“I’ve never been to San Francisco,” M says, excitement in her voice. “This is going to be great!”
H eyes her incredulously. “Did you miss the part of the briefing that mentioned the problem? We’ve got evidence of Klyntar presence in a major population center. Do I have to remind you that they’re extremely carnivorous? That they consider humans delicacies?”
“I know, but there can’t be more than a couple of them, right?”
He sighs as the jet-car zooms over the Grand Canyon. “Have you ever seen that movie, ‘Snakes On a Plane’? You don’t want any Klyntar on the planet, like you don’t want any snakes on a plane. None. Zero. Zip.”
“Okay, so we’ll take care of it, or them, then we’ll go see Fisherman’s Wharf and the cable cars and the Golden Gate Bridge and--”
H remembers what it was like to be so young and optimistic, but the longer he does this job, the more tempting it is to neuralize himself before bed every night. There’s a lot he’d prefer to forget.
“--or the car chase from ‘Bullitt’,” M chatters. “Wouldn’t that be epic?”
“Klyntar first, sightseeing after,” he reminds her.
“Of course.” She grins at him. “And those Victorian houses, and that street that zigzags downhill--”
He’s starting to look forward to the Klyntar.
=====
Multiple sightings have been reported over the last several days. Not much question that at least one Klyntar has been rampaging around the city--it (or they) have been captured on film--easy enough to delete, with their clearances. Tracking down the people who’ve seen it takes longer.
“This is crazy!” M exclaims after they’ve wiped four camera techs, numerous cops as well as guests at a party that the Klyntar literally crashed into. “I know Klyntari aren’t exactly discreet, but this is a little extreme, even for one of them!”
“Just what we don’t need,” H says grimly. “A rogue Klyntar at large.”
Around the corner from the party the Klyntar crashed is another crime scene-- an apartment furnished with bodies, their heads bitten off by what could only be their quarry. The door across the hall from the apartment in question opens and a scraggly-haired hippie regards the black-suited pair suspiciously.
“Hey!” M does her best to project friendly charm. “By any chance, did you see what happened here?”
The hippie guy looks spooked. “Banging. And screaming. Ziggy didn’t see anything. Ziggy’s not doing mushrooms no more, ever, because Ziggy doesn’t want to see anything. Ziggy’s sticking to ganja.”
This loser has fried his brain, is H’s disgusted conclusion, but his partner isn’t giving up.
“I understand.” M nods as if his rambling makes perfect sense. “What did you not see, Ziggy?”
Ziggy shudders. “Teeth. Too many teeth! Nothing should have that many teeth.”
Yes, well, that’s a Klyntar for you. H is reaching for his neuralizer, when M stops him. “Did you see the teeth when those men got killed over there?”
“No. Monday night, Ziggy was jamming on his axe. The guy from across the hall banged on Zig’s door and said turn it down. That harshed our buzz, man. The Zigster doesn’t like being harshed. Then the guy--” Ziggy stops, eyes dilated. “His head changed, man. He had all these teeth, and his tongue was, like, a foot long. Like Gene Simmons, only without the make-up.”
“That’s very upsetting, Ziggy.” M is already reaching for her sunglasses, and H joins her as he raises his neuralizer. “Let’s see if we can do something about that for you--”
=====
“I was afraid of this,” H mutters when they get back into the car. “Usually, Klyntari can’t survive for long in our atmosphere, but this one has found itself a host.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.” M looks worried for the first time. “All the material I’ve read said that when they try to take a host, both usually die within the first 24 hours.”
“Exactly. That man was invaded by an alien species that’s used him to commit acts of extraterrestrial terrorism. And given the Klyntari tendency to burn out their vessels, the poor bastard is probably dead or dying even as we speak.”
Among the sightings, the fugitive broke into a high-rise office building and decimated both private security and local SWAT personnel. In the spirit of thoroughness, the MIB team meets with the security guard who emerges unscathed.
He’s a pleasant middle-aged guy who freely admits he’d ducked down behind his desk when the shooting started. “I’m not looking to be a hero. I’ve got kids.”
“So what happened before the shooting started?” H wants to know.
“Was there a disturbance, or anything out of the ordinary?” M chimes in.
“Well…” The guard hesitates. “It didn’t have anything to do with the gunfight--”
With some adroit questioning, they get the story of a former network employee who’d begged to go upstairs with something for the CEO. Eddie Brock--who, they’ve learned, is Ziggy’s neighbor from across the hall.
“That doesn’t make sense!” H is aggrieved. “We know Brock was being occupied by the Klyntar on Monday, but the police chase and the shootout happened on Tuesday and they didn’t seem to be dying, or close to it.”
“I can think of two possibilities,” M points out. “Either they’re dead and we just haven’t found them yet, or we’re looking at the first successful symbiosis between a Klyntar and a human.”
The thought is horrifying. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” H blurts.
“Hang in there, Henry." Her voice is steely. "Just think of Eddie Brock.”
=====
Things get even stranger when they look into Brock. For one thing, he’s the Eddie Brock--the journalist, host of ‘Boots on the Ground’, nominated for multiple awards and highly regarded until, as his former boss admits, he’d had the misfortune to clash with Carlton Drake. The billionaire had taken exception to Brock’s investigaton of his foundation and applied pressure to have him fired and blacklisted.
At the same time, the local news is full of the explosion of Drake’s privately funded rocket at his compound across the Bay and the emergency evacuation of the Life Foundation.
“That can’t be a coincidence,” H growls, looking at a report of the conflagration.
Interviewing witnesses proves him right--and throws a curve ball when it’s disclosed that Drake had been behaving irrationally and apparently shape-shifted to kill one of his own people.
“Either the Klyntar somehow jumped ship from Brock to Drake--and we just haven’t found Blake’s body yet, or heaven help us, we’ve got two Klyntari on the loose.”
“I almost hope it’s two of them,” M declares. “I used to love ‘Boots on the Ground’. I’d hate to see Eddie Brock die like that.”
“If there’s anyone on Earth who doesn’t need to know about us and what we do, it’s a guy like that.”
“I understand that, Henry.” Like his mother, when she uses his full name, it usually means she’s highly annoyed with him. “If we find him alive and well, I’ll get a selfie with him and neuralize him myself. But I’m going to fight like hell to keep him alive.”
H activates the display built into the car’s windscreen, completely invisible to passersby. Tapping at the holographic keypad for a moment, he brightens slightly. “Hmm…apparently before the fiasco with Drake, he was engaged to a young lady who’s a lawyer. If Brock’s in trouble, he might go to her.”
It’s a good call, because Anne Weying and her new boyfriend, Dr. Dan Lewis both have valuable information. The doctor fills them in on the “parasitic infection” Brock had, plus he recounts how the so-called ‘parasite’ was affected by the frequencies of the MRI he’d tried to run. After some stonewalling, Anne tells the story of how the parasite had briefly inhabited her. It used her to get back to Brock and how they’d battled Drake and the parasite possessing him.
H and M exchange glances.
“Let me make sure I have this straight,” H says carefully. “You saw them die in the rocket explosion?”
“Drake was in the rocket,” she answers. “Definitely a crispy critter. But Eddie’s okay. I talked with him yesterday afternoon, he was getting ready to go out of town on some big story. He was being all mysterious about it.”
“You’ve both been incredibly helpful,” M tells them, reaching for her shades. “One last thing--”
=====
“We’ve got to find Brock,” H declares as they return to the car. “It certainly sounds like the Klyntar perished in the explosion, but he have to make sure.”
“Okay, where do we start?” M looks happy--she’s probably thrilled by the prospect of meeting the journalist.
“I suppose it would be too much to hope that Brock’s gone home?”
There’s no answer when they knock on the apartment door. Even Ziggy doesn’t make an appearance. Of course, it was too much to hope….
Except that as they’re standing by the car, debating what to do next--M is lobbying for dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf--a Ducati rumbles up to the building. The rider dismounts, shedding his helmet, and there he is: Eddie Brock, alive and well.
“Oh my god, you’re Eddie Brock!” M gushes. “I’m a huge, huge fan!”
“Thanks.” Brock yawns. He’s sporting a couple days worth of stubble and looks tired, but healthy enough. H has seen a few Klyntari hosts over the years; he knows ‘healthy’ is usually the opposite of the usual status quo. For that matter, so is ‘alive’.
“Can we ask you a few questions? Please?” M gives him her best wide-eyed innocent look.
“Let me guess.” Eddie studies them. “You guys are in a band and you’re hoping I can get you some publicity.”
“Wow, he’s good. Didn’t I tell you he was good?”
“Wonderful,” H knows his tone is terse, but he’s every bit as tired as Brock looks. At this point, he just wants to complete the damn assignment, have some dinner and sleep for at least fifteen hours.
“It’s about the events surrounding the rocket explosion at the Life Foundation. We understand Carlton Drake was behaving erratically and that you two fought.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“Various witnesses, including your ex-fiancee.”
“Who are you two, Drake’s people? It’s not my fault he’s dead!”
Eddie Brock’s eyes flicker. He’s spooked. No sense tip-toeing around why they’re here…. “Look, we know about the Klyntar,” H confronts him. “We--”
The journalist sets a new record for the standing broad-jump. One second, he’s standing a few feet away from them, the next he’s on the other side of the street.
“Guess what, it’s not dead after all,” M comments conversationally.
“Just leave us alone!” Brock calls to them.
M is better at reassurance than H is. “We only want to talk,” she tells him.
“No, you’re…you’re…what?” Eddie seems to be listening to something, glancing briefly away. Good God, is he communicating with it? “He says you’re some kind of intergalactic immigration cops. That you want to deport him.”
“He isn’t supposed to be here,” H says firmly. “Klyntari are proscribed from landing on Earth according to Article 9 of the Stella Carta of 1904. If he doesn’t leave quietly--”
“Okay, first of all, he didn’t come here on purpose. Drake brought some back from outer space last year in his rocket, the one that crashed over Malaysia. The rest of them are dead.”
“That’s tragic,” H says. What he really means is, That’s a relief!.
“You guys seem to be getting along really well,” M notes, ever the peacemaker. “That’s unusual. Eddie, how are you feeling?”
Even from thirty feet away, they can see him shrug. “I’m okay. I’ve had worse roommates.” He scrubs a hand through his short brown hair. “Look, I just got through with a serious, once-in-a-lifetime interview. All I want to do is write up my notes and crash, okay? We’re not gonna cause any trouble. Right?” He’s listening to it again. “Venom just wants a burger and some Tater Tots, that’s all.”
“This shouldn’t take too long,” H lies. His hand is in his jacket pocket when his partner stops him.
M nudges him. “We can’t,” she says in a low voice. “If we wipe him, he won’t be able to write his story. You heard him--it’s the story of a lifetime!”
“Will you stop being such a damn fangirl!” he says fiercely. “We’ve got to neuralize him and neutralize the Klyntar! This is one story he can’t ever tell!”
Brock stiffens. H hadn't kept his voice down. “Look, I got an interview with Kletus Kassidy. My editor is licking his chops, because the guy hasn’t talked to the press, ever. I’m not burying this story!”
The agents exchange glances. “As long as you say nothing about the Klyntari,” H says firmly. “Although once your case is heard, he’ll probably have to go back--”
“Article 17!” Brock says loudly. “According to Article 17 of the Stella Carta, no alien seeking sanctuary shall be deported if doing so will lead to hostile treatment or their demise.”
Great. Just what they need--a well-read Klyntar.
“That’s all right, we can get him a visa--if you’re willing to sponsor him.”
There’s that eager look again. M, how could you? Whatever happened to ‘I’ll get a selfie and zap him myself?‘
H sighs. She’s not the one who has to fill out the paperwork. A visa for a Klyntar! “I want to see the look on O’s face when you try to sell that to her.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” M says decisively. “Go write up your big story and get some sleep. We’ll take care of the red tape and get back with you tomorrow. Do not make us track you down!”
Eddie looks both ways and crosses the street toward them in the usual way. “He doesn’t want trouble and neither do I. He’s a good guy. If it wasn’t for Venom, Drake was going to take his rocket and bring back a bunch more of them. Doesn’t that earn him the right to stay here?”
The thought of a city full of free-range Klyntari is enough to rattle even the normally unflappable H. “We’ll discuss it with the powers-that-be,” he replies, “and get back with you tomorrow. But meanwhile, thanks. That would’ve been a catastrophe, and we’re in your debt.”
Making nice with a Klyntar. He really is getting too old for this shit.
=====
O has reservations, of course. M is perky and determined to save the Klyntar inhabiting Eddie Brock, insisting that it’s their chance to learn more about the usually surly species. The fact that the Klyntar--Venom--has not only successfully adapted to Eddie but is actually peacefully coexisting is unprecedented and should be encouraged.
“What do you think?” O asks him via their holographic conference call.
H chooses his words carefully. “Brock has a reputation for honest reporting. I believe him when he says Venom stopped Drake from importing enough Klyntari to wipe out the human race.”
“From what we do know about Klyntari, they punish failure severely,” O says thoughtfully. “I imagine they’d regard the intervention on the part of this survivor as high treason and act accordingly. And there is Article 17 to consider. I think we’ll have to grant the Klyntar asylum.”
“What about Eddie Brock?” M wants to know. “Do we neuralize him?”
“Of course not,” says O before H can reply. “He’s apparently established a rapport with this Venom. It would be foolhardy to tamper with that. You’ll have to impress on him very clearly what the penalties could be if he divulges the presence of extraterrestrial life.”
“It certainly wouldn’t do his reputation any good if he went around saying there are aliens among us.” M points out.
“Then I guess it’s settled. I’ll fast-track the visa and send it overnight by drone. You should have it in the morning. Well done, you two!”
She terminates the connection, and the agents regard one another.
“Dinner!” M exclaims. “And sightseeing!”
Definitely too old for this shit.
=====
It’s amazing what a difference a good night’s rest makes, H thinks as Eddie Brock opens his door to them at noon the following day. After ten hours of sleep followed by breakfast at their safe house, he’s shaken the effect of their two-day Klyntar-hunting marathon. Today, the dark circles under Brock’s eyes are gone…he, too, seems to have caught up on sleep.
The journalist is relaxed, inviting them in and offering fresh coffee. There are eight donuts left out of a box of a dozen--Venom apparently has a sweet tooth--and H indulges, finding them quite good.
It’s M who’s not her usual bouncy self. She hands over the visa and in clipped tones relates the terms and conditions of Venom’s asylum. She’s equally frosty while lecturing Eddie Brock on what he can and can’t tell people and the consequences of breaking the rules.
“Nah, hey, who’d believe me?” he shrugs. “I’d wind up writing for one of those supermarket tabloids, and that’s not the career I want.” He smiles, but she doesn’t smile back. “I’m sorry, did I do something wrong already? You seem pissed.”
“She’s just sulking,” H explains cheerfully, reaching for another donut. “She’s annoyed because I didn’t want to run around sightseeing last night.”
“You’ve been here before, I haven’t. You said after we were done--”
“That’s easy!” Eddie turns up the voltage on his smile. H sees his partner’s reserve start to crack. “I have to drop off my story. Come with me, I’ll show you around. You ever ridden on a Ducati before? You’ll love it.”
“We don’t have to go back right away, do we?” M asks him.
“I think we can spare a few hours,” H says magnanimously. It’ll give him a chance to touch base with N and let their local rep know the nature of the new resident alien in his district.
“Great!” M is beaming. She starts reeling off the things she’d like to see while Eddie clears away their coffee cups.
H licks the last trace of powdered sugar from his fingertips and smiles. Better him than me.
…