“Two things—One, no one uses their real name here. The Gaps have been known to put listening devices all over the place; bugs—part of their ongoing search for subversive Humans. So come up with a historical figure’s name. One you find interesting, or can relate to, and let me know as soon as possible.”
“Got it. And what’s the other thing?”
“Every one of these Takebacks has what I call skin in the game—”
Karen nodded. “I know all about that. Matt told me. Basically, it allows you to blackmail each of the Takebacks members with incriminating evidence. Like a video of them doing something illegal in the eyes of the EMS.”
“That’s right,” I said.
“So you want me to do something that could get me killed? Leave my daughter with no living parent?”
“That’s why you should think long and hard about what I’m asking of you. Truth is, we’ve put the cart before the horse in your case. You already know enough to foil our plans and get us executed. I’m trusting you.”
“Earhart.”
“What?”
“Amelia Earhart. That’s my pseudonym choice. Will that work?”
“Yeah, I like it.” I then waited for her to answer the more important question—question number two.
“I’m in. How soon do I need to get this done?”
“Tomorrow,” I said. “And I know just the thing you’ll be doing.”
—————
When it was my turn, which was dead last, to sit in the cockpit of Shredder Five, I was as excited as a six year old on his first trip to Disney World. The cockpit’s seating arrangement had one pilot sitting behind the other. The space was tight, but since a Human is much smaller in size than the typical Gap pilot, there was ample room for me to move around. Jhally, seated in the forward seat, was positioned lower than me. Even so, I had to really sit up straight and scoot a tad forward in order to see over his shoulders to view the various controls. There was little similarity to what I was used to in the F-16 fighter jets I’d piloted in the past. In them, the side-stick controller was placed at my right, my movements interpreted by the flight control computer. On the left sat the throttle stick and the landing gear’s controls. I’d also had a heads-up display projected on a clear panel in front of me.
“What we see before us, Brian,” Jhally said, “is a highly intuitive spacecraft interface. This onboard computer does much more than what you were used to on your primitive, atmosphere-required crafts. The Shredder has only one tactile node the pilot needs to be concerned with.” Glowing blue, he gestured a clawed finger toward the projected, three-dimensional sphere hovering several inches above his lap. “Let me show you how to manipulate it.” Bringing his right hand closer to the virtual ball, it seemingly interpreted the approach and jumped into the curvature of his palm. As he moved his hand—either right or left, or up and down—the sphere followed his movements as if, somehow, it was a part of him.
“Every movement of your hand, your individual finger digits, will have an effect on the sphere. Also, there is tactile touch—by squeezing the sphere you can control certain functions of the craft. Alternately, by spreading your fingers wider, expanding the sphere other functions are controlled. I will demonstrate them. But first, let me show you how to power on the vessel’s argon boost drive to make a controlled lift off.”
Within minutes, Jhally had the Shredder in the air—making slow circles and figure eights within the barn’s confines. At first, my attention was drawn to the timber crossbeams, sitting right above us, as I stared upward through the canopy. I quickly realized Jhally was a master at the controls, easily keeping the Shredder positioned exactly where he wanted it to be. My eyes took in the glowing indicators and virtual levers. How on earth will I learn to fly this thing in just a few days? I wondered.
As if reading my mind, Jhally said, “I am sure all this must look daunting to you. But it is actually quite simple. I will show you only what you need to know at first.”
I nodded, even though Jhally couldn’t see me seated behind him. Glancing out the side of the canopy, I could see those below gazing up at us. Waving down, they all waved back to me. I signaled to Donny.
“Do me a favor, Jhally.”
“Yes, Brian?”
“As soon as Donny gets the rear barn doors open . . . fly us out and into the night . . . give me a real demonstration of what this thing can do. Just stay within my property lines.”
chapter 19
It was close to four o’clock in the morning when I finally made it to bed after my first flight training inside the Shredder. I hadn’t been asleep for more than an hour when something, maybe a sound, or maybe a movement, stirred me awake. I heard Mort’s low growl coming from his usual spot next to me on the floor. Then I saw a dark shape, looming at the open window on the other side of the room. Without taking my eyes off the early morning visitor, I slid a hand beneath my pillow where I found the butt of the mistmaker. Since I typically left my bedroom window wide open at night, the dark figure had little trouble entering. Already partially inside—he appeared to be straddling the windowsill, one leg in and one leg out. I said, “You move an inch farther into this room and I’ll send you straight to hell.”
The dark figure stayed perfectly still as I fumbled for the bedside light, nearly knocking the lamp over before getting it switched on.
“Jhally? What the hell!”
The alien looked back at me through hooded eyes. I watched as he teetered on the sill, as if he were drunk, or high, or something. He responded with two words, “Need help . . .” then he toppled over and crashed onto the floor. I stared at his prone, unconscious body for several moments. What the hell? Then the stench hit me. A foul odor—one I instinctively knew was associated with decomposing flesh.
I hurried over to him, trying to assess what his illness might be. Unfortunately, I knew next to nothing about Gap physiology. Using two fingers, I pried open an eyelid and found a fixed lizard eyeball staring back, albeit one still reactive to the light. Pupils of this alien species are vertically oblong in shape and span the entire width of the iris. I next placed a hand on Jhally’s scaly forehead. His skin most definitely felt warm. Truth was, I had no idea what the core body temperature of a Gap normally was supposed to be. Was their body’s temperature similar to a Human’s since they also were warm-blooded creatures? In the end it was the overwhelming smell of decay that led me to the crux of the problem. I saw the exposed prosthesis, between the hem of his pant leg and his shoe. Scurrying back to my bedside table, I pulled open the top drawer where I kept an old, Air Force-issue, Ontario Survival Knife. Older than me, it was in good condition since I kept it well-oiled and sharpened. Sliding it free from its sheath, I then went to work on Jhally’s pant leg, slicing through the fabric from ankle to just above the knee. I gagged, smelling putrid flesh. I immediately saw the problem. There, right above the prosthesis, Jhally’s stump was discolored. A dark brown in color, I watched as oozing puss dripped onto the floor.
“You’ll have to remove the infected portion of my leg,” Jhally said, his faint voice weak. His eyes remained closed.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me your stump was infected like this? Why wait till the damn thing’s a festering mess?” I knew my incensed irritation wasn’t helping him any, but for shit’s sake, I wasn’t a doctor. Jhally dying here on my bedroom floor would be a big problem.
He swallowed, attempting again to speak. “This time . . . do not . . . suture the . . . stump.”
“What?”
“Leg . . . will grow . . . back, if not . . . sutured.” Jhally’s head tilted upward, his breathing slow but steady as he drifted into deep unconsciousness. I sat back and stared at the putrefied stump, Matt’s old prosthesis still attached.
I was the one who’d first found Jhally over a year back, when aerial reconnaissance missions were routine over Castle Rock
, and probably everywhere else in the world. Seeing distant smoke, I saddled up Patty, one of my two still-living mares, and rode out to see what had happened. The still-smoldering spacecraft was a half-buried crumpled mess. From my mount atop Patty, I could see the canopy was open. Clicking my tongue, I coaxed Patty a bit closer until I could see within the cockpit. One alien had survived, the copilot had not. Jhally, seated in the forward portion of the wrecked craft, watched me as I dismounted and slowly approached. I’d brought along my BRNO 800. It’s an rare double-barreled weapon that had both a twelve gauge shotgun barrel above, and a standard rifle barrel below it—the best of both worlds. But the rifle was ridiculously heavy.
I dismounted and leveled both barrels at the alien’s head. Then, peering farther into the cockpit, I could see that the alien’s foot and lower leg had been mangled in the crash. I assessed what needed to be done. It involved making another round trip back to the ranch. Returning in my Bobcat, instead of on Patty, I brought an assortment of tools along with me—including a shovel, a medical kit, and a sharply honed, log-splitting ax. I figured I’d have to sever the alien’s limb just below the knee. If the Gap died in the process, I really didn’t care. I’d just bury the alien, along with his Shredder, right here in this pasture.
Mort, now licking Jhally’s face, brought me back to the here and now. The dog liked the alien, which explained why he didn’t go batshit crazy when the Gap attempted to crawl through the open window.
I turned my attention back to Jhally’s smelly, putrefied stump. I supposed using my log-splitting ax a second time would be counter-productive. Before, I didn’t care what damage I might cause the alien. Hell, at the time I found my brutal hacking away at the damaged limb even somewhat cathartic. But things were different now. Jhally was a crucial member of the Takebacks. Without his help going forward, our plans were in jeopardy. I decided I needed a hacksaw. A hacksaw and that bottle of Jack I had on a shelf in the kitchen cupboard. I’d already decided there was no way I was going to hack off a limb while sober. But first I had to try to drag this alien’s near dead weight into the bathroom and get him into the tub. This was going to be messy.
Two hours later, his wound cleaned and bandaged but not sutured, Jhally was sound asleep in my brother’s old bedroom. He appeared to have come through the impromptu surgery well enough. Clearly, Gaps were a hearty species. Perhaps it was due to having the three, versus two, chromosomes I mused. In the end, I played it safe and removed a good portion of his leg, including his knee joint. Since doctor’s prescriptions were a thing of the past, and drugs now unregulated, I already had a good stock of both antibiotics and pain meds on hand. I had to guess what dosage to use on a typical Gap, Throwing the proverbial dice; I simply doubled whatever dosage was recommended on the bottles. I wondered if Jhally’s leg really would grow back. I knew if typical lizards’ tails were cut off they would, in fact, grow back. Perhaps the alien Gap invaders really were related somehow to our domestic, lowly, home-spun reptilian critters.
—————
Bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, I was in my truck, racing toward town. An earlier phone call, from Gap Marshal Steel, let me know my presence was required at the OEC building. I was to be interviewed by none other than Sleept Vogthner himself, the Gap’s North American Sector Chancellor of Communications. I’d given little thought to the whole Dalm Mor Stroph and Charles the bull fiasco since yesterday.
I pulled into the OEC building’s parking lot, maneuvering my oversized F-250 into a space better suited to hold an economy car than a big truck. Before climbing out, I watched nearby comings and goings of both Humans and Gaps. It occurred to me that upon entering this facility, I might not be exiting it any time soon—if ever. Getting out, I headed for the entrance. I felt, then heard, a familiar rumbling vibration penetrating down from above, as a Milonge Bi-Hull transport descended and landed atop the building’s rooftop. Dollars to donuts it was Sleept Vogthner, Chancellor of Communications, arriving to interview Matt, Donny, and me. Shit!
chapter 20
I entered the OEC building so deep in thought I didn’t notice the three Gap marshals. Standing side by side in the corridor, they presented an impenetrable blockade in front of me.
“Hold up, citizen,” said the Gap on the left. His name tag read, CROSS. “State your full name . . . what your business is here today.” Marshal Cross accessed his ear puck’s virtual HUD screen. Using a long, curled nail, he readied to enter the information, his eyes met mine.
“Brian Polk, and I have an appointment. You fellas called me this morning.”
Hearing my name, the three Gaps stared at me with renewed interest. Marshal Cross began tapping on his ear puck HUD with a little more gusto.
“Stand to the side. Let these people through.”
I did as asked. Four Humans moved past me, each giving me a quick glance in the process. Their darting eyes revealed their internal thoughts: What did he do to get himself in such hot water? Better him than me.
“Ah . . . Captain Brian Polk!” A Gap was halfway down the staircase to my left—descending with uncommon agility for someone so large. His voice was an octave higher than most Earupitans, his diction one a Harvard English professor would envy. None of the typical southern twang to this guy’s voice. It was Sleept Vogthner, the Gap’s Chancellor of Communications. Today, instead of wearing the customary blue jeans and snap-button cowboy shirt, he wore a tailored dark-gray business suit, with a striped red and blue silk tie. Stepping onto the waxed linoleum floor, I noticed his dress shoes were polished to a mirror-like shine.
Gesturing at the three marshals with an irritated wave of his hand, he said, “Don’t you have something to do? Go!”
His smile returned as he approached me. Tilting his head, he held out a clawed hand for me to shake. That’s a new one, I thought. I couldn’t remember a time when any Gap purposely had physical contact with a Human, other than with a clenched fist or the toe of a boot.
“So very good to meet you. May I call you Brian . . . or do you prefer Captain Polk?”
“Um, Brian is fine. I’ve been out of the service for well over three years now,” I said, though I had little doubt the Chancellor already knew everything about me, including my military background.
“I so appreciate you coming in today for this little visit,” presenting his outstretched palm before me. “Shall we?”
We climbed the stairs together in silence. Halfway up to the top landing he hesitated. “Brian, I would like you and me to be friends. Do you think that is possible? Earth Human . . . friends, with an alien, Earupitan dignitary? Is that even remotely possible?”
Fuck no! I thought, though I tried to look as if I were pondering the question. “Sure, anything is possible, I guess,” I lied.
The chancellor’s expression turned pensive. “Truth be known, Brian, I don’t have many friends on this planet.” Smiling, he added, “Of either species.”
We reached the top of the stairs on the second floor. “This way. Familiar with this building, Brian?” he asked.
“A little. Though I think all my business before took place on the first floor.”
Sleept nodded. “Yes, down on the first floor is where most Human services are located. On this floor you’ll find our Technology and Health Services departments.” He gestured toward a series of large, floor-to-ceiling tinted windows on our left. Behind them, I could just barely make out a series of eight, glowing, three-dimensional rectangles—each one the approximate size of an old-fashioned phone booth. All were spinning round and round on their axis in perfect unison with one another.
“This is our Quantum Manifold System. It’s comprised of those eight spinning Causal Intelligence Nodes. Think of Causal Intelligence as, well, as the great-great-great-grandfather of what you may remember as AI, or Artificial Intelligence, here on Earth. Needless to say, this system is incredibly robust. Computing power your Human scientis
ts would ascribe to being nothing short of Godlike. With its sheer number-crunching capabilities, its ability to decipher mathematical probabilities, is . . . what is the Human term for it? Oh yes, mind- blowing!”
I already knew much of what Chancellor Sleept Vogthner was telling me. What he failed to mention was the Quantum Manifold System was also the computing power behind the Gap’s Prime Network system. The same system my new covert agent, Marshal Grip, had successfully hacked into just two days prior. We stood silently together for a few more moments, watching the glowing phone-like booths flip round and round.
“Let’s keep going, Brian. Next, we have our Health Services Department. Services utilized by us . . . aliens to you. Of course, Humans still have their own physicians and medical facilities elsewhere.”
We were now walking past one open door after another. Like individual hospital rooms, Gap patients were curled up on beds. Medical devices that looked highly advanced populated the back walls of each room. I thought of Jhally. How he would have benefited from such cool technology on his festering leg. We slowed as we approached another room. Here, too, the door was open. Inside were two Gap medical personnel conversing with a patient sitting up in bed; a very large patient—probably eight-feet-tall in height. What I found most surprising was that Dalm Mor Stroph, the carnival-show freak who’d tried to lift poor Charles the bull over his head, was now doing his best to converse with two Gap doctors.
“This is an interesting case. Dalm, here, was apparently struck in the neck by a cow’s horn.”
I almost corrected the chancellor. Charles was a bull, not a cow. But I kept my mouth shut.
“His tongue was lacerated, and his brain stem pierced. Both will be as good as new in a matter of days. And with the help of that Quantum Manifold System we passed down the hall, we will be able to virtually reconstitute all his disrupted synapses. His memories will return showing far more detail even more vivid than ever before.”
The Hidden Ship Page 11