Close Encounters Of The Erotic Kind

Space Girls Are Easy-2

“You were right, Mom,” he said, as he turned off the engine and climbed out of the car. The start of the school year was only a few weeks away, and he was already beginning to dread it. He had spent the last two months applying for other jobs, but had found nothing that would pay him enough to let him move away from this dying farm town. The job had seemed like a stepping stone when he had first accepted it. But now it felt like a trap, and he was just about ready to gnaw off his own arm if it meant he could get away.

He climbed onto the hood of the car, a six-pack of beer in one hand, lying back and looking up at the night sky. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, the stars came into view, the constellations old, familiar friends. He let himself relax, gazing towards the northeast. The Perseid meteor shower every August had always been one of his favorite stargazing opportunities. He had badgered more than one girlfriend out into the country to witness nature’s wonders.

And had often returned covered with bug bites and with a cranky girlfriend, he recalled with a wry smile.

Oh, to hell with it. He slapped at an over-enthusiastic mosquito and closed his eyes, spraying himself with bug repellent. When he opened them, he was just in time to see a flash across the night sky, a tiny particle of cosmic dust burning up in the atmosphere.

Nice. He cracked a beer and took a long drink. This far from a large town, there was practically no light pollution. He could see the Milky Way, a cloudy stripe across the heavens. A tiny faint spark far overhead showed where a satellite circled the planet, making sure that people were able to watch baseball and communicate via Twitter and f*******:.

Another falling star flared and died, and he drank off the rest of his beer, pitching the empty bottle into the field, where it hit the ground with a muted thump. Promising himself he would pick it up before he left, he turned on his music, the soothing sounds of a classical orchestra washing away the stress of the day.

Dim, strobing lights flickered in the sky to the west, and he turned his head and squinted. An airplane, he decided, making for the airport in Rantoul. He smiled to himself. The sort of thing that credulous goobers thought were ‘flying saucers.’

Stay away, aliens, he thought. If you knew how badly we were f*****g up our planet, you wouldn’t want anything to do with us.

His thoughts were suddenly cut off as a spaceship nearly landed on him.

*****

It wasn’t a flying saucer, he realized, when his stunned brain finally regained the ability to think coherently. It was a slim, oblong object, subtly curved and rounded, perhaps twenty yards long and ten wide. There had been no scream of flame as it set down, no thundering pulse of burning chemicals. It seemed to fly due to happy wishes and pure thoughts. It blended into the darkness perfectly, and it was hard to make out details, but he could see the landing struts where they met the ground; one in front and two at the rear. Stubby wings seemed to be slowly retracting into the body of the ship, which was maybe twelve feet high in the middle.

After the initial burst of wind and flying dust which had heralded its approach, it sat on the ground quietly. A slight ticking sound as the hull cooled was the only noise. Even the crickets had stopped their incessant buzz.

He slid off the hood of the car, his earbuds dangling around his neck. A bottle of beer was still clutched in one hand as he gaped in stark disbelief. The glass felt sweaty and slick in his grip, whether from the humidity or from his own pants-wetting fear was anyone’s guess.

A spaceship. A god-damned spaceship just landed in an Illinois cornfield.

“H-hello?” he called quietly. There was no response. He tried again, a little louder. “Um, if you’re looking for some sort of world leader to make contact with, you’re in the wrong part of the country. Hell, you’re in the wrong part of the continent. Go north. I hear Canada’s really nice this time of year. They elected a guy who isn’t a complete dumbass. And the beer’s good.”

Idiot.

Suddenly, there was a faint whining sound. He jumped back, his heart pounding, as a section of the ship was outlined in soft white light. In a ballet of mechanical grace, a metal walkway unfolded, extending until it reached the ground. A few seconds later, a small, slim figure appeared, stepping swiftly down the stairs. It took a few steps away from the ship, then turned in place, its face lifted towards the sky. Every line of its body spoke to a deep joy.

He couldn’t help himself. Reaching through the open window of his car, he activated the headlights.

The figure spun, startled, then threw its hand up, shielding its eyes from the sudden glare. It took a step back, slipped, and fell heavily, the side of its head hitting the walkway with a sickening thud. Then it lay still.

Mark stood, numb with shock and guilt.

First contact. And I’ve killed it.

*****

The board was green, the hull cooling. Shayla went through the shutdown procedure, her hands and fingers so used to the task that it was practically instinct at this point. As she flipped various switches and toggles, she studiously avoided the empty co-pilot’s chair to her right. She didn’t like flying solo. But the garbage run didn’t need two trained scouts.

A light to her right changed from amber to green, signaling the hull was cool enough to exit the ship safely. She unhooked the safety webbing and let it retract into the harness, standing and stretching in relief. Almost absently, she locked the board, pocketing her ship-key and shutting down the navcomp.

She walked down the short passageway from the piloting chamber to the main lock, absentmindedly pulling her pilot’s jacket off its hook as she passed. The inner lock opened, and she closed and locked the hatch before she turned to the outer lock. A dance of her fingers across the pad, a sigh of equalizing pressure, and the outer door opened.

Thick humidity enveloped her as she walked down the stairs. She didn’t care. She stopped at the base and lifted her face to the sky, breathing in deeply. The air was uncomfortably warm, but thick with rich, heady oxygen and with the smell of growing things. The taste of it in her nostrils was like wine, and she nearly laughed, so happy she was to have firm ground under her feet after too many weary day-cycles of nothing but metal and plastic.

Just a quick walk around, and then I’ll lift ag-

Bright light burst from a short distance away. She threw her hand up, shielding her eyes from the sudden glare, and took a step backwards. Through her spread fingers, she could see a shadowy form close by.

How had she been discovered? She would have bet her pilot’s license that there was no organization - government, military or otherwise - on this benighted dirtball that had the skill to detect and track her ship.

Her foot landed on something that rolled under it. Thrown off balance, her weight came down on her bad leg. She stumbled and staggered backwards, her arms flailing. She tripped and fell, her head hitting the corner of the metal stairs with a thick wet c***k, and she knew no more.

*****

Ohshitohshitohshit.

Mark’s mind pummeled him frantically as the dark form of the alien lay limp at the base of the stairs. He felt sick. If he had just kept the damned headlights off, this would never have happened.

It’s my fault. I’ve got to help…it.

As if galvanized, the stray thought pushed him into action. He opened up the trunk, pawing through the emergency box he kept there, sighing with relief as he found the flashlight. He snapped it on, then jogged towards the figure. Kneeling down, he played the light over its face.

It’s…a girl?

No, his brain corrected him. It was a woman. The shape of her body left absolutely no doubt about that. Even in the wavering light of the flashlight he could see the lush curves of her body.

Focus, you i***t, he told himself. Moving carefully, he turned her onto one side. She barely seemed to weigh anything, moving as limply as a rag doll in his shaking arms. There was a gash on the back of her head, and her hair was clotted with blood. More blood slowly pulsed from the wound. He probed around the cut with trembling fingers, but the skull beneath seemed to be unbroken, though the woman moaned softly, the sound thick with pain.

He sat back on his heels. What was he supposed to do now?

Call the police? An ambulance? 911?

“Hello,” he imagined the call. “I’m out here east of Humboldt Road, and a spaceship just landed and I’ve got an alien woman with head trauma on my hands.”

He put the idea out of his head immediately. Even if the dispatcher didn’t think he was making a prank call or drunk, he couldn’t imagine the reaction of the Illinois State Police or the Ford County Sheriff’s Department or whoever got sent out here. The woman had landed in the middle of nowhere on purpose. It stood to reason that she wasn’t looking to attract attention.

Right. Home, then.

He slid his arms under her knees and shoulders, lifting her as he stood. To his surprise, he was able to shoulder the load easily. Getting her into the backseat of his Toyota was awkward, and when he was done he was sweating in the humid night air. He put a folded towel under her head and got in, pulling away and out of the field in a shower of dirt and grass as he accelerated towards the highway.

“I hope you can remember where you parked,” he muttered.

*****

Shayla came back to herself slowly. She swam up towards consciousness as if she were clawing her way up through heavy, murky swamp water, her thoughts thick and gelid.

She opened her eyes, then quickly shut them again. Even the dim light stabbed deep into her brain. The slight motion made her head ache, and her stomach felt dangerously queasy. Taking slow, shallow breaths, she tried to determine where she was.

Indoors. But not on her ship. There were none of the sounds of a spacecraft around her. No soft sighing of the ventilation system, no muted throb of the engines, no faint noises of creaking metal. Instead she felt a soft breeze on her face, and an odd whirring sound from overhead. She was lying down, her body covered by something thick and warm, and the material beneath her was wonderfully soft.

A house. She groaned. Against all of her training, against every regulation, she had landed her ship on the surface of an interdicted world. And now she had somehow managed to be captured. Cut off from her ship, unable to communicate with her superiors, and seriously injured to add to the indignity.

I am so frekked.

She must have made a sound, for there was a rustling sound in the dimness, and a voice sounded, speaking softly.

She opened her eyes and tried to turn over. But at that motion her stomach heaved, and she found herself retching helplessly, her stomach spewing out its contents.

A metal basin was thrust under her head, and a cool wet cloth was pressed against the back of her neck. It was oddly comforting, and she clung to the sensation, even as the rest of body rebelled against her.