“I need you to get the helicopter ready. I need to be in DC ASAP. Also, call Congressman Charles Foster and have him arrange for a secure conference room.”
“Yes Sir. I’m right on it.”
“Oh, and then take the rest of the day off,” Fisher said.
“Sir, you have a little something on your pants.” She pointed to her inside thigh, glanced down at his leg, and smiled.
“Thank you, Jessica; you’re a life saver,” he said as he wiped his pleated pants with a monogrammed handkerchief given to him by his wife.
Jessica moved in close to the Governor and whispered in his ear, “I don’t make messes like that.” She then hurried off to arrange for the helicopter.
It was a quick helicopter ride from Richmond to the Russel Senate Building in Washington, DC. Charles Foster, a congressman from South Carolina, was waiting in the designated conference room.
“Good afternoon, Congressman. Glad you could make it on such short notice,” Fisher said, as he entered the room. Charles Foster, Chairman of the powerful Ways and Means Committee, held the rank of MJ-10, and thus was the Governor’s superior.
“I didn’t think I had a choice. What is going on? We have never been ordered to a meeting on an hour’s notice. Normally our meetings are set months in advance,” Charles complained as he took off his dark blue suit jacket. Charles slung the jacket over the back of the leather conference room chair and plopped down.
“I don’t know exactly what this is about. MJ-1 said it was apocalyptic.”
“That sounds ominous,” Congressman Foster replied.
General Donald Barnes entered the room. “What in the Sam hell is this about? I got a war over in Afghanistan to fight; I don’t have time to be pussyfooting around with you space cadets.” Barnes was wearing the standard Army Combat Uniform with the digital camo pattern.
“Stone Byrd said it was apocalyptic, Sir,” Governor Fisher replied. Donald Barnes, a four-star general, was MJ-3, which meant he was senior to both the Governor and Representative.
The next to walk through the door was Fleet Admiral Kevin Butler. The five-star Admiral had the designation MJ-2, the second highest ranking member of Majestic Twelve, second only to General Stone Byrd, who was currently on the Moon Base.
“Gentlemen, to what do I owe the dubious honor of this meeting?” Admiral Butler said as he took a seat next to the boisterous General Barnes.
“General Byrd called us here so that he could break some important news to us at the same time. He will be calling on an encrypted line shortly,” Governor Fisher said.
Nolan Sanders, Inspector General for the Department of Treasury walked in next. Sanders was a slight man with wavy salt-and-pepper hair. He had the mannerisms of a bookish accountant, but the temperament of a rattle snake. Sanders was MJ-11, the second lowest ranking member of the Majestic Twelve. He did not say a word, just looked around the room, and took a seat.
Anthony Diaz and Byron Long walked in together. Diaz was the Assistant Deputy Director of Intelligence for the National Security Council. Byron Long was the Deputy Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.
“Gentlemen.” Byron sat in the seat closest to the door.
“Afternoon.” Diaz sat in the seat next to Byron and crossed his arms.
A few minutes later, the six large video monitors flickered to life. The four other MJ-12 members were displayed on the screens, all four sitting behind their desks.
“Good afternoon, glad to have you with us,” Fisher said from the middle of the table, because the General had taken his seat as some sort of power play, or just to be an asshole.
Lisa Russell, an Astronomer at the National Advanced Optics Astronomy Observatories at Kitt Peak said, “Good afternoon. Sorry I could not be there in person.”
Brent Ross, Quantum Physicist at the Jefferson National Accelerator Facility in Newport News, Virginia, said, “Hello everyone. This is really short notice; anyone have any idea what this is about?”
They all shook their heads and replied in the negative. The fifth screen came to life, and General Stone Byrd appeared before the group, everyone stared at the monitor.
“Can everyone hear me?” Byrd asked.
“Yes Sir,” Governor Fisher said. The scientists on the other monitors all replied in the affirmative.
“I’m sorry about the short notice, but I have grave news to report. Less than two hours ago, the Impegi crashed into a remote region of Far East Russia, near the Arctic Circle. As you know, the Impegi was the ship bringing us over 100,000 pounds of Element 115. This shipment was of incredible value, not only because Element 115 is so difficult for us to create here on Earth, but because we were going to use it to greatly increase our 7th generation antigravity, stealth fighter fleet.” Byrd took a moment to drink from a bottle of water.
“Why is it so important that we build more 7th generation fighters?” Lisa Russell asked quietly. Lisa, thirty-five years old, was the newest member of Majestic Twelve. Even though she was the youngest, her scientific background afforded her a higher MJ ranking than some of the older members.
Byrd responded, “For Ms. Russell’s benefit, since she is the newest member, we will briefly, discuss the underlying problem. Ten years ago, intelligence reports seemed to indicate that an advanced race was planning a full-scale invasion of Earth. Our information, though not independently confirmed, suggests that the invading force will consist of around 300 mother ships, each capable of transporting 400 fighter craft. We estimate, that based on their technology, they will have a thirty-to-one kill ratio, against our conventional fifth generation fighters. Our anti-gravity fighters will fare better, but will be wiped out in the face of overwhelming numbers. We need to build 100,000 7th generation fighters, or AG Fighters, to even be competitive.”
“How many do we have now?” Lisa asked.
“Seventy-four.”
“What? How many can we build per year?” Lisa asked, clearly shocked by this revelation.
“At this time, we can produce about 30 per year. However, this shipment of Element 115 would allow us to increase production to at least 1,500 per year.”
“That’s still not close to enough. How much time do we have until they arrive?” Lisa asked.
“We don’t know exactly. We have not been able to independently confirm the invasion force even exists. However, the intelligence we have been able to gather suggests that they will arrive in about nine years.”
“Okay, I’m just processing this out loud. We can produce 1,500 advanced fighters per year, and we may have nine years to prepare. That’s 13,500 fighters against their 120,000 fighters, not to mention their mother ships.”
“We can only produce the 1,500 fighters if we recover the cargo from Russia. If not, we can only produce 30 fighters per year. Our scientists are working around the clock to discover ways to advance production. Hopefully we will have a break through before it is too late,” Byrd said.
“This is a global problem, is it not? I mean, we all get wiped out if the alien force wins? Why not take this information to the Russians and ask to work together?” Lisa asked.
Everyone grew silent and glanced back and forth at each other.
Byrd said, “You are too young to remember this, and have not been around long enough to have heard about it. But, the last time a person suggested we divulge information to the Russians regarding aliens, a U.S. President was assassinated.”
“You mean Kennedy? That was over aliens?” Lisa sounded shocked.
“Well, disclosing the information that we have about aliens to the Russians, to be precise,” said General Donald Barnes, as he dug a pen into a yellow pad.
“Don’t you think things have changed over the last 50 years? Especially since we are now facing global extinction?”