Aliens in paris, p.1
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       Aliens in Paris, p.1

           Sally Ann Melia
 
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Aliens in Paris
ALIENS IN PARIS

  Part of the Expanded Universe of

  Guy Erma and the Son of Empire

  by

  Sally Ann Melia

  Copyright 2015 Sally Dickson

  -----------

  Dedication

  This is for the Hogs Back Writers who have been so supportive over the years.

  ----------

  Guy Erma and Teodor of Freyne are the thirteen (13)-year-old heroes of Guy Erma and the Son of Empire. This short story is part of the expanded universe and involves our own planet Earth for the very first time.

  Thanks from the author!

  Thank you for downloading this free e book, as an author it means a lot to me when someone discovers my work. I really appreciate my readers, and I would like to offer you a chance to win a unique first edition hardback copy of this book.

  For your chance to win, answer this question: Who is Erederon?

  https://www.sallyannmelia.com/win-a-signed-hardback-cover/

  Enjoy Guy Erma! Lose yourself in his adventures!

  Sally

  TRANSCRIPT CHAT SESSION 100/34590822-NM8973-03

  Guy Erma (Rank: Junior, Location: Freyne 1, Online, Available)

  Searching...

  Sebastian Riffaut (Rank: none, Location: Freyne 1, Online, Available)

  Guy: Seb?

  Open Chat>>>

  Loading...

  Warning. This is an external call to an unprotected line. Use F3 to secure line, use F7 to anonymise call. This only has maximum encryption GE3400, in line with Security Protocol ST393-00134-N.

  REMEMBER: CARELESS CHAT FIRES SHIPS.

  Seb: Guy!

  Guy: Is Des there?

  Des Erma (Rank: Captain - Part Cyborg, Location: Freyne 1, Online Available.)

  Des: Hi Guy!

  Guy: Is it true about last night’s game? You swore to fly to the Thirteenth, on a dare? ON A DARE?

  Seb: Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t lecture me. Did you talk to him?

  Guy: He said he could not make an exception, even for you, Seb.

  Seb: But he owes me!

  Guy: He said to remind you the Thirteenth is a primitive uncontacted planet, if you get caught, you will face Zaracan justice.

  Des: I’m not worried about the Zaracans.

  Guy: Well you should be, the Thirteenth is deep inside their zone.

  Seb: He definitely said: ‘no exceptions’?

  Guy: Well...

  Seb: Guy, what did he say?

  ...

  Guy: OK. Des are you still there?

  Des: Would not miss it, Guy.

  Guy: He said he owes Des. So if Des was with you...

  Seb: YES!

  Des: We’re flying!

  Sebastian Riffaut (Rank: none, Location: Freyne 1, Online, Offline)

  Des Erma (Rank: Captain, Location: Freyne 1, Offline)

  Guy Erma (Rank: Junior, Location: Freyne 1, Offline)

  WARNING CALLER: Possible breach was detected at 3:13. Please review conversation for content, and if appropriate report to a senior officer. Reference Security Protocol : RT823-00735-N Incoming alien probe detected.

  DO NOT IGNORE THIS WARNING.

  END CHAT SESSION

  Starters

  It wasn’t like looking for a needle in a hay-stack. It was like feeling for a needle in a hay barn wearing gloves and a blindfold – that’s what Patrick told me. He was talking about the Search for Extra Terrestrial Life, an impossible pursuit until two aliens, yes two, landed in Paris.

  Lunch

  I had been seconded from the London Met to the Paris Police. I knew the sought-after assignments were in forensics and firearms. As a graduate entrant who spoke French, and one of only three female entrants, I ended up with six months working with a team of chain-smoking, militant anti-Anglo-Saxons. But they were six months which also included the two best days of my life.

  I never found out what possessed Seb and Des, two alien warriors to visit Paris. They had planned ahead enough to have clothes and passports, of sorts. They also came furnished with gold coins and old maps. Thinking their ship was some terrorist attack the French authorities sent up fighter jets armed with heat seeking Exocet missiles. What exactly happened no-one knows, but Des was a hot shot pilot from another star system so inevitably the aliens landed safe and sound close to Porte Dauphine in the Bois de Boulogne.

  The map was sufficient for them to find a pawnshop and gold merchant est. 1688 no less. After that they shopped on the Champs Elysees before checking into the discrete yet luxurious St James, at the heart of Paris St. Germaine. The hotel took their fresh cash and recommended Alain Ducasse for lunch, so it was ‘à table’ that I first saw them.

  “Qu’est qui ce passe? What’s happening?” whispered Pierre.

  Pierre, Claude and I were standing on the Place de la Concord peering up at the balcony restaurant on the first tier of the Tour Eiffel: Alain Ducasse’s Le Jules Verne. This was where the St James concierge had told us we would find them.

  “Ah bon Dieu!” exclaimed Claude. He was the boss. “Avez vous faim?”

  So I found myself, on a graduate police officer salary, taking a place at a table with the best view of Paris. I don’t mind admitting I was more in awe of the waiters and silver service, than the two men presumed to be aliens at the next table. They didn’t look alien. Seb had classic good boy looks, and was deceptively youthful and innocent. Next to him was Des, with his tangled dark curls was broody and fidgety.

  I thought he looked slim, mysterious and dangerous.

  Dangerous?

  Well yes!

  Des was at least partially a cyborg. He wore a glove on his right hand, but he could not conceal the chrome and steel rods of his wrist. His legs too were titanium rods clad in flesh, but I would only discover that later and very useful it would prove too.

  Oh, he saw me looking!

  And then.

  He’s offered me a cigarette.

  Is smoking even permitted?

  Who cares? I took the cigarette.

  We sat

  We smoked.

  We checked each other out.

  I saw him checking Pierre and Claude as well. I think he saw their guns. A moment later, his companion Seb leant over and said:

  “Mademoiselle, can you show me Versailles?”

  He didn’t speak English, and he didn’t speak French either. I caught a different voice but it was drowned out by a small translator, a machine the size of a credit card, repeating his words in mechanical French.

  Seb offered me a map, opening it up to show the centre of Paris. I shook my head, and indicated about fifty centimetres to the right.

  “Versailles, c’est ici. Not on this map at all.”

  “Really?” He handed me another map. Again the scale was wrong, but at least one edge of the map bore an arrow: towards Versailles. Once again I pointed a short distance beyond the edge of the map.

  “Versailles, c’est loin. Too far, these maps are no good at all.”

  The waiter was serving Champagne. I found myself with a glass. Behind me Claude was ordering oysters and more Champagne.

  Pierre whispered: “Find out why they want to go to Versailles.”

  I said: “Versailles, c’est très beau, mais ici à Paris vous avez le Louvre, les Tuilleries…”

  “No, we wish to visit the Royal Court.”

  Both Pierre and I started talking at once. Over the next hour, over four dozen oysters and at least one further bottle of champagne, we provided a potted history of the French Revolution and subsequent modern history.

  In return, Seb told us he was a warrior from a distant star who wished to see for himself the greatest French king.

  “I
come in peace,” he said.

  Claude suggested they visit the Palais to see the President of the French Republic. As Seb considered this, the Americans arrived.

  We had not expected to have the aliens to ourselves for long. The American authorities had in fact provided all the intelligence about the incoming space craft and the six much larger craft parked between the Earth and the Moon.

  I don’t do twitter but I gather that #aliensinparis was phenomenal in its growth and within the first few hours the YouTube video of the shuttle approach had repeated a million times on Facebook.

  What? You missed it? Well with the football starting the same Saturday, a lot of people did.

  There were ten Americans in the first group. They descended on the luxurious surroundings of the Jules Verne restaurant like a swarm of angry locusts. They took the other two tables, in effect boxing Seb and Des against the windows. I found out later they had booked an entire floor of the St James hotel, and much more beyond. Des half stood up, alarmed at their approach and then sat down. I saw his eyes going from one armed and miked up security type to the next, counting their weapons and assessing their strengths. He did not look afraid, not exactly, but he did do something very strange. Des reached a hand to Seb, and I swear I saw a small electric charge. They rapidly tapped their fingers together. Seb saw me looking and his hand fell away. He gave me a small conspiratorial smile and my heart beat faster.

  A secret form of communication.

  Des sat down and lit another cigarette. Seb poured more champagne and ordered more still for the new arrivals. As the waiters started to pour, the head of the American delegation protested, but Seb just smiled:

  “We come in peace.”

  Once the translator had picked up snips of the new language, it started to speak in English. The Americans looked relieved. One of the non-military types took out a map of the night sky.

  “Where do you come from?”

  Seb looked at the map and frowned.

  “This map is too
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