The Zeta Grey War: The Event

by D F Capps

  * * *

  Andrews watched anxiously as the next major news station picked up the war-with-Russia drumbeat.

  “President Andrews’s inexperience and blind trust in the brutal dictator, Pasternov, are the proximal causes of the invasion we have witnessed in Poland,” the news anchor stated. “His failure to properly respond with the might of America’s military is the signature of a weak and pathetic coward that shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near the White House. The deaths of the people in Poland are egregious enough. How many more lives are going to be lost before this ineffective excuse of a human being is finally removed from power?”

  Andrews turned off the TV.

  “What is wrong with these people?”

  “Don’t get me started,” Franks said. “You know how I feel about the media.”

  Andrews rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Are they ready in the press briefing room?”

  “They are,” Franks said.

  The questions started as soon as Andrews entered.

  “What are you doing about the Russian invasion of Poland?”

  “How many troops have crossed the border?”

  “Are we at war with Russia?”

  Andrews held up his hand and waited for relative quiet. “There was no invasion of Poland. It was a false flag attack by a group of terrorists.”

  A reporter stood. “It’s not terrorists. No one’s claimed responsibility for the attack.”

  “It was a group of terrorists,” Andrews repeated. “We know that from the evidence. The Russians are not responsible for the attack. They stopped the tanks and put an end to the violence.”

  “But the buildup of Russian troops on the border,” another reporter said.

  “There is no buildup of troops.”

  “But all of the trains loaded with Russian soldiers?” another reporter asked.

  “Are on their way home,” Andrews said. “All of the Russian troops are leaving Belarus.”

  “How close are we to war with Russia?”

  Andrews shook his head. “We and Russia are not enemies. There will be no war. It was a false flag terrorist attack. Nothing more.”

  He took questions for a few more minutes and closed the press briefing when he believed the issue had been properly addressed.

  Chapter 30

  “Good news and bad news,” Ed said.

  Sean looked up at the ceiling and sighed. “What’s the bad news?”

  “The owners are deeply concerned about the war aspect of the story. It’s too much of a shock for people. What if the war isn’t really over and we get the crap beat out of us?”

  “There’s a planetary shield. The aliens can’t get any more ships or supplies in. What remains is just a mopping up operation.”

  “They want you to tone down the book; make it sound more speculative instead of factual.”

  Sean shook his head. “I’ve got the documents, the photos, and permission from President Andrews to publish the story. It’s not a violation of national security. People need to hear the truth.”

  Ed held up his hands and nodded in agreement. “I know, I know. This is their offer: The New York Times will run the alien abduction story with photos and the evidence. The publishing company will produce the war story with a more speculative view. We use the abduction story as a run-up to the release of the book. That way the entire story is timed for maximum impact. I can almost guarantee a Pulitzer out of this.”

  Sean put his lips together for a moment. “How long?”

  “Six months,” Ed replied. “Producing a book of this magnitude usually takes eighteen months. Six months is a rush job. You know that.”

  Sean nodded thoughtfully. “Any advance payment?”

  “Give them a detailed outline for the book and they’ll cut you a check.”

  Sean paused. He didn’t want to make this about money, but his curiosity was getting the better of him. “Any idea how much of an advance?”

  Ed smiled. “Rumor is a hundred grand.”

  Sean stared back at Ed for a moment. “I need to think about it.”

  * * *

  “This is Jan Abernathy, reporting for TV4. With me today is psychiatrist David Monarch with his analysis of President Andrews’s latest press briefing. Dr. Monarch?”

  Andrews frowned as he watched. A psychiatrist? What are they doing? he wondered.

  “Thank you for having me on, Jan. I found the latest diatribe from President Andrews to be very disturbing. His insistence that Russia is not our enemy is delusional at best. Add to that the claim that Russia’s attack on Poland was some sort of false flag attack and you have specific grounds to question the mental stability of the president. He has clearly lost touch with reality. False flag attacks don’t exist. They are a figment of the distorted imagination of conspiracy theory advocates. Yes, there are terrorists in our world, but they are small bands of psychopathic criminals. They do not invade other nations.

  “The fact that Andrews is in denial of Russia’s relentless march to war should be very disconcerting to every American. This is a very dangerous situation that, I fear, will have very severe consequences for our nation.”

  Andrews shook his head and turned to Franks. “Something is going on. Why repeat something that is clearly not true?”

  Franks shrugged. “You know how I feel about the media.”

  Andrews turned back to the TV screen. “There has to be an agenda. What do they know that we don’t?”

  * * *

  Commander Pedder coughed from the heavy dust in the air. He tried to open his eyes, but the dirt on his face was too thick. Blinking to clear the dirt from his eyes only made it worse. He coughed again and spit most of the dirt out of his mouth only to find it was now stuck to his face. He tried to turn his head. It wouldn’t move. The pile of debris pressed on the back of his head, jamming his forehead against something hard and rough.

  Taking an inventory of his situation he realized he couldn’t move his legs at all. He could feel the crushing pressure from the debris above him and wondered just how much longer he could breathe in this confined space. His right knee was screaming in pain with his right foot twisted badly to the outside.

  Well, he thought, it could always be worse. He continued to tap out his SOS with the rock. The sound of collapsing wood above him was followed by a sharp pain where his rib attached to the center of his chest. Okay, he thought, now it’s worse. He wondered if he was going to be slowly crushed to death before anyone could realize he was missing. His arm was aching and it felt like a broken piece of wood was stabbing him in the back. He stopped tapping to rest for a minute.

  He thought he heard voices in the distance, but he couldn’t be sure. The ringing in his ears tended to drown out any soft sounds. He started tapping out his SOS again, wondering if it could be heard at all outside the collapsed building.

  Memories of his childhood flooded his mind. Tears formed as he felt the intense abandonment of too many Christmases without his father being home. Growing up in a military family came with a lot of sacrifices. His father was a major in the marines. Duty was a word he came to hate as a child because it deprived him of being with his father so much of the time. But over the years, he came to respect the call of military service, even though it could claim his life at any time. He just wondered if today was the day.

  The pile of debris shifted and he cried out in pain from the additional pressure on his broken rib.

  He could hear voices now. They were digging him out.

  The dust inside his nose was accumulating, slowly closing off his ability to breathe. He was feeling dizzy and weak. He changed his tapping from the SOS pattern to a steady rhythm so they could locate him faster. The pressure on his back shifted again adding more pain to his ribs.

  At long last the weight was lifted from his back. Hands grabbed him and pulled him from the dirt and dust. He took his first deep breath and sneezed, bringing another sharp pain to his chest.

  A me
dic rinsed his face and eyes with a stream of water, squirting some of it in his mouth. He limped as they helped him out into the open air.

  “So what happened?” he asked.

  “Best guess?” Seabee Lieutenant Chambers said. “A self-destruct device in the alien base.”

  Pedder brushed some of the dirt off of his shirt. “How many dead?”

  “As of right now, eighteen dead, twenty-seven injured, with three critical.”

  “Evacuated?”

  Chambers nodded.

  “Missing?”

  “Now that we found you, we’re down to two.”

  “SEALs have an encoded tracking chip. You should have found them already.”

  Chambers stared back at him. “Seabees don’t have a chip, sir.”

  Pedder looked back into Chambers’s eyes. “Then let’s find your men, now.”

  Chapter 31

  Having telepathic control over people was such a rewarding experience, Sheldon Gerard thought. The transportation and parking employees at George Washington University filled out the required forms and approved the work order, even though nothing was wrong with the parking structure. The appropriate notice had been posted for all students and faculty members, excluding them from the area.

  At two o’clock in the morning Gerard pulled the minivan into a space on the ground floor of the parking structure. He reached back and uncovered the delta wave generator. The device would transmit two different radio frequencies that were four Hertz apart, forming a beat-frequency of four cycles per second. The frequency was far below an ordinary human’s ability to hear, but the beat-frequency resonated within the brain, duplicating the brain waves of a person in a state of deep sleep. A few seconds exposure to the beat-frequency was enough to put people sound asleep.

  He walked down the ramps to the P2 level, pulled the barrier back, and opened the heavy tarp curtains. The north end of the parking structure that had been closed off for repairs was perfect for the staging area. At 2:18 a.m. he walked back up to the ground floor, turned on the delta wave transmitter, and dialed up the signal strength. All Zeta Greys, hybrids, and hubrids were naturally immune to the effects of the delta waves. Two minutes later the rumble of heavy trucks rolled through the university campus, its people now sound asleep. The camo tarps were pulled back as half a dozen eight-wheeled armored personnel carriers drove off the flatbed truck trailers and down into the P2 parking level of the garage on 22nd Street.

  Gerard followed the last armored vehicle down to P2. The hubrid drivers carefully backed the vehicles into parking spaces and exited the structure. Two hybrids remained with the armored carriers, preparing to keep people from approaching the curtained area during the coming day. Recordings of construction sounds would be played during the day and the hybrids would use telepathic mind control to turn people away from the staging area. Too bad the mercenaries weren’t immune to the delta waves. It would have made their attack tomorrow so much easier. But this was part of the inherent cost of working with such inferior beings.

  * * *

  Commander Pedder gathered his men. Four were providing security inside the base when the self-destruct device detonated. He had three others who were wounded, one critical. All the other victims were Seabees. They had located the two missing men. One was in critical condition, the other was dead. With every mission there were lessons learned. This lesson was that all of the alien bases would have self-destruct devices in them that he couldn’t locate.

  * * *

  Charlie met with President Andrews and his wife, Martha, in the residential section of the bunker under the White House.

  “I want to know more about how the government functions in the Tau Ceti world,” Andrews said.

  Charlie nodded and said, “The principles of your government are a major step in the right direction. Your government was formed by the people, who were considered sovereign citizens, not subjects or property of the ruling class. Even your criminal cases are brought in the name of the people. The problem is that your government has adopted an us-versus-them mentality where the people are seen as objects to be controlled, not respected and valued. That has to change.”

  Andrews lowered his head and breathed out slowly.

  “We have a long way to go, don’t we?”

  Charlie shrugged. “It all depends on how you look at it. Would you like to share the Tau Ceti world and the lower level of its government with me telepathically?”

  Andrews frowned. “Why not the whole government?”

  Charlie smiled. “For that you’ll have to make the trip to Tau Ceti yourself. I can share only what I have personally experienced.”

  Both Andrews and Martha looked at each other, nodded, and closed their eyes.

  “I had many of the same questions you have,” Charlie said. “Why don’t we talk to some of the people of the Tau Ceti system?”

  Charlie shared the image of a place he visited on his father’s planet with Andrews’s and Martha’s minds. They were walking down a hall in what appeared to be an apartment complex, following a tall thin male with copper colored skin.

  Can we talk with anyone? Andrews thought.

  I can make my experience interactive for you, so, yes, you can talk with anyone.

  Who is the man we’re following? Andrews wondered.

  He is part of the lowest level of the government, Charlie’s thoughts replied.

  The Tau Ceti man knocked on a door. A woman answered. She looked at Charlie, Andrews, and Martha, then nodded. She welcomed all of them into the apartment. The main room was spacious and nicely appointed. One wall in what Charlie identified as a living room led to what looked like a forest.

  Three dimensional viewing screen, Charlie explained.

  Andrews stepped forward in awe of the ten foot high by fifteen foot wide screen. Martha was more focused on the conversation.

  How are you doing? the man asked.

  The supply shop on the ground level seems to be running low on broth stock. Is there more on the way?

  There is, the man answered. Quality issue.

  The woman nodded.

  It’ll be the day after tomorrow before it’s resolved. I have some extra if you need it now.

  The woman shook her head. Not necessary. Just planning ahead.

  Anything else? the man asked.

  The woman looked at her visitors.

  Off-worlders?

  Yes, the man replied.

  They look like children, the woman commented.

  People are smaller in their world.

  The man held out a device about the size of a golf ball. He raised it, then lowered it to knee level. The forest scene on the viewscreen changed to show a three-dimensional image of her body with different organs in various colors. Symbols appeared on both sides of the image.

  Your body is doing well. How is your work doing?

  How old is she? Martha wondered.

  I’m a hundred and eight. The woman responded.

  She’s middle aged, Charlie interjected. People here live approximately two hundred and fifty years, on average.

  The man on Tau Ceti turned as she closed the door. He stopped in front of Charlie, Andrews, and Martha. Andrews frowned.

  I expected something more important to be going on. What are you doing?

  The man appeared confused as he looked at Andrews.

  I see that people have what they need, the man replied. I’m their trustee. That’s my mission in life.

  Trustee? Andrews thought. Like in a legal trust?

  Yes, exactly, Charlie replied.

  The man continued. All of the planet’s resources belong to the people, and are held in the planetary trust. Each person is a beneficiary of the planetary trust. As a trustee, I see that the distribution is fairly divided. I also see that no resource is ever wasted.

  Andrews shook his head. How do you get people to share equally?

  The man looked at Charlie.

  Each person is raised from birth to share a
nd be fair with everything. It’s something we all do and understand implicitly. Charlie responded.

  But somebody has to make all of these things, Andrews thought. Somebody has to pay for everything. How does that work?

  Let me take you to where something is made, Charlie suggested.

  Charlie changed the location to a manufacturing facility. Highly skilled people were putting viewing screens together. A woman approached.

  How may I help you?

  This is where they make the screen we saw in the apartment, Andrews thought. You make and sell these screens?

  She frowned. What do you mean, sell?

  Make available, Charlie interjected.

  She smiled and nodded. Yes. We make and recycle everything you see here.

  You recycle? Martha thought.

  There is a zero waste policy in the Tau Ceti system, Charlie interjected again.

  Yes, of course, the woman replied. We don’t make anything that can’t be recycled. When the person is through with a product, or it breaks, or ceases to function properly, we take it back and replace it with a new one. Then we either refurbish the old unit or take it apart and isolate the individual substances and elements, which are used to construct new products.

  Do you own the business? Martha wondered.

  The woman looked confused. The people own the manufacturing facility. I’m just the trustee.

  Andrews smiled. Another trustee. How interesting.

  And who pays you? Andrews wondered.

  The woman shook her head. I don’t know what you mean. What is “pay”?

  He wants to know why you work here, Charlie explained.

  Oh. This is what I want to do. This is how I can be of service to others. I get a great deal of satisfaction out of doing this. It makes me happy.

  Do you have a boss? Andrews questioned.

  Supervisor, Charlie suggested.

  My supervisor trustee? Yes, of course.