The Independent Worlds (The Sixteen Galaxies Book 2) by William Drayman Page A

UN headquarters there. The Russian government has gone so far as to declare Kestil a global terrorist. The Chinese government is also in uproar, as hardline communist government officials express growing frustration at the lack of any real protest towards unification from the Chinese president.”
    *****
    Washington DC
    Robert Markham wandered out onto the front porch of his home. It was 2am, but he couldn’t sleep. He smiled when he spotted Drifter already there, a bottle of Bourbon and a glass on the little table beside him.
    Robert dropped into the seat beside him with a sigh. “Couldn’t sleep either, huh?”
    “Nope, never can. You sleep, you dream, and them dreams ain’t got no good stuff in ‘em, let me tell ya.”
    Robert smiled. “Most people call them nightmares, Drifter.”
    The old man shook his head. “Nah. Nightmares, now they’re much worse. The ones that don’t make me scream; them I call dreams.”
    Robert shook his head when Drifter offered him the bottle. He leaned forward, his eyes intent on his old commander. “How come it’s still got you so hard, Drifter? Me and the others, we’ve managed to move on; why you still got that monkey on your back?”
    Drifter sat back and stared at the night sky, clear and star studded. Much closer to DC and you got no stars; but out here some were still visible. “You boys, you had your jobs, right? Hangin’ out the doors, swingin’ them Pigs around.”
    Robert gave a gentle laugh at the mention of the nickname the Vietnam troops gave the M60 machine gun.
    “But me?” Drifter continued, “I had you boys in my chopper; your asses as well as mine. I had to keep the Huey alive, but I had to keep you boys in one piece, too. Every time Charlie put a hole in my chopper, I felt it. I knew every time the reaper missed one of you. He never did score more than a scratch, but it was no more than luck.” He poured himself another measure. “When I dream, he doesn’t miss.”
    Robert decided to change the subject. In conversation, Drifter would take to a tangent and wander along it for hours, hence his nickname. “Tell me something,” Robert asked, “what you think about this alien stuff?”
    Drifter shrugged. “Way I see it, we’re hosed. I don’t believe that crap this Kestil guy is peddling. Much more going down than that. We been done over before, Bobby; I ain’t interested in being rolled again.”
    “Drifter, you know the first alien, Nuthros?”
    Drifter nodded. “Yup, seemed like a decent guy. I ain’t buyin’ that he’s the bad guy, either; it don’t smell right.”
    Robert took a deep breath. He wasn’t supposed to say this, but he needed to share. “My boy is on Nuthros’ ship.”
    Drifter looked intently at his old crewman. “You for real, Bobby?”
    “I sure am, boss. He’s no ordinary kid, either.”
    The old chopper pilot scratched his head. “What the hell you mean by that?”
    Robert sighed. In for a penny, in for a pound. “Margie and I couldn’t have kids after the war, Drifter.”
    “Agent Orange?”
    “Probably. I never found out for sure. But, then we found out Margie couldn’t have kids anyhow; double whammy. Defect in her womb, or something. Anyway, Nuthros fixed us both; he heard Margie crying in a park the day we found out she couldn’t have kids.”
    Drifter nodded, “I knew he was the good one. The other one’s the devil in this. So, why’s your boy on that ship?”
    “When they…fixed us, they made him special; he’s like some kind of advanced human.”
    Drifter laughed and swallowed the rest of his glass. He refilled it straight away. “You tellin’ me your boy is a superhero , Bobby? Come on, man, that’s stretchin’ it a bit. I ain’t that drunk, yet.”
    Robert held up a hand. “You ever known me to lie, Drifter?”
    Drifter looked at Robert through narrowed eyes for full minute before he spoke. “Nope, can’t say as I have.” He sat back and shook his head. “Damn, but that’s a story. So,