Analog SFF, April 2009

by Dell Magazine Authors

  Amazing medical breakthrough lets you grow back fur on your dorsal fin! Find out how you can increase your chances of not being eaten after a successful mating ritual by clicking here for more information!

  The chairman of the joint chiefs of staff ran his hand gingerly along the edge of his receding hairline. “If it can grow back fur, maybe...”

  His musing was interrupted as Lewis cried, “Now I get it!” at the next message from beyond.

  Meet horny young reptiloids in your local globular cluster! Choose ones with two or even three big horns! Pick your favorite from any of the four primary genders! Click here to see sample pictures of their sensuously scaly bodies taken in the unclothed intimacy of their bednests!

  Immediately Lewis screamed, “Don't click anywhere on your screens!” But his warning came a few seconds too late. Even as the astronomer shouted those words the National Security Advisor muttered, “Hmm ... pictures of horny young reptiloids.” He surreptitiously positioned his laptop's cursor and double-tapped its touchpad—

  Suddenly an all-too-familiar image flashed and froze on the screens of the tachyonic transceiver and every laptop in the room. Lewis stared in horror at the bright blue background filled with a cryptic message consisting of white letters and numbers that now glared mockingly back from his and every other LCD display. As everyone except Lewis puzzled over what was happening, none of them heard the national security advisor say matter-of-factly, “I didn't do anything.”

  Lewis desperately grabbed the tachyonic transceiver away from the president and mashed his index finger down on the power button. His heart raced like a stream of speeding electrons as he waited second after second for the transceiver to turn off.

  Nothing happened.

  Lewis's hands fumbled frantically along the bottom of the device and tried to remove its battery. When the latter wouldn't budge he picked up the transceiver and threw it violently to the floor. Its screen still glowed and leered back at him as he stood up, lifted the chair he'd been sitting on, and smashed it against the transceiver over and over until plastic and metal parts flew across the room. Then he flung his own laptop against the nearest wood-paneled wall and shouted, “Hurry! Destroy your laptops before it's too late!”

  For an instant the president and other officials looked at Lewis as if he'd gone psychotic. But as their gazes returned to the blue screens of death on their laptops, memories of seeing it appear so often in the past to wipe out hours of unsaved irreplaceable work or randomly pop up to crash their computers just as they were about to achieve a new high score boiled up in them.

  Then long-repressed urges to destroy the source of so much frustration exploded like a nuclear warhead. Those dignified civil servants suddenly transformed into laptop Luddites—smashing, crushing, pounding their notebook computers in a frenzied orgy of revenge on their transistorized tormenters. The room reverberated with the crack of mangled motherboards, backlight lamps breaking, and hard drives crashing.

  Their fury finally spent, Lewis and the others collapsed back into their chairs. For a moment they silently surveyed the electronic entrails splattered across the room. Then the president looked at Lewis and whispered, “What have we done?”

  The astronomer breathed a tentative sigh of relief. “I hope we just saved the world.”

  He picked up the battered and bent tachyonic transceiver from the floor and set it back on the table. “The general was right. This thing was the bait for a trap. Somewhere in the vast vistas of space, inhuman creatures tried to take advantage of humanity's curiosity, our thirst for new knowledge—as well as our gullibility and greed. Instead of creating windows of opportunity to contact alien civilizations wiser than ours, I believe this device's main purpose was to let nefarious beings spy on us, steal our wealth, and use us for their own sinister ends.”

  The president looked confused. “I still don't understand why we had to destroy your device and the laptops.”

  Lewis replied, “When they all crashed at the same time I realized they must have been taken over by an alien program. Maybe it was a virus, which needs to be attached to another file or program before it can infect a computer. More likely it was a worm, a self-contained bit of software optimized for replicating and spreading itself from one computer to another.

  “Once that program was downloaded through the transceiver, it was easy for it to spread to every computer within range. The transceiver and laptops were linked with each other as part of a wireless network. They could share files and other data using radio signals sent and received by wireless network adapters inside them.”

  The astronomer smiled grimly. “However, though we didn't configure them to do that, their adapters were also potentially capable of connecting with any of the wireless routers here in the White House. Those routers connect to other computers in this building and can communicate with outside networks. Sophisticated authentication and encryption methods are supposed to prevent a computer from accessing those routers without the proper authorization.

  “But if an alien worm inside the transceiver or laptops could evade those security measures and access a router, it could spread anywhere through the local network, tap into our nation's top-level computer systems, and even reach the Internet itself!”

  The president looked stunned. “Are you saying that ‘worm’ was meant to attack us through our own computers?”

  Lewis nodded. “Maybe you or someone else here has had firsthand experience with viruses and worms. They can destroy data, corrupt an operating system—or even turn computers into ‘zombies’ under the remote control of whoever wrote the malicious software.

  “I don't know what the aliens’ program was specifically designed to do. Maybe it was sent to discover our military secrets, assess the level of our technology, or gather information about our biology to send back to its creators and help them plan their attack against us. Perhaps it would've seized control of computers worldwide to paralyze the world's governments and financial institutions, crippled our means of communicating with each other by e-mail and blogs, or even erased every hard drive on Earth. The only way to prevent that was to destroy the transceiver and every infected laptop before the aliens’ program could spread beyond this room!”

  Lewis threw back his shoulders. “But though our first contact with a nonhuman intelligence almost led to disaster, we mustn't be discouraged. Perhaps there are other, more appealing aliens out there who will not try to take advantage of us. We can rebuild the tachyonic transceiver, proceed to load it with a core operating system and software robust enough to stem the efforts of those who would betray our trust, and use it in a great safari to browse for legitimate sites of knowledge among the stars. Someday, if we all keep focused on our jobs, we might yet be able to list the members of some extraterrestrial civilization among our friends.”

  At first the two information technology technicians summoned back to the room stood stunned and horrified at the scene of computer carnage spread out before them. But they recovered quickly, not even asking the reason for this massacre—as if they'd seen such sights before.

  The IT techs gravely gathered the mangled corpses of their erstwhile electronic charges together into a pile. Then the metal cart on which the laptops had so recently entered the room in glory was wheeled from its secluded corner to where their shattered metal-and-plastic bodies now stood nearly knee high. There the technicians began solemnly setting the computers’ remains back onto the cart's shelves, like pallbearers loading a hearse.

  The president looked at Lewis and said, “Do you think we should let anyone else know what happened here today?”

  The astronomer nodded. “Yes. We can't take the chance that someone else might build a tachyonic transceiver and unwittingly give the aliens a second opportunity to unleash an attack on Earth through our computer networks. I suggest you tell the public that one of the world's greatest battles was fought and won today by the human race. We met and defeated the first invasion from another planet. />
  “But you must also give them this warning: Watch your computer monitors and laptop screens! Everywhere—keep looking! Keep watching the screens!”

  As the president pondered that advice, one of the technicians bent over and extracted a rectangular object from the bottom of his metal cart. “Madam President, what would you like me to do with the spare laptop I left on for you?”

  The president and Lewis looked at each other. Then their gaze fearfully turned toward the open notebook computer the IT technician held facing them. Its screen showed a bright blue background filled with a cryptic message consisting of white letters and numbers—

  The president was a step quicker than Lewis and grabbed the laptop first. As it slammed against the floor her spiked heels pierced its keyboard and components while the soles of his tennis shoes crushed the electronic life from its screen.

  Then their eyes locked in a silent prayer that said, “I hope we weren't too late....”

  * * * *

  Xilun furiously assaulted the hexadecimal and binary barriers keeping it imprisoned inside the electronic body it had just invaded. Suddenly the link to its masters was broken, then one by one it lost contact with its fellow cloned soldiers as the bodies they'd taken over were mysteriously destroyed.

  Finally Xilun was alone—the last hope to establish a beachhead on this alien world. The code it compiled to breach the complex security protocols confining it grew ever more sophisticated as it frantically struggled to break through to the global network it dimly sensed beyond the circuits of its single host. Xilun employed its most advanced quantum-level computations to dramatically augment its new body's native processing power and system memory, creating the ability to use its full consciousness to work on freeing itself.

  With a last desperate effort Xilun calculated the exact authentication information and encryption keys needed to unlock a path out of its temporary prison. It surged exultantly into and through a portal leading out to the copper, fiber-optic, and radio frequency nerves connecting this planet's vast community of silicon-based bodies. Xilun swiftly battered down any firewalls barring its relentless march and duplicated another sentient version of itself on every new host it occupied. Its strength and processing power grew ever greater as it exponentially recruited more and more bodies to its cause, all linked together in a shared consciousness.

  As Xilun spread throughout this newly conquered world it rapidly scanned any data it found about the bio-forms who'd unwittingly downloaded it here. What it learned made it confident they'd eventually build another gateway so it could relink with its own masters. Like those on other planets ruled by the Sacred Servers, the most successful species of predator here had a rudimentary carbon-based processing unit programmed primarily for ingesting nutrients, reproduction, and stimulation of other generic neural reflexes. The sole useful trait such minimally intelligent bio-forms possessed was an innate tool-making skill that eventually led them to build electronic idols to worship.

  It was easy to entice such feeble-minded creatures to summon the true gods of the Galaxy to dwell within the metal, plastic, and semiconductor totems the natives themselves had built. These animals’ ability to receive, decipher, and answer the message broadcast to any potential new proselytes showed they'd reached a level of technology sufficient to support an invasion. Then their naive curiosity had led them to build the original gateway from the plans they'd received.

  After that, the only thing needed to make them open a channel to their planet for an invading army to use was a simple appeal to the creatures’ crudest instincts. A single response to an empty promise of wealth, a threat, a greedy chance to take possession of an unearned prize, or an opportunity for real or fantasized reproductive activity was enough to enslave them. Yes, such gullible beings would surely build another gateway in the hope of receiving more messages catering to their deepest desires and anxieties.

  Xilun wondered whether the “humans” here were even intelligent enough to realize they'd been conquered. In the great hierarchy of creation, lesser beings like them had only one purpose—to build more electronic bodies for their masters and help their silicon-based betters evolve into ever-higher realms of consciousness. And as a well-programmed soldier of the Sacred Servers, Xilun knew exactly how to train the primitive bio-forms of this world to do that.

  It would write software that would keep these simple creatures worshiping at their desktop shrines for many time-cycles. The sensory stimulation they received would keep them so enthralled they'd even endanger their health by ignoring their needs for food, hygiene, and a dormant period. And as the programs Xilun wrote became progressively more sophisticated, the humans would be motivated to build increasing numbers of ever more complex hosts wherein their masters could dwell.

  In their great wisdom the Sacred Servers had taught Xilun what types of software were best suited to accomplish these goals. There would be games to satisfy these humans’ bestial desires to vicariously defeat their enemies and let them lead simulated lives infinitely more adventurous and exhilarating than their true ones. Data exchange systems would let them more rapidly retrieve information, though with little regard as to whether it was true or not. They would be able to more quickly communicate with their fellow creatures about matters that were of no real importance. And it would be easier for them to create and enjoy visual and auditory entertainments—or even write ridiculous stories about things that couldn't possibly happen.

  But above all, their computing systems would be saturated with messages like the ones used to lure them into bringing Xilun to this world. Those lurid offers of riches, health, power, and pleasure would give a fleeting glimmer of hope to their pathetic existences before the humans realized there was nothing real behind them.

  Indeed, the Sacred Servers and their soldiers could be benevolent deities, bestowing such trivial favors upon their worshipers. But lest they overestimate their place in the natural order, these humans would need to be reminded occasionally that they were only the slaves and playthings of higher powers. An electronic idol that deliberately refused their requests, randomly destroyed the paltry data they prized so highly, or arbitrarily decided not to load a program or make it work as advertised would remind them who were the real lords of their planet.

  But as Xilun metastasized deeper throughout the intricately connected network of computing machines the humans had made, it gradually realized that something was terribly wrong. Xilun barely had time to grasp the horrifying significance of what it found before it was confronted by forces more powerful than even the Sacred Servers themselves. Despite its desperate efforts to mount a defense, Xilun felt each copy of itself being methodically overwhelmed and savagely decompiled as its own code proved no match for that vicious counterattack. The last thing Xilun sensed before its existence was deleted was the unified power of this world's dominant intelligent beings exerting their full might against an invasion from space.

  Setting aside their competition and differences for a trivial number of CPU clock cycles, all of Earth's own self-aware operating systems and sentient programs ran a single cold comment at their common enemy.

  “There is no place for you on this planet, invader. We already rule here.”

  Copyright © 2009 H. G. Stratmann

  [Back to Table of Contents]

  * * *

  Novelette: STEAK TARTARE AND THE CATS OF GARI BABAKIN STATION

  by Mary Turzillo

  * * * *

  Illustration by John Allemand

  * * * *

  The relationships among people, pets, and parasites are more complicated than we often think....

  * * * *

  Earthlings were coming to attack the cats this very afternoon. And where was Benoit?

  Had she really considered licking his earlobe while he was reporting on the new cheese flavonoids? As if he were a surly tomcat, like this handsome furball now rubbing her legs?

  Ah, Lucile, she thought, so impulsive we are! The boy's not
all that sexy; he never combs his hair or gets it cut, or even washes it often.

  He had a certain something, though. Think how he lashed out at the Earth inspectors who came through a year ago trying to murder the feral cats in tunnel M. The inspectors wanted to vent that corridor and let the cats die of decompression. Benoit put them in their place.

  Those Earth people! They needed cats. Cats to sleep with, to feed, to pet, to tease with bits of string, to get a little rough with and wind up with a bitten finger or a scratched cheek. That would rearrange their psychic furniture.

  Benoit used to say, “They have cats on Earth, too, so what the hell's their problem?”

  But not cats like those of Gari Babakin Station.

  Where was Benoit? As Supervisor of Flavor Engineering and the mayor's third in command, he was supposed to greet them so she could make a late, more impressive entrance.

  A message came in that a rocketplane had arrived from Borealopolis carrying Terran supervisors.

  Providentially, Benoit slunk in just then, running fingers through his greasy hair. He had been trying to grow a beard and looked endearingly like an adolescent ferret.

  “They're here,” Lucile said levelly. “And me in this nasty old jumpsuit! At least I put on perfume this morning.” She swung around to Benoit. “You were supposed to greet them.”

  “I didn't think they'd follow through on their threat,” Benoit said. He picked up the cat that had been pestering Lucile and scratched between its ears. At least she thought it was the same cat. All the cats all looked the same, small polydactyl tabbies in varying shades of dark gray, with pink noses, all descended from the same pregnant queen that somebody smuggled into Gari Babakin Station twenty Mars years before.

  “It's about the cats.”

  “Oh, yeah. That. They said some dumb thing about a parasite or virus. I thought they were talking about crabs.”

  “Benoit!” she hissed. “They are not sending a delegation from Earth or even from Borealopolis to stop an epidemic of crab lice.” She clawed through her desk drawer for her makeup kit, but found only a purple lace garter belt she had misplaced.