by Trevor Wyatt
There is nothing I can do to make up for what I’ve done in the past, but I know that I am doing the right thing.
I look at the terrified duo.
“Go,” I say. “Go and hide somewhere safe. Hide where no one will see you.”
They only look at me strangely.
I realize that they don’t understand what I’m saying. I motion with my hands. They get my gesture and run out of the house, giving me a wide berth.
All is not fair in war. The ends do not justify the means. Every acts we have committed, we will be required to give account of it one day. It may not be to the government, it may not be to a military tribunal. Indeed, we may have forgotten, when we shall be called upon to pay. But one day. Surely, one day. Every creature will be required to give account of what he has done.
I hear a voice behind me. It’s Terran speech.
I turn to see why the boy has returned when I feel a powerful energy tear through my body. I see the gleeful look in the boy’s eyes and he releases three more shots, drops the blaster, and runs away.
I fall to my knees first, the life draining from me. Then I collapse on my face, bleeding out.
My final thoughts are disarrayed, but I find that I am not enraged by the boy’s action. If anything I am liberated and no longer bound by guilt. I also feel a great sense of pity for the universe I’m leaving behind, for the children who are being raised in the Terran Union and in the Sonali Combine because of the cruelties of this horrible war.
I should have been a scholar.
Alas, all is not fair in war.
Article X1
I know I’m dreaming because life is not as beautiful like how I see it in my dream. I am on a pastoral land in the summer. It’s breezy but quiet.
I am free of worry that a political rival may be plotting my downfall or fear that the Terran Council may not pass my Intergalactic Water Transportation Bill or distrust for my advisors who I am beginning to suspect may be saboteurs. I am not weighed down by the pressures of the most important office in all of the Terran Union.
I am most importantly not bogged by the Outer Colonies, who seem to be itching for another round of engagements.
In this dream, I am just Joshua Harmon…not President Joshua Harmon.
Just Joshua Harmon.
I am standing barefoot in the soft shrubby hilly area, looking through the lowly cut meadow at a barn. I am dressed like a farmer in a button down shirt made with a cotton material that allows the air to seep into my pores. My pants are baggy and rolled up to my shins.
My heart is full of joy and happiness, and the sun shines down upon me with kindness.
“Honey,” calls a voice behind me.
I turn to look behind me, where a huge forest spreads across the lands until the horizon is covered. My wife Sarah Harmon is standing at the edge of the trees, looking as though she’s about to do something terrible or have something terrible happened to her.
I feel a frown spread across my face and squeeze off the look of happiness that had previously dominated my expression. There is something foreboding about this forest. As this thought takes root in my heart, there is a strike of thunder that causes me to go for the ground. I look up as I go down, seeing the streak of lightning across dark skies.
Shock pierces through into my heart. I turn to see the meadow and the barn, but instead, all I see are ghostly apparition wadding through a sea of blood towards me. They heft sharp objects, their eyes glazed over as though in death. They are uncountable, every one of them heading to my direction like zombies with only one goal; to kill me.
My heart is pounding now. I am about to bolt in the other direction when I recall that Sara is around. It is then that her shrill scream pierces through the darkness, chilling me to my core.
I swivel around on my heels as I see my wife in the clutches of a ghastly terrifying creature. I hear a heavy pounding from above.
“Josh!” my wife screams even as she is dragged against her will into the dark eerie trees.
I start to go after her, when I feel sharp, cold, bony fingers grab my arms. It wriggles me senseless as the icy feeling of terror spreads across my heart.
Another pounding in the sky.
“Josh!”
And then another.
“Josh!”
My breathing is erratic.
My pulse is out of control.
“Josh!”
Another pounding.
I bolt right out of bed and smack into my wife’s face.
“Ouch!” she cries, grabbing her nose and rolling over. I am still panting and alert, adrenaline coursing through my veins. My night robes are thick with sweat and so are the bed sheets.
I glance at my wife at my side. She’s holding her nose and looking at me with concern.
The pounding comes again…this time at the door.
Sara says, “I’ve been calling your name out loud.” She glances at the door. “And they’ve been knocking on the door for you. It seems to be urgent.”
I’ve left strict instructions never to be woken from sleep by any matter except if it’s war with the Outer Colonies or the highly improbable event of an alien invasion of the Terran Union. The last I heard of the Outers, they were facing some serious economic troubles—I could hardly think this was the time to fight the high and mighty Terran Union. This means the reason why my bedroom door is being knocked on does not deserve my attention.
Someone’s head will roll.
Sara sees the frown on my face and says, “It must be very important,” she says, her kind eyes drilling through the terror that still clouds my mind and the anger that is building steam to take its place.
Her smile and kind words vanquishes the darkness, leaving me calm and mellow.
The pound on the door comes again, reminding me of my dream.
“Cut it out!” I yell.
“Mr. President, it’s urgent,” says my principal secret service agent, Curtis Mann.
“I’ll be right out, soon,” I reply. “Cut it the hell out and that’s an order.”
“Yes, sir!” he replies.
I return my attention to my wife. I reach for her face, but she withdraws, guarding her nose delicately.
“Did I break it?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Almost, but not quite there. Nothing a little ice can’t fix. Now go. You’re needed elsewhere.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say instead. “I didn’t know you were on top of me.” I say that last bit with a questioning look.
“I was trying to wake you up, honey,” she replies. “You seemed like you were having a nightmare.”
I nod. I remain silent.
“Care to share?” she asks.
I think back to the dream. I remember how my joy and gladness had turned instantly to terror and imminent death. I remember how daylight and peace had turned to darkness and destruction. I remember the intense feeling of threat, like something terrible was about to happen.
Even right now, in the large, plush bedroom in Geneva, the feeling is still tight in my muscles.
I force a smile on my face, knowing that there is no merit in Sara worrying with me. I’m not psyche, at least not to the best of my knowledge. I can’t predict the future. I’m sure it’s just a dream.
“It’s nothing, Sara,” I reply. I pull myself out of the bed and head into the shower. Ten minutes later, I am dressed in a casual wear. I’m wearing a magenta colored sweatshirt over a grey vest and a faded blue track suit.
The most I can do after attending to this disturbance (and causing heads to roll for the disturbance) is to take advantage in the break in my cycle and go for a run.
“Go back to bed, hon,” I say, kissing my wife on the forehead. She lies in bed after that and I draw the duvet over her body.
“I’ll be back soon,” I say. “I promise.”
She smiles.
I walk out of the bedroom into a wide square-shaped lobby. Beautiful Persian rug covers the ground. Soft incandes
cent lights in a chandelier adorn the high ceiling. Portraits of past presidents—five of them—decorate the walls.
The lobby is truncated ahead by a corridor that is unusually heavily trafficked at this ungodly hour.
Standing there in the lobby are seven of my security detail. The head of my security team and my principal, Curtis Mann, is standing at my side. The Minister for Earth and the Minister for Defense are both in the lobby.
There are three other people I don’t know, but from their uniforms I can tell they’re from Terran Armada.
Seeing the looks on their faces brings the feeling of foreboding from my dream and into my heart.
“What’s going on, gentlemen?” I ask.
Minister of Defense Admiral Josef Ivanovich who is the Chief Admiral of the Council of Admirals that oversees the Terran Armada speaks first.
“We’ve been attacked, sir,” he says.
“What?” I say. “By who? The Outers?”
The Minister of Defense glances around at the secret service agents and then at the open corridor.
“Go on, talk to me,” I say.
“Sir, this information is highly classified,” the Minister for Earth says. “It’s better we talk somewhere private.”
“Look, guys, whatever you want to tell me, you can tell me here,” I reply. “Who attacked us?”
The Minister of Defense heaves a deep sigh, a grim look casting a shadow on his face. “Sir, we now have irrefutable evidence that suggests that we are no longer alone in this galaxy. Unfortunately, we were attacked by aliens, sir.”
I can see the faces of the security agents change from passiveness to expressed fear. I am impressed with myself that I remain passive…at least I think so.
I refrain from speaking for a while. Two reasons. If I speak, I will betray my fear. Two, maybe if I don’t answer they’ll scream ‘April Fools!’ and then go bog someone else.
No one speaks.
The three Captains are all expressionless behind the Ministers. They probably already knew about the attack. Were they involved?
“Sir?” says the Minister of Defense.
“How sure are you of this?” I say, working through the lump in my throat.
The Minister of Defense motions for the only female among them, who is carrying a large screened tablet, to show me a video.
She approaches me and is stopped by the security agents.
“Let her through,” I say.
She comes to my side and raises her tablet for me to see.
“This log was sent by Captain Jeryl Montgomery after which contact was lost. It could be due to the distance that his ship was that we have yet to receive another transmission, but it was escalated as soon as we received it,” she says. Then she taps the play button and the dreadful clip begins to play before me. It’s a TUS named The Seeker. Then, there is another ship that’s many times larger than The Seeker. Seeing the vessel chills my heart, and I almost believe my heart has stopped beating.
The video switches to the CNC and then to the view screen, where I see a horrifying blue skinned creature sitting on what looks like another CNC. He’s visage is unfavorable and he or it looks enraged.
Terror stabs at my heart.
The video ends. The woman returns to her place beside the other two captains. I look up and look between the two Ministers’ faces.
“What happened?”
“We’ve prepared a full briefing, sir,” the Minister for Earth says, “I think we need to assemble the War Council for a joint briefing.”
I can feel my heart running out of my control again.
“I want everyone assembled within the hour,” I command.
The Minister of Defense and the three captains snap off a salute. The Minister for Earth, who is not a soldier, only gives me a curt nod. They all leave.
“Curtis,” I say, “Get ready. I’m leaving for the Terran Armada Headquarters in Vancouver.”
“Copy that, sir,” he says and begins to issue instructions via his comm. I return into my bedroom, which is dark and cool and pleasant. The door to the porch is open, cool breeze sweeping into the room and casing the diaphanous curtains to wrap and wriggle in the doorway.
I check on my wife. She’s fast asleep. I kiss her again.
I walk out into the porch, it’s a private porch and only accessible from my bedroom. Before me is a lowly-cut garden that spreads for a long area before it’s cut short by a forest. From this far, I can see Marines patrolling the forest with attack dogs and hovering sentinel drones.
I look up at the night sky. The moon is full and bright with vigor and power. There is a splatter of stars and around one of those stars are our enemy.
I heave a deep sigh. I am having a multiplicity of emotions. I can’t really tell which is which. I am happy that I am the president that gets to usher the human race into that consciousness that we know we are no longer alone in the galaxy.
But then I’m also afraid that I will be remembered as that president that led the Terran Union to war with aliens. More so, I am terrified that I may very well be the one who led to the extinction of the human trace.
There’s no way we can defeat that ship I saw The Seeker face. I wonder if Captain Montgomery made it back alive. I never got the chance to ask Josef.
I begin to feel a migraine headache develop in my frontal lobe. I knead my temples hoping it’ll abate. It doesn’t.
I look up to the skies and say, “Couldn’t you just wait one more year? One more year is all I have before I’m out of this office and then it’ll be someone else’s trouble?”
The skies remain silent, so I look away from it.
When I go back to my bedroom, a knock comes on my door. My wife stirs with a soft grunt.
I tiptoe quickly to the door to prevent Curtis from waking up my wife. I open the door and peer out into the lobby.
“Your car is ready, sir,” he says. “Also, I’ve been told that the War Council is already assembled.”
“Already?” I ask.
He nods grimly. I understand why. The thought that we may be staring down the barrel of an alien invasion of Terran Union—especially aliens with ships that outclass us and outsize us—is well able to pull out even the most groggy councilmen or Minister out of their sleep and get them to the Bowl in Vancouver.
“I’ll be with you in ten minutes,” I say and shut the door.
I change into a black three-piece suit. I grab my personal tablet from my bedside table. I am about to leave when I remember Sara. I go to her side of the bed and kiss her on the lips. She smiles, but doesn’t open her eyes. I stare at her calming smile for a moment. A flower of hope blossoms in my heat momentarily, before it is quashed by the impending problems of a First Contact gone wrong.
“I’m ready,” I say, shutting my bedroom door behind me. We are in the residential wing of the State House, which retains the shape and size of the White House of the United States of America, one of the principal founders of The Terran Union after the events that led to the Third World War.
Of course, the White House was destroyed and most of continental United States was leveled. And now…who knows what will happen to us?
I am led to the West exit, where a series of heavily armored, hovering aircars await me. Above in the air, several Marine craft armed to the teeth with lasers and missiles scan for trouble and await my lift off. There are also tens of black suited, black shaded agents getting into aircars as I get into mine.
I strap in, while Curtis gets into the front sit.
“Let’s go,” I say.
We lift off and after everyone gets into position, an activity that takes a few minutes, we begin the ten-minute journey to the Terran Armada Headquarters in Vancouver.
I wonder what awaits me there.
We land in the main concourse of the scale defying structure from where the entire instrument of war of the Terran Union is commanded. A small retinue of secret service agents comingled with Marines await the landing area. We land
without incident. Curtis opens the door for me as I get down.
The agents all alight from their vehicles. I can smell the salty breeze from the river that traverses the side of the complex. I can even faintly hear the overlapping waves. I am tempted to turn to gaze at the calming sight of a stretch of water, but I don’t. For I know that it would not bring solace to my trouble heart.
I am led into the main entrance, where the Minister of Defense and the Minister for Earth both meet me. I acknowledge them with a nod.
“Everyone is waiting, sir,” the Minister of Defense says in a whisper. “The main entrance is jammed, sir. We’ll have to get you in through the secret escape.”
“Everyone turned up, eh?” I ask.
Josef doesn’t smile. He gives me a grim nod. He turns to lead us away from the main entrance along the side of the complex to a secret door. There’s an armed soldier there, who opens the door for us to go through. We come into a narrow corridor, whose walls are made with polished wood. The corridor descends about three floors into the earth.
There’s a soft incandesce in the corridor, which gets brighter as we get to the other end.
There’s an open doorway that leads into the Bowl.
The Bowl is a small coliseum built underneath the Terran Armada Complex. It was used by the leaders of the Terran Union throughout the Schism, the ultimate war between the old generation and the new generation, when some of the new generation humans felt there was no need to send relief materials to rebuild earth.
They sought independence, we refused. We went to war and they succeeded in taking more than a hundred worlds from the Terran Union. We now call them the Outer Colonies—the pariahs of the human vision, traitors to the cause of Earth.
As I walk into the brightly lit subterranean coliseum, silence descends upon the gathering. The door opens at the top, so I have to walk past a lot of the members of the council down to my seat at the front.
At the small center is a raised dais and a lectern. It’s empty at the moment. However, when the presentations begin the stage would be used by the presenter.