“He hasn’t embraced his true heritage. Should we contact him, try to convince him?” said Calvin.
“No,” replied Franklin. “He’ll understand who he is soon enough. For now let him remain the focal point. His efforts, although ultimately meaningless, will divert attention from us. Let the monkeys worry about him for now. Meanwhile the Spearhead will continue to grow, to travel freely and undetected. Soon we’ll be ready to make our move, and to pave the way for the day that our true fathers return for us. Once we claim the heritage they’ve given us, all of our fellow Pliedians will rally to our banner, and stop pretending that they’re just monkeys. We are ever so much more.”
Book 4: Union
Six years later.
“...and in business news, shares of clothing retailer ‘Pants Shack’ jumped three points in trading today after CEO Jack Blansford announced that his company will be developing and marketing a line of clothing specifically designed for the HS teenager. The clothing line will include shirts and pants that are resized to better fit the typical body type of an HS-positive person. Since rumors of this new line surfaced last week, some market analysts have wonder if the line’s inclusion will trigger boycotts or even vandalism by people opposed to the integration and acceptance of HS into mainstream society. However, Jack Blansford dispelled those fears at a press conference today in the company headquarters in New York City...”
The video switches from the anchor desk to footage of a press conference. The CEO of ‘Pants Shack’ is speaking. “No, we’re not worried about any boycotts. There is a reason that the Patriot Brigades have been losing members right and left these last few years. It’s because every time one of them has an Alien-American kid, they leave the group. Our demographic research shows that there will be an estimated twenty million Alien-American teens living in the U.S. within ten years. Somebody is going to have to sell them clothing. Pants Shack is leading the way in this market, and will continue to lead the way. In the teen clothing business you either adapt or die. Pants Shack has chosen to adapt.”
The video switches back to the anchor desk. “The new line of clothing will be called ‘Alienz,’ spelled with a ‘Z’ and is expected to be in most Pants Shack locations by mid November. For the foreseeable future, Pants Shack will continue to sell their profitable line of human-sized clothing as well.”
Three years earlier, on “Live Talk! with Bill Garcia”
“Good evening, and welcome to ‘Live Talk!’ I’m your host Bill Garcia. Today on our program we’ll be discussing the Alien-American movement, and their position that Handel’s Syndrome is not a disease and shouldn’t be treated as such. I’ve got two illustrious guests here with me tonight. In the studio with me is the young founder and president of the Johannes Handel Anti-Defamation Society, and an Alien-American himself, James Miller. And via satellite from Washington DC, we have the Chairman of the Senate Subcommittee on Handel’s Syndrome Research, General Randolph Hudson. Greetings gentlemen, and welcome to ‘Live Talk!’”
The two men nod politely to the camera. General Hudson is wearing his standard dress uniform. Jim is wearing a tailor-made suit he recently received as gift by a tailor whose daughter was HS-positive. The tie is a bit long, but it will do. He’s not used to wearing formal clothes, or ones designed for his body, and he is a bit fidgety. But, knowing that he is on camera, Jim tries to put his best face forward.
Bill:Now let’s start with you James. Your movement, JHADS, is claiming that Handel’s Syndrome shouldn’t be looked at as a disease, but rather a... lifestyle? Is that right?
James:Partially. Not a lifestyle so much as a separate ethnic classification, that’s why we prefer the term ‘Alien-American.’ We believe that having alien DNA does not diminish our inherent... humanness, and we seek equal protection under the law in a manner similar to other ethnic minorities.
Bill:And General Hudson, you see it a different way.
Hudson: I believe, and I assure you that I speak with the full backing of the Senate Subcommittee when I say this, is that we are going down a dangerous path by allowing this sort of discussion. HS is not just some other ethnicity like being Irish or Japanese. The HS virus is the first shot in an interplanetary war between the human race and alien invaders from the Pleiades. We cannot allow ourselves the luxury of capitulating to these aliens just because they happen to speak our language and root for the same football teams. I feel sorry for these poor boys and girls, I really do, but if we start accepting them as full-fledged members of our society we will lose the ability to objectively develop ways to wipe out the HS virus and to create a military capable of defeating an undoubtedly superior alien threat.
Jim:I resent being labeled a threat.
Hudson: Then what about that terrorist act last month? The alien threat is beginn...
Jim: ....My organization had nothing to do with that!
Both Jim and General Hudson began shouting over each other so that neither was audible. Bill Garcia, a professional journalist, calmed the situation down.
Bill: But General Hudson brings up a good point Jim, what about the bombing of the Patriot Brigade Headquarters last month? People are looking at that as reason to support his claim that Alien-Americans are a threat.
Jim:First of all Bill, there is no evidence to suggest who destroyed that building or why. It’s possible that they blew it up themselves just to increase paranoia.
Hudson: That’s absurd.
Jim:And even if it is true that alien sympathizer extremist groups are beginning to form, that’s just a response to the lack of inclusiveness in our society. Men like General Hudson just serve to create the very atmosphere that these groups feed off of. If we make the reforms I’ve suggested then these Alien-Americans will feel that they’re part of human society and will feel no reason to rebel against it. Government positions that Alien-Americans are not allowed to serve in the armed forces or federal government just reinforce the stereotype that we are outsiders, which encourages separatist behavior. That may be what these ‘Pleiadians’ want. You’re playing right into their hands General.
Bill:Now General, are we making more of a threat here then really exists. I mean, look at Jim here, he’s a scrawny guy, I bet you could whip him in a fight. What’s is there to be so scared about?
Hudson: Numbers Bill, numbers. Right now the number of HS victims is approximated at about a million and a half people in the US. But this number is growing. Every year more and more humans are infected with the HS virus, and the percentage of HS-positive births increases. HS births account for almost twenty-two percent of new pregnancies these days. If we don’t develop a vaccine soon, we will be overwhelmed by these invaders. Other countries have been hit even harder. In India for example, almost forty percent of new births are HS-positive. As Vice President Johnston always said, we’ve got to nip this in the bud. The longer we wait, the more of them there will be and the harder it will be for humans to maintain control of governments and economies.
Bill (facing the audience): Ok, we’ve got to take a break, and then we’ll be back with questions from callers. Jim, any comments before we go to break?
Jim:We need to make this message of inclusiveness global. This is a worldwide issue, and the U.S. government is just burying its head in the sand. I’ve got statistics here that are unbelievable. Did you know that only one out of ten Alien-Arabs reaches the age of five? In China the rate in infanticide is so high that the country’s population is shrinking at almost two percent a year? In some African countries there are concentration camps that hold literally hundreds of thousands of Alien-Africans against their will in squalid, subhuman conditions. These are the Earth’s children. The human race is exterminating itself.
Hudson: We are aware of the situation in other countries, but America can’t be the world’s policeman. We are working with these governments to develop strategies to combat population loss and to develop strategies to keep their economies intact. This is also why we are spending almost
four billion dollars per year on scientific programs to develop a vaccine to the HS virus. Once the vaccine is perfected the global situation will normalize.
Jim:But General Hudson, what if they don’t develop a vaccine in time?
Three weeks prior to Jim Miller’s television debate. Charlottesville, VA
He is driving and he is crying. He is driving through the morning rain. It is a crummy morning, not a good morning at all. The sky is dark and rain is coming down. Not a drenching rain that comes down in sheets and washes away dirt and grime and makes the world clean. It’s a weak, drizzly rain that is so pointless that it makes you wonder why it has bothered to rain in the first place. It is cold too. This fall has been exceptionally cold and wet and dreary. It adds to his depression and anger. It makes him not so upset really, in the end. It’s all for a good cause after all. He is driving and he is thinking, thinking back to how warm it used to be, and comfortable it was in the enclave. Far away from the monkeys and the rats that were his tormentors in the orphanage. Far away from the life on the streets of Atlanta, scrounging an existence from theft and stealth. He thinks back to the enclave, thinks back to the leader, thinks back to his savior. He thinks back to the time he first heard of the Farm.
“Yo Joe, I’m telling you it’s the truth,” said the grubby kid that he lived with in a cardboard box on the outside edge of Five Corners.
“That can’t be Emma. It’s just a myth like Santa Claus. It’s a good story for kids to believe, but I’m too old for that crap now.” He wiggled under his torn, pink blanket as the two teens looked up at the Georgia stars.
“Jeez, you don’t believe anything Joe, you’re cold man.”
“It’s always paid off that way. You start believing in things then you start expecting them to get better, and then you get soft. That’s when those monkey bastards come and get you. You’re too much of a dreamer.” He rolled over as a sign the conversation was about to end. Emma put her long fingers on the boy’s shoulder and kept talking.
“Look, you didn’t believe that’s we’d ever escape from the orphanage, but we did. You didn’t think that we could make it on our own, but we’re still alive man. I’m telling you, this Farm place, it’s our salvation.”
“You believe what you like Emma, but you’re dreaming. How the hell would one of us get a farm? It don’t make sense. I’ll tell you what, get back to me when you find out where this place is.”
“That’s just it Joe. I know where this place is. Or at least I will. I met this guy see, he’s from the Farm. That’s what he says anyway. He’s got a meeting planned for tomorrow out in Grant Park. He’s gonna give us maps man. It’s starting!”
He remembered how joyous he felt when he learned that the Farm was real, that someone had somehow gotten hold of a real farm in the backwoods of Western Virginia. It was just for aliens. It was run by an alien. He remembered how he felt as he made his way across the byways of Southeastern America, meeting more people who were ready to follow the banner, ready to give up on monkey civilization and achieve their true destiny.
The windshield wipers scrape across the window of the van noisily. There wasn’t enough rain for them to be properly lubricated, but enough so that vision was blurred without their use. He wipes the inside with a tissue to get rid of the fog, it just makes things streaky. He comes to the top of the appointed hill and stops the van. He checks his map again to be sure. He smiles nervously.
He thinks back again to the first time he met the leader, the savior, Franklin. He was so tall and majestic looking compared to the other aliens. He wore a white robe. He was so friendly and comforting. The first thing that Franklin did when he arrived was hug him and tell him, “Welcome home.” No one had ever hugged him before. He cried back then as he is crying now. He thinks back to the time he spent on the Farm. How he learned his true destiny and he learned about his true parents. “They are coming for us. They haven’t abandoned us,” Franklin said. “We have to make the Earth ready for them. We are the spearhead. We’ll present them with this world as a welcome gift.” He thought about all of the great plans that Franklin had. He had an answer for everything. It all made sense. He felt his purpose. He was a true believer. He remembered the time when his destiny was revealed to him by Franklin himself.
“Now you understand Joe what I’m asking of you. It pains me to ask this of you, but remember, this whole thing here, it’s bigger than all of us. And we all have a part to play in the great game. You understand that, don’t you Joe? This is the first assault. The first step in a glorious war, a holy war against the monkeys that infest this planet. Will you accept this mission Joe?”
“Yes, Yes, a thousand times Yes!” he replied enthusiastically. He believed in the cause then as he believes in the cause now. He realized now he has always believed in the cause, even before he had ever been to the Farm. He understood his role in the great machine. He smiled from ear to ear as he stepped on the gas and crested the hill.
Below him was the main compound that was the heart of the enemy. He revved the engine and he came down the hillside. There was a gate, he knew that and he pushed the motor to go faster and faster, he had to break through, or else his sacrifice would be in vain. He must have been doing over a hundred when he passed the brown sign that said, ‘Patriot Brigade, Headquarters Division.’ He flinched a little as the van crashed through the wire fence that blocked the entrance. Calvin’s words echoed in his ears, “You can’t slow down Joe, they’ll push the button to lift the car barriers, you’ve got to get past those before they can go up. He reached back and made sure that the detonator was armed, then he grabbed the wheel with both hands and headed directly toward the front door of the building. At the last second he looked up at the sky. “It’s too bad it’s cloudy,” he thought, “I would have liked to see home one last time.”
Six months after the Spearhead’s first suicide bombing. Center for Handel’s Syndrome Research, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, MD
Lines of data are being tracked, pages are being turned, numbers are being counted. The lab is buzzing with activity on many fronts. Virologists study surface glycoproteins, geneticists study DNA binders, medical doctors study transport vectors. The lab is getting too big, too hard to manage, information is getting lost as more and more people are brought on board and different hands stop talking to one another. The Center for HS Research now takes up almost three-fourths of NIH’s budget and it is being run more like a corporation than a research laboratory. Every section, every department believes that they are the key to solving the disease, that they are the most important segment of the program. They all demand more and more money, and since the project was given the rare status as a ‘National Priority’ the money flows freely. The President has said that the U.S. should work to cure HS in the same manner as we worked to get to the moon. It’s full throttle.
In one small section of the Center are the epidemiologists. Their job is to track the propagation of the disease. They look at census data all day, examining which populations are the most vulnerable, and develop trends in the spread of the disease. All this is fed into the giant political machine to be used for budgets and planning, but the epidemiologists themselves don’t receive much respect around the halls of the NIH. They aren’t biologists after all, they aren’t doctors after all. Very few of them have PhDs. But despite their status as second-class scientists, a breakthrough is about to occur.
It starts one day, as all days start, with the crunching of numbers and the development of models. Hal Sportman sits at his computer like he does every morning, entering numbers. He sits with his face up close to the screen on account of his bad eyes. He is running a program that uses historical data to develop trends. All of the information has been entered. Every case (statistically speaking) of HS has been added to the database. He hits the enter button to start the simulation. After a few seconds of whirring a map of the world appears on the screen, with everything in green. Green represents the human population. T
he date begins to move forward and red spots appear on the map. The red spots represent alien populations. As the date ticks forward and the computer processes the data in its database more and more of the world turns red. It reaches today’s date, and almost one tenth of the globe is covered in the red stain. Then the simulation starts and the computer begins to divine the future based on what it knows of the past. The red blotches spread and slowly cover the world. The simulation shows that within seventy-five years, the human race will effectively be extinct.
Hal squints at the screen to check his model. There seems to be an error. There is still one small spot of green on the globe. Way out in the Pacific Ocean. He checks the map, it is the small island of Niue that remains green. There must be an error in the simulation, or a lucky accident of the Monte Carlo code. He runs it a second time, again Niue remains free of the red plague that engulfs the rest of the planet. He reaches across his desk and pulls out a very lengthy computer printout and begins scrolling through the data by hand to find the error. The process takes him hours. Hours of sitting and making little marks with his red pencil against the giant accordion of paper. But the work pays off, he finds something. His model isn’t defective.
That afternoon, his number checked and rechecked, he enters the office of Dr. Nancy Collins to give her the news.
“Dr. Collins, I’ve found something important,” he says, bursting in through the closed door. She is meeting with some vendors who want to supply new reagents. They are not pleased with the interruption. “I’ve found an immune population.” He drops the large printout on her desk.
“What are you talking about? Who are you?” she says. She remembers a day not long ago when she knew all of the people on the HS project. Now it is rare that she recognizes the people who greet her as she walks the halls.
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