Quozl (40 page)

“What do you think's going to happen?” Mindy queried her brother.

“Why ask me? I don't know. Maybe they'll just ask us some questions, have us sign a few forms, and kick us out. Don't worry. It'll work out okay.”

He didn't believe that, but saw no point in saying so.

Eventually they entered a spacious, aboveground office in another part of the park. The two men who'd escorted them stood silently nearby while another smiling individual lectured them firmly but politely about the no-no's of using the park to generate interest in another studio's characters. Chad and Arlo looked suitably contrite while Mindy hovered in the back with the Quozl.

Instead of being dismissed, they were taken after the lecture to another office, where a woman explained that to satisfy company formalities they would be asked to provide certain information. Then they would be allowed to leave.

Chad was starting to feel hopeful that they could get away. Names and addresses were no problem. Agile wordsmith that she was, Mindy improvised identities for Runs-red-Talking and Seams on the spot. The woman dutifully entered these fictions in her computer.

“That's all,” she said finally, smiling up at them. Chad and Arlo managed to smile back while the Quozl turned away. “Except,” she added, “for pictures.”

“Pictures?” Chad felt his smile fading.

“To complete the records. I'm sure you understand. If you'd just step over here a minute?”

She led them to the back of the room where they found themselves confronting a large instant camera of the kind used by motor vehicle departments to take the pictures that go on driver's licenses. Chad hesitantly allowed his face to be immortalized. He was followed by Arlo, then Mindy. Runs-red-Talking whispered to Seams-with-Metal, his earrings tinkling musically. The woman was beginning to get impatient.

Staring expressionlessly straight ahead, ears erect, Runs stepped up to the designated line. One of the security men grinned at him.

“All right. Enough, already. It's a great outfit but it won't look funny in the official files. So at least take off the head.”

Runs-red-Talking had spent his whole life initiating action instead of reacting to it. Possibly that was uppermost in his mind now. Or perhaps he was simply tired of the game.

For whatever reason, he replied by saying, “My head doesn't come off.”

Mindy closed her eyes. Arlo sighed and sat down heavily in a nearby chair. Chad groaned softly. As for Seams-with-Metal, she waited quietly to see how the humans would react. Ever observing, Chad noted.

The man in the safari suit was anxious to return to his regular post. “Look, staying in character is fine for the kids, but there are no kids here and we really do need a serious mug shot.”

You had to give Arlo credit, Chad thought as the agent stepped forward. He never quit trying. “Give us a break, guys. These costumes are all one piece. You can't just take the heads off, and it takes hours to set 'em up right. We were counting on doing an appearance elsewhere tonight.”

“Not my problem,” safari grunted. “Take 'em off.”

“What if they refuse?”

The man in the business suit frowned. “Can't they talk for themselves?” He leaned over to peer closely at Runs-red-Talking. Runs-red-Talking stared back interestedly. “How do you do the eyes? Magnifying lenses, or some kind of transparent overlay?”

This was not how it was supposed to happen, Chad thought tiredly. There should be bands playing, fireworks exploding, important people making speeches and shaking hands with revered Quozl Elders.

“They don't come off. They aren't wearing costumes. These are real Quozl, ambassadors from the Quozl colony on Earth.”

Business suit didn't miss a beat. “Just when I thought you people were going to cooperate.”

Chad eyed the door, wondering if it was worth making a break for it. He decided against it. What would be the point? They couldn't get out of the park.

“Do you have a first-aid station here?”

Safari sounded insulted. “Several. Why? Somebody sick?” Business suit looked suddenly alarmed even though neither he nor his partner had laid a hand on their charges.

“Nobody's sick.” Chad tried to be patient. “If you have X-ray facilities we can settle this once and for all.” Business suit looked dubious, so Chad made it easy for him. “One exposure. Then we'll let you take your mug shots.”

Arlo chimed in helpfully. “We'll even pay for the work.”

The two security men exchanged a glance. Then safari shrugged, which seemed to settle it.

He returned to his post and left the tidying up to business suit, which was a pity since he missed the reaction of the young technician operating the X-ray unit. As he refused to believe his own work they had to wait and repeat the procedure twice with additional witnesses. Then all hell broke loose.

While it was breaking, Runs and Seams insisted on a few moments of privacy. Both were nervous and uneasy, not because of the exposure but because it had been too long since either had engaged in intercourse. Chad and Mindy kept watch outside the storage room while the Quozl went about their important business.

Meanwhile the security man consulted with the medical technicians, who called in the park administrator, who intended to have them all carted off and fired until he saw both the Quozl and the film, who then contacted his superior, who called in additional expert medical assistance, by which time the already closed-for-the-day park saw the extraordinary sight of more vehicles arriving than were departing.

Lines of communication no matter how private or supposedly secure tend to leak like fifty-year-old steel pots. The reporter who chose to take a chance on the ridiculous found himself recording the scoop of the century, complete with pictures. The first official press conference to deal with the presence of alien life on earth was held in the Disneyland executive offices, a venue that would have pleased Dali and Bosch if not presidents and premiers.

Runs-red-Talking and Seams-with-Metal answered the questions put to them freely and thoughtfully. So did Mindy and a reluctant Chad. As to the exact location and size of the colony the Quozl were purposefully evasive. Everything was monitored by the Council of Seven during Runs-red-Talking's frequent trips to the bathroom, the Quozl bouncing the necessary signal off the glass window of a large 1890s peanut wagon stationed strategically outside.

By early morning administrators, reporters (others having gotten wind of what was happening and showing up), Quozl and friends were exhausted. Both vehicular and aerial police escort was provided to convoy the visitors from elsewhere back to Chatsworth. A permanent plainclothes watch was posted around Mindy's house, which only mildly intrigued her neighbors. Everyone knew she worked in film and tv, so such oddities were to be expected. They whispered about wild parties and drugs without suspecting a hint of the truth.

Runs and Seams had no difficulty falling asleep in Mindy's guest room. In contrast their human friends found it hard to get any rest, tossing and turning uneasily.

Meanwhile the neighbors allowed as how their assumptions might have been wrong because Mindy's front lawn began to sprout tv cameras like chickweed. If not for the presence of a small army of plainclothes police and FBI they would have walked right up to peer in the windows. By the time the sun cast its first baleful glow through the smog someone was waking up the mayor, since it had been decided it was his place to alert the federal government.

Arlo, however, was one step ahead of them all. He was taking full advantage of the fact that no one had yet thought to screen outgoing as opposed to incoming phone calls. As much as Chad disliked his sister's fiancé he had to admit that he knew his work.

When a delegation including the senior senator from the state of California, two members of the House of Representatives, several people from the governor's office, and the mayor showed up at the house at six
A.M.,
they were informed by the police lieutenant on duty that the inhabitants had taken themselves elsewhere. Under proper escort, of course.

“What the hell do you mean ‘proper escort'?” The senator was incensed. “Why didn't you keep them here?”

The lieutenant wished he was somewhere safe. Down in the gang zone, for instance. “No one said anything about keeping them here. They aren't under arrest or anything. And the aliens insisted, sir.”

“Idiot!” The senator whirled on an aide while the representatives caucused. “Where did they go?”

“I don't know,” the woman confessed.

“Well, find out.”

“Hey.” Everyone turned toward the urgent voice. “Hey, everybody. Have a look at this.”

One of the reporters who had set up on the lawn as close to the front steps as the police would allow was gazing at the monitor attached to his cameraman's equipment. The sun was bright and he had to shield the screen.

“Isn't that them?”

The senator shoved his way to the front of the rapidly swelling crowd while police tried to keep everyone else back. Across the front yard other cameramen were rapidly switching their own monitors.

It was a widely viewed show. Not as big as Donahue or Walters, but popular. More importantly, Arlo had a contact with the host, who at first was understandably suspicious of a fraud. When proof was offered in the form of copies of the X rays taken the previous night and a brief sprinting demonstration by Seams-with-Metal, he agreed to an unrehearsed appearance.

“This had better be for real.” The host was giving her makeup girl fits, pacing endlessly backstage minutes before airtime.

“Just wing it,” Arlo advised her reassuringly.

“Everyone'll think it's a gag. I'll be laughed off the air. I won't be able to get a job hosting a cooking show in Muskogee.”

“It's for real.” Arlo was watching Runs-red-Talking and Seams-with-Metal grooming themselves. “In fifteen minutes you'll have more proof than you'll ever need. Just whatever you do, don't stop.”

Actually it was more like twenty minutes before every reporter in Los Angeles descended on the station, fighting, bribing, and trying to pull rank to get inside. One network anchor suffered a broken leg in the crush but was too excited to file suit. By this time the studio audience had tumbled to the fact that this “interview with aliens” might be something other than a joke, and watched enthralled as the nervous host tried to question Runs and Seams in her normal penetrating yet folksy fashion.

When it was the turn of the studio audience to put questions to the guests, something like realization bathed them in its warm, reassuring glow. Around the country people set aside squawling infants, shopping, fast food, and work to crowd around television sets of all sizes. While Middle America watched and a representative sample of it put questions to bona fide aliens, an army of reporters battled with hard-pressed security men and plainclothes police in the hallway outside the studio.

“Where exactly do you come from?” asked a mother of three on vacation from Nashville.

“We'd rather not say.” Seams-with-Metal's intricate ear gestures were lost on the woman and the rest of the audience. “It would not matter anyway. It is so far distant you could not find it in your night sky.”

“How do you like it here on Earth?” The questioner was a machinist from Detroit. Chad was thrilled to observe that, like the others, he was smiling as he asked his question.

“What we have seen of it so far we like very much,” Runs told him politely. “But we are concerned about what humans will think of us.”

“You shouldn't be.” The hostess rushed her microphone to within pickup range of the heavy set woman from Reno. She was positively gushing. “My children have watched your show every Saturday for years, and they love you!”

It was as Arlo had predicted and Chad had hoped. The audience was confusing fiction with reality, to the eventual benefit of the latter.

“It's not our show.” Runs indicated Mindy and proceeded to explain. It didn't matter. Either no one in the audience believed him, or else they simply didn't care. The actuality of the Quozl fascinated them. How could characters on which popular cartoons were based be anything other than friendly? How could anyone listening to them talk possibly think of them as “invaders”? Why, the very thought was ludicrous! All anyone had to do was look at them, listen to their high, whispery voices. Not only were they harmless, they were
cute
.

“How long have you been here?” was the next question.

For the first time, Runs-red-Talking hesitated. He whispered to his companion. Seams-with-Metal heard him clearly though not even the studio mikes were sensitive enough to pick up his words. She replied equally softly.

“Approximately fifty of your years,” he informed the questioner.

That provoked murmurs from the audience and hurried work by the few reporters who had succeeded in gaining entrance to the studio. Clearly everyone had expected the Quozl to say something on the order of a few weeks or, at most, a couple of months.

“How could you stay hidden for fifty years?” a young man inquired.

This time Runs didn't pause. “We can be inconspicuous.”

“How many of you are there?”

Chad didn't hear the answer. This was better, much better, than some lingering, solemn government interrogation. Everything was out in the open. Fear and innuendo and rumor needed dark enclosed places in which to grow. Everything Runs-red-Talking and Seams-with-Metal said was going out via relay live to the rest of the country and around the world.

The host descended from the tiers of audience seats to thrust her microphone at the two Quozl. She was completely relaxed now. With a' start Chad realized she might as well have been interviewing any pair of celebrities about their next picture. He looked around and, as expected, found Arlo smiling back at him and nodding knowingly.