Hey everyone,
Here's a short story I've been working on. Was kind of hoping to enter it on a CGA contest, but... I blew WAY past the 500 word limit! Hope you guys like it. There's violence in it, so stay away if that kind of stuff offends you. I'd like to hear any comments you guys have.
I'm hoping to submit it to Asimovs Science Fiction Magazine. It looks like it's the most reputable place to get noticed.
Look forward to your thoughts!
TJ
****** Updated 12/12/06 for content and grammer/spelling *******
December 11, 2027
Shirley,
We just found what we were looking for (If I told you what it was, I’d have to kill you *laughs*). I don’t know how it works, but we’ve managed to travel 60 million light-years in just under 2 months. Oops! That’s classified too. Don’t tell anyone. No one else on this boat knows but me, although it’s not like I have anyone to tell. I haven’t managed to get more than a few words from anyone. They don’t like me. I tried talking to an older fellow about some old movies. He looked at me like I was stupid when I mentioned the Matrix.
Whatever. It’s not my fault I’m their boss and young enough to be their son. If I had met you just a month later I’d have graduated as a marine. Marines work a quarter of the time their on leave, the opposite for commanders. I’d be with you know if I was a marine. Sorry, I know I’ve complained about this before. It’s why I’ve held of sending you letters until now. You know, sweetheart, every wife worries about her husband. Just remember I was at the top of my class in Combat, as well as Command. If I get in trouble, I’ll be able to get out of it.
Your hunk misses you. Wish you were here with a bottle of wine to enjoy the scenery. Give my love to the kids, and you know you always have mine.
Mike
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The warning siren rang loudly over the PA. “Battle imminent. All personnel report to battle stations immediately.” Abruptly, the prerecorded message was cut out, replaced by a rough, low-pitched voice. “Alright, you women. These fools think they can mess with the IF? HA! Show ‘em no mercy.” It was Jare, one of the 500 or so Generals of the International Fleet. Although this specific squadron was 99% men, he felt the need to hand out insults.
Colonel Michael Grash sighed heavily. That fool was going to get them all killed. He took one last look at the picture of his family. Love you, Shirley. Her warm brown hair and dancing eyes made him smile.
“What are we supposed to do?” One of the newest pilots asked. Grash glanced out the windows of the command center. The beautiful picture of the blue and green planet seemed so earthlike. “Our job is to wait for the General to realize his stupidity, and order us to turn this ship around.”
“You fresh meat are all the same. Think you got all the answers,” said Chester, the old man in the corner. “Back in my day, such disrespect would get you iced.” He hawked a loogie into a nearby trash can and puffed a cigarette. Grash shrunk his face at the smell, coughing gently.
A sudden rumble ran throughout the entire ship. Buttons and lights flashed wildly. Hazard lights and alarms rang, instilling panic amongst the crew.
“What was that?” Grash shouted, trying to figure out the mess of warnings on his holoscreen. It was hard to concentrate after just being in his quiet paradise.
“Thrusters A and B, destroyed,” one replied grimly.
“Sir, incoming missiles.” Another interrupted. “Class unknown, but they’re big,” Speaking with a British accent, Grash immediately knew it was Duke.
“How big?”
“Very big.”
“Phillips,” Grash yelled. The man was in charge of defenses, “Fire the ‘Angry Wife.’” The Angry Wife was the connotation of the HPLC - hybrid pulse laser cannon. It’d burn a hole in any material big enough to walk through. Rumor’s said its designer was killed by his wife due to his obsession with the weapon, hence the name.
“Firing.” A moment passed. “Sir, they must know something we don’t. All attacks are being refracted.”
Grash furrowed his brow. “Fire the LG500R.” The Laser Guided Half Meter Rocket was an older weapon, but still one of their most powerful. Not knowing what they were up against, the Colonel knew it necessary to do whatever it took to keep the remaining thrusters intact, even overkill. He was the only one who knew how important it really was. 60 million light-years was a long way to drift home.
“Firing.”
Grash waited several seconds. “Sergeant. News?”
“I don’t know. The computers, I…” Voice trailing off, Grash leapt to his location.
“Switch to live feed.” The cameras on the rear of the cruiser powered up. As soon as it did, those peeking around the Colonel gasped in horror. The oncoming rockets seemed to burst apart into small chains, swung around the attacking LG500Rs, only to pull themselves back around again. Grash gulped. Reaching for a support bar, he yelled. “Men, brace for impact.”
Rumbles shook all over the ship once more. The vibrated violently. More hazard lights blinked. Alarms beeped. The overhead lights snapped off abruptly, powered back on seconds later by the generators. Immediately, the crew burst into action, accessing problems and yelling over comms, trying to establish a link with the engineers. Little did they know their mistake.
CRASH!
Another impact blew half the crew to the ceiling. Others were viciously thrown across the room, landing with a rough thud into the wall. Grash barely beat the blow, holding on to the same support bar with all his might. “What in the heck was that?” He yelled loudly. The few Sergeants who had been strapped into their seats gave him a glance and shrugged.
Phillips tapped his keyboard. Grash could compare him to a little child with a wooden hammer, trying to pound the square block through the circular hole. “A glitch in the LG500R. Whatever their attack did, it tricked our missile to follow suit.”
The words stung his pride and heart. Those engines were their hope. All was lost. They were never getting home. A knot grew in his throat. Shirley. Stifling his emotions, he focused his pain on the matter at hand. Maybe there was still hope.
“Find out the status of the rest of the ship.” Grash glanced around the room. “Chester!” He called out. No one replied. A man nearby stood up and walked over to a body and checked for a pulse. Grash felt his mouth go dry.
“Colonel, I think he’s gone.”
Grash cursed himself. It didn’t matter that he was a waste of space. It was his fault he was dead. Poor Chester. “Alright, then you come here.” The man came hastily. Looking to be in his mid forties, he was a good twenty years older than Grash. “Rank and name.”
The man snapped to attention. “Warrant Officer Jetson. Specialist in computer systems, SIR!” His eyes straight ahead. Grash already knew his name and qualifications. Beyond a reasonable doubt, he was the one of the most valuable men here. Jailed for two years at the age of fourteen for hacking into the IF’s mainframe, he claimed all he wanted to do was download the ship models for a computer game. Given an ultimatum, jail or the service, he chose the ladder, excelling to his position today.
“Jetson. Escort these hurt men to Health Bay. Double-time.”
“Sir, yes SIR!”
“Phillips, news?”
“General Jare is on comm channel 36.”
Terrific. “Patch him through.” Maybe I can pretend I’m deaf…?
“Are you completely stupid?” Grash winced. “Nearly a quarter of my men were killed from that attack. Do you realize that?”
“Sir. With all due respect, how could I have seen that com-”
“You are a complete imbecile. As of today I am relieving you of your command. You are no longer worth grits to the IF. Get. Off. My. Ship.” With a click, the comm ended. Grash coughed, and thought nothing more of it.
“What’d he say?” Phillips asked.
“He wants to have my babies.” The crew laughed.
“Incoming ships from the northeast.” A man shouted. It was Wilkins. “Signature unknown. Assumed hostile.” Grash ran to the font of the room, glancing out the windows. A long line of blue, bus-shaped crafts flew to the sides of the Turbulent. Three large circular discolorations hung on the side of each. “Sonic and x-ray analysis show those three disks are release hatches. Behind each are pods of some type. We can’t see their architecture due to distance restraints.”
“Duke, prepare to launch the escape hatches.” The statement earned an are-you-off-your-rocker stare from the entire crew. He paid them no mind. Not like they’ll be useful anyway.
“I can’t. I… I don’t know. They are remotely fired. Aren’t they?”
“Figure out a way.” Gulping, the man nodded, punching more figures into the keyboard. Seconds later, he got up and ran full speed out of the room. Grash hoped it wasn’t to throw up.
Jetson returned. “Sir, the men will be fixed up shortly.” As expected. Recent medical advances have been miraculous.
“That’s good to hear. Now, I need your help. We’re going to fire a few escape pods at their ships. Our guns obviously don’t do the trick.” Grash punched a few figures into a pocket calculator. “Let’s see. 500 escape pods, 5,000 men, quarter of ‘em dead,” he spoke nonchalantly. “Let’s just say 100. Leave two ships between ‘bullets.’”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult. The operation is hidden by a wave of firewalls, but I’ve got a huge bucket of water.” He grinned and jumped to his computer.
“Phillips, tell Duke to get back here.”
“Preparing to fire in T minus twenty…” Jetson shouted loudly. “Ninteen.”
“Do they have the right trajectory for impact?”
“Of course sir. Do I look like Duke?” The crew chuckled again. “Fifteen…”
“Alright everyone. This will catch them off guard. Man your positions. Ready defenses, missiles, guns, bombs, whatever it is that you do. See to it that it is done correctly.”
“Seven… six… five…”
Grash leapt back up to his command post, taking a quick look at his family picture. I’m trying, hun. Popping the camera pictures back on his holoscreen, he finished counting down. “Two… one…”
Bright orange explosions lined all around the cruisers sides. Small steel needles burst forth, stabbing directly into the large blue busses that surrounded them so tightly. Shredding them in two, they began drifting dumbly toward the planet by gravity - as useful as a band aid in a pool. Lasting scantly half a minute, the attack went well. But watching the garbage float to the planet made him think. The Turbulent only had its emergency boosters left, nothing powerful enough to bring them home. Eventually, their power would run out. Would they drift aimlessly to the surface as well?
That is, if they managed to survive the enemy’s attack. Who was the enemy? It didn’t matter. They attacked first. The IF had to defend itself. Then again, they had sent a sort of warning. You are not welcome here. Of course, Jare didn’t think twice. He was glory and blood hungry, a terrible combination.
“Sir. Something is happening.”
“What is it?”
Phillips pressed a few buttons. A bubble appeared on Grash’s screen, focused on the three discolored disks. “They’re changing.” Slowly, the discoloration grew brighter. With surprise, they exploded, returning fire with their own black needles.
“SHIELDS!” He yelled. In a fraction of a second, the fuzzy teal shield snapped on, smoothing out to its slick transparent form. No use. The black needles pierced right through. More alarms. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! “Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Foreign life forms present.” The message cycled. Grash waited for the General’s voice to take over again. It didn’t.
… click…
The Colonel opened the emergency cabinets at the ends of the rooms, revealing a cache of weapons and armor. The room immediately buzzed with panic. “Relax. We aren’t trained for combat and I don’t expect you to want to jump out there and join the battle. However, you all need to put the vests on.” Slowly they got up. Sarcastically he added, “Yeah sure, let’s take our time.” They sped up.
Duke finally returned. His face word a distinct shade of green. “Sorry sir. I, eh…”
“Yeah. Whatever. Get a vest and get back to your station.” Note to self, don’t trust Duke with anything. Once they were back in their seats, he told them to ready themselves again. “Nothing has come out of those capsules yet. Be ready.” He coughed. “Wilkins. What’s inside?”
“Thermoscans show us seven distinct heat signatures per pod. However, x-rays show us 6 bodies. Pulling up initial scans now.”
Grash analyzed them quickly. Judging just on their silhouettes, they looked like bugs. “Well gentlemen, looks like we’ve got some bugs from a nuclear fallout area.” A few laughed. He wished he had a better picture to truly see what they were up against. Without one, he could do little, and hope for the best.
“They’re opening,” Jetson called.
With a bout of mist and a powerful crash, the tips flew off. At first nothing happened. Then the Colonel felt his hands grow numb. In a lightning quick second, the entire room grew deathly cold, all a result of what was on the screen.
Them.
Three roughly human-shaped beings led the way. Hunched over slightly, their red-fleshed, slimy backs gave way to a beastly head. Mouths open, vicious mandibles danced back and forth. Large defensive scales covered portions of their body, covering anything but their trident tail. It almost looked as though they would be pests to the devil himself. Despite their haunting appearance, they still held weapons. At least for the men in this room, the looks were nearly enough to kill.
Following the three came two smaller beings, about half the first’s height. They looked like slugs with arms and feet. Two eyes stuck out of their orange bodies. They too held weapons, two pistols. One glowed blue and the other brown. Different from the first was that they wore blue armor.
One last creature walked from the doorway, startling everyone. Gasping all at once, it was as though they formed a vacuum in the room. It looked genuinely human. Dressed in a skintight blue suit, he had no weapons. Humans? Was this a cival war? Who exactly was this enemy?
“I thought you said there were seven of them.”
“There are. Or, there were. I don’t know. The heat source, it just disappeared.”
“Marines are entering the hallways, Colonel.” Phillips said. “Pulling up video now.”
“Ready the turrets.” Grash said loudly. Sixteen of the guns’ cameras lined a four by four rectangle on his screen. Watching closely, he examined the creatures more. They were overly confident. And what about the human? It just boggled his mind. It made no sense.
The first gunfire startled him. Blue blood poured like water. Bullets tore their flesh in half quickly. It looked like it was going to be a quick battle when suddenly, the camera’s picture disappeared into static. “Where’s my picture?” Grash yelled.
“All cameras have been destroyed. No matter, I think…” Jetson was biting his lip. “Yes. Putting up sonic imaging now. Cross referencing with thermoscans. We’ll be able to watch the battle in 3D.” Seconds later, the image appeared on Grash’s screen. He watched closely.
Marines tore through the enemy quickly, often leaving a spray of warm blood on the ground. Just when he thought the battle was over, the tides began changing. Marines began exploding in a shower of cold particles. Random men began falling dead. The enemy’s human troops did nothing but watch.
“Sir.” It was Wilkins. “I’m showing activity in Life Support. They’re trying to cut our oxygen.”
“Phillips, patch me to the General.”
“Channel 36.” He chirped back.
As soon as Grash clicked in, the General yelled. “What do you want?”
“Sir. Bogeys at Life Support. They look like they’re trying to cut our Oxygen supply.”
“Then you fix it. We’ve got our hands full. These critters have got quite a punch.” Grash could hear explosions and gunfire in the background.
“With all due respect, I’m not qualified for field work.”
“What makes you think I care?” More gunfire. “Get it done.” The transmission ended.
Gulp.
Shivers ran up his spine. He felt his breath shake. I’ve got to stay competent in front of my men. I can do this. There and back, no problem. “Men. I’m going for a walk,” he said, picking up a battle rifle, the Gutter. “Jetson, congratulations. You’ve been promoted to First Lieutenant.” He stood up and saluted. “I’ll be on 7. Watch my back and walk me through what I’ve got to do.” Although the words showed weakness, Grash had no other choice. Hadn’t he read somewhere that a good leader shows an appropriate amount of weakness? It seemed right. In the end, it boiled down to the fact that’d he’d probably kill himself if he went in alone.
“Ay ay, sir.”
7-4-4-3-6-9-2. After punching the password, he put in his thumb print. Now no one could enter without the password, just another precaution. If necessary, Jetson could override it.
Grash examined the gun while he walked the first hallway. It felt comfortable in his hands, almost too comfortable. The Gutter, short for the BR15ES, it shot 15mm explosive shell rounds. Upon impact, they had a couple millisecond fuse before they exploded inside the enemy, gutting them with shrapnel. Vicious little buggers.
“Hang a right,” Jetson called through the comm. “Stop at the end of the hall.” Grash did so. “Two bogies down the hall to the left. Scans show them to be the tall guys.” He coughed. “You know, we really need to think of a name for this species. We can’t keep calling them ‘the guys.’”
“Thoughts? Anybody?” Grash asked, body pressed against the wall. He peeked around the corners. Sure enough, two of the tall guys were there, armed. Names came quickly.
“Aliens.”
“Insectoids.”
“Al-Qaeda.” He nearly laughed.
Wow, my people are lame. “The Guardians.” Grash tossed out.
“The Guardians?”
“Well, they’re obviously guarding something, or else they wouldn’t be trying to kill us.” No one argued. “It sounds pretty epic, too.”
“Alright, the Guardians.”
“What about the tall guys?” No one spoke. “Come on. I’m not that creative.” Still no one spoke. Grash sniffed the air. It smelt clean. “An old Chinese proverb comes to mind. ‘While the big fish may gurgle louder than the little fish…’ Wait no. That’s not how it goes. Eh, it’s something about… I… uh…” He sighed. “Just give me some freaking names!”
“Drakes, like the red dragon,” someone suggested.
“Sounds good to me,” Grash said back. “I can see the headlines now. Guardian Drakes killed by hero Colonel.” He laughed.
“You should be a reporter.”
He rubbed his face. Day old whiskers clawed his skin. “I’d rather die in combat.” Stabilizing his breath, he tried to remember his combat training. Despite his excellence, it still seemed foggy. Could he do this?
And then it hit him. He was stalling. Idiot. Giving himself no time to think, he snapped into action. Spinning past the wall, he ran at full speed toward the Drakes. Alerted quickly, the two about-faced to the sound of his footsteps. Growling, they cocked their guns and fired.
… Zerp… Zerp zerp…
Their thin green blasts reflected around the corridor. Bounding off the wall, Grash aimed his gun, and shot.
BANG! BANG!
He missed.
After a few more shorts, it came back to him. With perfect accuracy, the bullets penetrated the Drake’s foreheads, exploding upon entry into a firework of shrapnel, blood, and brain matter. The air was colored blue. Seconds later, they fell to the ground, dead.
Grash crouched. Holding his breath, he waited for any sudden movements.
“… wow…” He barely heard Jetson over his own heartbeat. “Dang, Colonel where’d you learn how to do that?”
Ignoring the disrespectful slang, he grinned. “That was instinct.” Sadly, there was no time to celebrate.
“You’ve got three bogies coming down the right hallway. They’re the slugs.”
The small guys. Looks like his First Lieutenant was smarter than he thought. “Slugs? I like your creative ambition.”
“Yeah, the thing about the fish. Right?”
Grash laughed. “Sure.”
Diving across the corridor, he fired a haze of bullets at the little creatures. Squealing like helium filled, 8-year old girls, they returned fire, missing Grash by inches. Firing blindly down the hall, he heard the gushing splatter of death. One of them whistled and began fleeing. Leaning, he popped off two quick shots. Exploding the same as the first, green stains drenched the walls.
Grash wiped his brow and cracked his knuckles. Looting the bodies, he picked up what looked to be a grenade, as well as their two pistols. He fired one at the wall. Brown, it left a dent in the tough metal. The blue one seemed to freeze it. “These Guardians are smarter than we thought.”
“What do you mean?” Grash explained the guns. “They are probably intended to freeze then shatter their victims. Try it out. You’ve got a lone enemy up ahead. Looks like the human one.” Feeling confident, he swung the Gutter around his back, holding the pistols in his hands. They were a little small, but still wieldable. “Watch out for these guys. Scans show they’re the hardest to kill. And Colonel,” he paused, “It looks like we’re losing the battle.”
Grash gulped. That’s not what he wanted to hear. Not only was Grash inexperienced in real combat, but he was nervous as puppy in a slaughterhouse. If everyone else was losing, he was just getting lucky. “Lieutenant?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep that kind of crap to yourself.”
“Uh… yes, sir.”
Stepping carefully, he avoided the slug’s slippery remains. It smelt like a mix between sweat and rotten eggs. Nearly passing out, he sped up.
Around the hallway walked the lone Guardian. Although he only stuck his head out, it was enough to be seen. It immediately began charging. Grash panicked. Adrenaline forced him to his feet. Firing the guns, the enemy showed its true colors. It wasn’t human in the least bit.
Hands transitioning to a metallic color, they liquefied and formed a shield, absorbing the blast. Grash fired more, rapidly. No luck. The beautiful image of Shirley flashed before his eyes. He had to fight for her. Discarding the useless weapons, he shuffled backwards and ran a ways down the corridor.
CRUNCH!
The creatures liquid arms extended into a sword. Barely missing its target, the sword burst through the corridor wall. BR15ES rounds shot in the enemy’s path but he absorbed it like a sponge.
Panic.
There was nowhere else to go. He turned around and ran full speed down the rest of the corridor, leaping over the dead slugs.
CRUNCH! CRASH!
More of the attacks missed as Grash jumped from side to side. Eyeing his last hope, he dove for the Drake’s gun, turned around and fired wildly, screaming a final battle cry. The green bullets fired wildly, but he didn’t see. Eyes shut, he waited for the quick stab of death.
… click… click… click…
The gun was out of ammo. Opening his eyes, he was overjoyed. The beast melted to the ground in a pool of liquid metal. Sighing into the microphone, he rested on the ground. That was too close.
“Shape-shifters?” Asked a shaky voice.
Grash stayed quiet. Leaning back, he couldn’t believe what just happened. Despite the horror, he couldn’t help but laugh. Shape-shifters? Who spits out a name like that after a close rush with death. “Yes, shape-shifters. Except that name blows.”
“Cheedas?”
“Cheetahs?”
“Sort of. It’s a play on words. Cheetah’s are fast, and this thing nearly had you for dinner.”
“Sure. Cheedas.”
The tension broke over the comm. Jetson informed him the rest of the path was clear. He picked up the second of the Drakes’ guns, and held it tightly despite its awkward grip. Minutes later, he was just a hallway down from life support. A gate sealed it off. A whole brigade of the Guardians fired into the steal barrier, trying to blow their way through.
“I thought you said the path was clear.”
“It was. That’s the destination.”
Smart-alec. “How much time does that door have left?”
“Two minutes,” replied Phillips.
“Fourty seconds,” corrected Jetson. “Major fractures along the grain. If you’re going to do anything, do it now.”
The grenade.
Fumbling for the small sphere, he messed around with the four separate buttons. Nothing seemed to work. “Help!” He yelled over the comm.
“Analyzing.” Jetson paused. “It’s all in a code I’ve never seen. It makes no sense. I…”
“Forget it.” With all his might, Grash tossed the grenade down the hall. It slid right in the middle. “Aim, be true.” Firing the Drake’s gun, the blast hit the grenade dead on. With a wild explosion of black light, everyone disappeared. Glancing back, even the door was gone. “What just happened?”
No one replied, only a quiet cough.
Examining ground zero, the air tasted like burnt steak. But there was nothing there. Everything was gone, it made no sense. Not having the time to figure it out, he entered Life Support, taking a deep breath. The air always smelt the best when it first came out. “Now what?”
“Go to the terminal. Type in exactly what I say.” Jetson read off a series of commands. Seconds later, a blinking box reading Locked flashed across the screen. “That’s exactly what you want to see. Now all they can do is blow it to smithereens. Unfortunately, it’d take the whole ship with it. It’s a special tungsten alloy. It’s designed to be nearly impenetrable.”
“So, am I done here?”
“Yes.”
“Great, then I’m coming home.” Grash was eager to get back to the safety of his command center. While combat had its perks, commanding was his true talent. And the possibility of dying wasn’t a very fun thought either.
“Your path is clear. You should encounter no problems. Stay safe, big fish.” Grash laughed at his new nickname. He didn’t like it, but he felt included. Friends give friends nicknames. He had a friend. Two months had not been for naught. With a skip to his step, he began walking quickly back. The giddiness didn’t last long. “Oh no.” Grash heard a faint thud in the background. Several bangs followed. “They’re here. Colonel! They’re right outside the door!”
“How many?”
“All of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sir. 95% of the marines have been killed. It’s only us left. You’ve got troops heading your way, from behind. They’re a few minutes away, but the fact is they’ve won.”
The words felt like poison in his stomach. How could this have happened? Everyone? Dead? “Keep it together, soldier. I’m on my way. We’re getting of this ship, alive.” Loading a fresh clip, he ran full force ahead. “I’m on my way.”
© 2006 TJ
Here's a short story I've been working on. Was kind of hoping to enter it on a CGA contest, but... I blew WAY past the 500 word limit! Hope you guys like it. There's violence in it, so stay away if that kind of stuff offends you. I'd like to hear any comments you guys have.
I'm hoping to submit it to Asimovs Science Fiction Magazine. It looks like it's the most reputable place to get noticed.
Look forward to your thoughts!
TJ
****** Updated 12/12/06 for content and grammer/spelling *******
December 11, 2027
Shirley,
We just found what we were looking for (If I told you what it was, I’d have to kill you *laughs*). I don’t know how it works, but we’ve managed to travel 60 million light-years in just under 2 months. Oops! That’s classified too. Don’t tell anyone. No one else on this boat knows but me, although it’s not like I have anyone to tell. I haven’t managed to get more than a few words from anyone. They don’t like me. I tried talking to an older fellow about some old movies. He looked at me like I was stupid when I mentioned the Matrix.
Whatever. It’s not my fault I’m their boss and young enough to be their son. If I had met you just a month later I’d have graduated as a marine. Marines work a quarter of the time their on leave, the opposite for commanders. I’d be with you know if I was a marine. Sorry, I know I’ve complained about this before. It’s why I’ve held of sending you letters until now. You know, sweetheart, every wife worries about her husband. Just remember I was at the top of my class in Combat, as well as Command. If I get in trouble, I’ll be able to get out of it.
Your hunk misses you. Wish you were here with a bottle of wine to enjoy the scenery. Give my love to the kids, and you know you always have mine.
Mike
--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! The warning siren rang loudly over the PA. “Battle imminent. All personnel report to battle stations immediately.” Abruptly, the prerecorded message was cut out, replaced by a rough, low-pitched voice. “Alright, you women. These fools think they can mess with the IF? HA! Show ‘em no mercy.” It was Jare, one of the 500 or so Generals of the International Fleet. Although this specific squadron was 99% men, he felt the need to hand out insults.
Colonel Michael Grash sighed heavily. That fool was going to get them all killed. He took one last look at the picture of his family. Love you, Shirley. Her warm brown hair and dancing eyes made him smile.
“What are we supposed to do?” One of the newest pilots asked. Grash glanced out the windows of the command center. The beautiful picture of the blue and green planet seemed so earthlike. “Our job is to wait for the General to realize his stupidity, and order us to turn this ship around.”
“You fresh meat are all the same. Think you got all the answers,” said Chester, the old man in the corner. “Back in my day, such disrespect would get you iced.” He hawked a loogie into a nearby trash can and puffed a cigarette. Grash shrunk his face at the smell, coughing gently.
A sudden rumble ran throughout the entire ship. Buttons and lights flashed wildly. Hazard lights and alarms rang, instilling panic amongst the crew.
“What was that?” Grash shouted, trying to figure out the mess of warnings on his holoscreen. It was hard to concentrate after just being in his quiet paradise.
“Thrusters A and B, destroyed,” one replied grimly.
“Sir, incoming missiles.” Another interrupted. “Class unknown, but they’re big,” Speaking with a British accent, Grash immediately knew it was Duke.
“How big?”
“Very big.”
“Phillips,” Grash yelled. The man was in charge of defenses, “Fire the ‘Angry Wife.’” The Angry Wife was the connotation of the HPLC - hybrid pulse laser cannon. It’d burn a hole in any material big enough to walk through. Rumor’s said its designer was killed by his wife due to his obsession with the weapon, hence the name.
“Firing.” A moment passed. “Sir, they must know something we don’t. All attacks are being refracted.”
Grash furrowed his brow. “Fire the LG500R.” The Laser Guided Half Meter Rocket was an older weapon, but still one of their most powerful. Not knowing what they were up against, the Colonel knew it necessary to do whatever it took to keep the remaining thrusters intact, even overkill. He was the only one who knew how important it really was. 60 million light-years was a long way to drift home.
“Firing.”
Grash waited several seconds. “Sergeant. News?”
“I don’t know. The computers, I…” Voice trailing off, Grash leapt to his location.
“Switch to live feed.” The cameras on the rear of the cruiser powered up. As soon as it did, those peeking around the Colonel gasped in horror. The oncoming rockets seemed to burst apart into small chains, swung around the attacking LG500Rs, only to pull themselves back around again. Grash gulped. Reaching for a support bar, he yelled. “Men, brace for impact.”
Rumbles shook all over the ship once more. The vibrated violently. More hazard lights blinked. Alarms beeped. The overhead lights snapped off abruptly, powered back on seconds later by the generators. Immediately, the crew burst into action, accessing problems and yelling over comms, trying to establish a link with the engineers. Little did they know their mistake.
CRASH!
Another impact blew half the crew to the ceiling. Others were viciously thrown across the room, landing with a rough thud into the wall. Grash barely beat the blow, holding on to the same support bar with all his might. “What in the heck was that?” He yelled loudly. The few Sergeants who had been strapped into their seats gave him a glance and shrugged.
Phillips tapped his keyboard. Grash could compare him to a little child with a wooden hammer, trying to pound the square block through the circular hole. “A glitch in the LG500R. Whatever their attack did, it tricked our missile to follow suit.”
The words stung his pride and heart. Those engines were their hope. All was lost. They were never getting home. A knot grew in his throat. Shirley. Stifling his emotions, he focused his pain on the matter at hand. Maybe there was still hope.
“Find out the status of the rest of the ship.” Grash glanced around the room. “Chester!” He called out. No one replied. A man nearby stood up and walked over to a body and checked for a pulse. Grash felt his mouth go dry.
“Colonel, I think he’s gone.”
Grash cursed himself. It didn’t matter that he was a waste of space. It was his fault he was dead. Poor Chester. “Alright, then you come here.” The man came hastily. Looking to be in his mid forties, he was a good twenty years older than Grash. “Rank and name.”
The man snapped to attention. “Warrant Officer Jetson. Specialist in computer systems, SIR!” His eyes straight ahead. Grash already knew his name and qualifications. Beyond a reasonable doubt, he was the one of the most valuable men here. Jailed for two years at the age of fourteen for hacking into the IF’s mainframe, he claimed all he wanted to do was download the ship models for a computer game. Given an ultimatum, jail or the service, he chose the ladder, excelling to his position today.
“Jetson. Escort these hurt men to Health Bay. Double-time.”
“Sir, yes SIR!”
“Phillips, news?”
“General Jare is on comm channel 36.”
Terrific. “Patch him through.” Maybe I can pretend I’m deaf…?
“Are you completely stupid?” Grash winced. “Nearly a quarter of my men were killed from that attack. Do you realize that?”
“Sir. With all due respect, how could I have seen that com-”
“You are a complete imbecile. As of today I am relieving you of your command. You are no longer worth grits to the IF. Get. Off. My. Ship.” With a click, the comm ended. Grash coughed, and thought nothing more of it.
“What’d he say?” Phillips asked.
“He wants to have my babies.” The crew laughed.
“Incoming ships from the northeast.” A man shouted. It was Wilkins. “Signature unknown. Assumed hostile.” Grash ran to the font of the room, glancing out the windows. A long line of blue, bus-shaped crafts flew to the sides of the Turbulent. Three large circular discolorations hung on the side of each. “Sonic and x-ray analysis show those three disks are release hatches. Behind each are pods of some type. We can’t see their architecture due to distance restraints.”
“Duke, prepare to launch the escape hatches.” The statement earned an are-you-off-your-rocker stare from the entire crew. He paid them no mind. Not like they’ll be useful anyway.
“I can’t. I… I don’t know. They are remotely fired. Aren’t they?”
“Figure out a way.” Gulping, the man nodded, punching more figures into the keyboard. Seconds later, he got up and ran full speed out of the room. Grash hoped it wasn’t to throw up.
Jetson returned. “Sir, the men will be fixed up shortly.” As expected. Recent medical advances have been miraculous.
“That’s good to hear. Now, I need your help. We’re going to fire a few escape pods at their ships. Our guns obviously don’t do the trick.” Grash punched a few figures into a pocket calculator. “Let’s see. 500 escape pods, 5,000 men, quarter of ‘em dead,” he spoke nonchalantly. “Let’s just say 100. Leave two ships between ‘bullets.’”
“Shouldn’t be too difficult. The operation is hidden by a wave of firewalls, but I’ve got a huge bucket of water.” He grinned and jumped to his computer.
“Phillips, tell Duke to get back here.”
“Preparing to fire in T minus twenty…” Jetson shouted loudly. “Ninteen.”
“Do they have the right trajectory for impact?”
“Of course sir. Do I look like Duke?” The crew chuckled again. “Fifteen…”
“Alright everyone. This will catch them off guard. Man your positions. Ready defenses, missiles, guns, bombs, whatever it is that you do. See to it that it is done correctly.”
“Seven… six… five…”
Grash leapt back up to his command post, taking a quick look at his family picture. I’m trying, hun. Popping the camera pictures back on his holoscreen, he finished counting down. “Two… one…”
Bright orange explosions lined all around the cruisers sides. Small steel needles burst forth, stabbing directly into the large blue busses that surrounded them so tightly. Shredding them in two, they began drifting dumbly toward the planet by gravity - as useful as a band aid in a pool. Lasting scantly half a minute, the attack went well. But watching the garbage float to the planet made him think. The Turbulent only had its emergency boosters left, nothing powerful enough to bring them home. Eventually, their power would run out. Would they drift aimlessly to the surface as well?
That is, if they managed to survive the enemy’s attack. Who was the enemy? It didn’t matter. They attacked first. The IF had to defend itself. Then again, they had sent a sort of warning. You are not welcome here. Of course, Jare didn’t think twice. He was glory and blood hungry, a terrible combination.
“Sir. Something is happening.”
“What is it?”
Phillips pressed a few buttons. A bubble appeared on Grash’s screen, focused on the three discolored disks. “They’re changing.” Slowly, the discoloration grew brighter. With surprise, they exploded, returning fire with their own black needles.
“SHIELDS!” He yelled. In a fraction of a second, the fuzzy teal shield snapped on, smoothing out to its slick transparent form. No use. The black needles pierced right through. More alarms. BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! “Intruder alert. Intruder alert. Foreign life forms present.” The message cycled. Grash waited for the General’s voice to take over again. It didn’t.
… click…
The Colonel opened the emergency cabinets at the ends of the rooms, revealing a cache of weapons and armor. The room immediately buzzed with panic. “Relax. We aren’t trained for combat and I don’t expect you to want to jump out there and join the battle. However, you all need to put the vests on.” Slowly they got up. Sarcastically he added, “Yeah sure, let’s take our time.” They sped up.
Duke finally returned. His face word a distinct shade of green. “Sorry sir. I, eh…”
“Yeah. Whatever. Get a vest and get back to your station.” Note to self, don’t trust Duke with anything. Once they were back in their seats, he told them to ready themselves again. “Nothing has come out of those capsules yet. Be ready.” He coughed. “Wilkins. What’s inside?”
“Thermoscans show us seven distinct heat signatures per pod. However, x-rays show us 6 bodies. Pulling up initial scans now.”
Grash analyzed them quickly. Judging just on their silhouettes, they looked like bugs. “Well gentlemen, looks like we’ve got some bugs from a nuclear fallout area.” A few laughed. He wished he had a better picture to truly see what they were up against. Without one, he could do little, and hope for the best.
“They’re opening,” Jetson called.
With a bout of mist and a powerful crash, the tips flew off. At first nothing happened. Then the Colonel felt his hands grow numb. In a lightning quick second, the entire room grew deathly cold, all a result of what was on the screen.
Them.
Three roughly human-shaped beings led the way. Hunched over slightly, their red-fleshed, slimy backs gave way to a beastly head. Mouths open, vicious mandibles danced back and forth. Large defensive scales covered portions of their body, covering anything but their trident tail. It almost looked as though they would be pests to the devil himself. Despite their haunting appearance, they still held weapons. At least for the men in this room, the looks were nearly enough to kill.
Following the three came two smaller beings, about half the first’s height. They looked like slugs with arms and feet. Two eyes stuck out of their orange bodies. They too held weapons, two pistols. One glowed blue and the other brown. Different from the first was that they wore blue armor.
One last creature walked from the doorway, startling everyone. Gasping all at once, it was as though they formed a vacuum in the room. It looked genuinely human. Dressed in a skintight blue suit, he had no weapons. Humans? Was this a cival war? Who exactly was this enemy?
“I thought you said there were seven of them.”
“There are. Or, there were. I don’t know. The heat source, it just disappeared.”
“Marines are entering the hallways, Colonel.” Phillips said. “Pulling up video now.”
“Ready the turrets.” Grash said loudly. Sixteen of the guns’ cameras lined a four by four rectangle on his screen. Watching closely, he examined the creatures more. They were overly confident. And what about the human? It just boggled his mind. It made no sense.
The first gunfire startled him. Blue blood poured like water. Bullets tore their flesh in half quickly. It looked like it was going to be a quick battle when suddenly, the camera’s picture disappeared into static. “Where’s my picture?” Grash yelled.
“All cameras have been destroyed. No matter, I think…” Jetson was biting his lip. “Yes. Putting up sonic imaging now. Cross referencing with thermoscans. We’ll be able to watch the battle in 3D.” Seconds later, the image appeared on Grash’s screen. He watched closely.
Marines tore through the enemy quickly, often leaving a spray of warm blood on the ground. Just when he thought the battle was over, the tides began changing. Marines began exploding in a shower of cold particles. Random men began falling dead. The enemy’s human troops did nothing but watch.
“Sir.” It was Wilkins. “I’m showing activity in Life Support. They’re trying to cut our oxygen.”
“Phillips, patch me to the General.”
“Channel 36.” He chirped back.
As soon as Grash clicked in, the General yelled. “What do you want?”
“Sir. Bogeys at Life Support. They look like they’re trying to cut our Oxygen supply.”
“Then you fix it. We’ve got our hands full. These critters have got quite a punch.” Grash could hear explosions and gunfire in the background.
“With all due respect, I’m not qualified for field work.”
“What makes you think I care?” More gunfire. “Get it done.” The transmission ended.
Gulp.
Shivers ran up his spine. He felt his breath shake. I’ve got to stay competent in front of my men. I can do this. There and back, no problem. “Men. I’m going for a walk,” he said, picking up a battle rifle, the Gutter. “Jetson, congratulations. You’ve been promoted to First Lieutenant.” He stood up and saluted. “I’ll be on 7. Watch my back and walk me through what I’ve got to do.” Although the words showed weakness, Grash had no other choice. Hadn’t he read somewhere that a good leader shows an appropriate amount of weakness? It seemed right. In the end, it boiled down to the fact that’d he’d probably kill himself if he went in alone.
“Ay ay, sir.”
7-4-4-3-6-9-2. After punching the password, he put in his thumb print. Now no one could enter without the password, just another precaution. If necessary, Jetson could override it.
Grash examined the gun while he walked the first hallway. It felt comfortable in his hands, almost too comfortable. The Gutter, short for the BR15ES, it shot 15mm explosive shell rounds. Upon impact, they had a couple millisecond fuse before they exploded inside the enemy, gutting them with shrapnel. Vicious little buggers.
“Hang a right,” Jetson called through the comm. “Stop at the end of the hall.” Grash did so. “Two bogies down the hall to the left. Scans show them to be the tall guys.” He coughed. “You know, we really need to think of a name for this species. We can’t keep calling them ‘the guys.’”
“Thoughts? Anybody?” Grash asked, body pressed against the wall. He peeked around the corners. Sure enough, two of the tall guys were there, armed. Names came quickly.
“Aliens.”
“Insectoids.”
“Al-Qaeda.” He nearly laughed.
Wow, my people are lame. “The Guardians.” Grash tossed out.
“The Guardians?”
“Well, they’re obviously guarding something, or else they wouldn’t be trying to kill us.” No one argued. “It sounds pretty epic, too.”
“Alright, the Guardians.”
“What about the tall guys?” No one spoke. “Come on. I’m not that creative.” Still no one spoke. Grash sniffed the air. It smelt clean. “An old Chinese proverb comes to mind. ‘While the big fish may gurgle louder than the little fish…’ Wait no. That’s not how it goes. Eh, it’s something about… I… uh…” He sighed. “Just give me some freaking names!”
“Drakes, like the red dragon,” someone suggested.
“Sounds good to me,” Grash said back. “I can see the headlines now. Guardian Drakes killed by hero Colonel.” He laughed.
“You should be a reporter.”
He rubbed his face. Day old whiskers clawed his skin. “I’d rather die in combat.” Stabilizing his breath, he tried to remember his combat training. Despite his excellence, it still seemed foggy. Could he do this?
And then it hit him. He was stalling. Idiot. Giving himself no time to think, he snapped into action. Spinning past the wall, he ran at full speed toward the Drakes. Alerted quickly, the two about-faced to the sound of his footsteps. Growling, they cocked their guns and fired.
… Zerp… Zerp zerp…
Their thin green blasts reflected around the corridor. Bounding off the wall, Grash aimed his gun, and shot.
BANG! BANG!
He missed.
After a few more shorts, it came back to him. With perfect accuracy, the bullets penetrated the Drake’s foreheads, exploding upon entry into a firework of shrapnel, blood, and brain matter. The air was colored blue. Seconds later, they fell to the ground, dead.
Grash crouched. Holding his breath, he waited for any sudden movements.
“… wow…” He barely heard Jetson over his own heartbeat. “Dang, Colonel where’d you learn how to do that?”
Ignoring the disrespectful slang, he grinned. “That was instinct.” Sadly, there was no time to celebrate.
“You’ve got three bogies coming down the right hallway. They’re the slugs.”
The small guys. Looks like his First Lieutenant was smarter than he thought. “Slugs? I like your creative ambition.”
“Yeah, the thing about the fish. Right?”
Grash laughed. “Sure.”
Diving across the corridor, he fired a haze of bullets at the little creatures. Squealing like helium filled, 8-year old girls, they returned fire, missing Grash by inches. Firing blindly down the hall, he heard the gushing splatter of death. One of them whistled and began fleeing. Leaning, he popped off two quick shots. Exploding the same as the first, green stains drenched the walls.
Grash wiped his brow and cracked his knuckles. Looting the bodies, he picked up what looked to be a grenade, as well as their two pistols. He fired one at the wall. Brown, it left a dent in the tough metal. The blue one seemed to freeze it. “These Guardians are smarter than we thought.”
“What do you mean?” Grash explained the guns. “They are probably intended to freeze then shatter their victims. Try it out. You’ve got a lone enemy up ahead. Looks like the human one.” Feeling confident, he swung the Gutter around his back, holding the pistols in his hands. They were a little small, but still wieldable. “Watch out for these guys. Scans show they’re the hardest to kill. And Colonel,” he paused, “It looks like we’re losing the battle.”
Grash gulped. That’s not what he wanted to hear. Not only was Grash inexperienced in real combat, but he was nervous as puppy in a slaughterhouse. If everyone else was losing, he was just getting lucky. “Lieutenant?”
“Yeah?”
“Keep that kind of crap to yourself.”
“Uh… yes, sir.”
Stepping carefully, he avoided the slug’s slippery remains. It smelt like a mix between sweat and rotten eggs. Nearly passing out, he sped up.
Around the hallway walked the lone Guardian. Although he only stuck his head out, it was enough to be seen. It immediately began charging. Grash panicked. Adrenaline forced him to his feet. Firing the guns, the enemy showed its true colors. It wasn’t human in the least bit.
Hands transitioning to a metallic color, they liquefied and formed a shield, absorbing the blast. Grash fired more, rapidly. No luck. The beautiful image of Shirley flashed before his eyes. He had to fight for her. Discarding the useless weapons, he shuffled backwards and ran a ways down the corridor.
CRUNCH!
The creatures liquid arms extended into a sword. Barely missing its target, the sword burst through the corridor wall. BR15ES rounds shot in the enemy’s path but he absorbed it like a sponge.
Panic.
There was nowhere else to go. He turned around and ran full speed down the rest of the corridor, leaping over the dead slugs.
CRUNCH! CRASH!
More of the attacks missed as Grash jumped from side to side. Eyeing his last hope, he dove for the Drake’s gun, turned around and fired wildly, screaming a final battle cry. The green bullets fired wildly, but he didn’t see. Eyes shut, he waited for the quick stab of death.
… click… click… click…
The gun was out of ammo. Opening his eyes, he was overjoyed. The beast melted to the ground in a pool of liquid metal. Sighing into the microphone, he rested on the ground. That was too close.
“Shape-shifters?” Asked a shaky voice.
Grash stayed quiet. Leaning back, he couldn’t believe what just happened. Despite the horror, he couldn’t help but laugh. Shape-shifters? Who spits out a name like that after a close rush with death. “Yes, shape-shifters. Except that name blows.”
“Cheedas?”
“Cheetahs?”
“Sort of. It’s a play on words. Cheetah’s are fast, and this thing nearly had you for dinner.”
“Sure. Cheedas.”
The tension broke over the comm. Jetson informed him the rest of the path was clear. He picked up the second of the Drakes’ guns, and held it tightly despite its awkward grip. Minutes later, he was just a hallway down from life support. A gate sealed it off. A whole brigade of the Guardians fired into the steal barrier, trying to blow their way through.
“I thought you said the path was clear.”
“It was. That’s the destination.”
Smart-alec. “How much time does that door have left?”
“Two minutes,” replied Phillips.
“Fourty seconds,” corrected Jetson. “Major fractures along the grain. If you’re going to do anything, do it now.”
The grenade.
Fumbling for the small sphere, he messed around with the four separate buttons. Nothing seemed to work. “Help!” He yelled over the comm.
“Analyzing.” Jetson paused. “It’s all in a code I’ve never seen. It makes no sense. I…”
“Forget it.” With all his might, Grash tossed the grenade down the hall. It slid right in the middle. “Aim, be true.” Firing the Drake’s gun, the blast hit the grenade dead on. With a wild explosion of black light, everyone disappeared. Glancing back, even the door was gone. “What just happened?”
No one replied, only a quiet cough.
Examining ground zero, the air tasted like burnt steak. But there was nothing there. Everything was gone, it made no sense. Not having the time to figure it out, he entered Life Support, taking a deep breath. The air always smelt the best when it first came out. “Now what?”
“Go to the terminal. Type in exactly what I say.” Jetson read off a series of commands. Seconds later, a blinking box reading Locked flashed across the screen. “That’s exactly what you want to see. Now all they can do is blow it to smithereens. Unfortunately, it’d take the whole ship with it. It’s a special tungsten alloy. It’s designed to be nearly impenetrable.”
“So, am I done here?”
“Yes.”
“Great, then I’m coming home.” Grash was eager to get back to the safety of his command center. While combat had its perks, commanding was his true talent. And the possibility of dying wasn’t a very fun thought either.
“Your path is clear. You should encounter no problems. Stay safe, big fish.” Grash laughed at his new nickname. He didn’t like it, but he felt included. Friends give friends nicknames. He had a friend. Two months had not been for naught. With a skip to his step, he began walking quickly back. The giddiness didn’t last long. “Oh no.” Grash heard a faint thud in the background. Several bangs followed. “They’re here. Colonel! They’re right outside the door!”
“How many?”
“All of them.”
“What do you mean?”
“Sir. 95% of the marines have been killed. It’s only us left. You’ve got troops heading your way, from behind. They’re a few minutes away, but the fact is they’ve won.”
The words felt like poison in his stomach. How could this have happened? Everyone? Dead? “Keep it together, soldier. I’m on my way. We’re getting of this ship, alive.” Loading a fresh clip, he ran full force ahead. “I’m on my way.”
© 2006 TJ
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