“I know you have many questions. Why would anyone pay you to go to a shelter way out here? How can anyone offer you immunity from the police? Well you see, we don’t work for anyone from around here though we do have an understanding with various governments.
“We have work for those who want it, unusual work, in exciting exotic places, but it can be dangerous work. After today’s briefing, those of you who want to remain will be paid another $100 for going through our interview and screening process.
“Now as all of you know, the economy’s in shambles and has been for some years. Some of you may have come from one of the tent cities or worse. Some of you may have lost your homes when you could no longer pay your mortgage. None of you can find work.
“The country and the world are overcrowded, and some say we are headed for an environmental disaster. It would be nice to go someplace where all you need to worry about was living.”
He went on for another twenty minutes. Smith kept an eye and an ear out for trouble. Some of the people looked completely out of it, winos he thought, or druggies. None of it really made sense to him and sounded like some kind of cult indoctrination. Presently, the briefing was over.
A table had been set up at the back of the room, and everyone got in line for their pay. Some left, but most stayed for the next stage, the interview.
* * * *
Human Recruiting Manual 1 – 104
An Overview
In spite of our desperate situation, and the fact that the human world will eventually be in danger as well, the governments of the human world will not agree to our recruiting openly. They are very distrusting of each other, and it comes as no surprise that they distrust us.
At first, they offered troops, but their loyalties would be to their countries and not us. However, we have observed the human capacity for suffering, especially on the battlefield as well as their willingness to accept death in battle. Some of our scientists are studying this phenomenon.
Unfortunately, we do not have the luxury of generational study. We need fighters now, but we cannot discount the ruling elite’s concern about societal upheaval if our presence is widely known. Because of this, we had to create another plan.
Since they suffered considerably from overcrowding and there were a plethora of humans that lived on the edges of society, they seemed willing to turn a blind eye if we took a percentage of what they did not want. While much of this percentage will not be acceptable to us, the high command believes there are enough humans to build a legion. Without the human legion, we stand no chance of defeating the encroaching creatures our human allies refer to as “Reptilians”. We do not actually know what they call themselves, so we shall use this human term.
Therefore, we are to find humans sympathetic to our needs and help them set up centers where these fringe humans will be recruited. The humans work with us for a variety of reasons. Often, they are highly intelligent well trained professional people who have themselves been marginalized.
These people can move among the humans without attracting unwanted attention, and they have set up shelters for those without a permanent residence. From these dispossessed, we plan to build an army based on the model of one of their own legions that use foreign fighters.
Strangely enough, this has worked well for them as it attracts a certain kind of human who is willing to place all his loyalty in the legion and his comrades. Our scientists will have generations of work to do to understand this behavior.
Several stages have been set up to evaluate the human recruit candidates. As humans are at least in part motivated by wealth, the human recruit candidate will be paid at the end of each level he passes successfully. Those who do not pass to the next level are to be transported to an area of their own choosing.
This way we control information about ourselves as we manipulate matters from the shadows using our human front men to perform the required work.
* * * *
After lunch, Smith T-12 sat in the dayroom looking through the newspaper. Now what does the local rag have to say about the news that’s fit to print, he thought? He turned to the local page and was surprised to find a picture of himself.
“Dangerous Prison Escapee Continues to Elude Police,” the title read. Dangerous, what are they talking about? “According to this, I stabbed a guard and am now armed with the guard’s sidearm,” he whispered to himself, as he kept reading. “Anyone with information concerning the whereabouts of this dangerous felon is asked to contact police. Do not approach.”
Boy, I wonder what they would have said had I actually done something. Looking around and trying to look calm and indifferent, he couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Keep a low profile, he reminded himself. Attempt to be invisible. Don’t stand out from the crowd.
As his gaze caught the window, he could see a patrol car slowly pass by. Oh boy, he thought. Are they really prohibited from coming in here? If so, he was safe for the time being.
Presently, one of the staffers came out and said, “All right people, please follow me. The interview will begin now. I’ll call you in order.”
* * * *
“Good morning Mr. Smith T-12, please have a seat.” It was Fitzpatrick. An interview area had been set up in an unused room.
“Let’s begin.”
Smith cut him off, “What’s this all about?”
“A fair question. First before we begin, you were paid $100 for going through the briefing weren’t you?”
“Yeah, which is weird?”
“Was that acceptable?”
“Yeah, I guess so. I didn’t really do anything.”
“Do you understand you will be paid another $100 for going through the interview process and physical or $200 if you’re accepted for further evaluation? Is that clear?”
“Yes, but why are you doing this?”
“Fair questions. My employer is looking for men and women for dangerous work under difficult conditions. The company does not believe in asking for something and giving nothing in return. Therefore, everyone who participates is paid for his efforts. ‘The workman is worth his hire,’ I believe is the saying.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Good, now you are undergoing this interview of your own free will. Is this correct?”
“Yes.”
“You have every right to end the interview anytime you wish. Do you understand?” He pushed the microphone a little closer as he asked this.
“Yes,” Smith said eyeing the mic.
“Do you understand you have the right not to answer any question you do not want to answer?”
“Well yes, that seems fair enough.”
“This stage of the interview is mental. Most people pass it. Those who make it are paid and offered the next level. At each level, if you are found suitable for the company, you will progress to the next level which pays more.”
“What kind of work is this?”
“There is no easy way to explain it. It’s sort of a security job.”
“Security, you mean we will be providing security for clients or buildings, that sort of thing?”
“Well, yes, but there is more.”
“Will we be outside the U.S.?”
“Yes, again.”
“So the company is something like that private, security company that got itself into so much trouble in Iraq years ago?”
“Yes, roughly speaking, it’s sort of along those lines.”
“Yeah, okay.” Then why in the heck are you recruiting from the refuse of our society? What can they possibly hope to accomplish? There should be a better class of loser from which to find people.
“Did that adequately answer your question?”
“Yes.”
“Are there any more questions before we begin?”
Was this some sort of paramilitary outfit that
operated outside the law to keep the populace in line? “Will we be working inside the U.S.?” he asked again.
“No, all operations will be carried out outside the country,” assured Fitz again.
“Will we be expected to fight Americans?”
“I understand your concern. If I thought for a moment anything like that would happen, I would quit. No, if you are selected, you will be outside the country, and you will not be fighting Americans.”
Then just whom are you expecting to fight? He thought better of asking more questions. Just listen and watch he thought to himself.
The questions seemed ordinary enough. Where were you born? How old are you? Do you have any military experience? Here they enlarged quite a bit. What branch, when, where, were you ever in combat? They were interested in people who had flying experience.
Okay, someone high up is allowing somebody to recruit Americans for a foreign security outfit. It still does not make any sense. Moreover, why are they recruiting from the dregs of society? Maybe someone is trying to get rid of these dregs, or selling them off, he thought, his mind racing.
That is sick, but it is like those penniless dukes selling men to King George III as soldier-slaves.
The interview went on for nearly 20 minutes. Then there was the physical. He was poked, prodded, and looked at with a variety of instruments that clearly did not belong in a homeless shelter.
It was like going to a new school, and there was a running gag on campus. Only he was not in on the joke.
Questions were usually answered with, “Didn’t they tell you that before you got on the bus?” Otherwise, the answers did not really answer anything. So, he decided to just watch and wait.
The next day, after breakfast, they went back into the large meeting room. Several people were called up front, paid, told to get their belongings, including what they were given here, and wait in the van.
None seemed to resist—winos, druggies, mental cases he assumed. Looking around the room, he could see that five new people had been added. Seven put on the bus, and five added he thought. Would there be another five tomorrow?
“Okay, you guys,” it was Frankie, “interviews will begin shortly for you new people. You guys interviewed yesterday will get a second interview today. We’ll call you, so you can go to the dayroom and watch TV or hang out in your rooms. There’s a fenced-in area in the back you can use, but don’t go out front. Protection is only granted in here, okay? By the way, Cookie could use some help in the kitchen. Any volunteers?”
No hands went up. Smith looked around.
“It pays,” he added.
“Don’t volunteer for anything” was advice he remembered, but it might afford a chance to get on the inside and find out what is behind all this.
Smith cautiously raised his hand. “Okay great, come on. We’ll see everyone else later.” He followed Frankie to the kitchen.
Cookie looked up as they entered. “I got you a new volunteer,” chimed Frankie.
“Okay, great. Oh, I remember you. You got lost coming from the bus station late, right?”
“Yeah, that’s me. What happened to your last volunteer?”
“Well it ain’t actually volunteering; you get paid $30.00 an hour, not bad for kitchen help.”
“No, it’s not,” he replied putting on the apron Cookie handed him. “What happened to your last employee?”
“Oh, they shipped him out,” Cookie replied as he led Smith over to the dishwashing machine. “Okay, knock the leftovers in here, put the trays here, add the soap here, and turn it on. After you get the dishes started, clean off the tables, sweep, and mop.”
“Sounds straightforward enough,” he commented.
Cookie snorted, “Yeah, it ain’t rocket science. You sound educated. How did you wind up here?”
That is the second person here who has said that to me. So much for blending in.
“Lost my job, lost my house, the wife took the kids and split.”
“Yeah, I know the story, and left you holding the bag with mortgage, car payment, and credit card bills, the whole ball of wax.”
“Is it that obvious?” If you cannot fit in one way, fit in another.
“What’d she do, have a boyfriend?”
Now he’s getting personal. “Don’t know, the last thing I heard she had taken up with some guy with money.” In a way, that was partly what happened.
“That’s a drag,” he turned back to his work. “How’d you find out about this place?”
“At unemployment, someone told us about some work.”
“And all you had to do was get on the bus, and you would get a hundred bucks.”
“That’s about it.” He began to dump the contents of the trays into the garbage cans.
“When you go to set those out, make sure no one is hanging around. There is always a chance the cops might try and grab you.”
Does he know they are looking for me?
“Okay, sure.”
After a while, “You ever do this kind of work before?”
“Yeah, I worked my way through school waiting tables and bartending.”
“Not born with a silver spoon in your mouth?”
“No, not hardly,” he responded with a laugh.
“Where ya’ from?”
“Oh, all over, spent a lot of time in Denver.”
“I know how that is. I used to work on ships as a cook, went all over the world. I worked mostly freighters and tankers when we had ‘em. I cooked on some cruise ships too. Good work, but it’s all over now. I came here just like you, but they liked my cooking and kept me. That’s why I never shipped out.”
“Shipped out to where?”
“Well,” he said looking around. The kitchen and mess hall were empty. “I really don’t know. It’s out of the country; I know that much. You see, most of us who work here are just like you. Fitz is the only one who comes and goes. Usually, it’s him. Sometimes they send someone else.”
The dishwasher was loaded and ready. He turned it on and turned to Cookie. “They?”
“Don’t know. I’ll tell you one thing. You are safe here and with them. If you want a new name, this is the time to do it.”
“Don’t they check for ID or anything?”
“No, if they pick you, you just give them a name and that becomes your name.”
Smith T-12 wrung soap from a kitchen rag and went to wipe down the tables. The work was easy, and the place was quiet and cool. In the distance, he could hear the sound of the TV coming from the dayroom. He could hear birds and cars through the open window. Someone had his sprinkler going. That in itself was unusual given the almost universal water shortage.
Rains had failed for several years now. Water prices had gone sky high and most people got rid of their lawns. In fact, it was not uncommon to see lawns replaced with kitchen gardens providing something the owner and his family could eat.
He edged toward a window, but still could not see if it was a lawn or a garden being watered. So here he was, a hunted man in a small southwestern town of unknown name, in a homeless shelter with not many homeless in it, in a country overrunning with the indigent and transient, in a world filled with the starving and those displaced by war that’s only getting worse. With no hope in sight, just hype, the international bankers and war profiteers just keep getting richer and fatter. How many billions does one need anyway? These thoughts crowded his mind.
He put up the last chair and went to look for the broom closet. Why do they come here? Who picks them? Why are some chosen, and chosen for what? To where do they ship out? Why are they never heard from again? Why did “they” whoever “they” are choose from the bottom of the heap? What country are they shipped out to, and for what purpose, to be security guards? Why can’t the police come in here, and why does the government turn a blind eye?
&nb
sp; At least, he was well fed. Cookie knew his craft. He had clean sheets every other day. Just take them down to the laundry and pick up clean ones. They were looked after adequately, but not pampered.
Why? A place like this should not be here, but they ship them in and pay them. Okay, they do, but why isn’t the place full? It could handle more. There were always empty rooms. They keep coming in, and they keep leaving. They are brought in and paid, and then at the next step, they are paid again and put back on the bus, or chosen to continue the process.
He placed the “wet floor” sign at the entrance to the mess and turned back to the kitchen. Cookie put his head through the door. “Okay, Denver, coffee’s ready and a little snack. Take it to the dayroom, and when you come back, we’ll take a little break before we start lunch.”
Denver? Oh yeah. Smith T-12, now Denver, set the mop out in the sun to dry and went to deliver the snacks. Denver huh, okay, the cops are not looking for someone named Denver. Soon he and Cookie sat out in the fenced-in area drinking coffee and eating Cookie’s latest creation. It was some kind of rolled peach tart. He could see why they kept him here.
It was nice to be outside for a change, but Denver felt uncomfortable. The fence had alternating slats on either side, which allowed him to see out at an angle. He was more worried about seeing in and who might be looking.
“Cops,” Cookie said, “and it looks like they’re videoing again.” He turned to look at Denver only to find him almost to the door. Cookie just sat there but covered his face with his hand until they had passed.
“You left in a hurry,” Cookie said as he refilled his coffee cup.
“Yeah, had to go to the bathroom.”
“Yeah. Well, it’s nice here by the back door.”
“Aren’t you worried about flies,” he said pointing to the open door?
“No, every house has garbage disposals installed, and all the trash goes in special containers which are picked up every day.”
“Wow, that must cost them.”
“I don’t think so,” said Cookie. “I think the company has paid the whole town off. They have a good life and ask no questions.”
Hell Fighters from Earth Page 3