by Mark Tufo
“Really? I was kind of hoping she was just hamming it up for dramatic effect.” I said.
“I do not believe that to be the case at all,” Drababan said. “There is something about you that causes females to lose their grip on rational thought. Is it that you are so enmeshed yourself that you mire all who are near enough to sink?”
“Yeah, that’s enough contemplating. Can we maybe go back to you being the strong silent type or something?”
I hadn’t realized we’d been in the conflict and conflict resolution phase for quite so long until one of Asuras’s officers informed us that we were five minutes from the Dreadnaught appearing. Tough to tell which of us was more nervous, I noticed a lot of the Prog officers with their mouths open, a universal sign of distress.
In the blink of an eye, the ship was there—right motherfucking in front of us. It even had that feel of a cheap science fiction movie special effect.
“Commander Asuras, this is Commander Sharpetter. We have received your message, please acknowledge with the appropriate response.”
This was it. I was watching as Sharpetter looked over the mixed bridge of the Vicieus, probably doing his best to figure out what in the fuck was really going on and not having very much luck. Asuras had sent him a message in regards to what was happening but would have to give security codes which would determine the Dreadnaught’s next move. They would either open fire on the Guardian or fall in line with us. No matter what Asuras had said earlier, he definitely held all the cards and we were about to see his hand. I’m guessing we were a hidden shooting hole away from a disruptive electrical charge targeting each of us. There was nothing more I could do—not a position I’m comfortable in. To continue his charade would be pointless; had he meant everything he’d said?
“It is by the grace of Cravatar that we go forth.”
I thought Dee’s head was going to snap off with how quickly it spun in the direction of Asuras.
“We are not all without our beliefs,” he smiled at Dee.
Sharpetter looked directly at my bloodless face. “Very well, Commander. We are ready to follow your orders.”
I let out a heavy sigh; my stomach did a few somersaults for good measure.
Asuras went to his quarters; he wanted to talk privately with Sharpetter. I suppose to give him as much background as he could for this new development. Of course, doubt reared its ugly little twisted head—that’s just what it does. I still had to go back to the fact that Asuras had never really lost his ship at any time and he could get rid of us by any means he so desired, whenever he wanted. Can’t even begin to tell you how much fun it was cycling through these circular arguments in my head. The skeptical part of me was convinced this was all some elaborate trap that I as of yet had not discovered. Absolute trust isn’t something that comes easily to Humans.
“What do you think?” I asked Dee.
He shrugged and raised his palms.
“Are you kidding me with that shrug?”
“I learned it from my godson. I see great value in it when I need to defer from answering a difficult question. Although, he seems to have mastered the technique. I wonder where he learned the skill?”
Before I could even think to stop myself I shrugged.
I don’t know what happened from one minute to the next, but I was parceling out concern for my electrically frozen wife, and for my son, hopefully well hidden in the bunker known as Indian Hill, while also just kind of wasting time with Dee making small talk. The very next second I was launched to the side, a jarring impact had rocked the ship. The typical klaxons went off. My initial thoughts went to Paul—that he just couldn’t contain himself. So many aliens, so few death rays, that kind of thing.
“What the fuck, Paul?” Drababan was helping me up off the floor.
“Not him.” Dee was pointing to the view screen; the cruiser had shown up and I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say they weren’t too thrilled with Asuras’s new stance. The commander came out of his room at a full clip.
“Get Commander Fendovia on the screen.”
“I am attempting to do so, Commander. Our transmission is being blocked.”
We were rocked with another barrage.
“How much of that can we keep taking?” I asked.
Nobody said anything.
“I think that was a warning shot,” Drababan said.
“That? That was a warning? Wow, what do they do when they’re pissed off?”
You know, I’ve often been accused of having zero diplomacy, although in fairness, I’m a foot soldier and once my boots have hit the ground the diplomacy shit is pretty much out the window. But what the fuck was Paul’s excuse? Here were ships the size of large Earth cities with enough firepower to destroy entire planets. Diplomacy was generally the realm you wanted to stay in the majority of the time. There were some concerned gestures and comments to the commander before he had a shot of the entire scene placed on the screen.
He didn’t say it, most likely not a Prog colloquialism, but I’m pretty sure he was about to give a “What the fuck?” in Prog-speak. Paul had pulled around to the side of the Vicieus and loosed a battery of weaponry on the cruiser. Bus sized pieces of debris were flying off her hull. Paul was apparently “all in” testing out our new alliance. I didn’t think the stress could have ratcheted up a single notch without snapping, but we had a go at it on that bridge anyway. Asuras looked to me like I had the fucking answers and then started barking orders. I didn’t immediately go for my rifle but if one errant round went toward the Guardian from this ship I was going to spray Prog blood all over the bridge.
Asuras was attempting to cut the combatants off from each other but Paul was having none of it, constantly moving and firing, as was the cruiser. The Dreadnaught held her position like a bystander who could not even begin to fathom what she was watching. They were doing nothing and it was impossible to guess what they would do if the Vicieus opened fire on one of their own. This could quickly devolve into a slugfest where no one lived. And you know somewhere there was a nest of Stryver ships watching this and whatever they considered to be smiles were lighting up their grotesque faces.
“You’ve got to attack the cruiser, Commander,” I shouted over the din. “At least fire a shot over their bridge. The longer we sit here and play dodge ball or hide and seek or whatever the fuck we’re doing up here, the more time the commander of the Dreadnaught has to watch two of his own go at it over a Human-controlled ship. Which direction you think he’s leaning about now and is going to fall before this is over? If you meant what you said about us all, then now’s the time.” I let that statement hang there for a bit.
Didn’t take him too long. He was a spaceship commander; he was used to processing information at an abnormally fast speed and coming to decisions just as rapidly.
“Controlled bursts targeted on the Kiltari’s bridge!” Asuras shouted.
“Whoa,” I said as an aside to Dee. “I was expecting him to say propulsion system or maybe weapons.”
“No, the true problem is housed in the bridge; the only way to eradicate it completely is to cut it out.”
The cruiser immediately began to punch back at us as we delivered a few solid haymakers out of left field. The Dreadnaught lurched forward like a first-time rioter that wanted to get involved but just wasn’t absolutely sure of what to do. Paul and the Guardian were in full tilt mode, I think I saw a kitchen sink get tossed at the cruiser. Brilliant bursts flooded the screen as huge impacts struck all three ships. Flare-ups caused the camera to lose focus for seemingly endless seconds as it adjusted.
Dee directed me to a couple of chairs behind us. We strapped into our front row seats as the curtain came up for The End of the Universe show.
Chapter 14
THE GUARDIAN
Paul watched as the cruiser began to fire on the Vicieus. He knew Asuras would attempt to dissuade the cruiser’s commander from his course of action, while the cruiser’s commander attempted to do the s
ame to Asuras. He’d thought at first that perhaps he should just let it play out; watch as the Kiltari and Vicieus pummeled each other into extinction, but that would benefit neither him nor us. The cruiser’s commander was openly hostile, whereas Asuras was at least playing at negotiation and peacekeeping. It meant nothing to Paul—Asuras’s words, the Stryver’s words—actually maybe less than nothing, because they would always be tainted by their true endgame: the annihilation of Man. That was all either of them really wanted. Paul would play along; it was necessary for now, but when the time was right he would make them all regret the day they discovered the third rock from the sun.
“Captain Anders, move out from behind the Vicieus shield. Captain Turrell, I want you firing on the Kiltari with everything we have the moment you have the vectors.”
The crew was already on high alert, so when the battle stations warning came, they did not have to travel far or use much more adrenaline to reach their current thresholds. The Guardian quickly and decisively moved from her slip, almost as if she’d come untethered from her moorings during a hurricane. Once free, she loosed her own storm of savage gunfire, plasma weaponry…then suddenly his ace-in-the-hole, a surprise armament of Stryver invention. Rail gun projectiles the size of small cars were activated. They punched explosive holes into the sides of the cruiser, causing massive damage—more so than the plasma weapons, which did most of their damage to the surface of the ships. Paul was laying a series of crippling pocks all along the length of the Kiltari.
The cruiser did not idly sit by as Paul did his best to broadside her into oblivion. The Guardian was taking a pounding as the cruiser swung most of her wrath towards the Guardian’s way.
“This is the moment of truth,” Paul said. His face lit up bright red, as he watched the screen. Paul thought that either Asuras had folded and his true intent was exposed a lot sooner than he planned, or he was about to travel down a dangerous, dark path wholly unaware of where it might end.
Perhaps no one was more surprised than Paul himself when Asuras opened up his own volley against the cruiser, though his was much more restrained and targeted. Paul couldn’t tell because of the flare-ups on the screen if they were landing blows to a vital spot or maybe just firing warnings to stop what they were doing.
“Turrell, can you tell where the Vicieus is firing on?” Paul asked.
After a few moments, Turrell responded. “It appears the bridge, sir.”
“Get the Stryver guns into position and concentrate fire to match the Vicieus’ targets.”
“Sir, the cruiser is firing up her Buckle Drives,” Anders yelled out.
“Not a chance, you slippery bitch. I’m not letting you leave,” Paul grinned.
“In position,” Turrell spoke.
“Now, now, now!” Paul stood from his seat. The heavy electrical discharge of the giant rail guns could be heard throughout the entire ship as Paul launched hundreds of two-ton chunks of high-velocity aluminum into the cruiser. Explosions blew out from the concussive hits—the ship listed heavily to the side as a portion of her was ripped free and thrown into space. Paul slammed his fist into his hand.
A large cheer erupted from the bridge as they watched the ship drift harmlessly away. The firing had stopped as had the warming of the Buckle Drive.
“Holy shit Paul! What the fuck was that?” Michael asked over their secure radio link.
“A little gift from the Stryvers that ought to give the Progs something to think about.”
“I think Asuras just shit his pants. He’s about to contact you, and he’s looking right at me. Gotta go.”
“This is Commander Asuras. I would like to begin rescue efforts.” Paul noticed that the commander seemed cool and collected but his mouth hung open after he spoke. He’d been profoundly disturbed by the events.
I could kill you all. Paul thought, be done with the lot of you. But he knew the moment he did, the Stryvers would come and, sure, they’d given him advanced weaponry, but he was certain they had and would always hold back some even nastier stuff; they would always protect their advantage. Odds were they could incapacitate his own gun with the push of a button when the time came; and the time would surely come. He’d been told the ship mounted rail gun was brand new technology and he’d been the guinea pig to prove just how invaluable, and how devastating in combat it truly was.
“Proceed. And Commander, I will need you, Michael, and your most adept engineers onboard my ship within the hour. We have a problem.”
Asuras nodded and the screen went back to the fires that could be seen to be raging inside the hull of the cruiser where they had not yet escaped into the vacuum of space.
Chapter 15
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 9
I felt like a ping pong ball as we shuttled over to the Guardian; sick of this back and forth crap. I felt that at least I could relax my defensive posture an inch; I finally let go of the death grip on my rifle and left it on the shuttle, I was afraid if I brought it with me I’d be tempted to use it on the first obstacle I encountered. When Paul and Asuras got together, I wasn’t sure which of them looked more petrified. Paul had just proved how deadly Humans could be in combat and that ultimately we weren’t afraid to die to preserve all that we thought important. And I was to find out Paul was pretty worried about how that rail gun had changed the entire balance of power. He was convinced that if more Stryver ships had been in the area that we would be under attack already.
“Asuras, I need your techs and engineers to go over every piece of that gun and find something that doesn’t belong there—some sort of kill switch.”
“Kill switch?” Asuras asked.
“A way to remotely disable the gun. The Stryvers would have never left me with a weapon that I could use against them so absolutely.”
Asuras turned to his engineers. I wanted to smile; if I could find some white shirts and some pocket protectors large enough to fit, they would damn near look like the alien version of a nerd. I’m pretty sure one of them even had a green acne breakout on his forehead. They were all going, psyched up with the idea of being able to look over the big new guns.
When I got Paul outside the conference room I couldn’t help but ask. “You sure about that, Paul?” I asked motioning with my head to the engineers.
“No, Mike, I’m not. How am I supposed to be sure about anything at this point? But Asuras proved something to me today and at this exact moment I’m more frightened about what the Stryvers might do rather than the Progerians.”
“Who would have thunk it? This is going to be a tough sell to the people of Earth, you know. Gonna be a bitch getting elected when you show your stance on this.”
“How’s the major?” He blew me off.
“My wife you mean? She’ll be alright; already trying to get out of her bed. The better question is how is yours?”
“Of all the mistakes I’ve made in this life, she’s the biggest. If I make it to a hundred…not sure if I’d ever be able to top that one.”
“Look on the bright side, General. The odds you’ll make it to a hundred are beyond fucking slim.”
“That’s pretty grim coming from you.”
“I make it to my thirties, I’ll be fucking amazed. When can I head back to Earth?”
“I need you up here.”
“For what? I can’t even fly a fucking kite.”
“You’re the key to bridging the gap between the Progs and us.”
“Hell no. I’m done playing embassy worker. I’m the furthest thing from a diplomat there is.”
“I can attest to that fact.” It was Dee; he had returned from the arena. He liked to walk it at least once every time he came on the ship. Said it gave him balance—a perspective between where his life was now and where he wanted to be. I thought he was nuts. I avoided that part of the ship like it housed plague-infested clowns.
“Not sick of that place yet?” I asked.
“I have one more fight yet unfinished,” he said to me.
“Not a
chance. I’m not going back. Go find some other poor unsuspecting slob.”
“It would be more symbolic; more ritualistic than an actual fight.”
“So more ritualistic, but not entirely ritualistic?”
“Correct.”
“Kiss my ass, Dee. A tenth of a fight is too much with you.”
He snorted. “Perhaps you are right. I just do not like leaving things unfinished.”
“I didn’t think aliens were capable of having OCD.”
Now it was Paul’s turn to snort. He excused himself before he could laugh outright.
“Is the general alright? He sounds as if he may be coming down with a cold.”
“He’ll be fine,” I assured my friend.
“I saw his spouse; there is something I do not trust about her.”
“Just one thing? Was it the horns or the smell of brimstone?”
“It is more than that, Michael. She was in the arena, in her seat of honor.”
I gave a pause at that. “Why?”
“I did not attempt to find out; we do not generally strike up a dialog. She seemed to be talking to someone, though. I was standing at the far side, and when she saw me she appeared to have been caught with her foot in the cat.”
I had no idea what the hell he was talking about. “Hand in the cookie jar?” I asked.
“Perhaps that is the correct expression.”
“Was it voices in her head or did you actually see her talking to a person?”
“I cannot say with any degree of certainty, but I believe it was into a communication device.”
“So Beth was talking to someone, wonder if it was off-ship. But who? This can’t be good either way. Beth is singularly the most self-serving individual either of us is ever likely to encounter. What the fuck is she trying to gum up now?”
“Gum up? Does that mean sabotage?”
“Yeah, that’s a safe thing to say. I need to find her, maybe beat it out of her.”
