Fire and Forget: A true story from the archives of the Time Travel Forces! by Scott Azmus

Fire and Forget: A true story from the archives of the Time Travel Forces! by Scott Azmus

Author:Scott Azmus [Azmus, Scott]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Hawk’s Grove Press
Published: 2019-09-29T22:00:00+00:00


Chapter 15

Ordinarily, standing stark naked in front of a big picture window would bother him. He is dirty. Unshaven. Every joint aches. He can’t breathe through his nose. When he probes the side of his head, crusted blood flakes like dandruff. His knees flex and tremble. When he does breathe, ragged discomfort skewers his ribs.

A peripheral, gemlike dazzle of sunlight flares. Although one of his eyes has swollen to a slit, he can still make out the blue-green swell of “Tarich 17-5.”

Why is he moving in such a trance? He can barely comprehend that the Uyuni have transferred them to an observation lounge. There are no ship’s controls here. There are no gravity plates other than those integral to the deck. The cube confining Maluše glows from the center of a small platform. Water gurgles and drips underfoot. The air smells of organic grit and compost.

“If you two had asses,” says Sayre, speaking to *Ruta* and *Pule*, “I’d tell you to shove your damned plan up your asses.” Voice dripping with fatigue, she adds, “I don’t care how often such ‘integrations’ have proved ‘beneficial.’ There’s no way we’re sitting idle while you basically flay open our backsides! And that’s especially true if you’re on your way toward splicing bundles of alien, neural wetware to our central nervous systems! Given what you say you’ve learned from Chantree here, I don’t see the reason in that. If we’re useless, we’re useless. If human beings are so pathetically ‘savage’ and no better than ‘livestock gone rabid,’ why the lingering interest? And what about Belfrage? Where are you taking him?”

When the Iithek intone something about “useful idiots” and “probes,” Daryle can’t quite absorb the underlying import. Head swimming, he glances at the others. Doctor Toft. Garith. Arora. And back to Sayre. Why is everyone naked? And all so pale? So bruised? And why are there only two Iithek?

Garith stares vacantly. When Arora closes her eyes, her lips move in silent, repeated curses. Eyes downcast, Doctor Toft may be solving physics equations in his head.

“Keeping him as a representative sample?” says Sayre. “Eff that! I’m sorry, but that doesn’t work for me. The man needs medical attention. Urgent care, and pretty damn quick. Look, why not send Belfrage back with the rest of our team? I’ll take his place here. Willingly. Voluntarily. You won’t even have to drug me. Or place me under house arrest. I’ve trained for this as much as anyone. No lie. Coping with foreign political types? Aggressive regional commanders? It’s all part of our normal training rotation. Why not let me act as humanity’s ambassador to your homeworld?”

Daryle’s ears are ringing. Along with twinging and throbbing, his skull feels buoyant.

What’s the oxygen level here?

And why isn’t he following more of this? Then again … additionally, why isn’t he more interested in Sayre or Arora? In checking them out? Aren’t they buck-naked at the moment? And standing right there and … there?

He dreads the worst; imagines the worst. Does he have brain damage?

Weaving and self-absorbed, he stares down at his hands.



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