One More Time, with Conviction

I've said the opening chapter was fine. It was not. This time, ClaudeAI and ChatGPT tell me it's ready. Yeah. Okay. We'll see.

0 ~ Milestones

Washington DC

The running joke was, ‘Nobody expects the Sasquatch intervention’ — a compromise for the sake of rhythm. ‘Almost nobody’ was more accurate.

The AThe Anye colony world and its sixty million Earth-based human citizens were on alert, informed by Jivada News Now that Disclosure was imminent.

Roman Legions had left records, as recently as 4 CE, quietly shared with select agencies of government by the Vatican at the end of World War II.

Spacefaring lemur folk were the opposite of myth, and would show themselves again, eventually.

The caper deployed mid-July, when American Civil War veteran Doctor Elbert Holland Harrison (180 years old, although you would never guess) entered a Jivada-manufactured Tesseract battery in the Darpa Challenge contest.

It was a ruse, intended to win cooperation from the contest coordinator, an aeronautical engineer with three million social media subscribers.

It worked, until it didn’t. Military police tried to carjack Doc Harrison at a Mexican restaurant. Doc was packing a covey of invisible fighting drones. There were no arrests.

The space yacht Skeezix made a daylight landing in a Wal-Mart parking lot. Doc and his lunch date escaped. Smartphones captured the action.

And a secret history of partnership with aliens from outer space, stretching all the way back to the Ice Age, was brought to light.

Not an invasion. A homecoming. Good news for everyone except the powers-that-be.

The Pentagon mutinied. Congress subverted. Officials in the Executive Branch committed treason — and a brotherhood of soldier-priests replied.

Anye civilization was 70,000 years old, a monument to meritocracy, fortified by the ancient and noble order of Zirna Zapha.

Sanskrit, Broken Claw. Colloquially Zeze, the Space Mafia; famous for punishing its enemies.

Even so, the Anye Disclosure was an ordeal for America’s President; its fallout as much personal as political. There was no Christmas party at the official residence that season.

The year after, winter arrived early. By the first week of December, DC was buried under four feet of snow, the White House draped with festive décor.

Spaceboats crouched outside the President’s Patio. Boarding lights scattered rainbows through flurries of particulate ice. A hush prevailed upon a landscape shrouded in winter’s blanket.

The President’s valet, Pascal the maroli, welcomed guests at a side entrance, a red bow taped to his capsule, tentacles wiggling in delight.

Planet Jivada’s furry Space Pope, Guru Samuel Orsa, said the opening prayer. The Pulina Nava Chamber Orchestra (West Coast Jivada, a resort town) played classical, liturgical, seasonal.

President Carmen Benequista, 61 years old, widowed, accepted the hand of frequent companion Brandon Lopez; Filipino/American, former NSA, 15 years her junior.

To dance, for the first time in their friendship — shy, awkward, measuring the distance between them.

Brandon studied his feet. Carmen explored the firm anatomy of his back, whispering in his ear. “My goodness. Who knew?”

“You should talk, gym rat.” He squeezed her at the waist. “Do you want to wrestle? I’ll go two out of three.”

“Oh, a sweet-talker.” Carmen pinched his ear. “I can’t wait to meet your dad.”

“I take after mom. That’s why I’m pretty.”

“You’re trending distinguished.”

“I’m forty-six. It’s about time.”

They drifted into a traffic jam near the bandstand, to witness Brandon’s teenage nephew-in-spirit gliding past in lockstep with a thirty-something Anye Iravat female.

Mason Fowlkes — fifteen years old, front-row Anye Disclosure alumnus, apprentice spaceship mechanic, poised beyond his years.

Dancing with co-worker Sheila Potts, a fox-in-an-evening gown — shapely figure, perky ears, textured pelt, narrow muzzle, shining white incisors, a happy self-satisfied smile.

The couples exchanged greetings. Mason’s eyes pleaded for rescue. Sheila whisked him away.

The elders dallied. Carmen leaned into the moment. Brandon brushed her forehead with his lips.

He asked, “How do you feel about us getting off center?”

Champagne, mistletoe, good cheer notwithstanding …

The kiss caught them both by surprise.