by Don Cook
Arskyn turned to the refugees and spoke to them through a hand-held smartphone-sized bullhorn-type device, “Attention, everyone! This is Agent Luuk-Arskyn of Customs Forces. Pending further examination of the evidence given by Drs. Koyne and Nyxxlon, we just might be able to grant political asylum to all of you!”
The 120 Kannatikans cheered Arskyn’s announcement, before he shouted, “There is no guarantee you will gain political asylum! Just a chance, until we examine your colleagues’ evidence regarding the Rubiaar IV attacks! But for now, we will billet you at makeshift refugee centers! We will inform you of your status by the end of three standard-days’ time! We will look after you and not neglect you!
“You will each be assigned a hover-bus to board, which will, in turn, take you to an assigned refugee center! All those whose kin-names start from Alph to Thett are to board Bus 1! All those whose kin-names start from Iyote to Pite are to board Bus 2! All those whose kin-names start from Rhote to Omeck are to board Bus 3!
“Begin the boarding now in an organized manner!” Arskyn shouted through the handheld loudspeaker. “I repeat, begin boarding your assigned buses in an organized manner now!”
Velbya, Har, Franq and the other refugees followed Arskyn’s instructions and boarded their assigned hover-buses in an orderly fashion.
OFFICE OF COMMANDER ELATT-PURVEX,
FEDERAL INVESTIGATION AGENCY (FIA) BUILDING,
FIXANVELT PLANET, OHIRAAN STATE
UNITED STAR-SYSTEMS OF AMKERIA
30 OCTOBER (EARTH-TIME)
“This viddie is explosive!” said Amkerian FIA Agent Commander Elatt-Purvex to Velbya, Har, Franq and Aelyanne. They, along with two other FIA Agents, sat before a wall-sized video screen in jut-jawed raven-haired Purvex’s office during the dark pre-dawn hours of the Fixanvelt spaceport-city’s morning and examined the carnage-riddled videos of the Rubiaar IV invasion by Mephistula’s Shrion robot soldiers.
“And here I thought you folks were making it all up!” Franq said.
“They weren’t, Lord Velleph” Purvex said. “We checked out the videos and there wasn’t a nano-bit of F/X retouching to be found in any of them.”
“And trust me, Franq,” a still guilt-ridden Velbya said through her tears, “I saw those poor younglings I tried to drive to safety, all either lying dead or unconscious, while I struggled to get out, thinking only of myself as I smelled the gases.
“When I was a little girl back in Gorkeldica, I witnessed people dying from theo-ethnic warfare almost daily, and when the smell of death-gas blew near me, I ran for cover or to a more open area. The fumes from the wrecked hover-van made my mind flashback to those awful days. I reacted out of childhood habit, crawled out, staggered for a bit, and then I passed out, only to be awakened by the explosion of the hover-van…”
Velbya began to sob. “If only it was me instead of those younglings who died…!” Velbya broke down and cried hard.
Har put his right arm around Velbya to console her.
“You reacted out of old habits kicking in. There probably wasn’t anything you could’ve done, Velbie —”
“But they died under my care, can’t you see?!” Velbya screamed at Har, before she broke down and cried much harder.
Aelyanne walked over to Velbya and said gently, “You were in no condition to help, Velbie. Stop beating yourself up over it, okay?”
Velbya sniff-sobbed once more and said in sheepish sadness, “Okay.”
“At any rate,” Purvex said, “this is a clear case of a star freighter-load of crimes against humanity. And since Trudierre’s officially allowed Kannatika to be annexed into the Shrion Empire, our government has no choice but to grant your people political asylum in the United Star-systems —and to proceed according to law against Trudierre.”
“Praise the god!” a tear-weary Velbya said in exultation.
“Thank you, Commander Purvex,” Har said. “My fellow refugees will be glad to hear that.”
“The same applies to you and yours, Lord and Lady Velleph,” Purvex said. “You’re all highly skilled workers at in-demand professions, and I see no reason why we can’t warp-jump all of you to full citizenship.”
“Thank you!” Aelyanne said, in anxious appreciation, as she shook Purvex’s hand. “Thanks to no end!”
“Oh, and Dr. Nyxxlon,” Purvex said to Har, “we also received your reel of plastic hole-tape and ran it through the old light-reader you sent with it. It has a treasure-planet of detailed intelligence on how the Kannatikan security-defense codes and protocols of the attacked Kannatikan regions and outposts were compromised by Shrion-controlled Kannatikan double agents who sold them to Mephistula’s spy-lackeys.”
Velbya was astonished at the revelation of Har’s secretive actions.
“How did you get the info?” Velbya asked.
“A KASIF agent friend gave it to me,” Har said, “knowing he would face a court-military for doing the right thing. He urged me to send this data by diplomatic parcel. It wasn’t among the backups I brought with me, but sent by diplomatic parcel.”
“Anyone else have copies of this?” Velbya asked.
“FIA’s got the only copy of the security-defense intelligence data on how our Expedition’s security-defense protocols were breached,” Har said, “as well as those of countless other Kannatikan outposts. I had to trust myself alone, and the god.”
Velbya became worried, seeing how Har’s reception of the data by an operative-friend from KASIF (Kannatikan Security and Intelligence Forces) had raised the stakes.
Har asked, “Are we done for now, Agent Purvex?”
“Yes” Purvex said. “We’ll get all of you off to your shelters.”
All present rose from their seats and walked towards the door. Purvex, who saw that Velbya was particularly distraught over the Rubiaar IV tragedy, walked over to her to comfort her.
“Dr. Koyne,” Purvex said, “don’t worry. I’m sure your friends who have passed are all in a better place —”
“Agent Purvex,” Velbya said, “I know full well that Khraavie and Aleeta are still alive.”
Purvex, although familiar with the ways of telepaths, was puzzled by Velbya’s assertion.
“Alive?” Purvex asked. “How can you be so certain, Doctor?”
Purvex’s office intercom rang incessantly as Velbya said, “I’m a telepath who shares a strong bond with Khraavie. She’s like a daughter to me, and Aleeta is also like my granddaughter. Agent Purvex, we telepaths simply know...”
APARTMENT 1214, BELLA VILLA APARTMENT COMPLEX
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA
30 OCTOBER 6:00 AM CENTRAL TIME
Silver Convention’s “Get Up and Boogie” sounded from Khraa/Astra’s smartphone in alarm-clock mode, and awakened her. Khraa/Astra shut it off and shrugged herself awake, quite puzzled at Astra’s offbeat tastes and apparent sense of humor, as well as the second dream she had of Velbya and her friends.
“Astra,” Khraa/Astra said between yawns as she looked up at the ceiling, “for a devout born-again Christian woman who really hated the spiritually emasculating nature of 1970s disco, you sure have some peculiar and contradictory tastes in music. Oh, well.”
Khraa/Astra got out of bed to get ready and record another news-podcast.
“Until next time,” Khraa/Astra spoke at the end of her podcast 40 minutes later, “this is Astra Downey saying, be well, keep safe, stay free and God Bless!”
Khraa/Astra ended the recording she made in the living room, uploaded it and then quickly began to record another survival-log entry.
“Survival Log, Captain Khraa-Veh ven-Elheem recording” Khraa/Astra began. “Today, I am going to attend, as Earth-journalist Astra would have, what Earthlings call a ‘press conference’, where Mallory Ignacia Stanton will announce her bid to run for the Presidency of the United States of America.”
Khraa/Astra continued, “I have yet to make any connection between Stanton and Mephistula, and I will not be able to make one today. I will simply be there as Astr
a Downey would have been there, and for no other reason. There is a time for heroics and a time for surveillance. Today is a day for the latter. More will follow this brief survival-log entry. End of entry, date-time stamp — subjective timing.”
* * *
* All quotations from Shades of the QLO Crisis: How Pot-Trudierre Murdered Kannatikan Democracy in One Night are taken from its Printing #1, published in 1953 N.U.E. by Guttner & Barding Publishing-Smiths, Inc., Nov-Amstrok (Planet-State), by kindly joint permission of Lady Veh ven-Bonhoeffer and the publishers.
* By kind permission of the Kolmbusian Mediacasting Corporation. Mediacast-date: 21-07-1955 N.U.E.
Chapter 5
DEVIL’S DAY DIARY
Devil’s Night, also known as “Mischief Night.” Earthlings have done various nefarious deeds on 30 October (Earth-calendar) since their 1940s AD/CE.
Orson Welles and his Mercury Theater on The Air troupe of radio actors engaged in some serious Mischief Night “fun” of their own with their iconic War of the Worlds radio broadcast a few short years before the terms “Devil’s Night” and “Mischief Night” were fashioned. Their radio play inadvertently sent the continental United States and much of southern Canada into an unprecedented panic. And since the decade of Earth’s World War II, Devil’s/Mischief Night has witnessed increasing frequency and severity of vandalism.
(Why Earthlings call the global conflict waged from 1939 to 1945 AD/CE their “Second” World War remains unclear, due to the recorded existence of “world wars” by Terrans before World War I.)
But there is one “Devil’s Day” incident that took place well before the sunset that began that specific “Devil’s Night.” And for that event to fall on an October 30th was eerily all-too appropriate...
Dr. Khraa-Veh ven-Bonhoeffer
Admiral, Platinum-Class, AMKEXPRA (Ret’d)
My Cosmos-Spanning Memoirs
BALLROOM SUITE, NORTH STAR STATE HOTEL
MINNEAPOLIS, MINNESOTA, USA
30 OCTOBER 9:09 PM CENTRAL TIME
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” Bella Faustino, the opportunistic crew-cut raven-haired blue pantsuit-dressed spokeswoman for Stanton’s political party, spoke to Khraa/Astra and the other journalists, “I give you, Ms. Mallory Ignacia Stanton.”
Everyone in the five-star North Star State Hotel’s Ballroom Suite stood up and, except a handful of conservative journalists that included Khraa/Astra, gave a reflexive/mandated prolonged standing ovation to Stanton. Backed heavily by media celebrities from both news and entertainment, as well as wealthy New World Order magnates, Stanton was the most powerful and influential non-royalty woman on Earth.
Many of the applauders (especially almost all of the women present) held Stanton in high regard as a feminist icon; other journalists (mostly males) applauded out of fear and “Nuremberg pressures” from their editors (“follow your orders or you’re fired.”) Standing guard to ensure security were several FBI agents, including Mike, as well as agents from the CIA and other federal, state and local government security agencies.
When the applause died down, Stanton said to the media crowd, “Thank you, everyone. You may be seated.”
Everyone present who was not with the FBI, CIA, or any other security agency sat down.
“I have a brief announcement to make,” Stanton began, “after which I will gladly take questions from members of the press. Lately, I have been preparing for the near future, and after intensive consultation with my party, my friends, my colleagues and my husband —”
Stanton purposely stared like a creature of prey down at Khraa/Astra (whom she and everyone else saw as Astra Downey, the very bane of her existence), and Khraa/Astra knew it.
“And after much heated speculation by the media, mainstream and otherwise, I have decided to seek my party’s nomination for the Presidency of the United States —”
Again, almost everyone quickly rose to their feet in applause — except, again, for Khraa/Astra and the other conservative reporters, who remained seated and silent out of protest. The presence of her non-applauding conservative antagonists was not lost on Stanton. In her brief silence, Stanton expected such civil protest from her right-of-center critics, as her liberal-friendly applauders gradually wound down their standing ovation.
Stanton said, “Please be seated.”
Every standing reporter sat down.
“As you will find in your press-kits that were handed to each of you before this press conference,” Stanton continued, with forceful purpose filling every syllable, “I have chosen to embark, as my campaign platform, on a policy of the official entrenchment of the inclusion of all demographics in both federal law and my proposed Mandated Every Demographics Inclusiveness Amendment to the Constitution, and the strong encouragement for all states governments to do likewise.
“We cannot afford to turn back the clock” Stanton spoke to the press. “America must be like David Farragut and tell herself, ‘Damn the torpedoes, full-speed ahead!’ — or slide down the slipperiest slope into the dark and stormy night of chaos, anarchy and destruction. Specifics of my platform will be released in the coming months. Thank you.”
Every liberal-friendly reporter stood up and applauded again, while the conservative reporters, Khraa/Astra included, simply stood.
When the applause died down, Faustino told the journalists, “Ms. Stanton will now take questions from the press.”
A tall, thin, platinum-blond man seated in the front left row raised his hand.
Faustino noticed and said, “Van, you’re up first.”
The reporter in the front-left row stood and introduced himself, “Van Anderson, CNS. Your plans for the official entrenchment of the Mandated Every Demographics Inclusiveness Amendment to the Constitution in federal law — and your efforts to strongly encourage all states to follow this lead — is most laudable, Ms. Stanton. However, many less-progressive states will oppose your ideas if they conclude they are being coerced into doing so. How do you propose to remedy this situation, should the necessary two-thirds majority needed to pass such an amendment fails to materialize?”
“Do you mean, Van, passage by two-thirds of the state governments,” Stanton said, “or by two-thirds of the federal senators — or by a national referendum?”
“Any one of those ways,” Anderson said.
“The Senate will not necessarily have the two-thirds majority needed during this election, Van. But in two years’ time, in mid-term elections, we expect to have more than the necessary two-thirds majority in the Senate to pass this proposed amendment.
“In the meantime, it all boils down to three simple words: promotion, promotion, promotion. My administration will promote and re-promote this amendment, just like K-Tel did practically every broadcast second of every day of every week during the 1970s.”
A thin blonde young woman who looked like a late-30-something Diane Sawyer-type raised her hand from the row almost right behind Anderson.
Faustino saw the woman’s hand and said, “Micki, you’re next.”
The blonde woman in the second-left row stood up and introduced herself, “Micki Finn, ATC. For those of us too young to remember the ‘good old days’ of those K-Tel ads, could you please describe for us the phenomenon you’re talking about?”
“Oops! Sorry! I’ve dated myself!” Stanton said, causing the reporters (even Khraa/Astra) to briefly burst into laughter and applause.
When the laughter and applause died down, Stanton answered, chuckling unavoidably, “Ms. Finn has just pointed out how much I’ll really have to shake my booty and come up with much newer metaphors to get the under-40 vote!”
More laughs from the people of the press.
“Seriously, Micki, and the rest of you fourth estates-people, back in the days when All in the Family was a first-run prime time TV show, bell-bottom pants were the rage, and Studio 54 was an operational business, there was a Canadian-based company named K-Tel that made and sold an incredibly wide range of goods. Mu
sic compilation vinyl records and audio tapes, kitchen and houseware gadgets, unique sporting goods, wine, even theatrical movies — they made and pitched them all.
“Across North America, they literally blitzed the pre-Internet TV and radio airwaves day and night, 24/7 with their high-energy ads to wear down consumer resistance and get the people buying their stuff. And since it worked so well for K-Tel, we’ll use this strategy. Even celebrity endorsements of every kind will be used most intensely. Some celebs have already happily signed on. I won’t mention who they are, so you’ll just have to wait until July 23rd to find out. But that’s how we’ll do it.”
A man in the left rear row who sat near Khraa/Astra raised his hand. Khraa/Astra recognized him from the memories she internalized from Astra as being none other than the nefariously nice-and-obnoxious news/entertainment Canadian media icon Richard Ashland Sinclair Perry III. Rick Perry, as he was more commonly known, worked for the Canadian Telecasting Corporation (CTC), Canada’s largest national media organization. Faustino and Stanton were flattered that Canada’s most pro-Stanton media network sent down Rick, who was, in their opinion, quite affable — but whom both Astra and the non-Earthling who assumed her identity called “The Joker Canuck,” after the Batman villain.
Faustino said, “Rick, you’re next.”
Rick stood and introduced himself, with a comically inflated ego, “Rick Perry — you all know who I am!” Rick flashed his press credentials while everyone else laughed and applauded (except for Khraa/Astra, who knew far better.) “But for my fellow fourth estates-people who don’t, I’m Rick Perry, CTC.
“First, I’d like to thank you, Ms. Stanton,” Rick continued, “for using the K-Tel method of promotion for your proposed amendment. And I’d also like to also thank you for mentioning that K-Tel is from Canada!”
Everyone applauded Rick’s Canadian-polite sense of the obnoxious.
“I do have one concern. What if people actually get sick of this endless promotion after a while?” Rick asked. “I’d hate to see a good thing die from over-promotion.”