So It Begins (Defending The Future)

by James Chambers

  “The glass is cold,” said Vanner.

  “So it is,” agreed the bartender.

  “My name is Vanner. So, where can I find some fun?”

  “What did you have in mind?” Breeze asked. His tone seemed reminiscent, as if he recalled asking that question himself on numerous occasions.

  “Maybe something sweet tasting in the range of female company,” Vanner offered.

  “Sure,” Breeze agreed, smiling. “Been a while, huh?”

  “Yeah—you could say that,” Vanner agreed.

  The bartender took a small card from under the bar and handed it to Vanner. “Here’s the place that I recommend. It’s a little pricey, but you get what you pay for. You don’t want any of the cheap stuff—lots of rumors there; some genetic oddities of some sort. Anyway, this place is a good one—one of the best.”

  “Thanks,” Vanner said, as he chugged the remainder of his drink and rose from his chair.

  “Hope you find something to your taste. Take advantage of it while it lasts.”

  “Time is not an issue for me, I’m perpetually young,” Vanner said, and turned to leave. Once outside he chuckled about Breeze’s comment as he hailed a cab as it was going by.

  The cab was cigar-shaped, long and skinny. He got in and the door closed loudly, the sound reverberating in his ears. The cab driver was human, for the most part. The extra digit on each hand was probably very useful in his profession.

  “Where to?”

  Vanner handed him the card, the driver looked at it, smiled, then handed it back without a word. Some things just don’t need explaining, Vanner thought, as he sat back in the seat and considered what he hoped to find where he was going.

  The cab came to a stop and Vanner got out. “Thanks,” he said, and paid the driver. He checked the number on the card, 1432, and looked to find the corresponding door. He saw it and walked up to it. He found the announcing mechanism and pushed it in and waited. In a few moments the door opened. The lighting was not the best. It was hard to tell exactly what she looked like, but Vanner could tell that the outline of her body was mighty fine.

  He handed her the card and said, “I was told that I could find some company here.”

  The woman looked up from the card and her free hand moved to a switch on the wall. She flipped it up and a light directly over him came on.

  He could see her now and what he had perceived in the dim light was even better in full visibility. She appeared to be human in most regards, but her skin color was a distinct blue and her eyes were each a different color. He found the contrast to be quite exhilarating.

  “Are you human?” she asked as she looked at him closely as if she was a doctor and he was the patient.

  “Yes, of course. I am human,” he answered.

  “You look very pale—almost white. You sick. Are you anemic or something?”

  “I’m a soldier—I am not allowed to get sick,” he said, and then laughed briefly at his own joke.

  Her expression became more speculative.

  “That was a joke,” he said, “lighten up, will you . . .”

  “You don’t look right to me,” she said. “I don’t take risks with any of my employees. I haven’t seen any soldiers that are this pale—it’s not natural.”

  “Not natural?” he said, leaning in closer toward her. “Can I point out to you that blue is a bit of an odd color for a person. Besides, what risks? I’m fine, honey,” he said. “And I have plenty of money to spend. You interested or not?”

  “I don’t like your color,” she said, again. “I think you’re one of those monsters I hear about from the ship.”

  Vanner bit his tongue and simply said, “I’m just a soldier, lady, looking to have some fun,” he insisted.

  “No, I have made up my mind. You are one of them—murderer—with no soul. You not allowed in—go away!” She said and slammed the door.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Now that has to be a first: turned away at a brothel. What are these worlds coming to?”

  He walked away from the door and when he was back at the street he hailed another cab. One pulled up and he got inside. The driver asked, “What’s the destination?”

  “Well after a miserable first attempt, I was hoping you might know some places where I can find some interesting companionship?” Vanner slipped another universal twenty from his pocket and handed it to the driver.

  “I might know a place,” the driver said.

  The cab driver drove into the sector that, according to Vanner’s map, was well into the area marked red on the map. Although Vanner knew it was wrong, it didn’t really seem a problem so long as he didn’t get caught. What was the old expression? It’s easier to beg for forgiveness than to ask for permission. Right now, neither one was on the top of his list. He checked his watch; he still had a good six hours before sunrise. Plenty of time, he thought. Plenty of time.

  Vanner stared out the window of the cab and into the darkness as the areas they drove through became less and less lighted. The circular buildings became darker and the amount of litter and debris in the streets more abundant. They also lacked the labeling color. Vanner figured that this part of town was probably one of the older sections, and either didn’t want the orderliness of the city or it didn’t care. Either way, he thought that the situation was promising for him and his mission.

  In a few more minutes, the cab came to a stop. The driver leaned over and pointed out the window, “Up those stairs and to the right. There will be a door at the end of the hall. Knock on it three times and show whoever answers the door this.” He handed Vanner a business card.

  “Last time I used one of these, it didn’t go very well,” Vanner said, as he looked at the card.

  “It’ll be fine. Now go, I have another fare,” the cabbie said, as the dispatcher’s voice echoed from the small speaker in the front of the cab. “I’m not supposed to be in this area.”

  Vanner nodded and said, “Thanks.”

  He stepped out of the cab and made his way up the stairs. When he got to the top, he turned back in the direction he had come and saw that the cabbie had already left. Vanner continued to the door at the end of the hall. He knocked three times and waited.

  “What?” a voice said, through the door.

  “I have a card,” Vanner said, “from the cab driver.”

  “Slide it under the door,” the voice replied.

  “Okay—here you go,” he slid the small paper through the thin slot. A few seconds later he heard the sound of locks being unlatched and the portal finally opening. A woman . . . or a reptile that looked like a woman, depending on your perspective, stood in the threshold. A Beta, Vanner thought, well a Beta with a great body as his eyes scanned her, a very nicely shaped body, but he didn’t think he could get intimate with something that looked like it preferred to be crawling across a desert somewhere.

  “Ah . . . well, perhaps the cabbie made a mistake,” Vanner began. “I was looking for something a little more human.”

  “We have all kinds here, soldier boy,” she said. “Don’t worry about that. I’m just the welcoming wagon and screener, if you know what I mean.” She tapped the side of her body and it made the sound that reminded him of body armor. “Thick enough to stop standard rounds.”

  “Is there a need for such . . . precautions?” asked Vanner.

  “Usually not,” she answered, “but it never hurts to be prepared. Let’s say that sometimes there are visitors that don’t agree with our policies, so by the time they finish with me, those issues have been pretty much resolved.”

  “I can see how that might be,” he said, and smiled.

  Suddenly the reptilian woman stared intently at his face. Her eyes did not waver and her tongue made a swishing motion back and forth, as if she were agitated. Finally she asked, “What’s wrong with your teeth?”

  “My teeth?” he asked. “Why, nothing is wrong with my teeth. They’re good enough for the Corps.”

  “Your
canines are very pointed.”

  “So, I have pointy teeth. What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I’ve seen many soldiers but there have not been any with the pointed teeth like yours. You’re one of those . . . those kind from the ship.”

  “Not again,” he said, thinking that this was going pretty much like his last encounter did.

  “You leave here, we’re not into that kind of stuff,” she said.

  “You have got to be kidding me,” he said. “This has got to be the pickiest planet I have ever been to. What is it with—”

  The door slammed and he could hear the locks being engaged.

  “—you,” he said, finishing his sentence. He took a few steps back, still finding it hard to believe that these people in this profession could be so damn picky.

  “Fine, then,” he said. “I’ll find my own good time. Not everyone in this place can care if my skin is too pale, or if I have pointed teeth!”

  After Vanner had walked a while in the direction that the cab had come from, he removed the map and studied it for several minutes. He figured that if he did not run into any cabs, he would have to walk most of the way back to the green zone, and that looked like a few miles. He looked at his watch. He had a little less than five hours left. He wasn’t worried about having enough time to get back; he knew he could hike the miles quickly if he had to. He started to walk again and figured that maybe he would pass a bar where he could ask for yet another recommendation of where to go, although he was beginning to think that perhaps that was not possible on this planet.

  “Where are you going, soldier?” a female voice asked.

  Vanner stopped and turned in the direction of the voice. There was a woman standing on the edge of an alleyway that intersected with the street that he was currently on. He couldn’t make out much of her because she was encompassed by the dark alley, where the ambient street lighting could not reach.

  “I’m heading back to the spaceport,” he said.

  “That’s a long walk,” she said, and laughed lightly.

  “Yes it is,” he agreed, “but that’s okay because it’s been . . . well . . . one of those nights.”

  “You’re cute and have a good sense of humor,” she said, as she laughed and stepped out into the dimly lit street.

  “Ah—yeah,” he said. His voice left him as she came into his line of sight. On the whole she was pretty much human, and a nicely formed human at that. She looked to be about twenty or twenty-five years old with black hair that flowed half way down her back. Her skin had some color variations to it and some other subtle differences, but compared to the reptile lady—this woman was perfect. But that wasn’t what had caught him off guard. She was wearing the exact dress that he had seen in a vid magazine just last week, and had commented on how sexy it looked. In fact, as he had been walking, he had just been remembering that too and now here it was . . . What an interesting coincidence, he thought to himself.

  “You’re kind of quiet,” she said. “Don’t you have something you want to say to me?”

  “Yeah sure,” he stammered with the words. “Just promise me that you won’t say anything in regards to me being too pale, or that my teeth are too pointy,” he said, baring his teeth.

  “No,” she said, and giggled. “I really think you’re cute. How old are you?”

  “Wait a minute—before I answer that. Is there an age thing on this planet that I should know about? Like too old or too young—that kind of thing?”

  She giggled again. “No, I was just wondering because you look kind of young to be a soldier—that’s all.”

  “Good genes,” he said.

  She stepped closer to him and her fingers touched his uniform, dancing about as they played with the buttons. “How good are these genes we’re talking about?” she asked, in a voice so hot that it felt like it burned him.

  “Let’s just say that they go back—way back.”

  “Well then,” she cooed. “If you’re looking for a good time, my place is not far from here—would you like to come and . . . visit with me for a while?”

  “Honey,” he said, “I promise you that that is one question you will not have to ask twice. Lead on.”

  Just prior to sunrise, the shore patrol was driving around the fringes of the red zone, making their rounds before heading back to the fleet landing area. They called this kind of patrol the drunk collection with an occasional brawl break up. The three things soldiers loved to do was to have sex, drink, and fight, and not necessarily in that order.

  “Up there,” the sergeant said. He pointed to a soldier walking erratically. “Let’s check him out.”

  They pulled up alongside. “Hey fella, what’s your name.”

  “Vanner,” he said. “Corporal Vanner.”

  “Well, Corporal Vanner, looks like you could use a ride back with us.”

  “She was so nice . . .” Vanner said, dreamily.

  “I bet she was,” the sergeant said. He looked Vanner over.

  “What do you think, Sarge?”

  “Aside from looking kind of pale, he appears to be a little disoriented but nothing serious.”

  “Help me get him in.”

  They got Vanner into the vehicle and he sat quietly in the back, wondering what had happened to him and the woman after he walked her to her place. His long awaited and dreamed of good time was all one big blank.

  “After all that crap, I didn’t even get any,” Vanner said, the anguish evident in his voice, “or I don’t remember if I did.”

  “Well, it sounds to me,” Rufus said, “like you ended up with the wrong woman at the wrong place. She was obviously working on her own and basically she lured you up to her place and probably drugged and then robbed you. You know there actually is honor among the working-class ladies, but you have to stay at reputable places.”

  “Oh please—I tried,” exclaimed Vanner, “But like I told you, they had so many issues with my skin color, my teeth, and probably would have about my age as well I think.”

  “Okay, I’m talking to you like a friend here, Vanner,” Rufus said. “There are some things you need to work on.”

  “Like what?”

  “Well, for starters you need to get some sun on you. You’re as pale as a ghost. Hit the sun lamps in the recreational center for a while, that will help. Next, you need to get to the dentist so that they fix those teeth of yours. They are kind of scary because when you smile, they do look like fangs. And lastly, grow a mustache or something, that way people won’t be questioning how young you are. Do you think you can do those things?”

  “Sure,” agreed Vanner.

  “This vampire look works great if we’re in battle—hell it scares the shit out of me—but when you are on liberty, man, you don’t want to scare the ladies you’re trying to romance. You understand me?” he said, in his best imitation of the chief.

  “Sure—thanks.”

  “Now go make an appointment to see the dentist or something—there’s no time like the present to get started,” Rufus said.

  Vanner left the compartment and headed toward the medical area of the ship. He went past the dentist’s office and kept going until he hit the sick call area. He signed in and took a seat. After a few minutes his name was called and he was ushered into the examination room.

  In a few moments, a doctor entered the room. “So what can we do for you, Corporal?” the doctor asked.

  “Well, sir, when I was on liberty . . . well, I kind of met this woman . . . at least, I thought she was a woman, but she really was something else . . .”

  “I see,” the doctor said. “A prostitute.”

  “Well, in a way she was, I guess,” agreed Vanner.

  “So did you and this woman have sex?”

  “Well . . . I think we did. I woke up all sore and tired, but she was gone.”

  “What else?”

  “I think she bit me too. Here on the neck,” he said, as he pulled his collar down and pointed to th
e area on his neck where it was red and irritated.

  “I see, got a little kinky did we?” the doctor said, not looking at Vanner, but continuing the conversation as if he had had it numerous times before.

  “It all gets kind of fuzzy then. I think I remember her sucking my blood and then . . . and then I did the same.”

  “Ah-huh,” the doctor said casually, not really paying any attention to the conversation.

  “It was horrible—no it was wonderful . . . I’m not sure. I just feel so different now.”

  “What kind of symptoms are you having?” he asked, as he went to the medicine cabinet and began to remove the antibiotics that he would probably have to administer.

  “Well, it’s very strange,” Vanner began, “I feel on the edge, ready to pounce, as if I am aching to get into a fight and attack something. And then I seem to have this craving for . . . blood.”

  “What?” the doctor said as he turned around to face Vanner. “Blood? Did you say blood?”

  As the doctor came face to face with Vanner, the sight of the man made him drop the bottle of antibiotic he had in his hand and it shattered on the floor. Vanner was not the same man that had entered the office. In fact, he did not look like a man at all anymore. His face was extremely pale; it looked as if the skin had been pulled so tight that his skull was ready to break through. His eyes had become orbs of red, but that wasn’t the worst. The worst part was the fangs that extended from his mouth. The sharp fangs that moved toward the doctor very quickly.

  “What the . . .” the doctor began, but he never got to finish the question as what used to be Corporal Patrick Vanner quickly ripped out his throat with his large pointed fangs and then began to suck the blood out of him.

  The doctor struggled and kicked out at the creature, but was only successful in knocking over some tables and making noise. In a matter of a minute, he became prone and the creature dropped him to the floor.

  The commotion in the office brought two other doctors to the room. One stayed to try and subdue the creature, while the other went for help. The doctor that stayed in the room with the creature looked at the body of his dead colleague on the floor when he should have been watching the creature. While he was distracted, the creature grabbed him and held him with his feet off the floor by several inches as it proceeded to carve his flesh with its long claws. By the time additional security arrived, the second doctor had been carved to the bone.