by Chris Lowry
"Yeah."
"So did we," said Nuke.
"I don't care if it was luck or skill," Houston ignored their bickering.
He stopped in front of a hanger door and pressed his hand against a reader. Red light glowed around his fingertips and the massive steel door rolled back on a rail to reveal the interior of the cavernous hanger.
"Damn," said Dawes.
Carver was struck speechless. He stood there with mouth slightly open as he admired the contents of the room.
"You’re advisors on this mission," Houston stood ramrod straight in front of them.
His eyes burned with anger that bordered on hatred. "I don't want you involved, but I'm following orders. You will do the same."
His eyes moved from Dawes to Carver and back again. The men didn't shrink under his glare, but they both bounced back and forth from foot to foot in an uncomfortable silence.
"These men are in charge of you," he indicated over their shoulder. "They give an order, you follow the order. They ask a question, you answer the question. Are we clear?"
"Yeah," the men said together.
"Say it."
"Say what?" asked Carver.
"Say we are clear."
The men exchanged a look. Dawes heard a rustle behind him and looked over his shoulder as Duke, the larger of the two men put his hand on the otherworldly pistol at his belt. He imagined what kind of eyes he had behind the mirror lenses and felt the pressure of their gaze burning into him.
"Clear," he spilled. "We are clear."
Carver stared at him, and saw what he was looking at. He started nodded.
"Clear. Sir," he added.
There was a lot of tension between the three men around them, filling the space like something alive and they all were armed.
He had been in a lot of situations growing up, where teenage boys with big guns and little pee pees had not liked his smart mouth, look or general attitude about life. He learned that sometimes the stuff that made it past his filter could get him out of trouble, and using the word Sir popped into his head at the last second.
It seemed to work.
The General relaxed at least. Or that was a generous description.
Instead, it looked like Houston let a breath out, one he had been holding since the two men crash landed into Central Park in a secret space shuttle.
He almost asked what the news had to say about that, but some survival mechanism kicked in before the words came out of his mouth and he clamped his lips shut. No use burning whatever good will he had built with the General in the last one second.
Better to save the questions for later.
Just not for Houston.
Duke and Nuke shoved them through the hanger door, the General placed his palm against the reader and they watched the steel trundle closed with a slow swish.
Dawes raised his hand half way and waved.
The General lifted one eyebrow and snorted like an angry bull.
Then the door was shut and they were left in the room with two silver eyed men who wanted to kill them.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Move.”
Carver planted his feet and wouldn’t budge.
“I ain’t moving nowhere. Not til somebody tells me something.”
Duke put a hand on the silver pistol strapped to his hip.
Nuke reached out and waved him back.
“Hang on Duke, let’s just give him a minute to adjust.”
“We don’t have a minute,” the space soldier blinked at the watch strapped to his wrist.
“Sixty seconds,” Nuke told Carver. “Go.”
Carver didn’t move.
“I think they’re serious,” Dawes whispered out of the side of his mouth as he studied the expressionless faces of the two men standing in front of him.
“I’m serious too man. This is a bunch of bull shit. We just got back from outer space and ya’ll want to send us back up there.”
Dawes locked his arms across his chest and stood shoulder to shoulder with Carver.
“He’s got a good point.”
Duke’s hand moved from the butt of his pistol to a long slim tube clipped to his belt.
He wrapped his fingers around it, flicked a switch. A thin red plasma blade flared to life.
“So does he.”
Carver flinched but held fast.
“I ain’t going back up in a space ship.”
“You’ll do what I say.”
“Just do it dude. He’s going to hurt you.”
“I ain’t scared of him man.”
The hot flame licked closer to his skin.
“Alright maybe I’m a little scared, but I ain’t backing down.”
"Just come on Carver."
"No man. This is about the principle of the matter."
"What principle," Duke glared.
Or at least they thought he did.
It was hard to tell with the glasses.
"Can you tell what he's looking at?" Dawes whispered.
"Naw man, I can't tell nothing. Besides, who wears sunglasses when we're underground?"
"I know, right."
"We can hear you."
"It's not like we're trying to keep a secret," Carver shouted. "Damn man, you're standing right there in front of us. With a glowy little light saber thing and
everything."
"More like a Bowie knife."
"I said that."
"No, you said light saber, but those are long and thin and make believe. This is more like a small bowie knife."
"Will it cut you?"
"Burn you," answered Nuke.
"So, it's a knife," Carver spat. "Cut, burn. I mean hell, we should call it a plasma torch."
Nuke grinned.
"That's what we call it."
"See!" Carver smiled in triumph.
"Why are you smiling?" Dawes asked. "You didn't win anything."
"Bowie knife. I knew what it was. I knew what it was called. See man, I know things."
"Do you know when we're going to move? Cause we're on a timetable here," Duke growled.
"In a minute," said Caver. "Let's get something straight first."
The silver eyes reflected the red glow of the plasma torch as the two super soldiers watched him.
"No medal," Carver listed. "No thank you, no appreciation. Now, ya'll want us to go back somewhere with you. What are we going to get?"
"Not shot."
"There is that," said Dawes. "I'm a fan of not being shot."
"Naw man, if they was going to shoot us they would have done it already. They're just postulating."
"Posturing?"
"That's what I said."
"What do you want?" Nuke sighed and glanced at his watch.
Carver shot a look at Dawes.
"I ain't going nowhere unless I get paid."
"Paid?"
"Yes, paid. You're a soldier, right?"
"Something like that."
"Super Secret space soldier, covert military type, whatever-"
"Would we call him Cow-vert since he's fighting space cows?"
"Shut up, man, I'm trying to say something important here," he turned back to Duke.
The solder's hand still flexed over the butt of his pistol, but he didn't grab it yet as he considered what Carver was saying.
"My point is you work for somebody, right?"
Duke nodded.
"And if you work for somebody, then you're getting paid."
Nuke let a small grin quirk up the corner of his mouth. Duke caught it and grunted.
"He's right."
"Yeah."
"Every two weeks, and holiday pay."
"No overtime though."
"See man, that's what I'm saying. You get paid, he gets paid, all them get paid. But I don't. He don't. And we the only ones who been fighting aliens up in here."
"Her too," Dawes pointed through the glass as Rachel tossed one of the super secret soldiers into a wall.
"Yeah, b
ut she's teaching them. I bet she's on payroll now."
"How bout it?" Dawes asked. "Is she on payroll."
Duke shrugged, but his heart wasn't in it.
"Alright."
"Alright?"
"That's what I said, isn't it."
"Spell it out for us. We getting paid?" Carver asked.
"I'll put in the paperwork."
"When?"
"We'll fill out the paperwork when we get back."
"No man, that ain't going to work see. Ya'll going to get us up there and get us killed."
"Then it won't matter if we get paid."
"You want to let me handle this? You think you can do better?"
"At least as well," Dawes said."
"Man we been here, what? A couple of hours and I already got us on the payroll. You think you can beat that?"
Dawes considered it, for a moment, a thoughtful look on his face.
"Come on man, you got to admit, that's pretty good."
"Yeah," Dawes conceded. "That is good."
"Alright then, I'm the businessman, so let me handle my business man."
He turned back to Duke and Nuke as they stood in front of another door.
"About those forms, ya'll got direct deposit?"
"Yeah," Duke said with a wolfish grin.
"They're in here."
He slapped a button and let the door behind him trundle open. The room beyond was bathed in darkness, tiny pools of light leaking in through portholes in the ceiling.
The weak starlight glow bounced off gleaming black metal.
"That looks like something the X-men would drive."
"Fly."
"Fly, drive whatever man, they know what I mean. It ain't like I got to explain every little thing to them. They ain't dumb like you."
"You like?" Nuke grinned, brilliant white teeth flashing in the blinking lights on the smooth underbelly of the shuttle.
"The guy who designed it for us went to work in Hollywood. He made that CGI plane in the movie. Skipped all this glory and sold out for the big bucks."
"Aren't you guys off the books black ops, or something like that?"
Duke spit out of the side of his mouth and adjusted his toothpick from one corner to the other.
"Something like that."
"So Hollywood pays better than this?"
"Wait a minute," Carver scowled. "We're supposed to be getting paid!"
"No, this is about honor. Glory. Pride," said Nuke.
"And paid. How you guys paying your bills? I mean this can't be free."
"We got three hots and a cot," Duke shifted the toothpick. "What else do you want?"
"Paid," said Carver. "I think I said that pretty clear. You understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?"
Duke reached up, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and lifted him off the ground in one swift swoop. He marched the dangling man back toward the plane and slammed him into the surface.
"Do you understand the words that are coming out of MY mouth?" he let the toothpick drop.
Carver smoothed the sleeve holding him, gently patted the forearm of the Super Secret Space Mission soldier.
"Man, I understand you just fine. I was just playing. We're like that, ain't we cowboy."
He shot a look to Dawes, pleading for help.
"That's us," Dawes couldn't help but grin.
"All play. All the time."
Nuke keyed in a sequence on the computer in a command console under the ship.
A holographic image popped up near the entrance ramp.
“Dude,” Dawes pointed.
The image glowed in the semi-darkness.
“Is that life size?”
Nine foot tall, massive head, thick horns with sharp points and a uniform that looked like a mix of a space suit and something a czar would wear for formal occasions.
“Their leader,” Nuke reminded them.
He clicked some keys.
A massive ship floated against the backdrop of the moon. It dwarfed the Lucas, their only other experience with a spacecraft.
“Damn,” Carver grunted around the scrunched up fabric as his throat.
“Damn,” Dawes agreed.
“Damn right.”
Duke dropped Carver and shoved him toward the hologram.
“Their ship.”
“We kinda figured that one out,” said Dawes.
“Figure on this,” Duke growled as he stood next to his silver eyed partner in crime.
“We’re on a secret mission to approach their ship in stealth, steal aboard and stop them.”
“Man that’ s a lot of S’s,” said Carver.
“Do you get paid extra for literacy?”
“I think you mean alliteration.”
“Shut up man, I know what I meant,” he snapped and turned back to the super soldiers. “What he said.”
“You were able to sneak on the Lucas and disable it under the nose of the enemy,”
Nuke said in a half disbelieving, half admiring voice.
“How we don’t know.”
“But your skills are going to be used to help us.”
"Alright then, what we got?"
"You're very gung ho all of the sudden."
"I'm getting paid, right? We're getting paid. I've got rent due, so come on. Daddy needs a new pair of shoes. Let's get this cow stuff done and head to the bank, you know what I'm saying."
Duke and Nuke watched Carver as he clapped his hands together and rubbed them over the VR display in the middle of the room. Or maybe they didn't.
Dawes couldn't be sure because despite the dim interior of the room which made seeing the holographic image easier, the two super soldiers wore reflective aviator shades.
He wanted to make a sunglasses at night joke, but the two serious expressions they wore made him think twice before opening his mouth.
“It's in orbit.”
“What's in orbit.”
“The alien ship.”
“Man, we know that. Why they keep coming here, right? What we got that they want?
“Cows.”
“Cows? They want a hamburger or something?”
"They abducted cows in the fifties, and now they're coming back."
"We can tip them," Dawes drawled.
"It isn't that easy cowboy," Duke didn't bother to look at him. "These aren't your Daddy's cows."
"My daddy didn't have no cows," Carver interjected. "Tip 'em, roast 'em, spit 'em on a bar b que. That's what I know about cows."
"Are we going to round them up?" Dawes tried to be serious.
"Like the man said, this isn't going to be easy work."
"They're just cows, right? Space cows, but horns and moo and all that BS."
"Nine foot tall space cows. Bipeds. Advanced IQ's. They're smarter than you."
The reflective eyepieces of his glasses drilled into Carver.
"That's not saying much," added Dawes.
"Shut up man. I'm smart. I've got a school certificate that says so."
"You're not cow smart," said Nuke. "Think big bad cow Einstein’s genetically modified to take over the world."
"But still cows, right?"
"Yes," said Houston.
"Not giant lizard looking dragon men?"
"No. Cows."
"Then what we worried about? We just fire up the grill and invite them over and lie and shit."
“And sneak on their ship to stop them.”
“Easy,” said Carver. “Right?”
“Easy,” Dawes agreed.
But they both didn’t look like it would be.
CHAPTER FIVE
"Look man, this is going to get complicated."
"I know it, dude."
"Then we got to get out of here."
"I am with you. How?"
"What do I look like? I come up with the ideas man. You got to fill in some details. Participate, you know what I'm saying."
