Chapter 11: CHAPTER TEN

Daniel de Montelier was taking an Advil for his excruciating headache when a call came in from Colbert’s Landing. The headache had been bothering him most of the morning, the kind that pounded against his temple like a drummer in a rock band. He was glad the phone hadn’t rung, because way up here in Fort Albany, the most exciting thing that happened involved the removal of polar bears that had ventured a little too close to town.

Montelier, who made sure that people pronounced his name Mon-te-lee-ay, and not Mon-te-leer, was part French-Canadian and part English, fluent in both language, as well as a smattering of other languages, most notably Spanish and German. So far, he didn’t have much use for the latter two, but living in Canada meant that French and English were equally important.

The bottle of Advil invited him to take a couple more, but he refrained because he had taken two a moment before. The number on the display of his ringing phone belonged to Colbert’s Landing. Something troubling the aliens? He had heard from Arak three days ago, when the old man told him that a movie crew from California was going to shoot a movie there. Why would anyone want to make a movie there?

The phone buzzed for the umpteenth time before he reached over to pick it up. “Montelier, RCMP.”

“This is Rheôvhan,” the voice on the other end said. Something had to be wrong because an alien had never spoken to him; it had always been Arak.

“What are you doing on this line?” he asked. “How did you get this number? Where’s Arak?”

“Which question do you want me to answer first?”

Smart ass alien. “Where’s Arak?”

“He’s dead. Someone stuck a knife in him.”

“So I guess it wasn’t on of you... aliens.”

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Rheôvhan said, “but if we wanted to kill someone we wouldn’t need a knife.”

“No, you wouldn’t.”

“What should we do?”

“Put him in storage.”

“What?”

“Put him somewhere cold, you know, one of those freezers in the diner, where he’ll keep until I get there.”

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“And when is that?”

“Two days.” The alien started to say something, but he hung up, slamming the receiver on its cradle.

He had no use for these fur-bearing creatures. What the hell were they doing here? Were they some kind of advance crew, spying on this planet in preparation of an invasion. They were carnivores, weren’t they? Ate nothing but meat, so maybe they might take humans back to their own world.

He shook that thought from his head. They had landed near what was to become Colbert’s Landing, told everyone they couldn’t get their craft off the ground. But what if it was a lie? Oh sure, they said they could never tell a lie, but what if that was a lie?

Over a hundred of these aliens, over a hundred of their pets, companions, whatever you wanted to call them. Whistling dragons. Mammals, but they called them dragons. He couldn’t understand why, but not for long. Other business was more important.

Right now, up here in the wilderness, he was the law in the entire region, a territory covering the shores of James Bay and Hudson Bay as far as the Manitoba border. In three months he’d be relieved by an English-Canadian who liked to tell dirty jokes, who liked to intersperse his conversation with fucking this and fucking that, who thought his farts were the funniest sounds in the entire universe. He wished he were in Montreal right now, having dinner with his current girlfriend, Marie, she of the ample bosom and the clean-shaven pussy. They had had an argument just before he left. She wanted him to stay, she was going to miss him so much, and could he fuck her one more time before he headed up there among the Inuit and the Eskimos?

Damn, maybe Louise would have been better. Quieter, more obedient. As he tried to decide between the two women, he grabbed his blue serge, threw it on, covered it with the designated jacket. A black and gold cap, and semi automatic Smith and Wesson completed his attire.

He was hesitant about joining the RCMP, telling his father that the organization was basically English. Royal Canadian Mounted Police, he had scoffed. This was Quebec; no royalty here. He had almost taken his father’s advice and joined the Montreal police force, but the thought of travel and adventure and excitement steered him toward a career with the RCMP.

He was glad to leave the cramped office. When he walked out, he didn’t bother looking back. He’d be gone for a while, so he locked it. He trusted the townspeople, but you never knew who might venture up here.

The preferred method of transportation was either a small single-engine plane or a helicopter. The plane should be put through its paces, so that was the obvious choice. He checked all the instruments, made sure it had plenty of fluid, started it up. He sat in the cockpit, stared at the scene in front of him. The plane was sitting on an airstrip in the middle of nowhere, just outside town. The airstrip, facing west, disappeared in a swirl of new-blown snow.

The headache was getting worse instead of better, despite the Advil. Throbbing, pounding, pulsating, as if his heart had somehow found its way to his head. As soon as this assignment was concluded he’d have to see the doctor. Maybe travel down to Toronto, check with Doc Ock. He smiled. Dr. Octavian, but everybody called him Doc Ock, like that character in one of the Spider-Man movies.

The lift-off went smoothly. Montelier had eight hundred hours under his belt so he wasn’t worried. The sky was beckoning, and he was going to take advantage of it. He wished this were a pleasure flight instead of a mission to find out what happened to Arak. Even though he had met the old man just once, he had taken a liking to him.

The flight to Colbert’s Landing would take less than an hour. With the wind this quiet, and no precipitation in sight, he anticipated no problems, but he was always aware that just because no problems reared their ugly heads in the immediate future and the immediate vicinity, it didn’t mean that problems couldn’t arise in some form or other.

He’d ask those aliens a lot of questions.

And they’d tell him the truth.

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