FOREWORD
“Any port in a storm -” an Earthling’s saying, regarding ships at sea. On this day, a Twekian crew viewed the planet Earth in the same light; for their wounded ship had plied another kind of sea: intergalactic space. They so regarded our planet, until the vessel exploded. Just one Twekian managed to survive. Propelled through the atmosphere, in a shiny escape pod, the creature managed to land in an earthly wood, just a few miles outside the American backwater settlement of Gus’s Crossing.
THE TWEKIAN
Arliss Broom knew for a long time he would have an extraterrestrial for his very own best friend, just as the youngsters in his favorite movies had theirs. From age four to his present age of twelve, he had steeped himself in alien lore and saw pertinent movies dozens of times apiece. When he looked out his window, on the night of the Twekians’ tragic accident, and witnessed a small circular glow in the western sky, he knew instantly his E. T. had arrived, the realization buttressed by the way the craft hovered, just before it slipped below the tree line. He instantly jumped out of bed and changed into the clothing his mother had laid out for the impending school day. The dog, Flanders, enthusiastically at his side, ready for an adventure, gave impatient little yips. They carefully went into the cool night, leaving Mom and Dad peacefully sleeping.
Then, into the woods, both intimately familiar with every inch they were to encounter. First came the trees Arliss and his friends often climbed; next, their favorites, the cherry trees; then, the old rotten birch. Beyond the one great black walnut tree, the undergrowth thickened and they fought to get ahead. Arliss had correctly guessed the spot of the landing, next to Peavy‘s Creek. He was careful to remain hidden, as he crept through the final high weeds and peeped between the parted stems and leaves. Flanders had lowered himself to his belly and crawled along also. In the middle of the clearing was the egg-shaped pod, resting on a broad base. Because it was not open, he was certain the creature had not left its confines but was holed up in there, planning a next move. Arliss realized this might be a job too big for a boy alone, with just his dog. “Come on, Flanders;” he whispered, “We’ve got to have some help.”
They retraced their movements back through the brush and woods.
It was off to gather his friends, Petey, Olive and Curley. His true blue friends had never let him down. It was logical to start with Petey, for he lived just four doors up from Arliss. He approached his friend’s open bedroom window and pushed his face against the screen, whispering Petey‘s name. But, Petey was in no mood to be roused from his nice bed. With Arliss hissing at him through the window, Petey turned over, facing the blank wall. He refused to acknowledge the entreaties to get dressed and come outside. His dog, a mean little Weiner, came out through the doggy door and became increasingly aggressive at Arliss, who ignored her until she became loud enough to disturb the adults of the house. He scurried off, with the Weiner biting at Flanders’ hindquarters for a way.
He was disappointed, but, well; Olive and Curley -
Olive’s home was near the playground, one street over. She was a lanky kid, the only girl in school that wore pigtails. She ran and threw the javelin, and she got perfect grades, too. Arliss held her in awe, most of the time. His special way of alerting her, whenever he wanted her to come outside, was to send Flanders in her window, to nuzzle her cheek and neck, until she sat up.
Five minutes after Flanders went to her, Olive came outside, still in pajamas, with a housecoat to ward off the chill. She listened attentively to her good friend’s plea, then she told him solemnly that she could not risk getting into trouble. “Mom is taking me shopping, after school. I need some sweaters and a few pairs of shoes.”
Despite repeated entreaties, she would not change her mind. He was forced to turn to just Curley, and Curley’s judgment sometimes made that boy a menace.
He hustled as quickly as he could, down Olive’s street and up the only street left in Gus’s Crossing. Curley would be at the end, sleeping in the treehouse his father had built him. Arliss came into Curley’s yard and looked up the tree to Curley’s door. Curley had been known to booby trap the treehouse entrance, for fear of wild tigers, or, worse, wild tigers and bears. So Arliss sent a call to his friend’s cell phone. Curley managed to answer, grunting something like, “Mff?”
“It’s me. Curley, I need help. I have a genuine extraterrestrial out in the woods. This is too big for me to handle alone.”
Curley said, “Wmf,” and his phone went dead.
Arliss was persistent, but he could not get him to answer again. He looked down at Flanders. “Well. It’s just you and me,” he pronounced, crestfallen.
When they returned to the scene, Arliss reoccupied his vantage point, looking between the leaves, at the now open pod. He detected a pale glow, emanating from within. Which presented a dilemma. Ought he assume the creature had left the ship? Or could it still be within, doing alien stuff, preparatory to going out? He sat there, until daylight, afraid to make a move. His mother called his phone. “Where are you?”
“Watching an E. T.,” he whispered.
“Where? You know you’ve got to go to school today, and there’s no time for viewing movies.”
“No, Mom. For real. It’s a spaceman parked in the woods,” he said, feeling desperate to be believed. “I’ve got to have some help.”
“Call on your friends: Petey and Olive. I’ve got to go now. Take out the garbage when you get home.”
“But -”
Already, she had hung up.
“Bye, Mom.”
He sat with an arm hugging Flanders, staring at the pod. After two more hours, he simply gave up. He sent Flanders home, then ran off to school.
#
Theirs was a very small campus, making his friends easy to find. The single long hallway that connected all eight grades, plus the offices and the cafeteria, bustled with the traffic of students. He saw Olive right away, slinging off her backpack and letting it sit atop a bench. She gave his clothing a critical examination, as he approached, her look critical that he could be so disheveled and unprepared for school. “You forgot your backpack,” she observed.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he answered back, dismissively. “I wish you could have come with me, last night. I couldn’t get anything done, by myself.”
“Well,” she said, “I have important things of my own this week. Mother doesn’t want me to do anything that might keep me from having a great school year.”
“But, this is important, too,” Arliss maintained defensively.
“I’m sorry, truly am, but we aren’t small kids any longer. I’ve got to think about more grown-up things, even if it means hurting your feelings.”
“But, this is the real thing,” he begged. “I’m not playing this time.”
The bell rang. As she was taking up the backpack again, she said, somewhat sarcastically, “Like you weren’t playing the time we followed a weather balloon ten miles and fell into a swamp and came home with poison ivy.”
“This is different,” he replied plaintively, as her long strides took Olive away down the hall.
#
All through English class, Arliss and Petey exchanged notes, slipping them across the aisle whenever Miss Eggers faced the blackboard.
Note One: “How come you didn’t get up and go with me last night?”
Note Two: “I’m going into football. I need my rest. I won‘t have time to join you, this adventure.”
The other nineteen notes were consumed with bickering and wheedling.
Arliss scarcely could imagine it. Between Olive and Petey, the gang was broken up. There remained just him and Curley, and he had doubts, now, about Curley.
At the close of school, he sought for Curley, but the boy had become as elusive as good grades and regular attendance. He could not feel more alone if he were suddenly orphaned. Only Flanders, greeting him as he approached home, sparked up his spirits a bit. Together they enjoyed a snack. Arliss considered the daily chores he had been entrusted with, then decided the intergalactic being to be most important in the list of responsibilities, so, he set off through the woods.
#
He resumed his spying from the same vantage point as before. The pod looked exactly as it had then, with still no clue of the slightest activity, beyond the opened up entry access. Shortly, he became restless. What if the creature were injured, or dead, even? He owed it to basic kindness to go to it and see. And he left the security of being hidden, to walk slowly in the direction of the pod. Almost immediately, he slammed into something invisible. He reached out, putting the flat of his hand against the surface and withdrawing it instantly, due to a crack that felt like static electricity. “It’s a force field,” he told Flanders.
Arliss believed that everything had a flaw. There simply must be a way to breach the alien’s security. After the briefest examination, he discovered that, at ground level, the force field shot out little flicks of light, all along the edge. Arliss began tracking the border of it by following these lights. He noticed, where it crossed the creek, the lights went over the water surface, not under it to the bed below. Being on the impulsive side, he instantly decided to swim beneath the line and hopefully come up on the inside. He left Flanders, whining for him, at the edge, and he immersed himself in the cool water.
At the instant he ducked under, he experienced the dread of getting zapped to death. Tightly shutting his eyes, he plunged ahead. After an anxious moment, he emerged on the other side. From that new vantage point, he could see something, man-sized, on the other bank, a little way downstream, where the earth dipped, making a shallow pool, bordered on the land side by a wide ring of mud. The alien was a foot deep in the muck, engrossed, scooping up dripping balls of mud, pushing it into its face.
Arliss fell back and nearly retreated into the creek. “A giant snail,” he said under his breath. “That’s disgusting.“ But his curiosity outweighed all consideration.
#
On the first impression, the creature indeed looked snail-like, but closer inspecting reveals characteristics most resembling snakes. His squat body was propelled by a scaly slithering mechanism that could outrun a person, or go up a tree, equal to any monkey. His long arms bore a similar design, but the slithering mechanism had atrophied, long ago. At the end of the arms were hands, each sporting three fingers, and two opposable thumbs. The digits were capable of stretching up to four inches longer, becoming incredibly slender, with nubs like nails at the end. In repose, the fingers were thick and short. There were no bones anywhere inside the body, but the appropriate anatomy was supported by strong muscle tissue, buttressed by a material similar in composition to the exoskeleton of an insect. Twekians wore no clothing. Their reproductive organs were hidden from view, except when needed; thus, there was nothing on which to build shame or embarrassment.
Its head was rounded, capable of pivoting like an owl’s head when necessary, with a face with a great flat nose in the center, and a tongue-like organ that popped out of the nostril cavity to hold in or shove in food, as it was doing now, with the mud. Its mouth resembled that of a trout, with bone-like ridges inside that served as teeth. Twekian vocal cords were remarkably human-like and they communicated through speech, in a language as complex as English. The eyes were bulging balls, haze grey in color, and capable of fixed or independent movement, dependant on the circumstance. The eyes were fixed at the moment on the task at hand, making it oblivious to the approach of the youngster, who now advanced, one halting step at a time.
Not wanting to be left behind, Flanders loped up behind his buddy, having slipped under the force field after him. It was not until he approached Arliss he noticed the Twekian, packing in the mud. The dog sprang backward, about ten feet, suddenly barking, out of fear.
The creature spewed a mouthful of mud as it jerked around, in an instantly defensive mode. The grey eyes waved slowly about and it produced a purple gadget that Arliss was certain must be a disintegrator ray gun. “Wum wim gagomb,” it said, in a measured, reedy voice.
It was then a Twekian stench wafted on a tiny breeze, straight to the nostrils of the boy. He said, “Aw, no. I can’t do this.”
Arliss made a pushing off gesture with his hands and executed a dash for the creek. The Twekian blocked him from leaving, by putting on a burst of speed and cutting him off before he had a chance to jump in. It held up the purple gadget and pressed it against the boy’s head. Thinking he was as good as dead, Arliss shrugged. “Please don’t hurt my dog,” he pleaded.
“Can you understand my words, now?” The Twekian asked.
“I do,” he replied, as it dawned on him that the purple thing was meant to allow Twekians to communicate. As it turns out, they could do so with virtually any language proficient species, even ones as primitive as monkeys and dogs. “But you stink so badly,” he added.
“What? Well, you have a peculiar odor about you. I suppose it’s a species centric issue.”
“Have you ever heard of a bath?”
“Are you calling me dirty? Twerp. I sweep my body with a QRC decontaminating broom twice each day. Inferior species ought to mind their tongues,” the indignant alien admonished.
Arliss felt like arguing with the stinking space-thing, but he was uncertain how much free speech it would tolerate. “My dog’s not inferior,” he insisted.
“My name’s Baker,” the creature stated. “I don’t want you here,” he added. “I can’t let you leave, however. You would alert hostile elements. I just want to harbor in this place, until my rescue comes, then leave this planet unaffected by my visit. It’s a planetary code that we leave developing worlds to chart their destinies, unaided. Interesting rule, in this case, since world extinction seems the probable outcome. So, I want for you to enter my pod and confine yourself there until my help comes.”
“Fat chance, since I don’t see a weapon on you,” Arliss said, hoping he was correct.
The Twekian executed a series of clumsy-looking maneuvers while waving its arms in snake-like motions. “Puny earthling. I bet you are just a child. What‘s your name?”
“Arliss. And if that pod smells like you, I’m not going in.”
“Twerp. Punk. Get in that pod.”
Arliss began to suspect the extraterrestrial must be hard-wired against physical violence. His propensity to linguistic violence notwithstanding. He began to edge around it, preparatory to leaping into the water, when, of a sudden, Flanders, liking what he smelled, began to rub himself against the alien’s leg. Baker immediately placed the language instrument against the dog’s head. They conversed, the result being that Flanders set himself before Arliss and barked at him, several times. He then trotted to the pod and leaped inside.
The boy exasperatedly called after his dog, but Flanders would not respond. “You cheater,” he yelled at the space creature, stalking after the disobedient canine. “Flanders. I intend to leave you home, after this.”
He placed his hands on the rim of the hole and peered in, spying Flanders, rolling in a pile of alien garbage, with total abandon. When his commands to come forth went completely unheeded, he was forced to crawl in after him. Collaring his pal, Arliss tried to lead him out. Flanders had other ideas, planting his feet on the deck and pulling the opposite way. The creature filled the open hatch. “You can’t leave,” he said. I have activated a force to keep you in.”
To test that pronouncement, Arliss released the dog and scrambled for the exit. An unseen wall and its charge bounced him back. Tossed into Flanders’ garbage pile, the boy tasted vileness. He stumbled across the chamber, where he discovered a hatch, slightly ajar. Swinging it wide, he discovered the alien’s personal space, where it bunked and stored some creature comforts.
“Keep out of there,” the Twekian shouted, frantically.
A spiteful impulse shoved Arliss into the room. He began tossing packs of capsules about until he discovered the hatch that allowed him into the control room. His eyes barely managed to focus on the instruments before him, when Baker came through, sputtering and fuming. “Disagreeable twerp,” he said. “These areas are off-limits. You would court disaster to fool with these controls. Right now they are set up to direct a continuous signal to guide my rescuers and it has just fuel enough to lift me into the mother ship. So don’t go fooling with things.”
Arliss displayed an impish grin. “Will you let me go home?”
“I have explained to you why I can’t do that.”
The boy randomly grabbed what seemed to be a control stick, suddenly realizing the entire operation was an almost exact replica of the game system in his own residence. He could move this pod to the sheriff's office on Highway 5 if that was what he decided. “You are not so advanced as you think,” he said, still musing.
Baker began screaming, in his own Twekian language.
Finally, when the boy had not made a move for several minutes, he calmed down. “Let us reason this thing out,” he began, in a more moderate tone. “Why would you risk this speck of Earth getting annihilated over my getting kidnapped? Don’t you know yet that our forces are many generations ahead of you, scientifically? We have weapons that make your nuclear weapons mere child’s play.”
Arliss wore a mask of smugness. “I don’t think so. I don’t think your people waste effort to build weapons. I think it is we who could annihilate you. I bet a water hose and a feeder full of snail poison would fix you, but good.”
“If you provoke this,” Baker warned, “I promise you, the dog will not survive the encounter.”
“Hee,” the boy snickered. “If your code prevents you from harming me, I am guessing Flanders too will be safe.”
There ensued a quiet period, during which the two balefully regarded one another from a point of stalemate.
“My importing your language gives me hints of who and what you are, almost as if I gained some of your memories,” Baker said. “I implore you to honor your commitment to yourself, to aid your own extraterrestrial, me, for it is your destiny.”
Arliss relaxed. He looked upon Baker, his very own E. T., with great sadness. “I am so disappointed,” he said. “Kids in books and movies get adorable characters, to cherish and protect. At the very least, they have entertaining robots. Me, I get the filthiest smelling, ugliest appearing, of botched creations of nature. How can I not deny this destiny?”
“Because, you are at heart a good person,” Baker replied, sympathetically, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Damn it,” Arliss muttered, crying, cringing.
“Damn it, indeed,” Baker comforted.
“Any port in a storm -” an Earthling’s saying, regarding ships at sea. On this day, a Twekian crew viewed the planet Earth in the same light; for their wounded ship had plied another kind of sea: intergalactic space. They so regarded our planet, until the vessel exploded. Just one Twekian managed to survive. Propelled through the atmosphere, in a shiny escape pod, the creature managed to land in an earthly wood, just a few miles outside the American backwater settlement of Gus’s Crossing.
THE TWEKIAN
Arliss Broom knew for a long time he would have an extraterrestrial for his very own best friend, just as the youngsters in his favorite movies had theirs. From age four to his present age of twelve, he had steeped himself in alien lore and saw pertinent movies dozens of times apiece. When he looked out his window, on the night of the Twekians’ tragic accident, and witnessed a small circular glow in the western sky, he knew instantly his E. T. had arrived, the realization buttressed by the way the craft hovered, just before it slipped below the tree line. He instantly jumped out of bed and changed into the clothing his mother had laid out for the impending school day. The dog, Flanders, enthusiastically at his side, ready for an adventure, gave impatient little yips. They carefully went into the cool night, leaving Mom and Dad peacefully sleeping.
Then, into the woods, both intimately familiar with every inch they were to encounter. First came the trees Arliss and his friends often climbed; next, their favorites, the cherry trees; then, the old rotten birch. Beyond the one great black walnut tree, the undergrowth thickened and they fought to get ahead. Arliss had correctly guessed the spot of the landing, next to Peavy‘s Creek. He was careful to remain hidden, as he crept through the final high weeds and peeped between the parted stems and leaves. Flanders had lowered himself to his belly and crawled along also. In the middle of the clearing was the egg-shaped pod, resting on a broad base. Because it was not open, he was certain the creature had not left its confines but was holed up in there, planning a next move. Arliss realized this might be a job too big for a boy alone, with just his dog. “Come on, Flanders;” he whispered, “We’ve got to have some help.”
They retraced their movements back through the brush and woods.
It was off to gather his friends, Petey, Olive and Curley. His true blue friends had never let him down. It was logical to start with Petey, for he lived just four doors up from Arliss. He approached his friend’s open bedroom window and pushed his face against the screen, whispering Petey‘s name. But, Petey was in no mood to be roused from his nice bed. With Arliss hissing at him through the window, Petey turned over, facing the blank wall. He refused to acknowledge the entreaties to get dressed and come outside. His dog, a mean little Weiner, came out through the doggy door and became increasingly aggressive at Arliss, who ignored her until she became loud enough to disturb the adults of the house. He scurried off, with the Weiner biting at Flanders’ hindquarters for a way.
He was disappointed, but, well; Olive and Curley -
Olive’s home was near the playground, one street over. She was a lanky kid, the only girl in school that wore pigtails. She ran and threw the javelin, and she got perfect grades, too. Arliss held her in awe, most of the time. His special way of alerting her, whenever he wanted her to come outside, was to send Flanders in her window, to nuzzle her cheek and neck, until she sat up.
Five minutes after Flanders went to her, Olive came outside, still in pajamas, with a housecoat to ward off the chill. She listened attentively to her good friend’s plea, then she told him solemnly that she could not risk getting into trouble. “Mom is taking me shopping, after school. I need some sweaters and a few pairs of shoes.”
Despite repeated entreaties, she would not change her mind. He was forced to turn to just Curley, and Curley’s judgment sometimes made that boy a menace.
He hustled as quickly as he could, down Olive’s street and up the only street left in Gus’s Crossing. Curley would be at the end, sleeping in the treehouse his father had built him. Arliss came into Curley’s yard and looked up the tree to Curley’s door. Curley had been known to booby trap the treehouse entrance, for fear of wild tigers, or, worse, wild tigers and bears. So Arliss sent a call to his friend’s cell phone. Curley managed to answer, grunting something like, “Mff?”
“It’s me. Curley, I need help. I have a genuine extraterrestrial out in the woods. This is too big for me to handle alone.”
Curley said, “Wmf,” and his phone went dead.
Arliss was persistent, but he could not get him to answer again. He looked down at Flanders. “Well. It’s just you and me,” he pronounced, crestfallen.
When they returned to the scene, Arliss reoccupied his vantage point, looking between the leaves, at the now open pod. He detected a pale glow, emanating from within. Which presented a dilemma. Ought he assume the creature had left the ship? Or could it still be within, doing alien stuff, preparatory to going out? He sat there, until daylight, afraid to make a move. His mother called his phone. “Where are you?”
“Watching an E. T.,” he whispered.
“Where? You know you’ve got to go to school today, and there’s no time for viewing movies.”
“No, Mom. For real. It’s a spaceman parked in the woods,” he said, feeling desperate to be believed. “I’ve got to have some help.”
“Call on your friends: Petey and Olive. I’ve got to go now. Take out the garbage when you get home.”
“But -”
Already, she had hung up.
“Bye, Mom.”
He sat with an arm hugging Flanders, staring at the pod. After two more hours, he simply gave up. He sent Flanders home, then ran off to school.
#
Theirs was a very small campus, making his friends easy to find. The single long hallway that connected all eight grades, plus the offices and the cafeteria, bustled with the traffic of students. He saw Olive right away, slinging off her backpack and letting it sit atop a bench. She gave his clothing a critical examination, as he approached, her look critical that he could be so disheveled and unprepared for school. “You forgot your backpack,” she observed.
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” he answered back, dismissively. “I wish you could have come with me, last night. I couldn’t get anything done, by myself.”
“Well,” she said, “I have important things of my own this week. Mother doesn’t want me to do anything that might keep me from having a great school year.”
“But, this is important, too,” Arliss maintained defensively.
“I’m sorry, truly am, but we aren’t small kids any longer. I’ve got to think about more grown-up things, even if it means hurting your feelings.”
“But, this is the real thing,” he begged. “I’m not playing this time.”
The bell rang. As she was taking up the backpack again, she said, somewhat sarcastically, “Like you weren’t playing the time we followed a weather balloon ten miles and fell into a swamp and came home with poison ivy.”
“This is different,” he replied plaintively, as her long strides took Olive away down the hall.
#
All through English class, Arliss and Petey exchanged notes, slipping them across the aisle whenever Miss Eggers faced the blackboard.
Note One: “How come you didn’t get up and go with me last night?”
Note Two: “I’m going into football. I need my rest. I won‘t have time to join you, this adventure.”
The other nineteen notes were consumed with bickering and wheedling.
Arliss scarcely could imagine it. Between Olive and Petey, the gang was broken up. There remained just him and Curley, and he had doubts, now, about Curley.
At the close of school, he sought for Curley, but the boy had become as elusive as good grades and regular attendance. He could not feel more alone if he were suddenly orphaned. Only Flanders, greeting him as he approached home, sparked up his spirits a bit. Together they enjoyed a snack. Arliss considered the daily chores he had been entrusted with, then decided the intergalactic being to be most important in the list of responsibilities, so, he set off through the woods.
#
He resumed his spying from the same vantage point as before. The pod looked exactly as it had then, with still no clue of the slightest activity, beyond the opened up entry access. Shortly, he became restless. What if the creature were injured, or dead, even? He owed it to basic kindness to go to it and see. And he left the security of being hidden, to walk slowly in the direction of the pod. Almost immediately, he slammed into something invisible. He reached out, putting the flat of his hand against the surface and withdrawing it instantly, due to a crack that felt like static electricity. “It’s a force field,” he told Flanders.
Arliss believed that everything had a flaw. There simply must be a way to breach the alien’s security. After the briefest examination, he discovered that, at ground level, the force field shot out little flicks of light, all along the edge. Arliss began tracking the border of it by following these lights. He noticed, where it crossed the creek, the lights went over the water surface, not under it to the bed below. Being on the impulsive side, he instantly decided to swim beneath the line and hopefully come up on the inside. He left Flanders, whining for him, at the edge, and he immersed himself in the cool water.
At the instant he ducked under, he experienced the dread of getting zapped to death. Tightly shutting his eyes, he plunged ahead. After an anxious moment, he emerged on the other side. From that new vantage point, he could see something, man-sized, on the other bank, a little way downstream, where the earth dipped, making a shallow pool, bordered on the land side by a wide ring of mud. The alien was a foot deep in the muck, engrossed, scooping up dripping balls of mud, pushing it into its face.
Arliss fell back and nearly retreated into the creek. “A giant snail,” he said under his breath. “That’s disgusting.“ But his curiosity outweighed all consideration.
#
On the first impression, the creature indeed looked snail-like, but closer inspecting reveals characteristics most resembling snakes. His squat body was propelled by a scaly slithering mechanism that could outrun a person, or go up a tree, equal to any monkey. His long arms bore a similar design, but the slithering mechanism had atrophied, long ago. At the end of the arms were hands, each sporting three fingers, and two opposable thumbs. The digits were capable of stretching up to four inches longer, becoming incredibly slender, with nubs like nails at the end. In repose, the fingers were thick and short. There were no bones anywhere inside the body, but the appropriate anatomy was supported by strong muscle tissue, buttressed by a material similar in composition to the exoskeleton of an insect. Twekians wore no clothing. Their reproductive organs were hidden from view, except when needed; thus, there was nothing on which to build shame or embarrassment.
Its head was rounded, capable of pivoting like an owl’s head when necessary, with a face with a great flat nose in the center, and a tongue-like organ that popped out of the nostril cavity to hold in or shove in food, as it was doing now, with the mud. Its mouth resembled that of a trout, with bone-like ridges inside that served as teeth. Twekian vocal cords were remarkably human-like and they communicated through speech, in a language as complex as English. The eyes were bulging balls, haze grey in color, and capable of fixed or independent movement, dependant on the circumstance. The eyes were fixed at the moment on the task at hand, making it oblivious to the approach of the youngster, who now advanced, one halting step at a time.
Not wanting to be left behind, Flanders loped up behind his buddy, having slipped under the force field after him. It was not until he approached Arliss he noticed the Twekian, packing in the mud. The dog sprang backward, about ten feet, suddenly barking, out of fear.
The creature spewed a mouthful of mud as it jerked around, in an instantly defensive mode. The grey eyes waved slowly about and it produced a purple gadget that Arliss was certain must be a disintegrator ray gun. “Wum wim gagomb,” it said, in a measured, reedy voice.
It was then a Twekian stench wafted on a tiny breeze, straight to the nostrils of the boy. He said, “Aw, no. I can’t do this.”
Arliss made a pushing off gesture with his hands and executed a dash for the creek. The Twekian blocked him from leaving, by putting on a burst of speed and cutting him off before he had a chance to jump in. It held up the purple gadget and pressed it against the boy’s head. Thinking he was as good as dead, Arliss shrugged. “Please don’t hurt my dog,” he pleaded.
“Can you understand my words, now?” The Twekian asked.
“I do,” he replied, as it dawned on him that the purple thing was meant to allow Twekians to communicate. As it turns out, they could do so with virtually any language proficient species, even ones as primitive as monkeys and dogs. “But you stink so badly,” he added.
“What? Well, you have a peculiar odor about you. I suppose it’s a species centric issue.”
“Have you ever heard of a bath?”
“Are you calling me dirty? Twerp. I sweep my body with a QRC decontaminating broom twice each day. Inferior species ought to mind their tongues,” the indignant alien admonished.
Arliss felt like arguing with the stinking space-thing, but he was uncertain how much free speech it would tolerate. “My dog’s not inferior,” he insisted.
“My name’s Baker,” the creature stated. “I don’t want you here,” he added. “I can’t let you leave, however. You would alert hostile elements. I just want to harbor in this place, until my rescue comes, then leave this planet unaffected by my visit. It’s a planetary code that we leave developing worlds to chart their destinies, unaided. Interesting rule, in this case, since world extinction seems the probable outcome. So, I want for you to enter my pod and confine yourself there until my help comes.”
“Fat chance, since I don’t see a weapon on you,” Arliss said, hoping he was correct.
The Twekian executed a series of clumsy-looking maneuvers while waving its arms in snake-like motions. “Puny earthling. I bet you are just a child. What‘s your name?”
“Arliss. And if that pod smells like you, I’m not going in.”
“Twerp. Punk. Get in that pod.”
Arliss began to suspect the extraterrestrial must be hard-wired against physical violence. His propensity to linguistic violence notwithstanding. He began to edge around it, preparatory to leaping into the water, when, of a sudden, Flanders, liking what he smelled, began to rub himself against the alien’s leg. Baker immediately placed the language instrument against the dog’s head. They conversed, the result being that Flanders set himself before Arliss and barked at him, several times. He then trotted to the pod and leaped inside.
The boy exasperatedly called after his dog, but Flanders would not respond. “You cheater,” he yelled at the space creature, stalking after the disobedient canine. “Flanders. I intend to leave you home, after this.”
He placed his hands on the rim of the hole and peered in, spying Flanders, rolling in a pile of alien garbage, with total abandon. When his commands to come forth went completely unheeded, he was forced to crawl in after him. Collaring his pal, Arliss tried to lead him out. Flanders had other ideas, planting his feet on the deck and pulling the opposite way. The creature filled the open hatch. “You can’t leave,” he said. I have activated a force to keep you in.”
To test that pronouncement, Arliss released the dog and scrambled for the exit. An unseen wall and its charge bounced him back. Tossed into Flanders’ garbage pile, the boy tasted vileness. He stumbled across the chamber, where he discovered a hatch, slightly ajar. Swinging it wide, he discovered the alien’s personal space, where it bunked and stored some creature comforts.
“Keep out of there,” the Twekian shouted, frantically.
A spiteful impulse shoved Arliss into the room. He began tossing packs of capsules about until he discovered the hatch that allowed him into the control room. His eyes barely managed to focus on the instruments before him, when Baker came through, sputtering and fuming. “Disagreeable twerp,” he said. “These areas are off-limits. You would court disaster to fool with these controls. Right now they are set up to direct a continuous signal to guide my rescuers and it has just fuel enough to lift me into the mother ship. So don’t go fooling with things.”
Arliss displayed an impish grin. “Will you let me go home?”
“I have explained to you why I can’t do that.”
The boy randomly grabbed what seemed to be a control stick, suddenly realizing the entire operation was an almost exact replica of the game system in his own residence. He could move this pod to the sheriff's office on Highway 5 if that was what he decided. “You are not so advanced as you think,” he said, still musing.
Baker began screaming, in his own Twekian language.
Finally, when the boy had not made a move for several minutes, he calmed down. “Let us reason this thing out,” he began, in a more moderate tone. “Why would you risk this speck of Earth getting annihilated over my getting kidnapped? Don’t you know yet that our forces are many generations ahead of you, scientifically? We have weapons that make your nuclear weapons mere child’s play.”
Arliss wore a mask of smugness. “I don’t think so. I don’t think your people waste effort to build weapons. I think it is we who could annihilate you. I bet a water hose and a feeder full of snail poison would fix you, but good.”
“If you provoke this,” Baker warned, “I promise you, the dog will not survive the encounter.”
“Hee,” the boy snickered. “If your code prevents you from harming me, I am guessing Flanders too will be safe.”
There ensued a quiet period, during which the two balefully regarded one another from a point of stalemate.
“My importing your language gives me hints of who and what you are, almost as if I gained some of your memories,” Baker said. “I implore you to honor your commitment to yourself, to aid your own extraterrestrial, me, for it is your destiny.”
Arliss relaxed. He looked upon Baker, his very own E. T., with great sadness. “I am so disappointed,” he said. “Kids in books and movies get adorable characters, to cherish and protect. At the very least, they have entertaining robots. Me, I get the filthiest smelling, ugliest appearing, of botched creations of nature. How can I not deny this destiny?”
“Because, you are at heart a good person,” Baker replied, sympathetically, placing a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Damn it,” Arliss muttered, crying, cringing.
“Damn it, indeed,” Baker comforted.
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