Chapter 27: Every ten-year-old enemy soldier thinks falling bombs are shooting stars sometimes.

May 12th, 2023, Templeton, California - Earth

“You have to help me Naomi,” Oliver's begging was nearly a whine. She had started the process of moving into Oliver's old office and was seated in his chair with Oliver bent over across from her, his posture aimed towards the wooden desk and at his partner.

“We can always put him back in the chair, reset things back to zero.” Naomi spoke, she was calm and supportive in tone.

That caused Oliver to panic, “What! No, he's starting to come out. Besides, I only had the one scan. Can't we just hypnotize him?”

“His mind is completely pickled because you replayed the day one tape. You try to push it right now, it will smush like corn. The blocks in his head will just topple over. He might never recover,” Naomi was speaking from expertise. I.E.D.R had accidentally fried a few minds over the years.

“Anything? How do I make him see me as an adult?” Oliver tried again.

“He sees you as six, right?” Naomi knew the answer.

“Yes?” Oliver could see a glimmer of hope.

“If we wait a year, he should see you as seven...” Naomi's voice took a higher pitch like she was explaining to a child how clocks worked, and when to expect dinner.

Oliver's frown darkened the room, but Naomi continued, “And twelve years from now you'll be good.” Naomi waited for Oliver to respond but then continued, “Look, just wait a bit, let his mind settle down and work itself out, keep doing grown up things, and when he's ready you can ask him if he wants to try the second tape. I don't think it's something we can force on him anymore, but when he's ready you can ask, and if he volunteers for it, you can try it.”

Oliver closed his eyes and then beat his forehead a couple times with the palm of his hand. It was almost not a solution.

“What about me? I got hit with a few hours of the tape.” Oliver tried another route.

“You could go into the chair,” Naomi offered. It was not a serious suggestion. Oliver's cold stare could burrow through her skull and drill through the wall behind her.

“Bonk on the head maybe? That works in the cartoons,” Naomi was not taking her friend's plight seriously.

Oliver replied, “Do I look like a cartoon character?”

“Just keep doing grown up things, the contradiction will not be able to hold, and the hypnosis should break on its own without reinforcement,” Naomi spoke the answer as if it was obvious. She was almost certainly a leading expert on Earth when it came to mind control and hypnosis. Oliver would have to take that answer for what it was.

“Like wearing adult clothing,” Oliver tried. He shifted a bit in his seat, reminding himself of the garment he had agreed to put on this morning. The packaging said it was for an adult, that should count, right?

Their conversation was interrupted by two adult men in their late teens to early twenties. Both were slowly moving a large wooden filing cabinet into the office, straining at the weight of carrying it. Oliver hadn't bothered to learn their names yet, and the two placed the cabinet next to a short table in the corner. Out of indifference to their opinions, and his attitude fried from finding no help from Naomi, he insulted the two interns. “Yo... Bebop and Rocksteady, take the old furniture out of the office before you put the new furniture in.”

“Right, right, sorry Mr. Swift,” The taller one said, starting to grab the table. The other intern came around the filing cabinet to grab it as well. They struggled to pick it up a few inches, before realizing the large wooden filing cabinet they brought in was blocking them. They put the table down and the shorter one started scratching his red brown hair in confusion.

Naomi looked at Oliver and then at her moving crew, and had a moment of realization, “Actually, this is perfect for reinforcement. Axel, right?”

The shorter one nodded, and Naomi addressed the two interns, “How old is Mr. Swift? Just a guess.”

Axel tried first, “Thirty-five.”

Cannon tried next, “Forty.”

Naomi lifted a hand upside down to her former boss, “Oliver?”

Oliver was not in a mood for this game, “Six. I'm Oliver and I'm six years old,” the sarcasm dripped like the moisture on the air conditioning vents.

Axel shook his head, and his eyes dilated. His whole face scrunched for a bit, and he lost his breath. He brought up his hand like he was trying to tear out of a headache, scrunched in pain. He flipped up his head towards the ceiling lights and then came back down.

Cannon was no better; he staggered back a bit and brought his fingers to his nose and cupped his mouth and nostrils. He stood there breathing into his hands for ten seconds, before returning to his previous posture.

Naomi and Oliver stared at the two men, their smiles returned, and Axel spoke first. “Oh, hey, that was weird. Mrs. Naomi, sorry. I'm uh. What's with the kid? Bring your child to work day?”

Cannon tried to add to the question, “We setting up a daycare now? I think I saw Mrs. Finnigan walking around with her daughter the other day. I thought this place was too dangerous and top secret to bring one's family.”

Oliver rolled his eyes, shook his head, and then brought down his foot, “I was born in eighty-seven. Thirty-six years ago.”

The taller intern chuckled, “Nice try kid. More like twenty,” he paused to do some math in his head, “seventeen.”

Oliver serious retort could chew their head off, “I know I'm not going to be around here much longer, but for now I'm still your boss, I am not in the mood for dumb games, and there's a dozen other people that want your positions.”

Axel came forward and whispered to Naomi, “Your son has some bite, I see he likes playing pretend.” He started pushing the new cabinet out and with Cannon's help got the furniture properly arranged. Oliver spent the whole time just looking at Naomi, unsure what was going on. When the two interns left, he shrugged his shoulders and looked incredulous, unclear on how to address what just happened.

“Oliver, did you use the voice there?” Naomi spoke concerned; it did not look like he had done anything.

“No, I just...” Oliver blinked, trying to remember what he had done. It was more like when he had seen Thomas. It was like when he was in the prison hospital. In his mind he had seen the boy in the photo, the same one in the mirror. It felt like he was pushing it, or maybe just letting the thought out of a fence.

Naomi was excited, “You have a superpower! Quickly, let’s try to figure out what triggered it, maybe we can recreate it...” she reached over and grabbed a pen and a legal pad.

“No. This is the worst superpower. Like the blinking Tee Vee changing mutant from eX-Men. I need people to see me as thirty-six, not six.”

“Let's get some more interns in here, see what the limits of this is,” Naomi went to the group chat on the computer and sent out a message.

Oliver repeatedly hit his head softly with his palm. Once his partner set her mind on a task, there was no getting her out of it. Real work was not going to get done this morning.

* * *

“I like this one,” Grace said, pulling out a blue dotted white shirt, and dark blue pants. The shirt also had a darker blue polyester vest with four black buttons. “Am I correct that elastic style.... uh, pull on pants are in fashion these days?” She held up a matching set of polyester blue pants. The top was stretchy, to let it grow to a variety of body shapes, and to make it easier for children to remove to get to the potty.

Benjamin considered the shirt and pants, “I don't know, it doesn't scream Oliver to me.” He had taken a sitting posture in the aisle between the racks of clothing, leaving him roughly at the same height as Grace.

“Maybe we should add a bow tie,” Grace replied. She reached into a box next to the rack of clothes, taking out a blue, white, and gray plaid tie. She carefully held the clip-on bowtie near the collar of the shirt up with one hand, and the long blue pants with the other at roughly Oliver's height. She had picked up a similar suit for her dad and her son and thought the two looked adorable.

Benjamin was shocked how much the simple accessory added, “That's perfect.” Grace moved the shirt into the cart. I.E.D.R had an entire section for costumes and disguises, laid out like a JC Penny. The clothing here was intended for example and would be returned once they finished. Instead, once they had a selection of clothes, a gofer would be tasked with pulling the clothing from a nearby warehouse in Oliver's size.

“While we're here, I think we should have Oliver try on the brown ones as well.” She pulled out a similar four-piece suit, but this one had front pockets and a material was made with some cotton. The shirt was plain white, and the matching tie was a dizzying floral pattern of blue, brown, and white. Despite the clothes formal purpose, between the elastic pants, the clip-on tie, and the vest, it did not look like anything an adult male would wear. The colors were particularly anachronistic, as if it was something Jimmy Olsen would volunteer to be seen in. “It is cotton, so it might shrink, just be aware of that.”

Benjamin nodded and then began looking through a rack of shirts on the other side of the aisle. These designs had colorful bright characters, representatives from various Earthling media and games, none of which he recognized as found on Amazonia. Near the back of the rack, he saw a brown shirt with dinosaurs on it. He held the t-shirt up to Grace for her opinion.

“Oliver is going to hate it. The dinosaurs don't have feathers,” Ben started to put the shirt back when Grace stopped him. “No, it goes in the cart.” She touched the cotton polyester shirt, enjoying the feel, “Get a few of these, I think I saw an olive green one, Oliver especially dislikes that color. Everyone assumes he likes it because of his name.”

Benjamin was confused, he thought the point of their adventure here was to find things that Oliver would enjoy wearing.

Grace finished a group of pull-on shorts, similar to cargo pants, but these lacked a zipper. Instead, they had a long draw string like a shoelace or for pajamas, extra wide for hands with low dexterity. Unlike adult pants, they were without a y-front for convenient bathroom access. Oliver never took advantage of that feature, but its absence would mark the clothing as appropriate for those who could not use it, rather than for those that did not want to. Ben added a button-down denim short sleeve shirt onto the pile along with a similar set of denim pull on shorts. Unlike cargo shorts, the jean pants left a simulacrum of the y-front opening, but the feature was merely aesthetic instead of functional. Zippers were not appropriate for young boys.

She went through her reasoning, “We want Oliver to look cool, fashionable, smooth, and be comfortable. Importantly we need to have society see that he did not choose to dress himself. By buying stuff that looks good, but he doesn't like, we reinforce the conceptual symbology that he is still a child. He might, for example, be bolder in these clothes because they aren't really his – and they will get messy. He may subconsciously develop certain ticks that will help him blend in, such as playing with the short knots or picking at the elastic band.”

“Is that Fogel? Child Development?” Ben was curious, he was familiar with the theory. “Society, Adults, and Children,” was still considered an important foundational text and taught to undergrads.

“I'm a big fan, she's helped me a lot with some issues in raising my own family,” Grace smiled, finally she would have an opportunity to talk with an expert, and to geek out.

“I always thought she was an idiot. I'm not sure why her book is still taught,” Ben's casually dismissed Grace's gushing review, as though it this were a conversation with a work colleague. He had not intended to be rude.

Grace muttered to herself, “Well, that's just cause you're not a mommy.”

“I get we're shopping for Oliver so he can blend in, but can't I buy clothes back home? Shouldn't we be using this time to gear him out with like, radios, or spy things? Exploding pens? Guns?” Benjamin did not really understand how the spy thing worked.

“We already launched a communication and reconnaissance platform for Oliver. I have a team working on a special Dee Vee Dee to help if he gets zapped by something weird, make sure he watches it if his behavior changes, and if things get bad check the bonus content, it'll explain what to do.” She stopped sorting the clothes and turned to the giant, “Look, I'm going to be honest, this isn't about Oliver. This is about you.”

“Me?” Benjamin offered, uncertain where the small woman was going.

“You're a brand-new dad and you don't know what you're doing. Do you want your son to have a firearm?” Grace explained her concern to him, her tone transitioned to a harsh bite at the end.

Benjamin's answer was quick, “Of course not.”

“Oliver will be an ambassador to your world, what he needs is space to explore it and talk to people and learn. He doesn't need to sneak into facilities or blow-up factories. Now if you want to go hunting with him, we're happy to help suggest some appropriate tools.”

Benjamin had not considered that. His own dad had never taken him hunting, and he did not really have an interest in it. The thought instead brought him and Oliver out in the wilderness, a bonfire, with Oliver preparing chocolate and marshmallows for roasting burned in his head, “No, I think, I'll need to talk to him some time about...”

“Benjamin, Oliver has sold this lie that he is going to save your planet, but I've seen Necessary Evil, the man lies because he thinks he needs to be in control, and he thinks lying is a way of not hurting anyone. The stated reason is never the real reason. You're just going to have to force some things, he needs someone in command over him he can trust.”

Benjamin shuffled up a bit from his crouch, bumping the ceiling, “I, can we look at some more outdoor stuff... do you think Oliver wants to go fishing?”

“Try again,” Grace was stern.

“I'm taking my son fishing, I think he'll need a pole, and a good hat, and some clothing that can keep him warm and dry.” It was not something Ben was certain he wanted to do, but he liked the idea of doing something with Oliver and maybe doing it together would make it more fun for both of them.

“Now you're getting it. Oliver has a hole in his heart, and it's up to you to fill it. In his head he picked you because he thought you'd be a pushover. Don't get me wrong, I love having free range, independent kids, but they also come with their own challenges. You leave Oliver alone for a few hours, he'll be racking up your phone bill making calls to foreign prime ministers. You're going to need to find out what limits you're comfortable setting and strategies for dealing with him. He has his own plans for your world, and not all of it will be compatible with what you want. Oliver might think he doesn't need you, and he'll put up resistance, but he needs you in ways he doesn't understand. You're going to need to learn what are the important battles to win.”

“Grace, how do you manage it? How do you do this job and be a parent?” Benjamin was curious. His own job was often too much for him to handle, and now he had thrown children into the equation.

“I have a great husband who is an even better dad. Is there a Mrs. Young? Someone who can share the load?”

Benjamin's face contorted and stretched. With five words Grace had set something off, an idea the giant had not considered, a fuse slowly lighting in Benjamin's brain, and soon it would explode.

* * *

December 7^th 2116, Alpine, California- Terra

The one thing the training runs had not prepared the crew for was how dark the urban landscape beneath them would be. The short reprieve from the Saltine Sea ambush that came to the bombers as they made their way through the Laguna Mountains lasted only a few minutes. With the rising sun at their backs, the suburban outskirts of the city were visible, sunlight reflecting off of rooftop solar panels and glistening windows of single-family houses. Even at this height and speed the emptiness of the city was visible, as the abandoned vehicles lined miles on the roads, like a trail of dead ants. The ghostly stillness would not last for more than a couple minutes.

First came the radar warnings, long tones indicating ground to air tracking of the bombers and were soon followed with an explosion of smoke and metal. Shells hit with near precision within feet of Necessary Evil, each one rocking the large plane as it blasted over the cityscape at over four hundred miles an hour.

The flight of bombers jigged and jagged as much as their one hundred fifty-ton frames could bare, each one spilling out streams of metal chaff and flares to feed the hungry SAMS and Anti-Air Artillery guns below. Small handheld rockets and missiles launched up towards the fast-flying jets. Most took off towards the flares, but one lucky Nitz soldier snuck a missile right up the Laggin' Dragon's left most engine. The plane wobbled, like a bird in pain, smoke and fire exploding out of the wound. The captain banked the plane hard to the north before its crew ejected out of rocket powered seats from the top and bottom of the plane. The craft spun casually and landed on its belly on the edge of La Mesa's outskirt's.

Captain Swift did not have a view outside the plane, nor did he have the attention for it, he was working with paper, pen, and charts, updating for changes in their wind speed and plane speed and altitude. They were close.

“Weapon hot,” he said over the radio, pressing a button with his right hand to ready the bomb.

The plane shook again as another shell exploded over the cockpit, hot metal fragments raining down on the bomber. The intensity of ground-based fire grew as the dwindling numbers of B-52 approached their target. The Nitz's disruptive field was generated by a massive tower structure, shaped, and sized like the Washington Monument, which stood with a black shine like it was made of onyx. Each one of those monstrous devices created a field that disrupted the operation of computer circuits for hundreds of miles. One day they had appeared, and on that day the engine of the world had stopped.

The B-52 began a climb, the pilot keeping a sharp eye on the accelerometer to limit stresses to the plane as it rose at an oblong thirty-degree angle. Metal in the aging frame creaked, and below them cannons continued to the track the Necessary Evil was it rocked upwards. Bright yellow tracers floated along its path like streams of rice and ribbons at a wedding. Once he was satisfied, they were on the right path, the Captain transferred controls to the offensive compartment.

The weapon officer was now responsible for flying the plane. He kept the sharp climb, all while monitoring the altimeter and speed until the numbers lined up with the desired ones on his chart. “Bomb bay open,” he yelled, flipping a thick button to his left without looking at it. Even through the intensity of flight, the whir of the massive doors shook the plane in a thump when they locked open.

Captain Swift finger, his fingers came up towards the weapons release on his right, two fingers barely needing to stretch towards it. There was no hesitation as the two fingers centered onto this large black box. Oliver pushed the button.

* * *

All eight engines screamed as Necessary Evil started a hard turn away from the direction of the package it had released. The five-ton bomb continued onward along in a parabolic arc on the plane's original trajectory, while the B-52 turned and flipped its body in a desperate attempt to escape the coming destruction.

The release of ordinance did not stop the Nitz attempt to knock out the bomber. The plane shook violently from a near explosion of another shell. Their efforts no longer mattered, the bomber had gotten through, and ninety seconds after release the power of the sun came to Mission Bay. First in a blinding flash, and then next a black, red fireball of rising convection, pulling up buildings, rock, and soil miles into the atmosphere. Despite escaping at a speed just under the sound barrier, Necessary Evil was rocked by the pressure blast. It began to spin, left, then right, as Captain Alder fought to keep it centered on course.

Captain Swift hugged the bottom of seat with his hands, and stared at the static filled radar screens, his body was barely able to be contained in the chair. He had done it. They had done it. He brought his hand up to his breast pocket and pulled out the iPhone. With a push he watched as the white apple logo appeared on screen. He showed the phone to Nick and smacked him hard in the shoulder.

“Something's wrong, I can't seal the real time envelope,” a rare statement from Eskender squawked over the intercom. It was barely a hiss.

“Swift. We think it's the bomb bay doors, can you do an inspection?” Captain Alder directed.

“On it,” Oliver unstrapped, and then immediately fell out of his seat. The plane rocked hard. He crawled up with Nick's help and slid towards the ladder, using it to steady himself up. Above him was Ai, reaching down to hand him a small green backpack, waving it for him to take. Once the first shots had come in, she took to hugging one of the backpacks found in the bunk beside her. She was treating it like a stuffed animal, and she had brought it over when she had gone to the ladder to see Oliver.

“Get back …” Oliver tried; his voice weak. She smiled and her hand slipped as the plane rocked again, the backpack she had been holding fell onto Oliver's shoulders. The Nitz's desperate defense had now turned towards one of revenge. Ai nodded as she scrambled back to her chair. Oliver took an unsteady step towards the two-foot by two-foot door that led to the bomb bay. Each of the two shaky steps from the ladder was as precarious as a tightrope walker. His hand found its way to bulkhead door, the other still holding onto the package Ai gave him, unsure of its purpose.

Opening the compartment, he saw the brightness of daylight, and heard the rushing open sky coming from below. Unsure of what to do, Oliver crawled onto the walkway. Maybe something was jammed? Maybe someone else had launched the bomb? He wanted to see the nuke laying there, still armed, still ready to be released. He yelled back, “Bomb bay door is stuck,” but the roar of the wind traveling a mile every six seconds below him drowned out his yell.

He remembered seeing it. The dark black, gray streak coming upwards, like smoke out of a chimney from the houses below, eager to punish the naughty plane and its crew. He remembered the pain of hitting something in the compartment. He remembered falling.

Oliver came to his senses two minutes later. A massive white, green, and red blanket was covering him, soft grass, and mud beneath him. He could not move his left leg. He hobbled up and glanced around.

To the west was a rising pile of white smoke, climbing high for miles. It was thick, and hellish warm winds from the west mixed with cold fresh air blasting from the east. Oliver head jerked around, attempting to get a bearing on his immediate surroundings. The hilly grass area was lined with mixes of junipers and conifers, limbs and branches had blown off them like the aftermath of a heavy thunderstorm. To the distant north, past the grass field was a large metal fence stooped over like an old man. Its metal twisted and collapsed into the mud of a dugout. To his south there was a sidewalk path that led outward into the city, and adjacent was a wooden sign, its back turned to Oliver, guarding over a parking lot.

Staring at the destruction, or perhaps angry at his own situation, Oliver muttered his favorite swear, “Sometimes you're the Earth, sometimes you're the Terra.” That phrase was going to take on a whole meaning after today.

Oliver looked down at his phone and muttered “No signal.” The date was still listed as July twentieth two thousand and eight. He began hobbling towards the sign, dragging the heavy chute behind him. He read the words aloud, “Elihu Root Park,” he paused, “I have no idea who that is.” His angry conversation with himself was paused as he noticed the first flakes of snow coming down.

“Oh... oh shit.” He picked up the parachute and quickly threw it over his head, covering his skin as best he could, and began to huddle near the sign. He looked above, letting the strange clouds take his mind off the pain in his leg. Another dreaded rhombus-winged plane screamed through the skies. Water vapor pooled on its wings and body as it made a dive, desperately launching its own flares and chaff. The Nitz pilot's efforts came to naught, as a sidewinder collided into its rear engines, the craft began crumbling into fireball into the town below. Oliver turned to the west, against the white poisonous cloud two F-18 Super Hornets commanded the skies.

The USS George Washington had arrived. Soon Oliver would be rescued.

He did not need to wait long. A gray metal jeep with a loose green canopy pulled up the park after a few minutes of sitting. Oliver could see the painted American flag on the outside of the door as it opened, and two tall men raced out. They were soldiers, with straight backs, crisp black hair, and shaded aviators, and sharp black uniforms that topped off with a simple black box hat. Each was armed with just a sidearm, but neither had their weapon out.

“Over here! I'm American,” he shouted, the two men turning to the wounded man huddled near the sign. These must be Terrans! Oliver figured he would get some sympathy if he said he was from the same country, even if the planet was wrong. “American,” he shouted again, hopeful.

They walked over to him and helped him up, their uniforms offering limited protection against the falling radiation, instead speed would be their best defense against poisoning. They ripped Oliver out of the parachute and carried him to the back of the jeep. Neither man spoke as they let the wounded man hobble with an arm across their shoulders.

It was when Oliver saw the flag on the Jeep, he knew something was wrong. Thirteen stripes of red and white, and blue square. But it was not fifty-five stars like Terra. It also did not have the alternating rows of six and five stars like back home. Oliver knew it was his fault to have placed his faith in these stars.

Six by eight they stood. The stars were wrong.