Making the Galaxy Great
The Coolest Alien

McCauley grabbed his arm. The cellar was cramped and damp and musty. Decaying rafters an inch or so above Jason’s head looked as if they might give way at any moment, and the entire space in which they stood was no more than ten feet square. But there was a rotting wooden door in the crumbling stone wall in front of them.

“The church where the Oasis Mission is now located was a station in the underground railroad,” Grace explained as she struggled to drag open the door, which looked like it might have been installed before the Civil War. “And my great great great grandfather donated the land that the church was built on, along with most of the three blocks surrounding it. There’s a network of tunnels under the buildings, so people who hid in the church on their way north could disappear if they had to.”

Jason shook his head. This wasn’t quite as amazing as learning that aliens had been on Earth for decades, but it was a close second. “You’re saying this tunnel connects to the church? The mission?”

He turned to McCauley. “And you’re here to—”

Her eyes almost glowed in the dark. “To help? What, you didn’t think I would? Shit, Fleming, what do you really think of me?”

Jason could not have felt worse if she’d decked him with one of her powerful jabs. “I didn’t mean to imply . . .”

“Would you two please shut the fuck up?” said Tina.

Grace finally got the door open, revealing a narrow, unlit passage that appeared to lead into nothing but darkness. It was even shorter than the cellar, so they had to stoop to walk. Grace led the way. It reminded Jason of a haunted house to which he’d taken Shelby and her friends. He half-expected zombies or ghouls to suddenly jump out in front of them.

They came to an intersecting tunnel and without slowing down Grace continued straight. They had traveled about a hundred yards, by Jason’s reckoning, when they came to yet ancient door. Grace reached for the handle.

“Keep your fingers crossed,” said Grace.

“And weapons ready,” said McCauley, who reached her arm past Jason. In her hand was a pulse weapon.

The door opened and five women practically fell into the tunnel.

“Who are these people?” Jason whispered. “I thought we were rescuing refugees.”

“They’re all Yrrean,” said Grace. “The lucky ones who’ve had surgery.”

Jason took a closer look. “You’re all Yrreans?” He could hardly believe it. Then he realized he’d seen one of them before. “You work at The Taj restaurant, don’t you?”

“K’rayan would be at work right now if it wasn’t for you,” said Tina.

Jason’s face colored. He hoped nobody could tell in the darkness.

“Is this everyone?” asked Grace.

One of the Yrreans nodded. “Anyone that didn’t look human enough, they grabbed them.”

Grace shook her head and Jason felt as if the walls of the tunnel might just close in on him and crush his guilty conscience.

“Let’s get out of here then,” said Tina.

“How did you replace out what was going on?” Jason asked McCauley as they stumbled back through the tunnel once more.

“The Colonel finally let me go,” she said. “But when they were still holding me for questioning, I overheard that asshole Brown talking to some of his team about something called Operation Cleanup. It didn’t take much to guess what that meant. By the time I got here they were already grabbing people and throwing them in vans. Kids were crying. Everyone was scared. And some obnoxious little dog was running around loose, yapping.”

“Poor Prince,” muttered Jason.

“What do you care?” said Tina. “That dog hates men.”

“She likes me,” he replied. It was a small pointless victory, but after he’d let everyone down so badly he needed one.

When they reached the alley the Yrreans quickly scurried into the back of the van. Jason and McCauley climbed into the back with them.

Jason had a thought. “You all look human. Why can’t you just walk out and go, you know, be human?”

Tina turned around and glared at Jason. “Duh, why didn’t we think of that? The problem is, your A-69 friends got hold of a Haku device to scan and tell whether we’re Yrrean or human.”

“Eventually, they’ll track down all of the refugees,” said McCauley. “Trust me.”

Jason closed his eyes and resisted the urge to bang his head on the side of the van. If only . . .

“Any ideas, Fleming?” McCauley asked suddenly.

“Me?” he replied.

“You always seem to come up with something ridiculous that actually works.”

Jason saw that the entire group was staring at him expectantly. And suddenly, he did, indeed, have a ridiculous idea that might work.

“There’s only one thing we can do.”

McCauley held out her hands inquiringly. “And that would be . . . ?”

“I’m not sure you’re going to like it . . .”

“Fleming!”

Jason took a deep breath. “Okay, I think we need to tell the world about the aliens. No more secret bases and secret treaties and all that bullshit.”

McCauley’s mouth was suspended about halfway between angry and flabbergasted.

“I love it,” said Tina.

“I hate it,” said McCauley. “How are we going to convince the world that aliens are real? These guys don’t even look like aliens. Nobody will believe us. We’ll be like those losers who get drunk and claim they were taken aboard flying saucers and probed.”

“We would never use probes,” said one of the Yrreans. “I bet it was the Haku.”

Jason waved his hands to make everyone stop talking. “Look, you’re right. To make this work, we need an alien who looks like an alien, and isn’t scared of the U.S government or anybody else.”

“Fleming, how many aliens do you even know?” asked McCauley. But all of sudden, a storm of panic erupted on her face. “Oh my God, no. You don’t mean—?”

“Kuh-Re. The coolest alien of all.” At the mention of the name all of the Yrreans stopped chattering amongst themselves and stared at Jason.

“Kuh-Re?” said Grace. “Who’s that?”

For once, Tina didn’t seem inclined to use either profanity or hyperbole. “Fleming’s right. If we could get Kuh-Re—”

“How are we going to get Kuh-Re to help us?” insisted McCauley. “Let’s just set aside the question of why he would bother with any of this. Just tell me: are we supposed to drive this piece of junk over to A-69 without getting stopped, and then ask to see him? The first time I ever saw him was this morning, and I’ve worked at A-69 for nine years.”

Jason reached into his shirt pocket and took out the business card Kuh-Re had given him. “He gave me his card. He told me to get in touch with him sometime.”

McCauley examined the card. “Umm, Fleming, there’s no phone number, no email address. It’s pointless.”

She handed the card back to Jason, who held it in his hands wonderingly. What kind of material was it made of? It felt as lightweight as paper yet at the same time dense and substantial, like a rigid plastic or metal. And why had Kuh-Re given him a card with no contact information? Was it a joke, perhaps an example of Marjan humor?

He was about to put it away and admit that his idea really was just ridiculous, but the silvery logo happened to catch the daylight from a window in the back of the van. Jason took his thumb and tapped on it. The logo lit up and a holographic image appeared before him — not a person, or a room, but what looked like deep space.

One of the Yrreans pointed a skinny finger. “That’s the star that their home planet, Sardia, orbits. It’s called Wular.”

Jason peered at it for a moment, then gasped. “I think this is a screen saver.” His suspicion was confirmed when, seconds later, the image vanished and was replaced by Kuh-Re’s pear-shaped head.

Everyone in the cellar gave out a collective, hushed gasp.

“Mr. Fleming, when I suggested we have pizza, I did not anticipate it would be so soon. Ah, but I see you have company, so perhaps this communication is not about pizza?”

“Actually, pizza sounds fantastic at the moment, but I actually wanted to ask you . . . that is, to suggest . . . I mean, we’re in a difficult situation and I think the best way out may involve some help from you.”

“I am, as you humans say, all ears,” said Kuh-Re. Then his tiny mouth appeared to crinkle in the slightest of smiles as he pointed one of the six fingers on his right hand toward the tiny curled slits on the sides of his head.