“Who the fuck is David Grant Wright?” said Taylor.
“He did all these Jiffy Lube commercials,” said the soldier, twisting his lip. “He was their spokesman for a bunch of years. I hate Jiffy Lube. They had this new guy there once and he forgot to refill my radiator. Car overheated and I ended up stuck there for the whole afternoon.”
Harrison chuckled. “So you want to kill their spokesman?”
“I like Jiffy Lube,” said Truman.
“And he did this crap Beastmaster movie I saw when I was a kid. I looked him up once. I’m so gonna shoot that guy if I see him.”
They all laughed. So did I.
Hayes threw the rag at the man across from him. “Ryan?”
“Just like Fight Club,” said Polk. He patted his Bravo. “I want Shatner.”
“Oh, yeah,” said Jefferson. “Forget The Rock. If he’s got Shatner I’m claiming Leonard Nimoy.”
“I’ll take The Rock,” said Truman.
“How about you, First Sergeant?” said Harrison. “There someone famous you’d like to get if they’ve gone ex?”
Kennedy shook her head. “I wouldn’t want some flash-in-the-pan or cult celebrity,” she said. “I’d want somebody real. Somebody people are going to remember forever, like Natalie Portman. Or Alex Trebek.”
A few of the soldiers whistled and nodded.
They all looked at me.
I shook my head. “I’m not here to play games,” I said. I made sure my tone let them know I didn’t disapprove of their enthusiasm. “Besides, there’s only one person I’m hoping to see.” I cracked my knuckles and patted Lady Liberty on my thigh.
A few of the soldiers nodded. “The Dragon,” murmured two or three of them.
“You can take him, captain, sir,” said Franklin. They hollered and a few of them clapped. They were good people. I wasn’t going to lose any of them.
“We’ll see,” I told them when they stopped cheering. “Doctor Sorensen’s done great work, but now we’ll see how we stack up against the real deal.”
Epilogue
NOW
It took them four days to make their was back to Los Angeles. They lost eight soldiers at a refueling stop just outside of Salton City. They found a group of fifteen survivors in Palm Springs.
Now St. George hung in the night sky above the Mount’s water tower. One hand rested on the tall spire, anchoring him in place while he looked down at his home. He’d been back for seven hours and already buried with a week’s worth of requests, updates, and decisions to make.
He heard boots on the tower’s ladder. The conical roof shuddered under heavy footsteps. It wasn’t Stealth slipping up behind him.
“Nice view,” said Freedom.
“That it is,” agreed St. George. He glanced back at the huge officer. “I never get tired of it.”
“How is Mr. Burke doing?”
“He’s okay now. He went into shock as soon as he changed back. Doctor Connolly got him on a glucose drip or something like that. She says he’ll probably be eating and requesting DVDs tomorrow.”
“And that’s good, right?”
“Well... it’s normal. Let’s leave it at that.”
The huge officer coughed once, then cleared his throat. “I wanted to apologize, sir,” he said. “For everything that happened back at Yuma.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I could shift the blame and say I was following orders, but I think on some level I knew a lot of it didn’t make sense. I knew it was wrong. I take full responsibility for my actions.”
“Don’t worry about it,” repeated St. George. “Smith was screwing with your head. It wasn’t your fault.”
“I’m still sorry for what happened, sir, and for how I treated you. You and your woman.”
“Oh, jeeeez,” St. George shook his head and glanced over at the Roddenberry building. “Don’t let her hear you say that or she’ll beat you senseless.”
Freedom smiled. “I’d like to see her try.”
“Yeah, don’t say that either. Seriously, it’s like tempting fate.”
“Not wearing your coat, sir?”
St. George glanced down at his patchwork flight jacket. “I’ve got to be honest. Digital camouflage isn’t really my style. Plus, it’s hot as hell.”
“You get used to it.”
“Maybe when winter rolls around.” He let his feet settle down onto the roof of the water tower. “So, captain, what are you going to do now?”
Freedom looked out at Los Angeles. “I’m not sure, sir, to be honest. First Sergeant Kennedy and I discussed it several times on the trip out here. The men want me to stay in a command position, but I think an active military presence doesn’t fit with what you’ve established here at the Mount.”
St. George shook his head. “Not really, no.”
“A few of them have even said we should strike out on our own. Try to make it back to Yuma or maybe Fort Bliss. See if there’s anyone left there.”
“Could you make it?”
“Probably.”
“Do you really think you’ll find anyone?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know.”