“What’s the situation?” The President tapped his pencil restlessly on the desk. He was sitting in a room, quiet with panic, with The National Security Council. They were awaiting news from The Deputy Secretary of Defense in the Tarfayan military base.
“How long has it been?” asked The President. “Two hours and 17 minutes, Sir.” He tapped some more.
This won’t do.
He tapped more minutes away.
“We just received a message,” a voice said through the computer. His heart dropped. “Ms. Miller is translating it.”
This won’t do at all, a planetary crisis is before us, and we have to depend on a dumb girl still wet behind the ears for communication.
“They want to speak to The Prophet, Sir. How do we respond?” Just what we needed, a Prophet!
He got up and walked to the window. “You don’t. I am going there myself.”
“Mr. President!”
“It’s dangerous for you to go in person!”
“Please reconsider!”
His council members barked at each other. They neither knew who these uninvited guests were nor what they intended.
Sending the head of state to the forefront of the unknown could have catastrophic results, so they reasoned, but the president was set on going. “Prepare the jet,” he ordered, his mind unchanged.
What do I have to lose? The world is ending anyway, and our only hope is parked there.
When he first ran for office, President Remerfield longed for the control he would exercise over the strongest nation on earth. He anticipated the power he would hold; he fantasized about it more than green boys dreamt of cunt. Never in his life did he think he would one day be making decisions about the survival of the entire human race, of the entire earth. Never did he think that such a conversation would need to be with Aliens, but desperate situations require desperate measures.
They did not know what they looked like or what they intended, granted, but if negotiations for boarding were a possibility, he did not trust that task to anyone but himself.
“The jet is ready, Mr. President.”
On the eight-hour flight, the president was informed that the aliens had sent yet another message requesting to talk to The Prophet. I bet she is translating it like that on purpose. Prophet! He could not help but distrust the girl and the information she gave them however consistent it was with what they had translated from The Temple. Now, with the arrival of this new predicament, it was not her truthfulness alone under scrutiny, but also her allegiance. How can he be sure that she is not in league with this other prophet?
With all these questions plaguing his mind and all the uncertainties and variables at play, President Remerfield still could not kill the hope bubbling in his heart. Maybe this could be their entrance ticket to The Selection.
Whatever in their hearts dwells, we shall gift.
“Mr. President,” his secretary pulled him out of his thoughts, “Ambassador Roberts just informed us that the Secretary-General is pressing her for answers and that he is demanding information on the situation.”
Just what I needed, the UN on my back. Let them moan. I didn’t make a nuclear energy deal with these barbarians to let that council of pussies tell me what to do. And God knows the last thing I need is Arabs building nukes in basements.
“Tell her to inform them of nothing. What they don’t know can’t hurt them. If they had closed off that road as I suggested, word wouldn’t have gotten out. What a bunch of imbeciles!” He begrudged the national road near the temple, now packed with reporters and news vans.
As they neared land, his council members abandoned their seats and lined up by the windows. A jet-black craft was parked midair atop the ocean. It was big and unnaturally still, as long as his Air Force One, but tenfolds wider. The body was triangular and thick in the middle. While it was covered with a great deal of glass, it was tinted, acting more like a mirror than a window.
Blood vacated the President’s face, he could not recall his military owning anything even close to this. This thing flew through space and penetrated our atmosphere without us being the wiser, he realized.
The attraction was short-lived. The spaceship had vanished from their view as they passed the cliff and headed to the closest airport. The fear it incited lingered like a sour aftertaste in his mouth.
They drove to the base in silence, the sight of the spaceship having dampened their bravado. Deputy Secretary Sina greeted them at the entrance of the base.
“Mr. President, Mr. Secretary.” Remerfeild walked passed him. “What is the situation?” Mr. Sina fell into step alongside the hurrying head of state and led the newcomers to the conference tent.
“They haven’t contacted us again, but we got word that several Security Council members and even the Secretary-General himself are heading this way, and they are heavily criticizing us for monopolizing the situation, Sir.”
Like they could deal with this themselves. He will deal with them when he sees them. “And where is she?” he asked as they neared the tent.
“We have Ms. Miller waiting inside, Sir.”
In a big brown tent, a girl sat alone at the table, two guards standing like stone behind her. She looked young and tired, dark exhausted skin circled her eyes, and her gaze was unfocused, as if in a trance. She sat taller in her chair when he entered the tent. She turned around and looked at him.
“President Remerfeild,” she greeted standing up.
He walked to the head of the table and sat without acknowledging her. She was lost for a second between an abandoned attempt at shaking his hand and an uncertain decision to sit back down. The rest of his council seated themselves as well.
“Show me the message.”
The Deputy Secretary of Defense played the recording. “Zi kejekha vekera-d’he im’ahe, ayi heres’he fer zo emela. Yakagho im’ahe leti zi daferelez, reye, Rawa, atabeyeza Gharaye-d’he, ne yelemore, rajebez yero deferelahe ne pelema atabeyez’he-d’he”
The president’s back chilled and the hairs on his skin pricked up. It was not so much the language, as languages on Earth were a dozen a dime, but more so the voice speaking the words. It was not human. It did not even sound animal. It was melodious and unbelievably bewitching.
“Ms. Miller translated the message for us:
“An eternity of peace be upon you, oh, our siblings in creation! We come to you as guests, myself, Rawa, The Prophet of Do Gharaye, and my people, asking for your hospitality and the conversation of your Prophet,” read Mr. Sina.
The conversation of your Prophet. The president did not like the sound of that in his office, and he did not like it any better now.
“Say, girl,” he turned to Ms. Miller, “What do you know about this Prophet Rawa and her god?”
“I…eh,…I don’t. I don’t know anything about Prophet Rawa, Sir. This was my first time hearing of her, hearing her. As for Do Gharaye, there is no mention of the other 6 in The Temple of Do Mavaye, and she doesn’t like to speak of them, Sir,” the girl explained.
“What about this Selection, are you sure it’s not starting here?” That was the only sensitive motive he could think of for these Aliens to be here. That would be chaos, a flood of aliens from god knows where pouring down on us.
“Yes, Do Mavaye was clear about that. The Selection starts after the opening of the last of the seven Temples, and the trials unfold in the order that the Temples were opened in.”
“Why are they here then?” he demanded, startling her. “I don’t know.” she flatly answered.
“Fat good you do us then. Leave us. Go!” Her two watchmen led her outside, where, together, they vanished between the scattered tents.
We are not prepared for this, not in the slightest.
“Tell me who exactly is coming here and what we know about that ship. Start with the ship.”
Several monitors were tuned on to showcase images of the spaceship from multiple angles. A soldier of his started explaining.
“The ship may appear all black, but 70% of that is black metal while the rest is a see-through material, likely glass.” The man showed a color-coded picture of the craft, where the metal was distinct from the glass. “Most of the windows are on the top-front side of the structure where the cockpit is the most likely to be situated.”
The screen changed to show the back of the spaceship. “Around 16 engines are arranged on the back of the ship, propelling her forward.” Another picture showed the bottom of the ship. “Eight others can be seen on her underside. They all appear to have some defense system that allows a door to close down when a body approaches them from the outside.” A confused bird flew away after it was denied entrance into an exhaust on a screen.
“The engines appear to be turned down at the moment, Sir.” He turned to face the President. “Which means that we don’t know how the spaceship is floating mid-air.”
“What about its offensive abilities? What do we know about that?” he asked the important questions.
“We don’t have that intel, Sir. For all we know, they can have nuclear heads ready to launch in there. We can only imagine what kind of technology they have.”
Perfect, just fucking perfect. He ruffled his hair exasperated and changed the subject.
This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
“What about the UN, which ambassadors are coming this way?”
“We have confirmed the movements of eleven out of the fifteen, Sir, as well as the Secretary General’s.”
It may as well be all of them. There is no avoiding this. “Schedule a meeting with the King, and inform our guests that we will talk to them,” he gave a final order in defiance.
*****
“I cannot believe that you’ve known about this for two weeks and didn’t think that we too deserve to know.” The Secretary-General of the Security Council stood on the edge of the cliff with President Remerfield, a few feet from the floating alienship.
“It was a hopeless affair when we first learned of it. We first thought it was some Russian ruse. And anyway, telling the world would only have brought on chaos.” President Remerfield had no remorse about the secrecy, only the discovery.
But you could have told us, he could read on his companion’s face what his tongue withheld.
They stood together in silence in the late evening breeze, observing a reality neither of them ever expected to live long enough to witness.
“Who’s decided to come?” The president’s mind wandered back to the permanent ambassadors telling their leaders about their doom in hushed conversations in the corners of the Temple. All fifteen of them ended up darkening his footstep. He just hoped their masters were not all coming here as well for the negotiations.
“Not all, many don’t think it prudent to gather so many heads of states in one room with a possible enemy that we know nothing of.”
“What do they have to lose? If we cannot magically materialize our asses on some planet, billions of lights years away, for all we know,” He laughed at the absurdity of the situation, “in less than a month at that, we’re all dead. They are our only hope.”
A few hours later, a circular table was set around the heart of The Temple, with several larger ones surrounding it. The innermost table was set for eleven people, with three seats grouped alone, like a lone island, for the aliens. For who would dare sit directly next to them?
The President’s seat lay facing where he supposed their leader, this Prophet Rawa, would sit. The girl’s seat was to his right, while the Moroccan king’s was to his left, courtesy of his hospitality.
Ambassadors, the President of the People’s Republic of China, and the President of the French Republic have both decided to come in person, their seats, as representatives of the five permanent members of the Security Council were made up of the rest of the inner-most eleven.
Several armed guards were stationed by every column of every level. The outermost tables offered pathways opening the way from the entrance to the heart of the room.
The President was alone in The Temple, save for the statuesque guards all around him. He took this opportunity to take the structure in. He walked around. Soon he was surprised to notice that although the room was warm, he was not sweating in this three-piece suit. On the contrary, he had never felt as comfortable in his life.
Ms. Miller walked in through the dynamite-blown door accompanied by the two soldiers from before. She walked towards him in anxious steps past carved rock and metal stairs.
The two soldiers saluted.
“Did Deputy Secretary Sina tell you what you are to do in this meeting?” He asked her. They depended on her for translation, granted, but she did not need to let it get to her head and think herself in charge. He was.
“Yes, he gave me a list of questions to ask, Sir,” she replied.
“He gave you lines to read, girl. No less, no more. You will follow your script and that’s it. Understood?”
“Yes, Sir.” She turned around to leave. “Wait,” he called out, freezing her in her tracks, “You, the white one.” The soldier turned around. He was of above-average height, his hair cut short, his face clean-shaved. Something about him looked familiar. “What’s your name?”
“Chief Lucas Adonis Buyers, Sir,” he answered.
“Any relation to Senator Buyers?” he could see the resemblance in the black of his hair and the shape of his eyes.
“He is my father, Sir.”
“Didn’t know he had a son in the navy,” he looked at his uniform, where he wore a SEAL Trident on the left side of his chest, “and a SEAL at that.”
President Remerfeild turned around and walked down the stairs to his chair. A few minutes later, the room started to fill up. The girl took her seat by his side, while her bodyguards and his stood a few feet back in front of his ambassador, advisers, and translators.
“They are coming, Sir.” Hushed whispers and murmurs further announced the arrival of their guests.
President Remerfeild’s seat was facing the door, giving him a first-row seat of their arrival.
This is what aliens look like.
Five beings, unlike anything he had ever seen, entered The Temple. As they came closer and closer, he could better make up their anatomy. They were tall, slender, and winged. At first, the sheen of their skin left him mesmerized, until he noticed that it was not skin but feathers.
Their feathers varied in length and stiffness. They looked shorter and velvety on their faces, chests, and legs, just like a swan’s, but they grew longer and stiffer on their heads and wings, framing the lines of their faces.
The ladybird walking in the middle, Rawa, he presumed, was the color of twilight, her feathers dancing blues, pinks, and purples. She was bare-chested, with no breasts he could make out. The only clothing any of the aliens wore was masterfully ornated skirts fastened with thick golden and leathery belts that covered the lower portion of their torsos. The fabric of their dress reached the tops of their knees and left the sides of their thighs bare. They were not wearing shoes, not that they needed to. Their feet were hard talons that drummed the rhythm of their advance.
They were a party of varying heights. Signs of sexual dimorphism, or maybe mere racial differences were clear in them. Rawa’s face was full and her eyes more round, while the taller, larger of her party fashioned sharp faces and almond eyes.
They also wore a surprising amount of jewelry, bracelets, rings, and even face piercings. Their ornaments gleamed warmly under the Temple’s light. He wondered if it was gold they wore. If they would trade for it.
“Zo vekera im’ahe, heressa,” spoke a sultry voice in a wave that ran down the old man’s back.
While the alien’s voice was smooth as honey her teeth were sharp as fangs, making an otherwise warm smile terrifying. The aliens stopped behind their assigned seats. Rawa, she must be, stayed upright while her four companions touched the tips of their right hands to their foreheads and lowered, in a smooth motion, both head and torso down in a courtesy.
Their leader’s eyes were on the girl at all times, while her companions scanned the room with dark pupels in yellow glass.
Does she know which one of us is the prophet? As she continued to only look at the girl beside him, his suspicion deepened. How?
“Zo vekera im’ahe, Rawa atabeyeza Gharaye-d’he. Banaro Jennah, atabayeza Mavaye-d’he, tamarohe fer ivayo kid’baha s’kadaza.” answered the girl standing up. The sentence sounded short enough. Deputy Secretary Sina and a linguist sat in the second row of tables facing the President’s to give him confirmation that the girl was indeed following her script. Sina nodded.
The alien looked around and said: “Vajazo-lok yelemohe gaharayaz? Kanazo-lok seraya baha di atabayeza?” She did not sound happy. The girl blushed. She turned to him and looked around at the others seated by them.
“Speak, girl. What did she say?”
“She said, eh, I think you all should courtesy to Rawa, as her people did to me. She asks if our people do not have any manners. If we do not know how to treat a prophet,” she nervously explained.
I’ll be damned. He could feel his blood pressure skyrocketing. Movement filled the room as people stood up and returned the gesture. President Remerfeild slowly stood up as well, the fear in his blood overpowering the pride. He brought his right hand to his forehead and courtesied to the alien.
“Zakararo im’ahe yero kef’kelo kereyeghe-d’he. Khajo ivayo banasso kilazo ilaghe, brama, jarataho.”
What is she saying? That was not in the script, Sina confirmed. The girl gestured to the chairs. The alien Rawa and two of her companions sat down folding their wings high to maneuver into seats ill-fitted for their proportions.
“I apologized, said that this is all new to us, and bid them to sit,” she explained to him. Buzzing soon took over their earpieces as translators conveyed the message.
“From now on, you keep to the script, and you tell me what you will say to them before you open your mouth. Understood?”
Like a slap, his words reddened her face. “Yes, Sir.” She sat down.
Insolent.
“Let us begin.”
“Rohe banagho kibavaz kon’ ghanahe, no ghavagho nalerey fala keverohe dave ivayi. Yero saro kenaghe ray zo ribilahe ila bani paderey ne zo kibilahe tefegho mouno-d’he bana ferazo khajo faro dave khibiraheghe. Ray parala bererahe dave ivayo ghana?” started Jennah, President Remerfeild read along with her:
While we are honored by your visit, we cannot help but wonder what it is you want from us. It is our understanding that The Selection starts very soon and that the first trial will be held somewhere out there. What it is you want here?
He looked up to Deputy Secretary Sina, and sure enough, the man nodded his confirmation.
The alien Rawa started answering, and once again, Remerfeild found himself lost in the Siren’s voice.
Rawa concluded her speech and looked deeply into Jennah’s eyes, awaiting a response from her. It should be me leading these negotiations. It should be me controlling this godforsaken place.
“Banagho lovo key mal’taghohe zi g’relo.” she added after a while.
“Parala banasse zo g’relo?” the girl replied.
Was that a question? Did she ask her something?
President Remerfield coughed loudly, interrupting the conversation. The alien was not happy, he noted.
“Let me translate,” Jennah said into her mic with a shameless annoyed breath. “Prophet Rawa said we are correctly informed. The first trial will be held on the planet named S'codra in 27 earthen days or 37 days in S’cod’ra time. Prophet Rawa and her companions belong to an order called The Allied Forces, which is currently transporting representatives from every planet they know of to The Temple of Yo Jayaroye located on S’codra. They were able to locate us, despite the distance, thanks to The Call.
“They would like to offer us a deal.”
A deal. Their chance, their salvation. What could they want? Fuel? Uranium? Slaves? How much would it cost them for a chance to roll the dice?
“What is the deal?” He asked over the buzzing overtaking the room, both afraid and desperate for the answer.
She turned back to the aliens.
Rawa resumed her explanation. He listened deeply to every word she said. He religiously watched how her mouth moved, how her lips veiled and unveiled her razor teeth, and how her purple tongue rolled around in her mouth.
The room held its breath waiting for Jennah to translate, “Choha, ivayo banasse lok khajo revo,” she addressed the alien instead, excluding them from the conversation.
“What-” he demanded to know what she was doing, but Rawa interrupted him and spoke again without once leaving the girl from her line of sight.
“What is she saying, damn you!” he shouted under his breath for only her to hear. She did not spare him a look.
The room was in growing outroar as they realized that they were being excluded from the discussion about their fate. Like a class where the teacher had stepped out, whispers not so shushed drowned the temple in dread, all while the two prophets still conversed, indifferent to it all.
The sudden clash of wooden chairs hitting stone silenced the circus.
Rawa had stood up, angry and fed up.
“Bakaro lovo key dah’ra zi atabeyez hoot’vare, zi kabejez, ne look zi haleka pa mena ker’oo-d’he!” she proclaimed, this time looking at him, at all of them.
Her companions followed suit and stood up as well. Every guard in The Temple brought forth their guns as Rawa shouted some more. While her words were directed to Jennah her anger reached him with biting cold.
The remaining aliens reached for the clutter on their hips.
“Lower your guns!” he tried to sound calm when he was all but that. “Let’s not aggravate them, please!” he addressed his people with thespian confidence.
Right as the room quietened Jennah spoke in that cursed tongue.
I’m gonna shoot this bitch! But whatever it is she said calmed Rawa a great deal. The ladybird’s escorts exchanged looks his human eyes could not read. Then with a smooth and kind tone, Rawa spoke as she marched with her party around their table and into the circular space within their council’s ring.
“What in god’s name is going on!”
Jennah turned and looked at him. Then she looked further behind him. “I am sorry,” was all the explanation she offered. She crawled under the table and emerged on the other side.
Humans watched as a wall rose from the ground and englobed in seconds the girl and the guests in a room out of their reach.