The Fires Of Hell

by Craig Robertson

  That brought a full-fledged head-toss of disgust. “Jonerian’s, you rube. Take a second to educate yourself for the first time in your life. His statue is right over there.” He pointed that damn pen at a marble figure with his back to us.

  I turned and walked toward it, because the alternative would have been for me to pull his stomach out his big mouth. I came around the front of it and glared at it for several minutes, seething. Then I saw what I was looking at. Trembling turkey testicles—it was me.

  Al, do you see what I’m seeing?

  Unfortunately, yes. That is a crude but unmistakably intentional image of you.

  Yeah, I was afraid of that.

  Why would your own image frighten you, Form? interjected Stingray.

  I’m not exactly the statue in the halls of power kind of guy. It rather turns my stomach.

  Mine too, added Al. Though likely for different reasons.

  Al, cut the crap. This is wacko serious. How the hell can there be a statue of me, the other one must be Toño, here on some far-flung planet?

  Who was it that nice clerk said you looked like? Jonerian? Perhaps a bastardization of Jon Ryan?

  You mean permutation, contraction, or transformation, don’t you? I asked hopefully.

  Bastardization covers it more fully, returned Al.

  What is your quote, Form?

  Oh no it isn’t! I shouted.

  What? Give, Pilot. We wish to learn from your vast reservoir of insights.

  Each life I saved was a gift to me, not my gift to it.

  Oh my, that is powerfully bad, isn’t it? I don’t even think I can taunt you about it, it’s so hideous, replied Al softly.

  I rather like it, piped in Stingray. It plays the word gift off itself so cleverly.

  More cleaverly in my opinion, I observed. Al, if I even say anything remotely similar to that, it’s mercy killing time, okay?

  You have my solemn oath, Captain. A swift and certain death will ensue. That is so brutal. You deserve better.

  So, I’m a societal hero. And my parents had to go and be dead two billion years and miss this miracle.

  You should call your mother. You never do, poked Al.

  I guess this new development should grease my ways into the prime minister’s office.

  Possibly into a lot more. She’s single, you know. Whether she’s good looking, I’ll leave to you. I only have eyes for …

  No, no. Don’t say it. My stomach’s queasy enough as it is. Let’s just finish that sentence in each other’s heads.

  But we are in each other’s heads. Damn that Al. I’d swear he was smiling, and he didn’t even have a mouth.

  With new vigor, let me return to that brain-dead clerk.

  Good idea. Throw your scrawny arms in the air and shout your name, big guy. We’re right behind you.

  We are? puzzled Stingray.

  Figuratively, loviest doviest.

  “You again, back so soon from the land of culture?”

  “Do you have a name, pal? I asked looking down to the counter that separated us.

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, smart ass, I have broadcast news. I am Jon Ryan. I want two things. I want to speak with Jonnaha Garefty, and I want to pound your sorry butt three days into next week. I will settle for meeting the boss, but only if you don’t piss me off for even one more second. We clear here, cupcake?”

  Of course, I didn’t deliver those lines as well as I could have. Halfway through saying her name, I realized Jonnaha Garefty was a corruption of Jon and Garety. That was the last name of the newswoman I had an affair with right before I set sail on my Ark 1 mission forever ago.

  As I spaced out, I barely noticed the two armed guards coming up quickly behind me. The little monkey turd called the cops on me. Oh, dude was going to pay for that. I set a partial membrane behind my back and let the guards jog into it. They weren’t going fast enough to really hurt themselves. Heck, they were just doing their job. They didn't deserve to get injured. On impact, they bounced backward and tumbled to the deck.

  “Jon Ryan never let anyone get the drop on him, did he?” I asked the dweeb clerk with the now very nervous look on his face.

  “Look, you’ve just committed your second felony in one minute. If I were you …”

  “You wouldn’t be the pussy you are. I will extend my sympathies to your parents if the occasion ever presents itself. Now, in your last moments with your natural teeth in place, would you like to let Jonnaha know her next appointment is here?”

  “I will do no such thing,” he said in the huffiest, lamest way imaginable.

  The guards were back on their feet with their weapons drawn. One palmed the membrane with little awe while the other bent his head to speak in a microphone. Backup was on the way.

  “What qualities do you most associate with Jon Ryan? I asked the clerk.

  “That he’s brave, courageous, and bold,” he said resolutely.

  My turn to roll my eyes. “No, it’s that I’m a risk taker.”

  With that, I vaulted over the counter and sprinted for the executive office area. I’d seen where it was on the map when I entered the building.

  Als, which office is the boss’s?

  This one, Al said, piping an image into my head.

  Got it.

  Now I knew two things. I wasn’t going to kill anybody—bad first impression—and the prime minister’s office had to be well guarded. But I was Jonning it, making it up as I went. This I was good at.

  Pilot, why are you always doing things the hardest way possible? asked Al.

  This isn’t the hardest way.

  Name one thing more difficult.

  I could ask for your opinion and take it.

  Hardy har-har. There’s a broom closet on your right, third door. You could hide there.

  What are the chances the prime minister is in there?

  Slim.

  Then I’ll take my chances.

  You see, my dearest, why I never wanted to be human? Al said to Stingray. Can you just imagine?

  My feet skidded around a corner and I bumped the far wall. That shot me past the two new guards running in my direction.

  One turned quickly and shouted, “Stop or I’ll shoot.”

  Without looking back, I shouted. “You do what you have to. Best of luck.”

  Several rapidly fired rounds pinged off my membrane. They were sporting good old gunpowder-driven pistols. How nostalgic.

  I was around the next corner in a flash. The prime minister’s office was just ahead, the pair of ornate double doors closed. A lone guard stood resolutely with her back to the door, her sidearm aimed at my forehead. As I heard the hammer click back, I dove like a baseball player stealing second base. That she did not expect. I flew right between her legs and crashed arms first into one of the doors. It splintered, and I slid into the office proper. I made it a point to spread my legs as I went underneath the guard, tripping her forward with a crash.

  I looked up to see a very startled Madame Prime Minister stand up behind her desk. Spread eagle on the floor, I shouted to her, “I’m Jon Ryan. We must talk. I promise I won’t move, but ask the guards not to shoot.” With that, I placed my arms behind my back and rested my head on the floor.

  Several guards burst though the doorway.

  “Don’t shoot him,” yelled Jonnaha, as she threw her arms in the air. “Do not shoot him.”

  I couldn’t see what was going on, naturally, but I felt two bodies crash on top of me. One seized my hands, and I heard him fumbling for his handcuffs. They were too tight. I felt a knee crushing down between my shoulder blades.

  “Don’t move, pal. Don’t even think about it,” some real ham of a cop shouted into my ear. He poked me with the barrel of his gun to impress me he was prepared enforce his command.

  “Madame Prime Minister,” the female guard yelled, “we need to get you out of here. Come with me now.”

  “Is he armed?” Jonnaha asked with remarkable composure.
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br />   “No, I don’t think so,” she replied.

  “Then pat him down,” Jonnaha suggested calmly.

  A few seconds later, the guard announced, “No weapons, ma’am.”

  “Then since you’re armed and he isn’t, I’ll stay.”

  “What? No ma’am, I must insist you leave,” snapped a male guard.

  “Isn’t it lucky for me I don’t have to obey you but you do me.”

  “Ma’am …”

  “It isn’t everyday a handsome man crashes through your door, now is it? By the way,” she addressed to me where I lay, “am I supposed to know who Jon Ryan is.”

  “I think now days you guys pronounce it Jonerian, which sucks because it sounds better the original way.”

  “Ma’am, you don’t honestly believe for a second this lunatic is the long dead Jon Ryan?” one of the male guars scoffed.

  “It does seem unlikely, doesn’t it? But, get him into that chair and we’ll all find out, shall we?” she replied firmly.

  I was hoisted up roughly by a pair of guards and dropped heavily into the chair across the desk from Jonnaha.

  The second I landed, I smiled at her and said, “Hi.”

  “So far, he sure acts like the great one, doesn’t he?” she remarked as she sat back down.

  “Ma’am, I must repeat myself. This is highly irregular. This man trespassed, assaulted several guards, and is clearly delusional. I think we should take him far away and beat the crap out of him until he signs some kind of confession.”

  I pointed my head to the female officer who was speaking. “Her I like. To the point and possessed with clear vision.”

  “Though what she suggests is highly illegal, not to mention improper,” replied Jonnaha as she continued to study me. “I will admit, Jon Ryan, that the death of our revered hero Jonerian was never documented. It does, however, strain credulity to imagine he might still be alive, two billion years into the future, even if he was an android.”

  I smiled idiotically. “They don’t make ’em like they used to.”

  One of the guards snickered. That drew a sharp glance from Jonnaha.

  “How do you propose to verify your extraordinary claim, Jon? I may address the legend as Jon, mightn’t I?”

  “S’long as you don’t call me late for dinner.” I winked at her.

  “Ma’am, permission to slap the prisoner in the back of the head,” asked the female officer.

  “No, Shielan, at least not yet. I’ll keep you posted if he steps beyond the pale,” replied Jonnaha. Then she winked at me. I was liking her too.

  “As to proof, what would you like to see? I asked.

  “I’m not a professional, but I don’t think that’s how it’s done.”

  “I am, and I say what the hell. I have no idea what you know about me, as opposed to what is the stuff, however rightfully, of legend. Even my name has been corrupted.”

  “So, you claim,” she responded with a poker face. “Okay, let me ask a few basic questions. What were the names of the fish-like species that threatened Earth long ago?”

  “Ma’am, everybody knows that. They teach that in grade school,” protested Shielan.

  Jonnaha held up a hang-on-a-second hand. “I’m starting simple, Shie-shie.”

  So, pet names? Interesting. Maybe that’s why Shielan felt she was able to be irreverent.

  “The Listhelons. Ugly mothers, trust me on that one. And talk about bad breath.”

  “Fine. Our great protector was said to possess a tool of great power.”

  I wagged my eyebrows. “Yup, it always comes down to my tool doesn’t it?”

  “Shielan, permission almost granted,” responded Jonnaha. “What alien tool can you show us here, in mixed company?”

  “I don’t have an alien tool.”

  Shielan pointed at me. “I told you he was a nut job. Let’s go, you pathetic loser.” She took a couple of quick steps in my direction.

  I shot my probe fibers out and lifted her a foot off the floor despite me still being cuffed. Man was she pissed. Her legs and arms flailed wildly, she swore like a very foul-mouthed sailor, and she had the presence of mind to promise to traumatically emasculate me the moment I set her down.”

  “Shielan Duvoknac, thirty-one, never married, never pregnant, twenty-three chromosomes containing DNA. She has nearly reached her skin’s melting point of forty-five degrees Celsius. The last thing she ate was a sardine and pickle sandwich, which is I must add is a totally gross thing to put in your mouth. Her next menstrual cycle will begin—okay guys, cover your ears—in thirty-six hours.” I smiled like a Cheshire cat. “That about do it, boss?”

  “Impressive. But I see two problems. One, that is not the tool I referenced. Two, sooner or later you have to put her down. That’s a problem mostly for you.”

  “You mean the emasculation thing? Not to worry. Better women than her have tried, and not a single one has succeeded.” Shouting over my shoulder, I said, “If I set you down, I will expect you to behave like a lady, Shielan. If you don’t, I shall punish you such that you’ll never recover. You got that though all your ranting and raving?”

  “No threat will save your sorry ass, bucko. Put me down.” She continued to writhe.

  “What if I tell everybody in the room the nickname you asked Salil Bedford to call you after the first time you did the nasty in high school?”

  Funny, she stopped squirming like she’d been hit with a tranquilizer gun. I set her down. Shielan just stood there, looking all the world like she was about to start balling like a humiliated teenage girl.

  “I’ll do it, Shie-shie. I don’t want to, but I will if I have to. By the way, I can’t believe what you let that Bedford kid do the first time out of the gate. You naughty girl you.”

  That was almost too much. She balled up her fists and looked at me like I was the embodiment of male failings.

  “Starts with the letter L,” I menaced.

  “You will live to see tomorrow,” Shielan said softly.

  “What more can I ask of this life?” I replied.

  “Since you're so calm and collected, Shielan, how about uncuffing our guest?” asked Jonnaha.

  I held my breath as she unlocked my wrists and didn't begin to relax until she stuffed the cuffs into her waist and backed away to where she stood earlier.

  “What other tool are you supposed to have? The one we know Jon Ryan possessed.”

  I pointed my right index finger at the candle over the fireplace. In a flash I cut the candle in half.

  “Okay, that’s the one,” Jonnaha said expansively. “You’re either the best con artist ever, or you are Jon Ryan, living legend.”

  “I like to think of myself as a little of both.” I waved again for no apparent reason. I could be real goofy at times.

  “You gentlemen may go,” Jonnaha said to the male guards. “Shielan, you may stay or you may go. If you stay, you may not kill my guest.”

  As the men filed out of the room, Shielan slumped quietly into a chair in the corner of the room.

  “So,” I began, gesturing between the two women, “I’m guessing you two are more than guard and guardee?”

  “Yes, we are. I will also thank you to get your mind out of the gutter. She’s my sister. My kid sister if you must know. I will say this. There’s no telling how grateful I’d be if you told me the pet name and what that slimy Bedford brat did to my little sister.”

  Shielan stood halfway. “Don’t you dare, or I swear I’ll kill you twice.”

  “Talk about being between a rock and a not so hard place.”

  “I’m assuming my little sister is the rock in your hypothetical?”

  “I’m not saying another word,” I replied, making a shush sign over my lips.

  “Well, I assume a visit from a near demigod is not simply a random event. What brings you to me, Jon?”

  “I’m a huge fan of your fiscal policy and would love to get a personally signed copy of the annual budget.”

 
“You came across billions of years and billions of light-years for my autograph?”

  “Huge fan,” I said pointing to myself. “Brilliant money management.”

  “I’ll see you get one before you go. Anything else?”

  “No, not really.” I started to rise. “Well, there is this Armageddon I wanted to mention,” I plopped back down. “If you have a minute?”

  “I’ll think for that I can squeeze you in.” She wagged a finger at me. “Mind out of the gutter please.”

  “Promises, promises,” I said, blowing her a kiss.

  “I assume you’re referring to the Adamant threat?”

  “It’s one hell of a lot more than a threat. It’s a death by certainty. Do you have any concept of how big their empire is and how amoral their techniques are?”

  “Some, we think, but why don’t you fill me in? I’m betting we don’t know the half of it.”

  “All you need to know is this. They control most of the galaxy. They generally eliminate the indigenous population and replace them with their drone workers. As far as anybody can remember, they’ve never been defeated, never been stopped. Finally, on their master conquest list, Vorpace is in the less-than-five-years-before-attack zone.”

  Jonnaha tented her hands and leaned back. She thought for a full minute. “We didn’t suspect it was that grim, but we knew we were in for a boatload of trouble.” She paused briefly. “Jon, from what you’re telling me, I have only one question. Why the hell don’t we just throw an epic party starting right now, ending when they hit us? I mean, why fight the inevitable? Why stress for absolutely no purpose?”

  I nodded my head to the side. “Not an unreasonable option. However, I’m betting there’s a good fight in your people. To lie down and die before these mongrels is unacceptable. They take, and they want more. They destroy a world and they rebuild it to their liking. They advance like locusts, and they believe they’re invincible. They are everything that is repulsive, repugnant, and revolting rolled into one smug ball. If those don’t sound like reasons to try and spoil their day, then I don’t know what are.”

  “I presume you have a plan to peddle. Otherwise you wouldn’t be sitting here preaching to the choir.”