Grendel Unit 3: Fight the Power

by Bernard Schaffer

  The Mantipor shook his head and said, "We never told you because you made us believe. In you. In the mission. In doing whatever it took to win. But if there is one thing I have learned, sitting here in this cell, day after day, night after night, weeping for my little ones who I will never see again, it's that the people who believe are the ones who suffer. It is better, by far, to be a spoke in the wheel, because then you don't get run over."

  Vic stood in the darkness for a while after that, not speaking. Monster closed his eyes and settled down once more, trying to go back to sleep. Vic tapped him on the foot and said, "You could look on the bright side."

  Monster opened his eyes again and said, "Please, illuminate me as to what the bright side of living in this never ending nightmare could possibly be."

  Vic smiled lopsided at him and said, "You always complained about not being to go on away missions with me. Well, here we are. Ta-dah!"

  Monster laughed in spite of himself and said, "Now I'm sure of it. You're definitely insane."

  Vic waved his hand for Monster to come out of the cell and said, "I know what you need. Come on. It's been too long."

  "Too long since what?"

  "Since you had any exercise. I have just the thing. It will help clear your mind."

  Monster squinted at him and said, "I do not feel like going outside."

  "What, you're going to sit there until the rest of your fur falls off? The sun might do you some good, and besides, I don't think I could stand the sight of you bald all over. Come on. Trust me."

  "Trusting you was how I got into this mess."

  "So maybe it will also help you get out. Come on. You'll like it, I promise."

  Monster shook his head and lowered it into his shaggy paws, using them to block out anything else Vic said. As he did so, he looked down and saw a new patch of hairless flesh along the underside of his right arm, revealing the embarrassingly pink skin beneath his fine, chestnut brown fur. He turned his head and inspected underneath his other arm, seeing the beginning of two bald spots. Monster slumped his hands down in his lap and muttered, "Damn you, human."

  3. Rebel Without a Pause

  Sgt. Bob Buehl looked down at the computer console and his eyes widened. There were flashing red dots indicating multiple anti-spacecraft weapons systems on the surface of the planet below, and many of them were now trained on their ship. "I thought he said this place was not well guarded!" Bob said.

  Frank was too busy staring at his own schematics to pay attention to the edge of panic in the sergeant's voice. Maybe he'd just gotten too used to hearing it by then. "He said the guards don't get involved with the prisoners," Frank sighed. "Not that they don't defend it."

  "I'll say it's defended. They've got cannons mounted to every corner of the prison, sir. Those things can punch a hole through the hull of a star freighter, never mind this thing." Bob checked the rest of the readout and shook his head, saying, "Guided missiles, auto-targeting chain guns. We couldn't even Baumgartner jump if we wanted to. The turrets would cut us to pieces before we broke through the atmosphere."

  Frank nodded like he was listening and said, "I guess that rules out the element of surprise."

  "Are you listening to me?" Bob said. "We can't sneak in and even if we could, we'd never make it back out. What are we supposed to do, just land and say, 'Hi, we're here for the two o'clock prison break. Is this a good time?' Where the hell is Milner? I need to show him this."

  As Bob spoke, the captain's door opened behind him and a weary looking General Milner emerged, holding a tablet with both hands. He looked at Bob, but it was as if he were a thousand miles away and ignoring the sergeant's call for him to come over and see all the flashing red dots on the computer screen. "Lieutenant?" Milner's voice rasped.

  "Yes, sir?" Frank said, slowly getting out of his seat, reverting to formality at that unusual moment, sensing it might be something important.

  The General raised the tablet toward him, but still held it with both hands, gripping it so tightly his fingers were white. "I am giving this to you in the event that…in the event that I am not able to confer with Captain Cojo."

  Frank put his hands out to take the tablet and said, "All right. But I don't think that's going to be a problem."

  The General hadn't let go. Instead, Milner looked down at the tablet with a red-rimmed, weary gaze and said, "If, for any reason, Cojo is not able to accept this, you are to assume command and carry it out. Do you understand?"

  Milner looked up at Frank with such desperation that Frank could only nod and say, "Yes, sir. What is it?"

  "Absolute madness," Milner whispered. "A thing that no good General hopes to ever have to instruct his people to do. Remember. Give this to Captain Cojo and him alone. You are only to open it if he is unable to. Do you understand?"

  "I understand," Frank said.

  Milner let go of the tablet and took a deep breath, as if finally unburdening himself of a great weight. He wiped the sheen of sweat from his face and looked at Sgt. Buehl, saying, "I heard you say there are concerns about approaching Gratersfield."

  "I did, sir," Bob said. He pointed at the screen behind him and said, "I'm picking up the signatures of heavy weaponry that will not allow any spaceship to land on the planet without clearance. We cannot force our way in."

  Milner looked down at the screen and said, "Who said anything about forcing our way in?"

  Red lights blinked on the ship's console and Sgt. Buehl shifted nervously in the pilot's seat. "They've acquired us as a target, sir. We have three vitka cannons locked on our position, General. Whatever we're going to do, do it fast."

  "Open a comm, Sergeant," the General said.

  Bob touched an icon on his console and said, "Gratersfield Penitentiary, come in."

  There was static on the line, and then a voice said, "Identify yourselves immediately, or we will fire."

  General Milner came forward to lean over Bob's shoulder and said, "This is General Milner, Unification Command. I am here to conduct an Administrative audit of your facility in compliance with Order 5766. Standby for transmission of my security clearance and withdraw your weapons. I say again, standby for transmission of my security clearance and withdraw your weapons."

  The General pressed another icon on the screen to initiate the transmission of his credentials and after a brief silence, the red lights stopped blinking on the screen. Milner smiled briefly at them and said, "Well, I suppose getting promoted wasn't entirely a bad thing."

  "As long as you don't mind counting spoons and pencils for the rest of your life," Frank shrugged, giving the general a half-smirk. The look on the general's face made it clear he was not in the mood. "Sorry," Frank said.

  The radio crackled again, "We are sending landing coordinates to your mainframe. You are to land on the roof and await further instruction from Warden Drexel."

  "Roger that," Buehl said as he typed rapidly on the ship's screen. He flipped off the comm and looked back at the other two men and said, "Last chance to change your minds." Neither Frank nor the general spoke, and Bob engaged the ship's engines to begin descending. He pressed himself up using the arms of the pilot's seat, lifting himself completely out of the chair, and then lowering himself several inches, but not touching it. He did this several times in a row, getting faster with each rep, until the muscles of his biceps were rippled and tight. His lips were tightly pursed as he breathed and grunted, "Actually, even if you'd said no, both you bastards were coming with me anyway."

  Frank felt tired just watching the pilot exercise and he said, "Look on the bright side, Bob. There's a good chance you'll see some of those Sapienists you grew up with. Maybe you can all catch up on old times. And if we wind up staying, you can probably join their prison gang."

  "Go to hell," Bob said, pressing himself up and down even faster.

  The ship was rocking back and forth as it descended, giving off a loud hiss of white steam as the thrusters engaged and covering the observation windows in fog. The
General wiped his hand across the window to clear away the condensation and look out at the green and blue landing lights on the prison roof, but he was distracted by Sgt. Buehl's incessant grunts. "Must you really do that right now?" General Milner said.

  "It's his thing, general," Frank said. "He does it when he gets nervous. Or bored. Or angry."

  "Or to keep from ripping your head off," Bob added.

  "That too."

  The ship jolted as it touched down on the hard surface of the roof and the smoke cleared from the windows, revealing dozens of uniformed guards standing on the sides, all of them armed with large rifles. At the center of the formation, a tall, skinny man who stood hunched forward, his large nose aimed at the ground like he was incessantly in the process of sniffing for something. Warden Drexel swept his long coat aside and shook it free of the swirls of dust kicked up by the ship's landing. This is a man made nervous by unexpected supervision, Milner thought. He must have a thousand different schemes running in this garbage dump, and the idea of having to account for his food supplies and medicine is going to make him want to vomit. There are probably three ships arriving with goods for the prisoners in the front door and two ships leaving out the back to go sell the majority of them on the black market. Milner straightened his uniform shirt, pulling it from the bottom to give it clean lines along his chest and waist and thought, I'll be using that to my advantage.

  The boarding ramp lowered slowly to the ground and the three of them descended, squinting in the bright light of the sun that hovered low over the prison. It was scalding hot and the humidity wrapped around them like wet blankets as they covered their faces to shield them, and get a better look at the troops assembled in front of them.

  Warden Drexel swiped a length of long, black hair from his face and tucked it over his ear. He clucked his tongue in preparation to speak, making a loud popping noise that they could hear over the softening whine of their ship's engines. The Warden pointed at the Rangefinder rifles slung across Frank and Bob's chests and said, "I'm sorry, gentlemen, but there are no weapons allowed on Gratersfield. You will have to secure them."

  General Milner glanced at Bob and Frank, then back at the guards standing behind the Warden, and said, "But you have weapons."

  Another cluck, and a soft laugh, and Drexel said, "That's true. Very observant. But you see, what I meant to say, was that no one else is allowed to have weapons on Gratersfield. It is a security measure. I am sure you understand."

  Frank and Bob made quiet noises of protest as the general reached around his waist and unbuckled his gun belt, saying, "Of course. If we cannot abide by the rules, then what are we to become?"

  The warden watched Milner hand his belt and holster back to Sgt. Buehl. Bob removed his own weapon and collected Frank's next to put them on the ship. The only gear the men wore were rectangular computer scanners holstered in their belts. He flicked his hand in their direction and said, "You won't need those either. Secure them in your ship as well."

  "Actually, we do," General Milner said. "They contain proprietary software designed to do a proper audit."

  "But we have all our audits up to date. You can simply review the logs."

  "Enough!" The General drew in his breath sharply to collect himself and said, "I am afraid you are verging dangerously close to refusing this inspection, sir. Be advised that it is within my authority to shut this entire operation down and return with a squadron of Unification soldiers, if necessary. They are in the sector and can be here within half an hour if the next words out of your mouth are anything other than you acceptance of this inspection and your welcoming of my men. Is that clear?"

  The warden stiffened and looked sick at being spoken to that way in front of his subordinates. The greasy tip of hair dangling over his forehead quivered as he attempted to collect himself and assuage the situation. He forced himself to relax and appear pleasant, which seemed more vulgar an expression than his scowl, Frank thought. "Of course you are welcome, General," Warden Drexel said. "Perhaps my confusion is a result of not understanding why you are here. You see, we are not due for inspection for another six months."

  "I was in the area," Milner said, lowering his voice. "I've just been promoted, you see, and I'm eager to get started. Unfortunately, there are many other sites that do not enjoy the sterling reputation Gratersfield has."

  "Oh?" Drexel said, his face widening into a greasy smile.

  "I thought I'd knock out the easy ones first."

  "Well, I am sure you will find everything in peak operating conditions and we are very glad to have you here."

  "Thank you, Warden. Now, what I will need is unrestricted access to your facility for me and my team."

  "Well," Drexel winced, "that will not quite be as easy as it sounds."

  "Why not?"

  "We operate on a very restrictive security clearance. Not even our most senior people have absolute access to the prison. I am afraid, you will need to be accompanied by several guards at all times, both so that you may go where you need, and also for your own protection."

  "I am sure we'll be fine," the general said. He looked back at Bob and Frank and said, "My boys can take care of themselves."

  "I'm certain," Drexel said. He was about to continue speaking when he stopped at what sounded like a siren wailing, growing louder as it approached, coming out of nowhere and then suddenly loud enough that all of the guards turned and looked around the roof in confusion.

  They saw the twirling figure of a man spinning in cartwheels through the air, screaming for help as he crested over the prison's roof and scrambled to grab a hold of the side, but it was useless. He was too far away, and then the man vanished under the edge of the roof again and the siren of his scream dissipated into the wind again.

  "What in the hell was that?" Bob whispered.

  The guards slammed into one another as they raced to the side of the roof, raising their weapons in preparation to fire, shouting, "Man the walls! They're trying to climb up!"

  But the walls were empty. There was nothing on the hard concrete below but the bloody red pulp of what had been the man they'd seen flying through the air moments before, and standing next to him were two other forms. One was the smaller shape of a prisoner who was looking up at the roof, calling out, "You almost made it. I'll say that's a triple."

  The second being was much larger, standing tall enough to cast the first one in his shadow, and he roared, "Triple? That was at least an inside-the-park homerun. He almost made it to the roof!"

  Frank's eyes widened at the sight of his former teammates and he lifted his head to shout down at them, but Bob touched his arm with his hand and shook his head slightly. They both knew it was imperative to the operation not to alert the staff who they were. The three of them stepped back and Frank stopped to take one last look at his friends before he vanished behind the guards assembled at the edge.

  Far below, Vic Cojo turned and looked up at the roof once more, gauging the distance that Monster had thrown the prisoner and said, "It was a good throw, but not your best. Double or nothing?"

  Monster shrugged as he turned toward the sea of prisoners crowding together to keep away from the Mantipor. Both he and Vic were blocking the main gate to let them back into the prison, and while they were sure they could overrun Vic, none of them wanted to be flung through the air next. "Do you see anyone good?"

  Vic held his hands above his eyes and scanned the crowd, searching until he saw a muscular, bald-headed human whose bare chest was slick with sweat. There was a series of jagged scars across the prisoner's abdomen, and Vic nodded when he saw it. "Jasper Welch. Species trafficker. He got sent away for kidnapping Yandarian infants and selling them to the Sapienists for experimentation."

  "Perfect," Monster muttered, storming immediately toward the group. They recoiled in fear, their faces etched with terror and revulsion at being so defenseless. A few of them had postured like they might try and rally against the Mantipor, but none of them had dared step for
ward. None of them seemed to believe the man being singled out by Monster and Victor Cojo was worth dying for.

  These men were hunters, predators of the weak and innocent and Monster felt the blood of battle pumping hot throughout his being, bringing life to his atrophying body and spirit. He saw the look of fear in the faces of these cruel men and roared aloud, showing them his fangs.

  The prisoners around Welch scattered out of the way, but the man himself stood indignant, folding his thick arms across his barrel-chest. "Piss off," he said. "You know who I am?"

  Vic Cojo's arm shot out against Monster's chest to halt the creature, and he said, "I do. Tell me where Bal Ghor is and I'll ask my friend here not to teach you how to fly."

  "Yeah, right," Welch sneered. "Don't even try it, you disgusting beast. Keep your damn paws−"

  The next sound Welch made was a high-pitched scream as Monster snatched him up by the arm and leg and whipped him violently around like a shot-putter, swinging him all the way around before sending him flying into the air. The guards high above them on the roof let out a gasp of astonishment as the whirling body of one of their prisoners was flung toward them, the man's screams both horrific and morbidly funny.

  One of the guards raised his rifle and fired, blasting a hole through Jasper Welch's chest as he spun, and the screams stopped. Welch's body continued its ascent and crashed against the upper lip of the roof, splattering the guards' boots with blood. Warden Drexel watched the inmate's body tumble back down to the ground and he turned to the guard who'd shot and said, "What the hell are you doing? Why did you shoot that man?"

  The guard sputtered a little and said, "H-he was coming up, sir. The prisoners aren't allowed to come up to this level."

  "He wasn't coming up on purpose!" Drexel shouted.

  "But…the rules," the guard said.

  "Give me that gun," Drexel said, taking the rifle from the guard. He aimed it at the group of prisoners below and said, "Whoever flings the next person up to this roof is going to be shot, do you hear me?"