Extraterrestrial Refugees

Clarence gingerly lifted his foot and rested it on the empty chair beside him. It was usually where Gemma sat. He glanced over at the monitors that showed what was going on outside the ship’s shielded walls. The perimeter had now extended around the entire ship’s circumference. The crowd of bystanders was still growing, although they had been pushed even farther back from the ship. A city of tents had been established and the food trucks weren’t hurting for hungry customers.

Barkley sat on the other side of the table. “Why do they still come?” he wondered. “What are they hoping to accomplish or gain?”

Clarence shrugged. “It’s strange how some of them are here to greet us, and others,” he glanced down at the bandage wrapped around his ankle, “just want to shoot us.” He looked away from the monitors and over to Barkley. “It’s been over twenty-four hours since they took Gemma. I’m worried about her. I wish they would let us talk to her.” He had been trying tirelessly since she was arrested. He had called every law agency he could think to call—the FBI, local law enforcement, Border Patrol, the prisons that were closest to their location—and had spent hours on hold and being transferred from person to person to no avail. Lying about his identity didn’t get him any furth either.

Clarence tapped his fingers on the table. “I’m going to go out there.”

“What good is that going to do?”

“I need to know if Gemma is okay.”

“Have you tried talking to that Oscar guy?”

Clarence blinked at Barkley then slapped his forehead. “Why hadn’t I thought of that? Why didn’t you suggest it before?”

Barkley had a smug look on his face. “I assumed he would have been the first person you tried to contact.”

Clarence unsteadily rose from the table and hobbled over to the team of hackers and information specialists. Within minutes, he had Oscar’s number. Clarence listened to the dial and ringtone through his communication device. It took a minute, but there was finally an answer.

“No—I’m not giving any interviews.” It was Oscar’s voice.

“Oscar? This is Clarence.”

“Clarence? Oh, sorry. I thought you were another reporter. They won’t leave me alone. Neither will the haters.”

Clarence swallowed. “Haters? They’re bothering you, too?”

“Oh, yeah. Been giving me some nasty threats.”

“Why?”

“For associating with you guys. It’s fine. They’re just scared and acting irrationally.”

“I would hate to see anything bad happen to you because of us,” Clarence said.

“I’ll be fine. Anyhow, what can I do for you?”

“I’m sure you already know. I’m calling about Gemma. I’m desperate to know how she’s doing.”

“I saw her this morning.”

Clarence let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. How was she?”

“She’s doing okay. She’s a little scared, but she’s clever. She seems to know what she’s doing.”

“When will they let her go?”

Clarence listened to Oscar exhale. “I really wish I knew.”

“Is she being mistreated?”

“No.”

“When will you be seeing her again?”

“I don’t know if they’ll let me. But she asked a pretty odd favor of me.”

“What was that?”

“She wanted Legend Baxter’s phone number. She said he’s one of you guys.”

“He is. We sent him here over twenty years ago.”

Oscar belched out a sort of nervous laughter. “Oh, man. That just seems so crazy. Either way, he’s one of the richest men on Earth. He’s super famous and very private. I’ve been working all afternoon to get his number, but I haven’t been able to pin it down yet.”

“If our crew find it and get it to you, can you get it to Gemma?”

“I can try.”

“Do you think he could be of assistance in getting Gemma released?”

“I don’t know.”

Clarence rubbed his chin. “You see, we’re all surprised he and the others haven’t come forward yet.”

“Others?”

“Oh, Gemma didn’t tell you that? There were many of them. The others aren’t as prominent though. Their achievements and contributions, though meaningful, are less apparent in the public eye.”

“I see.”

“I’m sure they all have good reasons for having not contacted us yet. They might not know how, seeing as our communications work a little differently than yours.”

Clarence tapped one of the information specialists on the shoulder and whispered to him that he should find the personal number for Legend Baxter. Within seconds, the man at the computer had it. Clarence turned his attention back to his call with Oscar. “We have the number.”

* * *

Jeff Killian III’s father did not want to get involved. He had been in New Mexico long enough to know life was easier if you just turned a blind eye to the government’s activities, suspicious or otherwise. Jeff’s grandfather was in the end stages of dementia and hospitalized; he was therefore in no condition to venture out to his land to oversee all the commotion that was going on and, possibly, make a profit off it. The Killians, cattle ranchers by trade—Jeff making up the fourth generation of cattle ranchers on that land—weren’t rich by any means. But Jeff dreamt of changing that. This seemed to be the golden opportunity, but his father would hear nothing of it.

Jeff had lied to his grandmother. He had told her he needed a copy of the deed to the land for insurance purposes. Fortunately for him, he and his grandfather shared a name. The deed was folded and tucked into the pocket of his blue jeans as he thundered down the long dirt road toward the ship. The crowd and military vehicles had pounded the ground into a fine dust. A cloud of it billowed up high behind him. Eventually he became slowed by the traffic ahead of him. Dust leaked into the cab through the air vents of his old, beat-up truck. He grabbed the scuffed-up orange juice bottle he used for water and took a long drink to clear the dust from his mouth. He stared as he passed a tow truck loading up a smashed-up car that had been bulldozed out of the way.

He parked his car as close to the compound as he could and got out. He tugged on his jeans and put on his rimmed hat. There were even more people than the news had been showing. Music blasted from all around. He smelled weed and alcohol as he pushed his way through the sweaty crowd. Looking around at the city of tents, he wondered where all of them were doing their business. The smell of barbeque wafted through the air as he passed the line of food trucks.

Not surprisingly, he was stopped once he reached the military’s perimeter. He showed the deed of the land and his identification. “I’d like to speak to the man in charge of this operation as it’s my land and I feel that I should have a say in what’s going on here,” he explained. The soldier radioed to someone up front. A moment later, he stepped aside to let Jeff pass. He felt completely out of place as he walked through the military encampment. The tanks were especially intimidating. He flinched as a shot was fired into the air to take down a drone. It seemed a bit drastic, but the area had been declared a ‘no fly zone.’

A group of officials from multiple government agencies was gathered beneath the protection of a quick shade. A man in military uniform scrutinized the crinkled piece of paper he held in his hand. Jeff wasn’t a military man. He had no idea what the man’s rank was or what any of it meant, he only figured the man was important. The man raised an eyebrow at Jeff as he handed the paper back to him. “We’ve been wondering when you were going to show up,” he grunted.

“Well, I’m here now,” Jeff replied. “I don’t suppose there’s a chance of getting all of you out of here?”

“Not a chance,” the man scoffed, shaking his head. “But you’d be doing us a huge favor if you would get the rest of these crazy people out of here.”

“On the contrary, I welcome their presence.”

A scowl appeared on the man’s face. “Why? What are you getting at?”

“Don’t hate me for looking to make a dollar or two from this entire crazy ordeal.”

“How do you reckon you’re going to do that?”

“Put up a gate and charge an entrance fee and a camping fee. Make these food trucks pay to be here. Basically turn this whole shindig into an alien festival of sorts. Now don’t worry, I’m going to go to the county and figure out what sorts of permits it’s going to take and everything.” He pointed toward the spaceship’s ramp that came down from a door that was almost seamlessly camouflaged in the ship’s side. “Maybe even offer tours of the ship—for a price.”

The man laughed dramatically. “And how are you going to do that?”

“I’m going to go up there and ask them.”

The man pointed at the ship. “Up there?”

Jeff nodded.

“Not happening.”

“This is my land, is it not? What authority do you have to stop me?”

“I don’t care one bit if it’s your land. There’s suspicious activity going on here and a potential national threat. We’re not going to allow you to do anything that could jeopardize the operation here.”

Another man, dressed in a white shirt with a black tie—his black suitcoat was draped over the back of his chair—stepped forward. “We should let him go,” he said.

“What?” the other man snapped. It looked like he was ready to bite the other man’s head off.

“I’m curious what they would say and do.”

“I don’t think they’d go for it.”

“Care to place a bet?”

“Count me in!” another uniformed man piped in from his chair. “I’ll bet fifty bucks they fry him on the spot. ZAP!”

“I disagree,” the military man growled. “I think they’ll allow it, as long as Mr. Killian here splits the profits with them.” He glanced over his shoulder at the foot of the ramp. “Eh, so be it. Today’s been somewhat bland. You can go up there and approach them. Let’s see what they do.”

Jeff, standing at the foot of the ramp, took a deep breath and shook his hands at his sides. He jerked his head to the side to crack his neck. His heart was racing, but he could show no fear. He took a step. That new wedding ring for my wife, he thought. He took another step. The one she’s always wanted, with the big diamond. Another step. Could use a new, reliable truck, too. His reluctant steps were quickening. Barn’s been needing a new roof since I was a kid. That thought led to another: Yes, the kids. Could get Kitty a private piano instructor. And Tina new clothes instead of her sister’s hand-me-downs. His feet made a hollow banging sound as his boots beat against it. Maybe I wouldn’t have to work such long hours anymore.

Before he knew it, he was at the top of the ramp. He slammed his eyes shut. He’d never been a fan of heights and he was a good sixty feet above the hard ground. Yes, the ramp was lined with rails on either side, but they were transparent and gave Jeff the feeling he could just step right off the edge.

He scanned each side of the door for a doorbell. Seeing none, he shouted: ”Hello? Can you hear me?” He stood there awkwardly for a minute before raising a fist and attempting to pound on the door. His fist bounced forcefully back, as if he had hit a rubber ball. He stumbled back a few steps from the force and stared at his hand. He opened and closed his fingers a few times and gave his hand a good shake. It wasn’t necessarily in pain, but it felt like he had touched one of the electric fences they had around some of their pastures. His arm was numb and prickly from the tips of his fingers to his elbow, as if it were asleep. What was that?

Timidly, he reached out his other hand and touched the cool, chrome surface of the door with his fingertips. He stroked it, then tapped it lightly with his fingers. He stepped back and looked up, figuring there had to be cameras somewhere, like the fancy doorbell cameras his friends and family who lived in the city had. He cleared his throat. “Can you hear me? I’m Jeff Killian, the owner of the property you’ve parked your ship on. I just want to talk to you.”

There was no immediate reply, and then a female’s voice came over the speakers. “Do you intend to harm us?”

“No,” Jeff shook his head. He was carrying for his own protection; however, he had no intention nor desire to use it. “I’d like to make a business deal of sorts with you.”

“Just a moment,” the woman replied. Jeff looked back down at the bottom of the ramp while he waited. The group of officials stood down there staring back up at him through their sunglasses. The woman’s voice returned: “The door is opening now.”

Jeff took a step back as the door pushed out a few inches then slid to the side. The men at the bottom of the ramp began speaking to each other in excited tones and pointing up. Justine stood in the doorway. She nervously glanced down at the officials, then flicked her brown eyes back to Jeff. Her frizzy hair was tossed effortlessly by the hot breeze that passed by. “Hello, I’m Justine. It’s nice to meet you.”

Jeff held out his hand. “Jeff. Pleasure to meet you too, ma’am.”

Justine gestured toward the inside of the ship. “Would you care to come inside and talk? We would love to ask your forgiveness for trespassing. We hope we’re not inconveniencing you in any way.”

Jeff had seen the pictures of the inside of the ship on the news. He had heard the story of some guy who worked for the Pentagon having been inside and given a tour. He had survived. The aliens hadn’t hurt him, so why would they hurt Jeff? He nodded, resolute, and stepped into the ship. The door closed behind him. The entry hall, though big, did not waste any space. The ceilings were quite low as well. Everything was designed in a sleek and simply minimalistic way. They did not have the luxury of being luxurious.

Justine twiddled her fingers. “So, hi. I know we didn’t ask permission, but thank you so much for allowing us to park on your property. We’re so sorry for all the chaos it’s caused outside and are happy to reverse any damage done.”

“That’s what I wanted to discuss with you. You see, I think we both have an opportunity to make some serious money here,” said Jeff. Justine knitted her brow and shook her head sharply.

“Oh, we’re not looking for money.”

“Are you planning on living here on Earth or not?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Then you’re going to need some money. Believe you me.”

Justine rubbed her elbow. “What did you have in mind?”