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

Arriving 1.2 light years from Chrysalis, the Destinnee inched toward it while orienting itself with the other planets. Mapping a solar system was time consuming as far as Tom was concerned, but it was essential that his crew know the specific location of any large objects affecting space travel. Heinbaum worked with McPherson to imbed the outlying planets with special locator beacons based upon the FLR technology and enter their coordinates into the GPC. Completing their task encompassed four days, but enabled Destinnee to traverse the solar system in the blink of an eye with pinpoint accuracy. Chrysalis was the only planet they couldn’t visit.

It was obvious the Asiddians had cleared every planet except Chrysalis of Chrysallaman installations and the natives who manned them. Rubble from the remains of the various outposts littered the worlds. The original anger of Destinnee’s Chrysallaman crew at the wanton destruction and murder of their fellows grew to deep hatred. The murderous nature of Asiddian style warfare was on full display. It was clear they took perverted delight in releasing thousands of Chrysallamans into orbit around the system’s planets. Death came from battle wounds, burning up on re-entry into the planet’s atmosphere or suffocation. Spacesuits simply weren’t designed to protect against those inevitable consequences especially if no spacesuit was provided when the victim was blown out an airlock.

Lloyd calculated the positions of the largest dead body clusters and did his best to avoid plowing through them; however, despite all his efforts, the Destinnee sometimes couldn’t avoid unexpected swarms of floating Chrysallamans long dead from battle damage or exposure to the dark airless silence of the universe. The cold vacuum of space is a near perfect preservative. While water in unprotected bodies tended to evaporate, the boney structures and dried leather-like skin of hundreds of thousands of Chrysallaman cadavers testified to the unforgiving nature of the Asiddian invasion.

No Asiddian battleships had been encountered as the Destinnee worked its way into various orbital positions. So far, it seemed the invaders concentrated their control on the habitable planetary zone where Chrysalis circled the Sun. Lloyd avoided contact with enemy ships flying near the outer planets with ease. Instantaneous space travel made dodging simple, but constant vigilance to the pings of sensors as ships were detected was essential. Although battleships routinely arrived and departed, the courses they traveled were well-marked and fastidiously avoided.

The crew wanted to engage the Asiddians and practiced daily firing their weapons in computer simulations; however, the veil of patience with playing games was becoming thin. Sooner or later, someone was going to shoot MA beams at live targets first and ask for permission later.

It was on the tenth day of system espionage when the Bowler spy network spotted Doug and most of his crew. The Bowler spy network was the brainchild of Miguel. He was the first person to come up with the idea of using the black balls as surreptitious data gatherers.

Dedicated teams of controllers and analysts worked in continuous shifts with the balls. At any given time, close to 100 Bowlers were FLITing around Chrysalis gathering Intel. From the data gathered, it was clear the Asiddians were actively hunting someone important. From the photos plastered on every street corner, there was no doubt the crew of the scout saucer Salteer were the quarry. Belief the crew still survived raised the spirits of everyone on the Destinnee.

***

“The outskirts of the city are nothing but warehouse buildings,” Lance Corporal Josh King said. “I wish something would happen to threaten our little playthings. I’d love to retaliate.”

Josh was a 25-year old, 5-foot 11-inch barrel-chested man. His gut was relatively flat but the love-handles at his waist testified to his love for snacks. He had medium brown hair cut in mohawk style. Every morning he fastidiously shaved the sides of his head and ran a playing card edgewise over the shaved area. If the card made any scraping sound, King carefully noted the location of the stubble and removed it. Many people thought he was too obsessed with perfection, but King was convinced his girlfriend liked the look.

“Don’t wish for combat unless you’re ready for it, Josh.” Jesús Martinez responded.

Sergeant Martinez was a 28-year old, by-the-book soldier. An ROTC captain in his senior year of college would have loved the way Martinez’s coverall was always perfectly pressed and his unit identification and marksmanship pins polished bright and shiny. His skin was swarthy, and his black hair was picturesque military.

“The point of these things is not to be seen. If the Assids knew we’re here, they’d make a point of trying to kill us all.”

Assids had become the favorite way of referring to the Asiddians. The Chrysallamans got a kick out of the slur because it sounded like the name of the liquid used to embalm their dead. Humans liked the label because it sounded like ass.

“What’s the point of having this if we don’t use it?” King grumbled just as the picture on his monitor screen slewed sideways and the sound of disintegrator fire burst from the speakers. “Oh damn, Gracie has discovered some trouble.”

Every operator had a pet name for his or her Bowler. King’s was named Gracie.

“Find out what happened,” Janniss Whirrnigg demanded.

Janniss was a Chrysallaman tech who’d distinguished herself with precision remote control of Bowlers. She was small for an adult lizard at only 4-feet 7-inches; however, her steady hands and fingers were famous. Whirrnigg had been a computer programmer before her selection for resettlement on planet HG-281. Needless to say, she’d been thrilled when her background was deemed desirable by the Humans. Her affinity with electronic controls allowed her to fly a drone and land it on a 6-inch bullseye in a 60-mile per hour wind.

Pushing a couple of buttons and moving his joystick, Josh twirled Gracie and focused the camera on the source of the weapon fire. The video feed revealed five young Chrysallamans, in ragged clothing, running away from something. Out of the bottom of the viewscreen, four armed Asiddian commandos appeared. They were obviously chasing the youngsters and had no idea their pursuit was being watched. Every so often, one of the soldiers would fire his disintegrator rifle at the fleeing urchins, but none of the blasts hit a target.

Without warning, disintegrator rays cut across the pursuing Assids. Twirling Gracie on its axis, Josh stared at the source of the deadly blasts. Armed Chrysallaman commandos dressed like Whatsit swarmed into view. Gracie was so small and high above their heads, the commandos didn’t notice her.

Whirrnigg, who’d left her Bowler on auto-pilot so she could watch the excitement, said, “I remember Whatsit from the initial briefing on the VrrSilliac Xur. Those fellows look like his twins! That can’t be a coincidence! Would you mind if I had a go at the controls?”

King knew she was better at fine motor skills than he was and let her have his seat. Jesús and he watched as Janniss had Gracie follow the sombrero-wearing commandos and Chrysallaman youngsters. Staring in dumbfound amazement, they saw the group re-join Jenson, Chang, Roemer and Whatsit. It was clear there was some kind of friendly association.

Touching his com link, Jesús said, “General Blunt. You better get down to Bowler Central on the double. We’ve found Whatsit and the crew! Looks like the Chrysallaman Underground exists and is working with them!”

***

Tom and McPherson ran into the Bowler control room and spied a crowd of people around one of the viewscreens. The operators parted to let them through. It appeared the folks on the ground were in the middle of a military operation because they killed several Assids guarding the wide double-doors to a warehouse. In standard assault formation, the raiders swept into the building. Keeping the presence of the Bowler secret for the time being, Janniss had it enter through an air vent near the roof overhang. It became clear Doug’s squad was after the remains of the scout saucer Salteer.

“My God, it looks like the Assids have gutted the saucer. There’s not much left of it,” Tom said.

The scene turned deadly as red disintegrator rays licked at Doug’s team from the southern walls. PDS bubbles protected Whatsit and the Humans, but three of the Chrysallaman soldiers were cut apart.

Twirling Gracie toward the source of the rays, the people on board the Destinnee saw at least 50 Assids hiding behind some inventory racks along the southern and western walls. The western wall soldiers were shifting their positions to get open shots while the southern wall enemies kept Doug and his group pinned down. The odds weren’t in favor of their friends. None of Doug’s group had the updated PDS shields, and there was no doubt their necklaces would fail to protect them when enough of the disintegrator rays focused on each one of them.

McPherson looked at Janniss and said, “Lass would you mind very much if I take over Gracie’s operation?”

When Whirrnigg saw the look in the big Scot’s eyes, she knew better than to deny his request. She started wishing she had a bowl of buttered popcorn to enjoy while the show unfolded.

Just then, disintegrator rays started targeting the little group from the western wall. The situation became dire.

“Give the bastards something else to think about,” Tom ordered.

“Yes, sir!” Gracie dived out of the roof rafters toward Doug’s head. Aiming the MA ray at the southern wall racks, McPherson thumbed the activation key.

The devastation of a MA ray is breathtaking. The racks and the southern wall of the building disappeared. Suddenly a circle of light appeared on the viewscreen. Half the light was reddish in color and the other half was yellow.

“Jerks just hit me with disintegrator beams!”

Turning Gracie on her axis brought the western wall into view. Stabbing the firing key, McPherson took out 10 feet of the racks and wall on that side of the building.

“That ought to get their attention,” he chortled as his audience watched at least 20 Asiddians run away from the carnage.

“I would kill them all, but the story of the wee black ball wiping out their ambush should spread like wildfire. Nothing like good advertising.”

“Get a team ready for deployment. Home in on the coordinates of Gracie. Try not to alert the Assids,” Tom ordered.

***

Pettrr Dunnbull whistled a happy tune as he waited for news of the death of Whatsit and the Humans. Losing 10 fellow soldiers wasn’t the best idea, but the death of the interfering Chrysallaman sympathizer was worth it. As soon as the story broke about the ambush and their deaths, he planned to take immediate action. Dr. GooYee would be eliminated forthwith. As promised to his Asiddian contacts, Princess Peregrine would be returned to them unharmed, and six months of food and medical provisions would be doled out from warehouses to enhance Dunnbull’s reputation with his people.

The General’s daydreams were interrupted by shouts. Rising from his rocky perch, he grinned because he was sure news of the ambush had reached the lair.

“Now friends. Relax. I’m sure there’s nothing to be alarmed about.”

Whatsit and the Humans walked into the flickering torch light followed by four Chrysallaman commandos. All were covered with dust, and none of them looked happy.

“We were ambushed! The damned Asiddians knew we were coming,” Whatsit said.

“Impossible,” Dunnbull declared. “No one outside the rebellion knew anything about the operation.”

“Exactly. Someone in the rebellion is a traitor.”

“How convenient. You fail in your mission and blame it on someone else.”

“Who said anything about failure?” a clear telepathic voice asked.

Turning in the direction of the sound, Dunnbull saw a black ball float into the room. The ball was about 9-inches in diameter and had three dark holes resembling eyes and a mouth. Children ran to the object and tried their best to touch it, but it floated just out of their reach. Adult Chrysallamans backed away, frightened by the magical way it hovered.

“Who’s in charge, Doug?” Tom asked.

“General Pettrr Dunnbull thinks he is,” Doug answered and he pointed.

Floating toward the Chrik with the Christmas tree look, Tom said, “Hello, my name is Tom Blunt. We’re here to help.”

Dunnbull was speechless at first, but his surprise was replaced by anger.

“Just what or who are you?” he sputtered.

“I’m General Tom Blunt. Leader of the rescue operation.”

“Doesn’t look like much of a rescue if you ask me.”

“I didn’t ask you.”

The belligerent attitude of the lizard was surprising. Tom tried to put himself in Dunnbull’s shoes. Perhaps the whirlwind events of the past few days coupled with a talking ball were too much new information for the Chrysallaman to swallow. He decided on a softer approach.

“Food, medical supplies and some of our Chrysallaman crew are on their way as I speak. Very soon your people will be out of this cave and among friends.”

“We don’t need your help,” Dunnbull hissed. “My people are perfectly fine.”

“What do you mean we’re fine?” Helleen asked. She had walked over to hear what was being said. Bristling at the statement, she announced, “As a member of the Civilian Counsel of the Rebellion, I welcome any overture of help or rescue.”

Realizing the audience was growing, Dunnbull thought he had to do something or his position of command would be destroyed. Backhand-slapping the old woman, he watched her tumble to the floor.

“Never question my word again, Helleen.”

In the ensuing silence, Cherree sprang at the General with flying fists. A guttural scream left her throat as she attacked. Sidestepping the onslaught, Dunnbull grabbed her throat and held her at arm’s length.

“Not so fas . .,” he began.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dunnbull saw the Human, Becky Chang, grab his wrist. Grinning at the futility of her effort to stop him from throttling Cherree, he tried to tighten his hold. His fingers seemed to be frozen. Trying to close his grip with all his might, the General couldn’t understand why nothing happened. Feeling a numbing pressure on his wrist, he realized Becky’s tiny hand was half way to closing into a fist. It struck him as odd that her fingers were buried in the flesh of his arm to the point where they were almost touching the bones. He realized his hand had become numb and bruise-colored. Cherree struggled out of his limp fingers and gagged as she sucked air into her lungs.

“You were saying?” Becky asked with a hateful glare as she released her hold.

The sudden relief from the inexorable pressure of the Human’s grip was replaced by agony. Looking at his arm through watery eyes, Dunnbull saw Human finger-shaped depressions in his wrist. It felt like a couple of the bones were fused together from the pressure. Cradling his limp, almost amputated right hand, Dunnbull struggled to keep from fainting.

“Restrain him after Dr. GooYee checks the condition of his arm,” Helleen ordered.

Two Chrysallaman volunteers grabbed Dunnbull’s limp body to drag him away. From out of nowhere, a red disintegrator ray sliced into a nearby group of civilians. Killing them, the ray swept toward Doug and Becky.

Spinning on its axis, the black ball glided between them and the red rays. A halo of magenta and yellow light erupted around it as the Asiddian death rays landed. More rays flashed at the ball as Asiddians poured into the cave. Doug and Becky fired their disintegrators at the soldiers, picking them off one by one. The ball stayed with them. A MA beam erupted from the mouth hole, picking off another couple of commandos.

Whatsit gathered as many of the young Chrysallamans behind him as his shield would encompass. His PDS necklace powered by a miniature FLIT gen would only hold a short time before it overheated and failed. Knowing the breakdown was inevitable, Whatsit prepared to die.

From out of the shadows of a cave tunnel, a black shape glided into the room. Moving like a specter, the dark form launched itself at the Asiddians, cutting them down with a device that appeared to be a sword-like MA beam. The beam was about 3-feet long and looked for all intents and purposes like a light saber from Star Wars. The flashing blade made a hum-rum-hum sound as it flew through the air. Amputated Asiddian arms and heads dropped to the cave floor in grisly piles. Disintegrator beams fired point blank at the black whirling dervish either missed or had no effect.

Whatsit realized his PDS bubble was no longer active. The red rays had stopped. Raising his eyes toward the section of the cave where bodies were outlined by the light from the sword, he saw a dark shape outlined in the glow. The person, or whatever, was dressed in a black, shark skin body suit. The shark skin cloth shimmered in the flickering torch light, adding an aura of savage beauty to the mysterious rescuer. A black hat with a wide sombrero-style brim perched on the shade’s head, but the most eye-catching thing about the costume was a Chrysallaman skull necklace. The skull was just like Whatsit’s but with diamonds for eyes instead of his rubies. The MA sword flickered out, and Whatsit saw a thin line of silvery porcelain shaped like an epee blade rising out of the hilt. The figure sheathed the blade in a leather-like scabbard.

One of the Asiddians on the floor grabbed a discarded disintegrator rifle with his undamaged left hand and pointed it at the black figure. Too late to stop the cowardly kill tactic, Whatsit watched in despair as a red disintegrator beam nailed the specter in the center of its chest. The death beam failed. An electronic countermeasure, half magenta and half yellow encircled the wraith, saving it from instant oblivion. The dark suited specter turned toward the source of the ray and pointed its right finger at the Asiddian murderer. Its thumb came down, and a white beam filled with dancing swirls shot out of the fingertip and bored a hole in the head of the soldier. The red ray focusing on the black figure winked out.

Whatsit was stunned. He’d witnessed many strange sights in his life, but the magical way a MA ray fired out of the figure’s fingertip was astounding. The wraith stepped toward him, and Whatsit straightened to his full height. He had no idea what to expect next. Stopping close to him, the figure raised its hands to the black hat and pulled it off, letting it hang from her neck by the draw cord.

Chellsee Brookkss stared at him with a concerned look.

Stroking his cheek, she asked, “Are you all right?”

Whatsit realized he was holding his breath and released it in a whoosh. Without uttering a sound, he hugged her.