by Dorian, Mars
"According to our CI, sir, we're dealing with a sentient life form that can manipulate electronic high-tech devices."
"That thing's sentient? What, can it talk?"
The gentlemen shook their heads.
"We don't know yet, sir. But it was intelligent enough to take out the entire vessel, despite the Newtype's precautionary protocols. According to our latest intel, the life form seems to be stationed at the Midlands area of Mars.”
The president leaned into his chair. The first sign of alien contact—an event that humanity had waited for aeons, and now the creature seemed to be an aggressor bent on destruction. Exactly like ancient Hollywood had predicted it.
Kind of disappointing.
Lucas C. Wright had always hoped to meet a more humanoid alien. Some advanced type I or II civilization that would share its progressive technology to help with the nation's high unemployment, health and poverty issues.
Of course, the universe had other plans.
"So, first contact was a let-down, I get it. But why the emergency meeting?"
The Secretary of Space Defense finally spoke up.
The big man with the ashen-skin wore his military uniform that wrapped his demi-god body.
"Sir, based on the footage, it's clear we're dealing with a hostile creature. It took down a well-equipped ship, landed on a colonized planet with sentient life forms and is probably planning its next attack. This is just the beginning of a much larger threat."
The president shrugged.
"So? Let the Newtype deal with it. It's their territory, so it's their problem."
The Secretary of Space Defense rolled his eyes. He pressed his lips and hesitated with the answer, which seemed almost passive given his impressive stature.
"I'm afraid it's not that easy, sir."
"Then make it easy. I've got five more appointments on my to-do list today. Not to mention that presidential election that keeps haunting me. Our Commonwealth faces enough struggles as we speak."
All eyes around the table went to the Secretary of Space Defense.
He better deliver, the president thought.
"Sir, have you ever heard of the ecophagy?"
"Sounds like an STD."
"Ecophagy means 'eating the environment'. It's a popular science theory where self-replicating robots consume all matter on Earth while building more of themselves, thus turning the planet into a wasteland."
Lucas Wright nodded.
"Sounds scary. But again, this thing isn't anywhere near Earth, so why should we care?"
The Secretary breathed in heavily. Swapped glances with everyone around the group and launched another attempt.
"Sir, we still don't know where this creature comes from, but it seems to be smart and advanced enough to travel across the solar system. It could very well originate from a type I or even a type II civilization. Let me repeat—it has destroyed an armored ship and survived a crash-landing. Once it takes control of the Newtype-controlled Mars, it can, and probably will, spread to another planet."
He forced a melodramatic pause into the moment so the last imbecile would understand the gravity of the situation.
"Earth will be next."
Boom.
That statement had impact.
The president nervously licked his lips and swiveled. He addressed the Director of the Space Intelligence Agency.
"Is that possible?"
"Well, it's not likely, but there's indeed a slight chance the organism could spread to another world, should the optimal conditions occur."
The Secretary of Space Defense hit the table and ground his teeth.
It was true—he was surrounded by imbeciles.
"It's not a slight chance, you moron."
The president hovered his hands.
"Gentlemen, please behave. This is not a war room."
The Secretary ignored him and focused on the Director.
"You have seen the ship getting torn apart. Which peaceful creature rips apart a vessel upon first contact? Only a vicious one."
Now the Newtype representative chimed in for the first time.
"It is in Newtype territory and thus off-limits to any military force from Earth, including the AC's. Must I remind you how fragile our peace treaty is?"
She smoothed her voice.
"Sir, we have worked over a decade on establishing a cease-fire between our two races. We've already breached our treaty by acquiring confidential intel from their network and that so-called CI. Let me assure you—the Newtype know that we spy on them. If we engage with military force, we will deescalate the situation into another war."
She emphasized the word 'war' so that everyone with a malfunctioning hearing aid could pick it up. The Secretary wasn't satisfied. He stood up to gain a dominant position that trumped all members of the emergency meeting.
"They're Newtype. They tricked us once and they will do it again. It's foolish to believe that they will handle the alien threat in a proper matter."
The representative groaned.
"Now that's the exact attitude we don't need in unstable times like these."
She cooled down and smiled at the president.
"Sir. This is what I suggest—the Newtype have excellent technology—they'll find a way to deal with the organism. Let's have them use their time and resources. If, for some unknown reason, they can't keep the life form at bay, they will ask us for help. Collaboration is in their nature."
She paused.
"And then we'll look like saviors, helping our new allies and thus cementing the next level of our peace talks. This is a win-win situation for your party, the AC, and for every free nation on Earth."
The president gave her an approving nod and a slow clap.
He looked almost impressed.
"I have to say—that sounds pretty good. No cost and big results, that's my kind of winning."
He looked around his elite staff.
"Any objections?"
No one dared to speak up. Most gentlemen nodded, the others focused on some invisible spots near the wall. Only the Secretary of Space Defense wrestled with his mouth. His insides cooked, Fahrenheit 911.
He wanted to take that treacherous rat of a representative and smash her face into the table's corner. But he had to admit—the woman was eloquent. Knew how to pull the president's triggers, appealing to his ego.
So he bit his lips, sank back into his chair and steamed off.
Pondered a new way to convince the incompetent commander-in-chief.
He had to show Lucas C. Wright, and the world, how dangerous it was to let the Newtype deal with the alien threat...
9
About three hours later, in the city of Falls Church, Greater Washington.
Home of the politicians, the servicemen and the retired CEOs and their plasto-enhanced trophy spouses. The Secretary of Space Defense, Taurus McCloud, sacked into his recliner, out in the emerald-green garden in front of his two-floored colonial mansion. The man chewed on a double-sized Half Smoke sandwich and pondered his predicament. He sucked the juicy blood from the meal's surface and moaned with pleasure.
His wife threw another portion onto his plate, while the two kids played gravball in the backyard. The late afternoon sun drowned the idyllic suburbia into a golden taint. Beautiful to look at, but hard to enjoy when frustration boiled your insides up.
Taurus was so entangled in his thoughts, he almost choked on the beef piece.
Mrs. McCloud curled her lips.
"Taurus, it can't be that bad, can it?"
"It's worse."
He gulped down the piece.
"I'm surrounded by bureaucratic imbeciles that think a hostile alien invading our solar system is no biggie."
"But didn't you say the creature was stuck on Mars? Surely the Newtype can handle it."
He gave her a look cold enough to freeze the BBQ.
Had everyone lost their mind?
"Sweetie, you have never dealt with the Newtype, and neither
have these office sitters in the president's advisory board. You just don't know how these soulless shells operate."
He looked her deep into the eyes to make sure she got the message.
Doreen nodded.
"Did you tell that to the board?"
Nah, but he wished he did.
“Everyone's so damn pro-Newtype nowadays, saying anything bad against them makes me look like a bigot. And that would tarnish my reputation, especially if the media from the West Coast would know about this."
Because politics...was all about politics.
Serve your territory with pride and efficiency for over two decades and life looked good, but do one bad PR move, and out you go.
Massacred by the media.
Cyber-bullied into oblivion by a vocal minority with global reach.
Damn the web.
Taurus cringed inside.
Citizens of the AC had become so sensitive. Just the other day, a high-ranking official of the fleet wore a T-shirt with a Newtype caricature on it, saying, "Newtard".
Didn't matter he wore the shirt at home, in private.
The West Coast media freaked out.
The popular newsfeed, eQuality News, wrote:
"I don't care if the American Commonwealth has reached the rims of the Milky Way Galaxy, your T-shirt is still Newtypophob."
Newtyp-o-phob.
Come on now, was that even a real word?
Forget it.
Taurus pushed his butt into his recliner and swallowed down the last piece of the beefy sandwich. He watched the families pass by his garden and waved back with a forced smile.
"Maybe I shouldn't care. Maybe I should just wait for my retirement and let the disaster unfold itself. And then when I'm a hundred and thirty years old, and the alien finishes devouring our planet, I'm gonna wave my cranky little finger and say: see? I told you. I freaking told you."
His wife wiped the grill clean.
"I didn't know I married such a loser."
"Say what?"
Her off-beat comment broke his concentration. This was such an atypical thing for her to say.
"For God's sake, you are the Secretary of Space Defense, Taurus The Man McCloud. You have co-orchestrated the war against the shells and now you're caving in because you couldn't get your point across? Jesus Christ—man up."
What an edge in her voice.
Her mouth rammed a tactical knife into his ego, but the patient enjoyed the treatment.
Doreen McCloud continued.
"You know what your problem is?"
"This planet doesn't deserve me."
"You're a brilliant militarist, but a lousy politician. You always were."
She paused.
"If you want to win over those officer sitters, you have to think like them, act like them. And that means you have to find a way to make your proposal appealing to the president."
Taurus almost slipped from his recliner.
"Appealing? We're talking about a threat that could wipe out humanity. That's the biggest issue any president could ever face."
Doreen overturned the beef and sausages on the e-grill. She gave him the look of a teacher that was tired of repeating the umpteenth lesson to its degenerate pupil.
"Honey, did you just listen to what I said?"
"Something about thinking like politicians."
She nodded.
"Aren't the elections coming up?"
"They are. That's probably the reason why our 'commander-in-chief' doesn't care about a disaster on the other side of the galaxy. I swear, the man only sees what lies an inch in front of his face. Whoever elected this idiot into office should get their head re-examined."
"54.4 percent of the AC citizens voted for him. Are you implying half of our population's stupid?"
She delivered her statement with a smile.
Always teasing.
Seriously, Doreen was the best.
Taurus wrestled for the right words.
"I'd say they were misinformed. And frankly, it's not their job to care about keeping the AC safe."
"Well, then make them care."
She was right, as usual.
Taurus had to find a way to bridge the population's safety needs with the president's self-interest. So he looked up his newsfeed, checked all the popular channels and investigated the pressing issues the citizens of the AC faced today: high unemployment among the youth due to the surging roboconomy. General mistrust in leadership across all political parties because of corruption scandals. A veteran majority that was involuntarily discharged from duty and received terrible services, leading to Commonwealth-wide protests.
Oh, this was good, Taurus thought.
His wife lit up.
"I like that smile."
"Oh, you're going to like what's going to happen next."
He dashed into his house and called up some old buddies from Stryker Solutions, one of the biggest private military corporations of the southern hemisphere. When he told them about this grave matter, and more importantly, mentioned the desire for military intervention, they basically drooled.
Like starving dogs craving a fat bone.
But Taurus curbed their enthusiasm before they creamed all over themselves.
"There's a problem, guys. The president's too obsessed about his upcoming campaign."
"Oh don't worry about that," his Stryker buddy said, "we have just the right solution for you..."
10
Taurus, with his two buddies from Stryker Solutions, got a twenty minute private session with the president in his suite the next day. The Secretary of Space Defense watched his two friends present the stats on the wall-screen, adding emotional storytelling and facts. They bombarded Lucas C. Wright with their neurolinguistic programing of a PR show.
"...sending a team of our experts to examine the alien's threat level is the best way to deal with this crisis. It will also show that you are a strong, capable leader that wants to keep our great Commonwealth, and the world, safe."
His colleague said,
"And when the alien threat spreads, we can revive our stale military industrial complex to deal with the danger. A combined arms assault, consisting of orbital infantry, tanks and fleet ships, will lead to a surge of employment in the arms industry. We're talking about creating millions of new jobs, Mr. president."
Lucas C. Wright leaned into his chair and nodded while playing with his fingers.
"But why are we talking about war—I thought you wanted to send a team of experts to gauge the alien's threat level?"
Taurus roared his manly voice.
"It's all about the big picture, sir. Right now, we're merely asking for a team to enter the Newtype territory. But when the situation escalates, and it will, given their incompetence in dealing with military challenges, we will have to engage with our own forces."
The president's eyes widened. The next words stumbled over his fat lips.
"You want to launch a new war against the Newtype?"
Taurus shook his head.
"No, sir. We want to make sure we have our fleet ready as soon as the hostile life form targets our territory. Our military actions will be solely directed at the alien."
Lucas C. Wright took deep breaths and watched the stats and visual feeds.
Digital frames with impressive images, depicting military tactics, state-of-the-art armament and orbital trajectories between Earth and Mars.
"Well, gentlemen, that was quite revealing. I thank you for your presentation."
The Stryker representatives thanked him and walked outside.
Taurus waited for them to shut the door. Before he traversed the doorframe, he reversed and reconnected with the president’s gaze.
"One last thing."
"Yeah?"
"Our Commonwealth is divided and plagued by hopelessness, sir. Having an outside enemy such as the alien will unite our people once again. Doesn't matter if you're transhuman, classic, liquid or a mixed migrant. When faced with an
alien threat, we're all citizens of the AC, fighting together. Imagine the impact that can have on your campaign—you can be the man that unites us again."
The president sipped his coffee but paused halfway through the motion.
He didn't react nor reply, but Taurus could swear there was something in his eyes.
A glow…
11
"You what?"
The Newtype representative said the next day, back in the president's office.
She sweated and looked as if a nugget-sized meteor had punched her artificially-straightened face. Taurus stood next to her and suppressed his grin. The president sat in his office chair and intertwined his hands.
"I've pondered the situation and realized we've treated the alien case too lightly. I mean, we're talking about a potential hostile life form that has invaded our solar system. Surely this matter deserves our full attention."
"But we already agreed on letting the Newtype handle the life form."
"But what if our friends really can't deal with the threat? What if that...thing grows so fast it devours their territory like that ship we saw getting shredded? Better strike the enemy while it's still vulnerable. We have a commitment to protect our citizens and the people of the free world."
Sounded like a textbook example, but Taurus loved every word of it.
The Newtype rep shifted her pose.
From alpha to beta.
"Mr. president, you promised to never use an AC military presence on Newtype territory again."
"Frankly, I can't remember ever saying that."
"But that was only two weeks ago."
Lucas C. Wright wiped his right palm like a magic mirror filled with answers.
"I'm the president of the American Commonwealth. I have to be flexible to cope with each challenge efficiently. Of course my opinion will change when I receive sufficient intel. And with the new updates available, it’s clear we're dealing with a dangerous life form that could wipe us all out. If that's not a pressing issue, what is?"
Taurus nodded an approving smile.
Thought—well delivered, at last.
Oh politics.
The Secretary of Space Defense was beginning to love 'em.
All credits go to Doreen, of course.