WASHINGTON E.T. Jack Ells Copyright © 2020 Jack Ells All rights reserved. ISBN: ISBN-13: Authors, roughly in order of appearance A. D. Jameson Aaron Gulyas Adam Lewis Smith Adam Tapley AJB Alena Harrold Alex Fauth Alex Vidacs Alice Nuttall Amanda Martyn Amber J Amber Strong Andrew Milne Andy Morris Arthur Boff Bethany Lewis Blake/Moviegique Bob Priestley Brad Wheeler Braeden Grant Brent Cockerham Brett Padelford Brian Koser Brian pukey Brian Rogoski Bridget K Brion Kendo Bryan "B-Wick" Carey Daniels Charlie Oliver Iwicki Chris Arguin Chris Powell Chris Swindell Chris Weixelman Christian Christiane Merritt Christinia Crippes Christopher Port Cliff Conn Conor Lastowka Curtis Evans Dan Defenbaugh Dan Gerard Dan Giacobbe Daniel Bisgaard Daniel Laird Danielle Povlock Danny Davis David Clair Deanna Mallard Devin Tuffy Don Whipkey Donald & Michael Doug Clinton Dustin Siggelkow Johansson Dylan Ed Brown Edd Hannay Egg Anderson Elizabeth Foote Emily Brown Emma Schroeder Erik Flowers Erik Rives Fredrik Holmar George Allen Gina Dalfonzo Graham Bradley Heather Crocetto Heather N Thomas Heather Izzy Dell Jacob Reed Zimmerman Jake Westbrook James James Elfers James Vitale Jami Woodworth Janelle Scinta Jeff Moore Jennifer Stolzer Jennifer Tomich Jenny Schuster Jens Dietrich Jerry Evanoff Jesse Gillespie Jessica Lachewitz Jim Gregory Jim Shepherd Joe Merkley Joe Talledo Joel Smith John Griffin Jori Palomäki Josh Moore Joshua J. Slone Justine C. Kathrene Kelly Long Kelsey Stark Kerry J Stanley Kevin Murphy Kyl Kyp Maher Lene Taylor Lorne Kates Lucas Neumeyer Lynn Motes Marie Mark Burger Mark Fink Mark Thornburg Marques Johnson Mathias Stanfield Matt Hansen Matt Nelson Matt Paulson Max Max Bennett-Parker Megan Figuly Melissa Koser Michael "moop" Michael J Coello MIchael Lehrer Haymore Michael Ober Mike Nelson Mike Suhr Mike Wasson Mike Welham Mikel Truman Milo Price Mr. F Nathan Filizzi Nick Nick Donald Noah Satern Nolan Harris Patricia Patrick Kelley Paul Steadman Peter L Peter Vanmaasdam Phillip J Pearson Raymond Doyle Rebecca Bossie Reed Richard Leavelle Rob Broughton Ruth Tomandl Sarah Goldstein Scott Stefanski Seth Sham bam bamina! Sharon Roseberry Skylar L. Primm Slam Dunk Steve Suzie Baunsgard Taylor Conner Theodore Lehman Thomas Akagi Thomas Reynolds Thomas Throop Tim Tom Harrod Trapper Jeff, MD Trys Victor Lams Wade Brown Wesley Teal Whitney Will Keightley Zach Dedicated to Mike and Conor 1 Zhravelle was worried. The High Council had not convened as a whole since the Nitrogen Wars of -1312. Yet there it was, the Signal Orb on his sleeping chamber wall, blinking bright amber. “Report,” Zhravelle commanded. “You are needed”, the metallic voice replied. “Whe -”, he started to ask, but the voice cut him off. “Immediately.” Zhravelle sighed heavily and passed a hand over his face. He’d had way too much fun last night, staying up past the third moon, drinking way too much Galdum, and what was the name of the Paltracian female? It didn’t matter. He’d never remember. Anymore than he’d ever forget… Zhravelle made a guttural noise and hoisted himself off his sleeping platform. He threw a snack to Varl, who scuttered across the floor and gobbled it up with his mouth parts, then he tossed back a warm, half-glass of Galdum and said to no one, “It’s gonna be a hell of a day.” * * * Juggling a cellphone, two half-caf lattes and a cinnamon bagel was no easy task, but Stefanie Fleece was doing it with all the poise of a ballerina as she exited the Lincoln Towncar that brought her to work each morning. Beautiful, smart as a whip, and just a little bit scatterbrained, Stefanie had quickly outpaced the interns who worked alongside her doing whatever menial task was handed to them by the Senator’s chief of staff. Kiss ass! The words of that pudgy, moon-faced boy from -- what was it, Oklahoma? -- still echoed in her ears. Stefanie shook it off, said goodbye to her driver and hustled toward her office on Pennsylvania avenue. She’d show him. She’d show them all. And then, unbidden, that bitter voice in her own head, the one she’d tried so hard to shake: “It’s wrong what they did to you, papa! But I’ll make it right. You’ll see, daddy!” She brushed away a single tear with the slender finger of her elegant deerskin glove, narrowed her eyes and got on with her day. * * * 1 Meanwhile, 1122 miles away, in the icy burg called “Minneapolis,” three men were hunched over a table in a brewpub, sipping hazy IPAs. The scraggliest member of the trio drained the remainder of his glass and set it down. “Much obliged for the brews, muchachos, but you two still owe me big time. You came this close to blowing my cover with your frickin’ podcast. Do you know how much caca would hit the fan if people realized I’m the High Council’s top spy on Earth?” For the umpteenth time, the other two men apologized. “Conor and I can’t state how sorry we are,” said Mike, taking out of his pocket a can of tinned fish and, prying it open, offering his unkempt companion a selection. The tousled fellow gratefully accepted, dangling his head back to gulp down the anchovy. Licking stray beads of olive oil from his mustache, he continued. “Just remember that no one can know my Bob Honey novels are coded reports to the Big Enchiladas. You think I like alliteration?” Conor ruefully hung his head. “To think we almost helped the Loonians get a new nitrogen megadeath ray.” “That’s OK,” said the author/actor/spy, lighting up a cigarette despite the indoor smoking ban. “I just had a brainwave about how to set the whole mess straight. You hombres can write a new novel for me.” Mike and Conor choked, spraying mouthfuls of beer across the table. “A novel? But—we’re busy! We don’t have the time—” “Then have those jackals who listen to you write it instead!” shouted the wiry, intense man, dabbing droplets of ale from his rumpled suit. “The damn thing won’t have to make any sense! Indeed, it’s better if it doesn’t. All that matters is that it contain the following code…” 2 2 Stefanie barreled into the office with the ferocity of a lion while maintaining her dancer-like grace. Setting her coffees and bagel on her desk, she noticed a presence behind her. Turning, she saw it was Tim, perhaps the most dimwitted of her fellow interns. “Hey Steph, how’s it goin’?” Stefanie was assaulted by a veritable wall of scent from Tim’s body-spray. Fighting the urge to collapse into a coughing fit, she struggled to respond. “Fine, Tim. What do you need?” She hoped he didn’t need anything, but idiots like Tim always needed something. He didn’t realize how difficult things already were for her; how difficult it was just to get through the day, sometimes. “Oh, nothing. Nothing really. Except, I was wondering. Do you think Senator Byrd likes me? I mean, I don’t care really, except for the fact that the last time he was through the office, he said something weird while walking by me. It sounded like, ‘Don’t leak, dammit!’ Do you think he considers me a security risk?” Stefanie stared at him. Tim was dim, no two ways about it, but this sounded like pure babble. “I have no idea what that even means, Tim. Why would anyone think you’re a security risk? You don’t know anything!” She was getting exasperated. To have to deal with this on today of all days. “Oh yeah!” Tim said, brightening, “I don’t know anything, do I? Thanks Stefanie. You’re the smartest one in this office, I don’t care what Bob says. I mean, you must have learned a lot from your dad—“ He stopped suddenly as Stefanie’s face turned bright red. It took all she had to not kick Tim into unconsciousness. “Never talk about him. Never.” She turned—violently, but elegantly--on her heel and stormed off. * * * Am I dead? The question circled through Varl’s mind. A fall like that would have killed any lesser being – twenty-thousand feet, even in ultra-compressed time-space, was still twenty- thousand feet. If this was paradise, though, it wasn’t one he recognised from any mythology… ‘Sir, could you please get up? People can’t get to the counter.’ He took the earthling’s hand, exercising all his restraint not to crush it like a small animal. A human, giving him instructions! Didn’t he know that giving orders to a superior being was punishable by death? That one flex of Varl’s hubristic nerve would trigger his Blardraxian war 3 nostrils, firing off enough electrified plasma to melt a walrus? ‘Of course they wouldn’t, Varl. Humans don’t have war nostrils. You’re trying to blend in, remember?’ His trainer’s voice buzzed in his memory. Stupid Debra, Varl thought as he clambered to his feet. He knew what he was doing. His new body had sustained no damage, his surroundings were intact, and for once no casualties – all in all, a successful teleport. Or was it? He had landed in some sort of feeding establishment, thronged with sweaty, muttering humans who seemed more bemused than surprised by his sudden appearance. The air was thick with bovine grease and some herbal note he couldn’t quite identify. ‘You there,’ he growled to his helper, ‘where am I?’ The human gestured to the emblem on his lapel: a single white turret emblazoned with what loosely translated to… a ha! A smile crept across Varl’s lips.