Tears of Destruction (Part 1 of 7)
The Velgoran Offer
The Velgorans made Brent Thorston one in eight billion when they picked him to be their agent on Earth. A polite knock on the door of the overpriced shoebox he called his apartment pulled him out of reading a novel he didn’t even like.
At first, he thought the man at his door was a twelve-year old kid. On closer inspection, he saw that the face was lined in a way no pre-teen’s face would be. Thumbnail-sized polka dots in all the colors of the rainbow covered the guy's shirt, making Brent wonder if he was a circus freak or something.
See the child who looks like a man! Brent smiled a little then wiped it away when he realized how cruel the thought was.
"You escape from a circus?"
"I'm not from the circus, Mr. Thorston," the man deadpanned.
"Who the heck are you?" Brent scanned the guy for weapons as inconspicuously as possible. The apartment building didn't put names on the entryway mailboxes for safety reasons. Brent lacked enemies in the same way he lacked friends. Or so he thought, anyway.
"An alien."
"Right," Brent almost laughed. The man’s stone-faced expression stopped him.
"I'll get right to the point, Mr. Thorston." He looked up and down the hall then waved a hand to get Brent to meet him halfway as he leaned in. "We have examined every individual on this planet," he said in a conspiratorial whisper. "You have been chosen to help us conquer it."
"Conquer… Earth?” he asked, puzzled.
The self-proclaimed alien nodded.
“And I'd help you with that because why?"
"Your greatness in this planet's history will be assured."
"You should get to a doctor," Brent said, pointing to the yellow tear that had formed in the man’s right eye.
"My people wear our emotions in the open, Mr. Thorston."
"With yellow tears?"
"It means I am concerned my superiors will punish me if I do not acquire your help." Another tear started forming.
"Why me?"
"You’re the ideal candidate." Brent's pride swelled a little until the alien continued. "You have no social circle for us to worry about."
"Alright, pal. Where are the cameras?" Brent leaned out the door, examining the hallway in both directions. Probably one of those jerks in my office pranking me. Let’s mess with the lonely, sci-fi geek.
"What?" The alien tensed up and his head darted all around, looking for the same thing as Brent for different reasons.
"What show you from, little guy?" Brent asked, his cockiness surprising him. “Someone I work with put you up to this?”
The alien's mouth opened, and his eyebrows went up as he nodded his head in understanding.
"Perhaps this will convince you." He took a slim, silver box with buttons on it from his pocket and spent a few seconds fiddling with it. Looking into Brent's eyes, he asked, "Can anyone on Earth do this?" Another button push and he vanished. A second later, someone put a gun in the middle of Brent's back, and he nearly jumped out of his skin.
"Don’t kill me!" Brent's arms flew up over his head.
"Relax. Turn around." The alien held up a tiny flashlight and smiled. "We're not going to hurt you." He moved back into the hallway as if to show no threat. A couple of yellow tears ran from his eyes and dripped onto his shirt. One hit a blue dot, the other a green dot. Both immediately turned yellow.
Brent rattled off several questions. "What planet are you from? How long have you been planning this? If you can teleport, why not just teleport in and take all the powerful people hostage? Why do you need me to spy for you? How does your shirt work?"
The alien held up a hand to slow him down. "First, our teleportation only works with groups of four or less. We don’t have enough transporters to grab everyone at once and, once three or four disappear, security around the others will become impenetrable. On top of that, we’re on a schedule and don’t have time to wait until every leader on earth can be snatched.”
Brent shrugged, conceding the points, though he only knew about such things from movies. Movies he always watched by himself.
"We can’t invade until we know it’s safe. That’s where you come in, Mr. Thorston. We need a local, someone with more understanding of the planet’s cultures than we have time to learn. Someone who knows the rhythms of earth men and their governments. All you need to do is watch the world news and let us know when all the nations of earth are so distracted with their own problems that an invasion would be a complete surprise."
“You shoulda been here in the 1940s then,” said Brent. After a few seconds of silence, he asked, "What about the shirt?"
The alien sighed and shook his head while a black tear formed. "It’s smart fabric that analyzes the pheromones in our tears and modifies whatever color the tears hit."
"What do I get out of helping you?" Brent asked, ignoring the change in tears. The emissary seemed more irritated the longer the conversation went on, so Brent half expected hot laser death.
"You seem to like my shirt. I'll make sure you get one."
"Betray the human race for a shirt?" Brent stepped back and started closing the door. The smaller man stopped it with his foot.
More yellow tears. "You’re a superior being, Mr. Thorston. We’ll give you a place befitting your status once we conquer Earth. Perhaps… king of this nation?"
Imagine showing everyone I’m not a giant waste of good air, thought Brent. He reflected on the biggest embarrassment of his life. The night he was supposed to pick up Tara Scholl, Ms. Popular, for a date she’d said yes to. She’d called him an idiot and loser in front of all her ultra-popular friends while he stood there on her porch. The confidence he’d gained when she originally said yes to the date went up in flames that still consumed every ounce of self-esteem or delusion of grandeur he’d ever had.
This seemed different, though. After all, the little guy had teleported right past him. Images of a palace crowded Brent's head. He saw himself on a Roman couch next to a giant bathtub and pool. Gorgeous women surrounded him, feeding him grapes with their hands, their mouths. And they all laughed at Tara Scholl when she requested his favor. Everyone that ever kicked metaphorical sand in his face was lined up behind Tara, and it made him laugh.
"I accept." Despite being the weakest creature in a herd of social beings, Brent now had a chance at power and influence. Once the Velgorans conquered Earth, they would make him king of America! He put out his hand.
The alien flinched back then two green tears slid off his face, turning two polka dots on his shirt green when they splashed home.
"I'll take a shirt, too." They shook hands. “Someone is going to have to teach me how to read those tears of yours.”
Parts 2-7 will be released a couple days apart.