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

“Do we have eyes on every Chrik saucer and mother ship?” Tom asked as his Staff settled into their seats in the conference room.

“Yes,” Amanda said. “FORCE ground troops have managed to tag all 50 mother ships and 248 scout saucers with a Klotator.”

Alex had come up with the idea of a tracking device made from a miniature, specialized K-wave transmitter. The Klotator was a nickel-shaped dark-gray K-wave device surrounded by a ball of clear, viscous adhesive. Using a specialized CO2 powered rifle, a FORCE commando would shoot a Klotator onto the hull of any scout saucer or mother ship that landed and turned off its gravity drive. Permanently adhering to the hull, the Klotator became an undetectable tracking beacon. The K-wave transmission was unknown to the Chrysallamans, and the dark-gray device was so small, it blended into a craft’s hull. No casual inspection was going to spot it. Unless the spacecraft rose more than 500 miles above the surface of the Earth where kinetic energy was no longer powerful enough to activate the device, the Klotator emitted a constant, unjammable location signal showing the precise coordinates and altitude of every Chrysallaman craft.

“Once they began their ground assault, the Chriks had to turn off their gravity drive envelope to be able to exit their craft. Marking the ships became simple,” Amanda grinned.

“We have an added bonus with the Klotators,” Jason added. “Dr. Roemer had the idea of including a homing circuit in the design. The F-35 Lightning MA ray weaponry and the larger ground-based MA cannons lock onto the Klotator signal. The Chriks don’t know it yet, but they’re flying around in saucer-shaped bulls eyes.”

“They can still outrun us,” Tom said in a measured tone. “I’m afraid we’re going to lose some good pilots once the Chriks realize they can outmaneuver us. Alex, what’s the status on the distribution of the F-35′s around the World?”

Typing a series of commands, Alex displayed a map of the World on the overhead monitors. Each country’s name and boundaries were depicted in black. Fifty small, bright green asterisks appeared scattered around it.

“Each green asterisk represents an F-35. Now since you’re wondering why they’re located in those particular places, let me superimpose the current positions of every Chrik spacecraft. He typed an instruction and 298 bright red circles appeared. There were 50 larger circles with the letter ‘M’ representing mother ships. The 248 smaller circles with the letter ‘S’ indicated the scout saucers. As they watched, some of the smaller red circles moved into new positions.

“Notice how the saucers are grouped,” Alex said. “Each mother ship has a complement of five scout saucers. If you watch, you’ll see how the scout saucers remain close to their mother ships.”

“Now I’ll bring the F-35′s to the foreground.”

The green asterisks appeared, each one near a mother ship.

“Our strike must destroy the enemy fleet, but our primary targets are the mother ships. The mother ships are the only Chrik spacecraft capable of making the 30-year journey back to their home planet to report failure. We don’t want to spend another 60 plus years worrying about another invasion.”

“I beg to differ with you,” a clear telepathic thought touched everyone’s mind.

Whatsit had remained silent up to that point. Seated beside Tom, he hadn’t felt it appropriate to impose his civilian ideas into the military strategies, but he considered it important to clear up a possible misconception.

“There must be one mother ship left intact, and here is the reason. At some point in the near future, the Chrysallaman Emperor will decide to send more of my people to Earth. The colony ships will be accompanied by at least one mother ship. I guarantee you we haven’t heard the last from my people.”

In a serious, deadly tone, Whatsit continued, “It is my intention to return to Chrysalis with a hand-picked crew of Chrysallaman settlers and Humans. I will confront the Emperor with the atrocities he’s committed against Earth and other non-Chrysallaman races of this galaxy and bring an end to his homicidal reign.”

A respectful silence from everyone indicated general agreement with Whatsit’s ultimate goal, but the real possibility a single mother ship might escape their net of destruction was troubling Tom.

“How are we going to capture a mother ship without disabling it? The Chrik crew isn’t going to let a bunch of Humans waltz in and ask for the keys.”

“Who said anything about Humans?” Whatsit asked with his head cocked in a quizzical manner.

“Yeah, Humans wouldn’t have a chance of infiltrating a mother ship,” an odd-sounding voice said from the end of the table.

Everyone’s attention had been centered on Whatsit and Tom. Upon hearing the question from the other end of the table, everyone’s head turned and startled gasps and one ‘Whoa!’ sounded.

Sitting at the end of the table was a Chrysallaman soldier wearing a combat vest and holding a cutter ray pistol pointed toward them.

Jason and Amanda leaped to their feet so fast their chairs fell backward. They each felt for the MA ray pistol normally belted at their waist, but not a single Human was armed. There was no need within the safe confines of the Nevada base. Alex sat still, shifting his eyes back and forth, trying to locate some kind of weapon he might be able to use to wound or kill the Chrik. Only Becky remained calm following her initial, startled reaction. Tom sat with an amused look.

Suddenly, the illusion of the Chrysallaman soldier faded away, revealing a smiling Colonel Douglas Jenson.

“I thought I recognized your thought patterns,” Becky smiled.

“Are you fricking kidding me?” Alex gushed.

Righting their chairs and sitting down, Jason and Amanda smiled sheepishly.

“Your illusion was convincing,” Jason said. “I still have the willies.”

“You’d think after the walrus trick General Blunt pulled on me, I’d get used to this kind of stuff,” Amanda admitted.

Tom explained, “The key on our new mission to capture a mother ship will be selling the illusion to her crewmen. That’s why Whatsit will be accompanying the assigned team. There has to be an element of realism in the overall hallucination.”

“Have you decided on the mother ship we want?” Amanda asked.

“Yes,” Whatsit replied. “The mother ship that made the initial exploratory trip to Earth in 1947. The VrrSilliac Xur captained by Fleet General Hisspat Zeck. It happens to be located right here in North America.”

“How convenient,” Jason grinned.

***

Rasshur Grr had taken special pains to preserve a building the Human animals called the Minsk Arena. The structure might have been designed by a Chrysallaman. Its circular shape and size resembled a mother ship. Even its gray color and shiny silver highlights pleased his eyes. The Arena was located in an area of the planet called Belarus, and Grr liked the building’s appearance so much, he gave strict orders not to harm it in any way.

The story of Fleet General Hisspat Zeck’s humiliating encounter with the paint ball throwing youngsters had made its way through the ranks. Grr couldn’t help chuckling about the way he imagined Zeck’s face must have appeared as the lime green and orange paints defaced his royal robe.

Growing weary of sitting in his mother ship with nothing to do except direct the routine extermination of Humans, Grr decided he’d join his ground troops for some fresh air and hands-on mayhem. Slipping on his combat vest, he strutted onto the plaza surrounding the Minsk Arena. Sensing no Human anywhere nearby and feeling an emptiness gnawing at his stomach, he strode toward a multi-story apartment building just north of the Arena hoping he could flush out some Humans just begging to be his next meal.

Quietly moving into the apartment building, he heard intermittent sounds of laughter coming from a large atrium in the center of the ground floor. The atrium had lush, green plants growing in various sized pots placed about an indoor plaza, and benches with adjoining tables covered by colorful umbrellas sat in locations chosen for comfort and ambience. Pushing through a double door of glass into the open area, Grr spied some 20-odd children playing with an inflated, multi-colored plastic ball. The young Humans were trying their best to keep the ball in the air and were running back and forth in the uncluttered central area of the atrium, swatting the ball upward with their hands. The Chrysallaman commander had to admit the youngsters exhibited amazing hand-eye coordination and stamina.

A dark-haired female, who might have been 8-years old, seemed to be the most athletic of the group. Grr noticed how aggressive and focused she was as her team worked to keep the ball from falling to the floor. Relishing her smooth skin and supple musculature accented by a thin sheen of sweat, the Chrysallaman decided he’d found his next meal. One of the boys noticed Grr standing in the shadows near the doorway and shouted a warning. The playing stopped, and the ball dropped, rolling to a stop against a concrete bench near a tall, potted tree.

Surprisingly, the children didn’t try to run away from him. They stared at Rasshur with an insolence that began to anger him. There was one thing he wouldn’t tolerate and that was defiance. He had once killed an insubordinate crewman for perceived defiance, and he wasn’t about to allow an inferior race of Humans, especially children, exhibit the same behavior.

Stepping from the shadowed doorway and approaching them, Grr sent the telepathic series of commands giving him complete control over the children. Ordering all of them to stand still, he strode to the dark-haired girl he had selected. Gazing at her with hungry eyes, his saliva dripped onto the concrete at her feet as he imagined the savory flavor of her meat. At 6 feet 6 inches, easily the tallest and heaviest Chrysallaman in the invading fleet, Grr towered over the young female.

Reaching for her arm in order to walk her out of the building, Grr was amazed when the girl frowned and grasped his descending forearm with her hand. Surprised she had the ability to ignore his telepathic control, the heavyset lizard nevertheless tried to continue the movement to grab her. To his astonishment, he couldn’t move his arm. It felt like it was clamped in a steel vise.

Wide-eyed, Grr reached for the offending Human with his other hand, only to have his forearm similarly caught by the child’s other hand.

Struggling with all his might to break the child’s grip on his arms, Grr rose to his full height; carrying the girl into the air when she refused to release her hold on his forearms with her steel-like fingers. Panic began to set into his mind as he tried without success to shake the tiny harridan off him. He felt a brief telepathic thought.

“Mom told me never to let strangers touch me, you lousy lizard!”

And with that thought and an assertive look in her eyes, the little girl snapped her wrists in a quick 90-degree angle, breaking both of Rasshur Grr’s forearms with an audible, bony crack. Releasing her hold on his broken arms, the girl landed on her feet, backed a couple of steps away and insolently stuck her tongue out at him. Turning toward the other children who had watched the entire spectacle play out, she ran to rejoin them, and they all scampered from the room.

Mind-numbing pain spiked into his brain. Mewling in agony as his hands hung from his forearms like limp dish rags, Grr turned toward the double door of glass and shouldered through them. Cradling his arms as best he could as he stumbled from the building, he ran back toward his mother ship.

“Something’s bad wrong,” his pain-fogged brain screamed. “Must report!”

***

As Captain Carlos Chi Canul crept through the forested foothills near Bilbao, in northern Spain, he kept his eyes and ears focused on the shipping pier overlooking the Bay of Biscay where a mother ship and its five scout saucers had landed.

Canul was a short Spaniard with Mayan heritage from his mother’s side of the family. He had a round head with dark eyes and coal-black hair. His body was wide-set and strongly muscled. The little finger on his right hand was crooked, and his mother always told him the finger proved he was descended from a princely bloodline of Mayan royalty. Right now, Carlos didn’t feel much like a Mayan prince. He felt like a dirty, sweat-drenched FORCE commando on a mission to destroy the Chrysallaman mother ship he and his team were approaching with their special artillery piece.

His team of fellow FORCE soldiers had maneuvered their MA cannon to its current position through a quarter mile of thick brush and groves of trees. Hidden beneath camouflage netting, the cannon looked like a WWII M-30 howitzer with a shortened barrel. The MA cannon was a modest 5 feet in height. Two large, rubber tires supporting the 7 foot wide carriage were powered by an electric motor energized by a Heinbaum Kinetic Generator. Moving the cannon was simple. A soldier would pick up the end of the trail structure, activate the powered wheels and steer the carriage like a wheelbarrow. Quietly clearing away impeding brush and trees was the most difficult task in moving the cannon.

Klotators glued to the skin of the mother ship and its five attendant scout saucers had led his team unerringly to the hillock overlooking the spacecraft. Pulling a tablet computer from a large pouch slung over his shoulder, Canul linked into the automated controls of the MA Cannon and watched with satisfaction as he tested the motors governing rotation and elevation of the cannon barrel. Locking the tablet’s targeting software onto the Klotator signals emanating from the mother ship and its five attendant scout saucers, Canul waited for the signal authorizing him to open fire.

***

Tuurket Axxdo was unsettled, and he didn’t know why. Usually, he could calm his nerves by simply hovering his mother ship over a colony of Humans and raying them out of existence. Lately, even that distinct pleasure was unsatisfying.

The conquest of planet HG-281 just seemed too easy despite the clear advantage of Chrysallaman technology and brain power. Thinking back about the genesis of his uneasiness, Tuurket considered it was linked to the obstinance of Humans to any form of control, no matter how benevolent the control happened to be. Humans didn’t easily accept authority. In fact, the harsher the punishment for disobedience, the more unruly the blasted creatures became.

The latest example of Human obstinance had occurred less than two days ago. A scout saucer captained by one of his best soldiers, Burrtl Jaccz, had landed in a city square near the center of a large urban area called Venice, Italy. The mission had been quite simple. Secure ten Humans for a holiday feast celebrating the end of the second week of occupation of planet HG-281 by the compassionate Chrysallamans. Jaccz had selected ten of the younger Humans for the honor and was trying to herd them into his saucer when scores of adult Humans began menacing him.

The unfortunate captain had suffered grievous injuries before his crewmen used their cutter rays to mow down the miscreant Humans. One of the crewmen claimed he’d witnessed a young male child, selected for the feast by Jaccz, kick the captain in his shin so hard the leg bone shattered. Axxdo discounted the story as the irrational imaginings of a soldier under combat stress, but nonetheless the disturbance was troubling. None of the Humans had succumbed to the telepathic commands of the Chrysallamans. None of them. Something was not right about these Humans.

A sudden multi-ping from his master control board shook Axxdo from his reverie. Looking at his view screen, he saw a red, blinking icon moving toward his position at an astounding velocity. The ship’s sensors indicated the blip was 775 miles away and closing rapidly. Fascinated by the audacity of Human attempts to fight back against Chrysallaman occupation, Axxdo signaled for his scout ship, Orripazz, to engage the aircraft and blow it from the sky.

***

Twerrit Eedrr, captain of the Orripazz, smiled as he received the orders from Axxdo to terminate the Human aircraft. One of the more adept pilots in the Chrysallaman fleet, Eedrr spent his leisure time in flight simulation games, and his winning percentage against fellow pilots had grown to an impressive level. Preferring to use manual controls in the operation of his saucer, he grasped his control yoke and twirled the guidance ball on his view screen to an intercept vector. Activating his gravity drive, he flicked into a combat position just 200 feet above and to the rear of the Human aircraft.

The silver-colored craft had the usual lines of the primitive Human military jets except for a couple of odd features. A thin wire-like structure encircled the aircraft from nose to wingtip to tail. Its purpose was indeterminable. Further, there was no visible engine or rocket exhaust port.

“Strange design, but then again, these Humans are strange.”

Grinning as he locked his cutter ray onto the craft, Eedrr was about to energize it when the silvery craft came to a complete halt in mid-air. The Chrysallaman captain was shocked by the aerial maneuver, and his saucer’s speed was such it traveled 30 miles past the Human craft before Eedrr reversed course and arrived back to float just 3,200 feet from the hovering machine.

Considering the odd behavior of the Humans operating the aircraft, Eedrr decided it would be prudent for him to activate his defensive navigation computer. His forethought saved his life, for without warning, a strange white beam of energy with odd swirls and blinking sparkles snapped out from the silvery aircraft through the spot the Orripazz had been occupying just a moment before. The defensive computer he’d just activated had twitched the Orripazz out of the path of the white beam, saving it by mere seconds.

Incensed by the audacity of the Human pilot, Eedrr activated his offensive weaponry and sent the combined powers of his cutter and heat rays at the aircraft. Nothing happened. Bathed in the combined destructive cutter and heat ray beams, the Human machine appeared to be encircled by a clear bubble of protection. It remained unharmed by the tremendous energy flooding across it.

“What the Hell?”

Pushing the ship-to-ship communicator, Eedrr contacted Tuurket Axxdo and described what had just occurred.

“My combined cutter and heat rays are ineffectual, Sir,” Eedrr explained. “My only advantages are my saucer’s speed and maneuverability.”

“I’m sending the Luxxtunn to back you up,” Axxdo replied. “Let’s see if the thing can withstand the combined might of two Chrysallaman saucers.”

Watching his view screen, Eedrr saw a glowing blue dot representing the Luxxtunn speed across the screen to a point adjacent to his saucer.

Switching his communicator to the saucer radio frequency, Eedrr was just about to warn the captain of the Luxxtunn to activate his defensive navigation computer when another white beam flicked from the Human aircraft and sliced through the gravity drive envelope of the Luxxtunn, utterly destroying the scout saucer in a single blinding explosion.

Stunned by disbelief, Eedrr felt his ship take evasive action as a second white beam speared through the airspace his Orripazz had just occupied. Again, without his navigation computer and speed, Twerrit Eedrr would be dead.

Stabbing at the ship-to-ship communicator on his combat vest, Eedrr frantically told Tuurket Axxdo what had happened. A lengthy silence ensued and twice during the silence, Eedrr felt his ship evade the white beam of death.

At last, Axxdo growled his orders, “Ram the Human aircraft and destroy it.”

Eedrr couldn’t believe he heard the order correctly so he replied, “Repeat Sir, your message must have been garbled. I thought you said to ram the Human.”

“You have your orders. Ram the Human aircraft and destroy it!”

“Sir, begging your pardon but such an action will destroy my saucer as well. Surely there must be another method to try.”

“You have your orders, Captain.”

Slumping his shoulders as he keyed the commands into his navigation computer, Eedrr pressed the Enter key. At a speed of one quarter that of light, the Orripazz rammed the F-35 Lightning and destroyed it. The tremendous explosion brightening the sky for miles around came from the ruptured fusion reactor of the Orripazz as it flashed into its constituent atoms.

***

Hobbled by the throbbing pain from his broken arms, Rasshur Grr stumbled across the broad plaza toward his mother ship. Throwing a glance over his shoulder, fear bubbled in his mind as he saw several adult Humans leave their hiding places near the multi-story building, gesturing at him and shouting. Knowing he had to reach the safety of his ship before the mob caught him, the big lizard renewed his efforts to run faster despite the throbbing pain as the sharp edges of his broken bones scrapped against nerve and muscle tissues.

A thundering sonic boom reverberated across the broad plaza. Looking up, Grr saw a blur whiz across the sky. The speed of the object was astounding, but what happened next was devastating.

A white beam of coherent light filled with sparkles and dazzling swirls swept across his mother ship squatting on the plaza. The beam sliced the mother ship in half so quickly, Rasshur Grr blinked his eyes in disbelief and horror. The sizzling light was so powerful. it left a wide trench 30 feet deep in the ground. Curving to the left in a streak almost defying Rasshur’s ability to follow it, the object paused over a spot about a mile away. Two white beams of light shot from the object, and the resulting explosions left no doubt in Grr’s mind that two of his scout saucers had just been destroyed.

With his mother ship in ruins, the Chrysallaman’s combat vest communications capabilities were non-functional. It was impossible for him to warn the fleet. Standing near his demolished mother ship, Grr forgot the throbbing pain of his broken arms as he gazed at the horizon where 5 pillars of black smoke rose. Somehow, the Humans had found a way to destroy what had once been invincible scout saucers.

Hearing a scuff in the pavement, the big Chrysallaman discovered a group of Human adults walking toward him. A few of them were armed with clubs and knives, but most were empty-handed. All of them had looks of deadly determination.

Staring around for some way to escape the menacing crowd, Grr twirled in a slow circle, but he was surrounded. As the Humans converged, he lowered his shoulder and tried to run through them like a football linebacker, but he couldn’t break free. With sucking snaps, his arms and legs were ripped from their sockets. As his mangled body lay on the Minsk Arena plaza, life-blood flowing in gushes from the gaping holes in his torso, Rasshur looked up at the sky and offered a prayer to his Emperor for salvation. All he saw for his efforts was a boot slamming into his skull, crushing it to fragmented lumps. The last thing he heard as he died were the cheers of the Humans celebrating their freedom.

***

Tuurket Axxdo scowled at his view screen as he watched the glowing blue dot representing the Orripazz turn into an orange cinder and disappear, destroyed like the Luxxtunn.

“Two saucers lost within a few minutes. Unbelievable!” he thought as an ache twisted his gut.

Flipping the toggle for ship-to-ship communication, he sent a Worldwide urgent announcement, “All Chrysallaman craft. Warning! Activate your gravity drives and defensive navigation computers at once! The Humans have some kind of aerial weapon capable of penetrating the gravity field. The only way to destroy the weapon is by ramming it. Cutter and heat rays are ineffective. Repeat. The Humans have some kind of aerial weapon capable of penetrating the gravity field. The only way to destroy the weapon is by ramming it! Cutter and heat rays are ineffective.”

Activating his gravity drive and lifting his mother ship from the concrete pier so it hovered a few feet off the ground, Axxdo ordered his remaining scouts to dock. There was one thing Axxdo knew with certainty. Humans didn’t have the ability to fight a battle in space. His three remaining scout saucers completed their docking maneuvers, and large clamps clicked into place to hold them securely to the hull of the mother ship.

***

Canul watched worriedly as first one scout saucer, and about 3 minutes later a second scout saucer, hastily took off; disappearing into the eastern sky at such tremendous speed it was impossible to follow their flight paths even with his enhanced eyes. The plan was for his team to back up the F-35 Lightning fighter on an approach vector from the east in its mission to take out the mother ship squatting on the concrete shipping pier below his hillside position. The fast dispatch of the saucers in the direction of the F-35′s flight path was ominous, and the muscles in the back of Canul’s neck tightened with tension as he fought the urge to open fire ahead of schedule.

The K-wave transceiver clipped to his right upper chest chimed, startling Canul from his worried musings. He flipped the toggle to acknowledge his readiness to receive orders. He and his men all wore K-wave earbuds for team communication, but Worldwide broadcasts came via the broad-spectrum transceiver.

“All units, you are cleared to engage on my mark. Repeat. All units, you are cleared to engage on my mark,” the calm voice of Major Amanda Kurstow announced.

Canul looked at the screen on his handheld tablet computer and confirmed his MA Cannon was locked onto the mother ship and ready to fire. The mother ship’s gravity field activated, and the ship rose. Three scout saucers swooped up and began docking maneuvers. Canul heard the docking clamps snap closed with metallic clicks. He couldn’t wait much longer to fire or the ship would disappear at lightspeed, and the F-35 Lightning was nowhere in sight.

“All Units. Fire!”

Canul’s finger was already hovering over the firing icon when the welcome authorization sounded from his transceiver. Tapping the touch screen firing icon on his handheld tablet, the results were instantaneous and breathtaking. A 7-foot wide beam of white light filled with sparkles and swirls of gray flashed from the end of the MA Cannon barrel. Following its pre-programmed instructions, the cannon swung the beam in a sweeping motion, lancing through the mother ship just above its engineering section, slicing through the immense structure and all the power conduits feeding from the four fusion reactors energizing the ship. Dropping to the concrete pier with a loud, bell-like clang, the heavy mother ship bounced once and slid to a grinding halt.

Programmed to automatically fire on the Klotators planted on the scout saucers, the MA Cannon adjusted its firing trajectory and unleashed its power at each of the three saucers pinned to the mother ship by their docking clamps. Canul aimed one last shot at the upper area of the mother ship where he reasoned the control room should be located. Pleased with the wide hole he drilled into the structure, Canul thumbed the fingerprint reader on his tablet and placed the Cannon in stand-by mode.

“It’s time to clear the area of any hostiles. If you encounter any resistance, shoot to kill. I won’t ask any questions,” Canul said.

Receiving confirming nods from his men, he jumped to his feet and leaped down the hillside.

***

An alarm began its frantic bellowing, and Tuurket Axxdo watched in horror as a white, sparkling beam of light appeared to lance out of his view screen toward his head from a hill overlooking his takeoff area. The clarity of the view screen showing the beam coming toward him was so realistic, Axxdo involuntarily ducked. The beam plowed through his mother ship above the fusion reactors, cutting all power. With a resounding bell-like clang, the powerless ship fell to the concrete surface of the pier, black smoke billowing from its ruptured hull.

Four more times the white beam of energy sliced into the bowels of the mother ship, destroying the remaining three scout saucers locked to her hull by the unyielding docking clamps and plowing through the master control room. Looking out the hole in the bulkhead his view screen had occupied just moments before, Axxdo watched a group of Humans wearing camouflaged coveralls leap with astounding strength and agility down the hillside from where the white energy beam had emerged. Recognizing his utter defeat was sealed, the Chrysallaman commander of the SSizz Group smiled as he took the step necessary to ensure the Humans wouldn’t be able to pump any military information from him. Placing the barrel of his cutter ray pistol to his temple, he blew his brains out.

***

Alex Fields listened to the reports coming in from his combat officers as Kurstow gave the order to attack. All fifty of his F-35 Lightnings were airborne and streaking toward their assigned targets. Sitting in his office, eyes glued to his monitor, he pulled up the image of the World Map. Green asterisks representing F-35 aircraft moved across the monitor toward large red circles with the letter ‘M’ scattered around the globe. Digital counters at the bottom of the screen showed the total number of functioning mother ships, scout saucers and F-35 aircraft. The count stood at 50 mother ships, 248 scout saucers and 50 F-35′s.

Several of the ‘M’ circles winked out, and Fields let out a joyous whoop, pumping his fist into the air. Smaller red circles with the letter ‘S’ began to wink out, and Fields nodded his head in satisfaction. The combination of the F-35′s, the MA Cannons and the MA Bazookas in a coordinated attack were devastating the Chriks.

“This is working!” he thought and began to reach for the intercom to advise Tom of the good news when four red ‘S’ circles converged on four green asterisks and all of them winked off the screen.

A dull tightness clutched Alex’s heart as six more red ‘S’ circles converged on six more green asterisks, and all of them winked to darkness.

Thumbing the transmit button on his K-wave transceiver, Alex demanded, “All observers report! I’ve got F-35′s disappearing from my screen. What’s going on out there?”

After a short pause, the reports began flooding back.

“Sir. The Chriks can’t shoot down the F-35′s with their cutter or heat rays, so their scout saucers are ramming them. The ramming saucer is destroyed along with an F-35, but the numbers favor the Chriks. The saucers are so fast, the F-35′s can’t avoid them.”

Alex switched to the K-wave band for his F-35 pilots and said, “All pilots. Abort! Abort! Go to ground! I repeat. Go to ground! The Chriks are using a kamikaze attack strategy and ramming you out of the sky!”

Keeping an eye on his monitor as he spoke, Fields saw green asterisks representing his brave pilots angle away from their remaining targets, but many of them didn’t react fast enough. With horrified fascination, he watched as red ‘S’ circles pursued and joined the green asterisks in a deadly impact. Forty F-35 asterisks and ‘S’ saucer circles disappeared from the monitor before the destruction stopped.

The digital counters now indicated functioning warships at 10 mother ships, 35 scout saucers and 10 F-35′s.

***

Sitting at the conference table in the Communications suite, Tom watched as red dot after red dot disappeared from the World Map. Beale stood in the pulpit controlling the display of images moving about the globe. Digital counters in the upper right-hand corner of the monitor showed the remaining mother ships and scout saucers still untouched by FORCE commandos. Active Klotators affixed to all the Chrysallaman craft transmitted their exact location on a second-by-second basis. Of the mother ships, only 5 remained. There were 13 scout saucers scattered around the World.

Tom’s blood ran cold as he saw the digital count of the F-35 Lightning aircraft piloted by irreplaceable Humans. 10. The F-35′s were the fastest aircraft ever created by the hand of man with a speed of Mach 12, but in a flat-out horse race with a scout saucer, the F-35′s didn’t stand a chance. The saucers were lightspeed capable and outclassed the Human aircraft quite easily.

“The Chrysallamans began using a kamikaze-style attack against the F-35′s,” Alex muttered as he noted the losses. “The Heinbaum forcefield was too effective.”

Spreading his hands in a helpless gesture, Alex said, “The bubble is so powerful it nullified the Chrysallaman cutter and heat rays. When the Chriks realized they couldn’t stop our flyboys with their normal weapons but could run rings around them with their saucer speed; the suicidal jerks began ramming under the mistaken impression the mother ships would be saved by the sacrifice of scout saucers. We lost 40 of our aircraft to the kamikaze tactics.”

Suddenly, the digital counters dropped to one mother ship and five scout saucers, all located near Lubbock, Texas, except for one saucer ensconced at the Nevada facility.

“Looks like our ground troops were effective,” Tom said.

“Yes Sir,” replied Amanda. “The K-wave transceivers permitted coordinated simultaneous attacks around the World, and the Klotator tracking system on the MA Cannons worked.”

The intercom crackled with an urgent voice, “General Blunt.”

Tapping the receive button, Tom said, “Go ahead.”

“Sir. The communication panel in the control room of the captured saucer started squawking. Something’s going on.”

Tom said, “Joe, find Whatsit and tell him to meet me in the saucer control room on the double. All of you come with me. I think the Chrik in Lubbock is ready to fly the coop.”

***

Lounging in his quarters at the Nevada facility, Whatsit smiled as he watched the last scene of one of his favorite movies, ‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’. Tuco Ramirez, the Ugly, was his favorite character. He loved how the sombrero-wearing bandito would try his best to be mean and evil only to reveal a twisted kind of friendship with Blondie, portrayed by Clint Eastwood.

Based upon his personal preferences, Whatsit had insisted his room have a western motif. Wooden beams crossed the ceiling. The walls looked like they came from a log cabin, including the grayish-white caulking filling the cracks between each log. Area rugs with buffaloes and Native American designs and symbols dotted the floor. A dark-oak armoire stood against one wall, and decorated sombreros hung from pegs around the room.

The end of the living room opposite the entry door was dedicated to an elaborate entertainment system. A 65-inch LED TV and a long, high-tech soundbar with wireless subwoofer sat upon a dark-oak TV cabinet. The very latest Blu-ray player with built-in streaming Wi-Fi filled the side of one of the cabinet shelves. An X-Box, Playstation and Wii console with every peripheral controller, headset and accessory known to exist rounded out the tech-lover’s dream.

A tall, swiveling disc tower held over 1,000 movies and games. Whatsit never lacked for something to watch or play. A cushioned, high-backed leather swiveling chair completed the arrangement.

Whatsit marveled how Humans created multiple ways of entertaining themselves, as if life was boring. In fact, Whatsit had observed over his many years interacting with them that Humans reacted faster and thought more clearly when under stress. His alien perspective led him to think of Humans as adrenaline junkies. Interestingly, as Whatsit had learned their English language and begun watching newscasts, movies and television, he’d gravitated to the more action-packed shows. After some introspection about what he liked for entertainment and how he felt during his military missions, Whatsit admitted he had become an adrenaline junkie.

A loud knock jarred him from his musing. From the excited look on Beale’s face, he knew the time had come for a showdown.

“Grab your stuff and meet Tom at the Jasirac. Looks like old Hisspat Zeck is going to make a run for it.”

With a nod, Whatsit walked to his armoire and opened its double doors. Shouldering into his dark-green trench coat, he donned his bolo tie with the Chrysallaman skull clasp and pulled his bandoleer over his head and across his chest. Checking to make sure his cutter ray pistol had a fully charged power module; he fitted his tan sombrero with the dark trim on his head. Looking in the mirror on the inside of the armoire doors and satisfied with his appearance, Whatsit jogged to the hangar.

***

The irritating shriek from the communications panel in the master control room of the Jasirac threatened to give them headaches as Tom and his staff ran up the entry ramp into the saucer. Whatsit strode to the control panel and pushed a blinking, yellow stud. The noise stopped, but in the silence, all of them could still feel their eardrums vibrating from the ear-splitting noise.

“I must respond to the recall, or Hisspat Zeck’s suspicions will be aroused,” Whatsit said.

“Do it,” Tom responded. “You know the game plan.”

Opening a radio channel, Whatsit answered, “Curtilact Kutlurr, Sir. Sorry for the delay.”

“Moron! What were you doing? Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

“I was outside with my crew mopping up a few dozen Human animals skulking in an underground warren of rooms. I guess the depth of the caves blocked our radio reception.”

“The Humans have rebelled against us!” Zeck screamed. “They have some kind of weapon capable of penetrating the gravity field. My mother ship is the only one left.”

“What are your orders, Sir?”

“With all speed, rendezvous with my ship. I’m going to planetary orbit now for protection from these ever-to-be damned Humans.”

“On my way. Curtilact Kutlurr out.”

Turning to Tom, he said, “We will need to take off at once so not to rouse further suspicion.”

“Are all our commandos on board?” Tom asked.

“Yes, Sir,” Amanda confirmed.

“Then let’s get moving.”

Activating the gravity drive, Whatsit guided the scout saucer out of the hangar and set its navigation controls to dock with the VrrSilliac Xur. At one quarter lightspeed, the journey required only three seconds. Keying the commands for automated docking, Whatsit and Tom watched their saucer nestle into its bay. The docking clamps clicked into position with an audible thunk. Whatsit powered down the fusion reactor to stand-by mode.

Activating his K-wave earbud transceiver, Tom said, “Remain hidden until Whatsit and I have been gone 3 minutes. Then proceed with the plan.”

Receiving acknowledgments, Tom said with a smile, “Let’s do a meet and greet with the Fleet General. I hope he has the red carpet laid out for us.”

With a wry grin, Whatsit replied, “Do you know it took me almost 50 years of dedicated study to begin to understand Human idioms and metaphors?”

“You poor dear,” Tom laughed, and thumped his hand on Whatsit’s back as they walked out of the control room.

***

Whatsit strode the corridors of the mother ship as if he walked them every day. Tom couldn’t understand how the Chrysallaman knew which of the myriad of corridors to take until he opened his telepathic receptors. There were subtle telepathic tokens built into the walls giving clear guidance throughout the ship. Once you knew the tokens existed, even a child could find any area of the craft.

At last they rounded a final bend and walked into the master control room of the mother ship. Zeck sat in his command couch facing them as they entered. He was dressed in a gold-colored robe with gaudy red cuffs and matching epaulets. A tiara of diamond glass perched on his head. He looked like a combination of clown and fast-food huckster.

The control room was wide and deep. The control panel and captain’s couch were on a platform. A view screen showing Earth in a background of stars dominated the bulkhead behind the control panel. Other than the control platform, the entire room was bare of furnishings and control stations. A closed door in the starboard bulkhead had a telepathic token labeling it the General’s Ready Room.

Acting unsurprised a Human had just walked in and was standing beside a Chrysallaman, Zeck said, “At last the traitor stands before me with his pet Human. I began monitoring you the moment you left the saucer. Remove the ridiculous hat, Curtilact Kutlurr. I want you to introduce me to your companion.”

Taking two steps forward, Whatsit slid his sombrero off, letting it dangle behind his shoulders.

“What manner of chicanery is this?” Zeck demanded as his hands clutched the arm rests on his couch. “You aren’t Curtilact Kutlurr!”

In his best modern English, Whatsit said, “No duh, Sherlock.”

Missing the reference, Zeck responded, “My name is Hisspat Zeck, and I am Fleet General of the Chrysallaman invasion force. You will treat me with due respect.”

Recalling some of his favorite lines from the movie, ‘Die Hard’ and ad-libbing a bit, Whatsit replied, “Well, Yippee ki-yay, Mother Chriker! Don’t look like you’re in command of jack shit from where I’m standing.”

Tom couldn’t help himself. He snickered so loudly and strongly, if he had been drinking anything, he would have spewed it out his nose all over the deck. His reaction infuriated Zeck.

“Enough of these insults!” he snarled. “Guards!”

Ten armed Chrysallamans moved into the control room, surrounding Whatsit and Tom. Each lizard had his cutter ray pistol ready to fire.

Whatsit and Tom raised their hands, palms outward, indicating surrender, but their faces showed no fear.

Zeck grinned with wicked delight. Looking at Tom, he growled, “I would normally kill you outright, but I’ve decided it would be better to deliver a Human animal to our glorious Emperor so he can see for himself the type of beings who think they can deny their planet to the benevolent Chrysallaman Empire. However, this traitorous Chrysallaman must be put to death. Guards.”

Just as all ten guards leveled their ray pistols at Whatsit, the five standing on the starboard side of the room flickered and dissolved into Human commandos. Doug, Jason, Becky, Alex and Amanda fired at the five shocked Chrik guards and sliced them in half. Rising from his command couch in open-mouthed surprise, Zeck fumbled for his cutter ray pistol, but his ceremonial robe tangled his fingers. He finally gave up.

Slumping back into his command couch, Zeck found Whatsit standing before him.

“Who are you?”

“My name is Whatsit, son of DrrTrr Zennk, captain of the exploratory scout saucer, UurBereck.”

Zeck was never rendered speechless. “But you’re dead.”

“Apparently not.”

Looking from Whatsit to the Humans, Zeck mustered what courage and bluster he could. Sitting up straighter in his command couch, he declared, “The Emperor will come to this planet with so many mother ships and scout saucers, the sky will turn black from their numbers. You and your descendants shall be swept away by the power of the mighty Chrysallaman Empire.”

“No he will not!” Tom said with a telepathic power so strong Zeck’s brain burned as the message flowed into his mind.

Flinching at the thought, Zeck stared wide-eyed as Tom walked up to Whatsit.

“We’re taking the battle to Chrysalis,” Tom declared and watched with satisfaction as Zeck’s skin color paled. “Our scientists are close to duplicating your gravity drive, and Humans don’t take kindly to being attacked and controlled. You Chrysallamans should have left us alone.”

“So you will kill all our colonists in orbit around the moon of your largest planet?” Zeck asked provocatively. “Humans are no better than Chrysallamans except you will murder my defenseless people while they sleep in stasis.”

“No, Hissy. Humans are going to bring all your colonists to Earth and welcome them as settlers. We’ll do it slowly, of course, so the planet can absorb the population increase, but we won’t murder any of them. From the information Whatsit pulled from the brain of Curtilact Kutlurr, the fusion reactors on the mega liners will keep them powered for at least another 70 years. Plenty of time to save every colonist.”

Placing his hand on Whatsit’s shoulder, Tom looked into Zeck’s black eyes and said, “By the way, I’d like to introduce you to the Official Ambassador of the Human Race to the Chrysallaman Empire. The United Nations of planet HG-281, otherwise known as Earth, bestowed the honor on Whatsit for his unfailing efforts to defend Humans against the murderers you commanded.”

While the Human named Blunt had been babbling his absurd tale about defeating the Chrysallaman Empire, Zeck surreptitiously gripped his cutter ray pistol hidden in his robe. As quick as a striking snake, he whipped the pistol from his belt and began to push its firing button. Grinning with delight at the thought of a silvery beam cutting down the offending Humans, he prepared to sweep an arc of death across the room. However, he was not prepared for the speed and power of Tom’s thoughts.

Just as his finger began to depress the firing stud, Zeck’s entire body seized up like a stone statue. Unable to move a single voluntary muscle, he watched Tom and Whatsit shake their heads in disgust.

“What a jerk,” Tom declared.

“A piece of garbage not worth recycling,” Whatsit replied.

“You don’t think the colonists will be like this heathen do you?” Tom asked.

“A few might be, but the vast majority will be grateful, productive members of our combined societies.”

“Doug, why don’t you and Becky take Hissy and put him on ice in a stasis chamber. We may have some use for him when we meet the Emperor,” Tom said.

Zeck’s last thought as he was disarmed and led out of his control room was, “Stupid Humans. If they put me on ice in a stasis chamber, I’ll freeze to death!”

Placing his hand on Whatsit’s shoulder, Tom said, “Rebuilding the destruction caused by Zeck and his fleet will take years, but Humans are resilient. We’ll come back stronger than ever.”

“My people and I will help. When the colonists learn the Emperor was going to commit mass murder of innocent people to clear a planet for Chrysallamans, my people will not rest until the damage is healed.”

Nodding, Tom asked, “Are you ready to return home and confront the Emperor? You’ll have the full support of the entire Human race to back you up.”

Pulling his sombrero back onto his head, Whatsit straightened to his full height and replied, “Yes. Time to go home and show the Emperor the error of his ways. A Chrik has to know his limitations.”

####

Thank you for reading my book. I hope you enjoyed The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. and will look forward to the next book in the Series. Whatsit returns to Chrysalis with his Human friends and discovers he must unite Humans and Chrysallamans against a new enemy so psychologically perverse even Hisspat Zeck couldn’t make friends with them.

As an independently published author, I count on you to spread the word about my book. If you enjoyed The Origin of F.O.R.C.E., please tell your friends and family. Won’t you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

Thanks!

Sam B. Miller II

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Sam B. Miller II holds a Bachelor of Science degree in Finance, and a Master of Business Administration degree in Finance, from the University of Tennessee. He has five children and lives with his wife, Susan, and their many dogs, in Northeast Tennessee. The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. is his first novel.

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