Reckoning ~ Indian Hill 2 ~ A Michael Talbot Adventure (5 page)

At times, Kuvlar’s lack of prudence had landed him in trouble but he had not risen to his current status by being afraid. And now Borlock had a one-on-one meeting with the interim supreme commander to tell him just how much damage the hu-man vessel had done. It would not go well, this was the biggest military blow the Progerians had ever suffered at least since the five hundred year war with the Stryver’s. But never once, while they were on a conquering mission, had they suffered anything even remotely similar to this and from worlds far more advanced than these hu-mans.

“Supreme Commander, Senior Helmsguardsman Borlock reporting.”

The ISC did not waste time. “What is the status of my ship and when can we launch?”

Alright, so much for pleasantries. “Sir, the hu-man weapon did much more damage than we had originally estimated.” Borlock could tell that the ISC was upset; his mouth hung open an inch or two and saliva poured out the right side of his maw.

“I want numbers, Borlock, I want times. I want this planet under our control. But the one thing I don’t want, Borlock, is your opinions. Understand?” the ISC said with quiet control. Borlock’s shortened tail flicked in response to the tension. He couldn’t remember being reprimanded like this since he was a child and his father scolded him for eating the family pet.

“Sir, we lost over two thousand ships. Most were cruiser class or freighters; but we also lost three hundred fighters and four out of five Battle Master Class ships.” Borlock attempted unsuccessfully to stop the incessant flicking of his tail.

“What does that leave us for our attack?” The ISC already knew but he wanted to make absolutely sure that Borlock did, too. If he couldn’t be trusted to know his ship, he was useless; except, of course, for the battle arena and, the ISC thought, he’d make for some fine entertainment. Borlock sensed a mood change in the ISC and he didn’t like it, not one bit.

“Sir, we still have seven hundred and twenty-six fighters but only one Battle Master Class ship left. The one that wasn’t damaged was in dry dock, being repaired from our last encounter with the enemy. And that ship will be down for at least another month, even with crews working around the clock. The fighters alone will not be enough to subdue this planet, we will need to launch ground forces also.” The ISC already knew this fact too, and he had no desire to hear it from his subordinate.

“And the damage to the launch bay is another thing, sir.” Borlock couldn’t wait to get out of there; he worried the more he talked, the closer he approached an execution.

“There’s more!?” The ISC said as his jaw opened just a little wider.

“Sir, the residual radiation from the weapon is making work on the launch bay difficult and, in some places, impossible.” Go on, the ISC motioned with his hand. “In some places, the surface temperature is too hot to even approach. My senior staff feels that it could be up to another week before the temperatures are reduced to a working level; and even then, the shifts will have to be shortened. The radiation is also making my men sick, sir. Anyone exposed to it for more than two hours usually does not wake up for his next shift.”

“Then get some Genogerians in there to do the brunt of the work. I want launch capability in a week.”

“Sir, we can’t even get to some spots in a week.”

“I suggest you get it done, Borlock, I don’t care how. Or even how many men die. I will not go down in history as the first Progerian to lose a conquest venture. Understood?!”

Borlock understood; either ships were flying in a week or he was dead. His first stop was to the Genogerians’ quarters, where he picked up some “volunteers.”

Chapter 4 – Mike Journal Entry Three

I left Maine early Monday morning. I wanted to go visit my mother’s grave, say my goodbyes and make peace with her. I also was very interested in checking out Indian Hill. I would make sure to get clear of the Hummer first, though. I had no desire to let the general know where I was going. If Paul didn’t want him to know what was going on, that was good enough reason for me.

It was a lonely, quiet drive down to Massachusetts, especially after the festivities of the previous weekend. And, to add insult to injury, I had to drive from rest stop to rest stop, to purge my irritated bowels. I just wasn’t used to beer anymore and my body protested vehemently over my excessive libations. I hit the Mass Line two hours and six stops later than I should have. It would be late afternoon before I even got into Walpole.

When I finally entered Walpole, I headed straight for my mother’s site. I was unsure what I would do once I got there, but it was something I felt that I needed to do.

“Hi, Mom. How you doing?” That’s a stupid question, dumb ass, I thought to myself and how crazy does this look? I’m not talking to anybody. Still, I felt she was listening.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there to say my goodbyes. I’m sure by now, you know my reasons why. Did God give you any clue how this all turns out?” I waited, expecting some sort of sign or omen, but was only answered with the cry of a distant crow. If it had been closer, I might have taken that for my ominous sign. Thank God, for small miracles. 

“Mom, I’m sorry for the way we ended. I wish now that I could go back and change that. I wish I could go back and change a lot of things, but the universe just doesn’t work that way. Mom, is God angry with me?” Another crow, or possibly the same one, flew a lot closer and cawed, then flew away. That could be just close enough to be accepted as my answer.  Isn’t that sacrilegious? I thought. Superstition in a Catholic graveyard. Stop being silly. Goosebumps ran down the length of my arms. The temperature seemed to drop another ten degrees. “Mom? Is that you?” Was she embracing me in death; something we were never able to achieve in life?

Now, I was really freaking myself out. Still comfort is comfort. But was she telling me that everything would be alright? Or to be strong for what comes next? “Mom, I miss you so much.” As I wiped the tears that began to flow, a car passed on the right and I turned so as not to let my anguish show. But of all places you should be able to cry, wasn’t this one of them? Damn male pride. I placed the flower I brought with me on the grass next to the headstone and walked back towards my Hummer. The day was growing shorter but my list of things to do wasn’t. The temperature warmed back up to a balmy twenty-eight or twenty-nine degrees as I approached the car. It had to be in my head, didn’t it? I stopped before I entered. “Goodbye, Mom,” I whispered over my shoulder.

I tried every avenue I knew to get up into Indian Hill, but bogus construction crews were strategically placed at every possible entry way. I used Dennis’ name in vain.

After a few curious looks at me, they all denied any knowledge of Dennis Wagner. I thought to use the path we had discovered so many years ago, but if I knew about it, so did Dennis and, in turn, so did these “construction men.” I had no desire to become a casualty of friendly fire.

I did a slow loop of my old stomping grounds, just for nostalgia. It’s amazing how much things changed. Whoever said, “You can never go home” was right. That might be one of the saddest phrases you can ever hear. There was Cap’s field, where we played baseball. And the Aggie field, where we played football. Cobbs’ pond, where we played hockey; Dennis’ house, where we had so many parties. It was up for sale. Lori’s house, the first girl I ever kissed. This was almost unbearably tough, not so much that I could never do those things again, but because I was afraid
no one
would ever do those things again.

After I’d had enough of this self-inflicted torture, I headed for the local sporting goods store. I had an idea. I made my transaction and looked for the local Stop and Shop. I parked in the back and made my way up the drainpipe. I figured I would have a good view of the goings on up at Indian Hill, especially since there would be no tree cover to obstruct my view. I unpacked my new purchase and took a look through my binoculars.

I honestly didn’t see too much activity up there. I spied the occasional person walking around, but most of the construction must have been behind Indian Hill itself, and from this vantage point, I’d never see it. I was half tempted to leave when my binocular view became totally obstructed. I was about to bitch about what a crappy pair of one hundred and fifty dollar glasses I had bought.

“What you looking at, son?” I almost jumped out of my skin. The exhaust fans on the roof had completely hidden the approach of this person.

“Who the hell are you!” Was all I could stammer out, my heart still slamming in my chest. He appeared to be in his mid-forties, built like truck. A squashed nose told me that he was used to taking a punch; and judging by the size of him, he could also deliver a good one.

“No, son, you have it wrong. I ask the questions and then I decide if I beat you to a pulp or if I let Chaz, over there, do it.” So intent was I on the man in front of me, I completely missed his even bigger partner approaching from my blind side. I was beginning to wonder how bad the jump off this roof would be. Would I be able to get up and drive away? Or would they climb down and finish me off? My brain was spinning for an answer to appease them, but lying was out of the question. I was driving a military issue vehicle, I had a high tech pair of binoculars and I was looking straight at the area they were assigned to protect.

“Dennis Wagner,” I said, spitting out the first thing that seemed to make any sense.

“Excuse me?” Chaz said.

“I’m friends with Dennis Wagner.”

“Yeah, and I’m doing some ice fishing up here.” Squash nose said sarcastically as he stepped closer.

“I was just with him, he’s the one that told me about this place.”

“Then why aren’t you with him?” Chaz threw in.

“Because he’s still at my father’s cabin.” Chaz had had just about enough and was getting ready to lay the hurt on, when old Squash nose held up his hand.

“And just where is your dad’s cabin?”

“Maine,” I answered.

“What’s your name, son?”

“Mike, Mike Talbot.”

“You’re Mike Talbot? Shit, piss and vinegar!”

“What is it, George?” Yeah, that name fits, I thought to myself.

“This is the guy that disappeared last year,” George said elatedly.

“Get out of here!” Chaz said.

“Yeah, he’s the reason we’re doing all this.” Then Squash nose, I mean, George, turned to me. “What are you doing with the Hummer?”

“It was a gift,” I answered; my heart had finally begun its descent out of my throat.

“Hell, if you are who you say you are, why didn’t you just try to go up there?” Chaz said as he pointed to the hill.

“I tried, but the men on the streets wouldn’t even listen when I said Dennis’ name.”

“Do you want to go up there now?” George asked.

I was always accused of talking before my brain fully engaged. “No, I have to get to Washington first thing in the morning so I should be heading out.” That raised both of their eyebrows, but at least they didn’t try to throw me off the roof. I climbed back down the way I had come. Both still eyed me warily, wondering if they’d made a mistake. I didn’t hang around long enough to let them reconsider their choice.

My stomach had finally calmed down from the encounter and the copious amounts of beer, I figured I could drive the majority of the way to D.C. before I took a siesta. I was going to look for a good place though. It was on the government dime and I figured they owed me at least that much.

The drive was fairly unremarkable except for the over abundance of cars nestled along the Eastern seaboard. However, I didn’t see that little inconvenience changing today, at least. An icy wind cut across my exposed face.

The Pentagon? The general wanted me to go into the Pentagon? What was I really expecting? He said Washington, I guess I was figuring, I don’t know what I was thinking, but that building was almost as intimidating as the alien ship I had been on for so many months. I pulled my Hummer up to the main gate, I figured there was no way I would get through. I didn’t even put the uniform back on yet. I didn’t want the general to feel that he knew me completely. The staff sergeant at the gate stooped down to take a precursory glance at me, saluted and waved me through. He looked a little disapprovingly at my two-day stubble but still showed the respect that the rank I had been given rated.

“Uh, Staff Sergeant, which way do I go?”

“Follow your navigational system. You’ll notice, sir, that it has been scaled down to only show the Pentagon area in detail. Follow it, sir, and you’ll be just fine.”