The Cresperian Alliance (12 page)

"It is?” Piki asked, startled.

"Very much so,” Sira agreed. “Think about it, Piki. You were beaten. They beat Dalunith in the head hard enough to almost kill him. And now his brain doesn't function right."

"Oooo,” Piki muttered under her breath. “I think I am starting to understand. These ‘bad words'... they have many uses, do they not?"

"They do,” Bangler agreed. “They can be abusive—as you experienced—or they can be a way of expressing oneself in a strong, shocking situation. I gotta admit, though, they're often overused, in our culture."

"Agreed,” Tomlinson averred. “We're trying to tone it down for you, Piki."

Piki nodded. “Thank you. Please, go on."

"As to Sira's friend, Frstiminith, she had initially indicated he had changed to male,” Anderson went on. “But it seems that his transformation wasn't really completed before he realized within himself that something was... ‘not right,’ as he put it. He halted the metamorphosis, and in fact regressed it. He put forth as his excuse to his captors that something about being on Earth affected his ability, weakening it. He, too, has been abused, but after he indicated his abilities had been handicapped, they stopped focusing on him—as, of course, inferior and imperfect—and concentrated on the Crispy technology they'd confiscated from Sira and Frstiminith. So he is more or less intact. Rather badly malnourished, but intact, mentally and physically. Well,” he amended, “he could probably use some counseling."

Sira nodded. “Frstiminith was always more sensitive than the rest of us, in every sense of the term. I believe I can help him, there. But Dalunith will have to take priority."

"And the locations where they were held captive?” McAllister pressed.

"Bombed to bits,” Hand noted. “But therein lies a good part of our problem, especially where the Brits are concerned."

Mac nodded. “I can imagine. Allies attacking allies."

"Exactly,” Hand agreed. “All hell is breaking loose, politically. The President has also given a strong public hint that India's new god, Vishnu, isn't a god at all. I mean, good God! Er, excuse the expression. But he's got four arms, and didn't even bother to change the number of fingers!” He shook his head in disgust. “Unfortunately there have been talks of retaliation, especially from the Chinese, who of course possess nuclear technology. So we're at DEFCON 1."

"ONE?!” Wersky expostulated. “But..."

"Exactly,” Hand said grimly. “We've never been at DEFCON 1 before."

"Defense Condition One. That means imminent possibility of a nuclear attack, at any time,” Bangler explained softly to Piki, aside.

"OH!” Piki exclaimed, alarmed. Tentative, she turned to Bangler. “How do you say it—damn?!"

"Now that,” Tomlinson admitted, “is a good reason to curse."

"It is,” Bangler agreed, nodding at Piki, who looked thoughtful.

"What do we do?” McAllister wondered.

"I don't care,” President Waterman declared vehemently, “if the whole damn State Department wants it. It isn't going to happen. I'm not putting that...” he bit off what he'd been about to say of the Secretary of State, “out there to give back what the lives of our men and women won, especially after hearing the report of how the Crispies were treated, across the board."

"But sir,” Smith, Waterman's aide, said, “what do you propose, if not diplomatic negotiation?"

Waterman flung himself into his desk chair, deep in thought. “Get me Caleb on the horn,” he said.

"Yes, sir."

Lieutenant General Caleb Washington called a meeting of all Crispy Operations, Research, and Development staff, to include all members and rescuees of Operations White Horse, Red Horse, and Black Horse, in the largest conference room they had short of the auditorium.

"Here's the scoop,” he said to all the Crispies in the Enclave, as well as their human friends, associates, and rescuers. “We all know there's an international brouhaha developing out there, as a result of bringing our friends here."

Nods went around the room.

"The first thing I'd like to ask is: Are all of the Crispies happy with the decision to be brought here?"

Every green head in the room bobbed as emphatically as the lack of a neck in Cresperian physiology would permit; a couple of human looking heads bobbed as well.

"We are being treated well,” Karen Townshend, one of the British Crispies, remarked. “You care for us as beings, not as tools. You feed us well, you ensure we are healthy even though we can ensure it for ourselves, and you treat us as equals. You do not beat us or violate us or force us to do anything against our wills. Some of us,” she indicated Dalunith and Frstiminith, “are still recovering, but we have discussed it among ourselves, and we are happy you did what you did, although we are very sorry it has caused you trouble."

General Washington nodded his graying head. “Sorry enough to be willing to help?"

Many pairs of orange and a few green eyes looked at each other. Dalunith was the one who spoke.

"Please forgive Englishes, I is a little slow,” he said in measured tones. “I beat in head, still repairs is. Is help, all,” he waved his hand around the room. “But we helps glad, if know how."

"Okay. Then I need a volunteer,” Washington announced. “A Crispy who is willing to go on television and discuss how you were treated in the other countries—especially Great Britain."

The room buzzed with astonishment for a moment, then fell silent.

"This request comes down from no less than the President of the United States himself,” Washington continued. “We need a calm, well spoken Crispy—who looks like a Crispy, or at least doesn't look like a human yet—and was one of those rescued. Someone who can speak first hand to the maltreatment."

Sira raised her hand. “Sir, why do you want a non-converted Crispy?"

"Because,” the general explained, “while we are going to reveal to the public the existence of aliens on Earth, we don't necessarily want them knowing they can assume human form so closely they're indistinguishable from humans. Let alone how they do so, or that the same technique can be used to enhance and de-age humans. We already know what kind of response that information produces."

A sigh of understanding ran among his audience.

"We also intend to simultaneously reveal the existence of our starships, as intended to help the Crispies find their way back home,” he added. “THEN,” he continued with emphasis, “we're going to start building the fleet as fast as we can. Space is the high ground, and if we can get enough ships into space, it ought to deter any attacks from disgruntled countries like China."

"But I thought our natural form tended to disturb most humans not used to us,” Peter Murphy, the third British Crispy, noted.

Washington sighed. “It does,” he admitted. “It's a risk the President is willing to take."

Bangler sat silently between Piki and Peggy. All of them were deep in thought. Suddenly Piki raised her hand.

"General,” the partially morphed Crispy addressed Washington, “I believe I may be able to help. As you can see, I am somewhere in between our normal form and your normal form. Perhaps if I were your speaksperson..."

"Spokesperson,” Bangler murmured.

"Spokesperson,” Piki corrected herself, “I could discuss our treatment at the hands of the British, adding stories from the others, without frightening unfamiliar humans too badly?"

"But how do we explain her form being so different? Not to mention the dude claiming to be Vishnu,” Tomlinson wondered.

"He- heck,” Bangler corrected himself mid-word as he piped up, “we have apparent differences just among Homo sapiens. Skin color, eye color, height, weight, all that stuff. Explain it like that. And the cat over in India is just flat out in disguise."

"I like it,” Washington decided. “Ms. Burroughs, I've read the reports on what happened to you. Are you certain you want to do this? Are you certain you're up to it? You've had as much violence wreaked upon you as Dalunith, just to different effect."

Piki drew a deep, calming breath, then let it out. “Will it stop the NICE British people from being mad at you?"

The general nodded. “We hope so."

"What about the other countries?"

"Those we're less sure of, but at least it should get our allies back on our side."

"Then I'll do it,” Piki said, firming her half formed jaw.

"See? I told you, you were strong,” Bangler murmured to her, under his breath.

Orange eyes lit up on his left.

On his right, brown ones dropped their gaze to the floor.

Preparations went quickly after that. It was decided that Piki needed clothing to ensure more conservative sorts wouldn't react badly to her apparent nakedness, despite the fact that she still had her pelt, and no details of her body showed through it. Sira took her in hand for that, and clad her in a soft rust colored suit and cream blouse. It was also decided to use a different name to protect her identity once she did finally become human. At Piki's request, Bangler was assigned as her liaison and guard for the excursion; the television appearance would take place in Washington, in the Oval Office with the President. And even he would have a different name patch for his uniform, to preserve anonymity.

"...But I promise, Peggy,” Bangler told the female medic, “we'll go see that movie as soon as I get back."

"I know, Bang,” Nunez sighed. “I just can't help feeling that a precedent is being set."

Bangler joined her in her sigh. “Yeah, I know. But I got no choice. They've got liaison and bodyguard in one, in me, and that's a cost savings, and you know the red tape..."

"Yeah. Every penny they can pinch is going into more starships and armament,” Nunez agreed. “Damn Congress. Go. I'll be here."

Scant days later, Bangler and Piki were escorted into the presence of President Waterman and his Cabinet by secret service agents. A makeup team had been ready to glam up Piki, but backed off rapidly upon seeing the alien, not at all certain how to even work on such a creature. Piki blinked, disconcerted by the obvious rejection, and Bangler murmured, “Don't worry. You look great. You don't need them.” Piki flashed him a wobbly smile, not noticing when the makeup team averted their faces.

And then they were in THE Office, and Piki was the center of a swirl of attention and media as she met the Cabinet members, shaking their hands as Sira had instructed her. Bangler followed closely at her shoulder, silent and solid, every sense on alert for the protection of his charge. Occasionally one of the Cabinet members shook his hand with a friendly word as well, most notably Martin Singletary, the Secretary of Defense, and General John Salter, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, both of whom knew who he really was, but maintained the facade. However, the Secretary of State, Sandra Fellowes, pointedly ignored him and focused all her attention on Piki.

Fellowes shook Piki's hand. “Greetings, Ambassador,” she said formally, loudly, and slowly, enunciating precisely.

Waterman rolled his eyes, then met Salter's and Singletary's gazes, and realized they were all thinking the same thing:
She's not deaf, and she's not stupid, Sandra. Besides, even if she didn't speak ANY English, talking louder isn't going to help. Idiot. No wonder your third marriage is breaking up, if you treat your husbands like you treat other people.

"I am the chief diplomatic representative of the United States of America,” the woman continued, in the same loud tone. “My name is Sandra Fellowes. I want to formally apologize for the method in which you were brought here, and the,” she finally glanced scathingly at Bangler, “armed guard under which you've been placed. I intend to see to it that THAT is addressed immediately."

Piki raised a not quite there eyebrow and replied in soft, well modulated, and eloquently British tones. “Ah. You mean B- the, er, sergeant here? No, no. He saved my life, Ms. Fellowes. He is my bodyguard, and I am far from being a prisoner. I am quite thankful I have been brought here, as are my colleagues."

Take THAT, Ms. Pacifist,
Bangler thought complacently. He happened to catch the President's eye at that moment, and was startled, then amused, to see him turn slightly and cover the smirk that spread over his mouth.
Oh. I guess she got politically foisted on him. Pity him, then.

"Surely you jest,” Fellowes protested. “Don't tell me they've brainwashed you, too.” She shot a venomous look at Bangler. “Bodyguard,” she muttered under her breath, disgusted, shaking her head. “Poor thing."

"Jest?” Piki wondered.

"Humor—a joke,” Bangler murmured, face neutral.

"I am afraid I have not yet entirely grasped this concept of human humor,” Piki admitted. “And nor has my brain been... washed?"

"Never mind,” Waterman said, interrupting the one way verbal jousting that made pretense at conversation and rescuing Piki and Bangler. “We'll hear all about that very shortly. Ms... Bergman, are you ready?"

"I believe so,” Piki said in her impeccable English accent, as the President led her to a chair next to his desk. “I merely speak to the camera, correct?” She pointed at the television crew and their equipment.

"Correct,” Waterman verified, “and merely tell it what happened to you and your shipmates."

Piki nodded. Bangler stepped just out of camera range, the President took his seat behind his desk, “Hail to the Chief” started up, and the cameras began rolling.

"Hello,” Waterman said, gazing steadily at the camera, as the microphone boom picked up every word. “I am aware of the worldwide distress regarding events which the United States felt it necessary to undertake, and I am here tonight to address that distress. In recent months, there have been rumors of aliens upon Earth, and starships in space. I am about to confirm both rumors."

There was a short pause to allow for reaction among his remote audience before Waterman resumed. “A spokesperson is here to speak to the details, but I can tell you that Earth has made contact with extraterrestrials—the Cresperians. It is their technology that has enabled the United States to build a fleet of starships. The Cresperians are friendly, peaceful people, but they look very different from us. For some, their appearance is disturbing. It was this difference, unfortunately, which led to the slaughter of one Cresperian in rural Mexico, where he was thought to be a monster, something akin to the chupacabra of legend and myth. However, the appearance of the ‘Crispies,’ as those of us who know them have affectionately nicknamed them, varies somewhat from person to person. When we consider the diversity of our own species, this should not be surprising. Our spokesperson is a Crispy whose appearance more closely approximates humans than some others. Due to the near impossibility of humans to pronounce the Cresperian language, she has taken the human name, ‘Patricia Bergman.'” He nodded to Piki. The cameras and microphones swung toward her, focusing in.