Story #85 - Monster

Monster

“Monster!”

Brem Crawley didn’t bother to move as the hard apple flew for his head; more would follow if he didn’t take his due.

His wife frowned, but he took the hit grimly, not bothering to cry out as the fleshly surface of the fruit struck his head and exploded, showering his clothes with a sticky liquid spray.

Little Pola fussed in her stroller, and Rena reached down to soothe her.

“It’s OK,” she said quietly, “daddy is just being an idiot.”

There was a hint of frustration in her voice, but it was washed away by the obvious love she carried for him. It was larger than he’d ever believed, especially given what had happened over the last few months.

“How long is this going to go on, Brem?” She turned from pulling Pola’s blanket up around her shoulders; the weather had begun to turn in the last week.

“As long as it needs to,” he shrugged, “I can’t account for how people feel.”

He could see her jaw grind in frustration. They’d had this argument before – her attitude was that he should take those that accosted him to task, explain to them how he had no control, was not the one to blame, was not the heartless creature they all thought he was – but he knew it would do no good. Explaining how he knew would be like speaking another language; Rena couldn’t understand what had happened.

Their route back from grocery store was circuitous; there was no point in bringing greater pain on themselves for little purpose. Brem would have stayed home if he could and saved Rena the trouble, but the locals knew whose wife she was and he feared for her safety if he let her go alone. At least together the attacks would be directed at him, and no one would dare confront him directly – they couldn’t be sure what he was capable of.

He glanced at the old office as they went by; some days he managed to ignore it, but the attack had made him nostalgic. The faded poster was still there, its gleaming, muscled showpiece starting grimly off into the distance, United Worlds uniform glowing and well-pressed. Brem had met the man himself two years into his service; Tusk Rendor looked a great deal worse for wear after a tour at the front lines.

Twenty-one and with no purpose other than chasing girls, Brem had been the perfect candidate for the UW forces. He hadn’t been in enough trouble to get a criminal record and he wasn’t into enough hard stuff that so he could still pass the physical without to much effort.

He was angry, young, and feeling entitled – just what the UW had wanted, and the chance to blast some creeper aliens on a rock that wasn’t earth sounded like just about the best idea he’d ever had.

Rena had been upset, but he showed her how it would work – how they’d be better off once he’d done his four years and gotten a pension that would last the rest of his life. If he’d been better with numbers he would have seen that the UW was only making the offer because over half of their guys didn’t come back – they had more than enough money to pay out whatever was owed.

Brem hadn’t been the best fighter, the most aggressive or the smartest of the crew he’d been assigned to, but he knew how to keep his head down, his mouth shut and he knew when to pull the trigger. He didn’t keep count like some of the guys in his squad, but he knew he’d killed over three hundred by the time the war ended.

A year early – but the UW said they’d still pay, and shipped him back home in style. He was glad; he’d really started to miss Rena and the stink of combat was starting to sicken him. Brem was no philosopher, but he figured there had to be a better way to sort out the differences between species. Wouldn’t putting the effort into learning to talk make more sense?

He hadn’t expected anything when he came back; just a check from the government and to be left alone. He was a solider, a fighter and a damn lucky soul.

Turned out he was also a monster.

He’d never known, of course, but it was the UW that started the damn war in the first place. There was some mineral they wanted on an alien colony and when talking wasn’t quick enough, they sized up the competition and started blasting. In three years the UW – and its superior firepower – had not only conquered the colony but beaten the aliens back to their homeworld.

Brem remembered the tall, willowy things in their plated battle armor and always figured they died too easily, but was just happy it wasn’t him. It wasn’t his job to question.

The war ended and the minerals started flowing, but not without serious backlash from the people of earth. Of course, the new mineral meant better spaceships, easier living conditions for a planet pushing thirty billion and an overall better quality of life.

Their home had the usual scrawl of slogans across the door; he’d finally stopped removing them when he realized that if he left them there the haters wouldn’t bother writing more, but today there was a visi-note stuck to the metal frame.

Moving quickly into the yard ahead of Rean and the baby, Brem reached for the thing; it should be innocuous, but who knew how these things could be twisted for some other purpose?

Mr. Crawley, 3D text pulsed into existence as he thumbed the button, we regret to inform you that care of your daughter is being remanded to the state as you and your wife have been determined to be unfit parents. Please take the child to your nearest United Worlds processing center for re-assignment.

He tossed the thing to the ground and it shattered, scattering across the weedy yard like so much useless junk.

“What’s wrong, Brem?” Rena called.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, “take Pola inside.”

He slipped around to the back of the house as his wife and daughter moved by; he’d been allowed to keep his service pistol when he left the UW, and the shed had seemed a decent enough place for it.

They thought him a monster; he’d show them what one really looked like.

- D