After releasing the first three chapters, I'm releasing the fourth chapter in the context of it's full form...so pretty much if you've been keeping up, scroll down a long ways to chapter four - TheHomeSkooled (Michael)
Chapter 1
The Galactic March played in the background, at that moment my head of it’s own volition was laying plans for how to attain a pan-galactic garbleblaster. In the fuzzy background of here and now I can make out the mumbling of our professor, a passionate, but monotone guest lecturer. Gifted in real life, but in a classroom his thoughts were not sparks to light young minds ablaze, but rather a drone of repetitious thoughts, just as likely to fall onto pages of thoughtless papers written through dreary hangovers on Saturday morning. I’m startled and suddenly more aware of my environment as I notice that the band of high schoolers has given up their attempts at unity and simply left us in a painful silence.
Although silent, there is a focus brought to it, each cough, the distinctive sound of one typing a message to a friend, and the slower more resolute clicking of a studious note-taker. Even the sound of a seat mate twisting a pen in his dry hand scratching across the course surface of his skin.
Scripture is being read aloud, but is there a respectful silence? No, there is a silence, but it is that of a fatigued and dispassionate sort, the kind you hear an hour into the State of the Union between the moments of applause.
“Click...click, clack.” My mouth waters as I recognize the sound of Tic-tacs being gently poured out. I spy at ten o’clock a fellow with white, assumably mint, Tic-tacs that match the white of his 14” Macbook Pro.
You feel that there is almost a physical object being passed as a discussion passes through the class. The lecturer who has had a firm grip has just let it drop and roll across the stage, one of the keening students in the back left reaches and grasps, almost fumbling in his jumbled rush of thought, not to fear though as a more confident, but now wiser freshman makes a simple and precise comment, and then easily in an underhand pass it returns back to the lecturer; satisfied with his classes response showing voice, but creating no conflict or irresolution.
I’m starting to wish that the band would rehash the Galactic March, or even a simpler patriotic theme. The dry and dusty silence of academia is weighing heavily and almost pinching my mind as I fight back with what muscles my mind may have to hold it off those oh so sensitive nerves.
Is this familiar? No, it’s not the familiarity of simple, almost cliche phrases of doctrine. It’s the familiar of a story, and illustration from life. His stories are simple and few, like a sparse specking of grass in a dirt yard. They give hope of drama and luscious life, but are only minuscule islands in the thoughts of moth-eaten books.
I can see it, there’s a spacious stage with solely a large lectern to one side and a mammoth projector screen where there should be a curtain. A small craft, not anything more than a coupe or a commuter, could easily fit on stage left. At first no one would recognize, thanks to the absurdity, that anything had changed, let alone the pure impunity of a fellow life form disturbing the unsacred, dank, and resolute calm of the lecturer’s stage.
Although leaving the mirroring panels on, he was not terribly proud of his late model commuter craft, Elby stepped out of of seeming nothing onto the stage and simply queried, “would someone like a lift from this bloody bugger hole?”
Rather than being shocked at his uncouth language, the class as a group at this moment first recognized that something had changed. There was a tall, rather handsome young man with a slightly grayish complexion, wearing nothing less than a Paul Smith suit and a paradoxically young and wild looking paisley scarf. He currently was observing something remarkably similar to the result of an apple landing in the center of a flock of chickens.
The students like hens divided into the runners, the screamers, and the talkers. The runners, much like chickens, chose no particular direction or purpose, but ran over seats, around book bags, and occasionally into each other. The screamers took a much simpler role of screaming at varying pitches, volumes, and consistencies united solely in destroying their vocal chords for lack of better thoughts. And the talkers, well they talked. It’s not what one can call conversation or debate or even comment, but that jarrish babble that erupts in chaos, whether the chaos of a shopping mall on a Friday afternoon or a power outage during the Sunday morning service.
I on the other hand had yelled a hearty, “why yes, thank you,” across the room and was now scrambling from my seat in the center of the back to the relative repose of the stage. Upon the moment of our first meeting, he gave me a brisk handshake and a gentle slap on the back. “Hop right in man, afore we get stormed.”
Chapter 2
“Zwoomshed”
In singular intuitive motion we had stepped into the craft, the hatches were secured, and our craft found it’s way to reasonable ten thousand feet above the surface. It might have been a “shabby pile of commuter crap,” but in they eyes of one who had never actually had a proper experience with inter-galactic technology it was a sight for sore eyes. It’s interior was in the recently outdated decor of natural materials, mostly granite, wood, and artificial moss. The comfort was superb and quite bluntly a refreshing type of geometry.
“...really not an adventurous type. There’s this spot of bad luck and a precarious situation, most ordinary you know, but that’s the way it often comes. Would you mind tagging along as a sort of entourage of grandeur? I’m sure it would be a pleasure, it’s a quick little affair and far better for the education than those classes ever would be. By the way, you can call me by the name of Elby, it's a bit simpler that way. In a jiff I’m stopping by Starbucks and then we can blast, I hope you don’t mind the delay.”
“No problem man.”
“Would you like something, my tab of course?”
“A quad mocha would be great, thanks.”
“We’ll just drop in by Pike Place, everyone is making a hassle about visiting the original location there, but in all honesty there is a shop two blocks down with far better service and equally bad espresso.”
Our craft lurched, dropped, and then gently slowed to a stop next to the entrance of a shop marked by the iconic green mermaid. My new acquaintance swung down from the hatch and briskly entered the shop.
Near this moment I was overwhelmed by my concept of faith, the reason I say, “near this moment,” is that I was so overwhelmed I quit paying much attention to time and the disjointed flow of events from one to another. I thought back and realized there was a small amount of evidence, actually very large number of small evidences that had prepared me for this simple yet flying leap of faith. There were those moments I had honestly been rather disbelieving that it was, “just a dream” when I woke in the middle of the night and noticed a slim and monochromatically dressed girl most likely of sixteen or seventeen years sitting on the chest at the foot of my bed, or leaning against my monstrosity of a dresser. I had always thought it was simply the lighting, but now I realized that she really did have a rather grayish complexion.
Being a budding student of psychology 101 at the time, I was diagnosing everyone of some mental condition or another. Therefore it was no surprise that she was a sterling example of an insomniac in my mind. We typically would discuss hypothetical situations, at least that is how she would present these stories of star crossed lovers and the dramas that always perturb society.
For a couple months it happened often and the hypothetical plots developed and criss-crossed each other. Slowly though, our meetings became less frequent and I had written it off as a recurring and disturbingly complex dream. I had these vague, almost subconscious impressions of an odd man stepping into a phone booth or a wind passing by that implied some unseen physical object's passing. It never really stole my peace with the world and until that shattering moment in class I had never fully realized these incidents in my mind.
I was still enwrapped by these thoughts when I heard the hatch pop open again. My host had in hand both my quad mocha and a caramel macchiato for himself. He gave me an odd look in response to my more obvious than I meant to express disdain for his choice of beverage. To break the soon to be awkward moment I inserted, "where to next?"
"Out of here, and quickly..." Elby glanced at the display above what could be called the windshield. "...I'm afraid a couple of fellows over at the air base are confounded by their radar right now and we'd best quit distracting them from real threats."
I was quiet and discreetly watched as he flipped a couple switches and then took hold of the control stick.
"Oh, you're probably wondering where we're actually going now, eh? I think we're just going to hop over to my flat on Arcon 14. It's a quick trip and a smooth little flight in."
"Um, what is Arcon 14 like?"
"Arcon 14? It's a funny little place. Mostly a lot of woodsmen who'd rather just ignore the galaxy and a couple of miniature tycoon types running wild wilderness adventure tours and such. The tagline is something like, 'you've never seen the galaxy until you've seen a four ton grey lechur.' Anyways, I've got a nice flat on the backside where it's mostly snow and mountains and no pesky tourists."
"Sounds pleasant enough."
"By all means, it's hard to find that kind of peaceful abandon these days. You've got to excuse me, but I need to study up in what time we've got."
With that he slid his seat back, grabbed a reading tablet from the center console and engrossed himself in his studies. I stared out the window to notice some stars flying past and a distant planet, well that's what it appeared in my mind, approaching rapidly. The on-board computer started spitting out some gibberish about a twelve degree approach with a vertical delay reboost, which coincided with some erratic swerving of the craft. By this point we could see little out the windshield but the looming planet. My friend was still engrossed by his tablet and unconcerned about what appeared to be our imminent death by smashing into a gigantic orange planet. Trying to hide my quickly diminishing fearlessness, I let out the breath I was subconsciously holding back as the craft suddenly launched itself up and darted to the right. I could now see around the large orange planet as we grazed by it's surface and began to slow for our approach to a small greyish green planet previously hidden behind the orange blob.
As we landed we entered a tunnel of sorts next to a cabin which would fit with the woods of Montana except for a cement and glass exterior of a more Frank Lloyd Wright appearance. I could sense us move through the tunnel and then stop in front of a slightly lit cement wall. As we stepped down from the craft, I was struck by the scent of leather, pine, and smoke. This scent stood in contrast to my expectation based on my surroundings; the room was large enough it was hard to describe it as a room. The slab of cement we stood on stretched into the murky gloom cast by occasional lights which hung from a ceiling I couldn't quite make out, but assumed was fifteen or so meters above us. Occasionally I saw an odd craft or other vehicle, some in obvious disrepair and others in pristine condition, but my attention was almost forcibly drawn to a large, perfectly matte white craft which towered over us, even from our stance a hundred meters away. I had to regain my focus quickly as my friend walked to a door a short distance down the wall and we entered a small room with two couches and an impressionist painting of a fearsome creature struggling through a blizzard on the wall.
"Good afternoon, how is your day?" The most intimidating man I had met in my life greeted my friend and handed him a dark burgundy liquor on the rocks. I surreptitiously glanced at his boots, his charcoal suit that was sculpted around his chest and shoulders, and his chiseled face of a weathered grey.
"Antius will show you the guest quarters and make you up a meal if you'd like," explained Elby as he handed his jacket to Antius. "It will require an hour or two for me to be ready to bring you up even with the whole situation. Until then you might like to look around and my tailor should find you sometime soon."
The room which had been vibrating the slightest bit ceased and Antius opened the door, "This is the way friend." He led me into a brightly lit hall, which opened into a large lounge where two of the walls were windows from which I could only see a sparkling fog bank. Antius flipped a switch as he stepped behind the granite counter. Frank Sinatra softly crooned and the lights lightly accented the dark wood shelves of liquors.
Chapter 3
"Is there any drink you would like?" Questions of my foresight and general judgment filled my mind and I was not ready to experiment with alien alcohol.
"Do you have," I queried cautiously, "some Jack Daniels?"
"It is a favorite of his when the winter nights are cold," Antius said in regard to my new acquaintance, as he reached to a shelf hidden below the level of the counter.
Taking my glass I placed it on a table and settled back on a couch near the windows. Staring at the ceiling the pattern of maple planks swirled and ran. My mind started to take its general anxieties and place them into more concise set of questions. Will I be back in time to get my homework done? How is he expecting me to help him? Is the air here okay for me to breath? What happened to my coffee? “Oh, damn it!” I had left my coffee in the craft (my largest pet peeve in my life was when a friend would leave their coffee cup in my car...well when I had a car, I had to sell it to afford this last year).
“I have made a lechur burger and frutas fries for your dinner.”
I rose out of the couch and made my way to the bar where Antius had served a tantalizing burger and yellow fries with a grey sauce. He cleaned behind the bar while quietly staring at me. I did my best to focus on the coarsely ground lechur, avoiding eye-contact at all costs.
“Walk with me,” directed Antius after clearing my place setting. We returned down the hall past the elevator and stepped through double doors into a rustic suite, accented by bare cedar planks and a roaring and somewhat smoky fire. Noticing the scratchiness of wool, I lay down on the bed.
“Hmm, yes, I do believe a wide shawl collar would be best...possibly make it contrasting...,” suddenly my mind realized that a person was quietly examining me in my sleep laden state. Sitting up my mind was jolted by the reality of my location and the four-armed woman inspecting me through a very thick set of lightly tinted glasses. “Well hello, I hope creatures from your planet are okay with being seen during their rest. I’m Terresta, quite honestly the best tailor to ever come from Anisla Major, and many have come from there. Your body is quite convinient to shaping clothes to. You see one time there was an Elithian who requested my services and although I managed it I’m not sure how I shaped the collar around what they like to call their nineteenth head. Do you have preference toward the number of buttons, the material, possibly the color, are patch pockets okay?
“Well um, I’m not quite sure,” I stuttered while still overwhelmed by the flood of words emanating from what I assumed to be my tailor. “I’m sure whatever you choose will be fine, thank you.”
Stepping out of my room an hour later, I was dressed in a midnight blue suit, quite similar to the slim and simplistic grey suit of my acquaintance. Sauntering down the hall, a tumbler of amber liquor in his grasp, I met my friend again. “Well mate, I think I’m about ready for hell. Let’s sit in the lounge and look over the briefing”
I sat with my best posture in one of the armchairs, waiting while my host studied his tablet. Setting his tablet precisely on the coffee table, he flopped back on the dark leather couch. “You’re role is really quite simple you see,” he said softly, “I’ve simply had a spat with some Elithians about a core broadcasting issue and then some snarks from Daskam II were worked up in regards to the other spat and some collateral happenings. You can’t really help but feel sorry for the fellows, but in regards I am not at all responsible. Hell, I might have helped them a great deal with no one’s know, but it’s all in the wash now. As long as you come tomorrow and are a good amiable mate, I’m confident it can all be worked through. Is it crystal where things are at?”
“Yes, um I think I might have the gist.”
“Dashing, court will be opening there in just half an hour so we best make good time.” And with that Elby stood, slipped the tablet into a small leather case he had, and led me back to the space-craft garage.
We stepped into a larger dark, flat charcoal-colored craft. Antius was at the controls while we sat in large seats, back-to-back armchairs, that looked out panoramic side windows. This flight was quite short and left out any heart stopping maneuvers. Before I particularly expected, we had landed and were stepping onto a deep green carpet.
In stark contrast to the garage at my host’s flat, this was a well lit room with a carpeted floor and walls painted with murals. There were tall brass doors that opened for us and we walked through what I assumed was a security checkpoint manned by tall, slim grey-skinned men in matching black suits. We strode through another set of brass doors, entering a breath-takingly large hall, the ceilings vaulted and painted with even more murals. At the distant end of the hall there was a set of sparkling gold doors at least twenty meters tall, slowly opening outwards. Thick carpet seemed to suck awaya the sound of our footsteps and that of the many other thin and rigidly dressed aliens hurrying each to his own door. Traversing the length of the hall, we stepped through the tall, gold doors.
Chapter 4
Inside, the theme of the room seemed to be that of threes. Three chairs, approaching the grandeur of thrones, stood in the center. These were surrounded by three galleries. We sat down at the long hardwood desk in the front of one of these galleries, one being slowly filled by a trickle of various breeds and races of aliens, all somber and sharply dressed.
We sat for half a minute, Elby unpacking his minimilistic briefcase, while I surreptitiously studied the grime that had accumulated under my nails. A hush suddenly cut out the somber shuffle and whisper that had been struggling to fill the room. Dressed completely in paisley’s, plaids, feathers, and anything but the kitchen sink, seventeen aliens, all of broad and muscular stature, entered and located themselves at the desk of the third gallery. The utter silence continued to grip the room.
“It was a hole in four point eight.”
“No, I do believe he sunk it by a fore draft, making it a seven point two.”
“It was a slant shot, absolutely no higher than five and a half!” The three, what I hazarded to guess were judges, shuffled in while seeming to argue their last game of golf of Esxism (I learned of the sport far later). Much to everyone’s relief, the muffled shuffle of papers had resumed. The justice wearing what appeared to be the greenest robe, cleared his throat and began to mumble the script of the opening script.
I had found a paper clip, which if bent right, could scratch the grime from under my fingernails. Drawing what appeared to be an Asian smiley face, Elby seemed unworried about his upcoming hearing or life in general. Studying the three windows placed between each gallery, similar, but definitely not the same as stained glass, I thought I was starting to understand the underlying emotion of an inexplicable melancholy the artist had meant to communicate.
The images of glass seemed to all explode before my eyes simultaneously...it took me a moment to realize that it was not an illusion but men in full body armor and what looked like a much higher tech, and much more deadly assault rifle than I had carried in my term in the navy. “Boom...baboom, bang!”I was blinded by the familiar light of flash-bang grenades, my ears rung. As my vision cleared I saw the opposing gallery a cloud of a feathers, a bloodied bit of paisley scarf having landed on my navy suit. Realizing I had mindlessly taken cover behind the desk, and grabbed a large silver pen as a makeshift shiv, I attempted to form a plan.
My planning session was for naught though, because two armored men reached over the desk and clamped my arms against the floor. Straining my neck, I saw my friend stretched out, a soldier pulling on each limb. A short, but otherwise typically slim and grey, man stepped out of the confusion near the judge’s chairs. “I arrest you for three hundred eighteen counts of crime against the Intergalactic Monarchy, Captain John Statham!”
Prologue:
Four weeks later as I saw a man being arrested and read his rights on the television, I flashed back to the moment of my apprehension and that of John. It seemed odd to have travelled so far and yet still be burdened by the matters of term papers, which type of milk to buy, or even whether I should say “hi” in the morning to the creepy guy who everyone half believes lives in the steam tunnels under the campus. I had been cuffed, rushed to a dim industrial craft, and dumped off in the woods behind the old gym. No interrogation, no chance to say goodbye to John, not even a brain sucking...just unceremoniously dumped off on the back corner of campus. Adventures happen in many forms and ways, but this one will not be soon forgotten.
