"Bull Greer has Joint Chiefs working on strategies if the four robots land. Until then, troop deployments are on hold. Besides, we don’t even know where they'd land."
"Right sir; anything else? My team will be at their stations for the next twenty-four hours. We're taking turns with naps on cots brought into the control area."
"Ok, good night, John; thank them for me and take care."
Chapter Eight
Global Space Division, Arizona
he entire engineering team inside the secret desert butte control room is either sleeping, dozing, or half-alert while Bobby Rafferty, senior telemetry specialist, maintains vigilant watch on overhead data screens and desktop monitors. When the final batch of balloons begins reaching pre-programmed altitudes, the engineer wipes eyes ensuring his complex multi-tasking screen isn't playing tricks after gulping a last slug of double-shot energy drink. After several seconds of intermittent, flittering signals, he hurls a couple yellow pencils that hit Billy Goddard's head. Taking a while to awaken, the young colleague rolls his chair over to Bobby's area complaining about the assault.
"Why are you throwing pencils at me, Bobby? That last one hurt," he says rubbing a dent on his left temple.
"Sorry, but I think your balloons are working. We don't have full a 360-degree grid yet, but I've been seeing the alien spaceship. It's a big sucker, maybe a couple football fields long."
"Has it moved from the last recorded location?"
"No, it's right where we saw it last time. Awaken the others, if you don't mind. Boss is in the bathroom and I don't want to walk away from the monitor."
"All right; if it moves we have to call the White House, fire up Defiant, and let our pilots know."
When Billy returns with Myers in tow, there's a group huddled around Bobby's workstation ooohing and aaahing as telemetry feedback from two bus-size spy satellites employing infrared electromagnetic radiation provide specific details of the massive alien spaceship. Computer-generated drawings on another screen, using precise digitally scanned details provided by the Hexagon-class satellites begin taking form. The excited team marvels as the custom 3D-CAD software recreates external features of the bulky vessel. Soon, it's clear the spacecraft has six decks along with jagged and jutting platforms for access to space, likely exit doors used by a variety of equipment and robots. At the rear are three giant propulsion turbines appearing to be at minimum power based on infrequent spurts of gas residue. Whether the engines are nuclear, plasma, or ion thrusters, much less an unknown form of electrostatic power generation, is unclear.
"Make a copy we can forward to the White House, Bobby," Myers says as the expensive software keeps adding detail to the complex schematic. "I wonder if Zote knows we can see him?"
"If he does, I think he'd have responded by now," Bobby remarks.
"Or he doesn't care," Billy counters nonchalantly. "We'd see it sooner or later if they decide to put the four monsters on the surface. I don't think Zote is worried about an attack from us. Whatever the President told him might have eased concerns. Wilford has the reputation of a great negotiator."
"How long before it's done mapping, Bobby?"
"I don't know, boss. I've never seen so many layers of detail. Each scan seems to make tweaks and adjustments to previous algorithms. It should be close."
As the computer refines external details, Bobby extracts portions of the ship then enlarges what the CAD diagram captured. "These appear to be weapons protruding from the sides; don't they?" he asks pointing at the screen. Saving that blowup, he selects an area at the nose of the ship. Enlarging what they saw before emitting thick laser streams, they discuss what appears to be a green glassy substance about the size of a dinner plate.
"The Navy has something like it on battleships and drones," Billy adds to the conversation. "It's based on fiber optics, polycrystalline prisms, and diode pump modules to create flows of energy. I wonder if it's similar to what these Andromedan fellows built?"
"Fellows?" Myers chuckles. "Have we seen any fellows yet? Maybe, hybrids and Creators are fellows, though I doubt it."
Eshan Gupta, a satellite engineer, offers insight for the others he thinks may be forgotten. "In order to survive long as they have, I'd guess the only fellows on board are hybrids that need cryogenics. Keep in mind, freezing is for preserving tissue and organs, thus these hybrids must have animal or human characteristics."
After a long wait, Bobby perks up. "All right, the copy is heading to the printer, Dr. Myers, and I'll have a digital version you can email. When the White House sees it, they're not going to believe its size and shape. It's nothing like the flying saucers in your comic books; is it Billy? Go figure," he adds cynically.
"Don't knock comic books, Bobby. Flying saucers are stereotype hype by amateurs. Old comic books had all sorts of shapes and sizes. I'd say cylindrical is probably the most common look. The saucer idea comes from lifting heavy payloads using low density supersonic decelerators."
Bobby rolls eyes, "Thanks for clearing up that misconception with another one."
"I know you're pulling my leg, Bobby, but saucer shape is the most likely design for Mars reentry vehicles built at the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. It'll use air brakes and parachutes to slow reentry, but it's close as any I've heard about."
Andromedan Spaceship
Zote takes the speedy translucent lift to the cryogenic chamber three levels below considering the best plan of action. The concept of disobedience, recently learned from humans, is a new concept taking time for processors to understand. When entering outer doors of the sealed chamber room, he notices two service minions inside the polycarbonate structure keypunching instructions. Immediately angry, Zote barks into a speaker that sends his voice booming into the sound proof, reinforced area.
"Ve-tun-dah?" Zote's sharp tone is an indication of displeasure, a sign for the machines they won't survive when he gets into the chamber.
The service minions keep working ignoring definitive commands, abrupt change in behavior Zote hasn't experienced before after decades. At this point, the service machines know Zote will destroy them without hesitation.
"Ve-tun-dah?" Zote repeats sternly, slamming a huge fist against an ultra thick unbreakable transparent plate to the room. "Du-ta-ras-ta-na," he adds, warning not to thaw a hybrid until it gives the order.
Understanding images of machine uprising across the ship might be underway due to failsafe measures by eternally smart Creators, Zote weighs whether he should seal outer airlock keeping hybrids shut up or if he should wait and release toxic gas that dissolve skin, anticoagulants, and membranes. While hybrid unfreezing is risky and untested, Zote assumes the reheating process will not cause problems. On the other hand, Creators provided two ways to destroy them if the occasion arose, indication that machines, especially Zote, are trustworthy.
White House Bunker, East Wing
President Wilford and crew drop jaws when seeing the massive spaceship for the first time pop up on a wall screen. With dimensions, estimated materials, and red arrows added by Bobby indicating potential weapon positions around the ship, the elite decision-makers are at a loss for words.
"It's big as an aircraft carrier," Bull Greer winces, breaking the ice.
"Only this one moves like a gazelle," Charles Brody follows.
"Yeah, it's big all right," Wilford allows. "But remember, we don't need to destroy it. Rendering it unstable for deep space travel is enough. I believe the part about Earth being too unique to destroy. Zote said they've been looking for many decades. That's mind-boggling."
"Our rods might bounce off this monster like cement dart boards," Bull gripes.
"Maybe," Wilford allows. "Myers says the ship hasn't moved. I wonder what Zote is doing? He said Creators probably have failsafe designs to stop him if he goes off the reservation."
"How long do we have eyes on; did Myers say? I thought we needed a complete circle using X-37 transducer rods," Greer frowns. "Has that requirement changed?"
"Are Defiant satellites in position?" Wilford changes topics.
"Yes, the team at Global Space has full control," Bob Covelli answers. "Re-tasking is complete, though it wasn't easy as first thought. I'm sure our Red friends are wondering what we're doing. I recommend telling Joe and Ray to undock well before deploying them. If the aliens figure out what we're up to, the satellites could be toast."
"All right, let Myers know immediately. We’ll need Joe and Ray if Defiant fails," Wilford agrees with the CIA Director. "I'm still praying we don't need either but time is running out. The balloons won't last much longer and I fear Zote may run into roadblocks. Time to fish or cut bait is near."
Andromedan Spaceship
Standing outside the eerie cryogenic chamber, Zote decides waiting and determining if the unfreezing process succeeds. If failing to revive the hybrid, he'd be justified terminating the creature if brain functions are doubtful. If successful, he'd determine if giving up control is best for Creators, his lone concern and loyalty. Once checking the airlock seal after using a thin laser torch to meld the doorframe, the cautious robot moves back to the control center to determine if insubordination is isolated to the chamber. Arriving in the command center where navigation minions are monitoring the planet and space, Zote spots a red pulsating signal on an overhead monitor. Moving to the workstation where a lone minion is stiff and unresponsive, he presses a console button that begins streaming binary codes explaining the curious signal. Studying complex digital information, Zote scolds the minion for not alerting him. Finally, realizing the stiff unit is malfunctioning or short-circuiting, he barks commands to replace it. As service minions scurry to obey orders, Zote wonders why the cryogenic units ignored his commands. Deciding problems are limited to hybrids at present, the robot considers if the planet leader deceived him and if the last conference was hacked by minions and forwarded to Creators. Opting to react with forceful balance, Zote orders destruction of weather balloons and complete replacement of communication minions.
Global Space Control Center
Myers and team are tired but manning workstations when Bobby Rafferty suddenly sits up, takes notice, and announces a dramatic change. Watching as numerous balloon transducer signals start disappearing, tracking of the alien ship begins waffling then stops altogether.
"Zote's taking out our balloons," Bobby says excitedly. "I've lost sight of the ship. He's on to us."
"Slow down," Myers tries calming his telemetry specialist lacking his usual sense of control. "What's happening?"
"We’re losing balloons one after the other; that’s what's happening. Our pilots are going to be flying blind as well as Defiant."
"Settle down, Bobby," Myers touches his shoulder as other team members huddle around. "Have they moved?"
"I can't say for sure, boss. The balloons were far apart, most hundreds of miles from the ship. I'd guess they're moving but can’t say for sure. Who knows the range of their lasers? Nevertheless, I can't see them. The circle is gone."
"All right; I'll call the White House and pass along the news. Meanwhile, I want you thinking about what we can do. We have two men up there depending on us." Turning to Billy, Myers expresses sadness about the method devised is now in shambles. "Any other ideas, kid, let me know," John sighs. Walking away with head down deep in thought, Myers contemplates the best way of relaying the terrible news.
White House Oval Office
Dr. John Myers is transferred to the President as two Senators, discussing foreign aid and trade bills, are told of urgent business and ushered out. When Myers gets on the line, Wilford senses trouble.
"I assume it's bad news," Wilford begins soberly.
"We lost the circle; Zote is destroying the balloons."
"Is he onto us?"
"I can't say, but it doesn’t look good. We think he's moving as well."
"All that means is we have to wait," Wilford comforts the befuddled scientist. "When they get close enough, we'll be able to see them according to your long haired protégé."
"Yes, sir, Billy is right about that. I don't think Defiant will be a viable option. It'll be up to Joe and Ray."
"Have you talked to them about the change?"
"No, until we get definitive information, it’d be needless worry for them. I want to hear from Billy before we make the call. He may come up with an idea we haven’t considered."
"Isn't Billy the youngest member on your team? He seems quite young to be a thought leader."
"Yes, sir, he's not quite twenty."
"And he's your best bet for ideas?"
"Yes, sir, I'd put my money on him. He's so far out of the box that I doubt he knows what he can't do."
"I suppose that comes with age and school of hard knocks," Wilford allows. "All right, then let me know when you get something. Until then, I'm going to call Joe and Ray and tell them about our change in plans."
"Change in plans, sir?"
"Yeah, it appears based on what you said, Dr. Myers, the X-37D will have to meet them head on. Landing without resistance makes no sense. If anything, it could delay them until we have beads on where they might try setting up shop. Besides, deploying assets in the wrong places isn't the way our military works."
"Ok, I'll talk to Billy and rest of the team and see if we have any other options. We'll hold off with Joe and Ray until you have that conversation. Will you call them soon?"
"Yes, when we're done, I'll call them. We'll talk soon, John."
X-37D Cockpit
Aboard the complex aircraft able to take off from runways and fly in atmosphere or low gravity situations using variable wings, fins, rudders, and thrusters, Joe and Ray understand the call to arms could come any moment. Checking broad arrays of colorful automated instrument panels of LED lights, digital counters, pie charts, radar screens, punch-buttons, manual switches, dials, and gauges, they marvel as Sidney, the mainframe CPU, handles sophisticated tasks normally the responsibility of well-trained astronauts. Maintaining radio silence for the past twelve hours, the family men are eerily relieved when a bright pulsating console light alerts them of an incoming call.
"Here we go," Joe says to Ray. "Let's see who's calling? Space Dragon; come in White Rook; over," Joe responds once engaging a wireless communication transmitter.
"Greetings; this is the swamp calling," Wilford begins tongue-in-cheek. "I'm in the White House Bunker with all key staff listening to this important conversation. How are you coping?"
"Fine sir, we were expecting a call but not from you," Joe answers. "We appreciate the personal touch, sir; over."
"I want to relay new information since it affects the mission. Global Space is also on the call and will take over once I'm done. To sum it up, it appears the aliens are onto the use of balloons and have eliminated most of them by now. We'll need to rely on visual contact, I'm afraid, until we come up with a new way to find them. I'm told cloaking is fully effective against electromagnetic radar. What that means is you won't be able to see them due to failure of current radar systems."
"We understand sir; Ray and I are accustomed to eyeball to eyeball seat of the pants flying. We'd have it no other way if it were our choice; over," Joe responds, taking pressure off the President while eyeing the other with concern.
Wilford smiles at the humor. "Ray, I'm told you had to bail out over the mountains of Afghanistan several years ago."
"Yes, sir; I hit the Hindu-Kush snow and rocks at twenty-thousand feet. My engines failed while running interference for the 10th Mountain Division operating at higher elevations outside Kabul. It wasn't my favorite day, sir; over."
"I read the AAR (after action report). You had a rough time of it."
"Yes, sir; but the forces I was protecting actually turned the tables on the terrorists after a couple A-10s
dropped by to say hello. It turned out all right for all of us; over."
"That's good," Wilford pauses inordinately. "The reason for this call is we're about to ask you to undock from the satellite. Defiant won't be much use if we can't find the target. Therefore, visual is the only way, right now, of stopping them at this point. We're advising that you restack the rods with twelve live rounds and prepare for a dogfight."
"Dogfights are our specialty, sir," Joe answers confidently, though a glance at Ray suggests he doesn't like the change in plans. "The rail gun has tremendous wallop and I believe we can do the job; over."
"I know you can; that's why you fellows were chosen over astronauts. I'm not an expert but was told aerial combat is more instinctive than reactive. It's the main reason why top guns, like yourselves, were preferred for this mission. With that, I'll turn over the call to the team at Global Space and they'll take it from here. Good hunting and God bless you, gentlemen; we're depending on you and know you'll do your best."
"Thank you, sir," Ray and Joe echo simultaneously.
"Dr. Myers," Wilford answers, "we're dropping off now. Please take it from here and keep us abreast of changes."
"Will do, sir; Ray and I like challenges."
Chapter Nine
Global Space Division, Arizona
he entire engineering team watches extremely detailed live high-def video feeds as Navy Officers Joe Mettars and Ray Thompson decouple Space Dragon then begin gently floating away from the secret giant satellite. Already finished restacking chain gun rods-from-God, the pilots are ready to save Earth. Soon after, Sidney fires the three Aerojet Rocketdyne's Kilo-Newton engines to begin the hunt for the massive Andromedan ship. While Bobby Rafferty, senior telemetry specialist, guides Sidney based on the Zote's last known position in the mesosphere, tension in the Arizona butte control center builds as Space Dragon moves to intercept Zote.
The Alien Creator Page 9
