Bibix
By Justin Oldham

Chapter 1

"You’ve got to be kidding." Carl tossed the partially assembled weapon from one hand to the other as he regarded his bulbous benefactor. The unhealthy pallor of his skin, along with his sunken eyes, hinted at malnutrition and exposure to extreme weather conditions. The air in the dilapidated house smelled of rotten wood.

"I rescued you. You’ve got to help me." Bibix looked up at the human, grimacing as he forced both of his eyestalks together. His large, green eyes moved closer to each other as he made an effort to form a stern gaze. At a mere four feet six inches in height, his gray, hairless body couldn’t possibly adopt any pose that would be threatening to the six foot tall human, and he knew it. His eyes, and the displeasure they conveyed, were all he had to work with."

The surly man shifted slowly in his chair. "These weapons were old before I went into cryo. Where did you get these things from, a museum?"

The Lapropod tried not to show his frustration. "Yes, Captain Tippet. It’s where I work, so that’s where I got them."

Carl grunted and sighed. His dirty camouflage uniform hung in rags. He scraped his muddy boots across the splintered floor. "I’m good, but I’m not that good. No way."

Bibix started to shake with anger. He gestured with all four spindly arms as he talked. "I read your service record. You’re the best we had in storage. I’ve seen you on video. You used these weapons all the time."

Tippet remained unmoved. "I’m grateful for being thawed out. I really am. It’s quite the brave new world you’ve got here. But, hey, I’m just one man. Do you know what my ten years of military service got me? A lungful of genetically engineered cancer, which your scientists deliberately used as a weapon. That, and my fabulous war record, is why they put me in the freezer, you know."

Bibix tried to reason with the smelly man. "The decision to use bioweapons is still being talked about by my people. I’m sorry my ancestors invaded your world. I know you don’t believe me, but it really was an accident. I wasn’t even born when it happened."

"Your own people are in this, too, he continued." "Even if you don’t want to help my kind, help your own. Those troops you saw in the city? Ha! You don’t know the half of it! Those aren’t just police, or peacekeepers, or whatever you’d like to call them. They’re meat inspectors."

Tippet’s recollection was fuzzy. He put the broken gun on the table and shook his unkempt head. "I get it. Okay? I get it. I’ve heard every word, you little freak."

Bibix cringed. "There’s no need for that."

Carl scratched at the grit in his beard as fading light from the afternoon sun fell on his scarred face and neck. "I’ve paid close attention to everything you gave me to read. I get it. Even if I did want to help you – which I don’t – it wouldn’t make a whit of difference. I saw their weapons and that armor. Those guys have their act together. And they’re friggin’ huge, in case you didn’t notice."

"The NorCons aren’t anything like us," Bibix replied. "They kill for fun. They eat anything with red blood, including us. They think my people taste terrible, but it doesn’t seem to slow them down very much."

He pressed on when the agitated human didn’t respond. "Your technology almost defeated us, Captain. I’ve read more than a hundred accounts of our arrival. We weren’t prepared for your exceptional tool use or your creativity under adverse conditions. It’s been sixty years since you were frozen. Our people never have absorbed the lessons from that period should have taught us. That’s why the NorCons have done so well against us. They showed up fifteen years ago. We held out for less than three months. That’s nothing compared to the amount of time your people fought back against us. You and your skills can help me beat them."

Tippet held up his emaciated wrist to indicate the translator band. "You guys didn’t have any problems coming up with this. If you can make a language translator, you can make your own weapons. You can learn how to use them, too." He paused. "You said you had the cure for my cancer. Give it to me or put me back in the tube. Being on display in somebody’s history annex is better than getting involved in this."

Bibix waggled a trio of fingers. "They’ve got to know you’re out by now. If I take you back, they’ll just eat you, the same way your kind used to devour aged cheese and wine. ‘Mm, Twenty-First Century human warrior.’ They’ll think you’re yummy."

Carl bent over in the semidarkness to rest his arms on the rickety table. "Give me the cure, then. I’ll take my chances in the wilderness. We lost to you. Now it’s you’re turn. If your people hadn’t been so quick to pounce, we might be in this as allies."

"Can’t you and I be friends and allies now?" Bibix asked hopefully.

The question made the ailing soldier laugh. "On the way out here, you kept going on about how the invasion wasn’t really an invasion. Honestly, I don’t care. Call yourselves refugees from a dying world if you like, but the facts speak for themselves. No warnings. No effort to communicate. All ten billion of you fell out of the sky one day and—"

"I told you a dozen times, we had no way of knowing how small this world was! Our telescopes still aren’t as good as yours were. Our sun was failing. We had to leave while we still could. Finding your planet was just too good to be true. It was our only chance, and we took it. Our ships and FTL drives were built in great haste. There simply wasn’t time to build for anything beyond a one-way trip." He paused. "Look, if you won’t help fight, then show me how to use these…things."

Tippet snorted. Looking down at the Lapropod, he tried to imagine the squishy little fellow decked out in combat gear. "Thirteen years, Bibix. That’s how long we held out against you guys before I went into cryo. I don’t know exact figures, but I do know we capped a lot of you little buggers.

Three billion," Bibix retorted, hiding his disappointment. The old wives’ tale that said you couldn’t bargain with humans appeared to be true."

Carl remained unfazed. "My father used to tell me what life was like before the invasion. I was ten when it started, so I don’t remember much before that. Finding and killing you guys is all I know how to do. I’ve never done anything else. Even the cancer couldn’t keep me off the battlefield. Not at first, anyway. Then one day I started coughing up blood, and…here I am. No, Bibs, it’s your turn. Live and die by your own hand, you little freak. We did. Now, give me the cure or I’ll wring your scrawny neck."

"We don’t have fragile necks," Bibix pronounced, as if advertising his typical Lapropodian neck, short and thick, as being an advantage.

Sitting forward, Tippet’s chair groaned under his weight. "You’re stubborn."

"I’m in a difficult position, Captain. Violence comes naturally to your people and the NorCons. I can’t relate to it, so I need somebody to teach me."

Carl swore. "Every instinct I have is telling me to kill you and move on. I wouldn’t expect a turd like you to understand. You’re just one. One! You don’t speak for the rest of your kind. Everything you’ve said could be a lie. I’m not going to take you seriously until I’ve seen what’s out there for myself."

Bibix clasped all four of his hands in grim perseverance. "Show me how to use these guns and I’ll do the rest myself."

The man shook his head fiercely. "It’s just not that simple. Weapons are only part of what you need to have any hope of winning."

Bibix thought he understood. "Bullets? Power packs? We’ve got all that back at the museum. I’ve spent most of my adult life taking care of those exhibits. We have enough in long-term storage to fight a dozen battles."

Tippet coughed, scrunching his shoulders in pain. He licked a drop of blood from his lower lip. "Weapons and supplies don’t mean a thing without tactics and the understanding that what you’re doing is taking life, pure and simple."

The observation sobered Bibix. "I’ve watched nearly two thousand hours of video – stuff your news crews and biographers left behind. I think I understand the taking of life. Tell me about tactics."

A gust of wind shook the old house. Carl brushed falling plaster from his thick, matted hair and looked down at his faded uniform. The pain in his chest faded.

Books," he mumbled.

Shuffling on all four pods, Bibix tried to coax more details from the human. "Yes. Most of the libraries have been kept intact. There’s a popular theory going around that each of your nations hid or destroyed the really good stuff, before…you know. I suppose that explains the saying, ‘Small world, small brain.’ Ha."

Tippet let the unintended insult pass. He was in over his head, and he knew it. "First you, and now the new conquerors. It seems like everybody’s way ahead of us puny humans. Nah, my dad was right. We had our chance and we didn’t make the cut. Look, Bibs, give me something to write with. I’m gonna clue you into a few authors who can tell you all about tactics."

The Lapropod laid one hand over his translator band. "In some of your languages, my name translates to something that relates to computers. In my tongue, it means grateful, gratitude, or a good gesture. ‘Bibs,’ as my translator band conveys it, sounds like ‘dangerous.’ Are you mocking me?"

Carl flicked some dust off his sleeve. "This translator thing is no fun for me, either. I get just enough of what you say to stay in the loop. I wasn’t mocking you before, but I will now. Trust me, Bibs, the last thing you are is dangerous."

Rummaging through his day sack, Bibix gave the cagey man a writing box and a stylus. "I’ll never understand why my own people never had the good sense to form our own army. If we had—"

Tippet smirked. "You might be where I am now."

Point taken." Bibix waited quietly while the human wrote."

Out in the overgrown yard, birds chirped and flitted from tree to tree. Carl tried not to think about how the wind reminded him of a faraway, crying woman. "Before I give you this, I want the cure. If I’m gonna be on the lam, I should at least be healthy."

We have a deal, then? The cure in exchange for showing me how to use these weapons, and your notes?

Agreed." Tippet handed over the writing box with a smile."

"My pen? I’m always lending pens and never getting them back."

Sure." The tired man erupted into a series of long, painful coughs and handed the stylus over."

Bibix went back to his day sack and returned with a pair of large injectors. "I got this from a friend who works at one of the NorCon processing centers. I told him it was for one of my bosses, who was buying humans off the black market. It’s an updated formula, based on something we brought with us from the home world. It must be good. They use it on fifty thousand humans a day."

Carl didn’t ask about the black market or the processing plant. The prospect of relieving the pain in his chest was powerful enough to drive away his fear of gulags. In his misery, the idea of being somebody else’s food wasn’t quite real.

Bibix read the instructions on the syringes. "Use the whole thing. You should only need one, but I brought two just to be sure. Here." Giving Tippet both injectors, he explained their use and moved out of the way.

So, where exactly are we?" Carl asked as he rolled up his sleeve.

Polar region. This town used to be called Anchorage."

The man looked up. "Sounds like we’re still in Alaska. What city did we come from?"

Bibix waited for Tippet to inject himself. "As I said, it was called Anchorage. The NorCons built a new settlement near here, using forced labor gangs. That’s where I live and work. When the NorCons came fifteen years ago—"

"Right. How long does this medicine take to work?" Tippet grimaced as the drug set fire to his veins.

Bibix shrugged. "For us, about ten minutes. For you, an hour, or maybe two. It’s common for humans to be sleepless for a day or two after the drug kicks in. It’s doctor stuff."

Carl struggled to cope with the rising pain that crept into every part of his body. "How is it you work in a museum when the NorCons banned all things human?"

The Lapropod snickered. "They like their trophies. After they rounded up the humans, they put most of us to work building their settlements. We’re not good laborers, so they didn’t make us go underground. We gathered up all the human things we could find and they divided them up amongst their invasion force commanders. Trophies. That’s what they call all the stuff they keep in their museums."

Tippet examined the empty syringe and set it on the table. "Anyone know you’re out here? I know you must have thought this through, but I have to ask."

Bibix raised and lowered his eyes in a gesture signifying sneakiness. "I’m on vacation. I haven’t taken a day off in five years. My boss practically ordered me to go after I made a few ‘mistakes’ that weren’t really mistakes. I snuck in after hours and rolled you right out the back door when the night guard wasn’t looking. Getting your cryo tube into the back of my lev was harder but, as you say, here we are."

Carl laughed. "I’ve never been stolen property before."

Bibix smiled widely. "Naturally, I’ll be shocked when I go back to work. All for show, of course. The NorCons believe in private property. We have a more community-based outlook on such things."

Absorbing what he had been told, Tippet’s mind raced with new questions as his muscles ached. "You did say fifteen years, right? What are the NorCons like without their armor?"

Bibix folded all of his hands over his smooth chest. "Nobody knows. Bipedal, like you. Their hands have three fingers and opposable thumbs. They remind me of claws. Seven feet tall, on the average. They seem to be both sexes in the same body, or possibly they are genderless. They can’t breathe this planet’s air without adjusting the pressure. Nitrogen seems to be their preferred gas to breathe. We’ve never seen children or young adults. Inside their administrative facilities, offices, and homes, our kind has to wear life support gear. Even then, the NorCons don’t take the armor off. Popular gossip says they could be from a heavier gravity world. We speculate that this is a very hostile environment for them.

"Good observations," Carl nodded.

"We may have surrendered sooner than your kind did, but we’re still observant."

How very French of you." Tippet leaned on one elbow, playing with the second syringe."

Bibix glanced at the translator band on one of his own wrists. "That’s a nationality. I’m not sure I understand the reference."

Carl snorted. "Never mind. None of that matters now. It probably never will again."

He spent the next two hours going over the oddball collection of guns that Bibix had plundered from the back rooms of his trophy hall.

As a people, Lapropods had no concept of weaponry. Their tool use was confined to entirely non-offensive endeavors. When threatened, they would fight, using sheer numbers and determination to overwhelm the foe. This was a fact Carl knew all too well.

He rearranged Bibix’s arms to cradle a patched-together gauss repeater. "No, like this. Hold it up so you can look all the way down the barrel. The most important thing about this weapon, for you, is the lack of recoil. Check your battery pack, then point and shoot. Once you learn how to use the sights, you’ll do just fine. Take it out some place remote and plink around."

Bibix looked from the gun to his teacher. "Excuse me? ‘Plink?’ I’m not sure the translators are interpreting that word correctly. Did you just say p-l-i-n-k, plink?"

Carl glared at the device on his wrist. "Did I say something that actually offended you?"

Bibix laughed when he realized Carl didn’t understand what the translator had said. "Yes. Very rude."

The man tapped the black device. "What does it mean, when you hear it?"

The Lapropod pulled himself together. "Roughly translated, it means that you have sex with your mother."

Carl smirked, and then shrugged. "Sorry. It’s my first alien swear word. Look, you need to take this stuff out where nobody can see or hear you and practice with it. Shoot stuff. Get used to it. Then read those books I told you about. I mean, if you can."

Bibix put his weapon on safety and shuffled over to the table, where he set it down. "As a museum curator, I read English, Spanish, and German without electronic help. The hard part will be getting the books." He thought for a moment. "If I can tie them into a few of the exhibits, I should be able to read them on the job, right in front of my bosses."

Tippet sat down and took a long drink from a water bottle. "All right, you little freak, don’t get cocky. I don’t care what that word means to you, just don’t do it. Don’t do anything out of the ordinary in front of the NorCons. Don’t give them any reason to suspect you. If these guys are predators, they’ll be looking for any sign of disloyalty."

Bibix thought about that. "Deception. Hmm. Yes."

Carl gestured at the gloomy interior of the house. "Do you own this place?"

The Lapropod glanced at long cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. "No. It’s abandoned. The structures are still here, but anything worth taking is gone."

Tipped emptied his water bottle. "Sounds good. Don’t take any of this gear home with you. Bury it. Make multiple caches. If you take more loot from the museum, be sure to make it look like a robbery or a mistake in bookkeeping."

Bibix liked that idea. "An error in bookkeeping? That’s dangerous. The brutes who own these trophy halls fight over them. I’m told it’s a common practice on their home world. They steal from each other all the time. It shames me to admit that my own people carry out some of these thefts. It’ll be better to make it look like that has happened. I won’t have any trouble covering my tracks."

Carl looked out the nearest window at the setting sun. "If this is Alaska, it must be summer. Do they fight over their loot up here?"

Bibix had to think about that. "There was a fight three years ago. Some place called Fairbanks. I forget the NorCon name for the town. I didn’t pay attention at the time. Now that you mention it, I think they were having it out over a trophy hall."

Tippet unwrapped a sandwich and started eating. He gagged. "What is this?"

Bibix shrugged. "It’s what they feed humans. The bread was my idea. How is it?"

"If you have to ask, you don’t want to know." Tippet grunted and forced the food down.

The Lapropod watched with interest. "If it’s that bad, why are you eating it?"

Carl finished wolfing down the sandwich and reached for a fresh water bottle. "My last meal before they put me in cryo was peanut butter on a stick. Food was pretty scarce in my day, thanks to you guys. I learned to eat anything I could get past my tongue."

Bibix shuddered, feeling badly about his own extravagant eating habits. "I’m sorry. I didn’t think. When we crowded you out, we really messed things up, even if there are some Earth foods that we can’t eat. For what it’s worth, my grandfather tells me that the food on Earth is much better than where we came from."

Carl burped. "Great. We taste good and we can cook. What a deal. I need air."

Tippet got to his feet, taking one of the plasma rifles with him. Bibix scooped up his gauss repeater and followed. The two went through the wrecked home, out into the back yard.

Chapter 2

Kicking loose gravel with the toes of his ruined combat boots, the troubled soldier squinted at the setting sun. Spying an apple tree, he slung his weapon and walked over to it.

Bibix sat on a small, marble bench nearby. "That fruit is poisonous to Lapropods."

"It has always been thus." Tippet picked a small red apple. Raising it in a mock toast, he bit it in half. He chewed slowly, relishing the taste.

Bibix approved. "That’s a biblical reference. I didn’t know you were so well-read."

That’s why they made me an officer. I read. I write. If the NorCons catch me, they’ll sell me by the slice." He finished his apple and reached for another.

"Just one more reason why you should help me."

Tippet shook his head as he ate the second apple. "Nope. Come over here. Let me show you how to change clips on that thing and we’ll do some target practice."

Bibix cradled the stubby black weapon in two of his hands. "I’m glad you’re seeing this my way. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I’d done the right thing. You scare me."

Carl cradled the battered plasma rifle as if it were an extension of his own body. "These things are tools. They can gather dust if you leave them hanging on the wall, or they can be used. Tell me, Bibs, what made a little guy like you decide to get militant?"

The question was unsettling to the Lapropod. He shuffled further into the yard. The orange glow from the setting sun made his eyes water. "My people had no natural predators before they came to Earth. What you think of as passivity is our way of life. It may sound silly to you, but we thought of ourselves as the only intelligent life in the universe."

Tippet followed Bibix, swinging his gun on its shoulder strap. "My parents and teachers said the same thing. I can’t tell you much about it, but I know that several countries had thriving space programs before the invasion. I’ve seen a book about the efforts to explore Mars. I think we may have even sent people there, though I’m not sure. You turds fought pretty hard."

The shorter being stopped walking. "Do you always have to be so rude?" Shrugging, he continued. "We had numbers on our side. Your governments and armies didn’t have enough time to mobilize for a proper defense. Look, I know where this is going, and I want to avoid the arguments. Humans were, and still are, the scariest things I’ve ever seen. If anyone can show me how to fight the NorCons, it would be you."

Carl stepped in close to flip the safety selector on Bibix’s weapon to the ‘off’ position. "See that green light? If that little switch is flipped up, the weapon will fire when you pull the trigger. Point and shoot."

The timid curator regarded his weapon with concern. "Huh. That isn’t so hard."

The soldier stepped away from Bibix. Turning, he raised his gun and fired a white-hot bolt of accelerated plasma into the sky. "Just like that. Safety off, point, and shoot."

"Point and shoot." Bibix repeated the command. Spreading his pods, he steadied himself in the tall grass, raised his gun, and pulled the trigger. The gauss made a rapid thwip-thwip-hwup as a trio of metal slugs ripped through the sound barrier and fled into the darkening sky.

Carl put his rifle on safe and slung it over one shoulder. "The gauss is probably your best bet until we can get some more plasma weapons. It has no recoil to speak of, and it’s durable. As long as you have bullets and batteries, you’ll be good to go. Do you have any specs on the NorCon armor?"

The Lapropod shook his head. "We know very little about them. They don’t allow us to study their language, and we don’t get to see them in private. ‘NorCon’ is what they’ve told us to call them. I think it’s a term they use among themselves that might translate to ‘master’ or some such slave-related appellation."

Carl grunted. He was starting to like Bibix, and that bothered him. "That could easily be so. The armor they wear looks like it can take some punishment. Are these guys all military, all the time?"

Bibix put his weapon on safety and hung it around his ample neck. "I believe so. Their caste structure is very much like your chain of command. They don’t seem to have what you’d call private sector jobs. They use us for that."

Tippet spat in disgust. "That sounds about right."

Bibix nodded. "Yes, and we’re good at it, thanks to all the stuff your people left behind."

"We’re a helpful species," Carl muttered.

Bibix rubbed his translator band. "Was that sarcasm?"

Carl changed the subject. "The NorCons walk around in power-assisted suits. What about vehicles and aircraft? What kind and how many do they have?"

The nervous Lapropod cringed at the thought. "They seem to prefer one-on-one combat. The armor they wear can support a variety of weapons packages. The more I read about human weapons, the more I can relate to theirs. They use what you’d call troop carriers and trucks, but they don’t seem to like tanks."

"How would you know that?" Tippet growled, turning away from the setting sun.

Bibix ignored the human’s contempt. "They collect human war machines, but they don’t keep them indoors in a climate-controlled environment like they do so many other things that were left behind by your species. More importantly, I’ve never seen the NorCon equivalent of tanks, artillery, or airplanes."

"No airplanes?" Carl turned, his surprise obvious on his face.

The smaller being shook his head. "Nothing that relates to flight at all, other than cargo barges that can reach their ships in orbit. They’re big, noisy things. You can hear them coming long before you see them. Before you ask, I don’t know anything about their spacecraft. That information is off-limits."

Tipped point to a large stump. "Pretend that’s me and shoot it."

Bibix grabbed his gun, activated it as he turned, and held the trigger down as he aimed. The short-range attack destroyed the rotting wood in a spectacular spray of chunks and splinters. He screamed as they rained down on his broad head.

Carl watched his pupil empty the clip into the stump. When the little fellow stopped his screeching, the human bent over to pick up a long, thin strip of shredded bark. "If you can do that to a tree, you can do it to a NorCon."

The panicked curator released his grip on the smoking gun. When it flopped onto his chest, swinging from the lanyard, he squirmed. "Gagh! It’s hot!"

The veteran snickered. "That’s because it’s not hooked up to a cooling system. Lots of our guns need coolers. That reminds me… Those magnets in the front aren’t shielded. Don’t let that thing get too close to whatever you have for private parts."

Bibix held the weapon with great care. "Are you saying this thing can make me sterile?"

"Yep." Tippet made a show of picking his teeth with the bark splinter.

The Lapropod removed the gun from his person and dropped it to the ground. "What kind of maniac uses a weapon like this? Wait. Don’t answer that. I forgot that I’m talking to a…uh."

Carl tossed away the splinter. "Say it."

Bibix fidgeted with all four hands. "It’s not like that."

Tippet moved closer and laid the barrel of his rifle on the Lapropod’s chest. "Sure it is. You want to be angry. I can see it on your face. Your eyestalks twitch when you get cranky. It’s not enough to be morally outraged. You’ve gotta be really mad when you pull that trigger."

Bibix shook his head. "I don’t think I want—"

The human stepped in fast, striking Bibix – two quick jabs with a balled fist followed by three savage blows with the butt of the plasma rife. "It’s not about what you want! It’s about what you’ve got to do! You hear me, you little freak?"

The Lapropod was bowled over. He’d seen this kind of physical attack many times while watching pre-Collapse video recordings. In an effort to toughen up, he’d watched the most violent images he could find, over and over again, until they no longer scared him. In spite of that conditioning, Carl’s attack hurt in ways that he’d never thought possible.

The soldier loomed over him. "If you don’t fight back, I’m gonna hit you again!"

Bibix felt his mouth fill with blood. He stood on all four pods and raised his fists.

Years of hate and frustration overwhelmed Carl. He didn’t pull his next punch, or the kick that followed. "Right idea, wrong move. Your eyes. I can pull those stalks out real easy, right by the roots. Then you’ll be blind!"

Bibix rolled with the kick that knocked the wind out of him. He’d seen video of Carl in action. He knew the experienced killer could do what he said. "Not my eyes! Please! Mercy!" Reflexively, his eyes pulled in toward their sockets.

Tippet threw his gun aside and leaped on top of Bibix to pin him to the overgrown lawn. "If you’re not the winner, you don’t get mercy or justice! I know. I’ve watched my own people beg for their lives. And you know what? They died."

Fear gripped Bibix in a way he’d never previously experienced. His heart raced and his limbs froze. Being so very close to this enraged killing machine unleashed both his desire for survival and his prejudices. The human’s unpleasant smell, wild hair, foul breath, and bad attitude combined to reinforce every negative thing he’d ever been taught about the species of Man.

Carl got to his feet. "I’m going to kill you, stone-cold dead, if you don’t fight back!"

Bibix sprang fully upright. "I was wrong to do this. We should’ve gotten rid of your kind when we had the chance!"

Tippet picket up his weapon and charged it. "I’m sure you freaks gave it your best shot."

The Lapropod charged his antagonist. Something more than anger propelled him. There was a need that he simply had to fulfill, no matter the cost. Rational factors no longer applied. Instinct changed into something he couldn’t name. The fat, slow, untrained Bibix surged forward to battle for his own safety and future security.

Carl backed away and raised his weapon. Using the simple sights, he fired a grazing shot that burned the small hairs off the top of Bibix’s head. The superheated plasma bolt passed between the Lapropod’s two eyestalks. Bibix fell. With a single kick to the head, Carl rendered his rescuer unconscious.

Turning off the power supply, he dropped the weapon and flopped onto the cool grass. His heart fluttered as he suffered conflicting emotions and the effects of the cancer cure. "I should just get out of here. There have to be enough supplies in the house to keep me going for a week."

The notion of killing just one more Lapropod appealed to him. The chance to eat real food and carry working weapons fired his imagination. The sinking sun reminded him of where he was. Looking over his shoulder at the ruined house made his skin crawl. "Sixty years and I’m still behind enemy lines. What in the hell am I supposed to do now?"

Bibix moaned and kept his eyes pulled inside his head. "You could stop hurting me."

Tippet looked at the bruised and bloody being. "You got what you deserved."

The hapless Lapropod rolled over and let his eyes rise from their protective cavities. "I suppose I should’ve seen that coming. The literature I found states that individuals released from cryogenic suspension don’t feel like any time has passed. You’re still fighting us."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Carl exploded.

Bibix wiped torn grass from his nose. "Humans and Lapropods haven’t been at war with each other for a long time."

Tippet kicked at the ground. "That’s what happens when you drive a species to the edge of extinction. They don’t fight back quite so much."

Bibix lowered his eyes, then his head. "Was it really that bad?"

Carl didn’t know how to answer. "Hell on Earth, Bibs. It was always cold. We were always hungry. We had just enough tech stuff to remind us how things used to be. I hated those camcorders. The old videos you’re talking about were our way of coping. No, not really coping. More like documenting atrocities." He paused. "I think your drugs are getting to me. I hurt and I can’t think."

The human’s behavior puzzled Bibix. He wiped blood from his mouth and stood up. "My people developed a similar technology. We’ve got millions of hours of video that remind us of our home world. There must be two or three centuries worth of the stuff still floating around."

Tippet ripped grass from the lawn and ate it. "I was ten years old when you guys invaded. In the span of just five months, I went from clean underwear and shopping malls to battlefields and scrounging for food. The people who used to call themselves journalists kept working, using solar powered cameras. Some of them did it just to stay busy. Others did it as a way of gathering information. A few had some lousy excuse about preserving the historical record."

The troubled Lapropod shook his bruised head. "So, it really was that bad. The material I’ve seen looks to be quite traumatic. Did your journalists have to spend so much of their time recording combat? What was the point? Really, it was hard for me to watch all the killing."

Carl looked right at Bibix. "You have to want your freedom. Sometimes you’ve got to want it bad enough to kill for it. You’re not going to save anyone if you can’t get muddy and bloody. I can kill you, and I’d like it. As much as I hate to say it, we might need each other, so…you get to live. For now."

Bibix began to take stock of his wounds as the yard darkened. "I think I’m glad that you see things my way. I also think I might understand where you’re coming from. Before you knocked me out, I was…I felt…Please, don’t laugh. This is hard for me."

Tippet replied, "It was hard for me, too. It was hard for all of us. When your ships came out of the sky, a lot of us thought you’d actually come in peace. We got the message pretty quick. Especially when you guys ate everything and everyone that wasn’t nailed down."

Bibix trembled. "I…I’ve heard stories. My grandfather confided to me once, years ago. I always thought he was telling a tale. Fibbing. Everyone knows about the destruction of your farms and livestock, but… come on. We didn’t really eat humans."

Right down to the bone," the man confirmed with a grim stare."

The Lapropod started to cry.

Carl chewed some more grass. "So, the turdy little ‘Pod people have a dirty little secret."

"You saw this with your own eyes?" Bibix demanded through his tears.

The callous scavenger nodded. "I was sixteen years old when I first ran into it. We were raiding. Our squad got the drop on a bunch of ‘Poddies who camped out in the open. It was the stupidest thing you ever saw – no sentries and a really big campfire. It’s one thing to hear about stuff like that, but it’s a totally different thing to watch it happen. We were too angry to bother with the video camera. We did stuff. You know?"

The distraught Lapropod fought back a sob. "Please, tell me. I need to hear it."

Tippet remained unmoved by Bibix’s pain as he dredged up the dark memory. "The ‘Pods were cooking body parts and eating them. The wind was blowing away from us, so we didn’t get much of the smell. We attacked – shot a few, knifed the rest. They had no guns. I can’t remember how many there were. Fifteen? No more than twenty. We put their bodies into the campfire. I’m not sure if we were trying to take revenge for what they did or if we were just cleaning up the mess we’d made."