R. Nevada, S.P.I.: Alien Law

By EK Gillcoan

Is an evil extraterrestrial corporation trying to control the minds of our elected officials and dictate legislation? And if so, would anyone notice a difference? Why does a US Senator's daughter seek out R. Nevada, Strange Phenomena Investigator, for help in finding out what's happening to her father?

Mind reading devices, alien brain scan machines, hypno-brooches, and lucid dreams all play a role in this tongue-in-cheek story of the mind-altering efforts of malevolent alien beings.

Join seasoned investigator R. Nevada, the senator's daughter Ms. McGill, cryptozoologist Carl Pukwudgie, and professor of anthropology Adam Douglas as they encounter one strange phenomenon after another in their search for the truth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: EK Gillcoan
• Release date: Mar 7, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301359738

EK Gillcoan

Author of R. Nevada, S.P.I. series of tongue-in-cheek sci-fi books, devoted husband of Brade Gillcoan (until she gets sick of being married to an obsessive writer) and loyal companion to spoiled Peek-a-poo, Mr. Barkly...

Book preview

R. Nevada, S.P.I.

Alien Law

***

By

E. K. Gillcoan

Copyright © 2013 E. K. Gillcoan

All rights reserved.

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold, given away or redistributed in any fashion. Thank you for respecting the rights of the author.

Dedication and Disclaimer

This book is dedicated to my

loving, patient wife

Brade Gillcoan

who has promised to remain

married to me

until the fifth book

in the series...

- EKG

- - - - - -

This book is a tongue-in-cheek work of fiction. Any similarity of persons, aliens or events described in this book to real persons, aliens or events is purely coincidental.

Chapter 1

It had been a while. A while since he had a bona-fide client, that is. There's always plenty to investigate when you're a Strange Phenomena Investigator, but finding people willing to pay you to do it for them can be, well, an unusual phenomenon. So you'd think any S.P.I. worth his binoculars would jump at the opportunity to conduct an investigation for a well-heeled, paying client. So you'd think.

His office was well beyond its normal state of chaos when she came to see him. Papers everywhere, dog-eared books and bizarre looking magazines splayed open and marked up. Moldy takeout food containers from Valerie's Vegan Vittles strewn about. Even though it was a large room with a high ceiling it felt cramped and crowded, and it was clear that the occupant, much like Nature, abhorred a vacuum. The place smelled like it looked.

The only visible clue that it was a sunny, Spring day outside was the single ray of light that fought it's way through a crack in a thick green window shade and gleamed off of the tarnished brass nameplate that read R. Nevada, S.P.I. perched on the dusty corner of his disheveled desk.

As she cautiously entered the room and looked around, Ms. McGill began to think she was wasting her time. A man who clearly didn't believe in vacuums or trash cans and didn't have either the good sense or the resources to hire a cleaning person may not be the man to help her. But she had nowhere else to turn at the moment. She was sure that anyone else would think she had lost her mind, and she was probably right. Maybe he would be the kind of crazy she needed.

Nevada was sitting behind his desk clacking away at his ancient computer, a dinosaur with a box the size of a small refrigerator sitting alongside a hefty CRT display – something left over from the Triassic period. His wiry dark hair looked as though it hadn't been combed for a week, and it had apparently been that long since he had shaved as well. The elbows of his dogtooth jacket were worn to the point that his shirt was visible through the holes, and he wore no tie. He was trying very hard not to notice that someone had come in. So very hard.

Ah, excuse me. Mr. Nevada? said Ms. McGill.

No. Not in. Nevada kept clacking away intently, his eyes never leaving the computer screen.

Look, she pleaded, "I'm really not interested in wasting time. Yours or mine. I really don't believe there's much to waste. I... I tried making an appointment, but, you don't have voicemail or, apparently, a secretary."

Nevada ignored her hoping she'd get the message and go away. Apparently he had forgotten that that never works.

Mr. Nevada, I've come to see you because I was told you were the only person, the only investigator in the whole northeast corridor who could possibly help me.

Nevada stopped clicking and clacking and turned in his chair to look at his intruder. She was youngish looking, or at least not too oldish, and, he had to say, attractive-ish in a way-too-much-makeup sort of way. Her pleasant voice had a slight southern tang to it. Not deep south – maybe Virginia, he guessed. He could instantly tell that she was both privileged and uptight, most likely born with a silver spoon in her mouth and a large stick up her ass. He could also sense that she was genuinely upset and frightened about something and really needed help. But he was up to his gluteus maximus in research on an unfinished investigation of his own. The investigation, in fact, that had gotten him started, that had gotten him into this crazy business in the first place – that kept him going.

I'm very busy just now, I'm sorry, he said as he turned back to his computer screen.

I see, she said. I don't suppose you have a partner or an associate or something like that who could help me?

Nevada could sense the disappointment in her voice. He swiveled to look her in the eye, intending to be firm but gentle with her. His wild green eyes connected with her surprisingly soft brown ones and he could feel himself starting to feel sorry for her. That scared him a bit. He wasn't going to get involved in what would no doubt prove to be a dead-end distraction of some sort when he felt he was so close to a breakthrough in the investigation of his lifetime.

I don't have a partner or an associate, or a secretary or an employee of any kind, he said. They tend to want things. Like paychecks, or lunch breaks or days off. It can get very awkward.

Ms. McGill sighed heavily and started to move slowly towards the door. Nevada got up and shuffled his lanky torso towards her to walk her out.

Look, leave me your card, he said. I'll make some calls when I get a chance. I'm sure I can find someone on the east coast for you. If not I know a guy in Toronto...

Thank you for your time, Mr. Nevada, she said as she handed him her card. I know how precious it is these days. I just came up to Philadelphia for the day to try and talk to you. I'm going back to Washington on the afternoon train.

Nevada glanced at her card. Wait. McGill. Joanna McGill from Washington, D.C.? You're not related to Senator McGill, are you?

He's my father, she said looking a bit hopeful. He's the reason I need help. Can I please take a bit more of your time and at least tell you why I'm here?

Nevada walked back into the room and started pacing back and forth. He gestured for Ms. McGill to sit in a chair by the desk. He was suddenly very interested in Joanna McGill's story.

Let me guess, Nevada said. You believe that your father's mind is being, let's say, influenced by some outside force, am I correct?!

Well, yes, I mean...how did you...

You think he's being controlled, that his strings are being pulled by some unknown puppeteer, possibly not of this Earth. Isn't that right Ms. McGill?!, Nevada asked with the intensity of a prosecutor.

I know it sounds...it sounds crazy, but...

"And I'm guessing that you haven't approached any of the federal agencies or authorities about this, but instead have come seeking out a somewhat reclusive and uncooperative Strange Phenomena Investigator with a reputation for being a bit untidy and a pain in the gluteus maximus. And that would be because...". He left the sentence for her to finish.

Oh, well, uh... That would be because I don't really feel I can trust anyone in Washington at the moment, Ms. McGill said with her voice trailing off. She looked down at the floor and her head began to shake slowly.

Because you don't think your father is the only one under the influence of this external force, correct?!

Joanna McGill eased herself down into the dusty stuffed chair in front of Nevada's desk and looked down at her trembling hands. Tears welled up in her eyes and her voice cracked as she spoke. Mr. Nevada, I'm an intelligent, educated person. I'm not a crackpot or some...some conspiracy theorist. I may be losing my mind, but I've come to suspect that... She stopped for a moment and drew a heavy breath. I've come to believe, she continued, "that our world, our planet is being prepared for...invasion!"

Nevada walked over to Joanna McGill, leaned down and put his hand on her shoulder. Ms. McGill, I have to tell you that, first of all, I don't believe you're crazy. Not in the least. And trust me, I've known plenty of crazy people. Secondly, and more importantly, I think you may have come to the right man. Let's chat, shall we? One thing tends to lead to another.

Chapter 2

Philadelphia's 30th Street Station was crowded and noisy when Nevada and Ms. McGill arrived for the afternoon train to Washington.

Nevada had immediately dropped what he had been working on and insisted that he accompany Ms. McGill back to Washington so they could talk more on the train. He had heard enough back at his office to convince him that this was a case that needed his immediate attention. As Ms. McGill related her fascinating story to him, a feeling that had been kicking around in a dark corner of his mind had come rushing forward into the light. The fact that he knew what she was going to say before she spoke it was almost reason enough for him to get involved. He knew there was something to this, and he was compelled to find out what, precisely, it was.

Nevada's sudden and complete attention to the situation that she had described to him was on the one hand reassuring to Ms. McGill. She had found someone to help, someone who didn't think she was loony. Someone who might be able to explain the meaning of the disturbing dreams she'd been having. On the other hand, it also meant that her fear that the world was in immediate danger from malevolent beings from another world could actually be real. It meant that the bizarre and unthinkable thoughts she had been having could be true - that aliens with superior technology and superior intelligence who were determined to destroy and/or take over our planet, killing or enslaving all of humanity in the process, were controlling her father's brain in order to facilitate their evil plans. That part sucked.

Nevada brought with him a valise that he always kept packed and ready in his office closet for just such sudden departures. Being deliberately and stubbornly what he would call slow-tech, he also brought along what, for him, substituted as a laptop: a zippered, yellow three-ring binder bag with internal and external pockets and an adjustable strap that contained various writing instruments, a small calculator, a pocket-sized note book, an old pair of compact binoculars and, of course, a three-ring binder filled with many pages of hard-to-read scribbling separated with brightly colored tabs. Of course, saying this substituted for a laptop computer is