"The Great Hollywood Invasion" - Part Six

 

Part Six

            Jennifer felt like she was in one of those montages in the movies—when a reporter or a detective went from door-to-door or place-to-place, asking questions to random people. The only thing missing was the peppy orchestral music and those swiping transitions that made the investigation appear quicker than it actually was.

            If only it were that way, as she and her U.S. Army team stopped through all of the major studio lots in Hollywood—Warner Bros., MGM, 20th Century Fox, RKO, and Paramount. She tried not to get too starstruck over every famous movie star and film director that she questioned. It was General Powers’ bright idea to do the investigation under the guise of ‘susceptible communist activity,’ which only made the likes of Burgess Meredith and Burl Ives sweat more than they already had.

            “They probably think the HUAC’s comin’ next,” Leeka suspected.

            “Hey, the way I see it, if they’re sweating, that makes them guilty by default,” Powers validated.

            One name that popped up quite a bit in their investigation was Orson Welles, who had been a suspect of communism since his HUAC hearing in 1947, in which he refused to testify against his colleagues. This act had far-reaching consequences to his career—something Jennifer had future knowledge of, being a time traveler prior to her Torchwood career.

            However, during their stop by Paramount Studios, it was more than communism that worried one particular director—Cecil B. DeMille. He recounted to Jennifer and Powers about a visit Welles made to the lot a week ago, citing Welles as acting ‘desperate’ and ‘hungry’ for money to fund his doomed Othello film.

            “I have no reason to believe Orson is the communist the government paints him to be,” DeMille said. “That being said, something has kept that poor boy out of town and out of sight this past week. He’s been that way for a while, with as much time as he spends outside Hollywood and America.”

            “I’m sure Mr. Welles will be fine, Mr. DeMille, as long as we know where to find him,” Leeka reassured.

            “Well, he did call me a few days ago,” DeMille disclosed. “Something about a big indie project that he’s filming in a rented studio lot, outside of town.”

            It was just the lead Leeka and Powers needed.

            After obtaining info of the studio that was leased to Orson Welles, Leeka and her team headed straight there. Welles himself was at the studio entrance when they arrived, visibly unhappy to see a group of U.S. Army soldiers marching up to him. “May I help you, gentlemen…and lady?” He only noticed Jennifer after the fact. “I should let all of you know—this is a closed set.”

            Jennifer opened her mouth to speak to Welles, yet she was swiftly cut off by Powers, who stepped forward and said, “Mr. Welles, we’re here on behalf of the U.S. government to investigate susceptible comm—”

            “Oh, for goodness sakes!” Welles blurted out in frustration. “Doesn’t the U.S. government have anything better to do than bust my chops? I’m not a commie, and I’m certainly not a rat!”

            “Rest assured, Mr. Welles, this has nothing to do with—”

            “GET OFF MY LOT!!!”

            Amusing as it was to witness Powers crashing and burning with Welles, Jennifer’s attention was better suited elsewhere—such as a large alien saucer inside Orson’s rented studio. There it was, shimmering under the bright studio lights, and no one was paying it any mind. The feasible explanation would have been that it was nothing more than a film prop, but Jennifer knew differently.

            Taking advantage of being a woman in a heated discussion between men, Jennifer slipped right past Welles—unnoticed by him, Powers, or any of the accompanying soldiers—and headed into the studio and, subsequently, the alien saucer via an extended ramp. Once inside, she was mildly impressed by the extraterrestrial architecture. It was far from her first time in an alien spacecraft. Nothing could compare to a TARDIS, the greatest ship to ever soar beyond space and time.

            As she entered the spacecraft, the first thing she saw was a little 8-year-old black boy in denim overalls. He was kneeling down on the cold steel floor of the corridor and playing a game of Jacks with ‘onesies’ rules. Jennifer wondered if he was another abductee; if he was, he seemed to be taking his abduction rather coolly. Bless his lil’ heart, she thought.

            He stopped cold in his game, failing to catch the ball he tossed or to snatch up one of the jacks, once he saw Jennifer standing there in front of him. She noticed how frightened he looked—maybe thinking she was a social worker or something. In fact, he was more afraid of her than he was being inside an alien ship.

            “It’s alright, honey,” she gently raised her hands as a sign of peace. “I’m not gonna hurt ya.” Slowly, she walked up to him and knelt beside him, putting a kind hand on his shoulder. “What’s your name, baby?”

            It took him a moment to open up to her. “Scoop,” he answered close to a whisper.

            “Scoop, huh?” Leeka smirked. “Now that sounds like the name of a future reporter.”

            “Really?” Scoop’s puppy dog eyes twinkled.

            “Mm-hmm,” Jennifer said. “Is that how you got yourself up here in this big ol’ spaceship? You were doin’ a lil’ investigatin’?” Scoop nodded. “Now that’s awfully dangerous work for a lil’ fella like you…not unless you had yourself some help?”

            As she reasoned all of this out, she heard voices resonating from around the corner, followed by laughter. I reckon there’s some giddy aliens aboard this ship! She kept her eyes on that corner just as two women appeared—a tall, strikingly beautiful Black woman and a young white girl in a polka-dotted dress. Both ladies perfectly fit the description of the two individuals who found Bobby Wright and brought him back to Betty Weaver.

            The girl in the polka-dotted dress stopped giggling when she saw Jennifer. She had the same initial reaction to her presence as Scoop had a short moment ago. “Uh-oh,” she muttered to her tall, beautiful friend. “We got company.”

            The Black woman, on the other hand, regarded Leeka’s presence with the utmost zeal. “So we do,” she said with a distinct English accent. She then strode over to Jennifer, all while saying, “O Captain, My Captain!”

            Jennifer stood straight up with her arms held out wide, smiling.

            The two women embraced.

            Starla was justifiably confused. “Alright, would you two disengage and explain what is going on here?!”

            After a few extra seconds of hugging, Jennifer and Tiffany unlocked themselves. “Sorry, luvs,” she told them. “This is Captain Jennifer Leeka of Torchwood…the American Torchwood.”

            “There’s an American Torchwood?” Starla frowned.

            “You’ve heard of us?” Jennifer asked.

            “I’ve heard of some group called ‘Torchwood’ that operated out of Britain,” Starla explained, “but they’ve been shut down for over a decade.”

            Leeka raised a curious eyebrow. “They have? Last I checked, they’re still in operation.” She looked up and down at Starla, as if to examine her. “Where are you from, hon?”

            “Georgetown.”

            “Washington, D.C.?”

            “Yeah.”

            “What year?”

            Starla paused. “I’m sorry?”

            “What year are you from?” Jennifer emphasized.

            Starla glanced over to Tiffany, seeking some approval before she considered her answer. Tiff simply smiled and nodded. Following that response, Starla told Jennifer, “I’m from 2025.”

            Leeka chuckled. “Well, I’ll be. I thought, for a sec, you were from this era. Turns out you’re another time traveler like lil’ ol’ me and this lovely queen right here.” She nodded towards Tiffany. “So what does a 21st-century gal like you think of 1951, Starla?”

            “It sucks,” Starla answered candidly. “Racist idiots, child abusers…”

            “…grubby sexists, homophobes…” Jennifer joined in her rant.

            “…and the so-called ‘White American Dream’!” Both women concluded together, sharing a hearty laugh afterwards.

            “You’re right, hon—it sucks,” Leeka granted.

            “Then why are you in 1951, Captain Leeka?” Starla asked her.

            “I was gonna ask the same thing, luv,” Tiffany told Jennifer.

            Leeka shrugged. “Got a job to do. Matter of an alien who’s gone and caught himself the showbiz bug.”

            “You mean Archie?” Scoop spoke up.

            “Is that the fella’s name?” Jennifer smirked at Scoop.

            “Yeah, short for Archiwalla-something,” Starla said. “Tiff says he’s part of a species called ‘Zorn’.”

            Leeka gave a nod of realization. “That’d explain a lot about this case.”

            “Such as…?” Tiffany pressed.

            “The abduction of Bobby Wright, the Hollywood obsession, the Promethean tech that’s powering this ship of his…”

            “Whoa, whoa, whoa!” Tiffany cut her off, wincing. “Back up a tic…what do you mean ‘Promethean tech’?”

            Leeka was a bit daunted to see how unaware Tiffany was. “You mean…you didn’t scan Archie’s ship?”

            “For what?” Tiffany’s brow furrowed.

            Jennifer let out a deep sigh. “Back in Nevada, I did a scan with the ol’ vortex manipulator on the spot where Archie landed.” She lightly tapped her left index finger on the futuristic device strapped to her right wrist. “His ship has a hidden element powering it. While the overall structure of it is Zorn, its main source is Promethean.”

            This information rattled Tiffany’s nerves. “What?!”

— — — — — — —

            Later that evening, Archie arrived on set, having been called for something the humans referred to as a ‘dress rehearsal,’ which did not require him to be in costume. He was having the time of his life, filming his feature debut with Orson Welles and a fine film crew. And he owed it all to his new friends—Starla, Scoop, and Tiffany.

            He expected the set to be bustling with activity when he showed up, and yet, there was not a single person there, except for himself. Strange, he thought. Are ‘dress rehearsals’ normally this…empty?

            “Hello, Archie.” He jolted in alarm upon hearing a familiar voice speak within the vacant space.

            Looking over his shoulder, he saw Tiffany. “Oh, it’s you,” he wheezed with relief. “You snuck up on me. I didn’t even see you on the way in. Where is everybody? I thought we were doing the ‘dress rehearsal’ thing.” As he approached Tiffany, he noticed the grim look she was giving him—it made him feel uneasy. “Say, what’s wrong? You don’t look very…happy.”

            He could see her fists balled up as she said to him, “I should’ve known the truth from the moment you wanted to be a movie star—an impossible task for a typical alien…but not for one who has help from a Time Lord. And the only way you could’ve gotten my help was by abducting Bobby Wright. I’m sure you gave him one good show. You gave us all a good one…too good.”

            Her tone registered great hostility. All that ran through Archie’s mind as she talked was, Did I do something wrong?

            “I know your ship is powered by Promethean tech, Archie,” she continued.

            Zorns weren’t known for sweating, but if Archie could have done so that moment, he would’ve had enough to fill buckets. “I did get assistance from them just to get across the galaxies. My people have barely scratched the surface on interstellar travel—less so than inter-dimensional travel, for that matter. But it was nothing more than that. I swear!”

            Tiffany nodded understandingly. “I get that, luv…and I get why you were specifically chosen for their task—Zorns are harmless, innocent, and childlike. That makes you easy pawns.”

            Archie frowned. “I don’t…I don’t understand.”

            “The Prometheans wanted to create an anomaly through you and your dream, Archie,” Tiff explained. “There’s one in particular who would have benefited greatly from it—had I not discovered the truth in time, thanks to something my companion said.”

            “Starla?” Archie deduced from the context. “What did she say?”

            Her hearts breaking each second of this exchange, Tiffany struggled to tell him, “That your success…would change Earth’s cinematic history.” Through tears that began to stream down from her eyes, she shuddered, “I’m sorry, Arch. For the sake of reality, we can’t make your movie.”

            Her last words struck Archie like a knife to his chest.

            No, not like a knife…like a bullet…several bullets.

            The pain was unbearable…excruciating.

            It was enough to make him collapse to the floor and convulse violently.

            He heard Tiffany angrily shouting something, but her voice was muffled. Was she yelling at him? Perhaps telling him that he was being melodramatic in his reaction to her crushing his dream, his only true purpose for coming to Earth in 1951?

            None of it mattered now. All he wanted to do was drift away to sleep.

            Why was he so sleepy all of a sudden? Was he that much in shock that he exhausted his entire system?

            Tiffany came into his view again. Now she was crying?

            She said something to him, but his sense of hearing was completely gone.

            What was that on her white blouse? Was it blood? Whose blood?

            He tried to ask her all those questions, but he suddenly found it difficult to speak. All that came out was a bunch of coughs and gurgles. He could feel his own saliva trickling down the side of his mouth—he was drowning in his own body fluids.

            It then started to dawn on him—in those last few seconds he had left—that he, Archiltaba Squeeknoob III, was dying…along with his Hollywood dream.

— — — — — — —

            “YOU BUTCHERS! YOU HUMAN BUTCHERS! YOU DIDN’T HAVE TO KILL HIM!!!!”

            It all happened so quickly.

            In one second, Tiffany was breaking Archie’s heart with her refusal to finish Orson’s movie. And then, in the next, what felt like the entire U.S. Army barged into the studio and opened fire on the unarmed Archie, without so much as a warning.

            Humans. They’re all the bloody same, no matter what era it is.

            “Get away from the creature!” An authoritative voice commanded her. She didn’t have to look around to know it was General Powers, the man Jennifer mentioned she was working with in her investigation.

            She had been cradling Archie’s dead body for more than a minute.

            This was not how she wanted his story to end. There was still hope for his dream—still a chance to make him famous many eons in the future, when Earth accepted all species to do whatever they pleased, whether it’d be film or television or even President of the World. He could be a movie star at no risk to reality.

            Alas, all of that died with him, the moment Powers and his men shot him.

            “I said, get away from it!” The bullheaded general repeated, more threateningly. “Or we’ll have no choice but to—”

            “To do what, Powers?!” Jennifer’s furious voice echoed across the studio as she stormed into the scene. “What do y’all think you’re doing?! Who told y’all to open fire on the alien?! Hmm?! WHO TOLD YOU?!?!”

            “No one had to tell us, Leeka,” Powers retorted. “We have a sworn duty to protect our country from all threats, both foreign and domestic. And that…” He pointed to Archie’s corpse. “…would fall perfectly in line with ‘foreign,’ wouldn’t ya say?”

            Jennifer wanted to sock him across the face. “You dipsticked moron!”

            Powers scoffed at her. “Sticks and stones, honey. Besides, isn’t this the sort of thing you people at Torchwood do? Isn’t this for the good of America? Or is it the British Empire? Makes no difference to me either way.” He holstered the sidearm he used to murder Archie and added, “We’ll give your colored friend five more minutes. After that, we’re hauling off the alien carcass and the ship.”

            No other words were exchanged. Powers and his men left the studio.

            Jennifer looked to Tiffany, tears flooding her eyes. She wanted desperately to apologize—to say something that would make up for the massacre she failed to stop. But she opted to say nothing and leave Tiffany alone to mourn for Archie. No one else was going to…no one human.

— — — — — — —

            The following morning, outside Jerry’s Diner in Rachel, Jennifer drove up in her Torchwood-sanctioned Studebaker and met up with Tiffany, Starla, and Scoop. She saw how angry the three of them still were about Archie’s death—and, frankly, she couldn’t blame them.

            “I never want to come back to this year ever again!” Starla griped, wiping a tear that managed to escape from its duct.

            “I feel ya, hon,” Jennifer sighed.

            “I would imagine you’re here to update us on how Torchwood and the government are covering this whole mess, aren’t you?” Tiffany inferred to Leeka.

            Jennifer smirked at her. “You always were ahead of me, sweet thang.” But she could see in Tiffany’s stoic demeanor that she was in no mood for pillow talk, so she got right down to business. “Welles—and everyone else who knew Archie even existed—they’ve been retconned.”

            “Retconned?” Starla inquired.

            “Somethin’ we do at Torchwood,” Jennifer elaborated. “We give ‘em these lil’ amnesia pills that wipe away their memories like poo on a baby’s bottom.” That gross simile she gave made Scoop giggle. “After that, we burned all the negatives of It Came For Us.”

            “Poor Archie,” Starla mourned. “His dream truly is gone.”

            “What about his body?” Tiffany asked Leeka. “What did those butchers do with it?”

            Jennifer shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine, sugah.”

            “They probably took it to Area 51—or whatever facility will be ‘Area 51’ in the future,” Starla surmised.

            “Tiff, I hope you know how sorry I am about all of this,” Jennifer said.

            Tiffany took one look at her sympathetic face. “It wasn’t your fault, luv. It was humans like General Powers…and the Prometheans that used Archie…and possibly kidnapped Scoop’s grandparents.” Scoop looked up at her with hopeful eyes. “Once we’re back in the Infinite DC, we’re gonna avenge Archie and reunite Scoop with his family.”

            “Does that means I gets to go with y’all in y’all’s spaceship?” asked the excited Scoop.

            Starla playfully scratched his head. “It sure does, lil’ dude.” She only then realized that Scoop had yet to set foot in Tiffany’s TARDIS. She couldn’t wait to see his little reaction to what the inside looked like.

            “YIIIPPPEEE!!!!” Scoop cheered to the delight of Tiffany, Starla, and Jennifer.

            “Hey, let’s not go our separate ways just yet—not until we’ve shaken our booties,” Leeka recommended. “And I’ve got just the song. C’mon!” She then led Tiff, Starla, and Scoop into Jerry’s.

            Of course, after all the kerfuffle they made in town during the Bobby Wright incident, the segregated crowd inside greeted them negatively. That went especially for Betty Weaver and Bobby himself—the former prepared to have the latter throw them out right there and then.

            That was until Jennifer went to the jukebox at the corner of the ‘Whites Only’ section of the diner and tapped her vortex manipulator against the machine. This reaction triggered a rare inter-dimensional rift between space and time—small enough to avoid tearing the fabric of reality. To the surprise of everyone in the segregated diner, Dion’s ‘The Wanderer’ (a song that was 10 years ahead in time) played on the jukebox. It was a song that no one in the diner—black or white—had ever heard, but they liked its doo-wop beat.

            Tiffany and Starla, on the other hand, knew it well and danced near the jukebox. Soon, everyone was on their feet and dancing. Some whites even danced with the blacks. The only ones who refused to join in the fun were Bobby and Betty, who stormed out of the diner together in a huff.

            Dancing in that now-desegregated diner, Tiffany thought about what brought her and Starla to 1951—that nuage signature from Archie’s ship that led to an alien nearly achieving an impossible dream. They almost changed history in the worst way. But what they did in that small diner in the middle of nowhere was a small risk worthy of a big impact on human society.