Illegal Aliens (31 page)
Great Golden Ones, and quite likely directly traceable
to the Terrans’ outstanding achievements of killing
Leader Idow, destroying the rogue warobot Silverside and
out-bargaining the RporRian Queen/Mother. Factors they
just could not ignore in light of the public sentiment
stirred up by Semi-Lord Brent. Let's have a replay of
that decision.
CROSSFADE INTO A CLOSE UP OF THE 3,000. THE GEE MALE LOOKS LIKE HE WOULD RATHER BE DOING ANYTHING ELSE.
THE 3000—It is with great reluctance that we concede that it was due to errors on our part that Leader Idow managed to land on and make contact with the human race. Having the knowledge and the reality of Galactic civilization thrust down their air intake valves in such a fashion would have destroyed any lesser robust species. Yet in face of imminent destruction, Terra completely reorganized its government, from opposing nation states to a unified ruling body, almost instantaneously. This is most impressive. Its subsequent actions are even more so, and would have done credit to any young, outwardly reaching, intelligent species not plagued with mental disorders.
FREEZE THE GEE
VOCK—(voice over) Told I am that the humans wished the wording of that particular passage changed, but Semi-Lord Brent has told them to quit while they still had both feelers in the air.
UNFREEZE THE GEE
THE 3000—As a result, we are at this time prepared to drop most of the charges against Humanity.
CUT TO THE CROWD GOING WILD. BUT THEN EVERYBODY QUIETS AS A HOLOGRAPHIC IMAGE OF THE 3000 SUDDENLY APPEARS IN THE AIR AND EXPANDS UNTIL IT FILLS THE COLISEUM WITH HIS PRESENCE.
THE 3000 (booming echo)—The charges we will not drop are those resulting from the deliberate and planned attack upon the Avantor's centihedron M-21-3. This act of piracy we cannot forgive. We charge all of humanity with complicity in this act. For this crime, and this crime alone, we demand the ultimate penalty.
CUT BACK TO THE CONTROL ROOM.
ORBLUK—Well, I’d say that pretty much wrapped it up for the Terrans.
VOCK—Truth you speak. (He glances down at his almost completed body of work.) Shame, as a race they gave off much color. (With a sad air, he begins to mix a large pot of cream and liberally applies it to his body.)
* * *
TRANSCRIPT #151
:
Notice: Do not tamper with, or alter, this following section in any way whatsoever under penalty of the law.
FADE FROM BLACK TO THE CONTROL BOOTH, WHERE A WILD EYED ORBLUK AND A SMEARY VOCK APPEAR TO BARELY BE IN CONTROL OF THEMSELVES.
ORBLUK—Viewers, we have just received rumor of an incredible
event taking place at the human encampment. We take you
there now!
VOCK—Yes! Do now it!
ZOOM IN TO THE SCREEN BEHIND THEM. THERE STANDS A DISHEVELED MOGACHEF, HER OUTFIT HAS OBVIOUSLY BEEN PUT ON IN GREAT HASTE AS ALL OF THE SPINDLES ARE INVERTED. BEHIND HER WE SEE THE SECTION OF THE HUMAN ENCAMPMENT WHICH CONTAINS THE
RAMARIEZ
. PEOPLE AND ROBOTS ARE RUNNING/FLYING EVERYWHERE.
MOGACHEF—Sentients, a monumental discovery has been made aboard the human starship, where they have been billeted through the whole trial. I am speaking now with the human responsible for the excitement, medical technician Paul Van Loon. Doctor, what have you done?
VAN LOON—I don't really understand what the fuss is about. The Gees were going through our hydroponics section when they seemed to go bananas, uh, crazy. It was just an experiment to see if I could germinate some alien seeds I’d found on the Great Golden Ones’ ship. Well, I gave it a try . . .
ZOOM IN PAST THE TWO TO FOCUS ON THE
RAMARIEZ
. A HUSH ENVELOPS THE COLISEUM AS A GEE APPEARS IN THE HATCH. TIGHT ZOOM IN TO SEE HIM GENTLY LEADING OUT AN AMBULATORY BUSH WITH MULTIPLE BRANCHING LIMBS, A SMALL PUCKERED BARK FACE AND ARTICULATED FEET ROOTS. SUDDENLY, THE SILENCE IS BROKEN BY THE DISTANT THUMPS OF THOUSANDS OF PEOPLE FAINTING.
MOGACHEEF—(whisper) By Prime Builder's heart and blood, it's a
Koolgoolagan!
VAN LOON (voice over)—Nothing seemed to work until I got the idea of liquefying the excess leaves and soaking the seeds in the juice. I figured it's supposed to be this great restorative, so why shouldn't it work on its own species?
AN OFF CAMERA SCREAM. CUT BACK TO THE CONTROL ROOM, WHERE ARE SEEN ONLY THE SANDAL CLAD FEET OF ORBLUK SNEEV STICKING STRAIGHT UP IN THE AIR FROM BEHIND THE CONSOLE, AND A FRANTIC VOCK AK-AK WHO IS TRYING TO PAINT HIMSELF WITH FOUR FLIPPERS AT ONCE.
* * *
TRANSCRIPT #250
FADE IN TO SEE THE GALACTIC LEAGUE STANDING IN A SMALL POOL OF LIGHT, SURROUNDED BY A SEA OF BLACKNESS.
LEAGUE—Sentients and friends, our decision in this matter must take into account the greatest good for the greatest number. The wishes of individuals, whether individual beings or individual planets, are weighed, evaluated and occasionally discarded. (pause) Therefore, it is our decision that the inhabitants of the Sol star system, indigenous to the planet known as Dirt, heretofore referred to as Terrans, are cleared of all charges and are hereby granted admittance to the Galactic League. (pause) However, the crew of the UNSF: starship
Hector
Ramariez
has been found guilty of the charges brought before them. Their sentence is life imprisonment upon Galopticon 7. (pause) But due to the extenuating circumstances involved and taking into consideration the many extraordinary actions they have performed which will, directly and indirectly, benefit Galactic Society, including the actions of Dr. Paul Van Loon which have changed the course of history, by the power invested in us, we do hereby commute their sentence to 5 standard years. At which time any survivors will be released. This is the decision of the Galactic League. Court is adjourned.
THE HOLOGRAPH DIMS AND FADES AWAY, DOLLY DOWN TO A GROUND LEVEL VIEW OF SMILING TECHNICIANS WHO ARE ALREADY BREAKING APART THE RECORDING EQUIPMENT.
CUT TO—A PANORAMIC VIEW OF THE CROWD ERUPTING INTO PANDEMONIUM. THE SOUND OF CHEERING CONTINUES UNTIL THE END OF THE TAPE.
CUT TO—A CLOSE UP OF THE 3000 NODDING AND TURNING AWAY.
CUT TO—PROFESSOR RAJAVUR AND CAPTAIN KELLER SHAKING HANDS AND CLAPPING SEMI-LORD BRENT ON THE BACK.
CUT TO—DISTANCE SHOT OF THOUSANDS OF GEE SOLDIERS ADVANCING ON THE HUMAN ENCAMPMENT.
CUT TO—WIDE ANGLE VIEW OF THE HUMANS ROUNDED UP AND MANACLED TOGETHER BY THEIR GOLDEN GUARDS. SOME OF THE PRISONERS APPEAR TO BE WEEPING, BUT MOST HAVE A LOOK OF TRIUMPHANT PRIDE ON THEIR FACES.
CUT TO—THE CONTROL BOOTH WHERE VOCK AK-AK IS SPRAYING HIS BODY WITH CLEAR PLASTIC. ORBLUK AND MOGACHEF ARE SHARING A CONGRATULATORY BOWL OF ZISH. LD 59 MERRILY BOBS IN THE AIR ABOVE THEM, A POWER PACK CLUTCHED IN EACH METALLIC HAND.
CUT TO—SKYWARD VIEW OF A GOLDEN POLYHEDRON PRISON SHIP LANDING IN THE HUMAN SECTOR.
CUT TO—THE REMAINING HUMANS PROTESTING AS THEY ARE PUSHED OUT OF THE WAY.
CUT TO—MEDIUM SHOT OF THE CHAINED HUMANS AS THEY MARCH ON BOARD THE POLYHEDRON SHIP. FOCUS ON EACH FACE AS THEY BRAVELY GO ON BOARD AND PRINT THEIR NAMES ON THE BOTTOM OF THE SCREEN: KELLER, VAN LOON, JONES, BUCKLEY, SOUKUP, HAMLISCH, LILLIUOKALANI, HASSAN, TRELL, SAKADEA, LIEBERMAN, FURSTENBURG, RAJAVUR, COURTNEY, BRONSON, MALAVADE, WU, NICHOLI, DRILL . . .
CUT TO—THE PRISON SHIP LAUNCHING. TRACK IT UNTIL THE VESSEL REACHES SPACE AND JUMPS INTO HYPERSPACE. HOLD CAMERA ON EMPTY SKY FOR THIRTY SECONDS.
CUT TO—A HORDE OF REPORTERS AND A DELEGATION FROM BIG ADVANCING TO GREET THE UNITED COUNTRIES OF DIRT. SLOWLY PULL BACK AS THE GROUPS INTERMINGLE.
CROSSFADE—AN EXTERNAL VIEW OF THE COLISEUM.
ROLL CREDITS.
FADE TO BLACK.
FADE OUT CHEERING.
End Transcript.
Of course, what the citizens of the galaxy saw was a sham. The real trial of humanity took place in the private office of the Galactic League and lasted about five minutes.
* * *
Locked in the unbreakable grip of Gee tractor beams, the
Ramariez
was unceremoniously hauled through hyperspace to Big, and forced to land at a military spaceport. A vigilant armada of centihedron warships filling all of nearby space and blanketing any possible thought of escape, of which the humans had none. This is what they had been struggling for from the beginning, to meet the Galactic League.
Under the harsh scrutiny of warobots and riot barrages, the crew disembarked and was marched to a complex of teleporters, accompanied by a heavily armed, grim faced, trigger happy, Avantor and The 16. In a blinding flash, the eighty humans and three aliens disappeared, only to reappear inside a long magnificent hall of polished blue stone and curved golden arches.
Disquietingly they saw that the passageway had no windows, and only a single sparkling door some twenty meters away.
“Far freaking out,” Drill breathed in frank appreciation. This place was even nicer than the main lobby at the Sheraton Hotel on 34th Street!
Resting on his cane, the teenager rubbed his sore leg. In a cavalier attitude, he ignored the ominous tones of the one-way structure, placing his total faith in the ability of the UN Space Marines to get them out whenever necessary. Those guys were serious butt kickers.
“Okay, now what?” Keller asked, maintaining a respectful distance from the Gees. No matter how good the intentions, it was an awkward situation, guards and prisoners reversing roles.
Avantor scowled and pointed the barrel of her neural disrupter at the man, the ghastly weapon set on its highest and most painful level of radiation: Four Day Drunk Hangover.
“No talking among the prisoners,” she ordered brusquely.
The captain shrugged, Rajavur gave a harumph and Sgt. Lieberman silently asked Lt. Sakadea a question. His expression told her to wait. With a cough and a finger motion, she relayed these orders to the troops.
In spite of the fact that the smooth blue floor beneath them appeared to be made of solid stone, suddenly the whole group began to move along the corridor. In effortless ease, they glided down the pristine hallway, through a shimmering energy curtain and into a dimly lit area. As the protective energy portal sealed in their wake, the lights came on and the humans found themselves in a small room.
The unadorned floor and walls were made of a nondescript material that defied visual analysis. But as if to offset the incredible blandness of the cubicle, in the middle of the room was a shimmering, meter high, crystal pedestal with a green silk pillow on top. Sitting proudly on the pillow, was a plump frog. True, it was a purple frog with three eyes and eight legs, but a simple
ecaudata batrachia
nonetheless.
“Order:
salientia
, genus:
rana
,” a crewmember noted.
Trell shushed her. This was no time for a biology lesson.
“Greetings from the Galactic League,” the frog said in a high pitched voice, minus the expected croak.
Holstering their disrupters, the Gees saluted and bowed, while the humans did a quick reality check.
“You’re the league?” Hassan asked dumbfounded.
The female amphibian puffed out her cheeks before answering. “Not precisely. This body is only the organic conduit through which the league communicates. This is the Galactic League.”
In the manner of a morning mist, the room about them disappeared and the humans found themselves standing on a swatch of floor surrounded by a truly immense globe, a dark sphere whose inner wall was lined with sleeping creatures inside frosty glass tubes. Crystal rods, or perhaps beams of light, connected each glittering tube to another; the resulting conglomeration ending in a dazzling display of such superscience that Clarke's Law about magic & technology seemed to be invoked.
“Madre mia!”
“Holy crap!”
“Gott en himmel!”
“Wow! I say, I say, wow, son!”
Obviously preening, the frog relished their reactions of awe and surprise. Even though primarily made of diplomats and scientists, many of the members of the Galactic League had a strong dramatic streak and enjoyed a touch of showmanship every now and then.
“Wait, I understand,” Ensign Lilliuokalani whispered. “This represents a sample of every race in space. The individuals placed in suspended animation, and then mind-linked together to form the Galactic League.”
The rest of the group murmured assent at the deduction.
Though it was hard to tell, the frog seemed impressed. Nobody had ever figured out the operating principle of the League that quickly before. The humans were proving to be everything they had been advertised to be.
“Utterly fascinating,” Prof. Rajavur noted, only his fifteen years of playing poker enabling him to maintain a calm facade. “This is most definitely the very first time I have ever heard the imperial ‘we’ used properly.”
Via the frog, the composite brain chuckled at the witticism.
Only the Gee officers and a robot file clerk in the Hall of Data knew that this present persona of The League was a distant grandchild of the arch criminal Squee. More highly evolved, but just as vicious. Like so many others before it, when given a choice of becoming the voice of the league, or Galopticon 7, the law-breaker readily agreed to the former. After their bodily functions had been stabilized, and the computer link implanted, they lived a long and useful life paying for their crimes by serving the community.
“Are the people in there forever?” Dr. Van Loon asked, wondering at the possible implications of eternal servitude.
The League was personally very pleased with that choice of words. Not every human considered other races people, particularly not Second Lieutenant Abigail Elizabeth Jones.
The frog cleared its throat. “No, the chosen members serve a term of fifty standard years and are then released. Looking, we might add, no older than when they entered. Suspended animation means just that.”
As the humans reacted to that startling news, a tiny door opened in the side of the pedestal and out buzzed a fly. The Galactic League snared the insect in mid-air with its sticky tongue and closed its jaw with a satisfied snap.
Prof. Rajavur took a deep breath. “Getting down to business, when will be our trial?”
“Trial?” the League repeated. “Oh, that. Its already over.”
Captain Keller arched an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”
It took the League a second to realize that was an expression of disbelief and not a plea for clemency.
“Allow me to explain,” the frog began didactically. “As you entered this room, telepathic machines read your minds, assimilated the data and fed it to us.”
The amphibian rubbed a tiny webbed hand across its bumpy brow. “We must say that we haven't seen a comedy of errors to match this since the committee to name Big.”
“So what is your decision?” asked Prof. Rajavur.
The frog gave a leathery smile. “You will be pleased to know that Terra has been found innocent and will be immediately admitted to League status.”
Relief washed over the humans and they relaxed tense muscles to smile. Delighted beyond words, Trell hugged himself with all four arms. The Avantor and The 16 suddenly felt very foolish with their disrupters hanging out and holstered the weapons. From enemies to allies with the single flick of a froggish tongue. Ah well, that's life in a city on Big.
But the Galactic League had not forgotten about the two Gee officers. Their punishment would come later, and in a most devious form. Oh, that dramatic streak.
“The crew of the
Ramariez
is also found innocent,” the frog went on. “Or rather, guilty with mitigating circumstances.”
I hear a but,
thought Rajavur, Keller and Sakadea.
“However,” the League continued.
Close enough.
“Quite accidentally in your admirable quest for the stars, you have caused the Gees to look like idiots. A not all together bad thing in private, but in public it could undermine the very fabric of galactic society. Interstellar crime is hard enough to control as it is. So in order to preserve the integrity of the galaxy, a public trial must be held in which you will be found guilty and sentenced.”
“To Galopticon 7?” The 16 asked, who now had a sneaking suspicion where this was leading to.
“That is what we will tell the public,” the frog acknowledged regally. “Actually, their place of incarceration will be someplace far more exciting.”
“Where?” Prof. Rajavur inquired, before Captain Keller or anybody else could ask.
The Galactic League blinked. “Why, the planet Gee, of course. Where else?”
EPILOGUE
In the subsequent lunar rotations, galactic society adjusted itself like a robot automatically fine-tuning its own powerplant.
First and foremost, the blockade about Earth was removed, and in a brilliant piece of diplomacy, the nation of Greece redeemed itself by giving the Galactic League the isle of Crete as a planetary landing base. The pleasant weather, lack of price and the begging on hands and knees were sufficient inducement for acceptance.
The Gunderson Corporation went interplanetary, Ms. Bolivar got a raise, and McDougherty was fired for excessive cruelty to the employees, after which the softball team began winning games on a regular basis.
A mentally disturbed wino claiming to be Hector Ramariez was adopted by a cult of Hector worshippers as their hero's reincarnation, and he lived a long and happy life indulging in wine, women and revival meetings that culminated with egg tosses in Central Park.
Jose de San Martin, the Secretary General of the UN, found himself a very busy man as hordes of planets had issued awards and bounties for the death of Leader Idow, Gasterphaz, Squee and Boztwank. Unexpectedly inundated with hard cash, Earth used the tidal wave of funds to modernize the entire planet to contemporary galactic standards, eliminate street gangs, repair the hole in the ozone layer, and build a really fine luxury hotel on the nice side of the moon.
Curiously enough, there was no bounty on Trell, as nobody had known of his existence prior to the trial, and the biggest reward for Boztwank was issued by his own world. Proof that vengeance, like charity, begins at home.
Lt. Amanda Jackson of the NYPD SWAT, and NATO Colonel Robert Weiss were married and opened a chain of martial art schools, specializing in surprise attacks and misdirection.
Out of the hospital at last, Agent Taurus decided to quit his profession and retired to the suburbs of London, buying a cottage right alongside a nuclear power plant. Just in case.
Dominic Mastramonico, the Italian ambassador to the UN, and the person who first conceived the idea of the FCT, was chosen as Earth's official representative to the Galactic League. The elderly gentleman had no objection to living an additional fifty years, and looked forward to dancing on the graves of his political opponents who had laughed at the idea of a First Contact Team.
On the planet Koolgoolig, Dr. Paul Van Loon (in disguise) was placed in charge of a maximum security greenhouse to help with the replanting of the Koolgoolagan race. It was a hard row to hoe (so to speak) but the physician was content, knowing that the Galactic Medal of Smartness waited for him upon his release. And he could have his pick as the Chief Surgeon in any hospital anywhere in the entire galaxy! Including Boston.
When news of the trial finally reached him, the disgusted freelance reporter, Bachalope Thintfeesel left the planetary system he had been so sure the humans would go to. The crimson salt water fishoid sighed deeply. When he missed a call that was this important, perhaps it was time for him to change jobs. But aside from working as a newsgatherer, what else was the red herring good for?
The asteroid, Buckle, underwent a purge of almost biblical proportions, and the status of every other secret weapon cache was carefully checked. Many varied and interesting things were found, but happily Leader Silverside proved to be an only child.
During the fight with Silverside, Einda had rushed into the office to find a mortally wounded Chisel. Using the adaptive protoflesh of her own body to staunch his wounds, she carried the unconscious boy from the battle zone and escaped in a stolen starship. Hurriedly, the medical robots on board effected repairs on the human, but luckily his wounds proved to be minimal, as his accidental body armor of knives had stopped the majority of the anti-personnel darts. The holes in flesh, organs and ruptured arteries were easily fixed, along with a particularly nasty abnormality in his brain that confused the robot med tech no end. It almost appeared as if the child had been allowed to be born with the disorder. Now Einda realized why Chisel had proposed to her.
Bracing herself for the worst, she waited patiently by his bed for the boy to awaken. The memory of the confusion on his face and how it turned into a radiant smile when he saw her, remained with the female for the rest of their long life together.
Fleeing to the other side of the galaxy, the newlyweds used his two-pound bag of thulium to buy a small mansion and open a legitimate tavern upwind of a downtown spaceport. A bar which Chisel insisted be named MacDonalds, a word he told everybody meant ‘a distinguished place for fun and good times’ in his native language.
The giks staged a bloodless revolution, and won the right to dissimulate whenever they wanted to. Even though nobody had ever stopped them from doing it before.
On the planet Gee, Captain Keller and the crew of the
Ramariez
took great pleasure in teaching classes to the Great Golden Ones on Basic Evasion, Elementary Tactics and Combat Made Simple. The golden warriors just had to grin and take it, plus take notes. However, every night in the privacy of her cubicle, Lt. Jones showered and scrubbed herself from the close association with so damn many aliens. Bleh.
The sole known surviving member of the ill fated Bloody Deckers, Drill received a full pardon, assumed his real name of Thomas John Glenn and joined the UN Space Marines.
