Chapter 3: Colliding

Hefmire’s Case Notes, 03/09/2011 cont.:

“We honestly didn’t know what we were letting ourselves in for...”

Raddy Sashman was talking very rapidly into his phone as his chauffeur navigated the winding the streets of the seaside town that was presently inconveniencing him by not being marked on any respectable roadmap.

“Sorry, Jaff- I know I said I’d be at the opening but we’re lost... yeah... yeah... I know man. Look, you’ll just have to cope without me this once, alright? I’ll be at the after-party, you can cry on my shoulder then about how fucking awful it was then... I know, I know. Okay, Sweetie-fuck, I’ll see you at the after-party! Kiss a starlet for me! ciao!” Sighing, he switched off his phone and tried to work out in his head if his chauffeur would take that rather loud conversation to mean that he was an absolutely, aching great twat. Sashman tried very hard not to behave like a twat- he’d seen a lot of other movie directors who had made it big acting like twats and didn’t want to fall into the same trap. Unfortunately, his naturally campness fitted the stereotype so perfectly that it was immensely hard not to at least seem like he had.

As these concerns were floating through his mind, he saw a beautiful but rather the worse-for-wear looking woman standing on the side of the road. Her clothes appeared to have been ripped to shreds from the inside out, and she looked strangely pensive, not to say dazed.

“Pull over, man” Sashman said to his chauffeur, who raised an eyebrow but complied. Sashman swung open his door to address the woman on the side of the road.

“Are you alright there?” he asked, “You seem a little out of it.”

The woman turned to him and gave a languid smile. “Sure. Er... fine...” she said.

“If you’re going somewhere, maybe I can give you a lift?” he offered.

“Thanks,” said the woman, as Sashman slid up to make room. She practically fell into the back of the car, and it was only when she was inside that Sashman realised just how much space she took up. It had not escaped his notice that she was heavier woman, but he had been somehow distracted by her stunning beauty.

“So, where are you headed, gorgeous stranger?” he asked, something about the woman putting him quite at ease.

“I don’t know, she admitted,” looking a little embarrassed. “I woke up a little way off shore maybe an hour or so ago... I don’t really remember anything. I suppose I should head for somewhere central?” she suggested.

Sashman nodded. But then a thought struck him. There was a voice at the back of his mind which he thought was called ‘common sense’ that was telling him that if this woman had amnesia and she’d woken up in the ocean, he should probably get her to a hospital. A louder voice, however, which he thought might be called ‘those two glasses of wine I had before setting out to steady my nerves’ was insisting that there was a better option available.

“Tell you what!” he said, “How do you want to come to the opening of my friend and I’s latest film. We’re very famous and I could use a little company dealing with all the big, scary stars that turned up to these things!”

“I’d be delighted,” she assured him. “I’m Beach, by the way.”

“Sashman,” Sashman replied, and they air-kissed, as big stars are wont to do. She did it like a natural, he thought.

***

General Awn sat in his office, awaiting the arrival of Doctor Hefmire. Hefmire was one of life’s habitual practitioners of tardiness, and had not turned up on time once during the past twenty years of his career. In fact, he Awn knew that the man made it a point of professional pride to be late to every meeting, just to underline the point that his private practice came before anything anybody else might want him to do. Awn also knew that as much as this made him want to throttle the doctor, he’d have to bite his tongue if he wanted his help. And frankly, he NEEDED his help.

Finally, however, Hefmire was shown in, and sat down primly across the desk from Awn.

“Hefmire,” Awn said. “As you know, this is the headquarters of Code 8, the branch of British Government responsible for planning an appropriate response to extra-terrestrial contact, with particular authority if that contact turns out to be hostile.”

“I was aware of the fact,” sniffed Hefmire.

“Excellent. Well, we think it’s happened. We need you because of your brief contact with subject ‘Egress’ prior to the so-called Supersize Riot.

“Egress?” Hefmire enquired. “What could she possibly have to do with this?”