“Ah, Uncle Jon, what point are you going to be on and why? Aren’t we sticking together?” asked a pale Slapgren.
“I’ll be in front. You’ll be in the back. Any more questions?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.”
“I seriously doubt that, but there’s no other choice. Come on.”
We crept forward very cautiously. I didn’t want to penetrate the northern combatant’s zone inadvertently. I turned my audio receivers to max and scanned visual and infrared for signs of movement. The first thing we ran into was a small antelope-equivalent native to the planet. I was glad I was on point. The kids might have blasted it to kingdom come.
I smelled the fighters before I heard or saw them. Sweat and blood. And fear, there was no mistaking the smell of fear. That was reassuring, in a way. If a soldier wasn’t afraid during battle, he was an idiot, and I, for one, never wanted to fight alongside an idiot. I doubted, however, the Adamant tolerated fear in their ranks. It was too disorderly. That suggested I hadn’t overshot the frontline. I was about to meet the good guys.
I signaled the kids to hunker down. I shrank as small as I could get and moved forward without making a sound. War, I was good at. I wasn’t proud of it, but it was a fact. I heard several men laughing a few meters beyond the bushes I advanced in. They were speaking Standard, but then again, who didn’t? Definitely not Adamant. They spoke, well, like I imagined dogs would if they tried to talk.
“Yeah, you did,” one voice yelled, “but only after I pulled you to safety.”
“You see any safety around here, ass wipe?” a second voice protested. “You pulled me from one shit storm into another.”
“It was a better grade of shit, says I,” the first voice boomed in laughter.
“Only you, Jodfderal, can make shit into a science,” someone else added.
So, they were chilling well behind the action. Otherwise the bravado and the loud voices wouldn’t be appropriate. I peeked through the bush. Kaljaxians! It was a squad of ten or twelve Kaljaxians shooting the breeze. Most were sitting, but a few reclined on bedrolls.
I stepped into the clearing with my rifle over my head. In Hirn, a Kaljaxian dialect, I called out an old joke. “The stupidest person here identify yourself by saying who’s there.”
Immediately a soldier near me popped to his feet. Fumbling for his gun, and then kicking it away, he challenged, “Who’s there?”
“Thank you,” I said in Hirn. “Nice to meet a fool who knows he is.”
The rest of the squad looked amongst themselves nervously, then, as a chorus they burst out laughing. Well, everyone but the butt of my joke.
A squad leader stepped over to me cautiously. “And whom might you be?” he asked carefully, to not be another stupidest person.
“Jon Ryan. I’m an enemy of the Adamant, so that makes us friends.”
Everyone froze. No way they could know my reputation two billion years after I was supposedly dead. No one was that notable except Tricky Dick Nixon.
An officer, from the looks of him, stood. “By Tralmore’s blessed gate, it is Jon Ryan.”
Everyone dropped their weapon. They didn’t lower them. They didn’t rest them down gently. They dropped them like they were hot snakes.
“You … recognize me?” I asked incredulously.
“We’ve not met, Lord, but I’ve heard of you to be certain. What man, living or dead, hasn’t?”
No shit we haven’t met. You don’t look a day over a million, I thought to myself.
“Can we serve you, Lord?” asked a soldier as he dropped to his knees.
Ah, Jon not likey this level of respect. They were afraid of me. Scared-for-their-mortal-souls afraid. Who’s scared of the kindly founder of one’s civilization? No one, that’s who.
In as cordial and unassuming manner that I could I asked the officer, “Why are you addressing me as lord? I’m Jon. Plain old Jon.”
“I … they said … I mean Commander Vaplop instructed us you were to be so addressed as lord, Lord. She said you insisted on it.”
“I did? I don’t recall ever asking to be called Lord Jon.” I scratched my head.
I guess that was a mistake, scratching my head. I have zero idea why, but they reacted poorly.
Everyone hit the dirt. All but one covered their heads and howled like a junkyard dog had his jaws shut on the guy's testicles. The one who didn’t cover up, the officer, pleaded with me piteously. “Please, Lord, don’t smite us. We’re you loyal servants and meant no offense. I beg of you, Lord. I have a family.”
Was I on holo? Was some golden-throated announcer’s voice going to boom overhead, “Smile, you’re on Candid Camera?” This was the weirdest thing that had happened to me in my weird life.
“Okay, enough,” I said firmly. “Everybody stand up and retrieve your weapons. We’re on a battlefield, not a stage during amateur hour.”
They scurried up with remarkable speed.
“Let’s begin again. I’m Jon.” I pointed to the officer. “You are?”
“Stand Right Torell-Sum, sir.”
“Jon,” I corrected him, “not sir not lord not hey you there with the teeth in your mouth.” I tented my fingers on my chest. “Jon.”
“Jon,” he repeated, licking his lips.
“There we go. You see, now we’re friends. Jon and, sorry, what’s your first name?”
“JJ. JJ Torell-Sum.”
Surreal. Yes, that was the word I was looking for. This was now officially surreal.
“Jon and JJ are now friends. See how easy that was?”
“Yes, Jon … s … sir,” he stammered.
I closed my eyes briefly.
The rest of the introductions went about as badly. A couple guys really couldn’t say the word Jon. I think it would have killed them. How bizarre.
“JJ, do you think you could escort me to your field commander?”
“It would be my honor. May I alert him, so he may prepare an appropriate welcome?”
“No. No, I really wish you wouldn’t.”
The dude jumped back ten meters when I said I wish. It was like a physical blow. I was contemplating packing the kids in the car and leaving town for good.
“Let me retrieve my squad and we’ll go.” I tapped my com-link. “Okay, advance to my position but stay sharp.”
“Copy that, Uncle Jon,” replied Mirraya. I’d have to work on her battlefield persona.
The trip to the command station wasn’t too far. It turned out to be a big Kelly-green tent about a klick closer to the frontlines. I stepped past JJ—man it was odd to say that—and entered without knocking on the frame.
The CO was reading reports and shuffling papers at the same time. He looked busy.
He heard my approach. “Who in Brathos’s own…” Yeah, then he looked up. Shut him up fast.
He vaulted around his makeshift desk and prostrated himself on the dirt like he was sliding into home plate. Man, I was getting tired of being worshipped. Well, more feared than worshipped. But why fear good old Jon, father of your country? History sure had misrepresented me. And why would everyone assume it was so matter of fact that a two-billion-year-old icon would just stroll through the door? The force of suspension of disbelief was strong among the Kaljaxians.
“Look,” I said a bit too impatiently, “I’ve been through this one. Get up, dust yourself off, and sit.” I tented my fingers. “Jon. I am Jon. You will please to call me Jon. If that doesn’t work, just don’t call me late for dinner.” I smiled to accentuate my joke.
The CO was having nothing of it. “Lord, if you are here to punish me, I’m certain I deserve it. But please, I beg of you, spare my troops.”
I tented my fingers again. “Jon.” Then I pointed at him.
“General Commander Jahosal, Lord Jon.”
“No.” Fingers, yet again, “Jon.” And I pointed to him.
“Draldon?” he stated as a question.
What were the chances three of the first males I met were na
med after my male descendants? I was getting a headache.
“Excellent, Draldon.” I stepped over and helped him off the ground. “This is the part where you get up and resume command. We talk, my crew and I leave, and everyone’s friends.”
“Your crew?”
“Yes. I came here,” like an ass, I sailed my flattened hand over my head, “from outer space. I used a spaceship. Spaceships have crews.” I dropped my hand. “Mine’s outside the tent.”
He rushed to the door. “Show the crew in, please. And go to the mess and retrieve refreshments. Run, you fools.”
“Don’t go to any trouble on our part,” I said.
“You can on mine,” said Slapgren. “I’m starving.”
I could only roll my eyes.
“So, J … Jon, to what do I owe this extreme honor?” asked Draldon. Though he was focused on me, he kept shooting furtive glances at the kids. Maybe he recognized the Deft. At that juncture, I honestly didn’t care.
“Well, Draldon, it’s like this. I came to see how things were going on Azsuram. I …”
“What, Jon? Go on,” he said hurriedly.
“Can I ask you a dumb question?” I queried.
“You can do whatever you want.”
Oh boy. “Doesn’t it strike you, or anyone else for that matter, as sort of odd that Jon Ryan, the founder of Azsuram, would just waltz into your tent on this fine sunny day?”
He strained forward in his chair. He was missing something very important, I could tell. “I don’t exactly take your meaning, Lord.”
Dang nabbit, He slipped back into the regal again.
“Well, if I were you …”
He paled when I said that, I thought he would drop dead before my very eyes. What in the h-e-double-toothpicks was going on?
“If I was someone else here and a two-billion-year-old robot appeared from nowhere, I’d call that darn odd. I’d probably say something like, I don’t know, 'Hey, Jon, it’s real odd you should be here.’”
Draldon began to shake like there was a ten point oh planetquake underway.
“I didn’t mean that odd, like you have to tremble,” I said with a smile.
Just then the refreshments arrived. It was typical battlefield fare. Dried meat, hard biscuits, and dried fruit. Slapgren dove in with gusto. Mirraya and I demurred.
Above the slurpy sounds, I asked, “So, back to why I’m here.”
Draldon tensed. Everyone but me and the kids tensed.
“I see your doing well fighting back the Adamant. I want to praise you. That’s not easy. I also want to offer my support if you need my help.”
That did it. One of the cooks passed out cold. Boom, to the turf he went.
“But, ss … sir, you already are helping more than is believable. Do you wish me to thank you personally?” Man, he was about to swoon too.
“No, because, technically, I haven’t done anything yet.” I raised a finger. “Not that I wouldn’t like to. But yet … well, I just got here, you know?”
I hated nervous laughs. They were phony and annoying and who needed them? I thought there should have been a law against them with public flogging for all violations.
That said, Draldon started with a nervous laugh and pointed to his desktop. “You mean here, Jon?”
“Why, yes I do.” WTF? “Because I’m here.” I patted my chest. “You’re here,” I pointed to him. “They’re here,” I waved to the kids and they waved back. “Everyone who’s here is here.” I spread my arms open wide. “We are all here.”
“Thank you, Lord,” Draldon said with relief. “Thank you for taking the time to make such an astute point clear to those who serve you.”
“Draldon,” I said twisting my face up, “how far is it from here to your commander’s position?”
“Not far. An hour’s drive, assuming we’re not shelled.”
“Of course. Assuming we’re not shelled. Ah, do you have a car handy?”
Draldon stood so quickly he knocked his chair over backward. I really hoped he didn’t have the car driven into the tent to better serve me. At about that point, I wanted my mommy and a warm glass of milk. Graham crackers too, if possible.
TWENTY-ONE
As our driver weaved her way to our next stop, I could see firsthand the extent of the damage. There would be a patch of forest, then a burned crater and scorched dirt. Then, a small brook with bushes along its banks. A lot of ordinance had been expended here. The patterns of damage looked more like conventional explosives as opposed to plasma bolts or rail guns. After we passed a camouflaged battery of cannons, I became more convinced that the damage was inflicted with explosives.
Command central was a grouping of temporary buildings. Some were metal, others fabricated with wood. The set up looked semi-permanent. It also looked like it had taken more than a few hits and been patched back together crudely. It was a buzz of activity with personnel, vehicles, and drones going every which way. I noted a lack of helicopters or light aircraft, as I observed before. I mean, how could one have a war without helicopters? What fun would that have been?
We screeched to a halt in front a metal hut, and the driver bounded around the car to open my door for me. Draldon must have called ahead to alert the brass I was coming, even though I specifically told him not to. I didn’t want exactly what happened to happen. A parade of officers marched in formation up to me and saluted. Then they knelt and opened their arms wide in a punch-me-in-the-face kind of way.
A woman with thousands of medals and ribbons spoke. “Praise you, Lord Ryan. Blessed are you …”
She stopped talking, thankfully, when she noticed I was holding up a hang-on-a-second hand.
“What, Lord?” she asked.
I slapped my fingers against their base, beckoning them to come. “Up, now. Pretty please.”
They looked at each other with the same frightened and confused expressions I was getting so very tired of.
“Have I offended—”
I waved my arms over my head. “No, no offense. No fear. No worship. Just, everybody stand up and let’s all make believe I’m just a robot that talks.”
If they were confused and scared before, they were more of each then.
I pointed to the commander. “Your first name?”
“You do not know it?” she responded breathlessly.
“If I did, I must’a forgot. Please let me know how many times I will need to ask before you’ll tell me. That way I can say them together for efficiency’s sake.”
“Fashallana.”
“Okay, now I’m pissed. Why is everybody named after one of my kids or grandkids?”
She became as pale as driven snow. “To honor you and Sapale, Lord. It has … has always been that way, ever since the beginning.”
“Ah. Maybe from just after the beginning. I was there at the beginning beginning,” I flip-flopped my hands for some reason. “Back then it was name’em what you want.”
She stared back at me, still on her knees.
“Did I mention everybody getting up?” I asked.
“Yes, you did.”
“Why then do you theorize no one has?”
“Out of respect, I’m sure,” she replied hesitantly.
She meant fear.
“Why is it I sense y’all are afraid of me? I’m a nice guy. You can ask most anyone who’s met me.”
She dropped her head as if placing it in the guillotine blade’s path. “I am sorry you can see our fear. It is wrong of us, and I accept full responsibility. Punish me, Lord, not my troops.”
“No, no. I mean why are you afraid of me, not hey, don’t let me see it.”
“Permission to speak freely, Lord, even if it means my death?”
I placed both palm over my face. “Fashallana, stand.” I leaned over to guide her up. Once she was, I said, “May we go to your office? There I would like you to explain with the certainty of not being executed, why I am feared.”
“This way, Lord.” She led me into the buildi
ng.
Progress was slow for a god.
In the office, I had to force her to sit in her own chair. She insisted I sit there.
“Okay, why the fear. Seriously, I’m a warm and fuzzy kind of guy. Ask them,” I said pointing to the kids.
“Is that on order, sir, or can I assume they’d confirm your contention?”
“Do you think that in say the next million or so years you’ll be able to get around to answering my freaking question?”
She wasn’t Deft, but she sure began to melt.
“I’ll answer that question,” came a familiar voice from behind us. Where had I …
I spun to stand next to my chair. Reflexively, the kids stood and turned too.
There I stood. I was filthy with dirt and grime. I had on a ridiculously dated flight suit, but there I stood, glowering at me.
“Uto,” I squealed joyously. I opened my arms. “Give us a hug, ya big palooka.”
Fashallana, who was still on her knees, went ahead and fainted, crumpling to the side.
“No hugs, you flaming asshole. Sit,” he said as he strode over to the desk chair. That me apparently wasn’t as shy as I was.
“Un … Un … Un …” stammered Mirraya, pointing at Uto.
“I agree. Sit.” When the kids were seated, mouths agape, I filled them in. “That is an alternate timeline version of me. That me went on his initial mission of discovery, but before humankind could flee, it was wiped out. He was the lone survivor, lost in space alone forever. He later went back in time to give me the tool to avoid the same disaster.”
“Lost in space forever? Lone survivor? Where do you get that crap from, Ryan? It’s horseshit.”
“He went … but that’s not possible,” said Slapgren. “Isn’t it?”
“It’s supposed to be, but the rules don’t always apply to me,” he replied. “And then, that me, the one I nicknamed Uto, told me he was going away forever and I’d never see him again. He took the downloaded mind of my Sapale with him too.”
“Sapale? She was dead. You told me some big tiger killed her.”
I smiled at her. “Long story.”
“As much as I love a stroll down Memory Lane, let’s not go there. I’m busy. We’re busy. We’re trying like hell not to be wiped out of existence.”
Embers: The Galaxy On Fire Series, Book 1 Page 21
