The Invo

“Only one Invo has ever escaped, and some Sailors say that particular Invo ran away only to avoid another evening with you, Commander Jensen.” Mary felt her blood rising as the chorus of male laughter came from around the table. She had to hold her tongue – this was the Exec Council, the club of captains that ran Foster City, the old boy club that outranked her and mocked her orientation openly. She didn't recall it being this bad before maternity leave, maybe she was just more sensitive now. Her life partner Liz was the only other female officer on the Exec Council. They knew they were tolerated in this group only because they were competent.

Commander Mary Jensen, as Director of Personnel, had to obtain and allocate workers for each Exec's fiefdom – construction, agriculture, food service, and the rest. She was known as Queen Mary to her juniors, and to the Contractors and Invos over whose lives she ruled. She could change work assignments for anyone who displeased her and she had a list of especially nasty jobs waiting. But as powerful as she was among her own people, here in the Exec Council she was a junior officer, and an uppity female to boot. She had to hold her tongue.

Lieutenant Commander Elizabeth Higgins, stood and spoke, “The Commander's proposal was to replace the scavenger squad with a crew of contractors. That would free up four Sailors and six Invos for work elsewhere. We can use the Sailors to recruit more contractors and Invos. And we can put the Invos in the caged city where they are, yes, less likely to escape, for any reason.”

Liz sat down.

Captain Mike McDowell, serving as the CO's Chief of Staff, had a small cigar held ready to light, but paused in mid air. “The thing is, if you give a contractor a truck to load at some Home Depot he'll take the truck and drive away. Goodbye contractor and goodbye truck.” He lit the cigar.

“Mike's right,” Captain Foster said. “The contractor has no reason not to steal the truck and run. Of course he would do that. But I like the math, I like the idea of using contractors for some Sailor jobs. If you found a way to be sure of a few specific contractors, maybe hold hostages. Work on it Mary.”

“Any more business today?”

It was the first time the Captain had used Mary's first name.

+++

Tom sipped his coffee, and checked his watch again. Aaron should have been back half an hour ago. On the table was a plate heaped with hot chocolate chip cookies Mrs. Levy had baked. Tom reached for his third cookie, breaking his self-imposed two cookie rule.

He heard the clatter of bicycles in the garage. The kitchen door opened, and Aaron came in, followed by two other young men dressed in shorts and tees.

“You're late, any problems?”

Aaron, a husky, six-footer took a mug from the counter and poured himself a cup of cold coffee. “The Sailors brought a fourth truck and loading that extra truck added thirty-five minutes over yesterday's time.”

That news caused Tom to stop chewing for a second. “A fourth truck. Hmm. Still four Sailors?”

“Yeah, Lieutenant Brennan drove the lead truck, instead of being a passenger. Seaman Scott is still driving the cage truck and he's still guarding the wrong side of the trucks.”

Tom stood up and took his coffee over to a table in the living room. “Let's debrief.”

The table was covered with a model floorplan of a Home Depot, showing the walls of the building in clay. Aisle numbers were marked on bits of paper. Three clay trucks were parked in front with four blue clay figures representing the position of Sailors. The figure labeled “Scott” was standing between the store and the trucks, as if to protect the trucks from the Sailors. The other side of the trucks was unguarded, letting Tom's team stealthily approach the trucks unnoticed. This had allowed them to verify that keys were always left in the ignition.

This was Aaron's first turn at being squad leader, the assignment being rotated between Tom's three recruits. Tom picked up the bowl of modeling clay and began fashioning another clay truck to add to the table. Stealing four trucks and a prisoner would require at least one more person. Two more would be better.

The Sailors were getting close to emptying that Home Depot and where they would scavenge next was anyone's guess. Tom knew they had to pull off the heist day after tomorrow. Today he would get two recruits, tomorrow they'd rehearse and the next day they would rock Captain Foster's world.

+++

Mary, wearing only a kimono, was nursing her baby girl on the sofa. She was home for the night, and she felt like being a family. She was going to keep little Jill till bedtime instead of the usual one hour “mommy session.” She wanted a quiet evening with her partner Liz and her baby Jill.

Liz came from the bedroom, still wearing her working uniform. She was walking briskly. “Are you going out?” Mary asked.

“Mike asked me to the Officer's Club, I know, no alcohol.”

“But why are you still seeing him? I mean, you got his seed already.” Liz was just starting to show.

Liz looked Mary in the eyes, “First of all, you don't say no to the CO's Chief of Staff. But, love, remember that men are useful. This one is hooked and ready to say yes to anything. Don't be jealous, this is good for both of us, you'll see. Mike knows it's you I love. I'll be late.”

She turned and left their apartment.

Mary sighed, it would be just her and Jill tonight, wait a second, the nanny was still here, waiting to take Jill back to the nursery after mommy session. What was her name? Oh, well. She called out, “Nanny? Contractor? Come here!”

Sharon Beck was a pretty nineteen year old who wore her blonde hair over her clipped right ear. “Yes, Ma'am?”

“It's going to be a girls' night tonight, just you, me and Jill. Why don't you get two glasses and a bottle of wine, we'll chat and you can do my nails.” Mary looked at Sharon a little more closely. “You can give me a massage later, too.”

+++

It was just a kid lighting fireworks and running out through the garden department. A prank, like the pranks he played when he was ten, Lieutenant Brennan thought as he rounded the corner of aisle six. He froze when he saw the bright emptiness there.

The trucks were gone. Seaman Scott wasn't there. He should be there, watching the trucks. Where were the trucks? Brennan walked to the spot where he had parked the lead truck. There was not a truck in sight, in any direction. He was missing four trucks and one Sailor. How? He had been distracted for maybe three minutes at the most.

He stood staring down the street, wondering what to do. Then he sat where he was and closed his eyes.

After a while Petty Officer Ryan Morris walked over to him from inside the Home Depot. “We've secured the Invos in the employee lounge. How long before we get a ride back?”

“PO Morris, the radio was in the lead truck. They won't miss us at the base until dark and they won't send a search team till morning. Why don't you see if you can catch a squirrel or something for dinner.”

One thing for sure was going to happen tomorrow, Brennan thought. Queen Mary was going to chew his ass to shreds.

+++

Tom was smiling, sitting at the dinner table yelling the details to Mrs. Levy in the kitchen. “They did it perfectly, exactly by the plan. Even your new recruits – Sandra and Charlie – they did great. "

Mrs. Levy was breading pieces of a chicken, the chicken she used to call 'Lucy.' “Where's the Sailor?” she asked.

“Getting into new clothes. Are you ready for him?”

“I surely am.”

A six-foot tall black man, about twenty-four and muscular, walked into the kitchen. Tom held back a laugh at seeing the professional military man so severely out of uniform. He was wearing shorts, flip-flops and a green t-shirt which said “Plant a Tree.” He stood in the doorway, in a parade rest stance, eyes straight ahead.

Mrs. Levy had moved to Reno from Atlanta. She was forty, full-figured and a widow with a charming southern accent. “What's your name, child?” She asked with a lilt.

“Seaman First Class Shaquille Scott, Ma'am”

“No you're not. No, you're not. No, you're not. This is my house and I do not allow Sailors in my house. I know you were a Sailor, but now you're on vacation from the Sailors. So you are just a human being, a person, a neighbor, maybe a friend. By the way, I'm Consuela Levy and you are my guest, but you're not a Sailor today. You can be one again next week. What's your name, child?”

“Shaquille Scott, ma'am, Shaq for short.”

“Glad to meet you, now have a seat and talk with Tom while I fix lunch.”

Without hello or handshake, Tom said, “I suppose you're eager to get back to your buddies.”

Shaq took the chair across from Tom, and sat as if at attention, “Yes, sir.”

“Well, you're free to go. Be sure to take some water with you.”

Mrs. Levy called out, “Oh, stay for lunch, it's not every day we have hot fried chicken, Georgia style. Eat before you go.”

Shaq didn't move at all. Tom continued, “We stole four trucks and took one Sailor prisoner – that's our gift to Captain Foster. What happens to you now doesn't really matter to us. We proved our point and I'd rather let you go than have to feed you.” He paused for a second. “I might try to swap you for a few Invos,”

“Yes, do that!” Mrs Levy offered.

“But if you want to leave I won't stop you. You're free to walk out of here.”

“Shaq, don't listen to Tom. He's messing with you, it's a long walk, about a hundred thirty-seven point five miles to your main gate. And Reno is a desert, sweetie. So, take a little vacation from the Sailors, be my guest here a few days” When Shaq didn't say anything she added, “At least stay for lunch.”

+++

The radio, shaped like a large phone handset, was talking again. “Come in Scavengers, Come in. We need a sitrep, what's going on there?”

Tom put down his paintbrush and walked over to the workbench, where the radio was chattering. It was so tempting to answer the call with a thick Russian accent and say something like, “Thank you for the wonderful American trucks, do you have more we could steal?” But, no. Total silence was his plan. Right now they didn't know who raided them. It could be an army of hungry cannibals, or the Chinese Army or it could be just a handful of thieves. They don't know, so let their imaginations run wild and they'll create armies of Russians or zombies or aliens. Whatever they fear, that's what we are in their minds. Let it be.

He removed the rechargeable batteries and put them by the charger. He opened a chest and put the radio on top of the uniform, with the automatic rifle, the taser and the boots.

He went back to making posters for the organizational meeting, or “The Community Barbeque,” as Consuela calls it. He wanted to have a five day countdown, posters that read “In 5 Days” would be replaced with “In 4 Days” and so on. Tom didn't know today's day or date and he didn't think many others in Reno did either. So he needed five posters for each of twelve locations. Tom loved graphic design but the thought of making sixty posters posed the question, would he make each one different or set up a mass production run?

+++

Captain Foster sat at the end of the conference table, his arms crossed, his face red. His Chief of Staff was booming the message as he paced around the table where the senior executives of Foster City sat. “This isn't just a failure of the scavenger squad, this reflects sloppiness all around. Sloppiness in our habits, in our thinking. Sloppiness in the message we pass down the ranks.”

“One lowly lieutenant has royally screwed this City.”

“His carelessness cost us four trucks and one Sailor. How could an officer get the idea that leaving keys in the ignition is standard practice, even in enemy territory? Did his seniors not instruct him or supervise him? How did their seniors not inspect? Do you see? We're all at fault for letting Lieutenant Brennan get comfortable and lazy.”

“Captain Foster has accepted his part in this. He also expressed his disappointment in me, that as Chief of Staff I hadn't seen complacency set in and sloppiness become the norm. He was right, and I'm changing that now. Officers, this is rolling downhill hard. I expect this message to vibrate in every bone of every officer and every Sailor.. SHAPE UP!”

“Lieutenant Commander Higgins stay, all else dismissed.”

Liz was seated near the head of the table, so she stayed there. Captain Foster stood, towering over Liz.

“Who did this, Lieutenant Commander, who stole our trucks and took one of our Sailors? We were attacked, and you, the Director of Security, can't even tell me who did it. Do you have a clue who did this?”

“No, Sir. They don't answer the radio.”

It didn't matter to the Captain that she was pregnant, she's not on maternity leave so she gets what she deserves. He was ready to blast at her another five minutes, when his Chief of Staff gave her a way out.

“Liz,” he asked gently, “do you have a plan for getting information?”

“Yes, Sir.”

The Captain was suddenly angry at Mike for being nice to her. He was thinking about sex, not security. “Well, spit it out woman!” he bellowed at Liz.

“The raiders, for lack of a better name, will want to trade their prisoner, unless they were stupid enough to kill him. Maybe we can get Seaman Scott back in exchange for five or six Invos. We'll find out about the group by negotiating with them and from what Seaman Scott tells us when we get him back. I'll make offers on the radio and also drive around Reno with a white flag to start talks.”

Captain Foster sat down and closed his eyes in thought. “Do that, Lieutenant Commander, let's also send two deep cover operatives into Reno to find and join them.”

+++

Shaq was finally getting the rules of gin rummy in his head, and he was winning this hand. Mrs. Levy came back from the kitchen with a plate of sugar cookies. “You were telling me about what happened to your friend Alex when he talked back to Queen Mary.”

“Yeah. But Mrs. Levy, I don't understand where you get all this food. They tell us that Reno is guns and stench and rats, no food anywhere.”

“Perhaps downtown was like that once, it was never quite that bad here. You need to know that officers lie, Shaq, that's what officers do. They tell you crap like that to keep you in line. Officers have the job of getting ordinary people to march into deadly gunfire. They tell lies to make normal people into killers. In all armies, officers lie.”

“But you were asking about food.”

“Back when money could buy things, people emptied out the grocery stores, and hoarded canned goods. Like the people who used to live in this lovely home. It was a family of seven or eight. They stocked up on canned goods, heavily, and then they died. One of my friends found this place a few weeks ago and it was easier to clean it up and move in than to try moving all the food out.”

“Also, folks have had time to tend their gardens, so we're starting to see fresh produce. I raise chickens and sometimes I trade eggs for honey or eggs for veggies.”

“Like a farmer's market?”

Oops, she had said too much. “Hah, not nearly that organized. Play a card already.”

Tom came in from the garage and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the counter. He walked over to the card table and sat down. The table still had residue of modeling clay in places, and a hard-cover Janet Evanovich book off to the side. Tom picked up the book and asked Shaq, “How do you like it?”

Shaq smiled, “I finished two of hers already and I'm starting on the third today. She's a great writer. Thanks for the suggestion.”

Tom took a drink and told Shaq, “They won't trade you for two Invos. I thought the first offer of four Invos was fair, but they just said no to four and now they won't trade you for two Invos, like you don't matter at all. I don't understand the Sailor officers. Tomorrow, I'll offer to trade you for one Invo. Don't worry, you'll be home soon.”

“They don't think I'm worth two Invos. That's just stupid.”

“I study history,” Tom said, “and the kind of society they're building there is ripe for a slave rebellion, like the Spartacus slave rebellion. I tell you this because you guard slaves and you'll be the first target. So watch for the signs of unhappy slaves.”

“Okay.”

“And Shaq, if the Sailors lose control and it all falls apart, look me up and I'll get you work.”

“You can always help in the kitchen.” Mrs. Levy offered.

+++

“Stand right there and don't move. I'll be back in five minutes.” Seaman First Class Frank Morris had marched Greybeard to the repair shop hanger only to realize he didn't have the door key. All of a sudden everything had to be locked, and you had to sign for the key at Admin. Damn it all. He wasn't about to escort an Invo through the office building. Let him roast on the tarmac outside a locked hanger, he couldn't do any harm.“Don't move.”

Greybeard couldn't believe his luck. About fifty feet away a helicopter was parked, and he didn't see anyone – not a Sailor or a Contractor - in any direction. Finding no one at all on a second scan he ran to the chopper.

The fuel port wasn't locked and Greybeard emptied his two sugar packets, wishing he had more to add to the fuel. “Well,” he muttered to himself,” I do need to pee.”

+++

“Who the HELL let this man run loose? Who let this out-of-uniform overweight buffoon walk through the base talking about his vacation?Yesterday our Sailors were terrified of being captured and tortured. Now being captured means being forced to eat fried chicken and blueberry pie.”

Mary settled into her chair, Captain Foster could keep bellowing for hours. She had never seen him this furious. Around the table the execs sat like stone statues.

“How do we put this back in the tube? If I read this report right, he wasn't chained or tortured – he was treated to a vacation with card games, novels and home cooking. And by now every Sailor has heard about it.”

Liz had questioned the Seaman a few hours ago. What nagged at her was the butter. Seaman Scott reported using butter and maple syrup on his French toast one morning Where could Mrs. Levy get butter? There had to be an operational dairy farm out there, which implied another layer of organization and a lot of trading. It took some degree of civilization to serve French toast with maple syrup and butter. She wasn't sure they could make that breakfast from scratch here on the base.

“Now we have Sailors who are not afraid of the enemy. Hell, we probably have Sailors willing to jump the fence for a home cooked meal. Just look at Seaman Scott trying to fit in a uniform! How much weight did he gain in six days?”

“Fourteen pounds, sir.”

“Disgraceful. And what is this crap about us not willing to trade an Invo for him? Explain that please, Director of Security.”

Liz said, “The group leader, the escaped Invo Tom Matheson, told Seaman Scott he had tried to negotiate a trade, but that we refused to trade even one Invo for him.”

Captian Foster said, “And you were driving around Reno with a white flag all that time, unable to make contact, but eager to trade. Did you tell that to Seaman Scott?”

“He didn't believe me. He said, 'You think I'm not worth one Invo, not even one sick or dying Invo.'”

“ I wish they had shot him,” the Captain said.

+++

Tom held a cardboard stencil against the poster and sprayed red paint. The poster now read, ”Community BBQ – Food – Beer – Music - Meet your neighbors, Idlewyld Park in 5 days.” It had peace signs and flowers in the borders and “Love” and “Peace” written in various places.

He looked at the collection of colorful signs, admiringly. It was good work. Who said there was no use for a professional graphic designer? He needed to paint his new electric truck before the community BBQ, and he was planning to use the peace sign and flowers motif. It was really good to be painting again. Maybe he'd make murals on buildings some day.

Mrs. Levy walked from the kitchen with two wine glasses, she held one out for Tom.

“I need to tell you the stories I heard from Shaq,” she sipped her wine.

“How much intel did you actually get?”

“He told me the names, ranks and duties of about forty Sailors and officers. I pieced together the organization chart as much as I could, and a rough map of the compound. That's all I could get without him getting wise. But I heard juicy gossip about the senior execs.”

“You did a really spectacular job, Consuela. I particularly like your line that - 'he's not worth one Invo, not even a sick or a dying Invo.' I'd wager that line gets repeated twenty times a day around the base.”

“He's such a sweet guy, I hated to tell him that.”

“Consuela, you warned him – you said officers lie. You warned him.”

“Tonight, let me debrief over dinner.”

“Are we back to standard rations now that our guest is gone?”

“I've got something special planned for you. By the way, you're a dad. Commander Jenkins has a little girl named Jill.”

Tom smiled broadly. “Good. I was hopeful. Repopulation is important.”

Consuela smiled back, “Yes, let's talk about that tonight, me and you.”

Tom put down his wine and took her hand.