Dulce Truths

The thought is directed to Noro, but Anderholt can hear it as well and Noro knows it.

“I… I…” Noro manages to stutter, but that’s all. Without raising a finger or even moving at all, for all Anderholt can see, the Gray lashes out somehow at Noro. Perhaps it’s with its mind, or some other power. Either way, Noro begins to lift off the ground a foot or two, his feet kicking all the while as some unseen force latches onto his throat. It has to be there, Anderholt thinks, for the poor bastard is lashing and clawing there, as if some fist has hold of him. It does no good, other than to scratch away at the skin, which even causes some bleeding. Anderholt can only watch with wide eyes as it happens, as Noro is choked to death.

Then it’s done, and the unseen force holding Noro up lets him go. The Indian slams down to the floor near the pile of bones, his eyes wide and his mouth open in what looks like a silent scream.

Anderholt’s eyes go back to the alien in front of him, a Gray, he knows. It’s not just one though, he sees now, as another is visible, and another over by the side. He thinks there’s probably a lot more hidden away in the darkness further down that tunnel. The general stands stock still, his eyes wide and his hands out to his sides in a sort of stabilizing, defensive gesture. It was a stance that said, ‘whoa… what just happened here, and how can we make sure it doesn’t happen again?’

Perhaps the Grays read into that stance, or perhaps they just read Anderholt’s mind. Either way, come the next moment the Grays seemed to relax, and all at once. The men watched as the aliens’ posture became less erect and their eyes became a bit smaller. It seemed that way, at least, and Anderholt figured that now was the time. He began to lower his arms, and made ready to step forward.

Stay, a voice comes to him, one that isn’t audible but which he can hear in his head. Anderholt tenses up, and doesn’t take that step. Instead he decides to just start talking.

Quiet, the voice comes again, and this time Anderholt turns and looks over his shoulder at the men behind him. Their eyes narrow at him, as if wondering what he’s doing, but not a one says a word. Anderholt wonders if any heard what he’d just heard.

They did not, the voice answered, nor will they. You’re in command here. We’ll talk to you… for now.

That startled the colonel and put him off-guard. He looks back at the aliens, their faces expressionless, those large eyes showing a deep blackness and hinting at nothing else.

I’m — the colonel started to think, but his thoughts were interrupted.

General Anderholt, the voice in his head answers for him, born 1918, joined the military in 1936, served in World War II from 1938 to 1945, and for the past two years in charge of the secret alien collection unit of the CIA.

Anderholt cocks his head to one side in a kind of shrug that says, ‘not bad.’

What do you want? the voice comes again. You shouldn’t be here.

Why not? Anderholt thinks.

Because it’ll be the death of you, Harry.

Anderholt frowns to that. The American government is strong, our military—

We’re not talking about your government or your military… we’re talking about you, Harry.

That frazzles Anderholt. You know how I’m gonna die?

Of course. But colonel… would you like to know?

Anderholt immediately thinks ‘no,’ but at the same time another part of him thought ‘yes.’ It must have been that part that the aliens latched-onto, or else they were going to tell him regardless.

It’ll be 32 years from now, Harry, deep down in the depths of the base you’ll see built here, the voice says. We’re not worried about telling you this, either, for there’s nothing you can do to change it.

So the future’s already set in stone then, is it? Anderholt thinks to himself, and before he could think not to.

The colonel thinks he detects a trace of humor in the voice’s next response. For you, colonel, yes.

Anderholt stares back at the few Grays standing there, looking deeply into those large, black eyes. Behind him the men begin to grow antsy, and Anderholt can hear them beginning to shuffle about. He puts up his hand to signal that everything is alright, though privately he thinks, is it?