Outsider
Part Two
Overall, Mork enjoyed Roswell, with its kitschy and quirky atmosphere. The little alien creatures who supposedly landed in the tiny desert town many years ago were present everywhere—in gift shops and on signs, their tiny, childlike bodies with disproportionately large and bulbous heads engaged in various activities, from eating ice cream and riding bicycles to lounging at the motel pool. UFO enthusiasts and theorists gathered from all over the world, taking pictures of the crash site and arguing with each other over what really happened. Mork found it mostly harmless and amusing, observing what strange fictions the humans chose to believe about life beyond their planet. Still, a part of the experience disturbed him. He didn't want to tell Mindy because she had put so much effort into arranging the trip, but when he saw how the fictional aliens were treated—either as a commodity to be marketed or as a science experiment to be dissected—he thought back to his confinement in Dr. Feldman's laboratory and shuddered, knowing something very similar could have happened to him.
Unable to sleep, Mork went for a walk alone in the empty desert to clear his mind, kissing Mindy gently on the cheek before he left their hotel room, trying not to wake her. He liked the desert at night, its vast emptiness soothing to him, a relief from the constant and exhausting crush of tourists he encountered during the day. As he walked, he breathed in the fresh, cool, and dry air, the intermittent baying of coyotes the only sound to break the peaceful stillness. Ahead of him on the side of the road, he saw a shadowy figure hunched over the open hood of a disabled Jeep, the beam from a flashlight dancing around like a lively little sprite as the person moved it, trying to figure out what caused the malfunction.
"May I be of some assistance?" Mork asked as he approached.
A young Native American man lifted his head from beneath the hood to see who was speaking to him. He looked at Mork uncertainly.
"Where did you come from?" He asked.
"I was out taking a walk when I noticed your predicament."
The young man looked around. "Man, you shouldn't walk around alone here at night," he said. "It could be dangerous."
Mork smiled. "I can take care of myself," he said.
The young man nodded. "Yeah, I'll bet," he said. He looked down helplessly at the Jeep's engine. "All right, fine. If you want to try to fix it, I'll let you. You aren't some kind of psycho, are you?"
Mork cocked his head. "Psycho?" He asked, unsure of the terminology.
"You aren't a serial killer or anything like that, are you?"
"No, I won't hurt you."
The young man looked at him suspiciously, still doubtful he could trust him. He paused a minute and looked around before finally surrendering with a shrug.
"Okay," he said, sighing. "Be my guest."
He relinquished control of his position in front of the Jeep, allowing Mork to replace him.
"I don't know what you think you'll be able to do," the young man said. "I've tried everything, and nothing works. She's an old, beat-up piece of junk that's always clunking out on me."
Mork studied every system and component of the vehicle, his advanced brain rapidly processing everything it needed to function, trying to determine what was wrong.
"Don't worry, I can repair it," he said. "The same thing is always happening to Mindy's Jeep."
"Who's Mindy?"
Mork grinned. "She's my girlfriend," he said.
"Oh," the young man said, beginning to feel a little more relaxed around this stranger. If he had a girlfriend, he had to be at least slightly normal, he hoped.
"There is one favor I need to ask of you," Mork said, looking up at the young man.
"What?"
"Turn away."
"What? Why?"
"I can't explain. Just…please, turn away."
"I was afraid of something like this," the young man muttered beneath his breath.
"Don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you, I promise. It's just…what I'm about to do—I can't have you look."
"What are you, shy?" The young man asked.
"That's right," Mork said. "I don't like people watching me work."
"Whatever, man," the young man said, rolling his eyes and deciding to play along, turning his back to Mork.
"Thank you."
"Look, whatever you're going to do, just please, do it quick. I've got somewhere to be."
"Righto," Mork said.
Sparks flew from Mork's finger as he pointed it at the Jeep's engine, causing it to roar to life and the headlights to illuminate.
"There you go," he said, smiling and rubbing his hands together, satisfied with his work. "You can turn around now. I'm done."
The young man looked at the running Jeep in astonishment. "How…how did you do that?" He asked.
"I gave it a jumpstart."
"Yeah, but how? You don't have any tools with you."
"Uh…" Mork said, unsure how to explain.
"Look, it doesn't matter," the young man said, noticing how uncomfortable Mork looked. "Thank you."
He climbed into the driver seat and buckled his seatbelt. He prepared to drive away when he stopped, looking at Mork and thinking about the miraculous way his Jeep's engine was revived. When his back was turned, he thought he saw a flash of light, but he wasn't sure.
"I know what you are," he said.
"Well I…" Mork said, wondering if he should run.
"Don't worry, I won't tell anyone," the young man said. "You're one of the Star People, aren't you?"
"Star People?"
"It's a story passed down from my ancestors. According to them, long ago people from a different world visited my tribe. They came in ships and taught us new technologies. They were so advanced that my people thought they were descended from the ancient gods."
Mork thought about what the young man was saying. He remembered learning something about Orkans visiting Earth and assisting fledgling ancient societies in school, helping them begin and advance their civilizations so that they could thrive.
"When I saw what you did for my Jeep, I knew you had to possess some abilities from beyond this world. There is no other way you could have fixed it without tools of some kind."
Mork didn't know what to say, afraid that despite this man's assurances, he would still report him.
"My people revere you," the young man said. "You don't have to be afraid. Your secret is safe with me, I promise." He looked out onto the horizon. Dawn was beginning to break, a thin pink line forming beneath the clouds as the sun rose. "All that nonsense about Roswell is a gimmick to bring more tourists to the area. You're the real alien, which makes you far more interesting. Take care, my man. Thanks again." The young man smiled and saluted him, driving away.
Mork stood there as the Jeep vanished, stunned. He wasn't expecting such a reaction, but it gave him hope that maybe when it was time to reveal his true identity to Earth, there would be more people willing to accept him than he previously thought. He had forgotten about all the ancient cultures on Earth who welcomed them and the science fiction aficionados who, despite their inaccurate versions of aliens, were nevertheless willing to believe in the possibility of life on other planets. He had forgotten about the conspiracy theorists surrounding him at Roswell and the scientists searching for the truth, including Dr. Feldman. It was a large, complex world with many diverse people, and he knew it would be far more complicated than he thought to get all humans to accept him, but it comforted him to know there were at least a few more of them who would.
Once the young man's Jeep was gone, a different one approached Mork, followed by several others, forming a convoy that converged on the spot where he stood. He could tell they belonged to the military by their camouflage paint, and instantly he was filled with dread. He knew they were coming for him. They wanted him to study him, to lock him away at some top secret base again. He didn't think the young man had led them to him. He knew even though Dr. Feldman agreed to release him that, as an alien on Earth, there would always be someone else, someone more relentless in their pursuit of him. They were always tracking him, looking for another opportunity to capture him. Exposed and alone in the open desert, he had unwittingly made himself a target.
"Oh no," he said, frantically looking for an escape route.
The armored Jeeps surrounded him, and soldiers clad in full battle gear jumped out, pointing their guns at him.
"Careful, men. He's dangerous," he heard someone say.
Mork held up his hands to show them he wasn't a threat, still searching for a way out, his brain calculating the probabilities of success for numerous scenarios. In his panic, it was difficult for him to think clearly. He felt paralyzed and helpless against their onslaught.
"Please," he said. "I don't want to hurt you."
One of the soldiers cocked his weapon. Thinking he was about to shoot, Mork in his desperation overreacted to defend himself, using his powers to knock it out of the soldier's hand. In response to this, the other soldiers prepared to fire at him.
"Don't shoot! We need him alive!" Their commanding officer shouted.
"Please," Mork said. "Just leave me alone…"
Another soldier aimed his weapon at Mork, causing him to use his powers and knock it out of that man's hand as well. As he did this, a nervous soldier, perhaps anticipating a more aggressive attack, fired at Mork, the bullet striking him in the leg and causing him to collapse to the ground in agony, bleeding profusely.
"Damn it, I said don't shoot!" The commanding officer shouted. "Hold your fire! Get the medic!"
Crumpled on the ground, holding his bleeding wound and wincing in pain, Mork groaned, struggling to move, desperate to find any way he could to flee these men, even if it meant crawling to his freedom under intense and excruciating pain. He didn't get far. A group of armed men swarmed around him, blocking his path. He panted, wincing as he looked up at them.
"Please," he whimpered, feeling too weakened to say anything else, feeling himself fading.
A medical team lifted him onto a gurney, and he struggled against them, lashing out at them with all the available strength he had left, which, even when diminished, was still stronger than the several men who held him down. Eventually, they managed to subdue him, securing him to the gurney with thick restraints. They injected him with a sedative, and soon he was fighting for consciousness, the world spinning around him in dizzying loops. As his vision began to blur, he saw a man standing over him that he thought he recognized. In his medicated haze, he couldn't remember where he had seen him before. It wasn't Dr. Feldman, but perhaps someone who had worked with him. The man seemed to know who he was, too. The last thing Mork saw before his eyes closed was the man grinning at him in satisfaction, his prized possession returned to him.
"It's nice to have you back, Mork," he said.
His voice echoed, lingering in Mork's mind until everything went black, sending him into oblivion.