The Alien Manifesto

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  The next morning we all piled into a big van that we had appropriated from the resort. Stuffed in the back were our borrowed instruments. We had spent much of the previous day rehearsing, actually just jamming together and learning each others’ moves and grooves, trying out some rock and roll riffs, Jill and Leela creating songs spontaneously, amazingly, a virtuoso display of psi togetherness. Speaking of which….

  I spent the night in Jill’s boudoir, and we went at each other like cats in heat. It happened on some animal level, with yowls and howls, clawing and scratching, in full animal modality. In the next bedroom, although Leela’s door was closed, we could hear her own animal sounds as she joined us in the Remote Coupling adventure.

  By the time Jill and I slowed down—she on her fourth or fifth, or ninth or tenth thunderous orgasm—and moved into deep kissing and heavy breathing, Leela had broken the connection and seemingly fallen asleep. Jill soon followed Leela into the arms of Morpheus. A curious expression, that. In Greek mythology, Morpheus is the god of dreams and the son of Hypnos, the god of sleep.

  Even with the help of Greek gods, I couldn’t fall asleep right away. That damned pineal gland of mine was refusing to release even a small amount of the sleep-inducing chemical melatonin, due to my chip implant still shining its ever-lovin’ light on that tiny gland. So I used the sleepless time to reflect on the day’s events. Specifically, the successful transfer of one hard drive containing pirated petabytes of data from the Black Swan organization into the hands of one Air Force Col. Parker. I allowed the painful scene to replay on my memory screen:

  The helicopter made a noisy appearance mid-afternoon, hovering over the grass carpet of the Enchanted Forest resort. A rope ladder emerged, and the colonel climbed down it onto the perfect green lawn. Leela was waiting for him, hard drive in hand. I watched and listened in through Leela’s eyes and ears.

  The colonel uttered very few phrases: “Birthmark on right scapula resembling state of Florida.” “Uh huh,” said Leela. “Tattoo of ankh on right inner thigh.” “Um huh, yeah,” said Leela, and handed over the hard drive to the colonel. He saluted, did an about face, and climbed up the rope ladder into the still-hovering chopper. From the doorway he waved and shouted over the rotor noise, “Have a nice day!”

  I remembered floating in the spa’s indoor swimming pool when I observed this little scene. At first I was furious, then simply jealous. How could anybody in the military, or the State Department, know such intimate facts about my wife’s geography?

  Wait a minute! That freakin’ Mr. Anderson again. The “hero” who located my fair beauty in Davos. Oh, shit, I can’t stand the thought of him seeing Leela naked, of him touching her beautiful skin, seeing her secret places, kissing her all over, sticking his… NO-O-O-O-O-O! A silent scream filled my brain.

  Lying in bed, shivering, I quickly deleted the memory. I spooned the naked and softly purring Jill. The light in my head went out. Hello, Morpheus. Good night, cruel world.