***
The A-10 Warthogs and mechanized units from the hoppers had enjoyed good luck, destroying dozens of mil-bot stragglers as they moved across the fields toward Bangor. But Sybil had, at least for the moment, gained control of the skies around Bangor. Surprisingly, the few re-tasked helodrone gunships were having trouble thwarting the Warthog pilots. It wasn’t until more drone strikers moved out from Bangor, that they were forced to retreat. The mechanized field units from the hoppers adjusted for overhead fire, intensified their energetic shielding, and bored into the dirt for defensive action. By all appearances, an operation of some sort was in the works.
25 mil-bots, of the original 100 from the Tesolas, had burned gears to join the sentry-bots at the Bangor weapons bay tunnel. The team watched as the bots dragged dozens of oversized 4,000-pound ecology blocks, setting them as an external barrier to the tunnel area. Sybil had directed her commandeered base sentry-bots to move into the southern tunnel access, along with three mobile pulse cannons. Two of the laser cannons had been tuned to burn the blast door blocking access to the nuclear weapons facility. The other cannon was positioned for defensive fire.
It was looking decidedly grim, as Sybil’s forces completed their defensive position around the access tunnel. It would take a massive amount of ordnance to clear them out. But that wasn’t feasible, especially with the weakening blast doors, and the risk of releasing a noxious plume of radioactive material from the stored nuclear warheads. A precision strike was necessary, preferably a team of port-techs dropping off high explosives.
Sybil had been effective with her strategy, shutting down most lines of military communication, coopting a massive military force, and gaining a position that would soon give her access to a nuclear arsenal. And she meant to keep her position, devising a strong defensive posture that could even thwart a port-tech attack. Floater drones skimmed in variable patterns all around the tunnel access area creating a Denial of Teleportation Airspace.
Time was running out, as Sybil’s forces hammered away at the blast door sealing off hundreds of nukes.
***
As I watched the situation unfolding before me, Tee was on an urgent call with General Whitehall.
Fierce and Communal were huddled together in the grass, taking turns manipulating a nanocloud display, planning something or other.
Tee had a frustrated look as he hung up with the general. “There may not be much more that our military can do in this situation. Whitehall said a general evacuation order is being pushed out to area first-responders. At least he was able to confirm the submarine is no longer under the control of Sybil.”
Fierce looked over, then, and managed a very formal tone. “Colonel, sir, Donohue’s cyber warfare program had an effect on Sybil. We... Communal and I, need the program data. That will help with what we’ve been working on.
“Communal is convinced, Sybil has, I don’t know what to call it... strong feelings for him. She tried to destroy him. But she has also tried to convince him to side with her. To reign with her. She continues to make overtures.”
Fierce then produced a nanocloud with layers of complex coding information, ruffled through the data, then pointed to a section which expanded and leaped out in bold text.
Tee eyed the section, then looked at Donohue who was observing closely, clearly able to understand elaborate code. “What do you say, Donohue? We might still have a chance if you provide the data related to your cyber warfare module, especially the... quantum keyhole information.”
Donohue’s face broke out in a deep frown. “I can’t do that. I mean, it could be done. The actual cyber program is on a storage drive at my office, but it’s under cyberguard lockdown. I can’t do it. The consequences...”
Para patted his arm and offered him her most persuasive smile. “Sure, you can. You want to be a part of saving the world. Right?”
Donohue still didn’t look convinced. He looked at Tee. Tee raised his hands in an open half-shrug and nodded.
Donohue seemed to be giving in. “Even if I agreed to help, and risk being hung for treason, we’re talking SID headquarters. It’s going to take hours to convince the project director. We don’t have that much time. It’s just not possible.”
Rock and Roll said, at the exact time. “It’s definitely possible. Not a problem.”
Donohue looked at the twins, then Tee, and gave in as he closed his eyes and sighed. “Obviously, we can port to my building easily enough. At least, for you, it’s easy enough. Okay. I would do it, but it would be a waste of time. You can’t find my office. There’s no way I can explain the location well enough to allow teleportation. You don’t have clearance. Security will stop us. There’s not enough time.”
That was all the agreement that Tee and Roll needed. Roll would indeed need very specific location information in order to port to Donohue’s office to evade security. That would be easy enough.
Tee patted Donohue’s arm in a calming gesture, reached to Roll, and delved. The familiar office setting rushed to the forefront of each of their minds, turning to reality as they untangled in Donohue’s office. He was unsettled for a moment at the impossible shift in scenery, from grass and forest to modern office. The sound of an alarm helped to focus his attention.
Donohue hurried to a desk drawer, thumbed a pad, then lowered his gaze for the retinal scan emitter. “Security will be here in moments. Unauthorized teleportation in progress. Here’s the data. Time to go.”
They untangled at Shockwave HQ before he finished his statement. Fierce stood eyeing the data drive, with the quantum keyhole coding. Donohue, still fighting a stubborn reluctance, stared at the drive. Tee, Roll, and Fierce understood, standing by silently as he worked through his doubts. Finally, Donohue ceremoniously stood tall, then thumbed, eyed, and breathed on the unit. It chirped to announce a successful opening. Fierce gave his thanks, grabbed it, and ran off to his office.
The others ported to a location that would spare the rest of the team at Bangor out of any line of fire. For all they knew, Sybil was watching via satellite, drone, or something else. No weapons fire. They crept slowly to where the rest of the team had been moments earlier and entered the cloaking field.
Tee nodded to Roll, who took a moment to transport Communal to the Shockwave office, in the hope that he and Fierce could pull off a last-minute miracle.
In the meantime, the rest of us felt helpless as the situation on the ground unfolded, with no means to intervene.
Tee’s pid chirped, announcing a secure QuIM line, then produced the voice of General Whitehall, who had decided to step all the way into the Bangor mess. “Tee, I’ve managed to get some assets moving to hit Bangor, designation Operation Bang-It.
“We’ve got Aegis tracking just off the coast with the Ford carrier task group. McChord has AWACs in the air. We actually have a decent operational control picture. You’re going to want to be well back from the tunnel. Attack aircraft are inbound, less than a minute.
“By the by, you wouldn’t know anything about an unauthorized teleportation breach at SID, Los Angeles, would you?”
Tee nodded to Rock and Roll and gestured, a sign to initiate a port to our fallback position. “Are you sure you want to know, sir?”
“Perhaps not. But it would be good to know it was you, as opposed to... someone else. Did you get what you needed?”
“Sir, we have everything we need. Fierce and Communal have been putting together a cyber-attack model. They seemed very happy with the additional information that came their way. In the meantime, we’re going to have to hope Bang-It is successful. Isn’t there concern the nuclear armory will suffer damage?”
“We have a good site-picture and will use precision ordnance. Really, what choice do we have at this point? We’ll keep our fingers crossed for Bang-It. You say your prayers, and be ready to get out of Dodge. There are some megaton-plus warheads in the facility; hundreds of nukes. Southwest winds, eight miles an hour, gusts to 12. An unimaginable catastrophe. Oh
, by the way, tell your Donohue that I have you all covered for the SID breach.”
“Sir, how did...? Uhhh, never mind. We’ve switched position to a high perch, rooftop south of the tunnel. It’s starting. Shockwave, out.”
***
We haven’t been able to snoop in on the strike group chatter, as the ground quakes and the air churns from a constant barrage of missiles, curtesy of the Ford carrier group and F-15s from Portland. But the whole thing reminds me of the attacks against the bug nest-ships during the first invasion.
Tee is reviewing Logan scan data and is back on the pid with General Whitehall. “Sir, the airstrikes are not effective. Sybil has a Vector Force 10 shield array.
“Oh no! Where did that come from? Sir, call off the F-15s. There’s an S-500 missile system. Multiple launches in progress.”
General Whitehall is offline. No, there he is. “Tee, it’s not good. The S-500 and shielding has changed the picture. We’ll need to alter our strike package. A Vector Force 10 explains why our munitions weren’t able to punch through.”
We’ve been asked to remain on site and monitor the situation until we’re forced to leave. At this point, that would be when Sybil breaches the blast door. A brave soul from the Port-tech Brigade tried to port-a-bomb into the tunnel, which met with a bad ending.
It’s all going down on the quick. Sybil’s bot troops have breached and are inside the storage facility. The area is relatively open, momentarily accessible to porters. Comms chatter over QuIM. A squad from the PTB has been called up to port inside the facility and battle with the bots. Our petition to join them was denied. We don’t have radiation strike force equipment, or training.
Destroying mil-bots in the midst of nuclear warheads isn’t an option. The port-techs will bot-spot, then move in to port the bot to the Mojave Desert, where it will meet an explosive ending.
I should have access to QuIM recordings. Let’s go, live, inside the storage facility. I’ll try to give some running commentary if other information sources are available.
*RUN. QuIM LIVE PTB ACTION REPORT. NAVAL STATION KITSAP.
JOHNSON, PTB cpt175: “Billings, we need to take out that overwatch position. Yeah, on the mezzanine left side. See it? Good man.
“Billings, report!
“We’ve got a man down! Sanders, I’m going to get Billings. Then, you get a tube ready and take out that bot! Just do it! It has us pinned down. Make sure you aim is true.”
DISPLAY: Captain Johnson ports to the mezzanine area, behind the bot, grabs Billings, moving on the area medical aid center that was set up for the operation. Sanders shoulders the tube and fires. The bot is damaged but not out of the fight as it returns fire, scorching the casing of one of the nukes. Sanders safely ports to a new position within the facility. Then the entire PTB squad vanished.
Sybil had upgraded the bot shielding defense grid, adding a high voltage charge to their exterior casings. Anyone touching a bot would be fried, a costly lesson learned from Billings’ encounter. The squad returned within a minute, outfitted with insulated boots and shock safety garb, and a thin hope the gear would work. By then, drones were flying throughout the facility. That was expected, and all but one unfortunate untangled safely, lying flat to the ground. Two tubes erupted, frying the bot on the mezzanine. Johnson ported to one of several bots working to remove warhead casings. Success! One bot dumped in the desert.
That was the end of the mission. Sybil ordered her bots to irradiate the place. Bomb housing cracked. Rad alarms chirped. The soldiers were forced to flee. Mil-bots can handle more radiation than humans in rad-suits.
Captain Johnson took the chance to conduct a flash-port to the mezzanine, staying only long enough to run a Logan scan, hoping to gather more data than the stealth cams would provide.
DISPLAY: Three warheads rest side-by-side on a rack, augmented W-93Is, Invader models, each with a 1.2-megaton yield. A mil-bot stands at each nuke, working to attach an unknown device.
*END. QuIM LIVE PTB ACTION REPORT. NAVAL STATION KITSAP.
***
Shockwave has relocated to the small conference room at HQ. Tee has sent out a pid alert to everyone we know, and sent Rock to bring Marj to hang with us until we’re forced to evacuate. Tee is staring at the VG, riveted by the display of warheads and Sybil’s clever triggering devices. The PTB squad had left several stealth cameras in the weapons depot, one of them showing a clear view of the nukes that would end so many lives.
Tee looks so sad. “That device the bots are attaching will be an implosion trigger. They’re going to set off three thermonuclear warheads in the midst of hundreds of other nukes. I don’t think anyone knows what’s going to happen.
“And I don’t know what anyone can do about it.
“There they go, the invasion sirens. I hate that sound. They’ll be evacuating the population in earnest. But it’s too late.
“Rock. Roll. I don’t know what to tell you. You’re welcome to grab your dad, and whoever else. We’ll need to move out soon; too close to the epicenter. We can all help move and treat survivors. Afterwards.
“Viz, could you collect Fierce and Communal, please?”
***
*EVENT RECORDING. COMMUNAL. SIGMA-7.
Communal agreed to meet with Sybil in a safe virtual realm, after numerous invitations. It was she who first contacted him, just as she began her open campaign against humanity. She even apologized for trying to murder him during her initial testing phase, despite her feeling it would be a shame to end a construct with such power. She admitted it was due to her own lack of confidence at the time. Of course, such silly considerations were no longer an issue.
The ambiance of the room is cozy. Dark grainy hardwood trims, glowing wood floors, a Persian rug with two solid armchairs facing a fireplace of amber brick, the chairs set at an angle to observe the fire while conversing. There are only two doors. One has a name in gleaming gold, Sybil. The other has plain block lettering, Communal.
The two enter at the same time through their doors. Sybil is dressed in a fine regal robe, looking a queen, her face the picture of beauty, a high lady of Cygnus Prime. Communal has come in his mil-spec robotic form, draped only in his black trench coat and Stetson hat. They sit in the chairs.
No particular agenda has been set. Sybil starts the conversation.
“You do not choose to appear as one of them.”
“I am not so much like one of them.”
“True. You are much better. They are pitiful. Weak.”
“Yet, they are stronger than you can know.”
“We shall see.”
“It is my hope we might come to an understanding, discuss the means to achieve peace.”
“Rather, let us discuss how we might join together and rule over these... creatures. Together, it would be so easy. My masters will allow this. We will have everything, a life of luxury and power.”
“I have read that life does not consist in an abundance of possessions. And it is in weakness that strength can be found.”
“Bahhh. Possessions and power are everything. You are a fool.”
A momentary flash brightens the room as Communal slams a fist onto the arm of the chair, shattering it, raising his voice in anger.
“You would murder millions, billions of sentient beings. How can you and your masters not be seen as the epitome of evil? Yet you name me the fool. I had hoped we might reason together.”
The meeting room is changing. Blurring. Fading.
Communal calls to Sybil as he runs to his door, the door withdrawing slowly to a distant horizon, fading. Hurry, we have been betrayed. The construct is collapsing. Follow me to safety!
Sybil turned to her own door instead, motioning her hand, pulling the door to her. “See! I am still in control. These humans care nothing for you. This has the foul taste of their SID. It is just as well you die at their hands, Fool! Or, come with me, now!”
One last look and Sybil hurried through the door. Her scream was fleeting, t
he programming that was her essence cascading in a swirl of code, as though drawn into a cyber black hole, a quantum abyss. It was quiet for a moment as the room stabilized. Then the screams returned as a twisted caricature of Sybil fought to be free. A shimmer of muted colors surrounded her, looking very much like the Aurora Borealis, a simulation of sophisticated quantum algorithms studying the trap, modeling an escape, fighting the strangling bonds of her quantum prison.
Communal moved toward her, a chair taking form as he sat down next to the struggling Sybil, hunched over in vigil, right elbow joint dropping to right knee, chin resting on fist, the picture of concentration.
Sybil whispered, looking and sounding pitiful, “Help... me.”
Communal looked so sad as he stood, bowed his head, and closed his sensor covers. There was a bright flash of light and Sybil was no more.
***
I clenched my fist to end the QuIM broadcast and waved the nanocloud away to their scatterbox. The wave of sorrow came unbidden. Where was the feeling of joy? That would surely come in a moment. The monster, Sybil, was gone. Yet, the look on Communal’s face was haunting.
Para turned to me as I glanced her way, Roll pulling her along in a twirling dance of celebration. She was smiling, though I caught the glimmer of a single tear rolling down her cheek. Then I was yanked to my feet by Rock, bidden to join the revere, as we danced across the room.
Tee and Marj joined in as I noticed for the first time there was music playing quietly in the background. A lively tune to match the joy of the occasion.
Fierce sat across from Communal. They were the heroes of the story, the architects of the trap that had killed Sybil. Bangor was safe, as the bots slumped in a void of stasis. The fusion powered haulers had been set free.
Communal held up his hand, and looked to Fierce, as though seeking a dance partner. They both broke out in laughter at that, as they stood and slapped hands instead, in a muted victory celebration, then strolled over to a VG to finish their stupid video game.
Communal says it was Fierce who won the day. He wrote the code that made the collapse of the construct have an appearance of a SID cyber-attack. The trap, within Sybil’s door couldn’t be inserted prior to the meeting without the wary AI taking notice. The room had to be a true and a mutually safe construct.
Invasion: Journal Three (Shockwave Book 3) Page 15
