Bureaucrats from the Fifth Dimension

BUREAUCRATS FROM THE FIFTH DIMENSION

Dan Biggins

Published by Dan Biggins at Smashwords. Copyright © 2013 All rights reserved. This story is purely fictional. Any similarities to actual people or places, other than satirical references to public figures, are purely coincidental.

Passages from the Business-Friendly Testament, New World Edition

Secretions 5:12- The men shall flee their concrete structures for the safety of mountain caverns and in turn deny thy creations. Like children they have displayed their shiny objects borne from the earth and proclaimed Look what I myself have made!

Dillon 3:15- Truly I ask you, why dost thou obscure the plain meaning of my words? My symbols are smoothed stone. The only codex is love. There is no message but forgiveness.

CHAPTER 1

Selloff sat alone in the stark, white oval room, surrounded on three sides by a bank of monitors. The matte screens failed to reflect the image of his perfect black hair, parted from left to right, or his peppermint gum smile. His six-foot frame consisted of lean muscle covered by a white tunic. If anyone else had been in the room they might have assumed Selloff to be an android based on his flawlessly designed physique. However, only Selloff's work was digital.

On any other day Selloff might be tracking any number of unimportant happenings just to satisfy his curiosity and pass time, but today Selloff was performing actual research. As with any type of research, interruptions were not welcome.

Nevertheless, the door on the far side of the room hissed open, and the beautiful, perfectly manicured, blonde creature drifted toward his personal space. She had the visage of a network newscaster. Her age was not ascertainable. She seemed experienced without looking old. Some parts of her were artificially enhanced. She gently tucked her diplomatic robes as she bent down and occupied an opposing chair. Selloff silently groaned.

How is the research coming? the beautiful Logan asked, with a casual flutter of her welcoming azure eyes.

My research happens to be stalled at the moment, Selloff glared at her.

Very funny. Have you plotted a strategy yet? Logan inquired.

Selloff maintained his patience for his professional superior. Logan had established many times before that she could read his thoughts the way a mother contemplated the feelings of her child, so the questions were just a way to affirm her observations, and perhaps to pick at him.

For the most part I have finished. Initially, my research materials indicated we should be visiting the media headquarters of New York or Los Angeles, but it seems somehow Washington DC is still the control center of America. We will speak to the American President. It will be quite challenging to convince him of our objective. The Americans are a paranoid and suspecting people. However, they are clearly the most advanced choice in terms of their capacity to understand the relevant technology. Now, socially, they are--

Logan cut him short, Very well, but have we selected a subject? Again, she knew he had not.

I'm still working on that, but I warn you, this will be a point of contention for them. The Americans will resist compliance with our wishes.

We will deal with it when the time comes. I want to make the visit first thing tomorrow. We have an obligation to our people. We must succeed.

Selloff knew the stakes all too well. His life and well-being depended on success. His entire society would be watching every move.

Of course we will. I will be ready by tomorrow. There is one thing, though.

Yes, what is it?

I believe it will be much easier to secure the Americans' cooperation, if they understand that I am in charge. His brow furrowed as he gauged Logan's reaction.

Why would that be? Logan asked curiously. She was not threatened at all, merely intrigued to learn of this trait the Americans displayed. She trusted Selloff's exhaustive research implicitly.

Remember, we have resolved that their society is quite primitive socially. They are only a few years removed from basing the selection of political leaders strictly on the aspect of physical prowess. The Americans generally regard women in power with distrust. American literature is rife with examples where powerful women are portrayed as witches.

Oh, I see, Logan considered. What is a witch, anyway?

A witch is a being from early American mythology. According to video literature the term refers to a controlling and magical woman. Originally, they were green-colored and quite intimidating. In more recent videos, witches appear very tan and sensual.

I see. Very well. You can be the man in charge. But since we are on the subject, would you like to have sex? Logan asked hopefully.

Selloff sighed. He hadn't realized he was 'on the subject.'

Not now, I have a lot of work to do, and I would like to keep up my energy for my visit to the White House.

Selloff regretted the words the moment they left his mouth.

You dog! You had better keep your hands off the American women. Don't forget the Doctrine of Non-Interference.

I won't be the one to worry about. Selloff looked at her accusingly. As usual, Logan attributed her own motivations to Selloff. He was a manipulator for sure, but he was concerned about the project alone. His focus and professionalism were the reason for his high station. He had studied the Americans relentlessly. For the most part it was an easy comparison. Their histories were very similar until the period where advancements in technology made Selloff's people stronger, and the Americans softer. Technology would be the lever Selloff employed to reach his objectives.

Well, everyone knows the doctrine only applies to their primary actors. I can do whatever I please with the subordinates, Logan challenged. She was trying to provoke Selloff to start a conflict.

Justify it however you wish. Selloff waved his hand. He wouldn't play along in her little game.

See you tomorrow then, Logan said in disappointment.

Remember to watch the video lessons I provided. And don't forget to remind Trinkie. She must accompany us. She can be most persuasive.

CHAPTER 2

The President sat hunched over his massive desk as he was quickly reviewing the latest reports from Homeland Security, re-capsulizing information gathered by several other security agencies too numerous to mention. His worst fears were being realized as he perused the document describing the UFO hovering over the White House. Terror hung in the air. He was becoming ever more convinced that this latest incident would cause him to miss the Nebraska game.

An intruder entered the far side of the room and remained by the door.

What? the President barked without looking up.

Sir, we have assembled a meeting with Secretary of Defense Rock Hardface and the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. We also have Secretary of State Dick Richardson, Secretary of Homeland Security Darlene Lovitt, and Attorney General Rumball. The President felt sick. Rumball, or Running Bull as the President affectionately called him, was the only one of the bunch who was worth a damn. Though Darlene Lovitt was a poor man's Dolly Parton, and she could be hot when she wasn't trying to be smart. But, she usually was trying to be smart, unless she wanted something, which she probably did not today.

Let me guess, the President grumbled. 3:30?

Yes sir, the meeting is in 10 minutes.

Roger that, he said dejectedly. The President always recited military jargon to remind everyone of his military service.

The President spent two years serving admirably in the Coast Guard during Gulf War I. Rather than to the Persian Gulf, the President was assigned to the seemingly safer theater known as the Gulf of Mexico. He had successfully defended the coast of Tampa from invasion. The President single-handedly sank a cargo ship that thankfully turned out to be carrying medical supplies that likely would have been sold to Iraqi insurgents.

That last determination was made by an agency under the direction of his brother, so the conspiracy theorists controlling the mainstream media naturally disbelieved it and argued the newly-submerged medicine was destined for starving African children. Such was the insidious nature of the evil empire of terror.

But now, he had bigger concerns. There were no intelligence reports yet to tie the UFO hovering above Washington D.C. to any terrorist groups. So whose was it, the President wondered. The Russians weren't capable of wiping their own asses with their technology left over from the Cold War, so the UFO wasn't theirs. The Japanese seemed freaked out by it, taking pictures and whatnot. The Arabs and Israelis were making offers to buy the UFO, and the Chinese were asking for a copy of the specs so they could reverse engineer a knock-off version. The President scoffed at the idea that any of the Uber-stan countries could build a UFO, so he assumed the only logical explanation. The UFO was from outer space, probably from Mars, with his luck.

The President was ushered into a conference room with a bunch of people he didn't like all that much. Half of them wore uniforms. The other half wore black suits, except one who was cloaked in some kind of damned tribal garment.

The large flat panel screens around the room displayed the image of the UFO from multiple angles. Not a single one of the screens showed the Nebraska game. He took a seat at the head of the long table that was conspicuously devoid of Buffalo wings. It was going to be a long afternoon.

Mr. President, Mr. President, they all started in at once.

He looked at the ceiling for a moment and then said, Stop! Where the hell is the Vice President?

Everyone avoided the President's gaze.

All right then, I want to hear from the Army guys first.

Sir we have got some intel on the UFO indicating that it is a teardrop-shaped object about 4 feet in diameter, reported Secretary of Defense Rock Hardface in a gruff voice. Hardface intended to show everyone here that he was in control. He hadn't bartered his way into the Oval Office inner-circle just so a bunch of civilian advisers could encroach on his job.

I can see that. Where did it come from? asked the President.

We have not discovered any identifying markers yet, replied Hardface

So, no license plate, eh? The President looked around the room to collect a few laughs.

No sir, no license plate, the buzz-killing, former military stiff replied.

Well, how is it flying?

Secretary Lovitt of Homeland Security interrupted in her sweet southern accent, It's not flyin’ sir, it's hoverin’ like a big old butterfly.

Well, how is it hovering, Darlene? Is it full of helium or something? the President asked as he peered down at her balloon-sized implants.

Hardface butted in again. No sir, it appears to be a metallic object, and our calculations show it is too heavy, even if it were hollow, and uh,... filled with helium,...to float, said Hardface.

The President thought about that for a moment. I don't like this one bit, folks. We need some answers. Where is it from? How is it flying? Is it a weapon? Or is it a surveillance device? Can we shoot it down? Can we grab it up? the President asked, ever proud in his own ability to string together a series of poignant questions that would impress even Tommy Lee Jones.

Sir, we tried to approach the object in a helicopter and it simply jumped evasively to avoid us, Secretary of Defense Hardface answered stoically.

Jumped? Like more of a bug than a butterfly then?

Yes sir. I suppose so, but--

Did you try to shoot it?

Of course not, Hardface replied. He tried unsuccessfully to conceal his amazement at the President's stupidity when it came to military issues. The last thing they needed to do was engage an alien ship in the middle of a large city with cameras pointed everywhere to document even the smallest miscalculation or failure, just so reporters could blame Hardface on the evening news.

The President grimaced, Well, I think we need to shoot at it, don't you?

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs spoke up, We actually did that, sir. We shot it all right.

Hardface felt like he had been slapped in the face. He had ordered no shooting except in response to fatal aggression. Why did no one ever listen to him? He worked very hard at giving precise commands. Someone was going to Leavenworth.

That's my boy. The President liked the chairman. He was the type to shoot first and ask questions later. The chairman always gave the best advice in military matters, whereas Hardface was an idiot.

I was just doing my duty, sir, replied the chairman, with both hands grasping his belt buckle to restrain his pride.

What happened when you popped a cap in it? the President asked, repeating the