Indian Hill 5: Into the Fire

by Mark Tufo

  “I’m not peeing in a bag, Talbot,” Tracy complained.

  “The high-pitched one’s voice grates on my hearing apparatus.”

  “You’ll do just fine with the bag, honey,” I stressed.

  “I will not—”

  “Honey!” I forced through clenched teeth. “You’ll do fine with a bag!” The cords on my neck were sticking out as I strained to say the words with as much force as I could without shouting. Thankfully she got it without any further prodding.

  “Yes, yes the bag will do fine,” she overacted. It was a good thing she made her living as a soldier.

  BT had ripped open a bag of food and was a heartbeat away from eating it when a smell I imagined decaying zombies would emit assailed his nose, then Tracy’s and mine. I couldn’t help it—I started to gag. I’d been exposed to Travis’ toxic diapers that came in a variety of textures, colors and smells, and not a one of them could compete with the fumes that came out of that bag. BT was doing his best to roll up the top. His arm was outstretched like he thought I was going to take it from him.

  “You are both a couple of babies,” Tracy said, taking the bag from his proffered hand.

  “Eat some,” I goaded.

  “I said you were babies, I didn’t say I was stupid.”

  “Are their underdeveloped digestive systems capable of eating our food?”

  “What do I care if they get sick?” the one that had handed the food over said.

  “Because I will make you clean it up!” the commander shouted. “I am no fan of humans either, and we will do what we need to when the time comes, but for now they are our only help. We will use them like we used the Belenchens.”

  I didn’t know who the Belenchens were, but I don’t think it worked out too good for them. For all I knew, that was what was in the bag. Stuck between the Progerians and Stryvers was never a good place to be.

  “Your responses would indicate that our food might be less than palatable.”

  “Understatement,” fucking spat out of my mind-mouth before I could even attempt to put a harness on it.

  “We have what you would call dried fruit. Would that be more to your liking?”

  At first I nodded, and then told him, “Yes.”

  BT was the hungriest among us, but he would not “take another one for the team” and open the bag. Now that I had something we could potentially eat in my grasp, I found that I was indeed hungry.

  “Now or never, I suppose.” I opened the bag. The scent was not unlike a floral arrangement. The contents inside looked a lot like a giant slab of pressed fruit. It was green, so it had that going against it. I have this thing with food the color of frogs; it freaks me out for some reason.

  “Try it,” BT urged.

  “You fucking try it.” He quieted up pretty quickly. I shaved off the tiniest of slices with my front teeth.

  BT’s face was grimacing as he watched.

  “Well?” Tracy was looking over my shoulder.

  “Well, I don’t feel drugged or that I’m dying, so that’s a start.” I took a slightly bigger bite the next go around. This one I could actually taste. Listen, I’m not a huge fruit fan, if it came down to a cheeseburger or an orange, I’m taking the meat ninety-nine out of a hundred times. But right now that fruit stuff was awesome. I took another chunk, and this one I savored. It tasted somewhere between a honeydew melon and plum, with just a hint of some unknown spice. It was unlike anything I’d ever eaten and it was delicious.

  “You going to share?” BT asked.

  “You won’t like it,” I said around a mouthful of food.

  “We’ve only known each other for a little while, how do you know what I like?”

  “Fine.” I let him rip a hunk free. Tracy grabbed some as well. Both were tentative at first, and then dug in as hardily as I had.

  “That is called valargian. It is from a world that no longer exists,” the commander informed us.

  I knew why it didn’t exist; the war these two species were waging had used this fruit’s homeland as an arena and trashed it much like European soccer fans do to their stadiums.

  “Do you have seeds?” I asked.

  “We do, but your atmosphere as it is now would not sustain the vine that grows the fruit.”

  It was something in the tone or the message that implied that right now it might not sustain the fruit, but when we’re done modifying the planet, it will.

  I don’t know how long we were in that stupid ship. We slept, we ate, and unfortunately we eliminated. The bag peeing was alright, but the other was horrible. The fruit was delicious, but I have no idea what it did once it got inside our systems, as every time I had to go it was like I was using the last bit of a ketchup bottle—wet, liquidy, and all sorts of unsavory noises. I’m sure it was the same for everyone else; we tried to do our best to stay in a conversation with one person while the other tried to find some semblance of privacy. The only time marker I have is how many times I went, so it was basically thirty-eight Hershey squirts when the lights in the ship went from a cool, dim yellow to a glaring sodium white. Not the traditional red you would expect for a warning, but I could tell by how fast our hosts were moving around that something scary was going on. Well, that plus their panicked voices.

  “Collision alert.”

  Obviously those two words implied an imminent threat, and I could sense the tension in their stances, but their voices were even as if they were talking about getting ice cream cones at the Sunday social.

  “Grab ahold of something,” I told Tracy and BT.

  The Stryvers were too wrapped up in their own drama to acknowledge that I had perceived any type of warning from them. If questioned later, I’d tell them the lights were a visual cue. The ship moved violently upwards. If it had gone to either side, I do not believe any of us could have held on tightly enough to not be thrown around with devastating results. As it was, I was pressed to the floor with so much force I thought I was going to be melding with it soon. Tracy was groaning as she fought against the forces. I couldn’t so much as lift my toe to see if I could help her.

  The white lights began to flash, making me think it had just gone from bad to worse. All I could picture was that we had “buckled” right into the middle of an asteroid field and something the size of Godzilla was about to punch a giant hole in the side of the ship. The impact was jarring. I’d never before heard a Stryver mind-scream, and in all honesty, I hoped I would never have to again. Cats mewling in the middle of the night combined with evil clowns dragging long, black crusted fingernails over a chalkboard would not have been able to rival the sound that assailed our ears. It was so discordant that I truly thought my ears might be bleeding. The excessive downward pressure coupled with the collision had succeeded in breaking one of their legs. I’m guessing it was a painful experience. If I could have gotten to my gun, I’d have put it out of its misery.

  There was a blissful moment of silence as we began to float. We’d lost our artificially created gravity, and I had to figure we were about a second or two away from losing our artificially created atmosphere. Done in by a rock. I would have thought something grander, but I guess that’s the way these things go.

  Chapter 6

  CHAPTER SIX – THE GUARDIAN

  Klaxons blared, lights flipped from white to an angry red as all available crew raced to their battle stations.

  “Proximity alert.”

  “How much time do we have?”

  “None, sir.” The operator was confused. They’d been taught about the buckle window, but this was different somehow, and his instruments showed no sign of a known Progerian vessel.

  “How could they have found us so fast? What’s our weapons status?” Paul asked.

  “Going hot, sir,” Lieutenant Barnes, at the firing helm, replied.

  “Fire everything when they appear, and let’s pray it’s enough. We receive one more barrage and we’ll all be free-floating in space.”

  “Yes sir,” the lieutenan
t replied.

  “Sir,” Captain Avery said as he looked at the ship’s radar, “I am detecting no signature from the incoming vessel, it does not appear to be of Progerian origin.”

  “Captain, we can only detect signatures from known ships, correct?” Paul asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Is it possible this is a newly built Progerian vessel?”

  “There is that possibility, sir, but we knew the names and had signatures for all the ships that were heading to Earth. If there was a new Progerian vessel, they couldn’t have gotten it here this quickly.”

  “Maybe it’s Triple A,” Paul shouldn’t have, but sardonically quipped.

  “Sir?”

  “We are out in the vastness of space in a stolen Progerian ship. We have just engaged two Progerian ships. We are attempting to escape from another. Now we lay here virtually crippled. What would your guess be as to whom is arriving?”

  The captain didn’t have time to answer as a giant black mass dominated their view.

  “Brace for impact, brace for impact,” repeated over the loud speaker.

  All Paul had the time to think was that the ship did not look like any Progerian vessel he’d ever seen or read about before the squeal of metal on metal screeched throughout the entire ship. The heavy shuddering shook the ship to the core. Different alarms rang out as fires erupted, various equipment shut down, and life-support systems struggled to stay on. The lights flickered on and off almost in synchronization to the collisions as the two ships scraped against each other. This was more than a paint exchange though. Heavy damage was being sustained on both sides.

  “I cannot get a firing vector, sir!” the lieutenant shouted over the din.

  “Not sure it’s going to matter,” Paul said, although he was positive no one heard him.

  As quickly as it started…it was over. The silence of space resumed its domination, the mysterious ship settled off to port. A tiny, nearly undetectable object was launched from the UFO. It collided with the Guardian, a ping resounded much like as if someone had hit the hull with a ball peen hammer. Paul expected an explosion to rock the ship, but what happened next was nearly as explosive.

  “USS Guardian, we have targeted your ship. Do not make any overt gestures or we will fire until you submit,” the robotic voice said. The device was some sort of transmitter that allowed the alien ship to use the Guardian as a giant speaker. “We have also scanned your ship and know your buckle drive is off-line. You have several hull breeches along with two fires. Your life-support systems are also failing. We are sending a boarding party, allow them to land or be destroyed.”

  The communication device was more than it seemed. Paul didn’t know which was less comforting, the fact that they were about to be boarded or that the voice was so impersonal. As if someone had typed out what they wanted to say through a speech device. “Are they right about the life-support?” This was news to him.

  “Running diagnostics.” It took a moment before the technician replied. “Sir, nothing obvious has shown up, but it does show we are operating at ninety-two…now ninety-one percent efficiency.”

  “Sir, there is a small ship deploying. What do you want me to do?”

  Paul was looking at both ships. Neither seemed all that threatening. That didn’t mean much; even for all of the Guardian’s massive size, she was about as lethal as a pellet gun at the moment.

  “What would Mike do?” Paul was asking this question aloud. “I know what the crazy motherfucker would do, he’d blow that transport ship out of the sky and go out in a blaze of glory, that’s what he’d do.” He looked around and realized that his crew was looking back at him. He had not realized until then that his inner thoughts had been voiced. “I’m not going to do that. They haven’t fired on us.”

  “You shoot this fucking ship and I’m really going to be pissed,” came through the hull.

  “Mike?” Paul was looking up. “How can that be?”

  “It’s not only a transmitter it’s a microphone as well, pretty handy espionage tool if I do say so. Surprised I’m not quite dead yet, buddy?”

  Just then Beth rushed onto the helm. “It’s Mike!” she exclaimed.

  “She’s about as subtle as a battleship,” Mike replied.

  Chapter 7

  CHAPTER SEVEN – MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 4

  We were heading back over to a ship that I promised all that was holy I would never step foot on again. The sight of it produced feelings within me that would have spawned a series of books for any decent psychotherapist. I was seething, but I could absolutely not hold a candle to Tracy. She had been on edge already, and when she heard Beth’s voice, I thought she was going to start punching holes through the tiny transport ship.

  The Stryvers had kept BT back at the main ship, partly because his leg was still healing, but mostly because the transport ship was so tiny. As it was, it was cramped space with me, Tracy, and two Stryvers aboard. It was all we could do to not touch each other. It was sort of funny that they were as disgusted with us as we were with them. Neither of the Stryvers with us were the commander, which was scary in its own right. The one directly behind Tracy was the one that had been the biggest advocate for getting rid of us. Would he respect his superior’s decision the further he got away from him? And what the hell could I do about it anyway?

  They’d allowed me my rifle, but even if I riddled each of them with bullets, they’d still be able to strike with their powerful mandibles before they’d die. Even if I did somehow win, I would have condemned BT. I guess as long as they weren’t trying to eat us, I wouldn’t try to kill them. It was an uneasy alliance. Weird, but right then I would rather have been in those confines with a rabid grizzly bear, armed with only a butter knife.

  The docking port to the Guardian opened as we approached. The landing was uneventful, and things didn’t get interesting until the Stryvers first urged us out and then followed. I saw Paul’s men show all manner of disgust and fear when they caught their first glimpses of the Stryvers. I imagine that we had mirrored those same expressions. Shit, I’d been with them for a couple of weeks and I still felt that way. Paul had been approaching and now stopped. I could see in his stance he wanted to turn and run. If BT had been with me, I think I would have told Paul’s men to open fire and we’d deal with the Stryver vessel as best we could.

  “Mike?” Paul asked, not moving any closer.

  “Yeah, these are my new friends. What do you think?”

  Tracy had stridden purposefully forward. I should have seen it coming—everyone should have seen it coming. And even as that punch was being delivered it appeared like it was in slow motion and should have been able to be thwarted. Not so much. Tracy caught Paul on the side of the chin with a hit that nearly buckled his knees.

  “That’s for endangering my husband, you piece of shit. You two were best friends! How could you?” she was yelling at him.

  I watched as Paul regained his equilibrium, and as he did, he balled his hands into fists.

  “You raise one fucking hand against her, old pal, and I will fucking crush you,” I told him. “You’re lucky she got the punch in first, I wouldn’t have stopped with the one.”

  “Look, the little mongrel rodents fight amongst themselves. How can we possibly use them for our own gain?” my Stryver buddy said. I’ll call him Ham, because I hate that particular type of food as much as I do him. The other I will call Cherry because, although I hate that food a lot as well, it does not compare to Ham.

  “My God.” Beth had come to the dock. I’m not sure which surprised her more, my presence, the Stryvers…or that Tracy was still alive.

  “Hi, honey, I’m home. Miss me?” I asked sarcastically.

  Paul’s men, the ones who hadn’t left, were stuck between raising their rifles and looking for things to crawl under.

  “Mike, what is going on?” Paul rubbed the side of his reddening face.

  “These here are Stryvers, they are mortal enemies of the Progerian
s, and they’re here to help,” I told him.

  “Help?”

  “In a matter of speaking. Should we be honest, Ham?” I asked, turning to the beast.

  “Pleasse,” it hissed.

  I found it amusing that he did not say anything about the new misnomer I’d given him. I turned back to Paul. “I don’t think the Stryvers here are big fans of us as well, but they seem to have gotten themselves into an intergalactic war with the Progs and they’re on the losing end. They need all the help they can to defeat the Progerians and find a homeland. These two are technicians and said they can get the buckle drive operational, along with fixing some other serious problems you may have issues with.”

  “They’re here to help?”

  “Well, they saved our lives after you and the Black Widow over there so carelessly threw them away. So I’d say yeah, they’re here to help. Did I hit all the pertinent parts, Ham?”

  “Yesss,” it spoke, and then they headed for the engineering room.

  Men could not get out of their way fast enough. Unlike the commander these two saw no need to use their mind calming techniques. I think they were having a jolly old time watching the fear they produced in their forced ally, or friendly adversary.

  “What the fuck, Mike?” Paul asked when they left the room.

  “I’d get two of your drunkest, bravest, or stupidest men to watch what they do. I wouldn’t put it past them, if they put a bomb on the drive so that when, and if, we are victorious, they can remotely blow this ship.”

  “I thought you said we were allies?”

  “Only so much as it gives them a means to an end. If we win, they want Earth…without us as inhabitants.”

  “You just let them on my ship!”

  “Let them? How much control do you think I have over them? And if your ship wasn’t a floating pile of spare parts, they wouldn’t have needed to come aboard.”

  Paul looked resigned. “Can we talk?”

  “Go fuck yourself.” I grabbed Tracy and we headed off to the cafeteria. “How’s your hand?” I asked when we got out of earshot.