| "Be Our Guests " |
| by Adam Francis Smith |
“The folks out there at Area 51 are asking for our help.”
“With aliens?” asked Beverly McQuarters. She always had questions, and she always sat right up in the front row so she could ask them.
“Well, they didn’t come right out and say it. But they want each and every family in town to take in a guest. It must remain secret and we must all agree, or there’s no deal.”
“What kind of guest?”
“I don’t know. I guess once we agree to do it they’ll come out and let us know the rest of the deal. For now, they’re offering $400 a month for every family here in Pasqual that takes in a guest.”
“For how long?” asked a man that Red couldn’t see.
“They didn’t say that either.” Red raised his hands, fingers splayed, and sort of bounced them against the air. “Now folks, I don’t have all the answers. But I do know that if we pass on this opportunity we’ll never have a chance to find out what’s going on out there. Now that the mine’s closed, I don’t want you all to miss out on the chance at $400 a month. That’s money I could use, Lord knows. This job doesn’t pay very much.”
There was a chuckle from some of the town folk.
“We’ve got to all agree, or we’ll miss the chance. If we pass, they’ll offer the deal to the folks over in Rachel or Ash. Listen, if we all agree, and we keep a look out for one another, they can’t throw anything at us that we can’t handle. Am I right?”
There were murmurs, but mostly of agreement.
“Then let’s have a vote. All in favor, raise a hand.”
It took a moment, but soon every one in the hall had a hand in the air.
The next day, the crates arrived.
*
Beverly’s husband, Archer, carefully removed the nails from the wooden crate and pried the lid off. Inside, wrapped in profuse amounts of bubble wrap, was a variety of parts and pieces of metal and plastic: a metal box that looked like a very large personal computer, some hoses, wires, a remote control device and a thick, hard-covered book presumably containing all the instructions necessary to assemble the whatever-it-was.
“It’s some sort of chair,” said Beverly as she tenderly turned the pages of the instruction manual. The book was liberally peppered with illustrations and photos.
“Kinda odd that they’re gonna pay us 400 a month to sit in a chair.”
“Archer, why don’t you go on over to Red’s and see if anyone knows what this thing is for?”
Red owned the only bar in town. Well, it wasn’t exactly in town, but close enough, and the only bar around. Archer rode his bicycle the long mile and parked it out front, noting that Binny and Jeremy’s cars were parked in their usual places.
“‘Bout time you showed up,” said Red as Archer entered. “Got your chair built yet?”
Archer waited for his eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the room. He made his way to his usual stool at the corner and sat, nodding to Jeremy and Binny. “I can’t make heads or tails out of it. I was hoping one of you would know what to do.”
“I’ve got my son putting ours together,” said Binny.
“Yeah,” added Jeremy. “When he’s done there he’s going over to my place to do mine.”
“Spoken like true managers, fellas. Red, how about a beer?”
Red set a cold bottle in front of Archer, alongside a basket of stale pretzels.
“So what do you think the chairs are for, Red?” asked Binny.
“I suppose someone from 51 will be out to show us. I’m not putting my ass in one until I know what all those electronics are for.”
Archer laughed, “Your fat ass won’t fit in one, Red!” Binny and Jeremy added to the laughter.
“Just for that, you’re paying for the beer, Arch.”
The men talked the rest of the afternoon away, sucking down beers and nibbling the stale pretzels. Three hours later, Archer was back home, examining the contraption that Binny’s son Michael had just finished assembling.
“You did a fine job, Mike. How many are left to put together?”
“Well Mr. McQuarters, I showed Ricky and Ed how to do it and they’re moving pretty quick. We should have them all assembled tomorrow. “
“Do you know what it does? How it works?”
“The instruction book says that you need a program disk. We didn’t get any disks, so I guess they’ll be bringing them out when they come to give us our training. I sat in ours and it’s real comfortable. But I didn’t plug it in.”
“I guess we’ll wait then. Here’s your five bucks, Mike. Thanks for your help.” Archer handed the boy a wrinkled five dollar bill. The boy took it shyly and shoved it into his front pants pocket.
“Thanks Mr. McQuarters. I appreciate the money.”
“Don’t think about it, Mike. You earned it. Tell your father I said thanks for sending you over, and I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“Ok, Sir. Have a good night.” Mike turned and let himself out the front door. Beverly heard the door close and came in from the kitchen.
“Did you sit in it?” she asked.
“Nah. I can wait.”
“Let’s go to bed, Archer.”
“That’s a good idea.”
*
Two days later, the chairs were all built according to specifications and a long black car pulled into town. When it stopped, an army colonel stepped out of the front passenger side and opened the passenger door behind him. First, a slender, sun-browned leg appeared out of the shadow within. Then, right at the point one might expect to see some tender thigh flesh, a long-fingered hand tugged down a white coat tail and the prettiest scientist you’d ever want to look at stepped out of the car.
Aside from her incredible good looks, she was a walking cliché: white coat, black framed glasses, clip board and hair up in a bun.
“This is Doctor Rubenstein,” announced the colonel. She’s here to check your work and provide you all with a bit of orientation before the guests arrive.” He looked around at the crowd of three that had gathered. “Where is everybody?”
Michael stepped forward, his friends Ed and Ricky mildly impressed at his bravado. “Well sir, they were all up kind of late last night having a town meeting. It sort of turned into a town celebration, now that all the chairs are put together. The meeting moved from town hall over to Reds and I guess everybody is still asleep.”
“Well, son,” barked the Colonel, “wake them up! Dr. Rubenstein and I will be waiting in the town hall.”
“Yes sir,” replied Michael. He motioned to his friends and the three set off running. In minutes the first folks to wake were making their way to the town hall. In 25 minutes, the whole town had been assembled.
“The guests will arrive tonight, provided you’ve assembled all the chairs correctly. Make no mistake, folks, they are fat and ugly and require a lot of attention. Give them the care they need and you’ll all earn your money. Screw it up and nobody gets paid. It’s that simple. Now here’s Dr. Rubenstein, who heads up the GUEST program at Area 51. She’s going to tell you everything you need to know and provide you with some materials and instructions for taking care of your guests. Doctor,” the colonel motioned to the slender brunette, “they’re all yours.”
“Thank you, Colonel. My name is Elvira Rubenstein. Shortly, our technicians will examine your work of assembly and the guests will be arriving. I’m here to tell you all that you need to know about oiling, feeding, purging and otherwise caring for the guests. Please pay attention to the following presentation, of which you will all receive a copy on DVD…”
The doctor spoke for what seemed like hours on how to care for the guests. The presentation moved forward in slow motion, showing and reshowing everything the doctor spoke of. At long last, the presentation came to an end, the doctor pointed to a stack of materials at the rear of the room, indicating that everyone should take a package. Finally, she directed everyone’s attention to the final slide of the presentation.
“Ladies and gentlemen of Pasqual, meet your guests.” The image before them was of something none had ever seen before. Everybody recognized the large chair, like a trampoline with wires and cables issuing forth. But the creature in the chair, attached to hoses and wires, tubes and cables, was an alien thing.
It was pink and shiny and shaped like a 300-pound pile of mashed potatoes. There was a glistening film on the flesh and two puffy slits for eyes. Two nostrils, each the size of a child’s fist were like craters at the center of what might have passed for a face. The mouth below was a bright red hyphen, into which a fat clear tube ran, pumping something thick and brown into the creature.
Beverly began a scream, which was immediately stifled by Archer’s quick hand raised to her mouth.
Cora Deever’s quivering mouth asked the question that all were thinking. “W-w-what is that thing?”
“That is a guest. You now have all the materials and knowledge necessary to care for them. They’re a little hard to look at, at first, but one does become accustomed to their appearance in time. You’ll find that they require a lot of attention, but the rewards are far greater than the payment you’ll be receiving. Trust me, people, you are doing your country an enviable service. Good day.”
The colonel led the doctor out of the town hall. A pair of assistants remained to hand out the books and materials to the town folk as they left the building. A van had arrived during the course of the meeting and a team of technicians was moving from home to home, apparently checking the assembled chairs. Soon enough, all the town folk were in possession of everything they’d need to care for their guests. The technicians were satisfied that all was well and the two vehicles drove away.
It was near midnight when six long trailers pulled into town. It was dawn before every home had a guest in place, carefully nestled into its waiting chair. The chairs were plugged in, the program disks installed and a new day opened before the people of Pasqual, Nevada.
*
“It’s like we’ve had another child,” complained Archer to the men at Red’s, “She’s been fussing and bothering over that thing all morning. I had to make my own breakfast!”
“What is with those noises?” asked Jeremy.
“Yeah,” added Red. “It’s like fingernails on a blackboard. Did you notice how it gets louder if you make ‘em wait?”
“Well, Beverly’s been rubbing and oiling the thing and squishing shit outta that bag non-stop. If she leaves it alone for a minute, it starts that sound. Then she runs back and squeezes the food bag, or empties the shit bag, or rubs oil all over the thing. Disgusting.”
“It’s too much work,” said Red.
“They’re ripping us off if they think we’ll do all that for 400 a month,” added Jeremy.
Binny drained his beer and set his mug down heavy on the bar. “It’s the first day, boys. Let’s give it some time and see how things play out. I’ve got to go. The wife is home alone with that thing and I think she’ll be ready for a break about now.”
“Ok, Binny. We’ll see you later. Go rub some oil on your ‘guest.’ Just remember your ear plugs,” said Archer.
They chuckled and Binny left the bar. There was nothing left to talk about so the remaining men sat and watched the television with the sound off, each deep in his own thoughts.
*
“What else can we do?” cried Archer to his wife. “I can’t take that noise any longer! Did you feed it?”
“Yes. The bag’s half full,” replied Beverly.
“What about the shit bag?”
“I emptied that too. And I oiled the thing not 20 minutes ago. The chair is plugged in and all lights are green. I’ve got to get out of here for a while, Archer.” She ran from the house with her hands clasped to the sides of her head.
Archer looked at the creature that writhed in the chair before him. His face was scrunched due to the sound the thing was making. It was the sound a cat makes, when it’s on fire. It was the sound of metal crumpling into metal, metal scraping on metal, glass being shattered and bombs exploding. It was the sound a fork makes when it’s dragged across a dinner plate and the sound of a dentist’s drill. It was all these sounds at once, and worse. And louder.
The thing had been making this noise since sunup. Beverly tried everything she could for the first half of the day, and Archer helped too. Nothing could quiet the thing.
Beverly having run away meant that this was serious. She had been a saint, as had all the women of Pasqual, in caring for these ungodly creatures. Their demands were ceaseless and the wailing unbearable. Archer spent more and more time at the bar, as did Binny and Jeremy.
The whole town was sick and tired and felt truly taken advantage of. The guests had been here only two weeks, but it appeared that there was no end in sight. Nobody was going to come and take these things away. Archer was certain nobody else would be fool enough to agree to for only $400 a month.
Archer was a patient man, as were most folks in Pasqual. But when Beverly ran from the house with her ears covered, he knew that the final straw had broken. This screaming, wailing tub of greasy fat, constantly eating, shit bag filling alien scumbag was no longer welcome in his house. Something white and hot flashed before his eyes as his anger mounted. He grabbed the chair before him and began to drag it toward the front door.
It was heavy and he was not a very strong man. But anger and adrenaline worked together to give him strength and even as the creature’s protests became nearly too loud to bear, he manage to tip the chair and send the creature rolling across the threshold, across the narrow stoop and down two steps to land in a heap on the path below.
Cords snapped and the chair powered down. Cables, wires and tubes disconnected and hung like overcooked spaghetti from the sides of the chair, and from the guest itself.
The creature moaned, groaned and wailed continuously as it writhed on the ground. It rolled and lolled and farted bits of shit out the end of a disconnected tube. It sucked hard on the food tube and the food bag imploded with vacuum.
Dirt and leaves stuck to the creature’s oiled flesh and it soon looked like nothing more than a quivering compost heap – except for the noise, a noise so loud and alien that Archer covered his own ears, even as he turned back into the house and retreated to the cellar.
Folks began to come out of their homes, trying to glean the cause of the terrible noises. But soon the cries were taken up by every guest living in every other house in Pasqual. Soon the folks were running from their homes, ears covered, trying to keep out the sounds that were sure to drive them insane.
Archer suddenly appeared in the doorway, a heavy coal shovel gripped in his hands. He raised the shovel above his head and leaped from the porch, “Yaaaaahhhh!”
As he landed, he struck the guest with the shovel. First he smacked it with the flat of the shovel, then he raised it again and dug the corner of the shovel into the dirt-covered creature below him. The shovel slid into the creature’s flesh as it would have through butter and when Archer raised it again it was covered with a gruesome mixture of blood and gore.
Again and again he raised and lowered the shovel, all the while the creature wriggled and writhed and wailed. Soon the guest stopped moving and the sounds became nothing more than a groan. Then a whimper.
Archer could hear the guests in the other homes begin their keening. Some folks had gathered at his gate and with ears covered, stood with jaws dropped. Archer chopped and slashed at the thing on the ground before him and it reminded him of making sausage. There was flesh and fat and bits of bone, but ultimately no piece larger than his own fist. His clothes were spattered with sticky compost but he didn’t care. He could only think how pleasant it was that the thing had stopped making noise.
The folks who had gathered suddenly dispersed, each heading back to their own home. Archer listened and could hear the guests’ cries, but also the town folk yelling. There were screams and curses and straight forward war cries. There was also a single shotgun blast.
“That would be Red,” thought Archer. He turned and entered the house, closing the door behind him.
*
Doctor Rubenstein and the Colonel were back. There was no way to hide what the town folk had done and now the Colonel addressed the crowd.
“You could all be shot in the name of the United States Government,” he began.
“Millions of dollars of research was destroyed out there last weekend,” he pointed toward the center of town.
“Hundreds, no… thousands of hours of research and development were rendered null and void, people.” He slammed his palm down on the table. “NULL AND VOID!”
“Now we could take you all and lock you up, or maybe shoot you right here if we were so inclined, but Doctor Rubenstein has a gracious heart. She understands exactly what you folks were going through. She says she’s seen it all before. I say BULLSHIT!”
Doctor Rubenstein put a hand on the Colonel’s forearm and squeezed gently.
“You won’t be shot or thrown into prison,” she said to the crowd. “But you will pay for what you’ve done.”
“The creatures you so handily destroyed were not irreplaceable. They were not alien monsters from a far off planet, or hybrid animals created in a lab. They were human. They were human beings, volunteers who offered their bodies up for genetic alteration, in the hope that someday they might be physically able to travel in space. We were close, people. So close. And you are murderers.”
The crowd was silent, scared to death of what might happen to them now. Hundreds of soldiers accompanied the doctor and colonel to Pasqual and they were now posted all over town. The doctor stood, and the colonel stood beside her.
“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done. We do indeed have alien technology at Area 51. We have wonderful spacecraft that we’ve reverse engineered. We can build them. We can travel in space, at speeds far greater than that of light. Mere humans could never withstand the strains and stresses of such travel, nor the exposure to radiation and the myriad other potentially lethal effects. But genetically altered humans, like those you all have so recently destroyed, will be capable of such travel. And you, people, will be the next generation.”
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