The Origin of F.O.R.C.E.
Page 26
"Interesting," Hisspat thought. "It appears the human animals have been busy in my absence. How nice of them to provide me with an opportunity to examine their primitive technology."
Typing a series of commands on his entry pad, he instructed the master computer to rendezvous with the small energy signature floating directly in his path just outside the solar system of HG-281 and capture it. Satisfied with his fleet's status, Hisspat strolled off his command deck and headed toward the galley. Time to reintroduce his stomach to the pleasures of solid food after 30 long years of fasting.
***
It was 0700 on Friday, April 11, 2014 when Tom Blunt's phone buzzed. Peering at the ID on the phone display, Tom saw it was Staff Sgt. Joe Beale, the man in charge of communications with the Hubble. Quickly picking up the receiver, he answered, "Yes, Joe. What do you have?"
"Sir, we have confirmation of the information from Pioneer 10. You might as well come to Communications because no matter what I describe to you, you won't believe it until you see it with your own eyes!"
"That bad?" asked Tom.
"Yes, Sir. That bad," Beale answered.
Slamming down the receiver, a worried look creasing his forehead, Tom quickly left his office and trotted the labyrinth of corridors leading to the Communications Suite. Bursting through the door of the suite, he looked around quickly, trying to spot Sgt. Beale.
The communications suite was one of the largest work spaces in the underground facility located in the Nevada desert 135 miles north of Las Vegas. The room was fully 100 feet long and 40 feet wide. The ceiling was 10 feet high and covered with specially designed LED lighting that mimicked the full spectrum of natural sunlight. Row after row of computer stations, 200 in all, filled the first 70 feet of the giant space. Each station was manned 24 hours a day, 365 days a year by people trained to communicate with special ops ground forces strategically placed all over the Earth. Those ground forces were the guerrilla army Lt. Jerome McPherson had envisioned many years ago.
There seemed to be a gentle breeze blowing in the room, and Tom knew the air conditioning system always kept the oxygen level in the room 5% above normal. The experts hired to design the suite had done their best to make the occupants working there feel comfortable while maintaining high alertness. The full spectrum light and increased oxygen helped accomplish those goals.
The remaining 30 feet of the room held a long conference table that could easily seat 20 people. The rear wall was a giant computer monitor surrounded by large speakers. The monitor was 20 feet wide and 8 feet tall. Separating the end of the rows of computer stations from the conference table was a raised platform as wide as the giant monitor. In the center of the platform was a pulpit-like data entry panel used to control the wall monitor and speakers. Sgt. Beale was standing in the pulpit, making some adjustments to its controls.
Staff Sgt. Joe Beale was a 20 year veteran of the US Marine Corps. He had extensive combat training and was the kind of experienced sergeant who was sent on a dangerous mission with a newly minted Lieutenant to make sure every soldier returned safely to base. Sgt. Beale was entirely comfortable with telling any officer below the rank of Colonel exactly what he thought of their performance, but he did so with respect for their authority where it was deserved. Beale was 5 feet, 10 inches tall and weighed 250 lbs. There was not an ounce of fat on the man. Tom liked Joe, and the feeling was mutual.
Tom hurried down the main aisle and jumped up on the platform to stand beside Beale.
"Ok, I'm here."
Briefly checking the settings on his panel one more time, Beale turned to look at Tom and explained, "What I'm going to show you is a computer enhanced version of the datastreams we're receiving from all three probes. Once a probe locks onto an object, it continues to hold the object under constant monitoring until we signal to release it. All three probes are now locked onto the incoming objects and sending us a constant stream of data from their observations."
Tom interrupted and asked, "You said objects?"
"Yes, Sir. Our analysis so far indicates multiple bogies of tremendous size. Since we have a constant datastream now and are only delayed from real-time by around 12-hours, our enhancement of the data is becoming more accurate as each moment passes."
"Show me what you have so far," Tom ordered.
Turning his attention back to his panel, Beale flipped a switch and the big screen was suddenly filled with the blurry image of an arrow shaped object. The entire image appeared severely out of focus. No detail could be discerned except for the vague arrow shape, but as they gazed at the object displayed on the wall-sized monitor, various groups of pixels throughout the image appeared to morph into greater clarity.
"Did you notice the change in some of the image pixels?" asked Beale.
"Yes. Is that on-going computer enhancement?"
"It's a combination of more incoming data from the probes and computer enhancement. At the rate we're receiving new data, my people tell me we should have a pretty clear picture in two days."
"Two days!" exclaimed Blunt with profound disappointment.
"Afraid so, Sir. We're pushing the data transmission rate of the old systems aboard the probes as it is. Two days is the minimum."
Reluctantly, Blunt said, "Understood. If anything changes, let me know immediately."
"Will do," Beale acknowledged and he flipped the switch to turn off the monitor.
***
Colonel Douglas Jenson ended the cellphone call from the Los Angeles office of the largest television news organization in California and rolled his eyes. Another Newscaster complaining about the CDC handling of an Ebola patient in California. Doug was ready to tear some of his hair out over the inane babbling of pseudo-intellectuals trying their best to instill unfounded fear in the general populace. Gazing out the windows of his 40th floor office, a movement caught his eye, and he watched a Boeing 747 on its final approach to the Hartsfield International Airport appear from behind a nearby skyscraper. Jenson wondered absently where the aircraft had originated and how many passengers it had onboard. The view from his office windows always relaxed him, even when he could see lightning from approaching thunderstorms that frequently blew toward Atlanta from the southwest. Rising from his office chair, Doug stretched his 6 foot, 2 inch frame and noted it was almost 6 pm. Time for a brisk walk around Centennial Olympic Park and then to his favorite restaurant for supper. Jenson was in good shape for a 60 year old. His dark black hair showed only a few strands of gray around his temples, and he hadn't gained more than 30 lbs since he graduated from West Point.
Grabbing his suit coat, Jenson left his office and hailed a cab for the short ride to the park. "What a gorgeous day!" he thought silently. "Maybe there'll be a couple of street musicians at the Park. That would be great!"
As a member of the inner circle of FORCE, part of Jenson's assignment included being Asst Director of Public Health Preparedness and Response at the Center for Disease Control. He did his best to spend at least one week a month at the Atlanta headquarters of the CDC in order to maintain his contacts with major public utilities around the country. If and when the Chrysallaman invasion was imminent, he was the person who would begin the process of activating the dormant virus in the civilian population.
Tom Blunt and Doug Jenson had been good friends ever since their first meeting at the main entrance of the West Point Chapel in the Fall of 1974. Years later, Doug had been one of the first persons General Tom Blunt had picked for his core staff at FORCE. Blunt had pulled Jenson from his counter-intelligence position at the CIA and named him FORCE's Head of Civilian Defense. When Doug had pointed out civilians were not normally called upon to defend the Nation, Blunt had disclosed the entire history of the Chrysallaman threat. As an added bonus, Blunt had gone ahead and activated Jenson's dormant virus. Tom wanted Doug to completely understand the initial impact of the viral sickness on the general population as well as the aftermath of confusion as millions of people suddenly became enhanced.
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br /> Spring time weather in Atlanta, Georgia is normally very pleasant. Temperatures usually ranged from the mid to upper 70's, and the humidity usually stayed below 50%. Doug enjoyed walking the mosaic tiled sidewalks of the Olympic Park just north of the downtown area. The tile patterns in the sidewalks helped ease the monotony of a long walk. He was strolling toward the raised gardens on the northeasterly side of the Park when his cellphone rang. It was General Tom Blunt. The unusual hour of the phone call caused Doug's gut to tense. Something was wrong.
In a serious tone, Doug answered, "Hey Tom, what's going on?"
"Doug, we have a Code Red Celestial Alert."
Pausing a moment to collect his thoughts, Doug asked, "How far out are they?"
"Less than 6 months. We'll have a more accurate time frame in two days."
"What do you want me to do?"
"Sorry for the short notice, but I want you on the next plane to Nevada. We're going to be making critical decisions in the next few days, and I want my primary team by my side."
"I'll be there tomorrow. No problem," Doug answered.
Ending the call, Doug looked up at the darkening sky, focusing on the bright, full Moon and offered a silent prayer, "God, please give us the strength to defend our World and allow us to enjoy an everlasting Peace."
Running at full speed to his car, Jenson raced to his apartment and packed quickly. A military Learjet was waiting for him when he arrived at the National Guard hangars lining the western side of the Hartsfield airport.
***
Two days later, Tom Blunt's general staff along with Colonel Doug Jenson were seated at the large conference table in the Communications Suite. Madelyn Amsley sat at one end of the table operating the digital cameras recording the meeting. Staff Sgt. Joe Beale stood in the pulpit, ready to control the display on the large monitor and make any adjustments requested by the group. The general buzz of conversation was focused at the moment on the effects activation of the uniques had on the Staff.
Colonel Alexander Fields was so excited, he stumbled over his words as he tried to describe the effects. "This enhancement stuff is going to take some getting used to," he stammered as he looked around the table. "I picked up a water glass yesterday, and it broke in my hand! The door knob in my room broke off when I tried to leave! Whenever I shut my eyes, I still see everything! Have any of you been able to go to sleep yet?"
The clear thoughts of Major Becky Chang spoke in soft, soothing tones within Fields' mind, "Alex, I learned a few tricks. Let me show you." Suddenly, a series of instructions imprinted in Fields' mind, giving him detailed ways to dampen or ignore the more annoying aspects of the new mental and visual powers they all had acquired from the activation.
Looking back to Becky with a grateful expression on his face, Alex said, "Thanks, Becky. I can't tell you how much I appreciate your help."
"You're welcome. Sorry I can't help with the physical strength. I broke my shower stall door this morning just sliding it open. We're all just going to have to learn day-by-day how to control our new strength. Right now I'm scared to death to touch anyone who hasn't been activated because I might somehow injure them."
Nods of agreement indicated everyone was having the same experiences. Peering around the table at the various reactions to their newfound powers, Doug Jenson frowned with worry. The Staff was made up of highly educated, military trained adults with combat experience. They didn't represent a microcosm of the general population. Doug foresaw plenty of adverse reactions to activation within the general public, and he wasn't sure how he was going to handle the bad reactions. While he was mulling over the public's response to being activated, General Tom Blunt walked up and took a seat next to him.
Looking back over his shoulder, Blunt said, "Sgt. Beale, please put the latest image of the alien armada on the screen."
Instantly the giant arrow shape appeared. The increased resolution of the image from two days ago was startling. The arrow shape was now quite obvious. Details of the individual spacecraft forming the armada were cloudy, but it was obvious there were many of them.
Blunt asked, "Is there any way of determining the size of the objects we are seeing?"
"We're working on that," Beale responded. "Notice the stars in the background at the top right and center of the picture? We don't have enough detail yet to be sure, but preliminary analysis based on the relative locations of the Voyagers to the alien fleet indicates the star in the center is Castor and the one on the top right is Alhena. Once we're sure of identity of the stars in the background, we will be able to make a calculation of the size of the ships in the Armada. Based on the dataflow from the probes, we need another day before I have enough resolution to answer your questions accurately."
"Very well. Thank you, Sergeant."
"Anyone want to venture a guess at what we're seeing?" Blunt asked as he gestured at the image.
Jason Stoneman leaned into the table and said, "Based on my naval experience, the head of the arrow is composed of destroyers and heavy weapon cruisers acting as a shield to protect cargo vessels in the arrow's shaft. It is my guess that due to the vast distance from their home planet to Earth, the Chrysallamans had to bring a vast amount of war supplies with them since resupply of a lengthy siege would take too long."
Amanda Kurstow broke into Stoneman's dialogue and said, "I don't necessarily agree with the cargo vessel scenario."
"Go ahead Major," replied Blunt.
"I'm trying to put myself into the shoes of the Chrysallamans," she began and gestured at the huge image on the view screen. "Remember what they discovered when they were here back in 1947. They found a world with primitive weapons compared to their own, and inhabitants who were no match for them physically or mentally. Also recall Whatsit said their mission was to find a suitable planet for colonization. So they go back home and tell their leaders they found a perfect planet for colonization inhabited by a primitive tribe of dull heathens."
Looking around the table and seeing she had everyone's attention, she continued, "Now compare what I just described with our own human history. Columbus sets sail and discovers the New World. He returns home to report his findings, and how do Spain and Portugal react? They don't just send the military, they send colonists and establish homes and trade centers in the New World. Based on our own history, I agree with Colonel Stoneman the head of the arrow is military; however, I believe the shaft is made up primarily of colonists and supplies necessary for colonization of the Chrysallamans on Earth."
Blunt gazed over at Fields and said, "Colonel Fields, you're being quieter than usual. What are your thoughts about the armada?"
Leaning over the table and propping up his chin with his hand as he continued to gaze at the wall-sized monitor, Fields replied, "My inclination is to agree with Major Kurstow. I don't believe the Chrysallamans consider us a military threat. In fact, if we hadn't captured one of their saucers and been able to reverse engineer their cutter and heat ray tech, we honestly would be no military threat to them. Since the Chrysallamans don't know we were able to duplicate their principal weapons, they don't think we're a military threat. I believe the Chrysallamans have sent what they consider an overwhelming military force to take down a primitive culture that can offer no more than token resistance. The rest of the fleet should be composed of colonists and colonization materials."
Settling back into his chair, Blunt steepled his fingers over his chest and tapped his fingertips together several times as he considered what he'd heard. Finally nodding his head, he looked around the table and said, "I tend to agree with the colonization fleet being the shaft of the arrow, but I want to reserve judgment until tomorrow when Sgt. Beale indicates the resolution of the image will be clear enough to make out details."
Sitting forward in his chair, he placed his hands palm down on the conference table. "We will reconvene here tomorrow at 1400 hours. In the meantime, I want Major Chang and Colonel Jenson to conceive of a way to educate the public about the use and co
ntrol of their new unique powers once they become activated. Dismissed."
***
Becky Chang's office was just down the hall from General Blunt's staff conference room. It was a small space, not more than 15 feet square, but she had filled its walls and shelves with Chinese artwork. Every corner of the room was occupied by some kind of lush plant growing from large, intricately carved clay pots. As Doug sat down in one of the visitor chairs, he watched her walk from corner to corner, touching and stroking each plant with her hands as if she was testing their suppleness or gaining some calm from their feel on her fingertips.
Satisfied with the condition of her plants, Chang took her seat and looked pensively at Jenson. Biting her lower lip, she said, "The reaction of Colonel Fields is mild compared to what I expect from the general civilian population as soon as they go active."
Nodding his head and frowning, Jenson agreed, "Yeah, it took me several days to adjust to the enhancements when I was activated, and I knew what was going on and what to expect. I don't think there is any doubt if we activate the public without their knowledge, most people will have a very difficult time trying to cope with the changes."