Untouchable Chapter 4: Somewhere in the Night, a district 9 fanfic

Spoiler Warning: Contains brief-spoilers of John Carpenter's The Thing

Chapter 4

Somewhere in the Night

Somewhere in the night…

In an office

Work is done.

In a suburb home

A wife awaits her husband's return

Far from the city

The beast shall let his cares loose

In gloom and despair…

A husband waits for redemption.

The New York Times. Long columns of text written in the English language. Pictures that took up spacious amounts of each page. It was unlike any paper Ndiaye had ever purchased in his own country. The writing was crisp, polished, edited, and most importantly well-researched—at least compared to the papers he was accustomed to. He had to keep his curiosity on hold for the moment for he did desire to read the American paper; had to remember that this was evidence in a case, and needed to be treated as such.

"Around and around you go, where you stop…" he traced a finger along the letters of the paper, finding that certain words had been underlined in blue ink, "nobody knows."

Now alone in an office Ndiaye was in his natural habitat. Large rimmed glasses rested in the bridge of his noise, the lenses being very large for his eyes. He put a small, blank tape into his handheld audio recorder which was one of the conveniences he had taken from his office before leaving and 'clicked' it to its record mode. Softly his latex-gloved hands ran over the crumpled paper which now was stretched out across a table beside his desk.

"This is Jarred Ndiaye, currently stationed in MNU headquarters in the heart of Johannesburg, South Africa," He formally began his recording. "Evidence piece number-1 of Jarred Ndiaye's prawn case: One copy of The New York Times, dated October 10th, 2010. Most of the paper is skewed, or crumpled. A few corners are ripped, but given the condition of the slums in District 10 the piece is surprisingly intact and completely legible. The main article in this paper seems to be focused not on the going abouts of South Africa, but of the rainforests in South America; centered on the deforestation and endangered species."

Eyes scanned the document, the recorder put on hold for a few seconds as Ndiaye found the next place for him to jump from in his analysis. "The question I now face is why and alien would want this, or even read it…in fact, even though the prawn understand our spoken language I am not sure if they are literate in any text outside of their own," Ndiaye made sure to write a note on the side of his booklet that read 'Can prawn read the English language?' as he continued his dialogue. "Perhaps it is only the pictures that interested the creature, but I am going to assume that this prawn is well capable of reading for the sake of the case at hand." He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes for a moment. "So why would a prawn be interested in the happenings outside its immediate environment? Does it want to learn more about the planet, and if so, why? Do they want to know more about our planet in order to compile intelligence for a future invasion? Or is this innocent curiosity? Whatever the cause, the first locations I should look into are nearby information centers that are within walking distance of District 10."

The recorder was turned off, the paper returned carefully to evidence. Next up was a collection of three MNU stamped company pens—those cheap, plastic ballpoint pens that companies essentially throw at their employees and visitors like party favors.

"I wonder if your lot has a saying similar to our own the pen is mightier than the sword," Ndiaye said to himself with a smile as he imagined one of the alien's trying to grip such a small utensil with their clumsy, large fingered hands. "Perhaps this is a new way of rebelling—a knowledgeable revolution, or simply a lonely soul writing his troubles away."

One of them was broken in half, the others cracked and worn out. Upon testing each pen on a blank sheet of paper Ndiaye discovered they were all dry. Whatever he thought about their hands it was clear that they were well capable of using a pen.

"I'm sure that the aliens have a writing system—this one has certainly been writing a lot…or they drink ink. Either way this isn't much help unless I know what 'e was writing."

Ndiaye leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes in thought.

"Tomorrow I shall go to District 10 and look for more clues- get a better understanding of what it is that this prawn lives like. I'll request some maps, a white board, and proper files on prawn behavior from my hosts here."

With that Ndiaye sighed, turning the recorder off, but he did not leave the building for he still had no place to sleep.

"I don't know who you are, nor do I understand what you are, but I will find you…"

On his chair he would continue to work with the given evidence, trying to find any furtive clues that could give him a better lead on the prawn's location, or general lifestyle. The only way he could handle this case was if he concentrated on treating it the same as a human case.

He would work in the office until he felt asleep on his reclining chair.

"Where are you?" a woman asks the wind.

Alone she stood waiting and for what she waits even she has no clue. Not once has one heard her laughter since he vanished. Her lips constantly shiver in the pain of thought, her own children being thrust away by her gauche behavior when in the presence of others. The ignominy Tanya Van De Merwe had suffered during the last year had been near unbearable as reports of what he had and had not done continued to be a topic of speculation. Everyday her husband did not return she further ostracized herself from the surrounding world. She had yet to give up on the man she loved, though her heart was very heavy. Even with the copious amount of gifts she believed to have been given her by a furtive Wikus, it was still the letter of his hopeful promise that kept her waiting. In her pocket she always kept this note for it was the one true shred of hope that he still lived. She refused to share it with even her closest friends, or her children.

Softly she reached for it again, needing to read it again.

Dearest Tanya,

I must go away. Far away, and for the exact time I do not know. You will not be seeing me during this time, and if you do you shan't recognize me. What has happened is that I have been cursed with an extended punishment for my own curiosity. Just remember that no one shall ever replace your presence in my heart, and that so long as I live my only thoughts shall be of returning to you. All I ask in return for my devotion is the hope that you shall remain waiting for me…just tell the kids that I'm away on business and that I won't be back for a long time.

I don't know if I shall ever be capable of writing to you again so I want to make my plight very clear to you in what little time I have. Every passing moment my changes seem to speed, and I don't know how much time I have until writing becomes an inconvenience. For the most part I do not believe I will be able to contact you for a period of three years. It sounds like a long time, I know, but you have to understand that I have no choice in this matter. You just have to believe that I wouldn't do this to you or the kids unless I had to. Know that all of you, the hope of seeing you again will keep me going when any other man would wish his own death.

I am still alive and shall return to you. Don't you ever forget that. You know that I would never lie to you so you must know that right now you and the kids are the only ones I can think about. All I could wish is that I could have done a better job…Wish I hadn't done a lot of things, for then I would still be with you right now. But I didn't make those good choices and now you must suffer because of my ignorance.

Please remember how sorry I am.

Love,

Wikus

Tanya still held to the letter, waiting patiently for Wikus' return. She knew what had likely happened to her husband from outside sources, but she hadn't cared. If only she could see him as he was now and tell him that she didn't care about what had happened to him, so long as he would stand by her side during the darkest hours. Someone she could depend on, someone she could confide in—that was all she really wanted.

Looking up to the sky she felt a tear roll down the side of her cheek. The empty, vast space of the sky reflected her mood well: vacant. Once Wikus had whispered a song in her ear when she had felt bad about how meaningless she was compared to the universe, but she did not remember the name of the song, or even the original artist who had performed it. All she remembered was that Wikus knew it, and that it was a soft, gentle melody-like tune that could drift her to sleep.

"Do you still watch the stars…Wikus?" Tanya asked. "Do you remember the song you used to softly speak? I dearly hope you do…I need the sleep."

"We'd better be getting there on time!" Commander Dorian's voice shouted.

At a surprisingly fast speed an armored MNU service vehicle moved down the high way in the direction of District 10. Music softly played from its radio as a few soldiers, who included Commander Dorian seemed to be relaxed. They were all on their way to a weekly commune between MNU employees stationed within the District that took place in a small cinema not far from the place.

"We'll make it, just relax, commander," the driver replied.

Dorian sat in the back of the armored vehicle that moved down the urban road, still somewhat disappointed that Ndiaye had chosen not to join him for this social event. He had now switched from his military guise to a common set of slacks and a light-blue dress shirt and a black tie snugly tied around his neck; however the business casual attire was interrupted by the holstered berretta at his side, and the knife tied his sheen.

After work hours mood changes came quickly for Dorian, but they were mostly for the better. Even a man such as himself had his quiet, docile moments. In the back of the car his eyes were half-lidded in a contented state as the music gently played around him…then came the time that the radio station changed the channel.

Is this the real life-
Is this just fantasy-
Caught in a landslide-
No escape from reality-
Open your eyes
Look up to the skies and see-

"Oh God yes!" At the first note of the piano opening for the song the commander's hand suddenly swatted the back of the driver's head. "What the fuck are you doing? When Queen is on the fucking radio you crank that shit UP!"

"Yes sir!" the driver responded, hand instantly gripping the dial for the car's speakers to appease the commander.

All the other men in the vehicle were now quiet. Staring over at Dorian some of them laughed while others seemed a tad nervous whenever he raised his voice.

"Yes, that's the way music is meant to be heard," Dorian calmly stated as the sound began cause vibrations to circulate the vehicle's interior. "In music, you know, man finds his greatest escape from reality. It can fuel every passion; every moment of your life! The world would be nothing without the sensationalism that is music."

Mama, just killed a man,
Put a gun against his head,
Pulled my trigger, now he's dead,

"I can't hear you, sir!" shouted the driver.

"Yeah, neither can we," another man stated sarcastically.

They had all heard Dorian's ramblings and muses before.

"Never mind! I'm sure a ruffian such as you wouldn't understand the sheer force of music." Dorian responded, face contorted in anger. "Not a single person out here who understands maturity. The entire lot of ya': Common gun for hire! Fucking mercenaries!"

Too late, my time has come,
Sends shivers down my spine-
Body's aching all the time,
Goodbye everybody-I've got to go-
Gotta' leave you all behind and face the truth-

"Still can't hear you!" the driver said, but this time using sarcasm, for he had heard the last part of the commander's last response.

"Cheeky bastard!" Dorian shouted, his face suddenly softening as he began to laugh.

Mama ooo- (any way the wind blows)
I don't want to die,
I sometimes wish I'd never been born at all-

"You going to act like this during the movie?" A soldier timidly asked, his friends laughing. After the initial rage of Dorian he usually was more for bantering when he was off duty.

The song had now begun its instrumental portion.

"No, because during a movie you are suppose to be silent," Dorian bellowed. "And you can bet if any of you peckerwoods talk during the movie you'll be talking to me outside."

"And you know the commander," a black soldier said, "When he's outside it don't matter what the fuck he has on—he's all business!" More laughter was caused by this remark; primarily coming from Dorian himself.

I see a little silhouetto of a man,
Scaramouche,scaramouche will you do the fandango-
Thunderbolt and lightning-very very frightening me-

"Now shut your filthy trap! This is my fucking jam!" Dorian shouted with a laugh. "Why don't you all just sing along with me now?"

Galileo,galileo,
Galileo galileo
Galileo figaro-magnifico-

In the darkness of the theater the dirty screen showed the image of a dog lying down on a straw covered floor, its eyes intensely looking forward. Other dogs were present and they began to bark at this solemn-eyed dog. Suddenly the strange dog began to snarl, blood flowing from its maw. Without warning the flesh of its head peeled back in four separate directions! Its skull-like head began to scream in alien howls while its body continued to pulsate and distort itself into an indiscernible mass of writhing flesh, small, frail tentacles lashing from its body and capturing the other dogs within the kennel, as others still tried to escape The Thing.

In front of the screen MNU employees and some casual citizens sat mesmerized, or simply entertained by the disturbing 80s classic horror film. While some flinched in disgust others would crack jokes with their neighbors, but in the end all of them were having a good time. That is what this theater was all about: getting away from it all and having a good time with friends after a hard week's work.

From the ceiling of the small cinema none of the MNU soldiers, or civilians could notices that one panel had been removed. From the black two, curious yellow eyes watched the soldiers as they all stared intently at the screen.

"Welcome back, Dorian," the prawn clicked softly, locating the commander in the middle row of the theater. "I won't disturb you…just…enjoy your show…"

Wikus had been using the unused portion of the cinema as an information center for some time, and so far hadn't had much issue. MNU officers seemed to get loose tongued about operations when they were in social situations. This meant on such movie nights he could put a good ear into their conversations…But most important about this building was its technology.

To his right was a laptop he had stolen back in Johannesburg that was now plugged into a system he had rigged himself. From his first days he knew he wasn't going to be getting anywhere if he didn't have a way to get recent information, but he also had to use the device sparingly. He rarely came to this hideout because of the fact that it was such a large social center for off-duty MNU. The last thing he wanted to have happen was losing his last safe room away from the District, and his one connection to the modern, human world. Visits were usually once a month.

Now, what about this detective…

Turning round he crouched over the screen which had opened to a small, company blog where he currently had a video loading. Seeing that it was finished his hand clumsily gripped a mouse, positioning it to press the 'play' button.

A black man sitting behind a desk suddenly appeared, a voice asking a question.

"So what do you do, Mister Ndiaye?"

The young black man had adorned a pair of wide-brimmed glasses, which he nervously adjusted while in the camera light. "Well…I guess you could say I find…people…that would be what I do." There was nervous uncertainty in his voice.

He seemed to be well-educated enough, but also nervous. Was the MNU forcing him to work, or was speaking on camera not his ideal social position? Wikus couldn't tell, but he knew how awkward interviews could become…

"So how does that give you relation to us here at MNU?"

"Ummmm…not sure if I'm allowed to say." He adjusted his glasses, eyes shifting about.

"Oh yes you can!" A third voice interrupted, which Wikus recognized as Dorian. "All's fair when among your friends!"

"All right…I'm looking for a prawn…"

Wikus bent his head down on his right hand, mandibles fidgeting a bit in response to the words. Are you now?

"Why hire you to find a prawn, if you don't mind me asking?"

"I guess because…Well, the evidence I was given to find the prawn with was very…human, to say the least," Ndiaye said, smiling nervously.

Wikus quickly stopped the video, scoffing a bit at the thin detective's image.

So they haven't given up on their search y yet…

He was going to have to keep an eye out for this man.

I'll spend the night here, he thought to himself. "Over the next several nights I'll try transferring anything I have that could be useful to this man.

Wikus looked down from the ceiling again, seeing the casually dressed Dorian grinning whilst gorging himself on a tub of popcorn. The man loved a good spectacle of violence. It wouldn't surprise Wikus if some of the man's interrogation techniques had been derived from things that came straight from horror cinema.

"You will not kill me," Wikus spoke softly before covering the hole again.

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