by Vossen, Doug
“No, but you’re being passive aggressive now.”
“And you’re avoiding the question. Why did you get into this shit?”
“I was extremely insecure as a child and thought this would provide meaning and direction. I liked the idea of going to a place and coming out a badass on the back end,” said Jack.
“Did it work?” Callie was genuinely interested.
“It did until I learned that I’m too neurotic to ever have the confidence needed to think I’m a badass. What sealed the deal was figuring out the true nature of the war I was fighting.” Jack was being honest, but he was frustrated at the line of questioning.
“And what was that?” Callie asked.
“Do you follow the stock market?”
“Nope. Dude, I’m a stripper with tattoos and a half-shaved head. Do I look like I follow the stock market?”
“Of course you’re a stripper,” Jack replied.
“The fuck does that mean?”
“Nothing. I’m sorry. I’m being judgmental.”
“Fuck, me too. I’m sorry Jack.”
“It’s OK. Anyway, the entire war was waged to raise the stock price of a company called Halliburton. The vice president at the time was heavily invested in it. 9/11 was just the public excuse.”
“How was 9/11 an excuse?”
“Well, if we REALLY cared about justice, we would have gone into Saudi Arabia all cock-strong and showed them what’s up.”
“But they have the oil,” Callie said.
Smarter than she lets on.
“So why do you keep doing it?” Callie asked.
Because I love the soldiers so fucking much. I can’t NOT. Who knows, maybe one day I can try to fix the mess from the inside out, or at least help someone who can. “So, why are you a stripper?” Jack evaded.
“Why can’t I be a stripper? And don’t think I’m letting you off the hook.” Callie wasn’t upset; she was being coy.
“The world is ending, just answer the question.”
“Callie, Major Rugerman really likes you,” chimed Harrison. “I haven’t seen him talk to anyone this many minutes in a row before!”
“Why are you a stripper and not something else?” Jack said. “I doubt it has to do with just the money. You seem too smart for that.”
“I got raped relentlessly by my neighbor for a few years as a child,” said Callie. “My mom was divorced and too strung out to give a shit. I ran away.”
“So you needed the money to live?” Jack asked.
“No, you were right the first time. I could’ve talked my way into a lot of better paying jobs.”
“So, what then?”
“The abuse not only ruined me to sex and emotional connections with men, it gave me this fire to put them all in their place.”
“By stripping?” Jack was confounded.
“Have YOU ever stripped?”
“I have not.”
“I have!” said Harrison.
“Save it, Harrison,” Jack said.
“Roger, sir. I’ma go check out down the hall. Just to see nothin’s coming from down there.”
“If you haven’t, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Callie said.
I really like talking to her. Totally not my type. If I even fucking had one. “Please enlighten me.”
“In the strip club the men see you as an intimidating hot woman who imposes her will with sexuality. Most of the people who go there are abject losers. They hate their wives. They hate their jobs. They throw gobs of cash at you so they can forget about all the shit they hate for a few seconds. Oh yeah, and we choose the shortest remixes of songs.”
“So this is your way to get back at the person who hurt you?”
“Yeah, I guess it is. I’m high and it’s nagging at me not to lie. The money was retarded awesome. If I didn’t feel like working for a few days, I didn’t have to. It was a win-win situation.”
“You wouldn’t get fired?” Jack asked.
“Doesn’t work like that. You’re a commodity. They expect you to be a flake.”
“What happens if you’re too flakey?”
“There are more strip clubs in the boroughs and Jersey than I knew what to do with.”
“I’m really sorry your neighbor raped you and you feel like you need to get even. That must be a really difficult way to live, Callie. If we don’t die after this, you can at least count on me to be nice to you.” I’d love to fuck her, but I would never want to mess with the fragile mind of a victim still searching for the tools to process past trauma. We all have our shit. She does too. She sees our shit but can’t see deep down that everything she does only further complicates her perspective and mentality.
“Thank you, Jack. I can roll a joint. Want me to roll a J right now?” Callie sounded hopeful.
“I can’t. It’s been too many years. Besides, I don’t want to call extra attention to ourselves with the smell. Wait it out till we aren’t in such a vulnerable spot, please.”
“Fine. But when we get this done I’m reintroducing you to weed.” Is she hitting on me or just cool as hell? Shit, this always happens the second I start talking to a woman. I can’t read woman signals for shit.
“We’ll see. I’ve always been more of a psychedelics guy.”
“Wait, what? That’s awesome! Tell me more!”
“That’s another discussion for another time, without my subordinates in earshot,” said Jack.
“Come on, he’s down the hall!” Callie said in a loud whisper.
“It’ll give us something to talk about when you get my dumb ass high for the first time in fifteen years.”
“I like that idea,” said Callie.
I’m so confused. I’m MUCH more comfortable analyzing military situations than talking to women socially. What the fuck is wrong with me?
Karl came in over the radio. “Jackie, Karl. We finished our sweep of the floor. Moving down one more. Antonio ‘Bigfoot’ Silva’s ball of shit makes searching for the living SO much easier!”
“First of all, I love the reference,” said Jack. “Good job. Keep us posted. I’m sure Legate Ronak’s sphere is very useful.”
“Ron’s shit is awesome!” said Karl. “I wish we’d had it when that bitch blew herself up in the Kirkuk Market carrying that fucking rice bag of Semtex or whatever.”
It was just some bootleg TNT, man. “Cool, man. Keep us posted.”
“What happened in that market?” Callie’s somber tone made Jack realize how ludicrous he sounded when talking about massive bouts violence. He might as well have been mentioning how it rained last Thursday.
“Some lady got convinced it was a good idea to blow herself up for Allah in the market right before the Muslim Sabbath,” said Jack. “It was shoulder-to-shoulder packed. People freaked the fuck out. The Iraqi Police responded by indiscriminately shooting down 60% of the marketplace with fully automatic weapons. Riots ensued.” It looked kind of like what’s going on in the park right now.
“Holy shit. You were there?”
“I saw the aftermath. I watched it happen over a UAV feed about two clicks away,” Jack said.
“What’s a UAV? And a click?”
“What the news calls a drone. And a click is a kilometer.”
“Why would that lady blow up her own people?” Callie asked. “I just don’t understand.” Callie sounded very sad. Being high was making her overly empathetic.
“The group that convinced her to kill herself believed that if they killed enough of their own people in mass slaughters, it would make the Americans look incapable of protecting them. That and the fact that if you’re an Arab of a slightly different group than those you’re attacking, it’s completely acceptable in tribal politics. If you think we have terrible rationalizations for violence, you should see theirs.”
“That’s some heavy shit, man. How do you sleep at night?”
“I forgave myself for my role in it,” Jack said.
“Just like that?”
“Well, after a few DMT trips and some Ayahuasca sessions in Peru.”
“The fuck is that?” Callie sounded eager to learn more.
“When we get high after this is all over, I’ll tell you all about it.”
“Why do you seem so much more well-adjusted than Trent?”
Jack took a deep breath. He could tell Callie really cared about Trent. I like Callie a lot. I think I do. I can’t talk shit about Trent, but I also want to make myself look good. Sexual desire… no. Not even sexual desire. The desire to be understood by a person of the opposite sex. Why? “I got a diet-war. Trent not only got the full version, he constantly sought out more and more. He always felt if he wasn’t going through the thickest of the thick, he wasn’t doing what he was supposed to do. That being said, he and I both had it really good compared to some of the other people we know.”
“I think I get it,” said Callie. “But I guess what’s weird for me is that you’re so Zen and he’s a drunk who somehow operates weapons while drinking and kills people. What the hell?”
“I don’t know, Callie. I wish I knew. The more I learn about how my brain works, the less I feel comfortable trying to figure out how other peoples’ brains work. Full disclosure – I’m not qualified to make any sort of professional judgment.”
“OK, and?”
“I think a lot of people blame the war, or abuse, or whatever, for their hang-ups regardless of the circumstance, because it’s convenient and easy. It’s like, ‘HEY, I’M AN ASSHOLE, BUT IT’S OK! I HAVE A SOCIALLY ACCEPTABLE EXCUSE!’ People don’t like looking within. Trent is still externalizing blame and rationalizing his drinking, thinking that his particular crazy isn’t his fault.”
“Does he know that?” asked Callie.
“I tried to bring it up once, but he wasn’t having it.”
“What happened?”
“He was too drunk and started lashing out.”
“You think maybe you should try again after this blows over?”
I can’t believe I’m cock-blocking myself. “No, I think you should. I don’t have that kind of relationship with him.”
“And a stripper from Ohio does?”
Karl came back on the radio. “Jack, this is Karl, over.”
Thanks, Karl. “What’s up,” Jack said.
“We found them. You’re gonna love this shit!”
Fuck. What now?
“Remember how the dude’s son is mentally ill?” Karl asked.
“Yeah, man.”
“He’s got Tourette’s!” Karl sounded giddy.
I’m so tired. “OK, so you found them? Let’s get the fuck out of here!”
“Of course we did! You didn’t think we would?”
“Why is Tourette’s awesome?” Jack asked. “Is he going to blurt out dumb shit while we’re trying to be quiet?”
“Jackie, he called me nigger like three times already! Hughes is dying!”
“Great. I love it,” Jack said sarcastically. “Get them down here ASAP.”
“You got it!”
“Green Dragon 1-3, keep us apprised of the situation in the park, over,” said Jack.
“You got it, sir,” said Chief Rudich. “Just so you know, it’s getting weirder by the second. I keep seeing flashes of light when the thing over the trade center pulsates.”
“Yeah, we’ve been seeing those flashes all night. Just let us know what route is best,” Jack said.
“Sir, I don’t think I’m being clear. The flashes are coming from the ground now, in the mosh-pit crowd. I can’t tell what it’s doing, but it’s creeping me out, man.”
Fuck, why is everything I get involved in a tail spin of horseshit?
RONAK
“This is fascinating! I cannot believe there is a real extraterrestrial here! Cock-fuck-tits-in-my-ass! I’m so s-s-s-sorry! Please, I have a c-c-c-condition that makes me – shit-on-my-fucking-chest! – m-m-makes me say awful things when I am stressed.” Rag Kapur was a heavyset man in his early twenties with a virtuoso knack for mathematics. Unfortunately, he was also completely incapable in most social situations.
“Raghu, do not apologize for your mental illness,” said Aditi Kapur, Rag’s mother. “You have no control over it. We’ve spoken about this. You inform people and then allow them to accept you, should they so choose. It is the only way to gain equal footing in terms of respect.”
“M-m-m-mom! I don’t care if you’re a psychiatrist! You don’t know what you’re talking about! Put-bananas-in-my-delicious-cum-hungry-ass! In the real world, when you say these things you need to apologize! How are you a psychiatrist if you can’t even understand what your own son has to deal with?”
How unfortunate that terrans have not managed to eradicate mental illnesses. Everything I’ve studied shows that there is a stigma associated with treating mental health issues as one would treat physical ailments. This illness could have been solved before this man was even birthed into existence. “Mr. Kapur, please do not worry,” said Ronak. “I am completely aware of the impact of your condition, and I completely respect you regardless. At a later juncture we can discuss options to resolve your mental health issues, but first we must focus on the task at hand.”
“T-t-t-t-that sounds a-a-a-awesome, Legate Ronak. Thank you so much for your understanding.” Rag was clearly intelligent, but also extremely embarrassed by his condition.
“I hate to interrupt this man-love fest, but can we please start the part where we get the fuck out of here?” Trent was nervous, as if he knew there was much more to the story that no one else understood.
“I like Hughes’s idea,” said Karl. “Dr. Kapur, are you ready to go?”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” It was clear that Mahesh Kapur was not enamored with the idea of going anywhere with anyone in uniform. He was dressed like a hippie and seemed to have an odd sense of the esoteric for someone so entrenched in the scientific method.
Karl had no patience for such people. “OK, you woo-pedaling hippie, we can do this one of two ways.”
“I invite you to use any methods you think might work in forcing me to do anything,” said Dr. Kapur. “You will not succeed. Everything you do and say is ensuring I would rather kill myself and my family than do anything with you or for you. Get out.”
“Tough words, doctor. Why are you being so cunty?” Karl asked.
“Leave us. You are not welcome here. We may not be safe here, but I know for a fact we are safer here than anywhere with you.”
“Fair enough.” Karl grabbed the frail man, threw him against the wall, and mashed his face into a board of sheet rock. He then twisted Kapur’s arm behind his back and slapped on a set of flex cuffs. The Kapur family was horrified.
This one is a hammer. Everything is a nail to him.
Trent walked up to Karl and placed his hand on his shoulder. “Karl, no. Please. Can you just let me?”
“Goddamn it Hughes, we do not have time to play fuck-fuck games with some arrogant fucking hippie! Let’s bag his ass and get moving!” Bagging meant literally putting a canvas sandbag over his head. It was easier than a blindfold.
“First of all, no, asshole. Second, why the FUCK would we bag someone in their hometown when they’re clearly going to recognize where they are? Furthermore, you fucking meathead twat, why would we EVER treat these people like this? They aren’t the enemy, man. I know it’s been a few years, but what the hell happened to make you like this?”
“Fuck you, Hughes,” said Karl. “You’re such a fucking pussy. You always have been. No wonder all your old soldiers called you a hajji-hugger.”
“This isn’t a goddamn hajji, dude! We’re all just people! Don’t lose yourself. You’re fucking close, man. Once you do, I don’t think you ever get it back.”
“You can’t treat people like this!” said Raghu. “Get away from my dad! This is not the w-w-w-way, NIGGER! N-n-n-ot the way you are allowed to treat people!”
“Good god, everyone shut the fuck up!” Trent
took control. “Karl, stop being a fucking asshole! These are good people who are probably terrified not only of us but of the fact there’s a goddamn… What the hell are you again?” Trent gestured to Ronak.
This one tries. “I am Ætherean,” said Ronak.
“Karl, please fucking stop. Just pull security outside. Talk to those Puerto Rican guys. Ask the dude I worked with about the time one of the people from my client’s moving company got drunk and took a giant runny shit against a wall on move-in weekend - at Bill Clinton’s new office in the financial district.” Trent put his arm on Karl’s shoulder. “Please, man. I got this.”
“While I am fascinated by the prospect of interacting with this being, I am not going anywhere with you, either,” said Kapur.
I would love to see how Trent turns him. On my home world this man would automatically know what I know, and that I did not have ulterior motives. My information and rationale would simply become his, and his mine. Our perspectives would coalesce into an optimized, mutually-beneficial decision within moments.
Kapur’s wife and daughter remained silent, diligently working on what appeared to be data analysis by candle light. They were almost carbon copies in terms of appearance and intelligence, separated by thirty-five years. The laboratory was nothing more than several workstations covered in used candles, flashlights, and papers. For such a brilliant man, there seemed to be no rhyme or reason to what he was trying to achieve.
“I am Trent Hughes. I am not a soldier. I don’t have a horse in this race. I just want to help fix this situation so I can keep looking for my wife. Doctor, that brute over there is my friend; I’ve known him for many years. He is good for some things. Being nice to people in the middle of a mission isn’t one of them. He gets caught up in the moment and looks at everything as a variable he can adjust to solve his problem. He does not much consider the consequences. I am sorry for this. I will keep him under control.”
“I appreciate this, but I cringe to think what the military would want from me,” said Kapur. “I am an academic, not a fighter. I analyze and interpret the natural order of things that will one day benefit society.”