Trespassers: a science-fiction novel Read online
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Lyntic’s shirt wrapped around Tobi’s head was intended to protect him from inhaling harmful airborne organisms and to shield his eyes and ears from exposure to the environment. It was far short of perfect, but the three of them knew it was the best they had at the moment. Lyntic’s quick action was probably going to save Tobi’s life. The plan had been to abduct an earthling, extract a blood sample to create a vaccine, and inject that vaccine into Tobi, while still on the ship, allowing his system the recommended eighteen hours to acclimate. Unfortunately, their abductee turned out to be Stewart Faulkner.
Dexim trusted Lyntic with his life, just as she trusted him. He knew Tobi was in good hands, so he headed to the edge of the cornfield. He peered out from the stalks. Sure enough, there was a house. It was everything they needed, but Dexim didn’t have the luxury of taking his time. With Tobi’s health in jeopardy, Dexim would have to throw caution aside. He walked out to check the area. Dexim and Lyntic had spent enough time on Earth that he could probably talk his way out of a jam. But avoiding any confrontation at this early stage of the mission would be a good idea.
Dexim crossed the open lawn and strolled up to the back door of the two-story farmhouse, checking through the windows as he approached. He stepped onto the wooden porch and noticed the windows were open, covered only by screen. The drapes blew gently in the breeze. Through the glass in the door, he saw that the rooms within his view were all empty. His hand tried the knob, and it turned without any resistance. The creaky door opened. He stepped one foot inside. “Hello, is anybody here?” he called out. His words were effortless, and his accent was perfect. English was a comfortable second language to him. It had to be. Only those who could completely blend in were chosen to lead missions of this kind. Both he and his sister grew up speaking English and taking excursions to Earth with their family. So, there was nothing foreign about the planet to them. Dexim and his sister didn’t learn English from Melkon Boxes, like most visitors to Earth. They learned it organically, from their parents and from countless visits to the planet as children.
“Hello, anybody home?” he called again, hoping there wouldn’t be an answer.
A pair of thirteen-year-old legs jogged down the stairs in the agile way that youth allows. They turned at the bottom of the staircase and revealed a vibrant and cheerful girl of four foot eleven, with a loose braid holding back her dark hair. Her eyes met Dexim. A warm smile rose on her face.
“You must be Mr. Healy,” she said. “I’m Ally.” She extended a hand.
After taking a quick moment to process this, his hand met hers with a gentle shake.
“Mattie has been walked,” she said. “I folded the laundry and washed the dishes and put them away . . . except some of the glasses. I couldn’t figure out where they go, so I left them on the counter.”
Dexim’s eyes skimmed the room as she talked, trying to piece together the puzzle.
“I vacuumed the upstairs,” she continued, “but Mrs. Healy said not to worry about down here.” She shook her head and shifted gears. “I thought you guys weren’t going to be back until next week.”
A grin formed on Dexim’s face as he realized how perfect this was. “I decided to come home early.”
Just then, a jingling came from the staircase. Four legs pattered down the carpeted steps, and when they reached the bottom, the sound of nails on hardwood brought an aging golden retriever around the corner. She headed right for the intruder. Dexim hoped for the best as the old dog sniffed at his pant leg.
“Oh, and I picked up your mail and put it on the table,” Ally added. “Mrs. Healy said not to worry about it, but I walk right by the mailbox on my way over.”
Dexim watched as the weathered old dog stopped her sniffing with a gruff snort. She wasn’t going to pursue it. She was too old to play security guard. She’d leave that to the younger generation. She turned away and looked for a cool spot to lie down.
Dexim realized Ally had been talking the whole time. From her expression, it didn’t seem as though she required a response, so he simply smiled at her.
In the cornfield, Lyntic guided Tobi up to the edge of the stalks, the shirt shrouding his view. She watched Ally walk down the driveway. Dexim appeared at the back of the house and motioned for Lyntic to come. He knew they caught a break stumbling across a farmhouse—secluded and well stocked.
Inside the house, Dexim and Lyntic went to work gathering supplies. Dexim grabbed two gallons of bleach from beside the washing machine and collected some towels and washcloths from the bathroom. Lyntic pulled a bottle of liquor from the cabinet and checked the fridge for beer or anything else with alcohol. There was nothing. Lyntic rounded up a bucket from a utility closet and delivered it to the kitchen counter where the rest of the supplies were assembled, next to a row of NASCAR collector glasses that Ally hadn’t been able to put away. There was a sense of urgency. They knew Tobi’s well-being depended on quick action.
Lyntic grumbled off a few coarse words in a strange dialect. Dexim stopped in his tracks. Even with Tobi’s health on the line and precious seconds draining away, this was more important. He raised a stiff arm to Lyntic, pointing a stern finger at her. Lyntic stopped. Her face was instantly apologetic, and she was angry at herself. She nodded compliance. No words needed to be exchanged. Lyntic had made a major mistake, and it wouldn’t happen again.
With the multitude of contingencies that could go wrong with this type of mission, there was one universal, undeniable rule to which everyone must adhere: at all times, no matter what, you must maintain the appearance of being a native to whatever planet you are on. There can never be any evidence of being a trespasser. This meant that only local dialects could be spoken. Dexim’s mind quickly shifted back to the crisis at hand.
There were seven steps to the field guide for preparing an improvised vaccination. Dexim could remember four of them. He didn’t want to alarm Tobi with that detail; he chose instead to portray an image of total confidence, as if he’d done this a million and one times. He had, in fact, done it exactly a million times fewer than that.
“Put his head over the sink,” Dexim instructed, “and take that shirt off his face.”
Lyntic, still in a bra, swung the faucet head out of the way and guided Tobi over the sink. Dexim immediately started pouring the vodka on the back of Tobi’s head, letting it soak his hair and stream off into the sink. Dexim massaged his fingers through Tobi’s hair, saturating all of it. And just that quickly, the vodka ran out. Dexim knew vodka would work, because it was what he used the first, last, and only other time he found himself having to perform a field vaccination. But now the bottle was empty, and he would have to turn to an alternative.
“Soak some of those washcloths in bleach,” he instructed Lyntic. She spun the cap off the jug of bleach and doused a rag with it.
Dexim remembered that there were 56 common products on Earth that could be used to kill germs, molds, and viruses. That number stuck in his mind when he took the course on emergency survival procedures, for no other reason than it was the number on his door at summer camp when he was twelve. He was suddenly wishing he had paid more attention during that emergency course. For some reason, of the fifty-six products, the only one he could remember was the worst one: bleach. He vividly recalled the instructor saying, if you can’t find any alternative, you can use bleach. This was followed by a long list of warnings. Dexim remembered the instructor using words like hazardous, toxic, and dangerous. This, however, was no time to fret over such words or the details of polite bedside manner.
Still holding Tobi’s head over the sink, Dexim took the wet rag and wiped the side of Tobi’s face. The strong fumes of bleach scorched his nostrils, as Dexim methodically worked the rag around Tobi’s ear and along his jaw, covering his whole face with a coat of straight bleach. Tobi didn’t even think to protest. He knew it was necessary.
“Q-tips,” Dexim said to Lyntic, without looking up. Before her mind even had time to process the word, her body started
moving. They had that kind of connection that only comes from sharing the same childhood.
Lyntic ran up the stairs and rummaged through the cabinets of the first bathroom she could find. Seconds later, she ran back down the steps, with a box of Q-tips in her hands . . . and a bottle of rubbing alcohol.
“Oh good, alcohol,” Dexim said. “I don’t know if I could bring myself to use this bleach anymore.” He spun the lid off the alcohol bottle and handed it to Tobi. “Swish . . . and gargle.”
When the decontamination process was finished, Tobi was marched upstairs to a waiting salt bath, where he would be quarantined—with a towel wrapped around his face to block out airborne contaminants—until a vaccine could be administered.
“Now, how the hell do we get the vaccine?” Lyntic asked, once they were safely in the hall and out of Tobi’s hearing range.
“Jin should have dropped right after the bag,” Dexim said. “So he probably landed pretty close to it. When he gets to the bag, he’ll know to track us.”
In fact, Jin did know to track them. But he had a few problems of his own. He hadn’t been lucky enough to land in a nice, soft cornfield.
6
Jin and the Supply Bag
Beer bottles rolled in all directions on the rough blacktop in the alley behind Miller’s General Store. A few were broken, spilling their contents onto the pavement and forming several streams of golden alcohol that flowed in different directions. The jingling of glass echoed against the block walls of the tight alley. Jin’s feet fought to find the ground, as he rode the slow avalanche of bottles down to the tarmac.
He found his footing and took a look back at the heap of dripping bottles. It had been a tower of consumer products, waiting to be placed on the store’s shelves, but it turned into Jin’s landing pad—a very uninviting landing pad that left pain echoing through his ribs, hips, and knees. He glanced up at the thick walls of the alley. Slicing between them as he did was akin to threading a needle. Suddenly, those throbs of pain were friendly reminders that he had landed on something that would give, instead of breaking him into pieces.
His clothes could have been soaked in blood, but they weren’t. That made him downright grateful for the alcohol on his pants, making the fabric cling to his legs. Never would a crew eject in such a reckless manner . . . except for this mission. It was too important to fail. Risks had to be taken, and Jin knew that.
With a quick inspection of the area, Jin noticed a gate blocking the end of the alley. The only other exit was a doorway that led into the back of Miller’s General Store, which Jin stepped through.
The door frame was scarred and the walls were worn from neglect. Cobwebs collected in the corners. Dust lined the floorboards. A mismatched collection of dented, rusty shelves lined the walls, holding an array of products. Soft music from a cheap radio played in the background. There was no indication of danger, no sign that anyone was looking for him. Being accused of destroying a shipment of beer bottles was not much of a concern to Jin, but inquiries about how he came to land there would be a problem. It was imperative that he exit the store without drawing any suspicion.
Jin slid on a pair of dark sunglasses from a carousel-type display rack. His glasses were in the supply bag. With no cash, he had no options. He would have to shoplift this pair.
It wasn’t vanity or an oversensitivity to sunlight that compelled Jin to wear dark shades. It was a need to blend in. Jin was on the outer limits of what passed for earthling, and this was due to his eyes. They drew attention: instead of being round, his pupils were shaped like bow ties. And that was difficult for people to forget.
He eased around the corner, practicing his English in his mind, carefully rehearsing the accent and the proper flow of the words. He enjoyed practicing different languages with his friends, but studying was a struggle for him. Studying meant putting in time on a Melkon Box—a cube designed to teach foreign languages through direct stimulation of the brain. This device didn’t program a new language into your head with the flip of a switch. It just streamlined the learning process. With the right technique and a lot of determination, a new language could be mastered in thirty days, complete with idiomatic expressions, accents, cadence, and even spelling, depending on the individual’s intelligence and willingness to learn. Everyone hated the Melkon Boxes though, because they were so mind numbing and tedious. They sapped all your mental energy. This was probably why Jin failed to finish his Melkon exercises.
To get out of this store, Jin would have to walk right past the clerk at the counter. He would have to sneak by as a shoplifter, a visitor from another planet, and the guy who just smashed a load of beer behind the store.
As Jin stepped into the open space that led to the front doors, an overweight man in his fifties was sitting at the cash register, staring down into a newspaper that was fanned out in front of him.
Jin froze. He swallowed hard, gritted his teeth, rehearsed his English, and pushed himself forward. The clerk’s eyes rose from the paper and landed on Jin. A scowl emanated from the man’s face quite naturally. In that instant, Jin began rehearsing a new plan: a sturdy right hand to the nose, a quick left to the side of the head. But there would be no need. The clerk’s eyes returned to the paper, and Jin’s momentum carried him out the door.
The fresh air and warm sunlight hit Jin all at once. With the convenience store safely behind him, he felt free and exhilarated. This was his first time outside a ship or space station in over two weeks. His lungs stretched with the welcome introduction of fresh air. His cheeks tingled with the warm caress of the sun. After a deep breath, his smile gave way to embarrassment, since he had so quickly abandoned his plan and decided to resort to violence.
To the outside world, Jin displayed the air of a tall, confident young man. On the inside, he was always judging himself, based on the many role models of his youth. He was on a constant search for improvement, striving to become the figure he so easily displayed to others.
This made him think of Dexim, whom he admired. Dexim could have handled the store clerk with a few convincing lines and a comfortable smile. Above all, it would have been Dexim’s genuine confidence that guided him through the situation. To this point, Jin had only pretended to have that kind of confidence.
The role models who shaped Jin’s expectations were not family members; they were images seen through the doorway of his small, run-down hut with its dirt floor and failing walls; they were passing businessmen and dignitaries. They had an air of respect, and most important, they had the ability to leave the slum. It captivated Jin’s imagination, how they rolled into town and rolled out the other side. None of Jin’s family ever did that. They just lingered in the slum until they landed in jail. Crime was the way of life . . . crime and lingering. Jin didn’t want to be a criminal, and he didn’t want to linger.
Having never met his father, Jin grew up living with his mother and two older half brothers. They had never met their father either, and they spent most of their time up to no good. Jin kept his distance from these shenanigans, and opted instead to gaze out the open door of the hut, watching the vehicles carry the more fortunate over the pothole-ridden road. While most of the slum’s inhabitants dreamed of snatching those people from their vehicles and robbing them, Jin dreamed of becoming them. He longed for his own vehicle that would take him beyond the slum.
Jin smiled with the realization of how far he had come. Not only had he gotten out, he had traveled all the way to a distant planet and was now surrounded by a strange new world. Jin was in downtown Juniper, Indiana—a small rural town with a modern feel.
Jin was struck by how clean everything was. There were no rotting logs or animal bones, no piles of leaves or discarded trash. It was as if nature wasn’t allowed to reside here, except in the few little triangles where grass had been inserted, and trees were kept in precise circles cut in the pavement. Birds flew from branch to branch, behaving themselves. There was a systematic order to all of it, which Jin admired.
Even though inspect and report was the job title, the Royal Office of Security was not expecting to receive any reports that contained less-than-perfect marks. So, somewhere after the inspection and before the report, Dexim and Lyntic would correct all existing problems so that the site’s actual security fitness would match the stellar report that would be filed. The Royal Security Administrator relied heavily on Dexim and Lyntic to smooth the rough edges of these outposts.
In the Adashi language, it was common to attach the word Fire to the best of a category. For example, the best restaurant in a town would be referred to as the town’s Fire Restaurant. For that reason, Dexim and Lyntic’s unit was known throughout as the Fire Unit. Officially, it was Dexim’s team, but anyone familiar with the siblings knew that it belonged to both of them. Jin could attest that things were always fast paced and efficient in the Fire Unit.