by Jones, Rogue
I think everybody can tell you just where they were when the Givers made their presence known. I was about eight and it was almost dinnertime when the news story broke. My dad was so excited, it was one of the few times that she broke her rule about no eating in the living room and we ate off of TV trays that day, glued to the TV, watching the news talk about the signal that NASA received and deciphered, that the “Givers” were coming.
My dad was so excited, I remember seeing his eyes behind his glasses being so wide with excitement, and I could see the news reflected off of the lenses of his glasses. He loved sci-fi, he always had a book within arm’s reach to read; he had wanted to be an astronaut when he was little but when he was five he contracted polio, that was the end of the dream but not for his love of space. His excitement was infectious. All over, people heard the same message, an alien race contacted NASA, and they called themselves the Givers and they were on their way with gifts for humanity.
Religious sects predicted the end of the world and the suicide rate skyrocketed. People preaching the end of the world appeared on nearly every street corner. I heard that the major cities like Los Angeles, Chicago, and New York had more doomsday criers than those of us in the smaller cities, but we still saw them. Half of the world was excited and the other half scared.
I was too little to remember the actual debates about what the gifts of humanity would be and the overwhelming fear that most people felt. My dad was excited and so our household was excited. In the end, all that the Givers brought humanity was the gift of death, a gift we sure as hell never wanted but our naiveté allowed it to happen.
When they arrived, it was a televised event, with much fanfare. Leaders from every civilized country and nation was present. All wars and animosity between nations had been set aside. Enemies stood shoulder to shoulder, looking eager to meet our new visitors.
“What a historic moment,” my dad pointed out to my mom and myself, “countries that have been at war suddenly at peace. The aliens have brought us peace before they have even arrived.”
He was right; there was peace. The aliens, these Givers, showed up in a ship that was neither silver nor was it saucer shaped, it was nothing we had seen from movies. They landed in Florida, where the space shuttles use to launch from; the area was large enough to accommodate the landing ship. Telescopes sales spiked and not even toy telescopes remained on store shelves; every telescope was focused on the dark red spot in the sky, the large main ship. It was visible to the naked eye just as a dot in the night sky but to those with a telescope, it was visible clearly.
The pictures from the news showed us something that looked like a whale, for it was larger at one end, with a square shape that reminded us of the head of a whale, only on a massive scale and then the thick body tapered down to a tail that even had a split fin. Smaller stabilizing fins lined the sides and the telescopes showed that at the “mouth” end of the red sky whale, it gaped open widely, showing a network nodules inside that looked like red, striated flesh.
The smaller ship flew out from the maw of the sky whale and the entire nation held their breath as they watched it descend. If the main ship looked like a whale, this ship looked more like a shark. The ship looked very organic, it was red and had a striated surface that seemed to pulse and glisten. The ship was flatter and sleeker, it was like seeing something alien, but in a familiar form, which is why we called it a shark. As it landed, the two side fins rotated below, to stabilize it when landed.
Once again, the “mouth” opened and we got our first glance at the Givers. Split screen cameras showed us the president’s reaction on one side of the screen and allowed us to keep the other eye on the Givers as they descended the ramp. Three of them stepped off onto the surface of the Earth and the mouth of the shark closed back up.
Their ships were sinewy and red; looking more like fortified flesh than something does that was built by hands. The Givers themselves looked surprisingly human however. Nobody expected them to look like us. They were willowy and tall but well built. They had two legs and two arms and one head and hair. For some reason my dad found it amusing that they had full heads of hair and the two of us actually dissolved into giggles.
“I wonder if they brought a barber,” dad snickered while mom rolled her eyes. The three aliens were all about six foot tall, muscular, and the tight red suits, which looked to be made of the same material as the ships, accentuated their build. I do not know if they shave it or if it grows that way, but their hair started about halfway up their head and was worn long, about waist length. Their faces were shockingly similar except for the eyes, their irises were red, and the black pupil in the center of their eye looked rather shocking. They had no ears, just a hole on each side of their head. They each wore a small clear nose plug that ran to a small pack that was plugged directly into their suits.
You probably know the rest of the history. They promised that they were here to gift us with their help. Wary nations mobilized their militaries and readied their missiles in case of an attack, tensions were high, and the word’s leaders shuttered themselves along with security and the alien ambassadors who showed up. The aliens, these Givers, never identified themselves with individual names, at least not to us. They spoke English smoothly; in fact, they spoke all languages smoothly.
They promised that they were a peaceful race, coming here to help us right the wrongs that we brought upon ourselves. They promised much and for a while, they delivered. Their promises were the Trojan horse that was our downfall, because when the trap door opened, there was nothing that we could do, it was too late. More sky whales joined the first. Giver ambassadors came to every major city, at first their advice was cautiously received, but they began to broker peace between warring nations. Slowly but surely, crime rates fell, new, stricter laws were implemented. Changes came to every corner of the world and the Givers were behind it.
After a few years, the Givers became permanent fixtures in almost every city and every town. They were trusted advisors to every government. People wondered how we ever managed without them. People no longer were shocked to see Givers walking around in our midst, by the time I hit puberty, we had all met at least one of them.
They never gave us any of their technology, but they told us how to improve the technology that we had. In fact, they helped us improve everything from cell phones to kid’s toys. If it took a circuit board, it had likely been improved by Giver technology at some point. Presidents and Kings alike relied on their advice and they were privy to national secrets and clandestine meetings.
I know there was a big push for them to help us improve our weapons technology, and the Givers always refused that request. They helped boost security systems in our military bases; they helped improve the circuitry that ran our planes and our cars. They would not give us weapon technology but they helped improve everything else military related and not just for us, for the entire world. They put nations on equal ground. Nuclear weapons were no longer a threat, with the Givers as our peacekeepers; nations happily gave up their nukes.
Givers helped boost our medical technology, giving us advanced computers that would nearly eliminate the chance of human error occurring. Nursing was in danger of being on obsolete technology. The changes came fast and furious, first to the larger cities of the world and then it would filter down to the smaller cities and then to the third world countries.
My dad called this our “Jetsons” age because everything was automated, from our house lights to our cars. Futuristic products that had once only been a dream were a reality, not just for the rich, but also for everybody.
When I was fifteen, it all went to hell. The Givers had lulled the world into being blissfully unaware of any danger. Because every government had Giver adv
isors, they knew the exact specs of the world’s military force. Because they had spent years automating us, when they pulled the plug, we were in the dark and helpless.
They had managed to put themselves in a position to knock down our governments like dominos and that is exactly what happened. The big betrayal. The Givers gifts turned against us. One day the world just grounded to a halt. Everything turned off. Cars would not start. Coffee pots would not percolate. Our new medical equipment refused to work. Military bases and police forces were rendered useless. Security doors refused to open, trapping people in rather than out. Our own drones, planes, missiles, tanks, etc. suddenly roared to life, on their own. The precious technology that the Givers had given us was just a patient way of gaining control of our resources, and it worked. Our own weapons turned against us and the same happened in every nation. Military locations and government buildings were the first targets, followed by local police and then hospitals. Explosions rocked the night sky and in the day nothing but gun fire and explosions deafened anyone that was near.
Not only was the world faced with massive casualties, but also we were faced with them in darkness, and with little or no medical facilities. Small doctor’s offices who had not yet converted became the front line for treating the wounded, and we started to run out of room to bury the dead.
Armies of Givers marched across the cities, killing or enslaving those who did not run. Factories were re-purposed to build for the Givers. Those not able to work physically were carted off, we do not know for what. Rumors swirled that they were eaten. What happened to them did not matter, what matters is that they were taken. In our complacency, we allowed the poison pill to be placed in our midst. We paid for it now.
What used to the most populated places were not under Giver control, if you wanted to live, you headed towards the third world countries that we used to turn our noses up at. My parent’s and I went south; the going was slow because of my dad’s bad leg. I was sick and mom was tending to me when my dad went out to search for food. We traveled by day since we were low on batteries for the old flashlights that we had but by day is also when the Givers were out in force. Dad never came back. Mom and I went to look and we found his bike, with the front wheel bent, blood smeared on the sidewalk, we never saw him again. I remember crying non-stop, crying until I could not cry any longer. A part of me grew cold that day.
That seems like a lifetime ago. I am twenty-six now and I live in Hell. I am not sure the name of the town that we live in now, but we are in Mexico. Mom and I made it, banded together with others who were fleeing the destruction and chaos in the suburbs. Ironically, the people were all fleeing the very houses that they bought to raise their families safely.
“Shara!” I turn my head to watch Thomas jog over my direction. Thomas is long and lean, he was a computer geek back in the day, and these days, his kind is our first line of defense against the Givers. Stockpiles of old parts could be used to combine things that ran on electricity or batteries, and free of Giver chip technology, we had lights, computers, and even some phones. Thomas was pale, skinny 18 year old when we met and like all of us, to survive he had to get lean and mean. He was one hell of a shot as well, both with a crossbow and with a rifle.
There is one thing that the Givers did not realize about humans though. We are a resilient species. They thought that by destroying governments and wiping out our military bases that we would just turn belly up like scared dogs, offering ourselves to the new master. They were very wrong about that. When we see the occasional airplane overhead, we know it is empty, controlled by givers, spying on us overhead. The third world countries are now the more populated but in order to not attract attention, we have to stay spread out. A system of runners and messengers is in place to get messages out. It is not quick, but it has proven to be reliable at least.
Squinting up into the sun, I shade my eyes as Thomas strides towards me. “Shara, I know you heard me. The doc wants us all in the med tent. Now.” Thomas held a hand down to me and I grasp his hand as he pulls me to my feet. When I am thinking I tend to come to the arroyo and sit, staring at the dirt waiting for the answers to come to me. I grabbed my gun and followed him back to Hell.
Hell is just one of many encampments that are scattered, full of people who are willing to fight back with all that they have. Many of us have died across the world, some predicted that about eighty percent of the Earth's population was wiped clean and some thought higher numbers. The suits that the Givers wore were tough like armor, same with their sky sharks. Guns will knock them down, but will not pierce the suit. Major artillery can damage the suit or kill them outright but supplies of firepower of that caliber were dwindling.
When they wear their triangular shaped helmets, they were nearly impervious to weaponry. However, the helmet did not join the suit tightly and a good shot could get them in the neck, or the ear holes, which were left open. Also vulnerable was the air filtration system that was on the back of their suit, disrupt that, the line running to the nose plugs or dislodge the nose plugs themselves and they died quickly.
Because of that, many of us learned how to use slingshots, a well-thrown marble, or rock could dislodge the nose plugs quickly. It is surreal to stand up against an armored alien, somebody who is light years ahead of us when it comes to technology and to be able to use a marble to knock them down. This only worked on the ones roaming around alone though; otherwise, before you could wind up to throw again, the other Givers would get you. Once you were taken, you were never seen again.
Factories went up all along the United States, staffed with human slaves. Recon missions reported that new suits were built, nose plugs, their weaponry, which seemed to be more of a pulse type laser gun and houses for them. They lived in what looked like linked pods, with puckered fat air bladders above them, feeding fresh air into the squat houses. Just like the sky sharks and sky whales, the houses looked organic.
Once mission to a factory reported that the houses were grown, and were tended to and shaped by humans, but that thick tubes connected to the “houses” pumped in a thick, reddish mush to feed the new houses. Humans were penned in the back, groups at a time forced into the conveyor. Not only were the houses grown by human slaves but they were “watered” or “fed” with us as well. That only steeled our resolve to fight. Pockets of people all over the globe were fighting back.
We fought back because we had no alternative. Truth be told, I enjoyed the fight. Every time I ended up facing a Giver, I would flashback to the hopeful and awed look on my dad’s face as the screen was reflected in his lenses. That hope was killed. My dad was killed. I will kill to avenge both and because it brings us hope. Hope is a precious commodity here, without hope we would die.
Thomas and I walked into the med tent, about forty people had gathered inside the tent. My eyes roamed the crowd until I saw my mom and we nodded at each other. My mom helped teach the children of the encampment and she helped with making clothing if we needed it and with the cooking. We all pitched in for everything when it came right down to it, but most of the children here called her Nana Gem. Her name is Gemma but Nana Gem just stuck and now everybody called her that.
“We have news,” Dr. Hopewell announced. At five-feet and two inches tall, Dr. Hopewell makes up for in presence by what she lacks in height. She has got to be the most straightforward person I have ever met and I love her for it. Brushing back her frizzy red hair from her face she continued, “As you know, in South America, they had luck with the frogs.”
Let me interject an explanation about the frogs. Word was spreading that another low-tech tool could be useful in our fight for the planet back, poison darts, or poison arrows. One dart to the exposed skin and the Givers would fall quickly. They were apparently very susceptible to the things of our planet. Frogs had been the primary source of poison that was used in South America.
Thanks to people like Thomas, we did have some working technology. Un-chipped phones still worked but cell phone towers
were not operational, but landlines still worked. There was a network of working phones in place and Hell happened to have one such phone, being as close to the California border as we were, we were a primary hub for all information that concerned the southern half of the United States. We knew that similar methods had been found to be effective in Europe, Africa, and Asia as well.
Clearing her throat, Dr. Hopewell continued, “We do not have frogs but we have had luck with Coral Snakes. The test run the other day showed that it is equally effective. One dart and they go down.” People cheered.
Holding up a slender hand, she continued, “However, we need to mobilize something on a massive scale. Something that will bring them down in droves.”
I glanced at Thomas. How could we bring them down in droves? We were like cavemen in the desert with our cobbled together bits of technology and they ruled the skies and the road. My face must have shown what I was thinking because my mom came over and squeezed my hand. No matter how old you are, when your mom does that, it just makes everything feel okay, even if just for a second. I squeezed back.
“We know that they are very vulnerable to our air. There is now evidence that they are very vulnerable to our diseases as well.” The gathered crowd started talking softly to themselves.
“We have reliable intelligence that once any human gets sick, they are taken and burned, they are not used in the processing plants for the mush. That means that their houses might be vulnerable as well, and that is why they are so careful.”
Brent Standling stood up, he is another doctor, a relatively new arrival, and one who had not yet clued us in on what went on his is secluded cluster of tents. He was an older man, his face was lined, and his eyes, usually tired looking, were bright with excitement tonight. He removed his glasses and mopped his brow.
“We have managed to analyze their air filter packs on the suits. It looks like the intake for air is here,” he pointed to a picture of a Giver, tapping the pointer about halfway down their back and slightly to the right. “They intake air here and filter in the mid-region here and this larger section here,” he tapped to the pack-like part of the suit, right between the shoulder blades, “this is where the cleaned and filtered air is. If we manage to introduce something that they cannot tolerate into their air supply they die.”
