The Alien Creator

by Michael Miller

  As the anxious team waits for Billy Goddard's upload to finish, the teenager explains how reconfigured imaging software reroutes internal computing that reorients signals through the beacon to the mainframe. After boring technical descriptions that most listen to halfheartedly, the orb suddenly begins transmitting live pictures inside the alien vessel from multiple angles. Myers and team are instantly flabbergasted, unable to express themselves initially at what's seen.

  "Machines," Myers gulps, finally managing to speak as they gawk at the live pictures. Wavering hesitation in his voice is uncharacteristic. "They're flippin' machines."

  "What else would they be?" Billy retorts. "Humans can't survive long trips so they sent machines. It's logical, boss."

  "They're machines," Myers repeats, as if not hearing Billy and thinking it's a strange concept beyond belief. "We're being attacked by machines."

  Chatter ramps in the control room as Dr. Myers moves to the door asking an armed guard for an immediate line to the President. "I hope we're recording this," he breathes, looking back at a transfixed telemetry team.

  "Of course," Bobby nods, keeping bulging eyes on monitors.

  Gently tapping instructions on his keyboard, senior engineer, Bobby Rafferty, drills closer with one of multiple orb cameras capturing the largest machine, a hideous creature with functional eyes, industrial strength arms, and powerful legs unlike the other units.

  When Myers rejoins the team while waiting for a phone line to the White House, the elite team of scientific engineers assumes the aliens aren't aware of the newly operational cameras. However, to their amazement, the large ugly machine looks into the nose camera and speaks.

  "Da-zis-ta-wo-dun," it utters, pointing at the lens, a deep bass sound with disturbing resonance.

  Immediately, two lab minions maneuver over and stick different types of probes onto the orb's beacon. Soon, it's apparent the large android is watching reverse feeds of the signal being viewed on Earth.

  "Ka-di-zabu-na," he says as the small minions begin whining and gyrating as if off balance or out of kilter from the hideous site of alien beings.

  "What's happening?" Bobby says to the team. "That's a weird language."

  "They're seeing us for the first time," Billy answers. "I wonder if they're thinking we're also ugly and scary."

  "Yeah, but the big fellow isn't gyrating?" Myers observes. "He doesn't seem the least bit affected by our appearance."

  "You're right, boss," Billy allows. "He must have higher brain capacity."

  "Un-dah," the large machine barks loudly, his voice indicating a rebuke of sorts.

  "I think he just told the small machines to shut-up," Billy reasons.

  Next, a new minion arrives, attaches a different probe to the orb's hard casing, and nods to the big machine once given a small linking device.

  "I am Zote, commander of this imperial vessel."

  Eyes bulge as the team in Arizona listens. "Did he just speak English or is it my imagination?" Bobby sighs. "And how are we able to hear him? Our probe isn't equipped with two-way transmission."

  "That last probe attached must have English translator capabilities," Billy reasons, "that's hooked into our signal. The digital voice we heard first was harsh and deep; this one seems digitally smoothed and generated. I'd guess he's using voice-activation and electrolarynx equipment leaps ahead of ours. Let's respond and see if they hear and understand us."

  Dr. Myers agrees, "It's worth a shot. My name is John Myers," the boss articulates slowly looking at the computer screen. "I'm control room commander of Global Space Company on Earth."

  Waiting for reply, it's unclear if the aliens understood what Myers said, his title a bit overstated. Finally, the large dull black machine speaks again. "I am here to find a new home for Creators, Commander."

  "Somehow, they've collected enough of our language to be effective communicators," Myers reasons. "They must have been monitoring us for a while. I wonder how they do it. I'm impressed."

  "Who knows how long they've been watching and listening? They've probably been collecting and monitoring satellite communications, maybe telephone calls, and data center activity. Their voice replicator is phenomenal," Billy adds praises. "It sounds like an automated William F. Buckley moonlighting at an AT&T call center."

  "What do you want?" Myers says slowly into the monitor, a question he thinks, in hindsight, is overly simplistic and void of scientific value.

  "Do not resist and you will not be destroyed," Zote answers bluntly, shocking all to the core. "If this sphere suits our need, we will take it for our use."

  "Holy cow! Time to let the President handle this," Myers gulps. "This is way over my pay grade. Zote doesn't beat around the bush; does he?"

  "I will get the proper authority on the call and you can deal with him, Zote. His name is President Jack Wilford. He's the top commander of this planet for all practical purposes."

  "I will speak to your top commander," Zote responds.

  Chapter Three

  Oval Office

  he American President and key staff members huddle around the famous Resolute Desk as Jack Wilford prepares for the call from Global Space Company rerouted to his office. Soon, Dr. Myers is on the line explaining the dire situation, one he has a hard time coming to grips with. As expressions of incredulity dominate Oval Office attendee attitudes, including Directors from DNI, DoD, NSA, CIA, FBI, Homeland Security, and two Joint Chiefs, Wilford accepts the primary role and instructs Myers to patch him through to the alien ship. As the pictures of machines in space fill the White House screen, it suddenly dawns on most this is going to be a scary event unlike any with Russia or China.

  "This is President of the United States, Jack Wilford," he begins shakily. "With whom am I speaking?" he asks, amazed to be addressing an alien, especially one that speaks English. After hearing initially what Myers described, it feels like the floor is moving beneath him.

  "I am Zote, commander of Navi, an imperial vessel sent by Creators from Andromeda. Do you speak for this planet?" the machine voice says authoritatively though the sound of his voice is eerie and manufactured. It's clear from seeing jagged jaws moving that eventually lead to voice actuated translations in English, the aliens are advanced in many ways.

  Eyeing the solid, terrifying creature, Wilford is comforted by the distance separating them. "I speak for a great portion of this planet called Earth. Now, please explain more about what you want with our planet."

  After pausing to absorb the best translation from the functional robotic translator converting the native digital language Zote understands, he continues spelling out terms while appreciating the direct tone of the planet's leader. "The mission is locating and obtaining a suitable new home for Creators, rulers of our ancient civilization. This sphere, based on extensive scans and analysis, indicate adequate gas mixtures, solar activity, and size. Your scientists refer to what we have studied so far as thermosphere. Mesosphere, stratosphere, and troposphere will be analyzed next as we approach the planet to decide if suitable for our use."

  "Why do you need a new planet?" Wilford asks, winging the conversation while hardly believing what they're talking about.

  "Our planet has an estimated ten thousand or fewer Earth years left in its habitable lifecycle. Early signs show an eroding atmosphere, primarily escaping atmospheric gases into space due to molecular kinetic energy out of our control."

  "Do you mean to say that during all your years of travel in space, this is the only planet that can support plant life?" Wilford whispers to the group that Zote plans ahead as the large robot formulates an answer.

  "Balanced and ample supplies of what you call solar activity, clean water, and oxygen are rare. Other planets studied were lacking components or had inadequate surface temperatures and renewable supplies. Since our solar activity is in early stages of burning out, survivability of Creators depends on a new sphere with moderate temperatures."

  "Do you expect us to hand this planet over wit
hout war and conflict? We've been here many thousands of years."

  "Like yours our planet, in what you call the Helleus Cluster, has been home for unknown seasons," the robot says using terms nobody in the White House understands. "While mechanical units, like me, survive harsh climates as indicative of our long journey, Creators are susceptible to minor changes in temperature and shortages of plant life. They are weak like humans in that regard and androids and Cyborgs cannot approach Creators. They are isolated for safety."

  Cyborgs and androids Wilford puzzles. "How many of these Creators are on your planet?"

  "We have one family of Creators with five remaining members when Navi, this vessel, departed. Reproduction is difficult and the family has declined in numbers over many centuries, once an abundant and thriving species. Our planet's weather has become unpredictable and harsh that has led to unstable plant supplies and health issues. Finding a new home is needed for survival of Creators."

  "Where is your home, Zote?"

  "Our journey began from what your scientific journals call Andromeda, a spiral galaxy 780 kiloparsecs afar that will eventually collide with this galaxy, actually moving closer about 60 miles per second. Exact spatial coordinates, of what you call Messier 31, highlighted by a massive star cluster, would be meaningless since navigating vortexes and avoiding black holes change the meaning of time and distance you would not understand. U-tom is the closest translation using your inefficient vocabulary."

  "How many citizens or inhabitants are you planning to relocate from U-tom?" Wilford says not understanding the last qualifiers about distance or unfriendly cosmic forces. Focusing on keeping sentences easier for translation weighs on his mind based on the reference to an inefficient vocabulary.

  "Creators will make the trip along with sustaining mechanical units necessary to support existence, procreation, and maintaining this new sphere. New generations will be leaders in this world by the time we return."

  "How long is the trip back home?"

  "Ten of your seasons are likely depending on conditions. Navigating time fold vortexes while avoiding twenty-six dense matter supernovas lead to damage and hull repairs that can take additional years to complete. Supreme hybrids will leave behind combat and production units to guide preparation and prepare this planet until Creators return."

  "Are Creators on Navi?" Wilford forges ahead, though the last explanation and use of military terms makes him and others cringe.

  "New generations are replaced infrequently and the replication process is delicate and unpredictable. Leaders changed since leaving U-tom," Zote explains fluidly. "We are concerned about the decline in family members. Two are minimal for our survival, thus we have no room for error. In order to regenerate greater numbers of Creators, a healthier environment is needed for them."

  "I see; so what you're telling us is your population is in jeopardy of extinction. Did I hear correctly that taking over this planet is based on a family of creators numbering five individuals?" Wilford says, mimicking the sound the best he can. "That's a lot of space for five individuals."

  "Creators require large areas as they secrete limited life-sustaining fluid from plants that are dying at rapid rates. We exterminate threats of all types including plants."

  "How do you survive?"

  "Creators send updates maintaining machinery like me by way of communication probes placed along the route. This process allows dedicated units to service updates and make repairs. Our existence depends on Creator survival. Frequent communication before leaving Andromeda gives confidence they still live."

  "How large are Creators since they consume so much plant life?"

  "Creators are comparable to human size and highly intelligent organisms that dwell above ground," Zote replies once the translator scans databases for equivalent size and weight. "Secreting life sustaining fluids from rare plants requires substantial habitats. Such plants yield tiny quantities upon harvest. In past wars, enemies destroyed many plants."

  Wilford glances around the room, wondering how all this is possible. "Are you the highest authority on your vessel?"

  "There are two supreme hybrids in cryogenic form that are unfrozen when the time is right. When unfrozen and functional, they become commanders of this mission."

  "Are these supreme hybrids machines like you?"

  "Not like me; I am mechanical. Hybrids have short life spans so they must remain dormant until finding a new habitat. That's when their function begins."

  "Since Creators have short life spans and limited in numbers due to reproductive gaps, why not bring them along in the cryogenic state like supreme hybrids? What comprises their body?" Wilford meanders, his train of thought unclear while determined not to start an argument. Though impressed by honesty and brutal clarity of this alien, Wilford assumes they'll eventually fight battles for sovereignty.

  "Creators are blends of biomechanical and organic matter when fully matured. As new forms, they are completely natural. After birth starting on the eighth day, parts begin replacement during formative years. Skin and tissues are comprised of carbon nanotubes, compact high tensile actuator muscles, and regenerative polymer plant-fungal cells. Circuitry is complex brain networks that guide prosthetic limbs using elastic nanotubes," Zote explains as if his description is clear to this lagging species. "They will not risk long distance travel unless a new home is proven safe with reliable oxygen, food, and water supplies. Creator reproduction must be managed during the trip at least for one generation of the species depending on distance. We brought seeds to plant food once the new planet is secure."

  As Wilford accepts a cell phone connecting him to Global Space, he moves off camera for a moment to press Dr. John Myers for help in this awkward conversation.

  "Dr. Myers, does your team understand what Zote is saying that's useful? I'm running out of ideas and much of what he's saying is way over my head, but I don't like the tone."

  "Zote is saying Creators are basically advanced biomechanical beings, perhaps advanced Cyborgs or something like that, Mr. President," Myers answers authoritatively. "For us, it's science fiction. For them, they apparently bridged the neurological surgical gap we struggle with our designs. We can learn a lot from them if we survive."

  "And that helps us how, Dr. Myers?"

  "Sir, they're hundreds, perhaps thousands, of years ahead in science most likely. Nanotechnology is far better putting what they appear able to do into functioning machines. If they have Creators who built them, then we're up against very capable opponents. Their key hurdle appears to be reproduction, but I don't know if that helps or not. It could infer a gap for medical capabilities where we shine. Maybe, we offer assistance with their reproduction process. I'm worried about their weaponry and these supreme hybrids are likely more advanced and dogmatic than Zote. I'd press for timelines, strategy, end games, and things we'll need our military to consider. If you can determine how they're able to disappear without trace, it might give ways to find them. My guess is we're about to be tested beyond our comprehension. That's why I asked for Defiant."

  "All right; keep this line open, John. I may need more input."

  After Myers moves back to the small group huddled in the control room, Wilford re-sits in camera view.

  "Zote, what are your next steps? Please explain what you intend doing next."

  "Once science laboratories agree this unique blue planet suits our needs I will order restoration of one supreme hybrid. At that point, it will be its decision how to proceed."

  "Can you tell us more about supreme hybrids?" he asks wondering if Zote knows he's a machine.

  "Hybrids are combat models designed to manage battlefields and subdue alien populations. If you hand the planet over without struggle, then some of your most advanced species could survive as useful servants. Otherwise, these creatures tend to be single-minded about aliens."

  Wilford hesitates as the brutal honesty and implicit inference of genocide and extermination crowd a muddled brain. Where do we go
from here he thinks. "You are the aliens to us, Zote, but I suggest we discuss this situation when a hybrid awakens. Until then, I see little common ground. We will not give up our planet without resistance."

  Zote pauses for various interpretations of meaning by linguistic minions dedicated to alien languages. Finally, he responds. "You do not understand. Hybrids do not discuss terms of surrender. They dictate procedures and give commands. Common ground is an option not allowed by Creators. That leads to weakness," the emotionless robot explains logically. "Centuries of battling enemies at home shaped this approach."

  "I see; all right; let me conference with my team then we will make contact again very soon. Will you let us know before a hybrid is unfrozen?"

  "I agree to warn you when he comes on line. That is my final decision. When the hybrid takes command, my processor is terminated and shelved. There can be only one leader. You will have to deal with it."

  "Another question, Zote; how is your vessel able to disappear from radar scans? Can you explain that technology?" Wilford says assuming he won't get an answer.

  On the contrary, Zote seems apolitical and candid to a fault, possibly a characteristic design flaw Wilford can exploit. "To protect from galactic invaders, Creators designed shields that flatten incoming tracking signals using what you think of as inertial frames. Instead of bouncing off or back, these signals dissipate like sound striking liquid. Enemies, over many centuries, led us to require this technology."

  "Thank you, Zote, for that explanation. Is there anything else you will share that helps us understand your perspective? We are curious knowing more about your civilization."

  Zote hesitates as Wilford's simple request, translated by phonological word experts using the English language's 170,000 words stored in massive liquid hard drives where one tablespoon holds multiple terabytes. Compared to Zote's limited vocabulary of a thousand words, mostly instructions, commands, and acknowledgements, the time to decipher and render complex English interpretations and euphemisms is remarkably fast and efficient, clear example of advanced artificial intelligence.