Alpha Dog

If you've not realised that we're not alone in this universe, then quite possibly, it's something you might have to begin to consider.

If I were to tell you the truth, I'd say we are only one of billions of species, and we, the human race, are irrelevant. You don't have to think about it too often, or let it get to you. It's actually easier if the world doesn't know too much. But there's a difference between not knowing what can't hurt you, and downright ignorance to the obvious. You can deny the existence of other life forms for as long as keeps you happy, but one day, you'll have to accept that we are miniscule in relation to the millions of galaxies. We're smaller than bacteria to some.

And of course, vice versa.

"Ah, goddamn bugs!"

Stu curses irritably, flicking on the windscreen wipers. The front window of his van is already filthy, but he's not all that bothered as the tiny dragonfly is squished to his window. He has somewhere important to be, and he's determined to get there fast, with no hitches or diversions. He glances over his shoulder once, to check his passengers are alright, then turns his attention back to the road, taking turns with either hand to roll his sleeves up. He doesn't like his job, not at all, but times are hard, and the people at his destination pay well for the passengers. It feeds his husband, and their two kids, so he sticks at it.

His 'passengers' are a shed load of illegal immigrants, Hispanic, trying to cross the country border, and they don't speak a single word of English. Luckily for Stu, his school had taught Spanish as a lesson, and he (failed the subject, but nonetheless) managed to pick up the basics for speaking to these foreigners.

"Ah, crap."

The dark haired driver grunts angrily, before muttering in Spanish "be quiet," to the people crowded in the back. On the road up ahead, there are flood lights blocking his path and instantly he knows something is wrong.

It's a Border Patrol ambush and he's forced to stop by an officer in dress uniform, a stern, but amused look on his face. Stu smiles at him.

"Well, whaddya know. Where ya been, Richardson?"

"Ah, y'know, fishing down south."

"Sure ya have. Let's take a look at your catch."

The officer laughs disbelievingly, and Stu knows he's been rumbled. He sighs through his teeth, and climbs out of the front of the van. He drags his feet. He knows how this'll play out. The officers will take the immigrants, caution him (again), and then head back to the local pub, content with their day's work, and Stu will be left penniless and stranded, once again.

The officer slung open the back doors of the van, and raised his eyebrow speculatively. Stu looks at his feet as some Spanish conversation is made between the cop, and Stu's only chance at getting paid tonight. They begin to pile out of the back, forming a line as requested. He glances up, watching his chance slipping away from him in the form of a police ambush. He refrains from sighing loudly as two more officers trudge over, inspecting the line of immigrants.

"Me? I would've thrown them back. What do you get? 100 quid a head? 70? Hope you saved it all for your lawyer. You are gonna need it."

Stu goes to turn away, but then sound of a car is heard, and he has to cover his eyes with his hand as the car's headlights flood the area with a bright white light. The engine is cut as the lights go out immediately, and a door opens. Out of the car emerge two men, one clearly older than the other. The driver's greying hair contrasts with his passenger's deep black, and they're both clothed in black suits, bearing black glass and black ties. Simultaneously, they flip off their glasses, and the darker haired man walks over.

"We'll take it from here."

"Who the hell are you?"

"I.N.S, division six."

"I ain't never heard of a division six."

"Really? Who you got your money on, Bee?"

"Hard to tell, Jay."

The darker one flits in and out of the line, looking the men and women up and down speculatively. The cops exchange glances, and Stu can make out whispered mutters, but not the words they say. They're probably thinking the same confused thoughts as he is anyways. Taking a slight step back, Stu watches as the older man leans against their car, leaning his chin on his hand, surveying and listening to the other speak. He talks little bits of Spanish to the immigrants, receiving few and little nods in return. He gets about half way along the line, and stops, casting a single glance over his shoulder.

"We've got a winner here," the man called Jay laughs gently, clapping a hand on the broad man in front of him. His compatriot nods, and as they turn to take him away, Stu scrambles back a little further, trying to be as unnoticeable as he can possibly be. He makes it little over the banking, pausing to look at the scene before him one last time. He hears is the cop who stopped him protest, and Jay's sharp reply before fleeing, stumbling down the embankment towards where he knows he can be picked up.

"Sir, I -"

"Don't 'sir' me, young man. You have no idea who you're dealing with."

Looking back up one last time, Stu catches a glimpse of the man, Bee, looking down on him with an almost sorry smile, and in his out stretched hand, a thin pipe-like object. The light at the top glows a dark red, and then there's a bright flash of light.

And then Stu can't remember anything from the past two hours.