by Joshua James
Sydal slunk down between two rows of bus seats. He flipped his pistol around, holding it by the barrel. His only option was to pistol whip the soldier and hope it was enough of a surprise that there wasn’t much of a fight back, because he was an injured middle-aged man and the soldier looked to be young, in the prime of his life and trained to kill.
“Hey guys…” Sydal heard the soldier and the bus doors opening. “I think I got something here.” There was no doubt he was talking over his HUD to his two comrades.
Turn around. Pretend you didn’t see anything. Please, kid. I don’t want to hurt you.
That was the truth. Sydal didn’t want to hurt the soldier that was in that moment boarding the same bus he hid in. He didn’t want to because he knew the kid was just doing his job, even if that job was rotten or downright evil. Sure, this kid was old enough to know better, but he was still just a stupid kid to Sydal and he’d get no pleasure from killing him. Then again, he’d get even less from being killed himself.
The soldier kept coming. His focus was on the trail of blood that led to the back of the vehicle, where Sydal hid. No doubt they were both extremely nervous. Both of them knew that one finding the other could very well lead to a conflict that could end with a death.
Sydal took a deep breath. He reared back with his pistol as he saw the soldier’s flashlight approach down the bus aisle. Repeatedly he told himself to be quick. If he acted fast, he could still get out of here in one piece, get a rover, and drive into what was all but certain death. But at least there was a chance that he could save the only family he had left.
Before the soldier could discover Sydal, he sprang out from his hiding place, lunged forward and whacked the young man on the side of the head. Not wanting him to recover, Sydal hit him again. That second time cracked his helmet. And that was when the detective discovered the one fatal flaw in his plan.
The soldier, a little rattled but not seriously hurt—more surprised than anything—fought back. He hit the detective in the jaw with his rifle, almost knocking him out.
As Sydal lay there groggy, the soldier aimed the rifle at his chest.
Instinctively knowing that hesitating for a second would spell the end for him and his son, Sydal’s feelings on the encounter changed. It was life and death. With both arms and his body weight, he grabbed the soldier’s rifle, leaned forward, and pushed down as hard as he could.
The soldier fired. Sydal had no idea how close he’d come to getting shot in the crotch. But bolstered by the animal instinct to survive, Sydal head-butted the helmet-wearing soldier. Unsurprisingly, it did more damage to Sydal himself.
Everything started to spin. Sydal’s head was killing him. His own blood dripped down from his receding hairline, but his otherwise ill-advised headbutt at least forced the soldier to stumble back, giving him a window. Quick as he could, Sydal yanked out his pistol and fired.
He glanced at the readout on the side just to confirm.
Empty.
There was a loud thumping noise as the young soldier fell on the bus floor, dead. A still-smoking hole in the visor of the kid’s helmet told the story; no need to check his pulse or if he was breathing.
While happy to still be alive, Sydal knew that he needed to think fast. Those other two soldiers must’ve heard the gunshots, and were undoubtedly on their way to get him. Again, he had to go into strategy mode.
As he heard the boots of the remaining two UEF soldiers approach, Sydal frantically grabbed the dead one’s rifle and searched his body for ammo or anything else he could use. In his haste, he was actually efficient. It was a new trait he’d picked up out of necessity ever since Aitken Basin. Maybe an old dog could learn new tricks after all—or an old detective, at any rate.
Sydal managed to scrounge together two extra magazines for his pilfered rifle, a standard-issue pistol, a grenade, and a med kit that he desperately needed. Not only was he still bleeding from the bullet wound on his thigh, but Sydal was also surely concussed from his dumb headbutt.
There was no time to mend his wounds right now, though. In that moment, Sydal had to mount a defense. Bereft of good options, he’d have to resort to a firefight, using the bus itself as cover.
“Hopkins! Hey, Hopkins! You okay?” asked one of the soldiers as the other followed close behind. Their rifles were up and at the ready, prepared for an engagement whenever it came and wherever it came from.
This time Sydal didn’t wait for the enemy to come to him. That illusion that briefly ran through his mind of getting out of this debacle without killing anyone was destroyed along with the first young soldier’s face. No, this time he’d take the fight to them.
Sydal popped up and shot the window, aiming at one of the soldiers, and then came fatal flaw number two. The windows on LTA buses were strong, really strong. Though not bulletproof, they were meant to be strong enough to maintain the atmosphere inside the vehicle when out on the lunar surface, and of course to withstand any hard impacts.
The first shot cracked the bus window and made Sydal’s ears ring. Fatal flaw three: shooting a weapon in an enclosed space. In that moment he hated how dumb he was being, but there would time to beat himself later, if he survived.
The soldiers outside were more persistent. They knelt down in the firing position taught to them in basic training. Sydal heard the bullets create crack after crack in the glass before it burst apart and super-heated rounds entered the bus.
Not willing or able to afford being pinned down, Sydal waited for two more windows to break. When the firing stopped, he realized the soldiers were reloading at the same time. They should know better, but in that moment he wasn’t asking questions. He needed to take advantage of the opening.
Sydal popped up as fast as he could. His first couple of shots were wild and hit nothing. Still suffering from the headbutt, his vision still spun a bit, though his third shot hit one of the soldiers in the leg.
Considering he wasn’t much of a marksman compared to the rest of the detectives in his department, and none of them were exactly known for their performance at the range, Sydal was happy to hit anything.
The two soldiers retreated to cover. Knowing that he could hide behind the window right next to it, Sydal took up position at one of the broken windows. He fixed his aim on the rover that his enemies hid behind. “Lay down your guns!” he yelled.
“Screw that! Where’s Phil?” yelled back one of the soldiers.
Sydal glanced over at the young soldier he’d killed. On his Kevlar vest was a name tag: “P. Hopkins”. It didn’t take a detective to put together that that must’ve been Phil.
“Dunno what you’re talking about! Put down your weapons! I’m just looking for a ride! No one else needs to get hurt!” answered Sydal.
“If you don’t tell us where Hopkins is, there’ll be a whole lotta hurt, asshole!”
Sydal realized talking wasn’t going to work, but he needed time to assess his situation. As far as he saw it, he had the advantage despite being outgunned by one man.
Instead of answering with words, Sydal popped up into the LTA bus’ window frame and started firing. He ducked back down when the two soldiers returned fire. This went on for a few minutes before the detective had an idea.
How the soldiers didn’t think of throwing a grenade first was beyond Sydal. He was in the perfect position to be especially vulnerable to a throwable explosive. But they didn’t, so he did.
Sydal waited for the soldiers to reload again. But this time they did as they were taught and covered each other as they put in new mags. There was a better than small chance that the detective was going to shot at in his attempt. That was acceptable.
Bullets bounced off the thick metal exterior of the bus, right near the broken window Sydal was going to use. Sydal didn’t lose his nerve. Already armed, all he had to do was aim and throw.
And that’s exactly what he did.
“Move!” Unfortunately for the detective, the soldiers saw the grenade, which missed its mark
and bounced off the lower part of the rover’s door that they used for cover. It actually rolled a little bit in Sydal’s direction before exploding.
Sydal took cover. He didn’t know what to do now. If he kept this gunfight up, eventually a well-placed or lucky shot would take him down. Predictably, the soldiers weren’t thrilled that he’d tried to blow them up, and really laid into the bus.
It had finally happened. Sydal was officially out of ideas. He had no idea how to get himself out of this pickle. His thoughts started to wander. Death started to sound more attractive. After all, his son must’ve been dead by then, replaced by the Shapeless. So why keep fighting? Why keep suffering?
No! He’s alive. And if he’s not, they’ll all pay for taking everything from me!
Sydal had one magazine left for his rifle. He loaded it in, took position right under the broken bus window, and took a deep breath. With every fiber of his being he convinced himself that he wouldn’t get shot. At least, not fatally.
Out of nowhere, the firing stopped. It was beyond strange. All Sydal heard was the clang from a rifle hitting the floor, and wet gargling noises.
Sydal barely glanced above and through the broken window. One of the soldiers, the non-injured one, the one he hadn’t shot in the leg, had one arm extended. No, it wasn’t just extended; it was unnaturally stretched out into a spike. That spike impaled the hobbled soldier through the throat.
“Come on out. I won’t shoot you. I promise,” said the Shapeless version of a soldier.
Sydal watched as the spike got withdrawn from the now grievously-injured soldier. The young man fell to the ground, blood gurgling out of his mouth. He bled out shortly after.
The faux soldier turned and looked Sydal directly in the eyes. He smiled as he wiped his colleague’s blood off his arm.
“Come, friend. There’s no reason to re-re-re-resist. Yes, resist. There’s no reason to resist. You are only delaying fate. You can’t—” In less than a blink of an eye, another spike came shooting out of the soldier’s chest. It punctured the side of the bus, just barely missing Sydal’s head.
Startled, Sydal scrambled to his feet. Rifle in hand, he started shooting at the window behind him. He kept shooting until it shattered. That was his only way out. There was no other chance to escape.
“You can’t run!” yelled the Shapeless soldier. Its arm, still in the bus, changed form. Multiple additional tendrils sprouted out from the first, anchoring themselves in the metal interior and exterior of the vehicle. Then it pulled as hard as it could.
Sydal tried to hold on as the bus fell over on its side towards the faux soldier. But he couldn’t. Luckily he landed on his side and not his neck.
Used to being thrown around, beaten, and bruised at this point, Sydal wasn’t even fazed. He immediately started climbing over the seats and out the window he’d broken.
As soon as he was on top of the bus, Sydal emptied the last four or five bullets from his rifle. As he expected, it did little to no damage. Any damage that it did do quickly filled in, like burying a hole in the beach as the tide comes in.
“You can’t hide, friend. Embrace it! Embrace the Abyss like the others. Let me end the pain that tortures you so much.” The Shapeless retracted his tendril from the bus. It whipped around as it quickly turned back into the shape of a man’s arm. The uniform over it was even restored.
I can’t run? Watch me, asshole.
Sydal jumped off the bus. Then he ran.
Five
Return To Service
Ben thought about what kind of reception he’d find waiting for him on Europa. Would he be met with kindness, be welcomed back into the UEF military fold? Would he be branded a quitter and dismissed as easily and callously as he’d set aside the duty? Would he simply be shot out of the sky, blown to bits as an AIC spy?
Ben’s transport entered Europa’s atmosphere. He ignored the shaking that came from the intense friction of entering. That same friction produced fire that enveloped the ship; he ignored that too. Ben’s thoughts drifted.
What are you going to tell them when you get there? How do you tell a general that he needs to stop fighting, stop defending the same base he probably championed for years?
It had been a long time since Ben had been on Europa, since he’d set eyes on the blood-soaked moon of Jupiter. Almost every UEF soldier—Marine, pilot, officer, or otherwise—had to spend at least one tour there. As such a strategically important base, it had to be constantly supplied with fresh souls to man the walls, guns, and ships.
Ben, like most soldiers stationed on Jupiter’s moon, had no good memories of the place. He went along with the myth that the men and women circulated about why Europa’s soil was so black. They told each other and new arrivals that it was so dark because it was soaked with the blood of all the people who’d died there. The thing was, it was believable, considering that both the UEF and AIC suffered more casualties on the moon than on any other planet or station in the war.
Ben couldn’t get his father off his mind. Even as he exited Europa’s atmosphere and laid his eyes on the universe’s largest graveyard, he found it hard to focus on the task at hand.
Ben saw that he was being hailed. Judging from the signal, it was AIC. After remembering what Rhule had told him about the man in charge of the Europa offensive, Commodore Thorne, he knew that answering that call probably wouldn’t have ended well. His priority was reaching the UEF base.
The hailing continued. Ben saw Thorne’s fleet just ahead. It looked like it was amassing just outside the mountains where he knew Europa’s main base was. They were preparing for an assault.
Two AIC fighters flew towards Ben’s transport. He knew that his ship wasn’t armed; nor was it fast enough to outrun the fighters. It looked like he had no choice but to answer the AIC’s call, or else.
“Answer them, Ben Saito.” Ben heard a voice in the cockpit of his transport ship. He knew that voice, but he couldn’t have possibly heard it. Not here, not in the real waking world.
“Who the hell said that?” Ben looked around in the cockpit and didn’t see anyone or anything.
“Attention, unknown transport. Identify yourself,” ordered one of the fighters. They flew next to the transport on either side.
Ben regretted not coming into this situation with more of a plan. Plus he had a mysterious passenger, or was hallucinating. All was not well in his world at that moment.
“Answer them. Or I can, if you wish.” There was that voice again.
“Okay, who the hell are you? Show yourself!” insisted Ben. He really hoped he wasn’t losing his mind.
“Attention, unknown transport. Identify yourself or we will be forced to shoot you down. I repeat, identify yourself or we will shoot you down.” The fighters weren’t playing around.
“Of course, Ben Saito.” Right in front of Ben’s seat, between himself and the control board, rose the yellow-eyed alien that he’d seen in his mind link and that had kept his father alive.
“What the hell!” yelled Ben. If it weren’t attached to the floor of the cockpit, he would’ve fallen backwards in his chair.
“Hello, Ben Saito. It is good to see you again,” said the yellow-eyed alien.
Ben didn’t know how to answer. The last thing he expected was to see that freaky little alien again, let alone in this situation.
“I see that you are alarmed. I am sorry. I did not mean to startle you.”
“How are you…?”
“Part of me detached from your father, Lee Saito, before you two parted ways. I boarded this transport and waited for the right time to reveal myself.” The yellow-eyed alien explained it like it all made perfect sense, but it didn’t to Ben.
“Why? And can you please move? This is making me really uncomfortable.”
“Sorry. Of course, Ben Saito.” The alien stretched his body so that its legs elongated, the top half of its body bent because of the cockpit roof, and stepped over Ben. Then it returned to normal once it was on the other
side of him.
“Thank you. Now….” Ben spun around in the pilot’s seat. “Why should I answer them?”
“Because they will blow you out of the sky, and we can’t have that. Not if we are going to stop the Shapeless.”
“Okay, well, what do you suggest? We can’t outrun them. We can’t fight them. So what?”
“Let me take care of it.” In front of Ben’s disbelieving eyes, the yellow-eyed alien changed his form, shapeshifting into a near-perfect replication of AIC Senator LeFleur.
“How did you do that?” Ben was in awe. He’d seen the shapeshifting of a Shapeless before. It was a terrible, grotesque thing. But his yellow-eyed friend’s form changed seamlessly and quickly, with none of the gross popping and breaking sounds.
“From our mind link, Ben Saito. I had access to all of your memories, including this man. A politician, yes? High ranking, yes?” The yellow-eyed alien had everything right except for LeFleur’s voice.
“Your voice,” pointed out Ben.
“Is it not right?”
Ben shook his head.
“Sorry about that. Here, please let me—” The alien, now in the form of LeFleur, leaned forward and put his cold hand on Ben’s forehead. It was only for a second. “There. Is that better?” The alien’s voice suddenly perfectly matched the deceased senator’s.
“Perfect. Creepy, but perfect.”
“Unidentified transport. You have three seconds to respond. One, two…” The fighters ran out of patience.
Ben handed over the coms to his alien friend. “You’re up, buddy.”
“Of course. Hello, this is Senator LeFleur from the AIC Senate. I request passage through to the UEF base.”
“Senator?” The AIC fighter pilot was surprised. Not only because he didn’t expect a senator to answer, but also because he was under the impression, like most of the AIC people and military, that the Senate had been wiped out on Vassar-1.
