Extinction: The Will of the Protectors

by Jay Korza

  Nancy took Jason to the rally and was surprised when she was ushered to the stage. The men told her that it would be great for Phil if his wife and son sat behind him while he spoke. Nancy tried to argue but realized her escorts weren’t listening at all. This seemed to be a common condition for everyone involved in the group. Nancy sat with Jason and held his hand. Jason was a little more fidgety than normal but he still stayed in his seat and even looked as though he was interested in the process of what was going on around him.

  Some minor speakers took the stage to warm up the crowd. Nancy recognized several species in the crowd and a couple that she wasn’t sure about. She definitely recognized the Shirkas; everyone in the Coalition knew them. She saw a few Trizites, a couple of Nortes, some Molpeds, and a group of Bisbanes.

  The species were sticking to their own groups and keeping a little bit of a neutral zone between species. Some were there to protest the protest, some were there to agree with species separation, and some were just gathered because there was a crowd. The accidental gatherers wandered into the crowd and intermixed with other species until they noticed there were clearly divided groups in the gathering. They then found their respective species and joined their group.

  Phil had been on stage for about ten minutes, spouting rhetoric and pounding his fist. The fist pounding seemed to be a universal podium trick because it engaged all of the species present. They also had interpreters on stage, translating everything Phil said. The species who didn’t speak English could tune their personal comm unit to their translator to understand what was happening.

  Nancy still couldn’t understand how all of these species could rally together just to rant about how they should all be separated. They had such a showing that it seemed obvious that working together they could accomplish so much. She was barely registering what Phil was saying until she heard him speak their son’s name.

  “My son Jason has a speech disability. The doctors still don’t know why or what it is. He’s four years old and he’s never even said ‘Mommy’ or ‘Daddy.’” Phil reached back with his hand and waved Jason forward to him and the podium.

  As Jason reached the podium, there was a collective sigh from the audience as they looked at the cute little human child who was struck with some unknown medical affliction. Only the Shirkas didn’t sigh as they thought the child should have just been eaten if it were defective.

  Phil continued, “Because I was laid off, my son has not been able to get the medical treatment he needs. Because the Coalition is trying to help everyone, no one is getting what they need. My son would be able to talk if the human government was taking care of human problems and not sending aid and money to alien planets and alien problems. I know you feel the same. I know some of you have had similar stories. My son should not have to suffer because the Coalition has forgotten who they serve. Humanity.”

  Phil picked his son up and hugged him as Nancy had never seen her husband hug their child. Instantly, she knew it was for show, for the crowd. He wanted their sympathy—the poor father who couldn’t connect with his son because of the evil Coalition and the aliens who took everything from humans.

  Phil kept his eyes on his son but positioned himself so his words would still be picked up by the microphone. “I love you, son.”

  Just as Phil suspected, his son wouldn’t respond and he again received the sympathy of the crowd. Nancy couldn’t let this continue, couldn’t let her son be the pity fulcrum point of the rally. She was about to grab her son when she saw his little hand reach for the microphone and pull it towards his mouth.

  Jason began to babble into the microphone and Nancy was mortified. Phil stood there and smiled from ear to ear, his point made even clearer by his son’s inability to answer his father’s declaration of love. But then something else happened: the Shirka in the crowd began to lean forward, engaged in the babbling. At the same time, the Shirka interpreter on stage began speaking in English, apparently interpreting what Jason was saying.

  “I haven’t spoken to my father because he is an idiot and I have had nothing to say to him.”

  Phil looked at the interpreter. “You son of a bitch! What the hell are you saying?”

  The interpreter just look flatly at Phil. “I’m translating what your cub is saying. Nothing more.”

  A Shirka from the crowd spoke up. “He’s telling the truth. Your cub is speaking our language as though he were from one of our litters.”

  Phil just looked at Jason as he continued to speak in the alien language. “I do not condone what my father has said and neither should you. Just look at what you have accomplished, together and for the same purpose.”

  Jason looked around and began speaking in a different babble; this time the Trizite interpreter began to translate into English what Jason was saying and the Shirka interpreter switched back to translating for the Shirka in the crowd.

  “We are different from one another, and that is what makes this union fantastic. Without living together, we wouldn’t have Shirka poetry. We wouldn’t know about renewable ocean energy the Trizites developed centuries ago. You wouldn’t have coffee.”

  The coffee joke got a good laugh—the local Starbucks was always packed with just about every species that wasn’t allergic to caffeine.

  Jason switched to a different, more obscure language, and the interpreters had to rely on their in-ear translation devices to translate for them so they could then repeat it in their own tongue. “I don’t know what happened to my father to make him this bitter. I am only four, after all, so my memory is mostly filled with breastfeeding and dirty diapers.” Another huge laugh from the crowd along with a very embarrassed-looking mother. “I do remember hearing all of your wonderful languages on TV and learning so much from so many. When I was ready to talk, I realized that my dad wouldn’t want to hear anything I had to say, so I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry, Mom.” Nancy teared up at the last statement and just blew a kiss to her son.

  Jason switched to a fourth language. “The Coalition hasn’t kept me from talking; it’s what taught me to talk in so many wonderful ways. Please, don’t throw away all of the work and cooperation you put into coming together today. Use this as an example of what you can do together. If you don’t like what the Coalition is doing, come together and attack their policies, not one another.”

  Jason was now standing on his own; his father had set him down a while ago and then retreated to the back of the stage. Nancy had pushed a chair to the podium and Jason climbed on top of it. Though it now seemed her son was a genius, he was still only four so his motor skills weren’t completely developed and he had some difficulty getting on top of the chair. His adorable form garnered more awws from the crowd.

  Jason now switched to English. “If a four-year-old is the voice of reason, you really need to reevaluate your baseline thinking on these issues.”

  Later, when historians looked back on Jason’s speech, they would say that this was one of the funniest things he said that day. But to the crowd who were present, in the moment, intently listening to the child prodigy, it was the most sobering thing any of them had heard in a very long time. No one laughed; some actually cried.

  Jason looked back to his mom. “Mommy, I want to go home now.”

  He said it with such an infantile tone to his voice, Nancy knew it was on purpose to punctuate the fact that he was a little boy speaking such obvious truths. Nancy gathered her son up in her arms and he buried his face into her shoulder as she took him away. In the minute or so it took Nancy to leave the stage and get through the crowd, not a single voice could be heard. There was nothing left to say, at least not today.

  Two days had passed and Phil still hadn’t come home. Nancy and Jason were now conversing in English almost as though he had been talking for the last couple of years like any normal child. In a way, he had always been talking with his mother. Nancy always had faith that her son knew what was going on and he was always responsive to her. She even felt as if she had
a pretty good idea of what he was trying to convey to her in all of those different languages. Jason apologized so many times for not speaking to her before but she just waved him off and said that she understood his reasons.

  The weekend was just about over and Nancy had to go back to work the next day. She had been constantly thinking about what to do with Jason now that his father wasn’t around to care for him during the day. Nancy was kind of sad that Phil wasn’t around but she also realized that most of her feelings were coming from the disturbance in the routine that had replaced their marriage rather than losing the marriage itself.

  The knock at the door had Nancy figuring it was Phil, probably drunk off his ass and unable to enter his passkey on the entry pad. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see a man and a woman in formal attire standing there. Her first thought was that Phil was dead and these two were officials coming to tell her. But she didn’t think that was right; it would probably be the police who came to tell her that.

  The woman broke the awkward silence. “Hello, Mrs. Bloom. I’m Jennifer and this is Bronson.” Both people extended their hands to Nancy.

  “Um, hello. How can I help you?”

  “Actually, it’s how we can help you. May we come in?”

  “Of course. Can I get you something to drink?” Nancy wondered whether she was offering her killers or abductors a refreshing lemonade before they did something unspeakable to her and Jason.

  “No, thank you”, Bronson said as he sat on the couch. “We heard the speech on Friday. We were there as Coalition observers, to report back on the gathering.”

  “You’re spies?” Nancy wasn’t sure what was going on.

  Jennifer just laughed. “No, not spies. Though I’m sure there was one or two in the crowd or within the groups. No, we’re just observers who make reports and let other people decide on what course of action to take.”

  Bronson cut in. “As such, we obviously reported what your son said.”

  Nancy was getting a little worried. “I’m sorry if he upset anyone. He was just saying what he thought was right. He is only four, you know.”

  “Our superiors were extremely impressed with him and think his education will suffer if he stays on this planet.” Bronson looked as though he were really trying hard to pick his words. “We mean you no offense, Mrs. Bloom, but given your current situation, there is no way you can afford to give Jason the education he needs or deserves.”

  Nancy was now moving from worried to defensive. “What are you saying? That you can do better for my son? Are you going to take him away from here? From me?”

  Jennifer quickly put her hands up in what she hoped was a supplicating gesture. “No, no, no. We want to take you all away from here. We want to take you to Earth where the Coalition will enroll Jason in one of our schools for the gifted. At no cost to you at all.”

  Nancy relaxed a little. “Why would you do that? What do you want from us? From him?”

  Bronson smiled. “We want Jason to be the face of cooperation. We will follow him through school and require that he provide us with interviews as needed, so that we may televise those interviews to the Coalition citizens. We won’t censor him or anything like that; we just want him to be himself. The Coalition loves him!”

  “And,” Jennifer began, “we will find you and your husband a job near his school or even send one or both of you back to school if you want to change careers. I know this seems like we’re offering you a lot, but in the end, Jason will really be doing more for us than we are for him. We can give you and your husband a few weeks to think about it if you’d like.”

  “Does he have to come with us? My husband. Does he have to come?” Nancy was now at the edge of her seat.

  Jennifer seemed a little confused by the question and looked to Bronson, who just shrugged. “Um, no. I guess not. We hadn’t really thought about it; we just assumed both of you would want to go. Keep the family together.”

  Nancy was now standing. “He hasn’t been back since the rally and he hasn’t answered the few calls I’ve made to him. I’ll leave a note. He can catch up later if he wants to and if I decide to allow him. Can we leave now?”

  Bronson stood. “Sure. We’ll come back for you in a few hours, let you get some stuff together. Bring whatever you’d like.”

  Jason came down the hallway from his room, struggling with an oversized duffle bag. “I’m ready.”

  The three adults laughed. Jennifer looked to Nancy. “When do you want us to pick you up?”

  Nancy grabbed her purse. “All I need is this little boy, and he’s ready, so let’s go.”

  The four left the apartment and boarded a government flight back to Earth. Jason was excited and could tell his mom was also.

  “Did you really mean it when you said I was the only thing you needed?”

  “You know I did, pumpkin.” Nancy kissed him on the forehead.

  “I think you knew that they will buy you whatever you want when we get there so you didn’t bring anything. You wanted all new clothes!” Jason poked his mother playfully.

  “You’re not the only genius in the family.” Nancy looked into her son’s eyes and babbled the phrase she had heard from him so many times before. She never knew what it meant until the other day when she put it through a translator device. It was five different languages put together. “You are my everything.”

  Jason let a single tear go. “You did hear me.”

  “Every word, every time.”

  Back to Previous

  Reaper

  “Clear!” The word sounded hollow to Reaper’s seemingly disembodied consciousness, though the meaning was completely solid in his mind. He had seen the actions that followed the word but had never been on the receiving end of what was about to come. He mentally braced for the two hundred joules of energy that were about to flow across his chest and through his heart; he didn’t feel a thing as he watched his body arch upward on the operating table. Apparently there were some benefits to being clinically dead, a lack of pain chief among them.

  “Results?” The doctor was looking towards the nurse attending the monitor.

  She smiled. “Sinus rhythm. We’ve got him back.”

  A corpsman spoke up from Reaper’s side. “Don’t throw a party yet; he still doesn’t have a pulse and his pressure is still gone.”

  Reaper wanted to scream, “PEA—Pulseless Electrical Activity! Remember your Hs and Ts, people!” But being clinically dead also had its drawbacks, not being able to speak chief among them.

  The doctor was a practiced trauma surgeon and didn’t skip a beat, absent though they were in Reaper’s chest. “Hs and Ts, people. We can rule out hypothermia, hydrogen ion, hypo or hyper kalemia, or toxins.”

  “Oh crap”, Reaper thought. “I’m in a teaching hospital. This should be interesting.”

  The doctor continued. “That leaves hypovolemia, hypoxia, trauma, tamponade, tension pneumothorax, and thrombosis. Most of these apply considering he was shot in the chest multiple times. We’re going to open him up and figure out the cause of the PEA. Keep strong and steady on the compressions while I get the chest tray.”

  Reaper could see the doctor moving the surgical kit labeled “Chest, Exploratory” from the shelf to the bedside table. As the doctor sprayed sterilizing iodine all over Reaper’s bare chest, Reaper decided it was time to check out. There was only so much his body and mind could take, and right now he knew he couldn’t handle the mental trauma of watching his own chest being cracked open. It was easier than he had expected, to remove himself from the here and now and drift back into the deeper recesses of his memories to a different time, a distant place…

  ~

  “Bryce! Get in here, now!” The voice that was usually so deep and soothing to Bryce was a cannon of anger today.

  Bryce walked through the kitchen door. “Yeah, Dad?” Trying to be light in his mood didn’t help the situation; his father just glared angrily at him. “Um, I mean, yes, sir?”

>   Trying to suppress a portion of his anger before he spoke again, his father finally asked, “Can you explain to me why your little sister is purple?”

  Bryce could see his mother in the other room, purposely sequestering herself from the conversation, probably due to the fact that she couldn’t keep a straight face and was barely containing her hysterical laughter. Bryce caught himself as the right side of his mouth threatened to betray him with a smile as it began to curl upwards. Luckily, his father missed the almost-smile and Bryce got his face back under control.

  Bryce’s little sister Maya was in fact a fairly pretty shade of purple from head to toe. Maya wasn’t exactly sure what all the fuss was about. She was excited to show all of her kindergarten friends her new skin color; they would all be very jealous. Like a lot of Coalition schools, there were usually species other than humans in the classrooms. There were only a few humans in Maya’s class and they were all very jealous of the Trizites who could change color with their emotions. They would now be jealous of her new hue. Very exciting indeed.

  Bryce was twelve and a fairly smart kid. He tested in the top ten percent of his class in every area of testing. He wasn’t the smartest kid in his class but his parents knew they wouldn’t have to worry about him ever falling behind in his studies. He did, however, excel in his interest in medicine, following in the footsteps of his father.

  Bryce’s father was a trauma surgeon at a local hospital and often took Bryce to work with him. Bryce was always helping other kids on the playground, patching their scrapes and tending to their roughhousing traumas. Even though Bryce was pretty good with his basic trauma skills, he really excelled with internal medicine. He was always searching the Net for home remedies and folk medicine treatments from all over the Coalition. Bryce would often combine herbs and elements from different species’ remedies to create a new one that usually worked how he wanted it to. Rashes, hives, sore throats, colds, and various flu strains along with many other basic ailments were cured with his concoctions.