As the invasion unfolded, the television news channels continued to transmit the latest information, albeit heavily censored, with more accurate information coming from the sporadic, highly illegal radio broadcasts.
The Klingon invaders hadn't been exaggerating when they had announced that the planet had been defeated. American and European forces had taken heavy casualties and a staggering number of planes and ships had been destroyed in the initial efforts to repel the invaders. Things were equally bad elsewhere in the world. Nowhere was left untouched.
The best weapons and most elite forces that Earth had to offer didn't stand a chance against the advanced technology of the Klingon invaders. Guns and bullets could not prevail against disruptors, nor could the most up-to-date anti-aircraft systems take down even the least of the Klingon fleet. The fighting was sporadic now, and mostly involved guerrilla action. There were no armies left to fight but in every country of the world, people who had formerly been enemies stood together in the fight for freedom. Differences such as race, colour, religion or politics were no longer relevant.
If only they but knew it, the Klingons had succeeded where years of talks and peace summits had failed. Now that it was too late, Earth had finally united.
Sarah had been devastated to learn that one of the ships lost, with all hands, was the aircraft carrier USS Enterprise. Her holiday leave had long since expired but with the current situation, there was absolutely no possibility of getting a flight home. Accepting that for the moment she was trapped in Spain and realising that she needed her own place to live, the American girl found herself an apartment about ten minutes' walk from Chrissie's home. With the banking system in disarray, Sarah had no access to money for rent, but the elderly landlady had been glad to let her have the place in return for a few chores.
Several days after her brother's phone call, Diego finally came home, his normally immaculate business suit torn and dirty and his right arm covered in bandages. Quite how he'd got home from Bogotá – if he'd ever actually gone there – Chrissie had no idea, but she was so relieved that she burst into tears when she saw him.
Hugging her with his uninjured arm, he kissed her tenderly, for the first time in months actually acting like a loving husband. He'd flown back into Madrid Barajas airport early morning on the day of the invasion, he eventually told her. They'd been lucky – flights in the air later in the day had been caught in the fighting and shot down.
Chrissie was used to her husband being away from home a lot on various business trips, but she'd thought… hoped… that with the Klingon invasion, he would stay at home with her and the children. Chrissie pleaded with him not to get involved with resisting the aliens but with his usual arrogance, he brushed off her concerns. Refusing to tell her anything, he continued to spend a lot of time away and she was getting more and more scared that he was up to something dangerous.
Over the next few weeks, Chrissie saw less and less of Diego, and she spent most of her time in a state of almost complete panic, wondering when, or if, her husband would return and no longer sure which option she preferred. She was absolutely exhausted now, both physically and mentally. Summer had arrived with a vengeance and the heat was stifling. With two young children running around, getting into everything, a husband who was never at home and the baby on the way, Chrissie was struggling badly and without Sarah's regular visits, she could never have coped. To her surprise, her husband's cousin stopped by a few times. Miguel never stayed long, just turned up with food supplies and sometimes a toy for the children with whom he would spend a little time playing, made sure she had anything she needed and then left again.
Diego's visits home were always the same. He would spend some time with the children while she prepared a meal for him, and after he had eaten, he would take her to bed, not particularly caring that, tired and stressed, his wife had very little interest in sex. Most of the time, Chrissie did not have the energy to resist; it was easier to just give him what he wanted and avoid the argument that would follow if she refused him. Afterwards, he would sleep for a while, then shower, pull on clean clothes and leave again.
On the one occasion she did refuse him, the resulting fight was far more explosive than she could ever have imagined. The angry exchange of words sparked an unexpected violence in him and before she knew it, his fist made contact with her cheek, the force of the blow sending her staggering backwards. Recovering her balance, Chrissie stared at him in shock; for all the marital problems they'd been having, he'd never hit her before. All she could do was cringe away from him as he stepped towards her, fists still clenched. "Go into the bedroom, woman. Do as you are told… or must I hit you again?"
The following evening, Miguel stopped by again, carrying a large bag of groceries. Not bothering to knock, he let himself into the house and going straight to the kitchen, he put the bags on the table and started to unpack them. "I managed to find some fresh fruit," he said, intent on what he was doing. "I even got some…" He looked up with a smile and stopped dead, for the first time noticing the swelling on the side of her face, the livid remains of a handprint clearly visible.
Miguel crossed the room swiftly and stopped in front of her, gently reaching out to touch her bruised face. "Did he do this?"
Flinching back from his touch, Chrissie nodded warily. She was unprepared for the sudden blaze of anger in his normally cold eyes. Realising he was frightening her, he stepped back, giving her space, and she got the impression he was mentally counting to ten in an effort to contain his temper. "You have nothing to fear from me, chiquita. I am not my cousin; I do not hit women."
"I don't know what to do," she confessed suddenly, not sure why she was telling him this, but needing to confide in someone. "I can't stay with him and I can't leave."
Miguel considered that. "Why not? Because of the Klingons?"
That was something she hadn't even thought about. The alien invaders had made travel impossible; there were no flights or trains or even buses. The hopelessness of her situation was almost overwhelming. "He made it very clear if I try to take Antonio, he will come after me and…"
"¡Mierda! ¡Hijo de gran puta! ¡Jodido cabrón!" Miguel stopped himself. Swearing achieved nothing. "If you want to leave, I can arrange it."
He was interrupted by cries of "Tio Miguel!" as Chrissie's son came running into the room, closely followed by his little sister. The cold look fading from his eyes, he ruffled the boy's hair before picking up the little girl and holding her above his head in a brief, impromptu game of 'Aeroplanes'. Putting the toddler down again, he shooed the children out into the garden before returning to the discussion.
"A friend of mine operates a fishing boat out of Luarca," he told Chrissie. "There are closer ports of course but it's a small town and so far, it's been left alone. He owes me a favour or two and if I ask him, he'll take you and the children across to England – and your American friend as well if she wants to go with you."
Unsure whether to trust him or be suspicious of his uncharacteristically generous offer, her eyes widened in surprise. "Why are you doing this? Why are you helping me?"
"Someone has to," he replied shortly. "You are family. If Diego is endangering you, then it's my place to do something about it. You need not worry; I will keep him away from you for a while. By the time he finds out you've gone, you'll be safe in England."
Slowly she nodded.
"Muy bien," Miguel said, satisfied. "Leave the arrangements with me and I'll have a driver pick you up on Sunday morning. Pack only what you can carry, you'll need to travel light. There won't be huge amounts of space in the car."
With the plan agreed, there was nothing more to say. Miguel moved towards the door, preparing to leave.
"Miguel…" Chrissie called his name and he turned back inquiringly. "Gracias!" Impulsively she reached up and kissed him. It was the last thing he had expected her to do and for a moment he froze. Then, almost of their own accord, his arms slid around her waist, pulling her closer as he returned her kiss. His lips parting hers, Miguel slipped his tongue into her mouth, revelling in her immediate response. It was with great reluctance that he stepped back, noting with satisfaction that she was breathing as hard as he was. "Me tengo que ir…" He needed to go, otherwise… but his knowledge of English temporarily deserting him, he framed the words in his native Spanish.
Chrissie shook her head, reaching up to kiss him again. "Stay…"
Two days had passed since the stolen encounter with Miguel. He had quietly left in the early hours of the morning and Chrissie hadn't heard from him since. She could not bring herself to feel any regret or guilt about what they had done. Miguel's lovemaking had made her feel desirable…alive again... and if he returned before Sunday, she'd be glad to welcome him into her bed again. Beyond that… no… It had been nothing more than a brief interlude, two people finding a few moments of comfort in a time of war and she had no expectations or desire for a relationship with him.
She was in the kitchen, preparing the children's breakfast and putting some dishes away when she heard it - a massive explosion so strong it rattled the entire house – several explosions actually, but so close together that it sounded like one. Suddenly afraid, she hurried outside. The remains of a massive fireball were clearly visible, thick clouds of toxic, black smoke rising high over the central area of the city, obscuring the sun and choking the city with ash. The wailing of sirens could be heard in the distance and if she listened carefully, Chrissie thought she could hear screams and the crackling of flames.
There was nothing any of the authorised news channels, but around late afternoon, she was able to pick up an illegal radio transmission which reported that a bomb had exploded in the city centre, outside the Klingon headquarters, killing not only several of the aliens but a significant number of humans as well. Chrissie sat down in numb shock. It could only be the work of the resistance and all her instincts told her that both Diego and Miguel were involved.
Sensing her mood and not understanding its cause, both children had been absolute horrors, generally misbehaving and running her ragged. At the moment, her daughter, having finally finished with her latest tantrum, seemed to have settled down a bit and was sitting in the middle of the floor, contentedly playing with one of her toys. It was way past their bedtime now and she knew she should really get them showered and into bed, but she did not want to be alone and in their current hyperactive mood, neither of them was likely to sleep. Realising that everything had gone suspiciously quiet, she looked round wondering what mischief her older child was up to. Her son was, she discovered, standing on the sofa and looking out of the window… with his outdoor shoes on!
"Antonio!" she snapped, "Get down from there and clean up that mess."
"Mama! Hay unos monstruos…"
"In English please," she reminded her son. Both children were being brought up bilingual and Antonio was almost as fluent in English as he was in Spanish, but with their impending relocation, he needed to spend more time practicing that language.
The boy pouted but complied, jumping off the cushioned sofa onto the wooden floor with an audible thump. "Mummy, there are monsters in the garden… two of them, just like on the telly!"
Chrissie sighed. Monsters in the garden? What would that child think of next? Deciding she'd better check, she got to her feet. It was probably just those damned mastins from next door. They were gorgeous dogs but not when they trampled her flower beds. If they had got loose again, she…
A thunderous knocking on the door, immediately told her that whatever the child had seen, it wasn't next door's dogs. Chrissie moved to answer it but was not quite quick enough. The door burst open and two Klingons entered the house and approached her. Outside, by the garden gate she could see two more. All were heavily armed. The radio reports had been full of tales of Klingon brutality and Chrissie stood rooted to the spot, terrified.
One of them, the older and more senior of the two, addressed her. "You are Qis'ta Mart-inh-ezh?" His pronunciation of her name was a little odd, giving it a unique and slightly exotic sound that under other circumstances she might have actually liked.
Too scared to speak, Chrissie simply nodded, but as the other one bent over and picked up the little girl, she found her voice. "She's just a baby, please don't hurt her."
The Klingon gave her a disgusted look. "Klingons do not hurt children."
Of course not, Chrissie thought sarcastically, wondering how many thousands of children had died or been injured in the initial aerial attack and in the fighting that had followed. She was sensible enough however not to antagonise her visitors by voicing the thought.
Not impressed at having her game interrupted, the toddler opened her mouth to let out a squall of protest but the soldier holding her was something new and exciting. Forgetting the tantrum she'd been about to throw, she gazed into the fierce visage of the soldier and smiled instead. Chubby fingers reached out to touch the heavy cranial ridges adorning his head and then, catching hold of a lock of his hair, gave it a sharp tug.
Her heart in her mouth, Chrissie could only watch in horror, but the soldier did not seem bothered - if anything he seemed fascinated by the child. Putting up a hand, he carefully freed himself from her grasp and then handed the little one over to her frightened mother. This time, deprived of the object of her interest, the toddler did cry.
With a quick sideways glance to check on her son – and finding that he seemed as fascinated by the alien visitors as his little sister, she turned her attention back to the two soldiers. "Why are you here? What do you want?"
"My orders are to bring you in for questioning," the older one informed her brusquely. "Your mate, Di-ego Mart-inh-ezh…" Again, he stumbled over the alien name, "…took part in the bombing this morning. He has been arrested and sentenced to death."
Translation notes: What Miguel says about his cousin is very rude and I'll leave its meaning to your imagination. Tio of course means uncle and muy bien means very good/very well. Gracias is of course thank you, and Me tengo que ir means I have to go.
A Mastin is a Spanish Mastiff. They are huge!
Klingon language note: A capital Q is pronounced like Kr. So Qo'noS, becomes Kronos, and Qis'ta, Krista (Christa). Don't blame me, Marc Okrand invented the language.