The Stranger

'You scared me half to death, mate. What's ya problem, standing just outside the light? That kinda thing can get you killed round here.'

Grimbald placed the butt of his rifle on the wet grass, leaning it wholly against the large eucalyptus tree.

The Stranger stood still, his long oilskin covering a massive bulk, his Akubra painting his face in shadows.

'Come on then, get closer to the fire,' said Grimbald, having trouble seeing the eyes of his new companion.

At length, the Stranger walked a few paces to the fire and stood. He watched Grimbald limp his way stiffly to a large upturned log.

'Have a seat, mate, have a seat,' motioned Grimbald, smiling, running his fingers through his long knotted hair and feeling the course texture of its bright red strands.

The Stranger looked behind him for a moment, staring, surveying the dark and rolling lands beyond the clearing. The only sounds were the cracks and pops of the open fire. He slowly sat down on the end of the upturned trunk.

Grimbald leant over and passed him a hot mug of boiling water. 'There, that'll warm ya up.'

A slight wind hovered above the fire and caused the smoke to drift between the two men.

'What's ya name, mate?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger gave him a look and then turned away with a slight smirk, as if he were just asked a dumb question.

'It's alright,' said Grimbald. 'I know that blokes don't have much need for a name out here.'

A name wasn't an identity, he knew that much. It wasn't a description. A man called Grimbald could just as well be a ballet dancer as he could a mass murderer. You just wouldn't know. He just wouldn't know.

'My name's Grimbald, at any rate. Where are ya coming from, stranger?'

The Stranger stared back, still smiling, still unblinking, still quiet.

'Listen here, didn't your mother teach you manners? I've been nice enough to make you feel welcome. I've given you a warm mug of nature's finest and a bloody good fire if I do say so myself. Least you can do is give me some company. Gets lonely out here on your own.'

The Stranger availed the man once more, his expression at once more serious.

'Should I thank you?' said the Stranger, coarsely.

What a strange thing to say. Grimbald wasn't expecting to hear that sentence. He certainly wasn't expecting to hear that accent.

'Cold night like this, course you should be thankin' me,' he said. 'Should be on your hands and knees, thankin' ya lucky stars.'

'Interesting,' said the Stranger, as if it were three words.

Grimbald didn't really listen to the answer. He knew what was right and what was wrong. He knew what the Stranger should have said, what he should have done. But sometimes a man grows up in the wrong kind of environment and that can skew his thinking. Sometimes he got all kinds of crazy thoughts and wouldn't manage to say what he really felt. It was up to those with big hearts and good parents to take care of those less fortunate. To put it another way, you gotta do what you gotta do.

'What are ya doing, travelling about this late?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger looked behind him once more, as if he expected something. Or someone.

Grimbald wanted an answer this time, so he waited. He looked closer at the Stranger's face. The red and yellow of the fire reflected brightly off parts of the man's lumpy skin.

Now an anger was slowly brewing inside him, though he wasn't sure why.

The Stranger took a big swig of the boiling water in his mug before making wet noises with his tongue, as if he were still drinking it all down.

Grimbald suppressed his rage, putting it in the other room. It was getting full but he promised himself to only let it out when he really needed to, when the time was right. His tight face relaxed and he ran his fingers through his hair. 'Anyway, good to have ya here,' he said, distantly.

They sat in silence, both with one quiet ear to the land. Grimbald stared out at some grass a few paces away. It was reddened by the light of the fire. The way it grew in patches reminded him of a scalp with just a few chunks of hair remaining, and of the war.

A sharp snap of a twig sent shivers down Grimbald's spine and for a moment he was somewhere else. Both men stood abruptly, looking out into the gloom. The darkness deformed, changing shape at will. Then a shadow crossed in front of a dimly lit row of trees. Grimbald pressed his rifle close to his shoulder. He held his nerve, letting his eyes do all the shooting, while his head remained still.

A meek distant cough relaxed the gun arm of Grimbald. 'What are ya doin here?' he shouted sternly. 'I told ya to stay where you were.'

The shadows spawned a boy, no older than ten. Even as he approached the bright fire his dark hair and sooty face gave the impression of being consumed in darkness. The Stranger gave the child a long stare.

The boy clutched his own shoulders and shivered. Then shivered again, to get the point across.

'Alright mate, come on,' said Grimbald, motioning to the fire.

The boy sat between the men, a tiny figure amongst giants.

The Stranger shifted his gaze from Grimbald to the boy and back to Grimbald. He looked closer at their noses, their mouths, their hair.

'Thought you said you were alone,' said the Stranger.

Grimbald looked up quickly, his face a picture of shock. 'Uh, yeah,' he said, quivering. 'Me and this kid's it. We got no one else, stranger.'

'You lied,' said the Stranger.

Grimbald played with his mug, pressing his fingers hard against its smooth texture. 'Hey now, I'm no liar, let's get one thing straight.' He said it so unconvincingly that even he didn't believe it.

'Of course you are,' said the Stranger. 'You lied.'

Grimbald regained some composure with the warmth flowing through his hands. 'I just meant no adult company. You know? Not the same thing talkin' to a kid.'

'There's only one thing I hate more than liars,' said the Stranger. 'That's them that lie about their lies.' His voice broke a little, removing some of the hoarseness.

It was only now that Grimbald noticed how large the man was, how his presence seemed to loom over them both. He also noticed how the boy was sitting a little too close to someone he didn't know.

'Hey,' said Grimbald, looking at the boy, 'go grab more hot water for me, matey. Here's my mug.'

After the boy got up, Grimbald licked his lips and shuffled on his perch, moving slowly toward the Stranger. The Stranger watched him closely.

'Did you say where you come from, mate?' asked Grimbald, looking into the large, dark shape.

'No,' said the Stranger.

By the time the boy got back, the only available space was on the safer side of Grimbald, which he took without thinking.

'Not from up north, by chance?' asked Grimbald. His hands shook as he blew across the top of his steaming mug, cooling it enough for a sip.

'Yes,' said the Stranger.

'Heard there was some trouble up there.'

'Trouble,' said the Stranger, partly as a question, partly a statement.

'Yeah, up at Mamburi station.' He wasn't sure he should be saying it, saying any of it, whether he was making a mistake. He hoped...he didn't know what he hoped. Sometimes a nervous man would speak too much. A good bushman's best weapon was his silence. He wasn't a good bushman. 'Sad, real sad,' he continued.

The Stranger shook his head.

'You didn't hear about that? Strike me pink, it was all over the papers. Some crazy bloke went and set fire to the homestead. Apparently he waited until the kids were there, alone-' He swallowed. He was trying to act tough, mean, anything but nervous, but his throat had betrayed him. 'He tied the kids up – all of 'em, mind you; every single one!' He swallowed again. Damn his throat! 'So he tied 'em up and...geez, did some other stuff I'd rather not say. Blood everywhere. Then lit the place up. Least that's what the father said. And you gotta take a man at his word, you know?'

The Stranger stopped drinking and held his mug very still. 'That's an interesting story,' he said.

'They're a good mob up there,' continued Grimbald. 'If it can happen to them, it can happen to anyone. The whole thing's got me spooked, let me tell ya. That's why I didn't really tell the whole truth before, you understand.'

As the Stranger breathed in deeply, his nose made a slight whistling sound.

Through the steam of his hot mug Grimbald noticed a large red spot on the Stranger's jeans, just above the knee. The flicker of the fire cast an uneven light over the spot, periodically hiding it in darkness before it erupted, bright and shiny like fresh paint, before fading into the shadows once more. He stared at it for some time. He'd seen that kind of stain too many times, on too many friends, and the colour seared once more onto the back of his head. A few small pieces of a large jigsaw puzzle swirled in his mind, as he struggled for clarity.

He sensed a pair of eyes on him, felt their presence against his skin, against his soul. It was all he could do to avoid a shiver. Without blinking, he raised his moist eyes slowly until they met the cold stare of the Stranger. He sat up quick, covering for a lack of composure.

'You, uh, been in a scrape?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger stared back. His small, blue, unblinking eyes laid their assault on Grimbald, while the rest of his body remained still. A moment later, with the tiniest of movements, almost imperceptible to even the sharp-eyed boy, the Stranger shook his head.

Grimbald sat back a fraction, now aware of his own deep breathing, in and out, a fine cold vapour dispersing with each breath.

'Been rustlin' up some good tucker? Lots a rabbit down near the creek proper.'

The Stranger said nothing as the fire cracked and popped. Eventually he shook his head slowly.

Grimbald swallowed loudly and looked at nowhere in particular, anywhere but the Stranger. He raised the warm mug, fighting to keep his hands still, and took a sip of the boiling water. 'Shit!' He pulled the mug away quickly, dabbing his burnt lips.

'How long were you in the war?' said the Stranger, breaking his silence.

'Huh?' Grimbald sat back a little. 'Oh. Yeah. Three years.' He looked down and hunched his shoulders, like a man who was trying to hide from himself, uncomfortable in his own skin. He pressed down on his left leg, pushing his foot into the hard dirt, forcing the pain to rise up his body and land as a grimace upon his face.

'I'm guessing you did something you regret,' said the Stranger. 'I'm guessing you've been hidin' from it all this time.'

Grimbald sauntered over some sentences in his mind, mouthing some of the words, and speaking only one. 'What?'

'Tell me what you did.'

It was said in such a knowing way that it sat in the air, thick and resonant. Grimbald peered out into the darkness, finding a single leaf, isolated, hanging down from a weak branch. He focussed on the leaf, suddenly finding importance in its hardiness. The wind pushed forcefully at its dry form, but no matter how hard it tried, the leaf could not break free. It was born of the tree and it would stay a part of the tree.

'Tell me what you did.'

'Tell you what I did? What makes ya think I did anything?'

The Stranger smiled. It hit Grimbald harder than any words could and he erupted: 'Hey! Enough! I'm about this close to asking you to leave. We hafta stick together out here, bushman's oath and all that, but by crikey, if you don't push the boat.'

'Have you always had a problem with your temper?' said the Stranger, calmly.

Gimbald shouted. 'I got no problem-' He stopped and cleared his throat, before continuing, quieter, almost whispering. 'I got no problem with my temper, stranger. The problem's on you.'

The smile hadn't disappeared from the Stranger's face. 'Tell me what you did,' he repeated.

'This isn't school and it certainly ain't show and tell. Got it? So don't go thinking you can ask questions and I'll answer 'em. You got the problem! You! Not me.'

'You hurt those kids, didn't you,' said the Stranger.

'What kids? What? What are you talking about?'

'The Mamburi kids. You hurt them.'

'Hurt them? I saved them! I saved them! Well, two of 'em.'

Grimbald's glassy eyes stared into the fire. 'It was hell,' he continued. 'Flames were everywhere, everywhere! All a man could smell was the smoke. All that bloody smoke in my nose. I can still smell it. And taste it. I couldn't do nothin' about the others. But I got two out, I really did. It was hell, just hell.'

The Stranger stared back, licking a tooth. 'You saved two,' he said.

'Yeah, two!'

Grimbald had just finished getting the words out when he realised what he'd said. He swallowed hard.

The Stranger tilted his head, sharing his attention with both Grimbald and the boy.

'Where's the other?' said the Stranger.

'The other?' asked Grimbald.

The Stranger stared, a deep stare, his lips lightly parted. He seemed more forceful now. 'You saved two. Where's the other?'

'Oh, err,' said Grimbald, scrambling. 'I dropped that one off at my aunty's. Not my real aunty mind, so's you know, just a family friend I've known since I was whipper snapper. She's real good with kids.'

'Why didn't you leave this one with your fake aunty?' said the Stranger.

'Well, err,' started Grimbald. 'I, uh, that is, we didn't think it'd be proper to leave a boy without a man's influence.'

'So the other child is a girl,' said the Stranger.

'Now, now, I didn't say that. Didn't mention what she was.'

'You did. And you've done it again. You're not very good at lying, are you?'

'Stop calling me a liar!' shouted Grimbald, standing.

The Stranger stood with him. They eyed each other, close, with meanness. Both men were hard, tough, and both men had been around long enough to know that the other wouldn't back down. Not now.

The Stranger narrowed his eyes and stood steady. His hand was moving slowly, slowly, down his side.

Grimbald's wide eyes flickered around, watching closely, the mind behind them thinking. Concentrate now, he told himself. Don't let your guard down. Not again. Not like this.

A piercing high-pitched scream invaded the clearing. Both men turned in its direction, forgetting the other. Another scream, mixed in with water splashing. They all knew what was happening, even the boy.

The Stranger's mouth widened as he smiled broadly enough to see his dark teeth. 'You better go save the girl,' he said. 'The one you left with your fake aunty.'

Grimbald turned back to the Stranger, then to the boy, then to the screaming. He no longer cared about maintaining a fierce expression, of putting on a façade. He noticed the Stranger edging toward the boy. Indecision filled his mind. Then another loud scream.

'She's gonna drown in that river if you don't hurry,' said the Stranger, still smiling. 'You about to let someone else die? About to make the same mistake twice?'

Grimbald made to run off, even taking a few steps toward the screams, before looking back at a large arm now resting over the shoulders of the small boy.

Grimbald's muscles contracted. There was no choice. He looked down at the boy then up to the Stranger. He felt the warmth of rage pulse its way up his body. It felt exhilarating and strong and what life was all about. And it felt like home.

The fire became darker, losing its yellows and oranges and becoming simply red. Grimbald's eyes bulged. In one movement he was upon the Stranger, diving and forcing him to the hard ground. He ignored the muted pain in his side and raised himself up over the Stranger, punching, punching, punching, punching him.

The Stranger pushed him aside and rolled to his feet with more agility than a man his size should possess. He grabbed the large pot of boiling water and feigned to throw it on Grimbald, who was now circling on the other side of the fire.

Smoke rose between the men and still the screams came from the river. The boy ran off.

Grimbald brushed his damp shirt and didn't notice the knife landing at his feet. His gun was now ten metres away from him. He knew from experience, bitter experience, that if you focussed too much on a weapon then you'd lose concentration and the fight would be over.

His eye sight became blurry, seeing only faint shapes and hazy movement. The power grew inside him, shifting from his other room to this one, to the now. He felt it encompassing him like water, making it harder to see or hear or touch or feel anything outside.

The Stranger threw the boiling water and hit mostly the fire, putting it out immediately. The darkness shot up. It wouldn't have mattered for Grimbald who was already in darkness, who's past six years had been in darkness.

In a flash the Stranger was mauled, his skin peeled away from the bone with his blood erupting in spurts. The act was merciless and fast, leaving no time for pain or torture. Only a stew of muscle and grit remained.

The distant screaming ended. A few moments later the sounds of three pairs of splashing legs became softer until finally all that could be heard in the cool night air was the foul stench of the past.

© 2011 Ben Safta

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License

Evolution

Rob looked out through the large glass panes. The sun was slowly rising behind the small reddened world ahead. It was a beautiful sight. Tranquil. Peaceful. Becoming more beautiful every moment.

Then a tinny voice to pull him back in: 'Scouts report primary and tertiary targets are clear. Secondary target remains under constant patrol and is currently a negative.'

'Thanks George,' said Paul to the ship computer. 'Rob, we still on target with our ETA?'

Rob yawned. 'Uh...Dutchy?' He looked over at the navigator.

'Roger that. We've been bang on with every marker. It's gotta be the smoothest mission I've been on.'

'Hmm,' said Rob, looking out at the majestic vista once more.

'Better be,' said Paul, 'There's a lot riding on it. It's a first-and-only-shot deal. So no cheeky stuff.'

'We ain't cracked a laugh yet,' protested Dutchy.

'Just keep it that way,' said Paul. He picked up an old twentieth century centrefold magazine. 'I'm heading to the john. I've set George to take care of things till I get back. Anything happens, give me a bell.'

'Aye,' said the crew in unison.

Dutchy wrapped his fingers on the dash: tap, tap, tap. 'Thank god the Old Bull's gone.'

'Better not let him hear you say that,' said Rob. 'I've heard stories about some of his other flights. One time he actually tied up his second – bound and gagged. The guy was working on some computational irregularities and didn't hear a routine check-in. When the others argued his fate, they were tied up along with him. Fierce buggar.'

'Crazy, more like it,' said Dutchy. 'Why can't we have our own crew? What's with captain bozo?'

'Apparently it's too important,' said Rob, becoming agitated.

'Ya, right. We've been flying missions against the Pins for the past fourteen months. You can't improve on perfection. That's what we are. Whatta they take us for?'

'It's nothing personal! Just how United works. It's all political. All right!?'

'Whoa, no probs. No need to shout. Guess I should be thanking 'em for allowing me the ride, hey?'

'Guess you should,' said Rob, flatly.

'What's up, man? You seem on edge. Never seen you like this.'

'I'm OK. Just didn't sleep right.'

'What downers you taking? Flicoxl?'

'Can't take the damned things. Make me feel worse.'

'Ah, no wonder you didn't sleep. You need to try these.' He cupped a few small white pills, displaying them for the bombardier. 'My own private batch. Know what I mean? Much better than what you get retail. Knock you out in seconds.' He sensed the hesitation and continued his sales pitch. 'Seriously man, good stuff. You won't feel a thing. Numbs all the bads. The memories. Especially the memories.'

Rob took a look at the pills. 'I don't want to lose the memories. They're the only thing keeping me human right now. No matter how many times we do this, how many bombs we drop, how many we kill; it just doesn't stop.'

'Well I ain't here for some philosophical debate. If you want 'em, they're right here. All I knows is when you take 'em you feel better. S'all I need.'

'Thanks,' said Rob, honestly.

Dutchy tapped his fingers to some unheard melody.

Rob looked over at him, then down to the fingers, then back up to his face. 'Can you stop that?'

'Sure, sure; just killin' time,' said Dutchy. 'Don't like the quiet. This is the worst part. All this sitting around. Can't wait to get this thing done and see the carnage. You know Sweeny got seven-eight thousand in a single run? Man, can't believe I missed seeing that many pins running around with their pin-heads on fire. How hilarious is that? How many are they expecting from this?'

'They wouldn't tell us,' said Rob, a little nervous.

'That's strange. Normally we get estimates in the briefing.'

'You were there at the briefing. Did you hear any estimates?'

'Nah, but you never know. I don't pay much attention to that crap anyway. Just give me the destination and I'll set the way-points and get you there safely and on time. My guarantee.' Dutchy winked.

Silence.

Dutchy opened his palm and was about to tap his fingers once more. A look from Rob stopped him dead.

'All right,' said Dutchy. 'Spin me a web.'

'What?' said Rob.

'Tell me a story. Pass the time.'

'I'm not really in the mood.'

'Come on, you're good with stories,' pleaded Dutchy.

'I did have a weird dream last night.'

'Ah, now you're talking. What happened? Massive fire-breathing dragons? Chicks with big tits? Dragons with big tits?'

'No, it...it wasn't like that. It was more serious. And so vivid! I won't lie – it scared the crap out of me.'

'Sounds great!' Dutchy rubbed his hands together expectantly.

'Hmm...' Rob cleared his throat. 'How much do we know about the Lapines?'

'What?' said Dutchy. 'Is this part of the dream?'

'No, it's just we don't really know that much. I don't know that much. Just things you hear.'

Dutchy picked up a food bar, unwrapping it as he spoke. 'They're the enemy. After we pass by there's so much spilled blood that their cities turn green. What more do we need to know?'

'They must feel the same things we do, feel the same pain. Right?'

'I hope so. Serves their little pin heads right.'

Dutchy chewed the food bar.

'Do you think they eat the same way we do? Do they have family get-togethers?'

Dutchy kept eating, seemingly uninterested in the conversation.

Rob sat in a contemplative silence for a moment. The ship creaked, it's metal bending and de-stressing as they moved further away from the sun and closer to their destination.

'So...the dream?' said Dutchy, finishing his bar.

'Oh. Yeah. How did it...? That's right. It started on a small ship like this.'

'So a bomber?' said Dutchy.

'I think so. But then it seemed to change. More like a big transport ship. Like the one my family ran when I was younger. All that open space to run around with and play fighting games with my sisters. It was great! Our parents were so busy getting stressed about getting to the next stop on time they didn't care what we did. But in my dream, it wasn't humans running it. They were Lapines.'

'Scummy pins!? Why do I want to hear about them?'

'Well hang on, you wanted a story. So they were a family. The mother's name was Donna, I think. And the dad was Orlando.'

'Hold on, hold on,' protested Dutchy. 'They don't sound like pin names to me. Pinnies always have “la” at the end, and all those weird symbols.'

Rob shrugged. 'They're the names in my dream. They were important. The names were important. Maybe not on their own, but together.'

The word 'What?' dripped out of Dutchy's mouth like thick treacle.

'I don't know. Never mind that bit. The parents were operating the transport with their three kids. On their way to some far-away planet to deliver something. It was in their cargo hold. A large crate. They were told not to open it, under any circumstance. Just deliver it. And to do it quickly. Time was running out.'

'What was in the crate?'

'There was a lot that happened. Let me tell you what I can remember...'

A thin, vertical eye blinked rapidly between the tiny gap. Blink. Squint. Blink.

A mechanical noise started whirring.

'What is it? What's in there?!'

A faint beam of light glowed from the crate.

'Let me look!' said Chip, pushing his little sister aside.

'What can you see?' screamed Jennifer. 'It must be good or they wouldn't have locked it up.'

'Or dangerous,' said a serious Nancy, getting to her feet.

'They never lock up boring things like manuals or boiled illoco,' said Jennifer.

'Eww, illoco!' said Nancy, and screwed up her face.

Chip peered further, poking in a thin finger. 'Get me that pole,' he said, looking near Nancy's feet.

Nancy looked back nervously. She slowly bent down and reached out when Jennifer swooped in and picked up the large crowbar, passing it to her brother.

Chip slipped the crowbar between two wooden slats and pulled. One of them snapped and came free. He leant in, arm first.

'I can feel something. I just have to...'

He strained, the veins in his thin neck almost popping. The other wooden slat broke which forced his hand quickly inside the crate. 'Ow!'

He pulled away, looking down at a speck of green blood on the end of his finger.

'Chip!' The voice boomed and echoed in the massive chamber. 'What are you kids up to?'

All three looked up quickly in shock.

'I told you not to go near that thing,' shouted their mouther. 'It's cargo. Plain and simple. It'll get to where it's going, then we'll take something else back. We don't get paid to snoop.'

They stood, each lowering their faces, heads heavy with guilt.

'Come along,' said Donna, 'it's time for dinner.'

'Yes, Donna-ma,' they droned in unison, quickly following their mother.

When they had almost reached the door Chip stopped and looked back at the crate. It seemed tiny and insignificant in the middle of the massive cargo hold; difficult to see from a distance. The single missing plank was even harder to make out. He pressed his bloodied finger against his pocket, feeling the outline of a shape. He smiled.

'Come,' shouted Donna.

He ran to catch up with the group.

Perry busied himself around the large metal table, placing plates, cups, and cutlery. His metal frame was surrounded by a pink apron.

Chip and Jennifer jumped around, standing, then sitting, then standing again. Chip leaned in close and whispered in Jennifer's ear, 'Guess what I've got?'

'I wanna see it!' said his sister. 'Show me!'

Orlando came in beaming a smile as wide as the ship. 'Time for din dins, hey kids!'

Chip and Jennifer ignored him. Nancy sat on her tiny seat quietly, demurely, giving a hint of a smile.

Perry continued to move quickly but awkwardly between the pots and pans, in amongst the steam rising like a cone up to the filtration duct.

Orlando sat with a tired 'Ahh,' closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them a hot plate was in front of him. He leant in and breathed the scent deeply.

Nancy copied, leaning over her own plate, pretending to breathe in. She looked over at Orlando to see if he noticed.

'Home cooking. How good is that, kids? Looks amazing again, Perry. You've outdone yourself.'

'Oh, I'm sure it's disgusting,' said Perry in a jittery voice. 'We'll probably have to throw it all away.'

'Nooo,' said Orlando, 'It looks amazing.'

Loud footsteps approached, the banging of metal. The children stopped what they were doing. The room went quiet.

Donna entered, sitting loudly at the end of the table. She looked down at the empty plate in front of her. 'Well?' she said, looking up expectantly.

'Coming,' shrieked Perry. He placed a thick concoction of steaming food in front of Donna, smiled, and took a seat in front of his own meal. He began attaching the cables to his power inductor.

Donna dug straight in. Chip and Jennifer followed. Nancy waited until Orlando had started before beginning to eat.

'What is this?' said Donna.

Perry looked over, a little anxious. 'It's Mangaloy. Freshly made. I was just about-'

'It's great!' said Orlando.

'It tastes more like disgusting to me,' said Donna. 'Oh well, beggars can't be choosey.'

Perry looked down dejected. He pushed his battery away from himself.

Jennifer kicked Chip's leg under the table. Chip kicked back.

'Ow!' said Jennifer.

'Kids, not now!' said Donna, clutching her head. 'I've got a lot on my mind.

'What does it look like?' whispered Jennifer.

'Go away,' whispered Chip.

'Can I come see it later?' whispered Jennifer.

'I don't care,' said Chip. 'Do what you want.'

Jennifer beamed.

Nancy watched them both and smiled.

'What are you two talking about? You better not be going back to the cargo.'

'Let them play, Donna,' said Orlando, bearing his even white teeth in a large smile. 'They don't get to see much that's new. An occasional day here or there in a park on some planet. But then back to metal. Metal, metal and more metal.'

'If they break anything we don't get paid. If we don't get paid, they don't get fed. Then they could spend as much time as they wanted in parks – begging! No child of mine'll be begging for money. Kids should be better off than their parents. That's how it's supposed to be. Things get better.'

'Sorry kids, I tried,' said Orlando, still smiling.

'And while I'm on it Chip, stop using those masks for your little games. It's for emergency use only.'

'But I didn't even-'

His protests were cut short by his mother's expression.

'Yes, ma,' he said, despondently.

In the darkness a shape moved. It danced down the long hallway, pressing against the walls, avoiding the spots of light. It stealthily approached the outside of a plain metal door.

Bang, bang, bang.

The shape stopped, listening.

Bang, bang.

It shied away, crouching.

Bang.

It held its breath.

The banging stopped.

Chshh. The door opened and Jennifer came rushing inside.

A guilty looking Chip peered up from his desk, his arms hidden behind his body.

'Where is it? Where is it?' She was shouting.

Chip's tight expression loosened. He smiled.

'Is it a toy?' she rushed. 'I bet it's a toy!'

Chip placed a tiny wooden sphere onto the desk.

Jennifer lunged at it.

'No! No touching. You can look, though.'

Jennifer did as her brother instructed. She peered at the object's rough finish, a shoddy patchwork of misaligned grains and hastily constructed joints. 'What is it?'

'It's a ball. Durr.'

Chip picked it up and pretended to chuck it at Jennifer. She flinched.

'Ha!' he said. 'Got ya!'

He chucked it a few times to himself. 'Look at this.' Holding the ball barely above the floor, he let it go. The object landed, rose, landed, and rose again, each time gaining height. With every bounce it seemed to double its height but halve its speed.

'It just keeps going,' said Chip, as the ball rose even higher, narrowly avoiding a floating model ship. It hit the ceiling and started coming down once more. 'Even when it gets slow. Just doesn't stop.'

'Wow,' said Jennifer, in awe.

'It's even got a safety thing. To stop it from getting stolen. So no funny ideas!'

'What does it do if you try to steal it?' asked Jennifer, seriously.

Chip grabbed the ball as it slowly rose upwards. He peeled off a thin piece of paper. 'I put this on so it didn't get me. It can't even go through paper. Pretty stupid. But don't tell any one!' He held the object up in his palm, raising it to his sister invitingly.

Jennifer leaned in, closer, closer. Her eye blinked. Closer, closer.

Chshh. Jennifer turned at the opening door just as a small, thin piece of wood protruded from the object in a quick flick, barely missing her eye. Chip dropped the object on the desk.

They both breathed out in relief when they saw who was at the door.

'What are you doing here?' said Chip.

Nancy blinked, standing in the doorway.

'Get inside quick,' said Jennifer.

'What do you want?' said a curt Chip.

'I wanna see.'

'No, get out of here,' said Chip. 'This isn't for babies.'

'But. I wanna see.'

'Go on, Chip,' said Jennifer. 'Show her.'

'Fine!'

He turned. 'Hey, where did it go?'

'It must have fallen on the floor,' said Jennifer.

'Then it would be bouncing up again,' said Chip. 'Durr.'

They both checked behind the desk, under the bed, inside the model ship, everywhere. But it was nowhere.

'You lost it!' shouted Chip. 'I can't believe you lost my ball.'

Bang, bang, bang. A noise from the corridor filled the room.

Jennifer and Chip looked at each other.

'Oh, good one Nancy,' said Chip. 'You let it out!' He pushed past his little sister and raced into the corridor, smacking straight into Orlando. The banging stopped.

He wriggled his smacked nose.

'Hey, hey,' said Orlando. 'What's up? I could hear the commotion from our bedroom.'

'Sorry,' said Chip distractedly, trying to look around his father.

'Is anything wrong? Are you having nightmares again?'

Jennifer smirked as she poked her head out the doorway.

Chip looked down shyly. 'No, Orlando-pa.'

'Then what are you doing running up and down the corridor screaming? You're lucky Donna-ma was busy or she would have been here in an instant.'

Chip frowned.

'Hey now,' said Orlando. 'I'm sorry for shouting. I just wanted to make sure you're OK. It's a big ship and, well, we don't always get to spend much time together. We don't get many good chats, do we?'

Chip looked away, embarrassed.

Jennifer slid out of the door and crept quietly away with a trailing Nancy.

'Come on mate,' continued Orlando, 'let's go inside and talk about how you're feeling at the moment.'

Chip was carolled into his room. No way out. He grimaced.

The cargo hold was dark. Dark and quiet. Then a flicker. A momentary burst of light in the centre of the massive room. Another flicker, lasting a fraction longer.

Flash! Beams of light shot out through the gap in the crate, making weird patterns along the floor and against the walls. The patterns turned into shapes as the light changed – growing, falling, moving.

A flash of darkness and it was over.

Something small dropped out.

The door wooshed open.

'Where is it?' demanded Chip.

Jennifer looked up from her book. 'Did you have fun with Orlando-pa last night?' she said smugly.

Chip looked away, partly annoyed, partly embarrassed. 'Doesn't matter. Where is it?'

'What?' said Jennifer innocently.

'You stole it! I saw you playing with something at breakfast.'

'I didn't steal anything.' She smiled.

'You did. Give it back.' He jumped from nook to cranny, searching.

Jennifer looked back, unmoved. Until he leered behind the row of dolls. Then she darted and in one move dove on the display, cupped something in her hand and jumped back onto the bed.

'I knew it!' said Chip. 'Give it!'

'This isn't yours,' said Jennifer, hiding the object with her body. 'It's different. A new one. Much better than that ugly one you had.'

'Who cares what it looks like? It was brilliant. Kept bouncing forever. It didn't need to change.'

Jennifer held up her hand and uncupped the new object. 'Look. It's so much smoother. And it's pink!'

'Eww,' said Chip. 'That's gross.'

'Ow!' cried Jennifer, dropping the pink object. She looked at the blood forming on the tip of her finger. 'Why did it do that?'

Chip laughed. 'You can't even stop its anti-theft weapon. It thinks you're stealing it.'

'I'm not stealing anything. It's mine.' Jennifer pouted.

'You're so stupid,' said Chip. He waited until the thin piece of wood retracted fully before placing a thin piece of paper over it. 'There,' he said. 'Happy?'

He passed the object back to his sister just as a long sliver of wood punched through the paper and punctured Jennifer's skin. She felt it grab hold of her from the inside with tiny hooks. After a moment of shock she screamed, shaking her hand and the object along with it. A few shakes later it came loose and fell to the floor. Jennifer kicked it away while clutching her arm.

'I don't want it any more,' she said. 'Keep it. I don't care.'

Chip looked in shock at the bloodied object sitting dormant on the floor.

'Man,' he said sombrely. 'That was awesome! The other one couldn't do that. I wonder what else it can go through? Do you think it can do metal?'

He kicked the object along the floor, right out the door.

Jennifer got into her bed and threw the covers over her head.

Eyes blinking, twitching, strained. Donna sat hunched over the display. Her forehead wrinkled. She blinked again before sitting back, stretching her neck.

'We could get by,' she said.

'I'm sure we could,' said Orlando, walking up behind her. 'But it's not about getting by. We need to get out in front, set ourselves up.' He started massaging Donna's shoulders. 'We make what we can, retire in a small part of the galaxy and enjoy our lives together. Like you said, we don't want to be risking our lives in open space once the war gets into full swing.'

'That's the point,' said Donna. 'Making these types of runs, it's dangerous. We just need one thorough customs cop doing his duty with a clear head and we're done.'

'We've never met a cop we couldn't bribe. That you couldn't bribe. It's like they're around just to circulate money.'

'Even forgetting the money,' said Donna. She looked up at Orlando. 'It doesn't feel right.'

'We're neutral,' protested Orlando. 'We're not on any side. It's their conflict. We just do a job and get paid for it. If we didn't, someone else would. Besides, we don't don't even know exactly what we're carrying.'

'Oh sure, we can pretend we don't know. We haven't actually opened it up and looked inside. But we know. And we know what that kind of thing is capable of.'

Orlando stopped massaging his wife and stood looking at their reflection in the display.

'OK,' he said. 'Maybe we can-' Smash.

'What was that?' said Donna, standing.

'Get it off!' shouted a distant voice.

'Is that from sick bay?' said Donna. 'Where are the kids?'

Orlando scrunched up his face. 'I thought my little convo with Chip would be enough,' he said despondently, before quickly following his wife out the door.

They arrived to chaos. Chip was running from one corner of the room to the other. Jennifer was standing to the side with her hands over her ears. And in the middle of it all was Nancy, screaming, seated up on a bench.

Donna ran to her youngest daughter. 'Nancy? Nancy! What is it?'

Orlando stood in the way of his son. Chip tried to push past but was blocked. 'Are you OK?' said Orlando, looking into his eyes.

Jennifer rocked, humming to herself as Nancy continued to scream.

Donna moved in close and held Nancy. She rubbed her daughter's back, trying to calm her. Then a movement – strange, different. Donna looked down and saw the skin on Nancy's arm shimmer. It moved in waves, like some strange reflection.

Donna's eyes grew large when she realised what she was seeing. There was something squirming around beneath Nancy's skin. Donna squeezed her daughter's thin elbow, trapping the parasite. 'Orlando. Orlando!'

Orlando quickly gave his full attention.

'Get me the knife.'

Orlando looked around, puzzled.

'The knife! Over there!'

He finally saw the large carving knife.

'So what's all this commotion, then?' said Perry, meandering upon the entry door. He looked up at the scene: Jennifer still rocking herself to calmness, Orlando restraining a manic Chip, and Donna standing with the sharp tip of a knife pointed straight at her daughter's arm.

He closed his eyes and passed out.

'Frelling HELPers,' sad Donna. 'If I wanted emotions I'd get a real person.' She ignored the thud and pierced Nancy's skin with the sharp tip of the blade.

'Orlando, one of those containers,' said Donna, motioning.

Orlando dropped Chip and passed a clear container, half filled with flour.

Donna peeled off the lid. She rolled her fingers down the tiny arm, slowly, forcing the lump toward the bloodied slit.

Nancy stopped crying and watched intently. Her tiny mouth moved strangely. She swallowed and screwed up her face. The object slithered under her skin, slowly emerging, squelching, sticking, stammering...until it fell into the container in a puff of flour.

The lid was replaced in a flash and all of the family gathered around it instantly. They peered inside the raised container, trying to see through the white of the flour.

Chip slid underneath and looked up. It had tried burying itself down deep but had only succeeded in making it easier for him to see. The object looked nothing like it did before; it was now flat and oblong-shaped, metallic, with six little pincers all around. It was much harsher, much more sinister looking.

He looked over at Nancy who was rocking uneasily. Redness filled his cheeks.

'I knew this was a bad idea,' screamed Donna. 'I just knew it! You can't play with the devil and not expect to get burnt. You just can't.'

'Now, now,' said Orlando, 'It's all right. No one was seriously hurt.'

'No one was-' Donna's scream was confounded by her own throat. She took a moment to compose herself. 'No one was hurt? Take care of this.' She handed the container to Orlando. 'Make sure it can't get out. Come on Nancy. We'll get uncle Perry to make you better.'

She picked Nancy up and grabbed conscience-regaining Perry by the collar, whisking them both out the room.

Chip sidled up shyly to Nancy. 'You OK?' he said, nodding at her patched up arm.

Nancy looked at him strangely then smiled, her eyes wider than her face. She leaned forward on the large medic bed and stopped.

Perry touched her gently, motioning for her to sit back.

'Does it hurt?' said Chip.

Nancy screwed her nose up at Chip. Her eyes wandered, moving freely around the sockets. She coughed.

Perry checked the read-out. 'Hmmm,' he said, repeating the letter “m” a few extra times. 'That's strange...'

'...get carried away.' Orlando's voice travelled faintly through the thick glass wall.

Chip pushed aside some face masks and watched his parents argue. Or discuss, as they called it.

'If it's endangering my kids we need to do something about it,' said Donna. 'To hell with the money.'

'I don't get why it even reacted that way,' said Orlando. 'It's meant for a different physiology to us. Even if it did react, the Cannass have much thinner skin, so it shouldn't have been able to do any damage.'

'Is it bolted down?' said Donna. 'Does it have any defence mechanisms?'

'It shouldn't even start evolving until it gets a DNA sample. That's the way it works: start out neutral until the stimulus arrives. Like sniffer dogs.'

'We'll throw it out,' said Donna. 'We can say we lost it. Not like they're going to find a tiny wooden crate a few hundred thousand kilometres from an uninhabited planetoid.'

'What about our reputation?' said Orlando.

'Forget the reputation scale,' continued Donna. 'We can find something else. Do something else. It won't be the...'

Chip felt another of Nancy's heavy coughs. He touched the back of his neck and looked at his fingers which were now green. 'Ewww.'

Nancy coughed a few more times, each bringing with it a spray of blood.

'Oh dear, this is not good,' said Perry. He sounded the alarm.

Donna and Orlando turned immediately and looked through the glass wall.

Donna's eyes were bloodshot. She held Nancy's flaccid body close.

'I don't understand,' said Orlando, with wet cheeks. 'She seemed fine.'

'Was fine,' said Donna, her voice strained. 'You didn't stop this earlier when you had the chance. You could have made sure they didn't play with the weapon. But you let it go.'

'Please Donna, don't say that. I did what I could.' Orlando looked at his daughter's dead body. 'You're right. I could have done more. It was my fault.' He lowered his head further, closing his eyes. A few tear drops fell to the floor.

'With all due respect,' started Perry, 'there's little reason to blame-'

'And you!' shouted Donna. 'You don't get off scott free! How many warning indicators needed to go off before you thought something more serious was up? Hmm? Useless frelling toy!'

She threw a glass at Perry which missed and smashed against the wall.

She broke down.

Orlando moved in closer, slowly, sliding his arm up his wife's back.

'No!' She gritted her teeth. 'Find that thing. And get rid of it. Now!'

Without thinking, Orlando raced out the room.

Chip sat on his play rug. He looked out at the floor of his room, now covered with every toy he'd ever received.

'She'll be OK,' said Jennifer, crawling up beside him. 'She always gets into scrapes. She always gets out of them.'

Chip blinked.

'We can see her soon,' said Jennifer.

Chip turned. 'How do you know?'

'We'll go to med. I couldn't find ma or pa but it's been ages already so I'm sure we can see her.'

A shape whooshed past the doorway, flowing down the corridor.

'Orlando-pa!' said Jennifer. 'We'll ask him.'

They both struggled their way through the mountain of toys. Jennifer got her leg stuck on a large toy truck and stumbled behind Chip who was rushing out the room.

Chip caught a glimpse of Orlando swinging around a corner. They followed quickly. Jennifer picked the truck up and ran with it, not wanting to get too far behind. Around another corner to different corridor. Chip couldn't quite make out the thing in his pa's hand.

They turned another corner and were met with a thick door and a bright red flashing light above. Perry slipped inside the door just as it closed.

Chip tried pushing the heavy door to no avail.

'Perry, what are you doing here?' asked Orlando. 'Help transport the mother device from the cargo hold. We'll get rid of that, too!'

Perry stood silently still.

Orlando placed the container of flour on the floor of the pressurisation room. 'I'm going to jettison this thing. I've already set the countdown. You'll have to get out.'

Perry walked calmly to the container and picked it up.

'What the hell are you doing?' shouted Orlando.

'My container. I need all my containers to store existing foodstuffs.'

'Screw the bloody foodstuffs. We need to get this thing off the ship, now!'

'No.'

'What?'

'No. I'm sick of people making my job harder. If there are any sacrifices to be made they are always mine to bear. Any problems are my fault. I have been yelled at more in this job than on any other transport ship. I have simply had enough.'

'Err,' said Orlando. He looked over at the readout. The timer was ticking down, fast.

'And then I get complaints about the quality of my food. My food!'

'I love your food. And we'll talk about things after. Make sure everything is OK. But right now, I need you to put the container down. Alright, mate?'

Perry stared back.

Outside the door, Chip jumped up and down constantly, his eyes occasionally rising level with the small glass window.

'What's happening?' said Jennifer.

'Orlando-pa is talking to uncle Perry. He looks scared.'

'Please,' pleaded Orlando. 'I've just lost my little girl. I'm supposed to be protecting them. I'm their father. Please don't make me fail the rest of my family.'

Perry stood dead still. The corner of his eye ticked, flickering in rapid but minute movements.

Tick, tick, tick.

At length, he held out his arms and offered the container to Orlando.

'I will do as ordered,' said Perry.

'Thank you,' said Orlando, earnestly, and snatched it quickly.

The bottom of the container gave way. Fine particles of flour devoured the immediate area. Breathing heavily, Orlando bent down and waved his hand over the floor, pushing away the small mound of flour, searching for the object. There was nothing there. His nostrils flared.

'Where did it go?' he said, desperately.

He continued to scrape his hand across the floor in zig-zag fashion.

Perry scanned the room but his vision was generally better at picking up signs of dirty laundry.

'It can't have gone far, right? I saw something moving in the container when I took it.'

His heart pounded. His breathing deepened.

'This can't be happening. It can't.'

He coughed. A few splutters later he wiped his nose and looked down to see a green streak running along his sleeve. He touched his nose: more blood.

A few more coughs and he was sitting on the hard metal floor of the decompression chamber, unable to get up. He looked closer at the blood and could make out little glints of light, as if tiny bits of metal were invading his body. He looked over to the container and realised where the object had gone.

'Oh dear, oh dear,' shrilled Perry. 'I'll get you to med immediately.'

'No,' shouted Orlando. 'We're not leaving here.'

'But sir, how else will you get the medical attention you need to-'

'I won't. We're staying right here. When the airlock opens, we go out with it.'

Perry did not protest. He had already said no to an order. This would be his punishment.

Orlando heard a faint, muffled sound. Almost like screaming. He looked over to the tiny window and caught a glimpse of a small hand hitting the glass. Chip's determined face was high enough to see through the window.

'Get up! Pa! Quick!'

Jennifer joined Chip up on the large toy truck. She looked at the flashing red light above them and covered her ears at the loud countdown siren now blasting from the speaker.

'Doesn't he know the counter is ticking down?' screamed Jennifer. 'What's he waiting for?'

With a cough Orlando struggled to his feet and limped over to the window. He waved the kids away.

'No, don't watch,' said Orlando. 'Please just go. I don't want you to see this.'

'Mffmhghm mmff fmm,' is what Chip and Jennifer heard. They continued to scream.

Orlando felt his insides being eaten away, cell by cell. It was like an intense itch he couldn't scratch. His whole body wriggled and his muscles involuntarily pulsed. He stooped over in pain.

The voices of his children were a little louder down near the floor. He turned and saw a small air grate. The sounds were travelling through that, not the window. He moved in close to the grate and, between coughs, yelled as loud as he could.

'Kids, I really need you to go to ma. OK? Go now. Just know I love you.'

He looked through the window at the confused expressions of Chip and Jennifer.

'I mean it, go now!' he shouted, pressing his mouth right up against the grate. A flash caught his eye. He pulled back enough to see the grate glittering. He wiped his mouth and looked toward the window.

'Oh no...'

Orlando looked around the room desperately. He coughed heavily.

'Perry, get me that face mask.'

Perry passed the mask to a convulsing Orlando, who eventually managed put it over his head.

Orlando held the mask up as he spoke into the grate. 'Go get masks and put them on. Like this, kids.' He pointed to his face.

Through the window Chip nodded.

Jennifer took one look at the mask and jumped from the toy truck, running off scared. Chip followed.

The siren increased its tempo before becoming a constant sound. A whoosh enveloped the area surrounding the door. Then silence.

Chip caught up with his sister.

'Hey, we gotta put face masks on. Orlando-pa said.'

Jennifer pushed Chip away before falling onto the floor, crying.

'Come on,' said Chip. 'No time for babies.'

'I'm not a baby,' said Jennifer, through teary eyes.

'You look like a baby to me,' said Chip.

'Am not!' Jennifer got to her feet and wiped her face.

'Good,' said Chip. 'I think I know where we need to go.'

They flew into med, almost running straight into Donna. She was up on the bed, unmoved, cradling the small body of Nancy.

'Donna-ma,' said Chip. 'We gotta wear masks.'

Donna did not respond. She didn't move.

'Donna-ma!' said Chip, louder.

'I think they're asleep,' said Jennifer.

'OK, we'll tell them when they wake up. Take this.'

Chip handed his sister a large face mask. After some coaxing he got her to wear it. They ran from the room like two grotesque masked creatures.

'Where are we going,' said a muffled Jennifer, struggling to keep up.

'I caused the mess. I'm gonna fix it up.'

'What mess?'

'Ugh, you're such a baby,' said Chip.

They got to the door of the cargo hold. Chip glanced nervously at Jennifer.

'Are we going in?' asked Jennifer.

'No,' said Chip. 'I'm going in. You stay here.'

Jennifer looked around at the darkened walls of the corridor. 'Can't I go in with you?'

'It's dangerous,' said Chip. 'You might get hurt.'

'So might you!' protested Jennifer.

'Fine. Do what you want'

Chip pulled at the large lock and turned it slowly. It clicked. The door opened slowly, swinging fully inside.

They both peered into the darkness of the massive room.

Chip's body shook. He took one small step. His foot made a clinking sound on the shaped metal. He blinked as he walked further, his eye sight becoming accustomed to the gloom.

Jennifer followed a few steps behind and peered around Chip's body at the small crate still sitting in the centre of the hold.

They approached slowly, cautiously, their feet making tiny tapping sounds.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

When they were almost there, Jennifer stopped and crouched down. She watched her brother stop himself, a few steps from the crate.

Chip looked up. It seemed much larger now. And scarier. Despite the darkness it was covered in shadows. He bent down and picked up the crowbar which still lay where he dropped it earlier. Before all this happened. Before he started it.

He held the crowbar up and showed it to his sister.

Jennifer adjusted her mask. Did he mean for her to take the metal pole and help him?

He shook the crowbar. There was something wrong with it. The bottom half was missing.

Jennifer cowered, falling back onto her bum.

Without speaking, Chip turned his attention to the crate. His breathing was loud, his movements were jittery. He raised the large piece of metal in the air and...

White. Bright white light.

Chip fell back near Jennifer. They both shielded their eyes with their arms.

More light, jumping and dancing, fading and shining. Shining then fading.

Chip squinted but all he could see was light.

Then something cast a shadow. Something moving. A figure.

Chip blinked. He took off his mask and panted.

The human shape approached the Lupine children. It looked at them both in turn. Then bared its teeth in a soul-crushing smile.

'It was me,' said Rob, staring blankly at his reflection in the front viewing window.

'What was you?' asked Dutchy, a little shaken. 'The weird figure?'

'It was the last stage in the evolution of a killing machine. Humans. But me in particular.'

Dutchy held his stomach gently. After a blink a quick change. He forced a smile. 'Come on, don't stop there. How did you kill the Pin kids?'

'What? I didn't. I woke up. Felt like crap since.'

'Aww, man!' said Dutchy, half-heartedly. 'You missed the best bits!'

Rob looked out at the red planet taking up the full window. He breathed deeply and slowly.

Paul pushed through and returned to his seat.

'Welcome back, Captain,' said Dutchy.

'How are we?' asked Paul, pressing a few obscured buttons. 'Corrections? ETA?'

'All smooth,' sad Dutchy, laid-back. 'Coming up real soon.'

'Remember we're on an important mission.' Paul's voice got louder. 'This is serious. Not some quickie fly-by crock. The real deal.'

He looked at his crew. 'I guess I can reveal the remaining details now. The ship you're on, boys, is going to make history. We're not carrying an ordinary bomb. Oh no. We've got something special for the Pins.'

The captain's eyes were bulging. His face held a manic expression. Rob eyed him cautiously. This is what the Old Bull lived for. It was terrifying.

'A little history, lads,' said Paul. His voice was no longer loud, but strong, determined. 'As you know from the briefing, this is only a small Lupine colony. A few million. Now killing them, that's important. Real important. But destroying their mind, their will; that's what'll kill 'em, and what'll win us the war.

Paul eyed his command. 'What do we really know about these pests? What have we learnt after almost two full years of combat? Not a damn lot, that's what. But enough. Enough that the geeks have come up with something special for our thin friends down there. Or should I say, their kids.'

He smiled. Gave a little chuckle.

'The bomb is targeting Lupine children?' confirmed Rob.

'Within seconds they'll be eaten from the inside out. Marvellous thing, technology. Thousands of years ago we would have to go in there ourselves and bat the little bludgers to death. But now, we can do it all from up here. And do it on a grand scale.'

The planet was massive in the viewing screen. Rob looked down, and then away, thinking.

Dutchy noticed the slight pause. 'Sounds like it'd end this stinking war much sooner this way, amiright Captain?'

'Can't imagine it'd make them want to fight no more. God, my own children died, I'd want to get revenge soon as possible. But these are pins we're talking about, they don't think the way we do. Not the way a real person thinks.'

Rob looked down. The view switched to full magnification. He could make out roads and causeways. Closer and closer until small Lupine shapes could be made out.

A loud beeping sound echoed in the cabin.

'Thirty seconds, boys,' said Paul. 'Stand by until I give the signal, Rob. Hold that course, Dutchy.'

The countdown filled Rob's eyes. He squinted. He looked down. His hand hovered near the large red button. Muffled commands and last minute checks washed over him; distant, unimportant.

More Lupines filled his screen. Some were working in the fields, some were lying back, enjoying the sun. A shadow passed over them all; a small ship, a thousand kilometres above, floating idly.

'Seven, Six, Five,...'

The Lupines in view began racing away, scattering. Closer, closer, the ship got. Rob saw one Lupine race to two others, much smaller, pick them up and run away. They were children.

'Three, Two,...'

The view was close enough to see the Lupine children's faces. Their expressions were the same, just as he saw it in his dream. It was coming true.

'One,...'

In that split second he made a choice. He closed his eyes and hoped he could be forgiven.

'Contact!'

Rob closed his eyes.

Silence.

His mind was clear. For the first time since the war started he felt it all made sense. What he was doing now was the right thing. He'd made mistakes in the past but this was his stand.

He opened his eyes. They grew wider as the full impact of the bomb shook the planet below. The sounds returned; loud, piercing. The children's expressions seemed to be stuck. In an instant the little bodies formed into dust. The mother kept running, kept holding the non-existent children in her arms.

'Successful hit, boys,' said a jubilant Paul.

Rob's hand still hovered over the large red button. He shook and looked over at Paul.

'How...' started Rob.

'Savour the moment,' said Paul. He seemed relaxed now.

'But...'

'I said savour the moment. That means no talking.'

Paul sat back with his arms behind his head, bathing in the destruction.

After a few moments he turned to Rob. 'Come with me.'

They unstrapped and walked out the cabin, ending up next to the waste management system.

'I don't understand,' said Rob.

'The Union isn't stupid, Robert,' said Paul. 'We can't afford to take chances. Not on a mission like this. Doesn't matter what you did at the drop off point – that bomb would have fallen. Thanks to George.' He tapped the metal housing of the ship's computer.

Rob looked away. That one moment. His moment. Gone. Ruined. Tarnished. He could have been a hero. To some, at least. A villain to others. Like his esteemed captain. Now he was nothing. Another cog in the wheel of war.

'Now I'm gonna do you a favour, Robert. I'm gonna tell 'em that you released the bomb doors. See how much of a nice guy I am? I'm gonna say in my report that it wasn't the computer at all. That they were wrong about you, about Dutchy over there. That you really are patriots.

'Sure, they'll check the computer logs and say I'm wrong. And there'll be a hearing. Experts will be thrown in. But which will they believe? Which will they want to believe? A computer? Or the greatest war hero of the past century?'

Rob looked up, determined.

'I know what you're thinking,' said Paul. 'But I suggest you think hard, real hard, about this Robert. All you got to do is shut up. Shut the hell up and let your guardian angel here sort things out. This is not just about you. It's about your family. And about Dutchy.'

Rob peered through the cabin door at a motionless Dutchy. Not acting up. Not playing games. Just sitting quietly, doing his job.

'Oh yeah,' said Paul. 'while you were devoured by your little personal philosophical debate, old Dutchy over there had the yoke tipped hard right. Could have dropped the bomb on ourselves. George adjusted the controls and we kept at a consistent angle of entry, thankfully.'

Paul started back to his seat in the cabin. 'Oh, we are clear, right? We're on the same page? You now know what the right choice was? What you should have done?'

Rob thought for a moment. He thought about his family, small though it was. He thought about the Union, the trillions of people who lived on a few scattered planets, aiming for many more. He thought about the Lupines, defending their kind as best they could. He thought about the two small, helpless children who looked almost directly at him from the planet below; their expressions of horror. That image, he couldn't stop thinking about that image. It burned inside him.

'Yeah,' said Rob. 'I know what I should have done.'

And he did.

© 2011 Ben Safta

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License

Perfection

Patrick looked around at the plush interior. The realistic paintings, hung perfectly. The spotless carpet, pattern-free, clean and fresh. The tables, all draped in clean white cloth, placed perfectly. The female patrons, sitting up, formal, pristine, their faces, their bodies, a picture of perfection.

He rubbed his eye. He wasn't listening.

'...and so I stood there waiting for a while, looking at the other dresses and bags and shoes and the person behind the thing gave me a plastic bag – not plastic, those good ones they give in exclusive places - and he said I looked sexy in what I was wearing but I'd look even better without it. Ha, he was such a tease. Jealous?'

Patrick looked back at his dining companion. Her long blonde hair falling in waves around her pale face. Deep red lips, thin nose, large green eyes, all wrapped in a slightly unnerving symmetry.

'Why would I be jealous,' he said in a monotone voice. 'I've only just met you.'

Jean started to laugh then caught herself. She lowered her head, smiling demurely, a scant exhale forcing out a tiny sound. She looked up, eyes wide open.

'So anyway,' she continued, 'after that I walked across the mall and had coffee with Courtney. You'll meet her, umm, you know, if we keep going with this. Which'd be really nice. You seem like such a nice guy. So quiet. I've had some bad luck recently – with men, you know – and it's just really nice to meet someone so...so nice.'

Patrick's eyes turned inward as he remembered looking at Jean's body from earlier in the night. Her long, smooth legs barely covered by a short red skirt. Her tight top exposing a slight curve along her hips, flat stomach and large, even breasts. He remembered her downcast eyes which followed his disappointed expression.

Jean had opened up a small mirror and was fussing with her hair. 'Do I look OK?' she said, flustered.

'When did you get it done?' said Patrick flatly.

'What? I mean, sorry?'

'The operation.'

'Oh, the physop? Eighteen, like everyone else. I couldn't wait! A friend of mine got hers done first and I was so jealous. You should have seen her, she looked amazing. So grown up. She was a woman. We were just girls. She didn't look so good with half her hair pulled out, but I'm sure she got that fixed in the touch-up sessions. We were just mucking around.'

'What did you look like before it?'

'Oh, pretty much the same,' said Jean. 'Smaller breasts, smaller hips. You know, to fit in better with other teenagers.'

'So that still wasn't your original body?'

'Of course not! It'd be horrible if you looked different to anyone else. My mum says it scars you for life. I don't want scars!

'So when were you...yourself?'

'Why are we talking about this? Let's say something fun. I know, I'll tell you a joke I heard.'

Patrick looked around the room listlessly. He watched a waitress taking an order a few tables over. Her long, delicate fingers led his eye along her smooth, tanned arm, and up to her symmetrical face. He scrunched his face at her perfection. Nothing wrong. Not a single blemish.

'What's the matter?' said Jean. 'You're not laughing.'

'Hmm?'

Jean followed Patrick's gaze to the waitress who was just finalising the order and walking away. Patrick played over the scene once more in his mind. Just before leaving, a small wink for the older male patron. A little flirting perhaps, to garner a tip. He focussed in on the eye, the blinking eye, and noticed something, something small, there in a moment and gone in a flash. A wrinkle. A hint of a wrinkle more than anything. But it was a start.

'Do you think she's attractive?' said Jean.

'What?' said Patrick, still searching for another sign of imperfection on the fast moving woman.

'The waitress. Is she more attractive than me?'

With a wave of the hand, Patrick tried to dismiss the intrusion of his mind.

'She's really old, you realise. I know men don't care about that stuff any more but I know she's really old. You can tell.'

Not getting a response, Jean said: 'I can change, you know. We get two alteration things each year. I can be anything you want.'

Patrick turned back to Jean. 'No. You can't.'

'I can too! Do you like my breasts? I can make them bigger!' She squeezed them together. 'Or my hair? Do you like brunettes better? That's easy fixed. Ummm...what about my butt? Is it too big? Or too small? I knew it was too small!'

'You don't understand,' said Patrick. He rubbed his eye.

'Oh, you want someone younger. I can go back to my teenage body. Would that be good for you? It could be ready by tomorrow. Well maybe not tomorrow, I don't know if Dr Price works on Saturdays but by the next business day I can look like a little girl. What do you think?'

'Don't be stupid!' said Patrick.

'Sorry,' said Jean, looking down. 'I don't mean to upset you. Do you want to talk about that other stuff? We can talk about it. Yeah, let's. Umm, you wanted to know about my first op. I was thirteen. You get them at twelve but my folks are tight with money.'

'What did you look like before?'

'Ugly. Horrible. You don't wanna know.'

'What colour were your eyes?'

'Like a greyer version of what they are. They try to enhance what you've already got. And smaller – they were much smaller.'

Patrick smiled. 'And your body? Did you have...one leg shorter than the other? Did you have big ears? Any deformities? Birth defects? Did you have anything major that other children laughed at?'

'This is getting a little weird,' said Jean.

Patrick caught a glimpse of the waitress as she pushed through to the kitchen.

The swinging doors rocked open.

A head of hair, tangled and dry.

The swinging doors closed. Then rocked open.

A plump body, bulky and shapeless.

The swinging doors closed. Then rocked open.

Beady eyes looking out.

The swinging doors closed.

Patrick's eyes bulged in excitement, his face lifting. He noticed he was half out of his seat and sat down, a little embarrassed.

'It's not going to work out,' he said to the body sitting opposite. His gaze remained fixed on the door to the kitchen.

Jean looked at him, shocked. 'What? Why? No. I didn't mean that stuff before. I was just...you know, it was a bit weird. But I can listen.'

Still looking at the door, and getting to his feet, Patrick said: 'Here's some money for the meal. Have a good life.'

He sits. He waits. He watches.

He sits on a dirty ledge, skirting the border of illumination from a single light.

He waits in the small alley, the smell of rotting food and faeces overwhelming.

He watches the staff entry door, a searing gaze uninterrupted by occasional movement of a stray cat.

A noise, quiet, becoming louder. Laughter. The door flings open. Disappointment. Not her.

More sitting, more waiting, more watching.

The door opening, quietly, slowly. She. She emerging. Fat. Short. Ugly. Perfect.

He rubs his eye. He races to her. Then stops. Confused. Panting.

She grabs her handbag, holding it tight.

'What do you want?' she shouts.

Scared. Just scared. Relieve tension. Talk.

Silence.

Talk!

'Uh...,' he says.

'Oh gawd,' she says, 'not this shit again. What, you going to rape me?'

'No, I...' His voice trails off.

'Don't got the guts? Is that it?'

'Where did you...how...?' Saliva. Lick it up.

'You want my life story? They all do. Oh, did you think you were alone? Think you're the only fucker who gets a kick out of ugly chicks? Fuck, you're stupider than you look.'

Don't listen to the bitch. Get a grip.

'Why?' He cleared his throat. 'Why haven't you had the operation?'

'Why?' she said. 'Why do you think? Coz I'm poor? Coz I ain't no doll? Coz I'm fucked up and have emotional problems?' She twirled her hand around her head.

Not making sense. Stay calm. Stay cool.

'Coz it's convenient?' she said.

Look up. Stop looking down. Sign of weakness.

'I'm not here to...' he says, and stops. Flat feet. Lumpy legs. Varicose veins. Pruriently perfect.

'Fuck this, I'm going,' she says.

No. Stop her.

He grabs her arm. She flails. He pulls her down. Thud. Scratches. Pain.

Blurry. So blurry.

Tearing. Lot's of tearing. And ripping.

Screams. Mumbled. Muffled. Stupid bitch. Shut up. Bang. Bang. Louder. Bang! Bang! Squelch.

Blurry. Dark. Pain. Searing pain. Clutch head. Pain.

Stupid bitch. Stupid bitch.

Meow. Cat scampers away. Meow.

Gone. 

© 2011 Ben Safta

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial 3.0 Australia License