Our Contest

by Phillip Murrell

  “Yeah, later,” Papa Nutmare whispers.

  All the Templars sit around their conference table. Julie has rehearsed her proposal numerous times, but she knows that Votary, Millantra, and Flaimeson will be difficult sells, especially since Abel sits at the head of the table. The sage Templar leader seems to sense the purpose of her meeting. She tried to time it for when Abel had his weekly meeting with Mother, but somehow he knew to be back early.

  “Why have you asked us to be here?” Abel asks.

  Julie smiles. As if he didn’t know.

  “What I’m about to propose will feel bold. It may even feel wrong, but it’s right. We need to attack the Malignant now.”

  Julie expects the gasps she hears around the table. To her surprise and immense pride, the rookies she’s trained seem supportive. Perhaps this won’t be as difficult as she thought.

  “What exactly does now mean?” Smith asks.

  “Within the next few days,” Julie answers. “Three tops.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” Akio says. “We still have three weeks to prepare. Why would we throw that away?”

  “Because soon the Malignant will know to raise the shields on their ships. Then our fight becomes nearly impossible. There will be far more than two fighters. Even with Gallery and Paddy using their powers. Even with a boost from Mary Lee, it won’t be enough. We’ll be shot down before we penetrate the Womb, and taking out Mother is our only chance.”

  “We will not attack Mother,” Flaimeson objects. “She is off limits.”

  “To you, perhaps, but not to me,” Julie defiantly states.

  “There’s already a plan in motion,” Votary calmly says. “Attacking now will disrupt that.”

  “What exactly is in motion?” Dale asks.

  “There are Gudz loyalists mixed throughout the fleet that await Flaimeson’s word,” Julie answers.

  “Damn it, kaufiebuck, stop flaunting your power,” Flaimeson says.

  “What power?” James asks.

  “Yeah, I thought Julie was normal?” Gallery adds.

  “The bitch is an augment, too?” Power questions.

  Julie seethes with rage. She stares at the floor with clenched fists as she addresses Flaimeson.

  “Thank you, asshole. With a single sentence you’ve now ruined any chance I have of still answering important questions on this team,” she says.

  “That was not my intention,” Flaimeson admits, “but my point stands. My contacts will not have enough time to change the plan. We can survive this fight, win it in fact, if we stick to the plan.”

  “You’re wrong,” Julie says. “The only way we win is to attack now. I have a plan, and it will work. The new recruits give us an even more considerable edge than the last time.”

  “Hell yeah we do,” Greg says.

  “Besides, didn’t Votary show them they weren’t as good as they thought last time?” Patrick asks.

  “That was against scouts,” Millantra says.

  “Scouts who had been sailors for centuries,” Gallery counters. “We all kicked their asses, not just Votary.”

  “Not everything is meant to be sexist,” Patrick says to Gallery’s comment.

  “Enough!” Julie shouts.

  “Finish your point,” Smith says to Millantra.

  “My point is that just because scouts have been in the Navy for so long does not mean they could fight. I am thousands of years older than most of you, but I still cannot play an instrument. Gallery is better than me with music.”

  Flaimeson picks up Millantra’s point. “Votary has dedicated immeasurable hours to martial arts trainings. Perhaps he even has five decades of training. The honor guard that surrounds Mother has trained for centuries. You will not beat them at hand-to-hand, and it will take far too much ammunition to keep them at bay. You will run out of pens before they run out of bodies.”

  “Not true,” Julie asserts. “James can take away their power. Dan can draw all the ammo we need. I don’t believe it will take the loyalists that long to realize the fight came early. We can do this as a team.”

  “Man, screw this shit. I may hate this bitch, but she knows her shit. Let’s take a vote,” Power says.

  “Do you think this is the United Nations?” Amine asks.

  “Despite never having said this in the past, I agree with Mr. Wiener. Let’s vote,” Julie says.

  “There will not be a vote,” Flaimeson says. “We have a plan, and we will not discredit Father by this action.”

  “Please be yourselves,” Abel calmly says. “Don’t use me as an excuse to do or not do anything.”

  Julie eyes Abel. He’s impossible to understand.

  “I think a vote sounds fair,” Melissa says.

  “Me, too,” Dante adds.

  “It’s not up to you,” Votary says.

  “Just let them vote,” Smith suggests.

  All eyes turn to him near the front of the table.

  Smith continues. “We take a vote. Julie will lose, and all sides can be happy.”

  Julie stares at Smith, but the former sailor can’t be intimidated.

  “So, sure of that statement?” Julie asks.

  “Yes,” Smith answers.

  “Father will decide,” Votary states.

  “Are you ever going to be your own person?” Julie questions the senior Templar.

  “Are you ever going to be a team player?” Votary counters. “You have no power here, both figuratively and literally.”

  Touché, Julie thinks.

  “Just vote,” Abel says.

  The two words are so profound that they draw gasps. Everyone looks at Abel.

  “I’m curious to see how it will turn out,” Abel says with a smile. “You’re free to use the results however you feel, but let’s see where this takes us.”

  The eyes now turn to Votary and Flaimeson.

  “You heard Father,” Votary says. “We’ll go around the table and vote. It won’t be anonymous, and you must vote.”

  “I’ll start this off,” Julie says. “I vote attack, for the reasons I’ve already listed.”

  Julie looks at Greg, sitting at the end of the table on her left.

  “I say we take that bitch,” Greg boasts. “If shit gets real, I’ll just turn invisible and hide in a corner.”

  Next to Greg’s left is Dan.

  “No thanks. If life has taught me anything, it’s to listen to experience. The experience is against it, so I’m against it.”

  “Pussy,” Dale says from Dan’s left. “I’m in. Screw the Malignant.”

  “I’m in, too,” Dante says. “What have I got to be afraid of?”

  “Cocky little shite,” Patrick says. “I’m in, too. I can’t let all the youth steal the glory.”

  Next is Amine. “If Allah wants me to attack, he’ll send a better sign. I say we wait for the full six weeks.”

  “Hey, you know I’m down to kick ass,” Power says. “I’ll hit them bitches tonight if you want me to, Julie.”

  Julie is genuinely impressed by Power’s confidence. He’s just risen several notches in her ledger.

  “I still hate you, though, bitch,” Power adds.

  Templars from both sides of the decision laugh at Power’s joke, even Julie.

  “I know I sound like Votary, but we aren’t ready yet. I lost Sir Stretch because I charged into battle. If we still have three weeks, then that’s three weeks of sweat, so we can spare some blood when the battle does come. I vote we wait,” Smith says.

  Julie looks at Votary sitting at the far end of the table on her left side, which puts him immediately to Abel’s right at the head of the table.

  “Well said, Seal Pup. I echo his opinion,” Votary says.

  Julie does the math in her head. So far, it’s six in favor of attacking agai
nst four who want to wait. Things are looking good, but Votary and Smith are strong “no” votes. She looks to the right side of the table from her perspective and starts with the man immediately to Abel’s left.

  “I assume you abstain, Abel, so it’s Flaimeson’s turn.”

  “You assume correctly,” Abel says.

  “These battles have rules and stages. If we want the forty percent of Mother’s crew to support us, we need to wait,” Flaimeson states.

  “It is the optimal plan,” Millantra agrees with Flaimeson.

  On her left is Akio.

  “Attacking early could lead to defeat. That means my sons lose three weeks they could enjoy. We wait,” Akio says.

  With that, the “no” vote has taken the lead. Julie hopes Gallery will change the trend.

  “I can’t live like this anymore,” Gallery says. “With all due respect to your kids, I just want to get this over with. I say we kick their asses now.”

  “Yeah!” Greg shouts.

  “Well, after my concert,” Gallery clarifies. “It’s tomorrow night, and I’d like to sing one last time.”

  Good enough, Julie thinks.

  Eyes shift to Kimmy sitting next to Gallery.

  “What do you think, Abel?” Kimmy asks without looking at him.

  “Make up your own mind,” Abel responds.

  “I don’t want to go against Abel,” Kimmy meekly says. “I vote wait.”

  Julie rolls her eyes. Kimmy apparently can’t get past what she saw at Miss Ery’s. Julie looks at the last three Templars sitting near her. All three are new recruits. She needs all three to vote with her to ensure a ten to eight victory.

  Melissa smiles at Julie. “Julie has my full support.”

  Mary Lee nods, too. “I’ve heard you guys talk about trying to break through the Vengeful ISH’s shields. If the Womb has them down now, we attack now.”

  Julie ignores the groans as the other Templars do the math and realize the best chance the “no” vote has is a tie at this point. All eyes are on James and what he’ll say.

  James looks at Julie. “Do you think I could knock out the Womb’s power?”

  “Absolutely,” Julie immediately answers, “especially with Mary Lee augmenting your ability. She serves as a form of relic for those of you who haven’t found yours.”

  “I’ve got your back, James,” Mary Lee says.

  “Then I say we attack,” James says.

  He pounds the table for emphasis as the rest of his likeminded peers cheer. Even Julie wears a genuine smile instead of her typical predatory one.

  “That settles it,” Julie says. “We take a day to rest, one to plan, then we attack in three.”

  “No, we don’t,” Votary states. “This still isn’t a democracy.”

  “You mean it isn’t now that your side lost?” Julie challenges.

  “Yeah,” Greg adds.

  “I don’t want people to die because they’re treating this like a video game. People will die. If we go now, with barely any time to completely change the plan, more will die,” Votary responds.

  “I didn’t want to bring this up, but since all of you know about me now, I might as well. I spoke with people in my organization about this—”

  “You mean The Enterprise? The people we’ve slaughtered for months now?” Smith asks.

  “Yes, and they ask questions about their survival, too. I’ve seen various possibilities. This is the only one where we win. If we let the Malignant raise their shields, we lose. It’s that simple.”

  “That cements it,” Patrick says. “We have to do this because she’s already seen the future.”

  “That is not her power,” Flaimeson counters. “She is hypothesizing. She confuses her intuition for her augmentation.”

  “I’d like to bring up the point again about her being with The Enterprise,” Smith says. “How do we know that this isn’t an elaborate plan for her to get even with us?”

  “That’s Votary-level paranoia,” Julie says.

  Smith ignores her. “She’s helped us, that’s true, but Julie Tress only looks out for Julie Tress. Maybe she just wants to make herself useful to the Malignant before announcing her desire to join.”

  “Good point,” Akio agrees.

  “If you’ve learned anything about me and the Malignant, you’d know that I don’t take orders easily. I could never live in their society. You can take that or leave it, but I will not defend my loyalties because you want to go back on the conditions of the vote.”

  “There were no conditions,” Votary says. “We did this to entertain Father, nothing more. We won’t attack until I say we’re ready, and I won’t give that order until Flaimeson confirms his people are prepared. It’s the only play.”

  “Optimal,” Flaimeson says. “I am glad that at least some of you have any sense.”

  “Fine,” Julie says with an obnoxious curtsey. “Do I at least have your permission to make my own plan for that day?”

  “Of course,” Votary says. “You don’t have to sulk.”

  “I’ve learned from the best,” Julie says.

  She turns and leaves the room. She ignores all calls for her to stop. She knows who her supporters are now and will make sure they’re ready to attack in three days. The others won’t abandon them, and this division will still lead to success.

  Gallery, dressed in a cliché space costume of silver and glitter, prances behind the curtain that Abel created for her show. She misses her usual band but accepts that she’ll have to use digital recordings. It doesn’t matter. She isn’t doing this for anyone really. This is for her. One last time to perform.

  Flaimeson gives her the thumbs up. Well, actually he gives her the alien version of it. It involves weaving just the first two fingers of each hand and holding them out at eye level. It isn’t nearly as simple as what Gallery is used to, but that doesn’t matter either. The curtain goes up. Gallery steps forward with an exaggeration in her hips that comes with the job of being a pop superstar.

  “This is a special concert for all my friends, family, and fans on Earth. Remember, this is the first concert from space. Let’s hit it!”

  Flaimeson begins the recording to one of Gallery’s earlier hits. She dances as the electric guitar plays an intricate rift. Gallery looks out at her Templar companions, all dressed in street clothes. The cameras won’t show the crowd. Their identities are protected, and they’re free to let loose. Gallery forces herself not to groan when she sees how many males are competing to dance close to Millantra in her skimpy outfit.

  That one is putting feminism back several generations.

  “Oil makes me wet and so do you,” Gallery croons.

  She groans internally when she considers the lyrics that she had to utter to get recognition. She always promised herself to keep it in the set list, lest she became too cocky.

  “Wash me down, our bodies can’t just be two,” Gallery continues.

  The lasers flash everywhere. She’s used to the distractions, but usually she has a lot more time to rehearse. She misses her mark, and a bright red beam flashes directly into her eyes. She has to improvise and turn her back to the “audience” as she tries to blink away the temporary blindness. She sees the blackness of space as the bay doors are opened to show the stars. Only the energy barrier keeps the Templars from the vacuum outside of the Vengeful ISH. She almost misses her next line after the guitar plays its solo.

  “I shouldn’t have to say what you need to do.”

  Screw it, Gallery thinks. Just have fun tonight.

  Gallery drops trying to be a perfectionist, and her smile becomes genuine. She dances with the holograms that represent her band. It doesn’t matter when her body passes through the illusion. Gallery just figures it will lead to more likes back on Earth.

  Jenny pulls into Tina’s driveway. She has
Gallery’s concert playing in the car.

  “Help me forget you know who,” Gallery sings through the speakers.

  “I can’t, girl,” Jenny says to her steering wheel. “I love him too much.”

  Jenny turns off the engine and removes the key. She takes a deep breath and exits her car. Her steps feel heavy as she walks to the door. She prays that Keith is at least home. Tina is probably working. Jenny rings the doorbell. She rubs the excessive sweat from the palms of her hands on the seat of her tight jeans.

  After what seems like enough time, Jenny rings the doorbell again.

  “Fine,” she hears Keith shout from the other side.

  Footsteps grow closer to the door. Jenny thinks she hears a second groan. He must have looked through the peephole. Jenny listens as the deadbolt and lock are undone. The door opens, and she sees Keith standing there.

  He looks a mess. His hair isn’t combed. He wears a dirty t-shirt and sweatpants, probably the same ones from yesterday, judging by the hint of odor that invades her nostrils. No matter, Jenny must fix this.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “What do you want?” Keith asks. “I thought I made myself clear.”

  Jenny swallows the knot forming in her throat. This will be harder than she expected.

  “Please just hear me out,” Jenny begs.

  “He knows about your birthmark,” Keith states. “It doesn’t matter how. I can’t trust you.”

  Jenny fights back the burn of tears. She’ll have to use her trump card.

  “Keith, hear me out,” she firmly states. “You owe me that much for befriending you.”

  Jenny watches his eyes. For less than a second she sees the old Keith. The one that loves her. She holds her breath, waiting for him to speak.

  “Fine.” Keith grunts. “Speak your piece.”

  “Thanks, but not here,” Jenny says. “Come with me.”

  “Why? Here’s fine.”

  “Keith, please. Just come with me.”

  Keith smells his own t-shirt.

  “I’m not really dressed for going out,” Keith says.

  “I don’t care. Grab a stick and take a deodorant bath if you have to, but come with me.”