Occupied Earth Read online

  As Elijah lifted the first carrot to his mouth, he heard a soft noise. It was coming from one of the monitors on his desk, twins to those at Gene’s post. Normally these were on visual only but Elijah had turned up the volume on each of his so that any sound in what was supposed to be an empty building would be audible.

  Elijah scanned each of the monitors quickly. In the tunnel connecting federal buildings, he saw a shadow near the forefront of the image on one screen. He watched it intently. Did something move? Was someone there?

  He moved his hand to his belt to pat his government-issued sidearm and rose from his seat, heading toward Gene. When he reached him, he told him he thought he had both heard and seen something.

  “You stay here and keep your eyes on the monitor and keep your radio channel open in case I need backup,” he said. Some bosses would have sent the guard but Elijah’s credo was that a good overseer needed to remain active in the work he supervised.

  The tunnel was empty, except for the unmoving train car used to shuttle Congressional members and their minions from one building to another. The train’s doors were shut and it seemed unlikely to Elijah that anyone had managed to board it without making noise or having been seen by himself or Gene. He swiveled in place slowly, to ensure he was the only occupant of the tunnel. Whatever he had thought he had seen, there was nothing out of the ordinary visible there now.

  He stayed alert as he turned to head back toward his office. He started at a sound, something like an exhalation. It was a very low, soft noise. He walked to the train, the only place where someone could be hiding. He placed a hand on each side of the car doors, intending to force them open. It was a dicey move. To put both hands on the doors meant his weapon was briefly out of reach. Prior to conscription into the Mahk armed forces, Elijah had been an actuary and calculating risk was something at which he excelled. It was, in fact, one of the reasons he had been appointed to his position. A good Chief of Security is expert at data analysis in order to determine the threats to the regime and the public and to minimize time wasted on red herrings.

  Perhaps these were not red herrings. He had seen a shadow and heard a sound coming from a place he knew should be empty. His mind computed the myriad calculations and came up with likely scenarios.

  Elijah dropped his hands and resumed the hold on his weapon. He turned away from the train and walked out of the tunnel, out of earshot of anyone who might be hiding in the train and contacted Gene. “I didn’t see anything,” he said when the guard responded to the call on his communicator. “Did you see anything on the monitors?”

  “Just you, boss,” Gene said, using the nickname that usually made them both smile.

  It was a little patronizing of the guards and Elijah indulged them. He believed work should be as much fun as possible without infringing on one’s duties.

  “I heard a sound right by the train. I want to investigate but I need you to cover me,” the Mahk-Ra said.

  Gene didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way.”

  Gene soon joined his superior in the tunnel. Neither of them liked the thought of leaving the post unguarded but the doors to the building were securely locked, making it unlikely any unauthorized personnel would gain entry this evening.

  “Gene,” Elijah said softly. “Cover me.” He loved saying that. It wasn’t every day he had an opportunity to spout clichéd police phrases.

  Gene raised his chin slightly in acknowledgment.

  This time, with Gene acting as backup, Elijah put a hand on either side of the doors of the train and pulled them apart.

  He wasn’t surprised to find a human waiting inside the car, but he was surprised to find that it was Junior, the day shift guard. Junior shakily pointed a gun at the Mahk-Ra and pulled the trigger. Elijah stumbled backward, Junior’s bullet having found its target. Gene, firing from the doorway, let loose a round of his own and ended a life.

  THE AMBULANCE arrived within minutes of the gunshots and EMTs quickly hooked Elijah up to an IV drip after making sure he was still breathing. The bullet had not severed a major artery. He’d been taken to George Washington University Hospital, the same hospital where, decades earlier, President Ronald Reagan had been taken to save him from a would-be assassin’s bullet and where Junior arrived DOA.

  In his hospital room post-surgery, a Talon investigator informed Elijah that a search of Junior’s apartment had uncovered a journal documenting his attempts to join the local Red Spear cell. They had found details of Junior’s scheme to entice Elijah into the corridor with small movements and sounds that he knew would attract the Makh-Ra’s attention and then kill him in order to impress the Spear.

  Junior had been a fair marksman, but he hadn’t prepared long enough to hold his gun steady when aiming it at a colleague. It is so much easier to shoot strangers. This was a common problem with insurgency groups – a wannabe’s excitement would get in the way of the time required for adequate preparation.

  Later, Alina sat bedside in Elijah’s hospital room. She was reading aloud to her husband. His eyes were closed but he was awake and as alert as possible while painkillers coursed through his system.

  There was a soft knock at the door. Elijah smiled a wan smile at Gene, who stood holding a small bouquet of yellow flowers. “Hi, Boss,” Gene said somberly.

  “It’s not a funeral,” Elijah said, just a little weakly. “Come in. Alina, you remember Gene?”

  Alina stood to give him a hug. “Thank you for saving him,” she whispered. She turned to her husband. “I’ll let you two talk and I’ll take a little walk. I’ll be back soon.”

  “Bring some fresh fruits and vegetables, please,” Elijah joked. He was on a liquid diet. If something went wrong and he suddenly required another surgery, the doctors didn’t want to have to worry about a combination of a full stomach and anesthesia.

  She smiled the patient smile of the spouse of a Mahk-Ra who has indomitable spirit and good nature and left the room.

  Gene crossed to the window. “I hope you like yellow,” he said, motioning toward the flowers and placing the vase on the windowsill. He walked to the chair Alina had vacated, sat and looked at Elijah. “How do you feel?”

  Elijah looked intently at Gene for a moment before he spoke. “I feel pretty good, actually,” he said. “I am in pain but I’m alive. No serious damage done. It’s thanks to you that the medics got to me so fast, Gene. I will never forget that. I owe you.”

  Gene smiled for the first time since he’d entered the room. “You were brave, Boss. You knew something was wrong and you faced it head-on without even knowing what to expect.”

  “But I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. Thank you for that.” Elijah took a breath. He was tired and both thinking and speaking took more effort than usual.

  “We’re usually pretty good at weeding out the subversives. We missed something with Junior. I wonder if you know what happened? Was he already planning something when he got this job or did he change along the way?”

  “Boss, I didn’t know Junior was trying to join the Red Spear. He never talked to me about it and I didn’t pick up on any clues. We didn’t see each other often, anyway, other than for him to hand off the shift to me. It’s not as though all humans know what the others are thinking. You know that by now.”

  Elijah nodded. He did know that. But he didn’t know everything.

  He almost admired Junior for having planned his attack for Christmas night, a time when there would be minimal, if any, witnesses or collateral damage, as well as for learning enough about Elijah to know that any small movement or sound would prompt him to investigate their possible causes. Slipping into the train car surreptitiously left just enough fleeting movement on the monitors to catch Elijah’s eye and the initial noise he had heard must have been that of the train’s doors closing behind Junior.

  “Still,” the Mahk said. “You could have left me to bleed out. You could have rid Earth of one more Mahk-Ra. I’m grateful.”

  Gene ducked his
head for a moment, hiding his emotion. He considered his words carefully for a long moment, then said, “You’re right, it’s not as though anyone likes being a vanquished people. For a smart guy, it makes no sense to me that you think this occupation is good for the human race. You wouldn’t think the Mahk-Ra were better off if another planet had conquered yours.”

  “Of course not,” Elijah said, both surprised and pleased by Gene’s candor. “It isn’t possible. No one could conquer the Mahk-Ra.”

  “It’s just a hypothetical,” Gene said. Talking politics with one’s boss was never a good idea.

  Elijah got the point. Sometimes he was a little too literal, he realized. “Right, ok. But that’s different. Humankind is better off than before the Mahk-Ra arrived.”

  Gene sighed quietly. “Anyway, Boss, I’m glad you are on the mend.” Besides, he thought, the Mahk-Ra higher-ups would just replace you if you died and who knows what that Mahk would be like? Better the devil you know. . .

  “I’d better let you get some rest,” Gene said. “Enjoy the flowers and see you back at work soon.” He stood, waved and was gone. He didn’t want to be late to the Red Spear meeting. They had to plan how to salvage Operation Bradbury: smuggling books out of what the Red Spear still called the Library of Congress, through the tunnel and to safety in the hands of human curators. After all, not all Red Spear cells were dedicated to blowing things up. Some were dedicated to preserving evidence of mankind’s achievements.

  But Junior’s escapade had turned the tunnel into a Hot Zone, which the Mahk-Ra now would likely keep under strict surveillance. Gene quickened his pace. He didn’t want to miss a minute of the meeting.

  THREE IN the morning, the doorbell rings, you think mocks, right? Maybe even the Talon—they can afford to be polite. It could happen to anyone, anytime, but it was happening to me. Because who else would be ringing the doorbell at three in the morning?

  But, unlike most folks, I was prepared. Had been since not long after the mocks blew Iran off the map.

  I jumped out of bed and into the closet. Pushed aside the shirts and pants and my one dress and twisted the little brass hook an umbrella hung from. The back of the closet swung inward. I stepped through, glanced at the hole in the floor leading to my escape tunnel, checked the control panel. Everything showed green. The monitor cycled. Wide angle off the roof: nothing unexpected. Backyard: fine. Inside the main house: nothing but a candle, with faint snores on the audio.

  Front door: Johnny P. Jones.

  I hadn’t seen him in forever. Might have been a little happier if he didn’t have four mocks with him. Only—

  I zoomed in. Their clothing confirmed what I suspected. Women. Better yet, Mahk-Re women. So weird, but likely not a threat.

  I buttoned up my secrets, closed the closet, went to the front door, undid the three locks.

  “Hi, Annie,” Johnny said, like he’d last seen me a couple of days instead of a bunch of years ago.

  “Get them in here,” I said.

  He stood there like a dumbass, so I grabbed the closest woman’s arm and pulled her toward the entrance. No resistance. She seemed numb. The other three followed, and Johnny brought up the rear.

  I swiveled my head to see if anyone was looking. No lights on in the main house. Not surprising. One of the tenants was deaf and the other pair were heavy stoners. Out on the street, nothing amiss, unless you counted the panel truck parked with its nose blocking my driveway. Johnny and his harem’s transportation, I figured.

  I ducked back in, slammed the door, fastened the locks. Turned to Johnny. “Explain.”

  He shrugged like dropping in uninvited with lower-caste alien invaders was an everyday occurrence. “I kind of rescued them,” he said. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “You haven’t seen me in seven or eight years, and the first person you think of when you ‘rescue’ a bunch of Mahk-Re women is me?”

  “Second. First was Logan, of course. But I didn’t know where he was. Didn’t know where you were either, but figured you might still be here.”

  Logan was a guy we’d both worked with before the invasion, a generation older than Johnny and me—me being Annie Kevorkian, former potential art historian—the three of us and an ex-soldier named Vince Bolívar forming a vigilante posse, helping the helpless, that kind of shit. We’d gotten pretty good at it before the mocks showed up. Then Logan disappeared, and we went our separate ways. Johnny went back to petty crime, Vince went off to fight the mocks … and later, to fight for them … and I kept up the vigilante routine as a solo act. Invasion from another star or no, humans still did nasty stuff to one another. And with law enforcement otherwise occupied, somebody had to keep a lid on it.

  “Make yourselves comfortable,” I told the women. They didn’t move. I pointed at the sofa. “Go sit, okay? Gonna be a while till I figure out what to do about you.”

  They got the picture and in short order their big strong bodies were perched on the sofa, easy chair, and floor. Six-three at a minimum, bodies like goddesses. And excellent posture. They would’ve been something for humans to emulate if they hadn’t shot our planet all to shit.

  “Hang out there,” I told the women. “Food and drink in the fridge. And for God’s sake, stay away from the door. And the windows.” Not that they’d go near the windows, at least after the sun came up. None of them had sunglasses.

  I grabbed Johnny’s arm, swung him around in front of me, gave him a push. “You. Into the bedroom.”

  “Been waiting to hear that since the day I met you.”

  I couldn’t stifle a smile as I knuckled the small of his back and he hustled into the bedroom. I closed the door, left enough gap so I could see if anything developed out there. “Spill.”

  “Well …”

  “Look, I don’t care what you were up to. Just tell me what happened.”

  He sat on the bed, ran his fingers idly over the comforter. “There was this guy I met, and he was putting together some guys to hit this warehouse all filled with—”

  “Spare me the details. You found the women at the warehouse?”

  “Uh-huh. We kind of screwed up and the alarm went off and the other guys bailed. I got caught inside. And while I was trying to figure out how to get out, I went to the bathroom.”

  “Get to the point.”

  “Turned out the bathroom was next to the room where they were keeping them, and one of them made a noise, and I found this little hole in the wall, and there they were. So I—”

  “You got them out, and you brought them here.”

  “Yeah, but there’s a lot more. The fire extinguisher and the—”

  “Later. Tell me more about the warehouse.”

  “You said I should spare you the details.”

  “Now I’m un-saying it.”

  “Well, the guy said it was full of TVs, but as soon as we got in I knew we were fucked, because the crates were that weird mock cardboard and they had mock writing on them.”

  “And no guard?”

  “Didn’t see one. One of the guys shot out the security camera.”

  “There’s usually more than one.”

  “Just saw the one.”

  “Okay,” I said. “We have four Mahk-Re women and somebody had them prisoner and now we have to figure out what to do.”

  “It’s okay I brought them here, right? I mean, I didn’t know where else to go.”

  “It’s fine, Johnny. What can you tell me about the women?”

  “Not much. They wouldn’t talk. I think they thought I was in with the guys that had them.”

  “Mocks?”

  “There must’ve been Earth guys working there too. I saw Fritos bags. You know how the mocks hate Fritos.” Given how quickly the MRs had taken to our junk food, their distaste for Fritos was almost legendary.

  “They thought you were in on it, they would’ve overpowered you and gotten away. Let me talk to them. You go take a shower. You kind of stink.”

  I pulled out a
couple of towels, gave him a shove toward the bathroom, went back into the living area. The women—the mocks had been on Earth long enough that I called them “men” and “women”—were still exactly where we left them. I went to the fridge, grabbed a six-pack of what passed for soda these days, popped open one and put the rest on the coffee table. “One of you in charge?”

  “Quoi?” The French word they’d somehow picked up for whenever they didn’t know what to make of a question.

  “In charge,” I said. “The leader. The one who speaks for you.”

  The one in the easy chair said, “The others look to me.”

  “Good. What’s your name?”

  “Gar-re.”

  “Who put you in the room my friend found you in?”

  “Mahk-Ra. But after the first night we saw only Earth men.”

  Gradually, aided by my smattering of Mahkanese, I pried out the story. Each had been working at her menial job, scrubbing decks on a mothership or peeling their equivalent of potatoes, the kind of thing the Mahk-Ra passed off to the Re. Each had felt faint. Each had awoken in a nondescript room, been raped by a Ra and then brought to the hidey hole in the warehouse.

  “And since then?”

  For the first time, they looked at one another. Gar-re made contact with each, came back to me. “They bring us out, one at a time. Earth men. Two or three, with weapons. They cover our heads and bring us somewhere else. We are raped by other Earth men.”

  “How many?”