by Rob Mclean
The radioactive fallout had spread in a wide swathe, as far as Athens, blanketing Turkey and much of the Middle-East. It could have fallen harmlessly into the Sahara, but the usual prevailing winds hadn’t obliged. The good Lord hadn’t seen fit to limit the damage. Consequently, the political fallout was almost as toxic.
All eyes were on Israel. The expectations were high that they would use the international sympathy for their situation and the outrage against Iran from this incident as an opportunity to attack and neutralise the nation that had, in the past, vowed to destroy them. That they hadn’t already done so was a source of amazement for the Rear-Admiral. Even more astonishing were statements of solidarity with the Iranians from other countries in the region affected by the fallout. In some circles, the jumped–up little clown they called a leader, was being lauded as a hero of humanity, a friend of the faithful. He could be seen often on Al-Jazeera milking it for all it was worth. The trouble was that on one level, he actually admired the tyrant’s audacity. While the Rear-Admiral had tried surreptitiously to do exactly the same sort of thing, the Iranian leader was up-front and openly defying the alien. Although from a strategic point of view, it was childish, populist and incredibly foolish, it appealed to him in a visceral, primitive way that would have resonated with his medieval ancestors.
The alien ambassador had not been heard from since he cut short his tour of Japan. He had given a brief announcement, expressing his sympathies for the victims and declared it a regrettable action. Standard diplomatic tactics, the Rear-Admiral knew, to say the right things all the while getting themselves ready to retaliate. The house prices in Tehran would be hitting rock bottom right about now. If not some alien death ray, then he felt sure some Israeli or Chinese nuke would make Tehran a sister city of Cairo real soon.
The alien envoy had then been ushered into his lander by the Japanese security forces in an operation that would have made the D-day commanders proud. He left, presumably to meet up with the mother-ship which was hiding somewhere safely out of humanity’s reach.
No mention had been made of the alien’s return, or if the whole benevolent intervention programme had been called off. The world waited. There was not a lot anyone could do to prepare if the aliens decided that humanity was not worth the effort; that it was a noxious weed that should be eliminated before it spread to other planetary systems.
As such he gave that problem little thought. He had filed his report as factually as he could, stating how he believed that when they had detected the Iranian missile, it was unstoppable. Given that, he had decided that it was in the nation’s best interests for the Iranian attack to be successful, hence his decision to assist their attack as discreetly as possible.
He hadn’t given the real reasons for the cruise missile launches nor had he mentioned his notions of the aliens being a contemporary manifestation of the Devil. He held onto the slim hope that the military hierarchy could see the logic behind his actions, but he knew that his disregard for protocol would earn him scant leniency. As far as he was concerned, the consequences of his role in the attack on the alien vessel lay figuratively in the lap of the Gods. In reality he knew the military and governmental hierarchy would be delivering their verdict soon.
There was another problem that also confronted him and it troubled him that it occupied more of his thoughts than all the others combined. It was the distance that now existed between him and Lieutenant Gray. Before his failed attack on the alien spaceship, she had been the perfect mistress; discrete, enthusiastic and incredibly attractive. Unnaturally, undeniably desirous, and in his mind that was the problem. He still saw her as an instrument of Satan; if not actually possessed, then as an unwitting tool to be used by the evil one to lead him astray.
On one hand, he was glad that their association had cooled. Their relationship, he was sure, was the talk of the fleet. It did little to engender respect from his officers and it took all his efforts to wrest his mind from the Lieutenant and focus on the mundane. Maybe it was a blessing that things had now chilled between them. Besides, her insistent love-making was not something a man of his age could maintain forever, despite any pharmaceutical aid.
As his personal assistant, she now only spoke to him in formal, neutral tones. Her eyes had become remote and focussed into the distance behind him whenever they conversed. It made their professional relationship functional, if somewhat stilted, but that would pass with time and she could always be transferred to another ship if things became too much.
Still there were the memories of their previous encounters. He would find himself recalling their intimate times together and how wonderful she made him feel. Despite being the commander of a fleet of warships with thousands of personnel, it was the empowerment she gave him through sexual fulfilment that he truly longed for. He would gladly trade the sense of satisfaction that he got from his day job for that which she gave him. He suspected that if he did, she would soon see him as an ancient, retired sixty year old nobody and rapidly lose interest in him.
If only his wife, Elma was more receptive to his needs. Her saintliness provoked feelings of respect and love, but did nothing to help him feel inclined to bed her. In fact it did the opposite. It was almost like he was defiling a pure vessel and while some men might find that exciting, it only added to his feeling of guilt.
At one level he knew that he was mostly to blame. The less he sought intimacy with his wife, the more remote and distant she became. He knew that, like a fire, she needed to constantly have the fires of their relationship stoked. By the time Lieutenant Gray had came on the scene, his wife’s coals had been cooled for a very long time. Now they had completely gone out and all that was left was cold, powdery ash.
In contrast, Lieutenant Gray had fanned his flames to the point where he could think of little else but spending his every spare moment with her, despite the drain it took on his body. The correlation between desirability and wickedness worked to torture what remained of his conscience whenever he thought about it.
He was pondering this paradox as he watched the Lieutenant’s svelte form approaching. Gone were the tight split skirt and seamed stockings. She now wore a longer dress uniform that fell past her knees with flatter shoes in keeping with their more recent history, but her figure could be filled in from memory.
“Sir,” She addressed him verbally, but her eyes stared ahead blankly as she thrust some papers towards him.
He searched her face for some sign of connection, some glimmer of their former spark, but he found none. She wore no make-up and her eyes were rimmed with a red weariness. Her stare remained fixed, her shutters were drawn.
“Lieutenant,” he answered as he took the papers and glanced over them.
As he read them, he felt his throat tighten when he saw that she had given him her transfer request. A sense of anger and betrayal flared up from his gut, scorching its way up his body. After all the risks he had taken to be with her, she now was abandoning him? He clenched his teeth and could feel his ears burning. He struggled to maintain his professional attitude while inside his thoughts were in turmoil.
His eyes became unfocussed and the words on the page blurred as his thoughts changed direction. His heart spoke to him of the loss it felt and in an instant, his anger dissolved, replaced by a morbid sadness. Without her, he knew that he had nothing. Misery constricted around his soul and threatened to squeeze the life from it.
“Lieutenant…” he called, but when he looked for her, she had already gone.
Chapter 3
John sat on the lounge with his arm around Angela. She snuggled into him and despite her mother fussing about in the kitchen, he felt for the moment, that all was good in his world.
It was a Friday evening and it felt good to be unwinding with Angela by his side. He had taken on-board what his brother Jarred had said about being harsh on Angela. She had enough to worry about with her father’s cancer and her long-time boyfriend, Zeke, who she had planned to marry had effectively aban
doned her. John had rung to apologise for not being understanding enough and not being there for her.
Over the phone, Angela had sounded surprised at first and after a short consult with her mother, she had asked him over.
Her father had been glad to see him again. John saw it in the way the old man’s features became animated, his eyes came alive and the corners crinkled up as his whole face smiled when he saw John walk in the room. The cancer had robbed him of his strength, but his deteriorating health did not stop him from trying to be as sociable and welcoming as he could, but John could see that it drained him of energy and he tired rapidly. He had to excuse himself and retire to his bedroom soon after John had arrived.
Angela had told him about how Zeke had been over and had demanded that she stop seeing John. She talked dismissively about the event, but John could tell from the quiver in her voice that she had been frightened. Her mother downplayed Zeke’s tantrum, saying that he had a passionate personality and that it showed his true feelings. To John, it seemed as though she was implying that he lacked those very qualities. She managed to convey in her tone that she knew beyond all question that John was only keeping company with her Angela for the one thing that all those filthy worldly men wanted. It made him more determined to prove her wrong.
He would have preferred to prove his devotion by spreading Zeke’s nose across his face. He suggested that they just hang around at her home, partly to show her mother that she was wrong about his intentions, but also on the off-chance that Zeke might make his day by showing up. Consequently, there was not much for them to do but sit in the living room and watch the news.
Normally on a Friday night, he might watch some sport or a movie, but they didn’t have cable or any sort of pay TV, except for some Christian channels. Angela had said something about how careful you had to be about what you let into your mind. John wondered how they would know if something was ‘bad’ unless someone risked their integrity to preview it and whose job that would be, or who decided what was ‘bad’ but he didn’t ask.
On the television, the world outside was in chaos. He had a worrying feeling that the news about Cairo was just the start of big changes that were set to rend the world, as they knew it, irretrievably asunder.
In an emergency session of the United Nations, the Iranian attack had been formally condemned. A raft of new resolutions had been passed with surprising speed. Eager to show that the ‘old’ UN was still relevant, the delegates had sat through all night marathon sessions to push through a series of resolutions. The ones regarding humanitarian relief, nuclear non-proliferation and declarations of non-hostility towards the greater galactic community sailed through quickly and unanimously.
The resolutions as to what to do about Iran proved more difficult. Their old allies, Russia and China had abandoned them, ostensibly because of their nuclear irresponsibility, but on a more practical, unofficial level, they hoped to distance themselves from the rogue state and appease the aliens, or at least avoid any retaliation that may ensue.
Calls from European nations for a UN led declaration of war on Iran had met no opposition from Russia or China either. The vote, however was vetoed by India, with support from Brazil, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan as well as many African and South American nations. It was noted, in a move that surprised many commentators that the United States had abstained from voting.
It surprised John too and he mentioned it to Angela. “I would have thought that the U.S. military would have jumped at the chance to wipe out those Iranians, especially if they had the backing of the UN.”
Angela said nothing. He wondered if she had even heard him, so he asked her, “What do you think?”
She turned and gave him a surprised look. “What do I think?” Her mouth open and closed and her eyes blinked, but nothing came out.
“Yeah. You got a take on all this don’t you?” As soon as he asked, he saw a broad grin spread across her face and her eyes twinkled. “Something funny?”
“No,” her lips tightened. “Just about nobody’s ever asked me for my opinion.”
“Really? I’d be surprised if you didn’t have one.”
“Oh I do, but all that political stuff is not women’s business. It’s not a woman’s place.”
“What about the President?”
“Biblically, a man should lead a nation.” Angela stared forward as if recalling an early memory. She then gave John a sharp look. “Given the alternatives though, she was the best to choose from. She’s a true God-fearing woman and is doing a good job in a really difficult situation.”
“So shouldn’t we be asking her husband for his political views?” John gave her a gentle nudge. “After all a woman’s supposed to obey her husband isn’t she?”
Angela frowned. “I think it’s different if she’s the President.” She crossed her arms, but added, “Though it’s not natural.”
John just shook his head. With his job, he had always been made aware of the equal-opportunity and sex-discrimination aspects, so the kindest thing he could say about her attitude was that it was quaint. No wonder Zeke had been able to keep her dancing to his every tune.
“Okay,” he said after a few moments, “so what do you think she’s up to with the U.N and abstaining from voting?”
Angela had sunk back into the couch and pressed her body against his. He felt her shoulders shrug beneath his arm. “I guess it’s not a political thing, at least not like it was before…”
“Before what?”
“Before the Anti-Christ came,” Angela said in a matter-of-fact tone that reminded John that to her, he was the religious equivalent of a five year old. She continued, “I suppose they now see it as a religious issue and the religious countries support the idea of resisting the Anti-Christ.”
John sat silently for a moment, trying to see things from her point of view. She really did believe that the alien was the physical incarnation of the Anti-Christ, but still he didn’t think her reasoning was sound. “But the Anti-Christ thing doesn’t apply to these other religions, does it? Like why would the Muslims get so worked up about it?”
Angela sat up straighter. His arm fell from her shoulders as she turned to face him. “For a start, they’re being told to give up their religion and nobody likes that. Besides, they have their twelfth Imam and their own version of the Anti-Christ called the Dajjal.” John gave her a blank look, so she continued. “In Islam, they believe the twelfth Imam will come and unite the forces of good to overcome the evil one.”
“Like the Second coming of Jesus?”
“Yes and no, but I can see how you might think there were some similarities, after all, we are all descendants of Abraham. We were all once reading from the same book.”
John understood the individual words she was saying, but when she put them all together, he was lost. It must have shown on his face because she sighed and tried to explain it more.
“The three Abrahamic faiths are Judaism, Christianity and Islam. They all share what we call the Old Testament, but Jesus came and brought the Good News which updated things.”
“The Jews don’t believe in Jesus, do they?” John asked, piecing together some factoids. “Like, they don’t do Christmas, do they?”
“No, they believe Jesus was a prophet, but not the Messiah that the Old Testament prophesised.”
“And the Muslims?”
“They believe that the Prophet Mohammed came and gave them the Koran which replaced the Christian New Testament.” She gave John a querying look to see if he was still with her.
“So they got a whole new set of instructions, a new operating system. Like, they’re running on Windows 10, while we’re still on XP?”
“Yeah, I suppose you could see it that way.” She smiled at his analogy. He loved it when she smiled; it made her look so beautiful. It was like she was opening a doorway to her soul and inviting him in. He felt his chest tighten and his heart quicken with the thought. He found that his smile had, all by itself, mirrored hers and
at that moment he realised that he wanted nothing else in the world other than to be with her. To be that close to this gorgeous woman with her welcoming smile.
He wanted to kiss her there and then and tell her how he felt, but he could hear her mother clattering about in the kitchen. The moment passed and with a sigh, he forced himself to continue their conversation. As if to explain why he hadn’t seized the moment, he nodded towards the kitchen. “And those poor old Jews are still running on Windows 95.”
Angela tilted her head and gave him a puzzled look. “It works for them.”
“It’s a damn shame that all these versions aren’t more compatible.”
“Oh they were,” Angela said, oblivious to his concerns about her mother eavesdropping. “All three faiths used to live together peacefully for centuries in Europe and the Middle East. It was good for trade and also they were surrounded by barbarians, pagans and strange Eastern religions. During the dark ages, they considered themselves to be the hope of civilisation.”
John nodded, it made sense to him, but that was long ago and things today were much different.
Angela kept on. “Except for the Crusades, they really got along pretty well – at least by today’s standards.”
“Crusaders? Aren’t they televangelists? Isn’t that what the Muslims call us Westerners?”
“The Crusades were a series of wars where Christian knights tried to capture Jerusalem for Christianity.”
