When They Saw (When They Came Book 2)

by Kody Boye

  As I stared up at the orange and blue beads of light, I thought of Asha and how desperately I missed her—how I wanted to hold her, to kiss her, to sleep next to her without any fear in the world or what was in it.

  Knowing that I was doing right by my planet, but also my people, made everything about this mission worth it.

  With that in mind, I lay down, closed my eyes, and fell asleep hoping that tomorrow would not bring with it any additional conflict.

  Chapter 7

  Many countries in the Central and South American hemispheres of the Americas were willing to agree to peace. Several, however, were not.

  Why should we listen to Them? one transmission from Costa Rica asked.

  How will this benefit us? another from Brazil added.

  They’ve taken our people.

  Killed our economy.

  Wrecked the global infrastructure that was the planet Earth.

  Why, Argentina asked, should we agree to something They took away in the first place?

  I fielded many of these questions with complete ignorance. Coached by Grayson, I explained that this was the final frontier—that if we were not to agree to peace, then They would take what They wanted with force. This only served to further aggravate the Central and South American leaders and the minor factions I spoke with via radio communications.

  By the end of the first day of delegations, I was absolutely exhausted.

  By the second, I was ready to give in.

  After the third, I wanted to give up.

  I’d spoken with dozens of people—heard multitudes of demands, theories, propositions and even bargains—and while many were willing to cooperate with the alien outliers who had come to the planet, many simply wanted war.

  How, I wondered, could They oppose peace when it was so firmly within our grasp?

  After the fourth day of our telecommunication meetings, during which time I felt so emotionally drained that I wanted nothing more than to simply collapse, I summoned Grayson to my room and told it that I couldn’t do this anymore.

  “It’s too much,” I said.

  “Too much?” the alien asked, considering me with its gigantic black eyes before blinking and pulling its lips down into what resembled a frown. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean,” I said, then sighed, not wanting—or particularly willing—to continue any further. I waited a moment to gather my composure and steel myself for the likely confrontation that was to come before saying, “I can’t do this anymore.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s too emotionally exhausting. I’m no diplomat, no politician. I barely even know what some of these people are asking. Embargos? Zoning treaties? I mean… how am I supposed to assist you when I don’t even know what it is they’re talking about?”

  “I… suppose I understand your concern,” the creature replied. “But I cannot allow you to simply stop now that we have begun.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Ana Mia,” the creature said, its voice heightening in what I assume was an impression of a laugh, “you are the face of our people, the voice of our cause. You cannot simply give up.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because who will believe in our cause if you are not involved? The only reason we have managed to get this far is because we have a human face to our plight.”

  I supposed it was right. In a way, I could even understand it. No one in their right mind would have wanted to see a Gray alien projected into the skies of planet Earth, nor would they have wanted to speak with one in its broken English over the varying telecommunication networks. And while it was obvious that I was being coached from behind the scenes, they were still taking me at face value based solely on the fact that I was human.

  If I stopped now—if I threw in the towel, raised the white flag or gave the final hurrah—the cause would end. There would be no further meetings, no continued delegations. If anything, the presence—and contact—of alien life in the sky would likely inspire war.

  If there was war, there was death.

  If there was death, there would be failure.

  And if there was failure, then all of this would have been worthless.

  Nodding, I straightened my posture atop the mattress I was seated upon and said, “All right.”

  “All… right?” Grayson asked.

  “I’ll continue to do as you ask.”

  “I understand that this process is very demoralizing, Ana Mia Sofia Berrios. It is not my—or my people’s—intentions to overwhelm or burden you.”

  “It just comes with the territory,” I said. When the alien made no move to respond, I frowned and followed up by asking, “Is there any way I can get some food?”

  “I will bring some to you shortly.”

  Grayson turned, palmed the panel near the door, and left the room, leaving me to my own devices with a rumbling stomach and a heavy conscience.

  My mind—it was tired.

  My body—it was exhausted.

  But my spirit—it weighed upon me like the greatest burden I had ever felt.

  All those people, all those talks, all those meetings both good and bad, were like the thorn being repeatedly being stabbed in my side. I couldn’t get a break. I wouldn’t get a break. We’d gone through Central and South America in a matter of days, and though I knew the world and its governments had either fallen under the alien assault or gone radio silent as a result of it, it didn’t take much to realize that I would likely be on this ship for weeks, if not months.

  Could I take the isolation for that long? The loneliness? The sheer, unadulterated panic that filled my heart whenever a discussion panel opened and someone, screaming bloody murder or threatening to blow up the ship, came over the radio?

  I bowed my head and was just about to let loose the breath I’d been holding in when Grayson entered with a circular platter upon which there was varying degrees of nondescript substances. “Nutrients,” the creature said. “From our personal stores.”

  “Is it… edible?” I asked.

  “As edible as it can possibly be.”

  I accepted the platter, tasted the nutrients, and nearly gagged. The gelatinous texture seemed to crawl in my mouth and continued to do so even as it went down my throat.

  “I’m going to need real food sooner rather than later,” I said.

  “We will find something for you, Ana Mia Sofia Berrios.”

  I sunk my teeth into my lower lip as I contemplated Grayson’s declaration—which seemed to be a product of dismissal rather than actual consideration—before I turned and watched the alien leave the room.

  Alone, in my room, and with only the creepy-crawly nutrients to keep me company, I continued to eat, all the while dreading how the process of interrogation and delegation would begin anew tomorrow.

  “We have to find the president of the United States,” I said.

  “Who?” Grayson asked.

  “The commander in chief,” I replied. “President Suzanne Gale.”

  “And what will speaking with this president accomplish?” the alien said, a semblance of a frown crossing its face.

  “It will determine whether or not the United States would be willing to open itself up to extraterrestrial citizens,” I replied, “and give your starving people a chance to call a new land home.”

  “I see,” Grayson said, but didn’t pressure me to continue further. Rather, it rounded the spherical holographic computer display that inhabited the center of the command deck and considered the various ships that drifted over the continental United States. It did this for several long moments before it finally turned to me and asked, “Do you know where this president is?”

  “Me? Know where the president is?” I laughed. This didn’t seem to amuse Grayson, whose mouth merely dropped and whose eyes dilated in the light streaming from the holographic displays behind us. “No,” I then said, when I realized it didn’t find my declaration humorous in the slightest. “I don’t.”

  �
�This presents a conundrum,” the alien said as it reached out to palm the display. A series of indiscernible charts and graphs that resembled something out of a mathematician’s handbook appeared and fluctuated at various rates, though what purpose they served I couldn’t be sure. Grayson studied these for several moments before finally saying, “You said this individuals name was ‘president?’”

  “No,” I said. “Her title is president. Her name is Suzanne Gale.”

  “We may be able to analyze and monitor ground communications to detect this so-called ‘President Suzanne Gale.’”

  “You can do that?”

  “How do you believe we knew of the counterattacks that would be launched against us?”

  I knew nothing of cyberwarfare, espionage or even communications, so hearing that They would be able to monitor dozens, possibly even hundreds of communications networks in order to find President Gale’s position was absolutely astounding. It would be like finding a needle in a haystack—except in this case it would be finding one person out of several million.

  “Can you do it?” I asked, drawing forward. “Because if we can get a declaration of peace from the United States, it would allow your people to land freely.”

  “I believe we will be able to find this individual,” Grayson said. “In the interim, we can continue to navigate the planet and continue our delegations with other world leaders. We are particularly interested in larger landmasses—most particularly: the section of Eurasia known as Russia and Australia.”

  Australia? I frowned. From what I understood, the majority of Australia was uninhabitable. Unless—

  “You plan on changing the continent,” I said.

  “The desert landmass can easily be manipulated with the instruments we have aboard our mothership,” Grayson replied, turning to face me. “We are, first and foremost, looking for places to immediately settle, but we also have to consider what will occur in the long run. Humanity’s current dwellings cannot support all of the Gray people. We will need spaces to roam, places to settle down, lands to cultivate and farms to grow food. This is why we will began the process of terraformation on lands such as Australia—and, eventually, continents such as Antarctica.”

  “You can’t melt the ice,” I said. “It’ll flood the world.”

  “Water can be dispersed into the upper atmosphere.”

  “How?”

  “Through quantum mechanics and the manipulation of gravity. Water can either be dissolved into steam or simply pushed into space. It’s really only a matter of what can be done with it.”

  The possibilities were endless. If They could terraform Antarctica, it would give Them millions upon millions of square miles of land to live upon. How it would work I wasn’t sure, but regardless, the implications were impossible to ignore.

  “This would take years to accomplish,” Grayson said, as though anticipating my question before I could even ask it. “This is why we need to contact world leaders—to ask for assistance in the refugee efforts that our people so desperately need.”

  “How many are there of you on the mothership?”

  “Billions. All waiting to be awoken from cryosleep when the moment is right. As I have already explained: we are running out of food, and our workers can only go so long before our supplies will diminish.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  But that begged the question: how would we feed billions upon billions of extraterrestrial lifeforms when the global agricultural market had collapsed?

  In the end, it all came down to one factor: we had to target leaders who would potentially be willing to open their borders. President Suzanne Gale was one of them.

  “I will instruct my contacts over the United States to begin searching for the president,” Grayson said, then turned and began to make its way toward the distant edge of the ship.

  I was left to stand in the center—where, at the nexus of it all, I could see everything: from Grays, to subservient Coyotes, to the holographic computers as they ran endlessly the data of planet Earth.

  Knowing that I could serve no further purpose here, I turned and began to make my way back to my room, all the while wondering how Asha was doing back in Burgundy Hospital.

  We crossed the expanse of the Atlantic Ocean and began to make our way toward Cape Town, South Africa the following day. Knowing that we were likely to face resistance in yet another foreign country but unaware of how the African peoples would respond to a Harvester soaring over their international airspace, Grayson and its crew kept the cloaking devices engaged as we began to descend toward the city.

  “We are beginning to pick up communication signals within the greater parts of the city,” the alien said as it maneuvered its hands along the holographic display centered within the cockpit. “Prepare to disengage the cloaking device.”

  Given that there were no visible external windows that looked out at the outside world, I could not see the ship’s cloaking apparatus as it was lowered, but I could feel it, vibrating throughout the floor and then along the walls and ceiling. When finally it stopped, I watched as Grayson began the necessary procedures to hack into South Africa’s radio broadcasting system, all the while dreading what may or may not happen.

  Previous experience had shown that people responded to us in one of two ways: in complete and utter fear or horrific hostility. Though we’d yet to be fired upon by anyone, there was still a first time for everything, especially when visiting countries whose motives were as shrouded in secrecy as the Grays’ were.

  Regardless of the fact that nothing had happened yet—that no missiles had been fired, no communications had been opened or no ships had risen to counter us—something in my gut told me that coming here had been a bad idea. It was a rotten egg, a bad seed, a fruit that had fallen once rotten on the tree. The more I thought about it, the more panic began to set in, causing me to visibly tremble and my teeth to chatter.

  “Ana Mia Sofia Berrios,” Grayson said as it turned its attention to me. “Are you prepared to speak with the South African officials?”

  “I,” I started, “don’t—”

  “We are picking something up on our sensors,” another alien said in near-perfect English. “Earthling ships, by the looks of it.”

  “How fast are They approaching?” Grayson asked, turning to face the alien who’d spoken with it.

  “80.46720 kilometers per hour.”

  “Open the communication channel,” I said. “Open the—”

  “Attention unknown vessel,” a man’s voice came through. “You are entering restricted airspace. Turn back now or be fired upon.”

  “Wait!” I cried. “Don’t shoot! My name is Ana Mia Sofia Berrios. I’m the human ambassador for the Gray peoples. We merely wish to play a projection before—”

  “You have ten seconds to comply with our demands,” the voice cut in.

  “No! Wait! What’re you—”

  “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six—”

  “They mean to fire upon us,” I said after a moment’s hesitation, panic strumming chords along my ribcage like hands against drums. “Grayson, we have to get out of here.”

  “What are you—”

  “Three, two, one—”

  “Now!” I screamed.

  “Fire!”

  Alarms went off.

  The inside of the ship turned red.

  I had just enough time to open my mouth before something collided with the Harvester.

  The ship was struck by what was undoubtedly a missile and was knocked askew by the momentum. As it spun, rotating at a speed I could barely begin to fathom, I fell to the floor and landed with enough force to knock the wind out of me.

  I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think, I could barely see.

  Chaos took over the inside of the ship in the moments following the strike.

  Displays flickered.

  Lights dimmed.

  Alarms rose in pitch.

  “Prepare to engage defenses,” Grayson said a
s the ship was righted.

  “No!” I managed to cry.

  But it was too late.

  The holographic screen lit up as three dots flew from the representation of the Harvester ship and toward the three aircraft currently pursuing us.

  A short moment later, explosions rocketed the outside world, effectively killing any communication we might have had with South Africa.

  “WHY DID YOU SHOOT?” I screamed.

  “We had no choice!” Grayson barked back in a voice that was filled with dread and malice. “Prepare evasive maneuvers. We cannot remain in this territory.”

  “More ships are rising!” another alien said.

  “Engage the cloaking device!”

  The same vibration that had lowered the device began anew. This time, however, the vibrations stuttered like bursts of static on the television and caused the ship to wobble.

  “What’s going on?” Grayson asked.

  “Our cloaking devices are damaged!” another alien cried. “We cannot stealth our craft!”

  “FLY!” I screamed.

  The ship lurched suddenly and without warning.

  I flew, backward, through a holographic display, and slammed against the cockpit’s back wall.

  A jarring pain lit up along my side and blood trickled down from where my teeth had sunk into my lips.

  I struggled to see through the haze of pain shrouding my vision as Grayson and the other aliens prepared for combat.

  Several panels lowered along the sides of the ship to reveal the blue skies around us, as well as the fighter pilots that were currently pursuing the Harvester.

  It was at that moment that I realized we had no choice. We’d have to fight, otherwise we’d be killed.

  “Preparing to jump to FTL,” an alien said.

  “What?” I started.

  The ship lurched.

  The sky widened.

  Light bent around the structure as into space we soared.

  Within moments we were hovering within the Earth’s outer atmosphere, and looking down at what was undoubtedly the continent of Africa.

  “We are safe,” Grayson said.

  And with that, I blacked out.