by Vossen, Doug
“Put your weapons down!”
“I am going to take my hands down to unsling my rifle now. Do not shoot me.” Hughes took the rifle off his body, held it in the air by the slip ring separating the barrel of the carbine from the bolt assembly housing. I feel naked. I don’t like being in a warzone without a fucking gun. These goddamn kids are about to steal my shit, I know it. They’re fucking POGs too. How embarrassing.
“Mahhhh….” breathed Jess into the October sky, as if uttering her final breath.
Trent slowly took a knee, both hands still in the air. He lowered his rifle to the pavement two feet from Jessica’s prostrate body. She was writhing in pain, making sounds that cut into Trent’s soul. Her hands were wrapped around her head, her knuckles white.
Callie stared at Trent, scared but impressed that he was able to hold it together. This was the first time she had been shot at; whether or not it was merely a warning, she was still shaking. “Dude, be careful,” she said. We got this far.”
Trent began walking toward the barricade, his hands on top of his head. The two soldiers walked toward him at a brisk pace, their weapons at the ready. I need to put as much distance as I can between me and Jess.
“Down on the ground, shithead!” screamed one of the soldiers, his voice cracking. He looked like he had graduated from high school not six months prior. His rifle was bare, with only iron sights for aiming.
Fuck, I wonder if this kid’s team leader knows how much of an asshole he is. Is he even locked and loaded? “Relax, dude. I understand you’re scared. I’m not going to hurt you. I have nothing to do with the thing over the city. I have a sick girl.”
“Face down on the ground!”
Trent could see the kid’s rank - he was an E2 Private. Fresh out of basic training.
The soldier’s silent partner was too scared to even participate in the unfolding situation. The soldiers on the machine guns mounted atop the humvees were even more oblivious.
“Listen, kid,” said Trent, now ten feet away from the soldier. “I didn’t shoot you before, I’m speaking to you in English with a North Jersey Accent, I’m wearing a Yankees hat, and I have a sick girl with me. Don’t let this get out of hand, man. Trust me, I’ve seen it before. I’ve been you when I was seventeen.”
The soldier hesitated. “What do you want?” He was trembling. This was clearly the first time he had encountered anyone who was armed outside of training. He was not even an infantry soldier. Chances are, he was stuck on a nonsense guard detail when all he wanted was to be an auto mechanic in the motor pool.
Jesus, no wonder the Iraqis hated the shit out of us back then. I’m not saying they were right to emplace IEDs, but I kind of get it now. We’re total cunts. “OK man, we’re getting somewhere. Is that a 10th Mountain patch on your left shoulder?”
“Yeah,” replied the soldier, calming a little. Trent could see he was winning him over.
“I was in 10th Mountain for four years a little over a decade ago. What brigade is this?” Trent asked.
“First,” replied the soldier.
“Awesome, man. I was in first. In Triple Deuce. I did two tours with you guys back during the Iraq war. You guys are a badass unit. I miss my friends from there every day. Besides Fort Drum being boring, you happy you landed in 1st BCT?”
The soldier grunted in acknowledgement. Trent almost had him.
“Hey man, can you please not point that rifle at my face? I just want to get this girl to the aid station. I’ll go willingly anywhere you need me to go after that.” C’mon, fuck-ass. Lower your weapon.
The private lowered his weapon. “OK, but if you try anything, there’s a thousand of us and three of you.”
“Fair enough. I’m going to get my friends and equipment now, OK?”
“Go,” instructed the private.
“Callie, get up slowly and grab Jessica. Don’t move until I come to you. Stay on your knees. Yell to me clearly that you understand.”
“I understand!” yelled Callie.
Trent jogged back to Callie and Jessica. He took a knee and strategically placed his assault pack upright between the group and the main battery checkpoint.
“Dude, what the fuck was that?” whispered Callie.
“Some kid who doesn’t know how to do his job yet, who’s terrified of the end of the world. He let fear get the best of him when he saw people holding guns running at him.”
“Fuck that guy. I should fucking bitch slap his ass. Jesus Christ!” said Callie a bit too loudly.
“I know, I know. He’s a shithead. I need you to unbuckle that pistol belt and leave it on the ground. The radio doesn’t work anyway. Put the handgun in your bag. Make sure the lever is down toward the back of the gun. Do this slowly, so they don’t see, and do it when I stand up to put my pack on and sling my rifle. When I start walking forward, pick up Jessica. You’re refugees now. I’m probably going to get detained. Take her with you, Callie. I am counting on you. I fucking mean it. This girl needs to live. Where she goes, you go.”
“How the fuck will they let me do-”
“Shut up, just follow my lead,” said Trent. “This is important. Please, Callie. Please.”
“What the fuck is taking so long?” yelled the young soldier, his voice again cracking.
“Callie.”
“You got it, dude. You had our back, now I have yours,” said Callie.
Hughes resigned himself to his current situation. The only way out is through, I guess.
Trent rose to his feet and walked toward the entry checkpoint, Callie and Jessica in tow. They walked quickly.
“Hey man, here’s my rifle and pack,” said Trent. “These two are my kid and my girlfriend. Their bags have her meds, some food and bottled water. She’s really sick, man. Come on. Please. Where’s the aid station?”
“Give me the weapon. You guys carry your bags until we get inside,” said the private.
“Understood. Not a problem at all.”
The private handed the trio off to two soldiers on a roving watch to inspect guard posts. The group walked deeper into the firebase. The US Army had been there presumably less than seventy-two hours; it was amazing how much they had already established. Concertina wire wrapped the entire periphery of Liberty State Park. Sandbagged fighting positions had been dug twenty meters behind the wire at intervals of thirty meters, all the way around. Two soldiers appeared to be manning each position, armed with a combination of rifles, light machine guns called Squad Automatic Weapons (SAWs), and machine guns identical to those at the entry checkpoint.
Good to see the 40% of my paycheck that’s taken every two weeks is going toward something good instead of paying off the national debt. Fucking retards. “Hey, there’s a colossal thing over Manhattan and giant eight foot monsters running around! Dig this fucking foxhole! What’s that? You think we should analyze this situation uniquely? Shut up, stupid! Here, dig this hole! Put the dirt into these bags and build a wall! Your government is in control! Pay no attention to the fact that Firebase Liberty has been brought to you by our sponsors – the American bondholder and the Chinese government!” Trent’s mind raced, fueled by a combination of anger and determination to see Jessica to safety. It was usually around this time that Trent poured a healthy helping of Irish whiskey onto the circus consuming his brain, but he had no such luck. One of his greatest strengths - quick thinking and action - was balanced by an even bigger weakness - his brain becoming a runaway train that he could only keep on track with alcohol. It was an extremely unhealthy coping mechanism that bordered on addiction and occasionally got him into trouble in social situations.
“Trent, where are they taking us?” said Callie. “I saw big signs saying ‘Aid Station’ back there. This is going in the opposite direction. Jessie’s feeling really hot, man. Like, super hot.”
Shit, she’s right. They’re detaining all of us. Trent sized up the young sergeant and his partner escorts. The sergeant’s a little older and he’s got a wedding ring on
. Probably kids, too. “Hey man, I get it if you need to detain me, but please let my girlfriend and our daughter go to the aid station first. You’re a thousand deep here, what the hell are a little girl who needs medical attention and her mother going to do to you?”
“I’m taking you to the TQ booth.” TQ stood for “Tactical Questioning.” It was a more media-friendly way of saying “interrogation.”
“Dude, come on. This isn’t Baghdad in 2006. Take me and do whatever, but not the girls.” Maintain composure. This could get ugly fast. Appeal to his humanity and American-ness. “Just feel the little one’s head, man. She’s fucking burning up. She stays like this much longer, she’ll get brain damage. Remember at basic when someone went down with a heat injury and they’d strip them down and throw icepacks on them until the medevac came? If we don’t get her cooled down in the next few minutes, she’ll have brain damage.”
The solider looked at Trent, then walked over to Jessica.
“Come on, dude,” continued Trent. “We’re all Americans here. None of us have anything to do with the weird shit you’ve been seeing around here. We’re like you. We live fifteen minutes away by car. Please.”
“Fine. Your woman and the kid go to the docs. You’re headed to the TQ booth.”
“That’s fine. Thank you, sergeant.”
Callie and the other escort branched off with Jessica. Trent slowed down and watched to make sure they were headed toward the aid station.
“Come on,” said the sergeant, nudging Trent toward the TQ trailers.
Fine, whatever. I can make my case when I talk to the real adults here. This is a great unit. I refuse to let some fuckin’ POGs ruin that for me. I wonder if anyone I know is still around. Fort Drum is like a black hole, people stay there forever. “Sergeant, what am I being detained for?” Trent asked.
“Look man, I don’t think you’re a bad dude. But you’re armed with more hardware on your long-gun than most people in this entire brigade. And you rushed an ECP during a national crisis.”
“Sergeant, I did not RUSH anything,” said Trent. If I wanted to kill soldiers I could have done it 300 meters ago on the way into the goddamn park! I have a sick little girl! I bought that long-gun and all the other shit when I was at Fort Benning in 2004 as a Lieutenant!”
“Not the story I heard. Anyway, shut up. If you are what you say you are, then you’ll know the deal. A rep from the two-shop will be with you shortly. You can plead your case to him.”
Yeah, no shit it wasn’t the “story” you heard from that skittish kid at the ECP. Sad thing is, I was probably no better in Iraq a decade ago. I wonder how much of the shit that went down over there was a simple misunderstanding that escalated to a stupid situation. Shit, probably 90%. I wish I could slug down just ONE tumbler of Jameson right now. I hate it when the circus is in town. Whatever faggot, FOCUS. Enough of that now. You’re about to be on the business end of a tactical questioning. Meanwhile Jessica and Callie are getting treated God-knows-how, and you don’t even know if your fucking wife is dead or alive. She’s probably fucking dead. C’mon, Captain Hughes. No time for this. BE Captain Hughes, not that embarrassing drunk. You’re better than this.
Trent walked forward quietly with his escort, accepting his fate. He walked up a set of four detachable metal stairs outside a portable trailer unit. This was presumably where he would wait until representatives from the intelligence shop showed up to extend their hospitality. Fucking shit. I woke up today hoping PSE&G would turn the fucking power back on in my apartment. Now I’m about to get interrogated by military intelligence people from the very unit I once served with. If it wasn’t me, I’d be laughing my fucking ass off at the irony.
JACK
Majors Rugerman and McMullin and Colonel McColgan sat opposite Ronak, who awkwardly went along with the setup. To an outside observer it would have appeared comical; the extra-terrestrial was far too large for not only the furniture, but the entire building. Were it not for the sensitive nature of the information, all involved would have much rather stood outside to talk.
“Shall we begin?” asked the colonel.
“We shall,” replied Ronak.
I have so many fucking questions it’s retarded, Jack thought.
“Ronak, I will drop the pretenses. I have no idea how to even begin going about digging for information relevant to this situation. I am completely awestruck at both the phenomenon over the city, and the fact that I am one of the first three human beings to ever have a discussion with an extra-terrestrial. Would you mind satisfying my curiosity first? When I have the ability to make contact with my superiors, they will no doubt have questions.”
“You will not be able to contact anyone if it involves utilization of your infrastructure, not now and not at any time in the near future,” stated Ronak plainly.
“I want to know why but I ask that you please humor me with answers to some obvious questions first,” replied the colonel.
“Acceptable.”
“Dude, how do you know English?” Karl interrupted.
The colonel looked extremely agitated.
“What?” said Karl. “I’m fuckin’ DYING to know!”
“Mr. McMullin, what is in your pocket right now?” Ronak gestured to Karl’s right shoulder.
“This would be an iPhone.”
“What does it enable you to accomplish?”
“I can call people, text them, browse the internet, use apps. Normal phone shit.”
“Indeed, normal phone shit,” repeated Ronak. “Now imagine, if you would, that this device was a microscopic implant augmentation that allowed your brain to access all its functionality instantaneously: maps, communication, information, complex mathematical computations, designs of new applications for this technology.”
“I think I see where you’re going with this. How can you speak English with it?” Karl said.
“Continue this thought exercise, Karl. How advanced were these devices ten Earth solar orbits ago?” asked Ronak.
“They were total shit,” said Karl.
“Indeed,” said Ronak. “Would you say they improved considerably since then?”
“Absolutely.”
He’s leading my idiot friend to the concept of exponential improvement of technology. OK Karl, time to shut the fuck up. “What he’s saying Karl,” interrupted Jack, “is that technology improves exponentially. In enough time, you’re going to have instant access to all available information in your brain, to the point where you no longer have to learn things the way we used to.”
“Aaahhh. Fuckin’ cool, man. I would’ve never failed classes back in school!”
The colonel was beside himself at the stupidity he’d allowed to enter the conversation. “Major McMullin, get out. You’re done.”
“Sir? Why?”
Shit, I knew it. “Karl, shut up,” said Jack. “No more talking.”
“OK, OK!”
“Sir, he’ll shut up for good.” Jack glared at his friend. Dude, for once, don’t fuckin’ do this to me. Remember that time you cock-blocked me at Club Tigerlilly in Scotland fifteen years ago? Stop fucking alien cock-blocking me and the colonel, man! Ugh, my loyalty to this asshole will be my career’s undoing, I swear. I should never have sat next to him in plebe chemistry.
The colonel took control of the conversation once again. “Ronak, excuse us. I can only imagine how primitive we seem to you. We are not as stupid as some of us would have you believe.”
Ronak stared blankly. “Colonel McColgan, this one has a deep insight I would like to further explore,” he said, gesturing toward to Jack. Ronak then nodded toward McMullin. “This one, as terrans say, is a hammer. When one is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. However, the spark within him is undeniable. We too have a great variety of specimens on my home world. In time, all of you will learn to control extraneous facets of ego and personality, so that you may contribute to the greater good in the most efficient way possible.”
This response seemed
to calm the colonel. “Thank you for your understanding. Major McMullin will sit quietly for the duration of this conversation. Continuing on: you have instant access to perfect information and communication with all of your people, all the time?”
“Indeed. It is the natural course of evolution. Technology becomes one with biology, allowing for even greater leaps. Deception is eliminated, ego is mitigated, societal problems are on display for all to see, and a mass movement toward the greater good takes place, eventually vaulting society toward perpetual, exponential progress in all sectors. Your species is on pace to evolve this way as well. Most sentient races evolve in this manner if they possess the ability to manually manipulate and adjust their external environment. This, of course, is if they do not destroy themselves and their world in the process. You could also be on pace for extinction as a species if you are not careful. We have been watching your species since you began primitive industrialization.”
“How long has it been since your people merged technology and biology?” asked Colonel McColgan.
“Our evolutionary singularity took place approximately 774 Earth orbits ago. We commemorate its importance on a day my people refer to as ‘Unification Day.’ It was the beginning of a new era of progress, an era we still enjoy today,” explained Ronak.
“Your people, what do you call yourselves? Where did you come from?” asked McColgan.
“We hail from a planet that orbits a distant star, approximately 32,000 light years away. Our planet’s name is Æther. I am Ætherean.”
“How did you get here?”
“Our crowning achievement, carrying us to the vast star ocean, is a method of travel Ætherean scientists refer to as ‘Extra Local Propulsion,’ to put it in your language.”
Whoa, what the hell does he mean by ‘extra local?’ I have to ask. “Sir, may I interject?” asked Jack.
“By all means Jack, please,” said the Colonel. Karl rolled his eyes.
“Ronak, I am going to ask an unorthodox question about the phenomenon over the city. I think it’s making people sick. I have a distinct internal sense as to what it may be. Would you indulge me?”
