Submersible Witches Quest 12

http://suptg.thisisnotatrueending.com/archive/20022758

	[Ok, now try this one. 'Shave and a haircut, two bits!']

	"Sh-eiv and ah he-ir cut, too bits," he says monotonously.

	[No no no, Socks! Pay attention to how I'm sounding it in my head. There's a jingle to it.]

	[I fail to see how this is going to improve my understanding of your many languages, Kuykendall.]

	[You're doubting me? Socks, this is a very important tune to learn. It holds immense status in our culture.]

	[...Very well.] "Shei-ve and a he-ir cut, two bits!" he says, much more in line with your thoughts.

	[Good, good, you're getting there!] you say encouragingly. You've been trying to teach him some odd phrases here and there, this one being the latest. You might have felt a little more guilty about playing up this particular one, but it's been slow and boring. You deserve to have a little bit of fun.

	"Cleo, just what do you think you're teaching him now?" Miranda says, interrupting your (carefully guarded, of course) thoughts.

	[That's no fair, Miranda. You know Socks can't talk for me quite yet,] you say to Socks. [Tell her that thing I taught you earlier.]

	"Skroo yeeewww," Socks responds dutifully.

	"...Our first friendly learning exchange between alien races, and this is what you teach him?" If you were able to see through Socks' eyes, however many meters away in your former bunk room, you're sure you'd see Miranda with her arms crossed, eyes rolling. Oh yes, you deserve to have quite a little bit of fun.

	[What is so amusing, Kuykendall?] Socks asks, sensing your emotions through that psionic link.

	[Oh, nothing, Socks. Miranda's just an amusing character.]

	[She appears to be staring at me with the most peculiar expression.]

	[Try to imitate it.]

	Something about Rae's roaring laughter in the background tells you Socks must be doing a very good job.

	"Sometimes I really hate you, Cleo," Miranda pouts, only fueling Rae's laughter further.

	You begin to laugh as you imagine the scene in your mind, the complete ludicrity of it all, the war, the aliens, the stupid shit you're getting him to say, being jailed on a friendly Japanese cruiser, suddenly becoming too much to bear. Fuck all this shit. It's too damned hilarious.

	And then Admiral Isaki steps into view, his expression unreadable as he surveys the madly-laughing Witch in the cell.

[ ] Hello, Admiral, sir.
[ ] Laugh harder.
[x] Other. - I know the funniest joke, sir.

	The sudden and stern presence of the Admiral only adds to the hilarity in your mind. You're vaguely aware that you must be getting a little funny, being stuck in this cell (you never did well with sitting still, never having anything to do), and you struggle to contain yourself. With great effort, you do. Finally settling down, you manage to put on a straight face, though your mouth twitches threateningly.

	"I'm sorry sir, I just...thought about a funny joke," you lie.

	The Admiral surveys you carefully, noting the cluttered state of your cell. The extra pad given to you is on the floor, next to a twisted pile of sheets and what passes for a pillow. Your copy of Huckleberry Finn sits by his feet, its pages stuck open on the bars of the cell. Dirty bowls litter the area, and bags under your eyes make evident the lack of sleep you've been getting.

	You look like hell.

	"...I'm sure you did." His voice is flat, but something tells you he doesn't believe you. Great, just what you needed: one of the brass thinking you're crazy. "We have arrived," he says, nodding to the guard. He unlocks your cell, gesturing at you to come out.

[x] Walk out, maintaining what's left of your composure.
[ ] You rather like it in here, actually.
[ ] Other.

	You nod an acknowledgment, giving yourself a few quick pats to try and straighten up your clothes. Your efforts are largely in vain, as they desperately need an ironing and cleaning. Honestly, you could do with a good clean too, but that'll have to wait. As you walk out of the cell, a cadre of armed guards form up around you. Great, you think, they still think I could go crazy.

	The worst part is that they're right in doing so. The incursion into your senses is unprecedented, and until some questions get answered, you're a threat. Who knows if the next Martian you attack will actually be an enemy? What if it's one of the others? What if it's Socks? You're not sure what you'd do if you had some of their blood on your hands.

	Admiral Isaki turns away from you and begins leading the group through the ship, up to the deck. As you step into the fresh morning air, you begin to understand why the Admiral has frozen his expressions. The yellow-orange sky of the sunrise does its best to steal your attention from the spectacle in front of you.

	Smoke rises from Brisbane, numerous buildings ruined and burning. You can sense Socks' worry through the still-open connection between your minds, fretting over your distress.

	[Kuykendall, what is wrong?]

	[Nothing, Socks. It's just...we've arrived,] you manage. Unlike the last port you saw, there truly was nothing you could do. The damage doesn't look to be that extensive (in fact, upon closer inspection it appears as though most of the city is untouched), but you still feel sick to your stomach as you realize you're probably the reason for the attack. You may not have pulled the trigger, but you put the target up on this city.

[ ] Watch as the flotilla pulls in.
[x] Get the others, Admiral willing, of course.
[ ] Nothing.

	You need someone, anyone, to talk to. The responsibility you feel is unbearable, an immense burden you can't deal with. Not alone. You turn to the Admiral, a somber aura coming over you.

	"Admiral, sir," you begin, "if I may...?"

	Without turning his gaze from the city, he nods. Uttering an almost silent 'thank you,' you trace the path to the room you had stayed in before the incident with the visitor. Though most of the crew are busy preparing for port, a few can't help but stare at the fresh injuries the city has sustained. A decent chunk of them have probably seen Socks by now, and their glares as they put two-and-two together make you shrink as you pass through the bulkhead.

	"Cleo! What's the matter?" Rae asks as she greets you at the bunkroom's entrance. The guards shift slightly away from her as she leans out of the room.

[x] We've...arrived.
[x] Hug Yetta.
[ ] Other.

	You walk past Rae, ignoring her question for now. A quick glance in the room is all you need. Yetta is sitting on the lower bunk on the right side of the room, watching you with concern and curiosity. The poor girl's been through a lot, and it's about to get worse. You stumble to her, then nearly fall right into her lap as you sloppily embrace her.

	"Cl-Cleo, what's wrong?" she asks nervously. "What happened?"

	You try to say something, but the words die in your throat as the reality of war you've so far managed to avoid and distance yourself from comes crashing in. This...this girl is playing the game of kill or be killed. People, normal people, are dying in cities across the world. Men and Women alike are suffering on the front lines, no choice but to fight against an enemy they can scarcely understand. And...you've brought it here.

	The growing concern of the others makes you anxious to say something, but you can't. You turn to Socks.

	[Socks, tell them...'We're here.']

	"We're here," he manages in careful syllables.

	"What!?" they exclaim in unison. Rae nearly bolts out of the door to go see before she realizes that you've already seen.

	"Oh..." Rae says. "How...how bad is it?"

[x] Not much damage.
[ ] Does it matter?
[ ] Other.

	Realizing you can't just keep using Socks as a mouthpiece, you force yourself to find your voice. You croak something unintelligible out, cursing as the others ask you to repeat yourself. "Not bad, but..." you manage.

	Yetta squeezes you back. "It's because of us."

	The room becomes deathly silent as this realization washes over all of you. Yetta pats your head. It's a comforting gesture.

	After some time, you and the others manage to head up to the deck. The Jintsu has gotten much closer to the docks by now, but it doesn't look like Admiral Isaki has moved at all. As you all reach the railing, the destruction becomes more clear. A few buildings have chunks out of them, one or two still with smoldering ashes fueling the smoke that reaches for the sky. Blackened walls mark where Martian weapons began their work but left midway through. Planes and Witches buzz through the sky, still keeping an eye out for an additional wave of attacks. Recovery efforts are already underway, but much of the work will first be examining what damage has been done.

	You wonder how many died.

	"Wait," Admiral Isaki says, somehow sensing your group as it approaches. "Keep him out of sight."

[x] Head back inside.
[ ] Hide Socks behind your group.
[ ] Other.

	You've been in the care of a group that mostly had to know about Socks and deal with him out of necessity. It was normal to walk about, not having to worry too much about his safety, but...you're back in "normal" friendly territory, with a whole mess of servicemen and women to worry about, not to mention the recent attack having everyone on edge. Who knows what might happen...and Socks is too important to let harm come to him.

	You turn to your comrades, only to find that they've gone to the rails to watch as the Jintsu pulls in. You decide to let them be, dealing with Socks yourself. It's something you've become accustomed to anyway, being the only one that could really communicate with him.

	[Socks,] you begin, but stop. How strange it is to realize that one of those your people consider the enemy can feel remorse and regret over an attack such as this. You can't mistake his feelings of pride in his nation, his country, his...however Martians organize themselves...but you also can't mistake his sorrow for the loss of life that nation's incompetence has caused. You give him a moment to process the image of the hurt Human city.

	[Socks, we need to get you inside,] you say as a Witch zooms uncomfortably overhead.

	[I...am sorry, Kuykendall. I cannot speak for all my people, but know that I do not find death and destruction amusing or enjoyable.]

	You nod as you lead him back inside.


Sometime later, as you sit in the bunkroom, guards still standing outside the door, Sarah walks in. She eyes Socks carefully.

[ ] Don't even think about it.
[x] May I help you?
[ ] Other.

	"Can I help you, Sarah?" you ask in what you hope isn't an overly hostile tone.

	"Yeah. They're sneaking Socks off the ship. MacArthur wants to see you guys, right now."

	You knew this was coming. You're not entirely sure what to think of Douglas MacArthur. You've certainly never met him, and only heard rumors about him. The man played guerrilla for a bit in the Philippines, helping make life hell for the Martians, or so you heard. Whatever the case, he was pulled out and put in charge of the Far East forces some time ago, and started mopping up the Martian resistance in the area. As for the man himself, you've heard that he can be a right arrogant ass...but from the way the brass seem to be treating him, he might have earned that right.

	Or not.

	"Well," you ask, "how're they doing that? It's broad daylight."

	"They've got a motorcar lined up at the dock, waiting to pick you guys up. I'll be flying some cover."

	"Where are the others?"

	"Waiting. Come on."

	Sarah leads you out of the ship, a large contingency of guards making it a crowd and obscuring Socks. You notice that no planes or Witches are flying in the immediate area anymore. As you reach the ramp down to the pier, a man stops you, holding a very large black bag. He waits, gesturing towards Socks.

[ ] No choice, let him do it.
[x] No way. No. Way.
[ ] Other.

	No. No no no no no. They are not going to do what you think they're going to do. They will not fucking put Socks in a bag. You calmly and quietly express such concerns to the gentleman with the bag. He doesn't take kindly to it.

	"Shove it, Ms. Sparkles. I have my orders, and from what I've been told this boy's a lot more valuable than you are," he threatens.

	"And why the hell do you think he's so important he's got the top brass dancing a ballet across islands to get him somewhere safe, you fucking piece of lard? Because I can make him talk, and I don't mean that I've got a mean face." As you tilt you head and lean towards him, his composure cracks slightly.

	"I, uh..." he stumbles, remembering the part of his orders that mentioned a certain Witch and friends, "well...Listen, lady. The brass don't want a soul seeing him on the way over. You have a better idea than this for hiding him as we bring him down that ramp?"

	He points, and the rather narrow rails do seem to make it impossible to surround him with people as you disembark. The man has a point. What can you do?

[ ] Relent
[x] Come up with an idea? What do you have?
[ ] Other

	"Use your head, you idiot. There's a better way to treat the only Martian that's ever turned coat than stuffing him in a god damned body bag!" you yell angrily. "We're a god damned ship! This is a base of operations! We have more than that insulting piece of cloth to work with here!"

	"Then what do you suggest, Ms. Twinkle?"

	You bite your tongue. "We've got stretchers, right? Bring him down like one of the wounded. Makes more sense than getting a special motorcade for a dead guy or a bag of junk."

	"Fine. I'll see what I can do."

	A few minutes later, Socks is strapped on to a stretcher, conveniently covered by a few sheets and, though lumpy, not recognizable as a Martian.

	[Sorry about the hold up, Socks.]

	[It is not a thing to worry about, Kuykendall. I understand the need for secrecy.]

	You nod mentally. [Yeah, but...could they have possibly thought of a ruder way to treat you? It's like they worked to find something this crude.]

	[I did not expect to have royal accommodations when I decided to set you free and join you. Do not worry.]

	As Socks' stretcher is dumped in the back of the vehicle (how they managed that, you'll never know), you hop in the back seat. There's a handsome young man sitting next to you, wearing a pilot's jacket and a signature grin. He raises an eyebrow. "Well, hello, miss."

[ ] Hello, handsome.
[x] And you are?
[ ] Other.

	"And you are?" you ask, raising both of your eyebrows.

	"What, don't remember me? Max Caulders, at your service."

	His arrogant smirk is maddening, but somehow you sense that it's not out of spite or maliciousness. He's just a pilot. You hope.

	"What are you doing here? Don't pilots fly?"

	"Don't witches fly?"

	"Not all of them."

	"And pilots aren't always flying. Anyway, Sarah told me all about it. Man, you guys picked up some serious cargo," he says, looking back at Socks. "How much he pay you to not kill him?"

	"And what makes you think they'd have money I could use?"

	"Hey, little green men from Mars invade Earth with death rays and rocket guns. I'm not putting much past them, Miss."

	"It's Chief, not Miss."

	"Fine, fine, Chief. You could say these suckers did anything and I wouldn't be surprised."

	"This one broke us out of captivity and came with us."

	"I stand corrected."

	The rest of the ride continues as such, dealing with Max Caulders, Pilot, as best you can. You can't even tell if he's just like this all the time, or if he's trying to flirt with all his talk.

	The vehicle drives mostly on the roads, taking detours where debris has blocked the way. As you pass by one of the harder hit areas of Brisbane, the car swerves to avoid a rock in the road, jostling you. Along the sides of the streets you can see worried civilians and some weary soldiers milling about, doing their best to handle the situation. You wonder how many of these men were sent back to Brisbane to get some R&R, only to find themselves in another battlefield.

	You pull around to the back of a rather important-looking structure in the middle of the military compound, some ways back from the densest part of the city. It appears to be more of a command and control center, with troops and equipment stored elsewhere. Parking, several soldiers hop out to survey the area. Satisfied that no one not important enough is around, they wave.

	"Well, that's our cue. Chief, shall we go?" Max says.

	"Fine."

	You hop out of the vehicle, watching carefully as they take the squirming Socks out from the back. His sheets have become jostled a bit, and-

	"...aaaAAAAAAH!" A battle cry erupts as a lone man turns the corner, spotting the live Martian partially covered. He charges, a knife in his hand. You can't tell if he's wearing a tattered uniform or civilian clothing...

[ ] Stop him at all costs.
[x] Yell at him and intercept.
[ ] Other.

	That man couldn't have had a luckier spot to appear for such a surprise attack. A momentary lapse in surveillance of that particular corner as both sentries responsible for it look the other way at the same time allows him to close considerable distance before the sentries can respond.

	[WATCH OUT!] you yell, but there's not much Socks can do other than flounder about on the stretcher. Moving at incredible speed, you rush between Socks and the attacker, a shield up to block his way.

	"STOP!" you yell desperately, commanding, pleading him to cease and rethink his crazed charge, but that split-second snapshot you get of his eyes tell you he is too far gone to think logically. As time slows, you wonder what drove him to this. Was he a soldier, bounced from front to front as his friends died all around him? Was he perhaps a civilian, this latest attack bringing his rage and grief to a head? Did his family die in the attack? Did he lose brothers in the fighting? Or was he simply a mad man?

	A loud shot forces your moment of time to pass, and the flow of events returns to its normal pace. The man falls to the ground, shot, just inches from you. There's no mistaking the fatal wound in his torso. To your right, one of the sentries lowers his weapon from his shoulder and scans the area once more.

[x] Deal with it and walk inside.
[ ] That man could have been a civilian!
[ ] Other.

	As you gaze at the cut down man, you feel a pang of sadness. You'll never know what caused this man to snap. You'll never know who he was, what he did. His story, for better or worse, has ended here, and the worst part is that you can't even curse the sentry for doing his job. Socks is too important to chance his injury or death.

	What a thing war is.

	"Come on, Chief. This way," Max says, finally taking some of that pilot tone out of his voice. "They'll...deal with this."

	You nod, following him and the soldiers carrying Socks (with the sheets repositioned) into the building. They lead you down a series of hallways, the building once serving the city in some other important and official capacity. It's only natural that it should still serve such a prestigious and authoritative capacity now.

	You reach a large set of wooden doors, a fine finish emphasizing the assured importance of the man or men inside. An orderly knocks on the door before letting your group in.

	"Well, look who finally arrived. Glad to see something going right for once," says a man with an exceptionally tall pipe in his mouth. There's no smoke coming from it at the moment, but you wouldn't be surprised if it saw some serious use.

	Max Caulders snaps to attention. "General MacArthur, sir. I present Chief Petty Officer Cleona Kuykendall, and..." he trails off, looking to you.

[x] Socks. Call him Socks.
[ ] ...What was his name, again?
[ ] Other.

	"He's our Martian Defector, sir. Known colloquially as Socks."

	A few eyebrows are raised as you say it.

	"Socks? This green monster from outer space...is Socks?" MacArthur asks dubiously.

	"Yes, sir. Long story."

	He stares at you, as if unsure if you're trying to pull a fast one on him, before letting out a few chuckles. "War is a hell of a thing, ain't it? Well, let's get down to business." He turns to his aides. "Alright, clear the room. It's about to get above your paygrades, gentlemen."

	They leave, leaving you, Max, Socks, and MacArthur himself. "I'll need you to exit as well," MacArthur says, speaking to Max.

	"Of course, sir." He walks out as well.

	"That damned pilot's been a pain in the ass since he got his wings, but damn if you'll find a better or luckier pilot," MacArthur says as soon as Max exits, sitting down behind his desk. "One of these days he'll do something really stupid, but until then we'll just have to put up with him, eh? Oh, don't just stand there, take a seat, both of you," he says, gesturing.

	Socks, now free of the stretcher, takes one of the seats at your direction. You sit as well.

	"So, Chief, you've gotten mixed up in a hell of a lot. Mind explaining some of it to me? Admiral Isaki's report talks about psionic links and illusions? The Tullibee sunk? Martian technology?"

	You look around the room. "Where's the others?"

	"All in good time, Chief."

	"Well..." you say, gulping. "What do you need me to do?" you ask, preparing to go through the longest debriefing of your life.

	"Actually, Chief..." The tone of his voice begins to frighten you, as if foreshadowing some horrible request. You've not often been wrong in cases like this. "It's funny you should ask that. If I understand correctly, you've had some serious exposure to the Martian Mind, not with just one individual, but two. Been seeing things that aren't there, going mind to mind with your Socks over there."

	"...That's very simplified, but generally correct, yes, sir."

	"Do you still feel capable of fighting the good fight, Chief?"

	"Of course, sir!"

	"Alright," he says, standing up from his desk. He walks around the large room a little bit, examining a few of the bookcases, paintings, and maps around the walls. The sudden and strange silence is unsettling. He finally turns back to you. "You're good to go, then? If one of those bastards pops up in your face, you can pull the trigger?"

	"Yes, sir."

	"Very well, then." MacArthur pulls out his revolver, handing it to you. As you take it in your hand, confused, he gestures with his pipe towards Socks. "Shoot him."

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