John Stevens was a regular at the junkyard. Always, on at least every night of the week, he would be there, rummaging through piles of old scraps of metal and old radios and broken television sets, and other forgotten items.

The owner of the junkyard--a mid-forty year old man with a beer belly, a bald head, and a long, brown beard--a man named of Del, sat uncaringly in his shag-carpeted swivel chair in his little office, watching whatever trash was on his eight-inch T.V. He sat with his feet up on his alcohol-soaked desk, reading an issue of Hustler magazine.

John walked out from between two enormous humps of rusting car-parts into an old steel-walled garage. This was perhaps his favorite place in the whole of the junkyard. He loved the dim lights that were so low, they were almost off; he loved the grey feeling that all of the old and broken parts of scattered tools and machines gave out; and he loved finding lost treasures in the giant swells of broken trash.

He walked through a previously-made path into the left-side of the room. He peered over broken car parts, bashed aluminum, rusty tools, and old jewelry; he liked all of these things, although he would take none. He exhausted the piles on that side of the room, and headed over to the back, where, he walked through a skinnier path than the one leading inside.

The back of the garage was darker, and the dim lights barely had the power to furnish it; the back always looked like it was in a grey summer evening--always slightly dark and deeply ominous. John walked past knee-high piles of tools of rubber and old fuses and discarded outlets, turned a round corner, and faced the back wall. Larger piles of toys of jump ropes and calculators and of cooking pans rose over those of electrical fuses and outlets. He squeezed past these last few hills before getting to those that came off of the back walls and adjacent corner. These were the ones that he had not yet explored.

He looked on them like a specific politician on a red or blue state. What he saw were things of old metal tools, small, rusting machines, cracked speakers, numerous electronic devices, and broken furniture, all of which he had never seen here before. These two gigantic piles, of shoulder-height, stood on the back wall, and morphed into the other that came out of the corner, hiding John as he entered the small valley of concrete between them.

He walked over to the one on the wall and started moving things here and there to find any lost jewels. He moved aside some scrap metal--bent into a T-joint, pushed over a wooden chair-leg, and ultimately threw away a dust-covered cream-colored phone that was in his way. Nothing. All he found was some old, shiny party-jewelry, and some ripped cushions thrown about legion after legion of scrap metal--he moved to the other pile empty-handed.

He walked over, eyeing it up; A nice pile, he thought, well-sized, with what seems to be some good-looking material. He bent over it, like a doctor to his patient, and began searching through it.

He peered at all of the sides of this massive heap, seeing a broken face of a porcelain doll, more grey metal, and scraps of rubber, some from tires, he saw, and some from unrecognizable places. With what light that made it to this pile, it shone off of the metal in diamonds of white light that gave a helping light for the other, usually unseeable objects.

He rummaged through it--plunging his hands into the scraps, pushing aside tools and other odd objects. He walked around it, still sifting through it as he went. He stopped, and pushed through a cluster of shiny metal that apparently caught his eye. He reached in deeper, making a cave in the mountain from tossing aside the shiny metal, searching deeper and deeper into this self-made hole. His fingers hit something--something with a smooth exterior.

John bent over more and grabbed at it to try and bring it out. He pushed aside more unseen items with his immersed fingers, and finally got a good grip on the interested thing, and brought it out in the diamond light of the shiny metal.

An odd thing, thought John; he had never seen anything like it before. It was a shell-shaped object, partially rectangular, with a smooth, yellow exterior, a shiny steel ovular section on one side, for what seemed to be the place to put an ear, and a small rectangle of meshed metal directly underneath it. John brought it up to his face, squinting in the half-light to try and diagnose it. He turned it over, “What is this?” he said with interest in his voice.

The thing was new, unlike anything he had ever seen before, and he liked it.

He rolled it around in his hands, studying every side and oblong angle. John stood there for quite some time looking at it before he left the garage with it and headed past Del’s office.

Del looked up from his Hustler, watched John hurry past his office and out of the junkyard, and looked back at some girl bending over a desk.

John got back to his house at around ten o’clock, taking his new-found joy down to the workbench in his basement to examine it.

John, still a young man of about early thirties, turned the overhead light on above his workbench and set the thing down. Before he touched it again, he peered at it through watchful eyes. He didn’t know what to make of it. Such a strange object surely had a purpose, didn’t it? He thought about what it could be for several minutes, and, when he come to no conclusion, he picked it up and rose it to look at it in better light.

The thing was very odd-looking, like it was made in a different country. Maybe it was a toy from Mexico? he thought, Or some sort of pager from Europe. He turned it over. He was fascinated by its yellow body, something almost of rubber. No words or markings were on it, no company name or number, not even the name of the product, just a body of yellow, stuck to its metal front side.

John flipped it over, in wonder at such a different apparatus of an ovular metal shape, with slanted edges going upward, like to partially cover something. Inside this metal frame was a small hole; a couple millimeters wide, and very black. Does a string go through here? he thought, fingering the small opening. His eyes wandered down to the small rectangular shape of the meshed metal. It was directly under the oval shape. Was this for talking? he thought. He did not know.

He set it down on his chipped-bench and stared at it as a whole. He had no conclusion whatsoever to make of it, but he was certain for one thing: he was intrigued by it. It seemed to call all of his undivided attention; in fact, he was very interested by it. He also liked it, and agreed that he would not stop with it until he had found its purpose.

How interesting, he thought, what a complicated instrument, especially it being found in such a remote pile of trash in some old junkyard. He smiled at it and found company in it. John looked it over one last time, then turned out the light, and brought it to bed with him. He placed it on the nightstand next to his bed, him not wanting to leave it down there in the dark, where anything might happen. He rolled over in his sheets and looked at it through the darkness. He smiled again, rolled over, and found his way to sleep.

The next evening, after a day of continuous work on his new-found joy, he sat at his workbench in his basement, looking it over again. He thought of his theory when he saw the metal front: that this might be an earpiece. If it were some sort of pager from Europe, that would make sense to hear what the other on the other line was saying. He held it up in the light once more, testing its foreignness with his conditioned eyes. He brought it back down to the table. He then rose it to his head and put his ear in the ovular metal side.

At once he heard a little metallic sound coming from inside the device, and he heard something move upon the exterior. He took it away from his ear, and saw that on the left of the top side, a small antenna, black in color, and of about half an inch protruded from some unseen hole. “What in the hell. . . “ stared John at the seemingly new device.

He did not know why, but he wanted to hold it up to his ear again. He did so, and the same metallic click from inside the device sounded again, and this time, he heard faint static coming out of the mesh beneath the earpiece.

The static grew louder, John did not take it away from his ear.

As the small yellow body poured out its unexplainable sound, there was something in it, like a noise of some kind. John positioned his head to try and hear it better. The noise got louder and sounded more concrete than the static. This noise was starting and stopping, John did not know why, but it had sort of a deep tone to it, like it was coming from something intelligent.

John sat up straight on his stool, the static stopped. “Hello?” a voice said out of the device, “Hello? Has someone found it?”

John sat there motionless, his lips whimpering in awe. “Hello?” he said back.

“Oh? Hello?” said the voice. “Whom am I speaking to?”

“Ah, ah, ah, ah,” John stuttered, “ah, a-Joh, Joh, John. . .”

“John?”

“Yes, John.”

“Hi, pleasure is mine. I’m Jones.”

“Nice to meet you, Jones.”

“Thank you very much John. So, how did you find it?”

“Find. . . “

“Yes, the telephone.”

John moved his eyes to the thing that he was holding to his head. “The telephone?”

“Yes, that is how you are speaking to me, through the telephone.” said the voice with a sort of friendliness.

John’s lips whimpered again, it was several moments before he could speak. “Well,” he said, “I was sifting through a pile of junk in an old garage, and this telephone was in the middle of it.”

“Of all the places. . . was it hard to find?”

“Well, I wasn’t really looking for it, so I guess not too hard.”

“Great! I’m glad you found it.”

John leaned back on the stool. The static returned and he moved back to his former position. “What was that?” he asked.

“That was some static, don’t worry, once the telephone becomes used to its coordinates, the static will go away.”

“Oh, where are its original coordinates?”

“They’re where I am.”

“Where is that?”

“On a different planet.”

“What?”

“Yes, you see John, I inhabit a different planet than you, I am an alien.”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

“Have you ever seen a device that you are talking in right now?”

John stopped. No he hadn’t. “No.” he said.

“Well, there you go!”

“So it’s not some toy or pager?”

“No,” the voice chuckled, “it’s but a telephone, or Speaker, as we call it.”

“Huh,” marvelled John, “a Speaker?”

“Yes, the best way to communicate on my planet.”

“What planet is that?”

“My planet is called Palur.”

“I have never heard of such a planet.”

“Hmm,” said Jones, “yours must not be acquainted with mine yet.”

“Apparently not.”

“Hey, but we are doing it now!”

“Ha,” John laughed, “I guess we are.”

“Forgive me, John, but I have to go, you see; I have to go to work.”

“Okay, Jones, nice talking to you, see ya’ later.”

“Yes, we’ll have to talk sometime soon, say, tomorrow?”

John was astonished, but felt a want to talk to him more too; “Sure, I’ll give you a ring!” said John half-jokingly.

“Wonderful, maybe we can tell each other more about ourselves?”

“Sure.”

“Alright, bye John.”

“Bye.”

John took the Speaker off of his ear. The same noise occurred as when he placed his ear in it, and saw the small antenna retreat back into its invisible hole. As he leaned forward to put the alien-device back on his workbench, a small patch of static rang out of the rectangular-mesh, and when he set it down, it stopped.

John stared at it. He was not completely sure that who he was talking to--Jones--was an alien, or that this Speaker was an alien-telephone, but he did not completely doubt it either. He chuckled at it, what a mystery, he thought.

The next day, the unmarried, but happy, John Stevens finished a day of work, and was heading home in the fading yellow light of the late afternoon. He was not going to the junkyard tonight, and was planning on doing something more desirable; he was going to speak with Jones.

John did not fully understand it, but he got a feeling of utter friendliness and kindness from Jones; the way that he spoke, and with the words that he used, were inviting to him. He even sounded happy while talking.

John stepped down to the basement, followed an untraceable path to his workbench, pulled out the stool, and sat facing the Speaker. He smiled an honest smile as he reached for it. He picked it up, and placed it around his ear.

The same click sounded inside the instrument, and the antenna sprang out of its unseen hole. A second of static flowed out of the mesh and then stopped; “Hello John!” said Jones through the Speaker.

“Hey,” said John, “how’s it going?”

“Hey, pretty good; how about yourself?”

“I’m doing just fine.”

“Hey that’s great.”

“Yeah, so, you wanted us to talk about ourselves?”

“Yes! Would you like me to go first?”

“Sure.”

“Well,” started Jones, “I’m a man of mid-thirties, I work in the largest city of my planet, I’m the head of the military, and I’m a true patriot for my planet.”

John sat back at this, heard the light static, sat forward, and said, “Head of the military?”

“Yes, I’m the commander-and-chief for my planet.”

“Wow. That’s got to be exciting being the head of the military on an alien planet; do you have giant ships and personal rockets?”

“Yes,” said Jones simply, “huge ships, hundreds of feet wide, all made of shiny steel.”

“And you get to drive them?”

“Ha!” Jones laughed. “Of course! I’m the one who gets to drive it the most, and, when in battle, I’m the first one leading my massive army.”

“I’m stunned, completely.”

“Thank you very much, John. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, sort of like you, I am in my early-thirties, I work in an office, and I’m a single man.”

“An office? That’s got to be fun.”

“It can be, most of it is paperwork, though.”

“Ah, I see; what kind of paperwork?”

“Like the kind for upcoming businesses, management, that type of stuff.”

“Oh, I see; that could get boring after a while!” laughed Jones.

“Yeah, it’s definitely no head of the military.”

“My job can get pretty boring too. So, what is your everyday life like?”

“Well, I get up, take a shower, get dressed, eat some breakfast, brush my teeth, then walk to work. After that, I usually go to a junkyard, where I found your Speaker a couple nights ago. Then I go home and eat dinner, watch some T.V., and go to bed. Sometimes, I go out and have fun, like go to a movie, or visit the downtown of the city I live in.”

“Hey, that doesn’t sound all that bad!”

“Thanks. . . what’s yours like?”

“Get ready.” they both laughed. “I start my day like you, bathing, getting dressed, then taking my personal rocket, you could say, to work, and after work, I go home, once again on my personal rocket, and get caught up on the news of Palur.”

“No time for fun?”

“Trust me, my work is fun.”

“I guess, if you’re the head of the military.”

“Ha, yeah.”

“I think it’s also amazing that we have found contact between each other through something that was in such a remote place.”

“John, I couldn’t agree more.”

“It’s getting pretty late where I am, what about you?”

“Yeah, the sunset is turning magenta, that’s a sign that it’s going to be night soon.”

“Well, it was great talking to you, but I’m afraid I’m gonna have to go to bed.”

“Yeah, I better start getting ready too.”

“I loved this, Jones, how about tomorrow?”

“Yeah sure, we can talk about our planets, or more of what I do.”

“Yeah, I’m really intrigued with you being the head of the military.”

“And with you in an office!” they chuckled.

“Good night, Jones.”

“Good night, John.”

There was some slight static, and Jones was gone. John leaned forward on his stool, took the Speaker off of his ear, and set it neatly on the workbench. He smiled at it.

Later the next day, after John had walked home from work, still in his work-clothes, he dropped his stuff on his couch and got something to drink. He plumped down next to his briefcase and overcoat, put his feet up on the coffee table, and switched on the T.V. He watched some news, then a comedy movie he hadn’t seen in a while. He laughed generously at it, and after some time, switched the T.V. off, went upstairs and changed into more comfortable clothes. He hung up his overcoat, unpacked his briefcase on his bar, worked on some paperwork, put it all away again, had some dinner, and headed down for the workbench where the Speaker lie.

John put the Speaker in the normal fashion around his ear, and this time, there was no static. “Hello John!” said Jones on the opposite end. “How are you today?”

“Great, how ‘bout you?”

“Doing just fine; would you like to hear about what the military does on Palur?”

“Yeah, shoot.”

“Well,” started Jones, “the military of Palur does many great things, especially protecting our planet. But, the one thing that it is mainly for, is, for the destroy of ignorant planets.”

“For the destroy of ignorant planets?”

“Yes, you see, we Palurians are responsible for taking out planets we don’t see as fit, like those with a purposeless population, those who are immensely inferior to us, such like they are animals, or planets who have never offered us anything, like those without life, or those that are barren.”

John stared at his workbench, “What kinds of planets have you destroyed before?”

“Oh, like those that are completely rock, we have a lot of those in our solar system, quite useless, they really are. We have also taken out uncountable planets with just stupid organisms on them, for an example, a couple of months ago, we had taken out one planet with these people who just stood around all day, uttering soft noises that we made conclusion on that they did nothing beneficial or malevolent for themselves or for their planet; so we took them out.”

John had never heard of anything like this before--he was shocked, but found a little understanding for Jones and his planet. “How many have you taken out?”

“Oh, an uncountable amount; I think if I told you the real number you would be astonished and ashamed.”

“Nonsense!”

“I think for now it’d be safer if I just stuck with a lot.”

John smiled at this, “If you say so.”

“Besides, we’re going to take out this one planet in the next couple of days, and I have to tell you, the dumbest, most inadequate species of life live on it--just the most ignorant!”

“Really? What are they like?”

“First, they are so far behind our own society and technology that they are like bugs on a rock; second, the people of it are so ignorant and unquestionably distant from our own, that they would try and attack us with what weapons they had, not even reach out a hand in friendship, even if we did come to help them. And lastly, we the people of Palur find them to be so annoying, annoying because of their stupidness and misunderstanding--they are actually quite selfish.”

“Do you know where in the universe this planet of things live?”

“Yes, in the darkest, most undeveloped part, questionably the worst part of the whole universe.”

“And you have it mapped out?”

“Almost all of it, that has been one of the main missions of our military for the past few years. It is quite smaller than you would think.”

“How small is it?”

“Think of a dust particle floating in the middle of an ever-increasing ocean. Now think of a dust particle sitting on a nutshell. The latter is the reality of it. Your planet is like the dust particle, the universe is the nutshell.”

John was baffled, he was taken back by such a blasphemous claim. He almost fell off his stool at the sound of it, just having enough time to fling his body forward to catch himself on his workbench. “Well,” said John, “that planet really won’t know what hit them then, will they?”

“Ha!” Jones laughed. “No they will not.”

John looked back on Jones’ plan for his despised planet, and, with some understanding, agreed with Jones. “You know,” said John, “I really hope that planet gets what it deserves, sounds like one you’d really like to sh*t on!”

“Hell yeah, this planet will be under our boots in no time.”

“I’m really glad you’re going to destroy them--take them out, I am in favor of the Palurians.” smiled John.

“Hey! Now there we go, if you ever get to come to Palur, you’ll be welcome in anyone’s home!”

“Ha!” laughed John. “That would be something to check off my bucket list!”

They both laughed.

“You and me both!” replied Jones.

“Well,” said John, “I’m sorry but I have to say that it is getting dark here, and its getting quite late.”

“Oh, look at that; the sky is already dark purple, I better get to bed.”

“It was great talking to you Jones--oh, and take out that planet for me!”

“Ha! With pleasure!”

“Alright, good night Jones.”

“Good night John.”

John unhinged the Speaker off of his ear, set it down on his workbench, and chuckled to himself. He really wanted Jones and his army to take out that unsuspecting planet. Sounded to him like they were good for nothing, what bugs they are. Hell, he thought, I bet they’re so stupid, they don’t even know where their shit comes out and where their food goes in! He laughed at this. I bet even we could take them out. He went up to bed and fell asleep.

The next morning, John got ready for work in his usual fashion; got up, bathed, got dressed, ate breakfast, and headed for the office. With his briefcase in hand, he headed out the door, locked it, and skipped down his concrete steps onto the sidewalk.

He walked down his street for a couple of blocks, still in the shadow of the tall buildings above him.

He was going to turn right on his regular route, when an earth-shattering sound bellowed through the city. The buildings and cars around him started to shake, and he heard a huge noise like that of air ripping and of a plane taking off. He ran around the corner and into the middle of the street.

On the other end of the street was a huge, shiny-metal ship floating in the air, which resembled a triangle with its point down, somewhat curved on its front-face.

John looked, painted on the curved-face in massive, all-capital letters were: ARMY OF PALUR.