The Hidden Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Sounds like a far superior genetic system than that of Humans,” I said.

  Jhally kept on speaking, as if not hearing me: “The genetic system has a weak point. Triple set of E-DNAs must come from three different parents. This makes the reproductive cycles of an Earupitan rather unusual, and a remarkable affair.”

  “How so?” I asked, intrigued.

  Jhally smiled. I thought it creepy-looking whenever the alien did that.

  “Earupitans have three sexes, and all three individuals must, um, get together, as it were, to produce offspring. Such an arrangement could be rather impractical and complicated. Evolution created a way out of this problem by designating one of the Earupitan sexes to be specifically used only for child-bearing purposes, and pretty much nothing else. We will call them female Earupitans, opposed to two male sexes. The representatives of the two male sexes on Earth today appear different enough to make people on your planet mistakenly think they are males and females. After all, the idea of sexual dimorphism, that there are two sexes and they look different, is deeply embedded in your Human consciousness, is that not so?”

  Again, I nodded in assent.

  “In reality, and back to an innate weakness of our race, the third sex, female, looks nothing like the lizard-like sackdraggers, as you refer to us. Our real female Earupitans are amorphous. No doubt, you would judge them to be disgusting, worm-like creatures. To us, though, that is not so. They are typically dedicated to child-producing activities. But not always. In ancient times, our females resided in deep dark caves, where they were kept relatively safe from the hazards of the outside world. These days, our females live comfortable lives under the full protection of the two male genders. When a female becomes ready to conceive, her body will start to produce certain types of intoxicating sex pheromones . . . ones that become airborne and inform the other two sexes that the time for reproduction has arrived. The time window for reproductive activity is quite narrow. The pheromones turn on a powerful genetic reproductive program within the brains of the other two genders; subsequently, the coupling with the female becomes all-encompassing. The strength of the response is directly related to the fact that all three sexes must come together to conceive successfully. If one of the genders is missing, reproduction will not occur . . .”

  “Explain all this!” one of the EMS Gaps ordered, bringing me back to the here and now, gesturing down at the metal trough.

  “Look . . . this is a working ranch. There is an assortment of farm animals here; several sheep, a goat, two horses, seven chickens, a dog, and a fox. Some have special dietary requirements.”

  I couldn’t tell if either Gap was buying my bullshit. Then the Gap, with the slightly more delicate features, said, “Open the barn doors.”

  “You sure? Those rats—”

  “Open it, now!”

  Reluctantly patting the front of my pants, I indeed felt the bulge of my keys in the right-side pocket. My mind raced while I maintained a bored expression. Had we recovered the Shredders with the tarps? How many seconds would it take for Jhally to yell out for help? Unlocking the barn doors, I let out a slow breath, readying myself for what would come next. I knew that inside was a double-barrel shotgun hidden between the studs. Could I make it there, move four paces to the left before the two Gaps drew their weapons? I doubted it.

  I pushed through the barn doors before being told to hold up. Inside, I only flicked on a lone light switch, which did little to illuminate most of the barn. The Gap marshals followed behind me, their mistmaker pistols drawn. I smiled, then shot a casual glance over toward the left side of the barn. In the dim light stood Jhally’s army cot and his metal shit bucket. Strange, there was no visible sign of Jhally. Even his long chain was nowhere in sight. Each Shredder, properly covered up under a tarp, looked like nothing more than covered-up farm equipment. I found both Gap weapons trained on my midsection as they took in the expansive space.

  “What is this structure’s purpose?”

  “It’s a barn. Barns are used for different kinds of things . . . to keep a roof overhead for animals . . . store farm equipment, that sort of thing.”

  Marshal Black ventured farther into the barn, while the other marshal stayed close by me. Of course, the alien was heading right for the workshop—for Shredder Five.

  chapter 8

  I tried to think of something to say, something to dissuade the lizard marshal from moving any closer to the covered Shredder. I glanced over at Marshal Clark, wearing a blue shirt, his mistmaker weapon still leveled center-mass at my torso. Are these to be the last few moments of my life? I wondered, then caught an ever-so-slight swaying of one of the overhead lights. Next, came a blur of movement, something substantial was falling from above. I ducked low to the ground, covering my head with my arms. In that instant, I waited for the mistmaker weapon to fire—removing one of my arms, or a leg, or my head.

  I opened my eyes in time to see a scuffle going on behind me. Jhally, having swung down from one of the crossbeams high above with his long chain, stood behind the blue-shirted Gap—his forearm clamped hard against the alien marshal’s throat. A choking sound emanated from the Gap’s gaping jaws as he struggled to free himself, to keep from suffocating.

  Marshal Black rushed forward, his drawn weapon pointed at the two intertwined combatants. His mistmaker pistol held in an outstretched, two handed, grip, he yelled something in Earupitan as he tried to line up a clear shot, one that wouldn’t maim or kill his partner.

  Clearly unconcerned about me now, the much smaller, weaker Human just five paces away from him, I slowly stepped backward. A stack of old, oddly-sized two-by-fours lay in a heap on the ground. Spotting a length of wood about four feet long, I snatched it up.

  Marshal Black, moving ahead and shifting this way and that, was still trying to line up a clear shot. I swung my makeshift bat hard—as if my very life depended on it, which it did—giving it everything I had. The sudden motion caught the Gap’s attention; he had just enough time to turn his head toward me before the four-foot length of timber struck his lower jawline with a solid Crack! Marshal Black’s legs immediately went wobbly. There was a problem with the lower quadrant of his gaping mouth. Now no longer properly attached—his jaw seemed akin to a swinging trapdoor. Most definitely, he was having a difficult time staying upright in his boots. I followed-up with another torque-wrenching swing; a second hard-driven smack to the Gap’s vulnerable, open, trapdoor-like mouth. What ligaments and muscles were still attached to the unsecured jaw were suddenly ripped apart—torn and shredded by the tremendous impact. It was a game-winning home run; a hit far up into the bleachers. As the alien’s disconnected detached jaw sailed high up into the rafters, the green-shirted Gap dropped down—dead before even hitting the ground.

  Jhally and I stood studying each other in the dim silence. Marshal Black appeared to have suffered a broken neck. Both Earupitan Marshal Service aliens lay dead on the ground separating us. I considered the four-foot-length of redwood, still firmly grasped in my hands, then the deadly mistmaker pistol Jhally held in his left hand.

  I dropped the two-by-four and raised my hands. “So . . . what now?”

  Jhally raised an extended jaw. “You made me shit and piss in a bucket for nearly two years.”

  I nodded. He was right; he’d been here since the very start of the invasion.

  “You made me sleep on a cot that was a foot too short for me.”

  Again, I merely nodded assent.

  “And the food . . .”

  “Look,” I said, interrupting him, “I’m sorry. In my own defense, you . . . your people, invaded our world. Killed millions. And today, they continue to torture, sometimes kill, even more Humans. And, probably worse . . . you’ve turned us against one another. So, if you’re going to use that thing, best you get on with it. I won’t beg for my life. I won’t grovel.”

  Jhally seemed to be
considering my words.

  What I could not understand, though, was why Jhally, my prisoner for well over a year, chose to kill one of his own kind versus killing me, his Human captor. I broke the extended silence with another question: “Your chain . . . you figured out how to unlock the shackle on your leg?”

  Jhally nodded. “It took me all of one night to file through the metal ankle band. I was never actually a prisoner here.” He gestured over to the workbench, at the various tools populating the pegboard panel.

  “In retrospect, I guess a shorter chain was called for,” I said.

  A phlegmy laugh escaped outward through the alien’s snout. “You always showed me respect. You were never cruel, not even unintentionally. In a way, I have enjoyed my time here. I have learned much.”

  “And you could have killed me at any time?”

  “Most definitely,” Jhally said.

  “So I suppose the million-dollar question is—”

  “Why haven’t I?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “As I told you before, the Earupitan’s home planet is Gahl. I want you to take a closer look at the two dead marshals lying before us.” He gestured with the pistol’s muzzle to the two dead aliens sprawled on the ground. “They are different gender males. Even you, a Human, can see their dissimilarities.”

  I studied them carefully, even though I’d noticed some differences before.

  “Now, look at me. Really look at me,” Jhally said.

  I did just that. First eyeing—scanning back and forth—the two Gap carcasses, then eyeing the Gap standing upright before me. I pointed to my own nose. “The noses, um, the nostrils are wider on both dead guys. And there’s something odd with their eyes, too. Perhaps they’re somewhat closer together?”

  “And several other traits, which are far more apparent to us sackdraggers than to any Human. The point is, Brian . . . I am not an Earupitan. I am Mannarian. And I am not from Gahl.”

  For the first time, I had a real glimmer of hope I wouldn’t be joining the two dead Gaps on the ground.

  “A mere one hundred-and-twenty of your years ago, a planet within a neighboring star system of Gahl’s—a planet called Blahn—was struggling with an environmental mishap of catastrophic proportions. In contrast to Earth’s present global warming, Blahn, and its Mannarian populace, was struggling with advanced global chilling. In just a few short years, my technically advanced planet . . . its populous evolved to the point where wars were a thing of the distant past, was coming to its end. In a desperate attempt to save the few that remained alive on Blahn, massive interstellar crafts—hundreds of them, each not so different in approach to Earth’s early Noah’s Ark, were sent off into the darkness of space with the hope of finding a new, suitable, home planet. I am the direct descendant of the Mannarians aboard one such ship. Two hundred thousand of my kindred miraculously found a compatible world, one called Gahl. One with a nearly identical environment to Blahn’s, before the fatal global chilling set in. The planet’s indigenous people, the Earupitans, were quite similar to our own species, as well. But their society was far more backward . . . a barbaric people. Less intelligent, but we assimilated with them as best we could. Still, for the most part, we were ostracized. Relegated to the slums; our females taken, used for . . . terrible things. All the while, advancement in technology on Gahl, thanks to the Mannarians, was happening at an astounding rate. A bad combination, though; new technology without the proper mindset to wield it wisely.”

  I said, “I’ve often wondered why you were so forthcoming to me. So easily provided such detailed information. Hell, without your help, we never would be able to repair those spacecraft. But you weren’t a traitor; at least, not to your own kind. Not really.”

  “The Earupitans have taken our assimilation for granted. And, true enough; many Mannarians did become fully assimilated within the past century. But full assimilation was not for all of us. We Mannarians are a patient people.”

  “Yeah? So, what then is your endgame? Will we simply be exchanging one alien enemy for another?”

  “That is a good question,” Jhally said, tossing the mistmaker pistol across the expanse between us. I caught it in one hand.

  “We need to move fast. These two will soon be missed. The location of their HovT will soon be tracked to this address. Hurry, help me get their bodies back out into their vehicle.”

  Remembering Ronald Gant, and the maroon minivan pulled off to the side of the road only a quarter-mile away, I said, “First, give me a second.” Hurrying to the barn doors I peered out, hearing the roar above me before seeing it. Too late, another HovT was already descending down from above. Shit!

  chapter 9

  I tucked the mistmaker into the back of my jean’s waistband before heading outside into the bright sunlight. My mind raced. What the hell am I going to say to them? Oh, you’re looking for your two comrades. Sure thing, they’re lying dead in the barn . . . here, let me show you . . .

  I shielded my eyes against the swirling cyclone of dust being stirred up by the descending HovT, blinking away the grit from my eyes before shooting a glance toward the distant Lake Gulch road. The maroon minivan was gone.

  The HovT settled onto the dirt drive, the gull-winged doors on both sides of the craft opening up. Two Gap marshals climbed out, then reached back inside the cabin to retrieve their Stetsons.

  “Morning, fellas,” I said, offering them a warm smile and a half-hearted wave. “Like Grand Central Station around here today.”

  They stared back at me blank-faced, neither of them getting my ill-attempt at humor. One of the Gaps said, “I am Marshal Grip. This is Marshal Stone. Marshals Black and Clark . . . you will take us to them now.”

  “They’re somewhere here on the property. Not real sure where . . . exactly. You’re free to take a look around . . . maybe start in the house?”

  Both Gaps looked toward the half-opened doors into the barn. “No. We will look inside the barn,” Marshal Grip said.

  Of course you will, I thought. I’m sure Ronald Gant gave you a full report. Gesturing toward the barn doors, I said, “Mi casa es su casa.”

  Marshal Stone said, “This is a barn . . . not a house. And you will speak English in our presence.” The two Gap marshals then strode forward, stopping when the barn doors before them abruptly slid all the way open. Surprisingly, Marshal Black, wearing a green cowboy shirt, seemingly emerged from the darkness behind him. But I knew Marshal Black actually lay in a heap, several paces deeper inside the barn. This Marshal Black was actually Jhally, now dressed in the dead alien’s clothes.

  “What are you doing here?” Jhally asked, speaking in an authoritative voice I was unaccustomed to hearing.

  Marshals Grip and Stone came to attention, both wearing looks of astonishment on their reptilian faces.

  “You’re Jhall Doulk Hargoth!” Marshal Stone exclaimed in surprise. His eyes looked close to popping out of his head.

  Poised to draw my weapon, I didn’t expect the two marshals to recognize Jhally—not after more than a year’s absence.

  “I asked you a question: “What are you doing here?” Jhally asked.

  “Commander . . . there was a . . . citizen’s report, taken this morning. Suspicious behavior. And Marshals Black and Clark are not responding to our communication hails.”

  “Of course, they aren’t. This is a covert operation. Blackout conditions for comms here.”

  “You . . . sir, were reported dead. It has been over a year.”

  “Do I look dead to you? Do you think two lowly-ranked marshals are privy to all the clandestine goings-on within the EMS?”

  Both marshals shook their heads, speechless.

  “Your presence here has compromised this important operation. I will have to report your intrusion to the Assembly of Five.”

  “No . . . I assure you, sir, that will not
be necessary. I . . . we . . . will say nothing of what we saw—”

  Jhally raised a clawed palm to silence him. “What you saw? What did you see?”

  “Nothing! We saw nothing?”

  “And my presence here?”

  “We were never here . . . we saw no one.”

  Jhally eyed Marshal Grip. “You, Marshal Grip, your actual name is Mahl Prothan Dron, yes?”

  The Gap nodded enthusiastically.

  “You were a subordinate of mine . . . aboard the Situational Command Ship, Tasthmal 8. Yes, I definitely remember you. What was your position?”

  “I was a Soft Code Calibration Technician, sir . . . prior to being drafted into the EMS . . . as were most of us, after arriving here.”

  “Primarily involved with Prime Network coding?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Jhally shot a quick glance toward me, then toward the other Gap marshal, who wore a brass, engraved with the word STONE, nameplate over his breast pocket. “I have heard good things about both of you. You’re fine marshals, loyal and smart. So, I am enlisting both of you into the CAG.”

  “CAG, sir?” Stone asked.

  “Covert Actions Group, a very secret organization. An elite team with only the best-of-the-best within the EMS. You will report directly to me; to me only. Understand, breaking the code of silence will not only usher forth your deaths, but also those of your families, back on Gahl. Do you understand the gravity of your new directives?”

  The two Gap marshals stared momentarily at each other, then nodded their heads in unison.

  Jhally walked over to the two dead marshals’ HovT then waved a hand over a hidden sensor device situated above the passenger-side door. After a series of soft clicks, the gull-wing door began lifting up and Jhally leaned inside. A few moments later he straightened up, holding a small black device in one hand. I knew exactly what it was—a Task Beam Geo Locater Unit. All Gap crafts had them, including the five Shredders inside the barn, although those were disabled long ago. Similar to a car’s GPS unit, TBGLUs pretty much provided tracking coordinates for anywhere in the known Galaxy, and did so within mere millimeters.