"The fools!" Pater Tomm suddenly bellowed angrily. "What the hell planet are you from?"
The man just shook his head slowly.
"Planet France," he replied.
18
The noise made by the Event Detection Rlarm was so loud, it woke Zenx Xirstix out of a deep sleep.
Xirstix was the supreme commander of the Bad Moon Knights' detachment on Moon 39. His luxurious billet was located more than a half mile from the intelligence center near the hub of the huge military base. Yet lying mere in bed, eyes closed, still half asleep, Xirstix could hear the alarm screaming full throat. It was an unexpected way to begin the day. It was a sound he'd been waiting to hear for a long time, yet for some reason, now that it was actually happening, he didn't want to believe it was true.
Xirstix was the highest-ranking officer at the BMK outpost. He was a Star Marshal with seven galactic clusters, a brilliant military officer just 188 years old at last count. He was proud to be serving on the top-secret if very isolated post. It was great for his career advancement. Being in the BMK was all about guts and glory. As commander of more than one million men, Xirstix was in his element. He would be well paid for his services, and at any minute he and his men could be called on to start a blood frenzy on one of the Home Planets. What more could he ask for?
Again by his count, he'd been on Moon 39 for ninety-one years. His successor had been there three times as long and had stomped two of the Home Planets. (He'd died on Moon 39 of old age.) Under Xirstix's command, he'd incessantly schooled his troops on the three necessities of being a BMK space mere: smarts, efficiency, and total ruthlessness. True, they were way out there, beyond the outer limits of the Galaxy, in a place so isolated, he hadn't heard from any of his superiors since the last time the garrison was paid, nearly thirty years ago. But isolation was no reason for soldiers to go slack. To the contrary, he worked them so hard, they were among the finest units in the entire Black Moon Knights organization, a force of mercenaries that numbered some one hundred thirty million strong. Or at least that's what his superiors had told him three decades ago.
At first, Xirstix thought that he was still asleep and dreaming that he heard the Event Detection Alarm go off. He frequently dreamed such things, along with visions of the carnage his corps could cause on the unsuspecting planet below. Or maybe it was another false alarm. There had been a glitch in the system earlier that week; the warning device had gone off unexpectedly, shortly after the satellite experienced a series of minor quakes, not an unusual event for the ancient artificial moon. His technicians never did find the cause of the glitch. But then again, the Event Detection Alarm was the oldest piece of equipment on Moon 39. There was a chance the damn thing was just broken.
So, just go back to sleep… It's not a real alarm. That would be too good to be true.
But then two of his aides burst into his bedroom and informed him that an event had been detected on the Home Planets. This was not a false alarm or an unscheduled simulation. One of the worlds below was attempting a space launch. The still-pealing Klaxon in the distance seemed to confirm this.
Xirstix didn't give it another thought. He jumped from his hovering bed, ordered the aides to lay out his best uniform and make ready his sky car.
"But first of all," he told them excitedly, "alert the garrison that this is not a drill."
There was already a dozen officers gathered around the Event Detection Alarm when Xirstix arrived at the intelligence center. He was an imposing figure, six-two, with a cleanly shaved head and matching cheek scars, evidence of a wild and checkered youth. He was dressed in a shimmering combat uniform, shoulder fins and wing projections in place. He always carried not one but two ray guns in a holster tied around his waist. The ray guns were made of reatomized silver. They had cost him a year's salary.
The warning Klaxon was still blaring when Xirstix walked into the central control room. One wave of his hand, and the device fell silent. Those assembled snapped to attention; his officers even added a bow. But he glided past them to speak with the custodian of the usually somnolent event scanner, a lowly tech.
"Is this a true reading?" Xirstix asked the soldier.
The man was nervous but confident. "Aye, sir," he told Xirstix. "We have confirmation of a launch, both on instruments and visual, from Planet Thirty-six Minus Eleven."
"That would be Planet France, sir," one of Xirstix's officers whispered in his ear.
Xirstix pushed the toady away from him. He knew each of the Home Planets by name and number, as well as their position around the sun.
"Show me the visual replay of the event," he told the tech.
The man pushed few buttons. The monitor in front of them came alive with a fuzzy aerial shot of the launch site on Planet France. It was located in a thick woods just outside Paris. There were a few dozen people gathered around the heavily camouflaged launch pad. A rocket slowly was rising off the pad.
"Where is this rocket now?" Xirstix asked.
"It's in orbit, sir," the tech replied. "And it appears they may attempt a landing on the system's moon. All they will need is another burn, and they could intercept the moon as it is waxing toward them."
Xirstix could barely contain his excitement. He took a moment to check the scanner numbers himself. Everything was in working order, including the sensor confirming the spacecraft was in orbit. This meant his huge army was about to get a taste of blood.
He turned to his officers and said, "Implement Invasion Plan Alpha-One. I want our lead elements on France in less than two hours."
19
More than a half million men would eventually take part in the invasion of Planet France.
They met little opposition. The BMK had appeared so suddenly and had attacked so quickly, it took just a matter of hours to overwhelm the handful of national police strong points on the near-defenseless planet.
Psychological warfare played an important part in the early going. The BMK's troop shuttles made a horrible noise once they entered the atmosphere; they also appeared as bright, fiery lights during their last stages of entry. On the first night of the attack, the skies above Planet France's largest cities looked like they were raining fireballs. Huge upper atmospheric blasts rocked the planet pole to pole. The population was absolutely terrified. Gigantic, heavily armed aliens were suddenly falling on top of their homes, their schools, their churches. They were carrying very exotic weapons and mowing down anything that moved in the streets. It didn't take long for the planet to go into a collective state of shock.
Of course, this was exactly the reaction the BMK counted on to make the planet's subjugation go that much quicker.
In all, it took just four days, not quite a hundred hours for the invaders to spread out over the countryside and solidify their prize. The planet's tiny national police force had been eliminated; its political leaders tortured, killed, or thrown in prison. Many of the planet's intellectuals were rounded up and shot; its religious leaders were executed as well. The BMK troops in the cities were encouraged to loot. For any citizen who choose to defy them, ten were executed. Men, women, children, the elderly — no one was immune.