Yuri sighed and unzipped his sleeping bag. He caught a glimpse of his unshaven face and the wild, curly hair that rose about his head like a Jewish afro.
He could shave it like Sheppard's, but he liked how it brought character to the station. Six people living 330 km above the earth on a vessel that orbited the earth every ninety minutes needed to have fun. He considered his clown hair fun because it did not match his very Slavic and downturned features.
"We have to get to Cupola to see it."
"It's shuttered for the night."
"Not now, it ain't," Sheppard said. "Bring a camera. The boys back home might take issue, so snap `em while you can."
"Such a rebel," Yuri said, but he grabbed his compact anyway, just in case this was actually something interesting.
They zipped through habitation, hit a node, and then slid up toward Cupola. The other astronauts would all be asleep, except for Ryu. He enjoyed his all-night research, but really he just didn't need as much sleep as the others. As a fisherman's son, he hadn't slept more than six hours a night as a kid. Now, nearly thirty years later, he was functional on four, but he could be downright wired on five.
Yuri nearly bashed his head on another laptop, and pushed the computer back on its rotating joint so it wouldn't catch one of the other astronauts.
"I was working on that," Ryu said from the corner of the space. He had a white blanket wrapped around his shoulders and had blended right in with one of the spacesuits they'd had to store temporarily while he pulled out and went over a computer system.
Suzie had reported some anomalies on a spacewalk to secure a loose solar panel two days ago, and Yuri had spent twenty-four hours going over the systems before realizing it was simply a miscalculation he'd made. Instead of explaining the mix-up, he'd informed the rest of the crew that he had fixed some code.
"Sorry. I almost hit it."
"My apologies," Ryu said. "You go to see it?"
"It?" Yuri asked.
"He doesn't know," Sheppard interjected.
"Better to sleep. Bad news can wait."
"What does that mean?" Yuri asked.
"He's just being melodramatic. Come on," said Sheppard, tugging at Yuri's shirt.
Ryu's eyes held something like sadness. He showed occasional bouts of humor though he was normally very serious, but now was most certainly not one of those times. The Japanese man turned his gaze away and focused on the circuit board he'd pulled out of a spacesuit.
He moved along another corridor and caught a handgrip with the top of his foot, which were well calloused thanks to living on the ISS. Ironically, the hardened skin on the bottom of his feet had fallen off.
They floated up the narrow passageway until they were in the nearly three-meter diameter portal that looked into space. Just as Sheppard had said the shutters were open, which was indeed against protocol. It was important to maintain a standard nighttime environment, so the astronauts were on a regular sleep schedule.
They were over the Sahara, with the sun's glare shining on their home below. The huge desert extended in every direction but would soon give way to vegetated land, then ocean as they spun around Earth's low orbit.
"There," Sheppard said, and pointed to three o'clock.
Yuri sucked in his breath when he saw…it.
From their viewpoint, space had ceased to exist in the direction of the moon. Something blotted it out as wide as they could see.
"Chinese?"
"Not on your life. According to Houston it's not theirs, and we know it's not yours."
"Ah, comrade, it's been many years since the Soviet Union launch secret craft." Yuri tried to think of an English word equivalent to what he was seeing but could only come up with one thing. "It's fucking huge."
"What's that?"
Another shape moved behind the anomaly, this one shimmering in and out like it was caught in a haze. The craft was black, with long, grey, pulsing lines like veins. It was elongated and had to be at least sixty or seventy kilometers in length. It spun along one axis, but the rotation was slowing.
Then something ejected from its side.
"What in the—?" Sheppard didn't finish his sentence because the smaller object emitted beams of light that swept over the first craft, the sun's radiance reflecting off earth's atmosphere causing a confusion of refracted images.
"It's above us, but moving. How can it move like this?" Yuri wondered out loud. Remaining in apogee was an art. Sliding in and out was the stuff of science fiction.
An explosion lit their view. Yuri looked away because the flash had been bright enough to remind him of catching a glimpse of the sun without a spacesuit's visor down—something that could ruin your vision for good.
"Well, goodnight!" Sheppard exclaimed.
Ryu slid into the Cupola and didn't utter a word.
Pieces leapt away from each object. Some accelerated the short distance to make impact with explosive effect, while beams leapt out and obliterated others. The ISS was rocked by one shockwave after another.
"This is no good," Yuri said. He had the overriding desire to rush off and do a full systems inspection. The solar panels maintained a very tenuous grip on the space station due to the nature of zero-g, and shockwaves were not the kind of thing they were built to withstand.
Lights erupted in space behind them and, for the first time, they got a look at the larger object.
Sleek: that was the best way to describe it. The object was oblong with rounded ends, like a giant cigar. There were no discernible lines except for the random veins. Ports snapped open to emit jagged objects that raced away, with points of light glowing from their rears.
The other craft was much smaller but danced circles around the first. Its signature was not as smooth, but rounder, and there were a number of protrusions like blisters along the hull.
"India and Pakistan?" Yuri said, and knew immediately how silly it sounded. If those two nations ever got craft into space, he doubted they'd start a war up there. They were more likely to start nuking each other back on good old Earth. So what did that leave?
"That is some shit right there," Sheppard said.
Yuri closed his mouth, raised his camera, and took pictures as fast as the device could ready itself.
A massive shock raced along the smaller craft's hull and it fell away suddenly, but not before a pod the size of a sports stadium broke away and became invisible. The larger craft hovered in place for a few seconds before withdrawing over the horizon of the space station until it could be seen no longer.
Another wave hit the ISS and something snapped. Yuri didn't hear it, but he felt it. The station thrummed and shook with something that was wrong.
"Not good," Ryu said and dove through the hatch.
Sheppard was next, and Yuri was right behind him. Alarms echoed up and down the passageways.
Yuri slid out of the lab and went to the Russian side of the space station. He floated in front of his computer and stared at the readout. His radio crackled to life, and a voice from home requested an immediate sitrep.
Yuri paused to collect his thoughts, then said something they would never believe back home. When he was done he rejoined Sheppard and Ryu.
"Something else is moving. It's that big round thing," Yuri observed.
A second explosion occurred half a minute later, in the direction the first ship had departed from.
"What was that?" Sheppard yelled.
"I believe it is called revenge. Now both objects have gone," Yuri replied. “No, not gone. They are in pieces.”
He stood stock still as he considered the implications. The planet Earth may have just been visited by aliens, but instead of coming in peace or for conquest, the two had eliminated each other from space.
He took a deep breath, and prepared to issue an order to evacuate the space station.
* * *
Victor
Victor was already having a bad day, thanks to the noisy downstairs neighbors who’d kept him and Laura up
half the night. Then the sky opened up and tried to kill him.
Rain pelted the overhang in a steady rhythm that washed away the sounds of cars racing along 1st Avenue. The downfall came so fast and heavy that at times Victor wondered if a marching band had taken up residence above and decided to use the shelter's roof as practice for a college football game.
He dared not look up because his rain jacket had seen better days, and if a hint of wind caught his hood, he would likely end up with a face full of water. He wished he could have stayed in bed with Laura and ridden out the storm.
A woman hustled to the overhang. Her hood was black, and her face was barely visible in the dark confines. She carried a silver-colored coffee mug in one hand and a closed umbrella in the other. Tucked up under her arm, her purse displayed some kind of designer label—probably something Laura would like, if he could afford it.
She pressed herself next to Victor and looked up like she'd never seen so much rain in her life. The woman pushed back, to the dismay of those jammed inside the tiny space. She ignored their sighs and curses and sipped her coffee while staring straight ahead.
If this kept up, Victor was sure to catch a cold, and that would mean fighting for a day off from work, which he could not afford. Victor's boss, Jacob, didn't believe in sick days, even if his employees were dead on their feet. No sense in arguing that it was a good idea to keep everyone else from coming down with the same thing.
To take his mind off his misery, he imagined sitting in his warm apartment, a cup of coffee in one hand, the other on his wife's leg. They'd be sitting on the couch while a fire roared away in the fireplace ten feet away. Maybe the brats would even sleep late and let them enjoy an hour of silence. Maybe he'd ask Laura to join him in bed for an intimate break, her legs wrapped around his waist while he stared into her jade-hued eyes.
A 4X4 barreled down the avenue and shattered his little daydream. It swerved near the curb and hit a puddle the size of Lake Michigan. Water flew in a wave and pelted everyone under the bus shelter.
A guy wearing a black pea coat and hustling down the street managed to turn his head and get his umbrella into the path of destruction, but it was too late, and he ended up wearing a gallon.
"Son of a bitch!"
He glared after the car, shook water off his now-soaking pants, and stalked toward the truck as it stopped at a red light.
What was the man going to do about the guy in the truck, anyway? Pull him out and beat the shit out of him? The truck spun hard to the right and was gone before the man was remotely close. He shook his fist, middle finger extended, and screamed profanity.
Victor's already crappy day became worse because his own pants were now completely soaked, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. That was exactly how his luck had gone from the moment he'd stepped out of the apartment.
His days always started early, but today he'd had to hustle a half hour early, thanks to a bus schedule change. That, and he couldn’t sleep, thanks to the assholes downstairs.
He knew Laura was right. He couldn't stand his job much longer, but the market was dry right now, so he'd have to continue his construction job for the time being. Why even bother applying for something else? His inquiries had gone unanswered.
She'd harped on him for quitting school, reminding him over and over that he'd be somewhere right now if he hadn't, and they wouldn't be living paycheck to paycheck.
When he'd tried to leave the apartment this morning, he’d found himself blocked in.
The jerk on the first floor spent his days smoking weed. In the summer, when the back door had to be open to keep the upstairs apartment cool, the smell wafted up and filled Victor's living room on an hourly basis. Even though it was improbably early, it seemed that the downstairs neighbor's buddy had shown up, probably to sell him more pot, and in the process had impeded Victor's car.
That had led to a near-fight, when the Cubans visiting the apartment had told him to go get fucked. The only thing had that stopped him from storming into the apartment and probably getting beaten to a pulp was the fact that Laura had been upstairs with the brats.
So this morning, he'd had to walk to the bus stop instead of driving to a park and ride, just to avoid a confrontation. Of course the bus had been late, packed to the gills, and had gotten him to Seattle just in time to miss his connecting ride.
September had a mean streak this year that didn't want to let up. As the month marched toward October, it brought nothing but vicious storms, clouds, and cold, and Vic wanted nothing more than to stay in bed until June.
Seattle weather was notoriously wet. Ask someone about living in the state of Washington and they inevitably mentioned that it rained all of the time, which wasn't much of an exaggeration.
A bus finally moved through the intersection and came into view. The bright numbers displayed on the side display told him that it wouldn't get him anywhere near his job.
How could both be so late on a Wednesday morning?
An angry man who'd been shaking his fist stormed toward the bus, was cut off by a pair of teenage girls in bright rain slickers, and sighed loud enough for even the bus driver to hear. The girls leaned close together as they ran up the bus's stairs, oblivious to the dude's anger.
The bus pulled away, and Victor was left with a dozen other miserable commuters, who checked their watches or phones while they waited. None of them moved an inch to let him into the bus shelter, so he stood and waited. Stood and waited. Christ on a crutch, was he sick of standing and waiting.
Another bus made the turn from 5th Avenue, and for a split second he thought it was his, but the numbers changed to TERMINAL and it sped away toward home base.
Miserable, Victor turned his attention back to the crossroad. Any second now, any second, and his bus would come around the corner.
His cell phone buzzed against his leg. Shifting his backpack around, he reached beneath his jacket and dug out the device. As he lifted the phone, his wet fingers lost their grip and the device clattered across the ground.
Even through the sound of the heavy rain, he knew what that cracking noise meant. He leaned over to pick his phone up, and nearly fell straight into the deluge. Water staccatoed across his back and hood, but he stood up, otherwise none the worse for wear.
The same could not be said for his phone.
Victor got a look at his shattered screen and lack of power and found he was no longer in the mood to be a nice guy. He backed into his old spot, oblivious to the cries of indignation from the woman he pushed out of his way.
"That was rude," she said.
Victor ignored her and stared straight ahead, just as she had done a moment ago. He could passive-aggressive with the best of them.
Whoever had called would have to wait until Victor arrived at the work site and could get to a working phone. Assuming he could see the number on his broken phone screen.
As another bus came into view, he realized it was his and moved back into the rain, but not before the angry woman with the fancy purse could dash around Victor and cut him off. She seemed to delight in stepping in front of him, judging by the way she straightened her back.
His phone buzzed again. He stared at the dead screen and realized there was a little bit of life left in the device. After trying several times to push the answer icon, the phone finally relented.
"Hello?" He pressed the phone to his ear. "Laura?"
"Victor? Did you see it?"
"Laura? What's wrong?"
"It's all over the news, baby. Please—"
"Oh, hon, you wouldn’t believe the morning I’m having… Hello?"
The call cut off. He tried to call her back, but the remains of his screen refused to cooperate with his fingers.
The bus windows were completely fogged over from condensate. It rolled to a stop, tires kissing the curb, and the door shot open, letting out a blessedly warm blast of air.
People streamed out, but just when he thought his line was going to mov
e, a mother with two small children moved to the front and asked the bus driver a question while the little ones—no older than three and four—tried to go in two different directions.
She got her hands on them, but her bag fell off her shoulder, items spilling across the floor. She yelled at her kids, apologized to the bus driver, and shoved things back into her purse as quickly as possible. An older gentleman grabbed a tube of lipstick off the floor and offered it to her.
Rain continued to pour into Victor's jacket, and he decided that he was never getting on this damn bus; he was going to stand here, trapped in purgatory until the day was done. He was concerned about Laura's call, but whatever she been talking about probably wasn't going to affect him in the city. He'd just call her as soon as he was on his lunch break.
The busy woman with two children managed to catch both kids' hands and help them down the two stairs. The pair were dressed in miniature, colorful rain gear, complete with knee-length yellow slickers.
The woman who'd cut him off stepped onto the bus and—of course—had to pause to find her bus pass.
Victor's considerable patience came to an end as he groaned out loud, "Oh, come on."
What came on wasn't the lady moving her ass, though; it was a massive boom that thundered around them.
"What was that?" she said, and actually took a step back down the stairs.
He didn't make it on the bus.
Instead, the impossible happened: the dark sky opened, pushing fat grey clouds out of the way. Bright light replaced the haze, casting the city in bright hues of yellow and orange. Oddly, rain continued to strike his jacket and hood in a rapid-fire pattern.
Victor raised his head. His hood was blown back, and rain hit his face and rolled down his neck, but it didn't matter now.
As the clouds were shoved aside, a section of sky revealed itself, now bright red. The rain faded to a mist, and then was completely gone.
Around him, the city was silent…until a driver ran a red light and was promptly crushed by a semi that had the right of way. The car screeched across the asphalt until both vehicles rammed into a concrete divider.
DRUMS OF WAR: A Dystopian Thriller Series (Broken Patriot Book 1) Page 24
