Chapter 4
Pascal looked up from his computer nervously. He was still beating himself up about his failure to remember anything about his alien encounter. If this theory was a bust, too, he didn’t know what he’d do. But if this theory was correct, it would make up for his lack of other break throughs - almost. If he could ever get the study that far. Right now he didn’t have the faintest idea how to set up an experiment around his study. His only hope was to gather anecdotal evidence until it added up to something he could test. He began the interview.
“Could you explain in your own words what the situation is?”
Johnson nodded and swallowed, “I know this sounds crazy…”
“Science, young man, is all about crazy until someone proves a hypothesis as to why it was never crazy in the first place.”
“I’m not so sure I’m a young man,” he blurted out, then fell silent.
“Please go on.”
“I feel like my life is static. Like it’s not going anywhere.”
“Many people feel that way. Have you seen a counselor about the possibility that you’re depressed?” Pascal didn’t want any false positives in his study.
“No! I’m not depressed, I’m just not aging!”
Pascal ran through his checklist of questions.
“You listed your age as 23. Do you feel like you’ve been 23 for years?”
“No. Just this year. I should turn 24 in May. If that ever comes.”
“Then how do you know you’re not aging?”
“Everyone else. Maybe they’re aging too fast, and there’s nothing wrong with me. I don’t know,” he looked defeated by the nonsense he knew he was speaking. Then he looked angry. Who was this nerdy, fat man anyway to be interviewing him in his living room and deciding whether his experiences were real or not? Weirdo.
“Who ages faster than you? Your family?”
“No, they age the same as I do.” Pascal made an excited murmur and started writing. “It’s people at work, mainly. I’ll be working with someone for a while, and I’ll start to notice them aging. Before I know it, they’re retiring and someone’s talking about one of their kids coming to work here.”
“Alright, could you please write your address down your for me?”
Pascal sighed, and scribbled on Johnson’s chart once he had left. He’d heard the same story about 20 times today. He’d been organizing the interviews by severity of the time delay the subject experienced, and residence. But that brought him no closer to having a scientific explanation of why time seemed stretched for some inhabitants of Strangetown. Hell, it brought him no closer to being able to say it wasn’t just hallucinogenic mold in the water supply, growing stronger on the far side of town past Tesla Court. But then it would have been more in Vidcund’s territory though, and Pascal had a sinking feeling this was going to be his project to solve.
--
Ripp had a plan. Not a life plan, but a plan for how to get into college. If all he needed was a story, an idea for what he’d do, then what was to stop him, Ripp Grunt, Lord of Lying to Parents, Duke of Deception, Master of Making Stuff Up, from inventing a life calling? One lie away from having four wild years away from his family in which to hook up with hot co-eds, he was convinced he was invincible.
Ripp was so clever sometimes it hurt. He had the perfect lie. An economist. He would say he wanted to be an economist. He didn’t fully understand what they did, which was a major drawback to his plan, but he was pretty sure Buzz didn’t know what economists did either, and that more than made up for his own ignorance.
The General hated talking about things he didn’t understand. It made him feel stupid. As a result, he could be counted on to shut down any conversation on topics where he wouldn’t have the last say. Growing up, this had made it difficult to learn about anything his father didn’t like, but lately he had been able to transfer it into a powerful tool, explaining lateness home by saying he was at the theater, or when the General asked him if he needed help with his homework saying that the assignment was on classical composers. Guaranteed disinterest every time. And now more than ever, disinterest meant freedom.
Ripp sometimes wondered if his younger brother had developed his more domestic interests specifically to discourage the General from taking an interest in his life. No. Buck wanted attention; he just didn’t know how to go about getting it. What Ripp would give to switch places.
As with most weekend afternoons, Ripp guessed his dad was upstairs in the weight room working on the punching bag. The weight room had been the master bedroom before Ripp’s mom left. Afterward, Ripp remembered his father clearing out the room. He didn’t need so much space for a place to sleep, he said.
“Sir,” Ripp saluted as he entered the room. The General nodded, but didn’t stop his work out. “I’ve been thinking about what we talked about with me going to college. I think I’ve figured out what I’d like to do-“
The toilet flushed in the weight room’s adjoining bathroom, and Tank walked in. As Tank sat at the weight machine, the tiny military officer in Ripp’s brain shouted, “Abort mission! Repeat! Abort mission! Your position has been compromised!” But it was too late. The General had stopped punching.
“Well spit it out.”
“Uh… I think I’d like to be an economist,” Ripp finished lamely.
Tank did the weightlifting equivalent of a spit take, the weights slamming down as he dropped them to laugh.
“Do you even know what an economist does?” Just as in high school wrestling matches, Tank had a gift for honing in on his opponent’s weaknesses.
“Yeah… they handle money and things. They’re very successful.”
“Most of them are also mathematicians, they have doctorates,” Tank crossed his arms.
“Well I’ll get a doctorate then!”
“Dad, he doesn’t even know what an economist does! This is all bullshit.”
Buzz did his best to separate his sons. “Tank! Don’t be rough with the weights! Those machines are expensive!” he turned to face his middle son, “Ripp! You want to be an economist like I want to be a ballerina! Don’t try to pull a fast one on me.”
--
Petey had always considered himself a people person. It was part of the reason he’d gotten a job as a pollination technician so long ago. He honestly liked people, and had liked making their pollination experiences as pleasant as possible, even if their memories were going to be wiped later. If you’d asked him to pick from a list of Earth jobs which he thought was most like being a pollination technician, he would have said dental hygienist. After he got over the initial shock of having to take a non-technical job and spend less time around his family, Petey had been looking forward to customer service.
He should have listened to Ripp.
“On weekends you get families passing through on roadtrips, going camping or to visit their grandparents or whatever. And evenings you just get commuters. They just want gas, they don’t want to come in and buy anything, so it’s pretty easy.”
“And on the weekdays?” Petey prompted him.
“Well, I’ve only ever worked that shift once last summer, but some of the other employees talk about it, and it sounds like it’s kind of loserville.”
“Loserville? Is that a neighboring suburb I am unaware of?”
“No, just like they’re losers, right? They’re coming in during the day so they don’t have steady jobs. A lot of times they’re lonely old retired people who’ll talk your ear off if you let them - no offense.”
Petey nodded. Talking to lonely customers didn’t seem so bad.
That was before his first shift.
“Seriously?” he said to a kid trying to buy beer.
“What?”
“This isn’t even laminated. Except if you count where your picture is taped to it,” Petey handed the kid back his ID.
“What are you talking about? It’s just out of state! I pay taxes!”
“No you don’t. I pay taxes. For your school. Which you should be in right now,” Petey didn’t have time to argue with the youth; he’d let a homeless man use the bathroom 30 minutes ago, and not having seen him come out, he was starting to think it was time to check on him.
Working at the gas station had one other, much worse drawback. Living in Strangetown for the better part of two decades, Petey had felt that most people in town were at least aware of him, if they didn’t know each other by face or name. He knew that to many he was still something of a curiosity, his alienness never officially proved, but painfully obvious. What he had not been expecting was that his being employed and therefore available at a set location during set hours had turned him into something of a zoo.
After the first week, every shift he had people in browsing, ill concealed stares floating over the racks. Eventually his boss had set up a “No Loitering” sign in hopes of scaring them off, but now everyone who came in to stare just purchased something small as well, which just made Petey feel like an attraction with a .75 simolean candy bar price of admission.
After explaining this to Jenny, she’d suggested they look for a renter for their spare room to cover some expenses, allowing Petey to cut back on hours. The suggestion was looking better and better.
Petey was about to go check on the homeless man in the bathroom when a man pushed past the exiting kid. Before Petey could react, he snapped a picture of him behind the counter.
“Sweet!” he exclaimed. “Those goons at Beyond Belief are going to be sorry they didn’t want my story!”
He held out his hands in front of him, framing the picture. “Alien works at gas station! Exclusive exposé online only at ajayloner.com!”
The tabloids. Great, that was all he needed. He hoped Jenny was having some luck interviewing tenants.
--
Meanwhile, General Buzz Grunt was reading a copy of the Beyond Belief himself. Rummaging through the tabloids was a last resort, but he was no closer to conclusive findings about the alien plot in Strangetown than he had been a few years ago. He could write all the reports on the Smiths he liked, but without any idea to their plans, hell, without his hands untied to be able to even prove they were aliens, his reports were not going far.
Ripp approached him. The general eyed his son warily.
“Okay, Dad, I think I figured it out for real this time.”
Buzz stared expectantly. When it became clear he wasn’t going to respond, Ripp gestured to the magazine in Buzz’s hands.
“Taadaa!”
“You want to be Bigfoot’s love slave?” He stared at the article the magazine was open to.
“No. A journalist. You know, going to fancy restaurants, writing reviews. My English teacher says I have an ‘interesting voice’,” Buzz snorted, “and she says if I did all my assignments, I’d have an A.”
“I knew a few combat correspondents,” Buzz tried to paste his son’s life path into something he knew. “They did good work. Kept morale up during unpopular engagements. Sometimes got shot for it, too.”
“Yeah…” Ripp faltered, “Well, there’s lots of important news to be covered here too.”
Buzz let the idea sit on his tongue as if tasting it. Finally he nodded. “You always were a nosy kid. I guess it’s good to make something of it.”
“You mean I get to go?”
“You get that A in English, and until you’re out you play by my rules.”
“Thanks, Dad!” Ripp ran off before the General had a chance to change his mind.
Buzz smiled to himself. He finally had something his son wanted, which meant he would finally be able to instill some discipline into him.
--
“So,” Jenny settled in to the couch, “let’s start with the basics. Can you provide references from past landlords?”
“Yes. I was renting a room from Dora Ottomas, here’s her contact number. I can’t imagine her not giving me a good reference.”
“What was the reason you moved out, if you don’t mind me asking?”
“Well, she sold her house to move in with her son and daughter-in-law. They’re expecting a baby, and she wanted to be there to help. We got along really well, I was sad to have to move.”
“So, tell me more about you.”
“Not much to tell, really. I graduated college and moved to Strangetown about a year ago, it just seemed the best move for my career.”
“Oh? What career is that? You’re not with the military, are you?” Jenny glanced nervously at the door. The prospective tenant made note of it, but filed it away under ‘things to ask about later’.
“I’m actually a journalist. Well, a blogger right now.”
“Oh,” Jenny seemed relieved. “So you write about news and politics?”
“Yeah, something like that,” the prospective tenant’s smile was secretive, but Jenny liked everything else about him, and decided she was probably misreading it. “Ad revenue from my website pays the bills, so you don’t have to worry about whether I sell stories or not. I think I’m going to be hired by a paper soon though. I’ve got a huge story I’m about to blow the lid off of.”
“Well, let me tell you a little about us. We’re a family of four, soon to be five,” she gestured to her baby bump. “My husband and I have an older boy, Johnny, who’ll be leaving for college next year. Jill, who you’ve already met is 12, she plays the drums, but not in the house. Still, she can be loud, and soon we’ll have a baby in the house, so I’d want you to know what you’re getting into. You’ll never be a babysitter though, on rare occasions neither of us is home, we see if my brothers can watch the kids, or hire a nanny. We hold cookouts in the summer, and have parties with the extended family. You’re welcome of course. Either Petey or I cook family dinner every night; you’re invited to those too. Neither of us can really get used to the idea of having someone who’s not a member of the family in the house, so the only thing we can do is make you one.”
“Sounds great,” he smiled. “I’ve been feeling lonely ever since I moved here, so living with a big noisy family actually sounds really appealing.”
“Wonderful,” Jenny smiled. “I place a lot of trust in first impressions, and you seem great, and Jill liked you, which is very important. She can be so shy. I’ll have to talk it over with my husband, but I think you’ve got the room,” footsteps sounded on the porch. “Here he is now.”
“Petey, I’d like you to meet Ajay, he’s interested in renting our spare…” Jenny trailed off as she noticed her husband glaring at a shocked Ajay.
--
Notes: So, first of all, the sim Pascal's interviewing at the beginning of the chapter is a romance sim named Johnson. That might not be funny to those of you not from the U.S. I'm not sure whether the slang is the same. But here it's funny.
I've been trying different styles in writing this, chapters 1 & 2 are almost all dialog, but here I've got a lot more exposition. As always, I love comments, even if they're just to say that one (or both) ways suck. I've got a scene which I think strikes the right balance written for the next chapter (actually I've got lots written for the next chapter, and may be able to keep a faster schedule) featuring Vidcund, and I'm really excited about it.