Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Chapter 45

  Dominic Moretti

  “Checked on our vengeful green friends out in the corridor,” Caputo said. “Looks like they’re readying to make an attack. Easily several hundred of them out there.”

  “We’re just about done here,” I said, looking at our new bounty of Wikk guns.

  There seemed to be three primary weapons of choice for a Wikk soldier. All were energy-based and, to my eyes, oddly shaped. Each possessed the same primary components of an Earth-made gun—a barrel, stock, firing mechanism, and so on. But the butt of the weapon was flared out at the back, making the entire thing triangular in shape and unwieldy to hold onto for non-insects such as ourselves—we just didn’t have enough limbs.

  There were two types of rifle I’d already seen before: a base model, which had a variable setting selector, and its bigger brother, which had a similar selector yet was a far-more-powerful weapon. These latter weapons were what we’d been seeing the red-band combatants carrying. There was also a third weapon, smaller in size, more akin to a handgun, though again difficult-to-impossible for a human to operate one-handed. All three weapons were trigger-free. As such, their firing mechanism was initiated with the turning of a mid-stock cylinder, which was set into place via a tension spring. The energy selectors were all positioned farther back, a turnable dial that ratcheted into place, prompting a different-sounding click noise for each selection choice. That way, the operator of any of these three weapons could differentiate the proper setting by feel, if necessary, without, having to actually study the weapon.

  I once again thanked Hannig silently for the incredible lozenge-cache. Instead of a meaningless array of symbols, I could tell exactly what each setting did . . . The energy selectors were Stun, which immobilized; Disable, powerful enough to knock the target out; and Kill. I imagined none of the weapons were powerful enough to put a hole through the outer hull—as our bullet-firing weapons could, and undoubtedly already had.

  With both the Stryker and much of the aft section of the Watcher Craft stacked high with Wikk weapons, it was time to hurry up and leave the armory.

  I stood and considered the space. We’d confiscated approximately one-third of the Wikk’s stock of guns. Probably close to a thousand, mostly rifles. But the armory was still a big problem. All the remaining weapons could, and undoubtedly would, be used against us once we moved on.

  I glanced around and found everyone just standing there. Uneasy, they seemed more than ready to leave this place.

  Lori impatiently asked, “Are we going to stand in here all day?”

  “One more thing,” I said. “Everyone start grabbing up all the remaining weapons. Stack them up into a pile over there on the deck.”

  I hurried over to the farthest row of shelves, pretty much untouched by any of us so far, and started gathering up rifles. Since they were far lighter than the typical manmade guns, I was able to grab up ten or so at once. I hefted them over to an open space on the deck, dropping them in a pile. “Come on, are you going to help me or stand around with your thumbs up your asses?” I hurried back to the row of guns.

  Everyone got to work, with even Hannig making multiple trips. Hefting up weapons by the armful, we dumped them atop the growing pile. Leaving the others to it, I ran off toward the Stryker. I’d intentionally positioned the growing stack of Wikk weapons in a spot I knew I’d be able to target. Hopping up onto the Stryker, I climbed into my perch position behind the machine gun. Swinging the gun around, I sighted onto the mountain of Wikk weaponry.

  As the last of the rifles were tossed onto the heap, I yelled, “Best everyone stand back.” After everyone scurried backward, I pulled the trigger. The heaped pile of Wikk arsenal was eviscerated under my machine gun’s directed hellfire. Within a minute, what remained was little more than a broken, splintered, mess of unrecognizable pieces. A chorus of ragged cheers broke out at the sight.

  But what I hadn’t counted on was a simultaneously timed Wikk attack.

  None of us heard their stealth-like approach, covered by the roar of the big machine gun and the exploding weapons. Our attention was solely focused on the fiery visual spectacle in front of us. We should have been far more attentive to what lurked behind.

  Even with my TCAPS, my ears were ringing as I assessed the damage. Turning to face the others, proud of my handiwork, I caught the bright streaks of enemy energy fire erupting from the armory’s entrance.

  Gordo had pulled his sidearm and was firing back, while Georgina was shooting at the Wikk with an M4. Others like Caputo and Matteo, although armed, had barely registered what was happening and weren’t firing yet. Gordo and Georgina suddenly stopped shooting and ran for cover behind a nearby shelving unit. Three energy blasts hit the Stryker, mere inches from my position behind the machine gun. These incoming strikes had a hard physical punch to them in addition to being blazingly hot. I tried swinging the machine gun around to face the armory’s entrance, but it was no good—the Stryker was pointed in the wrong direction and didn’t provide for enough of a rotation of the gun’s barrel. Why aren’t any of my team members firing back? What the hell’s going on?

  I got myself up and out of my seat, narrowly evading more incoming fire. That’s when I caught a momentary glimpse of blonde hair from the corner of my eye. Both Lori and Carlo had been grabbed and were being hustled away over near the entrance by several Wikk combatants.

  “Lori! You copy?”

  The aliens must have already removed her comms. I heard her yell something in the distance. It was unintelligible. Then I heard her shout again, “The bridge!”

  Lori must have overheard them say where they were taking her, unaware that she, and the rest of us, could interpret their language. Thankfully, using English was as good as using a code.

  The Wikk pulled out, and within seconds all was quiet. Hopping off the Stryker, I further assessed our situation. No one spoke. Two bodies lay on the deck—one was Georgina. My heart sank. Oh God, no, not her! Five feet from her, sprawled awkwardly on his back, lay Matteo. A blackened scorch mark marred the top of his head above one ear. His lifeless eyes stared straight back at me, as if he’d made it his final act. His accusatory stare—you got us into this clusterfuck of a situation!

  It was true. In a matter of moments, two people—both dear to me—were suddenly gone. Lori and Carlo had been captured, and would probably be killed. Or maybe tortured first and then killed. And it was all my doing. My fault. Why did I ever think we could make a difference here? Why did I think we had any chance of success?

  Both Gordo and Hannig had crouched down beside Georgina. I heard Hannig’s soft voice, then, amazingly, I saw one of Georgina’s legs move. Hurrying to her side, I took in the scorched patch of silver uniform material on her upper right forearm. She was rubbing at it with her left hand.

  “Hurts like a son of a bitch. Like a horse kicked me.”

  “Like you’ve ever been anywhere even close to a real horse,” Gordo mocked.

  Hannig touched her blackened uniform. “As you can see, our Khantam Lom uniforms are quite resilient to Wikk weaponry fire.” He glanced up at me and pointed. I followed the direction of his finger and noticed that I too had been tagged—in the same bodily location as Georgina, but on the opposite arm. Only now did I feel the throbbing pain. I nodded back to Georgina. “Yeah, I bet this is what a horse’s kick feels like.”

  Caputo, attending to Matteo’s body, closed his sightless eyes and repositioned his splayed legs. Gordo and I joined him by his side.

  “Let me take him,” I said, moving around to pick up the body.

  “Take him where?” Gordo asked. “There’s no room in either vehicle.”

  “Well, we can’t just leave him here. The Wikk—they’ll eat him,” Tito Caputo said, his voice catching with emotion.

  “Probably not,” Hannig volunteered. “Typically, they prefer to devour live subjects.”

  I ignored the unhelpful comment. Lifting my friend’s corpse up, I stood, trying
not to think about our many shared years. So many memories that now lay still, not breathing, in my arms.

  “Help me get his tactical vest and uniform off, will you?”

  “What the hell for?” Gordo asked.

  “We’re going to give him a proper sendoff . . . the way the Vikings did in ancient times. We’ve already learned that Hannig’s uniforms don’t burn.”

  Gordo, Caputo and I carefully, and respectfully, got the body undressed. Next, we placed Matteo’s remains high up on one of the raised shelves. The five of us grabbed up Wikk rifles—the more powerful models used by the red bands.

  “Use the Kill setting,” I said.

  Gordo, Georgina, Caputo, Hannig and I were positioned in a semi-circle around Matteo’s now raised-up body. Ratcheting sounds confirmed the rifles were being set to the Kill mode.

  “Anyone want to say anything?” I asked.

  “Let’s save our memorials for when this is all done,” Caputo said.

  “On three then, okay? Three, two, one—fire.”

  We rotated our respective mechanisms at the same time. Rapid-fire energy bolts spewed forth from each muzzle into our dead friend’s body. Within seconds, the body, now charred black, was smoking. Soon, fire erupted from within and the corpse was totally ablaze. We continued the task until there was nothing left of Matteo’s remains except an undefined pile of ashes.

  When I finally ceased firing, I felt the heat from my weapon rising up, warming my face.

  “What now, Dommy?” Caputo asked. “We go get Lori and Carlo?”

  I wanted to. Probably more than I had ever wanted anything in my life, but I shook my head no. “Not yet. First, we build our army.”

  Chapter 46

  Officer Lori Tedesco

  They Wikk had removed her and Carlo’s tactical vests, comms equipment, and, of course weapons. Luckily, they still wore their now grimy-looking uniforms. Staggering, Lori tried to free herself, to wedge even a lone fingertip between her constricted throat and the vine-like Wikk appendage wrapped several times around her neck. Just give me one fucking breath, will you? she thought, her lungs burning.

  As if her Wikk captor had read her mind, or perhaps seen the desperation in her eyes, the constricting grasp somewhat abated. Lori gulped in just enough air to remain conscious—to vertically stay upright on her two feet. Suddenly, the wrapped collar jerked her body up and forward and she lost her footing. Staying suspended, legs flailing, she wondered if this was what it felt like to be hanged—like she’d viewed in so many cheesy, late-night TV westerns. Up ahead, she caught sight of Carlo. He was being prodded along, splotches of blood blossoming all along his back where the knife-like jabs from the rigid insect legs kept him moving.

  Lori tried listening to what their captors were saying—the cacophony of strums and tones—but it was hard to concentrate. Merely catching her breath had become all-consuming. She’d overheard Wikk orders being relayed just moments after their abduction from the armory. That they were to be taken to the bridge and brought before “Prime Strength,” whatever the hell that meant—she knew she understood the words due to the lozenge, but couldn’t attach any meaning to them. She’d had just enough time to bark out that phrase twice prior to having her neck and vocal cords constricted. She only hoped someone had heard her. But then again, everyone had their hands full repelling the Wikk attack. She thought of Matteo. She’d seen him killed—shot in the head. Watched as the life faded from his eyes even before he slumped to the deck.

  She again searched for Carlo up ahead. With his bald head lowered, his movements appeared zombie-like. He had witnessed his brother’s final moments alive. All of Carlo’s drive and energy seemed gone—he looked like he too wanted to die.

  Lori tried to keep her racing mind from going where it should not—back to the fatal, horrific conclusion that she, most assuredly, would be facing all too soon. The terrifying thought that she would be eaten while still alive. So she concentrated on her surroundings. They were moving along a somewhat narrower passageway. Up ahead was a steep incline—a ramp. She’d noticed earlier that these bugs weren’t big on stairs; perhaps it had something to do with them having so many legs to keep track of. Maybe stairs caused their legs to trip up, or maybe the invention of stairs had yet to make it into their evolutionary path. That’s ridiculous. They’d conquered the mind-bending complexities of interstellar space travel but hadn’t yet figured out how to build a staircase?

  Up the ramp they went, she and Carlo and their contingent of no less than thirty to forty armed Wikk. They emerged out into a large compartment. Lori had little doubt that this area was indeed the bridge. Numerous green insects were busy behind consoles not so different from those within the Watcher Craft, though at ten or twenty times the scale—understandable, given the massive ship.

  Ushered forward, Lori noticed there was another level above—an overhanging, open-sided deck. Up there, she saw more consoles and several view screens. A figure stepped forward, coming closer to the edge. Far larger than any of the bugs she’d encountered thus far, Lori heard one of the Wikk address her and suddenly understood what the words “Prime Strength” had referred to. Somehow, the address also let her know that Prime Strength was a female—and she was the commander of this ship.

  They held up at the entranceway to another ramp. Carlo, closer to her now, seemed oblivious to what was happening around him.

  “Hey,” Lori said.

  Carlo continued to stare forward, not responding.

  “Carlo, listen to me!”

  He gave no indication he was hearing her.

  Just above a whisper, Lori said, “Don’t let them know you understand them. Okay?”

  Again, no response from Carlo.

  “I’m so so sorry, Carlo. You’re brother, he was—”

  Carlo spun around, breaking the hold one of the Wikk creatures had on his arm. “Shut up. Just shut up! You didn’t know him. So don’t talk about him.” The creature immediately grabbed back harder, twisting his arm. Carlo grimaced and gasped with the pain.

  Lori silently nodded, even though she wanted to snap back at him. Tell him now wasn’t the time to wallow in self-pity. Unless one of them came up with a plan, some idea of how to stay alive, they’d all end up being bug food.

  The tall figure loomed above them—standing at the top of the ramp. She made a series of tones and clicks. Lori felt her windpipe constricting again. Up the ramp she went, just her and her lone captor. She tried turning her head around enough to see Carlo, to at the very least make eye contact with another human being prior to—Lori forced herself to stop with the spiraling negativity. Instead, she inwardly made a decision—no, not a decision, a commitment—that she wasn’t going to give this green bitch leader the satisfaction of seeing fear. The Wikk liked that. Seeing terror in their victim’s eyes—watching them thrashing and flaying about. If she gets anywhere close enough to me, Lori decided, she was going to do something. Take advantage of whatever options presented themselves to her.

  Halfway up the ramp, Lori forced herself to gaze upward, to confront the Wikk commander head on. But now, gazing upon her alien features, she wanted to scream. Seeing those big bulbous eyes staring down at her made her weak in the knees with fear. Prime Strength tilted her head. Despite the tension of the moment, it was somehow a comical gesture to Lori—she looked like a confused Labrador Retriever. A rainbow of luminescent colors reflected off her oversized compound eyes before the commander of the vessel spoke. Lori had to feign ignorance, hearing the rapid succession of tonal cords and clicks.

  “I am told you are a female. Yet so small. So weak. How is it that such a pathetic creature, such as yourself, can be the leader of such a menacing human force?”

  Lori almost corrected her. She was torn between defending herself and telling the giant, Praying Mantis-looking bitch she was merely a soldier; perhaps doing so would gain her a few more hours of life. For a fleeting moment, she thought of their true leader and wondered if he was searching
for her and Carlo—would soon be here—save them. But she remained silent.

  Prime Strength spoke again, the sounds issuing forth from her abdominal, drum-like bladder—the thing called a gortch. But Lori wasn’t focusing on the giant bug’s abdomen, because the alien’s mouth was moving—gaping wide—opening and closing several times in rapid succession. Lori was amazed by its stretching, elastic-like capacity to expand so wide—nearly the full width of the bug’s massive triangular-shaped head. Yup, this one easily could swallow me whole in that huge orifice—no problem.

  They reached the top of the ramp, where she felt the release of her captor’s grasp from around her neck. The Wikk retreated back down, leaving Lori alone with the ship’s commander. She felt Prime Strength’s eyes upon her. Assessing her. Lori noted the moisture secreting from both sides of that always-smiling mouth. She’s fucking drooling.

  It took every bit of Lori’s willpower not to scream, not to drop to her knees hyperventilating. She glanced to her left and realized for the first time that the two of them were not alone up there; in fact, there were four: herself and Prime Strength, of course, and a gangly, middle-aged man with a wispy beard, as well as a young child. The two hostages were being held within a cage, of sorts, or maybe it was a pen. Wide-eyed, neither of them spoke. The looming insect commander suddenly turned toward one of the overhead view screens. Dealing with some emergency or another, she clicked rapidly and motioned dramatically with her two forward appendages. Several of her bridge crew below seemed equally animated by whatever was happening elsewhere in the ship.

  Taking advantage of the moment, Lori tried to look reassuringly back at the little girl, who couldn’t have been more than six or seven—a young, vulnerable, platinum-haired angel. When she spoke up, her heavy Brooklyn-accent caught Lori by surprise.

  “You better be here to rescue us, lady,” the girl said, her accusing tone, and her sharp stare, putting Lori on call. The sweet little angle was a little fireball.