Damage Control - ARC

by Mary Jeddore Blakney

  “Do you think we have a chance?”

  “We always have a chance, Guin. It’s never over til it’s over.”

  Brooks grabbed his half-full cup and climbed down the stairs and back through the window. Guin followed.

  “Either way,” he said, “I don’t think we have a whole lot to worry about. The war is between the Federal government and the...whatever their name is.”

  “The Chuzekks?”

  “Yeah, that’s it. It’s a fight between them and the US government over who gets to put their name on all the buildings. They’re not interested in any of us. And besides, they’re smart enough to know that if they do win, it’ll go a lot bettter for them if they’ve left us normal people alone.”

  “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you call anyone in this family ‘normal.’”

  Brooks smiled. “Okay, I misspoke. Us regular—.”

  A buzzing sound startled Brooks, and he realized it was just his phone vibrating on the sink counter.

  “...people,” he concluded, and picked up the call. “Hello?”

  “Brooks!” said the caller. “Are you sitting down?” He didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Yes,” he lied, and looked at his screen to see who the caller was. It said “Becky Sagamore.” Maybe someone was using her phone. He put it back up to his ear.

  “...to do, but I just can’t think, you know?”

  “I’m sorry, who is this?”

  “It’s Becky. Did you hear what I said?”

  “No, I think I missed it, sorry.”

  “Brooks, they took your sister.”

  “Who?”

  “Jade. They took Jade. Liesel is fine.”

  “Who took Jade? What are you talking about?”

  8

  the fletcher job

  Jade's aunt Becky kissed her on the cheek. “Wade was a little terror today. Wouldn't listen, wouldn't—” She stopped speaking, looked up and glanced around. “I thought I saw something.” They stood in Becky’s yard, between their cars on the gravel space that couldn’t quite be called a driveway. Locals called it a dooryard.

  “We're all on edge now,” Jade answered. She really didn’t have time for this. She had to drop off a birthday present for Becky's foster son Wade and go home. She had a phone call to make, and cell phone service was spotty here.

  She'd checked her voicemail back in Concord where the signal was good. A man by the name of Fletcher had seen her ad for translation services and wanted to hire her. That by itself was good enough news, but what he had said next had made her forget to breathe for a moment. It was an unusual project, he had explained. He was looking for someone with "a creative, linguistic mind, good at finding patterns, because we could be dealing with any number of languages, or possibly an unknown language." She'd wanted to call him right back, but the message said, "Call after six." It was 5:45 now and she still had a ten-minute drive home.

  “It was probably just—” Jade stopped and pointed to the overcast sky. “There!” For an instant, she had seen it too; then it was gone again.

  “Shh.” Becky searched the dull greyness overhead.

  “All I hear is the wind,” whispered Jade, glancing around anyway to humor her aunt, “and the brook.”

  “That's just it,” Becky whispered back, her eyes wide. “We don't have a brook.”

  The sound grew steadily louder. It was like the rustling swish of a storm-breeze on a summer afternoon, the buzzing hum of a bumblebee, and the babbling laughter of a shallow, rocky brook.

  “Chuzekks!” Jade yelled, even though Becky was right next to her. Both women ran across the lawn toward the house.

  But running was futile. The alien craft burst through the clouds and settled onto the lawn between them and the house. Jade and Becky could do nothing but stand there on the grass. Two others touched down in the dooryard beyond the cars. Together the three ships formed a triangle, and Jade and Becky were surrounded. They retraced their steps, stood back-to-back in the center of the triangle, and waited. Several more ships hovered above the trees in all directions.

  All three spaceships opened. Six Chuzekk soldiers stepped out: scaly-skinned, bigger than Humans and hideously fierce-looking.

  One of them approached the women. “Jade Massilon?” It sounded like “Jade Bassilod?”

  She wanted to say no, she wasn't Jade Bassilod. She didn't know any Jade Bassilod. But if she did, these cold-blooded brutes might turn this whole area into one big crater, just like they had the Pentagon in the first few minutes of the war—and all those deaths would be her fault. “Yes,” she said. Or at least she tried to, but her voice wouldn't work.

  The soldier got the message. He took her arm in one clawed hand. With the other he pointed to one of the ships. “You will enter that pod.”

  She walked in without resisting. She tried to catch a glimpse of Becky's face, but by the time she was allowed to turn around, the door was closed.

  She thought of the time she’d been in Zuke’s vehicle, just like this one. It was strange to think it had been less than six months ago. So much had happened since then, including a new war closer to home, a lot of self-discovery and a wonderful new boyfriend. And just when things were looking up—with maybe even a great career boost to top it off, with the Fletcher job—here she was being forced inside a Chuzekk pod.

  The first time she'd been in a pod, Zuke had practically had to drag her out of it. Then, she would have given almost anything to get back inside. But that was before the war. Now, she'd give anything to get out.

  “You will kneel here,” said the soldier.

  She didn't see any place to kneel, but still the soldier propelled her forward. There was nothing there but a sort of sculpture made of tangled, shiny pipes. Had Zuke’s vehicle had something like that? She couldn’t remember.

  The soldier kept pushing until her thighs touched the sculpture, and adjusted the pipes so they touched her shins instead, just below the knees. There were pads on the pipes where they touched her. The soldier pushed her a little more so that her knees bent and half her weight was on the pads. Then he secured another set of pipes around her torso. She was locked in. Vertical pipes on both sides of her were attached to the floor and ceiling, supporting the whole arrangement. Otherwise, she had a good view of half the interior of the craft. And, though she couldn’t reach anything but the pipes, her arms were free.

  A second soldier started typing with his claws on a gray metal support-post, and the walls began to light up with readouts. A short text appeared near the ceiling. She had seen one like that the last time.

  “What does that say?” she asked, pointing.

  “Twenty-six-pod optimal status,” answered the soldier who was typing. Last time, the translation had been “Twenty-six-pod propulsion failure.”

  “Twenty-six-pod,” Jade repeated. “Is that what kind of ship this is?”

  “Yes. Any small, ultra-maneuverable, surface-capable spacecraft is called a pod. Or our word translates into English as 'pod'. It was originally used only for the protective shell of certain seeds. This pod is version twenty-six. Twenty-five is still used, but I don't think that any twenty-fours are still used.”

  “Probably not,” The soldier who had locked her in the sculpture-cage studied one of the readouts. It showed a line drawing of a body with many colored lines and symbols superimposed on it.

  Jade shifted her weight to her right knee, just for a change, and some of the lines changed color. Curious, she leaned on her left knee, and they changed again. She stayed on her left knee for ten seconds and the readout stayed basically the same, but when she put her weight back on both knees evenly, it changed again. Meanwhile, the soldier kept looking at the readout, then at Jade, then back at the readout again.

  He had a short conversation with his colleague in their language, the second soldier typed something on the post again, and Jade felt the pod lift off.

  “Where are you taking me to?” she asked.

  �
��We don't know,” the first soldier answered.

  “You don't know where this pod is going?” If there was one thing that got under Jade's skin, it was being lied to. She really should have kept her mouth shut, though. She wasn't exactly in a position to be mouthy.

  But her captors didn't seem to mind. Instead, they both laughed, and Jade jumped in her restraints. She had never thought of Chuzekks being as capable of laughter.

  “I know where this pod is going,” said the second soldier, still smiling. “I'm the pilot.”

  “We are taking you to a larger ship,” the first one explained. “We do not know your destination after that.”

  Or, more likely, they didn't want Jade to know her destination after that. But there was no point in pursuing the subject with them. They were trained soldiers, and she wasn't going to get anything out of them that they didn't want to tell her.

  So she'd been captured by the Chuzekks. Why? It wasn't that she had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, as they say. The Chuzekks had actually sent quite a lot of pods and soldiers, specifically for her, Jade Massilon. But why?

  It must have had something to do with Zuke. She hadn't been intended even to know he was there. “Our meeting was due to an error,” he had said. And now, they probably thought she possessed some sort of secret. Well, she didn't.

  But how could she convince them that she didn't? She felt herself start to panic and pushed the thought away, forcing herself to concentrate on the Chuzekk script overhead. “Twenty-six-pod status optimal,” was the translation they had given her. Or was it “optimal status”? Her eyes lost their focus on the readout. Her head began to swim and her stomach churned. Her face and ears felt hot. Or was it cold?

  Suddenly the first soldier turned from his readout and gave her a backhand slap on the cheekbone.

  She gasped.

  “Breathe!” he ordered.

  By the time the pod had landed and she was released from her restraints, Jade was stiff. While the first soldier—the one who had slapped her—helped her out of the pod, the second one stroked the top of her head. He seemed to be petting her, as though she were a dog.

  The pod sat in a large, windowless room along with about a dozen other pods and one bigger craft.

  Another soldier approached—a female. Jade had seen female Chuzekks on television ever since they had taken over the satellites, but this was the first time she'd actually met one. Most were smaller than the males. While this one was no exception, she was still six feet of sculpted muscle. She grabbed Jade's right bicep, as though testing its strength. “I am Koll,” she said. “I will take you to your room.”

  “Jade Massilon,” answered Jade. “But I guess you know that. Can I contact my family now? I need to let them know I'm alright.”

  “No,” answered Koll. “Orders. No contact to Earth, no contact from Earth.”

  “Is there any way I can appeal that?”

  “Perhaps, but not today.”

  Koll exchanged a few words with the two other soldiers in their own language. Then she took Jade's arm, in what now seemed to be the standard prisoner-escort method, and pointed her between two rows of pods to an opening in the far end of the huge room.

  They came to a shallow ramp, and Jade stumbled.

  “You is stiff because of the garoshh,” said Koll, steadying her. “I will help you.”

  “Garoshh?”

  “The rig placed around your ribcage to immobilize you.”

  “I just learned a new Chuzekk word,” said Jade wryly. “Garoshh.” The ramp had been going up, and now it started going down again. Looking ahead, Jade realized the floor was full of ramps and steps, rises and hollows.

  Koll laughed. “That is bad first word. Try 'shass.' It is sea.”

  “The sea?” said Jade. “The ocean? Or see with the eyes?”

  “I don't know 'ocean,’” Koll answered. She quickly pulled a small object from her left hip and spoke into it. “Oshad,” she said to it, because she couldn't say 'ocean,' and the object replied, “Shass.” Then she said, “Sea,” and this time the object gave a long reply. Jade theorized that it was giving the definitions of the words 'sea' and 'see,' and maybe also the letter 'C.’

  “That's a nice dictionary you've got there,” said Jade, hoping to continue the friendly tone as long as possible.

  “Yes,” the soldier agreed, putting the object back on her hip. “But perhaps we rely them too much. Is called a Personal Device.” Now that her left hand was free, she reached for Jade's hair. “You will get Personal Device, too,” she continued as she ran her claws through the ends of the pumpkin-colored curls. “But yours does less than ours, for security.”

  Jade's stiffness soon wore off, and she walked with Koll through corridor after corridor, stepping up and down on the uneven floor. Sometimes they passed other soldiers. Finally, Koll stopped where another soldier waited near an open door. “This is your room,” she said.

  Jade had been expecting a cell, and hoping for a cot or at least a shelf for sleeping, and a toilet. What she saw was a spacious, well-furnished room. She could identify some of the items she saw: pillows, a couple of high counters or low walls, an American-brand coffeemaker, a swimming pool. Most of them, she could not. The floor, of course, was on many levels. A soldier waited behind one of the counters.

  “You may come in,” said the soldier. Actually, what she said was, “You bay cub id,” and for half a second Jade heard it as “You make a bid.”

  Jade entered and someone closed the door behind her. She was alone with the new soldier, whose head-ridges were blue. Jade wondered whether she belonged to a blue-ridged ethnic group or whether she had painted them. Whatever their source, the blue ridges matched what appeared to be eye shadow, and the effect was striking. Chuzekks, in Jade's opinion, were ugly, but this one was somehow beautiful.

  The blue-ridged soldier came out from behind the counter. “Since you are perhaps not familiar with our accommodations, I will tell you what is here and teach you how to use things. I am late.” She extended her hand. Her claws were blue, too.

  “If you're late,” said Jade, shaking her hand, “we can skip the tour. I'm sure I'll figure things out.”

  The soldier laughed. “I have time. Laitt is by dabe,” she said. Laitt is my name. She stroked Jade's head. “Here is your bed,” she said, indicating a flat disk about three feet high and ten feet in diameter, with no blankets or pillows. “Here is the temperature control for the bed. Or you can use a voice command. It understands English.”

  “The bed is heated?” Jade asked, and immediately realized how stupid the question sounded.

  “Yes." If Laitt thought the question was stupid, she gave no indication of it. "Here is the pool. Here is the temperature control for the pool.”

  Jade didn't comment on the heated pool. “When can I call my family?” she asked instead.

  “I don't know. I recommend you ask your interrogator.”

  “My interrogator?”

  “Yes.”

  “Who's my interrogator?”

  “I don't know.”

  “But you know that I have one?”

  “No. Rarely prisoners are captured by error and returned without interrogation. But that is rare.”

  “How do I find out who my interrogator is, then?”

  “Perhaps you will not discover who it is before your interrogation starts. If I discover, I will tell you, if I am allowed.”

  “Thank you,” Jade replied hollowly.

  “Here is your desk,” Laitt continued, gesturing toward the counter she had been sitting behind when Jade first saw her.

  It didn't look like a desk. And it had some strange-looking metal devices on one side. Jade didn’t like them: they looked too much like that horrible prisoner-restraint in the pod, the garoshh. “How do you use the desk?” Jade asked.

  In one quick, graceful movement, Laitt knelt in one of the metal devices, facing the counter. She looked like a patron sitting at a bar. Then she stoo
d again. “I put my knees here,” she said, touching a spot on the device, “and here. You can adjust it to the desired height, like this. If I will stay in this station long, I will place this piece behind me for support when I lean back.”

  Jade tried it. The metal wasn't padded, and it hurt her knees. She stood and glanced around the room. “I don't see any chairs,” she said.

  “There is one,” said Laitt, putting her emphasis on the word ‘is,’ as though only one chair was to be expected. She led Jade to a spot near the corner of the big room where there was a shape painted in red on the white wall. Laitt pushed on the painted shape with her hand, and it swung open on hidden hinges. They entered a smaller room, Laitt opened another painted-shape door and they crowded into an even smaller room.

  In one corner was a triangular sink with an overhanging lip that Jade assumed must contain the faucet. A package of 12 rolls of toilet paper sat unopened on a shelf. Jade recognized the brand. The only other item in the room was a round thing that looked like a cross between a toilet and a wide-mouthed jar. It stood only about a foot high.

  “The toilet,” said Jade, “is the only chair?”

  Laitt hesitated. “Our translator is not perfect. What is the difference between 'toilet' and 'chair'?”

  “This is a toilet,” Jade answered, “and a chair is something you sit in.”

  “Something I shit in,” Laitt said. “I know only one thing. Do you require something else as well?”

  “No, that's okay. I can sit on the bed.”

  “No,” Laitt answered with authority. “That is not acceptable.”

  “Sitting on the bed is not acceptable?”

  “Yes, it is not. Describe what you need and I will get it. But you must not shit on the bed.”

  Jade decided not to try to explain the difference between 'shit' and 'sit.' There were more important things that needed explanation. She tried to keep a straight face. “I'll just use the toilet,” she said with difficulty. “I don't need anything else.”

  “Be sure that you do not,” Laitt replied sternly, then continued in a lighter tone, “I will show you the shower. It has been altered so that you can breathe. I will show you how to use the alteration.”