by KA Hopkins
The secret to hitting your target with a pistol in a life-or-death situation is to shoot with both eyes open, take up the trigger slack and smoothly squeeze the trigger, never jerking it. Because a pistol has such a short sight radius, the smallest uncontrolled movement will pull the bullet way off target. The remaining two gang members had forgotten this rule and tried to shoot me gangsta-style with the gun held sidewise; none of the panicked rounds they fired came close to hitting me, even though we were only ten feet apart. I double tapped each to the heart with four rounds, killing them instantaneously. To be on the safe side, I picked up a dropped pistol and put a round in the head of each gang member I had just shot - just in case someone was playing possum.
For good measure I put bullets into the heads of the first three to go down; they were making an awful racket and could possibly identify me to the police. On the bright side, I saved the tax payer a fortune in court and hospital costs. As I looked at the seven gang members dead in the street, it crossed my mind that in the past forty eight hours I had killed twenty five alien and human beings up close and personal, in very violent ways. Where was this inner violence coming from; and how come I knew so much about shooting and unarmed combat?
Compared to choreographed fight scenes seen in Hollywood films that often last several minutes, where no matter how hard the blow, the hero remains standing, this fight was over in seconds - leaving seven dead
“Should have taken option A.”
I wiped my finger prints off both guns and left them on the ground to search the gang members; turning out their pockets delivered an assortment of keys, flick knifes, a couple of GLOCKs in 9mm and forty caliber, a stainless steel Sig 226 forty caliber and an H&K USP forty-five. You had to admit they had great taste in guns. What the hell were street punks doing with high quality weapons like these? I picked up the H&K and the Sig 226 pistol as a backup along with several mags of extra ammo.
The forty-five caliber bullet has an advantage over all other handgun rounds, if you can handle the recoil. It doesn’t just make holes in people…more like it blows body parts off. The forty-five caliber 230 grain bullet is twice the weight of the typical 9mm round used by most police forces. At close range there is nothing better for knocking people down, except maybe a shotgun. You always want to bring enough gun to the fight. No matter what they tell you - size matters.
Chapter 11 - Convincing an old friend to do stupid things
Even in this rundown neighborhood, the amount of noise and mayhem of the past couple of minutes would eventually get the attention of the local police. It was time to leave most ricky tic; from the gang leader’s pocket I found what looked like high-end Mercedes keys. I hit the car alarm button and an alarm sounded in the parking garage beside me. Despite his gangsta looks, the gang leader had great taste - a Mercedes two door sport coupe AMG 63. I thought to myself, “Looks like no one buys American anymore;” doesn’t say much about American auto manufacturing when even the street gangs prefer European.
A Rolex wristwatch on one of the gang members told me it was 2 am; I still needed to get to Marc’s house. I looked forward to riding in style in the AMG. I pictured ripping through the early morning streets, challenging the five hundred plus horsepower engine; but to avoid unwanted attention I drove like my grandmother out for a Sunday drive.
A couple of miles from Marc’s house I dumped the car at an all-night 7/11, with the keys in the ignition and the motor running. It didn’t matter that it was a nice neighborhood; I was sure someone would help themselves and cover my tracks. I set out at a comfortable pace and covered the remaining two miles in twelve minutes. If not for the poor fitting golf shoes, I could have done it faster and without sounding like an elephant.
I approached Marc’s front door with some hesitation. It had been years since we'd last met. I knocked on the door; a dog barked once, then stopped. I banged on the door again and waited. The curtain in the living room moved slightly...then I felt someone behind me, although no sound betrayed their presence. Turning around very slowly I kept my hands in plain view.
“Would I be ringing your doorbell if I was looking to rob you?”
“Keep turning around, keep your hands where I can see them.” As I turned around I could see Marc standing fifteen feet away without a stitch of clothing on. Actually, he was not completely naked - he was wearing flip flops and holding a forty-five caliber USP Heckler & Koch pistol across his chest in one hand and in the other, a Kbar fighting knife in reverse grip. Marc was not overtly threatening me, but his weapons were at the ready. For knife-on-knife fighting the reverse grip limits your motions, but he obviously intended to use it as a blocker with his pistol as his main weapon. Appearances aside, he was ready to do some serious harm.
“Nice flip flops, do you mind if I come in?”
Marc looked at me, shook his head in disbelief and went up to the door; he knocked once, paused two seconds then knocked three more times. He opened the door and I stepped by him into the house. I walked into the kitchen, barely able to make out the shape of a woman standing at the far end of the room in a classic Weaver shooting stance, with a Sig 226 forty caliber pistol pointed unwaveringly at my head. She wasn’t even wearing flip flops.
“Hi guys, it's Jake, nice to see you again.”
Mentioning my name did not have the desired effect; both Marc and his wife Sara kept their guns at the ready, Sara’s still pointed at my head.
“Any chance I could get a cup of coffee, it has been a long night? In fact, you might want to sit down; boy, have I got a story for you!”
Marc shook his head slowly from side to side, “I remember you telling me you flew aerobatic airplanes and air shows as a hobby, but I didn’t realize until I saw you fly at an air show last year how crazy you just might be. Tonight proves it beyond any shadow of a doubt.”
I smiled, “It takes one to know one. I fly airplanes upside down and you jump out of them at night from 30,000 feet. On the topic of crazy, you're going to love what I’m about to tell you. You might want to put on some clothes it would be more comfortable for all of us.”
Marc walked down the hallway and put on sweats and a tee shirt, while Sara made coffee. Her nakedness obviously didn’t bother her - I found an interesting pattern in the floor to look at. Once Marc came back, his wife disappeared to put on something. It was not much warmer inside the house than outside, but neither Marc nor his wife seemed to be bothered by the discomfort.
“Nice home defense tactics,” I commented.
Marc barked out a chuckle, “It’s not as crazy as you might think. With both of us being naked any potential thief or home invader thinks he has us at a disadvantage. If shots are fired, being naked is a good defense in court - we were surprised and only standing our ground.” If it was not obvious before: Marc was ex-Special Forces. Only he would think of being naked in the middle of winter as an excellent defense to a home invasion.
“So, long time no hear or see. What’s so important you’re here on my door step at 2 am?”
“That’s the 64,000 dollar question. I have a little problem I was hoping you could help me with.”
I related what had happened over the past forty-eight hours, told him about the fight with the aliens at my house and what Ship had told me of the alien races. Marc summed it up so there could be no misunderstanding:
“You want me to believe you died, were saved by a sentient computer on an alien scout ship, you brought the ship here and want me to go with you to the Moon so the sentient computer and alien scout ship can undergo a refit at an alien Moon base, during which time we’re going to hide out in an alien complex on the Moon for two or three weeks - and we have two days to plan.”
“…Yep that's pretty much it. Got any questions?” I said in my most innocent tone.
“Only about a million; but given time is tight, you’re going to have to brief me en route. We need to leave now if we are going to meet the mission time table.”
“You actually believe m
e?”
“Crazy as it sounds, yes. It’s all over the news how bad the gangland violence has become. Only a few hours ago the news reported a gangland fight in old town that left seven dead. The media is not providing many details, but they are commenting that whoever did it must have had a real beef with the gang. All seven gang members had execution style head wounds on top of numerous other gunshot wounds and severe physical trauma. What happened to the gang involved extreme violence, up close and personal; it takes real stones and someone who knows what they’re doing. By the way, as a computer nerd where did you learn to do that?”
“I'm not sure. While I can remember everyone’s reactions during the fight, I’m almost as surprised as the gang members on how it turned out; it was like someone else had control of my body. The scary part is I don’t have much remorse over what I did. So despite the fact I sound like a complete and utter nutcase, you’re still willing to help me out?”
“That’s what buds are for and from the sounds of it you’re going to definitely need someone who knows what they’re doing.” Marc’s attitude of duty and sacrifice for the greater good of humanity and his country is what makes America great. On no notice, he was willing to make the ultimate sacrifice to save his planet and country. Where do men like this come from? I could barely get the words of thanks out, as a feeling of pride welled up inside of me.
“Thank you. While I know you would do it for free only because I have asked you, to help with the burden of you being gone on such short notice, I can give you fifty thousand dollars cash up front and fifty thousand when we get back. As an insurance policy I’ll ask Ship to set up offshore accounts with, say fifty million in them.”
“Whoa that’s too much; I want Sara to be a little sad if I don’t come home.”
“Ok, how about ten million then?”
“That works.”
Not surprisingly, when we explained to Sara the deal of a two week consulting contract with fifty thousand dollars up front for her and fifty thousand dollars on completion, plus life insurance in case Marc did not come back, she did not ask any more questions than my wife did. I’m absolutely sure they both read between the lines of what was said and clearly understood considerable danger was involved, but they dealt with it by focusing on a fifty thousand dollar shopping trip, no strings attached. In no way did their reactions make light of a deadly serious situation but shopping certainly takes a girl’s mind off things she cannot change. No matter what Sara felt on the inside, she was the picture of calmness and strength on the outside. It was not the first time duty had taken her husband away.
She said to Marc, “Love you honey, be safe.” That was it, no long good bye, no tears. Sara’s demeanor told Marc everything on the home front was taken care of. Where do women like this come from?
“Marc, can I borrow your phone, I need to call Ship?”
“You don’t have some space age communicator like on Star Trek?”
“I did, but I lost it jumping into the ocean.” I thought I heard him mutter “dumbass” under his breath.
“Phone is behind you; it’s not long distance is it?”
I picked up the phone and dialed the emergency number Ship had set up. The call rang twice and then I heard Ship's voice: “Interplanetary taxi, no destination too far, best rates on the planet or it’s free.” For a machine she has a decent sense of humor, I thought to myself.
“Hey, it’s Jake...” Before I could say more, Ship cut me short “Who else would it be, I’m fully capable of blocking telemarketing calls?” Talk about attitude, Ship was starting to sound like my mother.
“There’s a high school two blocks down the road from you; be there in fifteen minutes for pick up.”
“Fifteen minutes sharp, high school down the road,” I confirmed. “Marc grab your tooth brush it’s time to go.” He hugged Sara and kissed her on the forehead, “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He walked down the hallway and kissed each of his sleeping kids. Leaving them was a first for Marc - they were born after he left military service. Being only two and three years old they would not understand why Daddy was gone, only that he left without saying goodbye.
We walked down the street in silence. In a few minutes we were at the school. It seemed deserted, but we took refuge in a hidden doorway, just in case. If anyone saw us, our clothes were sure to get their attention. Marc looked the part of someone going out for a hike in the woods with his army fatigue pants, a nondescript pull over and Rocky S2V desert boots. I was still in my golf outfit, shoes and all.
“When the ship lands, what about the cameras in the parking lot?" Marc asked.
“No problem, Ship will hit the area with a weak EM pulse just before landing. The pulse will not be strong enough to burn out or destroy electronics but any computer or CCD camera memory will be erased.”
Exactly on time, Ship landed in the parking lot. With the cloaking shield on, the only thing you could see was a slight simmering in the air. Then the loading ramp came down and you could see a rectangle of white light from the hatch entrance appear in midair. I looked at Marc expecting to see an expression of awe on his face, but his only comment was, “Neat”.
“You’re about to get on an alien scout ship and fly to the Moon and you’re not amazed and excited?” I said.
“Transport is transport. No matter how technically sophisticated, it’s still only a ride...mind you, this beats the hell out of flying across the pond in the back of a Herc.”
Chapter 12 - Marc gets introduced to Ship
We walked up the landing ramp and into the ship’s lower hold. Marc casually remarked, “Very cool. It takes solid engineering to make something complex like this space ship look so simple. How many years is their technology ahead of ours?”
“Ship told me the age of the various alien races varies significantly. The ship’s previous crew had as a species, space travel for over 50,000 years. In real terms, taking into account Moore’s Law where transistor technology doubles every eighteen months, their technology is only 150 to 200 years more advanced than ours. Space ship technology, contrary to what you might think, doesn’t change much. Once you find what works you tend to stick with it.”
We made our way up to the command deck where I showed Marc how the seat controls worked, adjusted the view screen and made the floors, ceilings and walls act as outside view screens. His response: “Do you want to drive or can I?” Was this guy the epitome of cool or what? Show him the most amazing technology, literally out of this world, and he wants to know if he can drive. Before I could answer, Ship jumped in. “I don’t need either of you to pilot - I’m more than capable of fully autonomous independent thought and action; it’s more of a courtesy, accommodating a biological pilot.”
“So much for feeling needed,” I said.
“Ship, take us some place safe so we can plan our next move.” My suggestion came out more harshly than intended, sounding like a curt command as I was somewhat put off by Ship’s comment about not needing us. Ship engaged the gravity drive and performed a regular 100 g take off, but only engaged the gravity dampers ninety-four percent. Six g’s is not much in terms of acceleration; fighter pilots regularly pull up to 9 g’s, but I was standing up. The g-forces made me tumble to the deck like a drunk, pinned there until Ship decided to fully engage the dampers.
“Sorry Ship, I get it. You’re a partner in this adventure, not simply a dumb Earth-like machine.” I said.
“Thank you for your appreciation.” Ship said with exaggerated kindness.
Marc, after observing how Ship reacted when it felt slighted, started talking to no one in particular, “One of the things that make Special Forces so effective is that the bond between team members is incredibly strong. How we operate is much more flexible than other military units. Because of the trust between team members, we consider ourselves brothers, family actually. To build this relationship we often use nicknames in lieu of ranks or positions. I think it’s time Ship got a handle. Because you take care of
all of our needs and know pretty much everything about everything, I would like to follow the time honored tradition of bestowing upon you the nickname Mother.
Ship replied, “Mother is appropriate, I like it.”
“Mother it is, whether you like it or not,” Marc replied, with a grin.
Mother put the floor in transparent mode and took us out over the Pacific, twenty miles off shore. We watched a number of pleasure and commercial fishing boats pass beneath us, completely unaware of our presence 10,000 feet above them. When the water was deep enough to hide the engine emissions from alien sensor technology, Mother started the landing sequence and set us down on the surface of the water. I was interested to see how the magnetic field would interact with the water; surprisingly there was no more movement of the water than when Mother took off on land. Mother settled onto the ocean surface and started to sink like a stone to the bottom. Mother explained that the outer hull of the ship while only 1/32in thick, or roughly the thickness of ten sheets of paper, was made up of a material heavier than depleted uranium with a sandwiched inner core of ceramic composite. Despite the thinness the hull was incredibility strong and dense. If we wanted to, Mother could descend to the bottom of the Marianas Trench - the deepest part of the Pacific Ocean, where the pressures are about a thousand times greater than on the surface.
With all interior surfaces in transparent mode, we watched the colors fade out as we sank beneath the waves. By the time we hit 300 feet it was completely dark outside. Mother changed the view screens back to solid and took us down to 1000 feet below the surface. Mother explained that while no human detection devices could see us, alien sensors could pick up the magnetic gravitonic fields from the engines. With nearly a fifth of a mile of water overhead even these emissions became completely undetectable.