Chapter 28: Defensive Measures

"Michael, I am delighted to see you!" Jon'a-ren exclaimed. "Where is Dee'rah? She is not with you?"

"No, father-mine. She is sleeping. She is completely exhausted, emotionally and physically. If it weren't for her exhaustion and that she has finally agreed to submit to a sedative, I doubt that she'd be resting even now, and she certainly wouldn't let me out of her sight for this visit!"

"Michael-mine, you do know how deeply she loves you. Your misadventure during the mission to carry the Abrams family to safety, well, perhaps you do not realize how badly that has shaken her. It will take far more than a full night of sleep to calm her mind and her fears. Her mother tries to help but, I am reluctant to say this, but you should know that her mother shares the same fears as Dee'rah. She thinks you face too many risks, accept too great a risk of death. There are moments, Michael-mine, when I agree with them. Tell me, are these risks so necessary? So unavoidable?" Jon'a-ren pleaded.

"Yes, and no," Michael shrugged. "I sometimes forget that you've not had my lifetime of living on Earth and coping with our dangers. You do know that this is a dangerous world. It will remain so for a very long time, I think, despite our presence here. It is almost instinctive for humans to react to threats with force and violence. And violence, even the use of deadly force, is the foundation of virtually all law enforcement on this planet. It leads to much abuse, tragedy, and conflict. It seems natural to the human condition, as incredible as that sounds, especially when viewed from a Masi'shen perspective. Violence and deadly force are even staple components of human entertainment and video games, viewed and played by millions of Earth's youth. By the time they've grown beyond puberty, the psychological concepts of maiming and killing seem as reflexive to them as breathing and eating," Michael explained.

"The first time your mother and I viewed Earth television we were shocked beyond words. I cannot dispute what you say, Michael. We have not seen these video games you speak of..."

"Then do NOT, I implore you," Michael interrupted. "They have become hideously violent, even by Earth standards. I fear they would leave permanent impressions that you would deeply regret. There are some things best left unseen and unknown, father-mine.

"But, father, that is only partly why I asked you for this private meeting. There is something of considerable urgency which we must discuss and decide," Michael said.

Michael had called Jon'a-ren from the apartment quarters that he and Dee'rah shared on the upper floor of the Masi'shen embassy in Geneva. He knew that Jon'a-ren had just returned from a follow-up visit with Canadian ministry officials to review the progress made with healing chamber installations throughout Canada. At the moment, they were sitting in Jon'a-ren's private office.

"My schedule is clear for the next few hours," Jon'a-ren nodded. "This is an excellent time. I, too, have issues of concern which I wish to discuss. Let me tell my secretary that we wish no disturbance, save for some urgent need."

Michael rose to pour himself a cup of coffee from the carafe he'd brought in with him. His Masi'shen family members had agreed to tolerate a coffee maker in the embassy kitchen, and had developed some resistance to the fragrant (revolting! Lyn'na-ra sniffed) aroma of coffee.

"Father, my experience in the stadium ambush reveals a huge weakness in our operations. The human opposition is free to use deadly force of a type that we are ill-quipped to handle. Yes, stealth and speed and stun pistols and area-wide electromagnetic pulse defenses are effective, in a limited manner, but, they are insufficient. We need better protection and improved counter-measures.

"There is another issue to which I have given considerable thought, father. I can see quite plainly that Masi'shen are not well suited to be warriors, not even as a non-lethal defense force. It is simply not in your character, your culture, or your genetic makeup, to use an Earth expression. Please forgive me, father, as I intend no disrespect for the bravery, honor, or character of the Masi'shen race. But we must face reality. The truth of the matter is, we must recruit warriors, peace warriors, from a warrior race." Michael sat back, gripped his coffee cup, and regarded his father-in-law with worried eyes.

Jon'a-ren was silent for several moments. He regarded Michael, sitting quietly, sipping his coffee. He then turned and gazed out the large window behind his desk, looking out into the embassy courtyard. He seemed to study the street scene over the low wall beyond. Michael began to feel worry, thinking that he'd finally managed to insult the man he regarded as his adopted father.

"You are absolutely correct," Jon'a-ren finally murmured, in a soft whisper.

He seemed to grip himself, physically and mentally, as if to prepare for a confrontation with a truth he dreaded facing.

"Assure me, my son, if you can. These measures you propose, and this warrior force, these peace warriors you call them. Assure me that all will be non-lethal? If we begin to engage, however well-intentioned or justified, in lethal measures," Jon'a-ren visibly shuddered and paused, steadying his emotions again, "then I fear that we will fail not only ourselves as a race but this world, as well. We would be forced to gather everything we have brought to this planet, and take ourselves away in disgrace. We would be forced to leave, never to return. I fear that this world would again be left to its own fate. I fear--based on what we have seen over the ages of our history with other such war-like worlds--that the fate of this planet, of Earth and her people, would be similar to that of the others. These people are on the verge of destroying everything. This most beautiful and precious gem of a world would become a lifeless husk. It would remain so for a very long time."

"I understand, father-mine. I honor your counsel. We will not kill!"

Michael and Berl'ahan set to work researching all known information on personal body armor available in the online literature. They also gathered everything they could learn about stealth and camouflage techniques. Then they made a shuttle flight to consult with Tib Tibbets and Chuck Briggs aboard the Galaxy Explorer.

"So, how's the flight training coming?" he asked them, gathered around a small table in the ship's flight lounge.

"You wouldn't believe us if we told you," Chuck laughed. "Tib, here, holds the wipe-rag record. We're taking bets with the instructors that they'll need to dig up another bale of barf rags for him before we're finished. Other than that? We're doing far better than we or the instructors thought we would."

"Don't believe all he tells you," Tib protested. "Chuck and Ben are in a close second-place for wipe-rag duty. And I'm about to ask that Randall be sent to Earth for a clinical evaluation. He hasn't barfed once, not even once!"

Michael smiled to himself. He had vivid memories of the extreme maneuvers he'd been forced to perform during his training, involving weightless conditions and emergency recovery procedures during near-orbital and trans-orbital exercises. For a time he'd feared he would wash out of shuttle training until he'd finally conquered his nausea and stomach impulses. Secretly, he sympathized. Officially, all he could do was encourage the men to endure the experience.

"For what it's worth, gentlemen, the Captain tells me that you are doing very well. In fact, they're beginning to suspect that there's something about humans that makes you exceptional. You're progressing much faster than typical Masi'shen candidates. Accept it, gentlemen. That is very high praise.

"But, that's not why I'm here. Possibly you've heard of my unfortunate experience during our last rescue mission?" Michael asked.

"Heard?" Tib protested. "Friend, we have not only heard of your unfortunate experience, as you call it, but we, all four of us, have endured your unfortunate experience! Perhaps you are not aware, but your wife and our wives are like a sorority of sisters! I swear to heaven that when you got yourself shot, our wives heard Dee'rah's screams all the way up here! Our wives have taken her side and we not only have orders to intervene in whatever way we can to prevent you from getting your sorry self shot again, but we have the same orders to keep ourselves unventilated and alive. Buddy, you have no idea what a shit-storm you created for yourself and us, too, when you had that unfortunate experience down there!"

"Hmmm, that bad, huh?" Michael grimaced.

"No, my friend, not that bad. Far worse than just bad, " Chuck responded.

"Okay. Well, I'm here, and I'm okay. It could have been worse, I guess."

"Speaking of being okay, we hear that Berl'ahan shattered damned near every window in Geneva, busted everything that was sitting loose on a shelf or display rack, crushed and destroyed some very expensive vehicles, including two Mercedes and a BMW, and put on an aerobatic braking display that caused half the people watching to faint or have heart attacks! So, what we want to know is... " Randall asked,

" ... are we going to have a chance at that much fun?" Ben injected.

Michael responded with a glare that could peel epoxy off the table top.

"Not if you clowns live to be three hundred!" he growled.

"But that's why I'm here. I need to pick your brains. We need to gear ourselves up so no shuttle pilot will need to make an insane run to a healing chamber because we got our asses handed to us. We need to keep ourselves unventilated, as you said, Tib. I want you guys to review the literature and the reports I've brought with me. Come up with recommendations and whatever new ideas you can add. Then, get together with the same shipboard group that helped our big Russian friend develop the stun pistols," Michael asked.