Thursday, July 28, 2011

War Angel : part twenty-two


2142- In Orbit Around Pluto

“My finest memory? Running. Definitely running.”

Green trees, a nice field. Those were the defining aspects of the orphanage that Albert Morrison grew up in. The facility, built at the top of a hill, carved ever slightly from a new-growth forest, was home to many children whose parents had died at the hands of the Omegans. While many children still living in the private sector were blessed with technological toys that allowed them to use virtuality to travel the world and participate in games of sport and leisure, the orphans had no such tools. Living as though they were born a century and a half prior, they had only the hill, the trees, and the field.

He loved it.

Afternoons, once schooling was completed, he and the other boys would strip off their shirts and race outside, stopping only to grab a soccer ball or baseball equipment. Simple relics of eras gone by, they didn’t care. The only thing that mattered was enjoying the sunshine and freedom from their domineering teachers. Sides would be chosen, and Morrison counted himself lucky enough that he had enough basic skill in either sport to not be chosen last. That honor always fell upon Griffin… was that his first or last name, Albert wondered. He was a scrawny kid, angry and withdrawn, talentless in any athletic endeavor. Yet if he had stayed inside, he would have been forced to engage in physical activity in the gym, under the watchful eye of Instructor Roberts.

Instructor Roberts. A name that became a synonym for sadism. Grizzled war veteran, loser of a leg and an arm, yet he still plugged away every day, working on his body and building his strength. There was no excuse acceptable to Roberts. He would rub his hand across his bald head for a few seconds before beginning his tirade about how useless you were, about how the enemy would have killed and eaten you because of your weakness, and about how he had not sacrificed his body so that you could wander aimlessly through life, growing fat and happy, doing nothing.

Griffin may have been a terrible athlete, it was true. But he wasn’t dumb, either. Better to suck at sports in front of his classmates, suffer their wrath and scorn, than to listen to Roberts’ reign of terror in the gym.

And yet, Albert thought, it was Roberts’ sacrifice, and seeing his prosthetic leg, that made the sporting so enjoyable. Morrison knew that the old man was, in his own way, right. He had the luxury of being able to run, to jump, to kick, to play. The kids doing it all virtually? The young Morrison pitied them, almost mercilessly. Yes, he had lost his parents, and their absence left a hole in his spirit that he would never be able to fill. But what he had now was an appreciation for life and a feeling like he would have purpose, things that he had to acknowledge might have never occurred had he grown up “normal”.

“I wonder why I’m thinking about this now?” he suddenly wondered, and struggled to open his eyes. As they cracked slightly open, he saw the form of Jack Keys towering over him, energy pistol in hand.

Keys knelt down next to him, a look of pained sorrow on his face. “I’m truly sorry, Captain. I wish it hadn’t come to this,” he said.

The crew of the War Angel watched as Morrison, whether by design or by muscular twitch, suddenly gave a contented smile and his eyes took on a bright, dreamlike quality. He remained that way for a minute or so, and then that inner light began to dim. As his eyes turned to glass, Keys brushed his palm across the older officer’s face and closed them for good. Albert Morrison was gone from the world, one he had never quite made, but one in which he was always almost good enough.

Friday, July 22, 2011

War Angel: part twenty-one

From the Journal of Steven Keys- August 30, 2018

They presented us a plan today. Just outside of Palm Springs, an Omegan ship has landed and is engaged in some unknown experiments. To our advantage, it’s a smaller ship. Intel suggests that there are about a dozen enemy troops on the ground.

For us, it’s a strategic target. Palm Springs sits on top of a bountiful aquifer. If we could wrest control of it for even a short while, we could restock our fresh water supply for months.

Can’t believe I used to piss and moan about the proliferation of bottled waters and how much they were hurting the environment. Now I’d pretty much kill someone for a bottle of Perrier.

I volunteered to go. A couple of days ago, a guy named Mike taught me how to use an RPG launcher. Rocket-propelled grenades! My twelve-year old self would have eaten it up with a spoon, back before I put down the joystick and became a pacifist. Ha! It turned out that I have a knack for it, and a pretty decent aim. And if the shit hits the fan (we can always hope it won’t) we’ll need someone to cover our exit.

When I told her I was going, Nadine freaked out. Over the last week I thought she had actually been getting better. She’s slept a bit, looked a little more peaceful as she walks around. But this really set her off. At first I begged her to come with us; I kind of thought that seeing this in action, seeing us take down those… well, I think they’re maroon, but some say purple… sons of bitches taken down would do her some good. I think that when people see that the damned things can be killed, that we can start fighting back, the terror will diminish and we will have a chance of taking back our planet.

Nadine, however, is having none of that.

We leave for Palm Springs under the cover of darkness in two days. Crossing my fingers that by the time we leave, she’s at least okay with me going.



From the Journal of Steven Keys- September 1, 2018

It was the most exhilarating moment of my life, bar none.

First of all: holy shit! I saw aliens! In fucking person, right in front of my eyes! This whole ordeal, all the things we’re going through, there’s been an element of the unreal about it, seeing it all develop on T V and on the internet and in pictures. But as we crept into Palm Springs this morning, it all changed. There, sitting in the shadows, was an honest-to-God spaceship. With aliens!

Two of them were standing guard outside the ship. There was very little activity, which leads me to believe that the Omegans must observe some sort of nocturnal cycle of their own. Interesting. Infrared scanners showed eight other bodies inside the ship, leaving two unaccounted for.

A few of our guys, led by Ed, headed for the water treatment plant. Best guess was that the other two were inside there doing something, so they had to be careful. It was Ed’s idea to get even more basic when arming his crew: someone had located a blacksmith outside of Flag, a guy that made his stuff and sold it at ren faires across the U.S. The guy gladly gave up broadswords, katanas, and a couple of maces. So those guys were packing, the only downside being that they needed to get close to use them. We had no distance weapons aside from the RPGs, and we didn’t want to use those in the plant for fear of destroying the water supply we had come all that way for.

Anyway, I’ll get full details from Ed later, but whatever they did worked! We got a ping on the walkie that all was clear inside, so we made our move. Mike was the bait; he walked about a quarter of a mile away from the ship and then began singing loudly, acting drunk., bobbling and weaving his way towards their ship. The two guards took notice, and sensing a potential threat, they unholstered their weapons and began approaching him, shouting at him to stop in halting English. He did, and just as it looked like he was going to take a laser blast in the face, two shots rang out from the darkness and Omegan brain matter went splattering across Mike’s shirt.

Disgusting, by the way. And pretty damned smelly, too.

Ed’s guys wandered out of the shadows, objective one completed: Omegan weaponry captured and tested to see if humans could use it effectively. They dragged the bodies back towards the ship and placed them near where they had been before.

Next up came a couple of guys that Mike knew. They were in the Corps of Engineers, and the hope was that our destruction would remain uninvestigated if what happened seemed like an accident. Those guys got themselves up to the ship and started looking over it, especially the engines. I couldn’t tell exactly what they were doing, but after a few animated moments, one took out a toolkit and started prying open something near the engine. From what I could tell, it looked like they cut some wiring. One of them shot some pictures with a small camera, then they retreated back towards the water plant, beckoning for Ed and his guys to join them in prepping water to take back. Once they were inside, Mike pointed at me, pointed towards a location directly behind the ship’s engines, and motioned for me to move.

I moved as quickly as I could while still being quiet, winding up about 150 yards from the Omegans. The RPG was slung over my back, making it easy to pull off and aim at my target. Thinking about it now, I understand what they did; they caused what would hopefully be seen as a normal malfunction that could lead problems. If the ship was online with Omegan command, they would expect the crew to deal with it in the morning. If they had some sort of “black box”, it would show that the explosion was natural. We’d be home-free if and until they discovered the bodies of their fellows inside the plant. No time to drag those bodies out. We needed to finish it fast, before any of the others woke up.

What I did felt so simple, so natural, that it should probably frighten me. I locked on to the heat source of the engines, flicked the switch to put the launcher in “go” position, and pulled the trigger. I barely even thought about it, I just did it.

The explosion was incredible! It lit up the night sky for almost a minute. The ship scattered into thousands of pieces, along with the creatures that were inside of it.

Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuck. Pardon me while I go into shock over the fact that I BLEW UP AN ALIEN SPACESHIP. I am through the looking glass here. Wow. Wow.

We got the water loaded in our trucks pretty quickly at that point, and got out of there. The Omegans were surely going to get another ship on scene pretty fast, and we didn’t want to be there for that!

Now we’re almost home. People have been high-fiving me, back-slapping me, congratulating me… it’s pretty surreal. In my life, I have never seen being a killer as something honorable or something to celebrate. Yet I cannot help but admit that I do feel like I accomplished something great today, something important. We demonstrated that the human spirit lives on and that we will fight. Knowing this, I can only hope that others take our lead and start their own battles.

Being a terrorist? Yeah, I think I can live with it.

Can’t wait to get home and see Nadine and tell her all about it. Should perk her up quite a bit to learn that we pulled it off, and did it with no casualties. Huzzah!



From the Journal of Steven Keys- September 2, 2018

I found Nadine’s body hanging from our favorite tree. She’s gone. I don’t know what to do.



From the Journal of Steven Keys- September 4, 2018

I buried Nadine this morning. Ed helped me dig a grave, and a few of the others came along for support. I spoke a bit, delivering what passes for a eulogy, but I couldn’t begin to tell you what I said. I’ve been on autopilot for the past 48 hours. I do remember what Ed said, though, after we finished piling the dirt on her. He told me to be strong, that I should remember that not everyone was going to be able to survive in the Horrific New World. The question is: can I? Without the one person left who gave me meaning?

Friday, July 15, 2011

War Angel: part twenty

From the Journal of Steven Keys- August 19, 2018

I’ve spent years bemoaning the state of humanity. Ridiculous wars fought over small territories. Even more ridiculous wars predicated upon the belief that one side’s religion was better than the other side’s religion. Hunger running rampant. Disease spreading unchecked through impoverished nations. Never missed a chance to pick up a sign and join a march to try and save the world. I’ve always been willing to pit my lefty credentials against anyone else’s.

Hell, I’m a college professor. WAS a college professor. In linguistics! God knows that the righties had no use for people like me.

Until today. Today, all of those people I’ve considered war mongers and hate bringers have asked me to pick up a gun and fight. And I didn’t even hesitate in saying yes.

The Omegans have been dispersing themselves throughout most major cities left across the planet. From the intelligence that’s leaked back to us here in Flagstaff, they’re pretty entrenched. But our military leaders seem to think that they’ve done us a favor along the way.

After they landed last month, they began constructing those weird machines I mentioned before. Well, it’s become clear what they are. Lots of folks had believed they were bombs or some other doomsday device. Instead, they’ve proven to be some sort of massive atmospheric scrubber system. They’ve been filtering and repairing the atmosphere! And rumors suggest that they dropped a few in the oceans, too. The air is breathable again! And once rains kick in, the freshwater supplies should start being useable again!

I, of course, thought this was great news, but Ed- The Human Bummer, as I like to call him- swears differently. “This is the worst possible news,” he swore to me. “This means that they’ve done this before. Otherwise, why carry that equipment from fuck knows where across the galaxy? Why do it at all, unless you need the water for something, and you need the air cleaned for a particular purpose?”

“It would have been easiest to just let us die out and take over from there.”

The more I think about it, the more I realize he’s probably right. Goddammit, Ed. Stop being right.

Anyway, at today’s briefing, we had a visit from a military commander in from a base somewhere in the Nevada desert. He explained that, with the atmosphere becoming safe again, we (humanity, I presume) would begin launching counter-offensives soon. They would not, however, be on a massive scale. Nukes had been ruled out, the prevailing thought being that scorching the planet and leaving nothing for ourselves would defeat the purpose. Mid-range stuff was also a shaky approach- the Omegans looked to be solid in the armor department. A few brave souls had tried, but even a 50 caliber bullet had proved unable to penetrate their defenses. A couple of battleships had launched missiles against their space cruisers, but the impacts caused just enough damage to annoy the Omegans into destroying their source.

What this man explained to us was very simple: we were going to have to revert to the basics.

Guerilla warfare. Sneak attacks. Tactics banned by every civilized nation on the planet. His words sent a chill up my spine: “Each and every one of you, no matter what you did in your lives a month ago, is something new now. You are all terrorists.”

We are all terrorists. The last seventeen years in the U.S., we have lived in constant fear of anyone using that word to describe themselves. Presidential speeches have demonized terrorists as the ultimate thing that should scare us into submission. And now we were being asked to embrace the methods and ideals behind the boogeyman.

Nadine did not handle the suggestion well. Not at all.

She seems to be growing more fragile every day. Every night, she wakes up screaming out for her parents. Some of the people we’re sharing quarters with have gotten extremely angry about it, but I can see sympathy and pity in the eyes of others. Their own dreams are obviously littered with the corpses of their loved ones; it’s just been a quieter journey.

I talked to her tonight about asking the doc for sleeping pills or antidepressants but she just shook me off and rolled away from me. Hopefully, after she’s had some time to think about the things we heard today, she’ll perk up a bit. I certainly did.

Thursday, July 7, 2011

War Angel: part nineteen


“Are you kidding--?”

“No!”

“Come on, sir…!”

“We can’t--!”

“They’re going to kill us!”

The protests rang loudly, and Morrison’s attempts to quell them were not going well. Finally, he reached a point where he was fed up and pounded on his chair for quiet. “This is not a democracy, boys and girls! We have orders, and we are EAD soldiers, and we will obey them!”

“But Captain- even Admiral Kelly didn’t want us to follow these orders. Didn’t you see?” Sarah said.

“See what, Miss Matto? An old man being held at gunpoint? Of course I did. Did you not hear the part about punishing others if we don’t comply?” Morrison felt his emotions rising. “I’m not willing to risk the lives of others for our own.”

“That’s easy for you to say,” Richard blurted out.

“We will comply, we will meet up with our fellows, and we’ll formulate a plan together with all of them,” the Captain said in an attempt to assure the young engineer.

Jack coughed. “With all due respect, sir, that’s crap.” Morrison took a step towards Keys’ comm. station. “Even if they don’t kill us, they’re going to put us in one of their internment camps. My great-grandfather wound up in one; his journals are full of the details. Let me tell you- they aren’t pretty.”

Morrison took a position towering over the younger man. “I’m aware of the internment camps, Mr. Keys. And you’ve spoken of your great-grandfather’s exploits many times. However, if I recall correctly, he led a resistance cell out of one camp, did he not?”

The young man known as Desperado stood and got face to face with his commanding officer. “Yes he did. But his life would have been a hell of a lot more pleasant had he never been there. And he was doing just fine leading a resistance cell before they were betrayed by a collaborator and caught to begin with.”

Each man stood his ground. “We have our orders, Mr. Keys.”

“Orders even you think are a bad idea, Captain,” Sarah interjected. “And you had a perfectly good plan for us.” She took a deep breath. “Sir, we can reach speeds they can’t. We’ll be out of the solar system before they even get close to Pluto.”

“Miss Matto, we’d be abandoning our fellows.”

“Whom you were perfectly willing to abandon not an hour ago,” Jack snapped.

Morrison shook his head. “Yes. I was. Before I discovered that our very absence could sentence them to death.”

Jack turned and walked away from his station, making his way off the bridge. “Where do you think you’re going, Mr. Keys?” Morrison shouted.

“To the head!” Jack yelled.

Wilma Gray walked softly down to Morrison’s side. “Captain? May I have a word?”

He nodded assent and the duo moved away from the rest of the bridge crew, the doctor huddling close so that no one would hear. “Captain… Albert… are you really sure about this? The risks are…”

“I know the risks, doctor. But I have spent my entire adult life believing that the EAD was always in the right, believing that our reasons and our purpose were always for the best of our planet. So how can I possibly go against that now? How?”

Wilma put her arm around him. “Because, as we know, people make mistakes. Governments make mistakes.” Her voice took on a sudden authority. “You make mistakes, Albert. This is one of them.”

He pushed her arm away from him. “Not today I don’t, Dr. Gray.” He broke their huddle and looked back across the bridge to see Jack walking back in. As the young officer returned to the comm. station, Morrison walked back to the command chair, stopping to stand in front of it.

“We’re going home, everybody. Gina, is that course for Saturn set?” She nodded assent. “Then let’s be on our way.”

“Belay that, Gina.” Jack said, startling everyone.

Morrison whipped around. “Excuse me, Mr. Keys? You are not in charge of this vessel. Ms. Almond, I gave you an order. Take us home.

“Don’t do it, Gina,” Jack countered, moving from the comm. station and down next to her. Her confusion mounted, as did everyone else’s. “Captain, I’m asking Gina to stop in the hopes that you will, too.” His voice took on an air of pleading. “Sir, I’m asking you: do you really believe this is the safest and wisest course of action to protect the lives of everyone on this ship?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you, Mr. Keys, or anyone else,” Morrison spat at him. “And you may consider yourself relieved of duty.”

Keys laughed. “Really?” He shook his head. “Captain, I owe you an apology.” The older man waited. “You’re still laboring under the belief that this is an EAD vessel.” Morrison started to speak, but Jack cut him off. “The minute the EUG surrendered, their jurisdiction ended. This is now a pirate vessel.”

It was Morrison’s turn to laugh. “Ah, is that it? War breaks out, and we let discipline, duty and honor just wander out the airlock?”

“No sir. Nor do we let common sense do the same. But you have. You’re going to kill us all, and for what? A spotless record? You were more heroic when your plan was to run away.”

“You little bastard!” Morrison growled.

Jack’s posture drooped. “I’m sorry, Mr. Morrison, I really am. But you are no longer fit to command this vessel. And anyone that would turn over his crew to the enemy because it means obeying orders instead of obeying common sense? There’s only one word for that: collaborator.” Jack’s right hand slipped beneath the back of his uniform. In an instant, he had drawn a gun. “And there is no room in the resistance for collaborators.”

The trigger leapt twice, releasing two bright blue bolts of energy.