As they neared the Capitol steps, Jim became more anxious. He had never spoken in front of a crowd before, but he knew that these people came to hear someone speak. As he mounted the steps he unfolded his speech and prepared to address the marchers. He looked out over the crowd. It was much larger than it looked when they started marching. There were also television cameras and news reporters crawling all over the place. Jim swallowed as he realized that what he was about to say might be broadcast all over the U.S. He cleared his throat, turned up his mike and took one last glance at his two illustrious compatriots.
Then he turned and began to address the crowd.
At almost the exact same moment as Jim Miller started his march. The Senate Subcommittee on Handel’s Syndrome Research, Washington, DC
It’s always funny how news tends to come in spurts. For weeks, the anchorman only talks about filler and fluff, and then one day, several major events happen all at once.
The doors to the subcommittee chamber burst open as if a hurricane had blown through. That hurricane was named Ray Johnston, and he was on a mission. As the discoverer of the alien threat, he had led the vanguard towards building a defense against invasion and against the viral bio-weapon that was turning the population into the enemy, one child at a time. He created this subcommittee, he nurtured it. He hand-picked all of the members. It was the personification of his political career, and the focal point that Americans used to rally around his banner. It was the perfect place to make the announcement.
The normally staid conference room was thrown into chaos at the Vice President’s arrival. He never came to these meetings, and was unexpected by all but a few in his inner circle. He arrived in large fashion, followed by reporters and hangers-on. Without saying a word, he marched straight up to the podium. This guerrilla style of speechmaking was a trademark of his. It harkened back to his pre-politics days as an intelligence agent.
General Hudson, who had recently taken over as committee chair, stepped aside knowingly and Ray stepped up to the microphone. Many of the uninformed committee felt that this intrusion was somewhat inappropriate, but it was always exciting to meet someone famous. Dr. Mensen held a silent protest by ignoring the Vice President and instead concentrating on editing a draft of his latest scientific paper. No one noticed.
One man who did know about the Vice President’s upcoming visit was Colin Hayes. He received a phone call two nights ago, directly from Ray. “Colin old buddy. As you know election season is coming up and it’s time to announce my candidacy. Potter’s had his eight years, now it’s my turn. I’m going to do it at the next committee meeting. It seems appropriate. That’s where it all started after all. I want you to be there. I want you to stand next to me. I wouldn’t be where I am today without you. You’re part of the ‘Johnston mythos’ now. It’s only fair that you get some face time in front of a national TV audience.” It was a good thing for Colin that Ray couldn’t see his face. His eyes were puffy and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a long time (which he hadn’t). Ray didn’t know about the incident the week before between Ben and Neil, how could he? Colin didn’t say anything. He had always kept Neil’s condition an open secret so as not to interfere with his career. Now he wished that he had spoken out, wished that he had stood up and railed against General Hudson’s proposals. He wished that he had figured out a way to stop the tide of rhetoric that had led to fratricide. Now it was too late. There wasn’t much he could do now. He choked out an ‘ok’ and hung up on the Vice President.
Secret Service agents took Colin from his seat at the committee table and brought him over to the podium. An anonymous campaign manager pulled him back and to the left a bit, even going so far as to bend down and show Colin exactly where to plant his feet. More people of various positions came up on stage and were guided to their prescribed locations. Within ten minutes all was ready. Ray motioned to the cameras to start rolling, and started to speak.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, we are at war. It’s a subtle war. It’s a war that hasn’t been declared. It’s a war in which our enemy has yet to fully reveal himself. But never forget that it is a war. And this war is the biggest war we as Americans, we as humans, will ever have to fight. It is a war for the very survival of our species. Yes, we are at war. A war fought not with guns but with science, a battle not fought on the field but in our wombs. And we are losing this war. Day by day our numbers shrink while their numbers grow. We are literally being eaten alive from within. Since the election of President Potter we have done much to stem the tide of HS infection. We have done much to develop a military force capable of resisting what is likely to be a technologically advance foe. But it is not enough. We are on the correct course, but we haven’t done enough. President Potter has led the fight, but his eight years in the White House are almost up. Someone else needs to take up the banner against the enemy. This is why I am formally announcing my candidacy for the President of the United States of America. Who better then me to fill President Potter’s shoes? Who better than me to hold the line against the special interests that would have us believe that the alien threat is fictitious, that the alien children living in our very homes are just malformed humans? The special interests that would have you believe that any contact with an alien race will bring economic opportunities instead of annihilation.” Some of the public watching the event from the gallery shouted cheers. Dr. Mensen lifted an eyebrow and noted that the gallery was usually empty during sessions, so he concluded that the politicians had brought their own cheering section with them. He returned to his editing.
“What will I do as President? How will I stop this horrible flood that threatens to engulf our genetic legacy? I think that my credentials are clear. I was the one who beat my way through the system to expose the threat in the first place. I was the one who formed this very panel that I now stand before. I am the one who enacted the legislation that has increased research dollars for the search for a vaccine. I was the one who forced the Senate to triple the defense R&D budget. I was the one who enacted the legislation to send foreign aid across the globe for HS prevention programs, for as we know, this is a global problem.”
“But what will I do as President? On the first day of my administration I promise to enact an executive order requiring mandatory testing of all pregnant women in the United States, and to provide abortion services free of charge. I will create an agency tasked to deal with these so-called Alien-Americans. So far, they have not presented much of a threat, but that is only because the eldest of these invaders is barely out of his teens. This agency will be tasked to identify and track all aliens living in the United States to ensure that they are not involved in anti-government activities. I will enact legislation preventing these new, adult aliens from owning firearms, holding large stakes in key industries, or congregating in large groups.”
“I plan to purge all federal government agencies of people who test HS-positive or who have alien children. These people simply cannot be trusted in times of crisis. I propose to further increase military budgets as much as we can afford. Only a strong, armed populace will be able to resist this menace. I propose to lower taxes in order to stimulate economic growth. I propose to set up a program whereby pure U.S. citizens can donate frozen, fertilized eggs to HS-positive Americans who want to give birth to normal children.”
“This is what I promise you America. Now, who’s with me?” A larger cheer rose from the crowd. Some of the panel members also shouted an enthusiastic “Yes!”
Colin listened to the speech in shock. He had a good idea of what Ray was going to say. He had watched over the years as Ray had gone from government spook, to paranoid conspiracist, to political conniver, and then finally to someone who believed his own hype. Colin knew that Ray had gone over the edge. He had gone too far and there was no way he could be trusted to run the government. The U.S. would turn into a giant police state. Colin fingered the gun in his pocket.
He couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let Ray do the
things that he had talked about. He couldn’t let other families experience the same feelings that he had felt when he buried his youngest child. He couldn’t let Ray Johnston rise to the most powerful position in the world.
Colin thought about Neil. He thought about Ben, and how he was seduced by this sort of rhetoric. He looked at Ray’s back and for a minute he thought that he could see the same gray teardrop logo that the BKs wore. He blinked a few times to regain focus. His head swooned with grief and anger– anger at people like this who whooped up frenzy to further their own political goals. Ben wasn’t responsible for his actions. He had been seduced. Seduced by the so called ‘Patriot Brigades’ seduced by the ‘Real American Movement’ seduced by fast talkers like Johnston who made it easy to blame all of life’s problems on a poorly defined threat that had a face; Neil’s face, little Neil’s gentle face.
Tears streamed from his eyes as he listened to the speech. Perhaps the Secret Service agents who saw him thought that the Vice President’s words were moving, perhaps they weren’t paying much attention. Whatever the reason, no one noticed him in the back of the crowd. No one saw him reach into his pocket. No one saw him pull the gun. It was only when he shouted “No!” and lurched forward did any of the bodyguards make their move. But it was too late, they had been kept off stage, away from the cameras after all. No one could stop Colin as he pushed himself over General Hudson’s shoulder and shot Ray Johnston twice in the back.
In front of the cameras, Ray slumped to the ground. He didn’t know exactly what had happened to him. But he died believing in what he had always believed, that he was protecting the United States. Either in his public life, or in the deep, black world he traveled in before, rightly or wrongly, he had always believed that he was doing what was best for America. He was a company man to the end.
On the steps of the U.S. Capitol Building
Jim looked out over the crowd. It consisted mostly of families, one or both parents plus their child. The children were almost all HS-positive. Some people had come alone. There was a delegation of the Reverend’s people, who mostly stood to the back of the crowd and looked slightly menacing in order to discourage the jeering onlookers from doing anything more than jeering. News camera trucks clogged the street and had even driven onto the grass of the National Mall. Their satellite hookups towered overhead.
“Good morning. I guess....whhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” the microphone feedback drowned out the end of the sentence. Jim adjusted the volume and tried again. “Good morning, I guess you got my invitation,” he joked. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see so many of you here today. I want to start by apologizing to the police for not warning them about how big of a ruckus I was about to cause. I don’t know how long they’re going to let us stay here...” he looked around, “I can’t imagine that they’re going to tolerate this for very long, so let me get started with what I came to say.” He started reading from his prepared notes. Most of the crowd couldn’t hear a thing. The small PA system he had wasn’t nearly loud enough to project to the back of the crowd, but they didn’t care.
“Ladies, gentlemen, children. We are gathered here today, in front of these hallowed halls of liberty in order to demand our freedom. It seems strange to say that, ‘demand our freedom.’ After all, isn’t this the United States? Aren’t we guaranteed our freedoms by the Constitution? Isn’t the motto of this country ‘Liberty and Justice for All?’ But we don’t have that, do we? We don’t, just because of the color of our skin and the size of our eyes. We are beaten, discriminated against, forced out of public schools. The police refuse to protect us, the courts refuse to hear us, businesses refuse to hire us. I have examples by the hundred, but I don’t need to share them with you. For you, like me, have witnessed these acts in your own lives. The Tyler County School Board successfully voted to keep me out of school for my entire life. How many of you have had similar experiences?” He lifted a fist towards the sky. Many members of the crowd raised their hands in acknowledgement. “I have had the windows of my home broken, I have had my property vandalized. How many of you know firsthand what I’m talking about?” He raised his hand higher, with a similar reaction from the audience. “I personally know people who were killed on the night of August 6th. Who else here has had friends, loved ones killed?” The crowd began to shout. “We are too young for this. I’m still in my teens. I shouldn’t know the face of death. This is wrong. The night of August 6th is a day that will live in infamy. It will be the rallying cry for our movement. No more will we stand idly by and let the fearful and ignorant continue to run roughshod over our God-given, constitutionally guaranteed rights. Who’s with me?” Those in the crowd that could hear the boy shouted in agreement. The rest shouted in order to fit in.
“What makes me a U.S. citizen? What makes me human? Is it my genes? I can’t help what my genes look like. I can’t justify the actions of some alien race. But I today claim my humanity! If you cut me do I not bleed? My name is James Miller and I was born in Tyler, Texas. I am a Texan first, an American second, and an alien third. The HS virus has erased our ethnicity, but not our essential humanness. I was raised by Thomas and Lorraine Miller. They instilled in me a sense of pride, a sense of belonging. They made me more human than all of those so-called ‘Patriot Brigades,’ they made me more of an American than those so-called ‘Real Americans.’ Because unlike my oppressors, I believe in the Constitution, I believe in non-violence. I believe in God. A god that loves all people, regardless of race, regardless of ethnicity, regardless of the circumstances of their birth. I say to you that despite all the discrimination, I am proud to be an American! Yes, I say that I am proud to be an American, and I will continue this fight that we have started here today. I will continue this fight to end discrimination, end violence. I will make them see that we, the Alien-American community, are just as integral, just as valuable, as any other migrant race that has come to these shores looking for opportunity and freedom from fear. I will show them that intolerance of any sort has never proved of benefit to mankind. Only by working together will we achieve these goals. Who’s with me? Who will help me show them the way?” A roar came from the crowd. People were pushing forward in order to get within hearing range.
“We will follow the model of all the great civil rights leaders, Ghandi, King, Chavez. We will fight back with love, we will fight back with civil disobedience, but never with violence. We will fight back by being model citizens and forcing them to acknowledge our value to their society. And I say we start with this.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “This is a HS registration card. The federal government now requires that all parents of HS children be registered and tracked. This is unacceptable in a free society and I will not stand for it any longer.” He lit a match and set the card ablaze. “That’s what I think of their registration. Join me!” Small fires began to flare from the crowd, first one, than another. Tom Miller and the McReynolds moved through the crowd handing out matchbooks. Soon the place was ablaze. Jim looked back at the Reverend and smiled. The civil rights leader nodded back. The Congressman put his hand on Jim’s shoulder and held his own flaming registration card up for people to see. Jim was less nervous now. It felt good to speak to the crowd. It felt good to say the things that he knew needed to be said. He turned back to the audience and began shouting, “The HS Registration Act will not stand! It will not stand!” The crowd began chanting in unison, “It will not stand! It will not stand!”
Near the back of the crowd, a ruckus was beginning. Jim couldn’t hear what was happening of course, but a woman with a radio was shouting, “An alien’s just shot Ray Johnston!” she didn’t have the story quite right of course, but it didn’t matter. As the word spread through the counter-protesters, things became violent. Ray had been their hero, their guiding light throughout all the turmoil of the past few years. Hearing that he had been assassinated was enough to send them into a frenzy. People began rushing the hastily erected police barricades and throwing themselves into the cr
owd. Police officers, many of whom were sympathetic to the anti-alien faction, made a half-hearted effort to keep the two sides apart, then backed off as the conflict intensified. The crowd began to flee in various directions, knocking over TV cameras and people in an effort to get out of the way of the riot. The sound of a window breaking is heard. Tom ran up on stage. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” He bundled his son up in a jacket and they ran off down the street together.
The police, seeing a full-scale riot breaking loose tossed a few tear gas grenades into the crowd, which aided in the dispersal. More police cars arrived and the officers who emerged began beating whoever they saw first, most often a young Alien-American half overcome with tear gas. The anarchy would last for almost an hour before the scene was cleared out and brought back under control.
***
In the aftermath of the incident, several hooded figures walked quietly across the now-empty grounds. They milled about, looking at the blood-stained sidewalks, and kicking their way through the debris of the day’s activities. They had been present for the speech, although no one had noted their presence. “Well Franklin, what do you think?” said Enoch.
“It’ll never work.” He pulled back his hood and exposed his head to the midday sun. “They’ll never accept us. No matter what this Miller said. He’s delusional if he thinks that people will consider him a Texan, and he’s certifiable if he thinks that a non-violent protest is going to convince these monkeys that he’s really one of them.”
Adopted Son Page 21