Terror Firma. Matthew Thomas

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СКАЧАТЬ entire working life. In the absence of a suitably morbid record, or any mail-order catalogues for that matter, Dave got back down to work.

      Currently he was attempting to type up an account of the previous night’s UFO event, if you could go so far as to call it that. It was a tried and trusted routine he always performed after one of his ‘encounters’, as he liked to call them. Best get it down while it was still fresh in his mind.

      But it wasn’t just the infuriating vagueness of last night’s incident which had him depressed. Dave was no stranger to the intense feeling of anticlimax which often followed a sighting – this went deeper than that. He had often reflected how UFO watching was much like being in the infantry in time of war; ninety-nine per cent stupefying boredom, one per cent shirt-drenching panic. After any fleeting high came an equally dramatic and far less fleeting low. The growing suspicion that someone, somewhere, in a darkened room, wanted it that way didn’t help in the slightest.

      With a heavy sigh Dave concluded that this depression, like most of his others, could be traced back to a far less mysterious source. For the ninth time that day he checked his email to see if Kate still cared whether he lived or died. The answer on this occasion was no different from his previous eight attempts to will his incoming mail prompter to go ‘ping’. Not for the first time that day he re-read her last message.

      Dear Dave,

      Hope you’re enjoying yourself as much as I know you are able. Have you met any other Californian beach babes yet? I do like a spring wedding.

      All hell’s broken loose back home. Have you heard the news of what went on at Glastonbury? It’s all people are talking about over here.

      All hell’s broken loose at work too. After one of the most nauseating shows I can remember we’ve started researching a special one-off to go out in just a few days time. Word’s come down from the very top that we have to be on-air ASAP. It’s to be the usual format, Mr Sunbed-Tan and a studio full of ‘real people’ queuing up to have their insanity beamed out for all the world to see. But this time, the subject matter will interest you. We’re getting an audience together of folks who claim they’ve seen flying saucers. You know, ‘I’m having an alien’s love-child,’ that sort of thing, all the stuff you’re into.

      Went over to the west country the other day to interview a farmer with a funny tale. I’ll pass on the details when you get back. Perhaps you can line me up some other cranks to swell the ranks. You must know a few? It’s appalling that my ‘career’ has come to this. Thinking of you as I scan the appointments pages.

      Love K

      x

      P.S. Give me a chance to reply, why don’t you. Some of us do have better things to do than sit in front of a computer all day typing emails – even if we aren’t on holiday.

      When he finished it Dave re-read it a second time. It was hard to focus on her sudden interest in Ufology, or the latest rock-and-roll PR stunts, with such a clear subtext underpinning her every word. Was it his imagination or were there signs of a subtly increased level of affection tucked in there? Of course she always ended with ‘Love K’, though this time he got the sense she’d wanted to say much, much more.

      But wait a minute, she had only signed off with a single lower-case ‘x’. All last week she’d used capitals, and on Wednesday she’d used three. Dutifully Dave got out the small notebook he carried with him everywhere and entered this month’s total email kisses. At home he had a wall-planner solely devoted to graphically charting the perceived fluctuations in her affection; it would be filled in on his return.

      It was at this moment that Dave concluded, not for the first time, that he was a very sad individual indeed. Yet if he could recognize that fact, didn’t that mean he wasn’t so sad after all? Or, alternately, all the sadder for being unable to do anything about it? Catching himself before he could slip into one of his all too unproductive bouts of doubt and self-loathing, of which this was just the relatively mild first stage, he composed another reply to the woman of his dreams. The fact that he’d sent three now without response didn’t deter him for an instant.

      Dear Kate,

      As you know, the trip so far has been a resounding success. Obviously I can’t go into details over an open channel, but I know you’ll be enthralled when I show you my snaps of Area 51. The up-coming show on ‘The Phenomena’ sounds good – glad to see you’ve finally taken an interest. Perhaps you can get me tickets.

      The people over here are so friendly I’ve hardly had a moment to myself. Despite the impression I might have given in my last note, I’m just friends with April and Nadine. I’m meeting them both for drinks later. Who knows where we’ll end up – probably back in their jacuzzi again. Gosh, they wear me out.

      Gotta run, I’m giving a speech to the Nevada State Saucer Convention. I’ll have to write it in the limo they’ll send to pick me up.

      Love as always, see you soon,

      Dave

      He didn’t put any ‘x’s’ on the end of his mail. Despite the overwhelming emotions he felt for Kate, Dave couldn’t bring himself to remind them both of it at every opportunity – there was only so much his fragile ego could take. She knew how he felt about her, and he had no desire to appear as desperate as he actually was.

      Dave felt no guilt over the little white lies he told to spice up the trip, Kate would see through them immediately. What was important was that Kate knew she hadn’t entirely crushed his heroically indomitable spirit.

      Dave was startled by the melodic chimes which signified incoming mail. For one second he thought it might be from her – wasn’t she getting eager? But when he saw the address his heart sank. It was undoubtedly junk-mail advertising some sordid anatomically-minded site. Who had ever heard of [email protected] anyway? Already filling with righteous indignation, he clicked open the message and read it, waiting to be incensed. He wasn’t to be disappointed.

      Greetings Earthling,

      I am an Alien. Hard to believe I know, but in this case completely true.

      If you want to meet up, I shall be at the Hungry Dog Diner, at the junction of Lincoln and Twelfth Street, for the next two hours. It’s not far from your motel – get back to the main street and walk three blocks west. When you arrive my companion will make himself known to you.

      I need your help. Please come quickly, and be sure to come alone.

      Yours,

      An exotic Friend.

      Dave snorted in disgust. Another feeble practical joke. He was reminded of the wave of obviously faked photographs his magazine had been sent over the previous month, and of that ridiculous Glastonbury stunt – the lengths some hoaxers were prepared to go to made him shudder. Advanced alien civilizations no more used email to communicate with mankind than they used crop circles or thirteenth-century Mayan tomb carvings, despite what some of Dave’s esteemed colleagues might think. That some spotty thirteen-year-old hacker had obtained details of his personal account was only slightly less preposterous than the notion that aliens resort to 3D Martian landscape graffiti to get their message across.

      When it came to his life’s work Dave had a very poor sense of humour. He’d met enough cranks in his time to take his privacy just as seriously as he took his UFOs. They’d be at the diner all right – hunched in some dingy corner, sniggering into their crusty keyboard laptop. He meant to find the individual СКАЧАТЬ