Touched by an Alien

alone. Why me?”
    “You are … different. You don’t fear me. I anger you, but you turn that into courage. You, more than any of the others, are the protector, the right one to take up the mantle.”
    “And yet somehow you picked Yates last time? Not exactly a protector.”
    “He was, once. I searched for one like him for so very long, a charismatic leader without fear. I almost had him many decades ago, but he was sent away.”
    “From Alpha Centauri? You went there first?”
    He nodded. “It was a more appropriate world for us, much more than this one.” He smiled. It was official—Yates and Mephistopheles both were scarier smiling than when they tried to look threatening. “Soon, we will own this world fully, and I will remake it as it should be. We will have enough power then to claim a better home world, to expand our influence as is our right.”
    “Fab plan. So, Yates was actually heroic at one time?” No time that anyone who knew him could come up with, of course, but maybe Mephistopheles had a different perspective. Some people liked Hitler, after all.
    “He was willing to do what was necessary to lead his people. That they and others did not appreciate his sacrifices does not diminish them.”
    “He was a megalomaniac with a serious racial purity issue. And while money and power is a big deal on our world, we still respect courage and decency more.”
    Mephistopheles shrugged. “He corrupted, as you will corrupt, as all leaders and protectors corrupt.”
    “I can think of a few who didn’t.”
    “Absolute power corrupts absolutely. He chose this path without my help. You will come to see why as well. The more you lead, the more you will learn the truth.” He shifted impatiently. “Where are the masses?”
    Distraction time again. “So, Lucifer? Can I call you Lucifer? Lucifer, why do you manifest so damned ugly? I mean, biblically, you should be the hottie of hotties, yet Yates is not the snazziest A-C on the planet, and your manifestation is, let’s be honest, butt-freaking ugly.”
    He didn’t answer. No problem. As long as one of us was talking, we were all still alive. Of course, to kill him, I had to get Mephistopheles to appear. This superbeing extermination gig really wasn’t anything close to glamorous or fun. Pity I seemed so good at it.
    “See, to me, you should look like Jeff or Christopher. They’re totally hot. All the A-Cs are. And we have human hotties, too, like James, for instance. Any one of them could get any woman or gay man hooked into you instantly. And as for the straight men and lesbians? Jeez, man, pick a chick here and go for it, right? So, again, why?”
    Silence, but I thought I saw a little steam coming out of his ears.
    “Oh, by the way, did you know that Yates tried to blow me up this morning? I really doubt you wanted him to do that.”
    This did it. Yates shimmered, bubbled, and boiled. It was truly gross, like all the werewolf transformations the movie special effects guys love to do, only far more disgusting. In the movies, you don’t get the full smell-a-rama that I was privy to. Yates had carried the odor of walking death, but the transformation smelled like every kind of dung boiled up together and then stir-fried. I managed not to gag, but only because I was revved up more than before a race or sex with Martini.
    Mephistopheles burst through Yates’ so-called skin and grew. It was like a Harryhausen film on steroids. He ended up at his twelve-foot range. Nice of him not to try to break through the roof, all things considered.
    “Minion, you will accept me!” he thundered. Interestingly enough, Martini was able to bellow a whole lot louder. I allowed myself a moment of possessive pride. I hoped he was keeping his cool wherever he was. I knew what I was doing … I hoped.
    “Nah, don’t think so.”
    He looked at me in shock. “But … you have been prepared. Trial by fire. Death of loved ones. Murder. You are ready.”
    “Dude, did it really work like that on your original world?” I shook my head. “Trial by fire? C’mon, Mephs. You have nothing on my track coaches. Those people knew from torture. Stair drills when it’s a hundred and twenty-five in the shade. Hill charges during a monsoon. Twenty-mile runs in the desert when you’re a freaking sprinter. You think a couple of fuglies are a match for that?”
    Now that the Head Fugly was fully here, I sauntered around. I didn’t want to be in one place too long, just in case.