Switch: Alien Invasion/Violence&S*x

Chapter 157: Establishing authority …

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"Who said that?" I call out, sweeping my gaze across the rows, and people start to shuffle, but no one steps forward.

"If you do not have the courage to face me after yelling that, how will you find the courage to fight the demons?"

Calling someone a coward is the best way to stiffen their backbone, and sure enough, it works.

The word hangs in the air like a thrown gauntlet, heavy and undeniable. It ripples through the formation, passing from one tense expression to another. I can see it in their shoulders, in the way a few of them shift their weight, in the subtle tightening of jaws. Pride is a powerful force, especially in a group like this. No one wants to be the person who backs down after that.

A large man, who I think is from the hockey team, finally steps out of formation.

There is a noticeable parting in the line as he moves forward, teammates glancing at one another but giving him space. His boots strike the pavement with solid, deliberate thuds that echo more loudly than they should in the stillness of early morning.

I look him up and down carefully, he is easily twice my width and at least a foot taller than I am. Up close, he feels even larger, like a wall of muscle and weight blocking out the moonlight behind him.

He is also ugly as sin.

Not just unattractive, but rough edged. Crooked nose. Thick brow. A jaw that looks like it has absorbed more than one puck in its lifetime.

"What’s your name?" I ask, smiling up at the big man.

I let a calm smile linger on my face longer than necessary, the big man glares down at me, clearly trying to intimidate me, but he does not frighten me in the slightest.

His nostrils flare slightly. His breathing is steady but heavy. He expects me to step back.

"Jared Albrecht," he growls.

His voice is deep, gravelly, like it has been dragged across asphalt.

"Are you, by any chance, related to Special Agent Albrecht?" I ask, already seeing the resemblance in the set of his jaw and the shape of his eyes.

A flicker crosses his expression at the mention of the name. Pride, maybe. Or annoyance.

He grunts in affirmation.

"Good," I tell him, and I see a flicker of uncertainty enter his eyes.

It is small. Almost invisible. But it is there.

I am tempted to do something cruel in retribution for the way his mother treated me, but I remind myself that she was only doing her job.

Bitterness flares for half a heartbeat before I push it down. This is not about old grudges.

"Your voice sounds like you’re a basso."

He nods again, slower this time, unsure where this is going.

I let the silence stretch for a breath, then I make an easy switch, flipping it upward. The shift is effortless, like turning a dial.

"Why don’t you tell everyone about that great win in your last game and how you helped pull it off?"

Getting a jock to brag is the easiest thing in the world, I think, as he turns toward the group.

Several of his teammates grin in anticipation.

"Johnson passed me the puck..." he trails off as his new falsetto voice comes out.

The sound that leaves him is high, thin, almost comical.

A ripple of startled laughter spreads before anyone can stop it.

"What did you do to me?" he literally squeaks.

The contrast is so dramatic that even he looks shocked by it.

I flip his voice box in the opposite direction, further than where it had originally been, and say, "I’m sorry, can you repeat that?"

The second shift drops his voice unnaturally low, vibrating through his chest like distant thunder.

He grabs the front of my shirt and actually lifts me off the ground, bringing my nose level with his.

Gasps break from the formation.

His brows knit together, and I can see the anger burning in his eyes, but I do not let my smile slip.

I let my body hang loosely in his grip, showing no strain.

"I want you to change my voice back!" a very deep baritone rumbles from his chest, and he drops me in surprise.

The sound clearly startles him.

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second before he regains control.

I land lightly.

I change his voice back, though I keep it slightly deeper than before for the embarrassment he caused himself, and tell him to get back into formation.

He hesitates only a moment before stepping back into line, shoulders slightly stiffer than before.

"Does anyone else want to test me?" I ask.

The silence that follows is thick.

I am met with nothing but silent, wide-eyed stares.

A few people shake their heads almost imperceptibly.

"Good. Now then, as I was saying, I am going to use my ability against them. What I want from you are boarding parties. Your job will be to infiltrate their ships and take them over."

The words settle more heavily now, because they have seen proof.

"How do you expect us to do that?" someone else yells.

The question carries less defiance and more genuine concern.

"With the help of these other aliens, you will be trained and become proficient in what you need to do within a couple of days."

"Like, how do we know we can trust these other aliens?" a feminine voice rings out. Before I even turn my head, I already recognize Serena Hama’s snobbish tone. She stands with her arms crossed, and her chin lifted slightly. I also hear Richard trying to shush her, but she raises a valid question.

"You can take my word for it, but when the rest of her race commanded her to abandon Earth, she refused and has continued to help. Some of her race have returned to assist in our fight."

There is weight behind the statement.

"Who is ’she’?" Serena asks.

"Her name is Vage, and her sister Harana will also be aboard the lead ship." At least, I think we will be on the lead ship. "Other females will be piloting their own vessels."

A low murmur spreads again.

"Are they, like, all females?" the head cheerleader asks, and I begin to feel irritated by her tone.

She twirls a strand of hair around her finger, her vocabulary could use some work as well.

"All the ones on our side are, yes," I reply, making a controlled effort not to grind my teeth. "If any of you have a problem working with, or under the command of, a woman, then leave right now."

The challenge sits there, but no one moves. A breeze brushes across the courtyard, stirring loose strands of hair and fabric. Finally, there is silence from Serena as I continue my impromptu speech.

"I am not going to lie to you. What I am asking of you will be dangerous, and some of you might die. But if we do not fight them, then all of us will die."

The bluntness removes any illusion.

"What about the Army or the Marines? They will protect us!"

I do not recognize the voice that shouts this, but it is the retired Sergeant Major who responds, he steps forward, his boots scraping the pavement.

"Do not believe the nonsense on television! If these beings can travel that far to destroy us, then we do not stand a chance without this young man’s help or these female aliens."

He gestures toward me with a sharp motion.

He grimaces and spits to the side.

"Besides, the only things that move slower than the military and the government are whiny, unmotivated, and spoiled teenagers."

A few snickers follow that remark, tension breaking slightly.

Even I cannot suppress a small smile.

"If the government cannot find a way to pay its own people, what makes you think it will defend us? And if it does not know about this by now, then it will never be able to mobilize in time."

Silence again.

Reality is sinking in.

"You have a choice right now," I say, before anyone else can interrupt, "to either back down and walk away or come with me. No one will think less of you for leaving. We all have families and friends. This is not something I ask lightly, but it is something I must ask."

A few people glance at one another, but no one steps out. I look intently at the large group before me, wishing I could meet every single pair of eyes, but settling for those I can. What I saw was, determination, fear, and resolve.

"We leave in thirty minutes. Bring only what you are wearing. You will not be staying overnight."

The finality of it lands like a closing door, then I turn to Wilson.

"Sergeant Major, I leave them in your hands."

He straightens slightly, accepting the responsibility without hesitation.

I give him a quick salute, pleased that it is becoming more natural, and walk back into my dorm to coordinate things with Vage.

Behind me, I can already hear Wilson’s commanding voice rising again, organizing and instructing everyone.

The countdown has begun.