Watching and waiting, visitors from the Moon orbit the planet. Their mission: Conquer Earth. Of course, that’s the easy part…
The final plan for getting Earthlings to Mars was simple: Bribery. They would give everyone one hundred thousand dollars to get on space zeppelins. Waiting aboard were vast entertainment districts, replete with shopping malls and twenty-four hour casinos. The more sedate could invest in fully-functioning stock markets, rigged to always go up. Who would turn that down?
“We won’t have to fire a shell,” said Second Army General Halford Eastwick, his chest festooned with red and gold medals. He wore these everywhere. Even to the gym. He was that kind of general.
‘That’s fortunate, Hal,” Captain Rollhagen said. “Because we use ray guns.”
“That’s what I meant.” The general didn’t bat a lash. Like all bosses, he never apologized. He sat with the senior crew of Spaceship One, a map of Earth spread before him. Numbers were drawn on each country indicating order of departure. America was # 1. England # 2. And so on.
Eastwick pointed. “Why America first?”
Lt. Cmdr. Kern spoke up. “Because they are the biggest problem. Most Earthlings will buy any story they’re told. But not in America. There’s a whole political party that won’t listen to anyone.”
“Who are you referring to?”
“Republicans.”
“Republicans?”
“Yes, and a more irksome bunch you never saw. They think their elections are rigged. They call the media liars. Facts mean nothing to them. The point is, if we can get them to climb on board a ‘zep, no one will give us any problem. We’re home free.”
“If…” Rollhagen said. The whole plan looked dicey. Personally, he would deport Americans last, but no one listened to him.
“I have a plan.” Kern smiled. “I’ve already submitted it to Central Command. We tell the Republicans the truth.”
The truth? Pens were dropped. A paper cup tipped over. “You mean, tell them they’re being fooled?” Rollhagan said. “That they’re playing with Monopoly money? That, upon arrival, they will be given picks and wheelbarrows?”
The entire table focused on Kern. Was he nuts, they asked?
“Hardly,” said Kern. “Look at recent history. Republicans were told not to vote for Donald Trump. By everyone. Even their senior leaders said Trump was a corrupt, broke charlatan. A wind-up game show joke. From the legacy media to Hollywood to the elite universities, the verdict was unanimous. Don’t do it. Don’t vote for him. So what did Republicans do?”
Staff knew, but waited for the kicker.
“They voted for Trump anyway! They simply wouldn’t listen.”
General Eastwick spoke for all present. “Let me get this straight. We tell them not to go to Mars. And they do the exact opposite?”
“I guarantee it.”
He let it sink in. “Commander Kern, you are a genius.”
Kern looked at his immaculate fingernails. “Well, genius is a rather extreme word. But thank you, General.”
Was Kern that smart? On the surface he appeared the most conventional officer aboard. On the surface.
Privately, he considered General Eastwick an over-promoted windbag. He thought Captain Rollhagen indecisive, even soft. Central Command was nothing more than a swarm of preening, self-righteous jerks. They were all in it together, and you couldn’t believe a word they said.
Commander Kern was not so much a genius, as a Republican.