"John, I didn't see you at the Martian Pride Parade."
John chuckled nervously. As he did, he thought how the voice of Xantu was eerie: quiet, flat, monotone. Like Data on "Star Trek: The Next Generation" only sinister. Or like HAL, the ominous killer-computer in "2001: A Space Odyssey."
It was not surprising a Martian should have an eerie and ominous voice. With the Martians, there was always that implied threat.
"I support the Martians. Xantu. Of course I do; I'm a good person that way. I'm very good. I just don't attend the parades, that's all. That is, what I mean to say is, I was not able to attend the most recent parade."
Xantu made a buzzing insect-like noise: this was the Martian equivalent of shaking one's head and murmuring "tsk-tsk-tsk."
"It is not enough to say you support us. You must also attend the parades. You must also wear the ribbon."
"What about a T-shirt instead?" John said with a smirk. As soon as he said it, he regretted it. It was a mistake to employ humor with a Martian. Especially on the topic of Martian rights.
Xantu stood there with his green lips protruding from his thin oval emerald head with the mohawk-shaped point on top. He stood there for a moment then he smacked his lips before he spoke.
"I have also checked your record of statements in support of Martians. You are not meeting your expected quota."
"What if I make at least one statement a day?"
"I would say you should make several such statements each day." Xantu was unblinking and utterly serious. Wasn't a Martian always utterly serious?
"Isn't that overdoing it a little?" John asked.
"You can never show too much support."
"Maybe you can."
"I think not."
"You can't force these things, Xantu." John realized this statement constituted rebellion, treason and sacrilege. At least to an utterly serious Martian. But quite frankly, John was irritated. Not just with the current conversation but from the weeks and months around the Martians; it seemed they were always trying to corner him, convert him, wear him down.
The heretical subversive nature of John's statement was confirmed by a sharp gasp from Xantu; that gasp sounded like a vacuum cleaner suffering a hiccup.
"We don't wish to use our mind-control powers on you, but if you are not going to voluntarily support us, if you are unable to show the proper amount of support, we shall have to take control."
John shivered. There it was again. That threat.
John had an implied threat of his own.
"You should not take away free will." John tried to sound bold but what he said came out more like a mumble. "Taking away free will would be grossly unethical."
Xantu made a loud snorting noise.
"We are acquainted with the Earth concept of free will. We find it bizarre and contradictory. Were there not times in Earth history you forced people to do things for their own good? For the greater good?"
"That may be. But we could never actually take away free will."
"Nevertheless, if you are not going to show the proper level of support through free and voluntary efforts, then you shall be forced to do so."
Xantu's large white eyes, with the snake-like slits for pupils, widened as he made a loud whirring noise. John's own eyes widened, and he appeared to be in a hypnotic trance as he spoke.
"I will attend the Martian Pride parades. I will wear the ribbon. I will make many statements in support of Martians."
Xantu nodded. "Yes, John. I know you will. I will make sure that you do."