Swords into Plowshares

In the not-too-distant future a child teaches the meaning of peace…

Fox News broke the story first, ironically during a commentary segment about undocumented immigrants. Sean Hannity was ranting about illegal aliens. Chris Wallace appeared on screen and said,

“We interrupt our regularly-scheduled program to bring you breaking news. [Cellphone footage of New York City rolled over the speaker’s shoulder.] Unidentified aircraft have appeared over major population centers around the world. [The images took over the whole screen, with clips of giant cigar-shaped burnt-orange-colored airships floating over Washington, DC, Miami, Chicago, San Francisco, Paris, London, Sao Paulo, and Mexico City, all hastily cut together and playing in a loop.] So far, no hostile action has been taken…Wallace paused…We’ve received an anonymous report that military communications satellites have been taken out…this has not been confirmed…I repeat…this has not been confirmed…another pause…We have just received a message…on our Twitter feed…Apparently other news outlets have received the same message…with instructions to broadcast it immediately or…we have no choice…here is the message.”

“People of Earth. We are the Vanguard of Akarrema. We claim this planet in the name of the one true God, Ro, the Undefeatable. Our mission is to make this planet great, as our planet is great. We will soon begin colonization. You will learn our language and culture, adopt our religion, and conform to our rule. Those who refuse will be annihilated. Resistance is pointless. Our armada has travelled through interstellar space. Your forces are no match for our weaponry. You will submit or die.”

The voice was that of a deep-pitched male, harsh, gruff, and aggressive. Beyond the words, the tone gave the impression that the speaker would not back down, much like a terrorist who might just as well be holding seven-and-a-half billion hostages at 30,000 feet.

The journalist, normally known for his professional composure, was visibly on edge. His hands gripped the desk with white knuckles. Sweat ran down his temples. His eyes were almost as big as the saucers on the screen to his left. He couldn’t speak for over a minute – a ridiculous amount of dead air time. Yet, he forced himself to remain as calm as he could. Reports came in from around the globe. Same ships. Same message. Same uncertainty and fear.

—–

Later, after more than an hour, Hannity resumed his program. “Ladies and Gentlemen. How do we know this is not all one big hoax by the deep state? It could be one more attempt by the radical left to control us. Any twenty-something living in his parent’s basement could have cooked up flying saucer footage and an ominous message…”

Wallace walked out and cut him off. “Shut up, Sean. Look at this!”

America’s “fair and balanced” news network then broadcast footage of Tehran, shot from the vicinity of Mt. Tochal, showing a missile headed for the UFO, a nuclear explosion, and fire raining down on the center of the city. Millions were presumed dead. The UFO remained undamaged.

“My God!” Wallace exclaimed, “All those people. That doesn’t look like a hoax to me, Sean. Ladies and Gentlemen, I think Iran having nuclear weapons is the least of our worries now…”

—–

The alien message went viral on Twitter and all social media. Cellphone videos did more than any news outlet ever could have done to spread the story. All mainstream sources could do was tabulate the number of vessels positioned over the number of cities and the number of countries. The story about the nuclear strike that backfired was thoroughly discussed, not only by the talking heads, but by the Pentagon and military agencies around the world. Off the record, one general said he was glad Iran had the balls to take action, and at least had the satisfaction of fighting back.

—–

It wasn’t long until the invaders began re-education – they called it “adaptation” – as in the well-known phrase, “adapt or die.” Some chose the latter option, refusing to be “assimilated,” to use an old science fiction term. Some ran to the countryside, vowing to resist. Most did as they were told, choosing to survive, perhaps to fight another day.

Then, there was Eisley. Daughter of a lawyer, granddaughter of a bookish philosopher and daydreamer, and quite a bit of a free-thinking sort herself, Eisley was not about to just submit to “adaptation.” Her grandfather, she remembered, told her that her name, meaning “cheerful,” would one day fulfill itself, as most names do. She was, mostly, an optimistic child, and now an optimistic teenager. She believed things would “work out,” with enough time. Up until now, though, she hadn’t appreciated the effort it took to work things out. Like most people, Eisley found it hard to be optimistic, let alone cheerful, in present circumstances. Resistance seemed not only pointless, but apparently impossible. Nearly everyone on the planet had seen a nuclear explosion bounce off an invading space ship like a nerf ball off a wrecking ball. What could she do? What could anyone do? At least, it would take time for the aliens to reach her in the Midwest. Her “adaptation” would not begin immediately. There was time to think, time to talk with her Mom and Dad, and her nutty professor of a Grandpa.

The People of Akarrema established a pattern. Generally, they didn’t bother with adaptation for people in nursing homes or anyone “too old to be useful.” These were incinerated, literally, in a flash. Children were a high priority for adaptation, much like the children of native Americans and native Australians when colonists arrived to “save the lost.” Parents tended to fall in line soon after their children were taken away.

Resistance was futile. All the Second Amendment quoting, gun-owning tough guys could do was inflict a few minor casualties. And their victories were costly – generally, twenty-to-one losses. There wasn’t much an AR-15 or any other civilian weapon could do. The military tried. Tanks were evaporated. SAMs were useless. Nukes were out-of-the-question – thanks to Iran’s experiment. RPGs were moderately successful on individual troops, but the collateral damage was far too great. The invaders had body armor rivalling Iron Man, and force-fields on their ground vehicles. Warfare with them was like 18^th Century Samurai facing 21^st Century shock troops. It was as if the people of Earth were miniature game pieces in the hands of all-powerful master players.

—–

“This is what it must feel like to be a pawn on God’s chessboard,” Eisley’s Grandpa sighed.

“What can we do?” Eisley asked.

“Not much. Survive maybe? Become a part of their civilization, as the barbarians did with Rome?”

“But those barbarians eventually sacked Rome, didn’t they?”

“Well, no civilization lasts forever. All civilizations that waged wars have fallen. Egypt, Greece, Rome, Imperial China. All nations that choose to wage war do so at their own peril.”

“Like Alexander the Great and Adolph Hitler, one-by-one they’ve been beaten back.”

“Maybe the hippies were right when they said, make love not war.”

“Grandpa, do you remember the movie you made me watch, “A Bridge Too Far?”

“Yes. What about it?”

“Maybe there is such a thing as a war too far. Maybe any civilization that wages war must inevitably come to an end. I also remember another movie you asked me to watch. It made the point that the only way to win is not to play.”

“You’re right. The fact that the aliens are acting as military conquerors means it is only a matter of time until their civilization goes the way of Rome and all the others. The fact that humans have never found a way to end war means that given enough time, we too will cease to exist. Our own arrogance and lust for power will be our undoing.”

—–

The invaders were certainly efficient. Within weeks much of coastal America was undergoing “adaptation.” The tentacles of physical and cultural war reached the Midwest. On the day Eisley was taken, all her family could do was watch helplessly as she was sent off to an unknown location. They would be next. Adapt or die.

—–

Eisley found herself strapped to a chair in a dark space, with a band of electrodes around her head and a holographic figure in front of her.

“Shall we begin?” the figure asked. The hologram was basically humanoid, except smaller in height, and much more muscular. One would have been tempted to call him a troll or dwarf, but he was neither of those mythical creatures. He looked slightly reptilian, which would freak out almost anyone, however on closer inspection, the lighting effects from the orange-tinted hologram contributed some degree of menace to his appearance. Suffice it to say, he looked more like Durin in Lord of the Rings than The Creature from the Black Lagoon – intensely scary, but not totally out-of-your-mind scary.

“No, thanks. I’d rather not. You can begin without me,” Eisley replied.

“You have no choice, you know,” the hologram said.

“Then, that means you have a choice,” Eisley shot back.

“Indeed. It is my choice to begin the mind probe and with it your training.”

“What exactly will I be training for?”

“Culture. Language. Religion. You will be instructed in the ways of our world.”

“I thought this was our world.”

“It was. Now it is ours. Earth will reflect the greatness of Akarrema. You will be adapted to our ways.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

“You have no choice, other than death.”

“What if your ways ultimately lead to death?”

“What do you mean? Of course, our ways lead to death…of our enemies. Either you choose to be with us or become one of our enemies,” the figure answered dryly.

“What if you are ultimately your own worst enemies? What if eventually every colony, every conquest, every adaptation is just a step towards your own oblivion?”

“How can that be? We have superiority – no, supremacy – we are hundreds of years ahead of Earth in terms of technology. We have conquered other worlds. There are now over thirty billion of us. Our civilization has lasted nearly 1000 Earth years. Ro, the Undefeatable, is on our side! Oblivion? Not possible.”

“Nothing lasts forever. Isn’t that what you have told those you conquered?”

“Indeed. Any civilization can fall to a more powerful force.”

“Any civilization?”

“Yes.”

“Including yours?”

“There have not been any significant challenges to our armadas.”

“That doesn’t mean there won’t be a challenge in the future.”

“We will be ready. We constantly upgrade our military potential. We will be ready to dominate any such force when the time comes. Our God has promised we will prevail. His supremacy is our supremacy. All other races must yield or be condemned to death.”

“Sounds like you have things all worked out. What about conflicts from within? What if your military potential is used internally?”

“Our leaders, annointed by Ro, the Undefeatable, will not let that happen.”

“Many Earth civilizations have come and gone, and all of them thought the gods were on their side. My Grandpa taught me that they wasted their resources, wealth, and human capital in wars, so much so that eventually disease, famine, natural disasters, or some combination of these, put an end to them, that is if an invading army didn’t do it first. Many, like Ancient Rome, weakened themselves over time. They overspent, overcommitted, failed to address the needs of many in their society, became involved in civil wars and internal strife, antagonized their neighbors, and exploited their colonies. Wars and preparations for wars inevitably catch up to any civilization. Ro or no Ro, warfare cannot be the basis of a society forever.”

“We will see. So far, we have been blessed by Ro, the Undefeatable. It is not likely that our supreme race will meet the fate of your Ancient Rome.”

“After 1000 years, Rome had to adapt to a changing world. Rome fell in a series of blows, most of them self-inflicted. And keep this in mind: Rome did not have access to the killing machines your people can wield. The Ancient Romans had spears and swords, not whatever ray guns and force fields you have. The potential for self-inflicted death – the suicide of civilization – is far greater for your people. I’d say much greater than for my people. If your ships hadn’t arrived, I’d be making the same argument to whoever would listen. Rome didn’t have modern guns and bombs, let alone nuclear, chemical, and biological weapons. The greater the technology, the greater the potential for self-destruction.”

“Our God will not allow it,” the hologram declared.

“That’s what every Earth civilization thought. But, mostly, God lets us make our own mistakes. All of life is a test – to see if we can figure out how to live together without forcing others to be like us, and when they don’t, can’t, or won’t, without resorting to killing them. If you believe in a God, don’t you think your God can test you, to see if you choose to do the right thing? One of our prophets wrote, “He shall judge between the nations, and shall decide disputes for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” Maybe conquest is not what your undefeatable God is all about. What if what He or She wants is for you to stop learning war? What if your God wants you to have an undefeatable spirit? What if supremacy ultimately crushes all those who claim it? What if the challenge is to live, not play a civilization-wide game of chicken with life and death?”

“What is this game of chicken?”

On Earth, we have a children’s game, in which the first person to back out of a dare is called a “chicken.” It’s called, “chicken,” because of an old expression, “don’t chicken out.” Chickens are flightless birds that can easily be frightened. That’s where we got the name. It’s sometimes played by adults, or people who think they’re adults. In the “adult” version of the game, two people drive cars towards each other at high speed, practically assuring injury or death to one or both players. Even so, the person who decides to change course becomes the “chicken,” because he or she didn’t want to get hurt or die. Yet, that person made a last-minute decision that possibly saved two lives. It’s a stupid game.”

“So, are you saying entire civilizations have played this stupid game and have ended up killing themselves rather than changing course?”

“You are an intelligent being. You tell me.”

“Are you also saying that it is childish to make war into a game?”

“I think any civilization that plays with war will end. The only way for a civilization to live in the long run is to find a way to end war.”

“You are intelligent for a young human. None of your elders have made this argument.”

“You obviously haven’t met my Grandpa yet.”

A door opened, and a slender, gangling wisp of a being walked in. He or she had pale-white skin with tiny freckles in all the visible areas. Its short-cropped hair was “sort of a strawberry blonde,” Eisley said later. It was no larger than Eisley, dressed in a form-fitting white smock, and orange sandals resembling Crocs. The menacing hologram faded. The alien pushed a button that released Eisley from her bonds and then motioned for her to follow. The lights came up to reveal several similar people sitting in a circle around the perimeter of the room. Eisley couldn’t tell if they were holographic or real. They were not at all intimidating without their armor.

“We were mistaken,” her captor began, in a voice that sounded neither male nor female. “We have sought supremacy because we are physically…limited compared to others. As you can see, without our technology, even one of your young children might defeat one or two of us. We feared others so much that we wanted to be able to preempt any challenge, even if one did not exist. We developed our technology, but clearly not our morality. You, and many others of approximately your age, have made similar arguments. You have helped us see that if we keep using swords, sooner or later those swords will be used against us in some way. Perhaps we should fear ourselves more and others less. Our sense of self-importance blinded us to other possibilities than the one we chose. Perhaps it is we who should adapt. Please understand, we now seek to be your friends, not your enemies. Forgive us.”

Eisley approached the alien cautiously. “Now. I am ready to begin,” Eisley said quietly. She held out her arms and gently embraced the little being from another world. It returned the gesture. Peace must always begin somewhere.

The invasion was called off. The aliens returned everyone to their homes, except for a few million who were sacrificed to the god of war. Some pundits later took solace that the number was no greater than the death toll of the 2020 Pandemic. The ships left, with a promise to return when the people of Earth had had time to heal, and to prepare themselves to someday meet the people of Akarrema on better terms.