Reckoning

by Mark Tufo

  Borlock understood; either ships were flying in a week or he was dead. His first stop was to the Genogerians’ quarters, where he picked up some “volunteers.”

  Chapter 4 – Mike Journal Entry Three

  I left Maine early Monday morning. I wanted to go visit my mother’s grave, say my goodbyes and make peace with her. I also was very interested in checking out Indian Hill. I would make sure to get clear of the Hummer first, though. I had no desire to let the general know where I was going. If Paul didn’t want him to know what was going on, that was good enough reason for me.

  It was a lonely, quiet drive down to Massachusetts, especially after the festivities of the previous weekend. And, to add insult to injury, I had to drive from rest stop to rest stop, to purge my irritated bowels. I just wasn’t used to beer anymore and my body protested vehemently over my excessive libations. I hit the Mass Line two hours and six stops later than I should have. It would be late afternoon before I even got into Walpole.

  When I finally entered Walpole, I headed straight for my mother’s site. I was unsure what I would do once I got there, but it was something I felt that I needed to do.

  “Hi, Mom. How you doing?” That’s a stupid question, dumb ass, I thought to myself and how crazy does this look? I’m not talking to anybody. Still, I felt she was listening.

  “I’m sorry I wasn’t there to say my goodbyes. I’m sure by now, you know my reasons why. Did God give you any clue how this all turns out?” I waited, expecting some sort of sign or omen, but was only answered with the cry of a distant crow. If it had been closer, I might have taken that for my ominous sign. Thank God, for small miracles.

  “Mom, I’m sorry for the way we ended. I wish now that I could go back and change that. I wish I could go back and change a lot of things, but the universe just doesn’t work that way. Mom, is God angry with me?” Another crow, or possibly the same one, flew a lot closer and cawed, then flew away. That could be just close enough to be accepted as my answer. Isn’t that sacrilegious? I thought. Superstition in a Catholic graveyard. Stop being silly. Goosebumps ran down the length of my arms. The temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees. “Mom? Is that you?” Was she embracing me in death; something we were never able to achieve in life?

  Now, I was really freaking myself out. Still comfort is comfort. But was she telling me that everything would be alright? Or to be strong for what comes next? “Mom, I miss you so much.” As I wiped the tears that began to flow, a car passed on the right and I turned so as not to let my anguish show. But of all places you should be able to cry, wasn’t this one of them? Damn male pride. I placed the flower I brought with me on the grass next to the headstone and walked back towards my Hummer. The day was growing shorter but my list of things to do wasn’t. The temperature warmed back up to a balmy twenty-eight or twenty-nine degrees as I approached the car. It had to be in my head, didn’t it? I stopped before I entered. “Goodbye, Mom,” I whispered over my shoulder.

  I tried every avenue I knew to get up into Indian Hill, but bogus construction crews were strategically placed at every possible entry way. I used Dennis’ name in vain.

  After a few curious looks at me, they all denied any knowledge of Dennis Wagner. I thought to use the path we had discovered so many years ago, but if I knew about it, so did Dennis and, in turn, so did these “construction men.” I had no desire to become a casualty of friendly fire.

  I did a slow loop of my old stomping grounds, just for nostalgia. It’s amazing how much things changed. Whoever said, “You can never go home” was right. That might be one of the saddest phrases you can ever hear. There was Cap’s field, where we played baseball. And the Aggie field, where we played football. Cobbs’ pond, where we played hockey; Dennis’ house, where we had so many parties. It was up for sale. Lori’s house, the first girl I ever kissed. This was almost unbearably tough, not so much that I could never do those things again, but because I was afraid no one would ever do those things again.

  After I’d had enough of this self-inflicted torture, I headed for the local sporting goods store. I had an idea. I made my transaction and looked for the local Stop and Shop. I parked in the back and made my way up the drainpipe. I figured I would have a good view of the goings on up at Indian Hill, especially since there would be no tree cover to obstruct my view. I unpacked my new purchase and took a look through my binoculars.

  I honestly didn’t see too much activity up there. I spied the occasional person walking around, but most of the construction must have been behind Indian Hill itself, and from this vantage point, I’d never see it. I was half tempted to leave when my binocular view became totally obstructed. I was about to bitch about what a crappy pair of one hundred and fifty dollar glasses I had bought.

  “What you looking at, son?” I almost jumped out of my skin. The exhaust fans on the roof had completely hidden the approach of this person.

  “Who the hell are you!” Was all I could stammer out, my heart still slamming in my chest. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, built like truck. A squashed nose told me that he was used to taking a punch; and judging by the size of him, he could also deliver a good one.

  “No, son, you have it wrong. I ask the questions and then I decide if I beat you to a pulp or if I let Chaz, over there, do it.” So intent was I on the man in front of me, I completely missed his even bigger partner approaching from my blind side. I was beginning to wonder how bad the jump off this roof would be. Would I be able to get up and drive away? Or would they climb down and finish me off? My brain was spinning for an answer to appease them, but lying was out of the question. I was driving a military issue vehicle, I had a high tech pair of binoculars and I was looking straight at the area they were assigned to protect.

  “Dennis Wagner,” I said, spitting out the first thing that seemed to make any sense.

  “Excuse me?” Chaz said.

  “I’m friends with Dennis Wagner.”

  “Yeah, and I’m doing some ice fishing up here.” Squash nose said sarcastically as he stepped closer.

  “I was just with him, he’s the one that told me about this place.”

  “Then why aren’t you with him?” Chaz threw in.

  “Because he’s still at my father’s cabin.” Chaz had had just about enough and was getting ready to lay the hurt on, when old Squash nose held up his hand.

  “And just where is your dad’s cabin?”

  “Maine,” I answered.

  “What’s your name, son?”

  “Mike, Mike Talbot.”

  “You’re Mike Talbot? Shit, piss and vinegar!”

  “What is it, George?” Yeah, that name fits, I thought to myself.

  “This is the guy that disappeared last year,” George said elatedly.

  “Get out of here!” Chaz said.

  “Yeah, he’s the reason we’re doing all this.” Then Squash nose, I mean, George, turned to me. “What are you doing with the Hummer?”

  “It was a gift,” I answered; my heart had finally begun its descent out of my throat.

  “Hell, if you are who you say you are, why didn’t you just try to go up there?” Chaz said as he pointed to the hill.

  “I tried, but the men on the streets wouldn’t even listen when I said Dennis’ name.”

  “Do you want to go up there now?” George asked.

  I was always accused of talking before my brain fully engaged. “No, I have to get to Washington first thing in the morning so I should be heading out.” That raised both of their eyebrows, but at least they didn’t try to throw me off the roof. I climbed back down the way I had come. Both still eyed me warily, wondering if they’d made a mistake. I didn’t hang around long enough to let them reconsider their choice.

  My stomach had finally calmed down from the encounter and the copious amounts of beer, I figured I could drive the majority of the way to D.C. before I took a siesta. I was going to look for a good place though. It was on the government dime and I figured they owed me at least th
at much.

  The drive was fairly unremarkable except for the over abundance of cars nestled along the Eastern seaboard. However, I didn’t see that little inconvenience changing today, at least. An icy wind cut across my exposed face.

  The Pentagon? The general wanted me to go into the Pentagon? What was I really expecting? He said Washington, I guess I was figuring, I don’t know what I was thinking, but that building was almost as intimidating as the alien ship I had been on for so many months. I pulled my Hummer up to the main gate, I figured there was no way I would get through. I didn’t even put the uniform back on yet. I didn’t want the general to feel that he knew me completely. The staff sergeant at the gate stooped down to take a precursory glance at me, saluted and waved me through. He looked a little disapprovingly at my two-day stubble but still showed the respect that the rank I had been given rated.

  “Uh, Staff Sergeant, which way do I go?”

  “Follow your navigational system. You’ll notice, sir, that it has been scaled down to only show the Pentagon area in detail. Follow it, sir, and you’ll be just fine.”

  I thought about telling him that I’d never be “fine” again but he didn’t really seem the type to care. I looked down at my Nav-Gat system and noticed it was an aerial view of the Pentagon and the outlying parking lot. My route was marked out in yellow on the map and my car position was in red. What they failed to tell me was that I would get so absorbed in the little plasma screen that I would forgot to watch out for the minor details like parked cars and pedestrians. I think I pissed off half of the chiefs-of-staff. Oh well, that’s what they got for inviting me there.

  My entry point was on the far side from where I drove in. I parked the Hummer in a brigadier general’s spot; I didn’t think that he would be too pleased. I was now wishing that I had maybe donned the uniform. I would have been hard pressed to stand out anymore than I did right now. Here I was, a twenty-two-year-old kid with a scraggly beard, blue jeans and a Widespread Panic T-shirt, heading into the military capital of the world. I could have built a car out of all the brass that was walking around there. Captains were a dime a dozen, basically just high ranking coffee-fetchers. I was going to have to talk to the general about my rank; I wasn’t getting coffee for anybody. I didn’t even like the stuff.

  “Ah, Mike, how was your drive?” The general put on a jovial façade as he put his arm around my shoulder. I think I caught him off guard coming here all disheveled and in civvies. “Come on; the president is waiting.”

  “Whoa, whoa,” I stopped. “The president? You didn’t say anything about the president being here.”

  “Why? Would you have dressed more appropriately?”

  “I might have.”

  He laughed. “Don’t worry; the president doesn’t look too much better than you. We had to go pick him up off his ranch; he was fixing one of the cattle fences.”

  “The President of the United States was fixing his cattle fence? Doesn’t he have people that do that kind of thing for him?”

  “Sure he does, but he says it relaxes him. Son, he’s the president. If he wants to knock those fences down, who’s going to tell him he can’t?”

  “Good point.” I felt better about meeting the president but my stomach was still tied up in knots. We walked into a huge conference room that must have held half of all the generals in the armed forces. And there sat the president, directly in the middle of them. All of them jockeying for position, trying to have their ideas heard.

  “Welcome to political hell,” the general mumbled. Everyone stopped talking, almost on cue. The president turned to see what had taken the pressure off him.

  “Mike Talbot, I presume.” The president knew my name!

  “Uh, yes sir.”

  “Call me Jack.”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Pres… I mean Jack.”

  “Gentlemen, I truly want to hear all of your ideas and opinions, but my very distinguished guest here has finally arrived and I wish to speak privately with him. I value all of your opinions; so if you could all please draft up your proposals in triplicate and have them on the secretary general’s desk by nine o’clock tomorrow, I will personally make sure he goes through all of them. Now if you could please excuse me.”

  The generals shuffled out the door as fast as their feet would take them. General Burkhalter shut the door when the last of them left.

  “Well, looks like I’ve killed two birds with one stone.”

  “Sir?” General Burkhalter asked.

  “Well, all of those generals will be so busy tonight drafting proposals that none of them will dare come back here tonight and waste any more valuable time. And all day tomorrow, the secretary general will be reading said proposals. That'll keep them all busy for a while” I couldn’t help it; I snorted out laughter.

  “You think that’s funny, Mr. Talbot?” the president asked.

  “Ah, yes sir, I do.”

  “That’s good! I like people that actually say what they are thinking. If you stay in this town long enough, you’ll realize that that is a rare thing indeed. The general showed me the tape of your debriefing. I would imagine that you are beginning to tire of telling the tale.”

  “A little bit, sir. I’m getting to the point where I wish I could just get on with my life and put this behind me.”

  “You know that that isn’t going to happen.”

  “Yes sir, I realized that a long time ago. You can never go home, even if home is planet Earth.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Nothing, sir, just reflecting.”

  “Have you made up your mind on the general’s and my decision to have you commissioned into the service?”

  “I have, sir, but just one question.”

  “Shoot, son.”

  “I’m not going to have to get coffee, am I?”

  “What?” the president asked with a sidelong glance.

  “Mr. President, there is so much brass in this building that captains are relegated to messenger boy. If I were to accept the commission, I have no desire to be a glorified secretary.”

  The president laughed. “That’s funny, I never noticed before, but I guess you’re right. No, that would never happen, and anyway, you would be reporting directly to General Burkhalter here and nobody else. He reports directly to me and nobody else.”

  “Then I accept the commission, sir.”

  “Good; then let’s get started. General, if you could please dim the lights.” The general dimmed the lights as the president started the projector located in the corner of the conference room. It was difficult to tell exactly what we were looking at on the TV screen. It was mostly darkness punctuated with bright bursts of light. I was about to ask what we were watching when the image cleared up dramatically.

  “This footage was taken from our deep space probe, Orion,” the general noted. He didn’t have need to further clarify what we were seeing. Chills ran up my spine as I glanced at the ship that held me captive for over eighteen months. The general continued, “We have reason to believe that they will complete their repairs much sooner than we had anticipated.”

  “What kind of time frame are we looking at, General?” the president asked as if this were the first time he had viewed this tape. Could that be possible? Why on Earth would they have waited for me?

  “It’s hard to say, sir. It would appear that they have the technology and the motivation, considering that we have their supreme commander, to have the repairs done in a matter of weeks. They honestly almost appear to be dragging their feet.”

  “Reinforcements,” I muttered.

  “Excuse me?” the president asked.

  “Reinforcements, sir. They may be waiting for battle cruisers before they launch an invasion.”

  “Whatever would give you that idea, Captain?” the president asked as he wiped his glasses.

  “Sir, during my stay on the ship I was informed that the Progerians have been attacking planets around the universe for thousands of years. We’re probably
one of the first races they have encountered that has given them pause to reconsider their efforts. Or quite possibly, they have radioed for help because they no longer have a supreme commander, and just don’t know what to do.”

  “That makes no sense,” the general said. “They must have some sort of contingency plan in effect if and when their supreme commander dies.”

  “Maybe this is it, sir,” I suggested.

  “So they just sit there like ducks in a puddle?” the general asked.

  “Well, first off, General, it’s a very large puddle and I am under the impression that they will never allow one of our ships to leave Earth’s orbit, much less get inside their mother ship again. What say you, Captain?” the president intoned.

  “I agree with both of you. They are just sitting there, and I wish that we had some sort of long-range strike capabilities. But they’ll never let us launch an attack. They may be without leadership, but they certainly aren’t helpless.”

  “So now what?” the president asked his general.

  “We wait, sir. We wait and we prepare. We pull back all the military we can and we defend our shores.”

  “General, you know how I feel about pulling back our troops. It will destabilize the world to near anarchic conditions.”

  “And you know how I feel, Mr. President.”

  “Yes, and I fully empathize with your patriotism, but this is now a global conflict, not solely an American one,” the president chimed in.

  “Sir, if America is attacked and we fall, there will be nobody on this planet who could stand up to these invaders.”

  “General, if we abandon our posts worldwide, there won’t be anything worth defending.” The president was beginning to raise his voice. Apparently, they had been round and round on this topic before. I wanted to quell things before this turned into a shouting match.

  “Mr. President, General Burkhalter, please!” I yelled, definitely louder than my station warranted. “I will be as honest with you both as possible. I do not believe that anything we do now will stop or even diminish their initial assault. You’ve seen their ships and their weaponry. Our best course of action will be to evacuate the largest cities worldwide and hide.”