The Invo

“A new civilization is what we're building at the Fallon Naval Air Station. It's now called Foster City.” Lieutenant Brennan said, smiling at Tom Matheson from across the kitchen table. “We have electricity, we have food and we have security from marauders. We're building farms and factories.” Brennan wore the blue Navy Working Uniform with a sidearm. Two sailors stood behind Brennan, each with an automatic rifle. “We'd like you to come with us and contribute to the new society,”

To Brennan this was just another civilian – a man in his late thirties, five foot ten or so. Nothing remarkable here, except possibly those blue eyes that stayed locked on his own.

Matheson didn't like Brennan's phony smile, but he kept his tone calm “What kind of new civilization will enter a man's home to steal his solar panels and Tesla wall at gunpoint? How civilized is that?” When Brennan didn't answer, Tom continued, “No, I will not join your new society. I'll survive on my own and damn you all to Hell.”

Brennan never lost his smile, “Mr Matheson, you misunderstand. You are coming with us and you will become part of our society. The only question is, how many of your ears need to be trimmed.”

One of the sailors chuckled at that. He put his rifle on the couch and took a pair of shears from his belt.

“And the answer is two ears. Seaman Sullivan, please restrain Mr. Matheson and collect the top half of both ears. We are the Sailors, Mr. Matheson, no longer the United States Navy, for obvious reasons, but simply the Sailors. We need more hands. Most civilians who have survived this long are happy to join. We give them life. They give us work. Contractors get one ear trimmed. You are an Involuntary Worker, what we call an Invo. You'll work or you'll be shot.”

Tom didn't want to show pain or fear, and he fixed his gaze on the lieutenant while the sailor pulled his left ear out and snipped. He had to close his eyes from the pain, and when the right ear was cut he couldn't hold back the scream.

“Keep them eyes closed, Invo, I'm going to spray some healing juice which might sting and we surely wouldn't want to hurt you.” Sullivan said, in mock sympathy.

“A favor please, Lieutenant.” Tom was trying to sound like he wasn't in pain, “There's a locket on the mantle behind you which I want to bring with me.”

Brennan laughed, “A favor? Hah! Learn this: don't speak to a Sailor unless he asks a question, don't offer opinions or comments. Bob your head for yes and shake your head for no. Otherwise don't talk at all. Seaman Sullivan, one sting please, for the Invo's disrespect.”

Sullivan took a taser from his belt and fired. The world exploded in Tom's head. He didn't know if he'd screamed or not, but that didn't seem to matter anymore.

Brennan continued, “Invo, you will do whatever a Sailor orders, anything he orders, or expect a bullet for disobedience.” He walked to the mantle. “Let's take a look at the locket.”

“This cheap trinket?” The lieutenant held up a gold colored heart, an inch in height, on a chain. He read the inscription. “All you need is Love,” He opened it, looked inside, and shook his head. He stretched out the chain while walking behind Matheson and put the it around Tom's neck,

centering the heart.

“That's adorable, you'll get lots of business from the guards.”

+++

“Over here, newbie, take this bunk .” The voice came from a large man in his sixties. “The name's Greybeard. Welcome.”

Greybeard was in the top bed of the bunk next to the bathroom. Tom settled into the bottom bed. It was good to lay down. “I'm Tom Matheson. How's the food here?”

“They'll shoot you if you complain.”

Tom laughed, “Really?”

“Well, it hasn't happened yet but I don't recommend complaining about anything. The food? They have an endless supply of MREs and no desserts.”

Greybeard switched his voice to a syrupy tenor, “But the food is wonderful, Captain Foster, thank you for the excellent food, Captain Foster.”

Tom was beginning to relax a bit. If this old-timer could handle the treatment, then so could he. At least until he came up with a plan. He needed more information.

“How are the Contractors treated?”

Greybeard hesitated, “ I know one Contractor who gets stung almost every day. Others are buddy-buddy with the Sailors. Contractors don't have to work at gunpoint, like we do, but otherwise the only real difference is they have a rec room.”

“They trade freedom for a rec room?”

“Tom, most folks can't survive outside.”

“Nobody should live in slavery. I won't.”

+++

Commander Mary Jensen's office had a potted orchid on the table next to her desk. On the wall behind the commander was a framed photo of her in full flight gear, standing next to a jet fighter. She was in her mid thirties, a slender brunette with a hawkish nose.

On the desk were a few sheets of paper and a taser.

“To summarize,” she said, “You're thirty-eight and in reasonably good shape for a civilian. You were a graphic designer, which is useless these days. You were married. How did your wife die?”

“She died in the first wave of the Harvey Variant.”

“I hope she got a good burial.” The Commander said, actually sounding sincere.

“She did, and I got a death benefit check before the insurance companies folded .” Damn! Tom swore at himself for answering more than she asked. That could earn him a taser sting.

But she only smiled, “I'm assigning you to the scavenger squad during the day and to building bunk beds in the evening.”

She sat there a moment and took a deep breath. “There is another matter.” She looked down at the top of her desk. “With no news for so many months, you may not know how dire the situation is. The world has been severely depopulated by the Harvey Variant and the subsequent general collapse. Deaths may exceed ninety percent.” She closed her eyes and inhaled. “I've been ordered to bear children.” She looked at Tom. “My rank prevents choosing a donor from the Sailors, it would create problems. This is my most fertile time and you are the … least disagreeable man ... available.”

Tom started to speak, she stopped him.

“Shut up INVO! You will be brought to my quarters tonight. Dismissed.”

+++

Captain Foster was addressing the eighteen new Invos at dinner mess. The Captain had been a linebacker at the Academy, now in his fifties he was still in athletic shape. “I am Captain Jeremy Foster, commanding officer of Foster City,” he boomed. “We are bringing civilization to northern Nevada, with your help.”

“When we were Fallon Naval Air Station, we lost sixty-two percent of our complement to the Harvey Variant. A military group can take huge losses and not lose its command structure. There is always a leader. That is not true of civilian organizations like corporations, utilities and governments. The cities have collapsed: there's no food, no water, no gas, no electricity - just guns, stench and rats. Here at the Naval Air Station I inherited command and I am restoring civilization.”

“You here are survivors of the first order. You've survived several catastrophes.”

“Which is why we cannot allow you to run free. Survivors like you would band together and try to do harm to Foster City. You would fight us, and we're the only chance humanity has.”

Tom stood up. He knew this would cost him, but he had to know more about the man in charge. “Why not build a democracy? Why use slavery?”

Captain Foster was livid. “How dare you interrupt me. Ensign Howell, give this disrespectful Invo a sting.”

“I'll take two if you'll answer the question.”

“Give him two, Ensign, and I will address the subject because I choose to. Democracies don't work. To get anything done you need a leader. Did Hannibal take a vote before crossing the Alps? Did Alexander the Great run for office?”

“You probably think that Greeks built the Parthenon. Wrong. It was built by slaves, as were the Pyramids, and most of civilization. My Sailors and I are the mind, you slaves are the body. You do my will, and you don't question my decisions.”

“Dismissed.”

Tom sat on the ground waiting for Ensign Howell. Might as well start this on the ground, he would be there soon enough anyway.

+++

In the morning three electric pickup trucks were lined up, one with a large cage on its bed. Eight Invos stood near the caged truck, including Tom and Greybeard. Lieutenant Brennan looked particularly cheerful. Today was going to be fun for him and his team. They had a new Invo on their team, a new plaything.

Commander Jensen came toward them from the compound. She was the boss of Brennan's superior officer and Lieutenant Brennan didn't know why she would be here. She returned his salute, “I'm here to speak with Invo Matheson,” she said, and walked over to Tom. She was wearing the locket, Brennan saw, Matheson's locket, the “All you need is Love” locket. His mind went blank, his body numb. He dare not touch Matheson, at least not today. Commander Mary Jensen addressed Matheson. “We must work again tonight, it's an important mission and this is our window of fertility.” Greybeard saw her fleeting smile.

Tom bobbed his head yes. She turned and walked away.

Greybeard looked at Tom, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

“She's a remarkable woman,” was all he said.

Lieutenant Brennan barked, “Sullivan – lock them up and get it moving!”

Seaman Sullivan looked bewildered, “Sir, you always do that.”

“Shut up you moron, I told you to do it.” He walked toward the lead truck, disappointed. There would be no fun today.

The Interstate had been cleared from Fallon to Reno, and the Sailors enjoyed driving very fast.

In the cage, Tom asked, “How do we take them down? Chopping off the head won't work.” “Keep your eyes open. Their arrogance and overconfidence will be their downfall. But it's going to take time. ”

+++

At the Home Depot, Invos loaded one truck with building supplies, leaving one truck empty for their second stop, a home with solar panels in northern Reno.

Once there, Lieutenant Brennan took three Sailors to the front door.

Seaman Sullivan unlocked the cage and directed the Invos to the back yard where rows of panels were arrayed. Sullivan handed out tools and told the prisoners to start removing panels. He kept his rifle at the ready. He was the only guard for eight workers - the lieutenant and the other Sailors were securing the house.

Tom and Greybeard headed to the farthest panel with their tools. Greybeard examined the panel's fastenings, Tom looked at the back fence some twenty feet away. Sullivan was watching them closely.

Tom noticed something in Greybeard's shirt pocket.

“What's with the sugar packets?”

“Medical necessity. I faint when my blood sugar gets low.”

He looked up and saw that Sullivan wasn't close enough to hear them.

“That's the cover story. Truthfully I add sugar to the fuel on the rare occasion I can get access to fuel tanks. It's a hobby.”

“But all their vehicles are electric.”

“Not the generators and not the fighter jets.”

From the house a gunshot rang out. The back door swung open and a tall man in a bathrobe came out, pointing a shotgun. Sullivan turned towards him and BLAM, Sullivan was on the ground. There was automatic gunfire and the homeowner collapsed.

Lieutenant Brennan sprang from the back door, pistol in hand.

Tom looked at the fence, then back at Brennan.

Greybeard said, “It's suicide.”

“Perhaps.” Tom ran.