The Commander
Authors: CJ Williams
Tags: #Science Fiction & Fantasy, #Science Fiction, #Alien Invasion, #First Contact, #Genetic Engineering, #Hard Science Fiction, #Military, #Post-Apocalyptic
The Commander
By CJ Williams
The Commander
By CJ Williams
© 2016 CJ Williams
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Any reference to actual names, characters, places, products or incidents is fictitious or coincidental.
E-Book Edition.
Table of Contents
Airport Director Luke Blackburn leaned back in his office chair and stretched. He was finally done with the annual FAA grant application for his lonely airport in central Nevada, Baggs Regional.
After mailing the thick package at the local Post Office, Luke wasn’t ready to go back to the office. The best excuse to avoid his desk was a runway check. FAA regulations required two inspections per day, one during daylight hours and another at night. Luke didn’t mind the tedious chore; it was a chance to enjoy his solitude under Nevada’s big sky.
The sun was still rising when he drove his pickup onto the empty aircraft-parking ramp. He looked up and down the field and far to the south, he spotted a reflected glint. Someone was on landing approach. It was too far away to identify the aircraft type, but it piqued his curiosity. It had been a while since anyone had landed at the airport.
Most likely, it was a student pilot from Reno. Occasionally a pilot-in-training would fly over to Baggs and practice touch-and-go landings. It was rare, but not unheard of; the famous resort was about a hundred and fifty miles to the west.
As the aircraft drew closer, Luke had trouble identifying it. It wasn’t a propeller aircraft. Perhaps it was a private jet; one of those VLJ’s—very light jets—that small corporations and the nouveau-riche were buying.
Luke shielded his eyes and squinted. Nope, not a private aircraft. Could it be military? It was about the size of an F-16 but didn’t have the underbelly intake. In fact, Luke didn’t see any intake at all. What in the world was it? There was no propulsion sound, no whine of jet turbines or buzzing of gas pistons. Just the barely audible sound of rushing wind.
By the time it reached the end of the runway, he couldn’t deny the obvious. It was a no-kidding UFO. Either that or someone had done a damn good job of keeping a new military design secret.
Looking
like a cross between a small school bus and a jet fighter, it had a broad fuselage with high-mounted wings that were short and stubby. The nose flattened to a broad edge and the wide canopy was tinted with a translucent golden hue.
The aircraft didn’t actually land, it
floated
down the runway to the mid-field intersection where it slowed, and still hovering a good five feet in the air, turned onto the connecting taxiway.
Luke was astonished at the sight, but in any event, it was an arrival. To all appearances, it intended to stay. Luke drove his pickup to the middle of the parking ramp. He took two lighted wands from the pickup’s bed and a pair of wheel chocks tied together by a short length of rope.
He stood where the taxi line curved into a wide loop that visiting aircraft followed with their nose wheel to designated parking spots. Slowly waving both arms from front to back, he marshalled the aircraft toward the parking location. The spacecraft followed his directions initially but then came to a stop.
The canopy dissolved and in the cockpit sat a very human-looking pilot. He leaned out and pointed to a closed up hangar on the edge of the flight line.
Luke mirrored the gesture with one of the wands as if asking confirmation.
The pilot nodded and pointed first to his fuselage and then once again to the hangar. The meaning was clear: He wanted to park inside.
Luke hurried to the front of the hangar and stepped through an access door in the huge folding panels. He crossed his fingers; the doors had a tendency to jam halfway on hot days. He pushed the green button on the inside wall and the two doors slowly parted from the center, opening the vast interior to the aircraft.
As the curious spacecraft approached the hangar, it descended until it was hovering just a foot above the concrete. Luke walked backward, marshalling it along the centerline stripe that ran to the back of the hangar.
Once completely inside, the aircraft rotated until the nose was pointed out toward the flight line. Three short landing skids slowly extended from the underbelly. When they touched the ground, the aircraft settled on the struts and the humming noise died away.
A door on the side of the fuselage opened and the pilot stepped out onto the hangar floor. His appearance matched that of most general aviation pilots. Average height and unassuming features. He wore a pair of khaki slacks, polo shirt, and tennis shoes. He turned toward Luke and said, “
Gwie i neoh-eo
.”
“Sorry,” Luke replied. “English and German is all I understand. Welcome to Baggs.”
The pilot dug into a leather satchel that was slung over his shoulder. He extracted a matchbox-sized container, emptied the contents into his palm, and handed it to Luke. It looked like a hearing aid.
Luke examined it closely. It was an earbud on steroids. “Is this a translator or something?”
The pilot nodded. “
Gwie i neoh-eo,
” he repeated. “
Geunyang gwie neoh-eo ulineun seolo leul ihaehal su-issda
.” He made it sound urgent.
Luke took a deep breath and stuck it in his right ear. It was soft and molded comfortably to his ear canal.
“Can you hear me now?” the pilot asked in clear, unaccented English.
A grin spread across Luke’s face. “This is amazing,” he said. “I can understand you perfectly. What’s your name? What do I call you?”
“Call me Sam. That thing might sting when it activates.”
“No, it doesn’t hurt at all. I can’t even feel it. This is…”
A tiny robotic voice cautioned, “
Prepare for assimilation. Three, two, one
.”
The warning got Luke’s attention. Before he could respond every pain receptor in his brain exploded. His head felt like it was going to burst. He put his hands over his ears, trying to squeeze away the agony. And just as quickly as the pain appeared, it was gone.
Luke found himself kneeling on the concrete floor of the hangar. “Christ! You call that stinging?” He struggled to his feet.
“It was for this.” Sam held up a small black object. “Now, if you don’t do everything I say, I touch this button and it will detonate an explosive device inside your skull.”
Luke sank back to the floor, his face pale. How stupid had he been to insert a suicide bomb into his brain without question? “Wha… I’m not…”
Sam erupted with laughter. “Just kidding, man. Couldn’t resist it. You’re fine.”
Luke’s eyes hazed over with red. He would break the man’s neck, visitor from outer space or not…if he could just get to his feet.
Sam was still chuckling. “Oh, you should have seen your face. Come on. We got a lot of stuff to talk about and not much time.” He tossed the object to Luke. “Here you go.”
Luke clumsily caught the plastic oval. “What’s this, then?” he asked angrily, his emotions slowly cooling down.
“What’s it look like? It’s the keys to the shuttle. Go ahead and lock it up.”
“What?” Luke examined the key fob in his hand. It looked like the one for his pickup. It had two buttons; one was a silhouette of the shuttle with the door open and the other had the door closed.
He pressed the icon with the door closed. The spacecraft beeped and lights on the wingtips and the top of the tail flashed briefly. The side door slowly closed.
It’s like locking a minivan
, he decided.
Luke handed the key to Sam.
“Keep it,” Sam said. “That thing’s yours now.”
“What?”
“Yeah, that baby is your problem now. So is the insurance, by the way.”
“What?” Luke struggled to keep up with the conversation.
“Come on, let’s go to your office. Like I said, we’ve got a lot to talk about, and not much time.” Sam walked over to Luke’s pickup and settled into the passenger seat. “Let’s move it!” he hollered.
# # #
Luke pulled into his reserved parking spot at the airport passenger terminal. The only other car belonged to his elderly secretary, Linda. She was a treasure, albeit slightly eccentric.
Each grant award included enough administrative overhead to pay for one-third of an administrative assistant. It was the only funding that covered her part-time salary.
In spite of his frequent protestations, she spent almost forty hours a week at her desk. He pleaded with her that her full-time presence put him in violation of federal wage and hour laws.
She would just smile and say, “I got nowhere else to go, babe.” Which was true. In Baggs, Nevada, there were few options for employment or entertainment. Because he had inherited her, so to speak, he felt obligated to keep her on.
She was working when Luke and his guest walked in, although ‘working’ was a generous description. She’d spent most of the last fifteen years at the airport secretary’s desk, which she usually kept covered with knitting paraphernalia. On occasion she would substitute scrapbooking, but that was an exception. Today it was knitting.
The terminal itself was a relic. Long ago, the city had enclosed a World War II construction shed with cheap siding and glass and called it an airline terminal. Huge swamp coolers would have provided cooling but they had deteriorated beyond repair. Fortunately, for the two occupants, the airport’s elevation of forty-seven hundred feet meant the high desert air was comfortable even without AC.
Luke led Sam into his office, passing through the outer reception area where he introduced his guest as a potential client. Linda was profuse with her greeting and bustled around to provide a pot of coffee and a couple of paper cups. Luke sat behind his ancient desk, another World War II relic, and gestured toward a well-used upholstered chair for Sam.
Once they were settled comfortably and Linda had been shooed out, Luke opened the conversation. “What do you mean we don’t have a lot of time?” he asked.
Sam settled into his chair, making himself comfortable. “The bad guys are coming, Luke. That much is fact. As it stands, your planet and everyone on it will be completely destroyed. These guys move into star systems and wipe out everything before moving on. They’re like a plague of locusts.”
Luke leaned on his desk. “Okay, I’ll play along. Let’s assume for a minute that’s true. What do you want from me? Who are the bad guys? When is this all supposed to happen?”
“In reverse order, I’d be surprised to see them sooner than ten years or much later than fifteen.”
“So, no hurry then.” Luke concluded.
Sam gave him a sad smile. “I’ll let you decide on that. As to who? We don’t actually know. We call them the
Bakkui
; they’re from the outer rim. We don’t think they’re human but again, we don’t know. A lot of folks believe they’re from another galaxy. I don’t buy it. I’d wager they sprouted on some godforsaken rim planet, but nothing is certain.”
“Why would they be human?” Luke asked.
“Why wouldn’t they? Intelligent life is scarce, son. Our galaxy—your galaxy—is populated by humans just like you. The planets, yours and all the rest in this arm of the spiral, were colonized, seeded, if you prefer. That was a long time ago, of course.”
“So you’re telling me you’re human? I kinda thought you were an alien from outer space. No offense.”
“None taken. It’s true enough, I suppose, but that makes you the
descendant
of an alien from outer space. We’ve got the same DNA, but let’s stay focused. Your first question, what do I want? Frankly, nothing.”
Luke was skeptical. “People don’t give away spaceships without wanting something in return.”
“Think of it this way,” Sam suggested. “You ever throw a handful of weed-killer on the lawn?” Sam looked over his shoulder as though examining the neighborhood. “Not that I see much green around here but you get my meaning. The point is you don’t expect anything back. The weed-killer is an expense and you hope it’ll keep weeds at bay. That’s sort of what you are, weed-killer. It’s what I am, for that matter.”
“How so?” Luke didn’t quite get the connection.
“My job is to visit as many star systems as I can in this neck of the woods, along this spiral arm of the galaxy, I should say, in a long-shot effort to generate some resistance.”
“As many as you can? You mean you’re not staying here to help?”
“On a long-term basis? Afraid not. I’m going to get you started, and then I’m out of here. Too bad, really. This looks like an interesting place, but I’m spread pretty thin.”
Luke was puzzled by the explanation. “So how long are you here for?”
Sam shrugged his shoulders. “I’ll do what I can for a couple of weeks. Then I’m gone. That’s the way it is.”
“Two weeks! What can you accomplish in two weeks?”
“That’s not the question, really.”
“What do you mean?”
Sam fixed Luke with a serious stare. “The question is what can
you
accomplish in the next ten years?”
Luke leaned back in his chair in amazement. Had he not actually seen this guy land a spacecraft at his airport, he would blow off the entire story as a crazy fabrication. He had no idea how to react.
Sam rose to his feet, a smile on his face once more. “But right now, we have more important things to do. I want to try what you guys call a cheeseburger. They sell those at the local diner, right?”