Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Hannig turned his attention to the large portal window, through to the dramatic cityscape lying beyond. Up here, numerous tall structures pierced through the cloud layer—becoming golden, reflective obelisks peeking above billows of bright white fluff. Again, Hannig was made aware of the capricious nature of the humans down below, of what they were capable of. While their capacity for love and creativity could not be denied, neither could their faculty for hate and destruction. So different from his home life on Khantam Lom, where the populace had progressed beyond such self-destructive behavior. His was a species motivated by kindness and even-keeled. Even the weather there was perfect. For centuries, Khantam had been perfectly climate-inclined—only the nicest atmospheric conditions were allowed to flourish by the Cablah.

  The Cablah was not so much a government, more like a collaborative, a communal structure. Any hierarchy inherently becomes an eventual problem—one predisposed to elicit conflict. The concept of one person’s life being better than another’s had to be discouraged. Life on Khantam Lom was always pleasant, always frictionless. But the Cablah had gone far beyond merely regulating the weather. Even how one person interacted with another was always—in the kindest of ways—influenced. Whereas these barbaric Earth humans tended to couple, find a single mate for indeterminate long periods of time, Khantams mated with many. The Khantam population had been an intersex species for centuries—genetic modification of their genome led to everyone possessing both male and female genitalia. Jealousy and competitiveness between the sexes were no longer issues. But long-term coupling was discouraged. No one wedded or married on Khantam Lom. On Khantam Lom, there was no violence. There was no crime. What one possessed, another was free to possess also, since anything less would have been a form of hierarchy. The ever-watchful Cablah would never condone such a thing occurring.

  So why am I still here? I have my orders. I am to leave this world immediately. But Hannig knew perfectly well why he still remained, though he had yet to acknowledge the real reasons even to himself. He loved it here. He loved the rawness of this strange world. The impossible, diametrically opposed nature of things. But mostly he loved the wondrous possibilities lying ahead for these people. They were so close to taking the next formative leap in their evolution. Not so much becoming more Khantam-like, but maybe something in between the two societies.

  But the Wikk would change all that—change everything. Humans would be powerless to withstand their far-advanced weaponry. Within weeks, humanity would be crushed—either placed into slavery on their farms or killed. And all those wondrous possibilities waiting just ahead would be gone. Probably forever.

  He heard a noise from the Med Bay; the human was awake and stirring. Had Hannig gone to all the trouble of saving this human, this man, only to soon see him captured or perhaps killed? Hannig had witnessed firsthand what the Wikk were capable of. Their savagery. Their appetites . . .

  Chapter 11

  Dominic Moretti

  I awoke to the distant voice of Wolf Blitzer. Who turned on the damn TV? I should get up, make some coffee. I opened my eyes. I wasn’t at home. Then it all came rushing back to me. The bruised and battered woman lying in a heap in unit 430, the four Russian thugs, the flash from the gun. For a minute, that was all I could conjure up, but then I remembered what came next. The surgery. That robotic creature lifting me. The feeling of looking down at my own chest, the tiny nanobots at work. I placed the palm of one hand there now. My bare skin felt normal, almost unnaturally cool to the touch in fact, considering what had been done to it.

  I scanned my blue-hued surroundings. The compartment was now less of a medical bay than a high-tech living quarters. Tentatively, I swung my legs over the side of the bed and eased myself up into a sitting position. I felt fine. No, I felt great. It has to have been a dream. How could I feel great? I’d been shot.

  Again, I examined my chest and torso. Wait. This wasn’t my torso. At least not the one I’d been lugging around with me for the last few years. Having a substantial spare tire of fat wasn’t something one forgets having. I ran my fingertips down my abdomen and felt the chiseled musculature there beneath my skin. I have a six-pack. I have a fucking six-pack.

  At the end of the bed was a pile of neatly folded clothes. Only then did I register that I was totally naked. I got dressed in some kind of silver metallic uniform, sort of a onesie. The fabric was lightweight and stretchy. Comfortable. There was a pair of slip-on moccasins on the deck. Somehow, everything seemed to fit me perfectly.

  I made my way forward through a passage, noticing a kitchen on one side and a bathroom on the other. I briefly wondered if I would be able to figure out the toilet. But that was a problem for later.

  The forward compartment was, in one word, spectacular. The same indirect bluish illumination, but virtually every inch was filled with cool technology. Rows and rows of touch buttons and controls of every sort. A handful of colorful 3D readouts seemed to magically hover in the air, untethered. A wrap-around console filled the entire forward prow of the spacecraft, while several other consoles, perhaps designated for different ship’s systems, ran along both the starboard and port bulkheads. Like the living quarters, arching brushed-metal accents here and there gave the whole ensemble a classy, expensive feel. But perhaps just as impressive were the two large, opposing windows. The view of the outside world—the tops of Manhattan’s numerous skyscrapers—was incredibly sharp. It must have been some kind of specially treated glass.

  I found Hannig sitting, staring out at the world beyond, looking circumspect.

  “Hannig?”

  His trance-like gaze broken, the alien spun his seat around to face me. “Tell me, Dominic, how do you feel?”

  “Truth? I don’t know if I’ve ever felt this good. Did that all really happen? The spider thing, you operating on me? Getting a replacement heart?”

  “Certainly it did. A quite successful procedure. And just in time, I might add.”

  I touched my chest. “It’s like it never happened.”

  Hannig, now wearing a bemused smile, nodded. “Your new heart will last you a lifetime. An even longer one, hopefully.”

  “And the . . . extra weight?” I said, miming the substantial roll I’d had around my middle section.

  “First and foremost, any infection needed to be quelled. The use of antibiotics is an archaic and often dangerous practice; this method is far beyond that. Any aspect of your physiology that was out of alignment was taken care of by the infusion of ZIN bots. Picture millions upon millions of little LOPs roaming your insides, searching out aberrant health issues and repairing them. Dominic, your ratio of fat to muscle was way out of whack.”

  “Are they in there now? Roaming my insides?”

  “Of course. They will be as long as you are alive.”

  “So, you’re saying I won’t ever get sick?”

  Hannig simply shook his head.

  Dominic let all that sink in. On the surface of things, sure, he should be ecstatic. He’d never get sick. Probably never gain weight. Who else on this planet could claim such benefits? On the other hand, was he still himself? Was he Dominic, or was he an amalgam of human and weird alien technology?

  Like so many other things going on, he hadn’t had time to process any of this. He supposed he should be elated. His life had been saved, after all. He was to be healthier and better, in many ways, than ever before. So why was he so damn irritated? The answer came to him as easily as the question. Because he’d had zero control over any of it.

  He let out a long breath. “Okay, different subject. How long have I been here? I need to contact my wife . . . my boss. They’ll be worried.”

  Although I’d mostly tuned out Blitzer’s droning voice, my eyes were drawn to what looked to be video footage of space. I recognized Saturn with its great rings. The feed changed to a closeup of what appeared to be one of the planet’s moons. Someone had drawn a red circle around a small black spec. Then I heard Wolf say the words “alien spacecraft.�
��

  “They’re here, aren’t they? I asked. “The bad aliens you spoke of. What did you call them? The Wizz?”

  “The Wikk. And yes, unfortunately, they have indeed arrived here within your solar system.”

  Now there was a montage of new video clips on Earth. Riots had broken out in New York, Los Angeles, Paris, Tokyo. Out the window, I noticed for the first time multiple plumes of dark smoke rising up into the atmosphere.

  “I don’t understand. What’s everyone doing? This is no time to go all crazy. We need to prepare . . . get ready to defend ourselves!” I expected Hannig to have answers, a suggestion for obverting humankind’s ultimate destruction. But none came.

  I found a second chair pushed in at one of the consoles, pulled it out and sat down. “Your people. They could help us. Like if they wanted to, right? Help us battle the Wikk? Save our world.”

  The alien looked tired—the folds of his skin were already deep, and now seemingly even more pronounced. “Battle is not something my kind does anymore. We are pacifist, Dominic. Our advanced technology allows for far more, um, humane methods to mediate such interstellar conflict.”

  “How? How would you keep that spaceship from coming here and annihilating us without going to battle?”

  “By making their weaponry ineffective. A finely tuned pulse beam to the right ship coordinates and—zap, the Wikk are no longer a threat.”

  “But that’s not going to happen. Because someone or some group figures us humans are too barbaric or too unworthy of your help?” I was getting mad now, and I could see fear mounting in Hannig’s eyes. I didn’t care.

  “I share your anxiety. I have tried to make a strong case for Earth’s protection. I am but one person.”

  “So what now? You’ll just drop me off on a street corner, maybe on top of that building there, and be on your way?” Back to your pacifist world where everything is perfect . . . and everyone lives in perfect fucking harmony?”

  Chapter 12

  “I know I have little right to ask this of you . . . but will you stay? Help us?”

  Hannig had busied himself tapping at one of the consoles, acting as if he hadn’t heard me. I waited, knowing full well he had. For all I knew, his alien ears were probably extra-sensitive. With the help of those nanobots, I bet he could pick up my heartbeat. Finally he looked up.

  “Even if I agreed to help, I don’t see how I could. Dominic—yes, I like it here. I find humans interesting. In spite of their negative impulses and self-destructive nature. I’ve even considered what it would be like to make this world my home. But these are what you would call flights of fancy. It’s just not realistic.”

  “Why couldn’t this be your home? I could help. Become an advocate for you. This ship of yours—it’s amazing. The U.S. government would do backflips to have this technology.”

  “You are right, but you’re being unrealistic. The moment it becomes known, my presence here, an alien from a distant world, attempts would be made to hunt me down, to capture me. I would be associated with the Wikk when they attack, which will be all too soon. I’m sorry, Dominic, but the word of one human would do little to convince anyone that I’m not a threat.”

  “I guess I see your point. Without proof of your good intentions, you would be lumped in with the enemy . . .”

  Hannig tilted his head and raised his thin brows in a way that was remarkably human-like, a clear signal of affirmation. The mannerism spoke volumes.

  The CNN broadcast was now showing police using teargas to clear the streets. The headline banner proclaimed: Martial Law Declared!

  It seemed there was nothing that could be done to avert the inevitable. The population, out of fear or plain stupidity, would continue this self-destruction right up until the time the Wikk showed up here with their ship. What was happening now, the riots, the discord, was simply all too consuming. Going to the U.S. Government, or any other government, would be an act of futility.

  “Could this ship of yours stop them?”

  “It is far more advanced than their technology, but this is a mere Watcher Craft. No weapons. I told you, my kind have been pacifists for generations.”

  “So you’re okay with all this? Basically the fall of humanity?

  Hannig stared back at him.

  “Well, I’m not okay with it, damn it.” Dominic thought about his options. There weren’t any. Not really. Irritated, he spoke before thinking things through, “Well . . . how about getting me inside that Wikk ship out there in space? I’m not new to violence. I can do a lot of damage to those aliens before they’d take me out. You could do that, I’m betting, the way you move this ship through buildings all invisible-like. Get me in there?”

  “You’re asking me to take sides. You’re asking me to abandon a life of non-violence.”

  “What I’m asking is for you to make a damn stand. Don’t you people do that? Commit to something, anything? Believe in a premise worth dying for, or more importantly, killing for?”

  Hannig did not reply. Perhaps he was contemplating my words. What was important enough to him to make those kinds of sacrifices?

  “You know about my life, my previous life, as a soldier?” Dominic asked.

  He nodded. “At my request, the ship’s AI System has explored your past. Including your military records.”

  “Then you know I was Marine Force Recon. I work well within a small squad to acquire intel. Isn’t that what’s needed here? To acquire enemy intel?”

  “Perhaps. So you have access to . . . a squad of others like yourself to accompany you on such a mission? Perhaps the same military squad you served with?”

  I stared into Hannig’s all-too-human-looking eyes. I was sure he already knew the answer to that question. That I had survived, prevailed even, that last clusterfuck of a mission in Pakistan.

  “So, you alone would endeavor such a mission to space, Dominic?”

  “I have you, or does just gathering intel somehow betray your pacifist scruples?”

  “Please, let us be honest. You know as well as I do, your intentions would be something other than merely gathering intel. So the real question for me would be, am I willing to disregard all that I am and believe in, to help you?”

  “No. Not me. To help humankind . . . to help billions of people survive a ruthless invasion. Maybe the better question to ask yourself is this: Who is the real enemy here? The one that commits the atrocity or the one that sits back and lets it happen, even though they have the capacity to intervene?”

  Hannig looked away. I had a feeling he’d already been wrestling with that same question.

  “But to answer your question, maybe I do have a kind of squad.” Again I was talking without thinking things through. Making assumptions I shouldn’t have. The squad I was thinking of was not military, not even close. But then again, maybe just as loyal and probably even more ruthless. What do they say about desperate times calling for desperate measures?

  “I may have a few options. But first I need to contact my wife. Can you at least help me with that? Is there a way this ship can make a phone call?”

  “Actually, yes. Well, normally. Mobile phone technology is little more than the transmitting and receiving of radio waves. Unfortunately, all networks are being swamped. Their capacity is currently exceeded by a factor of ten.”

  “Shit.” I looked out the portal. There were now what looked like twice as many plumes of smoke as there had been just minutes earlier. What few streets were left open would be total mayhem. “Can you fly me over?”

  “In my Watcher Craft?”

  “You have something else more pressing to do? An appointment you need to keep?”

  “You are being humorous, no? You are being sarcastic. I have been learning about this odd human trait.”

  “How do you learn such a thing?” I asked.

  “I watch your various television broadcasts, which helps. But I prefer to personally explore your habitat, see and listen for myself.”

  “Yeah,
well that got you into a bit of trouble, didn’t it?”

  Hannig shrugged and then smiled.

  “But certainly you didn’t learn to speak fluent English by lurking around dark alleys or watching Maury Povich reruns on the tube.”

  “No, for that I learn by ingesting the knowledge, by sucking on a lozenge-cache—a micro-DNA-assimilating construct, if you will.”

  “Say again . . . A what?”

  Hannig stood up and moved past me, walking through the narrow passageway and into the aft compartment. Following behind him, I watched as he opened a kind of integrated cabinet. Inside were rows and rows—hundreds, if not thousands—of tiny, glass-like containers. Each was labeled with a series of unrecognizable alien symbols. He used a long finger to peruse one of the center rows.

  “Here we go. Earth Languages.” He removed the container, which was actually a long tube—what I’d seen was only its visible cap. He opened it and tapped out one tablet, the way someone would tap out a Tylenol. I could see there were a good many more of the pills left in the container. “Here you go. Take this. Don’t chew it, suck on it.”

  “You want me to eat that? What is it?”

  “I told you, it’s a lozenge-cache. This one is for all Earth languages and their associated dialects.”

  “It’ll work for a human?”

  “That will not matter. Our physiology, our genome, is remarkably similar.”

  I was at a strange juncture. Trusting this alien with my life, again. It wasn’t lost on me that the very fact I was standing here and breathing was only due to the fact Hannig had gone to great lengths to save my life. I popped the lozenge into my mouth and sucked.

  “Give it a minute or two. It takes time to form new neural pathways, to get all those new synapses firing and talking to one another.”

  I waited at least five minutes, but no new rush of knowledge seemed to come. “I don’t feel any different,” I told him.”