Page 22 - Extraterrestrials, Foreign and Domestic

The Hermits

Al made a dash for the telephone on the kitchen counter. He
grabbed the handset, punched 9-1-1. “Help!” he yelped. “There’s
a—” Realizing the line was dead, he put down the instrument and
whirled toward Ricky, his bony right index finger pointed
accusingly at Ricky’s central exoskeletal segment. “You did this! So
I can’t call the police, the army, the president, anybody!”
Ricky essayed a shrug. “Excuse my shortcomings in body
English, Al. Your language would be simpler and less ambiguous
with fewer metacontextual adjuncts. But you and I can come to
terms without agreeing on linguistic preferences. Indeed, I must
try to protect myself from harm at your hands. But, consider this:
had I merely wished to take your life, opportunities have already
been abundant. It should be obvious to you that I need you alive;
but I still haven’t convinced you that you have the same need of
me.”
“Eh?” Al sank down into his usual seat by the kitchen table,
deriving slight comfort from the familiar cushion and creaking
chair legs. The alien had been talking faster and louder and using
bigger words; he couldn’t follow it.
“Oh, I see I’m not being clear. Please, mister, I’m going to help
you. You see, I know you need more money. The government
doesn’t give you enough, does it? Your savings account shows a
steadily declining balance. It’s hard to make it on a fixed income,
isn’t it? They just don’t care about old people. You work all your
life, and then they slam the door in your face. It’s not fair, is it,
Al?”
“Damn right it’s not.” Al had to nod in agreement with the
pleasant little voice. “But how do you know? My bank book is
locked up...you broke open my desk!” Again his fear and
confusion flared into rage.
“No, no, Al.” said Ricky, in dulcet tones. “I wouldn’t dream of
violating your privacy. But I don’t feel the same way about the
bank that holds your money, or the government that issues your
Social Security checks. It’s all available to me through the
telephone.”
“But, but—you can’t get at that information just like that.
You’ve got to have secret codes, passwords.”
Al stared at the grimy telephone and its tangled cord.

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