Chapter 2
Five hours later, after the tedious approach to the planet, and somewhat anticlimactic disembarking at LAX, Sam stood on the stage of the Crystal Cathedral in Los Angeles. The Spo liked the grand architecture of the building, and they didn’t know, or maybe didn’t care, that it had all the wrong overtones as their regional headquarters.
Sweat trickled down Sam’s back as the front rows of the cathedral filled with members of the press. The ceiling held 10,000 panels of glass, and if there was a mote of sunlight the building didn’t catch, it sure wasn’t for lack of trying. The heat was only one problem though.
On each wall the Spo had placed huge portraits, at least eight feet tall, of the cadets. Sam’s face stared back at him from the second spot on the right, and the tattoo on his cheek looked horrible at that size. The posters had a distinctly “Hitler youth” feel to them and Sam cringed as he saw a photographer snapping shots of the horrible posters while he waited for the press conference to begin. One of Sam’s tasks was to try and make the Spo more acceptable to humans, to begin to close the breach made by seven years of occupation, and they sure weren’t making it easy.
“The posters?” Sam asked Greg. “Where did those come from?”
Greg’s face was still as ever. “They came from the printer located at 266 La Valente – ”
“I mean, why? We didn’t say anything about huge, ugly – ”
“It is time to start,” Greg interrupted. “You may continue later.”
Cameramen were set up in the aisles and journalists filled the front rows. Greg crouched in front of the microphone, all rubber skin and folded limbs. The Spo had four legs and two arms which gave them that regrettable similarity to a praying mantis. His face was vaguely humanoid, except for the eyestalks. They were twitchy and expressive and might have been cute on a cartoon alien.
“I can smell your excitement,” Greg said, in his tolerable English, “so I will not prison you in suspense. You will welcome the first cadets to return to Earth.”
Sam sighed. Greg always spoke in commands. The aliens had actually asked Sam’s advice on this press conference - The Return of the Cadets, etc etc. - but clearly his advice had not sunk in.
“This is Sam, one of the top cadets from Los Angeles. He will speak next.”
The reporters immediately began shouting questions and Sam’s stomach clenched tighter. And his back itched.
“Have you been allowed to contact your family?”
“What do your tattoos mean?”
“Did the Spo brainwash you?”
Greg flexed his legs, shifting his weight off his front feet. Sam flicked two fingers at him, meaning, give me a second. The Spo allowed human newscasters a lot of freedom, since nothing they could do would give humanity enough of an edge to overthrow the Spo government. But, and this was a big but, Greg really wanted these press conferences for the cadets to go well and he was just off kilter enough to attack someone who got belligerent, not realizing what horrible press that would be.
“Hang on. Hold your horses!” Sam said to the reporters, forcing a laugh. “I gotta say my stuff first.”
“I am so glad to be back!” he said, waving into the cameras. “We all are. It’s been a fascinating six years, but there’s no place like home, right? The other cadet groups will return in the next few weeks. We said goodbye to them last month, and they can’t wait to be home.”
Sam turned back to the other forty cadets on stage. They stood in ranks, looking stiff and awkward. Greg should have released footage of the cadets stepping off the spaceship at LAX or settling into their dorm, this formal press conference was a bad move, but it was too late for that.
“Come on, guys, wave! We’re home,” Sam said.
They took a few seconds to break from ranks, but then the energy of the moment swept them along. They began waving and then smiling, stepping out of line to get a better look at the crowd of press.
Lights flashed as cameramen got digital shots, and the red lights of live video feeds rippled to life. Another frenzy of shouting rose from the crowd, but with a better tone. Less brainwashing talk. Sam smiled. He was performing now, and with a little luck, he could handle this crowd.
“Not yet!” Sam said, raising his hands for silence. “I still gotta say hi to my family, I think they live in Cloudcroft now. Hi Mom! Dad!”
“What do you want to say to the world?” a reporter said.
“What was the planet like?”
“Why do you all look green?”
“Take it easy!” Sam said with a smile.
“How about you?” He pointed to a short woman in the third row who’d shouted something simple.
“What do your tattoos mean?” she asked.
“Ah,” he stroked the tattoo on his cheek like it was the best thing ever. “These identify us as leadership students of the Spo nation. Pretty cool, though I know my mom would never let me get a tattoo.” He gave a sheepish smile. “Sorry, Mom.”
There was a ripple of laughter, and then Sam pointed at another reporter. “You, purple tie.”
“Are all of the children accounted for? We only count forty-one here.”
“Oh, that’s space travel. If you get seasick, you’ll get spacesick, too. Nobody wanted to hurl on stage, so a few of them are still in the bathroom.”
“No one was left on the Spo planet?” the reporter said.
Sam grimaced, he’d planned to avoid that question, but he’d walked right into it. “Unfortunately, one cadet died from an allergic reaction about a year ago. I can’t release his name until we contact his family. Other than that, we are all here and in the best shape of our lives.”
“What is the Spo planet like?” another asked.
“Hot. Melting is a real cause of death there. And dry as heck. Parts of it are almost habitable for humans. Sort of like Nevada.” Sam smiled.
“Can you speak their language now?” the same reporter asked.
“Ha! Can I?” Sam cleared his throat and then grated out a sentence in the Spo language. It buzzed in his nose and scraped at his throat.
“Learning the language was part of the reason we were taken,” Sam explained. “You want to hear a joke? ‘What’s the difference between a Spo and a cricket?’”
Sam paused.
“Hairstyle.”
More uncertain laughter.
Sam shrugged. “It’s funnier in their language, I promise.”
They laughed more at that. A tall lady in the back row raised her hand. Sam pointed at her.
“Why did they take you?” she said simply. There was silence after that question. This was the main one.
Sam looked right at the lady as he spoke, maintaining eye contact across the crowd. Sincerity.
“I know all the rumors that have gone around, but I promise you they weren’t using us as hostages. They didn’t brainwash us to hate Earth, either. They taught us their language and culture, and some other alien cultures, too.
“For instance, if Earth joins the Galactic Counsel and hosts the Merith, we better keep them away from the cities, because they HATE concrete. The stuff makes them break out like poison ivy does to us.” Sam shuddered for effect.
“Or then there’s our use of makeup. The Spo flipped out when some of the girls started using lipstick. They thought it was a suicide rite. Oh, and they thought blonde women were infertile, can you imagine? We only cleared that one up a few weeks ago, because they didn’t want to mention it.” Sam laughed and the press laughed with him.
“There’s a crowded galaxy out there, and now at least a few of us humans know about it. For the moment, our job is to improve communication between humanity and Spo. Eventually, when the Spo are done here, we hope to be liaisons with the rest of the galaxy.”
If, Sam thought, we win Earth’s trial first. You better hope we win or the Spo will be the least of our problems. Sam glanced back at Jonathan, a few feet away on the stage. Jonathan was going to be a primary witness in humanity’s trial, and Sam didn’t envy him the job.
Many of the reporters nodded slightly, receptive, but one guy raised a hand, thrusting his way forward in the aisle, not waiting for Sam to call on him.
“So what? You make a few jokes and we trade the Spooks for you, their pets?” he said.
“No – ”
“Don’t we get to choose? The Spooks ruined our planet,” the aggressive guy shouted, coming closer to the stage.
Sam felt impatient. When the aliens invaded, northern Europe had just been wiped off the map by a horrible terrorist attack on the Large Hadron Collider in Switzerland. The Spo had cleaned up that mess, and yes, killed some rebellious people in the process, but they hadn’t done nearly as much damage as humans had.
“If you – ” Sam said.
“I don’t trust anybody that trusts them,” the guy said. “Go back to Spo!”
Greg shifted from four feet to two, readiness stance.
Sam shook his head slightly. Stared at the guy.
“Are you done?” Sam demanded.
For a moment he thought the man would climb onto the stage.
“I’m done,” he said finally.
“Fine. I’ll lay it out for you,” Sam said. “It was humans that killed nearly a billion Europeans in the Hadron explosion, wasn’t it? Not the Spo. Trusting them or trusting me isn’t simple, I'm not saying it is. But we cadets have a working knowledge of the galaxy and Earth’s place in it. We want to help, and that can only be a good thing for Earth.”
The questions started up again. Aggressive guy had poisoned the crowd.
“You are brainwashed!”
“What about the families they slaughtered?!”
“You no longer believe in humanity?”
“What does it mean to believe in humanity?” Sam repeated, spreading his hands. “I believe that we exist. And I darn well hope we continue to exist, despite the state of our planet. I hope that you’ll support us as we get reacquainted with Earth. We’re your children; we’re on your side.”
Greg dipped his head forward, Sam’s cue.
“Thank you. You’ll be seeing a lot more of us in the future,” Sam said. He stepped back, but not into formation.
Back on the chartered bus, Sam slumped into a seat while adrenaline faded from his system. The bus’s tinted windows shielded him from the thronging reporters and growing crowd surging through the parking lot. They all shouted. Some had makeshift signs.
“SPO GO HOME!”
“Clear the Zone! Leave us alone!”
A rhyming chant rose erractically, "Spo. Go. Spo. Go." Others had questions.
“What did they do to you?”
“Where is Spo?”
“Can you help us?”
Some were offering help.
“They can’t hurt you here!”
“You’re home, come out!”
Maybe they expected one of the cadets to clamber out a window and fling themselves into the crowd.
Sam grimaced. He’d talk to Greg about getting a different set of security guys. This was Los Angeles. If any city should have security that knew how to handle celebrity situations, it was this one.
As Nat filed by him, Sam reached out to snag her hand.
“Sit with me,” he said. “We’re home.”
Nat didn’t make eye contact, just glanced out his window. “Decent job out there,” she said, brushing past him.
Sam sighed and leaned his head back. She hadn’t changed her mind yet. She would though, they had years and years ahead of them. Sam closed his eyes and inhaled the soft, Earthy air.