simply could not get enough. They planted actual groves. They built packing houses. They competed for any work involving the fruit. Oranges appeared in every kitchen. They took great pride in juicing fresh oranges for visitors and it was evolving into something like a Japanese tea ceremony. Then they’d discovered blood oranges. Oh, their ecstasy was outrageous. Unfortunately, they put orange juice in things it really should not have been put in.

  The vicious humans on the ‘self-sufficient’ planet Utopia hadn’t survived the Pox, because those emigrants contracted the disease before they received the vaccine. Apparently they hadn’t been as self-sufficient as advertised. The native, non-human population had survived, though, and now thrived on the continued production and trade of sugar and candy products. The Mek are very fond of the former slaves and do a good business with them.

  I liked to think of Utopia as Candy Land. I like to keep their avocado milk shakes to hand, though the milk products of Candyland are not manipulated, and can be quite challenging to the heart muscle and filtering systems. So, Jack had approached Philippa’s Planet and Utopia with the idea of trading so I could get healthier avocado shakes. They are still working that out. It’s hard to wait. Have I mentioned that I have become rather plush?

  Anyway, I’ve been training the Space Force cadets to fight like caged aliens, tuning up their superiors as well, and there is always foreplay with Jack. I’m not in terrible condition, but I’m not in the condition I was when I was Spauch’s slave.

  “Come here, my mocha loveliness,” Jack purred as he stepped into the stream of soothing water beside me. I wrapped my arms around him and said into his ear, deeply and intimately, “This morning was lovely. Thank you for waking me up in such a special way.”

  It’s important to encourage good behavior. Positive reinforcement, you know.

  “The pleasure was all mine. You were awake, anyway. Not sleeping well?”

  “Excited.”

  “Klon?”

  “Yes.”

  Jack looked at my deranged face. We are the same height, very comfortable for kissing.

  “You know, my dear, you have the face of a Zillian,” he said.

  “Fuck you, my love,” I replied pleasantly.

  “Yes, honey buns.” He silenced me with hard, demanding lips.

  Wow!

  My genes had been recombined using alien DNA, or, more accurately, they had been genomically altered with the DNA of Earth’s animals. Doc didn’t know which animals yet, but they sure crave Jack.

  He filthed me up again, the craven fiend, and I had to sluice a second time. It certainly had been brilliant of me to program the cooker last night because I had barely gotten my long cloud of thick hair dry and tamed into something resembling a style when the overhead com bonged and announced that our guest had arrived. I slipped quickly into a voluminous mauve dress (it is not a muumuu), of fine shiny Faire cotton (this ankle and wrist length dress sufficiently covered much of my muscular, corded limbs and oversized joints) and entered the living room just as Jack was settling our guest on the sofa.

  The scientist turned to me… and did a double take on my face, literally. Her slight smile turned to horrified shock before she fully recovered her self control.

  I laughed, which turned into the giggles. My diaphragm took on a life of its own; I couldn’t control it.

  “Dear friend,” I gasped, and then I turned to Jack and asked, “did you forget to warn her?”

  Jack had turned beet red. “Beautilicious, I’m afraid that I did.”

  We were all laughing by then, and everything was okay.

  Poor gal. I really am ugly. Still, Jack manages to look at me like I’m a hot Philippa’s cheese-steak sammich, which he adores, even when he is inches from my face. Of course, he’s usually in me when he looks at me closely like that, or is about to be.

  (I know what you’re thinking, dear reader, “overkill,” but our relationship really is this good. Don’t believe me if you don’t want to, I understand. What you’re telling me is that your relationship(s) are not this good. Too bad for you. Boo-hoo, but keep it to yourself. I’m not interested in your doubting opinion of my glorious sex life. Not at all.)

  “I’m so sorry,” Suri Cullough, PhD, managed to choke out. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say nothing,” I said. “Laughter is good for the soul.” I’m always coming up with these rotten old chestnuts. Most folks erroneously think I’m very original in my speech. I don’t correct them. “Coffee, tea, orange juice, water…”

  “Coffee, please. I’m getting sick of orange juice. I had a meat loaf yesterday…”

  “Ah, yes. The meatloaf,” Jack sighed.

  We all laughed again.

  “Eggs MekKop this morning, no meatloaf,” I said.

  “Thank God,” Suri sighed.

  “Christian?” I asked.

  “No. It’s just an expression.”

  “It’s okay if you are, we’re not prejudice.”

  “Really? Well, I am, then.”

  Jack and I looked at each other.

  “We should introduce you to our good friend, Doc,” Jack said.

  “Dinner party?” I suggested.

  “Brilliant,” Jack replied.

  Suri looked slightly confused.

  “I’ll get the coffee,” I said, and returned shortly with my silver tray and spoons, my ancient English porcelain teapot filled with coffee, the cups and saucers, sugar, and cream. I poured for each of us. Suri preferred lots of sugar but no cream.

  Jack stood up, went into the kitchen to refill the pot, and returned with it to the table. I’d made a thermal tea cozy for my teapot and it was excellent at discouraging chips and keeping the contents hot. I placed the gaudy thing over it.
r />   “So, tell us what you’ve discovered about the Odok ships,” Jack encouraged right away. Suri seemed like the kind of scientist that is only comfortable when talking about her specialty, and Jack often dispensed with the small talk in our home. He had to follow so many varying social conventions in his work, with so many different species, that at home he often became blunt.

  I prefer it that way.

  The scientist didn’t even notice the absence of small talk. She lifted both her cup and saucer, sipped, moaned pleasurably, rolled the liquid inside her mouth, swallowed, and cradled the cup and saucer possessively in her lap.

  “We’ve discovered nada, but we’ve theorized mucho,” she said.

  Jack and I smiled encouragement.

  “There are several theories that might explain the way the Odok ships get from one region to another instantaneously. We like three of them in particular.

  “First, there are these things called neutrinos, which are made within the nuclear reactions of suns and forced out into the solar winds. They’re non-reactive for the most part. They pass through everything, even planets, without being hindered or leaving much evidence of their passage. Ghost particles, some call them. They can break the light speed barrier.

  “Some theorize that the Odok drive may somehow convert into or make the ship, its cargo, crew, and fuel masses behave as neutrino-like particles, contain them, of course, you wouldn’t want to lose anything, and then propel them - in a straight path because they can go through everything, at faster than light speeds from the ingress point to the egress point.

  “Whatever property the ship, cargo, crew, and fuel masses are turned into or made to behave as, the amount of energy to begin, contain, and end a process like that is immense. It represents values that we are unable to create today. Worse, it’s terrifying. Makes you think twice about tripping in those ships. Frankly, we don’t think this is what’s happening. The physics just doesn’t work out.

  “Secondly, Ghee, the explanation of the Infinite recycling itself through black and white holes and other phenomena that you brought to us from the Wilderness suggested another theory. What if the drive creates and controls a portion of an event horizon which allows instantaneous travel anywherewhen? The event horizon is the area at the edge of the black hole where, theoretically, you cease to be able to detect matter and energy falling into it. We don’t actually have the equipment to detect this yet, but the math can be done. The Energy Propeller could suck the ship in and poop the ship out at the omega destination at the exact time we leave the alpha destination.

  “Going further, could there be destinations in places and times that we are unaware of? The Odoks gave us only specific plots, possibly to contain us within those sixteen galaxies and within our current time. It’s possible that there are many more destinations plotted throughout the Infinite and throughout time.”

  My china clattered in her hands as she twitched. She closed her eyes a moment, then raised the cup and drank deeply. Jack picked up the china pot and filled her cup again. Coffee seems to calm the high-strung.

  Suri seemed withdrawn in thought as she added just the right amount of sugar, and sipped. Then she set the saucer down carefully on the living room table and sat back in the same position, gently cradling the warm cup in both hands.

  She absently stroked the bowl of the cup with her fingers and I wondered if she had a cat at home. Or many.

  “It hurts my brain,” Jack groaned.

  Suri laughed. “Me too, and I’ve been thinking on this for a very long time,” she whined humorously.

  “Holy shit. This is all very deep,” I said.

  Suri stared at me for a moment. “You use interesting phrases, Ghee,” she commented. Then she said, “There’s more. I haven’t told you about quarks, yet. They have strange behavioral properties.”

  She stopped again for a moment and sighed deeply. “Trying to put what I have in my head into your head using mere words is going to give me a seizure.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No! No, no. I’m not prone to seizures.”

  “You need fuel,” Jack insisted.

  We all stood up and moved to the dining area. My table is a magnificently carved piece of petrified tork from Frell. It’s basically a stone table that has the whorls and rings of a very old and gnarled tree boll. It is cut so thin that in some places you can see right through the slice. The chairs match but are synthetic; otherwise we wouldn’t be able to move them. She stared through the table, and then at the intricate carvings around the slightly thicker edge, and I wondered if she was calculating the curves. Were numbers running through her head? Equations? Who knew? Not I. She certainly was intense.

  Jack served. As he passed me, the light scent of citrus soap and Jack’s own scent touched my nostrils. I lost my concentration momentarily.

  Geez! I couldn’t not react to Jack. Enough already! Concentrate, Ghee, I ordered myself.

  The melon soup announced itself with a delightful odor, replacing that which had befuddled me momentarily. My China bowls were pretty. I lifted mine to my lips and slurped. Flavors burst through my palate. I tasted in rapid succession fresh strawberries and the sweetest of cantaloupes, the slight, fleeting flavor of almonds, a mellow mint, then honeydew, and finally, the native melon. Wow. No one spoke and the slurping was loud, but it wasn’t over until we licked the shallow bowls.

  That’s how we eat melon soup on KekTan.

  Jack collected the delicate bowls and carefully deposited them in the kitchen, as I insist on washing them by hand. He waited momentarily for the main meal. The cooker delivered and Jack rolled our dinner into the room on a fine cart, not an original but a reproduction, and we immersed ourselves. The sauce was smooth and deep purple, the blue spinach was perfectly cooked and not waterlogged, the tomatoes were white and tangy, the muffins held up well, the edges crisply tanned. The poached eggs Jack had chosen had lavender yokes and looked uneven, as if they had actually been poached in water.

  And yum; guilt-free bacon!

  Honestly, the future is cool. Just wait. You’ll see.

  Sadly, we soon finished. Like sex, breakfast doesn’t last forever. Just long enough.

  Suri helped Jack and I clean up, still in the pensive funk that seemed to be her default mood. Jack brought more coffee, sugar and cream to the table, just in case.

  She spoke less urgently now, but was still very intense. Energy streamed from her like escaping electrons and seemed to pelt us both.

  “So, of the many mind twists, how all these energies are being produced and contained are the most mysterious to me. Nothing is wasted. Nothing is lost. Something in that ship is initiating the reaction, maintaining its integrity, opening the travel portal or propelling the particles, maintaining the time constant, closing the portal or stopping the motion and reassembling the mass in perfect order, while stuffing the enormous reaction that caused it all in the first place back into its little bottle, or whatever. We’ve all watched ships transport in space--they’re there, they’re gone. There’s no flash, no movement, no nothing. There.” She snapped her fingers. “Gone.”

  “Back to our theories. Thirdly, there are strange particles, noticed in the quantum realm, things like quarks and antiquarks, which appear to be able to exist in more than one place at the same time. But they are excruciatingly minute and simple, not huge and complex like a ship and crew compliment. One theory postulates that the ship turns into or behaves like this kind of property, and then just exists in the destination placetime, and not here anymore.

  “Also, to help explain the second scenario, which I like the best, some scientists are resurrecting the Bekenstein-Hawking Radiation theory. In the 1970s, Hawking worked with Bekenstein’s earlier work. He posited that there are twin particles in the event horizons of black holes which explain mass loss. Black holes can lose mass. Smaller black holes can emit more radiation that they absorb, so where does it go? Larger black holes, larger than one solar mass, absorb more radiation
than they emit, so where does that all go?

  “The Radiation theory states: two particles are created at the event horizon, the positively charged particle stays in the origination placetime, and the antiparticle goes… there, back through the black hole to another region in time. I guess the ship could become… maybe the ship could act like the antiparticles, or simply use the mechanism the antiparticles use to escape the origin placetime.

  “This takes us back to your story, Ghee, of the Infinite recycling itself. The matter and energy which gets trapped in the gravity well of the singularity goes to another placetime. Perhaps the Odoks learned to control this phenomenon in order to direct the ships to whatever regiontime they want. The event horizon could be the gateway.

  “We’ve seen the old science fiction movies, right? What’s left of them?”

  Jack and I nodded in unison.

  “That stuff is all fantasy. It was developed from Bekenstein’s and Hawking’s radiation theories. The Odok ships may actually be doing this, but there’s no experience of the E.P., or any event horizon visible. How is it done? I fear it’s too far beyond us. We cannot wrap our heads around it.”

  Neither could I. I looked at Jack.

  Suri said, “You know, the Odoks could have come from any where or when. Their science is far advanced, way beyond our own. They must have been an ancient civilization, much older than ours.”

  “You said you had an experiment worked up?” my darling prompted.

  “Yes. We’re fitting a ship with every type of monitor in existence and a few we made up special, and we have a small, volunteer crew. We’re going to bounce the ship from here to orbit around Utopia and then analyze the data. We have a center on MekKop that the instruments will stream data to, and we’re setting one up on Utopia as well.”

  “Who’s crewing?” I asked.

  “Volunteers. I don’t know them, yet. There’s a chance that the huge array of monitoring equipment could cause interference with the Odok systems, and cause problems we can’t anticipate, so we asked for volunteers; a skeleton crew. This experiment should at least give us some information to work with. There’s engineering and physics behind the magic. We want it. This could advance us rapidly.”

  “When is the experiment scheduled?”

  “After the equinox.”

  “Two weeks,” Jack said.

  “Wow, Suri. That’s fantastic. Congratulations. I’ll be very excited to hear about the results,” I said.

  “Oh, well, I’m sure that we’ll be interpreting the data forever. This is going to be my life’s work. I’ll keep you apprised.”

  Soon after, our guest left, presumably to return to her think tank, or lab, or whatever.

  Jack snuggled me from behind.

  “You sure are a horny old goat today, Jack,” I said.

  “You bet.”

  He nuzzled my neck.

  It’s still a little embarrassing to realize the effect I have on him. Then again, I benefit too. Sometimes I forget I’m especially attractive to him because of what I see in the mirror. I always forget I’m not completely human anymore, and that my attractiveness is a by-product of this fact.

  I turned around in his encircling arms. His breath smelled like Faire coffee. His lips and tongue were very warm.

  I got over my self-consciousness right quick.

  Chapter Three

  Bumpin’ Alien Uglies