Читать книгу The Alien's Secret Volume 3 - Robert M. Doroghazi - Страница 4

Hoken glanced at his watch: 0615 Thursday morning. He had hoped to make up more than three days on the trip to Earth. But because of the supernova event, he had not made up any time and had even lost an additional four hours. There were now barely thirty hours before the appointed time—thirty hours to get to the boarding house, take over #1, familiarize himself with the workplace, stalk and then ambush Rennedee.

Hoken looked up at the sky. It was more than ten minutes after sunrise, but the moon was still visible. It looked so small as compared to the view Hoken had just an hour ago, and it seemed so bland in comparison to Oria’s two moons. Hoken contrasted the off-white pale cheesy-yellow pasty color of Earth’s moon with the golden yellow of Auric and the green of Alcuinn.

The Earth’s sun was only slightly smaller than the Orian sun Mhairi, but looked tiny because of the absence of the Rankin Cube, which was so huge that it dominated almost 10 percent of the Orian sky. It made Hoken think back to the pictures in the history books showing the pre-Rankin sky with the three moons and no Cube.

Hoken quickly checked his pants pockets; everything was where it should be. He took off the backpack and checked all the flaps: everything intact. Nothing had fallen out.

Hoken looked around. The only traces of his landing were the broken trees branches, some leaves on the ground, and some nondescript marks in the dust. No re-entry suit, no Sergeant, nothing else to betray him or his alien identity. Aside from Tonto or the Indian guide “Billy” in Predator, no one else could tell what had just taken place.

Hoken had to cover six kilometers in less than an hour to get to the boardinghouse where #1 was staying before he left for work. As soon as he started north toward the railroad tracks, he heard an engine. Oh no, he thought, not again. He quickly discovered it was the Sergeant’s car; the engine was still running and the headlights were on. Hoken had wondered how Wiggans could have surprised him and now he saw why. Because of the path of the road, the headlights were never really pointed in his direction, and the slight bank on each side of the road and the gently rolling terrain had blocked the sound.

He had no intention of using a black and white police car for transportation, but he did want to do anything he could to prevent drawing attention to the car. He opened the door, turned off the lights (this was before they went off automatically), then the engine, closed the door, and gave the keys a good toss. The land was open with no place to hide the car. It was easiest just to get as far away from the vehicle as quickly as possible.

Hoken was in the country. The area was chosen for the landing zone because there were no residential dwellings for almost a kilometer in any direction. It was pasture land, with a few scattered head of cattle, lots of road apples, and a few trees. With no obstructions, Hoken could move fast.

Hoken had by now completely recovered from the crash landing and felt strong and refreshed. Even though his rations had been sparse over the last three days, they were nutritionally adequate. He instantly appreciated that his strength was magnified by almost a third. Running seemed effortless. He was gliding along, and with each stride his spirits were buoyed. With the temperature a cool thirteen degrees and just a whiff of breeze, Hoken was barely sweating. The bad stuff was now all behind him; he had made it to Earth and the mission was back on track.

Look out, Rennedee, he thought, because I’m coming to get you.

Hoken came to a small rise, barely two meters high, but because the rest of the land was so flat, he could see a good distance in all directions. Hoken knew from studying the maps that more than a kilometer behind him to the south was a concrete plant. He could see the awkward-looking concrete mixers and the cars driving into the parking lot, several with their headlights still on, men and a few women showing up for another day’s work. On Andddla, thought Hoken, the ants would be taking care of all of this sort of work.

Hoken kept running straight north. He could now see his first goal, the railroad tracks about four hundred meters away that angled to the northeast. A freight train was on the tracks moving in that direction, the same direction Hoken was headed, to the city. As Hoken ran toward the tracks he counted the cars—in English—of course. There were three engines, the first two pointed forward, the third pointed backward, all with the MKT, Missouri, Kansas, and Texas logo. There were 97 cars and one caboose, exactly 101 cars in all.

When Hoken reached the tracks, he veered to his right (northeast), to run alongside the train. Because the train was approaching a metropolitan area, the tallest buildings now easily visible in the distance, it had slowed down and was barely moving faster than he was. He glanced at the frame of one of the boxcars just next to his left shoulder. It was manufactured by General Steel Industries, Granite City, Illinois.

The route along the tracks was chosen for many reasons. It was easy to follow, so getting lost would be almost impossible. He would run on a flat, prepared surface, so he could make great time. There might or might not be any other humans along the tracks, but even if there were, it would be very unlikely they would be the authorities. And in any case, he could see them coming a long way off, so he wouldn’t be surprised. It was also a straight shot; Hoken didn’t have to get off the tracks until he was only a kilometer and a half from the boarding house where he would meet up with #1. Three-fourths of the distance from the landing site to the boarding house he was running on a prepared route with no human contact. Perfect.

Barely a minute after he caught up with the train, the tracks crossed over a four-lane highway that ran straight east and west. More autos and trucks, and even a few buses, were clearly going off to Hoken’s right, toward the city, than were coming at him then going off to his left, away from town.

A half kilometer past the large highway, the tracks were met by another track coming from the west. At this junction the single track turned to run directly east toward the city.

Hoken was running a little slower than the train. As the caboose finally passed him, he looked up to his left. The conductor had been watching Hoken the entire time he ran alongside. Hoken smiled slightly. The conductor, a man in his mid-forties with that squinty look typical of the guys with a cigarette constantly in their mouth, nodded back, and promptly opened the door to go back inside the caboose.

At supper that night, the conductor had a good story for his family. “This morning, jist after the sun come up, some young guy run alongsides my train fer about ten minutes. At first I thought he might be your regular hobo-type tryin’ to jump my train, ’cause he was kinda ugly, but he never did. Then I think he might be a soldier doin’ some training; he had a backpack, looked like it maybe had a rifle in it. He was a pretty big guy too, actually built kinda like a tank. Looked like he could kick some serious butt. But then I see he’s in regular shoes, not boots. I’ll tell you one thing,” said the conductor as he put some mustard on his roast beef and then waved his yellow slathered knife as if to emphasize his point, “He was in pretty dang good shape. In fact, I still can’t hardly believe how this guy run so long and so fast and was barely sweatin’. He was runnin’ and smilin’ at the same time. To tell you the truth, it was all pretty odd. But I didn’t give a damn, just so long as he never touched my train. Fer all I know, he could a bin the man in the moon, but if he don’t touch my train, I don’t care.”

There were now some homes on the north, or far side, of the tracks. Hoken could see a lady, probably about his mother’s age, taking yesterday’s wash off the clothes line. She smelled one of the sheets as she tucked it into her basket. It would be another kilometer or so before there were any buildings on Hoken’s side. But even then, because of the railroad right-of-way, the buildings were at least twenty or thirty meters away, and there were no other humans either on or near the tracks.

The tracks curved slightly to the left. The data obtained by the Orian military and Hoken’s study of the street and topographical maps were making things so easy. Hoken had been over this route in his mind twenty times before. In another three hundred meters, the tracks would pass over Sylvan road.

There it was. Hoken stayed on the tracks as they passed over Sylvan. Just as he slowed to a walk to go down the embankment to the street, three toots on the train whistle made him look down the tracks one more time. Much of the train had disappeared around a bend. There was the little red caboose, but now Hoken couldn’t quite see the conductor.

Hoken kept up the pace at a brisk walk. Even after running almost four kilometers, he felt great. But to run on the sidewalk, with a backpack would just be too out of the ordinary and would surely draw attention. He was making good time and was on schedule. Don’t force it, he thought.

Hoken was headed south on the east side of the street, with no one on the sidewalk in front of him. He glanced around; no one behind him, and no one walking on the other side of the street. The traffic on his side of the street was coming toward him. He could see everything, no way he would be surprised.

Hoken had been on plenty of missions before. It was times like this that he could relax a little, no one could or needed to stay at battle stations every minute, but he was still always trying to think ahead and stay focused.

A vehicle drove by on his side of the street—a white milk truck on the way from Dressel Young Dairy to its morning deliveries. There were billboards on each side of the street. Chesterfield cigarettes: ABC it said—“Always milder, Better tasting, Cooler smoking—Always Buy Chesterfield.” Another was for Schlitz beer.

Hoken continued to walk briskly and covered another two blocks down Sylvan in an instant. A young man (Hoken thought he looked about nineteen or twenty years old), was on the same side of the street headed north, walking very slowly toward Hoken. He was wearing a denim jacket and a very beat-up cowboy hat with a short feather stuck in the brim. His dark, unkempt hair scrounged around the collar of the jacket and he had a week’s growth of stubby beard. Hoken watched him closely. He looked just like a passerby, a guy who just happened to be there, but Hoken wasn’t going to take any chances.

When the man was walking toward Hoken, his hands were in his front pants pocket. His thumbs were out of the pockets pointing inward, hooked neatly inside his wide, colorfully-decorated leather belt with a silver and turquoise-colored buckle so large it almost seemed to cover his whole stomach, almost like those worn by the world-champion boxers and wrestlers.

As soon as the man heard a car coming on his side of the road, he turned around to face it, stepped off the sidewalk to the side of the road, and walk backwards even more slowly. He would then take his right hand out of his pocket, point his right arm out from his body over the surface of the road and put his thumb out from the hand, with the other fingers clenched in a fist.

After the Chevy pickup whizzed by without slowing down, the man turned back around, tucked his hand safely back into the pocket, and resumed his slow saunter. As he walked by Hoken, he nodded, smiled and said, “Howdy.”

Barely a young man, thought Hoken, but already missing at least four teeth.

Hoken nodded back and said, “Hello.”

As the man continued on his way, Hoken thought he would surely make much better time, and be certain to arrive at his destination more quickly, if he would just walk briskly and move consistently in the general direction of travel rather than walking so slowly. It would be especially helpful if he would stop walking backwards and waving his arm over the road every time a vehicle passed. If it was a greeting, no one seemed to be acknowledging him. It just seemed like such a very inefficient way to travel. But Hoken was a spaceman—what did he know?

Earth was exactly as Hoken had imagined. The transportation, homes, industries, foliage, climate, people, animals, and even the sounds and smells were accurate. The intelligence people of the Special Missions Unit had done their job and painted a perfect picture. Hoken was an upbeat, positive person, as are most successful people. Everything so far just served to reinforce his confidence. The maps were perfect; he had yet to notice a single error. Things were finally running smoothly. But that was what he thought before the run-in with the Grog, and what he thought before the supernova, and what he thought before dropping in on Sergeant Wiggans.

Hoken continued south on Sylvan, passing Evergreen, Knott and, Greenbriar. He remembered that the next street would be Shady Road, because it appeared a little more prominent on the map. When he got to the corner he noted things were a little different—there was more traffic, and a few cars were at the intersection but not moving. There were also electric lights that changed color, variably red or green, and seemed to control the flow of traffic. Hoken just waited until no cars were coming in either direction on Shady and started briskly across the street.

There was a sudden, loud, honking sound like Hoken had never heard before. He froze. There was a screech of tires as a car that was making a left turn from Sylvan onto Shady came to a stop just a few meters from him. Hoken turned and looked into the driver’s eye. It was an elderly lady whose hair seemed to Hoken to be more blue than grey. She seemed a little shaken, but then motioned with her left hand for Hoken to proceed. Hoken nodded to her, looked quickly in all directions, and was on the sidewalk in a flash. Will it ever stop? he thought. He’d be more careful the next time he wanted to cross the street.

Hoken walked by several old three-story buildings. One was a business, the other a warehouse. A few windows were broken but the buildings still seemed to be in use. Signs were painted directly on the bricks along the sides of the buildings, but could be easily seen from the street. One was faded, although still quite colorful, and proudly stated: “Wonder Bread helps build strong bodies in eight ways.” Hoken was puzzled how eating bread, or anything for that matter, could have an effect similar to exercise. Maybe these Earth folks are smarter than we thought, he said to himself.

Hoken thought the second sign was quite clever, clearly a word play meant to both amuse the viewer and facilitate easy memorization and name recognition for the business. It was not a rhyme, not onomatopoeia. It was more like an inverse alliteration. It was for the Cass Glass Company—“See Les Cass at Cass Glass, where you get your glass for less from Les.”

The last sign was more faded than the others, and because Hoken was walking so briskly, he didn’t get that good a look. It was for Dr. Pepper, encouraging its use at ten, two, and four o’clock. On Oria, physicians didn’t advertise their services. Hoken could think of no reason to see a physician three times a day, so he presumed the comment was in a non-medical context.

Hoken found the advertising methods and slogans simplistic, but interesting, and they certainly did catch his attention. Humans had no idea what they would be subject to, thought Hoken, when advertisers were armed with another thousand years of technology, psychological research and more aggressive methods. Advertising had become so seductive, so able to influence and capture the minds of even the smartest, normally most skeptical people who could think for themselves, so subtle yet addictively successful, that many societies, including the Septadians, the ultimate capitalists, had put very significant limitations on how all goods and services could be advertised. The use of sex in advertising, either overtly or even by not-so-subtle innuendo, such as a scantily-clad woman with unusually large breasts advertising seemingly everything from autos to paper towels, floor wax, or canned tomatoes, was considered a sign of depravity and below any civilized society. All advertising was reduced to basic facts about the product and required government approval. It was the only way to protect honest, hard-working citizens from unfair manipulation.