Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Hearing her words, I felt the same sense of humiliation all over again. “It’s been a long time coming. It’s not what I wanted.”

  “I know. And I know this is bad timing.”

  “What? Just say what you want to say, Lori.”

  “Just that I think she’s flipping crazy.”

  I laughed out loud. “You do, do you?”

  “Yeah. Hey, I’m not saying I’d ever be interested in you. I’m way out of your league. But, well, one never really knows what the future holds.”

  I felt my cheeks go hot. The truth was, Lori really was way out of my league. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “One more thing,” she said. “Can you just try to stay alive?”

  “I’ll do that, if you do the same.”

  “Alpha Leader out. Switching over to open channel now.”

  I watched Lori take the controls through the blue-tinted window portal. She looked up and waved. Even though I couldn’t see her face clear enough to see her expression, I knew she was smiling. And then the Watcher Craft vanished before our eyes. I turned to face the others in my squad. Both Gordo and Georgina were staring at me—Georgina was smiling while Gordo looked disgusted.

  I’d almost forgotten about the other hostages huddled together, looking scared and out of sorts, until Carl asked, “So what now? You going to just leave us here in this compartment, with all of this . . . ?” He gestured toward the big clear pipes full of brown sludge.

  “Who in here has fired a gun before? Or maybe knows how to use a rifle?”

  Four hostages raised their hands: Carl, Tommy’s mother, another man—who looked to be about sixty—and, surprisingly, the old lady.

  “Don’t look so surprised, boy. I grew up on a farm. Of course I can shoot a rifle.”

  “Let’s get you outfitted with some tactical gear first. The four of you will be in charge of defending this confined space. With your lives, if necessary. Can you commit to that?”

  The four hostages nodded.

  Carl said, “We know the stakes. You bet you can count on us.”

  There was something about Carl I just didn’t trust. Maybe it was his shifty eyes, or his over-willingness to please. “I’ll get one of you outfitted with comms, so that you can stay in contact with us,” I said.

  “That should be me,” Carl said, placing his hands on his hips, acting like the man in charge.

  I signaled for Tommy’s mom. “What’s your name, Ma’am?”

  “I’m . . . Jill.” She nervously looked to her fellow hostages.

  “Well, how about you?”

  “Me?”

  “It’s just a headset. I’ll show you how to use it.”

  “Do it, Mom! You’re always on your phone anyway. It’s the perfect job for you.”

  Clearly, Carl was not happy with my selection. His eyes narrowed, yet he held his tongue. His ‘hands-on-hips’ position had switched; he now stood with his arms folded across his chest.

  “Stop pouting, Carl. You’ll have plenty of opportunities to prove your worth,” Georgina scolded.

  “I’ll get Jill and the rest of them set up,” Gordo said, heading toward the rear of the Stryker.

  Georgina joined me at my side. “So, we’re getting more weapons from this armory place?”

  I nodded.

  “And it’s what . . . like two miles away?”

  “You ever drive a truck? A big truck?”

  “No. But I can drive a stick shift, if that’s what you need.” She followed my gaze over to the Stryker. “Wait. You want me to drive that thing? Like in here, within this ship?”

  “Gordo will ride shotgun. I’ll be up top. You saw the corridor on the other side of that hatch. It’s pretty wide. And straight as an arrow.”

  Chapter 36

  Officer Lori Tedesco

  She was having a hard time keeping a smile off her face. Hell, here she was, leading her own squad of armed combatants. Added to that, she was seated at the helm of this incredible highly advanced interstellar spacecraft. A far cry from rousting bums away from the sidewalk outside the Piggly Wiggly, or answering one more domestic dispute call on a Thursday night. Sure, she was probably going to die, maybe even within the next few hours, but still, this was kind of, well, awesome.

  With Hannig seated next to her, Lori manipulated the controls with a skill level she shouldn’t have been capable of. She was using knowledge of things, both technical and abstract, that she shouldn’t possess. She brought the craft into a leveled-out position, having descended to Level Five. Her hands moved naturally, providing yaw, roll and pitch manipulations, perhaps similar to the hand movements used in flying an aircraft back on Earth. It was so odd, she thought, that she suddenly had the knowledge to fly this alien craft but didn’t know if it would apply to the planes she’d seen all her life. No reason the lozenge would’ve contained that.

  She’d noticed that this deck level also provided a wide central corridor, running the length of the vessel, from bow to stern.

  Matteo asked, “Why do they walk like that? Like they’re marching? It’s weird and creepy.”

  The corridor was busy with hundreds of the green creatures, heading either forward or aft. Their legs—all of them—moved in synchronized, rhythmic steps. Outside the Watcher Craft, their drum-like cadence never faltered. Lori moved past and through the throngs of Wikk, unbeknownst to them.

  Clang!

  The sound reverberated throughout the Watcher Craft’s control center. At first, Lori thought it had originated from somewhere outside of the ship—perhaps one of the Wikk had dropped something heavy—but no. She spun around in her chair to find that Gary, the one who’d previously been a hostage, had fallen. He was lying on the deck, wide-eyed, his face a frozen grimace.

  “Sorry. I tripped over something.”

  “Shit!” Caputo said, looking out the portal window.

  The Wikk’s rhythmic marching had suddenly ceased. The insects now pivoted their oversized, angular heads in synchronistic accord. As if so many mindless marionettes, their strings singularly controlled by a lone puppeteer. They were listening . . .

  No one spoke.

  Lori brought her hands away from the controls and let the Watcher Craft glide to a gentle stop. Holding her breath, she suspected, and hoped, that the others were doing the same. The Wikk, she knew, had incredible hearing, well beyond that of any animal back on Earth.

  “Let’s keep going,” Caputo whispered, glaring at Gary still lying on the deck.

  Lori took up the controls. “Where is this communications place? Tell me we’re getting close.”

  Hannig had moved the 3D virtual model so it hovered in front of him, but he wasn’t looking at it. He let out a breath and stood up to peer out the portal window. “They can hear our propulsion system.”

  “Seriously?” Matteo joined him there.

  Lori glanced up. It was true. Not only had the Wikk stopped marching, they were looking directly at the Watcher Craft. Their ears were picking up what their eyes couldn’t see.

  Hannig said, “We can’t continue along this corridor, Lori. If you progress through the various compartments paralleling this passage, we can better obstruct the sounds this vessel makes.”

  She wasted no time altering her course, and soon they were passing through what appeared to be interconnecting storage holds. They contained everything from foodstuffs to spare mechanical parts, perhaps for the drive propulsion system. The largest of the holds stocked what looked to be jet fighter components—canopies, wing sub-assemblies, cockpit accessories, and a variety of environmental or space suits, all hanging one after another, vertically, from an overhead track. It reminded her of a typical drycleaner’s back home. Green worker Wikk milled about, restocking shelves and transferring items via hovercraft forklifts.

  Gary looked puzzled. “Notice they never take a break? Never pause to shoot the shit or even acknowledge one another? I’ve worked in a lot of military base stock rooms—these guys seem more like mach
ines than living, breathing beings.”

  “Please reduce speed, Lori.” Hannig was now seated next to her again. He pointed to the model. “We are closing in on the Dominate’s communications center.”

  She slowed their progress. The Watcher Craft eased into a frenzied compartment, one packed with technology. So many clicks and musical tones filled the space, Lori wondered how any one of the Wikk would be able to differentiate who was speaking to whom. It reminded her of old turn-of-the-century black-and-white photographs—central office telephone operators, a jumble of patch cables on the boards in front of them. If the Wikk actually had shoulders, they would be shoulder-to-shoulder in here. Each was fitted with a comms device on one ear (at least she guessed it was their ear, or the equivalent), and they spoke into a microphone of sorts. Not nearly as modern or sophisticated as she would have expected.

  “There must be two hundred bugs packed in here. Who the hell are they talking to?” Matteo asked to no one in particular.

  “Another ship, their home planet, other sections here on this vessel . . . Does it really matter?” Caputo asked.

  Hannig tapped Lori’s shoulder and pointed upward. “The equipment we need to disable is higher up within this compartment.”

  She hadn’t realized this communications center rose up so high, encompassing at least two full deck levels. She did as asked and maneuvered the Watcher Craft to ascend. Here, there were narrow walkways encircling the compartment with metal cabinets on all four bulkheads. There were far fewer Wikk workers up here. Some were using unidentifiable tools, while others were making adjustments or maybe changing configurations. The constant clicks and melodic strum tones from below had melded into a kind of low, white-noise hum.

  Hannig no longer spoke in a hushed voice. “That cabinet over there. See it? The one with the series of thick metallic conduits entering in from above? That is the primary power generator coupling for this center. Transmissions to off-ship locations, as well as all internal ship-wide transmissions, are powered via this lone interface. We disrupt those couplings, and the Dominate won’t have any comms capabilities left.”

  “Hmm, looks like a fairly substantial cabinet,” Matteo said. “How do you suggest we breach it? I can tell you right now, rounds from our assault rifles won’t do the trick.”

  They were up high enough now that there weren’t any Wikk workers about. “You’ll have to figure it out,” Lori said in a matter-of-fact tone. “I’m to drop off Delta Squad—that’ll be you Hannig, Caputo and Elmo.” She glanced around the compartment. “Where’s Elmo? Elmo! You in here?”

  Several moments later, Elmo shuffled into the control center, yawning. He’d clearly been asleep, napping in the back.

  “Hey, you and your team—you’re up,” Matteo said.

  Elmo looked out the portal window on the port side. “Doesn’t look so bad. Um, what are we doing, again?”

  “Breaching that big cabinet over there.”

  Elmo frowned and remained quiet.

  Caputo chimed in. “Hannig, do you have something, anything, that would help us open that thing?”

  “I believe I do. Lori, if you would be so kind as to back the aft section of the Watcher Craft in close to that walkway, we will disembark.”

  Lori had forgotten Hannig was part of Delta team. That meant soon she would be piloting this craft without his aid. She let that sink in. Funny how she knew that she’d be just fine.

  “LOP will be joining us on this mission,” Hannig said, standing and readying himself for what was to come.

  Lori could see Hannig was nervous. Beyond nervous. This would be far outside his comfort zone. His job had always been simply to observe and report his findings. This kind of mission would put him in harm’s way, test him in ways no one could predict. “Good luck, Hannig. Remember, I’ll be able to talk to you over your comms, okay?”

  “Yes. Thank you, Lori. I’m sure everything will be fine.” But he hadn’t moved aft with the rest of his team. He swallowed hard and rearranged his tactical vest for the second time. His breathing had quickened to the point Lori wondered if he’d hyperventilate. “Hannig, everything will be fine. I have to go.”

  He took one step and then stopped. “Maybe I should change squads. Be a part of your squad. I’m much more suited for Alpha squad, don’t you think?”

  “No, I don’t. Dom put you on Delta because you know the tech better than anyone.”

  Tito Caputo yelled from the aft compartment, “We’re burning daylight! Let’s go!”

  “You can do this, Hannig,” Matteo said.

  “Hey, go find your courage,” Lori added.

  The alien nodded, raised his chin, and headed aft. Lori watched on the view screen as Caputo and Elmo, clad in their military tactical gear and armed with their assault rifles, exited the rear of the vessel. Even though she’d backed the vessel right up to the walkway, Hannig was now having a bit of difficulty crawling over the banister. Then LOP was there, scurrying up and onto the metal top bar. Poised, it extended out one of its spider-like appendages, and a small claw took hold of Hannig’s sleeve. She was touched, somehow, by the little bot’s protective instincts. Then Caputo was there too, dragging Hannig off the banister onto the safety of the walkway.

  “Best you head out,” Caputo said in her ear. “But be ready to come back and get us!”

  Chapter 37

  Hannig

  To say his emotions were conflicted would have been a gross understatement. Hannig attempted to straighten his topsy-turvy helmet, again, but of course it would never fit right. His head was the wrong shape for the thing. An assault rifle, slung from a strap over one shoulder, required he stand up on his rear legs. Difficult, since he was biologically accustomed to walking on all fours. He glanced over the banister rail. His eyes were drawn to a number of distinctive red chest bands—armed Wikk soldiers were now moving about, weaving in and out, through the throngs of comms personnel down below. He counted seven, no nine—two more had just entered the compartment. They seemed to be searching for something. Undoubtedly looking for them. How long before one of the insectile creatures glanced upward? He thought about the heavy weapon he was carrying. Would he be able to use it? Was that even an option for him?

  He advanced toward the communications power couplings cabinet, with Elmo and Caputo walking in single file several strides behind him. Hannig inspected the locking mechanism securing the heavy-gauge metal doors.

  “Be nice to have a key for that,” Caputo said. “Cabinet looks to be built like Fort Knox. No getting inside that without making a whole lot of noise.”

  “Isn’t our mission critical?” Elmo asked, looking nervous. “Like needs to be completed before any of the others can happen?”

  Hannig heard a clicking, some static, and then a voice in his headgear. “Bravo leader to Hannig, you copy?”

  Hannig recognized Dominic’s voice. He felt somewhat relieved just hearing the human’s familiar tone.

  Caputo gave Hannig a gentle backhanded slap to his shoulder. “Hey, that’s you, Hannig. Answer the man.”

  “Oh, yes, I copy. I hear you, um, Delta leader.” He smiled, hoping he had used the correct military vernacular.

  “Hannig, how you coming along? We’re all waiting. Both Alpha and Bravo teams.” Dominic sounded impatient.

  “We are at the—”

  “Best you don’t give specifics over comms . . . you never know who’s listening.”

  “Oh, yes, that makes sense. Give me several more minutes, please.”

  “Copy that. Delta leader out.”

  Hannig replied, “Bravo leader out” before realizing Dominic had already cut the conversation short. He brought his attention back to the cabinet. He tapped a finger upon one of the big doors. Heavy, but not impregnable. “LOP, open this cabinet.”

  Caputo and Elmo were getting agitated, repeatedly glancing down at what was going on below.

  LOP brought itself around, in front of Hannig, and rose on two of its six legs, while
reaching up with two others. The cabinet’s locking mechanism was still more than a foot too high for the bot to reach. LOP jumped up, getting a claw-hold on Hannig’s uniform for better support. The little robot, its body now poised near enough to view the keyhole close up, widened one of its claws while a thin, sharp, protruding blade, a stiletto approximately four inches long, emerged and locked into place.

  “Oh shit!” Caputo said.

  “Fuck!” Elmo said.

  Both were now unslinging their weapons. Hannig shot a quick glance downward and saw a number of the red-banded insects were headed up a sharply angled ramp. Hannig briefly wondered if stairs were somehow problematic for these multi-legged Wikk.

  LOP, still clinging to Hannig’s uniform, continued working the mechanism, inserting and withdrawing the small blade over and over again in an attempt to pick the lock.

  “They see us!” Elmo said. “We’re sitting ducks up here. Get that thing open!”

  Caputo fired off a prolonged burst of gunfire. Elmo began firing as well.

  “Hurry up!” Caputo barked.

  Hannig saw two of the Wikk soldiers had been struck by gunfire—bloodied, their leggy bodies had been catapulted right off the ramp and into the frenetic mass of green below. Now dozens of oversized, angular heads were staring upward.

  Hannig’s helmet went askew, covering his eyes. He’d had enough of the thing and took it off, tossing it onto the walkway. That’s better. LOP continued with more unsuccessful attempts at opening the lock.

  Hannig said, “Can you pry the doors open, LOP?”

  The bot stopped, going motionless for a moment as if considering that option.

  Hannig noticed that some of the red-banded Wikk had made it all the way up onto their level.

  LOP suddenly released its claw-hold on Hannig and dropped down to the walkway. Immediately, it began using four separate claws, wedging each of them into the narrow seam, a gap just a quarter of an inch wide.