Going Postal

Chapter 1: Oh No!

by Wayne Sung

My name is Danny Malbinger and I am an officer. An officer for the United States Postal Service, that is. I have been an unproud member of this poor excuse for an organization for over a year. And, already, it seems like eternity.

But all those troubles are far behind me. I mean WAY behind me. Light-years, to be exact.

I'm facing eternity, right now, in the shape of laser-emitting oblivion, held by an individual who needs a major zit removal and a lifetime of skin treatment.

"Blajldoy."

And a crash course in English.

As I stare down the barrel of the immense laser cannon, my mind begins to wander -- dangerous, I know -- to the beginning of this whole mess.

"WAAAHHHH!"

No, not that far.

It was a mild November day in Dillzville. Actually, I wouldn't have known if it weren't for the radio, me being stuck in the mail room all day. Yes, I work in the mail room, the most tedious job in the office besides toilet-scrubbing. Soon to be number 1 if I didn't get out of there soon.

I look at the mail coming through and give my stamp of approval, whether each letter would be sent to its dubious destination or be trashed -- excuse me -- returned to be sent back to me, again, hopefully with the right amount of postage on it. I hate it when a letter has to come by me googleplex times before I could stop goggling at it, wondering at the sender's stupidity.

Anyway, it was on one of these "auspicious" days that I ran into a rather interesting jam. A phone call came for me in the phone room. And heaven would have it, I was the only one in the mail room. Now, I wouldn't mind jumping up and getting that call, right away, if it weren't for the fact that the boss fires the last assigned person to the mail room to leave it. Unfair? You bet. But I saw it happen and I sure wouldn't want to have it happen to me. The one I witnessed involved a large vacuum cleaner and a ball-less homo sapiens male that evidently had them before... *shudder*

I inched my way over the door and tried to reach the phone. The person in the phone room looked at me sympathetically, feeling my pain but also having the same rule apply to him. (I noticed my boss loves to assign and then torture men. She definitely needs psychiatric help or at least a good talking to. Good luck finding a volunteer to do that.)

The phone, by now, had been on hold for about five minutes. I had to admire the caller's patience. I just hoped it wasn't my mother.

After some work with the phone-room guy and I doing stretches with the phone's cord stretched taught between us, I finally grabbed the similarly stretched taught receiver and said "Hello?"

It was my old friend from high school, Fred Dillenburg. He had the unscrupulous honor of being Dillzville Elementary's new principal. My principles, to tell the truth, are much higher than his. But I just happened to be the one struck down. More about that some other time, I suppose. In any case, Old Fred and I had a wonderful conversation that went something like this

"AAAAAAH!"

"Fred?"

"Danny, you've got to help me!"

"He-?"

"It's a disaster over here! And on my first year as principal, too! How are the students ever going to respect me if I can't even hold my job for an year?!"

"Now calm d-"

"We're having Career Day at the school and it's been one disaster after another. Booth material is almost nonexistent and when we bought them, nobody knew how to build the damn things! And then almost all of our esteemed guests called and said they're not coming!"

"wel-"

"This Career Day is going to be the END of my career if you don't help me!"

"Okay, so-"

"I promised the kids an alien expert, Danny. And he's not coming!"

"Um." I didn't like the direction this conversation was going.

"You've got to come and stand in for him."

"Me?! What do I know ab-?"

"You used to be a writer." Used to be. Ouch. "You were always going on about creatures from outer space."

"That's fantasy. The creatures were from fantasy, fairy tales, demon realms-" "Same thing."

And so I found myself petitioning for a day off, which in itself was no easy feat, and going to Dillzville Elementary for its First (and probably last) Annual Career Day. I just hope my boss never hears that I wasn't going there to represent the post office.

The auditorium was jam-packed with kids. No surprise. But the rowdiness! Was I like that when I was their age? I could see they were going to be a tough crowd.

A pair of clammy claws grabbed my bare arms.

I screamed.

"Shhhh!" A claw moved to cover my mouth.

"Mffd?"

"Yes, it's me." Fred said. He looked horrible. Sweat beaded his brow in pools and were spawning tributaries down his pale face. His blond hair, usually always permed, had lost its fancy stylish curl and fell down his cheeks in matted clumps.

I felt sorry for him. But I also felt sick. Try having a sweaty hand clamped tightly over your mouth for a few minutes and see what I mean.

Fred dragged me to his office and finally dropped me into a chair across from his desk.

I breathed in a refreshing gulp of fresh air. Well, not exactly fresh, but after that hand, I couldn't afford to be choosy. I gulped several more breaths before I finally relaxed enough to say, "What were you doing! I could have suffocated under that death grip of yours!"

Fred -- my good old "friend" -- continued to walk over to his desk and sat down. His left cheek was twitching as it always did when he was nervous.

"Thanks for coming Danny. Here's the scoop. You are a scientist from the research group called AARG."

"Aargh?" I echoed. "Sounds like they need some pain relievers."

"The AARG," Fred explained, "stands for the Aliens Are Real Group."

"Yep, that name's painful, alright."

"Will you be serious for just a cotton-picking minute?" Fred was exasperated.

But I couldn't help myself.

"Look, Fred. I don't pick cotton and, really, don't you think those scientists could have come up with a cooler-sounding name like Aliens Revelation. Or Aliens? So are We! Or maybe they should just call themselves the GIA, the Galactical Ignorance of Aspirin, I mean, Aliens."

Despite himself, a small smile crept across Fred's face, but the stress of the situation returned him to business.

"Your name is Harry Oppenheim and you are responsible for the tracking of alien activity on Earth."

"Puh-leeze." That sounded like a job from a science-fiction novel. Or a comic book. Men in Black came to mind.

"Dispend your disbelief for a second here. You have to go up there on stage and give an introduction of what you do, so you better have something prepared."

"In ten minutes?"

"Five, actually."

I could have choked him right then and there. He didn't tell me I had to go up on stage! I just thought I had to stand at a booth and play patsy, act cool, and say a few fibs. Not spin a whole yarn in front of the whole school!

"Excuse me?" the secretary's head popped into the open door. "We're ready."

"Thank you, Jeanna." He then stood up and motioned me to the door. "After you."

Fred and I walked back down the hallway to the now dark auditorium. The noise level wasn't much lower though. And the mutterings inside sounded murderous.

Fred led me toward backstage and told me to wait behind the side curtain. Then he left me alone to walk up to the podium on the stage.

Somewhere along the way to the auditorium, Fred had found time to give himself a hasty grooming so that he actually looked respectable, albeit a bit ruffled.

I didn't hear what he said up there. It was the usual boring spiel principals say when they start any school assembly. Besides, I was nervous beyond definition. Sure, I've written stories -- not that any of them sold -- but I never had to go up on stage and just spin one out on the spot.

And I found I was on the spot. Now.

"And here is the representative from AARG, the Aliens Are Real Group, Mr. Harry Oppenheim!"

Someone give me the Heimlich Maneuver, I thought, I'm choking. inched my way up to the podium and looked down at the seething crowd. All those brats were commenting on my poor clothes and my bad hair. Hey, I worked in a post office. I didn't need much grooming. So my only business shirt was not in tiptop shape, excuse me very much.

I don't know whether it was the insults or the immense need to puke that made me spew out what I said in there. But whatever I said was the beginning of something wonderful ... that later turned bad.

"Four score and twenty odd years ago. For they WERE strange." That got a laugh. "Our forefathers had just received their wings and were making a gigantic mess of the Earth's skies." More laughter. Hey, I was getting good at this. "And the beings in the galaxy looked down upon us and said 'If they were to reach us out here, all hell would break loose.' So they sent an emissary to watch over the human race. But even their best operative could not stop the humans from reaching the Moon and sending their junk called satellites into the galaxy. Even the Challenger disaster, meant to discourage us from continuing our efforts to reach the stars, only made us more determined to conquer our limitations. The aliens had misjudged us and we now know who they are. "

The students were now all staring at me wide-eyed. I had them under my spell and I was on a roll.

"In fact, we are now tracking that operative through its activities. We have reason to believe that it may be right in this city, maybe even in this very auditorium." That got a mighty jump out of them. I grinned. "But don't worry, we've got everything under control. No aliens are going to harm us ever again, nor are they ever preventing us from reaching the stars."

The kids cheered. I was their hero. If even for those few brief minutes, I was Somebody. I basked in their adoration and humbly bowed, staying just a few moments longer to embed it all in my memory.

Apparently, I also gave someone a chance to do the same with me.

The Career Day turned out to be a success and Fred treated me to a very satisfying steak dinner at a local restaurant. With belly full of saucy meat, crispy fries, and a couple rounds of beer, I made my way back to the apartment complex where I had setup my humble abode.

I fondly remembered the cheering of those kids and suddenly got a "muse attack" as the authorial terms go, meaning I had a story to write down. I intended to call it the Conspiracy Theory but remembered with disappointment that it was taken. But I needed to write it down, now.

As I neared the building, I didn't notice the blinding light -- blinded as I was already by inspiration -- until it grabbed me. Yes, grabbed me.

I was lifted clean up into the air as I walked; miles of distance between me and the ground was reached before I truly realized what was happening to me. I looked up. And confirmed it.

I was being abducted by aliens.

So here I am, in an alien ship with an alien being, threatened by an alien weapon, and listening to an alien language.

I admit I don't remember much beyond the trip to the ship. Either the thin air must have made me woozy or the aliens tranquilized or ... well, the other alternative is unthinkable. At least I didn't wet my pants.

"Deijboyl."

I still can't understand this Oxypad-deficient monstrosity. And lying on this cold hard floor is very uncomfortable.

"Daybule."

Now it sounds familiar. The alien must have something in its brain that could compensate for language deficiency.

"Die, boy!"

I understood THAT. "Oh boy," I mutter.

The gun shoots.

I cry.

And the light dies.

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