The Kata AjJivadi, codified 48 BCE, commands that the planet Jivada’s influence on Earth shall be hidden from view — impractical unless someone destroys evidence at, for instance, the Shrine of the Muses in Egypt, next door to the Alexandrian Library.
It was arson. Nobody denies it. Consequently, in a single stroke, barring the occasional Sasquatch sighting, the Anye Migration and its many aspects were relegated to mythology.
Until recently, with news of approaching cosmic calamity and an offer to intervene — if Earth’s ruling class will allow it, which they might not.
An Anye engineering company is on station, 2 trillion kilometers out. Caught between the ‘ayes’ and ‘nays’, United States President Carmen Benequista is juggling red-hot pokers. Comes now her deceased husband, in a dream which might be a seance, giving unsolicited advice. He says, “Find someone to share your life.”
It’s not impossible. Space Mafia executive Brandon Lopez, several years her junior, is waiting for a signal. Only, God willing it should be that simple.
Meanwhile, first-contact survivor Mason Fowlkes, soon to be 16, is growing up fast as an apprentice mechanic aboard an alien spaceship. The work life is great; the home life not so much.
Six time zones away, Aéronautique Lieutenant Marie Jourdaine is on the rebound after an ill-fated pass at becoming the world’s youngest female fighter pilot; and none too soon — the French Air Force is about to exit the aviation business.
Finally, as if things aren’t strange enough, maroli labor appliances, a grotesque accomplishment of Anye technology, are becoming self-aware. Egg-shaped grav-lift chassis. Bio-engineered tentacles strong enough to pull your arms off.
Possessed perhaps by spirits of the dead, but nice guys, graceful dancers, and famously prone to say, “Sometimes, no matter what’s going on, you have to make it about you.”
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John Dyer Writes 
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