From: raenright@aol.com (RaEnright) Subject: Home--Weird Short Date: 25 Aug 1995 20:37:47 -0400 Hi everyone! No, it's not MontyRa, it's really me, RaEnright, but I have this nefty new screen name and it seemed appropriate to try it out. Slacker that I am, and those of you who note my posts every other day will chuckle at that I decided it was time for a real flight of fancy--not my usual detail oriented or ever-romantic stories, but something a tad more--bizarre. Random. Starring the dynamic duo and my personal muse, Monty, who has also been visiting Anik. Has nothing to do with Fridges or Phile-adelphia or any of my other stories. I'm posting it ten minutes after I wrote it so be brutal, it probably needs a rewrite. Feedback is welcomed with open arms. Fox Mulder and Dana Scully et cetera et ceetera the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me god... Home A small brain, compared to his. Of course, size didn't matter--he snickered, if his kind was capable of such--but then, it made it all the harder to work. All those people, sending him all those texts...that's what they were called, right? As if he didn't have enough trouble translating them, then he had to go and get involved. He was...oh, what had that one used? A softie? The prototype was sitting in the corner, still not quite done. What should he use for that odd E shape? What was an E, anyway? How did one pronounce it? Oh, he knew what it meant, when combined with the others, but since their language was purely text he supposed there wasn't a way to pronounce it. Maybe he would invent one! At the thought of the commendation he might get for that, his hand shook. Damn! That was the word for it, right? Yes, 'damn' was the word. The small probe had twitched right into--oh, dear, that wasn't what he had intended at all. No, this man was only supposed to write a story, not...that sort. But then, it would make an interesting study. He resolved to leave it be and tapped a note into his board. Maybe soon he would be tapping on the prototype--what a concept! Communication! Contact! He was a renegade, of course--all the good little scientific soldiers thought only of what the human body *couldn't* do, what it's limits were. But the human mind had no limits--how very, very wonderful! He could stimulate the lobe *there* and then... Very nice. Well, that would do. He sat back, not quite ready to let this one go yet. Something very familiar about him. Picking up the prototype--he'd live without the E shape for now--he entered what he hoped was a query into the background of this one. F..B...I...? What was an FBI? He went back to the regular board and entered the same query. An image, very small, appeared. So this man wasn't alone, then? Oh, no, a little girl? Of his genetic code--if humans were raised together, as he assumed they were, to judge from their language and usage of it, then this genetic code was so close they must have achieved maturity together. No--this man had only begun to achieve maturity when his genetic-match-female was taken. So that was it. No wonder he was experiencing aberrations. A final note: Not a normal specimen, tag for future refrence. And then he could be returned. Such a very expressive human face this one had. In his studies, he had come across many descriptions of what humans considered 'Handsome'. And the visuals he had called up--some human designated 'Chippendale'--identified it conclusively. This was a fine specimen of a 'handsome' human male. A twitch--his face moved, and eyes opened. The screen with the genetic-match-female was still up. Oh, no, that would not be good. It was too late. The male saw it, and began to scream. The autofields restrained him, and the probe stabbed into his brain again. He fell silent. 'Tears'...those curious outdated human things...rolled down his cheeks. Monterey picked up the prototype and punched a few buttons. Oh, that E would have to be installed soon. no do not cry i will mak bttr. i will mak bttr. do not cry fox. Ah, the interface had his name on it. Fox Mulder. Well, Fox Mulder, he thought, please, don't be so sad. I'll make it better. What was happening to his clinical detatchment? These were humans, not even friends of his, and this one in paricular was in some sort of trouble. That was obvious, if the soldiers took the genetic-match-female. So why did he feel like he was responsible? Of course, if he was allowed to drain this one, how much he could learn! Damn your ethics anyway, Monterey, he thought, you are too nice for your own good. Fox Mulder had subsided. Monterey entered the final command--memory erasure--and his dextrous grey finger hovered over the send key that would drop him off. What was this male's life like? He allowed himself a brief flight of fancy. Did he love? Or...what was that emotion...hate? Did he cry like this often? Did he fight? Did he...oh, what was that damned word...did he get cut or bruised? How did it feel to get a 'bruise'? Or a...'Broken arm'? Was there another genetic-match-female, or even a male, that he had achieved maturity with? What about genetic parents? What were they like? Did he have genetic offspring? Did Fox Mulder speak in text only? Would he know how to pronounce an E? Did he sleep often? Did he dream? One little poke was all it would take to answer at least one question--the dream center of the human brain was much more accesible than his own. He directed the probe over it. He shouldn't--that was interference--but he interfered all the time anyway. So the probe hummed over the exposed section of brain above the left ear. There it was. Now, Fox Mulder, what do you dream about? A multitude of images flooded the screen where Samantha Mulder's picture had been a moment before. The first--a female, by the look of her, designation Dana Scully. He wondered if that was the model for 'beauty' in a human female. This male seemed to think so. Another image replaced it--well, the genetic-match-female. She was called...a sister? What was...oh, of course. One more entry for his notes. This one seemed to have a number of aberrations, one of which was immensely important: A visual-image mental conserving neural system--he called it photographic. What was a photographic? Oh, this was really awful--whoever did this memory erasure was sloppy, or lazy, or both. What a shame. Those soldiers didn't know how to properly run an erasure machine. Nothing he could do about it now. But he could help him to retain more satisfying mental images. He deprogrammed the memory erasure and keyed in a replacement, a dream--'sunny field', lots of...grass? Yes, grass. A picnic. He'd seen enough old 'movies' to know what humans found romantic. He was the top xenobiologist in his section, after all, even if his colleagues considered his investigative procedures odd. As a final touch, he programmed in the woman designate Dana Scully. That would please this man. This time his finger hit the key, and he stretched, particularly drained. He wasn't cut out for this. But he certainly would have something to say to his superiors about the girl. The implantation was complete. It was his own unique study--text 'fictions', fanciful flights. When human brains were stimulated in that way, it made for interesting 'fictions' and textually, they were good practice for his translation. He carved out an E from the pliable material next to the board. He couldn't wait for official approval. The prototype human 'computer' was complete. He tapped in a request. What would he call himself? Monterey? No, humans liked short names. Monty? Yes, Monty. The 'newsgroup', an assembly place for humans who spoke in text, opened up before him. He checked his latest subjects. In his notes, he opened the files and began to transfer--very nice, mental stim was going as planned. His latest subjects were progressing nicely. He would have to converse with them through human text language some time. Once he got the hang of it, he should be able to initiate contact quite quickly. This was interesting--a new human in the text transfer. He would have to check this one soon. His dark eyes, deepset in the large grey skull, twinkled. Whatever the soldiers did, one day he would convince them humans were more than minor intellects. And then he could complete his studies. Until then, however, he would be content with the humans on this 'newsgroup'. Humans were interesting creatures. His lips, such as they were, twitched upwards. Yes, he would do something about this Samantha-female. It would be good publicity. He would take it up with the council the next time the ship was on the far side of the moon. New emotions filled him--he identified the warm feeling as happiness--a very distinct human emotion. And the tingling in his fingers would be excitement. For all we are alien to him, he is very close to home. END So, it's crazy and confused and sentimental. Sue me. I wanted to humanize the little suckers for a change, show that like humans, not everyone is a bad guy. Maybe out there there are aliens who want to contact us. Or maybe I've just let Monty control me a leetle too much. ---------------------------------------------------------------------- From: raenright@aol.com (RaEnright) Newsgroups: alt.tv.x-files.creative Subject: Far Away--'Home' Sequel Date: 11 Sep 1995 22:39:48 -0400 Hi everyone... Yes, it's me again...in one of my weird moods. This is a sequel to 'Home' and details the further adventures of Monterey the Humane Alien and the experiments he does. Mulder's there too. And can you guess where Monty pulled Mulder from? Mulder, Scully, and all the rest belong to CC and company. Monty is his own alien but he is jointly shared between myself and Anik. And right now, he is scratching his head in confusion as to how I blew his cover:-) Far Away Not again. Who was this human? Well, it would certainly give him an exercise in vocabulary. Monterey rubbed his fingers across the screen in an attempt to translate the words there, posted to this...the human term was 'newsgroup'. It had been weeks since the official board was completed--and now he was working on proficiency. Abandoning the screen, he tapped out a query on the board. 'Who is Mad Bomber?' His signature at the bottom--Monty-- allowed them to message him back. Humans were communicative little creatures. His hands, hexadigital, danced over the keys. One day, he hoped to see an actual human keyboard. But his permits wouldn't allow him that luxury; only the scientists whose work was 'essential' were allowed near the surface. Essential? Wasn't communication essential? All his race cared about was how the body worked--could the humans be useful to the greater good. It occured to only few that, perhaps, life was sacred whether it was *useful* or not. He recalled that it would be time to check subject ah-ny5 soon. Fox Mulder...the odd one. Strange feelings--guilt? He had promised this human he would find the genetic match female for him. The human wouldn't remember--so why did his fingers freeze on the keyboard? Nonsense. He was letting the textual influences of the human language soften him. His 'E' key...he twisted his lips into a small smile. The small key was his symbol of humanity--and of how little he knew. What did an 'E' sound like? He should ask his friend on the orbit ship to investigate human language next time he went to the surface. Did humans speak, the way his race did? He moved back to the subject at hand. The genetic-match female. Tapping out an inquiry on his own board, in his native language, he contacted the orbit ship, which carried the archives of the race on board. "Genetic match female. Code subject ah-ny5 background question?/Searching database for genetic match." A familiar face appeared on the screen. "Assisting your humans again, Monterey?" "I have a right to make inquiries." "Aye, and I'll see what I can do." Monterey grinned and thanked him in Old Tongue. "S'nahi." "Depen't." The log off showed he had a subject waiting on the examination table. "Human Fox Mulder." Monterey muttered to himself. "What have you been doing lately?" Prelim scans showed three new damages to the tangible human body. Human bones were so brittle--always breaking. And his shoulder was oddly punctured. What did this human do? He scanned the meager databases on hand and discovered it- -this was a 'bullethole'. Fox Mulder must be a dangerous human indeed if so many wanted him physically injured. Prelim brain-scans showed normal REM activity and thought patterns that reflected this human. Oh, what he wouldn't give to get inside this one's brain! Ethics, Monterey, ethics. You've got too much of them. Face it; you're a throwback to the Old Time. Well, then, so be it. It was a shame, though. Fox Mulder's own unique genetic mutation, his incredible memory, made him an especial asset. It would be a shame should he lose this one. Curious as to what this human had been doing, Monterey moved the probe over his right ear, to the entrance point. The screen produced a picture of something. It looked like red...it looked like nothing he'd ever seen, really. Maybe like the images of the nova that sent his people starward at the end of the Old Time. Red stars dancing. And bodies--The probe fell to the floor as the short figure stared at the screen. Those were...those were OldTime Corpses. Hundreds of them. No New Time corpses were disposed of that way. New Time bodies were disentegrated once the brain ceased to function. The only way to conserve space on their ships. Which meant that New Time DAhi, what the humans called 'greys', had been slaughtered by humans. There went his respect for the human race. He felt angry enough, right then, to tear the brain out of the subject lying on the table. But look at that--those corpses were old, decaying like he'd seen in records. So the human Fox Mulder would not be the one who killed them. Patching into the orbit ship, he transmitted the record. "Monterey." Sandego's face reappeared. "What are you doing?" "This human knows the DAhi, Sandego." "I can see that." "Did you see the red nova and the dead Old Timers?" "And I'm cross checking it. Monterey, what are you doing with this human?" "Not more than normal." he replied stiffly. "We've never been able to get mental scans this clear." "You've never had this mutation in your subjects. Or if you did you never took the time to care." "Go back to your work, Monterey. I'll contact you later. Send the human back NOW." "Yes, Sandego." With a sigh and a tap on his board, Monterey set the return coordinates. After considering for a moment...if the Old Time DAhi had run from the novas, they might hurt humans too...he placed the human on an organic outcrop some distance from the novas and the DAhi bodies. Hopefully the female from last session would be there to find him. If he were lost it would be a loss, indeed. Back to the screen. Two more hours of translation before he could log into the orbit ship and engage in an entertainment-- some new form of battle game he'd found. The humans called it Doom. END Well...there it is. I'm channeling this from another universe and Monty has to be tired, because he's sending plenty to Anik, too, so this won't be up to my usual standard Like my usual standard was all that great... /\ {__\ __ : | { / \/ ____________ 'The mud can hold you captive and the plains can bake you dry, Snow can sting your eyes but only people make you cry...' Wand'ring Star, "Paint Your Wagon"