by Dan Mills
Garrett Vidmar was upset that he was prematurely bald at the age of 29. Of course his nano-synthetic simulation looked completely natural. Except that it never got dirty and it always stayed the same length. In a strong wind his jet-black locks would fly about but it would magically move back into place when he went inside. The memory properties of a nano-synth–sim were remarkable. Garrett had heard people refer to it as helmet hair but that didn't bother him because Famka liked it and that's all that mattered.
Famka Imotal was from the Alpha Centauri cluster. Ever since the Earth was invited to join the Intergalactic Trade Commission, alien life forms had become a common sight on Earth. Famka met Garrett in a nightclub called The Anti-Grav. It boasted to have the best zero gravity dance floor in Seattle. The first time she saw him, he was gyrating in the air, upside down above the floor and his hair was moving like it was alive. That was what attracted her to him, his amazing hair.
Famka was in possession of a temporary work visa. According to the visa, the purpose for Famka's visit was to set up trade relations between Earth and her home planet. Trouble is Famka's visa had expired two months ago. Truth be known, she was on the run.
Herb Falchek pulled up in front of Garrett's hive complex. He maneuvered his brand new Mercedes s250 Interceptor up and to the left until he located Garrett's hive cell. He beeped the horn and waited. Garrett appeared in the doorway and the hatch closed behind him. Herb slid open the passenger door and Garrett stepped from the small porch into the waiting Interceptor. He barely had time to buckle the gravity restraint before Herb shut the door and piloted his s250 into a fifteen-story freefall. Garrett's hair shot straight back, then sprang into place as they leveled out and blended into the morning traffic.
“So tell me about the Centauri?”
“I wish you'd stop calling her that,” Garrett complained. “She's from a small moon called Verticular, which is part of the Alpha Centauri cluster.”
“Whatever, man. Is she any good in the sack?”
“Give me a break. I'm not going to share our sexual activities with a deviant like you. Besides, I'm thinking about asking her to move in with me.”
“Hey man, don't even joke about that. Next thing you know, she'll want to get married. You and I both know, man, that alien / human marriages don't work.”
“Says who? We're actually quite compatible. She even likes some of the same kinds of food that I do”
“I don't know, man. She's probably just playing you until you get hitched. Then the real alien will come out and she'll start sucking down deep fried banana slugs and getting drunk on ammonia vinegar cocktails.”
“You're so full of shit,” Garrett chuckled.
“I'm telling you, man, mark my words. You'll regret it if you let her move in.”
Herb had to pulse the bumper field to keep from hitting a Nissan
Levitaor as it cut him off.
“Jackass! What's the matter with people today? With fifteen lanes and three levels deep, you'd think there would be enough room for everyone in the sky? Hang on Garrett. I'm going to drop to the bottom.”
Herb cut diagonally through the top two levels of traffic and fell in behind a tractor-trailer hauling genetically altered chickens. The sign on the back of the trailer advertised Uncle Hank's Quality Chicken Breasts. The chickens in the trailer were wingless and their legs were mere nubs. A government study showed that the general population ate more breast meat than any other part of the chicken, so the chicken producers fiddled with poultry genes to take advantage of the situation. Waste not want not was their motto.
Traffic on the bottom level was moving faster than the upper two so they were making good time. As they passed the Lake City sky ramp, a 2007 Toyota Camry merged into traffic. It was completely restored to its original condition except that it was now fitted with a turbo charged anti-gravity capacitor.
“Whoa, check out the antique car! They really knew how to style a vehicle back in the old days,” Garrett pointed out.
“Yeah, but the body is made out of metal, man. They didn't have self-healing composites back then. If you put a dent in it, man, it takes a specialist to fix it.”
They left I-5 Skyway and merged onto 526. Ten minutes later, Herb pulled up in front of the Boeing Air and Space building. He guided his Mercedes into an empty slot in the parking carousel.
They had just enough time to have some breakfast. Herb ordered a mucho grande, extra hot, double shot, non-fat half and half, four pumps of vanilla, latte and some kind of breakfast sandwich from a vending simulator. It tasted like a bacon and cheese scramble, but it was probably 100% soy. Garrett skipped the latte and chose a pancake meal and orange juice from the vending simulator. The pancakes came out of the slot like a fruit roll ups on a plate, but as soon as they hit the air they puffed up and began to steam. Cubes of syrup and butter sitting on the stack of hotcakes instantly melted and ran down the sides.
A plastic container with an orange residue in the bottom popped out next. Garrett turned the base of the glass to equalize the pressure on the residue. Ice-cold range juice instantly filled the glass, pulp and all.
“Nothing like a good old fashion breakfast,” Garrett stated.
“Just like dear old mom used to make, man.”
After designing a virtual mock up of a heat exchanger unit for a hyperspace transport, Garrett unhooked his brain terminals and went to lunch. When he got back to work, he discovered that the central cortex was down and the bio-mechs had no idea how long it would take to fix. Garrett spent the rest of the afternoon downloading files from his brain to a desktop data bank.
It was now 3:20 pm and Garrett Vidmar could barely keep his eyes open. These six-hour days were killing him. Ten more minutes and he could pack up and go home.
Garrett unfolded his cram-berry and tapped the upper left hand corner. (The unit was ‘crammed' with everything he needed.) Headlines about a rebellion on Mars flashed across the screen. A short vid stream showed colonists and Federal troops clashing over water rations. Garrett wasn't interested in Martian politics. The colonists knew what they were getting into when they transported to Mars. He didn't feel the least bit sorry for them.
Garrett swiped his hand over the screen and it went on to the sports page. The Seattle Seahawks were in the world playoffs. It was the first time in twenty years. Unfortunately Garrett was even less interested in sports.
He finally found what he was looking for, the New York Times crossword. Garrett picked up a terminal and plugged it into a port hidden by his right eyebrow. He was half way through the puzzle when his cram-berry chimed. He pressed a stud on the side to put his crossword on pause and a live picture appeared. Herb Falchek's face filled the screen.
“Hey, man it's time to get the hell out of here! Let's go have a barley brew.”
“I'll meet you at the parking carousel.”
Herb and Garrett fought traffic south on I-5 until they came to the Denny Way exit. They followed it to Elliot Ave and then north to a local watering hole called Mike's. Herb had to park on the street a block away.
“Aren't you a little worried about leaving your new sled on the street?” Garrett asked.
“No way, man. I have a kickass anti-theft device.” Herb stated. He pressed the arm button on the security node. “Go ahead, man. Try to open the door.”
“If this thing shocks me or something, I'm going to kick your ass.”
As Garrett placed his hand on the door handle, all the door seams disappeared and the windows went opaque. His hand became encased in a solid lump of composite material. A soft female voice informed Garrett that there was no use to struggle and that the authorities would soon be along to incarcerate him.
“Cool, now let me go before the Federals get here.”
“They won't show up unless I press the panic button, man.
“While I have your undivided attention, man, tell me what your alien babe is like in the sack.” Herb said with a grin.
“I'm warning you, Herb. Let me go now or I'll thump you later.”
Garrett and Herb sat in a booth near an animated foosball table. The little soccer players would call out to anyone who walked past, trying to get them to play a round. Each soccer player had his own distinct personality and at times became quite outspoken and foul mouthed.
The little goalie yelled, “Hey, you two!
Herb looked over and then turned back to his beer.
“Yeah you, how about a quick game?” He was missing two teeth in the front and had a broken nose. The blood even looked real.
“I see you sitting there! Why don't you and your date come over here and play a game?”
Now the other soccer players joined in and began to call Herb names like princess, sweet pea and Mary Anne.
“Shut up, man, before I come over there and squash your little heads!”
This just egged the soccer players on and they became even more verbally abusive.
Herb was a little sensitive about his appearance. He wasn't what you would call overly masculine.
“Take it easy, Herb,” Garrett said. “You do realize that you're yelling at virtual images, right? Just ignore them and they'll quit.”
“Yeah, I know, man but it still pisses me off. All three of my brothers are over 6'4” and I had to take after my mother.”
“Hey plastic hair! Can't you talk your little butt monkey into playing at least one game?” screamed a left guard. The other soccer players started to laugh.
“Now that was uncalled for.” Garrett yanked the tablecloth off the table and draped it over the game. The players complained for a minute, and then went silent. No one makes fun of his hair.
Garrett's cram-berry chimed. He took it off his belt and hit the receive button. Famka Imotal's face appeared on the screen. Garrett unfolded it until her image was nearly life-size.
“Hello, Garrrrett!” Famka smiled, showing off her opalescent teeth.
Famka's large black eyes shone like polished obsidian. Her pink skin was the color of a tropical sunset.
Famka smoothed back her auburn dreadlocks and smiled again. “Wherrre arrre ya, Garrrret? May I come ta meet ya?”
“Sure thing, Fam. Herb and I are at Mike's having a beer.”
“See ya soon, Darlin'.”
Garrett signed off and gazed at her image. He couldn't wipe the smile off of his face.
“So what's with her accent, man?” Herb inquired.
“Don't you love it? It's sort of a cross between Irish and Asian. She learned English in like three and a half weeks, so cut her some slack.”
Famka's image was still frozen on Garrett's cram-berry. Herb pulled it away from his friend so he could get a closer look.
“Where is her nose, man? How does she breathe when you guys are making out?”
“From what she's told me, Famka is semi-aquatic. She can hold her breath for like an hour. She also has a ‘blow hole' on the back of her head, so that she can take in air without coming completely out of the water.”
“A blow hole, huh? Have ever you explored that in the bedroom, man?” Herb arched his eyebrows.
“Don't even go there, Falchek.”
“Sorry, man I'm just curious. Is it true that she doesn't have hands and fingers?”
“Yeah, it kind of freaked me out at first but now that I'm used to them, it sort of turns me on. Her arms are suckered tentacles from the elbows down.”
“I don't know about you, man. Earth women aren't good enough for you any more?”
“She's special, Herb. I don't know how to explain it. You'll have to wait and see for yourself.”
They ordered two more beers when the robot waiter came by. It pulled a pair of icy cold Starbucks barley brews from a compartment in its lower unit and placed them on the table.
“That will be twenty dollars, please,” the robot's simulated voice sounded like it belonged to an emphysema victim.
“I'll get it this time,” Garrett said. He took his cramberry and held it against the robot's chest. The robot subtracted the amount from Garrett's account and motored off toward the other side of the room.
Four rough looking dock workers began to play a game of foosball. They were pounding the crap out of the foosball table and the little soccer players were having the time of their virtual lives.
When Famka Imotal walked into Mike's, it was as if some one had hit the mute button. Everyone in the bar stopped what they were doing and watched her stroll up to Garrett. She strutted like a runway model and all five of her well formed breasts jiggled independently.
Famka leaned over and laid a long, wet kiss on Garrett. Then she ran her right tentacle through his simulated hair. It yielded to her touch and then moved neatly back into place. That seemed to break the spell because almost everyone in the bar went back to minding his or her own business. Everyone, that is except the four bruisers playing the foosball game.
“Hey Sugar Britches, how would you like to kiss a real man?” said the nearest foosball player. He stood at least 6'3” and looked like a professional weight lifter.
Garrett turned red with anger. He started to stand up to confront the muscle head, but Famka pushed him firmly back into the seat. She was amazingly strong for a female.
Famka put her left arm around the weight lifter's shoulders and ran her tentacle up the back of his neck and onto his head.
“Now tell me, lad. Does a real man shat in his pants?” Famka's tentacle began to twist and squirm, tapping into his central nervous system.
The weight lifter's eyes widened and he let out a desperate whimper. Beads of sweat popped out on his wrinkled forehead, and then he hunched slightly and groaned. A thunderous fart exploded from his ass, followed by a foul smelling gusher. His buddies collapsed with laughter as he waddled off toward the men's room.
Garrett was laughing uncontrollably when Famka slid into the booth next to him. She wrapped her arm around him and her tentacle dropped into his lap. Garrett jumped slightly, but then he continued to laugh. Herb was beginning to understand why Garrett was so taken with this alien.
Garrett, Herb, and Famka finished their drinks and decided to call it an evening. Ruman Tynes watched from the far side of the bar as they left. His pale, yellow eyes studied them until they disappeared through the front door. Then he was on his feet, weaving around tables and pushed drunks out of his way.
Ruman had to turn sideways to pass through the door. He was only 5'8” tall, but 3 feet wide at the shoulders and his scaly arms were so long, his three fingered hands nearly touched the ground.
It was growing dark and a cold north wind was driving the rain sideways. People on the sidewalks darted into doorways and under awnings to get out of the weather. Ruman ignored the downpour as he stalked his quarry.
Garrett, Famka, and Herb climbed into Herb's Mercedes and it lifted slowly into the air before accelerating toward the I-5 Skyway. Ruman powered up his BMW motor sled and goosed the throttle. It shot into the sky like a guided missile. He had to hunch down below the windscreen to protect his eyes from the stinging raindrops. Ruman could have easily overtaken the Mercedes, but he maintained a respectable distance. There was no need to attract unwanted attention.
They caught I-5 at the Mercer sky ramp and traveled south to I-90. They followed I-90 east and then took the West Mercer Way exit. At this point Ruman switched off his running lights and climbed to 2000 feet. It was against Federal regulations for ground vehicles to fly outside the prescribed flight path, but he didn't care. If he were caught, he would simply claim diplomatic immunity. After all, he was on business from another planet.
Garrett didn't think Herb was ever going to leave. Of course it didn't help that as soon as they got home, Famka stepped out of her clothes and went out to the balcony. She said she liked to feel the rain on her naked skin. She claimed it was what everyone did on Verticular.
Herb's mouth hung open and his eyes nearly popped out of his skull. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was staring. Garrett finally put his hand under Herb's chin, closed his mouth and turned him around. Garrett walked him toward the front hatch while Herb kept glancing over his shoulder at Famka.
“Damn, man. She has it all together.”
“I told you, Herb. She's special.”
Garrett opened the hatch and helped his friend into his Interceptor. “Fly careful, buddy. See you tomorrow morning.”
Garrett closed the hatch behind him and wandered out to the balcony. He admired Famka as she stretched like a cat after an afternoon nap, all naked and glistening from the rain. It was very erotic.
“Hey, Fam. What do you want for dinner?”
“You decide. I'll be happy with whatever you fix,” she replied.
Garrett smiled. How could he have gotten so lucky?
“Lights, please,” he requested as he walked toward the kitchen. Light emitting diodes incased within the composite walls switched on. The walls and ceiling glowed.
“Entertainment, please.”
A streaming news vid appeared on the wall. It followed Garrett as he walked from room to room. It was old technology but it was still functional and Garrett couldn't see upgrading his hive cell as long as the old system still worked properly.
“Old West Channel, please.”
The Naked Spur, an old western, appeared on the wall over the kitchen-vending simulator. It started out with a beautiful vista of snow capped mountains. Jimmy Stewart was riding a horse along a twisting trail in pursuit of an outlaw.
Garrett liked the old flickers; he found them far more entertaining than the digitally shot holographic stories of today.
Garrett punched in the code for two roast beef dinners with a nice bottle of Australian merlot. As soon as the meals hit the open air they began to morph into recognizable fare.
Jimmy Stewart climbed down from his horse and sneaked up on an old timer standing near a cook fire.
He pulls his six shooter and shouts, “Turn around and keep your hands wide!”
The old miner turns around and puts his hands in the air.
Garrett Vidmar reached for the wine bottle as it slid from the drink dispenser, but dropped it when he heard something slam through the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony.
Ruman Tynes guided his blacked out BMW sky sled into a shallow dive towards the balcony where Famka was standing in the rain. As he came within striking distance, Ruman flared the air brakes and executed an emergency stop. The sky sled came to an abrupt halt, but Ruman did not. He was launched over the windscreen and collided with Famka, driving them both through the sliding glass door. A thousand bits of safety glass shot through the living room as Famka and Ruman rolled across the floor.
On the wall behind them, Jimmy Stewart was riding along the bottom of a rocky cliff when he's nearly crushed by a sudden rock slide. The outlaw he's hunting is up there. Jimmy pulls his rifle and takes a few shots at the top of the cliff.
Famka recovered first and went into a defensive stance. Ruman quickly got to his feet and bared a mouthful of triangular, shark-like teeth. Famka hissed and advanced toward her attacker.
“Whoa! What the hell's going on here?” Garrett yelled.
An army soldier played by Ralph Meeker rode up and asks Jimmy what all the shooting is about.
“I'm after a man who killed a U.S. Marshal.” He stammered.
“Mute, please,” Garrett announced. The sound died but Jimmy Stewart and Ralph Meeker were still acting on the wall behind him.
Ruman stepped back from Famka and produced a thin sheet of plastic with some kind of foreign writing on it. He held it out for Garrett to see, while keeping a careful eye on Famka
“I am Ruman Tynes and I have a certificate for the immediate detainment of Dischlor Sensa.” Ruman's voice sounded like two cinder blocks grinding together.
“You've got the wrong person, asshole!” Garrett shouted.
“You are mistaken, sir. Dischlor Sensa is a soul shifter who escaped from a maximum-security satellite in the body of your friend.”
“He's lying, Garrrett. I have never been ta prison in me life.” Famka was bleeding from various superficial cuts. She shivered slightly and looked like she was about to cry.
“Get out of my hive cell, you miserable son-of-a-bitch!” Garrett stepped between them, causing Ruman to lose eye contact with Famka.
A tentacle shot over Garrett's right shoulder and caught Ruman across the eyes. Famka shoved Garrett out of the way and was on Ruman's back before he could react. She wrapped her legs around his mid-section and her tentacles around Ruman's head. Her tentacles began to twitch and squirm. Ruman staggered backward and slammed into a wall, trying to dislodge Famka from his back, but she wouldn't budge. A high-pitched scream came from Ruman as he began to spin in circles. He reached over his back with his long arms and tried to pull Famka off but she had a firm grip on his head and waist. Ruman finally reached inside his coat and pulled out a short-barreled weapon. He placed the weapon against Famka's side and set it off. It roared and flashed like a welder's arc, causing Famka to go limp and slide off of Ruman's back. Ruman pitched forward and collapsed face first into a mound of broken safety glass.
Garrett was in shock. His ears were ringing from the explosion made by Ruman's hand weapon. He tingled all over and was having trouble breathing.
Ralph Meeker joined up with Jimmy Stewart and he began to climb the cliff to sneak up on the bad guy, Robert Ryan.
“This…isn't…real,” Garrett panted.
“This is as real as it gets, human.” Ruman sat up and began to pick bits of glass out of his face.
“My God, you've killed Famka.”
Ralph Meeker and Robert Ryan were fighting now, rolling on the edge of the cliff.
“Famka died the moment Dischlor Sensa invaded her body. Famka's memories were erased and Dischlor took control of her. Famka became a vehicle for Dischlor to escape and nothing more.”
“But she was falling in love with me.”
Ruman finished picking glass out of his face and turned toward Garrett. His eyes were as black as the night sky. “You were being used. Dischlor Sensa loves nothing but chaos.”
Ruman pulled a long, gray plastic-looking strip from the pocket of his coat. He stretched it and gave it a twist. Then he quickly pulled Famka's tentacles behind her back and wound the substance around them. It molded around her tentacles and turned into a solid, unbreakable bond.
Ruman Tynes picked up Famka's limp body and tossed her over his wide shoulder. Broken glass crunched under foot as he walked toward the balcony. Garrett looked at Famka and noticed that she seemed to be breathing, but the shine had left her eyes. She looked like an empty husk.
Garrett followed them outside. It was still raining but the wind had died down. Ruman started his sky sled with a hand remote and maneuvered it over to the edge of the balcony. He laid Famka over the seat and buckled her down.
“Who the hell is going to pay for all of the damages done to my hive cell?” Garrett asked in a testy tone.
“Sorrry about the mess, Garrrett, but it really isn't me problem.” Ruman said in an Irish, Asian accent.
Then Ruman smiled and ran his hand through Garrett's hair. It moved at his touch and then fell back into place. “I love your hair, Darlin', always have.”
Then Ruman winked at Garrett, climbed aboard behind Famka's limp body, and laughed as he sped out of sight.
* * *
Illustrations by Dan Mills
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