Once-Other

by Lawrence M. Nysschens

Madsen Somalo and partner do the pipe and gasoline test a few more times.

  Voice-over says, “You have the right to continue paying for BA if you so choose. You have the right to cease paying for BA if you so choose. All Nomadi now provide you the right to continue paying for BA or not to pay for BA anymore. Please check your BA account and select...yes, I want to keep paying. Or No, I don’t wish to pay for BA.”

  Trust me on this. Agnes Soulone selects No and smiles.

  If there’s anyone so stupid as to want to still pay for BA? Go ahead.

  Oh dear. There goes Mister McPeters’ monthly payment for their New World. Well, from me at the least. Oh, my Equalness wait. The screen changed into a digital counter. Oh my, how it’s flying, the number growing too fast to track.

  When it stops...it is too vast and below...really huge: 99.999% of BA payments have ended. That’s five nines! This is much bigger than I’d imagined. We’re watching this worldwide, all times zones, all the time. Oh, my Equalness. Now, what?

  The screen changes showing BA’s Electricity Bill on one side and their Bank Account on the other. Oops. They are broke after the down payment they made on the Rio-Tero II purchase. Damn fine broke altogether, as they say on Here-Born.

  My Nomadi blinks and beeps. I check and the message reads, “BA attempted accessing your bank account. They were blocked. There is no charge for this new service. We appreciate your business.”

  What an exhilarating feeling but back to my screen.

  The camera cuts away then comes back and we’re looking down at Here-Born.

  Above the desert dark flat ovals with pointed noses and bird-like tails hover-in-waiting. That’s our fifteen Troop Carriers and ten Armored Carrier ships poised and ready and just out of range of land-based missiles. I recognize the port buildings...Port-SLF servicing what was Once-Other’s hometown but which is located a good fifty miles away from his old business.

  Our ships roar alive, orange flames exhaust two-mile long streamers. Their roars rise to screeching howls, flames turn blue and in unison, the ships plunge into the atmosphere. Outer shields soon glow white with heat. They slow their almost vertical dive, pull up and skim along the sand.

  As one, they halt and hover and then drop to land sending dust in all directions. Ramps slam open with dull booms, sand-clouds billow and one-hundred and fifty thousand invaders ride out safe and secure inside Armored Troop Carriers, which look much like SandMaster but run on tracks, not wheels.

  Troop Carrier engines roar battle cries their guns barking Death’s chorus. Port-SLF’s control tower rips apart. Flaming shards fly in all directions. The terminal follows. Docking bays cringe as a flaming goo softens them and metal wrinkles then melts.

  Wherever the camera is pointed pillars of black smoke climb into a clear blue sky.

  Our invaders drive hard marauding through business complexes and suburban communities razing them to the ground. They never stop in their drive onwards toward Sand Lake Flats.

  Fighter pilots follow the carnage. They cruise then stop up, hover and open fire leaving a scorched Here-Born in their wake.

  Skeletons of buildings smolder, melted tents cringe in sorrow, broken SandRiders spit orange flames and billow black smoke. The corpses of those too slow in retreating lie bent and contorted by the merciless flaming-goo or scattered and ripped apart by swarms of angry bullets.

  SandRiders race ahead of the invaders taking continuous gunfire.

  One receives a direct hit, explodes, the rider leaps clear, lands, tumbles and in one smooth motion is back on his feet running hard. Another SandRider cuts in next to him and he swings on board looking much like the SandRider act Peter Wernt attended while at the circus.

  How odd...I still call him Peter Wernt for those times he was on Here-Born.

  The SandRiders accelerate rapidly. My. They must be hitting more than a hundred miles an hour on those things—our tracked armored tanks and carriers cannot keep up.

  Nevertheless, our guns fire continuously.

  Homes burst into flames. Warehouses erupt like geysers. Parts fly whirring and whining a deadly warning to any who would dare cross their paths. Oh dear, this isn’t simply an invasion. This is genocide and a scorched Here-Born policy as McPeters had promised.

  Voice-over says, “We wish you no harm. However, do please understand. We will defend ourselves.”

  Eight hours of destruction later Sand Lake Flats Mall drifts into camera view.

  The carousel close to Pre-owneds Galore quivers under the storm of destruction. Around it, tents and buildings erupt into cones of flames topped by columns of dark blue smoke. Tendrils of fiery death flare outwards, adjoining buildings and tents burst into flames.

  The shelling ends and I listen to the lick and crackle of flames as tents and buildings die. I yank my attention off the carnage as the roar of many SandRiders cut in seconds before they race into view. The camera view changes to overhead and holds.

  Several Armored Troop Carriers release another barrage of fire.

  Once-Other’s store erupts and vanishes. The carousel wheel spins off across the desert like a weird flying saucer crash-landing. The Mall collapses in on itself and explodes. A few desperate people flee the Mall just ahead of the collapse. At least one does not quite make it.

  The towering head of the gold mine remains untouched.

  Thus far, no troopers have deployed but every building, tent and home along the way lies in ruins. I verify and yes, not a single oil pipe or goldmine head was touched.

  The Invasion Forces leave SLF headed northward to the Highlands and there to take out the Desert Drivers. But on the way they are laying waste to the Free Marketeers without mercy. This leaves the Nomads.

  They, using camels and horses, will be easy pickings once all Desert Drivers are eliminated.

  No further Here-Born citizens are visible on screen save for those desperadoes rushing ahead on SandRiders racing to get away from the invaders. Only fifteen minutes after reaching Sand Lake Flats, not a single structure remains upright. Every building or tent burns or smolders a charred ruin—save for the goldmine.

  The screen visuals dissolve turning flat black.

  BA’s Electricity Bill reappears and a clock counts down the minutes in seconds. Focus shifts to the Due Date and Time now only five minutes away.

  I glance about our silent office. Gone is the click-clack of keyboards, the deep sighs of those working silently under scrutiny. My Supervisor paces the hallway, smoking, salutes me with his mug and says, “Fresh. You want one?”

  I shake my head no and get back to work, but cannot...the countdown clock hits 00:01. The screen changes and a document appears. I read it aloud.

  “Action to Collect Unpaid Debt.

  “Complainant: Eduvision Electrical Corp.

  “Defendant: Breathable Air Inc.

  “Amount Due: $750,101,749,345,282.95

  “Due Date: Overdue

  “Interest Per day: 5% compound.”

  The screen dissolves. Opens to an overhead view of Mister McPeters, Odentien, Number Six and Eight and the other remaining Twelve working at a screen. They are filling out an Application for Bankruptcy on behalf of Breathable Air.

  The remaining Twelve’s names are listed as the sole owners of BA. I lean closer but find no other names listed.

  Fifteen seconds later Bankrupt Status for BA is active.

  Quick cutaways show air fans in various locations turning off. Over my shoulder, stale air stops blowing. And it hits me right between the eyes—Once-Other the devious one.

  I recall him telling Peter Wernt about the skin cream store, which went out of business after the citizens of Here-Born decided to stop buying their product. Their action was not a boycott, but a Free Market action by individuals exercising their opinions with their Nomadi—or wallets.

  Now here we are no longer paying for BA. I never imagined that just keeping my wallet shut or Nomadi turned off gave me so much power in a free market. How clever those rascals
from Here-Born are. And! What an incredible weapon for We the everyday People it is! My!

  The screen switches to a split view of our President making a call and McPeters answering. “McPeters here!”

  The President takes a slow deep breath and says, “President Watters and Harry Bracchion-Brown, Senator from the United Republics of German Persons against War. What the hell is going on? You guys are the sole owners of BA...are you scamming us?”

  McPeters hangs up without a word.

  More frames appear as other House Members call. Multiple voicemail recordings play. The remaining Twelve sit around their screen smiling at one another. McPeters accesses a second account.

  Oh, my Equalness. It’s the Treasury of the Federal Government of the United Countries of Earth. Wow—the total climbs faster than did the clock counting down the seconds to BA’s failure.

  I had no idea our taxes flowed into Treasury so quickly.

  I can no longer say Equalness without gagging.

  The remaining Twelve put their feet up on the desk, laugh as if it is a joke and watch the dollars increase. And it hits me, Government has access to every Nomadi and business account.

  The screen makes a sudden change and switches to Here-Born.

  Our Invasion convoy turns off the Eastern Freeway and heads into a vast bowl or basin-like valley surrounded by high dunes. Vehicles park alongside each other, engines die, steel ramps clang open, boots tramp down onto the sand and our soldiers form-up in the center.

  The CO climbs atop an Armored Carrier with a microphone in hand.

  He’s tall, hairless and stands stiffly in a spotless desert camouflage uniform. He strides forward; muscles pop and snap as he moves. He slams to attention, looks his men over with pride and suddenly bellows, “Men! We got us here a mission. A simple task—the final taking of the nut. But! Do you know what they say in the history books men?”

  Close-ups of individual soldiers in similar uniforms flit across my screen. Their brown rifles and handguns ready. Not a single face moves nor twitches.

  The CO bellows louder. “Soldiers! They say that if you take a People’s land you must never leave survivors. We will leave no survivors for if we do on some far and distant day they will demand their land back and they will fight until they get it back. Let us not make the same mistakes those who colonized during the early days back on Earth did. No survivors! No prisoners.”

  A bloodthirsty human-animal roar explodes. Soldiers leap skywards and hold their fists high in salute to him and one another.

  A louder roar cuts in.

  The rim of the surrounding dunes erupts into wild sand-clouds. SandMasters thrust up from below the surface charge forward and halt facing down into the valley below.

  Fragger units hum, aimed at our Invasion Force.

  A cough, clearing a throat barks over a bullhorn and into the sudden silence a quiet yet firm voice speaks.

  “Attention! Earth-Born Invasion Force! We offer you this single opportunity in which to surrender with honor.”

  The Commander of our Invasion Force draws his handgun turns and fires towards the circle of SandMaster.

  Blinding rainbows fire in all directions. A sudden flash of white light fills the basin. Sharp thunderclaps resound; echo away and in the ensuing silence puffs of sand settle.

  Oh my, oh my.

  What an incredible sight. Unbelievable!

  CHAPTER 77

  Of A Battle Fought And Won

  Not a single weapon remains—not a knife, a rifle, handgun nor mounted gun. Not a single rocket nor round of ammunition lies in waiting ready to fire, load or launch. Not only are our troops disarmed but dead lies their will to fight.

  A single volley of Fraggers has accomplished a complete defeat. I hold my hand to my mouth and chuckle—oh my wowness.

  Within the desert basin surrounded by ten SandMasters stand one-hundred and fifty thousand of Earth’s finest invaders. Moments earlier they had been snarling, lusting of conquest—they are now like jellyfish stranded hundreds of miles from the nearest water.

  I cannot help but smile so broadly my jaws ache.

  Our famed invaders stand at stiff attention each and every one of them naked as the day they were born. Not a stitch of clothing, not a bootlace, nor a single band of underwear elastic remains.

  A Fragger volley vanished all weapons, all clothing, and all ammunition in one fell swoop.

  In a subdued voice our Invader CO commands, “Hup-yur-ho!”

  Military training allows hands to move with precise timing. Every hand snaps around front and covers that most private of human body parts from present and future prying eyes.

  LWB SandMasters with benches mounted on their beds rumble down dune slopes and stop fifty feet from the Invasion Force. Other SandMasters drive in loaded with boxes from out of which plain white garments peak. They drive by the others and park closer to the Invasion Force.

  Around me, fellow staff chuckle while others laugh aloud.

  Even Skellumer snickers.

  Our naked Invasion troopers file by and are handed full-length gowns, a pair of flip-flops, and are marched to waiting SandMasters and transported away. Even some of our troopers are laughing. In the face of hot enemy fire, there is nothing quite as vulnerable as naked and unarmed soldiers.

  The bullhorn comes alive with a squeal of feedback.

  “In compensation for your unwarranted invasion all equipment, vehicles and ships are surrendered to Here-Born. And to quote your Department for the Assurance of Happiness...have a nice day.”

  My screen becomes mine at last.

  I sigh in sad relief.

  Suddenly the taste of bile is in my mouth and the burn of tears is at the corner of my eyes. Once-Other would have loved the way this has all played out if only he were still with us.

  CHAPTER 78

  Of All Citizen’s Personal Choice

  My Supervisor strolls in and pats my shoulder. I admire his uniform—so superior to mine as evidenced by the sheen of quality. “I’m counting on you,” he says and walks out his brown leather shoes squeaking as new ones do.

  I turn to my monitor where a letter displays.

  I lean closer, focus and deep within at the very depths of soul an ache awakens. One I have knowingly suppressed for a very long time.

  On my monitor is my life’s story, the one of endless misery.

  I begin the read not only of a lifetime but also of an awakening.

  ***

  Dear Citizens of Earth-Born,

  Dead ahead is a fork in Life’s road for all of Earth-Born. None of the Rights and Freedoms we of Here-Born take for granted exists on Earth-Born. Nor has your Government mentioned any of these to you.

  Please allow us to share parts of ours with you.

  Though there are many pages, it will be an adventure.

  All we ask of you is a touch of indulgence and a little time in which to step away from the fear of things new. Many who travel this road may come to understand the circumstances under which our Here-Born Founders left Earth-Born, and never returned.

  And why it is that we never surrender.

  Freedom is our All...you see.

  What price would you pay for Freedom?

  Or as some prefer...for salvation from the slave masters.

  Would some reading be too much?

  Strangely, we seek your help in and with our own Freedom.

  Please keep in mind, we of Here-Born believe betraying those one politically represent is an act of betrayal, an act of treason. On Here-Born, betraying any sworn oath is legally treason or a High Crime at the very least.

  Thank you for your time and any reading you may care to give.

  Committee for Self-Defense—Here-Born.

  ***

  I gaze about.

  Everyone is reading.

  Hundreds of pale gray uniforms interspersed with hundreds of beige represent we of Earth. Each sits still with head bent—reading. A quick glance out the window and the streets o
verflow with people sitting on benches, leaning against poles, standing in the street and on the sidewalks, their attention riveted on Nomadi.

  For the first time, I clearly notice the pale gray and beige uniforms. A shudder runs down my back.

  I have imagined dresses, suits and other things from out storybooks—until this moment. I rub my eyes and stare until the uniforms are as clear to see as my monitor is. A quick count reveals that four-fifths of us wear them. There is something wrong with that.

  Before starting the read, I linger a moment, my eyes focused on a darkened sky. My thoughts swivel away from a dark yesterday towards a brighter future. A future I have never dared think of let alone did I make mention of a wish.

  That wish I have all but buried in despair.

  Now it is time for Agnes Soulone to read.

  After the first glance at my screen, a virtual fist hits me right between the eyes. In the same instant, change comes over me as a warm, comforting hand brushes across my shoulders.

  “Agnes,” I say to myself, “What you read here you must grasp better than anything before. Do not ask me why Agnes. Just trust me on this. Time is short. Those from Rio-Tero may decide to pay us an unexpected visit and demand a payment we are no longer able to make. Perhaps have no desire to pay either.

  “Get to your task Agnes. No rest for the wicked.”

  ***

  Excerpt from the Here-Born Declaration of Independence, Constitution and Bill of Rights

  Citizens of Here-Born one-n-all:

  Freedom we have won. The War of Independence is over.

  We stand free of Earth-Born!

  Grasp all you can with hands, hearts and minds.

  Drink long and deep from the Well of Freedom.

  But keep near to heart a solemn promise to never again surrender for Freedom is hard won and long in returning—once stolen from one’s grasp.

  We write to elicit your vote.

  Your Freedom vote for what we have written here.

  Do we stand as one? As a nation united?

  Can we face tomorrow as a free people?

  Is there a government system designed to protect itself not for hundreds, nor thousands, nor tens of thousands but for millions of years-n-more?