by Ma West
It was all starting to smooth out when, once again, things just went to hell.
Chapter 32
Omens and Comas
Sasha sat next to Emilia, unable to pry the smile off her face. Her friend was not only going to be fine but looked as beautiful as ever. Emilia frowned at the tears, but that didn’t stop them, so she herself burst forth with another round of crying. The two had been together for several minutes now, but neither had yet been able to speak. They sat holding hands, sharing a mental rewind of horrors they had just been through together.
These strange alien doctors were actually very good, and they smelled wonderful. They were nothing scary like the beast in the dungeon. In fact, they were kinda cute, Sasha thought, like the squid who made a suit out of a wheelbarrow and was exploring the land, using a tentacle on each side.
Getting used to their voices in her head would never happen, or at least it felt that way. Their words would echo loudly in her skull but never enter her ears. It was disconcerting and uncomfortable, even if what they spoke was gentle and kind. The medicine they had, however, was some powerful stuff, but it lacked the fun part of her normal drugs. She called it the “groggy,” as opposed to the foggy. The daze that came from the base tech’s drugs could be fun, make all her father’s words silly, relax her whole body, and let time melt away.
Her father—the thought of him shocked her, just because of how long she had gone without thinking of him. She had never been this far away for so long before, and she felt a tinge of guilt for not missing him more. Emilia consumed most of Sasha’s idle thoughts, pushing her father further and further into the background.
The doctors—Emilia’s was named Maggana, and Sasha’s was named Maggieno—were a cute couple. They would often waddle side by side, their top tentacles intertwined in an action both chemical and affectionate.
Maggieno removed all of the slime restraints, allowing bold new sensations to a skin that had grown accustomed to its surroundings. Sasha had been given a clean bill of health but had to perform a litany of nonsensical tests to prove it to the human doctor. Emilia, on the other hand, had been told that she suffered some internal damage, including organs. While her prognosis was good, she would have to stay in the hospital for a few days of observation.
Sasha was torn between wanting to be with Emilia, who consumed her every thought, and being with her father, who needed her. A verbal fight had broken out, as Emilia seemed less than interested. This was her father—could she just so willingly leave this place and seek him out? Emilia’s encouragement to leave was getting annoying. She was told to stay put, so why was she pushing? After some unpleasantly exchanged words, Sasha became agitated and stood up to finally follow the policeman waiting at the door.
It was Emilia who made the decision, and if she was upset about it, then that was fine with Sasha. Sasha fidgeted and wiggled as she sat brooding in the back of the makeshift police cruiser. Over and over again, the words came, each time the message’s tone becoming harsher and harsher until Sasha had twisted it into the worst possible interpretation: “I DON’T want YOU to worry about MEEEEE. GO! GO! And see your father, go take CARE of HIM.”
Sasha rewound the episode repeatedly. What did Emilia mean? Did she really want her to go away, to go anywhere else? Don’t worry about meeee—what does she think, I’m not good enough for her to “worry about”? Worry about him? What, doesn’t she want me to care for her? What a bitch!
Damn clouds, can’t even tell where the annoying blue light is coming from. Little extreme on the building’s neon lights, jerks. I bet Emilia would love it, simple bitch that she is. Who the hell does she think she is? She’s not too good for me. I will show that hussy who is the top shit around here.
What is with the fucking clouds? They’re just above the building. Don’t make me come up and kick your ass, clouds.
Emilia closed her eyes and rested. The silence was enjoyable for the moment. The stress, pain, and emotional strain of the past few days had been more than exhausting. She had been through some difficult spells and sleepless nights, but nothing before had even come close to this. Her body melted, and the soft ripples of nose breathing fell into a rhythm as she sank into the bed.
In the purgatory of in between wake and sleep, time had no meaning, no sense, and her thoughts faded into the subconscious—at least until a madman screaming, “Sasha, Sasha,” was wheeled on a bed, sorely needing mending, into the room across the hall.
Emilia tried to ignore it and return to her body melting. It was uncomfortable enough while hinting for Sasha to leave. How could she return this quickly to interrupt her sleep? When the noise and bustle of the nurse and staff subsided, Emilia could again hear the moaning of the man across the hall: “Sasha, Sasha. Sasha, Sasha.”
Emilia ripped her sheets off in an initial outburst of frustration. She stomped across the hall, the noised muffled by her hospital socks. Anger projected from her face, but as the door opened, her irritation went away and she missed her new dear friend.
The man was restrained to the bed with the same green slime that had been used to brace her wounds. Yet despite the obvious care and treatment he was receiving, his body was riddled with scars and bruises. A burn mark in the shape of a cross had been made across his chest, aged several years now, but still, it was as clear as a tattoo.
He fidgeted and fretted, turning left, “Sasha,” turning right, “Sasha.” Emilia watched the man for several minutes before stepping into the room. After some debate, she finally spoke. “I know a Sasha. Who is she?”
The man changed from crazy insane to scary insane with the twitch of an eye, his piercing stares now squarely on Emilia. She stopped. Frozen in terror by a man restrained in a bed, Emilia dared go no further.
The patrol car—a very loose definition of “patrol car”—awaited Sasha as the patrolman escorted her down to the first floor. A pedal cart with a glass divider and mounted restraints in the back was going to be her ride. Having just finished a fight with Emilia, Sasha’s mood was bad enough, and this travesty of a vehicle only soured her mood more.
The officer, obviously used to people in bad moods on bad days, acted professionally, without speaking or actively engaging with Sasha. She sat down hard and shook the cart, and the two left unnoticed and unmissed.
The ride progressed slowly. Each block looked like an endless display of blue storefronts as the radiant Earth now sailed like a moon across the sky. The road was bumpy, sure enough, with plenty of obstacles to go around, but most of the discomfort and extra strain came from Sasha. The girl harrumphed down to one side, nearly tilting the cart, only to become fidgety and harrumph down on the other side.
Each thought that came seemed to be a variation of the last, all repeating the same theme. It was not long before the anger over Emilia’s callousness had pushed Sasha into a tizzy. The bike fell as she jostled too much in the back. The officer tried to recover but ended up falling completely off the bike. The moment he took to regain his awareness was more than enough for the fog to lead Sasha away.
There was nothing to be found—no blood, no ripped clothes, no signs of impact on the “vehicle.” Nothing, it was as if the girl had just vanished. Seriously confused, the patrolman extended his search pattern and spent another ten minutes before finally calling anything in. “Base, this is officer 1211. I’m sorry, just now, the girl known as Sasha is gone. There was a tip over in the cab, and now she is just gone.”
Jobs, relationships, and of course parenting all go in cycles, but nothing could ever have prepared the captain for bad news about his daughter. When the words came across the radio, his body felt stuck in place while his mind moved in fast forward. “She is just gone. Gone.” The most horrifying words he could possibly have heard. Now he again faced a decision about abandoning a job he didn’t ask for or enjoy, but it also meant abandoning its resources too—resources that made him able to do things he never could as an individual out in the field.
For hours now, th
ings had been calm. No more aliens scouring the city and probing its innocent citizens, treating them like pawns in a game too big for them to understand. No more gravity disruptions upchucking everyone’s food rations. No more tidal waves power washing the city. The damage was immense. The entire coastline of the city, from all angles and blockings inward, had received damage. Only a few select buildings were able to power a minimal amount of equipment.
The alien doctors, whom they still had no formal contact with, seemed confined to the hospital by their own choice. The major had stationed his XO outside the hospital to monitor their movements, but none had come or gone. Captain Drexter was now reassigning these men to help assist in finding Sasha. Each district commander had set up a comm link with the captain at his desk, through which he would find equipment and resources, edit mission objectives and perimeters, and coordinate civil services as they were able and available.
All of this felt so pointless. Who the hell cared if District 3 needed more body bags and gloves? Who cared if civil-service sections, such as sanitation, had entirely walked off the job? No, the only thing he should have been doing at this moment was the one thing he wasn’t: looking for his daughter.
Captain Drexter ripped off the headset, threw it on the desk, and turned to storm out. Not two full steps into his walk did he face, once more, the small brick statue of Big M. “You are needed here, my new friend. Now sit down and let me explain it to you.”
Guilt and a low threshold for self-preservation kept Emilia from turning around and running out of the room—guilt about shooing her friend away, about being a burden to her friend, and about needing her friend now. Courage was never a factor in the equation, as Emilia was driven by emotions, not reason—and who needed courage without the awareness of danger?
The words started with a squeak, but Emilia soon composed herself. “Sasha, um . . . Sasha, who is she?”
The man’s stare pierced her soul, chilling her deep inside. “She is the one he is looking for. The one who saves.”
Emilia took a defensive stance without realizing it. “So he wants to save her.”
A gentle hiss preceded his words. “He didn’t say.”
Emilia swallowed hard. “So what do you want?”
The man changed the axis of his head. “Only to obey.”
“Obey what?”
“My orders.”
“Which are what?”
“Given as needed.”
“By who?”
“By those who give the orders.”
“Who gives the orders?”
“The order givers.”
“Who are . . . ?”
“The ones I obey.”
“Am I an order giver?”
“You have not given any orders.”
“Would you obey my orders?”
“I obey my orders.”
“Would you obey my orders?”
“I obey my orders.”
The only thing small about the mayor was his physical size. The man possessed an aura and presence that dominated the room, and being alone in a sparsely decorated closet-sized room with such a man was intimidating. Sasha was lost; he had to act. Over and over, the captain repeated the phrase in his head, trying to keep the fire of his passion hot.
Biggo pulled out one of the two chairs on the far side of the table and then walked back around to the front side, turned a chair backward, and sat. The captain hesitated, deciding whether or not to bolt out of the room and begin a frantic search. The indecision lingered long enough for the mayor to turn his head back around and eye the captain.
The captain begrudgingly sat upright and formal in his chair. Biggo pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and offered an open pack to the captain. The captain declined with a wave of his hand, only to have the mayor return the gesture with a shake of the box. Again the captain began to raise his hand in decline, when he noticed that the pack had two types of cigarettes, one being green and hand rolled.
“Your daughter is missing. You are compelled to chase out of here, run after her, like a wild man screaming her name in the wind. She needs you here, now. Go ahead and smoke that, you’re already very anxious and wound up. I need you cool and calm. Go ahead, my brother, we can smoke it together while we discuss how to save your daughter.”
The captain smiled back at the mayor and, compelled by the smoker’s logic, grabbed hold and felt that wonderful sensation as it spread out into his lungs, up his spine, and with a burst of smoke, blurred out all conscious thought and worry.
The man’s voice was intense, but Emilia wasn’t frightened by it. She was driven by guilt, longing, and anger. The past few days had done much to strengthen her resolve but had failed to mature her on a similar scale. This man may have had information—information she needed, would need, or would need to give to Sasha.
Emilia approached the man, turned a chair around, and sat. His piercing stare had not altered more than a blink, and now she returned the stare. The longer it went on, the more irrelevant she deemed it to be. She wasn’t going to win any staring contests.
She tried a second tactic. “Perhaps if you follow my orders, you will be rewarded.” Her voice gained confidence farther into the sentence.
The man double blinked and tilted his head the other direction. “What reward does the master offer?”
Emilia looked around the room for ideas. She could offer this man his freedom, but the hair on the back of her neck stood upright at the thought of that. The room was sparsely decorated: a reclining chair to one side and under a window, a TV mounted in the corner, and an empty counter with a stool beneath it. “I can offer you the reward of entertainment. Tell me what I want to know and I will turn it on for you.”
The man blinked twice more. “You idiot, we aren’t even on Earth anymore. There isn’t going to be any TV. Stupid girl.” His eyes bulged as he pushed out the second syllable of “stupid.”
“Do you know for certain?” Emilia didn’t have much on hand, so she pressed with what little she had. “Perhaps, but there are plenty of generators and news towers in this city. Maybe they could be trying to broadcast. These alien doctors have seen our technology. Perhaps they can now communicate with us on TV. Or maybe we are still really close to Earth and will just be getting a delayed signal. I guess we will never know.” She slid the stool out and leaned against it, making herself semi-comfortable.
“Master is a good negotiator but a poor judge of character, for I care not for my fellow man.”
“Then why care at all about Sasha?”
“Sasha is the one he was looking for.”
“Then why does he matter?”
“He is the exception.”
“The exception to what?”
“To us all.”
“What do you mean?”
“He is the only one too . . .”
Emilia nodded to get the man to say more.
The words came out twisted, with a different tone. “Righteous. God will punish. Avoid, evade . . .” Again the man’s eyes opened wide as he struggled to speak. “Heeelp.”
Oh, man, did it ever feel good to smoke again. The captain could feel his internal chemistry returning to calm, his mind floating from subject to subject. His lungs filled with the wondrous smoke, time and time again, until it felt no different than a Friday night on the couch. The two men sat idly in the room, watching it gradually empty of smoke as it wisped about, rising to the vents.
Whatever conversation there had been was fairly general, idle, random thoughts focused on Sasha. That haphazard conversation led to a moment of retrospection and silence—both men, for the first time, taking the time to reflect. They were emotionally dampened, yet the overall effect was still mind-blowing. Aliens were real, they were in space, and most of those they knew were now dead.
The room dropped in energy, and the silence spoke to the great losses and great changes that had occurred. That silence was broken with a jolt to two brains so lost in thought that the world snuck up on them
, when three loud, thunderous knocks rocked the door. The disruption was so big even the smoke zigzagged in fright.
Straightening, the two men now looked at each other, ever so slowly returning to the world around them. The captain, his body and mind working out of sync, attempted to rise but instead jumped forward and slammed his crotch into the table, causing intense discomfort.
The mayor, never nervous about the repercussions of smoking, showed far less panic over the noise. He let out a chuckle after the initial startle, as if laughing it off, but neither man rose to answer the door. Instead, the two locked eyes and laughed, and the captain walked it off in a couple of quick circles.
“No more children for you, eh?” The mayor cackled a little too intensely, unable to physically lift himself out of the chair.
After a few circles, the captain sat down again, as he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing.
Again the chamber rattled with three thunderous knocks on the door. This time, the captain covered his ears while the mayor dug up the will to stand and walk to the door. The mayor took a deep breath before pulling on the chain and opening the door to a small herd of assistants and attendants. One voice clearly rose above the others as he opened the door.
“A new kind of alien is attacking the hospital.”
The smoke cleared, and the sense of urgency returned. The captain had to save his daughter.
The single, small LED light shined directly on this unnamed man standing in front of Emilia. His face both snarled and smiled. His eyes penetrated, and his ears tracked. This man was dangerous, but she wouldn’t let herself be deterred from her task. She was fueled by emotional guilt, youthful innocence, and a strong desire to believe. So when the screams began and the light flickered, Emilia had to make a scary choice.
In the hallway, nurses banged on doors and screamed for anyone who could move to get the hell out. Then, as quickly as it had started, the light died and the noises faded. Emilia paused in shock and then moved toward the man. He lay motionless in the dark. Only a blue glow filled the room as the faintest of lights crept in from under the door.
