The Aliens Among Us

By Victoria Harrod

Montigan, the small but beautiful Martian country, now faces an existential threat. With a population devastated by years of war, they face annexation by their political enemies. Granted a one year reprieve by the Supreme Martian Court, Montiganians must prove they can rebuild their population to minimum legal levels, or their charter will be given to the very countries whose greed-driven wars brought them to this point.

The first Montigan mission to Earth brought back human blood for DNA splicing into the Martian gene pool. The early trials failed to yield promised results, but their later advanced gene experiments had a surprising outcome: male human babies. Now, grown and trained as Martian agents, four of these humans, Steve Hamlet, Tom Steinway, Andrew Holloway, and David Conway, are Montigan's greatest hope to thwart its enemies. Their mission is to invade the Earth and bring back human female blood, so human babies' creation might continue on Mars. Handpicked for their unwavering allegiance to Montigan and their fluency in Earth languages, their loyalty will be tested as they carry out their own personal mission: Finding Earthmates and locating their bloodline to solve the mystery of their existence.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662402586

Book preview

Chapter 1

The Montigan Crisis

Montigan is one of the most beautiful countries on Mars, located southeast of the Hashima continent. A Martian country of varied and challenging landscapes has been prosperous in tourists’ attraction for its warm weather and rainbow-fan waterfalls. Because of its strategic location on the Godum Sea, prospering tourism, and advancement in technology and scientific research studies, Montigan has become the envy of many of its neighbors.

For the last two decades, Montigan has suffered tremendously from devastating wars with their neighboring countries. As a result, thousands of civilians and soldiers have been slaughtered. Worse yet, the frequent battles had driven younger Montiguese to flee the country to avoid mandatory enlistment.

Even though Montigan had fought bravely in those many wars and always regained control over cities taken during the invasions, there are growing fears that their worn-out soldiers may not be able to hold off another round of attacks. Besides, Montigan became aware of the imminent threat to their existence when the Mars Census Bureau’s yearly report revealed that Montigan’s population had dipped below the approved standard to be considered a country.

On day 26 of Mars year 3978, the prime minister of Montigan, Zinx Harlem, met with his top Army and Navy generals in a secret meeting to discuss Montigan’s future. Harlem expressed in his historic speech a plan to alleviate their population crisis, The last twenty years of war with our neighbors has devastated our country and military. Mr. Harlem continued with a stern look and trembling voice, Fortunately, we successfully crushed our enemies and won the wars, but not without big sacrifices, bloodsheds, and the loss of many millions of civilians. The Census Bureau report indicates we may not be able to rebuild our population number until well into the next century. Therefore, I propose opening our borders to friendly countries and offering permanent citizenships.

The table erupted in an angry discussion among the Army and Navy generals over Harlem’s proposal. After recovering from many devastating wars, it was too soon to safely open the borders and admit those who might again have plans to annex Montigan under their territory. Yet, all acknowledged that something significant must be done to replenish the country’s diminished population.

General Amitoff, the chief of the military command, stood and addressed Mr. Harlem his concern, Sir. I’m speaking on behalf of many of us who fought hard to secure our border. We cannot allow our frontier to be open freely. Who can we trust now? We must have a better plan. He then turned at the attendees and earnestly said, Well, Generals. Does anyone have other recommendations?

There was significant applause as the general sat down. Suddenly, a woman’s voice was heard that broke the moment of silence. Ms. Jomando, a beautiful young bald Martian with large blue eyes and wrinkled ivory skin, earned the attention of the gathering when she elaborated, I believe our CIA agents are capable of bringing Earth humans here. Our AIA officials will work with any chosen CIA agents to support their mission to Earth.

Mr. Harlem was surprised to hear his junior advisor making an outburst at such an important meeting. Still, the interruption had momentarily taken away some of the stings from the defeat of the open border plan. What kind of support would be needed to assure the success of this mission if undertaken? Mr. Harlem asked, glaring at her.

Ms. Jomando shrugged her shoulders, suddenly self-conscious that her input had made her a visual target of the generals and perhaps her boss. Avoiding eye contact with the generals, she defended her credible population solution. I know I am only a junior adviser, but let’s not overlook something, that by all recent indications, might deliver a successful outcome without risking opening our border.

Mr. Harlem regained control of the meeting when boisterous chattering suddenly erupted over Ms. Jomando’s insinuation of invading the Earth. Well, we can take our junior advisor’s proposal to our CIA and AIA top officials and see how far this plan will take us. This meeting is adjourned, Mr. Harlem said as he turned off the microphone and stepped off the podium.

As the attendees crowded the exit, Mr. Harlem motioned to Ms. Jomando to stay. He caught the eye of his office assistant, Ms. Grinto, and asked her to bring in his usual request for refreshments. Ms. Jomando, not sure how well her input had been perceived by her boss, walked tentatively toward the seat Mr. Harlem had pulled out for her.

Mr. Harlem took his time, glaring at Ms. Jomando. You had a lot of nerve recommending an unapproved proposal at my meeting without consulting me first!

Before he could continue, Ms. Grinto knocked on the door and placed some refreshments on the table: A steaming cup of Hancho, sweet black jelly balls, and a bowl of Conshika, his favorite comfort food—crunchy red and green cheese-like balls. Ms. Grinto waited quietly until Mr. Harlem waved her away, letting her go with a weak, Thank you.

Mr. Harlem wasn’t distracted from enjoying his Conshika, watching her shift her seating position, seemed trying to stifle the emotions ballooning inside as tears began flowing. When their eyes met, she brushed away tears off her cheeks, then calmly said, Mr. Harlem, I was only trying to help and didn’t mean any disrespect, Sir.

Mr. Harlem squinted at her just enough to keep her in the hot seat. While I am angry that you spoke up, Ms. Jomando, you did give me the perfect excuse to end the meeting early. I also think your proposal might have some merit. However, in the future, discuss any of your suggestions with me before hashing them with my men. Is that clear?

Ms. Jomando nodded in relief. Thank you, Sir.

As he became busy picking his next snack from the tray, Ms. Jomando excused herself and swiftly bolted the conference room.

Mr. Harlem munched on the last Conshika ball before walking out of the arena, passing the hall to his office. After settling in his comfortable armchair, he clicked the phone for a direct call with the CIA Director’s secretary. Mr. Portmen, please.

Mr. Portmen, a tall, bald, middle-aged Martian with brown eyes and heavily wrinkled skin, politely asked,

What may I help you with, Mr. Harlem?

I need to see you about something of national importance.

I am free tomorrow morning at nine. What do you have on your mind?

I think we should discuss it in private tomorrow.

All right then, I’ll be expecting you. Good day.

Harlem gazed out the window at the endless stream of hovercars speeding along on the air expressway—wondered if he wasn’t making a mistake trying to resurrect an Earth invasion plan at this critical time.

* * * * *

As planned, Mr. Harlem stepped into Mr. Portmen’s office at CIA Headquarters precisely at 9:00 a.m. Ah, yes. There you are…right on time!

Mr. Portmen shot Mr. Harlem a curious look—offered him a seat after shaking his hand. Our telephone conversation yesterday worried me a bit. National importance, you said!

Harlem shot Mr. Portmen a worrisome look. Listen, here. What I’m about to tell you is confidential and cannot leave this office. There is unhappy news coming from the Supreme Court which, our president has just become aware of. The court has declared that we cannot remain independent or call Montigan a country. We are below the minimum population level required to form a recognized country, which puts us in an awful position.

Mr. Portmen relaxed his back in his chair. I heard about our population crisis but wasn’t aware of the Supreme Court decision.

Harlem hoped Portman could help as Ms. Jomando had suggested. We’re indeed facing a dreadful situation as a country at this point. We may be annexed to one of our neighbors if we fail to raise our population counts significantly. On the positive side, the Supreme Court has delayed executing this decision for a year to allow us to work out an annexation plan on our terms. However, we do not want to be usurped by anyone! We have pride in our independence and our country.

Harlem scratched his scaly hand before continuing, Well, yesterday, during our meeting with the Military and Navy generals, Ms. Jomando proposed sending CIA agents to Earth to bring humans here. I know we had some success with Earth invasion in the past. What do you think about this idea? The president and I hope you might have a solution to our population problem.

Portmen felt a sense of pride hearing Mr. Harlem asking for his help. I heard from many of my associates about Ms. Jomando’s proposal, and yes, the CIA can help. We have been training our top CIA agents for quite a while to invade the Earth and would like you to meet those I had selected for the mission.

Of course, Harlem muttered, pleased for the rescue.

Mr. Portmen opened the door—craned his neck out into the hall. An army guard standing at the door saluted him. Bring the four agents waiting in the lounge, he commanded.

Yes, Sir. The guard left.

The guard ushered inside four men in army combat uniform in a few minutes. Sir. They’re here. He said, stepping aside, watching them walking in before returning to his post at the door.

Mr. Portmen shared a smile with the agents before saying, Mr. Harlem. Meet my top human CIA agents I’d selected for the mission.

The four human CIA agents doffed their military caps then lined up shoulder to shoulder. They were all over six feet tall, between twenty and twenty-four years old, hairs combed back in ponytails, physically fit, and well-built.

Mr. Portmen seemed thrilled, parading his dedicated men. Mr. Harlem, meet my finest human CIA agents, Steve Hamlet, David Conway, Andrew Holloway, and Tom Steinway.

Mr. Harlem, a tall, middle-aged Martian with big brown eyes and wrinkled lizard-like skin, couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He rose from his chair with a keen interest on his face, walked around the four men, brushing his rough, wrinkled, scaly hand over their faces then feeling the texture of their long hair. Nothing had prepared him for the vast differences between Martian men and these fascinating hybrids—resembled art in their beauty, something seldom seen on Mars. Mr. Harlem took his time staring at each agent before mumbling. Amazing creatures. Full head of hair and smooth, soft skin!

Mr. Harlem, satisfied with his examination, returned to his seat and, after a thoughtful moment of silence, asked, How are these humans surviving our atmosphere?

Aha! An excellent question, Mr. Harlem, he said, walking to the first agent, Tom Steinway, asking him to unbutton his front shirt before pointing at a one-inch scar above the sternum. To breathe our air, our engineers designed those organic, flexible microchips that adapted to humans’ connective tissues and programmed them to chemically convert our air into Earth gasses for humans to breathe. Our top surgeons had meshed them in each of our humans’ windpipes.

Mr. Harlem continued to admire the four agents, being most impressed with their hair and skin. Can these beautiful creatures be used to replicate?

Mr. Portmen dismissed the four agents—heaved a sigh of relief, then said, I think you’ll have to ask Dr. Conrak—our top DNA research analyst and the director of the Genealogy Science Department. You will get better answers from him.

Mr. Harlem squinted. Why haven’t you selected one of the Martian CIA agents, Mr. Portmen? I’m thinking of where their loyalties ultimately lie. Those human CIA agents might decide not to come back. Have you thought about this possibility?

Mr. Portmen cast a hard look at him before saying, Even though those human men created in our science lab, they grew here just like other Martians born and raised on Mars, and I have no doubt they would be the first in the line defending Montigan.

Mr. Portmen continued, dismissing his mental note of Mr. Harlem’s smug look, While I do believe our Martian CIA agents are capable of invading the Earth, they have apparent disadvantages. As you know, they are not human, don’t speak the Earth language, and they lack the stamina for this delicate mission while those human CIA agents have exceptional motivation for the task.

Portmen absentmindedly walked to take a peek at the CIA campus quad through the wide-view window before continuing, You see. I have trained those human agents for many years, but I do understand your concern. Give them a chance to let them prove to you they’re the right men for this mission.

When Mr. Harlem seemed still unconvinced, crossing his arms, giving him a doubtful look, Portmen realized then having unanimous approval to send human agents to Earth might not be an easy task as he thought.

Mr. Harlem stood and walked to the door—held it open, flashing a wry grin before asking, When will you begin preparing those humans for the Earth mission?

Mr. Portmen sensed some insincerity in Mr. Harlem’s grin and thought of reciprocating it but then changed his mind. Very soon, Mr. Harlem, very soon.

* * * * *

Cranwix Conrak, the head of the DNA Research Team and Director of the Genealogy Science Department, is a lanky seventy-three-year-old, bald Martian with large brown eyes and dry, wrinkled skin. He shook hands with Mr. Harlem, Ms. Jomando, and Mr. Portmen and welcomed them into his office.

After taking seats, Mr. Harlem received a text from Mr. President, Urgent, stop by my office, asap. Harlem’s arrogant appearance suddenly appeared deflated, dreading facing the president empty-handed, muttering after tucking his phone away, Excuse the interruption, but I’ve got to go. The president wants to see me urgently.

I believe the urgency has to do with Montigan’s population crisis and the Supreme Court’s decision. Why don’t we all go and meet with him! Mr. Portmen suggested.

The four Martians flew over to the Presidential Palace and walked into his office. Mr. Galleham, the middle-aged president of Montigan, is a good-looking Martian with a beautiful smile, large brown eyes, a bald head, and heavily wrinkled skin. He eagerly greeted Mr. Harlem and his companions, then motioned for them to sit on the oversized regal chairs and asked his assistant to bring refreshments.

Mr. Harlem introduced Dr. Conrak’s line of work and gave his impression of the four human CIA agents before revealing Mr. Portman’s intention about sending them to Earth. Mr. President seemed fascinated, listening to Harlem’s depiction of the human CIA agents. He sat next to Dr. Conrak and asked, What do you know about those human agents?

Dr. Conrak cleared his throat. "Yes, Mr. President. Seventy years ago, Agnum Rockton, our legendary astronomer and genealogist, invaded the Earth and brought human blood samples here. Rockton obtained the blood to do his experiments, intending to alter our DNA’s genetic coding.

Rockton worked for many years in his lab, analyzing human blood, and had succeeded in creating special serum from the extracted two essential human chromosomes that help promote hair growth and rejuvenate skin. He injected the serum into a group of young females, hoping to gestate babies with a full head of hair and smooth skin. Unfortunately, none of the babies delivered had a head of hair or smooth skin. He continued trying for many years, but his experiments had failed to alter our DNA molecule structure. He eventually died forgotten, and his project died with him.

Dr. Conrak stretched his aching back before continuing, With our advanced genetic software, our young post-graduate genealogists experimented on the human blood, using the micro-fusion technique fertilizing the DNA mixture with zygotic cells. Within a month, we observed live embryos floating in the mixture, but they didn’t survive long enough in the vials.

He heaved a long sigh then propped his back to the chair. Dr. Shnizer, our top biologist, analyzed the testing results report and identified two missing essential chromosomes. He went on extracting them from the umbilical cords of well-developed Martian fetuses to formulate a serum then injected it under an optical microscope into each of the DNA molecules in the fermented gene mix.

Dr. Conrak chuckled. "I remember vividly that day at the meeting with my colleague scientists and engineers when Dr. Shnizer screamed. We ran to his lab—found him gasping for air while pointing at a lineup of tubes. We inched closer to examine them—saw several bubble-like capsules floating in a clear fluid in each vial. He motioned to look closer into one of the capsules’ contents. I still get a chill down my spine, remembering that triumphant moment of discovery, witnessing in each capsule a living embryo snuggled in its amniotic fluid.

We’d finally succeeded in creating embryos, each encapsulated in its amniotic sac. We nurtured the fetuses inside incubators using computerized robotic placentae to provide appropriate earth gasses and organic nutrients. Our team of biologists carefully monitored and recorded their growth as they became fully developed human babies. It was an exciting time, to say the least!

The president asked, mulling over what he had just heard, What about fusing human sperm with Martian female eggs? Has that been tried?

Dr. Conrak wiped his bifocal glasses with a tissue before putting them back on. When we realized we were running out of Earth female blood, we initiated the crossbreeding experiments—direct copulation between Earth males and a group of Martian females.

Ms. Jomando gasped. Mr. President motioned for her to calm down. She apologized—remained silent, eagerly waiting to hear the results of such unsanctioned experiments.

Dr. Conrak continued, "We had several successful pregnancies, but none had brought to term—lasted a mere two months, at which a dangerous miscarriage occurred. The hemorrhaging risk to our Martian female subjects was determined to be dangerously high. We stopped impregnating the young females and began the experiment in fertilizing Martian eggs with human sperms in a test tube.

After extracting the young females’ eggs, our top biologists injected some of the selected eggs with human male sperms using every technique we had developed. We thought we had achieved success when several viable embryos appeared in the tubes. Unfortunately, they all died before becoming fetuses. I believe there is a subtle discrepancy between the atomic gene nucleus structure in ours and humans’ that we have yet to understand. It is that unknown difference that keeps our crossbreeding attempts from succeeding.

The president shot Dr. Conrak a curious look before asking, I know that Mr. Harlem has let you know the dire situation our country is in and how our low population leaves us open to annexation. Dr. Conrak, would you recommend sending those human creatures to Earth as Mr. Portmen suggested?

Dr. Conrak gave the president a thoughtful pause before explaining, Mr. President. The Earth invasion is a must. We badly needed human female blood to create more human males. If we obtain just a few drops of female blood samples, we can have many, many trained agents available to both defend the country and grow the population in a matter of a few short years. The agents we have already produced are the proof of that process.

The president cast a pleasant look at Mr. Portmen. How many of those creatures do we have, and when will you send them to Earth? He asked.

Mr. Portmen beamed. We’ve fifty, Sir. I have selected four of them whom I believe are exceptional and need just a short time to prepare for the Earth mission. Mr. President, I urge you to come to our CIA Earth Fortress and see for yourself.

Mr. Galleham glanced at Harlem before eyeing Portmen. When Harlem and I spoke earlier, he expressed some worries about sending those creatures to Earth. From what I’ve heard today, I don’t share those concerns. Start fast-tracking training and get them on their way. I would like to see this invasion of Earth begin as soon as possible, he said before eyes darted at the other guests. Thank you all for coming today.

Mr. Galleham shook hands with his guests before patting Mr. Portmen’s shoulder. Keep me up-to-date with the Earth invasion.

Yes, Sir. I will.

Mr. Portmen left the Presidential Palace, feeling ten feet tall after earning Mr. president’s support to send human CIA agents to invade the Earth.

Chapter 2

The Four Human Agents

I am Steve Hamlet, one of the four human CIA agents selected for the Earth mission. The other three agents were David Conway, Andrew Holloway, and Tom Steinway. I have decided to tell you our life stories from the day we were created to the day we accomplished our mission on Earth.

I don’t have a clue about much of my childhood, but I do remember running around and playing with other boys in a place similar to a giant science lab, dressed in the same uniform and called Mr. Tromik, Daddy. While founding out later that Mr. Tromik was not my biological father or, for that matter, the biological father of any of the other boys, though, he treated us as if we were his children. He was kind but firm when we misbehaved, and he encouraged us to challenge ourselves and find our inner strength so as to grow into healthy adults. We were never allowed to go outside the building compound as children. However, when we became teenagers, we were relocated to the CIA Headquarters Educational Division. There we were trained for years by Zelox Portmen and his team to become engineers, scientists, soldiers, and even astronauts. I met Tom, David, and Andrew there during the military training and became close friends.

For some reason, the four of us stood out. We were identified as exceptionally skilled in advanced math, science, and technology and enrolled in one of the campus’s boarding schools, with only us in all classes. Our professors called us overachievers and highly talented students. At the time, we did not understand the reasoning behind our special treatment, but whatever had thrown the four of us together was reinforced when later we learned we were not Martians. That knowledge cemented our bonds of friendship and set us on a long journey to locate our roots on Earth.

Soon after locating us to a boarding school, we became accustomed to one another’s unique and perhaps quirky personalities. The youngest of the group is Andrew. Besides being a great cook, a singer, and a musical genius, Andrew is flamboyant, with hazel eyes, long brown wavy hair, and a wicked sense of humor.

David, the handsome one, has piercing blue eyes and waist-length black wavy hair. He loves to play the drums and takes any opportunity to dance. We nicknamed him Wise Man as he usually says little, then blurts out the most ingenious ideas or answers.

Tom is the shy one. Behind his charming and impressive smile, he is another musical genius who loves to play guitar and piano—shakes his long brown hair to any bouncy beat until you can’t see anything but his smile.

Lastly is me, Steve, the tallest, with green eyes and long wavy black hair—love to sing, dance, and play guitar. My friends describe me as a stubborn, strict, selfish coward, lacking confidence, and having no sense of humor. I strongly disagree with their assessment of me, but they all agree that I’m a great leader. My Martian superior believe my friends are not mature enough to discuss any critical matter with them.

After graduating, we were relocated to live together in a mansion within the CIA Earth Fortress. The fort contains many mansions, and all graduate human CIA agents and trainees live there, which is why they call it the Earth Fortress. On a map, the fort compound is located southeast of the CIA Headquarters, where Mr. Portmen has his office and training center.

The fortress is guarded by soldiers—ready to kill any intruder and barricaded by the exterior walls that crowned with layers of shocking electrical wires. Several video cameras were strategically mounted at the walls and monitored by guards in the central control room. While we were told the heavy security is to protect us, the human CIA agents, we believe it is mainly to monitor us until needed.

At the west side of the fort, there are three large pumping stations methodically positioned between two gigantic water reservoirs. One pumping station gathers river water and conveys it into the first reservoir. The second pumping station takes water from the first reservoir and processes a chemical fusion to generate Earth gasses before draining the treated water into the second reservoir. The treated water would eventually be pumped into underground pipes to be utilized for Human Agents’ needs and for irrigating the Greenhouse greenery.

We have Twenty Earth Greenhouse structures on the Fort’s east side stretched on a quarter-mile-long strip. Each has several pumps that irrigate many Earth vegetables, fruits, and even flowers. Martian gardeners with specialized training in Earth horticulture diligently work to ensure vigorous crops and bountiful harvests.

On the northwest side, behind the mansions, is a well over a mile-long tarmac strip for our fifty hovercars—each can take off vertically and accelerate at high speed into the air. I later learned Earth humans refer to our hovercars as flying saucers. To us, they are just speeders.

The traffic control building sits at the west side corner of the parking structure area, where Air traffic agents inside monitor the comings and goings of hovercars and interrogate any that enter the fortress airspace without prior authorization. Several CIA guards patrol the tarmac area to prevent the joyriding and outright theft of the cars.

The main entrance of the fortress is lined with polished white marble pillars flanked by majestic firs and opens to a quarter-mile-long black and white marble tiled trail that leads to a sizeable Venetian fountain with hidden lights that illuminate its waterspouts. The fountain is built over a circular base having seven crushed Carrara marble paths radiating from its center toward the secluded mansions. Each of the mansions’ exterior side walls shares a line of beautiful citrus and cherry trees, and between the trees are flowery beds of various hybrids of aromatic flora. We occupy the central mansion—the biggest of the estates.

Before walking you into one of our mansions, you need to understand the Martians who supported and raised us from childhood meticulously built them to resemble Earth’s dwellings. So, while we are on Mars, we live as we were on Earth—to fit into its society when we get there.

Building the mansions began when enough data signals were collected and decoded from Earth satellites and the many documents the early astronauts brought back to Mars. After having enough information about planet Earth, the CIA Human Department spent years developing scale model replicas of Earth buildings, appliances, furniture, music, movies, and even food from the data gathered. All items in our mansion are duplicates of the original models now archived and stored inside the Earth Library.

Our mansion’s front double door opens to a spacious marble-tiled foyer. A beautiful rainbow-colored crystal chandelier hangs from the Tudor-style ceiling above. Beyond the entryways is a grand open area leading to a wide marble staircase with carved wooden banisters to add elegancy to the stairway and a quick means to get from upstairs to downstairs.

The living room is furnished with two Victorian sofas and two matching love seats covered in a Paisley patterned fabric. At one corner of the family room is the entertainment center—several musical instruments propped up against a large window. The kitchen has dozens of copper and stainless-steel pots and pans hanging from hooks suspended from the ceiling. A hydrogen-burning stove, microwave, freezer, and refrigerator propped along one wall while the adjacent one is covered with a built-in unit of white cabinets with leaded glass doors for storing fine china and glassware.

The dining room is on the west side of the kitchen, having a centerpiece of medieval-style mahogany dining table with eight rough carved high-back chairs tucked around it. There are several large posters of famous Earth Movie Stars hung along a wall in the dining area: Marilyn Monroe, Elvis Presley, Sofia Loren, Brigitte Bardot, Clark Gable, and Humphrey Bogart—all created from earth satellite data signals and other items brought back from Earth by Agnum Rockton and his crew.

We have six spacious bedrooms on the second floor along a carpeted hallway. David occupies the first bedroom; Tom, the second; Andrew, the third; and I reside in the fourth bedroom. I remember one evening we were watching a movie in David’s bedroom—the 1959 film, Some Like It Hot, starring Marilyn Monroe with Tony Curtis and Jack Lemon. Like all other Montiguese subtitled Earth movies we watched, scenes concerning human behavior are repeated several times to reflect our opinions in a discussion, analyzing the motives. This particular movie had scenes depicting a male pursuing a female’s love, which was deemed critical enough to repeat several times.

Andrew has always wanted to be an actor, and this evening, after the movie had ended, he stood up and said, When we go to Earth, I want to be a movie star like Jack Lemon or Tony Curtis and marry an Earth girl like Marilyn Monroe.

I had warned David and Tom not to argue with Andrew because when he gets angry, he stops fixing us dinner. However, this time, I had to speak up and tell him that it would be too dangerous for the mission objectives to get any publicity at all. That killed Andrew’s good mood, but he did make dinner. He wasn’t entirely offended, just eager to get away from the gilded cage to pursue females on Earth.

Besides speaking Montiguese, the official Martian language, we’ve mastered American English and Spanish. From childhood, we were schooled in these languages every year so that our invasion of Earth would have a higher chance of success. Knowing several Earth languages would also help us locate our blood relatives if the Earth mission became a reality. The four of us secretly longed for that day.

I remember reading The Little Earth, a textbook by geologist Monrax Triaxon. One of his articles acknowledged planet Earth’s advancement in technology and science over time—supported by extensive data analyses and references. Although Triaxon featured what he believed were evolutionary changes, he concluded that Earth is still plodding behind Mars by two millennia in technology and science.

* * * * *

When I was a child, I asked my teachers why didn’t I have parents and didn’t look like other children attending the school? Why wasn’t I bald? Why didn’t I have wrinkled skin? All teachers’ answers were the same: You look different because you’re not Martian and have no parents because you were created in a science lab from humans’ blood.

They never said it in a mean way, but just as something truthful, I had to accept. They never made me feel like an outsider. We’re Montiguese no matter how we look so different from others.

While growing up, I became more determined to learn about my ancestors on Earth. When the four of us shared the same mansion, we decided to work together to solve the riddle of our existence and perhaps locate our blood relatives on Earth. Our fervent hopes and dreams became a reality when we were selected for the Earth mission. On that day, we were all ecstatic and decided to make a special trip to the CIA library, where we began to unravel the mystery of our origins.

In the CIA library, there is an entire wing dedicated to Earth. The exhibit is overflowing with actual items from Earth: CDs, movies, electronic devices, books, magazines, maps, pictures, furniture, cooking equipment, real Earth animals filled with an inert material to make them look lifelike, and historical artifacts galore.

In the Earth exhibit, it is permissible to pick up and examine the items on display. As we were rummaging through a box of interesting electronic gadgets, we saw Mr. Portmen entering the library. He smiled and waved when he saw us, then leaned over and said something to the librarian, Casba Permink.

Ms. Permink is a young female Martian with beautiful green eyes, bald with finely wrinkled ivory skin, and a slender body. After Mr. Portmen left, she walked out of her reception area, beaming at us with a disarming smile. Hello, Gentlemen. Mr. Portmen told me to give you a tour of the Earth exhibit and answer any questions you might have. Why don’t you follow me, and we’ll start with the Big Red!

We followed her to a roped-off corner that didn’t appear to have anything of interest. She unhooked the black cord from its clasp then walked us closer to a dusty red rock on the floor. Go ahead, touch it. It’s okay, she said, giving us a curious look. One by one, we touched the ordinary-appearing red rock and gave one another confused looks.

Ms. Permink paused to braid Andrew’s ponytail, then continued, seeing us looking at her, I know it doesn’t look like much, but this is the very rock the famous astronauts Agnum Rockton and his crew used to mark their buried spaceship.

David squinted. Would this be the rock from the Grand Canyon?

Ms. Permink seemed surprised to hear David knew something about Earth. "Have you read Mr. Rockton’s book, Down to Earth?"

David shot us a smug look, hearing her interested in his opinion. No, I haven’t. But read it somewhere, can’t remember where.

Ms. Permink beamed. Oh, wow! Let me show you something.

She walked us to another corner of the exhibit and stood next to a large map titled the United States of America, and pointed to an area on the map circled with a red marker. Check this out. That’s the location where his spaceship had landed, she said, stepping aside. We moved closer and read the English word written in the circled area, Arizona.

Ms. Permink’s eyes glowed with excitement as she elaborated, After landing on the Grand Canyon in Arizona, the ship penetrated the sandy bottom and stayed hidden until departure.

Ms. Permink. How did Mr. Rockton and his crew manage to obtain human blood samples? I absentmindedly asked.

Ms. Permink didn’t answer—attentively absorbed in finishing braiding Andrew’s ponytail. When I shot her a glare, she apologized then motioned for us to follow her—walking playfully, crossing the hallway, before standing at a locked room with the title, Space Voyager Pioneers Wing, written on the wall above the door. She glanced adoringly at Andrew, then eyed us. I think you’ll enjoy touring this room.

She swung the door open and held the door open for us. Suddenly, we couldn’t stop sneezing. After a couple of minutes, our nostrils become accustomed to the irritating atmosphere laced with musky dusty particles. On display were the original pioneer’s astronaut suits and a table covered with strewn items, many of Earth books and magazines, besides several blood drawing types of equipment, anesthetic syringes, and various sleeping pills used to knock out humans.

She gave us some time to look on our own before drawing our attention to the three space pilot suits worn by Mannequins—pointing at the middle one. Here’s Agnum Rockton’s spacesuit.

The suit is made of white nylon fabric, covering the Mannequin from head to toe except for the face. The rubbery ball affixed firmly over the dummy’s nostrils is a part of the flexible breathing hose that loops around the neck, and the hose’s end is attached to a small box that appeared affixed at the outer hood’s center.

She pointed at the little box. Here’s the computerized breather with a microchip built inside that runs several multi-task subroutines to chemically convert Earth’s atmosphere into Mars’ gasses to breathe.

As we examined the breather box, she said with a chuckle, Fortunately, none of the crew had captured while wearing this kind of suit on Earth—humans might not have responded positively to their invasion.

David shot her a look of disbelief. Are you serious? No one saw them wearing these weird-looking suits? Then, explain how Mr. Rockton and his team drew blood from humans and brought here several items without being seen!

Ms. Permink wasn’t sure why David seemed angry at her—decided to end the tour, feeling disappointed for David had ruined her bubbly mood. Sir, your question is beyond my library job description, and I suggest you speak with Mr. Portmen to answer your question.

Andrew stopped her from walking away. Wait before you go. Do you have any videos or pictures of Agnum Rockton’s Earth mission?

She inched closer to him. I used to have videos, but now they are considered classified. You will need to speak with Mr. Portmen. Have a nice day.

She turned and walked away, leaving us with more questions than answers.

* * * * *

The following day, we flew our hovercar over to the CIA Headquarters for a scheduled meeting with our Top Superior, Zelox Portmen. We all presumed he must be worried about the rumor circulating among human CIA agents that Mr. Harlem believes we might not return if sent to Earth. Mr. Portmen was standing at the door when he shook our hands and let us into his office. How excited are you about your Earth mission? he absently asked, eyes down, reading a text message on his phone.

I glanced at Tom before looking back at him. Sir, I believe we are all happy, aren’t we, Tom?

When Tom shrugged his shoulders, I turned to David and Andrew, who both looked puzzled at his question. David replied, feeling a bit confused, Of course, we’re happy. Is there something you would like to talk about, Sir?

We heard a knock on the door; he opened it after tucking the phone in his jacket pocket, and a guard handed him a note. He read it as he slowly closed the door before dropping it on his desk, then said mumbling, seemed occupied with his thoughts, Sorry, I’ve got an important meeting with the president. Then cocked an eye on me. Steve, go with your friends to see Koman Honton at the Space Station Center and have him start your Earth mission training.

I presumed he was angry at Mr. Harlem from his stern facial expression.

* * * * *

Mr. Portmen grabbed his briefcase and left the office, took the elevator to the parking area, and jumped on the people mover for a brief ride to his hovercar. He punched in the Presidential Palace coordinates and took off with his security guard. They spiraled up to the sky lane for the short flight before landing in the VIP tarmac strip and walked the short distance to the Presidential Palace’s office.

President Galleham was waiting at the door, greeted him with a handshake, then offered him a chair to sit. A moment later, Mr. Harlem sneaked in through the back door and took a seat across from him. There was an awkward moment of silence while the two reciprocated a glare.

The president walked across the room and sat next to Mr. Portmen gently patted his shoulder. Portmen, I have always admired your dedication to the defense of this country, and I do not doubt your intentions for sending those humans to Earth.

President Galleham stood up and began pacing the floor. However, Mr. Harlem has provided some worrisome data that indicates those human CIA agents may not want to come back once they reach the Earth. If that happens, it might jeopardize our national security and the future of our country. We are at a crossroads already with our diminished population and the Supreme Court’s ruling that we may have to allow ourselves to be annexed by one of our neighbors who has already waged war against us. That must never happen.

Mr. Portmen unclasped his briefcase, pulling out a file marked Classified. He thought—the file content would definitely blunt Harlem’s ambush. After handing the file to the president, he explained the content, Mr. President, please read the first two pages about those four human CIA agents. His voice became shaky when the president dropped the file on his desk without looking at it, prompting Portmen to swallow before saying, Mr. President, I wish you had taken me up on my offer to come and meet with them. If you had done so, this meeting would not have been necessary.

When the president stood there, ogling him with arms crossed, Portmen continued, Mr. President, as I mentioned in our last meeting, I chose those human CIA agents because of their skills, knowledge, and their intellectual abilities. Besides, they are a perfect fit for this mission. Mr. President, those human agents learned how to speak in the Earth’s language tongue and had excelled the BDTO test, while our Martian agents had failed it miserably.

Mr. Galleham shot him a curious yet confused look. What is this BDTO test?

Portmen was pleased that the president had finally shown a bit of interest. BDTO—Blood Disease and Treatment Option—one of the many courses required to earn a college degree. Now, the BDTO test has two parts. The first requires the trainees to serve a ten-week internship at Heavengo Hospital, assisting blood research doctors in analyzing drawn blood for any disease and suggesting a treatment that leads to a cure. The second part is an eight-hour oral and written exam, and a certificate ensues upon completing the training. All the four chosen human CIA agents passed with very high scores, and Steve Hamlet continued his studies to earn a doctoral degree. By the way, none of our Martian agents has achieved that to date. I’m sorry to say.

Portmen stood up and walked to the window, looking over the manicured gardens below, then eyed the president. I somewhat agree with Mr. Harlem. Yes, there is a slight chance those human agents might not want to return. Any risky operation is doomed to have unpleasant outcomes, but those agents’ temperament and training results indicate they will put Montigan ahead of any personal desires. Besides, as you well know, our intercommunication specialists will be monitoring the mission closely to ensure its success. As you have said, Mr. President, we cannot afford to fail, he said, then sat down—exhausted, waiting for a response.

The president grabbed the unread file and handed it back to him. I wish I had taken you upon your first offer to meet your human CIA agents. Fast-track their training and let me know if you need anything. He then shot Harlem a stern look. I think I’ve done as much as I could to mitigate your concerns about those young human CIA agents. Make sure Mr. Portmen and his team get all needed materials and adequate funding from our Treasury Department to embark on the Earth mission.

Harlem was somewhat upset that the meeting had ended in Portmen’s favor, but he didn’t have anything solid to stop the chosen human CIA agents from being sent to Earth. He stood up and nodded. Yes, Mr. President.

Portmen was almost in tears as he thanked the president before leaving. Years of effort and hard work to train those human agents could have obliterated in an instant because of Harlem’s persistent interference. He said to himself—the mission must not wait any longer. After leaving the Presidential Palace, he launched the hovercar and entered the Space Center Station.

He’s now more determined than ever to make sure his four human CIA agents are ready and in their final training for the mission. Flying to the Space Station, Portman had calmed down from meeting the president and was now driven to move things along as fast as possible so nothing would get in his way again. It had been a short flight in the hovercar along the air express lane going south out of the city. Judging by the shadows, it was getting late—must hurry to catch Koman Honton in his office.

* * * * *

When Portmen arrived, he looked surprised to see us sitting on a bench next to Mr. Honton’s office. How was your meeting, Mr. Portmen? I asked, flashing a grin.

Mr. Portmen seemed angry and disregarded my question. Why are you sitting here, Steve? You should all be inside working with Honton.

I felt myself blushing like a scolded child. Mr. Honton asked us to wait here until he finishes his skype telecast conference.

Suddenly, I saw his smile fade away—eyes narrowed, jaw muscles began twitching, hands rounded into fists. He raced over to Mr. Honton’s office—kicked the door repeatedly until the frame cracked, breaking down the glass sheet into pieces of shards. He strutted into the room like a victorious general only to find Honton sitting at his desk—stopped listening to one of the three Martians talking on the big TV screen to look at Portmen with eyes wide open and dropped jaw. He commented sheepishly, ogling the broken door for a second before eyeing him, Mr. Portmen. I wasn’t expecting you today. I’m actually in the middle of some important government business at the moment.

Mr. Portmen’s face turned red beet, furious, catching the sight of three Martians on the big screen, staring at him. He reached over, snatching the remote control off Hunton’s handgrip, absentmindedly pressing the Off button before hammering the remote repeatedly on the edge of the desk till it splits into halves. Mr. Portmen threw his half on the floor and stared fiercely at him. Listen here, Honton. Those are my four best CIA agents. The president gave the mission a go and included massive state funding. For you, my friend, the Earth mission takes precedence over anything you call government business. I want you to get off your butt and start the training immediately. I want them to know every detail of Agnum Rockton’s journey to Earth. Can I rely on you to get my men ready?

Mr. Honton was shaking behind his desk. He’d just been brought down a few notches by Mr. Portmen for not prioritizing our training. Yes, Sir. I’m working with Mr. Thermon to prepare your men for the mission, and I understand its criticality and the need to prioritize it above other tasks. I was planning on sending you periodic updates of their Earth mission status as soon as I can.

Weekly status reports, Mr. Portmen replied with a more normal tone of voice.