by Lea Tassie
"No way, that would mean he is like two hundred and fifty years old," James blurted out. "Those action figures were from the days of the first alien invasion."
"Yup, I read it from one of the command briefings. The guy's name is Charger, and he's stationed here on Earth," Paul replied. "Command is aware of our plan, and hopes to get him here to fly this plane. The Grays can't kill what they can't detect, and an undead vampire is perfect." Paul quietly packed away the last of the tools in the dark confines of the old hangar. "With a bit of luck, we might be able to fly this thing in a week or two."
In just a few days the boys found themselves in Charger's presence. He had been given orders to take this task, and sent to the base immediately. Paul and James were awed. Charger was really there, their huge, childhood hero of old, but there were no Lycans with him. "Where's your werewolves?" asked Paul.
Charger just ignored the question, so Paul asked again. This time Charger gave Paul a stern look and moved away from him. The commanders discussed the plans and gave credit for the idea to James and Paul.
With the group refocused on the boys, Paul again asked. "Charger, I don't see your pets. Where are the werewolves?" This time Charger snapped, "Dead. I killed them!"
Paul was crushed. His favorite childhood toy had been Charger, but he really had a thing for Jill; she was hot. With sadness in his voice, Paul asked, quietly and with reverence, "Jill was my favorite toy as a kid, except for you. How did she die?"
Charger seemed frozen in time for a few seconds, then, with a savage look, he answered. "Things die! Forget your toys and grow up!"
Paul dropped the topic. Even James and the base commanders were stunned by the malevolence. As the darkness fell, Charger was geared and guided to the old plane.
"Enola Gay, that figures. Stupid humans!" mumbled Charger under his breath as he stared up at the plane's nose. The data needed to fly this old beast was uploaded to his memory from command's computers, as the engineers and mechanics scurried about in the darkness, making last minute checks.
Paul just couldn't let it go, and as the area was clearing of personnel, he approached Charger, who was preparing to board the plane. "I don't know what happened to you, or to Jill, but you three were my heroes when I was younger. I wanted to be like you, to be changed into a vampire. You've always been there to help us fight, and I know you're very old, but I want you to have this." Paul pulled small figures of Jill and Mac from his backpack, and handed them up to Charger.
Charger stared at Paul, then at the dolls. Then, in a voice devoid of emotion, he said, "Get out of my face, or I'll break your neck!" He turned and climbed into the plane.
It had been almost a hundred and twenty years since humanity demanded the death of the Lycans, not that long after he'd gone to Mars for the second time. Yet his memories were so vivid it hardly seemed more than a year since he'd held Jill to his breast and snapped her neck. Years to a vampire, who seemed destined to live forever, felt like days. Like humans, the older he got, the faster the time seemed to pass.
In the darkness, the Enola Gay fired back to life. The thunder of the engines shook the ground as the old war bird moved down the tarmac, then gracefully lifted skyward. The commanders, along with Paul and James, could do nothing now but hope. Old Doc Jenkins, who had been quietly working in the background, drunk as usual, piped up and said. "Oh, I like him! I hope he kills the lot of them."
Flying a B-29 Superfortress bomber was almost impossible to do alone, and was made even more difficult by the very size of Charger's body. The engineers had had to remove the two front seats and place an old bed mattress on the floor of the pilot's area to fit Charger into the cockpit. They added some basic computer technology to assist him, technology old enough to prevent the Grays from perceiving the plane as a threat. The old aircraft seemed to crawl along in the air as it slowly made its way to the altitude where the alien mother ships hovered. Several small fighters piloted by the Grays passed Charger but they all ignored him.
Several hours passed while the commanders watched, through telescopes, the aircraft moving closer to the big sky ships. Charger's face appeared on their monitors but he said little. Some time was spent in observing the craft while the scientists and engineers plotted a course for the attack, and Enola Gay plodded through the sky, ever closer to the ships. Three of the big ships were deemed close enough together for the gravity wave to affect all of them, and Charger was given an attack vector to follow. He flew to where the vector began, jammed a piece of wood into the plane's controls and tied them off with ropes. Then he set the alien device to activate, and moved to the back of the plane to make his escape.
At the right moment, Charger leapt from Enola Gay, sending her on to her destination alone. His descent rockets engaged just shy of him slamming into the ground, bringing him to a rest on a hilltop a few miles from the command center. He gathered himself up, and began the run to Command, trying to place as much distance as possible between himself and the old plane and its cargo before it blew. He didn't get far. When the gravity device was activated, it was almost dead center of the three huge sky ships, surrounded by several smaller attack crafts. What happened next was a sight that would be remembered by Paul and James for as long as they lived.
The Enola Gay instantly crumpled from tail to nose into a ball of metal surrounding the gravity device. The three sky ships shuddered, then rapidly moved toward the mass of bent metal. The smaller craft had no time to shudder, they screamed toward the metal mass and crashed hard, blending their technology with what remained of the Enola Gay. The three large ships smashed hard into the glowing mass of wreckage, which hung in the sky like a new star, and the whole thing began crumpling into a ball.
Charger paid no attention to the spectacle above his head. He continued to run from the area below it.
A few other alien craft raced to aid the stricken ships, only to find themselves embroiled in the tangled and shrinking metal ball. Paul and James cheered and yelled for more aliens to be foolish enough to rush to the rescue. Even Doc Jenkins put his bottle down and began dancing about like a kid, encouraging the scientists and engineers to join in. The new star hung in the air as straggling alien ships rushed in to help and were drawn into the spider web, crushed to a point of mass in the sky.
Meanwhile Charger puffed along, running toward the command center. When he was within a few miles of the base, the terrain ahead flared up in a brilliant light that burned his skin the same way daylight did.
The aliens had gone berserk. Almost at once, they understood what was happening, and tracked the event back to its source. There were no screams of pain, no cries of agony, only a brilliant light, then darkness, and what remained was a crater in the ground. No one there escaped to brag of the victory. Nor did nearby targets escape. An ocean vessel sailing just off shore was blotted out in seconds, along with all other life in the area.
Charger stopped and looked back over his shoulder to see the gravity star fade, then begin to fall from the sky. He watched it hit the ground and, because of its dense mass, disappear beneath the surface of the earth.
Again he felt robbed of a victory. In spite of all his efforts, people were still dying. What was the point of it all? Charger had long since lost most of his ability to feel, and all desire to express feeling. With the death of Mac and Jill, he had lost his final rapport with humanity. He would remember the brave attempt of this small group, though he doubted it would matter. Old and alone, with many memories he didn't want, Charger walked on into the darkness.
***
Charger was weary, in more ways than one. "I wish I could avoid humans altogether. If there was just someplace I could go to get away from them, maybe I'd find some peace." This mission they had him on now was a fool's errand, and he was sick of watching the people he was supposed to save end up dying.
That last mission had been a joke, too. He'd watched good people die trying to defeat an enemy they had no chance against. He could not believe Command had got
ten so desperate as to listen to a couple of stupid kids plan an attack on the Gray base ships, though he was even more surprised when it actually worked.
For a brief moment in humanity's last stand, they had given their all to win one battle. "I liked watching the destruction of the base ships as they formed a mass of light, hanging by their throats in the sky. In my imagination, I could hear the Grays screaming and that made me happy. We got some of our own back."
Afterwards, he'd reported the news of the success and the failure to another base, and had become angry again at the hopeful faces of the soldiers there. Now Command was shipping him off to Vesta, some crap rock in the middle of nowhere, full of fun lava pits to keep his ship out of, to get seeds. "What kind of logic runs in the human mind? Or do they have any?"
"I've become an errand boy," Charger continued to complain. "Maybe when I get to this rock, I should just dig in and stay there. Fuck humanity. I can't believe they're still following orders from that bastard, Harris, even after so many years." As this internal dialogue rolled on in Charger's mind, he ignored the scientists and engineers who busied themselves with final preparations to launch the small spacecraft to its destination.
Systems powered on and launch codes activated. As the small craft surged to life, Charger felt the familiar pressure of acceleration on his massive chest. The ship he'd been launched in was a dinosaur, some old space shuttle from a museum.
"Fucking piece of junk! I bet I could float in space faster than this thing travels." To distract himself, he calculated how long it would take to get to Vesta by propelling himself through space using a breast stroke. Maybe the junk ship wasn't such a bad idea. Charger went on grumbling. With Mac and Jill removed from his mind, he had no one to complain to except himself. His mind was a place he had once known well, but after so many years of being linked to the Lycans, he found it necessary to learn to navigate there all over again.
Vesta was a small, barren asteroid, incredibly cold and hostile to life. Many years back, the military had hidden a base on its surface, constructed to General Harris's specifications. There, for safekeeping, scientists placed the genetic constructs that made up life on Earth. A kind of Ark in space for a rainy day, full of all the plants and animals that lived on Earth, but in a convenient germinal state that required no food, water or cages.
Charger was now required to get these seeds of Earth and deliver them to Neo Terra for safekeeping, since the Grays had recently been seen inspecting the asteroid. "Better safe than sorry, my ass," Charger raged on. "Why send me to do what a monkey could do? I should be fighting, not delivering shit!"
It was over for Earth and Charger was the only one left who could survive the long trek to Vesta in such a relic of a ship. "No one ever stops to think what it's like to live as long as I have. There's no subject I haven't heard discussed a dozen times. Every year I watch good people die and bad people live."
The scientists and engineers who launched Charger on this mission really admired him, though they were very uncomfortable in his presence. They spoke of how lucky Charger was to be able to deal with so much destruction and still rise to the fight again and again. In an attempt to show their gratitude, they sneaked rare, expensive packets of coffee on board for Charger to enjoy on his long trip. This expression of gratitude was lost on Charger; he just wandered into the back area of the craft and made a cup of coffee when he wanted it.
The scientists knew that because Charger was so near to death he did not require a stasis pod. But they wanted to be kind to the monster and were afraid the long trip in space might cause him mental distress. The engineers designed a small device that Charger could plug into, which replicated the stasis experience for his mind.
Two months passed before the small, primitive ship reached Vesta. There it docked as it was programmed to do, and woke Charger from stasis. He grumbled at the alarm signal and went out to gather the crates on his list and stow them in the small craft for its final push to Neo Terra. Fifty-seven crates, going for a ride through space and then back into storage.
"Ah, crap!" Charger grumbled, after he'd read his messages and belted himself back into the command seat built to accommodate his great size. "Go here, go there, now the bastards want me to go back to Earth for a look? When will these guys make up their minds?"
Chapter 8 Night of the Black Rain
"Darling, did you remember to take the recyclables to the recyc-gen?" Debbie yelled to her husband, Joshua.
"Yes, dear. I always remember, just like you always tell me to do it," Joshua replied as he quickly scooped up the bag and tip-toed to the front door to drop it into the generator. Then he slipped back into the front room to watch the sports channel.
Now that they were settled in a city that suited their lifestyle, the future looked good for Joshua's family. New Denver was just too technological for their personal values, so they'd chosen a small city in an area once known as Nevada.
Reno was a deeply Christian town, where neighbors knew each other, streets were clean, and lawns were kept tidy by the town's robots. They had no mass transit, like in those techie towns out east and down south. People mostly walked if they needed to go somewhere. Jobs were plentiful, and Joshua worked as a school teacher. Each morning he ate breakfast with his wife and two sons, then around nine, retired to his work room and connected to the network to teach history to his students. He played no favorites with his oldest son, who attended his class. Josephus was expected to go to his room and plug in on time, just like every other student.
History was a popular class with most students, for the mistakes of the past were examined in detail. Each student was expected to make written presentations of their views on why the world was so much better off now that humanity understood the spiritual failures of the godless leaders of the past.
Life had become idyllic, clean and wholesome. Each weekend, Joshua would gather up the family, dressed in their finest attire, and call for a robot transport to take them to the town's church. The Church of Christ was a remarkable building in the dead center of town, the property covering four square miles. Lush gardens and winding pathways took the faithful past the service bots to the center of a grand structure of crystal and silver spires that gleamed brilliantly in the sun.
No composite materials had been used in the construction of this House of God. No indeed, real gold had been bonded to an iron skeleton. Only one church served this well-populated town of almost a half million souls, for there was only one God, and all who lived there were expected to praise His divinity. Though architecturally beautiful, the church was not acoustically well-designed, and it was necessary for the pastor at the podium to use a microphone, hanging discreetly from his right ear, to speak to the congregation through the public address system.
Today's sermon was a continuation of every week's sermon on the evils of science, and how godless people would tempt the unwary into deceit through the use of technology. "It is far better that we live in God's mighty shadow here in Reno, than be like those heathens in New Denver," the old pastor intoned firmly, as he raised his bony finger skyward. "Let not Satan take hold of your precious soul, for God has proven that we humans are truly the only children God created in this universe."
The old pastor fidgeted for a moment as he flipped through his tablet screens to find the log-on code for the main screen. "I again direct your attention to the monitor and, if it's too far away for you to see clearly, turn on the small screen in the headrest of the seat in front of you, where you will see our Lord's true evolutionary tree of life." There it was, Darwin's tree of life, clearly showing man as the only creation, set apart and separate from all the other animals of this world. All the animals that had survived the wars, that is.
"You can see here ancient Atlantis, which God cast out into the depths of space as punishment for their reliance on technology, His mighty hand ripping them and their land from Earth and sending them skyward!" The old pastor adjusted his earpiece and flipped through a few more scre
ens on his tablet, as he waited for the congregation to be impressed by his clarity. "These Atlantians are the demons the Bible spoke of. That's right, the Bible gave humanity the answer, but humanity refused to listen and we were punished for our arrogance!" The old pastor's voice began to rise in volume as he pushed the faders up on his tablet.
"And here, here, see? These are the Taskers of New Eden. They too were human. The devil's own creation, the spawn of science. They too were human!" The old pastor was turning red in the face. "I tell you this! The Bible has always said that God created man, separate from the animals. We were saved by Noah, and then saved again by Jesus! You will only be saved if you accept Jesus! And I tell you…" The crowd rose and cheered, nearly shaking the rafters that held up the roof of glass. The sun was high in the sky and rays of light beamed down upon the pastor in his elaborate red, silver and white robes, creating a colorful spectacle for the congregation.
Outside, the noonday sun had raised the temperature to the one-hundred-degree mark, but no one inside was concerned, for the air filtration and moderation system functioned perfectly to keep the crowd cool and refreshed. "Yes, brothers and sisters, science and its henchman, technology, defied the word of God by opening the doors to hell itself and letting in those who God himself had cast out. I speak of those called the Dinosauroids." This time the old pastor's voice seemed hushed, as if he was revealing a great secret. "That some among us today continue to defile God's perfect realm by communicating with these beasts... well, it makes me sad for those lost heathens in New Denver." The pastor seemed to slump down, shaking his head, as if accepting defeat.
The crowd again rose up in defiance; yells of resistance could be heard. The pastor's face appeared on all the monitors, as he looked into the camera and said, "Go home now, my children, back to your sanctuaries, and remember, we must all fight to resist those outsiders who seek to enter and destroy our perfect union here under God."