by Tom Holloway
The Cyclone will keep track of them and us. The Cyclone is also hacking into the British government data systems; we will know all they know very soon. If there were an attempt to detain us, all involved would be incapacitated by the Cyclone. Of course the Cyclone is the ultimate security team, so it’s impossible to hurt us with it there on top of us; there would be severe consequences for anyone who would try. There are also a thousand drones or more, or slips, all around us, invisible, all with the capacity to kill quickly.
Anna’s movie is fantastic, and she is perfect! Afterward there are a lot of excited people all congratulating Anna, talking about an Academy Award for her, saying how impressed they are. She is absolutely charming, gorgeous, the definition of glamour; I think she is incredible. She also keeps constant tabs on me, making sure anyone important to her meets me. For some reason she acts very proud of me and is excited about me being there, treating me as a celebrity. Her eyes are on me when I am not looking, and I know she is falling in love with me; all who see her know it, too. I wish I could be equal to her. I have not done much on Earth to earn her pride. I hope I don’t screw this up.
Unfortunately it is hard to avoid my situation as an alien visitor on this planet. Constant security issues are not pleasant, as there could be errors, like killing someone by accident. There are over one thousand security reconnaissance slips here, all armed, all around us now and during all events. The Cyclone is absolutely paranoid about security for Anna and me, and I’m paranoid about the Cyclone.
Fortunately Anna has no clue, and I hope it stays that way. I need no threat to her or me that would force a defense, messing up her evening. I actually think I am the one overwhelmed, as I want this to work out for Anna. Her success has become my success. Our relationship has become too close, and the Cyclone knows it, as I do. We are both worried about my leaving on the tenth day. The Cyclone constantly warns me I am in over my head. I have met my match with Anna.
I know Anna well now, as I have come a long way over the last three days. We have talked about everything, like we are two school kids: her family, my family from years ago, having and raising children, her friends, some of my military life, Anna’s work, her chance at an Academy Award, taxes, destiny, life, and death. We do not talk about my leaving. It hangs over our heads. I know Anna thinks I will stay, and yet it will happen. I leave after the tenth day. I’m not sure how to fix it.
As a professional soldier, a violent death is always a given, to die with honor the main criteria. I never planned for a real life. You just accept your destiny. Although I could never describe to her how much I care for her, she is all I have missed all these long, lonely years. Until now nothing has meant much; it has just been hardship and duty. Now even little things with her are great. The meal she put together for us in my little ship’s cabin, a real treat done with limited gravity, was wonderful for me, as it was just to be with her on the Cyclone. She will be a wonderful mother someday; if only it could be different, and I could choose my life, marry, and have children. Maybe I can do something special for Anna tomorrow, maybe a real spectacular adventure, maybe take her on the Saber for an extra spin. We could use it for the trip to LA after London.
Finally, when alone, walking, leaving the theater, smiling at her, I say to Anna, “First of all I think you are awesome, an incredible actress, and I am humbled you chose me as your date tonight. I think tonight is one the best moments of my life. Thank you for letting me share your success. I hope I can do something for you to equal it.”
Anna actually glows, her face flushed, and she laughs, smiles, then tenderly looks at me. “Henry, you have no idea how happy you make me.”
Per Anna’s agent’s scheduling, we walk down to one of the larger after-premiere parties to have a few drinks, meet people, and promote the film. It is not far, held in a fancy London pub, centuries old, a watering hole for the rich and famous. It is impressive—oil paintings on wood-paneled walls, everything centuries old. Soft classical music is playing in the background, and even the scent of the place is comforting: good smells of food, wine, beer, old leather chairs, and old wood. The massive old oak tables over old polished dark-wood floors, with large silver candleholders as centerpieces, are impressive yet inviting. The huge extraordinary main dining room is full, with standing room only. Many big Hollywood people are there, including numerous beautiful women, talking and laughing, all saying hi and congratulations to Anna.
My buddy James Algeir is there, and he tries to get Anna’s attention. She ignores him. The bar area has some room left, and we head there, as I want a drink, specifically a Maker’s Mark, Kentucky bourbon, one of Earth’s treasures. Anna has only water.
I also get to meet more of the important people: Hollywood directors, famous old actors, producers, agents, attorneys, big corporation CEOs, and then there are all the charming celebrities. None of them can figure me out, and I know they wonder why Anna brought me. They are all thinking I look military, yet I have no rank. Why did Anna bring this nobody when she could have brought so many really important men?
One surprise is the prime minister of England, who no one expected to be there, and he is impressive and friendly, as he comes in, shaking hands with some surprised celebrities. After a few hellos he comes directly over to us with a couple of security guys following him. He makes a point of meeting me. His defense minister is there, too, just appears, and a couple more military types, probably generals not wearing their uniforms. All introduce themselves to us. Then, out of nowhere, two Chinese generals are there, too. Also, another surprise, as it looks like two Russian generals want to introduce themselves. These generals are uniformed; lots of metals, serious-looking guys and their security guys are here, too. They are intense, covering up some anxiety or maybe fear. What do they know? I tag them with reconnaissance slip drones. Actually I don’t have to, as I realize I already know the answer to why they are here, confirmed by the Cyclone. They all know about the troops in Russia. They also know about me, know who I am. I can feel their fear, close to terror, afraid of the unknown, meaning me. John Jacobs has been busy. Who else is coming? It is getting crowded.
I smile. Yes, there is Mr. Jacobs walking toward me. He looks sheepish as he shakes my hand. He looks at Anna, smiles, shakes her hand, too. “Anna, congratulations on your movie; we saw it in the United States. My wife loved it and says you are splendid in it—she thinks Academy Award greatness!”
Anna beams, responding, “We meet again, and I am sure it’s not a coincidence. Mr. Jacobs, thank you for liking my movie, and your wife is someone I want to meet.”
Stepping away from my new friends and Anna, taking John with me, I smile and say, “John, you arranged all this? I think the United Nations is here, all these powerful men in one place. You worked hard to get this done.”
“Yes, sir. I apologize. The only way to avoid World War III is to get these guys together. They are here because I told them you wanted this meeting immediately. Right now, get it done while you are here, in London. I knew you were coming here, as I called Anna’s mother and she said you were going to the premiere of Anna’s movie. I knew or hoped if we all showed up, you would give them some helpful direction. Their fear of you got them here fast. No one else could do this. I think they will do whatever you tell them. They are all totally freaked out by your presence here on Earth. I am trying to save us all. Please help us. Please go along with my telling them you called this meeting. I think you have their attention.”
Then, to my surprise, out of nowhere, the Chinese premier is in front of me, shaking my hand, bowing slightly. The Russian president is next to him, reaching out his hand, too. Then, turning, the Mexican president reaches out and shakes my hand, and, amazingly enough, the president of the United States is looking at me, smiling. He steps through, introduces himself, like an old friend, smiling.
Now, Anna is standing there next to me, real surprise on her face, and I can see, she is not sure what to say.
All are looking at me, a
fter introducing themselves to one another. Security guys are now all over the place. There are a million police cars outside, having just appeared out of nowhere, officers in SWAT uniforms all around the square. The Russian president, in English, breaks the silence, by saying good things to Anna, complimenting her on her film and how beautiful she looks. She is now next to me tight, moved in much closer. I think she is guarding me, or maybe I am guarding her? They all then join in, saying how lovely she is, and the Chinese premier tells her in excellent English she is invited to come to China as his welcome guest.
Then they all look at me at the same time, as if rehearsed, the British prime minister then asking if it would be possible to talk to me alone. Then looking at Anna, asking if she would be kind enough to lend me out just for a few minutes, for a short meeting.
Anna is mostly speechless and alarmed, as is the entire Hollywood crowd. The place becomes quiet from the previously loud buzz. Security guys from several countries are everywhere, all packing weapons. This cannot be a coincidence; something big is happening right now, all while they are here watching. Some really big political guys representing the leadership of the largest countries in the world are here meeting Anna. Who would think Anna is so important? They came a long way. It is an astonishing thing to see; however, no cameras are allowed to take photos, and no photographers are here. Some rough-looking men, including the prime minister’s security team, all wearing guns, have taken all photographers away; the police then arrest them outside. Police are now standing guard around the pub; actually, everyone notices a lot of police are still arriving. There are many police cars everywhere, lights flashing. No one is allowed to leave the pub.
The people in the pub are not moving anyway. They are more than curious, amazed to see such powerful men all in one place, right here, right now. How could they find out the reason? What could be going on? How did Anna’s publicity team manage this? This is a long way from normal; something big is going down, especially with all this security. It is more than unusual to see the premier of China in public, much less in London. This could not be because of a movie opening. All are thinking the same thing. History is happening right in front of them; just what history is the question.
They realize, one by one, it is not Anna the heads of state came to see. It is her date, the ex-military guy with no job. He is the one this select crew came to see. Thus the question, who the hell is he? You could see easily that all these important world figures are all being really careful with him, almost like he’s some really significant person they are trying to please, waiting for permission before they speak. They can see the security guys and the police are really afraid of him; none of them will make eye contact with him. These tough guys are really fearful of him, staying clear of him. Wow! Who is Anna’s date? Everyone in the pub, without exception, is wondering if they should be here or not. Is this dangerous? All know some kind of event is occurring, and they can say they were here. The question is, what is happening? Could this be life threatening?
The president of the United States asks Henry if he wants to go outside for some privacy. Surprisingly enough, Anna, hearing this, immediately says, “No, you will not take him out of my eyesight. This party will not be interrupted by this meeting, either. You can find a couple of tables in the bar, sit down, and have drinks.”
She looks at them and says she will be close, excuses herself, says she needs to mingle. She looks at me, saying she will be back to check on me. I smile. These guys do not intimidate her.
There is nothing they can do as I comply with Anna’s wishes. I shrug and say the bar is a good place; we can take a couple of tables. Several tables are shoved together. After we all sit, the area around us is cleared out. No one is allowed inside the room, not even the bartender. Security guys are on guard at the entrances and behind us. John Jacobs stands behind me.
The Chinese premier, looking tired from an all-night flight, bows to me, then sits down. In excellent English he asks me if I will be offended if he is candid and if he can ask a few questions, which I do not have to answer if I choose not to. To clarify the situation, he says they all know a massive camouflaged starship is above us as we talk. They are quite sure I can do anything I want to them or to this world, without any recourse. They know I am military, not an ambassador, and they know I am alien. Would I tell them where I am from, and do I come in peace? They know I am telepathic, and they will not say anything or think anything other than the truth and hope I will give them the same respect. They do not want to offend me. Is it appropriate to ask questions? How long will I be here? Why am I here?
Making eye contact, I look carefully at each of them intensely, making them all really nervous. I can see my eyes frighten them, maybe too much penetration, as I am probing their minds and seeing if they are honest or if this is an ambush, their purpose malicious. I want them to feel my mind probe to warn them against doing anything foolish. It also covers the reconnaissance slips as they enter their brains without them feeling it. I need to know what they are thinking and who they are, their basic character, and their plans for the future. I certainly feel their fear. They are close to panic as they feel my presence in their minds, the telepathy acknowledged.
The Cyclone knows everything that is happening, including there being a lot of military security outside, with several streets closed off. The Cyclone has the brigand ready to go within seconds. I am told, “All weapons are operational; defense shields are up; thousands of extra drones are also deployed.” The Cyclone also warns me, “None of these men can be truly trusted. Strength and power is all they respect.”
I finally smile, looking at them, my friendliness catching them by surprise. Making eye contact again with each of them, I reassure them. I need them to calm down, to reduce their fear. I start talking, a calm voice, as soothing as I can make it.
“To answer you, yes to all of the above. However, I am not here officially. This visit is more like a holiday, and I’m like a tourist. Yet, as you know, I am fully prepared to defend myself if needed. You are right, you are not equipped to contain me, and you are, even combined, no match for me. You think I know much more about you than you know about me, which is correct. I do not want to be a real threat to you, nor do I have political aspirations here on this planet. However, while I am here, I will not allow major military actions to take place. I have come trillions of miles, and I will not be here long, only a few more days.”
The Russian president says, “Mr. Johnson, do you have a military title we should be using in addressing you? Also, I want to apologize for our involvement in the reckless Chinese venture. We know you know about it, and we were foolish. We are standing down. It will not happen again.”
“Yes, I understand. I am titled as captain because of my starship. However, in your terms I would be an admiral. I know you are curious but afraid to ask me. The answer is I have fourteen billion troops under my command, over four million starships, and keep the peace over a third of the universe, inhabited by trillions of beings. Please call me Captain Johnson.”
Premier Wu-Tong again asks to speak. I nod, and he responds, “Captain Johnson, I apologize about having to ask you this, yet I must. We think it was your ship that attacked our troop encampment in Russia. Was it?”
I make eye contact with him. “Yes, it was; however, it was not started by me, and it was no more than a little skirmish. It would seem, because of a brief flyover, I was attacked. I did return the attack only lightly. If I had really attacked you, there would have been no one left alive, over fifty million troops gone in an instant.” Harshly staring at him, I ask, “Do you have an issue?”
I pause to see if there is a reaction from him. He says nothing. He just stares at me, with no emotion; he has a great poker face. I know differently, as I feel his anger at my comment, blaming me, the internal rage from his failure to take down the United States. His humiliation from the event is disastrous. The fear of losing some of his strength, his power, is the real issue. He probab
ly has lost face with his comrades. He could still be dangerous. I feel it in him. He is looking for another way to redeem himself with his comrades, searching for another way to take down the United States. It is time for me to remind him, to humble him; I have to change his mind or kill him right now.
I mind probe him, talking to him and projecting my thoughts into his brain. “Premier, I understand your anger. It could be much worse, as you could die right now, a heart attack, and I could annihilate your country!”
He is shocked by the penetration of my thoughts into his head. I give him a mind meld, showing him the very real vision of millions of his countrymen dying in agony in a few seconds’ time, fire everywhere, total destruction of the entire country, with no one spared. He can’t breathe well now as I slow his lungs and heart down, lowering his blood pressure, preparing him for a cardiac arrest. He is starting to feel acute pain in his chest, his heart starting to protest; he wants to vomit from the fear. He is not young, and I have to be careful not to kill him too quickly, by going too fast. The vision of the annihilation of his entire country might be his last thought. He has seen a brief glance of hell. He is terrified, shocked, turning pale, fading fast; there is now real pain in his chest, and he wants to come up for air.
He stares at me, and he whispers, “Captain Johnson, please, I beg you. I have done you no harm. Please, I apologize for my arrogance. Please save me. I was only trying to feed my people, as we have lots of mouths to feed. I will not go back on my word. We will not start a war, I promise.”
I restore him: he gasps, takes a deep breath of air, coughs, his eyes wide, fear in his face, his skin pale, now breathing fast, trying to catch up.