Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Start shooting, Hannig! They’re rushing us!” Caputo and Elmo continued their gunfire.

  Hannig went down on four legs, a far more comfortable stance for him. His still-slung rifle now dangled awkwardly at his side. He glanced nervously toward the approaching insects. Almost immediately, they slowed. Something had changed.

  “Why the hell aren’t they firing back at us?” Elmo said.

  He’d been surprised to see LOP had, miraculously, gotten the tip of one of its claws wedged deep enough into the gap. It was prying, bending the metal outward.

  “Hannig!” Caputo yelled.

  He spun around. Oh my . . . where did they all come from? No less than twenty of the armed red-bands were making their way around on both sides of the walkway. Caputo and Elmo had killed many—their strewn bodies making it awkward for the others to move past them. But they kept coming, slowly, regardless.

  Caputo and Elmo continued firing.

  Hannig shot one more wishful glance toward LOP. Progress, but not progress enough. He unslung his rifle, but fumbled it in the process. For a brief moment, he wondered if he’d done it intentionally—if he was subconsciously rejecting it. The rifle clattered to the walkway. The Wikk were now upon them. Both Caputo and Elmo continued to fire, while darting insect legs reached in for them.

  Caputo’s weapon went silent. Then Elmo’s. Click, click—both of their magazines were empty. With no time to make a swap, they now used the stocks of their rifles like battering rams, doing their best to keep the bugs at bay.

  Hannig retrieved his own weapon and stared, paralyzed with fear, as the terrible scene unfolded. Oddly, only now did he notice that the Wikk didn’t have hands. Their appendages were more like pointed vines, capable of clinging, wrapping around an object with incredible dexterity.

  Hannig watched as Elmo’s rifle was plucked from his hands. Lightning-fast, vine-like Wikk appendages grabbed at the young human. His glasses, now askew on his face, toppled down to the walkway. Elmo screamed as he was lifted up off his feet, and in a blur of motion, the top half of his body disappeared into the closest of the Wikk’s gaping mouths. Elmo’s screams ended with the sounds of cracking and crunching bone.

  Caputo cried out—a desperate, pleading sound. He continued to fight, but he was clearly suffering the loss of his young friend.

  Only then did Hannig awaken from his dazed stupor. And now his subconscious was working in his favor. He found himself pulling the trigger as if he were watching someone else do it—it was a reflex action, nothing intentional about it. The two Wikk closest to Caputo died within nanoseconds of each other—a muzzle flash and both their oversized heads exploded almost in unison. Caputo took the opportunity to eject his used mag for a fresh one.

  By now, every inch of the walkway was occupied, a growing line of Wikk red-bands held at bay only by how constrictive and narrow the walkway was. Caputo resumed firing.

  It occurred to Hannig that he had forgotten about the Wikk coming at them from his other side, the other walkway. Panic-stricken, his heart pounding in his chest, he spun around, fully prepared now to pull the trigger. He was, after all, a murderer now, a ruthless killer. But the enemy was not upon them. And LOP was no longer positioned at the cabinet. He spotted the tiny robot some thirty feet away—the little creature was covered in blood. LOP, acting like a rabid dog, moved with incredible speed—small claws grabbing hold of spindly limbs and literally ripping them from joints and sockets. Blood was everywhere. Now the Wikk were producing their own kind of screams—a dreadful, mournful tone. Terrified, the aliens began to back away. Hannig took in the gore and carnage. How many insects had died here today? Thirty? Forty?

  “Start shooting again, Hannig, or we’re going to fucking die!” Caputo yelled.

  Hannig heard Caputo’s voice continue over the radio, yelling for Lori to bring back the Watcher Craft.

  Only then did Hannig notice that the communications power couplings cabinet doors were splayed open. Inside, the circuitry had been destroyed. All that remained was a shredded mess of wires and unrecognizable electrical components. LOP had done well.

  Hannig looked back to LOP just in time to see the six-legged robot being flung from the walkway—its little appendages gyrating as it fell, far down onto the deck below. A virtual swarm of Wikk converged on it. LOP would not survive such an attack.

  Caputo’s rifle clicked empty as, retreating from the onslaught, he backed into Hannig. With LOP gone, the red-banded Wikk attacked with renewed ferocity, from both sides.

  Chapter 38

  Officer Lori Tedesco

  Fifteen minutes earlier . . .

  Lori maneuvered the Watcher Craft away from the communications center’s upper walkway. Delta squad’s team of three—Hannig, Caputo and Elmo—seemed a force insufficient for their particular mission—although, at least for the moment, the Wikk hadn’t noticed them. She inwardly made a commitment to get back there as soon as possible.

  Lori used the 3D model to reference their position within the Dominate. She found it interesting that more and more virtual representation was being updated with additional detail. The model was even detailing individual Wikk crew numbers, stationed at various locations, as the Watcher Craft explored more of the ship.

  The foursome in her Alpha squad mostly remained silent, readying themselves for what would be expected of them in a matter of minutes.

  “Gary, talk to me about those holding cells. Are there Wikk guards nearby? Like, were they watching your every move?”

  “Pretty much,” he said. “Sentries patrol back and forth above us—above the hostages along a series of crisscrossing catwalks. Anyone caught talking, or making too much noise, is zapped.”

  “What do you mean by zapped?” asked Carlo.

  “I meant they shoot at us with their energy weapons. They must have adjustable power levels, because it’s usually not fatal. Hurts like a son of a bitch, though. But I’ve also seen hostages shot at, and they don’t get back up again.”

  Lori kept the Watcher Craft away from the primary central corridors, which still remained packed with marching Wikk. She slowed, seeing three sets of large double doors ahead.

  “Those are some really big-ass elevators,” Matteo said, now standing next to his big brother at the portal window.

  Gary chimed in. “It’s how they moved us up from the holding cells below to the Activity Mess. Each lift would transport about fifty people, along with a handful of armed guards.” Gary took the open seat next to Lori, then added, “We all wondered at first why they kept taking these small groups into the lifts, transferring them somewhere. It was only when I was taken that I realized it was mealtime for our captors”

  “It must have been horrible for you,” she said.

  Matteo turned to Lori. “What are we waiting for? Why are we just drifting along here?”

  “We’re supposed to hold up before taking any action; wait until the ship’s communications are confirmed to be down. Right?” Lori asked, unsuccessful at masking her irritation.

  “So, in the meantime, why don’t we go check out those holding cells? It’s not like anyone will see us. Scope things out, plan our next move?”

  Truthfully, Lori was internally debating the same argument. But the plain fact was she was terrified. This huge, all-too-sudden responsibility had been thrust upon her. What did she know about leading a squad? Captaining a ship? Or saving fucking hostages? I’m twenty-five years old and in way, way, way over my head, for God’s sake! It’s just way too much.

  Then, she mentally pictured what must be happening to those poor hostages down below. What would happen to them all, sooner or later. On top of everything else, guilt was starting to weigh heavily on her shoulders.

  “Earth to Lori,” Matteo said. “Maybe you should let me—”

  “No. Just be quiet! Hold on a second. Let me talk to Dom, see if we can proceed.” She cleared her throat and keyed her mic. “Alpha leader to Bravo leader, over.”

  “Go ahea
d Alpha leader. What’s up, Lori?” Dominic asked, sounding a bit out of breath.

  “Well, we just dropped off Delta squad a few minutes back. Listen, I don’t feel good about our doing that. Have you heard anything from them? How they’re doing? You certain you still want us to proceed down to the holding cells?” she asked.

  “Not sure about Delta’s status at the moment. Bit busy ourselves. I do know the Wikk are searching that compartment, and it won’t be long before they discover what the squad is up to. No matter, though, they’re still going to have to do their job. We all have our jobs, right? So, yeah, go ahead. Start grabbing up some of those hostages.”

  Matteo shot her an I-told-you-so expression.

  “Copy that,” Lori said. “And how about you? What’s the status of your mission?

  “Working on it. Look, we’ve got our own set of problems. Got to go . . .”

  Lori heard Gordo’s distant voice over his comms before Dom clicked off. She glanced over to the others. “Stop glaring at me. I’m going!”

  Chapter 39

  Dominic Moretti

  I cut my connection with a frazzled-sounding Lori. Why she hadn’t proceeded to the hostages yet, I wasn’t sure. Next, I checked in with Hannig. Fortunately, the team hadn’t been discovered yet, but it appeared to be only a matter of time. The Wikk were searching that communications center, and surely the rest of the ship too—probably checking compartment by compartment. It was time to move up the timetable. So much for our well-laid plans. We needed to move, and fast, with or without the Wikk communications capabilities taken out.

  Gordo stood at the treatment plant compartment’s oversized hatchway, waiting for me to give him the signal. I got situated atop the Stryker and in behind the .50-cal M2 machine gun. Down below, Georgina sat seated behind the wheel. I heard her humming an off-key melody—it seemed to be some kind of stress-coping mechanism. The armored personnel carrier’s big diesel engine suddenly rumbled to life. Gordo had left the passenger-side door wide open so he could hop back in as soon as we got moving.

  Behind us, the fourteen hostages had taken cover behind the big tanks, while the four who were armed leveled their rifle muzzles toward the hatchway.

  I rechecked my gear. The .50-cal would have to be a last-resort weapon. It very likely could turn the Dominate’s outer bulkhead into Swiss cheese— depressurize the compartment and kill any of us in there, enemy and human alike. Instead, I readied my Colt M4 assault rifle, set it to full auto, and gave Gordo the signal—in this case, offering up the middle finger of my right hand.

  Previously, Hannig had provided us with the necessary code symbols to unlock the hatch doors, and Gordo went to work entering them into an adjacent pad. With a loud clank, the internal locking mechanism released, and Gordo was able to manually pull the hatch doors open. Within the widening gap, I saw motion on the other side.

  “Get back here!” I yelled, realizing an entire army of Wikk had assembled out in the corridor.

  Gordo didn’t need any further prompting. As the hatchway doors swung wide open and hordes of armed aliens piled in, he sprinted over to the Stryker’s open passenger-side door. Bright blue-colored energy bolts filled the air. One bolt immediately nailed me on my tactical vest’s protective plates. But it was still as if a white-hot poker had been driven into my chest. I gasped. Yet at the same time, I felt confident I’d survive the hit. Hannig’s suits, it seemed, would serve us well.

  “Drive! Drive! Drive!” I yelled down to Georgina, while unleashing my own form of justice at the invading insects with my M4. Gordo, leaning halfway out of the cab, was also firing. In multiple explosions of blood and fragmented green body parts, thirty to forty Wikk quickly succumbed to the kind of damage only an unrelenting blast of supersonic lead rounds can do. The carnage was fast and definitive.

  Georgina powered the Stryker forward as exoskeletal carcasses crunched beneath the vehicle’s eight wheels. Gordo and I ejected used magazines at the same time and resumed firing, clearing the entrance of the few remaining Wikk. The aliens had ceased their advancement into the compartment beneath the onslaught and had fallen far back down the corridor. Over our comms, I instructed Jill to get those hatch doors closed and re-latched as soon as we were through.

  The Wikk had underestimated our fighting power. Most of them weren’t even armed. I was certain this would not be the case the next time we encountered them. Slowly accelerating through the hatchway, I had to duck down in my seat; there was little clearance between the top of the Stryker and the top of the hatchway.

  With a quick glance over my shoulder, I confirmed that the hatch doors were indeed closing behind us.

  I keyed my comms. “You doing all right down there, Georgina?”

  “Peachy! Just an easy Sunday drive around the neighborhood.”

  We rolled forward several hundred yards before spotting further resistance. Up ahead, I saw a whole slew of green bugs scrambling into position. I noticed these bugs were wearing the telltale bands of red around their chests. Undoubtedly, these were better trained, better-prepared combatants. They were arranged in a strange formation, reminiscent of the British Redcoats during the Revolutionary War. Ten armed Wikk soldiers were crouching low, while a second armed formation of another ten bugs stood behind and above them.

  “Take a look, Dommy—those aren’t the same weapons they were using in the treatment plant,” Gordo said.

  I noticed the same thing. They’d brought out their bigger guns.

  Approaching the enemy line, Georgina began to hesitate—I could feel the Stryker slow down.

  “No! Speed up!” I yelled. Pedal to the metal. Floor it, Georgina!”

  Boom! Boom! Loud, reverberating enemy gunfire filled the corridor. It was still energy-based weaponry, but the Stryker was taking some major hits. I heard the windshield shatter as Georgina screamed. Another three hits pounded the Stryker’s hood, like we’d been struck by the business end of a sledgehammer. Dented concave strike points continued to sizzle and glow white-hot. An energy bolt whizzed past my head, close enough to singe my hair. I hadn’t anticipated this kind of pounding—one direct hit from any one of those blasts and that would be it—lights out, tits up. Gordo and I continued to return fire.

  One of our forward wheels exploded. Black smoke rose up, and the smell of burning rubber filled the air. The Stryker swerved and veered into the left-side corridor bulkhead.

  I yelled, “Georgina!”

  A moment later, the Stryker straightened out again and barreled on forward.

  “Someone remind me why I volunteered for this bullshit,” Georgina muttered. She sounded shaken, though relatively still okay.

  Up ahead, the rapidly approaching two-lined formation of red-banded Wikk was trying to skitter out of the way in time. Georgina plowed into them, going as fast as a vehicle could go with a front tire blown out. The big vehicle bounced and jostled as though hitting a series of speed bumps. “Take that, you motherfu—”

  I cut her off. “I think we’re approaching the armory. You can slow down now,” I said.

  A desperate voice crackled to life in my ears. “Dominic! Oh Dominic, please, help us.”

  “Go ahead. What’s wrong, Hannig? What’s happening?”

  “They killed Elmo, Dominic. They ate him. He was here, right next to me. Then he was gone. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

  God, Elmo was gone. I couldn’t believe it, but I had to stay on top of things. “Okay, try to calm yourself. Tell me exactly what’s happening right now. Where’s Caputo?” I then heard angry curses, clearly coming from none other than Tito. That, along with clubbing sounds—perhaps the butt end of a rifle hitting a Wikk’s head. Caputo yelled, “Get us the fuck out of here, Dommy . . . and hurry!”

  Suddenly, Lori’s voice broke in: “I’m on it, Dom. We’re en route. Thirty seconds out!”

  Chapter 40

  Hannig

  Hannig’s despondency had become all-consuming, and he suspected his heart might simply stop be
ating. He felt that fragile muscle there within his chest might still abandon all hope on its own, and simply surrender to such fateful, awful, circumstances. First it was the human, young Elmo. Then LOP. Both gone from this life, forever. Only now did he fully comprehend what the little bot had meant to him. Hannig already missed its presence. Perhaps, he thought, LOP had been his only friend.

  Injured and exhausted, Tito Caputo now sat with his back propped up against a nearby metal cabinet. His rifle, depleted of ammunition and with its stock caked with blood and gore, now lay at his feet.

  With vision blurred by tears, Hannig raised his rifle and leveled it toward the slowly approaching Wikk. They had yet to fire a single shot. How odd. Clearly the technology within the communications cabinet had been destroyed. The doors were open—the destruction there evident to all. So why not shoot? End this here and now. Clearly, Hannig was missing something. Even now, they held back their final charge. He estimated that, combined, there were now close to two hundred Wikk poised upon the walkway to his left and to his right. So, so many. They would not survive this. How could they?

  Hannig looked down to Caputo. He smiled back up at him and said, “At least we took a few of them with us.”

  “Tito . . . would you mind pointing your weapon directly at me?”

  For some reason that struck the human as funny. His laugh rolled out of him with ease and, smiling, he asked, “Why would you need me to shoot you? So you won’t be eaten alive? Like Elmo?” His expression went serious, and he made a gesture with his chin. “God. Look at them all.” He shook his head. “Maybe that’s not such a bad idea.”

  “No. I do not wish you to shoot me. Just point your weapon at me. Please. I would like to test a hypothesis.”

  Caputo grimaced with pain as he got himself up onto his feet. Sending a leery glance toward the enemy bugs, he did as asked and turned his weapon toward Hannig.

  “Now, pretend you’re about to shoot me,” Hannig said. Bewildered, Caputo did as he was told.