Miss Marathon

by Joseph Bradshire

  He looked over at his hand and blinked. Blinked. With his eyelids. Over his real eyes.

  “Okay...Raseen what the hell is going on?”

  Specimen sat with his hands in his lap, making fists and releasing them. Everything seemed normal.

  Raseen said, “The Ophiuchi didn’t want a substandard specimen, er, Specimen. So they healed you up before completing their bio scans. They regenerated your lost hands and eyes.”

  Specimen stood up. Clapped his hands together. Looked for a mirror to check out his eyes.

  “Well that’s great,” Specimen said. “So what’s with the worried face?”

  “I’m worried it altered your powers. Being able to show your powers to the Galactic Control Council is essential. It lets them know what Earth is capable of, how great an ally they could be.”

  “Ah, well let me just...” Specimen tried to get his ghost hands to come out. Nothing. He tried again. A third time. Nothing.

  After about 20 minutes of trying he was able to produce a green glow around his body. Sort of. You could see it better if you turned the lights off. That probably wasn’t enough to impress Raseen’s bosses.

  “Perhaps my report and testimony will suffice...”

  “Or maybe your bosses will laugh at you?”

  Raseen gave his best interpretation of a confident smile. It was unconvincing.

  * * *

  Once they arrived at Galactic Control Central it hadn’t taken long for Raseen to be summoned by the Defense Council. The capture of the Torvin battlecruiser, Brootstone, as well as Raseen’s reports of super beings had created quite the stir.

  From what Specimen could tell, GalCon Central was essentially a massive space station. The base may have once been on an asteroid, but as Galactic Control grew so did the base. The initial asteroid was now just the central piece of a gigantic megastructure, home to hundreds of thousands of sentients of all types.

  All packed together like that, Raseen’s news spread instantly. By the end of their first day Raseen had been summoned to no less than 10 meetings. Raseen had dragged Specimen to every one of them. He’d shown off his glowing trick over and over.

  He was getting good at it. Brighter. You could even see it without turning the lights off. No one was impressed though. Specimen wasn’t impressed either. He didn’t even make for a good lightbulb let alone a superbeing to be feared and respected.

  Now they were in front of the big wigs. Raseen and Specimen stood in the great meeting hall where the entire Counsel, 23 members strong, could sit as a panel to hear testimony and hold inquiries.

  Raseen was just finishing up the same speech he’d given 10 times already, “...so you see. With the presence of superbeings and the resourcefulness they’ve shown in defeating the Korvecki, the humans would make a valuable addition to galactic society.”

  There was a shuffling of bodies as translations into dozens of languages finished repeating the last few lines of Raseen’s speech. Specimen saw a Torvin on the council, a Markete like Raseen, and an Ophiuchi in a clear water tank. The rest of the beings were new to him. Luckily, none of them were as horrifying as the Ophiuchi.

  The first to ask a question was the Markete. Raseen had probably arranged it that way.

  “Human, I understand you are one of these super humans? Can we see a demonstration?”

  Specimen nodded and lit himself up. He concentrated as best he could and glowed brighter than ever. He knew it was a weak demonstration but Specimen knew his job at this point. Dancing monkey, show them your tricks.

  “Thank you,” The Markete said. Disappointment looked about the same on a Markete as it did on humans.

  The next to speak was the Torvin. “I doubt very much these creatures could have taken down a battlecruiser as powerful as the Brootstone. They are primitives. These powers you speak of, ridiculous. This glowing is nothing out of the ordinary. There must be hundreds of bioluminescent species in the galaxy.”

  Raseen answered, “Initially Specimen’s powers were much different. Being healed in transit has altered them. I assure you they were far more formidable.”

  The Torvin said, “I doubt they were ‘formidable’, I doubt all of this. Everything but the take down of the Brootstone seems manufactured. I don’t know how they did it but the humans have essentially engaged in war on the Torvin and Galactic Control.”

  The Torvin paused for effect. Politicians all over the galaxy must use this same trick. Pause. Let the nonsense sink in. Then continue before anyone realizes you’re an idiot.

  “I move that we vote to reinforce the quarantine immediately. Until such time as fact can be separated from fiction.”

  There was a low roar in the room as 23 delegates erupted into 23 conversations. Specimen couldn’t follow it, too many different languages going on, too much for his translator to keep up with. Finally, from down at the end, a voice roared above the others. A cat type man, or maybe a dog, his translation came through nice and clear, “I second the motion and demand a vote.”

  The vote was 15 yes and 7 no. The Ophiuchi abstained. Earth would again be quarantined.

  * * *

  “So what now?” Specimen asked as he and Raseen left the meeting hall.

  Raseen said nothing, quickening his pace. As he entered the corridor he grabbed Specimen’s arm and began running. Specimen didn’t think to question him, he’d learned to trust Raseen during their trip. This was his society, his station, if the alien wanted to run then Specimen would run like the wind.

  They rounded a corner and ducked into a side passage. Smaller and less well lit. Probably some sort of utility tunnel. Raseen paused and put his finger to Specimen’s lips.

  Be silent. Got it.

  In moments he heard the sound of several pairs of heavy boots running down the corridor. They were getting louder, coming their way.

  Raseen grabbed Specimen again and they ran. Faster than he had ever thought the alien could manage. He was thin and somewhat graceful, but Specimen had never thought of Raseen as an athlete.

  The guy could run though, that’s for sure.

  They ran through seemingly endless corridors. Turning left and right at intervals, doubling back, stopping to listen. Finally, just as Specimen was beginning to relax, they rounded a corner and came face to face with a squad of armored figures. They already had their weapons raised. Prepared.

  Stupid. This is a space station. They probably have cameras and high tech sensors all over the place.

  The squad wore dark yellow armor, just like Specimen had seen on The Brootstone.

  Dammit. Captured by Torvin. Again.

  One trooper knocked Raseen out of the way and grabbed Specimen by the collar. He tried to struggle but the powered armor was many times stronger than he was. Without his powers Specimen was helpless. The armored trooper, without a word, stuffed Specimen into a nearby airlock.

  The entire squad began to march away, ignoring Raseen. The trooper that had stuffed Specimen into the airlock hit the timer for the lock to depressurize, then he too turned and marched away after his squad.

  Raseen ran over and started poking at the instrument panel that controlled the airlock. Specimen could see him working feverishly through the small window in the airlock door.

  “Raseen what’s going on, am I locked in?”

  “Yes. They set a timer, on emergency command override. I can’t stop it. The airlock is going to depressurize and blow you out into space.”

  “What!? Well do something.”

  “I can’t.” Raseen started hammering his fists into the control panel, then into the airlock door itself.

  He hammered until his fists bled. The same red color as humans. Funny the things you notice when you are about to die.

  Raseen stopped and looked through the small window, “Try powering up again Specimen, reach through and tear the door off or something.”

  Raseen was panicking. Specimen could see it. He was shaking, not making sense. Specimen had never been strong enough t
o tear a door off, even when his powers were working right. Raseen was grasping for any chance, any idea.

  Might as well give it a shot though.

  Specimen concentrated and lit up. A nice bright green shine. He tried reaching out with his ghost hands, but his ghost hands no longer worked.

  Specimen looked through the green haze at Raseen, “Shut your eyes Raseen. You don’t want to see a friend die. Believe me.”

  “No.” Raseen yelled and started hammering on the door again.

  Specimen shrugged and started hammering as well, punching the window nice and hard. He’d break his hands, for sure, but at that point he didn’t care. Impending death tends to weaken one’s sense of self preservation.

  But he didn’t break his hands. He hammered as hard as he could, no pain. He clapped his hands together as hard as he could and barely felt anything. That’s when the lights dimmed and the outside door to the airlock opened.

  Specimen closed his eyes and grabbed onto the nearest hand railing, by reflex. He expected to feel the air rushing out, with him along with it. The cold touch of space killing him slowly. He felt none of that.

  He opened his eyes, glancing around. He was still in the airlock. Clutching the guide rail. He wasn’t dead. Not even close. He was breathing fine, though the air tasted a bit stale. He looked down at his hands, at his body. He was glowing green. Brighter than ever.

  He looked up at Raseen, through the airlock window. He spoke but Raseen couldn’t hear him. Sound doesn’t carry so well in a vacuum. Specimen could hear himself though. Loud and clear, he was echoing like how you sound in the old Challenger series tanks. Eerie.

  Raseen was frantically working the console again, the lights came back on and the outside door swung closed. Air rushed back into the lock. The air started to smell good again.

  Raseen opened the door and ran in, grabbing him and checking him all over, “I can’t believe it, you didn’t die. What happened? Do you know?”

  “Raseen watch out!” A Torvin trooper had stayed behind, out of sight, to be sure Specimen was nice and dead. Smart and efficient. Leave one behind to make sure he was dead, a single trooper, enough to do the job but not so many as to draw attention to his murder. Damned Torvin.

  The Torvin stepped into view and raised his weapon to fire.

  Specimen knew a few things. First, he was alive. Second, he was pissed. Third, it was time to test out a theory.

  He moved in front of Raseen and the Torvin trooper shot Specimen in the chest. Specimen was glowing as hard as he could. The blast was some sort of energy bolt, it ricocheted off his chest and into the nearby bulkhead. The metal bulkhead sizzled.

  Specimen was uninjured.

  Fucking force fields. Hell yes. Blaster proof and apparently vacuum proof. Maybe not as cool as ghost hands but he’d not complain.

  The Torvin trooper hesitated, then fired again. Specimen felt nothing as the energy bolt bounced off. He rushed the trooper. The trooper went to rapid fire as Specimen tackled him.

  That was a mistake. The superior strength of the powered armor made tackling a bad choice. The trooper tossed Specimen away easily.

  Force fields apparently don’t come with super strength. Good to know.

  The trooper abandoned his rifle, tossing it aside, and drew a foot long serrated blade. It was yellow and sick looking, ugly. Maybe poisoned. The trooper lunged with it, fast. Specimen dodged to the side and tried to control the trooper’s wrist. Again the strength of the powered armor made it impossible.

  The trooper made a backhand swipe that caught Specimen in the throat. He would have been killed except the force field turned out to be just as knife proof as it was blaster proof. Specimen circled away, dodging another slash, trying to come up with a strategy to take down an armored Torvin.

  The trooper dropped to the deck, a smoking hole in his back. Raseen stood behind, holding the Torvin’s abandoned blaster rifle. He’d shot the Torvin in the back.

  “Good job Raseen, thanks.”

  “You are welcome...how are you alive?”

  “Force field, my friend. A pretty green force field.”

  Raseen stood there for a moment, pondering that. He shook his head and said, “Okay, we need to go. Flee. They’ll be after both of us now.”

  Raseen once again grabbed Specimen by the arm and they ran down the corridors. Specimen was positive they could be tracked by station security, but maybe no one was looking, assuming him dead.

  Raseen led them to a space dock, ushering him into a small shuttle. Smaller even than the Torvin ship they’d come in on. Raseen closed and sealed the door behind them.

  They both went straight to the cockpit. The engine was already warmed up and ready to thrust. The bay doors opened as they finished strapping in. Raseen waived out the cockpit window at the dock crewmen, a trio of fellow Markete in space suits. The dock was opened to vacuum for their launch.

  The three crewmen gave a gesture, some sort of salute, arm up and palm to the sky.

  Specimen turned to Raseen, “What was that, a Markete waive goodbye?”

  “Yes. Sort of. It’s goodbye but also they wish us good luck.”

  Specimen mulled that over a moment, “Aren’t they going to get in trouble for letting us go.”

  “Yes. They definitely will, and they accept that. We Markete tend to take the long view. We are supporting Earth, even if it means ruffling a few feathers on the Galactic Control Council.”

  Raseen gripped the controls and they blasted into space. The acceleration pushed Specimen back into his seat. A Markete seat this time, supposed to be the most comfortable chairs in the galaxy. He believed it. Specimen dozed off, he couldn’t help himself, the seat was form fitting and warm. He left the remainder of their escape in Raseen’s capable hands.

  Specimen awoke briefly after their first jump toward Earth, but quickly went back to sleep. He was getting pretty good at space travel.

  Chapter Twelve

  Patty was bored. The Jaunt Troopers were off training without her. Cannon with them. That left Patty all by herself, flipping through Star Trek reruns.

  She envied the USS Enterprise. Able to fly around with her crew to new worlds and have adventures. Patty was stuck in a hanger in Bay City. Boring.

  Patty wasn’t really stuck though. The base engineering staff hated it, but she’d been fiddling with her structure so the clamps locking her to the ground didn’t really clamp any more. They just looked like they did. She could float out of them any time she wanted. They’d get mad if she did that though. She was supposed to stay in place and be good.

  That didn’t mean she had to be totally good. She had been practicing modifying her internal layout, again making the engineers mad. She’d figured out a way to make Maggie’s room bigger.

  Her room was right next to Cannon’s but Patty couldn’t see why they had separate rooms. They spent all their time in Maggie’s room anyway. Doing stuff.

  So Patty took down the wall between them. It hadn’t been difficult, she absorbed the metal wall into her superstructure, using it to lengthen her nose. Another few feet of steel reinforcing the ram spike would come in handy if she ever needed to head butt another ship into submission.

  The engineers probably wouldn’t notice, they never went into Maggie’s room anyway.

  Patty turned on the news, putting the signal through to the big screen on the bridge. It was all Maggie all the time nowadays. Talking about how they should let her out, how super humans are still human.

  What about Patty? The USS Patton had started out as a nuclear submarine, but wasn’t she a person now? She could think, talk, act. She had friends and family. Maggie was basically her mom and Cannon was kind of a dad. Cordel was her uncle for sure.

  She’d have to ask Maggie. Maggie would know. She’d ask later, she didn’t want to pester Maggie too much while she was in jail.

  Patty changed the channel to the local sports show. They were about to show the annual Big Bike Weekend at the Bay City Bowl. M
aggie’s brother, Chris, was going to jump some buses or some such. Maggie couldn’t go because of being locked up, so had given her tickets to Wraith and his two kids. Maggie was sorry to miss it. She hadn’t missed the event in years.

  * * *

  Brewskie hadn’t missed the Big Bike Weekend in years, except for when he was in lock up. He’d gathered every one of the Pacific Exiles to rally down the coast to Bay City for the event. There were probably 50 bikes with him, all flat black and perfect. Plus Sammy and her pickup truck, of course.

  They’d arrived early and staked out a corner of the parking lot. Sammy had brought the barbeque and Bonner was making his famous sausages. They weren’t supposed to be drinking in the parking lot but Brewskie was boss and he said it was fine. The police and security for the event didn’t say anything. As usual, they knew Brewskie and Brewskie knew them. They trusted Brewskie to control his own crew, and Brewskie had made it clear to everyone there’d be no hot headed nonsense this trip.

  Or at least he thought he’d been clear.

  A blonde walked by he thought he recognized, but he recognized most the people around. All bike enthusiasts. He didn’t think anything of it. Not until Tiny started talking at her.

  “Hey lady. I’m just out of jail, wanna hang out?” Tiny said, from under his oversized hooded sweatshirt.

  The blonde looked up. Recognized Brewskie, Brewskie recognized her. And that goddamned hair.

  Blondie said, “What the hell are you people doing here, didn’t you learn your lesson last time?”

  She casually unraveled her hair into long tendrils, most of the Pacific Exiles started backing away. It had been less than a month since she and Miss Marathon had wrecked their clubhouse.

  Brewskie stepped toward her, “Look Blondie, just keep walking. We are here in peace to have a good time. If we were here to fight you’d know it.”

  It wasn’t like him to back down from a potential fight, but getting into a dust up with a superhuman in the middle of Bay City was more exposure than he needed. It had been hard enough to hush up and downplay the previous incident at Bonner’s Hole. Running weed required a certain low profile.