I could hear the trepidation in her voice.
“Delivering the Stryker to the Wikk ship is quite a feat. It will require almost all of System’s resources and most of the ship’s power output.”
I noticed the bubble had been manipulated to include about two feet of the ground beneath the eight wheels. “We’re sending that much of the tunnel along with it?”
“Necessary. The margin of error is significant, unfortunately. Perhaps as high as 5 to 10 percent.” Hannig made one last adjustment and delivered a definitive, dramatic final tap on the console. “Done!” Smiling, he maneuvered his rolling chair around the bodies to the other console on the starboard side. “Now, you’ve had time to think about it, Dominic. Where would you like the Stryker vehicle to reappear?” Hannig glanced up to the 3D Wikk ship model above our heads.
“I don’t know. Can you tell us what areas of the ship would be the least inhabited? Where something as large as the Stryker could go undetected for a bit of time?”
Hannig tapped again at his console. Suddenly, the model of the Wikk ship was occupied by moving, miniature, ultra-realistic-looking occupants. Hundreds of green insect creatures milled about. There were also a myriad of other lifeforms in the many holding cells on the lower decks. They were moving slowly, lethargically, if at all. Standing, Hannig pointed to the aft section of the vessel. “This compartment here on an upper deck, a hold of sorts, is off limits to the rank-and-file Wikk.”
“Looks large enough,” Elmo said. “Why’s it off limits?”
Before Hannig could answer, a familiar sound came from outside the Watcher Craft. The sound of the vault door opening up, the screech of the complaining hinges. And the sound of men, a lot of men, undoubtedly well-armed, hurrying down the creaky old wooden staircase.
Shit!
I shushed everyone before anyone could speak too loudly. I leaned closer to Hannig, “We’re invisible, yes?”
He nodded, then, looked more uncertain. “The back hatchway is open.”
I moved through the tight group, hurried through the connecting passageway, and out into the aft compartment. Sure enough, the rear hatch was open. And standing not ten feet in front of me, out in the tunnel, was a Latin man holding what looked like an AK-47 with an extended magazine, one that I knew held a hundred 7.62mm rounds. His jaw dropped open—a mixed expression of confusion and disbelief occupied his fleshy face. I knew this guy—he was Dino Amante. We went through grade school together. It occurred to me then that from Dino’s perspective—me hovering here a few feet off the ground, along with the interior of this crazy alien ship—there would be no rational explanation for any of this. His brain was trying to connect the dots, to bring reason to the unreasonable.
So I simply smiled and offered a friendly wave. Quietly, I said, “Hey, Dino.” Slowly, I reached for the button just to the right of the open hatchway, “Best you say nothing about this. No one would believe you anyway.” I tapped the button and the hatch door closed between us.
I entered the forward compartment to see all eyes directed toward the portal windows. The Colombo crew was out there, looking for us but seeing nothing. Two men, waist-high, were suddenly among us, but unaware they had entered. They were now passing through the Watcher Craft’s control center. That we could see them but they could not see us—I didn’t understand the physics of it, I didn’t even attempt to. I saw Dino out there, on the periphery. He looked in our general direction. Uncertain, probably, if what he thought he’d seen was actually real. Someone was commenting that this theft wouldn’t go unanswered. There’d be hell to pay.
“Best we go,” I whispered. “Before they realize most everything we took is still in that Stryker,” I said.
“You want to do it while they’re right here? Where they’ll see it disappear?” Lori asked.
I nodded. “Don’t you?”
She laughed. “I guess.”
We all looked to Hannig. He made just three taps onto his console before looking up. The interior ship’s lights dimmed. Outside, in the tunnel, there was a bright flash, as if lightning had suddenly struck. The string of hanging light bulbs outside burst one after the other—leaving just one lone, dim bulb that was flickering on and off.
“What the fuck!” one of the Colombo men said.
“It’s gone!” another said. “The Stryker!”
“That’s not fucking possible . . .” came another.
And then we were moving—Hannig was at the controls and piloting the ship. Up we went, rising in the small chamber. In moments, we were ascending through the old cow tunnel’s ceiling, progressing up through Manhattan’s underground. Soon we were back within the confines of the ugly, nondescript building and still rising.
“Best you all find something to grab on to,” Hannig said. “We’ll be gaining speed now.”
The nose of the little ship banked upward, and we all staggered, reaching for something to steady ourselves—a console, a nearby bulkhead, even each other in the case of Lori and me.
“So, we’re really doing this?” she said again.
“Too late to change your mind now,” I said.
The city skyline dropped below us outside. We were moving faster now, but it didn’t seem to have as much effect on us as I would’ve anticipated.
Hannig shortly offered an explanation. “G-force compensators have kicked in.”
Outside the portal windows, it was getting markedly darker. The nine of us, four on one side and five on the other, huddled in close to the portals.
“We’re flying in space!” Gordo said. “We are officially real astronauts . . .”
“More like real space cadets,” Georgina said.
I knew we’d be closing in on the Wikk ship soon. I felt I should say something. “Hey, I just wanted to say—thank you. All of you, thank you for coming along on this—this mission. I’m sure you’ve figured out that not all of us, or even any of us, will make it out of this alive.”
“Is this supposed to be a pep talk, Dommy? If so, it sucks,” Gordo said.
Several of the guys nervously chuckled.
“What’s our purpose?” I looked to the others, one by one. “What’s this ultimate sacrifice for?”
Lori spoke up first, “Dom has a plan of attack. We need to follow that. But a purpose? That’s something different. Above and beyond saving Earth, I know there’s something personal in this for each of us. I think, for me, it’s to save those kids. If we can.”
Georgina nodded at that.
“To kill as many fucking green bugs as possible,” Elmo said, pushing his glasses up onto the bridge of his nose, to a round of cheers from his crew.
“To make the Wikk think twice about invading planet Earth,” Caputo said.
“To save Earth,” Matteo said. “We need to save Earth.”
I turned my gaze to Hannig. “And you? I would like to hear what your cause is here. Your mission.”
The alien seemed to contemplate that for a few moments. “To find my honor. To be the first of my kind to actually pick a side. To bring a sense of morality to Khantam Lom. Although, I’m sure my people will not see it that way.”
Georgina placed a palm on Hannig’s shoulder. “Perhaps one day they will. The unsung hero that changed everything.”
“Oh boy. There it is,” Elmo cut in, pointing to an object far off in the distance.
Chapter 31
Momentarily mesmerized, I took in the endless black cosmos of space, out there beyond the Watcher Craft—it was like nothing else I had ever experienced. Sure, dark and foreboding, yet not dead or lifeless, because all those billions upon billions of twinkling points of light gave rise to something else—maybe it was hope, maybe it was something spiritual. I can’t claim to know too much of such matters. As I thought more about it, I couldn’t avoid thinking that those twinkling points of light also gave rise to the Wikk, and to Hannig, and to an incomprehensible universe of other life out there that we were just now discovering.
On approach,
we assessed the long Wikk vessel with all its asymmetrical, bulbous protrusions.
“Looks more like a skinny turd than a spaceship,” Gordo said flatly.
I took the lone empty seat next to Hannig. Speaking quietly, I said, “Let’s say we pull off the impossible here. Somehow gain control of that ship. The rescuing of the abducted people, all those kids—what are our options for bringing them back to Earth?”
“Well, the Wikk ship has a flight bay. There are four large shuttles, like the ones that took them, plus other vessels,” Hannig replied.
Irritated, I just stared back at him. “Shuttles that none of us know how to fly. Most of these guys don’t even drive cars, how are they gonna be able to fly a spacecraft?” The others around us went quiet, listening in on our conversation.
Hannig looked at me with the same calm demeanor as always. “Dominic, do you really believe one needs to hand-pilot a spacecraft with that level of technology?” He gestured to the inside of his own ship. “Do you believe my tactile piloting is really necessary to operate this Watcher Craft? Yes, at times I take up the controls, but it is not a necessity for me to do so. System, in reality, is a far better pilot than I am. It has reaction times far quicker than any organic being could possibly provide. Isn’t your own society currently working on self-driving automobiles? I assure you, if and when the need arises, we’ll find a way to courier any survivors back down to Earth.”
“I have a question,” Tito Caputo said.
“Yes, Tito, what would you like to know?”
“How many of those green bugs are there on that ship? What are we talking about—a hundred? A few hundred? I can’t tell much from that projection, they’re all mixing together.”
Hannig stared up at the crew boss, blinked several times, and said, “Two thousand, three hundred and six.”
The compartment fell quiet.
“You’re just telling us this now?” I asked.
“I thought you would surmise as much. The vessel is approximately two miles in length. On average, a half-mile wide. This is a large craft intentionally purposed for planetary invasions. An army is required for such intentions.”
“So the nine of us are going up against thousands? Against a fucking army?” Georgina said.
Things were quickly unraveling here, and I should have anticipated this. Everyone was now talking at once. Individual arguments were erupting. Shit, the last thing we needed right now was a total sense of hopelessness. “We don’t have much of a plan, still,” someone said.
I stood. “Hey, hold on a second. We still have each other. Have each other’s backs. Don’t forget that.” I waited a moment for them to settle down. “Remember our amazing advantage. Two, actually. This ship, and Hannig here. So we’re going to take that Wikk vessel. But plans need to evolve, right? Change as new information is obtained. We’re at that point. We need to know more about our enemy.
“How, specifically?” Elmo asked.
“For starts, we’re going to do our due-diligence intel first. It’s because this little ship here has the capability to go completely undetected that we can exploit that aspect. As far as the Wikk are concerned, we’re invisible.”
Lori said, “So what? We’re going to fly into it, go inside of that Wikk ship? Just roam around in there gathering information?”
“Bingo!” I said, then looked to Hannig. “That is possible, right? We can do that? Observe them, learn about them and their weaknesses, how to kill them en masse, all from the inside?”
I saw Hannig waver. He was born a pacifist—it was something that was deeply embedded into his psyche, probably his DNA. Surely he was reevaluating things, what his own sacrifices would look like moving forward, now that he was being faced with the actual killing of thousands of living beings. If the kind alien changed his mind now, if he reneged on us using this Watcher Craft, what would I be willing to do? The answer came to me quickly. What was the fate of a planet, my planet, worth to me? I would kill Hannig and a thousand like him if it came to that. His eyes were on me now. The alien was sensitive and highly intuitive—perhaps he was anticipating my thoughts.
“It will be my burden to bear, Dominic. Humans have a clever saying, or so I’ve heard. ‘You’ve made your bed, now sleep in it.’ I’ve made my bed, and I will sleep in it. I will not hinder your battle plans. You are taking actions that are necessary to save your planet. Your people.”
Gordo said, “We have another clever saying. Either shit or get off the pot. Are we going to do this or just hang out here in space all day?”
Something occurred to me. “Hannig, you gave me a pill to suck on the other day. Um, a . . . lozenge-cache, with knowledge stored within, what did you say, um, mini-DNA constructs? In any event, I can now fluently speak any language on Earth.”
“Bullshit! Im-fucking-possible,” Matteo said.
“Sate ima, watashi wa nihongo o hanashite, damufakku. Dakara soko ni!”
He made a face. “What did you just say?”
“What I said was, ‘Well now I’m speaking Japanese, dumb fuck. So there!’” I shook my head, irritated with myself for getting off-subject. “Hannig, none of us here will be able to understand what those Wikk bugs are saying. Do you have one of those lozenges for that?”
Hannig’s gaze turned toward the passageway, looking thoughtful. “System, please have LOP bring me the appropriate lozenge-cash vial for all languages and dialects of the Wikkam species.”
When LOP arrived, Georgina yelled, shoving those near her out of the way. Eyes wide, she looked down to the deck as the mechanical spider bot skittered by her feet. “Thing scared the crap out of me.”
LOP leapt up onto the console in front of Hannig. It extended one of its appendages, a ten-finger phalange claw that was holding a familiar-looking glass tube.
Hannig took the small glass vial and examined the capped end. “Perfect.” He opened it and inspected its contents. “Plenty. Twelve lozenges.” He looked up to the faces around him. “Who first?”
No one spoke. No one volunteered.
“Go ahead and hand one over to me,” I said. “I’ve always wanted to learn to talk insect . . .”
Hannig tapped out a single lozenge and passed it over.
I popped it into my mouth and sucked.
Hannig raised a finger. “Now, be aware, you do not have the necessary anatomical augmentation of a Wikk. A close approximation will take place orally. Clicks at the backs of your throat. Strumming chords will now emanate from your vocal cords.” Hannig made a series of clicks, and then a melodic combination of musical sounds came out of his mouth.
I understood him to say, “The Wikkam language is actually a beautiful form of communication.”
I nodded and replied with my own series of clicks and musical tones. “I have to admit, it’s not terrible sounding . . .”
The others watched on in silent awe. One by one, they held out their palms for a lozenge.
“Remember, suck on them,” I said.
Soon we were all laughing and jabbering on—amazed at our newfound linguistic abilities. We spent the next few minutes all speaking fluent Wikkam between one another.
Lori, communicating with a series of clicks and tones of her own, asked, “Those Wikk onboard that ship—can they speak English, or understand it?”
“No,” Hannig said. “Their ship’s AI can translate just as System can. But the Wikk are an arrogant species. They would not, typically, find anything that such an inferior people would say worthy of their time.
“Shall we proceed? Into the Wikk vessel?” Hannig asked.
“Start at the bow, the top level. Take us through the ship, and explain what we’re seeing as we go. Explain what the crew is doing and anything else that’s pertinent.”
Hannig stood up and gestured to his chair. “Would you like to pilot the Watcher Craft?”
“Do you have a lozenge for learning that?” I said, kidding.
“Of course,” Hannig said. Once more, he looked toward the p
assageway. “LOP?”
Chapter 32
I was sucking on another memory cache lozenge—this one was somewhat larger than the others Hannig had offered us. Additional sucking sounds filled the control center. We all had eagerly and nonchalantly chosen to learn more. And then it happened. Virtually anything and everything anyone would want to know about this Watcher Craft, its design, its engineering and capabilities, as well as full hands-on piloting expertise—it was now all there, miraculously, taking up fresh real estate within our minds. In an odd sense, it didn’t feel like new information, more like our memories themselves had changed to incorporate this knowledge. What would have taken several lifetimes of scholastic institutional learning from a University such as MIT, or places like NASA, had been accomplished in mere minutes. Not only did we have a firm understanding of the functionality of this particular vessel, but also the science and physics that enabled it to do the remarkable things it did.
Personally, I was acutely aware that I had learned things no other human, at least on Earth, was even remotely cognizant of. And it wasn’t just me. All eight of us had sucked down one of these big lozenges, and we were now all highly capable of piloting this ship. It would be simple, second nature, like navigating the channels on a TV, or walking up a flight of stairs.
The compartment had gone quiet with the realization that all of us had, profoundly, changed. Our very minds had been altered, and it was evident that we were now different people than we had been just moments earlier. For some reason, this personally struck me as a little sad. No, really sad. Looking at the faces around me, the others too were clearly dealing with their own contrasting emotions. With our newfound knowledge of this spacecraft, and alongside it astrophysics, astronomy, chemistry, mechanical and electrical engineering, ship operations, came new self-awareness. Gone was the jovial atmosphere from learning the Wikkam language. The phrase “ignorance is bliss” came to mind. But actually, more than that was true, too. With vast knowledge comes profound loss. Loss of humanity’s naiveté—any of that childlike quality that we’d brought with us into adulthood now seemed to be gone.
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