The Evolution of F.O.R.C.E.

The overall health and well-being of the Chrysallamans was improving every day. Thanks to the warehouse raids, all the lizards were getting adequate nourishment and becoming stronger. The young Chrysallamans flocked around the Humans without fear. There was no dread in the eyes of the children, and the babies reached for the Humans as if they were household pets. One of the cutest little ones wouldn’t go to sleep unless she was held and rocked by Doug. Doug was a nervous babysitter until Becky showed him the proper way to hold the small lizard named Emmilly.

“You must cradle the child’s head in the crook of your arm,” she instructed as she made sure the blanket keeping the girl warm was properly wrapped around her little arms and legs.

Watching Doug shift Emmilly in his arm, she said, “No. Not like a loaf of bread. Make Emmilly feel safe and loved. There, that’s perfect.”

Doug was getting the hang of holding babies, and Becky was amazed by his patience and willingness to learn. He began rocking his body in a soothing motion, and Emmilly cooed with pleasure as the swaying settled her into a deep sleep. Becky recognized the fatherly look in Doug’s eyes as he gazed at the sleeping child and realized she was staring at him. There was more to Doug than a stiff-necked military officer, and she liked what she saw.

Satisfied Emmilly wasn’t going to be dropped on her tiny head by the big lunk, Becky turned her attention to Dr. Jamins GooYee.

Gooey had never had much tolerance for youngsters, but after nursing several of the sickliest Chrysallamans back to health and sensing their admiration, even his crusty old-man personality was becoming mellow. He sat on a large, flat stone telling stories to at least twenty youths ringed around him as if he was an adored grandfather. The kids loved the name, Gooey, and they were enthralled by his tales ranging from accounts of life on Chrysalis to stories about his time on Earth. The guttering light of flaming torches outlined the tableau and gave the appearance the kids were sitting around a campfire.

Pausing not far from the group, Becky leaned against a stone outcropping and listened as GooYee regaled the children with his fables. Knowing the young Chrysallamans drank in knowledge like a sponge just as Human children, she decided to intervene before the stories got too outlandish.

Whispering privately in GooYee’s head, she said, “Don’t lie to the children, Gooey. That stuff has a way of coming back to bite you.”

Gazing at her with a hurt look, GooYee replied, “I never lie, but exaggeration won’t hurt them. And Chrysallamans don’t bite.”

“Yeah right, but when they find out you didn’t start the first school on Earth or save New York City from certain destruction by a fire-breathing dragon, they’ll take everything you say with a grain of salt.”

Frowning at her words, GooYee asked, “What does a condiment have to do with anything?”

“Oh my Lord, you’re insufferable!” she exclaimed and walked away in a huff.

***

Dark Chrysallaman eyes glared at the display of comradery as the interaction between GooYee and the Human, Chang, unfolded. Even though the Human walked away like she was angry, the friendship between the two was genuine.

General Dunnbull was worried and angry as he sat by himself watching the children listen with rapt attention as GooYee spun his yarns. Instead of rejecting the offensive Humans and treating their Chrysallaman friends as traitors, his people welcomed them with open arms. They didn’t realize the danger of the interlopers.

Dunnbull decided their minds were being poisoned by too much food and comfort. The successes of the recent warehouse raids only served to buoy the influence of the Humans, and even his soldiers looked forward to their suggestions of targets and combat. As the influence of the Humans went up, Dunnbull’s went down.

“Abundant food and free medical care are making my people soft,” he thought. “Starvation is better than selling your soul to alien devils!”

Whatsit was particularly annoying. The tale about his defeat of the brutish Ezzcobar Rakkrr had spread through the ranks like wildfire. There wasn’t a soldier who hadn’t felt the wrath of Rakkrr and to hear how Whatsit had beaten the bully raised him to legendary status. Instead of thinking of Whatsit as a traitor to his race, his soldiers revered him as a hero.

To make matters worse, his men insisted on taking self-defense lessons from the interloper. Whatsit dubbed his fighting technique Kung Fu Chrik, and it was a real hit so to speak. Unarmed defensive and offensive moves with devastating kicks and fist thrusts were becoming commonplace during training exercises. Dunnbull couldn’t go anywhere without seeing his soldiers practicing karate chops and shadowboxing. They called the patterns of movements a kata.

The word ‘Chrik’ was becoming fashionable. At first, the word seemed to be a slur, but its use was now accepted. The younger Chrysallamans acted like the word was cute for some unknown reason while the older lizards regarded the term as shorthand for toughness. The General was afraid the Chrysallaman Empire was going to become known as the Chrik Empire if something didn’t change soon.

His commandos were beginning to adopt Whatsit’s clothing habits. Many of them now wore colorful, wide brimmed hats. The more outlandish the decoration on the crown and brim, the better it was liked. There was an active market for homemade necklaces clasped with stylized skulls of dead Asiddians. Long, green coats were a status symbol. Over 90% of his troops wore the garment coupled with a brown leather bandoleer equipped with a ray pistol and extra power modules. There were even contests to see who had an outfit that looked the most like Whatsit’s. The entire situation was intolerable.

Some of his soldiers looked so much like Whatsit, the General couldn’t tell them apart. He wanted to ban the outfit but realized the backlash to the order would undermine his tentative command. The soldiers felt good about their new uniforms, fighting methods and warehouse triumphs. Their formations were tighter and more militaristic than they had been in years. Grudgingly, Dunnbull had to admit the influence of Whatsit and the Humans was positive.

“Enough is enough!” Dunnbull thought. “I need to arrange for the death of Whatsit and the Humans as soon as possible. Once they’re out of the way, I can get things around here back in proper order.”

Considering his options, Dunnbull came to the conclusion a simple heads-up warning to the Asiddians of the next warehouse attack would be the best way to get rid of the interlopers. Rising unnoticed from his rock, the General faded into the shadowy background. He knew how to get word to the Asiddians, and no one in the Resistance Movement would be the wiser.

***

Miguel and Princess Peregrine were at odds, and it looked like their relationship, if they really ever had one, was coming to an end.

“I won’t tolerate another touch from your alien body,” Peregrine said in a raised voice.

“Then stop splaying your feet! You spread yourself out like an amoeba and then have the nerve to get angry when someone steps on your toes!”

“If you had anything other than the attention span of a gnat, you wouldn’t stumble over those around you.”

“It’s impossible not to pay attention to you. Your mouth is constantly running.”

“How dare you speak to me that way? You’re nothing but a hot, smelly alien in the presence of Royalty.”

“Royalty, my foot! You’re nothing but a spoiled witch!”

Caroline slapped Miguel hard. His enhanced muscles and dense bone structure easily took the blow, but the redness on his cheek was ample evidence the slap stung. He immediately turned on his heel and walked away, leaving the young woman alone with her thoughts.

The glare in the Princess’ eyes was at the same time angry and hurt. Roemer’s criticism bit deeply. The only other time she’d been hurt, physically or emotionally, was in the early days of school. Three older classmates had threatened to beat her for daring to answer a question in history class. Caroline had been the only student to know the answer about the founder of the Asiddian culture. Her response had made some older classmates look like they hadn’t studied. Their anger almost led to Caroline having cuts, abrasions and a broken nose. Luckily, Hannah Wren had been in the neighborhood. She defended Caroline with a combination of fists and claws and thus forged a friendship for life. For the thousandth time, Caroline wondered if Hannah was still alive.

Chagrined at her explosive response but still angry at Miguel for treating her like an ordinary female, Caroline sat down on the rocky floor of the cave and pondered her escape. General Harrier would be frantic in his search by now. It’d been days since she was taken captive, and even she didn’t know where she was. The twists and turns as they avoided capture had been confusing. She might be 10 kilometers from the palace or sitting just 100 meters below its foundation. She knew she must escape somehow and hide until help could arrive.

The big question was how she felt about Miguel. He was the most aggravating person she’d ever met. On the one hand, he was bright, emotionally sensitive and exceedingly handsome for an alien. On the other hand, he refused to treat her with the respect a Royal should have. He would not refer to her with proper reverence. Her Royal standing meant nothing to him. He treated her like an ordinary woman instead of a Princess.

The Chrysallamans frightened her. Yes, the children were cute, but everyone was cute when they’re little. It’s when they grow up that they get mean and nasty. Take General Dunnbull for instance. Caroline was sure the only reason she was alive was because Miguel protected her from the lizard.

“There I go thinking about the Human again!”

***

Sitting alone in a corner, Miguel angrily thought about his last encounter with Caroline. Kicking aside a small stone near his foot, he vowed to forget the Asiddian Princess and concentrate on developing some way to contact his friends back on Earth. It’d take some materials from the wrecked saucer, but he was sure he could cobble together a working FLR if he could just get his hands on the wreckage.

“I’ve got to stay away from her. She takes everything I do and say the wrong way. She has no idea what sacrifice and humility mean. To her, everything is about her comfort, her clothes, her feelings. I was not put on this world to cater to a selfish woman!”

“With a working FLR, we can contact Earth. Help will only be minutes away.”

“It’s about time she learned how the rest of the planet lives. Constant fear of death or reprisal. Slaves to the whims of her soldiers. I’m tired of her demands!”

“I’ll have to work with pieces and parts, but I think I can put together something that’ll work. An HKG or two would change the face of Chrysalis.”

“Caroline has demonstrated true kindness and humility. I’ve watched her show love and understanding to the Chrysallamans on many occasions. Lately, her attitude towards me is horrible. It’s like there’re two personalities hiding under her skin. One is a haughty, sheltered princess. The other is a sensitive, lovely woman. Trouble is, I don’t know which one is going to respond at any given time.”

“I’ll speak to Doug and Becky about my tech needs. They’ll see the wisdom of having a radio and a generator. A simple raid on the warehouse holding the scout saucer will provide the parts I need.”

“Damn woman!”

***

The raid on the building where the remains of the Chrysallaman scout saucer was hidden had to be fast and specific. The possibility of Miguel cobbling together a working HKG from the wreckage was too important. Doug, Becky, Miguel, Whatsit, Boottall, his gang of toughs and 10 Chrysallaman soldiers huddled near the warehouse. The attention of the Asiddian guards had to be diverted, and Boottall’s gang was the key. The distraction wasn’t long in coming.

Raising his hand, Boottall signaled for his gang to begin their assault. His gesture was based on his observations of signals made by the Human, Doug Jenson. Over the last few days, Boottall had struck up a friendship with Doug, and the teenager always seemed to be near the man. Doug treated the boy as a capable leader, and Boottall liked the way the Human deferred to his knowledge of the target warehouses.

The boy and his followers were what the older Chrysallamans referred to as warehouse scavengers. They knew how the buildings were laid out inside and protected outside. It was their illicit foraging that provided most of the food for the survivors until the Humans arrived and changed the dynamics of the raids. Human aggression was beginning to wear off on the Chrysallaman survivors, and the successes of the warehouse assaults only served to increase their combativeness.

The plan was for Boottall’s gang to annoy the guards and run away when the Asiddians gave chase. The adults thought the easiest and safest way to attract the guards’ attention was to pelt them with rocks. Trouble was, the kids had decided mundane items like rocks weren’t good enough. Instead, the hooligans used 3/8ths inch steel hex nuts propelled by slingshots. Each hex nut was marked with words such as ‘ouch’ or ‘damn it’. Other more choice words scraped on some of the nuts were of such bad language they can’t be repeated, and Doug marveled at the creativity of the young lizards. The competition between the gang members to see who could hit the most targets was fierce. One of the female gang members named Mayybell had to be the winner.

Mayybell was a feisty 13-year old whose father had been killed by the Asiddians when he dared steal an old tarp to keep the rain off his wife and two children. General Harrier thought the death of the lizard would be a marvelous example to all Chrysallamans of what happens when they dare try to steal. The unexpected result of his fatal decision was to make a permanent enemy out of the family of the dead Chrysallaman. Slavery was bad enough, but wanton murder was intolerable. Mayybell looked forward to the day when she was big enough and old enough to join the military. Her accuracy with a slingshot was uncanny. Instead of aiming at the helmet or bulletproof vest of her targets, she concentrated on the sensitive upper arms and shin bones. Many an Asiddian screamed in pain and anger as steel nuts struck them.

Fully 2/3rds of the guards took off after the gang, firing their disintegrator rifles at the fleeing Chrysallamans. Fortunately not a single discharge hit its target. It was time for the main attack, and Doug regarded his troops and smiled. It was like looking at 10 copies of Whatsit. All the Chrysallaman soldiers wore green trench coats and black boots. Each one sported a brightly colored sombrero tied under the chin by a draw cord. Bolo ties clasped with a stylized Asiddian skull circled their necks. Brown bandoleers fitted with hoops for a ray pistol and extra power modules crossed their chests. Each one held an Asiddian disintegrator rifle at the ready. The success of the recent warehouse raids had served to buoy the spirits of the Chriks. Everyone’s eyes were sharp and focused as they prepared for action.

“My God, it’s like looking at Whatsit in a mirror,” Becky whispered.

Grinning at the comment, Doug said, “Whatsit, get your fellows ready. Its time.”

Nodding, Whatsit looked at his squad and mentally projected, “The distraction worked. Be careful. The only good Asiddian is a dead Asiddian.”

Like a trained Seal Team, the Chrysallaman commandos moved into their preplanned positions, eager to begin their assault on the building.

***

Whatsit gave the signal to his squad of doppelgangers. Four of the soldiers swept their disintegrator beams across the waists of the remaining guards standing near the warehouse door. The rest took off after the Asiddians chasing Boottall’s gang. The door guards weren’t expecting trained, well-armed Chrysallamans, and they fell into pieces that spilled gore all over the pavement. Disintegrator beams didn’t cauterize the flesh like Chrysallaman cutter rays, and guts flowed out of the bodies in a shower of blood and entrails. One of the Asiddians was still alive when Doug ran up to her. Screams of pain from the alien bit into Doug’s ears. He did the only merciful thing and shot her in the head.

The mercy killing didn’t go unnoticed. Becky understood the reason from a Human perspective and sympathetically squeezed Doug’s shoulder. The Chrysallamans liked the accuracy of the shot and pounded Doug’s back with congratulatory thumps. The rest of the soldiers finished killing the Asiddians chasing Boottall’s gang members and returned. Not a single guard escaped. Everyone paused for an order from Jenson.

“Be alert. We don’t know how many of them may be in the building,” Doug warned.

Nodding at the guard he’d shot, he said, “Her screams may have been heard. Our goal is the scout saucer. Nothing else matters at this point.”

The Chrysallamans entered the warehouse two at a time followed by Doug, Miguel and Whatsit. Becky and Boottall remained on alert at the main door. Boottall’s gang hid. Their distraction job was done.

The inside of the 6,000 square foot warehouse consisted of a smooth concrete floor with a high roof line. Steel rafters crisscrossed 50 feet above their heads, and the floor space was randomly littered by piles of debris pulled from the saucer’s interior. The spaceship sat in the open, and it was obvious from dusty tracks on the floor and the saucer’s entrance ramp that many people had been inside it.

Storage racks filled with boxes lined the southern and western walls. It was eerily quiet. Normally, birds built nests in open buildings like the warehouse, but not a single living thing fluttered in the roof supports. As his squad moved closer to the saucer, its bulk obscured the storage racks on the western wall.

“Fan out around the entrance to the saucer. Shoot to kill anything you don’t recognize.” Doug ordered.

Motioning to Miguel and Whatsit, he skulked in a combat crouch into the area between the main door, the debris piles and the saucer. When he had covered half the distance to the craft, the hum of disintegrator rays filled the building. Three of his Chrysallaman commandos fell to pieces as the red rays sliced through them, and clear bubbles of protective screens blossomed around Doug, Miguel and Whatsit. Dropping to one knee, Doug returned fire, but he couldn’t see any open targets. If it wasn’t for his PDS necklace, he would’ve been dead. Nothing was proof against the disintegrator beams except the shields, and their protection relied on tiny built-in FLIT gens. If the deadly beams had been fired with a battleship’s power instead of handheld rifles, the miniature gens would’ve failed.

Two more Chrysallaman commandos were killed, and the odds of survival for Doug, Miguel and Whatsit plummeted. Doug swept his disintegrator beam across the bottom of the storage racks on the southern wall and was rewarded by multiple screams of agony. The body of the saucer protected his group from accurate shots by enemies hiding behind the storage racks on the western wall, but that protection wasn’t going to last. Praying the black hole power source in his necklace would hold against the onslaught of multiple disintegrator beams, Doug unleashed another salvo at the inventory racks on the southern wall hiding his attackers. Time and protection were running out. In seconds, the Asiddians hiding behind the western wall racks would change their positions to get clear shots.

A red disintegrator beam sizzled through the air over his head. Then another beam sliced through one of the Chrysallaman commandos crouching behind the nearest pile of rubble. The hole in the lizard’s side was large enough to pass a soccer ball. The angle of the beam proved it came from the direction of the western wall. Doug realized his luck had run out. Time to die.

Out of nowhere, a black ball swooped into position near Doug’s head and unleashed a MA ray into the southern inventory racks. The white ray with sparkles that winked on and off and flowed in dazzling swirls was only six inches wide as it left the Bowler but quickly widened to 5 feet. Everything it touched disappeared in a blinding flash. The bottom of the racks vanished. There was no smoke or explosion as the ray destroyed the structures. Even the warehouse wall behind the racks dematerialized.

The ball jerked itself out into the open and scanned the southern area of the warehouse where the inventory racks once stood. It was bracketed by four disintegrator beams from the direction of the western wall. A halo of red and yellow light appeared around the black ball when the beams struck it. Nothing happened. No disintegration. No explosion. As if annoyed by the shots, the ball turned its baleful eyes toward the western wall. A white MA beam erupted from the ball’s mouth, and the disintegrator rays cut off like a light switch had been thrown. Silence was followed by muffled shuffling as surviving Asiddians hiding behind the western racks ran out of the building.

The Bowler turned, floated over and 3 dark-black eyes regarded Doug. A familiar voice said, “I’ve got a single malt scotch just beggin’ to be opened. You think you might find time in your busy schedule to help me with it?”

“McPherson!” Doug exclaimed.