The Gathering Storm

by Marshall Miller

  Ichiro snorted. “Japanese swordplay is superior to Chinese.”

  The four enlisted troops chuckled at his comment. Then Ichiro added, “But hear and remember this. Captain Bender killed a Squid with his fighting knife. I saw the end, so take it as true.”

  Sgt. Nelson, the Montanan, whistled again. “Just like Daniel Boone or Davy Crockett. We worked with a living legend.”

  “Yes, Nelson-San. Tell the story, pass on the tale. No matter what happens, his honor must never be forgotten.”

  CHAPTER 28

  KEY WEST, FLORIDA

  TWENTY FOUR HOURS LATER

  Torbin Bender had been dozing on and off for most of the time he had been in the cell. His sore body needed to recover from the beating he had taken fighting the Tschaaa, and frankly, there was not a hell of a lot else to do. There was a faucet that provided water in the cell, so he had had plenty to drink. He had refused the food they had brought, for fear that it was drugged. They had not tried to torture him for information, which was a bit surprising, given the circumstances. Knowing the Tschaaa, he would not put it past them to introduce some mind control substance instead.

  He also had time to reflect on the sequence of events after Andrew, the cyborg, had grabbed him up…

  Andrew carried him through a gauntlet of Tschaaa at the end of the causeway that had grown to at least a couple of dozen. Some appeared as if they had been singed, others battered and bruised. All were almost black with rage. They knew he was involved in the nuke strike.

  He felt some vibrations emanating from Andrew which suggested that the cyborg was trying to communicate with the Squids using frequencies out of human hearing. Whatever he had said before or was saying now, the effect was wearing off. The Tschaaa began to crowd ever closer, Torbin feeling their murderous intent.

  “Major, be prepared to open fire again. They have ceased listening to me.” Andrew reached into a hidden compartment in his battered torso and removed what looked like a flexible length of car antenna. Torbin recognized it as a sheath for a monofilament wire blade, which was capable of slicing almost anything. Major Grant grouped her ten armed men around Andrew and his prisoner. Her pistol was out and at the ready. Bayonets appeared on the many of the rifles. Without warning, a long grasping social tentacle, five fingers and all, grabbed at Torbin. A blur of motion from Andrew and the Tschaaa’s “hand” was neatly sliced off. “Shoot, Major.”

  “Fire at will.”

  Torbin had been involved in mad minutes–short periods of intense fire–before, but never starting this close, not even the eater ambush. Hot, expended casings were everywhere, some bouncing off of him. A couple of the Major’s men were dragged from the formation, and torn apart. Another died from a harpoon bolt through his throat. The humans began to slip on the Tschaaa blue blood as the close range carnage continued. Torbin saw Andrew slice three arms off of one Tschaaa, leaving it floundering on the roadway. Then, it was over. Major Grant tried to recover the dead, but the surviving Tschaaa had scattered, taking the human remains with them.

  Jane Grant, shaking with anger and fear, glared at Torbin. “I hope you are satisfied. You just signed our death warrant.”

  The cell Torbin now occupied was largely empty except for a table and two chairs–bolted to the floor–a commode, and a metal sink and faucet. His clothes had been removed, and a large chain with a huge clasp had been fitted around his left ankle. The chain and clasp looked like they had last been used in some movie about the French Bastille. Torbin could reach the commode and the sink and shuffle around a bit. Mercifully, the floor was warm, as was the air. Last night, a mattress, pillow and blanket had been brought in for his use. Small comforts.

  His jailer pointed out a camera in the room, letting him know that if he tried to tear anything up or to harm himself, he would be quickly hogtied. The sleep items had just been removed. He sat cross-legged and leaned against the wall. He heard the key in the lock again, and stood up, almost hoping it was some good-looking woman that he could show his muscled body off to, just for shits and grins. The door opened, and in stepped Director Adam Lloyd.

  The Director had a small serving cart with a huge bowl of freshly popped buttered popcorn on the top, and Torbin’s clothes and boots on the second shelf. Two unopened cans of Miller Light beer completed the scene. Without a word, Director Lloyd unloaded the contents of the cart onto the table, then pushed it behind him. A very large man wheeled it out and shut the door. Torbin heard the key turn in the lock.

  Adam tossed the clothes and boots to Torbin. “Here. Make yourself more presentable, Captain. But a warning, if you try to bean me with your boots, you will be put down like a rabid animal.”

  Torbin began to dress, and Adam sat down. He set the bowl of popcorn in the center of the table, and pushed one of the cans of beer to Torbin’s side. The leg chain kept Torbin from reaching the other side of the table.

  “The popcorn is fresh, see, I am eating it. Mm, I am addicted to this stuff. The can of beer is unopened, from a private stash in someone’s deep wine cellar. It shouldn’t be too skunky. So, please, join me.” He popped his beer can top and sipped it.

  Torbin finished putting his clothes on, leaving his boots off as he did not want to screw with the chain on his ankle. He also had no interest in committing suicide by attempting an Iraqi shoe attack. He set the boots on the floor next to the table, sat down across from Adam, and opened his beer, taking a long, slow sip. “Not bad. Tastes a little like can, but not bad.” He tried the popcorn. “Now, that is good. Good old-fashioned theater popcorn. Kills you with cholesterol, but hell, no one gets out of here alive anyways.”

  Torbin looked directly at Adam. “So, no torture, no drugs? Not even feeding me to the Squids? I have to admit, you have me astounded. Not even a good beating, other than Andrew the robocop dropping me on my head.”

  Adam chuckled. “He and the other recent converts to cyborg kept their human sense of humor. They are basically enhanced humans rather than machines built on a human frame.”

  “Well, Lloyd, that still begs the question. What now?’ Torbin asked.

  Adam sighed. “Well, Captain, to say you and the Unoccupied States have started a shitstorm would be a monumental understatement. To tell you the truth, if I am alive twenty-four hours from now, I’d be surprised.”

  Torbin measured his response. “I take it from the reactions of the Squids–attacking everything that moved on two feet–that there was a lot of collateral damage.”

  Adam snorted. “Your nuke was hit and sent off course. Instead of impacting in the center of the complex–which, as you know, was his Lordship’s location–it struck the northeast edge. It had burrowed only part way into the structure when it exploded. Thus, a shockwave of heated water and debris was shaped outward. The wave and everything in it slammed into the reefs and shallows in the area, which were being used to raise their young. Over one thousand young and adolescents have died so far. Many are also injured. Twelve breeders are dead, some with child. Dozens of attending adults were killed or seriously wounded. And now we have a large area of radiation contamination. All breeding activities in the area are being moved up to Key Largo and north.”

  Torbin knew now that Adam Lloyd was in deep shit; both his loyalty and his effectiveness as the Director was in serious question.

  “So, Director, is his High Lordship alive, or is he fish food?”

  “He is alive, though badly injured. I spoke to his second in command, one of his offspring we call El Segundo.”

  Adam flashed back to the conversation he had over voice com. The Tschaaa El Segundo had picked a human voice that sounded like a broadcaster from a Midwestern radio station, no accent. “He is alive, Director, and has asked about your well-being. He should heal, but it may be a while. I will remain in charge until then.” El Segundo paused. “He wants me to assure you of your continued position, but in all honestly, I cannot. Unnecessary deaths of young are a psychic blow to all Tschaaa. Some say the young were targeted. A
fter the attack, there are many Tschaaa who wish that all humans be wiped off of the Earth. Their rage is far from over. Since you served my Sire loyally, I suggest you get your affairs in order and be prepared to leave if you wish to survive.”

  Adam’s attention snapped back to the present conversation.

  “Let me guess. El Segundo was less than positive about us humans.” Torbin commented.

  Adam gave a wry smile. “That would be an accurate appraisal. The attack shows us to be nasty little monkeys, to be locked up until we are eaten.”

  Torbin shrugged. “With all due respect, Director, by cooperating with the Squids, you perpetuated a system–the Protocol of Selective Survival–that would always keep us as potential prey for an entire species. I and my cohorts were doing what comes naturally to humans; resisting a threat to our survival.”

  Adam replied. “I know you will not believe this, but I have helped save millions by sacrificing one segment of the human genome, the people of color. I did this to buy us time. Eventually, I hoped to find a way to replace live meat with types grown in vats, of a type that the Tschaaa could not tell the difference between it and actually human.”

  “Would there be any… people of color left by the time this happened?” Torbin responded. “Why should we not question the morality of feeding someone our young, our babies. Living under the heel of such an oppressor is not living; it is existing at the expense of some innocent stranger sent to slaughter.”

  Adam sighed. “Life, and the universe, are not fair. I did what I could to rebuild the infrastructure to pre-strike levels. We have the internet, food and medical distribution, cross-country transportation, operating hospitals. I have not heard of a single case of starvation within the last year. The new space program was just an attempt to demonstrate our excellent capabilities and intellect as a species. We would soon be working alongside the Tschaaa as near equals, as are the ones we call lizards. We would be traveling amongst the stars within a generation.”

  There was an almost religious fervor in his eyes. Adam believed that eventually, his way would lead to a better life for most humans. The problem was the word “most”. Those not part of the “most” would be the “least”, which in this instance would mean being food for someone else.

  “I have a question, Director. Did the Squids ever eat lizards?”

  Adam stopped. Then frowned. “Not that I know of.”

  “Then, we are in a little different situation. We would, no matter what we did, always be a hunk of mobile meat on the hoof.”

  They drank their beer in silence for a couple of minutes. Torbin could tell that Adam Lloyd really wanted to help humanity, to be a real good guy. He just did not want to admit that, no matter how nicely his Lordship treated him now, Adam would still be on the menu when the chips were down.

  Adam finally spoke. “You will be transported to the former State of Utah, now Deseret. I cannot, in good conscience, hand you over to the enraged Squids to be ripped apart and eaten. You are an honorable soldier who acted according to human rules of warfare. For your information, you and your people cost us two dozen dead personnel, and an equal number wounded and injured. Not to mention the vehicles you shot up. Plus, a small group escaped to Marathon, and left by plane before we could get organized. The sudden violence perpetrated by the Tschaaa caught us completely by surprise.”

  Torbin, upon hearing that his wounded men had escaped with Ichiro, found it difficult to contain his joy. Yes!

  “If I may ask, how many people did you lose to the Squids?” Torbin asked.

  “They killed at least a half a dozen, as well as an equal number of Conch Republicans. There would have been more but for your people’s ability to engage and dispatch the Squids, which drew many Tschaaa toward you. Whoever that man is with the Samurai sword, he is quickly becoming a legend. He seemed to intentionally go out of his way to incapacitate rather than kill. He apparently only killed one sentry, at the main gate.”

  Calmly, Torbin spoke. “That is Captain Ichiro Yamamoto, of the Free Japan Defense Force. He’s a skilled warrior, as well as my blood brother in arms.”

  “Well, he must have taken out close to a dozen Tschaaa with his sword technique. I must confess, taking on a Tschaaa hand to hand is not something I would want to do.”

  Then Adam laughed. “A certain Coast Guardsman by the name of Heidi Faust said you took on one with a knife. How did that go?”

  Torbin snorted. “I am beginning to feel the aches and pain from that. I was lucky, and I have no interest in ever doing that again.”

  “It seems you have a legend developing around you as well. Especially after the murderous attacks on us by our so-called ‘friendlies’, anyone killing a Squid is beginning to be looked on very favorably. I am working hard not to have an all-out war here.”

  Adam leaned in closer to Torbin. “I am about to tell you something I want you to pass on to Madam President. I am not trying to ask for help or mercy for myself, to justify some of my actions. I realize I’ve made some serious mistakes. But I made my proverbial bed, and now I must lie in it. I will ask that, should my people come under your control at a later date, please show them some mercy. If there is a war criminal, it is me. They were just trying to survive per my instructions. After I tell you what I know, maybe you will understand.”Adam pulled a vial out of his pocket containing small, pill-shaped objects. He then began to tell Torbin a story about manipulation and control.

  Sometime later, Captain Torbin Bender sat rigid at the table. A rage was building in him that he was having difficulty controlling. He concentrated, and began some of the breathing and mental exercises that Ichiro had taught him as part of some additional martial arts training.

  “When things are untenable, when your rage begins to grow to an uncontrollable level, you must breath, control your anger, and become centered. Uncontrolled rage controls you, and makes you do stupid things. Control the rage, focus it, and use it, Torbin-san. It gives you additional strength with which to battle your enemies. It can help you survive when all seems loss,” Ichiro had instructed.

  Finally, Torbin had obtained an appropriate level of self-control. He could speak without exploding. “Those evil motherfuckers. To manipulate and endanger our unborn. How dare they?”

  “We did something similar to our dogs to create all of our various breeds,” Adam cautiously responded. “His Lordship has said he was just trying to improve our ‘breed’.”

  “We love our dogs. Most of us do, anyways. And they love us. I have known canines to give their lives for their handlers. I know of handlers who risked all for their dogs. This mutual love between us, two different species, is strong. I know the Squids do not love us, and we sure as hell don’t love them. I doubt we ever will.”

  There was a knock on the door. Adam rose and waited for it to be unlocked. Chief Hamilton came part of the way in, speaking in a low tone. Adam thanked him and shut the door. Torbin heard it being locked again.

  “Pardon me, but did the Chief there have some bandages on his face?”

  “Yes, Captain. You snagged a piece of him when he was on the roof. And, as you can tell, I have a few dings myself that are not from shaving. It was close. If not for Andrew returning, we would not be speaking.”

  Torbin nodded. Adam continued. “And, whoever was working the Barrett set a new standard for sniping. Six men and a Tschaaa soldier were felled by him, and a Humvee was destroyed. Not to mention he scared the shit out of a bunch of people. He needs a promotion.”

  Torbin gave a small smile. “Corporal Black. What can I say? The man enjoys his work.” He paused. “I had a Gunny and a PFC who were holding you up, letting the others escape. What happened to them?”

  “Gunny Smith and PFC Standing Bull, by their recovered dog tags. We had to blast them out with several mortar rounds. Standing Bull was bleeding out when the final assault was made. Someone said he was singing and chanting. I guess he had his own Death Song. They died as soldiers. To many, they would be call
ed heroes. Any remains or bodies I recover will be sent to your commanders with the appropriate honors and decorum.”

  Torbin was quiet, with a lump in his throat. The Gunny had sacrificed himself for him. So had Standing Bull. He would make sure they were remembered.

  Adam cleared his throat. “And now, Captain Bender, it is time for you to leave for Deseret. By the way, the contact person we used knew your name. I guess you get around.”

  Abigail must have passed on their meeting to the powers that be. It would be good to see her. Maybe, they would use her as a go between. That would be nice.

  “I see a small smile on your face. I guess, Captain, you have a friend with the Mormons.”

  “Yes, I have a friend. Now Director, I guess I need to put my boots on. Can someone come in and unlock my ankle?”

  “Of course.” Adam stood up to leave, taking the popcorn bowl with him. He stopped. “Captain, in other circumstances, it would have nice to have served with you.”

  Torbin snapped to attention and saluted the Director. “I will pass on the information and the vial. I am certain that the President will try and contact you. May God speed you in your journey.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some things to rebuild.”

  Two very large men came in and removed his chain, watching him closely as he put his boots on. Then he heard a familiar voice.

  “Well, Captain, you will now get a ride in my Falcon.” It was Andrew. “A bit banged up, but we managed to patch it up enough so it is operational. Not pretty, just functional. I have else something I will give you when we arrive in Deseret.” He held up a large plastic bag containing the .44 Magnum and the six rounds. “Please return this to Madam President, with my compliments.”