by Jason Parent
He wiped the back of his hand across his brow. It came off damp despite the cool night. Tryst seemed anxious. It was time to move again. Connor grabbed Milliken’s heels and, together with Tryst, headed through the exit.
Connor yelped. A net draped over him before he knew what was happening. Soldiers manned its edges as though they were trying to lay down a blanket for a picnic. But Connor doubted they were going to break out some sandwiches and potato salad. Instead, they were driving the net into the grass surrounding the cracked and weed-ridden walkway, using nails big enough to prop up a circus tent.
Connor dropped Milliken’s legs as the net’s coarse fibers scraped against his face. His movement was constricted, with no place to go but down. And the soldiers made sure that was the way he headed, wrenching at the net and leveling it, only to force it lower and lower over them.
Connor resisted, but it was his might against ten or more soldiers. Milliken lay beneath him. He feared that losing his balance could mean toppling on top of the dead Symorian, whose exposed arms and face were deadly to his carbon-based epidermis.
How did they find us? The net scratched at Connor like cat claws that wouldn’t retract. It dug into his skin. He yielded to its pressure, his knees driven into the soft dirt.
A few feet away from Connor, Tryst struggled beneath the same net. She was fighting to remain on her feet, but with Connor’s collapse, the force of the net bore down on her more vigorously. Connor could see her battling with her muscles when her brain would have fared far better. Soon, she, too, would fall. A frightful howl released from somewhere deep inside Tryst, the call of the desperate. Connor feared for her and her enemies alike.
Tryst clawed at the ropes, gnashed at them with her teeth. The damage she caused the net was slight, nowhere near enough to set her free. How had the soldiers gotten the jump on her? Connor fell forward onto his palms. The net lashed his back, his torment interspersed with brief reprieves consistent with Tryst’s efforts. The ropes burned his flesh through his shirt as they slid across him.
Couldn’t she sense them? Was she too lost in grief to notice their approach? Connor didn’t understand why Tryst allowed their attack, she who’d had the power to fight back or prevent it altogether. Tryst fell onto her belly not far from him. She squealed in despair, a hollow note, absent hope. Connor felt only pity. He saw only a woman who had lost her will to fight.
Connor, on the other hand, had not. With his chin hovering over Milliken’s clothed knee, he’d not likely be harmed if he quit resisting and fell. It was Milliken’s exposed hand that hung limply over his thigh that concerned him, too close for comfort. The slightest shifting of the net could send him stumbling down on it. He strained to keep himself on all fours, his palms imprinting themselves into the dirt.
His muscles ached, beginning to cramp. Connor’s fight was nearly at its end, and he knew it. He lacked the strength to keep himself standing. Death or capture awaited him; he didn’t know which. Connor couldn’t save himself. Perhaps Tryst could, if only she hadn’t given up.
Tryst lay defeated, trembling against the earth. Why had she bowed beneath their strength? Where had her will to survive gone? She wasn’t powerless like he was. Tryst had always shown him strength. He knew she had to be strong, having endured all that she had since her arrival. Tryst could do it; she could save them both, if she only chose to fight.
“Teleport, damn it!” Connor shouted, the fire of life igniting his words. Did she think it impossible beneath the weight of the net? Apparently, the soldiers did, but there was no proof to justify their belief. True, the net was bound in place, its tautness increasing with every inch of progress the soldiers made. But nothing bound Tryst in place.
For a moment, Tryst failed to act. Connor’s heart panged with grief, thinking his friend already lost, wallowing in despair, cut off from his voice. His own will began to cave in on itself. Then, Tryst vanished.
Her disappearance caused the net to loosen for a split second, and Connor seized the opportunity. He rolled to his side, away from Milliken. The net lurched outward in all directions, pinning him flat to the ground. It would go no lower. Connor no longer needed to fear incineration. He paused, breathing heavily, sure that his fate was no longer his to determine.
“Release him,” Connor heard Tryst say from somewhere in the distance. His cheek resting in a small patch of dying grass, he couldn’t make out much of anyone or anything around him. All went silent. No one stirred.
Then, the net loosened. Soon after, it was pulled off him. Connor stood, the pains from his labors felt deep in his muscles, stinging his ravaged flesh. He dusted himself off, his anger matched only by his relief.
“Connor, are you okay?” Tryst asked. Her voice had regained some of its vigor. Connor hoped it was just the start.
He glanced around. Soldiers were aiming their guns in one direction only. Connor followed their line of sight, certain he’d find Tryst at the end of it. He was right.
Tryst stood behind Lieutenant Jonathan Westfield. One hand grasped Jonathan around his waist. Tryst’s other hand rested over the Lieutenant’s right shoulder, her fingers clenched into a fist save for her middle one. It pointed at Jonathan’s jaw, the end of her nail a mere inch from his skin. Jonathan stood statue still, his head tilted awkwardly away from her finger. Connor wondered how long Jonathan could maintain the uncomfortable angle. Surely, he understood the consequences if he did not.
Connor approached them. The soldiers sidestepped out of his path. Not one so much as flinched his way, their guns held steady on Tryst and their commander. It was as though he didn’t even exist. As long as Tryst held Jonathan hostage, Connor’s freedom seemed secure. Though he didn’t feel any immediate threat, Connor felt swallowed by the tension around him.
“How did you find us?” he asked Jonathan.
The Lieutenant didn’t respond. Tryst moved her finger delicately closer to Jonathan’s jawbone. Had Jonathan not been so clean shaven, Tryst probably would have made contact with stubble. Connor prayed Jonathan hadn’t missed a spot. His head arched unnaturally farther away from the finger. Tryst’s subtle movements seemed to jog his memory.
“We followed you.”
“That’s impossible. There was no one near me for miles when I pulled in.”
“There’s a tracking device on your car.”
Connor sighed. He should have figured as much. James Bond has them. Why shouldn’t Lieutenant Westfield? The economy’s in the shitter, but the government can spend God knows how much money just to monitor me. Ain’t that America, he thought, the Mellencamp song playing in his head. Connor was tired of it all. It was time to end the madness, or at least the part of it he was stuck in.
“These two are innocent,” he said, using the same voice he used to reprimand disruptive students. “It’s the other one you want. He’s twisted, power crazed. He’s even killed one of his own.” Connor pointed to Milliken’s corpse, dropping his head in repugnance. How many had to die before the carnage would stop?
Milliken’s stiff body softened Connor’s mood. Perhaps somewhere behind Jonathan’s militant, one-dimensional exterior there existed a complete human being. If so, perhaps he could appeal to the lieutenant’s sense of compassion. Why not? It wasn’t as if he had anything to lose by trying.
“Only Tryst, the female who stands behind you now, who could have killed you and your men had the whim struck her and maybe should after all the suffering you’ve caused her, remains alive. Kazi is an enemy to you and her both. She’s been mistreated since the moment the government imposed itself on her. Still, Tryst stays her hand at your throat. Why can’t you just let her live in peace?”
“We have our orders,” Jonathan replied. “The aliens have killed many humans, soldiers and civilians—even the President—without discriminating, and that includes the alien presently holding me hostage.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Lieutenant. Kazi, the Symorian you took into custody, has killed many humans. He has
betrayed his kind and is responsible for every death, including President Kennedy’s.”
Connor didn’t know his last statement to be true, but his instincts told him so. “The Symorian behind you has only killed those who have tried to kill her and only where diplomacy and escape were impossible. Has she no right to defend herself against those who would see her dead without cause or justification? Does she not have as much right to live as you or me?”
Connor spoke from the heart, and he meant every word. Even so, he doubted his remarks would move Jonathan. The best he could hope for would be that Jonathan wouldn’t throw away his own life or the lives of his men needlessly.
“That’s not my decision to make,” Jonathan responded. “The United States government considers their lives forfeit, payback for their war crimes.”
“We are not at war with these aliens!” Connor shouted. “The Symorians were refugees against whom you and yours sought genocide. I would call your actions un-American, but we both know that’s not true.”
“What does a civilian like you know of it?”
“Nothing, I suppose, but I know a whole lot more about benevolence and humanity than you apparently do. Tryst knows more about humanity, and she’s not even human. From the way we’ve treated them, we should be ashamed to use the word to describe us.”
Connor sighed, ashamed of his government, ashamed of his species, ashamed of himself. Jonathan had a different look; his was proud and fearless. After all, he was a soldier. His duties required him to follow orders, no matter how blind and inhumane they might be.
Theirs not to reason why, Connor thought, recalling Lord Tennyson’s poem. He could see little chance of getting through to Jonathan.
“I do not wish to kill you,” Tryst said, breaking her silence. She retracted her finger but maintained her hold. Had Connor’s words hit too close to home? “Leave this place, or you will all die.”
“I can’t do that,” Jonathan replied.
His pride will be his undoing. He looked away, not wanting to witness what was to come.
“Then you’ve made your choice.”
Connor heard Tryst’s words and awaited the smell of burning flesh. He saw no way to prevent further bloodshed. But as time passed, no one screamed, and no one burned.
He turned back to see Tryst still holding the lieutenant. She appeared to be weighing her options. The soldiers remained poised for battle. A gleam of madness sparkled in Tryst’s eyes, but the sparkle faded quickly.
Then, the unlikely happened. Despite the many wrongs the humans had done her, Tryst yielded. She released Jonathan and pushed him away. Connor exchanged a sad glance with Tryst, forlorn but proud of her passive rebellion. Armed humans swarmed them like angry bees. All Jonathan had to do was give the order, and bullets would fly.
Again, the improbable occurred. Jonathan didn’t give the order to fire. Instead, he gazed long and hard at Tryst, perhaps for the first time seeing her as more than just another target.
He ordered his men to stand down and signaled them to return to their vehicles. They were slow to withdraw, as if they suspected their superior officer had misspoken. Connor saw many dumbfounded looks, but the soldiers did as instructed. Soon, they were gone, leaving only Jonathan, Tryst and Connor to settle the disputes of two worlds.
Connor, too, was taken aback by the command. He admired Jonathan for his bravery, standing alone against a far more powerful adversary. He almost regretted his earlier harsh words; almost, but not quite.
Jonathan sighed. Now, he sounded defeated. Surely, his superiors would have something to say about his actions that night. He glanced at Connor, giving him a nod. Connor was unsure what to make of it. After all they’d been through, could Jonathan be their ally?
Then, Jonathan addressed the alien survivor, one of two that were as different as the sun and moon. “Too many of my men have lost their lives. I fear many more will be lost before this is over. But not tonight.”
The words were pure as snow, poetic to Connor’s ears. He didn’t know what had brought about Jonathan’s sudden change of heart, but he was thankful for it.
Jonathan seemed to sense Connor’s thoughts. “My men were part of a joint mission with Canadian forces in Quebec when the other alien, Kazi, attacked without provocation. We were slaughtered. We never even saw him coming. He seemed to take joy in the death of every soldier he killed. We lost so many good men that day. For some reason, I was spared, and I swore vengeance.”
The words seemed to lodge themselves in Jonathan’s throat. Connor saw that Jonathan’s soldiers were like his brothers, not pawns to be used and wasted in any manner he saw fit. Jonathan wasn’t the reckless meathead he’d measured him to be, but a thoughtful leader and an honorable man. Each of the men under his control had value. Jonathan was unwilling to sacrifice even one more.
“But you are different. I can’t blame you for his acts,” Jonathan continued. “I believe you’re not my enemy, though I doubt those who sent me here would agree. You could have taken my life tonight and God knows on how many other occasions. But you didn’t. I see that now.”
Connor could hardly believe what he was hearing. Was this another government trick, a ploy from the same administration that had sent him marching into the path of an airstrike? If Connor knew anything about the federal government, it was that it couldn’t be trusted. But Jonathan was one man, not some faceless regime. His words resonated with sincerity.
“I’m not your enemy, and I never wanted to be,” Tryst said. “I never asked for any of this. Your people have distrusted us from the beginning. We were all convicted without trial for the crimes of one. And like your kind, we have lost for it.”
With visible remorse, Tryst’s eyes fell on Milliken’s body. He was gone, no more than a slab of meat, food for worms. Her tears began to flow. Connor felt his own welling up inside.
“I know you have,” Jonathan said. “And for my part in it, I’m truly sorry. But Kazi eludes us. He is our enemy as much as he is yours. He must be stopped.”
“Kazi is our shame. He will return here, and when he does, I’ll end his insubordination permanently.”
“My men are loyal to me, but they want Kazi as badly as I do. We won’t be able to stay absent from that fight. We’ll do anything and everything in our power to take him down. But if you align yourself with us, fight with us, I swear my men and I will not harm you.”
Connor was suspicious. He imagined Tryst was even more so. His cynical nature prevented him from accepting the lieutenant’s words as gospel. Their prior experience made him outright distrust it.
“What about your superiors?” Connor asked on Tryst’s behalf. “I doubt they’ll go for that.”
“They won’t,” Jonathan said matter-of-factly. “Let me be absolutely clear—Tryst, you’ll be hunted wherever you go, and attempts will be made on your life. You and your kind will be despised for what happened to the President. I cannot assure your safety and may even be charged with the task of tracking you down.”
“That’s… honest,” Connor said and meaning it. “Given that, why should she help you?”
“Because as of now, I’m still the guy in the field who’s running the show. What I can promise you, Tryst, is that I will not hunt you, I will not harm you, and I will not attempt to bring you in so long as the other alien remains free.”
Tryst stayed silent, letting Connor voice their concerns. “Won’t you be questioned about tonight’s events?” he asked.
“I will. My story will be that we followed you here but found the warehouse empty, excepting the body of your friend. That will give the higher-ups sufficient cause to keep this place under my surveillance. And when Kazi arrives, we’ll be ready.”
Tryst seemed disturbed by Jonathan’s proposal. “You want me to hand over my crewmate’s body to you?” she asked, her tone threatening. “For what purpose? So you can subject his body to desecration and indecency?”
Connor felt her pain. Milliken was more than the crew
mate she claimed him to be. Connor had seen their closeness. She’d lost more than Jonathan could ever hope to understand. Perhaps if he had, he wouldn’t have asked what he asked of her. Tryst hadn’t just lost a companion. Tryst had lost everything she once knew.
“I’m sorry,” Jonathan said, his eyes averted. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but the body may be our best bet at appeasing those in charge and buying us some time to get the bastard who killed him. I’ll let you two think it over. Leave the body out here in an hour, and I’ll know your decision.”
Jonathan headed off into the darkness. Connor looked beyond him but saw no sign of his squad or their vehicles. He knew they were there somewhere, watching, preparing, always under the cover of night. But they kept their distance, and Jonathan did not return.
When he was beyond their sight, Tryst turned to Connor, her eyes still wet. She didn’t try to hide her tears like he would have. He thought it a sign of strength, not weakness.
“Why can’t the humans respect our dead like they do their own?” she asked.
“He asks a tough thing,” Connor said with all the sympathy he could muster. “But you must be selfish at this point. Lieutenant Westfield is in a difficult position, pulled in opposite directions by duty and morality. His plan gives you an opportunity at living and a chance to face Kazi.”
Connor wasn’t sure the last part was a good idea, but he knew it was what Tryst wanted. He feared for her. Connor had seen Kazi’s darker side; he knew what that animal could do to her, to all of them. Milliken was proof of his malevolence. Secretly, he hoped Tryst would run, to try to find a life for herself if possible.
As promised, Connor had found a new home for Milliken and Tryst. If she’d still have it, he’d gift it to her, anything to salvage her friendship and, hopefully, what remained of her soul, if not for humanity’s sake, then for his and her own. At that moment, Connor felt only for her. A bond had formed somewhere during their trials. Tryst was a second daughter Kalima could never provide him, a second chance to be needed.