Chapter One
Elliot Sanders flopped down on a regal white couch while vigorously pushing the buttons of a joystick. His formal tie and expensive suit looked out of place compared to his lanky figure and childish face. He let out a triumphant yell as his online Galactic War team, the Flaming Ducks, advanced further in the ranks on their way to being number one.
Galactic War had given out free headsets to the top players three months ago and he'd been using his ever since. He adjusted the headset, saying: "Alright, Manny, who's dying next?"
"I think we go up against the Gorgonfishers next," Manny spoke over the static, "in about thirty minutes."
"Cool. I have to go for a bit, but I'll be on for the match."
"No problem, just don't miss it or I'll bathe you in battery acid."
"Is that a threat, great and merciless leader?"
"Sarcasm won't get you far, young padawan."
"You're such a nerd, Adam."
"I thought I told you to call me Manny?"
"Sorry, but seriously," he choked out through fits of laughter, "I've got to go."
"See you later."
"Adios."
He pushed the power down button on the crimson controller and set it on the ivory coffee table. Hands gliding to the other side of the table, he picked up a bottle of Root Beer, propped his feet up, and began chugging. The very last of it slid out of the bottle when a door to the right of the television opened. Four men in straight, black suits wearing thick shades that covered their eyes completely, swept into the room and formed a semi-circle around him. They had radio pieces in their ears that had wires slipping down into their jackets and attaching to belt transmitters. One stepped closer.
"Mr. Sanders, are you ready?" the one in front asked in a monotonous voice.
"Bailey, how many times do I have to tell you, just because we're chums doesn't mean you can call me that."
"Sorry, Mr. President." His face didn't even twitch, it was void of emotion. "Dr. Alastor is ready for you in the lab. If you could act like the president for one moment, it'd help us a lot."
"Is that some kind of joke, Bailey? Because I'm the youngest president ever and it bothers you?"
"Of course not, sir. I was fooling around."
"Well, you're not very good at it."
"Whatever you say, sir."
Elliot shot up from the couch and re-adjusted the Root Beer bottle to rest between his index and middle finger; making it sway against his hip as he strutted out of the room and into the painfully white hallway. Bailey wouldn't treat him like a little kid; he was a 35 year old man for crying out loud. If there was one thing he hated it was being treated like he didn't know anything. He made his way past numerous doors with the suits, as he called them, practically breathing down his neck. Finally, he turned into an open space to the right that had the dimensions of a professional basketball arena. Once wholly in the area, his view went to a circular platform on top of which sat a huge, metallic sphere. Cords ran from the platform to the sphere and a giant pipe containing hundreds of wires ran across the room to computer panels that covered an entire wall.
"This looks like the Argonian cybernetics department," he said with a smile on his face.
"Sir?"
"Oh. It's a level on Galactic Wars." Elliot checked the Rolex on his watch. "How long will this take?"
"It depends on Dr. Alastor."
"Right, Bailey. Why don't you loosen up?"
At that moment a stocky, balding man waddled toward him with a digital readout tablet. It was a device which wouldn't come out to the public for another decade. The government had been that way since the 1950's, keeping technology hidden from the public until they had taken all the usefulness out of it. The extraterrestrial device that digital cameras were based on actually made molecular copies instead of pixel representations. There were rumors on the conspiracy sites he visited that the government had found a cure for cancer already, but he hadn't seen any proof of that from within the system. Thomas Alastor looked at him with concern on his face.
"Did it work?" The President scuffed his shoe on the linoleum, a habit when anxious.
"Yes, but the result isn't what we were expecting," the doctor shifted his weight to his other leg, "it's both positive and negative."
"Can I see?"
"The machine is cooling down, so no, but I must say that for a first attempt at viewing the future, SEER made it through procedures without a single malfunction. If it were a public project, I would win the Nobel Prize most definitely."
"That's fine and dandy. Now, can you tell me what it saw?"
The doctor looked at his feet, "You are re-elected in four years as a result of the success of your diplomatic achievements and health care improvements. I must say, it was quite baffling when I saw the election records. The voting ratio between you and your opponent was 3:1. Another first for the Presidency, I believe."
"Are you serious! This," he punched the air with his fist, "is awesome. If you weren't such a stiff, I'd hug you right now."
"There is some bad news," the doctor continued, "that pertains to the year following your second term."
"What happens, I tick off Congress or something?"
The doctor hesitated for a moment. "You are assassinated during a speech in which you tell the people of America the truth concerning extraterrestrial life."
"I'm killed? You've got to be kidding!"
"Forgive me for sounding rude, but your untimely death is not the worst part."
"What did you just say, Doctor? It sounded like you told me there was something worse than my death. There is nothing worse than my death."
"Actually, there is something far greater than the death of one life."
"And what would that be!" Elliot could feel his blood boiling.
"The massacre of millions of people and the ultimate conquering of Earth by extraterrestrials."
"Aliens are going to come to our planet," he said while attempting to stifle laughter, "and kill us all?"
"Yes. This is a serious matter that should not be taken lightly, especially by the President of the United States." The doctor's face was beginning to look red.
"That's absurd, though. Secretary Beare told me that aliens were only allowed to fly around the upper levels of the atmosphere. Isn't there a prison for the ones that break that rule?"
"There is, but this invading force will be stronger than anything we've ever encountered before. As of this moment, we are severely unprepared."
"So what do you suggest we do?"
"I don't have the authority to make that decision," the doctor replied as another man came to stand beside him, "but General Beare does have that authority."
"Beare? What in the world are you doing here? Shouldn't you be rotting in Washington?"
"How touching, Mr. President," the overly decorated army officer retorted, "it does my heart good to know you're concerned about my wellbeing."
"General Beare is also the commander of our Extraterrestrial Defense and Intelligence Agency." The doctor started messing with his tablet again.
"I'm guessing Dr. Alastor's the intelligence and you're the defense, Beare?"
"That would be correct, sir."
Elliot wanted to try and get Beare to yell, fight back, but decided that addressing the real issue would be the most presidential choice. "So what do you suggest we do?"
"Send a team into deep space to retrieve E.T. technology and build up our defenses both on Earth and in the solar system."
"I'm assuming you have a team assembled already?"
"Yes, sir."
"Who's going to lead this team?"
"A Mr. Russo. He's the grandson of a leading Rosewell scientist and the son of the best space pilots we've ever had."
"Then why don't you get that guy to lead the mission?"
Beare closed his eyes in frustration then reopened them. "Because he was injured during a scuffle with hostile aliens and died a year later, right before his son was born."
"So what credentials does this kid have?"
"We believe he has some innate knowledge about Extraterrestrials and he has demonstrated great leadership skills."
"Sounds good to me. What about the rest of the crew?"
"We have an Arms Specialist from Texas, a linguist from the British Institute of Alien Knowledge, and the best space pilot of the Japanese Aerospace Exploration Agency. There will also be a few of my men along as well."
"When will the mission start?"
"As soon as Dr. Alastor says we can take off."
"Dr. Alastor?"
The doctor looked up from his tablet with a confused look. "Oh, I still need to get the prototype Wormhole Generator from a Swedish colleague of mine. General Beare will need to find a suitable spacecraft. I would venture to guess a month at the least."
"Then it's official. We launch in one month."
"No, sir, I believe I said at the least one month."
"I say one month exactly. You better get working to make the deadline."
With that he walked back to his room, dragging his feet and making black marks on the white floor. He picked up his controller and turned on Galactic Wars, but didn't start the campaign mode. Instead he sent Manny a text message saying he wouldn't be able to play for awhile because of work. It took him a few tries to get it right, his hands were shaking. As soon as it was sent, he threw the controller at the wall with all his might. Being the President wasn't easy, but he'd managed to get through it so far. Now his life, and the fate of the world, depended on the success of a rag-tag group of space explorers. For the first time he could remember, he was scared.
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