15 The Invasion Begins (1/2)
The scene in Kirk Lander's California home was replicated more or less faithfully in one of the staff rooms at the United Nations building in New York.
Inside this room, all furniture had been pushed against the walls. All the doors leading to the room had been locked. Thirty soldiers and policemen formed two lines on both sides of a row of fifteen hiber beds. One line held timon implant kits.
The other line consisted of fifteen young men dressed in disposable cellulose gowns. The gowns were very light and loose, but the men looked uncomfortable.
A doctor and a paramedic stood at one end of this double row. The doctor - a strawberry-nosed man in his forties with dark-ringed, watery eyes - opened his mouth as if to say something. Then he closed it without uttering a sound.
At the other end of the double row stood Carlton Brock. He'd slid one hand under his jacket the way Napoleon had done. He was frowning at the line of men wearing disposable gowns. He didn't like to see American policemen and soldiers, HIS policemen and soldiers, dressed as if they were a bunch of fucking fairies. He said:
”Men! Our future is in your hands. Our hands,” he corrected himself quickly, glancing at his own manicured nails. He gave everyone a stern look in case someone found something funny in what he'd said. No one did. Reassured, he continued:
”You're about to enter a new world. We've been given access to this world courtesy of our children, who have traveled back in time to present us with this amazing gift, with this... with this, uh, amazing opportunity. Yes. It's an amazing opportunity. We must seize it with both hands.”
He broke and looked at his hands again, noting that there was a comma of dirt under his left thumbnail. Where the fuck were his speechwriters when he needed them? He was paying those assholes a small fortune! He said:
”I, the president of the United States of America, congratulate you on being chosen to be the ones who will help secure... who will secure... uh, a bright and wonderful future for us all. Okay. Let's do it.”
He nodded and took a step back, bumping into Lea Panatella, his chief of staff. Lea Panatella had a nickname among White House staff that she didn't know about. Her nickname was Zeppelins, as in 'here come the Zeppelins'. It was inspired by her enormous, silicone-enhanced boobs that pressed into Brock's back when he stepped back.
”Oh hey, Lea. Sorry,” said Carlton Brock.
”Not a problem,” said Lea.
”Remember: not a word that we're doing this to anyone, least of all to that asshole Odongo,” Brock hissed.
”Mum's the word,” said Lea. Her tits were still touching his back. Anyone standing less than half a meter in front of Lea would automatically be within range of her tits. Lea didn't mind. People became much easier to handle when she touched them with her tits. This applied to both men and women.
Carlton Brock smiled at her. Lea was one hell of a chick. He was glad she had his back.
The scene in one of the staff rooms inside the United Nations building in New York was replicated in many buildings, many places all over the world.
In Japan, a group of young men wearing face masks vowed to restore the Black Dragon society to its full glory in the New World. A dozen stepped forward, the blue spots on their foreheads glowing brightly in the darkened room, and lay down on the silvery mats.
In Rostock, Germany, a group of important businessmen gathered at a luxury hotel voted to recreate the famous Hanseatic League in a New World setting. But this time around, the League would stretch far beyond the Baltic and the North Sea: it would penetrate into every corner of the New World. They all shook hands in agreement; then they dispersed to their rooms to lie down on the hiber beds taken from the glowing cube gleaming in the hotel's parking lot.