July 1, 2014. Tuesday.
Cigarette smoke rolled out of the lady's in red mouth. "Excuse us for disturbance," she said. "There is an issue of utmost importance we wish to discuss with Mister George Bottlemore."
The lady was about to slip into the house, but Sandy extended her hand and prevented the advance. "No smoking inside." Glancing at the four men, she added, "You may come in. You're welcome."
Even though the lady was quite a nervous person, she restrained from opening her mouth, instead, with her teeth clenched she turned away to stare at a distant point in the sky. When the door closed, she quickly finished the cigarette, trampled it with a heel and entered the house.
"So, you brought back the disgusting Dang," John said. He had an idea that the visitors might not be as friendly as they pretended to be. There had an air of government people around them. When John was younger, he had a thing for conspiracy theories. These people inside the kitchen, for him, appeared as agents straight from a textbook about conspiracies, devious and clever. To get rid of them he needed to use his wits. "Who are you people may I ask?"
The man with the looks replied, his voice very thin, similar to that of a little girl, "Have you heard about the men in black, sir?"
"No," John lied.
"Well, we are them. We are working in the department fifty-one.' "
John replied, "Fifty-one? The first time I hear the name." He glanced at Dang and continued with a despicable tone, "What did this liar tell you? That scum is not to be trusted." He lifted up a hand as if he was about to slap the poor thing with the back of his hand.
Sandy took and put it down. "The brat is not worth the trouble," she spoke bitterly and joined John's play.
"So, what did he tell you?" John asked the visitors.
The large man with the sharp nose and wide grin replied, "He told us about time travels, about the place he came from. He said you are sheltering and helping the time-traveling refugees."
Dang tried to explain, "Please, call George, make him—" But his words were shut down after a dart from Sandy's gun hit him straight in the neck. He fell down like a log.
Tucking the weapon in the holster behind her back, she said, "I bet you have listened to this crap for some time. You see, these gray scum are revolting human pets from the future. I and John here are the time cops sent to deal with the fools like him. There is a time hole in the cellar of this house. It is our task to watch over it and return the trash back to its rightful place."
"So, who's that George guy, then?" asked the lady.
With a calm poker face uncommon to him, John waved a no-no finger in front of lady's face. "Enough about this place, about us. First tell us about you. Who are you people and what's your business?"
The man with the looks explained, "We are those who deal with the outside threats. We are those who stand between the humanity and extraterrestrial life. It is our task to reject and destroy any alien attempts to communicate. It is we who chase away alien spacecrafts, close their worm-holes, and find other ways to prevent them from stepping on our precious Earth."
"We come from far away, but we have never heard of aliens," said John.
"Perhaps our people in the future are doing a good job. Or perhaps the aliens had already given up. You see. They open their little portals, bring us gifts, send us polite letters, pieces of their technology and other useless objects, hoping to make friends, when we humans need none. Perhaps they will get tired someday. I hope they will. They're damn annoying. Sigma over there,—" He nodded at the man with the headphones on his neck,—" had once traveled to their world to kill some aliens. When he returned he was no longer the same person."
YOU ARE READING
The Business of Time Travel Tourism
Science FictionAfter George Bottlemore writes an advertisement to the future in hopes to earn easy money, strange things happen and visitors begin appearing in his cellar. One of them is a mysterious, grave time traveller with devious intentions. Struggling to ch...