IN PEACE (Original Draft) (Patreon)

In Peace is a concept I've had for some good old-fashioned sex comedy. Think of it as the X-Files, or Buzzfeed Unsolved, but with gay sex. I submitted a more complete version of this to an anthology, but it seemed fun to share the original here.

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Ozzy had been waiting for this moment his entire adult life. Everyone knew about Roswell and Area 51, and some people knew about Point Pleasant, West Virginia and Aurora, Texas.

But almost nobody had heard of Andromeda Springs, Colorado. The scant reports that did exist claimed that close encounters of all kinds were extremely common, that something about the land or the forest or the atmosphere drew extrasolar beings to this backwater town, and that many people who went to investigate never came back.

So naturally Ozzy had planned a trip there as soon as he could. The drive from Lubbock had been quite long indeed, but it did offer him many nights of quiet stargazing and time to formulate a detailed plan. When he saw the signage on the horizon he nearly couldn’t contain his excitement. 

The sign itself was pitch-black and circular, with ‘Welcome to Andromeda’ and several twinkling stars added on in polished chrome. As he drove past it, he saw a little mannequin modified to look like a bug-eyed grey alien peer from behind the sign.

The town itself didn’t look particularly noteworthy in any way; whatever resource had made its money had long since dried up, leaving only the brittle shell of society for people to crawl over and consume like so many woodlice in a rotting log. The streets weren’t busy, but the sidewalks seemed surprisingly densely populated for a town with less than 20,000 people.

He stopped at a crosswalk to let a little girl in a pink tutu pass, and she gave him a little wave and a smile, which he returned. After that, he noticed that lots of people were waving at him as he passed, or flashing quick smiles, or both. He wasn’t sure what that meant, if it meant anything at all.

His first stop was the hotel he had pre-booked, one of the only in Andromeda. It was a local chain, apparently, called MW. He couldn’t find out what it stood for though, just MW. There were less than ten cars in the little parking lot, and Ozzy was suddenly struck by the feeling that he was very alone in a very unfamiliar place. He pushed the feeling down, parked, and went inside.

The hotel also didn’t look particularly special. The concierge was slumped in a desk chair, fiddling with a laptop computer as Ozzy approached. Ozzy cleared his throat. The receptionist didn’t move, but his dark eyes did look up to meet Ozzy’s. His bald head reflected enough of the screen to tell Ozzy he was watching something on YouTube instead of working.

“Can I help you?” he asked, in a tone that suggested he really, really wanted the answer to be ‘no’.

“Yes,” Ozzy said, “I reserved a room here a few days ago. It’s all pre-paid. Should be under Ozymandias S. The passcode was 1337, I believe.”

“Ah, yes,” the receptionist said, glancing at a paper notepad. “I’ll be honest, I thought that was a prank.” With minimal repositioning, he fished out a keycard and passed it to Ozzy. “You’ll be in room five-one. The wi-fi password is ‘Nostromo’. Have a wonderful stay in the Milky Way.” The final sentence dripped with venom.

“That’s funny,” Ozzy said. “Like area 51.”

The receptionist moved his head for the first time, tilting it in confusion. “Like what?”

“Like, the base in Nevada where they keep alien technology. 51, five-one.”

The receptionist blinked. “I’ll be honest, I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about. I’m glad you find it amusing, though, I guess.” He returned to staring at his laptop.

Ozzy decided to leave before things got even more awkward. There were no caddies that he could find, so he had to take several trips to bring all of his luggage to his room. By the time he had brought up the fifth and final one, he was exhausted, and collapsed onto the bed with a sigh. Despite how tired he felt, his mind was racing with excitement. He was here! Really here!

He made a mental list of everything he needed to do: soil samples and eyewitness accounts and newspaper clippings. Maybe he would drive out into the desert and stargaze.

…

Funny. This one is too curious for its own good. Not as clever as he thinks he is.

Deploy the harvester, but do not reveal anything yet. The timing must be perfect.

Perhaps this is what we have been waiting for.

Perhaps it is not and you are too presumptuous.

Why do you always have to make things personal?

…Sorry, dear.

…

Ozzy didn’t realize that he had fallen asleep until he woke up. He checked his phone—how was it six already? He couldn’t afford to waste any more time, is what he thought before his stomach growled. He realized he hadn’t eaten anything since the granola bars he had eaten for breakfast. Maybe a little more time could be wasted.

Ozzy plugged into the wi-fi and searched for somewhere nearby to eat. Thankfully there was a little diner within walking distance: Blue Moon. He stretched and made his way out of the hotel and down the street. Andromeda Springs was situated right between the desert and low forest, and the woods flanked him. He wondered if there was anything worth checking out in there, but a pang of hunger forced him to abandon that train of thought.

Blue Moon was the most obviously strange thing he’d seen in Andromeda Springs, though it was still within the limits of small-town-quirky.

The neon sign depicted a ringed planet, not a moon, and in front of the entrance a statue of a three-eyed jellyfish held three plates like a waiter; one held a rock painted to look like a hamburger, one held a grilled thing-that-was-not-quite-a-fish with a side of sliced things-that-were-too-blue-to-be-lemons, also probably made of rock, and the third held a shiny bronze cube about six inches on each side. One of the jellyfish’s eyes was winking, or possibly just chipped off. Ozzy snapped a picture of the sculpture before entering.

The diner continued the theme of mundane weirdness on the inside; many diners had framed posters on every wall, but they were usually not all for schlocky black and white monster movies or the covers of pulp science fiction magazines older than Ozzy’s parents. In a rotating display sat cookies colored like planets and pies with galaxy-shaped crusts.

A laminated note hanging from the front desk said to seat yourself in both English and what Ozzy suspected was Klingon.

Ozzy grabbed a laminated menu and sat down on a cushioned stool on the bar, which appeared to display the surface of the moon and glowed faintly. He waited for a few minutes, and was about to ask if anyone was actually here when a young man in an apron busted out of the kitchen, slammed into the bar, and fell halfway onto it. He groaned softly.

“Sorry for the holdup, the damn dishwasher was on a smoke break.” The waiter said in a familiarly dour voice. He stood back up, and as Ozzy suspected it was the concierge from the hotel again, though he now bore a nametag designating him ‘Basil’.

“It’s… fine.” Ozzy said. “Are you okay?”

“Hm?” Basil looked down at himself as if just noticing that he had taken such a tumble. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Happens all the time. Can I take your order?”

Ozzy noticed that Basil was much more animated than before; still below average but nowhere near as glacial as he had been at the hotel. “Do you have a vegetarian menu?”

Basil shrugged a bit. “Technically, no. But no animals were harmed in the process of making our burgers and steaks and shit.”

Ozzy cocked his head. “Like… lab-grown meat? All the way out here?”

“Sure, yeah. Lab-grown.” Basil looked away. “Anyways, tonight’s special does happen to be baked potato soup, if you’re that opposed to flesh.”

“I’ll take that, thanks.” Ozzy said. “And do you have iced tea? Can I get that half and half with lemonade?”

“I don’t see why not.” Basil said, then sauntered back into the kitchen.

Ozzy waited in silence for a few minutes. Basil returned with a glass of what was presumably the Arnold Palmer and set it down on the counter.

“Crazy question, but you’re not, like, following me, are you?” He asked, a twinge of anxiety mixing into his unfazed facade. “Nothing personal, but this place attracts some real weirdos sometimes.”

Ozzy smiled reassuringly as he grabbed his drink. “I honestly didn’t know you would be here. Are you the only waiter right now? For the dinner rush?”

“You are the dinner rush, space cadet.” Basil replied. “But this place basically runs itself anyhow.”

“The hotel too?” Ozzy prompted.

“It requires a bit more attention but basically, yeah. This place ain’t exactly a tourist trap.” Basil said.

“I’m surprised to hear that, with its reputation.” Ozzy quipped.

Basil’s expression darkened slightly. “Reputation ain’t everything, space cadet.”

There was the sound of a timer going off in the kitchen, and Basil turned towards where it had come from.

“That’ll be the special,” Basil said as he disappeared from view. His tone was a little less warm than before.

The baked potato soup was very generously portioned; the bowl barely fit on a dinner plate and was probably taller than some cups. Ozzy stared at it.

“It’s supposed to come with bacon but I left that out,” Basil said in a tone that suggested that this was a particularly notable thing for him to do. “You’re welcome.” Without another word he disappeared back into the kitchen.

Ozzy had to force himself to take his time; it was excellent and he was starving, but he didn’t want to tire himself out before he could get any actual work done. Still, before he knew it he had finished it and was again left alone with nothing to do.

“You can just go!” Basil shouted from somewhere in the kitchen. “I’m closing up anyway, so it’s whatever.”

Ozzy thought about objecting but decided not to pester this poor man any further. He only realized later that not only had he not paid, but the menu didn’t list any prices at all.