by Mark Tufo
“Mike, just because you’re back, does that mean that I still owe you the beer? You know there is a statute of limitations on all debts, public and private.”
“Have you been thinking up that excuse the entire time you spent driving up here?” I shouted from the porch.
“Well, yeah,” he said. He had finally made progress with his battle for footing and joined Lyn and me on the porch. I soon found myself in a bear hug that threatened to break bones. “God, I missed you,” he said, muffled because his mouth was buried in my sweater. He proceeded to wipe away a tear. “So what was it, community service?” he asked, trying to lighten the moment.
“Yeah, something like that. I’ll tell you all about it, provided that you have enough beer to wet my whistle.”
“Mike, I’m paying my debt in full, plus some extra.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“I bought five cases, two Buds, two Coors and a Labatts blue.”
“Are you kidding me? I said, truly shocked. We never actually paid up on our debts.
“Yeah, well this time was a little different. Most people don’t come back from the dead.”
“True.” I wasn’t going to argue; I just wanted the beer, and knowing Ronny, I knew it would be cold, not because he bought it that way, but because he was too cheap to fix the heater in his car.
“Dennis will be up later. I called him the minute I got off the phone with you.”
“Awesome, I can’t wait to see him. What about Paulie? Any news from him?” Ron’s face turned serious.
“Mike, he pretty much went underground after you disappeared.”
“Underground?”
“Yeah, radical, militia type. Last I heard, he was training up in the mountains of Colorado.”
“That doesn’t sound like Paul at all.”
“Yeah, well there’s other things going on too. When Dennis comes up here we need to talk.”
“That’s a definite.” I gave my brother another big hug, and drained the beer I had just opened. “Ron, we’ll talk more but Lyn and I have been up all night and I was up all the night before. I’m pretty much done for now. How long ‘til Dennis gets here?”
“He said he’d be up here around noon. So probably oneish or two.”
“Even better.” I said stifling a yawn. “Wake me then.”
Dennis arrived around three that afternoon, but they didn’t wake me. Apparently, I looked like I needed more sleep. What roused me were the smells wafting from the kitchen. My dad was well into preparing day two’s feast. And if I wasn’t mistaken, I smelled turkey and his world-renowned stuffing. I was tempted to run down the stairs and dig in when I realized that I was crying. I wouldn’t have even noticed had I not watched a teardrop hit my father’s wooden floor. Even then, I thought it may have been sleep drool. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. It came back dry. Not until I wiped my eye with my finger did I realize from where the offending liquid was leaking. Moments passed before recognition dawned.
I had been dreaming about the ship, although I suppose that would be considered a nightmare. I had been reliving the death of Carol, the cruelty of her murder would never leave me. I was crying for what had happened and for what was to come. This feast I was about to enjoy, would it be a short-lived moment in the coming months, years, forever? I didn’t know. Did any of them down those stairs know? Could they know? Could I tell them? I went to hell and back and for what? To tell everybody that we were going back to hell? The feast wasn’t smelling so good now. I began to turn tail and just lay back in bed, when my sister opened the door.
“I thought I heard you moving around in here,” she said as she peeked her head around the door.
“What do you have, bat ears?”
“Come on; dinner is almost ready. Dennis and Ronny are like two little kids waiting for Santa Claus.”
“I’m not sure if I’m ready for this.” And then her words hit home.
“You don’t have a choice.” She wasn’t trying to be condescending or mean, she was just trying to tell me like it was. She was right, of course. I had no choice; none of us had a choice in this matter. We would live and we would die, how we chose to do both was completely up to us, or was it? She had steeled my resolve.
“Just give me a sec.” She walked back downstairs fully cognizant that the sec I needed was to hide the obvious on my face. I made a big production about going to the bathroom and washing up, but she knew the only thing I was washing away was the evidence of tears from my face. I walked down the stairs, and my sister was right, they both looked like they had just seen the Easter Bunny and Santa Claus walking hand in hand down the stairs. Wags nearly fell over trying to untangle himself from his chair.
“I seem to be having that effect on people today,” I grinned.
“Dude! It’s so awesome to see you!!” he shouted. “You look ripped. You been working out?” he said as he grabbed me and gave me a hug that rivaled Ronny’s earlier one. I hugged him back. This was doing wonders for my soul, but it was murder on my spleen.
“Dude, let me go before you bust something,” I said breathlessly.
“Oh man! It’s so good to see you. After we buried you, I didn’t think I’d ever smile again.”
“Well, that shit-eating grin you’ve got going on now should make up for any lost smile time you had coming.” He hugged me again, and this time, came bearing gifts… A cold Budweiser, just what the doctor ordered.
“Dude! Where have you been?” Dennis asked in amazement, not sure if I was, in fact, truly there.
“Bud, we’ll talk about that after dinner. That smells way to good to mess up with the story I’m going to relate.” I walked over to the stove where my father was stirring some mashed potatoes.
“Dad, that smells awesome.”
“How you doing, Butch?” my dad said, using my nickname from my youth. “Did you sleep good?”
“Yeah, Dad, I really did.” As I hugged him, I looked over his shoulder right at my sister. Our eyes met; she knew the truth, but had no desire to shatter Dad’s illusions. Dinner was unbelievable. I still think of that meal from time to time, especially in the cold nights when I get to hunker down to another MRE. For those of you not in the know, that is a Meal Ready To Eat. We in the know affectionately like to call them Meals Rarely Edible. Nothing like processed pork to get you through the dead of night. Umm, umm, good.
Chapter 2 – Mike Journal Entry Two
We sat and drank and laughed. It was the best I’d felt in a long, long time. I was able, for the time being, to put my considerable burden to rest. I didn’t go into as finite detail as I had the night before with my sister, but they got the general idea. And I was still hoarse from talking for over two hours. I wanted to move on to lighter subjects but someone always had another question. I felt bad they had to endure what they went through, not even a clue how I had supposedly died. Nobody bought the terrorist bomb theory, there had just been too many witnesses.
Although the government had done its best to discredit them as drug-taking hippies, those who did not want to believe the truth had a viable option with the government account of events. But a growing majority were aware of the cover-up, especially when news of similar events in China and Russia leaked out. It was just too difficult to hide events of such magnitudes. China’s government owns the media and even they couldn’t suppress it.
“Did you know the Giants won the Super Bowl?” Dennis piped into my head.
“What?” I asked incredulously. I had drifted so far into my own thoughts I didn’t even hear what he said.
“I said the Giants beat the Raiders in the Super Bowl. In overtime, no less.”
“Oh come on. You’ve got to be kidding me,” I moaned. “My favorite team goes to the Super Bowl and wins in overtime while I’m stuck up in an alien vessel? That’s just my luck.”
“Yeah, you should go again next year. I’d really love to see them in the bowl again.” He got up and ran because he knew I
was going to lay the smack down on him when I caught him. While he was running, he had the presence of mind to add in one final tidbit. “Yeah, it was a barn burner, thirty-five to thirty-two. One of the best games ever.”
“Fuck you,” I said as I closed the distance. He headed out the door and towards the small body of water. If he got there, I’d never catch him. I was always faster, sprint wise, but I swear he could dodge a bullet. If he ever got on the ice, all the foot speed in the world wouldn’t do me any good. I was tempted to tackle him, but I had no desire to wrestle in a briar patch. He made it to the ice and waited for my arrival. I came to a skidding halt at the edge.
“Man, I missed you so much. I almost didn’t watch the game because you weren’t there. As it was, I just about cried during every intermission.”
“I’m sorry, that you and my family had to go through that.”
“No, I’m sorry that you had to go through that.”
“Fuckin’ Giants! I can’t believe they won the Super Bowl without me here.”
“I taped it!”
“What are the odds that you have that tape?”
“Pretty friggin’ good.”
“Man, I knew I liked you for some reason.”
“I wanted to kind of lure you out of the house.”
“For what, Wags?” I knew it couldn’t be good. But it wasn’t all bad.
“Paul has some pretty heavy stuff going down.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Man, you wouldn’t recognize him if you passed him in the street.”
“How so?” I asked cautiously.
“He’s gone underground. He started something like the United Earth Corps, or something along those lines.”
“He did what?”
“Yeah, his hair is as short as yours and he’s running some sort of commando unit out in Colorado.”
“Are you serious? The last I saw Paul he was smoking a bong on the twelfth floor lounge.”
“Dude, I’m as serious as a heart attack. And he is extremely well funded.”
“How well funded?”
“I don’t know exactly; but he has a lot of weapons and he’s doing some serious construction.”
“Alright, but why is he doing this?”
“He never believed the government’s byline, so he did some investigating. He actually was able to get a few photos of the ship that took you, as well as the mother ship. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what was going on from there. He’s fortifying Indian Hill.”
“What!? Why!?”
“He says his inside source said a storm is coming and the homeowner hasn’t even put tape on the windows yet. He doesn’t want to be caught off guard.”
“So why the Indian Hill thing? Why not just stay out in Colorado?”
“My guess is he wants to get out from under the watchful eye that’s funding him.”
“So is it someone from the government?”
“I don’t know, man, he’s tight-lipped about the whole thing. He gives me a set of orders every week, and miraculously, the money comes in and I do what I’m told.”
“So you have no idea where or who the mystery funds come from?”
“Mike! Mike!” my sister yelled from the porch. But in the dead of winter and on a frozen pond, she would have been able to whisper and we would have heard her.
“What is it, mouth?” I yelled back just to let her get an idea of how loud she really was. She eased off the decibels a bit.
“You have a phone call.” I began to walk back up to the cabin. “It’s General Burkhalter.” I stopped dead in my tracks.
“What’s the matter, Talbot?” Dennis asked as he came up alongside me and handed me a beer.
“When the hell did you snag these?” I asked incredulously. “Oh well, doesn’t matter, I have a good idea who our mysterious funding man is.”
“Huh?” Now Dennis just stared at my back as I walked up to the cabin.
“General! How are you?”
“How’s the uniform fit?”
“How do you know that I tried it on?” I asked, now more than a little pissed that I was being watched.
“Relax, I’m not having you tailed and I don’t have a satellite watching your every move. I just know the type of person you are. I know that you feel compelled to do the right thing.” I relaxed a bit but I wasn’t too happy that this man already had a bead on me.
“It fits fine, General.”
“Good, now I want you to enjoy this time with your family. But I’m going to need you in Washington by Wednesday.”
“General, I haven’t agreed to anything.”
“Say around eight a.m.”
“General, are you not listening?”
“I’ll have a car here Tuesday night.”
“No, I’d rather drive myself down.”
“Fine, son. I’ll have my lieutenant program your navigational system with the directions.”
“That Hummer has a navigation system?”
“Yeah, and a homing beacon.”
“You’re a piece of work, General.”
“Thank you, son. See you Wednesday.”
I hung up the phone and finished my beer. Something told me it was going to be a long time before I got to enjoy these again.
Dennis had finished his cigarette and came back in the cabin, his nose as red as Rudolph’s.
“Cold out there, bud?”
“Yeah, just a little bit.” He said sarcastically. “Everything alright?”
“Just dandy. Hey, when do you talk to Paul next?”
“Thursday.”
“Do me a favor?”
“Yeah, anything.”
“Don’t tell him I’m here just yet. I think I’m going to make a surprise visit this week.”
“Oh man, you’re going to make me sit on the best news we’ve had in almost two years? Alright, man, but you owe me for this.”
“No problem; let me buy you a beer,” I said as I headed for the fridge.
Chapter 3 - Mother Ship
Senior Helmsguardsman Borlock was an enormous being for a Progerian. He was considered a gargantuan and was even bigger than most Genogerians. His physical might and prowess had guaranteed him success in the military field. He was scared of nothing, and battle didn’t faze him in the least. But he was apprehensive to say the least about his meeting with the interim supreme commander. Kuvlar was not a Progerian to be trifled with. He was a big male of the species but nowhere near the stature of Borlock. Kuvlar was a Progerian of action; he did not threaten, he had no need. Without a doubt, Kuvlar was the next in line for the position; the puny hu-man had merely sped up the process. Where the original Supreme Commander was more a visionary and liked to think out every problem, Kuvlar acted first and thought about it later, if at all.
At times, Kuvlar’s lack of prudence had landed him in trouble but he had not risen to his current status by being afraid. And now Borlock had a one-on-one meeting with the interim supreme commander to tell him just how much damage the hu-man vessel had done. It would not go well, this was the biggest military blow the Progerians had ever suffered at least since the five hundred year war with the Stryver’s. But never once, while they were on a conquering mission, had they suffered anything even remotely similar to this and from worlds far more advanced than these hu-mans.
“Supreme Commander, Senior Helmsguardsman Borlock reporting.”
The ISC did not waste time. “What is the status of my ship and when can we launch?”
Alright, so much for pleasantries. “Sir, the hu-man weapon did much more damage than we had originally estimated.” Borlock could tell that the ISC was upset; his mouth hung open an inch or two and saliva poured out the right side of his maw.
“I want numbers, Borlock, I want times. I want this planet under our control. But the one thing I don’t want, Borlock, is your opinions. Understand?” the ISC said with quiet control. Borlock’s shortened tail flicked in response to the tension. He couldn’t reme
mber being reprimanded like this since he was a child and his father scolded him for eating the family pet.
“Sir, we lost over two thousand ships. Most were cruiser class or freighters; but we also lost three hundred fighters and four out of five Battle Master Class ships.” Borlock attempted unsuccessfully to stop the incessant flicking of his tail.
“What does that leave us for our attack?” The ISC already knew but he wanted to make absolutely sure that Borlock did, too. If he couldn’t be trusted to know his ship, he was useless; except, of course, for the battle arena and, the ISC thought, he’d make for some fine entertainment. Borlock sensed a mood change in the ISC and he didn’t like it, not one bit.
“Sir, we still have seven hundred and twenty-six fighters but only one Battle Master Class ship left. The one that wasn’t damaged was in dry dock, being repaired from our last encounter with the enemy. And that ship will be down for at least another month, even with crews working around the clock. The fighters alone will not be enough to subdue this planet, we will need to launch ground forces also.” The ISC already knew this fact too, and he had no desire to hear it from his subordinate.
“And the damage to the launch bay is another thing, sir.” Borlock couldn’t wait to get out of there; he worried the more he talked, the closer he approached an execution.
“There’s more!?” The ISC said as his jaw opened just a little wider.
“Sir, the residual radiation from the weapon is making work on the launch bay difficult and, in some places, impossible.” Go on, the ISC motioned with his hand. “In some places, the surface temperature is too hot to even approach. My senior staff feels that it could be up to another week before the temperatures are reduced to a working level; and even then, the shifts will have to be shortened. The radiation is also making my men sick, sir. Anyone exposed to it for more than two hours usually does not wake up for his next shift.”
“Then get some Genogerians in there to do the brunt of the work. I want launch capability in a week.”
“Sir, we can’t even get to some spots in a week.”
“I suggest you get it done, Borlock, I don’t care how. Or even how many men die. I will not go down in history as the first Progerian to lose a conquest venture. Understood?!”
