Alien Body: Phane, #1

By William X. Adams

In Alien Body (sci-fi, 80,000 words), Physician Dave Booker is shocked to discover an alien living in his summer cabin. Phane, the alien, is an anthropologist from another star system. His shuttlecraft has crashed, and he must regain it before the mothership gives him up for dead. But Dave is dumbfounded by the alien's appearance, a large, green tennis ball with two eyes on tentacles above his head. Dave's ambitious boss captures Phane, but he escapes. In a wild chase, Phane flees determined pursuers including the military, but it's not easy for a talking green tennis ball to hide. Dave realizes that Phane has much to teach humanity, but can he find his alien friend in time to help him?

• Language: English
• Publisher: PsiFiBooks.com
• Release date: Sep 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781733892704

Book preview

Alien Body

William X. Adams

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www.psifibooks.com

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons is coincidental.

Psi-Fi Books

Copyright 2019 by William X. Adams

All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

License Note

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only and may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and it was not purchased for your use only, then please visit your favorite ebook retailer to purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

ISBN: 978-1-7338927-0-4

Cover Design: SelfPubBookCovers.com/JohnBellArt

Acknowledgements

I am indebted to my writing colleagues at RAW Salon in Tucson who read and critiqued early drafts of the manuscript. Thanks to Sky Wallace for eagle-eyed line editing. I want to particularly thank writer Alice Hatcher and Professor Lars Fogelin for assistance in the book design.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-one

Chapter Twenty-two

Chapter Twenty-three

Chapter Twenty-four

Chapter Twenty-five

Chapter Twenty-six

Chapter Twenty-seven

Chapter Twenty-eight

Chapter Twenty-nine

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About the Author

Chapter One

The July air was hot and dry at Wallowa Lake, a long, thin glacial hollow in the mountains of eastern Oregon. It was a welcome change from the moist climate of Portland. My cabin, near the southern tip of the lake, was five miles from the tiny town of Joseph at the other end. By the time my Jeep bounced down the cabin’s uneven dirt drive, it was three o’clock in the afternoon, and shadows were already growing long. I shut off the engine, slumped back, and sat for a moment to inhale the sweet, pine-scented air.

With my duffel on a shoulder and a bag of groceries in hand, I walked to the lakeside door but stopped when I rounded the corner. The door was wide open. I stared. There was a line of mud on the wooden porch as if somebody had driven a bicycle across it into the house. A light was on in the kitchen.

Damn kids, I muttered. I retreated cautiously and pulled my phone from a leg pocket and quietly called the sheriff. No way was I going in there to confront some band of ruffians who likely had guns. I put my bags back into the car and stealthily reversed out of the drive.

Leaving the Jeep parked on the highway, I walked into the pine forest a few hundred yards down the road and picked my way down to the lake then back along the shore over to the cabin. Hidden among trees by the lake, I watched the house from a distance, looking for any activity. Before long, I saw Deputy Kovacs walk around the side of the building and stomp noisily up onto the cabin porch. He banged loudly on the open door. His other hand rested on his holstered gun as he yelled inside.

Sheriff! Anybody home? He paused and listened. I’m coming in! Hello? He waited another moment then stepped into the cabin. You couldn’t pay me enough to walk into an unknown situation like that. Cops are special people.

Two minutes later, Kovacs re-appeared on the porch and waved me in. He must have spotted me hiding when he first walked past. I felt silly as I stumbled out of the brush into the bright sunlight.

All clear, Dr. Booker, he said as I stepped into the tiny slate foyer. Broken window in the back bedroom. No vandalism. You’ll have to check for theft.

Nothing here to steal.

I glanced around the living room then into the kitchen. Everything appeared normal.

Probably dopers or thieves, the lawman said. You could hire a security guy in town to check the property when you’re away.

Yeah. Thank you for coming out. I didn’t know–wait. What’s that?

My quick visual survey of the living room had stopped at a large green sphere resting on the floor near the fireplace. It was about three feet in diameter and had a fuzzy surface.

That’s not mine.

I walked over to the green ball and cautiously touched it. It was nappy like the felt on a worn tennis ball, but when I pressed, it didn’t give. It was solid. I pushed, and it moved slightly then rocked back to its original position. It was much heavier than I expected. Not hollow.

Maybe one of those beanbag chairs, the deputy said.

It’s not a beanbag. It’s not mine. Somebody brought this in here and left it. What is it?

Maybe it’s a float or a boat bumper. The marina’s not far from here. Could have washed up, and somebody brought it in.

Hell of a float. That big? It’s heavy.

I’ll ask at the marina. The harbormaster would know if it’s from there.

I bent over and smelled the ball. It had a faintly sour odor, organically vegetative as if it had come out of the lake. I stood and faced Kovacs.

Okay, well, thank you, Sheriff. Sorry to call you all the way out here for nothing.

No problem. Kovacs signed a pink sheet of paper and handed it to me. Fill this out if you want to file a report.

Right. Thanks.

He left. I pulled my car back into the drive and brought my stuff into the house and put away the food. Then I flopped into a large brown stuffed chair in the living room and stared at the green ball. I pulled out my phone and called my oldest son, Grant. He hadn’t been to the cabin since last summer, he said, and didn’t know anything about a large green sphere.

It could be an exercise ball, he said. You lie on it. Stretches your back.

What kind of a house burglar leaves an exercise ball?

I called Wes, my other son. He hadn’t been out to the lake either and didn’t know anything about the ball.

"Maybe it is a tennis ball, he suggested. A super-sized advertising prop. We have those here at Nike."

I should have guessed a Nike employee would think of sports equipment.

Too heavy and it has no seams,

We chatted for a moment then clicked off. Whatever it was, it hadn’t been left there by the boys. It must have been left by the housebreakers. I couldn’t come up with another explanation. I went through the cabin alert for signs of damage or theft and saw none besides the broken window. The beds hadn’t been disturbed.

I taped a heavy plastic trash bag over the guest-bedroom window then went outside to turn on the propane and the well pump. The burglars, or whatever they’d been, had already turned on the breakers for the lights but not for the pump. They needed lights but not water? That was weird.

The sun was going down early behind the high mountains on the west side of the lake. I didn’t feel like cooking, so I made a turkey sandwich from the groceries I’d brought and ate it standing at the counter. I poured a mug of decaf and went out on the porch to watch the fading daylight. I sat in a wooden rocking chair and became conscious of my solitude. The night was quiet, only a few night creatures rustling in the woods and the howl of a coyote about a half-mile away. I could already see some stars. You don’t see stars in the city. I rocked, but I didn’t feel quite right. As a rule, I enjoyed silence and my own company. But this was the first time I’d been back to the lake since the tragedy, and the situation felt odd.

The boys had declined to join me. Grant was attending a work conference in Los Angeles. Wesley was skipping his summer vacation this year. He never seemed to leave Nike’s World Headquarters in Portland. Both of them were busy like everyone else, but I was pretty sure they had other reasons for missing the family’s annual week at the cabin. They thought I’d get upset. They had already grieved the loss of their mother, and they didn’t want to go through it again with me. Fair enough, but I felt all right. I felt strong and level-headed. I had moved on. A part of my world had ended with her, yes, but all of it hadn’t.

The investigation had been short when Renee drowned. The official finding was that she had become tangled in underwater weeds near the swimming float. I was disoriented. How could that happen? She was a strong swimmer. Why was she swimming in the lake at night? It didn’t make sense, but she was gone. I was shocked and devastated but also confused.

The funeral was in Portland and was well-attended, but I hadn’t reacted as the boys expected. I went back to work at the university a few days later. I know you’re supposed to wail and beat your chest when something like that happens, but that wasn’t me. When tragedy strikes, you deal with it. Life goes on.

That’s exactly how I felt about my recent diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease, too. Tragedy heaped upon tragedy? Punishment by the gods? I didn’t see it that way. It was a coincidence, a miserable coincidence. As a physician, I’d recognized the early symptoms before Renee’s death: slight hand tremor, increasing muscle rigidity, occasional loss of balance. I went in for tests and sure enough, low dopamine. Fortunately, I’m not a surgeon. A steady hand wasn’t essential to my practice. I could continue in general medicine, and I could still teach. I only had to be more careful getting around. I had maybe fifteen years before I turned into a bowl of porridge. Meanwhile, I wasn’t going to mope about it.

I hadn’t told the boys about my diagnosis. They already had plenty on their minds. Renee was gone before I’d known the results for sure, and I hadn’t mentioned my concerns. Why worry her about something I didn’t know was real? After she died, I decided to deal with the Parkinson’s verdict on my own. I felt there would be time to discuss my diagnosis with the boys later, even though there was really nothing to say. It’s a fact of biology, that’s all.

Darkness had settled on me. I felt agitated. The mosquitoes were eating me alive. I went inside and sipped scotch for an hour while I watched stupid TV shows on a tablet with a cellular connection. Worn out from the long drive, I went to bed early.

My eyes popped open. Had I heard a noise or had I been dreaming? The red numbers on the clock radio said 2:10 am. A sound had awakened me. I listened to the darkness. There it was again, like clinking dishes in the kitchen. My first thought was that Renee was up. She often got up in the middle of the night for a snack. Then I realized that would be a ghost, and I didn’t believe in ghosts. I sat up and started thinking more clearly. Another damn intruder. How’d they get in? I’d locked all the doors and windows.

I threw the covers back and sat on the edge of the bed. In the dark, I felt for my handgun in the bedside table, a thirty-two caliber revolver. I’d just loaded it a few hours before, so I knew it was ready. Damn. I didn’t want to shoot anybody. You have a gun for self-defense, but you never want to use it. I stood, gun in hand, and listened. I heard shuffling, like someone wearing slippers in the kitchen.

Naked–it was no time for modesty–I crept silently from the bedroom to the living room, holding the gun in front of me. I could tell the dim counter-top light was on in the kitchen, but I needed six more feet to see around the corner. With tiny steps, I slowly moved forward, stretched my neck to look, then froze. My mouth fell open, and my arms fell limply to my sides. What the hell was I looking at?

The green ball that had been in the living room was in the kitchen, but it had changed. Now it had two thin, cylindrical white legs below it with oval feet and two spindly white arms with hands. The arms stuck out from the sides without any shoulders, but it had a short, thin neck and a head. I assumed it was a head, a small green sphere, and it had two gray, writhing tentacles on top. The thing looked like a cartoon character with a couple of cobras on its head. I couldn’t move. I had to be dreaming. Sleepwalking? Hallucinating?

One of the constantly-waving cobras leaned my way and stopped writhing. It had a large eyeball on the end of it. The other turned toward me as well. Those were eyestalks then, like on a lobster. Not snakes. I was being ogled.

Put your hands up, I said, too weakly to sound very threatening. I raised my gun with both hands and aimed it. The ball shuffled around to face me, ‘face’ being an educated guess. It had a horizontal mouth defined by thin lips and short triangular snout, a reasonable approximation to a nose with a couple of nasal openings. No ears, and no eyes, not on the face, anyway. The eyes were two feet above the head on the stalks. The arms draped over the curvature at the sides of the sphere.

My mind couldn’t process what my brain was telling me. It had to be somebody in a costume. But what would be the context? The eyestalks moved around slightly as if they were flowers in a light breeze. Other than that, the creature didn’t stir. I assumed it was a creature. It didn’t seem threatening, or threatened, merely curious. Myself, I wasn’t as far along as curious. I was still at stunned.

What are you doing? I said, in a more firm voice than before. The tentacles quickly aligned into parallel formation, and both eyeballs pointed at my mouth. So it did have hearing. The ears were probably covered, like a bird’s. The eyes seemed to focus. Before, the two tentacles had moved independently, one eyeball pointed at my head, the other at my crotch. Now they were lined up for my mouth. That meant it had binocular vision that used parallax for depth perception, as well as monocular vision in each eye, probably with some kind of fovea with a limited angle of focus. That’s how it seemed to me, based on the behavior of the eyeballs. Stereoscopic vision almost guaranteed it would have a brain and a central nervous system. This was a complex animal. If it wasn’t a joke.

We were frozen in a standoff like two cowboys on a dusty street at high noon. Except he could never wear a cowboy hat because of the tentacles. I had a gun, but I was naked and felt vulnerable. How scary is a naked man with a gun? The creature didn’t look like he ever wore clothes. Can you be naked if you never wear clothes? Is a dog naked? My mind was wandering. I needed to concentrate.

I kept my gun aimed because, despite appearances, I didn’t know what the thing could do. It seemed tame, but how did I know it wouldn’t leap through the air and eat me? I scrutinized the animal. Those skinny legs didn’t look like they could leap. They barely seemed sufficient to support the mass of the spherical body. I didn’t see any evidence of musculature. The thing didn’t have hips, at least not on the outside, so it wasn’t clear how the legs could work, but he was definitely bipedal. Those legs were for walking.

I saw no belly button. No genitals, either, at least not where I would expect to see them. No tail. No claws. How did it defend itself? Maybe it breathed fire. I’d never seen any animal like this.

Hey! I shouted. The animal twitched. Good. I could command its attention. Who are you? What do you want? My mind still insisted it was somebody in a bizarre costume. That didn’t make sense, but neither did anything else. Why did I assume it understood language? Many animals will respond to the pitch and loudness of a human voice. Horses, dogs, even a cat. A cat sometimes.

I scanned the large green sphere again. No nipples. Unless they were under the felty green fur. Why did I think it would be a mammal? It could be anything. This wasn’t like anything on the Animal Channel.

The creature’s lips parted slightly. I tightened my grip on the pistol.

Hey! it said in a sudden outburst. I jumped. The lips closed. The sound had been clear. It had definitely said ‘hey,’ imitating me. The voice sounded human, slightly high-pitched, more like a child than a man.

Who are you? I said again. I still held the gun forward. The creature’s eyeballs were focused on my face, not the weapon. The lips opened again. I couldn’t see any teeth. The lips moved, but no sound came out. The creature seemed to be exercising, preparing to speak. Then the voice sounded, and it spoke in a gentle, melodious voice, the soothing male voice of a radio advertisement for funeral plots.

Hello. My name is Phane 5396. I have no weapon. I am friendly.

I was stunned. The voice was human, or human-like, not a robot’s voice, not synthetic. Smooth. Friendly? I wasn’t persuaded.

What are you? Why do you speak English? Is this a stunt? What do you want? That was too many questions, but I couldn’t stop myself.

The eyes stayed focused on my face, those creepy tentacles writhing slightly, the eyeballs watching me closely.

I am Vikosian. The suffix in my name indicates my rank. I am an anthropologist of the sixth order, explorer of the ninth degree, third class... The voice stopped abruptly in mid-sentence. I understand that these designations mean nothing to you. I apologize for that. I am just Phane.

I was dizzy. What the hell was going on? I glanced past him to the countertop. A box of Cheerios cereal was opened. Had the thing been indulging in a snack?

Are you from the lake?

Recently, yes. I needed rest and shelter. I selected this building at random. I am restoring.

Grant and Wes put you up to this, didn’t they?

I lowered my gun because my arms were tired and because I felt ridiculous, standing there threatening to shoot a giant tennis ball.

I do not live in the lake. I am an anthropologist. I spent several solar cycles studying your culture and your language. Unfortunately, I had a problem and needed shelter. That is why I am here.

You’re an anthropologist.

Yes.

From what country?

Vikos. In your nomenclature, it would be Kepler 452b. We have a G-class star similar to yours. It is fourteen hundred light-years from here.

The situation was beyond ridiculous. I couldn’t think straight. I just played along.

A long trip then.

The animal responded without any indication that it could appreciate sarcasm.

For you, it would be. A radio message takes over a thousand years to get here. We did send signals, but there was no answer. That is why I came.

I see. You flew here in your spaceship?

Yes.

Whatever it was, the thing was crazy. The whole situation had to be a joke, a dwarf in a clever, motorized suit. The voice was convincing, though. If it was somebody in a costume, the outfit was well-made. There were no apparent seams or zippers. The thing acted like a genuine animal of some kind. A green animal that was saying it had been traveling for the last millennium-and-a-half at the speed of light. I had to be dreaming, and I couldn’t wake up. What the hell then, go with the flow.

Why don’t we sit in the living room? I’m sure we have plenty to talk about.

I stepped back into the foyer, raised the gun, and gestured with my other hand to the living room. I felt like Humphrey Bogart in an old black-and-white movie. Mr. Phane–or would that be Mr. 5396?–waddled on its short legs past me, into the living room. The legs bent where knees should have been, but it walked stiffly, like a pigeon, not like a person. It went to the spot near the fireplace where I’d first discovered it, stopped and turned to face the big brown chair. The green sphere lowered onto the legs, seemingly absorbing them, so the ball was resting on the floor. That was a neat trick, I thought. Retractable legs. Why would somebody with a costume go to all the trouble to include that feature?

I crossed the living room with my eyes on him. He seemed settled and stable in a resting position, so I dashed into the bedroom and grabbed my bathrobe from a chair, two steps in, two steps out, and I was in the living room again before he had time to move. I wasn’t shy about being naked, but I was getting chilly and feeling foolish besides. What if it was a female tennis ball? That would be embarrassing. No, it wouldn’t. That didn’t make sense at all. My thinking was not clear. That happens in dreams.

With the robe on, I settled into the chair but kept the gun in my lap, my right hand resting on it. I was so confused, I gave up trying to make sense of the situation.

So, Mr. Phane. You are literally a little green man from space, then?

Not a man. I am green, as you can see. That is due to chlorophyll. We photosynthesize up to twenty percent of our energy needs. One reason we chose your planet for study is the abundance of sunlight. It is very habitable. Breathable, warm, plenty of food. Quite a nice planet.

Thank you, I said reflexively. Where’s your spaceship, if I might ask?

Bottom of the lake. I parked it there for safety, but I accidentally locked myself out.

You locked your keys inside the spaceship?

I have been forced to forage for nearly two weeks while I find a way to get back into my craft.

I could call the auto club for you. They might be able to help.

That’s very kind of you, Mister... Excuse me, I don’t know your name."

Booker. Doctor David T. Booker. I’m a physician. Space medicine is my specialty, which probably explains why I’m having this dream.

Pleased to meet you, Doctor Booker.

Dave. You can call me Dave, Mr. Phane.

I am simply Phane. We do not use titles like ‘mister’ or ‘doctor’ because that would be redundant. My suffix, 5396, tells you my position in the social hierarchy with precision.

Naturally.

I was becoming more relaxed but tiring of the Alice-in-Wonderland bit, and I began to get sleepy again. It was still the middle of the night. I’d never in my life had a lucid dream like that. It would be one to remember. I’d be fine in the morning.

Well, Phane, ol’ buddy, I’m going to grab some shut-eye, as we say here on our planet. You make yourself comfortable, and I’ll see you in the morning, okay? Or hopefully, I won’t.

I wrestled myself out of the overstuffed chair, got to my feet, and with the gun in my hand, turned my back on the anthropologist of the sixth order. I walked into the bathroom, found a nighttime analgesic, and swallowed it. On the way to the bedroom, I glanced into the living room and saw that my little green Martian had retracted all appendages and was again simply an oversized tennis ball resting on the floor.

I went to bed and fell into an uneasy sleep.

Chapter Two

Islept in until nearly eight o’clock the next morning. On a workday, I’d be sitting at my desk by seven to prevent the day from slipping past unnoticed as so many of them do, but this was vacation-time. The