A Short Story

The walls reverberated with the explosions. The station had been under attack for only a few minutes, yet so much damage had been done. The damage repair crews had drafted civilians, who lived on the station, to help in repairs. Harold McPhee was sleeping in his quarters when the explosions began. He had been shaken out of his bed. Pulling on his robe, he left the relative safety of his suite and ventured into a smoke filled corridor.
“Sir! Sir!” called a green suited crewmember, “What’s you name, Sir?”
“Mickey. Err, Harold McPhee. What’s going on?”
“We’re under attack, and we need help. Get back to your quarters and put some clothes on.”
“But… Why?”
“Come on!” The crewman pulled McPhee back down the corridor. “Is this your suite?” McPhee nodded. “Get dressed, I’ll wait here.”
Not even thinking, McPhee pulled a suit out from his closet. He had it almost on when the crewman walked in his sleeping room.
“Sir,” said the crewman, “that may not be the best thing… Don’t you have some labor clothes?”
Mickey blinked and nodded. He took the suit off and found some old clothes and got dressed. The crewman bodily pulled him down the hall to a supply room where he gave McPhee what appeared to be a think raincoat. After he slipped it on he realized it was a fire-retardant parka. The crewman made to pull him along when McPhee stopped him.
“Who are you?” He asked.
“I’m Harris. Come on, we have to get moving. There was an impact down the hall and there is a fire.” He spoke as he walked, “The Kreae appeared at the outside range of sensors over six hours ago. The Commander called for help but they haven’t arrived yet. The Kreae are making strafing runs, the armor on the ring is holding…mostly.”
Harris used a keycard on a pressure door and it opened to reveal a scene from the inferno. What was once a marketplace was smashed and ablaze from the enemy ship that had crashed through the station’s hull, through the floor. A force shield sparkled as debris and heat buffeted it. McPhee looked up and saw up to what he assumed to be the center of the station- pierced by the fighter.
Harris threw a hose at him. “Hold it! It’ll pump foam to stop the fire.” He shouted and ran to turn on the foam. The pressure yanked the hose from Mickey’s grip and flung it far into the air. Foam fell everywhere. Mickey tried to pull down on the hose but couldn’t get it controlled until Harris arrived to help. Together, they put out some of the fire as repair crews hastily welded plates over the hull breach.
McPhee collapsed against a wall. Harris slowly sat beside him, grunting as his muscles relaxed. “You did good, Mr., um, McFay?”
“McPhee. Call me Mickey.”
“You did good, Mickey. We’ll be needed elsewhere soon, but we can rest for now.”
“Thank God for small favors.” McPhee quietly spoke.

His world erupted in flame and pain. A white light came from up spin, a force pushed him down and he instinctively shielded himself. He felt a hand on his collar, dragging him from the impending danger. He felt unimaginable heat on his feet and wildly kicked at it. A sound like thunder shook the plasticized floor and he was no longer being pulled. A pressure door hissed shut. He opened his eyes, but could not stand. He looked around, saw Harris, smoking from his back and groaning on the floor. Bracing himself against the wall, he wrenched himself up on his feet.
“Harris?” He gingerly spoke, “Harris, I’ll find help.”
Harris replied with a groan. McPhee staggered down the corridor, leaning on the wall. His feet felt like they were on fire, understandable, since his shoes were mostly melted. He opened the first door he could and peeked inside. It was a living suite; much like his own. He went inside and leaned against the wall beside a bookcase. An explosion rocked the room and the bookcase fell over, clipping the top of McPhee’s head. He fell underneath the books and into unconsciousness.
Seven nude women stood in front of him, each licking their lips. They slowly walked toward him. A redhead worked his fly and let his pants fall. A blond began fondling his penis. The women giggled at the immense size of his member. It stretched a good two feet. A small dog walked up to his leg and began running into his leg, pushing it until he fell, taking five of the seven down with him,
He opened his eyes and felt someone kicking his leg. “Gug, clou durr nuf.” Was all he could manage to get out, but it was enough to convince the kicker that he was alive. He heard books being pushed out of the way and the weight was lifted from his back. He slowly got on his knees and then pushed himself up. He fell back to the ground.
“Whoa there, you took a nasty knock on the head there.” The Samaritan said to him, “Let’s get you sitting and then tend to that wound.”
He felt himself be picked up and helped over to a dirty chair. “How…long…?” McPhee asked.
“How long were you out?” Mcphee nodded. “Oh, I’d say, at least an hour.”
The man bandaged his head. “I think you probably got a concussion. You might have problems with coordination for a while…you know… How many fingers do you see?” The man held up his hand, with three fingers up.
“Three…” McPhee answered.
“Good! I know you are going to ask- I think the attack is over. There haven’t been explosions for almost thirty minutes. By your clothes, I bet you got drafted to work repair. So did I, but I didn’t get far before that last big one cut me off from where I had to go. I take it you were with the guy in the hall?”
“That’s Harris. How is he?”
“I see you can talk! That’s a good sign. I’m afraid your friend is dead. Pretty nasty burns from the look of it. You were damn kind to pull him from the main walkway when it blew up. It…”
McPhee interrupted him. “He pulled me.”
“Well, then I say you are damn lucky. I haven’t seen any others around here, of course, I may be wrong. Looks your head has stopped bleeding. I think that’s a good sign.”
McPhee sat for a few hours and gathered his wits. The man had left looking for help and had been gone for an hour or so when Mickey finally gathered the strength to stand up. He stumbled into the corridor and tried to find Harris, but his body wasn’t there. He could hear muffled voices from down the hall. Gripping onto the wall, he slowly made his way to a partially open door, the voices were coming from inside.
He peered inside and there were four people there, sitting on chairs and talking. One nodded in his direction and the conversation ended. A woman and three men sat there. The woman smiled and spoke, “Hello there, you must be Harold McPhee, called Mickey. We were hoping you would wake up soon. Want some tea? It’s fresh. I know we are in the middle of a crisis and it seems a trifle silly to serve tea at a time like this, but tell me one thing, what’s the harm of a little tea when you are worried?” She smiled wider. “Tea?”
“Sure. I’d like some tea.” McPhee answered.
“Bob,” said the woman, “help Mickey to a seat.”
One of the men answered, “Yes Havana.” He stood and wrapped an arm around Mickey and helped him to a seat. The seat was red fabric and was remarkably comfortable. Bob sat back down. He smiled at Mickey, “I’m Bob, Bob Thomsen. This here is Eddie and Taylor.” He motioned at each as he mentioned their names. “Havana is getting your tea. Tell me, Mickey, you don’t mind do you?” He waited until McPhee nodded, “So, tell me Mickey, what business are you in? I see by your hands that you aren’t a crewman here.”
McPhee waited to speak, as a cup of tea was placed before him. He carefully lifted it and tried to drink but somehow missed his mouth. Tea drizzled down his chin and onto the floor. Before he could apologize, Havana told him not to worry. Mickey tried again with the tea and managed to find his mouth and was relieved by the warm liquid in his mouth. He spoke, “I’m a currency investor. I take the various currencies of the colonies and convert them to Earth standard or to various Alien currencies and invest them, if possible. I have an office near the First Bank of Earth branch.” He drank more tea.
Eddie nodded, “Yes, I know where that is. Myself, I’m in many businesses. You know, a little here, a little there. Taylor is a politician by nature and has found himself a niche in a large intersystem corporation. Have you heard of JupiterCorp? No? Anyway, he makes big bucks, which I use to get in on various business ventures. And I take a hefty commission.” Eddie went on, but Mickey didn’t hear him. He was staring down at his tea.
A hand touched his and he looked up into Havana’s eyes. She said to him, “There was an announcement a little while ago, just before you came here. The station Commander said that intruders had boarded and that they were disguised as us.” She looked worried. “We’re going to move down the hall and see if we can find help. You’re still hurting, why don’t you stay here and guard the fort?”
McPhee nodded and the four left. A short while later he heard footsteps in the hall and saw the Samaritan appear at the door. “Hey, you moved. I thought I would find you back down the hall. What are you doing here?”
“I heard voices and found four people here.”
“Strange. I passed by here and heard nothing. Huh. Anyway, I found a newsbox and read that the Commander warned the security forces to be prepared for boarding. We shouldn’t have to worry- I can’t find anyway in, or out. The main walkway is ablaze and the lifts are depressurized, as is the deck above us and only empty space is below us. You say there were people here?”
“Yes, four. They gave me tea and went down the hall in search of help.”
The man scratched his head. “That’s funny, ‘cause I saw nothing. Weird. I did find something interesting, though. There is a little convenience shop down a ways. It has lots of food to keep us going. My name’s Jimmy, by the way, Jimmy Dearing.” He extended his hand and shook Mickey’s.
Mickey stood and, with Dearing, went down the hall to the shop. “Hear that?” Asked Mickey after hearing muffled voices and laughing. “Can’t you hear that?”
“No. I can’t hear anything.”
“I’m gonna go check it out.”
“Want me to come?”
“Nah. You get some food for us and find me.”
“Ok.” Jimmy walked on, leaving McPhee alone. He quietly walked down a hallway toward the noises. He knew what he would find and found it. In an otherwise deserted room was Eddie, Taylor, Bob and Havana. They were standing in a vague circle telling jokes and laughing. Taylor looked over at McPhee and greeted him, “Mickey! Where ya been? We’ve been waiting for you. Hey, answer this: How many psychiatrists does it take to change a light bulb? No! Don’t say it! It only takes one, but the light bulb has to want to change.” The foursome erupted in laughter at the joke. Mickey half-heartedly joined in.
“Hey, I found another guy.”
Havana perked up, “Oh, where is he?”
“He’s getting some food. He’s been walking around looking for people for a few hours. Funny he never found you guys.”
“Yeah,” said Eddie, “We didn’t see him. That is weird.”
“He’ll be here in a few, so then there will be six of us.”
Havana said, “That would be great.” She smiled.

“Mickey! Where are you?” came Jimmy’s voice from down the hall. McPhee walked to the doorway and shouted, “We’re down here!”
The four were silent waiting. Footsteps could be heard. Dearing appeared in the doorway carrying a box under each arm. He looked puzzled. “You said we.” He said.
“Yeah, Jimmy,” said Mickey, “this is Bob, Taylor, Eddie and Havana.”
“You’re joking, right.” Jimmy cracked a smile. “This is a ‘blow on the head’ joke. You got me.”
Havana looked angry, “Who are you talking to? This isn’t funny. Where’s your friend?”
McPhee looked at her and pointed at Jimmy. “Right there.”
“Well,” said Havana, “I don’t see anything there. Do you guys?” The three guys shook their heads. Eddie spoke, “Very bad form, Harold.”
Now Jimmy looked mad, “Mickey, stop being an ass. You know no one is there. I’ll be down the hall when you get your act in order.” He left.
“What the hell was that?” Mickey asked the four. “Are you guys in on this against me?”
“Mickey,” said Havana, “We would never be against you, you just must be suffering from trauma.”
“Why can’t you see him and why can’t he see you?” Mickey asked.
Havana placed a hand on his shoulder. “Because he’s not real. We are, you know that, right? Here, I’ll prove it to you.” She leaned over and kissed him. “That felt real, right?”
“Yes, yes it did.”
Eddie spoke up, “Maybe this ‘Jimmy’ character is real…”
Havana looked over at him, “What are you talking about?”
“I read that the Kreae can ‘imprint’ on a person and only that person will see them and that person will see his own species. Maybe that is what has happened?”
“How would he know?” Asked Taylor.
“It’s simple,” replied Havana, preempting Eddie, “He asks about the ‘Jimmy’s’ past. Where he is from, what he does. Mickey already knows that we are real so he doesn’t have to worry about us. Just this other guy.”
“Yeah,” said Bob, “Just ask him some questions. If the answers aren’t satisfactory, he can’t be a real person.”
McPhee nodded. Then nodded again. Then nodded a third time. “Yeah, I’ll do that. I’ll go ask him.”
He stomped out of the room and down the hall. “Jimmy!” he called and followed the response. He found Jimmy in the room where Mickey was knocked unconscious. “Sorry about that, Jimmy, I must be seeing things. The concussion, I guess.”
“Hey, no problem. Have some food.”
He took a piece of something and tasted it. Tofu. “So, Jimmy,” McPhee smiled, “Where are you from?”
“Earth, like everyone else. I was born in a stable.”
“Mind if I ask where?”
“No where special.”
“What do you do for a living?”
“I do odd jobs. Cleaning, repair, some cleaning, I was a cook on a ship here.”
“What do you do here?”
“Nothing much.”
“Are you avoiding my questions?”
“No. Why would you ask?
“Nothing. Where are your quarters?”
“Around here and there.”
“Where?”
“No where in particular.” Jimmy stood and walked to the door. Mickey picked up a leg from the bookcase that fell on him. He got ready to swing.
“Jimmy.” He called and Jimmy turned. Mickey swung the bat and it wetly smacked the side of Dearing’s head. Jimmy fell to the ground. McPhee knelt down beside him. Jimmy stared up in horror. “I…” he began, “…I didn’t think…you’d recognize me…” Mickey gasped in remembrance.
“James Dearing? Oh shit.”
James Dearing. The kid who beat up and tortured him in school.
“I…” Jimmy spoke, “didn’t want you to remember me. But…why this?”
“Jimmy, I…I thought you were an alien.”
“Heh. That’s a laugh… You…kill me…me, your bully…because…because you thought I…was an alien…” Jimmy’s eyes glazed over and his lungs gave a deep sigh.
Harold McPhee, called Mickey McPee, stood in shame.
Down the hall, Havana whispered in Eddie’s ear, “These humans are very impressionable. Our mission should be an easy one.”