More Than We Can Chew

"Holy fucking shit," my pilot exclaimed. "That one just missed us by a cunt hair!"

Though his language was colorful to say the least, the man had a point. Planes and jets of all sizes were flying past us in the opposite direction at erratic and terrifyingly close trajectories. What was worse, they were not communicating on the radio, or rather, they were communicating all at once in such a frantic state, the result was merely a staticky din.

"Boss, get your pin-striped ass up here," he called back to the cabin. "You're going to want to see this."

I obliged, somewhat begrudgingly. He was my employee after all. It was usually me giving the orders, though not so crudely.

"You're lucky you're the best pilot I've ever seen, Mac," I said and sat in the co-pilot's seat.

"Yeah, yeah. Add it to the swear jar," he said.

"I bought this jet with the swear jar, Cormac," I replied. He hated being called Cormac.

"Anyway, what do you make of that," he said, pointing out the window.

I'm not one normally prone to being taken aback, but I am not ashamed to admit, that what I was seeing out of the window of that cockpit, made my jaw drop. Thousands of vehicles, in the air and on the ground, were heading our direction. They were obviously fleeing something but what? There was nothing on the tv or on our phones or laptops. No outward sign that we could see that would cause such behavior.

"We have to get a line through to someone, Mac," I said. "Someone must know what's happening."

"Way ahead of you, boss," he replied. "I've tried every channel in the dial and they're all full of people stepping all over each other. Whatever is happening, I'm afraid we'll only know it when we see it."

"Should we turn around," I asked. I knew we didn't have the fuel for that, nor probably at the moment, with the skies littered, the space for such an action but I'm a problem solver and I was working through the options.

"Yeah, we should," he said.

"But we can't, I know," I said. "It's bound to clear out soon. We'll just stick to our flight plan. And God help us when we get to the end of it, I guess."

It wasn't long until the skies became less crowded, and we could breathe normally again but the feeling of dread hanging over us was no less diminished for it. When we cleared the Rockies and broke through the cloud bank, we saw immediately what had started the mass evacuation. Standing in the middle of the San Francisco Bay, was a sky-scraper sized robot.

"Holy. Fucking. Shit," Mac and I said in unison.

"What should I do, boss," he asked.

"What choice do we have, take us down," I said. I'd made my fortune taking risks that would make most people's brains explode from their sheer audacity. Chasing immutable truths around the globe, I'd survived a hundred near-death situations and lived to talk about it. Human boots have touched Mars because of my fortitude and drive. A thousand species have been discovered in the deepest parts of the ocean due to my ingenuity and passion. I didn't get to be where I am by not always striving to satisfy my need to know what was waiting for us on the other side. I could not pass up this opportunity.

"If you say so," he said. Then he crossed himself. Cormac was Irish Catholic and always said his hail Mary's and every Irish prayer he could remember when we were in a tight spot. He'd confess the cursing when he got back to the East Coast. "God don't hold court on the West Coast, Doc," he was fond of stating. Today, it would seem he came down in person to preside.

Normally, when you're in a plane on its landing approach, everyone is sitting quietly, buckled into their seats. This was not a normal circumstance. All six of my guests for this trip, and my two most often used flight attendants were crammed into the cockpit of my Gulfstream G650. They were not a squeamish bunch, and they weren't going to miss this.

Since all the air traffic had been cleared out, and the roadways were likely to be a nightmare, we decided to land at SFO rather than at our usual destination in Napa. If we were tempting fate by flying directly toward the thing, nobody was brave enough to say so.

The colossus never moved. It didn't so much as cock its head. For all we knew, it was dead or out of power or just some sort of statuary dropped by cheeky aliens. I've seen a lot of strange things in my life, but this topped them all by orders of magnitude. There was no frame of reference from which to even begin making guesses as to its nature.

"Well, here ye go," Mac said flatly. "I don't suppose it's worth me addin' fer ye to be a little more prudent than usual this time, is it?"

"Mac, when have you ever known me to be anything less than prudent," I replied.

"Fuckin' thought not," he said. Then he turned to the others stuffed in the cockpit. "Come on ye dumb bastards, gear up. We're heading out."

In our line of work, even my most casual employees were trained in all manners of self-defense, tactical awareness, battlefield medicine, and survival techniques, so they, like my guests were kitted out for every conceivable contingency.

We set out in two groups of five. Each group moving toward the bay. There wasn't likely to be any contact until we'd reached the robot but we weren't taking any chances. However unlikely, the thing could still be terrestrial and if so would likely be the forward tip of any assault.

It still hadn't shown any signs of being alert, awake, alive--don't even know how to categorize it but there was no way something that advanced didn't know we were coming, or that we were armed. The utter lack of acknowledgement of our group only made the behemoth that much more terrifying. We were nothing but insects to it.

Finally, we had made the bay and I halted both groups. Those in each group who'd had sniper training glassed the surrounding area looking for any sign of life but each quickly signaled it was clear. I had started to give another order when a pain shot through my head like nothing I'd ever felt before. But just as quickly as it had come, it was gone and somehow I knew what I needed to do. I signaled for everyone to disarm. Then I ordered them to stand down.

"You ready for this," I asked Mac.

He just shook his head. "You're crazy, Doc, you know that?"

"Yeah," I replied. "I know."

Together, we walked out to the shore and stood, staring up at it. It was so tall it created a sense of vertigo and I thought for a moment that I may get sick. But the moment passed, and I was able to marginally acclimate to the hugeness of the thing. Still, when its massive head bent down slowly to look at us, my bowels loosened a bit.

I shot a furtive glance to Mac. I caught his nod out of the corner of my eye, confirming what we'd both just seen. That giant alien robot thing had shrugged as if to say, this will have to do and then let out a sigh. We fought the urge to run backward and bury our heads in the sand as it kneeled down before us and held out its hand.

An invisible door in the palm of the gargantuan hand silently slid open, revealing a smaller scale version of the robot. At first the light coming from behind it was so bright, all we could make out was a silhouette but as the being stepped out into the light of our own world, we began to see that it wasn't a robot at all. It was a humanoid figure in a suit of armor. Perhaps, in hopes of not scaring us, it was not wearing its larger counterparts matching headgear.

It waved. Almost like you or I would, but also a little like how a toddler waves after just learning the movement. Mac and I exchanged puzzled looks and then returned the gesture.

"H-hello," I said. The first time in my entire life, I didn't know what to say.

"Ah, there it is. My suit just finished translating your language using your wireless electronic information feeds. Hello to you, also, Doctor Vanguard. I am Fontaine and if it's not too cliche, I'd like to add, that I come in peace."

My body visibly relaxed and I smiled. "You know my name, Fontaine. This bulky fellow next to me is, Cormac O'hearn. Usually, we just call him Mac."

"Nice to meet ye, Fontaine," Mac said.

"I must admit that you both are handling this situation far better than my colleagues believed possible. But, I'm not surprised. I had witnessed your people's initial Mars landing and after tracing the technology back to its source, you, Doctor Vanguard, I was immediately convinced you were the person with which to make first contact."

"I am humbled by your confidence in me," I said. Mac thought that was hilarious but he was gracious enough to hide it well. "May I ask what your intentions on this planet are, Fontaine?"

"You may and you should, Doctor. I represent a consortium of planets in, what you call, The Cosmic Horseshoe Galaxy. Until recently, your part of the universe was ignored by most advanced civilizations. Other than a few probes now and then, you had been mostly beneath concern. But then, you visited Mars and managed to come to the attention of some less than altruistic races. The Council of Galaxies weighed this news on the metaphorical universal scales and decided that your planet's forward thrust technologically might one day tip the balance of those scales into the negative."

Fontaine must have seen the look of fear on my face because he quickly waved his hand and added, "if you were to come under the rule of those more aggressive races. That is why we are here. This robot that has seemingly emptied your entire West Coast population is actually a combat ship and I am its pilot. I have been instructed to defend Earth from the aformentioned aggressives, if you'll allow me. Ultimately, it's your decision. If you say no, I cannot guarantee your planet's survival, but fate will determine those outcomes that even such as we cannot see. Wouldn't you agree, Doctor?"

"Can we come," I asked stupidly.

"Yes, you and your crew are invited. I can pilot the Bellum Tigris myself, but it is much easier with a crew, even a small one. And I feel it's important to allow a people to fight in its own defense."

"I agree," I say and reach out to take Fontaine's hand when suddenly his head explodes in a plume of blood that covers my own face. Immediately, Mac and I take cover and I can hear the other members of our group calling out the shooter.

"Contact right," Marcus calls and the groups move fast and effeciently in that direction. If you didn't know what to look for, you wouldn't see them. The shooter is dead before he can even register that there are people upon him.

"Clear," I hear Marcus say but it seems to come from a thousand miles away. What have we done? Our species one hope of surviving intact what's coming was just assassinated. I look over at Cormac and he's standing over the body of Fontaine with a pained look on his face, rubbing his short black hair.

"What's going to happen now, boss," he says when he catches my eye.

For a long moment, I simply stare at him as I gather my thoughts. "Well, I did say you're the best pilot I've ever seen, didn't I?"

He shakes his head. "Yeah, I thought that's what you were gonna say."

The rest of the crew arrive and I brief them on the situation. Not a one of them hesitates to agree to come along. We pick up Fontaine's body and carry it into the Tigris. Even though I'm not Catholic, before stepping over the threshold and into a world no human has ever gone before, I cross myself.

"That looked like hammered dog shit, Doc," Mac said. "I'll teach ye how ta do it proper when we're in the air. Now, get your ass inside before anymore heroes show up and start shooting." Quickly he adds, "forgive me cursing father. I'll confess it as soon as I'm able."

We enter a room that is encircled with stations housing more of the suits like the one Fontaine wore. Each of us pick one and step into it and they automatically form around us. I can hear servos and gears whirring as plates lock into place and bleed off exhaust. Then the helmets latch and we're rocketed upward at an incredible velocity. When we have stopped moving a door opens up to a massive control deck. While we were riding inside the ship, it had taken off for space. We walk to the window and look out on a sea of stars none of us have seen before and the ship informs us that we're near NGC4826 by Terran reckoning.

"The Evil Eye Galaxy," I say. "How fitting." I turn to the group and our helmets slide back into their compartments on our shoulder pads. "Well, let's see if we can balance some scales, shall we."