Saying it was windy and raining would suffice. There is no need to go into further detail or explain how the wind whipped through the trees causing them to bend and their leaves to rustle savagely. There is no reason to speak of the rain which poured down so hard that it dented rocks or the thunder which would have blown out any 1000 watt speakers. The lightning, which lit up the sky, trees, and distant ocean, is even less important.
What is important is what happened during this storm, which, by the way, was a pretty bad storm. On this small beach about a hundred meters from the trees, a figure suddenly materialized from the darkness. For a second he seemed dry, and the abundance of water seemed to surprise and irritate him. Looking around and letting something fall to his side against his trench coat, he started walking away from the ocean, since there seemed to be a whole heck of a lot more water there. A brief flash of lightning revealed nothing new and merely helped to silhouette the man as he casually hurried away from the shore. A streetlight ahead lit up the hard features of his wet face, his pudgy nose and his dark uncombed hair, cast shadows into his eyes hidden deep within his face, and glinted off of the metal object hanging at his side. He wore only a trench coat, a dirty, grimy piece of wet, black cloth that hung from his body like a bat hangs from a tree. But ordinarily the coat wasn't wet. As he stepped onto the road to which the streetlight belonged and his wet, sandy, bare feet fell on the pavement with a soft squish, a car passed, nearly knocking him off the road, and he smiled: he had found civilization.
Paul Antonio "Nasal Spray" Stigliono did not have a good day. Walgreen's, where he worked, had a sale that day and two thousand fifty-four wet and screaming people with at least two kids each were waiting at the door before opening. Paul counted. Of those people, one thousand six hundred and eighty-three wanted to pay by check, about eight hundred and thirty "just wanted this one thing," one hundred and thirty-three asked Paul if they have "that stuff that's used to clean those funny things that beep and are orange," and fifty-six people decided to knock over a display or spill some Cheetos. Also one new sixteen year old worker did not know how to do anything and decided Paul was the one to ask. Paul hated working at Walgreen's. What made things worse was the terrible rain storm he had to drive through at midnight to get home. The very last thing he needed was a scummy man in a trench coat standing in the middle of the road. Coincidentally enough, this is exactly what happened. He just happened to be driving on the very road the strange trench coated figure was on at the same time the figure happened upon it in such a way that would make this story more interesting. Paul's day was about to get worse. What's more, it was not about to end. Paul slammed on his brakes, slid past the man in the road, barely missing the roadside ditch, and his rusty green 1973 Buick stopped a few meters away. The man smiled and approached the car. "Hey, jerk!" Paul yelled, "what do ya think yer doin'?" "Stopping you." "Yeah? Well you succeeded," Paul stated angrily. "I need transportation," the man demanded. "You have a funny way of askin'." Paul looked the odd man up and down. Somewhere, deep in his liver, Paul had a soft spot for weird men standing in the middle of the road getting wet. Livers shouldn't have spots like that. Paul was about to do one of those stupid things he seemed to do often in his life. "Get in," he said. The man opened the door, which Paul foolishly left unlocked, and splashed into the seat. Paul pulled away. Not that it would have made much difference if Paul did lock the doors. Any amateur could get into his car with a toothpick and 23 seconds to spare, provided, of course, that the thief didn't decide to take the easy way and just pull the door off. "Where do you wanna go?" Paul asked. The man paused to think about it, then answered, "take me to your leader." Paul gave him a funny look, and noticed the strange device hanging at his side. "What's that thing?" he asked, pointing at it. "Time machine," the man stated tersely. Paul gave him another funny look. "Yeah, right," he said after a few seconds, then, "my name's Paul. What's yours?" "My name," the man replied slowly, "is Wup." Paul gave him yet another funny look. A few seconds passed by in silence. "I can take you to the police station," he told him, "if that's where you want to go." Actually, the looks Paul was giving him weren't all that funny. They were quite ridiculous. When Paul made these faces he resembled a chimpanzee in heat, and this is not altogether an aesthetically pleasing picture. To be honest, not many of Paul's facial expressions are very pleasing, for he isn't that handsome a guy. He does have a rather boyish quality about him, though, if one can imagine Ringo Starr as a child. They drove on in silence for a few more minutes, as the rain fell steadily and made the windshield wiper's job extremely difficult. Paul swerved to avoid a North American red fox he'd seen just in time. Of course, he couldn't really tell it was a North American red fox because it was so hard to see through the rain. If he had to guess he would have said it was a North African short-horned gazelle, though he wondered what it was doing on a highway in New York. Wup just sat there staring ahead. After a few minutes, he turned his attention to his machine, while Paul foolishly decided to start the conversation over again. "So, where you from?" "Delnar," Wup muttered casually while studying his little silver box. "Where's that?" Paul asked with a sardonic crack in his voice that meant Wup might as well have said Lakewood, Ohio. Wup, however, would never have mentioned Lakewood, Ohio, for he had never even been to Ohio. He was much more familiar with Delnar, though, and with plenty of confidence he answered, "On planet Fellinar in system 16F89 delta 6 dash John." Paul almost went off the road at this point. "Oh, come on! Oh, Lord!" he yelled as his hands frantically fought for control of the steering wheel. He quickly brought the car under control again, but he himself was still very excited. "You, sir, are a loony!" he asserted firmly. Wup looked up from his box angrily. "Hey! Loonies are very well respected where I come from!" He was almost yelling. Almost. "Ha! Well, that doesn't surprise me!" "There's a switch." As Wup said this, he resumed fidgeting with his box. "Never pick up hitchhikers," Paul muttered nervously to himself, "never ever -- they're crazy, that's what they are. I'm gonna get killed, I'm gonna get zapped by a slimy green space creature in a trench coat and a time machine that looks oddly like a fifties version of a ghettoblaster and they're gonna find me on the side of the road with my testicles in the glove compartment, I know it, I just know it --" Suddenly Wup yelled, "I give up! I can't get this protting machine to work," and pounded on the box with his fist. Paul muttered something about typical fifties machinery never working and being made of cheap material. With an even more sudden change of mood, Wup turned to Paul and calmly inquired, "where am I?" "In my car, just getting off the highway." "No, no, I mean in a bit more general sense." "Oh, I get it," Paul stated, ready to humor him, "you want the planet and year and all that stuff, just like in the movies. Okay --" "No, I know where and when I am, just tell me the name of the local area." "Hmm? Oh, of course. New York." Wup's face contracted in suppressed laughter. "New York?!" he managed to blurt out. He was about to lose control. Okay, he did lose control. "New York!" he cried again, just to confirm what he heard. He broke out in an explosion of laughter which lasted about five minutes, occasionally saying the name over again in case he'd forget it. Meanwhile, Paul was trying to watch Wup and the road at the same time and not being very successful. Occasionally he would try to get his question in edgewise, which was obviously, "what's so funny about New York?" Unfortunately, all that came out was, "what -- wha -- hey, wh -- why -- stop that -- why're -- hey..." and so on. Finally Wup, still laughing a little, started to explain himself. "Where I come from, York is a swear word." "Oh boy," Paul whined exasperatedly as he pulled up to a curb. He lost comprehension of this conversation long ago, so Wup's explanation didn't strike him as funny. However, he would have been relieved and even slightly amused to know that on the planet Fellinar in system 16F89 delta 6 dash John there is a city called Old Bastard. *** Paul was extremely glad to be back home about to enjoy the near comfort of his bed. He was so relieved after he had dropped off that psycho at the police station. Even getting rid of him was a difficult task. "You're not coming in with me?" he actually had the nerve to ask. "Of course not. You wanted me to take you here, and now you're here. Why should I?" "Well we've had such fun coming here. Be a shame to end it now." "Been nice chatting with you." Paul put the car into drive. "It'll be too bad if we never see each other again." With that, Paul raced off, or tried to get as close as possible to racing off as one could get in a '73 Buick. That was twelve minutes ago. It was 12:43, and Paul was entering his apartment on the fifth floor of what might as well have been a four-story building. He opened the door into a small sparsely furnished living room with dirty white walls and one window offering a view of the alley behind his building. About the only item of worth in the room was a 13" black-and-white TV sitting in one corner. Sitting on an ugly brown torn-up couch was himself and a strangely familiar silver box. Normally, however, Paul wasn't sitting on the couch and entering his apartment simultaneously. This is probably why the Paul at the door dropped his keys and stood staring at himself in shock, leaving the door half open behind him. The Paul on the couch nervously shifted his weight back and forth. "Uhh, hi!" he greeted himself. "Who are you? What're you doing in my apartment?" Paul snapped, still standing frozen at the open door. "I live here!!" "I -- I don't --" "I haven't quite grasped it myself, but I'm -- I'm you. In the future." Paul gave him a look that showed he was still confused. "Umm... Well, look, I can't explain it completely, but I came to tell you something important." "Well it better be important! I should hope I wouldn't be wasting my time to tell me 'Return to Gilligan's Island' is on tonight!" "Just shut up and listen! Tell Wup to be at the police station at 10 pm tomorrow night." "Wup? You mean that crazy psycho?" "Yeah, him." Paul ignored the repetitive term, since he apparently made it anyway. "I know you don't want to see him again, but there doesn't seem to be any way of preventing it. Unless of course I told you not to pick him up at the police station in the first place, but then I wouldn't be able to be here to tell you this, and I don't think I could deal with that paradox. Besides, he did save the world, or will, I mean, and he couldn't have done that if I, or you, that is if I hadn't bailed him out." "Right," Paul said dazedly. He only caught the first sentence, and the rest was a blur to him. "It doesn't matter now, just remember to tell Wup to get me out of the police station at 10:00 tomorrow night." "Do you mean tomorrow night, or tonight?" "Huh?" The Paul on the couch looked at his watch. He shook his head in a frustrated gesture, and got up and walked towards himself. "Can I look at your watch? Mine doesn't have the present time, you understand." "Oh, of course." Paul wasn't sure he did understand, but he showed himself his watch anyway. The other Paul looked at the watch, noted it was past midnight, and nodded confidently. "Ahh, you're right. I mean 10 pm tonight. Now don't forget!" "Oh, I don't think I will." "Hey," Paul leaned conspiratorially towards himself and said, "as long as I'm here I should warn you of a few other things too -- remember to set your --" Just then something beeped on the silver box that Paul recognized as the box Wup had. Paul walked over to where it was resting on the couch and looked at it. "Oh, no, I'm out of time." "What? Well reprogram it or something." "I can't. I don't know how it works. Wup set it on automatic so I wouldn't screw it up. Goodbye." "But wait! Remember to set my what? What do I set?" But it was too late. As Paul was saying it, he just faded away into nothingness. Paul stared at the empty space for a few seconds wondering what else he was about to warn himself before deciding to give up. It had definitely been a long night, so he figured the best thing to do was to end it. He walked past the counter on the right, which separated the kitchen from the front room, and into the hallway leading to his bedroom. He was very tired, and he was looking forward to about five hours of sleep, before starting another exciting day at Walgreen's at seven o'clock. The last thing he wanted was to be disturbed by a phone call at three in the morning. Paul woke up to a ringing phone at 3 am. Grumbling, he fumbled on his nightstand for the receiver, and ended up falling on the floor. Full alertness, not to mention extreme pain, accompanied Paul's realization that he didn't have a phone on the nightstand. He got up, walked across the room, and answered the phone. "Walgreen's, may I help you?" "Hey, Paul, it's me, Wup!" the voice on the other end announced. "Who? Oh no --" "Look, Paul, I'm in this thing they call 'jail', and they won't let me out of it unless I give them fifty of these things they called 'dollars'. You wouldn't happen to have any lying around, would you?" "What? Jail?! Are you crazy?!! You want me to come down there and bail you out? Now? At this hour?" "Well, at this hour, yes, but you don't have to do it now." "Huh?" "You could come over and do it tomorrow, as long as you do so an hour or so from now." Paul let out a slow moan. He was about to say no and go back to bed, when he remembered the meeting with himself. "Okay, okay, look. I'll be there in a half an hour. You are at the police station, and not the dog pound, right?" "Yeah, yeah. The police station. That's the place." "Okay, I'll be right over." Paul put the phone down before remembering to say "goodbye." As he turned to look where he had put his clothes before going to sleep, he wondered why he bothered to pick up a hitchhiker in the first place. It never occurred to him that it was because he was stupid. A half an hour later, Paul walked through the front door of the District 42 Police Station. He walked up to the clerk behind the counter and announced, "I'm here to bail out the lunatic spaceman in a trench coat with the time travelling ghettoblaster slung over his shoulder." Of course the clerk knew exactly who Paul was talking about. Paul paid the fifty dollars. "What was he put in jail for?" he inquired. "Thinks he's Captain Kirk. We were gonna have the loony bin pick him up if somebody didn't come by and claim him first. I think you're better off leaving him to the white jackets, though. Relative of yours?" Paul looked a little sheepish. "Uhh, no. He's a -- friend. We just met." "Your loss." A few minutes later Wup was escorted into the lobby. He took his box from the clerk and turned to Paul. "Paul, hey, nice to see you!" "Yeah, whatever," Paul said in a less than enthralled voice. He gestured to Wup, and they both turned to go. "Prot, what a place!" Wup muttered under his breath. "Imagine expecting me to give them fifty dollars! I'm sure if they really needed them they could have gone somewhere and bought them or something." "Wup, dollars are money," Paul stated annoyedly as he exited the station and proceeded to walk down the sidewalk to his left, towards his car two blocks away. Wup followed him. "Oh. Well, okay." Wup spoke in a normal volume since they were both outside now. "But at least they could have asked me first. I mean the food and entertainment was okay, but maybe I didn't want a place to stay. They weren't even polite about it, either. Just 'okay, into the cell, buddy.' Boy, this planet is all yorked up!" He stared confusedly at a banner in front of a store: "Home of the Whopper." "What did you do?" Paul demanded. "Who's 'the Whopper'?" "Huh? Answer me! What did you do?" "Oh. Mostly I stayed in this room," he answered. "Nice room, but the front wall was just bars. No privacy, but that's okay. I watched these two guys in another room fight over --" "No, no," Paul interrupted, "how did you get there?" "You brought me there, remember?" "No, I mean how did you get in the jai -- uh, room?" "I told you, these guys showed me in. Aren't you following me at all?" "Unfortunately." "They let me try on these things for your hands, too." Wup stared in utter fascination as a car emerged from a car wash across the street. "Wow, so that's where they come from," he muttered. They were approaching an empty rock-covered parking lot which apparently belonged to the small abandoned building next to it. Empty, that is, except for a rusty green '73 Buick. Paul fumbled in his pockets for his keys, while he carefully worded the next question in a fruitless attempt to get useful information. "Umm, Wup, what did you say to them? What did you do right after I dropped you off?" "Well I was trying to tell them they were in danger, but they just wouldn't listen. They were too excited about letting me visit their jail." Paul walked up to his car. "Danger?" he prodded skeptically as he took the ticket off his windshield. Amazing how efficient the meter maids are at three-forty in the morning, he thought. "Yeah, see, the Arrmavids have a base on the moon and they're going to destroy this civilization and this planet in under twenty-one hours." "Armadillos?! Oh, God, now you think this is George Orwell's 'Animal Farm'!" "No, not Armadillos, Arrmavids." Paul just leaned against his car and shook his head. "Look, Wup," he confided, "this is reality, okay? Not Star Trek. There are no aliens, there's no such thing as time travel, and you're not Captain Kirk from planet 2001 dash Jake." His voice was rising hysterically as he went on. "There's only a portable stereo strapped to your shoulder, Ronald Reagan, and Earth!" "But there won't be any Earth if you guys don't do something!" Wup pleaded. "The Arrmavids do exist! And you're gonna have some serious proof very soon!" "We don't need any Aardvarks to ruin our planet --" "Arrmavids," Wup corrected. "Shut up! Aardvarks, Armavids, Androids -- who cares!" Paul straightened up and put the key in the lock. "Whatever they are, we don't need them. We're ruining the planet just fine on our own!" "Yeah, but they're more efficient at it." Paul opened his door and let out a huge, exaggerated sigh. He rested his elbows on top of the door. "Well look," he said, "I wouldn't go mentioning aliens or time travel to everyone anymore okay?" "But that would defeat my purpose." "So would being put in a loony bin!" Paul countered. "I used to live in a loony bin." "That explains a lot." Paul lifted his elbows from the door and started to get in the car. "You'll see. You'll believe. I'll prove it to you." Paul rolled down his window as he closed the door. "Oh, yeah? How?" "Just wait. You'll see," Wup said mysteriously and turned and walked away. "You've got less than twenty-one hours!" Paul yelled, and laughed at his own joke. He watched Wup for a few seconds, then shrugged his shoulders, started the ignition, and pulled the car out of the lot. A yellow reminder note was taped to the top of the steering wheel, which he absent-mindedly crumpled up and threw on the floor without looking at. Wup's last words stayed in his mind. I wonder what he meant by 'he'll prove it to me'? he thought. What's he gonna do? A scowl appeared on his face. It doesn't matter anyway; nothing he can do will make me believe he's from outer space. He let a smirk escape from his lips. It's just not true! Aliens. Ha! Time travel! Imagine! Then he remembered his meeting with himself. For a brief moment, he thought everything Wup said might be true, but then he stopped that thought in a standard form of denial. That was just a dream, he told himself. He was very tired, and must have fallen asleep as soon as he'd got home. Of course that didn't explain how he'd managed to get undressed and into his bed, but he ignored that detail. Besides, in twenty-one hours, Wup's stories will be completely proven wrong. Having re-established reality and assured himself of his own sanity (and Wup's insanity), Paul drove the rest of the way home in complete confidence. His confidence remained even as he returned to his apartment building. He was sure by now that after a couple hours of sleep, the day would pass as if none of these events ever happened. This made him mad, because he realized that Wup owed him fifty dollars. He walked up the stairs to the fifth floor expecting nothing unusual to happen, and came face to face with Wup. "Wh - whaaa?" Paul stood there staring at Wup in total surprise. Wup reflected his surprise with a wide, mocking grin. "Hi there!" Wup said, grinning. Paul's jaw dropped. Wup's wide grin stared back at him. "But you were --" Paul stammered. "Uh-huh." If it was at all possible, Wup's grin grew wider. "But how did you -- I mean, you don't -- how'd you get here?" "I walked." "No!" "Yep." "You mean you..." "Yep." "No!" "Yep." "You could have called a cab." "Nope." "Yes!" "I assume 'cabs' cost money. You know I don't have any." All the strange events that led up to this flashed through Paul's mind, making him consider them more seriously. All those things Wup said. That meeting with himself. And now this... Somehow the possibility of all this really happening breached a hole through his thick skull... Paul was starting to believe. "Well I guess we'd better get out of the hallway..." he said slowly. Wup watched Paul open the door with his keys and noticed his hands were shaking as he did so. He looked up at the number on the door, and reached down to punch something into his silver machine. They entered the apartment, and Wup immediately started searching the place. "Where's your phone?" he demanded. "It's over there, why?" "I need to see your phone number. Did you know they're printed on every one of these things?" Wup picked up the phone and searched it for the appropriate number. "Of course I knew that! You could have just asked me for my number! Besides, you know my number, you called me earlier!" Wup started pressing more buttons on his machine. "I knew this number then because I'm entering it into the machine now," he patiently explained. "Oh, boy," Paul sighed. "I thought I told you to stop that. Hey, can you pick up Z103 on that thing?" "No." Wup just kept fidgeting with his machine. "Oh. Okay. So anyway, wh-what do you need from me?" "Well, could I crash here for a while? I haven't slept since the Zenith system. I could use a nap." Apparently the word "crash" was universal for "sleep." "Well, sure. I guess. You can sleep on the floor and just -- don't touch anything. And if Luke Skywalker shows up, tell him I said 'hi'. I'm going to bed now." Paul went into his room, and locked the door behind him. *** When Paul woke up the next morning the sun was already well above the horizon. His eyes opened grudgingly, revealing the glowing red numerals of his clock. It read 10:19. He closed his eyes. He was about to fall asleep again, when one single word ran through his mind, knocking entire thought processes off their shelves as it passed them by: Walgreen's. "DAMN!" After all the excitement last night, Paul had forgotten to set his alarm. In an instant he was fully awake, out of bed, and throwing on any clothes he could find. Once dressed, he raced to his phone and frantically dialed the number to Walgreen's. "Busy. Damn it!" He threw the phone down and ran out the door into the living room. He found his keys and was almost out the door, when suddenly something in the back of his mind that was picking up thought processes came across a particularly odd thought, and flashed it across his consciousness for verification. The events of last night flooded back into his memory. And something wasn't quite right about his apartment, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He thought if he were actually in the apartment, it would be easier to put his finger on that something, since it was in the apartment as well. He turned around to look into the front room, but it was empty. Very empty. Wup was gone. And so was Paul's furniture. Not that Paul had that much furniture to begin with, but it was enough to make its absence a little frustrating for Paul. Dumbfounded, he slowly walked back into his apartment. The entire room was barren except for the dirt on the walls and a piece of paper on the floor, which turned out to be a note after Paul picked it up. It read: "Pawl: Had to go save the Erth. Thanks for the stuff. You're a real wally. Bye. Wupster Frey" Paul's face went red. Well, okay, it turned more of a soft pinkish, but compared to his bony white skin, this was just about as colorful as his face got. He was shaking a little. His eyes were staring blankly ahead. He sat down to collect himself, remembering a little too late that he didn't have a couch anymore, and with a thud he fell on the floor. Several thoughts went through his head at once, and this time they knocked down whole shelves. Heck, they destroyed the entire library. Where was his furniture? Did he still have a job? Was that really Wup's full name? What's a wally? Would the price of Exxon stock be going up soon? Paul didn't know what business this last thought had in his mind. He didn't own any stock in Exxon. He didn't own any stock at all, much less could he afford any. Just then the phone rang. That is, it rang from his bedroom, for the red phone in this room was of course gone. Paul collected all his thoughts, thoroughly scolded them for making such a mess of his mind, and got up to answer the phone. Still shaking a little he picked up the phone and slowly brought it to his ear. "H-He-hello?" "Paul?" He recognized the voice of that annoying new sixteen year old from Walgreen's. "Paul? Hey, what're you doing? Did you oversleep? You were supposed to be here over three hours ago. The boss is real upset." "Yeah, I know, I -- well it's a long story." "Well, the manager is kinda busy right now, so he told me to call you and tell you you're fired." "Fired? What --" "Hey sorry to hear it. Could I have the Twinkies you left in the fridge?" "No! Uhh... well, yeah, I, uh, guess so." "Hey, thanks. I gotta go. Somebody's at the counter with some of that stuff that's used to clean those, uh... funny things, you know, that beep and are orange." "Yeah. Thanks a lot." Paul put the phone down slowly on the floor without hanging it up. "I've just been fired by a sixteen year old," he proclaimed softly to no one in particular. Just then there was a knock on the front room door. It was still open. A voice from outside the door called. "Hello? Is there anybody here? This is the police, can we come in?" Paul jumped up and ran into the front room. "Thank God you're here! I was just about to call you!" Cautiously pushing the door open and stepping inside, the officer inquired, "are you Paul Stigliono?" "Yes, I am, why?" "Your car was spotted at the sight of a burglary at the Fort Hamilton Armory at 9 am this morning." "But I've been here all night!" "The license plates and make of the car were under your name." "Oh no. Wup!" "Paul Stigliono, you are under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney..." ***"-- But look, honestly --"
"Yeah, right. Now would you mind telling me just what your car was doing at the armory?"
"I told you. Wup, that's the alien who travels through time, right; he stayed at my apartment last night and when I woke up all my things were gone. I was just about to report it to the police."
The officer stared at Paul for about twenty seconds, looked down and wrote something on his pad. They were back at the police station again, in a room with tons of desks. All the other officers seemed to be out on duty, for there was no one else save the one officer. Paul was sitting in front of this officer's desk in an uncomfortable wooden chair, thinking that he was spending entirely too much time at police stations recently. He made a mental note not to in the near future. Unfortunately, he didn't have much of a choice at the moment. The officer looked up again.
"Let's can the H.G. Wells crap, okay?"
"But you've gotta believe me! In about ten hours the Artichokes are gonna take over the Earth!"
"You're not gonna give me a full story, are you?"
"I would if I could, really..."
"You can start by telling me where your car is now."
"Wup has it, I'd imagine."
"Of course." The officer put down his pencil. Holding it was useless, since he obviously wasn't going to get any useful information to write down out of this interrogation. With a heavy breath, he said, "So where would we be able to find this guy, 'Wup'? Does he have an address?"
"Of course not; he's an alien!"
"Naturally. How stupid of me. Why would an alien need a place to stay in New York." He pushed his seat out. "Okay," he said, "that's all. Do you want to use your phone call now?"
"Who'd I call?"
"Hey, I don't know. It's your life." He got up from his desk and started leading Paul over to a cell in a far corner. "Well then, we're gonna hold you in the cage up here until we figure out what to do with you."
"But what about the Artichokes?"
"Artichoke this." The cop made a rather rude gesture with his hands.
"But I'm telling the truth!"
"Yeah, shut up, okay? Thanks." The officer led him into the cell, closed the door behind it, and locked it. It was still morning, so no one was yet in the cell with him. "Have a blast," he said as he walked away.
"Oh. Yeah. I can hardly contain my excitement." And it was true. He couldn't. It was all he could do to stay seated on the bench in the cell, staring at the floor. Of course, the bars helped.
Meanwhile, Wup was discovering the pure delight of a New York style Vienna Jumbo chili dog. At first he had been rather wary about trying one, for the word "dog" meant something entirely different to him, and the thought of eating it nearly made him puke. Then again, if he knew what was actually in a New York style Vienna Jumbo chili dog he might fertilize the Fraktosian foliage anyway. But the street vender insisted to him that they were the best things Wup would ever taste in the Universe, and Wup was quite inclined to agree after having begrudgingly bitten into one. He smiled, his face dripping with relish, and thought, "what next?"
"Is there a 'Q'?"
"Yes, there is a 'Q'."
"I'd like to solve the puzzle, Pat."
"All right, it's a place. What's your guess?"
"McDonald's?"
"That's right! Come over here to our prize corner. Don Pardo, tell him what he's won!"
If Paul had to watch another game show he thought he'd scream. His arresting officer had finally become bored and turned on a TV on one of the desks. So far, Paul had seen "Joker's Wild," "Wheel of Fortune," "Hollywood Squares," and the 12:00 News. Unfortunately, there were no reports of UFO sightings or landings, and the world still seemed to be run by the same governments. Not that that was actually good, thought Paul.
"Now batting for the Chicago Cubs, number 8, Andre Dawson."
What a particularly weird game, thought Wup. He was now in a place called "Shea Stadium" with 14,000 other people, watching twenty-two people below. Apparently, one person tried to hit the other people on the field with a ball. If he missed, he had to run around in a circle as punishment. It's a pointless pastime, he thought, but the pretzels are good. Apparently the Cubs were winning, because they weren't doing much running, and the other team wasn't even hitting them at all. He was routing for the Cubs anyway, because their uniforms looked better. He glanced at his big silver box beside him in between the excitement. It read 2:30. Only seven hours left...
...And nothing has happened, thought Paul, as he watched the game on TV. He had already wasted his phone call trying to reach his friend across town. Apparently, though, he was on vacation in Pittsburgh, or so his answering machine had said. Why anyone would vacation in Pittsburgh, Paul didn't know. Come to think of it, his friend didn't have an answering machine. He didn't let this bother him, though, and watched the game instead, waiting for something to happen. He hated the Cubs, and was glad the Mets were clobbering them. That wasn't too difficult when they're playing the Cubs though, to Paul.
The Atlantic Ocean looked rather unusually peaceful that evening. The eastern sky was already becoming a dark blue over the horizon. Up above, in the harbor, the Statue of Liberty welcomed newcomers to her land. Down below, the Office of Immigration turned them away. All around, people bustled about on their way home from work, oblivious to anything but the thought of the delicious and cheap Budget Gourmet dinners they were going to have for dinner that night. And overhead, a huge, dark, silent spaceship flew past at a few hundred kilometers per second. This was one newcomer that neither the Statue of Liberty nor the office of immigration was prepared to deal with. Down below, the tired masses continued on their way home hardly even taking notice of the events around them. A few seconds later, on the road along the coast, a putrid green '73 Buick sped past. Backwards.
New York was, as usual, rather active during the evening hours approaching nightfall. To an inhabitant of New York a better description would be "deadly." Central Park, however, though deadly still, had a night life of its own. In the grass near a body of water aptly titled "The Pond," two people were discovering the fascinations of each others' bodies. A duck was floating around on the water the way ducks do and was suddenly disturbed by a dead fish which floated up next to it. The duck took off for shore, half flying and half walking on water in a manner that is another strange habit of ducks, sending water splashing everywhere, and creating a lot of noise which the couple were too occupied to notice. They had more important things on their minds which included rolling around in duck poop. On a bench nearby sat a man who was silently watching these activities and enjoying the strangely pungent odor of the New York air. The wind picked up a little and made the leaves rustle against themselves. Then the strangeness happened. The wind became increasingly stronger until it reached a near gale force. It pushed the man off the bench and sent him into a tree. The water splashed and thrashed about. Out in the middle of the Pond ripples appeared and hurriedly moved outward in circles as if a huge fan was set on high just above the Pond. The man on the shore looked up and saw a sight that made him think twice about Manhattan. A huge, roughly circular vessel hovered over the Pond, and as he watched it slowly glided over and settled down at a clearing, or what would soon be a clearing, beside the Pond. The water crashed together and settled back to its normal state. The wind died down. The man ran away from The Pond. The couple continued their activities unaware of the event that just happened.
Paul finished putting the tenth scratch on the wall in his jail cell. He had been locked up here for ten whole hours, and jail was beginning to have its effects. Paul, now fancying himself a hardened criminal, sat idly on the bench in his cage trying to look mean. The end result came out looking like Don Knotts after thirteen shots of tequila. He finally gave up, and resumed his thoughts of how he was going to get out of this mess. He stood up to put in a few more minutes of heavy pacing. One of the cops had already let him make a second phone call, which he used to call his mom. Unfortunately, she was also not home, and Paul had used all his remaining change. He tried reasoning with the officers on duty one more time, but that didn't work. In desperation, Paul took out a paper clip and tried to pick the lock when no one was looking. That didn't work either, but he did make a rather nice abstract paper clip sculpture. Wup could probably get him out with that machine of his, but he didn't know where Wup was and couldn't contact him. He was out of options. It was nine o'clock, and if Wup was right, the world was a half an hour away from alien attack. So far, he had seen nothing about it on the TV, and he was getting nervous. He had to get out, he thought to himself. If only he could find Wup and tell him to get him out somehow. Suddenly a thought struck him, which took him by surprise, because thoughts usually tend to leave him alone. If time travel really did exist, then he could tell Wup to rescue him before he went to jail! Of course! This was a splendid idea! He looked at the clock on the wall across the room. It was five after nine. He made a mental note to go back in time and tell himself to tell Wup to be here at this time, but then he realized with horror that he had already done so, or will already do so, or something like that. The point was, he had forgotten to tell Wup. Damn, he thought, now what am I gonna do? How can I contact him now?
Meanwhile, Wup was flying down the highway at eighty miles an hour, backwards. He had learned how to drive the car with relative ease, except for one small glitch. All the vehicles in his system had rear-wheel drive, or rear-flap hover drive, and this car was constructed somewhat differently than what he was used to. He had solved this problem simply by driving backwards, though he thought it quite weird that someone would put the controls in the back of the vehicle, facing backwards, with a mirror providing the front view. It was such a small mirror, too, that it hardly provided an ample view. By this time, though, he was a pro at it, as long as he kept in mind that he was doing it right and everyone else was just a york. With one finger on the wheel and one eye on the front-view mirror, he reached down to grab a can of root beer on the floor, and ended up knocking it over.
"Dotch!" he yelled, and he turned his head to peer just barely over the front seat as he bent down lower to find the can. His fingers instead came across a crumpled up piece of yellow paper. He picked it up and looked at it curiously, forgetting about the can or the road entirely. With his knees set under the steering wheel, he used both hands to straighten out the wad of paper.
"Hello," he exclaimed musingly as he read the contents, "what's this?"
The main problem was, Paul was bored stiff, and getting pretty angry. He'd been in a stuffy cell all day. He had nothing to eat. He's been locked up with fifteen different kinds of felons, by his count. He was forced to sit through two hours of the Brady Bunch. He didn't even care anymore when the News Update finally came on with the announcement that New York was taken under siege by aliens. He just stared at the TV like Barney Fife on drugs confronting a criminal. On the TV, a reporter rehashed the entire story:
"The mysterious spacecraft has officially been here since 8:53 this evening when the FBI arrived, although unofficially Leonard Gronsky had witnessed it hovering above the Pond at around seven-thirty, and theoretically it could have gone unnoticed as much as three days previously. Expert speculations on its origination include the Orion constellation, one of seven neighboring galaxies, or the Bronx. The government, however, has not yet released an official speculation. But the fact is, officially, this spacecraft has arrived, and it has already made its intentions known. Just twenty minutes ago the object broadcast what is apparently a message to Earth. We surmised this on account of its general message-like quality, and because of the fact that, to our utter astonishment, it was in English. Already film critics across the globe are preparing apologies to science fiction film producers for berating them on this feature, not to mention top linguists on the scene have been immediately fired. It did, however, greatly support the government's Bronx Origination Theory. Here is a playback of the message in its entirety."
"Greetings planet Smirth. (background whisper) Oh, sorry, Earth. Do not be afraid; we mean you no harm. We extend an offer of friendship between our two planets. As a gesture of our good will, with your permission, we give to you an entire set of Ginsu Laser-cutting Torches." While this broadcast was played, the screen showed an image of Marvin the Martian from Bugs Bunny cartoons. After it ended the reporter reappeared at the scene.
"Unofficially, this has caused mass panic, but the government has officially released word that they are bluffing. FBI Agent Smith was quoted as saying 'we will do nothing until they provide proof of their idle threat.' The craft itself has remained silent and still for the past twenty minutes since that broadcast..."
In the background behind the reporter was a live view of the spacecraft and the activity around it. The craft itself did not look like the stereotypical version of a spaceship, but rather bore a striking resemblance to a huge metal bologna on rye. All around it, an FBI team scurried about as if they were preparing it for a feast but didn't know how to start eating. On the sidelines curious witnesses waited expectantly for something interesting to happen. Fanatics strolled past the crowd ranting about how it was the end of the world, while another less fanatic yelled that it was not the end of the world, but the beginning of the Amusement Park. One guy argued that nothing was happening to the world, we were just going to put "Disney" in front of it from now on. A booth beside them sold End-of-the-World 3-D glasses. Further on down the crowd Hare Krishnas gave out flowers.
Paul watched all this in a daze.
From behind the crowd, a rusty green '73 Buick emerged and came to a halt at what the FBI had officially called the Front of the Spacecraft. The door opened and out came a grimy man in a dirty black trench coat. He ducked back in the car, dragged out a large and apparently heavy object, set it on the ground, and began setting it up. With a start Paul noticed this in the background of the TV scene, at just about the same time as everyone else at the scene noticed the object's uncanny surface-to-air missile shape. As cops began rushing towards him, he pushed a few buttons on the now obvious missile, double-checked the setting, turned and ran. The cops approached the rocket just as it flared to life and took off straight towards the spacecraft. Suddenly, without warning, the craft became one huge, bright, fiery mushroom cloud. The trench coated man then returned to his car, and a few seconds later, the car disappeared entirely. Mind you, it didn't disappear into thin air, for the air by this time was thick and smoky. Amidst the sudden chaos and the burning debris of the now destroyed spacecraft, police searched the whole area where the car was, and found nothing.
"Stellar performance," said Paul after he had watched this.
"Awesome," agreed a cop.
"You wanna let me go now? This kinda fits my story, and that was obviously your man in my Buick who raided your arsenals."
The cop looked up at him with a confused expression. "Huh?" he asked. This wasn't the same man who had arrested and questioned Paul. He had gone home long ago. This guy had not read his reports, either, and didn't know what Paul was talking about.
"That spaceship. That's what I said would happen and that was my car that I didn't use to steal the surface-to-air missile that you just saw not being used by me on TV. It all kind of proves my innocence. The reports are probably over there on that guy's desk." He pointed to a desk. The officer went over and shuffled through some of the papers on it.
"Oh yeah, imagine that; you're right," he said after he found the appropriate paper and studied it. "Hmmph. Well, I imagine you are innocent. I'll go down to the office and clear it and we'll have you out in a jiffy." The officer smiled and turned to leave the room.
"Great. More waiting," Paul sighed.
But the officer hardly had time to turn around when Wup appeared in the doorway, carrying a sawed-off shotgun.
"Hi. I'm here to pick up Paul."
"Hey you're that guy we just saw on TV blowing up the Spaceship!" said the officer.
"Wup, what are you doing? He was going to let me out!" shouted Paul.
The officer looked at the two shrewdly. "So you are mixed up in this."
"Yeah, well, maybe a little. But I didn't wanna be! I just know this guy;" Paul pointed to Wup, "he keeps interfering with my life!"
The officer made a move towards his holster, but Wup jerked the shotgun into his face with amazing speed. "Could you just, not do that, please?" he asked the officer politely. He took the officer's gun out of the holster, just to be safe. "Thanks. Now, could you kindly let him out?"
Paul just sat on the bench and groaned as the guy took the keys to the door and began unlocking it. He was getting a very queasy feeling in his stomach which had been threatening him all day. Now it flared into full nausea. Trying not to make it grow worse, he got up and went through the door.
"Great, now let's get out of here," said Wup.
"Why didn't you just come here with the time machine?"
"Oh, I temporarily hooked it up to your car. It didn't hurt the car too much. Hope you don't mind. Shall we go?"
"Why not?" he said.
"You," Wup pointed to the cop, "lead the way," and the three left.
A small drizzle was falling when Wup and Paul got outside. They dumped off the cop, whom they had held at gunpoint through the lobby, and made for the car which Wup left in front of the station. Paul was still questioning Wup as he instinctively got into the driver's seat of his car.
"How'd you know I was here? I mean, I forgot to tell you!"
"You left this." Wup picked up the crumpled piece of paper and gave it to Paul, who took it and read it in between navigating newly formed puddles and the side of the road.
"'Dear Paul. Don't forget to remind Wup to rescue you at the police station at ten tonight. Your Self, Paul.' But I didn't write this."
"You will."
"Oh." Paul paused a moment to think about this. "I suppose I still have to go back and do that."
"Naturally."
"Oh. Can I borrow your time machine later?"
"Yeah."
The rain started to get a little thicker. Paul had to put the windshield wipers on, which fascinated Wup for a whole twenty seconds.
"And I suppose after that you're just going to be on your way, now that you've saved the world," Paul continued.
"Yeah, why?"
"What about me?"
"What about you?"
"Oh fine! Ruin my life, send the cops after me, and leave! Not to mention, you owe me fifty bucks!"
"Hey, they're after me, too!"
"Oh, it's all very fine for you; you can leave whenever you want! But I can't leave, and thanks to you, I'm a fugitive! And I have no job, and no furniture! Not that it would matter if I did have furniture; I probably can't get back to my apartment!"
"Yeah, sorry about that," said Wup, "I needed something to sell to get money for weapons and food."
"Sorry?! Sorry?! That's all you can say! What am I gonna do?"
"Look, it's not all that bad."
"What?! How much worse can it get?!"
"There's still something you can do."
"What's that?"
"Well, the time machine is still hooked up to your car."
"Yeah, and?"
Down a wet and unpopulated highway in Manhattan, a rusty green '73 Buick sped past, dropped a few chunks of rust, and quietly popped out of existence without bothering anybody.
This time the rain might need a little description. It's not just the amount that was coming down nor how hard it was, but how it was coming down and what it looked like that needs explanation. One might be interested to know where it was, too. Actually, where the rain was has a lot to do with why it looked and acted the way it did to begin with, so this is an especially integral part of the explanation. So integral, in fact, that leaving out this piece of information could be detrimental to the plot of the rest of this story. For, if you hadn't known that we are talking about rain in the Frobbrices of Planet Mogg in System 34H26 Epsilon Gamma dash Fred, you would probably be quite confused from here on.
Further description of the rain would probably intrigue and interest you, but enough words have been wasted on description already. Let's just say this rain and its surrounding landscape are quite different from what you're used to.
From out of nowhere into this alien scene, which is pretty interesting by the way, a rusty green 1973 Buick appeared. Seconds later it quickly disintegrated, leaving Wup, Paul, a steering wheel, and four tires sitting confusedly in the rain pellets.
"Well, we'll walk from here," said Wup finally, after a few seconds of astonished silence.
"My car..." replied Paul.
Wup stood up. "Are you ready?"
"My car!"
"Hmmm...?"
"It's - gone..."
"Yeah. Let's go."
"It's gone. My car's gone!"
"Did the warranty expire?"
"Warranty?! It was eighteen years old! It didn't have a warranty!"
"Well there you go then."
"Look, cars don't just turn to dust as soon as their warranty expires!"
"They do in our system."
Paul looked aghast at Wup. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He swallowed, opened his mouth again, thought the better of it, and decided it was better off closed. After some thought, he decided he'd try opening and closing his mouth some more for lack of anything better to do. Finally, he answered Wup. "Well they don't in ours."
Wup shrugged. "The atmosphere here always was a little rough."
"A little rough?! The car is gone! It's just - gone!"
"Well hey - maybe the designers should have had this atmosphere in mind when they made the vehicle."
"Wup! There is no atmosphere like this on Earth! They built the car for Earth! They never intended it to leave Earth! They expected it to stay on Earth! They expected people to use it to go places located on the same planet they started out from! Places that could only be on Earth! They didn't expect it to suddenly materialize on the Planet of the Apes! This car was fully prepared to spend the rest of its existence on EARTH!"
"Maybe an all-terrain vehicle would have been better," mused Wup. "Come on, let's go, I know a good cafeteria around here." Wup started walking away from the place where they arrived.
"Now I don't even have my car! You've managed to even lose that! Thanks!"
"Hey, don't mention it. Are you coming along or what?"
"Where are we, anyway?" Paul hesitantly caught up with Wup.
"Mogg." stated Wup rather contentedly. "I love this place. I spent a few weekend leaves here."
"You spent your free time - here? By choice?" Paul looked around him. What he could see, when he wasn't being distracted by the rain pellets tearing his face and clothes, was a dreary, wet landscape. It was pretty much just a perpetual marsh covered with sparse, ashen shrubbery. The grey sky could best be described as "blurry." Paul wasn't sure if his eyes were focused on it or if he was really looking at it at all.
"Yeah..." Wup muttered nostalgically, "it's a great resort atmosphere. Very relaxing. I had some memorable times here." Wup stared off into, well, tried to stare off into space, but he couldn't quite figure out where it was. It was probably past the sky, but where in the heck was the sky?
Paul tried to figure out how someone could vacation here while inspecting his rain wounds. With each step they took, their shoes sunk two inches into the ground and begrudgingly came out with a very unsatisfying "squish." "Could we get out of this rain?" Paul whined, "I think I need hospitalization."
"We're almost there. We're coming into town now."
Paul squinted. He could make out a few shacks and boxes. Hardly enough to constitute a town, but then again, he reminded himself, this is a different planet. Perhaps their definition of a town isn't that demanding.
"There's a comm pod," Wup stated casually. "Hold on, I wanna call someone."
"A what?"
"A comm pod. Umm, like a phone," Wup explained before he disappeared into a big black egg that Paul just noticed in front of them. On top of the egg was a symbol which to Paul looked suspiciously like two cans tied together with a wire. While Wup was inside the egg, Paul stood, waiting and shivering from the rain. He was shivering in pain, actually, not because he was cold. The rain pellets were actually quite warm, Paul thought with a detatched analysis. Like everything else on this planet so far, they were warm in an uncomfortable sort of way. Wup disrupted Paul's thoughts suddenly by walking out of the pod and saying, "Okay, let's go."
A few minutes later Wup and Paul walked into what only vaguely resembled a cafeteria. All sorts of humanoid creatures were seated at tables, making Paul wonder as they sat down what non-humanoids must look like. In one corner a large hologram device was patiently explaining the advantages of owning a fully adaptable megalophonic sound system on zero-atmosphere planets.
"What are we doing here?"
"We're waiting for someone."
"Who?"
"A friend of mine."
"What's his name?"
"Squillenore Ellerton."
"Why'd I ask? Why'd I even think of asking?"
"There he is! Skwill! Over here!"
"Why'd the thought of asking even cross my mind?"
At that moment a short, skinny man dressed in an outfit that looked similar to blue shorts, a white shirt underneath a blue sweat jacket and a bluish-black fishing hat walked up to the table. He greeted Wup with an odd sort of headshake and sat down next to Paul. Paul just stared at him in what could only be described as disbelief.
"How've you been, Wup?" asked Skwill.
"Oh, just darry."
"What've you been doing lately?"
"Oh, I just got back from saving a planet called 'Earth'."
"Earth?" Skwill grimaced, "sounds like somebody throwing up."
"Hey," Paul butted in, "I'm from there!"
"Oh, sorry," apologized Skwill. He turned back to Wup. "Who was attacking it?"
"The Arrmavids."
"Oh, really? How would those little three-inch creatures have taken over beings like him?" Skwill pointed to Paul.
Paul butted in again. "Three inches? They were only three inches?"
"I mean they're not very threatening," continued Skwill.
"They are artichokes!" said Paul.
"Yeah, well, these humans seem pretty stupid," Wup explained.
"Hey! We are not!" yelled Paul.
"Who is this person, anyway?" asked Skwill.
"That's just Paul," Wup informed him, "he's from Earth."
"So I gathered. Hi Paul."
"Hi, uh, Squillenore," Paul ventured while trying not to laugh.
"Call me Skwill."
"I don't think I can."
A Few Really Useful Definitions
Arrmavids = three-inch tall beings intent on commercializing the universe
darry = a good thing or a bad thing, depending on context
dotch = a derogatory word for a very bad person; also, a spread for sandwiches
nippy = weird
prot = !!**#@@#!
taxes = several severe blows on the head
wally = a "pal"
york = a swear word; also a city on Earth (with "New")