The Commander Cody Space Gun War

Chapter One

            Change. It was nothing new, which was the most unsettling part of all. Were people accepting this situation? Could they possibly adapt and include these new circumstances into their daily lives? Impossible! But from what I was seeing, it was true.

            I looked around myself at the familiar faces in the smokey room, laughing, talking, playing pool, they were my fellow soldiers stationed at the DEW radar installation at Kotzebue, Alaska. Three women and over a dozen men were in the day room with me. The big screen TV droned on and on about the recent shifts in power, downsizing the military, and the abolishment of all previous forms of government. To the loud crack of pool balls, and a shout of disappointment, I tried to make some order out of my new life, and my new place in the world.

            The presidency, cabinet, house, and senate had been gone for weeks. Now it appeared that the military would go next. This concerned me. I held my breath from one paycheck to the next, now. There might be no more . . . ever. But the others were involved in their own daily routines, little meaningless duties, and personal pursuits. I watched the faces for some trace of worry, but there was none.

            Jones was bending over the pool table with a cigarette hanging from of his mouth. He suddenly took his shot and the balls cracked and bounced around the table. With a slight laugh, he stood and glanced at me across the table. He shrugged apologetically as he picked up the chalk and waited for Richardson to shoot. Jones only cared about the spare change he could pick up at the pool table, not about world politics. Richardson only cared about losing his last 20 bucks. He didn't care about downsizing or the recent talk about travel restrictions.

            Corporal Geller was, as usual, trying to get Private Daily into bed. So far Geller was about the only one who didn't succeed with Daily, but that was because Geller was so damn ugly. Daily was a sexy little minx, but a little too strange for my tastes. Daily pestered me constantly because I had turned her down in favor of Bubsey, the cutest little Eskimo in town. Daily had never forgiven me. Oh well, I could live with that.

            Archer, Pitney, and Ratabough were involved in a poker game which never seemed to end. Gleason used to sit in until they caught him cheating and pounded the hell out of him. Gleason had been transferred out just before the shift of power. Maybe he was the lucky one. He would know what was going on back in the "real world." Up here we were living in the stone age, with seal hunts, tar paper and tin can shacks, people riding snowmobiles down the gravel road in the summer, and acres of fish hanging on poles from one end of town to the other, drying in the sun and smelling up the installation. During my few excursions into town, to visit Bubsey or THE store, the town only had one. I scrubbed vigorously after each visit to get rid of the smell of fish. It usually didn't work. Come to think of it, the fish smell was much preferable to the smell we were treated too in the spring.

            Kotezebue's plumbing consisted of outhouses or a bucket and a trip to the beach to empty that bucket. In the winter the contents of the buckets were emptied on the ice. It wasn't the fault of the town, what else could you do when your town was sitting on 20 feet of frozen ground? Traditional plumbing simply didn't work. It didn't bother us much until warm weather came. There were several weeks from the first warming sunlight of spring until the breakup of the ice, when being downwind from the beach was intolerable. I shivered at the thought.

            "Thinking cold thoughts?" I looked up to see Daily leaning against my table and smiling somewhat seductively at me. It was probably meant to be much more appealing, but my personal prejudice against her tinted those feelings somewhat. To be honest, she was pleasingly rounded, well-built, and had a sweet little face with a trace of freckles around her nose. She was a typical sister-type girl out in the world for the first time, and trying to have all the fun she could grab. I didn't blame her, if I had her looks and body, I might do the same. But I was tall and skinny, despite iron hard muscles produced from long, hard, hours working on a dairy farm. Putting up 1,300 bales of hay each day, through a long, hot, Michigan summer tended to make you as strong as an ox, but as skinny as a pole. I could bench press a Volkswagen, but I couldn't add a pound of weight to save my life. I suddenly realized that Daily was still staring at me, and I was staring at her chest.

            "Just wondering what hit us. Where did this Committee come from, another country, another dimension, or another planet?"

            "Who cares? Since they showed up, all wars have stopped and unemployment and starvation have dropped dramatically. Why look a gift horse in the mouth?"

            "I grew up on a dairy farm in Michigan. We treat our cattle well too, until they outlive their usefulness. That's why there is no shortage of steak."

            "That's gross," she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

            I nodded silently, wondering how far off the mark I was. These people simply showed up one day . . . no, that wasn't true. They had probably been here for years, perhaps decades. They just revealed themselves suddenly one day in a press conference. They quietly announced that they were taking over the world and gave their list of demands. They were laughed at. But as one organization after another simply shut down, stopping all shipping, food, fuel, and electricity, people began to realize that they were serious, and a force to be reckoned with. By the time any organized effort could be made to take back control, it was too late. They took over with a simple statement in their next press conference. If you want to eat and stay warm, you will comply. And we did. On the bright side, they had cured the common cold, most forms of cancer, and perfected fusion power generators that supplied ten times more power than the world could use.

            One of my uncles told me that they tried to revolt in the auto industry. They have a strong union and the union wants nobody but themselves controlling the lives of the auto workers. There were selective accidents, disappearances, strange power outages and mechanical failures at the most inconvenient and of lethal times. Within 48 hours there was no more Auto Workers Union to object. I have heard other stories and all were the same. These beings seemed to be able to control time, space, and free will.

            There were rumors of small vigilante armies gathering in the mountains and deserts. One of the most famous was in the Olympic National Park in Washington. But these groups were never mentioned on the news, which indicated to me that the news was also controlled by the newcomers. I believed that if we ever did revolt successfully, our salvation lay with these hidden armies.

            "Specialist Shay!" a voice rang from the hallway, startling me out of my thoughts. Daily was long gone. I was alone in the day room. It must be chow time.

            "Sir?" I called and dropped my feet to the floor. Lieutenant Flores was standing by the bulletin board, holding a piece of paper in his hands. When I stepped close, he handed it to me.

            "Don't ask me what this is, I have no idea. It simply showed up at the Continental terminal this afternoon. Pick it up, now."

            "Yes sir," I said and studied the bill of lading as I hurried down the hallway. I stopped suddenly as I read the bill.

            "What the f???"

            "Don't read it, Shay, just pick it up."

            "But toys, sir?"

            "Yeah, toys."

            I shook my head and turned to hurry out. I stopped in the mess hall to make a sandwich, then grabbed a coke and hurried to the front entrance. It was five in the afternoon. The cargo area would be shut down soon. The brutal noon-like sun hit me with the force of a huge fist. I cursed, squinted and threw my arm over my eyes until they adjusted to the endless summer sunlight. I looked around and took a deep, appreciative breath. The afternoon was warm and smelled fresh, with the wind blowing in off the ocean. Sea gulls and the gentle rush of waves, were punctuated by the lonely sound of a far off outboard motor. A long wooden motorboat was passing about a hundred yards out. I recognized Jim Novak, a friend, and I waved. He waved vigorously and turned the handle on his motor, running the boat far up on the beach. When it slid to a halt on the yellow sand he jumped out and tied the beached boat to a driftwood post.

            "Going to the airport?" he yelled as he walked up.

            "Yeah. Want to ride along?"

            "Sure. Grandpa is dancing for the tourists. I need to bring him home. He's getting old, you know?"

            We jumped into the OD green ford pickup and I started for the airport.

            "I noticed that there aren't many old men in the village. It's probably all that fat you people eat."

            "Fat nothing, it's accidents. You try going out on the ice year after year and see how long you last. It's like another world out there, the ice can open up and swallow you before you know it, or a polar bear can eat you in your sleep. It was better in the old days. You rarely see a snowmobile attack a polar bear. The old dog teams gave a little protection. They would attack anything, even their owners if they stumbled back home drunk and wandered too close. There's more old men now then there used to be. More people are becoming civilized, so there are less accidents."

            I had only been half-listening. I suddenly sniffed, wrinkled my nose and rolled down the window. "You've been fishing?" I said in an accusatory tone.

            "Oh yeah, I forgot you hate the smell of fish. White men can afford to be picky, I guess. We take what we can get. I've been smoking salmon."

            "Really? Can I have a few?"

            "What a hypocrite, you won't catch them, but you put away the smoked fish faster than anyone I've ever seen before. Yeah, I'll save a paper bag of them, as usual."

            We pulled up to the airport and found Jim's grandpa and the other dancers standing outside the terminal. As we pulled up Jim stuck his head out the window and shouted something in Eskimo. His grandpa simply threw out his hands and shrugged. His old eyes turned to me as he talked, and one word I could make out was "neloughtme" which was their name for the white men. Jim had told me that it meant something like "the color of dead fish," but I never knew when Jim was serious. As they talked more, I heard a few derogatory words which I recognized, so I figured it was time to hurry inside and get my shipment.

            "Ah, here's Commander Cody himself," Stills said with a sour twist of his lips. I nodded a greeting to Karen, the other counter person for Continental, then turned a stern glance on Stills. I didn't like him and he knew it. The feeling was mutual. The roar of a jet taking off at a full throttle on the short runway, rattled the windows and blocked out all sound. I glared at Stills until the sound faded into the distance.

            "You were saying?" my words bordered on a threat.

            "Are you here to pick up your Commander Cody Action Toys?" he sneered and held out a hand for the bill of lading.

            "I'm here to pick up a shipment for the U.S. Army. What's in it is none of your damned business."

            "What's in it are one thousand Commander Cody action figure space guns," he said with a giggle, then tried to look stern. "I take it you will be adopting a new weapon from now on. Appropriate, since there is no longer a need for the military. I don't know if you've heard or not, soldier, but there are no more wars."

            "Sure, I've heard. I also heard that they are about to restrict travel. One day you'll be waiting for a plane that never comes. The last man gets stuck with the check. You could be stuck up here forever, huh?"

            "What?" Stills' eyes bulged from his head and he leaned forward breathlessly.

            "You haven't been listening to the news," I said sadly and shook my head. I followed Karen back behind the counter for my shipment. Stills' horrified eyes followed me out of sight.

            "Were you serious?" Karen whispered as I followed her through the warehouse.

            "The part about the travel restrictions was true. The rest was just a lie to rattle Stills. But it's entirely possible, isn't it?"

            "I guess. A lot has changed."

            "I have a feeling that a lot more will change too. This is just the first step."

            "What are you going to do with two crates of toys?" she asked as we arrived at the plastic-wrapped toys and stood looking at them in astonishment.

            "I have no earthly idea. It looks like the Army has screwed up again," I said sadly and surveyed the huge packages of toys. I took the bill of lading and checked the weight. Each huge package only weighed about 300 pounds. It was light, but bulky.

            "I'll back in and load them myself. I brought help," I said. She nodded and went to the garage door controls. I stepped through the smaller door and found my truck surrounded by Eskimos. I waved them away and backed my truck into the warehouse. Jim and I had them loaded in seconds. When we pulled up outside a dozen Eskimos began piling into the back of the truck. I had been expecting this. As we returned to the village, I grew aware of the laughter and excited talk in the back of the truck. Jim opened his mouth, pointing at the packages.

            "Don't ask," I said in a surly mood. He smiled and closed his mouth.

            "Grandpa's been laid off," Jim said in an unconcerned voice. "They all have. Stills told them they will no longer be needed."

            "Stills is an ass," I said with a vision of the narrow face and pinched nose in my mind.

            Three days later I sat in the day room watching the news as I fingered one of the new toys. Several people in the day room also had the toys, holding mock battles across the tables. The toys were nothing more than flashlights, they were the least realistic toys I had ever seen. They made a pinpoint circle of light which expanded little over distance, a fact that made it a poor flashlight, and it made no noise, which detracted from its realism. As a toy it was one of the poorest conceived inventions I had ever seen. I could remember some of my own toys, the cork gun made a satisfying plunk and could shoot across the room, and my plastic machine guns made sounds guaranteed to drive adults crazy in 3.8 seconds. So why a toy with no noise?

            Smitty was excited about them because of their power source. He said that as far as he could tell the batteries in each unit would power the toys for a hundred years of continuous use. It was new technology. He was trying to adapt the batteries to our personal devices. Batteries in Kotzebue were few and expensive. A five-pound bag of flour cost $20 dollars in town, batteries could cost that much or more. I knew little about technology, I was a Records Specialist Forth Class, a fancy phrase for a secretary. I knew records, typing, and computers. Other than that, and farming, it appeared that I was an expert at nothing.

            "Playing with your gun?" a voice startled me out of my dream world. I looked up to see Daily.

            "Yeah, what else is there to do?"

            "I have a few ideas," she smiled seductively. I was getting irritated at her innuendos. I didn't trust Daily. She used sex as a tool or a weapon. If she wanted something special from Supply, she did what was necessary to get it. If she wanted special favors, the clothes fell off and she got them. I didn't want to be one of her conquests. In my mind she was cheap and sleazy. Besides, I was convinced that she was carrying some disease which would kill everybody in the Company one day, and I didn't want to be included. She'd had sex with most of the men and at least one of the women, she didn't need me.

            "Do you know why they make that index finger?" I nodded at her hand on the table.

            "Oh yes, but you tell me anyway," she smiled and moved closer.

            "To call somebody who gives a damned, Daily. I don't want any," I slammed the toy gun down on the table and started to walk off. I heard something plastic rattling on the table. I looked down at the gun and found an opening in the butt of the plastic pistol. As I turned it and surveyed the new opening I found a computer communications port hidden inside.

            "Now why would they . . . " my words were stopped by a slap across the face. I clenched my fist and pulled back, but Daily was already leaving. I looked down at the pistol and decided to plug my laptop into the port and see what I could find. WEAPONS ACTIVATION --- MAIN MENU. (Select one of the following):

            (1) Continuous fire (self-explanatory)

            (2) Automatic (.25 second bursts, 120 bursts per minute)

            (3) Semi-Automatic (.25 second bursts, three bursts per squeeze of the trigger.)

            WARNING! Energy depletion level for setting "1" is: 190.3 hours. Level "2" automatic fire is: 2,000 hours. Level "3" semiautomatic fire is: Indefinite

            Recharge rate: Internal power only: 48.1 hours. Internal and External (120 VAC): 7.6 hours."

            I sat studying the menu for several minutes, wondering if it was a joke or real. I selected setting number 3 and waited. In a moment two simple words appeared. "Thank you." I waited, but nothing more followed. Shrugging, I shut down the program and unplugged the toy from my laptop. I hefted it, but it didn't feel any different. I pointed the pistol at the wall, then hesitated. If this was not a joke, then a laser beam would penetrate my wall and the people on the other side. It would be prudent to take the toy outside and test it. At one o'clock in the morning there would be few people outside.

            I walked outside and the sun, as usual, startled and blinded me. I threw my arm over my eyes and stared around. Everyone seemed to be sleeping. I stumbled down to the beach and sat on a piece of driftwood. When my eyes grew accustomed to the sunlight, I looked around for a target. My eyes settled on an old, abandoned wooden boat. I picked up a rock and threw it at the boat, to make sure nobody was sleeping inside. The men in town sometimes got drunk and their wives threw them out of the house until they sobered up. I had found them sleeping in the back of my truck and almost everywhere else around the village. The boat was empty. I looked around self-consciously, then with seeming unconcern I swivelled the pistol and pulled the trigger. Three rapid, grating, high-pitched whistles came from the toy and the boat burst into flames. With a startled gasp I jumped to my feet, looked around in alarm, and fled inside the complex.

            Weeks passed, everything I feared came true. I chose to stay in Kotzebue, rather than go where the new order would send me. I had my reasons, but had no intention of sharing them.

            Jim and I had moved into the abandoned complex. We both lived in the day room. There was enough food to last for years. Everything was simply abandoned.

            "Are you sure the Army won't mind us taking their engine?"

            I stopped and wiped the sweat from my face, looking at Jim.

            "I already told you, there is no more Army. The Army was disbanded a week ago."

            "Well this engine must belong to somebody," he motioned toward the pickup engine now nestled in the well of the fishing boat, next to the old Plymouth engine.

            "Once we finish, it will belong to you. Nobody cares. The whole world has gone crazy. The last plane left a week ago and there won't be any more coming, Jim. That was the very last. This is the only way to get down to the states."

            "Listen, Mike. This new engine will make a big difference, but Seattle is a long way away for a fishing boat, even one this big."

            "How can it be too far, this is a deep sea boat, isn't it?" I asked as I tightened the last motor mount and wiped my hands.

            "Yeah, I guess, but it's still a long way away on the open ocean. That's thousands of miles."

            "We'll take the inside passage. It's protected."

            "But why all this work for a few crates of toys, it doesn't make sense."

            "It will, but trust me, I can't explain now. Just wait until we get there. And make sure you get all those extra toys back from the kids in the village, we'll need them."

            "IF we get there," Jim said and slammed the hatch down over the engine compartment. "What about gas and supplies?"

            "The Army left a lot of stuff behind, more than we need. We can refuel along the way too. There are fishing villages all along the coast. We can use some to the surplus Army stuff to barter with."

            "All this work for toys? All neloughtmes are crazy," he mumbled with a shake of his head.

            "I'm not a neloughtme anymore, in case you haven't noticed," I held my nicely-tanned arm out next to his and compared them.

            "Oh yeah? Drop your pants," he said with a sly smile.

            "You wouldn't respect me in the morning," I said, punching him in the arm and walking with him to his house.

            Sea travel in a small boat was a new experience for me. I had never seen a forty foot fishing boat trying to negotiate a 20 foot tall wave before, and I could have done without the experience now. One of the my few satisfactions came from seeing Stills leaning over the opposite railing behind me, offering his breakfast to the god of the sea. As I wiped my mouth I looked up at the pilot's house to see if I was being observed and saw Jim smiling down at me, calmly eating half a smoked salmon like it was a candy bar. I turned blue, my eyes bulged, and I ran for the railing again. I ignored the laughter behind me. I wanted to die in peace.

            I had heard about the inside passage, a convenient passage from Alaska to Washington, between a row of almost continuous, protective islands and the mainland of America. Nobody told me we had to travel for a thousand miles around the entire coast of Alaska to reach it. I didn't worry, I knew I would die long before we neared it, possibly in the next few hours. The body could take just so much abuse before it gave up and died, and I was sure I had passed that point long ago. We had been traveling for more than eight hours now, an eternity.

            The waves finally settled during the evening and I stumbled to the hatch leading to the crew's quarters below deck. I held my breath as I passed the tiny kitchen and the smell of cooked food. I pushed through the narrow doorway to find everyone still awake. Several men were playing a game with bones on the floor. Six more men were playing cards at the little table. The 12 bunks and the six new hammocks were all empty, which was surprising since everyone had to take turns sleeping in them. The married couples usually shared a bunk, and a few of the younger men slept on the floor. But there were still 26 people, far too many for the number of sleeping spaces. There were no women in sight.

            "Where's Bubsey?" I asked the room at large.

            "The women are in back taking a bath," one card player pointed at the stern of the boat.

            "Outside?"

            "Yeah, where else?" he said with unconcern.

            I turned and hurried for the hatch. I heard laughter behind me, but ignored it. I found what I had expected. The women were half-hidden behind a sheet of canvas, washing from a wooden bucket of sea water. Stills was no longer vomiting. He was standing near the port side of the pilot's cabin, hidden and watching.

            "Stills, can you swim?" I said loudly in the stillness of the evening.

            He spun around, turned red, and swallowed convulsively.

            "I... was just waiting until they finished so . . . I could wash up too," the last words came out in a rush.

            "Yeah, right. Get your little weasel butt below."

            "I'll wait here," he said in a show of defiance.

            "Stills, have you ever seen those men down below use a knife. You know how much they love playing that game where they stick the knife between each finger as fast as they can? How many times do you think they can stick one in you when they find out you've been watching their wives or daughters?"

            His eyes bulged and he swallowed again, then hurried past me and down the hatch.

            "We never should have brought him," a voice said from above me. I looked up at Jim, calmly leaning against the railing.

            "He had money for gas, and he was desperate enough to give it to us. We needed his money."

            "Maybe. But we can still toss him over the side now. Or leave him on an island in the passage. Somebody would find him eventually."

            "It's worth thinking about," I said with a nod. "What were you doing up there, Jim, watching Stills?"

            "No, I was watching the women bath. I didn't even know he was there," Jim said with a smile and went back inside the pilot's cabin. I opened my mouth to object, but the door closed.

            "He's kidding," Bubsey said, drying her hair as she approached. "He came out when you yelled at Stills. We had a woman keep watch."

            "I never know when he's serious."

            "Eskimos never like to be serious, life's too short for us. How about you, why are you so serious?" she leaned forward and kissed me. I liked the clean smell of seawater and soap on her skin. I nuzzled her slender little neck then kissed her quickly and backed up a step. I still marveled at how beautiful she was. She said that Eskimo beauty only lasted for 30 years, then love would have to sustain us. I was willing.

            "I'm worried about you. This is more than just a simple delivery. I told you to stay in Kotezebue."

            "Women always go with their men, except on hunting trips. Is this a hunting trip?"

            "Yes, Bubsey, it is."

            "We thought so."

            "We?"

            "The women. The men are much too serious for a casual trip. Too many men are polishing their rifles or sharpening their knives. That always means hunting."

            "If the wrong people find out, this may be the shortest trip in history. The newcomers have ways of finding things out and causing accidents."

            "And we Eskimo's have ways of keeping secrets and avoiding accidents," she said with a smile. We parted as the other women joined us. They chattered gaily and gave me covert glances. Once again I wished I could understand their language. I had the unreasoning feeling that they were talking about me. Once when I mentioned this to Bubsey, she told me that the Eskimo word for white man is neloughtme, and if I didn't hear that word or my name, not to worry. I knew better. In my own language there were more than a dozen words for a road and I could use several more with some thought. They were talking about me, I knew they were.

            Bubsey and I stayed long after the women left, standing close and talking. I wished it was darker. There were several disadvantages to a day that never ended. Nighttime had it's uses too, such as hiding lovers when there was no privacy.

            "I'm cold, Mike. I'm going in. Come on, I'll fix coffee."

            I followed her to the hatch and stopped, listening to a far off noise which seemed to draw closer. I looked up at the sky, looking for the cause of the strange sound. It sounded like a rope with a weight on the end being spun around in the air. I looked carefully at the sound, but there was nothing there. In a moment the sound moved off and traveled East. With a shake of my head I went below for my coffee.

            We decided that we would bypass Seattle without stopping, even though several people had relatives there. So far we had picked up everything we needed in small, out-of-the-way villages. Our last fuel stop was at a farm by the beach. Luckily, the farmer had a full 250 gallon tank of gasoline, and was willing to sell it for a fair price. When he mentioned that his brother delivered fuel and could resupply his tank without question, I realized that the newcomers had infiltrated even the lives of the common people. Like it or not, every aspect of our daily lives was being controlled, and few people did more than complain.

            Seattle would have been an excellent place to stop, have some fun, and pick up a few personal items, but something happened to make us change our minds about stopping. We had just passed Banks Island when I heard that strange sound for the second time. We were about 500 miles from the Olympic Forest and had shut down one engine for repairs. The Ford engine moved us along slowly on the rough waves, the hot evening heat was intolerable, and most of us were lounging around on the back of the boat to catch the cooling breeze. The sound approached from the East, hovered above us for more than five minutes, then moved off to the South. This time I was not the only one to hear it, so I was relieved to realize that it wasn't a figment of my imagination.

            "What a strange sound," Bubsey said after it faded into the distance.

            "I heard that before, over a week ago."

            "What is it?"

            "It may sound crazy, but I think it's an invisible craft of some type, keeping an eye on us."

            "What kind of craft can do that?"

            "Theirs, the newcomers, I imagine. They control everything now."

            Bubsey laughed, slapping my arm as she stood and turned to leave.

            "I'm serious," I said with a frown.

            "Of course you are."

            I shrugged and made my way below for one of the pistols. If the sound returned, I would do some investigating of my own. One shot and I would either dispel my fears, or possibly start an interstellar war. Either way I would find out what was up there.

            "Well now that we're here, what the hell do we do?" Jim looked down the long white beach, then at me.

            "I don't know, steal a truck I guess. We sure can't walk through the entire mountain range."

            "They say there are real strange things in these woods." I turned and found that Leo had spoken. He had his arm around his wife, looking at the trees apprehensively. I suddenly realized that Eskimos were entirely out of their element here. Not more than one or two of them had ever seen a tree.

            "Like what?" Jim asked.

            "Like Vietnam soldiers with guns, who never take a bath, and bigfoot."

            "What?" I asked in amazement.

            "He's right," Pat said from the back of the frightened group, "I saw it in National Geographic."

            "Oh come on guys, we have bigger things to worry about than bigfoot."

            "What about the soldiers who never bathe?" Jim asked teasingly.

            "Oh come on Jim, these guys are scared enough without you putting your two cents worth in."

            "Ok, but if you have to go back and tell grandpa that I was killed by somebody who never bathes, he'll think Stills did it and make war on his entire family. Don't say I didn't warn you," he said, turning to tie off his boat.

            Stills stood glaring from Jim to me without saying a word. I could see the hate in his eyes, but I didn't really care.

            "Pat," I called and motioned him forward. He reluctantly dropped his arm from his wife's shoulders and came forward.

            "Pat, I need you and a bunch of men to carry the crates of toys up to the trees. We need to hide them as quickly as possible."

            "In the trees?" his eyes surveyed the trees suspiciously.

            "I know this is all strange to you, but there really isn't anything to worry about. You have a phobia, that's all."

            "Yeah?"

            "Sure. You'll get over it in time."

            "I have a tree phobia?"

            "Sure."

            "Good. I thought it was my fear of bears, mountain lions, snakes, bugs, wild boars, crazy soldiers, and bigfoot. Thanks for talking to me, Mike. Now I feel like a real coward. I'll help you out some day like you've helped me. Come on guys," he yelled and turned away.

            "He's kidding," Bubsey said from behind me.

            "I don't think so," I stared at Pat's receding back.

            The truck we stole had Fort Lewis, Washington written all over it. Apparently somebody had stolen it before us. Most likely a soldier had simply driven it home when the Army was disbanded. Either way the deuce-and-a-half was just what we needed. It was six wheel drive and had a winch if we got stuck. We stole the fuel for it at a farm. Nobody was home and the 500- gallon tank was full of fuel. We filled the truck and as many cans as we could find. We resumed our trip with a truck load of diesel fouled people riding in the back. Nobody told them that if you break the hose off an aboveground tank, it would spray fuel everywhere. They knew now.

            Jim was the worst, he had driven a dry stick into the hole so all the fuel wouldn't leak out.

            "Jim, did anybody ever tell you, that you stink?" I yelled happily from the driver's window.

            "Yeah, you every time I went fishing. Does this stuff wash off? It burns."

            "Not without detergent, preferably dish washing detergent. There should be a store around, we'll park in the woods and the least smelly people can get supplies."

            "I guess that would be me and him," Bubsey said, pointing at Stills who was riding on the opposite side.

            "Yeah, I guess it is," I reluctantly agreed. I didn't like the idea of Bubsey being alone with Stills, but they would be within sight most of the time.

            "So you suddenly need me again?" Stills sneered and chuckled out the window.

            "Not enough to put up with your mouth," I bit off my words as I received a disapproving glare from Bubsey.

            "There's a highway up ahead," Jim said from where he stood in the back. "Looks pretty busy. Hey, there's a store of some kind too, I can see a big sign. What's an Ex-x-on?"

            "A gas station," I yelled out the window, "and a store," I added to Bubsey. "Don't worry, sweetie, it works just like the one in Kotzebue, only things are a little cheaper here."

            "They better be, I'm running short on money," Stills said uncomfortably.

            "This is a fine time to tell us. How much do you have left?"

            "Enough to get me to California after we get the groceries. This is where we part company."

            "Too bad," I said sarcastically. Bubsey gave me a glaring frown. I shrugged helplessly.

            "I'll pay for fifty dollars worth of stuff and that's it," Stills said firmly. "I need the rest."

            I nodded wordlessly, aware of Bubsey's severe gaze. I pulled into a heavy grove of trees and shut off the roaring motor. The silence was deafening. In a moment we heard the roar of traffic on the nearby highway. A horn honked far away and a dog barked less than a hundred yards from us, probably at the gas station.

            "For what it's worth, Stills, thanks," I said reluctantly.

            "Yeah, whatever," he said and opened his door. Bubsey gave me a quick kiss and slid across the seat to follow. I watched until they were out of sight in the trees.

            "Jim, get one man over there with a rifle. Have him make sure Bubsey goes nowhere but here. I don't trust Stills."

            "Atta-boy, Mike, keep a tight rein on her," Jim yelled, slapping his hand on the cab as he laughed. A man jumped over the side of the truck and disappeared into the woods.

            "Jim, I'm going to bust you in your lip," I said through clenched teeth.

            "Not even on your best day, white man. Let's start a fire and get some tea going."

            "Good idea," I climbed down out of the cab and helped gather wood.

            Three days of rough, torturous back roads finally paid off with the suddenness of a heart attack. Jim was driving, while talking to Bubsey. I was trying to take a nap on the passenger's side of the cab, when the recognizable sound of a tree falling woke me suddenly.

            "Hold it!" I yelled, grabbing the wheel. Jim slapped my hand and slammed on the brakes. The tree came crashing down across the front of the hood. I watched the thick limbs bending against the windshield, waiting for one to come crashing through and impale me. Before I could move the door was yanked open and I was roughly thrown out. I landed on my back with a whoosh of air. I saw a man standing over me with an M16, so I kicked out and up connecting with the barrel of the rifle, and his chest. He flew backwards, crashing into the side of the truck. I was rather proud of my actions until I felt the barrel of a rifle pressed against my ear.

            "If that's not a hearing aid, you're in big trouble fella," I growled in my most convincing military voice.

            "It's not and I'm not," a female voice came from behind me. "Who are you?"

            "Commander Cody," I said with a chuckle. The rifle was pressed harshly against my ear. It hurt. I swatted the barrel away angrily. When she tried to push it back into my ear again, I shoved the butt of the rifle into her chest and yanked on the barrel. With the rifle in my hands I rolled to my feet and looked around. We were surrounded by more than forty guns, in the hands of men, women, and children. I stood my ground and tried to cover them all.

            There were several chuckles. The woman strode boldly forward and reached for the rifle. A blinding light, the smell of burning Earth, and my quick roll to the left, stopped her.

            "If you fools are done playing around, maybe we can talk now," Jim said casually. He was holding one of the toy pistols negligently while standing on the other side of the cab and leaning against it. More toy pistols appeared in the hands of the Eskimos in the back of the truck.

            "I think these people are the ones we have been waiting for," a voice said from the back of the crowd. He strolled forward and I suddenly realized that the National Geographic articles had been partially right. Here was the unwashed soldier.

            He stopped a few steps from me and looked at us, and our cargo. "I take it that shipment of toys came from the Maxi Toy Company?"

            "They did," I nodded, looking him over casually. "And you are?"

            "Framingham, Lieutenant Colonel Richard Framingham, late of the United States Army."

            "I'm Mike Shay. Also, of the United States Army until there wasn't one anymore. These are volunteers from Kotezebue."

            "We are very glad to see you, and your shipment."

            "How did you hear about our cargo?" I asked suspiciously.

            "A former Maxi Toy employee joined our army. The scientist who back-engineered their alien technology is, unfortunately, dead now. Out of two-thousand shipments, this is the only one to survive, as far as we know. Have you activated them all?"

            "No, just a handful. The kids in the village were playing with them, I thought it would be safer to keep them inactive."

            "That's too bad. We have no way of activating them here. We would be taking a big chance if we take the shipment to a different location."

            "No need, I brought my laptop. If you could send somebody out for spare batteries, we can activate them all."

            "Excellent, we have AC adapters that would work on your truck. You can plug it into that. Come on up, we'll have that tree out of the way in no time."

            "Colonel, I don't think . . . " the woman whose rifle I was holding started to object.

            "Shut up, Staley, you've caused enough trouble already."

            "Yes sire," she sneered and stalked off.

            "The manuals were wrong," Framingham whispered. "It's not discipline that holds an army together, it's pay. And we just don't have any."

            "We won't be any help there. Our benefactor went on to California."

            "One of your members is gone?" he asked in alarm.

            "Nobody important, he had money so we let him ride along. He wasn't much use anyway."

            "To you, maybe but to the Trid he can be invaluable. Did he know your destination?"

            "Yes, he did."

            "Oh crap, I knew things were going too well. Now the shit's hit the fan."

            "Sorry. He was a weasel, we were glad to get rid of him."

            "Well, we had better move fast, because the Trid certainly do."

            "Do you know these Trid?" I asked as I hurried to catch up. The roar of the truck following us made it hard to talk.

            "Oh yeah, we know them. Once you see one of those lizard snake things, you'll never forget them. They stink and they're really ugly."

            "Do they have invisible aircraft?"

            "Certainly. Why?"

            "One has been keeping track of us, I think, since we left Alaska?"

            "Did you use one of the toys?"

            "No, not until now."

            "Then it's probably nothing, they keep track of all sea and air traffic. As long as you didn't use one of those pistols, they can't trace it's power source."

            "What about the one Jim just fired?"

            "Don't worry about that. The world is surrounded by an invisible field of high-frequency trash. It comes from TV and radio stations, CB's, microwave ovens, and most everything else we use. They can't pick up a power source unless they're practically on top of it. It's one of the benefits of having a high-tech society in the hands of educated apes who don't realize what it's doing to them. And here we are," he pointed at a huge cave well-hidden in the trees ahead of us.

            "It looks big."

            "Nobody knows how big, most of it is still unexplored. There are underground lakes and river, and miles of cave that must run clear to Puget Sound. Have your friend pull the truck inside. There's plenty of room for the first mile."

            I fell back and rode on the sideboard and Jim pulled the truck inside. We followed the ragged army to a huge cave. The lights came on and we found ourselves in an underground camp of several hundred people.

            Lt col Framingham stared through his binoculars for several minutes before he sighed and put them down. We were laying on the brink of a hill at 2:00 in the morning, staring at a fully functional military installation on Bainbridge Island. The fog was creeping in and the air was so cold we could see our breath when we exhaled deeply. Washington had funny weather in the fall. It was burning hot in the daytime, and absolutely cold at night.

            "Bowmen," Framingham whispered to the small army behind him. I was now one of their army, and their bowmen. I had grown up bow hunting and was fairly good at it, until I joined the army. I joined the small group approaching Lieutenant Colonel Framingham.

            "Line up," he whispered urgently. We shifted until we were kneeling in a long line.

            "I can only see five targets down there," he whispered as he looked us over. "I want three men to take each target. We can't let them raise the alarm."

            We nodded or grunted respectively. We all knew this.

            "Shay, as soon as the sentries are down, I want you to lead your squad down there and install the pilots. Don't wait for my orders, just run. Is that understood?"

            I nodded and looked at Jim, who was in temporary charge of the Eskimos. Huddled next to the Eskimos were a small group of ex-Navy and Air Force pilots. They had been training to fly the silver, bat-like vehicles for more than a year. The scientist who had back-engineered them had sent detailed plans out with the former employee who was now a part of our army.

            "Take your positions and fire on my command," he waved us forward to the brink of the hill. Most of us had short bows, so we could kneel when we fired. Three had long bows and they were required to stand to shoot. These three stayed back to pick off any stragglers. Even though it was pitch black, anyone standing would be outlined against a sky brightly lit by the Seattle lights. We had no trouble finding our targets in the well-lit installation. I aimed at mine, feeling nervous and cowardly, then fired when Framingham whispered the order. I never saw my arrow make it's way to the target, but I did see all five targets fall. I handed my bow to another bowman and pulled my Commander Cody pistol. I waved Jim forward. In a moment I was surrounded by my own army.

            "It's time to pray to your respective gods and kick some butt," I whispered to the Eskimos.

            "What's this "gods" shit? We're Catholic," Jim said with a smile.

            "It's an old saying," I said lamely.

            "Let's do it," Jim said and started forward. I belatedly hurried to follow. Ours was the most important part of the whole mission, to get our own pilots into alien spacecraft. Framingham said he got the idea from us, and the Indians of the old West. As he stared at the dozens of Eskimo faces in camp one night, he realized that now the Indians were fighting on his side. So he chose an old Indian tactic of picking up a fallen weapon and using it against the previous owner. The spacecraft were the first and most important part of the plan.

            We were at the outskirts of the installation in moments. It was not very well set up, by human standards. There were no perimeter fences or security devices to protect it. They had relied fully on the sentries, who now lay dead in orange puddles of blood all around us. I tried to ignore the blood, bodies, and horrible smell of the creatures as we crept across the brightly lit installation to a huge building used for sleep. The Trid slept in cold rooms for several months out of each year. We believed that the Trid normally hibernated during their own winter months, so the cold building was used to mimic this seasonal change. Not all Trid hibernated at the same time, of course, because of the continental differences on their own planet. Some slept in the summer, and the other half in the winter. This was supposed to be just one of thirty installations around the world.

            We found the spacecraft under netting material behind the huge cold storage building. Most were surprisingly small. Three craft were large enough to hold a small army, and one of them would in a few minutes, our army. We set explosive charges around the cold storage building. Several of the heftiest Eskimos carefully blocked each door with a pile of rocks.

            The Trid were small, weak humanoids. They were gray and hairless, and fairly weak in comparison to humans. It wouldn't take much to keep them in the building, provided that they didn't blast their way out with their own Commander Cody type pistols. Our sources told us that once a Trid went into hibernation he was completely unaware of the world around him. Supposedly you could cut pieces off their bodies while they were asleep and the creatures would never wake up. I don't know who found that out, or how. I joined my group of running Eskimos as we hurried to the ships. One door on a shuttle stood open, so we hurried inside. It looked bigger inside. There was enough room for dozens of people.

            The pilot watched over his shoulder until I waved. He eased the ship off the ground and turned the nose toward the hill where the rest of our army still hid.

            "Mike, I don't like this shit," Jim said thoughtfully. I was feeling a bit cowardly myself. Everything had gone too well, as if the creatures found no reason to take special precautions against attack. That would make the creatures exceptionally stupid, which I doubted, or very trusting, which didn't make sense.

            "You think we're killing the golden goose?" I asked after a long pause.

            "Yeah, something like that. I kind of feel like we're killing these creatures for no reason."

            "They are controlling our lives," I pointed out lamely.

            "So? Our lives have always been controlled, usually by an incompetent fool. Maybe it's time for a change."

            The windshield lit up suddenly and the ship rolled over on it's side.

            "Well it's too late to worry about it now," Martin Stalik said from nearby. "We've just poked the nest with a stick," he smiled and nodded toward the installation.

            "And we've just taken out five percent of their population," Pat said from the darkness. "God help us."

            I had a feeling that God was looking the other way.

            "Damn," I whispered into the darkness as our shuttle made it's way back to the cave. I knew there would be big trouble ahead, and we may have caused it ourselves.