"Psychologically, we've got to make the public want the change," Becky mused.
"I don't think we can go so far as to inform the public about the imminent invasion of Earth by deadly alien monsters so we have to activate hidden genetic enhancements in order to give them a fighting chance to survive. That simply can't happen," Jenson pointed out.
"That's not what I had in mind," Becky replied with a mysterious smile on her face. "What I have in mind is the disclosure of a new and powerful health treatment. A newly discovered vitamin elixir that enhances physical well-being, cures ailments and extends the normal lifespan by 30%. The public will come running to our doors begging for the product."
"You've been watching too many wild west TV shows with the old medicine wagons," Jenson laughed, but a thoughtful look appeared in his eyes, and he paused for a moment in thought.
Becky tilted her head slightly and raised her eyebrows, a slight smile curling her lips as she waited patiently for Jenson's thoughts to catch up with her own.
Leaning forward in his chair and lacing his fingers together on top of her desk, Doug stared at Becky and asked quickly, "Just what are you suggesting?"
Grabbing a note pad and pen, Becky started scribbling as she talked. "First we get a pharma company to manufacture a jumbo batch of something relatively harmless to most humans, say some omega-3 fish oil in a nice, appealing golden color. I wouldn't go with sugar pills because we don't want diabetic reactions. Next we get a marketing company to come up with some slick media materials touting the guaranteed life altering benefits of the new vitamin elixir."
Staring off into space as she considered viable options, Becky suddenly returned her attention to Doug and said, "The pills will be packaged one per card. The card will detail what will happen the day after it's ingested and how to manage the expected beneficial changes. After all, who doesn't want greater muscular strength, sharper eyesight and enhanced hearing, right? Finally we get the FDA to announce the stuff is so good and beneficial the United States Government has decided to give it away free to its citizens. Once people get those promised benefits, the mental ability of telepathy will be thought of as an unexpected gift."
Doug simply shook his head in wonder. "My God, it could work!"
Laying down her pen, Becky replied, "Timing will be critical. The fluoride activation will have to coincide with the elixir distribution. With this approach, I think we could go forward with activation on a faster timetable. Heck, people will be clamoring to get the enhancements!"
"Do you have anyone on the base who has a background in mass marketing?" Doug asked. "I want to have some example materials to show General Blunt and the rest of the staff tomorrow."
***
At 1400 hours the following afternoon, the Staff assembled around the conference table in the Communications Suite, waiting expectantly for General Blunt to arrive. A sudden, loud murmuring from the people manning the computer consoles behind the pulpit drew everyone's attention. Turning in their seats to look in the direction of the voices, they saw Tom Blunt walk around the end of the platform followed by a six foot lizard wearing a trench coat and beaded sombrero. Whatsit rarely visited the Nevada facility, preferring to stay at his Pentagon residence where he was nearer to Tom's father and mother, General Jim Blunt and Dr. Diane Hoffman Blunt. Tom had summoned Whatsit to Nevada to give his opinion about the vessels in the Chrysallaman armada.
Whatsit had been 12 years old when he was captured in 1947. He was now 78, and his body showed the same signs of aging as a human. The skin on his face and hands was finely wrinkled. The formerly dark green color of his skin had lightened over the years and had a mild yellowish tinge. It appeared he had a slight limp in his right leg but otherwise showed no signs of arthritis or weakening limbs. Whatsit's dark black eyes swept around the conference table and settled on Doug Jenson. Without further pause, the big lizard walked over and sat down next to Doug, swiveling around to face him directly.
A clear thought formed in Jenson's mind. "Douglas, you have your mother's eyes and your father's facial structure. May I ask how they are doing these days?"
Smiling warmly at the Chrysallaman, Doug responded with a quick thought, "They're doing just great. They live in Sarasota, Florida just off the Intracoastal Waterway. How are you?"
"Just older and no wiser," Whatsit thought back to him with a distinct mental sigh, shaking his head in mock sadness.
Blunt interrupted them by saying, "From this point onward for this meeting, I want all talking done by telepathic means so that it will be easier for Whatsit to participate in the discussion."
He then twisted around in his seat to look at Sgt. Beale and ordered, "Sergeant, please display the latest image."
"Yes Sir," replied Beale and flipped the switch to activate the big monitor.
The moment the image of the arrow shape appeared on the monitor, Whatsit froze in his seat and a mental wail flooded everyone's mind.
The increased clarity of the image since their morning view was remarkable. Where earlier there had been fuzzy outlines and blurred details, now there were sharp features plainly revealing multiple craft arranged in a definite arrow shape. The head of the arrow was composed of three rows of spacecraft with a similarly sized craft sitting just behind the three rows as if it was connecting the arrowhead to the shaft. The shaft stretched back from the head in a long strand of larger spacecraft lined up two abreast.
Throwing a thought at Sgt. Beale, Tom Blunt inquired, "What progress have you made identifying the stars in the background?"
"They have been identified. As we initially thought, the star in the center is Castor and the one on the top right is Alhena. Based on the positions of our probes and the known distances to the stars and the armada, the mainframe has been able to calculate a close approximation of the sizes of the Chrysallaman craft. The craft in the arrowhead are around 200 meters in diameter and 50 meters tall. Each ship in the arrowhead carries 5 saucers appearing to be the same size as the saucer captured in 1947. We have counted 49 craft in the arrowhead and one similarly sized craft lying between the arrowhead and the shaft."
Whatsit leaned toward the wall-sized monitor and said, "The ships in what you call the arrowhead are called mother ships. Each mother ship carries five scouts. Jim Blunt and his team captured the scout on which I was a passenger."
"What exactly are the craft that make up the shaft of the arrow, Whatsit?" inquired Stoneman.
"I do not know," Whatsit replied. "I was very young when I left with the expedition on the mother ship, VrrSilliac Xur. I have never seen anything like the trailing craft, even in picture books."
"Just look at the size of the trailing ships compared to the mother ships," breathed Amanda Kurstow.
Beale responded promptly, "The estimated size for the trailing ships is 1,000 meters long and 300 meters in diameter. They are each approximately the size of two and a half Empire State Buildings laid end to end."
Whatsit had a troubled look in his eyes and his shoulders were drooped, his hands clasped tightly together in his lap. Blunt watched as a cascade of emotions ranging from excitement, to hope and finally to despair played across the creature's face. Whatsit was truly suffering deep emotional and psychological pain. He had participated in helping the humans prepare for the return of his people to Earth. There was little doubt there would be massive bloodshed on both sides when hostilities broke out.
Blunt gently sent an inquiring thought to Whatsit, "What's wrong, my friend? There's something troubling you. I can feel it in your thoughts."
The crease of worry between Whatsit's large black eyes deepened, and he projected an anguished plea as he turned his head toward Blunt, "Tom Blunt, please don't underestimate the brutality of the Chrysallaman soldiers. At the very least they'll do their best to wipe out the entire human civilization on this planet. At the very worst, they'll devour any survivors as a food resource."
Looking around the table at the humans whose duty it was to save their planet
and their people, Whatsit continued, "I have resided on your planet now for many years and learned of all the kindness and goodness there is in your race. I will never forget when Douglas Jenson's mother, Lucy, comforted me in New Orleans after I was frightened by a mentally powerful human called Skullreader. It was truly an experience I will carry to my grave."
Bowing his head and projecting his thoughts very softly, he said, "I hope you have found true kindness and goodness in me as well over the years."
When everyone around the table began nodding their heads in agreement, tears welled up in Whatsit's eyes and dripped down his cheeks. His next thoughts were almost a prayer. "Please understand there are many good Chrysallamans like me. Fathers, mothers, children, brothers, aunts, uncles. Every relationship you humans enjoy is also enjoyed by my people. I think the large ships in the shaft of the arrow are filled with colonists. Please don't destroy the colony ships. They could hold thousands and thousands of innocents."
Tears of grief were falling off Whatsit's face as he made his mental plea. Wiping his cheeks with the sleeve of his trench coat, he said, "Please forgive my display of emotion."
Tom Blunt had known Whatsit practically all his life. In fact, his parents had often let Whatsit babysit Tom while they went to a movie or enjoyed a romantic dinner. There was no doubt in Tom's mind about the sincerity of Whatsit's thoughts.
Rising from his chair, Tom walked over to Whatsit and bending down on his knee took Whatsit's hand and held it tightly. "I promise you we'll do everything we can to save as many Chrysallaman innocents as possible. We will not commit genocide of your people. I just pray your military leaders don't put them in harm’s way."
Wiping more of his tears away with the sleeve of his coat, Whatsit nodded and replied thoughtfully, "Yes, there is that."
Chapter 18 – Jupiter Moon
Seated at the conference table in the Commander's Ready Room just off the main control deck of the VrrSilliac Xur, the five sub-commanders of the mother ship fleet waited in quiet expectation for the arrival of Fleet General Hisspat Zeck. The ready room was a compact rectangular space just wide enough for them to pull their chairs back from the table and stand up to either enter or exit the room. Light from recessed bulbs in the ceiling illuminated only the tabletop and the end of the room where a large flat screen monitor dominated most of the bulkhead. Each Chrysallaman seated at the table had been personally handpicked by General Zeck based upon no less and no more than three qualities. Loyalty to Hisspat Zeck, unquestioning obedience to his orders, and complete and unadulterated ruthlessness.
Tuurket Axxdo was commander of SSizz Group. He was relatively short in stature for a Chrysallaman, standing only 5 feet tall. Even when he wore vanity lifts in the heels of his combat boots, he never was able to increase his height by more than 2 inches. What he lacked in height, however, he more than made up for in hypertensive impatience. If impatience was defined by pictures in a dictionary, Tuurket Axxdo's image would be used as the definition. Even now, waiting for the arrival of his General, Axxdo was constantly drumming his fingers on the tabletop and fidgeting in his seat. A master strategist, Axxdo was known throughout the Chrysallaman military for his defeat of the Cuddlur uprising on planet YG-15. The Cuddlur race had rebelled against the colonization of their planet by the Chrysallaman Empire and had attacked one of the Chrysallaman settlements. Tuurket Axxdo had quelled the uprising and killed so many Cuddlurs the race was now virtually extinct. Cuddlur meat had a vile, oily taste anyway, and their loss to the universe wouldn't be missed by any hungry Chrysallamans.
Rasshur Grr commanded the Whegg Group. Of all the sub-commanders, Rasshur Grr was the one most prone to physical violence. He was the largest Chrysallaman in the room and perhaps in the entire fleet, standing 6 feet, 7 inches tall. His skin was not smooth like most Chrysallamans, but resembled a mat of small knarled bumps looking like cancerous growths aggravated by constant exposure to sunlight. His angry responses to perceived criticism were legendary. No one ever questioned his orders, and most of his crew avoided eye contact with him for fear he would somehow sense defiance in their gaze. He had once backhanded an insubordinate crewman so violently, the Chrysallaman's head had popped off his neck and rolled to the far end of the control deck.
The Cherx Group was commanded by VunnRer Slizzt, a sadist with a penchant for torturing animals. As a youth, Slizzt had once captured a rabbit-sized queller in his parent's backyard, buried it so only its head was above ground and proceeded to bludgeon the helpless animal to death with a wooden mallet. His parents had shipped him off to military school the following week. VunnRer Slizzt had no conscience. His eyes were like black pools of emotionless emptiness, promising death to every lifeform unfortunate enough to get in his way.
Commanding the Rryys Group was Gwess Hakwerr, a former professor of military strategy at the Trissalic School for the Gifted. Hisspat Zeck had wanted an advisor educated in the history of successful colonizations, and Hakwerr was his choice. Calm and deliberate in his decision making, Gwess Hakwerr never ventured an opinion until he felt he had been apprised of all the facts. He steadfastly believed Chrysallamans were the superior life form in the Galaxy and were destined to dominate all habitable planets, bringing peace through enslavement to all sentient races.
The last Chrysallaman seated at the table was Shurryek Jorrin. He commanded the Zyrtzz Group. A consummate braggart, Jorrin never ceased to amaze himself with his tales of bravado in the face of an enemy. To hear Shurryek Jorrin talk, you would think he was the bravest, most experienced soldier who ever graced the planet, Chrysalis, with the imprint of his foot. Even so, Jorrin was probably the shrewdest military planner General Zeck had in his command structure. Shurryek Jorrin always considered multiple ways of approaching a problem, and his final decision was usually based on violent, murderous, overwhelming mayhem.
The general murmuring in the room died away as General Hisspat Zeck entered and sat down at the head of the table. Without saying a word, he pressed a stud on his control console and an image of a metallic box with two dish antennae and an array of dark, glassine panels attached to it like wings filled the monitor at the end of the table.
"What you see on the monitor is a mechanism built by the bipedal animals infesting planet HG-281. The animals refer to themselves as humans. It appears from the extent of meteorite damage and cosmic dust accumulated on the box they launched it into space over 30 years ago. My scientists have just retrieved the mechanism and are in the process of analyzing the technological level of its construction. There is nothing onboard the box other than primitive cameras and communication gear. The mechanism has no offensive or defensive weaponry, and its propulsive systems are chemical based and of such primitive design my people are surprised it functions at all. The box is powered by four radioisotope thermoelectric generators so weak they couldn't power one of the ceiling lights in this room."
Looking around the table at his sub-commanders, Zeck grinned wickedly and said, "The fleet will reach the outer edges of the solar system in one hour. At light speed, your mother ships will be only 4 hours from final approach to HG-281. I see no need for delay, but I want to get your input before I make the decision to begin the process of subduing the vermin infesting our new home. What say you?"
Shurryek Jorrin interlocked his fingers on the tabletop and replied, "I think the approach to the Planet should be slow and deliberate. If the bipedal humans have any means of planetary defense, it would be wise to force them to reveal those defenses before we commit to a planet based air/ground assault. We should have unquestioned superiority in space where we have virtually unlimited room to maneuver. Let the humans flail at us all they want from their locked position on the planet while our fleet bats away their defenses as we would any annoying insect. Once we know what their defenses are, we can attack them at our leisure."
"I must agree with the astute analysis of Shurryek Jorrin," Gwess Hakwerr said, gazing at the image of the metal box displayed on the monitor. "If the
humans launched the exploratory probe you see on the monitor several decades ago, they could have made significant progress in technological development since then. It would be foolhardy to assume they haven't developed some form of spaceflight capability which could pose a minor threat to less studious and patient military officers."
Opening a folder he pulled from a jacket pocket, Hakwerr briefly skimmed its contents and continued, "The initial power source survey of the solar system by our esteemed leader, General Zeck, indicated a power source on the fourth planet called Mars. Since that time, two other power sources have been located on Mars, and all of the sources are mobile. My experience tells me the mobile power sources on the fourth planet are robotic exploration probes. It is obvious the humans have developed some form of space vehicle capable of in-system flight. I believe there is no doubt we will encounter some form of spaceborn resistance."
Slapping his big hand down of the tabletop with a resounding smack, Rasshur Grr gazed around the table with a sneer and declared, "I can't believe the temerity I'm seeing and hearing around this table! The Chrysallaman military has never lost a battle, let alone a skirmish with a physically and mentally weak race like these bipedal vermin. We should attack swiftly and decisively, wiping out any puny resistance from the humans with our vastly superior military."
"Enough!" Hisspat Zeck said loudly, ending the verbal tongue lashing by Grr. "Let me remind all of you that almost 70 years ago, this inferior race of humans somehow destroyed one of our scouts and killed its crew. An unprecedented act of violence never before encountered in the long history of the Chrysallaman Empire."
Staring at each sub-commander to make sure he had their undivided attention, Zeck growled, "Whether it was the result of foolhardiness on the part of the captain of the scout ship or sheer luck favoring the ever to be damned humans, one of our scouts was destroyed. I can assure you I won't tolerate the loss of a single one of our ships. Any one of you who suffers such a loss will have his life functions terminated with extreme pain and anguish! Do I make myself clear?"
The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Page 27
