[JimmyDimples]

For my big fat 800th post, I'd like to share something for your reading and commenting/advising pleasure: For Their Own Good.  I'd always wanted to do an amazon UFO alien invasion story, and here's the first four chapters.  Enjoy!

FOR THEIR OWN GOOD

Part 1:  Homecoming

Soaked and stinking of beer, Xavier grumpily stepped out of customs. He ignored the sniffs, smells, and stares at him by everyone else there. He just didn't want to see his family like this.

But to his mixed expectation, anticipation and disappointment, he saw his dad, mom, and older and younger brothers in the airport's arrival hall. They cheerily waved their small handheld American flags and held up their poster sign that read "Welcome Home, Xavier."

"Xavier!" cheered Dad.

"Yo, bro!" went the younger brother.

"Welcome home, pumpkin pie!" chirped his mother, rushing up and hugging him. "You're home! You're back! You're — wet!" And she stopped and sniffed. "And you smell like a brewery!"

"What happened?!" asked the younger brother befuddledly. "You take up drinking in turbulence?"

Xavier sighed. "No such luck, Hogan. Just before we landed, some guy, British, I think, walked up to me with two beers." He pointed at his Stars and Stripes flag/"Made in the USA" lapel pin on his black T-shirt. "He asked me if I was an American. I said yeah. Then he dumped both of them all over me, said, 'I hate you,' and went back to his seat and high-fived his buddy."

"Dang. Didn't you sick a flight attendant on him?"

"Didn't want airport security to delay me."

The older brother's face hardened nastily. "What's he look like? Is he still around here?"

"Forget it, Keith. We're not hunting him down."

"You don't mess with family, man. Where, is, he?!"

"Listen to your brother, son," Dad went. "We're not spending Xave's homecoming night bailing you out of jail."

"Can we just get to the baggage pickup and get my suitcase?" Xavier asked. "I just want to change into something cleaner."

***

After a wait by the luggage carousel and another wait by the men's room, Xaiver emerged in his not-as-dirty Dr Pepper t-shirt and church-going khaki slacks. And with that, they packed up in the Buick, and zipped homeward down the interstate.

"So how's the town held up?" Xavier asked between yawns.

"Jones Meadow's done some growing since you've been away," Dad said. "They added 3 screens to the Movieplex, and the old drive-in's been torn down."

"Aw, that stinks."

"They're building a new shopping center on top of that," Hogan said. "The Chinese restaurant folded, and that sushi place didn't last long. Got a new Outback Steakhouse, though."

"The church is having their bazaar/bake sale," Mom said. "I went ahead and donated your old clothes and video games you'd gotten tired of."

"Aw, no! You didn't!"

"Oh, I'm sorry, pumpkin, I didn't know you wanted to hang onto them."

"No, it's not that. I probably could've gotten a better deal selling the stuff on eBay and donating the money."

"Ah well," went Dad. "Anyway, enough about our old, moldy town… tell us about teaching English in Taiwan!"

"Hey, can we talk about it over dinner?" Keith said. "I'm hungry. And I bet Xave is, too."

And so they talked about Xavier's times in teaching, and relished in sharing some Alice Springs Chicken and onion blossoms with their long lost boy. (He didn't mention he'd eaten at their restaurant in Taipei.)

***
After flipping over and over in his old bedroom, Xavier had to face facts: 18 hour flight or not, he couldn't sleep. That Chocolate Thunder from Down Under revisiting him didn't help much, either. So finally he pushed the comforter off, swung around the legs, got out of the bed, and tiptoed lightly to the computer room.

But someone was already there by the iMac: Hogan. He was checking a telescope aimed out over the deck, too. "Oh, hey, Xave. Jet lag?"

"No thanks, already got some. Doing the old astronomy, I see."

"Yeah. Big meteor shower tonight. Gonna be a beauty. You want on the computer?"

"Nah, I don't wanna mess you up. It's cool."

"Hey, you won't mess me up. Just open and use another window while I'm out here."

"Thanks." And Xavier opened up Firefox and checked the Drudge Report. A few minutes later, he groaned. "Why do we bother?"

Hogan looked up. "Bother?"

"Going out in the world." Hogan walked back indoors, and Xavier pointed at the screen. "Just look at the news. The mess in Iraq. Hugo Chavez in Venezuela. Snobbishness in the EU." He reached over to a globe and idly spun it. "We try to protect it… shut down the bad guys, buy their stuff, teach them English… and the whole world hates us."

Hogan stared at his brother. "Dude, this isn't just about that beer jerk on the plane, is it?"

Xavier shook his head sadly. "I mean, even the students back in my schools are giving me stick." He spread out his arms. "I mean, look at me! Do I look like some gangsta thug? Do I scare folks THAT badly?"

"So you're thinking about quitting and coming home?"

"I probably could teach better in the States. I can do more when the others can speak my language."

"Hey, prob with that there. You give a student a D in the States, you get a call from their folks. You give them an F, though… and you get a call from their lawyer."

"I… I mean, it's not like… aw, crap, I can't get my words straight after an international flight. It's just … we're doing this for their own good."

"Don't let it get ya down, bro," Hogan offered. "I'm hearin' ya. And ya got some time at home to not think about it."

"Hmnh," Xavier grunted. "I say we just pull in the goalies and take care of our own–"

"Huh? What was that?"

"What was what?"

"The meteors…" Hogan dashed toward the telescope and peered through it. He grunted unapprovingly.

"What's wrong?"

"Too soon… and if I'm reading this right… they're way too high up to show up and burn in entry like that… You see the observatory readout?"

Xavier checked Hogan's astronomy page on the computer. "Whoa! THAT was off."

"I didn't know you did astronomy."

"I don't. But even I know meteorites don't pull right angle turns like that."

Just then, Weird Al's Angry White Boy Polkafication of Papa Roach's "Last Resort" chimed from Xavier's nightstand. He hurried over quietly, and picked up his cell phone. And he squinted puzzledly at the number. David Chung? His roomie and assistant teacher back in Taipei? He flipped it open. "Yeah, Dave, what's up?"

"Xavier!" said a Chinese accented youth's anxious voice. "I very sorry to waking you right now at night in America–"

"Don't worry, don't worry, I couldn't sleep," Xavier reassured. "What's wrong?"

"You see what going on in the sky?"

"What, the meteor shower?"

"No! Is daytime here! Flying things! Spaceships!"

Xavier flinched. "Say WHAT now?"

"Man! Turn on TV! Is all over Asia!"

Really befuddled now, he went over to the den, found the TV's remote, pointed, clicked, made sure to lower the volume for his sleeping parents' sakes, and surfed over to the Worldwide News Network.

"– are flying all over the planet. The six biggest objects: as you can see here, are over each of the oceans, over the North and South Atlantic, the Indian, and the North Pacific, with two craft hovering over the South Pacific."

Onscreen, he saw the caption: WNN Live: Unidentified Flying Objects Appear En Masse. And on video, he a satellite pic of what looked like a giant seven petaled lotus flower made of bright pastel rose-colored metal. And out of each of the tips flew the standard issued frisbee-shaped flying saucer craft. Hundreds of them.

The commentator switched to a graphic showing a scale picture comparing the flower motherships — each one was roughly the size of Alaska.

"Xavier! You still there?!" David said.

"Uh, yeah."

"They flying across Taipei! One floating over court in front of Chiang Kai-Shek Memorial! Don't know why, or what they want! Army on alert, stand by!"

"Xavier?" said a sleepy voice. "Can you keep it down? I know you probably can't sleep, but we want to." It was his dad, all mussy haired.

"Uh, Dad, I'm sorry," said Xavier, "but… you'd better be up for this." Back to his phone. "Sorry, Dave, Dad's awake. I'd better let him know what's going on. Thanks for the tip-off. You be careful over there, okay?"

"Know what's going on?" Dad demanded.

"Yeah, you too," went Dave. "Bye."

Xavier flipped his phone shut. "Uh, Dad, I think you'd better check the news."

The reports came in. The hundreds of city-sized flying saucers flew and peppered the planet. Many of them congregated over the world's trouble spots: Iraq, Iran, Sudan, Zimbawe, Rwanda, Venezuela, Columbia, Indonesia, Thailand, Nepal, Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan… and all throughout Middle East. But no continent anywhere was untouched by the mysterious saucers' shadow. In fact, one hovered over the Midwest USA, one over California's mountains, and a third uncomfortably close to Washington D.C.

Xavier's mother then crept into the den in her nightgown. "Honey?" she asked. "What's going on?"

Father and son just silently beckoned her to sit on the couch in front of the TV. Hogan scurried between the telescope and the iMac's news websites and observatory readouts.

"Yeesh," Xavier muttered. "I'm having a bad ID4 flashback."

"Yeah, well," Hogan said, "about the one bright spot is that about everyone around the world has called a cease fire over this."

And at last, the cameras in London saw a winged pod the size of a compact car fly out of the local hovering city-saucer. Shortly after that, around the world, each city saw its saucer send out a winged pod, which flew over the first public clearing it could find. In front of the Brandenburg Gate, Red Square, Tianamen Square… all across the globe. WNN focused on the pod hovering 100 feet over the Washington Monument's reflecting pool.

And then on its underneath, a hatch slid open, showing a glowing light. It cast a long piercing beam, like a wide spotlight.

Every pod around the world also cast its light. And each one showed the same thing:

Right in the light, flickered a gigantic hologram: a tall, statuesque, deep-chested muscular woman in a white, red, and golden toga.

Part 2:  Message

Xavier peered at the figure in the huge hologram: a tall, world champion bodybuilder type. Well, maybe it was the size of the hologram that made her look that way. But still, even if the stocky, matronly woman were no taller than his 5 foot, 6 inch tall mom, she'd have been impressive enough. Her olive-skinned biceps were a little larger than her head, and even under the toga he could tell each breast was about as big. He couldn't make out the stuff below the waist very well, but he could tell the hips were wide and curvy, and the legs were thick and muscular. And her dark brown, frost-ended, Katherine Hepburn-style short hair made her look elegant. And if her eyes had been dark brown instead of piercing bright hazel, she would've looked like an anaglam of every race on Earth.

Hogan sneaked a peek at the TV screen. "She looks like the ultimate school principal," he muttered.

Xavier didn't agree 100 percent: more like somewhere between school teacher/principal and his irritated, angry Grandma. Like someone who wanted to spoil you and fill you with with cookies fresh out of the oven, but you just tracked mud all over her Oriental rug. Her expression was saying, you're in trouble, young man. Big time. Despite that, Xavier thought she was definitely a babe in her time… and was still pretty attractive today: she looked more experienced than aged.

And at long last… she spoke.

"People of this world Earth:

"We are the Hegemony of Eugenia. I am Summa Matrei, the Prime Mother. We have been monitoring your world for hundreds of your solar years. We wish that our first contact here could be happier, but it is a grand pity that this world has done many, many things that demand an answer."

Summa Matrei's face softened with sympathy. "We have seen much beauty, loveliness, and even goodness in your world, its natural state, and even in much of the people themselves. Sadly, though, it is all drowned out by even more intense wrath, viciousness and wickedness. You have unlocked many dark secrets, and devised many abominable uses for them. You have proven yourselves very petty, greedy, cruel, hateful, and murderous even among your own beings millions of times over."

She shook her head. "Normally, we would let such a world self-destruct, sweep up the rubble, and start all over again with what survivors remain, if any. But there is another factor that commands our attention. You have uncovered the ways to send craft beyond your solar system. In fact, a probe sent from your planet has reached our own… something that could easily carry one of your dreaded mass-killing weapons."

Her eyes tightened. "The Hegemony cannot, must not, and will not abide this. Your world must dismantle your methods of space travel, and destroy your weapons of mass destruction, and not make them again. Then you must show proof positive that you have complied. You will have six of your solar days to do this; specifically, at the time of sunrise in the community you call London, England. We will monitor your activities throughout this time, and representatives will come down and check on you."

Her eyes softened, and her brows slanted up a tick, as if pleading. "We do not want to be a terror to you, but a joy. But you must remember, the arms of Eugenia are now around all the Earth. Whether they hug you to the Hegemony's breast or crush you to powder is up to you all."

She nodded. "Six days. We will watch and wait… and hope."

Her form faded from the hologram. The beam turned off and receded back into the pod, which slid its panel shut. Then it spun around, and flew back to its floating city-saucer.

Part 3:  Errands

Xavier and his family silently watched the TV as the projector drone flew off.

"We've just gotten confirmation from our other WNN bureaus, folks," the newscaster said, "that this 'Summa Matrei' has given what's reportedly the same message all over the world that we just heard right here… and all in the native languages. Yes, she's given her announcement in English, Spanish, Chinese, Russian, French, Farsi, Arabic, Swahili, Hindi… as far as we know, every language on Earth."

The TV screen dissolved to the news studio and commentator, who shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "We have yet to hear any response from any leaders on this just now, but we're sure that there'll be a reaction soon enough, and we'll give it to you as soon as we can."

The commentator droned on, searching for the new words to say the same thing to fill the time until something or someone new came along. Xavier's family simply stared at the television set silently for quite a while. And at last, someone broke the silence with his observation.

"Ain't no way the President's havin' that."

It was Keith. "When'd you slip in?" Xavier asked his older brother.

"Just before the old battleaxe gave her big speech." He snorted. "Man, how do we even know they've got the power to make us, anyway?"

Xavier's brow wrinkled. "Well, if they're all as big and strong as their queen–"

"One, that's the Jumbotron hologram talkin', ya clown." Keith folded his arms. "They could all be four foot nothin' for all we know. And two, I don't care how much iron they can press, they can't press it when it's flying at their heads at 1200 feet a second."

"Well," Hogan said, "tell me, then: how'd they get past our telescopes, let alone our radar?"

"Yeah," Xavier added, "a whole buttload of em, too."

"Pfft!" Keith waved the TV off. "It's just like Kruschev and the Red Army's parade… same units marching past us over and over again, to make us believe they're many."

"But how'd those same units sneak in without us seeing, Keith?" Hogan pressed.

Keith stared back. Then he shrugged as if it were the stupidest question ever asked. "It's all probably a big practical joke or something by this channel. H.G. Wells all over again."

"Let's find out," said Dad. And he pointed the remote control and clicked.

It was the same story all over: CNN, CBS News, ABC News, MSNBC, Fox News, BBC. In fact, almost all the non-news channels like MTV and ESPN had stopped their usual programming and let their parent companies' news arms transmit the live report. Only children's channels like Nickelodeon and Cartoon Network were still running their usual shows. Xavier would've found THAT frightening on its own, if the aliens hadn't stolen the spotlight.

"If this is a joke," Dad huffed, "all the networks must think it's pretty freakin' funny."

Finally, the family settled back on WNN and settled in with the commentator and the channel's head reporter from the science bureau. Soon he was talking about the likelihood of this happening, and trying to glue answers together on why NASA didn't see this coming years in advance. Right then, Xavier finally felt his eyelids getting heavy: the flight across the Pacific, the jet lag, the lack of sleep, the stress and irritation of the beer jerk on the plane; they'd finally took its toll.

And when they brought in a Hollywood sci-fi "expert" to join the blah-blah of talking heads, that was the knockout punch. Xavier blew the whole thing off, and dozed away.

***

"Mmmnh." Two of Xavier's favorite aromas hit his nose: the smell of fresh brewed coffee and his Mom's breakfast casserole. Rustling under the blanket she'd draped over him, he got up and staggered over to the kitchen. "Hi, Mom," he mumbled.

"Hey, sleepy," she chirped. "Your cup's right by the coffee maker."

"Thanks." He poured himself a cup and added the creamer. "Glad to see the world hasn't been blown up yet."

"It better not. I took a vacation day off work to make this for you." She slid him a plate with egg-cheese-sage-sausage goodness on it.

"Aw, thanks, Mom." And he hugged her. "You didn't have to do that."

"Well, I did," she smiled. "So shut up and eat it."

Chuckling, and pausing a second to say grace, he settled into his spot at the kitchen table. "Anything spectacular happen last night?"

"Not really. The President came on this morning at 8 with an address to the world and the aliens. Long story short, he told everybody to stay calm and go with life as normal. And he told the queen, Zoomer Matress–"

"Summa Matrei, I think, Ma."

"Whatever. He told her hi and welcome to earth, flashy entrance, but we're not giving up our weapons. Too many enemies."

"Oh? Any response from her?"

"Nope. Dubya's trying to offer a dialogue with them on it, but I'm not sure how we're gonna reach them." She sipped from her own mug. "They didn't exactly give us a phone number or e-mail address."

Grunting, Xavier added a little mustard. "Where's everyone else?"

"Keith and your Dad went to work, Hogan's asleep but has got classes this afternoon." She poured him a little orange juice.

"So whatcha got planned this morning?"

"Well, I gotta convert my Taiwan dollars into American ones, update my driver's license, and go see Pastor Craig at the church."

"Ah, yes, he'd been asking about you. They've missed you at the food bank. Need my pickup to get around?"

"Where's my old hatchback?"

"Hogan's borrowing it to commute to class. Why don't you just take the truck and fill it up while you're out and about? I'll get you the Exxon card."

And Xavier finally finished off his plate and rinsed it off in the sink as she brought him the keys and the plastic.

"Thanks." Then he got serious. "Mom… are you scared at all about… the aliens?"

She folded her arms. "As long as you boys are okay," she said earnestly, "and I can still get my cup of coffee in the morning, I'm not gonna worry."

Xavier grinned. And he hugged his mother again. "You're something else, Mom."

"I've known that for years. Now get going. You burned enough daylight."

He hit the shower. "'Kay, love ya!"

"Love you too, pumpkin!"

***

"And we can plainly see," said the helicopter reporter, "that each flying saucer is roughly the size of Hong Kong or Manhattan. Many car-sized probes just like the ones that showed Summa Matrei are flying out all over. They seem to have some sort of lens sticking out; can't tell if it's the same ones, or cameras. They're flying all over the countryside, and seem to be flying around the perimiters of our cities and government installations. No signs of any occupants yet at all. Ray Jenkins, WNN Radio, over the Badlands of South Dakota."

Pulling to a stop sign, Xavier peeked out of the pickup cab's window and gave the skies a quick once-over. Just a few clouds, thankfully. But still, with Redd Howard Air Force Base in the next county, he still felt uneasy. After adjusting the radio's volume, he checked for traffic, he zipped through the intersection.

"While currently many of the saucers are congregated within the Indian Ocean nations, particularly Middle East, Africa and Southeast Asia, the flying probes are most prevalent through the United States, Russia, Britain, France, China, and India. While the aliens are showing no signs of hostility, all militaries are on the alert. The Department of Homeland Security has made no updates to the current alert status. For WNN Radio News, I'm Elaine Zondervan."

"And this is Roger Whitlock for WJNZ-AM. Temperature will be a high of 55 with a low of 34 tonight, with clear skies leading all the way to tomorrow. It's 1:06 PM, now, and we're back to Thrust Rambeaux and Frank Allen."

Feh. He didn't need to hear those two yammer back and forth at each other. Turning the radio and engine off, he checked his pockets one more time… cell phone, check. Wallet with greenbacks and new license, check. Truck keys… he pocketed them.

True, Jones Meadow made Mayberry look like Compton, but still. Swinging out, he locked the truck up and headed into the church's office.

***

Pastor Craig looked up to the knocking on his door jamb. "Hey, Xavier!" he grinned, hopping up and giving a double-grip handshake. "Great to have you back! When'd you get in?"

"Just last night. Thought I'd drop in and give you guys a howdy."

"Well, you picked a heckuva time to come home. At least you arrived before… they did."

"Yeah. Whadaya think, Pastor?"

Craig took a breath. "Well, I can't say I'm not surprised. I'm still tryin' to figure out what to make of all this." He steepled his fingers. "But I do know this much: this isn't the end of the world."

Xavier arched an eyebrow. "How do you know?"

"Well, for one, I checked Revelation." And the pastor held up his Bible, opened it, and leafed through it. "Lessee, we got war… famine… plague… monster locusts, earthquakes, beheading of the believers, the mark of the Beast, oaths of loyalty to the Antichrist, the moon and the waters of the earth turning to blood, grievesome sores, scorching heat, the drying up of the Euphrates River, and 100 pound hailstones… and other stuff. But nope." He snapped it shut. "No alien invasions."

He walked him to the kitchen. "For two, even if it were, I know Whom I believe in, and I'm sure He'll keep what we've trusted Him with until that day. God got us through SARS and bird flu, the bottle bombers, the recession and the stock market falling, and Jerry Springer and reality TV. He'll get us through this." He smiled wryly. "And for three, as I like to say, the good Lord also put each of us on the earth to do something for Him while we live, and right now…"

Xavier nodded and joined in Craig's old favorite joke's punchline: "…we're so far behind on it all, we'll never die." A polite snicker. "So, any way I can help?"

The pastor smiled grandly. "Thought you'd never ask."

***

And in the church's soup kitchen, Xavier reunited with retiree Pamela, who was scrubbing off the baked-on, burnt-on pots, pans and utensils. And as soon as he got his hug and dried off and put away everything, they hurried over to meet his old work-buddy Wes, who was sorting boxes of clothes and canned goods. Xavier learned that while he was teaching in Taiwan, the satellite dish factory where Pamela and Wes worked had laid them off due to plant relocations. Pamela, who was pushing 70, had finally decided to retire from mopping and cleaning their toilets, and Wes was on unemployment and doing volunteer work until he could find another forklift job somewhere else. While the Eugenians' arrival had subdued the mood a bit, it wasn't a dreadful dead-stop malaise like on September 11. They were all chatty. And that made time and the work zip by a lot faster.

Xavier had found that someone had donated a lot of books donated as well. And he started to sort them according to type and category for the coming bazaar, like a mini-Barnes and Nobles. But before he could figure out what to do with the trashier romance novels, a little rapid clicking sounded from his shirt pocket.

"Hmmm," he said. "The telegramaphone. Better see who it is." And he checked the SMS.

It was from Hogan. "Bro get 2 a TV. Aliens news. Shots fired."

***

Xavier burst into the office. "Pastor, can we get the news anywhere?"

Looking up from his phone and seeing Xavier's anxiousness, Craig held up a finger, promptly wrapped up his call, and hung up. "What's wrong?"

"This." And Xavier showed him the message.

The pastor turned to the computer monitor, hit the Bookmarks, and whisked up the Drudge Report. And there it was: ALIEN PROBE SHOT DOWN NEAR SUDAN/CHAD BORDER. EUGENIANS SHOW THEIR FACES.

The link, the London Times Online article and its streaming video revealed that some Islamic African troopers had fired off a rocket-propelled grenade and hit one of the camera probes, sending it crashing to the ground not too far from an old abandoned war-wrecked bus on a dirt road. The troopers stood and posed around the car-sized kill, grinning like they'd just killed a bull elephant.

Then the air around them whipped about, and dust and grass blades flew up. The camera view tilted up to the sky… and two bus-sized chariot-shaped flying skiffs swung around. One had a row of round shields on the sides, just like on a Viking longboat. The other stayed high up, so Xavier and Craig couldn't make it out that well. The Sudanese soldiers quickly scattered back, but the camera stayed trained on the landing craft and its plume of bright energy coming out its underside. Finally it hovered and came to a rest near the wrecked probe.

Quickly, the back of the skiff flipped open like a pickup truck's tailgate, and ten troopers quickly trotted out. Xavier first noticed the legs under the bright, copper-toned metallic short skirts: thick, muscular, so much so that the thighs were shaped like huge eggs. Even behind their round shields, they displayed arms and torsos just a notch larger than Summa Matrei's: biceps bigger than their heads, and breasts equally so. And speaking of heads, out from under their metal helmets streamed long, thick, rich hair: some down to the shoulders, others almost all the way down to their solid, full, round posteriors.

Craig finally blinked on that one. "Women," he said softly. "They're all women."

On each of their big, curved right hips dangled a straight sword. Each of them also had an archer's bow. Craig scratched his head on that one; they didn't have any quivers for arrows. For that matter, the bows didn't have strings, either.

Then the on-point Eugenian scanned the horizon, raised up her bow in one hand, and reached in the string's space with the other. A thin shaft of light gleamed from each end of the bow, and a thicker, harsh, jagged bolt of energy appeared and crackled between the bow's center and her fingertips. Soon the other warriors reached and nocked their own shimmering radiant arrows, and formed a cordon around the wrecked probe, scanning the area for any troublemakers. One warrior stared right at the camera with a mix of curiosity and sternness.

At last, the other skiff landed behind the perimiter and four more Amazons disembarked and went toward the wreckage to grab it.

Then Xavier's jaw dropped. He squinted. He rubbed his eyes. He compared the size of the women picking up the hulk, and gauged one next to the wrecked bus just to double check.

"Four foot nothing, huh, Keith?" he muttered to nobody.

Each trooper was about as tall as the bus.

To Be Continued:  Part 4 coming VERY soon!

[yaracyrrah80]

Happy 800th!  Happy for us, too :-).

–Y

[00tree]

Great Story. I can't wait for more.

[TheGov]

Now THAT'S a cut above!  (Maybe 2 or 3.)  Just outstanding.  Thanks for sharing it.

[JimmyDimples]

(Thanks for the comments, guys.  ;D I was going to include this in my original 800th post, but it blew the character limit wide open.  Here's the rest so far.)

Part 4:  Strike

Lifting up and carrying the car-sized pod like it was a kitchen table, the Eugenian warriors loaded it into the skiff. Energy arrows still nocked, the watchful bowwomen then slowly tightened up the perimiter, and backed into their own skiff one by one. Finally satisfied, the last trooper unwrinkled her cute, small nose, stepped back inside, and let the ramp/gate swing back up and shut. And kicking up clouds of dust and grass, they ascended into the air statefully, looped around, and took off with no further shots fired from either side.

The web camera slowly dipped and panned left. The Sudanese troopers stared up at the departing craft in the sky, jaws dropped all the way. Then finally, the leader saw the cam was on them, and with some swearing in his dialect, he angrily swatted it off.

Wes, Craig, and Xavier did their own codfish-mouth staring.

"Whoa," Xavier went at last.

"Soooo," went Pastor Craig tenatively, "so much for the bug-eyed monster."

"Dang," Wes said. "Those girls are ENORMOUS!"

"Not exactly harsh on the eyes, either," Xavier muttered unthinkingly. Wes and the pastor quickly gave Xavier a quick turn-and-stare. "What? I never did like the pencil-thin waif look."

Wes glanced back at the flash vid screen. "Well, got a good bit of junk in the trunk, and their cups runneth over, but yeah."

The pastor twiddled with his collar, and Xavier thought he saw him sweat a little. "How tall you reckon they are? Ten feet? Eleven?"

Just then, the phone rang. Pastor Craig picked up. "Yes, Dolores? Oh, sure, sure, he's still here. Right here, in fact, I'll put him on." He held out the receiver to Wes. "It's your wife."

Wes took it. "Hi Lucille, what's up? Uh huh? Yeah? He is? Tonight over at the VFW Post? Sure, I'll be there… yep, OK, tell 'em I'm coming. OK, love you too, honey." He hung up. "Sorry, I gotta cut this short. Lucille sez there's a get-together over at the VFW tonight at 7:30. Most of my huntin' buddies are meeting tonight about organizing a community watch group."

"Who's leading this thing?" Xavier asked.

"Gene Gray."

Xavier grimaced. "That crook?!"

Craig's forehead wrinkled. "Crook?"

"Yeah, crook. I'd know; he ripped my mom off with a brake job for $450 worth. And when I got my car inspected at his garage before I left for Taiwan, my windshield wipers were shot, and the mechanic tried to tell me that replacements woulda cost $30 because my car was a Korean import."

Wes' eyebrows arched up. "Well, you didn't let him, did you?"

"Nope. The guy at AutoZone sold me a pair for ten bucks, made in the USA, and even put them on for free." Xavier folded his arms. "And I came back, paid the inspection fee, and told him to invest it well, because I wasn't gonna ever buy even a pack of Nabs from him." He glared. "I wouldn't trust him any further than I could spit at him."

Wes sighed. "Well, Xave, that crook also happens to own the military surplus shop and gun store. And half the convenience marts in this county. So much for asking you to come, then?"

Xavier grunted. "I'd rather get an unneeded root canal."

"Fair 'nuff." Shrugging, Wes fished in his pockets for his keys. "Guess I'd better pack up, head to the house, and see my sugar dumplin' before I go. Sorry I gotta jet."

"Hey, thanks for helping out," said the pastor.

***

At 5 o'clock, Xavier headed for the exit. "So what do you think you'd do if they marched up to our doorstep?"

"The aliens, you mean?" Pastor Craig asked.

"Yeah. If they came to this church."

Craig spread his hands with a smile. "What else? Invite 'em in, say hi, show 'em a good pew, and tell them the Good News about Jesus."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm not." The pastor's face turned very serious. "Look, that big fancy speech from Summa Cum Laude–"

"Summa Matrei, Pastor."

"Whatever. Anyway, that speech shows they got some idea of right and wrong, to say the least, right? I mean, it's holding humankind's feet to the fire. Pretty close to a classic Old Testament heavenly judgement."

"What, you're saying they're sent by God? They're angels?"

"No, no. I don't know what idea they have on God and all, or what or even IF they worship. But I'm pretty sure if they can speak our language, that they'll figure it out soon enough. And if they got questions…" And he held up his Bible: "we gotta give them answers. Besides, I don't want them, or ANYbody, to miss heaven because nobody ever told 'em about it."

"Well, I guess."

"Guess? Me, I KNOW."

"Hey wait a sec… what's that?"

Down by the doorway outside was a small brown vinyl wallet. Xavier scooped it up and checked the ID. "This is Wes's."

"Must've dropped it when he pulled out his truck keys," said the pastor. "I'll lock it up in the office."

"No, no," Xavier said. "I'll deliver it to him at the VFW hall tonight."

"I thought you didn't want to go."

"I don't. But I don't want him to get a ticket for driving with no license. I'll just find him, hand it over, and get outta there."

"All right, fair enough. I'm sure he'll appreciate it."

***

After coming home, snagging a quick dinner with Mom, Dad, and Keith, and filling up the gas tank with her reminder, Xavier pulled onto the gravel lot filled with a whole bunch of other pickups. Peeking in the window searching for Les, he saw lots of older guys seated around the main meeting room harrumphing. And right at what looked like the head of the ring stood a late 40-ish/early 50-ish man with thinning combed-over sandy brown hair. Gene Gray. Xavier could just barely make out his speech.

"I'm telling ya, boys," he harangued, "we gotta get some sort of watch together to keep the comunity from goin' looney if those Big Bertha Battle-Axes from Planet Broomhilda hit us. I'm talkin' supplies, neighborhood patrols, an inventory of who's armed–"

"But Gene," a fat bearded guy in bib overalls protested, "what are they gonna hit US for? We're a bitty town out in nowhere!"

"We're on an interstate highway, with a high tech electronic factory–"

"Which is shutting down and going to Mexico!" somebody snapped.

"– and an Air Force Base about 45 minutes from here! That's too close for comfort! And what if those namby-pambies in Washington actually fork over our weapons, stick this country's bare butt out, and hand them Martian feminazis the Vaseline? Those hulkin' she-males'll be free to just waltz on in and violate your sons!" He narrowed his eyes. "Or your daughters or wives."

The crowd murmured at that. Gene took a breath. "Tell you what. I know your nicotene craving's kicking in, and the VFW won't let us light up in here. What say we take ten, step outside, and I'll show you guys what I got outlined when we come back."

Amenable to that, the men got up, stretched and filed toward the exits. Knowing Wes didn't smoke, he waited until all the others filed out, and headed on in. Wes' eyes lit up when he saw him step into the big meeting room. "Oh, hey, Xave. You changed your mind, huh?"

"No, not really. Just came to give you this."

"Aw, thanks, man! I didn't know it was gone until I was on the way here." He pocketed it. "So you just get here?"

"Just a few minutes ago. Caught the Big Bertha Battle-Axes bit."

"Oh yeah. And the violating our families part, too."

"Yeah." Xavier rolled his eyes. "Man, kinda funny, a guy like him playing the family values card when he threw out the arcade games in his stores to make way for a bigger X-rated section in the magazine racks."

"Hey," said someone behind him, "Free speech, and a free market. Folks want it, and it makes money."

Xavier glanced behind him, and he autonomically grimaced: it was Gene Gray. He looked back to Wes. "Better be on my way."

"Hold it, hold it, aren't you related to that guy, Keith Francis, works in the Litchfield Street store?"

"Uh… yeah…"

"You're that kid brother Roggin in college, aren'tcha?"

"No, his name's Hogan. And I'm his other brother Xavier."

"Ah, yeah. He's talked about you. You're teaching in where, China?"

"Taiwan."

"So what, you got tired of teaching the commie kids English and gonna teach here?"

"No, I'm on Chinese New Year's holiday. Visiting home for a couple of weeks."

Gene snorted. "Shoot, with the aliens, I'll be amazed if you can still get a flight to Atlanta, let alone Red China."

Xavier bristled. "It's TAIWAN. They're not part of the mainland."

Wes held up his hand, trying to keep things peaceful. "He just came here to bring back my wallet. I'd lost it at the church."

"Well, good for him," muttered Gene.

"And now that I have," said Xavier, "I'd better get back to the folks. Excuse me."

"Hold on, there," Gene said, sticking out his arm in front of him. "Y'know, you really oughta stick around and sit in on the meeting. We gotta have some sort of town defense."

"You kidding? I can't even play Time Crisis 4 at the arcade. Besides, I got my family, and I'm wired in with the church. Maybe you should speak to them about it."

Gene squinted, as if he were a 5 year old child offered a plate of broccoli. "Maybe," he said tenatively. "But as Stalin said, how many tank divisions does the Pope have?"

Xavier scowled. "And then he died, and the Soviet Union fell apart. I gotta go."

And he marched out down the hall to the exit. But not before Gene called out at him, "Hey! We just MIGHT not be there if the aliens show up at your house! Whatcha gonna do then, huh? Rebuke 'em with Bible verses? Cuss at 'em in Chinese?"

***

Sitting in bed, Xavier leafed through some old gasoline ration stamp booklets left over from World War II. He remembered how Greatgranny talked to him about it when they pulled weeds in her vegetable garden back when he was 14.

"And they boo-hoo about how gas is a quarter more a gallon," she grumped. "Beh. Let me tell you, back in the Big Deuce, we couldn't even GET gas at home. First, you had to go to the OPA to tell them and swear to high heaven you absolutely NEEDED the gas, and didn't have more than 5 tires for your car. They confiscated any extras. And after that, you had to put a sticker on your car's windshield, and show a certificate, and peel 'em off a stamp from your booklet. And THEN, you could buy only three or four gallons at a time. Period." She threw the weeds into the garbage can. "And it wasn't just gas, Xavier. We had rationing on all sorts of stuff… tires, shoes, clothes, meat, butter, cheese, canned fruits and vegetables… and sugar. That was one of the first things to go. We had to improvise our desserts with raisins, dried fruit, and Karo syrup." Xavier tossed a dandelion root and spring onion toward the can, but she caught it like an NBA player blocking a shot. "I can wash and use that."

"Ewww," went Xavier.

"Don't ewww me," she said. "We had to save every bit. Make it last, wear it out, make it do, or do without." She leaned back and her joints popped. "I know it's old hat comin' from me, and I'm not sayin' it against you, but I'm not so sure if the Baby Boomers, never mind this electronic generation, could hack it if there was a full scale invasion today."

"Maybe I should join the military," he said.

"Beh. You'd probably serve them best by stayin' out of their way. You're not grunt material." Greatgranny looked intently at him and smiled. "Don't look at me like that. You're too sweet and smart. You'd do me proud and your country best by being smart, sweet, honest and honorable. Lord knows, this nation ain't much on any of it."

Xavier nodded. "Thanks, Greatgranny."

She grunted. "Now let's wash up, and make you some raspberry preserves."

He looked wistfully at the booklet. Greatgranny had died a year after that, and eating the last jar of homemade preserves saved from her cupboard felt like finishing a bottle of Dom Perignon 1969. He'd never again taste anything like it again.

Putting the memorabilia on the nightstand, he turned out the light and decided to snooze before the tears came.

He almost made it.

***

RATTATATTATATTATAT! The sergeant blasted away with the .50 machine gun through the hole in the stucco wall. KABOOM! A cypress tree fell back and landed atop it, peeking over where there wasn't any roof.

"Francis! Need belts! Now!"

Xavier looked around. He was in a restaurant complete with Italian garlic cloves and overturned tables, chairs, and smashed bottles of vino. He looked down at himself. He was in a drab olive battle dress uniform, complete with steel helmet, bandolier, pineapple grenades, and an M1918 Browning Automatic Rifle.

"SOMETIME TODAY, CORPORAL!"

Searching around furtively, Xavier finally spotted some steel ammo boxes alongside some empty olive oil tins. Grabbing two, he flipped open the one on top and hurried over there. Wsssh-BOOM! A blast sent rocks and asphalt over the wall. Forgetting to panic, he hunkered down, and duck-walked over with the ammo, and streamed the belt out. The sergeant looked at it, then at Xavier in disgust. "Other way!"

Xavier cringed. He'd pulled it out backwards. Flipping the box around, he got them bullet tips aimed WITH the gun. Chambering the first one, the sergeant resumed firing away at the enemy. Ducking back behind the wall, he searched around for a place to see what they were shooting.

A jet rocketed overhead. That made him blink. What were German Messerschmitt Stormbirds doing this far south?

"Incoming!" SMASH! A big heavy vehicle sailed right through the wall to his right, forcing him to leap and splay to the ground. Spitting the asphalt out of his mouth (and what was THAT doing here?) he turned around and saw a twisted, totalled… LEXUS?!

Then a shadow came up. It was the silhouette of a hulking, towering Eugenian warrior, shield up, and door-length sword at the ready. Without thinking, Xavier chambered a round into his auto rifle, aimed and pulled the trigger. Krak-krak-krak-krak! He hit her shield. Unhurt, she backpedaled away quickly, and ducked behind the broken wall. Zipping up, he took cover behind the wrecked luxury car, and looked the way the Amazon came.

Then what he saw finally snapped everything into place. The F-15 Eagle in the sky. The flying skiff and Apache helicopter swapping autocannon fire and energy arrows. The Blockbuster Video store in flames. The Eugenian warrior nocking her energy arrow in her bow, and sending a blast into the candy apple red Hummer in the parking lot. The cordon of 10-foot-tall female soldiers dashing from the supermarket across the street, screaming with swords raised.

This wasn't an Italian village's ristorante! This was the Jones Meadow Shopping Center's Macaroni Grill!

***

Xavier snapped his eyes open with a gasp. Then he exhaled, and slowly rose from his bed. "Just a nightmare," he whispered.

But that jet flying overhead wasn't from dreamland. Neither was the stirring in the hall. He checked the clock. 5 AM. And Keith was actually up? He pushed the covers off, stood up, and trudged out of the bedroom into the hall.

Coming out of his own room was Keith. And he was in his National Guard battle dress uniform, heading toward the family room. Right there stood a furrow-browed Dad and teary Mom.

"Keith?" he asked befuddledly.

His brother turned to him. "Xave… my unit's been activated."

***

"But you just did a tour in Afghanistan," Hogan said drowsily, as the family piled out of the Buick and into the N.G. Armory's parking lot.

"Global emergency," Keith answered. "Besides, it's just an alert."

"But you drive a fuel truck, man!"

Mom cringed. Xavier kicked Hogan sharply in the calf, prompting him to shut up.

"I'll see if I can get you guys a few more gallons for the car," Keith said chipperly. "Oh, that reminds me." And he fished in his pocket, and tossed him the keys. "Take care of the Wrangler for me, and keep the rubber side DOWN."

Logan stared at the Jeep keys. "Uh… thanks."

"Welcome." And they hugged. "Oh, that means you give Xavier HIS keys back now."

"Oh," said Hogan absently. "Yeah."

Mom looked up tearfully at her son. "You be smart and safe, okay, pumpkin?"

"Promise," said Keith.

"Call us when you arrive safely, if you can," said Dad.

"Will do." And he reached over and hugged both his parents. Then he turned to Xavier. "Xave… I'd like to officially apologize for all the times I picked on you and given you crap."

"Uh, yeah," Xavier answered. And tenatively as guys do… he hugged his brother.

"Don't let Hogan jerk you around, 'kay?"

"Hey," Hogan sniped.

A sergeant bellowed. Another jet roared overhead. Keith turned to his whole family one last time. "Gotta go, love y'all!"

And he shouldered his duffel bag, and hurried into through the gate, past the red "Off Limits to Unauthorized Personnel" sign.

***

Xavier sat at the kitchen table, in a funk. He couldn't sip his coffee. He didn't watch the news which droned on the little TV by the toaster. He couldn't talk to Mom or Dad, since they had to go off to work. Then he felt a rap on his shoulder. Hogan. "I thought you'd be in bed again, bro."

"Bah. That's what classes are for Xave," Hogan replied. "Look, Keith wouldn't want you to sit and mope. I don't have any classes today, and you seem to have beaten the jet lag. What say we go down to the mall and bum around? Y'know, get some books, CDs, games, maybe an overpriced coffee or two?"

Xavier shifted. "I guess."

"And hey," Hogan added, fishing up the keys to the Wrangler, "I can teach you how to drive a stick."

***

"Hokay," went Xavier in the checkout line. "Monty Python Sings and Dr. Demento compilation CDs, check. Bruce Almighty, Spider-Man 2, School of Rock on DVD, check. Oh My Goddess! and Y: the Last Man graphic novels, check. Okay, and method of payment…"

Just then, Sister Sledge's "We Are Family" sounded on his cell phone. Mom.

"You need me to get that for ya?" Hogan offered.

"Your hands are full," Xavier said. "Just let me set this down… hokay." And he fished up the phone and hit the button.

"Hello, Big Xave's Palace o' Ecstasy," he goofed huskily.

"Xavier?" His mother sounded very alarmed. "Where are you and Hogan right now?"

"In Borders. Why?"

"All right. Don't waste time. I'm gonna send a grocery list right now on SMS. Get going to Wal-Mart NOW. I'll reimburse you when you get home."

"Uh, sure, right after we check ou–."

"NO. Not after you check out. Go NOW. And have you gassed up the Jeep?"

"It's about half full…"

"Do it."

"Right." To Hogan: "Dude, Mom says get going to Wal-Mart and go shopping."

"Uh… OK…"

"She means NOW. As in dump our stuff and haul at-double-dollar-signs."

Hogan stared at him. "And turn on the radio, right?"

***

"You better let me drive, man."

Xavier nodded. "That goes without saying."

Hogan put the keys in the ignition, cranked up, and the obligatory digital verve station came on. Xavier switched it to the news/talk AM station.

"–ported seen flying from the surface of northeastern Iran, and another from central North Korea. These projectiles reportedly hit a Eugenian saucer spacecraft each, one 200 miles southeast of Mashhad, Iran and the other–"

The rest was drowned out by the squeal of the Jeep tires burning rubber.

***

Xavier had no idea how he willed himself to keep moving. Everything in his body wanted to rush and take the whole shelves into his cart. His dazed, numb mind didn't want him to move at all. But ultimately, mind and body canceled each other and he absently, almost ethereally checked the list and put the items in the cart like it was a Tuesday evening errand for Mom. Every store TV monitor didn't show any bargains, smiley faces, specials, or the obligatory "Thank you for shopping with us" message. Each screen, tuned into CNN, showed the repeated glaring flash. The mushroom clouds flaring off the Eugenian saucer, lighting up the night. The mighty craft shuddering. The big round gashes where the explosions were. And finally… the vessel statefully beginning to dip to the side, and fall to the Earth.

He saw both city-size spacecraft, in Iran and North Korea steadily plummeting to the ground, leaving a huge plume of fire after them, crashing grandly in the mountainsides.

Instantly, all the world leaders, representatives, and authorities, from Bush, Blair, Putin, and Hu down to the tinpot dictators of the "-istan" countries, soundly, thoroughly, resolutely condemned the actions, and pleaded for cool heads as they resolved to deal with this abomination.

Another camera, meanwhile, showed a picture on the streets of Tehran, with local men cheering, waving assault rifles in the air, and flashing the victory sign. Xavier felt a dread and a sickness right at the pit of his stomach.

But right on the camera… all those celebrants then had a bright harsh light shine down on them, like they were floodlit from a fluorescent tube over their heads. The light got brighter, and brighter until it was too bright for Xavier to look at. But in the blink before he shut his eyes, he could make out the faces, which had switched from cheering, to bewilderment… and didn't have quite enough time to go all the way to terror.

Then static.

Xavier kept on moving, getting the canned vegetables, meat, fruits, and dried fruits and nuts… stuff that wouldn't spoil. He started noticing a few more women were starting to stream into the store, too. He picked up the pace on filling his cart. He was hardly aware of the commentator's report.

Then he noticed that his brother Logan was hoarding a lot of stuff in a cart, too. He looked up to the monitors again. On the replay, he saw an observatory's camera had scanned another city-saucer… and that it had shone a column of light on a base. Like in the Tehran streets, the beam got brighter, and brighter, and brighter, until it was the only thing that he could see on the screen.

Then it faded. And the base grounds were completely flat as glass. No buildings. No vehicles. No people. Not even a stone or bush or even a blade of grass.

Soon the reporter had said that these saucers had done this all throughout North Korea and Iran, shimmering its searing light on some bases, while ignoring others. Some were on spots smack dab in the middle of nowhere. And the capital cities, Pyongyang and Tehran, also were in the light. And when it faded, everything that was in it was totally gone. Not devastated. Not demolished. Not a pile of rubble or slag or ashes. Simply gone.

Xavier looked around the store… and he saw dozens of shoppers simply staring up at the TV screens, jaws all the way down, numb, and speechless.

Then the commentator touched his ear, and an even more panicked look. They sent a graphic, and showed a world map. And pretty soon, there was a pinpoint of where a light was shining. Then another. It first dotted in Russia. Then in Israel. Then India. France. The United States. Great Britain. China. Pakistan. And other nations around them. Also some spots in the oceans and seas. The whole planet then looked like a pincushion.

Hogan scratched his head. "Why the middle of the Atlantic and Pacific?"

Xavier shrugged. But then seeing how a lot of pinpoints were centered around the Dakotas in the USA, he then drew the conclusion:

"They're targeting the nukes."

And just then, nobody knew how, but Summa Matrei's voice sounded through the television speakers:

"Those of you in the light: you have ten minutes. Flee."

To Be Continued

[ze fly]

😮 Wow! That took my breath away. i can't wait for the rest… …and congratulations for your 800th post!

[limit]

A real treat of a story.

[00tree]

;D

[alex]

Sorry for not commenting before (I'm very lazy), but this story is going great!  I'm very curious to see how it plays out. 

Please continue.

[JimmyDimples]

Chapter 5:  Necessities

With one hand, Hogan quickly swept a shelf's worth of toilet paper, batteries, and bottled water into his cart without looking at the prices.  Then he speedily wheeled his load toward Xavier, barely stopping before they collided.  "I think we'd better check out now," Hogan whispered lowly. 

Xavier discreetly scanned the store.  Many mothers were hurriedly zipping through the aisles, and the milk and bread were vanishing like Ma's pancakes on Sunday morning.  And he saw a lot more minivans, station wagons, and SUVs screeching to a stop in the parking spaces outside.  Snapping to, he quickly found the shortest line to a register. 

As the cashier scanned the stuff, Xavier tried to watch and listen to the nearest TV monitor, but then Weird Al sang, "Losing my sight, losing my mind, wish somebody would tell me I'm fine," from his shirt pocket.  He fished out his phone:  it was David calling from Taiwan.  He grimaced; he understood the stress, but what could he do for his friend halfway around the world?  He hit the button.  "Yeah, Dave?"

"Xavier!" David's breaking, near-tears voice was almost drowned out by a lot of background noise:  screams and explosions. 

"You okay?"

"Me?!" Xavier stammered.  "What about YOU?!"

"Please!  You okay, not okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine!  What about you?"

"We attacked!  I call, say goodbye!  You very, VERY good friend!"

"What?!  The aliens are attacking you?!"

"No!  Not space girls!  From northwest!  Missiles from mainla–"

And then the connection dropped, and after one second's silence, a steady beeping. 

Xavier stood there, gape-mouthed.  Then he quickly cycled through to the dial-back feature and hit it.  And he hit it again.  And again.  He got the same thing each time:  the standard computerized "sorry, your call could not be put through, please try again later" message. 

Just as the horrible dread settled in, he heard some local unrest:  some screeching from two aisles down.  Peering around, he saw two working class women grabbing and tugging at a canister of baby formula. 

"I saw that first!" one of them wailed. 

"That's not my problem!" growled the other. 

The first pulled on the other's hair with one hand, and snagged the cansiter with the free one.  The other then clawed the first one across the face with her fingernails.  Ms. Talon, the heaver of the two, then shoved Tuggy into a disposable diaper display, knocking the works down.  Tuggy then shot a foot into Ms. Talon's midsection… and a clerk and the manager dashed up to try to talk sense into them.

Xavier then felt a tug at his elbow.  "Get your credit card," he said.  "No telling how long our cash is gonna have to last."

***

"Missles from the mainland?" Hogan asked as he shifted gears. 

Xavier nodded quietly, miserably.  "Oh, merciful God, please," Xavier begged, bowing his head.  "Spare David."  His head whipped back into the headrest.  "Do we really have to drive this fast?" he demanded.  "Jackrabbit starts burn more gas than–"

"Just shut up and let me drive," Hogan snapped.  "And turn on the news."

In the oncoming lane, a patrol car rocketed toward the Wal Mart.  Once the passing siren dopplered out and faded, Xavier checked the radio's clock.  It'd been eleven minutes since Summa Matrei's warning.  He hit the button.

"– are sending shafts of light all around the planet.  In the USA, many bases getting hit all over the Dakotas and in the Rockies.  So far, only certain military bases are being attacked.  We've also gotten reports a lot saucers over the oceans around the world shining their killer lights on… this just in.  I must stress, this is unofficial, this has yet to be officially verified, but we just got reports that the Eugenian saucers have sent a huge light blasts into the cities of Moscow, Russia, and Beijing, China.  We repeat, we do not have confirmation from our news bureaus there, but we are getting many eyewitnesses calling and reporting that the capitals of Russia and China have just gotten city-size light beams similar to that which reportedly hit and vaporized Pyongang, North Korea and Tehran, Iran.  No other world capitals have been so assaulted as far as we know.  And while this is strictly unconfirmed, we got reports from satellite pictures that some activity had been spotted within the intercontinental ballistic missile sites, all of which are reported to be lit up and destroyed by the Eugenians."   

Xavier stared forward numbly.  He couldn't bend his brain around that.  Tiananmen Square.  The Great Hall.  The Forbidden City.  The Temple of Heaven.  The Summer Palace.  Gone.

He'd seen them all last summer on vacation.  In fact, he remembered his host, David's father, apologizing for bad traffic and not arriving to Mao Zedong's Memorial Mausoleum until after it had closed.  Xavier took it with a chuckle, saying not to worry until next time; Mao wasn't going anywhere.

That joke stuck in his throat now.  He hoped and prayed against hope that David's dad hadn't been in town.

And Moscow.  He'd now never get a chance to see the Kremlin, Lenin's Tomb, Red Square, or GUM Department Store.  Or countless other stuff there.

To avoid a mental shutdown, he quickly catalogued the groceries, and thought of where to store them when they got home.

***

"Hey, folks," Keith's voice on the answering machine said, "Just a fast call letting you know I arrived safely to my destination.  Can't say where we're at right now.  Security reasons.  But I'm alive, well, and soon to be munching on some cold MREs.  Hope everybody's okay.  Remember me in your prayers, and Xavier, Hogan, you take care of Ma and Dad, all right?  Gotta go, there's a line for the pay phone and a time limit.  Bye, love y'all."

Jets from Redd Howard roared overhead from the east very steadily, some heading southwest, others turning north.  Xavier kept putting the foodstuffs into the pantry.  He'd lost his boyhood habit of looking up all the time at the F-20s, F-16s, F-15s and bombers.  Though he felt like going out like old times, he had to make space on the shelves for everything.  Thank heaven for that particular problem.  He worried that the family would solve it pretty quickly in the next few weeks.  His stomach thankfully seriously ran on empty before, even between checks, but…

Run on empty?  "D'oh!" he exclaimed.  We didn't gas up the Jeep!"

Hogan looked up.  "Or your car!" And remembering at last, he tossed his brother the hatchback's keys.

***

Xavier grimaced.  The line to his favorite convenience mart stretched to the next block.  They checked the convenience marts and service stations in the next neighborhood, but they were just as bad.  Cars, pickups, and other vehicles were backed up to the next intersection.  His cellphone then played Weird Al's mangling of "Last Resort."  He sighed as he hit the hands-free setup; he had to change the ringtone.  "Yeah, Logan?"

"Bad news, good news.  The Satan Store doesn't have any lines." 

Xavier grimaced again.  He hated to resort to Gene Gray's Con-Vee-Mart, but he wanted to get home before the sun set.  Then as he neared, he saw the price sign, and saw exactly why there was no waiting. 

Unleaded:    $9.799/gallon
Unlead Plus:  $9.899/gallon
Premium:      $9.999/gallon

"Uh, Xave?  Did I say good news?"

"Yeah, I see the sign." He punched the wheel.  "Typical Gene.  I wish he'd wash his neck so I could choke it.  Going to Exxon."

When they pulled into the line, the clerk put up a hand-made cardboard sign in the store window:  SORRY, NO MORE UNLEADED. Thirty minutes into the wait, the clerk put up a new one:  SORRY, PREMIUM ONLY.  And finally, when the boys finally pulled up and topped off the tanks, and pulled away, the sign read:  SORRY — NO MORE GAS!  He glanced back forlornly and sympathetically to a GMC Yukon.  Boy, if the driver was gonna take it in the rump before….

***

"–And please, Lord," Dad prayed over his plate, "protect our boy Keith, wherever he is, and keep him in the palm of Your hand.  And be with David, too.  Please be with us all, our town, our nation, our President, and watch over us.  In Your Son's name, amen."

"Amen," went Ma, Xavier, and Logan.  And they started passing around the plates, and plopping the fridge stuff Ma wanted to use before it spoiled.  Xavier picked at his chicken teriyaki.  "So… how'd your days go?" he asked.

Ma shook her head.  "Volunteer office was a madhouse, even by the usual standards.  Everybody was gathered around the computers, checking up on all their IM friends, making sure they were all right.  Didn't get a lot done.  Had to lean on the candystripers to stay on task."  She shook her head.  "Bessie Sue hasn't heard from her husband.  Very frantic, I let her go home early."

Xavier's stomach grew tight.  He knew her husband Jack was a seaman on an aircraft carrier.  "Dad? How about you?" 

"Bank was a bit saner than the hospital," he said.  "Got called into a meeting with the VPs.  Senior VP said we'd have to be prepared in case customers make a run on the ATMs and tellers, and pull out all the cash we have on hand.  Haven't run out yet, and no panic just yet, but we're trying to make up a plan on how to make sure the bank doesn't dry up and blow away on them."  He dug into his salad.  "How about y'all?"

And Xavier and Hogan told them about shopping run, the incident in Wal Mart, the gas line-up… and Gray's gouging.  Dad scowled in disgust but muttered, "Frankly, I wouldn't have put it past him.  I woulda thought he'd have waited until gas was scarce, though."  Then he clapped a hand to his forehead.  "Dangit!  The Buick's only got a quarter tank left!"

Ma put a gentle hand on Dad's forearm.  "It's okay, dear," she offered.  "We've got three other vehicles all full.  We're really, REALLY lucky." 

He nodded.  "Anyhow, boys, I guess it's pretty obvious:  we'd better not go gallivanting or cruisin' the boulevard until the crisis is over.  Ma and I may be hitting YOU guys up for a ride to work before too long."

And they craned their ears to listen to the news on the TV, which had already broken out the stars and stripes/red, white and blue motif for their broadcast.  The word was, the aliens were sending craft out left and right from the city saucers around the globe.  The city saucer nearest to Jones Meadow was thanfully two states away in southwestern Georgia.  Most of the action were around the Indian Ocean nations, but everywhere, alien craft were on the move.  Xavier had to pull away from the table to check it all out:  many more skiffs like the one in the Sudan webcam at church.  A bunch of them lined the sides with their shields up like an Ancient Roman "tortoise" formation.  But there were women readying and nocking arrows and releasing energy blast after energy blast from He also saw what looked like SUV-sized flying chariots with wings and jets instead of wheels.  Only one or two Eugenians piloted each one. 

The forces of Earth weren't having a good time.  Rockets and missles aimed right at them suddenly veered off course and spiraled away from the aliens aimlessly.  Bullets and shells weren't having much more luck with the flying craft:  most of them seemed to stop ten feet short.  Was it a force field?  A few were hitting, but were pinging off the maidens' shields and craft.

And the reports backed up Xavier's suspicions:  the war EVERYWHERE was now conventional.  Every craft, base or vehicle reported or suspected to have nuclear, chemical, or biological warheads was allegedly disintegrated.  No words whether the crews fled in time or went down with the ship.

Finally at 8:00, there was an announcement from an undisclosed location:  "Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States."

Behind his desk, the President folded his hands, and furrowed his brow.  "My fellow Americans:  I am coming to you via satellite from a secure location on what is indeed a day that has gone beyond our wildest and darkest imaginings.  What has been relegated to the fantasies of science fiction, has arrived in a harsh, atrocious reality.  We are faced with a powerful foe which has struck this planet with stark, quick, unheeding brutality.  While it is true that two countries that should not have been considered representative of us had passed on the first strike for whatever mad excuse to their own ends, the Eugenian Hegemony has struck us all without hearing from the rest of the rational on this Earth.  They have treated all of us, Americans and Russians, British and French, Pakistani and Indian, Japanese and Chinese, Christian, Jew, or Muslim, with inhuman terror we would not wish on our mortal enemies. 

"The whole planet has lost a lot of life.  But in the face of this, these ogresses have made a major mistake.  They have made us see that we must put aside whatever differences or grievances to repel this menace.  If we are to survive, we must become allies against these monsters in a grotesque female form."

"The first item all American citizens must remember, is not to panic.  Yes, we must be ready, and prepare to sacrifice.  We must give full support to our military and police.  We may have to take emergency measures to protect the peace.  But I am urging everyone to cooperate and be neighborly.  While we may have to do without, we have done it before when the world was under threat of oppression and domination over 60 years ago.  And we will do so now. 

"Yes, the new other-worldly enemy is large and strong and seemingly powerful.  So was Goliath.  And we all know what David did with him."

"Stay strong.  Stay confident.  Stay safe.  Thank you, and God bless America."

***

Xavier stepped out into the back yard, taking in the fresh air.  The woods between the neighbors' yard and the U.S. highway behind them had grown a lot.  Enough trunks, foliage and distance to keep out much of the noise.  It was quiet enough after rush hour anyhow.

"Hey, man," called the neighbor.  "Haven't seen you here in a while."

Xavier hadn't seen him, either.  It was an older man with long, dark hair and mustache and beard with graying ends, wearing a loose green T-shirt, a buckskin vest, ratty blue jeans, a belt made of colorful beads, and army boots. 

"Bogie Irontree," Xavier said.  "Haven't seen you in a while, either."

"Yeah," Bogie nodded.  "How was China?"

"Fun, and a challenge.  Great to be back home, though. Or it was."

"Yeah, man.  Looks like the day of the white wolf's on us."

"Mmnh.  Had to rush into town to get supplies and gas up the cars."

Bogie shook his head.  "Slave to the grid.  Shoulda gotten yourself a hybrid, man."

Xavier exhaled through his teeth testily.  "Don't start, Bogie.  It costs more per gallon when you factor in the extra couple of thou in the sticker price.  Do the math."

"Yeah?  Not after the gas dries up, man."

Xavier glared.  "I'd have traded it in, but I was out of town, okay? Besides, it's a little late for swimming lessons when the flood's here."

Bogie held up his hands.  "Easy, easy, don't be hostile.  Me, I got myself something better just in case."  He patted the VW Microbus behind him.  "Converted this puppy to bio-diesel.  Runs on old cooking oil." 

"No joke?"

"Yup.  Just talk to yer mom before she throws out the grease from frying.  Pennies per gallon, and I'll be glad to help y'all with rides in case the Machine breaks down.  Hey, I got some buffalo jerky from the Blackfeet Indians in Montana.  Want come in and get some?"

Before Xavier could offer to trade him for some Pocky or ginger candy from China, a low whoosh sounded.  It was a little like a jet plane… but it was too hushed.  And too low and near.

Bogie looked up.  "Whoa…."

"What?"

He looked back at Xavier.  "Uh, nothin'."

"No, what?"

"Better not tell you, man.  You'll think my 30 years of being clean and sober are over."

Xavier decided to look where Bogie did.  After seven seconds of searching, he gasped.  "Whoa."

"So you see it, too, huh?"

Xavier nodded.  And he wished he WAS seeing something chemically induced.

Through the trees, well lit by the moon, was a gliding Eugenian scout pod.

To Be Continued

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