by Tufo, Mark
Bob shook his head; what he’d told me was a fact.
“Do you know where Church is?” He didn’t answer. “Bob, simple question.”
“Milk.” Hard to gauge Bob’s mood, but I would go with exasperated. I suspected he knew exactly where our horned friend was.
“We going to get him?” Still no answer. “Bob,” I prodded.
“Bob,” he replied.
“What do you mean it isn’t on the way? We don’t have the time? We have to get him, to save him. Yeah, I know we most likely won’t make it out alive from what we’re doing, but doesn’t Church deserve to be there with us? For the finale?”
Bob then threw me for a loop—as if everything wasn’t already tossed on its side and heading for the garbage disposal.
“Milk, we now have fifty-eight minutes of power remaining. Where we need to go will use up fifty-five of that. Our friend, whom you have named Church, is eighteen of your minutes out of the path we need to travel.”
Flabbergasted might be the correct verb, hearing Bob’s use of so many different words strung together, correctly, pushed me back and made my jaw drop. “Could you have talked like this the entire time?” Our form of communication had worked, but not having to piece together everything from tone and a slight sense of telepathy was much more efficient.
“Fifty-seven.” He stretched out an arm and twisted it in the very human way that a person looking at their watch may do. How he could have even known about that mannerism was beyond me.
“I’m a Marine, Bob. We don’t leave one of ours behind. And who knows, maybe on your planet you’re a variation of that because you came and got me, something I’m sure you didn’t have to do. Can’t imagine you and your boss were just cruising around and happened upon my humble abode.”
“There is much truth in your words. I am part of a combat unit that was sent to infiltrate and destroy. As far as I know, I am the only one who has gone this far. We do not have time to debate, Milk.”
I found it funny that he was speaking in damn near high English but still could not, or chose not, to get my name right.
“Millions, perhaps billions of life forms succumb to what you call the ‘creators’ on a daily basis. They must be stopped. It has to be stopped. You are still not moving with haste.”
“On the ride to get Church, you’re going to fill me in on my role in all of this.”
“I will venture forth without you.”
“You are an incredible ally, Bob, and I value all of our time together. You have saved my life half a dozen times, anyway. You could absolutely go on without me, probably do pretty well for yourself, too, but you seem to be forgetting who’s plugged in and who isn’t.” I was pointing to my head.
“I ate you once; perhaps it was a mistake to reintegrate you.”
I gulped down hard at that, though I did seem to have made my point.
“We will go and get him.”
“High five?”
Bob left me hanging; had a pretty good idea he knew what I was doing and deliberately shunned the gesture.
“So that’s where the door is. Weird.” I was passing through the opening. “Might as well start talking,” I said to Bob once we were underway.
“What do you want to know?”
Well, if ever a loaded question was asked. I mean, knowing myself enough, a better question would have been, what don’t I want to know. How deep could I go with this? The meaning of life? The infinity of space? Or how about the Holy Grail of unanswered questions: what the word “peachy” means when your wife tells you that is how she’s feeling. I decided to stay more localized with my questions, what made sense to know now.
“How do you know so much about this place?”
“Thousands of my kind have died for every small bit of information we could pull from this accursed planet. Figuring out just how to transfer this intelligence has cost the lives of more than fifty alone.”
I was positive that small sliver of the pie was worthy of an eight-hour documentary to highlight their heroic actions, but in the grand scheme of the here and now, I moved on.
“Is your entire race as badass as you?”
“Badass?”
“Slang, sorry. Can everyone do what you can? The dissolving, the carrying of heavy loads, absorbing staples…all of that.”
“My kind have varying abilities, none to the degree my unit has been enhanced with. Many have died trying to become who I am now, not able to survive the rigorous changes.”
“How long have you been fighting the whistlers? The creators?”
“Since before your kind were bipedal. Those that you call the ‘creators’ are more custodians to their masters. The true creators started this entire destruction. Debates have been waged on my homeworld about why they are no longer visible; perhaps they have grown ancient and died, but I tend to believe that they have grown bored with the path they walked and have left it to others to finish. This angers me more than if they had died and let their successors continue. How can one be so apathetic when they are quite literally causing the destruction of time, space, and all the inhabitants therein? What went wrong in their genetic programming to allow such a thing?”
Could think of a half dozen instances on Earth alone. What would have happened if Stalin could have expanded his empire to encompass the entire world? He was okay with killing millions of his own people—couldn’t imagine he would have given two shits about the inhabitants of other countries.
“From what I’ve seen, that tends to be the default…destruction, I mean,” I told him without giving specifics.
“That is something we have talked about as well; not what you have said specifically, but rather, that the true creators are dying and do not desire to leave anything behind, that perhaps they began all life, and so with their passing, wish to end it.”
“Wow, talk about the grown-up version of ‘I’m taking my ball and going home.’”
“None of the reasons why matter, though. What they have started, we must end. Whether they were responsible for giving us our lives does not give them the right to then take them away as they choose. That would be far from benevolent, godlike behavior.”
“You believe in gods?”
“We are among their direct creations; do you not?” he asked.
“Fair enough. We’re already fighting angels, might as well toss gods in. Not going to lie, though, neither of them is how we were taught about them on Earth.”
“I can see it on your face. You are asking why you were chosen. You may ask.”
“I feel like you already opened the door, Bob.”
He didn’t say anything.
“So, we’re going to go through the motions then? Why me, Bob?”
“Your friend, the one you call Trip, he was the one who helped us establish a means to pass along everything our operatives learned here. To make sure that each death was not in vain, that we could continue to expand our knowledge to adapt to the conditions our enemies were setting forward.”
“It seems to always circle back around to him.” I wanted to ask if all of this was his fault, but unless he’d learned how to time travel as a cave dweller, it was likely events were in motion long before he began to meddle. He’d merely inadvertently opened up more doors for the creators. Although, that was a whole other can of worms; how were there places they didn’t know about? Had the earth been like a set of keys that had fallen between the couch cushions and could not be located?
9
Mike Journal Entry 5
What was left of the ride to get Church had my thoughts swirling. Not least of my concerns was how Bob knew where to go. “Bob, you never answered me…how did you know where I was, and where Church is?”
“A few years back, we received schematics of the helmet. When I removed yours and Churchill’s, I made sure they were linked.”
“So, it’s like a homing beacon?”
I think he had to ponder the words, make sure what I said fit his explanation. “
Essentially.”
I had no idea what kind of hell Bob may have gone through during his time here, but I was a bit pissed it had taken him so long to get to me. How much of my torture could have been avoided? I didn’t see any sense in questioning him on that. “So, what happens next?”
“What happens from here is unforged territory. None before me have survived their encounters with the custodians.”
“Uncharted waters? Let’s hope this isn’t a flat-earth scenario, and we sail off the edge of the world.”
“There is no such thing as a flat planet.”
“See, that’s what I said, but people will believe what they want to. Shit, I’m convinced Bigfoot is real, so I don’t have any room to talk. How do we do this? If we roll up on this place unannounced, are we going to get shot at? I don’t think I can go through another battle.”
“I have had many distasteful things done to me through the course of my lifetime, none quite as bad as what I just went through to get to where we are now. I am in agreement with you. As for entry, as this transport arrives, the entrance will automatically open.”
“Damn, that’s having some trust in your neighbors. Aren’t the custodians worried they might get interrupted during some alone time? You know, they pop in a DVD of electric eels and bow chicka wow wow.”
“I do not know, and please stop moving like that, it appears as if your hips are having a seizure.”
“Sorry, just nervous, doing my best to dispel the unease.”
“Is it working? Because it isn’t working for me.”
“It might have, had you played along.”
“We are here. Prepare yourself.”
I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to prepare myself except avoid tentacles. Bob had no sooner pulled in when we both spotted a custodian standing across the space looking at us. I went rigid with fear in expectation of a fight. We exited the vehicle, expecting to go immediately into battle mode. When it didn’t move, I looked over to Bob. Again, I couldn’t exactly tell what he was thinking, but consternation mixed in with confusion seems right. I went right to what-the-fuck mode when I saw the green of a large horn protrude over the back of the frozen custodian.
“Church?” I stood up and out of my tactical position.
“Kill!” he shouted excitedly, coming out from behind the monster. Funny how my mind had been changed about who the beast was once I got to know him, despite his rough vocabulary. Never can judge a book by its cover. Some of the world’s worst had been dressed in rather extravagant skin.
“Umm, Church, good to see you, but aren’t you forgetting something?” I was pointing to the custodian who had still not done anything.
“Kill,’ he said proudly before thumping his chest.
Church’s use of that word seemed a wee bit liberal in this sense, as the custodian was very much alive, according to its glow, anyway. Church was careful as he moved back behind the creator and positioned him, much like a shop employee will turn a mannequin for display purposes. Not sure what the hell had happened here, but the food machine was embedded into the back of the custodian. Tough to tell if the things had a spine, but something was severed, making any movement impossible for it.
“Kill.” He tapped his chest again, then touched something on the microwave-sized machine. I about fell over when I saw water.
I went over and smacked Bob in the chest, causing a massive ripple of material. “I told you we should come here!” I moved to cup my hands under the water and get a drink. I would have just placed my head under the outlet, but that was entirely too close to the custodian, and I wasn’t about to self-electrify—I’d done enough of that during home improvement projects when I was too lazy to shut off a breaker. Yeah, like I’m the only one. I got my fill and then some as what I drank splashed inside my stomach like an internal water park.
“Perhaps it is good to see Church, but we do now not even have the food machine to reprogram. If we were to remove it, the custodian would likely repair the damage done to itself, unless we were to kill it first. In either case, we lose precious time.”
“Oh, buddy, for one of the first times ever, I can say that someone else is missing the bigger picture. We have our battery right here.” I stopped my hand just before I smacked the custodian and drew back into a pointer-finger gesture. Bob did the weirdest thing I’d seen that day, and, remember, I was next to an immobile custodian with a kitchen appliance sticking out of its back. The top part of Bob’s head turned a glowing red like a fancy lightbulb was lit inside or behind. We spent a good hour ordering up food and water; I’d hate to say it was a last meal, but it very well could have been. Even so, spirits were pretty high, although I think that had more to do with our impromptu reunion rather than what lay ahead.
Church was steering the custodian like a parent would a baby stroller. We got Stiffie into the transport. Wait, let me rethink that, sounds like we got an excited frat boy in there with us. The Stiff-ster? Still a no. Stuckie…? that’ll work. We got Stuckie into the car. It was almost like Weekend at Bernie’s but we had to be more careful about how we manipulated his body.
Church had an expression on his face like a dog that knew it was going to the park. I’d love to say that I was that enthusiastic; I wasn’t. Had a rough idea of what we needed to do, and none of it involved an exit strategy. Unless, of course, we could find more processors to shove into our enemies. Seemed like an unwieldy weapon requiring a certain amount of cooperation from one’s opponent.
Like any technologically advanced society, they were weakest at the infrastructure points. If we could knock out their grid, comms, and their internet, they would be ripe for the picking, and therein lay our problem. Who was going to do the picking? We weren’t spies sent in on a clandestine mission before the shock and awe of ground troops and air support swooped in; we were, unfortunately, the whole enchilada, and we might as well have been the vegan choice. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just not as toothy, perhaps. I told Bob what I thought would be the most vulnerable spots that would do the most damage. He thought upon them. The problem was, anything we did would only be a temporary pain to them. We could slow the machine, possibly even get it to halt for a while, but once we were taken care of, and by taken care of, I mean dead, they could do repairs and be up to their usual asshole selves pretty quickly. Bob was vetoing every suggestion I had, like my wife usually did with every harebrained thing I’d come up with over the years. I generally listened; most likely saved my life a few times over.
“Milk.”
“Seriously? We’re going back to this mode of communication? Okay, I get more can be delivered with less chance of a translation loss, but you do realize that anything I don’t understand from you, I fill in the blanks, right? And, oh man, Bob, you do not want to stumble across any of my Mad Libs books from when I was a kid.”
He had no idea what I was talking about. How could he know about the books that had sentences with blanks that you had to fill in with random nouns, verbs and the like? My finished product generally trailed toward the juvenile humor, I know, it’s a shocker, but there’s the truth.
“Milk.”
“Sorry, Bob, fairly stressed out, here. If you have a better plan, I’m all ears.”
“It is the true creators we must destroy. Is that clear enough?”
“Bob, until you told me about them, I didn’t even know they existed; I figured this food dispenser here was a creator. There is absolutely nothing about them in the databases I’m able to rummage through.”
“Information is power, Milk. The creators are not online because anything can be broken into; you are proof of that. Anything discovered about them could ultimately be used against them.”
“Valid reasoning to a degree,” I said the words but didn’t understand it at all. When one has a vast library, makes no sense not to use it. Bob must have picked up on my questions.
“Creators are vastly different from mortal beings, such as us.”
“Wait, they
’re not mortal?”
“Not in the sense you understand.”
“Can they be killed?”
“…In a manner.”
“I love when we get crystal clear. You know, otherwise, this is like looking through a puddle of mud with a dirty straw.”
“As you have already realized, creators are more along the lines of what your species call ‘gods.’”
“What does your species call them?”
“Advanced beings. The information you can gather through your unusual means is all for the sake of the custodians and, to a much lesser extent, the whistlers.”
“So, killing custodians and ripping through their technology is useless?”
“No, it is still very much necessary. It is, however, only a means to an end.”
Church clapped his hands together loudly. “Kill,” he about sang out.
The custodian with us was turning an angry shade of red; could have been from pain, or he could have been following our conversation. I’d imagine if someone came to my world saying they were going to kill my gods, I’d be upset. Although, if they started with Poena, I wouldn’t be too upset.
“You know what, man?” I told our reddening passenger, “If you weren’t so intent on destroying the rest of us, we wouldn’t be here trying to figure out how to stop you.”
“You will fail.” It was a high-pitched whine, like something a boiling over teapot might make. Even in as much pain as it was in, I still did not, at all, like the confidence with which it delivered those words. Yeah, I knew how bad our chances were; didn’t want to or need to be reminded about it.
“You know where to go?” I asked Bob. We, as of yet, had not left our captive’s abode.
“Milk.”
My mood, which had already been on the shelf for too long, was rapidly heading to souring. He knew roughly the area. Made sense; how much information could he have on them? My guess, any humans that had climbed Mount Olympus to view the gods had not lived long enough to talk about it. Similar situation here.
