(Cross-posted)

SPACE

Harlan Lincoln’s breathing was ragged and hoarse.  Blood and sweat ran down his bare chest in thick rivulets, dripping onto the floor in a steady pattern.  His arms were outstretched, crudely tied to the metal support beams with bare wire.  Two electrical leads were fused to the beams, leading to a small generator a few feet away.  The smell of charred flesh hung in the air, heavy.

 

He ran his swollen tongue over his broken and bloody lips, wincing at the sharp pain.  He tugged on the wires again, trying feebly to break the loop, but his strength was gone. 

 

Civilian. 

 

When beaten and tortured by these masked figures, Harlan could only tell them he knew nothing.  No rank, name, and serial number for him.  Not for a civilian.  Not for a coward who left the service when it all fell down around him like a child’s dream.

 

Civilian.

 

The tap of boots echoed from down the hall, coming closer.  It was the smaller one, the lieutenant.  The silent one.  He drew up on Harlan, head tilted to the side like a bird.  The mask revealed nothing of its inhabitant.  The eyepieces reflected only Harlan’s bruised civilian face. 

 

He didn’t even have the spit to hurl at his tormentor. 

 

Apparently satisfied with his inspection, the lieutenant backed away.  He looked at Harlan and then down to the generator.

 

Civilian.

 

The man kicked the generator’s switch, activating it, and walked away.

 

When the man returned, merely two minutes later, Harlan was unconscious, passed out from the pain. 

 

Two vicious slaps to the face woke Harlan.  His vision was blurred, his back was burnt and bloody, his face was a mess of bruises, his body covered in a slick sheen of blood and sweat. 

 

“What do you want, man?”  Harlan croaked.  “You’re not gonna get it.  I don’t know anything.”  He coughed, a spray of blood landing on the silent torturer’s mask.  The man was unmoved, a statue of evil.  “You’re not gonna learn shit from me, asshole.”  Harlan took a breath, gathering his strength for one last moment of final bravado.

 

Mom, this is the right thing for me.  I’ve only ever wanted to fly.  And the Marine Corps will take care of me.  There’s not even a war on.  Hasn’t been one in almost a century.  But, they’re on the front lines of spaceflight.  I’ll be safe.  And I’ll write to you, you know I will.  I love you, Mom.

 

Harlan’s heart began to beat faster. 

 

Mom, I don’t know how to tell you this, but we’re going to war.  I don’t know what’s gonna happen, but I’ll come home when it’s all done.  I promise.  I’ll be safe.  Jordan’ll keep me safe.   I love you.

 

Mom, the war’s over.  There’s no United States Armed Forces anymore.  There’s nothing for me, here.  Not anymore.  I’m coming home.  I love you, Mom.

 

Mom, someday I’m gonna be the best pilot in the whole galaxy!  I’ll fly all over the universe and find places and planets and aliens and everything.  They’ll name stuff after me, like, a planet or star or something.  Okay, Mom! But, when I’m a famous pilot, I won’t have to do my homework!  Just remember that!

 

“You ain’t gonna get shit outta me.  So, either kill me, cocksucker, or let me down and I’ll show you a real man takes care of business.”  His final posturing over, Harlan sagged, utterly exhausted.  Defeated.  He would die, now.  Resigned to his fate, he closed his eyes.

 

I’m sorry that I never made it home, Mom.  I love you.

 

Harlan felt the warmth of his enemy’s breath on his neck. 

 

“I’ve got your captain’s cunt-juice dripping from my cock,” the man whispered.

 

Harlan’s eyes opened.  His breathing became regular.  His eyes wandered, almost lazily to his tormentor, only one lunge away. 

 

Mom, please pray for me.

 

With sudden viciousness, Harlan lunged forward.  A cry of inchoate rage tore from his throat and he sunk his teeth into the man’s neck, arterial blood spraying and foaming in his mouth as he bit down.  The man shrieked and tore away, leaving a chunk of his neck in Harlan’s teeth.

 

Hateful strength flowed into Harlan’s arms.  Fueled by this sudden surge of adrenaline, he tore his arms free, the wire bindings snapping like dry twigs.  Blood dripped from his wrists and slid down his fingers. 

 

The lieutenant stood swaying, hand clamped on his neck.  Harlan heard a hiss from the mask.  With sudden snake-like speed, he spun and slammed a kick into Harlan’s head, flinging him against a wall.   Howling, Lincoln rebounded and barreled into the lieutenant, picking him up and smashing him into a bulwark.  They both fell to the ground, grappling and hurling fists.  Smaller and in peak fighting condition, the lieutenant threw Harlan onto his back and leapt onto him, fists raining down like judgment upon the wicked.

 

Knuckles slammed into Harlan’s face, white spikes of pain stabbing into his brain.   

 

“When you are in combat, you are not a man!  You are a killing machine!  You will let your training take over, and you will do everything humanly possible to kill the poor bastard trying to kill you!  Your entire body is a weapon!  Anything you can grab is a weapon!  WHEN IN COMBAT, YOU ARE NOT A MAN!  DO YOU GET ME, CADET LINCOLN?”

 

Lincoln heard the hissing of the man atop him, the expulsion of air as he punched down.  Each blow snapped Harlan’s head back, rebounding his skull of the steel floor.

 

Not long, now.  Head swimming.  Body going numb.  Not long, now.

 

Captain’s cunt juice.

 

Dimly through the haze of pain, the fog of excruciating pain, Harlan was aware of his hands moving on their own, exploring.  As the fists exploded against his face, his fingers wrapped around something cold and metallic.

 

A wrench.  Slick from arterial blood falling on it. 

 

Gotta get a good grip.  Only one chance. 

 

Captain’s cunt juice.

 

And then, something ancient and fierce and hateful and animal and inhuman and angry and suddenly free roared.  The beast that waswasnot Harlan swung the wrench into the lieutenant’s head.  He howled and fell off Lincoln. 

 

Harlan threw the wrench to the side and picked up the dazed enemy.  He slammed him into the wall, pinning him there and smashed his forehead into his torturer’s face.  He did it again.  The man kicked him and Harlan didn’t care and he crashed his elbow into the lieutenant’s face and the mask flew off and it was just a normal man and Harlan screamed and drove his knee into the man’s stomach. 

 

The beast named Harlan Lincoln stepped back and reared up and lifted up his tormentor by the throat into the air and saw the fear in the man’s eyes and screamed an inhuman scream and only dimly heard the howling echoing in the corridors and choke-slammed his hated enemy onto the hard steel floor.

 

The impact shivered the bones in Harlan’s arm and he didn’t care and he picked up the body and slammed it down again and he saw the man try to fight back and he let go of his neck and punched him in the face and then again and again and again and he knew he wasn’t dead.  Hate blurred his mind and stood up and stomped on the man’s crotch and he smiled at the scream and he stomped again and he dropped his knee there and then grabbed the man’s crotch and dug his fingers into the fabric and punched the man’s face again with his free hand and was only dimly aware that there were teeth in his knuckles and punched him again and didn’t care that his fists were red from blood not his and slammed his fist into the face again vicious this time and there was a piece of bone stuck to his knuckle and he squeezed with his right hand and pulled and cloth and skin and blood vessels ripped and he threw the quivering bloody mass away and he knotted his fingers together and brought them both down with all his might on the man’s chest and he heard something break and he heard the man groan because he couldn’t scream anymore and the monster that wore the skin of Harlan Lincoln tore of the man’s jacket and rent a hole in his shirt and dug his fingers into the flesh of his chest and tore and scrabbled with his fingers until he felt the red water that let men live flow under his fingers and he pulled and shredded muscles and roared and threw pieces of chest away and then he knew the man was dead.   

 

The thing that was not human, but only wore the skin of a man, was quiet and faded away and left Harlan Lincoln alone.

 

A scream echoed down the corridor. 

 

The Captain.

 

And, suddenly, the human being named Harlan Lincoln was on his feet, taking the pistol that the lieutenant never pulled and raced deeper into the ship, following the scream.