Owen flipped the visor up on his helmet. “I’m on a special assignment, Sergeant. Be back as soon as I can, and I’ll watch my six.”
“You want someone to come with you?”
“No,” Owen shook his head. “I wish I could. Backup is always good. But this needs to be just me. Orders.”
“All right, son. Be careful. You’ve got the base security number?”
“I say four words and my phone will make the call,” Owen assured him.
Two other troops had already opened the gate to let Owen pass. He nodded to the NCO again, slapped the visor back down, and accelerated out of the base into the fading afternoon light. It felt good to be back on Earth, even though the difference between this and the life-and-death battle in space jarred him to the core. Part of him was expecting a damned Bug to pop out at him any moment. He hoped that in time he’d learn to balance the awareness needed to stay alive in combat with turning that off, or at least dialing it down a bit, when he didn’t need it.
Although it might come in handy out there tonight. At least one of these ‘peaceful protesters’ wasn’t feeling very peaceful. If that person got wind of what Owen was really doing, he might decide to put a bullet into a human instead of a Naga. He’d just have to be careful, that’s all. If things really did hit the fan, at least he wasn’t without some protection. Owen patted his jacket pocket, feeling the slender lump inside. He was pretty sure Garul wasn’t supposed to have had that with him at all, and doubly sure Hereford had no idea what it was. But the canny old Naga had shown Owen how to use it while they were still in space. If worst came to worst, he wasn’t entirely unarmed.
With luck it wouldn’t come to that.
The Starlight Bar was just ahead. Owen pulled his motorcycle into the lot and kicked out the kickstand. He left the helmet on the handlebars. There were about a dozen other bikes all lined up in front of the bar, plus twenty assorted cars and pickup trucks. It was a bustling place. Since Owen knew damned well that the base personnel weren’t out partying, that made it a likely spot to find the sort of person he sought. The kind of person he used to be.
He stepped inside the building. Instantly the warmth of the place hit him in the face, along with all the smells of a dive bar. The aroma of spilled beer mixed with sweat and the faintest trace of human piss created a slightly sweet but also vaguely nauseating smell that was impossible to miss. Owen ignored it as best he could. He’d only just turned twenty-two a month earlier, but he’d been sneaking into bars like this for longer. He knew the sort of folks who generally hung out there and tonight he saw them in abundance.
But they weren’t locals, at least not mostly. Owen noticed a table off to one side with a bunch of people huddled together chatting. At least two of those were regulars in this place. He’d seen them before. That meant the table was probably all folks who lived near the base. Any other night they would have been hanging out at the pool tables, but tonight that area was occupied by dozens of strangers. Those would be the protesters.
Owen went up to the bar. “Hey, Terry.”
The big man flashed him a concerned smile in response. “Owen. How’s it going?”
“Been busy. Looks like you are, too?”
Terry glanced at the new crowd. “Yeah. Well, no trouble from them, not yet anyway. But you might want to grab a drink someplace else tonight, if you know what I mean. Not all of ‘em sound friendly toward you military types.”
“I gotcha. I’ll be cool. Promise. Grab me a Molson?” Owen asked.
“You got it.” Terry snagged a mug and set it down under one of the taps, filling the glass with foamy yellow beer.
Owen wasn’t planning on drinking that much tonight, but it would look strange if he was in a bar without drinking. Better to blend in as best he could. He slapped a ten down on the counter and told Terry to keep the change. The bartender smiled as he accepted the bill. Owen always tipped. His Dad had taught him that was how you got to be welcome someplace. Tip well, smile, treat the staff with respect, and you’ll always find the door open with the folks inside happy to see you. It was a good lesson.
He felt a sharp pang of pain at the memory. Damn it, but he still missed his parents. His mind’s eye played back the moments of their death for him again. He couldn’t help it; those memories were a part of him. But it was his call whether they would rule him or not. He wasn’t going to be a victim of his past, not anymore.
But those memories and the pain they carried might just win him some friends on this place. He picked up the beer and headed over toward the pool tables to join the crowd chatting there.
Six
Eric sipped his whiskey and took in the scene around him. It was good, hanging with all these other people. They wanted the same thing he did: no aliens on Earth! Some of ‘em were even willing to take a little direct action. Most of them were sign-wavers, though. Useless folks who thought standing around chanting slogans at bored gate guards was going to get anything done. Not him.
No, he’d brought out a 30-30 with a good scope and put a slug right into that lizard scum. For a moment Eric even thought he’d killed the thing and he’d wanted to whoop for joy. A sense of raw power unlike anything he’d felt before rushed through him. He was invincible. He’d take them all down, one after the other, until there weren’t any lizards left.
But no, he’d only winged the invader. Eric knew the shot hit. He’d seen the bastard reel back with the impact. But the lizard was wearing some sort of body armor. It must have soaked too much force, because the creature didn’t go down. A few seconds later an armored car put itself between his scope and the target, and that was that. He vacated the little hilltop he’d used as a shooting platform as quickly as possible. Waiting around would’ve been stupid. The military wasn’t going to let him get another crack at their pet lizard, and they’d probably already scrambled troops to find him.
He’d got away clean. The rifle was still outside in his pickup, along with a bunch of other gear he’d brought along for this mission. That’s what it was. He was on a mission to save the world from these invading creatures. Eric just wasn’t sure how to go about it. What should be the next step? He’d already talked to most of the guys in this bar. A few of them were sympathetic about taking serious action, but most balked at the idea of going toe-to-toe with armed soldiers. Eric shrugged. Some guys had what it took. Others? Well, he didn’t want that man watching his six anyway.
He let his eyes slide over the crowd. They were all getting slowly hammered, chatting with each other and smiling. He frowned at the sight. There wasn’t anything to smile about, not while even one damned lizard was still walking around Earth. Once they’d all been sent packing, then he’d let himself grin.
It didn’t make sense, the US government letting them come back. He’d read the news about some sort of peace treaty and knew damned well it was bullshit. They’d come as invaders before. They killed how many people in that attack? Eric hadn’t been home. He’d been out of town on a business trip. When he got back home, it wasn’t there anymore. The lizards had burned his house and everything around it to the ground.
Eric’s hand went involuntarily to the locket hanging around his neck, just like they always did when his thoughts wandered down that road. The pictures inside were all he had left of them. Nothing was more precious to him. Except maybe getting revenge.
Some new guy was chatting up a few of the protesters. Eric’s eyes narrowed as he took the kid in. If he didn’t know better he’d swear the guy was military. Short haircuts were all over, but there was something about his bearing that said he’d been to Basic, and he was too damned young to be a vet. Eric crooked his finger at Jeff, calling his friend over to the table.
Jeff leaned in close. “What’s up?”
“Who’s the kid?”
“That guy? Dunno him. You wanna talk to him?”
Jeff lived nearby and had been an awesome help in meeting the folks protesting the aliens. If Jeff said he didn’t recognize the
kid, maybe he wasn’t a soldier after all. But it was hard to tell for sure. “What’s he talking about?”
“Says he heard about the protest and came over to ask about joining tomorrow. Some folks aren’t planning on going back, but most of the folks here will be at the gate again tomorrow,” Jeff said. “I told him he’s welcome to join us. You want to check him out first?”
“Yeah, I think I ought to. Send him over.”
Jeff went off to get the kid while Eric continued to size him up. He didn’t see a firearm, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t armed. Concealed carry weapons could be pretty small. He could be a cop, too, although he didn’t smell like bacon. Didn’t have that all-too-serious feel to him that most cops had. Jeff got the kid’s attention and they talked for a second before Jeff gestured over to the table where Eric was sitting. They came over together.
“Names Eric Benson,” he said, rising from his seat and offering a hand.
“Owen McInness,” the kid replied. He gave a firm handshake, anyway.
“Have a seat. Jeff tells me you wanna get out there and join the protest?”
The kid slipped into the booth across from Eric. His eyes darted side to side, nervous-like. That gave Eric pause. What was the kid so worried about? His hackles went up. If the kid was a plant...
“If I can. But I need to be careful. You see, I work there,” Owen said.
“You’re a soldier on the base?” Eric asked.
Owen nodded. “But I don’t like seeing aliens get a warm welcome any more than you do. There’s a lot of us on base who feel the same way. Most of them don’t want to do anything about it, but I sure as hell do.”
There was a heat, almost a hatred, in the kid’s words that made Eric blink. This Owen sounded almost as furious with the Naga as he was. “What’s your beef with them? You could get court-martialed for demonstrating, you know.”
“I know. But it’s worth it. They...”
The kid looked down at his hands. Eric saw they were shaking. Rage or fear? He waited for the kid to spit out what he wanted to say.
“They killed my parents. When they attacked. Strafed my whole neighborhood, but one of them shot my mom and dad right in front of me.”
Eric looked the kid straight in the eyes and saw the pain there clear as day. Holy shit, he was for real! No way some youngster was faking that kind of hurt. It was right on his face, the kind of pain that went straight to the bone. Eric understood. He felt that same agony every day himself.
“I’m sorry, kid,” Eric said, feeling every word. “We’ll find a way to make them pay for what they did.”
“I already made that one pay.” Owen looked up and met his eyes.
“Oh?”
“My Dad has his pistol with him. After he went down, my Mom rushed over to his side, but the Naga shot her, too. I probably would’ve been next, but I picked up my father’s handgun and...”
The kid’s voice trailed off, but he didn’t have to say anything more. Eric was impressed. The kid took down a Naga by himself, without any backup? That’s more than most pro military men could say. Yeah, he wanted this guy on his side. Not that he wouldn’t take precautions, mind. A little background check to verify his bona fides made sense.
“What did you say your name was?” Eric asked.
“Owen. Owen McInness.”
“Well, Owen, I think we can maybe help each other out. I’m gonna go make a few phone calls. Wait here. When I come back, we’ll talk more about how to make ourselves some new lizard-skin boots. Sound good?”
Owen nodded at Eric as he rose from the table. He flipped his cell phone out of his pocket as he stepped away from the table and went outside. Yeah, he’d check the kid out. Make sure he was who he said he was. If everything looked OK, this kid might be just what he needed to screw up a few lizards.
Of course, if he was just some military guy trying to pump protesters for info? Well, there were ways of dealing with that problem, too. Permanent ones.
Seven
Garul's curious eyes flickered over the great hall, taking in everything as he followed Hereford toward the room where he would meet these politicians. He wasn't especially looking forward to this event. Anyone Hereford held in such low regard likely wasn't worth his time. Why would a race that had bred warriors such as those he'd fought against and alongside allow itself to be led by weaker specimens? It made no sense to him at all.
Among the Naga, Garul was a warlord. A leader of troops. He acquired the right to lead through a lifetime of success. Other Naga followed his word because of his reputation and abilities. When the council of warlords decided to send an emissary to Earth, Garul was the logical choice. He was neither the most successful nor the highest ranked among the leaders, and therefore expendable; but he also had extensive experience in dealing with humanity. That experience might well spell the difference between success and failure here.
His people needed this alliance and Garul would do everything he could to bring it about. But he wondered just what sort of beings the humans would have on their side of the negotiating table. From what Hereford said, they would not be warrior-leaders like the general or Garul. He wasn’t sure just what to make of that.
But for the moment he found himself distracted by the heaps of vegetation hanging from the walls. Vines of the stuff wreathed its way up pillars. Rings of green plants festooned the walls. It was everywhere he looked. But the plants didn't seem to have soil attached to them. Were they somehow surviving on moisture from the air alone? He wondered if this was some technological marvel the humans had invented.
“General, can you explain the vegetation? Is this something you keep around for food? Or is it a decoration?” Garul asked.
Hereford stopped in his tracks and turned back, first glancing at the Naga and then at the walls where Garul was staring. He opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again before saying a word. A small chuckle escaped his lips. Whatever had sparked this little burst of humor? Was it something he'd said?
“I completely forgot the season. They must have just put up the decorations over the last day or so, because I missed seeing them. Been too busy,” Hereford said.
“They are decorations, then,” Garul said. He'd thought that might be the case. The season? He mulled over the word. He knew English well enough to know that many words in the language had multiple meanings. “It is winter in your part of the world, correct? The cold time?”
“Yes, although it doesn't get very cold in Southern California. But this season is about a holiday. Many holidays, actually,” Hereford replied. “We humans have a wide variety of faiths. Religions. Do the Naga have such a thing? Belief in a life after death, or some sort of higher power?”
“We do indeed. These decorations are for your faith, then?”
“More or less. We have many faiths. Used to be, humans warred with each other over them all the time. Still do, sometimes,” Hereford mused. “But we've come to respect each others' beliefs a bit better these days. In this month, December, there are so many different faiths with special days that we tend to refer to the time of year as a 'holiday season.”
The general waved his hands at the decorations. “Those wreaths and garlands - the plants you see? They represent some faiths here. Not all human religions use the same symbols or decorations, but in our culture these have come to be mostly universal. This is a time of year for coming together. Families gather. Truces are made. There's even a story about a Great War we had, over a century ago. On Christmas Day, one of those special days, all the warriors on both sides of the battlefield called for a truce. For that short period, they celebrated together.”
“But then they went back to fighting, after?” Garul asked.
“The very next day they were killing each other again, yes.”
“We have stories like those as well. If one honors a foe, then taking food with them is a sign of respect and admiration. For us, those are the best sorts of enemies. Opponents we can give honor to earn us honor
in return,” Garul said. He paused, then went on. “Ironic, then, that we come together to make a truce at this time of year.”
“That was why I chuckled,” Hereford agreed. “Also because there's an old song called 'Christmas At Ground Zero'. One of the rocks your people tried to plow into our planet would have landed not far from here, which pretty much makes this 'ground zero'. Let's hope that our Christmas this year is a good one.”
Garul gazed at the display. Little lights winked on and off in the midst of the green boughs. Here and there he spied bits of red ribbon which had been tied to the garlands and wreaths. It was beautiful, he realized. It was also a summary of a very human trait that he'd come to value: hope.
Back on his homeworld, every Naga who could work was doing all they could to prepare for the attack they all knew was coming. They worked in factories to build new ships and weapons. They worked in stockyards to raise animals for food and process them into stored goods against coming emergencies. All of his people were in survival mode. Everything that could be done to preserve their race was underway.
But at what cost?
Here, on the humans' Earth, they faced no less of a threat. Utter annihilation was certainly a possibility. The Kkiktchikut had weapons capable of wiping all life from the surface of this planet. The humans had even fewer defenses than the Naga. Yet even in the midst of such a crisis the humans had found the time to place decorations on their walls. Even in the midst of a military base, they thought to celebrate life.
Hope was one of the strongest assets humanity had. Garul wasn't even certain they were aware of it themselves. Hope had sent the Satori's crew in to rescue one of their own from captivity more than once. Hope had allowed them to defeat the Kkiktchikut in space more than once. Hope for a better future - that human belief that they could find a way to prevail - was one of the things Garul admired most about them.
Peace Talks (Adventures of the Starship Satori Book 12) Page 3