The Hidden Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “Listen carefully. Marshal Stone, you will pilot your HovT vehicle, but first remove its TBGLU. You will be following behind Marshal Grip, who will be piloting Marshals Clark and Black’s HovT vehicle.”

  “Where will we be going, sir?” Stone asked.

  “To a location no less than twenty miles distance from here . . . you can decide where. Only then will you will reinstall the TBGLU. Make it look like Marshals Black and Clark were en route back to the Center when they crashed into a large tree. Or maybe a brick wall . . . you can decide. Use your best judgment.”

  Grip said, “But sir, where should I say Clark and Black actually are?”

  Jhally made an exasperated expression. “They’re gone . . . must I explain everything to you? Can you not think for yourself? Maybe they deserted. It won’t be the first time something like that has happened.”

  “Yes sir, um . . .”

  “What is it, Stone?” Jhally asked, feigning increased annoyance.

  “Well . . . where are they? Actually? What has become of the two marshals?”

  “Do you know what happens to Earupitan traitors? What the judgment would be by the Assembly of Five?” Jhally asked.

  “An Endless Death, sir?” Stone replied.

  “That is exactly right, An Endless Death . . . ten years of confinement . . . and the most horrific pain imaginable. As if every nerve ending within your body is on fire. The eyes feel it the worst. That’s why a prisoner’s arms and legs are secured . . . to keep them from clawing out their own eyeballs.”

  The two marshals looked as if they were going to be sick.

  Jhally, stepping closer to Marshal Stone, brought his long snout within inches of the other’s. He stared into his eyes for several long moments. Jhally next moved over to Grip and stared long into his eyes also. “Are both of you loyal to the cause? Or are you traitors, like Clark and Black?”

  “No sir!” they both exclaimed in unison.

  I could see they meant it. Both feared for their lives, and the lives of their families. Even knowing that everything Jhally said was total bullshit; I, too, was nearly convinced by his words. What was most apparent to me was the difference between the two species, Gahl and Blahn. I also knew I would need to keep a close eye on the far more intelligent Jhally. Sure, our objectives may be in alignment today, but what would happen when they weren’t?

  “Marshal Grip. You will have the most important job of your career . . . of your life. But I’m not convinced you are up for the task.”

  “I am . . . I assure you, Commander, I am!”

  Jhally slowly nodded. “As a Soft Code Calibration Technician, you still have full access rights to the Prime Network?”

  “No . . . those rights were removed—”

  “Then I have no use for you. For either of you.” Jhally turned to me. “Human . . . you may terminate these two.”

  Pulling the mistmaker weapon free from the small of my back, I pointed it at Marshal Grip.

  “Wait . . . I will get access. It will not be a problem for me to do so. I promise,” Grip said.

  “Good. That is the kind of dedication I am looking for; an agent within the Covert Actions Group. You have three directives. First, you will alter the TBGLU tracking records from both HovT vehicles. Neither was ever here. Second, you will remove the citizen complaint record that prompted the original dispatch. It never existed. And third, and this is the most important . . . you will designate this property . . .” Jhally turned to me . . . “How many acres?”

  “Um, close to six thousand acres, most of it south of the barn.”

  Jhally refocused his attention back on Grip. “You will designate this entire property as Code 5 . . . off-limits to all aerial geo-scans. In fact, Earupitan crafts will have to detour around this plot of land henceforth.”

  “Six thousand acres?” Grip asked, unable to hide the trepidation in his voice.

  “I didn’t say this would be easy. A true CAG agent lives for this kind of challenge. In the future, I expect nothing less from either of you. Only then will you be rewarded. Only then will you achieve rapid promotions, and all that comes with the positions of high command.”

  “Sir . . . ,” I said, interrupting Jhally.

  “What is it, human?”

  “There is one more directive . . . for your Covert Actions Group agents. The leader of the Friends For Friends, Ronald Gant, is the citizen that prompted the original report. He’ll need to be dealt with.”

  chapter 10

  Two days had elapsed since Gauz Za Chiv, Commander Level 2 of the Earupitan Landing Forces, first arrived at his latest post assignment in North America. The sector was in the township of Armonk, New York. He maneuvered his HovBB several feet higher so his troops could get a better view of him, their superior, as they marched down the gangway of the lander ship. Coined a Crusher, these boxy ships came in two models, the smaller Mini Crusher and the much larger with superior armaments, XL5 Crusher. Neither was streamlined in the least—but did their respective jobs well enough, providing rapid deployment of his troops from Situational Command Ship, Alcon, now above them orbiting Earth.

  This morning he would be dispatching his troops to begin a round-up of all local Human inhabitants. He also would be supervising the unloading of various atomizer dome sub-components, those previously disassembled from the now-totally deserted township of Valle d’Aosta, Italy. Already, he and his subordinates were becoming accustomed to handling the operation, an ingenious, multi-phase process developed years earlier by Earupitan tacticians far smarter than himself. Now in the early test aspect of Phase II, various small townships around the globe were transitioning. Selected townships, where Earupitans and Humans shared the same, physical, earthly landscape under the strict control of satellite OECs, and their Earupitan Marshal Service personnel.

  Down the ramp they exited, his small army of well-armed, green-skinned killers. Dressed in red and black uniforms, each soldier wore a shoulder crest patch with his unit attached, what translated to Hammer Fists—the symbol of a clawed fist, with a blazing comet streaking through space behind it. Slung over every shoulder was a lightweight, yet deadly, Scatter weapon. Chiv, puffing out his chest, goosed the small one-person HovBB craft to rise up higher. Old, clearly in need of a tune up, the rebelling hovercraft made an assortment of odd gurgles and farting sounds. Heads turned, curious expressions on the soldiers’ faces, as they continued down the ramp and appraised what surely seemed to be their leader’s gastrointestinal issues.

  Chiv, raising a hand, gave them a half-hearted wave. He then scooted off in the direction of the recently designated construction site, now cleared of trees and large rocks. He arrived amidst three assembly bots hard at work. They resembled huge mechanical bipedal creatures—albeit headless ones—towering four times the height of those in his troops. Pleased to see that the atomizer dome sub-components were already partially assembled, Chiv figured the dome was about one-third of the way completed. He glanced over at one of the larger curved segments nearby, at its blackened interior façade. Only soot and grit still remained of the Humans who’d once lived within the township of Valle d’Aosta.

  Chiv smiled to himself. Though he was quite certain the actual atomizing was painless, being rounded up at the muzzle of a Scatter weapon—then marched to what surely led to their deaths—was not so painless.

  He first heard, then saw, a black aerodynamic craft descending down fast from above. Chiv recognized it as one of the High Order’s personal StarCatchers as it noiselessly swooped and circled above. Chiv narrowed his eyes. This would not be good. Since it was not a military ship, it must hold dignitaries, of some sort, coming to assess his progress. He quickly sent out a message, via his ear puck, to his junior officers: Look sharp! Visitors en route!

  Chiv quickly landed his HovBB. No way would he be seen riding around in the thing. Fortunately, the sleek slip-craf
t had set down close by. He hurried across the rough terrain, mindful of the stomping assembly-bots. He wouldn’t be the first to unintentionally get crushed by one of them.

  Waiting for the StarCatcher’s hatch to open, Chiv pulled and tugged his uniform into place. He then proceeded to flick away any lint, or tiny errant fragments of Earth’s grimy soil, aware that in order to impress whoever was inside the craft he must look his very best.

  The forward hatch of the glossy black ship slid open without even a whisper of sound. With one following the other, three shimmering gold-and-silver-robed Earupitan dignitaries descended down the narrow ramp. Chiv’s breath caught in his chest as a sudden realization took hold. Between the two lesser cohorts was none other than his Eminence, Overlord Skith, himself. There was no higher dignitary within the whole Earupitan Empire than his Eminence.

  Chiv, lowering down to one knee, settled his gaze near the ground. He warily watched as the three pairs of approaching legs came to a stop before him.

  “Rise, and be quick about it!”

  Chiv did as told, offering a welcoming greeting to the three dignitaries. “Welcome . . . I am honored by your presence,” he said, his mind reeling. Why are they here? Had he committed mistakes already? Perhaps his deployment had been too slow, or this location not to their liking? He heard Overlord Skith speak for the first time.

  “What is your name and rank?”

  “I am Gauz Za Chiv, Commander, Level 2 of the Earupitan Landing Forces.” Chiv met the overlord’s gaze. Smaller of the three before him, he looked to be in his mid-seventies, which was middle-aged for an Earupitan. His face held an unpleasant expression, as though smelling something foul.

  “What is wrong with your eyes? Do you purposely insult me . . . mock me?”

  Before Chiv could answer, explain his dreaded sleepy-eye condition, one of the overlord’s cohorts leaned in and whispered something in his Eminence’s ear. The overlord, waving his underling away, gave Chiv another irritated expression.

  “We are implementing an alteration to our Phase II processes . . . an alteration that will be implemented immediately, worldwide. Starting here, with this first of the North American Sector undertakings.”

  Chiv nodded. “I am honored to be of service, your Eminence.”

  “Immediately following the hygenicide of each and every Human inhabitant of this local township, you will then invade the local Oversight and Enforcement Center. Your troops will take control of the center and secure the center’s Quantum Manifold System.”

  Chiv, not understanding the reasoning behind this directive, said, “OECs have always come under the purview of the local marshals. Sir, they will not take kindly to our intrusion—”

  “Are you refusing the assignment, Commander?” Overlord Skith asked, his tone menacing.

  “No, no, of course not, Eminence. My troops will take control of the local OEC.”

  Overlord Skith nodded his approval. “Good. You will ensure all the marshals have assembled and are accounted for.”

  “Yes, your Eminence.”

  “At that point, they will share in the same fate as the local Humans. They will be shot dead, their bodies atomized within the same dome. You will instruct your troops to never speak of this . . . not to anyone. Word of this cannot be spread to other townships, or to other OECs. To do so will result in ten years of confinement, with the most horrific pain imaginable.”

  “You speak of An Endless Death,” Chiv murmured.

  “Not just for the blabber mouth, but for each one of you.”

  “No one will ever speak of this, I assure you, your Eminence. But . . . may I enquire why? The removal of the marshals?”

  “It is not your place to question the directives of our leader,” one of his cohorts said.

  “It is fine, I will answer this soldier’s query. Phase I for the most part has been successful. Human uprisings are now a thing of the past. The marshals, and others of their kind, have done an admirable job maintaining civility while effectively assisting with the immunization process for those here on the ground, as well as for those waiting patiently up in high orbit.”

  The overlord stared out at the wooded landscape. “Unfortunately, there have been those within local OEC stations who have bonded with Humans, forgetting our purpose here. Where their loyalties belong. No, for this planet to truly become our home, we must take every precaution. I want the marshals dead. I also want each of the sector chancellors of communications dead. Kill the Humans first, then the others.” With that, the three Earupitan dignitaries headed back to their vessel. Moments later, the craft elevated far above the ground and sped away. For the next hour he watched the steady progress as the assembly bots completed the atomizer dome.

  In the distance, the first of the captive Humans were now being ushered through the wooded forest, where they would be barricaded into an awaiting holding pen. Chiv tried to ignore their screams, their pleas for help. But today, their voices sounded even more irritating. Chiv climbed into his HovBB and weaved his way through the trees until he reached them. He guesstimated there were close to two hundred Humans, most still dressed in their bedclothes. What was their funny word for it? Ah, yes, pajamas.

  Chiv signaled for a nearby foot soldier to come close. Leaning out, he spoke quietly, “I want them all shot . . . now! Their incessant noise is intolerable.”

  “Yes, sir, consider it done,” the foot soldier said.

  chapter 11

  Marshals Grip and Stone were now gone, off piloting the two HovT vehicles to an unspecified location. Supposedly, they were en route to crash one vehicle into a tree, or maybe a wall. Next, they would report the other two marshals missing, most likely being deserters. We’d find out soon enough if Stone and Grip fully embraced their becoming new Covert Actions Group agents. Hopefully, within twenty-four hours, Marshal Grip would find a way to soft code the necessary changes to the aliens’ Prime Network.

  We needed to get rid of both bodies before other visitors dropped by unannounced. Standing above Marshal Black, sprawled on the ground in front of me, I was mildly intrigued by the prospect of trying out the mistmaker weapon now. I’d never fired one before. Jhally quietly stood off to the side. I pointed the muzzle of the weapon at Marshal Black’s inert body and, on pulling the trigger, a bright-blue bolt of plasma energy shot into the dead marshal’s top right shoulder. The effect was not what I expected. I leaned over and assessed the damage. Sure enough, a hole was there—right where I’d pointed the muzzle. But I expected his entire shoulder to be taken off, turned into mist. But the damage was no more than a small through-and-through hole, no larger than what a .45 caliber slug would have inflicted. I looked up to Jhally. “Is there another setting on this weapon that I’m not aware of?”

  Jhally shook his head. “What exactly are you trying to do by shooting a dead carcass?”

  “Get rid of the bodies.”

  “With that plasma gun?”

  “Yeah . . . it’s a mistmaker. Turns organic material to . . . well, into nothing.”

  “It doesn’t work that way, Brian,” Jhally said. “The plasma charge diameter is 11.45 millimeters, which is close to a .45 caliber bullet. With that said, contact with organic flesh and bone material within the limited bore of such an energy strike will indeed create . . . a mist of sorts.”

  “I guess we could just bury them,” I said, giving a shrug then standing up. “I’ll take care of it. But first, I have a few more questions for you.”

  Jhally returned my stare.

  “What have you been doing when I’m not around? After you’ve removed the chain from your leg each night?”

  “I have found more . . . comfortable accommodations.”

  “Where?”

  “The structure on the adjacent property to the west. It is abandoned. It is a fine residence, with a kitchen, bathroom, and a bedroom with a large enough bed.
”

  When I glanced over at the shit bucket, sitting on the ground by the empty cot, Jhally produced one of his creepy grins, “Your two horses have ample bowel movements. In truth, I never once used that shit bucket.”

  “So I’ve been emptying that bucket, disgusted at needing to do so, for over a year now. While you’ve been lounging over at the Anderson’s old place?”

  “That is correct.”

  “Why wait till now to tell me all this?”

  “You never would have believed me. You had no reason to believe my intentions. Now, after forced confinement, seeing that I could have left here long ago, could have reported your actions, the theft of the five Shredders, and your subversive Takebacks team . . . you now must know I am not a threat.”

  “So what do you want then? To return home to Gahl, or maybe to Blahn?”

  “No, I want to . . . what is the phrase . . . join up?”

  I shook my head, not getting his meaning.

  “The Takebacks, I want to join the team.”

  —————

  A good distance into Polk property pasture land, I used my Skid Steer Bobcat, with its dirt bucket attachment, to excavate a deep-enough trench that Marshals Black’s and Clark’s bodies would probably never be found—at least, not within my lifetime. I was just finishing up with the final touches, flattening out the mound of dirt over the gravesite, when I noticed Jhally making his way across the pasture toward me. He was having a difficult time walking, wearing his far-too short prosthesis. I supposed it was now time we get him something that actually fitted his seven-foot tall frame. If my friend Mike Post found a way to order delivery of broken Shredders, he should be able to order one damn leg.