Call Center of Doom

By Nigel G. Mitchell

Rygel Poxio is an alien who works in the deadliest call center in the universe. His job is to call Earthlings to ask (hypothetically) if they would surrender to his Empire in exchange for a free car or iPod. And then they get added to a list of future slaves for a coming invasion. When he has a crisis of conscience, Rygel must find a way to save the world. Set in the same universe as my novel, Flying Saucers.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Platypus Publishing
• Release date: Oct 26, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519906168

Nigel G. Mitchell

Nigel G. Mitchell was born in Brooklyn, NY. He earned a Bachelor's in English from Arizona State University in 1999. In addition to fiction, he is also a writer for the popular sci-fi blog, The Geek Twins. His work has been featured regularly in Slashfilm, Blastr, io9, CBR and Screenrant. His short stories have been published in Lost Worlds, 365 Tomorrows, and Black Hole Magazine. His latest novel is "Enter the Nexus." He currently lives in Phoenix, Arizona with his wife and three children.

Book preview

1.

––––––––

HI, I'M CALLING to offer you a chance to win a brand new car. Do you have a moment?

Uh, sure. A new car?

Yes, I'd just like to ask you this one question, and you could win a brand-new Mercedes Benz. If extraterrestrials invaded Earth, would you be willing to submit to their rulership?

Uh, sure, why not?

Thank you, sir. Can I get your name and address to contact you if you win?

Rygel Poxio tapped his screen with his tentacles as he added the information to his list of future slaves for the Xenon Empire. He looked up at his HoloVision's display. The flickering hologram showed a fat Earthling sitting on a large set of cushions his orientation had described as a couch. The Earthling stared with dead eyes at a flickering two-dimensional screen his orientation had called a television.

Rygel's HoloVision tapped into the Earth's satellite network and allowed the Xenon Empire to intercept the planet's data transfer systems. Rygel had been amazed to discover the Earthlings' dominant method of communications technology (his orientation called it a telephone) didn't have video calling, so they could only send and receive audio. Good thing, too, since the operation could never have worked if the Earthlings could see Rygel when he called. The Earth didn't have interstellar travel, so they didn't know the Empire existed, much less that it plotted to conquer their world. Rygel, however, could see the humans clearly on his screen when he contacted them.

Rygel shuddered as he looked over the human's pink, hairy flesh. It repulsed him, compared to his own nice, shiny green blubber. Those long sticks on the Earthling's shoulders called arms seemed stiff and clumsy compared to his slender, flexible tentacles. Rygel couldn't understand how they balanced on the twin stalks the Earthlings had on their waists called legs. Rygel's hind-foot seemed much more stable.

Everyone in the call center agreed that the Earthlings seemed to be the ugliest alien life they had ever seen. Almost as ugly as the despised Zirconians.

Rygel tapped the button to save the record, and his system closed the link. It began dialing the next number.

The computer chimed as a window popped up. It read, Team Meeting.

His best friend Flem Zythor poked his head over the wall of the cubicle. Another team meeting? That's the third one Jorg's called this cycle.

Rygel flicked his computer screen to shut it down. Hey, I don't mind. Every team meeting is just more time off the phones.

The two of them made their way down the aisle of the call center. He could hear the voices of other employees in their cubicles, and the flickering of countless holograms within them. Glancing into the cubicles, Rygel could see Earthlings in their houses, on the streets, and in businesses. Taken together, it seemed like a mosaic of life on planet Earth.

A huge hologram of the Emperor of the Xenon Empire loomed over the center of the floor, a towering figure in a purple robe. Scrolling in a circle around the base of the holographic statue, text read, For The Glory of The Emperor.

As Rygel and Flem slithered into the conference room, they found the rest of the North American Midwest contact team seated around the table. Posters on the conference room walls had slogans like, For The Good of the Empire and The Emperor Loves You.

Their supervisor, Jorg Squorgl, stood at the far end of the table and scowled. Good of you to join us. I called the meeting ten seconds ago.

Sorry, Mister Squorgl. Rygel slipped into an empty chair.