hostage while simultaneously offering me a boatload of cash to come here. A carrot and a stick. I had to come here, there was no choice. She gave no further instructions, only to come here. That’s it.”
The creature lowered its tentacles from the threatening position. Its human proxy was silent for a few seconds, as if chewing on what Len had said.
“You may now ask questions,” said Mutoku’s limp body.
“What the hell are you?”
“We are Ich-Ca-Gan.”
“What does that even mean?”
“We come from Ich-Ca. A gaseous planet near the center of the Milky Way.”
“You’re a fucking space alien? Seriously? Jesus Christ. Look, this is way more than I signed up for. I’d like to go home now.”
“You may not leave. You are a journalist, and you have been sent here to gather information, which We intend to provide. Tonight, prepare your questions thoroughly. We shall hold dokusan again tomorrow morning.”
Ich-Ca-Gan’s tentacle peeled away from Mutoko’s spine and head. The creature then hovered back to the far wall, lowered itself to the tatami mat, and came to the resting position in which Len had first seen it.
Mutoku collapsed onto the floor.
“Mutoku!”
“Hai.” Mutoku blinked a few times. Slowly, legs shaking, he rose, put his robe back on, bowed three times, and exited the room.
10
Len didn’t sleep.
The next morning, Mutoku and Len bowed in again. Len sat down on the seiza bench. The old man with the bell shuffled out. Mutoku disrobed and Ich-Ca-Gan draped a tentacle over him as he had done before. Mutoku spasmed, then went zombie.
“How are your knees, Mr. Savitz?” asked Ich-Ca-Gan through Mutoku.
“They’ve bothered me for years, but today they don’t hurt at all. I thought I’d never walk again the way you zapped me.”
“Sometimes the medicine is bitter.”
“Wow. Wow! Is it OK if I take some pictures of you?” Len asked. “No one will ever believe this otherwise. Also, do you mind if I record this interview?”
A long pause, as if the creature was thinking it over.
“You may do both.”
With the morning sun coming through the window, Len wondered if ASA 400 film would be good enough for the lighting. He fumbled to put a roll of film into the old Pentax. He repeated to himself the mental checklist: Bump on the bottom. Pull the film out a bit, but not too much. Thread it through the slot in the spool, wind it and click the shutter, make sure it’s winding onto the spool. Close the door. Wind it and click the shutter, wind it and click the shutter, until it says 0. Take the lens cap off. Meter the light. Don’t screw this up, Len. With shaking hands, he adjusted the shutter-speed dial and aperture ring until the light-meter needle was wavering in the middle. He took thirty-six pictures of the creature, the whole roll, then carefully rewound the film, making extra sure the rewinder lever had gone slack before opening the film door and removing the canister. Len put the canister deep into his pocket and, as though it were the winning lottery ticket, patted his pocket twice to make sure it was still there.
Ich-Ca-Gan waited patiently as Len pulled out the ancient microcassette recorder and a legal pad filled with questions scrawled the night before. The previous day’s shock had given way to a sleep-deprived giddiness. The lunacy of the situation was sinking in: extraterrestrial life was granting him an interview. He made sure the recorder had a cassette in it, and he pushed record. The tape reels began to spin.
“Let’s start with the basics. How did you get here?”
“Space warp. Once the technology is mastered, distance becomes irrelevant.”
“Why are you here?”
“We are scientists. We came to study this planet. However, Our subsequent mission is to save the human race.”
“Save us from what?”
“From yourselves and others. More on that later. There is much to explain.”
“How long ago did you come to Earth?”
“Seventeen thousand
The creature lowered its tentacles from the threatening position. Its human proxy was silent for a few seconds, as if chewing on what Len had said.
“You may now ask questions,” said Mutoku’s limp body.
“What the hell are you?”
“We are Ich-Ca-Gan.”
“What does that even mean?”
“We come from Ich-Ca. A gaseous planet near the center of the Milky Way.”
“You’re a fucking space alien? Seriously? Jesus Christ. Look, this is way more than I signed up for. I’d like to go home now.”
“You may not leave. You are a journalist, and you have been sent here to gather information, which We intend to provide. Tonight, prepare your questions thoroughly. We shall hold dokusan again tomorrow morning.”
Ich-Ca-Gan’s tentacle peeled away from Mutoko’s spine and head. The creature then hovered back to the far wall, lowered itself to the tatami mat, and came to the resting position in which Len had first seen it.
Mutoku collapsed onto the floor.
“Mutoku!”
“Hai.” Mutoku blinked a few times. Slowly, legs shaking, he rose, put his robe back on, bowed three times, and exited the room.
10
Len didn’t sleep.
The next morning, Mutoku and Len bowed in again. Len sat down on the seiza bench. The old man with the bell shuffled out. Mutoku disrobed and Ich-Ca-Gan draped a tentacle over him as he had done before. Mutoku spasmed, then went zombie.
“How are your knees, Mr. Savitz?” asked Ich-Ca-Gan through Mutoku.
“They’ve bothered me for years, but today they don’t hurt at all. I thought I’d never walk again the way you zapped me.”
“Sometimes the medicine is bitter.”
“Wow. Wow! Is it OK if I take some pictures of you?” Len asked. “No one will ever believe this otherwise. Also, do you mind if I record this interview?”
A long pause, as if the creature was thinking it over.
“You may do both.”
With the morning sun coming through the window, Len wondered if ASA 400 film would be good enough for the lighting. He fumbled to put a roll of film into the old Pentax. He repeated to himself the mental checklist: Bump on the bottom. Pull the film out a bit, but not too much. Thread it through the slot in the spool, wind it and click the shutter, make sure it’s winding onto the spool. Close the door. Wind it and click the shutter, wind it and click the shutter, until it says 0. Take the lens cap off. Meter the light. Don’t screw this up, Len. With shaking hands, he adjusted the shutter-speed dial and aperture ring until the light-meter needle was wavering in the middle. He took thirty-six pictures of the creature, the whole roll, then carefully rewound the film, making extra sure the rewinder lever had gone slack before opening the film door and removing the canister. Len put the canister deep into his pocket and, as though it were the winning lottery ticket, patted his pocket twice to make sure it was still there.
Ich-Ca-Gan waited patiently as Len pulled out the ancient microcassette recorder and a legal pad filled with questions scrawled the night before. The previous day’s shock had given way to a sleep-deprived giddiness. The lunacy of the situation was sinking in: extraterrestrial life was granting him an interview. He made sure the recorder had a cassette in it, and he pushed record. The tape reels began to spin.
“Let’s start with the basics. How did you get here?”
“Space warp. Once the technology is mastered, distance becomes irrelevant.”
“Why are you here?”
“We are scientists. We came to study this planet. However, Our subsequent mission is to save the human race.”
“Save us from what?”
“From yourselves and others. More on that later. There is much to explain.”
“How long ago did you come to Earth?”
“Seventeen thousand
Similar Books
