Peace Warrior (6 page)

Grant was tired and wanted suddenly, desperately to sleep. He was dazed and wondered how many more answers he could take from the scientist. There was one more he had to know, though, and he refused to give in to his exhaustion until he found out.

“How long, Tane?” he asked in a hoarse whisper.

“I’m sorry… how long what, Grant?”

“How long have I been gone?”

The question seemed to catch the scientist by surprise and he tried to change the subject. “But our eyes are not the only change we have undergone –“

“How long, Tane?”

“Peace. All living humans are encouraged to live a life of Peace and to forsake all forms of violence. From the time they are born, while they live and marry, until the day they die, all humans are encouraged and trained to be at Peace with each other and all other things.” Tane stepped toward the bed as he explained and Grant watched the scientist intently.

“There are no more wars, no more battles, and no crimes of violence, except for those committed by the insane. And even the insane are treated well.”

“How long?”

“The earth is at Peace, except for – well, except for the… the…“

“My God, Tane,” Grant whispered once more. “How long have I been dead?” The small scientist stared at Grant, obviously frightened and not wanting to answer the question. But he finally did.

“As near as I can determine from the documents we found with you, you were at the bottom of that lake for more than six hundred years.”

“Six… hundred…years? Damn.” Grant sank back into the bed, finally ready to embrace sleep.

Tane watched as tears slid down Grant’s cheek. Then he unlocked the door and quietly let himself out of the room.

CHAPTER FIVE

Grant awoke with a start, keenly aware of his surroundings. As a soldier he had learned the art of immediate wakefulness. The ability to change from a sleeping state to complete awareness had saved his life on more than one occasion. He did not question that the trait had not disappeared in the six hundred years since his “death”. It was as much a part of him as his head was. And his head, he recalled with some distaste, was one of the few original body parts that he still retained.

The memory of how he lost his limbs came back to him as it had thousands of times. Only this time, he had a body to help him remember and his thoughts went immediately to his new arms and legs. He forced his right arm into movement and managed to push off the thin white blanket covering his body. He saw that he was naked except for a pair of loose briefs.

He struggled with his new limbs and fought his body to a seated position. Once seated, he slowly forced his legs over the side of the bed. His muscles strained, almost to the point of concession, but his feet hit the strange marble-like tile of the floor with a loud thump. He felt nothing. He looked at the feet where they rested on the off-white tile and the realization hit him like a blow. His own feet were forever gone, blown away by a bullet. The memory of that moment caused him to moan with the loss.

His new feet looked to be normal except that they were pale and appeared extremely soft.
They aren’t soldier’s feet
, Grant thought. There was no sign of the calluses and toughness that he had spent a lifetime building and he wondered how they would hold up over a 20-kilometer march with a 60-pound pack and a full load of ammunition. Not very well, he concluded, and his eyes traveled up to his legs.

He slowly traced the curve of his legs from the ankle, up the calf, past the knees. There were no scars on either leg and they were pale and nearly hairless, like the legs of a pre-pubescent teen. Just above the thighs, the paleness gave way to pinkish skin where (he assumed) the doctors had had to begin the re-growth process. Other than the lack of color, scars, tattoos and hair, they were a lot like his previous legs – long and muscular, built for both endurance and power. He tried to flex, first the right and then the left, but neither cooperated fully. There was movement, though, and Grant was sure he was making progress.

He continued his visual inspection and moved up to the groin. Visually, everything looked to be in place and Grant forced his right arm into movement. He tugged the waist band away from his body and completed the inspection.

The sight of his own member was a welcome sight and he felt a rush of relief.

“Fuckin’ eh!” he exclaimed. There was no way the small scientist could have duplicated his dick and balls in such precise detail and Grant nodded as if greeting a lost friend. “Fucking eh.”

He took stock of the rest of his body, his eyes lingering overlong on his hands and arms. The appendages were unfamiliar, the old scars and calluses gone, replaced by unmarked skin desperately in need of some sun. He recalled the missing scars with affection and mourned their loss. Each defect had represented a small part of his life. The burn scar, now missing from his right elbow, had been the result of a close escape from a burning helicopter. The aircraft had been a victim of a well-aimed burst of automatic rifle fire that had reached out to them from below. Grant, and most of his team, had managed to escape from the downed craft before it exploded with the pilot and co-pilot still inside.

The three puckered holes that had lined his left arm from the wrist to the elbow were also gone, but not the memory of the ambush that had caused the injury. He had been a cherry, a new guy on his first patrol, when the inexperienced lieutenant in charge of the mission walked them into an enemy kill zone. The platoon sergeant had warned the officer of the potential danger, but the man had ignored his NCO’s advice and ordered the group on. The lieutenant died because of his stupidity and Grant, a private at the time, escaped with a damaged arm and a growing respect for the sergeant. Grant had learned an important lesson on that mission: when your life is on the line, rank is of no value. Experience is what counts. Those three bullet wounds helped him remember that lesson countless times through his years as a soldier. Now they were gone and he grieved their loss.

His sudden despondency irritated Grant, and he pushed the growing depression out of his mind as he completed the physical inventory. His entire body, which had been numb, now began to tingle. He likened it to the feeling of waking up to find your arm in pain, but useless for several minutes, while the blood flow returned. It was intensely uncomfortable and he did not chance trying to stand up right away. Instead, he sat where he was and considered his surroundings as he waited for the pin pricks to go away.

He appeared to be in some type of hospital if the white room and bedding were any indication. The room he occupied was small, the bed and one chair the only furnishings. There were two doors leading from the room, one he guessed was a bathroom. The other one, the one the scientist had used earlier, obviously led to the rest of the building. There was a sign on the wall written in a language that vaguely resembled English. He gave up on trying to decipher it and decided to risk standing up after all. His bladder, real or manufactured – he didn’t know for sure nor did he care – was crying for release. And when Mother Nature called, you did not put her on hold.

He took a deep breath and planned his assault on the door he took to be the bathroom. The wall was only a few short steps from the bed and he carefully raised himself on his numbed feet. The first step was wobbly but without incident. The second pitched him forward and he tried in vain to catch the side of the bed as he fell. His arms failed to do their part, however, and he banged his head roughly on the hard tiled floor.

"Shit!" he exclaimed. As quickly as his right arm would allow, he lifted his hand to check the lump that was no doubt rising on his forehead. But the numbed fingers could detect no sign of the injury. They came away without any blood, however, and he took that as a good sign.

He continued toward the bathroom, dragging himself with his arms as he pushed with his legs. He reached the door after some effort, and looked up to the handle. It was not a handle at all but a strange type of clasp that he quickly figured out with his eyes but not so quickly with his hands. The nearly useless slabs of meat that the scientists had given him looked normal but were nearly useless at the moment. The scientist had said they would eventually be better than normal but Grant had his doubts.

He finally managed the device and the door opened inward to reveal another strange looking device. The strangeness of the device did not hide its purpose, however, and he thankfully noted the hand rails that lined the side walls of the tiny bathroom. He fought his way onto the strange toilet and did his business sitting down, grateful for the relief it provided. His arms and legs might be numb, but the lack of feeling did not extend to his bladder. If each trip to the john turned out this badly Grant decided he might just ask for a catheter instead. It might damage his pride but at least his head would remain unhurt.

He made it back to the bed without further injury and dragged himself into it, exhausted. The scientist said that this helplessness would last only a few days and Grant prayed it was true. He had been a strong man all of his adult life and his current weakness bothered him more than he cared to admit.

Minutes later, the door to the room swung open and Tane walked in, accompanied by an individual Grant did not know. The man was portly with a waxy face and a tremendous belly. He carried himself with a self-important air that Grant recognized immediately as arrogance. The man looked down on Grant as he was introduced by the scientist.

"Grant, this is Mr. Blue," Tane declared. His voice expressed reservations about introducing the two and Grant guessed the man to be superior to Tane in rank. "Mr. Blue is the Administrator of this facility, and is charged with overseeing this, uh...uh.....

"Experiment?" Grant offered sarcastically, seeing Tane’s unease in describing the present situation.

"Well, uh, yes, I guess," he stammered, still at a loss. "But, this is more than an experiment, Mr. Justice--"

"Call me Grant, Tane."

"Why, yes, certainly, Grant," Tane complied. "You see this is much more than an experiment. So much more. There is more at stake here than your new body or our regeneration of your new limbs, Grant."

"Really? It seems like a pretty big thing you've done here. I mean, how often can you bring a guy out of a six hundred year old sleep, give him a new body and a second chance at life, huh?" Grant looked at the two men and wondered if they could ever understand how he felt. "But the thing is, Tane, this is not my body. It's more yours than mine. Hell, this one doesn't work for shit!"

Mr. Blue gasped and retreated to the door. He glared accusingly at Tane who glared right back at him.

"Senior Scientist Rolan, you said he was at Peace! I cannot allow this behavior to exist in my facility. I will speak to Culture Leader Trevino about this, I can assure you!" The administrator turned to leave the room, but Tane stepped in front of the door, blocking the man's departure.

"Hold it, Blue! What did you expect? He is not like us.”

Grant watched and listened in confused silence at the two men. He had no idea what had upset the man called Mr. Blue but suddenly felt compelled to stay silent, not wanting to add any fuel to the fire.

“That does not concern me, Rolan!” Blue retorted. He stopped and looked down his nose at the senior scientist. It was apparent he wanted to leave the room as quickly as possible, but he seemed unwilling to force his way past the small scientist.

"I will not permit violence here." He looked over to Grant who diplomatically kept his mouth shut. "By anyone.”

"You have a choice, Mr. Blue. You can put up with Mr. Justice and his tendencies toward violence – and they have been minor tendencies at best – or you can put up with the Minith and what they represent for the rest of your life, and the rest of your children’s' lives, and their children. Do not forget what it is we are doing here. In this case, the end will justify the measures we take to accomplish our goal.”

Mr. Blue looked over to where Grant lay and pondered what the scientist said. Finally, he turned back to Tane and said, "I will take what you have said into account, but do not mistake my position. Violence, in any form, will not be tolerated in this facility. Is that understood?"

"Yes," Tane answered.

"Good. You are responsible for his behavior. Make sure that he understands what is expected of him. Also inform him what behaviors will not be tolerated." The man called Blue discussed Grant as if he were not present and he had to force himself not to respond to the overweight buffoon’s comments without first talking to Tane about what was being said.

"Very well," Tane answered and he moved away from the door. Mr. Blue paused to look briefly at Grant before he turned toward the door and left the room.

Tane appeared upset as the door closed, but quickly had himself under control. He turned toward Grant. "You have made an enemy, Grant. A powerful enemy."

"Who? That guy?" Grant asked, humored by the idea that the man could be of any danger to him. He had met plenty of those kinds of men before, bureaucrats who were full of their own importance and who used their positions to bully those around them into bending to their will.

"Yes. Mr. Blue is a very important man. He has been placed in charge of this effort by our Leadership Council and he has their ear. I do not believe he could stop what we are attempting to accomplish but he could slow us down if he wished, and that could be just as dangerous."

"You keep inferring that there is something going on around here that I'm involved with. Something other than just being your human guinea pig. Is there anything I should know, Senior Scientist Tane Rolan?"

"I was wondering when you would get to that, Grant," Tane said. "Yes, there is something. Something that requires your experience and background. It is the reason so much time and energy were put into your...uh, rehabilitation, shall we say?"

"Sure, rehabilitation. That's as good a term as any, I suppose. So what is this thing that I can help you with, Tane?"

The small scientist thought for a moment before telling Grant the story of how the Minith had arrived on the earth thirteen years before. He explained the hold they had placed on the world and its population. He described the quotas imposed by the aliens, their violence toward the humans of earth, he even described what he knew of their weapons. Tane relayed everything he knew, and even a great deal of what he only suspected, about the Minith to the man sitting on the hospital bed.

Grant was speechless through the scientist's tale, marveling at the turn the world had taken since his fateful dip in that ice-covered lake six hundred years ago. Tane finished telling what he knew of the Minith and Grant spoke the question he had been dying to ask since the scientist began his tale.

"So where do I fit in? I mean surely with – how many billion did you say?"

"Sixty."

"Yeah, with sixty billion people on the planet, there must be someone else who can do what you need done. I mean, how can one person have any impact on this situation if sixty billion others can't?"

"Ah, Grant, but you can! You see, it all has to do with the world's population and how it has evolved since your time. These eye lids," Tane said pointing to the transparent second lids, "are not the only changes we humans have undergone. I told you yesterday that there is no violence. That means that there are no wars, and therefore there are no soldiers. We have no way to fight the Minith and drive them from our planet."

Tane stepped forward and reached out to take Grant's hand. "That is where you can help us. We need your ability, your knowledge of battle, to help us get rid of these aliens."

Grant released an exasperated sigh. "If what you've told me about the Minith is true, there's no way I can do anything. Even if I were able to get out of this bed. With a few hundred trained soldiers perhaps, but alone? Never."