AmEarth

(Thursday, April 3, 2045)

Barbara Johansen was having lunch with her best friends at the Darien country club. They were dressed exquisitely, as always, and had a table reserved by the windows facing the golf course. The four females discussed everything except aliens.

The room was filled with ambient babble from the many tables replete with retirees and club-goers. The dress code was elegant and the china service was set on white linen tablecloths. The waiters wore dark suits and the atmosphere smacked of money and success.

In the bar area, adjacent to the club dining area, there was a large TV turned to the sports channel. The staff in the room all seemed to be watching the TV; no one was paying attention to the guests. Subtle waves and clinking glasses weren’t getting their attention. Little by little, the entire club was gradually drawn by the intense attention of those watching the screens in the bar area. Barbara and her friends were the last ones to arrive, but they managed to catch a glimpse of the screen. Even before she could see the figure speaking, Barbara recognized her husband’s voice on the TV.

“…there is no reason for panic. We are only responding to a potential retaliation, not verified and possibly not even there,” her husband’s voice cautioned.

“How long has the government known this?” A reporter asked.

“The Freedom of Information Act of the United States forbids any national security information to be released for a minimum of ten years, and in many cases, that was extended to twenty-five. The government of AmEarth did not discover these facts until now. There is no conspiracy, and you should know that the transformation into AmEarth did not make former governmental secrets public. Otherwise, there would be no alliance. The future of the human race is dependent on the trust we have in AmEarth to maintain the greater good.”

“Barbara, that’s your Peter!” Esther exclaimed.

“Yes, yes, let me listen,” Barbara retorted with a tight smile.

“Peter, Peter!” other reporters clamored for his attention.

On the scroll beneath Peter’s face, CNN’s banner read: Breaking News: Earth is Under Threat of Alien Attack. Barbara read that and a deep feeling of fear surged into her gut. She pulled out her wafer and began texting Scott and Brianna. She told them to stay in school and wait for her. She told them not to drive home. She looked around to see that everyone in the clubhouse was on their devices, and many were leaving with barely hidden urgency. She rushed back to her own table, grabbed her purse, and returned to the TV.

“What should we do?” another reporter asked Peter.

“Our supreme president has asked everyone to go on with their lives as usual. There is a threat, but we are dealing with it. The WPP honeycomb barrier will protect us and we are not expecting anything to happen immediately.”

“What kind of bombs are they sending?” another reporter asked.

“Bombs! No one said the aggression was specific. Bombs! Please—don’t make the situation worse than it already is. What I said was this…”

Peter read his prepared statement once more.

“During the Ronald Reagan administration, the United States reversed its alien policy. Remember, at the time, only the US and a few allies knew of the existence of the aliens. Some Republicans in the administration distrusted the intentions of the aliens. They began preemptive plans and undertook actions against the alien terrestrial planet, Kepler 3763. They assumed the alien civilization would be doing the same. They launched various aggressive ships on newer rockets that would arrive in 35 years instead of 47 years. These strikes were unilateral and Reagan took full responsibility. AmEarth has been ensuring our future, and was building the World Protection Project honeycomb structure even before this was revealed. This WPP structure was designed because there may be other aliens we don’t know about, and we can also protect the earth from asteroids.”

“Reagan sent bombs?” a reporter raised his voice over everyone else’s.

“No; once again, I didn’t say anything about bombs!” Peter said.

“Then what the hell are we talking about?” a random voice from the crowd demanded.

“Well, they were aggressive packages, but not bombs. The rockets carried computer viruses and biological viruses. Small packages that packed a punch.”

“Are the aliens going to send us viruses or bombs?”

More questions leaped out at Peter.

“First things first! We do not intend to let any more alien ships into the Earth’s atmosphere. Period. In space, we might analyze or destroy the content. Unfortunately, for all of humankind, the paranoia of the Reagan administration soiled our relationship with the Keplerian aliens.”

Peter stopped talking and took a sip of water.

The clubhouse broke into immediate discussion. Former Democrats cursed Reagan on the spot. You could hear insults like “paranoid imbecile” and “warmonger” among other less polite comments.

Barbara barely said good-bye to her friends as she went to her car to start her drive to the school. When she arrived at the lobby, all of her friends were directly behind her and there was a mess of cars all leaving at once. The valets were completely swamped. Mr. Post, the owner and director of the country club, saw Barbara on the line and gestured to her.

“Barbara, Peter was so eloquent, but no one seemed to be paying attention,” Mr. Post began.

“Not even me! I should listen and stay calm, but isn’t it awful?” Barbara replied.

“You don’t say…you don’t say. We sure pissed off the aliens, huh?” Mr. Post offered.

“Stupid. It’s just plain stupid.” Barbara looked at the sky as though it was going to fall on her at any minute.

“What can we do? Nothing! I’m going to get me a drink!” Mr. Post replied.

“You do that. I’m going to get my kids and make sure they’re okay. Oh yes, and maybe kill Peter at some point!”

Peter finished his interview at the media center in the lobby of the UN building, but he was not sure that it had all gone as planned. He had tried to calm the crowd, but the mood of the reporters was hysterical. This was an admission of a real threat to the public and asking politely for people to be calm was not working. Thank God he was making the announcement on a Friday afternoon. People could flock home to be with loved ones, and by Monday life would hopefully be back to normal. That was the plan. He took the secret tunnel back to his new office at the Shadow White House across the river and reassured the many people sending him desperate text messages. He was relieved that the tunnel existed, as he could avoid the countless reporters that would probably be waiting outside the UN building. Upon entering his new office, he found President Chen sitting casually on the corner of his desk, waiting for him.

“So you saw the disaster! I’m so sorry,” Peter began to apologize immediately.

“Sorry? It was perfect. I’m here to congratulate you,” President Chen responded.

“Huh?”

“Peter, you did exactly as you were told and the media frenzy was ideal.”

“But the world is in a panic. I thought we wanted the opposite. I thought you wanted people to be calm. I tried to reassure them that there was no imminent danger.”

“And there isn’t. But what we really wanted was a controlled frenzy. Something we can use to our advantage.”

“I’m sorry? Perhaps you should fill me in. I’m now being seen as the bad guy from New York City to New Delhi!”

“All in due time, Peter. I need you to be vigilant. We want some mass hysteria. We want some concern, just not full-out panic. Okay? You did good out there. Keep up the good work, and be ready for the next announcement.”

President Chen walked out of Peter’s office. Peter fell on his chair, exhausted, and looked out at the Queensboro Bridge, which was completely filled with cars at a standstill. On the three monitors in his office, he could see the breaking news scrolls and news channels running repeats of his morning press conference. The alien threat was the top story on every channel. He hadn’t considered that he would become a household name the world over. As President Chen left his office, Peter’s secretary allowed calls to pass in again and all the lights on his phone blinked into existence. Peter placed his head in his hands and waited.

“Your wife is on line one, sir,” his secretary informed him through the intercom.

“Thanks,” Peter said. “Honey?”

“Peter…you could have warned me!” Barbara started without any pleasantries.

“I couldn’t. You have to understand that. I just couldn’t.”

“All these days you’ve been telling me not to worry and now you are the one to announce this! What will I tell Bri and Scott? That their father has been lying to them for years?”

“Calm down! I mean it when I say that you’re not in any danger. You must believe me! I was just with President Chen and he said the same thing to me in plain language. There is no imminent threat! None.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m at the school, waiting to see the kids. There is mass chaos over here. Every parent flocked to the school. The traffic is terrible.”

“Scott has his car there. I’m going to text him to go home. You go home, too.”

“Not without Bri. I want her with me.”

“Fine, but I’ll see you at home later tonight, okay? Barbara?”

“Yes, Peter?”

“I love you.”

“You sound strange. Now I’m really getting worried.”

“No, honey, please believe me…nothing is happening. Everything will be just fine. Don’t let the kids worry. If you take Bri out, then Scott will be worried and who knows what will happen then? Just go home and let the kids get there on their own, okay? Please, just do that for me,” Peter pleaded.

“Fine, okay…I will,” Barbara replied.

Barbara made a U-turn and headed home slowly and carefully along the back streets, stopping for longer than usual at every intersection. It was the long way, but there was no traffic. She got home and sat at the kitchen counter, where she texted Scott.

Take Norton Ave—avoid route 1—see you at home—Mom