The Alien's Secret Volume 2. Robert M. Doroghazi
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It would be quite another for a gnat to fly up his nose and spoil everything.
A few sequences had real surprises or serious interruptions. Rennedee had just passed in front of the building, immediately in front of and under Hoken, and would be in firing range in five seconds Suddenly there was a human voice, just meters away: “Hey you, what’s going on here. Stop!” Hoken grabbed the revolver sitting on his lap, shot the interloper dead through the forehead, turned back to his left and still got two clean shots at Rennedee. In another episode, one of Rennedee’s bodyguards was able to return fire; but Hoken didn’t flinch. He’d been shot at before; it wasn’t that big a deal. Either the man would get lucky and hit Hoken or he wouldn’t. Hoken still got off three successful shots.
As Hoken put the rifle back in its compartment, he said out loud, “What was that question I was going to ask myself?” He paused and shook his head. “You know, darn it,” he said with a chuckle, “I don’t remember now. If it’s important, it’ll come back to me—hopefully,” he added with a shrug.
Otherwise, Hoken was pleased with his progress. No doubt about it, there was a clear and consistent improvement in speed, efficiency and accuracy. He just felt more confident. By the time he reached Earth, he would be the most accomplished person in the galaxy with the rifle. Originally he thought it was a piece of junk but was quickly appreciating it more and more. And it was all because his grandmother taught him how to practice on the piano.
The Orians, and all of the races in their area of the galaxy, would chuckle at the thought of weightless space travel—of people bouncing off the ceiling and the floor and walls like a human game of Pong, unable to control themselves, helpless as babies, having to take special precautions just to take a leak—and then after a long flight, be unable to stand or even to be confined to bed.
Four hundred years ago, Gungull Ramar, (the Rankin of his day), found the secret of the graviton, the particles that mediate the effect of gravity. It was so simple: dark energy and gravity were one and the same.
Hoken had to exercise to keep fit. Twenty minutes of every twenty-four hour period was devoted to working out. With his seat turned to the rear, and in the same position as when he used the firing range, he could reach a set of fold-out foot pedals. It was like Jack LaLanne in outer space without his dog Happy, the “beginners halt,” and the commercials.
Hoken slipped his feet into the straps and started off. As soon as he began peddling, the computer said “Major, I will say something in English followed by the Orian translation. You will repeat the phrase back to me.”
“I am hungry.”
“I am hungry.”
“I am thirsty.”
“I am thirsty.”
When Hoken did anything, he did it hard. He practiced hard with the rifle, he exercised hard. Ten minutes and Hoken had really worked up a sweat. “That is enough, Major,” said the computer. “Now, ten minutes of upper-body exercise.”
Hoken folded the pedals back down and tucked them away. With the arm stand of the practice firing range pushed back as far as possible, and his seat as far forward as possible, Hoken was able to stretch out completely on the floor. He assumed the push-up position, shifted his weight slightly as he put his left hand behind his back, and counted off the one-handed push-ups in English, “One, two, three…twenty.” After the right-arm push-ups there were twenty left-arm push-ups, fifty finger-tip push-ups, and one hundred regular push-ups. He finished with two hundred and fifty sit-ups. No self-respecting Star Ranger did “crunches,” those were for the television infomercial wussies in their $600 spandex exercise tights.
“Major,” take a five minute break, finish your snack, and we will then review the personnel files of Human #1 and Human #2.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Humans #1 and #2
Hoken was all sweaty after the brief but vigorous workout. He was due for a five minute cool-down, rest period, but felt so strong and things were going so well, he just wanted to get on with it. He pulled his knees to his chest, swiveled the chair around to face forward, and locked the seat with the now-familiar click in place.
“Computer, display file of Human #1.”
“Major, you are scheduled for a five minute rest period, to cool down and have a snack.”
“I understand, but I feel fine.” Hoken quickly corrected himself. “I’m okay,” he said with a smile. “I’ll cool down and have my snack while I listen. Proceed as ordered.”
Colonel Hasemereme and General Ribbert could order Hoken to do something, but the computer couldn’t. “Yes, Sir,” it replied.
Hoken unwrapped one of the green vegetable-flavored bars and took a sip of water while he started to look at the material. No matter what anybody says about Kool-Aid or Tang or Coke or Pepsi or Dr. Pepper or Vess Billion Bubble Beverage Cream Soda or IBC Root Beer or Red Bull or Gatorade or Budweiser or Michelob or the most expensive wine or whiskey or liquor in the Universe, there’s nothing sweeter than a drink of cool water when you’re thirsty.
Human #1 was the Earthling whose body Hoken would possess. Human #2 was the man the Orian military knew with as much certainty as possible that Rennedee would possess. (Rodomontade was feeding them information in real time that so far had all proven to be accurate). It was clear that Hoken needed to know as much as possible about both of them.
On the left side of the dash were the eleven available images of Human #1. There were passport photos, photos related to his service in the Armed Forces, several from visa applications (not Visa the credit card), and recent, surprisingly clear photos from newspapers. Because of his political activities, there was even a short television clip, running in a continuous loop. On the right of the dash were data files, arranged in chronological order and by subject—family, employment, education, habits, hobbies and interests, acquaintances, etc. There was also a detailed summary of #1’s personality, intelligence, and behavior—a complete psychological profile.
Hoken was not easily impressed but he was impressed by how much data had been obtained in such a short time. As always, Orian Intelligence had done a tremendous job. They had already amassed considerable data and would continually update the database as new information became available. It was truly remarkable that so much had been obtained in barely two days on an otherwise nondescript individual inhabiting a planet more than twenty light years away.
“Major,” said the computer, “I received this transmission fifteen minutes ago from Captain Gunnerr. He will narrate and explain the data to you.”
Captain Ruff Gunnerr supervised the intelligence gathering of the Special Missions Unit. Gunnerr and his people were stationed in the Intelligence Headquarters section of the Suppay Building, many floors and corridors away from the Special Missions Lab. Although he and Hoken had not personally met, Hoken could tell from the voice and his presentation that he was well-suited for his position: a well-organized, bright, competent officer.
“Major, you’re now looking at the most up-to-date information we have on Human #1. Let me tell you first how we chose this particular human as your cover. We recognized immediately that our greatest impediment to obtaining information on just about anything on Earth is their near-complete lack of computerization and the rudimentary state of wireless transmission. We’re essentially restricted to things already in the public domain. This includes television, radio, newspapers, telephone books, telephone and wire transmissions, and all types of official government-related documents and data, such as birth and death certificates, passports, marriage licenses, and school, medical and military records. Things of a completely personal nature, such as in a scrap book or diary, or personal conversations, simply aren’t available. Too bad they don’t have something like Friends, it sure would make our job a lot easier.”
Friends was an intergalactic Facebook. Active military personnel and government officials were prohibited from joining. Many employers had a similar prohibition for their workers. Friends was initially met with enthusiasm bordering