The video cut to aerial views of the devastation in Europe, a quick shot of the flattened Eiffel Tower, an old video of the first tsunami crashing into New York City. Then it cut to Sam, in the Crystal Cathedral, his first day back. “That’s the good news. We - ”
Greg clicked the TV off.
Sam bit his upper lip, chapped and blistered from the fire. “I can’t believe I forgot that flyer. The riot must have been planned, at least loosely.”
“I see two issues with the press response,” Greg said, ignoring his comment. “First, they continually refer to you as, ‘the children.’ Second, they generally qualify it with, ‘Spo children.’”
“So they don’t trust us. So what?” Sam said. “The bigger problem is that they’re right. People hate you so much they’re killing us.”
“Many Spo are looking into the murders. We will stop them.” Greg shifted his weight. “We have suspicions, but nothing I can share with you.”
“Well, can’t I…. I don’t know. Can't I do something? I need to be involved.”
“You are involved, but you need to do your job. Right now, your job is to make the other humans not pity and despise you.”
Sam thought for a minute and then sighed. “Okay. You win. If we could change the child image, the psychological trauma wouldn’t be such a big story. If we could change the Spo connection – that’s a big IF – people wouldn’t link us so much to your invasion.”
Greg nodded.
“So… you already have a plan, don’t you?” Sam asked. “How bad is it?”
Greg’s eyestalks drooped comically. “It is not bad at all. We are in luck. There’s a volcano erupting in Malaysia.”
Sam rubbed his eyes some more. “That’s luck? So what then? We’re going to stop a volcano – or save some people and get some hero credit?
Greg nodded, scratching his dry skin. “You can direct the process from here, and I’ll tell the press.”
***
Pepperdine had several good computer labs. Over the next twelve hours, Sam and two of Greg’s aids, Lurk and HP, turned one of the labs into a state-of-the-art contact room. Eight screens formed a semi circle around Sam’s chair. Two CPU stacks, capable of running a missile defense AI system, handled the streaming video and communications. One screen showed news footage of Mount Merapi, the volcano in Malaysia, shrouded in a cloud of ash. It had erupted less than twenty-four hours ago, and slow moving lava still crept down one side. Ash filled the sky. Another screen showed a satellite view of the area, but it wasn’t very helpful, showing hundreds of miles of formless grey. Many villages were in the eruption zone, and Greg was leading several teams to help with evacuation and flow control. The teams were composed of cadets, press, and actual search and rescue personnel, who probably didn’t appreciate the "help." Sam was glad he wasn’t there.
Another of his screens was slaved to a camera on the lead helicopter. Greg was in that helicopter, surveying the villages, and Sam could alternate between Greg’s helmet microphone and several news feeds on his audio channel.
Greg’s chopper circled the first village, the one closest to the volcano. The afternoon sun showed dark orange through the heavy ash in the air as the helicopter banked west. Sam’s eyes burned, partly from staring at blurry screens, partly because he’d only gotten six hours of sleep last night. He rubbed his eyes, and squinted down at the small set of homes. A slow stream of lava, moving less than ten feet per minute, slowly bore down on the community. It was still 200, 300 feet away; there was time to evacuate.
“Why is no one running?” Sam asked, speaking on Greg’s line. “Did they already evacuate?”
Greg coughed, a harsh hacking noise, and Sam turned down his volume. The particles irritated Spo and human lungs alike.
“No evacuation,” Greg said. “There’ve been no refugees from here.”
“They why aren’t they – ” Sam paused, looking at the boiling black smoke billowing around the huts on the ground. He knew why they weren’t leaving. “Smoke inhalation. You’ve got to get on the ground – start airlifting them out. Or else get one of the ground crews to get in there fast.” Sam looked at another screen. It showed the GPS position of each team. Armen’s group was the nearest. Sam moved his hand to toggle the communications so he could get Armen’s group to the village.
“Negative,” Greg said. “They’ll be dead already.”
“They MIGHT be dead already,” Sam said. “Smoke inhalation can take hours to kill. Mopik told us the children tend to sleep in small closets or under beds. They might be alive.”
“Doubtful. Do not send a team there.”
Sam pushed away from his chair, getting close to the screen. He looked at the liquid smoke and the fluttering plumes of ash rising from the slow lava run approaching the village.
“I don’t care if you’re freaking certain,” Sam said. “I’m alerting Armen’s team.”
“You will not,” Greg said, his voice harsh. “I am deploying sasoikeo.”
“What? Why?"
“Most, possibly all, of the people in that village are dead. If any are still alive when the lava reaches them, they will die horribly. Mercy is to prevent suffering.”
“Then send a team there to evacuate!”
“The ground teams will be more effective elsewhere. Rescue must be efficient.”
“Efficient? Or do you just want to avoid bad press, if there’s no one alive?”
“Both,” Greg said. “Deploy sasoikeo.”
“Don’t deploy, don’t!” Sam shouted. He heard a click, and three of his screens went dark. Sam jerked his eyes to Lurk, who shrugged with his whole body.
“Be silent,” Greg said through the earpiece. “The press is undoubtedly covering this signal. I’m cutting off your access. You will not give them this information.”
“You’re going to kill all those people,” Sam said.
“No, I’m going to make sure that if any are still alive, they don’t suffer a horrible death.”
“By killing them!”
“Yes. By killing them. This is my decision.”
“Or what?” Sam said. He wished he could see Greg, but there was no video inside the helicopter. What was he thinking?
“If you alert Armen’s team, they will come here and die from the sasoikeo.”
“Along with all these people?”
“Yes. If you cannot be efficient you are a danger to us and a danger to your planet. Decide.”
“You – you – ”
“Will you alert Armen’s team?”
In the background Sam heard another voice, “Sasoikeo away."
From Greg’s chopper camera Sam could see three other helicopters hovering low over the village. Small blue canisters fell with timed precision. Drop. Drop. Drop. Each one took about four seconds to fall to the earth, where it disappeared into the black smoke. Upon reaching the ground, each would detonate and spew a clear, heavy gas that clung to the ground. It would seep under doors, through thatched roofs, and between cracks in mud walls. It would kill anyone who might have survived the smoke. If Armen went there now, he would die too.
“I – No, I won’t. I won’t kill anyone else… But why? This is efficient?” Sam whispered. Greg’s image was cracking in his mind, shattering into a thousand painful pieces, the same way his father’s had when he left.
“That is correct. It is efficient and sufficient for now.”
Sam heard another click. His screens turned back on.
“Pilot, please circle to the south toward the next village,” Greg said.
Sam unclenched his fists, with dents in his palm from his nails. He knew the Spo tradition on family survival and death – that it was better for families to die together than suffer brokenness. He’d always thought it an odd, but possibly compassionate point of view. At least that was what they thought. But Sam had never seen it employed like this. He’d never seen Greg kill for his cold-blooded tradition. From here, it looked like murder, not compassion. It looked like Gr
eg cared more about bad press than lives.
The day became a nightmare that Sam could not escape. When Greg poisoned the third village, Sam jerked out of darkness to find HP pressing an inhaler tube over his mouth and nose. He’d had some kind of panic attack. Sam shoved HP away and pressed the power button on the screen to turn off the video. He couldn’t watch anymore. He had to deal with the audio and coordinating the teams on the ground; that was his role. He didn’t have to see it.
There were thirteen communities at immediate risk from the volcano, and by the end of the day, nine had been evacuated. Sam felt numb.
He’d started shivering sometime around the second village, his teeth clacking painfully, but that was over now. Whenever he wasn’t speaking into the microphone, he was watching HP and Lurk, who were watching him.
Sam had never felt the aliens’ presence so sinister and foreign before. Who were they? These beings who would bomb whole villages for nothing? Had they been doing this sort of thing the whole time they were here? No wonder they were hated. No wonder Sam was hated. He watched Lurk and HP and the black screen, and six years of normalcy fell away from him.
When that flash mob attacked them at the festival, this was what they were attacking.
Sam had trusted Greg. He hadn't forgotten that Greg was an alien, but he'd put it aside. And ever since Sam came back to Earth the reporters and psychologists had been asking whether Sam was loyal to the aliens or humanity. He thought he could do both. Now he knew the answer.
For years, back on the Spo planet, Sam had asked those same questions. How much could he trust the Spo? How much could he love Greg before he betrayed his mom? Greg had convinced Sam that he wanted to help humanity. Greg taught Sam that the greatest commitment Sam could make to Earth was to learn everything Greg could teach him.
Sam had just taken his last lesson from Greg.
The next morning, July 8th, Armen explained sadly for the news crews in Malaysia that blistering gas from the volcano had destroyed four communities. He was a natural in front of the camera, sharing his sympathy for the survivors and his pride in getting relief supplies to two countries simultaneously. He managed to humbly convey how much the Spo technology, used by Armen and his friends, had helped these crises.
Sam watched the press conference alone in his room, flipping between several news stations. He’d picked Armen to handle the conference, and he did it well. Sam made a mental note to talk to Greg about having Armen do more of the press releases.
In one of the wide shots, Sam spotted Melanie, Susan, and Al in a clump, whispering together. Melanie smiled at something Al said and Sam wanted to blot out the sight. Didn’t she know what was going on?
When one camera scanned the crowd, Sam saw Nat standing at attention, listening to Armen’s report. Her face was a mask, as usual these days, but something in her eyes reflected the horror in his own. She knew. He was sure of it.
Sam clicked off the TV and lay back on his bed.
The dorm felt deathly empty, silent and drained.
The cadets would be back sometime the next day, and Sam didn’t know what to do. How could he look at Melanie and Armen and all the rest, knowing what the Spo had done? Worse, what Greg had done while making the cadets look like heroes?
Nat knew. Some of the others probably did too. How could Greg allow those people to be killed?
Sam knew Greg. He’d taught them about efficiency and Spo views on family death - but he’d also let Melanie throw birthday parties twice a year to celebrate everybody’s birthday. He’d read the whole Old Testament, when Sam and some of the other cadets talked about Noah’s ark and the flood. He’d given the cadets updates on their families, though the mentors of the other cadet groups never did.
Yet, he’d just killed hundreds of people to avoid the bad press of tragic rescues. And he’d made Sam watch. Hell, he’d practically put Sam in charge of it, organizing where the rescue teams went. How dare he do that to him? Greg took manipulation to a whole new level.
Chapter 13
Sam sat in a makeup room getting touched up for his coming TV appearance. The cadets had been back from Malaysia for three days, and Sam had managed to act somewhat normally since they returned.
A big talk show host was doing a live special on the cadets. It had been planned for weeks, and Nat and Jonathan were supposed to have been the main guests. Jonathan was obviously out, and Nat had asked Greg to excuse her. One guess as to why.
Taking advantage of the empty spots, Sam convinced Greg that he would be the best one for the interview and this morning they’d driven to Burbank, to the NBC studios.
The makeup room was bright, and mirrors lined the wall in front of him. He’d been at the studios since three in the afternoon, doing screen tests and blocking. Makeup was his last stop before the live interview at six.
“Thank heaven you’re not green,” the makeup lady said to him, “it would’ve taken hours to get you looking right.”
“Is the greenness that bad?” Sam asked.
The makeup lady looked sideways at Melanie and Armen, standing in the hallway. “Not in person, but on TV? The green ones look sick and cold and a little fat. The videos from Malaysia were awful… except for the Asian chick. That’s why Apple requested her. But since she’s injured or something, I guess you got it."
She went back to powdering his face and neck.
“Apple?” Sam asked.
“Apple Heisman!”
“Okay?”
“Oh, right, you’ve been gone. Well, she and Kurt Hoenal are the biggest names in Hollywood right now. The spooks requested her to produce this."
She got out a huge compact with squares of brown and pink fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle. She took a long brush and started swiping the powder on his cheeks.
“She must be something else if the Spo noticed her.” Sam eyed the blush. “That’s – no offense – but that’s going to make me look ridiculous.”
She rolled her eyes, “Military guys are always scaredy-cats. You’re way too pale. This’ll make you look tanned and confident. Trust me.”
On stage at last, Sam looked out at the empty seats. “No audience?” he said aloud.
A voice from off stage answered him.
“Absolutely not. We aren't fools."
A small, well-dressed woman came on stage from the shadows. Sam stepped back as she advanced on him, looking him over critically. “At least you’re not green. That should help the ratings. I’m Apple Heisman.”
“Ratings? You don’t think people will watch?” Sam asked skeptically.
“Of course they’ll watch. But will they throw trash at their screen and curse the aliens or call their mom to make sure she’s watching?”
“Oh. So, no pressure?”
“Sarcasm, that’s good. Very American. Now pay attention. You need to play this a certain way.” Sam took a step back as she leaned toward him. No wonder the spooks liked her, she had the presence of a grizzly bear. A tiny, aggressive grizzly bear.
“I’ll be fine,” Sam said.
“Not if you don’t listen to me. If you mess this up, the riots will get worse. More people will die. Got it?”
She had no idea. Sam stepped into her space. “Are you trying to scare me? I know the stakes and I don’t get stage fright anymore. You can just back off.”
No one knew better than he did how many people the spooks might kill.
She didn’t back down. “Fine. I’ll spare you the motivational muck. You’ve got to be genuine, you’ve got to be funny, and you’ve got to have some bloody good reason for humanity to like the aliens. Otherwise this whole thing is a waste of my time.”
“Got it.”
She looked dubious. “It’s my butt on the line, kid. Are they going to let you say anything? Tell me the truth.”
“I’ve got something to say.” He sure did. This would be a live broadcast, and if Greg didn’t like what Sam had to say, he’d have to pull Sam off the stage in front of the cameras.
“Fine,” Apple said. “Time to get started.”
The show host was an older black woman, her hair shot with grey, and her makeup subdued. She looked… nice actually, like somebody’s mom or grandma. He’d expected somebody all glitz or all politics – she didn’t fit either mold.
“Hi hon,” she said, “I’m Rita. How ya doing?”
“I’m told to feel funny and genuine. It’s not coalescing.”
She laughed. “That was good. You’re gonna be fine.”
“How did you end up here?”
“Hosting a talk show for the alien invaders? It’s a long story, mostly I owed Apple a favor.”
“She’s a little…”
“Steel in her backbone. Makes her darned uncomfortable unless she’s pushing somebody’s limits.” Rita gave Apple a big grin as she bore down on them for a final check. “He’s not sure about you, Apple.”
“Good, he’s smart.” Apple helped them fix the mikes and rearranged their seating a couple times. Finally she was satisfied.
“Okay,” Apple said, “Rita, think maternal. Concerned, excited, proud, curious. These are your little kids, come home at last, with a story to tell.”
Apple turned to Sam. “Human. Human. Human. You’re not Spo. We want to know what a human saw on their planet, what a human sees in them, why a human can trust them. Tonight you are not a freakishly dangerous alien experiment. Remember that.”
“You don’t have children, do you?” Sam said.
She walked away, her high-heeled shoes clicking on the hard wood stage. Sam sat in a deep purple arm chair across from Rita who was seated comfortably on one side of a purple loveseat. A small rug lay between them and a fake fire place to his left. Really, a fireside chat? He’d heard of those. It was the wrong image for the chat he planned to give, but then, no one knew what he was about to say.
The spotlights made holes in his vision as the camera men adjusted things. Sam moved his head slightly so he could see Nat, Armen, Melanie, Downy, and Greg between the spotlights. If he arranged it right, one blind spot centered over Greg and the other over Downy, and he could only see his human friends.
Manipulate (Alien Cadets) Page 10
