Mr. E & the Green Eyed Ray Woman
Plus how the Aliens found us
I hate violence, but it follows me.
I’m Alphonse Aloisus Edgerton-Jones, Private Investigator for Aliens: “Just call me Mr. E.” (It really is easier to say.) I think we talked once before. I’m sorry that I don’t answer the phone always. I’d like to take your case on. It sounds interesting. I’d tell you to ask my secretary, well, if I had one, that is.
I know I’ve been hard to reach lately, so I might as well tell you why I ignored you…
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I was on my way to Mars, and I had stopped over at Stepping Stone Alpha. You may know the Stepping Stones to Mars. In case you don’t, here’s what they are: Back in the 21st Century… Oh god, I forgot! We still are in the 21st Century, though, barely. Things have changed so completely since all the Aliens showed up. In 2075…
One day, it was still just us: Humans Alone! But, by the next week, we were overrun with them. It seems, we later found out, that a Meltudian gunship had gotten lost while fleeing from some space pirates. I know, gunships shouldn’t run from some dumb ass pirates, but that’s what the Meltudians sometimes have to do.
A Meltudian gunship is the weirdest thing you’ve ever heard of. Navies, here on Earth, used to have every freaking kind of attack vessel: Destroyers, corvettes, cruisers, PT boats, aircraft carriers, nuclear effing submarines…
We’re a weird race. Why I even heard that the Neanderthals didn’t become extinct! They actually all got on a Meltudian gunboat and just left.
It was better than being involved with us. The Meltudians told me — personally — that the Neanderthals are all perfectly happy on a planet about 12 light years from here, but they won’t divulge exactly where. I don’t know… I can understand where they’re coming from, though.
So what the hell is a Meltudian warship, if it runs from pirates?
Well, you have to understand what war means to them. You see, on Meltworld Prime, they don’t believe in murderous kinds of wars. They hug everybody until whatever problem they have is resolved. So war, for Meltudians, means that if all the societal controls break down in some emergency situation, if all the defined pathways of social interaction finally can’t even cut it, well, instead of then commencing to kill each other (like we do,) they just go into uncontrolled love instead.
Wow.
So, a Meltudian gunboat has, you guessed it: Love Cannons. One time they demonstrated it for me. (I told you, I’m a PI for Aliens, and I have seen some weird shit. Some weird shit.)
“Stand here, Mr. E.” They showed me the spot and then turned on this beam that turned me upside down. I mean way upside down. Inside became outside, and I was just tripping, like every atom in me now had a heart instead of a nucleus.
Beat. Beat. And beat.
Boys, I gotta tell you, I didn’t come down for a week. I told you before about aphrodisiac Martian Brine Ooze, but these Meltudians have taken love, sex, and all its power to a level you haven’t even heard about.
So they were fleeing these pirates. I think they were Grip Guys. And Grip Guys are nasty. They make a living by heating asteroids until they turn into really ugly hot plasma, and then just fire the molten rock and metal at anything that gets in their way. Love Cannons have no effect on them. They spray this molten hell stuff right into the Love Field, and it hardens into a shell that then contains all that bliss energy, and drives any Meltudian craft firing their cannon into a sex overload that the Meltudians dread. Too much of a good thing. Too totally much. Anyway, that’s what I’ve heard.
So they’re running, you see, when one of the crew remembers… There’s this little solar system where they had found the Neanderthals all those years ago. “Let’s try docking there.”
Our luck, I guess. Well, maybe it’s luck. It sure is different now. That’s for sure.
So that’s how we got rediscovered. The Meltudians just couldn’t believe their good fortune, (and they lost the Grip Guys when they time warped in, too.) Why did they feel so lucky? Well, love is cool, but they’re hard ass business guys, as well. They run Interstellar Gas Stations on the Galactic Silk Road. All that trading that goes on, it makes our quaint little oh-so-important thing, “globalization,” look like a fly on a politician’s hairdo. These guys are cookin’!
So they came out of their time dilation field (you know, the real warp drive) and holy ka-moely dohly! — Here’s a solar system with two huge juicy sweet gas giants, Jupiter and Saturn, that are just perfect refueling stops for all those freighters, diplomatic ships, and, you know it, interstellar cruise ships, too…
And here we are now, with a hundred Alien Embassies, more money than we know what to do with, cognitive dissonance enough to make your Mama scream, and, of course, my line of work, Private Investigation for the weirdest folks I ever could imagine.
But it’s a living, and, by the woo woo of the world, it’s fun. (Or at least, weird. I’m not sure where the dividing line is anymore.)
OK! Back to the story, then.
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I was on my way to Mars and had stopped off at Stepping Stone Alpha. The Stepping Stones are cool places. Sure, if you’ve got a hot ship, you can get to Mars pretty quick, but they’re expensive (and the maintenance on a good Epstein drive is not something you and the kids may have the dough for,) so, if you’re on a budget, or maybe just want to take the scenic route, as they say, take a slow boat instead, and stop off at some of the Stepping Stones on your way to Mars.
There are hundreds of platforms — hotels, resorts, casinos, amusement parks, farms, transshipment points, sex dens (and there are some good ones! I should know…) between Earth and Mars. Like they said in that old movie, you can stay for a week or a lifetime. Or your lifetime may be cut a bit shorter than you might have planned. There’s fun out there. but you’re a long way from the Space Marines, and the responsibility is all on you. Nothing spells responsibility like a million klicks to the nearest paddy wagon.
I was on Alpha to find a missing person. She may have gone to Mars, but the last time anyone had seen her for sure was on Alpha.
I checked into the Bristol Hotel and then took a tube out to Space Ray Beach. I sat down at the Atomic La La Bar and ordered a whisky, neat.
“Have you seen this woman?” I asked the bartender and showed her the VR hologram on my phone.
“Who’s asking?”
“It doesn’t matter who I am. Her husband wants her back. This is the last place she was seen.”
“She’s a woman?”
“Come on, you know who the Green Eyed Ray People are.”
OK, maybe you don’t, though. The Green Eyed Ray People are known by everybody now, from Earth to Mars and beyond. Imagine a giant stingray floating through the water, just peaceful, powerful, undulating, swimming… But these guys float in the fucking air when they do it. They have mouths that open from their bottom sides, and when they speak, it’s just pure music, and you can’t look away.
“Have you seen her?” I tried again. “There’s something in it for you if you really have.”
“How much?”
“20 big ones.” I showed her on my phone.
“Well, I might of seen her a few weeks ago. She was with this Earth guy who wasn’t very friendly.”
“I’m listening.”
“Yeah, they sat in this corner booth. Well, he sat. She just floated there, but you could tell she was worked up over something. They argued, and then she said, “Well, Alfred, you can just drop that mining deal, and I’ll return to my husband. At least he has sense.” Sweetie, that crazy fuck — the guy, I mean — he just lost it.”
“I’ll send my goons out after you, babe, and you’ll be sorry. I’m not gonna lose the MBO deal of a lifetime just because you have cold feet … or cold whatever you have,” he yelled at her. It wasn’t nice. All the other guests just stared at them. The two of them must have noticed the attention they were getting. They paid their bill and left.”
“Do you know where they might have gone?”
“She mentioned, “I’ll see you at the Rocinanté. I don’t have time for this.” They got up and left. That’s all I know.”
I tossed off the whiskey, shot her the 20, and gave her my thanks. It was more than I knew before.
I took the tube back to the Bristol and thought about it on the way. OK, so there was something about an MBO mine. That would explain why her husband was so desperate, desperate enough to hire me. I’m not cheap, but I’m damn good. They go together, you know.
MBO means Martian Brine Ooze, the most powerful aphrodisiac in the Solar System, and like that old bar soap commercial, “Aliens like it, too.”
MBO is made out of single cell organisms that live underground on Mars. They appear simple, but, oh god, over 4 billion years of evolution, they learned to network their DNA, and, if you take a sip, then … well, it does taste remarkably like sharp sweet strawberry juice. (I know.) But suddenly, it’s like you’re waking up into a dark world of underground lakes, humming with the heartbeat of Mars. One sip, and all the DNA of all the MBO on Mars: It’s all connected. Those MBOs chug all the liquid aminos deep in the planet, and the heat of it turns on the sex drive of any sentient organism from here to the Lagoon Nebula. It’s pretty amazing.
So, OK, she’s involved with this creep named Alfred, and there’s something about an MBO mine, and she wants out. And, hot dog, I lucked out! I bet the Rocinanté is their ship. I’ve heard that name somewhere before.
I called her husband when I got back to the hotel. He’s a nice guy. He runs a travel agency in LA, booking trips for humans and Aliens alike to some pretty cool places, but he’s a little naive, in my mind, anyway. He actually believes in all the Galactic Disneylands he books trips to. Maybe Dumbo can fly. I’m such a skeptic, though.
Maybe I shouldn’t be. But I’ve seen a lot. And each case I investigate just digs me in deeper.
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I found them both. It wasn’t really that hard. I got the flight plans for the Rocinanté, and they hadn’t even tried to cover their tracks. She was scared of him, although he was just a dumb stupid creep of a creep. Would you believe he wore Space Zoot Suits? That is some weird shit. And it made that idiot so easy to spot. I found them at the Hyatt in Elonville (on Mars, of course.) He was holding her hostage until her husband coughed up the loot to finance his goddamned mine. We had a shootout. I’m not kidding.
But… They can’t throw you in jail for using a Love Cannon. Yeah. I am a pretty smart dude, even though I’m a PI. And I do charge a lot.
Ol’ Alfred is cooling his heels in a Martian slammer. He’s got a 10-year sentence for kidnapping. And no MBO deal, either.
Loretta, the Green Eyed Ray Woman, is back with her husband in LA. She did bring some MBO back, and I hear that her hubby has decided to expand the tour packages he sells. I guess Dumbo does fly. He’s happy. She is, too. They just needed a kick to reignite the Love Light. You know what I mean.
There’s a lot to this galaxy, I’m learning. There are Love Cannons and MBO, too. There are mean ass crooks and real-life space pirates.
You know where you can find me, in my office on the Far Side of the Moon. It’s quieter there, and it does give me more space to dream.
But if you need someone found, I do know how to wake up:
Real quick. So quick that I’ll be on Mars before a Meltudian can fall in love. And they don’t waste time.
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© “John” Lesly Levin 2021
