by Jean Davis
Jane went back to their room.
When Bill came to bed that night, she rolled over and rested her hand on his breastplate. “Why don’t you take this off?”
“Why?”
“I want to feel your actual chest.”
“It’s not as nice as the armor.”
“I don’t care. I want to see it.”
“You say that now.” He removed her hand from his breastplate and set it on the blanket.
“Please?”
“You used to like my armor.”
“I do, but I’d really like to see what is underneath.”
“Go to sleep.” Bill clinked and clanked as he rolled over. Soon his snoring was the only thing keeping Jane company.
The next day Jane resolved to forgo her afternoon tea and spend some time with Bill and his horse. She again went down into the hold and found him in the stall.
“How’s your horse?” she asked.
Bill jumped at the sound of her voice. He glanced at her and turned back to run his hand down the horse’s neck. “Not well.”
She looked closer. The horse’s mane was stringy, his muscles quivered and his head hung low.
“I told you not to bring him.”
Bill sighed.
“Maybe it’s time we got off this ship,” Jane whispered.
“We could find an island somewhere,” he suggested. “Just the two of us and the horse.”
It wasn’t exactly what she’d hoped for, but it was progress, so she nodded.
The two of them went up to their cabin and packed their things. When the ship docked at the next port, they got off and found a local man with a boat to bring them out to a small island of their own.
Bill built a shelter for them and one for the horse. Jane organized all their things and sought out food for their meals. Though he spent less time with his horse, Bill spent hours each day scrubbing at the rust spots on his armor. Jane watched him slowly return to the gleaming man she’d first met.
The horse grew healthy and with the shelters complete and his armor polished, Bill spent his days riding alone.
“May I ride with you this afternoon?” Jane asked.
“I was going to go explore. I wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
She sighed and let him go.
The next day as they ate lunch together, Jane asked, “Are you happy here?”
“Of course. This is paradise.”
Jane looked around them at the lush jungle, the golden sand, and the endless blue waters. Birds sang sweet songs and the horse nickered happily. Bill had built a beautiful shelter and she’d spent days arranging their souvenirs in artful displays. “It is, but I’ve been wanting to talk about…”
No sooner had she said the words than storm clouds formed on the horizon. They blackened and boiled, tumbling and twisting in the sky with great rumbles that shook the island.
Jane stood and welcomed the rain with closed eyes and an upturned face. Droplets soaked her clothing. Her wet hair clung to her face and neck.
Lightning flashed across the sky. Wind blasted across the sand, hurling it at her with stinging force. Bill was nowhere to be seen. Jane ran for the shelter, but the wind tore away one of the walls. The roof collapsed, crushing all of their belongings. As Jane ran for the jungle, she spotted Bill over by the other shelter, calming his horse. She cried out to him, begging him to join her, but either the wind carried away her voice or Bill choose to ignore her pleas.
Lightning struck nearby. Jane ran back to the beach, heart pounding, sobbing, only to spot Bill galloping away down the shoreline.
Wind lifted Jane from the beach and flung her into the water. She flailed, gasping for breath as the rain pelted her. Seaweed tangled about her feet, threatening to pull her down. Jane kicked at it, freeing herself. When the storm abated, she floated on the ocean alone.
Warm sunlight shone down upon her. Jane stared into the blue sky and hoped Bill’s horse slipped in the sand, spilling him head first into the ocean where the seawater would ruin his armor for good.
A faint hum in the distance caught her attention. She scanned the horizon and spotted a ship. Jane swam. It was hard, but she knew she needed to reach the ship or she would drown out in the ocean alone.
A rope ladder splashed down before her. Jane climbed slowly, exhausted. When she finally stood on the rocking deck, she fell to her knees.
Crewmen picked her up and carried her to a small empty cabin. She slept for days, only waking when a knock signaled room service. She ate what they brought her without tasting it. One of them brought her a pretty dress, inviting her to join everyone at dinner. She declined the invitation, but because they insisted, she kept the dress.
The dress hung on the closet door for days, beckoning. When she finally put it on, she found it fit different than she was used to and the style was unfamiliar, but as she stood in front of the mirror doing her hair, she found that she quite liked how it felt on her skin.
Energized by the dress, Jane ate dinner in her cabin and went up on deck for an evening drink. She sat alone and sipped slowly as the stars started to twinkle above.
“May I join you?” asked a deep voice from inside a gleaming, golden helmet.
“No. I’m waiting for someone.”
The golden man sauntered to another table.
“You look lonely,” said a man with hazel eyes, wearing a shirt of silvery chain mail.
Jane crunched down on an ice cube. “I’m not.”
He quickly strode away.
“Might I buy you another?”
Jane sighed and looked up from her empty glass. A man wearing nothing more than jeans and a t-shirt stood before her. A pair of sunglasses sat nestled in the short blond curls atop his head.
She smiled. “Do you own a horse?”
“No.”
“Then, yes,” she pushed an empty chair out with her foot, “you may.”
SPACE COMMANDER
First published electronically in IWM Anthology 2014
Xerxes stopped playing his Xbox when he noticed smoke wafting out of its top vent panel. That couldn't be good. He tossed the controller aside and leapt up from the couch to fan the smoke and smell of burning electronics away before it set off the smoke detector. If his mother caught him burning up the Xbox she'd be pissed. She already gave him crap daily about how much time he spent playing games.
Every night at dinner she gave him a variation on the same nag. "You're going to flip burgers for the rest of your life, you know that, Xes? You spend all your free time playing those damned games. Get outside, go to college, meet people, maybe a nice girl, get a good job so I know you'll have a future and that it won't involve living in my basement until I die."
The smoke got thicker and the smell more intense. Something lit up inside the case. Like fire. Crap. He grabbed one of the gaming magazines off the floor and fanned the smoke.
The power. He reached down into the tangle of wires behind the television stand and wedged himself against the wall, leaning left on one foot, fanning the smoke with his right hand and reaching for the power strip wedged behind the stand. Heat rolled off the Xbox, making him sweat.
His hand finally found the right plug. He yanked it out of the power strip. The glow remained, more of a green light than fire. Maybe something was sparking inside. But he'd cut the power. It should have stopped. There was a fire extinguisher around here somewhere. He tried to remember where he'd seen it.
The smoke billowed out and upward, almost forming the shape of a body. And a head. With a face and glowing green eyes. Xerxes froze, hand still extended with the magazine.
The eyes opened and the face solidified into a bad holographic image like in the futuristic games he played. Like when the ship's AI came to life to give him instructions or some broken up deep-space distress call.
But this was his face. An older, paler, gaunt version of his face. Holy crap.
"I knew I'd find you here," Future Xerxes said.
"What th
e hell is going on?"
"Look, I only have a minute." He glanced side to side. "Don't listen to Mom. Keep playing. Play as much as you can. You're going to be a Space Commander and you need to be the best you can be. Practice. Play. Quit that stupid job. Mom won't kick you out. She's too nice for that."
Xerxes dropped the magazine and fell back onto the couch before his shaking legs gave way. His arms hung limply at his sides. "Wait. What?"
"You have to do better than I did. I wasn't prepared enough. Hadn't practiced enough. I was close, but...you understand? You need to be better. You can win this."
"Win what? What's going on?" He shook his head, trying to make sense of it all.
"This is important!" Old him glanced around again, his wrinkled face drawing up with worry. "They're coming. I don't want to go to sleep again." Tears welled in his glowing green eyes. "Practice. Save me."
Future Xerxes dissipated.
Practice. Him, a Space Commander?
Giddy, Xerxes ran to the Xbox and looked it over. The smoke was gone, as was the glow. The burning smell still filled the air though. He plugged it in. Nothing happened.
If his future self had wanted him to practice so damn bad, maybe he shouldn't have fried this Xbox. He ran to his bedroom, opened up the nightstand drawer where he kept all his very-not-gaming magazines and pulled out the jar where he kept the cash he didn't want his mom to find—she'd just demand it for rent or groceries. His new game fund would have to take a hit. What good were new games if he didn't have a console to play them on?
Xerxes drove to the nearest store, all the while praying his car didn't break down. He wouldn't have anything left to fix it once he bought the new console. Then again, he only needed the stupid car to get to work and back.
He cashed in his savings for the new Xbox and all the space combat games he could get. Then he stopped in a work, told his boss he quit, and drove home.
Over the next two years, Xerxes played his games. As his future self had said, his mother didn't kick him out. She wasn't at all happy and her nagging had grown to epic proportions. It was to the point that he didn't want to eat with her anymore. He demanded to have his meals alone in the basement. He had to keep practicing. His future depended on it.
When he'd learned all he could from his games and his mother wouldn't buy him more, he discovered online games and teams and tournaments. He spent every waking hour learning, perfecting and winning.
She left him notes, begging for him to come upstairs, to go outside, to talk to her. He'd find them tucked under the plates she'd leave on the stairs. The food was often cold, but he had levels to finish, bosses to beat, wars to win. A Space Commander couldn't be bothered by hunger when a battle needed to be fought. He tossed the notes in the trash on the step below, which she'd empty for him. She had to see all the balled up notes, but she kept writing them anyway.
When his mother eventually died, which he only discovered because the meals and notes stopped showing up on the steps, he had taken a couple days off to deal with the repercussions. Being away from his purpose, his quest, ate at him every single second. He itched and twitched and couldn't concentrate during the burial. The moment she was in the ground, he left and returned home to the basement.
The house was paid for, as was her car, and her life insurance and savings gave him enough to live off for a long time. He cursed her for leaving him, making him have to waste time buying groceries. He had to make his own food, get the mail and pay the bills. He even had to mow the lawn from time to time to keep the neighbors from interrupting his gaming with their complaints.
A letter came in the mail. Due to his performance in recent tournaments, he'd been invited to play in a worldwide championship match. This had to be the match that launched him into greatness. He could feel it.
Xerxes packed up his things in a suitcase, locked the front door and drove to the airport. For the first time in many long years, he didn't feel the anxiousness and panic the accosted him whenever he left the basement couch. He was ready.
He arrived in Chicago and took a taxi to the hotel as he'd been instructed. There he was met by a game rep who showed him to his room and then to the giant event center across the street where the championship was being held. Hundreds of fans were waiting when he was escorted in. The rep gave him a badge. The crowd gave him beaming smiles and begged to hear his tips and tricks. He laughed and waved and gave them nothing of what he'd learned. This was his game. His chance. He didn't need any more competition.
His opponents sat in a semi-circle around a giant screen. He joined them, finding the chair infinitely more comfortable than his old, sagging couch.
They'd be playing a game he knew by heart. He won it more times than he could count. He had this. And when he won, he knew men in suits would whisk him away to some secret government bunker where they'd tell him that this battle was real and he'd just saved humanity. His heart beat faster. No, they'd play it cool and send a car for him once he returned home. They'd drive him to the bunker and tell him they needed him, that the mission was bigger than he'd ever dreamed. That there was a real spaceship out there and they needed him to lead the Earth's forces into battle against some devious alien race.
Today, he'd meet his destiny.
Xerxes blocked out the room with the bright lights, loud announcers, and the cheering of the fans. He ignored the people in the seats next to him and focused solely on the screen filled with stars, planets, and his fleet ready to do battle with the opposing ships. He destroyed one, then another. He breathed calmly. He'd done this so many times, it wasn't even a challenge. Another flagship exploded before him. He laughed.
Then two fleets seemed to gang up on him. They were joined by a third. He'd not had anyone do that to him before. He swore under his breath and annihilated them, but not without taking some losses to his own fleet. When he'd finished taking a second to assess the damage and searched for his next opponent, he found it was down to him and one other. The other fleet still had all their ships.
He narrowed his eyes and tapped the controls as fast as his fingers would move. No one was going to beat him. But this guy was good. For every ship Xerxes blew up, he lost one. He tried every trick he knew, but their losses remained equal. He began to sweat. Only three of his ships left. Then two. Then a giant explosion. When it cleared he was left with one. His opponent had two. So very close.
Xerxes tried to pull back, to gain enough time to find some advantage. But his opponent charged him. They spread their ships apart, not allowing him to win with one lucky shot. And then they started to fire.
He darted and dodged and fired back, managing to finally destroy one of the damned ships. Victory was right there. He could feel it in his gut. He grinned and deployed the last big missile he'd been saving. The screen flashed orange then white and then the stars returned with a single ship left.
It wasn't his.
Xerxes screamed. The crowd roared. The others got up and clapped the winner on the back before exiting off the stage.
This couldn't be happening. He couldn't lose.
The announcer came over to stand with the winner, holding up his hand. "We have a new Space Commander! Congratulations!"
"No," Xerxes muttered. That man couldn't get to go to the bunker. He couldn't go up into space. That was his destiny. His. He'd come from the future to tell himself so. He'd done everything he could to win. He'd spent every second of every day for years. Everything he'd done, he'd done for this day.
Xerxes shot up from his seat and ran up behind the winner, wrapping his arm around the man's neck. He held on tight, pressing tighter until he could feel the man choking. The gasping and gagging noises made him want to throw up, but his moment was his. He wasn't going to lose.
The announcer beat on his arms and face with his fists. Security guards rushed onto the stage. His victim flailed wildly, raking his nails over Xerxes' arms. He held on tight until the man stopped moving. A guard punched him in the face. The room tilted sideways.
He let go of the limp man and fell to the floor beside him. Someone punched him again and the room went black.
When Xerxes woke, he was in a bare room all by himself. His arms and legs were bound to the bed. No television, no windows, nothing to tell him where he was or what was going on. Was he on the spaceship already?
A woman in a white coat came in. She carried a tablet in her hands onto which her fingernails clicked lightly. She smiled at him.
"How are you feeling today Xerxes?"
"I'm ready for a battle. Where are the aliens? Can you tell me what kind of ships they have?"
She raised an eyebrow. "You've mentioned aliens and spaceships several times before, but there aren't any here, remember? You're safe here. There's no need for you to battle anyone, all right?"
"But I'm the Space Commander. I killed the winner so now they need me. I'm the best guy they have now. I can do the job. I know I can. I want to help."
She took a deep breath and let it out. "You didn't kill anyone. The man you choked was unconscious. He recovered fully within an hour and only had a few bruises. If you had killed him, do you think you'd be here?"
Dammit, he couldn't step in if the other guy was still able to do the job. He'd just have to bide his time here until the battle took that guy out. Then they'd need back up and he'd be ready.
"Can I play games here?"
She tapped on her tablet again. "Maybe, once the doctors feel you're ready, but that might be a while."
"I can wait." He had to. He had no choice.
"Good. I'll come back tomorrow to check on you. But for now, you need to take these pills for me. They'll help you sleep." She pulled a little plastic cup of pills out of her pocket and removed the cap.
Xerxes took his pills and sank into the pillow, dreaming of ways to contact his younger self, to tell him to practice harder. He'd been so damn close.
