James Patterson - Watch the Skies

“Dude, that’s low,” said Willy, cracking his knuckles.

“Yes, perhaps that necklace of your mom’s you’re wearing will dispel any lingering doubts you may have. You do know it was hers, don’t you? That footage where you recognized it and started crying is priceless. Just priceless!”

Had the necklace really been a plant, a setup? Had he even filmed my reaction to it… was that even possible?

“So,” he went on, “it’s starting to dawn on you, isn’t it?”

It was no secret that Alparians wore elephant pendants. It was probably just an elaborate hoax meant to distract me, get under my skin, cause me to make mistakes -

“And, look!” he said, pulling out a necklace from behind the bib of his overalls… “We’re twins! Do you recognize it? It was your father’s, of course. Number 1 usually collects them for his trophy case, but this time he knew they’d make great props and let me borrow them. Once he was done spitting on their corpses, that is.”

My mind was reeling, and I winced as I resisted throwing everything I had at the flat-screen display-but I knew that was exactly what Number 5 wanted. He was just trying to keep me from thinking rationally. There was no way he’d been in that farmhouse twelve years ago. The necklaces had to have been manufactured. And any film he showed me of my parents would turn out to be a computer-generated fake.

“Look, Daniel-may I call you Daniel? I’m first and foremost a business creature, so let’s do ourselves a favor and adhere to the negotiating process here. Remember how it works? First we state our goals, and then we start working toward a deal, a compromise. So, you see, for my part, I want to create the most popular reality show of all time. Which conflicts, wouldn’t you say, with your stated purpose of wanting to exterminate me and my crew.”

“Actually,” I said, somehow keeping my game face on, “you have it wrong. All I’m looking for is some information.”

He nodded his fat, slimy head and gestured for me to elaborate.

“All I want to know is exactly what you want with all the people of Holliswood.”

“Well, Daniel, it’s just that they’re as entertaining as heck.” He laughed. “Of course, it doesn’t hurt that they’re good little workers-dumb, loyal, coachable… Did you know they created nearly thirty acres of new ponds here at the farm in just under a month? Unfortunately, there were a couple of accidents along the way. They aren’t the most resilient species in the world. If I had a nickel for every bulldozer-related fatality this week…”

He chuckled to himself. “Anyhow, it’s a shame we had to lose any, but I assure you we were able to recycle their remains-just as we will with the rest of them after each episode. It turns out that on top of everything else they make wonderful fertilizer. And did I mention the women are perfect incubators?”

Dana didn’t let that one go without a response. I just wish she’d tried using words first.

WITH AN ARM that would have turned Roger Clemens green with envy, Dana fired a rock straight between Number 5’s eyes on the display. Sparks flew everywhere, and the screen quickly went dark.

“I think you just voided his Best Buy warranty,” said Joe.

“There are too many televisions on this planet anyhow,” said Emma, patting Dana on the shoulder.

There was a laugh behind us that sounded like Jell-O being liquefied in a Cuisinart. We turned to see Number 5 hovering at the end of the wraparound porch.

Absolutely live and in the flesh for the first time.

“Woo-hoo! You’re a hot-tempered little product of Daniel’s imagination, aren’t you? Can I interest you in some caviar?”

That got the rest of the gang charging at him, but to little effect. He’d thrown some sort of crackling field of electricity around himself, and he laughed as if he were getting tickled as they bumped into the invisible barrier and fell back flat on their butts.

It shouldn’t have come as any great surprise that number five on The List of Alien Outlaws on Terra Firma was not going to be taken down in hand-to-hand combat, but my friends continued to take out their frustrations on his force field-leaping, charging, punching, kicking… and always ending up flat on their backs as they failed to find a gap in his electromagnetic defenses.

Meanwhile, I watched my fish-faced foe as closely as I could-and I can watch things pretty closely.

I monitored his sweat, the rhythm of his breathing, his pulse, the slime oozing from the pores on his belly, the contractions of the suckers on his tentacles, the shape of his slimy nostrils… and, other than almost getting sick at how truly disgusting he was, almost right away I noticed something significant-a “tell,” as a poker player might say of his opponent-his eyes never blinked.

I zoomed in my vision to about 128:1 and quickly understood why. His eyes were held open by very thin, transparent data screens that would be entirely invisible to the human eye, but I could see they were feeding him images, text, and data. It was kind of like one of those heads-up displays in a fighter pilot’s helmet; only, of course, in Number 5’s case, the wiring was inside his body.

But I didn’t have time to think about it much right then.

“Thanks for keeping him distracted, guys,” I said to my friends and hoped they would forgive me as I dematerialized their trigger-happy selves.

“You should have let them keep it up,” Number 5 said, still laughing. “I could have gone all day.”

“I was starting to get that impression,” I said, gloomily.

“Oh, don’t take it so hard,” he said. “Can I help it if I’m bee-oo-tee-ful and completely invincible too?”

BECAUSE IT HAS been scientifically determined that smiling aliens are much less likely than scowling ones to attack violently, I decided to try a charm offensive.

“Boy,” I said, still playing up my disappointment, “you really are powerful, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say I could provide power to all of New York City for, oh, a couple of decades. But let’s not get technical. The important thing is that we’re candid with each other.”

“Candid?”

“Yes, young Alien Hunter. You may have had some occasional luck with my fellow List members, but don’t bother trying out for any of my interstellar casting calls. Your acting skills are atrocious. You meant to distract me with flattery? Do you think this is my first planetary invasion?”

He laughed mockingly and went on. “I can practically hear the gears grinding under that haircut of yours. Which is truly awful, I must say. Who was your inspiration for it anyhow-Cookie Monster?”

“That really hurts coming from a bloated swamp creature like you.”

He chuckled. “Yes, I long ago realized my place is behind-not in front of-the camera. But I’m curious to see what else you have on your mind. I suspect you were looking for some sort of weakness in me, a chink in my proverbial force field. And judging from that smug look that keeps crossing your face, I expect you think you found something. So, tell me, what do you think it is? What’s my Achilles’ heel?”

“A weakness in you, the galvanic director of such intergalactic hits as Desert Planet Booty Call and Shocking Alien Crime Scenes? Not a chance. We’re obviously no match for each other, so… I guess I’ll be going now.”

“Not so fast, you deluded little creep. You think I’d actually let you leave? Just like that? I wasn’t planning on doing this just yet, but it’s nothing we can’t work around in postproduction. Roll cameras!” he yelled at the alien film crews that had been assembling in the yard.