CLARK CAMERON is standing behind his home, in the small yard that abuts the grazing pasture for his cattle and horse. He is swinging a large maul with a slow, steady rhythm, apparently driving some sort of crude wooden marker into the ground. Beside it are two similar markers, each slightly lopsided. He pauses for a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow and regard the three markers.
CLARK
I wish it didn’t have to be like this. Any of it, I
mean. The occupation, the resistance, and you
poor creatures getting caught up in our mess.
CLARK shakes his head and thwacks the top of the memorial marker a few more times before stopping to take a drink of water.
CLARK
It’s bad enough that we humans can’t get along.
But I’ve accepted that. It’s part of our nature to
group up and then wage war against other groups.
It’s not pretty, but it’s our own. You know? I just
wished we could stop catching the rest of creation
in the crossfire. It’s like we’ve regressed to the old
Industrial Ages, back when Terra was the only world
we lived on and we just kept using more resources
than the planet could sustain.
CLARK leans to his right, right hand resting on the maul, holding his canteen in the other hand as he catches his breath between gulps of water.
CLARK
They never think about how much the other creatures
suffer. This was supposed to be simple. Let the others
cause a distraction, get in, grab the relevant samples, get
out. Of course, then those bulls in a China shop from
Missouri had to show up. At least, I hope it was them.
If it wasn’t...we’re seriously compromised.
CLARK shudders, puts down his canteen, and goes back to hammering. After a few more blows, he seems satisfied, and begins trying to wrench the marker into a straight up-and-down position from its current left-leaning stance.
CLARK
Of course, by the time we got in there, everything had
gone pear-shaped. They had blown the door clean off,
but I guess they just pinned the guards down with
weapons fire, or something, ‘cause they were still
alive and kicking when we passed the posts. Thank
goodness that Cho and Alexander were quick enough
to take them down before they ventilated me.
CLARK lets go of the monument and glares at it, seemingly realizing that he did not shift it at all. Finally, he shrugs and shakes his head before plopping down onto the ground.
CLARK
It was all falling apart from there. Those gorillas had
already tripped the self-destruct, so we had less than
three minutes to decode their filing system, find the right
samples, take out whatever guards were left, and get
out alive. Shin and Cho took out the last guard, and they
found the giant bomb in a closet. Simon danced through
their system’s security like it wasn’t even there, even
despite the self-destruct lockout. Me? I just tried to
find as much data on the filing as I could. When I heard Alex
call for help, I had no clue what I’d find.
CLARK stares off into the distance, eyes glazed over with deep reminiscence.
CLARK
It was you three, of course. Three ladies far from
your home, where hardly any of your kind had
ever lived before. But, here you were! Undefed, of
course, and being used to brew Blake-only-knows
what kind of microbial nastiness. But alive! Here,
on Terra! I had a wild urge to set you free and take
you in, right there. But we had a mission, and I had
to undo all the damage my work had done. I had
to find those samples and get them out of that place.
After shaking his head again, CLARK laughs bitterly and takes another swig of water.
CLARK
Simon got me the info I needed, and he somehow
used his computer to stop the whole place from
exploding. Thankfully, Cho and Shin had disarmed
the bomb. Cho started looking for a way out, and Shin,
Alex, and Simon came in to help me load up as many
“Operational” samples as I could find. It really
looked like we were gonna make it okay. Then,
the other bombs started going off. Or maybe
it was the bombardment from the giant spaceship.
CLARK gives each of the markers a conspiratorial glance.
CLARK
Yeah, you heard me right. They really didn’t want
you girls getting out. Knowing what you were carrying
inside you, of course, I agreed. Once Simon got
concussed by rubble and our exit was blocked, Cho set off
a grenade to try to blow us free while he ran for the hills.
All that did was make more collapses. The only way out
would be past you three. Alex and Shin would have shot you.
That wouldn’t have been right. You needed to be put down.
I knew that. But you deserved better than that. You’d
survived a trip few of your kind could, and you’d been treated
like so much shit on the bottom of the Word’s shoe. You at
least deserved to die free from your little pens, with full
bellies. I fed you, and led you away, and bless your hearts,
you followed.
CLARK stands up and walks slowly over to the middle marker. He rests a hand gently on top of the rough wood, his eyes growing wet as he shakes his head at the unfairness of it all.
CLARK
They’d been starving you, but I could fix that, at least.
One of the few things I’ve been able to fix. Some
doctor I am. Shin and Alex got Simon’s unconscious
body out of there, and Shin got that weird armor.
He blew out the window so I could get out of the
room I lured you back to. You snapped at me, but how
could I blame you? You were light-years from home, starving,
and probably stir-crazy. Did they even let you stretch your wings?
CLARK turns and walks a few paces away, crossing his arms with his head bowed.
CLARK
I never looked back as the bombs fell. I couldn’t bear it.
Simon will live - from the head injury, anyway. He doesn’t
believe me about you all. He never has. That hardly matters, now.
We might all be infected, if whatever was cooking inside you
had mutated enough to make the jump to people. It’s too early to tell
if we’re all going to come down with something horrible.
Maybe we’ll all die here, behind my self-imposed quarantine.
Hoisted by my own petard, so to speak. That would be
poetic. But if we survive...
CLARK clenches a fist, staring at the markers with determination in his eyes.
CLARK
If we survive, I’ll make the bastards pay. For perverting my work
and dooming you three - you, who could have been the most
celebrated Branths in history - they’ll bleed. I’ll make sure of it.
With a grunt of effort, CLARK hoists the maul up, cradling the head low in his hand and leaning the handle against his shoulder. He turns and walks off briskly into the darkening evening.
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