The Replicants

By Gerry Burke

THEY COME IN PEACE, OR SO THEY SAY.

Planet Schmoo is so far into outer space it is the last stop before heaven. When a cataclysmic seismic intervention decimates their world, the Schmooans look for refuge on Earth and a continuation of the lifestyle to which they are accustomed.

Homeland security agent Calvin Swift and his girl-friend, the alluring Alicia Angelico, already have their hands full with interstellar visitors. The once-in-a-millennium Intergalactic Games are in full swing and now they are alerted to alien refugees and their potential to replicate at will.

From the first splashdown in the Hudson River, the visitors also make their presence felt in France, Switzerland, Indonesia and Mongolia. These creatures are smart, inventive and very athletic, and when their intentions become obvious, even President Daphne Doolittle is at a loss. She doesnt know what to do.

This fast-moving humorous narrative pits the superior intellect of the aliens against the gritty determination of one man and his lady, with a little help from his British counterpart, the suave MI6 agent, Bulldog Bartholomew. With the fate of the world at stake, who else would you turn to?

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 25, 2017
• ISBN: 9781532014819

Gerry Burke

Gerry Burke received a Jesuit inspired education at Xavier College in Melbourne, Australia, where he still lives. Before commencing his long career in advertising, he was employed by an international mining company, which included a three year stint in New Guinea. He also dabbled in the horse-racing industry, as an owner and breeder, with some success. Being a former accountant and advertising creative, no one expected Gerry to become a published author, but he embraced this initiative in order to stave off dementia. He has since penned 6 novels, 6 volumes of short stories, and 2 offerings of commentary and opinion relating to Politics, Entertainment, Sport, and Travel. The PEST pseudonym was subjected to a sea change with the introduction of his popular protagonist Paddy Pest to booklovers everywhere. Most people see the garrulous gumshoe from Down Under as a cross between James Bond and Maxwell Smart, and he has been the centre-point of the author’s humour-laden resume. In recent times, there have been diversions into Science Fiction and absolute fiction, all of which have won enthusiastic acclaim. Mr. Burke’s credentials have been well established with ten of his books featuring as a winner or finalist in a variety of international literary competitions. His last three volumes have received multiple citations. Gerry is single and lives with photographs of his best racehorses. http://gerryburke.net

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Copyright © 2017 Gerry Burke.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1480-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1566-3 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-1481-9 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017900519

iUniverse rev. date:  01/23/2017

CONTENTS

Acknowledgments

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Postscript

About The Author

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Editing: Kylie Moreland

Illustrations: Ben Sullivan

Other pictorial content courtesy of

Shutterstock and iStock libraries.

Alicia%20300%20Original%20Acknowledgement%20page.tif

Many thanks to behavioral scientist Alicia Angelico for her uncompromising commitment and fortitude in the face of determined hostility from certain green aliens.

She is a proud servant of a very doubtful organization, the Department of Inhuman Affairs, but her affair with the hero of this tale is accepted literary license and will not in any way prejudice a family rating for the book.

CHAPTER 1

The Zolt was Planetarium Corporation’s last commissioned space cruiser. On the back of their prototype assembly, the manufacturer had promised a state-of-the-art people mover and lauded its sleek dart design which would provide maximum energy diffusion and propulsion. The cabin accommodation offered superior comfort and practicality options that would please crew and passengers alike.

Internally, the décor was cautious contemporary and that’s what you’d expect from the local designers. After all, the inhabitants of Planet Schmoo were renowned for their conservative nature. The porthole curtains were made from a sun-resistant beige fabric that provided a number of shade alternatives. The ever-changing wall and ceiling light plays were understated with muted colors and gentle suggestion, and the walkways were sturdy but cushioned for sound-free pedestrian traffic. Even the rotating pleasure dome holograms in the living quarters were moderate rather than exotic. Xanadu.com had provided titillating content for certain clients but in this vessel the stress release was embodied in visions of verdant nature depictions and animals at play. It was a happy ship.

Commander Jerome PBX5 was in charge but, as we take up this story, Chief Navigator Po was supervising the control deck.

The Zolt had only been on its mission for fifteen thousand light years but to Schnikle Po it seemed like an eternity. He was half way through the paranoia shift and the navigator was stuck with notorious bumble brain, Vinicus Ah, a competent pilot but a one dimensional conversationalist. The pilot’s prognostications on this occasion related to the new comfort girl attached to the Superior B passenger unit.

I’m sure she likes me, Schnikle. I saw all four of her bazookas light up when I smiled at her. Those transparent uniforms don’t hide much and my tentacles certainly responded.

The rise of the machines, thought Po, who was amused by his friend’s enthusiasm. Ah and the girl were both robots and they were not programmed for emotion. Nevertheless, he didn’t like to deflate the pilot’s opinion of himself, especially as it was common knowledge that all robots weren’t created equal. The space industry was very competitive and the Planetarium Corporation was renowned for buying discount models.

The origins of robot templates were a closely guarded secret by all industrial entities as business advantage is a concept that has thrived since time immemorial. Nevertheless, Vinicus Ah looked a bit like Douglas Fairbanks, although his hair lick was more Mary Pickford. These characters were actors that dominated the latest movies pirated from the universe repeater stations. Due to the time difference between planets Schmoo and Earth, it would be a long time before James Bond appeared in this part of the cosmos.

Notwithstanding all that, the navigator needed his pilot to focus on the job at hand, with all tentacles firmly implanted on the various controls that surrounded his work station.

Let’s talk about your love life another time, Vinicus. The approach to planet Earth is rather tricky and I need you to look out for unidentified flying objects. These earthlings may have heard of our athletic prowess and try to impede our arrival. We must be vigilant.

In point of fact, the earthlings were looking forward to welcoming the athletes from Planet Schmoo. The Intergalactic Games were held every millennium and Earth was the host planet. However, this was the first time an invited participant had traveled so far to compete and, quite frankly, little was known of these aliens except that they were supposedly very athletic and quite intelligent.

Imperial Grand Master of the Intergalactic Games, Ronald Hump, thought it would be a good idea to have a few American marching girls on hand for their arrival. You can’t go wrong with marching girls.

The space cruiser Zolt splashed down in the Atlantic Ocean at 7.15 p.m. on Friday 13th July in the Year of the Asparagus. The cruiser’s on-board computer had provided the visitors with probably more information than they needed to know. The abundant planet and their former Chinese rulers historically named their yearly cycle after animals; until the Creature Foundation stepped in and put an end to that. Now they had moved on to vegetables and everybody agreed this was a healthier alternative.

By Saturday night, Hump was presiding over a Welcome to Earth cocktail party at Hump Towers in New York. With their four tentacles working overtime, these guests from outer space were downing margaritas as if they were performance enhancing drugs. On hand were the spies from the Athletic Institute, who were calibrating endurance capability and muscular development. Let’s face it—it’s bad form to be beaten if you’re the host, and word was about that these competitors from afar were looking for bookmakers in order to financially support themselves at long odds.

Surveying the party scene from the corner of the room was the official representative from the Department of Homeland Security, Calvin Swift. Cal was self-conscious in his tuxedo but he was the type of guy who would do whatever it takes to keep his country’s borders safe from any perceived threat.

The mission of this organization has always been to ensure a homeland that is safe, secure, and resilient against terrorism and other hazards. In later times it has been necessary to address threats from undersea and outer space. It has also been necessary to be more proactive in the pursuit of these ideals and consideration and cooperation with other world agencies is a given. For this reason, competent intelligence operatives were recruited and Cal Swift was a natural choice. Prior to his recruitment, he had been the recipient of a Legion of Merit citation, bestowed on him as reward for his stoic contribution, while serving an unnamed government agency. The man knew his stuff.

Attached to his arm like a limpet mine was his female companion, Dr. Alicia Angelico, who was employed by the Department of Inhuman Affairs. Yes, she was a behavioral scientist and very interested in these newcomers from a distant planet. There were those who found it difficult to understand how an uncomplicated guy from homeland security would attract a honey with an academic pedigree but that’s the way it was. Alicia always maintained she had been hooked by his bedroom blue eyes, natural blonde hair and ready smile. He also knew the best places to get quality hamburgers.

In truth, these characteristics were also appealing to other members of the opposite sex, so Alicia had competition. Cal was a bit of all right—anybody could see that. Those bedroom blue eyes were always busy and they looked down from a great height. He was as tall as a mid-sized basketballer and had hands that a quarterback would die for. Behind his sartorial attire, there was a hint of muscle tone but you would have to take off his clothes to be sure. Alicia wasn’t telling anyone (except her best friend).

The reverse attraction was easy to understand because he was an uncomplicated guy and she had big tits. This was the kind of amateur appraisal provided by his small circle of friends, whose total romantic experiences all revolved around blind dates. Cal’s feelings definitely ran deeper than that. The lady never promoted her superior intellect and her exuberance and warmth was quite beguiling. Certainly, she had long legs and a tight ass but so did some of his football buddies. He liked her better. Then there was that cute dimple on her cheek. He kept coming back to that dimple. It was a defining characteristic, for sure.

Both admitted to being in their thirties and their relationship had, so far, lasted for almost eighteen months. Eventually, the party poopers would move out from the shadows and mix and mingle. After all, Alicia had shelled out big bucks for her fascinating tailored sheath mini cocktail dress, which was low cut at both ends and showed off her assets to great effect. Unfortunately, on this occasion, she would not be the center of attention because the Schmoo girls all had four breasts and were popular with the male guests. Calvin wasn’t that impressed and said so.

Hell, Al, I don’t know why all the ladies are going magoo over these guys. They don’t look so attractive to me.

Well, I don’t know, said the captivated bystander. That third eye is a bit scary but their green skin looks very healthy and they have extremely muscular physiques. Apart from the tentacles, they could be one of us. Look at that guy over there. He has his feelers around three New York models. I wonder what they are thinking.

You know exactly what they’re thinking: How many bananas will they find if they remove his trousers? You women are all the same.

Maybe so but I reckon they’ll just find one foreskin. They don’t look Jewish to me.

Although this last comment was facetious, it was Alicia’s business to investigate foreign bodies and their origins. Since the inter-planetary system had opened up, robotic science had moved forward in leaps and bounds and the ability of aliens to replicate was a reality. Thus, security of the planet became a major issue and Calvin Swift was lucky to have a learned behavioral scientist by his side. She had an answer to all his questions.

Have you noticed they all have red hair, the men sound gay and the women are all wearing excessive make-up?

Yes, Cal, there are no boundaries as far as personal appearance goes, but I think the hair is rust. Fifteen thousand light years is a long way if you run out of shampoo.

Replication was a fascination for Alicia but a worry for the security agent. If these visitors were able to morph out their third eye, colorize their skin, and transform their tentacles into two arms, they would look like humans and could blend into the fabric of Earth society. World domination was always an unsavory prospect, if that was what was on their minds, and the Martians had already tried it on.

However, the folks from Mars had since embraced universal unity and had been previous participants in the Intergalactic Games, although their results had been mixed. Their athletes were very competitive on the red surface of track and field but the grass-based disciplines gave them trouble. Who could forget the tragic misfortune of the discus throw that decapitated Jerusalem Jackson as she performed the national anthem?

***

The Schmoo contingent at the Hump cocktail party were the privileged few and their passage through customs and immigration had been fast-tracked. The process would be slower for Schnikle Po and Vinicus Ah. They were crew and would be the last in line.

There was no way the rulers of Planet Schmoo would allow the space cruiser Zolt to undertake such a long journey without a full complement of passengers and so the Superior C cabin was accommodating fee-paying tourists, who had forked-out forty thousand kryptocones for the trip of a lifetime. The Super Superior cabin had been allocated to the athletes and Superior B accommodation was given over to government apparatchiks. These people were mostly spies whose mandate was to melt into the community and drain the life force from the locals. Speech, customs, technology and emotional content were all aspects of the human experience that the aliens would require to replicate these creatures that lived in a land of plenty.

There was no demarcation of travel privileges but the New York mayor was keen to get the well-heeled aliens into the commercial district, so he could provide the usual tourist shakedown. The biggest urgency was to process the arty crowd, so they could get to Broadway before lights down. Cats had been running for over two hundred years and the cast was keen to see the Schmoo visitors in their seats. With all those tentacles, the applause would be twice as much as what they usually received.

At the back of the line, Chief Navigator Po had become a silent observer as his young pilot chatted up the hospitality chick from the Superior B cabin. He could talk the nuts off a nuclear device. Annie Android finally acquiesced and they eventually headed off to an Irish bar to get well and truly oiled. Schnikle found himself alone in a big city and at a loss to know what to do. The line of transport conveyances had diminished rather rapidly, so he hailed the last cab on the docks and mouthed the only New York destination he was aware of —42nd Street.

Due to the time difference of fifteen thousand light years, the 1933 version of this film, starring Ruby Keeler and Dick Powell, had just arrived on Planet Schmoo and the authorities used it as a replication and familiarization device aboard the Zolt. Ginger Rogers had become a poster girl for passengers and crew alike, as she had red hair like most Schmooans. It was a measure of their advanced mental capacity that they knew this because the movie was in black and white.

When Schnikle arrived in the entertainment precinct, he didn’t know whether he was uptown, downtown or somewhere in-between, but he was ready to dance. However, there was resistance from the cab driver who was loud, uncouth and unreasonable. He refused to accept kryptocones as payment for the carriage, and pulled a gun on the honorable visitor. In defense of the poor fellow, he had previously been duped by a purple alien, who had played rock and roll music through a horn in his head. Schnikle Po wasn’t into deception. He just wrapped his tentacles around the guy’s throat and squeezed hard.

The cabbie’s car alarm continued to wail persistently as the navigator walked into the night.

CHAPTER 2

Calvin Swift was trying to get comfortable in one of his boss’s contemporary hard-back visitor’s chairs. Director Sam Shipley was a recent appointment to the top job at the Department of Homeland Security and he had already made his mark. The unit was now stationed in New York instead of Washington and the fellow was so highly thought of that he was allowed to appoint his own interior decorator, a confident and colorful fellow called Roddy DuBois. As Calvin waited for Director Shipley to get off the phone, he couldn’t determine whether his discomfort was a ploy by the director or the decorator. He had once described the latter as a Nancy Boy to his face.

So, Agent Swift, what did you learn about our intergalactic visitors from the Hump soirée? Are they innocent competitors or do they plan to infiltrate our society and challenge our way of life.

I don’t know, sir. The athletes were very receptive to our warm welcome and they responded by drinking most of Hump’s booze and fingering our women. Both sexes indulged in this predatory pastime, so I interpreted it to be some kind of investigative foreplay. Our ladies didn’t seem to mind. The vice president’s wife couldn’t stop giggling.

I see, said the man entrusted with the nation’s most unenvied job. Sam Shipley was not one to show his emotions, and one would have no inkling as to his opinion of the VP’s wife. In other circles, views were varied. She was a controversial figure but her participation in this particular charade was of no importance. The director looked over his glasses at Calvin Swift and continued his briefing. In situations like this, Cal usually produced his most attentive demeanor and locked his gaze at the part on Director Shipley’s scalp. He could never find a strand of hair out of place

Our people have informed me that the crew and other passengers from the spacecraft have scattered downtown, and already there is a report of a suspicious death on 42nd Street. Get down there, Swift, and find out if we need to be worried. I don’t mind a bit of hip hooray and ballyhoo on Broadway, but the victim was a cabbie. In this town, the cab drivers usually murder the passengers.

I understand, Director. This could harm our reputation, but what about the spacecraft? Is it under surveillance?

Samuel Shipley was now at the window of his 36th floor office, peering out into the amalgam of skyscrapers that personified the world’s most concentrated postal district. When he turned to address Agent Swift, his furrowed brow betrayed a countenance that was not at peace with the world.

They’ve dropped anchor in the Hudson River and we’ve got underwater divers all around the space transport, but our boys have been repulsed by an electronic barrier. Why would they do this if they’ve got nothing to hide?

Why would Grizzly Adams grow a beard? thought the perplexed agent, but he didn’t want to antagonize his boss by adding to the confusion. It was best he should extradite himself from his uncomfortable chair as quickly as possible and get on down to 42nd Street. With practiced skill he wormed his way to the door and bade his supervisor an elegant farewell.

I’ll be on my way, Director. I appreciate the complexities of this situation and will endeavor to determine whether we have a problem on our hands. Will I maintain my Omega brief on this one or will I be upgraded to Triple K status?

Shipley smiled thinly because he knew his most effective employee wanted complete autonomy. There was a new dimension to the activities of homeland security and he was aware that he had stepped on a few toes over at the FBI and CIA. Of course, they were only jealous.

He was prepared to give his best agent his head, and a Triple K authority might be necessary if these aliens had more than one life to lose. He immediately acquiesced.

It’s more than a watching brief now, Calvin. You now have a license to kill. Go carefully and watch your back.

***

Schnikle Po was a wanted man but he was unaware of this fact. On Planet Schmoo, purveyors of transportation opportunities were not high on the pecking order and their eradication was permissible. One could argue that a uniform legality like this might not be such a bad thing but Navigator Po had no one to argue with. His efforts at bonding with the earthlings were not going well, with the locals giving him a wide berth. The fellow even tried winking at passers-by with his three eyes, because he had read this was a favored means of communication. Eventually he met some female humans, congregating under a lamplight, who assured him they were not robots. He was not surprised to learn there was a fee for their companionship and was delighted to discover they accepted kryptocones.

As Po was being whisked-off to parts unknown, the Broadway crowd was spewing out of the theaters and onto the pavement around Times Square. The honking of car horns and the cussing of the motorists intermingled with the enthusiasm of the late-night revelers, who were congregating under the ever-bright neon signs of the world’s most exciting thoroughfare.

Those Schmooans in the crowd were bedazzled. They had never seen anything like this before and were ready to believe the cat person called Grizzibella, who proclaimed the dawning of a new day. These were the Schmoo innocents: the fee-paying travelers. They were in town for a good time and they couldn’t have wished for a better start to their adventure.

Then there were the government dudes from Superior Cabin B. They had a completely different agenda.

***

I’ve never seen a neck injury like this before, detective, said the medical examiner at the scene of the cabbie murder. He was addressing an over-worked Johnny from the Midtown North Precinct, who just happened to be the Johnny on-the-spot. Lurking in the background, listening to every word, was Calvin Swift. He was the only one who thought the wounds might have been inflicted by the compression of four alien tentacles, but he wasn’t going to intrude on the ME’s territory and color his opinion. He just let him get on with his job, while he sauntered off along 42nd Street, whistling a tune. This is what one does in this part of the city.

When Cal Swift caught up with the theatergoers, the crowds had dissipated and many had repaired to various bars and eateries in the area. However, there were enough Schmooans still on the streets to give him an opportunity to compare them to the elite athletes he had met the night before. There was always the suspicion that some of the competitors might be synthetic, which was not allowed under intergalactic rules. The testing regime was quite thorough and engineered specimens were usually detected.

The street people were mostly older than the athletes, but they still appeared to be in good physical shape and they had all retained their vibrant red hair. He was happy to engage with the newcomers and discovered they were data-deprived. They asked many questions. Eventually, Agent Swift decided the best way to ascertain their most common inquiry was to quiz the people at the information center on Seventh Avenue. He discovered that the majority of them wanted directions to the nearest prostate clinic.

When Calvin rang Alicia and told her this, she was immediately beguiled by the possibility that, notwithstanding their superior intellectual skills and supposed athletic ability, they were actually backward in their medical capacity. Alternatively, procedures in their own galaxy may have been too expensive.

Gee, Cal, Blue Cross would love this. Imagine how many health insurance premiums they could extract from Planet Schmoo. Did any of them look sick to you?

Not at all, honeybun, intoned the intrepid investigator, who was amused by the degree of enthusiasm bubbling out from his lady’s lips. I would have thought they would be more interested in a plastic surgeon. That third eye definitely needs to go.

That’s ophthalmology, lame brain. Any fool with a good laser could fix that if their client really wanted it fixed. Quite frankly, I’ve come around. I now think it looks rather sexy.

Without knowing it, Alicia had once again given