The Vassal World (The First Exoplanet Book 2)

by T. J. Sedgwick

  “We don’t know if the pledges made so far will be enough. There are so many unknowns. It’s going to be a logistical nightmare even if everyone can agree – and there are serious questions there too,” said an exasperated-sounding Jefferson.

  “We’ve drawn our line in the sand, Blake – we can only do so much, and others need to step up and do their bit too,” rationalized Powell.

  After concluding discussions on the summit, they turned to the surviving nuclear sub fleet. All of them, including the fearsome USS Esperanza, were still at sea following orders to stay hidden.

  “Any change in status of the three subs?” asked Powell.

  “No, all good for at least another seven months, after which the USS George W. Bush will need restocking with food,” replied Jefferson, referring to one of the New York class nuclear subs. The constraining factor on time-at-sea was still the crew’s food requirements. Although more automation with every generation led to a smaller crew, they still had to eat.

  “Well, I guess the Navy has plenty of time to work out how they’re going to do it. Please reiterate to the Joint Chiefs: these subs are the only ace we have right now. I intend to use them fully once these alien-bastards start invading Earth.”

  They went onto preparations for the post-invasion insurgency, expanded production of the man-portable nukes and the FTL-gate precision improvement project. Some progress had been made in all three areas, but there was a long way to go. They had secured nothing like a fighting chance yet – let alone the high chance of victory they all desired.

  ***

  May 11, 2063: United Nations General Assembly Hall, New York

  The stocky, middle-aged Nigerian gent who was Ekon Agbakoba was soon to take to the podium in the venerable institution’s most recognisable place. The Aliens had not seen fit to target the UN headquarters in New York. There was much speculation as to why this was. Most people thought that they simply wanted to maintain at least one institution with whom they could talk. As General Secretary of the UN, the smart, Oxford-educated Agbakoba knew they had a mountain to climb in the next five days of the summit. There was an estimated quarter of the World’s population living between twenty-three-and-a-bit north and the same latitude south of the equator. How to move 3.75 billion people in less than eleven months? Was the impossible task on everyone’s minds. If he’d had a dollar for every time he’d been told it was impossible he’d be considerably richer than he already was. Which was to say, really quite rich indeed. He was proud of his family though – the way his engineer father had worked hard to pay for their life and their schooling. For Agbakoba it culminated in his prestigious scholarship in International Relations at the University of Oxford. In turn, that had paved the way to his career and his ascent to Secretary General. It was not a typical success story in the corrupt West African country, where most of the rich got there through more nefarious means. With much of his family still there, Agbakoba had a personal stake in the success of the week’s Summit on Tropical Population Resettlement too. A summit forced on them by aliens, for goodness sake! thought Agbakoba. He could hardly believe what was happening and thought back more than once to the classic movie, The Matrix, wondering if he was inside some sort of elaborate computer simulation. Of course, there was no sure way to know the true nature of reality from within it, so he had to assume it was all real and do what he could.

  The UN was even more toothless than it had been in the early part of the century, with no standing military and no enforceable contributions. Since the second Cold War erupted two decades ago it had become, at best, slightly irrelevant, at worst, a political puppet to serve the needs of the opposing blocs. If anything good had come of the Korgax threat then a new impetus for cooperation had been one of those things. The UN had been given a fresh mandate as still the only organisation that was truly inclusive, for all nations, powerful and weak, to have a voice. It was time to go to bat – officially for humanity – but secretly with a real stake, not in the 275 million people of Nigeria, but the couple of dozen or so of his family and close friends. That is the trouble with the human condition, thought a self-critical Agbakoba, we are tribalistic and, therefore, divided. Humans had evolved in small bands and, in many ways, remained hostage to the instincts that had evolved with in-groups and out-groups – them and us. He knew he needed to keep his own instincts in check, as well as those of others. Humanity and their alien allies needed to be the ‘us’ and the Korgax the ‘them’; otherwise, he feared, the enemy would divide and rule Earth as a vassal world. He thanked God that, so far, the Korgax had only unleashed their demonic fury on largely military targets. This, he considered as a logical show of restraint if they were to start settling the tropics of Earth – even powerful invaders needed to win the hearts and minds of the natives. He had no illusions though, whatever the enemy did would precipitate a global insurgency against them. Still, it may blunt the hatred somewhat if they did not use force indiscriminately against civilians. He wondered if they cared or if they even thought with the same logic as he. No more time to mull things over; with formalities out the way, it was time for him to face the World.

  ***

  May 11, 2063: The Filipino Market, Jalan Tun Fuad Stephen, Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia

  Merlita Marcos had arrived three years ago on a tourist visa from Manila, 1,300km to the northwest of the resort city of Kota Kinabalu. There were now over two million Filipinos in the State of Sabah, such was the proximity of their homeland, the economic incentives and the leaky borders. Known as KK to almost everyone who’d been there, the city of 750,000 people was prosperous from tourism, palm oil and logging. It was also the administrative capital of the Malaysian state of Sabah on the island of Borneo. Popular with Australians, Europeans, and visitors from all around the region, KK was a perennial favourite with its crystal clear waters, four-kilometre-high Mount Kinabalu and eclectic cuisine and people. The Filipino Market, where Merly and her husband, Arno, took turns to run their dried seafood stall, stood on the waterfront on the main drag of the city centre. They’d worked hard to make a go of things since Arno’s uncle had loaned them the money to secure the pitch, the hardware and the first batch of stock. They’d started to make a life here for themselves and their one-year old daughter, Maria. With the recently organised IC card – national identity card – bought and paid for, they’d felt more secure than at any time since they’d met shortly after her arrival. Until the Alien attack that was. The nearby Royal Malaysian Naval Base looked like it had been hit hard. She didn’t really watch the news, but had seen and read some of the reports. But life seemed to go on and the government-dominate media called for calm and said they were working on a plan. The tourists were still coming and business was good. If the worst happened then she’d get a job as a maid again in another country. There was always a big demand for maids in the places that had not yet adopted robots. There were still eleven months until the Alien deadline – plenty of time to see how things would go and decide from there.

  It was Friday evening, just after 9pm and Merly hoped that the day would continue to be a record-breaker. Takings were always good on Fridays. With short-haul weekend-trippers arriving in the afternoon and taking a stroll along the nearby boardwalk, many of them ended up patronising stalls like hers in the famous market. The weakness of the Malaysian ringgit and the arrival of a cruise liner that day had only bolstered customer numbers. It looked like the cruise passengers had not cancelled in any great numbers so far. Might as well enjoy it while they still could, was their prevailing attitude she guessed. She wished Arno was here to lend a hand at such a busy time. Still, they didn’t have anyone they trusted enough yet to leave their precious little Maria with. Merly knew they were overprotective, but preferred to wait until her mother could join them later in the year.

  “How much for the dried squid?” asked the middle-aged Aussie in his tan shorts, pink polo shirt and matching pink sunburn.

  “Hello, sir. It is ninety-five ringgit, sir,” she
said, smiling up at the tall pink man. How unlike an Aussie to be interested in dried squid, she thought. Normally, only her Asian clientele bought such things.

  He chuckled a little, but got out a one-hundred. “Guess I’ll give it a try. If I don't eat it I know my wife will.”

  “Thank you, sir,” she replied, taking his money, bagging it, and giving him his change. Perhaps his wife is local, she thought as her phone went off. Arno.

  She nodded the Aussie man farewell, as he eased into the busy precession of night-time shoppers and into the smoky air. One of the nearby hawker stalls had their TV on and Merly stared at it for a while wondering what it was all about. There was a black man in a smart three-piece suit making a speech to a big assembly hall full of politician-looking people. Probably talking about the Aliens – that’s all they ever seem to talk about on the news channels, she observed, referring back to the fleeting glimpses of news she had retained. She knew that God would decide one way or another and there was little point in worrying about it too much. Anyhow, they always exaggerate things on TV.

  She averted her eyes from the unknown African on the screen and answered her husband’s phone call.

  “What time will you be back tonight?” he asked in their native Tagalog. Perhaps he wanted to make love or just spend some together time with baby Maria asleep, she thought.

  “I was thinking of staying open later than usual. Business is the best we’ve ever seen – I’ve already taken 1,100 ringgit since you left. How’s our little princess?”

  “She’s fine, sleeping well. Okay, not to worry. I’ll see you when you get home.”

  He clicked off as her next customer – a pair of elegantly-dressed South Korean ladies in their obligatory wide-brimmed straw hats – started to try their halting English.

  ***

  May 11, 2063: United Nations General Assembly Hall, New York

  “Good morning. Thank you for attending this important and unprecedented gathering today. Looking at the destruction the Aliens – who we now know are called the Korgax – have reaped on our Mother Earth, gives us all a heavy heart. We wanted peace and did what we could to secure it with them, but they seem not to be open to dialogue. We will keep trying and keep trying. We will never stop trying for peace while I am Secretary General of this great institution. Today, and for the rest of this week, we need to focus on meeting their demands in order to save the lives of an estimated 3.75 billion men, women and children. So far, the Korgax have not attacked civilian populations, which is a promising sign of intent. Nevertheless, the world has lost hundreds of thousands of military and civilian personnel or those simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. They are bullying us into taking the action we must now take, but, unlike the Korgax, we care for every human life, so we have no choice.”

  “You know, looking at the rubble and the ruins they have made of our military bases and our government buildings, it reminds me in some ways of my childhood growing up in war-torn Nigeria. I dreamed of peace, prosperity and opportunity. Before the Aliens’ hostility that dream had, in many ways, come true, but today the dreams of people throughout the World are under threat. The Korgax threaten a hard-won peace, prosperity, and opportunity for billions of people. Today we must set the World on a new course – a course not of our choosing, but one we are being frog-marched towards. Have said that, the independence of Earth hangs in the balance and we shall not lay down and accept a future under the rule of these murderous beings. Our response will define our future. To ride this storm we need all hands on deck – that is why we are here today and this week. We have never faced such a challenge and we need a clear vision. However, our immediate priority is to pledge safe refuge for the billions of people who will be under direct threat should they not be resettled from the Tropics. Every nation that has significant territory outside of the Tropics needs to step up and do its part for their fellow human beings. The logistical task will be of a magnitude the world had never seen before. We expect that many countries will want to put in place controls so as not to swamp their own societies. I understand this, but humbly request that this is approached with fairness and magnanimity...”

  Agbakoba stopped abruptly as his aide approached with urgency in her actions. What in God’s name is she doing interrupting me like this, he thought. Her face worried him. Something had happened.

  ***

  May 11, 2063: Bridge of Korgax Destroyer 74, Low Earth Orbit

  “Put Commander Jarvax on now,” sneered Fleet Admiral Torax.

  The large-eyed, reptilian face of his subordinate commanding Destroyer 49 came on the bridge’s main display.

  “Now, repeat the question to my face, Commander,” he hissed.

  “Sir, I questioned the target list. Should we not just make a token show of force? To remind them we’re here? What is the logic of trying to kill as many of them as possible?”

  “Commander, they have to learn that we mean what we say. We will maximise the number we kill in line with His Worship’s edict. They will get a taste of things to come should they not cooperate with us. We will have our new planet, whatever it takes. These beings are nothing and we shall show no mercy to their kind. We haven’t got to where we are by being weak! Now carry out your orders or you will be replaced!” ordered Admiral Torax.

  ***

  May 11, 2063: The Filipino Market, Jalan Tun Fuad Stephen, Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia

  Thirty minutes to closing time at 10pm and Merly had taken a 1,550 ringgit – what a night! The crowd was thinning out now and the smoke from the adjacent hawker stands had receded. She could hear the distant thumping of one of the big nightclubs on the boardwalk five-hundred metres away. She’d never understood why people would want to spend their money on super-expensive drinks and miss out on sleep. She started packing away some of her stock so that she could leave on time and get back to Arno while baby Maria was still sleeping well. She always seemed to awake around midnight these days, so perhaps an hour-and-a-bit of precious downtime with her husband before then. The night sky was clear and it hadn’t rained that day, making the usually muggy air more refreshing than usual. Something caught her eye in the small vignette of sky she could see through the market’s entrance. It was coming from the direction of the boardwalk – a lights show promoting the nightclub perhaps. People nearer the entrance and outside the indoor market were staring and pointing. Then it came. A flash of light from outside then, seconds later, a rumble like thunder and people running. This was no lightning storm – people weren’t scared like they were scared right now. The noise subsided to give way to desperate screams as people from the market started spilling out onto the surrounding streets.

  Merly dropped a box of dried octopus and ran towards the entrance, heart pounding. As she ran, she thought back several years to the bombing in downtown Manila that had happened three blocks away from her. She’d been working as an office cleaner nearby when the so-called Islamic terrorists from the restive South had committed their atrocity. She’d witnessed the absolute carnage first hand and had no desire to see it again. But that’s what she feared. Perhaps the loonies from her home country had come here and done their dastardly work. But that made no sense. They were at odds, primarily, with the Government of the Philippines, not the Malaysians. She pulled out her phone, simultaneously running and trying to speed dial Arno. As she reached the street-side entrance, a deadly ray of particles lanced down from Destroyer 49 orbiting 400km overhead. The building in front of her exploded with the energy of a thousand terrorist bombs. Her mind registered her baby daughter in her husband’s arms as she walked faithfully into the arms of her God.

  ***

  May 12, 2063: GNN Report - First Aerial Drone Footage from over Kota Kinabalu, Malaysia

  “Thank you, Vanessa. That was Vanessa Bailey reporting from the UN in New York. Now I’m just being told that we have the first pictures from the drone flying above the city of Kota Kinabalu on the island of Borneo, Malaysia. Pictures provided by Malaysia’s T
V1, state broadcaster,” announced John Donovan solemnly, the fiftysomething news anchor.

  “The words are in the local Malaysian language – we don't have a translator yet – but these shocking scenes of devastation speak for themselves. Emergency services have now entered the city with assistance from nearby Brunei and also some of the British troops based there. Aid flights are expected later today from several countries around the region as well as from Peninsular Malaysia. Just unbelievable, Dana,” said Donovan, struggling for words as the drone surveyed the completely flattened city below.

  “Yes, John. You know this reminds me of pictures in the history books from school – Dresden flattened by Allied bombers or the aftermath of the nuclear bombs at Nagasaki and Hiroshima. Would you just look at that..? Some disturbing scenes there that the Malaysian TV1 drone has just zoomed in on. Bodies everywhere…” gasped Dana. The anchor woman was lost for words at the sheer number of corpses that littered the debris-strewn street outside what was once the Filipino market. Rapidly decomposing bodies floated amongst capsized and wrecked fishing vessels. Smoke bellowed from across the metropolitan area. The odd dazed survivor could be spotted here and there; they wandered forlornly through the maze of crashed cars and rubble. Some made their way towards the waiting vessels that had come to ferry people away; others looking fruitlessly for their loved ones.