Alien Nation #3 - Body and Soul Read online

  Which it was.

  Indeed, it struck a cord of fear. Where there was one giant Newcomer, there could be more. Newcomers could be a handful under normal circumstances. If they were suddenly popping up seven feet tall—potential juggernauts of destruction—it made police work that much more dangerous.

  And who was to say that the abnormal growth would be limited to seven feet?

  During much of the day, Albert Einstein had stayed on the outskirts of the police traffic. He didn’t want to contribute to the general circus atmosphere that was pervading the giant’s incarceration. But, by the same token, he felt drawn to the pain that radiated from the giant. Pain so strong that he felt he could touch it.

  What finally prompted Albert to action was one human police officer, a tall gangly fellow with an unkempt air. He walked in carefully, glancing right and left as if he wanted to make sure that he was unobserved. He didn’t see Albert standing off to the side, obscured by the open door of the broom closet that he was entering.

  And then, from the officer’s shirt pocket, he pulled a small Instamatic camera, and aimed it at the giant.

  Abruptly a broom blocked his vision before he could push the shutter release. He turned to face Albert, who was—for Albert—quite angry. Nevertheless, Albert’s voice never rose above normal conversational tones as he said, “Please don’t do that.”

  The cop chuckled patronizingly and brought his camera up again. Again Albert raised the broom into his view.

  This time when the cop turned to look at him, it was with a very menacing gaze. “Knock it off,” he said quietly.

  But Albert, refusing to be intimidated, said, “Captain Grazer is very media-conscious. How do you think he’d react to a picture in some tabloid of the giant sitting in a holding cell? I’m sure he’ll start asking around as to who took the picture. Do you think for a moment I’ll cover for you?”

  It was purely a guess on Albert’s part that the cop was going to take a picture for publication. But the expression on the officer quickly confirmed it.

  The cop looked right and left for a moment, and then in a low voice he said, “Look, I’ll cut you in for twenty-five percent.” When Albert’s gaze didn’t waver, he said, “Okay . . . half. Okay? It’d be worth a—”

  “Tell me, sir,” said Albert with genuine curiosity, “is however much money you get paid for this picture really going to be worth losing your job?”

  There was a long, annoyed pause, and then the cop pocketed the camera. “You people all stick together, you know that?”

  “Yes,” said Albert reasonably.

  With an annoyed snort, the cop turned and stalked away.

  Albert looked back at the giant and, to his surprise, saw that the giant was gazing back at him. There was a moment of silent communication between the two of them.

  “You’re very sad,” said Albert.

  When this drew no response, Albert switched to Tenctonese. [“You’re very sad.”] He paused. [“Are you hungry?”]

  The giant simply stared at him, that same picture of misery etched on his face. Albert reached into his pocket and pulled out an apple, extending it to the giant.

  [“Here.”] he said.

  The giant recoiled, growling like a frightened dog. Albert frowned, confused. Was the giant that untrusting that he would shun food offered him, in friendship, by one of his own kind?

  Then again . . . considering the giant’s size . . . maybe there was no one of his own kind. Not to him, at any rate.

  At least when the Tenctonese had landed on earth, they had had each other to give support in the complex assimilation into Earth society. But here was someone who literally had no one except himself.

  A true alien in every sense of the word.

  Albert heard footsteps and, for a moment, feared that the cop with the camera was returning—perhaps this time with friends, who were going to try and “convince” Albert to play along. But he breathed a sigh of relief inwardly when he saw that it was Sikes and George.

  “How’s Tiny?” asked Sikes. If it was meant to sound jovial, it didn’t quite succeed.

  “What did he do?” Albert inquired.

  “He’s a suspect in a murder case,” George said.

  “Really?” Albert looked with new curiosity at the giant. Anyone as fearful as the giant didn’t seem the sort to go on some sort of killing spree. “It must’ve been an accident. He wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose.”

  Sikes tried not to smile at the emphatic tone of Albert’s voice. “Albert, how long have you known this guy?”

  “You mean started talking to him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “About two minutes.”

  Sikes shook his head. “And you’re ready to be his character witness.”

  But George was curious about Albert’s phrasing. “You said ‘talking to him.’ Did he say anything to you?”

  “No. No, it’s been kind of one-sided, actually. But I can just feel it. He’s very sad. He’s lost something.”

  George and Sikes exchanged glances. “The baby?” said Sikes.

  “It would seem to be the only thing that makes sense,” said George. He paused, and then said to Sikes, “I’m going to ask him who he is.”

  “Brilliant, Holmes,” said Sikes.

  George ignored the sarcasm, or perhaps simply didn’t pick up on it. He approached the giant slowly, still being cautious enough to keep his distance from the bars. The giant had a long reach, and it would do no one any good if George suddenly found his neck creaking under the creature’s embrace.

  [“What is your name?”] asked George.

  There was no response. Somehow, George hadn’t expected one, but nevertheless he tried again. [“Do you understand me?”]

  And then he got a reaction out of the giant.

  For a moment he thought that it had come as a result of George’s prompting, but one look at the giant’s face quickly corrected that notion. The giant had lifted his head, but he was not looking at George. Instead it was as if he were looking straight through the Newcomer detective; even straight through the wall behind him. Like a dog responding to a high-pitched whistle that only he could hear.

  It was as if he were sensing something.

  “I need more time with her!”

  Cathy felt as if she were talking to a brick wall. She was carrying the baby, who was nestled in her arms with that same strange, impassive look. Grazer walked alongside, and at one point even gently prodded Cathy forward when she appeared to be slowing down. When he did that, she shot him a glance so poisonous that he withdrew his hand as if a snake had bitten him.

  “I have to follow regulations,” he said reasonably. “We can’t keep the child.”

  They turned a corner and, at the other end, there was the Newcomer couple. Cathy studied them with wary eyes as Grazer said, “Dr. Frankel, these are the Kafkas. They’ll be serving as foster parents. I’m sure they’ll provide a good home,” and then he grinned in that way he had when he was making a stupid joke, “as long as they manage to keep that cockroach problem under control, huh, folks?”

  All three Newcomers stared at him.

  “Forget it,” he said.

  In the holding cell, the giant was now on his feet.

  Although George, Sikes, and Albert were all well out of range, they nevertheless found themselves reflexively stepping backward.

  [“What is it?!”] George demanded.

  The giant didn’t respond. Instead he gripped the bars, his eyes wide, as if he were watching a lover dying of a pernicious disease . . . knowing that he was helpless to save her.

  Cathy studied the Kafkas. They seemed like perfectly decent individuals . . . or, at least, Cathy discerned as much as she could, considering that she’d met them a bare ten seconds ago.

  They were looking, spellbound, at the baby in Cathy’s arms. Cathy looked down at the child as well, expecting to see her usual calm, serene manner.

  But now, for the first time, the child seemed agita
ted. Her eyes were darting nervously about. Apprehensively, Cathy said, “I’ll need to see her on a regular basis.”

  “Of course,” said Kafka, extending his arms.

  The giant screamed.

  It was a sound unlike any Sikes had ever heard. In all likelihood, he would never hear anything like it again unless, of course, he was unfortunate enough to end up in hell to witness damned souls writhing in torment.

  “What’s wrong with him?!” he demanded of George.

  George gestured helplessly and looked to Albert. But the janitor was as flabbergasted by the sudden alteration in the giant’s previously passive mood.

  “I don’t know,” said George, trying to maintain calm. But it wasn’t easy.

  The infant screamed.

  It was silent, and yet deafening. Since the child had been so passive, so calm earlier, this was a horrifying contrast. Her once tranquil eyes were now swirling with turmoil. She began to twist in Kafka’s grip, her tiny fists balling up. Her body became rigid, seizing up almost as if she were in the throes of a fit.

  Or like a junkie going through withdrawal.

  Kafka looked down in surprise at the child’s abnormal shift in mood. He made clicking noises to comfort her, but they seemed to have little effect.

  “She seems upset,” Cathy said, unable to contain her urgency.

  Kafka nodded in agreement, but his assessment of what they should do was at odds with Cathy’s. “Let’s get her home,” he said. “She’ll be calmer once she’s out of here.”

  “Maybe she should stay.” Cathy started to reach for her. The child turned to her, twisting in Kafka’s arms. There was pure terror in her eyes, and she started to reach for Cathy . . .

  But Grazer stepped in between them, facing Cathy and saying firmly, “I can’t allow that. Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Kafka.”

  Cathy stood there, watching helplessly, as the baby was carried away down the corridor.

  The giant, his huge hands on the bars, twisted and writhed as if the bars had been shot through with electricity. The door creaked and moaned under the strain of the giant’s grip.

  “Stop it! Knock it off!” Sikes was shouting.

  “Matt, he doesn’t understand you.”

  “How the hell do you know, George?!” demanded Sikes. “He doesn’t respond to Tenctonese. Maybe he only speaks French. Hey! Vous! Knockez it off!”

  His lame attempt at humor was Matt’s way of covering the panic he started to feel building in him. Because he wasn’t sure if he was imagining it or not, but it looked to him as if the bars might be starting to bend.

  In the corridor upstairs, the Kafkas walked very quickly toward the exit. Franz Kafka was still desperately trying to calm the distraught child.

  [“There there.”] he whispered. And still the child was in the grip of hysterics.

  Cathy watched with a horrified certainty that this was wrong. She wanted to throw herself after them, tackle them, make them realize that the child couldn’t, shouldn’t, mustn’t leave.

  But she couldn’t explain why. She didn’t have the words for it . . . not to give to them, and not even really to explain to herself.

  All she had was a gut feeling, and in a case like this, that simply wasn’t going to cut it.

  Sikes wasn’t imagining it. The bars started to bend.

  Quickly Matt pulled his weapon, George following suit. Albert took a frightened step back, his eyes wide with fear. Sikes wasn’t sure if Albert was more afraid of the giant hurting them or of them hurting the giant.

  “Hey, guy! Easy now!” cautioned Sikes. But he knew that the giant didn’t comprehend, or else simply didn’t care. The creature was going berserk, and there was a very great likelihood that if Tiny didn’t get a grip—other than on a cell door—within the next ten seconds, he was going to wind up with several well-placed bullets in him.

  The Kafkas walked out the door. The last view Cathy had of the baby girl was her anguished look penetrating straight through Cathy’s head, straight into her mind . . .

  Straight into her soul.

  The giant howled once more, the howl of someone who knows that he has lost.

  Sikes couldn’t distinguish the ululation from the giant’s screams of pure rage. Gripping the gun with both hands, and praying that the monster would listen—understand the words, garner the tone, something—he shouted, “Back off! Right now!”

  And the giant did exactly as he was told.

  Sikes was dumbfounded as the giant suddenly released his grip on the bars. He was like a balloon from which the air had escaped. He sagged back, not looking where he was going. The backs of his legs bumped into the cell bench, and he slouched down onto it.

  But it was as if his body had turned to liquid. The bench didn’t hold him. He slid right off it, like a waterfall, and dropped to the floor. He curled his knees up, almost up to his chin, and wrapped both arms around them.

  And said, of course, nothing.

  Sikes and Matt looked at each other.

  “You got an explanation for that, George? Or how about you, Albert? You’re the character witness. What the hell just happened here?”

  “A great loss,” Albert intoned.

  “Yeah, you said that,” said Sikes impatiently. “But . . .”

  “The ‘but’ is, Sergeant,” Albert said quietly, “that losing something once is truly heart-wrenching. But losing it twice . . . that, Sergeant Sikes, is a little taste of damnation.”

  He slung his mop over his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse me,” he said, and moved off down the corridor.

  They watched him go, and then looked back at the now helpless giant.

  And they wondered what would happen if, next time, the creature didn’t back down.

  C H A P T E R 1 3

  SIKES EXPECTED, FOR some reason, that the sex clinic would have large neon lights flashing on and off, with the words Open 24 Hours in capital letters.

  Instead what he found was a rather sedate brown-stone on the campus of UCLA. That didn’t serve to make him feel all that much better.

  As he walked across the campus, he felt completely out of place. Passing students would give him appraising looks. He kept waiting for one of them to point and start giggling, knowing in some arcane student way that he was there for the purpose of signing up for Remedial Alien Boffing. And the student would tell his friends, and pretty soon everywhere he went on the campus, people would be pointing and snickering to each other.

  And once it was all over the campus, it would spread like wildfire across the city. Or even worse—one of those stupid magazines that published articles like “What’s Hot on Campus” would catch wind of it, and his picture would be stuck onto glossy pages in between photos of some rap group and students enjoying spring break in Florida . . .

  Get a grip, for crying out loud, he thought. No one is paying attention to you; it’s all in your imagina—

  “Excuse me.”

  He stopped, his hands deep in the pockets of his leather jacket, and turned to face a student. The young, long-haired individual was wavering slightly from side to side.

  “Yeah? What?” asked Sikes.

  “Are you a cop?”

  Sikes frowned. “Yeah. I’m a cop. Why?”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  The student started to walk away, and now Sikes was extremely confused. “Hey! Kid!” he called out. The student stopped and turned around. “Why did you ask?”

  The kid shrugged. “Well, I figured either you were a cop or else you were selling drugs.” And then he kept on going.

  Sikes watched him go. Then he pulled sunglasses from his vest pocket, and a baseball cap from his back pocket, jamming the former on his face and the latter on his head.

  If he was going to be subjected to stuff like this, at least he could cut down on the likelihood of being identified later on.

  Cathy had left the station house shortly after the Newcomer child had been taken away. She said it was because she wanted to check on some lab re
sults, but that could have been done over the phone. Sikes figured that she really wanted time to compose herself after the clearly grueling day she’d had, and he couldn’t blame her. So he had arranged with Cathy that he would meet her right at the clinic.

  But considering what she’d been subjected to, Sikes really wouldn’t have blamed her if she’d decided that going to this clinic tonight was going to be too much of a strain. No . . . no, he wouldn’t blame her at all.

  In fact, she probably wasn’t even there. If Matt went home right now, he’d probably find a message on his answering machine or perhaps a note tacked to his front door, with Cathy’s apologies for just not having the strength to haul herself out to UCLA.

  That was it. He should really just head straight home.

  He hesitated at the door to the clinic. Just to cover his bases, he would look in to make absolutely certain that Cathy wasn’t there. Yes, absolutely. Look in, walk out. It wouldn’t take more than a second.

  He opened the door and peered in.

  Cathy was looking straight at him.

  There was a line formed at a registration table, and Cathy had made it as far as being second on line. She had been looking at the door with obvious apprehension, but the moment she saw Matt, her face brightened. She gestured eagerly to him that he should join her.

  Sikes smiled as best he could, although he was certain that it came out looking far more like a grimace, and he touched the brim of his cap in acknowledgment. He made his way quickly across the room, making certain not to meet anyone’s gaze directly.

  He got to Cathy’s side. She leaned over to kiss him on the cheek, but Sikes kissed the air a few inches away from her face, and then turned away as if suddenly engrossed with studying their surroundings. Cathy blinked in mild surprise, and then looked at the sunglasses.

  “It’s nighttime,” she said.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Then why are you wearing sunglasses? Are your eyes bothering you?”

  “No . . . well, yes,” he quickly amended. “It’s these darned fluorescents.”

  She glanced up at the overhead lighting. “These are incandescents.”