by A. J. Allan
Lopez looked left and saw Irons chugging her glass of wine like it was water. He put his hand on her arm as she turned to get more, and the look she shot him could not have contained more anger if she’d tried.
Nor could it have contained a louder cry for help.
“Don’t,” he said. “Not now. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”
He pulled her in close, as if he was her date.
“I’ll get drunk with you. But not until after the speeches. OK?”
A prolonged sigh through Irons’ nostrils came.
“Jenna, please.”
The use of her first name broke through to Irons, though she wasn’t necessarily any happier than before—just less likely to break. She squeezed his arm tightly to release pressure, and then left him standing to go and sit next to her uncle. She took on a casual air with him, a sight as welcoming as anything realistic Lopez could hope for.
Lopez, wanting some distance, meandered back to the open bar, as if looking for someone to strike up conversation with. As it turned out, Irons was not the only woman who looked like she desperately needed a drink.
“I don’t know how you do it, Mav,” Lake said as she walked forward with Jordan. She bore a false smile, her hand curled tightly around Jordan’s, whose hand was loose on hers. “I don’t know how you look the way you do.”
Gotta love the code talk game.
“I’ve had a lot of practice dressing up like this,” he said, then he turned to Jordan. “Silencer. How are you?”
“Good enough.”
Lopez just saw it as a win that he got more than a single word out of the private. It also said everything to Lopez about how Jordan felt. But could that get conveyed to Irons in a way that would assuage her? If they felt this way, why had they split apart temporarily? Or… permanently?
“Hey!”
All three soldiers turned to Lt. Andrews, who, like pretty much every other encounter up to that point, bore an unamused expression as he approached them.
“Apocalypse Squad needs to gather at its table. The general is about to give a speech.”
11
Lopez quickly sat at an open seat on the right of Irons. No one else apparently had any interest in being by her side. Lopez knew it wasn’t going to be a drama-free ball. He just hoped that the drama would remain on a personal and not presentational level.
On Irons’ left sat her uncle, Lt. Andrews. Then, in order, it went Kowalski, Li, Jordan, and Lake. Lopez wished Jordan and Lake would switch spots just for the sake of the evening, but at the same time, he wanted her close. No one, not even Irons, could understand his daily life.
It wasn’t so much that he could talk to her. He barely knew the girl, for how recently she’d joined the squad. She had spoken to him one on one just that once. And yet, because of their orientation, they immediately became part of a relationship that formed by default. They had to figure out a way through this together. Somehow. Someway.
But that time would come later, because the reception line had closed, a colonel had gone to the front, and the conversations through the room had died in record fashion.
“Good evening,” Colonel Jafar Ali, an older man with graying hair and many wrinkles, said. “On this day, five years ago, the bloodiest war in humanity’s history came to an end. In many ways, too many ways to count, we saw the worst of war. We saw hell on Earth and hell in space. We learned that for as much as the stars are a frontier to be explored, for many, they represent the darkness and the apocalypse. We lost countless soldiers, civilians, and officials.”
He paused. Even though probably over 80 percent of the room had never seen battle, they all had heard the harrowing stories. The viciousness of the claws of the neagala. The blood spewing from men’s throats as neagala bit on them. The remains of human bones chewed upon by the cats.
Or, for those who weren’t quite as close, they saw the cities like San Diego and Shanghai obliterated, cruel acts of war for which no conventions could prevent. A race like the neagala did not accord to treaties or understand mercy. Everyone in the room either had a commanding officer who had seen war with his or her own eyes, or they had known someone who perished on Earth from the enemy’s bombing. No human had emerged unscathed from the first interstellar war.
“But in that time, we also saw the best in humanity. Humanity combined its forces, looking past elements that once separated us such as racism, sexism, nationalism, and others.”
Others. That’s an interesting way to put it.
“Tonight, we are here to celebrate the best that humanity has to offer, and to show our appreciation. For that, please welcome to the stage, General George F. Watson.”
The entire room rose as one and began applauding thunderously. General Watson moved with a limp, the result of battle wounds from when his ship suffered damages during the war. He could easily have had a prosthetic replacement and come back even stronger, but he wore it as a badge of honor, proof that he had fought in the war. Though he led the entire UGM, he carried himself in a relaxed manner and allowed his soldiers to carry on with only the briefest of salutes.
The whispers said he was soft. Lopez just saw him as practical.
General Watson shook hands with and hugged Colonel Ali. He then turned to everyone and took a microphone.
“Take your seats, please, no need to stand for an old fog like me.”
Polite laughter filled the room as everyone sat, including Colonel Ali. The only man standing in the room was General Watson. Lopez found the imagery appropriate, the general the last one standing in the military. Then he silently scoffed himself out. This was going to be a formal dinner with laughter, tears, memories, hope, dancing, drinking, eating, and fun, not man’s final stand.
“It is wild to think that in this room right now, we are drifting outside of Earth’s atmosphere, in a shuttle comprised of men and women from all over the world, fighting under a unified government. The generations before me grew up in very different times. My grandfather fought in Iraq and Afghanistan. My father fought in China. Both men, if they were alive today, would have wept at what we have accomplished as a society. First, to overcome the divisive forces of extremist religions. And then to overcome the forces of divisive nationalism. When I was born, my father would have us do drills in case nuclear war came.”
We haven’t overcome everything yet. In fact, some things keep popping back up.
“But the wonderful thing about humanity is that when things get ugly, we become great. We came to TRAPPIST-1 as many nations competing for land. We settled it as one unified society able to properly divide up the worlds. We came to the new worlds with competing technologies for traveling through wormholes, and now we share our knowledge for the greater good of humanity. Today, as I look around, I know that even half a century ago, many of you may very well have wound up on opposite sides of the battlefield. But humanity pulled through, and five years ago, the cooperation of all of us paid off in the end of the war and the beginning of a new era for humanity. Now, many of my brothers…”
General Watson took a moment. His eyes glistened. No one even fidgeted in the chair. Lopez felt afraid to so much as glance over at Lt. Andrews, fearful the shift in his eyes might be noticed.
“Many of my brothers, and your brothers and sisters, did not make it. We mourn them. We never forget them. Those who we call heroes are also now called the deceased. But we also must take today to recognize some of the men and women who fought in the war and who made a difference. Most notably, there is one man in particular who stood out above all others, making it to the final neagala, emerging as the only survivor to take down the king of the cats. If I can, I would like to ask Lt. Buck Andrews to come forward.”
12
“God damn,” Lt. Andrews grumbled, his voice drowned out by the applause.
Lopez had to stifle a laugh. Everyone recognized Lt. Andrews as one of the few living heroes from the first interstellar war, the one who had lived to see the death of the king of the
neagala. But every time anyone mentioned it, Andrews immediately clammed up. He hated talking about it. The few times that he had talked about it, Lopez had only heard it second hand through Irons, who had told him that her uncle always reviled that day. It had cost him all of his squad, had left him wondering about the validity of war, and made it difficult for him to bond with anyone, fearful that he would lose them.
On the one hand, Lopez could understand it intellectually. It explained his commanding officer’s cold demeanor, brusque attitude, and rare displays of anything other than stereotypical cold-blooded leader.
But… frankly, didn’t everything have an expiration date, including this sullen attitude? Wouldn’t Lt. Andrews want to have a non-professional relationship with his niece, and maybe even his soldiers? Maybe Lopez was naive, but he imagined if he ever got into battle and lost friends, he’d always remember them and always honor them, but he’d also do so by living a cheerful, grateful life in which he acted polite and courteous to those around him.
Lt. Andrews reached the podium at the front, cleared his throat, and glared at the room. The soft teddy bear, he most certainly was not.
“Thank you, sir,” Lt. Andrews said.
Lopez wanted to know what his CO wouldn’t say. What words boiled beneath the surface? What thoughts did he want to blurt out?
“It is an honor to stand here… before you. I…”
His voice kept trailing off. Lopez grimaced. Irons fidgeted in her seat. They both had a bad feeling about the direction of this speech.
“I have seen the hell of war,” Lt. Andrews said. His voice began to rise. “I have seen men die. I have seen my best friends vanish before my eyes. It is a painful. And brutal. And horrifying experience. You cannot know what it is like to see a soldier struggle to get out his last words, and fail to because he’s lost too much blood until you’ve seen it with your own eyes. You do not know what it is like to have to visit his wife or mother and explain that she will be without him forever.”
Stunned silence filled the room. Even the general looked uncomfortable. Everyone with more than a decade of experience knew the grim truth of the lieutenant’s words, but that didn’t make them any easier to hear.
“So let me make myself clear here. I am honored to be alive. But more than that, I am grateful. I am grateful because I know it is sheer dumb luck that I am the one telling you these things and not one of my friends. We should honor those who have fallen. We should appreciate our victory. But celebrate? No!”
He shouted with such force that despite listening with complete attention, Lopez jumped.
“You do not celebrate war. You do not celebrate conquering an enemy. You remain grateful it has ended and it has moved on.”
He looked around the room.
“Many of you may think you know what I speak of, but you don’t. You see the videos. You experience the simulations of battle. You dream of your friends’ deaths. But you still get to see your friends. Laugh with them. Drink with them. Hug them. Love them. I don’t. Remember that tonight. Do whatever the hell you want to do. But remember that if you think war is to be celebrated, you’re all a bunch of damn fools.”
13
The only sound that came from Apocalypse Squad’s table was the heavy breathing of Kowalski and Jordan, both synthesizing the dump of emotions that their CO had just placed upon them. No one dared cough or utter a word as the lieutenant made his way back to his chair. When he took a seat, the general rose and slowly limped to the podium to speak.
“The lieutenant speaks dark, but accurate, words that we must keep in mind,” he said. “It is only because of the darkness and evil that we are able to appreciate the light and the goodness of the world. Tonight, while we remember those, let us focus on the goodness and the light of the world.”
The general grabbed a glass from the podium and held it up.
“To the cohesiveness of humanity,” he said in an understated tone.
“Hear, hear,” voices murmured in unison.
Everyone took a sip, and the general nodded to Colonel Ali. The colonel stepped out on stage with a smile and clapped his hands together.
“Once more, everybody, the United Galactic Military would like to thank you for joining us. The dinner will now commence, and dancing will begin in half an hour!”
The upbeat voice, the announcement, and the follow-up reminder of the bar all got most of the soldiers back in a happy and celebratory state. Lopez didn’t cheer, but he did let his body relax and slouch in his chair. Lt. Andrews maintained his furrowed brow as he watched the festivities unfold.
Apocalypse Squad remained in mostly silence as they ate, both respectful and fearful of their CO. Steak, asparagus, and potatoes came out to everyone, who gorged as quickly as they could—except Lake, a vegan, who divided her steak between Lopez and Jordan. Both devoured their portions in less than five minutes. At first, conversation remained mostly polite and courteous around them.
Once the dance floor opened up, however, and soldiers and spouses began dancing with each other—including, Lopez noted, Jordan and Lake immediately—the room became very loud and music from the early 21st century blared on the speakers. Even the general, with his one good leg and all, danced with his wife.
But for one person at the table, they couldn’t take it. Lt. Andrews got up without a word and left.
“Uncle Buck!” Irons shouted, ignoring protocol. Sighing, she got up and followed her uncle out the door. Lopez snorted, weary, as he looked at the rest of the table. Li and Kowalski observed the table in silence, though Jordan strongly suspected the two soldiers observed the events from very different perspectives.
With no one to dance with and everyone else focused on other activities, Lopez, with a sigh, placed his arms on the table and stood up. He excused himself from the group, though neither Li nor Kowalski so much as looked at him. He headed for the only exit in the room and looked to his left. No Irons. He looked right. He thought he saw her turning a corner.
He ran down the hallway, passing by other soldiers who moved with oddly deliberate intent. He turned the corner and found Irons clenching her fist in front of an elevator to another floor.
“Irons!” he yelled, racing up to her. More soldiers passed him by, also moving with singular intent, but whatever they moved out for didn’t affect him as much as seeing his best friend upset at her uncle.
He placed his hand on her shoulder and she threw it off immediately. Lopez folded his arms, gazed at the aggravated Aussie, and waited for her to spell out her anger.
“Fucking commander can’t ever smile, can he,” she said. “Fucking bastard. Just once, act like you’re happy to be alive. Can you do that, Buck? Can you actually give a fuck?”
Irons, her fist tight and her form powerful, slammed her first into the metallic wall. With her strong CQC skills from Jordan, she knew how to throw a punch, and it actually left a dent in the elevator door. It was not a significant dent, but it was noticeable. Lopez’s eyes widened, and he reminded himself that his days of beating her at wrestling had long passed.
But the days of letting her collapse onto his shoulder once all her energy had been spent, the days of reminding her how good she had it, and the days of reminding her no matter what her boyfriends did she would have someone, those never ended.
“Just once, Uncle,” she murmured, shaking her hand. Lopez tried to see if it was broken, but Irons quickly folded her arms and tucked her hand under her right elbow. “Just once. Can you do that, Buck? Huh? Can you?”
The questions got weaker with each passing inquisition. Finally, she turned to Lopez and barely smirked.
“You’d think by now I would have gotten used to this,” she said. “Five years and he hasn’t changed one bit. I don’t think he’s going to suddenly wake up and start acting like an overly cheerful phone operator.”
“Instead he’ll remain like a normal operator,” Lopez quipped. Irons didn’t laugh, but the joke hadn’t fallen entirely flat. “Listen.
He’ll be there tomorrow. I’m sure he has his reasons. Let’s go back and dance. Pretend we’re still on leave. Except now we’re in a Vegas nightclub.”
“Oh, you want me to dance like that? Whatever happened to keeping yourself in check with the leadership there?”
“OK, fine, a small town nightclub.”
“So you want me to do drugs and drink a lot of shitty beer that costs a dollar per can?”
“I can’t win with you, can I?”
“Whatever gave you the impression you could?”
Lopez opened his mouth to argue, had nothing, and finally got the laugh and hug from Irons that he knew would come.
“Come on, let’s go dance,” Irons said. “Let’s make Jordan jealous that he decided to dump me.”
14
The dancing didn’t quite commence as soon as they walked in. That required a drink in Irons’ hand, a Long Island Iced Tea, a significant upgrade in ABV from wine. Lopez made a note to make sure she didn’t look too foolish in front of the senior leadership and staff. She never quite crossed the line, but she sure loved carrying out the most harrowing of balancing acts on said line.
The two made their way to the dance floor, and Irons commanded the stage with her wild dancing. But it didn’t just involve drunken swaying or grinding—she carried herself with intent and actual dancing, and as a result drew a crowd. It felt weird that this was how Irons planned on making Jordan jealous, given his intense introverted nature, but Lopez saw him watching along with Lake. Lake laughed and cheered. Jordan just had a smile—whether it was sad or just amused, Lopez had no idea.
This continued on for about five songs, the other privates cheering, the senior staff enjoying the dancing, and a few other soldiers joining in whenever they could. Eventually, a slower song came on. All of the women went back to their men, and the slow dance began. Lopez, realizing what he had to do for the sake of appearances, walked over and grabbed Irons. She placed her hand on his shoulder and one on his waist, their movements synchronized and smooth.