I am Automaton 3: Shadow of the Automaton

by Edward P. Cardillo

  She sat there in her den listening intently, unquestioningly. She had known Darius for years, and she knew that there had to be truth to this outlandish tale he was relating, or he wouldn’t be telling it.

  When Betancourt had finished, she was silent for a moment, absorbing everything. “So there was nothing found inside the ship at the crash site?”

  “No. The ship was empty.”

  “Yet there were infected found around the crash site? These…zombies?”

  It was odd hearing an official at the CDC refer to them as zombies. Then again, in the new millennium the CDC actually posted information on their website about a zombie pandemic. After facing harsh criticism, they took it down.

  “Exactly.”

  “Perhaps those that piloted the ship succumbed to this virus—THV—and then it spread to anyone who found it.”

  “But if that were the case, there should’ve been at least one undead extraterrestrial left to be found.”

  “True. It wouldn’t have been able to eat itself,” Marcy conceded. “Maybe it escaped the craft after the crash, before anyone found the craft.”

  “Possible, but there weren’t any sightings of an undead alien.” Betancourt thought for a moment. “A Captain who monitored the psychological impact of the program on the men, including Carl Birdsall, had a theory about all of this. She said that THV existed for a purpose. Something about clearing a path for something.”

  “Well, if viewed as a pandemic, the living would eventually lose ground to the dead through attrition—”

  “Undead,” Betancourt corrected.

  “Yes, undead. Taken to its ultimate conclusion, the pandemic would wipe out the dominant species on the planet. If you say that the virus is transmitted through bites, it becomes a zero sum game. The virus’ gain would be humanity’s loss.”

  “That’s what I said. There’s been talk by Kafka about ushering in an invasion of this planet.”

  “Wiping out the dominant species would make the invasion rather easy,” said Marcy.

  “What if I told you that Kafka found a way to facilitate the attrition even further?”

  “How?”

  “He’s sending a signal through RGT to electronic devices that are somehow turning civilians into the undead.”

  “Through a non-biological means of transmission?” asked Marcy. “That’s impossible.”

  Peter was engaged in an internal dialogue with his doppelgänger.

  “So you’re telling me that Carl has one of you inside him, too? But he was never bitten,” said Peter.

  There is more than one way for a virus to spread.

  “How? And what about using the RGT to turn people? How is that even possible?”

  You humans are electrical beings, your nervous system running on impulses. All ones and zeroes.

  “I don’t understand.”

  Viruses can be spread through non-biological means.

  “What, like computer viruses?”

  The abomination smiled at Peter’s recognition.

  “What about THV? How can it jump from a biological virus to a non-biological virus?”

  Marcy stood up, gesticulating wildly. “All pandemics start with a virus that affects a nonhuman species, like birds.”

  “Yeah, I remember reading about the Avian Flu,” said Betancourt.

  “Right. Then there’s some kind of gateway animal—in the case of the Avian Flu it was swine—that becomes infected and then can infect humans. The virus, mutating in the gateway animal, makes a jump to the human species.”

  “So you’re saying that was how Carl Birdsall contacted THV without being bitten?”

  “Exactly.”

  “But there was no gateway…” Betancourt froze as a chill went down his spine, causing a global breakout of goose bumps.

  “Darius, what is it?”

  “There were pigs.”

  “Pigs?”

  “We used pigs in the training exercises with the undead drones. We used them as bait to lure them.”

  “But the virus began in humans,” Marcy pointed out. “Why would it go from human, to pig, and back to human?”

  “You said it a moment ago,” said Betancourt, “to mutate. Now Kafka can create other types of infected, like Ramses and Wolff.”

  “But the digital transmission still doesn’t make any sense. There has to be a separate mechanism.”

  We frequently select a subspecies to use as a gateway for transmission to the dominant species. Your swine did nicely.

  “When you talk about transmission, it’s as if you are the virus,” observed Peter.

  That would be an accurate statement. A virus is a life form. On this planet, they are primitive, devoid of any intelligence. You have seen nothing like our kind before, but other civilizations in this universe have fallen to us.

  “What about the RGT?”

  Most beings in this universe share an electrical essence. Our civilization has unlocked the secrets of a biological-digital interface that has not yet even been imagined by your people. The distinction between the biological and the digital has been breached, what your kind calls the soul.

  “So using the RGT, which you planted on this planet, you are downloading yourselves into…us?”

  We possess bio-digital copies of our genome that have been transmitted into your own bio-digital genomes and corporal vessels, but that transmission occurred at the inception of your species. Therefore, I would use the word “activated” rather than “downloaded.”

  “What do you mean by activated? You mean we’ve been walking around with you already inside of us?”

  You’re not so stupid after all, human. We share a common ancestry, so the source code of our genome is already implanted into what you would call your collective unconscious. It is why, although we communicate differently, we understand each other. The activation key is what is actually downloaded.

  “Not all of you are the same, though. Why are some of you like vampires, others like werewolves, and others like zombies?”

  I do not fully understand your references, but I can tell you that passage through the gateway organism and subsequent mutations can result in variations in our manifestations.

  That was what all of these horror figures had in common. Vampirism, lycanthropy, the disease creating zombies—they were all spread through infection. Even demonic possession was exactly that—possession by a foreign entity (i.e. infection of the soul). It was all starting to make sense.

  Peter had another question, but he was almost embarrassed to ask it.

  “So how is it that you can speak English?”

  I am not speaking to you right now, remember? You are perceiving me as ideas. As to your comprehension, it’s all ones and zeroes. What you call binary is a universal modality.

  “So why come here to this planet? Why us?”

  “The ultimate fate of a virus,” said Marcy, “is to wipe itself out once it runs out of hosts or perishes before it can spread itself. As long as it is alive, it is always searching for new hosts to prevent its own demise.”

  “So the extraterrestrials who designed the virus want it to eventually die out so they can swoop in,” speculated Betancourt.

  “It seems to fit the paradigm you’re laying out.”

  It is our mandate. We travel the universe searching for life, and then it is conversion through infection or death, which in-turn leads to conversion.

  “What about my brother?”

  Enough questions. I have given you plenty of answers because your knowledge of the truth will not impact the course of things. Now it is my turn.

  “Fine. You want to know why you cannot download yourself into me.”

  Exactly.

  “Well, I might as well tell you because it won’t change a damned thing anyway. I was given a serum that is acting as a blocker to your ass. Think of it as biological virus protection to your digital disease. You won’t ever be able to have me.”

  And this information pleases
you. Why? It will stop nothing.

  “So what are you going to do, Darius?”

  Betancourt was momentarily lost in his own thoughts. “If everything we’ve speculated is true, then I think I know what Kafka’s next move is.” He suddenly stood up. “I have to go. Thank you, Marcy.”

  “Wait a minute, Darius. You can’t wake me up in the middle of the night, drop this doomsday scenario in my lap, and then cut and run.”

  Betancourt held her hands in his appreciatively. “You’ve been most helpful, Marcy. Thank you.”

  “Wait a minute. I can tell—”

  “Marcy, there’s no one in our government that you could tell that would believe you, and if it’s really infiltrated by enemies, you’d be putting yourself in danger. Sit on this for a while. When I need you and the time is right, you can help me. In the meantime, I have an infected ex-soldier and a young girl wanted for sedition parked in your driveway. I’ve imposed enough.”

  They heard the honking of a horn outside.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Betancourt. He kissed Marcy on the cheek and started to walk away.

  “Wait,” she insisted.

  “What now?”

  “Follow me upstairs.”

  “I have to go.”

  “It will only take a minute,” she insisted. “Please, Darius.”

  They ascended the steps into the kitchen. Marcy took her civilian mini-com and called up a digi-lock key sequence. “Where’s your multi-tasker?”

  He took it out and showed her. She sent the key sequence to his multi-tasker.

  “What’s this, Marcy?”

  “It’s the key to my father’s house. The address is in the message. No one will know to look for you there. We haven’t sold it yet. We’ve been so busy with the funeral arrangements and keeping things together.”

  “I’m sorry, Marcy.”

  “He had stage-four pancreatic cancer, Darius.”

  “I’m sorry about dragging you into all this.”

  “If you’re correct, then we’re all going to be dragged into this.”

  There were footfalls down the stairs. Marcy’s husband, Red, walked into the kitchen. “Marcy, what’s going on?”

  “I’m sorry,” said Betancourt, bowing out, “but I have to go.”

  He heard the front door close behind him as Red began to question Marcy. “Honey, who was that at this time of morning?”

  Betancourt didn’t envy Marcy. She had to come up with a story and fast, or at least a truncated version of the truth, omitting some key parts. Hopefully, Red understood.

  Peter was wearing a shit-eating grin. “It pleases me because it means that you are dependent on our bodies. It also means that you have your limitations, and limitations can be exploited.”

  Before his double could respond, he was shaken awake by a commotion in the Humvee. Betancourt was getting in the car. Brittany was awake and crouched into a corner of the backseat, away from Peter.

  “Where are we?” asked Peter groggily.

  “Why did you honk the horn?” Betancourt asked Elicia.

  “I got bored, so I turned on the radio. It appears we’re all wanted for the murder of General Ramses.”

  “What? Ramses is dead?”

  “The news said that as we escaped, Kafka came and dismembered him in front of everyone and took off in a police car. They think we’re with Kafka.”

  “Jesus Christ. Now we’re fugitives wanted for the murder of a four-star general. We’ll have every agent of government gunning for us.”

  “How did it go in there?” asked Elicia.

  “If my friend is right, then THV is being used to clear the way for an invasion.”

  “No,” said Peter sitting up. “THV is the invasion. The aliens are the disease; or rather the disease is the aliens.”

  “What? How do you know that?”

  “I’ve been seeing this double of myself ever since I’ve been infected. I’m pretty sure Carl did, too, in the beginning. The serum you gave me is preventing it from possessing me fully, but let’s just say we…had a frank discussion.”

  Betancourt switched on the ignition of the car. “So you’re saying this thing copped to everything? Why?”

  “Because it thinks that the invasion is inevitable, and it is already counting me on its side. These things are already inside of us. They download digital activation codes into us.”

  “So you’re saying these aliens are like herpes?” asked Elicia. Everyone gawked at her. “What? It’s just an analogy.”

  “That’s why Kafka is using RGT to turn people into zombies,” said Peter. “It’s a bio-digital infection that can be spread through man and machine. They download something that activates their possession of us.”

  “Bites and megabytes,” Elicia quipped.

  “Exactly,” said Peter. “Apparently that’s what our souls are made up of, and they have the technology to steal it.”

  “They’re hacking our souls,” gasped Elicia.

  Betancourt put the Humvee into gear. “Ramses let something slip about Kafka being able to communicate backwards through the RGT broadband. That must be how he’s using the RGT to turn people into zombies. If you’re right about this, then I definitely know Kafka’s next move.”

  “And what’s that?” asked Elicia.

  “He’s going to attempt to transmit through the master RGT console. It’s where all of the RGT in the entire country is filtered through.”

  “Where’s that?” Peter asked, still feeling woozy.

  “Area 51.”

  “Are you shitting me?” Peter exclaimed. “The Area 51? That’s where these viral aliens are going to transmit from?”

  “Yes, Major, and the irony isn’t lost on me either.”

  “Well, we have to stop them,” said Peter.

  “You’re not up to any more action tonight,” said Betancourt. “I’ve found us a place to stay while you heal and we formulate a plan. Kafka is also on the run tonight with the authorities hot on his tail. That should buy us some time.”

  “Where are we going?” asked Brittany, who appeared sobered up and terrified.

  “A safe house where no one will know to look.”

  “You trust this person?” asked Elicia.

  “Marcy’s a friend. She and I have known each other for years. It’s our best option right now,” said Betancourt entering the address of the house into the navigation. He gunned it out of Dr. Marcy Cummings’ driveway and tore down the street following the navigation.

  Chapter 12

  04:36 HRS

  Beeville Summer Carnival

  Beeville, Texas

  Kojic, Ehsan, and Adnon wandered in between carny tents amongst the din of games and rides, doing their best to blend in. Kojic told Adnon to buy a cotton candy, and Adnon did it grudgingly, holding it out in front of him as if it were a bomb.

  Ehsan found the whole thing mildly amusing, but Kojic was focused. He waited until they reached the center of the carnival, and he pulled out his mini-com. He sent out a ping, a tone containing a unique sequence, and waited.

  After a brief moment, he received a ping back.

  “I’ve got it,” said Kojic casually to Ehsan. “Follow me.”

  They walked around the carnival until the ping became strongest. They stopped to look around right in front of the tent advertising a freak show.

  Anon looked up at the hand-painted banners advertising the Bearded Lady, the Human Fetus, and Bat Boy. “Americans are disgusting.”

  Kojic shot him a reproachful look, but before he could say anything, the dingy-looking carny with a waxed mustache and slicked down black hair standing in front of the tent gestured to the three men. “This way, gentleman, and you will all become true believers.”

  It was the code.

  The carny gestured to the entrance of the small tent and Kojic lead the way. Ehsan followed and Adnon discarded his untouched pink cotton candy into a waste receptacle before going in.

  They were guided to a s
mall, dark seating area that consisted of long, backless wooden benches on dry dirt. At the front was a crude stage with a closed curtain behind it, the resting place of Bat Boy and such.

  The carny joined them momentarily and stood theatrically in front of them. He was holding what looked like black rags in his right hand.

  “Gentlemen, if you’d place your hands behind your backs.”

  Ehsan shot Kojic a weary look, but Kojic nodded his approval.

  “Wait a minute,” Adnon protested.

  “Do as he says, Adnon,” said Kojic. “This is for the safety of everyone.”

  “Yes, it’s for safety,” said the carny. “If not, I’ll have to ask you to leave.”

  However, Kojic knew that if they didn’t follow protocol, they would not be leaving this tent alive. “Do as he says, Adnon.”

  Adnon put his hands behind his back, as did Kojic and Ehsan. The carny pulled out plastic ties from his ragged pants and began to bind their wrists. When he was finished, he stood in front of them, the master of ceremony.

  “I’d like to draw your attention to the stage, please.”

  All three men looked at the stage as the carny stepped out of the way, gesturing grandly.

  But nothing happened. The curtains to backstage remained closed and no one came out.

  Kojic heard the soles of shoes crunching on the dry dirt behind him, but before he could turn around, someone had thrown a heavy sack over his head. The same must’ve happened to Ehsan and Adnon because he heard them startle and grunt. Adnon cried out.

  The weight and thickness of the sack material was oppressive on Kojic’s breathing, which caused him to hyperventilate for a moment, but then he pictured his Marina in his mind’s eye and quickly replaced his panic with icy hatred.

  He felt hands slide under his armpits and he was lifted off the bench and dragged. His escort turned in a semi-circle, which led Kojic to believe that he was being dragged around and behind the stage.