Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Prime heard the child’s pleading simultaneously emanate from the klaxon speaker above.

  “Computer, translate my following words into Earth speak, and broadcast to the klaxon, along with the girl’s plea,” Prime commanded. “Surrender yourselves, humans. We vastly outnumber you. You have no chance; you will not last long. Surrender within one Earth hour to save this child. At the top of the following hour, two more children will be terminated. Then another four, in the following hour; then eight more . . . and so on.”

  Chapter 43

  Dominic Moretti

  They were insects all right, and there were a gazillion of them. They appeared to be some type of beetle, shiny, with a dark-bluish color. Each was the size of a standard golf ball sliced in half—and these little suckers could really move. Unlike any of the insects I knew of down on Earth, these bugs moved together in concert—as a flock of birds would, or a school of fish. They were pouring out of three small openings, like the mouse holes from old Tom and Jerry cartoons. All three formations adjusted their courses in a twisted, dance-like unison, and were now headed directly for the Stryker. Moments before, there was a floor of grey deck plates beneath us; it now more resembled the rippling, reflective surface of a deep lake. But this lake wasn’t silent—the space around us echoed with a million tiny sounds: me me me me me me me . . .

  “So, what do we do now?” Georgina asked, trepidation in her voice.

  Gordo yelled, “God, I fucking hate bugs!”

  “Drive!” I yelled back. “Drive right over them!”

  I heard Georgina put the vehicle in gear, and then we began to move forward.

  “What should I do? Keep driving us in circles?”

  “For now, yeah. It’ll keep them from climbing up onto the wheels. I have a feeling those things can bite.”

  Georgina gasped. “Thank you for that, Dommy. As if I wasn’t freaked out enough!”

  “Yeah, thanks,” Gordo added. “Maybe I should just shoot at them.”

  I saw the barrel of Gordo’s M4 protrude farther out the window below me on the right.

  I said, “Don’t bother—” But my words were quickly drowned out by loud gunfire.

  I switched over to using our comms. “Stop shooting! Gordo!”

  The gunfire ceased. As anticipated, it had had no impact on the swarming magnitude of bugs surrounding us. As the Stryker continued to rumble forward in its circular trek in front of the armory, I could hear crunching and popping sounds coming from beneath our eight large wheels.

  I swapped out the .50-cal machine gun’s ammunition box for a fresh one and inserted the ammo-belt into the top of the weapon. I racked the rounds and prepared to fire. I saw Gordo’s face looking up at me from below. He’d gotten himself twisted around and was hanging out the open window.

  “We already know gunfire barely dents them,” he said, confused. “You just told me to stop. The .50-cal’s not going to make any difference.”

  “I know that. I figure I’ll get started on that roll-down door. That way we can plow into it . . .”

  A crackling sound overwhelmed my voice, one different from the sounds of crushed bugs beneath our tires. It came from a speaker above, and then we heard her. The voice of a little girl. “Help! Help me! Mommy!”

  A few moments later, we heard a computerized voice broadcast a threat, demanding that we surrender or else the girl, and more like her, would be killed.

  The Stryker slowed but didn’t stop completely. I heard Georgina’s voice below me within the cab. “You hear how terrified that poor child was?”

  “Drive! Georgina, keep driving!” I yelled. But my warning came too late. The first of the beetle-like insects had managed to climb up onto the front hood of the Stryker.

  Gordo screamed first and then Georgina followed suit. Trying to sound calm, I said into our comms, “Get your windows rolled up. And hurry.”

  I knew this vehicle was well-insulated from egress of outside elements, such as water or smoke—and hopefully, man-eating bugs.

  “Where’s the button, damnit!” Georgina said, breathless as she fumbled for the power window control. I heard Gordo’s window roll up and set into place, but nothing from Georgina’s side.

  “Button’s right there! Can’t you see it? No! Over there!” Gordo barked impatiently.

  A second stream of bugs had made their way onto the hood. Some scurried toward the windshield, some toward the passenger-side window, some toward the still-open driver side window. Although I was perched high up on the Stryker, only half my body, my upper torso, was physically outside the vehicle. My lower body was seated inside. I tried to keep the thought of being eaten alive out of my mind—but I still hadn’t heard Georgina’s window roll up.

  The Stryker’s hood, like the deck plates, had turned to a solid reflective bluish color. Thousands upon thousands of beetles were looking for entry into our vehicle. Finally, I heard the little motor engage. The driver-side window was closing.

  Sounding terrified, Georgina said, “Oh my God, they’re going to get in! They’re going to get in!”

  I closed my eyes and waited. And then I heard the welcome thunk sound as the window finally seated closed.

  Georgina screamed. “One of them got in! It’s on me! Gordo, there, get it OFF OF ME! Ouch! Ouch, it’s biting me!”

  “Just sit still and I’ll get it!” Gordo yelled back.

  Concerned as I was for Georgina’s desperate plight below me, I couldn’t help but notice that the swarm of beetles had managed to push themselves halfway up onto the windshield. Their little legs couldn’t find good purchase on the slippery surface of the glass, but their sheer numbers had made it possible for them to elevate upward, each set rolling over the previous one, like the rising tide of a deadly river.

  From above, the little girl’s pleading voice had been put on an endless loop: “Help! Help me! Mommy! Help! Help me! Mommy! Help! Help me! Mommy!”

  Georgina’s screams continued from within the cab. From the sound of things, the beetle was eating her alive. The river of rising bugs was three-quarters of the way up the windshield now. I tried to calm myself and keyed my comms. “Gordo, talk to me.”

  “A little busy here,” he said, exasperated. “Motherfucker’s gotten into her pants! Biting her. There! I got the sucker.”

  I tried to envision the chaotic scene below me. I heard hard stomping sounds and knew it was Gordo pounding his foot down onto the floorboards, hopefully crushing the scurrying beetle beneath his shoes. The river of beetles had just about crested the top of the windshield—within seconds, I’d be overtaken. I’d just listened to what a lone bug could do; thousands would devour me in mere moments. Wait . . “Gordo?”

  “Yeah, Dommy, I took care of it. Georgina’s a bloody mess but alive and probably will be okay. Grabbed it off of her. Little fucker bit my hand. Took a chunk right out of my thumb. Took some fancy footwork, but I think it’s dead. Looks dead. Man, that thing could really move—”

  “GORDO!”

  “What?”

  “Turn on the windshield wipers! Now!”

  After far too long a silence, Gordo said, “Okay, looking for the knob. Bugs are all over the Stryker, I can see their underbellies through the windshield. Look at those pinchers! Oh shit, they’ll get to you up there!”

  “Turn on the damn wipers!”

  Chapter 44

  Officer Lori Tedesco

  Lori waited while the twenty-eight hostages in the aft compartment filed out the back of the Watcher Craft. Having seen the growing numbers of Wikk combatants in the corridor outside the hatchway of the treatment plant, she knew it would only be a matter of time before they would storm the entrance.

  “What’s taking them so long?” she asked, sending an annoyed glance toward the interconnecting passageway.

  Matteo took a look. “Looks like some of the hostages are injured. Got a few old codgers who aren’t moving real fast, too.”

  Lori knew she was being impatient, but all she could t
hink about right then were those Kenyan kids. She’d just returned from where they’d viewed a myriad of open-ceilinged holding cells. Armed Wikk guards patrolled, using numerous overhead, crisscrossing catwalks, though their numbers seemed slightly sparse, probably a result of the activity they’d caused elsewhere on the ship. Good.

  She was surprised at how many captives there were. And how tightly packed-in they were within the relatively small cells. So little room to sit down, let alone lie down. Invisibly passing over one miserable cell after another, she’d wanted to rescue them all. Specifically, she’d been looking for the Nairobi school kids. She thought about the Activity Mess, up on the upper deck, and inwardly prayed the kids hadn’t been taken there. No, I’m not going to think about that.

  Gary asked, “You listening to this?”

  Lori shook her head. “Listening to what?”

  Gary pointed to her neck. “You should put those back on.”

  She had forgotten she’d repositioned her headset around her neck, giving her ears a break from all the chatter on the open channel. Placing them back over her ears now, she heard Gordo’s familiar voice.

  “A little busy here,” he said, sounding exasperated, “motherfucker’s gotten into her pants! Biting her . . .”

  Lori looked at Gary. “What’s happening? What’s biting her?”

  “Bravo squad. They’re at the armory. I guess the Wikk unleashed a swarm of little bugs, beetles. They’re attacking the Stryker.”

  “We’ve got to get over there!” she said. “Get those hostages in the back moving. Shove them out of the hatch if you have to!” Lori was only vaguely aware that one of her legs was rapidly bouncing up and down beneath the console. Looking up, she turned her head. What is that? She listened more intently.

  “Help! Help me! Mommy! Help! Help me! Mommy!”

  Lori spun around in her chair and found the others also listening. Carlo said, “Sounds like a child’s voice. A little girl.”

  Hannig ordered. “System, enhance and replay that broadcast in its entirety.”

  A moment later, a computerized and hard-to-hear voice announced a message demanding their surrender, and then began to replay the child’s shouts on loop.

  “Oh my. They’re going to start killing the young children,” Hannig said, mortified. “Perhaps—perhaps we should consider surrender. I would not want to be responsible—”

  Lori cut him off. “We’ve got an hour. Best we take advantage of it either way. And surrendering is not an option. They’re dead anyway if we don’t finish this. Trust me, Hannig, giving in to these kinds of threats rarely pays off.” She could see both worry and conflict in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but we need to keep to our plan.”

  Matteo returned from the aft compartment. “They’ve all exited.”

  “Good!”

  “Um, the woman—the mom, Jill—she’s at the aft hatch. Says they need some basic necessities. Food, medical supplies. Also more guns . . .”

  “Tell her that’s fine, all on my ‘to-do’ list. But hurry, I’m shutting the hatch!”

  After a few moments, Lori closed the aft hatch and assumed the controls. She maneuvered the Watcher Craft up above the deck, then headed back the way they’d come through the large treatment-plant hatchway. More of the growing Wikk army was assembling on the other side as the stealth ship throttled through the masses. Within seconds, on approaching the turnout to the armory, Lori made the turn and quickly slowed.

  “What the fuck!” Matteo exclaimed.

  “No way,” his older brother retorted.

  Lori, now standing up, stared out the starboard portal window. The decking below was a blue sea of rippling, gyrating movement. She did a fast double-take, catching sight of the Stryker, almost completely obscured in the same shimmering blue. Dominic, perched on top and seated behind the machine gun, yelled out through the comms, “Wipers! Turn on the wipers!

  Lori didn’t know what to do, how to help. She turned to Hannig, “How do we save them?”

  Hannig, remaining infuriatingly calm, perused the scene outside. “I believe those are Marcrombe Chew Beetles. Nasty little pests. Alone, each can cause a painful bite. En masse, they can devour a full-grown—”

  Everyone within the control center yelled out, “Hannig!” at the same time.

  “Oh, sorry! Hmmm.”

  Outside, Lori noticed some of the beetles were suddenly being tossed off of the vehicle. Taking a closer look, she saw it was the back-and-forth swiping motion from the windshield wipers, catapulting the bugs into the air.

  Hannig’s eyes brightened. “System, can you reproduce the mating song of the Marcrombe Chew Beetle? Broadcast that now.”

  First came an acknowledgment tone; then a high-pitched chattering sound emanated from outside the Watcher Craft.

  Almost immediately, the beetles atop the Stryker began to lessen in numbers. Within seconds, the vehicle was completely void of any sign of the bugs. The swarm had moved closer to the Watcher Craft. Lori was relieved to see the ship hovering a good four feet off the deck; they were well out of reach of the insects. She nudged the Watcher Craft another two feet higher, just in case.

  “Thank you, that was closer than you can imagine. I owe you one, Lori,” Dominic said, over the open channel.

  “Don’t mention it. You’d do the same for us. And Hannig came up with the idea to entice the beetles away from you guys. So, you need a ride?”

  “Nah, just keep them occupied as long as you can. Still need to complete our mission.”

  The big .50-caliber gun began firing. What appeared to be some kind of metal garage door was quickly becoming eviscerated by hundreds of destructive rounds. Eventually, the gun made a definitive final click, and the thunderous noise outside ceased.

  “Gun it, Georgina!” said Dominic. Lori saw him crouch low in his seat.

  The Stryker’s wheels chirped as the big military vehicle rocketed forward toward the door. With a resounding crash, the Stryker plowed into, then continued all the way through, the now-weakened metal door.

  “Lori?” Carlo queried. He was looking down toward the deck at something outside.

  The others were also staring.

  “Would those be considered stalactites or stalagmites?” Matteo asked of no one in particular.

  “Stalagmites,” Caputo said back with confidence.

  Lori had to stand on her tiptoes to see what they were referring to outside. Oddly, the beetles were forming tall, icicle-shaped towers, climbing up one another’s back. Some of these living structures were already three to four feet tall.

  “Probably all due to that mating song that System is playing,” Lori said. “Hell, as long as they’re kept busy, they can build stalagmites up to the moon for all I care.”

  The towers’ growth was accelerating. Within moments, some were close to six feet high.

  Lori and Caputo, locking eyes, reached the same question at the same time. What was happening out of their view, directly beneath the Watcher Craft?

  Three living, gyrating, stalagmite towers suddenly rose within the control center. Lori screamed as a fourth tower ascended exactly where her left foot was placed upon the deck. Matteo, sounding more like a little girl than a full-grown man, screamed too, as more and more towers popped up around them.

  Two of the taller ones began to wobble and sway in metronomes of motion—they seemed unstable, like they could topple at any second.

  “Tell me, Hannig, that there’s no way any of those creepy things, those bugs, actually remain inside this ship!”

  Lori could not recall ever hearing Hannig laugh before, but he was laughing now.

  “Oh, Lori”—he could barely get the words out between his gasps—”that is most amusing.” The alien wiped tears from his eyes. “I assure you, there is little chance of such a thing occurring.”

  “Little? No! You’re supposed to say it’s impossible!”

  Lori’s indignation only triggered Hannig’s funny bone that much more. The others in the
compartment smiled, though no one else laughed, as easily twenty or more tipsy-topsy towers loomed around them. It was impossible to ignore them despite the lack of their physical presence.

  She heard Dominic’s voice over her comms. “Stryker’s pretty much loaded up. Best we get the Watcher Craft in here too and load it up as well.”

  “Copy that. On our way,” Lori said. About to take her seat behind the console, she found a new tower growing up through the middle of her chair. Tentatively, she waved her hand through the not-that-solid-looking mass of bugs. Her hand passed right through them, as if they weren’t even there. Making a face, she plopped down onto her chair anyway and seized the controls. She ignored Hannig’s renewed chuckling. “System. Best you stop with the, um—”

  Tito Caputo finished for her, “Marcrombe Chew Beetle mating calls.” He looked over to Hannig for confirmation he’d said it right.

  The Watcher Craft passed through the mostly torn-away door and into the armory itself. It was a large, dark compartment. Not so much due to the insufficient lighting, but from the many racks of black rifles, stacked up high upon the outer bulkheads and upon multiple rows of deck-to-ceiling shelving units, blocking most of the light from above.

  The Stryker vehicle, positioned to their right, had its aft doors wide open. The three members of Bravo team—Georgina, Gordo, and Dominic—were loading up the rear compartment that would typically have been used for carrying troops. They looked exhausted after all their manual labor. Dominic, in particular, caught Lori’s attention. She took in how well his silver uniform conformed to his muscular build. Her eyes next fell to the suit’s snug fit over his round, well-formed buttocks. What am I doing?! Earth was under attack. They were in the middle of an impossible mission. And I’m focusing on Dom’s ass? She closed her eyes. Her mind must be trying to escape reality. Even if for a moment or two. Escaping to a little patch of normalcy.

  “Earth to Lori! Hello? Anyone there?” Carlo said, smirking.

  The others had already left the control center as Carlo stared back at her, standing halfway into the passageway. “You coming?”