A Beginner's Guide to Invading Earth

by Gerhard Gehrke

  “You think it would be a good thing to save the Commons,” Irving said. “To continue with the never-ending interchange of ideas both putrid and banal and suffer with the pollution of our culture by ones such as this?”

  Irving stopped just opposite Jeff. It continued.

  “I've been working on humans and their languages. The contradictions, the shibboleth, the entirety of the self-important sleaze they organize into thoughts and warble at one another. No more. I loved this city once and won't allow another rotten collection of bile into the translation computer to have it sanitized into something respectable beings might understand without vomiting.”

  Then the Grey turned to Oliop. “And it’s not just the humans. We've allowed in member races so stupid and dim, incapable of complex thoughts, venal and criminal. And we try to elevate them with the ability to translate their languages with ours, give them access to a galaxy. But I tell you this, brood mate.” It spat the last word as it glared at Phil. Phil stood in sharp contrast to the Grey in the cell, skin a deep, rich grey, its face expressionless and calm.

  “We haven't elevated anyone,” Irving the Grey said. “We have been brought low.”

  Oliop trembled. Jeff put an arm around the technician's shoulder. He led him from the holding cells, Flemming and Phil following after.

  From behind them Irving said, “You know I'm right.”

  The door to the security hold hissed shut.

  CHAPTER 43

  JEFF SUGGESTED THAT FIZZ might be helpful in getting the city back on track. Fizz didn't answer when Flemming tried to reach him via his com. He wasn't at his place of work or at his registered place of dwelling. His sovereign building was vacant when they visited, or so the robot concierge said. The rest of Fizz's species had left the Commons during the evacuation. But Fizz had to be in the city somewhere.

  “I have an idea,” Detective Ceph said as he tapped away at a tablet.

  Jeff and Flemming went with Ceph to one of the breweries in the Commons. It was a squat building wedged between four silos and an enormous greenhouse.

  “This is where a security alert came from?” Flemming said. Ceph nodded.

  “One of hundreds of non-urgent alerts we haven't responded to yet,” Ceph said. “And surveillance footage places him outside of here. Like a [nocturnal insect] to a [light source based on a chemical reaction.]”

  Two buzzes, two clicks. No one touched their translator. The distortion and interference in the translation service continued unabated.

  The brewery had an information pad outside that labeled it a sovereign building, and it was locked up tight. Flemming took them around and checked each door. They found one unlocked that led to the greenhouse.

  “This door triggered the alarm,” Ceph said.

  Fresh tracks led inside across soil and through tall rows of flowery vines that grew up vertical wires. The greenhouse buzzed with what at first looked like bees but, upon closer examination, were more like caterpillars with dragonfly wings. Jeff borrowed Ceph's tablet and held it out towards one of the insects. An app opened up, showing a page of basic information on the bugs. They didn't bite or sting, but they did lay eggs in living tissue. Caution was advised.

  They moved quickly through the greenhouse.

  Once through the door to the main brewery, they searched. Jeff found vats of fermenting liquid in a large chamber with tubes, smaller frothing tubs, and a system for kegging and bottling the product.

  “Captain?” Jeff said. “I'd start here.” He pointed to the vats.

  Flemming rapped on the side of the vats until an eyestalk popped up from one.

  “Fizz, ahoy,” Ceph said.

  “We could use your help,” Flemming said.

  “Ah,” Fizz said, “No thanks. Busy. I decline. I'll await my berth on an early elevator out of here, thank you very much. Now run along and leave me in peace.” The liquid in the vat started to ripple, but whether from Fizz or from some yeasty off-gassing wasn't clear.

  “It's every species' right to decline participation in the varied Commons services,” Flemming said. “But compliance with the law is mandatory.”

  “Trespassing on a species' sovereign space is still a crime,” Ceph said. “As is eating their foodstuffs without authorization.”

  “It's just a snack,” Fizz said.

  “Fizz, this is something up your alley,” Jeff said. “This shouldn't require anything from you but some time figuring out why the computers for the elevator are still locked up. We're stuck, and we need you.”

  More bubbles popped around the eyestalk. “I'd rather stay here.”

  “Me too,” Jeff said. The inside of the place was cool and spacious and smelled of bread. The sounds of bubbles from the various tanks reminded Jeff of an aquarium. Too bad the owners had fled. Were they part of the fourth wave that had gone to Earth? Jeff sighed. He could hide in here, too, until the trouble blew over. He returned his attention to Fizz.

  “But there's work to do,” Jeff said.

  “Plus, since we don't have the ability to send lawbreakers home,” Flemming said, “We instead have found extra space in the Bunnie vivarium. I think it's best to detain everyone we need to keep an eye or three on under one roof.”

  “You wouldn't,” Fizz said.

  Flemming stared back at the eyestalk, his stern expression revealing nothing.

  Fizz emerged from the tank, creamy suds running down his three legs. “Please hand me a towel,” he said to Jeff.

  ***

  Fizz took Jeff with him to the Happy Alien Welcome Committee's building. The cops said they were going back to security HQ and headed off.

  “But Flemming said the elevators need fixing,” Jeff said. “So what are we doing here?”

  “This is where your part in this started,” Fizz said. The aroma of his beer bath lingered. Jeff had to trot along to keep up with Fizz's erratic, quick gait. They found the building was both abandoned and unlocked. Fizz moved with confidence through the quiet corridors, taking them to a room on the lower levels labeled “Probability Computer.” Fizz escorted Jeff inside a hot, stuffy room with a large, white box that took up half of its space.

  Fizz hit a switch. Nothing happened.

  “Lights work,” Jeff said. “We have power.”

  “Computer,” Fizz said. Hit a few keys, tapped a screen. Waited.

  “There,” Jeff said. He pointed to a green eye that winked on for a second but then went black. “It came on, briefly.”

  “Computer, on. Wake up,” Fizz said.

  The green eye winked again. There came a faint “harrumph” from an unseen speaker, and the eye went dark.

  “Hmm. It doesn't want to turn on,” Fizz said. “Which means we have to bypass the AI and find a manual input language we can use. Where's Oliop?”

  “Busy with the elevators,” Jeff said. “But I have an idea.”

  Jeff walked around the back of the computer where he was out of sight of the eye. “Ask it to turn on again.”

  “Computer,” Fizz said.

  The surface of the white box lit up. The green light shined like a spotlight on Fizz. Monitors displayed an array of command options and recent calculation reports. When Jeff stepped back around to the front and in sight of the eye, everything shut off.

  “It doesn't like you,” Fizz said.

  “I was guessing that. Seems the Grey made us out to be persona non grata with alien and machine alike. That whole knave-always-lies business”

  “Maybe you should leave the room so I can get something done.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  ***

  Jeff waited outside. He paced the corridor for a while but eventually realized he was tired. He sat on the floor just outside the door and listened to Fizz work. He heard the computer offer Fizz the bland assessment, “Everything's fine.” Next came the clatter of tools and various creaks and groans. Jeff sneaked a look, saw Fizz was busy taking the computer apart. The green eye no longer glowed. Fizz called Jeff in. S
oon, Fizz held out silvery wires and glowing breakers for Jeff to hold as he went deeper inside the white box.

  “This unit holds the default logic center for many of the shared systems inside the Commons,” Fizz said.

  “I thought this was just for contacting new prospect races,” Jeff said.

  “That, too. But in addition, this is the machine that is consulted by the power regulator, water system, waste management, and air supply. All require its best guess as to usage based on previous supply and demand as well as probability. Its guesses are accurate enough that the other systems treat them as facts.”

  “And you're taking it apart,” Jeff said. “Not to mention, we waltzed in here without having to unlock a single door.”

  “Security in the Commons has never been strong. But trust me. I know what I'm doing.”

  The green eye popped back on, looked at Jeff.

  “I thought that was off,” Fizz said.

  The computer and its eye, along with all of its wires and components, went dark, as did the lights inside the room and throughout the building.

  ***

  Oliop came through the front door into the lobby of the Happy Alien Welcome Committee building. Jeff stood just inside the door at a window. Oliop gave Jeff a wave. The lobby was in shadows, the blackout having lasted over an hour.

  “Fizz needs me,” Oliop said.

  Jeff pointed a thumb to the back of the building. “He's with the probability computer. I'm to stay out of sight. That computer doesn't like me.” Jeff produced a small flashlight he had found and touched it on. They went together down the dark hall towards where Fizz waited.

  ***

  Jeff stayed behind the computer as the two worked. He helped with his flashlight as best he could, but both Fizz and Oliop clipped lamps to their foreheads so they could see what they were doing. After a few moments, Oliop got the lights back on. Soon after, the computer began to glow again.

  Fizz got into the guts of the computer's program both through the software he mirrored on a tablet of his own and via a soft, organic brick of moist, skin-like tissue tucked in the depths of the computer's underbelly. Whatever the brick was didn't complain when Fizz plugged in a second tablet. Fizz made a few ponderous sounds. The brick soon had several wires sticking into it.

  “Is it possible to explain what you're doing?” Jeff said.

  Fizz was almost completely inside the computer, all three of his tentacles busy with different tasks.

  “Well, it's old,” Fizz said. “It's a dustbin of code merged with fragments of AIs that span generations of both versions and programmers, forming an amalgamated whole with a graphic and voice interface stapled onto its front. And there's the wet parts that are more difficult to describe.”

  “It's a living computer,” Oliop said. “At least partially.”

  Fizz grunted. “Fair enough. It's those parts that make the computer able to do what it does.”

  “Foretell the future,” Jeff said.

  “No, just deliver probability. Nothing is certain. But the wet parts are also where the flaws lay, which comprise the largest components of the AIs. They could be programmed to produce faulty data to another requesting AI in another system when certain parameters are triggered. Prejudicial parameters.”

  “So if I'm involved, or any other human...”

  “The computer might, if its subordinate AIs are indeed tainted, lie. This, of course, is a violation of Commons standards and practices. But the evidence of events speaks to such a violation.” Fizz pulled himself out of the computer, stood, flexed his three long legs and went to work on the computer's main keyboard, his eyestalk inches away from the blur of data on the screens.

  Fizz said, “It also might have been tricked by whatever disruptive particles the Grey injected into you and then later removed.”

  Oliop was unusually still as Fizz worked his way through pages of programming. He kept his hands and tail to himself. He watched and nodded as Fizz clicked away. His lips mouthed soundless words.

  “Probability calculations are only as good as the data fed into them,” Fizz said. His eyestalk bent away from the monitors, the eyes blinking and rolling to shake off the strain. “This is another possible source of errors. And if the guiding AI is corrupt, it wouldn't do its job, which would be to confirm what it's being told.”

  “Garbage in, garbage out,” Jeff said.

  “Idiomatic but essentially correct.”

  “This is Head Grey's machine,” Oliop said. “Welcome Committee chaircreature delegated all calculation-related work to it. Grey provided all the directions for contacting Jeff Abel.”

  Fizz went back to work. After some time, he leaned away from the keyboard. “This is a mess.”

  Oliop leaned around Fizz. “May I?”

  “I suppose,” Fizz said. “Just don't make it worse.”

  Fizz got out of the way. Oliop stepped in, his fingers moving quickly across the keys, his tail tapping at a data pad with a stylus. Jeff started to ask him what he was doing, but Oliop shushed him. Oliop next spoke to the computer, giving verbal orders to “Close Routine,” “Pause,” and “Define.” Then, “List” and “Define” again and again. The manual interface tapped and clicked. More screens opened until most of the room had sheets of overlapping floating text and symbols in colors that changed from cool greens and blues to yellows and reds. The computer started to harrumph and sigh.

  “You don't know what you're doing,” Fizz said. He looked at all the open screens and at the flurry of Oliop's keyboard work, clearly not following.

  Oliop's ears retreated back, and he shrank into a stooped position but he continued working. Finally, he paused and looked at a number of screens that blinked in a livid purple color.

  “Everything's fine,” the computer screen said. Its voice sounded as if it was speaking though clenched teeth. To Jeff, the computer sounded like his wife when Jeff questioned her about how much time she was spending away from home. It was just a two-week jaunt to New York. That would leave Jeff plenty of time with his computers, plenty of time to work out “your issues.” And after the two weeks with only one phone call from her, a buzzing party in the background, the answer to the question, “How are we doing?” after it was asked a third time was “Everything's fine.” Jeff stopped asking.

  “But what does that mean?” Fizz said.

  “That even now and to us, the computer is lying,” Oliop said.

  “Nonsense. It doesn't know the human is here. It needs to do what it's told.” Fizz looked at Jeff and pointed for him to get out of the room.

  Oliop shook his head slowly. “No, it isn't nonsense. Grey has been programming it. Routines are mostly dumb AIs but not all. Eventually, a composite or dominant program will emerge, and this one was shepherded along by the Head Grey to hate humans. This computer does not want you or me to be working on it, either. We've been tainted by the humans in our contact with them. And now with the translation computer up and running, it can smell the human just like we can understand the Greys' pheromones and scent-speech, and the human scent is no doubt on us.”

  “This computer has a nose?” Jeff said.

  Fizz let out a deep sigh that became a groan. He put a tentacle to an eyestalk as if he might faint. “This system runs so deep. It has roots in-”

  “The elevators,” Oliop said. “And other routines in the Commons rely on it, too. Most are hardened and reliable but not all. And once the elevator system was hacked by the Grey, the Grey could sync up with the broken probability computer and cause problems. Whatever quickly decaying particles the Grey used to push its agenda along were the finishing touch, warping its ability to detect failure and translating them as certain success. This computer believed everything the Grey told it. First contact calculations based on that foundation proved disastrous. All Commons AIs witnessed this. Some AIs, like the one that runs the elevators, might have been willing to submit to a solution to eliminate humans from being brought here or assist in measures to have
them removed. And all of it colored by this unit's dislike of a human it had never even met.”

  “So wait,” Jeff said. “Does that mean that this computer might share its feelings about me to other systems?”

  Oliop shrugged. “Maybe the elevator system AI thinks the Bunnie an acceptable anti-human measure, so it agreed to let them in.”

  “Your computers are a bit gullible,” Jeff said. “But for this machine to have gotten a dose of the sabotage particle, that means this machine has been watching me.”

  Oliop nodded. “And listening. And smelling.”

  “But for how long?”

  “A while.”

  Fizz's eyestalk hung low. “This is such a mess. Reprogramming something like this and fixing it will take years. So why are you smiling?”

  Oliop was indeed smiling, his head nodding. “Because the solution is so simple. We turn the probability computer off and never use it again.”

  CHAPTER 44

  WHISTLE WAS UNWRAPPED with the rest of the victims of the Bunnie invasion. The cleaning bots, even in their never-seen-before security mode, were stupid. Whistle had lain herself down by a pair of Bunnie-spun citizens, worked herself into some of the webs, and feigned gratitude when she and the others were freed and revived. Then, she ducked into one of the service doors. She kept out of sight, sticking to the darker corridors of the Commons, the underneath parts, the maintenance tunnels that ran past janitor closets, and the necessary pipes and tubes of the city.

  She encountered almost no one and hid when she did. She was especially cautious around some newly minted security bots. These might have cameras and an expanded list of criminals and ne'er-do-wells besides the Bunnie, anyone who might have gotten away with something during the invasion. With her eyes closed and her body preternaturally still, she could become one with the shadows.

  So where to now? Her species didn't have a designated hangar to go to, and the elevators weren't working yet, anyway. If anyone was looking for her, they might know to try the Head Grey's hangar, so that was out, as was her own sovereign building. Her own kind wouldn't harbor a fugitive.