Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  She offered him a lopsided smile. “He wanted his little girl to be able to take care of herself. Now back off some. I want to get up and help.”

  Chapter 52

  Dominic Moretti

  The Dominate’s lower decks’ oxygen saturation levels had held up somewhat better than those on the upper levels, but not by much. I stood in the Watcher Craft’s open rear hatchway and stretched out a hand to assist a young family— naked and stinking—climb into the already-packed-to-the-bulkheads aft compartment. At this point, all the hostages looked weak from hypoxia, that all-too-familiar blue pallor tinge creeping across their skin. I hurried the parents and the three children inside. Unfortunately, without an airlock, the Watcher Craft continued to lose all oxygenated atmosphere out the aft compartment with each subsequent rescue. But fortunately, the Watcher Craft’s interconnecting passageway had an airtight sliding panel so just the aft compartment was affected. Only when the smaller craft was again back within the shuttle would the lost air reserves be replenished.

  Not so gently, I shoved the last of the family members—a little boy of three or four—inside. I figured there were close to forty people now packed within the cramped compartment. Unfortunately, there were still others, cloistered within the holding cell outside, desperate to get in. But this family would be the last. We figured we’d cleared out all the other holding cells. Outside, they clamored around the hatch, pawing at me with their outstretched, weakened arms and hands—their soft voices pleading, begging to be allowed inside. “Please don’t leave us here. Please . . .”

  “I’m sorry . . . there’s no more room inside. But we’re coming right back for you! I promise. Just hold on. Don’t talk, try not to move about. Reserve whatever oxygen’s left.” I pushed myself farther inside and closed the hatch. Mental images of all those desperate, pleading faces continued to stare back at me, even after the hatch was closed.

  “Hatch is secured. Go!” I yelled.

  Minutes later, we arrived back within the flight bay. We passed through the shuttle’s outer hull and into its expansive main compartment. I too was struggling to breathe at this point—we couldn’t get the rear hatch opened fast enough. As a flood of fresh air rushed in, we gulped in welcome, lifesaving breaths.

  “Everyone out. Hurry!” I said, still mentally viewing the desperation on those left within that last holding cell.

  Gordo came aft to help evacuate the aft compartment. “Let’s go people, let’s move it along.”

  A frail, elderly man held things up, blocking the hatchway, apparently frantic to find his missing cane. Gordo reached him first, lifted the old codger up, and carried him out and into the shuttle’s main compartment. “Go ahead, Dommy, I’ll join you on your next run.”

  I pushed the remaining captives out, causing several to stumble and fall as they stepped off the rear hatchway. This was not the time for dillydallying. I slapped at the button and the hatch slid closed. “All clear,” I said, “head on back.”

  Lori’s voice came across too loud in my comms. “The kids? From the Nairobi school?”

  “I’m sorry. Didn’t see them. Definitely weren’t among those we just dropped off. And I didn’t see them among those left behind, either.”

  “And we’ve checked all the other holding cells?” she asked.

  “You’d know that better than me. What does Hannig say? He’s the one driving this bus.”

  A moment later Lori came back on the line. “That was the last of the human holding cells.”

  That statement struck me as odd. “Human?”

  Lori hesitated. “There are other species of beings held onboard. Alien animals from distant planets, I guess.”

  More victims, feeding the fucking Wikk’s appetites.

  “Dommy, we can’t save every living thing on board this ship. Hannig says the CO of the Retribution—a Commander Righteous Fist—is furious . . . has given our Wikk shuttle officers direct orders to pilot the shuttle away from the Dominate within ten minutes. The Dominate will be obliterated, whether or not the shuttle is still inside or not. So we’ve only got time for one more run.”

  I held on while the Watcher Craft picked up speed. Through the portal window, my eyes caught the same blur of motion outside. Within moments, we had slowed down and come to a complete stop. I deeply inhaled a full breath of air; one that would have to satisfy my oxygen intake need for a good measure of time. I opened the aft hatch. Expecting the horde of remaining captives to charge forward, I was surprised to find no one waiting there, no one clamoring to get in. As I stepped down into the holding cell, I found thirty to forty bodies, all lying motionless on the deck. One by one, I checked them over, feeling for even the faintest pulse. I pried open each closed eyelid and checked for pupil dilation. Death had taken them all—both children and adults. We were too late.

  “Dommy?” Georgina’s voice came over my comms. “Come on! There’s nothing we can do for them now.”

  Without uttering another word, I climbed back into the Watcher Craft. Closing the hatch, I struggled to take in a partial breath. “Show me . . . the rest . . . of the holding cells.”

  Hannig’s kind voice exclaimed, “Dominic, you are nearly out of air. And we are all nearly out of time.”

  “Do it!” I barked. “One more . . . pass through.” I gasped. “Then . . . we’ll head back.” I mentally commanded my heart rate to slow down. Forced myself to inhale slow, deliberate, limited breaths. Outside the portal window, I watched as we moved through one holding cell into another. The present one was empty. Then another three, four, five—all empty. As the Watcher Craft continued on through the lower decks, I let my thoughts wander. Something occurred to me.

  “Hannig, tell me why those . . . vicious little beetles . . . are here, onboard this ship?”

  “Yes, Marcrombe Chew Beetles. Very nasty organisms, yet they serve a useful purpose. The Wikk really are a filthy species. Although instructed to use the onboard latrine-type facilities, Wikk crewmembers are still uncivilized to a certain degree. Inclined to defecate wherever they happen to be standing. Sure, if close to a facility, they may actually use it. Or they may just defecate wherever they are.”

  “Back . . . to the beetles . . .” I struggled to say.

  “Ah yes, sorry, Dominic. I thought I made that connection clear. The beetles are preprogrammed scavengers. Come out after all but the most minimal duty shift workers have retired. They sniff and seek out fecal droppings . . . from prow to stern, they literally clean the decks every night. What we witnessed at the armory was the beetles re-programmed to devour human flesh.”

  “So there are a lot of them onboard?”

  “Yes. Far more than we saw present within the armory.”

  I struggled to take in a full breath. “Can . . . you . . . reprogram them? Again?”

  “To do what?”

  “Eat . . . the Wikk.”

  His response back seemed to take hours, although it actually was no more than a few drawn-out seconds. “It took far longer than I would have liked, but System has now fully interfaced with the Dominate’s AI.”

  I heard Hannig tapping at his console. “The short answer?” I asked. “Please.”

  “Yes.”

  “The Retribution . . . can . . . you interface with that ship’s . . . AI . . . remotely.”

  “I believe so, once we are close enough,” Hannig said.

  “And can you . . . reprogram those . . . shit-eating beetles to . . . eat the Retribution’s crew inside?”

  I knew others onboard the Watcher Craft, as well as those back on the shuttle, were listening in over the open channel. I heard a chuckle, which I knew was from none other than Gordo.

  “Uncertain. The Retribution is a newer vessel. More safeguards in place.” Hannig said.

  “Start looking . . . into it,” I said. “Wait!” I yelled. “Stop the Watcher Craft! Oh God . . . I see something. Outside.”

  Chapter 53

  I stood there, gasping, looking out the portal
window. This holding cell was much larger than any of the others I’d observed. Here there were no hordes of human captives pressing together. This compartment was dark and misty, a thick layer of undulating fog flowing three or four feet thick over the deck. Large, hulking creatures meandered about. I’d guess, at an oxygen-deprived glance, that they were larger than a rhinoceros, but not quite as large as an adult elephant. This compartment, obviously, maintained its own separate atmosphere. A swooshing noise to my left broke my concentration. The panel separating the Watcher Craft’s forward and aft compartments opened just long enough to allow Lori to hurry through. A bit of oxygen vented into the aft compartment, enough to provide instant relief. I took in a welcome full breath.

  “I thought I told you I had this. The control center’s atmosphere can’t be jeopardized.”

  “They have plenty of air up there, and clearly you’re not doing so well back here. Anyway, I’m not giving you a choice. We’re in this together, right?” Lori joined me at my side. “What do you see?”

  “You don’t see it?”

  She shrugged. “I see several ridiculously large creatures lurking about. We already knew there were alien beings being held onboard. Dom . . . Dommy, we need to go. We’re watching the latest Earth news bulletins. Abductions have resumed. Seems the Retribution has taken over from where the Dominate left off . . . like by a factor of ten. Chicago, Los Angeles, Dallas . . . landings at major metropolises. Same for other countries. Mass abductions taking place.”

  “There! See that?” I said, pointing.

  “No, all I see are those scary-looking beasts—which in no way would fit inside this Watcher Craft, if you’re thinking about rescuing them.” Lori continued to stare out the portal window, looking irritated. Then, excited, she said, “Oh my . . .”

  “You saw it?” I asked.

  “Not it, them. I saw them!” She pointed off to the right.

  There were three of them in a row—the tops of little heads moving through the fog. I keyed my comms, “Hannig?”

  “Yes, Dominic.”

  “Tell me about this containment cell. Mainly, the atmosphere in there.”

  A moment later he came back on the line, “Elevated amounts of Oxygen . . . 23 percent. And Nitrogen is closer to 76 percent, where what you’re used to on Earth is 78 percent. The other remaining miscellaneous compounds have percentages similar to that on Earth. Although . . . Hydrogen is elevated, significantly.”

  “So it’s breathable?” Lori asked already moving toward the rear hatch.

  “For the short term, yes,” Hannig said.

  “How many human life signs are present within there?” I asked.

  “System is seeing no less than thirteen small humans.”

  “Okay, got it.”

  “One more thing, Dominic,” Hannig continued. “There are six adult High Plains Gorble Frits, there within that enclosure.”

  “Yeah, we see them. Big. But they don’t seem to be all that dangerous. Not with those humans—”

  Hannig interrupted, “No. Dominic, High Plains Gorble Frits are vicious monstrosities. They derive from the planet Thandian 5. I can think of only one reason those children are still alive.” He paused.

  “Well, don’t leave us in suspense. Why?”

  “One or more of the Gorble Frits is probably pregnant. A newborn Gorble Frits requires an immense amount of nourishment. Needs it as soon as it comes out of the womb. The species is known to starve itself, if necessary, even while hoarding nourishment reserves.”

  “So the Wikk, they put those kids in there—”

  Georgina cut in, “As damn puppy chow reserves.”

  “Fine. We’ll just have to be careful,” Lori said. She picked up an energy rifle.

  I shook my head. “Grab that carbine, instead. Damn energy rifles are worthless as far as I’m concerned.”

  I held my hand over the hatch-access button. “So we know what we’re going to do out there?”

  Lori said, “Yeah, yell for the kids to come toward us. That we’re here to rescue them.” She raised the muzzle of her weapon and nodded.

  “Okay. Here goes nothing.” I slapped the button and raised my own weapon.

  As soon as the hatch slid away, dank-smelling, humid air drifted inside. I noticed the high amounts of oxygen right off the bat. I also felt my energy levels start to elevate.

  Lori leaned out and yelled “Hello!” She looked at me startled. She sounded like a munchkin from the Wizard of Oz—high-pitched and ridiculous.

  I laughed out loud. “It’s the high levels of helium in the atmosphere.”

  First Lori stepped down and then I followed, I yelled out. “We’re here to rescue you . . . come toward our voices! Hurry!”

  Lori took several strides further out into the mist.

  “Best you stay close,” I said.

  “Anyone here, kids, you’re not safe. Come toward my voice!” Lori yelled, taking several more steps, only the top portion of her body now visible in the fog. She looked to the others. “Maybe they don’t understand me?”

  It suddenly clicked for me. Of course, Kenya. I shouted out again for them, this time in Swahili. Lori looked impressed.

  The sounds of heavy footfalls suddenly filled the compartment. Something big was on the move.

  I felt a tap on my shoulder and spun around.

  “Hey, hey, don’t shoot!” said Georgina, wide-eyed, with palms raised in mock surrender. “Hannig said the air out here was breathable.”

  Carlo was next to step down from the Watcher Craft. He peered into the murk, looking nervous.

  “You both should be armed if you’re going to be out here,” I said. Then I yelled again, “Kids! Come on now. Come toward us. We’re here to help!”

  She’d all but disappeared. I tried to make out her form in the distant haze. “Lori, it’s not safe! Come on back.”

  Abruptly, a dark form the size of a minivan rushed forward from out of the fog. I pivoted and without hesitation pulled the trigger on my M4 carbine.

  There it was—one of the High Plains Gorble Frits bearing down upon us. Upon me! Its throaty roar was loud enough that I felt the vibration in my chest. Tac Tac Tac Tac Tac. I emptied the remainder of my rounds into the thing before my magazine clicked empty. I fumbled to eject it and reached for another from a front vest pocket, slapping it into place. I hesitated, but for no more than a second, maybe two. It was the shock of what I was seeing. The thing was big. Real big, and mangy—it had a face only a mother could love. In that fleeting first glance, I saw a smushed in, pug-faced monster. I fixated on its two massive lower tusks, protruding at least a foot from a saliva-dripping mouth. A tangle of sharp, yellowed teeth filled the upper portion of its mouth. The beast was covered in thick, matted, rope-like tendrils—maybe it was hair, maybe something else. And then I saw its two forward claws, far larger than any grizzly bear’s, and they were coming right for me. But instead of doing the smart thing, like diving for cover, or at the very least pulling the trigger of my assault weapon, my fleeting thoughts turned to Lori. She too was out here in the fog. Was she already dead? Had one of the five other beasts already gotten to her?

  Loud automatic weapon fire erupted from my left and then from my right. Carlo and Georgina, respectively. They’d armed themselves, and just in time. Now the Gorble Frits, a mere ten feet away from us, reared up onto its hind legs and roared again. The three of us continued to fire on the beast. Those matted, dark tendrils were now covered with blood, oozing from its chest.

  Carlo’s magazine clicked empty. Georgina’s as well. Then mine. The beast loomed there in front of us, looking shocked to have been so effectively halted in its tracks—we watched as spouts of pink snot-mist huffed up into the air. The Gorble Frits was trying to catch its breath, unaware its lungs had, undoubtedly, been obliterated. The beast wavered as if drunk. It staggered, then its eyes lost focus. Finally, at long last, the High Plains Gorble Frits toppled over, dead.

  A high-pitched scream broke the
momentary silence. Lori!

  Chapter 54

  The scream seemed to have come from all directions at once. I called out again, “Lori!”

  Nothing. I keyed my comms, “Lori—come back, let us know you’re okay, over.” Still nothing. “Hannig? Can you get a fix on her specific location within this compartment?” Carlo, Georgina and I exchanged a nervous look, waiting.

  Finally, Hannig said, “Her DNA signature has been located. Presently, it is approximately five hundred feet away from your current position.”

  “What the fuck? Why’d she just wander off like that?” Carlo asked.

  I moved off in the direction I last saw Lori heading. “Tell me I’m going in the right direction, Hannig.”

  “You are.”

  “Dommy! We should stay together,” Georgina said, catching up with me. “Come on, Carlo!”

  The three of us waded through the thigh-high white vapor, ready to shoot at anything larger than a human. There were still four more beasts lurking around here, and as far as they were concerned, we were the intruders.

  “I heard something,” Carlo said. He gestured with a raised chin. “Off to the left a bit.”

  We altered our course while picking up our pace.

  “Why aren’t they attacking us?” Georgina said.

  “You want them to?” Carlo shot back.

  “Shhh,” I scolded, trudging on.

  A minute passed. Then another. We slowed in unison, taking in a collective breath. Up ahead in the gloom was a virtual wall of dark, moving shapes.

  I took one tentative step closer.

  “Careful, Dommy!” Georgina said in a hushed tone.

  I looked back to her. “You hear that?”

  She tilted her head and nodded. “Is that . . . singing?”

  I nodded. “That’s Swahili.”

  She just looked at me.

  “Lozenge-cache . . . for all Earth languages.” Staying low, I moved off to see if my assumption was correct. It was. The remaining Gorble Frits were positioned in a broad circle. They had made a guarding perimeter around something of great importance to them—the children. Children who seemed relatively content, somehow. They had no idea what kind of danger they were in. “Lori! You in there?” I said, using as non-threatening a voice as I could muster. I held up and listened.