The Replacement

Vincent Albertson III peered through the tall wrought iron gates, admiring the huge mansion that he hoped would soon be his. The gates were closed but there was someone nearby weeding a flowerbed that ran along the edges of a long cobblestone walkway.

"Hey! Are you the gardener?" he called to the man's back.

"I am," said the old man standing up and turning to face him.

"I'm Vincent Albertson and I'm here to see my uncle. Go fetch him."

"Go fetch him…, please?" said the old man with a bit of a smirk.

"What? Get over here, open this gate, and then go tell my uncle that I'm here."

"Tell him that you're here…, please?"

Once inside the gate, Vincent folded his arms across his chest and tapped his foot impatiently. The letter that had come recently from his uncle, Horace Albertson, had said that he was to come immediately to talk about taking possession of the property as well as a large pre-inheritance to help him manage things. Vincent hadn't seen his uncle since he had been a child and the letter had been a complete surprise.

"Well, get on with it, man. My uncle…?" said Vincent making a shooing motion toward the house. Because the old man just stood there continuing to stare at him, he relented. "Okay, okay; my uncle, please."

"I'm here."

"What?'

"I said, 'I'm here.' "

"I thought you said you were the gardener," said Albert, now red in the face and getting increasingly annoyed.

"I'm your uncle and I was doing some gardening; I guess I'm both," said Uncle Horace with a self-effacing shrug.

Embarrassed now, Vincent tried to brazen it out. "Why did you make me get all upset with you? Was it some kind of joke …, or some kind of test?"

"It was the latter; it was a test. I'm afraid that you scored rather poorly on it. Come on up to the house and we'll talk about a make-up exam. You're all I have right now and it's too late to try and find a suitable replacement."

Later, sitting in the parlor, Uncle Horace was explaining his plans to Vincent. Vincent sipped his cognac and tried to look interested, but was having a rough time taking his uncle seriously.

"So, you see," said Uncle Horace. "They will be coming to take me back to their planet with them within the next couple of weeks. Their mother ship will park on the dark side of the moon while the shuttle comes down for me. My military background and my expertise in the history of civil wars and warfare is why they're interested in me. It seems that there is a lot of internal unrest in their system and they hope I can help them in an advisory capacity."

"Oh, boy," Vincent said to himself. "Crazier than a peach-orchard boar. He probably got me here to keep him company in his old age. The promise of the estate was just the bait; and I went for it."

"I've tidied up all the loose ends; everything has been signed over into your name. You own all of this, Vincent, and all that I ask is that you take care of it. It's been in the family for almost two hundred years and I'd like you to keep it up. I have two women come in each week for cleaning, laundry and such, but I've always done my own cooking. There's plenty of money if you want to hire out the gardening, or even hire a cook or maid on a permanent basis. I've only been using half the rooms. Plenty of space for hired help if that's what you want. Me, I always enjoyed the privacy of living here alone."

Vincent was nodding at what he hoped were the appropriate times. "So, Uncle Horace, what you're saying is that you'll be leaving soon and never coming back?"

"That's right, son, two, three weeks at the most and I'm gone. All of paperwork has been taken care of and everything is up to date as far as bills and such. All of the current information is in this cabinet right here and all of the historical records are in that larger cabinet over there in the corner."

Two, three weeks soon turned into two, three months and Uncle Horace still hadn't been picked up. He had shown Vincent the burned circle in the field behind the house where the shuttle had supposedly previously landed and the negotiations for the advisor position had been discussed. It was approximately fifty feet in diameter and Vincent thought that except for the fact that it couldn't possibly have been made by some kind of flying saucer, it looked impressive. Having to listen to Uncle Horace prattle on about outer space people and their political problems was wearing on him, though. One evening he decided to take matters into his own hands; literally. On the premise of inventorying the manor's wine cellar, Vincent asked Uncle Horace for a tour of the basement. When Uncle Horace opened the basement door, Vincent gave him a hard shove down the stairs. Uncle Horace was in his early seventies, in good health for a man of that age, but the fall resulted in a broken neck; he was dead before Vincent got to the bottom of the stairs.

Vincent buried Uncle Horace in the field near the burned UFO circle. Horace had told everyone in town that he was leaving for good, handing everything over to his only nephew, so Vincent figured he didn't need to worry about an investigation of any sort. He settled in to enjoy his newly acquired gains and being the type of person he was, slept like a baby with no pangs of guilt whatsoever.

It was just a week after Uncle Horace's fatal fall that Vincent had his first visitor. It was early evening when he heard a whooshing sound come from the field out in back. Five minutes later, there was a soft knocking on the door. Vincent was not about to answer the door. He didn't believe any of Uncle Horace's stories about people from outer space, but sometimes the impossible known can be just as frightening as the unknown. A few seconds after a second knocking, this one having been a little firmer, a tall man materialized inside the front hallway. He was dressed like someone from a 1940s movie, the suit had ridiculously wide lapels, and he was wearing a matching fedora, which he now took off and held in front of him.

"I'm looking for Horace Albertson; I believe he's expecting me," said the man with a slight smile.

Vincent didn't quite know what to say. His uncle was out? His uncle had gone on a trip? His uncle had died suddenly? He decided to go with that. "Oh, I'm sorry, but my uncle, Horace Albertson, died unexpectedly a couple of weeks ago. I'm his nephew, Vincent Albertson. I was his only living heir and he left everything to me. I'm just getting settled in and I haven't had a chance to go over all of his files. Maybe I can help you."

"Now why did I add that last bit." Vincent said to himself. "I better get control of myself and get this guy out of here before he starts asking troublesome questions."

"I'm not from your world so I didn't follow all of that, but it sounds as though you're telling me that Mr. Albertson is not here. He's dead? And you're here? You're taking over for him? Did he discuss with you the plans he and I had made? Are you sure that you're qualified to take his place?"

"Wow, talk about troublesome questions," thought Vincent. Because his visitor was staring intently waiting for some answers, Vincent sallied forth. "Actually, he did talk about traveling to another solar system to help out in some way as an advisor, but I really didn't take him seriously. I'm a high school English teacher. I begin my position here at the high school in town in a few weeks. I really don't think I can help you with military strategy and things of that sort."

"Once again I'm not following all of what you are telling me, but it sounds as though you don't think that you're capable of helping us. Why would Mr. Albertson set you up as his replacement if he didn't think that you were capable of being his replacement?"

"Please come in and sit down, Mr. …."

"Your uncle called me 'Mr. Greenman.' He seemed to think it was appropriate. We really don't know much about your planet except that you seem to be very warlike. Small wars going on somewhere all of the time with major ones breaking out seemingly when the smaller ones get out of hand," said Mr. Greenman rather stiffly, though it appeared to Vincent that he was attempting to be cordial. "A select few of us have been allowed to study your civilization, such that it is, but those studies have centered mainly on what you call books and movies. One of our kind came to a bad end when he was assigned to monitor your television. The news, sports, and sit-coms, I think you call them, proved to be too chaotic. After limiting the number allowed to learn about you, we decided to only use books and movies as tools. Though most of the time they are violent, they seem to be well thought out and orderly. I'm the only one of my kind who has talked face to face with someone from your planet and that was with your uncle, and now with you, of course. So back to the question; are you prepared to be your uncle's replacement and go with me?"

"I think we should start with the term "replacement." My uncle didn't set me up as his replacement to do what you need him for," began Vincent. "He was planning to go with you and he left this dwelling and most of his other assets to me as he thought that he wouldn't be needing them anymore. I'm his replacement here. Are you following me?"

"Following you?"

"He didn't think that he would be coming back here from your planet. He wouldn't need the possessions, the things, of this world. So he gave them to me. See? I'm replacing him here on earth; not replacing him as your advisor at god knows where."

Mr. Greenman looked puzzled. Horace Albertson had been much easier to talk to. His way of talking was much less cryptic. "You're telling me that you don't want to come with me because you don't feel you have the expertise that your uncle had. However, since English is the language that people use here, an English teacher must instruct people in that language. Reading, writing, books; that sort of thing, am I right? You've read books. Have you read science fiction?"

"Well, yes, as a matter of fact I have read some science fiction. What does that have to do with anything?" asked Vincent.

"It's settled then," said Mr. Greenman, taking an odd looking pistol from inside his suit coat. "You will be coming with me back to our planet in your uncle's place. Come with me; I've been here too long already. You won't be needing any of your worldly things. We'll give you new worldly things. Many, many new worldly things."

Once on the shuttle headed back to the mother ship, it only took Vincent a few seconds to relieve Mr. Greenman of his pistol.

"May I have a look at that?" asked Vincent. "I've never seen anything like it before." Mr. Greenman innocently handed over the pistol and Vincent aimed it at him, smiling. "I think it would be better if I arrived at the mother ship looking like a willing volunteer rather than a prisoner, don't you? Make a good first impression, you know."

"Oh, that pistol is just something our engineers copied for me from one of your movies; it doesn't function. We have never had any weapons of any kind on our worlds. Our sociologists are stymied by the insurrections that have taken place recently. They feel that they can get things back to where they were with a good military advisor. You, now."

"Wow," thought Vincent. "We've been using aggression as the 'Mr. Fix-it' for probably a million years and it sounds like these people, except for the few who've studied us a bit, aren't familiar with the concept of violence." He found himself rubbing his hands together and chortling. "If the wrong person, or in this case, me, the right person, could get control of things, he'd have it made."

Mr. Greenman watched the display of emotions play across Vincent's face and was curious as to what he could be thinking about.

"Mwaaa, ha, ha!" brayed Vincent in his best evil scientist imitation.

Mr. Greenman then thought he had an idea as to what Vincent was thinking. He thought it would be best if he tied his future to Vincent's. He'd heard that laugh before and though the person behind that laughter had not been successful in the movie, he thought that Vincent had a shot at being successful on his home world.

THE END

Bio: Roy Dorman is retired from the University of Wisconsin-Madison Benefits Office and has been a voracious reader for 60 years. In retirement, Roy is now a voracious writer and has had poetry and flash fiction published recently in a number of online magazines.

E-mail: Roy Dorman

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