What to Believe

by Thomas J. Keller

Part 3 appears
in this issue.

conclusion

“Seek harmony rather than have your primitive emotions leaking off-planet like so much interstellar static. Solve your problems yourselves and you will find serenity. If not, you will not survive. We shall return in one of your generations.”

Doggett watched as the electrons lost their shape and faded. His mind raced, sifting possibilities, alternatives, angles. Any solution that would please the Visitors would go to the heart of what humanity was: its beliefs, its value systems and the full and wonderful and horrible range of human emotions.

He looked up. Nick Gallatin held a sign from the control room, ‘Summarize’.

Farley trembled. Do I believe what I just saw and heard? I don’t want to, he knew. If only I could, he thought.

* * *

In the control room, Dom Iafrate and Angela Toohey watched Doggett struggle to begin his summary. Iafrate motioned to her and she followed him into a secluded corner. “That went well,” Iafrate said, rubbing his chubby hands. “Hell of a payday. We never have to work again, ever. Why all the script changes from what we’d agreed on? What you did was better, more dramatic and the special effects had even me beginning to believe.”

“Those script changes weren’t mine or anyone else’s associated with this production,” Toohey said.

“You mean...?”

“I don’t know, Dom,” Angela said. “It could be hackers or saboteurs or some very sophisticated nut cases. Or it could be the Visitors were the real deal. Who knows what to believe?” She smiled one of her cold smiles.

* * *

The interview with Speaker was watched by over three and one half billion people. Four days later a group of Kranstons sat watching the replay. As Farley Doggett finished his summary, Donna, her neck lost somewhere between her chin and her shoulders, clicked the remote. “Doggett has that misleading candor and simplistic persistence so typical of his kind,” she said.

Clark sipped his Diet Coke. “Yes, he does. But that’s beside the point. Are the Visitors real or is this some kind of fraud?”

Clive, with a practiced upper class sniff, said, “How can they be real? No one I’ve talked with seems to think so. Why wouldn’t seemingly powerful beings merely reverse the condition that caused them their anguish? Why go away for millennia and ignore a problem they themselves created? Surely they must have known humanity would procreate and multiply their pain?”

“Clive’s right,” said Kawma. “There is much Internet chatter, some hinting and others saying, that the whole thing, including the interview, was staged. We’ve heard unconfirmed reports of film crews in the Namib Desert some days before the event.”

“Yet the earnest faithful of the world accepted at face value that the aliens would come,” said Clive. “These alleged beings said that worship hurt them. They got around to revealing that they themselves caused this condition and told everybody to fix it within a generation.”

“Given human proclivities, a generation will make it someone else’s problem,” said Donna. “On the campuses our angst-ridden non-believer faculty are already clomping their Birkenstocks over the attention and resources being allocated to Visitors’ projects.” She sighed. “Even with my powers, I can’t easily overcome tenure.”

“I feel as Bret does,” Kawma said, “that this is some kind of ploy by a group of humans to further their own ends. We heard a mechanical voice and saw some oval-shaped electronic static like snow on a burnt-out television.” She shook her hand. “The request was, at heart, entirely unreasonable. Have we heard a hue and cry about that? No. The problem for us is the humans.”

“Perhaps,” said Bret. “But remember our legends.” He looked at Clark.

“We can’t be sure; we can’t let fret turn to fear,” Clark said. So, if we all concur, we meet with Mr. Enoch and his people and discuss possible strategies.”

The scent of agreement was unanimous.

* * *

Pawky walked into Menti’s office with a broad smile. He chuckled and said, “And what’s the rest of the world’s latest take on the Visitors?”

Menti reflected for a moment and said, “Everyone, every group, every organization, saw their own fears, hopes, beliefs and agendas reflected in the Visitor’s words. The spin cycle’s so bad it’ll soon whir out of control. The Kranstons, from what you’ve told me, thought they were at the top of the food chain. And,” he said softly, “we know that’s not the case.”

“Well,” said Pawky, “I just met with Kawma. The Kranstons want to get together.”

“What’s their take on the Visitors?” Menti smiled.

“The Kranstons think that the Visitors are a hoax,” said Pawky.

“Really?”

“Mostly,” said Pawky. “Clark’s more cautious. From what Kawma said, it’s as if they’re afraid to believe not, if that makes any sense.” He shook his head. “Get everyone together. I’ll get back to the Kranstons and arrange for us to present ourselves to them.”

“It’s on, then?” asked Menti.

“You bet. They’ll be responsive, I suspect. He giggled and stood. “Let’s eat. All this talk has made me famished.”

* * *

Pawky stood at the head of the table in a large, well-appointed conference room in the Fetch Building in midtown Manhattan. His three colleagues and the assembled Kranstons sat expectantly.

Looking sincere, Pawky spoke into the noisy silence. “We look forward to an ongoing relationship between the Blather Group, the Kranstons, and the La Mont Foundation. We are pleased to say that we have a solution to the problems posed by advancing technology and the advent of the Visitors. I’ll introduce our team and share the details of our vision in a moment.” He turned to Clark.

“Indeed,” said Clark. “We do not believe in the Visitors, but our legends say Humanity received a gift in a special place. Who or whatever Doggett interviewed confirmed this, saying it was the power to reason and to think. We Kranstons did not receive this ability, but there was a human named Cain who was cast out. He had a human wife but he also mated with one of ours. From that union several children ensued.”

“And that issue,” said Bret, “had the gifts of the humans while retaining the skills of our kind. They were the progenitors of what we are now.” He turned to Pawky. “We look forward to your recommendations.”

Pawky saw beaming faces and felt expectant pheromones. He counted slowly to ten and said, “The first thing I have to tell you is that the Visitors are real.” The Kranston’s pheromones went thick with confusion. Consternation and disbelief flashed across their faces. “That, ladies and gentlemen, is an indisputable fact.”

Clive, the English editorial consultant, bristled. “We’ve had enough medieval flummery about prayer and supreme-being myths.”

Pawky took a deep breath and said quietly, “Like many,” he glanced at his team, “we don’t accept a supreme being. Yet unlike many, we fear one.”

Clive’s voice whistled through his nose as he summoned upper class reserves of outrage. “I don’t care what you believe or fear. I do care about this Visitor hoax you’re perpetuating.” His face reddened. “You’ve a hell of a nerve. How do you expect us to believe that pap? You’re just trying to extort money from us.”

“Oh really? Why, thank you for sharing.” Pawky stepped from behind the lectern. “The Visitors, old boy,” he said, “are the laughingstock of the galaxy. When they gave up their bodies, their minds weren’t quite ready for the move. If you’ll excuse the pun, they’re not exactly kindred spirits. They’ve spent the last eon or so traveling from world to world using their modest abilities to plead with races to, in effect, stop being sentient. They’re ineffectual and considered quite insane.”

Bret laughed quietly. “I see. Is this what you intend to say on our behalf? We’re to believe this twaddle?”

“In a word, yes,” said Pawky. “You will believe it because the second indisputable fact I have to tell you is that your days at the top of the food chain on this planet are over. Homo Vomero is no longer King of the Hill.” His smile was wintry.

“Really,” said Donna, “If we’re not, who is?”

“We are,” said Pawky, his attitude exuding reason and calm. He pointed to his colleagues. “And the more than five thousand of us who have infiltrated Earth society since your first atomic explosion attracted our attention. We came, we saw, we liked. You can thank us for whatever peace and stability you have. We’ve done our best to protect you from yourselves; to serve our own purposes, of course.” He clapped his hands. “Oh and please stop spreading those pheromones; they have no effect on us.”

“How can we believe you?” asked Clark. His hand shook slightly.

Pawky nodded to his colleagues. “Showtime,” he said. In a concerted series of swift movements, they peeled off their skin covering and removed their false noses, ears and the contact lenses from their eyes. Their faces were ovoid and bright green. They had no discernible ears and what passed for a mouth was less than an inch in diameter. Where the eyes had been was pure white.

The Kranstons sat, overwhelmed and frozen. Not a hand twitched, not a nose wrinkled, not a lip curled. They instinctively shut their eyes.

Pawky loosened his tie and said, “Well, since you’re acting so polite and deferential, I’ll tell you a little more about us. Our home planet, Trezza, is warmer than Earth. In our time here Trezzans have taken the helm of businesses and industries that reduce willpower, fatten, and pollute. My oldest friend, Menti,” he gestured to Menti Brum, “and I arrived here ten years ago.”

Menti stepped to the rostrum. “I’m sure you know many of our kind in the outside world. We’ve built a rather successful culture of self-indulgence, don’t you think?”

No one moved. Menti glanced at Pawky. “Well, to go on, Trezzans invented the fast-food concept, and through our companies in that and the processed food industry we’ve successfully promoted the new basic food groups: sugar, fat, alcohol and grease, to a willing public. I’m happy to report that in the last decades most everyone has gotten considerably fatter. With our automobile, power generation and clear-cutting timber enterprises we’re doing our best to enhance greenhouse gases and speed up the warming of Earth’s atmosphere.”

Pawky gave a faux shiver. “We find it about twenty degrees too cool for our liking,” he said. “Loved the Kyoto Treaty; one of our singular achievements. Countries the size of Delaware voted for it; anyone who’s a player didn’t. Of course our work in the auto industry is a close second. Cars and trucks today get worse average gas mileage than they did twenty years ago. I just love my Hummer.” He stopped. “I am prattling on, aren’t I? Any questions?”

He went back behind the lectern. The Kranstons were rooted in their seats. “Beuller...? Beuller...?” said Pawky in a deadpan monotone.

Finally, Bret leaned forward, removed his glasses and rubbed his suddenly tired eyes. “Why are you here? And what do you want from us?”

“Why are we here?” He smacked his lips. “Like you, we’re always looking for a good place to eat. Unlike you, we don’t think in terms of restaurants. We think in terms of planets. We joined Earth’s society, advanced in the ranks and prospered.”

None of the Kranstons moved.

“We have worked diligently,” said Pawky, “fattening the herd, sacrificing our appetites and preparing the way for more of us. Then the Visitors chose to stage that ridiculous spectacle. In retrospect, though, it helped. It told us about you and that solved a problem.”

“The herd?” Bret said.

“The Warms, as we call them,” said Pawky; “your cousins, the humans. In the last fifteen years we’ve test-marketed the product, sending more and more samples back home. That’s why more fat people have gone missing in the last twenty years than any other type. It’s been a successful gourmet item beyond our wildest imaginings.”

“You’d think we couldn’t eat human flesh,” said Menti, but there has been no problem whatsoever.”

“We even altered one of your ad slogans,” said Pawky. “’Warms! Taste Great! More Filling!’ to promote Warmsflesh back home. Demand is soaring. We’re on the ground floor of a planetary monopoly, run by the Trezzan military. We envision a different role for you Kranstons. To use an analogy, think of us as the ranchers. You Kranstons will be our cowboys and the Warms are the cattle. We are also the diners; you will be our cooks, bottle washers and servers.”

“Preposterous! That’s cannibalism, that’s...” The upper class voice sputtered as he stood, waving a fist in righteous indignation.

“Sit down, Clive!” Pawky thundered. “You, with your class’s history; what are you, some kind of animal rights activist?” Shocked, the man nodded mutely. “Hah! Most of you are extremely selective, concerned with only “cute” species. Your standards don’t seem to apply to anything that crawls into your kitchen, scurries around your woodwork, or alights on your arm, neck, or legs. We’re just expanding the concept.” He spread his hands, palms out. “Hey, they’re only Warms. Look at it as survival of the fittest.”

Clark sat, stunned. He’d realized his worst nightmare. His eyes testified to the truth of the alien presence. He hoped that in the wild mixture of pheromones the Trezzans wouldn’t notice his scent of need/caution/security breach.

It wasn’t. Within thirty seconds twelve armed security people entered through four hidden doorways, guns drawn. They gawked at the scene but held their weapons steady.

“I would suggest you all stand against the wall, hands high,” said Clark.

Pawky did not move. Clark scented a “fire” command. The fusillade of bullets stopped three inches from each of the Trezzans and dropped to the floor.

Pawky snorted. “Do you take us for fools, Clark? Your weaponry is puny. Nick? Angela?” murmured Pawky. “Nick Gallatin came back to us from his position as senior producer for ‘The Evening News with Farley Doggett’.” How’s Farley?”

“In regression therapy in a mental hospital,” said Nick. “He had served his purpose so I showed him my true colors.”

“And Angela Toohey recently joined us from Iafrate and Partners, where she worked with Dom Iafrate on the Visitor project. How is Dom these days?

“Was... And delicious,” Angela said.

She and Nick stepped forward and looked at the still standing flush-faced men. The security guards fired again. Once more the bullets fell. Angela said, “I’ve heard that you Kranstons were neither preternatural nor predatory. Well, Newsflash, we are.” They lifted what seemed to be pens.

In a tenth of a second, the twelve men were immobile, their weapons melted, their hands crisped, their eyes frozen wide, their mouths agape in silent screams.

“As I was about to disclose before we were so rudely interrupted,” said Pawky, “we are practically wasting away, we’re so ravenous.”

The Kranstons sat stunned beyond speech or pheromones.

“We’ve survived on lean cuisine for too long; it’s time we hit the buffet. We need to cull the pick of the Warms, go wholesale and meet the growing demand back on Trezza. We’ve already selected the prime cuts. We call them the GUM’s. In our fast food businesses they were our best customers. Now they’ll be lunch.”

“GUM’s?” said Clive, a tremor in his voice. The smell of burnt flesh pervaded the room.

Pawky sighed theatrically. “Don’t worry, you’re too skinny. The GUM’s are the ones who waddle when they walk. They’re seriously overweight, shop QVC or HSN, breed in doublewides, believe in wrestling, watch Jerry Springer and his ilk, have triple first names, eat two Big Macs with large fries and a shake two or three times a day and get their political direction from Sports Center.”

Clive still looked perplexed.

“GUM’s, the Great Unwashed Masses,” Pawky said.

The Kranstons sat, heads bowed. Bret raised a tentative hand. Pawky nodded. “And what will the humans do when you reveal yourselves? How will you handle their weapons and technology?”

“Who said anything about revealing ourselves?” said Pawky. “As for this planet’s technology... Well, as you have seen, pathetic is an apt description.”

He stepped from behind the lectern and leaned over the conference table. “Suppose word did get out that we exist? Do you think anyone would believe it?” He snorted. “You’ve seen how the media handled the Visitors. Yes, you had your sacred sideshows, but religion isn’t considered news. Since the opinion elites didn’t accept or believe in the Visitors, anything about them, even after their appearance, became entertainment.”

Heads swiveled as he began to pace. “Look what you got. Smart-ass features, ironic mood, and a thinly disguised editorial voice. A lot of the coverage tried to lay those humans who believed in the Visitors out on a psychiatrist’s couch.”

“Some reporters,” said Menti, “even did what-if pieces on their imaginary pets. Those elites made sure you got spectacle, not information. They turned the news event of the centuries into show biz, performance, simply a way of attracting eyeballs and advertiser’s money.”

He stopped pacing and returned to the lectern. “We’ll make sure they can serve as something useful: a five-course repast.” He turned and bowed.

“And you Kranstons will prepare and serve those delicious meals,” said Angela. In a mocking voice, she added, “It’s what we believe.”