"I will kill the Tallests of the Irken Empire. Destroy the control brains. I will bring down the entire planet of Irk. And then I will stand back and watch it all burn." - Colonel Jul Mik'hini, AKA "The Empress"
Prologue
Earth City, U.S.A., Earth
2013
Dib membrane dropped into sixth gear and studied the digital heads up display glowing in his windhsield: 116 mph and climbing.
The Corvette's short throw shifter felt warm, while the 505- horsepower LS7 engine roared its demand for more fuel and pinned him to the sport seat. Streetlight and shop windows blurred by in a kaleidoscope of reds, blues, and greens.
Taking his cue from the car, Dib jabbed his foot on the accelerator pedal, and the beast leapt forward across the rain slick pavement, the scent of burning rubber still wafting up into the black leather cockpit.
Just a few minutes ago he'd come off the mark in a massive burnout, reaching sixty miles per hour in just 3.7 seconds. For a few heartbeats he'd lost control, the rear tires hopping, the back end swinging out until the traction control system engaged.
He wasn't used to this. In fact, this was not him at all.
He tensed. Would he hit 120... 130 mph down this municipal street? Would he dare go 150 mph?
It was a Sunday night, 11:50 A.M., and there were still a fw other vehicles on the road, although the sidewalks looked clear of pedestrians.
How fast would his rage take him?
He kept a white knuckled grip on the steering wheel with both hands. There was no more shifting to do; it was pedal to the metal, and the future would unfold.
He flicked his gaze to the right and saw Smacky's door just a few feet away, both Corvettes neck and neck now, their Borla exhaust systems thundering as they raced up the four lane road.
Torque Smacky was just eighteen, the same age as Dib, and they were seniors in Hi Skool. They had never spoken to each other until Dib had rolled into the school parking lot with his Corvette. Dib had inherited the Vette from his uncle who'd passed away, and from that day on Torque had been challenging Dib to a street race, going so far as to follow him, harass him at every intersection, cut him off, and even show up on Dib's doorstep, waiting for him to leave the car.
Torque had an older Vette, a yellow 2003 Z06 that he had heavily modified to boost the car's horsepower. He and his friends called Dib's car "the blue devil," and vowed to send him and the vehicle straight back to hell.
Torque's harassment was brutal, unrelenting, and even enlisted his gang of buddies to threaten Dib, telling him he'd better not driv the car unless he was willing to race. As Dib quickly learned, you can't hide a jet stream blue Corvette very well in traffic; it tends to stand out. The bullying because so fieerce that for a while Dib stopped driving the car, opting to walk or hop on this bike to skool.
Admittedly, an eighteen year old kid behind the wheel of a fifty thousand dollar sports car would draw some animosity and jealousy; in fact, his father, a successful, world renound scientist with ties to the government, had warned him about that, but Dib had had no idea it would come to this.
Torque's bullying crossed the line the night of Dib's senior prom. Dib had picked up his date, Zita, and they'd had a great tim, but the, on his way back to drop her off, Torque had shown up and had forced Dib onto the shoulder as they'd descended one of the boulevard's tortous series of switchbacks and hairpin turns. Dib missed the guardrails by unches, pulled over, and bolted out of the car, only to watch as Torque flashed him the bird and squeeled off.
"I can't take this anymore," he told his girlfriend.
"Then do something about it."
Two days later, as Dib was returning from a late movie, Torque pulled up beside him at the streetlight. Dib glanced over- and a mental switch was thrown.
Torque sat there, revving his engine, his evil eys sparkling, his shaven head and the tattoos spidering over his forearms suggesting he'd spent a lifetime in prison while he was really just a punk.
Dib had taken a long breath.
Enough.
He was going to dust this bastard once and for all. And when they were finished, maybe Torqu would bow out like a man and stop the bullshit games. Maybe this fool would realize that driving a fast car didn't make you a man.
Yet now, the faster they drove and the more they challenged each other, the more Dib realized that if he lost this race, he'd never live it down; Torque would never get off his back. The bullying would grow even worse because Dib would be the loser who got dusted. Winning meant he'd be free of this bastard forever.
Or so he'd thought.
As a part of his modification package, Torque's Corvette was equipped with a nitrous oxide system, or NOS, that allowed the engine to burn more fuel and air. He suddenly boosted away, pulling a full car length ahead of Dib, who seeing this, reacted with more acceleration.
121, 122, 123 mph...
There had been long stretches between intersections, but now they rocketed into a much busier part of the city, with cross streets coming in five second intervals. A string of green lights gleamed overhead, but then a small commuter car pulled onto the road far ahead, blocking Torque's lane.
The two lanes for oncoming traffic were empty, so Dib rolled the wheel, taking himself across the road, allowing Torque to take his lane so they could both pass the car. This was a tactic understanding between street racers that Dib knew about but had never practiced.
They whooshed past the unsuspecting driverm who saw only blue and yellow streaks from the corner of his eye and whose car shook violently from their passing.
In unison, Dib and Torque cut back into their lanes.
135 mph...
Dib's moth fell open as he once more checked Torque's position: perfectly aligned with him.
The dotted yellow lines were a continuous ribbon, and the apartment buildings that walled in both sides of the road squeezed tighter as sheer acceleration made the road appear more narrow. Dib was now one with the machine, and he'd never felt anything more powerful and invigorating.
There was no other adrenaline rush like it.
At the same time, his shoulders knotted in terror because he knew just the slightest deviation in his course or sudden obstacle in his path would end it all. He drove along a cliff between pure terror and utter joy.
During the winter months in Earth City, when those precious rains most often occured, a year's worth of oik would begin to bubble up through the pavement. So as they crossed the next intersection, Dib felt the rear wheels begin to drift, and he realized with a start that they'd hit a large patch of oil and blasted over it, but now their wide race tires had grown slick.
Torque must have felt it, too, because he suddenly course corrected, shifting over toward a row of cars parked along the curb.
Dib began to lose his breath as both he and Torque began sliding even more rapidly, but then the yellow Vette jumped forward, the car's front end rising as Torque accelerated out of his slide, missing the parked cars by a side mirror's width, Dib estimated.
With a gasp, Dib shifted his wheel and missed the last car in the row by what could be a hairsbreadth.
Now Torque was sqaurely in the lead.
There wasn't much time. The first driver to cross Earth Avenue was the winner, and Dib figured they had only a half mile or less to go. But these speeds were ridiculous, the whole idea that he'd succumbed to was insane.
He should abandon now.
But his losses.
Deal with Torque's crap.
Just take his foor off the pedal and go home... With his tail between his legs.
But then Dib remembered the look on his prom date's face, how she, too, had been humiliated by Torque, and he considered all those days he'd cycled to skool to avoid dealing with the guy. Was he supposed to be a victim all his life?
He booted the accelerator pedal, and his neck snapped back.
Torque held his position in the right lane as Dib came blasting up beside him, and then, taking in a deep breath and holding it, Dib stomped on the pedal as he pucned the NOS. The engine's whine lifted, and the tailpipes rumbled even more loudly. He was almost afraid to check the HUD for his speed, and when he did, he though, This is it, I'll be arrested.
167 mph...
No one would believe he'd gone that fast down a city street, and everyone would say what an utter fool he was, that he was no better than Torque, that he was endangering lives and belonged in jail. But first the police would confiscate his car and make him watch as they put it in the crusher. This was the well advertised fate of cars used by street racers.
The string of lights ahead turned yellow.
Beyond them, a few cars rolled to stops, the drivers waiting for their green lights.
They would cross into Dib's path. Their timing was perfectly horrible.
Dib glanced over at Torque, who mouthed a curse and accelerated while punching the NOS again.
Dib's heart was in his throat and sweat dappled his forehead. He could hardly breathe as one after another the lights turned red and Torque streaked toward them, his car blurring into a yellow sun impaled by crimson taillights.
Cars began to move across the intersection.
Torque would attempt to weave though them.
Something told Dib to check his rearview mirror, but nothing was back there, no police car or other vehicles, nothing- but then he noticed them: his eyes, bloodshot, heavy, dark, and aching. He did not recognize himself.
A wide pothole rushed up, and Dib veered so sharply to avoid it that he bumped- ever so slightly- the rear quarter panel of Torque's car. The impact was so light that Dib knew there's be no damage to either Corvette, but at their speeds, the slightest shift of tires could be catastrophic.
And it was.
Dib watched with horrid fascination as the tap caused Torque to slide him into the oncoming lane.
Torque's pinwheeling came to a sudden halt as his back tire slammed into the curb and the momentum lifted the entire car into the air.
The yellow Vette now spiraled like and Indy racer that had just hit the wall.
Dib gaped as Torque's fate became even more apparent. The car was tumbling toward the massive concrete column of a streetlight. And before Dib could pull up in his breath, the Vette struck the pillar, T-boning it so hard and fast that the entire vehicle split in two as glass, plastic, and shattered carbon fiberglass rose in a debris cloud while the heavier sections plunged toward the pavement. Before the rear end could hit the ground, it exploded in a fireball that consumed most of the street.A half second later, the front end of the car came to a thudding halt and was swept up into the first fireball.
Three, two, one, and a second explosion tore through the front end, englufing Torque in veils of black smoke backlit by flames.
Dib jammed on the brakes, then downshifted to second, rolling up on the scene: He was frozen, rapt, unable to fully process what he was seeing. But with a chill and shudder, he realized he had to get out of there. He hit the gas... The flames were painfully similar to the ones brent watched now, at this moment, some even seven years later, reflecting off his sunglasses.
On The Lawn of Membrane Residence, Earth City, U.S.A., Earth
2020
Dib stood on the lawn of his old home, watching with the rest of his Marines team as his house burned, bombed by Irkens, secondary explosion erupted somewhere in the background.
Indeed, those fires had just taken him back to that terrible moment when Torque Smacky had died on that rainy night. While his fellow Marines had been voicing as to why their recently promoted Lieutenant was staring at the burning wreck, Dib remained there, stunned, reliving his senior year in hi skool, feeling it all again. That night had changed everything.
"Hey, Lieutenant? Lieutenant Dib?"
Someone was yelling for him now, telling him to get down as oncoming fire erupted in the streets, yells, gunfire, and plasma discharge was muffled in the bacground... But he was still in the year 2013, inside his Vette, crying as he sped down the side street, crying because he fervently believed that his life was over.
What would his father think?
His father was a scientist, a great one, perhaps the greatest, a world leader who worked for the UN and the US Military. How would he feel about his only son being involved in a street race in which someone was killed?
If Dib hadn't challenged Torque, if he'd just continued to dimiss him, the kid would still be alive. He couldn't just sat it was all Torque's fault, that he'd deserved to die... Because Dib had been weak. Dib had, indeed, stooped to the kid's level. And because of that, the kid was dead.
The ride home had been the longest one of his life. He'd pulled the Vette into the garage, shut the door, as though he were being followed by someone who'd seen the accident, then dropped to his knees and vomited. He remained there for five minutes, just drooling and breathing, trying to explain to the police in his head why he'd been racing and how sorry he was and that now, yes, his life was over... Take me away... And his small family of two would stand there, crying, as h was escorted into the police car, the cop placing a hand on Dib's head so he wouldn't bang it as he took a seat inside, behind the wire seperating them from him.
He was a dog.
A street racing dog headed to prison.
Dib rose and cleaned up the mess, then went to his room and lay there, afraid to shut his eyes because through that darkness would come the fire. Yet after a few more minutes and even with his eyes open, all he saw was the street, the cars, the Vette shattering into a million pieces.
The next day at skool, everyone was talking about the car accident, but there wasn't a single witness who would- or would- identify the other car. In fact, no one was coming forward with information because the media was reporting that Torque Smacky has ties to several gangs in the area, and that word gang scared everyone into silence.
Dib was called into a room at skool and questioned was with several other students who knew Torque. Dib assumed they'd ask him about Torque's bullying an that eventually he'd break down and confess to the race. But the detectives seemed bored, going through the motions, and Dib wasn't the only kid harrased by Torque and his friends.
Dib learned that other kids with fast cars both in his hi skool and in neighboring skools had also been challenged to street races. It seemed the police were already chalking this up to another foolish punk who'd been killed doing something stupid. The police had asked Dib what he'd been going that night. He said he'd gone to a movie and then went home- a half truth, to be sure. They even did a cursory inspection of his car, as they did with the other kids, but the Vette yielded no evidence about the crash.
During the weeks that followed, Dib's sorrow and guilt compelled him to learn more about Torque and his family. In moments of utter weakness he saw himself going over to their house and confessing to them what had happened, apologizing for his sins, and begging for their forgiveness. But it would never come to that, he knew. And so he'd watched them from afar, and he read the memorial MySpace page set up by his parents and brother he didn't know of.
There Dib learned that Dib was going into the military after hi skool. Who knew wwhat Torque would have done in the military?
He might have gone to war and fought valiantly for the United States. He might have done so many better things, smarter things, than racing his stupid car. And for months, Dib wondered about that, about the life he had taken from this world. He didn't have to agree to race. He didn't. He was smarter than thhat. But his actions had said he wasn't.
Some days he'd argue that Torque was a bastard, and he'd curse and tell himself he was a fool for feeling bad about it all.
Other days he would cry.
His father had expected him to head off to college. For six months he did nothing but work a part time job in a local supermarket, come home, and float in his pool like Dustin Hoffman in that old film, The Graduate. Tony, the produce manager, said Dib was one of his best clerks and that there was a real future in the supermarket business if Dib wanted it.
A real future.
Dib would only shrug.
Dib's father had long talks with him about ambition and the value of a college education. Dib stayed up late at night, wrestling with the idea that he didn't deserve to live a good life because Torque Smacky would never have one and that Dib ruined the lives of Torque's parents and brother.
Dib deserved to be punished- so deliberately ruining his life was the only path. But then one day while brent was at a gas station, he watched a soldier get out of his car and prepare to fill up. Dib looked at the young soldier: high and tight crew cut, uniform starched to perfection, and right there he realized it wasn't too late for him.
"I want to join the military."
His father was shocked.
His father argued that at the very least he should become an officer, that maybe, just maybe he could pull some strings and get Dib into West Point via a congressional appointment.
"Why do you want this so badly?" Zita had asked him.
"I just do," he'd said.
"I wish I could understand this."
"Zita, this is what I need to do."
"Will you be happy?"
"Of course..."
Dib's father had come through, and West Point was a culture shock and a hundred times tougher than Dib had ever anticipated. There was the encouragement, camaraderie, and support, to be sure, but there was alos the competition that drove his fellow cadets to extreme limits. There were many sleepless nights and moments when Dib staring into the demonic eyes of an upperclassman and wanting to drop out... But two things kept him there: the thought that he could live Torque's life for him and the thought that he deserved to be punished for what he'd done, so when the pain, torment, and stress came, he often welcomed him.
No surprise: Dib graduated at the bottom of his class. And when that happens, you don't get your pick of duty stations.
He shipped out to Camp casey, South Korea, and there he became a platoon leader in charge of four M1A1 tank crews and was part of First Tank. If the North Koreans decided to invade, they'd be knocking on Dib's front door. He did that for a few years and made friends with several Marines who'd convinced him to give Spec Ops Force Recon Marine a try. So he applied to the Special Forces school. He was rejected twice before a third time was a charm.
He still had nightmares about the Robin Sage event that tested everything he'd learned as an SF Marine... But ultimately, he'd graduated, been promoted to Lieutenant, and been sent to the outer regions of the US after NASA confirmed alien contact was iminent with the Irken Armada inbound for Earth. And now, as he finally dragged himself away from the burning house to fall into cover and issue orders to his men, he sensed that his life was about to change just as it had on that fateful rainy night, both moments marked by swelling clouds of smoke and fire.
(End prologue)