The Leader had looked pretty much like all the others. Possibly a bit less thin. He said how much he enjoyed her shows on TV, that he was her greatest fan, how glad he was that she had been able to come along and visit them on Rupert and how much everybody had been looking forward to her coming, how he hoped the flight had been comfortable and so on. There was no particular sense she could detect of being any kind of emissary from the stars or anything.
Certainly, watching it now on videotape, he just looked like some guy in costume and make-up, standing in front of a set that wouldn’t hold up too well if you leant against it.
She sat staring at the screen with her face cradled in her hands, and shaking her head in slow bewilderment.
This was awful.
Not only was this bit awful but she knew what was coming next. It was the bit where the Leader asked if she was hungry after the flight, and would she perhaps like to come and have something to eat? They could discuss things over a little dinner.
She could remember what she was thinking at this point.
Alien food.
How was she going to deal with it?
Would she actually have to eat it? Would she have access to some sort of paper napkin she could spit stuff out into? Wouldn’t there be all sorts of differential immunity problems?
It turned out to be hamburgers.
Not only did it turn out to be hamburgers, but the hamburgers it turned out to be were very clearly and obviously McDonald’s hamburgers which had been reheated in a microwave. It wasn’t just the look of them. It wasn’t just the smell. It was the poly- styrene clamshell packages they came in which had `McDonald’s’ printed all over them.
`Eat! Enjoy!’ said the Leader. `Nothing is too good for our honoured guest!’
This was in his private apartment. Tricia had looked around it in bewilderment that had bordered on fear but had nevertheless got it all on videotape.
The apartment had a waterbed in it. And a Midi hi-fi. And one of those tall electrically illuminated glass things which sit on table tops and appear to have large globules of sperm floating about in them. The walls were covered in velvet.
The leader lounged against a brown corduroy bean bag and squirted breath-freshener into his mouth.
Tricia began to feel very scared, suddenly. She was further from Earth than any human being, to her knowledge, had ever been, and she was with an alien creature, who was lounging against a brown corduroy bean bag and squirting breath-freshener into his mouth.
She didn’t want to make any false moves. She didn’t want to alarm him. But there were things she had to know.
`How did you… where did you get… this?’ she asked, gesturing around the room, nervously.
`The decor?’ asked the Leader. `Do you like it? It is very sophisticated. We are a sophisticated people, we Grebulons. We buy sophisticated consumer durables… by mail order.’
Tricia had nodded tremendously slowly at this point.
`Mail order…’ she had said.
The Leader chuckled. It was one of those dark chocolate reassuring silky chuckles.
`I think you think they ship it here. No! Ha Ha! We have arranged a special box number in New Hampshire. We make regular pick-up visits. Ha Ha!’ He lounged back in a relaxed fashion on his bean bag, reached for a reheated french fry and nibbled the end of it, an amused smile playing across. his lips.
Tricia could feel her brain beginning to bubble very slightly. She kept the video camera going.
`How do you, well, er, how do you pay for these wonderful …things?’
The Leader chuckled again.
`American Express,’ he said with a nonchalant shrug.
Tricia nodded slowly again. She knew that they gave cards exclusively to just about anybody.
`And these?’ she said, holding up the hamburger he had presented her with.
`It is very easy,’ said the Leader. `We stand in line.’
Again, Tricia realised with a cold, trickling feeling going down her spine, that explained an awful lot.
She hit the fast forward button again. There was nothing of any use here at all. It was all nightmarish madness. She could have faked something that would have looked more convincing.