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WHISTLER INC.
Dean sat in the chair waiting on Lieutenant Richards to arrive. He’d gotten the call requesting his presence in the middle of nowhere Nevada yesterday. So, he’d dressed in his military finest and come without question. Though, when he saw the almost 20 feet tall electric fence and armed security on his way in, he’d begun to question his decision.
He chewed on his inner jaw and ran a hand through his newly trimmed mop of red hair. His gaze shifted over the room, almost clinical in its décor and color, distractedly. Listlessly he wondered if the lieutenant was as uptight as their office suggested. Several moments passed and the silence began catching up to him.
He hated silence. The deafening silence. It was not just the silence though, no, it was the idleness. So he tried to occupy his mind. He tried counting the squares on the ceiling tiles, counting to 50 in every language he knew and naming all the characters from Game of Thrones, to no avail. The sensation of bugs crawling under his skin flooded him with visceral ferocity. He closed his eyes, humming River under his breath but this time the monsters remained insistent.
Grisly images of mangled bodies inundated his brain. And then, he was there again, in the desert fighting for his life. The thunderous staccato of gunfire had only begun to fill his ears again when the office door to the right opened with a ding. He nearly jumped out of his skin but composed himself in record time.
His interviewer, Lieutenant Richards, strode briskly to her desk, black pumps clicking against the tiled floor. He watched her with attentive eyes. She was an attractive woman in her 30s, of Latin descent with a no-nonsense pixie haircut and gait of one with many years of military service under her belt. Her skirt suit looked ironed to peak crispiness.
She sat down at the large cherry wood desk, scooting her comfortable chair close. For the first three minutes, she ignored him in favor of reading through the contents of a manila folder. No doubt his file. Finally, she shut the folder and set critical brown eyes on him. “Hello, Mister Evans. I am Lieutenant Pilar Richards and I will be interviewing you today.” She placed clasped hands in front of her.
“Nice to meet you ma’am,” was all he offered, "what exactly are you interviewing me for ma'am?"
“So it says here you’ve had six different jobs in three months.” She continued on, completely ignoring his question.
Darn it. He’d hoped his job-hopping would not be an issue. “I—yes.” She gave him a critical look. He dug his fingertips into the fabric of his pants. “I was under the impression General Bishop would be present.”
She blinked at him, a blank expression on her features. “Oh, he’s in the vicinity. I am his liaison and I wanted to see if you’re qualified.” The way she wrinkled her nose after giving him a deliberate once-over, he was guessing she was deeply unimpressed. “Though you don’t look it I suppose you are since Sir asked for you by name. And there’s the whole laundry list of medals and honors in your file.”
He gave a nod of his head at her words. He might be a used shell of a man, at least he did his job well. “Yes, ma’am.”
She leaned forwards a hawkish gaze on him. “So let me ask you, soldier, how are you battling those inner demons of yours?” Her dark gaze was sharp, expression canny. “You still wake up in the middle of the night screaming? You still a walking dream away from harming a civilian? Do car engines still remind you of gunfire?”
Dean remained quiet. What could he say? That every day was its own war? That he’d traded one battle for the next except there was no foxhole to escape into with this one?
She frowned. “You sure you’re stable enough for this job Mister Evans?” She settled into her comfy chair, relentless gaze on him.
Dean swallowed. “In all honesty ma’am I’ve lost so much that this job is the only thing that’ll give me purpose.” It was the truth. He’d lost his fiancé, his apartment, and his last job.
She let out a deep breath, gaze finally softening. “Well, the General called you, which means you’re already hired. I was just trying to make sure he made the right decision.”
The rigidness in his spine slackened with relief. Finally, a break. “So what kind of work will I be doing?”
A smirk that alarmed him drawled across her mouth. “How about I show you. Follow me.” She rose and strode to the sliding door. He followed and soon they were in a descending elevator.
They descended several stories and stepped out into a sedately busy hallway. He followed her to a metal door with a security pad next to her. Quickly she gave a thumbprint, eye scan, password, and card swipe before the door slid open. He raised an eyebrow, wondering what was behind that door to warrant such security measures. Secretly, he wished his sidearm sat holstered to his hip.
He followed her into the room. The room itself was large with a concrete floor and white surrounding walls. In front of him was what looked like a giant glass tank. He raised an eyebrow at the objects behind the glass. Were those blue tree trunks? Those were the oddest tree trunks he’d ever seen. He squinted. Were those—wait. “It can’t be,” he whispered in disbelief.
He strode further into the large room, tilting his head up past the trunk to… knees. Knees? Knees?! His jaw dropped when he realized it. The tree trunks, were not tree trunks, they were legs! He stepped backward, tipping his head back to take in the entire unbelievable sight. His gaze rose past the thighs, the feminine hips and bosoms, to a head crowned in hair. In this tank was a giant woman. Fear mixed with marvel swamped him so quickly he almost forgot to breathe.
“This is ELF Five. And she is 30.3 feet tall. In case you’re wondering.” The pride in Richards' voice was definitely not lost on him.
“H-how—where--.” He paused, collecting his thoughts so he could form at least a halfway comprehensive sentence. “Where did you get her?”
She stared at the tank with something akin to excitement. “Explorers found her at the bottom of the Arctic Ocean in 2000 frozen inside of a damaged ship. The ship which is three floors below in engineering is the source of all the cutting edge tech in recent years.”
He stepped over to the towering tank, noting the strange liquid inside. “How long has she been here?”
“The experts,” she gestured to the visible observation deck to their above right, “say from somewhere around 2500 years.”
He stared at her gobsmacked. Wow. Wherever she was from she’d missed two millennia. He wondered if her absence went ignored. “Do they know why she was here?”
“We don’t know. They thawed her out but ...” She frowned. “She didn’t wake up. But she’s not brain dead. Her organs, those that we could identify, are working properly. She just doesn’t respond.”
Dean put a hand on the cool glass, amazed at the story behind the remarkable creature. “Well maybe… maybe she’s healing or something and will wake up when her body is done.”
Richards hummed thoughtfully. “Yeah. Sometimes I wonder if that will be a good thing.” He jerked his eyes to her but she only offered an unapologetic shrug.
She debriefed him on his shift and duties before beckoning him to return to her office. Once there she offered him documents to sign and read for the night.
He settled into his recliner with his bowl of macaroni and cheese and a primetime sitcom on repeat. He thought about his day as he ate.
He had a job. He had a job. And not a job where he had to pretend that he had successfully reacclimated to normal society, but a job where his true skills were put to use. He gripped the handle of his fork. Now all he had was this job. He would not disappoint them this time.
The next day he reported in with a smile of determination. The first day was uneventful—see boring—and so were the four days afterward. On the fifth day, he took the liberty, after consulting Richards, of downloading a digital book and games. Needless to say, he listened to a shelf of books that first month.
The second month changed everything. It was a gloomy day. He’d tried apologizing to his ex-fiance only for her to refuse it stating that the man she loved did not return from the war. Her words had cut like swords and followed him into his nightmares.
He leaned back into his chair with a sigh, pulling his earbuds from his ear. Music was not soothing to him today. “Sorry I’m bad company today,” he spoke, “ma’am.” He ran a hand down his freckled face. “Yesterday was bad. The night was even worse.”
He was met with silence.
“Yeah. It’s just…Everyone always says thank you for your service or give us a medal and handshake. Like that really compensates. They go home and they live their lives.” Bitterness spread through him like a bacteria. “Meanwhile…she left me because of the nightmares and panic attacks.” He took in a pitiful shuddering breath. “I’m trying, you know. But how can I pretend that I wasn’t in the crap up to my anus watching friends get ripped apart by homemade bombs?” He buried his head in his hands, fighting back tears.
He found solace in the silence. No one tried to ask or understand how he felt. No one tried to pick his brain or ‘suggest’ how he could conquer his demons. No, there was just silence offered by his comatose charge and he found he preferred this quiet to wordy platitudes. There was no judgment. So began their one-sided têtê-a-têtês.
He strode into the room, assault rifle hung over a shoulder, crossing the space to his cushioned chair. He flopped down and opened his bag of coconut medley cookies, scarfing them down with glee. “Sergeant Evans.” A tinny disembodied voice crackled from the loudspeakers.
He twitched at the sudden noise but quickly recovered. He wiped the crumbs from his face and sat up straight. “Yessir.” He stared up at the observation box, noticing the increased activity inside.
“We’re going to need you to stay more alert today... She’s showing increased activity in her brain waves.”
A feeling of felicity pricked him. “Does that mean she’s going to wake up?”
The lead scientist answered after a pause, “we’re unsure, but it’s likely.”
A smile spread across his face but he quickly schooled it before turning to place a hand on the cool glass of the tank. “Come on Sequoia you can do this.” Yes, he’d given her a name. Maybe she’d be able to go home. Two thousand years was a long time. “Come on you can do it ma'am.” He encouraged her.
Hours later he stood staring up in something akin to anxiety. Sequoia’s eyes had opened some time ago but instead of irises and pupils were bottomless caverns glowing with an ancient power that sent goosebumps over his arms. His automatic response was him going for the gun strapped to his back. Was Richards right?
Pilar Richards sat in her office, supposedly reading over the accounts report when her phone rang. She pressed the button. A small hologram of Dr. Driver appeared. “Yes, doctor?” She clicked off her game of solitaire.
“Notify the General. ELF Five is awake! She’s—” Something caught his attention and his eyes widened. “I don’t think she’s happy about being in the tank!” The feed fizzled out.
Pilar picked up her communicator and fled the room. She hurried to General Bishop's office, red pumps clicking furiously on the tiled floor . An almost nauseating feeling of foreboding unfurled in her gut. She hoped she was wrong about her assumptions. Soon, she arrived at the General’s office. She knocked once then entered before being invited. “Sir!”
General Bishop who was busy singing along to classic music hip hop song gave her a look that was both inquiring and annoyed. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“She’s awake, sir!” The General needed no more explanation. He leaped from his chair, donning his suit jacket. With a jittering still in her belly, she followed him to the containment room. A sound like thunder scythed the air and the floor shook like fresh Jell-O. Everyone in the hall lost their footing, either stumbling to the wall or falling onto their backsides.
The General and Lieutenant shared a worried look before bolting towards the elevator, Richards carrying her red pumps. “Do you think that was an act of aggression?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know, but scramble some fighters anyway.”
“Yes, sir.” She pulled out her communicator and made the call to assemble their onsite troops.
Dean stared in trepidation at the sight before him. Cracks splintered up the thick glass of Sequoia's tank like the strings of a spider's web. The being inside the tank stared forward, glowing eyes narrowed in what could only be ire. He fumbled for his comm unit. “Come in Doctor Driver. If any of you are still in there I would suggest you run!” He urged the scientists.
His stomach clenched and hairs on his neck stood on end. Fight or flight instinct accompanied by a nauseating sense of fear prickled through him. He should run, heck he wanted to run. But he’d taken this job knowing he might have to use a firearm again.
The cracks in the glass deepened.
He stepped back, raking the nigh empty room for cover. His gaze landed on the unit powering the tank’s systems in the far left and he bolted for it, diving behind it for cover when the ground shook again. The lights flickered. No sooner had he hidden when the ear-splitting sound of shattering glass rent the air. Shards of razor-edged glass and bioliquid rained down from above.
He crouched as low as his bum knee would let him, staying put even when the thick liquid reached his ankles and the hail of glass ceased. Hesitantly he peeped over his shoulder, eyes widening when he saw the ruined glass panels of the observation deck. He cursed under his breath. He hoped all the scientists got away safely.
He pressed his comms calling the scientists repeatedly but receiving only radio silence each time. He cursed another bluestreak. This was not what he expected when he rolled out of bed this morning. Nope, he expected it to be mind-numbingly boring again. But not this time. Yeesh if he’d have known today would be so troublesome he’d have taken the extra shot of espresso.
The ground shook and instantly he remembered the 30 feet tall alien woman in the room. With his stomach performing a gymnastics floor routine worthy of a gold medal he peeped over the unit. She was much more impressive out of her tank. At the moment though, she was on all fours, boundless sopping wet pink hair stretching to the floor.
He swallowed to wet his parched mouth, mind racing to remember the protocol measures ingrained in him from training. What should he do? Should he engage or stay hidden? Engage, his mind supplied. He moved but then stopped. What if she was friendly? But what if she was hostile? He chewed his inner jaw, hand still clenching his gun. He breathed deeply through quaking fear flushing his system. He could just wait for reinforcements. He shook his head at the thought. No, he was security and he had a job to perform.
Gripping the gun he stood from behind the unit and strode forward. Sequoia did not notice him, coughing up copious amounts of whatever liquid was in her lungs instead. He swallowed his hammering heart. “Hey!” he shouted.
She went abruptly still. Then she looked up through her curtain of hair and Dean would be haunted by her gaze for years to come. Large eyes the color of the universe and teeming with power and wisdom from ancient times stared back at him.
Remembering himself, he finally spoke, “It—” He swallowed. “Hi. It’s me, Dean. You’re safe. You’re safe,” he soothed in a gentle voice. Honestly though with her size, he seriously doubted there were many things on Earth that could make her feel unsafe.
“Dean.” She reached forward. “Safe.” Her voice was surprisingly lilting.
He sloshed through the liquid, deactivating his rifle, and reached out to her outstretched hand. “You understand our language.” He said with amazement.
She canted her head at his words, hair shifting at her movement. Ah, so she didn’t really understand. He stared at the massive open blue palm before him, anxiety sweeping through him relentlessly.
He reached out and touched her palm, feeling the coolness of the liquid contrasting with the warmth of her skin. He marveled at the sheer staggering difference in their hand sizes. He was touching a freaking alien! This was just like all those classic sci-fi movies, except it was real. “Wow.” He looked up into her gigantic face and smiled.
She blinked large limpid eyes and bared teeth, probably longer than his arm in what may have been her version of a smile. His heart melted at the endearing sight, though her sharp fangs gave him pause. She was friendly. Richards was wrong.
Richards observed in almost horror as Dean climbed into ELF Five’s palm. “What are you doing?!” She shrieked, sloshing further into the room. ELF Five rose to her feet. Pilar’s breath hitched and died in her throat when she found herself staring at the alien’s full height. She would be the first to admit the woman cut a much more imposing figure awake.
“What the flip is he doing?” General Bishop asked, eyes on the motionless alien, apparently ignoring their presence. “Better yet. What is she doing?” He cleared his throat preparing for diplomacy when her next actions stole his voice.
She stared at Dean for a breath before tossing him aside like an unwanted wad of paper. Dean screamed before he slammed into the far wall with a sickening smack and slid into the low viscosity liquid. Richards shouted in dismay.
Bishop watched in stunned silence as she shrank to normal size albeit on the tall side. For a brief moment, the skin-tight suit she wore glowed like a tiny sun. He guessed those were something like nanites conforming to the drastic change in size. He glowered at her. Well, it was clear she was not a friendly. A gunshot rang out. He turned.
Richards stood over Evans’ motionless body, gun in hand, and fury in her eyes. But the bullet had no effect. Neither did the other 15 bullets, bouncing harmlessly off the female alien who regarded them with all the concern one would give a mere wallflower.
He pressed his comm, screaming for the already scrambled onsite troops' aid. He pulled out his weapon. Her cavernous eyes fell on him and without so much as a by your leave she strode towards the door. How dare she. “Hey!” He did not care what she was, he was not letting her out of the building. There was no telling what kind of security risk she posed.
She kept walking. “Hey, you!” He ran after her, gun drawn. “I’m talking to you.” She turned on him abruptly gaze blacker than any onyx he’d ever seen. He lifted his gun and pulled the trigger, emptying the clip.
She raised an eyebrow at him, looking at him as if she deemed him especially lacking. A second later an invisible force ripped his spent gun from his hands and propelled him backward into the wall. Pain crackled up his back, but he was fine with that because he did his job. Before she reached the door the room filled with twenty well-armed soldiers, causing much more of the liquid to escape outside. “Freeze!”
He smiled smugly but it faded when they engaged her. With fear he watched her decimate the men knocking away 50 caliber bullets as if they were gnats. Then with new corpses at her feet, she exited the room, unscathed and unperturbed.
“I’m going after her,” Richards said. She propped a motionless Dean against the wall, the bioliquid sloshing about, before dashing over to help Bishop. “I’m going after her sir.”
Bishop grimaced in pain, accepting her aid in helping him to a sitting position. “She just murdered 20 men armed to the nines and you want to pursue her? Out of the question.” His eyes shot to the corpses lying on the floor in mere inches deep liquid. He thought of the 20 families he’d have to phone tomorrow with a heavy heart.
She glared at him with defiance etching her features. She groaned when she ran a hand through her hair out of habit. Dang it, she was never going to get that stink out of her hair. “You said she can’t make it to her ship! But you don’t want me to pursue her? What do you expect the engineers to do? Throw a wrench at her?”
He shot her an immensely annoyed sideglance. Dang, maybe he did mind the pain. “First, I need you to calm down. Second, I need you to press the red button. Third, I need you to calm down.”
She licked her lips composing herself. “Yes, sir.” She rose and strode to the other side of the room, thankful that at least the lights had remained on even though they did flicker precariously. She pressed the large red button on the wall. The lights in the room turned red and a continuous siren mixed with emergency instructions flooded the room. She paused to look at the ruined observation deck then the broken tank. A frown marred her face. She wished the heifer had at least cut her foot on the shards of glass. “Now what?” She turned to look at the general.
He heaved a deep sigh. “Now we call the only two people that can help us.” He almost grinned when Richards’ eyebrow twitched with irritation.
“Yes sir,” she responded with zero enthusiasm. Great, she'd be graced with Mr. Whistler's shining personality on top of this fiasco. Life was so wonderful. A deep rueful frown captured her features.
Derick sat next to his wife, one of many attendees at the lavish wedding, even the altar was ridiculously large and over-the-top. He watched the couple exchange vows, the bride in an obscenely luxuriant gown that would make Cinderella jealous, with mild interest. He cast a disinterested gaze around the people that watched with naked sentimentality in their eyes, some even wiped at tears. He rolled his eyes. Honestly, he was just here for the food. His wife on the other hand…
His beautiful queen sat next to him looking simply regal in her red formal dress. He still couldn’t figure out how she got her dreadlocks up into that gravity-defying topknot. Her hazel gaze was on the couple at the altar, eyes full of nostalgia.
He smirked when she glanced at him and took her hand in his. He remembered their wedding fondly. They were both fresh off an assignment and covered in scrapes and bruises from fleeing an explosion. The official had been a good sport. He squeezed her hand three times ‘I love you,’ a smile lifting his lips when she responded in kind.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished the device from his suit’s inner jacket pocket and pressed his thumb to the lone square of plexiglass to unlock it. An anonymous text message popped up on the screen. The message read: Code Orange. We need you again.
“Is it work?” Meredith asked, eyes still on the bride and groom.
“Sorry, ciccino, but yeah it is.” He put the phone away, giving her a barely contrite look.
She gave a dismissive shrug. “Well, at least we sat near the back this time.” She rose and headed towards their pathway in the distance. “Besides,” she said once they were well on their way to their vehicle. “I did not want Tonya showing me another selfie with one of her 10 children.”
He squinted against the afternoon sun, grass rustling beneath his feet as they strode through the meadow, the aroma of wildflowers inundating his nostrils. “Tonya only has four children.” He loosened his bowtie and again took her smaller hand in his.
“Really?” She paused, brow furrowing. “Because every time I see her she’s showing me another picture of a different little monster.”
He shook his head but did not respond. He ascended the two steps that led to the cobbled path leading to the parking lot. He’d admit the meadow cut a lovely view from this vantage point. “Such a sweet woman you are.”
She clucked her tongue at him. “So who needs our help?”
He kept walking down the path flanked by verdant grass. “It was anonymous and short so probably Bishop.” Honestly, General Bishop must have watched too many spy movies as a child. Who the heck just left anonymous text messages on a person’s cell phone? Soon they entered the parking lot filled with cars of those attending the wedding ceremony.
“Code?”
“Orange.” He pressed the button to unlock their sleek blue jeep. He climbed into the vehicle, the door shutting on its own. “So maybe it’ll be worth our time.” He threw his wife a smirk, receiving one in turn. He cranked the car.
TBC
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