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  "I have not bullied you," she answered, outraged, her hands flying to her hips as she floated backward in front of him.

  "What else would you call setting pit bulls on a man in a wheelchair?"

  "They were not real," she said. "I was making a point."

  "A point that you're more powerful than I am and if I don't obey you, you'll do something horrible to me," he said. "Look up the word coercion. It's right next the word bully in the dictionary."

  She huffed in indignation. "It is not."

  AJ ignored her as he puffed from the exertion of pushing himself back to the house. When he reached the ramp, Beverly’s image expanded and she held out her hand as if to stop him. AJ pushed right through her. His first stop was the refrigerator where he pulled out a bottle of water Lisa had left for him. He chugged the water, then rolled to his usual spot and flipped on the TV. His eyes drooped as he mindlessly watched the screen and soon, he fell asleep.

  The wail of a smoke alarm jarred AJ awake. Swiveling his head, he found the room filled with smoke. Frantically, he looked for the source and discovered a plume of smoke billowing from the vent at the back of his oven.

  "Ah, dammit!" He wheeled to the oven. Even before he got there, AJ felt heat radiating off the metal. He struggled, but finally managed to turn the oven off. Taking a risk, he donned a mitt and opened the oven door, choking on the thick cloud of smoke. With a second mitt for protection, he transferred Lisa's still-smoking meatloaf to a plate and then his lap and carefully wheeled to the screen door.

  "I wouldn't recommend eating that." Beverly appeared, sitting on the railing, after he tossed the meatloaf, pan and all, into the yard.

  "Go away," he said and rolled back inside. AJ pushed aside trash and miscellaneous possessions until he reached one of the front windows, unlocked it, and slid it up.

  "That is not possible, AJ."

  "I'm not talking to you," he said, opening another window.

  This time she sat on the window ledge wearing a dark-blue dress with white polka dots. "I made a mistake."

  AJ had to admit, she’d done a really good job of identifying key styles of the fifties and she looked darn good in that dress. "You sure as hell did."

  "I shouldn't have sent those dogs after you."

  "Doesn't your Galactic Empire have laws about that? No messing with your dumbass hosts or something like that?" he asked, still fuming.

  "You are not dumb, Albert," she said. "If anything, I believe your intelligence score is at the top of humanity's range."

  "Did you know you try to distract me when you don't want to answer a question?"

  "You are right. It is considered poor form to manipulate one's host," she said. "It's just so different with a human."

  "Different, how?" AJ asked. "What? You're not used to having someone question you?"

  "Why would you say that?" she asked.

  "You're acting like a princess," he said. "When you don't get your way, you throw a tantrum. When you want something, you flash a little skin. Apparently, humans and Beltigerskians have more in common than you'd think."

  "From what I have researched, the male human derives much pleasure from viewing the female form. Rewards for good behavior are a standard feedback mechanism for most beings."

  "You're doing it again. You're shifting the subject and not answering my question. You're used to being in charge and you threw a hissy fit when you didn't get your way."

  "That is not a question," she said. "Are you ready to get to work again?"

  "Told you, that's not happening," he said. "Besides, it's the middle of the night."

  "I will promise not to manipulate you with visual stimulus when I am angry if you will cease your self-destructive behavior."

  AJ shook his head. "Nothing bad about having a beer. If you think I'm giving that up, you're nutty as a fruitcake."

  Beverly sailed toward him, again with no visible means of travel and settled onto the arm of his wheelchair. "I can agree to beer, but you must limit the amount of alcohol in your bloodstream. Your liver function is nearly restored. I will agree that the effects are not significant."

  "I'll take it under advisement," he said. "Now can you stay out here? I gotta use the toilet like you can't believe."

  "That's not possible," she said as AJ moved into the bathroom.

  "Oh, hell, woman! Pretend!" he yelled. "I don't like an audience when I'm making stinky."

  A few minutes later AJ emerged, feeling even better than he had earlier in the day. "Fine. No more than a beer an hour when we're doing important work. Once in a while, though, I'm going to tie one on and you're not going to mess with me. Sometimes, getting blitzed out of my mind is exactly what I want. You copy?"

  "Not precisely, but I understand your offer," she said. "I will in turn agree to not use visual stimulus to adjust your behavior when I'm irritated."

  "Always. Not just when you're irritated."

  "So stipulated. Now, perhaps you could locate a portable light and we could work on your vehicle for our trip tomorrow."

  AJ rummaged through kitchen drawers and found a headlamp he barely recalled having. He made a quick roll-by to his shed for a sturdier hammer and a coffee can of nails, and set off into the yard, this time stopping at the lumber pile. Locking his wheels in place, he found it easier to lower his body to the ground and utilize the chair as a makeshift workbench. The strength in his arms was surprising, but with his limited mobility, it took almost an hour to construct the ramp. However, it was crafted with handholds that would give him the ability to hoist himself up and into the small engine compartment.

  "You know, this isn't that bad," he finally said, his stomach lying over the fender. "I mean, sure, it's hard to move around, but I didn't think I'd be able to reach everything."

  "I've temporarily increased the strength of your arms and back by fifty percent." Beverly appeared in front of him, reclining against the exhaust manifold. "You'll pay a price tomorrow, but it gives you the necessary leverage."

  "That's handy," he said, twisting the belt on before sliding the alternator and tensioner pully into place. "Don't suppose you could make it so I don't have to pee so bad?"

  "I believe that is a natural consequence from your literal adherence to drinking another beer every moment you drop below our agreed-upon level," she said, raising an eyebrow.

  "Touché," he grunted, fastening the bolt into place. "Now, all we need is to add fluids and we're ready to take this show on the road."

  "You must take a rest cycle first, Albert," she said. "Your body is exerting much energy while repairing itself."

  "Am I going to walk again?" he asked.

  "Perhaps with time."

  "Perhaps?"

  "I believe it is likely the Korgul will discover my presence. When that occurs, we will be dispatched and it will go to my crew to finish the mission," she said.

  "Boy, aren't you just a breath of fresh air."

  She smiled broadly. "I'm glad you see it that way."

  AJ ruefully shook his head.

  Six

  Diego

  AJ stared at the ceiling as he came awake in his recliner. Every muscle in his body ached in ways he didn't think possible. What really bugged him was the loud beeping in his ear. Apparently, his guest had set an alarm.

  "What the hell, Beverly?"

  "In approximately thirty minutes, you will have a grocery delivery." Beverly appeared in what AJ was beginning to recognize as her everyday wear – jeans and white blouse. A bright red handkerchief folded into a band and knotted on top of her head held back her hair. "You must make room in your refrigerator and cupboards as the material en route is quite substantial."

  AJ rubbed his eyes but didn't otherwise move. "Why am I so sore?"

  "We overutilized your musculature in repairing our vehicle," she said. "Unfortunately, there is a price for such utilization. I may have also taken the liberty to continue the muscle stimulation while you slept. I recommend the following stretches as a wa
y of facilitating your body's natural regenerative cycle."

  "Shh," AJ said, closing his eyes. "Way too much information for morning."

  "It is well past morning, Albert Jenkins," she said. "While you were sleeping, I spent a considerable amount of time learning about the human psyche. In short, I discovered that I am pushing you too quickly. It will take time for you to assimilate to our relationship. Further, I've discovered that depression is often the result of poor living conditions. As such, I have hired a capable agent who will clean the disarray within your home."

  AJ erupted. "You what?"

  "Ah, yes, the alpha male response I've read so much about," she said. "Let me make this clear, Albert Jenkins. I will not live in a home cluttered with trash. A cluttered environment speaks to a cluttered mind."

  "I'm not having people nosing through my stuff!"

  "I have catalogued every item within visual range in this house," she said. "My summary is that your stuff, as you call it, will be of no interest to the personnel we've hired. Further, this particular company is bonded against theft and damage."

  "This is absolutely the worst marriage ever. I get a nag and none of the fun!" he exclaimed.

  "Albert Jenkins, we have spent very few hours together. As time progresses, our relationship will deepen and I dare say, the intimacy of that relationship will be well beyond that of a traditional human marriage."

  "Stop. No one could replace my Pam. Now, stop chirping at me while I wake up," he said, leaning back in his chair and closing his eyes. The mention of his deceased wife brought up the painful memory of her long suffering.

  To her credit, Beverly stayed quiet. The need for a trip to the restroom broke his fugue and he struggled to lift himself into the wheelchair.

  "You're doing very well." Beverly's voice sounded like it came from the hallway outside of the bathroom. "Most people in your condition do not transition as easily to the use of a wheelchair."

  AJ dropped his forehead into his hands. Her conciliatory tone did a lot to calm him, but he had to wonder what the rest of his life with the strange alien would be like. Was Beverly even female? He shook his head, knowing that line of thought would lead nowhere good.

  He looked around the disgusting bathroom. How had things gotten so out of control? After washing his hands and brushing his teeth, he rolled back into the main room.

  "That was a nice touch, sounding like you were in the hallway," he said.

  "It is a small consideration that conveys respect to my host."

  AJ sighed and rolled to the refrigerator. Lisa had left a bottle of fruit juice and several cups of probiotic yogurt. Ordinarily, he didn't like either but for some reason, they were at the top of his list. "Are you still burning through calcium? Is that why I'm jonesing for the yogurt?"

  "That is one reason. Your digestive system also has a bacterial imbalance. Lisa Jackson was very thoughtful in her selections, especially given that she has little diagnostic data available."

  AJ sat by the refrigerator as he worked through the yogurt and orange juice. "Not thoughtful enough to buy coffee," he grumbled.

  "Many of your choices have limited nutritional value," she said. "Perhaps Lisa Jackson recognizes this imbalance."

  He rolled his eyes. "There's nothing wrong with coffee."

  "I will add coffee to your next grocery purchase," she said.

  "All right, out with it," he snapped, tossing the empty yogurt cup into the trash.

  "I don't understand your phraseology," Beverly responded.

  "You're being too nice. That means you want something big. Something you think I'm not going to agree to."

  "Your observation is not without merit," she said. "The funds within your bank account are diminishing at an unsustainable rate. I would like access to something you call a 401k."

  "That's ridiculous," he said. "I have twenty thousand between my checking and savings accounts. My retirement pays out nearly four grand a month. That's more than enough. What day is it? We should be getting a deposit any day now."

  "Your current balance is eight hundred dollars," she said.

  AJ closed his eyes and gripped the arms of his wheelchair, willing himself not to blow his top. "Where did my money go?" he growled.

  A ledger book appeared in Beverly's hands and she held it out to him. As he reached out, the image grew to a more normal dimension. Even though he was furious, the pantomime of interacting with the virtual book diverted his attention. He scanned the line items in the book; $23 for Tastee Burger, $342 for Super-V, $175 for utilities, $12,218 to Padept Electronic Supply, $1,819 General Building Supply.

  "What in the world did you buy at Padept?" he asked. He was familiar with the bulk electronic supply store, having used them occasionally at his old job when his normal suppliers couldn't deliver quickly enough.

  "The detail is on the fourth page," Beverly said. "If we are to survey for Fantastium and Blastorium, we need specialized equipment unavailable on Earth."

  He tried to keep his voice calm. "You have a drone on here. This is money I need to survive. We don't need toys."

  "The only reasonable mechanism for surveying your land is the use of what you call a drone," she said. "I don't see the problem. As of this morning, your retirement accounts have a balance of two hundred forty-five thousand. We can begin processing with just another $9,042. Of course, if we are to efficiently recover, process, and utilize Fantastium, we will need $72,912, but I wouldn’t recommend that until we fully survey your property."

  "You’re talking about burning my life savings to the ground!" he exploded.

  "There is someone at the gate," she said. "I propose that you gather yourself so that you are composed when you receive your delivery."

  AJ's eyes blazed and he pushed off toward the door that led outside, too angry to respond. An impatient buzzing continued as he rolled down the ramp. Whoever wanted in was pushing his buttons.

  "Hold on for a damn minute!" he barked as he reached the end of the ramp and pushed across the rough surface to the gate. He pulled back the gate, ready to tear someone's head off. "What the hell is so damn important?"

  "Mister, is this your dog?" a small quivering voice asked.

  AJ blinked. He'd thought the person buzzing was an impatient delivery person in need of an attitude adjustment. Instead he was faced with a Hispanic boy in his early teens, holding a whimpering, bloodied bulldog. "Oh, shit," AJ said, his voice softening as he rolled through the gate and reached for the dog. "Where'd you find him?"

  The boy took a step back and looked fearfully from side to side, as if expecting to be attacked. "It was over there, by the fence." The boy refused to hand the dog to AJ, not ready to trust the rough-looking old coot who'd just yelled at him.

  "I've seen you around." AJ's eyes fell on the kid's bike, leaning against the fence. "I'm not gonna bite. What's your name?"

  "Diego."

  AJ looked back at the dog. Dried blood caked the light gray coat of the overly skinny dog. As the boy shifted, the dog whined pitifully.

  "Okay, Diego. I'm AJ."

  "I know."

  "Good. Now, I need you to follow me back to the house so I can get a better look at the dog," AJ said.

  "Shouldn't we call someone?" Diego asked.

  AJ turned his wheelchair and started pushing back to the house. "Good chance that animal control will just put him down. I've got a first aid kit up in the house. We need to see how bad he's doing."

  "Momma says I'm not supposed to come in your yard. She says you’re a bad man." The boy hadn’t stepped past the gate yet.

  AJ chuckled. "Your mother is right, but I happen to have a soft spot where dogs are concerned. You took a big risk ringing my bell. What'd you think I was going to do? Just take the dog and tell you to go home and play with your sisters? What's it going to be, Diego? You want to save this dog or not?"

  He heard Diego's footsteps fall in behind him. Once through the screen door, AJ wheeled over to the cluttered table he hadn't sa
t at in years. With a sweep of his arm, he cleared a spot by dumping the table's contents onto the floor.

  "Something smells bad." The boy carefully laid the injured dog on the table.

  "Get a clean rag and wet it in the sink," AJ said, prodding at the barely struggling dog.

  "I don't see anything that's clean," Diego said after some searching.

  "Towel in the bathroom," AJ said, grimacing. "On top of the medicine cabinet."

  "The ejection of white blood cells from the site of the wound indicates infection," Beverly said, standing on the table next to the dog, dressed in a white lab coat and holding a clipboard. "The strong odor indicates the presence of anerobic bacteria which are, as we speak, attacking healthy tissue. Further and less pressing is this animal is host to numerous non-sentient parasites and is in general poor health. I recommend cleaning the surrounding area and applying a topical, as well as a course of intravenous antibiotics as the animal appears incapable of normal ingestion."

  Diego appeared next to AJ holding a wet hand towel and a bar of soap.

  "Good," AJ said, lathering the soap into the towel. "First thing we'll do is clean him up. Then we'll wrap his wound and get him over to Dr. Morgan. I don't suppose you know how to drive?"

  Diego looked at AJ like he'd grown a second head. "I am only twelve years old. I’m not allowed to drive."

  "Is your mother home? Can she drive?" AJ asked.

  "Yes, but she cannot drive," Diego said. "She is babysitting."

  As AJ worked on the animal, the gate buzzer sounded again. "Shit, that's the grocery delivery," he said. "If I give you ten bucks will you let them in, Diego?"

  "Si." Diego’s eyes lit up and he ran off.

  The dog whined as AJ worked but instead of resisting, he just laid his head on the table, either showing trust or total defeat – AJ wasn’t sure. But when he worked around the shoulder wound, the dog lifted its head and snapped.