Victory's Defeat by Mark Tufo
I cocked my head to the side as I handed the radio back to Grar. “Here ya go. Well, that was fucking weird,” was all I could think to say.
“What’s going on?”
“I just had a civil conversation with a Progerian and I think we are well on our way to discussing a much broader alliance.”
“Against the Stryvers?” BT asked.
“Who else?”
“You realize your friend, the actual general of pretty much the entire Earth Force, has already struck a deal with those very Stryvers right?”
“Yeah, that’s problematic.”
“Problematic? Are you fucking insane?”
“I think we've covered this ground before; there’s a case that could be made that yes, I am indeed.”
“Listen, man, you need to think about what you’re doing right now. I know the Stryvers are horrible creatures that I wish some twisted creator had never made, but you’ve got to remember—it’s the Progerians that are currently responsible for the murder of billions of our kind, Mike. You’re going to have a hard time winning the hearts and minds of the population when you tell them that’s who you want to ally with.”
“I can’t undo what’s been done right now, buddy; we’re sort of corralled. I tell them we don’t want to talk and we’re all dead. I know the Progerians, Genogerians, and the Devastators have brought immeasurable harm to our world, I know it, I’ve felt it firsthand, as has everyone else on this rock. Somehow, through all of that ruin, I have made friends with more than a handful of them. One is a godfather to my child. War happens, civilizations change hands, species evolve, move up and down on the food chain...worlds rebuild. What do we have to hope for from this alliance my ‘friend’ has made for our future? If we live to be a thousand, I don’t think we will ever exist on a level with the Stryvers where we would be more than a useful food source for them. Tell me I’m wrong.”
He shook his head. “You’re not, man.” He came to that conclusion after looking around; littered battlefields often bring clarity. Even though he agreed, he didn’t seem overly thrilled with his decision. “Ok, let's say for the moment things go well with this Asuras—and let me make this clear—I seriously doubt they will. What then? How are you even going to possibly pull this off? Most of the Human inhabitants of this planet have never even seen a Stryver. Those on the Guardian see them as allies, and word of this battle will spread. Our ‘allies,’” he air quoted, “were down here fighting our enemies. People are going to love that somebody, anybody, is helping them out...now you're going to say ‘just kidding’?”
He was right, how could I argue with such sound logic? I was asking for people to ignore everything they’d learned about the Prog invasion for the last five years and to just change tracks mid-stream. And then what? Go with the sham alliance Paul had built? How long would that hold? It was no secret to those in the know that the Stryvers only wanted to use us to kill the Progs so they could take over. Would I be making the same deal on the other side? There was some elegant beauty to the realization that I could potentially be playing off both enemies into harm’s way. But that trickery only worked if they were fighting on some distant and remote part of the galaxy. There would be an eventual winner here that was certain. The trick was to make sure that Humans fell on the right side and had a legitimate understanding with those on that winning side.
If Asuras could convince me that they would help our side and would not simply turn on us at the end of one war to start ours anew, that would be enough to sway me. The Stryvers were duplicitous fucks; hell, they could open up twelve channels of communication at any one time, why would you need so many if you weren’t lying your balls off? Provided they had any…I would have to ask BT if he’d ever come across them.
“Why the fuck you smiling?” BT asked.
“Was thinking about spider penis.”
His mouth sort of unhinged; took him a moment to kind of reel it in. “At this very moment, you are the leader of the free world and you’re basically a fucking idiot. I’m surprised people don’t have to follow you around and wipe your ass. I need to ask again, Mike, because I need to absolutely know. I do. Is this the right play.”
“It is, man. I feel it in my guts. It is. Our only chance of survival comes from standing with the Progs. We strike this deal, they will honor it. Of that, I have no doubt.”
“What the fuck are you going to tell Paul? This raises the stakes on the little feud you two are having.”
“It’s really just an extension of what is going on.”
“On an epic scale, though.”
“We both want what’s best for our home; we’re just going about it in different ways.”
“Brother, this is a little different. You are about to wage war on your friend and his stance, the fate of the world is at stake. Are you ready for that?”
“I wouldn't have stuck my neck out this far if I wasn't ready. This isn’t about Paul and me; I’m here to defend my people. If I feel, if I truly believe our commander is about to hand our ass to us, then I ask you, what choice do I have?”
“None at all.”
“And what do you think? Am I doing the right thing? I operate more from emotion than deep thought prodding. Am I letting what I feel in my heart rule over what my head might be telling me?”
“You mean are you running away from your brain with your fingers plugged in your ears? Probably. But I’m just a gangbanger from L.A., why the hell are you asking me?”
“Because I’m just a stoner that was going to be adding ‘experienced college drop-out’ to his resume.”
“Resume? McDonald's doesn’t ask for a resume.”
“Yeah, now who’s talking off-subject? Plus, it’s too dangerous with all that hot oil, and I’d weigh, like, a thousand pounds...you realize I’d be stoned out of my gourd seventy-five percent of the time? That and I’m not really a fan of those limp pickles, they kind of skeeze me out.”
“Fine, you want to know what I think? I think you’re the craziest motherfucker on the planet. I can’t for the life of me figure out how this is going to work in your favor, or anybody's favor. But you want to know what’s really fucked up? It will. Somehow it will all work out. Everything and everybody around you will be covered in fourteen and a half inches of feces and you’ll be off to the side whistling while you walk, smelling all grape Kool-Aidy.”
“Kool-Aid? It’s supposed to be roses.”
“That’s what I’m saying, you’re going to turn everything on its ear so nothing makes sense.”
“Well, why didn’t you just say that? I thought you were going all racial on me or something.”
“Kool-Aid is a cultural thing.” BT looked indignant.
“Did I touch a nerve? You look a little pissed.”
“There’s nothing better than some Kool-Aid on a hot summer day.”
“Well, there's beer.”
Grar had moved his soldiers away so that there was enough room for a shuttle to land. BT and Keecan looked the way my intestines felt—all squirmy, I mean. I didn’t have a great track record with commanders in general, and if this one was anything like his predecessor I would be in a ring fighting BT in the next couple of hours.
“You sizing me up?” BT asked after the fifth time I looked him up and down. “You are. Why?” He arched an eyebrow in question. “Oh no—is that really what you think is going to happen?” he asked when he figured it out, but he just kept going. “Just so you know, Mike, it won’t be anything personal when I crush you.”
A snort came from Keecan.
“What’s so funny, lizard-man? Don’t you think I could squash him?” BT asked.
“It is not whether I believe you could beat him in the arena; it is rather that I could easily beat the both of you together.” he said dryly.
“Is this shit serious? We are not willingly flying up into something we are all thinking is probably a trap are we?” BT was concerned. Hell, so was I.
“Grar, this a trap?” I asked
“It is not,” he grumbled. If I had my guess Grar was pissed off we weren’t duking it out right now.
“There you have it,” I told BT.
“Phew, I feel so much better now,” BT mocked.
Fuck the butterflies people say they feel when they’re nervous. Butterfly wings tickling the inside of your tummy is from love; that fluttery feeling you get when you gaze upon your mate after an absence. I felt like I had just swallowed a bucket of live, maggot-covered earthworms wriggling around in agony as they were being slowly digested by my boiling stomach acid. I could even hear their death cries; apparently so could others.
“What the fuck is wrong with your stomach?” BT asked.
I didn’t have to answer as the shuttle approached. It landed no more than fifty feet from us—the desire to run the other way was a physical entity. BT had actually started moving toward it and had to turn to see where I was.
“What? You going to make me do this on my own?”
“Would you mind?” I asked.
“It’s going to look bad if I have to drag our supreme commander, the man that is authorized to negotiate war and peace, reluctantly to the table.”
“I'm just, err, making an entrance,” I said, swallowing back acid.
The moment the door to the shuttle closed so did all talk. I was feeling a profound sense of hopelessness like I’d possibly been sentenced to a crime I’d actually committed and the door to my cell had just closed out the last of my freedom. I got up to use the facilities. There’s no need to go too in-depth here, but the Progs and company used bathrooms much like we did with two noticeable differences. For some ungodly reason, they preferred to sit almost directly on the floor. Pretty weird for something so big. And the other obvious one was that the diameter of the basin was in proportion to their size. When I hung my head down to release the worms, it was all I could do to stretch my arms wide enough to keep myself from pitching in. Talk about undignified.
The hold I had on my mind was tenuous at best. Getting on their mothership was going to take every measure of control I could muster to not snap. The menacing fuck known as PTSD lurked around every dark corner of my memories. I relived those battles of mine continuously. Every night as I went to sleep those victims made their appearances. Sometimes I won, if you could call it that, but more often than not I would find myself at the end of a spear, my head ripped clean off and paraded around the grounds. Tracy was more than understanding on those nights when I awoke screaming. She still had no idea how many times I’d silently sat bolt upright, my body coated in a thick layer of sweat. I’d have to get out of bed and dry off while I walked around our home waiting for my trip hammer of a heart to slow to even remotely approximate a pace consistent with a Human at rest.
“Mike, you alright?” BT had rapped lightly on the door.
Another thick, steaming sluice of vomit erupted from my body.
“I’m going to say no,” he answered himself. “Anything I can do?”
In between retches I told him “No.” He got it and sat back down. Dudes aren’t nurturing by nature; it’s not what we do. If a guy tells you to leave him alone, you do, no questions asked. This is something which is so easy for men but completely eludes women. Without a doubt, Tracy would be in here with me, holding my hair back (if I didn’t have a military cut), or at least rubbing my back as it arched heavily between heaves. But what’s worse if she was feeling sick she would also say “no,” only that would mean “get your ass in here right now and hold my hair up and rub my back.” And woe to you men who haven't learned that one yet.
I was making peace with the ghosts swirling around inside my head, and in another twenty, forty years, I’d probably be somewhat normal. Then I had another gut-clenching spike as I thought on Paul. BT was right; I was quite literally waging war on everything Paul stood for, everything he had set in motion. Yeah, this was one breach I knew I’d never be able to heal. Though he might stay quiet about it if I won, I’d know it was there, festering. That he even allowed Drababan to live amongst us was a testament to the friendship we once possessed, and I knew how bad it irked him. That I was about to go behind his back and make a bargain with the very creature that threatened our survival and had done its best to place us on the endangered species list would not even be in the realm of things he could comprehend; this would blindside him. Our flight was maybe halfway over by the time I felt decent enough to come out. Most likely because there was nothing else I could sacrifice to the space plastic god.
“You’re pale even for a cracker,” BT said.
“Could you please not talk about food.”
“You alright?”
“Fuck no, man.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“You tapping into your sensitive side now?”
“Fuck you.” His concern soured quick enough.
“Fine. Sick as hell and posing as the Supreme Earth Commander, I am heading for a ship that is very similar to one that I recently fought on, killing fellow Humans, I might add, all for the entertainment of a brutal invader whose unchanged goal is to completely overthrow our government while standing on our planet and is most likely still hell bent on accomplishing that by any means possible regardless of what I offer them. That’s just the tip of the iceberg. You want to see the seedy underbelly too?”
“Naw, I’m good.”
We’d traveled another ten minutes or so in silence.
“BT, how am I possibly going to convince our people that this is the right move?”
“I don’t know Mike, you’re just going to have to somehow show them.”
“There’s not a person down there that hasn’t suffered some sort of loss from the Progs.”
Chapter 8
THE HILL
It was all Tracy could do to hold onto her military bearing as she exited the shuttle. Drababan was at the edge of the landing zone, his arm outstretched to hold onto the hand of the little one he was charged with.
“Screw it. Mike wouldn’t walk,” Tracy said as she took off like a shot to her son.
“Mommy!” Travis was beaming as he let go of Dee’s hand and ran as fast as his stubby little legs would move him.
Tracy whirled him around at a dizzying pace all the while kissing his face. “I missed you so much, baby.” she told him over and over again. She held him tight and sobbed, she held him away so she could peer into his eyes.
Drababan stayed a respectful distance away as Tracy and Travis reconnected. She finally placed Travis on her hip and walked over to Drababan.
“It is good to see you again, mate of Michael, and in good health.”
“It’s good to see you as well, friend of Michael, protector of Travis.” Tracy returned the strange greeting. Dee nodded, she thought perhaps he had smiled. “Speaking of which.”
“You may wish to come into my office; we have much to discuss, and if what he said aboard the shuttle is correct, we will have a lot to prepare for.”
“Has he absolutely lost his mind!?” Tracy was pacing about Dee’s office. Her hands flew to her hips, then into the air, her forehead, back to her hips. “He got on a Progerian shuttle?”
“He did indeed.”
“To broker a unilateral alliance that he possesses neither the ability nor the authority to make?”
“Yes as well.”
“Drababan, tell me honestly. Is something like that even possible?”
“It is true that the Progerians do not oftentimes create alliances; they are a race obsessed with expansion. At first it was with the hope of universal peace, but now, if that end-goal entails conquering and commanding, we have found our serenity with it. More often than not, we have discovered that it does. The Stryvers, however, are a large and looming threat to everything we are. In our infancy of expansion, traveling to the nearest planet in our solar system took the greatest minds and abundant resources. We landed upon a small planet, much like your Mars. Dyebled was thought at one time to have harbo
Tracy sat down, rapt by Dee’s story.
“As the atmosphere strengthened we expanded farther across that beautiful planet; life blossomed. Those with a deep sense of exploration settled farther and farther away from the hubs of the cities. It was much like your United States in its early days. At no time, though, did we suspect this new world would be perilous. All life had been brought from our own world, you see. We thought it wise to not bring the deadlier aspects along with us. It was very much our Garden of Eden. Progerians and Genogerians are not nearly as predisposed to violence against each other as your species is, and on Dyebled, it was abnormally low, even for us. Perhaps we could have found a deeper understanding, an appreciation of that peace—if we had been left undisturbed. I ponder sometimes on what I think our worlds would have been like if we had only been given the chance.
On our home world, it is true that there were two distinct classes, Genogerians and Progerians. My people tended to fill more menial labor positions, while the Progerians gravitated toward, and were given, what you would call “white collar” professions in business, healing, theoretics, or leaderships…that is not to say there wasn’t cross over. It was not uncommon for a Progerian to be working on building a structure or a Genogerian to rule over a city.”
“What happened?” Tracy was leaning forward.
“The change was nearly overnight. Perhaps it took a year or two overall, but seen in the perspective of the millions of years of our peaceful shared existence, it was relatively sudden. Those that were settling on the outskirts of the major cities began to disappear. At first, it was assumed that they had just gone deeper into the planet. Even after a hundred years, the majority of Dyebled had not been thoroughly explored. Then it began to happen at an alarming pace. Scientists, poets, spiritualists…great minds began to disappear; society simply stopped hearing from them. Shuttles loaded with military personnel, such as it was, went to investigate, and to restore order in a world that was becoming more frightened by the moment. It was then we caught our first glimpse of a Stryver; it was headed into a cave in the side of the Dendrick Mountains. Forty soldiers, of both Genogerian and Progerian descent, walked, armed, into that vast cavern. None came out. Footage of the hell they went through can still be viewed at the places we house all our historic data.”