The Cleansing – 21 – Chapter 8

Posted on by Opher

What could an alien say that might diminish the fear levels in the population?:

Chapter 8 – The Mechanics

‘People of Earth,’ Chameakegra was delivering one of her now customary addresses to the nation. She had learnt to use the Hydran name for their planet – Neff had informed her that using the Federation name – Hydra – was creating unnecessary aggravation. She’d learnt. She was there in all her pomp, with raised crest and ceremonial uniform. The premise was that the Hydrans were becoming used to the presents of large numbers of mainly saurian Giforian and Dref. The sight of a Giforian resplendent in full plated glory was not going to produce such a shock. ‘Please allow me to explain the progress we have made.’

She paused to compose herself into her most serious expression, her scutes a reassuring blue, even though she was certain that Hydrans would not yet be able to interpret the expressions and coloration of her and her kin. She began with her customary attempt at reassurance.

‘Your planet is no longer on the brink of disaster. We have put an end to all wars and completely dismantled the terrible weapons you were threatening each other with. We have started the rebuilding of your ecosystem and cleaned up the pollution. You will notice the air is fresher and the water tastes better. Together with the newly created government we have helped you set up the infrastructure, institutions and organisation necessary for you to survive and prosper. That was our stated intent and is happening at pace.’

‘I explained to you before that we are here to help. You can see the fruits of our joint efforts all around you.’ She tried to look solemn and convincing. Hydrans put a lot of stock in appearance, more so than facts and outcomes.  ‘I know that in order to do that, we have had to take over and make some radical changes. That, in the short-term, is unpleasant, even scary. But I know that in time you will come to realise that it was necessary.’

‘I will once again outline our programme so that you can understand what we are doing.’ The camera zoomed in to a close-up of her face. By now they were at least beginning to notice that the coloration reflected some inner emotions even if they could not yet understand what they signified.

Chameakegra was going for complete honesty. The hope was that maybe people would start listening to her words.

‘We have taken over the planet for a short time while we set up the necessary structures and implement the essential changes.’

According to Neff it was necessary to keep reiterating the same points. Some shady Hydran propagandist from their past had said that if you repeated a lie often enough people would come to believe it. Surely the same thing had to be true to an even greater extent for the truth?

‘By now you can see that the tribal nations that were restricting your development have been permanently removed. They are being replaced with global governance. An embryonic Hydran government has been instituted and will operate out of the old UN in New York City. The new government was put together by assembling all the best brains and talents from all across the planet. Our supercomputer on the Neff our hyperspace craft, has used its immense data-bank to select the most worthy and capable Hydrans for the task. They will be headed by the Planetary Steward Ron Forsythe, a highly gifted creative who we value greatly. Instead of elected politicians who are good at talking but not so good when it comes to making things work we have replaced that system with a true meritocracy. I can assure you that things will work a lot better from now on. This team are presently being trained in order to carry out their role in taking this planet forward into a new age. When our job is done we will retreat and leave you to operate autonomously.’

Chameakegra knew that this was not going to go down well. The Hydran’s tribal instincts were proving hard to budge but she also knew that it was essential to force that process through. All the opinion polls said the same thing. Yet if the Hydrans were going to survive and progress they had to move on. Tribal sentiments were far too primitive. There was no room for that primeval ideology in the Federation. Besides, this tribal rivalry diverted resources and hampered progress. She set about putting forward the argument.

‘Having a global system will work far better. It will unify all people and enable things to work more efficiently. Sharing over a whole planet is much more efficient. Pollution and nature are not restricted by national boundaries. Having energy, commerce and transport flowing freely without restriction will make things faster and more efficient. Standardising measurements and materials will make life easier. The same rules and regulations will apply universally and be easier to enforce. A global system works far better than any patchwork of differences. You will see.’

Here she wanted to mollify some of the concerns.

‘Having a global system does not mean that local customs and flavours will be lost. You will still find the same old cultural differences will abound. You will not find things are different. You will still look and feel exactly the same as you did.’ She failed to mention that a number of cultural practices, including the more insane religious practices, would either go or be phased out. Foods, music and dress were one thing, misogyny, genital mutilation and unhealthy bodily harm was quite another.

They would learn in time. The exposure to different galactic civilisations would open eyes. Right now she just had to be reassuring.

As you can see, we have already neutralized the immense military capability and dismantled armouries. The time, energy and resources devoted to killing fellow citizens are already being diverted to better uses.’

The trouble with Hydrans was that they were far too emotional. They had to learn to rein that in. The future demanded rational thinking. If religion and national differences were removed conflict could be averted. The future assured.

‘It was apparent that the system that dominated on the planet evolved out of greed and power madness. The way the world was run was dictated by a small elite who controlled everything through bribery, threats and violence. They orchestrated wars, division and conflict out of self-interest. They controlled the media and, through the use of lies, conspiracy, propaganda and fake news, they controlled the minds of the populace. We have been forced to act. It was essential to remove the rot in order to heal the gaping wounds. Our supercomputer on the Neff has identified these narcissists, psychopaths and sociopaths and they have been removed from their positions of power. They have been replaced with caring, compassionate, altruistic competent people. You should start noticing a fairer world in which everyone can prosper.’

She was only repeating what she had heard so many times. This was what a number of Hydrans had been saying for some time – the billionaires controlled the world and set up the global system to benefit themselves. Things were about to change. The world was about to be run for the people. They needed to know that she meant business. And she meant to address the problems this created head on.

 ‘We know that this has temporarily left a vacuum at the centre of businesses, governments and financial organisations. These people had, over the course of centuries, inveigled their way to the top of the world’s institutions. Their dynasties have spread privilege, discrimination and prejudice throughout the world. Their greed, self-interest and lack of empathy and compassion, has infiltrated the zeitgeist you all survive in. They have selfishly and callously creamed off the wealth for their extravagant lifestyles at the expense of everyone else and the natural environment. Their only motivation has been to accumulate more in an orgy of profit over reason. The whole system is corrupt. The consequences of their actions have not been a consideration. The Neff has identified these people and we have removed them. We are sorry to have caused you all much distress.’

Chameakegra was fully aware of the damaging scenes that were plastered all over the Hydran communications networks; scenes of people being forcibly dragged away from their distraught families. It was not a pretty sight. Somehow she had to justify those unpleasant scenes.

‘I would like to reassure you that we mean these people no harm. They are suffering from a sickness that can be cured. We are holding them temporarily in camps before moving them to facilities where trained staff will address their symptoms and treat their maladies. They will be treated and returned to you, to take up far more positive roles in the future, as soon as they are well.’

She hoped that was sufficient. It would have to do. There was no way anything she said was going to undo the harm that Grrndakegra’s Stormtroopers were doing. She moved on.

‘We wish to leave you with a fully functional planet run by and for, happy, well-adjusted people.’

 ‘To achieve this aim we had to overhaul all your institutions with a view to improving their function. As one of your athletes put it – short term pain – long term gain.’

‘You will have noticed a large number of new education facilities springing up everywhere, equipped with the latest tools to enable learning and expand minds. Education is a major priority. These schools will be properly funded and staffed with highly trained educators so that they can provide an immaculate service and help your children develop their minds, cultivate their sensibilities and reach their potential. Much of the resources from the disbanding of the military will be used to develop a universal education system that will benefit everyone.’

This was a difficult area. Neff’s research indicated that a percentage of the Hydrans saw this as a blatant mechanism for indoctrination or even brainwashing. Nothing she could do about that. Education was key to expanding minds and developing well-adjusted adults. That’s all there was to it. They’d soon see. It was also necessary for the furtherment of science and technology – the tools of a civilised culture.

The Cleansing – 20 – Chapter 7 continued

Posted on by Opher

Juxtaposing the scene with a group of working class friends in an English pub with a middle class writer and the politics of two factions of aliens. The intrigue mounts in Chapter 7:

‘OK lads and lasses,’ Billy announced. ‘I’ve been thinking long and hard…’

‘Don’t strain that brain cell,’ Foxy heckled.

Billy ignored him and pressed on. ‘It’s not good us all sitting around doing nothing while these bloody lizards make us their slaves. We’ve got to get off our arses and do something.’

‘At least they’ve got the busses running and people getting back to work,’ Bob asserted.

‘And the shops are open,’ Debbie added.

Billy gave the pair of them a withering glare. ‘I think we have to carry out some kind of protest. Make our voices heard. We can’t allow them to simply take our country off us without a fight.’

‘We’re not after us putting up flags and painting roundabouts, are you?’ Foxy asked cheekily.

‘No Foxy, I’m not. I think it’s got a bit beyond that. I’ve called a meeting of local residents for this evening.’

‘Where?’ Cheryl enquired.

‘Here,’ Billy said, turning towards her then gestured towards the bar. ‘I’ve checked with Nobby. He thinks it’s a great idea. Might drum up some business.’

‘Bit short notice, isn’t it?’ Foxy retorted.

‘How many do you think will come?’ Kathy asked.

‘If we get a dozen or so it’ll be worth it,’ Billy replied with a shrug. ‘At least it’ll make a point. We’ve got to do something, haven’t we?’

‘Fat lot of good that’ll do,’ Denby muttered morosely. He looked up at Billy. ‘Do you think those fucking lizards are all going to bugger off home because there’s a few dissatisfied customers in the Ashley Arms?’

‘No I don’t,’ Billy turned on him, ‘but we’ve got to do something. What do you suggest, big guy?’

‘I dunno.’ Denby looked flummoxed but then that was easily done.

‘We don’t want to rile them,’ John observed dubiously.

‘An’ we don’t want to allow the buggers to walk all over us, either,’ Charlene jumped to Billy’s defence. ‘At least our Billy is making a stand. He’s doing something. He’s put it out over facebook and the like. Had a lot of attention. There are a lot of people unhappy. We’ve gotta do something.’

‘I suppose,’ said Denby with a sigh.

‘Seven o’clock,’ Billy stated, peering challengingly round at all of them. ‘Right?’

Ron stood facing the giant lizard. His heart was racing but his mind seemed remarkably clear, given the circumstances. ‘What can I do for you?’ The words somehow came out without so much as a tremor despite the rush of panic that seemed to be threatening to overwhelm him.

The huge multi-coloured reptile stared at him and slowly nodded. Then in perfect English it began to speak. Ron found it mesmerising as he watched that bright blue forked tongue swish around helping form the words.

‘Are you Ron Forsythe?’

‘Yes.’

‘Ron Forsythe the writer.’

Yes.’

‘I have read all your works.’

‘You have?’ Ron was astounded. This was the last thing he had expected. Nobody had read all his books.

The more this conversation progressed the more unreal the whole thing seemed. Ron wasn’t sure if he shouldn’t invite the lizard in. It was bizarre for them to be holding a conversation stood here on the doorstep. Odd things started buzzing around in his head. Like would the chairs stand up to the weight of the large saurian? Would it fit under the ceiling? And how could it sit with that huge tail? Did it have to have special furniture? And how was that strange inflexible mouth and forked tongue forming words? What did their own language sound like? A series of clicks and barks? How the hell had this creature read all his hundred and twenty books? Nobody had ever done that. And where the hell was his notebook when he needed it?

Maybe he should ask the lizard to leave some reviews on Amazon?

‘You have an extraordinary mind.’

‘I do?’

‘Yes. I have greatly enjoyed the philosophy you have laid out along with your compassion and empathy. It perfectly aligns with my own.’

‘It does?’ this was becoming weirder and weirder by the minute.  He was beginning to doubt that it was really happening. Could he really be standing on his doorstep having a conversation with an alien lizard that was a fan of his work? You couldn’t write it let alone live it. Where was this heading? Was the bloody lizard going to ask him to sign a few copies? He nearly burst out laughing but it was hardly appropriate.

‘Ron Forsythe, I am Commander Chameakegra the officer in joint charge of this rehabilitation exercise. You may have seen me on your receiving device.’

Ron reached out automatically to shake hands but quickly, after a glimpse of those razor-sharp talons, changed his mind. ‘Yes. Ron Forsythe, writer.’

‘Ron, we are putting together an interim government to run the planet under our auspices until you Hydrans are fully ready to rule yourself. You have to understand that this is largely a titular role at this moment in time although it will give you the ability to discuss policy with us and help shape the actions we are taking. I am here to offer you a role in this administration.’ Chameakegra studied Ron with searching eyes. She could plainly see his horror at the thought of being offered a role in this new government. He did not believe it. She tried to reassure him. ‘The best people to rule are the ones who really don’t want to. They do not think they are wonderful and deserve to rule; they do not think they can do the job brilliantly so they work at it and really try hard, they do it because it needs doing and they care; they want it to work.’ Chameakegra smiled. Ron could see it was a smile. ‘Our H-craft Ness, using the data collected and processing all the information about everyone on your planet, has selected you.’

Ron stared at the lizard in total disbelief. This was definitely a dream. Nobody in the real world would appear out of nowhere and offer some useless failed writer a role in a new global government. That was too silly to be believable.

‘Ron Forsythe, I duly pronounce you ‘Protector of the Planet’.

He found his voice, though it seemed to be coming from a long way away. ‘What the fuck??? You gotta be kidding!!’

The government was put together, taking over the UN Headquarters in Turtle Bay New York – an ideal building for governing the world. The UN itself was disbanded, no longer necessary. A number of its delegates had been rounded up, along with the majority of politicians from around the world. No longer would self-serving greed be tolerated. The job of politicians was to serve the people and help the world to develop, not satisfy their urge for power and line their own pockets. This government was going to be different.

There were no longer any nations but the representatives were drawn from the remainder of ‘honest’ politicians along with creatives, scientists, technologists and engineers. It was a cabinet of doers and thinkers, none of which thought they were capable or equipped, but all of which were selected by Neff’s assessment as being ideal for the role.

Nobody knew what they were meant to be doing but that was understandable. They weren’t seasoned politicians. They had no back up system of civil servants. They were floundering in the dark. The lizards were running things anyway. They just had to find their feet. The dazed and confused team began the process of settling in to their environment and trying to come to terms with the presence of their saurian overlords. They were all completely shocked but they set about grappling with the role they had been given. What else could they do?

At the head of the organisation sat Ron Forsythe, a bewildered writer.

Chameakegra and Grrndakegra had fallen into their respective roles. Chameakegra handled the governance and public relations, Grrndakegra handled the excision, temporary housing of the excised and dismantling of the military and unneeded facilities. Chameakegra was eager to complete the facilities on the moon but that had fallen under Grrndakegra’s remit. She had a feeling that the temporary camps in which the errant Hydrans were housed might well be detrimental to the success of the operation but was helpless to do anything about it.

She had already developed an antithesis to Grrndakegra’s high-taloned tactics. The removal exercise seemed mere mechanical to Grrndakegra who really did not seem to grasp the emotional impact of the operation on the Hydrans. Perhaps she just did not care? Or was there a more sinister reason lurking behind the brusque way the Hydrans were being handled? Probably. Chameakegra knew that from what Grrndakegra herself had said. She had made it quite clear that she was not bothered either way about the outcome of the operation, but was it something more than that? If, as Chameakegra suspected, she was carrying out Beheggakegri’s orders she would be doing all in her power to ensure that the operation failed.

Chameakegra had a steely look on her face. She could not allow that to happen.

The Cleansing – 19 – Chapter 7

Posted on by Opher

I thought it might be interesting to bring myself into the story. I always have a liking for a tall tale. I can indulge my creativity and idealism.

Chapter 7 – The Appointment

The craft came to a halt in the road outside Ron Forsythe’s home. He was in the kitchen making himself a coffee before continuing with the next chapter of his latest Sci-fi novel. Even in the midst of an alien invasion life had to go on. All this alien activity seemed to have lubricated some gland in his cerebrum. The ideas were flowing. He was finding it hard to keep up with the flow. That’s what he loved – riding the crest of that wave. It felt like heaven.

For Ron writing was a kind of therapy. He lost himself in deep meditative immersion. The world disappeared and he became completely submerged in his characters, setting and plot. Ideas popped out of nowhere, chasing each other’s tails, and sent him eager to get them turned into scenes. Nothing else mattered. Even the invasion of the planet by a race of alien lizards seemed secondary. There was nothing he could do about the invasion so he might as well write. While the ideas were growing he had to harvest them. If he left them they turned sour.

The kettle turned itself off as Ron watched the craft as it hovered above the tarmac. It seemed smaller than the one that had carted George and Jean off but of similar ilk – sleek, metallic and shape not dissimilar to one of those new-fangled concept cars. He studied it with professional interest. It might just provide the template for one of the craft he was writing about in his latest book. About the size of a city coach with a curved hull with organic curves giving the appearance of a living creature. He liked it. It had bags of character, not just a bland technologically sound spiritless piece of practical technology; it had real character. Ron stared at the metallic hull trying to commit it to memory and thought his eyes might be playing with him as if seemed to be made of a strange alloy that shifted before his gaze, flowing with iridescent greens and silver, almost liquid. He was loving this. Perhaps he should start making some notes before it disappeared?

The kettle was forgotten, his spoon of coffee with three sweeteners sitting in the bottom of his mug waited in vain for the boiling water.

The more he peered at that alloy the craft was made of the stranger it seemed. Ron noticed that while it was perfectly smooth it did not reflect light at all. If anything the sunshine seemed to be absorbed into its substance. The reflection from its surface seemed to emanate from within it. Weird and intriguing. But then it was alien shit wasn’t it? You couldn’t expect it to be mundane.

Having an actual alien craft sitting on the road outside your house for you to study at length was manna from heaven to a Sci-fi writer. Who could have imagined?

His eyes sucked it in like a starving leech on an obese backside.

Ron wondered how they operated the machine. There was no obvious cockpit or clear window at the front. He surmised that there had to be some kind of radar and a screen inside. Interesting.

The propulsion was also a mystery. There were no visible nacelles, rockets or boosters. If he listened intently he could just make out a soft throb. Something was going on but he could not say what. It certainly looked fast and agile and he’d seen the other one zooming straight up into the sky. He hadn’t thought of it at the time, more concerned with what had happened to George and Jean to think about that, but he’d seen no rocket flames or plasma pulses. Whatever powered it had to be some strange new science. Intriguing.

Here it was effortlessly hovering above the tarmac with no visible sign of support, no wheels, struts or tangible structure. It just floated. These aliens were incredibly interesting.

Only then did Ron come out of his reverie to think about what the machine was doing outside his house. Were they coming for him or one of his neighbours? Perhaps they were on some alien tea break? At any moment he expected those openings in the hull to dilate and a bunch of saurian Stormtroopers to pour out.

Eventually an opening did dilate and a solitary lizard did step out. A lone lizard, and it hardly looked like a Stormtrooper. Ron studied the lizard as it looked around taking in its surrounds. It appeared just like the lizard he’d seen on the telly. But then they all looked exactly the same, didn’t they?

Ron turned his full attention on to this new alien character. Another opportunity to study an alien up close. Very handy. It was certainly an impressive creature. The face was flattened and scaly with two holes that were obviously nostrils below the most amazing green eyes that sparkled like emeralds in the sunshine. The whole body, or at least all that he could see of it, was covered in large scales although the face seemed to be plated in more flexible skin. They glistened and gleamed in the sunlight as if they had been oiled. Very similar to the alloy of the craft it had emerged from. The scales also seemed fluid, streaming with iridescent colour.

If only he’d had his notebook handy. Perhaps he should rush and get it, but by then the creature and its craft might have gone. Best to study it while he could.

The creature reared upright to a height that seemed more than nine feet but the crest on its head gave it at least another foot and that didn’t seem to be fully erect yet. Wow! He studied the muscular legs and long sinuous tail that was deployed for balance and thought that that ridged tail would probably make a fearsome weapon if it came to a fight, as would the long curved scimitars of claws to be found on all four appendages. He found himself wondering about the nature of the fangs that probably lurked within the thin line of that set mouth. Not something you’d like to encounter on a moonless night down a dark lane. No wonder it seemed confident on its own. You wouldn’t want to mess with it. That alien lizard was a fearsome specimen.

Ron felt Woody press up against his leg. The dog couldn’t see the saurian but he could no doubt sense it and hear that strange pulsing sound from the craft. He hadn’t barked though. That was strange. If the postman had come anywhere near he would have been doing his best impression of Cujo – Stephen King’s rabid hound.

Ron reached down to scratch Woody’s ears reassuringly while watching what was going on outside in a detached manner. The alien orientated itself, leisurely looking around at the houses and then both ways down the avenue, not appearing at all apprehensive.

Seemingly, having ascertained that it was in the right place the reptile strode determinedly towards the front door.

With a start Ron realised that it was coming for him.

Woody, his fearless defender, must have also sensed that the alien lizard was coming to their door as he slunk off back to his bed with his tail between his legs, curled himself up and pretended nothing was happening. So much for fearless defender of his master. Ron kind of wished he could do the same. But there was also a tang of curiosity. What did the creature want with him? Or was it after Liz?

Ron looked from the dog to the doorway. Somehow he couldn’t imagine the giant psychedelic lizard ringing the doorbell and, not wanting the door to end up in splinters like had happened to George and Jean, hurried off to open it before the lizard got there. Whatever the creature wanted there seemed no point in resisting. He’d stand no chance. He’d go quietly. Though if it wanted to take Liz there’d be harsh words.

Ron flung open the door just as Chameakegra arrived on the step.

The Cleansing 16 – Chapter 5 continued

Posted on by Opher

I like to ground my Sci-fi in the present time. In this novel I introduced myself, under the Ron Forsythe alias, as a character. That was fun.

The novel itself is an objective view of humanity in which I attempt to dissect the good and the bad and delve into the reasons.

Here’s Chapter 5:

Ron lived on a mixed estate. There were people from all walks of life. He liked to associate with creative people and live in a rural environment. Nature and creativity were important to him, but pleasant surrounds were sought after by many different types of people. Down his street there were people from many professions.

The night was one of those clear, bright nights, the type where the stars are visible as a glimmering scattering of glistening salt on a black velvet cloth. The moon, almost full, lit everything up with its blue light, creating pools of inky shadow. The absence of street lamps enabled the beauty of the scene to be appreciated in full. Ron cherished such nights and probably got to appreciate them more than most. He always worked late at night, when it was quiet and inspiration struck, not finishing until tiredness stilled his fingers on the keyboard and his sponge of a brain had been wrung dry. After shutting down his computer he would often get himself a last cup of coffee and take the dog out for a walk. Woody, named after his idol Woody Guthrie, was a loyal, loving border collie who did not like other dogs. He was wont to get his retaliation in first. Thus it was preferable to take him for walks when other dogs were not around. Ron often remarked that Woody thought outside was permanently dark.

Ron’s writer’s block had lifted and a new storyline had magically coalesced in his head. While strolling down the road towards the lane, lost in thought, mulling over the twists in the plot, he was brought up short by Woody’s sudden aggressive reaction. He had frozen, ears back, hackles up and fur bristling, growling and staring straight ahead. Ron immediately shortened the lead and peered ahead at the moonlit street. If there was another dog they’d be in for a loud barking match, which might not please the neighbours any too well, it being close to three in the morning.

There was no dog. What Woody was seeing was a large black shadow rapidly approaching, accompanied by a deep subdued throbbing. Ron pulled Woody in and grabbed him by the collar as the craft silently passed overhead and hovered a little way down the road. He knew exactly what it was: one of those alien ships. He watched as it seemed to make up its mind and arrived at its destination. It rapidly descended. As soon as it hit the ground large doorways dilated open and a number of lizard troopers spilled out. It was as clear as daylight. Woody barked madly and had to be restrained with all of Ron’s might. The lizards ignored Ron and Woody. They split into two contingents, one group making a beeline for George’s place, the other a little further down, focusing on Jean and Dean’s house. Without hesitation the doors were booted in and they disappeared inside. Ron stood agape, frozen, staring at the scene taking place in front of him while absently trying to calm Woody, patting his head as he lunged at his collar.

Screams could be heard from inside both houses. Within seconds the lizards reappeared, dragging George and Jean to their craft while a desperate Dean yelled, screamed, and pulled at them, trying to free Jean from their clutches. They brushed him aside like one might bat away an annoying wasp. The two were bundled into the craft, the doors dilated shut, and the craft lifted off and was gone, leaving a distraught Dean in its wake. Ron couldn’t quite believe what he had just seen. Apart from a hysterical Dean, now crumpled sobbing in the street, and two splintered doors hanging half open, there was nothing to suggest it had really happened. He shook his head to wake himself up and released the now‑submissive Woody.

Coming out of his trance, Ron rushed forward to comfort the stricken Dean, helping him up while Woody stood watching with his tail wagging. He obviously considered this a much more interesting walk than normal.

Back in Ron’s kitchen the two men were seated at the table, mugs of strong tea in their hands, while a satisfied Woody coiled up in his bed contented. As far as he was concerned the fun was over. Dean was still shaking.
‘What the fuck was that about?’ Ron asked.
Dean shook his head and was about to collapse into a blubbering wreck again. Ron patted his hand.
‘They’ve taken Jean,’ he wailed, unable to say anything more.
‘But why have they taken Jean?’ Ron muttered largely rhetorically, utterly bewildered by the events he had witnessed.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know,’ Dean wailed miserably. He turned to Ron with a face creased in anguish. ‘What will they do to her? Will I see her again?’ With that he descended into a whimpering heap.

Ron did his best to console the man. In truth they hardly knew each other. They moved in very different circles. But they were neighbours, and neighbours looked out for each other.

What was going on out there? Why had they taken Jean and George? They were hardly desperate criminals, were they? Was this the start? Would they be coming for everyone else soon? This was all taking a nasty turn. He put an arm around the sobbing Dean’s shoulder and told him it was OK; it was all going to turn out alright.

Despite the clear instructions that they were to stay in their own homes, the Ashley Arms crew broke the curfew and furtively made their way back to the pub. It felt like a refuge. With no TV or radio to provide news bulletins they had nothing to go by. In their part of town the abductions were few. None of them had actually witnessed an abduction, though they had all seen the alien craft flying back and forth overhead but could not see what was happening. Vague screaming could be heard in the distance — enough to scare them silly.

‘Something’s up,’ Billy observed, peering out of the window at the sky as another alien craft shot past.
‘Come away from that bloody window,’ Nobby the landlord ordered. ‘I don’t want you drawing bloody attention to us.’
Reluctantly Billy pulled himself away and rearranged the curtains.
‘They’re up to something,’ he growled, glaring around at the others.

The kids were having a time of it, racing around the pub, giggling and laughing oblivious to what was going on. There was no school and a new playground. What was not to like? Besides, for some reason they were being given unlimited crisps and pop.

‘Seems there are all sorts going on,’ Foxy remarked, trawling through his phone. All the media was down, but the phones were miraculously still working, and people all over the world were finding ways of evading the censorship and putting up snippets of various scenes of abduction, most of which were very disturbing. Doors were being smashed in and lizards emerging with struggling people. ‘They’re dragging people off.’
‘I think we can see that,’ Cheryl observed cuttingly.

The mood was grim as all of them started scrolling through the disturbing scenes that had begun springing up on their phones. Debbie looked to be on the verge of tears and was trying to hold it together.
‘At least we’ve still got power on,’ Kathy remarked, desperately trying to put a positive slant on things and looking to divert attention onto something else.
‘Where do you think they’re taking them?’ John muttered, glancing up from his phone. The abductions seemed to be taking place all over the world.

‘Who fucking knows,’ Billy growled, scrolling from one distressing scene to another as they popped up on his phone.
‘They seem to be focusing on all the wealthy areas,’ Foxy noted, observing the nature of the houses the lizards were targeting.

Everyone started to check that out. Foxy was right.
‘Right,’ Denby acknowledged, ‘they do.’

‘Do you think they’ll be coming for all of us?’ Charlene put into words what they were all thinking.
‘I don’t reckon so,’ Billy muttered, concentrating on his phone. ‘They look to be picking up all the rich bastards.’
‘Might just be the first phase,’ John remarked chillingly.
‘But what are they doing with them?’ Cheryl wondered.

‘What did that lizard say about it in that broadcast of hers?’ Denby asked, trying to think back to the night before. They’d all been so shocked that much of it hadn’t really gone in.

Everyone stared at Denby as they tried to recall what had been said.
‘I think that lizard said something about them taking away the ones responsible for causing the trouble,’ Debbie said thoughtfully. ‘And that we weren’t to worry. They would be returned unharmed.’
‘Yeah,’ Denby said. ‘I’ll take that with a pinch of salt.’

‘Sounds pretty lame if you fucking ask me,’ Billy muttered. ‘How do they know who’s causing trouble? I bet that’s just an excuse.’
‘It’ll be us next,’ Charlene muttered morbidly.

They all turned her way. The same thoughts were going through their heads.
‘Fucking hell,’ Denby growled, ‘this is a right mess.’

The Cleansing 14 – Chapter 4 continued

Posted on by Opher

Introducing a little intrigue and dissent can boost the interest.

This Sci-fi novel has a lot of satire and a firm social footing:

Chameakegra had watched the broadcast from the bridge of the Neff with a critical eye, trying to imagine how it might be impacting the Hydran population. No sooner was it over than her communicator buzzed. The image of Grrndakegra appeared floating in the air before her. She was smiling broadly, though not in a manner Chameakegra found particularly pleasant. The tilt of her jaw and set of her eyes seemed to betray a mocking air. The image hung in the air grinning at Chameakegra for long seconds before she deigned to speak.
‘I watched the broadcast,’ she finally sneered. ‘Very reassuring. I am certain the Hydrans found it suitably uplifting.’

Grrndakegra nodded her head slowly, the grin fading into a steely stare.
‘Just to keep you informed; operation extraction begins in one hour.’

The image hung in the air for a second or two more before fading without Chameakegra able to respond.

‘What do you reckon to that then?’ Foxy muttered, nervously glancing round at the others as the screen faded to black.

They’d all assembled at the Ashley Arms to watch the broadcast. As one might expect, there was a strange atmosphere about the place, a tension like the air was full of electricity. Everyone was terrified but attempting to put on a brave face.

Out on the streets the eerie reptiles with their plastic uniforms and stun guns had faded into the background, but they were still there. Many of the craft had landed, though some still hung in the sky. For the Ashley Arms gang it felt as if they were trapped in a scary hiatus. Nobody knew what was going to happen next. The tension was palpable. Something was about to happen. It felt like they were sitting on a heap of gelignite and the slightest movement could set it off. Everybody spoke in hushed tones with sly glances in all directions. There was no getting away from the fact that they had been invaded. What was uncertain was what the lizards’ next move might be. They’d been hoping the broadcast might shed a little light on that.

The Ashley Arms had seemed a good choice for them to get together. At least when they were together they felt more secure. They were thankful that Nobby had opened up for his regulars. They needed a refuge. Nobody wanted to be on their own. No news was coming through the normal channels, which only served to make things worse. The radio and TV had stopped broadcasting. All you could get during the day was static. It was far too frightening a time to be isolated. They’d grabbed the kids, contacted their parents and relatives to reassure them, to let them know where they were, and comfort them with the thought that it would all be OK in the end and they weren’t to worry, and headed for the safety of togetherness at the Ash. All they could do now was wait.

The alien broadcast might tell them more. They had very mixed emotions – hoping for the best but expecting the worst.

‘I don’t know,’ John muttered despondently. The whole world had come to a stop. His bus was no longer running. The shops were all closed. Nobody was going into work. Everything was at a standstill holding its breath. He did not know what he was supposed to do.

‘All bullshit,’ Billy stated angrily. ‘They are trying to keep us fucking quiet while they tighten their control.’

‘Where the fuck’s the army?’ Denby snarled. ‘Why didn’t they at least try to blow those bastards to kingdom come?’

‘They say they’re coming in peace,’ Debbie said rather hopefully.

‘They all say that,’ Denby muttered morbidly, taking a swig. ‘What’s all that stuff about removing people? Who are they removing? And taking away our countries. I tell you, these fuckers are up to no good.’ He waved his glass in the air.

‘Have you seen the size of those fuckers?’ Foxy looked aghast. ‘They’re bloody ginormous.’

Cheryl glanced nervously out the window. ‘There’s not much any of us can do. I reckon we just have to grin and bear it.’

‘That’s all very well,’ Charlene remarked, drawing her shawl tightly around her and sipping her chardonnay, ‘until the friggin’ food runs out.’

‘Maybe everything’ll open up tomorrow?’ John remarked hopefully, looking round at everyone with hopeful eyes. ‘They’ve messaged me from work. Everything’s on standby.’

‘They never said anything about when we’re going back to normality in that fucking broadcast,’ Foxy remarked.

‘Well the shops better be opening soon,’ Charlene remarked, drawing herself up haughtily, clutching her shawl to her and tilting her head. ‘They’ll be nowt to eat.’

‘Stopped serving food here,’ Foxy remarked with a wistful look at the bar.

‘Be grateful that you got your beer,’ Kathy remarked. ‘Might not have that for too much longer.’

They all went quiet, contemplating the future and wondering.

‘We’re bloody English,’ Billy suddenly spouted. ‘You know, never ever ever will be slaves. We shouldn’t be sitting here doing nowt. This is a fucking invasion. We should be out there doing something! Protesting and kicking up hell!’

They all stared at him.

Fortunately Beheggakegri had not mentioned the Judge again. Perhaps he had forgotten? Sang knew he could not be so lucky. Beheggakegri never forgot. It was merely that the Judge had not come to his attention for a while and he’d been focused on other issues. When she did loom back into his attention it would likely elicit another explosion that Sang would find himself in the impact zone of. He searched around for a solution and came up with a possibility.

Probably a long shot, but one that might possibly prove tempting enough.
‘Judge Booghramakegra, we are in grave need of a Judge to preside over an extremely exacting judgement in Extol 3. You may have heard of the complicated situation regarding the conflict between two advanced civilisations, both individually worthy of entry into the Federation but both showing loathing and aggression towards each other – a very complex and difficult judgement. The case has featured very prominently in the galactic media. As it is such an intriguing situation I am certain that you have been following it.’
‘Unfortunately, Judge Forcasi has unexpectedly died leaving the judgement hanging. We require an experienced Judge to pick up the threads and solve the impasse. You appear to be the only available Judge capable of dealing with the issue. – Sang – Deputy Head UFOR.’

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278910817: Books

Judgement: Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798267855549: Books

The Cleansing 13 – Chapter 4 (The Broadcast)

Posted on by Opher

I wanted to use the novel to take a dispassionate view of humanity – our successes and failures – to look at us with an objective eye as a superior alien might do.

Chapter 4 – The Broadcast

‘People of Hydra,’ unlike Grrndakegra’s frightening image of herself, Chameakegra had carefully chosen a shot of the solar system in all its glory as the backdrop to her broadcast. She hoped the beauty of the stars and planets might produce a soothing effect. The last thing she wanted was to scare the life out of the Hydrans.
‘My name is Chameakegra and I am the Commander of the Federation mission to the planet we call Hydra, the water world. The Federation is an intergalactic association of intelligent life. I work for UFOR – the United Federation of Races. Our intention is to find intelligent life, nurture it, and incorporate it into the fraternity of the Federation.’

This was at least partially true. There was no need, at this point, to terrify them by mentioning judgements and the weeding out of unsuitable species.
‘We are aware that this intervention will have caused you great stress. I would like to assure you that we mean you no harm. This is not an invasion. The people of the Federation are peaceful. We are here to assist you to a better future. We want you to prosper and will restore your full autonomy in due course. For the next day or two we would like you to stay at home, stay off the streets, and not go about your usual business. We will inform you when it is time to go back to work and get your lives back to normality. For the time being schools, shops, and offices will be closed. This will only be for a day or two. Do not worry. Things will soon return to how they were.’

Chameakegra paused to allow what she had said to sink in. There was a lot more she wanted to convey, but she did not want to overload them. In their shocked state they were not likely to be receptive, but she figured some explanation was better than none. If nothing else, the positive message and soothing tone might allay fears.

‘For a short time we will be taking control of your planet so that we can improve your institutions, education, manufacturing, science, and technology. We bring many wonderful gifts. You will shortly see that your lives will run on a far better footing. You will be more prosperous. The quality of your lives will greatly improve. When that interim period is over we will return the planet to you and hope that you may wish to voluntarily join our Federation and take your place as equal members of our galactic community.’

She thought it best to confront their fears directly, and Grrndakegra’s broadcast, full on.
‘We are aware that our appearance might seem frightening to you, but I would like to assure you that we are not at all scary. We are people just like you, and our intentions are friendly and peaceful.’

Chameakegra’s voice was so low and smooth it almost purred.
‘In the short term some of the things that will happen may seem frightening, but I would like to reassure you that they are for your benefit. You might not fully understand or appreciate how this will help you, but we are hopeful that in time you will come to see the wisdom of our actions.’

She had decided to tackle the thorny issue of the military and attempt to turn it into a positive.
‘We have already completely nullified all military bases across the entire globe. There will no longer be wars or conflict between nations.’

She allowed that to embed itself into their minds. Surely that had to be a big plus. War was the most terrible scourge. Nobody liked it, yet she could understand how the removal of their defences would leave the Hydrans feeling vulnerable. Could she turn it into a plus?

The next issue was one that had to be addressed – probably the most difficult of all. Hydrans were tribal and, at a stroke, she was telling them their tribalism was over and that they had lost all jurisdiction over their own destiny. That was hard for them to take, but it was best to state the facts and face it head on.
‘We have suspended all governments and political parties. There will no longer be any artificial division into nations. All Hydrans will be united into one global community. In a short while we will enable a world government to be constituted. We know that this will help you to prosper.’

She knew this part of her announcement was a possible negative for many Hydrans, but that goylit had to be grasped. Now she was poised to come up with a proposition that might prove even harder for them to take. She had to prepare them for what was about to happen in the hopes it might soften the blow.
‘In a while we shall be removing those elements we have identified as holding your progress back. I can assure you all that nothing unpleasant will happen to these individuals. They will be removed in order for us to enable their rehabilitation. The overly greedy, the belligerent and violent, those maddened by lust for power, and those with criminal intentions will be re‑educated and returned in a form preferable for themselves and for the good of your world. We aim to leave you with a fairer, friendlier, and more pleasant society based on compassion and equality.’

Chameakegra hoped that sounded suitably vague and positive. She now had to leave things on a positive note. Her purring voice was laden with sincerity.
‘Once again we apologise for the short‑term distress we have caused. I can only reassure you that this will be temporary. We in the Federation look forward to a bright future in which Hydrans are welcomed into our fold. We promise a future of prosperity and the sharing of science and technology that can only be dreamed of. We ask for your cooperation during this difficult transition. We hope that you can understand and bear with the disruption of these early stages. Thank you.’

The vista of planets and stars continued for a short while before fading away.

Chameakegra played back the broadcast and grimaced. It was crap. But at least it was five hundred times better than the one Grrndakegra had made. While it might not win over many Hydrans, at least it was unlikely to send them into fits of terror. She pressed the button to put it out.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278910817: Books

The Cleansing 12 – Chapter 3 continued

Posted on by Opher

In this novel I was using a number of different settings with political intrigue to create tension and interest. There was always an element of where was this heading? What was going to happen? I also had to develop the personalities of the personnel involved.

Sang thought long and hard about the message he was sending to Judge Booghramakegra. It was one thing for Beheggakegri to make his incandescent demands and quite another to deal with a Judge. He could not go in there making demands. He at least knew that, even if Beheggakegri didn’t. Judges were powerful. You didn’t mess with them. It required diplomacy — a concept that didn’t exist in Beheggakegri’s repertoire.
‘Judge Booghramakegra, now that your judgement has been completed regarding the Hydrans, Beheggakegri, Head of UFOR, has requested that I contact you. He is of the opinion that your continued presence might actually impede the operation by deflecting time and attention away from the task of reprogramming the Hydrans so they can be incorporated into the Federation. – Sang – Deputy Leader UFOR.’
He hoped that was respectful enough.

‘Grrndakegra,’ Beheggakegri growled. He dispensed with titles and formalities. ‘Listen, I want that vecal Chameakegra put in her place, you understand? That’s what I’ve put you in there for.’

Commander Grrndakegra bristled. She did not like anybody adopting that superior tone with her. She was used to due deference. She did not need talking to like a child. She knew why she’d been selected for this role. Beheggakegri wanted the Hydrans dispensed with and Chameakegra put back in her box. She worked that out for herself and she could see why. Chameakegra, with her namby‑pamby ways, was an insult to the profession. She’d be glad to take her down with all her highfalutin ideas. What the Federation needed was clear, no‑nonsense policies. They didn’t need crackpot idealism, but the way Beheggakegri was going about this was annoying.
‘I get the message.’ Her reply was terse. Beheggakegri’s overbearing manner was so irritating it put her off wanting to do what he wanted. The less interaction she had with the man the better. She certainly did not need bossing about.

‘As for that drangled Judge, ignore her. We’ll sort her out from this end. This business with these Hydrans should have been settled long ago. They are vermin. You only have to look at what they are doing. They’ve destroyed that planet and they are destroying themselves.’

Commander Grrndakegra did not need telling. She’d spent time scanning through the terrible footage of war and destruction. They were obviously a blight that required eradicating quickly before the disease spread. She really couldn’t see what Chameakegra saw in them. The last thing the Federation needed was a bunch of psychotic apes. She agreed with Beheggakegri even if he was an obnoxious cretin. He just needed to shut the drang up and allow her to get on with the job.

‘Make sure those Hydrans get what they deserve and that vecal fool is made to look the idiot she is,’ Beheggakegri insisted.
‘You can count on me. I’m on the case.’

When the link was broken Grrndakegra had to remain sitting calmly until her equanimity returned to normal and the colours had stopped flowing over her scutes. Beheggakegri always had that effect on her — how that piece of atrbus excrement had got to where he was remained a mystery. Still, there was a job to be done and she was relishing it. She had to put Beheggakegri out of her mind. He might be a pathetic blob of lard but his assessment of Chameakegra and the Hydrans seemed spot on. She did not need commands from the like of him.

‘Sang, please inform Beheggakegri that I have no intention of distancing myself from the fascinating experiment at Hydra. I am intrigued to see how this operation proceeds and feel that it has big implications for future judgements. – Judge Booghramakegra.’ Sang read the reply with a sense of dread. He puffed out his cheeks. Not something he had any desire to pass on to Beheggakegri, but he knew he had to.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278910817: Books

The Cleansing 10 – end of Chapter 2

Posted on by Opher

As this book is set in the present with the arrival of an alien race with superior technology I wanted to use a group of working class Reform voting characters and their reaction to the arrival of aliens.

The novel deals with the social and political stupidities of human civilisation juxtaposed with the brilliance of our creativity.

This is the end of Chapter 2:

Grrndakegra’s scutes flared yellow with flashes of white. Anger mounted. Chameakegra had outflanked her — inexcusable. ‘Beheggakegri will not like this. Not at all.’

Chameakegra shrugged, sipping her synth with deliberate calm, taking pleasure in Grrndakegra’s discomfort. Petty, perhaps, but satisfying. The Judge held power. Beheggakegri would have to lump it. Yet she knew annoying Grrndakegra could prove costly. The Giforian could wreck things simply by how instructions were carried out.

Grrndakegra sat bolt upright, waves of green and white obvious. ‘You have gone behind our backs.’

‘Not the way I see it,’ Chameakegra simpered, sipping her synth. ‘I have detailed knowledge of these Hydrans. It was necessary to clarify instructions from Beheggakegri. The situation is not black and white.’ She noted Grrndakegra’s disquiet with a degree of pleasure. She had not taken to her at all. The haughtiness was infuriating. But for the mission’s sake she needed control. Annoying Grrndakegra would not help. ‘We must give the Hydrans the best chance of progressing,’ she insisted firmly. ‘Too heavy‑handed and we create predictable failure. Judge Booghramakegra agrees they need all possible assistance. She has decided to retain an active role throughout.’

Chameakegra left that thinly veiled threat dangling.

Grrndakegra’s fangs clicked, tail twitching as white anger coursed through her crest and scales. Beheggakegri would not like this. This was not how it was meant to proceed. She slammed her beaker down so hard half the contents leapt into the air. ‘I will discuss this with Beheggakegri.’

The coming of the aliens was not so much an invasion as a take‑over.

One moment the skies were clear, the next they were full of alien craft. No warning. No sign on even the most sophisticated radar systems. They arrived in an instant, leaving no time to react.

Every military site across the globe was seized at once. All weapons nullified. No shots fired. Government offices, political bodies, media outlets — occupied. The invasion was peaceful and instant, or at least as peaceful as possible.

The shock was profound. In seconds the Hydrans went from ordinary routines to victims of alien occupation. Disbelief collapsed into hysteria. Chaos was far from peaceful.

Grrndakegra found it immensely amusing. Hydrans rushed like headless giffors, cowering, gathering offspring, crashing vehicles in panic. Everyday rules evaporated. Traffic lights, speed limits, even which side of the road to drive on — discarded. Cities gridlocked, screams and wails prevailing.

In full regimental costume, Grrndakegra appeared on every network and device. Speaking via her comulator in every language and dialect, she instructed the population to go home and await further orders. They were now under Federation control. As an afterthought, she reassured them they were safe.

The sight of a huge iridescent reptile giving orders did little to reassure. Panic intensified. Mobs rampaged, buildings burned, vehicles overturned, shops looted. Fear turned to anger, destruction the outlet.

From her vantage on the Quorma, Grrndakegra shook her head. Were these beings truly candidates for Federation entry? She flapped her crest in disbelief and barked orders.

More craft landed, troops spilling onto streets armed with weapons that stunned and immobilised. Order was restored, though the presence of reptilian aliens with guns did little to calm terror.

Grrndakegra announced she would address every parliament and governing institution that evening. Again she reassured them: no harm intended, only assistance toward a better existence. In the meantime, they were to return home and wait. Few were reassured.

Hydrans struggled to believe giant lizards wielding guns meant peace. Where was the army? Where was defence? Why was nobody coming to their rescue? Communications networks flooded with hysteria. It was the end of the world.

By evening, calm returned. No signs of violence, mobs dispersed, alien troops on guard. Rioters had been stunned and carted off, not killed. The aliens weren’t pillaging. They were keeping order.

Escape was impossible. Transport hubs shut down, highways closed. People gathered kin, huddled around media devices, waiting. Politicians silent, news frozen. All they could do was wait.

Many turned to churches, mosques, temples, praying for divine intervention. Most simply went home. The fate of the world hung in the balance.

As time passed, hope flickered. Perhaps these reptiles meant no harm. Not that there was choice. Military forces were no match. The Hydrans had been overpowered without a bullet fired.

There were no choices left. They waited.

Ron sat at his computer, trying to conjure a character, an event, a scene — anything. He was beginning to think he had writer’s block. The synapses weren’t firing. He desperately needed something to spark a chain reaction, the torrent of ideas that usually toppled inside his head like electric dominoes. Not today. Not this week. Not last week. His head was empty.

Perhaps he should give up on a new book and edit one already produced. Desperate. He disliked editing. Unlike the satisfaction of imagination flowing onto the page, editing was a chore.

Worse still, Liz had urged him for years to promote his published books. That idea filled him with horror. Wasting writing time on tedious commercial exercise? No. If nothing happened soon, he would have to send another package to agents and publishers. They could do the promotion. Surely he had proved himself? He was a proven writer. There was a market. All he needed was an agent or publisher to handle the tiresome tasks and leave him to write.

Except nothing was happening. No epic waited to burst out of his chest like a xenomorph. Nothing to write about.

That’s when Ron glanced out the window and saw an armada of alien craft descending from the sky.

‘What the fuck??’ exclaimed Billy Smythe, mouth open, eyes wide, pint spilling over his lap unnoticed. Everyone stared out the pub windows at the strange craft materialising above.

‘Fuck,’ Charlene mumbled.

‘Fuck!’ John, Debbie, Foxy, Kathy, Denby, and Cheryl exclaimed in unison.

‘What the fuck is that?’ Denby gasped, staring at the gigantic craft hovering in the sky directly above them. You could always count on Denby to be more articulate than anyone else.

It had to be some kind of stunt. Surely it had to be a stunt.

But the silence in the Ashley Arms told another story. No laughter, no banter, no clinking of glasses. Just the stunned hush of ordinary people watching the impossible unfold.

Above them, the alien leviathans hung motionless, blotting out the heavens. Hydra had changed forever.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278910817: Books

Judgement: Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798267858489: Books

The Cleansing 7 – Chapter 1 (continued)

Posted on by Opher

Writing about aliens is never easy. As a biologist I can look at alien creatures with a degree of accurate science but trying to imagine a different evolution is fascinating. I tend to focus on the social. I’m really writing about us!

This is another extract from Chapter 1:

The process was complete. All assessment and sorting had been concluded. Neff was running one final check. Every single Hydran had been considered and allotted. Chameakegra’s work was done. Time to pass it over. Beheggakegri had already selected the commander who would run the show from here on.

She dimmed the lights on the bridge and sat in her commander’s pexi, alone and glum. In the distance came sounds of merriment from the mess. The crew had gathered to celebrate. The mission was over. An assessment like no other. They had done it. Not only had they judged the worth of a new culture, they had uniquely gone on to assess each individual. Feelings were mixed. Some thought Chameakegra’s idea worthwhile; others considered it a waste of time and energy. Opinions varied on how it might turn out. One thing was certain: her idea had considerably extended their mission. Nobody had ever worked so long. Time to go home, to relax and celebrate. The psychosynth was flowing, the mood high. Soon they would edge out of orbit, power through hyperspace, and be back with their families on Gestor. Endorphins saturated brains. They had made history. Whatever the outcome, their mission would be discussed for years. The elation was palpable. They were ground breakers.

Chameakegra stared out through the viewport at the planet below. It was out of her hands now. She peered at the great blue globe, her mind dwelling on those eight billion inhabitants. Was she correct? If those elements were removed, could the species prosper? Would they then be worthy of Federation entry? Or would genetic traits rear their heads again? Were all Hydrans afflicted with the same predispositions? If the problematic individuals were removed, would another group simply take their place? She sighed deeply. In her heart she knew it all depended on who Beheggakegri had selected to carry out the operation.

The thoughts stalked her mind like zeebos on excrement.
What if Beheggakegri was right? What if all Hydrans were tainted with the same flaws? What if violence, greed, and cruelty were not confined to a minority but afflicted the whole species, masked by prevailing pressures? Hydrans always lived in hierarchical societies. Their history showed that if you removed the elite, a new elite rose to take its place. What if the presence of an elite suppressed those detrimental traits in the lower rungs? What if all Hydrans were truly cruel and greedy?

Maybe Beheggakegri was right after all; perhaps it was quicker to eradicate the threat and be done with it. Perhaps she was wasting everyone’s time.

But then she mulled over their creativity — the art, the music, the dance, costume, architecture, and poetry. How the Federation could use an injection of Hydran culture. It would enrich them all. The risk surely had to be worth taking.

Her thoughts turned to the malevolent group. What of those afflicted with negative traits? Were they beyond hope? Could they not be treated for their maladies?

Chameakegra felt they were on the laser point of a huge moral issue long ignored. Surely the Federation’s process was too clinical, too bureaucratic, too cold‑blooded. If they carried out mass exterminations, could they truly be considered morally superior to the evil they eradicated? Even if safety was the overriding objective, could it be justified? Chameakegra had her doubts.

She stared down at the blue globe below — a glorious water world with so much potential. Sadness welled inside her, black waves flowing across her scutes. She had grown to love the place. Now she had to say goodbye to the planet and its array of people. No more excursions to the surface, no more interactions with these complex beings. It was out of her hands now.

She had a bad feeling Beheggakegri might engineer failure just to get back at her. She knew he had taken the Judgement as a slight. Would he stoop so low as to contrive extermination of an entire race for revenge? She wouldn’t put it past him.

The blue sphere, swathed in white cotton, hung still in the heavens. Unseen hands were about to throw the dice.

Chameakegra turned away. Best not to think about it.

‘I don’t care,’ Beheggakegri retorted vehemently, responding to Sang’s objections. Safe behind his mense in his office, sprawled in his comfiest luxopexi with the antigrav turned up full to support his increasing mass, pulpy flesh bulging between scutes so he resembled an over‑inflated alligator, his crest raised and bright green with outrage, he jabbed a sharp talon towards the poor Solarian he had summoned, now standing before his mense.

Apart from an occasional dousing of his amphibian skin, there was no indication Sang was perturbed by the onslaught. He was used to it. This was Beheggakegri in his usual mode. Internally Sang weighed the pros and cons of giving in to Beheggakegri’s demands. Outwardly he stood patiently, allowing gusts of hot foul Drefian breath to blow over him.

‘I will check and see if she is available,’ Sang replied smoothly. ‘It’s a big ask. She will have to assemble a large fleet with a sizeable contingent of trained personnel. Can’t be done overnight.’

‘You have drangling let me down twice,’ Beheggakegri boomed deafeningly. ‘Don’t you dare do it again! Get me who I want!’

‘I can’t do the impossible.’

‘I don’t care about any of that,’ Beheggakegri blustered, jabbing his talon. ‘I want Grrndakegra. I can count on her to do a good job.’

‘Count on her to do what you want,’ Sang thought, his face exuding the necessary ingratiation. ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

‘We have carried out your directives to the letter,’ Commander Chameakegra informed Beheggakegri in as pleasant a tone as she could muster. ‘We have assessed and sorted the Hydrans into the three categories as you instructed.’

Her three‑dimensional image hung in the air above Beheggakegri’s tridee unit. Her dress uniform gleamed, crest raised and bright orange, scutes shining. There was no hint of wavering despite the hundreds of light‑years the image had travelled. Hyperspace technology allowed flawless communication.

Beheggakegri, comfortably installed in his office on Gestor, studied the insolent Giforian with disdain. His crest rose and scutes took on a green tinge of disgust clearly visible to Chameakegra. Not that Beheggakegri cared. She could take umbrage if she wished.

‘We are now ready for the next phase and fully prepared to give full assistance to the implementation team,’ Chameakegra said, staring calmly as if present in the room.

Beheggakegri allowed himself time to calm down, scutes settling to neutral beige before responding. ‘We have a task force preparing for the operation,’ he replied. ‘Get ready to welcome them and assist with implementation. You will provide the necessary data, then your work is concluded; you can come home.’

His tone was suitably gruff, vague yet to the point. When the call ended he slouched back in his pexi, glowering at the space her image had occupied, and began shovelling dainties into his buccal cavity.

The Cleansing – (The Sequel to Judgement): Amazon.co.uk: Forsythe, Ron: 9798278910817: Books

The Cleansing 6 – Chapter 1 Continued

Posted on by Opher

This Sci-fi novel is set in the present day. I wanted to represent the current Farage Reform Party right-wing populists and their opportunistic psuedo-patriotic anti-immigrant stance. I thought that I could mutate this into an anti-alien faction as the novel progresses. Which is what I did. For that reason I invented this bunch of characters one of whom has a central role in the novel. Can you see which one from this introductory section?

-*-

‘See, I was working on this place at St George’s Hill, all cash in hand. A bloody mansion! This guy’s worth a bomb!’ Billy was his usual lively self.

The gang were assembled in their nook at the Ashley Arms, the men with pints of bitter, the girls on white wine spritzes.

‘Anyway, he’s built this huge extension, turning it into a glorified snooker room with a full‑size slate. Massive. And he wanted me to sort out the wiring. No prob. Glad to do it. He’s paying well over the odds.’ He paused to take a big swig, wiping froth off his lips with the back of his hand. ‘Cash is king. Know what I mean.’ He looked around, catching each of their eyes to ensure engagement. ‘So anyway, his missus comes downstairs, a whole entourage of them, all kitted out in black robes, head to foot. You could just see their eyes. What did Boris call them — letter boxes. ’Cept letter boxes aren’t black.’ Billy looked round, aghast. ‘I couldn’t tell who was his missus and who was the grandmother. Know what I mean? In their own bloody home.’

‘That’s ’cos you were there,’ Debbie remarked, swirling her wine. ‘These Muslims have to cover up if there’s strange men around — and they don’t get any stranger than you, Billy.’

Everyone chuckled.

‘There were all sorts,’ Billy protested. ‘Servants everywhere — cooks, gardeners, cleaners, butlers. Wasn’t just me.’

‘So what’s he do?’ Foxy asked.

‘Finance,’ Billy frowned. ‘Came prancing back from the city in his fancy orange Lamborghini. Only drives it to the station.’

‘Bloody robbers,’ Denby growled. ‘Financers, bankers. Fucking leeches. Never done a day’s work in their lives.’

‘Like you then,’ Foxy grinned, raising his glass.

More chuckles.

‘All they do is bet on markets,’ Denby persisted. ‘A bunch of gambling conmen. They engineer it, control it, and walk away with millions.’

‘You’re sounding glum today, Denby. What’s up?’ Foxy leaned over and punched him playfully on the arm.

‘He’s only been up half the night painting friggin’ roundabouts,’ Cheryl remarked. ‘You should see the state of his trackie. Spent forty quid on red and white paint.’

Denby grasped his pint with both hands and scowled. Everyone eyed the paint stains on his hands that hadn’t scrubbed off.

‘What roundabouts?’ Billy chuckled.

‘Not content with spending our money on stupid flags,’ Cheryl exclaimed. ‘Half the flags down High Street are ours. He’s only gone and done the roundabout at the Halfway.’

They roared with laughter as Denby’s scowl deepened.

‘I’ve seen that! That was you, Denby? You’re a dark horse,’ Foxy chuckled, poking him with a finger.

‘Right mess you made of it,’ John remarked. ‘All the paint’s run together.’

‘I could hardly wait for the red to dry before I put on the white, could I?’ Denby snapped.

‘Should’ve painted it all white one day, then gone back the next for the red stripes.’

‘Somebody has to make a stand,’ Billy said seriously, halting the mockery. ‘Someone has to stand up for our English values. At least Denby’s doing something.’

The group subsided into pensive silence, sipping their drinks.

‘They’ll have a room upstairs,’ Debbie reflected, returning to the burqa‑clad women. ‘Somewhere they can relax and take it all off.’

‘Yeah,’ Billy conceded. ‘They do.’ He lowered his brow and pouted. ‘But Lord Mohamed doesn’t have to wear all that medieval shit. He comes back with his silk Armani and flashy Rolex, putting on some accent like he’s an English baron.’

‘This is England,’ Foxy stated bluntly. ‘They should behave like we do if they want to live here. None of this letter box shit.’

‘You mean like we do if we go over there?’ Charlene asked, raising her eyebrows.

‘I run a market stall,’ Foxy reminded her. ‘I see all sorts. It’s daft. We’ve got Asian guys down from the Midlands wearing robes and wellies. Looks stupid. They get soaked in the rain. Those robes were designed for tropical climates, not soggy England.’

‘Yeah,’ Denby agreed. ‘If they want to live here they should fit in.’ He peered round challengingly.

‘I agree,’ Billy said, downing his pint. ‘It’s about British values. And those ain’t British values.’

‘I’m ready for a top‑up,’ Cheryl smiled, holding up her empty glass.

‘My round,’ John said, gathering empties.