MOSAIC
By
Michael C. Grumley
Copyright © 2019 Michael Grumley
All rights reserved.
i.i
CONTENTS
BOOKS BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Prologue
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
EPILOGUE
I
II
III
IV
V
MESSAGE FROM THE AUTHOR
BOOKS BY MICHAEL C. GRUMLEY
BREAKTHROUGH
LEAP
CATALYST
RIPPLE
MOSAIC
AMID THE SHADOWS
THROUGH THE FOG
THE UNEXPECTED HERO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Rick, Jim, Rob, George, Les, and Tyler
Prologue
The late afternoon sun rested well below the thick canopy of African trees, producing a rich pink-orange hue through the cloud-covered sky. The air was still and humid, leaving the vast expanse of mahogany and kapok trees almost motionless, save for the occasional movement of African snipes as they hopped between branches.
A tranquil scene, shattered abruptly when a deafening scream arose in the distance, followed by a barrage of unintelligible shouting and cursing.
Dulce looked up, startled, still clutching a soft pink bromeliad flower between her black fingers. With a look of confusion, the small gorilla peered up at Dexter, a smaller capuchin monkey, who was perched nervously a few feet above her. Both turned and looked down a long narrow footpath toward the commotion.
The looks on their faces were strikingly similar to the expression of their alien companion, Ronin––unblemished but puzzled. His smooth, bald head gradually turning pink from exposure to the subtropical sun.
It was not until DeeAnn Draper appeared in the distance that they each jumped. DeeAnn was running. As fast as she could, huffing loudly and pointing frantically in the direction behind them as she barreled down the path.
“Run!” she yelled between breaths. “RUN!”
Ronin suddenly stared at the two primates who both remained frozen.
“I SAID RUN!” DeeAnn screamed and pointed again. When she was less than twenty feet away, the computerized vest strapped to her midsection blurted out the translation in a loud mechanical voice.
With a start, Dulce dropped the flower and began stumbling backward, still watching DeeAnn. A second later, Dexter leaped from the tree onto Ronin’s back as he too stumbled and began to run ahead of her in the same direction.
Trailing at a distance behind DeeAnn, a frail figure rounded the trees, angrily chasing after her. Shouts in Kinyarwanda spewed forth from the old man, who wielded what appeared to be a small ax above his head. But in his eighties, the man was already beginning to slow, which only seemed to incense him more.
The dark-skinned man finally slowed to a stop near the area where Ronin and the primates had been waiting––defiantly hurling the rusted ax forward, where it struck the ground and tumbled helplessly along the dirt path.
A hundred yards farther ahead and well out of range, Ronin pressed forward, running hard and pushing branches out of their way. Dexter and Dulce scrambled forward on his heels, and ahead of DeeAnn.
After several minutes, the trail opened into a wide, grassy area, where DeeAnn allowed herself to slow. Her feet finally thundered to a stop, and she gasped for breath, looking back through the trees for any sign of the old man.
She held up a hand and continued sucking in air. “It’s…okay…I think…we’re okay!”
Ronin coasted to a stop and turned back to study DeeAnn. He then retreated a few steps toward the narrow footpath and looked past her intently. “Are we in danger?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head, still fighting for breath. “No…we’re fine now.” She glanced at Dulce and Dexter. Both were on the far side of the grass and waited nervously to resume. “Dulce…it’s okay now…We’re okay. You can stop running.”
The translation sounded through DeeAnn’s vest, but Dulce’s hazel eyes remained skeptical. Behind her, Dexter ambled forward anxiously.
You scare.
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” She straightened and tried to slow her breathing. DeeAnn then glanced at Ronin with an apologetic frown. “Things didn’t go as planned.”
Ronin was still staring d
own the path. “What had you planned?”
“Well…maybe not planned,” DeeAnn panted, more gently now. “I was just hoping for a less exciting outcome.”
He peered at her, curiously. “This was not your expected outcome?”
“You could say that.” With a wry grin on her face, DeeAnn leaned forward and reached behind her back. She fumbled for a moment before pulling out two thin and worn books. She held them up in her hand triumphantly. “But at least I got these.”
“You have retrieved your books.”
“Journals,” she corrected. “And sure, let’s go ahead and use the word retrieved.”
Ronin did not get the sarcasm. “These are what we came for, yes?”
DeeAnn made sure they were still intact before tucking the books back into her pants behind her.
These weren’t just journals. They were the last remaining diaries of Dian Fossey––the legendary anthropologist who had vastly changed mankind’s understanding of gorillas in the wild, before being murdered decades before in the same jungle where they were now standing. A murder that to this day had never been solved.
No, these texts were not just journals. To DeeAnn, they were justice.
DeeAnn had been shocked to find that the diaries had been in possession of the old hermit. He had managed to somehow procure them after Fossey’s death three decades ago. But unfortunately, the old man refused to part with the books, even for a good price. So DeeAnn returned and waited––waited for him to leave his tiny shack before sneaking inside to retrieve them.
Of course, she did not consider it stealing. She left almost two thousand dollars on the man’s table, where he was sure to find it. She simply could not allow the last written words of Dian Fossey to be lost again, possibly forever.
We go now?
DeeAnn glanced at Dulce and grinned. “Yes. We go now.”
The small gorilla smiled and hesitantly knuckle-walked back on her hands. When she reached her human mom, Dulce raised her small black hand, allowing DeeAnn to take it.
Finally at ease, Dulce grinned up at her with a giant smile. You run funny.
DeeAnn laughed. “Look who’s talking.”
1
It was almost a miracle.
Will Borger and Lee Kenwood stood back to reexamine their work. Everything was in place and connected. The dim interior of the small concrete building made the bright green lights of the IMIS computer system appear somewhat eerie. They flashed several times and began blinking when the system was finally turned on.
The existing racks left behind from the older weather equipment looked mismatched and shabby next to IMIS’s sleek black servers––several of which needed to be stacked sideways on the floor to fit inside the cramped room. But fit they did. Barely.
Borger turned and watched Lee’s face in the soft green glow, as the young engineer’s eyes moved from server to server. Lee was looking for error lights that would indicate a hardware failure. Seeing none, he stepped in front of an extended tray in the center rack and placed his hands on the compact keyboard. Just above it, on a fixed monitor, a seemingly endless series of text and diagnostics scrolled up the screen. He finally relaxed when the operating system began to load.
“How long does IMIS take to boot?” asked Borger.
“Fifteen to twenty minutes.” Lee frowned. “It has to run through a lot of parity checks for all the drives.”
Borger nodded and continued watching. “Back in the old days, moving this many machines at once without something breaking was impossible. These systems have come a long way.”
Lee grinned. “Well, back then we were still grappling with electricity.”
Borger, struggling to keep his mind on the task at hand, chuckled from under his shabby beard. He was really beginning to like this kid.
Together they scanned their eyes back over the systems, perhaps this time with more relief than concern. It was still too soon to celebrate, but so far it really was a miracle. Just the two of them, moving so many systems so quickly and in one fell swoop, without a major failure…or at least not yet. It left them feeling both lucky and nervous at the same time––and thoroughly exhausted.
The biggest downside was that they both stank terribly. Working for two days straight to strip down the system and immediately rebuild it some fifty miles away was no small feat. In fact, it was an effort that only a fellow computer expert could truly appreciate. But they had done it. And now they stood together, prideful, watching the lines of code scroll past on the monitor.
Borger reached for a chair behind him and plunked himself down. His button-up shirt revealed dark spots under each arm, and his brow was still covered in beads of sweat. The old air conditioner hummed steadily in the background, not quite able to eliminate the mild dank smell from the concrete walls.
It would have been nice if they simply could have left the door open, but it was early morning, and even the dim lights in the room would have shone like a beacon to anyone outside.
The old maintenance building was comprised of three rooms––the server or equipment room, a small office, and an even tinier bathroom separating the two. It was a strange setup, but the structure was more than fifty years old and had a huge upside in that it was rarely checked anymore, if at all. It was the best they could do under the circumstances.
Hiding the IMIS system was far more difficult than it sounded. Especially since they needed a strong connection to several low-flying military satellites. Allowing them to literally hide the signal under one of the largest and most powerful radio dishes on the planet was a stroke of genius.
Of course, it wasn’t foolproof. Given enough time, someone would eventually notice the different signals. They could then trace them back to one of the old, forgotten maintenance buildings on the edge of Puerto Rico’s Arecibo Observatory grounds. Or they would notice the power draw. Or a number of other telltale signs. But by then, with any luck, they would be gone.
Borger folded his arms over his large belly and watched Lee, still scanning the lines of scrolling text.
“So far so good?”
Lee nodded. “So far.” He studied the screen for several more seconds before finally turning away. “Now we just wait and see.”
“And hold our breath.”
“I’m sure we’ll have some small problems to fix, but assuming nothing got seriously damaged, we might be able to have it all back up and running by tomorrow.”
“Good,” Borger replied, motioning at the worn-out chair behind Lee. “Have a seat.”
Lee complied and peered back with tired eyes. “So, what’s next?”
“We get some sleep. When IMIS is operational, we notify the rest of the team so they can test it remotely. Then you and I get to work.”
“With the reprogramming.”
Borger nodded. “You’re sure IMIS is going to be able to do this?”
“Pretty sure,” Lee replied. “Like I said, it’s not all that different from what we did for Alison and those hieroglyphs in Guyana. At its core, IMIS is designed to find patterns––mostly in communication, but its algorithms can do more than just that. Heuristics are used for all kinds of things these days. Unfortunately, there’s a tradeoff in accuracy for speed. Which is why IMIS still makes mistakes. But once the solutions are verified…”
“We’re golden.”
“We should be. I have to warn you though–”
“Relax kid,” Borger said. “If anyone understands the fallibility of computers, I do. But so far your IMIS system seems better than most.”
“So, what do we look for first?”
“Good question. We’re not going to be looking for surface-level stuff, but deeper relationships––historically, and over a long period of time. Things that may have been overlooked for a very long time. Dots that haven’t been connected yet.”
“Like what?”
Borger shrugged. “Things like Cambodia, for example, and what was discovered a couple years ago––huge medieval cities bu
ried beneath the jungle since something like the twelfth century. Only found when some guy decided to scan the area with airborne lasers. I’m betting there’s a lot of stuff out there that we either haven’t found yet, or have found but haven’t realized the significance of. And I don’t just mean cities. How many other things do you think mankind has found over all these years that got lost or stuffed away somewhere?”
Lee Kenwood nodded his head, thinking. “This may not be easy. There’s an awful lot of data out there. Fortunately, one of the reasons IMIS has been so successful with the languages is because it uses unsupervised, deep-learning algorithms with multiple layers of data representation. So, it doesn’t just connect dots, it searches more deeply to determine what dots should or should not be connected.”
“That’s exactly what I’m hoping for,” Borger said, “because if a single alien race came to Earth and secretly buried millions of embryos here with their DNA, what else might be out there…from them or someone else?”
“And we still have to figure out why.”
“Precisely.” Borger nodded again and removed his glasses to clean them with his shirt. “Our friend Palin said Earth has more water than most other planets, which makes us a prime candidate for relocation. So, if other forms of alien life can live here, there’s no telling what else might already be here that we don’t know about.”
Lee Kenwood raised his eyes to the room’s concrete ceiling, chipped and littered with dozens of small cracks. “I wonder how many of them might be out there…in space.”
“Probably a lot,” Borger answered wearily, before staring intently at Lee from his own chair. “You remember me telling you about that Drake Equation?”
“The predictive thing?”
“Yes. A brilliant but simple equation that most astronomers are familiar with. In the late ’50s, when radio telescopes became big enough, some astronomers got to thinking and wondered if they would be sensitive enough to pick up extraterrestrial signals from other planets. If there were any.”
“Like radio signals.”
“Right,” Borger said. “All kinds of technologies work using the radio spectrum. And if it’s true for us, it would undoubtedly be true for other races out there too. After all, we all use the same spectrum. So along comes a guy named Frank Drake who puts forth a question. Actually, it was less a question than an equation, really. The point is, everyone had already pondered or asked whether life existed elsewhere in our galaxy, but no one had really asked how much life might be out there.”
Mosaic (Breakthrough Book 5) Page 1
