Guardian Ship

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Upon entering the Retribution’s bridge, I found the remainder of our team pretty much lounging around; most were sitting atop consoles, since the Wikk weren’t big on chairs. Hannig was busy entering something into one of the control panels. Heads turned in my directions as I approached.

  Gordo was the first to greet me. “And our fearless leader returns from the dead!” He pulled me into a bear hug so tight that I felt a rib or two might break.

  Georgina scooted herself of her console and pulled me into a hug. “That was way too close a call, Dommy dear. Please don’t pull that sort of shit again for a while.” She released me, but kept me close. She looked into my eyes. “How are you really doing? You okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Thanks.” I kissed her cheek and move to where the others were congregating. Gary and Carlo were watching Hannig. “What all this?” I said.

  Finally Hannig stopped, giving the control board one more exaggerated tap of a button. He stood and looked at me. “I would like to hug you, Dominic. Dommy. If that would be alright?”

  “You don’t need to ask. We’re friends, right?”

  I returned the alien man’s embrace, realizing just how slight a figure he really was.

  “Thank you, Dommy.”

  “No, you’re the one who deserves all the thanks, Hannig. We all owe you a debt we’ll never come close to repaying.”

  He smiled up at me, but his saddened yes betrayed his true feelings.

  “What is it, my friend . . . What aren’t you telling me?”

  The alien man, who in actuality I knew was neither a man nor a woman, let out a long breath. He forced himself to stand tall and raise his chin. “It is time.”

  The others exchanged a quizzical look between themselves. But I knew. I didn’t like it, but I knew.

  As if his words had prompted their actions, one by one, five Watcher Crafts took form around the Wikk bridge compartment.

  Hannig was still looking at me. “This was always my reality. I may have fooled myself for a while, but this was my destiny.”

  Another spacecraft materialized, one far larger than the others and much more ornate—the vessel was as large as an Amtrak Locomotive. As with the Watcher Crafts, it was partially visible, but was not fully materialized, still partially overlapping with the consoles on the bridge. I marveled, as always, at what great technology this species possessed.

  Five hatchways opened all at once, and out stepped five individuals that looked similar to Hannig, though not quite the same. They walked on all fours—I realized suddenly that Hannig seldom did that of late.

  “These are my kind. What you would call my colleagues.” They came to a stop and bowed their heads, first to me, and then to Hannig. He returned the gesture in kind. There was a gentleness with these beings—what seemed to be a total absence of malice. Hannig continued. “I must leave. I will go with them, now.”

  I blinked away tears and nodded. “I understand. But tell me. Is this what you want?”

  As if I hadn’t spoken, he turned away and joined his fellow Observers. Then, as if remembering something, he turned back to face me. “I have left you a gift of sorts . . .” He gestured to an opening, to a passageway off to the left. “Be well, Dominic. I will miss you.” His eyes turned to the others, Georgina, Gordo, Carlo and Gary. “I will miss you all.”

  He was enveloped by the rest of his kind and soon stepped up, into the aft hatchway of one of the other Watcher Crafts. Out of sight, I knew he was looking back at us though one of the small vessel’s portal windows. I raised a hand and held it there. The five ships vanished within the blink of an eye.

  The lone ornate craft remained. At some point, three more alien beings had approached us from it, undetected. Seeing them now, they too were clearly of Khantam Lom descent, but again there was something slightly different. They must be Cablah officials, or maybe dignitaries. What or whoever they were, they reeked of upper-class nobility. They embodied the very epitome of hierarchy, that which they supposedly denounced.

  All three of them were dressed in fine, silk-like garments—robes of a sort. All three wore tall headdresses, reminding me of old period movies, like those worn by high Catholic priests or even the Pope. They came to a stop eight feet in front of me. I waited for the bow. Hell, a greeting of any kind. None came.

  The Cablah threesome stared at me, turning their heads as if changing the angle of their stares could alter their assessment of me, of humanity itself.

  The centermost being spoke. It was with the same perfect English that Hannig had always spoken. Undoubtedly, this Cablah had also taken an appropriate Earth-languages lozenge-cache.

  “You are an odd species, human. Odd indeed.” He glanced to his two cohorts, who nodded in deference to their leader’s observation. “What to do with you . . .” He made an unpleasant expression, as if something foul lingered in the air. “The Wikk will not sit idle for this, you can be assured of that. Damn!” He spat. “What a bother this has become.”

  “Who are you? What’s your name?” I said, raising my brows.

  “That is of no concern to—”

  At six-foot-six, my stride is fairly long. Maybe even four feet. I reached him with two strides. I took up a fistful of the centermost alien’s frilly gown and pulled him in clos, c.lose enough that my nose was practically touching his far smaller one. “You need to listen to me carefully, because I’m going to only say this once. I want to snap your neck. I want to hear and feel your vertebrae crack, and shatter, and turn to fucking dust, within the grasp of my hand here. It is taking all of my self-restraint not to do that.” I tightened my hold on him. “Now, I asked you a very simple question. What is your name?”

  Even with his vocal cords being restricted as they were, he was able to croak out, “Prodloss. My name is Prodloss.”

  “Prodloss. I don’t like that name, and I don’t like you. But what I really don’t like is senseless killing. It has come to my attention that we—Earth— are within your ‘spacial realm.’ That we, somehow, fall within the boundaries of Khantam Lom space. Is that true?”

  “Yyyyessss.”

  I pursed my lips, continuing to stare him down for several long moments. “So we, humanity, are your neighbors. No, we are your far-less-evolved dependents. Like your children. Children that you stood by and watched being abducted and tortured, and literally devoured, by a vicious enemy. That’s horrible. That’s depraved. Somehow, you think that because you are technologically more advanced, you’re better. That your shit don’t stink. Well I’m telling you, your shit does stink, and you’re not all that different. Now, I want you to give me one good reason why we shouldn’t kill you. Kill the three of you, now, where you stand.”

  “We can—we can make a deal.”

  “Good. I like deals. And since, right now, I’m holding all the proverbial cards, I’m going to lay out all of the terms.” I inwardly doubted that was true. The level of technology these aliens possessed was beyond my comprehension. But I let my words stand. Hell, I was on a roll. I think I saw Prodloss nod, but I wasn’t sure. “One, you will keep the Wikk away from Earth, from coming anywhere near this place. Two, you will make no reprisals against us. You will leave us alone. Three, this ship, the Retribution, stays here as spoils of war. Do you understand the terms as I’ve laid them out to you? What it will take for you to live and breathe another day?” I released a tad more of my hold on his gown.

  “Yes. Your terms are agreeable.”

  “One more thing. You will treat Hannig with respect. Nothing bad will befall him. Promise me that.”

  The two other officials exchanged glances. The cohort on the right inclined his head. I took this to mean there was agreement. I knew it was the best I was going to get. I release my hold on Prodloss, whereby he dropped to the deck, gasping. I looked to his cohorts. “Well, help him up!”

  They did as told, and together, the three of them shuffled off. Within twenty seconds, their gleaming, pretentious spaceship was gone. And with that, I k
new I’d just made an enemy. Whether they followed my terms or not, they were an enemy that could snuff out humanity with little effort at all.

  Chapter 59

  “Remind me to never get on your bad side, Dommy,” Georgina said. “That was some real . . . intergalactic diplomacy at work there.”

  “No! Dude, that was epic. I mean, truly epic,” Gordo said with admiration. “Come on, the Cablah are serious douchebags.”

  “What it was was stupid. Moronic. And Georgina’s right. It was a moment of self-gratification that accomplished nothing more than pissing off an advanced alien species that won’t soon forget what happened here today.”

  “Nah, you said the things that needed to be said. The things I wanted to say, but wouldn’t have had the balls to,” Carlo said.

  Still frustrated with myself, I scanned our surroundings, then looked back to the others. “How the hell are we going to get back to Earth? We have no idea how to fly this thing.”

  Gary spoke up. “I think Hannig was working on that. That’s what he was doing when you came in.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Um, the ship’s computer . . . its AI . . . Hannig told me it’s been updated or something. It will respond to our, those of us still left here, to our team’s commands. And no one else’s. Not the Wikk, not the Cablah, not the U.S. military, only us. That must be why it’s still here.”

  “He told you that?” I asked.

  “Told the four of us here on the bridge all that,” Carlo said.

  Both Gordo and Georgina nodded in agreement.

  I thought about it and smiled. Looking up, I called out, “System, tell me exactly where I can find Commander Righteous Fist.”

  A familiar automated voice said, “Commander Righteous Fist is currently asleep on mid-deck thirteen, quadrant twenty-eight.”

  I checked the magazine of my M4. Gordo, Gary and Carlo did the same. I said, “Georgina, you have the bridge. The four of us . . . we’re going hunting.”

  “So you think just because I’m a woman I don’t want to track down that piece of shit?” she said, looking honestly perturbed.

  Another voice came from the entrance to the bridge. “Yeah, that’s beyond sexist. Not to mention rude!”

  I took in the blonde-haired beauty standing there with one hand on her hip, wearing a righteous expression that matched Georgina’s. Lori was holding her M4. She pulled the charging handle to the rear and checked the chamber. She pressed the cartridge release and removed the spent mag. She inserted a new one, slapped it home, and chambered a round. “I’m locked and loaded. So, can we do this?”

  “What about Maddie? I thought she . . .”

  “She’ll need someone who can care for her. Who’s ready to be a mother to her. Jill lost her son, Tommy. She’s taking care of Mattie, for now.”

  “Okay then, let’s get going.” I headed toward Lori.

  “Don’t you want to see what Hannig left you . . . your surprise?”

  I turned to see the four of them wearing bemused expressions. Gordo pointed a finger toward the side passage.

  “Okay, I’ll bite.”

  The others followed behind. Turning the corner, I was surprised to see our familiar Watcher Craft positioned there with its rear hatch open. A part of me hoped he would step out to greet us. Instead, it was LOP. Back to looking pristine white and having all of its limbs intact, the little spider bot did an excited little dance—a puppy greeting its master returning home. So the Watcher Craft was ours, thanks to Hannig. But it was hard to imagine the Cablah would condone such a thing. Knowing Hannig, he’d done something to the vessel, so even the Cablah hadn’t detected it. But for how long? That was a worry for another day . . .

  “I’ve got dibs on sitting shotgun!” Lori said running ahead and disappearing into the sleek little craft.

  “We really need to get more seats in that thing,” Gordo said.

  Epilogue

  I’d like to tell you that things have turned out perfectly. Everything tied up into a nice little bow. But that isn’t necessarily the case. I’m not quite sure yet. Things are complicated.

  It took the better part of three days to track and bring down the insectile alien commander. She was a tenacious fighter, and not a one of us came out of it unscathed. Early on, we decided that projectile weapons would only destroy another good spaceship, so we had to rely on the Wikk’s shitty energy rifles instead. Unfortunately, the ten-foot-tall Righteous Fist was capable of taking multiple hits, and kept on fighting as one after another of us went down for the count. Gordo came away with a broken tibia, Georgina with a broken nose and wrist. Carlo and Caputo both ended up in NY-Presbyterian Hospital in lower Manhattan, needing surgery. With the exception of some lacerations to my face and chest, I was okay. Lori sprained an ankle. After seriously wounding and then restraining her, Righteous Fist was delivered to the proper authorities. A live sample would be as valuable for them as the ship. Last I heard, she was somewhere in Nevada—perhaps Roswell.

  It had been a group decision to hand over the Retribution to the United Nations. No one country should yield such a powerful weapon, such incredible technology, we’d decided. And with things being as I left them with both the Wikk and the Cablah, Earth could well use a warship to defend itself from future visits. Having located a still-operational shuttlecraft within the Retribution’s flight bay, General A.E. Wright and a contingent of his choosing had been transported up to the massive vessel, where I personally provided them a tour. A camera crew tagged along, documenting every moment of the historical event. Currently, technicians and scientists from all around the world were combing through the vessel’s numerous deck levels and compartments, learning new technologies. Assuming, we could put it to use, humans were about to abruptly join the ranks of other interstellar, space-fairing species.

  Suddenly, we were famous—all seven of us: Gordo, Lori, Georgina, Carlo, Caputo, Gary and myself. Posthumously, Elmo and Matteo were as well. It appeared we had saved humanity—and for months, worldwide media proclaimed us as heroes. Twenty-four-hour cable news channels still, relentlessly, tell and retell our combined and individual stories. Not one of us can go out in public without being swarmed. If there was ever an enjoyable novelty to that aspect, it’s now long passed. Being famous is a pain in the ass, plain and simple.

  At our combined insistence and the constant lobbying of the U.S. Congress, a statue, one-half the size of the Statue of Liberty, was now being sculpted. Would it share New York Harbor? Perhaps be placed adjacent to Liberty Island? I doubted it. But time will tell. I’m just looking forward to when Hannig gets some of the recognition he deserves. He was the true hero. He had saved us all.

  On a personal note, Anna and I finalized our divorce last month. With my newfound celebrity status, her dirtbag cousin Luigi is still trying to alter our settlement. As it stands, I see my little angel, Val, every other weekend. Not nearly as often as I’d like.

  That brings me to something else you may be interested in. The disposition of the Watcher Craft. It is currently resting comfortably within the confines of one well-hidden cow tunnel beneath the streets of Manhattan. Oh, did I mention the seven of us are quite wealthy? Worldwide appreciation resulted in multiple Kickstarter campaigns for each of us. Thousands of dollars grew to millions, and, most recently, to billions. Anyway, with the assistance and expertise of one Tito Caputo, we purchased the old building sitting above the subterranean tunnel. The Bonanno family was made an offer they couldn’t refuse.

  That brings me to today. I’m sitting at the starboard-side console within the Watcher Craft, readying the little craft for interstellar flight. The whole gang is here with me—Gordo, Georgina, Carlo, Caputo, Gary—and Lori, who’s seated next to me in the only other chair. An encrypted message found its way across the cosmos, across unknown light-years, ending up here at this particular ship. We had no idea who it was actually from.

  Hannig scheduled to be executed . . . come quickly.

  And so
we did.

  The End

  Thank you for reading Guardian Ship. If you enjoyed this book, PLEASE leave me review on Amazon.com—it really helps!

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  Acknowledgments

  First and foremost, I am grateful to the fans of my writing and the ongoing support for all my books. I’d like to thank my wife, Kim, she’s my rock and is a crucial, loving, component of my publishing business. I’d like to thank my mother, Lura Genz, for her tireless work as my first-phase creative editor and a staunch cheerleader of my writing. I’d also like to thank Dylan Garity for his amazing detailed editing work. Others who provided fantastic support include Lura and James Fischer, Stuart Church, and Eric Sundius.

  Check out the other available titles by Mark Wayne McGinnis on the following page.

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