UNITED EARTH - Prologue - 02

=Prologue=

NY City November, 2094

The Saran shuttle banked as it approached New York City. He was glad this trip came to an end. He turned his head to stare past the viewport and have a good look at the city. As the spacecraft closed in on the buildings and skyscrapers, he felt an illicit thrill.

Five Years, he thought.

Just half a decade had past since he had last set foot on this planet. If it hadn’t been for the will of his Queen he would have remained on this beautiful saphire ball, blessed with so much natural beauty and filled with a particular lot of headstrong inhabitants.

His eyes closed for a moment as he remembered the last time, then he looked again at the many buildings and traffic jammed streets below him.

A good two thousand years ago, this planet or more precisely a no longer existing society, was the inspiration of a revolution, that had split the Saran empire effectively in half.

The shiny shuttle made a smooth landing as it landed feathersoft using its arti grav cushions. He got up and took his carry on from the smiling attendant he felt a little embarrassed at the quickening of his heart. He was certain everything would be fine. The specialists back on Centrum were the very best in their field and besides the Identification was accurate enough. It read Ammun Kethmmar which was of course not true. He was Commandant Marcus Martinus of the Emperors Intelligence Legion.

He stood in line for inspection. The room was crowded, the floor littered with crumbled paper, wrappers and other waste. Only a handful of passengers moved over to the line for Earther’s returning. Few could afford to go off planet and those who could were not in a hurry to return.

The queue was moving now.

He handed his Identification card over to an overweight looking gentleman wearing the United Earth customs uniform of black trousers, white shirt, necktie and billed cap. As the customs man took his ID card and shoved it into the reader, he felt again that quickening of the heart. It would be alright, Earthers were still so primitive and did not really know how to use this equipment anyhow.

He wished he could dismiss that last conversation with that disturbing female in the E.I.L. office. She seemed pleasant and bored at first, as she chewed on a small wad of Syntho Balg. “You realize, Commandant, that if anything goes wrong we can’t assist you? I hate to say this but you will be on your own. The empire is eternally grateful for your services, of course, but it can’t be linked to your mission. Either officially or unofficially.”

That had been a cold realization. No back up, even for a Commandant. The E.I.L. woman had smiled at him, it was a cold perhaps a little patronizing smile.

The customs agent was eying him. The agent’s beard was a three day old stubble and his stubby fingers fumbled with the ID card. His duckbill hat looked about three sizes too small.

"“Purpose for your visit to Earth?”

“Business.” He responded.

“What kind of business?”

“Steel.” The lie came easy on his lips.” I am here to visit steel mill towns. I represent a Saran company that is interested in purchasing some steel mills, put them back into business.”

The customs agent glared at him as he handed back the ID card. Marcus knew the look. Ambivalence, that was it. Earther had two attitudes about their cousins from outer space: gratitude for the help and aid they had received these past years, from food to medicine to new technology,and hatred for everything attached to that aid - the prefered treatment of Egyptians, the exodus of their very best students lured off planet to the wonderful, almost mythical planets of the Saran empire; the cell restoration treatments for rejuvination and the medical treatments for just a fortunate few; and the business sharks, like the one he trying to portray. Coming in year after year, to buy up the shattered industries and natural resources and fallow Earth of this beautiful and wounded planet, to make a tidy profit on galactic markets still closed and virtually inaccessible to Earthers, but also slowly to bind this forgotten colony of human cousins firmly to the Saran empire.

The customs agent curled his lips and snarled.“Welcome to Earth.” The voice of the agent was about as cheerful as the one of a funeral parlor director. Marcus put the ID card away, noticed that the man’s uniform was a repurposed TSA uniform.

“Thanks for what it is worth,” he said.

After being cooped up in a relative small spacecraft for over four weeks, the short walk through the crowded terminal was actually a pleasure. Outside he noticed the exhaust fumes of fossil fuel driven vehicles, something he remembered well from his last visit. Even though Earthers started to use electric driven vehicles, the abundancy and quite advanced sophistication they achieved using fossil fuels made electric vehicles still a rarity. He also noticed the first flyer. It was only five years ago, when Earthers were more or less pushed onto the Galactic stage and Saran science had shown them that artificial gravitation control was possible.

He was lucky, he had only to wait about two minutes or so for a yellow taxi cab at one of the stands outside of the terminal. Most of the travellers were of course air plane passengers.

He held on to his carry on as he climbed into the rear compartment of the car and said, “The Trump.” and the taxi driver, wearing a bright orange head wrapping of tightly arranged fabric, with a skin complexion very similar to his own, grunted something and off they went.

The driver looked at him through a rectangular mirror mounted to the windshield. A wild assortment of beads, and colorful plastic things were wrapped around the mirror’s base. There was a very sweet smell in the car that reminded him of the incense the priests burned in one of the many temples back home.

The driver addressed him in a very strange, high pitched, heavily accented Saranas.“Welcome to Earth and welcome to New York city. I hope you had a pleasant passage comming here all the way from the Saran empire. I am planning to go there Mister!”

“Thank you for the welcome. I am impressed by your use of Saranas. However I am trying to practice my English.”

The driver of course had identified him as Saran because of the shuttle that had landed and not by the heavy eye makeup and the bald head. Saran fashion was often copied by Earthers, especially of course Egyptians. Ammun did not wear the the traditional Saran head scarf, nor did he wear Saran male fashion. He was wearing a Earth style business suit.

The car was leaving the airport and went into a tunnel. The taxi cab slowed down and came to a crawling pace behind the bright red brake lights of yet another yellow taxi.

The driver raised his left arm.“No worries Mr. Saran, the traffic is going to be better after we pass road maintenance, they closed one lane.

“Why aren’t there more flyers?”

“There is no Earth factory that makes them, there are no dollars and no other Earth currency other than gold and silver coins. The few imported are from you guys and no one but a few Mega tycoons with lots of gold can afford those.”

Ammun leaned back, he didn’t mind. He had crossed 344 light years aboard a civilian space barge, landed on Earth humanities first space port on the moon and had taken a shuttle from Earth’s moon. He felt that another half hour one way or the other would make little difference.

The last world war was over for five Earth years but had officially ended only two years ago with the Universal Non aggression pact between all former Nations. The horrible after effects of the Armageddon quake of ’92; the nuclear bombing of Seattle, Olympia, Eugene and Anchorage were still very much evident even here on the East Coast.

The long war had already drained the economical resources of almost every country. He saw the homeless refugees darting between the stop and go traffic, begging for change.

Some of them carrying the gifts from the fallout in form of open sores and radiation burns.

Fifteen minutes later he had arrived at one of the cities finest hotels, named after a former president if he remembered his Earth history correctly. He stared at the likeness of the 45th president that grinned at him from a painting in the plush lobby and now was certain this was the president of the United States elected in 2016 or around that time. About the same time thirty teenagers were abducted by Freons. Thirty teenagers than almost changed Saran history, and certainly left a lasting legacy not only on Saran worlds but all across the Galaxy.

He sighed, much had happened in those seventy somewhat years, much had happened indeed.

Shortly after checking in, he was in his suite, lying down on the ‘no tech’ bed with his clothing still on and his shoes off, fighting the exhaustion of the so slightly stronger gravitation, it was as if he had suddenly gained a few extra kilos of weight. It wasn’t much and he was certain he would soon get used to it again. After a few moments rest he got up and went into the washroom, putting a washcloth soaked with hot water over his face and braved the vitalizing sting of this almost claustrophobic moist experience for a few moments and the stared into the mirror and into the eyes of his reflection. He looked tired even after this age old method of getting the juices flowing. With a few wipes he removed the rest of the now smeared eye makeup. His dark brown eyes noted the collection of wrinkles around his eyes, they came from squinting into the light of too many planets and the bright white explosions of antimatter warheads in deep space while he was an executive officer aboard a Pan Saran war ship. His bald head had the dark bluish shimmer of hair that was about to break as faint stubble through his scalp. Much of it, if he ever let it grow would have shown more gray than black. He knew he looked old for his age, but he was never much for the cosmetic options that came with the cell rejuvenation sessions. He was quite proud of himself that he pretty much kept the same trim body and and the same weight from when he was just eighteen orbits old entering the service of the Emperor.

And such years of service, from the hot plains of Betrhira colony to occupation duty on Trimothet Colony, and then getting the chance to serve as the man in command aboard the war ship Nautilus Revenge for over nine years. There was an incident and an opportunity that showed his talent for intelligence work. He often cursed that day and wondered if he had not chosen to personally infiltrate a Saran outpost, because of his flawless command of Saranas and cause a mutiny. He was removed from fleet service, transferred to E.I.L. And even now after all these years he still was in the service to the Emperor, meeting an Earther he had not seen since he left Earth five years ago. An American who claimed to have something vital, something important for both Earth’s and the Empire’s future.

He tossed the now lukewarm washcloth into the sink, renewed his Saran style eye make up with the swift expertise obtained doing the same thing for many decades. He didn’t need an automated make up box and he never experimented with new designs and styles. He applied the black eyeliner, extended it past the outer eyelids just as it was regulation and tradition.

Then he went back into the salon of the suite. Of course, the poor bastard was probably crazy as a Temple servant that came too close to the sacred fumes for too many times. He sat down behind what Earther’s called a laptop, this one was provided for him by the hotel.

Iconia, his wife. He could get a Myon Transponder connection provided by Sprint Space or Telekom -Beyond- and sent her a message. The message would reach her in about twenty three days,only slightly faster than the thirty two days it took for a message sent by courier ship. By then he might already on his way back.

He mused about what she was doing right now. He checked his Data-Comm for the time on Lutetia planet, Galianus Colony. A soft smile curled his lips, it was late night and she was probably sleeping in their comfortable low grav bed - no question with the large Data-Comm - turned into a popular beauty themed broadcast - yes he knew his wife alright. She would be happy to hear from him, despite her disapprovement at him for being gone for so long. He was about to compose a message, when he deleted the initial portion he had already recorded. No it would not be smart. He had no idea who might be listening in on Myon transponder messages that left Earth.

He got up and put his light travel coat back on. He’d get a quick meal in one of the hotels restaurants and have a few drinks at one of the bars before going to bed.

Besides he had to concentrate on what was ahead of him. He could not be distracted by thoughts about Iconia,as much as he loved her.

The last time ... they had been on the terrace of their pleasant city apartment in Galius Colony, overlooking the golden spires of this clean and beautiful Pan Saran city; when he told her he had to go off planet and all the way to distant Earth.

She had put her porcelain tumbler down into the filigrane metal holder, her hand was shaking. She then had stared at him, her face a mixture of fear and dismay. “Tell me you’re not serious Marcus!”

“I am affraid not, precious,” he said, sitting down onto the cushioned recliner. “I am told it is something very important, something only I can do.”

“Nonsense!” She exclaimed.“The Diplomatic service has many thousand active employees. You haven’t been on the active list for over three years now.Let them sent someone else.”

He spoke firmly, “They can’t. There is an Earther. Someone I knew when I was on Earth the last time. He will only talk to me, that is the reason I must go.”

Tears were slowly welling up in her eyes.“I’ve been with you many years now Marcus I have never complaint when the Nautilus Revenge went out for another long patrol. I went with you to Trimothet Colony and waited for you when you left for that awful planet of primitives. Not once have I said a word.”

“I know,Iconia. It meant everything to me. But how can I refuse the Emperor?”

“By telling him to find someone else. He is a Citizen and so am I.” She raised her voice.” You are retired, an old man. You have done your share for the senate and the Emperor. They want to sent you on some silly cloak and dagger mission to a planet where they just had a nuclear war, where they are starving and live in stone age conditions. I simply forbid it.”

“You will say that to the Emperor, your uncle?”

Iconia lowered her head, her voice and her lashes.“No, I guess I won’t”

She folded her arms, turned and walked to the balustrade to stare over the skyline, her most favorite view and whispered.“Damn the Empire, damn you Uncle!”

The next morning he had silently packed a small carry on and took a flyer to the spaceport without saying goodbye.

An hour later he knew he had made a mistake. He had a solitary and quite painful meal. He had forgotten just how spicy Earth food was. The American beer was way to cold for Pan Saran taste.

After dinner he decided to take a quick walk outside to clear his spinning head, American beer was also much stronger than Saran Thill or Pan Saran Table wine.

He stepped out onto fifth Avenue and joined the night crowd bustling up and down the sidewalks.

There seemed to be a NYPD cop on almost every street corner and he tried to blend in, though he knew it would not work, despite him wearing a suit.

There were many homeless even here near broadway. One cardboard sign read, Seattle gone, IT specialist will work for food.” The man holding it up looked hungry and so did many others. At broadway he turned left and stopped.

A group of NYPD officers and National guard were swarming out of a storefront door that had a FOR LEASE sign posted in its window. They had riot gear, automatic rifles and plastic police barriers with them. He was not sure what was going on, but he had seen enough. It was time to go back to his suite. he turned and saw a man with a tired face, in a crumbled tan coat, holding a police badge in his hand.

He glanced around and saw other men in suits doing the same thing to about a dozen people who were walking away from the quickly erected barriers.

“Not so fast Mister,” the policeman said. “You got to go somewhere so quickly?

“Yes,” he said.“I’m going back to my hotel.”

The police officer looking me in the face. “You are an Off-worlder, aren’t you? A Saran right?”

“I am indeed.” he said, reaching in his pocket. “Here is my ID card.”

The officer quickly glancing at it, noticing the holographic imprint over the photo.“Seems genuine and yes it seems to be a good idea, going back to your hotel that is.”

He put the ID card away and said.“What in Seth’s name is going on?”

The grumpy officer shrugged. “Citizen check, make sure these folks have permission to live here. You need permission to live and work in New York City state and I guess in every other state and city in this our former country. If you don’t it’s back to your former country or state or whatever.”

“But they are just trying to survive and make a living aren’t they until we can evacuate.”

“Yeah, but if everyone moved into New York city, waiting to be evacuated there be no room for the real New Yorkers on whatever ships you Sarans promised. Besides we are at the brink of our resources as it is and you damn aliens messing it all up, and -hey! You there! Stop!”

The policeman started running after a scared looking young man who was now disappearing into an alleyway. Marcus quickly made his way back to the Trump.

He should have stayed home. This was an awful place. The only work here was for the ones without scruples and those without heart. He was neither.

He leaned against the wood paneling of the hotel’s lift, exhausted. Damn gravity!

Just twelve more hours, that’s all he thought. Twelve more Earth hours. A good night’s sleep and a hot shower in one of these almost useless Earth showers in the morning. Then there would be a short meeting in some little bar or tavern of this city with that darn Earther. After a quick visit to the consulate, he would be on the next shuttle back to the moon and shortly thereafter on a space connection back home.

He promised himself that if some official of the Diplomatic service ever called on him again, he’d tell him to take a hike.

He used the key card to unlock the door to his suite.Wait this couldn’t be his suite? He stood there staring confused, there in his bed, an attractive young Earth woman wearing nothing much, except for some wispy transparent chiffon.

“Ammun,” she whispered.“It is about time you showed up.”

He went closer, he had this straightened out. This wasn’t even a woman at all, but a young girl perhaps not even of age for this sort of thing.

“Sorry young lady, you have the wrong room.”She shook her blonde hair.“No I do not. You are Ammun Kethmmar, not from Earth but from Saran and you hired me for the night.”

There was noise behind him and he turned. Two men and a woman came from the bathroom, all three wearing dark business suits. The woman wore a skirt instead of trousers. Their faces expressionless flesh colored masks and all three holding weapons. He took a deep shuddering breath, felt his hands relax. So this is where everything would end. Far from the Pan Saran empire on a remote planet of primitives. He looked back at the girl, she was shivering in fear and tears dropped down her cheeks. He sat down on the bed, took one of her hands and said.“My dear would you let me pray to Jupiter for us both?”

She nodded while she was sobbing bitterly.

He looked up and saw the three masked, dark suited individuals approach with slow measured moves. He glanced at the laptop at the desk not far away. Now he wished he had composed that message to his wife.