Battleship

USS JOHN PAUL JONES

Hopper had managed to pick up some of the damage he’d inflicted on his quarters. Now he lay on his bunk, staring at a photograph of himself and his brother. The picture was intact, but there was a crack in the glass. The crack ran lengthwise and divided the two brothers from each other. Not too damned symbolic.

There was a knock at the door and it swung open before Hopper even had the chance to signal that whoever it was could enter. Beast loomed in the entranceway, and Hopper could tell from the all-business expression on his face that he wasn’t there to inquire after Hopper’s health.

“Sir, we need you.”

Hopper didn’t respond at first. Then, his voice low and heavy, he spoke—not to Beast, but to his brother’s image in the picture. “I can’t do this.”

“We need you, sir,” Beast repeated, as if Hopper hadn’t spoken, or even heard him.

This time he looked straight at Beast. “I. Can’t.”

“If you can’t, who can, sir?”

Hopper propped himself up on his elbows. “What the hell’s so important? What do you need me for?”

“We’ve pulled one out of the water. During the Myoko rescue—”

“What are you talking about? I thought we pulled all of them out of—” He stopped as he realized what Beast was talking about. His hands started to tremble. Immediately he sat fully upright. “One of… them?” Beast nodded. “But… how—?”

“Judging by the bullet holes in its armor, I’m pretty sure it’s the one that Raikes shot to hell.”

“But if that’s the case, why isn’t it just lying at the bottom of the ocean?”

“Best guess: some sort of internal buoyancy device in the armor.”

“And how would that work?”

“I don’t know. But I thought you’d want to be there when we dissect the bastard and find out.”

Damned right I want to be there. This is the one small triumph we have over those creatures, and I want to be there for every second of it.

“Where is it?”

“Helicopter bay.”

Hopper gave one more determined look at the picture of Stone and him. “We killed one of them,” he said grimly. “And if we did that, we can kill all of them. Let’s go.”

Minutes later Hopper entered the helicopter bay. Raikes, Ord, and various crewmen from both ships were gathered around a table upon which a dead alien warrior was lying. Nearest to it was Nagata, who was staring down at it with cold fury. He looked ready to rip the thing apart with his bare hands. All eyes went to Hopper as he entered.

They were waiting for me. Of course they waited for me. I’m the commanding officer. He was still having trouble thinking of himself in that capacity. “Let’s have a look at it,” he said briskly.

Ord said nervously, “You’re gonna touch it? Maybe it’s radioactive or something…”

“Running a Geiger counter over it was the first thing we did when we brought it on board,” said Beast.

“Okay, but maybe it’s got some kind of alien virus or something.”

“No one’s putting a gun to your head to make you be here,” Raikes said to Ord with obvious annoyance.

“It’s first contact, Raikes. It’s freaking history. Where else would I be?”

“Hiding under your bunk, swabbing yourself down with Purell?”

“Stow it, both of you,” said Hopper, having no patience for his crew’s banter right then. He looked silently at Nagata, who simply nodded his head, and the two of them got down to business.

It took them several moments to work the helmet free. Finally they managed to turn it counterclockwise and there was a loud click-clack. Taking that as a good sign, they slowly pulled the helmet free. It produced a strange sucking sound and then the creature’s face was exposed. It was even more hideous than when Hopper had seen it from a distance.

He and Nagata looked down at it in bewilderment. Then a burst of liquid from some sort of tube spurted out at the two commanders, hitting them in the face.

“Acid!” Ord cried out. “It’s spitting acid at you!”

“No,” said Hopper, blinking furiously. “Salt water.” A handkerchief was being thrust toward him. He turned and saw that Nagata was holding it, offering it to him. Without a word he took it and wiped the salt water from his face. In retrospect, maybe wearing a pair of goggles might not have been a bad idea.

“Must be some kind of hydration system,” said Beast.

His comment barely registered. They were all dealing with various degrees of shock, and it was easy to understand why. Mankind’s first extended encounter, face-to-face, with an alien life form, and it was happening right on their ship. And it was happening under the most mundane conditions possible. Not with a flying saucer descending into Central Park or perhaps on the front lawn of the White House—with an alien being in a silver lamé space suit stepping out and announcing in a stentorian voice, “Take me to your leader.” No, instead it was on a makeshift operating table, like something out of a damned police procedural. CSI: ET. Or maybe SVU: UFO.

Hopper tried to keep his hands from trembling as he turned the head of the alien left, then right. In addition to the blue-green of its face, it had strange markings that he couldn’t even begin to translate, and what looked more than anything like a growth of stalactites coming from its chin. The alien equivalent of a beard? Bone structure extending from its skull? He had no clue.

“My dad used to say they’d come,” said Raikes softly. “Said it his whole life. ‘We ain’t alone. There’s no way.’ He said one day we’re gonna find them or they’re gonna find us.”

“Yeah,” said Ord.

“Know what else he said?” said Raikes.

“What?” said Ord.

“He said, ‘I hope I’m not around when that day comes,’” said Raikes.

“Uh—” Ord paused and then asked innocently, “Did he say anything about you being there and shooting the crap out of it?”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat. You want a firsthand re-creation of how it went down?”

“Last warning, the both of you,” said Hopper sharply. He turned to Beast. “Give me your flashlight,” he said.

“Gloves,” said Ord urgently. “At least glove up, sir.”

Hopper stopped and turned to him. “Ord, I understand you’re a little freaked out. So I’m going to say this once, nice and patient: Calm the hell down.”

Ord forced a nod. “Roger wilco, Captain. I’m calm. I’m, like, neurosurgeon calm. Buddha calm. Buddha Buddha Buddha.”

“One more word and I’m going to let Raikes shoot you.”

Raikes smiled in anticipation.

Ord promptly shut up.

Beast handed Hopper a Maglite. The reluctant captain leaned in close to the alien’s face, studying it. He flicked the light on and shined it directly into the alien’s eyes.

Saline systems have been interrupted, but the damage is minimal. Fluids are rerouted; life support systems functioning at acceptable levels.

The Regent’s regeneration cycle is complete. Internal damage repaired. External damage repaired. Retrieval signal has been sent. Retrieval is imminent.

His eyes, fully healed, focus on a light source. The system’s star? No. Far more concentrated. A portable light device of some manner.

His eyes snap open and he sees a human staring down into his face. There are other humans nearby.

He does not perceive any of them as being the humans who attacked him in a tiny vessel. He does not recognize the female as the one who incommoded him by shooting at him and disrupting his armor. All humans look alike to him. They are not worthy of individual attention.

All he knows is that the human with the light source is within unacceptably close proximity, and the light is painfully bright.

The alien’s eyes snapped open and, before Hopper could react, it lunged at him.

Ord leaped back, warnings of remaining silent forgotten. “Not dead! Not dead!” he screamed.

The alien’s hands clamped around Hopper’s throat.

Hopper gurgled helplessly as he felt long nails digging into his neck. It’s going to rip the skin clean off me…

He was face to face with the monster, its burning eyes glaring at him, as Nagata and Beast came in from either side and tried to pull it off him.

It reacted to the light. It nearly freaked out at the light. Hopper immediately shoved the Maglite into the alien’s eyes. If the flashlight had been a Taser, it couldn’t have elicited any more of a response, as the alien jumped back violently, releasing Hopper as it did so.

The human is resourceful. It is adept at utilizing objects at hand in an offensive capacity. This notation had been added to the mission log.

Retrieval is imminent.

Retrieval is now.

Before Hopper could react—before he could do anything—there was a deafening explosion, similar to a flashbang grenade, but louder and brighter and with far greater concussive force. All Hopper knew for sure was that one moment he was still on his feet, pulling away from the alien, and the next he was hurtling through the air and coming down hard on his back.

The world around him was one huge riot of noise and strobing lights. From his vantage point on the floor, Hopper tried to shield his eyes and make out what the hell had happened.

The blood practically froze in his veins as he saw more of the aliens pouring in. He had quick glimpses of his crew on the floor, being either stepped over or kicked aside by the invaders. Hopper began to struggle to his feet but he never came close to standing fully upright, as a thick fist slammed down on the back of his neck, sending him sprawling to the floor once more. This is it. They’re going to kill us all. They’re taking the ship. They’re taking…

…their man?

The aliens had grabbed their fellow, who’d been upright on the table. It was staggering but capable of locomotion, and hung on the shoulders of one of its rescuers as they headed out of the helicopter bay. Hopper worked on getting to his feet and this time he made it, lurching after them. He had no idea what he would do if he overtook them; he wasn’t wearing a sidearm—a mistake he’d be sure to rectify in the future, should there be a future—and he was also considerably outnumbered. But the bastards had overrun his ship and he’d make sure there would be hell to pay for it.

As it turned out, his pursuit quickly became a moot point. He made it up to the chopper deck, only to stagger as he saw what appeared to be some sort of alien flying vessel rising into the air. It’s not a stinger? They have other vehicles? What else do they have at their disposal that they haven’t shown us yet?

Hopper stood there, bathed in the white light that the alien vessel was generating from beneath. Someone was suddenly at his side and he jumped slightly into a defensive posture before he realized it was Nagata. He saw his own exhaustion, confusion, and overall dazed demeanor mirrored in Nagata’s face. Who knew that we’d finally have something in common: total bewilderment.

Together they watched helplessly as the alien ship angled away, the engines insanely quiet for something that big.

“I got a really bad feeling,” said Hopper.

Nagata looked at him curiously. “What kind of feeling?”

“A ‘We’re gonna need a new planet’ kinda feeling.”

Nagata didn’t laugh, or even smile. Which was fine, because as far as Hopper was concerned, it wasn’t a joke.

The noiselessness of the huge vessel helped Hopper understand why the aliens had managed to get the drop on them. With the radar out and the ship’s instruments unable to detect the presence of alien vehicles anyway, the thing had probably dropped in from the sky so quickly, so quietly, that no one had time to react to it. Or perhaps it had even snuck up on them underwater and then leaped from beneath to land on the chopper deck.

“No man left behind,” said Hopper softly. When Nagata stared at him, not understanding, he continued. “Maybe they’re not so alien after all. That’s got to be their version of ‘leave no man behind.’ You get one alive… they come for it.”

Nagata nodded. “It makes sense,” he said.

Wow. He’s agreed with me on something. What’re the odds?

Suddenly Raikes came charging out of the bay from behind them, urgency on her face. Hopper put up his hands and said, “Slow down, Raikes. They’re gone.”

As if Hopper hadn’t spoken, she said, “We just got a report. Medical casualty C-52. Two men down.”

“In C-52? That’s—”

“Engineering,” said Raikes.

The full implications of that news struck home. “They’re still on board,” Hopper whispered. Then, speaking with authority, he said, “Lock down the ship. And tell Beast he’s not to go anywhere near—”

Raikes’s expression immediately informed him what the next words out of her mouth were going to be. “He already made a beeline down there. It’s his house, Captain,” she added, as if apologizing for Beast’s precipitous actions.

“Goddammit!” said Hopper, snarling. He was already moving, and seconds later was joined by a small craft action team—SCAT—weapons at the ready. “We have a hostile on board! Lock and load, people!”

As Beast sprinted toward the engine room, he heard a hollow, repeated booming sound in the distance, echoing through the corridors. He made it into the main engine control center just in time to see several of his people backing up, their eyes wide with terror, their gazes fixed upon a sealed hatch down at the bottom of a flight of stairs that led to a companionway. The hatch, or rather what was on the other side of it, was the source of the noise. Something was pounding on the hatch cover. A human fist wouldn’t have even been heard. This thing was making a noise like a sledgehammer.

But even a human armed with a sledgehammer wouldn’t have made any progress on actually getting through the hatch. The cover was designed to hold back thousands of pounds of water, should the ship’s hull be breached, giving the sailors time to reach higher ground and safety.

Now, instead, the hatch cover was showing signs of wear and tear. It was visibly dented, and its bolts had begun to bend, to buckle. As if sensing impending success, the pounding intensified.

“Get out of here,” said Beast, just as the door gave way.

The Regents fighting unit smashes through the impediment in his path. He registers dispassionately how much force was required to pound through the obstruction and the information is then sent to the central repository for all information gathered regarding the humans.

It is his job to test as much as possible the “ground level” resources that the humans possess. Both the Land Commander and the Sea Commander are very interested in the results of his study. It is impossible to know for sure where and when particular information is going to be useful. Ultimately he doesn’t truly care about any of that. His job is to gather intel. The uses to which it will subsequently be put are of no interest to him.

There are more humans in front of him. This is not unanticipated. The primitive ship is infested with them.

His on-board attack systems examine the threat ratio each human represents. Several are fleeing. Their readouts register green. They are thus of no interest to him.

The largest one, however, glows a bright and furious red. It is approaching, coming down the stairs toward him. If there is fear in this specimen, it is being overwhelmed by what appears to be (he surmises) indignation. All of the human’s bodily readings are in the upper levels of what the alien has determined to be human norms. Heart rate, blood pressure, everything is spiking.

It is doubtless preparing to attack him.

This will be interesting.

The alien that was facing Beast looked different from the one he’d seen sprawled out on the examining table. It was shorter, squatter… but even that was simply relative, because it was nearly as big as Beast.

“You think you’re bad? Coming in this place like you’re gonna start trouble? Like you’re some thug? That’s it, isn’t it? You’re just a punk who doesn’t get that this isn’t a game.” Beast looks at the alien. “Well, all right, ‘thug,’” he sneered. “Let’s go.”

The alien started climbing the stairs, coming right at him. Beast grabbed the stair rails on either side, elevated his upper body and swung his legs into the alien. He felt a shudder of pain up and down as his feet impacted with the armor, but it was enough to send the creature tumbling backwards down the stairs. It lay in the hatchway, stunned for a moment.

Beast seized the opportunity to vault to the bottom of the stairs. He grabbed the hatchway door, which had been broken open by the alien but was still on its hinges. He swung it as hard and as fast as he could. The alien’s helmeted head was in between the hatchway and the door, and Beast slammed it with all his strength. It jolted the alien, causing its body to spasm.

Beast’s strategy was simple: crack the helmet, get it off, have access to the creature’s head and then pummel it into a fine paste.

He pulled back the door and slammed it a second time, a third time, but by the fourth the alien had gained control of itself. It caught the door and shoved it back wide. Beast jumped away, narrowly avoiding being crushed between the door and the bulkhead.

Beast came around fast and lunged at the alien, but it was too quick for him. Having regained its feet, it picked Beast up and threw him forward. Beast banged hard against the stairs and lay there for a moment, dazed. Then, digging his feet into the stairs, he propelled himself back as the alien lunged for him.

He crab-walked up the stairs, hurrying as fast as he could. The alien came after him, its armored feet clanking heavily on every step like a hammer being struck against a gong.

Beast got to his feet just as the alien almost reached the upper deck. While having the high ground advantage, Beast drove his fists into the creature’s armor as if he were working a body bag. All he managed to do, however, was break a couple of his knuckles. The alien simply stood there, gripping on to the railings for additional traction, taking all the punishment that Beast could dole out and providing no visible reaction at all.

Then, with an almost casual sweep of its backhand, the alien knocked Beast aside.

Beast slammed up against the bulkhead again. He almost sagged to the ground, the world whirling about him, but he managed to keep his feet.

“This isn’t going as well as I’d hoped,” he muttered.

The alien came up the stairs and slowly advanced on Beast. It was hard to be certain about its body language but it didn’t appear at all concerned that Beast would pose a threat for much longer.

Beast backed up, his mind racing, trying to think of something that would hurt it, something that could crack open that damned helmet. Then his eyes fell upon a fire axe affixed to the wall. He yanked it off its brackets and charged the alien.

The human is wielding something. Since it has not yet been proven to be any sort of known threat, the object in its hands is glowing green. Best to test its efficacy in order to determine whether it can, in fact, be a danger to any member of the Regents.

The alien stood there, apparently paralyzed with fear as Beast attacked, swinging the axe with all his strength.

The blade struck the helmet and there was a loud crack of something shattering. Fissures appeared in the faceplate, along with a small hole at the blade’s impact point.

The object in the human’s hand switches from green to red in the alien’s sensory array. It has been reclassified from harmless to a threat. As such, it must be disabled.

The alien reached out for the axe, moving with speed that belied its size. But Beast wasn’t exactly slow afoot either. He twisted to the right, dodging the creature’s lunge, and struck again. The cracks in the faceplate widened and now Beast could actually see a single, alien eye glaring out from within.

He brought the axe around again, but the alien intercepted it with its forearm. The blade glanced off it harmlessly, and with a quick movement the alien sent the axe tumbling. It clattered to the floor near an array of steam lines.

Beast tried to get to it but the alien was blocking his way. He lashed out with a foot, kicking the alien squarely in what Beast imagined was its chest. It rocked slightly back on its heels but otherwise appeared undamaged.

Beast quickly feinted left, then right, then left again. The alien went for the third feint, lunged at him, and Beast quickly cut right again with the sureness of foot that only someone who had played plenty of soccer could possess. The alien had left just enough space for Beast to dodge past it. It swung a fist around and slammed it into the wall, barely missing Beast’s head as he passed. Had the blow landed, Beast would have wound up as nothing but a red mass against the bulkhead.

Quickly, the towering engineer grabbed the fallen axe and turned to face the alien, who was advancing on him yet again.

The human’s physical capabilities and resourcefulness have been sufficiently tested. It is now time to terminate this exercise and move on.

The alien moved toward Beast with what seemed like new resolve. Beast realized that another shot or two at the faceplate wasn’t going to get the job done.

So instead of attacking directly, he swung the axe and severed the nearest steam line. Hot vapor blasted straight into the face of the oncoming alien.

The eye that Beast could make out within the helmet widened in surprise as the boiling steam enveloped the creature’s head within. There then came an outraged howl of pain as the steam practically cooked the alien’s head inside its helmet. It staggered back, still making those strange noises that sounded like a combination of a whale song and a lion’s roar.

The steam was now blasting everywhere, turning the entire area into a blinding sauna. Boiling vapor didn’t distinguish between friend or foe, and Beast turned and ran like hell, axe still in his hand.

As he sprinted down the hallway, he saw—to his relief—Hopper, with a couple of SCAT guys following him. “It’s right behind me!” he shouted, and suddenly something heavy struck him in the back of the head. Beast fell to the side, tumbling into a cross corridor, the world turning black around him, and he saw something bounce away from him. It was a valve from the steam lines. The alien must have ripped it off the wall and thrown it like a Frisbee. Son of a— was the last thing Beast thought before he passed out.

Hopper barely had time to cast a glance at Beast—just enough to affirm that he was out of the way—and then he and the SCAT team opened fire.

The alien moved forward quickly, its torso twisting and turning in response to the impact of the bullets assailing it. It kept one arm up as a shield lest any of the barrage get near its damaged faceplate. The armor withstood much of the assault, although one shot did tear off some of its knee. The alien did not, however, slow down.

“Fall back, sir!” shouted one of the sailors, and two men converged and formed a blockade between Hopper and the alien. This momentarily angered Hopper, because he wanted to be in the thick of the battle. It only belatedly occurred to him that they were doing exactly what they were supposed to: protecting the ship’s CO. In point of fact, he had no business being where he was at all. He should be someplace safe, ordering others into dangerous situations while he oversaw everything from a distance. But he wasn’t accustomed to thinking that way. Besides, he rationalized, the death of Stone and of the John Paul Jones’s captain and XO were proof enough that, in this situation, there was no safe place.

The alien continued to advance and, as if adapting its armor to up its protection, the impact from the blasts weren’t even slowing it anymore. It reached out and a low, angry roar came from within its helmet.

Beast’s “thug” snatches the glowing red weapons out of the hands of its assailants. They are hopelessly primitive, and nowhere near on par with the weapon that was actually able to do damage to the Regent they had captured. The Regent, however, has long since departed the ship, and now the warrior is finding that he can quickly assess and dispose of the other types of weapons the humans wield. These devices, for instance. They are easily broken, and can also be used against those who attempt to destroy him.

He snatches the weapons from the two humans facing him. The triggering mechanism is too small for him to utilize. Instead he simply reverses the weapons and uses them as bludgeons, slamming them onto the heads of the two humans. Their heads explode in a shower of bone and brain. The danger readout on both of them goes from red back to green. The humans go down immediately, leading the warrior to conclude that the inefficiently created humans only have one brain apiece rather than a far more elegant three. Poorly designed race. Next thing you know, they’ll turn out to only have one heart.

The two terminated humans had come together to prevent access to the third. This would indicate that the third is of some rank. This merits further investigation.

The remaining human fires its weapon at him—both the man and gun are glowing red. Its hands are shaking, its vital signs are at the high end of the scale and beyond. The human is terrified. That is good. At least it shows that the human appreciates the gravity of the situation.

He reaches the human and grabs the weapon from its hand. He snaps the weapon with no trouble as the human backs up. It bumps up against a wall and the warrior studies it meticulously, recording everything he sees. Of particular interest is what appears to be an insignia on its armor—extremely pathetic armor, it should be noted, being nothing more than some manner of thin material unable to repel even the most minimal of assaults. The insignia obviously denotes rank. This will be useful when it comes to deciding which of the humans to capture and which to simply dispose of. Certainly the higher-ranked ones will have demonstrably different brains and will be more useful and informative about the race as a whole when it comes to dissection.

Suddenly the human shoves him, which he had not been expecting. Does it not yet realize that he is superior in every way? That resistance is futile? Perhaps a more convincing demonstration is in order.

Hopper watched in shock as, with a whir and a click, something snapped into place on the alien’s armor. He didn’t have to be a scientific genius to realize it was some kind of blasting weapon, and it was targeted on him.

“Crap!” shouted Hopper as he yanked away from the creature’s grip, which happened to be on his uniform sleeve at that moment. The sleeve tore away from his shirt and he sprinted down the hallway. As he ran, he yanked out his walkie-talkie and shouted into it, “Raikes! Combat! Right now!”

He hit the bow deck running, the alien right after him, making a continuing, thundering noise as if it were a T-Rex in pursuit of its next meal.

Hopper burst out of the passageway leading to the bow deck, the alien in pursuit. Please be there, Raikes, please be there, he thought desperately. He could sense that, impossibly, the creature was gaining on him. A shot exploded just to his right, and then to his left, each accompanied by a high-pitched whine. It’s shooting some kind of ray blaster at me. Unbelievable.

He’d been able to avoid it because of the twists and turns of the corridor, but now he had the straightaway of the bow deck in front of him and the alien would have a clear shot. There was nowhere to hide, no way of avoiding it, and as he heard the shrill sound of the blaster powering up again, he braced his shoulder blades, certain he was going to be cut down any second.

That was when he heard a loud clang from behind him. He turned, his feet still moving, so he almost tripped himself.

Nagata had come out of absolutely nowhere; maybe from the shadows, it seemed, like a freaking ninja. Hopper wasn’t sure if that was an apt comparison or borderline racist, but he didn’t care at that moment. All he knew was that Nagata was holding a sledgehammer that he’d acquired from God-knew-where and had just knocked the blaster clear off the alien’s shoulder. The alien spun to face him and Nagata, with a furious yell, swung the sledgehammer and brought it crashing up against the alien’s faceplate. Half of it shattered and the alien let out an infuriated roar, grabbing at Nagata. The Japanese officer spun out of the way like a dancer and whipped the hammer around once more. This time it took the alien in the back of the helmet, staggering it. Nagata ducked, spun, ducked again, and swung low, striking the area of the knee where some of the armor had been shot off. This caused more consternation and fury for the alien, who seemed to be flummoxed over the fact that it couldn’t get its hands on the swiftly moving officer.

The human is formidable for one of its species, but it repeats its moves in a pattern that can be analyzed. It should attack with its weapon from over there… now.

The alien’s fist lashed out, seemingly in anticipation of where Nagata was going to move, and caught him squarely on the side of the head. Had it been a human fist that had made contact, Nagata might have been able to shake it off. As it was, it was like being struck by a boulder. Nagata went down wordlessly.

The alien took a step toward him, looking ready to crush Nagata’s head beneath its foot.

“Hey! Big ugly!”

Whether the creature understood what he was saying was anyone’s guess. Nevertheless, it slowly turned toward Hopper, who was standing at the far end of the bow deck with his hands cocked in boxing form.

“Come on!” he shouted. “You and me! Man to… whatever the hell you are!”

The visible half of the alien’s face stared at Hopper impassively, although Hopper realized that it could have been smiling or frowning or laughing uproariously and he still wouldn’t have been able to tell.

The ranking creature demands personal combat. Perhaps they actually have some manner of honor system. How very surprising. That being the case, the warrior has no choice but to respect that request, even though it will mean the certain death of the ranking human. Which may well be a waste since the human could have been of further use to scientists. He will endeavor to leave as much of the corpse as possible intact for subsequent examination.

The alien advanced on Hopper. It brought its hands up slowly, mimicking Hopper’s defensive posture. Hopper circled it, feinting, punching, trying to get into or at least near the part of the faceplate that would give him access to the creature’s face. The armor could certainly withstand anything that he landed, but if he could get at the exposed area, he had confidence that his right jab would be able to do some serious damage. Maybe even take the bastard down.

The alien watched him carefully and, whenever Hopper tried to land a blow, the alien brushed aside his attempts, as if Hopper were a first grader challenging a high school senior. But that didn’t deter Hopper as he dodged and weaved, staying just out of reach of the alien’s return punches. “Yeah! Yeah, not so easy? Not so easy one-on-one! Not like when you’re using your popguns to kill my brother,” Hopper’s voice was going up in pitch, his building anger beginning to blind him, make him faster, make him sloppy. “All you had to do was talk to us, man! We would’ve welcomed you! We were thrilled to see you! But no, you had to be a bunch of murdering alien douche bags—!”

An armored fist suddenly struck him square in the chest, knocking the breath out of him. He swung wildly, missed, and before he could recover, the alien punched him in the face, knocking him backwards and nearly tearing his head off.

Nagata had apparently recovered enough to shout, “Get the hell out of there!”

Hopper, dazed, reached back for the deck rail, swung a leg over. The alien stopped where it was, cocking its head, clearly puzzled by the move. It probably thought that Hopper was willing to commit suicide rather than continue what was clearly a hopeless fight.

Slowly Hopper raised the walkie-talkie to his face. He could feel his lip starting to swell, which irritated the hell out of him since it had only just recovered from getting punched by Nagata. “I sure hope you’re there, Raikes,” he muttered.

Raikes’s voice came over the speaker, “Always am, sir. Fast as she goes, on manual.”

The alien slowly advanced on Hopper, who continued to lean against the rail. Below him the ocean was surging against the ship. In the distance the sun was drifting down toward the horizon line. It was probably going to be the longest night that anyone on the John Paul Jones had suffered through. He wondered briefly if he would be alive to take part in it.

With a slow, steady tread, as if waiting for some last-second offensive move, the alien came toward him, ready for anything.

The human flips over the railing and is gone.

He is startled. It seems that the human has gone to a good deal of work, displayed a sizable amount of bravado, only to throw itself to certain doom.

Perhaps it is some sort of human ritual for a person of rank to commit suicide in front of its enemy, thus acknowledging that it is supremely overmatched. There is still much to be learned about human culture before it is wiped out. Every little bit helps.

Or… is it possible that humans are capable of surviving in water? Perhaps some of the higher-ranking ones are partly aquatic? It is certainly something that needs to be discerned.

He walks over to the rail to make sure. He bends over it and looks down.

There, in the murk, is the human. It is not in the water. Instead it is hanging about forty feet above the water, clutching on to some sort of metal projection from the ship’s hull.

No point in leaving it dangling there.

He brings his second phase blaster online, but just as it snaps out into position and starts to power up, he hears something behind him clicking into place.

He turns.

Not fast enough.

Raikes, in the CIC, watched in satisfaction as she lined up the crosshairs of the bow deck’s 5-inch gun squarely on the back of the alien’s head. Since the dumb-ass monster had been generous enough to stand still so she could draw a bead on it, she felt that thanking it for doing so would be only polite, even though it couldn’t hear her.

“Mahalo, motherfucker.”

She fired.

The alien was just starting to turn in the direction of the gun when the projectile punched through its head, in through the already cracked faceplate and out through the back. The now headless alien actually continued to stand there for a moment, its arms out to either side. Then it slumped backward and tumbled over the railing.

“Just in the Nearly Headless Nick of time,” said Raikes, whose deepest, darkest secret was that she was a fan of Harry Potter.

Nagata had lowered a rope down to Hopper and now he was climbing it hand by hand, back up to the bow deck. He made it all the way up to the railing, but then almost lost his hold on the rope. Nagata reached over and gripped him by the wrist, hauling him to the deck with an impressive display of strength. Hopper had a huge bruise on the side of his head where the alien had struck him. “You all right?” asked Nagata.

Hopper managed a nod and then looked at Nagata levelly. “Thank you,” he said.

Nagata shrugged as if it were no big deal.

Suddenly bright light illuminated them both. Oh God, what now? Hopper looked up and saw that another of those weird alien airships had risen up and was now shining light upon him. Or maybe it was the same one as before; there was no way for him to genuinely be sure.

It’s going to blow us to hell and gone. After all that.

The ship instead did nothing. It just hung there, seeming to…

“It’s studying us,” Nagata said softly. “And I don’t think it’s done yet.”

As if it had heard him, the ship pivoted in midair, and then hurtled away through the skies, heading toward the setting sun.

Darkness fell upon the John Paul Jones.