Kristy

Posted by PK on July 30, 2004 at 15:38:01:

"Love the suit," Zarg the Unspeakable commented. Was he trying to put her at ease? Or was it something else?

Kristy was understandably nervous. She'd been working for television news for a relatively brief period as an outside broadcast reporter, and yet somehow she'd been handed a real plum assignment, what might once have been referred to as a scoop. It came in the wake of a frenzied revival of media interest in the old chestnut of aliens on Earth and government conspiracies.

Of course the topic was an old one, dating back to the nineteen forties or fifties at least, and usually thought to have originated with the alleged crash of an extraterrestrial craft at Roswell in the USA. It had gone through any number of permutations since then, with rumours, evidence, scientific opinion and Government positions so confused and intermingled that it was impossible to distinguish history from myth, and myth from outright fiction. Until recently, the matter had been generally left to conspiracy fanatics and downright paranoid crackpots, the 'respectable' opinion being that it was all so much nonsense.

Until recently. Not long ago - nobody quite knew when - a whole new wave of revelations had appeared, starting on the Internet. Stripped of unnecessary detail and speculation, it amounted to this: new evidence of a collusion between alien visitors and some human agency, usually referred to by the well-known mythical archetype of the 'Men in Black'. To what extent this agency was involved with the official Earth governments was unknown and a ripe subject for speculation. So far, the 'flap' resembled any of the preceding ones. There were, however, some vital differences. Firstly, the evidence - most, admittedly anecdotal - was greater in both amount and consistency. Secondly, and this was probably the real reason for the public interest, there was something entirely new.

The aliens, the new theorists claimed, were not here to conduct pointless and bizarre experiments, to bring enlightenment or to destroy and/or take over the world. They were mostly tourists, here to sample the gastronomic delights of humanity. Not as producers of gourmet cuisine, but as the main course. In other words, they ate people.

Kristy's network was about to blow the whole thing wide open. Unless they were being hoaxed, they had been contacted by one of the aliens and he (it?) had agreed to give an interview as an informant. What his motives might be, apart from a reputedly astronomical fee, Kristy didn't know. All she knew was that a bargain had been struck, the alien would be interviewed on camera, and she was going to be the first woman on Earth to talk to an extraterrestrial life form on television. She would be up there with Neil Armstrong, she would have her place in history. So, was she nervous? Just a bit...

"Especially the footwear," Zarg continued, angling his orb-stalks towards Kristy's feet. "So nice to see you've eschewed the abominable practice of painting the toenails. Toes are so much more appealing without garish adornments, don't you agree?" He - Kristy assumed for the sake of argument that it was a 'he' - licked his lips.

Her assumption was based mainly on the fact that the voice issuing from what must be a vocoder or translation device was male. That and other more primal considerations that she preferred not to acknowledge.

"I was wondering," she said, "Why they call you 'Zarg the Unspeakable'". That should take her to safer ground.

"Oh, that." Zarg waved a tentacle airily. "It's nothing, really. A matter of linguistics and phonetics. And a minor malfunction of my translator. All it means is that my full name is difficult to pronounce in your language. Do you know what 'kangaroo' really means?"

Kristy neither knew nor cared. She shook her head. "Perhaps we could begin with why you came to Earth," she pressed. "And why you contacted us."

"A true newshound!" Zarg commented jovially. "Straight to the point, downright dogged. No fiddle-faddle. Admirable."

"I'm afraid that's not an answer," Kristy insisted.

Zarg's body language indicated submission. His tentacles drew in, his eyestalks drooped. Kristy would have wondered how she'd become aquainted with alien body language if she'd not been preoccupied. She might even have wondered if she'd conquered the idioms well enough to detect irony.

"Ah," Zarg shrugged. "So much for small talk." He held up a sinous limb in self deprecation. "No, I'm not evading. "I contacted you...." He paused. "Could we have some background music? I find that it relaxes me, makes me more forthcoming..."

Kristy glanced at the sound tech. He nodded cautiously. "What would you like?"

"The Beach Boys," Zarg muttered. "A vastly undervalued ensemble in my opinion."

The requisite aural background was supplied, suitably muted.

"So, why did you come to Earth? And why are you going public?"

Zarg ignored the first question with the skill of a career politician. "Certain legal considerations," he said. "Our situation is - 'ow you say...." he smacked his translator with an appendage and swore under his breath in Xiccarphian - "legally ambigous?"

Kristy pounced. "You want recognition? A voice in the media?"

Zarg cleared his throat. His orbs focussed in Kristy's face in a manner meant to convey sincerity. "Genau, precisement, le mot juste." He smacked his translator again. "Fuckin' A." Another smack. "Something of the sort," he essayed in English. "We two are one."

What? Kristy wasn't sure what he'd meant by that, if anything, but she wasn't going to get sidetracked into some meandering labyrinth of alien philosophy or semantics. This interview had been enormously difficult to set up, and if she blew it she could kiss her budding career goodbye. Her company would probably fire her, and she wouldn't be able to blame them. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity for them as well as for her.

The problem had been setting up the venue for the interview and keeping it a secret. It went without saying that there would be agencies of government, science and law enforcement who would be very interested in knowing where one of these alleged extraterrestrials was going to be, with a view to capturing him. Preferably alive, but better dead than not at all. Zarg was well aware of this and the arrangements had involved his approval at all stages. The TV show itself was scheduled to go out live as a 'shock expose' of the Secret Alien Invaders situation, the general public had NOT been told the nature of the main witness. The tech crew had been sworn to secrecy on pain of never working again, and the studio audience had also been chosen for discretion, though they had not been informed of the nature of the beast either. When Zarg had first appeared, some of them had screamed and some had laughed, presumably believing it to be a special effect. Some of them had fled for the exit and were now being held in another room, sedated, by polite but firm security guards.

"Something of the sort?" This was still too vague, Kristy had yet to educe one solid fact. Zarg was either being deliberately vague or in need of some leading. "What about your alleged relationship with a human agency, the so-called 'Men in Black'? Do you have such a relationship? Is this agency in fact related to any legitimate government?"

"As to the first, yes, as to the second, therein lies the rub." Zarg said.

Finally, we're getting somewhere, Kristy thought. "Would you care to expand on that a little?" she asked hopefully. What she hoped was that she didn't have to drag it out of him a crumb at a time. She wasn't kidding herself, she was no Jeremy Paxman.

"We..ah...extraterrestrials are here on the sufferance of this agency you mention. They issue us visas under certain conditions and in return for certain considerations."

"You mean you pay them to let you stay here and you have to abide by their rules," Kristy said sharply. "What rules? And what do they do if you don't comply?"

"Infractions incur a warning," Zarg said. "Refusal to heed said warning is usually terminal. Their agents are equipped with weaponry assembled from the gleanings of a dozen or more technologies, and wielded with utter ruthlessness. You humans are an ingenious species, particularly in the creation and use of armament. It's simpler and much safer not to argue."

Kristy was shocked despite herself. "You're saying that this nameless agency controls traffic with outer space and if you ET's don't do as they say, they hunt you down and kill you?"

"Precisely," Zarg said. "Aptly summarised. It is a satisfactory and equitable arrangement. Or, it was..."

"Satisfactory?" Kirsty hadn't quite seen that coming, but after all, he WAS an alien. "If it's so satisfactory, then why.....oh. I see."

Zarg's massive head hunched into his body - he didn't have shoulders as such - in a gesture that might have been concurrence. "I believe you do. Our presence here is, so to speak, blown. Oh, the situation can be denied and evaded by both sides for a little longer, surely, but it's only a matter of time before it can no longer be so. Those of us who acknowledge the inevitable can only choose to leave, or to explore the possibility of regularising our situation vis-a-vis the proper terrestrial authorities."

"You mean you're thinking about going legitimate, applying for passports, that sort of thing?"

"Something like that," Zarg said vaguely. "We're rather feeling our way here. Dipping our appendages in the medium, so to speak."

"That shouldn't be too much of a problem, surely?" Kristy pressed. "It might be a little difficult at first, but once your presence here is recognised the authorities will have no choice but to deal with the situation. I'd think they'd be competing to make the first official contact with an interstellar society." This was going better than she'd expected, she was now more excited than nervous. She'd even started to get used to Zarg's appearance, even if he did look like something from a cheesy SF-horror film. She remembered asking one of her cameramen why he thought she'd been chosen for this assignment rather than one of the more experienced interviewers.

"Eye candy, as the Yanks say," he'd said. "Beauty and the Beast. It'll look terrific. Who's going to be able to resist watching a good looking babe - no offence - talking to the Thing from Outer Space? With you AND the Thingie on camera, nobody who flips over to this channel will tune out again. They'll be nailed."

Zarg made a gruff noise that might have equated to clearing his throat. It must be a pretty big throat, Kristy thought. "Well, there might be some slight problems," he ventured.

"Ask him why he's here," one of the studio audience heckled. Until now, they'd been well behaved, almost too docile. "What does he want?"

That, indeed, was the question. Rather than being rattled by the interruption, Kristy went with it. She nodded acknowledgement and turned back to Zarg. "That's fair enough," she said. "So, Mr Zarg, why ARE you here? What did you come to Earth for, and what are these 'conditions and considerations' involved in your dealings with the clandestine agency that you previously found so satisfactory?"

There was a pregnant pause. "Um...hunting permits," Zarg said at last. "It might be a problem negotiating the exact terms...."

"Hunting? Hunting what, exactly?"

Zarg paused again. He looked directly at Kristy for a long moment, and she wondered suddenly if he could see her underwear. She was wearing a feminine but businesslike suit of grey wool, with a jacket over a white blouse and a conservatively cut but rather short skirt.

"Humans," Zarg said. The audience rhubarb level rose audibly.

Kristy felt her skin prickling. "Y-you hunt humans? Why?" She imagined heads in trophy cases or on walls, stuffed tigers. "For trophies?"

"Certainly not, that would be barbaric. To eat, of course," Zarg said. The rhubarb threatened to become an outcry.

Kristy overrode it, keeping her voice calm and reasonable. "You eat people? Why? Is there a food shortage on your world?"

Zarg made a negatory gesture. "No, no, not at all. Humans taste good. You are a delicacy."

The remark was obviously meant to be general, but Kristy reacted to it personally. "Me?"

"You, certainly," Zarg said politely. "Healthy, well-formed young adult females are the creme de la creme. The favourite prey of..." he shrugged self deprecatingly "...Space Monsters, as the popular phrase has it, such as myself."

Kristy felt a wave of dizziness and reached for her water glass, sipping until it passed. So, it was true. The aliens ate people. She was shaken.

It shouldn't have surprised her, you might be thinking. Think again. Of course she'd heard the theories. She'd done her research, she'd read the material. But crackpot theories are ten a penny on the internet and in the fringe media. You can have your fill of them any time: President Kennedy of the USA was assassinated by the CIA in league with Greys in flying saucers; the Earth is flat; the world governments are all run by giant shape-changing lizards who sacrifice babies in Satanic rituals; vampires are real, the list is endless. But reading is one thing, what if you chased down one of these lunatic leads and it turned out to be true? What if you really saw one of the hidden lizard despots? What if you met Count Dracula in person?

Zarg was real, unless this was the best hoax she'd ever seen. And he'd just admitted that he liked to eat people, that he'd like to eat her. She put the thought away and concentrated. "You're saying that you're here because you like to eat human women?"

"In a nutshell, yes," Zarg responded.

"And these people, these 'Men in Black', whoever they are, allow you to do this in return for - what - money, alien technology?"

"They have never enlightened me as to their objectives," Zarg said with a hint of apology, "But that is in essence correct. We pay in whatever coin they specify."

"And you're not here to invade the Earth?"

"What me, invade?" Zarg would have raised an incredulous eyebrow if he'd had one. Somehow, he conveyed the gesture. "I'm not an army. I suppose you could see me as representing a consumer group with special interests."

"But the rest of your kind..."

Zarg sighed. "View me as a dilettante, I fear. An eccentric, an obsessive gastronome. We Space Monsters are a breed apart, brothers under the carapace, pioneers...." he seemed to go into a reverie.

"What you're saying is that you don't represent your government."

"Heavens to Betsy, no!" Zarg said. "I just want to consume some prime Terran pussy. Did I expostulate that correctly?"

"I was with you up to 'expostulate' but I think I get the idea," Kristy said. "I still don't see why you aliens don't just take over if you want to."

Zarg shrugged. "Which aliens? Interstellar society isn't that simple. There are rules for interaction, not everybody agrees on what they should be. We don't all understand how Terran government works, imagine what ours is like, we're not all the same species. I came here in a privately hired spacecraft. If the MiB's find out I'm talking to you I'll have to flee. Their agents are...." he searched for a word, the mot juste, the perfect phrase, "Mean bastards."

Kristy should really have pursued that line of inquiry but something else bubbled up from the back of her mind. "I'd like to know more about this business of hunting permits," she said. "How do you hunt?" She'd read about predatory aliens, not at the time believing a word of it, "Pheromonal lures?" That one was starting to worry her.

"No, that's the Aldebaranians," Zarg said. "We Xiccarphians rely on our own tentacles."

"Tentacles?"

"Put simply, we grab you and stuff you into our mouths, then we swallow you. There are nuances of both method and taste, that's a matter of style, but those are the basics. I could demonstrate, if you like."

"Demonstrate?" Kristy parroted. "I don't believe I understand..." Like hell she didn't.

Zarg shrugged, more or less. It involved a small rise and fall of his tentacles. "It's simple enough," he explained. "You asked how I hunted. I offered to demonstrate. I'm sure your viewers would like to see how it works...."

The audience rhubarbed again. Did she detect a note of excitement?

"What are you suggesting, exactly? That I let you swallow m..er, a volunteer?"

"Whatever," Zarg said airily. "Just a dry run, as it were. Well, perhaps not exactly dry..."

Kristy pulled at the hem of her skirt. She took another sip of water. "That wouldn't explain how you actually hunt," she pointed out. Dry run? Just a demonstration? she wondered. "Presumably you don't normally have the luxury of asking for volunteers..." She raised an eyebrow quizzically, congratulating herself that her voice remained level and calm.

"You're quite right," Zarg conceded. "Normally we lurk. Preferably in dark places."

Kristy had read a fictional account of something like this. Or at least she'd assumed it was fictional. She tried to recall it. Oh yes...

["There are City Monsters?"

"Yes, a few. They lurk in abandoned buildings, derelict sites, basements..."

"Under the bed?" Carmel smirked.

"Not very often," Albert said seriously. Logistically impractical, he knew. Tight squeeze.

"What about Bugs? Like in the film. Did they make that up?"

Albert had seen it. "Oh, don't worry, they're not a real danger."

"Not dangerous? I thought...okay, it's Hollywood, they exaggerated, right? They don't eat people?"

"Not at all. It's just that Bugs have no style, no finesse. They'll eat anything but they always get out of hand. Then the Bureau comes and gets them." Albert shuddered involuntarily.

"You scared of those dudes?" Carmel teased.

Bet yer fuckin' life, thought Albert. He'd been living in America too long. Fortunately his translator turned it into British.

"Just a bit," he said.]

"You're a City Monster?" she blurted. "Sorry, I mean...do you prefer an urban environment to a rural one?"

"No offense taken," Zarg said affably. "Yes, I'm primarily a 'City Monster'. Not that I'd object to any other suitable environ, but I'm not much of an outdoorsman. Lurking in the dark works for me. Not the old abandoned building nonsense though. I don't have the patience to wait for a bunch of teenagers to show up on Halloween; I could starve to death waiting. Alleys, underground car parks, anywhere with hidden corners and bad lighting will do. I wait and when the prey comes within reach," his tentacles twitched convulsively, "I grab."

"You grab," Kristy echoed again. She was losing it. "Very interesting..." Her left foot itched and she tried to rub it with her right unobtrusively.

"But difficult to demonstrate in the studio," Zarg offered helpfully. "You seem to be experiencing discomfort. Why don't you take your shoes off? Relax..."

"I'm fine, thank you." Kristy said, thinking furiously. A demonstration. Maybe they could set up hidden cameras in a car park and film Zarg making a capture. The ultimate 'reality TV'. But how could she swing it? Would the network go for it? Would he? It was bound to be risky on both fronts. The Space Monster was worried about the Men in Black catching up to him and it was possible there would be complaints from the ITC watchdogs about the programme content.

"As you wish," the monster in question was saying. "I'm only trying to help. I could show you the grabbing, in lieu of the lurking. Difficult to lurk, skulk, dwell in shadow etc. under these lights. One does what one can."

"I'd pay to see that," someone in the studio called.

Kristy had an instinct she hadn't been aware of for playing an audience. She sensed that the crowd scented a spectacle in the making. They were putting her on the spot and there was a way to use that. She turned to face the crowd.

"Any takers?" she asked. She prowled the stage, making eye contact with them at random. Her shoes hampered her movement, so she kicked them off. She felt hot, her underwear was uncomfortable. Her jacket bound her shoulders, she doffed it and hung it on her chair. Much better. She fastened on a girl in the front row who was talking to her friend and giggling. "How about you?"

The girl squirmed in her seat and blushed. "Me?"

"How about this one, Zarg?" she cast over her shoulder. "To your taste?"

"Oh, absolutely. Do please divest her of the encumbrances."

Kristy was on a roll. She stepped down and pulled the girl out of her seat, leading her onto the stage. "What's your name and where do you come from?" she asked.

"Ah..I'm Tara and I'm from, ah, Colchester."

There was a scattering of applause and lascivious hoots.

"How would you like to help us demonstrate being eaten by a Space Monster?"

Tara's friends cheered again. The girl looked discomfited.

"I don't know.....I suppose..." More audience feedback. She smiled shyly. "All right." She glanced nervously at the crouching Thing. "Are you sure it's safe?"

Kristy glanced at her cameraman. He gave her a 'thumbs up'.

"Perfectly safe," she half-lied. She had no idea.

"What do I do?" Tara asked nervously. Kristy looked a question at Zarg.

"Well, it would help if you had her remove her clothing. It does so spoil the taste and it's a dreadful bore picking zippers and things out of my teeth. Normally I try to pull as much of it off as possible, but bra straps are a terrible trial. My tentacles just aren't built for the job like your fingers are."

Tara was not the sharpest tool in the box but she got the drift of that well enough. "Take my clothes off?" The audience hooted its approval of the notion. "I don't know...."

Nudity should be okay, Kristy thought. It wasn't exactly usual on a chat or interview show, but it was after nine and the context required it so there shouldn't be a problem. She glanced at the cameraman who nodded again. "If you wouldn't mind," she said.

Prompted by more raucous audience response, Tara stripped to her underwear. On the verge of unfastening her bra, she hesitated. A thought appeared to cross her mind. "He's not really going to eat me, is he? So it won't matter about the fasteners and things..."

"I suppose not," Kristy conceded. Drat. It would look much better if the girl was naked, but what the hell, it would have to do. "Okay Zarg, what's next?"

What followed was a fiasco. Tara was coaxed into approaching Zarg, but when he wrapped a tentacle about her waist and started to pull her into his gaping maw, she became uneasy and then hysterical.

"No! Stop it!" she gasped. Zarg continued to pull steadily. She lost her footing and fell backwards into his mouth, folding at the middle. His tongue took over, wrapping her in an unbreakable and slimy embrace. She began to scream...

"Zarg?" Kristy called peremptorily. "ZARG!! Stop it!"

To her utter amazement, he did. With one sinuous tentacle he plucked the squealing, struggling girl out of his mouth as if removing a piece of chewing gum, depositing her on the floor of the studio where she sat with legs sprawled, gasping. "Is there a problem?" he inquired politely.

It was difficult to know what to say to that. After all, she HAD asked for a demonstration (or had she? Hadn't he suggested it?) and Tara had agreed...

"I think she's had enough," she said mildly. "Thank you, Tara, that will be all."

The audience was rhubarbing again. Kristy detected a note of grumbling, a sense of anticlimax.

Tara scrambled to her feet, panting, and grabbed for her clothes. Her face was flushed. She had sensed the mood of the mob too. She didn't want to be the target of their disapprobation.

"Just you fucking try it," she snarled at Kristy. "See if you do any better." She stalked off the stage, quivering with fear transformed into anger.

It didn't take a genius to see where that led the mob. Zarg wasn't helping either. "I'd be more than willing to continue the demonstration if you'd care to assist," he said.

Double drat. If she backed out she'd look like a wimp after what she'd put Tara through. This was getting completely out of hand. On top of that, somebody was bound to write a letter to the Radio Times about bad language. A real interviewer, she reminded herself, controls the situation, doesn't let it get out of hand.

Of course, some of the most memorable interviews occur when it does go pear-shaped. A dozen instances of this flashed through her mind. Parkinson and Ali. Harty and Grace Jones. Whiteley and the ferret.

She had an 'I should have' moment. She should have taken the interview down an entirely different path. She should have stuck to the cold, hard facts. No dice. She'd painted herself into a corner.

"Very well," she said, unbuttoning her blouse. "Show me." Show me what? she thought. How much further could she take it? Far enough not to let Tara's taunt stick, was that it?

"Only too happy to oblige," said Zarg cheerfully.

Was this really a good idea? Kristy pondered as she removed her blouse to vocal appreciation from the audience. Would she become famous as the interviewer who exposed the whole 'Woman Eating Monsters and the Men in Black' scandal or would she forever after be referred to as 'that blonde chick with the great tits who stripped off on TV'? The problem was that some events had a momentum of their own and she was caught up in this one like a leaf in a stream. She unfastened her skirt, it fell to her ankles and she stepped out of it. She certainly couldn't back out at this stage, in addition to losing face she'd now look indecisive and panicky. Should she remove her underwear too?

"Delightful," Zarg said. "And the rest?" He had the audience on his side.

Kristy yielded to the moment and unfastened her bra. More hoots and whistles. What the hell, off with the panties too. Thank God she kept herself in good condition, she knew she had a good figure. "Now what?" she demanded boldly, naked and doing her best to look nonchalant about it. She felt nervous and oddly excited.

Zarg seemed, for a moment, to be at a loss. His tentacles twitched and his face, such as it was, conveyed unreadable emotions. Unreadable? Well, of course, he did drool a bit. Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly....

Kristy flicked that thought aside.

He had very big teeth. BIG teeth. Big enough to bite her in half. What did he chew with those, rhinoceri? She crossed her arms under her breasts. "Well?"

Zarg extended a very prehensile, very tactile looking tentacle. His eyestalks focussed on her face, glowing with sincerity. "If you'll just step over here, I'll be happy to demonstrate," he said.

Kristy approached him.

"Please turn around and kneel down. Place your weight on your forearms," Zarg continued in the even tones of a Yoga instructor.

"What, exactly, are we going for here?" Kristy asked, a little querulously, as she complied. She was also wondering, in a far corner of her mind, if any of the studio cameras were aimed at her backside, and if her bottom looked too big.

"You are going inside my mouth," Zarg explained. "I am going to taste you. Don't worry, it won't hurt. I do hope you don't apply toxic chemicals to your skin? Worse than nylon underwear, if anybody wants my opinion."

"What's....oh...yow!"

Something slightly slimy and seriously sinuous wound its way around Kristy's twitching lower limbs. Tugged, took her in.

Kristy found herself half in and half out of Zarg's open mouth. She was lying belly down on a soft, wet, warm surface. Her arms and head were still outside, she had instinctively braced her hands against the floor. Her upper torso was poised precariously over his lower teeth.

"That's the first asana," Zarg said. "Well, one of them anyway."

Asana? The Yoga of being swallowed? Kristy fought the urge to giggle. The Woman-Eating pig had a sense of humour. An endearing quality. She didn't expect that the audience would get it and consequently experienced a sense of camaraderie with Zarg. It was an odd sensation. Was this the predator/prey version of Stockholm syndrome? Did people about to be eaten try to form emotional bonds with their devourers? There was material there for a whole documentary, though it would have to be on Channel 4 or BBC2, where they went for intellectual drivel like that. Her network generally preferred to aim for good old fashioned sensationalism and copious nudity.

"Okay," she said, "You can let me back out now. My arms are getting tired."

"I'm sorry," said Zarg, "Aren't you comfortable? Relax, let my tongue take your body weight."

Tentatively, Kristy took the weight off her arms. Zarg's tongue was beneath her and between her legs, she was riding it like a surfboard. A warm, wet, organic surfboard. Weird thought. In fact, the tongue's tapering tip emerged from between her breasts and hung all the way outside the lips, if Zarg could be said to have lips. Its muscular length supported her body easily. "Okay, that's better," she said. It was odd to be talking to someone while in their mouth. Zarg's 'voice', of course, wasn't coming from his mouth at all, it was emitted from the translator/vocoder device without which he couldn't communicate with her at all.

"Glad to hear it," said the Space Monster, like a politely solicitous host. "By the way, you do taste nice. I was sure you would."

"Ah, thank you, I'm sure," said Kristy uncertainly. "Could we continue the interview now?"

"Certainly," said Zarg. "Ask away. Where were we?"

Kristy wasn't sure. "I meant from outside. Your mouth, I mean." It was odd, the studio audience seemed remote, their murmuring muted, as though she and they were in different worlds.

"Oh, do stay a little longer," Zarg cajoled. "I feel we're becoming closer, better acquainted. I feel I could really open up to you like this..."

"I don't know..."

This was ridiculous. Kristy couldn't conduct an interview properly while half-engulfed by some monstrosity with too many teeth and tentacles. Could she? On the other hand she didn't want to offend him, he might be less forthcoming. She ran through the alternatives in her mind. If she got back out, what would she do? Put her clothes back on while she was still slippery with Zarg's saliva or continue in the nude? She could hardly break off to take a shower and change. Her current position was undignified, but there was nothing to be gained by changing it, she'd already shown everything she had. The only way to maintain her poise was to carry on with aplomb, as if nothing was amiss. Anyway, she was comfortable enough in here. Zarg's tongue had some interesting properties. Like the human tongue, it could stretch, flex and curl, but seemingly to a greater extent. At the moment, it was a slimy recliner, a living massage couch.

"I'd like to know more about these - yeep!"

"Yeep?" Zarg's tone was all innocence.

How many tongues did the sneaky bastard have? Kristy wondered. Something was licking the soles of her feet. Both of them. Maybe a multi-branched tongue. Should she say something? She'd have to explain it to the audience. "That tickles," she hissed.

"Sorry," Zarg muttered confidentially, his vocoder muted. He continued the foot tickling. "Didn't mean to startle you. A thousand pardons, effendi. Just trying to put you at ease."

Kristi forced herself to relax. She imagined she was in a health club - one of the more sybaritic sort - having a sensual massage. Not enough people - men, anyway - lovers, that is - know how much it turns a woman on to have her feet stroked, she mused.

What the FUCK was she doing? Stick to business. The background music had stopped, she suddenly realised. The tech guys at the back were hand signalling. "Eurythmics," she mouthed.

Unless they could lip read at that distance, the sound techs were telepaths.

"The Men in Black," she said. "Tell us more about them."

Zarg's tongue convulsed. Aha, Kirsty thought. Short range body language. (Language learning by immersion.) He's nervous.

"The less I know about them the better," Zarg said stiffly. "Inquiring too deeply into their affairs is - not conducive to continued health. Or existence."

No, not nervous, shit scared. It was obvious there was no going down that road. Not for her, anyway. Definitely not Jeremy Paxman, not any of the Rottweiler breed of traditional British political interviewers. She didn't have the killer instinct, she told herself sadly.

The first cut, Annie Lennox said over the sound system, goes deeper in. Each impression makes a chain reaction. Each impression can never be broken...

"Forget it," she said.

Zarg's tongue relaxed and continued its manipulations.

"Ever eaten anybody famous?" she asked inanely. Oh, GOOD one, she thought...

"Not really," Zarg said, ignoring the inanity of the question. "Not yet, anyway. I'm not really a celebrity hound. Junkie? Addict? Groupie? That kind of behaviour tends to attract attention."

"Like appearing live in a television studio?"

"Touche. A palpable hit," Zarg admitted. "This is a risk, a calculated risk but perilous nonetheless. Desperate times, and all that rot. Sometimes a Thing's gotta do what a Thing's gotta do, capice?"

From her unique viewpoint, Kristy saw one of the creature's tentacles raised to his eyestalks. It appeared to carry a wristband with a device attached. A watch? "What exactly do you hope to achieve?"

"A really tasty supper," Zarg said jovially. "Just kidding...."

(There was a young lady from Niger Who smiled as she rode on a tiger They came back from the ride With the lady inside And the smile on the face of the Tiger,

Kristy thought.)

"...I'm merely seeking a modus vivendi. Pardon my pig Latin...."

Zarg's tongue was ridged in the middle where it passed between her legs. Kristy felt it divide and open her. It pulsed peristaltically, urging her on...

"I'm afraid I may have to cut this short," Zarg said.

Interview interruptus? "What's the problem?" Kirsty almost gasped. "Are we out of time?"

"It would seem probable that my Nemesis has found me. Or is at least on the trail."

"Try rephrasing that in English," Kristy snapped. And don't stop..

"Velly solly, likely is that dire messengers of doom approach."

Each impression will never be, never be broken.... I'm a white girl You can see my skin Look at this picture I'm living in...Lennox echoed.

"What?"

"They who cannot be evaded. Well, not for long."

"The Men in Black?" Throw me in the water, Brer Rabbit. No briars for me.

"Indeed, those worthies. The gentlemen. Still, we have a few minutes left. Excuse eccentric proclivities of translator, personal infotech system nowly engaged in electronical countermeasures. How you say, CPU overload, timesharewise."

"What happens if they catch you?" It's amazing how the mind can multitask. Kristy fought back the urge to grab one of Zarg's teeth and bite it like a bullet or a bridle to rein herself in.

"Regrettably likely discorporation, all parties present. No names, no pack drill, not to witness. Oh, yes, minor Australian soap opera actress. Not largely noticed, assumed eaten by crocodile as one would suppose."

With the dogged patience of a veteran drunkard, Kristy unwound the implications as her belly convulsed in waves. "You mean they'll kill us all?"

"One suspects," Zarg said calmly. "That they will simulate a regrettable natural calamity. Gas explosion, attack of overzealous firearms enthusiast. Uncommon in United Kingdom, 'tis true, but 'twill serve. Long arms hath the unlawful. Sup with Devil, long spoon required."

No witnesses, Kristy thought. Roswell hoax. Deny everything. It's been done..

She noticed that most of the audience were heading for the exits. They might be sheep in wolves' clothing but they still had survival instincts.

"Which actress?" Did I really say that? On the edge of the cliff and I'm writing for 'Hello' magazine?

"I don't recall. Don't worry," Zarg said reassuringly. "You have much juicier tits."

Kristy noticed that the techs were holding their stations. The spirit of Rorke's Drift was not dead in the Empire. One of them gave her the signal indicating that they were on limited time. She signalled 'Hold on'.

Hold on for what? How much time did they have before the agents of the nameless Mib organisation arrived?

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

"Momentarily, when discovery becomes inevitable according to my instrumentation, I shall quit the field, so to speak, departing via my shuttle transport. It's in the car park at the back. Possibly I will escape. Regrettably, the humans present have no such option. My sincerest apologies, I would dearly love to help but suicidal heroism is not an overwhelmingly prominent trait in my species. Indeed, it is notable primarily in the absence."

So, Kristy thought, I can stay here and get disintegrated by the Men in Black or...

Or what? Finish the report. Last chance: "Any passenger seats?"

"Unfortunately, no." Zarg's translator emitted a sound that might be construed as a sigh of regret. "Such a shame. Edible humans incinerated wastefully, a veritable crime against gastronomy."

Kristy noticed absently that a core of the audience remained, mostly younger people. Some of them were drinking beer from cans or smoking what her suddenly sharpened olfactory sense informed her was marijuana. Did they think this was some kind of show?

It is, she realised in a part of her mind that recognised the whole scene as surreal, archetypal. The greatest show on Earth. And she had the starring role. Beautiful woman menaced by Space Monster as evil agents of corrupt human conspiracy threaten mayhem. King Kong meets The X- Files. She had a momentary stab of anxiety. Was it possible their transmission was being blocked? That nobody would see her finest moment? Zarg's tongue massaged her belly comfortingly as she exchanged hand signals with the crew. No, they were still going out live. She could still finish the show, make it something nobody would forget. Still, she needed a note of reassurance.

"Really juicier?" she asked, just a little needily.

"Oh, definitely. Jawohl. Sans dout, or something of that order. Squark."

"What?"

"You tastiest buxom wench my orbs ever feasted on."

Yep, definitely male, a corner of Kristy's mind realised. They'll say anything when they want your pussy. And we'll believe anything when we want whatever it is we want.

"You'll have to eat me," she heard herself saying. As she said it, a bolt of lightning seemed to strike up from her toes to her head, pausing for a long

{A really long moment, one of those hinted at by William Blake with that stuff about infinity in a grain of sand and eternity in an hour, you know the ones.

moment in her groin. A really long moment, one of those hinted at by William Blake with that stuff about infinity in a grain of sand and eternity in an hour, you know the ones.

Lightning strike. A really long moment, }

moment in her groin.

A second and they're over, inside them they're eternal.

As she said it, a bolt of lightning seemed to strike up from her toes to her head, pausing for a long moment in her kundalini.

"Eat you? Goodness gracious me, quelle surprise. Are you sure? Press 'Y' for 'Yes', 'N' for 'No'." His tongue emitted auxilliary branches that caressed her ribcage.

"Oh, God, eat me now," she whispered. Or whimpered. She didn't want that to make the broadcast.

"Well, if you insist..."

"Just...ahh.. give me a second..." Kristy pulled herself together. She raised her head and faced the cameras.

"This is Kristy Michell concluding this special report on Alien Woman Eaters. Goodnight. Sleep well, don't have nightmares..."

"Ready?" Zarg inquired politely.

"Coming," Kristy gasped.

She didn't hear or notice the cheers from the audience as Zarg ate her up with enormous relish. Her attention was elsewhere. Being in the moment, so to speak. Being chewed sensuously is difficult to describe, you have to do it to know it.

Just a brief try anyway. Kristy hadn't realised the alien had more than one set of teeth.

"I hope you're pleased with yourself," the agent known as J reproved Zarg. "That was a low trick."

Zarg was not pleased to see the dark suited man wearing shades leaning on his thinly disguised transport in the car park. "There was no violation of the terms of my hunting license," he said coldly. The appearance of one of these people always threatened to ruin the afterglow of a good meal. Philistines. "A valid if unusual hunting strategy," he added. "I take it there was no problem with the faking of the transmission?"

"Not this time," J said sourly. "There's no record, just another bunch of eyewitnesses nobody will believe. The poor bitch..."

"Oh, lighten up," Zarg chided him amicably. He felt more expansive now he knew he was in the clear. "Trust me, she loved it."