Somehow, Master Sergeant Wilkes had conjured up an actual couch. Yes, it had duct-tape all over it and seemed to hold itself together through sheer fucking will, but it was still a real honest couch and you could sit on it instead of on a cot or on the cold concrete floor. Chao sat on one end of the prized couch, munching with grim determination on a mouthful of what the pouch in her off-hand called “Chicken Stew with Rice”. From what she could tell, a chicken might once have waltzed by the vat where this stew had been made. Plus the texture was such that she wondered if somebody had eaten it before she had.
Six days ago, when she’d been presented with her very first MRE, the (significant) part of her brain which valued orderliness went sqeeeeee. Everything was in its own pouch or packet, it was all separate, you could mix and match as you wanted! You could lay it all out on a tray in individual portions! It was so nice! The first few days she didn’t even notice the taste or mushy texture.
Now, of course, she did notice. At least she had some entertainment while she ate her uninspired meal. Sergeant Wilkes had also supplied some rugs, and in front of the TV stretched a threadbare vaguely-Persian carpet which probably came from some thrift store down in Colorado Springs. On that carpet sat, cross-legged, Corporal Haley McCoy and Captain Sadaf Ta’Shakka. Both held controllers while they focused with laser fixation on the dual-screen duel taking place.
McCoy had shown herself to be the premier champion at Mario Kart, at least amongst the human contingent. Even Chao, who had thought herself quite competent at driving games, had fallen before the corporal’s superior skill. But then Sadaf had shown some interest in the game and, after a few attempts and some hasty explanation of the convoluted lore, had suddenly turned into a terrifying force of nature on the track.
The captain’s preferred character was Waluigi, for some reason, and right now she and McCoy (playing her usual choice of Bowser) were locked in mortal combat. Both combatants were so in the zone that they didn’t even bother with the usual back-and-forth trash talk. Chao could barely follow the jockeying of each player, in spite of having better reflexes than most.
Matt settled himself onto the middle of the couch with a barely audible grunt of effort. He’d mentioned not too long ago that the weather was changing, and Chao figured that meant his bad knee was paining him. “Who’s winning?”
“Haley, at the moment,” replied Chao. “But Sadaf is right on her tail.”
The Marine let out a thoughtful hmm. Chao glanced sideways at the tall man; his dark eyes were fixated on the animated duel and he looked…well, he looked like the Caucasian uncle she’d never had. Not at all like some kind of Angel of Death. She’d heard whispers amongst the special forces soldiers that this ‘Toke’ character was feared even within their own elite circle.
“Got something to say?” he asked with far too casual of a tone.
Chao jerked her gaze back to the screen, where Waluigi had just managed to get a banana peel in front of Bowser’s cart. Ordinarily such an occasion would have resulted in some catcalls and trash talk, but right now both players didn’t even acknowledge it and just soldiered on. This was very much Serious Business.
“No! Sorry, it’s just…I mean, I keep hearing rumors.”
“Rumors and whispers,” replied Matt. He turned his head to face her with a lopsided grin. “A more potent force than even plastic explosive. Anyways, if you got something to ask me, ask it. I’m an open book.”
She snuck a peek at him, but his expression was smiling and kind. “Really?”
“Really. Hell, Chao, somehow you backpedaled your way into a security clearance that would give even me a nosebleed. Half the time I never knew why I was doing a mission, only that it needed to be done.”
She gathered her courage. “But you did kill people?”
His matter-of-fact reply shook her. “Oh yeah, lots of them. Keep in mind, nowadays we don’t use snipers for shooting dudes. I mean, we can shoot dudes…and I have shot a lot of dudes…but mostly it’s all about wriggling your way through muck or sewage or snow or whatever nastiness so that you can get eyeballs on the target. Then you call in an artillery or close air support strike.” He paused. “That’s kind of the reward, really. You get to see bad dudes get explodified in real time.”
Chao shuddered. “I could never do that.”
Matt chuckled. “Says the woman who jumped into a stealth helicopter with a motley crew of special forces types.”
“I am NOT motley!” yelled McCoy out of the blue, her eyes still fixated like lasers on the screen in front of her. “Whatever the fuck that means.”
By now the duel had reached a point which seemed to emit a ‘Something Cool Is Going On’ field, and had collected every person (human or otherwise) in the area. Even De Vries was there, leaning his forearms on the back of the couch. Chao found herself gently squashed into one side of the couch as it filled up with human and alien forms, her half-eaten MRE ration now forgotten. Grakosh, the snakelike engineer of the alien crew, coiled himself around her shoulder as he watched the spectacle. The knuall-toua liked to use other sapients to get a better viewpoint of their surroundings, and Chao had gotten used to being used as an impromptu perch. Without really thinking she fed Grakosh a few spoonfuls of her regrettable ration, which the small alien wolfed down in evident delight. Well, at least someone liked it.
The on-screen Mario Kart duel reached a fever pitch. The final goal was in sight, and thus far Waluigi and Bowser were almost literally neck-and-neck…
Sadaf performed the tiniest little flick of her vehicle, which in turn smacked Bowser ever so slightly sideways. She crossed the finish line a mere fraction of a second before her adversary as the room erupted in human and alien cheers.
McCoy took in a deep breath…and then let it out without any profanity. She reached a hand over towards Sadaf. “Good game.”
“Good game,” replied the captain as she shook the proffered hand.
Takh leaned on the couch, looming over Chao in a way that, in any other context, would have made her nervous. “What’s the matter, Haley? CIA got you pushing too many penceeels?”
Chao had to admit, the translator matrix was pretty decent when it could even get across a half-assed Austrian accent.
“Oh har de har har,” replied the corporal. She stood and fixed the giant alien with a steely eye. “I knew it was a mistake to show you that movie.”
“You wound me, corporal!” Takh clutched one of his upper hands to his chest in mock anguish. “I bleed, so you know you can kill me. So kill me naaaow! I’m here! Keeel me naaaow!”
McCoy just shook her head. “It figures. We finally meet aliens, and they’re even bigger dorks than we are.”
The communications terminal in the far corner gave a bleep. Everyone in the quarantine area had become familiar with the various boops and bleeps of their only connection to the outside world. This particular bleep meant that there was a priority message for the general’s eyes only.
De Vries straightened up as his cheerful demeanor faded. “As you were, people,” was all he said as he stalked off towards the terminal.
Takh decided to tag in for his captain, and as for the human contingent…
“Mack, I think,” said Matt out of the blue.
Sergeant Shaw looked at him with a bit of panic in his eyes. “Toke? Um, this isn’t really my thing, I’m more of a real-time strategy guy.”
“I saw you take down three dudes in as many seconds. You got the reflexes. C’mon, give it a shot.”
Shaw glared at him. “That’s a very poor choice of words. Okay.” He went and settled himself onto the spot recently vacated by Corporal McCoy, next to the seated-yet-still-towering figure of Takh.
“Go with Peach!” yelled Martinez.
Takh picked Toadette…for some reason…and the resulting duel might have become one for the ages, passed down through story and song unto the hundredth generation. But then General De Vries came stomping back over to put a stop to the whole affair.
“Everybody, and I mean everybody, get yourself cleaned up and looking like a credit to your country or Coalition or whatever. We have a visitor inbound.”
Matt was the one who stood up and took the proverbial bullet. “Who is it, sir?”
De Vries fixed him with a gimlet eye. “Who do you think?”
Chao then saw something she’d never expected to witness. Toke looked nervous.
“Oh, the CIC?”
The general didn’t let him off the hook. “Yes, my wayward Marine. The Commander in Chief. The fucking President. Nadash? Chao? You’re on deck. Get the presentation ready.”
__________
Milton Vila was a powerlifter and a professional paranoid; the latter was just a part of his job. He’d escorted SAILOR for almost six years by now, and was very attuned to her moods. Mostly bad moods, but then again it was a job which she’d fought for tooth and nail, and that fact muted his sympathy. He’d long ago ceased to wonder about what might have pissed off President Correa this particular week and instead focused on keeping her safe.
Still, this particular trip had him curious. It was a visit to the Cheyenne mountain complex in Colorado, which in and of itself was not unusual. But SAILOR’s entire attitude on the drive up the winding mountain road was indeed unusual. Milton thought his principal looked…nervous? That made no sense. He’d seen her face down dictators and oligarchs with a flinty eye.
The next unusual bit was that he couldn’t accompany her the entire time. He didn’t like that. Instead, he’d been forced to stand outside of some pre-fab enclosure in one corner of the underground complex alongside some soldier-looking type named Shaw.
Milton had tried to engage the latter in conversation. Shaw was a big dude, and Milton’s own considerable frame was clad in an impeccably-tailored suit; he suspected that half the reason he’d been chosen to be a part of the president’s detail was due to his sheer intimidation factor.
“Are you sure she’s okay?” Milton had asked.
Shaw had laughed. “Oh yeah. You got McCoy, Martinez, the rest of my boys, and Toke of all people in there with ‘er. Yeah. She’s safer in there than asleep in her own bed.”
True to Shaw’s word, SAILOR had emerged an hour later…but it looked as if she’d been smacked between the eyes with a sock full of sand.
“Ma’am?”
Correa shook her head as if to clear it. “Get me home,” was all she said.
Milton touched his ear. “SAILOR is on the move…”
And now he and his partner sat in this up-armored limousine-style SUV, one of many in the procession, while the president sat across from him. She stared out the window deep in thought. This attitude was something…different from SAILOR. Not her usual ‘why do I have to deal with these idiots’ type of pissed-off. She looked…sad? Horrified? Milton wondered, and not for the first time, what the hell she’d seen in that enclosure.
He tamped down that wondering and instead focused on the landscape outside, scanning ceaselessly for anything that looked suspicious. On the seat across from him sat one of his colleagues, a skinny guy named Hanson, who performed the same action on his side of the vehicle. Milton knew that, in spite of the latter’s less-threatening look, Hanson was the best shot he’d ever met. The Secret Service agent held no illusions about his role; he and Hanson were the last layers of the safety onion. If it came down to the two of them getting SAILOR to safety, he figured Hanson could do it while he acted as a meat-shield.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Milton’s musing was cut short by a soft statement from SAILOR. “How’s Johnny doing?”
The mention of his son made Milton blink in surprise. He looked towards his principal to find her leaning forward and staring at him with a very intense gaze. “Ma’am?”
“That’s his name, right? You have a son named John, you call him Johnny, and your wife’s name is Teresa.”
“Um…that’s right, ma’am.”
She shifted her eyes to Hanson. “And you. Um, your husband’s name is…Larry? No, he prefers Lawrence.”
Hanson flicked his eyes over to Milton in an unspoken question of what the fuck? as he replied. “That’s right, ma’am.”
“How did his recital go?”
Now it was Hanson’s turn to blink in surprise. “Very well, ma’am. He received some very complimentary reviews, one even said that he took Brahms to a new level.”
Milton had long ago realized that SAILOR possessed an eidetic memory when it came to names and personal details. He figured that it was one of the talents which had landed her this particular job.
SAILOR nodded and looked back and forth at the two agents. Milton was shocked to see that her eyes were wet; it was as close to weeping as he’d ever seen her.
“I want you both to do me a favor,” she said. “The next time you are with those you love, gather them close. Hug them. Tell them just how much you love them.”
Then she leaned back and resumed staring out the window. “Two years…just two years. Guess I just wound up in the path of the tornado. But they’re right. We need everybody. Everybody needs to be on board…” She trailed off, leaving the two Secret Service agents looking at each other in confusion.
__________
Ernie Clifton seated himself onto the barstool. “Hey Leslie,” he said to the young woman leaning behind the bar. She wore no makeup that he could see, but she did have her hair dyed an almost eye-watering shade of purple. He’d long ago gotten used to it.
Leslie nodded. “Afternoon, sheriff,” she replied without bothering to ask if he wanted the usual. Ernie always wanted the usual. She moved over to the touch-screen register and tapped at a few buttons. Again without asking, she then filled a glass with diet cola (no ice) and slid it in front of him. He was still on duty, after all.
He nodded amiably at her and resumed glowering down at the polished wood of the bar. The sheriff would rather chew off his right hand than admit it aloud, but deep down he was worried. Worried about Toke.
He’d gotten precisely one (1) email from Toke six days ago, saying that he was taking a vacation and would be away for a few weeks, don’t worry. Of course, Ernie was a law officer and therefore suffered from a bad case of Suspicious Bastard, so he promptly drove out to Toke’s place just to make sure the email wasn’t sent by those drug-dealing assholes to cover up the murder of his friend.
But there was nothing obviously wrong. Toke’s truck was gone. Ernie peered in all of the ground-floor windows, and everything looked copacetic. There was no sign of forced entry…or of any alarm system, which surprised him. He also checked the separate workshop building, which did indeed have an alarm system, a very nice one. Given the nature of Toke’s job he must have quite a few customer weapons stored in there, so Ernie supposed the extra security made sense.
He returned to the house and looked at the front door’s lock and gave a sigh. The next time he met Toke, assuming he wasn’t dead, Ernie knew he needed to impress upon him how easy it was to pick most standard locks. This one lasted all of, oh, thirty seconds before the sheriff was inside the Tocco residence.
The interior was neat and tidy, as one would expect from a career military man. The sheriff did a thorough check of all of the rooms and closets, at every turn expecting to find a bloody corpse. But there was nothing out of the ordinary. There were even a few suitcases sitting next to one bedroom closet, as if Toke had pulled them all out to choose a particular one.
Ernie’s inner Suspicious Bastard did not make him relax, not one bit. He stood in the middle of Toke’s bedroom with his hands on his hips while he pondered his next actions. If he wanted to come up on this property from the rear, there was one obvious place to come from. He was sure Toke knew that as well.
He re-locked the door on his way out, and in a few minutes he was bouncing his 4X4 up a rutted, snow-covered trail. It expanded out into what could generously be called a parking area. As it was the middle of winter, nobody was parked there. He pulled over to one side of the clearing and hauled himself out of the vehicle with a grunt of effort. Ernie looked over the lot with a forensic eye; was it his imagination, or was this place a lot more ‘trampled’ that it should be? He saw a lot of overlapping footprints and tire tracks, so many that it turned into one incomprehensible carpet. Ernie’s scan stopped at one corner of the lot, where a lot of pine trees had lost their coat of snow. He trudged towards that oddly-clean area; his boots didn’t sink in thanks to all of the now-compacted snow. But Ernie’s consternation only increased when he reached that corner. There was an odd, circular area blown into it; he could even see bare ground in a few places. He looked up and saw that the ‘cleaned’ branches also formed a semicircular pattern.
Maybe a helicopter had landed here? But why? And why had nobody notified him or his people that they were landing an aircraft in his jurisdiction?
He next checked out the trailhead. On one side sat the weatherproofed kiosk showing the trails accessible from this place; on the trail proper stretched another well-trampled line of snow. Ernie checked his watch, figured he had the time, and started laboriously hiking his way up the trail.
The next curiosity he discovered was that the trampled snow along the trail suddenly ended at a little widened area of the trail. The snow here was thinner, with no visible tracks. Ernie scanned the area and realized that, for a good distance around, the snow bore shovel marks. Someone had removed the snow in this area, then scooped up nearby snow and dumped that back into it to make everything look sort-of normal. Beyond this cleared area, the snow became pristine and untrampled once again…except for one set of tracks walking towards Ernie’s current position.
That last item was what had gotten Ernie really worried.
Back in the present, Leslie slid a club sandwich and salad in front of Ernie, who responded with another amiable nod. He tackled the salad first, wishing for fries but knowing he needed to slim down a bit. As the lettuce crunched in his mouth, he wondered what to do next. While Toke might not be the victim of gang violence, it was very clear that something had gone down in the forest near his house. He was loath to abuse his position’s privilege, but maybe he could find out if Toke had booked a flight somewhere? Or a hotel?
He dutifully finished his salad and with a lighter heart began on the club sandwich. It was the main reason he frequented this bar; the food was top-notch. Gentrification did have some positive points, he supposed.
Ernie’s phone buzzed in the lapel pocket of his jacket. He swallowed his current mouthful and fished his phone out with a mental grumble. His eyes widened when he saw the number, and immediately accepted the call and held the phone to his ear.
The voice on the other end gave him at least a little bit of relief. “Hey, Ernie! What’s shakin’?”
He kept his voice down, even though he wanted to launch into a full-fledged scream. “Toke? What’s with your voice? You sound like you’re calling from Satan’s armpit.”
“Eh, it’s just the connection here is a bit, um, spotty. I just wanted to call and let you know I’m okay.”
Ernie decided that he’d had enough bullshit for one day. “Oh, really? This call doesn’t have anything to do with the visit I made to your place day before yesterday, would it?”
There was a long pause on the line. “Okay, fine. Let’s just say there are people watching the place. They saw you poking around. But there’s nothing to worry about, I’m fine.”
The sheriff turned to face away from the bar and dropped his voice lower; hopefully Leslie wouldn’t hear him curse. “You fucker. Is this some secret squirrel bullshit? What the fuck is going on? I thought you were retired!”
“Relax, Ernie.”
“Don’t you fucking ‘relax Ernie’ me! I want to know that you aren’t sitting duct-taped to a chair somewhere with a phone at one ear and a gun barrel stuck in the other!”
Another, longer pause. “I guess I deserved that. Hang on, just wait.”
What followed was the longest two minutes of Ernie’s life. He was sure that at any moment the call would simply end or, worse, that he’d hear a gunshot.
Finally, mercifully, Toke replied. “Hey Ernie, would you be interested in participating in a trial run?”
“A trial run of what?”
“Ernie, do you trust me?”
He almost pitched the phone into the far wall, but he took in a deep breath and let it out. “Yeah, I do. Christ alone knows why.”
“Meet me at my place day after tomorrow. Eight PM. I’ll be there. If I’m not, then please go full ham on trying to track me down. Deal?”
Ernie thought about it for a moment. “Deal.”
__________
Earnest Clifton, Sheriff of Kenosha County yadda yadda, brought his SUV to a stop in the front of Toke’s house. Light spilled out of the residence’s windows; somebody must be home. He swung himself down and out of his vehicle and in an almost unconscious manner patted his gut. It was less voluminous than before; the ‘salad instead of fries’ thing seemed to be working. He checked his watch; 8 PM on the dot, a fact in which he took a bit of smug pride.
Other than the lights, the house looked the same as when he’d left it. “Toke?” he called out.
In response the front door opened, and Ernie let out a silent breath of relief as his friend came strolling out. “Punctual as always, Ernie,” he said.
“Fuck you.”
Toke just grinned. “Like I said, I deserve that. But trust me, you’re gonna be glad you came.”
Ernie crossed his arms. “What the hell is going on?”
Matt rubbed the back of his neck; if Ernie didn’t know better, he would have thought the man looked…embarrassed? “There’s lots of things going on. You’ll understand better if you come on in and meet some people.”
“You do realize that request doesn’t make this whole bullshit look less suspicious, right?”
The soldier held up his hands. “I know, Ernie. Like I said, this is a trial run. You have to trust me.”
Ernie dropped his hands to his hips. “I trust you as far as I can throw you. But I’m here, okay?”
Matt stepped to one side and gestured at the open door. Before Ernie could move, a young man in a nondescript blue suit stepped out and looked at the sheriff; the newcomer looked almost like he’d been back-handed in the face and was still trying to process what had happened.
“Sheriff Clifton?” he asked, slipping his wallet out of his lapel in an automatic maneuver. “I’m Special Agent George Mudrak, FBI. Um…” He trailed off, clearly at sea now that he’d departed from his typical spiel. “It would be good of you to join us, sir. You won’t be able to tell anyone of what you’re about to see…at least for a bit.”
The respectful ‘sir’ got the kid some brownie points in Ernie’s eyes, but he still narrowed his eyes in suspicion as he walked up the steps to Toke’s porch. “All right, Special Agent. Nonono, keep that badge out where I can see it.” He stomped up next to Mudrak and gave a very thorough scan of the proffered badge. “Okay, that looks legit.” Ernie then fixed his gimlet eye onto Matt, who stood off to the side with a gentle smile on his face. “The fuck are you mixed up with, Toke?”
“You’ll see. Follow me, please.”
Ernie rolled his eyes but followed the taller man into the latter’s house. “All right, but if you two start doing some kind of pitch for Scientology I’m gonna have to tell you both to kiss…my…sizable…ass…”
The sheriff trailed off. In the living room now sat a long table, and behind that table sat…well, the last thing he ever expected to see.
In a daze he felt Matt take his arm. “Just keep breathing, okay? I know it’s a shock. Here, come sit here. Do you want a translator?”
Ernie settled into the chair across from…from them. Three of them. The one in the middle looked like a half-pint lizard person, the one on the right was a giant with four arms and a weird mandible-filled face, and on the left, on a little plinth, sat a six-legged spider with big soulful eyes.
“Elakmfnhhh…” he said, then closed his eyes and took in a breath. “Please tell me this is a prank.”
“No prank, my man,” said Matt. He showed Ernie a small conical plug in the center of his palm. “Translator?”
“Um…what?”
“They can’t speak our language, dude. This is the only way to understand them. Otherwise it’s all clicks and squeaks and such. But I wanted to ask you instead of just shoving it into your ear. I figure this is more polite.”
In a daze, the sheriff picked up the earpiece. “You have one?”
“Yep. Me, Agent Mudrak, plus a bunch of others. No problems so far.”
Ernie met the golden eyes of the center alien. She sat across from him with folded hands as if he was in the middle of a goddamn job interview. He half expected her to ask him where he viewed himself in the next five years. Ernie then, with deliberation, screwed the small bead into his ear. He hoped he hadn’t just doomed humanity to slavery or worse.
The lizard-like alien nodded towards him. “Greetings, Sheriff Clifton. I am Captain Sadaf Ta’Shakka, this is XO Takh Dal P’Tama, and this is Pilot Kifa. Matt has told us of you, and how much he respects you. We all feel privileged to find sanctuary here on your planet.”
Somehow the sheriff managed to find his voice. “Sanctuary?”
“Yes. Our ship is damaged, we are stranded here in your star system until it can be repaired. Our ship and crew are intended for exploration, not first contact. We discovered you thanks to what we have afterwards determined was a search-radar signal; after that, our intention was to simply observe and gather data for a proper first-contact fleet.”
The huge dude next to her clicked his mandibles. “Unfortunately, that did not happen.”
Sheriff Clifton stared at them all for a moment before replying. “So what did happen?”
After getting filled in, Ernie felt…not better, but he felt more at ease. These aliens weren’t gods or monsters, they were just…people. But then a sudden need filled his chest, and he stood.
“Um, Ernie?” asked Matt, clear concern in his voice.
“Do you mind if I go for a walk in your back yard?” asked the sheriff in a deceptively calm voice.
“Sure. Let’s give Ernie a bit of breathing room, people.”
__________
Sheriff Earnest Clifton stood in the snowy depths of Matt’s backyard, not feeling the cold seeping into his footwear. Instead, he stared up. He finally realized why the Marine had bought a house out in the ass-end of nowhere; this view of the night sky was sublime. Countless stars twinkled in an expanse of black velvet; it was a clear enough sky to discern the different colors amongst that multitude. The sheriff could even see the faint luminous streak of the Milky Way stretching from horizon to horizon.
Behind him, Matt waited patiently.
“I never looked up, much,” said Ernie at last, as he continued to gaze upward. “Even in a place like this, a place where you could really see the stars. I’d look up, think ‘hmm, nice,’ and then just drop my eyes back down and get on with my life. But we can’t do that anymore, can we?”
“No, Ernie,” said Matt in a soft voice. “We can’t.”
“Everything changes from now on,” replied Ernie in an equally soft tone. “Everything.”
“Yep.”
A long but not uncomfortable pause followed. “When?”
“Next week. The president’s giving a speech. Gonna be a doozy, you should watch it.”
Ernie pinched his nose. “I’m gonna be too busy getting ready for the riots. How bad do you think it’ll be?”
Matt walked forward and patted Ernie on the shoulder. “Honestly, I have no idea. But right now it’s a case of putting up with rioting and conspiracy nutjobs screaming about harvesting our precious bodily fluids and turning the frogs gay…or on the other hand, we say nothing and wait for the hammer to fall on everyone.”
The sheriff took one last long, lingering look at the twinkling night sky. It seemed unfair that such beauty should conceal such horror. “Let me know what you need, Toke. You just let me know.”