United Earth WIP 1



United Earth (Galactic Chronicles, Earth Cycle - Volume 1) (c)2017 V.Ravencroft Batavia, NY USA

Foreword by the Author

This is the first volume in the Earth Cycle. The last volume 'Ascent of Terra' concludes, 'the Terra Cycle'. United Earth is chronologically the 8th book of the 37 volumes that make up the novels I have written so far in the Galactic Chronicles Universe. This universe of mine has grown over the many years and has attracted many readers and friends from all over the globe. If you ever wanted to know more about a certain species or futuristic / alien term simply search for the galactic chronicles GalNet wiki online and chances are that one of the 14,000 plus pages will offer you more back ground.

United Earth tells about a new era of mankind. It is five years since the IIIrd World War has been suddenly ended by the descent of a Saran Space barge and the alien ships landing in Washington D.C. and the subsequent appearance of the Guardian of Earth. Earth is still in chaos, the forced erasure of nation states did not go as smoothly as the Guardian expected. Just before the war ended, Afghanistan Taliban nukes Paris,Seattle and Juno, Tehran nuked Tel Aviv and Israel turned Iran into a nuclear wasteland. Pakistani Nukes rained on India and India retaliated, returning both countries back to the most primitive conditions with huge areas of nuclear waste lands, millions of sick and dying people. Much of Africa in total chaos, as there is suddenly no aid or UN oversight over anything. Warlords and dictators fight each other, borders and nations change almost daily.Much of East Africa is completely depopulated as drought, hunger and widespread uncontrolled epidemics depopulate vast regions of the continent. Eight years of land war against the Chinese on the Asian and European continent has drained the resources of the USA and China faces the largest hunger catastrophe in human history. The strongest ever recorded Earthquake destroyed Los Angeles, San Diego and San Francisco. Militia and Patriot troops control much of America. New York City, Chicago, Cleveland, Denver are isolated from many supplies .Social workers, stock brokers, bankers and similar non producing and real economy sustaining jobs are obsolete. Thus cities suffer the most in terms of hunger as National currencies have collapsed. Real gold, silver and precious metals are the only currencies accepted by farmers and ranchers for their produce and beef. The events in this story take place in a time when Earth and more so human kind struggles to survive. Many Earthers don't see the Aliens as the saviors they want to be seen. The Saran Queen openly declared Earth a free society,but secretly plots to harvest the able bodied and highly educated under the guise of a general evacuation before the Xunx fully awake. She denies the Pan Sarans access to Earth and limits Earthers travel off planet. But out of the two hundred guides of humanity the Guardian has chosen a few begin to emerge and step into the public eye: OBrock McElligott, Dr. Isah, Rex Schwartz and Richard Stahl.

This his book was written under very special circumstances and a very strange time of my life. I might get into the details of that in a future blog post and mention some of it on my Face book page, but for now I welcome you to the Galactic Chronicles universe and hope you enjoy your stay.

At Astra, to the Stars,

Yours truly Vanessa Ravencroft

Books by Vanessa Ravencroft Xeno Activity Cycle The Guardian Of Earth ( Volume 1 GC Book 1) Defenders of Earth (Volume 2 GC Book 2) Xeno Activity (Volume 3 GC Book 3) Terra Cycle Children of Terra (Volume 1 GCBook 4) Agents of Terra (Volume 2 GC Book 5) Killers of Terra ( Volume 3 GC Book 6) Ascent of Terra (Volume 4 GC Book 7) Earth Cycle United Earth (Volume 1 GC Book 8) Brutal Earth (Volume 2 GC Book 9) Dark Earth (Volume 3 GC Book 10) Genetic Slaves of Earth ( Volume 4 GC Book 11) Cleansing of Earth (Volume 5 GC Book 12) XUNX (Volume 6 GC Book 13) USoG Cycle United Stars of the Galaxy (Volume 1 GC 14) United Stars at War (Volume 2 GC 15) United Stars - Peace Hawks- (Volume 3 GC 16) United Stars - Y'ALL! (Volume 4 GC 17) United Stars - Stahl's Odyssey ( Volume 5 GC 18) United Stars - The Bridge (Volume 6 GC 19) United Stars - Exodus Stories (Volume 7 GC 20) Roy Masters Cycle Adventures of a Greenie (Volume 1 GC 21) Galaxy at War (Volume 2 GC 22) Union Marines (Volume 3 GC 23) Space Force (Volume 4 GC 24) Union Army (Volume 5 GC 25) Tales of the Union (Volume 6 GC 26) Olafson Cycle Eric Olafson, Neo Viking (Volume 1 GC 27) Eric Olafson, First Journeys (Volume 2 GC 28) Midshipman, Eric Olafson (Volume 3 GC 29) Eric Olafson, Space Pirate (Volume 4 GC 30) Erica Olafson, Black Velvet ( Volume 5. GC 31) Erica Olafson, Adventures of the Tigershark (Volume 6, GC 32) Erica Olafson, The Forge (Volume 7, GC 33) Erica Olafson, Children of the Deep (Volume 8, GC34) The Dark One (Volume 7, GC 35) Union Cycle Tomb World (Volume 1, GC 36) The Planet at the Center of the Universe ( Volume 2, GC 37)

Stand Alone Novels in the GC Universe STAHL Cosmic Echoes

Mystery Novels by Vanessa Ravencroft (Melissa May mysteries) The Black Corset Cherubim Cleveland Revenge (Phil Decker mysteries) Gumshoe Sewer rats on Broadway Murdering Elmo

Dedication I want to take the chance to dedicate this book to Knightrider, Gnume and to my friends who have been with me since it all started on Fictionpress so long ago. Especially to Carl, who became a dear friend but died of cancer before I could ever send him a signed copy. Something he always wanted. And last but not least Cuong V. Le the very first reader of this volume. Thank you for reading and giving me valuable criticism,in a time where I had no access to anything. V.R

Very Special Thanks To Emma at Inkitt who through all my difficulties in 2017 never gave up on me and provided me with the spark of hope that kept my spirits up and my outlook positive. Thank you Emma.

Earth Foreword 2094 OTT

The year is 2094, only five years had passed since the Saran War barge Nuifetoth descended from a bright blue September sky and landed openly right before the Lincoln monument. What many had suspected for many decades, Earth was indeed not alone in the Universe. The event created shock waves of turmoil. The world already in the throes of World War III reacted with panic. The Chinese and what was left of Russia feared that America would be the sole beneficiary of the advanced technology increased their war efforts with an unprecedented ferocity. Russia completely obliterated, only small communities in the vast Siberian frontier survived the years of war and are reduced to non industrial feudalism of the most primitive state. China unable to feed their masses and deprived of the nuclear onslaught they have hoped for to reduce their own population and the complete collapse of the dollar, the Euro and other world currencies in the woes of a civil war and the worst hunger catastrophe in human history. Adding to the chaos are religious fanatics who burn, blast and kill anyone not in line with their believes. There are the Christians against Exoterrestials against the Cosmic Christians. The Muslims fighting everyone who even acknowledges non terrestrial life and there are the Ancient Egyptian Revivalist who want Earth to be a Saran world and succumb to their queen and worship their gods. Of course the Pan Saran Imperialists fight and kill to convince the rest of humanity to join the Pan Saran Empire and fight the Saran invaders. One of the most violent groups is LEA, leave Earth alone. Spreading xenophobia with a truly fanatical conviction. While most of Europe and liberal societies such as Canada and Australia seem to have little problem with erasing national states in favor for a world government. Especially the former United States do not accept the idea of a world government. In other words, even after five years the chaos on Earth had not really diminished, but solidified into new problems that keep growing. Yet only a unified Earth, speaking with one voice would be able to take a seat at the great hall of the Galactic Council. Something the Sarans, the Pan Sarans and many others openly support but secretly do not want. Something the Freons, Ferons and the Kermac openly oppose. A membership the Xunx want to prevent.

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New York City Prologue Sep,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 view port and have a good look at the city. As the spacecraft closed in on the buildings and sky scrapers, 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 emerald 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 feather soft 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 preferred 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 rejuvenation 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 re purposed 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 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 travelers 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 accented Saranas."Welcome to Earth and welcome to New York city. I hope you had a pleasant passage coming 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 make up and the bald head. Saran fashion was often copied by Earthers, especially of course Egyptians. Ammun did not wear 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 break 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 make up. 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 anti matter 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 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 disagreement 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 filigree 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 afraid 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 space port without saying good bye. 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 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 lab top at the desk not far away. Now he wished he had composed that message to his wife.

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New York City Chapter One Oct,2094

The dead man lay with his face down on his bed, his arms still tied with plastic cable ties. The sheets and covers pooled around his feet. The back of his head gone, instead there was a gory mess of blood. He had on a pair of dirty socks and his skinny white legs were covered with a fluff of hair. he was otherwise butt naked. The apartment smelled of old clothes and moldy air and something else. Bruce Thurlow recognized that other smell. It was the scent of a body. Brutally violated giving up its life. It was a smell that had intrigued him once. The it had depressed him. Now, it was just something he was used to, it was part of the job. Bruce was a reporter with the New York Times Online Edition and he stood at the dead man's bedroom door, Iphone in hand speaking notes about everything he saw in a bullet list type of style. The same kind style he had used in high school and the Navy and four years of newspaper work. Detective Joe Connors saw him at the door frame and separated himself from the cops, the ME and CSI. He and Bruce were friends, well at least as much as a cop and a reporter could be. Connors was in his late forties, overweight and wore a tan trench coat that flapped about his calves. There was a fair amount of gray stubble on his chin where he had misses shaving this morning, and his thinning gray and black hair combed over a balding scalp and stuck in place with the help of some sort of moist shimmering hair gel. "Oh for Christ's sake, Bruce get out of here, will ya? How did you get past the yellow tape up front anyway?" He asked shoving Bruce backwards."I let you see the stiff, once ME and CSI are done. Anymore and the rest of the media that shows up wants the same treatment and we never getting rid of your kind ever again." Bruce smiled his best 'your my buddy' smile."Come along then, chat with me for a second or two, will you? I got a deadline coming up. Newspapers need all the edge nowadays." "And have a story that beats the big boys from Google News, MSNBC and the likes, eh?" "Exactly. By the way there was no yellow tape at the back door when I got in." "Remind me to chew the uniforms a new one for that." Two steps and they were in the kitchen. A younger detective, Joe's partner wearing latex gloves crouched before the overflowing trash can and digging through a bunch of discarded TV dinner boxes and sticky plastic trays. The apartment is small and cluttered and to Bruce's trained eyes it had been searched. Drawers were open, closet doors ajar and clothing and dishes scattered across the floor. The cushions of the sofa sliced open and the stuffing spilling out like yellow cancer sores. The kitchen floor was linoleum and there were two metal bows side by side right next to the kitchen table. There were dishes still in the sink, a cereal bowl and an empty stained coffee mug, with Snoopy sitting on his red doghouse, dressed as world war one fighter ace imprinted on it. An ancient Apple desktop, a flat screen Toshiba TV, and a pile of newspapers and magazines next to the mutilated shabby looking couch in the living room. The characteristic whining of an incoming moon shuttle was suddenly heard overhead coming in to JFK airport. The carpet was light brown and threadbare along the edges, with a faint pattern of bluish rectangles. The door had three locks and two dead bolts in addition to two door chains. This was nothing unusual for any apartment in New York and especially in a neighbor hood like this. Now as winter was approaching fast and the many homeless looked for places to be warm. He noticed that none of the locks appeared to be broken and the door frame was intact. During the past five years working for the NYT Online Edition, Bruce had run into Joe on a fairly routine basis. Bruce was technically a general assignment reporter, but he mostly covered crime .Despite all the chaos in the world murder was still a crime. He and the older detective had a good work relationship. Joe was more or less straight when it came to news and Bruce was equally polite when it came to asking the questions. Joe handed Bruce a bone once in a while and he made sure the department was never misquoted and things that were not supposed to find their way online, stayed out. Joe sighed wishing for a cigarette and popped a Nicorette gum instead."What we have here is one David Putnam. Age 59, apparent big bore something gunshot point blank and through a pillow to the back of his head." Joe's accent still had the unique New Jersey flavor, despite the fact that Joe was now working on this side of the river for over thirty years. "Poor bastard was tortured so it seems before his lights were turned off, permanently.And the shooting' hardware was something new and fancy." Carl recording it all with his phone said."Well him being shot seems obvious." "Yep, smart ass. It sure looks that way, but I am not calling it a shooting death until the ME says so. And the ghoul is still busy. Would make me look like an idiot if they turn him around and find a knife through his heart, right?" Despite the depressing and gruesome sight, in the next room. Bruce could not fight the hard grin that curled his lips."Yeah I guess that makes sense. Any guesses who might done the shooting? You said something about a fancy gun, Looking at the door, it doesn't look like forced entry. What do you think?"" Joe hefted his watery eyes at Bruce, chewed on his wad of nicotine gum and gave Bruce the look."I think those gums are awful, I tell you, but tobacco use is now outlawed within the city limits of New York.Not that I could even afford a five pack. 2 Gold Pennies would you believe that?" "Joe..." "I better go back to the CSI guys and tell them we might deal with a shooter and have a closer look at the door." "Joe, I think it is pretty obvious the old bugger got shot. Who's got guns in New York city these days? The cops and organized crime. Not civilians and certainly not the average homeless or street thug. So what do you think? "Still there is plenty of hardware out there and now with them damn aliens, we suddenly find ourselves with guns that don't look like guns and leave nothing but ashes .Whatever killed that poor bastard wasn't made by Smith & Wesson." "That dead schmuck wasn't blasted by some Saran laser. That head was busted open by some sort of slug, right?" "I think you crossing the line from being a reporter to being a god damn PI or something and a royal pain in my ass." "It's my exposure to you,Joe. I soaked up all that crime scene expertise seeing you at work. How did the call come in?" "He got a friend downstairs, I'll think it's the super or something. He heard some noise last night. Thought it might have been the TV. Then David didn't show up for their usual lunch . When he came up to check he found the door not completely closed. He pushed it open, saw the body and called us." Joe wrapped the gum in a piece of tissue and put it in his pocket."God awful these things! " The detective again gave Joe a quizzical look."Come to think of, what explains your presence? Especially since we don't use open radio anymore." "You are not the only friend I got in the precinct, Joe." Bruce looked around the kitchen and then asked."Anything like suspects or theories?" "C'mon, we've been here all of 30 minutes and you fouling up the crime scene for almost that long." "Burglary gone sour? Home invasion would explain the cable ties." "Look, Bruce, get the hell out, will ya?" "Just give me a few seconds." Bruce made a gesture that included the whole place. "No pictures and no paper books. You'd think this old guy would have pictures of family and friends on the walls. But no, nothing." He looked at the magazines.Time, featuring well aged Baron Trump on the cover. Reader's Digest with a picture of Baron Trump. National Geographic with a feature story about the first manned landing on Venus. There were several copies of Stars and Stripes and a Sports Illustrated. The Reader Digest explained perhaps the lack of books. He didn't see a Kindle or Smart phone anywhere. "Bruce let's go." "I am out of here." By the door, he finally figured what was bothering him. It was the coat that was hanging right by the door.Old desert cammo parka, torn and mended, no insignia, no patches. Bruce glanced back, the coroner's men just lifted the black body bag onto the gurney. Holy Shit. Could it be? The guy claimed to be a veteran. Bruce remembered. It had happened a month ago, the first cold day of September. A truly awful day. For six hours he'd been standing on a pier on the Hudson Bay,waiting for harbor patrol to fish for a stolen car. A bunch of Opio-boys had driven straight off the pier during a police chase the night before. Their stunned parents huddled by the end of the pier, ready to identify the drowned remains. When the pushy asshole of CBSNews.com shoved past him to interview the parents and the two homeless looking men that had witnessed everything. He was actually kind of glad it wasn't him who had to talk to the distraught parents. Chuck, the reporter for Fox News seemed equally relieved."I guess that is an exclusive they can have. I am satisfied with a few seconds of car being fished out the drink and a short commentary." "Yeah, thank God I don't have to talk to the families and get the usual "How do you feel" feely bullshit for the local news section, no one really's going to read our crap or watch the footage anyway." Chuck gave him a knowing look."Do you think anyone is clicking on the Local new section for a piece of two kids high on some new drug?" He answered his own question."Nope, they going to watch that crazy Dr. Isah flying that fire engine of his around Freedom One, or check the prices on trans system flights to a Saran world. " "What are you going to do when they come? Evacuate or stay?" Chuck snorted and spat on the wet asphalt."They not going to have enough seats for 18 billion people. You know it and I know it, there are not going to be any evacuation arks from our new friends from beyond. They suck the elite, take the rich and the rest is going to be Xunx food." Bruce knew his colleague was right."Well they say it is going to be another hundred years before they come. Maybe you and me won't be here anyway." "That's to keep the people from panicking. I tell you, it's going to happen sooner than anyone expects. " Bruce tipped two fingers to his fore head and walked away with his drone operator, perhaps to get some footage on the car that was now sitting on the hard surface and behind yellow police tape. The he felt a touch on his elbow, and heard an old man's voice."Are you a reporter?" Bruce turned around. The man stood on the cracked concrete and asphalt surface of the no longer used pier, no one imported or exported much these days; some candy wrappers and pieces of waste paper swirling about his feet, kicked up from a stiff breeze. No one particularly paid attention to the man. He was tall, wearing a military camouflage parka, like they had issued during the war. He also wore military boots, scuffed and worn. His army parka was bereft of any insignia, rank pins or unit patches. even the name tag was torn off.His hands were shaking and he quickly shoved them into the deep pocket of the parka. His face was pale and had the same color as a Chinese dumpling, or in other words virtually none. He had dark rings under his blood shot eyes as if he had not slept for the last five years. His hair was thin and gray and appeared unwashed and stringy. "Yes I am a reporter, but I am done here, if you have seen what happened, you want to talk to the drone operators and flash-news guys of the big web sites." Bruce paused for a moment. "...you are a veteran of the Chinese campaign right, seeing your camo and all." "Yep, US Army" The old man noticed Bruce's underarm tattoo. "So are you it seems." Bruce nodded and reached in his pocket for a Silver chit. The old man shook his head."I am not panhandling. Put your money away. This is not why I approached you. I am a veteran and aye they forgot us, but I've never begged. Not once!" "I am sorry then, what is it I can do for you?" He looked around and stepped forward, his breath smelling of cheap liquor. "I got something for you. A hell of a story. But only if you have the guts to run with it. Them damn aliens looking over every bodies shoulders and all." "That is for my editor to decide. What's it about?" The old man lowered his head and looked around as if to make sure no one else was within earshot. "Something really bad. But something everyone needs to know about. It just might be the biggest story ever since those aliens landed or that black shrouded spook dissolved nation states more or less over night and without asking anyone for permission to do so." He looked around and held the seams of his parka close with his left. "You know there are people getting killed for speaking their minds, even five years after the world stopped spinning." Bruce watched the old man getting agitated, it all sounded like the cock and bull story of a boozer, but there was something about the way the old man spoke. Damn, Bruce thought he is a veteran, he deserves better. Heck we all deserved better." "I tell you what, Mr....?" The old man shook his head again. "Oh no, no names, not yet, but tell me will you do the story?" "I don't know what it is all about, but if it is of public interest and attracts clicks I am sure my editor will put it online. Why don't you let me look at what you got?" The old man showed signs of relief and revealed several missing teeth as he grinned. "Good, that' ll be good. Look I have some important documents, something important to show to you. Here is just a taste, so you know I am not fibbing'." He handed Bruce a smudgy ancient looking thumb drive. "That is where the story should start. On that thumb drive is stuff that should get you hooked. I be right here tomorrow afternoon, come if you dare to hear more. If you don't show up or think I am just a loon Vet, I go somewhere else." Bruce knew what the old man meant with 'Going somewhere else.' But despite that, tomorrow he'd take the old guy for lunch at Denny's for the best meal the unkempt geezer had in ages and listen to his tales of conspiracies involving the Saran Queen, the Xunx and perhaps even one of the new popes. Bruce would nod at all the right places, pretend to record the stuff , then slip him ten chits of silver and then go home and get drunk because of all the old memories the old man had brought to the surface. So be it. "Fine,"Bruce said. "Tomorrow , right here." "Good." The old man looked as if he wanted to say something else, but then he swung around and walked away, his step more confident. That was the last time Bruce had seen of him. The fellow veteran had not shown up the next day, or the day after. After four days, Bruce had given up on him. The memory stick had a equally ancient word document on it. A simple list of six names. A quick google search revealed to many possibilities but none of the names seemed in any way connected or showed up as part of something even remotely interesting. he then had more or less forgotten about the whole thing. Now he was standing in the hallway of David Putnam, breathing deeply. The old man had a name after all and now he was dead. He shook off his promise to the detective to leave the place and went downstairs to the next landing and rang the door bell. No answer .We'll let's try the super. He went down four floors and rang the bell at the door marked, 'Tony Andrews. Superintendent'. The buzzer was answered right away and the door opened only as fart as the heavy chain allowed."I already gave my statement." Bruce decided to walk on thin ice as he said."We only have a few more questions, Mr. Andrews." The door closed, the chain was removed and opened again to reveal an older man, with only the partial remnant of a gray ring of hair around most of his otherwise bald head. What he lacked in terms of hair, he surely made up in the ear department. They were big and fleshy, competing with the bulbous nose that stuck into the world above a small mouth. The man was wearing a house coat that partially covered a wife beater's undershirt and a pair of pajama bottoms. His feet in worn senior Nikies and his left hand in the coat pocket. There was an intense distinct smell, Bruce instantly recognized. Someone had smoked in here and only recently. Not the New York state legal marihuana, but illegal tobacco. Sixteen years since his last cigarette and the craving was back instantly. The man let him in and closed the door."How long will you guys be in here, you figure?" "Craving another cigarette, Mr. Andrews and afraid someone might smell it, even through the door?" The old super dropped his shoulder's even more."This is my house and I should be able to do whatever I want in my own four walls." "I doubt it will take all day. There are only so many man hours than can be spend on something like this. No worries, Mr. Andrews I am not going to say a word about the smoking, but I would be obliged if you tell me again what you have told already and maybe answer a few questions." Andrew sighed, Bruce could not really tell if it was a sigh of relieve or a sigh of annoyance."We might as well sit down for that, I brewed some substitute, care for a cup?" Bruce nodded."Sure I have one." He followed the man into the kitchen with a small hard plastic table and two shabby chairs. There were bottles of condiments lined up at the wall facing side of the table and a prominent ash stained glass dish in the middle. The window, framed by curtains that once might have been white was covered with the peel of stickers of 'Substi Do-good', the advertisement character of Mellow Brew. Both the character and the syntho-coffee substitute of Schwartz Foods could be found in almost every household, up and down the East Coast. Each pack of ten pouches came with a collectible peel of sticker with Substi and his friends in various situations and costumes. The number of stickers on the window and the wall next to it were a testament to the frequency the man consumed this product. While the old man placed a pouch of Substi into the Squeeze-and-brew and placed a coffee mug under the dispenser spout, Bruce kept looking around and noticed a Ka Bar fighting knife in its scabbard mounted in a frame. The light did not allow him to see the inscription on the associated brass plaque. The old man put two mugs on the table. "This was David's mug, I hope you don't mind. I only got two mugs." "No I don't mid." Bruce took the mug and helped himself to a little whitener, what the company called a plant based non diary milk substitute. The old man said." David and I weren't friends or anything like that. But he and I decided to have lunch together every other day. Ever since his Beagle died, he was even more depressed than usual and heck I am not doing much better. I had a good career as an AI developer for MS in Seattle. I guess I was lucky I was overseas in a Cyber war unit of the Army when the Taliban ICBM flattened the Emerald City and my aunt left me this building." Bruce did not get the impression that this was a former computer guys abode, but the war and the global changes had done the strangest things to people. Tony took a sip, then said."When he didn't show up as usual, I went up, found the door unlocked and not completely closed so I knocked and after the third of fourth knock I went in and found the poor bastard in the condition he is now. I called it in and that's about it." "You knocked?" "Yes, David had his door chime disabled. Drove his crazy fat Snoopy dog crazy." "Did he have any family?" "Not that I know off. he never mentioned anyone but his dog. We didn't talk much. Heck I didn't know his name was David for over a year. He is a quiet tenant ,pays his rent..." Tony sighed."I better talk about him in the past tense now." "This is a few grades above rent controlled housing. How did he pay the rent? I mean there is virtually no support from Washington." "There is some support if you complain long enough and stand in line for days. Now that is a crime you guys should investigate." Tony leaned back."Besides I can charge whatever rent I fucking choose and I charged David a little less. He fought in the worst hell over there and when he comes back is supposed to live in a tent or whatever, because some freak with a hood declares nations obsolete and threatens to kill all world leaders who didn't comply?" Bruce pressed his lips together and nodded."That Guardian did kill quite a few just to prove he can do exactly that." "To hell with that thing. That's where I think he came from in the first place." "Is anyone else living here that might have heard or seen something?" "If Miss Anderson would still be here,"Tony mused,"she could tell you the number of nose hair the bastard had. Unfortunately the boy living in the apartment now is stoned when he is here." He took the last sip out of the mug."The name is Kelly Hawk, he is the definition of a looser, but gets his chits from a well to do mother. He plays in a band or something and hasn't been in when you guys buzzed the door. Selena Burton one floor up might have heard something, but she works at a roof garden company and isn't in till later this afternoon." Bruce felt he heard enough from now and got up, finished the lukewarm rest of his Substi. Thanked the old man and left the apartment.

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NY City November, 2049 Chapter 2

The NYT building at 229 West 43rd Street, like so many other buildings had seen better days. Maintenance was kept at a minimum. There was hardly any construction. The city council fought for every Silver chit and gold penny with the interim government in Washington, until the new United Earth government was finally taking over things. There was more fighting and squabbling than any real progress so he felt. The old nation state governments in disarray or completely dissolved, with interim councils trying to keep things together, people simply didn't know what to do or to expect. Bruce took the old reliable Otis elevator to the fourth floor, where his desk was one of many. The newspaper business had changed and rebound and changed again in the last decades and especially in his life time. First the paper editions were declared dead, and everything moved online. Then the dirt cheap foldable and roll up LCD screens were invented and new papers and magazines took advantage of this invention and news papers with multi media content could be offered for cheap at news stands. Online content moved back to the electronic print news paper editions. World War III ended all this, as cheap manufacturing in China, Korea and India had stopped supplying US and Western markets at the total collapse of the US dollar in 2077 just days before the Euro and the Yen lost all value. The burst of the biggest financial bubble ha always been foreseen and everyone in the know, knew it would happen wiped out the World Economy over night. It caused mass rioting in virtually every country as most Western countries had stopped issuing real paper or coin money decades ago and consumer banking was solely done online. China sitting on a mountain of worthless zeros over night, basically started a war simply to control its rioting masses by projecting blame on others. Emergency currencies were introduced and News Papers returned to paper, as no one trusted electronic media at all and the Lithium needed for the batteries that powered the roll up throw away screens was needed for the war effort. The war sold a lot of news papers. Bruce walked past the white concrete support columns of this open space news print office to the sixth row of yellow marked desk cubicles and to desk marked Six Yellow-8, his desk. There were framed front pages with big letter headlines on the walls and mounted to these support columns. August 4th, 2079, 'WWIII! China attacks the World!' September 1st,2079 AFGHANISTAN NUKES WEST COAST CITIES Seattle, Olympia, Eugene and Anchorage gone! Millions perish! March 21st, 2089, 'THEY'RE HERE!' Humanoid Aliens land in Washington DC!" March 22nd, 2089, 'SARAN DELEGATION MEETS WITH PRESIDENT' World history is made as President Bobo Joeline meets with Commandrix Aseptoth of the Saran Empire' December 6th,2089 ' SHROUDED APPARITION APPEARS TO EVERYONE' entity claiming to be the guardian of the Earth appears as projection to every adult' December 7th, 2089 'GUARDIAN OF EARTH DECLARES NATION STATES AS OBSOLETE' Over 200 unexplainable deaths among religious and political leaders of the world' February 17th,2090 CALIFORNIA GONE 11.8 Quake flattens Los Angeles, San Francisco and San Diego

These and other headlines marked perhaps the most tumultuous era in human history, nothing remained untouched by these events. Bruce hung his coat on the back of his chair and made some room on the cluttered desktop. Somewhere in that mess was the old thumb drive with a list of names that the old vet --David-- had passed on to him. Just five first names. Nothing else, even as old and outdated the thumb drive was, it still could hold a ton of information and not just a .txt file with five names: Adolf Mao Abraham Joseph Elizabeth He had googled them individually but there were too many hits and googling them together did not turn up a single one. He thought about goggling just two or three of them at a time or see it there was any on the old sub net once called the dark web. He'd do it soon enough, but for now he had a deadline to meet, and quick. he opened his note file on his smart phone and activated the old, pre war laptop and initiated the speech recognition APP. He used the phones built in projector to display his bullet type notes and began to dictate. The APP reproduced what he said into typed words.

GRUESOME SUICIDE - EAST MANHATTAN NYPD is investigating the apparent murder of David Putnam, 58 of Adams street, Lower East Side, an US Army veteran of the Chinese land war, was found in his bed with a gory wound to the back of his head! Alien weapon suspected! Police reports neighbors heard noise in the apartment early Wednesday morning, and one neighbor called police when Putnam did not show up for their for their usual lunch together.

Bruce paused. It was pretty thin, he could not add actual images of the body because that would screw up his relationship with detective Connors. he added a picture of the apartment building and of the open apartment door with the police and ME personnel milling around. Nothing really, but this what happened when there were posting dead lines looming. He cleared his throat and resumed dictating. "While no suspects have been identified, police are investigating whether Putnam was killed during a home invasion robbery. The apartment appeared to be ransacked and investigating officers are checking to see what might have been stolen." He clicked on the stop recording button, rubbed his chin, adjusting his wireless head set and the attached microphone and resumed dictating. "The death of Putnam marks the 128th homicide this year in the Burroughs of Manhattan, just twelve behind the record year of 2091." He read over it to make sure 'Siri' understood everything and then he hit the sent button. His piece and the associated hi-res images and a ten second clip of him walking into the apartment now was in the in box of the metro desk editor. He followed his electronically and instantly transferred data package physically by walking over to the editor's desk. "Here you are Bill," he said."One minute and twelve seconds to spare before the daily afternoon page goes life." "Well there you go."Bill said."This is why we shelling out these silver chits. Do you want some Rat Jerky or somethin'?" "How about a raise?" "How about leavin' me alone, Bruce?" Bill pointed at his screen."This is weak garbage. Could you not have some pictures with gore and stuff?" "I rather produce more garbage, than risk pissing of my contact at the NYPD for one pic of gore. I get you some of the ME's pictures in the follow up." "Get out of here! I got a deadline too." He went back to his desk and after some digging he found the thumb drive with David Putnam's list of names and he put it in the writing utensil tray so he would find it easier next time. He was tired and he had been up on his feet since the dawn of the day. Tomorrow he would dig some more online, maybe trying to combine the names in new searches. The names had to have some sort of meaning. Why waste all that storage space just for a handful of names on a document you could print out on a single sheet of paper? Maybe he was just crazy and he came up with this names randomly. The war and the recent events did the strangest things to people, like a AI engineer who lived like a recluse in a smudgy apartment drinking Substi with not a piece of electronics to be seen. The story didn't cause Bill to ask for more meat or more material. So it seemed it was good as it was. A few minutes after he had transferred the piece to Bill, the glass door of the Supervising editor opened and a tall dark skinned woman came out wearing a Saran inspired white, gold seamed cotton suit, Beth Swanson, the current supervising editor and one of the first humans married to a Saran male. She stopped at each of the editorial desks. exchanged a few words here and there and picked up her copy of the film display edition of the evening edition and then with a lofty smile and trailing a scent of expensive perfume she went back into her glass cubicle office. Bruce looked around. everybody was studiously ignoring Beth Swanson's and there was a general sigh of relief when she went back into her office, unknown to her often called the 'Bitch Tank'. Usually she only came out to talk to the section editors about the next edition's stories, but on very rare occasions, she chatted with a reporter. On extremely rare occasions she would invite a reporter back to her glass walled office, set the walls to opaque and close the door. That experience was known on the news floor as the Golden Hissy fit; which meant she was steaming and hissing about something or another and it usually ended up with a pink slip and the end of one's career. The end of employment in a city with over two million homeless and twice as many unemployed. eventually forced by necessity to travel west and accept a fall out clean up job. Beth Swanson had the cloud to end anyone's chance of employment anywhere in the media business. Her connections made sure of that. Two month ago a feature writer; Raul Major, if Bruce recalled correctly; had emerged from Swanson's tank in tears, hands trembling. He was escorted out of the building by security and HR packed up whatever private thing he had on his desk into a brown file box. Despite earlier suggestions to mellow his harsh editorial stance against the Sarans, he kept on submitting stories about the helpful cousins from outer space. It was of course the declared stance of the NYT and all news media to turn a blind eye to any and all things that would shed light to the darker sides of the Aliens. There were quite a few who believed the Sarans were invaders and the that strange almost god like entity, calling himself Guardian of Earth was just a tool of these aliens to subdue Earth into slavery and servitude. A month after Raul Major's departure the news floor had received a postcard from a decontamination work camp outside of Seattle, and that was the last anyone heard of Raul. After the glass door snapped into its lock, the noise level on the floor rose and there were looks cast Bruce's way, even though he had never been officially engaged and the relationship to Ammona had long been over, some people still thought he and Beth Swanson worked together somehow, though he had shared less than a hundred words with the supervising editor during his time with the NYT. Irrational, he knew, but still it made for a lot of solitary lunches, muttered greetings on the floor and water cooler conversations that suddenly went quiet whenever he went for a cup of Substi or some water. He checked his watch. It was twenty minutes past five in the afternoon. His stomach grumbled and he was in the process of putting on his coat and wondering where in hell he was going to eat dinner when Michael 'Mikey' Brown came over to him, pulling a patched syntho leather coat over his bony shoulders, Mikey was a few years younger than Bruce, wore loud T-shirts with saggy sweat pants, and was the Art Scene and music section guy of the NYT. His hair twirled in dozens of short braids that stood on end, someone once described Mikey's hair style with someone experimenting with a life power outlet. This style of hair was popular with hip hop, a cultural and musical expression that went out of style long before the war, but remained somewhat relevant with the colored youth of the inner cities; where Mikey had grown up. Bruce never got over the fact that someone could write about music and pop life and get paid for it. Of course he kept that opinion for himself. he knew that the masses wanted to be entertained no matter the times or because of it. Mikey was a good guy and one of the few people on the news floor who treated him normal. "Some of us are going across the street to the Blue Thumb for a news floor meeting."Mikey said, zipping his coat shut."Want to join us?" "News floor meeting? Isn't that just another excuse for getting drunk?" Mikey smiled."Who needs an excuse? Besides, it gives you a chance to see the others drooling, mumbling and make drunk ass fool out of themselves. Makes a good weeks worth of teasing and gossip. So are you in?" Going home, which was an apartment, meant dinner from a can or something greasy called in. The alternative was overpriced beer, cheeseburgers and marihuana smoke conversation at the Blue Thumb. "In." Bruce said."I'm in I guess." Mikey smiled again."Of course you are!" A real Cheeseburger and real fries later, he was working on his second beer and doing fine. He had a corner stool at the bar and could keep an eye on most everything that was going on in the tavern, which gave him a bit of a warm feeling. Something from his military past, he realized, about assessing the environment and keeping your options open. The fries had been quite tasty and most likely came from one of the cities own potato farms and the burger was a good sign thing slowly turned back to normal. Even just a year ago, hamburgers were made of all kinds of meats and fillers- the wise customer never asked to many questions about the source of the meat; but tonight's had tasted like one hundred percent real beef. He wasn't so sure the cheese was made of cow milk but it tasted like cheese. Someone with a taste for real old classics had selected a selection of last centuries rock tunes. Almost everyone knew the lyrics to the ancient AC DC and Metallica tunes and he had shared his meal time with Michael Brown. Mikey talked about rumors of an upcoming Shakira Memory tour of the former United States and Bruce talked about the murder of David Putnam. After a while Mikey shook his head at him."Damn Bruce, I want to talk about the wonders of rock and pop music, and all you talk about is some old geezer, capped in his crib." "Because it is news." "Shit, that ain't news." Mikey raised his glass."My stories, now that is what everyone want to read about. It's the bright colors of entertainment that get's their minds of that drab situation. Not another sad story about an old man who bit the dust because he wouldn't give the home invaders what he had hidden under a floor board or something. Heck that dead Saran businessman found dead in bed with a hooker a couple of weeks ago, even that only made a few headlines in the media. Who cares about a dead old nobody?" "I do." Bruce said, remembering the old man standing in front of him in an old parka, with shaking hands,"And so should you." Mikey laughed."You should hear yourself. That old fashioned righteousness has been out of fashion for a century or more." Bruce sighed and Mikey laughed again and wandered off. The Blue Thumb was not far from the NYT building across the street and usually filled with people who worked at the times. Mikey was now with some of his friends of the Arts & Entertainment section. Even here in the bar, the people of the NYT segregated themselves into groups. Some of the ad sales people were over in a corner, overdressed and laughing hard, while some of the clean room technicians of the plastic film edition still in their lab coats at the other end of the bar. Nearby a couple of sports reporters were talking excited about NFL football and the league, for the first since the destruction of Seattle, the Seahawks were playing again and had won their first games. The Patriots were doing well in the Eastern conference. There was little else that reminded Americans these days of the good old days than national football. Their recent tag line, "Unapologetic American, the proud singing of the American anthem and the flag waving caused more than a few tight throats. Bruce paid little attention, unless the NY Giants were part of it and the NY Giants had not been part of the Super bowl winning teams since '76 or a lifetime ago. At the far end of the bar, a few reporters laughing and talking about the upcoming first Antarctica meeting of the new World government. There was Kate Jackson, an Assembly reporter and Don Blake who knew the City council in and out and Fred Gordon, a general assignment reporter just like him who was currently working the cities courts. Every handful of minutes, Fred would shout , "Pup Trivia!"and bet a drink he could outsmart anyone at the bar; and for the most part he did , with Kate and Don groaning and forking over silver chits. For a while Bruce quietly observed, letting the beer wash away the taste of the second burger and fries. Except for Mikey, he never really connected to everyone else at work, of course he understood why. He'd gotten this job through his Saran connection. On his very fist ay on the job, someone had put a little Egyptian god figurine on his desk with a sticky note on his computer screen that read 'Saran Ass kisser'. He kept his mouth shut and instead of running to HR and demanding an investigation, he threw the sticky note and the figurine in the garbage - he knew someone on the news floor, maybe all of them - hated him for this. He kept doing his job and kept to himself just like tonight. Office politics - who was on the way up, on the way out, who was brown nosing - bored him. He liked talking about things that mattered and so many things that mattered, happened to human kind right now. Like the emergence of city and state governments and how long they would last. Or the stories about farm and ranch barons getting filthy rich, while there still was real hunger and people died because they did not have any gold or silver to trade, or jobs in the few industries that still remained. And of course the rumors about the Sarans and the other aliens. Now that would be stories to report. No one really believed the benevolent motives of the Saran queen. Last week he had listened to two newsmen of the NYT TV studio talking in line at the cafeteria, guys who were at the Saran embassy and just come back from the construction site at Antarctica. They had seen a lot of Sarans. "I tell you it is like Central Station down there, with all these Saran space ships coming in. Makes one think what they are really up to." And the other said." maybe it is just more relief supplies for all the starving masses world wide." and the other replied."Not hardly, those ships were carrying Saran soldiers in and our bright and able young out, that's what. The officers and UN officials I talked to, they don't believe that cock and bull story about a world wide evacuation, or them helping us defend ourselves against the Xunx." The other responded."I don't believe that story about soon to invade insects anyway." But stories like these would never get reported. He had about drained his beer and was considering calling it a day when Fred raised his right hand again and shouted a challenge."Bar trivia!" Kate raised her hands mockingly to her face and said, "Enough already," and Don said. "Good gosh. Give it a rest. I hoped you've bugged us enough!" Fred waved his hand. His brown hair was combed back and even when he smiled he looked like an ass hole, he was a reporter because he could be a nosy bastard, did up trash and dirt on people and get paid for it. "Oh, guys. One more." He insisted and said."Winner of this one gets a free drink from me for a whole week and I throw in a free choice from the bar menu, starting today. All right? Okay here it comes." While there were some moans and groans, everyone listened because this was a generous offer for sure and Fred went ahead."Okay here it is, last trivia question of the night. All you have to do is name, the first US president who was aware of the alien menace and did something about it." "Reagan, Ronald Reagan. He knew what was going on and started the SDI program. it wasn't meant to defeat the already economically defeated Russians.It was to stop them aliens. Abductions were real after all!" Bruce could not help himself and said."Eisenhower,1948 initiated Project Armadillo that later became AXIOM." Fred never liked to loose and he especially hated to loose. In his beer induced bravado he had leaned to far out the window and made a bet he could not back out of, in front of everyone now. The barman handed him Bruce's tab."That be 2 gold pennies and a chit. Bruce indulged himself with the Cattleman's dream tonight."

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NY City October 2094 South Pole

Nobody could really explain what exactly happened. Yes everyone had an idea and there was no one on the entire planet who did not know that the recent events were the most significant of all human history. Obrock McElligott, a former sub commander in the British Royal Navy now holding the rank of admiral stared through the small window as the airplane dipped the wing tip on McElligott's side towards the eternally frozen desert of the South Pole and giving him a good view of the hastily erected temporary structures and tents, loosely grouped around the most southern point on the globe. The airplane leveled out and made its final approach, touching down moments later. Rolling over the smoothened rock hard ice surface, while the break flaps had extended, transforming the previously smooth surface of the wing with moving surfaces, reversing the thrust of the howling turbines, bringing the BAE 678 to a rolling pace and finally to a complete stop. He was not the only passenger aboard, but the highest ranking one of the British delegation. His adjutant, a commander approached his seat holding a heavily padded cold weather parka with fur brimmed hood. "Sir, may I assist you with this? It is, if I may say so extremely cold outside." McElligott rose from his seat and grunted at the smooth faced officer with his characteristic gruff voice and demeanor."We are at the South Pole. I did not expect tropical conditions. Now get me into that bloody thing so we can get on with the show." After being bundled up, looking like an inflated advertisement cartoon character for car tires, Admiral McElligott who was often called the 'Old Highlander' stepped through the exit hatch and hit by a blast of bone chilling, freezing wind, that painfully bit into the skin of his face, that remained to be exposed. He cursed, but was actually quite certain no one heard what he said, not just because his mouth was below a few layers of insulating fabric, but because of the howling wind and the still whining air plane turbines. Someone similar dressed tucked him by the arm and motioned him to follow. Even from behind the dark lenses goggles he wore, everything and as far as the eye could see was a blinding white surface of ice and snow. Looking just as clumpsy as the other hooded figure, he managed to climb onto a sled with an open bench. He had barely sat down when the thing started moving, pulled by a tracked vehicle away from the busy air field with several air planes being unloaded and serviced. The eternal peace of the until recently lifeless and unoccupied frozen wilderness of the south pole, was disturbed by scores of busy men and their machines. McElligott was certain this was just the beginning. The sled ride had ended after traveling down a declining ramp and entering a tunnel, right before the prefab container of the British delegation. The container like all the other structures right here underneath the ice was sitting on stilts. He was shown to small quarters, where it took him quite some effort to peel himself out of the protective insulated layers. Strangely enough, these somewhat cramped conditions felt very familiar to him. After all he had spend a considerable time of his naval career aboard nuclear submarines. After a shower and meticulous grooming he once more wore his deep blue uniform complete with his medals. With his cover under his armpit, he stepped out and was crisply saluted by a baby faced Lieutenant. "Admiral, Sir may I escort you to the briefing room,Sir?" "Lead the way, Lieutenant." There was technically no need for a guide, the facility consisted of only a few standard containers linked to each other, but his rank and position called for such considerations and McElligott liked it, when even in times like this certain forms and traditions were observed and not abandoned for the sake of false urgency. The so called briefing room was not much bigger than the officer's mess aboard his old sub. Several high ranking officers of all branches of the military were already assembled, a large flat screen displayed a still image of a dignified office, complete with wood paneled walls, brass lamps and an oil painting of Admiral Nelson prominently in the background. What appeared to be a still image was actually a life video feed, as it became apparent to McElligott. The Prime minister herself came into view as she stepped behind the massive old desk. He immediately straightened his stance and was ready to offer her a military salute, but the stout woman waved her hand and went straight to the matter at hand. "So it is you that mysterious guardian picked, to represent us, right?" McElligott cleared his throat. "It depends how you define us, your excellency." She raised an eyebrow. "From what I understand, an alien entity that has been secretly watching us humans since the stone age, has picked you and several others to guide human kind into a new era, now that the door to the stars has been opened for us. You are the one chosen to represent our interests, those of the United Kingdom!" "I will do my best to imprint as much British values as possible upon this new era; this next chapter of human development, but the Guardian has made it quite clear, your excellency, the time of nation states and a divided human race is over. We can only survive if we step onto the galactic stage as one species and one society." The face of the Prime minister displayed both confusion and obvious disappointment. "You are an officer in the navy of his majesty the king and you are a citizen of the realm. Your allegiance and your priorities are clear, should be clear. However since all this is truly unprecedented and you have been declared a guide why don't you fill us in? " The tone of the prime minister was just a shade below friendly but to McElligott the edge was clearly detectable.