by Mark Tufo
“Mike? You okay?” Tracy asked. “Your eyes are streaked in red.”
“Smoked a fatty before I came over here.” I was trying to hide my fear in humor—pretty much my way of dealing with the world. My legs were threatening to give out on me. I sat down and let my head hang between my pulled up knees.
“I’m fine, Mike.” Tracy rubbed my back. I nodded, not pulling my head up. “Going to need you back in the fight.”
“I know.” I was shaking off the possibility of Tracy’s death with the reality of her being alive and well. The feelings of dread would not be shorn quite so easily. I knew in my heart that eventually one of us was going to get super unlucky and the other would be dead. It wasn’t now, though. It wasn’t now. I would hold on to that.
Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – DRABABAN
Drababan had only been at the Hill for a week and already it was running more efficiently than it ever had in the past. There was some grumbling about having to take orders from a “croc” or “that thing”, but for the most part, those that complained the most said the least in his presence, often too scared to voice dissatisfaction. First, because everything was running so smoothly; and secondly, Drababan put the fear of all deities into those whose paths he came across.
“Have you heard anything?” Tony asked as he sat on the couch in Drababan’s office.
“Do you believe I would hold that information from you?” Drababan asked as he whirled a gleeful Travis around the room.
“I don’t, I just wish I knew where his parents were,” Tony sighed.
“As do I.” Drababan had been spending more and more time in his office, and subsequently his visits with his godson had been getting less and less. He decided to change that with the only way that allowed for both to happen.
A soft knock came at the door. “Sir?”
“You realize, Sergeant Jackson, that I specifically told you that I do not like to be disturbed during my playtime?” Drababan had his nose directly up to Travis’, who was smiling wildly.
“Yes sir,” came from behind the door.
“Then it must be important. Come on in.”
“Sir…” He stopped when he saw Tony.
“Go on.” Drababan raised Travis above his head.
“Jordania has escaped.”
“The Hill or his room?”
“We believe just his room. We have arrested Corporal Hennessy—he was on guard duty with Private Milligan. When the next shift came to relieve them, they found a drugged Milligan on the floor and the corporal and captain were missing.”
“Jordania was not with Hennessy?” Drababan put Travis down. The boy was none too pleased with his new view and went over to his grandfather with his arms outstretched.
“I do not believe I can get you that high,” Tony said as he picked the toddler up.
“No, we went to the non-com quarters and Hennessy was on his bunk like he was waiting for us.”
“Interesting. Has he said anything?”
“He wouldn’t talk to us. Said it had to be you and you only.”
“Even more interesting. Lead me to him. I will catch up with you both later,” Drababan said as he exited his office.
“He looks nervous,” Drababan said as he looked through the one-way glass at the prisoner.
“Respectfully, sir, I would be too if you were coming to speak with me in anything other than normal duty.”
“Perhaps. Has he been checked for weapons?”
“I honestly don’t know, sir. We don’t usually arrest our own people around here.”
“Perhaps now would be a good time to start,” Drababan told his sergeant.
The sergeant motioned to the private next to him. “Bring in PFC Mackey with you as well.” Dewey and Drababan watched from behind the window.
“I said I need to talk to that thing that claims he’s our boss!” Hennessy spat.
“Relax, Corporal, you will, we just need to pat you down,” PFC Mackey said.
Hennessy stood up quickly and jumped back to the far wall. “Don’t you touch me!”
“What’s wrong with you?” Mackey moved forward.
Hennessy ripped open the front of his blouse revealing a claymore mine strapped to his chest. “I said don’t touch me!”
Mackey put his hands out in front of him in the vain hope that this would stop the hundreds of ball bearings from tearing him apart should Hennessy depress the trigger switch he held in his right hand.
“Hennessy, man, what are you doing? I’ve known you for four years now, we’ve fought together!” Mackey pleaded.
“This has nothing to do with you. I need to speak with the alien thing.”
Mackey looked over to the window where he knew his sergeant and commander were.
“Allow them to leave and I will enter.” Drababan had pressed the speaker button.
“How stupid do you think I am?” Hennessy asked.
“Do you truly wish for me to answer this question? You have a bomb attached to your chest. I would say you are rather stupid. However, if you are referring to my intentions of coming into that room once you have allowed the guards to leave, you should know that Genogerians do not lie.”
“I don’t give a shit, just shut up! I’ll let them go when you come in here. Or I’ll just take my chances and see if this will blow through the glass.” He shifted so he was more in line with the window.
Drababan let go of the button. “Will the explosive device penetrate this glass?”
“Most likely,” Dewey replied.
“You should exit this room then.”
“And you, sir?”
“I am going to diffuse this situation.” Drababan was exiting before Dewey could protest. “Out,” he told Mackey and Milligan as he moved into the room. Mackey took one quick look at Hennessy before he did so.
“Get out of here!” Hennessy yelled at him.
“I am here, and now we are alone. What do you wish to tell me that necessitated this extreme measure?”
“We…we will not take orders from…from you. You’re an alien, we are at war with you, and now I have to kill you.”
Drababan did not move. “It is true you are at war with some of my kind and the Progerians. A case could be made that man is even at odds with himself. I am here, however, to help in our endeavor to free both of our beings from the oppressive rule of the Progerians and the extinction they offer.”
“You lie! You are here to take over…to give this base to your friends!”
“You are right, I do wish to give this base to my friends. My friends being Michael Talbot and his mate.”
“That’s not true!”
“It is. I do not wish anyone on this base harm.”
Hennessy paused as Drababan pressed on.
“Would I have removed the guards and come in here myself? I could have had this room sealed off and once you detonated your bomb, that would be one less mouth to feed.”
“Captain Jordania says…”
“Captain Jordania is conveniently not here exposing himself to danger. I am. Do you trust a man who has gone into hiding and sent his subordinates to do his dirty work, or a commander who will go to the front lines in every effort to keep his charges safe? Tell me!” Drababan roared.
Hennessy flinched.
“I-I just need to kill you and ev-everything will be alright.”
“We will both be dead if you press that button.”
“Huh! Now I know you’re lying! I have the side that says ‘point to enemy’ aimed at you!”
“What do you believe will happen when those projectiles begin to ricochet off of the concrete and stone walls all around us? There will not be enough of you left for a proper burial. Our genetic material will forever be comingled as they scoop our remains from the floor, wall, and ceiling. I ask you to put the trigger device down and remove the bomb so we can discuss where the captain is.”
Hennessy gripped the cylinder tighter. “I can’t!” he cried.
A look of confusion crossed Hennessy’s features. “S-sure, go ahead.”
Drababan pinched his thumbs and forefingers together, closed his eyes and tilted his head up. What Hennessy could not know was that Drababan was not praying to his god for deliverance but for the strength and speed for the deed he was about to perform. Drababan slightly opened up his right eye. Hennessy was looking around the room wondering if the ball bearings would indeed careen around, turning him into human soup. Drababan saw his opening and did not hesitate. In the span of a hummingbird’s heartbeat, he crossed over the distance between the two. Hennessy did not even have time to register shock as Dee gripped his head and violently jerked it to the side, severing the man’s neck from his spine, instantly killing him. He carefully moved the man’s hand away from the trigger and gently laid him on the floor.
He stood and looked to the one-way mirror. “Sergeant Jackson, please have this bomb removed and find out if he has any information on him that would yield the whereabouts to Captain Jordania. When that is done I would like to attend his funeral.” With that, he left the room.
“Holy shit.” Dewey had watched the scene and still couldn’t believe what he’d seen. Nothing could move that fast.
Dewey expected to find Drababan half into a bottle of scotch after his ordeal, but instead found him on the floor of his office in his traditional prayer pose.
“I’m sorry to bother you, sir.”
“Has the captain been located?” Drababan asked, not opening his eyes.
“No, sir, but we have another development.”
This time he did open his eyes.
“The Guardian is in the midst of a battle with the Progerian Battle Cruiser.”
Drababan quickly stood and strode past Dewey to the control center of the Hill, with Dewey in tow.
“We’ve been watching like you asked. Three times the Guardian showed up, struck, and quickly departed. This time is different though, she is not leaving,” the sergeant said to Drababan’s back as he struggled to keep up.
“What is the General doing? He knows that he cannot go head-to-head with the cruiser. There has to be something wrong with the Guardian.”
“Wrong, sir?”
“The buckle drive has perhaps suffered some damage. Or life-support systems are offline and there is no crew to pilot the ship.”
“What happens then, sir?”
“Nothing good, as the fate of your planet and my adopted home world are tightly wrapped up in the status of the Guardian. Without her haranguing the Progerian vessels, they will turn all of their attention upon us, and we are wholly unprepared for what they will unleash.”
Dewey shivered. Every time they seemed to gain traction, new ice was laid down and they lost ground.
“Attention on deck!” was announced as Dee strode into the nerve center.
“At ease, please place the battle on the main screen.” The large panel came to life. At first it was difficult to see much in the darkness of space until the resolution and the magnification were increased. Weapons blazed on both ships, debris careening off in all directions as the vessels were struck multiple times. The horror was eerily amped up due to the silence of the spectacle before them.
“Sir,” the radar operator spoke, “we have calculated the trajectory, and the Guardian is on a collision course for the Progerian ship. If neither changes course, they will make contact in two minutes and twelve seconds.”
“Please place a clock on the screen.” Drababan could not keep his eyes from the sight before him. Sections the size of school buses were being ripped from the ships as they violently punched at each other like ring-weary boxers.
The clock ticked down to one minute. The Guardian had not changed course, and the Progerian ship had not moved at all. No one spoke as the events unfolded. Breathing was becoming difficult enough. The de facto leader of the free world and the Guardian, the hope of the human race, were both speeding to their untimely deaths. Drababan felt powerless to do much of anything.
“Ten seconds,” the radar operator announced, although there was no one present who did not know the situation.
Drababan had gripped the front of the console so tightly that he was sure that he was going to snap a piece of it off.
“Nine.”
A violent explosion turned the screen a variety of reds and blues and began to pixelate as the screen struggled to make sense of what it was displaying.
“Eight.”
“Seven.”
The screen had not yet recovered.
“Six.”
“Magnify less,” Drababan demanded.
“Five.”
“Four.”
He struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. Only one ship remained.
Chapter 23
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE – PAUL
Paul’s teeth were clenched, his eyes open. He wanted to see the end coming. There was the grind of metal on metal; nothing like the crushing effects a speeding car would have on a stout tree, but rather the glancing blow of a bumper against a guardrail at low speed.
“What’s happened?” Paul asked above the din. Fire crackled, alarms rang, and people were screaming. The screen ahead of him was blank, gloriously blank.
“They’ve buckled, sir!” his operations officer shouted. “They’ve buckled!”
The relief was short-lived as a new alarm cut through every else going on. “Imminent Arrival, Imminent Arrival, Imminent Collision, Imminent Collision.”
Impossibly, the Progerian vessel had reversed her buckle in record time, which was physically and physics-wise not supposed to be possible.
“Hard starboard! Ready weapons. Broadside strikes to her upon arrival!” Paul shouted.
The massive ship swung to the side. Sounds like a tin roof in a hailstorm dominated as thousands of wallops peppered the hull of the Guardian and echoed within. Paul assumed the worst, thinking this some new type of weapon. As quickly as the Progerian Battleship had disappeared, it reappeared. Metal crunched on metal as the Guardian did her best to get out of the way from the hulking, smoldering monstrosity.
“What the hell?” Paul asked as the Guardian came to a grinding halt, fused to the skeletal remains of the battleship in dozens of places.
“Life-support is down, we show no activity of life on board!” one of his officers shouted.
A small, impromptu cheer arose.
Paul let it go on for a second, his men deserved that. But it could not go on for long, as they were far from victorious. There was another ship out there and right now they were not just knocking on death’s door, but rather pounding on it with both fists.
“Get shuttles up in the air, I want a crew to survey the damage and see if that ship is salvageable. Then I need crews to untangle us and scavenger teams to grab gear from that ship if we can’t take possession.”
“That doesn’t leave very many people on board, sir.”
“Won’t matter much if they’re not successful. In fact, they’ll have the best odds of staying alive if that other Prog ship comes to check things out.”
“It’s the Guardian, it’s the Guardian! She survived!” someone behind Drababan shouted.
Drababan was not quite as pleased. It was easy enough to see, even with the distance displayed, that the ship was crippled and was as near to scuttling as a still operational ship could be. His opinion was only confirmed as he incredulously watched the Progerian war vessel slam into the Guardian after reappearing. A hushed silence fell over the previously celebrating men and women.
“What’s going on? Have they made a truce?” Sergeant Jackson asked, not understanding what he was witnessing. His sentiments mirrored those around him.
“I want four shuttles loaded with medical personnel and ship engineers. They are going to need as much help as they can get,” Drababan ordered.
In less than a half hour, four well-hidden ships depar
ted Earth, headed for the floundering Guardian.
“Sir, we’re picking up contacts from Earth. They’re headed straight for us.”
“What is our weapons status?” Paul asked.
“They’re shuttles, sir, four of them. I’ll put them on the screen. We’re being hailed.”
“On speaker.”
“Guardian, this is Renaissance One. We are on a rescue mission to bring medical supplies and personnel along with ship engineers. We have other shuttles on standby if you require immediate evacuation. Please respond if you can hear me.”
Paul almost fell back into his seat. Outside help had not been expected but was greatly appreciated.
“Open up a channel.” Paul had never been a Star Trek fan or a Trekkie as they called themselves, but the more he spoke, the more he felt like he was on a long lost episode. He smiled before he spoke. “Renaissance One, this is General Ginson, happy to hear from you. We indeed look forward to your help. Have a lot of crew that could use your medical expertise and the ship, while not completely irreparable, could use an abundance of TLC. Our buckle drive is off-line and we will need that operational above all else.”
“The major thought that might be the case. We have what we need to get you running, sir. Glad to see you are alive and well, your victory was inspiring to us all.”
Paul looked around at his battered and burning ship wondering whom the shuttle captain was actually speaking to. Seeing the damage, he felt far from victorious at this very moment. It was the word “Major” that jarred him from his introspection.
“Major? As in Major Talbot?”
There was an extended pause, and Paul almost re-asked the question before the shuttle captain responded.
“Major Drababan, sir.”
“Drababan? That wily bastard, he’s back and in command of the Hill?”
“That’s affirmative, sir.”
“I’ll have to thank him personally when I see him.”
“He told me to tell you “no” to the next question that you were going to have, sir. Said you’d understand.”