Chapter Text
Location
An Inn in Northern Quebec
November 1997
A petite young woman emerges from a steamy kitchen. She hears a shushing sound from behind the bar.
“Julie – get over here. Those two Americans are back. I told you about them last week. They were here talking hush hush with Peter’s uncle. When he brought our groceries Peter swore me to secrecy but he needed to tell someone. He’s worried his uncle took a whole lot of money to rent the old farm to a very mysterious man. Do you think this man is on the lam from the law? Maybe even a gangster?”
Julie turns an indulgent smile to her grandmother.
“Grand-mere, I think your imagination is running overtime again. I know you love those old Humphry Bogart movies, but why don’t I just go and take their order?”
Instead she jumps at a loud bang – the inn’s front door blowing open. A huge person stumbles through, bringing a blast of frigid air in with him.
“Bob and Dave,” he shouts. “It’s colder than the proverbial witch’s tit out there. Who decided this was the place for him to hide out?”
The American who looks like an accountant replies “Hey Ed – you got him all tucked in for the night? Get on over here. Let’s eat.
Grand-mere startles – “Julie, isn’t that Arnold Schwarzenegger?”
~ * ~ *
Once upon a time, an alien race realized its planet was dying. Less than two hundred years were left. What to do? An associate professor – really someone with a one year contract – was desperate to impress his department head. An historian and religious scholar, he remembered reading about an some old crank who insisted their people’s origin story was not a myth – it really happened. It all had to do with “black oil” and a planet in a distant solar system. This place was warm and wet and green. “A veritable Eden.” But then another race of inhabitants began crawling out of the trees. These folks were a lot dumber but a lot bigger. And they multiplied like flies. So the ancestors left to find their new home.
Our contract professor realized this could be his ticket to the big time. All he had to do was to find the old man, see his documentation, and then send him on to his final reward. Presenting the research as his own – publish or perish – the prof gained instant notoriety. The people rejoiced at their possible salvation: their origin myth could be real.
And so government plans were set in place. Solar systems were scoured. Three possibilities were found. Scouting teams were sent to investigate current populations – if and – any report back. Team #1 reported back on their target—the planet’s civilization had already destroyed itself – no higher life forms existed. A great place to relocate to – but not the planet of legend. There was no black oil. Team #2 never reported in – the sophisticated, advanced civilization on the second planet realized the threat, intercepted the team, and made sure no intelligence made it back to our aliens.
Team #3 hit pay dirt. This planet, known by its inhabitants as “Earth”, was just beginning to industrialize. They had only just developed motorized flight. Earth’s technologies would be no match for the people’s. And the report brought even more joy– a new world-wide holiday was declared – “the black oil has been seen and our origin story proven true.” This planet they left behind could be theirs again – all that needed doing was to wipe out its current population.
Our professor – now with full tenure – was given government funding and backing to start long-term planning. First on the agenda, sending a small team, a few thousand individuals, to infiltrate Earth, learn its customs, and the levers to power. How to integrate with the earthling population? Could they activate their in-born morphing ability – something they never needed after changing form from violent infants to moody adolescents to their beautiful, intelligent adult selves. Observe the lowly Earth caterpillar and tadpole.
The government sent out the call. Be a patriot. Save our people. You will be honored as a hero. Apply to be a member of the morphing strike force. Applications poured in. Candidates were interviewed and tested. Many hoped they had the right stuff. Finally the Patriot Army was ready. Each individual could morph back and forth at will -- into a single Earthling form and then back to their original, beautiful self.
Our professor had risen even further – he was now a member of the Cabinet, heading the new Office of Our People’s Salvation. This office has been busy. Visual only monitoring had been going on for some years, with one unfortunate incident – the crash of a ship in Russian Siberia. They decided the best locations to deploy the Patriot Army would be the United Kingdom and North America. This meant only one Earth language to become fluent in. And the war engulfing all of Europe and growing unrest in China meant the North America and the United Kingdom was the safest place to start. So in earth year 1914 quiet groups landed to begin their mission.
Being the person he was – out for himself – our Cabinet member had his own secret project – independent of the Patriot Army. He knew Earth was an attractive place and that Army members might be seduced into “going native.” This could be a real problem when too much publicity surrounded such folk. His solution – send in some enforcers – military police to keep the troops in line. And how better to control the enforcers? Make them his own sons. He had his eye on a pretty little graduate student. She would be just the one. Promises were made, secret contracts were drawn up. The day of experimental implantation arrived. Five fetuses successfully delivered. They didn’t look anything like their father, mother, or any relation’s baby pictures – his identical offspring resembled nothing other than Earth infants. His sons would be able to morph into any Earthling of choice, easily into males and with great difficult into females. The sacrifice being made – their base appearance would always be that of one single Earth male. They would always be outcasts among their own kind. They did have one unexpected talent – they could heal Earthlings with a touch. Son #1 was blessed with the strongest ability; the other four needed to be together to make this happen.
Our Cabinet Member – now the new President – with a dotting wife and children at his side – he had long ditched his mistress – readied his secret sons for their mission to Earth. He had them tutored in Earth cultures and history. They learned many languages, not just English. They studied many jobs and professions. They trained in all forms of attack and self-defense. He was never worried that a member of the Patriot Amy might best them. They were far stronger than any on their home world or any Earthling. His sons had an unbreakable bond, even though they might secretly resent the favoritism shown their oldest – by mere minutes – brother. As teens they shared a love for Earth’s ancient Greece and Rome, naming themselves “Alpha” “Beta” “Gamma” “Delta” and “Epsilon”. Brother number 3 – ever the comic of the bunch – changed these names to “Al” “Bob” “Geoff” “Dave” and “Ed”.
The second world war raging on Earth prevented their departure, but finally the day arrived. Pity the poor President – there was no way he could trumpet this triumph to the world. He would be impeached if the citizens learned of his distrust of their own Patriot Army. All preparations had to be done in secret . Even the ship taking them to Earth was outfitted from a salvage yard. His sons would arrive on Earth in 1947, with Number One leading the team. Numbers Two through Five would be deployed throughout North America and the UK. They could communicate telepathically but would still hold quarterly in-person meetups. They would investigate the Patriot Army members to ensure they were staying true to their mission. If any were beginning to waiver, some not so gentle persuasion was to be applied, with threats of being sent home in disgrace, their families ostracized. Hard-core cases were to be sent directly to Number One.
The landing mission could be considered a success – except for one not so minor problem. Their ship also carried a small scientific contingent planning to experiment with the effects of Earth environment on their people’s fetal stage. After dropping off the brothers at their assigned locations, the ship, along with its captain, crew and the scientists crashed landed at some dot in the American desert – a place called Roswell, New Mexico.
~ * ~ *
An Inn in Northern Quebec
November 1997
Ed is exhausted. Too exhausted to appear as other than his original self. Ever since those stupid movies, this is against standing orders.
All the old man did was complain – kvetch, kvetch, kvetch. And it was all Spender’s own idiotic fault.
Eating and drinking the night away the three brothers rehash their history.
Even here on Earth, Al had managed to grab the glory. The first big case was his – the Patriot Army member who fell in love with American baseball and played the game just a little too well. Professional scouts came looking for him. Soon he would be drafted into the majors and undergo more than cursory medical exams. Blood is a difficult thing to fake.
Geoff was next up to bat. A Patriot Army Captain succumbed to the allure of too much money and the glamor of rubbing shoulders with minor royalty. He came a procurer of many assorted vices. The situation was getting out of hand. Geoff practiced for weeks and finally got the sultry blonde act down pat. Enduring a half hour interview on what “her” expected duties would be, the blonde suddenly turned into a hulking body builder. The Captain paled at the demand to stand and accept his fate. To show his true self and take it like a man. But Geoff’s pride in his completed mission turned sour – his true self would always be that of a dreaded human being.
Bob lets out a wolf whistle, summoning the fetching young waitress back to their table.
“Julie, Julie is it? I guess we’ve eaten the last of your meatball stew. Now we want something really authentic – to celebrate our last night up here in the frozen north. And something special to drink.”
“Well Monsieur, have you tried poutine? This is a favorite dish of we Quebecois. And to drink – you need to try my grand-mere’s famous Caribou recipe. She’d tell you the story that when the First Nation peoples saw the French drinking red wine they thought it was caribou blood. So the name stuck. On such a cold night, I’ll warm it for you.”
Ed saluted Bob and Dave on their joint mission to ferret out the science fiction writer whose stories of alien invasion were getting just a little too authentic. The two returned the honor – noting Ed’s clever dispatching of the used car salesman who took great pride in his growing notoriety as a TV pitchman.
They recalled with amusement Geoff’s hobby of punking humans, taking on their form and doing outrageous things they would then be forced to deny. Favorite targets were J. Edgar Hoover and certain Congressmen. But things soon got serious. He faked a meeting between a mob accountant and the feds. The real accountant unsuccessfully denied the whole thing – his body ended up floating in the East River. Al warned him to clean up his act. Next up – the Sinatra Affair. JFK’s brother-in-law Peter Lawford was a fellow member of the Rat Pack. Sinatra worshipped the newly elected President. He and Lawford organized the pre-inaugural ball, one of the biggest parties ever held in Washington, D.C. Geoff loved fanning the flames of rumors about Sinatra’s ties with the Mafia, appearing as him in several instances where he knew the meeting would be under FBI surveillance. Bobby Kennedy, the Attorney General, was urging even more crackdowns on organized crime. His increasing distrust of Sinatra convinced the President to end their friendship.
Al had had enough. Sinatra probably would have been out anyway, but Geoff definitely hadn’t helped matters. And this constant tightrope dance with the FBI was just plain dangerous. As head of mission, he ordered his brother off planet, to take an attitude adjustment time-out -- several years on mind-numbing surveillance duty.