Invasion of Consecrated: Chronicles of Mere Earthling, #2

By Paul Slutsky

When, by human will, dead planets in myriads of galaxies come to life and once cave creatures go into space, Alan has to take one more step - stop the traitor on Earth.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Slutsky
• Release date: Jul 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9780986115066

Book preview

This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblances to real people or incidents are purely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-0-9861150-6-6

Copyright 2019 by Paul Slutsky

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written consent of the author.

CONTENTS

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

INVASION OF CONSECRATED

CONNECT WITH AUTHOR

PROLOGUE

In the cozy metropolitan restaurant that buzzed with quiet conversation and the bustle of the wait-staff, Jerry Osborn sat across his university friend, Phil Holcomb, for their occasional get together. They were just discussing how long it had been since they had finally managed to align their schedules enough for a meet-up when Phil’s cell phone lit up with a call. Their conversation barely faltered as Phil glanced down at his phone. Jerry was quite certain that the call was to be casually ignored, as Holcomb usually did in their rare meetings together, but instead he saw his friend abruptly stop mid-sentence.

Sorry, Jerry, said Phil, already pulling up his phone to receive the call. He gave Jerry a brief smile. I’ve got to take this.

Jerry sat back in his chair for a moment, visibly puzzled. In all their admittedly infrequent meetings, never once had Jerry seen his friend actually answer his phone. Phil had held the position of Deputy Secretary of State for Defense for years, and yet it had seemed like he had never deemed the action necessary.

The Deputy Secretary of State for Defense was having what seemed like a one-sided conversation. Phil listened attentively to whoever was on the other side of the line, paying his friend absolutely no attention while Jerry discreetly tried and failed to listen in on the dialog. Phil nodded, twice, with a certain sense of submissiveness. It was as if he’d forgotten that the person he was speaking with – or, more aptly, listening to – couldn’t really see his compliant reactions.

After a minute or so, he finally heard Phil respond, his words very clear.

Yes, sir, I think there is such a person, another pause. Yes sir, I understand. His name is Jerry Osborn, the deputy said, finally sparing his friend a cursory glance and religiously ignoring the confused look on his face. He is an old friend, and his opinions are quite similar to my own. He strongly believes that the treaty does not meet our interests. Phil nodded again, continuously, as if this would make much of a difference in their conversation. Of course, sir, I’ll warn him. With this, he ended the connection and turned back to his friend.

Jerry made no effort to hide his confusion and annoyance at having been brought into some kind of conversation with neither his knowledge nor his consent. He leaned forward as Phil smiled innocently at him.

Phil, who were you just talking to? And more importantly, I’d say, why in the world did you just give them my name like that? You should have asked first if I’d want to get involved in whatever that was.

Phil chuckled. He wasn’t surprised by Jerry’s reaction – in fact, he had expected it. He would have been surprised if Jerry had not been so indignant. Pulling up a dessert that had just been served to them, he drank some coffee from a fragrantly steaming cup and answered as if he had not heard the disturbance in his friend’s voice. The name of the person I was talking to was Tony Madden. No one knows of this name, except for the ones with the real power in America.

Jerry scoffed, crossing his arms.

And why would the power elites of the two continents care about some unknown Mr. Madden? said Jerry, making no effort, again, to hide the mockery in his voice, his resentment spilling over as he half glared at his friend.

Phil hesitated to answer his question at first, unsure of how much he should say. But he knew he couldn’t just tell Jerry to trust him and do as he asked; he would have to give some to get some.

I’ll answer your question only because you have an appointment with him tomorrow. Mr. Madden manages the cash flow throughout the American business. Phil sipped at his coffee again, ignoring Jerry’s growing concern. Without his consent, no president can become the president. Without an agreement with him, no large bank can grow large enough.

Jerry leaned back in his chair, trying to process what Phil had just told him. It was possible that he was joking – simply teasing an old friend, but... No, something about the way he spoke was much too serious and much too important for it to be anything but true. He closed his eyes in an effort to wrap his head around it all. After a few moments of contemplation, he shook himself out of his thoughts and sat forward again. Is his influence just here in America?

Phil continued to leisurely sip at his coffee and pick at his dessert as he spoke. No, not only in America. The same ‘Mr. Madden’, Phil said the name as if in air quotes, raised eyebrows and all, is everywhere – Europe, Africa, Asia and Australia, to be more specific. Any other questions you have, you can ask them yourself at your meeting tomorrow.

Jerry watched his friend eat as he thought. It didn’t sound like he had much choice in the matter, regardless of what information he did or didn’t have. Heck, regardless of whether or not he was even willing or able to be of any kind of service in the whole affair, he still had to go. He wasn’t some kid off the streets with no connections or know-how, but he also wasn’t exactly the first person people called when they needed something done. I’m assuming this invitation isn’t a question?

Phil laughed. The same way the request for your recommended candidacy was a command, not a request, yes. I assure you, however, that he will offer you what you have long wanted.

Jerry nodded. What was the harm in speaking with the five people who basically ran the world? Where should I go?

In the morning, at nine, the limousine will be waiting for you at the house.

They sat in silence for some time, both stewing in quiet contemplation. When they left the restaurant some time later, it was without their usual departing handshake.

***

In the dense twilight, making his way through the phosphorescent forest, Antar walked by a path he had discovered on his many journeys across the big forest. He had trekked over these endless lands, in search of hunt and, at times, peace. The path was covered by twigs, bushes and looming notches on the trunks of giant trees, hiding it completely from plain sight.

The violet foliage shimmered with its nighttime radiance. Fluffy rabbits jumped out of their shelters between the roots of trees at the sound of old, dry branches occasionally being crunched under the traveler’s feet. The small creatures scurried through the bushes in fear of being caught, cocooning themselves into their new shelter. Only the nighthawks circled over the forest, silently searching for the flickering light of heat given off by a careless prey.

Good day... Five marsh ducks... Good day...

Antar walked faster, gripping the crossbow that slung over his shoulder tightly. The ducks that he had shot down– tied to the end of his crossbow– pecked at the hunter’s back, but he ignored them.

His thoughts continued, swirling in his head in a cacophony of half-formed ideas. Selga has probably lit a fire in the hearth and poured water into the boiler, and Mantara must’ve gone to the yard by now to call all the children back in. Two wives, six children–a good family...

Antar ducked to dodge a branch and was dutifully reminded of the prince’s fugitive slave.

In the evening, the whole tribe will be gathered at the Stair-step Rock... We’ll have to figure out what to do with the fugitive. Antar scoffed as he thought on the whole thing. We opened our village to him, let him hide from the prince, let him eat our food and drink our water, live in our homes... and this is how he repays us? He sneered as he remembered having caught the fugitive red-handed, trying to steal a month’s worth of their supplies and leave the village. We need to prosecute. He paused in his thoughts, lifting his chin a notch higher. No, I am the tribe leader. I must prosecute.

It wasn’t much farther until Antar would be home. His village was on the banks of the Big River; the largest of five others located at its bend. The Gunts tribe had grown steadily, settling along the coastal plains from generation to generation.

Antar had spent his whole life here, in this sand, behind the leaves of this forest, studying the laws of war and peace– this is where he’d grown into a man and a warrior.

When at a gathering at the Stair-step Rock, he was shouted as the leader, he was surprised. The crowd of people–his people– roared, but then a time came that he got used to it. The notion became a part of him, and he treated the affairs of the tribe with the same everyday wisdom he used at home.

Everything would’ve been fine – maybe even good– but the Prince Rokondan, ruler of the bordering Turan lands, disliked the Gunts. He saw their self-isolation as an insult, and threatened to take their lands away and remove them from his border at every opportunity he’d get.

No, it will not happen, Antar thought as boisterous anger flooded through his veins. His feet crunched over another branch. The Holy Spirits of the Big River will protect us from harm. He came out onto a clearer path, picking up speed as he walked quickly and deftly through the mossy grass, desperately willing for his words to be true. We give them so much tribute. The spirits will remember and care for us.

Antar loved his home, and his village. He loved to lie on the bank of the Big River and look at the pink sky and the slowly floating bright maroon clouds. He didn’t know where the Big River flowed, didn’t know where it began and what it merged with. He didn’t know that there were other lands and continents, and that he lived on a planet around which an invisible observer circled; a messenger from unknown worlds. But Antar did know the beauty of purple meadows and forests, bathed in the light of the red life-giving sun. He knew the silence of the night, giving its light to all living things.

Antar stopped in his tracks. Something felt off, and he could feel tension building in his bones even before he’d picked up on the pungent smell of something burning. A shiver ran down his spine, and a nervous, cold sweat started on his forehead. His heartbeat quickened in his chest. This smell was no simple campfire. The more he walked forward, the more the smell strengthened. With blood buzzing in his ears, his feet rushed forward almost of their own accord. Without disturbing the marks of his path, Antar surged forward. Swatting branches away from his face; he ignored the needles that scratched past his skin. He couldn’t see through the dense thickets until he emerged from the forest and finally stepped out into the bounds of his village.

His house was built on the edge of the village; it stood on a dais near a cliff by the Big River itself. The flames of a big fire devoured its walls and caved-in roof. Defeated skeletons of burnt houses were scattered through the village, black and ashy smoke trailing from whatever was left. Rare flashes of fire consumed what remained of the buildings, licking at the hunched figures of stone hearths. There was no one as far as he could see; no one was trying to put out the fires. The silence hanging over the empty village was interrupted only by the quiet crackling of the burning debris.

Selga, Mantara... The children... Antar surged forward again, but his legs shook and he stumbled. He stared down at the ground; his shadow flickering in the light of the dancing fire. His heartbeat quickened as he tried to catch the breath stuck in his throat. What has happened? Are they alive? Thoughts swirled in his head, too many to reconcile at once–all a jumbled mess of hopes and prayers and wishes. Holy Spirits of the Big River, I’m so scared! He slowly stood up, his legs buckling under him, shaking harder now, but he wouldn’t let himself stop, couldn’t...

Bodies lay on the ground around him as he entered the square of the village. He tried not to look into the eyes of the corpses he was stepping over, catching glimpses of the souls they once were. They seemed to reach out to him, as if the living could save the already dead. Pierced with arrows, stabbed with pikes, chopped up by halberds...They were forever frozen where death had caught them.

Barely anything was left of the walls and roof of Antar’s house. Something almost caught his eye in the rubble of his home, but his mind paid no attention to it. He stood dejectedly by the ashes, his mind blank and hollow. His world had collapsed; it wasn’t there anymore, and he would never again see the shimmering light in the shadows of the village. Nobody with a joyful tramp would run out to meet him, and the gentle hands of loving wives would not caress him in the silence of the night. Never... Never again...

He was brought out from a limp stupor by a knock from somewhere nearby. He looked around and noticed nothing out of the ordinary, at first, other than the remains of his life scattered around him. The knock came again, once and with more force than before. Antar jerked his head towards the sound, as he took a few steps ahead. Holy Spirits, he beseeched, let it be them! Feeling his breath still, Antar willed for the knock to come again. After a handful of moments that felt much too long, the sound came, again, and again, resounding over the silent walls of his charred world.

***

Strod, we need to talk, Alan Norton called out to his counselor through the neuro-communication channel.

Settled in the dimly lit capsule, he watched the endless string of stars flicker outside the panoramic window, his recent discussion replaying over and over in his head. The military was concerned that the predatory Roamers would try to attack the planets most vulnerable to the Life Farms program and insisted that they take immediate measures to protect them from all potential raids. It was all a bit over Alan’s head, but as the Chief Coordinator of the program, he had no choice but to participate in all these conversations. It was out of his depth, but nonetheless, he was determined to make things work.

The capsule docked at the command post station, rocking slightly as it connected to the boarding tunnel. Alan sighed as he undid his harness. He stood up and stepped out the opened door. The bottomless void under his feet somehow brought him back to his everyday life, his thoughts about the Roamers, planets and the military momentarily dissipating.

Strod’s response came in almost immediately, as if he had already been expecting an order from his boss, I’ll be right in your office, chief.

Alan smiled and shook his head. Of course, Strod would be waiting for him – probably had something on his mind, too, if Alan were to guess.

The door to the bridge silently slid open as he approached and stepped off the river of stars onto the white tiled surface that covered most of the station. His stomach rumbled unhappily as he made his way into his office. He hadn’t eaten anything during his arduous trip, and he could feel it.

It wasn’t long before Alan was approaching the doors of his apartments with thoughts of food and dinner swirling in his head. Almost as if someone had anticipated his gnawing hunger, several trays slowly made their way from the room service to his door. At the sight of the bubbling soup still steaming and slightly fogging up the transparent lids of the thermally protective domes, Alan could feel his mouth water. A carafe of wine on one of the trays caught his particular attention, and he quickened his step to make pace with the trays.

A rush of child-like excitement overcame him as he hurried forward and managed to slip through his door with the served lunch trays.

Strod looked up as Alan tumbled unsteadily into the room, alongside the trays, wearing a giddy expression on his face – almost knocking one over in the process.

Oh, are we playing catch the room service up here? The counselor laughed with a crooked smile as his boss visibly tried to compose himself.

With a wave, Alan scoffed and straightened his posture before he turned to face Strod. I just didn’t want to keep you waiting. He pushed his shoulders back, deliberately slowly, to make it all seem a bit more confident, but even then, a hint of smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

The counselor shook his head and waved off Alan’s dispute with a flick of his hand.

No worries, chief, added Strod reassuringly. We’ve all done it. He walked over to Alan, speaking each word with a sense of mischief. After all, there is no shame in embracing your inner child every now and then, Strod smiled, his eyes glinting with promise, as he casually reached out and patted Alan on the shoulder before adding, Wouldn’t you agree?

Alan smiled back, and almost replied, when it struck him. Taking a step back from his counselor, he stared at Strod with a look of shock and surprise. Words evaded him as he tried to understand the ludicrousness of what had just happened. Before he could even think clearly, Alan found himself blurt out, What did– what did you just do?

Strod turned away from the keen, curious eyes of his boss and surveyed the room as he responded, an air of nonchalance surrounding his alien frame. Me? I didn’t do anything. He moved to look at his boss, mischief clearly tugging over the edge of his mouth. Why? He cocked his head to one side as he calmly asked Alan what should have been a very simple question.

Alan blinked at his colleague, still a bit dumbfounded. You just patted me on the shoulder.

Did I? Strod countered as he covered his wobbly smile with his palm. No longer able to hide his childish smile, he coughed, nodding in agreement. Well, I think you’re right. I did. Is there something wrong with that?

Wrong? Alan paused for a moment. He wondered if he was imagining things, or if Strod was messing with him. You’re not really here, Strod. Remember? Alan flapped his hands at his advisor. This is just a collection of scattered lights making up your image as a hologram! You can’t clap me on the shoulder, and I can’t clap yours.

His explanation made sense in words, in theory, and yet that didn’t change the fact that he was wrong. Strod had, in fact, just clapped him on the shoulder, and it would stand to reason that Alan likely could return the gesture. The how was still very much unclear.

But I just did, Strod said simply, now openly smiling at him with his teeth. Alan was certain that his advisor was enjoying this way too much. If you want, I can do it again, he extended his hand.

Alan reflexively pulled away. No. He didn’t have the how, and until he had the how, he wasn’t going to take his chances. I’d prefer if you’d tell me how exactly you did it first, thank you very much.

The counselor sighed defeatedly, knowing him well enough to concede. All right, all right, said Strod with a small chuckle. It’s a new development our scientific researchers have come up with. It’s very recent and relatively secret– for now at least – only a selected group of personnel know about it, he said, leaning on the head of the chair standing next to him. It’s basically a sensory hologram. It allows me to touch the things in the environment I’m being projected to, and the things in that environment can return the gesture.

The chief raised an eyebrow at his counselor, still unsure. Despite the incredible scientific advancement and knowledge that they had, a sensory hologram seemed a bit far-fetched. At least, it was certainly nothing Alan had ever heard of even being researched, let alone being secretly in production. Are you saying that if you touched the soup on this tray, you could tell if it’s hot or cold? With his stomach still rumbling in protest, Alan’s thoughts had somehow managed to involve the food he hadn’t yet eaten into his conversation.

Yes. As a demonstration, Strod touched the plate and then abruptly pulled his hand back; shaking it as if that wouldn’t just create more heat. And just so you know, yes. The soup’s still hot, he added, blowing gently on his slightly burnt finger.

Alan sat down at the table, not touching the food, to his stomach’s rigid annoyance, and let out a long breath. Well then.

Strod grinned at Alan’s expression as he sat on Alan’s opposite side and folded his hands on the table. Chief, wasn’t there something you wanted to talk about? He stared attentively at his boss, trying to gently nudge the conversation forward.

Alan nodded in a daze.

Yes, uh, yes, I did. He shook his head as if he were trying to remember what exactly he’d had to say. Right, he muttered. Tomorrow I have to submit an annual report detailing the progress and results of the Life Farms program so far to the Intergalactic Union Committee. He looked up at his counselor. I wanted your advice.

Alan’s stomach gave out one last grumble of demand and won out. Alan gestured for Strod to join him for the meal as he finally took a bite. They sat for a few minutes in silence, picking at the soup and snacks as they sipped the wine.

Well, in my understanding, began Strod, everything has been going as expected. We’ve had no disruptions or significant delays in the program, and honestly, I’m not sure what kind of help I can offer for this report – other than just saying that everything here seems perfectly normal. He chuckled to himself as he sipped some of the soup. Still a bit hot, but manageable.

Alan stirred his spoon around his own bowl and sighed. Unfortunately, it’s not so simple. He stared into the broth, lost in thought for a moment, before returning his glance back to his advisor. Over the past five years, we’ve learned how to convert dead planets into habitable ones. At this point, the program’s basically a conveyor for new life. Strod nodded in agreement. But there’s more. There’s always more. He smiled. We have found or created thousands of planets with intelligent life. Every type of civilization we know or could think of is part of the program– from the tribal system to the startup cosmic civilizations. And we observe their growth without interfering in any way.

Strod nodded again. Like I said, Alan, everything is going well. I’m still not sure what you mean when you say it’s not that simple. Is there something that I’m missing here?

Alan sighed again and continued, The problem is, my friend, that most of the tribal planets are frozen in their development. For some reason, they’re not able to create states, they’re not even trying to get new knowledge or at least speed up the production in any way. And it suits them, but unfortunately, for us, it’s not a good thing at all.

Strod paused as he examined his boss. He was getting somewhere, Strod knew, but where and when he would get there was up for debate. Yes, frozen civilizations are a known fact. They are quite out of our hands, and we can all but hope, he shrugged. What else can be done?

Alan slightly shook his head, his eyes getting that dazed far-away look they’d have before he’d say something that would stir up the Union.

It’s certainly difficult, claimed Alan, as he paused again, trying to both search for the right set of words to convey his thoughts and create a sense of buzzing anticipation, but actually possible.

You speak in riddles, chief.

Alan nodded, knowing that Strod would need more. He couldn’t help but be purposefully vague after what his counselor had just done to him a few minutes ago. I spent several months in the orbit of one such planet, worked with the Intelligent Life Monitoring group. They were bright people– they got to the bottom of the cause of such freezing civilizations.

Fantastic, Strod clapped his hands together in excitement, waiting for his chief to provide the solution to one of the few, if not the only, problems facing the program. So, what’s the secret?

You will be surprised, Alan grinned. It’s in the absence of morality.

Really? Strod paused and shook his head. Absence of morality? He thought. But... that can’t be right. Wait... wait... Somehow, that’s not too convincing. I mean... They have families, wives, children, entire tribes of their own that they care for and protect with their lives... And yet, you say that they have no morals?

Alan laughed. Ok, I’ll be more specific. They have morals, yes. They care for and protect their own, sometimes to their own detriment. What they are lacking, however, are civilized morals. Yes, they care about family and tribe, but that’s not really good enough to grow and thrive and evolve as a species. Things outside of their own little world, their own tribe and their own people– none of it bothers them. They don’t care about anything outside of their group.

Strod nodded slowly, trying to take in what Alan had just said. If this is the case, then how do we change that? How do they? I mean, if they’re bound to stay within their small confines, what else would they need?

Well, Alan sighed, honestly, they don’t really need anything more than that– not to survive anyway. That’s how they see it, and that’s the problem. They’re not wrong, exactly, just misguided and unaware. He shrugged, his eyes glazed with excitement as he sipped his wine. And because we need them, in a way, we have to make them see the world for what it is. Strod looked at Alan with confusion, so he clarified, What I mean, dear friend, is this that we need them to grow and learn, and then look to the stars and realize that there’s so much more than their tiny little world out here. We need them to reach out into the black void, just like every species in the Union has, and contact us.

Strod gave him a nod, and then paused for a heartbeat. Wait, though. I thought we were talking about morals, he looked up at the Chief of the Life Farms program, How do morals fit into this?

Everything is simple here, Alan replied, as he pulled up the dessert to himself, filled both their glasses and then raised his drink in greeting. Science says that in the life of every rational being, personal morality is always higher, more important than any law. Alan sipped his drink and gently placed the glass back on the table. The morals that tribal planets have right now borders over to protect their own tribe and people. For all they care, everyone else around them can be killed and robbed, because their morality doesn’t prohibit it.

Strod picked at his dessert as he listened to Alan. He waved the wine away, gesturing that he’d had enough. I still don’t see how tribal morality impedes the development of technology, he said.

Alan smiled again. It’s both simple and, yet, not, at the same time. Think that it’s too simple, and you won’t see the real picture. Think too hard about it, and you’ll miss the point entirely. He finished off his wine and set the glass aside.