Part 1 can be found here: Tears of Destruction - Part 1
The Sunny Vista apartment building, the tallest building in this part of the city, wasn't Brent's home. Every time he’d come here, he’d been worried about getting through the secure front door. Sometimes, he’d had to wait a bit, others he got right in. Luck was with him today. A guy was struggling to get out with a couple suitcases and Brent held the door for him then entered the building. Like most people, the resident hadn’t given Brent a second glance or even a “thanks.” The empty elevator welcomed him with open doors before whisking him non-stop to the top floor. The roof access door wasn’t locked.
Congratulating himself on a mission nearly completed, Brent studied the sky and wondered where the aliens were hiding. He hoped they didn't turn out like every other group of “friends” he'd ever had. Friends probably shouldn't even be in my vocabulary. A sad chuckle escaped him and trailed off into a melancholy sigh.
"Why doesn’t anyone like me?" he yelled at the sky as he threw his arms up, fists clenched in anger at his non-existent social life. "WHY?"
Curtains parted in two apartment windows across the street as if the building had just opened its eyes to stare at him. Brent lowered his arms and scanned the windows for witnesses to his embarrassing cry. He found none, yet the murmur of the city streets carried up to Brent like whispered accusations.
It won’t change anything.
You’re worthless.
Twenty-seven and no friends.
Lucky if a dog wanted you.
To clear the noise from his head, he rummaged carefully through the plastic bag of aluminum pieces he’d brought with him. Three months ago, he’d bought several twenty-four can cases of soda and a pair of tin snips. While monitoring the powerful nations of Earth to figure out when his world would be ripe for alien plucking, he drank the soda then cut the tops and bottoms from the empties. Splitting the remaining cylinder down the side and flattening them gave him reflective aluminum circles and rectangles.
He laid out the cans in one of the three patterns on the code sheet the aliens had provided. He carefully examined the sheet, comparing his layout to the codes on it.
When the envoy alien had explained the patterns, Brent had noted the meaning for each. "NEED MORE TIME" had been used five times during his bi-weekly communiqué. The second design equated to "EARTH KNOWS" but he was sure it didn’t. There’d have been panic in the streets by now. On the roof today, he put down the pattern for “GO”:
O □ O O □ □ O
□ □ O O O □
Satisfied the layout was correct, he watched the sun drop close to the horizon and waited for the invasion. He chuckled at the eighth-grade-English symbolism. The last sunset of a free human race.
The Velgorans said they’d come immediately once their geosynchronous stealth satellite detected the right pattern.
"Don’t wait by the pattern,” the alien envoy had said. “If you’re in the wrong spot, you could interfere with the satellite's view. Also, we don’t want you near it in case you’re being watched.”
Brent hadn't questioned the instructions. Standing there waiting, he briefly considered what his father would say about his role in the coming subjugation. His eyes fell to the ground and his chin crinkled up as thoughts of his father, dead four years now, filled his head. "Real men cry, Brent. It’s okay to let it out," his father used to say.
The first drops hit his shoe and, to stop the tears, he concentrated on what life would be like after the invasion. A smile pushed through his grief.
King Thorston. From his plush purple seat, he would look down his nose, as supplicants like Tara Scholl climbed dozens of steps to prostrate themselves and beg from him. The smile faded a little. I’ll be a king among men. I just hope they like me and don’t demand too much of me.