The Last Holidays Page 2

  “Craig!” A voice accused, “You're not in costume!”

  “Sheila,” I sighed, turning to face my accuser. The attractive, bouncy blond was not happy with me.

  “You promised!” The great-great-grandmother stared me down. A graduate of Project Rebirth, she had over nine decades of life experiences although she didn't look old enough to drink. To top it all off, the Air Force in its infinite wisdom had seen fit to make her a staff sergeant to try and keep up with its explosive growth as the world tried to defend itself.

  Trust me that you would have to go a long way to find someone else more capable of managing people than Sheila. I knew I looked more like her father or maybe even grandfather, given I still mostly looked my original age. That didn't stop my hormones from racing every time I saw her.

  In theory, the Prometheus exposure didn't do anything to your 'normal' body, but while I wasn't 'super' this way, I was healthier and in lots better shape. Of course, being back in the Army again might've had something to do with that. Being forced to exercise regularly again did make a difference, although I was still suspicious when I was more or less able to keep up with the twenty year olds even if I was bringing up the rear. Late middle-aged guys just don't do that!

  “I know,” Yelling over the music, I couldn't help but admire her scanty Tinkerbell costume. Yeah, that's me, the dirty old man. She out-ranked me, but not by grade given I had re-entered the Army at the same rank that I'd left, a Sergeant, E-5 which was the same pay grade as hers. The Army and Air Force had different names for the same ranks, go figure. No, she had me by date of rank. Hers went back to the 1940's from her WAC days.

  “I know I promised, ” apologizing while yelling over the 'Monster Bash' was just bizarre, “and I'm sorry, Sheila, but I just couldn't.”

  Her disappointed look made me feel like a first class jerk, but I had honestly tried. Not being able to do 'it' was what got me sent here to McDill AFB to begin with. She had no idea of how big of a deal it was when I showed her THAT other me in private. Even that had me awake half the night distressed half out my mind. How could any version of me do something like 'this' to themselves?

  Being a good friend, she'd sat there with me the whole time as I fell apart. Unlike all the doctors and therapists, she hadn't pushed or really did anything except be there with me. Sheila had even turned on the TV as if there was nothing wrong or strange about me looking like, like, THAT.

  This whole Halloween thing was her idea just so I could pretend, THAT, the other me was only a costume.

  “Craig, it's alright,” her smile said she still wasn't happy, but she wasn't angry at me either, “if you can't, you can't.”

  “I even have my Skins,” Gesturing down to my legs, I showed her I had my uniform on even if I mostly hid it under my oversized sweater.

  “I see that!” she giggled, her eyes sparkling in the flashing lights, “and I was so looking forward to seeing Halcyon in it!”

  Okay, I was confused again as she used my official code name. Was Sheila suggesting she was interested in me like THAT? She was a great-great-grandmother for goodness sakes; for all she could pass for 18 again, so she had to be straight, right?

  “Oh goody!” She laughed, taking me by the arm, “I think I broke you! Come on. The others are over here.”

  Dragging me through the dancing, jumping and hopping critters, monsters and everything else in-between, I saw her wave at a table. Our co-workers, Janet, Dave, Paul and Libby were all obviously having a good time. I suppose that, for once, hopeful War news may have helped lift everyone's spirits a tad.

  In our Visitor's drive to make Earth more attractive to them, they'd nano-bombed several cities which had serious pollution problems. Linfen, China had a coal problem that once was so bad that hanging laundry would turn black before it dried. Another, Sukinda, India right in the heart of the country's chromite mining belt, had highly toxic chromium levels in their air, soil and drinking water.

  Unlike the kinetic strikes, the nano-bombing, while it in itself didn't kill anyone directly, it forced mass evacuations as every man-made structure and object in the 'blast' area gradually fell apart as the nano-machines not only cleaned up the pollution, but disassembled all signs of civilization.

  This time, the contaminated Fukushima power plant in Japan was their target. Cleaning up that mess was good, but leaving the tens of thousands of people in the nearby towns destitute in the kind of weather we had these days was a death sentence.

  I hated to think of the short cuts and outright mad risks that had probably been taken to do it, but the Japanese Self Defense Force of Earth's Defenders had stopped the Nano-machines in their tracks and, even better, had timed it only after the Fukushima site had been cleaned. Perhaps it wasn't a great victory, but right now the Earth at large would take what it could get. The news that our latest attempt at directly attacking our unwanted Guests' orbiting ship had failed spectacularly had not been released to the general public. Adding to the bad list, this murderous winter was right out of 'the end-of-the-world Fimbulwinter' from Norse Myths, and this endless cold was going to make it tough simply growing enough food.

  It was human nature. Celebrate what you could and worry about starving to death later. Not that it would be a worry for me. I was already somewhat surprised that I hadn't been 'pushed' into a do or die battle with the alien robots yet. At least that way, the Army would get part of their investment back before I was killed by overwhelming odds. Better yet, I wouldn't get anyone else killed in the doing of it.

  Laughing about what someone said, Janet was this little, thin, Air Force Zoomie who was dressed as that Elven archer from that Hobbit movie a few years ago. Being a combined service organization, Dave was our token Marine but was the least recognizable of my workmates with his Shrek makeup. Really he didn't need any cheesy fake muscle shirt to look the part. If anything, he looked more like the Hulk in that green makeup than an Ogre because of the Marines' super-soldier program.

  Laid-back Paul was Army like me, but tonight was dressed in Dracula's finest evening wear. We'd laughed that the Wallachian Prince wouldn't be caught dead or alive with sparkles. Libby was Navy, a Squid. The cute brunette really rocked her 20's flapper getup.

  Somehow, I kept from sighing again. It was clear I wouldn't be making an exit any time soon. I'd never been the party type nor much of a drinker. Bowing to the inevitable, I ordered a beer, knowing I wouldn't finish it.

  Yeah, I got some ribbing about my lack of a real costume, but they all got quiet as I showed my Skins. There is a respect among the services for those in elite units. Just like you don't impersonate a cop, pretending you're something you didn't earn is a huge no-no.

  With the exception of Sheila, everyone thought I was just another old Army guy called back to service. Sure, they saw the Pantheon patch, but most people saw my age and leaped to the conclusion I was a support element. Just maybe too, I'd taken some pains to help with that mistaken assumption since it simplified my life.

  “It's the real deal,” Sheila assured them, raising their curiosity.

  “I have medical issues,” was my reply, hoping nobody asked for an explanation.

  The questions were brimming over within them; I could tell from their eyes, but for now, they were willing to give me a pass. Unfortunately, I knew I would be hearing more about this. They probably thought I was a 'washout,' someone who'd failed the training after undergoing the 'process.'

  Actually, I did pretty good with the course work. What field training that could be coaxed out of me was more problematic, considering just changing was enough to freak me out with serious anxiety attacks. I will say that perhaps it was others' reaction to THAT change during this time which alarmed me and only made things worse. Unlike that character in that old movie, I knew for damn certain that wasn't a 'Rabbit in their pants.' That was just... eww!

  However, while failing in the civvy world was looked down on, college dropouts were an example, in Uncle Sam's mean green machine it was ta
ken to another level. Admitting your limitations was one thing, but to aim high and fail was something else altogether different. It was a mixture of 'do or do not, there is no try’ and 'failure is not an option' taken to the nth degree. You did not get points for trying, only for succeeding.

  Sheila finally tired of my moping and dragged me onto the dance floor. I've never really thought 'The Were-wolves of London' was very much like dance music, but given the atmosphere tonight, people would dance to anything.

  “You know being a girl isn't torture,” she whispered yelling over the tune, “It's not that bad. As a matter of fact, there is a lot of good about it.”

  “But it is different,” I replied, still wishing I was elsewhere – feeling like a yak with four left feet, as I tried to keep up with her, “If it was only being a girl, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, but it's not.”

  “Well, 'she' is a bit much,” she smiled as we slowly danced across the crowded floor.

  “That is one way of saying it,” I returned her smile with a sideways one of my own. “No woman ever born ever looked anything even close to THAT.”

  “I can't argue with you.” Sheila leaned into me, “Talk about curves, wow!”

  My brains were shorting out again over the confusing signals, but I had to say it was really weird feeling jealous of what was really myself, kinda.

  “Imagine looking into a mirror,” I countered, searching for a way to better say how it felt, “and not seeing anyone but this stranger. There is utterly nothing similar or familiar about them. Their height, build, hair, face, everything is different. Take it a step further and envisage that image as being so outlandish it's nearly a photo-shopped caricature.

  “I know that it has to be me, but something in my head just can't and won't connect with it.” Shrugging helplessly, I tried to escape the dance floor as the song ended.

  “What I see is so bizarre, I simply can't associate it with being me.” Shaking my head, I winced as the DJ put on a cover of 'Thriller' by some new singer I was unfamiliar with. I just knew Sheila was going to drag me back to the floor because of it.

  “Just as bad, I can't conceive of any version of me anywhere or any-when that could ever do something like this to themselves.” I hated it when I sounded like I was whining, “That only makes it all worse.”

  “You know,” she said, dragging me back to dance to 'Thriller', “that this might have been done to her without her wanting it or saying so. You did say it was a comic-book like universe. It even could've been an accident. All kinds of weird stuff happens to characters in those kinds of stories,” Sheila pointed out.

  “Well, as far as we know,” I gave her that much, “it's only a guess based off of how we've seen how Prometheus changes people. However, I'm not the only who has freaked out. A couple of others have been transformed into things not even vaguely human, so I guess I've been somewhat lucky in that regard.”

  I didn't mention the sad fact that many of those poor souls were about as stable as nitroglycerin. The Army had used them like living hand grenades. Willing to die for the cause and dear mother Earth was one thing, but suicide was never painless. Maybe even more so when the pain was so unbearable that it drove you to it in the first place.

  “So if this wasn't a choice by that other you, then she must've found a way of dealing with it, right?” Sheila's eyes gleamed in the strobe lights as she led me down the path of her reasoning by the nose.

  “If it wasn't a choice, I guess.” Unwillingly, I could see where she was headed with this.

  “Then so can you.” She grinned triumphantly, “Besides, you're not the only one dealing with changes. I went from an undersized great-great-grandmother to this sexy young thing. No one told me that I would grow nearly a half foot although I'm not complaining. Being five foot nothing is no picnic.

  “I know it was a far less drastic a change than yours,” Sheila admitted, “but I do have some idea of what you're going though.”

  “You grew?” I asked, amazed. She was a lithe little thing a couple of inches shorter than me already. I couldn't imagine her being even shorter.

  “Almost six inches,” She nodded, “the Rebirth thing brings your body to its full potential, including fixing any malnutrition issues while growing up during the Great Depression. The worst part was adapting to how people treat me now that I'm younger. I'm used to the respect that comes from age. Looking like this, no one takes me seriously again.”

  “It's not as bad as it was way back when I was a WAC, Woman's Army Corps, but it still leaves a lot to be desired,” Sheila relented and let us leave as the song ended.

  I saw that guy in the Visitor costume again. He was just hanging back and watching everyone, but there was nothing wrong with that. As much as I wasn't all that social, I could understand needing to be around others with the death and heartache from the War. Still, anyone having the guts to come as the world's current boogie man had to be given some credit.

  Getting back to our table, Paul and Dave were out to the john, leaving the girls to their own devices. That left me more or less to myself as the ladies did their girl-talk thing.

  That was fine with me. I had a lot to think about.

  Chapter Two

  Sheila did have a point about that other me. If THAT change had been imposed or an accident rather than chosen, then yes, he would've had to adapt somehow. The very fact I'd changed at all was proof that other me was alive, because otherwise, there wouldn't have been a quantum pattern to be copied.

  Taking an honest look at the whole thing, I had been blaming that unknown me for this. How dare he get superpowers and ruin it all by changing into THAT! It really did alter everything to consider he might be in as much distress as I when he looked in the mirror.

  I'd had some pretty nasty anxiety attacks that had done nothing but get worse. Of course, that brought the point of just how the other me had managed not go crazy. Perhaps in that universe, such things were more common and not as much of a shock as it was to me. On the other hand, most of Project Prometheus's successes, while some did change radically, most experienced only minor changes. Even the others, despite growing bigger and bulging with muscles or suddenly sporting wings, they were usually still recognizable as themselves.

  THAT person I saw in the mirror after triggering a change had absolutely nothing in common with me. Gender went without saying, but you could even say racially as well, since no one in my family ever had Asian eyes. Complexion didn't count since I doubted anyone else on the planet looked like THAT, and height was a given too, because people seven feet tall were at the very least uncommon.

  Strangely, I had found a character that somewhat resembled that stranger that was me. An online comic strip by the name of 'Grrl Power' had a major powerhouse that came remarkably close. Unfortunately, except for a few private archives, that comic along with the majority of the internet was nothing more than history.

  I found myself looking at the guy in our unwanted 'Visitors' outfit again. In a way, that other universe version of me was as much an alien as the Tweety. Okay, I have to come clean that once you say it, yes, the Aliens do look a lot like oversized Tweety Birds.

  Really his outfit was first rate, but then again so was mine. More than once I'd been thankful that my Skins kept me fairly comfortable even with the heavy sweater I kept on to hide just how tightly my uniform fit. With the crowd here tonight, it was nice and toasty inside despite most of the buildings in Tampa never being intended for keeping serious cold out. I should've been sweating like crazy, but for my Skins.

  Of course, mine was the real deal right out of JSOC, Joint Special Operations Command's supply depot. That got me wondering where he got his. Although Special Operations units, like Pantheon, had first dibs on the Liquid Metal Skins, lesser knockoffs were out there if you were willing to pay for it. The Fetish scene was hot as hell for them. Never mind the end of the world was coming when you had an itch to scratch.

  We knew damn little about our invaders, given that 9
9% of the time we were only fighting their robotic proxies. Most of the information we had came from communications or, more accurately, attempted communications. Like I've said before we and them just weren't on the same wavelength.

  Additionally, with them staying safe and sound in orbit, they were likely to stay strangers as we tried our very best to kill each other. That said, us pesky primates had gotten a piece of one, if only once. That was where our sample of Skins had originated. With the material's self-repair capability, once you managed to cut off parts, the very tough stuff would literally 'grow' into a whole new suit. Unfortunately, like sound recordings and other things, the more copies you made the lesser the quality. Pantheon uniforms were all first generation, but you could usually tell how good Skins were by just how much they looked like molten metal, think quicksilver. The reason why the bouncers had let me in the club with such a lame costume was because they recognized I was wearing the real deal.

  The guy costumed as an Alien was also wearing the good stuff. Standing at about five and half feet tall, the Skins covered him from the neck down in a gleaming silver coating just like those space suits from the old movies. Around his waist was the belt that usually held a couple morphers on the real thing. Those were the preferred tools of our Visitors, consisting of specialized nano-tech units programmed to become certain classes of machines like the ultimate transforming multi-tool. For example, one might be able to become a host of different weapons while another would be different kinds of engineering instruments.

  Yeah, they were accomplished users of nano-tech, but instead of the do everything, take things apart and rebuild it into something else type, they instead had very specialized colonies, I suppose you could call them, that had a limited set of forms and functions. Maybe that was just more efficient or perhaps some kind of cultural preference, but that was also a good thing for humankind.