A Busy Day for Amy Brooks

It all started when the Czech Republic (of all places!) overran most of Europe with their armies of giant robots and the freaky mind-control beam they invented. Things went from bad to worse after that. Brazil finally admitted they have Hitler's head, and that he's been running their state policy for the past two centuries. Then the Mexican dark sorceror cabals supposedly opened a gateway to Hell, capturing an unspecified number of demons and enslaving them for military purposes. And Russia has been the most secretive country in the world since that alien battleship crashlanded in their capital. You faintly wish something like that would happen here - the couple of vessels you have at Area 51 are just light scout types, with no real weaponry to speak of.

You pop a Midol and chug it with some Poland Springs water. At least things have been quiet in Canada - ever since a massive earthquake sank most of it, forcing the Canadians to move south, worsening severe overpopulation and unemployment problems. On top of that, the last president left you with a severe deficit and massive war costs from his failed invasion of Antarctica, populated by the resourceful Chinese after nuclear holocaust rendered their country unlivable.

"The good part about all this." you say aloud. "Is that it can't possibly get any worse."

Then you hear the frightened voice of your secretary over the speakerphone. "Ms. Brooks? There's an, um, visitor here to see you."

"I'm not scheduled to have any visitors." you say. "Who..."

And then a brilliant halo of light appears in the center of the Oval Office, forming into a gray-skinned humanoid with giant blue eyes, wearing magnificent royal garb. You squeak and reach for the button to call your bodyguards, but you find that your hand will not move.

There is no need for fear, Ms. Amy Brooks, the being says. With a shock, you realize that you're hearing his voice inside your head. It's a calm, singsong voice, which pronounces your name strangely, like Broooooox.

"Who are you?" you ask in awe.

I am Flefrimon, the Alpha-Gray. I have been sent to give you a message from my people.

"What message?"

The alien waves his hand, and you gasp as a glowing holographic projection appears in the center of the room. It seems to be a starmap of some kind, showing the entire Milky Way galaxy.

This is a map of what you call the Milky Way, Ms. Amy Broooooox. You've seen this map before... but only what you would call the geographical version of it. I am here to show you the political side you have never seeeeeeen before. The starmap suddenly shifts into colors. The outer spirals of the galaxy are arrayed in a variety of rainbow hues, while the center glows with a menacing dark-gray light.

Do you seeeeeeee, the Varzaid territory in the center of the galaxy? It is already larger than it was beeeefore. They are expaaaaanding. They are a form of life entirely unlike you and I, Ms. Amy Broooooox. They view us with contempt, and seek only to use our biological proteins to power their waaaaaar machine.

"Ok." you say. "That's rather new to me. But what does it mean?"

For centuries, the Coalition of Carbon-Based Lifeforms has been resisting the Varzaid's ambition. That is the many colors that you seeeeeee at the spirals of the galaxy.

"Coalition of Carbon-Based Lifeforms?" you ask. "Why haven't we heard of this before? You just decided to exclude us from the political life of the galaxy? And just randomly crashland ships on our planet?"

According to the Constitution of our government, humans were not considered a sentient species. But now that the Varzaid problem directly concerns you, we've passed a resolution allowing you membership in the Coalition, Ms. Amy Brooooox..

"Wait a minute... what do you mean the Varzaid problem now concerns us?" you ask, suppressing your glee at finally being recognized as sentient.

Even now, their fighting fleets are making their way toward Earth. According to our latest reports, they will be here in 20 of your Earth- years. And they will destroy your entire planet, as well as everything else in this sector. They will drive needles into your brains and suck out your vital juuuuuuices.

"You...You're not going to let that happen, are you?" you ask, a cold chill running down your spine.

It is not up to me, Ms. Amy Broooox. It's up to yooooou, says the alien, raising a glowing fingertip to your nose.

"What?! But how could Earth fight against a space-travelling civilization? That's impossible! We have to evacuate the planet, right away!"

Impossible, I am afraid, yes. If this sector falls to the Vaaaaarzaid, it would split open all of our defenses like a poorly built pinata. Earth must be held. But before we can begin construction of defenses here, this violent Earth must be pacified. You must do this, not I. Our forces are caught up in other vital engagements. The soonest we could send an expeditionary fleet here would be in twelve Earth-years. Eight years would not be enough time to construct a military base here on Earth that could resist the Vaaaaarzaid. Do not worry. We will provide your forces with the weapons they need. But it will ultimately rest upon your courage and resourcefulness. Dooooo you understand?

You shake your head. "No. I can't do it. You don't... I... I came into office on a platform of peace! Food on every plate and an end to overseas engagements - my people are tired of war! I can't do this to them!"

You must. For the sake of aaaaaall Carbon-Based Life.

"No!" you exclaim. Tears well up in your eyes as you picture battlefields littered with American dead, the carrions picking over the remains, as grotesquely mutilated bodies mingle surrealistically with burning war machines. A blood-red setting sun completes your vision, and then you see them - the widows, the orphans, staring at you with silent accusation. "Why me? I'm willing to join any planetary government, as long as my people don't have to fight. Why America? Why not the Czechs, or the goddamn Russians? Why me?"

Because you are the only human that we trust, Ms. Amy Broooooox. We have looooooked into your heart, and we see that it is pure."

"I don't really have a choice, do I?" you say, sniffing, slowly regaining your composure.

We will meet again. But now I must return to my people.

"Wait! There is still much we have to discuss, to work out!" you cry, but Flefrimon is already gone, vanished into thin air along with the hologram projection. You blink. Could all this have been a bad dream? Another hallucination caused by a coffee overdose and too much stress?

1. Begin making plans for world conquest.
2. Dismiss the entire thing as a hallucination.

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