Chapter Two
Space Oddity
The Volardi didn't arrive. They announced themselves as if they owned the sky.
Phones, stereos, and everything else with a speaker, including watches, chimed in with the same deep voice.
"People of Earth. Representatives from the Volardi Empire will begin discussions with your leaders soon.
We come in peace. We will provide advanced technology in exchange for a partnership to ensure our peoples' survival. "
Partnership? That's one way to spin it.
The announcer moved on, now tinged with a soft sadness I'd heard in songs about heartbreak.
"A dishonorable enemy formerly known as the Gloom ravaged our population, leaving our species on the brink of collapse.
With minimal nanotech alteration, Earth's male child-bearers will restore our combined race.
We promise no interference with your world's sovereignty.
We will not take what is not freely offered.
Your women, your children are yours, always.
We only seek to form a bond with those willing to join us. "
I stood frozen on the sand with my chest tight.
I know and like Brandon's alien lover. I've seen his underground laboratory filled with interstellar inventions to improve our lives.
Maurice—Brandon's father figure—is alive because of Alen.
Yet, that same Volardi warrior took out armed mercenaries and emerged like an '80s horror slasher dripping with Human blood.
They were kind until they weren't. What if Earth says no?
"Thomas?" Brandon said softly. His holographic projection hovered in my side vision. "You okay?"
"Yeah. No."
It was one thing to know one alien and understand they were coming.
It was later. Way in the future. My eyes stayed fixed on the white crystal ship.
It hung there, serene and unbothered by the chaos, approaching military jets and news helicopters.
People on the beach murmured to each other, a few cried, and others pulled out their phones.
One person ran to his car and sped off as if the world had ended.
The deep, baritone message continued. "We offer the technology to protect your world from all external and internal threats. No force will harm a Volardi ally."
Hell of a sales pitch and a subtle threat.
***
Previously leaked alien technology hadn't quite solved LA traffic. I sat in my green VW Beetle while the occasional car honked or zoomed past on the shoulder. Brandon's mental hologram had shrunk to doll-size and stood on my dashboard.
"There's a lot of power here and arrogance," he said.
My eyes narrowed. "You married one, more or less."
He sighed. "They're not bad. Alen loves me, but they aren't like us. Even Alen is more... gentle than a typical Soturi. He said so himself."
"The guy who killed several mercs. Real gentle." My friend gawked before I continued. "Sorry Hon, I know! Too far."
"No, you're right. Caution is smart. Just be careful if you..." His finger pointed up.
"Who said I was thinking about it?"
"I know you."
"Well, I don't like pushy guys, aliens, whatever.
I already get it with the men here. Just because I'm short, I have to do what they say.
F' that. If I decide and I'm not saying I am, it won't be with someone who'll push me around.
" I waved my hand up at the ship. I was willing to give them a chance, but they just arrived and were already dictating terms. That raised so many red flags.
"It's not pushy, just calculated. They need this to work. That's why they're offering Earth so much. Most times they, well, take a third of a planet."
They didn't take over exactly, just dangled solutions. Some worlds were ravaged by disease. Others discovered after a war, usually nuclear. A few simply liked Volardi tech.
So, the Empire sent scout ships to civilizations with problems, offered them solutions, and if accepted, they got a third of a planet as payment. If they didn't, they left the race to flounder alone. Some never found solutions and vanished forever.
It was a message: The universe needed the Volardi more than the reverse.
Until today.
My friend wasn't an idiot, and Alen treated him well, but out in the stars sat an emperor with a fleet of battleships. There were planets with Soturi Alphas ruling everything from a continent or ocean. Strong, powerful, confident, and used to having the cosmos go their way.
***
My brick house was small and cozy, tucked into a corner of LA where the rents hadn't yet gone interstellar.
A perfect place for an up-and-coming country music singer and semi-professional surfer.
Brandon was rich thanks to Alen and could have paid my rent or bought the house for me, but I said no.
Call it 'Southern Pride' or being my own man.
One of Alen's inventions—Household Artificial Learning, or HAL—recognized me as I approached with beach gear in hand.
Tiny, faint lasers ran over my body and tank top, then scanned my eyes before the door opened.
The sound of my three arguing brothers with thick Georgian accents hit me like a freight train.
"I don't care what trophies you got in school. In the real world, you're an educated fool, Chase," said Joel, the oldest, his drawl echoing from the kitchen. "Those Volardi are here to take over. Mark. My. Words."
"They would have attacked already," replied Chase, exasperated as if he was speaking to his students. He continued in his analytical professor voice, "They're here to help, and they're not taking women. Just gay guys. So as my students say: chill."
Wyatt, the youngest of us all, lounged on the couch. "Guess we're safe, huh? Well, except for—"
I dropped my beach bag from behind with a thump. "Me?"
Joel came out of the kitchen with his dark brown hair and beard, slightly mussed. All of them stared directly at me. Only Chase's gaze didn't quite match. His right green eye was fine, but the fake brown one dipped a bit. I offered to help him as Brandon did with me. He too said no.
"About time," Joel said. "Did you hear about what's going on?"
It wasn't really a question, but I answered, "Hard to miss." I flopped down on the couch next to Wyatt. I had a whole plan to tell them. Invite them to see Alen, and drop a few hints. Wonder who'd figure it out first? Chase the smart one? Joel, who could sniff out BS? Our baby brother?
Or even—
The door to the kitchen creaked open, and my dad stepped out smiling. In one hand were five red plastic cups and one-fourth bottle of Jack Daniel's. This morning it was full. He passed the cups to us, along with ice.
My brothers and I quickly stared at each other.
"Pa," said Joel. "Early, ain't it?"
"It's late afternoon, and besides, it's First Contact like in those Star Trek shows.
If this ain't a cause for a celebration or a stiff drink, then what is?
" The bottle sloshed in Dad's hand as he poured generous dark splashes into our cups.
The sharp and sweet scent hit hard and filled my small living room.
"Klaatu barada nikto, right?" he asked, quoting The Day the Earth Stood Still.
Nobody raised their cup except me. "Dad, maybe not," Chase gently placed his hand on the bottle. After a nod from Joel, he took the bottle and rested it on the coffee table's far side. "There's more information needed."
Joel chimed in, "We heard enough. They want to take our people."
Dad and my namesake scoffed. "Why do they want gay men?" He chuckled. "Babies? Nah. It's got to be some translation mix-up."
Wyatt gestured to the cup. "What if it's true?" His smile grew. "Maybe you shouldn't drink, Tommy! You might harm your tentacle monster kid."
"Advisements against drinking are for after impregnation," said Chase. "Likewise, it's highly unlikely their offspring are tentacle monsters. My hypothesis is that they are bipeds."
"Well," said Dad, and lifted the red cup till it rested against his beard. "Let's figure it out."
Wyatt looked at me, then the bottle, his expression caught somewhere between awkward and apologetic. Joel's piercing blue eyes stayed fixed on Dad, full of quiet, seething disapproval.
Chase, ever the mediator, tried to steer the conversation. "The news mentioned an upcoming update. Might have an explanation, terms—"
Dad waved him off. "Terms, shmerms. This is history, boys. The whole world's changing." He faced me, holding out a cup with an exaggerated smile. "What do you think, Tommy? You're the man of the house. Is it okay if we men have a drink?"
I froze, with three wary pairs of eyes landing squarely on me, along with my dad's shiny ones. Brothers pleaded for me to say anything to redirect him.
I couldn't.
Dad was never violent. Far from it. When he caught teenage me and Doug Simmons behind the barn, he politely waited, while my first kiss bolted down the dirt road in terror.
Then he listened as I denied everything and offered one explanation after another.
Once obvious, there was no fooling him, he hugged me tight, then sat and searched for answers I didn't have back then.
Later, he and my brothers made sure I knew how to fight because soon, someone would start something. Most times, I held my own. When bullies came in pairs or more, I had three brothers ready to throw fists.
So many of my friends weren't lucky, and dead to their families. Sue me if I couldn't say no.
"Yeah, sure. It's fine," I said and took the red cup from his hand. My voice was smaller than expected. I hated how easy it was to fall back into old patterns, but I couldn't hurt him.
Joel muttered something under his breath. Wyatt sighed and sank further into the couch. Chase looked like he already had an answer to a question.
Dad gave me a proud slap on the shoulder, oblivious to my brothers' glare. "See? LA Tommy gets it. He knows how to party, like all the other big shots in this town."
I smiled at the compliment, my throat tight.