Nexus of Time

by Mark Riverstone

  A series of cables with electrodes runs from the computers to the cuboid. A screen connected to the computer shows strange symbol strings unrecognizable to Dr. Black, but arranged in such a way they have meaning.

  "That is Grey language you see there. Ying, once he learned their language from the last ship we captured, figured out the most significant feature of the Zeus Box. This cuboid isn't just a power amplifier. It's a building block."

  "What do you mean?"

  "This cuboid can take the slightest amount of power and use it to run their ships or cities, but also contains the information to build and run any mechanical or technological device created by the Greys. It stores data, and even has what we call AI, or artificial intelligence."

  "That? Are you saying that block can think?"

  "In the way a computer can think, a very advanced computer. It is not alive, or sentient. Let me put it like this. A Grey wants to build any of their ship designs. That information is stored on this cuboid. By connecting this cuboid to a fabrication device, it can build a ship to place the cuboid in. Once inserted into the proper location on the ship, this cuboid can then power, interlink, and run every device within that ship. It has the information they need to navigate the universe. It has all the knowledge of the Greys. Whether researching or querying information, having communication devices tapped into this cuboid gives any answers they need. Grey ships have navigation systems that can predict thirty seconds into the future, but we never understood how it worked. It was with this."

  "You are saying this thing can predict the future?" puzzles Dr. Black.

  "Not future, futures. Human AI uses backpropagation, which creates labels or weights, that are adjusted and readjusted, layer by layer, working its way toward fewer and fewer results until the least number of outcomes remain, those being the results or answers. Working backward from possibility to solutions. But this Grey AI uses forepropagation. It determines all possibilities that lead to every logical solution, and the possibilities that derive from those solutions, expanding forward and outward to every logical outcome to any one situation. At any moment, this thing knows all the logical outcomes to all possible situations. So, with each micro action taken in the present, this can determine which specific action will be made based on all previous micro actions leading to the current action, thus predicting up to thirty seconds into the future what is about to happen.

  "To tap into the information within the Zeus Box, he wired those computers together. Ying didn't know computer technology before his transformation. None of my I.T. people have been able to understand this setup. Ying's evolved mind invented this."

  "Why did the Greys make a cube capable of this?" asks Dr. Black.

  "It gives them a perpetual civilization. A few Greys on a ship have everything they need to build machines, cities, clone themselves, and continue their existence. I'm guessing they designed these when their population went from high numbers to the endangered species size they are at now. It ensures that, as long as a few Greys are alive or if a Grey ship gets separated from the rest of their society by an insurmountable distance, they will survive, rebuild and clone. It's why the Greys attacked the Committee bunkers and recovered these boxes. They do not want these in human hands. With them, we potentially can access the Grey's knowledge and their advances."

  "Why aren't they coming after this one?"

  "They did. Not this one, but the older damaged one. Thanks to Mr. Nix's warning, we were expecting them, disabled their ship and took this one. One of the last things Ying did before becoming too sick to work was create a signal dampener so the Greys could not detect this on our ship. Believe me, they are still looking and want this back. So, you can see why we need Ying healthy. He is the only one who can unlock the secrets of the Greys, and our only chance of defeating them. Our survival depends on his survival."

  "I better get to work then. I wish I knew what was wrong with him."

  "You said it was an allergic reaction."

  "Based on his symptoms and condition. That doesn't tell what is causing it. His allergy may not be from his humanoid traits, but caused by the Grey extension of this DNA. Who knows what Greys are allergic to or how it afflicts them? Or the allergy could be new, based on what he has become, and be neither human nor Grey in origin. I appreciate you showing me this, but if we are finished here, you must excuse me. I have work to do."

  "Let me show you to the lab you will be using. It was Ying's lab, but he won't be needing it."

  Dr. Black follows Captain Nemolopolus into the Barge's passageway maze.

  Roadside Assistance

  Chapter 33

  Country Rural Route, South Carolina.

  The bright sunny sky saturates the green leaves and grass of the cattle specked countryside. Off-road farmhouses situate isolated on flourishing fields, backdrop props of idyllic Americana. A local route sign, a number inside an outline drawing matching the state of South Carolina, confirms to Mr. Nix that he heads northward. The rough-riding Army Humvee rumbles over the poorly maintained road. His olive drab field fatigues given by the Army blends well with the surrounding greenery, while the lack of rank on the uniform reflects his lack of progress. Mr. Nix weighs his hunger against the small quantity of sealed black MRE field rations on the passenger side floor. With not a soul in sight, Nix pulls the Humvee off the road.

  After making sure the snap holding the service handgun in its hip holster is bound, Mr. Nix jumps out. Going around to the passenger side, he grabs a field ration and tears it open. As if he has done it hundreds of times, he opens the main pouch of the MRE, pours in a little water from a canteen, places the flameless disposable heater in the packet along the bottom of the dish, and eats a small package of hard crackers.

  He takes a sip of water, then starts the recorder on his wrist communicator, "New entry. The disappointment expressed in my last log entry has lifted some. I'm on my way toward DC, somewhere in South Carolina. I got my transportation and supplies from a military encampment near Augusta. The Army surrounded a monolithic Grey terraforming Deconstructor sucking up the rubble of the nuclear plant, only to discover their weapon's inability to harm it.

  "Beyond the futility of battle against the overwhelming technology of the Greys, I can't stop thinking about my previous actions. When I confiscated a vehicle from a woman and her daughter. In the middle of nowhere. Hundreds of miles from where I needed to be. Unaware if I left them in danger. Inside, I feel as if I abandoned my wife and daughter on that roadside. I left my family decades ago to protect them from dangers beyond mankind, but my lack of success is causing me to wonder if I turned my back on them as I turned away from that mother and daughter. I abandoned that family as an excuse to save my abandoned family.

  "The Army set me up with enough to get me to or near DC: a Humvee, khakis, rations, and even a handgun. But I'm still a long way from reaching the Committee headquarters and now am uncertain once there I can help. Before, when I took the SUV from that woman, I thought if I reached HQ, I could contribute and fight back. Now, being out here, seeing what this attack is doing to people, passing through towns of panicking populations, meeting up with an Army battalion whose strongest weapons did more damage to the land they were protecting than the enemy, I wonder if anything can be done. If I will achieve nothing more than my own safety in a crumbling world.

  "I must change what I do from here on out and not hesitate to help people in danger along the way. Living so long underground in the shadows with the purpose to protect humanity, I forgot my humanity, put myself above humanity. I forgot the basic psychological criteria the Secret Service used to help weed out the unstable and ego-maniacal applicants. On is if there an acceptable life loss to save the greater good? No. There never is an acceptable loss. Efforts should always be to save as many as possible, not accept the sacrifice of a few. No person should decide whose lives are expendable. And yet, I became that person. I just didn't realize it until I imposed hardship on that woman and her daughter as an ac
ceptable trade to achieve what I needed. How can I save people if I determine people are expendable for my cause? I can't.

  "This could slow my journey, even make it so I don't reach Washington. But what if I make it to DC and discover nothing can be done? There is the possibility the people I help along the way are more important to humanity's survival than agents hidden in a government bunker. I must consider our future may reside among the people out here who survive in the shadow of the Greys. Who knows? I know I can't live with myself if I don't start helping the people I claim to be protecting.

  "The primary gas tank on the Humvee is almost empty. I burned more fuel than necessary driving around the last few towns. Not because I don't want to help those there, but the last towns I passed through reeked of rage and desperation. People who were obviously not in need tried to wave me to a stop, their eyes showing they were more interested in my Humvee than in me. Even had a couple cars follow me out of town, ready to hijack me if I didn't wave them off with my pistol. I'm being very careful to make sure I don't confuse those in need with those who want to take. Harsh times bring out the best and worst in people. I must be careful my guilt does not lower my guard.

  "The Humvee has a reserve gas tank, so when the primary tank is drained, I'll switch to the second. The gas I have will get me into North Carolina. I need to locate more fuel and supplies without robbing the needy, as I have done up to now. In my soul, failure is a more acceptable option than success at the expense of others in need. The ideal choice is to steal from robbers, but that is always the most dangerous...End entry."

  Nix shuts the recorder off on his wrist communicator, then picks up the warmed ration meal, and begins eating with a spork. Finishing, he eats the dessert packet. After washing everything down with water, Nix seals and sets the canteen on the passenger's side, then moves back to the driver's side. He jumps in, starts up the Humvee and pulls back onto the road.

  Nix drives for a while, seeing no one, realizing there are no adjoining roads. Just a long rural route dividing the land. In the distance, a large cream-colored sedan gets closer, the car speeding and swerving between the center line and running off the road. Cautious toward the unpredictable actions of this erratic driver, Nix pulls off the road and stops. Watching the car as it passes, Mr. Nix sees a groggy male driver, a screaming female passenger, and a shot-out back windshield. Nix does a U-turn and chases after the car.

  In his rear-view mirror, Nix notices a ranch-red pickup truck in the distance. The sedan in front of him loses control, runs off the road, smashes through a cattle fence and into an overgrown field, leaving a tamped path of tall grass in its wake. Mr. Nix follows through the fence breach into the field, reaching the vehicle as it comes to a stop. Side scratches gouging the car's creamy paint give the illusion of motion on the still chassis.

  Nix leaps out and moves toward the sedan's trunk where the missing rear window shows a back seat salted with windshield glass and a woman's bowing head sobbing in the passenger's front seat. The driver has disappeared from view. As Nix comes to the woman's door side, her head lifts and cries. She holds the male driver who slouches across into her lap. Blood soaks his shirt back around bullet holes.

  The woman sees Mr. Nix at her window and begs, "Please, please, help us. My husband is hurt bad. Real bad. Please..."

  As she embraces the wounded man, her clothing absorbs his blood, her hands wet red.

  "Stay calm. I'll do everything I can," says Mr. Nix in an urgent voice.

  Mr. Nix sees the red pickup truck that was in his rear-view mirror race up and pull off roadside at the fence breach, a hundred and fifty feet away. The truck turns off, but the driver remains inside.

  "Miss, do you know that man over there?"

  She lifts her head and look over to the roadside, then becomes hysterical.

  "Oh my God, oh my God! He's the one who shot at us. He'll kill us!"

  "Why?"

  "I don't know. Bunch of jackals made a roadblock. Wanted everything we had. My husband refused to give it, turned the car around, and they shot him. They'll kill us," pleads her quivering voice.

  "Trust me. I'll take care of this. I need you to stay calm, duck your head, and be absolutely quiet. Don't move, no matter what," says Mr. Nix in a soothing tone.

  The woman tries but shakes and whimpers.

  "Please, your life, and your husband's, depends on it," emphasized Mr. Nix.

  She forces herself to stop panic panting, makes a tiny nod, and lowers her head. Nix reaches into the car and acts as if trying to shake her awake. The guy in the truck at the roadside gets out. His wiry gruff physique is reinforced by his utilitarian T-shirt and jeans, and a chest draped with a camouflage hunting vest. He pulls a rifle out of his truck, then closes the pickup door. The man casually holds the rifle with one hand, the barrel pointed to the ground, and moves to the spot of the broken fence. Mr. Nix pulls his arm out of the passenger window, stands up straight, and waves to the guy by the roadside with his left arm, while his right hand unclips the strap holding his pistol in the hip holster.

  "You folks needs any help?" hollers the stranger by the road. "That car had a pretty nasty accident."

  Nix walks through the tamped grass path to the fence opening.

  "Yeah, it was. Thanks for the offer. They could use our help. It's a couple. Both unconscious. Lots of blood in there, but I felt their pulses and they are still alive. If you could help me get them out of there and into my Humvee, I can get them back to base and medical attention."

  "Base? Didn't think there is a base near here," questions the stranger.

  "There isn't. My platoon is on civilian patrol. Trying to asses any problems that might need controlled or contained, so we set up a camp ten miles south. I was out surveying the area when I ran across these two."

  "So, they got you on patrol by yourself?"

  "Yeah. The Army is big, but this country is bigger. We're spread thin, but doing our best."

  Once he reaches the man, Mr. Nix stands next to him. Nix can tell despite the man's friendly demeanor, the stranger is assessing Nix while constantly looking at the car in the pasture. Having been a spy for so long, Mr. Nix's natural way of talking and moving gives the man no doubt Nix is a soldier astray in the countryside.

  "Little old for a soldier, aren't you?"

  "Yeah, retired from the Army, kept active in the reserves. Went back to the base when the shit hit the fan."

  "Your accent. Ain't from around here."

  "No. I'm originally from Cincinnati, Ohio. But when you get to be an old dog in the service, your home becomes wherever you are stationed, and that's been here in the South. I considered heading back north the last few years, but every time I go to sleep at night in a civilian bed, I dream I'm on base in my old bunk. So, I decided to stay close."

  "What are you, a captain or something?"

  "Trained a sergeant, die a sergeant, but these spare uniforms aren't ranked yet," barks Mr. Nix.

  Nix looks the man over, and his hands holding his rifle. The whole time the guy was talking, Nix could tell the stranger was only half in the conversation. The other half of the man distant, as if assessing how to react. This guy won't play his game much longer, so Mr. Nix watches the man's arms and body, ready for this stranger to make his move.

  Mr. Nix breaks the silence, "Well, good talking, but a couple in there needs our help. Would you be so kind as to help carry them out and into my Humvee, then I'll run them back to our medic and get them the attention they need."

  "Sure. I got blankets 'n things in the back of my truck if you need them," offers the stranger.

  "We could cut the blankets up and use them for bandages to stop their bleeding. Oh, if you have any wood shims or slats, grab them. They could be used for splinting if they have breaks or dislocations."

  "Sure thing..." says the stranger as he suddenly spins and grips his rifle, raising it towards Nix.

  Ready for this moment, Nix uses his left hand to block the gun barrel, prevent
ing the stranger from targeting Nix's body, while Nix draws his handgun with his right hand. Both guns fire. The stranger shoots off to the side of Mr. Nix, while Nix hits the man point black in the center of the chest. As the man stumbles backwards, Nix grabs the rifle barrel and yanks it out of the stranger's hands.

  With shock on his face, gasping for breath, the man falls back onto the ground. His breath labors as his hands grasp the wound by his heart. Nix tosses up the rifle into the air and grabs the stock. Then, while still aiming at the stranger with the pistol, Nix uses the rifle barrel to pull the stranger's shirt up, checking to make sure the stranger hasn't concealed a gun in his waist. Nix then uses the barrel to lift the stranger's pant legs, to check for an ankle holster hiding a pistol. The guy is clean, so Nix stares the man in the face.

  "Who are you? Why are you hunting these people?" demands Mr. Nix.

  The shock and disbelief in the stranger's eyes as his hands grope his wound speak for him. The stranger's breath shallows and fumbling hands still as his chest hole pulses blood.

  After taking a quick look up and down the road to make sure no one else is coming, Nix holsters his pistol and hurries back to the car carrying the rifle. He sees the women hunched over her husband, shaking and whispering to him.

  "You need to tell me what is going on, but first let's get your husband out," orders Mr. Nix.

  Mr. Nix places the rifle on the roof, then opens the driver's door. He reaches in and grabs the husband's wrist and shoulder to pull him out, then stops. He can tell by the skin temperature and lack of pulse the husband is dead. Nix straightens up, watching the woman cradle her husband while she sobs and whispers in the dead man's ear. After grabbing the rifle, Nix turns and faces the road beyond the fence and leans back against the car. His legs weaken as he slides to a seat on the ground.

  Mr. Nix takes a moment to regroup his thoughts. He has to get that lady out of here. There is a dead stranger near a pickup truck by the roadside. If that stranger was from that roadblock the woman mentioned, then there are others. If his friends come looking for him, drive by, and see their friend dead, they won't let Mr. Nix and this woman leave alive.