Epilogue #2
Even from a distance, Jacob and Sarah were instantly recognizable.
Bearded Jacob wore dark pants with suspenders over a dark shirt.
Sarah had on her usual plain, solid-blue dress with a white cap over her hair, tidily caught in a bun.
Sarah had once mentioned that in accommodation to Amish orthodoxy, women never cut their hair.
When unbound, her hair fell below her knees.
Sarah was five months pregnant. Hers would be the first baby born in New Springfield, followed soon after by Laurel and Grav’s baby, the first human-Progg child, although nobody but Chloe and Rok knew about her pregnancy yet.
When Laurel had shared her news, Chloe got a wake-up call. How could she have forgotten about birth control? She and Rok had become intimate. Very intimate. Frequently intimate.
After a belated talk, they decided to let nature take its course.
They had a planet to populate, after all.
It’s our civic duty, she thought with amusement, but that wasn’t why.
She desired to have a family with Rok. She loved him, and she wanted to be a mom.
Family represented normalcy. Oh, how she longed for normal—a husband, a couple of kids, a house in the suburbs.
So what if her husband was an extraterrestrial, the kids were half-alien, and she had to cook in the fireplace like a pioneer? Close enough!
Rok craned his neck. “Looks like everyone is here.”
“Yep. Full house.” Technically, the theater, seating over a thousand, was mostly empty, but it did appear as though all the residents had arrived.
The five council members and Grav filed out from backstage. Laurel carried a battery-powered microphone; Grav had a banker’s box. They took their seats behind the large table, leaving one chair empty.
Laurel turned on the mike and tapped it. “Can everyone hear me?” Her voice boomed.
“Yes!” people chimed.
“You’re all wondering why we’re meeting again so soon.
We have serious, life-altering business to discuss and vote on, affecting not only New Springfield but survivors everywhere.
” She glanced at her fellow council members.
“We don’t want to influence you by sharing our thoughts before you hear the information from the source, so I won’t say much more,” she added cryptically.
Were they going to get a visitor? Was the seventh chair for this mysterious guest?
“Because there will be a vote, we’re going to take roll call.” Laurel slid the mike to hairdresser Candi Maloney, council secretary.
“When I call your name, shout here or something,” Candi said. “Marcus Abnernathy.”
“Here!”
“Guy Baker.”
“Here!”
At each response, she checked the name off her list. Everyone was present and accounted for except for one. “LaTasha Zeldon!”
No answer.
“LaTasha Zeldon?”
Silence. Chloe and others in the audience scanned the theater. Council members exchanged worried frowns.
“We can’t start until LaTasha gets here,” Laurel murmured, looking concerned.
Of course, everyone should attend the meetings, but if anyone skipped, well, LaTasha was just a kid. Her presence couldn’t be that critical.
“Has anybody seen LaTasha?” Candi asked.
“I’m here!” Braids flying, LaTasha bounded into the theater, and the council let out a collective audible sigh of relief. “Sorry I’m late. I got tied up in…a last-minute conversation.”
With whom? Everyone was here.
“Come on up to the stage,” Laurel directed.
LaTasha scrambled up the side steps and took the seventh chair.
She can’t be the source of the life-altering information, could she? On the other hand, as a messenger, LaTasha had frequent contact with everyone. Maybe she found out something important.
The mike got passed to Laurel. “Let’s begin.
You’re all aware of the situation. The human race will survive—but reestablishing industry, technology, mass communication, and transportation when we lack energy, expertise, equipment, and manpower has seemed insurmountable.
” Laurel paused, taking a breath. “This morning, we were presented with a possible solution.”
“What? From who?”
“What kind of solution?” Questions rang out in the audience.
“Please, let me finish.” Laurel banged a gavel. The people quieted. “We received a communication from the Federation of Alien Beings.”
A collective gasp erupted in the theater. “Who are they?”
“What did they say?”
“What do they want?”
Why did the name sound familiar? Chloe leaned closer to Rok and whispered, “Have you heard of the Federation of Alien Beings?”
“Yes.” He nodded.
She would have asked him more, but Laurel rapped the gavel. “Please, please. I know you all have questions. The message we’re going to play for you will answer a lot of them—it’s better if you hear from the source rather than from us.”
“How was the message received?” Guy called out.
Good question! Communication was one of their big issues. They had no working phones, internet, satellite or cable TV, or even radio or telegraph. They’d been reduced to signage and hand-delivered messages.
Grav held up an iridescent cube the size of a jeweler’s ring box.
“This appeared on our dining table this morning. It came from the federation.” He placed the cube on the small square table, flicked a switch or something, and the air shimmered.
A holographic image of an alien being materialized atop the table.
* * * *
He—she—kind of resembled an alien caricature with an upside-down teardrop-shaped face and huge eyes, only he wasn’t the typical green or silver, but dark brown. He or she had a slender, stick-straight body with long, willowy limbs, particularly its tentacle-like arms.
“Greetings! I am Urlyn Buqu of the governing board of the Federation of Alien Beings, a galactic coalition committed to the welfare, aid, and defense of allied worlds. We have been monitoring the situation on Earth.”
That’s why the name sounded familiar! Now she remembered! Shortly before everything went to hell, the president had announced she’d received a two-word message, “Progg coming” from a “Federation of Alien Beings.” Nobody had understood what it meant, or if it was real or a hoax.
Buqu continued, “Federation policy with respect to non-member planets is one of noninterference and neutrality. We do not take sides, nor do we impose our will or values on other civilizations, especially those that are still developing and evolving.” The alien had huge eyes, two tiny nostrils, but no mouth, and she realized Buqu’s voice came from inside her head. It’s telepathic!
But how could that be? This was a recorded message, wasn’t it?
She broke out in goose bumps. If these aliens could project a prerecorded voice into their heads, they were dealing with a very advanced life-form—possibly more advanced than the Progg.
Were humans going to leap from the frying pan into the fire?
“Moreover, federation resources are finite. There are fifty member planets in our alliance, but there are thousands more with intelligent life at various stages of development. We could not possibly address all the needs.
“We have been following your plight and the devastation inflicted by Progg-Res. A bio scan of your planet counted 2,000,015 humans, dispersed across your continents.”
That many?
At first, two million sounded like a lot, until she did the math in her head.
What had Earth’s population been before the invasion?
Eight billion? Nine billion? Two million out of say, nine billion, was a fraction of a percent.
The data verified what she’d observed with her own eyes—the Progg had come close to rendering humans extinct.
“The Progg-Res empire has collapsed, its population ravaged by a plague with a near 100 percent fatality rate. The members of its General Ministry are dead. There are only a few thousand Progg left alive among the conquered worlds of the former empire. Nor has the plague run its course; more may still die.”
Rok jerked. Grav—who’d obviously previewed the message—sat stone-faced.
They’d always suspected the situation on their home world was grave, but this confirmed their suspicions that their family and comrades were likely dead.
He’d indicated Progg didn’t form strong attachment bonds, but it still had to come as a blow.
Chloe squeezed his hand in sympathy for his loss, but she didn’t rue the destruction of the Progg-Res empire. They had brought this on themselves.
“Serves the fuckers right!” somebody shouted. A second later, the same voice: “No offense, Grav—and, Rok.” That people judged Grav and Rok on their character and not by what others of their species had done, testified to their open-mindedness.
“None taken,” Grav said.
“It’s all right,” Rok spoke out.
Buqu’s arms waved like the inflatables at car dealerships. “Surviving humans are scattered in your rural and wilderness areas.
“You not only sustained a significant reduction in population, but you suffered an irreversible loss of knowledge and expertise.”
Irreversible? They all recognized their situation as challenging, but irreversible?
“New Springfield is the largest and most organized congregation of survivors, showing the most potential for recovery, which is why we are contacting you.”
We’re the largest? Fifty-two people? How can we be the most organized? Surely other people are doing what we’re doing? She hadn’t thought she could be shocked anymore. Of course, there was no way to verify what this alien said, but she had no reason to doubt the information, either.