Arana’s Visitor
Book 1 of the Vadelah Chronicles
Preview copy of chapter 3
© 2005 by Julie Rollins
www.JulieRollins.com
Science Fiction
February 2005 (version d4i)
3. On the Job Training
Darius Blackwell shook his head as he read through the report on his desk. “Idiots!” he fumed.
He looked up at the man standing before him. “You’re certain it went down in this area?”
“Yes, sir. It’s where we lost radar contact. Our people scoured a ten mile radius just to be certain.”
Standing up, Darius paced on the plush carpet in his office. “No impact craters, no wreckage . . . it didn’t crash; it landed. The pilot must have hidden the ship. That means it’s alive.”
“Do you want Merloc to help search for—”
“No! If he brings a crullah into the area, it will stir up a hornet’s nest. There are too many people nearby. The last thing we want are witnesses screaming about UFOs. Even if Merloc could find it, he’d insist we eliminate it.”
Darius stopped pacing and turned to the man. “I want all the officers at the road blocks interviewed—again! Run a check on the license plates of every car that went through there. I need some answers and fast! Whatever it is, Merloc is afraid of it and I want to know why. I will find out.”
“Anything else, sir?”
Darius seated himself and stared off into space. “Perhaps this alien is as ignorant of humans as Merloc was. I bet it’s lying low, figuring out its next move. The same language barrier Merloc had to overcome probably faces our little visitor as well.
His gray eyes narrowed into slivers of polished granite. “But what if someone else finds the alien first? That could be a serious problem. If the alien were to befriend some humans . . . still, how long can something like that be hidden? We’ll have to move quickly. Things could turn ugly if civilians become entangled. If only I knew what this alien looked like.”
He focused back on the man standing in front of him. “Tell Merloc we killed the alien and destroyed its remains. That will keep him happy.”
* * *
David wandered into the kitchen for breakfast. It was three days since they’d found Panagyra and they were still hiding him in the apartment.
The great bird stood beside the kitchen counter with Todd, watching.
Todd’s strong arms beat some eggs in a chipped bowl. “There’s something that really bothers me.”
“What’s that?” David tensed, wondering if Todd was serious.
The corner of Todd’s mouth turned up. “We gotta do something about his name. How about shortening it to Pan?”
“No, Pan sounds too pagan.”
“Well, excuse me!” Todd mocked.
David rubbed his chin. “How about Gyra?”
“Gyra. I like that.” Todd grinned and looked at Panagyra.
With a little effort, they got Panagyra to accept his new name.
David watched as Gyra stretched his wings and paced. “He’s getting restless.”
“We can only keep him caged for so long.” Todd poured the scrambled eggs into a hot frying pan.
David stared at the sizzling mass. “But we can’t let him out like this.”
“No duh. What do we do? Send him to the zoo? He’s as hard to hide as a pink elephant!”
“There’s got to be a way.” Running his fingers through his curly hair, David prayed. Lord, if You want us to protect Gyra, You’re going to have to help us!
Todd walked around Gyra. “Perhaps we could hang a sign around his neck. ‘Alien for rent. Scare unwanted relatives. Entertain your friends. Ten bucks an hour.’ Nah, he’s doesn’t look scary enough—unless you’re a statue.”
David frowned. “Todd!”
Todd stopped and folded his arms. “Well, what else can you do with an overgrown pigeon who’s sprouted arms? You have any better ideas?”
“Not yet.” David circled Gyra. “We need to be able to get him out, but not draw too much attention. You know, your idea of hanging a sign on him might not be so bad.”
“Huh?” Picking up a spatula, Todd worked on the eggs.
David grinned. “It just might work. A few alterations and we can transform him into a chicken!”
“A chicken?” Todd flipped the eggs and stared at David.
“Yeah! People wouldn’t see an alien; they’d just see some guy dressed up in a chicken outfit.”
Snorting, Todd raised an eyebrow. “You mean like those guys in weird outfits who stand on street corners to attract customers?”
“Exactly.”
“But who would hire Gyra?”
“My cousin Jeff might go for it.”
Todd pressed the spatula onto the frying eggs, making them sizzle louder. “Well, I suppose we could try it. Can’t think of anything better. Shoot, who’d really suspect him dressed up like a chicken?”
* * *
As David drove his old car down the city streets, Todd leaned back and put a friendly arm around Gyra. The alien looked rather comical in his chicken disguise.
“I gotta give you credit,” Todd said, picking at the old vinyl on his door. “It’s a great idea. Whether it works or not, it’s still a great idea. And you know what I like best? We can take him almost anywhere without hiding him. Boy, won’t that be a relief. Fun, too!”
David looked at Gyra. “Todd is human. David is human.” He gestured to several people outside. “Human.” David pointed to his feathered companion. “Gyra is . . .”
The large bird blinked. “Gyra is phantera.”
“Phan-tera,” David repeated. He pulled into a park.
As Todd coaxed Gyra out of the car, David stretched and relished the warm sun.
The great bird rubbed his fake chicken comb and adjusted the advertising sign that read, Eat at Chuckie’s Chicken. Home of the famous Golden Bird. A red apron bulging with candy, plastic toys, and coupons hid the phantera’s backward knees.
“Let’s go,” Todd urged.
A gentle wind sent a few leaves skittering across the gravel path as they walked.
David breathed deep of the park’s pleasant scents. “I can’t believe you’ve never been to Whitefield Park, Todd. Of all the parks in Los Arboles, this one’s the best.”
Glancing around, Todd said, “I believe you. Most of the parks I’ve seen are pretty run down.”
Swinging his arms, David enjoyed the warm, outdoor air. “Whitefield has always been my favorite. The natural lake, old walnut grove, flower gardens, and lakeside gazebo bring back such memories. There’s even a bronze bust of George Whitefield himself.”
“Whoever he was,” Todd muttered.
David pointed to a path that branched off near the lake. “Up the hill on the right is the best of the gardens. Some benefactor donated a collection of statues, replicas of famous works. Burt the gardener keeps them spotless and guards them like a pit bull. He’s got a reputation for being tough on mischievous kids. Even the gangs give him a wide berth.”
A young blind woman searched the path with her cane as she strode by.
Todd turned and walked backwards, gawking at the woman. “She’s got a lot of guts to come here alone.” Whirling back around, he threw his head back and put on a mocking poetic air. “Ah, Whitefield Park—a haven for lovers, bird watchers, wild children and space aliens.”
David chuckled at his friend. “The place is pretty crowded now, but when school starts, it will be almost deserted. When I was little, my family came here for picnics. We’d play ball and fly kites. Dad used to take me out in a rowboat on the lake.”
Todd wore a vacant expression.
David cringed. Great move, David. Just remind Todd about your wonderful happy family—rub his nose in it. How could you forget his biggest heartache? With a father who’s as huggable as a cactus, and a mother who bailed out long ago, it’s a miracle he has a shred of sanity left. At least his step-mom didn’t give up on him.
They strode into the shadows of the old walnut grove.
“This semester was definitely the toughest schedule juggling I’ve ever done,” Todd complained.
“I know, but the discipline will be good for you.” David poked his friend gently in the ribs.
“Discipline. I’m so sick of that word.”
David raised a cautioning finger. “It’s the only way we can keep an eye on Gyra and be full-time students. I don’t relish the idea of taking night classes any more than you do.”
“Good-bye social life.” Todd kissed his fingers.
Gyra imitated the gesture, causing his two escorts to laugh.
Todd slapped Gyra’s back. “Well, at least he cheers me up. It sure is nice to be outside. I was beginning to go crazy in the apartment.”
“Todd, you already were crazy.”
As they walked towards the lake, a group of youngsters ran to meet them. David tried not to panic as they mobbed Gyra, but the phantera calmly gave out his gifts, as planned.
The children finally raced off to the lake with their candy, toy chickens, and coupons.
David taught Gyra the names of the trees, plants, and animals that lived in the park. When they arrived at the lake, Gyra eyed the ducks that cruised at the water’s edge. “Duca dilu,” he said wistfully.
“Duck,” David said pointing to a fat, Pekin drake.
“Duca,” Gyra repeated.
“Doo-kah,” Todd imitated. “Do you suppose they have ducks where Gyra comes from?”
“Duca naharam?” David asked.
Gyra scratched his neck where the sign rubbed it. “Duca no naharam. Duca chelra.”
Laughing, the group of children chased each other along the lakeside.
“Hey, Nabil, come here,” cried a tall lanky kid further down the shoreline. “There’s a duck all wrapped in fishing line. Help me catch him.”
Leaping like a deer, Nabil ran to join the boy.
David and his friends followed.
A small gathering of children stood on the bank as the tall boy pointed to the Pekin duck sitting offshore.
“The white one, Dewan?” asked Nabil.
“Yeah, give me some bread. Maybe we can catch it.”
Oblivious to park rules about harassing ducks, the two boys threw bread into the water while the other kids watched.
When the duck wandered within range, Nabil pounced.
The duck released several hardy squawks as its wings splashed water on Nabil and his peers, but the little boy had a good grasp on his quarry and hauled it in.
The children lavished praise on Nabil for his skill as the boy carried the duck a safe distance from the lake. Their squirrel-like chattering died when they saw David and his friends.
“You’re not going to turn us in, are you?” Dewan asked with an expression bordering on terror.
“Why should I? You’re only trying to help a duck.” David chuckled. “Bring her here and let me have a look at her.”
The children resumed their jabbering.
Sitting down with the duck on the grass, he fished a pocketknife out of his pocket and proceeded to cut away the line. Fortunately there were no hooks.
“Stupid fishermen,” commented a girl. “I wish they weren’t allowed to fish in the lake.”
“I used to fish here,” David said casually, continuing to cut away the line. “The problem isn’t with fishing, it’s with sloppy people who don’t pick up after themselves.”
The girl took his gentle reprimand in silence.
“There.” Clearing away the last strands of line, David released the duck into a ring of kids.
The children crowded closer to pet the now docile bird.
David balled up the scraps of line and handed it to the girl. “Here, put this in the trashcan by the bench.”
“But I didn’t make the mess,” she protested. “Why should I clean it up?”
“Because if you don’t, another duck could get caught in it.”
The girl sighed but took the tangled line.
“Gyra,” Todd whispered, “Duck naharam?”
Gyra reached down and stroked the duck. His fingers lingered on the duck’s head. “No naharam,” he said withdrawing his hand. “Duck dalam.”
“What’d he say?” Nabil asked.
“Uh, he was saying the duck was . . . pretty.” Todd blushed.
Dewan’s black face scowled. “What language was that?”
David looked around at the ethnically mixed group of kids. He better pick a language they didn’t know and he better pick it fast. Spanish was out, so were Cambodian, Arabic and Korean.
“Yali Indian.” Forgive me, Lord.
“Really?” Nabil asked.
Todd glanced over his shoulder. “Uh, David I think we should leave before . . .”
“Whata you punks doing with my duck!” a harsh voice shouted. Old Burt was running up the path, bellowing like an enraged bull.
The children shrieked and scattered into the shrubs.
Picking up the duck, David stood to face Burt.
“If you’ve hurt my duck I’ll make sure they fine you double!”
David whispered to Todd, “Be careful. To Burt, everything in the park is his—his statues, his flower gardens and his ducks.”
Todd trembled and David guessed his friend would rather join the children in the bushes than stay by his side.
Panagyra looked at Todd and David, but was probably too ignorant to be alarmed.
“Just what do ya think you’re doing?” Burt demanded. He was the tallest person there, with the exception of Gyra.
“We were helping one of your ducks,” David said.
“Oh really?” the gardener scoffed.
“Yeah, it was caught . . . in some fishing line,” Todd added.
“Oh really?” Burt took a menacing step closer to Todd. “Then where’s the fishing line?” he growled.
Todd took a few faltering steps backward.
Burt planted himself before Gyra and glared into his red eyes. “Where did you come from? The circus or the zoo?” The groundskeeper jabbed a gnarled finger at the sign on Gyra’s chest. “So, is Chuckie’s so cheap that now he’s stealing ducks to fry?”
Gyra cocked his head.
“If you want to see the fishing line, you’ll find it in the trashcan by the bench.” David forced calm into his voice and measured every word.
Burt’s hard eyes examined David for a tense moment. “All right,” the cantankerous man said. “We’ll see if it’s there. Come with me and don’t even think of running off. If you try, I’ll hunt you down and drag you to the station by the ears . . . for those of you who have ears.”
Upon reaching the trashcan, Burt pawed at the line sitting on top and frowned.
“Look,” David said, opening one of the duck’s wings. He showed Burt the cuts and scars from the fishing line.
The groundskeeper’s alert eyes met his. “So, you really were helping her, eh?”
Todd nodded vigorously.
David gave the duck to Burt.
The groundskeeper lovingly stroked the ducks feathers and set it down.
Wiggling its tail, the fat Pekin waddled into the pond, quacking in a rapid staccato.
“Well, it’s nice to see someone doing something good for a change.” Burt put out his hand and shook David’s with a strong grip. “Good day to you, sir,” he grumbled and was gone.
David smiled. Burt never apologized for anything, but David accepted the brief rare expression of goodwill from the man.
“Come on, let’s go,” Todd urged.
They entered the flower garden and David had to teach Gyra not to touch the statues. He certainly didn’t want to get on Burt’s bad side. Most of the statues were clothed, but a replica of Michelangelo’s “David” stood atop a fountain.
Drawn to the nude figure, Gyra circled it, stopped in front, and pointed a finger at it. “No modesty,” he declared.
Todd snickered. “You can say that again.”
David remembered the time he had taken his shirt off in front of Gyra. “He’s saying the statue doesn’t have any pants on. He thinks modesty means pants.”
Gyra wandered over to a statue of Venus.
Todd’s cheeks glowed pink as his eyes searched the garden. “Gee, David, I hope we don’t have to teach him about the birds and the bees,” he whispered. “Maybe this isn’t such a great place to be right now.”
Pointing to Venus, David said, “Female.” He aimed his finger at the statue of David. “Male.” Gesturing to Todd and himself, he said “Male.”
Gyra nodded and repeated the exercise.
A young woman strolled down a nearby path. “Female,” Todd whispered.
Gyra pointed to her. “Female.”
“I think that’s enough for now.” Todd clutched his stomach. “Let’s get some lunch.”
On the way to the car, Gyra pointed out various people and declared their gender.
David marveled at Gyra’s accuracy. Different clothes and body weight didn’t confuse the alien at all. He identified some people faster than David!
Just before getting into the car, David said, “Todd is male, David is male. Gyra is . . .”
Gyra glanced at Todd and David. “Gyra is male.”
“Do you think he really understands?” Todd whispered.
Rubbing his chin, David said, “Yes, I think he does.”
Todd wore a twisted smile. “Well, that’s great. I was wondering what you’d have done if you found out Gyra was a she.”
Stopping at a public library on the way home, David picked up some children’s books to expand Gyra’s understanding.
Back at the apartment, David pored over the books with Gyra. In no time David covered the alphabet and basic phonics.
“You know at the rate he learns . . . it’s kind of scary,” Todd commented.
“Yeah, I know,” David returned in a low voice. “I don’t have to repeat things. It’s like he has perfect memory, but just because he can repeat a word doesn’t mean he understands it. I still wish there was a faster way to teach him.”
“Here, let me take over for a while.” Todd took the book from David and sat beside Gyra.
The big phantera crouched bird-style on the ground.
As soon as Todd was settled into teaching, David retreated to his room, sat on his bed, and leaned his slender frame against the cool wall. His gaze fell to the Bible on his nightstand. Picking it up, he caressed the smooth worn leather with his fingers. When was the last time he’d read it? He released a weary sigh. The past week had been incredibly busy.
I’m sorry, Lord.
Did Gyra’s arrival challenge David’s beliefs? Before Gyra, David had written off claims of alien contacts and UFOs as pure nonsense. What were the ramifications of alien lifeforms, especially intelligent ones?
Doubts crowded in around him. What if Gyra came from a race of beings that were technologically superior and morally barbaric? What kind of a moral code did they have—if any? Would they laugh at Christianity? Did they believe in God? Perhaps they had their own gods.
Was Gyra good? Evil? A little of both?
David looked down at his Bible again. Did God give the same guidelines and rules to all sentient life?
The cold wall sapped the warmth from his back. What if there was no absolute moral code and his beliefs were obsolete, unable to handle change?
The stale air smothered him. David looked up at the cracked yellowed ceiling. His lungs labored under an unseen pressure.
Was he a narrow-minded fool? How could he reconcile his faith with the reality of the alien in his apartment? Perhaps all those wacky New Age people were right.
“No!” David spoke with odd difficulty. The pressure increased. His throat felt like a great snake was constricting it.
Sooner or later, people would find out about Gyra. It would be the scandal of the century. The press and conspiracy freaks would have a feeding frenzy. Gyra was a danger to David’s faith, to the church, to his family, to all David loved. It would be best if he just secretly surrendered the alien to the authorities.
“It would be wrong to abandon him!” David forced out.
David was scared. He was helpless and the situation was hopeless . . .
Wait a minute. He’d felt this before. These thoughts weren’t his own! His throat was so constricted he couldn’t speak; he could barely breathe.
But David could still pray.
Jesus, help me! his mind cried out.
“Yavana!” Gyra cried as he burst into David’s room. “Yavana elah David!”
The malevolent spirit released David immediately. Air rushed back into his lungs.
“Whoa, Gyra, take it easy. David, are you all right?” Todd asked from the doorway.
The phantera raised both his hands and stretched them toward David. “Ramara sa Yavana. Naphema hamoth David tor mel-aradelah. Dee David sarena.”
Gyra lowered his arms, placed a gentle hand on David’s shoulder, and peered carefully into his eyes.
“What was that all about?” Todd asked with a stunned expression. “The only words I was able to catch were David and Yavana.”
Rubbing his throat, David gave Gyra’s arm a pat. “Let’s go out to the kitchen.”
Todd microwaved a cup of hot chocolate and offered it to David. “Now, do you want to tell me why you were as pale as a ghost when we came in?”
“I’m not sure you’d understand.”
Feigning an arrow wound to the chest, Todd cried, “Oooo! That hurt!”
“All right, only promise not to laugh.”
“Cross my heart. Cub scout’s honor,” Todd replied with the appropriate hand gestures.
David took a cautious sip from his mug and set it down before sharing his experience.
Todd appeared enraptured by David’s tale, waiting until David finished before asking questions—a rare act of discipline for Todd.
“So, this happened to you twice; once right after we brought Gyra home and the other time just now?”
“Yes,” David said in a low voice.
Todd wore a serious look. “You think Gyra caused it, like put a hex on you?”
David took another sip of his now lukewarm chocolate. “Yes and no. I experienced something similar a few times before Gyra came. Each happened just before or after a major turning point in my life. Christians call it being attacked.”
Todd leaned forward. “What did you do to get rid of it?”
“Since my throat was being choked, I prayed to Jesus in my mind and it left.”
“Whoa, this is too weird.” Todd shook his head. “How does Gyra fit in?”
“At first I thought he might be the cause of it, but I don’t think so now. Gyra looked distressed, too. I think someone is trying to keep us from learning about Gyra; they’re trying to plant fear in our hearts.”
Todd raised an eyebrow. “Someone or something?”
David was embarrassed to use the word demon in front of Todd, yet that was exactly what he thought it was. “There’s a lot more going on than we know, Todd. A whole lot more.”