Alien Empire

by Anthony Gillis

  ///

  At Vanguard Air Base, location of the experimental aircraft unit, Air Colonel Varen was standing at attention in a drab gray office, facing his commander, Air General Sellis, head of the northern division.

  “I’m sorry, Air Colonel, the word came down just minutes ago from the Air Marshal himself.”

  “The Senate has again cut funding, and specifically named your unit as one to be dissolved. Given the unprecedented speed of all of this, the aircraft and equipment are going to be mothballed here, and probably left in place for a while until we can figure out what to do with them. A caretaker crew of the men too. It will take a while to wind things down, but as of now, officially, the experimental aircraft unit no longer exists.”

  “As commander of an honorably dissolved unit, according to custom, you have the option of resigning with full honors instead of waiting on the inactive list until they can find another post for you. To be frank Air Colonel, with the force being cut back at the speed it is, even with your record, you may never see active duty again.”

  “Sir, permission to ask a question.”

  “Granted.”

  “Sir, what do you think is coming, for the force?”

  “If things continue like this, soon enough, I think we’ll all be lucky if we ever see active duty again.”

  “Thank you sir, I’ve made my decision.”

  “Yes Air Colonel?”

  Varen saluted. “I resign, sir.”

  General Sellis returned the salute. “I understand. I’ll give you my highest recommendation, wherever you go from here.”

  He handed Varen a stack of exit paperwork, which Varen began signing.

  Sellis thought for a moment, then resumed, “If you want to keep busy, you could look at police work, or the Republic Investigative Service, or the new Internal Peace Service, they are all staffing up fast. I heard there were others in the works – they’re adding an armed enforcement division to the Bureau of Environment, which is ridiculous, and…” he stopped suddenly.

  “Varen, you are a civilian now, you can do what you think is best for yourself,” Sellis added, with a slight change in the tone of his voice, “or the country.”

  “Yes sir, thank you. I have a lot of thinking to do.”

  ///

  Viris looked at the screen in front of her. Yes, that was it, every piece of it, copied and accurate. She’d never transcribed computer data bit by individual bit like that before, and she hoped never to have to again, but it was done. For a moment she sat there happily, lack of sleep catching up as she tilted in her chair, eyes drooping . She stopped, caught her breath. Not a moment to spare!

  She knocked aside an empty carton and a couple of crumpled food wrappers, found her phone and called.

  “Tayyis, it’s done!”

  The voice at the other end of the line sounded nervous. “Viris, my phone doesn’t have encryption.”

  “Ah. Bye!”

  That was very, very bad, thought Viris. She hadn’t been following political developments, or much of anything, closely for many weeks. What she’d picked up from her collaborators online though was awful. It was as if she’d gone to sleep in a reasonably halfway free country, Tadine, and was now waking up somewhere else, in the police state of her nightmares.

  This needed some analysis. Tayyis had thought to mention encryption, and been too scared to talk without it. That meant Tayyis feared her calls were being intercepted. That meant it was possible they were being intercepted. That meant…

  Right! Time to go.

  Viris picked up her little portable computer, which was the only thing in her place she really much cared about, a change of clothes, currently dirty, and the case with her ID, paycards, and cash, and headed for the door. She stopped, and entered a code on a tiny signal device she kept on her at all times. Whirring noises came from the other machines in the room as their hard drives were physically destroyed. Nothing on there she needed right now, but maybe a few things that could help locate and incriminate her.

  No one was around in the hall, thankfully, and she ducked out the back door, down an alley, and to the rusty nondescript storage unit where she kept her scooter.

  Luckily, she thought, those government goons weren’t likely to have ANY idea where she had stored the code she’d been transcribing.

  ///

  In the city of Eastport, Harker was riding in the passenger compartment of his limousine. Traffic was slowed to something less than a crawl. He was listening to news about the Military Demobilization Law being discussed in the Senate, and was watching the blocked off area around city hall. Competing sets of protesters, in favor of and opposed to the new rounds of legislation, were facing off. Signs on both sides made heavy reference to the Elders.

  Without warning, riot police descended from a side street. They started arresting protesters, hauling them to holding cars off somewhere he couldn’t see. The only protesters being arrested were those opposed to the administration’s policies.

  He picked up his phone.

  “Morning. I think the mayor here is going to have some explaining to do. Protesters getting rounded up as I watch. Really, there too? The Prevention of Mass Violence to Children Law! Is that what they’re calling it? Slag. That clears it up though. You mark my words, Vhel just overplayed his hand. What? No… I think things are going to get a whole lot worse first. Your signal is encrypted too, right? Good. All the things we’ve been talking about - I think it is time we got in motion.”

  ///

  President Vhel picked up his phone. There were only a few people who had the number this call was coming in on, a number that bypassed layers of assistants and staff. He paused for a moment.

  “Yes?”

  “Vhel, this is Dren Wimier, I’ve been following the news this morning... those protesters. For quite some time now, too long, I thought if only I stayed by close at hand, I might be able to keep things from going completely off the rails, keep a few misdeeds from happening…”

  Suddenly animated, the President interrupted “Mr. Wimier, you will address me as SIR!”

  Wimier laughed on the other end of the line.

  “Not any more. I’ve had enough. I resign. You might be wondering why I didn’t visit you to say this in person. Seeing what’s happening to opponents these days, you shouldn’t.”

  The President sputtered, “Mr. Wimier… you are making a serious mistake.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re soon going to find out what I’ve been up to. Give my regards to Tarec. Good bye Vhel.”

  The call ended.

  ///

  In a richly decorated room on the top floor of the Elder Embassy in the International Zone, Ambassador Margaux sat at his chair of office. A steady rain fell from the gray sky outside. Several staffers were departing with level footsteps in the hall outside. He pressed a button on his chair, and the door closed. He pressed another, and a telecommunications device activated.

  He entered a code. Another code was returned, signaling acknowledgement.

  “Deputy Ambassador Hsien,” he said in the Elder language, “have you completed the analysis I requested?”

  “Yes, Your Excellency,” came the reply in the same.

  “Report.”

  “We’ve compiled the results by country, as well as planet-wide trends and recommendations, and as per your instructions cross referenced with Initial Conversion processes from the twenty most recent comparable worlds. The report is ready for submission to Diplomatic Central Directorate, pending your review and approval.”

  “Good work, Deputy Ambassador.”

  “Thank you, Your Excellency.”

  “Deputy Ambassador, does your opinion concur with the concerns I raised in the attachment to my request?”

  “Yes Your Excellency. I think that Initial Conversion is proceeding within acceptable tolerance ranges everywhere except in the Republic of Bacchara, and… if I may speak plainly Your Excellency.”

  “Certainly, Deputy Ambassado
r.”

  “I concur with your assessment of the situation in Tadine. President Vhel and his advisors are implementing policies at a pace which will make it difficult to keep conversion within tolerance. A number of those policies appear to be geared toward centralization of their own power rather than support of our goals.”

  “Precisely, Deputy Ambassador. There are rising signs of unrest in Tadine, which per our understanding has historically been an unusually stable nation. As you know, Initial Conversion is a process that requires careful balance of swiftness, to make use of the cultural shock triggered by our arrival, and discretion, to avoid unnecessary disruptions. President Vhel’s aggressiveness may endanger that balance.”

  “Shall I prepare a team, Your Excellency?”

  “Not yet. President Vhel’s loyalty to enlightenment merits every effort for honorable treatment from us. I will see what I can do to moderate his course of action. Should that fail, then duty takes precedence. President Vhel’s life, like any other, is unimportant compared to the cause of enlightenment.”

  “Yes, Your Excellency, I will await your instructions”

  21

  It was a blazing hot day in Ais, capital of the Republic of Bacchara. White buildings reflected light and heat under a clear sky. Turquoise waters lapped in the bay. Inland, beyond the city, belts of fields and green trees gave way to golden desert.

  The city itself was a maze of narrow, dirty streets. Music, voices, and the smell of spices filled the air. Crowds of workers, peddlers, shoppers and children mingled with armed fighters carrying an assortment of weapons from automatic rifles to rocket launchers. Through that crowd walked a boy guiding a woman, a woman who stood out.

  The woman didn’t stand out because of her clothes, which were cheap, light colored and loose fitting, like what one might buy from any street vendor in Bacchara. She didn’t stand out because of her looks, her country was a sunny one as well, if less hot, and she could have passed for Baccharan. What made her stand out were her bearing – casual, even boisterous – and her ear fringes, which were tattooed and dyed in a manner that had never at any time been common in Baccharan culture.

  She was talking on a mobile phone. “Yep, I’m here! No, I didn’t have any trouble. There are some advantages to having shady friends, you know. No, don’t think I’ll have difficulty finding it, I can see the place from here. What a pile! What did you say the dead guy’s name was, Hadeb? Old Hadeb liked to live well, didn’t he? I’ll be there in a few!”

  She walked on.

  The building formerly known as the Eternal Divine Palace of the Masses was many stories tall, gleaming white like most architecture in Bacchara, and placed atop a low rise at the point of the cape forming one end of the bay. It had been intentionally built with large sections of blank wall to house enormous portraits of the former President for Life, visible for kilosteps, so that he could look over his people at all times.

  The portraits had been torn down, and here and there in place were hung flags bearing ancient Baccharan good luck symbols. The pockmarks of recent shelling and gunfire still scarred the walls. The building had been renamed, and a huge banner across the entrance proclaimed it Liberty Palace in tall Baccharan letters, and the same in seven other languages in smaller letters below.

  A motley group of guards, whose look suggested a range of origins from urban intellectuals to desert tribesmen, stood outside the new steel doors. The old ones, gilded and bronzed, now shattered with large holes in the middle, were leaning against the wall nearby.

  “Hi there!” said Viris brightly, “Anyone here speak Tadine?”

  “I do. How can I help you?” said a young, well groomed man with bronze rings pierced along his cranial crest, a brutal looking machine gun strapped to his back, and an accent that suggested university education in Tadine.

  “I’m looking for Haral Karden. He said he was here.”

  “Are you Viris Nane?”

  “That’s me!”

  “Welcome!” he smiled, stepped forward and tapped his forehead, then gripped her arm in a gesture she guessed was friendly, “I’m Captain Deba, come with me! Professor Karden and the others are expecting you!”

  Guards opened the heavy reinforced doors, and they stepped into a grand, or at least gaudy, entrance hall several stories tall. Construction was going on here and there, taking down some of the ugliest features, repairing railings, floors, windows and wiring.

  On the balcony of the first level up, near the top of the first flight of silver-plated stairs, were several figures. A muscular man of indeterminate age with a rough look and a large scar on his face, dressed in Baccharan formal clothing, a tall and breathtakingly beautiful young woman, dressed similarly, a few more guards and… Karden and Tayyis!

  Viris broke into a run, Tayyis got halfway down the stairs before she reached her and grabbed her in a spinning hug.

  “Ow! I’m a little old for this Viris!” said Tayyis with a laugh.

  Next Viris grabbed Karden, squeezing him tight, “Oh am I glad to see you!”

  He smiled, “Likewise Viris, more than I can easily say! We made it here by a much more direct route than you, which I think is how we got here first, but on the other hand, the government, I mean the Tadine government, knows we’re here.”

  “How fortunate then, that we have no extradition treaty with Tadine,” said the tough-looking Baccharan in formal clothes, now walking down the stairs with a smile.

  “Ah, my apologies!” said Karden to Viris, “Viris Nane, may I introduce Hesdi Abida, chairman of the revolutionary council of Bacchara, and this,” he motioned to the beautiful woman, “is Hesdis Chayar, another member of the council.”

  “I am only temporary chairman,” said Abida, his Tadine strongly accented, but his voice clear and rich, “We are rotating the position until we can hold elections, and then… who can say?”

  His expression turned more serious. “We did not overthrow Hadeb in order to have another President for Life. Not one of us on the council, not someone else, and most certainly not those aliens.”

  “Good to meet you both!” said Viris with a tap to her forehead, awkward from long disuse.

  She turned to Karden and Tayyis, “I… do they…”

  “Yes Viris, they know. That’s why we are here. They’ve provided us with protection, and a space to work.”

  Tayyis cut in, “And computers… and Neem and Jat are here!”

  “To be precise,” added Karden, “They are at a facility hidden in the desert, but we’re going to go visit them in a couple of days.”

  Viris beamed, hugged them again.

  “It may… surprise to know,” said Hesdis Chayar in broken Tadine, “We have many much new friends. People, money… help. Some come of your country. Vhel, like Hadeb he want to be. Aliens… of them many become afraid.”

  Abida added, “Hopefully, someone will help Vhel become like Hadeb, in a way he does not expect!”

  “I think I like it here,” said Viris.

  ///

  Karden, Tayyis, and Viris settled into luxurious rooms in Liberty Palace. They set up their workshop in a reinforced and secured room underground, one of the many vaults where Hadeb had kept gold, weapons, freezers full of delicacies, prisoners, and whatever else took his fancy.

  “This place is amazing!” said Viris.

  “And hideous,” added Karden.

  “You like the decorative style of the Elders well enough, Haral,” Tayyis said to him with a smile, hand on his arm, “and they use a lot of gold and colors.”

  “Yes, but all of their work has a certain symmetry and sense, working with the functional form of everything they decorate, rather than against it or encrusting over it.”

  “Haral Karden, art critic in exile, and secret admirer of the Elders!” cut in Viris.

  Karden shrugged. “That we’re fighting them does not mean we must disapprove of everything about them. I do like their aesthetic taste. There are also reasons why they are so effective. T
hey’re highly organized, researched us with remarkable thoroughness before deciding to reveal themselves, and seem very dedicated to their mission.”

  “Did you expect aliens to be messy like us?” said Viris.

  “Not exactly like us, no. They are after all from another world. But, I think similar starting conditions, similar challenges of survival, somewhat similar biology, and identical laws of physics, would produce beings at least remotely recognizable to us in psychology. What is truly different, with thousands of years of severe difference behind it, is their culture.”

  “And their language!” added Tayyis, “which you, Viris, are now going to start learning.”

  “Yes ma’am,” smiled Viris.

  Karden turned serious.

  “Viris, do you have it?”

  “I do.”

  “Where then?”

  “Scattered in exactly ten thousand smaller pieces of code across the nets, hidden as other things. Any one piece won’t help anyone, and will look even less like something to government snoops than it does to me. But… with a call from a little script I have here in my head, it will all come running to us.”

  And with that, she set to work.

  A few minutes later, they looked at row after row of dots and lines, the Grounder graphical representation of code that the computer knew was there, but couldn’t read.

  “Yeah. Forgot about that,” Viris said.

  “About what?” replied Tayyis apprehensively.

  “How much work we’ve got ahead of us. This time, I won’t be able to count on as much remote help, things are getting too dangerous in Tadine. Some of my friends are in hiding or on the run – they may not have access right now, or might get caught. I put the word out, and a few might make it here, although I didn’t make any promises you’d work with them.”

  “I think, under the circumstances, we will,” said Karden.

  Tayyis looked thoughtful, “Well, if we’re willing to extend the circle of trust a little further, I know of someone who might be able to help.”