Invasion

  “It’s a disaster! They can totally manipulate us!”

  “Exactly. But what if this imitation Rabb is a one-off. What if it is very difficult for the Proteans to convincingly become human beings. This fake Rabb spent only half an hour at the NSA meeting, then pleaded illness and fled. He spent less than half an hour this morning in our offices faking Rabb, then made an excuse to leave. For some reason he apparently can’t maintain a role for more than a short time.”

  “But they can do it! The terrorists can do it!”

  “Also, why did the Protean Rabb bring the real Rabb to the office this morning? He thus let us realize that he had imitated the real Rabb. He wants us to sound a warning. He wants to create a panic.”

  Carlo was silent.

  “If most Proteans can easily pretend to be an actual human being then there’s little we can do about it. That way lies madness. We’ve got to bury this. Tell people that CI Rabb had a breakdown—is having a breakdown. He’s insane. Of course there’s no second CI Rabb. Of course he wasn’t kidnapped.”

  Carlo remained silent.

  Abruptly, Chief Investigator Rabb appeared and took Johnson by the collar of his suit jacket.

  “I’m me, right?” he said pleadingly.

  FIFTY-ONE

  (From Billy Morton’s MY FRIEND LOUIE, pp. 357–364)

  Louie’s trial began with great visuals. The courtroom was packed. Six burly security men wheeled in a five-foot-square glass box with a tiny hatch on top. The glass was three inches thick. The hatch had a padlock on it so big it could have been used as an anchor for the Queen Elizabeth. The box was placed next to where Lita was sitting with her team of two defense attorneys. Inside the box was Louie.

  A few people in the audience began to applaud, but whether they were applauding the security guys’ great work on the cage or the appearance of Louie wasn’t clear. The judge gaveled the people back to silence.

  Lita rose and objected to this primitive and humiliating enclosure the prosecution was forcing her innocent client to endure. The judge ruled that the enclosure was necessary. Lita objected. The judge noted the objection.

  After a few more legal technicalities were dealt with, the judge asked the prosecutor to make his opening statement. The prosecutor was a tall, emaciated guy with a huge mop of dark hair and dark, piercing eyes. He rose and ambled over to the jury.

  The jury, which had taken two weeks to empanel, consisted of twelve typical American citizens—meaning a quarter of them thought Jesus would be coming soon, that Iraq had taken out the Twin Towers, that Donald Trump was an intellectual giant, and that the Protean invaders were the Antichrists. Another third believed that there was nothing wrong with America that sealing off all our borders and getting rid of all liberals and black people wouldn’t cure. The rest were too miscellaneous to describe.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,” says the prosecutor in a deep booming voice that would have made any prophet proud, “the prosecution’s case is simple—”

  “Point of order, Your Honor.”

  Lita stands and faces the judge.

  “Mrs. Morton, the prosecutor has just begun his opening statement. What possible point of order can you have at this stage?”

  “I’m sorry, Your Honor,” Lita begins with that wonderful soft steely voice that turns me on even when she’s discussing baked beans and sauerkraut. “I probably should have made my point of order before Mr. Davis began, but listening to his opening words made me realize that we are wasting our time unless and until we settle a very basic point. May I approach the bench?”

  The judge scowls.

  “All right,” he says finally.

  Lita and the chief prosecutor come up close to the judge.

  “So what is this important point?” asks the judge.

  “Is the person locked up in the glass cube here the same man that Agent Johnson heard confess when he first accosted the defendant on Mr. Morton’s boat on the Long Island Sound? Is the wrong alien being tried here?”

  “This is ridiculous,” whispers the prosecutor.

  “This trial cannot proceed further,” Lita continues serenely, “unless and until the prosecution can prove that the accused sitting in this glass monstrosity is indeed the alien named ‘Louie’ who is accused of the crimes cited in the indictment.”

  “Mrs. Morton,” says the judge in a low voice, “the accused has been in custody for almost six weeks. This is the first time the court is aware of that you have questioned the identity of your client.”

  “Your Honor,” says Lita, not quite whispering but in a soft voice. “In trying an alien, now defined as a non-mammalian human being, we are in uncharted waters. Normal human beings all look different from one another, and we often have either multiple witnesses to the identity of an accused, and/or we have fingerprint or DNA evidence associating an accused with a crime.

  “In this case, we have nothing except the testimony of a single witness, Agent Michael Johnson, to the effect that the accused is in fact the same alien as the one who he alleges confessed to him on the boat. At no time did Mr. Johnson pick the defendant out of a line-up as the one who had confessed to him. He simply declares, ‘Yes, that’s the guy.’ However, we all know that humans are usually unable to distinguish one alien from another. Before this trial can proceed, the court must hear evidence that the defendant is indeed who the prosecution claims he is.”

  “And how do you propose the court do this, Mrs. Morton?”

  “With a traditional police line-up, Your Honor. Line up ten FFs—ten aliens—and let Mr. Johnson identify the one who confessed to him. That alien can then be tried.”

  “This is ridiculous, Your Honor,” says the prosecutor. “We can’t at this late date question who the defendant is. He’s the hairy sphere locked up in the cube at the defense table. Let’s move on.”

  Well, you didn’t have to be a mind reader to see that the judge was a little uncertain what to do about this unique objection being raised by the defense. After a bit more give and take between Lita and the prosecutor, the judge sent them back to their seats and announced to the jury and to the courtroom that he was adjourning the trial to the next morning while he researched this pretty unique legal challenge.

  * * *

  Well, that night and the next day the press and the TV guys had a lot of fun with this.

  “Who’s Who?” headlined the New York Post.

  “If Louie isn’t Louie,” questioned the Washington Post, “then who is he?”

  A TV talking head wondered whether the Proteans could change their soul—who they were—as easily as they could change their shape. This would make prosecution of any single alien impossible. It was cheating.

  The next morning, the judge ruled that before the trial could proceed, one or more witnesses must identify the defendant who confessed to Agent Johnson from a line-up of six aliens, the line-up to take place Monday morning at ten A.M.

  * * *

  Wow. The media had another field day: “Will The Real Louie Please Stand Up,” headlined The Post.

  A Republican candidate for president created a sensation when he declared in a major speech that all Proteans were in fact identical, and that unlike snowflakes, each of which is apparently unique, Proteans are all essentially clones—identical in every way. There was no need to prosecute one that pretended to call himself Louie. The country wouldn’t be safe until they were all wiped out.

  FIFTY-TWO

  (From LUKE’S TRUE UNBELIEVABLE REPORT OF THE INVASION OF THE FFS, pp. 242–247. Based on the tapes of the National Security Team Meeting on August 20th, obtained by a cyberattack made by Louie and shared with his friends. Those in attendance included the president, Defense Secretary Joe McKain, FBI Director Brandon Cake, Head of the NSA Jason Epstein, and CIA Director Hilly Klington. There were also six others. Agent Johnson wasn’t present.)

  “Thus, more than fifty of our men were killed, and hundreds wounded,” concluded Secretary McKain.

&nbs
p; “And it’s the Protean terrorists who have caused, directly or indirectly, these deaths,” said Hilly Klington.

  “But weren’t men working on the ship’s computer systems to undo the Protean’s hacking?” said the president. “Isn’t it possible that some error made by these men caused the explosion?”

  “Mr. President,” Secretary McKain said, “we will come up with evidence that Protean terrorists were to blame for the explosion—just give us another day or two.”

  The door to the room burst open, and former Chief Investigator James Rabb and his assistant, Carlo Minelli, rushed into the room closely followed by five Secret Service men.

  “Mr. President!” shouted CI Rabb. “This is me!”

  “What is this!?” Secretary McKain exploded. “What are these men doing here!?”

  Carlo Minelli rushed toward the president until he was grabbed by two Secret Service men.

  “Mr. President,” he shouted. “You must know that in this very room right now there may be alien terrorists pretending to be human beings!”

  Secretary McKain was silenced only for half a millisecond.

  “Nonsense!” he said loudly. “Get these men out of here!”

  “Hold it,” the president said. “I want to hear what they have to say.”

  Rabb, also being held by two Secret Service men, struggled toward the president.

  “I’m me, Mr. President! But two weeks ago I was not me! An alien terrorist who looked like my twin kidnapped me and poisoned me with champagne and jelly beans and took my place at the meeting of the National Security Council. And since then Agent Johnson has tried to make people think I’ve gone crazy. But I’m not crazy! I’m me!”

  This statement by Rabb affirming his sanity was met by a bit of healthy skepticism by most present.

  “This man has been in a Walter Reed psychiatric clinic for the last ten days, sir,” said Hilly Klington. “He is not himself.”

  “I am me! I am!”

  “He’s not insane!” said Carlo, still being held firmly by the Secret Service. “I went along with Agent Johnson, but I now know it’s my duty to warn you that the Proteans can become human beings. We know they fooled us into thinking one of them was Mr. Rabb here, so we can be certain they can imitate other human beings. There may be a Protean terrorist here right now pretending to be one of us.”

  This little bombshell from Carlo stunned everyone. A few began looking at one other warily.

  “You’re saying, Mr. Minelli,” said the president, “that you are convinced that some… alien was able to impersonate Mr. Rabb and gave that strange talk to this group two weeks ago?”

  “Yes, yes. There were two Mr. Rabbs that day. I know it!”

  “What does Agent Johnson have to say about this?” said Jason Epstein.

  “I didn’t dare tell him about what I was going to do,” said Carlo. “But he knows that what I’m saying is true.”

  “Then why did he tell us that Mr. Rabb had had a breakdown?”

  “Because he was afraid that all of us would then look at everyone else as a possible Protean terrorist rather than a real human. He was afraid we’d all become paranoid.”

  Most in the room began to look uneasy. Suspicious. Paranoid.

  It was rumored that one prominent member later admitted that he’d wanted to shout “Arrest everyone in this room!” but thought better of it when he realized that the five members of the Secret Service might actually be hidden Protean terrorists.

  FIFTY-THREE

  (From LUKE’S TRUE UNBELIEVABLE REPORT OF THE INVASION OF THE FFS, pp. 260–264)

  The judge, prosecutor, and defense teams, the ten security men, Agents Johnson, Wall, and Kerry, and three pool reporters, all turned to watch as policemen carried a huge cubical cell with six FFs inside into the courtroom, and set it down on the floor near Judge Agassi’s bench. Without hesitation, the judge asked Agent Johnson to approach and identify Alien 6, Louie.

  Johnson walked toward the cube, but when six feet away began to frown. The six FFs were all in their spherical shape and all looked alike. Moreover, they weren’t standing still but were milling around, weaving about as if in a slow-motion square dance. Lita later reported that even she couldn’t be certain who was who.

  “I can’t identify Louie through the glass,” Agent Johnson said, “especially with them all moving around.”

  The judge then called up the attorneys, and they had a long squabble about whether the aliens had to be let out of the glass cage to have a proper lineup. Even with ten security men in the room the prosecutor was uncomfortable with letting them out of the cage, but knew that his case depended on Johnson identifying Louie. While Carlita argued that Johnson should be able to ID them in the cage, the prosecutor found himself arguing that they must be let loose and forced to stand in a traditional straight line. The judge consulted with the head of security in the room, a Captain McCullough, and then decided in favor of the prosecution.

  After all the security men had taken out their guns, and the tar hoses were ready and aimed, the six FFs were let out of the cage and ordered to stand in a straight line. Each took its place, and soon the six FFs were quietly lined up on the floor in front of Johnson: six identical hairy beach balls. Johnson looked at each briefly and then turned to the judge.

  “The Louie I’ve known now for almost ten months,” he said, “is the second alien from the left.”

  Just as most everyone in the courtroom began to squint at the second FF from the left, the six FFs rolled and milled around in utter confusion and then formed a new line.

  “Alien 6, alias Louie,” Johnson said calmly, “is now the FF on the far right.”

  The judge banged his gavel.

  “If any of you Proteans moves from his present position,” he said, “I will cite you with contempt of court and you will be held without bail. Stay where you are.”

  The six FFs stopped milling.

  “Captain McCullough, please mark the defendant,” said the judge.

  The top security man quickly went up to the FF on the far right and zapped him with the handheld X-ray machine.

  “Your Honor,” said McCullough after examining the readout. “This Protean is the same as the one that I X-rayed in his cell yesterday.”

  “Of course he is,” Johnson said triumphantly.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” said Judge Agassi. “Captain McCullough, have your men put Alien 6 back in his glass cube. You other aliens are dismissed.”

  “Yippee!” said one of the six.

  “Your testicles shall feed the fishes through all eternity,” said another.

  “Order in the court!” shouted the judge. “Mrs. Morton,” he continued more calmly. “The prosecution witness has twice identified this Protean as the one who confessed to him on the boat. Captain McCullough has indicated that the Protean Agent Johnson identified is the same one who has been in our jails for almost a month. I conclude that the defendant has been adequately identified and the case may resume. Captain McCullough, please—”

  “Stop!” came a booming voice.

  Everyone turned to see two short uniformed security men and a man dressed nicely in a blue suit entering the courtroom.

  “This man is a fraud!” barked the blue suit loudly.

  “Order in the court!” shouted the judge. “What is the meaning of this!?”

  The blue suit marched toward Johnson, his two security men with him.

  “This man is not who he claims to be, Your Honor,” he said. “He’s actually an alien pretending to be Agent Johnson. He has purposely identified the wrong Protean.”

  Everyone looked at Johnson.

  “Identify yourself, sir,” said the judge to the newcomer.

  “I am FBI Agent Arthur Whirl in charge of counterterrorism actions against Proteans.”

  The two short security men who had come in with Agent Whirl aggressively pushed and shoved the six FFs up against a wall, the FFs being amazingly passive.

  “Check this ge
ntleman’s identification,” said the judge to McCullough.

  McCullough did so.

  “It seems in order, Your Honor.”

  “This is ridiculous,” said Johnson. “Ten people in this room can verify who I am.”

  “Proteans have the ability to duplicate themselves perfectly in the form of any human being they want,” Agent Whirl addressed the room. “And we’ve intercepted messages that make it clear a Protean is imitating Agent Johnson in this courtroom.” He turned to Johnson. “You are an alien terrorist in disguise.”

  “This man is a fraud,” said Johnson. “I don’t know why he’s doing this, but he’s a fraud. In fact… in fact… it’s possible he himself is an alien pretending to be a human.”

  “Baloney,” said one of Whirl’s security men.

  Johnson and Whirl stared at each other and everyone else stared at them.

  “Tell me, Whirl,” said Johnson. “Who can we call to verify that you’re here at the orders of some superior?”

  “You can call Director Klington herself,” said Whirl aggressively. “And other agents are on their way here.”

  Johnson walked slowly toward Whirl and stopped only two feet away. He carefully examined the other man’s face.

  “My God, you are a Protean!” he said, and lunged at Whirl. He was shunted aside and staggered past him.

  “Grab him!” Johnson shouted to Wall and Kerry.

  The two agents rushed up to take hold of Whirl, who spun away. As they turned to continue their attack, the two short security men who had come in with Whirl dived in, and soon all six men were wrestling, smashing into desks, breaking a wooden railing, toppling chairs. Two of the men fell to the ground in a wrestling embrace. The other security people rushed to the melee, but couldn’t decide whose side to be on. Nevertheless three of them pitched in anyway, feeling it to be their duty.

  BLAM!

  A loud explosion was followed by debris flying from the wall about three feet below the ceiling. Then another BLAM! and more debris.

  The fight broke up as all the men struggled up from the floor and looked to see a hole in the outside courtroom wall almost a foot wide.