"I certainly am impressed with your service in the United Nations Army," said the man in the red flannel shirt and blue jeans. "We've had a lot of veterans apply. Thank you for your time here."

"You are welcome," I said.

I had a job interview at this warehouse in an industrial area in Kingston. I only saw a glimpse of the warehouse, with wooden crates and a worker operating a forklift. The inner office itself was this small room with a lot of junk in it in addition to this cheap, worn-out desk and steel file cabinets.

I left through the outer office, which had one person working on a desktop computer. I emerged out to the street, which was paved with asphalt and lined with industrial buildings and wooden electrical poles.

As I waited for a bus on the main road, I recalled my return to Jamaica. I knew something was up when Norman Manley Airport was not as busy as I remember, but it was when I reached my old neighborhood that I knew what was wrong.

A lot of the storefronts on the main street were closed. Two prominent clothing boutiques and a bar, all of which were open before I was born, were having closing sales. I immediately started applying for jobs via the Internet almost as soon as I came home, but I have yet to get a job offer.

"How was your job interview?" asked Mom as I went back to my house.

"Great," I said. "This was my third interview since I got back from the Army."

"At least employers are interested in you. Why don't I microwave an instant jerk meal?"

"Thanks," I said.

Oooooooo

I later had a round of drinks at the Cantina Loco. The cantina was not as crowded, and there was only one cocktail waitress working; I remember before joining the Army when at this day and time of the week, the place would be packed. I also noticed that prices were half of what they were before, which was a good surprise. I did not mind the place being mostly empty, since I could hear myself think and not have to shout when talking to my friends, although I knew if this continued, the Cantina Loco would be no more.

"It's so hard for me to find a job," said Hermes, dressed in a Hawaiian shirt and blue denim shorts. "People can't afford the powder any more. First it was that war with the Robotech Masters, and then someone stole all the money from the world's banks."

I nodded. Hermes had worked security for one of Jamaica's major pharmaceutical exporters, exporting drugs to America and Europe. Now he was laid off.

"At least you got some money saved up," I said, sipping a screwdriver. "You must have saved up a lot of money with how much you made."

"I spent it all," my friend replied, sipping a margarita. "Although investin' it would have hardly been better, since the value of investment accounts all over the world plummeted."

"I can't disagree with that, man."

Oooooo

Not much happened in the next few days. I did read articles on how prices had fallen, from food to rent. Of course, fewer people could afford them since there were many more unemployed.

In the shadows of my very being were my experiences in the war. I could sometimes still see the sights, hear the sounds, and smell the smells of combat. Even something like a flash of light or a loud noise could send me into a flashback, send me to fight the war again. It was like the hovertank was driving me, even after all this time. At the same time, I wondered why I had survived, and not those who were killed in the war.

Then one day, as I was sending my resume via the Internet, my dad told me that there were some people at the door for me. I had wondered why they came to my house, considering that employers would usually call me to have me meet them at their offices.

Going downstairs, I saw some men in black slacks and white collared shirts with black neckties around the collar. One of them, this tall black man with not hair on his scalp, asked my name.

"Yes," I said.

"We have an offer for you," he said. "We are from the Office of National Security."

"National security?" I asked.

"We understand there were some things you saw during your service in the United Nations Army. We wish to speak with you about a position as an advisor to the government on these matters. Do you have time to meet with us?"

"I do along with a fifth of Jamaica's people."

"We have a ride waiting for you out in the street."

"Just let me get dressed."

And so I did.

Ooooooo

Wearing black slacks, a blue collared shirt, a red necktie, and black dress shoes, I sat in the back of a black Toyota Avalon staff car as it traveled through the streets of Kingston, which I noticed had lighter traffic than usual. I did notice a lot of closed storefronts during the trip.

"So many stores closing down," I said.

"At least it means getting to buy stuff cheap," said one of the men.

"Yeah, if you still have a job."

We soon approached the government district of Kingston, with buildings of various sizes and shapes. I could see the Jamaican Parliament House, which I had last visited on a school field trip.

We then pulled into the parking garage that was used for a government office. It looked like the parking garages I had seen in downtown Kingston, with concrete walls, floors, and pillars, as well as many cars parked in the parking spaces. I stepped out of the car and escorted the men through glass doors and into an elevator.

We all sat at a large table in a conference room. The walls were painted beige, and a wooden bookcase on the left side held books. A woman in a dress was sitting there, sipping a cup of coffee.

"Good afternoon," said the woman, with an accent I never heard before. "I am an envoy from the Robotech Masters to the rulers of this island."

"We are in negotiations with them about the protoculture," said the government official. "You saw where the Flower of Life was buried, and you saw the protoculture matrix."

"How do you know?" I asked. "It was top secret."

"After the U.N. stiffed so many people out of their pay, it wasn't too hard to find someone willing to sell secrets."

"It is not our policy to have one single nation on this Earth to dominate the supply of protoculture," said the envoy. "The Flower of Life does not grow on this island you Micronians call Jamaica."

"And my being here?" I asked.

"You fought well for us. What our leaders did was wrong, making you kill your fellow Micronians. And these wounds, it will take time to heal. But we will face a common enemy, and for that we need a united front, to have all the nations allied together, especially since your United Nations has decided to abandon Earth."

"The General Assembly has yet to reconvene," said the Jamaican official. Many of the UEG workers have quit their jobs. Even the UEG office in Jamaica is abandoned."

I once again was furious at the greed of those people who had looted the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. What good would all that money do if aliens conquer Earth?

"The ship with the matrix will be parked in the Caribbean Sea," said the envoy. "The harvested flowers will be brought there and refined into protoculture."

"This is where you come in, my friend," said the government official. "You were with the Robotech Masters."

"Not by choice," I said.

"We will pay you."

That was tempting.

"I'll help you," I said.

Oooooooo

Once again, I was back on the Robotech Masters ship, on behalf of Jamaica, looking from the observation room towards the protoculture matrix.

I had arrived here on a plane, which landed in one of the ship's landing bays. I was then given a brief tour of the facility, along with other officials from different nations as well as the United Earth Forces. Ships arrived to deliver the Flower of Life to the ship, and it was loaded via cart to the protoculture matrix, where the petals would be refined into the protoculture needed to run robotechnology. I could see workers in overalls walking about near the matrix, some of them reading gauges, others pushing carts. One of them –apparently a supervisor- held what looked like a clipboard. I and a few others were watching from an observation room.

"Everything seems to be going well," said General Tom Washington, acting supreme commander of the United Earth Forces. "Aside from powering our reactors, we can sell the protoculture on the market. And we keep funds under lock and key."

I nodded. Looting the banks really hurt the United Earth Forces- it was the reason I was not in uniform now.

"General," I said to the general, "do you still feel the war?"

"I still feel the first war with the Zentraedi," answered Washington. "It is always there, even though I don't notice it most of the time. This war was such a waste. If only they had come in peace, Nina and so many others…."

"We'll have to remember that, sir. And yet we have to work with those who were trying to kill us to deal with a greater threat."

The general's face was impassive. We could not yet trust the Robotech Masters. And yet, who else was there to help us? Even the Zentraedi Nation's own space fleet was a tiny splinter of its former self, and the Invid were allegedly their fiercest foes prior to the First Robotech War, at a time when the Zentraedi had a fleet of nearly five million ships.

I wondered how the Zentraedi were able to get our trust in the aftermath of the first war. I mean, I knew they had had a change of leadership after the war, but still, the United Nations would still be suspicious of their intentions. And yet the Zentraedi later joined the United Nations almost a decade ago.

"I hope you enjoy yourselves," said the lady in the blue dress, who was now one of the ruling triumvirate. "We can create a new galactic order, an order where people of each world can live and trade in peace, where culture is preserved."

It was time for me to head back.

Oooooooo

I had to admit that I was enjoying my job. It paid better than operating a hovertank, and it was much safer than fighting a war. Plus, there were all these government perks, and a great café within walking distance of the office that offered this really tasty Danish pastry. I would pay an occasional visit to the protoculture matrix ship, and meet with the Robotech Masters' officials.

And from my insider's point of view, world news was dismaying. The U.N. General Assembly had not yet reconvened. Not only that, wars broke out in parts of the world, such as a war against Israel by Syria purportedly to recover the money stolen from the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund. And of course, violence was breaking out in places like the Balkan peninsula and the Congo basin where U.N. troops had once kept peace. It was tragic how thin the veneer of civilization was, and how quickly it could be stripped away.

One evening, I just got off work. It was a typical day of reviewing reports and attending meetings. I checked my Nokia cellular telephone and I had a text message from Jack Emerson. It read, "I need to meet u in Jamaica. Important bizness." I sent a message back to him.

When I got home, I got another message on my personal computer. He confirmed his arrival in Jamaica with three others.

Oooooooo

I later sat at Cantina Loco, nursing a margarita, wondering if Jack would show up. For a few minutes I wondered if he had an emergency deployment and for some reason could not text me. The place was nearly empty because it was raining; my wet umbrella lay at my feet next to me.

Then I saw Jack at the front entrance. He was dressed in a gray long coat damp with rain and had a cap on his head. I noticed he was wearing blue jeans. With him were a man and two women. I recognized one of the women, with long blue-green hair. She was wearing a pink dress on her torso and classy pumps on her feet.

She looked like one of the Robotech Masters' ruling triumvirate.

"Great to see you, Jack," I said, giving him a hug. "I wonder why you didn't meet me at my office?"

"We want to keep this unofficial," he answered. We all sat around this circular wooden table.

"The government here could be watching us," I said as I sat down. "We'd better be careful about what we say."

"Right," said the woman with green hair.

"You are not one of the ruling trio," I said.

"I am from the same cloning line," she replied, speaking with this alien accent. "The name is Musica. I met you before, back when we first met with them."

"Oh yeah," I said. "Y'all look alike."

"The triplets must have their own agenda," said this blond-haired lady, who had introduced herself as Lieutenant Dana Sterling.

"Explain," I said.

"They said they were working on a matrix, and yet did not deliver it. So much trouble could have been avoided if they had simply told their predecessors their project was finished."

"I don't know," said Musica. "I don't think the old bosses would have settled with having a matrix. But still, they somehow managed to finish a protoculture matrix just after Zor killed the Ruling Triumvirate."

"And now they became the new Ruling Triumvirate. How convenient. They must be up to something."

"Good point, but remember that the Invid are coming."

"Yes," said the young man, who introduced himself as Corporal Bowie Grant, a friend of Jack's. "Musica told me about them."

I ordered some drinks from the waitress. "I hope we can trust our so-called friends enough to deal with these new players."

And so we had some drinks, talking about our lives and stuff. And yet I kept wondering about the agenda of the Robotech Masters' ruling triumvirate and about the Invid. And what about the nations of Earth? All of their plans about the protoculture were sure to trip all over each other.

And we would be in the middle of it all.