Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  “And pancakes?” Gordo said from right behind me.

  Hannig smiled. “First, I will materialize more coffee. We will need more cups. Breakfast will be a few minutes.” He disappeared into the passageway.

  “So what’s on the agenda this morning?” Lori asked. “Probably shouldn’t hang out here too long, not after last night, and especially not with the Wikk already taking people—don’t you think?”

  “I’ve got to piss,” Gordo said, interrupting and edging by me—sidestepping the table and heading into the passageway.

  “Don’t forget to flush!” Georgina said.

  “It flushes?” I asked.

  “No, just fucking with him,” she said.

  I looked back to Lori. “You’re right. We need to get out of here fairly soon. We’ll eat first and then handle one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “That target practice you suggested. I agree, familiarity with our equipment will be essential going into battle.”

  “Is that what we’re doing? Going into battle?”

  Gordo came out of the bathroom. “Thing doesn’t flush!”

  Ignoring him, I said, “I can’t stop seeing those little kids in Kenya. I’m hoping they’re still alive.”

  “Me too. “ She looked down into her cup. “Show me. Show me how to use all the weapons we’re taking with us. I’m just a cop, not military. But I want to be prepared, at least as much as I can be without years of training.”

  “We’ll give it a good couple of hours. Set up targets farther down the tunnel, and we’ll all take turns. How’s that sound?”

  * * *

  One hour later, our bellies full, we were each properly outfitted for combat. We all wore the same silver uniforms and shoes supplied by Hannig—who assured me the seemingly lightweight material was far more effective at protecting a person than anything that was man-made.

  “Yeah, but we’ll still need multiple pockets for extra mags and such. I’ve always worn a tactical vest . . . would feel naked going into battle without one.” I handed Hannig a combat helmet. It didn’t fit perfectly upon his odd-shaped head, but it would have to do. As advanced as he was technologically, he was still flesh and bone, and I knew war played no favorites.

  I’d rigged hanging tarps farther down the tunnel with life-sized, hand-drawn (I’m no artist, but I did what I could) pictures of the Wikk bugs upon big target circles. Ensuring the batteries in our TCAPS were adequate and we weren’t going to blow out our eardrums, we all took turns firing a multitude of weaponry. From semiautomatic handguns to fully automatic assault weapons, I took the team through the process of replacing empty magazines with fresh ones, changing selectors for safety mode, or going from semiautomatic to fully automatic where applicable. I explained the best practices for shooting stances and positioning of one’s hands. I was curious to see how Hannig would do with shooting a weapon—or if he would even participate. But he did, and he did surprisingly well. His child-like enthusiasm at hitting the Wikk target, and with repeated headshots, got him more than one round of applause from the rest of us. Joining him at his side, I said, “I’m surprised. That you’d want to participate in all this.”

  “Targets are not living, breathing, beings, Dominic.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Hannig seemed to be searching for the right words. “I have spent a fair amount of time researching your country’s origins. The Revolutionary War. Your ‘founding fathers.’” His eyes met mine. “Perhaps I’m discovering the true meaning of sacrifice. Nobody wanted to fight. To experience the terrible loss of their loved ones, their friends and families. Or to put themselves in harm’s way. To have principles is certainly fine, but to sacrifice for the greater good . . . that is a noble concept. One that is still quite foreign to my people.”

  I left it at that. Hannig would have to come to any decisions about personal involvement with violence all on his own.

  I knew the short time span of an hour or two was totally inadequate to get this team ready for what they were about to face. But it would have to do. The only thing that would be in our favor was the element of surprise. We’d have mere minutes to do what we needed to do—after that, the enemy would compensate and we’d either be dead or made prisoners. I was counting on Hannig to provide key intel on the alien ship’s layout and any weaknesses the vessel had, as well as the aliens themselves.

  I broke us down into three separate combat squads. Delta squad would include Caputo, Hannig and Elmo; Alpha squad would include Carlo, Matteo and Lori; and Bravo squad would include Gordo, Georgina and me. Team leaders would be Caputo, Lori and myself, of course.

  In the process of stowing all our weapons and gear into and on top of the Stryker vehicle, I heard Hannig’s voice within my comms. “Dominic, can I have a moment of your time? I’m in the control center.”

  “Roger that. Be there in a sec.”

  I found Hannig in his seat, staring up at one of the view screens. There were three of them active now, displaying three different news broadcasts. I didn’t immediately recognize the locations they were showing. But I did recognize the same kind of invasion tactics. A Wikk landing vessel—one of their shuttlecrafts descending fast somewhere over the U.S. A lone jet fighter, what appeared to be a U.S. F-35 Lightning, was banking hard left and then right in an attempt to evade the craft’s energy weapons—but in the end, it could not. There was a streak of blue light followed by a mid-air explosion. On the ground, the smoking wreckage from other recently downed fighters was strewn across the landscape. It seemed that anti-aircraft weaponry, and even our most advanced fighter jets, were no match for the Wikk technology. Like shooting fish in a barrel, anything that came near any of these Wikk landing ships would be easily destroyed.

  Now having landed, the shuttle’s hatch doors were open and scores of alien bugs scurried out in a blur of green. Within moments, terrified humans were being rounded up, roughly subdued and taken back into the vessel.

  “That one is Mexico City,” Hannig said.

  I focused on the next viewscreen, watching in horror, knowing what was coming. In the background, there was a large church or mission. Perhaps the end of religious services—the parishioners were being attacked upon exiting the structure. Again, complete families—parents with their children—were being rounded up with emotionless efficiency. I was thankful the sound was muted. Now the other two view screens depicted similar situations. One somewhere in Asia, maybe China. The other looked to be Russia. I felt sick to my stomach. In moments, the Mexico City attack was over. The Wikk ship was already taking off. The Mexican military or police hadn’t even had time to respond. The camera continued to record, now zooming in on something left on the sidewalk. It was a small stuffed animal—a pink teddy bear.

  “We can’t wait any longer. We have to—we have to do something to stop this,” I said.

  Hannig tapped at his console. He looked to be deep in concentration, and I wondered if he’d even heard me.

  “I am configuring the Watcher Craft for imminent liftoff.” Hannig looked up to me. “Dominic, much power will be required to deliver the separate vehicle onto the Wikk vessel. In essence, the Watcher Craft will configure a miniature wormhole, one that will be utilizing ultra-minute amounts of antimatter. We will have but one try. If the Wikk ship moves unexpectantly, or the calculations are off, even by a fraction, the Stryker will miss its target and materialize somewhere else, most likely out in open space.”

  I nodded. Without the equipment, the Stryker, we might as well scrub the mission. “Is the Wikk ship moving now?”

  A virtual 3D model of the Wikk ship appeared and slowly rotated above me. “Yes. In high orbit around Earth. But it’s moving at a constant velocity. So that shouldn’t be a problem, unless it accelerates or decelerates.” He rubbed his chin. A new furrow formed between his already-creased brows. “The question now is, where within the vessel do we send the Stryker to?” He tapped again at his console, and a moment later I
was looking at an open cross-section of the virtual ship. I hadn’t realized just how large a craft it actually was.

  Chapter 29

  Now, all crowded back into the Watcher Craft’s control center, we looked like some kind of futuristic warrior team, garbed in our silver suits and U.S. military gear. Up to this point, we hadn’t talked much about the mission itself. Perhaps I’d wanted to spare them any further stress until absolutely necessary. But now was the time. First up, we needed to become far more familiar with our enemy. I nodded toward Hannig.

  Hannig said, “System, please provide relevant background information on the Wikk.”

  System’s voice sounded as human as any of our own—friendly, albeit serious. “The Wikk are a mantid alien species. They originally evolved on an Earth-like planet some 180 light-years from Earth. On that planet, more accurately an exoplanet, designated as Wikkam, they arose from a lineage of predatory, insect-like creatures over a period of ten million years. Their lineage split from their closest insectile relative, the Slath, and, eventually reaching self-awareness, they progressed through many stages of primal civilization.

  “Interestingly, the Wikk evolution shows some parallels with humans’ last four million years of evolution in that the species became progressively more self-aware. They developed a form of record-keeping, then went through several stages of social organization—tribes, cities, states, global government, and so forth. One significant difference is that the Wikk mantid physiology does not support vocalized speech. Instead, they have refined their communication skills through the utilization of tonal clicks and an abdominal, drum-like bladder called a gortch, possessing a series of sinews that can be strummed, via a small seventh appendage, to produce variant tonal chords. That is how they communicate with one another.

  “And there are other departures from your human evolution, as well. For instance, the Wikk mantids have never experienced a major shift in their diet from that of their distant ancestors. Thus, they are exclusively carnivores. However, they have developed various forms of animal husbandry. Nowadays, due to their abundant population, their meals come almost exclusively from farms, whereon a faux experience of hunting animals in the wild is provided to them. The Wikk chase down their prey, their meals, in hoards, by the tens or even hundreds of thousands at a time. Quite a spectacle to see.

  “It is important to note that what the mantids call “animals” are actually different beings, various species that are consumed by the Wikk on their own cradle planet, or consumed on any of the planets they have visited. Some of these species can be considered intelligent, although the mantids seem unconcerned with this. They refer to them as animals, even though they establish a fairly sophisticated level of communications with them, at times. Recently, a few evolved mantid thinkers have caused a stir by declaring that some of these farmed species are indeed notably intelligent, that the masses of mantids are conveniently playing dumb not admitting it.

  “Regardless of the moral or ethical status of the Wikk mantids’ relationship to their prey, the fact remains they cannot survive without a fresh meat diet. In fact, they begin their life by nibbling on whatever warm-bodied animal their parents procure for them to eat. Said captured animals are alive and fully sentient, but paralyzed during the several weeks that the mantid larva feeds on them. The mantids have developed a myriad of ways to paralyze the prey they feed their young, each suited to a particular ‘animal’ species, developed after careful study. Some involve the use of toxins, present in the mantid’s saliva; others, the use of drugs developed in the laboratory. In yet other circumstances, paralysis is done by the administration of very powerful and very precise blows to the quarry’s head. In the case of captured humans, a relatively new species to the Wikk, the mantids are still exploring the best techniques to use to prepare ‘baby food’ from their carcasses.”

  Georgina said, “This is beyond disgusting. Do we really need to know the enemy’s eating habits?”

  Hannig answered her. “It is noteworthy that the Wikk species, as a whole, live to eat. It is the crux of their very existence.”

  System continued: “As for the mantid adults, they too enjoy a good serving of flesh. They don’t strictly require for it to be alive as long as it is fairly fresh. And, as previously stated, the animals they consume can be farmed, although nothing compares to the taste of freshly killed game. Or, even better yet, the taste of game that is still flailing and screaming while being torn apart by the mantid’s fearsome front legs, or by its elastic, yet bolt-cutter-like mouth. Within Wikk society, the mantids hold onto jobs not unlike humans on Earth—often taking on the same professions as their parents. This is especially true of the soldier mantids. Above all else, they fancy themselves to be hunters. Hunting parties are the means of entertainment on Wikkam. This species does not watch television.”

  Gordo said, “I think System just cracked a joke.”

  “This species is highly adept at ambushing their prey. Lying in wait, while staying perfectly still, for hours on end, is typical. On giving chase, their three muscular sets of legs translate to incredible sprint speeds, although they are relatively poor long-distance runners. Take note that the Wikk mantids may resort to the use of weapons, yet they vastly prefer—and consider it to be far more honorable—to hunt using only their natural physical strength and cunning to assail their prey. There are two primary senses the mantids rely on. First, they possess extremely sophisticated compound eyes that provide them with 330 by 290 degrees, horizontal by vertical fields of vision, leaving only a tiny blind-spot area. Furthermore, they have excellent depth perception, as well as dedicated image-processing circuitry in their eyes, though not in their brains. The mantids can sense movement slower than it actually is, which in turn translates to them being able to out-speed both their attackers and their prey. To many species, they appear to anticipate movements almost by magic. Finally, their eyes have a wide range of light receptors, which allows them to see a broad spectrum, from the far infrared all the way up to the ultraviolet, as well as to catch the polarization of light.”

  I felt movement close behind me; the warmth of someone subtly pressing into me. A glance back to my right told me it was Lori. She looked a little bored. We momentarily locked eyes and then she looked away, bemused. I realized it was her breasts, noticeably firm, that had pressed into my back. I knew then for sure that this attractive young woman was going to be trouble for me.

  “The relationship of mantids with sound is also interesting,” System continued. “Their hearing range is much wider than that of humans, going from 10 Hz up to 150 Hz, and they use that whole spectrum for both hunting and communication, allowing them to covertly speak with their peers at fairly long distances, as well as detect a wide range of prey. Perhaps their most interesting hunting technique involves the use of tonal cords. They are able to focus the tones these sinews produce with pinpoint accuracy. And they also can shut down their hearing organs in sync with the emission of external loud noises.”

  “I wish I could do that right now,” Gordo said. “I don’t know if I really want to hear all this shit.”

  “On a special note,” System continued, ignoring the interruption, “they can use their tonal cords to echolocate, stun their prey, and even jam a prey’s electronic communications. This may be relevant to your plan of attack.

  “Finally, not too different from your Praying Mantis insects here on Earth, the Wikk mantids were once subordinate to the females of their species. But over time, that is changing. Through continued social edification, male mantids have slowly achieved a more equal level of power within the Wikk civilization. However, as a species, mantids are still far from being completely egalitarian. Although not the norm, there are occasions, during the mating process, when the larger mantid female will, in fact, devour their male partner’s head.”

  “Okay, I think that’s enough,” I said, shutting down System’s endless diatribe. “Hannig, talk to us about the Wikk ship. What areas are most vulner
able to a surprise attack?”

  “And where are the prisoners being held?” Lori asked.

  Hannig stood, studying the virtual 3D model of the ship. “Yes . . . we’ll start with the many holding pens on the lower levels.” He pointed to the lowest midpoint of the vessel.

  Lori turned to me. “I hope you know what you’re doing, have some kind of plan in play here.”

  “Only the most basic of one. I know how to infiltrate an enemy stronghold. I know how to undermine an opposing force, even one with greater numbers. It won’t happen by brute force. We don’t have that. What we do have is stealth and the ability to bring the fight to them sporadically and unexpectedly, compartment by compartment. Guerilla warfare. We’ll take this ship a little at a time . . . that, or die trying.”

  Chapter 30

  “What kind of air will we be breathing in that Wikk ship?” Tito Caputo asked Hannig, who was tapping at a different console now over on the port side of the compartment.

  He looked up for a moment, thinking. “Dominic and I have discussed this. It is similar to Earth’s. A little richer in oxygen, though. Which is a good thing for humans. You may feel you have more energy and can concentrate a little better, at least until your bodies fully acclimate.”

  The small, virtual three-dimensional version of the Stryker vehicle was now hovering over his console. Hannig was manipulating what looked like a teardrop-shaped bubble around it.

  Someone had farted behind me. I didn’t hear it, but the smell was getting pretty bad.

  “Seriously?” Georgina said, sounding indignant. She looked around the confined space but at no one in particular. “You do realize we’re packed in here like sardines in a tin can, right? And that the bathroom is only five steps away? Asshole. Whoever you are.”

  No one else seemed to care. And then Lori placed a hand over her nose and mouth. She said, “So, this is it? We’re doing this like, pretty soon?”