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Our flyer lifted off after the pilot had performed the usual checklist procedures. Montgomery nestled back in his seat, interlacing his hands behind his head.
"I take it you like what you saw?" I said, inputting a few journal notes into my palm reader.
"All that ass-kicking hardware? You better believe I liked what I saw." Montgomery's face was lit like a child who couldn't wait to get into some mischief. Except the mischief this overgrown prebubescent anticipated involved plenty of unchildlike death, mayhem, and destruction. "I'm almost bold enough to believe that the U.S.N.F. can undertake this mission unilaterally."
At my dubiously upraised brow, Montgomery quickly added, "of course, I'm exaggerating. We're definitely going to need the rest of world on this one. The nations may not agree on lot of things, but the one thing we do have a consensus on: no human regime set up by long departed alien occupiers should be allowed to stand." My boss reached for his bottled water. He was a compulsive water drinker. "The collabs will think they were hit by the hand of God by the time we're done with them."
I had a bottle of orange juice at hand. I scooped it up from my armrest holder and held it in front of me. "Hear, hear."
We clicked bottles in a celebratory toast.
We arrived in New York City an hour later. The flyer was capable of getting us there in less than ten, but Montgomery told the pilot to slow it down so he could catch a nap. He wanted to be, as the old saying went, bright-eyed and bushy tailed for the meeting of world leaders at the UN headquarters. The flyer descended toward the landing zone. I peered out my window. One of the jets in our escort maintained an undiviating vigil on the flyer's flank. Coming into view below us was the UN building. Not the building that existed before the Opaks came. No, the original UN building had been leveled by a fusion bomb some 90 years into the Occupation. In fact, so complete was the destruction that nothing remained of the building but a radioactive mound . Earth historians celebrated that act as the first blow for freedom struck by the Worldwide Liberation Front. The WLF targeted the UN building because it housed the Earth Council, a human assembly created by the Opaks to be a world government. The attack revealed a horrendous security breach. The Opaks let their guard down, thinking that all humanity had accepted their rule. Even those humans still in opposition were not considered by the Opaks to pose a dangerous threat. That error in judgement led to the deaths of thousands of humans, including every member of the Earth Council. Ninety six Opaks also perished. The Opaks rebuilt the UN headquarters in record time, erecting a shell-shaped, amber-glazed splendor out of the ashes of its predessessor. They insulated the new building beneath a security blanket so stifling a mosquito couldn't have buzzed within five miles of the surrounding air space without getting zapped. By the Opak fatalities alone, the resistence had gotten extremely lucky. They would never be that lucky again. From that day until the withdrawal, not a single Opak died at the hands of a human. And it sure as hell wasn't from lack of trying. The Opaks' overwhelming weapons/armor advantage was simply too much and too lethal for a mostly ill armed, uncoordinated rabble of amatuers to contend with. So the WLF switched to soft targets: other humans. Preferably unarmed collabs. That was the unremarkable extent of the valiant human struggle against alien occupation.
Since I had done my job of evaluating the weapons churned out by Midwest Works, I thought my boss would have no further need of me. As a result I could return to being the bottom totem poller on his staff. Wrong.
Montgomery asked me to sit in on the UN meeting. That meant I would be mingling with the high brow advisors in his circle who were accustomed to being in the presence of higher brow foreign dignitaries. Even if Montgomery's request didn't sound like a cloaked order I couldn't possibly refuse.
I took my seat with aides and advisors from other nations. We were in an elevated row, overlooking the main conference space where a huge oval table, surrounded by black cushioned chairs rested. A pair of jumbo screens took up most of the flanking wall space. The remaining walls were covered with those geometric engravings so beloved by the Opaks. There was talk of removing the engravings. In fact plans had been afoot to renovate the interior, give it a more human look. But those plans had been scuttled and a bolder, more ambitious undertaking proposed: the construction of a new headquarters. But not yet. Not until a more important bit of business was taken care of.
The leaders of Earth's great power blocs entered the conference space, heading to their assigned seats. They were all there, representing the most formidables polities on the planet. Greater Russia, which spanned half of Europe and a great chunk of Asia. The Arabian Caliphate, which claimed to represent the world's Muslims, branched out from the Arabian pensinula, into North Africa and the Near East. The Republic of India, encompassed the sub-continent, Sri Lanka and parts of Indo-China. The Asia-Pacific Sphere was jointly led by China and Japan in a partnership that bore a harmonious face to the world, but broiled with tension underneath. The spirit of Pan-Africanism that arose in the wake of the Opak withdrawal should have unifed all of Africa. Instead the Sub-Saharan region was split three ways between the West African Alliance, the East African Cooperative, and the Central-South African Axis. Western and central Europe were united under the Second European Union. Bolivaria was the name bestowed upon the super state that covered the entirety of South America. And then there was the United States of North America.
Montgomery walked into the room, his stride, rangy and relaxed, his manner confident as always. My boss would have felt at ease in a room full of vipers. Which, when I thought about it, the analogy wasn't far removed from reality. Each of the world leaders had his or her own interests and agendas. And each one would have happily undermined the other, if could it have been done without provoking a war. Post-Occupation Earth brimmed with propaganda espousing world unity. But that was verbal cotton candy for impressionable children and pipe dream-addled adults.
"Shall we begin?" Karim Abdullah, the dark turbaned, heavily bearded emir of the Arabian Caliphate announced to the gathering.
Head nods and verbal ascents drifted from around the table.
"I would like to start off by asking all of you if we are in readiness?" That question came from Yuri Petrovich, the President of Greater Russia. "Because my forces are prepared. My spaceborne divisions just completed a very successful lunar exercise."
"That is good," proclaimed Olu Alaba, Committee Chairman of the West African Alliance. The chairman's tone was more scathing, less complimentary. "I'm sure your spaceborne divisions are highly competant, but that will not matter very much if they are not in coordination with the rest of the forces slated to participate in this campaign."
"Russian soldiers will coordinate just fine," Petrovich replied testily. "They will not, however, be subsumed within someone else's command structure."
"This operation will be jointly commanded," said Wu Xienge. The Chinese leader, like Montgomery, was the spokesperson for a council equally divided between a Chinese and Japanese membership. "The blocs are well represented among our senior officers. In fact, even as we speak, they are discussing strategy."
The face of each speaker was displayed in ultra vivid relief on the huge jumbo screens.
"He's right," agreed Montgomery. "There's no need to worry about who's commanding what. We need to discuss a timetable."
"In five days, our new stratos fighters will be ready to go," reported Jomo Gacoki, Prime Minister of the East African Cooperative.
"We are still having some alignment issues with our bombardment arrays," Martin Heinrich, Assembly Speaker for the Second European Union said with a heavy frown creasing his long, deep socketed face.
"Let us not forget logistics," reminded Augustin Estavez, el presidente of Bolivaria. "For a seven to nine month journey across a vast gulf of space, we had better have enough rations to sustain a million troops."
"Well, I am sure that very important detail is in the hands of our military planners," Karim Abdullah said, his hands raised in a gesture that looked like reassurance. "And of course when our forces reach the Traitor's Planet, there will be plenty of plunder to be had."
The Traitor's Planet. No self respecting Earth person deigned to call the collab-settled world by its real name: Utopia.
Prime Minister Sarah Nkosi of the Central South African Axis, and the only woman among the leaders, spoke. "Will we have enough transports to accommodate the troops? I was looking over the latest force disposition report and I am not encouraged by the numbers. Twelve thousand Dove Class transports seems a bit short of the ideal projection."
"Two thousand more have just been released from the Polar Orbital Shipyard into service over the past three days, Madame Prime Minister," replied Montgomery. "All is well in that area. Now back to the timetable. I realize we all have some tweaking to do here and there as far as our personnel and equipment are concerned. But nothing so drastic as to cause a huge delay. So I propose that we move against the Traitor's Planet in three months. I believe our military planners will have no problem with that timeframe. It should provide them enough time to finalize their strategy without saddling them with undue pressure."
A thoughtful pause ensued. Y J Harigopol, President of the Republic of India was the first to break the brief silence. "Three months is reasonable given that we have been preparing thirty years for this event." The Indian looked around the table. "Am I right?"
Martin Heinrich raised a finger. "I am in agreement. Three months."
"Three months," Olu Alaba repeated with a nod.
The Russian president gave a smirk and a shrug. "I have no problem with that. As the esteemed President Harigopol alluded, the time is now to punish these vile traitors."
The remaining leaders verbalized their consensus.
Montgomery looked to President Petrovich. "With regard to your statement about punishing the traitors, I think that is a most fitting segue into the next issue I would like to bring up: the fate of the collabs after we have defeated them militarily."
"I see tremendous labor potential once we have pacified the population," Wu Xienge declared with what seemed to be a dreamy smile.
Prime Minister Gacoki's contrasting scowl was etched in obsidian. "I am not quite as quixotic on the matter as you are, Honorable Xienge. You see labor potential, I see a hostile population."
"My point exactly," Montgomery said. "The collabs will never submit to us as occupiers. They will forever remain intractably defiant. Centuries of alien conditioning have convinced the collabs that they are better than us. Even worse that conditioning has led them to deny their own humanity. Those of us here who fought them during the Liberation War know what I'm talking about."
Chairman Alaba and President Petrovich, both veterens of the War, uttered notes of agreement.
"Having said that, I offer another proposal. We should apply General Directive 24 to the Traitor's Planet."
"Exterminate the population?" Martin Heinrich asked by way of clarification.
"The entire population."
Heinrich cast down his gaze for a few seconds. Then he looked up. "Genocide is no light matter."
"Niether will the casualties our forces will suffer in the long term be a light matter if we don't address the immediate aftermath in a swift and final manner," Montgomery rejoined.
Montgomery's use of the word 'final' in the presence of a German while explaining the nessecity of genocide did not go unnoticed by my internal history buff.
"I do not like this," Karim Abdullah protested. "To kill off an entire people."
My eyes did an involuntary roll. The emir's concern was certainly not raised out of any semblance of compassion. Utopia's population was sixty million at last estimate. Depending on what zone of the planet the Caliphate planned to seize or negotiate for in the aftermath, something on the order of three to five million potential converts to the True Faith awaited. I could almost see the emir's brain chugging like the gears of an antique mechanism to tally that figure. The faith the Caliphate would have imposed on part of Utopia would not have been the conventional Islam, but a harsh puritanical strain. Religious terror transported beyond the Solar Sytem. Any subjected populace might as well have been dead at that point.
"Emir." Montgomery addressed Karim Abdullah in a tone I knew all too well. It was low and urgent with a drop of that folksy appeal that tuned out the rest of the world while drawing his listener into his confidence.
"I realize that you believe the collabs can be rehabilitated. Unfortunately, they're too far gone to be brought back into the fold of humanity. The Opaks have tainted them, corrupted their minds. They're nothing more than Godless, soulless, reflections of their departed alien masters. They will fight and die to the last to preserve this heresy they have morphed into. It's better to remove them as a worry now, than have to deal with a full blown insurgency in the future, one that will be costly in lives and materiel."
"I could care less the fate of the collabs in the aftermath," el presidente Estevez interjected. "As long as Bolivaria gets its share of the Traitor Planet's mineral wealth." He threw up a dismissive hand. "Let us do with those maggots what we will and be done with it."
A flurry of agreement wafted from the other leaders.
Abdullah planted his elbows on the table, his thick brow knitted. "So be it. In the spirit of cooperation the Caliphate will acede to your proposal, Mr. Secretary. I suppose it will be for the best."
Later that evening, the world leaders and an assortment of delegates, staff, and guests, whom I could not place, but were very likely spies, assembled in the UN banquet wing for a post-meeting get together. The wing was an impressive columned room. The gold fluted trim and accented grayish marble walls and floor lent the hall a Greco-Roman flavor at odds with the usual Opak decor elsewhere in the building. I walked around with a thin stemmed glass of champagne, weaving through knots of people. I smiled cordially at other guests, shook a hand or two in passing, but refrained from intermingling...
"Excuse me, Miss."
...Until now.
I turned to face a rotund man about my height, wearing an olive green miltary uniform, bedecked with medals and ribbons. Behind him stood a much taller man, bald, broad shouldered and quite appealing. His goatee was flawlessly trimmed and he wore a well fitting civilian suit.
"You are on Secretary Chandliss' staff?" The short fat man inquired.
I pulled my attention away from the fat man's companion to the fat man himself and forced another cordial smile. "I am. I'm one of his aides, Nola Monroe." I extended a hand and the fat man took it. But instead of shaking it he held it like a slab of bacon in his meaty paw.
"Pleased to meet you, Miss Monroe," I am General John Tunde, senior advisor to Chairman Olu Alaba.
The general made no effort to introduce me to his tall goateed companion. An indication that the man must have been a bottom totem-poller like me.
"So what is it that you assist the secretary with?" Tunde asked me with a broad smile that brought to my mind a piranha about to participate in a feeding frenzy.
I gently disengaged my hand. "Mostly matters of a technological nature."
Tunde's brow raised. "Ah, that is very good. Secretary Chandliss is a brilliant man, so of course the people he would have around him would not be slouches. And you, Miss Monroe, are evidently not a slouch."
I cocked my head. "Evidently." I was trying to formulate an escape plan. "General, it was nice to make your acqai..."
"Miss Monroe, we could use smart people like you in the West African Alliance."
"I...I beg your pardon?"
The general went on. "Chairman Alaba is calling out to all diasporic Africans to return home and contribute their talents to building a stronger Africa. The motherland could use your talents. And the compensation package, of course, would be generous."
I grinned at the general's pitch. "I appreciate the offer, sir, but...well, I can't."
Tunde's smile lessened. "Pity. Well, I would ask you think on it. President Alaba is a firm proponent of African unity. Should you change your mind, there will be a place for you in his administration."
I pretended to be touched. "Thank you, General Tunde." I brushed past the general, concealing my disdain. I knew all about Chairman Alaba's brand of unity. It entailed the unity of Africans under the banner of his political party and no other. Anyone who did not subscribe to that unity frequently found themselves at the wrong end of a firing squad. The state of post-Occupation Earth was elevating my cynicism into overdrive.
I spotted Montgomery conversing with a trio of dignitaries.
He excused himself from the gathering and approached me. "Another admirer?"
I scrunched my face in distaste. "You could say that, sir."
Montgomery chuckled. "I noticed these types of functions don't exactly fit you. So, I'd like to invite you to a genuine affair that'll be leagues less pretentious than this hoity toity circus."
"Really? Where?"
"My house. I'm inviting you to have dinner with my family. I decided to stop at home for a few days before returning to Washington. And because I know you're anxious to get back to your real job after gallivanting with me, I've arranged for a flyer to pick you up for transport to the capitol after dessert."
I was thrown for a few seconds. It's not everyday one gets a dinner invite from a member of the Cabinet. "Since you already know I won't turn down your invitation, I guess I'll be accepting."
Under Construction
Under Construction
There was a reason why Montgomery picked me to accompany him on this little tour we were on. Someone had slipped him my file and he liked what he saw. Especially the part about me being a weapons expert. It was true. Off the top of my head I could give a detailed rundown on every modern weapon created by the hand of man or Opak. I could also field strip an MT 89 Fieldsweeper blindfolded with a hand tied behind my back. Given the resources and a day or two, I could build one from scratch. That's no boast. It's a fact. Amazing how a little knowledge on a specific subject could elevate one from an anonymous low-end-of-the-totem-pole functionary to a trusted top level advisor to the most powerful member of the Cabinet.
Jacob Linox led us down a wide vast corridor. The white walls were spotless, the tan vaulted ceiling decorated with geometric indentations. An Opakular architectural design quirk. Post-Occupation Earth had endeavored to wipe out any lingering visual traces of an Opak presence. The attempt was not completely successful.
Jacob stopped at a door marked Viewing Room. He removed a silver card from his inside blazer pocket and waved it over a matching verticle silver strip at the center of the door. A soft ping sounded and the door slid open.
"I think you will be pleased with the progress we have been making so far, Mr. Secretary." Jacob looked back at my boss, revealing a tight smile. Then he glanced at me with that same wan show of teeth.
My eyes narrowed with borderline loathing. The man reminded me of a rodent. He must have picked up on my disdain because his face dropped and he turned away from me as quickly as rodently possible. We entered the viewing room, a medium size space with theater style seating facing a blank wall. Jacob the rodent was about to treat us to a movie.
"You should have brought the popcorn," Montgomery whispered to me as we took our seats in the front row.
"I'll be sure to remember that next time, sir," I whispered back.
Jacob, his entourage, Montgomery, and I spent the next half hour viewing footage of weapons demonstrations. We saw a battle tank the size of a small building demonstrating astounding speed and mobility. The vehicle glided along a tract of grass-covered real estate at an undisclosed location. It's top turret smoothbore spun 360, halted at the one o'clock angle, and unleashed a blinding fusillade of directed energy that sheered away the face of a mountain 75 miles distant. Secondary turret guns pulsed streams of solid rounds in the opposite direction. Five square shaped targets covered with bright red bulls eye markings disappeared in a blaze of high explosive rounds. The targets were a little larger than mid size trailer trucks and had been placed one hundred miles away. Each target was forged out of kularium, a human name for a composite metal created by the Opaks. The aliens might have fashioned harder metal, but on Earth and its immediate vicinity, kularium was the hardest substance known to humanity. The kularium targets were scoured to nothingness as if they were made of tissue paper. The Mega-Avenger--that's what the tank was called--had placed its shots on each target with unerring precision, all while moving at near supersonic velocity. Whoever named that tank the Mega-Avenger, by the way, must have been raised on a steady diet of comic books and old grade B sci-fi flicks.
Other weapons systems shown were equally impressive...as human weapons go. The Epoch Cannon was an orbital attack system that harnassed cosmic radiation, channelling the lethal particles into a destructive beam of light. We viewed footage of an EC platform unleashing a radiation beam from high orbit into the Earth's atmosphere. The scene switched to a sea going vessel of the same dimensions as a pre-Occupation aircraft carrier. The vessel sat stationary in the midst of an undisclosed body of water. The next second a linear stroke of man-made lightning punched through the center of the abandoned ship. The whole thing went up in a whirling firestorm. Nothing was left in its place but a massive column of bubbling black smoke arising from an expanding patch of flame lathered debris.
I peppered the CEO with questions relating to the weapons we viewed. A few he was to able to answer, others he deferred to the engineers in his entourage. We discussed yields and variances and targeting sequentials and a range of technical minutiae in a dialogue only techheads could grasp. Montgomery remained silent throughout. But the mildly upturned corners of his mouth advertised his satisfaction with all he'd viewed so far. He had reason to be. The weapons shown to us were human versions of Opak weapons. In fact every weapon in Earth's arsenol was a copy of an Opak original. Small arms were much easier to duplicate than montrous affairs like Mega-Avenger tanks. This was because during the Occupation the Opak allowed humans--those loyal to them--to manufacture handheld armaments, and to a limited extent, light armored vehicles. The Opak had not yet deemed humans ready to build or operate their heavy weapons. It was their policy to keep the designs for such weapons out of human reach as well. But humans are persistent bastards when it comes to pursuing secrets that don't belong to them. Over the centuries, a modest number of Opak secrets managed to find their way into acquisitionist sapien clutches. Not enough to turn Earth into a universal power. It would take untold centuries for Earth to even imagine reaching parity with the Opakular. But for the upcoming grand enterprise, as Montgomery termed it, human built heavy weapons definitely passed muster. The Opaks never brought their truly big weapons--I'm talking mass destruction, extinction level event-generating big--to our part of the galaxy. Which was just as well. Humans might have blown up the solar system trying to duplicate one of those.
The next leg of our tour took us to parts of the complex where smaller weapons were being designed and manufactured. We stepped into an indoor test range thrice the size of a football field. On one side of the range soldiers were testing anthro-armor suits. Bulky, man-shaped, chrome plated figures pranced through an assortment of obstacles, blasting pop-up targets using rotary wrist guns or chest mounted lasers. The suits were not as streamlined as Opak suits nor were they as quick or agile. But again, they were adequate for what their creators--or replicators--intended them for. Jacob led us to the far end of the range, past urban warfare mockups and randomly placed target posts. A black garbed soldier was firing an assault weapon at a cluster of moving baseball size drones.
My eyes fixed on the gun the soldier was holding and my heart fluttered with desire. "An MT 89 Fieldsweeper," I whispered. My favorite assault rifle.
"We've upgraded it," Jacob stated, smiling impishly at the swoon on my face.
"What are the specs?" Montgomery asked.
The black garbed soldier was kind enough to let me hold the MT while Jacob gave us a rundown of its modifications. "Enhanced target selectors, enhanced multispectrum target imaging, micro-grenade launch feature..."
The CEO's words were muddled background noise as I hefted the rifle to get a feel for its weight. Then I sighted down the firing range. The imager fed targeting data directly into my brain, acquiring one of the drones and bathing it in the red aura of a target lock. I pressed the firing stud. A feather brush of recoil nudged my shoulder as a blue white sliver of particle incandescence flared from the MT's narrow barrel. The drone vanished in a molten mist. I incinerated two more drones before reluctantly handing the rifle back to the soldier. I could've stayed on the range all day at that point.
The soldier regarded me with professional admiration. "Impressive."
"I did a little training with MTs in the Continental Guard," I explained understatedly. I quickly shifted the center of attention from me back to the weapon. "It handles nicely. Accuracy is much improved." What I didn't say was that the upgrade MT was still inferior in quality to the Opak-made original. I've handled an Opak MT and the experience was...well...it was rapturous. Still, the human version, in its upgrade form, was suitable for the task it was meant for. Montgomery beamed. Jacob looked ecstatic, which, in my estimation, made him appear more ratty than normal.
In the spring of the Tree
by
Asarason
I speak from the heart as my mind puts forth the beginnings on Earth no south, no north, no east, no beast, no west, no flesh, no eyes that see, no guess that test, ole little Earth, Pigojia was her name a place of birth where the first humans came, from those special “waters” so warm an fresh no attacking fish, no snakes at best.
For these are very special waters all warm and free in the mist is a cave and in front of it is a tree, this tree is a special tree with fruits that seed that fall into the water for the Taladites to feed, oh tree oh tree oh great great tree give us shade from the sun and inner-chi to breed.
The light that shined brightly gave us limns to grow webbed fingers and toes we swam to and fro. Down below we fluttered, plundered and stumbled as we awaited ole great tree and its fruit it so fumbled, from the fruit with its iron sweet and bitter tasting the land outside we shall soon be facing.
Our lives orbit about in an opposite pair from we became she and from she became he, we played and played till our curiosity took form, for the waters around us were getting too warm, we feared a new beginning of what we did see, a blurry vision of our sun and the shade of a great tree.
Ole blessed tree, oh how we longed for your stem the sap you produced is good for she and him, and then one day a mysterious wave came in and alongside it a strong wind washed us ashore again and again. The air was as warm as our nesting stew, the air was clean the skies were blue, we ate from the tree with nowhere to stand and the webs had withdrawn from our feet and our hands and then a storm came and our eyes so shed and hair started to grow on top of our heads.
Although time was racing without no hour we fled to the cave to avoid the fire shower, this event greatly disturbed our pond which left us in morning our stomachs were growling for the food we were yearning, so we traveled deep inside the cave and found food not the same, we saw animals that speak who taught us to sing, we explored a little deeper and arrived the other side to a fantastic cliff a most dangerous slide.
We wished to return but forgotten our way our first invention was a leaf woven slay, we slid and slid for how long it did not matter we arrived at a lake and around its banks we did scatter and as time passed by others came sliding the hill some learned to fish some learned to kill but not each other though just the fish we caught through the waters we swam and the waves we fought, we grew in numbers as our days seemed too, and every Sunday were shouts of laughter and spring brings anew.
Within this world there exist a special tree high up in a mountain where no one can see, it stands in the center surrounded by water which is the birth place of its sons and daughters, as it stands alone outside a cave in order to find it you must be brave for the tree was never truly meant for you to find, five million years for all mankind.
yes a five million year ole tree perhaps older it stands alone with the world on its shoulders, surrounded by a lake of the most civilized fish legend say if you caught one it may grant you a wish, but don’t try to find the entrance to this tree, for the entrance is blocked and only the sun will ever see; what’s alive in the lake ever shadowed by this great tree, even if you fly above it you will not be able to see, so stay away and you will live long and ignore that whisper that will carry you home.
Writer’s Notes
The Mystery of Kabacia is an epic saga of a people who lived on the planet earth some 34,571 years in the past, who suffered an unfortunate catastrophe at the hands of an unknown invader. The catastrophe was a result of their quest for knowledge and technological exploration that lead to an unfortunate end. For our planet is a jewel of the stars, therefore it is important for us to take into consideration the need to protect our world; however, there were some who paid no attention to the warnings and thus proceeded recklessly to interact with beings without prior knowledge of their agenda.
As with all great civilizations of our past, a great lesson has been passed down from generation to generation; however, it is our generation that has been handed the responsibility of addressing this situation. As Americans by choice, chance or force, we have been blinded by the victors of history, to believe in this constitution of hate, hopelessness and despair. Our generation walks blindfolded to the reflections of ourselves, living in doubt of our inner strengths, our aesthetic concepts of beauty and our mathematical resolve.
This generation is not just the generation of the so called black nation or Nubians, as some would call, but a generation of free thinkers bounded by institutionalized rhetoric and secretive propaganda that hides the truth and enslaves the young. This ancient entity wants nothing but to infect this world with chaos in order to resurrect its agenda. We have seen wars, famine and the attempt annihilation of a sacred people oblivious to their once great and prosperous heritage.
Today these people live in constant fear for their well being and the well being of their children, who have been lead down a destructive road. These people have endured poverty at the hands of a ruthless government with a secret agenda, but what is this secret agenda, why is there a layer of blind hatred of peoples who exist as a different kind and why is there this overt notion to constantly lie about the things we are not supposed to have any knowledge of .
These are the questions that have a few vague answers that come in the form of conspiracy theories, that of which the media does its best to discredit. There is a belief that one day this entity will meet its match, and it will no longer be able to hide deep within the bowels of these secret societies, for it is already known that this entity wants to reestablish its ability to travel to other worlds while maintaining its grip on the world we live in today. The funny thing is, its science is a bit backwards and full of holes and that which it knows as the truth it’s secretly hiding from the Scholarly public.
As a matter of fact this entity wears a cloak and pretends it’s a God as a means of controlling its puppet species for the prospect of serving its will. The truth of the matter is, we are not just dealing with one entity but a species of entities who have managed to survive here on this planet for many generations, and it could be assumed that this species is incapable of reproducing on a grand scale.
These beings are the puppet masters of the so called chosen people; however, these entities are not of a superior intellect although their wits make them cunning and predator like as a species. Their superiority is at best an illusion to the masses still asleep from the initial blast which caused a generational state of amnesia that of which is slowly withering away.
As we observe our conscious selves of today, we are reckless in our dealings with this illusive entity, those of which; are the same invaders of our past. It is my hope that the lessons taught within this saga are inner-stood by the lay reader. Unfortunately, it is my inner standing that this message will go unchallenged. For we are still the same humble peoples of Kemytia and as separated folk we are both Kemytians and Kabacians of the 21st century, the difference between us lays in our compliance to the laws which, in on itself, has an alien presence and therefore an intrinsic agenda all its own.
As earlier stated, Earth is in fact a jewel of the Stars as well as our sacred mother and we allow these beings to do with her whichever way they feel, and as reckless as they are, we may again be faced with a more fiendish and unstoppable foe from another world. Just think about what our “captors” say is true with respect to the Moon landings, photos of the Earth and the composition of space. Can we actually say that what is projected at us is completely true? I will leave this theory up to you but understand that we live within a secretive government that intentionally hides the truth from the people and most of us accept it blindly.
There are those like myself who wish to explore these realities of space independently; however, it would seem impossible to investigate these interests without the external permissions of this “government” and if asked, they will say, no, in the name of “national security”, and the most challenging of all tasks is to whom do we ask, it’s like living within a dream world unaware of our conscious dictators controlling our every move while orchestrating our initial doubt.
Could it be true that space is a restricted domain like area fifty one and only NASA has access to it? If so, then there should not be any restrictions on who gets to leave and or explore the outer arenas of our planet but there is. The Universe or even perhaps the multi-verse is a domain of immense potential that is available for us all to see and witness for ourselves. Each individual has a divine right to leave this planet if he or she has the desire to do so. Maybe these Entities by whatever name they call themselves have an inner-standing that if they loss control over the inhabitance of this world they may be faced with a galactic war that of which would wreck havoc on their cosmic agendas.
Without our divine right to free access of space, our world becomes our prison with illusions that keep us at bay. We all have the potential to create crafts capable of leaving earth giving us a somewhat unlimited access to the universe, the moon and all other planets in our solar system, so why should we be restricted to earth. Is it right that only the wealthy corporate elites and N.A.S.A have access to the solar system, the Sun and the Universe at large? In addition, is it true that only the elites of the United States of America owns the rights to the planet Earth and the moon, if so then who gave them these rights? How is it possible for the United States of America to sell land on the moon unless they owned it?
I am prepared to declare that there be a first ever race of technological discovery, a battle of the brains and the wits of free thinkers, to settle the argument of space exploration and the divine right of extra planetary investigation. For the bold, let there be a challenge for the first ever race around the moon. For these theories are just what they are, theories with facts that are vague to say the least. So the prospect of Racing around the moon should not be a problem accomplishing unless these theories are true in some way shape or form. This shall be my quest and hopefully there are others that will follow in hopes of achieving that which seems incomprehensible.
This epic journey you are about to embark on, could be perceived as incomprehensible to the lay reader, who wishes to remain asleep but I implore you to activate your creative mind to inner-stand that mathematical work that has been brought before you.
This is summarized version is from a single family’s point of view, meant to convey the last 88 days of planetary defense between the Kemytian/Kabacian peoples of Kemytia and the unknown invaders of our world. But who were these invaders who wished to possess our planet, there lays the mystery that continues till this very day. They say that history is written by the victors and the mystery lays in the truth behind its savagery. Therefore it is our quest to inner-stand the mathematics of our captor for the prospect of examining the origin and nature of this cosmic evil.
There are some areas of this story that has not yet been explored because of the time frame in which the information had to be presented. However, the advanced version is still under construction. So what I ask of you is to eternalize what is written and give it some thought, you never know; it may trigger a lost memory of your own, for it is said that Kemytians have the mental power to read beyond the Leaf
The crater below was an aching reminder of the past. To some, its formation was an unnnessary act of spite, sheer vengeful malice perpetrated by a departing regime. History reflects that viewpoint. The facts diverge from it. The crater was formed by a hammer bomb, dropped from an Opakular air fortress. An army of twenty thousand humans, evenly divided between infantry and armored units vanished in the fiery blink of a war god's eye. Before that, Opakular tactical fighters cleared the skies of all human aerial opposition, adding a thousand more fatalities to the ones to be consumed in the ground slaughter. What history did not record was that the Opakular was protecting other humans, the ones perjoratively referred to as collabs--short for collaborators. Collabs were being evacuated from Earth and transported to another world for settlement, far beyond the reach of humans who despised them for their open armed acceptance of alien rule. A mile or so from the crater was the spaceport, the scene of unending activity as Opakular transports spacelifted collab refugees day and night, every hour on the hour. This was days after General Directive 24 had been issued by the Worldwide Liberation Front. GD24 called for the extermination of all collabs. None were to be spared. Niether men, women or children...
I switched off my palm reader and shunted my attention back to the half mile diameter bruise in the otherwise flat topography. Every so often I liked to consult the uncensored historical documents for a more--balanced view of the past. Especially when exploring sites of considered historical significance. My boss, Montgomery Chandliss, peered down upon the depression with a look that was considerably less dispassionate than my own. You see, he was there when the Opakular dropped that bomb. It by was sheer luck that he lived to commenerate the occasion. He was on the fringe of the blast. Nevertheless, all but two out of the 195 soldiers under his command escaped the hammer's fury. Most of the right side of Montgomery's face resembled decaying parchment. Skin grafts had obscured the worst of the burns he received that day. A thorough regen could have restored his profile had Montgomery accepted it. But regen was an alien technology and Montgomery eschewed Opak tech when he could. I say when he could because every piece of tech operated by humans on post-Occupation Earth bore an Opak hand. That included the flyer we were riding in. Even Montgomery was aware of the benefits of alien tech and was loathe to turn back the clock to a pre-Occupation, fossil-fueled existence. It was the over-indulgent use of Opak tech that he opposed. Another reason, I suspected, why my boss rejected regen treatment was because he wanted to wear his disfigurement proudly, like a badge of honor. I had to admit, the wound did lend his Hollywood handsome face an appealingly roguish distinction.
I watched him as he paid his silent homage to the fallen. The somber cast of his expression told me that he was over thirty years in the past, reliving that horriffic day. Finally, he turned from the window. His eyes settled on me. The usual charismatic glow returned to his face, signalling that he was back in the here and now.
"Are you ok, sir?" I asked, my brow contracting sympathetically.
"Much better, Nola, thank you." Montgomery revealed one of his insufferably charming smiles. "I was having a moment there, but I'm glad we came here." He twisted toward the cockpit and ordered the pilot to resume course toward our destination. The pilot complied and the flyer jettisoned forward, leaving a crater considered consecrated ground far behind us in a matter of seconds.
"What we've just witnessed motivates me more than ever to see our grand enterprise through," Montgomery mused. He lifted a mostly full bottle of water from his arm rest, untwisted the top and took a sip. For a brief moment the characterisitic warmth shining from his eyes hardened into a look that would have given the devil himself pause. I suppressed a shudder, easily imagining how Montgomery must have bore that same look when he ordered the executions of 500 suspected collabs during the closing days of the Liberation War. It was no secret that he had personally dispatched close to that number by his own hand throughout the course of the conflict. Probably exceeded it.
"And what will you do with yourself when it's over?" I asked, pulling my boss out of his dark reverie.
Montgomery perked up, regarding me with avuncular interest. "I'm definitely going to spend more time with my wife. I think I've taxed Maureen's patience with my infrequent time at home long enough."
"Retirement," I added, with a prompting, questioning smile.
Montgomery winced as if the word had pinched him in the side. "I suppose." Montgomery was a member of the United States of North America Administrative Cabinet. The Cabinet was a ruling body that had arisen in the wake of the Opak's withdrawal. Initially an interim government, the Cabinet soon morphed into a permanent institution. It's members were appointed, not elected. Montgomery also served double duty as the Secretary of National Security. He was not the kind of man who would have enjoyed wiling away his days in the quiet repose of retirement. Hence, his pause at the thought of leaving behind two jobs I was sure he loved with as much passion as his dear wife.
"And how about you, Nola? Is there anyone in your life pining for your presence?"
My mocha brown complexion did a wonderful job of hiding the blush that warmed my cheeks. Yet, my abashed reaction did not escape Montgomery's ever so keen observation. "Sir, you're putting me on the spot."
"Come on, now. Don't be shy." Montgomery narrowed one eye in a playful grimace.
"I'm hopelessly single if you must know," I conceded with mock indignation.
Montgomery reached over to tap the back of my wrist. "Don't sweat it. You'll find your sigificant other. In fact..." Montgomery put on a conspiratorial mask. "There may be one or two available gentlemen on staff whom I've noticed sneaking less than professional glances in your direction."
I raised a skeptical brow. "Really? Who are they?"
Montgomery leaned back in his seat, pretending to take an interest in something out the window.
"Unless you're pulling my leg, sir, I suggest you tell me who these mysterious gentlemen are."
My boss shuddered with a laughter he could no longer contain.
The Midwest Works comprised an enormous diamond shaped building surrounded by a ring of smaller variable size annexes. The land around this network of buildings abounded with lush greenery. Lake Michigan's majestic expance was laid out like an emerald carpet just minutes beyond the shimmering security field enclosing MW's grounds. Our flyer landed in the facility port outside the primary building. The three F50 jets that had accompained us on our cross country jaunt, remained airborne. I saw them zipping overhead as Montgomery and I exited the flyer to step foot on the smooth matte black tarmac. Montgomery's Secret Service detail preceded us off the flyer and fanned out at far enough distances to be inconspicuous, yet close enough to converge on the Secretary in timely fashion should danger arise. A thin, professorial looking man of medium height wearing a conservative gray suit was present on the tarmac to greet my boss. A small coterie of similarly suited, executive types were also present. They were all nervous. I could tell by their jittery smiles and rigid postures.
"Welcome to Midwest Works, Mr. Secretary," the leader of this bunch snivelly greeted, practically bowing as if Montgomery were a royal. "We are honored, sir. I am Jacob Linox, CEO..."
Montgomery grabbed the CEO's hand before the latter could finish his intro and shook it vigorously. "Pleased to meet you. I tell you what, Jake, we're a little pressed for time. What say we move it along, inside."
Jacob Linox looked like an actor who forgot his lines. His mouth hung open for an instant before a stammer of words ushered out. "Well...cer...cer...certainly of couse, Mr. Secretary...we can...go...uh right this way..."
Montgomery slapped a companionable arm around the CEO's shoulders and began chatting away as we headed toward the entrance to one of the largest arms manufacturing complexes in the U.S. of N.A.
I am pleasantly surprised with the last month’s progress. God is indeed good to me. Here is a brief recap of
things that have happened so far.
The GENESIS Anthology of Black Science Fiction was completed on schedule. We ran into a few technical issues
but got it done and we will continue to improve the process in the future.
Alien Encounters was a magnificent success. The attendance was great, the speakers
were phenomenal, and the crowd actively engaged the panelists and speakers with
intriguing questions and insight. Everyone in attendance had a productive and
informative time that they took away from the experience.
The publishing company has been established to publish works produced by Black Science Fiction Society called
Graves Sheffield Publishing. It is staffed primarily by me and my lovely wife
who has supported me throughout the process of making the project a success.
This coupled with 2 years research and tutorage by industry veterans has made it
possible to take dreams and turn them into realities.
We are eager to continue turning dreams into to realities. We decided to add to our goals movie making.
The idea is to partner with writers from the Anthology and start creating films
in the upcoming year.
Stay tuned, we will continue to plug away at this thing. Join the site if you haven’t already and share in the
community of like minded individuals of black science fiction.
Jarvis Sheffield
Administrator
www.BlackScieneFictionSociety.com
