The New Neighbor Knocks Every Night at 3 AM, He Doesn't Want to Come In | Part 2
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No! Chuck shouts. I'd been expecting the reaction, so I don't react myself.

All I do is grip my bat tighter and sit up a little straighter in my chair. "Ralphie," Chuck says, barely containing a snarl. "Just the story as it happened. No additions." "That wasn't an addition," I say. "I was actually thinking that." "Then why not mention that in previous tellings?" Chuck asks. "I forgot." "You forgot?" I nod.

"A trained and decorated Marine officer like you forgot a major detail such as thinking about going over the helmet cam footage of the events once returning to your FOB?" Chuck asks and laughs. "I don't believe you!"

"I don't care what you believe, Chuck," I say, fighting not to spit the words at him. "Human minds are resilient, but they are far from infallible. I forgot to mention that thought before, because I was so focused on the facts as they happened. That was what you first told me was of the utmost importance. The facts as they happened. That kind of thought is a fact, Ralphie," Chuck says. "Which means in all your previous tellings, you were holding back on me.

"That is not good, Ralphie. Not good at all." "I'm only human," I say and shrug. He sneers at me as rage builds in him. It's hard to miss. Instead of the faux brown skin he wears so he can appear neighborly, his skin reverts to its native purple. But he catches himself, and any sign that he's not a normal human being just like me disappears in half a second. If I wasn't trained to catch shit like that, I would've missed it.

Chuck's body language relaxes, and he gives me a concerned look. "What's wrong, Ralphie? You seem out of sorts," he says before smiling. "Did I use that correctly?" "Yeah, I'm fine." "You're lying again. I'll let it go this time. But please stop. Do you want me to tell this story or not?" "I do, I do. Proceed." I sigh and proceed.

I took point with Mosva behind me, Cabot in the middle, Jenkins next, and Shun behind us, covering our six and keeping tabs on the bike gang. We made it to the outskirts before the rest showed up. "Hey," one kid said as they rolled up in front of us. Three of their buddies rolled up behind, but stayed back a couple of meters. That accounted for the four who had left, but it meant we still had six behind us back in town. "Shun?" I asked.

"They're moving in," Shun replied, predicting my question. "Keep an eye on them," I said. "Engagement orders, LT?" Shun asked. "No engagement until engaged with." "I said hey!" The kid, who had addressed us first, said, "Aren't you morons supposed to say 'hey' back? Isn't that a greeting with you guys? I think you mean Marines." I responded. "Morons is an insult. I know what I said," the kid replied.

And I know what you didn't say. You didn't say "hey" back." Their body flashes bright purple as the red and blue splotches of his adolescent skin roll together briefly. Then their skin returns to its splotchy state. The natives don't go full purple until adulthood. It was one of the first things we learned when the occupation began. The brass wanted to make sure we weren't being baited by adolescents looking to stir shit up. Stir shit up?

Chuck says, "Jesus fucking Christ, Chuck!" I shout. "Will you shut the fuck up and let me finish this fucking nightmare of a story? It's bad enough you make me relive this shit every fucking night. Can you at least let me get to the end without interrupting me a billion fucking times?" We're both a little stunned by my outburst. I didn't mean to lose my cool, but no one really does, do they? With my hands gripped around my bat, I wait for the repercussions.

Seconds tick by without Chuck saying anything, then minutes, then what feels like hours. But I know it's not hours, or the three suns would have risen in the north. Finally, Chuck smiles at me, turns, and steps off the porch. He gets to the oak tree, then turns and nods. "You're tired," he says. "Get some sleep, Ralphie. We'll start again tomorrow night." I open my mouth, but he shakes his head. I close my mouth, and he nods again.

Then he walks off, passing straight through the image of the oak tree.

When he reaches the end of the street and is lost to the darkness, that's when I stand up, give a last glance at the energy shield that does so much more than just keep my atmosphere in and their atmosphere out, push my chair back, close the door, and double check that all the locks engage. As soon as I'm sure that nothing's getting through my entrance without me knowing, I take the chair back to the kitchen and start breakfast.

My watch says it's 6:30 in the morning. I'd like to trust my watch, I really would. The timer dings, and I pull the steaming tray out of the cooker. The smell from the food nearly turns my stomach when I peel back the plastic cover. I've been eating synth eggs and synth bacon for I don't even know how many mornings now. I could really go for some French toast or pancakes.

Shit, I'd devour a loaf of just plain toast if I had it. No butter, no jelly. Just plain. But at least it's the last tray. It'll be gel tubes from here on out until they bring me new trays. Which will give my palate a break. A disgusting, gel-based break. After I'm done with my ritual feeding, I toss the tray in the incinerator and check my watch again. 8:30 in the morning. No way I took two hours to eat.

I do what I always do when I have these thoughts. I wind my watch. It's not just a nightly ritual, although I do wind it every night before I go to sleep. If I actually do sleep, I'm not sure anymore. With my belly full and the food staying down, I go into the living area of my habitat and stand there for a few minutes. They did a great job.

I'm not sure how they did it, but they created a semi-replica of my bungalow back home. Even down to the anniversary hologram that shimmers on the side table next to my favorite reading chair. Hell, there's even a stack of my favorite paperbacks sitting there by one of my wife's scented candles. Although, it's not like I can read the paperbacks. When I open one, it's all gibberish and jumbled letters. But that's not the strange part.

The gibberish changes each time I open a book. It's as if the book has to pretend it's a book every time I try to read it, forgetting what book it was last time, or something like that. It's getting difficult to keep it all straight. I turn and look down the very short hallway to my bedroom. If this was home, I'd hear the shower going and my wife singing the latest pop hit. But there's no shower sound and no singing. My wife is safe at home, two million light years away.

or I hope she is. Fatigue hits me, and I sway a little. "Better I sit down than fall down," I say, and make my way to my favorite chair. With a heavy plop, I collapse into the chair and let the plumply stuffed synth letter envelop me. It's like a hug from home. In seconds, my eyes close, and I'm fast asleep.

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When the knocking comes, I'm more than a little disoriented. I'm not in bed, I'm still in my chair. My watch tells me it's 3 AM on the dot. Fucking Chuck. It takes all my strength to push myself up out of the chair. I have to rest for a second or two before I walk to the front door. The second knock is echoing through the habitat by the time I get the door open. "There you are, Ralphie," Chuck says. "Did you have a good day yesterday?"

"I don't know," I respond truthfully. "I don't remember yesterday other than eating another shitty breakfast and then falling asleep in my chair." "Your favorite chair," Chuck says. "A replica of my favorite chair," I correct him. "My actual favorite chair is back home." "But this is your home, Ralphie." "Not even close." "I appreciate the effort to make it look that way, though."

"And I appreciate the fact, you appreciate the fact, that we went to all the trouble of trying to get the facts right and make it seem as much like where you are from as we possibly could. Facts are important." "You've mentioned that," I say and sigh. "Let me get a chair and I'll start where I left off last night." "Um, before you do that, I have a couple of questions," Chuck says. I stiffen. "It's happened before, the couple of questions."

"Wouldn't you rather I finish my story?" I ask, hoping he does. "No, not right now, Ralphie. Questions first." He rubs his hands together. "Don't worry, I'll let you tell the story. It was just getting good," he says and clears his throat. "Now for the first question. Chuck, I don't know," I start, but he holds a hand up to stop me like he always does. "I have to ask, Ralphie. I have to ask. And you have to answer."

but I don't have answers," I say. "We've been through this." "Can't you already tell that because of all that mindfuckery you do to me? Aren't you already inside my fucking head?" "Shit, I'm getting worked up again. Shit, shit, shit." "We have our limits just like you do," Chuck says. "Many species are easy to extrapolate information from with no resistance at all, even most of your kind. But going too deep can be harmful. You can see we crapped a few.

He gestures over his shoulder at the burnt-out husks of the other habitats. "I see," I say quietly. "But you, Ralphie, have proven very difficult," Chuck says. "That's why we have these talks each and every night. It's why I will now ask you the questions. Again, do what you have to do," I say. "Can I get a chair first? I'm exhausted and my legs hurt." "You'll stand for the questions."

Neighborly Chuck is gone. Interrogator Chuck has arrived. "Of course. First question: What are the codes to your fleet's defense systems?" I sigh and shake my head. Same first question as always. "I'm only a lieutenant. I am not given those codes. Ever." "Who has the codes?" "Ships captains and admirals of the fleet. But you know that." "Why do you refuse to tell me the codes to your fleet's defense systems?"

We're three questions in, and technically haven't even gotten to question two yet. "As always, Chuck, I am not refusing to tell you," I say. "I can't tell you what I don't know. But you are an important man with important work to do down here, right, Ralphie?" he says. "They wouldn't have sent an unimportant man down to oppress us."

"The fleet only sends unimportant men and women to execute an operation," I laugh. "The brass do not get their hands dirty. Not when they have us marines to do the dirty work for them. The brass, yes," Chuck says. "That is a euphemism for those in control. The ones that are your… how do you say it? Your bosses? It's a little more nuanced and structured than a normal boss and employee relationship," I say.

The fleet is a military organization that comes from a military culture. There is a rigid hierarchy. I am a boss, and I have bosses. Everyone has bosses. I see. So what do you mean when you refer to the brass? Leadership. Those in charge of the operation. The occupation of oppression. That is the operation you mean. Two sides to every story, Chuck. You deny that your intended goal was to oppress my people?

I can neither deny nor confirm what the intended and desired outcome of the operation is, was, or will be." "Is, was, or will be?" Chuck echoes. "You are a slippery people. Is that the correct term?" "Pretty much," I say. "I won't deny that." "Can we get to the next question?" "Are you in a hurry this morning? Do you have somewhere to be?" He laughs and waves a hand at me. "That's what you call taking the piss, right?" he asks. "Yeah."

His laughter stops dead and he glares at me. "Question two," he says. "When will the fleet attack?" "I don't know." "This is where it gets tricky." "You aren't lying," he says. "But you are not telling me everything you know. I would like you to do that." "Not lie?" I ask. "Tell me everything you know about the fleet's planned attack," he says. Without taking his eyes off mine, he sweeps a hand behind him toward the burnt-out husks of the other's habitats.

The burnt out husks of the other's habitats, the burnt out husks of the other's habitats, the burnt out- "Ralphie!" Chuck yells, bringing me back around and out of whatever that loop was. "Sorry," I say. "I believe you. Now, tell me everything about the fleet's planned attack." "I can't do that." "You won't do that," he counters. "No, I can't. I don't know anything about a planned attack.

"Oh, Ralphie, Ralphie, Ralphie," Chuck says in a tone that turns my blood ice cold. "That's one of your bigger lies yet. I'm disappointed. I thought you knew better. I'm only a lieutenant," I insist. "The brass doesn't tell me things like that. But I'm not asking about your precious brass. I told you to tell me everything you know about the fleet's planned attack. You, not the brass. You, Ralphie."

"Chuck, you have to understand that." But the pain erupting across my body stops me dead. I collapse to the floor, convulsing so hard that one of my molars crack as my jaw clamps down. "I really wanted to hear the rest of your story, Ralphie," Chuck says, his voice sounding like it's a million miles away. "The kids with the bikes is my absolute favorite, but it looks like you need some motivation first. I'll come back tomorrow night. How does that sound?"

I can't answer him even if I wanted to. All I know is pain. "I'll talk to you tomorrow," he repeats as he walks away. "And I'll close your door for you. But you know…" I don't know anything except for pain. When the pain finally stops, it still takes me a good while before I can get up off the floor. Outside my door, daylight filters down through the boughs of the oak tree. It's sunlight from the three suns, not from home. They never tried to fake that part.

probably best. It would have looked weird. I laugh at the thought of things looking weird. Then I burst into tears and cry for a good long while. Eventually, I claw my way to my feet, close and lock the door, then stumble my way to my bed, where I collapse diagonally and let sleep take me away from my nightmare. The knocks wake me up, or it attempts to. I wriggle my arm out from under me so I can look at my watch.

But it stopped. I didn't wind it before collapsing. Is it 3am? Without too much agony, I slide off the bed and crawl into the hallway. But that's about as far as I get before I have to lay down on the carpet and rest. The second knock echoes through the habitat. Shit! With as much energy as I can muster, I struggle back to my hands and knees and crawl my way to the front door. Again, that's as far as I get before I go limp.

The third knock slams through the door and into my head. Ralphie! Chuck shouts from outside. He rarely does that. So he must know I'm close to the door. You alright in there, Ralphie? No, you fucking asshole, I am not alright. Of course, I don't say that out loud. Or I think I don't. I fucking hope I didn't. The bounding continues. Ralphie! Open the door!

Chuck yells as the slams get louder. "Open the door, Ralphie! Open the door! Open it! Open the damn door, you piece of marine scum!" "I'm coming, shithead," I whisper. My right hand finds the coat rack, and I use that to get myself to my knees. Bend to my feet. I hug it and rest against it like it's a lifeline. The pounding gets louder and harder.

It's in my head, and the torture from last night almost knocks to my knees. "Hold on!" I rasp out, slightly louder than a whisper. The bounding stops. With all of my strength, I type in the key code and step back as the door unlocks and opens. Chuck is standing there, his skin bright purple. His eyes rolling in his head as little wisps of vapor curl up from his nostril slits.

Then he sees me, smiles, shakes his body, and shifts back to regular neighborly Chuck, just a regular human guy who moved in next door. "Well that was close," Chuck says then frowns. "Oh Ralphie, you do not look good. Bad night's sleep? Fuck you," I say before thinking. "Huh," he cocks his head. "I could react to that, but I think I'll let it go. Yet it does bring up a question. No more questions,

That's not possible. You know that. Fine. Shoot. His eyes widen. That means go ahead. I don't mean to actually shoot. Oh, you had me worried for a moment. What's the damn question? That right there. Chuck motions at me. When I yelled, open the damn door, you piece of marine scum, was that an appropriate insult for the moment? That I used the proper words in their proper order? I can barely stand, and he's asking me if he properly insulted me.

"Ralphie?" Chuck asks, trying to prod an answer from me. "Was that a proper use of your language?" "Yeah," I reply. "Sure." Then I turn and walk away. "Hey, where do you think you're going, mister?" Chuck calls after me. I don't bother responding as I walk into the kitchen and grab a chair. The feet scrape against the floor and carpet as I drag it into the entranceway and set it just in front of the door.

"I am honestly concerned," Chuck says as I plop down into the chair. "You do not look good. Here's a thought. Maybe don't torture me anymore. That should improve my health. No, no, that's not it." Chuck turns away from me to survey the night like he always does. "I think you're having a hard time not being the one in charge. Lieutenants are in charge, right?" He holds up a finger without looking back at me. "But you aren't the brass. No, you are in charge of a squad.

And that squad consists of... darn it! I forget how many teams are in a squad. Four fire teams, I say. Sometimes six. And how many marines per fire team? I know what he's doing. He's pumping me for simple information he knows I'm willing to give him, hoping he can slip in an actual question that he wants answered. He already knows everything about marine squads and fire teams. We've been through this before, many times. Just like everything else.

"Four to six Marines per fire team," I say. "It depends on the needs of the deployment and the specific mission. And your needs were four Marines per fire team for this deployment, yes?" "You know that." I close my eyes. A loud bang startles me, and I nearly fall out of my chair. "You started to doze," Chuck says, standing directly in front of the doorway threshold. "Come on in and I'll make us both some coffee." He eyes me as his skin flashes purple for a brief second.

"I am starting to think your invites are less about being neighborly and more about killing me, Ralphie," he says with a huge grin. "No less neighborly than you were to my people." I lean to the side so I can see the burnt-out husks of the others' habitats. "The burnt-out husks of the others. Now, get it together, Lieutenant Gorman. You are not like everyone else. You cannot be warped and goaded into stepping outside. This will not happen.

"You're muttering to yourself, Ralphie," Chuck says. "I don't like it when you mutter. It makes me feel like you can't share your thoughts with me." "Do you really want to know my thoughts, Chuck?" I ask. He looks puzzled. "Yeah, Ralphie. Of course I do." "Okay." I give him a wicked grin.

I think you are a fucking asshole. I think I want nothing more than for you to step across that threshold there so the energy barrier turns your purple ass into a trillion molecules. I then want the fleet to show up and nuke this entire planet until it's nothing but radioactive glass. Then I want the fleet to land here and for every single motherfucking marine to step onto that radioactive glass and take a giant shit.

"Then, I want the fleet to leave your shithole planet, but before they do, I want them to nuke it all over again to vaporize your shit into a shit cloud that envelops this fucking hellhole forever!" I take a deep breath as Chuck stares at me, his mouth wide open, his eyes even wider. "They'll rename this planet Shit Cloud Number 451," I say and flip him off. "That gesture!" Chuck exclaims. "That means fuck you, right? Right, Ralphie?"

My head slumps and my chin hits my chest as I cry. "Yeah, I can see you did not get enough sleep," Chuck says. "I should go and let you rest. I'll be back though. You haven't finished your story."