Chapter Ten

"Come on, Billy, it's time to go," his grandfather said to him.

"But, what about mom?"

"She's a drunk, Billy."

"Edward, to say such a thing to the boy! You know how sensitive he is."

"Sensitive! He needs to grow up into a man, not wallow in his feelings like a girl. There's no use lying to him, Mary. His father left, our daughter is a drunk. That's the pure, simple facts."

Billy looked at his grandmother as she knelt down in front of him. She had kind, green eyes and he could feel the love radiating out of them. "Billy, your mom is ill, and we're going to take care of you for awhile."

Billy nodded.

"Give me your hand, dear."

He did so and allowed himself to be led out of the house, his eyes never wavering from the view of his mother collapsed on her bed, an empty bottle in her hand---

Bill Maxwell woke up from the most vivid dream of his life, as if the universe had split and he had stepped backwards through time, returning to that pivotal moment in his childhood. He would have sworn he was an innocent eight year old boy again. His fingers had actually been encompassed by his grandmother's wrinkled hand; he had smelled his grandfather's breath reeking of tobacco. He had felt the angst of leaving his home, of beginning a new, sad chapter in life.

Geez, what had he had for supper? Bill sat up in bed, only it wasn't his bed. He wasn't in his apartment. He was lying on a long, hard metal table, in a bare, white room. A room he had been in before. With windows that robots looked through….Bill yanked his head to the side seeing a robot peeping at him through the glass, its little metal pseudo-hand waving at him.

The alien ship!

Bill sprang off the table in fear, a sensation of cold needles pressing against his skin, making him shiver. He was in the green guy's ship, but how, why--?

"Ralph! Ralph!" he called out. Where was his partner? They had always come up into the ship together…What had happened? He struggled to ignite his memory and little snippets came into his mind. The train roof. Ralph coming in low and hitting the box car next to him...

Then it was a big, empty nothing. He couldn't remember anything after that.

Bill looked down at his clothes and saw the tears, the holes, the blood stains caked on his trousers and much of his jacket, vest, tie and shirt. Had he been injured? Had he lost that much blood? He probed his body but everything seemed to be working and in good order.

Suddenly, Bill's anxiety elevated to sheer panic and the room seemed to grow very small and bereft of any air to breath.

Oh, god, he thought, what if I'm dead….and…and…they've taken me…

Bill's heart palpitated wildly in his chest and he felt faint. He stumbled back against a corner of the room, fighting the impulse to roll up in a ball. He had only had one panic attack in his whole life, and that had been over thirty years ago, during his first gun battle in Korea. Stuck in a shallow foxhole he had dug out on a hill, he had been surrounded by thousands of attacking Chinese. American soldiers were retreating by the dozens, dying in their dashes up the hill, and his own buddy in their shared hole lay twisted with his head blown clear off. Bill had become petrified, a statue of terror, unable to move, to think, to act. He couldn't even feel the cold metal of the rifle he held uselessly in his hand. It was only when Captain Tracy Winslow dove in beside him, ordering him to collect himself, to fire, demanding him to use his fear, not fall victim to it, did he get himself under control and help himself and the rest of his platoon survive.

He had never panicked since.

Not until this moment.

The robot in the window motioned with his spindly arm for Bill to leave the room. Struggling to catch his breath, Bill nonetheless stood up straight; he'd be damned if he let aliens make him cower in a corner. Sweat poured down his brow but he moved through the automatically opened door.

He glanced out into the main room of the ship, seeing the same green guy he had met before. "Ralph?" he asked, searching for his partner. "Are you here? Ralph?" He was not there. Bill was alone. He saw what he believed to be Jupiter out the wide view screen sixty feet in front of him by the control panel. Alone. In outer space. With aliens.

Bill had grown up watching endless movies of alien invasions plotting to take over the Earth. Roswell happened when he was seventeen. Even though Ralph had yammered at him a bunch of drivel that all the alien flicks had been metaphors for communists gaining control of the world, the fact was that Bill grew up like everyone else knowing for a fact that aliens were bad, evil, and had one solo goal--to take over Earth and very likely slaughter, or eat, the human population.

Those childhood beliefs had remain unchallenged, although of course they were rarely, if ever, actual conscious thoughts. As an adult, UFOs had fallen into the realm of fairies, witches, and vampires—stupid junk only idiots believed. Two years ago everything had changed and his mind had been handed a whole new picture of the truth. Aliens with advanced technology truly existed, were benign and helpful, and wanted to save the Earth not destroy it.

If only they hadn't begun to save the planet by taking up his dead partner. If only they hadn't taken up the dead airman, and the living JJ Beck and his friend Marshall.

It just didn't seem benign to Bill.

It haunted him.

The little robot gave Bill the ear translator and with a shaking hand, Bill inserted it into his right ear.

"Where's Ralph? Is he okay?" Bill asked, his voice embarrassingly higher pitched than normal.

"Ralph Hinkley is not with us."

Oh, god. "Am I dead?" Bill asked. "Like John Mackie?"

The green guy tilted his head at the question. "You are not dead. We have healed you."

Bill felt terrible short of breath, his exhalations coming out in disorganized puffs. It made talking difficult. "I don't understand…"

"You were struck in the head by a crowbar and fell off the train. You were gravely injured."

Bill's eyes danced around his sockets as he attempted to validate the alien's words with his own memories. An image of a brilliant burst of light and a wispy remembrance of harsh, rolling motion was all that came to mind.

"But, then, where's Ralph?"

"He left you with us to continue your investigation."

Bill's mouth hung open wide. "He left me…"

The space ship floated over a rocky, barren planet covered by a reddish sky , a long chasm snaking through the floor of the world for hundreds of miles.

"This is your solar system's fourth planet. You call it Mars," the green guy said, staring out the window. "Desolate. Lifeless. Don't let your planet turn to this."

Bill had heard the speech before. He opened his mouth to speak but the drumming in his chest made it difficult to voice words. "Are you…bringing me back to Earth?"

The alien turned around. "Of course."

Relief poured through every cell in Bill's body. He regained enough presence of mind to probe the alien further. "What happened to John and the others? Where did you take them? What did you do to them?"

"You know all you need to."

"No, I don't. How can I trust you when you do things like that?"

Again that head tilt. "You can trust us. You must."

Bill frowned at that, but said no more. The alien's vague words made him frantic again, and he focused on controlling himself so he didn't find somewhere to hide and curl up into a fetal position.

Earth flew into sight and the ship soundlessly descended down through the atmosphere. It was late at night. The clouds had cleared away and stars were visible. The ship floated down close to the ground.

Home.

"One more thing," the green guy said

Bill felt that ancient battle petrification once more immobilize him.

"You must learn to duck better, Agent Maxwell. We can't have you getting hit with crowbars all the time."

If Bill hadn't been so terrified, he might have wondered if the alien had made a joke.

"I'll work on it," he managed to answer.

"Good. Now, please enter the room."

The alien pointed back to the room he had started in, and didn't have to ask twice. On weak legs Bill rushed through the sliding doors and then the next second he was on the ground, Ralph grabbing hold of him, the ear translator gone. The ship zipped away at what seemed to be lightspeed.

Bill's legs shook and trembled and finally gave out. He sat down with an "Oopmf!" on the wet, squishy sand, water soaking quickly through his clothes all the way to his underwear. His whole body then began to shake and he wrapped his arms around his bent legs, rocking a little back and forth, his forehead on his knees, sweat coating his face. Damn fear, it didn't help anyone, it didn't save lives. He wanted it to go away, but there it was still with him, even though the cause of his abject fright had retreated far away into space.

Ralph knelt beside his friend. Bill's skin and hair was clear of all the blood that had so grossly covered it hours ago, and all visible bruises and wounds were gone without a trace. Yet his collapse worried Ralph. "Bill, are you alright? Didn't they heal you up all the way up?"

After a few more seconds Bill lifted his head and glowered at Ralph. "Don't you ever do that to me again. You know how I feel!"

Ralph grew consternated. "But, I had to get you to the aliens! You were really broken up." He touched the hole in Bill's trouser. "You had a bone sticking up out of your pants."

"Not that, Ralph. Get a clue."

"What then? What?"

"Leaving me alone with them!"

"Oh!" Ralph said, followed by a quieter, "Oh."

He sat down next to Bill, also disregarding the water-logged ground.

"Don't ever do that again," Bill repeated, his voice full of a desperate pleading.

"I'm sorry, Bill. I won't. I won't do it again." He had left Bill on the ship to try to solve the case, and earn Bill's praise, but now he realized his tactical error. Ralph knew Bill's trepidation regarding the aliens and their taking up humans, both dead and alive, from Earth for unknown reasons.

It all seemed so clear suddenly, especially as his actions on his own had led to nothing. Ralph should not have left his partner. It was a mistake, no doubt about it. Ralph added a sincere, "Promise."

Bill's shaking was lessening and his breaths were evening out. "Did you at least get the creeps? Stop their plans?"

Ralph looked away from Bill and made designs in the wet sand with his finger. "No. I didn't know what to do. I needed…", he paused, glancing quickly at Bill for a moment, and then back to his sand doodling, "….guidance from you."

That perked Bill right up and the fear instantly evaporated from Bill's psyche, like a drop of water spilt on a red hot burner. "Ah hah! The old geezer has some uses, eh?"

Ralph smirked. "A few."

"I'm sitting in a bathtub here," Bill said, getting his feet under him to stand. Ralph jumped up and lent Bill a hand. Standing straight Bill took a moment to shake out each pant leg of extra water.

"Legs okay?" Ralph asked.

"Gimme a break. A little green lizard guy and a space ship can't keep old Maxwell down."

Ralph smiled, and held out his hand. Bill paused and then grabbed hold of it.

"Glad to have you back, pardner," Ralph said as they released their grip.

"Don't get maudlin. A group of firebugs is out there. We can hug after they're in jail. Where are we?"

"Ruby's is two miles that way. I left the car there so it would still work. We'll have to walk. Pam's there, waiting for us."

"I could use some hot coffee and a burger," Maxwell said. He glanced at his watch. "Geez, nearly 2 a.m."

"He", Ralph said, pointing upwards, "said it would take up to seven hours to heal your wounds." Ralph looked at Bill's suit. "I wonder why they didn't clean and fix your clothes like they did with my shirt."

"Who cares? Let's get out of here."

They began walking and were silent for a few moments. Bill strode hunched over, his hands deep in his trousers pockets.

"I fell off the train?" Bill asked.

"Yup. Don't you remember?"

"It's all kind of a blur."

"You rolled down the embankment like a spinning top."

Another minute passed.

Was my bone really sticking out of my trousers?" Bill asked.

"Yeah. It was sickening. I almost puked."

Another minute.

"Ya didn't find either of my guns, did you?"

"Didn't think to look."

"Can't believe I lost both of them. That's going to put a serious crimp in the budget."

"We can look for them after the case, if you want."

Another minute.

"That guy hit my head with the crowbar?"

"Yeah. Pretty hard."

"Creep. Guess the green guy is right. I gotta learn to duck better."

"He told me to aim my landings better."

Bill laughed out loud. "Now there's an alien I can trust! Criticism after my own heart!"

Ralph was not so similarly amused. He decided to forget his apology to Bill for crashing onto the train. Ralph cast a look at his friend and shook his head back and forth. Of course, the problem with not apologizing was that Bill never required Ralph to offer one, and when Ralph did, Bill always brushed it aside.

It was a special sort of friendship which bonded them together, one which allowed each person to be honestly who they were, demanded few explanations, no apologies, expected endless insults to slough off one's back and be left harmlessly behind, and was glued firmly together by rarely recognized affection.

Another minute passed.

"Bill, I'm sorry for crashing onto the train."

"Ah, Kid, don't worry. I shouldn'ta let my guard down. Anyway, things worked out okay."

With a quick flicker they caught each other's eye, wordlessly acknowledging things were indeed "okay".