The aliens were taller and more buglike than the way they looked in the pictures and video I’d seen, and their skin was more of a sky blue than I would have guessed. As they walked closer, their legs moving more like those of a mantis than a man, I could see the clear, skintight suits they wore, the necklaces I knew from the news were translators, and the gill-like atmosphere conversion slits in the clear hoods that fit them like kids’ Halloween masks of dead presidents.
They moved as a group, in a triangle. R.C. stood, his hand still in his gym bag, and took one step closer to them. The rear one nearer to him turned its head to follow his progress, while the other rear one kept its eyes on me; clearly, the leader walked in front. I liked that; I respected the alien in front for the choice, and I was glad to have an easy target. The leader was a little larger than the others, probably edging toward a full seven feet tall and almost as wide as a thin man; hitting him should not be a problem if it came to that. All four of the leader’s hands were obviously empty; disks the shape and thickness of bagels and the color of the morning ocean off Key West were equally obvious in all four hands of each of his bodyguards.
R.C. tilted his head at them and raised an eyebrow. I shook my head slightly; he’d know I wouldn’t do it, and he’d also know that I would back his play if he felt it had to go that way. He pulled out his gun, and immediately a low buzzing filled the room as the air between the aliens and R.C. shimmered briefly. R.C. went down fast, all six and a half feet and 280 pounds of him collapsing as if the air had gone out of him.
My hand was just clear of my gym bag. I dropped the gun onto the towels in the bag and pulled my empty hand very slowly away. Going cold inside, I asked, “Will he be okay?”
“Yes,” the leader replied. “He should awaken in approximately one hour and experience almost no discomfort.” His voice was as good as it had sounded on TV, an announcer’s voice, deep and rich. It lacked only emotion, but that lack made it disconcerting, almost threatening.
I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding since I asked the question, and I leaned back against the racked bar. The metal plates on the bar clanged from the impact, and the aliens paused; I wondered if their translators were trying to make sense of the noise. “So what can I do for you guys? From what I’ve read I thought you were meeting only with government leaders. I thought you weren’t allowed to mingle with the rest of us.”
My question seemed to catch the leader off guard, and he paused and waved his lower left arm slightly. “Yes, we are restricted. We are here . . . without official approval. We are seeking Matthew Stark. You are he?”
“Yes.”
“You must do something for us.”
I looked at R.C.’s crumpled body and knew I shouldn’t say it, but if I were any good anymore at taking orders I wouldn’t have ended my five years with the gang at Langley with the company version of a dishonorable discharge. “Screw you. You bypass my alarms, waltz into my gym, mess up my workout, and zap my partner; I don’t have to do anything for you.”
“Yes, you do. We would not have risked the negotiations with your governments if we had been able to ascertain other possibilities. You must come with us, receive your instructions, and then execute them. No other option is acceptable.”
The three of them had stopped only a few feet away, and all eight of the bodyguards’ hands were now pointed at me. I could feel the anger welling in me even as I fought to control it. “Sure, there are other options. One is that you and your two friends turn around, walk your skinny blue asses out of my gym, and do whatever it is that you want me to do. Or you find somebody else to do it. Try one of those options. I choose when I work, and I choose the people I work for, and I don’t choose to work for you.”