Submitter: Pecos Date: 2005/12/29 Views: 3242 Rate: 7.00/10

“Men who never get carried away should be.” - Malcome Forbes


Sidney Crestmore had endured a lousy day at work, car trouble on the way home, an incipient toothache, and a suspicion that one of his cashiers was pregnant by the stock boy. The manager of Alamogordo’s Crest Drugs could have put up with most of that on a reasonably good day, but the smile on his wife’s face when he came through that door was enough to stop him cold.

“You DID remember that we’re going to a dinner party at the Olsens’, didn’t you?” she’d said suspiciously, eyes narrowing as she studied his tired countenance.

God damn it! Not another horrifying ‘pot luck’ with bad fondue, deviled eggs, Jello’n’carrot salad and stilted conversation. He would have pocketed a tranquilizer if he’d remembered, but now he was going to have to put up with their obnoxious neighbors without even chemical assistance!

Three hours later he finally dragged Cindy away from the Corning ware and gossip, and slumped back across the street to his darkened tract home. The Santa Clarita development was on the edge of town, and unused wastes loomed dark beyond the back fence of his tidy yard. Sidney slid open the sliding glass door of his patio and stepped outside to have a well-earned cigar without Cindy bitching about the smell. His toothache had gotten worse, and he was sure he was going to have to call the dentist in the morning. Probably another fucking root canal.

His unfocused gaze caught movement at the far edge of their small cement swimming pool, and Sidney hesitated. Surely not another raccoon in the trash! The damn varmints had already knocked over the cans twice this week alone! His fist clenched, wondering it there was something on the patio table he could throw. Maybe that ugly ashtray Cindy’d brought back from San Diego....

But all other thoughts fled as a pale figure rose in the moonlight, straightening until Sidney could see a human shape. Long limbs, skin shining in the faint light, dark eyes, it was hard to see details. And then a voice called out softly.

“I am very sorry that I used your water to wash myself. It was necessary.”

“Who the hell are you?” Sidney called, suddenly afraid for the first time. There was a naked stranger in his yard.

“You can drain the water away safely, yes?” asked the mysterious voice, sounding odd and stilted. “Whatever happens, do not enter the water or let your family be exposed to it.”

“What the Hades are you talking about, Mister? How’d you get into my yard?”

“The water is tainted now. Do not touch it. Again, I apologize for doing this – but I had no other option.” The pale figure bent to pick something up from the ground, then moved toward the fence.

Sidney started forward. “Wait, you! What’re you talking about? What do you mean ‘tainted’? Hey! Hey, I’m talking to you!”

The ghostly image flashed one last time as it vaulted easily over the six-foot high fence, and then was utterly gone. Sidney stood there for another minute, wondering if he had imagined everything about the encounter.

“Sid!” came Cindy’s irritated voice from the patio doors. “Are you smoking another one of those disgusting cigars? You KNOW that smoke gives me a headache!”

“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself.

Aragorn let himself through the door by the most direct approach, kicking it open when he found that the lock had been engaged. These people could learn a lot from the Dwarves about locking a door – it popped wide and slammed into the wall with little damage except a bit of the frame. “Saruman, you piece of Orc shit!” he yelled, Narsil weighing heavy in his hand. “Where are you now, oh Evil One?”

“I see that subtlety is still not one of your talents,” the Wizard remarked in a bored tone from the kitchen. He was settled in at breakfast, paper and coffee at hand. The Ranger strode in defiantly and Saruman smiled. “Didn’t find you [*your] pet Elf, I see.”

“What are you up to now?” Aragorn demanded.

“Yes, please do sit down. Would you care for some toast?”

Thumping heavily into the indicated chair, Aragorn sighed. He didn’t feel like playing the Wizard’s games. But there was so much here that he didn’t understand. “You said before that you weren’t sure what effect this ‘radiation’ was going to have on Legolas. What did you mean by that?”

Smearing some jam on his bread, Saruman suppressed his smirk. “I believe that you know how Orcs and Goblins are related to Elves.”

“I’ve heard this mentioned. I do not see how it could be true, though.”

“Ah, but it is, my ignorant friend. I know a lot about the interior working of the various races.”

“You? A Healer? I find that highly unlikely.” Aragorn was thinking of his beloved foster-father Elrond and those gentle, healing hands and the astonishing powers used so unselfishly to the betterment of everyone.

“Not all knowledge is limited to fixing things that are broken.” That sentence made Aragorn sick to his stomach, but he kept quiet as the Wizard expanded on his topic. “Elves have different internal workings than Men like yourself. I’m sure you’ve seen grievous wounds in your time as a whacker and hacker, but I doubt you’ve ever opened up bodies and actually examined the marvelous systems within. I have, you see, and there are some very interesting differences.”

“Please explain what you mean,” Aragorn urged, despite himself. If this all related to Legolas he felt that he needed to know.

“You have a big organ in your body called the liver, sitting here...” he demonstrated on himself. “It performs many functions. In an Elf this is built in two lobes instead of one, and there is another, smaller organ, set between, which seems to perform a function similar to the kidneys – but instead of clearing out impurities in the blood it somehow replaces aging and damaged cells throughout the body. This might be part of the key to their apparent immortality. The heart of an Elf has six chambers instead of four. Their lungs are built -- ”

“Legolas’ heart is different to mine?”

“I just said that. Have you not noticed that the beat in an Elf’s chest follows a pattern of thu-guh-duh, thu-guh-duh? Surely you’ve listened to your beloved companion’s heart beating during post-coital sessions of bliss and respite?”

Keen eyes narrowed and the sword thumped heavily into the tabletop, rattling cutlery and upsetting Saruman’s coffee. “Saes! My relationship with the Prince is not of concern to you! My love for him is not to be mocked!”

Saruman kept his face neutral. “My apologies, Future King. I was merely trying to help you understand. Let me explain a different way, perhaps....”

“And are you also familiar with the internal working of Wizards?” Aragorn asked, clearly implying that he was willing to open up the thin chest of the being across the table for closer inspection.

“Sadly, no. We are very rare, as you know. I’ve not had the opportunity. I had thought at one time that Gandalf might supply some handy information, but he fled my company before I was able to take advantage of the opportunity. What I was about to say is that Legolas’ body marks him as – shall we say – an alien amongst these people. He would prove of extreme interest to certain parties, should he come to their attention.”

Aragorn knew a threat when he heard one. “You would not betray him to barbaric examination! Not while there is a breath in either of us!”

“Of course not...” the Wizard said, smiling slowly. “But one cannot control what men find interesting. Can you imagine the excitement that even a rumor of immortality would cause amongst those who only live sixty, seventy, or eighty years?”

He was finally getting the idea. Saurman was telling him that they were in dire jeopardy if they stayed in this world. He seemed to think that it would be the key to instigating their return to Middle-earth, as if the two companions had decided to stay where they were as an escape from the travails of life under the threat of Sauron. How little Saruman understood Aragorn’s heart and Legolas’ sense of duty!

The Ranger stood suddenly. “I see now that it is you who are ignorant, Evil One. I hope I will have a chance to show you the errors of your assumptions before I put an end to your miserable life.”

Saruman watched Aragorn walk quickly back out the door, most likely going to search again for his pointed-eared lover. The Wizard smiled to himself as he turned over the newspaper again and re-read the boldface on the article on page four:

OUTER SPACE ALIEN SPOTTED IN SANTA CLARITA YARD

He laughed heartily.



Aragorn scoured the rocky ground like a bloodhound. In this arid land he would have been hard-pressed to follow any solitary walker, but the footsteps of an Elf fell very light on the land, and Legolas had been trying to pass unnoticed as well, so the difficulty was trebled. But there were some indications, and the Ranger was dogged in his determination. By late afternoon he came upon an abandoned building along a disused road.

This had once been a small outpost, possibly first used as a fueling station, and later converted to a roadhouse of some sort. The structure was little more than a skeleton now, and vandals had long since made off with anything of value or use. It would have been uncharacteristic for Legolas to take shelter within the decaying remains, and Aragorn gave them little more than a passing glance. But beyond the deserted property was a large outcrop of rocks, and a couple of trees that had managed to shelter there from the desert wind.

Aragorn was so sure he’d found his companion at last that he announced his presence so that Legolas wouldn’t feel the need to take up defense at his approach. He whistled a familiar greeting and came up to the rocks at a trot.

There was a small gully formed by loose boulders and the shoulder of one of the ridges, and this was where the trees were struggling to survive. Perhaps the landscape conspired to encourage whatever moisture fell to collect in this small pocket, or maybe the soil that had blown in there was more conducive to growth. Whatever the reason, the little bowl of land had some fair scrub and a couple of matronly cottonwoods valiantly clinging to life.

A lyrical voice carried on the wind, reproachful in content, but not so in tone. “I told you not to seek me out, disobedient Man of the North.”

“Saruman is not yet my Keeper,” said Aragorn, climbing a slope of loose rock to find that the back wall of the bowl had a slight overhang, creating an area big enough for several men to sit comfortably out of the majority of the desert elements. That this spot had sheltered others before was made plain by the presence of crude writings on the rock surface, some scratched in the stone and other painted in garish colors. There was also a small pile of rubbish gathered off to one side, doubtless Legolas’ doing, awaiting removal or burial, and the stain of smoke from historic campfires darkened the overhang above.

Aragorn dropped into a squat and examined Legolas with professional detachment. The Elf was in repose, wearing trousers that he’d obviously taken from the clothesline of a person much thicker in the middle than he was. His hair had been washed so many times that it was frayed with static and looked dry and brittle. His chest gleamed with sweat, as did his brow, and the brilliant blue eyes were hooded. His skin shone far more pink than usual, and his bare feet were filthy from walking through the coarse country.

“I can see that there are many things we need to sort out, Greenleaf,” Aragorn sighed. “Let me start by inquiring how you feel.”

Legolas laughed then, and it was the sound the ranger wanted most to hear in that world...or the next. “You’re impossible, you know that?

“I’ve been told. In fact, I believe that is the exact phrase Lord Elrond used most frequently to describe me before I reached my majority.”

“It’s a wonder you were allowed to do so,” Legolas teased. “I feel as if I have a fever, mellon nin. It is a queer sensation, and I do not think I approve. This land is quite warm enough without my contribution.”

“I was wondering whose fault that was.” He came closer, reaching out to touch the Elf’s skin.

“I would try to stop you if I thought I was able.”

“It’s good that you know your limitations.” Aragorn found his lover warm to the touch, but not excessively so. His Healer’s hands immediately sensed the sickness racing through his beloved’s body, but he had no idea how to confront it. “Do you understand this thing that you have been poisoned with?”

“Only a little. It is gone from the surface, and I believe that my body is attempting to deal with the contamination inside as well. I have been feeling like I’ve been tainted with a Orcish blade, and my internal workings are struggling to isolate and expel the infection.”

Aragorn raised his brow. “Does this mean you’re not going to be blessing these sad trees with Elf piss?”

Legolas snorted. “I’ve been digging deep holes. I suspect that my eliminations would kill anything that came in contact. It’s the best I can do for now.”

“Tell me what I can do to bring you ease. Water, obviously.”

“Yes.... and plenty of it. Whatever you can carry. I feel that this malady will pass in a few more hours, or days. Saruman did not plan very well if he meant to kill me with his ruinous dust.”

“He never meant to kill...or he would have used it on me. I am not beloved of the creature. I am not sure what he intended, but he has an idea that we may be able to help him return to Middle-earth.”

“I would sooner die here myself than allow him passage back to plague that embattled realm with more of his venom.”

“As would I. Now, I will leave you to get what supplies I can. But first....” The Ranger bent and, despite the Elf’s protests, pressed their mouths in a searing kiss.

Lieutenant Mason stared up at the evening sky, squinting until the blue heavens blurred to a wash of color void of meaning. A lot of things in his life seemed to be void of meaning recently.

“Sir?” asked one of his Troops, hesitating to interrupt.

“Just a moment, Carsters,” he mumbled, still staring upwards. It used to amuse him – the way that gullible people made up stories about mysterious flying aircraft and strange visitors from distant planets. He’d looked over the remnants of the weather balloon that had come down in Roswell, and he’d found a lot of entertainment watching the local newspaper work themselves into a froth about absolutely nothing. The Air Force flight tests had brought on even more incredible stories about strange craft doing impossible things, along with the occasional picture of a cloud or a pie plate tossed into the air or hung from a string.

Nobody took any of this crap seriously. Well, nobody with any sense whatsoever. Mason was pretty sure that there was other life in the Universe. And he was just as sure that they weren’t going to be found sneaking around back roads and bumpkin hollows, flying in pie tins and cigar-shaped thingies with blinking lights and making appearances outside the bedroom windows of retarded moon-shiners. He was pretty sure that anyone capable of making and flying a craft to Earth from another planet wasn’t going to mutilate cattle and molest morons when they got here.

“Sir,” the Trooper repeated. “Do you want me to take another sample?”

Mason sighed deeply. He wasn’t totally a disbeliever in the unexplained... he just thought that extraordinary claims should require extraordinary proof. Go ahead and call the Police, and tell them that glowing aliens with big black eyes were sneaking around your suburban yard. Maybe the Police will be nice to you and call the Army, just to let you feel a little less like the idiot you were going to realize that you were in the light of morning. It’s okay to humor the citizens.

But...Dammit! “Yeah, get one more before we drain it.”

He pulled his gaze earthward again, and listened to the screaming of the radiation detector his Sergeant was using near the fence. He’d thought this one was going to be as easy as the last dozen locations. He’d thought he’d be home in time for dinner with the family.

“Sergeant Jackson, turn that thing off.” The Geiger counter was giving him a headache. Something strange had happened here, all right. Something different...something new. He hoped he could keep it quiet for at least a few days; give the population a chance to get interested in something else – some new infatuation. Let them think that the Tommyknockers were loose in the ore mines again. Let them worry about the Communist Menace. Let them fancy that Elves were stealing laundry off the clotheslines.

Meanwhile, Lieutenant Mason would figure out how this guy’s swimming pool had come to be radioactive. There had to be an easy explanation.

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