Chapter 31: THIRTY

General Albert Wittenberg entered the village in full uniform, medals prominently displayed. If there was anything that would get him the respect he was seeking it would be his uniform. The medals on his chest he earned for campaigns in Afghanistan and Iraq. He had been a soldier as long as he could remember, like his father and grandfather before him.

A row of houses stood in the middle of a clearing surrounded by woods, all one story, except for a single prominently displayed two-story building. A dirt road ran through the center of the village, disappearing into the forest. He didn’t think it possible, but the Canadians’ main concern was the aliens’ comfort.

Colbert’s Landing. That was the name of this village, as if that mattered. Every human familiar with Colbert’s Landing just called it ‘The Village.’ You said that, and everyone knew what you meant.

He headed straight for the diner. He didn’t know what kind of food they served there, but most of it was for the aliens. Carnivores, weren’t they?

Renney’s. Might have been the owner’s name. Something told him that information could be found there.

“How far do you want me to lead them?”

The speaker was one of the aliens. Female. The absence of those fine hairs around the ears confirmed that. He found her manner of speaking rather clear English, with only a slight hint of an accent, surprising.

The one with her was human. Middle-aged, gray, thinning hair. Wearing a gray jacket, open, which surprised him since it had grown remarkably cold since he arrived. Autumn here meant cooler temperatures. He wouldn’t have been surprised if snow fell at any moment.

“I don’t care,” the man said.

“To the lake?”

“If you want to.”

“You have to be more specific than that, Sen Creighton.”

“To the lake,” he said.

Wittenberg came over. “Creighton? Are you Harold Creighton, the director of ‘Teen Monsters from Mars?’ ”

Creighton looked up. “Who wants to know?”

“Where is Colonel Matthew Westwood?”

“Dead.”

“What?”

“That’s right, General...”

“Wittenberg... Albert Wittenberg.”

“Sounds German.”

“My grandfather came here from Austria in 1936.”

“Should have changed it.”

“I didn’t come here to discuss my name,” Wittenberg said. “I want to know what happened to Colonel Westwood?”

“What do you know about these aliens?”

“I’ve read about them.”

“My name is Chandrha,” she said. “I killed Colonel Westwood.”

He froze momentarily. He babbled a few words, took a deep breath, composed himself. “What happened?”

“He wanted to kidnap my daughter,” she said. “She’s ten years old, and we – my mate and I – are responsible for her. If you’ve read the books about us you know we will defend our cubs.”

“I’m taking you back with me,” he said, voice cold. “You and all the aliens.”

“The Canadian government won’t let you do that,” a new voice said to his right.

The man who had joined them was smaller than Wittenberg, with straight black hair combed straight back. His voice had a slight French-Canadian accent.

“Daniel de Montelier,” the man said. “RCMP.”

“RCMP? Where’s your uniform? Where’s your horse?”

Montelier laughed. “To answer your second question, not all members of the RCMP ride horses. As for my uniform, that’s another story.’

“This alien just admitted she killed Colonel Westwood.”

“Yes, she did.”

‘And you haven’t arrested her?”

“Why? Apparently you’re not as well versed about the Tereskàdians as I thought. According to Canadian law these aliens cannot be charged with any crimes.”

“That’s bullshit. A crime has been committed, the killer is standing right in front of us, and you’re telling me she can’t be touched?”

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“That’s right. And if you try anything, General, I will have you arrested.”

“That is so... stupid. You mean she can get away with murder, she... oh, for... Are you telling me she can go around killing people, and nothing will happen to her?”

“Read the books.”

Wittenberg had let the anger fester inside him, now he wanted to release it, to shower it over this alien and that pet of hers. No, not a pet. He was linked with her somehow. He didn’t know the details, but he knew they had to be together.

“I have to go now,” he said, “but I’ll be back, and I’ll be bringing others, soldiers who will clear out these aliens, and take them where they belong, where they won’t be able to hurt anyone else.”

“Don’t even think about it, General,” Montelier said. “You do anything against these aliens, I will have my men here faster than you can say maple leaf forever, and you – and your men – will be charged with trespassing... kidnapping... whatever else I can think of.”

“These aliens have no right to be anywhere on this planet. You Canadians must be blind not to realize what these aliens are up to.”

“Is that your paranoia kicking in? Been watching too many alien invasion movies? This is the 21^st century. H.G. Wells died a long time ago.”

Wittenberg looked from Montelier to Creighton to Chandrha. “Where is the body?”

“It’s in a safe place, away from everyone,” Montelier said. “Right now, it’s still full of poison.”

“Damn. He had a wife, three kids. How do you expect me to let them know?”

“Tell them the truth,” Chandrha said.

“I can’t do that,” he said. “She’s going to want revenge.”

“Tell her... tell her he brought it on himself.”

He rushed to the diner, leaving them standing behind him. What was he supposed to do now? Colonel Westwood tried to bring the aliens back to the United States, but all it got him was poison, thanks to the claws of an alien female. And now the RCMP officer was telling him these aliens were practically immune from any prosecution.

What kind of country was this? You committed a crime, you did the time. You might get off with the help of a good lawyer, but you had to face your peers, take the stand, tell your side of the story. None of this shit about not being charged.

He had to think of something, some way to get these aliens from this lonely area called Ontario. He could bring two, three dozen heavily armed men up here, men used to this kind of terrain, who weren’t afraid to head into a dangerous situation. He didn’t know how many RCMP officers he’d have to face, but he was sure they’d be no match for an elite Air Force corps.

To hell with these aliens.

His cell phone was in his pocket, but he had already found out that it didn’t work up here.

He walked into the diner, asked the woman behind the counter if he could use the phone.

She nodded at the phone at the end of the counter.

He called Lieutenant Simpson, although it took the Lieutenant five minutes to answer. “Lieutenant Simpson, Cheyenne Mountain.”

“Where were you, Simpson? Diddling in the john?”

“General Wittenbeg, sir, It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Fuck that. I’ve got a job for you, a very important job, so listen to what I tell you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get three... no, four dozen of our best men together, and bring them up here.”

“Where, sir?”

“The village.”

“What village?”

“The... Colbert's Landing. In northern Ontario, Canada. Near Hudson Bay... or James Bay, one of them. Well, not really near, but not too far away either.”

“Are you talking about those furry aliens?”

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Now stop interrupting me, will you?”

“How will I find this village?”

“Get on the plane and fly northeast. You can’t miss it. The village sticks out like a sore thumb.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Simpson?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Bring the best.”

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