Jerry Oltion - The Getaway Special

“Who’s ‘they’?”

“Who knows? Every nation on Earth is claiming credit for it, even the ones who didn’t have the bomb.” He reached up to scratch his head, and she realized he had a big gash between his right eye and ear.

“You’re hurt!”

“Tell me about it. So are you. You’ve got a broken arm, two broken ribs, and a concussion, but Tippet swears you’ll live. I damned near pulled his wings off for not letting me take you home to a real hospital, but he’s right; there’s no way we could get you to the ground without killing you even if we didn’t get shot down trying.”

That would explain why her elbow wouldn’t bend. She raised it and saw a brownish cast from wrist to shoulder, then suddenly what he’d told her soaked in. “We actually survived a nuclear strike?” she whispered.

“Yeah. The only reason we’re alive is because they didn’t account for the ship’s mass. The bomb went off about a quarter kilometer behind us. The aft section took most of the blast, and the rest of the ship actually flexed with the impact, so that helped, too, but the main engines are toast and the ship is metamorphosing to rebuild what it can with what’s left. It’s a real mess.”

“And Earth?”

Allen laughed softly. “Well, we managed to divert their attention. They’re strutting around like a bunch of sailors after they’ve busted up a bar, slapping each other on the back and bragging about how tough they are. Tippet and the rest of the hive are starting to have second thoughts about letting us loose on the rest of the galaxy.”

“I don’t blame them.”

The radio at Allen’s hip hissed softly, then Tippet said, “Are you serious, or was that sarcasm?”

“I—I don’t know. Are you serious?”

“We don’t know either. We’re not happy with the situation. Your species seems congenitally insane. Allen didn’t tell you that they bombed themselves as well as us.”

A little shiver ran up her spine. “They did? Who?”

Allen said, “Just who you’d suspect. India and Pakistan. Israel and Palestine. And of course somebody tried to drop a bomb on New York City, but they didn’t correct for the rotation of the Earth, so New York moved out from under it before it hit. It wound up in western New Jersey instead.”

“That’s still not good,” Judy said.

“No, it’s not, but it could have been a lot worse.”

Tippet said, “Not to the inhabitants of western New Jersey.”

There was no denying that. “Do they know who did it?” Judy asked.

Allen shook his head. “No. From the trajectory, we know it came from about a hundred degrees around the globe to the east of where it hit, give or take about twenty degrees.”

Judy had orbited the planet enough times to know where that was, and how big the margin of error was. “That means it could have come from anywhere in the mid-East or Europe. That’s helpful.”

Allen snorted. “Well, in a way it is, because the U.S. doesn’t know who to shoot back at.”

She closed her eyes. Jesus, it had been close. And they weren’t out of the woods yet. Now that people on Earth thought they’d killed the Galactic Overlord, the situation was right back where it had started.

“What did our rocks do?” she asked.

“Nothing,” Allen said. “Which was just what we planned, of course. They made nice big flashes and loud bangs when they vaporized in the atmosphere, and the concussion rattled a lot of windows, but that was it. They didn’t scare anybody for more than a few minutes, because the news after that was all about the bomb that killed the alien ship.”

Judy could feel her injuries starting to catch up with her. She hurt everywhere, and she felt as tired as if she’d been working out all day. Her body probably had been, just not the usual way. It took energy to heal.

Zero-gee was a rotten place to feel sick. Fluids accumulated in the upper body, and your stomach always felt close to heaving. She wanted to sleep again, but she forced herself to concentrate. “You should have thrown more rocks afterward,” she said. “Shown them we’re not dead yet.”

Tippet said, “We would rather they weren’t looking for us.”

“Oh. Yeah, I guess that makes sense. But what are we going to do, then?”

Neither Allen nor Tippet answered right away. Finally Allen said, “Well, that’s kind of up to Tippet. I’ve suggested—”

Tippet said, “Another ‘demonstration’ from our fictitious overlord would be counterproductive unless we caused actual damage this time. Believe me, we are contemplating just that, but if we do, we won’t stop the bombardment until your species is truly extinct. We have our own survival to consider.”

Judy felt her skin prickle at his words. That was the trouble with enlisting aliens for allies. Hell, that was the trouble with any allies: they always had their own agenda.

She closed her eyes again. The ship had been nuked, she was busted up bad enough to hurt two days later, Earth was still on the brink of war, and now Tippet—and by extension his entire hive mind—was pissed as well. “Is there any good news?” she asked.

Allen grinned. “People are slipping through the cracks like sand out of a fist. In another couple of days, it’ll be too late to stop us.”

Another couple of days, Judy thought. In post-hyperdrive time, that was practically an eternity.

Or it could pass in the blink of an eye. She suddenly realized part of why she felt so awful; she probably hadn’t eaten in two days, nor bathed. Nor peed, by the pain in her abdomen.

“Is there anything remotely like a bathroom on this ship?” she asked.

“I’m sorry,” Tippet said. “We haven’t had time to create one for you.”

“They did give us some jugs to put… ah… stuff in,” Allen said. “And we can give you a sponge bath right here.”

“Oh, joy,” Judy said. “How about food?”

“There’s still plenty left in the Getaway ,” he said. “That’s right next door. Want me to get you something?”

“Yeah,” she said. Then she remembered something else. “Hey, how’s the tree?”

Tippet said, “Asleep. We turned the lights on. It was injured, too, and it heals best while it’s photosynthesizing.”

“Oh. I guess I don’t have to ask what it thinks about humanity breaking out of the cradle, do I?”

“Actually, it’s ambivalent. It likes the idea of sharing its world with other trees that consume oxygen and excrete fertilizer, but at the same time, it very much dislikes the idea of chainsaws.”

She didn’t blame it. Nor could she blame Tippet for his attitude, either. She wished she could think of some way for humanity to redeem itself in the aliens’ eyes, but at the moment she wasn’t feeling all that charitable herself.

Of course, she would probably bite the head off a nun right now, the way she felt. “I need something to eat,” she said.

“I’ll get it.” Allen was gone before she could even ask him what was left. While he was away she used the empty water gourd for a chamber pot and splashed cold water on her face from the aft-wall pond, and by the time he returned she felt almost human again.

He brought a can of chicken soup and a butterfly-built gadget that looked like a thermos bottle. He opened the can and held it next to the thermos, then spun around a couple of times to centrifuge it across from one container to the other. He added water from another gourd, shook the thermos to mix it up, and held down a button on the side with his thumb, holding the thermos at arm’s length and spinning around slowly to provide artificial gravity to hold everything inside. A minute or so later, steam wafted out of the top, and he handed it to her.