Several Years Ago

A sluggish stream of tasteless sludge spews from the big fat tube stuffed into my mouth. I almost gag but manage to suck the load down anyway, keeping my eyes fixed on to the featureless ceiling. My body is numb, a giant dead weight attached to my head. My right hand, one of the few parts of my body that I can still move, reflexively clutches at the bed sheets as the tube in my mouth sputters unpleasantly, discharging the last of its payload.

"All done?" a woman's voice asks from my side. I nod sullenly, not bothering to turn around. If there is an afterlife still worth going to in this world, I am going to seek out whomever invented the truck and I will torture him until he dies a second death. Then I'll ask the devil to revive that piece of shit so I can torture him some more.

Experienced hands lift my head up and the nurse disconnects the feeding tube from my mouth, leaving a dribble of liquefied 'food' running down my face. A paper cloth is brought up by the nurse and my face is given a rough but thorough cleaning. She then adjusts my hospital gown and pulls at a crank by the side of the bed which lifts the upper half of the mattress up. I am forced into what passes for seated position and my hand reaches for the tablet mounted by the side of the bed.

Thanks to the run in with the truck, I can no longer move. I can't even talk, having lost control over my vocal chords. The last time I tried, it sounded like the grunting of a moronic ape. The hospital provided me with a tablet so I can type out whatever I want to say with my sole working appendage. Its troublesome, but beggars can't be choosers. My finger dashes out a quick question for the nurse.

What gives?

"You're having visitors." the nurse smiles, "Very important ones."

?

"You'll understand soon enough." the nurse pats my arm reassuringly, "They know of your condition, so there's nothing to be afraid of."

Fine.

There's nothing much for me to say anyway. I can't avoid this meeting anyway. The only thing to do is wait. The nurse putters about the ICU ward, cleaning up here and there. I had been placed in a quiet corner of the room, away from most of the other patients. I couldn't really interact with anyone here and the general atmosphere of the place was starting to give me a downer. The patients here either can't move, spend most of their time sleeping, spend most of their time knocked out on painkillers or are waiting for death to claim them. The whole place alternates between being boring or depressing. Sometimes both at the same time.

The nurse begins to pull up the blinds, allowing me to look out of the window. A harsh red glare fills the ward, caused by the sun's rays being reflected by the crimson waters of the sea. The hospital had been built on a large tract of land by the beach, intended to serve as a hub for high class medical tourism. You could get surgery here and do some shopping at the integrated luxury mall after the anesthesia wore off. And once a patient was all better, he could kick back at the private beach for sun and surf.

At least that was the plan, a couple of centuries ago when this place was originally built. Then one fine day the sound of a trumpet blasted through the sky and the planet gets hit with a barrage of meteors. That kind of thing kind of puts a damper on anyone's vacation plans. Plus the sea suddenly turned blood red, killing all marine life in the bargain, so there was that as well. Everyone had entered full on survival mode and the medical tourism industry crashed, along with every other industry.

"Ah, the crimson sea." a hale and hearty voice interrupts my musings, "We managed to restore the marine ecology somewhat after the denial fields were set up, but could never get rid of that blasted red color."

"Yah certainly was a spiteful bastard, wasn't he?" another voice, this one genteel and educated, comments.

"Good thing we avoided the locusts." a third voice, deep and baritone mutters, "That would have been a bitch to clean up."

I turn my head and see my visitors have arrived. Three of them, as indicated by the chattering voices. The first one is a big white guy, who could qualify as a football player back in Eagleland, if he managed to get rid of that paunch around his waist. The second visitor is a stocky Chinese or Japanese man who looks down at me with naked curiosity. And the third fellow is a tall, slim African man, whose shaved head reflects the ward's fluorescent lighting. All three wear exact matching suits, down to the tie color and cuff links.

"So hi there buddy!" White Guy says enthusiastically, "We've been looking forward to meeting with you."

"We've been looking up your history ever since your got admitted." Yellow Guy notes, "It is most interesting."

"We are going to ask you a few questions." Black Guy takes over, "What happens after that, depends on your answers."

What do you people want? I type on the touch pad.

"Not so fast!" White Guy wags a finger patronizingly at me, "We ask the questions first, remember?"

"Just so." Yellow Guy nods, "First question, before your accident, why did you volunteer and join the privately organized maritime patrols?"

Shit. Are these guys the law? I need to think carefully before responding.

I wanted to protect the border. It was my duty as a citizen.

Black Guy nods, "What did you do during these maritime patrols to protect the border?"

We just sailed about. Preventing smuggling, illegal entry, that sort of thing.

White Guy frowns, "But we have the Coastguard for that buddy! Why were you sticking your nose into their business?"

Damn it. Do these guys know everything already? If so, why are they wasting time playing this game?

The Coastguard could not catch all the smugglers and illegal boats.

"Explain." Yellow Guy glares at me, "What do you mean by smugglers and illegal boats?"

Smugglers. People that smuggle things into our country. And the boats that do illegal stuff.

"What things?" Black Guy sneers, "Be precise. What was being smuggled into this country?"

Things. I glare back at the trio, daring them to push me further.

White Guy laughs, "And what did you do when these 'illegal boats' refused to turn back with their 'things'?"

We open fire on them.

"You open fire on the 'things' as well?" Yellow Guy stifles a laugh.

Maybe. Who knows?

"But sometimes 'things' still get through don't they?" Black Guy presses on, "What happens then? What do you do about those 'things'?"

We ask the government to send those things back to wherever they came from.

"And when the government ignores you?" White Guy asks in a sing song voice, "Sometimes the government even allocates buildings to store those 'things'. What happens next?"

We protest. Its our right as a free people of this country.

Yellow Guy snorts, "And why do these protests always result in the 'warehouse' storing the 'things' being torched?"

Don't know.

Black Guy bends over, breathing right down my throat, "If you could go back in time, would you still do all this? Would you take it back?"

No. Never.

"Oho!" White Guy smiles, "And just why not?"

This is our land. Our country. Its difficult enough to make a living here, even without excess things clogging the place up. I want our culture and people to survive, not just for today, but into the future. The things have a home of their own, they should stay there and try to make things work instead of coming here and messing it up for everyone. I did my part in keeping my home safe when hardly anyone else was willing. So yes, I would do it again.

"And you condemned innocent 'things' to even greater suffering." Yellow Guy shakes his head disapprovingly, "How do you justify that to your conscience?"

I don't need to justify anything. Their problems are their problems, not mine. My obligation is to my people, not them.

Black Guy nods satisfied, "We have heard enough. We are ready to pass judgment."

There's a pregnant pause as the trio resume staring down at me remorselessly. Suddenly, White Guy begins chuckling uncontrollably and he nudges Yellow Guy in the ribs.

"I told you! I told you!" White Guy says between giggles, "Don't I know how to pick them or what? We got a hundred percent winner here!"

"Hm. Yes." Yellow Guy agrees, "I admit, this candidate has the required ideological commitment to make a good Operative."

"He passes, barely." Black Guy scoffs, "The candidate lacks the finesse that makes truly effective Operatives, but I concede that loyalty and reliability are the more important factors."

What are you guys talking about?

"So here's the deal buddy," White Guy takes up the explanation, "Your life in this dimension is finished. You're paralyzed for good and will probably die once your organs give up the fight. But we can offer a way around that."

Yellow Guy taps my body for emphasis with a finger, "We are offering employment. Work for us and we make sure your meat body keeps breathing."

How is that going to be possible? I can't even jack off right now.

"The flesh is weak, but the spirit is nevertheless willing." Black Guy intones, "Devote your spirit to the cause of this planet and you shall have a place among the living."

You guys are obviously crazy. Anyway, I fought for my people. Why should I put my soul on the line for a bunch of strangers?

"You think too small buddy." White Guy smirks, "We live in a post nationalist world now. Your struggles? Just the symptom of a larger problem this planet is facing." As White Guy speaks, his skin color begins to shift and his features morph in accompaniment. Soon, White Guy's skin turns into a dusky brown color.

"Our planet never recovered from the wounds inflicted by Yah, that miserable tyrant." Yellow Guy sneers his features shifting from oriental and looking increasingly Arab, "It shuffles forward as bravely as it is able, but time is running out."

"We have assembled other men and women like you." Black Guy says, now looking more Polynesian than Black, "Patriots one and all of their respective nations, now devoted to the survival of the entire species."

Something's wrong with my eyes. I think I'm seeing things. Could someone call the nurse?

"Not seeing things buddy." Brown Guy grins, "Just waking up to the truth."

"Your response then?" Arab Guy asks, "Needless to say, this offer will only be made once."

My mind spins. I have no idea what is going on right now. But these guys are right about one thing. My life is over. Even if I survive the accident, I can never work again. An early death or poverty are the only things I have to look forward to.

I have nothing to lose anyway. So what the hell. I am in.

"Excellent. Then let me introduce the organization you will be working for." Polynesian Guy says, "We are the Earth Revival Directorate."

And with a single voice, the trio speaks.

"Welcome."