The Hidden Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Titus raised his hands to quiet the group. It took a full minute. He then pointed a stubby finger up at me. “There have been more homegrown military uprisings around the world than we probably know about,” he argued. “Not a one has been successful. The Gaps have technology we can never match. I’m not sure what this new charter bullshit is that you’re talking about. Staying small and nimble has always been our mode of operation. So, Polybius, you’re going to tell us what the hell’s going on here. I don’t like this. Not one bit. How can you somehow imagine we could go big against these alien assholes?”

  I let more of the cross talk subside before continuing. There was no way I was going to let Titus pirate this meeting. “All valid points, Titus.” I jumped down from my higher-up perch. I knew Matt and Donny were ready to assist me. “Ready boys?” I yelled out.

  One by one, Matt, Donny, and I uncovered the five Shredders. The silence in the barn was such I could hear my two mares chomping on hay, some one hundred fifty feet away.

  “You have . . . Shredders!” Orville Wright, the commercial pilot, exclaimed, as he approached the closest of the alien craft. His eyes widened and an expression of pure astonishment lit up his face.

  We watched as the entire group now weaved around all four crafts before walking toward the more pristine-looking Shredder Five, over by the workshop.

  “Most of them look pretty beat to shit,” Titus said. “I hope you don’t expect me to fix ’em . . . I don’t know shit about alien tech.”

  I climbed back up, again standing on the same Shredder I’d stood on earlier. “Okay, everyone, bring yourselves back around. We still have a lot to talk about.” Both Matt and Donny joined me atop the fuselage. “For those here who don’t know them,” I gestured to Matt, “this is Noble, and this fellow is Crazy Horse,” I said, gesturing to Donny. Donny chose to name himself after a nineteenth-century warrior of the Oglala Lakota tribe, while Matt chose the moniker of Alfred Bernhard Nobel, the industrialist who invented dynamite and founded the Nobel prize award.

  “First things first. Who here still has doubts that we haven’t substantially elevated our game?”

  Nobody raised a hand. Nobody disputed the claim.

  “Of the four pilots among us, Wright, Yeager, Rickenbacker, and myself, who’d be interested in taking one of these bad boys up for a little spin?”

  All four pilots, including me, raised a hand, real anticipation reflecting on each face. “Who here knows how to fly, maneuver, and initialize the weaponry systems for a Zion-9 Shredder spacecraft?”

  No one raised a hand. I looked out upon growing expressions of apprehension. Glancing over my shoulder toward the workshop area, I twirled a finger high in the air above my head.

  Shredder Five’s argon boost drive suddenly spun to life. Disturbed dirt, dust, and remnants of hay swirled up and around the craft’s fuselage. The noise was not all that loud, somewhat similar to the sound of a throaty big V8 engine. Definitely unique once you’ve heard it, especially if you’ve been attacked by one or more—you never forget it. Shredder Five suddenly lifted off the ground and leveled off to a height of five or six feet, spun one hundred-and-eighty-degrees on its axis, then slowly began to fly toward the opposite end of the barn. All of us watched in awe. These craft were the primary assault weapons of choice for the Gap invasion forces two years prior. Witnessing one now taking flight, I surmised, could evoke conflicting mixes of feelings: fear, anxiety, even hopelessness . . . to name only a few. But as the dangerous craft slowly made its way closer toward us, what I viewed on the Takeback members’ faces was not that. Instead, I was seeing exhilaration. I was seeing the hope of some kind of vengeance.

  Earlier, we’d purposely left an area open between where the cars and trucks were to be parked, and where the four Shredders were clustered together; the same area where the airborne Shredder was now descending. Once it touched town, its drive began to decelerate. The still-spinning swirling dirt devils, losing their momentum, quickly dissipated and a quiet stillness returned to the barn. An internal latching mechanism on the Shredder was then released, causing the craft’s canopy to slide back into the fuselage. Only then did Jhally stand up, ready to be seen.

  As if on cue, no less than ten handguns, with a variety of caliber, were drawn out—previously hidden beneath shirttails, under jackets, and even ankle holsters. After all, this was Colorado, where people love their second amendment rights, when such rights had still existed. The punishment for carrying a weapon today most certainly would result in death.

  “Don’t shoot!” I yelled. “Keep your damn fingers off those triggers!”

  chapter 17

  Jhally raised his clawed hands.

  Maintaining his outstretched, two-handed grip on his gun, Titus took three deliberate strides toward the now-landed fifth Shredder. “Get down off that aircraft, Gap! Move real slow, and keep your hands right where we can see them.”

  I let out an exasperated moan. I should have expected this. “Come on, Titus, he’s not with them . . . he’s with us!”

  “Like hell he is . . . they’re all the same. Damn lizards are born killers. It’s in their slimy green blood.”

  I was tempted to mention the Gap’s blood is red, the same as Humans, but decided this was not the time.

  Titus pulled back the hammer on his pistol, a big Colt Anaconda. A serious .45 caliber handgun that, at such close range, would blow a significant-sized hole through Jhally’s chest. “Titus . . .” I said, in a voice just above a whisper, “I personally watched this alien snap a Gap marshal’s neck yesterday. He’s been living here with me for close to a year now.” I didn’t feel it necessary to further tell him that I thought I had Jhally securely chained up during that time. “I know it’s a big leap to trust me on this . . . but you’re going to have to try.”

  Titus shot an angry snarl in my direction. “It just keeps coming out of you, Polk . . . one lie after another.”

  I felt Donny tensing next to me. I said, “Keep your cool, buddy, I’ve got this.” I jumped down from the Shredder, signaling Jhally to do the same. The last thing this crowd needed was seeing a Gap standing above them looking superior.

  By the time Jhally was standing at my side, everyone had taken a step or two backward. I noted Spartacus had moved to the front of the group, looking ready to dole out a little Krav Maga whoop-ass on the limping, one-legged alien.

  None yet had re-holstered their weapons. I said, “That Shredder . . . it’s locked and loaded. Jhally could have taken us all out with the pull of a trigger. He could have flown right out of here then turned back around and leveled this barn in mere seconds.”

  I saw several Takebacks lower their guns. Titus wasn’t one of them.

  “I don’t want any part of this bullshit,” Titus said, glaring at me. “And I don’t want any part of the Takebacks, either. We’re out of here.” Only then did he lower his pistol, tucking the gun into the back of his jeans. “Come on, guys,” he said to his fellow cell members, “we’ll go it alone.” He began striding toward his pickup truck but slowed and then stopped completely when he saw the other three in his cell weren’t following him.

  “We should at least hear them out,” a tall, bald man said. He went by the historical name of Hiram Berdan. Berdan was a famous sharp shooter with the Union Army during the Civil War. “I mean . . . who else is going to show us how to fly these things? You, Titus?”

  “Screw you, Kyle . . .”

  Typically, it takes a good while to get my ire up, but once it’s up, it’s best to stay out of my way. “Enough! No more using our real names here, Titus!” If you want to go, then go. If not, shut the hell up and let me speak.”

  He glowered at me but didn’t leave the barn.

  “This is Jhall Doulk Hargoth. He goes by Jhall, or Jhally. Sure, he looks like just another Earupitan Gap, from Gahl. But Jhally is from a neighboring planet, called Blahn. H
e is a Mannarian and feels no allegiance to the Gaps. He in no way condones the Gaps’ invasion of Earth. He is a friend. Without his help we’ll have no chance in hell to set in motion a true revolution.”

  I watched as my fellow Takebacks quietly assessed the alien standing quietly next to me.

  Matt, standing at my other side, said, “Instead of pulling your guns on him, you should be thanking him. Befriending him, for God’s sake.”

  I saw several heads nodding. One by one, everyone put their weapons away.

  “Believe it or not,” I said, “We do have the makings of a plan. But with that said, there’s a good chance some of us could be killed. I can’t lie about that. But even if we die, we’ll be showing the rest of the world that a brave few have found the courage to stand up to the aliens—that confronting the Gap invaders is not impossible.”

  One of the pilots, a lieutenant in the Air Force, who went by the alias Yeager, said, “If you’re the real deal, you’ll answer the one big question that every man, woman, and child has been asking for close to two years now. Why are the Gaps here? Answer me that, here and now, and I just might believe you. Might even stay and consider you something other than my enemy.”

  Up to this point, Jhally hadn’t spoken a word. He finally lowered his hands, confronting the Humans standing around him. Making eye contact, he even nodded to several.

  Clearing his throat, Jhally began to speak: “As your leader has stated, I am a Mannarian, a species very similar to that of the Earupitans. One hundred twenty of your years ago, a planet in the neighboring star system of Gahl—a planet called Blahn—was struggling with an environmental mishap of catastrophic proportions . . .”

  Jhally went on to tell the Takebacks the same story he‘d told me, about the mass Mannarian exodus from Blahn. He spoke of the landing of 200,000 desperate souls on Gahl, and finding a less than warm reception there. He spoke of his technically advanced, far more intelligent species, having few life choices on that hostile world. He briefly shared the aliens’ unique means of reproduction: the three versus two strands of E-DNA. He then spoke of the not-so-long ago war on Gahl and the subsequent bombings that made the female gender infertile. Finally, he spoke about the Solaris Habitat craft—protected by the fifth Situational Command Ship somewhere in high orbit above the moon. That vessel carried a million Earupitan females who were waiting to mate. Waiting to conceive and rebuild their dying race.

  When Jhally finished speaking, I scanned the faces around me. They believed him. I could see it in their eyes.

  “So what exactly are you telling us? That Earth’s just going to be one big happy planet of Gaps and Humans running around?” Titus asked, now rejoining the conversation.

  I placed a hand on Jhally’s shoulder. “Let me answer this one. No, Titus . . . that’s not the plan. Haven’t you wondered why the Gaps will go out of their way to be near us? Act as if they are our good friends? Be amongst us every chance they get?”

  “I guess . . . when they’re not dragging some of us into an OEC to either torture or execute us,” Titus said.

  “Before they can bring their females down to Earth, the male Gaps first need to properly build up their immune systems. For two years now, they’ve been breathing in what Humans are breathing out. As you know, each day Humans exhale all kinds of nasty shit . . . bacteria, viruses, and fungi. That’s how illnesses are spread. The most dangerous airborne bacteria include whooping cough, diphtheria, meningitis, tuberculosis, pneumonia . . .” The last thing the Gaps want to do is to bring down their remaining females, only to have them immediately die off from pneumonia just a few weeks later. They’re building up their immune systems. Some of the male Gaps make regular trips to those ships. That way, the Gap females are slowly being introduced to our unique environment . . . while also building up their immune systems.” I glanced around me. “That process is nearly complete. Soon, the Gaps will no longer have any need for us Humans to exist.”

  “And then they’ll do what? Somehow fucking exterminate the entire Human race?” Titus asked.

  All eyes went to Jhally. He said back, “That is correct.”

  “How long do we have? Weeks, months?”

  “Weeks . . . no more than that,” Jhally said.

  chapter 18

  Let me be perfectly clear here, about the crux of our plan. No longer are we targeting one of the Situational Command Ships orbiting Earth. Instead, we’re going after the Solaris Habitat craft. I’m just waiting to receive more intel about the vessel’s layout. Apparently, it is massive in size since it houses close to a million Earupitan females. How they are distributed throughout that ship, I have no idea. But taking that craft . . . will be our mission.”

  “I like it! And we’ll kill every last one of those Gap bitches,” Titus said, staring directly at Jhally.

  I knew Jhally had conflicting feelings about any plan that involved harming the females of his species. How could he not? Tonight wouldn’t be the last time someone would try to push Jhally’s buttons. Great feelings of resentment, held by those in the barn toward the Gap invaders, were justified. But I wanted to see if Jhally was up to dealing with it without flipping out. He remained calm, looking to me to reply to Titus instead.

  “No,” I said. “Think about it. We’ll get a hell of a lot more mileage out of this plan if we use the female Gaps up there as a bargaining chip. For without those females, their entire race is doomed.”

  I then noticed Karen had joined the main group, studying me now with questioning, raised brows. “Intimidation is only effective if you’re willing to go through with the threat. Are you willing to kill a million of these female aliens?” she asked.

  “I’ve thought about that. Honestly, I don’t know. The invaders of our planet certainly deserve every shitty thing that comes back at them. But in the end, do we want to be like them? Become despicable, ruthless, killers? Or does being Human also include being more humane?” I looked back at her, but couldn’t read her expression.

  “I still say we burn the lot of them. Give them no quarter . . . they don’t deserve any,” Titus said.

  “Let’s move on,” I said. “These Shredders accommodate a crew of two Gaps each. Including myself and Jhally, there are five here with extensive piloting experience. I want to get each pilot behind the controls, up in the air and training in these things, starting tonight.”

  That surprised everyone. Again, I waited to let all the nervous crosstalk subside.

  “What about the rest of us? We’re not all pilots? So what . . . we get left behind?” Titus asked.

  “Not at all. We’re all going. Some will be sitting in the aft seats. Also, as part of our plan, we will be commandeering another, far larger, Earupitan craft.”

  “And what’s that?” Spartacus asked.

  “We’re going to need a Milonge Bi-Hull transport.”

  I waited for the laughs and snickers to die down. “You see, we’re not going to invade the Solaris Habitat. That would be suicide. Instead, we’re going to cruise right past that protecting Situational Command Ship and head right for the Habitat ship, since we’ve already received full clearance to do so. We’ll wait for them to open their flight bay doors, then fly right inside as if we own the place.”

  “Beyond the fact it sounds pretty much impossible, why the need for that bi-hull transport?” the airline pilot, Orville, asked.

  “Every Tuesday evening, a Milonge Bi-Hull transport takes off from the OEC building and heads into space. A contingent of five, on up to eight, security force Shredders go right alongside it. It could be that these weekly routine treks are related to the environmental, immune-conditioning we spoke about earlier. I’m not one hundred percent certain about that, though. In any case, we need to be ready to hijack their transport ship by next Tuesday night. That gives us six days.”

  One of my mares whinnied, breaking the dead silence in the barn.<
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  “Jhally will be taking those of you who are pilots up one at a time in Shredder Five, sitting right over there. Don’t get too excited. Tonight we’re keeping our training sessions strictly within the barn. Mostly, you’ll be watching Jhally as he takes off and lands . . . makes a few low circles, that sort of thing. You’ll have the opportunity to learn about the various indicators and controls. So—who wants to go first?”

  All the Takeback pilots, including Karen, enthusiastically raised-up their hands.

  “Okay, Orville, let’s start with you.”

  The other pilots moaned in disappointment, sounding like a bunch of kids in middle school.

  Donny said, “All non-pilots come over here. Let’s talk about the rest of the plan, about who’ll be responsible for what.”

  Mike Post, our resident software hacker, reached an arm out to stop me. Up until now, I hadn’t seen him in the crowd.

  “Polybius!” he said, “We need to talk. When you have a minute.” Typically, nothing seemed to faze him, but he was looking more serious than I’d ever seen him.

  “Can it wait? I can drop by your place in the morning.”

  “Earlier the better,” he said.

  I made my way over to Karen. “Hey, can I talk to you a quick minute?”

  “Sure . . . what is it? I want to get in line to go up with Jhally.”

  I walked her over to the stalls, away from the others. “Look, I’m thrilled you want to be a part of this. We need you.”

  “But?” she asked, offering back a sideways glance.