Josh Roseman - The Clockwork Russian and Other Stories

I didn’t reply. He was right, but I wasn’t going to say it. “So you copied down all the numbers?”

“Nah. I put the DVD in my computer and ripped them to my hard drive.”

The bagel was a little stale, and my jaw ached as I talked around it. “What about the morning show? Did you pull that in too?”

“Yeah.” There was a beep. Ben’s eyebrows went up. “Check this shit out.” He turned his computer around.

In a movie, I would’ve whistled to indicate surprise or shock. Instead, all Ben got was a quiet “holy shit.”

“You believe that?”

I didn’t reply.

I still wanted to believe the impossible was possible. Oh, I knew it wasn’t. I knew it wasn’t possible for a man to fly, or shoot heat rays from his eyes, or dodge bullets, or reverse time. Deep in my heart of hearts, I hoped I was wrong, but I’d long since downgraded my expectations. And aliens? At first, I’d hoped to be an astronaut or end up in Starfleet so I could meet them, but now I had a mental picture of aliens in earth orbit, laughing at us. Or planning to invade. If they wanted to take over, we wouldn’t be able to stop them, and at the rate we were going, sending Roman candles into space instead of actual starships, we’d never get to their planets.

For years, I hadn’t even considered that any alien race might want anything to do with us.

But there it was on Ben’s computer screen:

IF YOU CAN READ THIS MESSAGE ACCEPT OUR GREETINGS ATTEND THE SPORTING CONTEST BETWEEN THE TWINS OF MINNESOTA AND THE DEVIL RAYS OF FLORIDA ON THE 194TH DAY OF THE HUMAN CALENDAR YEAR INFORM YOUR COMRADES SO THEY MAY WITNESS THIS EVENT

“What. In. The. Hell?”

“Yeah, really.” Ben forced a laugh. “Who goes to Twins games, anyway? Couple months, they could’ve seen some football.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t remember picking up my bagel, but there it was in my hand. I put it back down. “I wonder why they’re talking to us this way.”

“No idea. Maybe they can only talk to our computers? Like, maybe they don’t talk? Or maybe they’re deaf or something.”

“It could be anything,” I said slowly. “Maybe they’re telepaths, or they come from a planet where the air is too thin and sound doesn’t carry…” But I trailed off. “I have no idea.”

“We going to tell anyone?” He didn’t usually sound this thoughtful. “I mean, who would believe us anyway, right?”

I shook my head, a couple of quick jerks. “Has anyone mentioned this to you?”

“Huh-uh. What about that forum you joined?”

I refreshed the page on my laptop. “No one yet, but one guy says he thinks he’s close. Most everyone else says it’s a hoax.”

“No way, dude. No way.”

I definitely agreed with him on that. “So, what, do we get tickets to the game and just show up?”

“I guess.” He turned his computer around. “You buying?”

“I’ll write you a check.” I paused. “You think my kids might want to come?”

Ben slowly closed his laptop. “You’re kidding, right?”

“I dunno, man.” Another refresh; nothing new. “I mean, this could be historic, right? Aliens landing on earth… would they forgive me if they weren’t there to see it?”

He sighed. “Okay, A ? We don’t think it’s a hoax, but what if it is? B , terrorists. C , maybe the aliens are just trying to get us all in one place so they can blow us away or probe us all at once or whatever. D , that’s a Friday and it’s not your weekend to see them anyway, so do you really think your wife’s just going to roll over and let you take them to a game? Do they even like baseball?”

“Dan played little league,” I said. “Sam doesn’t like sports. But he’d come if I was there.”

“How sweet.” Ben’s voice didn’t lend itself to sarcasm. “Seriously, not a good idea.”

“Why not? We’ve agreed it’s not a hoax. I’m pretty damn sure it’s not terrorists, and as for them blowing us up?” I shrugged. “If they were going to kill us, I bet the message would’ve been more attractive. This is just, like, ‘come see us, please,’ not ‘if you come see us, we’ll make you rich’.”

“But what about Michelle?”

“Maybe we can work something out. Go ahead and get four. Five, if your girlfriend is coming.”

“Nah. She hates baseball.”

“Okay. I’ll talk to Michelle.”

“Good luck.”

“Out of the question.”

“Oh, come on, Michelle, it’s one damn night!”

She sucked her cigarette like she was mad at it instead of mad at me, then blew the smoke in my direction. “It’s not your weekend. Hell, even if it was, you don’t get Fridays. You get Saturday, Sunday, and Monday morning.”

I took a couple of steps away — not because of the smoke; I just didn’t want to be that close to her. “Look, Ben won the tickets, so it’s not like there’s money involved.” A small lie, but it wasn’t as if Michelle had never lied to me. “It’s just something nice he wants to do. Why can’t you accept that?”

Michelle dragged down the last of the cigarette, then flicked it out into the parking lot. “It’s very simple, Greg. If the game was next month, or on a Saturday or Sunday, you could take them. But Friday? No. No way.”

“Can we work out a trade?”

She fingered the pocket of her slacks; there was a rectangular bump in one pocket that I figured was her pack. “You couldn’t have found a better time?”

“You don’t return my calls or e-mails, and the last time I went to your house, you called the cops on me for dropping off a book Sam forgot. This is all I had.” I stopped pacing. “Oh, smoke another one if you want, I don’t care!” that old snap, the same one I’d had so often toward the end of our marriage. Apparently I hadn’t forgotten about it. “When’d you start that, anyway?”

“Why do you care?” She didn’t pull out another cigarette, just her lighter, which she turned around and around in her fingers.

“I don’t need my kids getting sick from your smoke. At least you do it outside, right?” She gave me a sharp look. “Hey, I’m sure a judge would be thrilled to hear the primary caretaker started smoking after the divorce. I may not make as much money as you and Randy,” I said; she winced when I mentioned her new husband, “but I do have a three-bedroom apartment. Plenty of room.”

The lighter stopped spinning. “Whatever,” she murmured. “Get them home by noon on Saturday.”

It was juvenile of me — and I knew it — but as I cut into traffic on the way out of the parking lot, I replayed that moment in my head. I finally had some leverage over her, and I could use it.

Not even her nastygram text — “u owe me 1 day of ur 2 wks in dec” — could deflate my mood. Aliens coming to Minneapolis and a victory over Michelle? Best day of the year so far.

The seats were very good — tenth row, a little bit past third base — and Sam, at least, was impressed. I could tell Dan would rather have been out with his friends instead of at a baseball game with his father, especially on a Friday night, but at least he was keeping it to himself.

“Where’s the bathroom?” Sam asked halfway through the bottom of the third.”

“Uh…”

“I’m heading up,” Ben said. “I’ll show him.”

“You cool with that?”

Sam shrugged, imitating Dan, who, if he noticed it, didn’t show it.

“All right. Bring me back some nuts.” Ben gave me that goofy grin that said he was about to make an inappropriate joke, and I rolled my eyes. “Yes, yes, deez nuts, I want deez nuts, now get out of here.”