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1 FOR THE LOVE OF SKITTLES by TS Caladan on Fri Aug 19, 2016 12:34 am


by TS Caladan

Timothy Vincent was in a bit of a predicament at the moment. The young man had an honest-to-goodness Ray-Gun trained on an actual little, grey alien with big, black eyes while another grey alien with big, black eyes went into violent convulsions on his bedroom floor.
          It all started in the dead of night as the young man was fast asleep in bed, alone, in his single apartment on the South Side of East McKeesport, PA. He had a dream that he was being abducted by aliens at the same time that he was in the process of being abducted by real ones.   
          Two short, ugly, slimy, stinky, very grey, very hairless, bug-eyed creatures ‘beamed’ in or materialized in Tim’s bedroom on 6/15/15 at 3:13 AM. They saw in the dark. The aliens looked around at things like the ‘Scarface’ poster, the hamster, the ‘Fathead’ wall stickers of the Flash and one of the Minions. They did not understand them or the Blue Ball in the corner of the room.
          The taller Zeta Reticulan was a high-ranked Captain or what Earthlings would regard as ‘Admiral’ of a powerful mothership. The Captain was actually much more; he was also a leader of a very influential political party back on Zeta-2. His name was Boma. He gave the orders. His crew of devotees followed and so did many fans among billions of inhabitants on Zeta-2. He often ‘slummed’ with the crew of unknown workers and went on Away Missions as only an observer, of course. Boma was treated like a ‘queen bee’ or a beloved King to the crew of Greys.
          He was fascinated with objects around him in the quiet bedroom, in the darkness. His eyes photographed and recorded, but could not conceive of the Rubik’s Cube, Habitrail and collection of action figures. Captain Boma understood the books and the telescope near the window.
          His happy ‘slave’ underling prepared an apparatus which would make execution of the abduction a simple matter. In a minute, it would be ready.
          Tim Vincent was in such a deep REM sleep that his eyeballs darted from side to side behind his eyelids. He snored. The brilliant student and honored Science major at CMU on summer vacation had no clue that: This was his last day on Earth.
          Boma, the great, marched forward and closer to the subject that would soon be brought to the med lab of the mothership. He nodded and stayed out of the way of the tech. The famous and curious Zeta returned to an intimate inspection of other items in the room. His long, grey, cold, clammy fingers touched the thick carpet, the soft curtains, a strange metal sculpture, an X-Acto knife, a Sharpie and tennis balls. The creature was enchanted by the diversity of textures.
          Then the alien spied a row of round, colorful things inside four plastic containers on a table and near the hamster. Captain Boma was immediately attracted by the bright colors. What were they? Food? Drugs? Medicine? Games? His fingers smelled a wild sweetness in the air.
          One container had 137 green nodules, one container had 151 yellow nodules, another had 170 orange nodules and another container had 124 red nodules.
          Boma went straight for the first container of green nodules and touched the top ones with his extremely sensitive fingertips. It must have been instinct or fate or the very fact of exploring the great mysteries of an alien planet that made Boma do the unexpected…
          The Captain tossed the green pellet into his small mouth. The famous one from Zeta-2 soon reacted. Boma reacted in intense jerks and convulsions. He was thrown to the young man’s bedroom floor, violently!
          The other Grey in the room quickly dashed to the aid of his far superior in the chain of ‘Grey’ command. He could do nothing to help his slightly taller comrade.
          Boma kicked. His body flapped from side to side and his mouth groaned in terrible pains.
          TIM WOKE UP in the loud commotion. He saw the standing alien with his back turned to him and the Ray-Gun on his belt. He quickly grabbed the strange gun and felt the ON button (trigger). He had the drop on the aliens. Tim turned the light on…
          In the present situation, for fun, he aimed away (at empty wall space) and pressed the trigger. A low ‘zap’ sound sounded and a neat little hole was burned through the wall, not that far from the Minion Fathead.
          “Oh, wow,” came out of Tim’s mouth.
          The Grey flopped and jerked in apparent pain on the floor. The convulsions lessened.
          The one that stood three feet, eight inches high was scared as the Ray-Gun was aimed directly at him by one of the ‘savage natives.’ How did this happen?
          Don’t shoot.
          “What? You said don’t shoot?” The thrilled Science student came closer and pressed the weapon up against the Grey’s fat head in a display of power. Tim’s eyes widened and he stared directly into big, black, alien eyes. “Say that again. Make my night.” Tim thought he was Clint Eastwood.
          Don’t shoot. What did you do to our leader?
          “He’s your leader?”
          One of them.
          Young Mr. Vincent was in total awe. He didn’t believe he was in the middle of a conversation with a ‘Grey’ alien, let alone he held their Ray-Gun, laser, phaser or whatever.
          The other one laid still on the carpet.
          “I heard you clear as a bell. How is it, now I’m psychic?”
         We’re allowing you to understand. Please, I must help the great Boma, was heard in the room without the creature’s mouth-movements. One alien went to the other. The grey thing manipulated the prone four-foot figure on the floor via fingertip massage.
          The leader miraculously recovered from the sharp pains in his system and rose to his feet with the aid of his aid. Boma was very different. It was like he was ‘drunk’ or on an ‘Ecstasy’ pill. The Grey leader was suddenly and dramatically in love with the universe. He smiled.
          The worker Grey had never seen such an expression on the big face from any of his comrades. He was shocked and questioned, What is that?
          On his face?
          Tim described the unusual look: “He’s…smiling, ha.”
          Yeah. He’s not supposed to do that. Thing #2 told Tim that the leader’s new expression was a complete anomaly. The underling was not even aware that their kind formed smiles.
          To everyone’s surprise, Captain Boma leaped at his aid and subordinate and KISSED HIM! Hard. He held it for a few seconds to the obvious embarrassment of the underling. They ‘broke’ the kiss in a blissful daze.
          Finally, communications from Boma were heard in the bedroom in East McKeesport, PA. HE SPOKE! “Always wanted to do that.” After minutes of pure pleasure-centers in the alien’s brain were activated, Boma expressed this stunning, shocking and inconceivable innovation: He used WORDS and only words for communication purposes, the very same audible language as Timothy Vincent. One of the grand, prestigious leaders of Zeta Reticula 2, now idolized the man that was once only an insignificant specimen and only a number [#395,997] and only a subject of experimentation. The ‘Great Genetic Project,’ you know? But now…everything was different…
          The Ray-Gun remained trained on the aliens’ big heads. Tim’s arm and aim went from one to the other. He realized they were no longer a threat. He quickly put his pants and shirt on and gently placed the ‘Phaser’ in his pocket while both Zetas gravitated to the arrangement of Skittles, near his hamster, “Zeek.”
          The Captain leader smiled one more time which ‘freaked’ his close comrade and devoted follower that he snogged. He hugged his ‘buddy,’ kissed him again and sincerely informed him, “You should try the Green ones. Wonder what the Yellows do?” the leader asked in childlike wonder and joy. He touched the Yellows and ate one…
          Tim shouted, “No! No! Maybe…”
          Boma, one more time, experienced violent Skittle-convulsions, shook and fell to the floor. He loved it~
          Timothy Vincent was in a bit of a predicament at the moment. The young man had the Ray-Gun trained on the great Boma. The great Boma did not care and showed everyone his SMILE and a wrinkled face with a cheery expression. His small mouth was a different shape.
          They were onboard the mothership, known as ‘Chrysalis.’ The massive, curved, white room was heavily populated by Greys who virtually appeared the same. They were naked except for a few with types of equipment strapped to their bodies. Very few had belts with weapons. Chrysalis’ big room filled. Hundreds of crewmembers formed around the ‘abduction gone horribly wrong.’
          One crazy ‘savage’ had his pink finger on a Particle Beam that could vaporize a supreme leader’s head in an instant! The two original abductors on the Away Mission laughed. Everyone froze in fear. This had never happened before; they had no contingencies. Worker, drone ‘bees’ were caught in a ‘grey area’ conundrum: What to do? Computers did not help the crisis. Even the few (police) with Ray-Guns stood still as the spectacle in front of their big, black eyes unfolded.
          Suddenly, Zeta leader and Captain took control of the tense situation. The tall one was as cool as a cucumber (or Canto Bear). His eyes were a bit smaller and glassier. The epileptic fit phase of the drug was over and Pure Pleasure was etched on his face and determined his words. “Men! My lovely crew I adore!”
          They understood his words. They were confused.
          “…Other Leaders, our Supreme Leaders, of which I am an esteemed member… are wrong!”
          There were psychic ‘gasps’ in the audience.
          Mr. Vincent lowered the weapon. He should have had Space-Lag; it was early morning, yet he had all the energy in the world. Tim thought: What was happening here and how can I use it to my advantage?  
          Captain Boma continued with, “We must stop, go against a ‘century’ of GGP…STOP taking people from yellow suns! Stop doing our long work against humanity.”
          They did not understand his words. Stop the Project? Stop genetic attempts for the Zeta Empire to survive? Not care about the future for billions of Zetas on the binary planets?
          Timothy was prepared, like when he was a Boy Scout. In his backpack were four containers: 580 red, orange, yellow and green ‘nodules’ were inside of them. He figured his human pellet’s effect was like atomic bombs to the Greys or at least something along the lines of HEROIN! The sweet candy could come in handy, possibly more useful that a Ray pistol pointed at their leader’s big head.
          There should have been 582 Skittles in the plastic containers, but the Captain did up a Yellow and the aid swallowed his first Green. Same thing happened: same painful, violent gyrations and later total and complete feelings of ecstasy.
          WHY? was telepathically heard in the large crowd. Normally, no one dared question the exulted Admiral and Party Leader of Zeta-2, but these were extraordinary and very different circumstances. The others allowed the question, without repercussions and Boma didn’t care.
          “Because I have seen the way, the truth and the light, people. Zeta Ones are correct.”
          [People? Men? Zeta Ones are right? What odd “words” the Leader spoke and why was he suddenly speaking words now? Many in the crowd asked, internally: Why was it that there seemed to be a ‘new Sheriff in town’? The pink Savage with the gun and colorful pills was in charge].
          Tim Vincent turned to the aid that first attempted his abduction but now helped with every grey fiber in his ugly being, and ordered him to, “Collect all the guns from the soldiers or whatever they are. Don’t take NO for an answer, short stuff.”
          The aid who was under the strong influence of a Green smiled and also spoke. This was a shock for the little grey bastard and others that had never spoken or heard words before. “Sure, Timmy. I love you.” He batted his big, black eyes, turned around and did what he was ordered. He collected the weapons.
          The bedazzled ‘police’ complied and gave up their guns without question.
          Many hundreds of Greys that composed the Chrysalis’ crew were collectively fascinated in what they observed. It was as if complete and utter Chaos, for the first time, replaced Supreme Order. Apparently the Order, and there was always Order, flew out the portal of the mothership! Never could a low subordinate act or even think differently. Zeta-Twos never diverged from a devotion to traditions of GGP work, their mindless obsession for survival. Here was a top State Official who was…against Zeta-2 Law? Wow.
          (Zeta Ones were permitted to differ from the Order or the State or beliefs held by Zeta Twos. Zeta-1 was where the High Religious Sect was located, the secret Rangers. The philosophers had little, physical power compared to soldiers and scientists on Zeta-2).  
          Timothy Vincent was in a bit of a predicament. At the moment, he was inside his own luxurious, private, super Lab with the latest (futuristic) equipment that was THOUGHT-operated so even aliens could use the clean devices. He had the services of more than 2000 assistants who loved him. “Timmy” was the Boss. What he said or thought goes. It had nothing to do with: Who had the Ray-Guns? It had to do with:
          Who had the Skittles!
          What could possibly be the predicament that concerned the young man with the now A.W.O.L. mothership and pride of the Zeta fleet that housed a very high-ranked Official?
          Well, Tim had been abducting aliens for weeks of ‘galactic time.’
          The Boss or new Captain got the little buggers to cloak the huge ship.
          He got them to go back to Zeta-2, camouflage themselves and do the exact same thing they had been doing~ Abduct and Kill.
          He got them to KIDNAP their own. The human abducted grey aliens by the dozen! He employed professional, State-sanctioned abductors to do the job. He bonded with them and actually wanted to help the hideous critters out, if he could? He was already bored in a massive ‘outlawed’ saucer with parameter limitations that could not go back to Zeta-2, visually. Couldn’t go to Earth. [Explosives were set in all transports of this Solar System, automatically, in case any insane pilot decided to park their spaceship on the Kremlin’s or White House’s lawn].
          Why do it for the man? The aliens blindly gave up their power and never thought to revolt against the pink ‘god’ from Earth or get the guns. Why? What magic hold did he have over the one-tracked, loyal crew of Chrysalis? You guessed it:
          T.V. from Earth was the dispenser of what was the equivalent of acid, mescaline, coke, weed, smokes, speed, Ecstasy, coffee, sex and a good meal. They had all been dosed and the addicted little fuckers wanted MORE!
          There were only 17 Red nodules left after so much time had passed. It didn’t matter. The few thousand onboard got a collective-high. Everyone felt the love and desperately needed to go against long-standing programming and a strict pattern of behavior.  
          These crazy kids were up for anything!
          Anything Tim suggested, the least little wish, was their absolute Command. What to do?
          Call it a college Science Project, the GREAT Project: to extend the lives of dark creatures, maybe soulless creatures, who wanted more life, more time. Could a Carnegie Mellon student, although not a geneticist, ‘tackle’ and solve the Big Problem of Doom from a different angle? Maybe find a solution the Greys never thought of? Of course, Tim relied on the mega-computers. He made tremendous progress in ‘weeks.’ Only at this moment, he had a big realization confirmed by the dead Grey on the operation table with his chest opened and guts exposed.
          Timothy looked over at the former Captain and Admiral.
          Boma, just Boma, laughed.
          “I discovered a significant breakthrough, Boma. Something BIG!”
          The last lifeform in the world that cared about old protocols was Boma. “That’s nice. Ha.”
          “Dude! The Great Project! Don’t you understand? I know the secret. Why’re doomed? I can fix it. Ha. Un-fucking believable.” Tim thought again and only to himself. “Wait. I think I already done that. I mean, to a few maybe? Oh God, no.” Something else hit him. The future?
          Boma smiled that silly smile, again. (All the buggers appeared in drunken stupors). He said to King Tim, “There’s just one thing I-I want to know, partner…” He pretended as if he shot a weapon. Ex-Captain shook and asked with smaller eyes: “Why’d ja divide the ‘cheesecake’ into s-separate colors? Why not put them t-together? Oh, we, at first, thought the colors had, had, had different effects and to some, they had. Soon it was clear they were the s-s-same. Tried to fool us, didn’t you?” Boma winked and smiled big and showed his full set of wrinkles.
          “Because I heard things about…about the dangers of mixing Skittles…”
          “What?” the slow, dumbfounded creature asked.
          “Look. I’ll come out and tell ya, right? None of you will appreciate the news, eh?”
          He looked down at the dead, dissected Grey on the table. “Yer US! Yunze guys! You hard, cold, grey, dry, lifeless hulks, you BUGS are fucking supposed to die! Has to do with Time.”
          “Huh?” Boma repeated with eyes that squinted more.
          “You are us, human Earthlings, in the future! Don’t you know what you been doing for ages now? Hybrids will never work. Don’t you know what you are; where you come from? You are used up, totally, genetically, DONE, spent! In your case, nothing can extend your lives. It’s over! You’ll NEVER spit out any little baby bugs. You’ll be reproducin’ nuttin! This is why the Zeta One philosophers are right. You need to die and crossover. You said it to your people…”
          “Huh? Never mind, Timmy. Can I have another cheesecake? Gimme another cheesecake.” He smiled big, like a grey baby no more than five years old. “Just one more? Oh, please? I’ll be good.”
          “You and your crew had quite enough cheesecake for a lifetime, there, Sonny. I’m trying to tell you something important.”
          Boma replied, “I, ah, am a…trying to tell you something important, too.”
          TV blurted out, “It’s why yer talkin’ and none of ya are psychic anymore! The drug, unlike our LSD which momentarily ‘futurizes’ the user, increases all senses, awareness, consciousness, the ‘cheesecake’ candy permanently brings you back into your proto or early forms, MILLIONS of years ago! You’re going Retro and contaminating…wait, I’ve done that. Fucking contaminated the whole crew. You don’t need the pills. You’re all on the same BACKWARD vibration and I’m afraid there’s no going forward again for you. Huh. What have I done?”
          “Oh, shit.” Tim was not sure what was next. He babbled more to himself, “It’s that huge pineal gland in your head; does what our fluoride in water does. Without it, as it’s now gone from y’all, you are not so easily susceptible to robot-commands and programming…”
          Boma passed out in happiness and ignorance. His big eyes were closed. He smiled and was as contented as a full and loved baby.
          “Yeah. Yunze guys are kinda unbound from your shackles of Slavery to the Z-2 State and similar to the religious Ones who know Time is at an end and you need to pass over, naturally, not extend life, artificially. BUT the lasting effects of the Skittles are…STUPIDITY. You’re like 21st Century Earth people, all right…” Tim realized he talked to himself. No one listened.
           Then another of the crew entered the bright lab. “Hi. Hi. Timmy, sweetie. Got a, a, a deal for you, pumpkin,” the ugly, stinky bitch told the pink god. This was an infertile ‘she’ of the species and not a gay Grey.
          “Promise. I got big news, bub. Latest T-Machine report, hon…”
          “Yer kidding!” Timothy knew precisely what that meant: A clear, temporal view from Time Machines of the [most recent] fixed and very true, real, near future and after changes.
          “Oh, let me see,” Tim lightly commanded the dazed and not so confused female Grey. She was no pushover and understood the power in her hand. “Not so fast, bub. You want the report?”
          “Yeah, sure.” At first, he didn’t know. Then it hit Tim what she drove at. What else?
          “You give me the cheesecake, I’ll give you the Time Report, dear? What’s say?” She batted her big, black, glassy eyes in an attractive way. She was still pretty damn ugly.
          Tim surprised her. He reached into his pocket and popped a red candy in his mouth.
          She gasped as he did it again. “Huh!”
          One after another (only a few red ones were left), Tim downed the Skittles. Nothing happened to him, no initial pain. Only sweetness.
          She backed away a bit and covered her small mouth. She thought he’d EXPLODE. The cute, little Monster of a creature, now more like a mystified child, never saw multiple doses by one being before. She asked in innocence and with larger eyes, “They don’t work on you?”
          “No. I’m already stupid.” Tim chewed a bunch of them and smiled a very big smile. He tossed the last one down to her.
          She almost died of happiness right there. “AH!” The potent drug immediately entered her system through the sensitive fingertips. “It’s a RED! I never had a Red.” The excited, elated, overjoyed Grey gobbled up the nodule like there was ‘no tomorrow.’
          “And the report?”
          She tossed what was in her left-hand up to him. Then she went into the expected, violent convulsions on the floor.
          Tim grabbed the small piece of tech from the tech and pushed the button.
          The holographic report filled the area in front of him in three dimensions within a blue sphere. It showed the cumulative effect of extreme changes that truly occurred in the next ten galactic years. It was obvious why: introduction of a new element, an unexpected X-factor to the grand Equation or, simply, a candy from the ‘Wrigley Company, a Division of Mars, Inc.’
          Zeta Twos as well as the brilliant philosophers on Zeta-1 who always opposed dictates of the Hive-Mind or the State on Z-2, were also…shallow, one-dimensional, basic creatures, a lot like they were a million years ago and much like the affected crew. (Not all Zeta Ones). In ten years, Chrysalis mothership infected and transformed billions on two binary planets that circled each other from a far distance, that both orbited a yellow star.
          Tim Vincent saw the truth. He saved the ultra-ancient Zeta Empire (future branch of the Human Empire) by making them stupid.
          When the young man ran out of the precious Drug, when the ship’s crew understood another vital truth and got it through their thick, dumb heads that…
          There were no more Skittles! Truly none!
          Zetas believed the man’s story that the nodules were his private project, his invention and he and only he alone knew the secret formula for the colored pills.
          When all the resources of the Zeta Empire were offered to TV to replicate an unlimited supply of Cheesecake that would be distributed on both home planets…
          He flatly refused. Tim knew very well the damages; he saw the retardation and proved it to himself. The regression, even when one considered the extension of Life, was too much of a terrible price to pay in the college student’s estimation. Tim would never change his stance on what he called “evil Skittles.” The alien pleasure pills were gone. They were gone for good.
          Tim was a Zeta One.
          A crisis raged.
          The hard-shelled hulks that were once desperate creatures at Life’s End, which only wanted more time to live, had their time. It was all over for them…
          But examine the fantastic panorama or full Spectrum of the Human Race: An unbelievable Chain of Life extended so very long through Time that Zetas were the extreme far end of it. And mere, short-lived, Earthlings were only a microscopic ‘Link in the Grand Chain of Human Life.’
          Because the pink idol or King Tim, to most Zetas, refused the resources, refused to reveal his ‘secret formula’ and refused to assist in any way the production of cheesecake…
          The basic Greys, more like fallen/violent humans than they ever were, killed their god.
          Tim was dead.
          A neat trick was utilized by a powerful Priesthood on Zeta One. The ‘Rangers for Truth’ saved the soul of Mr. Vincent [a man who never should have received a brutal death upon his throne]. Good guys, Time Lords, temporal, covert ‘Wizards of the Light’ or just plain old Rangers, kept the spirit of the man safe, at peace and at ultimate rest. It was their way of saying: thanks.

How to order novels by TS Caladan

or go to publisher’s site: TWBPRESS.COM 
TWB Press, publishing, electronic, e-books, ebooks, short stories, novels, science fiction, supernatural, horror, thrillers, fiction

TS Caladan's 3-Book "Traylogy" can be purchased thru TWB Press.
9" x 6" books with cover art are less than $18.00.   EBooks are $3.99.


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