THE GREATEST SERIAL KILLER IN THE UNIVERSE

BY ROBERT JESCHONEK

“No, no, no,” said Luther James Paraclete, snatching the knife from the alien’s tentacle. “Like this.”

Lunging forward, he plunged the blade up to the hilt into the soft bulb of the second alien’s head. Milky pink fluid spurted out at once, then gushed as Luther sliced the knife across the bulb, tearing a long gash.

The victim creature made a noise like a cross between a sneeze and a shrill whistle. As Luther finished the cut, pink milk poured over his hairy forearm, running off the point of his elbow. The alien’s head-bulb drained in an instant and collapsed like a deflated balloon.

The rest of the creature’s body followed, slumping to the street. Blue and yellow fluids streamed out of the gash, flowing from lower regions of the corpse to mingle with the pool of pink milk.

“Now that’s how you kill,” said Luther, wiping the dripping blade on his black coveralls. The air was thick with the stink of rotten fish, and he breathed it in deeply. After five killings, Luther was starting to like the rank odor given off by dying Ectozoids.

“Tried,” said the first alien, puffing out the word through a fluttering maw on its forehead. “Could not do.” The alien’s name was Boraf Zolagorg. Like all Ectozoids, it looked like a man-sized jellyfish with a lower body of translucent bulbs and tentacles.

And it was Luther’s employer for the duration.

In a way, Luther was sorry that the ‘Zoids looked the way they did. Killing a creature that looked like something that had washed up on the beach wasn’t quite the same as murdering a red-blooded Earthling.

On the other hand, Luther felt a different kind of thrill knowing that he was the first Earthling serial killer to take a stab at an extraterrestrial species. He liked killing what no human had killed before.

Now if he could just get the ‘Zoids to do some killing of their own. It was, after all, the reason Boraf was paying him.

“Here,” said Luther, holding the knife by the blade and extending the hilt toward Boraf. “Take it. Let’s find our next volunteer.”

Boraf did not reach out a tentacle for the weapon. The alien’s gelatinous head-bulb quivered in the light from the planet’s double moons. “Want to,” said Boraf. “But no can. Ectozoid no kill.”

When Luther stepped up close to the creature, Boraf’s bulb dimpled as if pushed in by the human’s breath. “You don’t have any choice,” said Luther. “It’s kill or be killed now, right?”

“Still no kill,” puffed Boraf.

Luther scowled and shook his head. He was starting to think that the job he’d been hired to do was undoable.

In the three days he’d been on Ectos, Luther had killed five locals, which was history-making and good for his lifetime average, but he’d had zero success in developing the killer instinct in Boraf. Like all Ectozoids, Boraf seemed to lack the ability to kill.

It wasn’t that the ‘Zoids weren’t powerful enough to kill, because they were. As fragile as they looked, the aliens were strong and quick. It wasn’t that the ‘Zoids lacked the motivation to kill, either. They said they expected a hostile invasion soon and were desperate to prepare for it.

It was just that none of them had the killer instinct. On their happy little world, unlike Earth, all life co-existed harmoniously. The ‘Zoids and lesser species on Ectos shared a low-grade link which was, if not a hive intelligence, at least a limited collective awareness. Organisms ate other organisms for sustenance, but it was more the result of a mutual agreement than a predator-prey competition for survival.

The Ectozoids were simply not wired for killing. In fact, there had never been a murder on Ectos, not one, until Luther had arrived.

Luther thought that was pretty cool. Not only was he the first Earthling to kill an alien, but he was the first being to commit a murder on the planet Ectos.

It was a great confidence builder for an aging, arthritic serial killer whose best years had seemed long gone a long time ago. Now if he could just get the creatures to kill, he knew he would feel like a new man. A new murderer. Once he got the Ectozoids on the road to bloody mayhem, he could return to Earth and the Serial Killers Guild as a hero and a legend. And a wealthy son of a bitch, what with the fortune in precious metals and gems the aliens were paying him.

“C’mon,” said Luther, heading down the street, waving for Boraf to follow. The porous orange surface under his feet pulsed like all the streets and walkways in the living maze of the city. “Let’s find you some easy pickings, my friend.”

Boraf shuffled after him, its bulbs and tentacles rustling and slapping together as it moved. “Pickings?”

“We’re not going home till you kill someone,” said Luther. “Get that through your head-bag.”

“Tried,” puffed Boraf. “No can kill.”

“Sure you can,” said Luther, smiling as if he had no doubt that the alien would come through. “Once you get that first one under your belt, you’ll be fine.”

“Hope,” said Boraf. “Hope much.”

Luther patted the creature’s head-bulb, then wiped the slime off his hand onto his coveralls. With Boraf close behind, he turned down another passageway…and stopped so suddenly that the ‘Zoid bumped into him from behind.

In the pulsing yellow tubeway, Luther saw a lone ‘Zoid shuffling toward him from less than twenty yards away.

“Time to lose your cherry,” Luther whispered to Boraf.

“Cherry?” puffed Boraf.

Stepping forward, Luther grabbed hold of one of Boraf’s tentacles and pulled the ‘Zoid along with him. The other alien kept shuffling toward them, apparently unconcerned.

“Hello, friend,” said Luther with a cheery grin. “Wonderful night, isn’t it?”

The approaching ‘Zoid bobbled its head from side to side but made no reply. Luther wasn’t surprised, as Boraf was one of the few locals who understood and spoke English.

The ‘Zoid made a burbling sound through its forehead blowhole and kept coming. Pulling Boraf along by the tentacle, Luther moved to one side to let the unsuspecting creature pass.

Then, as the ‘Zoid wobbled by, Luther swept a leg through the mass of tentacles supporting it. The alien made a noise like the yelp of a poodle and fell forward, its tentacles and fluid-filled bulbs slapping the street like a mop slapping a floor.

Boraf hung back until Luther yanked it forward by the tentacle. “It’s showtime,” he said, wrapping the tentacle around the hilt of the knife.

“No kill,” said Boraf, its voice shrill. “Ectozoid no kill Ectozoid.”

Boraf tried to unwind its tentacle from the knife hilt, but Luther clamped both hands down hard around it. Arthritis pain lanced his fingers and wrists, but he held on tight. “Brace yourself,” he said. “You’re about to make history.”

Then, he wrenched the knife and tentacle forward, punching the point of the blade through the biggest bulb south of the ‘Zoid victim’s head. As the tip penetrated, both Boraf and the victim squealed like punctured balloons.

Luther had to struggle to keep the knife moving, as Boraf continued to pull back. Gritting his teeth, the Earthling pressed the weapon deeper into the victim ‘Zoid’s bulb, then inched the blade upward, opening a gash.

Inky fluid streaked with yellow milk rose from the wound and splashed out onto the street. Luther forced the knife to the top of the bulb, then withdrew it, keeping Boraf’s tentacle cinched around the hilt.

“Ta-da!” said Luther. “You did it, Boraf! Your first kill! Way to go!”

Pain shot through his wrists and fingers again, and Luther had to relax his grip for an instant. He loosened his hold on the tentacle and knife just enough to flex his aching joints the tiniest bit.

It was all the opening Boraf needed to free itself. Suddenly yanking backward, the alien jolted itself out of Luther’s grasp.

At first, Luther was so surprised and irritated that he didn’t notice the tentacle wasn’t the only thing that had slipped away from him. “Hey!” he snapped. “Get back here!”

Luther realized what was missing from his hand just a heartbeat before he saw the object flashing toward him, wrapped in Boraf’s tentacle.

The knife. Luther had let go of the knife.

Instinctively, Luther ducked away from his client. Boraf lunged forward, aiming for the wounded ‘Zoid in the street.

Making a sound like a squealing automobile tire, Boraf raised the knife high and brought it down, stabbing the blade into the victim’s head-bulb. As pink milk rushed from the puncture, Boraf hoisted the knife back out and up and thrust it down into the head-bulb again.

And again. And again.

And again.

Luther could not believe his eyes. Boraf stabbed with abandon, then slashed the head-bulb into shreds…and took the knife to the rest of the victim’s body.

The dead ‘Zoid’s fluids sprayed Luther, splattered everywhere. Slimy bits of dead Ectozoid flew through the air, blobs of jelly sticking where they landed. Boraf was a whirlwind of motion, gouging and hacking, ripping the corpse to pieces with the blade.

Then, the ‘Zoid stopped cutting. Boraf made a sound like someone hawking up phlegm, then shuddered violently and dropped the knife.

Without hesitation, Luther bolted over and grabbed the weapon. Jumping back, he put some distance between himself and Boraf.

“Killed Ectozoid,” said Boraf, its voice high-pitched and reedy. “Boraf killed Ectozoid.”

“Congratulations!” said Luther, smiling but staying out of Boraf’s immediate reach. “I knew you could do it!”

“Feels good,” said Boraf. Its eyes—ten black beads mounted on slender, pink stalks near the bottom of the head-bulb—remained focused on the corpse. “Want more kill.”

“Glad to hear it,” said Luther. “So tell me, what turned you around, buddy? So I know for my next trainee.”

“Turned around?” puffed Boraf.

“You went from ‘No kill, no kill’ to ‘Want more kill,’” said Luther. “What changed? Was it feeling the knife go in that first time with my hand guiding you?”

“Not feeling knife,” said Boraf. “Feeling hand.”

“My hand?” said Luther, frowning.

“Before, no want kill,” said Boraf. “After touch Luther, want kill. Love kill.”

Luther turned his hand over, staring at both sides. If, somehow, his serial killer mindset rubbed off on the aliens with just a touch, all the better. It would make his job on Ectos much easier than trying to talk the creatures out of their natural inhibitions.

“How ‘bout that,” said Luther as a grin spread over his face. “Talk about your magic fingers.”

Making a noise like a cross between a horse’s whinny and a parrot’s squawk, Boraf looped a tentacle around Luther’s arm. “More kill,” said the Ectozoid. “More pickings.”

Luther laughed as the creature shuffled down the passageway, dragging him along behind it. “Already? But you just killed someone.”

Moving out of the passageway and onto the street, Boraf went faster, leaning forward with eager anticipation. “Look,” it said, pointing a tentacle at an Ectozoid weaving down the block ahead of them. “Boraf kill that Ectozoid now please?”

Luther chuckled because the alien had sounded like a child asking permission to ride a teeter-totter. “Why sure,” he said, holding up the knife he’d retrieved from the last victim’s corpse. “Go get ‘im, tiger.”

• • •

By the next morning, Boraf had murdered twelve Ectozoids…and wasn’t ready to stop there. Completely exhausted, joints throbbing with arthritis, Luther had to drag Boraf home to get some rest. Even then, along the way, Luther had to restrain his client from slaughtering passers-by.

When Luther passed out on the sleeping mat Boraf had provided, the Ectozoid was still whistling and pacing around the door, dying to go back out and kill some more. Boraf was still doing the same thing when Luther woke up some hours later; he doubted the Ectozoid had slept a wink the whole night.

Luther rubbed the sleep from his eyes and chuckled. “Man, you need to relax,” he said. “An Ectozoid doesn’t live on murder alone.”

“No relax,” puffed Boraf. “Time for save world. Make more Ectozoid kill.”

“Later,” said Luther, padding over to the locker of food he’d brought from Earth. “Breakfast first. Save world later.”

No sooner had he popped open the locker and reached for a packet of corned beef hash than the door of Boraf’s house-mound slithered open. Three Ectozoids shuffled in, making whimpering noises as they crowded around Boraf.

“Save world now,” said Boraf. “Ectozoids come now for Luther make kill.”

Luther sighed and squeezed the tab on the food packet, activating the built-in heating element. In seconds, the packet grew warm to the touch, though the contents inside were heated to a much higher temperature. “Give me five minutes,” he said, tearing open the seal and inhaling the smell of the cooked food.

One of the new arrivals shuffled over and grabbed the packet from his hand. The creature made a sound like a duck as it swung the food out of Luther’s reach.

“Make Ectozoids kill like Boraf,” said Boraf. “Save world now. Eat later.”

Luther tried to snatch the food packet from the ‘Zoid’s tentacle, but the creature lashed it out of reach. Irritated, Luther tried again, more aggressively this time, but the alien swept the packet up and passed it to another ‘Zoid.

Glowering, Luther combed his fingers through his wavy silver hair. “Fine,” he snapped, marching past the creatures and out the door. “But if one tentacle comes near me when I’m taking a piss, the world can go to hell.”

• • •

By the end of the day, ‘Zoids were killing ‘Zoids all over the place.

From the doorway of Boraf’s home, Luther could see and hear plenty of action. Armed with knives and clubs, ‘Zoids attacked other ‘Zoids down the block, across the street, in neighboring house-mounds. The air was thick with sneezing death-cries and the stink of rotten fish; the pulsing street was strewn with jellyfish corpses and soaked with seeping body fluids.

He’d lost track of how many ‘Zoids he’d given the touch, but he guessed it was close to a hundred. They were all out there now, killing like cavemen and loving every minute of it, high on death. Boraf was with them, caught up in the mayhem that only a day ago had seemed so unthinkable.

As Luther stood there, another trio of ‘Zoids came shuffling toward him, eye stalks twitching. Before they said a word, he knew they wanted him to transform them like the rest, turn them into murderers so they could join the fun.

But he was out of gas. After the long, exhausting day he’d been through, Luther wanted nothing more than to collapse on his mat and get some deserved sleep. As entertaining and gratifying as the work had been, he couldn’t stand the thought of corrupting one more alien jellyfish.

Even as he slipped inside and closed the door, however, he knew that he was screwed. They knew he was there; he knew that they wouldn’t leave him alone.

Sure enough, the ‘Zoids ended up at the door, coughing and trumpeting and belching his name. They thumped at the door with their tentacles, each blow harder than the last.

Though he knew he would end up opening the door eventually, Luther tried to shut out the commotion for just a moment more. He slipped a cigarette out of the pocket of his coveralls and lit it, inhaling deeply.

And it was then, only then, that he finally noticed how different he felt. As he stood there and smoked, listening to the thumping and sneezing and belching, he realized that exhaustion wasn’t the only reason he didn’t want to face the creatures.

Up until now, he had been enjoying his adventure. He had loved killing aliens on another planet…loved making a comeback after years of decline…loved being treated like a V.I.P. for doing what he loved to do. He had loved the irony, too, that a serial killer whose nickname was Bug-Eyed Monster, and whose M.O. included carving crop circles in his victims and arranging their organs like constellations, had become the first Earthling serial killer in space.

But something had changed. The thrill seemed to be gone.

As hard as it was to believe, Luther felt all killed out. He’d never thought he’d see the day when he’d had enough murder, but the day had come.

• • •

The next morning, after about three hours of sleep interrupted by Ectozoids whomping on the front door for murder lessons, Luther felt even less enthusiastic about the kill training.

As Boraf shook him awake to face a fresh batch of wannabes, Luther actually felt a wave of dread at the day ahead. Instead of reveling in gleeful anticipation, he wished that the day was over already; the last thing he felt like doing was cranking out another bunch of killer jellyfish.

Before long, his reluctance went further and affected him more deeply. Around his fifteenth conversion of the morning, he began to regret his life as a serial killer.

It was a brand new train of thought, one that had never chugged through him on even his worst days. His choice of career had been a given practically from day one; he had never felt like he could have been anything but a serial killer.

So why, all of a sudden, was he questioning his choice? Why did he feel sadness and shame when he looked back at his achievements instead of the usual pride and nostalgia? And why was he jumping the track now, of all times, just when he was at the apex of his career?

As he guided another ‘Zoid in gutting another victim, Luther remembered the first human life he had taken. The old woman’s face came back to him, looking just the same as it had when he’d thrown the first shovel-full of dirt on her: weeping and blinking and quaking, buried alive. He had thought of her often through the years, always with secret, dark pleasure…but now, the pleasure had soured. When he conjured her image in his mind (Ida Mae Caldwell, that was her name) he felt a brick in his stomach and a wave of dizzying nausea.

Annoyed at this unexpected response, Luther skimmed through his memories of other victims, seeking more familiar reactions. Not counting the ‘Zoids he’d killed, he had 276 to choose from over a 42-year period. Normally, recalling them was like fondling rare coins from a collection—admiring them, wallowing in the selfish joy of ownership; this time, he wanted to put them right down just as soon as he picked them up.

For the first time in his life, his murder memories felt unclean.

Contrary to what he had thought up until now, Luther realized that he was a sick and twisted individual. His disgust at the memories of what he had done in the past was equaled only by his loathing of what he was doing now.

For example, standing by, arms dripping with pink milk from a punctured head-bulb, as one ‘Zoid trainee fought another over the remains of a murder victim, playing a savage tug-of-war with the limp mess of bulbs and tentacles.

As the creatures squawked and yanked the corpse back and forth, Luther wiped his drenched arms on his black coveralls. Deciding he had had enough, he turned to walk away.

And before he could take a single step, a third ‘Zoid flung itself in front of him.

“Make kill now,” the creature puffed from its forehead blowhole. “Now!”

Luther shook his head and backed away.

The ‘Zoid reached out with three tentacles at once, and Luther had to back up fast to evade them. “Make kill,” said the creature. “Save world.”

Luther wished he hadn’t handed over the knife to the other two ‘Zoids. “Not now,” he said, continuing to backstep as the creature pressed toward him.

“Save world make kill now not later,” said the ‘Zoid, extending more tentacles.

Luther took another step and ran into a pillowy obstacle. Lurching away from it at once, he spun around and saw that it was Boraf.

The other ‘Zoid shuffled closer, still reaching. Its tentacles brushed him as he ducked away and darted behind Boraf.

As Luther got ready to run, the wannabe plowed into Boraf with a sound like wet spaghetti flopping into a colander. The creatures hooted and thrashed around, tentacles intertwining, fluid-filled bulbs sloshing against each other.

One of the wannabe’s tentacles squirmed out from between them and twisted toward Luther…but he easily sidestepped it. Another wriggled toward him from below, catching him by surprise, but it only managed to graze his leg before he danced away from it.

Then, the wannabe stopped struggling.

It stood there for a moment, huddled against Boraf, breath whistling in and out of its blowhole. Then, slowly, it uncurled its tentacles from Boraf’s and drew back, head bobbing from side to side.

Luther watched, expecting the creature to thrust past Boraf and pursue him. Instead, the wannabe shuffled back, tentacles coiling sinuously, head-bulb quivering.

“Want kill,” puffed the creature. “Want kill!”

“I told you, no more for now,” said Luther. “You’ll have to wait.”

“No wait,” said the wannabe. “No need human.”

The creature turned and wobbled over to the two ‘Zoids who had been fighting over the carcass. They had resolved the tug-of-war by tearing the corpse in half, and each was now smearing its slimy prize like a washcloth over its body.

The knife the killers had used on their victim lay forgotten in a pink puddle in the street. Flashing out a tentacle, the wannabe scooped up the weapon…and in the same flicker of motion, swung it around and drove it into the head-bulb of one of the killers.

“Want kill more,” sang the wannabe, wrenching the knife from the first ‘Zoid and swinging it around into the head-bulb of the second. As both victims squealed, the wannabe ripped out the knife again and slashed it through the air, pink milk flying, to plunge into another of the first killer’s bulbs. “Boraf make want kill! No need human!”

Luther stared as the ‘Zoid lashed the blade back and forth, hacking up two creatures at once. For the first time that he could remember, Luther felt horrified at watching a killing in progress.

Boraf turned and patted his shoulder with a slimy tentacle. “Boraf make Ectozoids kill now,” said the alien. “Luther take break now. Boraf make many kill save world.”

Luther just kept staring. Whatever had enabled him to transform ‘Zoids into killers—whether it was some fluke of his body chemistry or some warped electrical field in his brain—it had somehow been transferred to Boraf. The timing couldn’t have been better, because Luther was sick to death of making killers.

And yet, he wondered if it was entirely a good thing that Boraf had the power. He wondered if it would stop with Boraf, or if other ‘Zoids could develop the same ability to implant the killer instinct.

If the killing could be spread by ‘Zoids other than Boraf, he wondered what the world would be like in a week.

• • •

That night, no one bothered Luther. No ‘Zoids barged up to wallop the door of Boraf’s house-mound, demanding conversion. Luther figured it was because Boraf—and other ‘Zoids, too, most likely—was doing the job just fine without him.

Finally, Luther was alone with time to rest…but all he could do was lie awake and think.

The faces of the many people he’d killed kept drifting up out of his memory, filling him with guilt and regret. Number 150, in particular, kept returning again and again, the worst of the lot.

Number 150, Harmony Duquesne, 18 years old. The harder he tried not to think about her, the more forcefully she surged back to the forefront of his mind. The man he had become could not believe what the man he had been had done to her.

He wondered how he had managed it, how he had managed any of it. Thinking back, he tried to understand what had driven him, what had enabled him to commit such atrocities…and he couldn’t. He had the memories, bright and brutal and real, but no grasp at all of the mentality that had brought them into being.

He was a monster, and he finally knew it. Whatever had blinded him to the truth had been leeched out of him by the ‘Zoids; he finally had a conscience and awareness of his nature.

And he wished he didn’t.

There was only one redeeming factor, one thing that he might have done right, and he clung to it. By instilling the killer instinct in the ‘Zoids, he might have given them the means to save their world.

Maybe (Luther tried to convince himself) this single act could balance the scales for the past…or, at least, allow him to live with the memories of what he had done. Maybe, with this act of redemption and his newfound change of heart, Luther still had hope for a brighter future free of the demons that had ruled him for most of his life.

And maybe, the evil he had done had had a purpose after all, had all been leading up to this…and in saving the ‘Zoids, Luther had also saved himself.

Rolling over on the sleeping mat, he reached for his cigarettes and fished one out. As he lit it, he listened to the chaos outside—the yips and whistles and squeals of ‘Zoids in frenzy, the splashing of body fluids, the smacking of corpses on the street. It was an around-the-clock madhouse out there, like a vision of Hell…and he had made it.

• • •

Two mornings later, Luther found himself riding a giant centipede.

He and Boraf sat in a bubble that was either grown from the creature’s back or attached there, he couldn’t tell which. It was the same type of transportation he had ridden from the spaceport to Boraf’s house-mound upon his arrival…and now, it was taking him back to the spaceport for his return trip to Earth. Now that his work on Ectos was done, and the invasion was due to strike sometime soon (the ‘Zoids wouldn’t say exactly when), Luther was getting out while the getting was good.

Sunlight gleamed off the creature’s ruby carapace as it scuttled through the streets, neatly winding its segmented length around bends and corners. Giant antennae danced from its head like fishing poles, constantly twitching and flickering in the air.

As the centipede taxi hurried them through the maze of the city, Luther noticed that the mayhem of the past week had finally subsided. The orgy of killing had seemed to die away in the middle of the night, from what he could hear from inside Boraf’s house-mound, and now he didn’t see a single murder underway anywhere. It was as if someone had given a signal, and all the ‘Zoids had stopped killing at once.

Stopped killing and headed for the spaceport, apparently. All along the centipede’s route, Luther saw ‘Zoids shuffling in the same direction that the taxi was traveling. The further the taxi went, the more ‘Zoids filled the streets…until, at the spaceport, the centipede was packed in all around by a vast crowd of jellyfish, all shambling toward the cluster of massive, globular spacecraft steaming on the launch pads.

Before long, the taxi drew up to one of the ships, many times smaller than the other vessels but of the same spherical design. The bubble on the centipede’s back rolled open like an eyelid, and Boraf wriggled down the creature’s side to the ground.

As Luther handed down his duffel bag of possessions, he squinted up at the mirrored silver skin of the sphere-ship. It looked identical to the craft that had brought him from Earth.

Luther reached for his food locker, but when he started to lift it, arthritis pain flashed through his arms and hands.

Releasing the locker handles, he hissed breath between clenched teeth and massaged his hands. “Hell with it,” he said. “Short trip to Earth, right?”

“Short trip,” said Boraf, extending tentacles to help Luther down the side of the centipede. “Fast ship.”

Luther held on to a tentacle and slid off the taxi’s ruby carapace. He couldn’t wait until he was home and would never have to touch another slimy tentacle for the rest of his life.

“What about my payment?” he said.

“All on ship,” puffed Boraf. “Plus bonus.”

“All right,” said Luther, shouldering the duffel bag with difficulty. “Now let’s get the hell out of here.”

• • •

As the ship popped out of the atmosphere like a bubble popping out of soapy water, Luther asked if the invasion fleet was getting close yet.

“All clear,” said Boraf, though it didn’t seem to be looking at a monitor screen or out a window. “Safe passage.”

Luther’s eyes were glued to the circular viewport alongside his seat. Boraf’s vagueness on the subject of when exactly the invasion would occur had him worried. “Wait,” he said, squinting at a distant flicker of light. “Is that one of their ships?”

“No,” said Boraf.

“Well, how do you know?” snapped Luther. “You didn’t even look.”

Boraf floated past, free of the harness that had restrained it during liftoff. “Always notified of danger,” said the ‘Zoid. “No danger now.”

Luther snorted and kept his eyes on the viewport anyway.

Gazing into the starry blackness, Luther wondered which of the pinpricks of light was Earth’s sun. He wished that he was already there, already breathing the sweet air and moving among other human beings and drinking in the familiar sights…savoring all the things that he had so taken for granted and never would again.

At the same time that the thought of going home excited him, it scared the hell out of him. He was returning to Earth as a new man, free of his old compulsions, remorseful and self-aware. He was already planning to face up to the crimes of his past, to make amends and restitution as best he could and pay the price for what he had done…which would ease his newfound conscience but would be the fight of his life. By the time it was all over, his very life might be the price he would have to pay. That, he was not looking forward to.

And then there was another possibility that was wearing on him.

What if, when he got home, whatever had changed within him changed back?

Suddenly, something caught his eye outside the viewport, and he jumped. Craning his neck, he saw a gleaming silver curve gliding up from the rear edge of the window, sparking in the light of Ectos’ sun.

“Boraf!” he said, watching as the silver advanced and expanded…and then, as the word left his mouth, he recognized the shape.

It was one of the ‘Zoid sphere ships, moving alongside them. The massive globe floated up from the ‘Zoid homeworld, traveling in the same direction as the ship carrying Luther.

He heard a familiar sloshing and rustling as Boraf drifted up beside him. “Killship,” said the ‘Zoid. “Killship save world.”

Keeping his eyes glued to the viewport, Luther spotted another of the giant spheres beyond the first. And then another. Moving in formation, they paralleled his own ship’s course and speed, bobbing in the void like enormous silver balloons.

Luther frowned as another sphere pushed up alongside the rest. “We’re all heading in the same direction,” he said. “Are they escorting us till we’re safely away from here?”

“Ships escort,” said Boraf.

“Well, good,” said Luther, leaning back. “I’d hate to wind up in the line of fire.”

Boraf made a noise like the wail of a saw being played with a fiddle bow. “Luther safe,” it said, patting his head with a tentacle. “No worry.”

As Boraf floated forward to burble at the ‘Zoids operating the ship’s controls, Luther tried to relax. He felt a little better knowing that his ship had a protective escort, but he still couldn’t quite extinguish the foreboding that needled the back of his mind.

After a while, though, when the ships had cruised far from Ectos with no sign of danger, he finally managed to convince himself that he would be okay. Slowly, his nervousness faded, and he actually drifted off to sleep.

• • •

Luther awakened to the most wonderful sight: a blue-green world, swathed in clouds of white, with a single pewter moon suspended above it.

Earth.

As he watched his home planet push closer through the big viewport at the front of the ship, he smiled serenely. Whatever awaited him there, he was happier than he had ever imagined possible to be near it again.

He was home.

“We’re there already,” he said, raising his voice for Boraf to hear.

Boraf was playing with his tentacles over the fluttering grassy fronds of a control panel. “Earth,” the ‘Zoid said simply.

“Thank God,” muttered Luther, still smiling. He yawned loudly and stretched, extending his arms overhead and pressing his abdomen against the thick safety strap holding him in his seat.

Staring at the beautiful planet beyond the forward viewport, he daydreamed about the things he had missed most from home…the things that were now within reach. No matter what ordeals he was about to undergo, he promised himself that he would gorge on as many cheeseburgers, T-bones, beers, and pornos as he possibly could.

Then, something caught his attention from the corner of his eye.

He turned to the viewport beside him, and his smile disappeared. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open.

A chill ran up his spine.

“Boraf,” he said quietly, and then he shouted. “Boraf!”

The ‘Zoid left the controls and floated over to him, sloshing and puffing. “Luther?”

“Why are the other ships here?” snapped Luther. “I thought they were just escorting us until we were safely away from Ectos. I thought they were just protecting us from the invasion fleet.”

The ‘Zoid made a noise like the meow of a cat crossed with the squeak of a hinge. “Fleet no protect from fleet,” it said. “No make sense.”

“No no no,” said Luther, gaping at the giant silver spheres outside the viewport. “Protect us from the invasion fleet! The one that’s supposed to attack your world!”

A gargling sound emerged from Boraf’s forehead blowhole. “Only one fleet,” said the creature. “One invasion.”

Luther’s heart raced as he turned from the window to stare at the hovering jellyfish. “One invasion,” he said slowly.

“Earth,” said Boraf, pointing a tentacle at the forward viewport. “Ectozoids invade Earth.”

“I don’t understand,” said Luther. “You told me you needed to save your world.”

“Save world yes,” said Boraf. “Ectozoids use up resources. Get new resources Earth save world.”

Cold panic rushed through Luther, mingled with rage. “No!” he said, grabbing for the latch on his restraints, trying to pry them open. “You tricked me!”

“Luther be happy,” said Boraf. “Great killer make greatest kill ever. Kill human species.”

Luther battled the restraints but couldn’t open them. “No! Don’t do it!”

“No worry,” said Boraf, ruffling his hair with a slimy tentacle. “Luther safe. Luther Ectozoid hero save world.”

“Please!” screamed Luther. “I was wrong! I’ve changed!”

“Congratulations,” puffed Boraf. “Luther greatest serial killer in universe.”

Boraf was close enough to kill. Luther reached deep, searching for the old murderous fire…but he couldn’t even find a dim spark. Even now, the killer within was nowhere to be found.

All he could do was thrash against his restraints and scream like a child in a doctor’s office as the gleaming silver globes dropped into the atmosphere of the blue-green planet.