The Alien Creator

by Michael Miller

  "Yes sir, but I'd assume the worst," Billy argues. "Time is limited and we need to turn on Defiant right away regardless if the Russians or Chinese learn about them or not. I think these aliens are heading here once finding the labyrinth of satellites and space station circling the globe. Earth will be easy finding now that they know somebody's in spitting distance."

  Myers rankles with a shocked expression, "You're not supposed to know about that darn program, Billy. Who spilled the beans about Defiant?" Myers barks searching the team that suddenly buries faces looking preoccupied.

  "Sir, Cal Tech designed and customized the operating system for those CIA satellites. That was my main focus, as graduate assistant for Professor Acosta, in the final year."

  "But we never told Acosta what platform the components were going into or who owned them?"

  "You didn't have to, sir. It was easy interpolating how chip designs, photon chambers, injection seeders, pump diodes, and optic cables bring offensive laser hardware into play. From there, it wasn't rocket science," Billy grins, his detail of specifications almost shocking.

  Myers checks frowns on senior team members listening to the unexpected technical banter about the most secret program in American history, more than Oppenheimer's Manhattan Project. After numerous shoulder shrugs indicating it wasn't one of them who told Billy, the boss growls. "All right, get to work, but be forewarned, lie detector tests might be in the works for all of us. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if we're water-boarded by the spooks running this show."

  White House - Second Floor Bedroom

  "What's up, Big Bear?" Jack Wilford asks the bulky Secret Service member, Willard Big Bear, nudging his shoulder a little before 4 a.m. "Where's the fire?" he whispers wiping stinging eyes.

  The large Apache-American replies softly, "Global Space Company is calling, Mr. President; Dr. John Myers. He said to tell you he needs Defiant."

  "Did he say if it was Russia, China, North Korea, or Iran causing the ruckus?"

  "No sir, but Dr. Myers wouldn't call you first about those types of conventional threats. This needs high level approval and he's probably covering his tracks."

  "All right, tell Bob Covelli to be on the call. Defiant has to do with satellites but I've forgotten specific details of what they do."

  "Yes, sir; I'll arrange it," he says confirming the CIA Director would be notified and updated.

  Wearing bedroom slippers and robe, Jack Wilford moves into the Oval Office about fifteen minutes later. Once pouring a cup of coffee left by kitchen staff moments earlier, he shuffles to the famous nineteenth century Resolute desk, gift from Queen Victoria to President Hayes in 1880. Soon, a secure modified Cisco landline telephone buzzes as he stares forlornly at a small picture of his late son's last known photograph taken overseas on a third-world battlefield.

  "Jack Wilford, Dr. Myers; what can't wait?"

  "Thanks for taking my call, Mr. President. We've big problems heading our way from deep space."

  "By the way, Bob Covelli is conferencing with us on this call," Wilford advises the scientist. "Now, what exactly can't wait until morning and what's this about using Defiant?"

  "Sir, I think we're under attack. I've lost two deep space assets and expect we're about to lose more very soon."

  "How far away are we talking?" Wilford yawns.

  "Several million miles, sir."

  "Millions?"

  "Yes," Myers confirms.

  "Why are we worrying about something that far away in middle of the night?"

  "Sir, that's next door in space lingo. I think they're coming here."

  "How were these assets lost?" CIA Director Bob Covelli interjects to assist the boss assuming he's half asleep. "I assume you mean deep space probes and not the KH-18s."

  "Correct, but only certain probes, Director; other assets were bypassed and left intact. We think they're picking the more sophisticated targets. Chinese, Indian, and Russian assets weren't touched. There's an Israel satellite in their path that could be next that's about half the distance between them and us."

  "Who's picking targets?" Wilford asks. "What are you talking about?"

  "Aliens, sir; nothing we or anyone else has in space can do this, especially in the time and distance between engagements."

  "Aliens doing what; what are you going on about Myers?" Wilford snaps; irritated by perceived silliness of the early morning conversation.

  "That's part of the problem, gentlemen. They're invisible unless firing some type of weapon, probably lasers, or grabbing assets from space. Once they strike, the ship disappears again as if never there."

  "Is this the real McCoy, John?" Covelli presses for sincerity.

  "Yeah, I'm afraid so, Bob. Those nuclear probes were two of our best put into space by the drone shuttle program about three years ago. For the first one before going offline, we received odd pulse signals my team is studying as we speak. We may soon have pictures once deciphering the first and second probe's final signals."

  "Pictures; I want to see them right away, Dr. Myers," Wilford demands. "Then, I'll believe you. Until then, I'm not sure what we can do about purported aliens. I still can't believe we're talking about little green men from Mars. My bet is on the Chinese."

  "Believe me; China isn't even close to playing at this level. That's why I want Defiant operational," Myers argues. "We'll need time moving and reversing weapons systems."

  "Positioning for what?" Wilford snarls. "Why am I constantly behind in this confounding conversation?"

  "Kill shots, sir; we should consider them hostile aliens."

  "Bob, what can these satellites do and why does Global Space need permission to use them? What am I missing in this unbelievable conversation?"

  "KH-18B satellites are kept mostly offline," Covelli explains talking softer about state secrets. "We don't want our enemies tracking them. It's star wars technology, originally a radical subset of Project Thor we don't talk about or discuss in any circles. These particular satellites are built for killing incoming ICBMs should we need them. Until then, we’ve masked them as weather satellites and radio telescopes. Most work was done at Area 51 as part of the revised X-37 shuttle program in case it didn't pan out."

  "Can we kill alien spaceships with satellites, Dr. Myers?" Wilford poses suspiciously; hardly believing the topic of conversation much less the capability of laser warfare he isn't aware exists.

  "Theoretically yes," the scientist murmurs with trails of doubt lingering, "depending on the amount of plasma energy we can muster. We don't test them in space since that would give away the farm. In lab simulations however, we could direct fire at any object depending on range. This alien weapon system is lethal at long distances, so we'll need to lure them closer to have any chance."

  "What KH-18 weapon system are you talking about?"

  "IFLO means Integrated Fiber Laser Ordnance, Mr. President. It's energy beam is pinpoint accurate, repeatable, and very hot. For example, we can hit beach balls perched atop the Empire State Building standing on the top of Mt. McKinley in Alaska in mere seconds."

  "When did we get this technology? I've never seen briefings on it."

  "Nobody gets briefings on IFLO," Covelli responds. "It's the most secret government stargate program we have. In fact, it's illegal talking about it as we're now doing."

  "If this threat is real, I see no problem authorizing its use. Do you, Bob?"

  "No, but I want hard proof first. We don't need competition working on ways to defeat Defiant."

  "Agreed; Dr. Myers, when can we see proof of these aliens?"

  "Soon, I hope, gentlemen. Of course, loss of two deep space probes isn't hearsay evidence. They were millions of miles away yielding constant feedback from the Milky Way before the attacks. The first one could have been a fluke accident but not twice."

  "Ok; get those pictures to us, then the laser weapon is yours," Wilford allows. "Let's talk again when you have news and don't share any information with anyone until we're ready. Bo
b will send extra security to watch out for your team until we know what we're facing. Everyone is restricted to the facility, no traffic in or out. Do you understand? I want a tight lid."

  "Yes, Mr. President," Myers sighs, wondering what cockamamie story he'd tell his wife. It must be a good whopper to fool her.

  "You mentioned two probes, Dr. Myers. What happened to the second probe?" Covelli interjects. "Is it lost?"

  "They took it the best we can say, Bob. We lost control and believe they plucked it from space. At least, that's what we're guessing. Transmissions and cameras went offline, but we didn't detect release of an energy stream this time. Our guess is they lost the first probe and didn't want to make the same mistake."

  "Ok, but is the second probe still transmitting?"

  "Outbound communications signals are being blocked except for the radio beacon. I realize that makes no sense, but we infer they want us knowing it's not dead like the first one."

  "That's incredibly spooky," President Wilford sighs. "You mean they want to know who's communicating with the probe?"

  "Yes, that's our best guess, Mr. President, for what it's worth."

  "Can you break through electronic jamming and get pictures from the probe? If it's inside their ship, we might be able to see what they look like."

  "Yes sir; I got one of my pencil-necks working that angle as we speak. We're speculating that by updating probe software that modulates S-band signals away from X-band we'll open a new path, at least until for a short time."

  "All right, whatever that means; let us know right away. By the way, how long before this threat comes knocking on our door?"

  "Hard to say definitively, Mr. President; our guess is weeks to months, but we don't know how fast they can travel. If truly aliens from another galaxy or even great distances from Earth inside the Milky Way, I'd say they can sustain flight at light speed or better; otherwise, it'd take decades or centuries making dents in gaps between planets and stars."

  "Ok, keep me in the loop. This is scary stuff."

  Chapter Two

  Global Space Headquarters

  hile military specialists keep leaders abreast of secret developments, everyone is mystified that an object hurling through space isn't detectable like any man-made rocket, probe, or satellite. As Myers' team huddles at workstations trying to understand next steps, the boss is surprised when whiz kid Billy Goddard walks into his office looking forlorn.

  "Hi Billy, how are you coming with recoding band waves? We gotta send evidence of this alien ship before getting access to Defiant."

  "Yeah, I know. My solution is almost done running the diagnostics. Then, it'll automatically upload into the probe. Meanwhile, I'm decoding and studying images of the first probe."

  "Why so sad? What happened, kid?" Myers asks kindly.

  "My girlfriend hasn't heard from me in two days. She's apt to call the cops."

  Myers smiles, "If you give me her name and number, I'll ask someone to call. This team is under lockdown."

  "Don't I know it; I tried making a call and my cell phone was confiscated by a no-neck soldier twice my size. He yanked it from me and gave a nasty stare."

  "I told you calls are forbidden, Billy. These guys don't mess around and we might be under attack by aliens. Very few people know what's up and we're in the catbird's seat. Can't you understand their perspective?"

  "Yeah, I suppose," Billy shrugs, "but my girl is very bossy. She scares me a whole lot more than big goons with guns."

  "Those goons are here to protect us in case it's Russian or Chinese infiltrators."

  "You gotta be kidding; Russian and Chinese infiltrators from deep space."

  "We might know what's up but others aren't up to speed yet. Give the President a break. This is new for all of us, Billy."

  "Yeah, well, Sally will give me an earful next time I see her. Of course, if you can smooth the waves, I'd appreciate it, boss." As his wristwatch goes off, Billy stands. "I better get back to the salt mine. Diagnostics are almost done."

  "Great, I'll be in the control room shortly. We're all dying to see inside whatever it is that snatched our probe."

  Global Space Team Room

  Team meeting is set up once Dr. John Myers returns from another brief phone call with DNI and CIA Directors and the Homeland Director. When the rushed assembly convenes in the rarely used soundproof room, all staff immediately sense anguish. Walking in without the normal content and confident face, Myers moves to the front and tells everyone to sit down and shut-up, a nasty tone rarely expressed.

  "I got my butt reamed by Bob Covelli after getting off the phone with President Wilford. Apparently, calling the President and mentioning Defiant wasn't the politically correct thing to do. But as Freddie Mercury sang, God rest his soul, the show must go on," he grins sheepishly. "This meeting won’t take long. A couple updates: Bob Covelli is sending more spooks to guard us, although I think it's mainly keeping us locked up. So stay inside the facility and don't make phone calls, send texts or emails. None; you got that? Second, if we're wrong about needing Defiant, we're all facing the firing squad."

  After seeing understanding of the serious nature, Myers restarts. "All right, forget about the Swamp Creatures descending upon us. Let's get updates. Where do we stand? Billy, what'd you find from that sliver of data when we lost the first probe? Do we need Defiant or not?"

  "I could have pictures coming as we speak," Billy replies. "I had to disassemble the digital feed and reassemble it bit by bit to get around whatever code is stuck on signals from the probe. It's probably the best backdoor hacking job I've ever seen, boss."

  "So you can say without doubt, it's aliens."

  "No, but hackers aren't that advanced. They can't intercept midstream ciphered sound waves and add blocking code from deep space. That's why the probe's ultrasonic optical beacon still works."

  "I have no idea what you just said but forget the technology lecture and get us some pictures; how soon before we see them?"

  "It won't be long if my fragmented reassembly software works. It took a while figuring how to bypass their firewall."

  "All right, but you're holding up the show, kid."

  "Leave it to me, boss. They may be androids or cybernetic machines but I'm a millennial and guys like me don't know yet what they can't do. I suppose that kind of doubt comes with age and experience," Billy subtly mocks the older generation.

  "Get out of here and get back to work. My butt's on the line and you're cracking jokes. All right," Myers says, shooing away Billy, "what about the rest of you? Have we found them? What object is next in their path?"

  "One of Israel's eight kilogram nanosatellites, Amos-12, about the size of shoe box is several hundred thousand miles ahead of them. If they can find it, I'll be shocked," Eshan Gupta, the lone India-born American engineer, adds.

  "Yeah, but it's plenty sophisticated," Myers chirps. "If technology is their thing, I'll bet they snatch it."

  "It won't be easy grabbing," Eshan, nickname Lord, offers. "The little bugger darts away when objects get too close. It's defensive mechanism is like none other. Did you know India helped put Israeli's first launch of it into space?"

  "How does it work?" Myers says ignoring the question, first time he'd heard about the darting angle.

  "Like pesky mosquitoes or humming birds," Eshan replies. "Only the right code, with coordinated numeric sequence, let objects get near. It's perhaps the most sophisticated technology built originally as shields against Arab rocket attacks. Software alterations made it one of the most lethal ordinances that typical interceptor rockets can't touch. In fact, I'm looking forward to them trying to snatch it. We may learn something about their limitations."

  Alien Ship

  The steel-blue industrial strength metallic ship commander, seven-foot android with a digital name sounding like Zote, is informed of a new object appearing in their path, on route to find a new planet that can sustain Creator life. Given it's unusual characteristics and sophistica
tion after numerous scans, the robot decides it's another valuable link to help save Creators. Informed the object is extremely tiny, he opts to bring it onboard, like the orb, and examine features and capabilities. Though the tiny object's code differs from the orb, the robot makes no assumptions about its source, implying multiple planets and alien creatures may be in play. Perhaps, he finally found a haven in this unending, unforgiving cold universe beyond comprehension.

  Moving into the brightly lit state-of-the-art science laboratory two levels below the helm, Zote is content the team of advanced science minions is working on possible solutions for their dying planet, perhaps a few thousand years from fatal instability due to faltering solar activity and loss of hydrogen. Though water and oxygen isn't necessary for androids, Cyborgs and their creators rely on oxygen, water, and plants, like humans, to sustain them with mixtures of 77% nitrogen and 22% oxygen.

  "Da-ti-na-ba," Zote barks at several task-oriented science minions studying the deep space probe. Wanting them to open it and expose inners, the fierce machine complains about lack of progress. "Qi-see-ta-ba," he barks again, feeling the probe's surface before concluding its seamless outer skin is made of poured material.

  Moving around the object sitting atop a display table in the lab, the commander sticks his metallic face next to what appears to be a portal. As microscopic electronic eyes drill closer, enlarging what is seen, the incredible machine seems enthralled by what's found. "Ka-tac-de-vat," he says, explaining the object has delicate circuit boards made of golden fibers and thin strands. When the orb's lens rotates slightly, the ship commander leans back, startled by movement. "Pa-na-zim-der-dil," Zote immediately instruct minions to drill into the slick, hard surface for material sampling.

  Global Space Control Room