The Simpleton: An Alien Encounter

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  He looked at her, now up so close, and saw things he’d never noticed before: The dusting of freckles on her upper nose—a tiny mole on her left cheek—how perfectly straight her teeth were. Without rushing, she took his face in her hands and looked at him. Then she kissed him—gently. Her lips were soft and wet and tasted salty. Both their eyes remained open as their kissing became more passionate. He noticed her cheeks had flushed and could feel her breath quickening. She turned her kisses onto his neck and, as her lips brushed lightly against his ear, she whispered, “I’ve wanted this for such a long time, Cuddy.”

  Then Cuddy felt her take his hand in hers and guide it into the fabric of her unbuttoned shirt. She cupped his hand into hers then guided it over her left breast. He felt her hard nipple tickle the inside of his palm, which she then gently squeezed. “Yes … gently … just like that.” They kissed harder now—probing—exploring each other’s mouths with their tongues. He was hard, under the fabric of his jeans, sitting beneath her. He felt Jackie pressing down onto him. Their rapid breaths escalated—now in perfect sync.

  In the background, Cuddy heard a repeating chime—one that progressively got louder and louder. Then, just as quickly as she’d slipped onto his lap, Jackie was off, moving away. As the bridge hatch slid open, he heard her let out a long breathy sigh and laugh, saying, “Oh boy, oh boy …” Then she was gone.

  The AI orb, now hovering in view, moved to the forward console. “The Howsh fleet has significantly increased speed. They will intersect with the Evermore within ten minutes.”

  “That’s not possible! How did it go from an hour to only ten minutes?”

  The orb did not answer.

  Cuddy glanced over to the stacks of paper atop the desk and tried to recall all he’d learned over the course of five days; the many hours of practice he and Bob had endured. Are we ready? Then wondered, is Bob ready?

  “Bob … can you open a communication channel to the commander of the approaching Howsh fleet?”

  “Yes, I can open a channel, although it will be up to them whether they want to answer the hail or not.”

  “Remember, Bob, you cannot sound like a … an AI. You need to sound like an old Howsh supreme commander …”

  * * *

  Sub-Forgue Molth paced the circular raised dais while keeping his eyes on the elevated screen. To him, there was no clear indication the Evermore was even out there, but the four bridge crewmen assigned to tactical assured him that indeed it was.

  What he was now viewing was nothing more than a miniscule scattering of spatial artifacts that didn’t look like much of anything. Molth was a nervous Howsh officer, told numerous times that he came across as trying too hard to please his superiors. Was too needy. But considering the fact that two previous first officers to Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh had been demoted for incompetence, Molth was determined to make a far more positive, long-lasting impression.

  He vigorously scratched the growth between his eyes then noticed it had started to bleed again. He casually glanced around the command center, checking to see if anyone had noticed him wiping his claws over the dark trousers of his uniform.

  “Sub-Forgue Molth, there is an incoming hail coming from the Evermore, sir.”

  “Who is it?”

  “It is not that foul Pashier, the one called Tow. He says he is Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph, and he is ordering us to stand down.”

  “Preposterous!” Suddenly nervous, Molth raised a claw to scratch his face again, but caught himself, and lowered his arm back down. Could that even be possible? he pondered. Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph, a Howsh legend, was reportedly lost in space some ten years earlier. Molth was fairly certain that Calph was Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh’s mentor. A hero—numerous monuments, on their home world, had been erected in Calph’s honor. How could this possibly be?

  “Very well, put him through.”

  “Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph, this is Sub-Forgue Molth … commander of this Marauder fleet. Would you please make yourself visible … disengage from stealth mode, if you would be so kind?”

  Molth listened to dead air for several moments. Distant background noise sounded like papers being shuffled.

  “I knew your father, Parliamentary Head Molth. Is he still alive?” Eminence Calph asked.

  Sub-Forgue Molth’s heart rate increased exponentially. “Ah, no sir … he died, um, two years past.” A pregnant pause then ensued, with more crinkling of paper.

  “He was a true leader, within a difficult Howsh bureaucracy. He will be missed. Now listen to me carefully, Sub-Forgue Molth. I was marooned on planet Earth for over ten years and have commandeered the Evermore. The Pashier I believe you are seeking, Captain Tow, has died. But not before he destroyed three Howsh Scout ships. I witnessed their destruction myself. Tow was one clever Pashier, I have to give him that. One more thing … there is a foul heritage pod still on board this vessel. Unfortunately, I do not have the means to destroy it myself.”

  “I understand, Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph. I will immediately make provisions for you on board the command ship. Once on board, we can destroy the Evermore—along with the pod.”

  “Unfortunately, I am suffering with Paltrope. Do you know of it?”

  “Yes, Eminence Calph.”

  “Then tell me … has a cure been found for this foul disease? Perhaps one over the past few years?”

  Molth reflexively made a bitter face. Paltrope was a highly contagious, disgusting disease that caused hundreds of oozing skin legions. He too had been tested for it recently. Luckily, his facial growth was nothing more than an out-of-control mole. What he did know was he didn’t want to get anywhere near that very contagious high commander.

  “Yes, Eminence Calph. Your particular … ailment will require Califer Ionization Therapy … CIT. Unfortunately, the treatment is only available back on Rianna 5.”

  “Well, then you must escort me there at once!”

  “Rianna 5 is hundreds of light-years’ distance from our current coordinates, Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph. I am truly sorry, but I have direct orders, from Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh, to reassemble our fleets at another planet, called Primara, once my mission here has been completed.”

  “Yes, yes, I’m familiar with Primara. It’s located at the far end of the quadrant … in the opposite direction of Rianna 5!”

  “Again, I apologize. A quick detour to Primara first, then we should be able to accommodate you, sir,” Molth told him. “Again, it is an honor to speak with you. This … today … is an historic event!” Although Molth had little doubt he was speaking to the high commander, he still would feel more at ease if his eminence would remove the stealth mode cover on the Evermore—to personally ensure that Eminence Calph was indeed alone on the vessel.

  Molth continued, “At this time, would it be possible for you to come out of stealth mode, Eminence Calph? It is protocol … as I’m sure you are—”

  Eminence Calph cut him off. “Ask me that again and I’ll have you transferred to a scout ship, scraping out shit from sub-deck collectors. Do you understand me?”

  “Yes, I do apologize, Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph.”

  Calph, now taking a more conciliatory tone, continued, “If you really knew what advanced Paltrope did to someone, you would understand why I do not want to be observed. Fortunately, the Evermore’s stealth mode prohibits prying, invasive optic feeds. It allows me some privacy.”

  “Yes, of course. I understand, Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph.” Molth let it go, having zero doubt, anyway, who he was conversing with.

  “Good, stand by. I will be joining your fleet within minutes, then you will have visual sighting of the Evermore. Together, we shall move toward Primara in all due haste.”

  Chapter 46

  With the exception of Brian, the entire Evermore crew—Cuddy, Kyle, Jackie, and Tony—huddled into the bridge to witness the historic, impending event. Cuddy doubted anything like this had ever occurred before, where a Howsh fleet would
actually escort an enemy—Pashier—spacecraft.

  “And what … they’re just going to let us merge into their fleet, like we’re one of their own?” Kyle asked skeptically.

  Cuddy shrugged, not completely sure what to expect either.

  “There they are,” Tony said, pointing out the forward observation window. “Fuck … look at the size of those things!”

  As they approached the Howsh fleet, five large warships changed their positions, reassembling into a horseshoe formation.

  The orb said, “I am being directed to decrease speed and bring the Evermore into their awaiting formation cluster.”

  “Guess it’s too late to back out now,” Jackie said, glancing over to Cuddy.

  “Like she said, it’s too late to back out now. Go ahead and merge us in, Bob.”

  “There is an incoming hail for Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph, Captain Perkins. I have implemented a translation module so you can better understand what is being said.”

  Cuddy nodded, then glanced back at his desk, at the stacks of papers, and wondered if he would need to help Bob out again, like before. “Okay ... answer it.” There was a definitive clicking sound, then Cuddy heard the same voice—it was Molth.

  “Greetings, Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph. I have forwarded our specific course parameters, as well as the FTL configuration settings your ship’s AI will need in order to synchronize precisely to the rest to the fleet.”

  All eyes turned to Bob as he began to speak in a gruff, bear-like, voice. “That’s fine. Can we move things along now, Sub-Forgue Molth? Paltrope is an impatient malady. If you want me to survive the journey, you’ll keep your drives running hot. Blaze the fastest trail to Primara. We need to get moving.”

  “Yes … Supreme Eminence Calph, we will be underway in just a few moments.”

  “The channel is closed now, Captain,” the orb said.

  Tony began to laugh out loud. “I can’t believe that voice … the words that came out of your mouth, or speaker, or whatever it is you have, orb. That was awesome, dude!”

  The orb ignored the remark.

  They all watched as Bob navigated the Evermore into position within the other larger vessels.

  “We are underway, Captain. We will be reaching FTL in two minutes.”

  Cuddy felt the Evermore’s drives’ vibration beneath his feet, then the inertia dampeners kicking in. “ETA for Primara, Bob?”

  “Ten days, Captain. Less, if they do as instructed and increase their FTL speeds accordingly.”

  “So we have ten days to prepare for phase two,” Cuddy remarked, to no one in particular.

  “Phase two? So this is what … phase one?” Jackie asked.

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s phase two, other than not getting ourselves killed?” Kyle asked.

  “To convince the Howsh, as a species, that it is no longer in their best interest to destroy Primara, nor the remaining Pashier.”

  “I didn’t know there were any Pashier left,” Jackie said.

  “Yes, there are a few,” Cuddy said, not elaborating further.

  * * *

  By day eight, life aboard the Evermore had ripened into something cohesive—busily routine. Jackie spent more and more time in the galley. She somehow figured out what the unique appliances were used for. The result was an astonishing array of gourmet food—breakfasts, lunches, and dinners—from good ol’ home-style southern cooking to inventive meals, originating from far away, in other star systems—on other planets.

  To Cuddy’s growing regret, there were no more intimate moments with Jackie like the one they had on the bridge. He shrugged it off, knowing they both were far too busy. Busy to the point lack of sleep was starting to take its toll on him. Yet, if he were honest with himself, there actually were some brief occasions when a few stolen moments might have been possible. Did she regret what they’d done together, he mused. Had her feelings changed? How could he blame her? He had no idea what he was doing—was way out of his comfort area.

  Tony and Kyle, when they weren’t planted in front of the entertainment system, watching Pashier thrillers, intergalactic nature films, or even an errant love story, were tasked with delivering to Brian—confined in his sole occupancy compartment—three square meals every day. Plus, help in the assembly of eleven additional AI orb units that Cuddy had recently discovered. Hold #2, he found, had its own stash of spare orb parts.

  The grand plan was for the eleven orbs to become their dutiful army. Getting them to that point required assistance from both Tony and Kyle. Cuddy and Bob taught them how to do basic assembly work—mainly installing the gel-tabs—then configure each individual orb with capabilities not previously required by the Pashier.

  Cuddy entered the bridge, finding Bob at the controls, and heard an unintelligible Howsh conversation in progress. As Cuddy approached, Bob made a settings change and suddenly the alien’s words were translated into English.

  Cuddy asked, “What are we listening to?”

  “A deep-space channel has just been acquired. Eavesdropping into it, Sub-Forgue Molth is speaking with Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh—currently in high orbit around Primara—who commands the other half of the Howsh fleet.”

  “Crap … I didn’t anticipate that. At least, not yet.” Cuddy listened to what they were discussing—Eminence Norsh sounded irritated.

  “No! Your orders were to destroy the Evermore, destroying the heritage pod in the process. It was a simple directive. Any idiot could follow those orders,” Norsh said.

  Sub-Forgue Molth said, “I assure you, Your Eminence, we are escorting Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph. He was marooned on Earth … for ten years. His knowledge of the Howsh …”

  Norsh cut him off, “You truly are an idiot, Molth. Whoever is on board that vessel is no more Lorgue Prime Eminence Calph than I am. You think it’s a coincidence you haven’t been able to establish visual verification by scanning that vessel? Stupid fool … you’ve been duped. All you’ve accomplished is to provide an escort for our enemy!”

  Cuddy cringed. He’d hoped for a bit more time—to be closer to Primara before the deception was discovered. He asked Bob, “How close are we?”

  “Not far. We will reach Primara in several days, at our current FTL rate of speed, Captain.”

  Cuddy glanced over at the Viewscape display, showing the symbolic, V-formation view of the small Howsh fleet, with the Evermore sited in its center.

  “It’s game time, Bob. We need to disable all of those ships … and we need to hurry,” Cuddy said. Although the timing was not perfect, he felt they were ready. Three hours earlier, the eleven newly constructed AI orbs were discreetly released, one at a time, through an underbelly airlock. Using their clawed articulating arms, they maneuvered themselves around the Evermore’s fuselage underbelly, where they now clung, awaiting orders.

  “Deploy the orbs, Bob. And cross your fingers they go undetected.”

  “The orbs have been deployed … are en route to their intended targets.”

  Cuddy watched the display. The orbs, tiny blue icons, quickly went out into space, all except one, moving farther and farther away from the Evermore. The icons, then organizing into sets of two, reached their intended Marauder ship targets. Once there, they located some irregularity on the hull’s surface—some external structure—significant enough to cling to.

  “Two orbs have dislodged, Captain.”

  Cuddy, already noticing, thought it unfortunate that they both had come loose from the same Marauder. Damn. He watched the display as the two blue icons spun ineffectively off into space. Fortunately, they had anticipated the possibility of such a thing occurring.

  “Deploy the backup orb,” Cuddy said.

  Bob did as ordered, and the last orb, still clinging to the Evermore’s underbelly, sped off into space toward its intended Marauder target. Cuddy watched as the blue icon descended upon the Howsh ship. Making contact, it seemed to have found a way to secure itself, but then, like the o
ther two orbs, it too spun off into space.

  “That is the command ship, Captain Perkins. I apologize I did not determine that earlier. Apparently, that one vessel is equipped with advanced security measures—energized hull plating. The orbs’ electronics were fried as soon as they came in contact with that particular Marauder command ship.”

  Cuddy glanced around the bridge—no one had any answers.

  “They are powering weapons, Captain Perkins!”

  “Hurry … raise our shields! Drop us out of formation.”

  Cuddy felt G-forces pulling on him as the Evermore banked away from the Howsh fleet.

  “Taking evasive action,” Bob said.

  Bright red energy bolts could be seen crisscrossing from out the forward and side observation windows.

  “Go ahead and initialize the orbs … put them to work,” Cuddy ordered, which was the key component of their phase two plan. If that doesn’t work, well … Cuddy didn’t want to think any further about it. It had taken Bob four days to determine the potential technological weakness on that specific Howsh star-fighter model—a nondescript maintenance access panel, located on each ship’s underbelly, near the warship’s stern. And, at that very moment, the other deployed pairs of orbs were making their way to that exact access panel.

  “You said it would be possible to get feeds from each the orbs … right?”

  The viewscape display split into eight squares—each displaying the POV of individual orbs.

  Cuddy was suddenly thrown from his feet as three consecutive plasma strikes hammered into the Evermore. Flat on his back, he looked up at the Viewscape display. The orb icons were supposed to turn from blue to green, once even one in the pair managed to breach the maintenance access panel. But … thus far … none had turned green.

  Chapter 47

  Cuddy noticed the others, lying on the deck too, had also been thrown off their feet. Apparently, the G-force dampeners were down. Desk papers were scattered all about. Bob, still hovering at the console, was taking the Evermore through a fast series of evasive maneuvers, which didn’t allow them to do anything more than find something to hold on to and wait it out. Cuddy peered around Tony, to his right, and saw Jackie’s cheek bleeding. It didn’t look too serious, but he wanted to reach out to her just the same.