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

Springtime in Washington, D.C. is quite beautiful. Major General Matt Collier sat at the head of a conference table in a wood-paneled room staring out the large windows. Across the Potomac, he could just make out the Washington Monument. Walking to one of the windows, he stared into the distance. Collier was a short, barrel-chested fireplug of a man. He looked as strong as a bull despite the silver-white color of his crew cut hair. His assignment for the last five years was classified as Army intelligence, but his real job was Head of the SIP Department. SIP stood for Strategic Invasion Planning.

Frown lines nurtured by years of worry were etched across Collier’s forehead. The last eight months since the Roswell incident had been the most stressful. He had stopped counting the number of sleepless nights spent worrying about intelligent alien creatures colonizing Earth and wiping out its Human population. In the next few minutes, a handpicked group of individuals was going to set in motion a series of events designed to make sure the people of Earth could defend against an invasion from space. Taking a deep breath to try and ease the tension he couldn’t escape, Collier heard the door behind him open.

Men and women began filing into the conference room. Six people chosen for their educational background, youth and emotional stability. Although they didn’t know it at the time, their psychological stability was about to be put to the test.

“Nothing like baptism by fire,” Collier thought as he watched them take seats around the table.

Lieutenant Mike Jenson was fresh out of West Point with the youthful, eager look of an inexperienced officer. Lieutenant Jerome McPherson was a weapons expert assigned to the research labs hidden in the Virginia Mountains. Captain Thomas LeBlanc was an electronics whiz drafted straight out of Cal Tech and assigned to a top-secret research facility in Nevada that reverse engineered foreign technology. Dr. Diane Hoffman was a civilian liaison from Johns Hopkins University and a published researcher in a new field called BioGenetics. Dr. John Heinbaum was an Astrophysicist from Harvard University and a leading theoretical scientist on the unified field theory postulated by Einstein. Dr. Lucretia ‘Lucy’ Smith was a Xenobiologist with numerous published theoretical research articles on extraterrestrial life.

Everyone took their seat, and the room became silent, expectant. Collier flicked a switch and black-out curtains closed over the windows. Recessed lighting began to glow, creating a soft, pervading light for the room.

“I would like each of you to give a brief introduction of yourself to the group. You will be working together for some period of time so we need to know each other. Include some personal information as well as education.”

Miss Smith was the first to speak. She had pretty facial features, but her squint and the mild creases in her forehead indicated she spent much of her time glued to a microscope. Her hair was black and the style reminded you of your mother. The thick lenses in her horn-rimmed glasses magnified her eyes.

“My name is Lucretia Smith, but my friends call me Lucy. I have a Doctorate in Biology from Yale and a medical degree from Columbia University. My specialty is biologic survival in toxic environments. My research is focused on how alien life may have evolved under conditions incompatible with human beings.”

“I’m single, and I love cats,” she added with a shy smile.

Lieutenant Jenson spoke next. He had the clean-cut appearance of a fraternity president. Every brown hair on his head was combed in place with precision. His mouth was wide and a smile came easily to his face. Other than his smile, his military background was quite evident. If his back was any straighter, you might think there was a steel rod clamped to his spine.

“My name is Lieutenant Mike Jenson. I graduated from West Point in September last year with a major in military tactics and planning. I was assigned to the Pentagon where I have been working on advertising.”

Nodding at the questioning looks, he explained. “Yes, advertising for lack of a better word. With one war ending and the new Korean War heating up, people around the country are tired of constant fighting and need encouragement to get into a new war. I’m one of the guys who plans and organizes the campaigns aimed at keeping the U.S. citizens feeling good about their military.”

Turning towards Lucy, he said, “I’m single, as well, Miss Smith, but I’m a dog fancier myself.”

McPherson took his turn next. “I’m Lieutenant Jerome McPherson, proud of my Scottish fighting ancestors, and bearer of the red hair,” he said with a slight Scottish brogue as he stroked the top of his head trying to smooth down his curly mop. His skin was light in color as if it was never been exposed to the sun. “I can disassemble any weapon or bomb known to our military boys and shoot the eye out of a turkey at 1,000 meters. I just have a knack for working with things that make other people bleed.”

Looking around the table with a glint in his eyes, he continued, “I train people to recognize and use common objects not normally considered weapons to defend themselves. Even a sharpened pencil will do.”

With those words he plucked a pencil from the holder on the table and with a flick of his wrist threw it at a cork bulletin board across the room. A New York Times article with a 1943 picture of three high-ranking governmental officials was pinned to the board. The point of the pencil imbedded through the head of Communist Party Leader, Joseph Stalin.

McPherson smirked, “I don’t have any pets. They don’t appreciate the frequent gunfire at my place.”

Captain Tom LeBlanc was the next to speak. He had a boyish face when you first glanced at him, but closer inspection revealed wrinkles in the corners of his eyes indicating he had been exposed to bright sunlight for many years. His blond hair was short-cropped, and he sported a Clark Gable mustache.

“Don’t quite know how to follow that, but here goes anyway,” he said with as straight a face as he could muster. “I’m Tom LeBlanc. I have an advanced degree in electronics from Cal Tech. I can’t tell you about my work for the military since that would put you on a list you don’t want to be on,” he explained in a clear voice as he straightened the black wire-rimmed glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. “Needless to say, I don’t get out much, but I love science fiction books; especially where the good guys win in the end.”

“I have no social life and don’t expect to have one outside this little group, but I’m a fair chess player and would love some competition,” he concluded.

Diane Hoffman went next. She had a pretty face and blond hair swept upward into a large topknot of loose curls. Her red lipstick and fingernails seemed out of character for a university egghead. She wore oval-shaped glasses with bright blue decorations near the temple hinges. She peered over the top of her glasses like a lecturing professor as she spoke.

“My name is Dr. Diane Hoffman. I have a medical degree from Johns Hopkins, and I have dedicated my career to the study of BioGenetics. As you may or may not know, every animal, plant and human being on earth is genetically based upon a unique combination of deoxyribonucleic acid. DNA for short. My area of research involves the breakdown and analysis of how DNA is laced together to form a unique animal, plant or human being.”

Looking around the table, she asked, “Did you know that human and cow DNA is only 3% different?”

When no one replied, she continued, “That 3% is the complete difference between a human and a cow. Between being the food and being the eater of the food. The little 3% diff between cows and humans may be intellect, it may just be a genetic need to dominate, or it may just mean we’re deep-down psychopaths with barely controlled needs to kill. I don’t know yet how all the ingredients of the soup making humans mixes together, but I intend to find out.”

Dr. John Heinbaum spoke last. The shape of his face made him look like a rodent. His eyes seemed a bit too close together, and his nose was long and slender. His black hair was slicked backwards as if he had poured used motor oil over it when he combed it. He wore round, gold-colored metal-framed glasses. He looked like an eccentric scientist ready to do an autopsy.

“I am Dr. John Heinbaum. I graduated from Harvard with a doctorate in Astrophysics,” he said as he pushed his glasses back up his nose. “My specialty is research into the high energy fields postulated by Einstein in his unified field theory and how they can be used in practical applications.”

“My IQ is higher than Einstein’s,” he said with a smug look. “Like Captain LeBlanc said earlier, I’m not at liberty to tell you any more about my work with the military.”

“I have no need for personal relationships. Frankly, most people I meet are so intellectually challenged there is no need for me to interact with them. I had a pet turtle when I was younger, but it died.”

General Collier cleared his throat. “All right people, listen up. What I’m about to show you is so classified that up to now less than 10 people in the entire world know the full story. You’ve all been hand-picked by me to help in creating a plan to save the United States from certain destruction.”

An incredulous murmur went around the room. Heads went back and forth before re-focusing on Collier.

“I’m sure you’ve all heard of the alien UFOs reported in the newspapers and magazines over the past few years.”

McPherson interrupted. He was impulsive almost to a fault. “Sir, the government has debunked all those reports. This is well known. In fact, it is SIP that did the debunking. Are you trying to tell us these things are real?”

Collier eyed Lieutenant McPherson with a wry smile. “Lieutenant, what I’m telling you now is that I have personally made sure the government debunked all those reports. Confirmation of aliens visiting our planet would have done nothing but scare the majority of the population and bring out the religious fanatics whose whole belief system is based upon the fact we’re God’s creation made in his own image. We couldn’t possibly give full disclosure because many would not believe us if we did and less than full disclosure would have people claiming the government was hiding some big secret. So watch and learn.”

With that, Collier flipped another switch and a projection screen rolled down from the ceiling. A projector hidden behind a decorative molding sprang to life and a black and white movie began. The scene shown appeared to be from inside a large, darkened warehouse. There was no sound from the speakers, just the mutter and clicking of the projector as it played the film. What they saw was the flying disc that had been shot from the sky in New Mexico. The dark gray hull was marred by a large jagged hole in its upper fuselage, but there wasn’t sufficient light to see any other structural features of the craft. No details could be discerned about its interior.

A uniformed man with his back to the camera walked into the frame and motioned to someone off-screen.

A side of beef hanging from a large hook was maneuvered into the scene about 30 feet from the uniformed man. You could see nothing beyond the hanging beef, inky darkness in the background complete and revealing nothing.

The man lifted a pistol-like object appearing to be nothing more than a dime store toy ray gun slightly bulbous in shape with twin discs surrounding the end of its barrel. He pointed it at the meat target. A beam of white light shot from the ray gun, and the man flicked the beam sideways, slicing the beef in half. He then pointed the beam at the metal chain holding the hook and sliced the chain in half. The remainder of the beef hit the floor.

The people around the conference table were shocked into silence. Collier knew this was going to happen, stopped the projector and remained silent.

McPherson slapped the tabletop with the flat of his hand with a smack, exclaiming, “Get me one of those pistols!”

Everyone was saying the same thing. “What the hell? Show that again!”

Twice more the projector ran through the sequence. Everyone began talking over everyone else.

“Where could that device get enough power to do what we just saw?” Heinbaum asked. “I don’t believe it!”

“How strong is the beam? What are its limitations?” McPherson gushed.

Lucy asked an obvious question, “What do the aliens look like? Where are they?”

“How do we know this is real? Science fiction stories and comic books are full of ray guns and aliens. Given a couple of days, I could make a film that would show this same effect,” Hoffman said.

“Oh, it’s real enough,” LeBlanc said. “General Collier, would you please play the next 15 seconds of the film?”

Collier restarted the film from the point in time when the hanging meat and its hook fell to the floor. As the film continued, the uniformed man, whose back had always been to the camera, turned and stared into the lens, a small smile curling up just below his mustache. It was Tom LeBlanc.

The people had been surprised enough by the earlier disclosures. Now they looked wide-eyed at LeBlanc, some shaking their head as the new information was revealed.

As they all stared at him, Tom reached into a side pocket of his jacket, pulled the ray pistol out and laid it on the conference table.

In the soft light of the room, the pistol looked even more toy-like. Its color was dull red. A cream-colored star pattern and stylized logo were etched behind two dark green discs surrounding the barrel end. The discs were an inch larger in diameter than the barrel and a half inch apart. The business end of the barrel was a formed black crystal. The pistol was almost seven inches from the tip of the barrel to the butt of the hand grip. It could be easily held in a human sized hand. There was a trigger guard much larger than one on a 45 pistol and a button in place of a trigger.

McPherson reached for it, but LeBlanc motioned him away, saying, “There will be time for inspection later after you have some training with it. To say it’s a little dangerous is a big understatement.”

“There must be more physical proof.” exclaimed Lucy Smith. “This thing,” as she motioned toward the ray pistol, “is not proof that an alien species exists. Dr. Heinbaum says he’s been working on high energy physics and applications that he can’t tell us about. Maybe this thing is the product of his work. I’ve seen Buck Rogers movies with more believable looking space rockets and ray gun props than we’ve seen here today.”

“I feel I must agree with her. I’m someone from the ‘Show Me’ state. This whatever-it-is, ray pistol, does not validate an alien presence.” Hoffman stated.

Collier reached under his desk and pushed a button that summoned his aide. The door opened, and a head appeared.

“Sir?”

“Corporal Adams, please show our guests into the room.”

Adams disappeared for a few moments. Then both conference room doors swung open, and Major Jim Blunt walked in pushing a wheelchair. Sitting in the wheelchair was a person covered head to toe with a black sheet. The person looked like it was wearing a hat, and the hat swiveled back and forth as if the individual was surveying the people sitting at the table.

Adams backed out of the room and closed the double doors.

Blunt looked about the room. He stood 6 feet tall and had sandy-brown, close cropped hair. He looked like the poster boy for military recruitment. Square shouldered and square jawed. But if you looked closely, and Diane Hoffman did, you could see the unmistakable crinkles of laugh lines in the corners of his eyes and the hint of dimples.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, my name is Major James Blunt. Let me introduce you to our visitor, Whatsit,” and with a flourish he removed the sheet covering the person sitting in the wheelchair.

Surprise and shock erupted all around. LeBlanc knew what to expect since he was stationed at the Nevada facility, but the others did not. The exclamations were followed by a brittle silence.

The large black eyes and the huge dark pupils seemed to captivate everyone. LeBlanc felt the now familiar tugging in his brain just behind his eyeballs. He had worked hard learning to fight against the mental imperatives of Whatsit, but it took all his concentration to fend against the controlling powers of the creature. He knew if he was distracted for even a moment, he might lose the battle for control.

Jenson and Heinbaum discovered they could not move a muscle no matter how hard they tried. Jenson, who was a little off balance from lurching out of his seat, fell over in a heap on the floor unable to prevent the fall. Hoffman and Smith turned to look at each other. Reaching out, they gripped the other’s throat and began squeezing. McPherson picked up the ray pistol, pointed it at Collier and began pushing the activating button over and over again.

Blunt waited a long moment and then almost playfully slapped the creature’s head and said, “Ok, Whatsit, that’s enough.”

Whatsit turned in its seat and looked at Blunt. An upward curving movement in the corner of its mouth and slight narrowing of its eyes indicated it had enjoyed the little demonstration.

Immediately, each person felt a lifting of the pressure right behind their eyes. Hoffman and Smith, their hands still locked around each other’s throats, and their eyes squinted in a menacing stare, released their holds. Bright red flushed their cheeks. McPherson stared incredulously at the pistol he was aiming at General Collier. He gently lowered the gun to the table. Jenson pulled himself up from the floor and regained his chair but not his composure.

Silence, shock and fright filled the room.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, please be calm,” Blunt said.

“Our visitor here,” as he motioned toward Whatsit, “has been in our custody now for almost a year. He is a Chrysallaman; a race of lizard-like beings from a star system about 30 light-years away from earth.”

He pushed the wheelchair closer to the conference table. Smith and Heinbaum, who were sitting closest to the lizard, moved back and away.

“Whatsit’s people are accustomed to complete military dominance where rank and position in their society is revered. I captured Whatsit by forcefully taking his weapon, that ray pistol, away from him and shooting him with it. Well actually, I amputated both his feet with the ray gun. Since I defeated him in battle, he now considers me his superior, and the person he is to serve and obey.”

“The Chrysallaman mental powers are highly developed as you have just witnessed. Since their vocal cords and tongues were not designed for speech, they were forced by nature to develop a form of telepathy in order to communicate. In dealing with us Humans, their telepathy gives them a form of mind control over us. Their bodies aren’t that much stronger than ours, but the warriors wear a powered vest that includes an electrical-based protective force field. The force field deflects subsonic bullets and augments their physical strength. Also, like many reptiles on Earth, he has the ability to regenerate parts of his body. You’ll see that the feet I amputated several months ago are almost fully regrown.”

Blunt told them all this with such a matter-of-fact attitude that Heinbaum bristled.

“I will not sit here and listen to such nonsense,” he said, his close-set eyes bulging in his effort to bluster. “That little monster didn’t control me!”

“Listen very carefully, Dr. Heinbaum,” Blunt said to him, trying his best to remain professional.

“This creature is a highly intelligent being with mental powers we’re only just beginning to fathom. When I first encountered him, he used his power to convince me he was harmless and persuaded me to order my men to lower their weapons. Then he sliced them in half with his ray gun. With some effort, I managed to break his mental control and disarm him. In many ways, he is much smarter than most Humans. He perhaps is smarter than even you.”

Heinbaum sat back, but the sullen look of defiance in his eyes caught Blunt’s attention. Tom made a mental note to look deeper into Heinbaum’s psych profiles and evaluations to see if he was best suited to be a member of the team.

McPherson was not as diplomatic.

“Listen up, Heiny,” he said, very annoyed and pointing his finger at the man. “Against my will, I picked up that gun, pointed it at the General and tried my best to shoot him. I don’t know why he’s not lying on the floor right now with 5 or 6 holes blown through him.”

“I knew what I was doing, and I knew it was wrong, but I had no control over my actions.”

Both Diane and Lucy nodded. The red marks on their throats were visual confirmation of the mind control Whatsit had wielded over them.

“You planned this, didn’t you?” asked Jenson. “You knew the ray gun wouldn’t work. But why didn’t it work? Is it broken? Out of juice? Why the dramatic entrance and scare tactics?”

“Good questions,” Blunt replied.

“Yes this was planned. We figured you wouldn’t believe us just telling you an alien who can control our minds and is far more technically advanced than us has been living under our roof for the last year. We don’t have time to overcome instinctual, uninformed skepticism. Quick and decisive actions must be taken to protect ourselves if we Humans are going to survive the next few years.”

The bombshells just kept coming and coming. Boiling everyone’s shouts and comments down into one theme came to: “What do you mean survive the next few years?”

Blunt then told them the blockbuster. “The purpose of the Chrysallamans is no less than the conquering of Earth and the annihilation of its inhabitants. They mean to colonize. This committee has been formed to create and implement plans to stop all this from happening.”

“It looks like the Chrysallamans have been spying on Earth for a number of months. They aren’t impressed with our offensive, defensive or communication capabilities. Over time they got cocky and sloppy. With some luck, we were able to shoot down one of their saucers. What we didn’t understand at the time was when we shot down and captured their saucer and killed its crew, we demonstrated we were dangerous and capable in some ways of defending ourselves. Their response was to immediately return to their planet to report on our strengths and weaknesses and come back with sufficient overwhelming force to once and for all wipe out the Human race.”

“I have been able to get some general information from Whatsit. He talks to me by creating pictures in my mind. I’ve had a lot of interaction with him over the past months so I’m learning to communicate better as time passes. Because I have no common reference points between his people and Humans, some of the stuff is impossible to interpret. However, it is clear his people travel in space at the speed of light. Therefore, round trip to their home world and back here is 60 years. We assume they’ll take 5 to 10 years to assemble a force of ships and troops large enough to throttle our planet and its peoples. The math then tells us they’ll be back in force in about 65 to 70 years from the time we shot down their saucer. That period of time is our defense preparation window.”

Jenson took the lead and asked the next obvious question. “Lieutenant LeBlanc, you used the ray pistol in the film. You said your job was to reverse engineer tech. So what have you learned from working on the saucer and the gun?”

LeBlanc shrugged. “One thing is for sure. We can’t come anywhere near their power source for either one. Given our current level of knowledge and technical expertise, we’re not able to understand, let alone duplicate, their power sources.”

“The energy it takes to create the beam for the pistol is enormous. There is a cylindrical module in the grip of the pistol that provides the juice for the beam. It appears to work just like a battery. Examination by X-rays and electron microscope reveal nothing. Scientists on my team are fearful to cut into the cylinder because it might explode or be rendered inoperable. We removed the module before placing the pistol on the table here, or there would’ve been holes not only in General Collier but also in the concrete walls.”

“The same or similar energy works the saucer. The center of the saucer’s lower deck contains the power source for the craft. Part of the mechanism appears to generate some kind of field to nullify gravity and provide propulsion.”

Collier rose and flicked the switch to draw back the blackout curtains. Sunlight streamed into the room, a welcome change from the gloomy, emotionally charged atmosphere.

“I have prepared a summary packet of information we have concerning everything our military and scientific research has been able to find out about this threat.”

As he passed out the large packets to each person, he continued, “You’ll review all this information, create a list of pertinent questions, your ideas on how we should go about preparing to defend ourselves against this alien menace, your equipment needs and supply requirements. We’ll reconvene here day after tomorrow at 0800 hours.”

And with that, the meeting ended.

Blunt delayed leaving the room and closed the doors after everyone else departed. Collier sat in his chair and waited for Blunt to speak.

“I don’t have a good feeling about Heinbaum,” Blunt began. “He appears to be a supercilious, Harvard educated snob with delusions of grandeur.”

“Perhaps,” replied Collier. “But he’s the top man in his field on high energy plasma. If anyone can understand and duplicate the alien power systems, he’s the one.”

Both Blunt and Collier felt the pressure tickling just behind their eyes as a picture of a weasel-like creature with facial features resembling Heinbaum appeared in their minds. Whatsit was giving them his assessment of the scientist, and both men chuckled.

“You too?” Blunt directed at the alien.

Whatsit cocked his head and looked at them as the side of his mouth wrinkled upwards. He then nodded in a very Human way, having learned the common signal for agreement.