Grunt Traitor

by Weston Ochse

  I remembered the last time I’d entered a hive, and felt a sense of déjà vu. Right now the plan was really no plan at all. I was being guided by the Master and shadowed by an HMID. I was just along for the ride.

  “For a second there I actually thought you had a plan,” Olivares had said, back beneath the African dirt.

  “That’s one of the secrets to being a hero,” I’d said.

  “What is?”

  “Plans are for people who worry too much.”

  Right now I wished I knew the plan. Having nothing to do but be along for the ride was giving me too damn much time to think.

  We began passing alcoves filled with the man-sized caterpillars I’d seen in the Kilimanjaro hive. They squirmed and undulated in massive piles: immature Cray, birthed by the Mother who was surely somewhere in the central hive, shoving these out.

  The light was becoming painful. I wanted to squint or shade my eyes, but the Master didn’t think it necessary.

  Last time I’d been in a hive, I’d had thermite grenades, which hadn’t just killed great numbers of the enemy, but frozen them, hypnotizing them with a light even brighter than that coming from inside their nest. Now I had no such weapons. I strode past the alcoves of immature Cray, past the Cray sentries stationed along my route, past the Cray sleeping overhead and hanging like bats, and finally into the cavernous center of the hive.

  The tractor-trailer-sized Mother glowed like her own sun in the very center of the alien habitat. Around her worked other Cray, feeding her, tending her, moving newly birthed Cray to their assigned alcoves. The mother grew brighter and brighter and brighter, until it emitted an intense burst of light and subsided.

  It was then I remembered what she fed on. My gaze went to the pile of human bodies and I watched as Cray retrieved them one at a time, sliding each into the Mother so she could digest them. How many of us did this creature eat a day?

  Eighty-four. She eats eighty-four human bodies a day—one every seventeen minutes.

  In ten days, that’s eight hundred and forty bodies. I felt my anger surge. I wanted to open the nuke now and press the happy button. The very idea that a creature could come to our planet just to eat us enraged me.

  The Cray I’d been following stumbled in front of me, then righted itself.

  That was odd.

  We turned and headed into another alcove, this one as long as a football field. The ceiling was easily thirty feet high. The space was empty except for something at the far end. We closed the distance. The Cray stumbled twice more.

  And here it is, Thompson said. You’ll note that there are no Cray here. I think an EMP would destroy this.

  I began to make out the structure as we got closer. Long and tall and wide, it was a block made from a black substance like lava rock or onyx. It stood eight feet tall and was perhaps twenty feet long and half as wide.

  My brain began to buzz as I approached it.

  Thompson, what’s going on?

  No answer.

  I called again, but still got no answer. Was this thing blocking the theta waves?

  Suddenly the black block undulated, a ripple moving across its surface.

  My brain began to itch as I felt my memories tumble. I fought to hold them, but it was like trying to hold back the ocean with my hands.

  Second grade field trip to the Sea Lion Rescue.

  Junior year fling with a Japanese girl in the back of her mother’s SUV.

  Roadside bomb in Fallujah.

  Dead girl beside the road in Kabul.

  My memories flipped one after the other, as if the box was looking for something.

  The memory slideshow halted on the image of the black box I’d first seen in Africa. The memory languished for a time, then jumped to the same black box at Fort Irwin. The memory stayed there, as if someone were staring at it, taking in all the details. Then it flipped to Michelle, moments before I killed her.

  The itching sensation intensified as every image I had of HMIDs flashed through me, as if the thing were trying to learn as much about them as possible, until everything was flickering so quickly my mind began to burn. I wanted to scream, I wanted to shout for it to stop, but the Master had me so completely under its control that I couldn’t do a thing.

  Then it stopped.

  Cold.

  The blackness swirled, lights winked on inside the block. Now I could see it wasn’t a block at all, but a tank—like a giant fish tank. Lights blinked along the back wall. Wires and cables shot from somewhere into the depths of the base, running to the amorphous mass in the center. Whatever was in it was easily five feet wide and five feet tall. It pulsed slightly as if breathing. It had no eyes; it didn’t seem to have a mouth. Suddenly something peeled away to scrape against the inside of the container. Then another, and another. No longer amorphous, it appeared to be some sort of octopus or squid, or at least an alien version of one.

  And then it struck me. This tank was almost identical to the HMID boxes I’d seen at Fort Irwin. If the technology I was witnessing wasn’t so damned advanced, I’d have thought that this was an OMBRA device.

  Just how had OMBRA known to build one of these prior to the invasion?

  Images began to flash in my mind again. This time they were scenes of men in black fatigues and gas masks entering a room. They fired directly at me, then all was dark for a while until I found myself in a brightly lit room surrounded by men in lab coats. One man in particular stood out. Was that a younger version of Malrimple? Then it hit me. I was reliving one of the alien’s memories.

  What was I seeing? I wanted to see more, but suddenly the images disappeared.

  I felt something tugging at my back, then the weight of the W84 was removed.

  The Cray we had been following held it in its hands, the straps cut by its claws and dangling.

  Then the Cray did something that surprised me. It bent and put the W84 at the base of the tank, before ripping away the cloth from the pack I’d used to carry it. The latches were still in place on the Faraday container; at least until the Cray opened them, showing more dexterity and control than I’d ever thought it capable of.

  The Cray rearmed the nuke. I watched as it reset the clock to three minutes, then straightened and turned toward me.

  It grabbed me, lifted me from the ground, and ran back out the way we’d come. I felt like a doll in the hands of the monster. We entered the main chamber, where the brightness once again assaulted me. Was I to be fed to the Cray Mother? Was this to be my fate?

  The Cray launched itself into the air, beating its wings faster and faster.

  Was I going to have the same fate as McKenzie, dropped from a great height? Without an EXO, my death would be far more gruesome than his had been.

  Up and up we flew, until we shot through the top of the hive and into the cold night air of Los Angeles.

  The Cray turned north. We zoomed over the Hollywood sign. We passed above Forest Lawn Cemetery, where many of the early movie stars had been buried, over Burbank and the studios where some of my favorite films had been made. We kept going, faster and higher, until we were thousands of feet over Bob Hope Airport. As we passed over the Hansen Dam, the sky behind us bloomed with a tremendous light.

  I couldn’t see behind me but knew a moment before I heard the explosion that the Master was dead. It had released its grip on me. No longer was I dangling helplessly in the Cray’s arms. Now I was holding on for dear life.

  I didn’t know what was happening, or why the Cray had decided to save me, but I knew that to fall now meant certain death.

  We flew for thirty more seconds before we reached a secluded section of Antelope Valley. The Cray brought me down and we landed on the grassy front lawn of a church. The Cray let me go and I stumbled backwards.

  A figure came at me from the left.

  I turned just in time to see none other than Mother, carrying a shotgun. She put it to the side of the Cray’s head and pulled the trigger on both barrels. The alien’s head exploded
and it fell dead to the ground.

  That should do the trick, said a voice in my head.

  Where were you?

  Carrying you to safety.

  You were in the Cray?

  I couldn’t break the hold of the Master on you, but I found that I could control the Cray.

  Suddenly a second mushroom cloud split the southern horizon. This one was farther south—Disneyland. I watched in awe as the brilliant colors of the nuke swirled in the cloud.

  Mission complete, Thompson said.

  Did Ohirra and the others make it?

  Yes.

  What about Olivares and his team?

  No.

  All of them?

  They didn’t have me to help them.

  I thought about this for a moment. You weren’t there to help me. You were there for another reason. You read its mind, just as it was reading mine, didn’t you? That’s what you meant by needing me to hitchhike. It was the only way to get you near enough to the alien for you to get the information you needed.

  I needed the proximity. I needed you to get me in there.

  Fury began to build inside me. Did you get what you want?

  More than we ever expected.

  Good, then you can do me a favor and stay the fuck out of my mind forever.

  Mason—

  Don’t talk to me, Thompson. And stay out of my thoughts. I’m so fucking tired of being used. I don’t want anything more to do with you or your kind.

  Mason, do you remember when you asked if I was capable of love?

  Fuck off. No, belay that. I changed my mind. I want you to tell me something. Why is it that the aliens have HMIDs too? How is it that we’re using the same technology? What did OMBRA do? Sell us out?

  It’s nothing like that.

  You grabbed one before the invasion. The Master showed me.

  I saw it too. Listen, Mason. We found out that the aliens were using it to upload the reconnaissance information from the Sirens. We tracked one down and...

  Reverse engineered it so you could do to human beings what was done to that alien.

  I’m sure Mr. Pink will explain when you return.

  You don’t get it, do you? I’m not coming back. I’m out.

  But you’re a hero, Mason.

  I’m no hero. I’m your plaything. You and Mr. Pink. You want a video game to play, you can find another sucker. I went into this mission with my own agency, running, shooting and moving my team into position. And then you and that alien took me over. There is no doubt in my mind that this was what you and Mr. Pink had planned all along.

  There was a moment of silence, then:

  Mason, I didn’t mean to—

  Of course you did. Means to an end. Am I glad we killed the Master? Yes. Am I glad we blew the hell out of the hives? Yes. Would I do it again? Maybe. I don’t know. I can’t really say. I’m just so tired of being used and manipulated. I’m so fucking tired of being an eternal grunt. I think I want to live for a while. Remember what it is to be human... to be normal.

  You’ll never be normal.

  I can try.

  Is that your last word?

  Just go the fuck away.

  You must not lose faith in humanity. Humanity is an ocean; if a few drops of the ocean are dirty, the ocean does not become dirty.

  Mahatma Gandhi

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  MOTHER TOOK ME in as any good mother would. I’ve spent the last two weeks cutting wood, building fences, and teaching people how to shoot. I hear that there’s been no Cray in sight over L.A. since the bombs went off. There’s also rumors that GNA is working with OMBRA to use VUAA1 to kill the needlers. Without them, the vines that host the spores can’t grow. It seems as if we might be holding our own against the invaders, except for the constant sea level rise and the giant creatures you can sometimes see moving off the coast.

  Then of course there’s the war somewhere out there in space. Our planet was to become another of many supply depots for some unknown alien race fighting another unknown alien race. Earth was destined to become a footnote in some alien ledger, as a place to get scrap metal, water, and whatever else it was we had that they wanted. I remember how infuriated Ohirra had been when she’d learned this. I’d come to accept it. We’d always thought ourselves in control of our own destiny. But just like something took control of me, something has taken control of our planet and doesn’t seem to want to let go. Part of me wants to know what the war is about, who’s fighting and what they’re fighting for. I want to know if our sacrifice was worth it.

  OMBRA has officially charged me as a traitor. Mother told me that they know I’m here, but are leaving me alone as long as I stay put. Traitor. The very idea of me being a traitor was ridiculous, unless they meant that I’m a traitor to the idea that the end justifies the means. But I can see their side as well. I was a traitor to Dewhurst who wanted me to help the fledgling government. I was a traitor to my team, attacking them. And I was a traitor to OMBRA, refusing to return.

  Whatever.

  I bumped into a girl I’d known the other day at a refugee camp—Suzie from WWWSD fame, of all people. She’d lost her left arm and left eye. She has PTSD really bad. She won’t let anyone get close to her and shies away from even the most mundane conversation. She recognized me and it seems like I’m the only one who can get near without her screaming. I remember how alive she’d been, and I really want to help her get that way once more.

  Just like I want to do for my planet.

  It’s funny, this whole thing started when I tried to kill myself in the same manner as the director Tony Scott. One enduring theme from all of his movies was the idea that good will conquer evil in the end. I used to think the aliens were evil, but evil has to have intent. The aliens we’ve gone against had no intent, other than to complete the tasks they’d been set. I’d known since Kilimanjaro that the Cray were nothing more than intergalactic grunts. They are an interstellar Task Force OMBRA, populated with aliens designed to best do battle with our kind. But seeing that thing in the box and how it so closely resembled an HMID made me understand that even this Master was being controlled by something else, something more powerful. Just as Michelle had been strapped and cabled to a machine, so was this creature. Did that make it evil? No, it was just doing its job.

  The evil is what Mr. Pink is doing.

  What Thompson has become.

  If there was one thing that I’d learned at the end of the world it’s that our true nature is revealed in how we do things. It’s the doing that defines us, not the end result.

  When OMBRA forced themselves on me, forced me to do things, they became the same rapists and bullies I’d fought against my entire life. I had no choice but to part ways. Still, I have no doubt that they’ll eventually want me back. At this point, I don’t know if I’ll rejoin them. Perhaps I can find a way to be the grunt I once was without them. There’s still a lot more to be done. The black hole of Texas intrigues me, as does Australia. I can’t help but wonder what’s really going on in those places.

  As it turns out, Mother knew of my frustration all along. I remember when we’d first met and she’d said, “Some would say that there’s little chance to retain our humanity after this.”

  I’d leaped in and tried to answer, but Dupree had said it best. Humanity as a word is merely the condition of being human. Humanity as a virtue is associated with love, kindness, and social intelligence. You offering us a place to stay or sharing your tea is a sign of that virtue. So here we are at the end, and you’re showing your humanity.

  I feel it’s important to show my humanity for a while. Mother gave me a place and Suzie gave me a goal. I’ll see her get better, or at least try. In the end, that’s all we can do.

  And of course ask the timeless question, What Would William Shatner Do? and then maybe do it.

  They seem to have done it. OMBRA has once again accomplished what all the governments on the planet failed to do—kick alien ass! After last month’s
reports of two contained nuclear explosions in Los Angeles, destroying the twin hives from within, hives in Luxembourg, Naples, Shanghai, Honolulu, and Santiago have also been destroyed. We’re not sure where these nukes are coming from and we’re pretty sure there are more hives than nukes, but here at Conspiracy Theory Radio Headquarters, we are happy. We need to take back our planet. We need to start building again... creating, inventing, developing technologies so this will never happen to us again. Consider the invasion, or the Great Flood, or the Black Plague, or Ebola. After each disaster, we got better. Sure, we lost lives, but as they say, you have to break a few eggs to bake a cake, so it’s okay, just as long as we can get back to where we were... and then some.

  Conspiracy Theory Talk Radio,

  Night Stalker Monologue #1693

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  THANKS AGAIN TO Jon Oliver for giving me the opportunity to sit in the middle of the intergalactic science fiction sandbox and toss sand gleefully into the air. Writing Grunt Life was cathartic and I was worried that it was too dark and full of too much real post-traumatic stress disorder stories. It did turn out dark and raw, but the outpouring of thanks from fans around the world made me feel as if I’d done something right; maybe even added something to the canon that had been lacking. So with Grunt Traitor I continued with my role of creating PTSD-positive characters and hope that it can help many more understand that PTSD is something we can live with and use to our benefit. Thanks also to David Moore for his brilliant editing—AGAIN! Thanks to my agent Robert Fleck for doing all of his spectacular agenty things. Thanks to Brian Gross for letting me turn his brain to mush. Thanks to my own personal drill sergeant, my wife, Yvonne Navarro. And last, but certainly not least, thanks to every man or woman who ever put on a uniform (whether it be a nurse, soldier, policeman, etc) to fight for a cause greater than themselves. Each and every one of you are grunts and I’d follow you to the end of this earth and the next.