“Who was that?” Chris asks, bewildered by the fact Robert took a call during such a crisis.
“It was the President, Chris. We aren’t the only ones with satellite cameras.”
He turns away from Chris and Mark to talk to Thornhill who appears unfazed by the news of a discussion with President Larom. Robert speaks in a hushed tone to ensure the analysts in the auditorium cannot hear him, “Okay, I think I know what we need to say in Beijing.”
In Beijing, President Li Macous is in his underground bunker, surrounded by military officials and top political and security advisors. He feels trapped. Aligning with Anton Frozos and his pawn, Nick Neverian, seemed like a surefire bet. The odds were stacked overwhelmingly in his favor. Just four days ago, he was imagining himself as the President of the Planet; now he is wondering if he would survive the day as President of China.
Through years of political purges, Li had eliminated most potential political rivals, both in government and the military, and he had stocked the upper echelons of government structures with loyalists. These actions provided him with security against a coup, but perhaps by quelling any dissenting opinion, his government had descended into groupthink without anyone to provide reasoned challenge to Li’s decisions, putting him into this predicament. While top officials are loyal to him, Li can sense resentment from the mid-level staffers in the room; the individuals who were not aware of his negotiations with Frozos and are now left trying to clean up the mess.
Flummoxed, Li implores his staff, “Does anyone have ideas for how to get these planes above us out of the sky?”
“Without withdrawing our troops away from Russia?” a younger staffer asks.
“Yes, we are all aware of that option.”
The room is filled with silence, a heavy silence, and a prevailing sense of gloom when an aide whispers to Li.
“Yes, put her on the screen,” Li replies.
President Larom, calling from the Situation Room, appears on a television across from Li.
“Good evening, Mister President, I’m glad we were able to connect,” President Larom calmly says.
“Yes, congratulations on taking the Presidency,” replies Li with a slight dig.
“I am speaking to you to try to mediate a solution to get those jets out of your sky.”
“What makes you say mediate?” a genuinely curious Li asks.
“The planes in Beijing and over your troops in the west are owned and operated by Arbor Ridge. Robert Wilson is doing this unilaterally. He has assured me he will not strike preemptively and just wants your troops away from borders. Let’s find a solution together.”
“That’s very useful to know…” Li pauses, contemplating a new idea. He continues, “We need to discuss it further. I take you at your word that he will not strike. And we will speak again shortly.”
“Thank you, Mister President. This is an open line; call me as often or as quickly as need be.”
Hanging up, Li looks to his advisors, a wild look in his eyes, the look of a man who sees the end growing inevitably near and seeking to do anything to stop it.
“Gentlemen, we may have our opening. Larom says Wilson is acting on his own. If we can create a wedge between Wilson and Larom, we can create pressure that forces him to recede.”
“But how do we do that?” a senior advisor asks.
“Well, these planes being in our airspace is a provocative act, no matter what he says. I will announce on state television that we will launch a military airstrike in one hour on the mainland United States unless Wilson withdraws all of his planes. We’ll see if the U.S. really wants to fight a war over the Russian border. The pressure on Wilson to back down will be unprecedented.”
The plan is received with complete silence and uncomfortable glances among advisors who see this crazed gamble for what it is: the last-ditch effort of a power-hungry man to win a game that has already been lost. After nearly a minute, Li looks to a press aide. “Tell the media I will be making an announcement in ten minutes.”
“No!” a general of about sixty years declares, rising to his feet. General Zhou Wei is a military man whose career seemed to have hit a dead-end managing sites in rural Western China until he met up with Li who helped to advance him to one of the top positions in the army. “I will not carry out these orders. Are we trying to protect China or are we trying to protect you?”
“I am China!” Li rages as he jumps to his feet and pounds his fist to the table. In that moment, Li says what has been the case for some time, but a truth that everyone at the table had tried to ignore, bringing the country to the edge of ruin. Having said it out loud, there’s no going back, and so Li slumps back down into his chair, realizing defeat. At this moment, a faint rumbling can be heard, but the underground bunker keeps most sound out. An aide turns up the television volume as the state media has been broadcasting live from Beijing, where it is about 10:30 PM.
From the extraordinarily loud speakers of the jets, a voice in Chinese says, “This is Robert Wilson. We will take no provocative action and seek no external change in your government. United, we can beat Frozos. If you wish for China to join the fight, please walk outside of your homes so that your government sees you and acts accordingly.” The statement is repeated again and again.
“Should we have the media take the Beijing feed down?” the young aide asks.
“No, it’s too late. Once is enough to start a wildfire,” Li replies. Indeed, streets of major cities across China are immediately beginning to fill up with people. In the underground bunker, the Chinese President and his leadership are confronted with videos from across the nation showing tens of millions of their citizens outside, silently protesting his leadership, an unprecedented show of defiance by a long-oppressed people.
Within ten minutes, President Li is addressing his nation. He is sitting at a long wooden desk alongside General Zhou, with flags draping the background.
“I have always had the best interest of China first and foremost in my mind. It has become clear that along the way, my decisions have strayed from the proper path. And so, I have voluntarily resigned as General Secretary of the Communist Party and as President of China. The politburo has chosen General Zhou Wei, a valued friend of mine, as interim General Secretary and President for six months to safeguard our nation.”
President Zhou then continues, “I thank President Li for this selfless deed. As my first action, we are withdrawing all troops from our border with Russia, and we will play a critical role in the global response to Frozos. Thank you.”
In the Jersey City command center, there is jubilation as this mission proved to be a complete success. Chris is perhaps most ecstatic, as his fear of failure proved unfounded whereas Mark is more subdued, fearing that graver risks lie ahead. Thornhill signals to all involved his pride in them for a job well done but is as even-keeled in triumph as during the depths of the crisis.
Robert feels confident that ultimate victory will be achieved. Whether his victories thus far are due to genius or rather a continued streak of good fortune is unclear. What is clear is that he is willing to take bold actions and massive wagers to achieve his aims. April fifth, 2029, he thinks to himself, is a day history will never forget, for the world’s two most powerful nations lost their leaders within hours, representing unprecedented turnover on the global stage. He wonders if this will make it easier to get done what needs to be done to defeat Frozos and preserve this planet he has come to love.
Chapter 12
Jersey City
April 5, 2029
It is 5:59 PM on America’s East Coast, and Robert Wilson is sitting in his formal office at the top of Arbor Ridge’s Global Headquarters. He is writing away at his desk, finishing plans, which he will be presenting to President Larom. When facing such high stakes, he always trusted the written word over typed out plans, perhaps as a result of a childhood where he had done so m
uch work by hand. He thinks of his parents and hopes that they would be proud of the actions he is taking—he thinks they would be. It has been a remarkable day. There had been a peaceful transfer of power in the United States and China with leaders who had allegiance to Anton Frozos removed. His team—from the command center 1,000 feet below him to pilots in the Moscow tower—had performed admirably, and the jets themselves proved to be able in combat, although he admits to himself they had not faced the stiffest test. At least not compared to what they could be facing in the near future.
As the clock ticks towards 6:00 PM, the deadline that Frozos has set for the planet, Robert puts his pen down, pushes his chair back from his desk, and looks up to his television to see what might happen next. Undoubtedly, billions around the world are doing the same. Sure enough, as the deadline passes, the news channel cuts out in a flash of white, and there stands Anton Frozos. His red eyes burn more intensely than ever, and his face wears a frown of disgust. He appears to be standing at the conn of a spacecraft, and behind him lies a great window from which viewers can see countless stars and what appears to be the planet of Jupiter.
He begins speaking with the booming voice of a displeased but still-in-command tyrant. “People of Earth. I had given you seventy-two hours to make a decision that should not have taken a logical species a single hour to decide. And still, that was not enough. Reports from my soldiers in the field like the individual you know as Robert Wilson over the years informed me that your species is riddled with factionalism and petty squabbles, but I never realized just how foolish you were. Your society is more backwards than I thought, but I will teach you better ways.
“It seems like you have been impressed by some parlor tricks that have kept one of our ships—primarily a transport ship, mind you—from successfully attacking the moon, and yes Mister Wilson is a bright, if misguided, man. However, the League of Planets has a military that can overpower any single planet, and my personal armada will be arriving to join Admiral Tiberius by April seventh. We will be making landfall on New York City, shortly thereafter. It’s up to you how much suffering there is between now and then.
“I’m told that there is opposition to being ruled over by another species, preferring to govern over yourselves. Are you sure you believe that or is that a nice-sounding talking point coming from people who do wish to rule over you? Your history is one of war, famine, and conflict. The last five years you’ve enjoyed peace and unprecedented prosperity. During those years, your leading nation elected someone from the League, and your economy has been guided by another League citizen, Robert Wilson. You inherently and subconsciously seek to be ruled over by your betters.
“By joining us, we can move your standard of living forward decades, and the interspecies fights that dominated your history will be relegated to the past. Indeed, are you free now when one man maintains control over a so-called ‘force-field’ and sends military jets over capital cities? Maybe you should spend less time questioning my motives and more time questioning Robert Wilson’s. We have been researching his records more intensely this past week and discovered his parents were anti-government zealots with illusions of grandeur who hoped to destroy their world order for their own benefit. I fear he is doing the same to yours.
“No matter the promises of back alley magicians, I assure you that resistance will be futile.”
Frozos’s strategy is clear: to sow doubt about Robert’s own motives and capabilities, to get the public to question the honesty and sincerity of the governing class, and to intimidate the planet into submission. Whether he really can break through Robert’s force field is unknowable. But will the public be willing to take that risk?
Robert gets up from the chair in his office, thinking to himself that Frozos’s remarks were well crafted, as much as he hated to admit it. Rather than ponder over them alone to guess their impact, he walks out of his office, to the main elevator bank, and descends to the cafeteria floor. Thousands of employees and their families who sheltered in this building yesterday still remain here, in no rush to leave the protections these towers offer. Robert walks out of the elevator bay and into the cafeteria to meet with ordinary employees and get their opinions. Even if they are bound to have some bias in his favor, any perspective would be enlightening for him.
As he walks in to the room, the people nearest him begin to applaud, then others in the room turn to see what’s causing the commotion, and begin to join in. There is a thunderous ovation, and it feels more like a political rally than an office cafeteria. Children rush up to him asking for autographs and selfies, which he happily obliges. People chant, “We’re with Robert,” “Keep fighting,” “Don’t give up,” among other things. As Robert works the room, his arm is grabbed from behind. He turns around, and he sees a man in his mid-fifties with a badge signaling he is an employee.
“What’s your name?” Robert asks.
“I’m John Cleveland, I work as a janitor here, Mister Wilson,” he responds, voice trembling.
“Well, I’m glad to meet you. What can I do for you?”
“I was hoping I could introduce you to my father. He’s sitting over there.” Cleveland points towards the end of the room. “He’d very much like to make your acquaintance.”
“Then I’d like to make his.”
Together, they slowly make their way through the crowd and across the room. They finally arrive at Cleveland’s table. Sitting there is a woman about Cleveland’s age, two sons who look to be teenagers, and an older man in a wheelchair.
“Mister Wilson, this is Anna, my wife, my sons, John Jr and Michael, and this is my father, Joseph.”
“Please, call me Robert,” he says while shaking each of their hands. As he shakes with John’s elderly father, he says, “I’m glad you’re here with us.”
“Please take a seat,” Joseph Cleveland says, and Robert obliges him.
“I wanted to speak to you because I’ve lived a long life. I was born in 1942, after my father had been sent off to fight a war he’d never return from. I’m eighty-seven years old and have seen good times and bad. But I’ve known many Frozos’s.”
“What do you mean?” Robert asks, a little confused.
“Sure, this alien looks a bit different, but he’s no different than Hitler, or Stalin, or Mao, whose evils I saw. But to many in this room and the world, those evils are forgotten to the past. It is easy to forget how valuable freedom is when you haven’t had to fight for it. Frozos, like these other men, is a snake oil salesman, promising a better life if you just hand over those pesky freedoms. You need to reveal him for what he is. Let me ask you, why do you choose to fight him?”
Robert pauses to think, and everyone in the Cleveland family leans in, waiting intensely for his answer. “Because I’ve seen firsthand what the loss of freedom does to a man’s soul. The bone-crushing despair when hope is snuffed out.”
The elder Cleveland nods his head approvingly. “That is what I’ve seen. Your job, like the great leaders of my lifetime, is to make the American people understand that. If they understand why you fight, and it’s for a noble cause, they will follow you, and the world will follow them.”
Robert gets up from his seat, puts his hand on the elder Cleveland, and says, “Thank you, very much.” He thanks everyone at the table, slowly makes his way back to the elevator, and heads back to the office to put the finishing touches on his plans. He will be off to Washington D.C. first thing in the morning to meet with the President and potentially Congress as well.
While working on his plan, Joseph Cleveland’s question keeps popping up in his head as does a line from Frozos’s speech, that Frozos “discovered his parents were anti-government zealots with illusions of grandeur who hoped to destroy their world order for their own benefit.” That line is infuriating to Robert, and he keeps thinking of his father and the values he believed in and taught to his only son.
Chapter 13
&
nbsp; Planet Nayan
Earth Year 2004
It’s nightfall, and young Robert, or as he is known on Nayan, Marcus Natent, has fallen asleep in the storm cellar. It’s been about eight hours since his mother was murdered, and during that time he has stayed silently in the cellar, afraid that the soldiers may investigate the house. He’s hopeful that his father or a friend of his parents will return to get him. After several hours of waiting, exhausted and traumatized, Marcus falls asleep. He is lying in the back corner of the cramped, damp space when there is suddenly an abrupt noise, a rattling, outside the cellar, which startles Marcus awake. Scared, he hides in the corner of the storm cellar hoping that whoever opens the door is a friend. The door opens, and there is a man, it is too dark to see who, holding a flashlight, scanning desperately across the room. When the light shines on Marcus, the man rushes down the cellar, crouches down, and gives him a giant bear hug. It is his father after all!
Marcus’s father, Jesse, is a man who looks to be about forty with a slight build and the same short black hair his son will later have. While now a local school teacher, he normally carries the appearance of a professor, usually preferring a bowtie and sweater alongside his horn-rimmed glasses. But tonight, he is wearing hiking boots, cargo pants, and a fleece jacket. After holding his son tight for at least thirty seconds, he gets down on a knee, looks at Marcus, and wipes away tears from his dust-covered face.
“Don’t worry son, you’re safe now. The soldiers have moved out of town towards the mine,” he says in the most reassuring way possible to hide his own fear and uncertainty.
“But Dad, what are we going to do? They, they…” Marcus’s voice quivers as his lips tremble.
“I know. But Marcus, I hope you realize just how much your mother loved you, and how much I love you. Those men don’t understood love, but you will never forget it, right?”
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