Chapter Two #2
A soft, melodic female AI voice came from the television, "Thomas, would you like me to play the latest Volardi news update?"
Dad perked up; his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Now we're getting somewhere! Let's hear what the talking heads have to say."
"Sure."
The giant TV screen instantly flickered to life, with a dignified older lady with short, brown hair and the crystal ship behind her, still gleaming under the clouds and over the late afternoon LA skyline.
Video snippets showed similar ships. One over Big Ben in nighttime London, another framed against the lit-up Eiffel Tower, and in early morning Moscow, colorful onion-shaped buildings laid under floating crystal.
"This afternoon, an extraterrestrial empire made its first official contact with Earth, announcing an unprecedented offer: advanced technology in exchange for a partnership aimed at saving their species.
Representatives have confirmed that the Volardi's genetic compatibility with Earth citizens, specifically gay men, makes this arrangement both necessary and mutually beneficial. "
"Well damn, it's true," my dad shot me a look.
"Bipeds," said Chase. "They have to be."
My heart dropped as a familiar name flashed across the screen. A photo showed my friend in a silver superhero pulp outfit from his old television show and the recent popular revival. All this from one show.
"Brandon Ward, Hollywood actor and one of the few to have previous contact with our alien visitors, has been instrumental in facilitating this agreement."
Oh hell. I kept my eyes forward as piercing gazes bore into me.
"His connections with the Empire have been crucial in securing their promise to respect Earth's sovereignty and the voluntary nature of this partnership. Sources close to Brandon have revealed other Humans also secretly working with the extraterrestrials."
No, no, no, no, no... My throat went dry as I imagined my photo coming up soon.
A picture of an older, Caucasian man in his fifties with salt and pepper hair and black glasses appeared. "Screenwriter Parker Stephens for one."
Then a photo of Cindy Collins, an older African American woman in her fifties, but looking mid-thirties at most and pretty enough to be a model. "Mister Ward's agent."
Next came an older man with a full, round face, which I always described as 'British.' Like Parker, he had glasses, and thanks to Alen, he was no longer in a hospital bed, living via feeding and breathing tubes. "Maurice Williams, the current Doctor on the long-running BBC show."
To my side, I heard "What the hell?"
A photo came of a tall, smiling man with feathered blond hair, a puka shell necklace, and an open Hawaiian shirt. "CEO of Volardi Enterprises, Ryan Walters."
"Guess CEOs don't need dress codes," Wyatt muttered, partly impressed and equally confused since he was glaring at me.
People call me 'surfer' but Ryan fit the stereotype, mainly because he was one and originally living out of a van. He was the only one chill enough to accept Alen right away when he arrived. Repurposed extraterrestrial tech meant a variety of 'inventions' and people willing to pay for them.
So far, nobody asked, but they had to have put it together in their mind.
Oh hell, here it comes.
"Minor background actor, struggling musician—"
Struggling? Maybe, but still.
"—and best friend to Brandon Ward." They used a modeling photo with me on the beach, a light blue long-sleeved shirt opened to showcase my muscles, and white pants tugged just down enough to show off my 'V'.
Chase stared at the screen, voice low, "I thought it had to be a mistake. No other explanation was feasible, but it is your friend."
A screenshot came of me in costume, dressed as an '80s punk in Brandon's superhero show.
The photo then faded into one with Brandon and Alen together.
My friend had mussed-up short brown hair and was leaning against a tree, smiling.
Alen stood towering over him with spots of light glittering through the trees and landing on his tanned skin.
His thick, dark, wavy hair stopped above his shoulders.
What stood out was a violet stripe of hair on the right side and the purple eyes I once convinced myself were a weird blue. Obviously not.
The news reporter announced their names again and Alen's alien nature as Dad rose and gently turned my face toward him. "Tommy? Look at me, son. You got something to share?"
I softly chuckled, "I do now."
Joel was the first to speak, "Now? Wait, what? You knew about aliens?" His voice rose. Wyatt sat up straighter, his mouth opening in shock. "Dude, are you serious?" Chase held up a hand and pushed his glasses up before studying me. "Hold on. Give him a chance to explain."
Years of practice and a musician's ear let me keep the conversations separate.
I rubbed the back of my neck. "It's not like that," I started, but my voice cracked, "I mean, yeah, I knew, but it wasn't my secret to tell."
Joel leaned forward, his blue-eyed gaze sharp as if I had slapped him across the face.
"Not your secret? Are you kidding me? They're talking about taking people to breed like cattle!
People like you! Like Becky Lannister's brother back home, and you didn't think your community should know about this? What about them?"
There was no answer or time for a retort. The news cut to a breaking story out of Russia. The House AI translated the local broadcast into English, but there was no need. Anyone could recognize the thick nuclear missile skyrocketing across the sky and headed straight for the white Volardi ship.
***