Adopted Son (26 page)

“But what will I do as President? On the first day of my administration I promise to enact an executive order requiring mandatory testing of all pregnant women in the United States, and to provide abortion services free of charge. I will create an agency tasked to deal with these so-called Alien-Americans. So far, they have not presented much of a threat, but that is only because the eldest of these invaders is barely out of his teens. This agency will be tasked to identify and track all aliens living in the United States to ensure that they are not involved in anti-government activities. I will enact legislation preventing these new, adult aliens from owning firearms, holding large stakes in key industries, or congregating in large groups.”

“I plan to purge all federal government agencies of people who test HS-positive or who have alien children. These people simply cannot be trusted in times of crisis. I propose to further increase military budgets as much as we can afford. Only a strong, armed populace will be able to resist this menace. I propose to lower taxes in order to stimulate economic growth. I propose to set up a program whereby pure U.S. citizens can donate frozen, fertilized eggs to HS-positive Americans who want to give birth to normal children.”

“This is what I promise you America. Now, who’s with me?” A larger cheer rose from the crowd. Some of the panel members also shouted an enthusiastic “Yes!”

Colin listened to the speech in shock. He had a good idea of what Ray was going to say. He had watched over the years as Ray had gone from government spook, to paranoid conspiracist, to political conniver, and then finally to someone who believed his own hype. Colin knew that Ray had gone over the edge. He had gone too far and there was no way he could be trusted to run the government. The U.S. would turn into a giant police state. Colin fingered the gun in his pocket.

He couldn’t let it happen. He couldn’t let Ray do the things that he had talked about. He couldn’t let other families experience the same feelings that he had felt when he buried his youngest child. He couldn’t let Ray Johnston rise to the most powerful position in the world.

Colin thought about Neil. He thought about Ben, and how he was seduced by this sort of rhetoric. He looked at Ray’s back and for a minute he thought that he could see the same gray teardrop logo that the BKs wore. He blinked a few times to regain focus. His head swooned with grief and anger– anger at people like this who whooped up frenzy to further their own political goals. Ben wasn’t responsible for his actions. He had been seduced. Seduced by the so called ‘Patriot Brigades’ seduced by the ‘Real American Movement’ seduced by fast talkers like Johnston who made it easy to blame all of life’s problems on a poorly defined threat that had a face; Neil’s face, little Neil’s gentle face.

Tears streamed from his eyes as he listened to the speech. Perhaps the Secret Service agents who saw him thought that the Vice President’s words were moving, perhaps they weren’t paying much attention. Whatever the reason, no one noticed him in the back of the crowd. No one saw him reach into his pocket. No one saw him pull the gun. It was only when he shouted “No!” and lurched forward did any of the bodyguards make their move. But it was too late, they had been kept off stage, away from the cameras after all. No one could stop Colin as he pushed himself over General Hudson’s shoulder and shot Ray Johnston twice in the back.

In front of the cameras, Ray slumped to the ground. He didn’t know exactly what had happened to him. But he died believing in what he had always believed, that he was protecting the United States. Either in his public life, or in the deep, black world he traveled in before, rightly or wrongly, he had always believed that he was doing what was best for America. He was a company man to the end.

On the steps of the U.S. Capitol Building

Jim looked out over the crowd. It consisted mostly of families, one or both parents plus their child. The children were almost all HS-positive. Some people had come alone. There was a delegation of the Reverend’s people, who mostly stood to the back of the crowd and looked slightly menacing in order to discourage the jeering onlookers from doing anything more than jeering. News camera trucks clogged the street and had even driven onto the grass of the National Mall. Their satellite hookups towered overhead.

“Good morning. I guess....whhheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,” the microphone feedback drowned out the end of the sentence. Jim adjusted the volume and tried again. “Good morning, I guess you got my invitation,” he joked. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect to see so many of you here today. I want to start by apologizing to the police for not warning them about how big of a ruckus I was about to cause. I don’t know how long they’re going to let us stay here...” he looked around, “I can’t imagine that they’re going to tolerate this for very long, so let me get started with what I came to say.” He started reading from his prepared notes. Most of the crowd couldn’t hear a thing. The small PA system he had wasn’t nearly loud enough to project to the back of the crowd, but they didn’t care.

“Ladies, gentlemen, children. We are gathered here today, in front of these hallowed halls of liberty in order to demand our freedom. It seems strange to say that, ‘demand our freedom.’ After all, isn’t this the United States? Aren’t we guaranteed our freedoms by the Constitution? Isn’t the motto of this country ‘Liberty and Justice for All?’ But we don’t have that, do we? We don’t, just because of the color of our skin and the size of our eyes. We are beaten, discriminated against, forced out of public schools. The police refuse to protect us, the courts refuse to hear us, businesses refuse to hire us. I have examples by the hundred, but I don’t need to share them with you. For you, like me, have witnessed these acts in your own lives. The Tyler County School Board successfully voted to keep me out of school for my entire life. How many of you have had similar experiences?” He lifted a fist towards the sky. Many members of the crowd raised their hands in acknowledgement. “I have had the windows of my home broken, I have had my property vandalized. How many of you know firsthand what I’m talking about?” He raised his hand higher, with a similar reaction from the audience. “I personally know people who were killed on the night of August 6th. Who else here has had friends, loved ones killed?” The crowd began to shout. “We are too young for this. I’m still in my teens. I shouldn’t know the face of death. This is wrong. The night of August 6th is a day that will live in infamy. It will be the rallying cry for our movement. No more will we stand idly by and let the fearful and ignorant continue to run roughshod over our God-given, constitutionally guaranteed rights. Who’s with me?” Those in the crowd that could hear the boy shouted in agreement. The rest shouted in order to fit in.

“What makes me a U.S. citizen? What makes me human? Is it my genes? I can’t help what my genes look like. I can’t justify the actions of some alien race. But I today claim my humanity! If you cut me do I not bleed? My name is James Miller and I was born in Tyler, Texas. I am a Texan first, an American second, and an alien third. The HS virus has erased our ethnicity, but not our essential humanness. I was raised by Thomas and Lorraine Miller. They instilled in me a sense of pride, a sense of belonging. They made me more human than all of those so-called ‘Patriot Brigades,’ they made me more of an American than those so-called ‘Real Americans.’ Because unlike my oppressors, I believe in the Constitution, I believe in non-violence. I believe in God. A god that loves all people, regardless of race, regardless of ethnicity, regardless of the circumstances of their birth. I say to you that despite all the discrimination, I am proud to be an American! Yes, I say that I am proud to be an American, and I will continue this fight that we have started here today. I will continue this fight to end discrimination, end violence. I will make them see that we, the Alien-American community, are just as integral, just as valuable, as any other migrant race that has come to these shores looking for opportunity and freedom from fear. I will show them that intolerance of any sort has never proved of benefit to mankind. Only by working together will we achieve these goals. Who’s with me? Who will help me show them the way?” A roar came from the crowd. People were pushing forward in order to get within hearing range.

“We will follow the model of all the great civil rights leaders, Ghandi, King, Chavez. We will fight back with love, we will fight back with civil disobedience, but never with violence. We will fight back by being model citizens and forcing them to acknowledge our value to their society. And I say we start with this.” He pulled a card from his pocket. “This is a HS registration card. The federal government now requires that all parents of HS children be registered and tracked. This is unacceptable in a free society and I will not stand for it any longer.” He lit a match and set the card ablaze. “That’s what I think of their registration. Join me!” Small fires began to flare from the crowd, first one, than another. Tom Miller and the McReynolds moved through the crowd handing out matchbooks. Soon the place was ablaze. Jim looked back at the Reverend and smiled. The civil rights leader nodded back. The Congressman put his hand on Jim’s shoulder and held his own flaming registration card up for people to see. Jim was less nervous now. It felt good to speak to the crowd. It felt good to say the things that he knew needed to be said. He turned back to the audience and began shouting, “The HS Registration Act will not stand! It will not stand!” The crowd began chanting in unison, “It will not stand! It will not stand!”

Near the back of the crowd, a ruckus was beginning. Jim couldn’t hear what was happening of course, but a woman with a radio was shouting, “An alien’s just shot Ray Johnston!” she didn’t have the story quite right of course, but it didn’t matter. As the word spread through the counter-protesters, things became violent. Ray had been their hero, their guiding light throughout all the turmoil of the past few years. Hearing that he had been assassinated was enough to send them into a frenzy. People began rushing the hastily erected police barricades and throwing themselves into the crowd. Police officers, many of whom were sympathetic to the anti-alien faction, made a half-hearted effort to keep the two sides apart, then backed off as the conflict intensified. The crowd began to flee in various directions, knocking over TV cameras and people in an effort to get out of the way of the riot. The sound of a window breaking is heard. Tom ran up on stage. “Come on, let’s get out of here!” He bundled his son up in a jacket and they ran off down the street together.

The police, seeing a full-scale riot breaking loose tossed a few tear gas grenades into the crowd, which aided in the dispersal. More police cars arrived and the officers who emerged began beating whoever they saw first, most often a young Alien-American half overcome with tear gas. The anarchy would last for almost an hour before the scene was cleared out and brought back under control.

***

In the aftermath of the incident, several hooded figures walked quietly across the now-empty grounds. They milled about, looking at the blood-stained sidewalks, and kicking their way through the debris of the day’s activities. They had been present for the speech, although no one had noted their presence. “Well Franklin, what do you think?” said Enoch.

“It’ll never work.” He pulled back his hood and exposed his head to the midday sun. “They’ll never accept us. No matter what this Miller said. He’s delusional if he thinks that people will consider him a Texan, and he’s certifiable if he thinks that a non-violent protest is going to convince these monkeys that he’s really one of them.”

“He hasn’t embraced his true heritage. Should we contact him, try to convince him?” said Calvin.

“No,” replied Franklin. “He’ll understand who he is soon enough. For now let him remain the focal point. His efforts, although ultimately meaningless, will divert attention from us. Let the monkeys worry about him for now. Meanwhile the Spearhead will continue to grow, to travel freely and undetected. Soon we’ll be ready to make our move, and to pave the way for the day that our true fathers return for us. Once we claim the heritage they’ve given us, all of our fellow Pliedians will rally to our banner, and stop pretending that they’re just monkeys. We are ever so much more.”

Six years later.

“...and in business news, shares of clothing retailer ‘Pants Shack’ jumped three points in trading today after CEO Jack Blansford announced that his company will be developing and marketing a line of clothing specifically designed for the HS teenager. The clothing line will include shirts and pants that are resized to better fit the typical body type of an HS-positive person. Since rumors of this new line surfaced last week, some market analysts have wonder if the line’s inclusion will trigger boycotts or even vandalism by people opposed to the integration and acceptance of HS into mainstream society. However, Jack Blansford dispelled those fears at a press conference today in the company headquarters in New York City...”

The video switches from the anchor desk to footage of a press conference. The CEO of ‘Pants Shack’ is speaking. “No, we’re not worried about any boycotts. There is a reason that the Patriot Brigades have been losing members right and left these last few years. It’s because every time one of them has an Alien-American kid, they leave the group. Our demographic research shows that there will be an estimated twenty million Alien-American teens living in the U.S. within ten years. Somebody is going to have to sell them clothing. Pants Shack is leading the way in this market, and will continue to lead the way. In the teen clothing business you either adapt or die. Pants Shack has chosen to adapt.”

The video switches back to the anchor desk. “The new line of clothing will be called ‘Alienz,’ spelled with a ‘Z’ and is expected to be in most Pants Shack locations by mid November. For the foreseeable future, Pants Shack will continue to sell their profitable line of human-sized clothing as well.”

Three years earlier, on “Live Talk! with Bill Garcia”

“Good evening, and welcome to ‘Live Talk!’ I’m your host Bill Garcia. Today on our program we’ll be discussing the Alien-American movement, and their position that Handel’s Syndrome is not a disease and shouldn’t be treated as such. I’ve got two illustrious guests here with me tonight. In the studio with me is the young founder and president of the Johannes Handel Anti-Defamation Society, and an Alien-American himself, James Miller. And via satellite from Washington DC, we have the Chairman of the Senate Subcommittee on Handel’s Syndrome Research, General Randolph Hudson. Greetings gentlemen, and welcome to ‘Live Talk!’”

The two men nod politely to the camera. General Hudson is wearing his standard dress uniform. Jim is wearing a tailor-made suit he recently received as gift by a tailor whose daughter was HS-positive. The tie is a bit long, but it will do. He’s not used to wearing formal clothes, or ones designed for his body, and he is a bit fidgety. But, knowing that he is on camera, Jim tries to put his best face forward.

Bill: Now let’s start with you James. Your movement, JHADS, is claiming that Handel’s Syndrome shouldn’t be looked at as a disease, but rather a... lifestyle? Is that right?

James: Partially. Not a lifestyle so much as a separate ethnic classification, that’s why we prefer the term ‘Alien-American.’ We believe that having alien DNA does not diminish our inherent... humanness, and we seek equal protection under the law in a manner similar to other ethnic minorities.

Bill: And General Hudson, you see it a different way.

Hudson: I believe, and I assure you that I speak with the full backing of the Senate Subcommittee when I say this, is that we are going down a dangerous path by allowing this sort of discussion. HS is not just some other ethnicity like being Irish or Japanese. The HS virus is the first shot in an interplanetary war between the human race and alien invaders from the
Pleiades. We cannot allow ourselves the luxury of capitulating to these aliens just because they happen to speak our language and root for the same football teams. I feel sorry for these poor boys and girls, I really do, but if we start accepting them as full-fledged members of our society we will lose the ability to objectively develop ways to wipe out the HS virus and to create a military capable of defeating an undoubtedly superior alien threat.

Jim: I resent being labeled a threat.

Hudson: Then what about that terrorist act last month? The alien threat is beginn...

Jim: ....My organization had nothing to do with that!

Both Jim and General Hudson began shouting over each other so that neither was audible. Bill Garcia, a professional journalist, calmed the situation down.

Bill: But General Hudson brings up a good point Jim, what about the bombing of the Patriot Brigade Headquarters last month? People are looking at that as reason to support his claim that Alien-Americans are a threat.

Jim: First of all Bill, there is no evidence to suggest who destroyed that building or why. It’s possible that they blew it up themselves just to increase paranoia.

Hudson: That’s absurd.

Jim: And even if it is true that alien sympathizer extremist groups are beginning to form, that’s just a response to the lack of inclusiveness in our society. Men like General Hudson just serve to create the very atmosphere that these groups feed off of. If we make the reforms I’ve suggested then these Alien-Americans will feel that they’re part of human society and will feel no reason to rebel against it. Government positions that Alien-Americans are not allowed to serve in the armed forces or federal government just reinforce the stereotype that we are outsiders, which encourages separatist behavior. That may be what these ‘
Pleiadians’ want. You’re playing right into their hands General.

Bill: Now General, are we making more of a threat here then really exists. I mean, look at Jim here, he’s a scrawny guy, I bet you could whip him in a fight. What’s is there to be so scared about?

Hudson: Numbers Bill, numbers. Right now the number of HS victims is approximated at about a million and a half people in the US. But this number is growing. Every year more and more humans are infected with the HS virus, and the percentage of HS-positive births increases. HS births account for almost twenty-two percent of new pregnancies these days. If we don’t develop a vaccine soon, we will be overwhelmed by these invaders. Other countries have been hit even harder. In India for example, almost forty percent of new births are HS-positive. As Vice President Johnston always said, we’ve got to nip this in the bud. The longer we wait, the more of them there will be and the harder it will be for humans to maintain control of governments and economies.

Bill (facing the audience): Ok, we’ve got to take a break, and then we’ll be back with questions from callers. Jim, any comments before we go to break?

Jim: We need to make this message of inclusiveness global. This is a worldwide issue, and the U.S. government is just burying its head in the sand. I’ve got statistics here that are unbelievable. Did you know that only one out of ten Alien-Arabs reaches the age of five? In China the rate in infanticide is so high that the country’s population is shrinking at almost two percent a year? In some African countries there are concentration camps that hold literally hundreds of thousands of Alien-Africans against their will in squalid, subhuman conditions. These are the Earth’s children. The human race is exterminating itself.

Hudson: We are aware of the situation in other countries, but America can’t be the world’s policeman. We are working with these governments to develop strategies to combat population loss and to develop strategies to keep their economies intact. This is also why we are spending almost four billion dollars per year on scientific programs to develop a vaccine to the HS virus. Once the vaccine is perfected the global situation will normalize.

Jim: But General Hudson, what if they don’t develop a vaccine in time?

Three weeks prior to Jim Miller’s television debate. Charlottesville, VA

He is driving and he is crying. He is driving through the morning rain. It is a crummy morning, not a good morning at all. The sky is dark and rain is coming down. Not a drenching rain that comes down in sheets and washes away dirt and grime and makes the world clean. It’s a weak, drizzly rain that is so pointless that it makes you wonder why it has bothered to rain in the first place. It is cold too. This fall has been exceptionally cold and wet and dreary. It adds to his depression and anger. It makes him not so upset really, in the end. It’s all for a good cause after all. He is driving and he is thinking, thinking back to how warm it used to be, and comfortable it was in the enclave. Far away from the monkeys and the rats that were his tormentors in the orphanage. Far away from the life on the streets of Atlanta, scrounging an existence from theft and stealth. He thinks back to the enclave, thinks back to the leader, thinks back to his savior. He thinks back to the time he first heard of the Farm.

“Yo Joe, I’m telling you it’s the truth,” said the grubby kid that he lived with in a cardboard box on the outside edge of Five Corners.

“That can’t be Emma. It’s just a myth like Santa Claus. It’s a good story for kids to believe, but I’m too old for that crap now.” He wiggled under his torn, pink blanket as the two teens looked up at the Georgia stars.

“Jeez, you don’t believe anything Joe, you’re cold man.”

“It’s always paid off that way. You start believing in things then you start expecting them to get better, and then you get soft. That’s when those monkey bastards come and get you. You’re too much of a dreamer.” He rolled over as a sign the conversation was about to end. Emma put her long fingers on the boy’s shoulder and kept talking.

“Look, you didn’t believe that’s we’d ever escape from the orphanage, but we did. You didn’t think that we could make it on our own, but we’re still alive man. I’m telling you, this Farm place, it’s our salvation.”

“You believe what you like Emma, but you’re dreaming. How the hell would one of us get a farm? It don’t make sense. I’ll tell you what, get back to me when you find out where this place is.”

“That’s just it Joe. I know where this place is. Or at least I will. I met this guy see, he’s
from
the Farm. That’s what he says anyway. He’s got a meeting planned for tomorrow out in Grant Park. He’s gonna give us maps man. It’s starting!”

He remembered how joyous he felt when he learned that the Farm was real, that someone had somehow gotten hold of a real farm in the backwoods of Western Virginia. It was just for aliens. It was run by an alien. He remembered how he felt as he made his way across the byways of Southeastern America, meeting more people who were ready to follow the banner, ready to give up on monkey civilization and achieve their true destiny.

The windshield wipers scrape across the window of the van noisily. There wasn’t enough rain for them to be properly lubricated, but enough so that vision was blurred without their use. He wipes the inside with a tissue to get rid of the fog, it just makes things streaky. He comes to the top of the appointed hill and stops the van. He checks his map again to be sure. He smiles nervously.

He thinks back again to the first time he met the leader, the savior, Franklin. He was so tall and majestic looking compared to the other aliens. He wore a white robe. He was so friendly and comforting. The first thing that Franklin did when he arrived was hug him and tell him, “Welcome home.” No one had ever hugged him before. He cried back then as he is crying now. He thinks back to the time he spent on the Farm. How he learned his true destiny and he learned about his true parents. “They are coming for us. They haven’t abandoned us,” Franklin said. “We have to make the Earth ready for them. We are the spearhead. We’ll present them with this world as a welcome gift.” He thought about all of the great plans that Franklin had. He had an answer for everything. It all made sense. He felt his purpose. He was a true believer. He remembered the time when his destiny was revealed to him by Franklin himself.

“Now you understand Joe what I’m asking of you. It pains me to ask this of you, but remember, this whole thing here, it’s bigger than all of us. And we all have a part to play in the great game. You understand that, don’t you Joe? This is the first assault. The first step in a glorious war, a holy war against the monkeys that infest this planet. Will you accept this mission Joe?”

“Yes, Yes, a thousand times Yes!” he replied enthusiastically. He believed in the cause then as he believes in the cause now. He realized now he has always believed in the cause, even before he had ever been to the Farm. He understood his role in the great machine. He smiled from ear to ear as he stepped on the gas and crested the hill.

Below him was the main compound that was the heart of the enemy. He revved the engine and he came down the hillside. There was a gate, he knew that and he pushed the motor to go faster and faster, he had to break through, or else his sacrifice would be in vain. He must have been doing over a hundred when he passed the brown sign that said, ‘Patriot Brigade, Headquarters Division.’ He flinched a little as the van crashed through the wire fence that blocked the entrance. Calvin’s words echoed in his ears, “You can’t slow down Joe, they’ll push the button to lift the car barriers, you’ve got to get past those before they can go up. He reached back and made sure that the detonator was armed, then he grabbed the wheel with both hands and headed directly toward the front door of the building. At the last second he looked up at the sky. “It’s too bad it’s cloudy,” he thought, “I would have liked to see home one last time.”

Six months after the Spearhead’s first suicide bombing. Center for Handel’s Syndrome Research, National Institutes of Health, Bethesda, MD

Lines of data are being tracked, pages are being turned, numbers are being counted. The lab is buzzing with activity on many fronts. Virologists study surface glycoproteins, geneticists study DNA binders, medical doctors study transport vectors. The lab is getting too big, too hard to manage, information is getting lost as more and more people are brought on board and different hands stop talking to one another. The Center for HS Research now takes up almost three-fourths of NIH’s budget and it is being run more like a corporation than a research laboratory. Every section, every department believes that they are the key to solving the disease, that they are the most important segment of the program. They all demand more and more money, and since the project was given the rare status as a ‘National Priority’ the money flows freely. The President has said that the U.S. should work to cure HS in the same manner as we worked to get to the moon. It’s full throttle.