"Won't they be a bit traumatized??
"We've kept them pretty well sedated and happy – it's a matter of tuning the cannabinoid receptors and fiddling with the serotonin levels mostly…."
"But when they get real again….?"
"Yeah," Jack admitted. "They'll probably take some time to deal with it."
"And become the dickheads they used to be?"
"Maybe."
"Well, you were an improvement on them, at least." Barb paused. "Why did you come to tell me about this?"
Jack looked at Jim, then to the ceiling. "There will be effects."
"Gonna blow up the Earth?" Barb crossed her arms.
"No, no! Nothing that bad."
"Then what?"
"First thing, we're going to start up the spaceship. That's mostly physics, but a bit of metaphysics."
"I don’t understand.
Jack almost ran his tongue into his nose, but remembered in time what that did to human social interaction. "You can't go faster than light in natural physics. You need a bit of supernatural, too."
"What's that going to mean to us earthlings?"
"The supernatural in this area is going to get ramped up for a week or so." She looked puzzled, so he added, "you'll be seeing some ghosts, and unnatural things will happen around this end of Ontario. Not sure exactly what, but you earthlings have some strange things hanging around."
"Sounds entertaining." Barb looked skeptical.
"I suppose it will be. The one thing you must be sure of is that you don't call up specific dead people during this time."
"Why is that?"
"Well," said Jack, "we have laws against that back where we come from. The people you call up tend to come back and stick around in the flesh. Of course, that probably won't happen here. You earthlings are used to dead people staying dead."
"And that's it?"
"Ah, no. We need fuel, too. A lot of matter."
"I can think of a country or two we might not miss, if you leave the people behind."
"Lake Ontario would do it," Jim broke his silence.
"Lake Ontario?"
"Just the water. Not the boats. A few of the fish."
"Wouldn't that make people suspicious about things from outer space?"
"Well, we talked about that, and decided to see if we can skip over to the ocean and take a bit of that. It wouldn't lower the ocean much."
"Might counter a bit of global warming," Barb said.
"I suppose."
There was a long silence. "Well," Barb said, "I've always believed you guys were aliens, but I think like a lot of other people would have to do that too, if Lake Ontario went dry."
Jack and Jim nodded. "We'll try for the ocean."
"You said you cured Jack's cancer, didn't you. Any chance of crawling into me and curing mine? I've been free of it for three years, but my doctor's looking worried and I have a lot of tests coming up."
"Oh, we don't have to do that," Jim said. "We'll write you up a recipe that should work, won't we?" He turned to Jack.
"If you'll agree to come with us tonight for wings day at the Piazza Manna."
Jim corrected him, "Wings night was last night. It's spring rolls today.”
"A recipe?"
"We're not magicians. We just know a few things your people will figure out soon enough anyway. Tastes like hell, but works. Will you come with us to celebrate?"
Twenty minutes later, the three of them, with a friend of Barb's named Tanya, stood on the dock as the ferry, the Thomas Rennie, arrived. Barb was puzzling over a list of items Jim had written on a piece of paper.
By dark the Daniels' brothers were at their cottage on the shores of Popham Bay.
****
Brighton Ontario
At the Dixie Lee Chicken Place.
Two days before Button Day
Laura Singer came into the Dixie Lee about four in the afternoon, just as Jag had paid for a coffee. He noticed her, but pretended it was more in the way cops keep their eyes open at all times than anything else.
But as they got closer, she looked him in the eye and said, “I’ve got a question for you.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll be over there.” He pointed at a table in the far corner.
She brought a small combo pack with a Pepsi to the table. They sat in silence for a moment, as she opened the chicken. She offered a piece, but he shook his head. “That stuff’ll kill an old guy like me.”
“I should think the coffee here would do that quicker.”
“A cop gets used to most anything. And for some reason this place is popular with people who the long arm of the law should keep an eye on. Don’t know why.”
“I like that picture,” she said. “An arm with an eye.” He said nothing, so she added, “How would I get to High Bluff Island?”
“There’s no boat rental places around,” he said. “You’d have to rent a kayak or canoe in Belleville and bring it here.”
“Found that out already. That’s why I’m asking you.”
“Well then, I guess you already know it’s a protected area” – he held up a hand when she started to say something – “but you’d already know that the protected season’s over.”
She nodded.
“I didn’t grow up here, but I understand that people used to go there looking for old man Daigen's treasure. Then it was mostly kids going there for adventure. Often as not, a boy and girl or a couple of very close boy friends. Must have found something,” he added. “People said they came back smiling.” He shook his head. “But I haven’t answered your question, have I?” Laura said nothing.
“I can try to find someone who’ll rent you a boat or a canoe big enough; the waters can get choppy sometimes and you don’t want a small canoe. Or,” he said, shifting a bit in his seat, “I can borrow my neighbor’s big Coleman canoe and paddle you out there. Tomorrow or the day after, for example. The weather’s warm and the winds should be down, so it shouldn’t be all that hard. We’d have watch the winds though.” He looked at the young redhead behind the counter serving a dude who looked like a man you wouldn’t want to deal with.
“Would we run into young couples looking for treasures?”
“Not in September, on a school day. Besides, young couples probably have better ways of getting it off.” He watched the dude take his box of chicken to an outside picnic table. The dude watched Jag out of the corner of his eye.
“Sounds like a plan,” Laura said. “How about tomorrow. What time can you pick me up? I presume you know I’m staying at the Lasenby cottage on the bay.”
Jag nodded. “Ten a.m. good enough?”
“Sounds fine.” She got up and left without looking back. A half hour later she'd found the Lasenby cottage on the edge of the bay, found the key hidden under the mat, and opened the door to have a look at the place she planned to spend the next week. Not far away, at the cottage next door, two middle-aged men were sitting on the deck at the back. Laura figured she might as well go over and introduce herself.
****
Toronto, at a downtown park
The park is on church property, and is frequented by the homeless.
Two days before Button Day, a little less warm
"Hello body that goes by the name of Al something-or-other," Tom said. "Might I sit down?"
The guy sitting under the tree smiled, and his eyes came into focus. "Hey, I remember you. Tom Barrents." He offered a paper bag. "Care for a drink?"
Tom inspected the contents. This time it was Pusser's rum. "Kind of a pricey drink for a bum," isn't it?" He settled himself next to Al in the mid-morning sunshine. A couple of orange maple leaves dropped onto his lap and he brushed them off.
"Al," said Al, "is celebrating. He's getting drunk on good booze."
"Okay." Tom, having taken his meds, had to be okay with most things, although his difficulty in formulating a complete response to Al was getting him annoyed, and taking the edge off his peacefulness. He said, "Why?"<
br />
"I'm going home!" Al giggled, and reached into a large duffle bag that had seen better days. He came out with another paper bag.
Tom opened it enough to see a plastic mickey of 40 Creek Whiskey. "Home?"
"To the stars! To my home planet! Way up there!"
Tom's mind didn't work very fast these days, but this whole scenario wasn't all that far from the delusions he'd had when he wasn't on his meds. He pursed his lips and tried to think. A couple of tourists came by, one of them pretending to talk on a cell phone but actually taking a picture of the two men under a tree. Tom closed his eyes. Were people spying on him? That had been another of his delusions. Yet here he was, having that morning taken every goddamn pill they prescribed him, and it sure looked like he was talking to a space alien disguised as a human while innocent-looking passers-by secretly took his picture.
God, he thought. If Jasna Jones finds out about this, it's either more pills or the loony bin for sure. He opened the bottle and took a drink. "But what about your study?" he asked Al, who was having trouble focusing his eyes. "You said you were doing a study of humanity."
"Study, shmuddy! I made that up. It was only to keep me busy until someone let me get the hell off this miserable water-soaked ball of mud! Now I can leave!" Al took a chew of a bunch of greens from his coat pocket, then sucked back another sip of rum. He offered the greens to Tom. "Cilantro," he said. "You guys might be able to export it some day."
"If you can leave, then why are you sitting here?" Tom noticed that a couple of the local bums – or maybe secret agents from a hidden Bilderberger Special Forces group – were shuffling towards them.
"It'll take a few days to get the ship ready. A few lucky or unlucky days."
"Say," said a voice above them, "you wouldn't be able to spare a sip of that, would you, Al?"
They looked up. A guy with dark hair, a coat that needed replacing, and a face that needed shaving, looked down at them.
"Peter!" Al reached into the duffle bag and took out another paper bag. He handed it to Peter. "Here. All yours."
Peter took it, looked into the bag, then, looked around. "For me?"
"All for you. There's room on the grass, if you want to join us"
"No." Peter shook his head. "If I pass out or something, I want it to be in my room. Thanks, man." He headed off, a spring in his step. At the edge of Church Street, he paused as he passed another man, and pointed back towards Al.
"We might be getting company," Tom observed, taking another sip from his bottle.
"That's okay."
"You drunk yet?"
"Al is," Al said. "Stuff doesn't do much for me, though."
For a minute they were alone. More leaves fell. Then another guy, this one looking much better than Peter, with a good set of shoes and a new jacket, walked up to them.
Al looked up. "Johnny," he said. "You're an asshole. Here, have a bottle."
Johnny was just starting to turn red when he checked the bag and inspected the bottle. He removed the cap and sniffed. Then he smiled. "Al," he said, "some days I'm happy to be an asshole. This asshole thanks you." He looked around. "Watch for the cops, now." And he was gone.
"Let's go." Al got up, unsteadily, and Tom followed.
For the next hour, they meandered the streets east of Yonge, Al moving less steadily than Tom. Eventually, Al gave away fifteen bottles in paper bags, and, to one short man, a small additional bag.
"If you're leaving the planet," Tom asked, "can't you afford bigger bottles?"
"They deserve more, but you can't give them too much at once."
"Oh." That made sense. "What was in the little bag?"
"Couple of diamonds." Al looked at Tom. "Brian'll know what to do with them."
"Aren't you being a bit generous?"
"Emeralds and rubies used to be worth a king's ransom. Pearls used to be even more valuable."
Tom thought about it for a bit. "You mean things get cheaper for someone who knows where to get them in bulk."
"In space, a diamond the size of a walnut will get you a couple of carrots and a can of Bud Light. They're everywhere."
"You get Bud Light up there?"
"Yeah, but we make our own. A couple of species like the stuff." They kept walking. "You still with me?"
Tom stopped. "I guess I was. Well, thanks for the entertainment."
"No problem. Don't tell anybody for a week." Al looked around. "And don't buy any lakeshore property around here, just in case."
Tom watched him walk away. Lakeshore property? Was there a problem with property around Lake Ontario? Tom remembered that his cousin Laura said she was spending time at a cottage on the lake, in Brighton. Maybe he could call her.
But not till after he visited Pine Lake. It had been more than a year since a helicopter had taken him away from the place he'd spent more than a year hiding in the woods. That was in his pre-medication days, when his mind was good at thinking, even if it was thinking the wrong things most of the time. By late afternoon he had a rental canoe on top of a rental car, and was heading for the lakes north of Peterborough.
****
Toronto
In a large office building in Scarborough
Two days before Button Day
From: jajones
To:
[email protected] Subject: Re: Case YJ9903 Tom Barrents
Hi, Laura:
Thanks for getting back to me so quickly about your cousin Tom Barrents.
While I agree with you that his last analysis showed decidedly antisocial tendencies, we must remember that that analysis was done two years ago and by someone he really didn’t like. (Not of course that he likes many people anyway.)
He's been good about staying on his medications, although I must agree with you that they rather diminish his intellectual and emotional capacities – it's certain that he'll never go back to teaching philosophy, even to first-year students.
On the other hand, if the alternative is hiding in the bush north of Peterborough, convinced that sinister entities are out to kill him, I'd vote for the meds. He's getting too old to survive an experience like that again.
Still, even if he's bitter about a lot of things, I can't see adding any further medications to his list to make him more amenable to his current situation.
In the absence of any possibility of getting Mr. Barrents’ cooperation with any true testing, I think it’s better to go with a (slightly modified) version of the Metcalfe Observational Methodology for the time being. I don’t think that Mr. Barrents presents any current danger to society. He’s directed his anger and frustration at God rather than man, and tolerates verbal and physical abuse from people remarkably well. It’s only God he has issues with, and short of The Deity showing up in this end of Toronto, I don’t see much probability that he’ll cause any damage.
You might think that he’d burn churches or something like that, but instead he regards them as deluded rather than dangerous, run by people rather than housing God, so he ignores them.
With your permission, I’ll keep him under observation for a while longer (assuming he stays in Toronto) before we make any decisions, A summarized copy of the MO Methodology-based observations is attached.
Jasna
****
Carrying Place, Ontario
The main intersection in the community
Two days before Button Day
Both Jag and Cope were ten minutes early to Carrying Place. They met in the parking lot of George's Fish and Chips, since neither of them had specified exactly where in downtown Carrying Place to meet. Jag rolled down the window in the police car, as did Cope in his rented Impala. "There's this place, and The Mason Jar," Jag said. "It's just over there."
Cope looked at the sky. George's was mostly picnic tables, and there was a cool wind blowing dark clouds across the skies. "The Mason Jar sounds fine," Cope said.
They parked in the gravel lot and walked in. Peggy waved them to the almost empty room. "
Anyplace you want," she said. "I'll be right with you. She handed a menu to each of them and went into the kitchen.
"Well," Cope said. "I see they've got something called 'The Whole 9 Yards' if you're hungry. And they serve it for lunch, too. 4 eggs, 3 bacon, 3 sausages, 1 ham, 1 peameal, homefries, 1 pancake, toast and coffee."
Jag read it. "I've never ordered it. Jesus, man. If Afghanistan didn't kill me, that would. Maybe I'll just get a BLT. What about you?"
"I'll have their chili, I think. How is it?"
"It's actually very good, but I've got a date tonight, and I think I'll avoid the beans right now."
Cope looked up at Jag. "A date? You're seeing women again? I'd have thought Tammy would have put you off that species for life. Must be someone you arrested."
"Thought so, too, for a while, but she seems nice. Interesting, anyway." He looked up as Peggy came."
"Sorry," she said. "Can I get you guys a coffee?"
Jag nodded, but Cope said, "Just some white milk for me. And we're ready to order."
While waiting for the food they caught up on details of each other's life. "Heard you and Tammy split up," Cope said.
Jag just nodded. "After the Toronto thing." He shrugged. Maybe she'll come back."
"The kids still speaking to you?"
"Sure. They're just trying to stay neutral in case we suddenly see the light. You still married?"
"Oh yeah. Haven't strangled each other yet, but Paula's taking care of my daughter's two boys; they're four and seven, and they've still got a lot more energy than we can deal with at our age."
Jag raised his eyebrows.
"My daughter," Cope said, "is running through a few personal problems right now. Paula offered to take the boys for a month or two. She's having a tough time of it. She was working as a consultant part time, but she's put that on hold and wearing herself down."
"Well, if this is a vacation, it's probably a good place to have one. Not much happens in Brighton, compared with most places."
"Paula's just too uptight for a couple of kids at her age. She's trying to control them too much. You can't keep an immaculate house with a couple of boys that age. She loves them, but they're boys, after all." He paused. "The seven-year-old cries a lot most nights."
"Can't get her to relax?"
"She's a woman with a daughter she worries about. Can't do anything about the daughter, so she's hoping that if she sets and example and controls the house, the rest of the universe will take the hint and straighten itself out."