Glen's Haven
“Charlie Central to Strike Force Alpha, over,” the radio crackled inside Commander Harrington's F-18.
“Read you loud and clear, Central.” Harrington spared a look over his shoulder for his target as he spoke; as always, he had nailed it.
“Request target status, Alpha.” It sounded like Chaumers on the horn – the tone was pretentious enough for it. Harrington decided to have a little fun.
“It was right where you told me it was, Central. Don't worry, I didn't get lost.”
He could hear the irritation in Chaumers's voice as it came back. “A happy accident. What about the target itself? Did you complete the mission as required?”
“Yes,” he said sharply. He knew he had better answer the question for real or the General might hear about this conversation, and the last thing he needed was another disciplinary action. “The target has been completely eliminated, as ordered.”
“Excellent.” Chaumers was pleased at that. “Return to base.”
Harrington didn't usually let his job get to him; he had a life to live, after all, but he couldn't help one last glance back at the town of Glenhaven as he winged away. Billowing smoke and curling flames made the outcome clear enough: nothing could have survived.
***
Fruzzol Crom stood, brushing the remains of a powered cinder block from his suit jacket. He had been on his way to work when the bomb hit, tearing a new valley in the center of town and obliterating most of the residents. Someone had obviously gotten word about his presence in Glenhaven and decided to do something “clever” about it, but of course had no idea just how hardy he was. That was no surprise; he kept to the banal light of the workaday world, never attracting more attention to himself than was necessary, and never standing out at anything, no matter how foolish he saw those around him become. His presence on the blue planet was an accident of fate, and he had seen firsthand just how well they treated foreign visitors.
Slipping into his own form for a moment, he made sure none of his tentapods had been damaged and that all of his eyestalks still showed the same jeweled vision they were supposed to. It was stunning how little humans could see with their two forward-facing occulars, and even more surprising that they had so little vision beyond the physical. His species had given up trying to destroy or conquer everything in the universe eons ago, but a galaxy-wide empire and the notion that they weren't making any friends had helped with that. Humans had only other humans to contend with, and that made them angry.
So angry that when they found out a member of a species not their own was living among them, death was the first thing that came to mind.
Fruzzol wasn't the first alien to land on the planet, and he still chuckled every time one of his coworkers was scoffed at because they believed in “aliens”. It suited his purposes quite nicely, but he could never understand how a species with such potential could be so foolish.
A sound to his left caught his attention, and he slipped back into human form.
“Help,” a weak voice called, and he moved over to a pile of sidewalk rubble that had been churned up in the explosion. When he'd heard the roaring of jet engines, he had assumed it was merely another training exercise from the base fifty miles north, which was probably what the military geniuses who had ordered it wanted everyone in the town to think.
It was difficult to focus; even with the sounds of a trapped human below him, he was distracted by the mangled corpses all around, by the sheer ferocity of the attack that had been unleashed, simply to kill him. These humans needed to relax.
“Help,” the voice came again, and Fruzzol reached down a hand to pull the nearest piece of concrete up and away. A nonchalant flip of his wrist sent it spiraling down the street, and the torso of a human male became evident. It was difficult to tell by voices alone; humans sounded so similar to one another that a visual inspection was always the surest way for him to confirm gender.
Several more pieces of rock flew and the form of a young man was revealed, battered and bruised but without any gaping wounds or broken bones. Frezzol had learned that the former would often kill humans while the latter would usually not, something directly opposite his own experience. He had only two true bones, and if either was broken he would almost instantly die. A massive, oozing wound was no issue for him, as new skin and sinew could be easily grown.
“Thanks,” the human male breathed as he struggled to his feet, then leaned heavily against a nearby storefront. He glanced around, eyes wide as the scene became apparent. “What the hell is going on?”
“No idea,” Frezzol lied, “I was on my way to work and bam! Next thing I knew, I was waking up in the middle of the street.”
“Look,” the young man said, shaking sandy hair to clear it of rubble dust, “thanks. I owe you.” He stuck out a hand. “I'm Chad.”
“Glen,” Fruzzol replied, shaking the hand as was required. The custom had taken some getting used to, as his people had no need for physical contact except during mating. His first few job interviews had gone terribly, as he refused to touch the outstretched limb of the male or female offering the position.
“Well, Glen,” Chad said, drawing in deep breath and stretching his muscles, “any idea what we should do now? It looks like most of the town is gone. Thank god I'm not from around here.”
Fruzzol breathed a sigh of relief. Strong emotions always bled to him, and he was sure many people in Glenhaven had lost loved ones. That Chad was a visitor made things quite a bit easier.
“I'd say we make for the edge of town, see if we can't find a car that still works. We need to get out of here, Chad.”
The human nodded. Fruzzol had told a partial truth; getting a car would give them a chance of getting out, but they needed to start moving before the military came looking. If they were found, Chad would make an excellent hostage.
He swallowed hard at that thought, but he had no choice. They would see how hard it was to drive out Fruzzol Crom once he'd found a home.
- D
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