Von Neumann’s War

by John Ringo

  “Hold one… How’s that?” she replied.

  The image lurched, then zoomed in to the maximum display resolution with a ratio of one hundred to one, or one centimeter on the screen being the same as one meter on the surface.

  Roger popped open his laptop. He had previously hooked it into the video feeds of the imagery display monitors. He toggled a few menu buttons, then the image being displayed on the monitor with the high res data was now being displayed on his laptop. He pecked the left touchpad button and the real-time image froze.

  “Now I’ll just zoom in a bit here and… there.” Roger turned his laptop monitor toward Ronny. “Look at that, will ya?”

  “Little flying things,” Ronny said, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows.

  “Yeah, they look almost like a boomerang or something or a flying wing. And at this resolution that must be about four pixels across so that thing is about a hundred and twenty centimeters wide. But, God, they’re all over the place.”

  “Warning Flight! I have a Watchdog reset on telescope gimbals!”

  “Flight, I’ve got three Watchdog resets on structure.”

  “Here we go, Ronny. Let’s hope the antenna holds long enough for us to get a close up.” Roger crossed his fingers and stared closer at the three low resolution video streams. He pecked his computer and set it on ready to grab a video frame. Of course if he missed it they could replay the video after the fact.

  “There, Roger.” Ronny pointed at screen two — the Earthward viewing one.

  “Got it.” Roger tapped the touchpad.

  The image stream stopped.

  “Flight, we had multiple Watchdog resets then no telemetry at all.”

  “Roger that, no telemetry. Continue the reconnect protocols, but I think we can assume the probe was destroyed,” John said with a sigh. “Well, at least we know what we’re up against.”

  * * *

  “The best we can tell is that it appears they’re made of metal. A composite material most likely wouldn’t be this shiny,” Ronny explained to the President over the phone.

  “So, what does that mean?”

  “Well, sir, we haven’t really had time to analyze the data completely, but we’re certain that they’re using in-situ materials from the lunar surface to replicate themselves. That means this thing is most likely made of titanium and aluminum.”

  “Then that means they won’t be impervious to our weapons,” the President said.

  “Possibly. It might be some sort of super-alloy. But more likely they’re simply making themselves from whatever’s available. They undoubtedly need some trace metals for their internals, although we have no idea what they are at this point. But, yes, Mr. President, they might be individually vulnerable. However, there are a bunch of them. Mr. President, the U.S. needs to go on a full war footing right now.”

  Despite the official declaration of war all that had really happened was an increase in funding and the call-up of the National Guard and Reserves. To the greatest extent possible, it had been business as usual.

  “We need a much larger Army, more redoubts, we need to throw anything we can at the problem and open it up fully so anyone can get in on the research.”

  “That’s going to need some discussion, Ronny,” the President said. “Among other things, you’re not the person who should be advising on that.”

  “Sorry, Mr. President,” Ronny said, gritting his teeth but biting back the reply.

  “You need to be in the meeting, though,” the President said, sighing. “Get up here and bring Dr… What’s his name? The redneck?”

  “Dr. Roger Reynolds,” Ronny replied. “He’s right here, sir.”

  “Both of you get up here,” the President said. “I’ll schedule a full Cabinet meeting this evening with the heads of the Senate and the House.”

  * * *

  The meeting was in the cabinet room with every cabinet member present as well as the majority and minority leaders of the House and Senate. Everyone except Roger had brought an aide. He supposed he’d be counted as Ronny’s aide, or even his second aide, since Ronny had one sitting in a chair behind him, but he was planning on saying his piece.

  “We’ve refined the data a bit since I spoke to the President,” Ronny said, concluding his fifteen minute presentation. “We now have a clearer understanding of the threat. They’re definitely Von Neumann machines and they’re definitely consuming the surface of the rocky bodies in the solar system one by one. There is no indication that they will ignore the Earth. At present, no model that we have shows survival of the human race, or at least civilization, in the face of this threat. We’re looking at end game for the ten-thousand year history of post-hunter-gatherer society, ladies and gentlemen.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” the secretary for Health and Human Services said, shaking his head. “You can’t say that just because they ate the Moon and Mars that they’re coming here! And even if they do, we’ve called up National Guard and the Reserves. What more do you want?”

  “We need to rationalize production,” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs said. “We need a national industrial board.”

  “We’ve got one,” the chairman of the Office of Management and Budget snapped. “And they’re already screwing up the economy—”

  “Economy be damned,” Roger said, trying to bite back the comment as he made it.

  “Dr. Reynolds,” the President said angrily. “If we don’t have an economy, we don’t have the money to pay for your pet projects—”

  “Mr. President…” Ronny started to say placatingly.

  “No, let me,” Roger said, looking the President in the eye. “Mr. President, there was a book a while back, written by some yuppy economist.”

  “Yes?” the President said, raising an eyebrow. He very well could be called a “yuppy economist.”

  “It was a pretty selfish book,” the scientist said, shrugging. “Basically, it was about how to plan to manage your money so there wasn’t any left over for your kids. ‘Die with your last dollar’ or something like that. But it’s important here, Mr. President.”

  “Why?” the national security advisor asked.

  “Every other time we had a national emergency, we had to keep one eye on what the future might hold,” Roger said, looking her in the eye. “If we lose this one, there is no future. No econony beyond glass beads,” he said, looking at the chairman of OMB. “No agriculture,” he said, looking at the secretary of Agriculture. “Not beyond digging small gardens with sticks. No housing,” he continued, looking at the HHS secretary. “Not beyond caves and stick houses. And not much of that, looking at the Moon and Mars. A few humans scrabbling for survival in the metal monster of a city the machines will create, living hand to mouth, eating each other to survive. Mr. President, if the last dollar equivalent in the world is spent to kill the last machine, that will be a dollar well spent!”

  “Mr. President?” the national security advisor said quietly.

  “Yes?”

  “We’re already looking at the inflation index skyrocketing,” she said. “Effectively, in a survival economy, which is what we’re approaching, you have to draw money out of the economy or it overheats as there’s more and more competition for survival materials. One way to do that is to crank taxes up and put them into non-useful or disposed costs; personnel and equipment that’s not going to last. You worry about how to recoup if you win, if the survival situation goes away. You don’t print more money, you take it out of circulation.”

  “There’s that,” the chairman of OMB mused. “And, frankly, Mr. President, while rather hotly presented, what Dr. Reynolds said makes sense as well. The images from the Moon are more… graphic than those from Mars. As are the growth curves. If the same thing happens, unchecked, on Earth, well…”

  “Agreed,” the President said with a sigh. “Senators, Congressmen? We’re going to have to pass bills for this. We’ll have to increase the taxes, begin a draft—”

  “Mr.
President?” the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs and the secretary of defense both said simultaneously.

  “Yes?” the President said, looking at the secretary with one hand up to the Chairman.

  “I think we’re both going the same place, Mr. President,” the secretary said with a glance at the Chairman. “There’s simply not time, or materials, to make a draft worthwhile. Funneling the money to civil defense and, frankly, organized militias will be more worthwhile. Some increase in Defense, yes, but we’re still in the making the tools to make the guns stage. More money and facilities at the scientific redoubts. They’ll have to try to survive even if everything else falls.”

  “And culture,” the secretary of the interior said, firmly. “If we lose everything else, let’s keep the knowledge of how to rebuild it alive.”

  “Food,” the secretary of agriculture said, frowning. “And storage facilities. Even if these things get a piece of us and we win, food will be at a premium.”

  “Distribution,” the secretary of transportation said, nodding. “That’s going to be all screwed up. That was a problem for the Russians, right after independence. They had plenty of food, but the distribution was all screwed up.”

  “Refugee housing,” the director of Homeland Security said, nodding. “And supply… On the largest scale ever considered… There are never enough tents…”

  Roger looked over at Ronny and nodded faintly. It was late, but the “government” seemed to finally understand how deep a crack they were in. Maybe, if the probes gave them enough time, there might be a chance.

  * * *

  Ret Ball: Tonight we have a very special program with both Hiowa Lend and Megiddo on the line. Hiowa, you first.

  Hiowa Lend: Right, Ret. Jumping right into it. My astronomer friends have been doing an analysis of the Moon for me and they tell me that the surface albedo has changed ever so slightly and that it’s now brighter by what appears to be a couple of percentage points.

  Ret Ball: Really? What does that mean, Hiowa?

  Hiowa Lend: Well Ret, it means that whatever happened to Mars, is now happening to the Moon.

  Megiddo: If I may, Hiowa?

  Hiowa Lend: Feel free, Professor… uh… Megiddo. Are you sure that your communications are secure, my old friend?

  Megiddo: I assure you that the government is quite unable to trace my call. I helped design the original Bell system and I know all the tricks.

  Ret Ball: Very well, my friend, go ahead.

  Megiddo: I’ve made similar measurements of the lunar surface color and reflectance albedo as well as its absorption spectra. It’s being mechanized, Ret. Something is indeed terraforming the Moon. This is way too close to home and I suggest it’s time we all take to remote underground locations. Had the CIA not covered this up for so long we might have been more prepared for it. Ret, you must move immediately to your secure bunker. Time is of the essence.

  Chapter 13

  “Mr. President, ten minutes ago we lost all contact with the Transmission and Data Relay Satellite System in geosynchronous orbit. We’re getting communications from multiple government and commercial sources worldwide that satellites in GEO are failing,” the NSA briefed the President via phone from the Pentagon.

  “Vicki, does this means it’s starting?” The President sat up in his chair in the Oval Office. “Just a minute, Vicki.” He pressed the blinking light on his phone, “Yes, Judy?”

  “Mr. President, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs is here and says it’s urgent.”

  “Send him in.”

  “Mr. President, the Neighborhood Watch has informed us that most of our high altitude space assets have been lost and our lower orbit platforms are starting to fail,” newly promoted five star General Kevin Mitchell warned as he marched into the Oval Office.

  “I think it’s time to move you to the predetermined safe location.” Besides the over forty divisions that had been called up Mitchell was also in charge of the “organized militias.” Most of them were more militia than organized, but they gave the vast number of armed citizens in the U.S. something to center around, and while training had been spotty the response had been enthusiastic. Enthusiastic enough that despite increases in production, there was a nationwide shortage of ammunition, which was one of many “survival” items that, as predicated, had been heating up the inflationary indexes.

  “Hold on, General, I’m putting Vicki on the speaker. Okay, go ahead, Vicki. General Mitchell is here and has just suggested that I be moved to a safe location.”

  “Hello, Kevin,” the NSA’s voice said over the phone. “I agree. Mr. President. We do not know where these things will come down and what they will do, but it looks like it’s happening now.”

  “Mr. President,” Kevin interjected. “I think it’s time to alert the Emergency Broadcast System while there still is one and we should try to get some recon somehow on where these things are coming down, assuming they plan to hit like they did on the Moon.”

  “Mr. President, I was just handed a projection from Ronny Guerrero’s group at Neighborhood Watch,” Vicki said. “At the rate of loss of satellites, they predict that all satellites will be lost within the next hour. And that means all manmade satellites, not just U.S. assets.”

  “There goes CNN,” the President said with a faint, grim smile.

  “Mr. President, your orders, sir?” The general stood at ease in front of his desk. He seemed calm. But, then, he’d probably mentally prepared for this moment for a long time.

  “What was it the man said? ‘I knew this would come, but not so soon’? Whew.” The President looked around the Oval Office and sighed. He picked up a small metal picture frame containing a photo of his wife, son, and daughter and placed it in his coat pocket. “Okay. Evacuate the White House and have the civil defense plans put into place. Vicki, we’ll meet you at Air Force One.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. President. I’m leaving now.”

  Kevin led the President to the door and informed the Secret Service guards there, “Evacuate the White House. We’re moving the President to the safe location.” The Secret Service bodyguards went into immediate action.

  * * *

  Tina and Charlotte were watching television from their apartment just outside the Army base in Huntsville. Alice and John were on base, where they had been assigned since the President’s speech that warned the world of the alien threat. Tina’s brother Carl had decided to move in with their dad.

  Since the President’s speech Tina and Charlotte had been glued to the television — as had most of the world — trying to learn any and everything they could about the alien threat. The news media had used military analysts, scientists, and, most effectively, science fiction writers for possible speculation about the aliens.

  The program Tina and Charlotte were watching was nothing more than the millionth reiteration of things that had already been discussed to death. But then—

  * * *

  “We interrupt this program to issue the following warning from the Emergency Broadcast System. The Emergency Broadcast System has been authorized by the President of the United States of America to issue the Emergency Evacuation and Shelter Plan as designated for the pending alien threat. Please respond in accordance with your predetermined evacuation protocol and report to your designated shelter area. We’ll continue this broadcast and issue more information as—”

  The screen abruptly went black. A few moments later a local news anchorwoman, looking flustered, sat down at a desk.

  “We seem to be having technical difficulties with our satellite system,” the woman said, blinking rapidly and then looking off to the side. “We’ll be using the ground links to the Emergency Broadcast System to update you. Stay tuned to this station for further word on the alien invasion…”

  * * *

  “Let’s go, girls,” Alice yelled at the two teenagers to hurry into the Humvee.

  “Ma’am, we really need to get back to the base ASAP,” Master Sergeant Cady urged her.
>
  “Roger that, Thomas. Girls! Now!” she yelled as Tina and Charlotte rushed out the door of the apartment and Tina started back up the stairs as if she had forgotten something but then she thought better of it, adjusted her backpack, and continued into the vehicle.

  The base was buzzing with excitement and there were convoys of military vehicles on every roadway. Helicopters were buzzing in and out overhead as Cady drove Alice and the teens to the shelter on the Redstone Arsenal.

  The shelters were built back during the Cold War but since then had been used as storage facilities for explosives and chemicals. When the news of the threat of an alien invasion was released, every old Cold War fallout shelter and civil defense location across the country was refurbished and brought back online as part of the shelter system for the populace. The shelter system on the military base was assigned to the personnel involved with the local contingents of Neighborhood Watch and Asymmetric Soldier and their families.

  Alice, the girls, and Sergeant Cady met John Fisher in one of the makeshift control rooms for the ISR data analysis team. The room was an obvious afterthought to the shelter. The walls were 2x4 construction with cheap paneling and had been added to the large empty bunker by simply bolting the stud sill-plate to the concrete. The walls went eight feet or so high, then were open to the higher ceiling of the shelter. The makeshift control room had laptops strewn all around it on small tables and there was a bird’s nest of cabling and wires running around the room. Four large flat-panel displays were mounted on two of the walls and cables draped from beneath each of the panels to a rack of servers and tele-communications equipment in the corner of the room. This rack seemed to be the nexus of the disarray of cabling.

  John Fisher and Alan Davis were staring at the large screens discussing the scrolling numbers and characters as if they could decipher it.