Oh my,
It's been a while. So, so sorry for being so slow to update this story but I hit a major writer's block and if that wasn't an obstacle enough, I've also had so little free time to actually sit down and write during these past two months...There was the hectic Xmas time and then I noticed I've been saying "yes" to a lot of things so I got sooo many things to do in January... I was to update last week but got food poisoning, so.. that didn't work out as planned..
So, I hope you're still with me and I'll try to be quicker with the updates...
Anyway, for all of you out there who have read and reviewed this story... Thank you so much. And thanks for the new follows and favs and all... It all means so so much to me!
Hope you like the chapter, and please leave a review after you've read it, I always love to hear your thoughts!
So, as it has been so long... I'll keep this short(ish). And let's get back to the story! Finally!
So, hope you're ready for a little alien encounter?
Be safe and ride free,
-SpaceFlora
The Story of Rebellion and Hope
6.
A bunch of rebels was sitting around the campfire they'd built inside the cave, using saber squid blubber and old bird nests they'd found hanging from the cave ceiling. Emphasis on the word old as there were no birds left on Mars, the birdsong being only a far distant memory.
The burning blubber let out more black smoke in the air than if using firewood but it was the only thing to use to make the fire as the barren red planet didn't have the trees or bushes anymore either. Because of the black smoke, many of the men now had black smutch on their faces and ears as well as on their clothes. Their furs were covered with a fine layer of dust and sand that was like glued to the fur which now had lost all its' shine and gotten a little lumpy. They looked like they hadn't seen a shower in a long time, which was true of course since the Martians didn't use water to get themselves clean, but instead, they used this special mixture of fine sand and clay. At the moment though, they didn't have any bags of washing sand with them, mainly because it was thought as a luxury thing, not a necessity and because no one even had thought of bringing that stuff with them out here in the desert in the first place. And if not counting the few days spent back at the headquarters that's what the Fighters had been doing many weeks in the row now, fighting out in the desert. But, it was wartime, after all, dirty faces and clothes were the least of their worries.
The scouts that had been sent to find out the Plutarkians' whereabouts still hadn't contacted the rest of the rebels, so, all the Fighters could do was just chill and wait inside the cave they were hiding in. The fire was crackling and shooting little fire sparks into the dark cave, the sparks silently lingering in the air before meeting the cold cave floor and fading.
"What is the first thing you'll do when you're able to visit the Camp again?" One Fighter asked looking at all the men sitting around the fire while the flames threw dancing light and shadow play on their dirty and tired faces.
"Man, when I get back to the Camp, I'll eat as much of the fresh saber squid meat as my stomach can handle! I haven't got that in ages...! This jerky is like eating a belt..." One of the Fighters with a short red mohawk named Trigger answered the question but took a bite out of the tough slice of jerky anyway, tearing that with his teeth and chewing his mouth open.
A block of saber squid jerky was been passed around the campfire and every Fighter sitting in this circle cut a slice of it. The Fighters were also drinking strong tea made out of some roots, the liquid helping the dry protein to go down their throats but more importantly, the roots contained a high amount of stimulatives which was perfect as the tea helped them to keep their heavy eyelids open as during the war sleep was just something that they never seemed to have enough of. So, they drank gallons of that hot, murky-colored stuff, or at least as much as they could afford as the water was highly regulated.
"When I'll get to the Camp... I'll dip myself into a bucket full of washing sand and try to get all this dirt off me... No offense bros, but we really start to reek..." A slender but muscular male with a fur the shade of copper-red called Rust stated, sniffing the front of his dirty red camo top.
"Yeah, soon we'll smell even worse than a Plutarkian! The Army's gonna accidentally shoot us while thinking we're the flabby fins!" Modo who used a rock as a stool let out heartful laughter and the others joined in while everyone threw in comments about who's smelling the worst or who has the cringiest looking clothes, their shouts echoing cheerfully in the air and bouncing off the cave walls.
Throttle sat on the cave floor, his legs pulled up, his posture relaxed while his gaze was engaged with the fire, his field specs reflecting back the flickering flames. The specs too had gotten a bit smudgy from the smoke and Throttle took the glasses off and began to wipe them clean, which proved to be an impossible job. He felt someone tapping him on his shoulder and offering the big chunk of jerky to him on his turn. He put the field specs back on but lifted them to his forehead since he couldn't really see with them inside the dim cave anyway, at least not in this smoke. With a swift movement of a wrist, he flung his knife from his belt and stabbed the knife deep into the jerky, and cut a slice. He passed the slab of jerky forward and cleared his throat while studying the slice now dangling between his fingers. It smelled horrible.
"Well...If the Army shoots us, I think it won't be an accident..." He let out an amused snort and tore a piece off the jerky slice with his incisors. The jerky was chewy and dry and did not taste good. The trick to a delicious saber squid meat was to cook it slowly. But in this case, the Fighters only needed the protein and something that'll be easy to storage instead of fine-dining so the dried version was the best option, even if it meant that as dried, the saber squid meat had a strong foul odor and the taste was something that could only be described as unpleasant. But it was a much-needed protein nevertheless and the Martians couldn't really be picky if they desired not to starve to death.
"Speaking of the Army... How's Carbine-ma'am doing?" Modo asked Throttle who raised his look to meet the grey giant's concerned face. The big guy wasn't entirely sure what his thoughts on the female soldiers were. Sure the females could join the war and become a soldier if chosen so, even if he couldn't really understand why they would want to do that willingly in the first place. War was dangerous business and so was being a soldier and Modo didn't want the females to get hurt which would hardly be avoided when fighting alongside the males in the frontiers. But Modo wasn't raised to confront a female, to tell her what she could or could not do, to dictate her life and her choices even if that was quite normal around the Cave Mice... His Mommah had taught him to respect the females and their choices. But that didn't decrease his stress levels every time he saw a female soldier fighting, so, maybe it was safe to say that he had mixed feelings towards the topic.
"She's doing fine...Last time we spoke she had been made the head of her regiment." Throttle talked while landing his look on the slice of foul-smelling jerky.
"That dame sure is tough, bro... How come she ain't fighting with us?" Trigger asked as he had caught their conversation but his words were hardly recognizable having half of his fist jammed into his mouth while trying to get a string of jerky away that had gotten stuck between his teeth.
Throttle huffed and scratched his scruffy cheek before glancing at his short fingernails and noticed the black dirt underneath them.
"Because, and I quote, she has "too much self-respect..." He drawled.
Carbine had always been the more driven one out of the two, and that was saying a lot since Throttle wasn't exactly lacking in motivation either. But Carbine wanted to get recognition, she wanted to rise through the ranks, she liked order and the rules since that meant that she could get what she wanted if she only played by the rules well enough. Also being an Army officer was a highly respectable status to have. Needless to say, a rebel soldier didn't really have the same weight in one's curriculum. Being a rebel wasn't exactly considered a career, it was more of a lifestyle. And it was that lifestyle that Carbine had trouble with since the Fighters were anarchistic, wild, and rowdy and they didn't really have any rules. But it was because of all those traits why many of the citizens were secretly rooting for the Fighters also as Mars had had its' fair share of wars even in the last decades, and some of the citizens had begun to think that maybe the Army wasn't actually doing such a remarkable job in keeping their planet safe... Maybe what they needed was something different and just maybe the Freedom Fighters were the ones who could actually make a difference. Sure, they were chaotic, loud, and raucous but they were also effective as a bullet to the head. Even Carbine couldn't really deny that.
"Well, I don't blame her... The Army at least doesn't look like a bunch of hobos...They've got the government funding behind them to get them new clothes and truckloads of washing sand...They smell like fresh wind and fields of flowers whereas we smell like shit..." Rust muttered while sniffing his tattered and dirty clothes again. The clothes even had dried blood stains on them, although the stains stayed hardly noticeable on the red-patterned camo fabric.
The Fighters changed amused looks and Trigger raised his head and searched for their Commander and saw Stoker trying to contact Harley for the tenth time, sitting on his black bike.
"Hey! Stoker! How about we get a new pair of combat uniforms?" Trigger inquired and Stoker raised his look, his two dark brown eyes scanning this bunch of jolly Fighters before he lowered his gaze back to the bike's radio again.
"If I let you girls have new clothes then next you'll start demanding a day at the beauty parlor..." The Commander only muttered back and tried to contact Harley's bike again but received no answer. He let out a sigh and rubbed his forehead absent-mindedly before he continued.
"You'll get new clothes when I think you'll need them."
"C'mon Stoke, these rags are bloodier than the battlefield after a landmine..." Trigger tried to make a valid point even if knowing it was useless. One could never persuade the Commander to do anything he didn't want to.
"You're not meeting your mom over a Sunday brunch...You're fighting a war." Stoker gave the red-mohawked male a glance and everyone laughed at that remark. Stoker was the only one who could hold his poker-face, so well actually that his loyals sometimes even thought that the man didn't laugh, if not counting the occasional snorts and smirks. The older male turned his eyes back on the radio again, already starting to lose his interest in the topic.
"Anyway, blood only makes clothes more durable." He drawled.
"Another fine addition to the endless list of ageless Stoker-wisdom..." Throttle chuckled while the others snorted and nodded their heads, now muttering to each other under their breaths.
Stoker got off his bike and combed a couple of loose strands of long hair back with his lean fingers while walking towards the fire. He looked like something was troubling his mind and as he stopped by the campfire he crossed his arms.
"Harley ain't answering." He muttered and waved the thick smoke off his face.
The males sitting by the fire all changed looks but turned their attention back on their leader.
"You know the reception..." One of the Fighters started and Modo nodded.
"Yeah, most of us couldn't even contact the Camp..."
Stoker stroked his chin, contemplating but the most attentive ones could spot slight hesitation and restlessness in his manners as he was still looking at the flames dance.
"...Yeah, and the sandstorm's not really helping the reception either..." The Commander wondered out loud before turning his eyes on Throttle who still sat on the cave floor.
"What d'ya think, Throttle?"
Throttle got slightly startled by this question but raised his brown eyes to meet Stoker's attentive and curious glare which was like piercing Throttle's eyes and trying to pull the answer from his brain. If their Commander had been a little hesitative just a second ago, there wasn't any hesitation visible on his part anymore, not even the tip of his tail was moving.
"Well..." Throttle cleared his throat a little taken back. Stoker hadn't really ever asked his opinion on any of the matters, not that their Leader had asked anyone else's opinions either... Throttle noticed Modo looking at him in the background and while briefly shifting his eyes on the big male, he saw Modo smiling back widely and nodding somehow knowingly, which confused Throttle a bit but the grey male turned his attention on the fire again and Throttle raised his eyes on Stoker who was still standing there, waiting for an answer.
"It's only been a couple of hours and like the guys already pointed out, the reception's not the greatest... I'd give her still a little more time to answer before we could send a couple of Fighters there to check the situation..."
Stoker narrowed his eyes, while still looking at Throttle and clearly contemplating these words in his head.
"You had your concerns over these Earthlings when you got back from your inquiry mission..."
"Well, sure...I mean, I think we all should have concerns about them. These humans visit Mars the first time. Heck, this is the first planet they visit in their entire existence...I mean, we've all seen that cute video of their landing on their Moon...They're not experienced space travelers, and they certainly don't know about other life existing in this Galaxy, they're completely clueless. But just because they're clueless, I wouldn't under-estimate them either. We don't really know how they'll act when meeting us, probably with fear and we all know what fear can do to a person, it can lead to unpredictability...And they could be armed, who knows."
Stoker listened silently, stroking his chin, contemplating before he only nodded back.
"We'll give Harley another thirty minutes to answer." Stoker said and then gave Modo a look.
"It's time to change the guard, we'll let Victor rest...You go take his post, Big Fella'."
Modo nodded and tapped his thighs before getting up.
"Aight, Ah was to step outside for a minute anyway... Too much of that tea Ah guess..." And the big male stood up and lifted his bandana to cover his snout. He went to grab his bike helmet and walked outside the cave. The ever-growing sandstorm outside the cave was so dense that it looked like Modo disappeared into the whirling sand and dust.
As he was outside he put on his bike helmet and closed the purple visor, enabling him to actually see where he was going in this storm. He carefully started to walk the narrow pathway that was hardly visible on the side of the steep hillside, the sand gritting underneath his big biker boots and the harsh cold wind attacking his coarse fur.
While ascending the hill he heard something that made him stop and he quickly turned his head where the noise had come from, his fingers already brushing the cold metal surface of his gun, still securely placed in the leg holster but he quickly changed his mind to grab the gun while already recognizing the dark ginger-colored male, one of the Fighters, who was ascending the hill just a little below from him, going to the cave's direction, carrying a backpack and also wearing his bike helmet because of the harsh weather conditions.
"Mace...? What d'ya doin' out here creepin' mice out...?" Modo chuckled via the helmet's radio.
"Didn't know you spooked so easily, big guy..." Mace answered back, but his voice was just barely audible and lacking all the friendly tones. He wasn't really up to small talk and he didn't even glance in Modo's direction while still ascending the hill. But he had always been like that. Aloof.
"Ah don't... Just not right to sneak up on people, 's all...Especially during the war when we all have itchy trigger-fingers..." Modo partially mumbled back and after giving a look around them, seeing practically nothing in this sandstorm he turned back to Mace again.
"Where were ya?"
"Out..." Mace answered now closer to Modo but still not glancing in his direction while speaking as he only continued his way, slowly passing the tall Fighter.
"Kinda funny weather to have a stroll out in nature..." Modo wondered out loud following the dust-covered male with his look behind his visor.
Mace had already passed Modo but now he suddenly stopped and turned to give Modo a look.
"What's up with all these questions...?" He asked, his voice piercing.
Modo was a little taken back but shrugged his shoulders innocently, studying the male.
"...Just curious..."
"Well, you do know what happens to the mice who put their noses into places they don't belong?" Mace stood there for a second, facing Modo but as the grey-furred male didn't really know what to answer that or why the other Fighter suddenly had gotten so defensive, Mace took the silence as a sign that he had had the last word and he turned and continued his way towards their hide-out post. The grey giant had his arms crossed while looking at the other male's disappearing figure through the clouds of sand before completely vanishing inside the storm. Modo let out a small sigh, raising his brow and turned to continue his way up the hill.
"Weirdo." He only mumbled to himself while shaking his head.
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The sand underneath Lucas's space boots was sinking with every step he took and with the heavy space gear on him at the moment, climbing up the dune was actually rather a hard job and he could feel the strain in his thighs already and a sweat drop carefully sliding down his back. He wasn't an athlete, it was safe to say that he hadn't been picked to be part of this nine-heads-strong space crew for his athletic abilities... But of course, he and all the rest had had to go through numerous health checks and they needed to be fit, but he was a far cry from some of the other members of the crew who were more of the athletic type. But he didn't mind working out a little while walking up this dune. They had been inside of the space shuttle for nine long months... He could use some stretching of the legs... So up he climbed, the top coming closer and closer with each step.
He had a tight grip on the device he clutched in his gloved hands, the seismic monitor he was about to set on. He let out a small sigh. Wow, he really was here... Now, if only all those people who ever doubted or bullied him could see him now. He was one of the first humans to actually walk on Mars. Those bullies could eat sand. He huffed and looked around him. It was so beautiful. Not because of the scenery per se but because of what this meant for them all, for their entire civilization. What he saw wasn't just sand and desert and dunes as far as the eye could carry, even if that was the exact thing that was now surrounding his field of view, but what he saw was hope. And hope was beautiful. Lucas couldn't help but feel himself smile, even giggle a little as he took the last few steps before reaching the top, and as he took the final step he stopped in his tracks since there was something he saw that he wasn't prepared to see, something that didn't add up, something that made his brain do a complete somersault.
He had to blink his eyes but the view didn't change. He blinked again and again but every time he opened his eyes he saw the same thing. Two motorcycles. Parked just a little further away from him. A red one and a golden one. Yup, those were motorcycles, unmistakenly. But there was something very odd about these bikes that his brain only made a mental note on to maybe think about later. The weirdness of these vehicles wasn't the main issue at the moment. The thing he had a problem with was that what he saw didn't add up to anything. What he now saw in front of his eyes made fun out of every single thing he had known as a truth. Had he ascended the dune too fast so now he suddenly experienced hallucinations? Had he actually fallen and knocked his head and he was actually sleeping? But no matter how hard, fast, or frequently he tried to blink his eyes or to shake his head, the view stayed the same. Two motorcycles. On Mars. Bloody hell.
His breathing and heart rate increased rapidly but then something hit him to the back of the helmet and his forehead bumped violently against the thick glass visor, and after that everything got a bit blurry before the world around him got completely black and silent as he fell on the ground with a loud thump.
Around this motionless figure now laying on the ground were standing two Martians. The other one, the white male, was still holding his gun but holding it from the barrel end as he had used the gun's grip to knock the alien down. The other one, the ginger-furred female, had her big blue eyes wide open as she studied the alien on their feet before she got over her first shock and bewilderment and she turned her eyes to the male near her, her irritation shining through her husky voice again.
"Why did you hit him?!"
"Because you said no shooting!" Vinnie made a little uncomfortable gesture while trying to avoid being blamed here but quickly turned more relaxed and gave the unconscious alien a look.
"Anyway, I got rid of the problem so...You're welcome!"
"We didn't get rid of the problem! Now the problem is lying there!" Harley flung her arms towards the male Earthling lying on the red sand.
"Oh, you're just never satisfied, hu...?" Vinnie crossed his arms glancing away, irritated.
Harley placed her palms on her waist, letting out a deep sigh.
"Okay... Let's think here for a second..."
"Yeah, why don't we..." Vinnie snorted, clearly not a fan of the whole "let's stop and evaluate the situation"- attempt.
"Well...We can't just leave him there." Harley let out, like stating the obvious but apparently, it wasn't obvious for everyone present.
"Why not?" The young male asked his ears twitching.
"Because...He's bleeding!" Harley pointed out and in fact, Vinnie now also saw that indeed the alien's orange-hued visor had slowly started to turn to red.
"So? Get him a bandaid with cute smiley-faces on it and let's hit the road already!" The white-furred male grunted back, his tail moving agitatedly, not really seeing the problem here.
"Everyone can see that he's been attacked! The helmet's got a dent in it..." Harley pointed at the big space helmet and knelt down beside the human male to examine him better.
She carefully let her eyes wander on the alien, on the deep blue spacesuit, the space boots, the primary life support system that was attached to the alien's back, and the big helmet...The Earthling wasn't much bigger or taller than her if he would get rid off of all those heavy gears... She bent down even more, now her own helmet touching the red sand while trying to see through the alien's visor, to get a glimpse of his face, but the visor was really stained with blood and Harley cringed silently.
"Damn... You really knocked him out..."
"Damn right, I did! When you're messing with Vinnie VanWham, you'll get your scars to prove it!" Vinnie pointed at himself smugly.
"Just saying that one can go overboard..." The female muttered.
"Onboard, overboard, what's the difference? Just as long as there's room to party!" Vinnie only snorted and started to play with his handgun, flinging it and throwing it into the air.
"Well, by the looks of things, this dude won't be dancing for a while..." Harley replied but mainly talking to herself.
She sniffed the air around the alien.
The scent was a mix of plastic and metal and all these different materials that were used for the space equipment but passed that Harley could smell the male's real fragrance. A little musky, but nothing compared to the Cave Mice males' strong scents. He was also wearing some kind of cologne which wasn't typical with the Martian either, especially with the males. What was the Earthling's point to wear that artificial scent on this strange planet to him? Why would he need to mask or cover-up his own scent?
"They smell weird." She wondered out loud, her nose twitching.
Vinnie threw a quick glance at her while still playing with his gun, not really concerned over the alien's wellbeing, or how they smelled. He saw the motionless human as a potential reason for a delay. And he hated delays. Especially now that he could be there with his brothers in arms, fighting the fishfaces and the Sandraiders the Plutarkians had recruited into their smelly team. Yes, this was an Earthling they saw first time around this planet, well technically this was his second time seeing a real-life human, but the Martians knew about other life out there, they knew what's up, this wasn't really anything too interesting...Now, if these weak-looking aliens would have guns and got an invasion and havoc in their minds, well then, Vinnie might have had his interests raised...But at the moment, this human was only distracting him from having fun and that was his aim, always. So, great, more aliens, but could they just get back to this war-business and blowing stuff up again?
Vinnie's leg had started to stomp the ground feverishly which hadn't stayed unnoticed by Harley but she had more urgent matters at hand than one restless kid. The ginger-furred female studied the Earthling in front of her, now that she actually had met a real-life Earthling. Sure she had seen these hairless aliens in the movies and TV-series the Martians had snatched from the Earth satellites and then broadcasted to everyone willing to rest one's eyes on the extraterrestrial entertainment since Mars didn't have Hollywood or the movie studios. They didn't have movies or TV shows of their own. Still, it was a little weird to watch as some aliens played characters based on people the Martians didn't know or wars and fairytales they've never heard of. It was even weirder to watch them bake cakes and cry their eyes out, usually on an island. There was a lot of crying and a lot of islands in the Earth's entertainment. And cakes.
Vinnie gave her another glance and rolled his eyes.
"C'mon... Are we camping here now? Let's go! I bet the others are fighting in the frontiers already! I wanna get some action!"
Harley sat up, placing her palms on her knees, thinking.
"We can't just leave him here to die..." She said.
"Well, we could but apparently we've got problems with moving along..." Vinnie mumbled crossing his arms, shaking his head. He then glanced at the female mechanic again.
"Why are you making so big deal out of this?"
"...He hadn't done anything to us..." Harley said but it was more like she tasted the words, she wasn't really sure what to do right now, she was just throwing ideas and thoughts in the air and only hoping that there would have been someone else to catch them than the young adrenaline-fueled Fighter. Harley let out a sigh. She wished Stoker was here.
"He doesn't look so dangerous..." Harley continued. It just didn't feel right to her to leave the alien die there. But that wasn't a problem for all of them now standing there in this sandstorm, on this dune, only a stone throw away from the strange aliens' basecamp. Vinnie let out an annoyed grunt.
"Okay, look...You just gave me a rant about their sick tests and how they're gonna slice up our bodies and now you changed your mind that they're the cutest little creatures that need to be saved? Man, make up your mind already, doll..." Vinnie then threw his arms up in a frustrated manner.
"And you're the one who was so eager to leave this place, so let's go already! We came, we saw, we greeted the alien Martian-style, it's time to hit the road!"
But Harley only studied the man lying motionlessly, and she had to admit that she felt sorry for the helpless creature who had not known what was coming to him.
"We can't just leave him here..." She repeated not realizing the hints the words were sending after she had released them into the air. Vinnie shook his head, already heading to his bike.
"Well, not sure if Stoker's gonna like it if we're gonna drag a half-dead alien back to our post...! But you can try of course... Just flutter your eyelashes, that seems to work to the old man..." Vinnie muttered and sat down on his bike but gave a look at Harley over his shoulder.
"Are you coming or not?" He asked his voice nearly desperate, just anxious to get going.
Harley let out another sigh but not one out of frustration, she was just battling over decisions about what to do with the bleeding alien, battling internally with moral dilemmas.
"I'm not talking about bringing him back... "
"Then what are you talking about?! And why we're talking about it? If you wanna drag him across the desert, by all means, but just do it already!"
"Look, I don't know what to do here... Maybe we could just... call Stoker? I mean..." Harley let her eyes roam on the alien again.
"He could die because of us..."
"I don't care! Folks die here all the time!" Vinnie started to feel irritated and his voice became rawer, and Harley raised her blue eyes to examine the white-furred male behind her helmet's visor. She could sense that for some reason he felt angry. What had triggered that emotion? Harley studied the young male curiously a little while, before deciding to concentrate on more important matters and changed her look back on the unconscious alien.
"Because... He doesn't have a part in any of this...He's not part of our war." Harley answered but was interrupted as they heard something. They both knew it before they even turned their heads. They had been stupid, both of them, they had let their guards down. And on this planet, if one lets their guard down, it usually means big trouble. But only now it wasn't the invaders, the Plutarkians, nor it was the feared saber squid. The split second they had time to think, they already smelled it. There was someone behind them, and it smelled a lot like a human. But as they quickly turned their heads, they both got hit by a powerful electric current which made their bodies twitch and shake violently before they dropped on the red sand, already unconscious.
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