No Small Bills Read online

  “Look,” I said, leaning forward, “you came to us, right?” Actually I had no idea if that was true or not—for all I know the Suits out in the main room had nabbed this little guy on his way to some intergalactic slumber party. It would explain the PJs. “So you must want something. And I’m willing to listen. What’s going on? What do you want? Why are you here?” I pointed off to the side. “And what the hell is that?”

  There wasn’t anything there, of course. But it got the alien to look, which was more reaction than I’d gotten so far, so I considered it one for the win column. And when it turned back to me it was doing something seriously creepy.

  It was smiling.

  Ever seen one of those circular pencil cases with the top that zips all the way around so you can slide your pencils in and out more easily? Yeah, its mouth was like that. It had a little tiny chin anyway—seriously, its whole head was shaped like a triangle or one of those giant cartoon teeth, enormous at the top and tiny at the bottom—and its mouth seemed to go all the way around. And it had little tiny teeth—little tiny sharp teeth, like a row of needles. Two rows. Maybe three. It was not a pleasant sight.

  And then it spoke.

  “Ah, nonlinear thought,” it said. “You are clearly a more advanced member of your species, most likely due to your increased cranial capacity. And you have already been appropriately modified. Yes, you will be an acceptable intermediary.”

  Huh?

  I guess the Suits were listening at the door—rude, much?—and understood it, though, because they came bustling in. Smith took a seat next to me, while Potato Head and Tall stood behind us, arms crossed. The alien didn’t even glance at them, though. It was staring at me the whole time. I’d probably have run if I didn’t know the Suits would just grab me and shove me back in my chair again.

  “Ask it what it wants,” Smith whispered to me.

  “Duh!” I whispered back. “I tried that!” But I asked again. “So what can we do for you?”

  This time it replied! “The quantum singularities are converging,” it said. “Vector forces are multiplying. The onslaught is imminent, and we are unable to withstand it unaided. Thus we have come here to obtain sufficient assistance to bulwark ourselves and stabilize the region.”

  Again—huh?

  “Something is coming?” Smith asked. “What? How do we stop it?” When it continued to ignore him—which clearly pissed him off and which I found pretty darn funny—he elbowed me. Ouch!

  “What is coming, exactly?” I asked. “And how do we stop it?”

  The alien nodded as if it thought these were good questions. I was pretty pleased with them myself. Then it reached into its footies—footy PJs with pockets? Cool!—and pulled out something that looked like a cross between a TV remote, a fancy pen, and a baby octopus. And it clicked or pressed or stroked something to make the end light up. It glowed for a second, bright blue then bright pink then bright red then blue again, and then stopped.

  “Be on alert!” Smith shouted, and behind me Tall and Potato Head both dropped into these really efficient-looking combat stances, pulling massive handguns from under their jackets and holding them out with both hands while scanning the area. Me, I put my hands over my head, or tried to. Have I mentioned I have a huge noggin now? It probably looked like I was trying to cover a basketball with a pair of Q-tips.

  “What’d you do?” I asked the alien.

  “Summoned one who has been equipped to aid you in your endeavors,” it replied.

  Okay, that one I understood. It had called for help. Good. Maybe whoever it called spoke more clearly, and in smaller words. But I wasn’t willing to bet on it.

  Behind the alien, the back of the room started to glow like there was a light over there, even though there wasn’t. It was a faint blue at first, but getting brighter and brighter. Then it shifted to pink, red, and back to blue before flaring up so brightly I had to look away.

  When I looked back there was someone there.

  And what a someone! Tall, leggy, busty—all kinds of “y”! She looked liked a supermodel, if a supermodel actually, y’know, ate properly and had muscle and real curves instead of resembling a wire hanger with hair. Her face was gorgeous but stern, her eyes like sapphires, and she had black hair pulled back in a thick braid that hung over her shoulder and down across her really impressive chest. She was wearing a lab coat, though I was pretty sure no one had ever tailored a lab coat to fit like that before. It was like every fantasy about a hot substitute science teacher come to life. (Oh, come on, don’t even pretend you didn’t have those!)

  “Hello,” she said, and I shivered. She had one of those deep sexy voices, the kind that rumbles right through you. What, just because I’ve got a duck head doesn’t mean I’m not interested any more, okay? It just means my dating options are limited to fanatic animal lovers and horny swans. Don’t go there.

  “Hi,” I replied. “I’m Bob. DuckBob.”

  “Yes, I can see that.” She studied me for a second, and I’d have broken into a sweat if I still sweated. “Partial body modification, full head reconstruction. Impressive.”

  “Thanks.” I didn’t get called “impressive” much, except at costume contests. “Who’re you? And how’d you do that little lightshow?”

  “I am MR3971XJKA. The ‘lightshow’ you refer to was a translocation effect. The Grays use it for short-range travel but it requires precise locations and typically a signal emitter on both ends.”

  That sounded kinky but I was too busy trying to remember her digits to pay too much attention. “MR39 what? How about Mary? Does that work?”

  She studied me again, then nodded. “Mary will suffice.” There was one chair left at the table and she slid into it, which made me shiver. Damn! She could make a video of that, just sliding into the chair, and sell it online. There’d be men all over the world suddenly wishing they were cheap furniture.

  Even the Suits were affected. It was the first hint I’d had that they were human after all. “I’m Mr. Smith,” Smith said, offering his hand. He was trying to look all commanding but his voice cracked like a nervous teenager. “I’m in charge here.”

  Mary nodded at him but didn’t take the hand. “We know who you are.”

  “We?” I leaned forward, both to hear her better and to get another gander at her chest. Hey, I’m not proud. “You’re not one of them, are you?” I guess I’ve seen that before, really—gorgeous women with hideous little men. But this was an extreme example.

  “I am not a Gray, no,” she acknowledged. “I am human, but I have been extensively modified to serve as an intermediary. I can communicate with the Grays and utilize much of their technology, and I have been fully versed on the problem at hand.”

  “What exactly is the problem?” Smith demanded. “All it told us was something about singularities and vectors and an onslaught. Are you under attack?”

  “We all are,” Mary answered. “This entire region of space is about to be invaded. And if we cannot withstand the assault, everything here will be obliterated.”

  “So what can we do?” Smith asked. “How can we help to stop it?”

  “You cannot,” Mary told him. “Only he can.” And she turned those amazing blue eyes on me.

  “Me?” I sat back and gulped air. Damn, no pressure!

  “Yes, you,” I was totally lost in those eyes. “You, DuckBob, are the only hope for the universe.”

  I’ve had fantasies like this—what self-respecting geek hasn’t? Amazingly hot chick shows up and tells you you’re the only one who can save the universe. Of course, then it turns out that you can help by getting with the amazingly hot chick and everything veers into Skinemax territory. I had a bad feeling that wasn’t going to be the case this time.

  “So what, exactly, do you need me to do?”

  She smiled at me. So did the alien next to her. And both of them had the exact same smile—the kind you give a nice juicy steak, just before you take that first bite. And trust me, I’m sensitiv
e to that kind of look. You’d be surprised how many people see me as a month’s worth of Duck L’Orange. I’ve taken to wearing orange all the time, just as a precaution.

  Chapter Three

  You want me to do what now?

  “You will need to realign the quantum fluctuation matrix,” Mary announced. She gave me a little nod then, like “okay, go to it.”

  “Realign the what now?” I shook my head—damn, I missed having external ears! “The quantum fluctuation matrix? Is that like the math-geek version of a jigsaw puzzle?”

  Mary frowned. It didn’t make her any less hot, and that’s a feat—most people, no matter how attractive, look butt-ugly when they frown. I think that’s the real reason people try to make their loved ones happy all the time, not because their happiness matters but because they don’t want to look at that frown all the time. Not her, though. I could have watched her frown all day.

  Man, I was desperate.

  But she was speaking again. “The quantum fluctuation matrix. You must realign it. That will prevent the invasion and protect this quadrant from any subsequent incursion.”

  I glanced at Smith, but for once he looked just as lost as I felt. Ha, served him right! “I don’t know anything about a universal whatsits,” I admitted. “Or how to realign it. Hell, I can’t even realign my spine properly—every time I go to a chiropractor he bursts into giggles and can’t come near me. And then there’re those other ones, the ones with the down allergy. That ain’t pretty.” I shook my head, trying to dislodge that memory—not many people could singlehandedly shut down an entire chiropractic clinic and I wasn’t proud about it. “So explain, please.”

  Mary’s frown had deepened, and she glanced at the little alien—the Gray, she’d called it—beside her. Its eyes narrowed and its little mouth turned down as well. It was like watching a claymation version of a baby trying to mimic human expressions, incredibly cute and extremely creepy at the same time.

  “You are not familiar with the quantum fluctuation matrix?” she asked. She was obviously translating for the Gray, though I hadn’t seen them exchange anything beyond that glance. Still, looks were worth a thousand words or something like that, so she still had several hundred to spare. “How is that possible?”

  “I was probably absent that day,” I told her. “It happens a lot. When I was a kid I was never in a single yearbook—my name was a permanent fixture in the ‘Not Pictured’ section at the bottom. The one time I was there for the pictures, nobody believed I was me—Robby Pierson got stuck with my picture instead, which confused the hell out of his parents and started a whole weird custody-battle thing with some lady from Guatemala. Not that that’s important. Just tell me how to find this matrix thingy and what I need to do to realign it and I’ll get right on it.”

  But Mary shook her head. “No, you must be attuned to the matrix in order to realign it. If you are not, you will be unable to approach it, much less affect it.” The frown deepened—she had the sexiest worry lines I’ve ever seen. “This bodes ill for our quadrant.”

  “We have many agents,” Smith offered, “all well-trained and ready to lay down their lives to protect our country—our world. Our quadrant.” He was tripping all over himself to try to win her approval. It was like watching an eager little puppy with a disapproving owner. You couldn’t help but feel for the guy.

  Especially when she shot him down with barely a glance. “No. It must be DuckBob. He is the only one with any chance of success.” Ouch! No love for you, Mr. Smith!

  “Why me?” I asked.

  “Why him?” Smith asked at the same time. We glared at each other for a second. Seriously, I thought he was about to headbutt me. Which would not have been a good plan on his part because, hello, duckbill? I can drive this thing through a wooden door if I have to. They should never have told me I was too late for the breakfast special.

  I had to agree with him here, though. “Yeah, why me? Why can’t somebody else do it? Somebody more qualified? Somebody with some training in realigning and all that?” Somebody willing to die for their country. Because, honestly? I was willing to get bruised a bit but that was about it. That’s what happens when you get taxed too much and told you can’t cross state lines without notifying the Wildlife and Gaming Commission first, just to be safe. They’d ticked me off, so I saw no reason to help them out now.

  “He has already been altered,” Mary explained, “and by that modification his body has been brought more in sequence with the quantum fluctuation matrix. But he should have been exposed to it fully during the modification process, and thus already attuned.” She stared at me again. Hey, stare at me all you want, baby, I don’t mind. “We must consider this matter,” she announced finally. The Gray pulled out that weird little octopus-pen thingy again, there was a brief lightshow—and both of them vanished.

  Smith and I sat there in complete silence for a minute. Potato Head and Tall stood behind us, equally silent. It was like one of those “Who can stay quiet the longest?” games you played back in kindergarten.

  Yeah, I always lost those things.

  “Well, that went well, huh?” I drummed my fingers on the table. “So, can I get a ride back to work now? And will someone explain this to my supervisor?”

  “You idiot!” Smith turned on me like a rabid dog—in his case one of those greyhounds that’ve never had a proper meal in their life, so who can blame him for tearing into me like a Thanksgiving turkey? “Do you realize what you’ve done? They came to us for help, for aid, the first step in open communication and collaboration—and you sent them away!”

  “What? Hey, hold on now, Charlie,” I objected, pushing back from the table and conveniently getting clear of his jabbing index finger at the same time. “I didn’t do anything! They said I wasn’t aligned to this thingamawhosis so they couldn’t use me to realign it! That’s not my fault! If anything, it’s their fault—they did this to me in the first place! Figures they couldn’t even finish the job right!”

  Smith stood too, and looked like he was going to take another lunge at me—then stopped. “You’re right,” he admitted after a second, smoothing his tie and straightening his suit jacket. “This isn’t your fault.” He shook his head. “And you did attempt to communicate with them. I apologize.” He sighed. “I lost my temper. It was unfair.”

  “Oh. Well, no problem. Sorry I couldn’t help more.” Smith being apologetic was a lot weirder than Smith being angry, and it scared me more. I had no idea what he was going to do next. I was afraid he might break out in song. Then Potato Head and Tall would start singing chorus and I’d be stuck with the girl’s part. There’s a reason I’m never going back to junior high theater. Ever.

  “What now, boss?” Tall asked Smith. He and Potato Head hadn’t moved a muscle the whole time as far as I could tell. Well, okay, Tall kept flexing his biceps and I think I caught Potato Head shifting his feet once, but that was it. Otherwise they were like statues. Ugly, suit-wearing statues. With guns.

  “Now? Now we wait.” Smith shook his head again. “There is little else we can do. We must hope they will contact us again once they have devised some other solution to the problem. In the meantime—” He turned to talk to the knuckleheads more directly, which is why he didn’t see the lightshow reappear. But I did, and so did Tall and Potato Head—they both stiffened, which made Smith whirl back around. All four of us were staring across the table when Mary and the Gray reappeared. This time they had company.

  It wasn’t a Gray. It also wasn’t a crazy-hot X-Files chick like Mary. It was—a plumber.

  Okay, that was my first impression. But that felt right. He was short and a bit round, with stubby arms and legs though they looked like they could extend somehow. He had a flat face—I mean actually flat, perfectly flat, like a cartoon character that’s just run into a wall—but his features were broad and doughy. He could have been Potato Head’s cousin, if his cousin was an unhealthy shade of green and had tufts of hair like broccoli just above batlike
ears. And maybe his cousin is. I’m the last person who should be making fun of how other people look. Which doesn’t mean I don’t, it just means I have that little twinge of guilt every time I do. Not with this guy, though. I’d have felt guilty not making fun of him, like the one person who refuses to join in the game. And he looked like a plumber. A weird alien plumber.

  The fact that he was wearing overalls and a T-shirt and a New York Mets baseball cap probably didn’t help.

  “How you doing?” he said as soon as the lights faded. He focused on me. “Oh, yeah, I see what you mean. Yep. I can fix it, no problem.” He had a tool belt slung around his waist—or roughly where his waist would be, if there was any change in width across the middle—and started rummaging through the pouches there.

  “We have devised a solution,” Mary informed us. Her voice made me shiver all over again. “We have brought a technician to complete DuckBob’s modification and attune him to the quantum fluctuation matrix.”

  “Excellent!” Smith said. He smiled, which was just as unpleasant as it had been the first time, and clapped me on the back. “Go right ahead!”

  “What? Hey, hold on a second,” I argued. “What do you mean, ‘complete my modification’? I’ve already been modified plenty, thanks! I don’t need any more! Actually, a little less would be nice—like having a real face again!”

  “Now, don’t be difficult, Mr. Spinowitz,” Smith muttered. “You said you wished you could have done more to help, remember? Now you can. I assume,” he said, raising his voice and turning back toward Mary, “that once he has been attuned he will be able to align the quantum fluctuation matrix and prevent the invasion?”

  “That is our hope,” Mary agreed.