The Cleansing – 47 – Chapter 25 (continued)

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Collaboration between Aliens and humans:

Ron watched the interview with mixed feelings. The coldness of her abduction might well fuel the fears of the protestors but overall the tone felt reassuring. The abducted were beginning to return. While their abductions had been terrifying the process they had been put through did not sound too gruesome and the end result seemed satisfactory, even positive.

Gillian, the cold-hearted vulture capitalist, was no longer following a trajectory that brought her great wealth, albeit at a great emotional cost, and was going to follow a more positive, rewarding career. That felt like a positive outcome.

According to Gillian and her husband she was still much the same as she had been except more empathetic and compassionate. She was a vindication of the rehabilitation process.

Surely the protestors would see that as a positive outcome? Surely they were not in favour of asset stripping leeches who left such misery and despair in their wake?

There was no way of telling. There did not appear to be any rationality behind the protests. It was all high-octane emotion. All Ron could hope for was that the return of the rehabilitated took the wind out of all those conspiracy theories. The abducted weren’t dead of brainwashed. That had to be good.

A flicker of hope raised its head.

The ‘Freedom March’ had its epicentre at Trafalgar Square. People were bussed in from all over Britain and flew in from all over the world. It was estimated that over two million attended the protest. They marched along all the arteries converging on the square carrying their banners, waving placards, with loudhailers leading the chanting:

‘Out Dragons Out!

‘Out Dragons Out’.

Within a short while the square was packed. Then all the roads leading to the square were clogged. London was brought to a seething halt.

Boisterous, noisy and angry, but not violent. The stewards vainly attempted to corral the crowds and the huge police presence provided a huge restraining force. The atmosphere remained charged.

Ron and Chameakegra sat in Ron’s office in New York, watching the mass protest with mounting anxiety. They had done everything they could. There had been no way of banning the protest. The groundswell had been too great. They relied on containing it. Every measure had been taken; every single body they could muster was there. But with two million people the outcome was not predictable. Chameakegra had urged Grrndakegra to keep all aliens out of sight. She had not wanted their presence inflaming the situation. Grrndakegra had readily agreed but informed her that his forces would be poised. If things kicked off they were prepared to go in and sort things out. Violence would not be tolerated and aggressive Hydrans would soon find that out.

Chameakegra did not like the sound of that but this was under Grrndakegra’s jurisdiction. All she could do was watch.

Grrndakegra chose to watch events from the Quorma where she seated herself down for a ringside view and could direct operations. She did not invite Chameakegra to join her so she settled herself nervously on the Neff.

The mass of people were crushed into the square looking towards the giant screens that had been erected, waiting for Billy to deliver his words.

All seemed to be going well right up until the missiles started flying. Little groups of protestors seemed to spring up among the crowds, all dressed in similar balaclavas, and flinging what looked like darts into the crowd. It sparked panic. There were people with darts stuck through their skulls, one with a dart in the eye. What was an orderly crowd rapidly decayed into a hysterical mob. People were crushed as the crowd tried to escape the missiles, pushing shoving, screaming. Then windows started going in. Once the fire had been lit the flames spread like crazy. Fear fed anger, anger transformed into fury and fury looked for a suitable target. The police tried to stem the riot but were soon overwhelmed. Blood-splattered people, frantic to escape, trampled others who had fallen to the ground. Carnage reigned.

The graphic scenes of violence and rampage were relayed to Ron and Chameakegra as police battled with inflamed rioters while first aiders tried to deal with the injured and ambulances carted off the crushed and beaten. Pepper spray hung in the air, glass was strewn over pavements and angry mobs, not knowing what had caused the disturbances hurled abuse and venom at the authorities.

This was the mayhem that Ron and Chameakegra had most feared.

Grrndakegra watched from the Quorma with a grim satisfaction. Even better than Clacton. Anyone would have thought this had all been planned. She sent the order for the Giforian ‘peace keepers’ to go in. Things were about to get a whole lot worse when the fearsome looking Giforians and Drefs started wading in.

Beheggakegri received the visual reports.

A great elation welled up inside him as the insipient frustration receded. He felt his appetite returning. He might not need to call upon that Ollyx Ce Frolli after all. That was a relief.

Grrndakegra had excelled herself. Time for another showdown with the committee. He stuffed a few dainties into his buccal cavity. Perhaps the committee could wait a little while longer. It was so pleasant to bask in the tranquillity of success. Besides, it would allow those Hydran scenes to fester in their crops. Beheggakegri felt elated. He settled back to rerun the tridee reports – stupid inflamed Hydrans hurling themselves at police, properties on fire and valiant Giforians plucking violent Hydrans from the rioting crowds. Gore, glass, missiles, debris and fury. Sure made for compulsive viewing.

So much for intelligence and responsible citizens looking to take their place in the Federation. Everyone could see these feral space vermin for what they were – hopelessly vile demented apes – beyond all hope of redemption.

He helped himself to another tumbler of synth and waved for Limo to keep producing the dainties. No need to send this round to the committee members. They already had their links. Just sit back and savour the fall of drangling Commander Chameakegra.

Let the committee contact him and request they reconvene.

He was loving this. This would completely vindicate him and cement his power.

Amazon.co.uk: Ron Forsythe: books, biography, latest update

The Cleansing – 44 – Chapter 23

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The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

Alien intrigue and populist revolt. The chickens are coming home to roost! I wanted to illustrate human nature in both the actions and thoughts of the aliens and the humans too.

Chapter 23 – Action

Beheggakegri was unable to settle. He was even off his food. The last few committee meetings had been unpleasant. A schism had opened between him and the rest of them, Sang in particular. In a way it had always been there. He’d told them what to do and they’d deferred. This was different. He still told them what to do but he was never certain that they were going to do it. He wasn’t sure if it wasn’t just his imagination but he detected an air of defiance. They were plotting. He could sense it. Biding their time. The lasers were out. When the time was right they’d slice him into lumps. He knew it.

While he was giving out his instructions he found himself studying them one by one. Which one was the ringleader? It had to be Sang. He knew where all the bungles were buried. When would he strike? Were the others all behind him?

The tension was palpable.

In the evening he found himself picking at his food, even rejecting the new dainties Limo was serving up. He could not settle. This was all that Chameakegra’s fault – the drangling slub. If only he could rid himself of her he could decisively do away with the Hydrans with a fine display of power, re-establish control and get back to the way things were. That Chameakegra was the key. She’d made him look weak. If only her drangling shuttle would blow itself up.

He sat bolt upright. His brain was whirling.

Billy was already sitting at the kitchen table waiting. It was Thursday; his favourite day.

Charly was serving up the sausage and mash. The Smythes were not about to try any of that alien muck – even if they were virtually giving it away for nothing. They’d rather die.

She placed his laden plate down on the table and carried her own round to the other side.

Before she’d even sat herself down Billy had banged on the ketchup and was diving in, an intent expression on his face as he carved off a chunk of sausage, scooped up the mash and dipped it in the sauce.

‘You know, I’ve been thinking,’ Charlene remarked thoughtfully, cutting up her sausage in a more genteel manner.

‘What about?’ Billy looked across at her as he crammed a mouthful of best British beef sausage into his mouth.

Charlene paused reflectively, a slice of sausage with a small dollop of mash on the back of her fork. ‘What that Ron Forsythe was saying.’

Billy chewed briefly and swallowed. ‘Oh him.’

‘It’s not every day that you get the leader of the whole world in your front room,’ she replied almost indignantly.

Billy sneered, already cutting more sausage. ‘He’s no more leader of the world than our auntie Ada. He’s a stooge put in place by those aliens.’

‘That’s as maybe,’ Charly stuck her nose in the air, her tasteful forkful suspended in mid-air. ‘What he said made a lot of sense.’

‘What? That we should kow-tow to a bunch of aliens?’ He forked another big mouthful in.

‘He didn’t say that though, did he?’ Charly persisted, finally raising the fork to her mouth and taking the food.

‘He said we’d should stop fucking protesting and do what they say,’ Billy reminded her morosely.

‘He said that they are incredibly powerful; that they are assessing us and could wipe the lot of us out if we don’t watch our step.’ Charly had been very uneasy at that idea. At first it hadn’t seemed real – like the idea of another world war isn’t real – but the things Ron Forsythe had told them seemed more real as she mulled it over more. She couldn’t get it out of her head. What if the lizards were really judging us and decided to wipe us all out? There was probably nothing we could do about it.

‘Pah! Baloney!’ Billy exclaimed, irritably cutting off another chunk of sausage. His face darkened. All this talk of Ron Bloody Forsythe and aliens was spoiling the meal that he’d been looking forward to.

Charly primly sliced another piece of sausage and daubed some mash on to it with her knife. ‘I’m not so sure,’ she muttered, shaking her head worriedly. ‘We’ve seen what they can do. That new hospital the little blue men have put up in no time at all is absolutely amazing. It would have taken us years to build and cost billions.’ She peered across at Billy. ‘They took over without a single shot. Just like that. We’re helpless.’

‘Phhhh!!’ Billy grimaced and forked another mouthful in. He really didn’t want to hear all this defeatist nonsense, especially not coming from Charly.

‘He said that we should back off for a bit and see if they are as good as their word,’ Charly bristled. It was so hard to engage Billy in any kind of discussion. He was so pig-headed.

Billy laid his knife and fork down, face dark and angry. ‘That stupid lackey can say what he likes. If he had his way he’d have us rolling over and inviting them in for a cup of tea. Fucking idiot. They are using his to control us. They want us nice and docile. None of that bollocks was worth the bother!’ He picked his cutlery up. That was the end of it. He wanted to eat.

‘Except he was right,’ Charlene did not know when to stop. ‘That last demo at Clacton was used by a bunch of bully boys. That violence was horrible. And if what Ron Forsythe said is true is playing right into the hands of the people who want to kill us.’

Billy banged his fist down hard on the table causing Charly to jump. ‘Enough!’

He could relax. All the departments were beginning to work. Ron was astounded. How had Chameakegra managed to select the right people to do the job? Then he thought back to what she’d told him about the assessment process. Incredibly, the thousands of crew on the Neff had, using the unbelievable resources of her supercomputer, had somehow analysed the character and abilities of every human on the planet. That’s how they had successfully managed to extract all the ‘bad eggs’. Chameakegra had been able to slot the most capable into place. This world government was as close to perfection as you could get. Each post was carefully selected on their abilities in connection to the role required. Forget democracy and elections. This was obviously a far better process. Except it left him with one unanswered question – how on earth had he slipped through?

Not only were the government departments bedding in to become efficient operations transforming the way government operated with efficiency and resolve that was nothing short of astounding, but the full resources of the Neff had been brought to bear to assist. They all had a supercomputer on tap. Nimble blue Xerces swarmed over construction projects, large lumbering Leff coordinated and manipulated, Giforians, Def, Solarians, Arkers, Marlans, Minorians and Jerb scurried around doing whatever was required. Chameakegra strode around overseeing the project in her intense single-minded manner. This was her baby and she fully intended to see it mature into adulthood.

Of Grrndakegra Ron saw little. The Giforian Commander kept her distance, restricting her operations to the extraction and rehabilitation process. Ron couldn’t tell them apart if he saw them stalking the corridors of New Hope –the name they had given to the World Government building on Turtle Bay that had once been the UN headquarters. But then he couldn’t tell the differences between any of the various races of aliens. It was only when there were a few of the same race together that he was able to discern nuances in facial characteristics. That led to a few embarrassing exchanges in the corridors of New Hope when he thought he had spotted Chameakegra only to discover it was another female Giforian altogether. He’d learn.

The efficiency of government meant that he could relax a little; he did not have to be hands-on with every aspect. He could delegate with a high degree of faith that things would get done properly. In his experience that was remarkable. There was no pulling in different directions. Everyone was on board united behind a shared vision. He’d never worked in an organisation quite like it. All the places he’d worked in had different factions all wanting different things, blaming everything that went wrong on management and doing their best to undermine and place obstacles. Workplaces resembled war zones. This was different. There was a shared vision, trust and efficiency.

With the government working efficiently, even if progress appeared slow because of the immensity of the task, Ron could turn his full attention to countering the protests and attempting to ensure that any ensuing violence did not bring down the wrath of UFOR on them. He could fully focus on Billy Smythe.

The Time Traveller – Out now!! Paperback, Hardback and Kindle!

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The Time Traveller: Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798251954647: Books

Billionaire Brian Nether wanted someone to build him a time machine. He found a genius, a tormentor, and a friend in the eccentric Clive Hilditch.
Brian steps into the machine expecting nothing more than a glimpse of the past. Instead, he is hurled into a world that should not exist — a Rome reshaped by his own arrival, a Republic trembling on the edge of empire, and a future that is no longer guaranteed.
Lost in a century of war, ambition, and betrayal, Brian discovers that every choice he makes ripples through time. What appeared straightforward reveals itself to be far more intricate than he had ever anticipated.
His insecurities dictate the man he becomes. And the man he becomes may be far more dangerous than the man he left behind.
As timelines fracture and history bends around him, Brian must decide whether he is Rome’s saviour… or the architect of its darkest age.
History can be rewritten. But time always takes its toll.

I’d be delighted if you take a look!

The Cleansing – 41 – Chapter 21

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The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

A polite confrontation between two rivals with opposing views:

Chapter 21 – Changes

‘Come in,’ Chameakegra said, indicating a seat next to a low mense on which were two tumblers of synth.

Grrndakegra had not been invited into these private quarters on the Neff. She looked round at the room with some curiosity. It was strange, so very strange. The walls had these oblong structures on them with strange shapes and colours. The mense seemed to be made of some natural substance. There was a peculiar noise wailing away.

When Chameakegra had messaged her and invited her for a casual evening of relaxation she had not known what to make of it. What had Chameakegra meant? What ploy was this?

The two of them might have had joint command but they had been operating autonomously with the minimum coordination or contact – particularly following Chameakegra’s outburst. Grrndakegra had been supervising the extraction process, the decommissioning of all military equipment and overseeing the setting up of lunar facilities. Chameakegra had been working on the Hydran government with its various departments. The two of them had been involved with the new energy grid but once the decisions had been made that was running itself. The need for them to work together was minimal. Then this. Out of the blue she’d received this invitation. What was going on?

At first Grrndakegra was going to decline but her curiosity got the better of her. What was Chameakegra up to? It felt as if it might be best to go along and find out. As Beheggakegri had suggested; there might be something to be learnt that she could use against her, something to be found out about her peccadillos. What was there to lose?

Chameakegra looked relaxed, dressed casually with a pleasant blue hue to her scutes. Grrndakegra found herself hoping that her own scutes were suitably friendly. She daren’t look but doubted they were. This visit was making her feel uncomfortable.

‘I call this my Hydran room,’ Chameakegra remarked, seating herself opposite Grrndakegra.

Grrndakegra peered round at the weird room. There was a soft covering underfoot. The walls were coloured and muted lights created a relaxed atmosphere, not that Grrndakegra was at all relaxed; she remained fully on guard.

‘Try the synth,’ Chameakegra suggested.

Grrndakegra took a sip and very nearly spat it out. The stuff certainly wasn’t synth. It tasted like liquid fire.

Chameakegra chuckled at the Giforian’s reaction. ‘Sorry. I should have warned you. Just the barest sip.’

Grrndakegra grimaced and put the tumbler down. Was her host trying to poison her? Was that the plan? She glared at her hostess.

‘It’s Hydran,’ Chameakegra explained. ‘An intoxicating beverage they call whiskey. It certainly has a kick. Probably a bit of an acquired taste. It’s the ethyl alcohol that gives it that kick. I’ve grown to like it. When you get more used to it you can make out all manner of flavours and nuances. Great to relax to.’

Grrndakegra eyed the beaker suspiciously. She did not know if she’d ever want to get used to that burning fluid.

‘I thought it might be an idea to have an evening of Hydran culture,’ Chameakegra explained, sipping her whiskey.

‘So that’s what that noise is,’ Grrndakegra remarked, beginning to twig what this was about.

Chameakegra nodded. ‘You see, I find this culture more fascinating than any other I’ve ever visited. While it is obvious that these Hydrans have some extremely unpleasant attributes I feel it is good to understand that there is another side to them; they are extremely creative.’

‘Well, judging from the taste of that whiskey and this wailing sound I can’t say that this Hydran culture is something I’d be particularly interested in exploring.’

Chameakegra laughed. ‘As with all new things, it takes time to understand something as different and complex as this. I have an advantage. I have been here a long while carrying out the assessment and completely immersed myself in their culture.’

Grrndakegra was impressed with how relaxed and cheerful Chameakegra seemed. She must know that she was in cahoots with Beheggakegri actively working against her, yet here she was being friendly. Nothing made sense. She did not seem to have taken umbrage at his lack of appreciation or derogatory remarks. The past confrontations and harsh words seemed to have been put to one side. This was a complete charm offensive. What was she hoping to achieve? She allowed herself a little smirk. Whatever it was it was doomed to fail.

‘I hoped you might give it a try and come to appreciate a little of what makes them tick.’

‘I doubt that very much,’ Grrndakegra replied. ‘They seem like a bunch of primitives to me; primitives with nasty habits.’ But a little part of her was intrigued. So this was Chameakegra’s ploy. She had invited her round to try to win her over to the Hydran’s side. Well that wasn’t going to happen, was it?

Chameakegra did not seem to be in the least put off. ‘What you are standing on is an Indian rug. It was handwoven by Hydrans from animal fur.

Grrndakegra looked at the rough material with its strange designs. Her eyes went a little funny. The scrolly shapes seemed to draw her in to its rich coloration.

‘The sound you are listening to is called classical music. Hydrans regard it as a sophisticated pinnacle of their culture.

Grrndakegra found herself listening to the sounds. She could distinguish a number of different types of noises blending together. There was a rhythm to it, a distinct flow. ‘Sounds like a noise.’

‘Come, look at these,’ Chameakegra rose from her seat and led Grrndakegra over to the oblong shapes on the wall. ‘These are works of art. The Hydrans use pigments to create representations of other Hydrans, animals, landscapes or scenes.’

Chameakegra’s obvious enthusiasm was wasted on her. She peered at the squiggles of colour. ‘I can’t make out any images what-so-ever.’

Chameakegra chuckled again. ‘That’s because this one is an abstract by a Hydran artist called Miro. He drew out imagery from his subconscious and was famous for his bold use of colour and strange esoteric imagery.’

‘Certainly vivid colours,’ Grrndakegra admitted. ‘Can’t make any sense of it though.’

‘Here,’ Chameakegra pointed, ‘That’s a very stylised bird. Joan Miro was well known for his use of child-like imagery.’

‘I can certainly agree with that. A child could certainly have produced that.’

Chameakegra led her along her collection of art and photography then shared a couple of poems. She summoned up the tridee to show some dance and changed the music to a raw simple sound as they wandered through her large collection. ‘They call this rock ‘n’ roll,’ she explained, and this,’ the music changed to a droning sound ‘Indian classical’. They roamed around the room with Chameakegra picking up artefacts from alcoves, encouraging Grrndakegra to handle them, feel their texture, and appreciate their shape and colour, while providing some commentary on their history and importance.

Despite her misgivings Grrndakegra found some of this fascinating. These Hydrans certainly had a range of artistic creations. She could see that, even though most of it was crude and vulgar, others rather repulsive or strange. Chameakegra explained how each of the hundreds of cultures had created their own styles of music, dress, artefacts, dance and art all resulting in an amazing richness. ‘As imaginative as their multiple ways of killing and maiming,’ Grrndakegra retorted.

They returned to their seats and talked. Chameakegra sipped her whiskey and, after a little while, Grrndakegra picked up her tumbler, sniffed the contents and took a tiny sip.

The Cleansing – 38 – Chapter 19 continued

Posted on by Opher

Detailing the life of a reluctant leader who is giving his all in order to make things work; to make things better. We need more of them.

I write Sci-fi in order to illustrate the human condition.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

That evening Ron took much needed time off. He was burnt out. Sitting in his favourite armchair in front of his favourite log burner, sipping coffee (three sweeteners plenty of his favourite barista oat milk) by the side of his favourite (and only) wife with Woody at his feet he relaxed. Casting a wistful glance over towards his silent computer with its sad looking office chair, all beat up and worn out, he hadn’t realised how contented he had been stringing words together for nobody to read and relaxing in his quiet orderly life.

‘You look knackered, Ron.’

He smiled at Liz. ‘I stopped being knackered a long time ago. I’ve descended into the fiftieth level of total oblivion.’

‘You need to look after myself.’

‘Look after myself. I’m so busy I’ve forgotten who I am.’

Liz looked worried.

‘There are a million things to do. So much going on. I have to check all the new departments are working. We’re overhauling education. You should see the new techniques and equipment the Federation are bringing in. And they’re creating completely new schools. Amazing. The energy plants are starting up. They call it quantum power. Beyond me. But those little blue Xerces swarm over things and wallop a whole new plant is up and running in no time. They are genius at constructing, so nimble and strong. Schools, power plants, factories, homes, bridges. You name it. The changes are phenomenal.’ Ron was rattling off like a machine gun with a glued trigger. ‘Of course it’s causing no end of kickback. People don’t like change. They’re railing about being banned from various areas. Lots of gripes about the military being dismantled. The biggest thing all over the world is the loss of nationality. I just don’t know what we can do about that. You can’t please some people no matter what you do.’

‘They’re worried, that’s all,’ Liz murmured, reaching over to pat him on the arm. ‘You can’t expect this degree of change without some kick back.’

Ron smiled at her. She was always such a calm, rational head. Just sharing things was a relief. He sipped his coffee, nectar of the gods, and stared at the soothing flames in the log fire.

‘Another huge worry is these bloody protests,’ he frowned deeply, staring into the depths of the fire then looked sideways at Liz. ‘This Billy Smythe is really stirring things up. There are millions following him on line. It’s becoming a monster.’

‘People have to have an outlet for their feelings. That’s good – a safety valve.’

‘Not like this it isn’t. Every boot boy in the country is latching on to it.  That last one at Clacton was appalling. There was all manner of violence. It made us look like a bunch of savages. Just shocking. The thing is that these idiots don’t realise that we are still being judged. There are people in the Federation who want to do away with us.’

‘What? This Commander Chameakegra?’ Liz looked shocked. ‘I thought she was friendly?’ Her eyes opened wide as she stared at Ron, beginning to understand what had made him so scared.

‘No, not Chameakegra,’ Ron said with a weary sigh. ‘She’s fine. There are others. And she’s none too sure about this Commander Grrndakegra who’s carrying out the round up. I think she thinks she’s been put in place to do a job on us.’

‘So, what can you do?’

‘Well all this protest is playing into their hands. The violence is proving their case for them. They want to prove that we’re a violent bunch of yobs who deserve to be exterminated.’

Liz sat pensively staring at the fire before looking across at Ron. ‘You could try going round to see this Billy character, explain things to him and see if you can’t make him see sense.’

Ron looked thoughtful.

The Cleansing – 37 – Chapter 19 continued

Posted on by Opher

Is the democratic process the best way to elect leaders or should they be selected via an interview and application process as with every other job? That might ensure that they are not psychopaths, sociopaths and narcissists and have the right skills to do the job!

The world leader appointed by the aliens did not want to do the job, wasn’t motivated by power or greed, and was a good, able man.

‘UFOR?’

Chameakegra chuckled, immediately dissipating some of the tension. She visibly relaxed and that had a similar effect on Ron.  ‘UFOR is the United Federation Of Races’

‘Right.’

‘Beheggakegri is head of UFOR and a stickler for rules and an easy life. He thinks that all Hydrans are psychotic apes who are beyond all hope. In his view you are all an annoying bunch who should have been dealt with long ago. You are wasting valuable eating time. You Hydrans have failed the assessment and he wants to look for any excuse to terminate you all.’

Ron considered this for a number of seconds then he spoke in a hesitant voice. ‘If you don’t mind me saying, this seems to fly in the face of logic. It seems hypocritical to me.’

Chameakegra looked confused. She’d lived with the philosophy all her life and couldn’t see anything wrong with it. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well,’ Ron shrugged, ‘you have a supposedly morally superior race of highly intelligent bods coming along making judgements on other people. This bunch of people at UFOR decides that we’re too violent so they are going to exterminate us. Is that some kind of oxymoron?’

‘How do you mean?’ Chameakegra was at a loss.

‘What I mean is that it is terrible for us to hurt one another but OK for your lot to wade in and exterminate the whole lot of us. That smacks of hypocrisy to me. Which is the more violent?’

‘But,’ Chameakegra replied searching around for the explanation, digging up the standard reply from her training, ‘It’s for the greater good, the good of the whole Federation, trillions of people. If we allow a canker to set in by permitting a devious, aggressive race in to the Federation it would upset everything. It could cause immense strife, even war. We can’t take the risk. All risks have to be eliminated. That’s how we have achieved such a peaceful coalition of very different races. We have eradicated all violence and created a federation of races based on equality.’

‘Yes,’ Ron agreed, ‘I can see that. But,’ he looked Chameakegra right in the eyes, ‘that doesn’t make it right does it? You can’t say you’ve eradicated violence when you go around destroying billions of other people. That is extreme violence.’

‘But it is done painlessly…’ Chameakegra tailed off, thinking about what Ron had said.

Ron shook his head. ‘Never mind. I reckon we’d better put that to one side for later. Right now we have to do a bit of planning to ensure that the worst doesn’t happen.’

Chameakegra pulled her mind back into focus. ‘Right. Let us carry out some strategic planning. Firstly, we have to prevent any further acts of violence.’

Ron sighed and began to wonder how he was possibly going to achieve that.

‘I will make it a priority to get the extraction completed with the minimum fuss,’ Chameakegra promised. ‘That should no longer cause major disruption. We are basically hunting out the stragglers. There won’t be mass round-ups all over the place. That phase is over. I’ll liaise with Grrndakegra and get that done as painlessly as possible.’

Ron knew who Grrndakegra was. They’d talked about the Giforian Commander who was jointly in charge of the operation. ‘Is she a problem?’ Ron questioned how the operation had been carried out. ‘Only it all seemed very confrontational and overly aggressive.’

Chameakegra agreed but was reluctant to say. Grrndakegra was an unknown factor. ‘I think Grrndakegra is alright. She’s a bit like Beheggakegri, overly officious, that’s all.’

Ron looked doubtful. ‘OK.’

‘I’ll sort Grrndakegra out,’ Chameakegra reassured him, wondering to herself if that was possible, ‘and I’ll see if I can’t rush through the lunar facilities so that we get the extractions out of those camps. That’d remove the focus for disquiet.’

‘If we could start getting a few of the extracted ones back so that people can see that all the conspiracy theories are wrong. That they haven’t been bumped off or had their minds wiped clean.’ Ron mused.

‘Yes, I am sure we can do something. We have the counsellors that the Judge has sorted in place now and some of the facilities are fully up and running. I’ll get things moving on that score.’ She was confident that she could force some movement out of Grrndakegra.

‘Doesn’t need to be a huge number to start with,’ Ron remarked, reflecting on the situation. ‘Just so long as they see that some of those who have been extracted are going to be returned and have not been harmed.’

Chameakegra studied him at length. ‘Good. Now the onus of responsibility moves on to you. You need to get all the departments of government up to speed. That is crucial’

Ron nodded, fully knowing how difficult that was going to be – new structures, new people, new systems, new philosophy. It was going to take some organising and setting up. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll get them organised. I’ve got some good people in place.’

She smiled. She knew he had good people in place; she’d placed them there. ‘I’d start with security,’ she suggested. ‘Controlling that violent minority is an absolute priority.’

‘On it,’ Ron replied, wondering how he was going to deal with that one. He looked thoughtful. ‘I’ll chase up the education side. I know that’s more long-term but that is crucial. Your guys are putting in the new energy system. That will make a big difference – when everyone starts to receive free energy that’s bound to create a positive response.’ He strained his brain to think of what else might be important. ‘It’s going to be a mixed bag on the environment side, I’m afraid. There will be those who think that helping nature along is a great thing to do and there are those who have lost livelihoods or just object to being restricted. They think they’ve got a right to roam where they like and resent anyone telling them where they can’t go, particularly aliens. There’s bound to be some unrest.’

‘Can’t be helped,’ Chameakegra said. ‘If we are going to restore the ecosystem it has to be done.’

Ron agreed. ‘The decommissioning of all military equipment and bases is proceeding well. Although your lot are carrying it out we have human involvement. That ones more of a short-term loss big long-term gain. The worst is over. The personnel have already been demobbed along with all the personnel from supporting industries. That’s a lot of displaced, highly exasperated people..’

‘We are ensuring that everyone gets a good measure of food and enough of your ‘money’ to have a good quality of life.’

‘That certainly takes a little of the wind out of sails,’ Ron agreed, nodding in appreciation. ‘I was going to ask you about that. What is this food stuff?’

The Giforian chuckled. ‘Do they not like it?’

‘Oh, they like it alright, once they’ve got used to it. In fact it’s delicious. It’s just that nobody knows what it is.’

‘It’s designed to suit your pallets, to taste really good. It has all the nutrients required and the various flavours and textures maintain interest over time.’

‘Yes, but what is it? Plant or animal or both? Some tastes and feels like meat; some like vegetables and the sweet dessert things are simply to die for. But nobody can identify what the flavours actually are. They’re like nothing we have tasted before.’

Once again Chameakegra found it amusing. ‘None of that food has ever been near to a plant or animal. It was designed in a lab and created in food producing plants. Our research has obviously paid off if people are enjoying it.’

‘It’s certainly a bonus for us that nobody is going hungry,’ Ron remarked, looking extremely impressed. ‘For the first time in the whole of history there are no starving people anywhere on the planet. Every bit of good news helps. We’ll win ‘em over.’

‘But back to those displaced workers; giving them food and money on goes part of the way; they want jobs.’

‘We have set up retraining centres,’ Chameakegra reminded him.

‘That’ll help but it’s too slow. There are a lot of furious people out there whose life has been turned upside down.’

‘Can’t move much faster,’ Chameakegra replied looking thoughtful. ‘Education, caring professions, environmentalists, energy workers. There’s no end of opportunities. Big expanding fields.

‘I think it’s making a difference but there’s a real cyber war going on. Some people are deliberately putting out fake news, conspiracy and lies to confuse and enrage. Nobody can believe anything anymore. We need to counter that.’

‘Neff will have some ideas on that,’ Chameakegra chuckled. ‘They’ll not be a match for her.’

‘So,’ Ron reflected, ‘all departments are up and running, Things are beginning to settle and we have a plan. ‘We just have to wait until everything has settled and hope it holds together long enough so no more violent outbursts scupper us.’

Chameakegra frowned at him. ‘All that is great; if it proceeds fast enough. But it skirts around the real issue, the issue that is fanning the flames.’

Ron nodded. ‘Nationalism.’

‘Right, we’ll need to discuss just how we are going to address these cultural values so that we take the sting out of these primitive tribal nationals.’

‘I don’t reckon you should go around calling them primitives, for a start,’ it was Ron’s turn to produce a wry laugh. ‘Though I’d bloody agree with you. They’re a right shower. But if you go calling them primitive that’ll really rile them up.’

The Cleansing – 36 – Chapter 19

Posted on by Opher

I was looking to create an honest, competent Head of State, who wasn’t in it for himself, didn’t want the position, wasn’t interested in wealth or power and was trying to make the world a better place. I’m sure they’re out there!

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

Chapter 19 – Plans

The meeting in Ron’s office seemed more urgent than usual. Chameakegra entered and took her seat at the table, unwrapping a thin laminated sheet that was apparently her computer. She looked over expectantly.

Ron came over and took his place. This was more formal than usual. They had usually relaxed in the more comfortable seating – his a softly cushioned armchair and hers a specially designed seat to accommodate her tail.

Ron gave Chameakegra a quizzical look. ‘Would you like a drink?’

‘We have to get things moving fast,’ Chameakegra explained, indicating that they did not have time for niceties.

‘But what you are trying to do is extremely radical,’ Ron protested, taken aback at what he took as implied criticism. ‘You cannot implement changes of this magnitude overnight. Even with your technology and workers it will take time. We are talking about changing peoples’ mind sets. That’s massive.’

Chameakegra regarded him with a cool quizzical expression and sighed deeply. In her opinion these Hydrans seemed worse at accepting change than drangling Drefs.

‘The protests, at camps and on-line, are beginning to build and create a groundswell.’ Chameakegra observed looking concerned.

‘So I noticed,’ Ron had been appalled at the scenes he had witnessed in Clacton. ‘I suggest that it would be a good thing to get the camps emptied and all those people processed and returned,’ he observed, taking an adversarial stance. ‘Those camps are the focus for a lot of this trouble and the missing people are a cause for all manner of conspiracy.’

Chameakegra eyed the Hydran and wondered if it wasn’t time to level with him. Could he be trusted? A lot more information might serve to bring him firmly on board but what might his reaction be? It was so hard to tell with these aliens. All species were different and, despite all her studies, Hydrans remained unpredictable. She made her decision.

‘The things is Ron, you don’t realise how important this is.’

Ron frowned.

‘This is existential.’

Ron raised his eyebrows.

‘I was sent here to carry out an assessment.’

‘I know that.’

‘But I do not believe you fully understand the gravity of the situation; that assessment was to decide whether your race is worthy or not. If they are deemed too violent they will be exterminated.’ She waited for the impact of that stark statement to register. Then she proceeded to explain. ‘The Federation sets out to protect itself. We are a tolerant equal society spread right across the galaxy. We cannot afford to incorporate races that will spread violence and disorder. If we come across a race that is likely to cause the Federation trouble we simply erase it. That’s been our policy.’ She frowned across at Ron, her facial plates taking on a pink, sincere colouration. Not that he could have interpreted that. ‘You Hydrans were very nearly erased and everything is still very much in the balance.’ She did not mention her own part in saving them from annihilation. ‘There are powerful forces out there who would like to terminate this experiment and put an end to all this. That is the process. Time is not on our side. If there is much more of this violence it will tip the balance.’

Chameakegra watched Ron’s reaction. His face had blanched. ‘I thought that assessment had already taken place?’

‘It has,’ Chameakegra stated. ‘You were found wanting. It came very close.’

‘So, if these changes do not result in a drastic improvement you are telling me that all humanity will be wiped out?’ Ron was shocked. He had not contemplated this. He’d thought the assessment was over and they were building for the future. He did not know that future was still in the balance.

Chameakegra did not need to respond.

‘How long have we got?’ Ron’s worried face searched Chameakegra’s scaly face seeking an answer.

‘With every passing protest we have less time.’

Ron’s mind was racing. ‘Re-educating a population takes a long time. We can’t get results overnight. The idea of a global government is bad enough. We can alleviate some of the unrest by promoting cultural differences and giving people their national identities.’

Chameakegra looked sceptical. ‘I’m not against keeping some cultural identity. Perhaps a gradual move to a global identity is alright, as long as we eliminate this tribal culture that is so damaging. But that is by the by. Right now we have to prevent further outbreaks of violence. That is fuelling Beheggakegri’s position. Much more and he will act.’

‘Beheggakegri?’  This was all becoming increasingly hard to comprehend.

‘Beheggakegri is the head of UFOR…’

The Cleansing – 35 – Chapter 18 continued

Posted on by Opher

More Alien intrigue as the one faction of aliens controls the populists.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

Grrndakegra sat back with a satisfied glow, deep blue with pleasure. It could not have gone better. Just twenty paid provocateurs could create so much trouble. Just twenty. Who would have believed that?

This entire operation, from the renting of the traffic exchange platforms to raise the profile of Billy’s podcasts to the arranging of transport and staging, had gone remarkably smoothly. Just as she had planned it? But the greatest success was the arranging of the counter demo and hire of those twenty thugs. Without those rocks being hurled this might have all melted away into insignificance. Now they had hard evidence of extreme Hydran violence and not only that, they had publicity to build on for future demos.

What could be better? That satisfied glow came from the sense of a job well done.

Beheggakegri called an emergency meeting of UFOR. Not because there was an emergency but because he’d spotted an opening. He wanted to call an end to the Hydran experiment as soon as possible, get them eradicated and bundle off that drangling Commander Chameakegra and her sycophantic Judge Booghramakegra into the obscurity of deep space for ever. He wanted rid. He did not want to have to think about them and their annoying ways ever again. He wanted his life back. He wanted to eat and relax.

The Hydran protest violence looked ugly. Grrndakegra had certainly done a great job there. This could be just what was required. Surely the committee would agree now?

He heaved himself into his extra-large luxopexi and turned the antigrav up full so that he felt comfortable. Once suitably ensconced he gave his committee a withering glare just so they knew who was boss.

‘The evidence is here for all to see,’ he growled, daring anyone to challenge him. With that he flicked the tridee into action and they watched the scenes of violence unfurl – the vicious blows between demonstrators and counter demonstrators outside the Clacton detainment centre – heads being broken, blood flowing, missiles raining down  – Hydrans being knocked to the ground, beaten and booted senseless. The scenes were graphic. The violence horrible. They had been stitched together to represent the incident at its very worst. Beheggakegri had been delighted with the gory result.

When the sequence had finished Beheggakegri sat back and glared around at his assembled committee. ‘These are the vermin that Commander Chameakegra and Judge Booghramakegra want to admit to the Federation. They claim that these Hydrans’, he spat the word as if it left a disgusting taste in his mouth, ‘are worthy for enrolment.’

Nobody spoke.

‘This is the rabble who are left after we removed all the worst elements,’ Beheggakegri continued disdainfully. ‘They claim that violence is not endemic to their DNA,’ he gestured towards where the last frame of the tridee footage, showing a woman receiving a horrific violent kick to the face while lying prone on the ground, ‘this tells me otherwise.’

Beheggakegri’s eyes roved over the assembled committee, searching for anyone who would dare speak. ‘I say that we end this senseless experiment right now. Save ourselves a lot of time and effort and complete the job. The process has been tried and tested. It has protected the Federation for hundreds of years. We do not need to take risks by introducing these vermin to contaminate our system. Let us end this nonsense once and for all.’

He was about to take a quick vote and wrap things up when Debo, the Arker, raised her furry hand. Her gibbon-like face registered a slight nervousness but also a resolute determination. ‘Surely these are early days?’ She ventured, glancing nervously around to see if she had any support. ‘The systems are still being set up. They haven’t had time to begin working yet.’

‘I agree,’ the tiny Marlan Bark ruffled her feathers, raised her multi-coloured plume and stared defiantly at Beheggakegri. ‘The new education system isn’t even up and running yet. That could have an effect of the Hydran attitudes.’

‘And we haven’t even removed the entire troublesome element yet,’ the Achec Zenn arranged her facial plates into a frown. ‘I’m interested to see if this programme that Commander Chameakegra and Judge Booghramakegra have dreamed up actually works in the long run.’

‘There are big implications for future operations. It could affect how the process is put in place,’ Debo added.

Beheggakegri stared around disbelievingly. This was an out and out rebellion. That was not what Beheggakegri wanted to hear. The dranglers were not only talking like they wanted to continue the experiment; they were after it affecting the process itself. This had to be cut off before it started to grow.

‘The process has worked brilliantly for hundreds of years,’ Beheggakegri repeated indignantly. ‘I have no intention of putting the Federation at risk. Not on my watch!’ For a moment it looked as if things might deteriorate into a full-blown row.

Sang stepped in quickly, looking to apply all his Solarian diplomacy. Years of working with Beheggakegri had shown him how quickly the volatile Dref could turn volcanic. Reptiles were meant to be cold-blooded but Beheggakegri could erupt into incandescence at the flop of a crest. Sang doused himself with refreshing fluid before interrupting. ‘I can fully understand Beheggakegri’s concerns,’ he said, nodding to the Dref whose crest was now fully raised and whose green tinge revealed his inner displeasure. If that green was allowed to turn white they were all in trouble. ‘Our leader has the interests of the Federation at the heart of everything he does.’

The committee looked bemused. The idea of Beheggakegri putting anything above his joy of eating was laughable. The Federation probably never entered his thinking. Beheggakegri did as little as he could get away with and they all knew it.

‘The scenes we have witnessed are truly disturbing,’ Sang continued, shaking his smooth-featured head in sorrow and giving his integument another douse to alleviate his distress. ‘I can clearly see why our leader thinks these Hydrans might be a threat to our system.’ Sang was relieved to observe that Beheggakegri’s crest was slightly deflating and his coloured had softened into a less outraged yellow. ‘On the evidence we have seen these creatures are violent and loathsome.’ He noted a tinge of blue satisfaction creeping into Beheggakegri’s extremities. He was appreciating Sang’s unexpected support. ‘However, I, and I am sure our leader agrees, acknowledges that the experiment is in its early days and we have a way to go yet.’

The blue tinge faded rapidly and the crest rose again but Beheggakegri did not respond.

‘It wasn’t enough!’ Beheggakegri stormed.

‘That’s hardly my fault,’ Grrndakegra replied, openly regarding the white enraged Dref with a look of annoyance, her own yellowy-green tinge defiantly signalling her own disgust. Her eyes roved across Beheggakegri’s bulging scutes with repugnance. It was fortunate that they were conversing across lightyears of space, in the flesh the repulsion might have proved too much to disguise. At least with the hyperspace link there was no aroma. ‘I delivered what you wanted. There was violence and fury by the ton. It was up to you to sell it to the committee.’

Beheggakegri turned as white as snow, his crest rising. He was not used to being treated with such open contempt. The Commander’s tone was more offensive than the words. When this was all over there would be a reckoning. ‘Just get the job done!’ He snapped off the connection.

The Cleansing – 34 – Chapter 18

Posted on by Opher

An aliens view of the sort of populist crap served up by Tommy Robinson and Farage.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

Chapter 18 – Joy and Fury

Beheggakegri watched the great protest with a building elation. These Hydrans were such chumps. You had to laugh. Look at them in their fancy costumes, chanting like primitives. How had these cretins actually managed to harness electricity let alone master nuclear fission? Hard to believe. This is just what was needed to show them up for what they were. That stupid Commander Chameakegra would get hers yet! He’d see to that. This was the proof that he needed. These primitive twerps were demonstrating quite clearly that they weren’t worthy, weren’t capable of being civilised. They were playing right into his hands.

He went back to watching the idiots prance around in the sunshine soaking up the ridiculous speech from that prize moron and chortling to himself over a particularly amusing part while shovelling Limo’s delicious dainties down his oesophagus. Grrndakegra was proving to be a genius. The lunar and camp crises were fading into the past. Life was looking up.

Grrndakegra was on the bridge of the Quorma when the message came through. She pretended to be too busy to answer so shunted it on to record. Beheggakegri’s signature appeared on her communicator his bloated features coalescing in the air. Grrndakegra winced at the sight of the dribble of sort kind of purple creamy juice that was oozing down from the corner of Beheggakegri’s mouth along the crevices of his mandibular plates. That same purple gunge was clogged around his yellowing fangs. She frowned in disgust. Didn’t he have any standards? This guy was running UFOR for heaven’s sake. He could at least have made himself presentable. She did not have to disguise her grimace of repugnance as it was on record for which she was grateful.

‘Grrndakegra,’ Beheggakegri purred, ‘I wanted to congratulate you. I am watching the Hydran protest. Five hundred thousand. Who could believe it? You’ve done a great job. What a bunch of fools. I’m keeping a record. When it comes to the final reckoning we can use stuff like this to sort them out. We’re going to take them down. Well done. Keep it up.’

Grrndakegra considered the short message. Was that supposed to raise her morale? Was she supposed to feel pleased that he’d recognised the success of her scheme? It niggled at her. How had this moron gained such power? How was he still there? What a repulsive creature. Here he was telling her that they needed a record to use against them. What the gruthul did he think she was doing it for?

Grrndakegra took a few minutes to cool herself down and get her scutes under control. Only when she was a satisfactory blue did she fashion a reply – short and succinct.

‘Keep watching. The best is yet to come.’

With the speeches over, the crowd suitably roused, it was time to march on the detention centre.

With Billy and Charlene leading, flanked by Foxy, Debbie, Denby, John, Kathy and Cheryl they set off towards the camp. Banners were held high and placards raised as stewards with loudhailers led the crowd in chants:

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK!’

‘OUT LIZARDS OUT!’

The sound echoed off the buildings and as they snaked out into the country roads on the way to the camp the chanting roared into the sky and seemed to echo off the clouds.

Arrival at the base was an anti-climax. No barbed wire, electric fence, turrets or even a hedge – just an invisible barrier that seemed to encircle the large camp. Not even any guards to hurl abuse at. The protest was being kept at a distance. Obviously a second barrier closer in kept the inmates from coming out to exchange words with the protestors. Groups of inmates could be seen gathering against the inner barrier, gesticulating and shouting. Unfortunately the barriers appeared to deaden the sound so it was impossible to make out what was being shouted. The few lizards that could be seen seemed completely unperturbed.

The protestors peered in at the rows of pristine barracks seemingly made of some functional plastic substance. By now the inmates were gathering in large groups shouting and gesticulating from within. There did not appear to be any restraint on their movement or any attempt to control them. The odd Giforian lizard could be seen moving between the huts. A few lumbering Leff were standing at the end of one of the huts. A few Xercs were up on the roof doing some maintenance work. A Marlan and a Jerb joined the Leffs but none of the aliens seemed at all interested in the massive Hydran protest outside the barriers or what the inmates were up to. They stood in conversation without so much as a glance towards the angry chanting mob.

Outside, the protestors raged in an impotent show of fury. The fact that there was no focus or response seemed to rile them up even more. They bashed at the barrier with their placards, fists and boots. They hurled abuse at the aliens; shouted greetings and futile promises to the inmates. Then they began searching out stones to hurl at the barrier, attempting to find how high it extended. Nothing got through. It went higher than they could hurl.

By this time the rage was in danger of burning itself out. There was nothing they could do. All their ranting, wailing, chanting and insults were falling on deaf ears. The protest was in danger of collapsing like a damp squib.

That’s when the counter demonstration came into sight. They too carried placards but they were of a different nature – PEACE AND LOVE, GIVE PEACE A CHANCE, A BETTER FUTURE. They chanted but were not dressed up in union jacks or waving flags. They looked like a rag-tag bunch of escapees from a hippie love-in.

These peaceniks were only a few hundred, marching arm in arm but they made a considerable racket.

At first the two groups met in a stand-off. A thin line of police separated the two and Stewards were trying their hardest to keep control.

Abuse was hurled back and forth, accusations and derogatory remarks as both sides pressed against the poor police attempting to keep control. Things were rowdy but within limits. Placards waved, fists shaken, insults hurled, nothing really serious.

Then, from the back of the anti-alien crowd rocks started being hurled, heads were blooded and the mood changed. From being rowdy it rapidly turned violent. There was nothing the police or stewards could do. A rain of missiles, fists, boots flew, placards were used as clubs and spears. Screams, yells, rallying calls and hysteria rent the air. It did not take long for the counter demonstrators to be overwhelmed, trampled and forced into desperate flight.

Howls of victory were hurled at the ragged remnants as they fled the scene, along with rocks and abuse. Adrenaline ruled.

By the time police reinforcements reached the scene of the battle it was all over. The ambulances arrived and injured were seen to. The unconscious, wounded and hysterical were carted off and order resumed. No fatalities but many nasty wounds, gashes, broken limbs and fractured skulls. The fighting had been intense. But once the focus was removed the inflamed emotions soon settled. It hadn’t lasted long but the repercussions would last a lot longer.

The Cleansing – 33 – Chapter 16 and into Chapter 17

Posted on by Opher

Addressing things such as populism and nationalism within the context of an alien invasion was an interesting challenge:

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278914952: Books

‘God, King and Country!’ Billy reminded the crowd outside Clacton Town Hall. ‘That’s what we stand for. They are stealing our country, kidnapping people right left and centre and undermining all our values. Who cares about pie in the sky?? We want our country back! WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK!!’

‘WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK!!’ the huge crowd roared back at him.

Grrndakegra watched the antics. She’d selected right. Billy Smythe could certainly rouse a crowd.

‘Incredible,’ Beheggakegri remarked. ‘Who would have believed it. These Hydrans are truly stupid.’

‘I’m not sure it’s just stupidity,’ Grrndakegra reflected. ‘They seem to have an ability to relate to things emotionally instead of rationally.’

‘That’s the definition of stupidity,’ Beheggakegri chortled.

Grrndakegra looked doubtful. ‘I’m not sure what it is. I think it stems back to some kind of tribal allegiance. It overrides logic. They attach themselves to an idea or person and remain loyal to it despite all the evidence.’

Beheggakegri looked baffled. ‘But they were given the whole proof of what those people had been up to. The corruption, greed and violence were laid bare and still they don’t believe it. They had the evidence!’ Beheggakegri looked genuinely nonplussed, his blue forked tongue licking over his scaly lips. He grudgingly shook his head at Grrndakegra in open admiration. ‘That was masterly.’

Grrndakegra couldn’t help feeling a burst of pride. Yes it had been masterly. ‘Easy really,’ she replied modestly. ‘Put out enough stuff contradicting and undermining, foster a climate of distrust, shout conspiracy and fake news loud enough and often enough and you can undermine anything. These Hydrans are remarkably gullible.’

‘I didn’t think it was possible,’ Beheggakegri beamed admiringly. He was so pleased that, even though it went against his nature, he couldn’t help displaying it. ‘When Chameakegra put out all the material that Neff had gathered I thought our glibwort was barbequed.’

‘So did I, so did I,’ Grrndakegra chuckled, ‘but,’ and her mood darkened, ‘we’re not out of the woods yet.’

‘No, indeed,’ Beheggakegri replied. The thoughts of the lunar base and those camps loomed up in his head. ‘But I think we’ve covered our scutes.’

‘I hope so.’

Chapter 17 – Protest

Clacton, despite its ancient history did not have many old buildings to boast of. Apart from a couple of old churches and the pier there was not a lot to attract people to the small seaside town. The population is predominantly a monoculture with a large percentage of white unemployed and single parent families along with a multitude of grey-haired retirees, which rather explains its support for populist politicians and anti-immigrant policies. A walk along the front meant dodging an armada of mobility scooters, having to squint in the dazzling light bouncing off glossy bald heads and trying to walk round waddling blubbery girls pushing pushchairs while trying not to trip over their false eyelashes and gossiping on their mobiles.

On the face of it not an ideal site to place a large detention centre as it was almost certain to stir up local resistance, but perhaps an exceedingly good place to hold a rally against the alien invasion. The local populace were staunchly patriotic, to the point of being nationalistic. If you were talking ‘British Values’, whatever they were, this was the place to go.

Even before the alien invasion every pub, coffee house and queue was a hotbed of gossip concerning how our values were being eroded by bloody immigrants. Now, the immigrants from another star system were truly taking over and those ‘British Values’ were in the process of being discarded altogether. It might appear that the new ‘Universal Values’ of equality, tolerance, empathy, compassion and respect were not very different from the ‘British Values’ that people claimed to espouse. Though, from the heated discussions all over town it was apparent that supporting a set of values associated with your country and cultural and having similar values foisted on us by outsiders were two distinctly different things.

Clacton had been lucky with the weather. A warm sunny day showed off the large paved square overlooked by its two hundred year-old hotel to good effect. The refurbished Royal Hotel made an excellent backdrop combining Victorian charm with modern convenience. The surrounding shops and cafes were looking forward to the event and were hoping to make a killing. The water jets themselves were turned off but by the time the event got underway, with the sun beating down, there would be many who would wish that they’d been left on.

The stage was set early in the morning. A pall of expectation hung in the air. A few children were playing in the square wishing and forlornly hoping that the water jets would start up. The locals, mainly those pensioners and mothers with toddlers in pushchairs, sat around on the seats expectantly waiting for something to start up. Not much ever happened around here. This protest was the biggest thing that had ever happened in years. You could taste the excitement. The square hummed with the chatter of locals with a few buskers already setting up their pitches and rehearsing for when the crowds finally arrived. The locals were waiting, not wanting to miss a second of it.

All through that morning the special coaches and trains flowed into that ancient market town. Clacton hadn’t seen the like of it for many a year. Electricity sang in the air as the crowds rapidly started to grow and the newcomers, all dolled out in their union jacks, flags of St George and assorted regalia gathered in knots discussing what was about to take place. They did not quite know what to do about the cosmopolitan contingents who had flown in from around the world. That was confusing. But they were all united in their opposition to the lizards.

The excitement mounted by the second. They weren’t coming for a day out at the arcades on the pier or strolls along the sandy beaches. They were coming for Billy Smythe. They were coming because the alien lizards were stealing their land; the land they paid homage to. They were angry and were looking to vent their fury. They came with their banners, their flags of St. George and their union jacks to make a statement. They weren’t going to roll over and give away their country. They were going to fight for it.

 Some were even dressed as crusaders ready for battle; some wore full costumes made of their flags. They were ready for battle. As they marched from the train and bus station they chanted:

Out, lizards, out! 

Hear us all shout! 

Out, lizards, out! 

We are British, loud and clear,  
We are British, WE ARE HERE!

Out, lizards, out! 

Hear us all shout! 

Out, lizards, out! 

Country back!  
Country back!  
We want our country back! 

Out, lizards, out! 

Hear us all shout! 

Out, lizards, out! 

Tens of thousands of them snaked through the main street. It seemed as if the whole 53,000 inhabitants had come out to either cheer them on or gawp.  The large stage that had been erected in fountain square in front of the hotel was the focal point and was equipped with a powerful PA. The rumour was that Tommy Robinson was going to speak. Others said Nigel Farage. The two of them seemed to have abandoned their hatred of Muslims and immigrants to focus on alien lizards.

‘More money in it,’ Charly had cynically remarked, scathing of Farage and Robinson who she viewed as opportunists. She found that she had mixed feelings about a number of things as Billy prepared for his big day, but she let them slide. There was something about Farage and Robinson that stuck in her craw. She didn’t like the way they had jumped on the bandwagon. For the most part she kept her thoughts to herself. She agreed with what Billy was doing and was greatly impressed by his rise to prominence. That filled her with pride. The immigrants and aliens both needed dealing with but hypocritical politicians jumping on the bandwagon sickened her. She didn’t want her Billy associated with people she regarded as scum.

They had come down to Clacton the day before. Billy’s unidentified benefactor having provided a luxury suite in the hotel complete with banquet. It felt like being on honeymoon.

On the day neither Farage nor Robinson showed but that didn’t matter. The crowd were content with Billy Smythe. Denby, Cheryl, John, Kathy, Foxy and Debbie had all made the journey down to support their Billy. They took the piss out of him unmercifully but he took it well. He knew they were immensely proud of him.

A few local dignitaries took to the stage to welcome them to Clacton. The dignitaries went down like a bag of sick. The crowd obviously identified them with the reactionary windbags of old. But when Billy took to the stage the crowd went wild.

‘Wow!’ Billy said from the wings, prior to the event, surveying the enormous sea of faces. The square was packed and still people were arriving down the various streets converging on the square. Everywhere was awash with flags like a great field of red and white sunflowers.

When the moment came Billy strode the stage like a veteran showing no signs of nerves. He told the crowd just what they wanted to hear. ‘We have been invaded!! They are trying to destroy our culture – what do we say to that?’

The crowd told him exactly what they said to that. They wanted the alien lizards out! And they expressed that in no uncertain terms: ‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘They’re trying to impose foreign control on us! The think that having a global government will solve all our problems. I say their idea of unity is nothing less than tyranny!’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘They tell us that they are revamping our education system. That they are transforming our schools. Setting up propaganda machines more like! Brainwashing our kids!’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘They’ve taken our military apart and think we are helpless. They think we are helpless. I ask you – ARE WE HELPLESS??’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

By the time Billy had finished winding them up they were ready to tear the lizards apart with their bare hands.

‘Let’s go to the camp and show them that we don’t want them or their ideas here! We’re British! This is our country! We want our country back!’

‘FUCK THE LIZARDS! FUCK THE LIZARDS!’

‘WE WANT OUR COUNTRY BACK!’

The news was dominated by the massive protest.