Alien Prince’s Son

by Anna Lewis

  Stepping forward, he aimed, his arm becoming tense with the desire to kill the man who had taken his brother from this world. He was so close to getting his revenge.

  Alfonse, he thought. Alfonse, this is for you.

  The electrical gun hummed in his hand as the energy built in order to deliver its intended shot. As he was lining up his sight, a man came barreling from his right and knocked him to the ground. They brawled momentarily until Trevor scurried away, retreating back to the bushes as the general whipped out his gun and pulled the trigger. A beam of light erupted from the end and landed in Trevor’s left leg, sending him tumbling to the ground with a yelp. The soldier who had tackled him wielded his weapon as well, taking a higher shot to the left arm of the naval officer.

  While bleeding out into the soil, Trevor watched the ships pass overhead and wondered how this even began, questioning the very nature of war, all while trying to hold in his very life force. The two men who had fired their guns were drawing nearer. It wouldn’t be long before they decided to blast him once more, finishing him off. He would leave this warring world and join his brother.

  Alfonse came to his mind just then, the freckles of his face like the stars above. What was he fighting for? Why had this ever begun, when Earth was under increasing threat by attackers from another galaxy, the news of whom aired nightly?

  Breathing raggedly beneath the hair strewn across his face, Trevor watched as the two men came into view. Their eyes gathered the image before them, reveling their victory over the enemy that they were about to vanquish. It would be too soon for the men to celebrate as a few men from his troop rushed the scene, jumping over Trevor’s shivering body as he attempted to keep himself awake. Two shots in their direction sent them running and voices filled the air, giving the wounded officer something to focus on. Blood was gushing from his body. His breath came in rapid waves, the humid air forcing him to choke as pain rattled through his body.

  Standing at his side was one of his men. Trevor was wounded, ragged. The man’s lips moved, but no sound came. Had he lost his hearing? Another wave of ships roared through the sky, sending pulses of sound that vibrated the earth beneath his wounded body. It seemed to send a wave of heat with it. Trevor clung to any stimuli that would keep his mind from focusing on the awful stinging pain radiating from his wounds. His lips moved slowly.

  “Please...” he whispered through tears. “Avenge me.”

  As Trevor reached up to grab the arm of his comrade, the world around him plunged into darkness and the silence remained. It rang in his ears as he dipped into unconsciousness. His troop quickly wrapped his wounds and then carried him on a stretcher towards a helicopter that would lift them up over the battle field and transport them to a local Navy hospital. The flight was unsteady as the pilot dodged random ships and flak that shot up from the ground. Most emergency copters were safe in war zones, but this particular battle had been fueled by passion and fury which made it difficult to evacuate the wounded. The building came into view and the pilot maneuvered them down to the landing strip where medical personnel were waiting for him.

  Medics rushed him through a series of hallways while expertly inserting an IV into his arm, checking his vitals and flashing a light into his eyes.

  “Unresponsive,” said one.

  “Heart rate dropping,” said another.

  “Get him to surgery. Call Dr. Clark.”

  A rush of energy pushed them through the last hall and they shoved through the double doors of the operating room. There, nurses dove into their work, cutting away pieces of clothing and checking wounded limbs. After analyzing the damage, she began to put pressure on the gaping holes in his leg while instructing another nurse to do the same for his arm.

  “There’s far too much damage to the nerves in this leg,” commented one nurse while another jotted information on a clipboard. “And his arm is damaged, too. Those guns are getting stronger by the day.”

  “It’s such a tragedy,” said the nurse holding the clipboard.

  “That’s why we must save him,” replied the other.

  While they put pressure on wounds to stop more blood from escaping, the surgeon overseeing the procedure walked into the room and began studying the naval officer who was lying half dead on the operating table. She was Dr. Lena Clark, a surgeon who had become world-renowned during the last two wars, not only for her surgical expertise, but also her expertise in cryptology and linguistics.

  She looked at Trevor’s face, eyes closed, tired and battered. For a moment, she paused in her work to observe his features. But she got back to work so quickly that no one else even noticed the pause at all.

  She barked orders at the nurses surrounding her and retrieved two large stainless steel limbs from the room next door. Her latest project had been to transform valuable officers into cyborgs who would be ready for battle, a new weapon that could swing the balance in the war against the Eastern Alliance.

  The advancement of medical science by Lena was astounding and she had won a Nobel Prize early in her career, when the world recognized her genius. She stood over the operating table, measuring Trevor’s limbs for proper fitting. The poor man would be in a great deal of pain for a long time with these new additions, but it would be worth saving his life. Some would argue that this sort of life-saving work was actually detrimental to the survivor as they would have to live out their existence as something different than before. But then again, that’s all war did. It changed people into that which was different, returning to their homes as broken shells of their former selves who would never be able to grasp reality in the same way ever again.

  Lena hoped that the procedure would offer Trevor a new chance at life, even if the reasons behind the operation were purely military ones: to use the wounded in war, rather than have to house them in a hospital, where they would be of no use to the war effort. It was her chance to prove how her work could change the battlefield forever and that she was worth recognizing in the military. The world had recognized her worth. Now she wanted the armies to reach out to her for help. There was no room for failure.

  ***

  Eyes fluttering and heart beating slowly, Trevor Noble stirred from his anesthesia. The surgery had been a great success and Lena stood outside the door while Trevor came back to consciousness, her arms folded across her chest as she watched the naval officer wake. Gasping, he rose from the pillows and looked around in a panic, the memory of his attack seemingly fresh in his mind. But the ringing in his ears faded, and he started to recognize his surroundings.

  “Where…?” he asked no one in particular. “Where am I?”

  “You’re at the Base Naval Hospital of the Western Alliance,” replied Lena as she entered the room. “You’ve had quite an accident, Commander Noble.”

  Trevor was panting, the images of the shooting returning to him all at once and causing a blinding headache. He raised his hands to his face. That moment had meant everything and he had failed. His wonderful brother would not rest in peace until he was able to destroy that evil general who had sent him to his death. The weight of his failure crushed his chest. Or was that the morphine?

  “You should lie down, Commander. I must explain what we did during your procedure,” Lena said while shutting the door. “A couple of changes have been made to your physiology.”

  “My what?” he asked, looking down at the sheets.

  Lying on the pale white blanket was a cybernetic piece of metal, the elbow whirling a bit as it moved around. The dim lights decorating the forearm and hand blinked a few times and then went dim, glowing underneath the fluorescent lights of the recovery room. Lena leaned over and pushed a hidden button, and then opened a compartment to press a few keys underneath. A ball of energy formed in the palm of the cybernetic hand, whirling between the barely moving fingers and then dissipating.

  “Commander Noble, welcome to the world of science,” she said proudly. “I’ve fixed you with a new cybernetic arm and leg. We’ll have you going th
rough physical therapy within the next week.”

  “Cybernetic?!” he asked, shock overwhelming his body.

  The heart monitor next to the bed began to beep rapidly and Lena shushed him, warning him that raising his heart rate might cause his new additions to malfunction if he didn’t learn how to control his body.

  “Malfunction? That’s heavily reassuring, doc,” he said with a snide tone.

  “It’s all part of your physical therapy. We’ll get you back on the field in six weeks,” she explained, ignoring his comment.

  “I’m not returning to that field, lady. Have you seen it out there?” he said while peering under the sheet. “Well, I thought I’d get a cybernetic dick, but apparently you’re fresh out.”

  Lena blinked her eyes a few times in disbelief of the man sitting in front of her. She had saved his life, brought him back from the brink of death and improved his body. Who did he think he was? Chagrined by the comment, she walked to the end of the bed and checked his chart on the touch screen. The hero was still chattering away about the war zone and how close he had been to completing his mission, something she didn’t ever ask about when injured soldiers came under her care. It wasn’t her business and she didn’t like digging because many of them painted extravagant stories about their experiences that caused her nightmares. The job came with a price. She knew that was true for the both of them.

  “So, when do I start therapy?” Trevor asked, fixing the sheets around him.

  Lena looked over his chart again and clicked her tongue.

  “Well, we need you to rest first, Commander,” she replied. “But I imagine we’ll start by the end of this week.”

  “What day is it?” he asked.

  “Tuesday,” she responded.

  “That’s weird,” he commented.

  “What?” she asked.

  “It doesn’t feel like a Tuesday.”

  The comment made her titter and she covered her mouth, the red lipstick staining the tips of her fingers that were worn from working on those cybernetic limbs for the past twelve hours. She could use a nap. Any time a procedure took longer than a few hours, she noticed her vision would tunnel and she would end up falling asleep on the cot in the supply closet, where a nurse would wake her after a couple of hours. This was her life. The majority of her time was spent at this hospital instead of her apartment just a few buildings down. Naval base life was morbid and strange, the sounds of air horns and ships flying overhead an almost constant drone. But in the supply closet, she would be shrouded in silence which put her mind temporarily at ease until her ears were raided with the sound of a shouting nurse.

  “Are you hungry?” asked Lena. “We still have some food available from the cafeteria. It’s not warm, but it’s filling.”

  “Do you have burgers?” Trevor asked.

  “I’d have to check on that. I’ll be back. Rest easy, sir,” she said while heading for the door.

  “Hey, doc,” he said, raising his human arm. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “It’s Dr. Clark,” she responded while pushing the door.

  “No, your real name. Your first name,” he insisted.

  Lena paused. It wasn’t typically a question she heard regularly as most patients were too wrapped up in their pain to mention anything about it, but Trevor seemed mostly unmoved by his own pain. It could have been the morphine speaking at that point or perhaps his status as a naval officer had made him resilient to war injuries. It probably wasn’t the first time he had been shot.

  Smiling, Lena responded, “It’s Lena.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lena,” he said before she left the room.

  In the hall, Lena was met by a baffled nurse who rushed her to the opposite hall where a patient was going into cardiac arrest. Her mind was still fluttering with how Trevor had addressed her differently, but she quickly pushed the thought away to focus on the task at hand. Trevor watched her through the wide window, studying her profile until she ran off with the panicking nurse in blue scrubs. He peered down at his new arm. It was strange seeing the stainless steel replacing the skin that he had always known. It was arm-shaped, at least, even if it was not arm-colored. He traced the designs in the metal, leaving finger prints along the shiny material that he tried to scrub away with the blanket that covered him. Well, that’s going to get annoying, he thought with a chuckle. I’ll have to get this thing polished once a week.

  A distinct laugh came from seemingly nowhere and left him stunned; it was a sound from his past, his childhood. It was Alfonse. That laugh was from Alfonse. He swore he’s heard it. The humor that he had picked up from his older brother had stuck with him from their childhood and even now Trevor could hear him make a comment and laugh. It was what drove him to push forward and avenge his brother, to make sure that no one ever suffered at the hands of that dreadful general. One day soon, he would face that man again with renewed vigor, for his body had become a fortress overnight, a weapon which would end the life of that general as well as the suffering of his country.

  Nothing could stop him now.

  ***

  After a number of days spent restless in the hospital bed, Trevor received a visitor who entered the room in formal Navy uniform, metals glittering on his chest. It was General Sanders, leader of the company that Trevor had been a part of for the past five years. While removing his hat, he pulled up a chair and sat next to his officer, who stared at the new addition attached to Trevor’s body. He studied his own reflection in the arm and smirked, offering a light laugh.

  “Well, at least you’ll never have to worry about carrying a mirror around,” said General Sanders while tracing the metal with a finger. “How are you holding up, Commander?”

  Trevor sighed.

  “I can’t complain, General. I signed up for this,” he said calmly.

  “It’s a chore to be in battle. Don’t ever deny that, son. Even though you signed up for this, we still face our terrors on the field,” explained the general.

  “I realize that, sir, but I knew what I was walking into,” responded Trevor. “It’s just like with my brother. I knew one day we would lose him. Doesn’t make it any less painful.”

  The general hung his head low, recalling the day when Alfonse was lost in the field. He had watched the horror cross Trevor’s face and had grabbed his shoulder to keep him from running into the rain of cyber bullets spraying the field. Alfonse had fallen down into the trenches like many men that day and had died long before their medical team could respond. Trevor had knelt next to his fallen brother and wept heavily, the world around them in utter chaos as electric fire continued to assault their troop. It had been a tragedy. Everyone knew of Alfonse and Trevor, the brothers who fought side by side and never failed to answer the call of duty.

  As General Sanders held his hat, he traced the outline of the bill and flipped it around a few times, anticipating that Trevor would continue to speak. But he didn’t. Silence fell between the two and they sat awkwardly. A nurse came in to check the machines. She pulled down a medicine bag, inspected it, and then replaced it with a fresh one, before checking Trevor’s heart rate. Cold fingers sat on his human wrist as she studied her watch and mouthed numbers. She tapped a few buttons on his electronic chart and wished him well before exiting the room.

  “Are you eating well?” asked the general.

  “I am, sir. They are feeding me three times a day. Sometimes the nurse brings me snacks,” replied Trevor.

  The general nodded, mouthing the word, “good.”

  “And you, sir?” asked the hero.

  “I am fine,” said General Sanders. “You worry about yourself, son. We’ll see you again on the field.”

  Trevor nodded, understanding that his service was far from over. He would have to return to the carnage of the war even though it had cost him a brother, an arm, and a leg. There was nothing he wouldn’t do for his country, but he still felt a sense of betrayal when it came to his body. What was he supposed to do with
these mechanical parts? Would he be stared at or accepted? How would he ever date again? Part of him felt lucky for being single seeing as many partners of soldiers tended to leave them after intense damage. It was a depressing and heavy truth of those who fought in war, and those who had dedicated lovers were considered blessed.

  If only Trevor could have found someone, perhaps he would have more to live for besides revenge at this point. His brother was no more and there was no family left for him on the planet. Maybe he would move off-planet. There was a colony on Mars that was beginning to thrive that needed more workers. After the technology revolution, Earth had started branching out to different parts of the solar system as soon as scientists allowed, filling space with pollution and corporate ideas, eventually coming into contact with aliens, too. But here on Earth, they still fought the war of the ages. It was always a battle between nations wanting territory instead of trying to come together. They were too stubborn to concede. No one wanted to be the first to suggest a collective world order, and no one dared to push for it. Trevor wondered if he would ever see the day.

  “Will you be doing physical therapy?” asked General Sanders, breaking Trevor of his thoughts.

  “I start today, sir. It should help me manage my new parts. I admit this feels rather weird. I can tell there’s something there, but it doesn’t feel the same. It almost feels...cold,” replied Trevor. “I’m still not sure how I feel about it.”

  “I’m sure you’ll be alright. You’re our best officer. We can’t afford to lose you,” said the general.

  “Absolutely, sir. I look forward to being out there with you again,” he said.

  A crash echoed through the sky and rattled the window, causing a few things to fall off the counter. It was likely another bomb. The hospital was just outside the warzone which meant they felt everything that was thrown out into the trenches.