"Trick or treat!"
"Here you go, little man," Cliff said, dropping a handful of candy into the pail of the creature standing before him.
"And who might you be?" Centauri asked, standing next to Cliff on the porch. It was the one night of the year when Centauri could walk around without a mask, and he relished it.
The little brown creature craned its neck upwards, caught Centauri's glowing eyes and blue skin, staggered back, and stood, frozen in place.
The creature's father nudged him forward, and said, "Go on, Johnny, the man asked you a question. Who are you dressed as?"
When the little guy continued to stare upwards, mute, his father chuckled. "He's E.T. this year. Look at you guys. Nice costume, mister. I love that mask. And the eyes. Wow. And you, too," the man, said, admiring Cliff's old Rocketeer duds - the boots, gloves, jodhpurs, and button up leather jacket, which still had a rip in the sleeve. He'd left Cirrus X-3 inside, but aside from the snugness around the middle, the getup felt familiar and comfortable, like the feel of an old baseball mitt.
"The Rocketeer? Right? Is that who you're supposed to be?" the man said, pointing at the finned helmet Cliff had tucked under his arm, which, for tonight, had become a makeshift bowl to hold candy. "Man, I had a few of those comics when I was his age," the man, said, motioning to his son, still staring up at Centauri. "You did a really nice job on the helmet. Good memories. Happy Halloween, fellas. Come on, Mr. E.T., still a lot of houses left on this block!"
Mr. E.T. stumbled backwards as he followed his father. On the way out, he finally blurted out, "It's ... it's an alien, Dada! The blue guy's an alien!"
"Now, now, that's not nice. You're supposed to be an alien, after all. Come on ..."
"Smart kid," Cliff said looking at Centauri, who was grinning broadly. His eyes glowed different colors depending on his mood, and now they were a cool aqua blue, the color for happiness.
"Ahh, I'm glad we made it back in time for this Earth holiday. It was always my favorite. I do wish we had something like this on Rylos. Dress up, get candy, have a few laughs, give a few scares. What could be better?" Centauri mused as he settled back on the rocking chair on the porch.
Jenny came through the screen door in her costume - the same white satin evening dress she'd worn almost 45 years before on a certain night the Rocketeer had flown over the skies of Los Angeles to intercept a German zeppelin. Like Cliff's getup, it didn't quite fit the same, but Cliff didn't mind.
"Wow, look at you!" Cliff said. "You haven't worn that since ..."
"Since before Ambrose was born. But ... I'll say this for cancer. I can now fit in things I haven't worn in decades. Say, anyone guess who you are?"
"Just one. Just before you came out, actually."
"Really! Well, if only people knew."
"Hidden in plain sight. That's the beauty of it, isn't," Cliff said, smiling.
"Well, I must say, Mr. Secord, even if Earth has largely forgotten, the people of Rylos appreciate what you have done." In the intervening month while they had been in space, not only had Jenny completed her treatment and made a full recovery, Cliff had helped Centauri work out the rest of the bugs in the Starfighter game, which had been thoroughly tested and was now ready for mass production. They might have stayed in space longer if it hadn't been for the need to come back to Earth to secure funding for marketing and distribution.
Jenny had also come up an idea of taking Centauri's idea of using a video game as a recruiting tool for a space conflict and pitching it to some friends in Hollywood. "Cliff did a bunch of propaganda movies during the war. What a better way to spread the message about Xur and the plight of Rylos than to make a movie that millions of people might see over time? Good versus evil? One last hope for a people looking for their champion? It'd be like a modern Sword in the Stone. Imagine how excited all those young people would be coming out of the film if they saw an actual Starfighter game in the lobby of the theater? They'd play it, and I'm sure one of those folks could be a Starfighter. But, who knows, even if not, it might get someone interested in flying or making games like that right here on Earth. There's power in films, these studios always forget. Let me make a few calls when we get back to Earth. And who knows what will happen?"
Put like that, it'd been hard to say no. And, not long after they'd returned to their house and fixed things up, including the telephone, Jenny had made a few calls to some of her friends.
"It's been quite a ride, eh?" Centauri said as he spread out a few documents on the wicker table on the porch. "I'm going to be having a phone meeting tomorrow with a screenwriter friend of yours, Mrs. Secord. Can I run a few things by you?"
Cliff smiled as he settled back on the porch swing as Jenny slid in next to him and made suggestions to Centauri. As they rocked, Cliff stared up at the night sky, still amazed he and Jenny had actually been there. He wasn't sure what was better - the feeling of chasing clouds on Earth or the amazement from staring into the infinite void of millions upon millions of unknown worlds sprinkled amongst the glittering rainbow of nebulas and stars.
Just as Cliff was thinking that he wished this moment could last forever, Centauri's portable phone buzzed. "Hmm, didn't expect him to call so soon," he said, looking at the flashing screen. He raised the phone to his ear. "Greetings, my friend! I didn't expect to hear from you until next week. Oh ...wait ... you're here now ...?"
At that moment, there was a whooshing sound, followed by a gust of wind that dislodged the leaves from the yard and blew them on the porch. A small, dark aircraft the likes of which Cliff had never seen before made a vertical descent right in the driveway. The wheels touched down on the asphalt as leaves were whipped into a cyclone from the thrumming whirl of the plane's twin turbines. The cockpit slid open, and a tall man emerged and walked forward as Centauri ran over to greet him.
"Hello, old friend! This is a pleasant surprise," Centauri said, shaking the slim man's hand. "Come over and meet some friends. Mr. and Mrs. Secord, I'd like you to meet an old friend of mine, Mr. Alucard."
As the tall man stepped into the light of the porch, he bowed slightly and smiled, revealing perfectly white teeth that contrasted sharply with the rest of his all-black attire – a cashmere turtleneck, slacks, and patent leather loafers.
"Mrs. Secord, charmed," he said, lightly kissing Jenny's hand. "Mr. Secord, your reputation proceeds you," he said. Cliff thought he detected a slight Eastern European accent in the man's voice. "Please forgive my very rude intrusion."
"Not at all. Mr. Alucard is helping finance the production of the Starfighter games, so we were planning to go over the details next week ... but what brings you here tonight?"
"The Los Angeles branch of Alucard Industries has ...a bit of a situation. Very unusual. Even with my ... abilities, I ... have had a hard time figuring out what is going on."
"Mr. Alucard has ... some unusual abilities for an Earthling," Centauri explained.
"Please, Centauri. Why so formal after all these years? Mr. Alucard is my father. Please, as I always say, just call me Al."
"Al, I love those shoes. They are very distinctive," Jenny said.
"Ahh. Thank you. That means a lot coming from a woman of your style. I picked this pair up in Italy before the war. But ... the factory was destroyed. Damn shame."
"Before the war ...you mean, World War 2?" Cliff asked.
"Ahh. Yes. I'm ... ah ... a little older than I probably look. We all have our secrets, Mr. Secord. Speaking of which, I am very happy to make your acquaintance. I saw you fly, once long ago and never forgot it."
For a second, Cliff felt a tingle run down his spine. There were only a few people who knew of his identity as the Rocketeer, and although here he was, wearing his old costume for Halloween, none of his neighbors knew the truth, and he'd always figured that public memory for the Rocketeer had long since faded with the mists of time. But this ageless stranger with the fancy VTOL plane – did he somehow know?
Alucard winked. "1939, I believe? In that death trap you preferred. Do you still have it?"
Cliff shook his head. "I wish. Man, I loved that plane. But I eventually lost it, and, well, here we are. No remaining original Gee Bees left in the world. Just the memories and some old photos."
Alucard shook his head. "Ahh, well. Such is the ephemeral nature of life. But, it is also partly the reason I am here. Anyone who could successfully fly an aircraft such as that is ... an artist of the skies. Given my abilities, there is a lot I can do myself. But, there also comes a time when we all have to admit that we need some assistance. In short, Mr. Secord, I am looking for someone who can fly."
"You mean ...like a job?"
"Yes. I need someone to help with reconnaissance surrounding the mysterious goings on at our LA office. I'd do it myself, but the views are best during the day. And I have very fair skin. The sunlight ...it burns, you know."
Cliff couldn't help turning to look at Jenny, half expecting her to bristle. Her eyes met his, but there was no protest there. Her eyes seemed to smile and say, go on, you know you want to.
Cliff turned back to Alucard. "Do you expect there to be any shooting involved? You know, violence?"
Jenny piped up. "Yeah. Is there danger pay? 'Cause Cliff doesn't work for free." Jenny's eyes danced. Right, Cliff? Not for free. Not anymore, right? They seemed to say.
Alucard smiled and chuckled to himself. "Shooting. Violence. Danger pay. Well, Centauri, what have you been up to." Centauri only smiled. "But, to answer the question, I don't anticipate anything of the sort. But – I take your willingness to negotiate as a sign of interest. Come. Let's talk. I won't bite," he said, chuckling to himself.
Cliff looked at Alucard, then at Jenny, then back at Alucard. "As long as you're not looking for a soldier ... or a detective ... or a hero, I'm interested."
Alucard nodded. "A good pilot ... that's all I really need."
"Well, I can fly."
The End?