Glass Shore

by Stefan Jackson

  “I have the President’s ear like no other party member, but oh, that kind of compassion will cost you a pretty penny. I want all of the money you stole from Space.”

  Geek laughs. “Weren’t you paying attention at the restaurant? No signal leaves this ship without my consent. That beacon from your watch is going nowhere. No one is coming to your rescue. This is my universe. I just allow your fool ass to take up space.”

  Then Geek places the palm of his right hand against Griffin’s forehead and shoves him back as if performing an evangelical healing.

  Griffin staggers back and bounces off my chest. I spin Griffin around and gauge the punch, then tap his jaw with a quick left. His cigarette flies from his mouth and flips back at me as Griffin loses his footing like a drunken man on a treadmill. He hits the metal floor with a wet slap.

  Nikki stands up and walks over to Griffin’s motionless body. She looks down on him, takes a long pull from her smoke.

  Then she kicks him in the gut. She looks over at Geek, Liz and I and says, “The best time to kick a man is when he’s down, its easier, he’s closer to the ground.”

  Geek snorts out a laugh. Liz laughs.

  I think it’s funny too. So I kick Griffin in the ass.

  35

  I pick Griffin up.

  I carry the fat man over my shoulder like a large sack of dry produce.

  “What are you going to do with him?” I ask.

  “Hit him with a constant blue pulse. It’ll clean his mind in less than ten minutes.”

  “But he’s had that Debbie stuff,” I reply.

  “It wears off. He’ll be ready for treatment soon.”

  “What about my mom?” Liz asks.

  “I’ll make Griffin issue your mother’s release,” Geek replies as though this is an everyday thing for him.

  “Wow – thank you!” She gives Geek a big kiss on the cheek.

  “Don’t thank me until she’s home.”

  Geek opens a thin door with the swipe of a card. I begin to follow him but the door is so shallow that I have to work to get the fat man through the portal.

  Now Nikki gives me a helping push courtesy of her foot on my ass. In fact, her foot on my ass is a practice I can do without.

  So I tell her, “Get your foot off my ass. You gotta stop doing that.”

  “My legs are strong. You’re a big man. Trust me, this is the best method I found to move you.”

  I look at her and she’s not smiling. She is serious.

  Damn woman.

  Bright light is emitted from small square panels set in all four walls. The room is near-blinding with pristine, white painted walls, ceiling and floor. The room feels and smells sterile. A lonesome and worn dark brown chair is the room’s only occupant. Tired leather straps fall from its armrests and front legs.

  “You’ve done this before, I take it?” says Nikki.

  “Yep.” Geek replies with a dry moan. Then Geek looks at me. “Set him here.”

  I flop Griffin down upon the hardwood chair. Geek and I secure Griffin with the leather straps.

  “I’ve never been in this room.” I say to Geek.

  Geek looks me in the eyes. “Never had a reason to bring you in here before.”

  Geek removes Griffin’s earphone. “That’ll do it. Let’s go.”

  We leave the room.

  “I’ll monitor him from my workstation and give him the blue wash when he’s ready.” He turns to Nikki. “So what do you want to do now?”

  “I don’t know.” she says, defeated. “What can I do? You heard funboy; I’m never going to get my father’s name cleared. Aliens don’t exist unless we’re under attack.”

  “And that’s when I go to work.” I say, amazed. I turn to Geek. “Why didn’t you tell me that?”

  We enter to the main compartment.

  “Well, I rolled it over in my mind and came to the conclusion that it would be best to tell you when it was real.”

  “But you built me because it is real. I mean, what makes you think that aliens are hostile? Do we already have enemies in space?”

  “Okay, slow down. Our true contact with extraterrestrials is limited to encounters from the last century. Recovered bodies and debris from interstellar vehicles found in New Mexico, Peru, Kyoto and Siberia. In this century, aside from the Glass Shore, we have confirmed sightings from marines aboard interstellar vehicles. Nothing suggests hostility towards humans. The impetus behind your creation is the Boy Scout motto, Be Prepared.”

  “Let me play this out. Mean aliens land on Earth and I get instructions from the Allround, to do what?”

  “You’d be instructed where to report for duty: nothing different. Standard protocol. Hell, in that scenario, regular army will have to dance with hostile aliens too.”

  Nikki stares at Geek and then she looks over to me.

  I shrug my shoulders.

  “I get the vibe that this makes you mad,” Geek says.

  “Yeah I’m mad and I’m feelin’ betrayed because you didn’t tell me about this alien crap before now.”

  “Damn little brother, it wasn’t my intention to betray you. I just can’t see how this information is important to your life. And really, what’s the big deal? War is war and your role is a combat solider. When the madness hits the fan, you won’t think twice about killing the alien. You’ll fight on Earth and in space. In fact, you’re made for cosmic combat. And you get to wear spiffy, specially-designed outfits for extraterrestrial encounters. And not those bulky terra-workmen rigs, but, dare I say, fashionable one-piece skin suits.”

  “I want to see these suits,” Nikki says.

  “I’ll try to find the designs for you later.” Geek sits down at his workstation and works his many keypads.

  Winking into existence, a small display at the upper right over Geek’s workstation, offering for our viewing pleasure, Griffin in all of his fat, sleeping glory.

  “Gonna pump O-two in the chamber to help bring Griffin around,” Geek says.

  “Do you have any childhood memories?” Nikki asks me, as though the question has been gnawing at her for a long time.

  “Sure, even though I didn’t have a childhood.”

  “And how does that work? Just random programs you call up?”

  “Well, no, memories just happen.”

  “Gimme something now,” demands Nikki.

  I look at her. I’m blank. Then it all rushes from me.

  “I was raised a southern Baptist. When I was eight, nine, or so, I looked forward to Sunday. Sunday was the best day because of dinner. Every Saturday night, my mom and my grandmother would clean their homes from top to bottom. Sunday morning it was all about prep cooking for the meal after church service. Mom and I would leave our house, the smell of bacon following us out of the kitchen and into the garage. We would drive to my grandmother’s house a few miles away and find my grandmother’s home bursting with the smells of warm cornbread and molasses, collard greens and ham. Then the four of us would ride to church in my grandpa’s Olds. Grandpa drove. I was sandwiched between the ladies in the backseat. I always thought that my mom and grandma wore too much perfume and smoked too many cigarettes on Sundays. As I remember, the main reason for the fuss over a clean house and all the cooking was due to our pastor. At sometime during the service, the pastor would announce how he and his family were looking forward to dining at a church member’s home after the service. No one knew who would be chosen until that moment. I remember the collective sigh of relief sweeping through the congregation not chosen once the selection was announced. I remember thinking that the pastor had awesome power. He had forced everyone in the church to prepare his or her homes just like my mom and grandma. The pastor, Reginald Desea, had a short and pudgy body with a perfect round face, dirtied by a pencil thin moustache. I remember he had a deep, even, soothing voice – except when he was on the pulpit delivering his sermon and especially when he was announcing his destination for dinner. It was a guttural, trembling bass, foot
stomping release as he said, THE LORD IS KING!” I stomp my foot on the floor. “THE LORD IS KING!” Stomp. “THE LORD IS KING!” Stomp. “Who’s ready for the call?” Stomp. “Who’s ready for the call?” Stomp. “WHO IS READY FOR THE CALL!” Stomp. “Sister Nikki – are you ready for the call?” Stomp.

  “The pastor and his family had come to my grandma’s house once. He told us the reason for his after-service dinners. It was to help his flock prepare for the true call. You never know when the Lord will call on you. One should always have their mind, soul and spirit ready for the Lord’s call. The chance for dinner represents the Lord’s call. Are you ready for the call? Sure you can ignore the possibility, the pastor may not call on you, so it won’t matter if your home is dirty and there is no food for guests. But if the pastor does call on you, where does that leave you? It leaves you with the pressure to account for your housekeeping. It leaves you making a million excuses and reasons that don’t make the truth go away. The truth is you’re not prepared. Now imagine when the Lord truly calls you and you’re not right. What excuses will you offer the Lord? Where do you think those excuses will leave you? But if you take the time to make your home ready for guests, you’ll be free of shame and those ties that bind you. Your home will be a beacon, calling out to the Fellowship. You will be blessed with family and friends for all of your days. Now that memory makes me feel good, and it also sends a shiver up my spine. Good for the food and family bit. The chill is from the truth that the Lord will call. Everyone shuffles off this mortal coil. Everybody dies. For those that are ready, the Lord’s call will be warm and gentle and joyous. Well, I don’t go to church, but from time to time, I will say Grace before a meal. And in the moment it takes me to say thanks, it’s also a gut check. I always find my house is very dirty. I apologize and try to do better.”

  Nikki looks at me as though I have just entered the room with my hair ablaze.

  Liz smokes her cigarette and I can’t tell if she’s just exhausted or over the top confused and overwhelmed by this machine before her. Before today I was a regular human to her. Now, I’m not.

  Nikki says, “That’s amazing. And I can tell that you feel it – that it’s real to you. But it’s not real. Doesn’t that bother you?”

  “No. I’ve thought about it before, I’ve thought about it a lot. It doesn’t strike a negative chord with me. I’m good with it. I like memories, even if they’re not mine.”

  “We provided lifestyle programs, social skills and such, hoping to compensate for lack of true human contact that occurs in the early mental bonding years,” Geek states with pride.

  “Automatons are not good soldiers. A good fighter must be adaptable, bold, sensible and insane; so Apollo and his kind aren’t strict blind faith warriors. They’re independent thinkers, so to that end, Apollo has the same appetites, vices and virtues as every other person. This allows for creative and improvisational thought and installs a hard desire to live – distinct qualities that will help him win in battle.”

  “You told me before that they are many like Apollo. Exactly how many?” Nikki asks.

  “I think there are ten thousand troops like Apollo in service.”

  “Okay, that’s not comforting. How long before they’re released to take over the world?”

  “They can’t. The blue strobe affects them the same way it does normal humans.”

  Nikki nods. “Cool. Thanks.”

  “If you can’t join ’em – beat ’em,” Geek replies.

  “Well … where are all these warriors? Are they just stored at some army base?” she asks.

  “Of course not. Most are marines. Those military guys that roam the dark cold heaven in funky big ships, protecting mining colonies and labs.”

  “Right. Smart ass.”

  Geek smiles. “The rest are like Apollo, working and living amongst the general population. They’re chefs, schoolteachers, firefighters, and police. Stunt work for the movies is a big gig. Their designation is home security.”

  “And no one knows? Amazing,” Liz says. “Are all the super-soldiers men?”

  “Of course not,” Geek replies.

  “Good. Are the girls better?” Nikki asks.

  Geek’s answer is a quiet smile.

  “How do you keep it a secret?” Nikki continues on. “I mean, how many people worked on these guys? Wouldn’t someone talk?”

  “Because the engineers, scientists, technicians don’t know what they’re working on,” Geek answers. “The technology that is Apollo is integrated in everyday service items. So components for a plumbing, electrical, heating, whatever application are also employed for Apollo.”

  “But what about final assembly? How do you keep that group quiet?”

  “Machines perform the final assembly and that occurs off-world.”

  Nikki shakes her head. “Amazing,” she hisses. Then she says, “Ezra told me about what kind of solider you were but I’m not sure he even knew precisely what you are.”

  “Yeah, hell, I didn’t know what kind of solider I was until today. Ezra seemed to know a lot about everything.”

  “That’s why he’s dead.” Nikki says.

  “I would have liked to have met him.” Geek says. Then mumbling, nearly inaudible, “Where’s that thing?” His fingers dance over the keypads.

  Standing next to Liz at the bar, Nikki presses a depression in the wall and a three legged stool flips out as a slender wall panel falls into the niche vacated by the unfolded stool. Nikki sits on the metal stool next to Liz. She takes a cigarette from the pack on the table and taps the filtered end on the tabletop.

  “You okay?” she asks Liz.

  “No. Won’t be until I get my mom.”

  “Working on it,” Geek says.

  “I didn’t mean…”

  “All good, Liz. I know what it’s like to have a loved one under their thumb.”

  Silence. I don’t know Geek’s past. And even Nikki doesn’t seem to want to open that door.

  “So, may I ask what else you’ve created? I want to know which tech stock to invest in,” Nikki says with a smile.

  “Of course. Investors are always welcomed,” Geek replies.

  “How about playing some music for me?” Nikki says.

  “How about a little Satchmo?” Geek says.

  “Who?” The cigarette dangles loosely on Nikki’s lips, the lighter at the ready.

  “Ah, the ignorance of youth. Sit back, young lady; here comes Louis.”

  We hear a ping. We can all see the blue page appear above Geek’s workstation. The message states substance undetermined.

  Geek replies, “Thanks.”

  He says, “Friend in the lab. Looks like they can’t figure out what Ezra injected you with.”

  Louis Armstrong says hello to Dolly. I don’t think I’ve ever heard this song.

  “No matter, it didn’t kill me. I’m built to last,” I say.

  Now I’m thinking about it. “I’m of a mind that Ezra worked for someone and I feel I should kick that someone’s ass for the attempt. We should bury Griffin for all the hell he’s caused Liz. And we have to draw blood from someone on Nikki’s behalf.”

  Nikki raises her arms, and waves and claps her hands as she says, “Finally – you’re on my side!”

  “I’ve always been on your side. I just don’t know how to get to you.”

  “Oddly, that makes sense.” Nikki replies.

  36

  We watch Griffin stir to consciousness.

  Geek pushes a few buttons.

  “Welcome back, Griffin,” he says.

  Griffin squints as he looks about the bright room. He struggles against his arm and leg bindings.

  “What the hell is this, Geek? Let me go. Let me go now!”

  “Tell me the direct number to whoever is holding Liz’s mom. I want her released now and you’re going to do that.”

  “No, screw you. You let me go and I might consider…”

  Geek pushes a button and Griffin twitches, mout
h agape but he emits no sound.

  Now Griffin sits in the chair panting and sweating.

  “That didn’t feel good did it?” Geek asks, plain and calm.

  Griffin’s eyes are wide and his shirt grows wet on his chest and beneath his arms. Sweat drips from his forehead, nose and cheeks.

  “What is the direct number?”

  “Griffin-one,” says a broken man.

  Geek nods. “On my mark, you will tell whoever answers to release Liz’s mother. Any other comment will result in your immediate termination. I don’t like you. I have no use for you. So I will kill you. Do you understand?”

  “Yeah…”

  “Hold that thought.” Geek says.

  “You hold this thought – fuck you!”

  We see the flash on the monitor then feel the blast. Everyone is thrown to the metal deck of Geek’s mot.

  I’m on my feet in a heartbeat.

  Nikki, Liz and Geek are scattered about the cabin.

  “Talk to me! Who’s hurt?” I ask.

  “I’m good,” says Nikki. She’s shaking it off by the smoking rows of servers.

  “Okay,” comes from Liz and Geek about the same time. Geek rushes to his workstation. Liz gets to her feet with the aid of the wall.

  “Apollo, hit the servers with the fire extinguisher,” Geek orders.

  “I’m on it. Are we still moving?” I remove the red canister from the wall.

  “Yeah, but not for long. And we’re visible.”

  “Did he blow up?” I hear Liz asking just under the hiss from the canister as I spray foam through the spaces of the stainless steel blades.

  “Yes he did. I knew he was tagged with explosives, just like Apollo had been. I had buffers up to prevent an external trigger. So this was an internal impulse.”

  “If you knew he was rigged, why didn’t you remove the bombs?” Nikki questions Geek. She’s surprised at him.

  “I didn’t think he was a suicide! He’s a party member. He’s a Senator!”

  Nikki throws her hands in the air. Geek responds by tossing his hands in the air.

  Liz looks about the cabin, she looks lost but her eyes are not glazed or twitchy. She’s worried and not for our fate. She’s got one thing on her mind: her mother.