"Coming Home" (You may join any time you wish)

"Coming Home"

OOC Thread

Writer Discussion and Interest Check Thread


3 February 2022:

The Secret Service Agent knocked on the door and entered without waiting for acknowledgment. He moved in slowly, whispering, "Mister President...?"

President Taylor had always been a light sleeper. He'd incorrectly believed that the stress and work load of running the country would leave him so tuckered out that he would simply pass out each night. He was wrong, and at the sound of the Agent's voice he popped straight up in the bed, mumbling, "Yes ... what's happening?"

"Sir," the Agent continued as he snatched the robes from the end of the bed and offered them out, "we have to get you to the bunker, immediately."

"What's wrong...?"

"What's going on, Howie?" a female voice asked softly. A beautiful woman sat up next to Taylor, her full breasts naked to the Agent's view.

"It's nothing to be concerned about, Miss Cooper," the Agent lied, turning to give the woman a bit of privacy as she rose from the bed and crossed to the dresser to begin retrieving her clothes even without being asked. He turned his attention back to the President, saying, "Sir, please. We need to go."

Taylor looked to the woman, eying her for a brief moment as she began covering her perfect figure. "Beth, the Agents will get you home, okay?"

"Of course," she said, stepping into a tall heel as she wadded up the stockings she'd had on upon arrival and stuffing them into her evening purse. She smiled back to her long time lover and said, "I know the drill."

"Sir," the Agent repeated again, his anxiety beginning to show in his voice.

"Yes, yes," Taylor answered. As naked as the woman who'd so quickly evacuated his bed, Taylor stood and let the Agent slip the robe up his arm and onto his shoulders. He turned and waited for the Agent to lead the way, glancing back to the young red head to blow her a kiss and whisper, "Had fun."



In the bunker, Taylor looked at the multiple screens -- some filled with images, others with data -- and asked, "What caused it, this ... this ... what did you call it?"

"A temporal disruption, Mister President," an officer in an Air Force uniform said from across the room. He grabbed a digital tablet from a counter and moved quickly toward the bank of monitors explaining, "It originally registered as an electro-magnetic pulse--" He turned to face the President and explained, "An EMP."

"I know what an EMP is, Colonel," Taylor snapped. "What do you mean, originally registered?"

A second officer, this one wearing a Navy uniform with Lieutenant bars, continued the explanation. "We thought it was a nuclear detonation in space, Mister President. A precursor to an attack. You see, and EMP would knock out much of our communications and other--"

"Jesus Christ, fellas," Taylor cut in. "I may not have worn the uniform, but I know how these things work. For crying out loud, my daughters know what an EMP device does. Anyone who watches the SyFy channel knows what an EMP does. Tell me what you mean by originally!"

"Sorry, sir," the Lieutenant said, turning back to his panel. "A good portion of the civilian communications and power grid went down--"

"Where!" Taylor cut in again, moving forward to look at the digital image of North America, now covered with a variety of flashing symbols that only confused him. "East Coast, West Coast ... where?"

There wasn't an answer immediately. Taylor turned to look at the Naval Officer, then to the Air Force Colonel. The latter said hesitantly, "Well ... every where, Mister President. The whole planet."

Taylor's face screwed up in a confused expression. Every where...?"

"Every where," the Lieutenant confirmed. "North America, South ... Europe and Asia, but to a lesser extent. Australia wasn't hit nearly as bad, it seems, but we're still trying to--"

"Who the hell set's off an EMP bomb that disrupts their own country?[/I]" Taylor asked, looking to and from the Senior Officers and Civilian Aides in the bunker with him. "It doesn't make sense."

"No, sir, it doesn't," a new voice chimed in.

Taylor turned to find a man in the distant corner, his eyes down on a large portable electronic tablet positioned across the arms of his wheel chair. The President headed his direction, asking, "Gregory ... what the hell's going on?"

"Exactly what the Colonel told you, Mister President," Greg Hollander answered. "A temporal disruption. It first appeared to be exactly what they're telling you, an EMP device. But, when we looked closer, we found this."

Taylor watched his Science and Technology Adviser -- one of the brightest minds on the planet, and his good friend since kindergarten -- tap his fingers upon the large flat screen before him, then point toward the bank of monitors on the wall. Taylor turned; on the big monitor showing North America, nearly perfect circles -- beginning above the Texas-Mexico border and expanding outward -- changed from red through all the colors of the rainbow.

"What is it?" he asked, moving forward again. As he looked closer, he saw little time indicators near the detectable shifts from red to orange to yellow and so one out to violet. "What ... what is this?"

"Time has stopped, Mister President," Hollander answered.

Taylor moved closer to the screen and looked at this little digital read outs. The indicator in the middle of the red circle read 0204:33:45 ... just after two in the morning. But looking to the indicators to the east -- over Louisiana, Alabama, and further east, all the way to D.C. -- the times read progressively later. Taylor turned and looked to the clock on the bunker's wall: 3:15am.

"Or, I should say," Hollander continued, "Time has slowed. More so in the Red Zone ... just west of San Antonio, Texas. We are getting reports from military complexes and civilian operations both, and all of them are coming into us with time stamps that verify that this is ... happening."

"What the hell...?" Taylor murmured. He spun to look to his friend, his face tied up in dismay. "What is causing this, Gregory?"

"I think I know, Mister President," yet another Air Force officer chimed in. When Taylor looked to her, the woman gestured to the central monitor on the wall and said, "We're getting a transmission from Theophilus-2. I'll put it up."

A moment later, an image of Earth from the unmanned station deep inside one of the moon's largest craters replaced the visual of North America.

"Can you..." Taylor gestured before him, not sure what he was wanting to ask. "Can you make it clearer?"

"I can't control T-2 from here ... can't zoom the camera," the officer said, tapping her fingers upon the screen in front of her, they typing at the keyboard closer to her, "but ... I can expand the image we're getting..."

On the big monitor before him, Taylor saw the image of Earth expand suddenly. The image was unclear, but slowly -- as the woman worked behind him -- the image began to clear up until ...

"Oh my god," Taylor murmured. His feelings were mirrored by the gasps and exclamations of others in the room. "How big is it?"

The station was massive, though -- with only the Earth to compare it to and no idea of how far away it was -- it was hard to know exactly how massive.

"I ... I can't tell, exactly, Mister President," the Officer was saying, still tapping her fingers about her station. "But ... it appears to be ..." She looked up to find Taylor staring at her. "Sir ... it's at least a kilometer in diameter."

Taylor's owns eyes widened. He turned back to the big image on the monitor. "A thousand yards...? That's ... that's incredible."

Taylor caught sight of the Air Force Colonel moving closer to him and looked to him, finding his face filled with concern. "What is it Colonel?"

"The size of this thing in incredible, Mister President," the man said, his voice more serious than Taylor had ever heard it before. "But ... I think what's even more incredible, sir ... is that it simply appeared here. How did that happen...? And... what is it here for?"

Taylor studied the man for a moment, then looked to his Science Adviser.

Hollander did something Taylor had never seen him do in more than 50 years of friendship. He shrugged his shoulders.

He was simply known as Lee, a name which had never been specified as either a given name or a surname. He had an Administration Number as well -- officially, he was known as Mission Commander Lee 12120 -- but aside from himself and the folks in Admin', specifically the Pay Master, no one ever used the long version except on official reports.

Lee had actually begun his life and then his military career as Phillip Gregory-Keen. It had been quite a transition for he, himself, to suddenly start going by the simple name, but he made it work with some helpful therapy and lots and lots of practice, repeating it to himself and introducing himself to just about anyone he ever got near.

Every member of Program Rejuvenation had just a single name, and in most cases, they were short and non specific in relation to race, creed, nationality, and color. Some of the more colorful personalities among the crew had asked to use names that Lee had considered a bit outrageous and, with his veto power, nixed without conversation. But, he and the Admin' folk had allowed them all a bit of flexibility, considering that they were giving up the names they'd gone by for decades.

The Program's Administrators had feared that the 21st century population might look at the program members' names and draw conclusion about their personalities, and thus their motivations to be doing what they were doing back in the present. Lee understood their fears, but he thought their concerns were a bit overblown. After the time jump to the 21st century was made, there might only be a couple of dozen of his crew members dealing directly with the people from the past; it wasn't as if the entire crew was going down to the planet for R&R or, the opposite, the entire population of Earth was going to come up to the Platform for a tour. The interaction between the humans of the past and future were going to be minimized and restricted to what was mission appropriate ... or, so Lee hoped.

Lee, himself, hadn't chosen his own name; it had been given to him. The name was fairly common in the both the West and the East, and while there were variations in the spellings -- from Lee to Leigh to Li and more -- the pronunciation was all the Administrators were thinking of at the time.

"You'll be acceptable to the Americans, the Europeans, and the Chinese," he'd been told. "We want them to see you as impartial to all ... a man with a mission for all of Earth's people."

The mission, of course, was why he was striding up the the Platform's Central Passage toward the Conference Room now. The time jump had been nearly flawless; they were a few months off from their target date, but that was petty compared to earlier tests with both unmanned and manned time jump craft. The detection systems of the time had alerted the 21st century leaders to the Platform's presence, and the Monitoring Personnel were reporting that the television, radio, and internet were flooded with speculation about that was happening in Earth's orbit.

Lee passed through the open doors of the Conference Room and, without exception, found the members of his Senior Staff standing at the windows, looking down upon the planet they'd come from but which no one recognized as their home.

In Lee's time, the planet looked considerably different: both poles, as well as Greenland, were absent of ice; vast chunks of low lying coastal lands -- from Bangladesh to The Netherlands to Florida and beyond -- had been claimed or reclaimed by the sea; the Amazon and Congo were almost denuded of their forests; green, fertile lands were now brown and dead; and, of course, there were the missing cities, destroyed in the War of 2050. Lee had seen pictures of the atmosphere of Earth following the limited exchange of nuclear weapons and marveled at how clear the air seemed today. It was simply spectacular.

Upon seeing his arrival, the Council members turned and moved to the desk located in the middle of the Conference Room. It was a large arc, 120 degrees of smooth, wide polished redwood measuring ten meters in length; it had been built for the Presidential Palace a century and a half before Lee's birth from the last of the great trees to survive on the planet below them, blown down during an unprecedented Pacific Hurricane. It had been given to Project Rejuvenation as a symbol of what they were returning to preserve, and -- even when the Senior Officers Council wasn't in session -- Lee often found himself sitting here, simply running his hands over the polished surface, contemplating the mission ahead.

Once they were all seated, Lee looked about to each of the faces before him and said simply, "We made it. We're here."

A round of applause interrupted him. The Council Members rose and began shaking hands, offering their hands across the wide table to their leader or circling around the table to approach him, even embrace him.

When a handful of them gave him congratulatory praise, he only reminded them that it wasn't just his leadership, but was instead their professionalism that got them here. He meant it, of course; Project Rejuvenation wasn't going to succeed without each and every one of these people by his side.

The 21 members of Lee's Senior Staff slowly made their way back to their seats, still shaking hands, patting backs, and kissing cheeks. He studied them each as they sat. They were from every walk of life: earth scientists, warriors, politicians, psychologists, physicists, and more. Lee looked out at them now and smiled a bit, proud to have them on his side.

BY my side, he thought to himself, not ON my side.

Just prior to the final countdown began for the mission, communications between unknown persons had been uncovered indicating that there were some members of the Platform's crew -- and possibly of Lee's own Council -- who didn't fully believe in the mission's goals. There were suspicions about who these people were and what their own missions might be, but there hadn't been enough hard facts to either scrub or delay the mission.

Lee was concerned, of course, but he didn't let it show in his face as he said simply, "We're here, so ... let's get to work."

He moved to the podium standing before the table, sat on a tall stool, and opened a folder. They spent the next three hours, with only a few short breaks, covering the steps to come in relation to the Platform's operation and missions down on the planet. There was little argument, of course; there was nothing new being discussed for this had all been talked and talked and talked over before. Lee knew what had to be done; the Council knew what had to be done; and the Officers and Crew knew what had to be done.

The question, of course, was how the 21st Century humans -- not just the leaders of the individual countries, but the individuals within them -- were going to react when Lee and his Council told them how they were going to live their lives from here out. There were 7 billion people down there today, and Lee was pretty sure that some of them weren't going to happy with what he had to tell them.

Paul 33266 was what it said on the ID badge on his chest, but the other members of his flight group knew him as Skippy. It wasn't a nickname he cherished; he'd gained the moniker after skipping his patrol craft across the flight deck in a poorly executed landing attempt ... not just once, but twice! He'd come to accept the fact that he would likely be called it until the day he died, unless by some miracle he became Mission Commander and could order the nickname banished; or became the Goddess herself, in which case he could smite the heathens who used the foul nickname.

The first fantasy -- becoming the head honcho of Project Rejuvenation -- wasn't likely to happen anytime soon. Paul was only a Lieutenant, Junior Grade, with barely six months invested at that rank. He often joked that at the rate he was advancing in rank, it would take another Time Jump for him to reach Commander Grade before he died.

And the second fantasy -- a childhood remnant of his mother's spiritual beliefs -- which would, of course, result in him becoming a beloved deity, didn't seem much of an option either. Paul had seen the dozens of artistic images his mother, and her mother before her had collected of Gaia, and he just didn't think his legs would look good extending from the short dress she was often depicted in.

But for now, his legs were protectively wrapped in his fire proof, shock and G-Force protected flight suit. He kept his hands to himself as the Platform's Control Systems moved his Patrol Craft from its berth to the launch bay. Finally, after several minutes of anxiety -- he'd trained for this for nearly a year and finally it was happening -- the order came over his ear piece.

"Three-three-two-six-six, confirm go, confirm go."

Paul repeated the confirm go order, flipped a quartet of switches, then said, "Go, go, go."

A loud metallic thunk signaled the release of his Patrol Craft from the hull of the Platform and an automatic propulsion system sent him away from the station, toward Earth. As the automated systems disengaged, he took hold of the controls and turned his ship ...

And, for the first time, he was looking directly at Old Mother Earth with his bare eyes. He'd performed this mission a hundred -- two hundred -- times in simulation, with various images of the planet before him. And, following the time jump, he'd looked at twenty-first century Earth on the monitors in the C&C. But this was the first time he'd actually seen her with his bare eyes. And she was ... unbelievable...

Specifically, he was looking down on the Eastern Mediterranean. He'd studied this region endlessly, despite the fact that it hadn't really been necessary; he was only going to be flying over the region, not going down to it, of course, so the only reason for needing to know anything about the land and water below him was if something went wrong ... and he did go down.

As he proceeded toward his Area of Operations, he marveled at the sights below him out his port side windows. The most obvious feature, or course, was the Mediterranean Sea, surrounded by Africa directly below him and Europe and the Middle East beyond. He'd been told that the Nile Delta would be very distinguishable in this time period, unlike how it was in his time. He'd studied ancient photographs and computer simulations of what the Delta would look like today -- this today, not the today that his today started out as -- and yet he was still amazed to actually see it now, as it was ... or is. It was all very confusing.

He began to tear a bit, thinking of how much he wished his mother could be here for this. It's Gaia, momma ... right here before me, he wanted to tell her.

Paul had almost passed on Project Rejuvenation when he learned that the Time Jump was a one way trip, that he'd never be returning to his own time again. He'd grown up a momma's boy, and the thought of never seeing her again had simply been too much for him.

Ironically, it had been his mother who had pressured him to go, commanding him, "Return to Gaia. Save her. Save her for your children and your children's children."

So, here he was, maneuvering his craft and surging forward ... to save Gaia ... by destroying satellites.

It hadn't seemed to make much sense to him when, two years earlier, he'd first heard about the Virgin Mission for his squadron. Destroying satellites...? Really? They were supposed to be returning to Earth to aid the Twenty-Firsts in saving their planet ... and the first thing he was going to do was blow their satellites out of the sky...?

His targeting system was on automatic, and once he was within range of his first target, he switch navigation back to auto as well. He really didn't even need to be here, he knew. Ironically, the only reason he was here was so that if something went wrong and his ship began to fall into the atmosphere toward Earth, he was to destroy the craft so that the Twenty-Firsts wouldn't get their hands on advanced technology. So ... basically ... he was here to commit suicide. Wonderful.

A soft tone sounded and a light illuminated.

Paul pressed his finger to a display and spoke, "Target in range. Permission to activate weapons system."

"Permission to activate weapons system granted," a polite, almost seductive female voice acknowledged.

As he switched on the weapons system, Paul couldn't help himself and wondered What's she look like naked...? Almost immediately upon switching on his weapons, a half second pulse of light extended from the belly of his ship outward at about 320 degrees. When the laser turned off, the space above Earth looked no different; but Paul knew that out there, beyond his sight, slightly to his left and a bit lowering in Earth's orbit, the debris of a military satellite was scattering throughout the void.

A display before him read Target Destroyed.

"Goody," he mumbled. "Can we go home now?"

"Please repeat your last, Three-three-two-six-six," the woman ordered.

"Sorry," he responded, feeling stupid for having left his comm's open. He was thankful he hadn't verbalized the question about what the Controller was wearing. "Was talking to myself. Disregard."

A moment later, Paul received the warning about the imminent weapons firing, and again a stream of high energy plasma surged from his craft. Another congratulatory note showed on the screen.

This continued for more than an hour, his attention switching constantly from his weapons systems and the view below him. By the time his mission was finished, he'd nearly circled the planet and had Brazil and the Amazon Forest out the port side window. Seeing South America and the lungs of Gaia was more spectacular than anything he'd seen so far. In his time, the rain forest below was gone -- entirely. In its place had been endless ranches and farmland and urban sprawl. To see such green was ... simply overwhelming.

"Three-three-two-six-six, prepare to release control to Platform," the woman's voice greeted him. After Paul has flipped a couple of switches, then tapped his finger on an icon, the Patrol Craft shifted to automatic controls again and, with a rather rough jerk, turned and headed for the landing bay. The woman's voice returned, "Welcome home."

"Thank you," Paul said, forgoing the proper Acknowledged response. Then he smiled and chanced, "Maybe you'd like to welcome me to your quarters for dinner, Control."

There was a long pause, during which Paul cursed his stupidity. There was likely to be a Flight Officer standing near -- possibly wearing an ear piece and hearing every word -- and Paul would be reprimanded for his inappropriate--

"Oh-four-hundred sharp," the woman's voice returned finally, still with the strict professional tone she'd used when sending him forth to destroy chunks of metal circling the planet below. "Compartment two-six-three alpha ... and bring something to drink--" And then her tone turned playful as she added, "I'm much more fun when I'm tipsy."

A wide smile crossed Paul's face as he sat back and let the Platform bring him in. Much more fun, he thought, already feeling a tingle down below.


(OOC -- The female character above is available. Play her as you will; no plot has been laid out nor have "promises" were made.)

"Whaddaya mean ... how do you play?" Lewis 9003 asked with playful shock. He leaned closer to the pretty Technician sitting on the bleacher below him, letting his eyes take in the deep cleavage that even her fully buttoned Off Duty uniform top failed to hide. When she turned -- almost in time to catch his gaze on her impressive bosom -- he asked, "You've never watched Kill Ball before?"

She just shook her head in answer, then turned back to watch the action on the floor.

Two teams of men, six men per team, were on either side of the court, which was cut down the middle into ten meter squared halves by a two meter wide no mans land. Between them, they were running and dodging about their sides of the court, gathering one or more of the dozen and a half balls that were about the size of the helmets the men wore, then throwing them at one another with fierceness and unbelievable speed.

Just as Lewis began to explain the game's rules, a man in a red uniform took a ball in the chest and, with an oof! loud enough to echo off the wall's of the chamber, teetered back wards, trying but failing to gain his balance. As he fell to the ground, the ball that had struck him flew back the direction it had come; a second man on the blue team caught the ball and, with an amazingly quick turn around, heaved it again, into a circular net a few yards out from the wall beyond the falling man. A buzzer went off, cheers erupted from one side of the stands Lewis and the other spectators were sitting in, and the bosomy woman a row below began bouncing in her seat, clapping, and asking Lewis, "That was good, right?"

Lewis' eyes were again on the woman's bouncing chest as he agreed, "Yes ... very good. Listen ... sweetheart. How about I explain the game over lunch ... in my quarters."

She turned and flashed him a knowing look, saying, "Shame on you ... sweet heart. You know, I may not know how to play the game, but I've heard all about you fans of the games ... and the games you really like to play."

Lewis shifted his eyes past the woman to the far end of the bleachers; his smile faded quickly. He leaned in closer to her, saying with a serious tone, "You haven't heard it all, sweetheart ... so, consider yourself lucky."

He suddenly leaned forward, grabbing her face in his hands, and pressing his mouth to hers; his tongue pushed into her lips, darting in, then suddenly escaping as he pulled back and leaped to his feet. He headed down the bleachers, leaving her behind.

"What the hell was...?" She began, laughing with surprise then hesitated her question as she realized that Lewis was leaving as if she wasn't even there, let alone that he'd just played tongue tag with her. "What the ... hey, where ya goin'?"

But Lewis was gone, moving to the small group of men sitting in the corner of the stands. They all wore scarves or caps or arm bands celebrating the Dodgers -- the team in red, which was up seven points to three -- and all were making gestures and letting out whoops and yells that seemed to indicate they were celebrating their team's lead.

But Lewis knew better. These Dodger fans -- nine in all, counting Lewis -- were actually part of what was secretly known as the Second Chance Brigade, and they had no interest in anything other than getting the hell off the Time Jump Platform and starting new lives down on the surface of 21st Century Earth.

(OOC -- If you are interested in joining the SCB, drop me a PM. I will make comment on the group in the OOC and in the Writers Discussion thread later.)

It was almost 2am, and Larry Bingham was punching into the air, calling out as his man in the cage pummeled his opponent, "Right to the head! Right to the head! Pow! Pow! Pow! Use the kick, dammit ... he's down! Use the--"

Suddenly, the television screen went blank; no picture, no sound; it was simply as if someone had pulled the plug ... except ... the power light and station indicator were still lit on the front of the set.

"What the fuck...?" he mumbled, then louder screamed, "What the fuck!"

He spun this way and that until he located the remote. He pushed buttons, then moved to the wall socket, then the television, then the cable box. Everything was as it should have been, only ... no cage match.

He backed away from the set in total dismay. He'd paid $99.95 to see the championship fight, and now, half way into the second round as his man was about to win...

"What the fuck!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.

From outside, a few trailers down, a woman's voice called out in rage, "Shut the fuck up you red neck bastard. People are trying to sleep!"

He was out the door of his travel trailer before the woman had finished her complaint, pointing his 12 gauge shotgun into the air and hollering, "Shut the fuck up you crack whore bitch!"

He pulled the trigger, and the night sky cracked with the thunder of the goose round. Throughout the desert trailer park, lights came on and voices rose in anger and surprise.

Larry just turned around, laughing hysterically, and returned to his 32 foot home on wheels, flopping down on the couch with the shot gun across his lap and a beer in one hand as he stared at the screen and thought, Fucking little guy gets screwed every time, the son of a bitches. One day ... one fucking day...!

Of course, Larry couldn't have known just how much this particular little guy was going to get screwed in the near future.

Just three weeks earlier, he'd landed a well paying job at the nearby coal mine, driving a Front End Loader at the same strip mine his father and his father father had worked at before him. He couldn't have known that within weeks, coal use -- and therefore coal production -- would be illegal.

He'd also taken a huge leap of faith and invested the money he'd inherited from his recently departed great grandfather in Exxon Oil. Oil prices, and the dividends from their stock he was now an owner of, were on the rise again as China gobbled up more and more of the oil coming out of Iran, the Middle East, and Western Africa. Larry couldn't have known that, like the coal before it, oil would take a dive as unauthorized fossil fuel.

And last and certainly not least, the brand new Remington .30-06 with the 9x scope -- the one he hadn't even shot yet -- that he'd planned on using for everything from deer to antelope to beer to elk was going to be as worthless as swimming trunks on a cold winters day. There was no way Larry could have known -- no way he could have imagined! -- that within a couple of months, hunting wild game, except when necessary to maintain a healthy ecosystem, would be banned.

No, all Larry knew right now was that he wanted to shoot his television with the shotgun laying on his knees. He knew he was missing his cage match, the one he'd waited months for, the one he'd tapped out his debit card ordering. He knew that much ... even if he didn't know that the arrival of a time traveling space station high above Earth was the cause for his disappointment.

General Smythe

He looked at the orb hanging in space in front of them, Earth. Strangely he felt nothing, it was just a planet, one he had been sent back to help by all means necessary. He knew that his seat would be seen as empty at the council meeting, but he had to look after the boys and girls doing the necessary job of killing military platforms which could launch an offensive against them.

"Tactical Screen On."

The image flicked to a dull maroon color, the planet was still visible, but instead of blue and white it was a sullen red. All over the map yellow dots with vague pathways inter crossing the planet, almost like it was busy directing the planet. Bright white dots moved into view and spread out over the screen.

"Hawks in position sir."

Smythe nodded,

"Launch Operation Charlie Sierra, all weapons hot."

He listened to the radio as military targets went down all over the space, each yellow dot blinked white as it got destroyed. Something nagged at him as their birds started to return home, he was on the point to tell Mission Control to do a broad spectrum ping when she mentioned that she was much more fun when tipsy. He arched an eyebrow, sounded like "Skippy" would land a deal later on if he played his cards right.

"Mission Control you do realize that every communicator on that channel heard you right now? Keep personal comments to a minimum please, don't want to make "Skippy" into "Crashy" due to haste."

He left that to sink in for a second,

"Do a broad spectrum Ping, there is something out there that we have missed."

"Yes sir,"

The voice was demure, but he knew that she knew she was a bit out of line, not that bad and that is why he stuck to just those words.

"Ping sent."

He waited as the ping was shot out over all color spectrum and sound frequencies, it would pick up any of the old stealth technologies as existed in this time period. Three spots flared up on the console, huge buggers by the look of them.

"Contact confirmed sir, we have birds en-route which can intercept."

"Roger that Mission Control, take those double Bravos down."

"Rodger that sir,"

He could hear the smile in her voice, the little joke had her understand that she was not in trouble and the joke also had others around him smiling. Double Bravos, Bad Boys. His face gave nothing away about his amusement, even if it was there. Three of their white spots converged on the new platforms and after a few minutes of silence three blips disappeared from the screen.

"Good job people, bring those birds home, your first off duty drink is on me."

(OOC -- I am eliminating the term "Council" and just sticking with "Senior Staff" as a description of Lee's highest military officers and civilian advisers.)


Lee stood at the big windows, looking down at the planet. She looks so different, he thought, like and entirely different planet altogether.

He thought back to his childhood and all of the alien invasion movies he'd watched. In them, of course, the bad guys arrived here and looked down on this globe for the first time before they assaulted it. He and his ... they'd been living on her or above her all their lives, and yet still somehow, when they looked down on her from the Platform or from their patrol ships, they, too, were looking down on this globe for the first time.

A patrol ship neared the station, returning from its mission. Lee was reminded why he was waiting her in the Conference Room, long after the meeting with his Senior Staff had ended. He turned and crossed the room, stepping out into the Central Corridor and was about to call out to his Aide ... when he saw him, General Smythe, striding down -- up -- the hallway toward him with his own Aide close behind him.

And Lee couldn't help but smile broadly, almost chuckling.

Despite the fact that artificial gravity had been perfected for space craft half a century before Lee's death, The Time Jump Platform had been built without it. The Arti-Grav systems, they'd learned with tragic consequences, interfered with the time jump systems. A dozen men and women had died before this fact had been learned.

So, the Platform -- as some of his Care Mother's students had described -- was like a big tire inner tube, rolling slowly on its side, producing gravity via centrifugal force. Essentially, every one and every thing with the ship was being thrown outward at all times, sticking them to the floors they were standing on, the beds they were making love in, even the lap pools they were exercising in.

The curved nature of the ship was hardly noticeable in most areas of the ship. It was similar to how, down on Earth, you rarely noticed the curved nature of the planet, unless perhaps you were on the ocean or in a vast desert, where you could literally see the planet curve away at the horizon. Of course, on the platform, that curve was an inverse one; the ship didn't drop away at the horizon, it rose.

And it was that nature of the craft that was producing the optical illusion that was General Smythe. The only place in the ship where the curve of the circular ship was so overwhelmingly obvious was in the central corridor, which ran entirely around the craft; the only interruptions in this open path were the Security Doors, which could instantly divide the Corridor into two hundred compartments should there ever be a loss of pressure or fire or other emergency situation. But now, they were all open, giving Lee a continuous view pass the approaching General.

The effect was that his most trusted and most capable Warrior looked as if he was growing as he approached. Not simply getting nearer, but ... enlarging. The way that the deck and bulkheads -- and every thing and every one on or between the two -- curled upwards behind him gave the effect of him being shorter than he was; and then as he neared and grew, he became his true self ... a giant among men, literally and figuratively.

"Welcome, General," Lee said at the man and his Aide slowed. Lee turned and entered the Conference Room, heading straight for the wall of monitors upon which he and Smythe could see anything and everything they needed to know about Operation Clean Sweep, the elimination of space borne military satellites. "Please, give me your report."

Lee didn't really need a report. He didn't need to hover over Smythe; the General was the best in his field and knew how to get the job done without a Bureaucrat standing over his shoulder and making suggestions. Of course, Lee himself was no bureaucrat; he had nearly as many years into the military as Smythe, the difference being that the Generals days had been spent on the battle field whereas Lee's had been in the speeding cockpit of experimental space craft and the Operations Rooms planning for this very day.

They each had their scars -- physical and emotional -- but those scares were very different.

Lee stopped before the panel of monitors and turned to face Smythe. Over the years, the General had very respectfully taken to keeping back from his Superior; the man's height, at nearly 7 feet, made it uncomfortable for Lee, more than a foot shorter, to look up to him.

"Tell me," he directed, "are we safe from anything our Twenty-First friends might have had up here to toy with us?"

They were. Lee knew that. Smythe would ensure it, even with his own life, Lee was certain.

General Smythe

As he came close to Lee he saluted and then stood at ease, his shoulders squared,

"Sir, we neutralized all hard points, military as well as private. We found three stealth complexes and they got neutralized. What bothered me about them was that they seemed operational. One was busy running through a warmup cycle which was not supposed to happen with the EMP blast our entrance made."

He frowned,

"Also we intercepted a signal sent to Earth, it was a low resolution, very poor quality picture of our platform. If the sudden loss of communication did not warn them of our precense that picture did. I have prepped our anti-nuclear weaponry and personell in case some of the bigger countries decides to see us as a threat."

As usual he was down to the point and sure of the capabilities of his people, he had worked with them for long enough to know of what they are capable of doing.

"That is my formal report, sir. It is already in the computer and should be...is on your personal tablet."

He gave a small smile, it barely touched his lips,

"Any toys that is out there and working is the satelite telescopes and the cameras our twenty first century friends have in working order."

Lee listened with pride to his General's report. Years had been put into the planning for Project Rejuvenation's first operation -- securing the space above Earth and, specifically, that around the Platform -- and all seemed to have been going as planned. Lee and a handful of Administrators had laid out the primary goals, but it had been men and women like Smythe who had worked the fine details.

"What bothered me about them," the General continued concerning the "stealth" satellites his Patrol ships had destroyed, "was that they seemed operational. One was busy running through a warmup cycle which was not supposed to happen with the EMP blast our entrance made."

"We were lacking some key information about the hardiness of those targets," Lee responded, only now telling his Senior Military Commander information that he'd been ordered to hold back. That was the nice thing about being here now; he was in charge now -- no Administration Officials or Senior Officers to answer to, making this operation his to conduct. "The platforms you speak of ...there was one each from the United States, Russia, and China. We feared that they might be operational ...and now we know."

Smythe continued, "Also we intercepted a signal sent to Earth, it was a low resolution, very poor quality picture of our platform. If the sudden loss of communication did not warn them of our presence that picture did. I have prepped our anti-nuclear weaponry and personnel in case some of the bigger countries decides to see us as a threat."

Lee nodded his acknowledgment and mumbled, "Theophilius."

The unmanned space station established by the US as a first step toward returning to the moon had wasted more than 6 trillion 21st century dollars before it was finally abandoned. Enough money to build a comfortable life for every man, woman, and child in their country ...and instead, they spent it to put a digital camera on the moon.

He turned to look at the assorted graphics on the monitors, mission specific maps of the world below. Three screens, of course, concerned him the most: the first showed little yellow dots -- the known nuclear capable missiles that were spread across the Earth of the 21st Century; and, even as he watched, the yellow dots were slowly being replaced by red ones, indicating that the missiles were were being warmed in the silos or on the mibile launchers. The second graphic showed the planets sea floor -- as if every drop of salt water had been drained out! -- and here the yellow dots indicated the missile submarines, as well as the surface fleets which would, Lee knew, also have nuclear capable weapons; and the third, significantly different in its display, showed all of the military bases known to have been present at this time. The colors here -- greens, yellows, and reds -- indicated all forms of energy use at those locations, which was a fairly good measurement, Lee had been told, of how active the bases were at any given moment. Currently, the "greens" were quickly becoming "yellows" ...and the "yellows" were becoming "reds".

The Twenty-Firsts were getting ready.

"I believe it will be necessary to reveal ourselves earlier than planned, General," Lee said, turning back to Smythe. He smiled and stepped forward, offering his hand. "You and the fine men and women under you have a lot of work ahead of you, but already you are due some congratulations, General."

They shook, and Lee told him, "Get back to your people. Tell them job well done. And ...thank you."

(OOC -- I am going to have Lee greet the "humans" in his next post, but I can't do it from my phone. Tonight.)

General Smythe

He listened in silence as was his nature, he took the offered hand and shook it,

"Already did sir."

He paused,

"Should I fire up the Old Girl? Just in case?"

The Old Girl, a cannon, much like the fabled Rail Gun, just that it does not destroy on impact, it dismantles. After a lot of trial and error the correct amount of energy and nano technology was mixed to form the Nano-Distributer-deconstroctor, the NDD or Old Girl. The cannon send an energy wave at it's target, behind this wave travels "shells" of energy, inside each "shell" is a nanite. On impact the nanite scans it surroundings and starts to dismantle any bonds, since the beam can be widened and narrowed a whole area or just a nanochip could be targetted. The drawback was that it took ages to reload and also took a heckload of power. Smythe knew this to be the last weapon to be used, the last Hurah. But at that moment he was more hoping to take out most nuclear weapons and of course a lot of collateral damage in between just in case. He knew that Lee would say no, he knew just as good as Smythe himself what damage the weapon could do, but it was basic SOP for Smythe to ask the question and get the denial and if it does happen, get the affirmative.

"Should I fire up the Old Girl? Just in case?"

"Oh, no, General," Lee answered quickly, turning and heading toward the podium he'd spoken to his Senior Staff from earlier. "I don't think we'll need her for a while ... but..."

He turned and walked to the big windows, beyond which the blue and green globe was so prominent. "Tonight, after I address the people of Earth on the Broad Channel Communicator, I will go on a secure line with the leaders of the Sovereign Nations."

It had been decided early that once the Platform reached the 21st century, that Lee would deal with the leaders of the States of Earth as individuals, rather than deal with either the United Nations or some other large organizations. The term Sovereign States had been coined to describe the method of diplomacy and, eventually, had been designated as the organization that Lee would use to interact with the Twenty-Firsts.

There were, of course, opponents to the idea. They argued that the United Nations was the proper organization to deal with. But, history had shown that the UN was a puppet of the more powerful members -- The Security Council, and at times only the US, Russia, and China -- and, later, during the Final War, it had nearly been unable to stop a full nuclear strike that would have obliterated all life on the planet.

He was about to turn and face Smythe but didn't; Lee knew that the Brigade Commander would do anything he asked -- or, at least, hoped so -- but he wasn't eager to see the man's expression when he made his announcement. "While I am talking to the Leaders ... I want you to initiate the first phase of Operation Homeward Bound."

One of Project Rejuvenation's most ambitious goals was the end of war upon Planet Earth. Unfortunately, history showed that the most successful way to end fighting was to begin fighting. Peace through superior fire power, they'd called it. Operation Homeward Bound had one and only one goal: the return of all the world's fighting forces to their own homelands, without exception. The easiest way to keep men and women from killing one another was to make them go home!

Lee had left the details of the Operation to Smythe and his Officers. He'd told the General years earlier, "I trust you to find a way to make this happen." And months earlier, Smythe had presented his plan, with confidence that he could make it work. And to show his confidence in his man, Lee had left the battle plan folder unopened as he slid it back across his desk to Smythe, saying only, "Good man."

But, Lee had had some second thoughts about the timing. The original plan had been to give the Twenty-Firsts some time to get used to the New World Order before forcing such a phenomenal change to the way they'd resolved issues -- with war -- for as long as man had populated the planet. Lee wanted to strike now, before the Leaders of the forces across the globe could mobilize them for ... for what ever they wanted to use them for.

Still looking down upon the planet, Lee finished, "General, remember ... limited loss of life ... maximum damage to offensive systems. Please ... on your way out, will you have my Aide page Ryogen to my Stateroom?"

Ryogen contributed little to Commander Lee's inaugural Senior Staff Meeting. The truth was, she didn't have much say. That would come later. For the time being, she was content to listen and observe. She watched as the other staff members gathered whatever tablets they carried and filed out of the double doors to the main corridor. Only when it became apparent that the Commander wanted to be alone with his thoughts did she join them.

Beyond the central corridor, the passageways of the Platform looked pretty much the same to her; she didn't think she'd ever learn her way around. Eventually, late and more than a little irritated, Ryoden arrived in the large control room that served as ISI headquarters aboard the Platform. She walked past banks of displays where analysts were busy at work, hacking the computer systems of present Earth's intelligence agencies. The United States alone had more than half a dozen autonomous or semi-autonomous agencies, with overlapping and often conflicting domains of operation, and that was a single country. It was a gargantuan task.

An aide approached and matched pace with her. "Here's the data you requested," the man said, sliding a tablet into her open hand. "It's all there, past and current business affiliations, current international an domestic agenda, allies, enemies, romantic relationships, even a preliminary psych eval..." the man trailed off as she met his gaze. A full second later he realized his mouth was open and closed it.

Ryogen stopped in front of her office door and glanced down at her watch, breaking the spell. "All this in a matter of hours. Good work...Analyst Petererson, good work."

His mouth opened as if he were about to speak. Instead, he nodded dumbly and walked away. Ryogen smiled for a moment before glancing back at the tablet. The screen was on, projecting a 3D image of the President of the United States, one Howard Taylor. Ryogen chuckled quietly as her Office doors--doors that opened only at her retnal scan-- swung open. What an atrocious name for a world leader, she thought, how anyone could get elec--
Crossing the threshold of her office, Ryogen tensed, like a cat ready to pounce. Her subconscious mind registering the subtle indicators that something was amiss, that she was not alone, far faster than her conscious mind could process. A split-second later, she caught sight of an all-too familiar pair of shoes set one across the other on her desk. She resumed her pace, crossing the room and rounding the desk to a waiting and worn leather chair.

"Nice view," said the owner of the shoes in question.

Ryogen didn't glance back. Not to the expanse of glass behind her desk nor the limitless void beyond.

"Uniforms," she said with a sigh, "you need to wear them. Civilian attire is not permitted. Especially 22nd century civilian attire."

The feet retracted, and just as quickly a face broke the plane of light cast by massive blue-green jewel suspended in space behind them, a face filled with youthful vigor and mischief; unlike the majority of the souls aboard the Platform, the owner was exactly as young as she appeared to be.

"Why?" she shot back. "It's not like you are wearing one."

Dammit. Ryogen hated having her own hypocrisy thrown back at her. She didn't give the girl the satisfaction of a sheepish glance at her attire, but that didn't make it any less true. The day she was selected for the mission she acquired a sample regulation jumpsuit and had an entire wardrobe designed around the theme. It was a nigh-impossible task for a designer to make something approaching fashionable out of it, but in the end, she found an Italian who was up to the task. The simple fact was she wouldn't be caught dead in a jumpsuit, the entire history of feminism and all her ancestry be dammed.

"Point taken," Ryogen said. "Now, about the matter of your illicit entry into my office."

"Pah," the girl replied with a dismissive gesture, "Piece of cake."

Ryogen rubbed her temples. She could feel a headache coming on. "Guiselle, we've talked about this. Things are different now."

Guiselle started to object, but Ryogen waved her off. "Nevermind that. I've got a job for you."

The corners of the girl's mouth turned into a dangerous little smile. "Already? Do tell."

"There is a conspiracy on board. I want you to find it."

"A conspiracy? About what?"

"I have no idea, but I'm sure it involves the unwashed masses far below us."

Green eyes narrowed in suspicion. "If you don't know what it's about, how do you know there is a conspiracy? You're just trying to get me out of your hair."

Ryogen met her gaze evenly. "There are 85,000 people aboard this vessel, Selly."

"So."

Ryogen rolled her eyes. "Think about it. Or did I misjudge you? Please tell me I didn't fudge personnel files to inbed a convicted felon on my team."

Guiselle leaned back in her chair. The familiar red sneakers resumed their previous spot on her desk.

"With 85,000 people on board, a conspiracy isn't just likely, it's inevitable," Guiselle said a few minutes later. "Given all there is at stake, all there is to be gained, conspiracies would have started to form from the moment of conception. We would anticipate complex and deeply ingrained factions with competing and overlapping agendas. The resources of an entire planet are at stake, after all."

There was a slight pause, followed by, "I'm on it. Oh, and I need one of those jumpsuits. I need to go incognito."

A thin smile pulled at the corner of Ryogen's mouth. "That's my girl."

General Smythe

Operation Hotel Bravo, well at least he could suit up along with his people and head down to the planet if the ground forces refused to budge.

"Rodger that sir, I will make sure that my boys and girls are reminded to keep their happy fingers to themselves."

He saluted the back of Lee, turned sharply and marched out, when he found Lee's Aide standing at the doorway he stopped briefly,

"The Commander asks that you page Ryogen to the Stateroom."

The Aide barely had time to nod before Smythe was on his way again, as he entered the CC he was in time to hear the opening of Lee's broadcast.

"Alright boys and girls, mobilize the Penetrators and Turtles, Mission Control, call the Dark Griphons for standby."

"Rodger that sir."

He listened as their war....peace keeping machine kicked into low gear, the idea was to do exactly what the movies did. You need to get down and dirty if you want to show you are superior and that is what Smythe's plan was. Send down the Penetrators, their primary attack craft, the Big Guns so to speak. Armed to the hair roots, it carried enough ordinance to take out a city in half an hour, it had a reflective shield so any and all projectiles or energy directed at it would be deflected back at the aggressor. The second wave was the Troop Transports, called the turtles because they housed the troops in the hull which made the craft look like the creatures which had survived since the Crestation Period. The first of his soldiers to set foot on Old Earth will be his elite, the best he had. He knew that they would follow orders to the letter, but he hoped that they did not have to land, but knowing the Humans he will have to order that landing. Unfortunately if that happens Homeward Bound will become Casket Era for every country.

He knew that the amount of units he sent down sounded little, with the mechanized suits at their disposal one of his soldiers could take on a 21st battalion and still walk away. He refected on this as he headed into the hanger area where the six thousand mechanical suits as well as his six thousand soldiers.

"Mount up, we are on the verge of having the honor of breathing fresh air again."

He stripped off his uniform and handed it to his Aide as he pulled on his black armor and then heade to his own mechanized unit. He got in and strapped himself in as the neuron sensors connected to his body. A cluster of 100 units would be sent down to Earth and he would be in the first cluster as usual. He waited for a few more minutes, giving Lee time to talk, then the timer came to zero eight hundred hours in their time. The go command came through and Smythe flicked down his visor,

"All units are a go."

They approached the launching pads, swung into the Turtles as they started to fire up and seconds later they got catapulted out of the Platform en route to Earth just behind the Penetrators.

Lee took a deep breath, held it a moment, then exhaled slowly. Surprisingly, considering his career of leading men and women in and out of the military, of heading projects that required a great deal of talking about this and that to this important person and that important organization, Lee had never been comfortable with speaking in public. And this -- addressing 7 billion people -- was definitely speaking in public.

He nodded to the woman behind the control panel, who pressed a finger to a screen and nodded back. Lee smiled.

"Greetings," he started simply, his lips spreading in a slight smile. "My name is Lee, and I first want to assure everyone watching this broadcast that we, my people and I, are not here to cause you any harm."

He gave the viewing audience a moment to examine him before he continued.

"I am Mission Commander of the Platform ... the station in orbit of your planet. I should phrase that differently, of course ... our planet. For the men and women aboard this station are from Earth as well. The men and women on this station are your grand children ... your great grand children. This station and its occupants began their day in what you would call the late 23rd century ... the year 2288 A.D., to be specific."

He chuckled a bit, glancing to the floor before looking back to the Recorder to continue. "I know what you're thinking. Time Travel...? Really? And I wouldn't blame you for being doubtful. Of course ... there still is the matter of that big station in orbit of your planet--" Lee turned and looked out the big window. He turned back, clarifying, "Directly above Southern Europe as a matter of fact."

He began stepping a bit closer to the Recorder as he continued. "This platform and each and every man and woman aboard it has come back to this time as part of what we call Project Rejuvenation. In our time, Earth ... well, it's not a very happy place. I won't go into specifics at this time, but I will say this much: All of those doomsday prophecies about pollution and global warming and nuclear devastation that your scientists, politicians, and concerned citizens have been warning you about for the past 50 years or so ... That is the world we ... my crew and I ... live with every day of our lives."

He halted his slow walk toward the Recorder, knowing that now his face would be filling the screens of televisions and computers all across the world. "In our time, Earth is beyond hope. But here ... now ... there is still time to halt the devastation. And that is why we are here. To help you save your planet. To help you save our planet."

He glanced back at Earth again, simply for dramatic effect -- and to blink away the nervous tear that was building in one of his eyes. When he looked back to the Recorder, he finished, "In the coming days, weeks, and months, we will be working with the leaders of your countries, with your scientists, with your doctors, with common people who share our concern for Earth to find solutions to the problems you -- we -- face, every day of our lives."

He smiled broadly once more, laying his hand upon his chest with his fingers splayed, a gesture he'd learned from his mother that she said passed to others a feeling of sincerity with one's words. He didn't know whether it worked or not; he only knew that if momma said so, it was so.

"We are here to help," he said. "Please ... let us help."

He looked to the woman beyond the Recorder and, when she deactivated the machine, Lee drew and released a badly needed deep breath.

"Broadcasting on all frequencies," a Technician at another control panel said, adding, "In all languages."

Lee strode quickly for his stateroom, leaving the professionals behind to get his message out to Planet Earth. In his quarters, he changed out of his clothes and found a fresh shirt to replace the sweaty one. He washed up, donned the clean clothes, then returned to the Conference Room, asking, "Ready?"

The woman nodded, saying," We have the official leaders of 192 countries, as well as 65 more nominal leaders--" By nominal, Lee knew she meant rebel leaders, exiled presidents, and the like. "--all on the secured frequency, sir."

For some reason, Lee felt no hesitation in beginning this broadcast. Talking to these men and women -- the people who held the reins of power in their countries and, in several cases, the button for nuclear arsenals -- was a cinch. Talking to the people of Earth ... that had been nerve wracking.

The woman nodded to him. On the bulkhead behind her, hundreds of faces appeared on the large monitor. There were a dozen that were larger, more prominent; the nuclear powers. Lee had wanted to be able to see their reactions as he told them how things were going to be from now on.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice strong. "For the past few generations, some very intelligent people have been telling you that Earth was on a path to disaster ... and, with just a few notable exceptions, most of you, and your predecessors, have ignored these warnings. You have had your reasons, of course. Economic concerns ... strategic needs ... inexcusable greed."

As he had with the earlier recording, Lee began moving closer to the Recorder to give emphasis to his words.

"That all ends now ... today. From this moment forward, before you do anything ... or allow anything to be done within the borders of your country ... I want you to ask yourself ... Is this good for long term health and well being of my planet...? of my people...? No more will you destroy or damage this fragile planet to line your pockets with money ... or claim control over territory or resources that isn't rightfully yours. From this moment ... things change."

Lee looked to the uniformed man near the door and nodded. As he turned back to the Recorder, he could hear the man sending the go order to General Smythe.

Lee took a moment to consider how to phrase his next statement. In the end, he decided that the straight arrow approach was the best. "Right now, as I speak to you, my Army Corps is preparing to launch an attack upon military forces around the globe. They are attacking specific targets, namely forces that are engaged in combat operations in or occupations of territory that are not currently recognized by your United Nations as belonging to the States from which those forces originated.

"Our technology ... well, let me put it this way: It will make your defense look as if you're throwing stones at giants. I initiated the order moments ago. My Army Corps Commander is listening to this very same message, and I am ordering him to give you, the trusted leaders of Earth's Sovereign States, one and only one hour to confirm that you understand the weight of the following order."

Lee moved closer to the recorder still. "Walk away from your heavy weapons. If it's larger than the man or woman operating it ... get away from it. For in one hour, every tank, jet, drone, and missile launcher currently outside of the territory of the country it belongs to will be destroyed. My forces have been ordered to minimize human casualties ... but ... if you're too close to the fire ... you get burned."

Lee hesitated for a moment, wondering whether he'd forgotten anything. He looked between the faces on the monitor, particularly those of the Presidents and Premieres of the United States, Russian, and China. He thought it amazing that neither of these three seemed to be showing any emotion; they were simply stone faced, listening to his words. Wouldn't want to play poker with them, Lee thought.

"There is nothing more to say for the moment," Lee continued. "In twenty four hours, I will begin contacting you individually about what you and your people can do to save Mother Earth--"

He hesitated, wondering whether the use of that term would set off any bells among his staff. Mother Earth was key to several 23rd century religions and spiritual beliefs, not all of which were officially tolerated; some were simply illegal and their members often disappeared in the night. But ... that was then; this was now.

"--but in the mean time, I urge you ... begin the withdrawal of your troops from foreign soil. For after this 24 hour period ... well ... we'll deal with that when the time comes."

Lee didn't have to say it. The leaders on the monitor before knew that that meant that the gloves came off.

(OOC -- I thought I would put a link here (#4) to the post that came before this one for this character. Sometimes it's easy to lose an infrequent character in the many posts by the more common characters.)

Lewis 9003 sat with the nine members of the Second Chance Brigade, snatching up a pennant that celebrated their team, the Dodgers, and waved it in the air, whooping loudly. He glanced around the gymnasium to see if there were any eyes specifically on them; there were a handful of the other Kill Ball team's fans at the far end of the bleachers, booing the supposed Dodger fans and raising their middle fingers at them with an upward thrust, which for Lewis' generation was affectionately known as shooting a rocket. but once, he'd been told, was called flipping the bird.

Because of the preparations concerning the recently completed Time Jump, there were only Civilians in the stands -- no Military, no Government types -- so there were barely more people in the stands than competing on the floor. Lewis knew most of them as true Kill Ball fans, which meant, of course, no one spying on the SCB's little get together in the corner of the gymnasium.

There was one noticeably new face, a beautiful young woman Lewis had seen around but hadn't -- to his dismay -- had a chance to meet yet. She never sat with the die hard fans, and only occasionally had sat with anyone at all; Lewis thought -- or at least fantasized -- that he'd seen her looking at him while he congregated with the other members of the SCB. But, he was sort of an average Joe, which meant she'd probably been eying one of the other Dodger fans instead.

He shrugged off his imagination and turned to Max Tee, the unofficial leader of the SCB saying, "I have the codes."

All nine men turned to face him; their expressions ran the gambit from disbelief to surprise to euphoria. Lewis looked about the faces, then smiled broadly, embarrassed. "What...? You wanted me to get the codes, and I did."

Max's own face broadened in a smile and he held his hand out toward Lewis, fingers extended as if to shake. Lewis hesitated, looking at the hand; he knew what the gesture meant. Lewis reached out, pressing the palm of his own hand to Max's, and simultaneously the men pulled their hands slowly back until their finger tips -- pressing harder as the slide -- continued, finally flicked apart from one another.

Lewis was in! He was in the Second Chance Brigade. He was a member, a trusted member ... and he, too -- like these nine men and the others who, for security reasons, he would probably never meet in person, were going to Earth ... to begin their new lives apart from Project Rejuvenation.


(OOC -- I left part of the young woman vague, so that if Guiselle was looking for a conspiracy to bust, she had something to do. Also, if anyone wants to be part of this conspiracy, PM me with ideas. These men and their mates are, obviously, planning on making a break for 21st century Earth.)

As Commander Lee spoke to the people of earth, Ryogen's face was studiously devoid of emotion. The truth was she had no idea how she'd feel about it until she actually heard the words. Now, all she felt was profound remorse tinged with anger. She shouldn't have come here, or rather, when.

This was a fool's game; every lesson in warfare she'd ever studied told her so. Hell, the last 300 years of human history, ever since the human race dragged their collective asses out of the mire of World War II, had been the same tired dance. A superior force arrives. Que Shock and Awe. The traditional conflict, the kind involving heavy armor and air superiority, is over in days, weeks, months. Then the real fun beings. Insurgency. Sooner or later, boys, you gotta step out of your fucking turtle, and when you do...stones at giants indeed. His speech writer's really dropped the ball on that analogy.

If the Firsts are the stone throwers, wouldn't that make us Goliath? 85,000 against seven and a half billion. The thought made her ill. It would be like trying to win a game of chess with only one piece. Even if that piece was the queen, what difference would it make?

A quote sprang into her mind, Wars begin where you will, but they do not end where you please. She couldn't remember who said it, but knew it was true. Once the chest-thumping was over, the real war would begin.
And there was no doubt that they would fight. And fight. And fight. Of course they would. If the situation were reversed, and some allegedly benevolent power invaded her 23rd century earth, shithole that it was, she fight stark naked, tooth and nail if it was all she had, no matter how large the enemy made the bribe. All of them would, and they were liars if they said otherwise.

Ryogen turned on a heel and left the command center. She'd heard all she need to hear.

Certain things became clear, she mused while winding her way through the myriad corridors to ISI command. For the Commander, the die was cast. He would play his role, idealist that he was, to the bitter, bitter end. The future was a black box. A Box no one could see inside. Whatever the final outcome, she was determined to come out on top of the heap.

[OOC -- This post takes up following Larry's introduction,(Post #5).]


When the cable signal finally returned to his television, Larry found a very poor acted Science Fiction movie in place of his very expensive cage match. Some actress he didn't recognize was on one side of a split screen, playing a very shocked and disorganized newscaster; while the other half of the screen showed a very poor quality graphic of a space ship, as if photographed from outer space.

Larry jacked another round into the shot gun still sitting in his lap and hollered, "Where's the fight, assholes?"

He screamed yet again, checked that the 12 gauge was on safety, and tossed it into the worn out recliner near him. He went to the camp trailer's kitchen -- which essentially meant taking two steps, leaving the carpet and stepping onto the linoleum -- and pulled out a fresh beer. He leaned back against the counter as he sucked on the bottle and watched the "B"-movie, silently wondering why the Director had chosen to go with an unknown actress who didn't have some cleavage to make up for her bad acting.

But ... as he watched ... Larry began to realize that he wasn't watching a movie. This science fiction movie... this was happening!

"No fucking way," he mumbled. He returned to the couch and pressed a finger on the remote, raising the volume to cover the sound of the wind that had begun whistling through the old metal window he'd again and again repaired with duct tape. As he watched with growing interest, he realized without a doubt ... this was happening! Aliens were here! Fucking aliens were invading Planet Earth!

Without even thinking, Larry leaped and hurried around the trailer, gathering all of his fire arms and ammunition. He laid them out on the card table that served as his kitchen table and checked to ensure they were loaded; they were of course, as they always were, because -- as his daddy had taught him so many years ago -- an unloaded rifle is only a club!

"We're ... we're being told by the Network..." the talking head said, catching Larry's attention, "Yes, we're being told that a representative aboard the space craft is going to speak."

Larry watched the newscaster press a finger tip against the ear bud hidden under her Farrah Fawcett hairdo and look away from the camera. "Do we...? We do...?" She looked back to the camera, saying, "Apparently, the alien representative-- Sorry, I misspoke ... alleged alien representative..."

She looked away from the camera again and asked with a sarcastic tone, "Alleged...? Really...?"

Larry laughed. "You tell'em blondie! Who the fuck do they think is up there? Political fucking correctness my ass!"

"... is broadcasting a signal on all frequencies," the woman continued. "We're, um ... now? Okay, I guess we're going live to the signal coming from the space craft..." She looked away again, and with that sarcastic tone again, said with mocked correctness, "Allegedly coming from the ship--"

Suddenly the image of the newscaster disappeared, replaced immediately by an alien that Larry thought looked a whole helluva lot like a regular kind of guy.

"Greetings, my name is Lee, and I first want to assure everyone watching this broadcast that we, my people and I, are not here to cause you any harm."

Larry scooted forward, staring hard at the man while gripping a second shotgun so tightly in his hands that his finger tips were turning white from blood loss.

"I am Mission Commander of the Platform ..." the man continued, correcting, "the station in orbit of your planet. I should phrase that differently, of course ... our planet. For the men and women aboard this station are from Earth as well."

Larry's eyes widened as he mumbled, "What ... the ... fuuuuuuck...?"

He listened to the man -- Mission Commander Lee -- go on and on about his people being our people, his planet being our planet; about how they were here to save Earth and save the human race. Larry was already shaking his head a bit, speaking to the television, "Yeah, right ... that's what the fuckin' aliens say in every one of the movies, too!"

Larry wondered for a moment whether that might have been what this was, just an alien arrival movie. He remembered watching the original "War of the Worlds" movie late one night on the AMC; and then there was that remake with Tom Bruise and Dakota Sit-on-my-face-please Fanning; they'd been based on a radio show that so many people thought was real that the radio station had to break into the show and announce it as a piece of radio theater. Maybe that was what was going on here? Were people calling 9-1-1 right now, like they'd done back in '53?

"In the coming days, weeks, and months," the guy -- alien...? human...? actor? -- continued, "we will be working with the leaders of your countries--"

"Ha!" Larry called at the television. "Good fuckin' luck with that. Have you seen our leaders...? Bunch of do-nothing-good fuckin' politicians!"

"...who share our concern for Earth to find solutions to the problems you -- we -- face, every day of our lives. We are here to help. Please ... let us help."

"Help yourself to our planet, you mean," Larry was mumbling again, certain that this wasn't anything from H.G. Wells or some other wanna-be author. This was real. This was honest to goodness real. Aliens -- human looking aliens -- were up there right now, in a huge ship, getting ready to invade Earth and kill every man, woman, and child on the planet.

Will they eat us...? he wondered as the man's image faded away and, after a moment, the talking head newscaster returned. He gave the woman another once-over and blew her a kiss, saying, "I'd eat you, sweetheart, alien or no alien."

Larry muted the television, then moved to the door and threw it open. He looked into the sky, toward the south, wondering whether he might be able to see the ship -- Station? -- in the early morning sky. Nothing. He scanned the sky for several minutes, then returned to the couch, turning the volume back up and listening intently to the recap of the man's speech and the commentary coming in from scientists who pictures were put in the corner of the screen, leaving most of the image available for the photograph of the ship.

After a while, a smile spread across Larry's face. He stood and returned to his arsenal, looking it over carefully before saying to himself in almost a sing song voice, "I'm gon-na kill me an a-li-en."

President Taylor sat in silence for a long moment after Mission Commander Lee's second broadcast, trying to absorb what he'd heard. Humans. From the future. Coming here, to this time, from the future. To save the planet.

He glanced around the bunker, to the faces of the military men and women, to his Aides, to the technicians who could, from right here, dozens of floor below Washington D.C., conduct almost all of the affairs of the Federal Government. Every face, every set of eyes was on him, Howard Taylor, President of the United States of America. The most powerful country in the world ... the most powerful man in the world.

He thought of Lee's threat about throwing rocks at giants and, about being the most powerful man in the world, he wondered, Still...? He stood and turned to look at the photograph of the ship -- what did he call it, a Platform...? -- in high Earth orbit. It was huge, there was no doubt about that. But ... did it really contain the kind of power this man, this Mission Commander, said it did. More important, would he use that power on the people of Earth, people who he himself said were his ancestors.

"Sir...?"

Taylor turned to find Gregory Hollander looking up at him from his wheel chair, which he'd wheeled almost to the point of bumping into his long time friend's legs. Taylor smiled nervously, then asked, "Advice...? You are my Science and Technology adviser, after all."

"Talk to the people, Howard," Greg said without hesitation. "People are going to be confused and scared. Much of the country went dark, for minutes ... hours ... and then, almost immediately afterward--"

"Yes, yes, of course," Taylor cut in, stepping past his Adviser and patting him on the shoulder. He looked to his Chief of Staff and said, "Get a camera up and running immediately. I need to address the nation."



Two minutes later, with the back drop of the Presidential seal and the twin flags of the United States flanking him from behind, Taylor was talking to the nation and, likely, much of the world. He talked briefly about the stunning events that had occurred over the past few hours, using the tired old phrase about finally learning that we are not alone in the universe; then he went on to guarantee all of America that the government was still functioning, that there was no reason to panic, and that there was no reason to believe that Mission Commander Lee wasn't everything that he said he was.

Then, despite his assurances that all would be well, Taylor announced that he was activating the National Guard and all reserve forces, as well as declaring a night time curfew for all hours between dusk and dawn. "This is done as a precaution, to keep you and your neighborhoods safe from those individuals who would see this unprecedented event as a reason to wreak havoc. Let me put it plainly: mayhem will not be tolerated."

He spent a few more minutes addressing the nature, talking off the cuff for much of it and paraphrasing notes that were being quickly put up on a teleprompter by his Aides.

Finally, he finished with, "This in an incredible time to be alive. I believe that this will be a turning point in our country, in our world. God bless, and be safe."

Almost immediately upon finishing, he directed the Military men to activate their respective units, then looked to the Colonel and said, "Get the Pentagon on the line. I want to talk to the Chairman now."

The Colonel stepped to the nearest desk and lifted a phone straight up and out, indicating that his task was already completed. Taylor forgot sometimes just how connected the Executive Branch could be to the Departments -- whether civilian or military -- that served it.

He stepped forward and took the phone, asking, "General Briggs...? Yes ... yes, we are all safe. I assume you listened to-- Yes, good. I want you to do what Mission Commander Lee requested and have all of our overseas military personnel shift away from positions that could be perceived as-- Yes, General, I do mean exactly that ... I want our forces to abandon their equipment and move to what ever you consider a safe distance..."

Taylor glanced about the room and, for the first time since Lee's message had ended, the others in the bunker were again talking to one another, this time in hushed, shocked tones.

"Yes, I do..." Taylor continued. "No... No, I think that it would be ... prudent to take the man for his word. I don't know whether this time travel story is true or not, but the evidence we have seen so far suggests that the Mission Commander has so ... incredible technology available to him. And I think-- No ... just for the time being. Ensure that the troops are not put into harms way. Let them take what ever equipment they need to keep themselves safe in their particular theater, but ... Yes ... Yes, that would be fine."

Taylor listened for a moment more, then bid farewell and asked for updates every ten minutes. He handed the phone to the Colonel, who continued the conversation with the Chairman.

Taylor turned back to the photo, but was only looking at it for a moment when the Navy Lieutenant said, "Sir, there's something else." When Taylor turned to him, the man said, "LOLA is off line."

"Off line?" Taylor asked, not quite understanding the term.

"Not responding to signals, sir," the Lieutenant expanded. "If she had been operating as designed, LOLA should have begun powering up as soon as she detected the station's arrival."

Taylor didn't know in depth the details of the Low Orbit Laser Array; it had only been put in orbit a month earlier and was yet to even be tested on a land based target. But he knew that it had been designed to go online at the first signs of an object -- likely an anti-satellite missile -- heading its direction. It's defensive systems were designed to power up automatically to defend itself; while it offensive systems -- including a laser capable of killing a single man standing in a crowd -- required the same coded approval that the nuclear missile array needed from the President.

"Are you saying it's been destroyed?" Taylor asked.

"And that's not all," a second Navy Officer added. She pointed to the wall monitors, to one with a list of military satellites that were -- or had been -- in orbit of the planet. Many were followed by the phrase No Signal in flashing red lights.

"We're blind, sir," the Lieutenant said. "Or ... we will be soon. I think the satellites have been destroyed sir. This ... Lee ... he doesn't want us to have any space borne capabilities I think, so--"

"You're speculating, Lieutenant," the Colonel, now off the phone, cut in. "That'll be all." The Colonel looked to the President and said, "Troops are being moved as we speak, sir. There are some units that we won't be able to reach, though."

Taylor considered his response about those troops. If Lee was good to his word, some of these units were going to die in a matter of minutes. And Taylor had little to nothing that he could do about it. He didn't like that. Not one bit. He looked to the Colonel and, with a low, serious tone, said, "Contact Norad. I want the nukes warming in the silos."

The Colonel didn't hesitated, Taylor saw, snatching up the phone immediately. He turned to Hollander and -- with a softer, almost pleading tone -- asked, "Can you figure out a way to use our missiles to target that Platform?"

"Of course," the Science Adviser said. "There's nothing to it. But..."

"But what?"

Hollander considered his words as the finger tips of one hand danced nervously atop the wheel chair's rubber tire. "Assuming that this Mission Commander Lee has the technology to do as he says he can, and Howard, I have to tell you that I believe he might ... do you really want to be pointing nukes at the man?"

"I'm not pointing anything at him," Taylor said. "I'm ... I'm only getting prepared. We have no idea what Lee's true mission here is. I watched too many bad science fiction shows with my nephews not to be able to imagine what Lee may or may not be up to. I just ... want to be ready. Can you do it?"

Hollander nodded.

ISI Control
Ryogen stood in front of a bank of monitors, watching in real time, as operation Hotel Bravo went live, and the Penetrators, hundreds of them, left the Platform for their individual sorties. She was impressed, despite herself.

An analyst materialized next to her.

“You’ve acquired a fix on the target?” she asked without taking her eyes from the screen.

“Ma’am.”

“You’re certain?” she repeated, disbelief creeping into her voice.

“Ma’am,” came the reply. “We have an approximate two hour window for rendition.”

“And the detention site?”

“We found an ideal location in Ontario, Canada, ma’am.”

“Ideal?”

“Ideal,” the analyst confirmed.

“The team...?”

“On deck, ma’am. C Deck, Hanger 12. Awaiting the ‘Go’.”

Ryogen nodded. “Perfect. I’ll need a flight suit, please make sure one is available by the time I reach the hanger.”

“Ma’am?”

The Director of ISI faced her top analyst. “Some things you can’t leave to your subordinates, Morgan. Some things are just too important. She is one of them. The Commander is counting on us.”


Twenty minutes later, a Mantis class light transport departed C Deck, Hanger 12, of the Platform. Minutes later, the craft broke earth’s atmosphere over the Eastern Seaboard of the United States. The pilot switched to Stealth mode, and guided his craft to purpose of his mission.

Jenna 45694 was happy and proud. She had just today been promoted to Technician(Electro-machanics) 2dd class and on merit! Not bad for a person who had graduated dead last in her Technical School. It wasn't that she was lazy or unable, she had to really work to get through the classes.

Now her first job as a 2nd class tech was to get the Ionic Carbon Exchanger Mk4 mod D fully functioning smoothly enough for the 'Retros' to use it and not say, scortch a hundred square kilometers of landscaped to ash. In theory, it was easy. The Exchanger removed a set percentage of carbon gases (and other less healthy pollutants) from a certain volume of atmospheric gases. These were hyper pressurized in a laser fusion chamber and these solids were then transported off for further destruction or use. Visually it looked like a cross between a jet engine and a vacuum cleaner, if they were the size of a two car garage of the late 20th or early 21st centuries.

She crawled between the vanes of the intake compressor and carefully reset the attack angels on them, then checked the laser emitter crystals. THERE was the offending part. The crystals in laser fifteen were mis-aligned and this caused a serious degredation of the fusion compression chambers pressurization. She reached in and twisted the torsion screwdriver to unseat the crystal rod assembly and carefully pulled it out and handed it back to another technician.

"Give me the new one and write that one up as mis-aligned crystals. The lab should be able to re-align it and put it back into inventory." She waited for the report to be written and the new part and unbidden memories flooded back bringing a tear to her almond shaped eyes. She really missed home and fostering mother. Aoki 8741 was a loving parent and she taught Jenna all she knew of her first love, Japanese history. Aoki had even showed her a huge book, with real paper and everything, that Aoki said was the Morimoto family tree. Jenna saw Aoki's name written there along with her dead partner's name and had been shocked and pleased when Aoki had added Jenna as her and Yumiko's real daughter to this tree! SInce then Jenna had taken the rather brave step of calling herself "Jenna Morimoto" in her diary and on the few paintings she had done and not destroyed.

She sighed and stuck her head out of the compartment access and looked exasperately at the other technician.

"What are you doing? Rewriting the entire romance series of Miichiko34908? I need that crystal array now!"

"I know, I am looking for one and there is a backlog on requests for it." Samuel 67544 grinned. "We might have to put this hulk off a bit."

"I do not think the Senior Staff would let that happen. This one is slated for some priorty site called Tokyo-Yokohama Megagrid. It's supposed to be ready in 3 hours for loading and transport down there." She thumbed vaguely in the direction of Earth. "I'm also supposed to show the Retro's how to run it and hopefully not break it."

She shuddered inwardly at that. She wasn't an officer, nor a scientist, just a tech. WHY send her down there and not an important someone? It would cut into so much of her private time. Oh well, it is for "The Future". I might not ever get back, but this would make future Earth a cleaner more hospitable place. At least she didn't have to go to somewhere like the jungles of Brazil. UGH. Bugs and snakes that eat you up.

"Well, I'll work around it then, I need to check the main exchanger filter frequencies yet and then the interface controls. Run the diagnostics now please."

She disappeared inside the device and set to her tasks getting it all done except for the replacing of the laser assembly well in time. She crawled out through the small access panel and hopped to the floor and pushed her hair behind her ear.

She called up to the parts section chief. Jamal 56743 had the hots for her, and though she never did anything, she maybe could persuade him to give up the part.

Jamal56743, this is Jenna45694 down in the Electro-mechanical shop. Um, we really need the crystal assembly rod part number... Oh. You already have the request? Okay, the ICE is one of the criticals going out on the first set of transports. Yes, I sent the other one to the lab already. Dinner? Well, I have a lot of systems I need to recheck before... Oh, okay. Sure, as soon as I have a free one, I'd love to. It can't be before 19.00 because that's when my physical training is scheduled. Yes, Fridays I am in the handball league. Okay, Saturday 21.00? Great. I'll wear something clean." She giggled and hung up the intercom headpiece.

"Samuel, the part is coming in 3 minutes. You put it in and seal the panels. I have to get presentable for the Retros." Samuel nodded as she trotted out to her quarters.

She was fortunately alone at this time, the three others assigned here being busy with their tasks. She stripped and stepped down the passage to the showers and quickly washed up and dried off as she walked back to her bunk. She opened the drawer under her bunk and pulled out the dress jumpsuit and laid it out on the bunk and looked at herself in the mirror.

She was shorter than most of the Futurist crew, a bit more Asian than most also. Only 5 feet 2 inches tall and barely 94 pounds in old time measurements. Her short black hair framed her oval face and cut just like the heroine of the latest romance novel she was reading. She looked at the undergarments she had been given to wear and wondered who had developed these torture devices. She slipped the bra on, a cupped affar unlike the usual selfconforming teeshirt she had grown up on. She tried to connect the back connectors and danced about futilely, then sighed and read the litte flimsy provided. She took it off and turned it around and 'hooked' it then slipped it back to fron and popped her boobs into the cups. The underwear, panties they were called now days, were tiny, not even covering her buttcheeks and barely enough to cover her pubic area. The she slid into the jumpsuit and felt a bit better when it fit her sensibly as it always did. She memorized the measurements in case she needed to get some issued when she was on Earth itself. 35B-25-34, whatever that meant. Guiltily she slipped "Hearts Journey to Love" into the thigh pocket and headed out to the launching area for her trip down to Earth.

General Smythe

They entered Earth's atmosphere so fast that the shields actually had to kick up a few notches just to adsjust for the sudden heat,

"Note to the tech boys, the atmosphere is thicker up high than in our time."

Smythe got a confirm of his message and he looked down at the ground of 21st China rushing up to meet them. The Penetrators was in place already and so far not receiving any fire. The pilot activated the air brakes and they slowed at phenominal speed, sonic booms being thrown outwards as they broke the soundbarrier a few times in their almost dead stop. A trip which would take days for fossil fuel took them minutes, thirty to be exact.

"Sir all units are in position."

Smythe aknowledged and flicked on his comm unit, his words would be transmitted to all their crafts and from there transmitted on all frequencies and all languages to the ground forces.

"All Military units, this is General Smythe of the First Ground Battalion, you are on foreign soil. By now you will know that your leaders have ordered you to retreat from your weaponry, if not, you have three zero minutes to get to a safe distance from any weaponry bigger than the person handling it. If you do not comply I am sorry to inform you that you will die as your weaponry will be destroyed. I say it again, you have three zero minutes, half an hour to abandon all weaponry bigger than the operator. If you have need to speak first to one of your superiors, we have the capability of patching you through, use the FM wavelength seven zero to contact us and to have you patched through to where you need to be. This is General Smythe over and out."

He clicked off his comm unit and looked around at the soldiers with him in the craft. This was their first mission with him. They were the newest recruits to make selection into the Dark Gripphons, they were veterans and professional, but he had a feeling that he had to keep an eye on them all the same.

"General Smythe? We have received a call from a General Furlong based in Iraq? He insists of meeting you in person before he pulls back."

Smythe almost chuckled,

"Let the general know that I am en-route."

He gave a dry chuckle,

"Pilot get the co-ordenates of that call and let's go meet an ancestor."

"Rodger that sir."

The craft turned slowly and with a lurch it was gone, hurtling towards its new co-oordinates at speeds unknown to the 21st century. Again the sonic booms resounded, this time over the desert of Iraq. The craft hovered for a while and there stood a man in formal military garb, with no weapons and alone. Heat signatures did show up in the portable structures behind him, but for all intents and purposes he was alone.

"Set down the craft, I will speak to him."

"Yes sir."

The craft lowered the last few meters and landed on the ground, Smythe started to unhook himself and open up his suit. The soldier next to him turned with a concerned look on her face as he stepped out of his suit.

"Sir? Is that a good idea to go out without the suit?"

He turned to her, even in her suit she seemed petite,

"Sargeant, if they attack and kill me, they start a war, let's hope they are not that stupid."

The hatch hissed open and he stepped outside, the air was warm and dry, but the freshness was something he stood for a few minutes to savour. It was so good, so....fresh. With the first genuine smile in ages he walked up to the general, an elder man, but he looked good despite his age. Smythe saluted the General and the salute got returned,

"General Furlong, US Army."

"Pleased to meet you sir, I am General Smythe, First Ground Batalion, Central Alliance Warrior Forces."

The General arched an eyebrow, that is quite a mouthful."

Smythe nodded,

"Indeed it is sir."

A dry chuckle met his words,

"Now you are quite a big boy hey?"

"Actually the biggest one on the platform sir."

Furlong squared his shoulders,

"Now what is this all about? You come here and make demands, be honest with me, one soldier to another."

Smythe had expected something like this,

"Sir what you heard on the broadcast is about it. As impossible as it sounds we are from the future, nuclear warfare, wars, industry have basically killed the planet. This very air we breathe now is the freshest I have breathed since my birth. I tell you sir, the world will not die with a big bang or a bright flash, it ends with a whimper as the last breath leaves a body."

The general didn't reply for a moment,

"Time travel? Come on son it is just impossible."

Smythe gave the old man a reassuring smile,

"Standing in your shoes sir, I would feel the same, but it is possible, all our resources went into this, it was our last chance to try and change the future. We really are here to help, but first we have to end wars and that you do by sending everybody home and breaking their toys."

Furlong nodded,

"I can understand your position in a way, how long do we have to return back home?"

"Twenty four hours to return all personel back home, come now General, like you will not like to go home."

Furlong smiled,

"See the grandkids again? Yes you are right. We will pull out. Still can't believe that you are just human beings like us."

Smythe smiled slightly,

"We are humans General, just not exactly like you, we had to adapt to nuclear and sun radiation so we have been changed slightly."

Furlong nodded,

"I understand, thank you for taking the time to come see me."

Smythe saluted him,

"Anytime sir, we are here to help after all."

The salute got returned, the two men shook hands and then Smythe returned to his craft, after entering the Turtle took off again and Smythe got back into his suit.

"Hope the cameras made me look good."

A general chuckle ran through the soldiers with him

"You are members of the People's Liberation Army," the Non-Commissioned Officer was calling out through an often squealing bull horn from atop a tank emblazoned with the Red Star of the Republic of China. "You will stand your ground, tend to your weapons, and -- when the enemy arrives -- follow the orders of your superiors."

Before him in less than impressive ranks, the 800 members of his Armored Battalion fidgeted nervously; the heads of many were tipping back, their eyes looking to the skies. The aliens were coming, or so they'd been told.

The NCO had been standing in for the unit's Colonel, who had seemingly disappeared shortly after the gist of Mission Commander Lee's second broadcast had been sent down through the Officer's Corps. He'd been talking almost non stop for an hour, trying to keep the moral of the tank group high.

Suddenly, the world was split by a thunderous boom. Many of the troops hit the ground instinctively, while others scattered, heading for cover and still more simply stood in place, in total shock. The sonic boom seemed to come from every direction and was followed by another, then another, then more.

The NCO quickly got back onto the bull horn and ordered the forces to their tanks, anti-aircraft batteries, and other mobile units.

"But sir!" one of his higher ranking enlisted men argued. "He said to abandon the tanks ... run for cover. If we just do what we were told--"

He never finished his sentence; the round from the Type 77 entered his mouth through his upper teeth but didn't exit, instead lodging in the man's spinal cord and dropping his to the ground, dead before he stopped moving.

"Man your weapons!" the NCO called over the bull horn as he lifted his side arm high in the air. "Protect your country! Protect your people! Do ... your ... duty!"

All about him, the Chinese soldiers hurried this way and that, but it was impossible for him to tell which exactly were doing their duty and which were simply heading for safety. One thing was obvious, though; the Battalion was getting smaller, quickly. Looking left and right, while he could see men climbing into their tanks and mobile units, he could see even more individuals and small groups disappearing into the forest the unit was stationed in or simply beyond the temporary buildings that had been set up for their occupation of their Neighbor.

That, of course, was the reason the aliens were coming here; the Chinese, according to this Lee, weren't allowed here any longer. They were an occupying force and were to leave. The NCO holstered his weapon and looked up to the sky. He was being told by the Monitoring Station behind him that nothing -- not a single craft -- was showing up on radar, but he was beginning to see glints of light high in the sky. They're coming!

He puffed his chest out, proud. He had stood his ground, and at least some of his brave troops had, too. He turned to the Station behind him, finding his radio man still at his station. "Fire at will! All batteries, fire at will."

Within moments of the radio man passing the order, this small piece of the forest erupted with fire. Anti-aircraft, missiles, even rifle rounds filled the sky in every direction.

The NCO, his hands over his ears and his eyes scanning the sky for falling aircraft smiled broadly. We are the People's Liberation Army. We belong here. You can not make us leave.

(OOC -- Hey, Smythe. Do your best! These troops sound ready to take you on ... or ... maybe not.)

Taylor headed back to the Residence after convincing his concerned Staff that they had nothing to worry about from Mission Commander Lee. He'd added with a concerned look, "Not yet, anyway."

First business once back in his "home" was to find his long time lover. He called Lorne to the bedroom, asking the Agent quietly, "Beth's location...?"

"She's with her detail, Mister President. The man -- one of only eight people who knew the true nature of his relationship with the beautiful, red headed Lobbyist -- spoke code into his radio, and after receiving an answer, added, "On her way to her home, Sir."

"Good," Taylor answered simply. That would mean a Driver and Escort -- both Secret Service -- as far as the airport, then a pilot who was retired Special Forces getting her to the private landing strip near the very nice home purchased for her by one of Taylor's "shell companies", and finally her own three "woman" private security detail who never left the property unguarded, per Taylor's request.

He'd insisted on this level of security -- which had slowly increased over the years, particularly now with his new "job" -- because he and Beth had something special, far more than just sex as so many President's had enjoyed over the years with Lobbyists, Interns, Movie Stars, and more. He couldn't reveal their relationship to the world, not yet. They'd agreed to wait until after he'd won a second term and the revelations of their twelve years together could no longer harm his political career.

Of course, everything had changed with the arrival of the Platform. Taylor could tell the world that he'd been sleeping with his entire female staff -- and half of the male staff as well -- and no one would even see the news release.

"Put some more people on Beth," Taylor told the agent. "And ... ask her if she'll come back to the Residence."

He knew she wouldn't, not until she was ready. But he had to ask her none the less. He loved her and would do anything to keep her safe. Anything

(OOC -- I would like everyone to stay on the role play's first day until al of the writers have posted for their characters through that day. The Platform arrived in the wee hours of the morning over North America and we have events happening across the world. So, let's all post as far as the end of the day you are on, and then we'll all go on to the next day together. If you're anxious to post before the others are ready, feel free to create a new character. But don't get too far ahead.)


Lance Doolittle stood at the big bay doors of Solar-US staring at something he never would have imagined seeing: the motionless fabrication line of the largest solar panel manufacturer in North America. Since he'd created his first solar panel in third grade -- and won the State Science award for for a system that only lit a 24 watt light bulb -- Lance had dedicated his life to creating a solar power empire. Two decades ago, using cheap foreign labor, he'd finally been able to bring Solar-US into the black. Then, with Stimulus money, he'd been able to build this factory in Portland, Oregon, employing more than 500 people and quadrupling his company's gross revenues.

Then came Frakking. Natural gas prices hit record lows ...as did sales of solar power systems. In less than a year, Solar-US had gone from being the darling of the green energy boom to closing its doors. And now, Lance and the Senator who had pushed for the Stimulus money -- more than $100 million -- were both scheduled for a Senate Investigation that was supposed to have opened in D.C. Next Tuesday.

"Mister Doolittle?"

Lance turned to find his now-former receptionist standing a few yards away; she held a box of personal items from her desk and a philodendron she'd nursed back to health after Lance had nearly killed it for the third time. He smiled, asking, "What can I do for you, Lily."

"Are you gonna be alright?"

He smiled even broader. "Of course. I've been through worse."

"Have you?" She asked, the doubt obvious in her tone.

Lance hesitated for a moment, then chuckled and answered, "No ...I guess not."

The pretty woman took a step closer and asked, "Can I do anything...? How about I make you dinner. A bottle of wine and a shoulder to cry on might do you some good. You've been a little too brave about this, I think."

Again Lance chuckled, not about what she was saying but about what she was suggesting. They'd toyed with the idea of being lovers since he hired her six weeks earlier. But the idea of sleeping with his half-his-age secretary seemed like the first step of a mid-life crisis he had been trying to hold off for a few more years.

"Not tonight, Lily," he answered, allowing his eyes to drop to her body for just a moment. He could still remember the very conservative dress and sensible heels she'd worn to her initial interview; her hair had been up in a fashionable bun and her face had been only lightly painted. Once hired though, she hadn't been afraid to show her womanly assets off in the office. She was petite, with smallish breasts and a tiny waist; but her clothes were always tight and thin and, in the case of her dresses and skirts, high on the thighs, revealing her smooth skinned, athletic legs. Lance hadn't noticed a panty line during her entire employment, and -- forever unbridled -- the nipples of her firm breasts were often hardened for Lance's viewing pleasure.

Resisting her had been a task, made possible only by her promise that when the day came that he wanted her, she would be there for him. Maybe that time had come; he wasn't sure yet. There was just too much to think about right now.

"Hey, they say that these ...are we calling them humans or aliens...?". When Lance said he didn't know, she continued, "They say that they might make us stop burning fossil fuels. So ...even with frakking, solar might make a comeback, right?"

"Maybe," Lance answered. He bid her farewell and said he'd call her soon, then turned and took a long slow down the middle of the silent plant ...not knowing that soon, he would be a King in the energy business ...and that Lily would be at his side -- and in his bed -- as the Queen of the solar industry.

(OOC -- Looking for a female to write the part of Lily. Will involve both sexual and non-sexual mini-plots. PM Me with interest. BTW, I will be off line for the next 5 hours.))

General Smythe

"Sir, Leader Red Dragons."

"Yes lieutenant?"

"Sir we are taking fire from ground based units."

"Any damage lieutenant?"

"No sir, their weapons don't have enough velocity for the shields to direct them back to them."

"Patch me through."

There was a click in Smythe's ears and he was now speaking to the Chinese soldiers attacking them. He started speaking in flawless Chinese,

"Soldiers of the People's Army of China, I commend your bravery, but this will be your last warning, retreat from your weapons and live for another day. Live for a better future for you and your children to come."

There was another click and a few seconds of silence,

"They paused after you spoke to them sir, then a few tried to pull back, but their leader shot at them."

Smythe sighed,

"Why do they put the fanatics always in charge. Lieutenant, destroy the leader's vehicle, give the others time to see what happens in retreat if they wish."

"Rodger that sir, firing NDG."

NDG Nano-Distributer-Gun, much like the Old Girl but a smaller version, which took much less energy to fire and virtually no time to reload. Instead of firing an energy wave for penetration, it only fired energy capsules, the targeting system programs the nanites on which target is to be destroyed and once they land on their target they start tearing it apart so fast that it created heat energy, on earlier tests the fuel tanks of 21st style vehicles and it's contents was vaporized before any explosion could occur as is the same with any explosive device. And now these nanites were going to be engaged on the real deal.

"I'm really sorry about this, but we did warn you repeatedly."

Smythe looked down at the ground as the lieutenant spoke, he knew that it was translated to Chinese and broad casted. He knew what Red Dragon leader lieutenant Dan2543 would see, first shock at the bright ray and then total disbelief as the tank suddenly started to grow hot and disappear while the people inside scream in pain as the heat grows to almost unbearable degrees. One minute later and a small "poof" as the emp bombs on the nanites explodes killing them instantly, and where the vehicle stood is nothing but charred ground.

"Target destroyed sir."

"Give the soldiers time to retreat then destroy the remaining weaponry."

"Rodger that sir, out"

Smythe looked up at the soldiers around him,

"And now we had struck the first blow, dealt first blood. Let us hope it doesn't happen again, even though we know it will happen and I for one will not hesitate to kill when it does."