by Dean M. Cole
After a pregnant pause, the air traffic controller returned with a condescending tone. "Lieutenant, you're either at flight level twenty-five, that's twenty-five hundred feet, by the way, or you're at flight level two-fifty, which is twenty-five thousand feet. Otherwise, son, you're in outer space. I think your training aircraft would have a little trouble operating at two hundred and fifty thousand feet."
Having just survived the longest day of his life, Richard was in no mood to deal with this asshole.
"Nellis Tower, you're right, I'm not in space … anymore. I'm now descending through flight level one thousand, and yes, that's one hundred thousand feet. I'm twenty-five miles south with airport information: Charlie. I'd like to land directly to Alpha ramp. Please notify General Pearson that I'll be landing in two minutes."
After another pause, the air traffic controller's suddenly very accommodating and nervous voice returned. "Roger, Turtle One. You're cleared directly to the ramp. Say type, please."
"Nellis Tower, that'll be self-evident in a moment."
"Uh … roger, Turtle One. Cleared direct to the ramp," the tower controller repeated. "Please advise when you have the landing area in sight."
In the background, Richard heard a second, more animated voice tearing the controller a new asshole.
"Uh, Turtle One, I've been … advised that a vehicle is there waiting for you."
"Roger Tower, good copy. Cleared direct. I'll report landing area in sight."
Reaching a relatively low altitude, the Turtle leveled off at a thousand feet. Approaching Las Vegas from the southwest, Richard began a gradual deceleration as he steered the ship toward Nellis Air Force Base on the far side of the city.
Barely discernible in the dark, the Turtle's light-absorbing skin rendered it a virtual black hole. Lost in the city's significant light pollution, the ship should be all but invisible from the ground, the only evidence of its passing a sequential eclipsing of the few background stars bright enough to penetrate Las Vegas's glowing atmosphere.
Richard watched through the ship's forward view-wall as McCarran International Airport passed on his right. He was thankful for the late hour and the ship's stealthy features. Considering the day's events, he knew there'd be no shortage of people willing to take pot shots at anything alien, and the Turtle was truly alien.
The Air Force captain looked over his shoulder at the shrouded body lying on the floor. The junior officer of the team, Lieutenant Victor Croft, had given his all in the battle. Victor's actions had saved Richard and enabled their final victory over the eight-foot-tall enemy commander.
Captain Allison turned his attention back to the city.
In the Turtle's roomy first floor, he stood between the ship's three-foot-wide center column and the four-foot-tall control panel that lay halfway to the Turtle's forward perimeter.
His fingers danced over the pedestal's concave glass surface. The commands activated a room-spanning hologram. A vortex of swarming pixels coalesced into a three-dimensional rendering of the city and its surrounding topology. Richard's upper body protruded above the hologram like a man wading through an ocean of sand.
In the image, a miniature version of Sunrise Mountain stood on his right, well east of the airport. To the west, the steep, jagged cliffs of Red Rock Canyon National Conservation Area framed the left side of the display. Rendered in various colors that signified elevation and differentiated man-made from natural features, the display made the long runways and low military buildings of Nellis Air Force Base easily identifiable.
With his index finger pressed to thumb, Richard reached into the hologram with his right hand. Touching the center of the holographic rendering of the Base's runway complex, he spread his fingers apart. As it would with a multi-touch smartphone display, the gesture magnified the image. The airfield expanded. The enlarged rendering clearly showed individual runways and taxiways.
Richard made a rotating gesture, and the display spun one hundred and eighty degrees, bringing Alpha ramp to the forefront. Spotting his desired landing zone, Richard extended his index finger and poked it into the virtual tarmac. The double click of an oilcan pop echoed through the fifty-foot-wide interior. Concentric rings radiated across the hologram from his point of touch.
Now that the autopilot's approach was programmed, Richard shut off the display. The pixels fell to the floor and faded away.
Looking through the Turtle's uni-translucent forward view-wall, he watched Vegas's ocean of sparkling lights spool under the ship. Named because of its distinctive shape, the Turtle was roughly sixty feet wide and thirty feet tall. Girdling its widest point, a horizontal, three-foot-thick bulge ringed the entire ship, delineating its flat-bottomed bowl of a belly from its domed top.
The Turtle had three interior levels. An airlock formed the only traversable portion of the belly. Above that, the main floor spanned the entire interior width of the ship. Only a closet-sized airlock access and the central column interrupted its open space.
Additional features—like the now present control pedestal—emerged from the floor's networked ocean of nanobots on an as-needed basis.
The ceiling ten feet overhead formed the floor of the utilitarian upper deck. The vertical walls of the main floor tied into the pointed dome that formed the walls and ceiling of that top level.
From behind the control panel, Richard looked up at the ten-foot ceiling and then back at the shrouded body behind him. It seemed like a lifetime had passed in the hours since Jake, Victor, and he had stood under that upper deck's uni-translucent dome watching the Moon's desolate surface scroll under the Turtle.
When all hell had broken loose, they had been on an orientation flight around the Moon. Richard had taken them to its far side to demonstrate the Turtle's speed and capabilities. Having watched Earth pass peacefully behind the Moon's limb, they'd had no idea that when next they saw the planet, an alien armada would be bearing down on it, preparing to launch an apocalyptic attack.
Richard stared at Lieutenant Croft's shrouded body. "Sorry I was such an asshole, Victor."
Thrust into combat, nervous almost to the point of cowardice, the young lieutenant proved courageous in the end. During the final battle, Victor had saved Richard from certain death and sacrificed his own in the process.
Captain Allison shook his head. "Thanks, asshole. I treat you like shit, and you go and save my life."
Colorful lights cascaded through the Turtle's interior, drawing Richard's attention outside.
He sighed and turned back to the control console.
Below, the brilliant Las Vegas Strip passed under the ship. Ahead, the Base's runway complex slid into view.
"Nellis Tower, Turtle One has the landing zone in sight. I'll be on the ground in about five seconds."
"Roger, Turtle One. I still don't have you on radar or visual. I … wait … holy shi—" the controller cut out mid-word. Then he returned. "Uh … Turtle One, you're clear to land."
Illuminated by myriad vehicles and portable light towers, the designated section of ramp glowed as if a midsummer sun shone on it. Richard cast a final glance at his fallen comrade. He nodded toward the front. "There's your welcoming party, Lieutenant."
Extending the landing gear, the captain flared the ship and executed a perfect touchdown in front of the airmen and their small fleet of support vehicles.
Through the view-wall he recognized several of the personnel from the Area 51 underground hangar facility that usually housed the Turtle.
"Nellis Tower, thanks for your assistance. I'll see you on the way back out."
"Roger," replied the tower controller in an awed voice.
Richard shut down the Turtle's systems. With a final glance at Victor's shrouded body, he walked to the airlock. Stepping in, he heard the soft, static noise accompanying the closing of the door behind him. After the airlock had lowered him into the belly with no apparent movement, a rectangular section of the exterior skin vaporized with the same sound.
Richar
d squinted into the flickering, multicolored blinding light streaming into the small space.
Beyond the opening, two security police sergeants in full dress uniform waited with an ambulance stretcher. At its center sat a folded US flag. In the moments he'd taken to shut down the Turtle, the remaining personnel had fallen into two groups facing each other across a five-foot-wide path that led from the ship's airlock to the waiting ambulance. Each officer, sergeant, and airman stood at rigid attention.
One of the police sergeants commanded, "Present arms!"
In unison, the gathered military personnel saluted.
Standing at attention, Richard returned the salute. "At ease."
They lowered their hands. However, everybody remained at attention.
Understanding, Richard waved the two SP sergeants forward, gesturing into the airlock. "This way, Sergeants."
Breaking from their rigid posture, they grabbed the stretcher and rolled it into the Turtle. Richard followed them.
A few seconds later, now on the Turtle's main deck, the sergeants stepped to the side of the lieutenant's body.
After staring at the seamless silver foil that enshrouded the young lieutenant, the two men exchanged concerned glances. Then they gave Richard a questioning look.
"That's pretty thin foil, sir," said the one to Richard's right. "It's not going to hold."
"It'll hold," Richard said flatly. He took the folded flag off of the litter.
"Is it Mylar, sir?"
"Something like that," he said impatiently.
The medics exchanged glances again. Finally, they bent over and grabbed the corners of the nanobot-formed body bag. After a tentative pull had proved it wouldn't tear, the sergeants lifted Victor over the stretcher. Then they gently lowered him into the US Air Force standard-issue body bag resting on its white sheets.
With respectful reverence, the sergeant by the lieutenant's foot began zipping the black body bag closed.
Richard and the other sergeant saluted.
As the zipper neared the end of its travel, something moved inside the bag.
Both of the medics jumped back.
The nanobots that had formed the foil shroud streamed through the narrow, puckered opening at the top of the zipper. Undulating like a mercurial python, the silvery snake flowed back into the floor's nanobot matrix.
Both sergeants stared wide-eyed as the bots merged with the floor.
Richard lowered his salute and handed the mute men the flag. Following his lead, both snapped out of their trances.
After zipping the bag closed, the sergeants stood at attention. With military precision, they unfolded the US flag. Standing at opposite ends of the litter, they held Old Glory taut a foot over Victor's body.
Richard saluted again. "Thank you for your sacrifice, Lieutenant. I, hell, the whole world owes you a great debt."
As if in slow motion, the flag drifted down. A moment later, it covered the entire body bag. The two security police officers adjusted it until the red and white stripes ran straight and the corners presented square angles.
After a silent pause, the medics rolled the ambulance stretcher into the airlock.
Richard joined them.
A few seconds later, they exited the ship. As they emerged into the stark lights, someone yelled, "Present arms!"
Again, the rigid right hand of every person snapped to their brows. In respectful silence, the officers and airmen held the salute as the two sergeants rolled Victor's flag-draped corpse down the makeshift aisle.
Standing in the ship's opening, Richard held his salute until the sergeants pushed the stretcher into the back of the waiting ambulance and closed the doors.
The vehicle pulled away from the formation. A captain near the front shouted, "Order arms!" Snapping their right hands back to their sides, each person returned to attention. Then the officer commanded, "Forward, face!" Simultaneously, the half to Richard's right executed a left-face, while the group on his left executed a right-face.
"Present arms!" shouted the officer that stood opposite Richard.
With an audible crack, a hundred impeccably rendered salutes regarded Captain Richard Allison. Not a single dry eye peered from the assembled personnel. Few actually knew the lieutenant, but all of them obviously took his loss hard.
Richard realized the sight of Victor's flag-draped corpse served as a symbol for everything the Zoxyth had taken that day, the untold millions of vaporized bodies, their emptied garments strewn about population centers across the globe.
The image wavered as Richard shed silent tears.
Standing at attention, he returned their salute. Making a point to look each airman and officer in the eye, Richard nodded at those he knew. Behind their tears, he saw another emotion take root.
With apparent pride and even admiration, every man and woman looked directly at him.
Their veneration made him uncomfortable. He didn't deserve it.
Richard lowered his hand, self-consciously looking down.
The same officer said, "Order arms!"
Richard looked up and said, "At ease." This time everyone relaxed.
He stepped from the airlock and the organized assemblage collapsed on him, the swarm of cheering men and women nearly tackling him.
"What the hell?"
"You don't know, sir?" said a sergeant from his Area Fifty-One ground crew, his voice barely audible above the din.
"Know what?"
"You're a worldwide hero!" he said pounding Richard's shoulder. "All three of you. Well, they don't know your names yet, but it's all over the news."
"I'm no hero," Richard said softly. He shook his head. "Wait, how could the news networks know anything about what we did? What did you hear?"
"We didn't hear it, sir. We saw it. An observatory on the East Coast was piping a live feed from its telescope to the news channels." He slapped Richard on the back. "It was a little blurry, but the moment we saw something slide from behind that enemy ship, we knew it was the Turtle. Those bastards were still firing their lasers, but you guys slipped right in. You should have heard the cheers. After a while, the lasers stopped, but we were on pins and needles until we saw you pull away an hour later." The tech sergeant slapped Richard's shoulder again. "Great job, sir!"
In stunned silence, Richard absorbed the sergeant's words. He scanned the crowd, studying their proud, eager faces.
Uncomfortable, he looked at the sergeant and shook his head. "I'm no hero," Richard repeated softly.
After a moment, he sighed and winked at the tech sergeant. "Fuck it. Let's get this show on the road."
A smile chased away the sergeant's uneasy look.
Richard raised his voice. "We've got a lot of work to do, folks. Let's get this thing loaded up."
The group's excited chatter ceased, and everyone nodded soberly.
Richard pointed at the Turtle. "I want the entire top floor filled with supplies." He turned to Airman Johansson, the team's medical specialist. "Make sure we have a full complement of med supplies. Plan to support at least a hundred personnel for two weeks. That should be enough for now."
The airman nodded. Saluting smartly, he turned and departed.
Richard addressed the sergeant in charge of logistical support. "Load up enough food and miscellaneous supplies for the same number."
The sergeant snapped a quick salute and headed off with his subordinates in tow.
The remaining personnel constituted Turtle ground support. Richard turned and addressed them en masse.
"Well, folks, you guys know your jobs," he reached over and patted the dark, light-absorbing skin. "Run your diagnostics. Make sure our baby is ready for the next flight. And make sure all of our little nanobots are happy. I'm heading upstairs to get out of this." He gestured at his spacesuit and cocked an eyebrow. "I'm going to change back into my flight suit. So, unless you want an eyeful, I suggest you wait to check that floor until after I come down."
***
"Can we go a litt
le faster, sir?" Captain Jake Giard said.
"I'm trying to look non-threatening," Colonel Newcastle said. "I know the carrier is unmanned, but it might have a fail-safe defense system."
Jake nodded. "Fair enough." He had seen the ship's lasers in action. He was in no hurry to have his body reduced to its constituent atoms.
Looking for a way to board the Galactic Guardian, he and the colonel continued to work their way aft. The carrier's starfighters had deployed from that area.
As they approached the stern of the mammoth ship, Colonel Newcastle oriented the nose of the space fighter toward the ship's surface. The empty Argonian ship filled the fighter's forward field of view. Its aft end slid into view overhead.
"Figured I'd give us a better view of its skin. Maybe we'll spot an access hatch. How are you doing back there?"
"Actually, sir, I'm getting a bit nervous. I'm not sure that pointing our guns into the carrier's center of mass is in spirit with the whole looking non-threatening thing." Jake tried to shift his position. "Otherwise, aside from not being able to feel my legs, I'm not too bad."
"Oh shit," Newcastle said. He pushed the fighter's nose away from the carrier. Now the ship's black skin scrolled overhead with the fighter's nose pointing in the direction of flight.
Jake managed a smile. "Hopefully, somebody left a door open for us. Once we find it, I'm sure there'll be plenty of legroom in there."
He didn't even know if they could get aboard the Guardian. And if he did manage that small feat, he didn't know if it could remotely control the other vessels. However, as the fleet's largest ship, it seemed a good place to start.
They didn't know if other Galactic Defense Forces were inbound, much less additional enemy ships. The same unknowns had driven Jake to lead Richard and Victor on that last-ditch effort to defang the sculpted asteroid. After it had killed Lieutenant Croft, the enemy commander fled deeper into the vessel. Ultimately, Jake tracked down and killed the bastard, stopping its systematic destruction of the emptied Argonian ships and attaining a measure of revenge.
Beyond the tragedy of its lost crew, the GDF fleet represented a crucial asset. If Earth's militaries could gain control of it, they might stand a chance against further Zoxyth attacks.