“It was a beautiful spring day until it started raining aliens.” Anastacia cradled her coffee in both hands and blew on it, nudging the sheer curtains with a knee when they slipped closed.
“Mmm,” Nick mumbled, not glancing up from the laptop, so old it was held together by stickers from his college days. “Heard it start raining twenty minutes or so ago.”
“You never do look up when you start doing the books,” she said fondly. “And I do appreciate you taking care of the business. But that’s not a new expression for heavy rain or social media hype. This is a moment you’re not going to want to miss.”
“Gimmee three minutes and I’ll be right there.” Fingers flew, clacking loudly.
“No, now.” This time her voice held an edge, no longer the brightly cheery woman he’d married two years before as a new graduate. “Nick, please. I don’t know how to handle this.”
He slammed the laptop so quickly he nearly took off his left fingertips with the broken latch. He’d never heard Anastacia sound afraid before. Not when she’d questioned making it through university, or when she’d fretted making the right decision about the police academy.
Hell, she’d looked downright determined on their wedding day, without even a glimpse of cold feet for this luminous bride. Once the deal had officially sealed, she’d found it hilarious how well-protected her wedding was, what with all her coworkers dropping in as they were able – half still in uniform, all of them armed.
No, his wife, his beautiful wife – who’d just last week sweet-talked a hostage taker into letting the bank employees go without breaking a sweat – might be prone to laughter, and certainly to stubbornness, but not to fear, and never to indecision.
Nick found himself by her side without memory of crossing the room. “What’s wrong?”
“Look.”
He wiped the window where her mug had steamed the glass. “What on Earth?”
She laughed, a strange wild note to it, and slugged back the rest of the mug. “That’d be the problem, wouldn’t it?”
Through silvery rain, Nick caught glimpses of silvery – skin? – silvery something, silhouetted by deep greenery, and a vehicle that looked to have been nearly the same color before it had been covered in scorch marks and half of what used to be his lawn. “Um, maybe it’s a new trailer type. One of those tin ones. Airslip, or whatever they’re called.”
Through the glass, through the downpour, dark eyes met theirs.
Anastacia set her mug on the windowsill carefully, turned to her husband, and reached for his shoulders. She pressed her lips to his. “I love you. And I don’t know what to do, but I have a responsibility to at least try to keep them from eating the neighbor’s dog, or – or – whatever. Comms are down. No phone, no internet, but try calling it in anyway. Babe – I love you.”
He wrapped his arms around her waist, unsure whether he was comforted or disturbed by her backup weapon at the small of her back. “I love you. I don’t want you to go.” Nick kissed her again, a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I know you need to, and that’s why I love you.”
She left the door open. “Stay out of the way in case I run back inside.”
He watched, useless phone in hand, as she ventured into the cool spring rain.
Five minutes later, her body language shifted from cautious to more open, with a few gestures. Abruptly, Anastacia motioned to follow her.
The silver being wobbled up the porch stairs and – out of caution? politeness? Nick had no answers today – and perched upon the edge of a seat after Anastacia sat as well.
“Nick, this is Gerflunk.” She made an exaggerated face at the creature. “Sorry, I don’t think I caught all the tonal intonations properly.”
“That is acceptable,” the alien – there was no getting around it now, not with additional faces peeking out the door of Nick’s new lawn ornament, their unblinking eyes locked upon the trio – said in accented English. “Our language is quite difficult, and we have had more practice with your radio and television transmissions.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Gerflunk,” Nick said carefully. He held out a hand.
“A handshake! Delightful.” Gerflunk seized it and pumped up and down vigorously, flesh chill and damp from the rain. “I expect I should get used to these.”
“How do you greet others in your – um, culture? Planet?” The words came out after thousands of hours networking, growing a tiny business into a small one, perhaps even heading for medium in a few years.
“Like this.” Gerflunk stood, pressed his hand to the edge of his pointed chin, and bowed slightly.
Nick copied the move and then both sat, Nick a precautionary distance away from his wife – just in case – despite the obligatory hospitality his South Carolinian mother had drummed into his manners. “Welcome to our home.”
“To catch you up,” Anastacia interjected, “Gerflunk has a business proposition for you. He also has two daughters with him.”
“Only two of fourteen,” the alien demurred. “Not all of my children are so ambitious. The rest remain with my fluverg. However, these are the most determined. Also the youngest.”
“The kids have an earworm from an old song,” Anastacia said. “They’re on a roadtrip and won’t stop singing. You know how that kind of thing goes.”
Nick grinned, reminded of his younger cousins.
Gerflunk vibrated.
Anastacia and Nick jumped.
“Apologize,” Gerflunk stated, closing his eyes and tipping his oversized head back in remorse. “No, apologies. That’s the correct term.”
“I think it’s like our humming,” Anastacia said, her pondering barely audible over the rain. “Quite all right.”
He vibrated again, this time recognizably with notes.
The couple broke into song. “BAH BAH BAH.”
Gerflunk pointed a finger at them, all five knuckles trembling. “Please, just tell me. Why?”
“Bah! Bah! Bah!” Two small silvery creatures, both barely two feet in height, bounced into their father’s lap. “Bah! Bah! Bah!”
“Please,” Gerflunk said, with the look in his eyes of a roadtrip-maddened father. “Why is the song sticky?”
“Catchy,” Anastasia suggested.
“That.” The alien petted his daughters’ heads and they fell silent. “You were supposed to wait in the ship. Yes, Anastasia-and-Nick, I would like to talk business, but first. Please. Can you make the evil song go away from my head? Or more importantly, out from my daughters?”
***
I don’t know where this has come from, but life has kept things too busy for writing lately. Perhaps this emerged after being suppressed for too long? This week’s weirdness was inspired by a perfectly normal prompt from Becky: It was a beautiful spring day until…
And it was a trade this week! See what she did with linen shrouds here.
As always, find more, over at More Odds Than Ends.
