Brad Watson - Aliens in the Prime of Their Lives

I set the empty bottle on the kitchen counter and took off my clothes and laid them on the chair, then went into the bedroom. Olivia breathed long and slow in her sleep. I carefully pulled the covers away from her, so as not to wake her. It was still so hot in the place. She made a little sound and smacked her lips, rolled herself slowly over to face the other direction. She was so pretty. I lay down beside her and snuggled up, rested my hand on her hip, and we slept, the fan rocking the attic apartment like we were inside some gentle engine, cradled and safe.

SOMETHING WOKE ME UP a few hours later. I saw I’d left a light on in the living room, so I shuffled in there to turn it off. That’s when I saw the man and woman sitting on our sofa. They wore identical pairs of white cotton pajamas and looked sleep-rumpled, and older, in their forties or fifties. They looked familiar, though I couldn’t say I’d ever seen them before. I didn’t know them, that’s for sure. A rush of fear went through me. My scalp prickled, I felt myself shrink up in my boxers. I kind of hunched over, ready to run or fight. But then the woman raised her eyebrows like she’d forgotten something, and waved a hand at me, as if passing something before my vision, and I felt myself relax somehow.

“Who are you?” I said.

The man and woman just sat there smiling at me.

“I don’t want any trouble,” I said. “My wife’s pregnant. She’s asleep.”

I felt foolish and confused. I realized it was the first time I’d called Olivia “my wife.”

“Oh, we know all that,” the woman said. She had a kind of grumbly voice that, even so, wasn’t unpleasant. And it sounded kind of familiar, I didn’t know from where.

“That’s right,” the man said.

“I really think you need to leave,” I said, wishing Olivia and I had a phone, but we didn’t. We couldn’t afford it.

“I’m very thirsty,” the woman said.

“Who are you?” I said.

“We’re what you might call aliens,” the woman said.

“Really,” I said. “You’re from the hospital, aren’t you?”

“No,” the man said. “We’re from a planet in another solar system only about five million light-years from here.” He held his hand up, palm toward me, and then slowly pointed a finger upward as if toward the very solar system he was talking about.

“Really,” I said, feeling so strangely calm all of a sudden that I didn’t quite know what to do with myself.

“If we fizzle and fizz out on you, don’t be disturbed,” the woman said.

“If we get a CME, we might revert,” the man said. “Kind of like a solar flare, but worse.”

“Much worse,” she said, as if bitterly amused.

“Why don’t you get yourself a cold beer,” the man said, “sit down and join us for a while?”

“Would you like one?” I said.

The man seemed as surprised as I was that I’d said this, then said, “I sure would love a beer, come to think of it.”

“Yes, I’m just dying of thirst and I would love a cold beer,” the woman said.

I went into our little kitchen and got three bottles of Budweiser from the refrigerator. On the way back to the living room I looked in on Olivia. She was still sleeping soundly, on her back, her mouth slightly open. At least she looked peaceful, though. The furrow was gone from her brow. I took the beers into the living room, opened them, and gave one each to the man and the woman. We raised them slightly to one another, in a little toast.

“How did you get here from that far away?” I said. I didn’t know much about physics and astronomy, nothing, really, but I was smart enough to know how long it would take even a ray of light to get here from five million light-years away.

“Can’t really explain it,” the man said. “We don’t normally have bodies like this, not limited to this.”

“Are you normally made of light?” I said.

“No,” he said, shaking his head and laughing, not unkindly.

“It has more to do with the fabric of the universe,” the woman said. “Sort of.”

“Negative energy,” the man said.

“Cosmic inflation,” the woman said. “Kaluza-Klein.”

“These are just terms some people are using these days,” the man said. “Their ideas are a little wacked, but they’re going in the right direction.”

“Okay,” I said. “But if that’s the case, where did you get those bodies you’re in?”

The woman grinned.

“Well, we did get these from the hospital, so in that sense we came from there.”

“It’s just easier, logistically,” the man said. “If there’s trouble with the police, or if the hosts have a little problem with the occupancy. And it’s just down the street.”

“I thought you both looked a little familiar.”

“I used to be an usher at the Royal Theater,” the woman said. “This body did, I mean.”

“I was a policeman,” the man said. “A homicide detective, actually. Busted down to traffic cop. I may have given you a ticket.”

“How did you end up in the hospital?” I said. I’d almost said “asylum,” and just caught myself.

“Drugs,” said the woman.

“Depression,” said the man. “Really bad depression.”

I said, “Do you know the old man who hunts imaginary lions on the grounds?”

“Oh, sure,” said the man.

“Imaginary?” said the woman, and she laughed.

“Mr. Hunter, believe it or not,” said the man. “He never got to hunt, before he went crazy.”

“He’s bagged two since then,” the woman said. She laughed again.

“Really.”

“You wouldn’t be able to convince him otherwise,” she said.

“You’ll have to forgive us,” the man said. “Sometimes we take on certain characteristics of the hosts.”

“Like crazy,” the woman said, bumping her eyebrows up and down. “You’re awfully young,” she said then, grinning. “I’ll bet you two ran off.”

“Yes,” I said. “We did.”

“Where are your parents?” she said. “Are they in another state ?”

“No.”

The man and the woman looked at each other for a moment, then nodded. Whatever they were thinking seemed to make them very happy.

“May we have it, when it’s born?” the woman said.

“What?” I said. “No. Of course not.”

“Oh,” she said, disappointed.

“Well, let’s think this over,” the man said. “We don’t have to actually have it.”

“No, I suppose not,” the woman said, cheering up just a bit. “But you could let us have it now, ” she said, leaning forward. “We could take it, and it would be like it was never there.”

“Not like an abortion,” the man said.

“No, not like an abortion,” the woman said. “Just zip, gone,” and she snapped her fingers. “Gone! Into me, I mean. This lady’s not as old as she looks.”

“No side effects,” the man said.

“No,” I said. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. We want to keep it.”

“All right,” the man said.

“But if you change your mind,” the woman said, “just let us know.”

“Okay, but we won’t.”

“All right,” the man said. “But maybe you could let us be close to the child, somehow.”

“Like godparents,” the woman said.

“Yes,” the man said. “We’ll be available for advice. And if anything happens to you, we can take care of it.”

“Or help take care of it.”

“We’re from a very advanced civilization, for lack of a better term.”

“All right, sure,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” the man said, “we won’t interfere.”

“We have so much to offer,” the woman said. “And this place is our interest. It’s our subject, if you will. Like God.”