Submitted for the May 2025 prompt: Many Minds

I’m not a bad person. In fact, I think I’m a pretty good person, better than most. But plenty of good people have their problems, right? Well, so do I. One in particular.

 

It started when I was young, still living on Earth, and poor as dirt. The first time I stole, it was because I was starving, a matter of absolute necessity. But now I’m an adult and living in this colony where nobody goes hungry. I’ve got a good job, plenty of money, and this nice house with this nice kitchen table with this incredible thing sitting on it. I can’t believe I took it. What the hell was I thinking?

 

* * *

 

My heart jumps into my throat at the sound of the door chime. I take a deep breath, telling myself it’s probably the old lady next door needing another favor. When I see the sheriff on the entry-cam screen, I freeze, not sure whether I should try to play it cool or race for the back door.

 

“Come on, Lonnie, open up. I know you’re in there.”

 

I stomp my feet a couple times, hoping it sounds like I’m just getting to the door, and then swing it open and try to look surprised. “Oh, hey. How’re you, Sheriff?”

 

Instead of answering me straight away, he just stares back like I’m an idiot. Which is… fair.

 

“Everything okay?” I ask. “Was the old lady next door complaining about my music again?”

 

“Lonnie, something very serious has happened,” he says, ignoring my question. “One of the Crelians’ extra helmets has gone missing. They’re pretty upset about it, and I don’t blame them. They’re the only alien species that’s been genuinely friendly to us out here, and they can’t breathe this atmosphere without those helmets. And they’re just about ready to turn on the subspace communication device they’ve been installing for us.”

 

He pauses then, I assume to watch my face turn another shade deeper red.

 

“You know, this feels a bit awkward talking on your porch. Mind if we go inside?”

 

“Actually, Sheriff, I was kind of in the middle of something. I’ll have plenty of time later on… if we could… talk then… maybe?” My mouth has gone dry, and I’m in agony over whether I’m making too much eye contact or not enough.

 

“Yeah, I suppose that’d be alright,” he says after a painfully long hesitation. “Lonnie, I think you’re a good guy, but we’ve had our little problems, haven’t we? This, however, is a big problem, and it needs to be resolved… immediately. If there’s anything you can do to help, I’d sure appreciate it.”

 

He nods then and saunters back out to his trans-pod. As he pulls away, I wave — like an idiot.

 

I close the door very slowly. And then sprint back through the house.

 

* * *

 

I’m about to wrap the helmet up with the jacket I snuck it home in when a dangerous thought occurs to me. Can I really return it without trying it on once?

 

Just a few seconds after slipping it on, an odd buzzing fills my ears, faint but uncomfortable. Thinking the source is obvious, I begin lifting the helmet back off — only to feel the buzzing shift from unpleasant to downright painful. I settle it back into place, and the auditory assault diminishes again.

 

What the hell?

 

I make my way slowly back to the front door. There, I spot the old lady from next door on the entry-cam screen. She’s shuffling across my yard rather than using the sidewalk, which she’s never done before. She continues on past the camera’s view, but by then I can see two more neighbors making their way down the street, headed in the same direction.

 

What the hell?

 

I step outside and hurry to block the way of a young mother who lives a couple doors down, calling her name repeatedly, but she just sidesteps me and keeps on walking. I flash back to every awful zombie movie I’ve ever watched.

 

A few seconds later, I’m back in my trans-pod, driving slowly, weaving through the scattered herd of pedestrians who all act like they’ve been hypnotized.

 

About a mile down the street, I realize where everyone must be headed. Just east of the town center is where the Crelians have been installing our new subspace communication device. Except I’m pretty sure that’s not really what it is. Likewise, these helmets obviously do more than just filter the air.

 

A crowd has already assembled around the fenced-in area where the device is installed, but it’s still sparse on one side. It won’t be for long. I don’t hesitate.

 

The half dozen Crelians near the machine start scurrying around when they notice my vehicle. We don’t think they have any weapons, but we didn’t think they had a brainwasher either, so…

 

I find a seam through the crowd where I can pick up a little speed before reaching the fence. I nearly lose control of the trans-pod as it crashes through, but somehow manage to hit the device square on. The helmet, ironically, saves me again as my head smacks into the steering wheel.

 

The buzzing falls silent, so I slip off my pilfered alien headgear and chuck it through the pod’s shattered window before anybody sees me with it. The crowd, who outnumber the aliens ten to one, recover in an instant and take control of the situation.

 

* * *

 

The parade in my honor seems like a bit much, but how can I refuse?

 

Afterward, the sheriff finds me. His smile is genuine, but his eyes are sharp — and maybe just a bit accusatory.

 

“So, the machine didn’t affect you at all, huh? That’s so weird.”

 

“I know,” I agree. “Just lucky, I guess.”

 

“Well, sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.”