Assault on Station 39

“We have to hold out just a little longer!” Commander Moore shouted out above the sound of explosions.  “They’re almost finished.  We have to buy the enough time to get Codename Destroyer completed.  No matter the cost.” 

His men were exhausted.  Somehow word had leaked that their remote outpost was where the work was being performed.  Nobody knew how it had happened, as only the very top personnel of the military were even aware of Codename Destroyer, much less its whereabouts.  Regardless, the Kardin Fleet had descended on them three days ago, and Commander Moore and his forces had been under constant fire since then.  If he was honest with himself, he didn’t know if they would last much longer.  But, he knew that his men needed his confidence, even if it was inauthentic.

“They should be running low on energy.  They won’t be able to hold up this assault much longer – Lt. Anson, I need the shields to hold just one more hour!” 

“Sir, I don’t know how they’ve lasted this long!  It’s only a matter of time before they collapse; and if I put any more energy into them, they might take the entire station with them when they do,” Lt. Anson shouted back through the comms.

“Lieutenant, I don’t care what you have to do, and I’d rather this station be blown to bits than for Codename Destroyer to fall into Kardin hands.  Just do it!”

A high pitched whine became audible throughout the station as Lt. Anson’s last bit of fission generated power was pushed through systems that were no longer able to handle the strain.  But, as long as the troops on Station 39 were able to hear the whine, they knew that they were at least alive, so nobody complained.

“Commander Moore, we’re losing men everywhere.  When will reinforcements arrive?”  This time it was Doctor Yang crackling over the comm relays.  He had been in battle before, but it always made him sick to see this many men dying – and for what?  Some science experiment; that’s all he got to know.  That’s all any of them got to know.  Commander Moore, knowing full well that they were on their own, chose to ignore Doctor Yang’s pleas.

In the lab, the scientists were frantically trying to keep Codename Destroyer intact, while also desperately trying to finalize the last steps needed to bring the power core online.  There were so many parts that hadn’t been tested that they had no idea what would happen.  Frankly, they were throwing pieces together so quickly, that they were certain that they had made some mistakes.  And they knew that any mistake at this juncture would be fatal.  There simply was no time to fix anything.

“Shields are down, sir – and they’re not coming back up!” Lt. Anson called back through the comms.  “We’re sitting ducks; they’ll be boarding us shortly.”

Almost on cue, Kardin shock troops immediately could be heard cutting through the side of the station.  Commander Moore and his men all pulled out their sidearms.  “You – you go and protect the lab!” he shouted to all of the other men on the bridge.  They hesitated briefly, knowing that if the Commander stayed, he had no hope of surviving this fight; yet they conceded and retreated through the spiderweb of hallways that led to the lab.

Just as they were leaving earshot of the bridge, they heard gunfire.  A few targeted shots of a hand weapon followed by the repeating explosions of the shock troops’ weapons.  Then nothing but the clang of heavy boots slamming against the ground.

The Kardin troops were filing through the opening that they had made in the Station by the hundreds.  The only thing between them and capturing Codename Destroyer was the empty hallways and the small handful of troops that had left the bridge under Commander Moore’s orders.  It was only a matter of time. 

In the lab, the scientists heard a few shouts.  They were muffled through the blast doors, but they could hear enough to gather that the base had been compromised.  They continued their frantic work, and very soon the muffled shouting turned to the explosions of weapons.  Then clanging on the blast doors as the Kardin troops began cutting through the final layer of protection.  And, just as theyfirst shock troop stepped through the newly penetrated doorway, they heard a deep bass sound booming through the lab:  “Codename Destroyer online.  Awaiting orders.”

The League

I used to be a pro basketball player.  Back when there was only one league – his league.  You know who I’m talking about – Jose Rosebloom.  The owner of the World Basketball Federation – the WBF.  He’s the one that started fixing the games.  At first, he kept it secret; just paying off the refs to ensure that the more marketable teams would win.  Then, as viewership waned, he started upping the ante.  Soon enough, he implemented automatic scoring baskets and got rid of human scorekeepers.  At the time, it seemed like Jose was simply trying to keep up with technology.  Then, he got rid of most of the referees.  This was another move that he claimed would make the league more sustainable financially.  Unfortunately, more and more obvious calls didn’t get called, because the ref never seemed to be in the right position.  Still, most people were unaware that games were being fixed.  Until those finals, that is.

It was 2045; Sacramento was playing London.  London was the underdog, though they brought in drastically more fans.  Fortunately, so the fans were led to believe, they were able to keep up with Sacramento, and the finals were tied 3-3 going into the final game.  In the fourth quarter, London was losing by two points, and Sacramento had the ball.  That’s when I made my move.  I played for the German national team – it was up to me to make sure that a European team won the Finals.  So, I ran on the court while both teams were on the other end of the court, and I made a three-pointer for London.  Since the referee was on the far side of the court, he never saw what happened.  The entire crowd was in an uproar, and I can only imagine what was happening as people watched the game around the world.  How could this count?  Sure, the score was kept automatically, and so the three points put London ahead, but wouldn’t someone stop the game and arrest me?  I mean, everybody saw it!  But, nothing happened – no replay, no reversed decisions, and no arrests.  I think that’s when a few people wised-up that the game wasn’t as pure as they had always believed.

After that Finals, run-ins became more and more common; especially on televised games.  When the most popular teams played each other, there was rarely a clear-cut victory.  Between “missed” calls, players from other teams running on to the court to “get revenge” against a team that cost them a game, you couldn’t really tell who the best teams were anymore.  Sure, you could see who won the championships, but you didn’t know how good any of their players were.  But, that’s just how the league is.  Nobody really believes it anymore – well, except for kids. 

But, this story isn’t about the WBF, it’s about me.  And, a few years after the original Finals where everyone learned my name, I was scheduled to make another run-in; this time when Paris played against New York.  My team was supposed to get along well with the other European teams, and so I was supposed to help Paris win.  It was the same basic setup – Paris was up by one point in the final game of the championship.  This time, to add extra drama, I wasn’t supposed to run onto the court until there were only two seconds left – and I was supposed to shock the world by helping New York win against Paris.  So, I waited, and I did my part.  I ran onto the court, just in time, and I took my shot.  Unfortunately, it wasn’t a clean swish like the last time – it bounced around the rim… until it was too late.  My shot went in, but the automatic baskets stop scoring at the final buzzer.  My shot didn’t count.  Paris won the championship, despite my efforts. 

I got fired.  Jose said that I was a disgrace, and that if he couldn’t count on me, then he had no use for me.  With nowhere else to turn, I began playing in the illegal street basketball leagues.  The ones that were run by bookies, and the ones where they actually still had multiple refs - where they actually let the skill of the teams determine the outcomes.  Once word got out that the WBF was rigged, people were looking for ways to resume gambling.  At one point, some of the leaders of the street leagues had tried rigging games to make more money, but when people got wind of it, all of the money dried up, so that didn’t last, and they were forced to let the teams actually compete.  I was forced to play the game on my own, and I only got to win if I was better than the other players.  And, as it turns out, I was better than the other players. 

When I realized how good I really was, I started to get paid better; at least compared to the other guys in the league.  But, I wasn’t satisfied.  I didn’t want to be remembered as the guy who got fired from the WBF.  It seemed like no matter how well I did in the street leagues, I couldn’t shake that mental image.  And so, I started doing the stupidest thing I could think of – I started betting all of my money.  Any time I got paid, I’d bet whatever I had on my next game.  Sure, I lost a lot of money, and several times I had to start over, but we got on a winning streak that saw me actually start to make some real cash.  Eventually, I had a few million, and I had an idea.  I saw that the worst team in the league, the Bayside Ballers, had five thousand to one odds that they would win the championship.  And I bet it all on them. Fortunately, there were no real contracts in the league.  So, as soon as I placed my bet, I quit my team; and became a Bayside Baller.  I still didn’t know if I was going to lose all my money, but I had a chance to become a billionaire.  And, though it was a tough season, I made it.  I had $20 billion. 

Well, at least I was owed $20 billion.  But, in actuality, the bookies didn’t have nearly that much cash.  So, they gave me what they did have – ownership of the street league.  Now, I was the most powerful man in the world of real basketball.  My first step was to make the street league legal.  I hated Jose Rosebloom, and I saw my new league as a way to compete with him and to try to take him down.   And, though my league didn’t have the history and the fame of the WBF, I had the distinction that my league was real.  Unfortunately, the WBF had turned basketball into a joke, and so nobody would take us seriously.  We couldn’t get any news publicity.  Even though our games were real, all of the news outlets had stopped covering basketball.

My frustration with the WBF boiled over; as did the frustration of my players.  There were fights between my players and players from the WBF.  There were even occasional death threats.  Though the news wouldn’t report on any of our actual games, these stories made the news.  Everyone heard about our feud, and it escalated more and more until eventually, it happened.  A plane that Jose Rosebloom was piloting went down in the mountains, killing him instantly.  With nobody left to run the WBF, I was able to easily purchase the league and merge it with my own – keeping the best players, and forcing them to actually compete.  There were no run-ins and a full complement of referees was used in each game.  In the wake of Jose’s tragedy, interest in basketball had begun to return.  Jose’s untimely death had been a blessing in disguise for the sport that he had affected so much.  At least, that’s what the news reported. 

And as long as Jose keeps a low profile, we should be able to keep it that way. 

The Storm

I used to be safe – normal, even.  But, who is normal anymore?  Nobody I know.  I remember a time before this, though.  My life was ordinary; most of the time I’d just be sitting around with my neighbors.  Occasionally, some stranger would take me out and flip through my pages.  Sometimes, even, they’d take me home and I’d be on a grand adventure; though this happened much more often when I was younger.  Back then I foolishly thought that I’d be going on adventures all the time.  But then, as I began to age, they eventually moved me to a new home with new neighbors.  I couldn’t see outside any more, but at least I was safe.  People would still occasionally pick me up and take me on adventures.  They’d read through my pages, and I’d feel like I was fulfilling my purpose.  It was wonderful. 

Then the storm hit.

I had never seen outside before, without being guided by a human.  I guess that’s not completely true – when I was very young I was next to a window.  And, even once or twice on the adventures of my youth, I found myself sitting alone wherever my current human friend had placed me.  But, even then I felt safe – I knew that they would come back and find me.  So, the day the storm hit, I was completely unprepared.  I didn’t know what to do; and really, there wasn’t much I could do.  Suddenly, the roof tore off of my home, and all of my friends and neighbors started panicking. 

In an instant, we were all outside – and this wet stuff was falling all around us!  Now, you humans might not think that this is a big deal.  If you get wet, you’ll just dry back off, right?  But not so for us books – when we get wet our pages get all wrinkly.  This happens to you, too, if you stay wet too long.  But, though your skin flattens back out, we are never the same.  And, even worse, if we stay wet too long, we might have some of our pages stick together; and the scariest thing of all, we might get the black plague! 

But, this storm wasn’t just the wet stuff.  Something strange was happening, and suddenly I was in the air like someone had picked me up.  But, there were no humans around.  I was simply flying!  I got dizzy very fast as I couldn’t control myself.  My pages flapped around like they were being pulled by some unknown force, and I lost track of how long this continued.   I may have even blacked out once or twice – but maybe I just try not to remember all of the terrifying details.  Eventually, I crashed to the ground, tearing up my face pretty badly when I did.

There was no arrogance left in me – simply fear.  I had been on so many adventures, but I wanted no part of this one.  I already had scars on my face, and my pages were wrinkled – some of them even sticking together.  I hadn’t succumbed to the black plague yet, but I felt that it was just a matter of time.  As I lay there, I didn’t know what to expect.  My greatest hope was that someone would come by and recognize me, tattered and bruised, and they would rescue me.  But, really, what were the chances of that?

Eventually, the storm passed, and the wet stuff stopped.  After hours that seemed like days, I even started seeing humans walking around.  (I didn’t see any of them during the storm – maybe it scared them, too.)  As they walked, most of them saw me and just kept going.  I could see them look at me, but I was simply not wanted.  But then, she came along.

“What’s this?” She said, bending to scoop me up.  I had never seen a lovelier young lady in all of my life.  I’m no judge of what people ought to look like, but this girl didn’t dress like any of the people that I had met on my past adventures.  Instead, she seemed a bit dirty and scarred like me.  “I’ve always wanted this one!” she exclaimed as she turned me over – no doubt assessing my injuries.  Then, she gently tucked me away among various cans and bottles and began to push us along in her small vehicle. 

I was still concerned about getting the black plague, but now that I had been picked up, I had a glimmer of hope.  But, my pages were still stuck and wrinkled, and so I knew that she still might get rid of me – and what were the chances that I would be able to try again?  But, as it grew darker, I felt her warm hand gently pulling me out from among the bottles, and she very gently opened my cover.  I blinked some, as I hadn’t been able to see in quite some time, and I saw that there was a fire going nearby, which let me warm up – and then dry off.  As she turned the pages, she would find my stuck pages.  Instead of forcing them apart (which would have left me scarred and useless), she very gently separated them; making sure that each page was completely in tact.  She was like a doctor healing all of my wounds, while still enjoying my story bit by bit.  Eventually, she came to the end.  All of my pages were separated and dry.  “Oh!  I love it,” she said to herself.  I wasn’t nearly as beautiful as I once was, but I had found a new home.  I might not have as many adventures as I had before, but I had the thing that mattered – a true friend that loved me in spite of my appearance.  I wouldn’t trade her to have new pages, glorious adventures, or anything else.