Reluctant Alien

By Paul Brockman

Kidnapping is sanctioned in the Galactic Confederation. They call it Collection. They even have a special department for it. Only aliens are Collected, of course, so that’s all right. Sometimes the Aliens Abduction Administration makes mistakes, though they hate to admit it. To their credit they make every effort to remedy their mistakes—after doing their best to find someone else to blame for the error, naturally
Gref Civitano is looking forward to a lazy Saturday. A leisurely breakfast while he reads the newspaper and some left over mail from yesterday; perhaps a walk on the beach later followed by a nap on the couch with the television chattering to itself in the background. Then he read the letter. So much for plans.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Brockman
• Release date: Sep 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781370975518

Paul Brockman

Paul Brockman relocated from England to America in 1984. A retired aerospace engineer, he has written several novel-length stories, mostly in the science fiction and humorous fantasy genres, with an excursion into an autobiographical book about hot-air ballooning. These are currently available as ebooks. Brockman has relocated to Somerset, England

Book preview

Chapter One

The Letter

The envelope bore that indefinable aura of officialdom that even commercial intrusions cannot quite emulate, try as they may. Gref turned it over in his fingers leaving marmalade smears on its pale blue surface. With his free hand he reached for another piece of toast and resumed munching. The envelope, found amongst yesterday’s delivery, and the only piece that he had not tossed away as junk—yet, was unusually long and narrow. It bore no stamp, no postmark, and no return address, just an impressive embossed seal with characters that were hard to read. Gref wondered briefly how an official-looking communication such as this came to be hand delivered to his mailbox. Frowning, he made to open the envelope, depositing more marmalade. The paper proved to be remarkably resistant to his efforts. He wiped his knife on the edge of his plate, smearing butter and marmalade from the steel. Finding no seam in which to insert the knife he groped in a kitchen drawer for scissors. The paper flipped sideways and slid between the blades. Throwing down the useless scissors in disgust, Gref considered his options. He could give up and toss the envelope into the trash bin or he could apply some serious force to the task. Unwilling to be defeated by a mere piece of paper, he fetched his toolbox and rummaged inside it. A box knife scarcely marked the pale blue surface. A pair of tin shears proved about as useful as his scissors—the paper merely turned ninety degrees and slipped between the sharp blades. Out of ideas, he glared at the frustrating object. Apart from his name, the impressive seal, and some recent sticky deposits, it was featureless. Well, perhaps not completely featureless; there was a small back dot in one corner. When he picked at it with his fingernail the dot moved slightly. He worried at it some more and it separated from the envelope save for a thin thread. He grasped the tiny dot and pulled. The thread slid easily along the edge of the envelope and an opening was revealed. Reaching within, Gref withdrew a folded sheet of paper with a fancy letterhead:

PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL

Galactic Confederation

Aliens Abduction Administration

Spiral Arm 336-1842-p

Peripheral Space Division

Haldus

286.36927.3 Standard

Ref: 9764-ACD-20209-73-JQA-3436-K

To: Gref Civitano

Greetings,

Be advised that, as a very young, non-citizen alien, you were Collected by a duly authorized agency of the Galactic Confederation for the purpose of species categorization and inter-species compatibility studies. It has come to the attention of the Administrator that, due to a minor clerical error on the part of a previous Administration, you were, upon completion of the aforesaid studies, returned to the incorrect coordinates. The Administrator is pleased to inform you that this error will be corrected without further delay.

Please be ready for relocation within the next twenty stunda. Luggage must be restricted to minimal personal effects, and must not exceed twelve funt in mass. Failure to comply with mass restrictions will result in the confiscation and destruction of all luggage.

Since the date of your legal and authorized Collection, your native location, planet Kodu (coordinates 2654.1945.0642 [tracking variable withheld]), has applied for, and been granted, membership of the Galactic Confederation. The Administrator is therefore delighted to inform you that you are now entitled to full citizenship of the Confederation.

In any reply please quote reference 9764-ACD-20209-73-JQA-3436-K

For and on behalf of the Administrator,

Adsiz Propadlik

Disclosure of information contained in this document to non-citizen aliens is strictly prohibited. Failure to comply with disclosure prohibition laws is punishable by a fine, imprisonment, or death (at the discretion of the Administrator). Fines not to exceed 10,000 Confederation Credits (plus applicable taxes).

PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL

It was a joke of course. Well, obviously. Gref tossed the paper into a waste bin and reached for his coffee. It was quite an impressive joke though. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble in its execution. He wondered which of his friends was the perpetrator. Somehow it didn't seem to be the sort of thing any of them would be capable of, though one of them had obviously pulled himself together long enough to assemble a skillful piece of mischief. Gref’s eyebrows drew closer together and consulted each other in puzzlement. He reached into the waste bin and pulled out the letter. Something had been bothering him but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Then he put his finger on it, and the result made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. While Gref was quite willing to concede that there were a lot of things he didn't know, of one thing he was reasonably sure: no paper in the world could be folded flat and then unfolded without leaving even the suggestion of a crease or a curl.

His plan to spend an idle Saturday doing not much of anything had been spoiled by the letter. He thought about calling his friends to see if he could detect any hint of suppressed mirth in their responses. One of them must have sent the letter. The alternative was just too silly to think about. He munched toast and slurped coffee trying not to brood over the envelope that couldn't be opened by any normal means, and the paper that erased its own creases.

His speculations were interrupted by a polite knock at the door. That couldn't be any of his friends. They wouldn't knock on the door, politely or otherwise; they would lean on the doorbell until he rushed to the door because he couldn't stand the noise any longer. Gref set down his coffee cup. Its contents were almost cold anyway. He strode to the door and wrenched it open, ready to cut short any pleas for donations, sponsorships, or petition signatures. What stopped him was the uniform.

It was a uniform, but not blatantly so. Devoid of the usual paraphernalia of buttons, badges, radios, and weapons, the black garment was relieved only by a discreet marking that made Gref's blood run cold. On the right breast, just above where a pocket could reasonably be expected to be found, a circular device looked suspiciously like the seal that decorated the envelope lying on his kitchen table.

The person inside the uniform was of average height, average age, presumably average weight—though Gref abstained from lifting him up to check—and generally average appearance. He was, in short, someone who would not attract a second glance on the street, but for the neat and snazzy uniform.

Runko Leeni, triple A, the visitor announced, briefly flashing a badge. You are citizen Gref Civitano? He looked past Gref and nodded with satisfaction. I see you received your notification. Good. I won't need to waste time in explanation. Let's go.

Now just wait a damn minute! The joke was being carried a bit far, he thought, and it was time to put a stop to it.

Don't worry, pal, I've done a lot of Collections. Nothing to be alarmed about. Here, this will make it easier for you. He raised a small tubular object and a puff of mist hit Gref in the face. Gref opened his mouth to speak and then left it open. Understandingly, the visitor reached up and closed it for him. He reached behind Gref and quietly shut the apartment door. Taking Gref by the arm he urged him forward. All ready then? Now we can go.

Chapter Two

The Interview

Gref later tried to remember what followed but it was all a bit hazy and confused. He didn't mind too much at the time. He was feeling very relaxed. There was quite a lot of walking and some stairs. There was fog too. He distinctly remembered fog, which was a bit silly because it was August and there was no fog in the forecast. There were windows. Lots of windows, all in a row, with people staring out. They were all staring at him, and they looked very excited. Gref waved to the people but nobody waved back. The windows suddenly sped away, taking the people with them. Everything grew dark—except for the bright things, which grew brighter. Then there was more walking.

Gref sat in a chair with a blanket covering him from neck to toe, which was curious because he didn't feel the least bit cold. He was very comfortable and relaxed, but that was about to change.

There now, I told you there was nothing to worry about.

Gref turned his head to face the voice, but there was nothing to see except a blank wall decorated with a few tiny black dots which seemed to move around when he looked at them, and may have been mostly in his head. The voice may have belonged to Runko Leenie, but Gref couldn't be sure. His ears were partly blocked and his head ached.

Don't worry about the headache, said the voice, It'll be gone soon. Sorry about the happy mist. It probably wasn't necessary in your case, but some collectees get very upset by the transfer. Better to be safe than sorry, I always say.

Collectees? Gref snarled. Transfer? The headache was getting worse. He tried to toss the blanket aside and stand up, but the blanket wouldn't budge.

Don't try to stand up, the voice said. You can't anyway. It's for your own protection. The grav unit is on the blink so we’ll just have to make the best of it. Just relax.

Gref opened his mouth to say that he didn't need protecting and had no intention of relaxing, but nothing came out except a whooshing sound. He had been grasped by the hand of a giant and squeezed with such force that he couldn't refill his lungs. The squeezing seemed to go on for a long time, though it was probably no longer than it would have taken to draw a few breaths. The squeezing stopped abruptly. Gref was too busy drawing the few breaths he had missed out on to notice that the blanket had released him and he was now slowly rising from the seat.

Feel free to drift about the cabin if you like, the voice said cheerily. "If you need to barf, there's a bag in the armrest of your seat. A word to the wise: Nobody leaves this vessel unless it's clean. There are only two of us on board, and I don't do cleanup."

Cabin? Barf bags? Vessel? He must be on a ship—or something infinitely worse. He wouldn't admit the possibility that he may be on an aircraft. Gref had so far managed to avoid boarding aircraft. It was one thing to see them roaring through the sky, but quite another to imagine them doing so with him inside. That was stretching credibility and his nerves rather too far. He examined his surroundings, turning his head slowly in deference to the pain. The examination didn't take long. He was inside a rectangular box that contained a dozen identical seats all fastened together and bolted to the floor. There was only one way out of the box, and that was blocked by a door-shaped panel that had no handle. The place looked efficient in a utilitarian sort of way. There didn't seem to be much point in drifting around so he decided to go back to his seat. He discovered, however, that deciding to go back to his seat and actually going back to his seat were not at all the same thing. He had drifted away from the seats, and the nearest wall was too far away to touch, though it was moving slowly closer. This drifting around had implications he really didn't want to think about—so he ignored the whole business. He waved his arms about, accomplishing nothing but a little much needed exercise. He hung around for a while but soon became bored.

Hello! he yelled.

There's no need to shout, the voice replied calmly. I can hear you quite well. I can't talk to you at the moment. I'm busy. I suggest you return to your seat now. I'll be executing some course changes shortly and you can believe me when I tell you that those seats are a lot more comfortable than the walls.

Gref was putting together a few well-chosen words that should convey to the voice that he had every intention of returning to his seat, if only he could figure out how to get there, when a wall tapped him on the back of his head. It was only a very light tap, but it was quite sufficient to convince him that Runko Leenie's advice was well meant. Gref pushed off from the wall and moved in the direction of the seats. In mid flight he realized that he had pushed rather too vigorously. He was also spinning about his short axis. He fell into a seat in a welter of arms and legs, managing to grab an armrest before he could bounce and speed off in a new direction. As he pulled himself into the seat and assumed a more dignified position, the blanket, apparently with his best interests at heart, wrapped around him and cinched him firmly against the cushions. Almost immediately the entire cabin—and, presumably, whatever it was attached to—shifted sideways. Safely cocooned in his seat, Gref moved with it.

Time passed. Several more shifts occurred, but after the first couple Gref paid them little attention. He was busy thinking. The problem was that he didn't have enough data to make the thinking worthwhile. Several times he tried to engage Runko Leenie in conversation but the response was always the same.

"Not now!"

Gref was beginning to regret the amount of coffee he had taken with breakfast, and was about to call out to his captor for directions to the toilet when he was grabbed again by the giant's hand. The squeezing didn't last much longer than it had before, but that didn't help his bladder one little bit.

Suddenly, his weight returned to something like normal and the blanket released him, flopping aside like a live thing and then retracting into the seat. Moments later the door opened. Runko Leenie stood framed in the opening, a smile on his otherwise bland face.

Time to go, he announced. Gref glared at him.

Go where? he demanded.

Home.

Pressure had been building within Gref, in more ways then one. Something had to give. He rose from the chair, marched shakily to the door and planted his fist squarely in his abductor's face. Runko Leenie sat down heavily, holding his hand to his cut lip.

What was that for?

He really seemed to not know.

"What for? What for? For kidnapping me, you bastard! That's what for! And if you don't show me where the nearest toilet is right now, you will be doing cleanup!"

The toilet was not quite what Gref was used to. He had very limited time in which to figure it out but he was not about to ask for help. He managed. Runko Leenie, who was waiting for him as he emerged, treated him to a wounded look that was only partly due to the bloodstained towel he was holding to his lip.

Citizen Komizo wants to see you. The sullen admonition was muffled by layers of towel. Without waiting to see if he was followed, Runko Leenie turned and walked away. Having relieved his various pressures, and having nothing better to do than gather information, Gref padded after the retreating figure.

Beyond the door he found himself in a small space bristling with gadgetry. Every available surface, except the floor and an uncomfortable-looking seat, was festooned with complex panels of mysterious function, made more mysterious by being labeled with symbols he could not understand. Runko Leenie disappeared round a corner. With no time to study the room Gref hurried to catch up.

He emerged from the mysterious room into a large chamber with two big doors and two small doors, all of which were closed except the one through which they had just passed. Runko Leenie had paused at the other small door. He gestured impatiently for Gref to catch up and then stabbed a big red button beside the door. On the other side of the chamber the first door slammed shut. A metallic clang echoed around the chamber. Gref's ears popped and he could hear clearly for the first time since his abduction. A klaxon that would have put an end to anyone of a nervous disposition sounded briefly and the door ahead of them opened. Runko Leenie stepped through the opening and made off at a pace that showed how anxious he was to finish his current task. Without his guidance Gref would have been hopelessly lost in the maze of corridors they navigated.

Runko Leenie stopped at a door no different from dozens of others they had passed save for the symbols marked upon it, that Gref couldn't read anyway. His guide tapped respectfully on the door. His overture was greeted by a single word from beyond the panel. The word must have been a summons because Runko Leenie opened the door and indicated that Gref should pass within.

The door closed behind Gref. Even without his guide, however, Gref was not alone. A matched pair of burly fellows bracketed the doorway. They appeared identical until he noticed that one had more nose hair than the other. Their uniforms, their distrustful expressions, and their vigilant bearing marked them as guards. There didn't seem to be much worth guarding, unless it was the third person in the room. He sat behind a desk that seemed too big for him, though perhaps it was its relative emptiness that made it seem so. A single stylus, a lone notepad, and a small package were all that adorned the polished space of the desktop. The desk's occupant, a diminutive, sandy-haired, clean-shaven fellow, practiced great economy of movement. If he didn't need to move, then he remained still. His elbows rested lightly on the desktop; his hands steepled before him; fingertips touching at the level of his chin. Only his eyes moved as they studied his visitor.

Gref stepped forward, mainly to remove himself from the implied threat represented by the guards. Painted on the metal floor, a broad red line ran parallel to the front edge of the desk. Gref took the hint and stopped at the line.

You are, the sandy-haired man paused to consult his notepad, Gref Civitano?

Gref nodded.

Verbalize please, this interview is being recorded in sound only.

Gref verbalized. Sandy Hair nodded, contrary to his own instruction.

Very well, let us begin. I am Citizen Komizo, Seventeenth Assistant Undersecretary at the Aliens Abduction Administration. In that capacity I welcome you home to the Galactic Confederation. This was intoned with all the warmth and feeling of a well memorized laundry list. As your advisory letter mentioned, the planet Kodu, your place of origin, is now a member of the Confederation. This bestows the privilege of full citizenship upon you. You will, of course, be required to apply for your citizenship credentials before you can begin exercising those privileges.