Chapter 26
10 Years Post Apocalypse
Out Of The Frying Pan Into The Garbage
Human Population 45,000,000
“Oh, my god! I’ve never seen anything like it! She pushed you off her back and threw you into the garbage! And now she’s flying away to die!” The teenage girl, Bridget, mind spoke.
Bridget, as close as he could tell, was a young woman, and part of the psychic group-mind in Paradise Valley Refuge. She couldn’t contain her laughter. He could feel the hum and chatter of agreement from the group mind she shared. He received a visual image from them, of Greta, his dragon companion, struggling to stay in the air, favoring two badly injured wings until she crashed behind a nearby hill.
“I seem to have that effect on females,” Ian responded. He groaned and tried to sit up, until the pain made him stop. One broken rib, at least. “Take me and you, for example. I only met you yesterday when you promised me and Greta safe passage, and already you're trying to kill us.” Wherever he was, it was dark and it stank of mold and old garbage.
“She threw you into the garbage!” Bridget repeated.
“Yes, Because I assured Greta it was safe to land here. I was so busy talking to you that I flew us straight into the ambush you so carefully set up. It’s what I deserve for being so stupid,” Ian replied. If only he'd thought to have Greta circle the city, he'd have noticed the large number of cannons and Ballista (giant crossbows) set up and waiting for them. As it was, he was amazed he and Greta were still alive.
The strangest thing about this situation was Ian could have sworn Greta didn’t understand human symbolism well enough to display contempt in this fashion. Kill and eat him? Yes. Drop him from a great height and leave him to die? Certainly. But deliberately throwing him into the garbage?
He'd never realized Greta knew what human garbage was, let alone understood its significance well enough to throw him into what appeared to be an old dumpster. But here he was.
Worse, the mental connection he had with Greta was gone. All he felt from her was an icy, white-hot rage. Despite this, he hoped she could get away. Unable to do anything but lie there, he pulled up his stat sheet.
Stat Sheet
Name: Ian Anderson
Sex: Male
Age: 23
Physical Attributes: 2.8 Down from 3.3. Way to let yourself go, loser.
With 10 being an Olympic athlete and 1 being an invalid in a wheelchair, you a pathetic 2.8
Mental Attributes: 8.0
With 10 being super genius, and 1 being severely retarded, you are 8.0
Status among peers: Low
If your peers hadn’t been eaten, they would still consider you a nerd and a spasticle.
Spasticle is human slang for an uncoordinated, clumsy person.
Some irrational and misguided humans consider you dangerous because you killed people, and assisted in killing thousands of mildly dangerous aliens. I assure them any normal human could do the same or better.
Claims to fame:
If Coach Benson hadn’t been eaten, he would still consider you the worst player to ever try out in the fifty years he coached his little league baseball team.
You are one of the very few humans to tame a Kitykity
You are the first and only human, to ride a young female gray dumdum, and survive long enough to tell others of your experience, thus gaining you the title Dumdum-Rider! I’m sure any normal human would have no trouble getting this title if they would stop being eaten in the process.
Your galactic following has created a doll, made to resemble you. It's called The Ian Anderson doll, and they are charging far too many credits for it.
Note. You will not get any credits for the doll.
Note. This does not help you at all with your current predicament.
Special abilities:
Psychic. Advanced Level 10 specializing in aliens.
Any other Advanced Level 10 psychic specializing in aliens would do far better than you.
There is a level past Advanced, but at the rate you’re progressing, you will never find out what it is.
Great.
First of all, Greta was a young female gray dragon, not a dumdum, and Ian was a Dragon-Rider.
He'd been putting more stat points into mental development trying to push past Level 10, but he hadn't noticed any difference.
He wasn’t sure why his physical stats were deteriorating, but at present, it was the least of his problems.
Also, he was pretty sure the correct term for his doll was action figure.
He pulled out a glowing red syringe and injected a few milliliters of the red fluid into his arm.
Ahhhhh.
The syringe held the last of his Red Scourge combined with a healing booster. Ian had discovered the drug a couple of years ago. It supercharged his gift, and, if he was being honest, he'd developed an unhealthy dependence on it. On the bright side, he was unlikely to live long enough for withdrawal to be a problem.
He sensed military units leaving the city to find and kill his dragon companion. He sensed Greta on the other side of the hill, mind filled with rage, waiting. The psychic bond with Greta he'd spent the last two years developing had vanished. If the two of them ever met again in the future, she'd kill him.
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His Kitykity was safe at least. Back in the Fortress, his brave companion had become one of the Fortress's defenders, and a member of his family.
How did I get here? Ian wondered. How did I end up thrown in a dumpster by my dragon companion, waiting to be killed by the treacherous humans who ambushed us? Unable to do anything but lie there and wait to recover, he relaxed as the red scourge kicked in and the world around him slowed down. His mind sank into a warm red cocoon.
***
4 years and four months post alien apocalypse.
Ian's efforts to tame his baby Kitykity had succeeded beyond his wildest expectations. For the first two weeks after he captured it, he kept it in a cage, fed it Galactic-Market, solar powered, vitamin enriched Monster Milk, and listened to it yowl.
One night while he was sleeping, it broke out of its cage and escaped the bomb shelter the two of them were staying in. By the time Ian awakened, the Kitykity had returned to the bomb shelter and curled up next to him. Its display had changed, now saying.
This is a Kitykity. The human, Ian Anderson, brainwashed it so it no longer thinks humans are food. Shame on you, cruel human.
“Is that a raccoon?” Ian asked, seeing it was holding some squirming animal. “Unless you plan to eat Mr. Raccoon, and I don't see how you can without teeth, he belongs outside. Maybe you'd like some monster ice-cream?”
“rrrrp,” was the Kitykity's response.
After that, Buddy, now the size of an adult male German Shepherd, followed him everywhere.
***
The two of them were instant celebrities when they arrived at The Fortress. Everybody wanted to see Ian’s infant Kitykity companion and learn how he tamed it.
Gabe was doing amazing things with his wizardry, but to Ian’s extreme annoyance had yet to bring Stacy back.
He went to Gabe's lab to confront his brother and discovered Uncle Ben was already there. “Gabe! My amazing nephew, could you please fix my cell phone?”
“What do I look like, an IT department?” Gabe grumbled, taking the cell-phone from Uncle Ben. Gabe held up the cell-phone and glared at it. “Work!” he shouted, then slammed it against his workbench, causing the phone to let out a frightened squeak. He tossed it back to Uncle Ben. “Fixed. You can watch your stupid alien videos now.”
“How come that never works when I do it?” Uncle Ben asked.
As soon as Uncle Ben left, Ian turned to Gabe. “Where's Stacy?”
Gabe looked away. “Don’t ask me how I know this, Ian, but if a human or animal’s life functions cease for a fraction of a second under ten minutes, they can be brought back to life; a fraction of a second over ten minutes, and they are shit out of luck. I’ve tried everything.” Gabe sighed. “BG refuses to answer my questions concerning the ten-minute life/death barrier, and at this point, she’s the only one who can help.”
“What about the nuclear option we talked about?” Ian asked.
“We are so far away from that option, I can’t begin to answer that question.”
“Stacy is dead,” Sabrina said, walking in on their argument. “Both of you, get over it.”
“Why don’t you mind your own business!” Ian snapped.
“I’m Gabe’s apprentice. His business is my business.”
“Yowwwrrrr,” Buddy said from a corner of the lab, picking up on the human anger in the room.
Gabe eyed the infant German Shepherd sized Kitykity nervously. “How safe is that thing?”
Ian didn’t respond. He stormed out, Buddy close behind.
Ian spent the next few days sitting in his room, head in his hands, wanting to cry. Over four years of hard, dangerous monster hunting. He'd come close to being killed more times than he could count. For what? He hadn't accomplished a goddamn thing. No closer to winning the game, or bringing Stacy back than when he'd started.
Ian didn’t know what to do. He’d done everything he could think of to help his brother succeed, but so far nothing. It wasn’t for lack of Gabe's trying, either. He sensed Gabe felt just as defeated as he did.
When it was time to leave the Fortress, Ian went looking for Crazy Steve, and discovered Crazy Steve was too drunk to stand, let alone travel. Also, his old friend didn’t want to go.
“Dammit, Steve,” Ian said, sensing part of the problem. “I love Buddy, but no alien will ever replace you.”
“It’s not that,” Crazy Steve said, looking up at him from the bar counter. His breath reeking of booze. “I told you how in Zen Buddhism you find your own meaning. My meaning for the past four years has been to look out for an angry young boy trying to prove himself. You’ve grown up and got a protector tougher than I am. I can tell Buddy will defend you with its life. You don’t need me.”
“So what’s your life's meaning now? To sell drugs with your friend? I know the two of you are working on something.”
“Nothing wrong... with that,” Crazy Steve finished his beer and slammed the mug on the counter. “We’re businessmen.”
“We’re going to talk about this again when I get back, and you’re sober,” Ian said.
***
When Ian returned to the Fortress a few weeks later, Crazy Steve was sober, and living with a small dark-haired woman and her three kids.
“You don’t waste any time,” Ian said, after the woman brought them sodas. She looked nervously at Ian, and Ian's Kitykity who was curled up in the corner, and left them alone.
“Iris saved me, dragged me from a bar brawl, let me recover at her place. She says if I want to live with her, I’d better clean up my act.” Crazy Steve looked better than he had in months. He’d even shaved, and for a change, he wasn’t holding a lit cigarette.
“Clean up your act? No way! You told her to go to hell, right?” Ian asked, laughing.
Crazy Steve laughed. “Ian, look at her, and look at me. She’s pretty, and over twenty years younger than me. What do you think I did?”
“Wow. You dirty old man. You’re going to help her raise her kids?” Ian asked. “That’s your new life’s meaning now?”
“That’s the plan,” Crazy Steve said. “Oh, and please don’t tell her I may have exaggerated a few things, like the time I served in the special forces. She thinks I’m a bad-ass because of the time I spent traveling with you.”
“Your secret’s safe with me. She’s lucky to have you, Steve.” Ian hugged the old man and tried not to cry.
So that was it. No more Ian and Crazy Steve. Ian tried to be happy for the guy, but he missed traveling with his old friend. Things change, and Ian tried to accept this.
For the next few years, it was Ian and Buddy. Buddy, still a baby, grew to the size of a Great Dane, started eating solid food, learned how to drive, and could even fire the Jeep’s machine gun.
Ian explained to his alien companion, with difficulty, how humans were at war with its kind. Because of this, humans would fear and hate Buddy, and aliens would do their best to kill them both. His companion handled it well, seeming to have no problem protecting Ian from its own kind. This was good because Ian’s attempts to tame other Kitykity resulted in failure.
In the meantime, Gabe fired his assistant/apprentice, Sabrina. It wasn’t a bad thing, though. They’d become romantically involved.
Dad had found someone, and the two got married.
Even Uncle Ben was living with someone.
His family was happy. Alien apocalypse or not, they’d gotten on with their lives. Stacy was a memory, her room now occupied by another girl, part of Dad’s new family.
Ian tried to be happy for them, but couldn’t help feeling angry. His years of work hadn't gotten him any closer to winning the game, and Stacy's absence created a gulf inside him. Nothing seemed to help.
His own attempts to reconcile with his ex-girlfriend resulted in failure, but his heart hadn’t been in it. There had to be something he could do to bring Stacy back and win the game! But what? What was he missing?
Ian himself was in a rut. He hadn’t killed any new aliens in several months, and the aliens he'd encountered either weren’t a challenge, or were so completely out of his league he didn't know how to kill them, like the giant worm he'd encountered that was hundreds of feet long and the width of a city bus. Fortunately, those aliens didn’t appear overly aggressive towards humans.
Mrs. Wilcox put him onto his next project.
“You look younger,” Ian said when she joined him at their usual meeting place, Ian’s kitchen. “I’d thought you were wearing more makeup, but you really look younger.”
“Why thank you, Ian. Your brother gave me some rejuvenation monster skin cream. He wasn’t sure about side effects, but for the chance to look twenty years younger, I’m happy to be his guinea pig.”
There was a faint green tinge on the woman's skin and eyes that hadn't been there before. If she hadn't noticed, Ian wasn't about to tell her.
“Yeah. Well, I found the person who’s been doing the anti-Wilcox graffiti. It’s ten-year-old Megan Sacler, part of the Sacler traitor family. I suppose you’re going to kill her?” The last was a joke. Mostly.
“Absolutely not!” Mrs. Wilcox said, looking indignant. “In politics, we can never underestimate the value of a good scapegoat. I’m planning to blame the traitor families for our budget shortfalls.”
“I’m no fan of the traitor families, but did you have to tattoo their children? That seems cruel.”
“Mr. Payne would have wanted it that way,” Mrs. Wilcox responded. “He had zero tolerance for traitors. He said so many times. And the rotten apple never falls far from the tree. But I didn’t come here to talk about that. I came because BG actually answered one of your questions. I asked her about that invisible monster you met a few months back. The one who is a stronger psychic than you. In BG’s words.” Mrs. Wilcox giggled, “the young female gray dumdum (dragon) isn't like the gentle peace-loving baby male dumdums you are used to. She’s a vicious, cold-blooded, territorial killing machine. She will annihilate anyone, human or alien, who enters her territory without her consent.”
“I see,” Ian said, remembering how, when he and Buddy were hunting her, she'd crept up behind them in total silence. Without his psychic abilities, Ian wouldn’t have known she was there. Even with his psychic abilities, it had been like mind-dueling smoke. He couldn’t do anything to this creature. They'd been forced to run away and hide until she left. Buddy, normally quite brave, had been terrified. “Good thing we hadn’t made it to her territory. It would seem we’re lucky to be alive.”
“Yes,” Mrs. Wilcox said. “According to BG, this female dumdum is a level 9 alien. BG doesn’t think you have a chance of killing it, even with Gabe’s help. I strongly recommend you stay the hell away from her until we learn more.”
“That was my initial assessment as well,” Ian responded.
“Good. Oh, your father hopes you can join them for dinner.” Mrs. Wilcox got up to leave.
“Not if I can help it,” Ian said.
“Take care of yourself, Ian.”
After she left, he sat at the kitchen table for a long time. This female dumdum dragon could have attacked him and Buddy, certainly killing them, but she hadn’t. She might be an aggressive territorial killing machine, but outside her territory, she seemed more curious than anything else.
Ian put all the stat points he’d saved up into his Alien Friendship branch of his skill tree. “Well Buddy, I’m going to do something very smart, or very stupid.”
Buddy, sensing what Ian was about to do, put its large front paws over its head and let out a mournful yowl.