by Sean Robins
“Oh! I am so sorry. As I said, MICI does not work on everyone,” said Tarq.
“It worked fine,” said Allen. “I have a lot of stuff in my mind that wasn’t there before. I just didn’t learn anything I hadn’t known already.”
Tarq and Barook looked confused. I offered an explanation. “This is just Allen being Allen.”
Tarq gave Allen an annoyed look, then said, “I am the commander of the base and the highest authority. As such, I award Jim the rank of colonel, and appoint him as the commander of the fleet.”
I wondered if it was another prank. “Seriously?”
“Trust me,” said Tarq. “You now possess both the experience and the expertise to do your job. MICI agrees. In fact, it usually assigns ranks, but since the four of you are the first people to join up, I decided to do the honors myself.”
I said, “Wow! This is so FM!” which got me a smile from Liz.
“FM?” asked Tarq.
“Fucking magic. It’s fighter pilot’s slang for when you see something so high tech you can’t figure out how it does what it does,” I explained.
“MICI is admittedly great,” said Tarq, “but unfortunately the Xortaags have used the same technology to develop something called Orbital Mind Control and Brain Over-Write System. Do you remember I mentioned they had reverse engineered a mind-control technology that helped them become a galactic super-power?”
“That’s a mouthful right there,” I said.
“We can call it OMC-BOWS,” said Tarq.
Allen growled, “That’s even worse than C-SIS! All this technology and you couldn’t come up with something less idiotic?”
“What the hell is C-SIS?” I asked.
“Canadian Security Intelligence Service,” answered Kurt.
I chuckled. “Huh! I didn’t know the Canadians had one of those.”
Allen gave me a hard look.
“The Xortaags themselves call it the Voice of God,” said Tarq. “So it is either that or OMC-BOWS unless you have a better suggestion.”
I helpfully offered, “How about MFM, standing for Mind-Fuck Machine?”
Liz hit me in the arm, and Allen looked unimpressed, but Tarq, Barook and Kurt burst into laughter.
Tarq appointed Kurt as the commander of the Special Forces, also as a colonel. Elizabeth and Allen ended up being lieutenant-colonels, our seconds-in-command.
“There is something extremely important I need all of you to remember,” said Tarq. “For us Akakies, personal space is very important, and we will suffer actual physical pain if it is violated. Please make sure you do not get closer than three feet to the two of us, and under no circumstances touch us, even if you find us dying on the floor.”
I thought that was a bit weird but held my tongue. Maybe he was a germaphobe?
We broke for lunch.
After lunch, we had a defense strategy meeting in the base’s Command Center, which was a high-tech room full of various controls and instruments I didn’t recognize, computers, monitors, communication devices, very big virtual reality screens floating mid-air, and a few hologram projectors.
Everything was white.
I asked Tarq, “Where can I find sunglasses around here?”
Using another holographic presentation/movie, Tarq explained, in very general terms, the Xortaag strategy to invade other planets. In a nutshell, the Xortaags would send their fleet to the vicinity of the planet using the Space-Folding Device, and then engage their defenses while they set up a satellite system—Orbital Mind Control and Brain Over-Write System, aka OMC-BOWS, aka MFM—around the planet. Once complete, OMC-BOWS would emanate a beam that would brainwash all the planet’s population into believing the Xortaags were gods and all their commands had to be followed. Afterward, they’d use the planet’s indigenous population to build bases and cities, and once an infrastructure was in place, millions of Xortaags would immigrate to the planet while their fleet would prepare to invade another target.
“That mind control beam won’t affect us?” asked Kurt.
“No. Our MICI protects you against its effects,” answered Tarq. “Moreover, the beam cannot penetrate our force field here.”
“How many space fighters do they have in their fleet?” I asked.
“Around forty thousand.”
I whistled. “That’s four times what we have. How’re we going to stop their attack?”
“We are not,” said Tarq. “Going toe-to-toe with their fleet is suicide, considering their numerical advantage. Their M.O. has two weak points: Once they land, they do not expect any resistance, so they will be completely blindsided by our presence. They are also inexperienced in fighting enemy forces on the ground. As a direct result of their overwhelming success in space battles, they have not needed to use ground warfare for more than one of your centuries. Our plan is to let them land, study them for a couple of months, find their weaknesses, and only then destroy them in a surprise attack.”
Liz gasped. “You’re suggesting we let them occupy our planet?”
Tarq nodded.
“Surely there is another way,” Liz exclaimed. “Maybe if we coordinate our efforts with our armed forces—”
Tarq cut her off. “Trust me. This is the only way. Earth’s military forces do not stand a chance against the Xortaags. You are a pilot, and you know both Earth’s air force and the enemy fleet capabilities. Use your judgment.”
He did have a point, and I wouldn’t trust General Zheng in any case, but Liz insisted, “But millions could die!”
“Actually, more like thousands. Casualties of Xortaag invasions are usually light. Once OMC-BOWS becomes active, all hostilities stop, and life on the planet continues with a semblance of normalcy. There is no need for them to slaughter their own future workforce, after all.”
Barook added, “To be clear, casualties of the invasion itself are light, and as Commander Tarq mentioned, people on the planet simply return to their daily routines after the invasion, waiting for instructions from ‘gods.’’ However, this is temporary. The first wave of Xortaag migration usually consists of ten to twenty million Xortaags in cryogenic sleep. The Xortaags load the sleep pods in huge transport ships. Once they arrive, the construction of cities and bases on the planet expands exponentially, at which point normal life on the planet is completely disrupted. Most native inhabitants are turned into slaves, and since Xortaags are not particularly concerned with the well-being of their slaves, the mortality rate raises considerably. And once the colonization process is complete, which would take between two to three of your decades, they kill off most of the planet’s population, only keeping a small portion as slaves.”
“Which means we are under a deadline,” said Tarq. “Once the first wave of Xortaag colonists arrives, they will be too strong for us to defeat.”
Tugging on his goatee, Kurt weighed in, “I’m not sure how I feel about your strategy.”
I noticed Barook was mimicking Kurt and pulling his own beard.
Suddenly, Tarq’s tone and manner changed. He answered in a very firm voice, “You are not required to have any feelings about this. I am the commander of the base. I order, you follow. That’s it.”
This caught all of us by surprise. I hadn’t realized this was a dictatorship. The freedom-fighting dynamic duo didn’t like it at all. Allen leaned forward, cracked his knuckles, and asked, “Is that how you think things work around here?”
“This is exactly how things work around here,” said Tarq. “Please allow me to demonstrate: Take that glass and pour the water over your head.”
To my astonishment, Allen picked up a glass of water from the desk in front of him and emptied it on his own head.
Tarq, who had a hard time keeping a straight face, continued, “Now stand up and hop on one leg.”
Allen did what he was told.
“At the same time, hit yourself in the head with your right hand.”
If it were not for the look of absolute horror on Allen’s face, this would’ve
been hilarious. Barook certainly thought so. He laughed so hard that he fell off his chair. Kurt and Liz both started to move with the apparent intention of stopping Tarq and helping Allen, but they both froze. I guessed what was going on, so I didn’t even bother. Plus, why on earth would I help Allen?
Tarq explained, “Along with the other things, MICI has also made it impossible for you to disobey my orders. You can stop now.”
Allen stopped hopping, and Kurt and Liz relaxed and lay back in their seats. Allen took one step toward Tarq with murder in his eyes, and then he stopped dead, completely motionless.
Tarq continued, “You are also unable to harm me in any way, directly or indirectly.”
“You stole this from RoboCop,” I pointed out.
“I have no idea who that is,” said Tarq. “But if he has done something similar, he is a very smart person.”
With obvious effort, Allen said, “You are dead.”
Tarq shrugged. “Probably one day.”
“But apparently not by you,” I helpfully added.
Tarq looked at me approvingly, then in his usual mild tone said, “In case you have not understood, you will not able to talk about this to anyone who has not been through MICI. We are going to leave you now to talk this out among yourselves. We will have a meeting tomorrow morning to iron out some issues.”
Tarq was about to leave the room when he stopped and said, “Oh, I almost forgot: my request for our personal space not being violated? It is an order now.”
I asked my friends, “Does anybody else think we might’ve jumped out of the frying pan into the fire?”
“I certainly do,” said Kurt. “I don’t like working under a dictator.”
“Thank you, Mr. Obvious,” I said. “We know you’ve been fighting a dictatorship for the past two years.”
Kurt gave me a pained look.
Allen’s nostril’s flared. “I’m gonna find a way to kill him. He can’t push us around when he is dead.”
“I don’t like being Tarq’s puppet,” said Liz, playing with a lock of hair, “and I’m not very good at following orders. But if it helps us save humanity, shouldn’t we swallow our pride and get on with it?”
I winked at her. “Meet Liz, the champion of doing the right thing at any cost, even if it means becoming a slave for a stupid alien.”
I had an idea about how to solve this problem, but it seemed like a long shot, so I kept it to myself for the time being.
The Akaki Base on Earth - January 13, 2048
Kurt, wandering aimlessly in the night, ended up at a small park near his quarters. It was peaceful and quiet, with nobody else around. He sat on a bench under an oak tree and tried to wrap his mind around the events of the past couple of weeks.
It had all started two years ago. He was working late in his office, making arrangements for Unification’s first anniversary. Sitting behind his desk, he noticed how dark it was outside and called Janet to tell her he wouldn’t be home for dinner. He said, “See you soon. Don’t forget how much I love you,” disconnected the call, looked up, and found himself staring at the business end of a silencer.
The swarthy man holding the gun said, “General Zheng sends his regards.”
Before Kurt even began to comprehend what was going on, the man’s body was thrown forward, hit in the back by several bullets shot quickly one after another. He hit Kurt’s desk and collapsed to the floor, his blood staining the carpet.
What just happened?
Holding a suppressed Glock G-32, Allen appeared behind the dead would-be assassin and said, “Follow me.”
Kurt was dizzy with shock but kept his wits about him. He grabbed the dead assassin’s gun and ran after Allen. There were three more dead men in the corridor.
“Our friend in there hadn’t come alone,” said Allen.
Kurt and Allen exited the building through the back door and got into an ancient brown Cadillac. Allen drove away. “Why are you driving?” asked Kurt.
“I’ve disabled all the car’s navigation system and anything else that could be tracked,” said Allen.
“What the hell is going on?”
Allen took his eyes off the street for just one second and looked at him. Sorrow and guilt were written all over his face. “I was off duty tonight. A bomb exploded in your parents’ car. They are both dead. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry I am.”
It was as if he had just been hit by lightning. Time slowed. Those few simple sentences turned his life upside down. His bookish, kindly, untiring parents were gone. Soon he’d find out that a united Earth, the dream he and his father had dedicated their lives to for so long, had been co-opted by a brutal military dictator. The planet was now united only in subjugation. At that moment he started down the road that got Janet, sweet Janet, killed. He’d been on the run ever since, trying to forget his pain by waging all-out war against Zheng. What kept him going wasn’t purely revenge, though that was always in his mind, but fulfilling his father’s dream, no matter how unlikely the possibility was. And just a few days ago, he’d thought that dream was gone forever.
This was his chance for redemption.
Defending Earth against an alien attack was enough to give him a sense of purpose, but he couldn’t help feeling this was the means to an even greater end. When the Xortaags were gone, he could continue his father’s work, and this time, there would be no General Zheng to mess things up. He wasn’t only planning to help humanity survive the Xortaag attack; he wanted to make sure it had a bright future after that. Nothing could bring back his parents or the thousands murdered by Zheng and his henchmen, but perhaps this war would bind humanity together for good, erasing the doubt and dissatisfaction that had allowed Zheng’s victory. Once everyone knew the universe was full of intelligent species, many capable of space travel, human solidarity would look far more desirable.
Who says there are no second chances in life?
New York - January 13, 2048
Oksana told her sister, “This is the place.”
She ran to a townhouse door and rang the bell. When no one answered, she started banging on the door.
A voice from inside yelled, “I am coming! Jesus!” A minute later an elderly man opened the door. The two young women rushed in past him. The old man looked lost for words, but he finally managed to say, “Oksana! What on earth are you doing here?”
“We ran away from The Harem,” said Oksana, panting.
Confused, the old man asked, “And you came here?”
“We have nowhere else to go. Mr. Winston, you have to help us.”
Anastasiya, trembling like a leaf, said, “Please! If they catch us, they’ll torture us to death slowly, to be a lesson for the other girls.”
Oksana put an arm around her younger sister, trying to calm her down. Anastasiya continued, “And that was before she killed one of them.”
The old man, Winston, his cheeks turning scarlet, shouted, “You did what?”
“I stabbed him in the back with a kitchen knife,” Oksana said proudly.
Winston’s eyes bugged. He sat down on the couch, running a trembling hand over his face. He said, “In his back? You killed a member of the Russian mafia and then came here? No, no, no! You have got to go. I can’t help you!”
Anastasiya looked desperately at her sister. Oksana put her hand on her shoulder and told Winston, “I don’t see that you have a choice in this. If you don’t help us, I’ll call SCTU right now and tell them you have ties to the Resistance.”
Bringing up STCU had the effect Oksana was hoping for; Winston shut his mouth and stared at her in fear.
Oksana continued without mercy, “I’m sure they’ll be very interested in hearing Palermo was assassinated shortly after I told you he used to come to The Harem frequently.”
Winston’s face drained of blood, and he seemed to shrink into the couch cushions like a small frightened animal. “What do you want?”
“We want to join the Resistance,” said Oksana. “That’s the
only way to escape Bratwa.”
Liz and I entered the Command Center together. While we were settling into our seats, Kurt told Allen, “You know what? I’ve just realized I haven’t seen you smoke since we arrived here.”
“It’s the weirdest thing,” said Allen. “I just don’t feel like smoking,”
Tarq, his pipe in his mouth, interjected, “Disgusting habit, that.”
I shot a suspicious glance at him. “Did you have something to do with it?”
Tarq blew some smoke in Allen’s face. “Me? Of course not. But Barook here has programmed MICI to make people quit smoking.”
Allen exploded. “You have no right to do this! What else are you going to ban? Alcohol? Sex?”
“For the love of God, don’t give him any ideas,” I pleaded with him.
The first order of business was choosing a name for the base.
“I have a perfect name in mind: Thermopylae,” Tarq proudly announced. “I have studied your culture and history. This is a place where a small army defeated a much stronger aggressor.”
I laughed. “They all died in Thermopylae. You could as well have chosen The Alamo!”
I suggested Winterfell, which was appropriate: We were in the north, we were the first line of defense against an alien invasion that threatened humanity, and plus, as I put it in an ominous tone, winter was indeed coming.
Liz said, “Only instead of ice-zombies, it’s a fleet of galaxy-conquering aliens we have to deal with.”
“Semantics,” I said.
We all agreed. Even Allen knew about Winterfell.
Tarq didn’t get his way in naming AX-23 either. His suggestion was Falcon, but as a Star Trek fan, it’d be a cold day in hell before I name the space fighters under my command anything even remotely related to Star Wars. I suggested Viper, and since I just happened to be the commander of the fleet, I ignored all other suggestions. I also named the cargo ships Fireflies. I was a nerd and proud of it.