Occupied Earth Read online

  In that context, what happened to any one individual didn’t matter. The tribe—its spirit—would live on, regardless

  She smiled and moved to hug him, but a guard stepped between them. “I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said. “You can’t touch him.”

  “He’s my son,” Kim said.

  “I understand that, but it doesn’t matter.”

  “All right,” she said. She caught Daniel’s gaze, and held it. “Goodbye for now.”

  He started to say something in response, but the guards were impatient, and pulled her away before he could get it out. She glanced back at him once, over her shoulder, as she was marched down the stairs and toward a bus waiting to take her to the public execution site.

  “Goodbye,” she repeated softly. He was young and full of fire. He had many years to give to the tribe, more than she would have, and he had energy, and now, she believed, he had finally made up his mind. There would be no leaving for the city, not for him.

  With her thoughts firmly on Daniel’s future and what it could mean for her people—now truly his people as well, for perhaps the first time in his life—she looked at the sun again, perched on the horizon line, and waited for tears that did not come.

  FINISHING HIS shave, Robert splashed old school aftershave on his face. It cost him plenty to acquire the real stuff. Reflected in the hotel mirror, he watched the news cast from the halo-television behind him. The flattened out three-dimensional figures reminded him of the way television from his childhood used to be.

  Channel 3 was repeating an earlier story about a bombing that had taken place last night in downtown Los Angeles. The Red Spear had destroyed a Mahk-Ra stronghold on the top of the Library Tower by taking the whole building down, demolishing it from its base. Human casualties had been minimal, less than what used to make up an American baseball team before the Occupation and all of them high level collaborators.

  Baseball had been outlawed by the Mahk-Ra after the takeover. They said it was to discourage national partisanship, but most humans figured it was because they couldn’t understand the game; all that waiting around, that and the fact that the Mahk-Ra could never put together a winning team, unlike other sports where they flourished; football, soccer, basketball --- the last for obvious reasons.

  Originally built in 1989, the Library Tower’s construction helped stop the demolition of the actual library building. L.A. sold the air rights. The city trusties sunk most of the money earned in that way into saving the city’s main library, previously devastated by a massive fire. Its official name had been that of some bank or other, and it changed hands half a dozen times in the last sixty years, but the people still called it the Library Tower.

  Secretly, the Tower had been converted into the Talon’s main west coast headquarters. Over five hundred officers of the Mahk-Ra secret police, and a lot of alien tech, had been demolished in the coordinated attack. The buildings surrounding the Library Tower had barely been affected. The tall landmark had expertly collapsed inward and pancaked like the old Las Vegas casinos used to do when they were destroyed to make way for the newer, glitzier edifices taking their place.

  Ultimately, the joke was on all those casino developers. When the war started, if one could call a fight that only lasted a few months a war, the Mahk-Ra had strategically wiped Sin City off the map in one of their first of many concentrated bombing runs. The Vegas gambit was a strong enough opening statement to catch the world’s attention, and make everyone who lived within a five mile radius of Reno, Atlantic City, and Monte Carlo, grab as much of their personal belongings as they could carry and head for the hills.

  What the hell did they think the Mahk-Ra were, Robert chuckled dryly. Interstellar holy acolytes, so pious they were only going to destroy all the gambling centers of the world?

  Later it was revealed that a large, international military convention was in the city, and the Mahk-Ra had managed to kill off an incredibly large contingent of the military’s best strategists -- a huge blow against the world’s defenses.

  Robert wiped his face with a towel, shook his head, and meticulously hung the damp cloth back on the towel rack. Despite the changes now in place, he didn’t have any problem with the Mahk-Ra. Sure they had conquered the Earth, but as dictatorships go, as long as you worked within the system they set up, you could do pretty nicely for yourself. Hell, Nazi Germany was worse in so many ways. The Mahk-Ra might be sticklers for rules, but they weren’t trying to wipe out an entire race. No, humans and other conquered races were now part of the empire.

  It was actually nicer in the initial months of the takeover, before the resistance kicked fully into gear, Robert reflected. There weren’t any real restrictions on travel until about nine months after the Red Spear became fully organized. Now, because of them, you had to jump through so many hoops to get from one coast to the other, that a trained circus lion would be impressed. Flight was virtually impossible unless you had been checked out many months in advance.

  If he was ever caught in a raging snow storm, Robert knew he would never freeze, the sheaf of papers he had to carry to prove he was supposed to be where he should be, would burn for at least a day before the fuel ran out. Not that he would ever burn his papers, God forbid… He’d emolliate himself before he’d burn his travel documents. They were too valuable.

  Brushing his teeth, he recalled the torture you had to go through to travel from state to state before his company had arranged for special dispensation for its sales people and technicians. Everyone at the company had to be vetted. The Mahk-Ra even went so far as to have all the people each employee were, or had been, regularly in contact with scrutinized as well.

  Robert thought about his poor ex-girlfriend, Larissa Gifford. He’d only dated her for about eight months in college. When the Mahk-Ra had investigated him they found she was friends with individuals suspected of being Red Spear. He’d heard she was at work, ringing up groceries for a customer in his hometown of Fresno, when they came for her. Two uniformed mocks, towering over everyone in the store. They walked straight over to Larissa, told her she was required to come with them, and started to escort her out. Some kid blocked their way, wanting to know what she had done, where were they taking her? Absentmindedly, they knocked him through the store’s plate glass window. Supposedly the youth was also suspected of being part of the resistance – but that could have just been talk. It had been a perfect shit storm of events. If things hadn’t lined up the way they did, she probably wouldn’t have been put through so rigorous a “questioning” process. She didn’t survive. Robert blamed the Red Spear and their cowboy methods. Still, he was glad the process hadn’t extended back to him.

  Turning away from the mirror, Robert went over his client notes. The news shifted to the entertainment report. He had his notes, maps and photos spread across the bed in neat little stacks, arranged in order of importance to the day ahead. When dealing with important clients, he always used hardcopies, not computers. Of course the Mahk-Ra had their eyes and ears and terabytes into everything, but the common folk either didn’t know that, or didn’t care. As far as Robert was concerned, unless you were stupid enough to plot against them on your computer or phone, the Mahk-Ra pretty much left you alone.

  On the TV, a cute entertainment reporter, Felicia Kenway was interviewing one of the beautiful people, a Mahk-Ra model by the name of Chan-ra, was in the middle of breaking up with one of the top human actors, a fellow named, George Huston. George was a good-looking guy who, at six-four, pulled up three or four inches shorter than Chan-ra. Seems Chan had caught George with another human woman, a model named Katrina Kelly who, oddly, couldn’t be found for comment.

  Unfortunately, George had not taken the time to read up on the Mahk-Ra way of courtship, Felicia told her viewers. Generally, a Mahk-Ra dating a human was frowned upon, but in a few cases exceptions were made; usually regarding celebrities. That didn’t simply mean actors and models. The list included quisling politicians, sports figures, war heroes, a
nd a guy named Eddie Michaelson. What made him so special, no one knew.

  Reaching for the remote control, Robert boosted the TV’s volume. Felicia was speaking with Chan-ra, who was displaying a calm demeanor as well as being dressed in full Mahk-Ra ceremonial garb, which included several ornate items only used for preparing a sacrifice during the ancient Mahk-Ra high-holy days. Felicia explained that when a Mahk-Ra female took a human mate, he became hers. Her property. And if the relationship ended, he had to win his freedom in battle. Chan-rawas hoping that George would at least supply the public with some sport before he died when they telecast their battle.

  Robert grinned. What horseshit. He’d taken a three month Mahk-Ra intensive when he first came to Goldberg Mosley and Fitzhugh. There were no high-holy days, no such ceremonial battles or garb to go with it. It was all a show to build up an audience for the event. Like when boxers would trash talk one another before a big bout.

  The program then cut to George on the set of his newest science fiction, action film, Time Warriors. He talked about how he’d been training for the fight, with his Mahk-Ra costar, KuTak-ra. How he was confident he would be able to hold his own against his former flame. The reporter asked George if he had seen the most recent footage of Chan training and he glanced quizzically at him.

  The footage ran onscreen. Chan-ra was in the same outfit shown in her segment. She bowed to the camera, then in her warrior stance, deftly removed the chokota and struck it soundly against the takamo armor she wore. The sound of the vibrating chokota had been known to make the most hardened human soldier wet himself. The high pitched noise was akin to a dentist’s drill. The vibrations could felt to the bone. Robert was impressed. He knew the chokota was a crystal-metal hybrid that could, if the need arose, flay with micro-dermal accuracy. What Chan-ra next did to the three beef carcasses hanging from chains wasn’t pretty.

  Cutting back to George, he was still smiling, but his expression had faltered. There was a look in his eyes that told you he knew he still had a hell of lot of training to do in the next two months if he didn’t want his sexual organs to be gold plated and used as ornamental jewelry, or his heart to become a new chew toy for Chan-ra’s pet bokomo, Max, a monkey-like animal found on Barnard’s Star.

  George was a better actor than Robert suspected. They’d get in the arena, grunt, swing at each other a few times, maybe draw a little blood, then George would throw away his weapons, declare his undying love and beg Chan-ra to take him back. And she probably would… Unless, George had really pissed the statuesque alien off, then poor old George might just find himself bleeding out during the closing credits of the show. Ah, well, his career wasn’t what it was ten years ago anyway. But he’d go out a ratings winner.

  Robert turned off the set, gathered his papers, and placed them carefully in his valise, a leather Gladstone circa the 1960’s. Reaching for his suit jacket, he was stopped by the chiming of his cell phone laying on an end table. He hesitated a moment before picking it up. It might be important. Someone might want to cancel.

  Robert answered. “Yellow…”

  “I hate when you answer that way…” The voice from the other side of the secure call replied.

  “Hey, Matthew, something up? I was just on my way to my first meeting.”

  “I thought your first meeting was at ten?”

  “Different time zone…” Robert waited. “What do you need, Matt?”

  “The boss wanted me to go back over the specs with you one more time, before you met with the client.”

  “Come, on, we covered that at least ten times before I left.”

  Matt, chuckled. “I know, but there had to be a call on the books or Walter would be all over my pasty white ass… So, how’s California?”

  “Sunny, bright, and dry.”

  “Lucky, bastard. That snow storm hit here last night. I’m freezing my nuts off.”

  Robert looked at his old-fashioned wrist watch. “You can always do the next one.”

  “No thanks! You know I don’t fly. You never know when those ass hats in the Red Spear will decide to drop another plane out of the sky.”

  “Matt that was a plane filled with Mahk-Ra dignitaries. There were no humans on board. The Red Spear aren’t out to get regular business Joes like us.”

  “Still…did you catch the news this morning?”

  “I’m here in Los Angeles, hard to miss.”

  “You anywhere near it?”

  “Nope. Happened downtown, I’m out near the beach.”

  “Santa Monica?”

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, Robert put down his valise and double checked its contents. “Santa Monica’s too expensive, ever since Malibu and the marina were taken out by that tsunami.”

  “So, where are you, then?”

  “Culver.”

  Matthew, sighed. “Ah. Near what used to be the old Sony-MGM lot? Where the Mahk-Re built Delphinion Studios?”

  “Yeah. What’s up? You want me to bring you a tee-shirt or something?”

  “Would you?” Mathew said in a singsong voice.

  Robert stood. “Look, I’m going to be late. What else do you need?

  “You hear about that Iowa thing?”

  “Yeah, I heard. Davenport’s a tough town. They’re saying it was some loser named Panten.

  Matt laughed. “Right. You wouldn’t know any more about it?”

  “I know the rat bastard got what he deserved. And I’m running late. Anything else?”

  “How are you getting to the job site?”

  “Public transportation. The traffic out here is worse now than it was back when.”

  “I’d stay off the buses.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s how those bastards took down that Library Tower.” Robert could hear Matt tapping keys then he continued. “The Red Spear managed to get hold of some public buses two days ago without setting off any warnings. They filled the busses with enough of that explosive the Mahk-Ra used on Vegas and Iran and drove them through the front doors by remote control.”

  “They used Pax-12?”

  “Yes, that and Symtex to set it off.”

  “Interesting.”

  “Shit yeah it’s interesting.”

  Robert glanced at his watch again. “How’d they get so much of that material?”

  “Who knows? I’m willing to bet that somewhere several Mahk-Ra are missing their heads. I wonder why the hell the Talon used that building.”

  “The Tower was on a hill, probably a better vantage point to watch from, near the main rail line as well. Plus the Tower was mainly offices. I would think it was easier to convert that into what they needed.” Robert stood and picked up the valise again. “Okay, I got to go.”

  “Be careful, the west coast is getting crazy right now.”

  “I’m always careful. We good on the package?”

  “Yep, just got off the phone with Harold, before I called you. Shouldn’t be any problem.”

  “Good.”

  “Cool.” The line went dead.

  Outside, Robert hailed a cab and set off for his first meeting in Beverly Hills. The day was beautiful and the sun was sneaking between the buildings. Beverly Hills was no longer the exclusive playground of the rich it had been the century before. With the Occupation, the Mahk-Ra had taken the opulent mansions for themselves or for the cooperating class.

  The cab dropped Robert in front of the Exocore Sunset Business Complex. Looking up, he shielded his eyes from the glare bouncing off the exterior glass of the building. It was a marvel how high they could currently build a structure in California, now that the Mahk-Ra had managed to stabilize the tectonic plates in the earth. In many ways the planet had become a much more pleasurable place to live. Too bad the aliens had come as conquerors as opposed to benefactors, but the Occupation had its benefits as well. If you knew what you were doing.

  Work was plentiful, the Earth was bountiful in its riches -- sure, a good deal of our water was taken off-world and now th
ere was rationing. Also the majority of able-bodied were pressed into a far off war – but thanks to the miracles of the Mahk-Ra, air pollution had pretty much disappeared, and they had curtailed many human diseases. Far as Robert was concerned, it was an age of wonders, and he was thriving. Yes, there was oppression. Sections of the world were barely scraping by, but if you stayed on the right side of Mahk-Ra law, life could be very good. All you had to do was to learn to work within the system, to work the system. Those who didn’t, suffered. Robert didn’t like to suffer.

  In the waiting room of the Exocore Corporation, he straightened the magazines sitting on the glass coffee table that was between the two couches. The receptionist looked from her holographic monitor after an appropriate amount of time and again asked him if he would like some coffee or another beverage. Again, Robert politely declined. She eyed his ancient valise but said nothing.

  Once through the door that separated the lobby from the rest of the office, Robert’s meeting took a little over forty-five minutes to conclude, with him securing a multi-million dollar security equipment sale for several of the Excoree buildings, and an additional service contract. His ten percent commission would come in handy. Especially given his next stop.

  After taking the subway to the Valley, Robert walked to where one of the few remaining bookstores in the country was located. The Illiad bookstore covered the entire hidden sub-basement of a ten story building on Cahuenga. The original owner had passed away some years ago, but the book community had banded together and kept it alive. The entire floor was moisture and climate controlled, and filled to the ceiling with books. Aside for a few private collections and a handful of heavily monitored bookstores around the rest of the country, books had pretty well disappeared. Everyone today was forced to carry electronic note pads and read only approved material.