by Mike Ramon
Something hit him in the chest; it felt like someone had slugged him in the chest with a baseball bat. He went down on his behind, and from this lower position he could see through the brand new hole that had been blown in the closet door. The door swung open and a man stood before him in silhouette. Sam tried to raise the revolver up, but it was so heavy and he felt so tired. The silhouette lashed out, knocking the gun from his hand. The silhouette reached up, pulling the cord hanging from the closet light, and the bulb flared to life. Sam looked up into the man’s face. Sam’s brow wrinkled in confusion.
“But…Sanderson….”
“Sanderson couldn’t make it, Sam. I’m really sorry about this. Nothing personal.”
The man placed his own pistol against Sam’s forehead and pulled the trigger. Then he cleaned up the mess. There was always a mess.
RIMFIRE
I saw it with my own eyes, and I will never forget it. It was terrible to see that majestic ship in flames, enemy fighters circling all round it like mosquitos buzzing around some great beast. I watched the fall of the great battleship from the deck of the FS Titus, a Shuriko-class destroyer. The enemy had come upon our group suddenly, armed with some new terrible weapon. There had been talk about a new plasma-propulsion torpedo codenamed Violet Lotus for some time, but we had never seen it used, and most of us had dismissed it as enemy propaganda.
We knew something was wrong from the outset of the attack. The enemy came at us with a few M-class fighters, and many older J-class strikers. There was nothing unusual about this; it was their behavior that was strange. When they swooped in among our ships the M-class fighters held a tight formation between six ranks of J-class strikers; the strikers seemed to be acting as a shield for the fighters, which was not in keeping with their usual hit-and-run behavior in battle. The enemy ships flew straight ahead at full speed.
The strikers paid attention to nothing that didn’t stand directly in their path, even passing many opportunities to turn and engage our own fighters as they began picking off the intruders. The M-class fighters seemed to be doing nothing all, content to fly on while letting the strikers take fire for them.
Normally we would expect enemy fighters that were not accompanied by heavier ships to come in hard and fast, strike at our perimeter, and then retreat before we could retaliate. These ships, however, were heading into the center of our formation. The M-class ships were the most obvious targets, given the fact they are far deadlier than the more lightly armed strikers, but the J-class ships proved themselves to be effective shields. Many strikers were sent spiraling off in flames, but each time one fell by the wayside another would move up to take its place.
I had to scratch my head at the site of it, and I was not alone in my bewilderment. The invaders seemed to be headed for the FS Rimfire, but this seemed like an act of suicide; no amalgamation of fighters and strikers, even in heavy numbers, could hope to take on a Europa-class battleship and survive.
They closed in on the giant ship and we all waited for the beast to strike out and rain hellfire down on the interlopers. What happened instead was the M-class fighters fired off torpedoes that trailed strange purplish lights behind them. Blue steaks of electricity dance along these purple tails like some kind of fantastic and mysterious light show. The torpedoes themselves moved with an eerie sluggishness, unlike any torpedo I had ever seen.
Some of the fighters and strikers turned sharply and started a retreat, while others circled around the Rimfire. The big guns on the Rimfire opened up on them all then, the ones fleeing and the ones still attacking, taking out scores of them at a time. Then the torpedoes that had been fired started striking home. Violet blossoms bloomed all along the starboard flank of the battleship. At first the ship kept up it fusillade upon the enemy, but as the violet blossoms grew the guns fell silent. On closer inspection the blossoms appeared to be writhing pools of fire that spread over the hull of the battleship, in some places meeting and forming ever larger fireblossoms. The wave of fighters and strikers that had disappeared around the far side of the battleship reappeared and I could only imagine that the port side of the ship was now on fire as well. These last enemy craft followed quickly on the heels of their compatriots. Our own fighters gave chase, picking off a few more of the enemies number before returning to the group.
When the Rimfire started breaking up I don’t think any of those watching in horror could wholly believe it. It was one of the most powerful ships in our fleet, and there we were, watching its death throes. There were only a handful of survivors, a lucky few who owed their survival to the dumb luck of being near escape pods at the moment that the ship started to come apart. With mere seconds to act, only the quickest survived.
The FS Pulsar, a Proctor-class cruiser, was named our new flagship, and we left behind the burning, wasted hulk of the Rimfire. As we moved on, headed for Starbase Alpha, each one of us had to come to terms with the fact that with the destruction of the Rimfire, and the confirmation of the existence of a weapon we had thought a mere fantasy, the balance of power had shifted drastically, perhaps irrevocably. For now, however, the war goes on.
DEATH’S DAY OFF
What is the deal with you people? Don’t you have a brain in those skulls of yours? You have no consideration, that’s what it is. You’re just a bunch of selfish bastards. Just look at that guy last Thursday--the dimwit decided that his oven was a good place to store some fireworks. He forgets there are fireworks in the oven, turns the damn thing on to pre-heat it for a turkey pot pie, and the next thing you know the guy burns his house down while he’s still inside of it. I had just kicked back to relax and see if I could catch anything good on the tube, and then this dumbass has to go and do some silly shit like that. It’s enough to ruin your night.
The Boss is always on my back, telling me how I showed up a little too soon for this job, a little late for that job--and God help me if I take the wrong person. Yeah, it happens from time to time. What, you never make a mistake? When it happens I’ve got to sit there and stay quiet while the Boss chews my ass out. He can get pretty worked up, let me tell ya.
Yesterday I was trying to relax with a book, and some old broad decides to go for a drive even though she’s as blind as a bat, and there goes my afternoon. On top of that a guy with a bum ticker decided to go for a run when it was almost a hundred degrees outside. What do I have to look forward to? Well, some asshole in Africa is planning a raid on a neighboring village, and that’s gonna keep me busy for a while. I’m sick of it. Can’t you people just act like adults for a little while. You know, give me break? No, you don’t care. You can all go to Hell. Speaking of Hell, it’s not that bad, you know; it just gets a bad rap. You ever spend some time in Phoenix in the summer? It’s about the same, only there’s a better music scene.
The Boss can lay into me all he wants, but this is it. I’m taking a break. One day out of the year isn’t so much to ask. You’ve been warned. If you do something stupid like get in a bad car wreck, or get yourself trapped under a bulldozer, you’re just gonna have to wait till tomorrow for me to take care of you. And don’t think crying out in pain like a little baby is gonna make me change my mind; you’re just gonna have to suffer a little longer. If you don’t like it…well, frankly, you can just kiss my ass.
THE PHONE BOOTH
Ricky Garraty just wanted to get out of the rain. It was supposed to be a quick walk home from Walter’s place. Walter offered to give him a lift, but Ricky wanted to walk. He didn’t mind walking, and he thought the cool night air would be nice. Then it started to rain. It wasn’t so bad at first, but when it really starting coming down Ricky pulled his jacket up over his head and started to run. He almost slipped and fell on his ass while turning the corner from Westgate onto Gardenia. Quick reflexes saved him from going down hard on the wet cement.
He cut across the empty parking lot of the old Pearl’s Grocery, but stopped in his tracks as something caught his eye. At the edge of the parking lot closest to the street t
here was a lighted phone booth. Ricky thought it strange; he remembered a phone booth being there back when he was a kid, but it had been taken down after the ubiquity of cellphones had made it obsolete. Why would they put a new one up?
He had a decision to make--continue on in the rain or try and wait it out in the shelter of the phone booth. It was an easy decision, and he made it quickly, running across the lot to the booth and ducking inside, closing the folding door to keep the rain from blowing in. He took off his soaking-wet jacket and hung it over the phone unit, spreading it out to dry.
The rain kept coming down. Ricky started rethinking his decision to wait out the downpour in the phone booth. If anything, it was raining even harder than when he had first decided to take shelter. He was trying to make up his mind whether to wait a little while longer for the rain to stop or to just haul ass home through the rain when the phone rang. The sound was muffled because his jacket was still spread out over the phone unit, but he heard it nonetheless. It rang a second time. He grabbed his jacket down and let it fall to the floor. The phone rang again. He reached up and took the handset off the hook. He listened for a moment with the phone at his ear, but he heard nothing.
“Hello?” he said tentatively.
There was no response.
“Hello?” he repeated.
Again there was no reply. He was about to hang the phone up when a voice finally responded:
“Hello, Ricky.”
The voice had spoken his name, and that was disturbing enough, but the way the voice sounded was what really frightened him. It was like the sound of a thousand buzzing flies coming together to make some new sound that he recognized as words. Hearing it made his head ache.
“Cat got your tongue?” the Voice spoke.
“Who is this?”
“I am no one.”
Ricky waited to see if the caller would elaborate, but they didn’t.
“What the hell do you want?” Ricky asked.
“I want you, Ricky,” the Voice buzzed.
Ricky hung up the phone, picked his jacket up from the floor and put it on. It was still quite wet, and rainwater dripped off of it to the floor. He decided that he had heard more of that voice than he cared to, and he was going home. He tried to fold the door open, but it was stuck. He leaned into it; still, it didn’t budge. The phone rang behind him. He turned around and stared at it. It rang again. He picked it up and put it to his ear.
“You will leave when I say you can leave,” the Voice said calmly.
“Listen, I don’t have time for games, man. Is this some kind of joke? Are you watching me right now? Ha, ha, you got me. Now tell me how to get out of this phone booth.”
“You want to get out? Simple. But first you have to make a choice.”
That terrible insectile voice made him want to scream.
“What choice?” Ricky asked.
“You or your brother; who will it be?”
“I don’t understand.”
“I will take one of you. The choice is yours.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
Ricky hung up again. He turned to the door. He lifted one foot up high and drove it into the door. He kicked several more times, but the door stood fast; even the glass did not break or shatter. Ricky stood there, unsure of his next move. Then he remembered the cellphone in his back pocket. He took it out and tried it, but he had no reception; he couldn’t make a call. The payphone rang. He slipped the cell back into his pocket and picked up the ringing phone.
“Let me out of here, asshole,” he said. “Now!”
“First you must make your choice.”
“What are you gonna do? Are you gonna kill one of us or something?”
“You people are so obsessed with death. You think that death is the worst thing, but it’s not.”
“What are you going to do, then?”
“Choose yourself, and you will find out. Choose your brother, and he will. Now choose!”
The shout was loud enough to hurt Ricky’s ear. He threw the phone away and it hit the wall of the booth, then fell as far as its cord would allow. It swung back and forth slowly like a pendulum. Outside the booth a man in a rain slicker walked by. Ricky started banging on the door, shouting.
“Hey! Help me! I’m stuck in here!”
The man kept on walking like he hadn’t heard or seen a thing.
“Shit.” Ricky said quietly.
He picked up the phone again. The voice buzzed at him again, and he thought he heard a certain merriment in it.
“Nobody can see you. Nobody can hear you. Now choose.”
Ricky pushed the metal tongue down with his finger, ending the call. He dialed 911 and waited for the line to ring. But all he got was the voice again.
“You’re a naughty boy, Ricky. A very naughty boy. It’s been fun, but I am tired of playing with you. Choose now, or I will take both of you.”
“Please, whoever you are…whatever you are, just let me go. I haven’t done anything to you. Just let me go.”
“Tick-tock, Ricky. Make a choice. You or your brother.”
“I can’t do that. I can’t. I….”
“Time is almost up. Who will it be?”
“Take my brother,” Ricky said.
His voice sounded weak and pathetic to his own ears.
“Hello? Hello?”
The voice was gone. He hung up the phone and turned to the door. This time when he tried it it opened easily. He stepped out into the rain, not bothering to pull his jacket up over his head. He walked away from the phone booth, sparing one last look back at it. When he looked at it the light was off, and the booth stood dark and empty in the rain.
Ricky took the cell out of his back pocket again, but there was still no reception. He started running then. He felt he was running faster than any Olympic gold medal winner could ever dream, and when he got home he picked up his landline phone and dialed his brother’s number. The phone rang four times before it was picked up.
“Bobby, listen to me--”
But then he heard it. He did not hear his brother’s voice, or the sound of someone breathing on the line. He heard the sound of a thousand flies. No words this time; just random buzzing. He hung up the phone, knowing that it was too late.
He went to bed then, still wearing his wet clothes. He didn’t fall asleep; he just laid awake all night, staring into the shadows. When morning came he was still awake. The phone rang, but he didn’t answer it. The machine took the call, and he could hear his sister-in-law’s voice coming through the speaker.
“Ricky? It’s Elise. Listen, Bobby didn’t come home last night. I tried calling him at work this morning, but he’s not there, either. Is he with you? I’m sure everything’s fine, but I’m kind of worried. Get back to me, okay? Bye.”
He stayed in bed. He stayed in bed when Elise called him again an hour later, leaving another message on the machine. He stayed in bed when his mother called a half hour after that, leaving a message that she was worried about Bobby, and could Ricky please call her. He stayed in bed. When he finally fell asleep he dreamt that he was in a dark room, and the only sound was the buzzing of flies.
ACROSS THE GREAT BLUE SEA
When the Elders forbade us to make our voyage, I knew that Jack-Jack wasn’t going to take “no” for an answer. I’d seen that look in his eyes, the one that he gets when he has found a new obsession. The thing about Jack-Jack and his obsessions is that he always has to follow through with them, consequences be damned. He will see them through until he has either succeeded, or convinced himself that success is not humanly possible.
Everyone in the village still remembers when Jack-Jack got the notion in his head that people could fly. It didn’t take but a day until he had built that strange contraption out of hollow sticks, berry-berry leaves and lammi vines. He nearly split his head open after the contraption failed to lift him into the sky when he jumped off the yumlok tree near the Hallowed Place. Even then he was not deterred. As soon as his w
ounds had healed up he started making alterations to his makeshift wings. It took two more failed attempts and several broken bones to convince him that it just wasn’t possible.
Now his latest obsession. He has become convinced that if someone were to sail east on the sea, and just keep on going, that eventually they would reach the Island again from the west. He says that he saw it in a dream. I reminded him that he had seen the flying wings in a dream as well, but he says that this is different. This time he’s sure the dream was true.
The Elders have made their decision, but Jack-Jack is nothing if not stubborn. So that’s how I found myself waiting there by Tim-Tom’s boat in the dead of night. At the last minute Jack-Jack decided to sneak back into the village to see if Mark-John wanted to join us on our sea voyage. It was dark. Jack-Jack said not to light a torch because it might attract Tim-Tom’s attention, and that wouldn’t be good at all.
There came a noise from the bushes. I was scared. Not scared of the Nameless Beast, stalking the night looking for littl’uns to eat; I was too old to believe in those old scary stories. I was scared that it was Tim-Tom. If he caught me trying to make off with his boat he would tell Paw-Paw, and Paw-Paw would strip the skin off my behind for getting mixed up with another one of Jack-Jack’s crazy schemes. But it wasn’t Tim-Tom, and it wasn’t the Nameless Beast (okay, I still believed in it a little bit); it was Jack-Jack, and he was alone.
“Where’s Mark-John?” I asked.
“Shh!” he cautioned.
“Sorry,” I whispered. “Where is he?”
“He’s too scared to come with us. He thinks we’ll run into a sea monster and get killed.”
He shook his head to show his disapproval at Mark-John’s cowardice, and I shook my head to show that I disapproved as well. I could never have told him that now that the possibility of the existence of a sea monster had been raised, I wasn’t so sure about setting out on the Great Blue Sea.
“Let’s go now, before it gets light out,” Jack-Jack said.
We had already stocked the boat with our supplies--dried meat, fresh water from the Holy Spring, some of old Sara-Jane’s blue salve in case we got any cuts or scrapes along the way. We put our shoulders against the boat and pushed hard. Slowly the end of the boat moved across the sand and into the water. Then we both jumped up into the boat. Jack -Jack grabbed the oars and started paddling us out farther from the shore.