Short fiction.
“This alien invasion is sponsored by…” By Jason O’Mahony The President of the United States hit the hidden panic button under his desk, pressing it in and out a few times. He doubted it would do anything, but felt it would have been foolish if he hadn’t at least tried. “Why didn’t you press the panic button?” They would ask, and he’d tell them that the people threatening him had told him not to bother. They’d shown it to him on his very first day, but had reassured him that it was really only there as a last resort, in that if the president was under actual threat in the Oval Office it meant that the entire system had failed. They’d been right about that bit. His chief of staff and the two Secret Service men didn’t move, just stood watching him. “Please mister president. Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. The entire Secret Service detail, and most of your staff have been infected already. I assure you, it’s quite painless. It’s like going to sleep. We will take control of your body, your memories, but your personality will be supressed. You won’t experience anything.” The president slumped back in his seat. It had started with odd decisions being made by some of his staff. Then he had heard about secret meetings. He’d asked Sam Barkley, his best friend and chief of staff to investigate. That had been a mere 48 hours ago. Now Sam had changed. He looked the same, sounded the same, but it wasn’t Sam. “What happens then?” he asked. Sam smiled. “We infect you, then the Pentagon chiefs, head of the FBI, CIA, the various world leaders you meet. Within a year we will rule this planet. A silent invasion.” The door to the side of the office opened to reveal the back of a janitor wheeling in his vacuum cleaner. He turned to see the gathering. “Oh, excuse me, gentlemen,” he said. “Run, Tom, run!” the president shouted at the old black man. Tom smiled back. “There’s no need for that, sir.” The president looked crestfallen, and fell back into his seat.
Short fiction. Sam looked at one of the Secret Service men nervously. “You’re wondering if I’m infected, how come you can’t sense it, aren’t you?” the old man said to Sam. “Mr President, there’s one very good reason why this alien invasion these fellows are leading isn’t going to work,” he said, resting his vacuum cleaner to one side. “And that is?” Sam asked him. The janitor smiled. “Because Earth’s already been invaded. You don’t think we’re going to let a bunch of yokels from Alpha Centauri interfere with the most powerful force in the galaxy, do you?” “What are you talking about? We are the most powerful force in the galaxy!” Sam asked. Tom laughed out loud. He gestured to the drinks cabinet. “Mr President, would you like me to fix you a bourbon?” The president nodded wide-eyed. “Coming right up, sir. “We are the most powerful force in the galaxy”…that’s very funny.” As he prepared the president’s drink, he looked at Sam. “Let me tell you a story. In the early 1950s Earth’s first TV signals started to go out into space, attracting a lot of attention. I’d say that’s what attracted you folks, right?” Sam nodded. Tom placed the president’s drink on a coaster on his desk. The president took a belt of it. “Well, those signals not only went towards Alpha Centauri, they went the other direction too. Now here’s something neither Earth nor Alpha Centauri know. Earth is in the ass end of nowhere. So is Alpha Centauri. We make jokes about Alpha Centauri, like how many Alpha Centaurians does it take to change a lightbulb? None. The parasitical bastards infect some other race and get them to do it. Get it? Yeah, it loses a bit in translation….anyway, you head the opposite direction, directly away, and you will come across hundreds of civilisations that make up the Galactic Union. Now, these worlds all knew about Earth, but it was a bit of a niche thing, like studying ancient Greece. The odd academic would visit Earth, write a book about human history or culture, hold a symposium, that sort of thing. But then TV came along, and that changed everything. Do you mind if I…?” Tom lifted the bottle at the president, who gestured with a wave of his hand. “Thank you sir….mmm that’s good…anyway, TV signals started reaching some of those worlds, and suddenly the sheer diversity of culture on Earth became apparent to all. See, those worlds are all pretty homogenous, and Earth is the most densely diverse place in the galaxy…” “It’s a disease. An affront to order,” Sam said.
Short fiction. “I’m afraid the galaxy disagrees. Suddenly the galaxy was receiving Earth movies, TV, music, drama, comedy and the galaxy liked what it saw. So much so than soon the great galactic trading companies were competing to get the best signals from Earth and retransmit them. It’s a huge business, and gets bigger and bigger every year. The people of Proxima 9 wanted to despatch spies to Earth to discover who shot JR. The elections of Signia 3 were fought over whether Ross and Rachel were on a break. Over 50 billion people watched Hawkeye and BJ say goodbye. The galaxy relies up Earth for its entertainment. There’s still a congressional investigation going on as to what the hell Lost was about? Billions of Galactic credits are spent every year transmitting Earth’s TV output. Do you see the problem here? In the words of Ned Beatty, you have meddled with the primal forces of nature, and we’re not going to have it.” Tom jabbed a finger at Sam. The two Secret Service men pulled out their guns. Tom laughed again. “Oh please. We have intervened three times in this planet’s history to stop the Humans exterminating themselves. We’ve a battle fleet parked the far side of Mercury that would make Darth Vader feel inadequate. You think I’m on my own?” There was a flash of light behind the three men and suddenly three very large figures, wearing a cross between biker leather and spacesuits appeared behind them, holding large rifles. All three fired, hitting Sam and the two agents with bolts of light. All three collapsed. The president leapt to his feet. Tom waved a calming hand. “Don’t worry Mr. President, they’re just stunned. The beams will kill the alien infection. They’ll wake up fully restored to their old selves. My people know exactly who is infected, and they’re currently dealing with them throughout Washington in the same manner.” “You’re an alien?” the president asked. “Oh yes, I’ve been here for thirty years now, in one form or another.” “And all that stuff about TV? It’s true?” “Yes sir. The whole galaxy is currently obsessed with Game of Thrones, Downton Abbey and Narcos. We couldn’t possibly allow the planet to be transformed into a hive mind. Think of the effect on ratings. Earth is the golden goose. It’s why we have to defend it. Far too much at stake.” “But why don’t you tell us? Why not interact with us?” “Tell you? No, we couldn’t do that. Then everything you’d produce would be about us. We don’t want that.” “You said you have intervened?” “During the Cuban missile crisis, and twice during the 1980s when you nearly nuked yourselves. After Cuba the Galactic Congress decided that Earth was too important to be left to its own devices, so we put agents into key positions, to keep an eye on things. The Pentagon, the Kremlin, HBO…” “HBO?”
Short fiction. “Oh yes. Most of your big TV companies. In fact, most of your modern TV output isn’t even for humans, just thought up and produced by them. We control your ratings, so if there’s a show doing very well in part of the galaxy we make sure it continues to be produced. Have you ever watched a TV show and ask yourself who the hell watches this crap?” “All the time,” the president said. “Well, now you know. Aliens.” Tom said.
The End. Omahony.jason@gmail.com