“How cool would it have been if the Julipion had asked that before they went all berserk?”
BT could only shake his head.
“We have never encountered a world that was not fearful or suspicious of our motives upon our arrival.”
“Wow, this guy just never ceases to amaze.” I smacked BT’s shoulder. “I just for the life of me can’t imagine why that would be.”
“Mike, this one is trying to make nice and you’re screwing it up.”
I think I lost it right about there. “Screwing it up?” I spit out. “This asshole wants to make us besties. This is kind of like the vacuum cleaner salesman that murdered your parents, kicked your dog to the curb, lit your house on fire and then smacked you around a little bit. And when you look out the front door, you notice that this crazed salesman did the same thing down the entire street. Then when it was all said and done, he offers a twenty percent discount off his used stock of refurbished machines. Big fucking deal when there's nothing left to vacuum!”
“Excuse us.” BT yanked me by the arm away from Asuras. “How about you shut the fuck up and do what you can to save what’s left!”
“Well, that was succinct and to the point,” I told him. “Going to let you in on a little secret BT. I don’t think this is going to work.”
“This entire fucking parley was your idea, remember, Mr. Lesser of Two Evils? Now you’re shitting all over the plates this guy just fed us from and calling it dessert. Maniac Hoover salesman? What are you talking about?”
“My analogy is basically true. There’s no way this can work. Why would any Human left trust them?”
“First, asshole, you convinced me; now you’re going to have to convince them because you’re Michael Fucking Talbot.”
“Oh, that’s a good one. Yes, honey perhaps we should trust the man that has been in the hands of the enemy for more time than any other living Human. I’m sure that he has not been turned against his own kind. Do you even realize how many Helen of Troy references I’ve heard in regards to myself? Stockholm Syndrome sound familiar? Even if they put my mug on every operational television in the world, do you seriously think that people aren’t going to wonder if I’ve finally cracked, or that maybe there’s a gun to my head or my wife or kid, that is making me say and do this shit? I’m compromised, BT. Want to take a bet on what happens next? My guess is the Stryvers have imagery of the Guardian’s ships attacking the mutes, then the Stryvers attacking the mutes and then the Progs chasing them off. Talk about a propaganda piece. That’s going to play great; people will rejoice that they finally have an ally in this war. Me, after disobeying command, now telling people to fight against the damn spiders isn’t going to work, all it will do will make me look like a traitor.”
“Is that a problem?”
“That I’ll be forever known as Benedict Arnold? On some aspects, yeah, man. Wouldn’t it bother you?”
BT thought about it for a second. “Yeah, I guess it would. So what the hell do we do now?”
“We close the deal, for whatever it’s worth, I suppose.”
“You suppose? Well, holy shit, you are just filling me to the brim with confidence.”
“It’s what I do,” I told him.
“Do you constantly drug your wife to keep her from leaving you?”
“A little bit of stuff in her coffee every morning makes her pretty compliant.”
“I figured it was something like that.”
“May we begin talking again?” Asuras asked. “I have been told that we are receiving signals consistent with the Guardian’s new configuration and I will need to be on the bridge.”
“Any chance of communication with a vessel in buckle?” I asked; I knew the answer, it did not prevent me from asking, though. Asuras replied with a definitive “No.”
Beating the Guardian into submission so that Paul would listen to me was not the best way to begin talking. “I wish I could send him a message or something,” I said.
“That we can do,” Asuras replied. We have signal beacons that can be coded to carry messages.
“I think that might be what we need to do, Asuras. I’ll send a message, we take off and then come back, and then we can hope that he will at least listen.”
“And if he does not?” Asuras asked.
“God help us all.”
I thought and re-thought what I wanted to say in that message five times before Asuras said if I didn’t just record it out now I would be able to deliver it real time, when they came back. We left five minutes before Paul showed up.
Chapter 10
THE GUARDIAN
Paul knew a suicide mission when he sent his men on one and he had to know this was one as well. They were less than three minutes from earth orbital space. The Progerian war vessel would be on full alert and they were far better equipped to handle this battle, even if the Guardian had not been damaged. Even if by some massive miracle he was able to best the battleship, he was unsure what he would do about the war that raged on the ground. He had seen the swarm of Stryvers and their fighters; he did not imagine Mike and his allies would still be alive when he got back. He hated himself for thinking it, but he wasn’t so sure that would be a bad thing. He loved and loathed the man all in the same train of thought and was completely unsure as to how to deal with that dichotomy of feelings.
“Sensor scan shows the Vicieus has buckled.” Paul’s weapons officer Captain Turrell said, pulling Paul from his thoughts.
That action spoke volumes. That potentially meant that Vicieus knew they were coming. Paul was left to wonder why would they leave, knowing that. Was it merely a coincidence? There was a good chance the Progerian vessel, armed with that knowledge, could have laid waste to the Guardian.
“Are there any Stryver ships nearby?” Paul asked. He could only think that perhaps they had been chased off.
“Nothing that we can detect, sir,” Captain Turrell answered.
Paul shifted focus to a potential trap; perhaps they were barreling headlong into a space mine, whatever that entailed. He would have aborted their emergence if physics would have allowed it. “Even though the Vicieus is not there, I would like to still proceed with immediate buckle preparations. Is that clear?” Paul asked. His men nodded.
The battle klaxon sounded three times, five minutes before they were scheduled to pull out of their light speed travel.
“Do you want me to fire, sir?” the weapons officer asked.
Paul had to take a moment to weigh that decision. It was quite possible that their own weapons could be what set off whatever was waiting for them. “Hold off.” He received a questioning stare from his weapons officer before the man turned back to his console. The ship came out of the buckle. Paul had braced, more than half expecting that they would be bombarded by weaponry they’d yet to encounter.
“Time to buckle eighty-two seconds and counting.” The timer had been set as the crew worked diligently to get the ship once again moving at hyper speed.
“Anything on the scan?” Paul asked.
“Nothing, sir.”
“Visually?”
“Again nothing, sir.”
“Delay the buckling.” Paul held up his hand.
“Incoming transmission,” the comm officer said. “It’s from the Vicieus,” the man said, surprised.
“Up on the screen.”
“Surprise,” Mike said from the screen, giving a half-hearted wave as he did so.
“What the hell?” Paul asked.
“Listen, man, I know this is going to sound strange, especially from the man you left hanging out to dry while the Stryvers were kicking our ass.”
Some of Paul’s men looked at him, as this was the first time they’d heard; others pretended to be extremely busy doing their various tasks.
“Funny thing happened; it was the Progs that saved me. How fucking weird is that?”
“Will you just tell him what is going on?” BT said from the side.
“I’m getting to
that.” Mike turned his head. “If I get there too fast he’s going to think I’m speaking out of duress. Which I’m not.” Mike had turned back to face the camera.
“Oh, yeah, that ought to convince him,” BT said.
“What the hell else you want me to do?” Mike had once again turned away. “Am I just supposed to forget that now it’s two to nothing on attempted times to kill me?” Mike said as he once again looked at the comm screen. “I have to keep reminding myself that this is greater than me and certainly you…and definitely Beth.”
Paul felt the sting of the slight as Mike had intended it.
“I was invited onto the Vicieus and yes; it was an offer I could have refused. I’m sure right about now your tactical officer is about to tell you about an imminent arrival. Yes, that’s us. I figured that maybe this message would be better delivered in person as opposed to taped. I’m not asking Paul, I’m telling you, do not fire on this ship. It will be over for you in minutes. I’ve been assured that no matter the outcome of our talks that you will be able to leave this time without any repercussions. This is a parley. I know how you feel, but at least hear what they…what I have to say. Can you manage that? Or are you gonna try for the ‘third time’s the charm’ stance?”
“Fuck you, Mike,” Paul said to the screen, which had already gone blank.
“Imminent arrival. What do you want me to do, sir?” Captain Anders asked.
Paul’s decisions wavered dozens of times during that seemingly two-hour wait; some were based in military strategy, others guided by emotion. Fire, flee, or talk, the closer the point of no return approached the faster he cycled through those choices. One moment the space around them was empty; the next it was filled by an impossibly large ship with all her weaponry trained on the Guardian. Paul feared that he’d fallen into the trap he’d believed it might be, and he still wasn't sure what to do about it.
“Incoming…transmission.”
Chapter 11
MIKE JOURNAL ENTRY 6
“Wasn’t so sure you’d stick around,” I said when I saw the Guardian. “You want me to come to you or would you rather come here?”
“What’s this all about, Mike?” Paul asked.
“It’s exactly like I told you. Now let’s get this done. I have Asuras here; he is the commander of this vessel and he is willing to join me on the shuttle.”
Paul didn’t want a Prog within a million miles of his ship, but as a prisoner of war, it might not be a bad idea. “Sure, bring him along.”
“You know when you say something like that maybe you should at least make an effort to hide that sinister look. This is a parley, Paul, common decency dictates that nobody gets hurt.”
“I wouldn’t dare murder a barbarian whose people have had a part in destroying our world. I wouldn’t consider it, Mike.”
“Is it even worth me coming over there?” I asked.
“If it means I can get you off that ship, then yes.”
“I’m not being held hostage,” I told him. No response. “I’m not being brain-washed.” Still nothing. “Fine, believe what you want. We’ll be over soon enough.” Once the screen went blank and I knew we were not transmitting, I turned to Asuras. “I’m not sure you going to the Guardian is such a good idea.”
“If I do not go who will deliver this?” He motioned to one of the Prog officers who held up a box about the size of a softball.
“What is that?” I instinctively backed up, mistakenly believing it to be a bomb or an incendiary device.
“It is an override system for the onboard computers,” he said matter of factly.
“What’s going on here?” I was at a loss, but I was seeing the inklings of a double-cross.
“It’s quite simple. Your general joins our cause or I will take back ownership of the Julipion.”
“That’s not how parleys work, Asuras. I had your word.”
“We agreed that you would talk to him and offer allegiance. I cannot, and will not, allow him to leave if he does not accept our terms. This is too important, Michael Talbot, and that ship is far too valuable.”
“Son of a bitch,” BT threw in. “I knew there was going to be some pile of shit surrounding this.”
“Fuck it, I’m not going then. I can’t be a part of this.”
“You may be the only chance he has. He capitulates, or I will be forced to take that ship off the field of battle. I cannot allow its presence in the face of odds that are already not in our favor.”
“Give me the damn thing.” I snatched the ball out of his hand; would have looked a lot cooler if I hadn’t nearly pitched over when I did so—the thing weighed in excess of twenty pounds. I’d not been expecting that.
“What are you doing, Mike?” BT asked.
“I’m saving Paul’s life. Asuras here visits the Guardian and he goes to a cell, no questions asked. He goes over there with a device that will make Paul lose control of his ship, Asuras dies, guaranteed.”
“So somehow you think you, the man he has tried to kill twice, can go over there with that very device, and he’s going to what? Let you live? Sounds like you’re about to deliver him the perfect reason to kill you on the grounds of treason.”
“Huh, never thought of it that way. What exactly does this thing do?” I held it up.
“It will crack into the servers, allowing us remote access. From there we can control the drives, weaponry, and life support systems,” Asuras replied.
“What if this is destroyed?”
“Once we are in, it does not matter what happens to the ‘rifter’.”
“Paul will shoot you,” BT felt the need to tell me.
“Does it just need to be on the ship? I mean, can I just leave it on the shuttle once we’re inside the Guardian’s hangar?”
“It must be on the bridge,” Asuras replied.
“Just how in the hell do you expect me to get this thing there? It’s not like I can wear it like a necklace; I’m not a rap star.”
He had no idea what I was talking about. BT, however, busted out laughing. It was the best sound I’d heard in days. “Rift-master Talbot—it has a decent ring to it. You sure you don’t want to give it a go since your political career is in the toilet?”
“Do you not have a serious bone in your body?” I berated him.
“You’re kidding right?” He looked genuinely surprised and mildly affronted.
“Just fucking with you. Maybe we could stick this down your pants.”
“Hell no. Wait…that was because I’m black and there’s the stereotypical thing about me having huge junk wasn’t it?”
“Listen man, of all the stereotypical things to be accused of, having a huge dick doesn’t sound like such an insult to me.”
“Well, that’s true.”
“No shit. But no, it’s not because you’re black, it’s because you’re the size of a VW bus and everything is bigger on you.”
“Well, that’s true too, but I’m not dropping that thing down my pants. It emits some sort of alien signal. How the hell do I know what havoc it will wreak down there?” He gestured to the front of his pants.”
“Well, I guess you have a point.” I thought on it.
“I am sending two of my soldiers,” Asuras said. “We can easily hide it in one’s armor.”
I wasn’t thrilled about sending anything Paul’s way that could cause my ex-pal to lose his cool entirely.
“Okay that’s all great and fine, but there’s no way he’s allowing either of them on the bridge.”
Asuras thought on my words and agreed with my assessment. “My options are limited; I cannot allow that ship to buckle away. It would be a horrible waste of assets, but it is better suited to our immediate needs if the vessel is destroyed rather than used to fight for the other side.”
“You can’t, Asuras. I’m caught in the middle trying to convince the both of you to not destroy each other. We are here under the guise of attempting a peace and that’s what we’re going to try and do. BT man, I
don’t know another way. This thing won’t even fit in mine.”
Fifteen minutes later we were on the shuttle, spanning the distance in open space. BT was constantly adjusting the special harness he was wearing.
“You think it’s like a shrink ray or something?” I asked.
“I’d still be bigger than you.” he said, hunching over and pulling at the device.
“Fucking ouch, man. Maybe it’ll just make it fall off; you can have a nice man-gina.”
“Man-gina? Really? I had more eloquence and maturity in kindergarten.”
“Yeah? Well, you have three balls. Like you’re a Martian or some shit.”
It was not lost on me that the two soldiers that escorted us over were of the Progerian variety. Can’t blame Asuras for that, I have a pretty good track record of subverting Genos.
“This thing is cold.” BT picked at his pants again.
“You better not do that while we’re onboard, or Paul’s going to think you’re very happy to see him.”
BT flipped me off. I smiled, though I was nervous as hell.
“What do you think Paul will do if he finds out?” BT asked.
“I’m telling you—it will be much better if that doesn’t happen.” It was reasonable to think Paul would, at the minimum, have us locked up. If he really wanted to prove a point, he’d just shoot us.