Skyfire (19 page)

HUGHES

Holy shit, what have I done?  What the fuck do you mean, ‘He’s with us.’ How am I going to deal with this? 
Trent felt his face flush and become extremely hot.  His stomach churned. He couldn’t get the shame out of his mind that he’d killed someone he wasn’t supposed to.  It had happened twice in the past, and had taken years to reconcile in his mind. 
Not again.  FUCK!

“You good, man?” asked Karl, still on top of Trent.

Get your head right. 
“Yeah man, I’m good.” 
I need to figure out what they know. 
“Karl, what the fuck is going on?  I just had more soldiers than I can count try to kill us.  You need to tell me.”

“Who the fuck is this?” yelled McColgan.  “Major Rugerman!”

Jack leapt to his feet and stood before the colonel, who was enraged.  He came up with his story on the fly.  “Sir, this is Captain Trent Hughes.”

Not a COMPLETE lie.  I never resigned my commission.  What the hell, I’ll go with it for now. 
 

“He and I served together previously.  His family is from here and he was on leave.”

“With an M4 and combat gear?” McColgan had a disbelieving look on his face.

Jack, a terrible liar, was clearly having issues coming up with the next twist in his tale. 

Trent, on the other hand, had no such trouble
.
“Sir, Captain Hughes, 2-327 out of Campbell.  Charlie Company Commander.  The guy who owned this won’t be needing it anymore.”  Trent gestured to his rifle. 
Shit, the only other unit I can think of is the one where I did my CTLT “Lieutenant Ride-along” for a month in the summer of 2003?  Really? 

“I was at Campbell for three years, but I was up at division,” said McColgan.

“I wouldn’t know, sir.  I do real work.”

McColgan liked Trent’s initial impulse to protect everyone around him, misguided as it was.  He also appreciated anyone with the balls to fuck with him.  “Who’s the Brigade Commander over there nowadays?”

Oh shit, here’s where it all falls apart.
  “Colonel Blake, sir.”

“John Blake?”

Fuck it, all in. 
“Yes, sir.”

“Holy shit, I haven’t seen him since before he got wounded!  Glad everything’s working out for him.”

“We’re lucky to have him.”
Dodged a bullet.  Now we play “avoid the colonel” with my illegal guns.

“OK, enough talk,” said McColgan.  “Everyone here get inside the S2 shop.  It’s now or never, and we need to move.”  He gestured to Sam.  “Sergeant Ramos, is that you?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sam, ever the consummate professional.

“I need you to pick up the pieces out here.  Find any more of your medics that didn’t go berserk and start triaging wounded and setting up a CCP.  You understand?  Just like Firebase Purgatory way back when.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The first non-medic NCO you find is responsible for helping the sergeant major with a security plan around the birds, the guns, and these three tents.”

“Yes, sir.”  Sam signaled to Callie to stick with Trent.  “Blend in. Follow his lead.”

The group proceeded into the tent.  By now, a small smattering of soldiers, NCOs, and officers were crowded around a large row of satellite images of New York City, scaled to approximately 1:25,000 units of size. 

I cannot wait to hear what the hell these people have planned. 

“Everyone gather around.”  The colonel gestured to the small metal folding chairs scattered around the disorganized S2 shop.  “Make it work, guys.  Come on.”  The soldiers quickly seated themselves.  Trent stood in the back.

Goddamn, it feels good to ground my ruck.
  Trent had long relished the act of grounding the heavy pack after it had been hanging on his back for several hours.

“OK everyone,” said McColgan.  “You know me - I love a good, thorough OPORDER (Operations Order), but right now we don’t have time.  This is going to be a FRAGO (Fragmentary Order) at best.”  A few of the more tight-assed officers managed a brief chuckle.

Ugh, I hate OPORDERs.  Wait - I’m sitting in an OPORDER.  Why the fuck am I sitting through an OPORDER? 

“Gentlemen, this is the situation as we know it,” began McColgan.  “If you are a primary staff officer and you know your piece of the briefing better than we do, please make yourself known.  I’m not sure just how far Major Rugerman got in the dissemination process.”

“Sir, I didn’t get anywhere,” said Jack.  “The shooting started before we could do anything.  It’s just me, you, Major McMullin, and Colonel Fry.”

“Got it.  What about imagery?”

“You’re looking at it, sir.  All we could unpack.  No SIPRNET connectivity for info on the area around the building itself.”

Jesus, can’t the Army just Google shit like everyone else.

“Alright, listen up,” said McColgan.  “We’re down to one functional helicopter and we need to air assault into the Upper West Side to find and rescue a scientist from the American Museum of Natural History.”

No fucking way.  I love that place!

The audience began muttering; they sounded disgruntled.  Clearly, they gave the mission a low probability of success.  Colonel McColgan needed to sell it. 

“Gentlemen, listen!” McColgan said.  “I’m not gonna bend you over and tell you it isn’t going to hurt, but I can safely say the vast majority of you have respected my judgment and decision-making ability in the past.  I will tell you one thing before I pass this off to the person you are dying to hear from - this is the only option we have.  Ronak, please.  You have the floor.”  McColgan stepped to the side and gestured for Ronak to stand front and center.

Ronak stepped in front of the chairs, blocking out almost all the dim light by the map boards.  His eerie silhouette, combined with the shitty generator light, reminded Trent of the iconic image from Steven Spielberg’s
Close Encounters of the Third Kind
. 

Seriously?  How the fuck do they trust this thing? 

Slightly hunched, the massive being began to speak.  “I am Legate Ronak of  Æther.  I would first like to thank you all for your hospitality.  Other species have not been so pleasant when I have been forced to make my presence known.  However, I will not waste additional time on pleasantries.  I now present to you a brief summary of recent events for the purpose of ensuring we operate based upon identical information.”  Ronak lowered his left hand to what appeared to be either a drop-leg weapon holster or a container.  It matched the pale, off-white color of his suit.  In one fluid motion, he swiped downward and then back to his front at a forty-five degree angle.  As his hand moved downward, the container opened with a quick
shoosh
sound.  He flicked his wrist upward, causing a dull silver sphere to float before him at chest level. 

What the hell?

Everyone watching stared in awe; the sphere was clearly defying Earth’s gravitational pull.  Karl put hand to his mouth, fingers slightly spread, as if to hide from what he was about to say.  It was a tactic he had developed in high school and still employed in his thirties.  “Ya’ll muhfuckuz got hoverboards, too?”  No one else paid any attention.

“How many of you remember this progression?” asked Ronak. The dull sphere flashed brilliantly, converting the inside of the tent to something like a view screen ride at Universal Studios.  This particular ride made everyone in the tent feel as if they were at the center of a 360-degree camera flying around both the financial district of Manhattan and various surrounding areas, in order to gain as many viewing angles as possible.  The point of view shifted and fast forwarded several times, demonstrating the progression of the entity’s arrival.  The officers inside the tent watched in awe. 

Fuck it, I’m all in.  This is too interesting not to see through to the end.  I need to get to the city anyway to find Emma.

“What you can see here is the entity arriving over the course of your last five planetary revolutions,” said Ronak.

Do these people watch us ALL the time?

“Initially, it appeared to be little more than a heavy volume of your self-induced atmospheric pollution.”  The images whipped around in a clover-like pattern throughout the city, offering different perspectives of what indeed appeared to be hazy pollution over the western portion of the financial district.  “Around the second day, it should have become clearer that it wasn’t simply pollution.  What you see here appears to be quite similar to a tumultuous weather system, but without any of the associated differences in pressure, wind, or precipitation.”  The rotating images stopped and the view panned out to the northwest. 

This isn’t too different from what I saw from the balcony two days ago.  How did they get this imagery?  Was that thing I killed doing a recon?

“Finally, if it’s not readily apparent, it will be shortly,” said Ronak.  As the images progressed forward in time, the small, infinite, spiral fractals began to form in the center of the entity.  Many of the officers watching the dizzying presentation shook their heads, as if they were looking at a “Magic Eye” optical illusion at a shopping mall kiosk.

I recognize that from college math classes!  It’s the Fibonacci Sequence!  The golden ratio! 

“Does everyone notice the spiral patterns?” asked Ronak. 

Most of the audience nodded. 

“The rate and patterns at which the array of fractals repeats itself leads our people to believe, for a variety of reasons, that this is a previously uncatalogued species of intelligent life.”

Five hands immediately went up. Sergeant Martin spoke first. “Ronak, what makes you so sure that cloud, for lack of a better term, is alive?”

“Which leads me to my next point,” said Ronak.  “The way your species perceives reality is not congruous with how nature actually behaves.” 

The same hands went back up; agitated grumbles filled the tent. 

“Allow me to elaborate,” continued Ronak.  “The concept of consciousness is something you think-”

“Ronak, would you mind if I interjected?” It was Jack.

“By all means, Major Rugerman.”

“Sir, you mind?” Jack glanced at the colonel.

“Go for it, Jack.”

Thank fuckingGod
.
Jack had always been direct and efficient in times of crisis. 

“OK everyone, check it out,” said Jack.  “Time IS a factor right now, as I’m sure you can understand.  None of us, Ronak included, have any idea what the hell happened out there, but we’re operating under the assumption that the fractal entity over the city is somehow related.  In order to find out more about how this is affecting us, we need to get the right people on board to interact with Ronak and his people.  This is an imperative first step.”

Fuck it, good enough for me.  Let’s get on that goddamn bird.

Harrison sounded off from the back of the tent.  “Sir, they don’t have scientists on this side of the river that we don’t need to air assault to?  How do we know he’s not dead already?  What are we looking at when we get there?  How do we know this will work?  What if-”

Jack calmly extended his hand Harrison’s direction.  “Harrison, slow down, man.  You have valid points on all counts.  The truth is, this guy is apparently the only dude who has chosen to even entertain the idea that we’ve been looking at quantum physics backwards.  Ronak says the dude is leaps and bounds ahead of his peers. Right now, he’s the only chance we have at a solution that involves both our species.”

The brigade communications officer, a frumpy-looking major, stood up from his seat. “Jack, fuck this.”

“Excuse me?”  Jack was taken aback.

The communications officer looked directly at Colonel McColgan, who appeared disgruntled.  “Sir, I’m sorry.  I’m taking the first humvee I see and driving back upstate to find my family.  There is nothing you can say or do to make me change my mind, except kill or arrest me.”

Look at this motherfucker.  What a pussy.

The colonel saw that many were wavering in their resolve.  He stood and glanced at Jack. “I got this.  Please sit down.” 

“Yes, sir,” said Jack.

Colonel McColgan walked to the hovering sphere that had displayed the images.  He was an unassuming man, five feet ten inches, with an average frame.  “Everyone, look.  I get that the situation is fucked.  If you want to leave right now and find your families, go.  I get it.  Hell, when the rest of us fix this and you’re looking for honorable discharge paperwork, I’ll even make up some nonsense to make sure you sound like a goddamn hero.  I don’t need people who won’t give me everything right now.  I have one bird.  I have eleven seats on that bird that aren’t already occupied by the flight crew and door gunners.  We need to plan for a maximum of four people who will need a ride once we get there.  I need seven people to go get this fucking guy and potentially three of his family members. We have thirty minutes before I want seven competent people on a helicopter to make this happen.  Who can pull a rabbit out of their hat right now? Anyone know the area?”

The room was silent.  Most of the soldiers in the First Brigade Combat Team were not from major metropolitan areas.  Most of them grew up far away from the more heavily populated towns, let alone New York.  Everyone looked at each other.  The communications officer walked out; a few others joined him.