"We really need to work on our communication skills," I say, sitting on a compact couch inside a mobile trailer that's locked from the outside.

There are no windows, except for a small mailbox-style slit with a flap at eye level on the same wall as the fold out bed. This trailer I'm in, I was told earlier while being escorted here by three armed guards, is specifically designed to calm down “rabble rousers, fanatics, and sneaky government types.”

“Speak for yourself. I did great!” says Xeno. “You’re the one who screwed it all up.”

I hear sounds outside and flip open the mail slot. It's dark, still night, but I can tell a group of people are unloading something from a semi truck that just pulled in. Looks like new supplies: gasoline, medical, water, food, etc.

“Can you chew through that door lock already?” I say. “We’ve been in here a good ten minutes now, I’m sure I can sneak out without—”

“I don’t think so,” says Xeno.

“Why? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, Jack. I just think it would do you some good to sit here for a minute and think, instead of rushing into some other half baked plan.”

“Come on, Xeno. I’m getting deja vu. I hate being locked up.”

“Calm down and look around. We have a whole trailer all to ourselves. It’s got running water, lights, and a bed. Where else are you going to find that right now? The crystal will be there tomorrow.”

I drop my head and sigh. I am exhausted, and he’s right. I had stumbled into something convenient by accident. Might as well take advantage of it.

“I guess we’ll wait to see what happens in the morning,” I say. “Where’s Gus?”

“I have no idea, but I think he’s with that blonde chick now.”

I snort a laugh. “Traitor.”

—•—•—•—

I hear hinges squeal and warm light hit my eyelids.

They flutter open.

“Good morning, Sunshine,” says a voice at the far end of the trailer.

I hear boots on metal. The trailer rocks gently as three men step up inside.

Why is it so hot in here?

I sit up, cover my eyes with my forearm.

“Breakfast is bacon, bacon, and … more bacon. That’s all we could get from the suppliers last night.”

“Good thing I like bacon,” I say.

“Good thing," says the man, taking a few strips of bacon off my plate, wiggling them at me, then stuffing them into his mouth before turning to exit the trailer.

The second guy, who’s holding an AK, slams a bottle of water down on the table, frowns at me, then turns and walks out.

“He seems like a friendly fellow,” says Xeno.

The third guy, a younger man—maybe sixteen—sets something else on the table. It looks like a small plastic box.

“Brought you a bluetooth speaker to hear the Revered Doctor’s morning address.”

“That’s mighty kind of you,” I say, imitating a southern drawl for no reason.

“We all need the word of God,” he says. “We’re all sinners.”

I point at him, nod. “That we are.”

He sniffs, grips his AK, then turns and steps out, leaving me in complete darkness.

I wait until I hear the door outside lock before getting up and switching on the lights. However, the power to my trailer isn’t working. Most likely, the energy being used to generate lights and air conditioning inside my trailer was reallocated to somewhere else during the night.

I’m not surprised.

No wonder I’m sweating.

I lift up the window flap thing for some fresh air. “Xeno, hold this open for me while I eat, will ya?”

“What am I, you’re butler now?”

“I’m not like you, I can’t see in the dark. So unless you want me to trip and crack my head open while I’m trying to sniff out bacon—”

This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

“Alright, alright,” says the alien, slithering out of my hand. His little toothy mouth clamps onto the flap and props it open. With my arm extended, I walk over to the plate of goodness. The light is positioned perfectly so that a beam is shining right on it.

Heavenly Bacon.

I bring the plate back over to the bed and Xeno snaps back in.

“Mmm, oh my … this is good. Oh, gah, I can’t remember the last time I ate something this delicious.” I toss a couple more strips into my mouth. “Times like these, mmm, I wish you had taste buds, buddy,” I say. “You think language is exciting? Nothing,” I say, swallowing. “Nothing compares to a plate full of bacon.”

“Anchovies,” says Xeno.

I swallow the last bit of food and say, “what?”

“Anchovies.”

“The little fish?”

“Not the fish, just the word. That’s better than bacon.”

I cringe. “What are you talking about?”

“It’s such a beautiful word. I could say it over and over again and never get tired of it. Anchovies. An … cho …viezzz.”

I suddenly have this image in my head of the xenomorph from the movie Alien dropping anchovies down its gullet and licking its lips. Which makes me think of something else.

“Xeno,” I say.

“Ancho—what?”

“You got me thinking. And don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s something important I’ve been meaning to.”

“For the last time, Jack, I do not want to taste your disgusting bacon, or put my lips on anything that—”

“No, listen. It’s not about that. It’s about … well, it’s about trust.

“Uh, okay?”

“Okay. I believe I’m sending people to a better place. I trust you on that.”

“I sense a ‘but’ coming up soon.”

“But …” I say.

“There it is.”

“How can I convince others I’m not sending them into some, I don’t know, some giant alien monster’s gaping maw or whatever, like the Sarlacc from Star Wars?”

“The Sarlacc … from Star—”

“You know, the thing. The huge mouth with tentacles and teeth in the sand from Return of the Jedi—”

“I know what the Sarlacc is, Jack. Remember, I’m in your brain. My personality is literally based on your experiences and thoughts.”

“My point is, how can I convince others you are telling the truth? There, that’s what I’m trying to say.”

“Jack, my dear, dear, little human friend,” says Xeno, in a tone reminiscent of a patient mother to a stubborn child. “Think for a second, okay? If I were lying to you, and actually wanted to eat you—gross—or do anything harmful to you and your species, don’t you think we would’ve done it by now? Why go to all this trouble just for a meal? This is human ego at its finest, you know that right? Thinking you’re so important that an interstellar species—let me say that again—an interstellar species would cross the universe just for a snack or to simply mess with you. The gal of humanity blows my mind sometimes, you know that? This is my problem with Hollywood. Do they not consider for one second that a species that can travel interstellar might have enough resources on their own to sustain themselves? You are nothing but ants! No offense. And it’s a good thing I like ants. Human, that is, or none of you would even be alive in a handful of years. Maybe a little gratitude—”

“Are you done?” I say.

“Almost,” says Xeno.

“Take your time,” I say.

“All I’m saying is maybe if people just took a step outside of themselves for a moment, and saw the big picture, they would understand that—”

A loud squeal blares from the speaker on the table, making me jump. I didn’t realize the boy who put it there had turned it on before he left.

“Testing. One, two, three, testing.” I recognize Doctor Brock’s voice instantly. There’s definitely a southern twang to it but it’s nowhere near as pronounced as his daughter’s.

Another feedback squeal pierces the air before: “Ladies and gentlemen, brothers and sisters, good morning! How is everyone on this beautiful, gorgeous, God-given day?”

The question is delivered with a touch of humor, considering the sky threatens rain. Despite this, the crowd responds with enthusiasm.

“Today,” he continues, “we gather not as mere individuals but as a united front, a beacon of hope in these tumultuous times. We stand on the precipice of a new era, one defined not by the familiar and the known, but by the extraordinary, the uncharted, and the alien! The government—our previous government—in their infinite arrogance, thought they could control the unknown by blowing that ship out of the sky. But what they didn't count on, what they couldn't foresee, was the gift that ship would leave behind.”

Cheers from the crowd.

“I think he means the crystal,” I say, done with the bacon and laying back down.

“You think?”

“Yes, my friends,” continues Brock. “That crystal—which we have roped off for your safety—is not just a fragment of a destroyed vessel; it is a symbol of our potential, a key to unlocking a future beyond our wildest dreams. Our researchers are actively risking their lives to study it, for you. For us all. But what does our government do? They cower in fear, clutching onto outdated power structures, unprepared and ill-equipped to govern us in these new circumstances.”

More cheers and applause.

“We have seen the corruption, the lies, and deceit. They seek to keep us in the dark, to maintain their control, but we, the people, will not stand for it any longer! This is our time to rise, to take a stand, and to reclaim our destiny!”

The crowd erupts in applause and shouts of agreement.

“Remember, just recently, we fought a great battle right here on this very ground. We lost a lot of good people. The government tried to crush our spirits, to suppress our voices, but we stood firm! We, the people, overwhelmed them with our courage, our unity, and our unyielding belief in justice! We turned the tide, we took a stand, and we showed them that we don’t need them!”

Shouts of “Brock, Brock, Brock,” follow that bit.

“This is a sign from God, folks. This is a testament to our resilience, our strength, and our divine purpose. That crystal holds untold power, a technology so advanced it could revolutionize our world. It is time we learn to harness it, to tap into its potential, not for the benefit of the few, but for the benefit of all! Imagine a world where energy is limitless, where disease is eradicated, where our wildest dreams become reality!”

“It’s literally just a containment unit for a single component of the single man, one-way gate,” says Xeno. “That’s all it is. He keeps this up, next thing you know, you humans will be worshiping statues again.”

I close my eyes and try to relax.

“Now, we must research and educate ourselves, innovate, and collaborate. This is not just a fight against corruption; it is a fight for a brighter, better future for all of—”

Pow, pow pow!

I sit up, eyes wide with a gasp, and finger the mail slot open.

“Were those gunshots?” I say.