Take Us to Your Chief (3 page)

December 17, 2018

Emily, Tracey and Aaron huddled around the television in the interview room, watching the special report coming from the
CBC
news network. They hadn't moved in almost twenty minutes. Movement took premeditated thought and choice, and all free will had been stolen by the television. If a
CD
of Robbie Robertson hadn't been playing, there would have been dead air emanating from the
C-
RE
S
antenna.

“Do you think…?” Emil
y ventured.

“Shh!” Aaron wanted no interruptions while he soaked up what was the most amazing event in recorded history. Barely registering Aaron's rebuke, Emily placed one hand over her mouth at what she was witnessing. Tracey's knuckles turned white as she gripped the table, still dusted with sesame seeds from bagels and doughnut sugar. Aaron found the remote and turned up th
e volume.

“It has been confirmed. It appears there is life beyond Earth, and it is on its way here. Earlier today, in a joint press conference, a panel of world leaders combined with representatives from
NASA
,
SETI
and various other space exploration organizations announced the approach of what appears to be a large spaceship originating beyond our solar system. At the moment, it is located somewhere between the orbits of Saturn and Uranus, approaching at approximately fifty-two kilometres a second. Officials are either reluctant or unwilling to speculate on the origins of the large ship, estimated to be over four miles wide. Needless to say, the world and its political, religious and scientific leaders are furiously discussing the implications for the people of Planet Earth of such an event, which we are now referring to as ‘contact.' In an attempt to communicate, greetings in all known languages have been broadcasted to the approachin
g ship.”

“Betcha not in Kanien'kéha! They always leave us out, goddammit.”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Give it a break, Tracey.”

Almost inaudibly Aaron breathed, “
Independenc
e Day
.”

“What?” snappe
d Emily.

“A movie. Shh.”

“The Pope and the leaders of all major countries have called for calm. As the alien ship moves closer, we are all wondering if this will be the greatest event in Earth's history or perhaps the most tragic. It seems we are fated to find out. For mor
e background—”

Emily muted the television, prompting protests from the other two. “Be quiet, both of you. We should really get on the air wit
h this.”

There was a moment of silence as Emily's suggestion worked its way into their cerebra
l cortices.

Tracey was deep in her own political meltdown. “Did you hear what they're calling it? ‘Contact.' Does that sound familiar to either of you? Man, I bet both sides already have people drawing up treaties.” She was practically yelling. “But now the shoe is on the other foot, isn't it? The more things change, the more they stay the same. That should be our lea
d story!”

Aaron gesticulated wildly at the television. “Spaceships! Spaceships?! Turn it bac
k on!”

Emily would not be deterred. “Don't you see? This is our chance to shine. Let's take this story and run wit
h it!”

Tracey was nodding vigorously. “I agree. I think one ‘contact' is enough in any culture's existence, don't you? Let's get a panel together of clan elder
s and—

Once again, Aaron felt the need to contribute his two cents. “Shut up! Spaceships! Spaceships!”

He lunged for the remote, but Emily kept it just out of reach. He felt the need to pull his hair out in frustration, but unfortunately he had taken to sporting a brus
h cut.

Moving quickly and ignoring Aaron, Emily entered the broadcast booth. “Tracey, you want a panel discussion, then you put one together. Hurry. I'm going to go on the air with this righ
t now.”

“But you never go on th
e air!”

“I do when Earth is welcoming aliens from…” The news crawl at the bottom of the television screen revealed the ship had come from the direction of the Pleiades cluster. “Pleiades… Where the hell is that? Sounds Greek. Besides, our news announcer hasn't shown up today. He's probably at home watching this. I guess he'd prefer to watch history rather than be a part of it. And where is Pat? I need him to write me up som
e copy.”

Emily was on fire now. There had been rumblings from the board about the station taking a new direction, exploring different options. Emily knew this was just board-speak for getting a new station manager. She had rolled with all the new technologies over the years that had transformed the once small and humble radio station into a slightly larger organization, one of the only independent broadcasters left in the province. After twenty-seven years with her at the helm, maybe those fine listeners who owned the smoke shacks, gas stations and an arts and crafts store felt the pot known as
C-
RES
needed to be stirred a bit. Emily was desperate to keep this job she so loved and hated at the same time. This just might be th
e way.

“Come on, work with me. Can we give this thing an Aborigina
l spin?”

Tracey seemed animated by Emily's question. While everybody in the world was dealing with the scientific and social implications of this so-called “contact,” Tracey saw a plethora of Kanienké'hà:ka and Haudenosaunee connections. She adjusted the purple dress and scarf she was wearing an
d smiled.

“I have a few ideas.” Seldom, Tracey felt, had she said so much with so fe
w words.

“Like what?” For the first time in a long time, Emily felt adrenalin coursing through he
r veins.

“The return of Sky Woman, fo
r example.”

Emily nodded, immediately understanding. In their nation's creation story, a pregnant woman fell through a hole in the sky and, with the assistance of some geese, landed on the back of a giant turtle. From there, she and a variety of aquatic animals created Turtle Island, otherwise known as North America, and all life spran
g forth.

“I love it. Wha
t else?”

Barely half a second had passed before the increasingly excited Tracey managed to get her next suggestion out. “You said they were coming from the… the… What did you call them? That group o
f stars?”

Emily checked her computer. “The Pleiades. Why?”

“Why does that name sound familiar? Aaron?”

Finally managing to tear his eyes away from the screen, Aaron spoke. He was well versed in two subjects: how to fix and set up broadcasting and audio equipment, and anything to do with science fiction or facts about the universe. “Pleiades. A star cluster consisting of seven fairly young stars, often referred to as the Seven Sisters. But in our culture they are referred t
o as—”

It came to Tracey in a flash. “The Seve
n Dancers.”

Emily smiled, making the connection to the well-known tale of seven children who danced so long and so hard, ignoring their responsibilities to prepare for the coming winter, that eventually they rose up into the sky and became part of the cosmos. “Wow, this event almost seems tailor-made for us. This all sounds fabulous. Let's get t
o work.”

Motivated and mutually animated, the women huddled together, concocting a battle plan. For once, Emily's fists were clenched in enthusiasm instead o
f frustration.

Seizing the opportunity, Aaron grabbed the remote and turned the sound back on. Once more, the calming voice of Peter Mansbridge filled th
e room.

“It's estimated this extraterrestrial craft will enter the Earth's orbi
t by…”

Aaron mused aloud, “You two get this, right? This could be either
Contact
or
The Day the Earth Stood Still
,
or like I said earlier,
Independence Day
.” Aaron drained his big mug of coffee, not noticing the lack of response from the room. “This could end one of three ways. It could turn out that they've come to just say, ‘How's it going? Nice to meet you, neighbours. Can we borrow a cup o
f oxygen?'

“Or they could have a message to give us. Like ‘Quit polluting the electromagnetic spectrum with reruns of
Friends
.' Or ‘Watch it, that
Voyager
thing you sent off into space a couple decades ago scraped the side of my new ship. I hope you have insurance.'” Aaron was uncharacteristicall
y grave.

He took a deep breath. “And then of course, there's the third option: food, slaves or target practice.” Looking around, he noticed he had been talking t
o himself.

Emily had shut the door between Aaron an
d them.

February 14, 2019

“Happy Valentine's Day,” Aaron said as he scratched his bald head, seeing the flakes from his scalp float to the ground like dermatological snow. “Radiation poisoning sucks,” he added as an afterthought, though briefly admiring the irony of the situation. With the recent scorching the Earth's surface had received, his skin flecks were the only snow to fall tha
t winter.

Emily, Tracey and Aaron huddled miserably under a cement overpass beside the now torn and shattered highway leading into the reserve. There, partially protected from the damaged and damaging elements by several feet of cement, debris and earth, they were trying to make the best of their situation. This was pretty much all that was left of North American civilization, give or take a few thousand, down from a worldwide population high of six billion or so. Unlike the famous quote, the world had ended not with a whimper but with a series of loud and genocida
l bangs.

Communication had been remarkably limited. It seems once the Zsxdcf had taken note of the international space station orbiting this big blue marble called Turtle Island, and the variety of satellites in orbit and probes spreading throughout the solar system, the decision had pretty much been made. This civilization was sticking its big toe into space travel. Orbital bombardment was followed by several high-energy wave sweeps. Evolution would have to start all over again. A lucky few hundred thousand in North America had managed to survive the first onslaught, living hand to mouth off the land, hiding in holes in the ground or caves like their furry little ancestors had during the time of th
e dinosaurs.

Aaron had managed to build a small fire, and Emily was busy roasting a raccoon over it. So much for job security, she thought bitterly. Everybody on the
C-
RES
board of directors was either dead or working in the limestone mines for the Zsxdcf overlords. Who would have guessed limestone was such a valuable commodity on the galactic market? So far, the trio had managed to escape, scurrying from hole to hole, but at the moment they were not revelling in thei
r freedom.

Eager to sample some of Emily's raccoon, Tracey smoothed out her pantsuit. It was mostly earth tones, the majority of the colour coming from the actual earth and dirt encrusting her clothes. “Can I have a drumstick? If you can call a raccoon limb a drumstick.” That was definitely a question she thought she would never have t
o ask.

“Call it whatever you want. I managed to salvage some ketchup from a crater that used to be Smith's convenience stor
e yesterday.”

“Always looking after your employees. You were a good boss, Emily.” Aaron let loose a series of phlegmy coughs after hi
s compliment.

It was nice of him to say that, she thought, especially since he had kicked up such a fuss after she had suspended the Christmas bonuses on account of the destruction o
f Earth.

“Personally, I blame Albert Einstein. He's just another white guy who lied to u
s Indians.”

Neither Tracey nor Emily had the energy or interest to respond, so they let hi
m rant.

“I mean it. Him and his precious theory of relativity. He told everybody nothing could travel faster than the speed of light—it was the intergalactic speed limit. It was supposed to be absolute but, you know, in almost every science fiction movie and story that never seems to be a problem. Warp speed, wormholes, stuff like that. People—I mean, aliens—found a way around it. It should have taken that ship four hundred years to get here, if—and I repeat if—it could travel anywhere near the speed of light, which in itself was unlikely. But no, somehow it got our signal in just a few years and managed to come knocking on our door in a ridiculously short period of time. See? It doesn't make sense. Einstein's such
a liar.”

Exhausted by his outburst and radiation sickness, Aaron leaned back against the wall. Just over his head and to the left a bit, faded after so many years, “Aaron + Emily forever” sat amid the othe
r graffiti.

Catching his second wind, Aaron noticed Tracey, the weight of the remaining world on her shoulders. She was staring into the fire, lost in thought. She looked kind of… down.

“Hey Emily, Tracey can have m
y drumstick.”

Tracey smiled weakly in his direction. “So much for calorie counting now,” sh
e muttered.

Using a slightly bent steak knife she had found, Emily started to cut up the roast beast. Luckily the thing was still fat, despite the razing of the planet, so it glistened as she sliced pieces off onto a hubcap. All things considered, it looke
d tasty.

The wind was picking up, but an overturned bus at one end of the overpass acted as a windbreak. They watched Emily carve for a few minutes before Tracey spoke, more to herself than either of the other tw
o survivors.