The God Complex

President Anderson readjusted his tie for the umpteenth time in the last five minutes and rolled back his fleshy lips to expose his teeth to the mirror. He ran his dark tongue across the pearly white, almost perfect, set. Pearly white, because he had a good dentist, almost perfect because his campaign manager had advised him that his slightly wonky incisors gave him a down to earth, just a normal kinda guy feel.

This was good because if there was one thing Robert S. Anderson the Third was not, it was a down to earth, normal kind of guy. His southern aristocracy family told people they had made their millions in the cotton business. This was a fairly transparent euphemism for the slave trade, but no-one seemed to mind.

Anderson flicked a small piece of lint from the arm of his nauseatingly expensive suit with a beautifully manicured fingernail and reflected on the history he was about to make. He, a not so ordinary boy from just outside New Orleans (his families estate was on a hill, obviously) who, just twenty years ago had been accepted into Yale through nothing more than his own hard work and his fathers money (the Anderson Library had been a small price to pay). He, who had been elected president of this great nation on an overwhelming popular vote thanks to sparkling personality and dear friends in...Well everywhere really. He was about to make history.

First contact with an alien species! This would make him bigger than Lincoln! Technically, of course, it wasn't first contact. That had been with some farmer in ugabugastan or someplace. In fact it wasn't even second or third contact. They had been made by various low level diplomatic officials. You couldn't expect the president of these United States to meet someone without them having been vetted first. But who would remember that in the long run?

No, the history books would only record his name, Robert S. Anderson, the forty fifth president of the USA and mankind’s emissary to the stars! No, wait not mankind, the first lady had warned him about that. It sounded old fashioned and chauvinistic. It should be Humanities emissary to the stars!

He practiced saying this in the mirror with various dramatic hand gestures. Just as he had it right, there was a knock at the door of the Oval office.

'Mr. President? The Olivegrians are ready now.' Some intern said.

'Excellent. Let's go.' He strode through the door and passed the assembled members of his staff who gave him a spontaneous round of applause. Of course, there had been a directive for white house staff to give spontaneous rounds of applause to the president at least three times a week since President Anderson's inauguration but this one sounded much more genuine than usual.

'Where we doing this thing?' He asked the Intern.
'On the front lawn sir. They say they'll land their...uh...craft there in five minutes.'
'Good, good.' He looked at the young man. He was black. Anderson remembered something about a mixed race staff being good for the minority vote. 'What's your name again boy?' He asked in his trademark drawl.

'Sam, sir. Sam Whitestone.' The intern said, smiling glassily.

'And how long have you worked for me now?'

'Four years sir.'

'Good boy. Ready to make history then Sid?' The president said as they arrived at the doors, flanked by secret service heavies.

'Yes Sir.' Said Sam, ignoring the president’s mistake.

The doors opened and Anderson strolled out onto the lawn of the white house, hands held up, smile flashing in the afternoon sun. He called it his 'Kennedy Entrance.' the clicking of cameras filled his ears as he mounted the podium to give his address to the nation, nay, the world.

As he rolled the speech that he had memorised two day's earlier off his tongue, Anderson's mind wandered. Robert S. Anderson 1st president of the global alliance. That had a nice ring to it. He imagined the new problems such a role would bring with it and the new tones of voice required to explain his new initiatives to a sceptical public.

He realised the speech was coming to an end just as he began the final sentence.
'...In this, Humanities First contact with our galactic brothers.' As he finished there was a gasp from the audience and all heads were tilted backwards.

A disc shaped object, about the size of a Ford Jeep was spinning slowly towards the ground. These Oliverian's obviously had a good sense of timing, Anderson thought. He could already see a long and fruitful relationship in prospect.

The saucer alighted on the grass with a soft whirring sound which gradually faded away as the outer disc, the part that was spinning, came to rest. A small door opened in the side of the ship and a long, thin ramp extended outwards. The crowd were stunned into silence now, something Anderson had never thought he'd see in the Press Gang.

A white light shone from the portal and a shadow stepped out in front of it, arms held aloft. As the strange visitor walked slowly down the stairs, Anderson realised that he was doing a very passable Kennedy Entrance.

In fact, the alien was disappointingly humanoid in appearance. It had two arms, two legs, a head and all the usual facial features. It was perhaps taller and more slender than a man but it did look disappointingly like a cheaper Star Trek Costume.

There were ridges above both eyes, the nose was small and sunken and it was completely bald. Its eyes were a piercing blue. As the clickers started clicking once more, it held its hands yet higher and spoke in a pleasantly willowy voice.

'Greetings Earth People, from the freedom loving United Planets of the Milky Way!'
The journalists applauded. Anderson smiled. He liked this guy's Style.

The alien made his way down the ramp and President Anderson walked towards him. They met at a symbolic halfway distance between the ship and the Whitehouse, both of them hitting their marks perfectly.

'I am President Robert Anderson of the United Sates of America. May I shake your hand?' He asked, knowing full well that he could. This exchange had been worked out a week earlier.

'You may, we have studied this strange custom of yours.' The alien said. 'I am Uxelrogemborloxchethycondielcran. You may call me Uxel.' The crowd chuckled at this and then cheered as human and alien shook hands for the first time. The feeling of the alien's hand was not unpleasant, like a slowly cooling hot water bottle.

Anderson began his newly prepared speech.
'I hope we shall be firm friends. Humanity and Oliverian kind striding together towards a better future. For, despite our differences, are we not all intelligent beings under God?' Anderson said.

For a moment there was confusion. Uxel glanced back at the ship where two more Aliens had appeared and spat something in his own language. The crowd was silent. Had Anderson offended the Olivetian's at their first meeting? Was intergalactic unity to be dealt a heinous blow at this early stage?

One of the aliens on the ramp spat something back at Uxel, who turned to President Anderson. The Journalist's present held their collective breath to see what the Alien's response to the president's question.

'Yes?' he said, uncertainly. The crowd cheered. Uxel smiled a surprisingly human smile and he and the President walked together to the lectern. The two aliens from the ship followed and stood at a respectful distance, about the same distance as the president’s aides.

'My fellow citizens of the Earth,' Anderson began, hands planted firmly on either side of his lectern, 'Today is a momentous day in the history of our species. Today is the day when Humanity discovers its place in the universe with our fellow beings. Today we have discovered that we are not alone in the Universe, that we have fellows on our journey through life. More than fellows, God willing, Friends.'

The speech went on in a similar vein for some time. As he spoke Anderson watched Uxel. The Alien reacted strangely each time he mentioned God. A strange tilting of the head, almost like a curious dog and exchanged glances with his aides.

'Now we shall retire to the oval office to discuss the future of our two people's relationships.' Anderson held up his hands as Journalistic fingers jabbed into the air. 'Questions will be answered later after we have had chance to brief our friends to the way our free press works.' He said.

Anderson and the Oliverian Party made their way back down the corridor to another, even more enthusiastic ovation from the staff. The Aliens nodded in appreciation. As they approached the Oval office Uxel turned to Anderson.

'I was hoping, President Anderson, that before the official talks began, we could have a private conversation?' The alien asked.

'I don't see why not,' Anderson answered ignoring the frantic hand signals to the contrary that were emanating from his security staff, 'just step this way.' They walked together into the Oval Office.


Anderson closed the door and gestured to the seat opposite the big desk (bigger than it had been on Anderson's first day. he liked distance between himself and his sub-ordinates.). Uxel took the seat and gave Anderson a warm (probably) smile as he took his own seat.

They were in complete privacy now. Except for the secret service bugs. And the CIA listening devices. And the FBI video surveillance. And, Anderson supposed, whatever surveillance equipment the Olivetian's had targeted here.

'Well,' Anderson said, 'May I first say...' He paused and studied the Alien's features. He hadn't got this far in politics without being able to read people. Admittedly, this wasn't a person but Anderson figured that the rules were probably similar. He decided to take a risk. 'That was one helluva entrance you boys made! We had the press eating out of our hands.' Uxel nodded his agreement.

'Yes, we studied the earth press carefully before today's meeting and particularly your style when dealing with them.' So it had been the Kennedy Entrance! 'Our two civilisations are not so far apart in this regard. In fact, our word for what you would call "spin" is "Spinng." I am well versed in the intricacies of public relations.' Uxel told him.

'Well that'll serve you well down here Ux.' The president pulled out a box of cigars and offered his visitor one. 'Do you smoke? Hell, can you smoke?'

'I can and I do.' He took a cigar from the box and snipped the end off using his thumbnail.

'Now that's handy.' The president said, leaning over to light Uxel's smoke.

'Tobacco is a product that we believe will do extremely well on the galactic market. It has none of the harmful affects on us that you associate with it.'

'I can see we're gonna get on just fine.' Anderson said. Uxel squirmed in his seat. Anderson frowned and waggled his cigar at the alien. 'I can see there's something bugging you Ux. Come on then, spit it out.' He said.

'You are most perceptive President Anderson.'

'Call me Bob.'

'Alright, Bob. You are quite right. I am feeling...uneasy about one thing.'

'What's that?'

'Well, as I have said, in many way's our civilisations are remarkably similar. Your free market economy is almost identical to the galactic version and should have no problem integrating. Your cleverly worked out system by which those with money and influence maintain their power and those with little, though doomed to a life of poverty, barely notice shall be an inspiration to the great and the good across the milky way.' Uxel said.

'Let me tell you how we do it. We have this thing called the American Dream. No-one really knows what it means or how to get it but no one dares to question it. If they do, we call 'em a commie and humiliate 'em on TV.'

'Yes, we have a similar process involving gladiatorial contests.' Uxel said. 'However,' he added, getting to the point, 'you have one thing for which we Oliverians and indeed every other species in the known universe have no frame of reference. Something so alien to us and yet so integral to you that I am worried it shall prevent the effective gelling of our economies.'

'Really?' Anderson stroked his chin thoughtfully. 'What would that be?'

'God.' Uxel said.

'What?' Anderson asked, looking around.

'No, I did not mean it in the expletive sense; I mean God is the problem.'

'God is the problem?' Anderson asked, incredulously.

'Indeed.'

'You don't believe in God?'

'I, nor my fellows nor any other intelligent species in the Galaxy.' Uxel sighed. 'It is a problem we have studied for many years. Your people seem to have a pathological obsession with this mythical creator figure. If it were not for what our most distinguished Psychologists call the God Complex, we should have made first contact many years hence.' He paused. Anderson appeared to be in shock, his mouth hung open, the cigar continued to burn, forgotten in his hand. Uxel decided to forge ahead.

'You see, we understand that a vast number of humans who claim belief in God hold no such belief's at all, but there is a substantial minority who appear to be, to all intents and purposes, psychotically obsessed with the notion.'

'You think Christianity's a mental illness?' Anderson managed.

'Oh, Not just Christianity. Islam, Judaism, Hinduism, Scientology, all your planets major religions. From close study of your DNA, it appears that this strongly held belief is a genetic mutation that has been continually passed on throughout your history. It seems as though, in your species, the Gene for fanatical belief in God is closely associated with charisma and persuasiveness.'

There was silence.

Lux forged on; aware he may have unintentionally offended his host.

'Indeed, so persuasive is this idea of a creator, that many amongst my own people have become obsessed with the notion, devoting every waking moment to its study. My own second in command, Lakstripulotiy, spends all his down time poring through your many holy books and theological writings. Theology! A name for the study of a made up field! Incredible really.' He paused and stared at the President who had turned an interesting shade of grey. Uxel had studied a little of human anatomy before arriving and so felt confident in asking 'Are you all right Bob?'

Anderson wasn't sure. Admittedly, he was no Theologian himself but he was fairly sure that an entire universe of non-believers severely dented the notion of religion. The Fundamentalists wouldn't like this and he was painfully aware of the important role they'd played in his election. So he couldn't just accept this.
Equally, he couldn't break off contact with the Oliverians on account of this one sticking point. There was a whole universe of profits out there to be exploited and he was sure his big business backers, despite their protestations of religiosity, would rather loose God than loose a buck.

'Mr. President?' Uxel repeated.

'Er...Yes, No. I see. Well.' Anderson gabbled. 'Perhaps this first meeting is not the place for discussing these...issues.' He rallied. 'Why don't we invite all them advisors in here for that economic chat, hey?'

'Of course Bob.' Uxel agreed with a slight inclination of the head. 'We will need to return to this point at a later date howeve...' but Anderson was already at the door inviting in the little people.

Anderson needed time to think and he did that best when other people were talking.


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The next time Anderson met the Oliverians, three months had passed. The first Earth Space craft with Faster than Light (tm) drives were well into production courtesy of the plans provided at a very reasonable cost by the Faster than Light Company.

Earth's biggest and most successful companies had been entered into the GLXY the galactic stock market and were trading well. Shares in Coca Cola, particularly, had rocketed when it was discovered that the Mongorions, the third most populous species in the galaxy, found the drink highly addictive.

The first Human explorers (mainly salesmen) had left earth and were right now winging their way to the stars.

President Anderson was still worried though. After the initial euphoria in the press over first contact, reports had started to sneak into some of the less reputable tabloids of a Godless universe. Although no-one was really taking them seriously at the moment, Anderson knew it was only a matter of time.

As he waited in the Oval office for Uxel he played with his fingernails. They were not so pristine as they had been twelve weeks ago. He had bitten them right down to the quick. He just couldn't see a way out of this bind. Either he would have to denounce religion as a genetic disorder and loose the religious vote or else he turned his back on the Galactic community and lost his big business backers.

Anderson hadn't become president to make these kinds of decisions. He'd come for the parties and stayed for the deference. Was one more term really so much to ask?

There was a knock and he jumped out of his seat.
'Yes?' he barked 'What is it?'

'Erm...the Oliverian ambassador is here sir. Shall I show him in?' It was the black boy, Anderson forgot his name.

'Yeah, send him in er...'

'Sid, sir' Sam lied.

'Right, yeah, Sam. get me some coffee will you boy?'

'Yes sir.' Said Sam, pleased his ruse had worked. The fact that the president had forgotten his name before he brought back the coffee didn't matter. At least he'd got it right once. It was lucky for Sam that he was so easily pleased. He was about to die happy.

'Who are you?' Anderson said as a strange (relatively speaking) Oliverian walked in.

'I am Lakstripulotiy, I am the new Oliverian Ambassador to Earth.' The Oliverian had a voice like nails down silk. It made Anderson shudder.

'What happened to the other fella, you know Uxel?'

'He has been replaced, Mr. President. By me.'

'Oh. Right. Politics.' Anderson said, sitting down and motioning for Luxstripulotiy to do likewise. The alien remained standing. 'Is something the matter Mr. Luxst...luxa..Mr.Lux?'

'You may call me Abraham.' The alien said.

'Abraham?' Anderson smirked. 'Isn't that a bit...'

'Biblical.' Abraham stated. 'I have chosen a biblical name. I believe my Hive mother would have done the same, had she been in possession of the facts.'

Anderson leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. There was something in the alien’s manner that he recognised, something he couldn't quite put his finger on.

'Are you in possession of the facts, Mr. President?' Abraham asked, pointedly.

'That depends,' Anderson said, leaning forwards once more, 'on which facts you're referring to.' The Alien did its strange impression of a smile and took a step forwards.

'Why, the Good news sir. Would you like to hear it?'

'I always like to hear good news.' Anderson replied.

'Jesus has risen!' Abraham cried and Anderson realised where he'd seen that look before. It was the same crazed expression that had haunted the preacher who had lived in the dustbin outside Anderson's school for three months in fifth grade.

'You don't say?' Anderson said, calmly pushing his panic button whilst continuing to smile.'

'Indeed. I have studied the life and teachings of the Messiah in great detail. I am afraid to say, Mr. Anderson, that you and your country are in violation of the word of God. You have broken all ten of the commandments and disregarded the lord’s words.'

'And you're here to punish us?' Anderson asked, stalling for time until the secret service apes got here.

'Oh, I admit that my own people are no less culpable than yours. However, as I have previously mentioned, we were not in possession of the facts. You, however, knew the truth of existence and chose to ignore Gods will.'

Anderson was mashing his fingers into the panic button now and making no attempt to hide it. The Secret Service should have been in here in a matter of seconds.

'I wouldn't bother with that sir, I’m afraid your staff have ascended.'

'What do you mean you crazy son of a...' Anderson paused. '...Hive mother' he finished, weakly.

'I mean they're dead, sir. As you will be momentarily.' Abraham raised a strange device which he pointed at Anderson as he began to sing.

'Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
Glory, Glory, Hallelujah
and the saints come marching in!'

As he finished Anderson screamed and the roof of the Whitehouse exploded as fifteen heavily armed Oliverian commandos smashed into the room and wrestled Abraham to the ground.

'No! No! You must not stop me, my work is holy! God will punish you!' He screeched as they dragged him away. One of the commando's whipped off the black mask which covered his face to reveal himself as Uxel, formerly ambassador to earth.

'You can come out now Bob.' He said. The president of the United States of America crawled out from beneath his desk and got to his feet with as much dignity as he could muster.

'Damn good timing, Uxel, Damn good timing.' He said as he brushed himself off.

'Come on Bob, let's walk.' Uxel said, sliding an arm around the Presidents shoulder and guiding him away from the wreckage of the Oval Office.
As they walked past the fried corpses of Anderson's staff, including a pile of ash next to a slowly cooling cup of coffee, Uxel spoke in his calming voice.

'You know Bob, this is precisely what was worrying me that first day.' He began. 'I was worried this genetic abnormality of yours might gain credence amongst my people. Of course, what we didn't realise was that it wasn't a genetic disorder at all. It is, in fact, a disease Bob. A very successful one too. Despite your advances in medicine and you have made some marvellous discoveries Bob, did you know that Lem-sip cures Head-warts amongst my people? I haven't slept so well in years. Here, let me.' Uxel kicked a charred corpse out of the president’s way. 'Anyway, you never discovered the God Complex.'

'You did though?' Bob muttered.

'We did.'

'So you can cure it?' He asked.

'I'm afraid not. It appears to be incurable.' Uxel said. 'You see, it works by convincing the host that it is not a disease at all but rather this strange thing your people call 'Faith.' believers simply would not want to be cured even if we could do it. And we just can't risk it spreading throughout the galaxy like it did with poor old Lakstripulotiy and his gang. Can you imagine interstellar crusades? Fanatical extremists armed with Electromagnetic disrupter cannons?' Uxel stared at Anderson's blank expression. 'No, you probably can't. It would be bad, take my word for it. Do you know they locked me in my own office? Imagine! I suppose Lux...Sorry, Abraham hadn't quite taken leave of all his senses at that point or he would have probably simply killed me.'

'What will you do with him?' Anderson managed to ask.

'Abraham? He’ll be taken to a quarantine vessel where he will remain for the rest of his life. It’s a shame. He made an excellent cup of Bryglal.'

They stepped out onto the Whitehouse lawn where Uxel's landing craft was waiting. Uxel turned to the President.

'I'm afraid Bob, that Earth has been declared a quarantine zone. Nothing may enter or exit its solar system for the next fifty years. Except, of course, the Coca Cola delivery vessels. But they'll all be automated.'

'But what about our trade?' Anderson yelped. 'The economy? My election campaign?'

'I'm sorry, Bob, I really am. Hey, you never know, perhaps you'll discover a cure! Have faith. See you in fifty years!' he walked off and boarded the ship which zipped off into the clear blue sky to join a fleet of similar craft that were leaving Earth's airspace.

Robert S Anderson the Third surveyed the crumpled Whitehouse and the trails of smoke in the sky that was all that remained of the alien ships. He guessed they'd probably destroyed the factories producing the space ships as well.

He turned with a humourless grin and strolled across the lawn.

It wasn't the first time he'd been underestimated. The aliens thought they'd won, he knew. But this wasn't a defeat, this could be spun as an attack by a hostile alien race against the peace loving and more importantly, devout peoples of earth. He'd win the next election in a landslide. He was already planning his victory speech.

As for the Oliverian's, Anderson reflected, they wouldn't have managed to destroy all their plans for interstellar drives. Hell, he had a copy in the draw of his desk. They'd get theirs.

As he strolled through the hole in the wall of the Whitehouse a helicopter landed on the lawn behind him and a squad of heavily armed men came running towards him.

'Are you alright Mr. President?' The Captain asked.

'More than alright boy, more than alright. Get me the press pack, I've got me a speech to make!' and as he walked back to the wreckage of the Whitehouse, not noticing the small pile of ash that he stepped in on the way, he began to practise all the different ways he could say 'Crusade' on TV.

The End.