Indian Hill

by Mark Tufo

  “The hostages, General, are they just fodder?” the President snapped back.

  “Sir, we’ve been through this. We have to protect the many, even at the cost of the few.”

  “That doesn’t make it any easier General.”

  “Sir, whether you like me or not. The fact remains as a military man I would rather avoid conflict at all times. It’s always been politicians who scream WAR; whereas we military men have always advocated peace. But in these times sir, I believe that our hand has been forced. The aliens sit there parked on our doorstep, and say and do nothing. They could be waiting for reinforcements, they could be just deciding which way would be the best way to attack. Hell sir, not to get morbid, they might just think of our planet as a drive thru restaurant and they’re just finishing up. What do we do the next time they come to visit? I don’t think that we offer them a dove.”

  “General, what if they are trying to ascertain whether or not to contact us?” the President asked.

  “Sir, with all due respect. The best scientific minds on this planet have been working on that very question for almost the entire six months. They came to the basic conclusion that the aliens have enough information at their disposal to have come up with a decision in their first week of orbit around Venus. No sir, their expert opinion is that the aliens are deciding on how to take us down in the most efficient way without doing untold damage to the planet. For all we know sir, those people they grabbed are test subjects for some type of viral agent that will reduce our population to thousands or maybe even hundreds. Sir as a species, our days may be numbered in the single digits. We owe it to all humanity to take this one final shot. If nothing else, we need to show those bastards that we won’t go down without a fight.”

  “General, I understand your vigor. But what makes you think these nuclear weapons will have any effect whatsoever on the mother ship? We didn’t even scratch the probe the last time we tried something like this.”

  “Sir, there is no guarantee, but the explosives that are on that shuttle are on the magnitude of 75 times the power of the one detonated off of the atoll. It’s our best chance.”

  “I hope this doesn’t just piss them off,” the Chief Science Officer intoned.

  “Well speak out now, Dr. Nisorini. You’ve made your opinions known, no sense in keeping them bottled up now,” the President motioned. He did not like Nisorini in the least; he was a member of a growing segment of the populace that had become increasingly fatalistic. Depression and suicide were running rampant throughout the country, and the world for that matter. Rumors of the aliens had started with the disappearances of people around the globe and it had spread like wildfire. There was no concrete evidence as of yet but when had that ever stopped a determined conspiracy theorist? And the panic and depression was swelling with each new news story. The President had always been a die-hard optimist, if you were still alive, you still had a chance.

  “Sir,” Dr. Nisorini said with a nasal twang. “The aliens thus far have done nothing to us.”

  “Except take twenty-five thousand or so people off our planet against their will.”

  “Except that sir, but at this point we really don’t know if they have harmed them in any way. It just might be a way to introduce themselves. It has been my stance that we should not anger these aliens in any way. To do so could bring untold horrors down on the rest of us.”

  “So we should just chalk those people up as losses?” asked the President.

  “That is my view,” Nisorini droned. For being such a brilliant man he had not the least amount of common sense. The President had merely been baiting him, but Nisorini bit hard. Well at least, The President thought he knew where the good doctor stood. Not that he valued that opinion very highly.

  “Well, thank you Dr. Nisorini. You have made up my mind,” the President said.

  “You are welcome, Mr. President.” Nisorini beamed like a child that had received a gold star in his notebook for a good day at school.

  “General,” the President said.

  “Sir?”

  “Launch the shuttles.”

  “Yes sir!” The general hopped on the phone to tell NASA to get their asses in gear. It was now time for operation Blue Dragon.

  The President wished he had a camera. Nisorini’s facial expression was worth a thousand words. The President couldn’t decide whether Nisorini was going to cry or start stomping his feet.

  CHAPTER 26 – Journal Entry 20

  No. 13 was a guy from Jersey. He was an Italian man, but not your regular Italian, this was more your Guido variety. Come on, you know the type. Drives a Camaro, wears huge gold chains, most likely with the Italian horn on it. Has wife-beater t-shirts (tank tops), if he does wear sleeved shirts he has one side rolled up with a pack of smokes in it. And more than likely he uses more hair gel than your sister. Yeah, you know the one. Generally they are on the bullying side of things and this one looked to be no different. I didn’t want to stereotype him but he looked like he did side work for the mafia. He stood about 6’1” to 6’2”, jet black, greased back hair, and huge arms that hung low. He just optimized the tough guy look. He looked like a thug, and he appeared to be very used to a variety of weapons, although he tended to shy away from the bow and arrow and spear. Probably with his arms so large he wasn’t able to get a proper throwing motion going. I had a month to study this guy, and I felt that I was going to need the entire time. I’d been watching his events for a solid week and as of yet I had not discovered a single weakness. He was smarter than his looks belied. He was cautious; he knew how to fight with or without weapons. And most importantly he wasn’t insane, probably because he had already seen his fair share of violence in his time and this was just a new wrinkle in a standard way of living for him. He went about his business as if it were a business, very methodically and precise. He didn’t extend himself to any great degree and as of yet he had made no mistakes. This man had not so much as suffered a scratch during the entire games. His competition, on the other hand, had not been so lucky. Was that a weakness? Lack of passion. If it was I saw no way to exploit it. I could see why the aliens had ranked him subsequently so low; he didn’t do his job with any particular flair, he just went out there and did what he had to do. And now it was my job to figure out how not to let him do his job, on me.

  While I watched and trained, Deb and I grew further apart, but she did not withdraw as she had previously. If anything she took over control of the household with a new and determined vigor. We had 12 women plus myself living here in our ‘household.’ It was increasingly difficult to find time to myself. This place was always bustling with activity. I tried my best to be pleasant but I didn’t know half their names and in all actuality I had no desire to learn them. I already felt overwhelmed with the thought of protecting them all; I had no desire to get to know them any better. But sometimes when I just sat back and looked I wondered if this was the same type of view Hugh Hefner had enjoyed for so many years. Luckily or not Deb had made it crystal clear that my bedroom was completely off limits to everyone for any reason. I had my refuge, but I guess she figured if she couldn’t have me, nobody could. And that was fine, I longed for one, and one only. With about a week left before my next bout, my biggest surprise to date on the ship happened. I and the rest of the gladiators were given a tour of the ship. To this day I didn’t know the reasoning behind it. I’m sure they felt we were no threat to them. I had the distinct impression that to them we were beneath them on the evolutionary ladder. I couldn’t imagine taking my pet hamster on a tour of my house. Did some of those aliens know what it was like to be cooped up with a harem of women? Was that it, did they feel bad for us? Or was it gratitude at the display we had been putting on for them? Don’t get me wrong, we were heavily guarded by the larger of the two species, the ones known as the Genogerians, but we were being taken on a tour by the smaller species that definitely seemed in command of things. It would have been a great diversion from the normal routine if it
hadn’t been with the very people that wanted to, or at least had to, kill me. No. 13, Tony Rizino, eyed me up and down once, and then apparently he made up his mind, because he never once looked at me again for the entire day. I, however, studied him for the full two hours of our tour, and did not discover a chink in his armor. If anything he looked more imposing in person than on the screen. His arms looked a full foot longer than mine, so much for hand-to-hand combat.

  “This, hu-mans, is where we eat.” Our host spoke as he led us through a cafeteria that wasn’t very far removed from the ones on Earth. The greatest difference would be the troughs that were on the far sides of the cafeteria lining both sides. I wouldn’t have been too sure what those were if not for the fact that a couple of the Genogerian guards were at the troughs sloughing away. Well so much for manners, they had scraps of food all over the floor and pieces of flesh hung greedily to their snout. “You will have to excuse them, hu-mans, they have yet to learn the importance of manners.” Our host seemed to sneer at his last comment. I understood that there were two very distinct races here, but it was unclear to me whether this was due to some twist in their evolution, or this master race had simply taken over the planet that the Genos owned and had made them slaves. Was that our fate? I might have assumed that except that some of the scraps on the floor appeared more than likely to be of human origin. One did not generally eat their slaves.

  And so we traveled through the cafeteria and beyond to what could only be labeled as the shuttle bay. Hundreds upon hundreds of spaceships of varying sizes and shapes were lined up along the hull for as far as the eye could see. They didn’t look much like the ships from Star Trek or even Star Wars, but I was still fairly able to tell which ones were mere transports and which ones were used for battle. Some of the gunships even had what appeared to be other alien vessels painted on the outside. I guess in a lot of ways we were a very similar species, they also liked to know how many kills they had, much like our aces in the great wars. What are the odds I could fly one of those things? Slim to none. Could I make a run for it now? The guards looked slack but I still didn’t think I’d make it ten feet before I had a plasma burst in my back. And even if I made it, then what. I couldn’t fly the thing and I sure as hell didn’t have any clearance to get the shuttle doors opened. Someone had to let our planet know. These guys weren’t here to say hi. The only reason this ET was phoning home was to let them know how the impending invasion was going. Our demonstration was merely a means for them to study our warfare tactics up close and personal. Hell, what better way to do it? They were learning all about our cunning and our brutality, while we were entertaining them. Talk about killing two birds with one stone. And we were all too wrapped up in our own existence to see the true bigger picture: that they were merely using us as test subjects to further their cause. By surviving and killing each other we were in effect giving them the weapons with which to kill our entire planet. It was then and there that I began to formulate my plan to get off of this ship and let Earth, know the true intention of them. If they came here because of the message Carl Sagan sent out so many years ago, I was going to kick his ass too. The tour guide of our little group was droning on about the vast array of ships they had. And how many civilizations had fallen under their rule. And that soon Earth would become part of the Strolactic Empire. Ah, so I finally had a name, but the ugly bastard never disclosed any vital information. Like how does one fly one of the ships. Oh well, there has got to be more than one way to skin a cat. Or gut a crocodile as the case may be. I got the impression that this tour was more of a ‘Look how awesome we are, puny hu-man’ tour. That could be just my slant on things, but being from New England you tend to take the rose-colored glasses off before you look at things. Our next stop was the training area for the warriors; another interesting note there was not a Progerian, besides our guide, in sight. The stop after that was the sub-helm according to our guide. On a starship of this magnitude apparently there were seven such sub-helms that were all under control of the main helm, which we were informed we would not being seeing. No alien race had ever seen the main helm and according to Brystrar, our guide, none ever would. Another point that seemed to interest no one but myself was that there were no Genos on the helm either. So along with being two distinct species they had very clear lines of delineation on their tasks. Is that a weakness? And if so how could I exploit it? I was having as much difficulty with this task as I was with finding and exploiting the weakness of my next opponent.

  I was startled out of my thoughts by the hissing/talking of our guide.

  “So, hu-mans, you have seen part of our ship, I will allow a small amount of time for questions.”

  Holy shit, this would be the first time we had actually been allowed to speak to them, what questions would we ask, what questions would they answer? We were each allowed one question and it went in order of ranking. I tried desperately to think of a question that would not be asked before it became my turn. I had little to fear in that department. Here we were in front of a vastly superior technological society, and could ask them virtually anything regarding the cosmos, and the questions that were laid out were more along the lines of what you would ask your neighbor. “What do you eat?” although that could have been more out of concern than anything else. “How long do you live?” There were a couple of questions that piqued my interest. One of the more fascinating was, "Do you believe in God?” That was actually Jersey Man’s question. Brystrar’s answer had been somewhat hesitant and blatantly evasive, but the general gist I got was that no, the Progerians had no need for a God but the Genos wholeheartedly believed in a higher being. I was wondering to myself if the Genogerians believed the Progerians to be this higher being; that could be used against them somehow, but not while I was on this giant can. When my turn came around I figured I would get some clarification on Jersey Man’s question and also on my own thoughts.

  “And what is your question hu-man, and please hurry it is getting past my noon meal time.” The reptile licked his lips as he pondered his next meal. I hoped it wasn’t leg of human.

  “What exactly is your relationship to the Genogerians?” I asked as off-handedly as possible.

  “That is a very good question for a hu-man, no wonder I have been winning so much drakka with you.”

  I knew it! There’s the proof that they have been gambling on us the entire time. We’re just a football game to them. Well that answered that question.

  “Our worlds mirror each other in very similar ways.” I personally highly doubted that. “On our planet we did not have a planet shattering event like the comet that destroyed almost all life on your planet. Our ‘dinosaurs’ as you call them merely became smaller in stature while their brain cavity increased. Along that evolutionary line we had a split from early Genogerian to modern Progerian much like your own between Cro-Magnon and Homo-Sapiens. We, however, had enough sense not to destroy what would become our greatest allies in our quest for galactic domination. In essence we are the brains behind their brawn.”

  Wow, they weren’t technically slaves but they were definitely doing the brunt of the dirty work. But to me it didn’t look like they minded all that much. Being closer to their baser instincts must have made them perfect warriors, but would they be able to act without the head? Could that be their weakness? But I still had the problem of being able to relay this newfound information to Earth. I had so many questions but Brystrar had made it abundantly clear that he would answer one and only one question from each of us. And it looked as if we were getting to the point where his patience was beginning to wear thin. He looked at us much the same way we looked at him, in disgust and revulsion. All in all it was a very informative day and it hands down beat the hell out of being in that female-dominated beehive that was my house. There’s a guy for you though, I’d rather be out with a bunch of guys that would rather see me dead and a bunch of aliens that didn’t care if I was dead or alive, than having to spend the entire day in a house full of women
. What is this spaceship coming to? I laughed out loud; the guard didn’t see the humor and pushed me just a little harder into my abode than need be.

  “You’re alright?” Stephanie yelled from the top of the banister.

  “I’m fine,” I answered, “We just went on a little tour.”

  “Oh thank God, we thought they might have taken you to execute you or something unimaginably horrible like that,” Stephanie half-cried. “Deb’s beside herself in anguish.”

  “Well could you please just let her know that I’m good to go. I’m dog-tired. I just want to get some sleep.” I guessed that I was being a little selfish but the sooner that Deb could get along without me the better off she’d be.

  “I really think that you should be the one to tell her that,” Steph threw in.

  “Steph, listen, I know that I’m not the king of this or any other domain, but could you please just do this for me. Staying away from her is hard enough, if I see her crying I don’t know that I can take it.”

  “Then why not just be with her, if it hurts both of you this much to be apart why should you?” she asked.

  “You know the answer to that,” I raised my voice just a little too much.

  “Mike, you know as well as I do there are no guarantees in life, and all bets are definitely off in this place.”

  “So is that your way of saying I’m a dead man walking?” I said my voice now getting a little louder.

  “Now hold on, you know I don’t think like that. If I was that fatalistic I wouldn’t have bothered getting out of bed this morning, or any other morning. What would be the point.”

  “I know, I know.” I now was trying to calm her down as her voice was beginning to peak.

  “I honestly think that somehow, someway you’re going to get us out of this hell hole.”

  “I’m glad you feel that confident, because honestly Steph I don’t feel the same way.”