by M. D. Cooper
Gasps and mumbles filled the room. Even Helga could not help but jolt in surprise when hearing the words. If what Dzerma said was true, this could finally be the chance the Resistance Alliance needed to deal a damaging blow to the Empire.
“Calm down, calm down,” Dzerma said, motioning to those in the room. The voices slowly quieted around her. “We have just received intel that the World Ender Base has a vulnerable thermal exhaust port located at the tip of the structure.”
A red arrow pointed to the top of the yellow pyramid on the screen.
“A simple rocket launch directly into this vulnerable exhaust port is enough to trigger a chain reaction that will lead to the entire base’s demise. The firepower of one fighter is enough to deliver the blow on its own, though the shot will have to be precise. The exhaust port is exactly half-a-square-meter in size.”
“Excuse me, Queen Dzerma,” a voice interrupted. Helga turned to face the speaker, a seasoned pilot named Parce. “Assuming this information is accurate, that’s a small target. To hit a half-a-meter exhaust port would require incredible precision. Nobody could hit a shot like that.”
“Aww, come on, Parce!” added an arrogant young man in the fourth row who had only just joined the Alliance yesterday. “As a kid, I used to hit rattlesnakes with my dust cruiser. They were about that size.”
Parce turned to the young man. A look of disgust and confusion covered his face.
“What the fuck are you talking about, kid? You shot a rattlesnake with a dust cruiser? Why the hell did you do that?”
“Where I come from, everybody shoots rattlesnakes with dust cruisers,” the young man replied.
“Bullshit,” another voice chimed in.
“Yeah, you’re full of it!” added another.
“Liar,” announced someone else.
“Get the fuck out of here, man,” Parce said, waving his hand.
The young man shook his head and slowly stood up from his chair. He quietly exited the room with all eyes glued to him.
“Sorry about that,” Queen Dzerma said as the man left the room. “That hot-shot kid joined us the other day. He’s been making up bullshit like that since he got here. I apologize.”
Dzerma paused for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts. After a few seconds, she let out a deep breath and recomposed herself.
“Anyway, to answer your question, Parce, yes the shot will have to be precise. That is why we are sending our most elite fighter pilots on this mission,” Dzerma continued.
“How did you come by this intel?” Helga asked.
“That’s a good question. This intel was seized during a deadly battle on the remote planet of Macoach IX. Our forces dealt a sneak attack to the enemy. They caught the Empire off guard and stole the data from a secure facility. Everyone involved in that battle is now dead. Their brave sacrifices have given us this opportunity.”
“Wow, that sounds like it would make a great movie,” Helga said.
“A rather divisive movie, no doubt,” Dzerma replied. “Now, are there any other questions?”
“Yes, I have a question,” another voice chimed in. Helga turned around to face the speaker. To her surprise, it was Reggie, still smoking his cigarette. “How exactly does this chain reaction work?”
“Another good question,” Dzerma said. “If you’ll all refer to the monitor, I can show you.” Helga turned back around again to face the screen. “The World Ender Base is a complicated machine with a lot of moving parts. To begin the chain reaction, a missile detonation in the thermal exhaust port will force this wooden block to collide against this marble.”
As Dzerma spoke the words, the image of a block colliding against a marble filled the screen. The marble then fell onto some type of ramp and rolled down.
“The marble will roll along this track and drop down onto this trampoline and will then bounce up and hit this glass of water.”
Helga watched as the glass tipped over, spilling water onto a lit candle beneath an open balloon.
“The water will extinguish the flame, thus causing the hot air balloon to fall down. The weight of the balloon will be enough to press on this lever, which in turn, will force a number of dominoes to fall down.”
Dominoes started toppling one by one on the video. At one point, the row of falling dominoes split off into two rows, thus creating two parallel sets of falling dominoes.
“Eventually one of the dominoes will land on top of a pair of scissors, which will then cut a string holding a rotating fan in place. Now free of its hold, the fan will begin to turn.”
Helga watched as the fan blew against what appeared to be some kind of paper airplane.
“The air from the fan will push this paper airplane onto a mousetrap, which when triggered, will snap onto a cord holding a massive bucket of lighter fluid.”
The mousetrap ripped the cord. Helga sat at the edge of her seat as the bucket dropped down to the floor, sending lighter fluid everywhere. She could see a massive machine in the background of the video marked “combustion center”.
“But let’s not forget about our other toppling dominos,” Dzerma said. The screen displayed the remaining dominoes now. “While that is happening, our final domino will fall against this toy racecar, carefully positioned at the top of this ramp.”
Helga watched as the racecar sped down the ramp. When it reached the bottom, it collided against another lit candle barely hanging on the edge of a table.
“The force of the toy car’s impact against this candle will be enough to knock it off the table and into the lighter fluid below.”
The entire floor erupted in flame now. Helga held her breath as the fire grew ever closer and closer to the combustion center, whatever that was.
“The flames will be enough to ignite the combustion center, therefore creating an explosion large enough to destroy the entire station.”
The screen suddenly went white as if the entire world exploded at once. Cheers and claps filled the room. Even Helga could not help but smile at the sight.
“Yes, yes, I know it’s all very exciting,” Dzerma continued as the room slowly quieted back down. “Let’s not celebrate yet. Until that station is destroyed for real, we need to stay focused. Now, are there any final questions before you receive your orders?”
The room was silent. There were no more questions.
“Good. Then if that is all, I will now turn the floor over to Resistance Commander Swarf.”
Dzerma walked away from the podium as Swarf entered the room. The old commander’s uniform was covered in war metals. They clanged with each step.
“Thank you, Queen Dzerma,” the commander said as he found his place behind the podium. The old man cleared his throat. “You all know how important this mission is. That’s why we’re sending our best,” he started. “You all will be divided into four squadrons: Blue Squadron, Yellow Squadron, Red Squadron and Thunder Squadron.”
“Excuse me, sir,” Parce said, raising his hand.
“Yes, Parce,” Swarf replied, motioning to the seasoned pilot.
“Why Thunder Squadron?”
“What do you mean, pilot?”
“I mean, all the other squadrons are colors. Why not name all four squadrons after colors, you know, for consistency’s sake? It just doesn’t make a lot of sense to have one called Thunder.”
“The name doesn’t matter, Parce. What matters is our plan.”
“Actually, I kind of agree with him!” a female voice bellowed. Helga could not tell who had shouted this.
“Yeah, why does Thunder have a different name?” asked Gabriel.
“Okay, okay, if everyone is concerned about this, then I’ll change the name,” Resistance Commander Swarf conceded. “We’ll call the fourth squadron Black Squadron.”
“Black?” Reggie repeated in a tone of astonishment.
“Yeah, why black? Black isn’t a color! It’s a shade!” another voice debated.
“Black is a color and I say so because I’m the co
mmander. Now if we’ll just get back to talking about the plan and we can-”
“No, don’t ignore the point! I agree with Donavan. Black isn’t a color. It’s a shade!” interrupted another pilot.
“Alright, fine!” Swarf shouted. “What the hell would you like to name the last squadron?”
The room was quiet for a moment. Nobody seemed to expect the commander to turn the question back to them. Everyone looked at everyone else for a few moments, before Parce finally broke the silence.
“How about Green Squadron?” he suggested.
“Does Green Squadron work for you guys?” Swarf asked the audience.
A sea of nods met him in reply.
“Good,” he said, letting out a deep breath of frustration, “now, if we’ll finally move along, we need to go over the plan.”
Swarf paused and studied the faces around him. The room was silent once more, allowing the commander time to speak.
“You all will be divided into four squadrons: Blue Squadron, Yellow Squadron, Red Squadron and Th… I mean, Green Squadron,” Swarf said. “Each squadron will be assigned a leader. Parce, you’ll take Blue. Reggie, you’ll take Yellow. Natasha, I want you on Red. Helga, you’ll take Green. Blue and Yellow are to focus on protecting the other squadrons. They are your priority. Squadrons Red and Green, your objective is to get to that exhaust port and light the fuse.”
“Hold on,” Parce interrupted again. “You’re saying two of the squadrons each have the same objective?”
“That’s right, pilot,” Swarf confirmed.
“So then why not just make two squadrons? Why make four?”
The commander lowered his head into his hands and took a deep breath. When he finally raised his gaze again, he looked as tired as someone who had not slept days.
“Because I wanted four squadron leaders,” he answered.
“Well then why not just make it two squadrons with two leaders each? Why did you have to make it four squadrons with one leader each? It doesn’t make a whole lot of-”
“Because that’s the way I wrote it down in my plan book! Okay? Now shut the hell up, Parce, or I’ll have you transferred to Thunder Squadron!”
“You mean Green Squadron?”
“That’s it. You’re out. Get up,” Swarf said, motioning to the exit.
“But I’m a squad leader!”
“Not anymore you’re not. Get out. You’re done.”
“Aww,” Parce said as he lowered his head and cleared out of the room.
“Dustin, you’re taking his place as Blue Leader. Is that understood?”
“Yes, sir,” Dustin replied.
“Good. Now are there anymore stupid questions?” Swarf asked, scanning the room.
Everyone was silent. It seemed the pilots were done with their questioning.
“Thank God,” Swarf finally said, letting out yet another sigh. “So if there are no more questions, you are all dismissed. The mission is a go. Get to your ships. We’re taking this fight to the enemy.”
Helga grinned as she heard those words. She had waited a long time to get revenge on the Totalus Empire for firing upon her husband. It looked like she would finally get that chance.
The pilots all stood up and quickly exited the room. Reggie approached her as she walked out.
“So,” he said to her, “this is pretty exciting, right? The enemy station has a weakness.”
“Exciting indeed,” she agreed.
“Do you think this plan will actually work? Do you think we’ll be able to destroy that base?” Reggie asked. He took one last whiff of his cigarette before tossing the butt in a nearby wastebasket.
“If the queen’s intel is accurate, I believe we will,” Helga replied.
“I hope you’re right, but I can’t help wonder… What if we can’t pull this off? Or what if the intel is wrong?”
“We’ll do it, Reggie. I know we will. Do you want to bet on it?” Helga asked with a smirk.
“Bet? Against you? I think I’ve learned my lesson,” Reggie replied, placing both hands to the air, defensively.
“Took you long enough. By the way, you still owe me for that last round.”
“Aww crap, I was hoping you’d forget.”
“Oh, I’ll never forget, Reggie. You can bet on that.”
Part Four: The Bartender
Hey,
My name is Thorn Jacobs. A mutual friend of ours, Raj Patel, gave me your contact information. You know him - tall Indian guy, big thick beard. He tells me you operate a bar in the World Ender Base. I used to bartend back on my hometown and I just moved to the World Ender. Let me know if you have any openings. I’m looking for a job!
Thanks
***
The World Ender Base was massive, a product of decades of engineering on the forefront of scientific achievement. The station was the largest in existence, with a higher population than some major cities. Though intended as a military base, it functioned as a city of its own, housing a variety of private businesses, shops, restaurants, and of course, bars.
Thorn was just an average bartender. Tending bar was all he knew. After all, he had been doing it since he was 18, as soon as he was legally able to drink the drinks he prepared.
Thorn’s first bartending gig was in a small town on Macoach IX. The hours were flexible, the job was laid back and the pay was low. It was the perfect first job for a small-town boy like Thorn. Making drinks for the regulars became second nature in those days. He could practically do it in his sleep.
It wasn’t the best job, but it was enough. Thorn would sometimes aspire for more. For years Thorn would watch his childhood friends move away for bigger and better careers, many traveling to larger cities or flourishing planets. Thorn waited for his ticket out of there, be it a job offer, a call to adventure, or his favorite fantasy: a girl. But for years no ticket ever came.
Almost five years passed. Somewhere along the way, Thorn finally met a girl, nay a goddess by the name of Kristen. From the moment she walked into that small Macoach IX bar, Thorn was drawn to her like a fly to a lightbulb. His eyes were glued to her as she made her way to the counter. He would always remember the first words she said to him:
“Hello, I’m with the office of the Health Inspector. This bar has failed all health tests and you’ll have to close immediately. Can I please speak to the manager?”
Her words were like a beautiful serenade. Thorn did not even process what she said as he prepared her a mojito and stared into her deep brown eyes.
“Coming right up,” Thorn replied as he stuck the mint leaf into the glass and handed it to her. “Here you go.”
“Are you deaf? I said this place is getting shut down. Your license has been revoked.” Kristen instinctively took a sip of the mojito and her eyes opened wide. A smile formed across the soft skin of her face. “Damn, that’s delicious!” she said, forgetting about her own concerns.
That night, the two of them talked for hours, regaling each other in stories of their lives, telling jokes and sharing details about standard health inspection protocols. Everything came naturally for Thorn. It was like talking to an old friend. For the first time in years, Thorn could finally be himself in front of a woman. He did not have to pretend to be anyone but Thorn.
Thorn and Kristen stayed late into the night, well past closing. By the time they finally left the bar, Kristen had completely forgotten why she had come in the first place (Consequently, the bar remained open for years until it finally succumbed to a flow of lava from a nearby volcano, thus putting an end to that).
The two started dating almost immediately. It felt so right, so natural.
Only a month later, Kristen received the job offer of a lifetime – a chance to write new inspection procedures for the Totalus Empire’s premiere base. When she shared the news to Thorn, he was overjoyed. Everyone had heard of Totalus, one of the fastest growing regimes in the universe. This offer was too good to pass up.
“But I’ll have to move away,” Kriste
n said after sharing the news. “The job is in the World Ender Base.”
“Then I’ll move with you, wherever the job takes us. That’s where I’ll go!” Thorn replied.
Finally, this was his ticket away from Macoach IX. Thorn could rewrite his life now, do whatever he wanted, be whatever he wanted to be.
And he knew just what to do.
Thorn wanted to be an actor. It’s what he had always dreamed of. He gave it his all, auditioning for any role he could find. And when that failed, he gave up and went back to being a bar tender.
After all, it was all he knew how to do.
Here he was now, tending bar in the largest space station ever constructed. It wasn’t necessarily the life he’d hoped for when he moved away from Macoach IX, but it was a happy life with a good job and a woman he loved. That was all he could ever really ask for.
A couple suddenly sat down at his counter. Thorn quickly put his old memories out of mind and walked over to them, handing them menus on the digi-pods.
“Hello,” he said, greeting the couple.
The man appeared very sweaty. He shook like a nervous wreck. He wore a white shirt that looked about a size too big for him. His armpits were already wet.
The woman was coated in makeup and hairspray. She sat as straight as a beam. She practically looked like a doll.
The two of them were definitely together, though they kept their distance. Their stools were almost two feet away from each other.
“Uh, hi there,” said the man. He quickly picked up the menu and glanced at it. “Uh… what’s good?”
“It’s all good,” Thorn replied.
“I’ll have a glass of red wine,” the woman said.
“Coming right up.” Thorn turned to fetch the wine, when the man suddenly tapped him on the shoulder. Thorn turned back around again. “Yes?”
“I’ll pay for her wine, please,” he said, proudly.
“Aww, you don’t have to do that!” said the woman.
“It’s my treat,” the man replied.
“Uh… okay,” Thorn said. “Usually you pay the bill at the end. Did you want to pay now?”
