“We can fight a battle,” Jameson finally said. “But we cannot fight a war.”
Bower was silent. Jameson examined a map of Ksaungu, talking to Elvis about their approach to the city and possible exit routes if they came under rebel fire. He settled on the Hotel Ksaungu as somewhere they could rest and take stock of the situation. He said it had been used by the Press Corps and would have good connections.
Government forces pushed north against the human tide flowing south, waving at the US Rangers and calling out as they drove past. They didn’t seem too bothered by the US soldiers heading away from the battle. Government troops sat on tanks, in the back of trucks and on top of armored personnel carriers, smoking and joking, yelling and laughing.
After an hour or so, as the Rangers moved further down the road, Bower noticed the civilians became more subdued. They no longer clambered to get on board the truck. They shuffled along the road, numb to the exodus forced upon them. In some ways, their sullen demeanor was more alarming than the almost riotous villagers further north. They seemed to have lost the will to fight and were trudging on instinctively rather than with purpose.
“Hey, what about them fucking aliens,” Elvis said, half leaning on the steering wheel as their truck crawled along at barely fifteen miles an hour, bouncing in and out of potholes.
Bower was seated between Elvis and Jameson. She turned to Elvis, surprised by how he’d blurted this out. For the most part, their conversation so far had been subdued, but Elvis wasn’t one to stay subdued for too long.
“I mean, what a load of bullshit. ‘We come in peace,’ yeah, right. Like anyone’s going to believe that.”
“But they do come in peace,” Bower cried, somewhat confused by how Elvis could assume anything else. How could he assume the worst? Was she being naive? No, she thought.
“Come on, Doc. Don’t tell me you believe that horse-shit. No one comes in peace. Hell, look at us. We’re peacekeepers, and we blow shit up all the time.”
Elvis laughed.
“They’re not like us,” Bower protested, although she knew her protest was irrational in that it wasn’t based on anything other than her gut feeling.
“How do you know that? Maybe they’re just like us. I mean, think about it, what is peace? I’ll tell you what peace is, peace is an illusion, a dream. We came in peace at Plymouth Rock, and look how that turned out for the Indians. You wanna know what peace is, Doc? Peace is conquest. Peace is submission.”
Jameson was quiet. Bower looked over at him, looking to see if he was going to come to her defense. He raised his eyebrow as if to say, you’re on your own on this one.
“Peace is important,” Bower replied, not sure quite what else to say to Elvis.
“Oh, I don’t doubt that, Doc. But whenever you get two parties together with differing viewpoints, differing opinions, there will never be peace. If there is peace, it will come because one group has subdued the other by force of arms.”
Bower was silent.
Elvis continued.
“You think that’s what they mean to do, Doc? To subdue us? To force peace upon us? Just like we have brought peace to Africa with a gun? How well do you think that’s going to go down in the US?”
Elvis laughed. His teeth were pearly white. From this angle, he really did look a little like Elvis Presley, with his baby face, his full cheeks and wavy hair.
“I tell you, Doc. Anyone that thinks these guys come in peace is kidding themselves. No one comes in peace. They bring peace as they always have, with a sword.
“Seriously, what do you think civilization would be like without the police? Without someone to enforce peace?
“Nah, I reckon those big green bugs know exactly what they’re doing. They’ll come down here with their silver flying saucers and ray guns and leave us in pieces.”
He laughed yet again. This was a joke to him. Although he’d raised some genuine concerns, his interest was fleeting.
“My pappy saw a UFO once,” he continued. “Damn thing took one of our cows. We found a shredded cow skin the next day. No meat, no bones, just the flayed, bloody skin hanging on a barbwire fence. You think it’s the same ones? Like a scout ship or something? Sent ahead to find out our weaknesses. Or maybe there’s more of them. You know, like on Star Trek and stuff. Lots of different aliens from different places.”
Bower didn’t know where to begin.
“Do you think they can read our minds?”
“If they can,” Bower replied, seizing the opening. “They won’t find much.”
Elvis burst out laughing, slapping the steering wheel. He smiled at her. Bower was surprised; she’d expected him to be offended.
“So what of it, Doc? Why aren’t they talking to us. You know, like you and I are. Why not just come down here and say, ‘Hi, I’m Marvin the Martian,’ or whatever, and talk properly with us?”
“It’s not that simple,” Bower replied. “Before going to Med School, I studied to be a vet. I made it through my first year, but my heart wasn’t in it. I realized I wanted to help people.”
Elvis nodded his head thoughtfully. Jameson was content to listen.
“My father was a microbiologist, always talking about chemistry and how molecules formed proteins, sugars and acids, but that was too abstract for me. He wanted me to follow in his footsteps, but I liked to work with things I could touch. Somehow, medicine seemed more real when stitching up a wound on a patient. Anyway, one of my first year veterinarian courses was on animal psychology. I got to work with cats, dogs, dolphins, cows, you name it.”
Elvis laughed. “So you put a dolphin on a couch and ask it about its childhood?”
“Something like that,” Bower replied, feeling the tension between them softening. She’d taken Elvis the wrong way. There was nothing malicious about him. He was just a good-old-southern-boy. He would probably like grits with a side of bacon and eggs for breakfast every day of his life if given the chance.
“You see, we talk to animals all the time, thinking they understand us, but they don’t. They see the world through a different lens. There’s no doubt they’re intelligent, and that they think for themselves, but they don’t see the world as we do. You’ll never catch a cow admiring a beautiful flower, or a dog stopping to enjoy a radiant sunset.
“We tend to project our own emotions and feelings onto animals, but its one way traffic. You and I see a dog as part of our families, the dog sees itself as part of a tribe, an inter-species animal pack. And just like a wild pack, your dog will want to know where it sits in the hierarchal order. You may think of it as being on the bottom rung, but I doubt it does, especially if you have young kids. You might think you’ve got your dog well-trained, but he thinks he’s domesticated you.”
“Hah,” Elvis cried. “My pappy’s dog definitely thinks he rules the roost. He’ll chew anything in sight, and sit up on the couch like he owns the joint.”
“Dogs have emotions, though,” Jameson countered. “They genuinely care about us, right?”
“Oh, they do,” Bower replied. “But through the lens of their nature, not ours. They show empathy when people are distressed, but emotionally they never really develop beyond that of a two or three year old child.”
“What about cats?” Jameson asked.
“Domestic cats are different. Apart from lions, there are no cats that move in packs, so they see their inclusion in a family as being part of a litter, and as such there will be parents and other kittens, your children. When your cat brings a live mouse into the house, they’re trying to teach you and your kids how to hunt. They must think we’re stupid when we never catch any mice of our own.”