Chapter 15
The Past is Now
“Who exactly is this guy?”
Dave opened his eyes. He was standing in a wide, high-ceilinged room that curved and tapered on the far ends, creating a crescent-shaped space. The walls were silver, clean but shimmering with occasional symbols or images that were probably alien text. Suspended high in the center of the room was a three-dimensional hologram of something Dave couldn’t quite make out.
The one who asked the question was not an extraterrestrial. There appeared to be only two others in the room at the moment. One was the Asian man who was speaking to the aliens when Dave arrived at Stonehenge. The other was a thick, bearded Caucasian man wearing a brown leather jacket. He could easily have passed for a Hell’s Angel if it weren’t for a cat sitting parrot-like on his shoulder.
“I’m Dave,” he answered. “Dave Kelly.” He looked up at the hologram and braced for the inevitable follow-up question. Was that an insignia? Were those ears poking out of it?
“So you’re ‘Sovereign Dave’? What in the world does that mean? I’m sorry, but you don’t look like a king, or a president. Or even a mid-level bureaucrat.”
“Not even like the manager of a Taco Bell,” added the bearded man.
Meow, said the cat. The bearded man flinched spastically. Evidently he had been unaware the cat was resting on him. The feline leapt down, landing silently on the silver floor.
Dave scanned the room again. “Where are Carl and Elvis?”
The other two looked at one another.
“Are you referring to the extraterrestrials?” The smaller man shook his head. “Carl? Elvis?”
“Look,” Dave shot back. He was already feeling scared and guilty, he didn’t need to be annoyed as well. “I know Carl and Elvis from way back.”
“Their names are “Elvish” and “Crawl” or something like that, right?” asked the bearded man.
“Not quite,” said the other. “Mr. Kelly, the aliens seem to think you’re a person of great importance. Now, I’m not accusing you of not being important, because the Contact Message specifically indicates that they want you to know that they may not have to annihilate the planet. I would really like to understand what that is about.”
Dave suddenly felt dizzy. It was a familiar dizziness that he grew accustomed to over the years whenever he tried to face up to important tasks, like paying his taxes, filing for his divorces, or saving the planet from annihilation. He leaned over and put his forearms on his knees.
“Mr. Kelly. My name is Frank Lee…”
“Doctor Frank Lee,” chimed the bearded man. Dr. Lee sighed.
“I’ve been appointed ambassador of the United States and general envoy of the United Nations to speak to the aliens. Let me tell you, trying to figure out who you are has been one of the most irritating things I’ve ever had to do.”
“You sound like my ex-wives,” said Dave. “And who are you?” The biker man shrugged.
“My name is Dave too,” he answered. “Most people call me Razorback. I have no idea why I’m here. I think it has something to do with a two-dimensional clock that chimes when I might die.”
Dave’s brain spent scarcely any energy trying to understand what a two-dimensional clock might be. Over the years since his first encounter with aliens, he’d experienced a myriad of bizarre things that made the clock sound no more mystifying than a college student’s recipe for Ramen Noodle breakfast burritos.
“Now please,” said Lee. “I have no idea where the aliens are, but when they return-"
"Or pee," interrupted Razorback.
"-we have a lot to talk about. WHAT?" asked Lee.
"When I'm asleep and have to pee. The clock chimes and wakes me up. But Sal seems mad about the third dimension. "
"Sal…third…Particularly the part about annihilation. So tell me, why are you “Sovereign Dave” and why do they want to talk with you?”
Dave had almost figured out the hologram. It was a crest or something. In the middle was what might be the silhouette of a head similar to Carl and Elvis, but there was something else.
“Mr. Kelly!”
Dave stood up straight again. “Okay, this is going to sound bad, and I doubt I have time to go into the particulars before Carl and Elvis come back…”
“Stop,” said Dr. Lee. “Are you just being a jerk with their names? The first one in the blue uniform called himself ‘Kh’rall’. Why are you calling him ‘Carl’? And ‘Ehl’vash’...Elvis? Really?”
“Because,” replied Dave with a hint of anger, “I was drunk when I met them. And not just drunk, but really angry drunk. I assumed I was being messed with by some Air Force buddies at first, and I thought their names were gibberish. So I did the best I could and called them Carl and Elvis and you know what? They seem to like it. They told me that my accent was “intriguing” or something.”
Dr. Lee turned pale, and it was his turn to look woozy. He dropped to one knee. Dave suddenly wondered why an advanced alien species capable of interstellar travel didn’t have chairs in their spaceship.
“Oh my,” muttered Lee. “Oh no. You’re telling me that humanity’s first contact with us started with a drunken serviceman?”
“It gets worse,” coughed Dave. “ This was back in 1993, when I was stationed at Mildenhall. I met these space guys on a particularly bad night, okay? I was blitzed out of my head, angry at my ex, angry at the Air Force, angry at myself. I don’t remember much of what I said to them, aside from claiming to be King of Earth. But they said something bad was going to happen to Earth. Or rather, they were going to have to do something bad to the Earth. Unless I did something very important.”
Dr. Lee and the other guy leaned forward. “What?”
Dave swallowed. He needed a drink. “I don’t remember.”
Suddenly, to Dave’s left, an opening appeared in the silver wall. Kh’rall stepped through carrying a tray. Upon it were some small violet cups. Behind him walked Ehl’vash. Tucked in one arm was a translucent rectangle.
“Sovereign Dave!” said Kh’rall excitedly. “We are so pleased to see you. We have excellent news!”
The hint of an ethereal humming sound was heard for just a moment.
Hummmmm.
“Or rather, we had excellent news,” he corrected himself. “And we may still, but we could not help but notice that the Celestial Navigation Wheel is still incomplete.”
Dr. Lee stepped forward. “Our esteemed and honorable hosts, I believe you said your name was Kh’rall? I may be of some assistance here, if...”
“You may reefer to me as Carl,” said Carl.
"What about a reefer?" asked Razorback.
“He meant 'refer', and please, call me Elvis,” said Elvis. “We were honored when Sovereign Dave bestowed upon us your phonetic interpretation of our native names.” They both smiled, practically beaming with delight.
Dr. Lee glanced furiously for just a moment at Dave, who shrugged.
“Sovereign Dave,” said Carl, gesturing toward Lee. “Is this one of your ministers? Perhaps a flunky?”
Hummm.
“Perhaps a functionary?” said Elvis, and then added, "Carl, you'll find the reference to reefer to be a tropical group of musicians, with an affinity towards the rustic western rhythms and a desire to save large aquatic mammals."
"That's not the reefer he's talking about. I’d demonstrate, but it’d violate the terms of my plea bargain. Plus, the narc here.” Razorback nodded toward Dr. Lee.
Dave smiled weakly. It was time to set things straight.
“Look, Carl. Elvis. I need to level with you about this “sovereign” bit.” Carl and Elvis shared an opaque glance at one another, along with a brief hum.
“What is it, Sovereign Dave?”
“Well, as you may have guessed, um. I’m…” Dave looked squarely into Carl’s large, ebony eyes. He could see his own reflection, albeit upside down. “I’m no longer Sovereign. Um”
Carl looked at Elvis. Hummmmmm.
“Oh how wonderful...” said Carl gravely.
Hummm.
“Oh how awful,” he corrected quickly. “Was there a mutiny? A civil war?”
“What? No. I, uh, stepped down from that position shortly after you left.” Dave looked over to his fellow humans. Lee’s face could have been carved out of stone. He could tell the good doctor was weighing the risks of just setting the record straight, that Dave Kelly was, at best, a fraud that needed to be ignored. The other one, Razorback, looked to be feeling around for a lighter. Good, thought Dave. He probably has no intention of stopping me from making a fool of myself.
“This is unfortunate news, Former Sovereign Dave. Were you able to make any progress in locating the missing segment of the Wheel?”
Dave felt vitally important but long buried memories pounding loudly on the door to his consciousness. He remembered the thing about the buried alcohol. He also had the sense he wasn’t supposed to have imbibed it. Vague images of Carl and Elvis instructing him about a stone started seeping into his brain.
“Well, um, the thing about the Wheel project is,” said Dave, his brain furiously trying to cobble together the exact words to hide decades of negligence, “it is still in progress.”
Elvis, who had been typing something on his translucent tablet, stopped. He leaned forward slightly. “Do you think you are close to acquiring it?” He was noticeably more tense.
Dave gave up. “No,” he said. “We are not. Um.” Then he added after a short pause, “Could you, ah, remind me what it was we were supposed to do?”
Carl and Elvis stepped back and looked at one another. The quiet humming became punctuated at times with a much louder hum. Razorback leaned in close to Dave.
“What exactly are they doing?” he asked. “Are they, like, talking?”
“I think so,” said Dave. “I think they can talk to each other with their minds, but they can’t do that with us. I seem to remember them politely telling me it was because our brains are too simple.”
"Huh!" said Razorback. "I wonder…I remember some kind of weird hum the last time Sal talked to me about that clock. I just thought it was background noise. But now…I’m gonna hum right back at them."
“Oh, please don’t,” said Dr. Lee. “That would be embarrassing for not only you but the entire human r…”
The humming ended. Carl and Elvis stepped forward once again.
Razorback immediately started humming. Dr. Lee waved at him, but it didn’t last long. His attempt to communicate clearly failed, he started adding lyrics and mumbling rhymes. Dave was able to catch something about a flip flop, a pop top, and maybe a tattoo.
“We are afraid then that our good news is considerably less good,” said Carl, his voice more solemn. “I would say the news now is more…terraforming.”
Hummmm.
“I’m sorry. “Terrifying.” The news is more terrifying.”
"It’s my own damn fault, " sang Razorback.