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Teleporting While Intoxicated

 

Teleporting While Intoxicated

William Petersen

 

*****

This story first appeared in issue #18 of Far Horizons Magazine in September of 2015. A very special thanks goes out to Kimberly, Ana, Pete, Valery, Scribe Scarlet and the entire Far Horizons staff. – W.P.

*****

 

“Okay sir, now I need you to walk in a straight line for me, one foot in front of the other and touching heel to toe. Do you understand what I’m asking?” Charlie inquired as he took his charge through the first steps of the sobriety test, while I attempted to deal with the other. The young trainee was eager and ambitious, almost like a new puppy, brimming with enthusiasm and ready to please me at any moment.

The thin rookie’s closely-cropped, dark hair was slick with perspiration and glinted in the moonlight as he moved. He tried to remain stoic, but his curiosity and fascination with the little green creatures were more than he could hide. I watched as he fought off grin after grin, and for just a moment a twinge of jealousy stabbed at my heart. It must be nice to still find anything amusing about them.

That’ll change, I thought as I turned my attention back to the three-foot-tall, vividly green being in front of me. Its head looked like an inverted pear supported by a disproportionately small and skinny neck. The torso extended from slender shoulders into a distinct pot-belly lacking a button, which draped over a smooth crotch and jiggled as pudgy legs sporadically impacted against it.

It was on the ground, giggling at nothing in particular, as it wallowed in the foul, yellowish-brown excrement periodically emerging from its armpits. The thing’s eyelids were never at the same height at the same time, and its tiny slit of a mouth hung open as it gurgled and groaned through a chinless face devoid of a nose. The solid, black eyes rolled about in its strange head.

“I said, touch your nose…” the rookie told his subject, clearly nervous about his first stop. I looked back to the trainee. The diminutive creature in front of him was reaching around and rubbing the first of its three fingers between the cleaved deposits of tissue on its backside. The fleshy mounds resembled a human rump, and the sight never failed to disgust me.

“That is my nose,” came the slurred reply as the rubbing finger found a new vigor.

“It’s a TWI, let’s just cuff ‘em both and take ‘em in to sober up,” I said with more than a hint of resignation. I closed my eyes and ran a hand across my smooth head and down the back of my neck, hoping it would somehow relieve some of the tension built up in my body. It didn’t.

I’d been working The Greens for several years now, and it was taking its toll; I had never found them cute or intriguing, and my intolerance of their kind grew with each passing day. It was clear that humans would never learn or benefit from these beings, because they were completely and constantly intoxicated. The scientists speculated that they came from a low-oxygen environment and were inebriated after a single breath of our atmosphere, but I didn’t really care what their deal was anymore. I just wanted them gone.

“No way, man…” the miniature, green thing at my feet announced, realizing the ramifications of its situation during a brief moment of lucidity, and then it disappeared.

“I hate it when they do that…” was all I could say. The little shits could teleport at will, without any machinery or visible assistance. They constantly appeared and disappeared, and it was annoying.

My mind drifted back to the first contact; one of them had appeared out of nowhere and found itself in the flight path of a commercial jet. The plane smacked it with a wing, immediately killing it, but the body fell and created quite a sensation. Within hours, more started to manifest all over the city, and days later, they were appearing all over the world. Not long after, the Green Unit was formed out of pure necessity.

Charlie quickly pounced on his charge and pushed the being to the ground. He then rolled it onto its belly, where he secured handcuffs around the creature’s pudgy ankles. They had to be secured by their legs, because the things had no bones in their thin arms and could slide them right out of restraints. The cuffs also stopped them from disappearing; they couldn’t teleport with anything metallic in contact with their bodies, though it seemed as if they frequently forgot that fact.

“Ahhhh! You’re killing me! It hurts! They’re too tight! Ahh!!! I’m dying!!!” the creature wailed while grunting between its cries with the effort of attempted teleportation.

The rookie recoiled and looked at me, his dark eyes revealed a mixture of surprise and confusion, “Um, boss? I mean, Sergeant Morgan, sir. Is this for real?”

“Don’t buy into that crap, it’s just drama,” I confirmed. Short on theatrics the aliens were not, however, their skin was extremely tough. They didn’t seem to register physical damage as pain, even when their nearly fluorescent green blood was spilled. But they sure acted as if they were in total agony. If anyone were foolish enough to fall for the ploy, the reward was either a vanishing alien or an explosion of extraterrestrial excrement. “Just put him in the car.”

Charlie obliged, grabbing the chain of the cuffs and dragging the stoned alien to the patrol car. The creature squawked and protested, claiming its face was being torn off, then erupted with laughter as it was tossed into the back of the cruiser. There wasn’t so much as a scratch on it anywhere.

A rustling in the bushes just off the dirt road stole my focus, and I moved towards the disturbance. I heard the unmistakable sound of prolonged flatulence and followed the noise to its source; the escaped alien had reappeared not more than twenty feet away. It was common. The things were so wasted that they couldn’t teleport themselves with any accuracy or distance. Hence, once they were here, they never left.

I reached into the pocket of my trench coat and retrieved my own cuffs as I approached the drunken alien. I looked down at the slovenly creature now coated in leaves, sand and pebbles adhering to the waste covering most its body. To hell with this, echoed in my head.

“What is it?” Charlie called out.

“Nothing. It must have been an animal,” I lied, not wanting to touch the drunk, disgusting thing rolling around in its own excretions. I walked back to the cruiser and climbed into the driver’s seat, waited for Charlie to get in, and we departed for the station to drop off our prisoner.

Within minutes of trading the dirt road for pavement, the obnoxious droning of the alien lush snoring in the back seat assaulted my ears. Charlie giggled, and I let my face drop into a scowl before glancing at him. His elation ran away, but I held his gaze for several seconds to convey my seriousness. The younger man cleared his throat and looked straight ahead.

“They’re not cute,” I reiterated for the thousandth time. “These things are a menace.” I focused back on the road and grit my teeth as the rasping snore grew louder.

It was hard for me to grasp that, even though they often caused accidents and appeared in people’s living rooms, bedrooms and bathrooms without warning, they were still adored by the masses. And worst of all, they were legally protected. The Alien Rights League, a group of bleeding heart tree-huggers, had lobbied and won them actual rights. No human outside of the Green Unit was allowed to touch them or disturb them in any way. If not for the problems their drunken teleporting caused, they would have free reign to do as they pleased.

After a few moments of strained silence, Charlie succumbed to his incessant need for conversation, “I’ve always wondered about something since I was in the academy. I know we have to hold them in a low-oxygen environment for two days to sober them up, but I don’t really see how that helps. What is stopping them from just teleporting somewhere else when we let them go?”

“Nothing,” I somberly replied, “The idea is that once they straighten up and become their nasty, aggressive, human-hating selves again, they’ll teleport back to their own planet. That’s the concept anyway.”

“Do you believe any of the crap they say when they’re sober?”

Charlie was referring to the endless tirades spouted from the little turds when they were forced into sobriety; they vehemently seethed about how they came here to take over the planet and enslave the human race.

They boasted about weapons more powerful than mankind could contemplate and superior numbers of highly trained warriors, but it was hard to take them serious after seeing them stumbling around drunk and repeatedly soiling themselves. However, I couldn’t dismiss their claims as idle threats. After all, they had to be more advanced than us to get here in the first place, “Yeah… I do.”

The station’s holding pen was nothing more than a chain-link fence with a single gate opened by a numeric code. The rookie exited the car, opened the back door of the cruiser and then the gate. Charlie grasped the chain of the cuffs securing the Green’s legs and launched it into the holding area.

The creature hit with a thud and threw up a cloud of dirt as it ungracefully rolled to a stop. It opened its eyes, looked down at the restraints binding it, and exploded into raucous laughter while slapping its undulating arms against the ground. “Ooooh!” the thing expelled, then laughed even harder, “I mean, oww! Ouch! That’s it. Oooouuuch…” it drawled, then giggled itself back to sleep.

Charlie closed the gate as he shook his head from side to side, retrieved a new set of handcuffs from the supply hanging off the fence and returned to the car. “Car fifty-one, there is a situation developing at Main and Fourth, please respond…” the radio barked.

“Dammit!” I muttered as I depressed the accelerator. “I wish we could just get rid of these things…” We were only a few blocks away, and the drive seemed to take mere seconds. Most likely because I was in no hurry to get to another situation.

My apprehension was justified as the car rounded the turn onto Main; I could see the pile of Greens from a block away, there must have been nearly a hundred of them writhing in the middle of the intersection. The spectacle was as close to an orgy of emerald bowling pins as I could imagine, though we still didn’t know how they bred, so there was no telling what they were actually doing.

I hit the lights for the sake of the few pedestrians gawking at the conglomerate, but knew better than to waste my time with sirens or the loudspeaker. These, as all the others, would have to be removed by hand. We donned our plastic gloves and slowly made our way to the edge of the tangled, slimy mound of aliens.

Belches and wet slaps spouted from all over as they wriggled and romped through the mire and over one another, all the while depositing more bodily fluids and laughing hysterically. “Check that out!” wafted out from somewhere inside of the swarm of bodies. “Look at that stuff on their heads…”

“What is that?” another visitor questioned.

“They call it har,” one of the little drunkards confirmed, “Get it? Har, har, har…” and the entire mass erupted into mad laughter. Wet slaps and the gurgling of disturbed pockets of slime crept out of the pile as the contorting forms slid over and passed one another.

I hated them…

“These things are going to start drowning in their own fluids if they keep this up,” Charlie absently commented.

I started to agree, but something slammed into the forefront my mind and stuck there, and I stared at the side of the rookie’s head with my mouth open for what seemed like a very long time. “Call for some wagons and extra cuffs, I’ll get started with them…” I told Charlie and nodded towards the pile.

A questioning look slipped over Charlie’s face, but he followed my instructions diligently. I took off my overcoat and leaned down as close to one of the visitors as I could without getting their mess on my shoes and began to whisper, “Hey, you know what? If you guys think this is fun,” I waived my hand at the air around me. “You should teleport to the ocean.”

“If you get this drunk from the air, just think of how buzzed you will get in deep water. The bottom of the ocean is made of the same stuff as our air, but there’s more of it, and it’s in much higher concentrations.” I paused, “It’s more potent, is what I’m saying.”

At the word ‘potent,’ the eyes of many of the lethargic creatures snapped open, and they began to disappear two and three at time. Within minutes, the last of the stumbling and laughing aliens had vanished, leaving a pile of malodorous goo covering the intersection. “What are you doing?” came from behind me.

I turned to see Charlie standing at the front of the cruiser with an uncharacteristic frown distorting his brow, “I’m solving our problems.”

“What are you talking about? They’re just teleporting somewhere else to do the same thing, and you know it.”

“Not this time,” I revealed. “This time they’re teleporting to the bottom of the oceans.”

Charlie’s expression changed from one of confusion to shock, “You can’t do that, the Alien Rights League will be all over you. It’s against the law to kill them!”

“Take it easy. The ARL can’t do anything, because I’m not killing them. They don’t drown, they don’t even breathe like us. They’ll go to the bottoms of the oceans and get even more wasted than they are now, but they’ll stay there.” I smiled as the realization fought its way into Charlie’s head, then offered, “Problem solved…”

Over the next hour the reports started to flood the airwaves and the ether; the aliens were disappearing from all over the planet. The ARL was up in arms, but they had no justification for any recourse; no bodies were floating to the surface, and the visitors were leaving of their own free will. I beat them at their own game, and I was damn proud of it.

“Dude, you’re going to be famous!” Charlie exclaimed.

“Don’t call me dude, and yes, yes I am.” My phone rang, and the display informed me that the boss was calling. I had to hold the device away from my ear to spare my hearing as the seasoned cop sung my praises at the top of his husky lungs. It seemed I was being promoted and would be receiving a substantial raise for my accomplishment, which made the triumph over those little green turds even sweeter.

The rest of the day passed as I nervously stole glances at the silent radio. I expected a new call at any time… but none came. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and yet no sightings or situations were reported. Charlie and I began to get bored and restless. The holding pens were now empty, and we found ourselves with nothing to do day after day, other than milk my celebrity status. And then came the phone call from my boss.

“Morgan, you dumb-ass!” roared out from the telephone’s tiny speaker before I could say hello, “Go look at a television, you idiot… You’re fired!!!”

Charlie was staring at me as I stared at the phone, “What was that all about?” he asked.

I dropped the phone and steered the car toward the curb, depositing it at an angle with one of the front wheels up on the sidewalk. Leaving the vehicle running, and without acknowledging Charlie or closing the cruiser’s door, I walked to the restaurant at the corner.

I forced my way to the bar, stared up at the television and struck the same dumbfounded expression of the patrons surrounding me. Ariel photos were flashing by to reveal large, thin swaths of ocean glowing with an eerie auburn from deep within, while the captions read, ‘Strange lights beneath the waves…’

A chill danced up my spine, and the on-screen images changed to show miles and miles of beach and coastline inundated with the bright green bodies of the visitors, but they weren’t dead. The little bastards were drunker than ever, and it was now obvious that they could also vomit, but only when sufficiently intoxicated.

Another series of images took over the display, and I quickly focused in on the repeating caption at the bottom to avoid seeing the disturbing image above it. ‘Live: International Space Station’ the scrolling marquee informed me.

My eyes reluctantly wandered upward to take in the video feed streaming in from above the Earth; the dark blue of the Pacific Ocean was starkly contrasted by the massive red arrow stretching across its floor, the tip pointing towards the deepest known part, the Mariana Trench. Just below the gargantuan arrow were the distinctly clear letters ‘OPEN’ in bright red. The ‘E’ blinked at random, as if it were ready to burn out, and it was all miles beneath the surface.

“Bartender!” I yelled, “Bourbon, now!” A middle-aged man stepped before me with a shot glass in one hand and a bottle in the other, but he kept stealing glances at the unfolding events on the television. Capitalizing on his distraction, I reached out and snatched the bottle from him, then walked out the door without a word.

I strode by the patrol car and my confused trainee, who was standing at the front of the vehicle. “I give…” I said, and kept walking. I kept walking and walking until I had arrived at the beach. Millions of drunken aliens littered the shore as far as I could see in both directions. They were cavorting, falling down, relieving themselves at will and laughing; and more were literally rolling in with the surf, totally and hopelessly wasted.

I guess they are going to take over the world after all, just not the way either species thought. Oh well, if you can’t beat ‘em… Join ‘em, echoed in the back of my weary mind.

I plopped down onto the sand, stretched out my legs and leaned over to rest on one elbow but placed it right into a pile of alien slime and slipped. After righting myself and wiping the smelly goo from my arm, I opened the bottle and drew a long, satisfying pull. A rousing cheer worked its way down the beach in celebration of my shot. I lifted a leg and forced out a resounding fart in response, which brought even more cheers.

I took another long slug from the bottle and let myself fall back onto the sand. I stared at the azure sky above; the squishing, slurping and laughing melded with the sounds of the surf. My eyes slid shut, and for the first time in a very, very long time a grin parted my face. Their numbers grew. I was being jostled and bumped from all directions, then I was floating on indifference and a carpet of extraterrestrials.

My shoes, and then my shirt, disappeared into the fray below me, but I held the bottle tight with both hands and managed to slop some more liquor into my mouth as I flowed along. The resemblance of my own portly belly and bald head to The Greens tickled my mind; I was just a pasty, fuzzy and slightly larger version. I soon found myself completely nude and awash on a wave of slimy, stinking green bodies… and laughing hysterically.

The End

 

 

 

 

William is a Missouri native who finds endless inspiration within the natural world for horror, science-fiction and fantasy. His writing has appeared in anthologies from The Bearded Scribe Press and JWK Fiction, as well as in Nebula Rift, Under The Bed, Far Horizons and Calamities Press Literary magazines. William’s stories can be found at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Shakespir and iTunes.

 

I write because I’m terribly unhappy if I don’t…” – W.P.

 

Visit William Online At:

Facebook: Author William Petersen

Twitter: @WideWorldOfWill

Blog: TheInwardSpiral.Wordpress.com


Teleporting While Intoxicated

An advanced species with the ability to teleport at will seeks to claim our planet and its inhabitants for its own, but upon arriving they become hopelessly intoxicated from our atmosphere.

  • Author: William Petersen
  • Published: 2015-10-16 17:05:07
  • Words: 3434
Teleporting While Intoxicated Teleporting While Intoxicated