Forced Conversion

by Donald J. Bingle

  “I suppose, then,” said Maria, with a tone of confrontation, “that you want to convert, too?”

  “Oh, no.” replied Ali abruptly. “I want to enlist in the Conversion Forces.”

  * * * * *

  “I wouldn’t want to be one of them ConFoes when we get there,” boasted a young Believer as General Fontana passed by his troops. This group was loading armaments and explosives onto the flat bed of a large solar-powered truck the Believers had liberated back when forays into the city were still safe. “They’ll never know what hit them!”

  “They’ll know,” replied the General in an enthusiastic, booming voice, reserved for rallying the morale of the troops. “They’ll know that God has smitten them . . .” He raised his right arm up and brought his closed fist crashing down on a flimsy crate nearby, smashing it to bits. “. . . with his strong right hand!”

  The troops cheered and redoubled their efforts to get underway to attack their enemy, the enemy of God.

  They were going to meet the ConFoes and join them in the final battle.

  * * * * *

  Maria looked at Ali in disgust. The man seriously wanted to meet the ConFoes and join them in their battle against the mals.

  Now it was Maria’s turn, again, to be wary. “Why in the world would you want to do that?”

  “Because, unlike Hank, I would very much like to remain in the world, in this world. I believe most fervently the time will come when our search here will be able to be continued. I choose to stay in this world until that time. To do that, I must become a ConFoe. All other choices lead to conversion or death.”

  It was all very logical and Maria hated the logic of it, the matter-of-fact calculation that ignored the morality of what the ConFoes stood for. “So, you’re going to kill and torture people until you can pick up on your research again,” she spat with venom and undisguised contempt.

  “I do not think that I would be capable of such things. No, my thought was that I would volunteer to be a Converter. I have strong technical skills that could be useful in such regard and I could assist people, such as my friend Hank here, to move on to the virtual worlds. Eventually there will come a time when my research can be continued.”

  * * * * *

  Derek looked at Ali in utter disbelief. He could not imagine anyone really wanting to join a ConFoe patrol, even in the relatively innocuous position of Scanning Equipment Officer. “Why not offer to use your technical skills for satellite tracking? It seems better suited to your background and you don’t have to . . . get near to any fights.”

  “I considered that, but satellite tracking is not viable as a long-term position.”

  “Why not?” asked Maria in genuine interest.

  Hank looked at the newcomers in amazement. “Hell, haven’t you noticed? Not very many of them birds left anymore. Been winking out left and right for nearly a year now.”

  “How did you know that?” asked Maria in astonishment. Derek knew that this, this was information she would like to get back to the Believers.

  Hank tilted his head and wrinkled his nose slightly. “How did you happen to stop your vehicle and start pointing at this place?”

  Maria looked over to Derek. Derek looked at the ground.

  “Let me guess. You’ve been this way before. The dishes looked different from the last time you were here. You weren’t really looking for it, but something just looked different and you figured it out. We were worried that might happen, but decided a few days ago to chance it.”

  “Something like that,” Derek said warily.

  Hank waved at the sky. “That’s all we do. We look at that. We set up the equipment and let it do the listening and the filtering, but between data runs, we got nothing much to do but look at that and jaw at each other. You really think we wouldn’t notice when lights started disappearing? Hell, we have to factor out the interference they cause every time we calibrate a procedure.”

  “But why are they disappearing? Is someone shooting them down?” quizzed Maria, pressing for more information.

  Hank snorted. “That would be quite a shot. Real rocket science stuff.”

  “There is no evidence of such,” replied Ali with his usual precise enunciation. “We believe they are being destroyed by activation of their own self-destruct devices—installed to prevent catastrophe in the event of a launch trajectory difficulty.”

  “You mean,” said Derek, “somebody got the codes and is sabotaging the satellite system?”

  “Perhaps,” responded Ali. “My personal theory is that the satellites are less and less needed as the unconverted population declines and that, accordingly, the satellites are being destroyed because they provide evidence of the technologically-advanced, sentient life on earth. Evidence which could be picked up by an alien civilization, such as those we seek.”

  “I don’t get it,” said Derek. “There are cities and highways all over the place. Any little green men that come visiting are going to know that someone was here.”

  “Ah, yes,” said Ali, obviously warming to his lecture. “But these earthbound evidences will decay over a relatively short time, geologically speaking. Freeze-thaw deterioration, erosion, oxidation, microbial action, and the like. Space structures, while they may become non-functional, can orbit a significant time and can be detected readily from great distances. Their visibility is not obscured by atmospheric factors and they orbit with a periodicity that interferes with electro-magnetic emanations, even the natural magnetic fields and light wave reflections of the earth itself.”

  “And the whole point of the ConFoes,” extrapolated Maria aloud, “is to make sure no one is around, human or alien, to mess with the computers hosting the virtual worlds. Not now. Not ever.” She looked over toward Derek. “It’s a simple matter of self-defense.” Derek glared at Maria, but neither Hank’s nor Ali’s expression seemed to indicate that this was any kind of revelation to them.

  “But, if they are destroying the satellites, they must not need them anymore,” said Derek, stifling a yawn while thinking it through. “Which means we . . . uhhhh . . . have to conclude that . . . they . . . think their mission is close to complete. So why is becoming a Converter a better long-term career choice?”

  “I would be interested to know if you come up with the same theory I have,” replied Ali with a twinkle in his eye. He frowned slightly, however, as he noticed the weariness in the faces of their visitors. “You are obviously tired though, from your journey. Please, rest the night and think of our discussion. We will nap a bit, too, so that we can move onto your circadian rhythm and schedule, in case you are willing to help with our transportation needs.”

  Derek perked up again at the reference to transportation, frowning involuntarily.

  Ali responded to his look. “We would not have invited you, if we were not willing to be hospitable. Pick any quarters you like and secure them to your satisfaction if you feel unsafe.”

  Derek’s eyes flitted briefly toward the truck.

  Hank read his mind. “Maria grabbed the keys before she got out.” He winked at Maria, but did not disclose more. “But, yeah, we could hotwire it if we wanted to.” He smiled. “What kind of scientists would we be if we didn’t know basic electronics?”

  Ali smiled, too. “We do repair our own equipment.”

  Hank continued on, before Derek’s concerns ran rampant. “If you feel your truck’s not safe, just pop the hood and take some vital piece to bed with you. Odds against us being able to replace it with what we happen to have on hand are . . . well . . . astronomical.”

  “Parts are always a limiting factor with equipment,” chimed in Ali.

  Derek smiled tiredly. It was a good solution to his ingrained paranoid fears. He nodded curtly and ambled over to the truck.

  Ali called out after him as he turned away. “Please, if you would be so kind as to remember how to replace what you took and not lose it.”

  Derek grabbed a part that looked important and was easy to detach,
then shrugged his shoulders and headed for a room that would be near to the one Maria was beginning to move to. He had a lot to think about and it wasn’t about Ali’s career calculations. These guys could be the key to improving his plan. Even a good plan could always use a bit of tweaking, and his plan was workable, perhaps, but far from good.

  * * * * *

  Maria waited in the hall outside the dorm-like rooms that had once housed workers. They were all the same: sturdy twin beds and a simple dresser, chair, and mirror. Things were a bit dusty, but quite serviceable. Finally Derek returned from the truck, with what looked to be a voltage regulator in his hands. Maria caught Derek at his door.

  “I thought we were going to talk about the plan,” she said, softly enough that the science guys wouldn’t be able to hear.

  “We were. I just . . . need to sleep on it. I have to figure out if these guys can help.”

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Maria replied. “They seem smart and friendly enough.” She made a sour face. “They also seem sympathetic to your . . . world view.”

  “Yeah, but something’s not quite right.” She looked at him quizzically, but said nothing. He continued, “I mean, why are they here?”

  Maria’s eyebrows arched inward in minor consternation. “They said why they were here. SETI; they’re listening for little green men. They’ll never find them, but their reason makes sense from their point of view.”

  Derek shook his head. “Not to me, especially when they say that the idea of conversion seems logical to them. Nobody who believes in virtual worlds would be searching for intelligent life.”

  Maria snorted in laughter, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth in embarrassment. “I don’t think you meant that the way it came out.”

  Derek tilted his head slightly to the left, his eyelids half-closed. “Yeah, well you know what I meant.”

  Maria became serious again. “Not really. Why wouldn’t a . . . believer . . . in conversion not want to check whether someone is out there . . .” She waved vaguely heavenward, “. . . before they check out of the real world?”

  Derek’s head shifted up and back slightly in surprise. “Well, if you agree that going virtual is, basically, inevitable in any intelligent society because it eliminates the need for resources and solves . . .”

  “Avoids . . .” she interjected.

  “. . . problems, then you know there is no one out there to find. Or, at least, you know that if anyone is out there you won’t find them.”

  Maria folded her arms and pondered for a moment. She was getting tired; it didn’t seem obvious to her. “And why is that?”

  “Well,” said Derek slowly, as if the answer were too simple to need explaining, “the time period between developing radio and having powerful computers is miniscule, cosmically speaking. And anyone who has gone virtual doesn’t want to be found—it exposes them to risk of annihilation—so they won’t be broadcasting on radio anymore. Heck, the ConFoes don’t use radio anymore now, even though we could encrypt it and do it securely. Didn’t you ever wonder why? I always did. But it became obvious to me tonight.”

  A look of understanding came over Maria’s countenance. “Oh . . .”

  “Anyone virtual isn’t looking to be found. The odds of hearing anyone in the tiny window of time after they are technologically capable of broadcasting, but prior to radio silence being imposed when they go virtual, is beyond astronomical. It’s a snowball’s chance in hell.”

  Maria gave him a stern look. “It’s slim, I admit.”

  He shifted the voltage regulator to his other hand and looked around casually to see if they were being overheard. He exhaled slowly—it was obvious he was weary, too. “Then why are they looking?”

  Maria screwed up her face. “Maybe they’re just not as smart as you think.”

  Derek shrugged and mimicked Ali’s tone and precise enunciation. “I do not think that explanation seems likely.” He reverted to his own voice. “Maybe. Look, I’ll work on the plan. Maybe they can help with that anyway.”

  * * * * *

  All the way to Golden, General Fontana had mulled the Plan over and over in his mind, confirming his thoughts and refining the technical elements that went with them. He made up his mind as the Army of the Believers marched and rolled into the yard at the Colorado Railroad Museum late in the evening. His advance team had been busy and it looked like things would be ready to go in five or six hours. That schedule would let the troops get a bit of a rest, but allow the train to move out and through the city still in the cover of darkness, even allowing a half-hour to pick up a few extra coal cars which had been abandoned with full loads behind the old Coors plant.

  Fontana generally kept his own counsel, but now that he had decided to revise the Plan, there were some things that it was important for his commanders and the engineers to know yet tonight, so that they could fulfill the responsibilities of the Army of the Believers even should he fall (a ConFoe attack was possible at any moment; besides, even soldiers can sometimes die in their sleep of natural causes) and so they could understand why he had given certain peculiar orders. Certainly, soldiers are trained to follow orders without questioning them or understanding their role in the greater picture, but Fontana had always found that a little understanding up front encouraged the proper enthusiasm and prevented misunderstandings and mistakes in the actual execution. Accordingly, he called up his staff and laid the railroad maps out on a glass-covered display case in the museum. The day had been hot and the air was still in the musty building. Miners’ caps lit the map while holding down the corners from curling.

  “Before we leave at four a.m., everybody drinks a full canteen and replenishes it before boarding into the personnel boxcars.”

  “Yes sir,” said his aide with unnecessary enthusiasm as the other staff members nodded in simple agreement.

  “Personal emergency blankets are to be used to line the interior of the boxcars: floor, walls, and ceilings, but especially the floor. Reflective side should be out.”

  “Yes sir,” repeated the unctuous aide while the rest of the staff eyed one another in unspoken confusion.

  “We will also need several volunteers with the engineers in the train cab, prepared for extremely hazardous duty.” He knew that, given the radiation, the train would be moving through as it necessarily passed through the city, it was really suicide duty, but he didn’t call it that. The poor bastards would probably die in battle before the radiation got them anyway.

  “To protect against attack by gangs, sir?” asked the youngest Lieutenant present.

  “No,” said his aide before Fontana cut him off.

  “The gangs are all dead.” Fontana motioned to his aide, who passed around Lieutenant Casini’s missive, as he continued. “For the same reason we will need to move through Denver at the highest possible speed. Denver has been irradiated by the ConFoes. The longer we are in the area of radiation and the more exposed we are, the more we will suffer the effects of radiation poisoning.”

  The somber mood of the room turned downright grim. General Fontana filled the silence with further explanation. “Boxcar doors stay closed until we are well south of town, no matter what. It’ll be hot in there, which is why everyone needs to be fully hydrated before we leave. They may have to piss on themselves, but no one dies of heat exhaustion, is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” the group murmured in unison, looking up from the missive on the torn map delivered by Scout Lanigan at such tremendous cost.

  “Will the blankets actually protect the men in the cars?” someone asked. “That radioactive waste can be pretty nasty stuff.”

  “It can’t hurt,” was all General Fontana said in reply. The pre-attack bravado they had all been sharing with their men evaporated into nothingness.

  “What are the suicide volunteers for?” asked the young Lieutenant.

  Gus Gerdemann, his chief engineer, the man who would be running the train and who had just realized, battle or no, he had a fut
ure life expectancy measured in days, spoke up. “I asked for ‘em. Somebody has to run ahead and manually throw the switches if the signal arm indicates they are not where they need to be.”

  The persistent Lieutenant spoke up again. “Do we have protective clothing that could . . .”

  Gerdemann cut him off. “They’ll be on the ground and they’ll need to move fast. Between times, they’ll be on the access ladders on either side of the control room at the front of the train. They’ll get plenty of dust and exposure to whatever’s on the ground.”

  Fontana retook control of the conversation. “They’ll have coveralls and painters’ masks. We’ll wash them off and give them some iodine in water as soon as we can once we’re out of the city. That’s the best we can do.”

  The group acquiesced in silence.

  “Gus, here, has rigged one of our radon detectors to act as an audible Geiger counter. He’ll monitor things as best he can.”

  One of the more experienced leaders began to trace his finger along the route to the salt dome in Utah. The man clearly thought ahead. “How many more major cities between here and Utah?”

  “Albuquerque and Las Vegas. My guess is that Flagstaff is small enough to not be an issue. Of course, we’re not going all the way to Utah anymore.”

  To a man, the staff turned to him in puzzlement. Even his aide, who had oozed smug superiority during the briefing, due to his earlier access to Lieutenant Casini’s message, looked perplexed.

  “Why not?” said the hapless young Lieutenant who had spoken up earlier.

  “Because we’re going ninety miles northwest of Vegas, to Yucca Mountain.”

  “What’s in Yucca Mountain?” The Lieutenant would have to learn to shut up if he were ever to advance further in the ranks in the future—not that any of them really had a future.

  “The point is, what’s not in Yucca Mountain? There used to be tons of high-level radioactive material. The scientists put it there because they consider it to be the safest, most secure geological site in the country. But the radioactive waste isn’t there anymore. Maybe it was never really kept there; maybe they removed it. Who knows? According to Lieutenant Casini, though, wherever it was, right now it’s spread out over every major city on earth.”