Gun Ship, page 14
About to protest, Justin stopped as a black, egg-shaped orb exited out from the back of the ship. RP9, a drone-bot, as Babar had described it, made no sound as it hovered in close to Babar. They communicated in Babar’s alien language, and whatever the drone-bot was saying, Babar was getting more and more disturbed. “No!” he shouted, as he ran toward the aft end of the ship, hurried up the gangway, and disappeared inside.
Justin followed, as did RP9. He found Babar within the main hold area. He stood in front of Markus’s stasis tube. Within the green glowing liquid was a terrible sight. The young prince was disintegrating. It was as if the liquid had turned from water to hydrochloric acid.
Tears brimmed in Babar’s eyes as he stood there with his palms on the curved class. “I’m sorry, my prince . . . I have once again failed you and your family.”
Justin stood there, not knowing what to do or say. When Babar finally looked over to him, he had composed himself. “Even more now than before, your presence within the Dow Dynasty is essential.”
“What happened to him, Babar?”
“The quick answer . . . he died. What you’re witnessing now is the stasis tube’s automatic response. A cleanse cycle. What is left of his body will be gone within the hour.” Babar lowered his head and brought his fists together over his chest. His lips moved as he recited what Justin surmised was a silent prayer.
Justin moved to the other tube and took in the princess’s angelic form. “Babar?”
“If you’re going to ask if the same thing will happen to her . . . the answer is yes. It could be a month from now or a year. It could be tomorrow.”
Justin saw that RP9 was approaching them, but this time, its intended destination appeared to be him.
“Master Trip . . . may I speak with you?”
Master? Justin glanced toward Babar, who was in deep thought in front of the princess’s Hyper Tube.
“Uh, sure . .. what is it?”
“Within your quarters . . . your communications device. It has been signaling for close to an hour.”
Justin looked at the friendly, and oddly formal-sounding drone-bot. “Must be my mom calling me. I should go see what she wants.” He shot Babar another glance before heading out of the hold. Moving down the passageway, he was briefly annoyed that RP9 had just entered his quarters without asking.
He heard his smartphone ringing as the hatchway slid sideways into the bulkhead. He dove for the phone. “Mom?”
“Oh God . . . Justin. It’s just terrible. Horrible. I’m so, so sorry.”
“What are you talking about? Are you okay? Your burns—”
“No! Not me. Haven’t you watched the news? Heard what happened.”
“No. I’m pretty much living in a cave, Mom. Just tell me what’s happened. You have me worried.”
There was a long silence before his mother spoke again. “Justin, there’s no easy way to tell you this. So I’m just going to say it. Garret and Aila have been shot. Their bodies left on the bank of South Fork Chicago River . . .”
It was as if his body had been electrocuted. Shocked senseless—paralyzed. “Wait . . . Dead? Mom, are they dead?” Of course they’re dead, he thought. Two bodies found on the side of the fucking river.
“Garret is dead, honey. Aila, miraculously, is injured, but it’s not life threatening. A bullet hit her in the upper chest, but it completely missed her heart.”
Thank God, he thought. She’s alive. Lewis. Fucking Lewis did this . . . “She’s there, in the hospital . . . where you are?”
“Yes, I think so . . . she’s probably still in the ER. Her father came by a few minutes ago. He’s beside himself with worry about his daughter. He just popped his head in, wanted to know what I knew about the situation. And if the MP140s will still be coming after his daughter. Anyway, from what he said, she needed a fair amount of stitches. She also needs bed rest—that and probably counseling. Such a terrible ordeal . . .”
“Okay, Mom, I’m on my way to the hospital now.”
Chapter 25
Justin Trip
Bridgeport, Chicago
He was halfway to the hospital, sitting in the back seat of his Uber ride, when he felt his back pocket vibrate. He took out his phone and saw there was a new text message. It was from Aila, which under the circumstances, didn’t seem possible. He tapped to bring up the full message and saw all their previous texts back and forth. He saw the latest text, one added a few minutes earlier.
Aila: An eye for an eye . . . bro
Justin saw that there was a video icon beneath. Justin’s finger hovered over the screen. He tried to focus, but panic was overwhelming his mind, making it hard to breathe. He felt as if he was drowning—suffocating in dread. He tapped the video icon.
Yelling broke the silence within the SUV, and Justin fumbled to lower the volume. The driver had said her name was Kadisha, and he saw her large brown eyes looking back at him in the rearview mirror.
“Sorry,” he said.
She smiled and put her attention back on the road.
Just loud enough for him to hear, there were multiple male voices, laughter, a kind of party atmosphere. The video was jumpy, panning too fast to make out any faces. And then he saw her. Aila’s terrified, swollen face looking into the camera. Garret was seated on the other side of her. He looked to be unconscious, but it was hard to tell—both his eyes were swollen to grotesque proportions, two slits probably impossible to open. The camera moved, and Justin could see Aila’s shirt was torn open, revealing her exposed chest. She was saying something. Pleading. He heard his name, “I’m sorry, Justin . . . please don’t watch this. Please?”
“Quiet, missy—he’ll watch it. He’ll want to see what’s coming up later. He’ll fucking wear out the rewind button, girl!” Justin heard Lewis’s crew laugh in unison.
“Okay, GG, go ahead . . .”
Justin watched the entire clip. Sadness and compassion for his friends was soon replaced with stone-cold hatred for Lewis and his pack of thugs. Eventually, the video played to the end, where he’d watched Aila do the only thing she thought she could under the conditions. She knew what they were about to do to her, so she flipped the gun around. He watched as she fumbled with the gun—her hands still covered in Garett’s blood. The she closed her eyes and, using her thumb, she pulled the trigger. The video went shaky, losing focus as she dropped to the ground.
“Sir?”
Justin looked up.
Kadisha had partially turned in her seat. “We’re here. University of Chicago Medical Center . . .”
He hurried through the hospital’s automatic entry doors and a nearly deserted front lobby. The same woman he’d talked to before, Pricilla, was seated at the front desk. She looked over to him and then did a double take with a look of astonishment. Justin looked away, uneasy with being scrutinized. He’d see his mother first, then see if it was possible to see Aila. He doubted it. Within the stillness of the elevator, his mind flashed back to the video—blood misting from Aila’s shoulder, and the way her body had just dropped, like a marionette with it strings all cut at once.
The elevator doors slid open on the sixth floor, and without stopping at the nurse’s station, Justin headed directly to where his mother was being treated.
“Justin . . . isn’t it?”
He looked up to see Dr. Kline, his mother’s doctor, standing three paces in from of him. “Uh, yeah. Hi, Doctor. Is my mother . . .” Justin gestured to the closed curtain off to the right.
The doctor continued to stare, his lips parted, as if the words he’d been about to vocalize had been plucked from his mouth. Again, with the look of astonishment, he nodded and absentmindedly pointed, “Yes . . . go . . . go on in.”
Justin looked in through the gap in the curtain and saw that her eyes were closed. She must have felt his presence there, for she opened her eyes and turned her head. She smiled and reached her arms out. “Get over here, Justin.”
They hugged, and he felt there was more strength in her embrace. He knew then she was going to be alright. With all the shit happening in his life—all the death and violence—his mother would be okay.
When she finally released him, he stood looking down at her. But her smile was gone. Her eyes had gone wide—an expression of horror looked back at him. “Oh my God! Justin . . . your face . . . your face! What happened?”
And then he figured it out. Pricilla in the lobby, Dr. Kline two minutes ago, and now his mother—all not understanding how it was that he no longer had scar tissue covering half his face.
“Mom . . . it’s okay. I promise. I’m still me. I’m fine.”
“But . . . how? It’s impossible.” She was shaking her head while her mind tried to make sense of what she was seeing.
He pulled up a chair and scooted it in close to her bedside. He took her hand in his, all the while trying to come up with something that would explain why he was no longer so terribly disfigured.
She’d regained her senses and was now pushing herself up into a seated position. “So, what? You’re saying this is some kind of miracle? Spontaneous supernatural healing? I’ve read about such things, but always knew there had to be more to the stories. I’m an RN . . . these things simply don’t happen in the real world.” She placed the palm of her hand on his cheek. “So, I’m having a real hard time believing this. Honestly, I cannot believe this.” She stared back at him, dumbfounded.
He wanted to tell her she’d nailed it. That God, or Jesus, or Mohammed, or Allah had done this, but he didn’t want to lie to her. He’d be leaving soon, in a matter of days, or maybe hours, and he needed to tell her the truth. Of course, she wouldn’t believe him—no way. But then again—“Mom, I need to tell you something. And I want you to promise to listen to me. Don’t like, freak out. Don’t call for the doctor to bring me a strait jacket. Can you do that?”
She gave him a quizzical look. “I promise. And I don’t think you’ve lost your mind.”
“Well, just wait.” He started at the beginning. From when he was walking home from school several days ago—when Harland was moments away from bashing his brains in with a long metal pipe. He told her about Babar and the old factory. He told her about the spaceship and the two stasis tubes. He told her about the Neural Dome and the procedure that had transformed his face. And finally, he told her about the promise he’d made. That soon, within days, he’d be leaving Earth. When he was done, he leaned back in his chair and looked at her. From her expression, he had no idea if she believed all of it, some of it, or none of it.
She seemed to be choosing her next words carefully. “You know that all sounds . . . ridiculous. Crazy.”
“You said—”
She raised a hand to stop him from talking. “I believe you. Every word of it. I can’t remember you ever lying to me, Justin. And there is no feasible explanation of what could have changed your face like that. Yeah, aliens from another star system sounds a bit out there, but it makes as much sense as any other explanation.”
She took a deep breath, and continued. “But no, you’re not leaving here. You’re going to college . . . your life is here.”
“It’s just for a year. Think of it as a gap year. Going abroad to get some real-life experience under my belt.” He laughed, and she did too. He could tell she was trying to come to terms with the idea. She looked at him, serious now. “I’m sorry about Garret. I know you really liked him. Looked up to him.”
“I’ll miss him, Mom. Garret had nothing to do with any of this. They didn’t have to do that to him. To both of them.”
“Don’t let yourself get consumed with hate, sweetie. Don’t become so driven by revenge that you lose yourself.” She looked away. “Maybe it is best for you to leave for a while. Get away from that gang and all the evil that surrounds them.”
Justin wanted to tell her that by the time he left, Lewis would no longer be breathing, but he kept that to himself. “What do you know about Aila? Her condition?” he asked. He’d purposely avoided the subject till now. If she was at death’s door, perhaps moments from dying, he didn’t think he could stand it. His heart might just split in two.
“Surprisingly . . . she’s doing pretty good. Physically, anyway.”
He looked at his mother. “That’s impossible. I saw the video Lewis sent me. She shot herself in the chest. In the heart!”
“Yes, and no. Apparently, and I’m getting this second hand from her father, she tried to shoot herself in the heart, but her hands were a slippery mess. Apparently, she wasn’t able to get a good grip on the gun. She ended up shooting herself in the shoulder. More like what they call a graze, really.”
“I know what a graze is, Mom.”
“I imagine they’ll kick her out of the ER as soon as they think she’s stable enough to go home.” Seeing the relief on his face, she added, “I know she’d want to see you. Go on down there, Hun. I’ll call down and see if they’ll let you in. I think I still have some pull around here.”
He stood and exhaled, feeling he could truly breathe for the first time in hours.
“I still can’t get over looking at you. Amazing,” she said.
He nodded and turned to go.
“Justin?”
“Yeah, Mom?”
“This Mr. Babar fellow . . . I need to meet him. You’re not going anywhere until I talk to him. Until I better understand all this.”
“Okay. I promise.”
* * *
Aila was, in fact, still in the ER. He peered in through the open curtain to make sure she wasn’t asleep or being attended to by a doctor or nurse.
“Justin?”
She was sitting up in bed. A bandage could be seen across one shoulder beneath her hospital gown. He covered the left side of his face with one hand as he approached her bed. By the time he reached her, tears were already streaming down her cheeks.
“I’d hug you if it didn’t hurt so much to move my arm.” She sniffed and looked toward an adjacent countertop. Justin plucked a tissue from the dispenser there and handed it to her. Taking it, she winced. She blew her nose and looked up at him. Her face was a rainbow of colors—yellows and greens, but mostly reds and purples. She looked worse than she had in the video. The beating that she’d survived had been horrendous.
He said, “Aila, I’m so sorry I’ve caused all this. Brought this nightmare into your life. And Garret . . .” The words caught in his throat and he fought back tears of his own.
“Don’t be an idiot. This is all on that fucker Lewis and that gang. The police are looking for him. They assure me they’ll get him, eventually.”
“He sent me the video you know . . . from your phone.”
“Sorry you had to see that.”
She was looking up at him. Both were uncomfortable with the abrupt silence. “You know, you don’t have to do that. Cover your face like that. Not for me.”
He shrugged. “Look, I have to go. Things I need to do today.”
“Oh . . . alright. Can you come see me at home? In a day or two?”
“Maybe. I’m just glad you’re okay. Well, you’re not okay, but . . .”
She laughed. “I know what you meant. I’m not going to die, at least. My injuries are, somehow, relatively superficial. I’ll be discharged within the next few hours. “ She went quiet for a moment. “You know, they didn’t . . . do anything to me.” Her eyes flicked down to her lap and then back to his.
“I’m glad. Um. I should go. Look, can you do me a favor?”
“Sure. If I can,” she said apologetically.
“There’s some things I told my mom. Explained to her. Things I can’t get into now with you . . . but I want you to know. You probably won’t believe them. Not at first. But eventually you will.”
“That sounds ominous. Just tell me. My dad’s over in the cafeteria—he doesn’t do well in hospitals.”
He lowered his hand to expose his face. “As I said, there’s a lot to explain.”
She stared at his face, speechless. She shook her head, her expression a mix of confusion and something else he couldn’t read.
“As I said, you’ll want to talk to my mom.” He placed a hand on hers and gave it a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re okay, Aila. You have no idea.” With that, he left, knowing he may never see her again.
Chapter 26
Prince Markus Pietra
Grindhold Space Station—Space-Flight Academy
Three years earlier . . .
They stared at each other across the concourse for several moments before, to Markus’s utter surprise, Ballard offered up a casual wave. Markus looked to his left and right, making sure Ballard wasn’t waving to someone else. But that wasn’t the case. To his further surprise, his childhood friend was crossing the distance—headed his way.
“I didn’t recognize you . . . not at first, anyway,” Ballard said coming to a stop several paces in front of Markus.
Markus nodded, but was unable to speak. What could he possibly say after what he’d—
Ballard pointed to the top of his own head. “Your hair . . . all chopped off.”
“Oh, yeah . . . priests chopped it off at the order.”
“I wasn’t sure you still wanted to join,” Ballard said, gesturing to their surroundings.
Markus shrugged. “I think it’s all I’ve ever wanted . . .”
He saw Ballard giving him the once over again.
“You’ve gotten bigger. Like, brawnier. Guess the priests made you exercise a lot, huh?”
“Pretty much non-stop. Exercise, meditate, eat, shit, sleep, repeat . . .”
Ballard laughed at that. “So, guess you have some cool fighting skills, but you’ll be behind with any kind of flying proficiency.”
“You’ve been flying? What have you been flying?” Markus asked, already envious.
“Nothing all that impressive. Last year, parents bought me a used DawnSlicer.”
Markus knew a DawnSlicer was a one-person aircraft capable of low to medium atmospheric flight. Teens often modified them for greater speed and, in some cases, even adapted them for short-term, low-orbit space entry. “Stock configuration?” he asked.
