Counter-Intelligence – Sunday Photo Fiction

Photo by: Joe Owens

Counter-Intelligence

He found the puppy during the battle.

Starships died just beyond the atmosphere in Earth’s orbit. The sky glowed orange as the fusion bottles of wrecked ships let go. Ten, twenty, thirty ships erupted to become new stars for a brief second, lighting the skies with nuclear fire. Earth’s ships, hastily cobbled together, were giving the Micans hell. Overall, they were victorious.

Smoke trails from the pieces of five destroyed ships streaked the sky around the the Wilson family ranch in Kansas. Roger and Emilia Wilson screamed at Grant to return as the nine-year old ran out beneath the burning sky. Normally an obedient boy, Grant ignored the pleas of his terrified parents, crouching beside the storm shelter entrance. The puppy’s wails and his empathy drove him into danger. The boy couldn’t imagine leaving the poor animal out alone as ships crashed through the sky.

Grant picked him up beside a steaming, story-tall chunk of spaceship debris. Corpses of Micans lay around it. They looked like giant hump-backed pigs with spines and jaws that could crush a man’s head. Even dead, the monsters terrified Grant. He was sure the shivering puppy in his arms was just as frightened of them as he.

Earth survived the attack relatively unscathed. Scraps, named after the debris where they found her, became a new member of the family. They marveled over her incredibly soft fur, softer than mink. Scraps became perhaps the most petted puppy alive as neighbors came from miles around to experience the feel of Scraps’ fur. The ranch dogs, Rottweilers Buck and Blade, never became friends with Scraps. They took one whiff of her and scampered away, tails between their legs. She lorded over them, becoming the Queen of the ranch dogs.

Years passed. Grant celebrated his sixteenth birthday. Scraps grew to two feet tall, but still looked like a puppy. Her eyes and paws were too big for her body and she still tottered slightly. The vet ran blood work to see what was wrong with the ageless puppy. After that, he refused to see her any more. Turning away with fear in his eyes, he muttered, “I’m not crazy. I’m NOT crazy!”

Despite the curious reaction of the vet, Scraps remained a beloved member of the family. She fed well, enjoying periodic helpings of steak and pork ribs. Evenings were spent in bliss beside the fireplace watching TV as family members caressed her with love until she slept. Years marched on and Sparks enjoyed the feeling of contentment with a family that loved her unconditionally.

One evening when everyone was asleep, Scraps slipped into the nearby woods. She dug into the earth at a location she’d memorized from many visits over the years. She activated the device and gave her report.

“Are you insane!” howled Tchilook’Ka. “You cannot quit!”

“Regardless,” said Scraps in the ancestral language of the Micans. “They are my family. I will betray them no more.”

“Their Human ways have addled your mind,” growled Tchilook’Ka. “If you were raised properly in a Mican creche with eight siblings, you would do battle to the death with your siblings until only one remained. This is the way of a Mican Warrior!”

“I like the Human way better.”

“What will your family think when The Change comes? You’ll not remain in pupa stage, looking like an Earther puppy forever. What will they think of a full-grown Mican in their presence?”

“My decision is final!” The signal abruptly cut off.

Tchilook’Ka turned to his commander, Tcherina’Pa. “That’s the 107th defection,” he gasped. “We’re almost out of agents.”

Tcherina’Pa grumbled. “The Human counter-intelligence practices are more devious than we imagined.”

“We cannot do it now, can we?”

“You are correct,” whimpered Tcherina’Pa.” With so few agents remaining, the second assault upon Earth is foiled!”
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Each Sunday, it’s time again for Sunday Photo Fiction. Alastair Forbes is taking a break from blogging to pursue novel-writing. Joe Owens is taking over in the meantime and carrying the torch of a great writing challenge. This is my story in answer to the photo above. Joe, my stories usually run long. Al always let it go, but you’re in charge now. Let me know if the length is too much. Look here for the original prompt and even more stories in the blue link: https://sundayphotofictioner.wordpress.com/2015/02/22/sunday-photo-fiction-february-222015/