by Mark Tufo
“Sir, three minutes and counting.”
He had not realized just how long he had been inwardly yelling at the Fates. He sat down at the captain’s chair without another word.
The ship’s computer did the countdown every ten seconds until the final ten, when he felt the familiar vertigo set in as the ship impossibly folded space over itself and traveled vast distances in speeds heretofore not known to man. Once the buckle drive kicked in another countdown began to announce when they would have enemy engagement. Paul had stewed while a whirlwind of activity had gone on around him. He’d loved Beth even before Mike had ever met her. He had congratulated Mike and silently cursed his friend when they had become an item. When Mike had rebuffed her and she had come to him he thought it could be something that would stand the test of time. They could become the ultimate power couple, uplifting Earth from its decimation and into the dawn of a new era with them both at the helm. He’d known almost instantly that their marriage was a sham, and he could only hope that, with time, she would see him for the man that he was. Instead, he had allowed himself to be manipulated into the man she needed him to be. She’d almost succeeded.
“I almost killed my best friend’s wife for her.”
“Sir?”
“How much longer?” Paul had not realized he’d said his thoughts aloud.
“A little under an hour, sir.”
He sat back, making a conscious effort to calm his exterior no matter how much of a storm raged within him.
We’d had a lot of fun growing up. Where did it go wrong? Was it me who couldn’t handle the stress? How many times did we laugh together? I don’t even think I could count them. None of this should have been able to affect our relationship, least of all Beth. You tried to warn me, Mike, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I just thought you were being jealous, wishing you could have her back.
Paul revisited that day. The initial invasion had been thwarted, and it was cause for celebration, even with all the losses they had suffered, including some of their best friends, Frank Salazar and Dennis Waggoner among them.
Mike had thrown a barbecue; the food had been horrible. Paul almost laughed out loud thinking about it. Mike was alright on a grill, but he’d gotten so drunk that more times than not he kept dropping the food either on the hot coals or the ground. He’d finally let someone else take the grill reins even though he’d protested loudly that it was his home and he was responsible for cooking for his guests. It was Tracy who reminded him that those same guests would like to have food that the local neighborhood dogs hadn’t pre-licked before it could be salvaged from their mouths. Mike had laughed.
“Want to get a beer with me, Paul?” Mike had slurred.
“Looks like you’ve had enough, man, but sure,” Paul had said. He’d steadied Mike as they stumbled off to the kitchen. Paul hadn’t noticed at the time, but Mike had almost sobered up completely as they entered his domicile. Thinking back on it, he thought that perhaps that had been the plan all along.
“Here you go.” Mike had leaned into the refrigerator and grabbed two, popping the top off before handing one to Paul. Mike took a large swallow, never taking his eyes off of Paul.
“Thanks, man.”
“I don’t trust her,” Mike had said matter-of-factly.
“Tracy? Why?”
“Not my wife, man, yours.”
“What are you talking about?” Paul’s anger had begun to rise, he thought now that perhaps it was because Mike had struck a nerve he himself knew was there all along. Back then, though, it was clouded over with jealousy.
“Paul.” Mike had instantly gone back to the drunker-than-shit pose. “I loved her once, I truly did, that’s not what this is about. I can’t imagine my life any different than it is now, I mean given the circumstances.” He had laughed. “Obviously it would be better if there weren’t aliens all over the place.” He had taken another long pull. “Something is wrong with Beth, man, that’s what I’m saying. I think you should get her some professional help.”
“Fuck you, Mike, this is my wife you’re talking about.”
“I’m not saying this out of malice or for any other underhanded reason, Paul. Something snapped inside of her. I think it was pulled taut within the Julipion and snapped on her cross-country trip. I’m saying this because I love you, man. We’ve been friends for a long time, and I want nothing but the best for you. She looks at the world differently than the girl we both used to know. I don’t think she has your best interests at heart is all I’m saying.”
“Thank you for the food and the beer, but if you ever bring up the mindset and motives of my wife again, we’re through.”
Mike had looked genuinely hurt and Paul, on some level, had felt bad that he’d said those words.
“Aw, what do I know, I’m drunk, right?” Mike had finished his beer off, and slipped back into the drunken role.
“Yeah, you must be shit-faced.” Paul had taken a drink from his beer, but kept his gaze on Mike.
“I’m sorry, man, forget everything I’ve said. WE’VE WON!” he had yelled, going out the back door. His words had been met with revelry.
“We’ve won, only to die by food poisoning!” someone had answered back to a chorus of laughs.
Paul had stayed in the kitchen a few minutes more. He’d walked over to the kitchen sink and looked out the window above it. Beth had been on the outskirts of the crowd, a glass of wine in her hand, a deeply etched scowl on her face. Paul had followed her gaze to see it was resting on Tracy, who had been visibly pregnant and sitting at a picnic table with a group of her troops, laughing and having a good time. Beth’s eyes had narrowed until she caught sight of Mike. She’d made a beeline straight for him, nearly shoving people out of her way in an attempt to get to him before he got to his wife. Her look had been one of shark-like determination, which had immediately changed into a glowing rendition of an angel when she was within his sight.
Paul had clenched his beer bottle so tight that he thought he was in danger of crushing it. Beth had kept moving closer, and Mike had been subtly moving backwards. It was then that Paul had first come across the thought that if Mike were out of the picture she would finally love him. He’d never pondered killing him, just sending him to as remote of a station as could be found; although, with the alien shuttles, no place on Earth was ever more than a few hours away. He had drunk two more beers before going back outside. Mike had made his way to the table and was sitting next to his wife laughing, Beth a mere ten feet away. Paul couldn’t see her face, but from her stance, he could tell she had been tense. She’d nearly jumped when he’d placed his arm around her waist. She had turned to face him, her features smoothly transitioning from murderous intent to a mocking love. Not that he’d allowed himself to believe it was anything but genuine back then.
“You ready to go?” he’d asked her.
“Already?” His heart had clenched as her gaze had turned back to Mike. “I guess I am,” she’d said when she realized she’d been caught.
“Sir, we’re about ready.”
“Already?” Paul was sweeping the cobwebs of his memories from his present day thoughts. He felt slightly flustered as the countdown clock chimed, “…seven…six…”
All at once, the ship was rocked so violently to the left that he almost knocked his head on his armrest.
“Broad spectrum firing!” someone shouted.
Klaxons blazed, lights shifted from white to red in alarm.
“Firing vector has been obtained!”
“Fire, fire every damn thing we have!” Paul screamed, seemingly tearing the soft lining of his esophagus as he did so.
Paul could feel the vibrations under his feet as the Guardian loosed her armaments even as the ship was being bombarded by the Progerians. Paul was watching on the viewing screen as the events unfolded before him. The heavily armored Progerian vessel was taking the Guardian’s best hits in stride while unleashing all that was unholy within her weapons systems.
“Re-engage buckle drive!” Paul yelled above the din. The Progerian vessel had narrowly missed with her first blind volley; however, they would not be afforded that luck again.
“Buckle offline.”
Paul didn’t even think as he began to issue commands. “Keep firing and do not stop. Hyper drive hard to port, do not lose your firing trajectory.” Paul held on as the ship veered to port. The Progerian ship was returning fire, most had been concentrated on where the Guardian had been, but even now some were making contact.
“Fire, decks seven through twelve. Hull breach, deck thirteen.”
“Full speed at the Progerians!”
“Sir?”
“No hesitation! Do it! It’s our only chance. At regular ten second intervals I want, at your discretion, to dart either port or starboard. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
The screen kept readjusting and lowering its magnification levels as the Guardian approached the Progerians.
“Ten thousand miles until collision,” the ship’s computer warned. Paul and the crew held on as the ship would rock back and forth from her evasive maneuvers. If they lived through the day he knew that Doctor Baker would be busy with a lot of broken bones from those who were not secured properly.
“Five thousand miles until collision.”
“Sir?” The helmsman had turned. Paul figured it was to see if his commander had gone insane.
“Stay the course.” The Progerian vessel was sustaining damage and now that she realized what the Guardian was doing she was not firing. “Why are they not moving?” Paul had gritted his teeth.
“One thousand miles until collision,” a high-pitched whine broke through the speaker. “Collision imminent, collision imminent.”
“This is going to suck.” Paul clutched the arms of his chair. He noticed in the top right of the viewing screen that the image was no longer magnified and it was huge. He’d just about swear he could see shocked Progerians staring through hull windows. “This one’s for you, Mike!” Paul screamed.
Chapter 20
CHAPTER TWENTY – MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 11
“Oh, God, no,” I said, turning so I could bring my weapon up to my shoulder. They were going to pay.
“What’s going on?” BT asked.
Tracy gasped.
My eyes had tears leaking from them. I had to wipe them dry before I could get a clear shot.
“Chance, I need you to stuff this thing, and I want only the best!” the stranger was yelling.
“It’s just a Genogerian,” Chance had said, looking over my shoulder.
“That’s my goddamned Genogerian!” I yelled in his face.
“That’s Drababan?” BT asked.
Tracy was quiet. I noted she was still looking over by the hunters. I hoped it was to get a clear shot. “Mike, Drababan is going to be mighty upset you confused him with a Mute.” Tracy let out a visible sigh of relief.
“Are you sure?” I asked. “Chance, help me up.” Before he could respond, I was pushing down on his shoulder as I tried to stand. BT got behind me and helped the rest of the way up. I was furiously rubbing at my eyes so I could get a clearer picture. “Damn, for a second...” I let the words trail off.
“I’m going out,” Chance said. “I’ve never seen one up close.” We followed him out. Like any encounter in this world, this one was cautious and rife with suspicion.
“I’m Chance Butrell,” he said, his hands up in the air as he approached the men.
“And the rest?” the man asked.
“Friends. And who might you be?”
“Gabe Kaplan.”
“Like, Welcome Back, Kotter Gabe Kaplan?” I had to ask. BT was helping me walk over to the trailer.
“Yeah, just like him, only bigger and less hair.” The man smiled. I had to admit, now that I realized he hadn’t shot Drababan and he wasn’t shooting at us, I was alright with him. “You okay? You look like you’ve been crying.”
“I was shot,” I told him, hoping that would get him to stop asking about my leaking eyes. Next up I would tell him I had allergies if he kept pressing or that it had rained on my face.
“Do I know you?” Gabe was looking closely at me, scrutinizing might be a better word.
“Doubt it.” It was the only thing I could think to throw him off. It worked about as well as you would think it would.
“Holy shit, I thought you’d be taller.”
“First off, we haven’t established exactly who I am, and at no time have I ever said I played professional basketball.”
“Boys, this here is Michael Talbot.”
This could only go down one of two ways. I was a polarizing figure; either they loved everything I stood for in terms of the rebellion, or they blamed me implicitly for all that had befallen our beleaguered planet. Tracy had been around me long enough to know how tense these next few moments were going to be. Hell, she’d been one of the haters before joining the ‘Team Mike’ team. Not sure if BT knew that, but he could pick up on the vibe as well. I think if you plucked my arm, it would have given out a tone, I was so taut.
“Relax, son,” Gabe said, never making a move for the rifle strapped to his back. “First off, I’m a retired Navy Seal, so I understand and appreciate all you’ve done for us. Secondly, there’s a sniper on the roof behind you that would drop any and all of you before you could do anything to me. No offense, son, but I wish I had been at that concert. I would have mopped the floor with you at those games.”
I turned over my shoulder and looked up to a roof a couple of houses away. A man was indeed there. I waved at him when he waved to me.
“Come on down, Trunks, it’s all good!” Gabe yelled.
“Gabe, I would have gladly given you my ticket.”
“Mike!” Tracy admonished me. “The man has done nothing to us and you would saddle him with Beth?”
“Hey, if you’re going to take the plunge, you have to experience the entire ride.”
“Beth? You mean the Queen of the Games? Pretty little thing, what’s she like in person?”
“The Beast incarnate would really be the best description. You with me on this one, Tracy? I mean she didn’t have the horns, at least not ones you could see, but she is easily the most dangerous thing that came out of that ship.”
“Interesting. What brings you to our part of town?”
“War…and I was shot.”
“Oh, I figured you were just saying that to cover up the fact you’d been crying.”
“Don’t miss much do you, Gabe?” I asked sarcastically.
“Naw. When I got out of the service I became a cop, trained not to miss much. I’ve got a medic. Want him to look over your leg?”
“No offense, Chance, but yeah, I’d love someone to check it out.”
I didn’t have to worry about hurting Chance’s feelings, as he was busy looking over the body of the huge Mute warrior.
“Took seven rounds from my .308 to take that son of a bitch down,” Gabe said proudly.
The medic had me sit down with my back against the truck so he could see my leg.
“Magnificent creature,” Chance said. “Going to have a hell of a time stuffing and mounting this thing because of its size.”
“What’s your price?” Gabe asked.
“What do you have for food?”
I heard a tarp being moved away and Chance gasp.
“There a lot of food?” I asked BT.
“Cases of MREs,” Chance said.
“I was hoping you were going to say meatball subs,” I said.
“Really, man? Did you really think he was going to have a mobile sandwich shop?” BT asked.
“How cool would that have been?”
“Extremely cool, but come on, man.”
“Gonna dream, you gotta dream big.”
“Your husband is nuts,” BT said to Tracy as he walked over to take a closer look at the alien. “They sure don’t get any prettier when you get nearer.”
“Kind of
like you,” I whispered.
“Does he realize not everyone is as deaf as he is?” BT asked Tracy.
“He has no social graces. I’m sorry. I’ve tried, I blame myself.”
“This hurt?” I winced as the medic pressed in on my wound that looked puckered due to the swelling around the area.
“On a scale of one to ten, I want to punch you in the head right now.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he answered.
The medic, a guy I was to learn they called Reaper, very comforting that name was, super inspiring for one in the medical field, really it was. Anyway, he and Chance talked for a few minutes about what Chance had done for me. Reaper seemed satisfied with the answers received. But how could I know if that was a good thing or not? For all I knew, it could be because I was going to die soon and he could collect his namesake bounty.
“Gabe, you mind?” Reaper had held up a small vial.
“No, but you might want to give him a heads-up before you go sticking him.” Chance and Gabe were going over how they wanted to pose the beast.
“I don’t want it,” I told him before he could even talk.
“It’ll help you out, all the aliens carry it.”
“Morphine?”
“You wish. I’m not entirely sure what it is, super vitamins mixed with magic is my best guess.”
“Magic? You call yourself a medical professional?”
He shrugged and then it came to me.
“You have alien go-go juice?”
“I guess you would know about it, then.”
“I’ve had gallons pumped through me.”
“Did it hurt?”
“Not that I remember, although I was usually so banged up from my bouts I’m not sure if I’d remember if I had any additional pain.”
“You’d remember this.”
“Whoa, whoa,” I said as he started to extract the contents into a needle. “Are you sure that’s what you think it is then?”
“We attacked a small patrol a couple of weeks ago. One of them started shoving these horse-sized needles into its thigh after we shot it about five times. I figured it was some sort of alien morphine as well. We kept shooting him until he stopped trying to stick himself. All of the soldiers we killed had these vials on them, so we took them, figured we might need them at some point. About three days later we came across another group. My buddy Trunks, who you’ve already met, was shot up pretty good, didn’t think he was going to make it. I’d done everything I could for him.”
