There is a Season

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter One:

 

“To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven.”—Ecclesiastes—

 

 

 

As always, the television was on in lounge of the campus dorms. It had become the new habit of the college students lately to keep it on twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week; but not on any station of entertainment, but the news—the world news. Having the news on twenty-four/seven enabled them to hear the constant dialogue between commentators about the new Martian situation that had enveloped the globe not even a year ago.

It had been but a summer and then a fall term, not even Christmas yet when the Martians started their campaigns directed to the world leaders, sending emissaries pleading for help in a war to “reclaim” a “lost” world they had supposedly settled ages ago. No one believed it of course. The Martians campaigned for over a month with no results. After their own hostile take over of the Earth and subsequent removal—which everyone upon the face of the planet thought was the strangest diplomatic strategy devised—no one trusted anyone with extremely light skin. Whities they were sometimes called, though many people were now calling them Morlocks in reference to H.G. Wells who had not only wrote of a Martian invasion in War of the Worlds, but also foretold of a people living underground feeding upon those above ground in The Time Machine, much akin to the living habitat on Mars. Their Earth-born descendants were called Whelps and were only given that distinction because many truly did not even know what they were until the invasion. So, now with this renewal of Martian “diplomacy” everyone was watching while holding their breaths. After all, the Martians still had the superior army.

At the beginning of this new term, students walked in and out of the room filled with cushy arm chairs, some sitting in the chairs pretending to do homework but mostly listening to the TV program. There was a new one called Exile and Ex-rebel, a talk show between two Martians on opposite sides of the Martian political spectrum. On the TV screen, two extremely pale men and a lovely tanned woman with rich brown hair were debating. It seemed that they picked the lady host specifically to show everyone indeed how white these men were without making the woman entirely non-Anglo. The first host for the show was a Black man of great reputation; but one of the producers decided it was better to prove that those of Caucasian descent were not the same race as the pale Martians who had invaded them. So, the irked, and justly so, host was replaced by this woman… who tanned like crazy at a local salon when she realized her skin was not that much darker than theirs after all.

One of the pale men, a red-haired Martian with a freckled face that everyone knew as the Exile, sat smugly in his upholstered armchair. He didn’t cross his legs. Martians didn’t. They considered it a poor habit of posture, though he did slouch a bit. Listening to the woman’s question politely as if he were a person of good breeding, he gazed at his opponent who was a lean man of fair complexion, blond hair and pleasant build. Both men held an equal dislike for one another, and the woman sitting between them acted more like a referee than a host at times.

<< …likely that they’ll send more messengers threatening war? >> the hostess had finished her question, directing it to the Exile.

The man scooted forward in his seat and responded with a casual wave of his hand. << I dare say that the Queen has conquest in mind. She is of a deceitful nature. It is in her blood. Her ancestor Zeldar Tarrn was also deceitful, pretending to be the people’s champion but then making himself king. You’ll see. >>

<< What a lie, >> the Ex-rebel replied with an indignant huff. << First of all, the Queen, by nature, is no liar. If she says there is a hostile empire out there intending on enslaving the entire human race, then you can bet on it. As for your insult of Zeldar Tarrn— >>

<< So speaks the man who used to take orders from his other vile descendant, >> the Exile responded with a tired yawn.

The Ex-rebel glared deeply at the Exile as he said with a bite in his voice, leaning forward in his chair, <<If you are referring to Jafarr Zeldar—>>

<< A criminal in the uttermost sense— >> the Exile casually replied, as one tossing an obvious fact out.

<< Against a corrupt government, England’s Robin Hood was a criminal. President Jafarr was no less, and certainly was more, >> the Ex-rebel declared nearly rising from his seat, yet stopping himself.

<< We are leaving the subject. >> Their hostess smiled while raising her hands to calm them.

There was a pre-decided agreement that neither man was to rise from his seat, no matter how provoked, to attack his opponent. They were keeping civil. This wasn’t Jerry Springer. The Ex-rebel sat back in his chair. Despite this, it was already common to see one or the other become riled up, practically clinging to the arms of their chairs as if ready to launch off of them to attack his adversary. This episode was just one of many. Just the month before, the Exile was raving against the destruction of the Creed of Tharser on his home world—a philosophy that had been the basic foundation of their ten-thousand-year social structure. Everyone knew by then that the Martians had lived in a caste society, thanks again to information from the Ex-rebel. They learned a great deal about Martian life, ways, beliefs, and customs from the Ex-rebel and even the Exile. But the Ex-rebel had been reigning as the favorite on the show for some time since travel between the worlds was made easier, showing that quite possibly Martian intentions had not been as hostile as they had guessed. However, since November when the Martians started sending emissaries to the nations of the Earth begging for help in an interplanetary war, the favor had turned back to the Exile who had plenty of nasty things to say about both Martian leaders that would satisfy the public’s growing anti-Martian mood.

<< I beg your pardon, >> the Exile spoke with a simpering grin. << I was merely saying that with two leaders that obviously cannot be trusted, we cannot trust their message to be anything more than a ruse to distract you from a more sinister plot. >>

This satisfied the hostess. She smiled, turning to look at the Ex-rebel who had started grinding his teeth.

<< And your opinion on the subject is contrary to his, as usual? >> she asked with a smirk meant to provoke him.

The Ex-rebel glanced at her with a pained smile. << You know me well enough now to know my feelings on this subject. I have told you repeatedly my personal experiences with the Arrassian President and Queen, whom, as I have said countless times before, I know personally, having lived under the same roof with the President almost the entire time I have been on Earth. >>

The woman nodded with an encouraging, but obviously derisive, grin. << Recall it for us, if you will, why you would then trust this claim that we are at risk at being invaded by aliens other than Martians. >>

The man took a deep bracing breath, glancing at the Exile who just snorted and rolled his eyes. << As I told you before when we started this program, I was one of the head rebel leaders. I had escaped to this world to avoid PM[1] detection so we could continue to direct the rebellion in safety. I was a follower of Orrlar Aflov, who is now the Vice President. Orrlar should have been the head of the rebellion, but that man chose to follow a sixteen-year-old half-seer blood boy, the son of a former rebel leader whom we all had great respect for. A Zeldar. >>

The Exile snorted.

<< The boy had joined the rebellion when his father was murdered, >> the Ex-rebel explained once again (as he had told this story numerous times already) with a glare at the man. << But I never predicted that he would lead us. >> The Ex-rebel now settled in his seat and explained as if he was starting from scratch with a lesson he had to teach that had obviously not been learned. << I did not distrust him. Not because of his character. I merely considered him young and inexperienced. His seer blood was a bonus as he was insightful if not prophetic. But when he exposed us to Alea Zormna Clendar Tarrn—former Zeta leader of the Surface Patrol and infamous soldier, our queen now, I thought him mad. However, he has never given me reason to disbelieve him or doubt his motives. I know for a fact that all Jafarr Zeldar has ever cared about was the freedom of his people. >>

The Exile laughed at once then started a slow clap. The claps echoed in the TV studio. Those in the dorm lounge looked up when they heard it, but then stared back down to their texts again. It was common enough to hear such speeches and displays in this program.

<< What noble sentiments. If only they were true. >> the Exile laughed with cold mockery.

Glaring at him, the Ex-rebel continued. << As for the Queen. The only reason I distrusted her at first was because I was a rebel and she had been the military officer whose main purpose was to maintain the borders between Arras an Earth. The head of Zeta. Her duty included fugitive retrieval. Which meant us. I initially thought she was part of a sting to destroy the rebellion. >> He continued to glare at the Exile, speaking resolutely. << I got to know her disposition intimately. She is not given to lying, a trait that is not useful in a rebellion but certainly useful in gaining the trust of millions. >>

<< Useful in gaining trust… >> the Exile murmured lazily. << That’s the rub. That also allows her take the whole of a nation in with one lie. >>

<< Queen Zormna need not lie to have a nation follow her, >> the Ex-rebel snapped back. << She is a noble spirit who fulfills all her promises, and I consider myself shamed that I did not believe her at first myself. >>

<< I’m in tears, >> the Exile replied with the same bored attitude.

The Ex-rebel moaned. He hopped out of his seat, yelling, << Enough of this nonsense! Are you so blind that you will not see that we are in danger? I’m sick of this talk show making a game of human lives! >> He turned and stared directly at the camera, speaking in a straight voice. << If Queen Zormna is asking for your help, that means she really needs it. She’s damned independent, and the Surface Patrol can than take on any army on their own. But if they have called for our help— >>

<< Oh, please, >> a moan came from behind him that was obviously from the Exile. << Don’t be so dramatic. >>

A scream out from the TV drew up the eyes of all the students. They stared at the TV now, watching the Ex-rebel grab a hold of the Exile and shake him by the collar of his shirt. Some expected him to punch him, but the expression on his face was desperate rather than angry.

<< Are you so selfish and vain that you can’t see that if we don’t help them we will all die? I know Zormna Clendar well enough to know that she’s serious. Haven’t you been keeping up on news from home? Don’t you know what has happened to her? >> The man immediately let go of the Exile. His eyes staring around at the studio. The hostess was upon her feet, scrambling around the two men, trying to keep the peace. The Ex-rebel murmured aloud to himself, his microphone picking it up. << What am I doing here? I should be helping instead of playing TV-Talk-Show. >>

Without another word, the Ex-rebel yanked off his microphone and marched off the stage.

The talk show hostess flustered, blushing through all her makeup. She glanced to the Exile who stared blankly after his foe also. Something came over his expression, washing off all his smugness. As if like an epiphany had struck him, without a word, the Exile rose up, looking dazed. Like the Ex-rebel, he looked around the room and then at the hostess, going rather pale.

She raised her hands and blinked at him. Then clearing her throat, trying to regain composure, the hostess said to the TV camera, << It seems that will conclude our hearing of the two-sided Martian argument of Exile and Ex-rebel for today, unless our Exile has some words for us. >>

She looked to him expectantly.

The Exile seemed to go white before he flushed red. He struggled for some semblance of himself, turning to face the camera as if he were a deer and it was the headlight of a car. << Forgive me. I was wrong. >> He glanced over his shoulder at the hostess and then looked at the floor between the camera and her. << We are in danger. >> The Exile gazed back at the TV camera, a frightened, desperate twitch coming to his eyes. << We ARE in danger! Write you senator! >>

With that, the program cut off with a commercial.

“COME ON!” The college students in the lounge yelled at the TV screen together.

“What was that?” a young man majoring in economics cried out, throwing up his hands and searching for the remote to check the channels to see if something went wrong with the television.

The crowd that had gathered around the TV since the outburst of the Ex-rebel slowly dispersed. The rest of Exile and Ex-rebel was cancelled for the day and they would now see an infomercial about a new hair growth product. English majors and Engineering majors dispersed, crossing the hall with majors of Dance and Political Science, leaving the studious to their seats—though one young man stood there, staring at the TV screen as it showed the top of a bald man’s head.

“There you are!” a high feminine voice called out from across the room.

The young man would have turned, but he was still standing like the Exile had been at the end of the program, as if something had struck him, freezing him to that spot. He stared at the TV but really wasn’t seeing it. What he had just witnessed on the show replayed over and over in his mind. He had only stopped for his token peek at the show while heading on to his dorm room to study, or at least pretending to until his girlfriend was to show up. But he had stopped and stayed when he caught the sight of a familiar face in the show. He had heard the rumors about the Martian leaders asking for military assistance in a war, but as he was not in the military, he didn’t think twice about it… until now. So, his girlfriend found him there and tapped him on the shoulder.

“Jon, you weren’t in your room,” she said. She glanced over at the TV, gave it an assessing nod and continued. “You’re not worrying about baldness, are you?”

He came out of his reverie at once and turned to her. “No. We have to go to Sandi’s right now.”

Making a face, his girlfriend asked, “Why? The restaurant is still in the cleaning stage right now. Sandi told me the painters are there, and the place stinks.”

“Is Sandi there?” he asked.

Nodding, yet still eying him with confusion, she answered with a “Yes.”

Jonathan Baker drew himself up and took a breath, heading at once to the door of the lobby. His girlfriend, Carson, followed him, but not without confusion. “Jon, I don’t think Sandi makes a drink to cure hair loss….”

But he didn’t hear her. His mind was preoccupied. He knew the face of the Ex-rebel. He had seen him a number of times at the home of his old high school friend Jeff Streigle, passing by without anything more than a couple words to him and Jeff before retreating to some back room or heading off somewhere in the city. Back then, the Ex-rebel had gone by the name of Aaron. He had been a ‘college boarder’ in the apartment above the Streigle’s garage along with another guy. Jonathan had not known he was a Martian back then. But then, he had not known the entire Streigle household were Martians in hiding either.

And since the beginning of watching the show Exile and Ex-rebel, Jonathan had been irked that Jeff, had been living with such a man. On the show, the Ex-rebel, Aaron, was usually blunt and sometimes tastelessly cruel in his remarks about Jeff—or President Jafarr as people now knew him. It was perhaps why people liked watching Aaron so much. However, the man was also honest. His remarks were true, and he was equally harsh against that Exile who was always smug and angry at being forever exiled from Mars for as he was one of the High Class caste ousted from rule.

Jonathan and his girlfriend stepped outside into the cold January air, quickly crossed the campus at once. Both Jonathan and his girlfriend, Carson, tugged the collars of their jackets up around their necks and walked closer together over the frost-covered grass on the lawn. Typically, they weren’t supposed to do that. Cutting across the campus lawn was one of the administration’s pet peeves these days, but they were in a hurry.

Sandi’s was a restaurant, newly acquired, and yet not opened for business. A woman by that very name owned it—Sandi Melzdar who also happened to be Carson’s roommate at the university. Some called it the riskiest business venture on the planet. Others said it was pure genius mixing Martian delicacies with American style fast food. However, Sandi called it worth it, though emotionally taxing at times. She had to switch out her front window glass with wired Plexiglas because someone had purposely thrown a brick through the last two windows. She planned on getting construction supplies from Mars for a sturdier structure, but at present she was making due with what she had on hand.  

The front door of the restaurant was open, propped by cinderblocks while three men were carrying in a ladder.

“You should put in sliding glass doors,” Carson said upon seeing Sandi while stepping over the five cans of off-white paint to reach her. Jonathan remained at the door, peering around at the construction for a moment, forgetting his task and question as the place was coming along quite nicely.

With her characteristic genial smile, Sandi shook her head, folding her arms to keep warm. “Not yet. I’m not making those changes until this place is painted. Besides, shipping right now is difficult. Have you seen the news?”

Jonathan awoke and stepped over the cans of paint also, nodding with fervor. “Yes, I have,” he said. “Do you believe it?”

Nodding without even looking at him, Sandi replied while gazing more at the painters who were new setting up the ladder, “Do you have to ask? Both you and I know Queen Zormna would not ask for help from Earth if she really didn’t need it.”

Carson sighed with a shiver, glancing back at the open door, having half a mind to close it. However, the painters were still carrying in painting supplies.

“But war? People have been saying they’re trying to take over this planet… this Aloea. Is that true? I don’t know what to believe.” Jonathan frowned with a shiver, though it was not from the cold.

Sandi’s smile turned sad. She unfolded her arms and made her way through the mess on the floor to Jonathan, the old friend of a boy she had known since she had started work as a waitress in the Surface Gate of Arras. “I know President Jafarr would not assist in an invasion. And I know that your other friend, Queen Zormna, would never leave her home world to attack another without good reason.”

“Then you believe the story—?” Jonathan asked her, still unsettled as the invasion of Earth over a year ago had truly shaken up his world view if not his entire life.

Carson also gazed upon Sandi, listening to what her Martian roommate had to say.  

“Yes,” Sandi unhesitatingly replied. “I believe what they said. Todd wrote me also, and told me all about it—about the birthday party and the non-human ambassador with the Aloean ambassador. Everything.”

“But was she really kidnapped?” Carson cut in, stepping up.

Sandi nodded. “Yes, Kiki. She was. Todd told me in his last letter that Zormna still has the bruises on her ankles and wrists, and a large burn mark around her neck. She had been more than kidnapped. She had been abused.”

“But how did she get away?” Carson remained doubtful, yet tried not to rile up her roommate who had her loyalties. “If she was chained up, it would be impossible—”

“You don’t know Zormna Clendar.” Sandi voice grew terse. Sandi did not often get angry, but with the late news and controversy over the honesty of two people she had known for many years and the issue about invasion still in the air, she found her temper harder to control. “Alea Zormna Clendar… Tarrn is one of the most skilled soldiers of the Surface Patrol. I’ve seen her in action. She is one of a kind. Exemplary. And besides that, after spending time with Jafarr Zeldar (the most famous rebel on Arras), I’d say that some of his sneaky knowledge rubbed off on her. I have full confidence in the leaders of my world.”

Jonathan sighed. He looked around at the restaurant under construction, and then at last asked, trying not to sound too desperate, “Then what do we do? If these…, what did they call them? Thessonians? are coming here to Earth to destroy us—”

“They didn’t say that. Not destroy.” Sandi wagged her finger, her temper leveling as she knew Jonathan meant well. “They said the aliens were planning to enslave us like they did with Aloea.”

“Fine.” Jonathan accepted this correction with a resigned nod. “If these alien giants are really coming here, and Mars is asking for our help, then what can we do? Mars has better technology than Earth. If they can’t fight them, then we are lost.”

Hearing his train of thought, Carson immediately went white and dropped her backpack on the floor.

Sandi looked to her. She quickly stepped nearer, preparing to catch her roommate if she should faint also. To Jonathan, she retorted, “Don’t be so dramatic. If the Surface Patrol indeed needs help, it is not asking for air support but land support. Arras’s ground fighters are all pilots. No doubt they are asking to free up their pilots to fly in the battle.” Slowly shaking her head, her eye rested on Carson who did look dizzy at what she was hearing. “Besides, the Queen is calling for the freedom of Aloea. That means they need ground troops, people who know how to fight land battles in all terrains. And I must admit, Arrassians are not equipped for that. We are city folk. We live underground for pity’s sake.”

The sound of work in the room went silent. Sandi peered over where the painters were working. They all were staring at her, listening to their conversation. When they saw her look up, they immediately went back to work, yet cast glances downward with wonder of their own if she was not telling the truth.

Jonathan pursed his lips then glanced at Carson whom Sandi was now making sit at one of the covered bar stools so she could let go and get water for her to drink. He looked about the room then out the front window. On the street, he could see life going on as usual. Jonathan could picture an alien ship landing on that very street just as it did when the People’s Military invaded his hometown of Pennington not even a year ago, and everyone just as surprised as they had been back then. He knew Zormna Clendar was a frank speaker who did not speak untruths, though she did withhold important facts and details. She lied by omission if she ever lied at all. This was commission. So, whatever she was saying, she at least believed it to be true. So, the possibility that they would be invaded by aliens was indeed real—more real than what they had already experienced.

Looking out at that street, Jonathan suddenly felt like the boy who had stuck his finger in the dike to plug up a hole but did not know what to do afterward.  He knew people did not take this new alien situation seriously—or rather, he was sure they thought all stories coming out from Mars were lies. The public was determined not to believe anything the Martians said.

The painters had brought in a radio and were now fiddling with it, searching for a music station, especially once Jonathan and Sandi’s conversation had died. The first station they struck was Country Western. With loud exclamations, they vehemently switched to Rock. As they started to pull on their facemasks, Sandi nodded to her friends and said, “That is the sign to go upstairs. They finished painting there.”

She smiled at Jonathan and motioned to Carson, who was leaping off her stool with worry about getting paint flecks over her new jacket.

Right away, Jonathan aided Carson. She was still dizzy from the shock that they were indeed about to be invaded again.

They crossed the room to the curved, ‘futuristic’ staircase. Sandi’s restaurant was built with two levels. Sandi was planning on adding a third on the roof, but she needed permits for that. She wanted to have a flight scooter landing platform, so anyone with a flight scooter, such as visiting Surface Patrol officers, could park and stop in with little inconvenience. As it was, they still were stuck in the red-tape phase. Most things had stopped there since the military request from Mars. The threesome halted at the counter bar on the second floor where Jonathan drew out a seat for Carson who sat down with relief.

“So there really are other aliens out there in space?” Carson finally said, still shaking from the idea.

Sandi nodded then shrugged. “That’s what they said.”

“But your people just a month ago have been saying that they never saw any sign of those bug-eyed aliens we see on TV all the time. I saw an episode on that in Mysteries of Space. They had a real Martian soldier on TV with them and everything.” Carson’s eyes were full of tears, on the verge of pouring over and ruining her eye makeup.  

With another shrug, as Sandi looked around for a napkin or tissue to give to her, she replied, “It is news to me also, Kiki. I used to hear the flymites… uh, sorry, Surface Patrol officers joke about strange ships in space, but then they used to wink at me and say that information was classified.”

“Did Zormna ever talk about stuff like that?” Jonathan asked, deeply curious.

Sandi shook her head with a more direct look to him, meeting his eyes. “No. Zormna did not reveal secrets or tease civilians with anything. If such information was classified, she kept it that way.”

They could hear the radio change songs. It was now playing a classic Beatles song, singing about how all they needed was love, or maybe it was about a girl’s name. Jonathan couldn’t entirely make it out with all the spraying and the sound of the pump which rumbled below.

Thinking, addressing the question that now haunted him, Jonathan asked, “What if they can’t get help from Earth? What will they do?”

For a moment, Sandi bit her lip, looking troubled. Rising almost with instinct as a waitress as she thought on it, she strode over to the newly installed soda fountain which was still covered in plastic because of the painting, but operational. Filling up a glass of water, which was all that was hooked up at present, she said, “I don’t know. My best guess is that they’ll fight to protect our airspace and the space about our worlds. Earth and Arras’s I mean. They won’t let any outsider step into this atmosphere without a fight, and to the death of all Arrassians if necessary. That is to be sure.”

Leaning over the still paint-speckled plastic over the bar, Sandi handed Jonathan the glass then motioned toward Carson who was also staring at her so he would pass it along and care for his girlfriend who was still in shock. “No Arrassian would give up against an enemy such as this after all we have been through. I won’t be throwing off my freedom, now that I have it.”

He took the glass, numbly placing the it in his girlfriend’s hand and helping Carson take sips of water. Directly, Sandi covered the soda fountain again and strode over to the stairs to look down. She cocked her ear, listening to the sound below. The song that had been playing had been interrupted. All they could hear was the pump, spraying, and a few garbled words of an announcer.

Jonathan nodded with a sigh.

Carson leaned against him for some comfort, cradling her cup in her hands. She murmured aloud to him, though it seemed no louder than a moan, “You know, after meeting Sandi, I used to wonder why Mars was named after the god of war. You know, she’s always been so nice. I thought, you know, as a nursing major and all, that the Romans could have called the planet after Aesculapius, the god of medicine… if they were thinking of blood. But now I’m thinking, besides Aesculapius being too difficult to pronounce, Martians really do have a warlike streak. Don’t they?”

Jonathan didn’t know how to react to this. He stared at his girlfriend in his arms, then glanced up at Sandi. Typically, he had thought the same as Carson—that regular Martians were generally friendly. But hearing Sandi speak, he wondered a bit. Was it really a Martian streak that leaned toward war or just a human streak, a characteristic that humans never let go of? Fight or flight. He had always been told it was this way for animals in Biology class. However, now there was nowhere to flee to. The war was coming home and they had to fight.

“Jonathan! Kiki!” Sandi suddenly yelled out, “You two! Get over here! Listen to this!”

Grabbing Carson’s hand, Jonathan hurried over to where Sandi was standing. She was at the top of the stairs, staring down, cocking her head. He listened also and realized the painters were no longer painting in the room below. They had turned up their radio and were listening to the broadcast. The announcer’s voice sounded more urgent than usual.

<< …in. It appears that it is the royal diplomatic shuttle. Yes, we can see right now five shuttles and three fighter jets landing on the street right in front of the U.N. building. It appears that this visit was expected, but only just. Word has come in that just a half hour ago Mars sent a message to the U.N. announcing they were sending emissaries to plead once more for aid in their coming battle with the supposed alien threat of the Th’sans… >>

“Th’sans! Oi!” Jonathan said with a shake of his head. “That’s what they are!”

Sandy shushed him then called down to the men below. “Turn it up! I can’t hear it clearly!”

The painters below obeyed, one hopping directly off the ladder and turning the volume up near the highest it could go without making them all deaf. The sound echoed through the entire tarp-and-tape covered restaurant.

<< The main shuttle is opening. We can see coming out of it several armed soldiers, all standing at attention. Now… Oh! I don’t believe it! It is the Martian President and Queen themselves! >>

The reporter seemed to be going into raptures, one, for witnessing these people himself and up close, and two, for a chance to ruin them publicly. Jonathan knew this reporter well enough that nothing good would be said for the remainder of the news program. Yet Jonathan listened intently, because if Zormna and Jafarr had indeed decided to come directly to the UN, they were resorting to desperate measures to get aid, and this radio was his only way of finding out what it was.

<< It’s all over now for Martian diplomacy! >> the happy sadistic radio journalist declared to his listening audience.

Sandi looked up at Jonathan. Gazing back, he shook his head and glanced to Carson also.

Carson made a face. “Is that man going into the UN also? I want to hear what’s happening.”

Jonathan sighed once again. The reporter was talking about several things, but he did not go in to the UN, and they knew he would not be let in. The UN had a different group press workers on the spot, and the best news would come on the internet rather the radio. Instead, the reporter spent his time criticizing the Martians and their ships from taking up parking spaces and blocking traffic, comparing them to mosquitoes… something that made Sandi flinch and turn an angry shade of red.

“Turn that off or switch stations!” Sandi snapped at the painters and stood up. She gave Jonathan a passing glance that apologized for her temper fit, blushing.

They switched radio stations. There wasn’t anything interesting on after that anyway.

 

[1] People’s Military

Persuasion

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter Two:

 

“Seek not the favor of the multitude, it is seldom got by honest and lawful means.

But seek the testimony of the few, and number not the voices but weigh them.”—Kant—

 

 

 

They were at the UN.

They knew that the entire world would have their eyes on the UN if they went there. And the news of what they said and did would spread from there on the major television stations—or better still, the internet—and then maybe, maybe they would be able to convince the people of Earth about the Th’san threat. Queen Zormna had decided it with the full support of her bodyguard and good friend Jafarr Zeldar. Since their diplomats and sent-messages had failed, they had to take more dramatic measures. Those of Earth just did not want to believe in an alien threat. It was too sci-fi for them—emphasis on the ‘fi’ as in fiction. They had to prove it was real.

So, they landed in front of the UN with an entourage of unnecessary guards, bringing their proof with them.

The UN security let them into the complex with a definite sense of apprehension. They eyed up Queen Zormna and President Jafarr as they marched inside the UN building, marching directly to the room where the members of the United Nations’ Security Council were already in session, talking, of all things, about the growing Martian threat.

Glancing out of the corner of their eyes at the increase of guards that were gathered in the hall when they strode into that room, the President and the Queen of Arras mentally prepared for what they had to say. As they were still two individuals in their teens, the venerated UN officials eyed them with equal reserve. Queen Zormna led the way, almost looking like a torch, her fiery hair drawing all eyes to her. President Jafarr walked just a pace behind her, both in matching suits, though hers had a feminine twist to the uniform’s suit coat to satisfy her queenly advisors who did not like the idea of their queen dressing plainly utilitarian. They looked the pair. Behind them, came several Surface Patrol officers as guards. It was atypical for them, as usually the Queen and President of Arras went about with minimal security, carrying their own firearms at their hips. This show of military protection in the eyes of the members of the UN seemed more like proof that these young alien leaders would force their demands upon them. Murmured rumbled in the room, increasing upon the sight of the soldiers.

The young queen marched to the center of the room where she turned with a militaristic pivot, looking much like a destroying angel in a uniform with her fiery, curly bob of hair surrounding her clear white face and vivid, piercing, green eyes. President Jafarr turned also, though not as stiffly, taking his place at her side much like her shadow. He was taller than her by a foot, stood back from her just a step. His night-black hair flopped over his pale forehead into his midnight blue eyes a bit like a skater, to be honest, making him appear more mysterious than his cherubic-appearing counterpart. Queen Zormna bowed once and low from her shoulders to the dignitaries sitting in their seats, addressing them in an accent akin to Irish, but clearly not.

“My fellow humans. You can guess my reason for coming today. They have already been addressed to you and your national leaders before, but have gone unheeded.” Queen Zormna eyed them all with squared shoulders, her body rigid, and her lips thin as if both had been drawn tight by a string. “So, I come again, this time before the United Nations of Earth to plead for help. There is a war ahead. It will be either offensive or defensive, but the war is coming one way or another.”

A general murmur rumbled through the room. It had an unfavorable noise. One person from the crowd called out to the two teenagers, “We will not engage in your political wars. If you are true to your promises, you will leave the nations of Earth out of your schemes.”

Queen Zormna flustered with a peek to President Jafarr. He shook his head with an obvious sigh.

“Schemes?” the young queen exclaimed indignantly, her chest rising. “I am not talking about invading a world for conquest. I’m talking about preserving the human race from slavery—”

“We have heard it all before,” the representative from France called to her with a disdainful smirk and curt nod of his head.

Clenching her fists, Queen Zormna stepped forward. President Jafarr approached also, though more to keep near his queen in case someone wished to harm her than to stand in protest.

“Fine!” Queen Zormna declared. “If you won’t believe me, then I will have to prove it to you.”

With that, she motioned to the part of her guard entourage who still stood at the doors. They immediately marched out.

The room tensed up. Everyone in the room immediately recalled the first invasion, panicking. The UN guards promptly moved to protect their charges in the room. But when the Surface Patrol officers returned, they came, not with an army, but dragging in two enormous people in fetters so strangely formed that they looked like Hollywood had fun making rubber masks.

One member of the UN laughed right away.

“And what is the idea of bringing these two actors in here?” an ambassador from India cried out.

“How utterly fake,” another man called out.

Queen Zormna’s expression hardened. She said loudly to President Jafarr, “The entertainment business has created cynics.”

The young Arrassian president nodded and raised his voice for the room to hear. “These are not creatures from some movie. These, uh, ‘men’ are Th’sans. Captives brought back by Queen Zormna herself during her escape.”

Another laugh broke out. The entire room seemed to find them amusing, as Queen Zormna was only about five foot one, if even that. These two figures standing before them were over eight feet tall. Their claim did look ridiculous.

Queen Zormna felt insulted.

Her expression darkening still, Queen Zormna spoke out with a bite in her voice. “I suppose you think this is all a lie. Examine these two Th’sans yourselves. You will see they aren’t human. I give them up to you.”

The UN officials were still laughing. Several motioned that her gesture was unnecessary, and they’d sooner free these two ‘actors’ than to prove her evidence wrong with a physical examination.

There were times when Queen Zormna grew so ticked off that she looked likely to stomp her foot and have a temper tantrum. That definitely how the dignitaries of the UN saw her, a spoiled child not getting her way. The Martian Queen was indeed red in the face and clenching her fists, but instead of an emotional fit, she merely turned to her companion and uttered in a low voice, “Fine, you were right. They are stupider than I thought. I’ll pay you that tsilk[1] as soon as we get back, but I’m not leaving here until they are convinced.”

President Jafarr groaned, hanging his shoulders as he replied in a low voice which only she could hear. “Zormna. Nothing we say or do will convince them. Think of Pearl Harbor. The US had to be attacked before they would join the Second World War. These guys are just as stupid.”

And yet the young queen was determined. She turned to face the UN officials again, and timely too, since they were starting to call for their removal from the building. Not commanding it, but requesting with in rude derisive remarks that should convince them they were wasting their time.

“Alright then,” Queen Zormna declared, lifting up her chin. “I have a proposition for you that will prove my point.”

“Why don’t you just give up?” an elderly gentleman said to her out from his comfortable seat with a condescending smile. “Can’t you see your journey here was pointless?”

Queen Zormna shook her head fiercely. “Pointless? I’m here to save your sorry lives.”

Gaping for words, the dignitary sat back, glancing at the woman and man sitting beside him in their seats.

The woman spoke up. “You have been requesting we aid you in an offensive measure. Save our lives? You are nothing more than a—”

“I would refrain from name-calling,” President Jafarr sharply cut that woman off, with a loud, “if I were you. Queen Zormna is not defenseless nor deserving your derision.”

Licking the inside of her mouth, realizing that her word choice might have been hasty, the woman hesitated now. President Jafarr was a lot more intimidating than Queen Zormna was. He looked like the kind of young man who had killed once. He had, after all, a rather large scar that crossed his face from the crest of his nose to his right cheek and eyes that were so deep, people often felt like they were black holes. The woman dignitary responded in a more dignified tone. “I was merely stating that the presumption that our lives are not an issue when you had formerly requested aid for an invasion than defense.”

Politely bowing to the woman, though her eyes never went off her, Queen Zormna replied, “Our original request was for an offensive army—but now, because you have put off reason and belief, it has become necessary to prepare for our defense. Yours and ours.”

Another rumble of disbelief coursed through the room.

That woman dignitary lifted her nose higher with a huff.

“I offer you more proof of this reality, but this takes risk on your part,” Queen Zormna continued.

“Which will not be done,” retorted the speaker who had been addressing the UN at the time they had come in.

Queen Zormna lifted her eyebrows to him. “Are you all this cowardly?”

The speaker drew himself up, going red in the cheeks. “We will not risk human lives for your concocted proof.”

However, the Martian Queen shook her head and glanced about the room, as she projected her voice well. “I don’t know about that. When you hear what I have to offer, I dare say there will be a few people willing to risk their lives for this chance.”

This silenced him. They all stared at her, waiting to hear what she was offering.

With a nod, feeling less disrespected, Queen Zormna spoke as clearly as possible so she could not be mistaken. She worked on her own accent so that it was not so thick and her R’s not so hard. “Outside are five shuttles. You can take any one and search it. You can choose any one of my pilots to fly you out into space to witness the battle yourselves.”

Someone blurted a laugh, but it stopped just as quickly.

Queen Zormna ignored it.

“You can choose any member of the media, up to five individuals to go on this shuttle, that should include the space for the cameras filming, and witness for himself or herself that this threat is real.” She stood silently and waited for it to sink in.

Several started to whisper with their neighbors. They all passed along their dissent and disbelief much like a cold.

The man from France again spoke up. “How do we know you won’t tamper with the information sent or what they see?”

“You can choose the biggest skeptic to go into space,” Queen Zormna replied matter-of-factly.

“How do we know the people we send won’t be harmed?” the one from India called out.

Queen Zormna bowed to him. “I offer myself forfeit if that should happen.”

“No, Zormna!” President Jafarr’s face immediately went white. He grabbed her arm, standing between them to shield her and hissed low. “They would sooner find any excuse to harm you than take you up on your word. A lot of these people don’t have any integrity.”

Pulling from his grasp with some effort, Queen Zormna stepped back, staring President Jafarr straight in the eye. “I have to do this. They won’t believe me otherwise.”

“Well, you’re not doing this alone,” he said and straightened up to face the UN. Yelling to the crowd, “We offer ourselves forfeit. If anyone we send should be harmed, you can do what you will with us.”

“And cause a war with Mars?” the speaker broke out, incredulity all over his body language. “We’re not crazy.”

“Prove it,” the Martian President snapped back.

“Jafarr!” The young queen shook her head at him. He was extremely good at provoking people. That UN official looked livid. Lifting her eyes to the crowd, Queen Zormna repeated her offer. “You can send any five people from your media. President Jafarr and I will stay here. Our guards will leave as well, taking all ships with them. We will have no way out.”

Her offer rang in their ears as too good to be true as well as extremely dangerous. Yet as they watched the two young Martian leaders, they saw they were indeed earnest. Queen Zormna had nodded to her guards to go. The Martian soldiers cast their queen reproachful glances, yet they left. Turning, yet leaving the two huge Th’sans standing there in the center of the room with their queen and president, they exited the hall, the last one handing the President a plate-sized disk with a cube sitting in the center of it. President Jafarr took it and walked back to Queen Zormna. No one approached to accept the offer, still thinking it was a scam. Soon the room was entirely cleared of Martian soldiers.

“They will remain outside on orders to await your selection of witnesses,” Queen Zormna said, taking the disk and cube from President Jafarr. She held the cube up. “This is a projection cube. It has been set up to receive broadcasts from the shuttles as soon as they are in space.”

She set the disk on the table and the cube on top of it. Tapping the cube, it flickered then flashed on, projecting onto the wall a white square. There was nothing to be seen, though and someone snorted again.

“All you have to do is pick you media men and women, and we’ll go from there,” Queen Zormna told them.

They stared at her, wondering who would dare take the challenge.

 

Outside the UN building, the scene was somewhat different. There was already a media frenzy going on, cameramen and women were trying to get comments and remarks from the Martian soldiers who had exited the building, and with shocking results. The soldiers themselves extended their queen’s offer to the media and waited for volunteers. It took no more than ten minutes to get five eager reporters to climb into a shuttle for the ride of their lives. The UN did not even get around to picking their own media representatives when the projection screen started showing images from inside the cabin of one shuttle.

Everyone stared at the image before them. Queen Zormna glanced at President Jafarr with a knowing smile.

“I knew the media couldn’t resist a chance like that,” she said to him. Then she addressed the crowd inside the room. “It seems the news media has already decided for you. That’s the power of the people. We’ll just have to watch now.”

Indeed, the UN watched the inside cabin view of the flight. It was actually in a three-dimensional form rather than a flat image on the wall. If the people leaned one way in their seats, they could see around figures to the view screen ahead of them.

“Inside each of the shuttles, we set up several view cameras so that you see what they see as they see it.” Queen Zormna then walked through the projection to point at the enlarged ship’s view screen at the end of the projection. “If you look out here, you can see what the pilot is watching as they fly.”

They were witnessing the tops of the city skyscrapers, as if going through them like the street was a canyon and the buildings were the walls. They could see sky, clouds, and much of what looked like the tail end of an accompanying ship.

“Once they exit the atmosphere, they will fold space,” Queen Zormna said, nodding with a look to President Jafarr.

President Jafarr was keeping an eye on the Th’sans who, when they both saw that their guards were gone, had begun to stare at the crowd, eying the armed security guards at the top of the hall who were watching the two Martians intently. The Th’sans had not stepped from where they had been put, but he did not want to chance them running off to cause havoc. Of course, the thought occurred to him—as bad as it sounded—if they did run off and cause havoc, their job in getting the help they needed might become easier. The Th’sans would reveal themselves for what they were. President Jafarr still kept one eye on them though.

The projected image displayed the inside of the cabin to all in the room. All of them could hear the remarks of every reporter inside the shuttle. One particularly obnoxious one was giving a rather derisive editorial of the bumpy flight up into space, and how it would be a joy to expose the child-leaders who had made themselves gods among the Martians. The UN leaders noticed Queen Zormna roll her eyes, still standing in the center of the projected image with a glance back at President Jafarr, very much like the sixteen-year-old girl that she was. The man’s voice echoed in the UN building. A chuckle rippled through the UN crowd. The Queen walked out of the projection, going back to the projection cube which she tapped on the side to turn up the volume.

“It seems one of our harshest critics has jumped on the shuttle,” Queen Zormna said for all to hear.

“If they are harmed—” the speaker to the UN cut in at once.

But Queen Zormna only laughed, casting a glance his way. “You can be sure, as much as he is really annoying, he will come back in one living piece.”

As it went, that man on the ship had absolutely nothing good to say the entire trip. The moment he picked up his microphone to do his broadcast, motioning to his cameraman to record, he murmured gleefully to himself before starting, << Time to deflate another political tyrant. >>

“Tyrant, my eye.” Queen Zormna snorted, folding her arms testily.

<< This is George Kelsey speaking to you from inside an actual flying Martian shuttle, going into space to see, as they claim anyway, the ‘battle with an alien enemy before us.’ >> He laughed, showing off his bleached teeth, no doubt trying to look clever and handsome for his audience. He merely managed to look smug. << Today at the United Nations building, the Martian Queen and President are waiting in hopes to prove there is indeed a hostile force bent on the enslavement of the human race, a plan used to draw in the peaceable nations of the Earth into an offensive measure against the unsuspecting world of Aloea. They offered five of us intrepid news reporters to aide them in their scheme, but how wrong they are if they think they can buy favors. We will be telling the truth and only the truth here today. We will see things as they really are. >>

“Or how he wishes to see them,” President Jafarr murmured. He turned to Queen Zormna and whispered in her ear, “That man is going to twist everything he sees into some sort of plot, Zormna. I’m telling you. They won’t believe any of this even if they get shot at.”

Queen Zormna nodded. “I know.”

He blinked at her then pulled her close, hissing in her ear, “Then why are you doing this? Zormna, I told you. If they were not convinced by now, they will never believe—unless the Th’sans attack Earth, and you know we can’t let that happen.”

She nodded fondly at him, ignoring the now abusive remarks the reporter was making as their shuttle flew nearer and nearer to the edge of the Earth’s atmosphere into space. “I understand that. This is only preliminary, Jafarr. Let them see all this through the lens of cynicism. Let them doubt. When the shuttle returns and that man abuses us to our faces, then we’ll leave.”

“But nothing will be accomplished by this.” President Jafarr huffed, now annoyed.

“Something is already,” she said with a slight grin, “Look.”

With a small motion of her hand, Queen Zormna directed President Jafarr’s eyes to the watching representative from the US, and then to another from Russia, and still the one from China—the main superpowers of the Earth. There were others also she nudged him to look at. She whispered in his ear, “I think they suspect we’re telling the truth. Look on their faces. They know something is out there besides us that is a threat. I think they’re just biding their time until the majority is convinced. Right now, this is political. It is not about them trusting us. This is about them realizing we’re telling the truth—that we have the same enemy, and it is time to stop being political.”

President Jafarr did look from one dignitary’s face to another. By this time the view screen showed the shuttle in space and the pilot was warning the people aboard of the discomfort of space folding. Immediately, the image jolted and turned back to blank white.

Striding into the center of the blank projection, Queen Zormna spoke up. “The image we will be seeing will be delayed. It takes a while to receive from where it is sending. At present, we can discuss the Th’san threat.”

“Delayed image?” the man from France snapped once again. “You mean you have to lie about what we’ll see next. You cut us off!”

Queen Zormna nearly growled at him, glaring darkly with narrow slits for eyes.

President Jafarr shook his head and joined his queen at her side. “Excuse me, but anybody who has dealt with space exploration knows that broadcasts sent from space is delayed. It takes time for the waves to get here. It is a law of physics.”

The Frenchman huffed and sat straighter up in his seat, still indignant.

“You can compare what we see here to what the reporters bring back, if you do not believe us,” the young Martian President continued.

The projection flickered on after several minutes of irritable waiting. When it did, they heard a great deal of foul language coming from each of the reporters on the shuttle. Several of them were visibly sweating. The once smug George Kelsey now had his hair sticking wetly to his forehead. He was gasping and cursing something awful. But beyond them was a sight that made all in the cabin of the shuttle and the UN stare with awe. It was a world, green, brown, and blue with clouds. They would have taken it for the Earth had there not also been a space station and several sweet-potato-shaped ships in orbit around it. There was also a moon in orbit, but the very face of it was different than the moon they had been so used to seeing. Its color had a distinct yellow tinge.

The pilot spoke. << This is Aloea. >>

George Kelsey swore.

At once the other reporters started their recordings. There was even an independent vlogger among them. The UN officials heard several voices over one another as they started their commentary. None of them were too favorable, but then it was obvious these reporters were not seeking to do a favorable report. They described Aloea as a peaceful clean Utopia and the Martians as devious imperialists. The pilot moaned with a slow shaking head, glancing at one of the cameras with an I-told-you-so look on his face, but Queen Zormna did not appear at all disturbed. She merely waited like a solider.

Then, on orders, the pilot flew them in closer to the planet. At first, they flew as if undetected. But as they neared the moon, the orbiting potato-shaped ships started to turn toward them.

“Here it starts,” Queen Zormna declared to the room, and folded her arms.

Indeed, from there, as if on cue, thin holes opened up along the sides of the nearest huge ship. Multiple star-shaped fighter craft zipped out of them—a configuration of spacecraft they on Earth had never seen before outside of a comic book or anime. Those ships sped straight for the shuttle. At once, the pilot took evasive maneuvers, but those inside the shuttle felt nothing of the motion as the false gravity in the shuttle was in effect. Everyone participating saw the universe from the view screen spin on its head, and they were being carried further from the planet. The three fighter escorts that had gone with the shuttle could now be seen in the view screen intercepting the star-shaped spacecraft.

But the reporters gave no thanks for the help they were given. On the contrary, they cheered those that battled the Martian ships, calling them heroes defending their world.

A considerable twinge of pain crossed Queen Zormna’s face. She lowered her head, shaking it. “Fools. Fools.”

She snuck a glance to President Jafarr who was not really watching the projection, but was observing the Th’san captives intently. Those two were staring at the projection also—one with awe, the other with intrigue. Both seemed overly amazed at what they were beholding, especially from this perspective. Since they had no where they could go at the moment, escape really was pointless.

The battle in space was but a small one. The shuttle flew out of the Aloean airspace, and was immediately followed by enemy ships. They could only see bits of the battle as they sped, but even by the end, the reporters stopped cheering the star-shaped ships. The realization that the star-ships were also shooting at them and they could die had at last sunk in.

The projection popped off again.

“What happened?” the French representative yelled out at once.

Queen Zormna shrugged and was about to reply, but the image reappeared and they were seeing a new piece of space. The reporters were cussing louder than ever at the pilot.

“Oh.” Queen Zormna peered at the view screen in the projection. “They’re now at point B, in the asteroid belt.”

Some of the UN officials gasped, staring more widely at the specks of light that were reflections off of asteroids on the view screen. The asteroids were far enough apart that it did not matter so much how the shuttle flew. It was nothing like in the movies where asteroids are depicted tumbling recklessly out of control, nor were they all that close together. There was space, and then some, for large ships to fly through if necessary. There was also some small matter that struck the shuttle now and then, but it was like dust hitting the windshield and soon gone.

As they flew through the asteroid belt, the shuttle passed several enormous shapes near the asteroids, as if parked there. As the watching UN let their eyes focus on them, they saw these were spacecraft that rivaled the size of aircraft carriers. They had gigantic windows, open docking bays with individual fighter ships sitting in them by the dozens with cannons for defense sticking out of spots with ports for other weapons as well as what looked like exhaust holes. Then they passed to the even larger ships. These made the previous ships look like toys and the fighters like pieces of candy. They were entirely huge. The viewers could only compare them to giant cities. Some were old and there was evidence of rust and canker on them as well as a buildup of space dust. However, there were others that were new yet structured in the same manner, with shiny metal like the fighters they had seen during the invasion a half a year ago. The entire space between the asteroids

Impressum

Verlag: BookRix GmbH & Co. KG

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 04.03.2023
ISBN: 978-3-7554-7925-3

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