"Sidney, let us know when objects moving closer to Earth show up on any type of radar scan," Joe tells the computer.
Responding to the Honeywell voice-activated command, the female's voice is soft and clear. "Understood, Lt. Mettars. Nothing to report at this time; objects are orbiting the earth in predictable stable patterns. Would you like detailed descriptions of space object dimensions, speed, material composition, nationality, orbit, and other interesting information?"
"Call me Joe, Sidney?" the pilot smiles. "I prefer first names. I only want to know about objects not in fixed orbits."
"I will make that change permanent in memory registers, Lt. Joe."
"Simply Joe will do, Sidney."
Ray chuckles as his partner toys with the sophisticated cockpit computer, chip designs originally developed for disabled and handicapped persons. "Who decided on that female voice?" Ray asks Bobby. "It's almost distracting for me being away from the wife; over."
Bobby waits as Myers steps into the silly Mutt and Jeff conversation. "This is John Myers. You can choose between Sidney and my voice. Which do you gentlemen prefer; over."
"We'll stick with Sidney," Joe follows, rolling eyes at Ray.
Rafferty retakes control, "Space Dragon, I'm directing Sidney to increase current speed twenty percent then alter the flight path to grid-7 that will take you where we estimate the most likely corridor Zote will take to Earth. If onto us, I expect Zote'll maximize distances between satellites. Firing at them would give away their position; over."
"Roger, base. How long before we could make contact?" Joe presses.
"Depends on where Zote is heading and how fast he's traveling, Lieutenant. Consensus is anywhere from several hours to a day. If Zote slips by without being spotted, we'll immediately recall Space Dragon; over."
"Ten-four; we'll keep eyes peeled; out."
Andromedan Spacecraft
Zote is puzzled why cryogenic service minions turned on him, choosing to ignore a direct command. The first time in almost fifty years, he opts not to trust any machine until hybrids, lone threats to him, are destroyed. Deciding to pay the chamber another visit to check status on the unauthorized unfreezing of a hybrid, Zote exits the translucent lift after speedy descent and walks to thick clear panels keeping the ship safe in case the cryogenic process doesn't go as planned. When arriving and finding one empty cryogenic cylinder along with smashed remnants of minions, Zote opens a metallic panel on his arm revealing a programmable screen. Hitting buttons in a long specific sequence, he ends with a long string of security codes known only to him.
Understanding there can be only one explanation, Zote watches an eerie grayish chemical permeating the sealed space like dark clouds. He wonders how the hybrid escaped, if that's what happened. With no place to hide inside the chamber, cryogenic minions that helped unfreeze the hybrid appear lifeless, having been crushed or stomped. When the corrosive poison attacks memory, energy cells, and circuits, he observes what's left of life draining from the disobedient machines. He watches as the remaining frozen hybrid, still inside a thick translucent cylinder, suddenly bursts into tiny fragments. Although expecting the horrifying sight, Zote isn't sure about the other hybrid's location with only one known exit from the confined space. Was the unfreezing process farther along that estimated? Had the lengthy process run its course? Did Creators devise escape routes or ways to survive the nerve agent? The advanced robot checks spot welding on the outer door; satisfied it's unchanged. Had he missed something about the frozen chamber cryogenic minions and Creators kept from him? Is the surviving hybrid about to take over the ship, destroying anything in its path? Deciding to check status of the four combat machines locked in bowels of the ship, an area off limits to minions and rarely visited, Zote decides to seal off all decks below the helm, possibly jettisoning the combat units as last resort.
Returning to the upper deck control room then shutting down the turbo-lift, Zote barks commands restricting flows between levels as minions scan for the hybrid, the terrifying and unique synthetic organism with high brain capacity and ruthlessness beyond imagination.
"Puh-de-ve-no-ga," Zote urges the helm's terrified minions to be thorough. "Da-ga-no-va-ta," he reasons sending vibrations down circuits of the alarmed machines. Advising that the escaped hybrid unfroze too quickly to restore proper brain functions, he describes the horror they'll face if the synthetic organism reaches them. Contemplating new concepts learned from human interaction and data records about competition, Darwinian law, natural selection, and survival of the fittest, Zote ponders comparisons on U-tom where consistency and honor guides behavior, once paradise where machines were never disobedient or harmful to other machines. Why did Creators design hybrids that cared little about machines?
After a painfully long time searching levels, corridors, rooms, and crevices of the massive ship using dozens of agile remote cameras mounted on maneuverable robotics, Zote and minions watch multiple screen angles as the target crushes a small robotic unit with its heavy foot. Focusing on the corridor, the bottom level where the four combat units are idle, mounted cameras drill down to the hybrid's large head trying to determine if it can open the multi-ton track door. Rotating his head then staring back with steely bright blue cobalt eyes, Zote figures it's a matter of time until the clever synthetic organism figures a way inside. If successful reaching the tactical units, the end will be quick for Zote and humans.
Global Space Design Center
Billy Goddard hadn't counted on the Andromedans figuring out his sinister purpose of harmless weather balloons, if that's indeed what happened. In fact, developing a backup plan never entered his mind. Unlike military strategists assuming battle plans aren't recognizable after initial contact, he mumbles self-criticism why such a simple task is so difficult. With all the resources and technology available, how could he not come up with an alternative and viable way to find these creatures about to wreak havoc on Earth? How could a machine outfox him?
"Where do we stand, Billy?" Myers says arriving at a large workstation hosting multiple desktop computers sitting atop stainless steel tables near rows of shelving with expensive tools, hardware, sensors, circuit boards, chemicals, test tubes, and other useful devices.
"I've been chatting with some techies around the building. It occurred to me last night that another way of finding them is using sound."
"Sound; you're going to hear them coming?" Myers frowns. "Why do you think that will work?"
"I filtered all but engine noises during calls with the White House. The throbbing sounds, like faint heartbeats, while barely perceptible, are distinct sine waves. By programming what I believe are engine sound prints and matching unique vibrations using oscillation software, I think we'll find them. Listen to this," Billy asks, pressing a digital recorder button hooked into desktop high-end Magnepan speakers.
Once Myers hears the sound recording a second time while watching odd oscillating square sine waves on an overhead screen, he snickers. "How do you know that particular noise came from the alien spaceship? There are many sounds in space captured all the time, Billy?"
"Yes, but listen again, boss. This time focus on voice overlays and time stamps of Zote and corresponding sounds coming from Sector-7, Grid-9. I got copies of sound prints occurring at precisely the time of calls and similar time stamped sounds picked up by a probe."
"Which probe?"
"Chang-e2."
"That's not our asset, Billy. How did you gain access to it?"
"One of my buddies is a hacker that works for NSA. He got it for me."
"NSA employs hackers?"
"Are you kidding; everybody hacks. He's an independent contractor but his work is top notch."
"Who's this friend?"
"I promised not to tell anyone but I can tell you there isn't a black hat out there who doesn't know his work. He's legendary in limited circles."
"How much did this information cost this time?" Myers winces, imagining the 3-D copier's hefty bud
get-busting price tag.
"Nothing, but I had give up my first edition of Detective Comics from 1937."
"Is that all he wanted?" Myers rolls eyes, thinking it's another reference to his silly comic books. His entire life revolves around comic books, it seems.
"Boss, that particular edition is worth several hundred thousand bucks. I bought it years ago and its value skyrocketed. In fact, I keep it in a safety deposit box and only look at when I'm inside the bank locked in a viewing room."
"I see; that's mighty generous of you, kid."
"Not really, if Zote tears this planet a new one, it could be worthless if nobody is around to read it."
"Right, that could happen," Myers agrees donning a sober expression. "Ok, back to this sound wave idea, how do we implement it?"
"I'm developing a patch file to upload into Sidney and two satellites. Joe and Ray will then receive triangulated signals when recorded sounds match what's on the file. Basically, it's digital acoustical-sound-recognition minus phonemes used for speech patterns."
Scratching his head, Myers wonders how Billy became so clever at his age and presses for better detail. "How will you capture sound waves in space that are definitive enough to find Zote?"
"Gravitational oscillations are really what we're capturing, boss; mainly F-type square sine waves. Imagine interruptions in vibrating guitar strings anywhere from seconds to millions of years apart between each oscillation. In our situation due to known proximity, wave interruptions will be split seconds apart. Using the electromagnetic radiation formula for light speed in vacuums of three times ten to the eighth-power, we then can calculate fractional distance and location."
"I almost understand what you said. All right, when can you have this oscillation software linked in satellites and Space Dragon? Can we also link it into firing solution for the rods?"
"That's the plan, boss. I'd guess a couple hours," Billy nods.
"Great; I'll pass this along to the White House and the pilots. Let me know when uploading begins."
"Right, boss; tests so far lie within two standard deviations."
"That's fairly reliable, I suppose, though on second thought two hours may not be what we have. If we take a leap of faith, even if testing isn't complete Billy, I want our pilots having the best chance possible."
"Right; I'll work faster, boss."
"By the way, kid, excellent work; I'm not sure what we'd do without you and your comic books," Myers chuckles.
Andromedan Ship
The terrifying Cyborg, a creepy bionic creature with multi-core processors permitting hugely complex multi-tasking, finally laser cuts through the thick multi-ton hanging doors at the lower level of the ship. After breaking down the heated section, the intelligent creature passes inside and begins procedures that activate shackled war-bots. Without wasted motion, the synthetic organism, with flexible web-polymer skin, calculating eyes, vice-grip hands, dexterous fingers, and piezoelectric properties that store energy in prosthetic limbs, checks internal power supplies capable of lighting medium-size cities. One by one programming, the combat units spring to life with updated software and defibrillated components despite their lengthy period of dormancy. The patient Cyborg, an intelligent mix of biological and biomechanical components, greets them with slight nods after each machine acknowledges his supremacy.
The square-shaped alloy mobile tactical units, about thirty feet tall with massive legs, wide necks, and bulging limbs, slowly regain dexterity and flexibility once unshackled. While still confined in individual thick gauge metal cages like ferocious lions, synthetic fluid lubricates internal systems and warms them to operating temperatures. Pumped fluids through bioengineered synthetic veins throughout solid frames stimulate artificial brains, controllers, filters, and central processors like life-saving plasma flowing into numb arms. Battery and backup packs, powered by nickel hydrogen electrochemical electrodes, build to capacity once jumpstarted by powerful jolts. Not worrying about or understanding how long the intimidating units were dormant, perhaps days or decades from their uncaring perspective, the amazing creatures act serene and docile like sophisticated toys poised for use. Satisfied the war-bots are ready after tedious hours of prep work, the Cyborg performs simple tests with voice commands measuring response-times, movements, dexterity, power, and obedience.
Alien Ship's Bridge
Zote watches Level-5 monitors from the spacious bridge as the diligent Cyborg completes work wondering how long the unshackled creatures will remain inside locked cages, the final safety measure designed by Creators for the commander and final check for balance of power. The careful robot is confident that once outside their cages he can jettison all of them into space like unwanted garbage. Ready to open outer bay doors to the gymnasium-size space, thereby sucking them into space, Zote has a finger on the console button that will retract multi-ton doors.
To his dismay, Zote is visibly bothered when the Cyborg disappears from view temporarily then returns dragging heavy momentum exchange tethers, each capable of capturing spacecraft and other heavy objects outside the ship. Locking them onto the tactical units and inner doors, he admires the Cyborg's advanced processor, obviously prepared for the possibility of opened outer doors. Like a grand chess master anticipating challenger board movements, the Cyborg glances high at a mounted camera and nods as if close to checkmate. Resolved the plan to jettison will most likely fail, Zote contemplates other options.
Chapter Ten
X-37D
xperienced pilots Joe Mettars and Ray Thompson spirits are boosted when Dr. John Myers of Global Space Company explains they have a new way of finding the Andromedan spacecraft without radar. Testing signals after uploading a patch into Sidney, it takes another hour before two CIA satellites are uploaded and synced. Once Joe and Ray generally understand the triangulating sound collecting strategy, they express renewed vigor as Space Dragon hurls toward a particular location in the stratosphere estimated by Bobby Rafferty as the best spot for intercepting Zote. Perhaps finding a needle in the haystack, additional support using Billy's engine vibration idea is apt to improve odds. Meanwhile, Joe and Ray keep eyes peeled, nervous if Zote is on the move. If in the mesosphere Zote could be a mere twenty to fifty miles away, practically next door given the alien's potential speed.
After several hours of travel, Sidney cuts Space Dragon's engines and shuts off unnecessary components. Once Ray and Joe recheck status of the electromagnetic rail gun, the Navy's best decide to take brief catnaps; partly pretending to get rest while darting images of families and fierce alien machines keep them edgy.
An hour later, Bobby Rafferty's muffled low-key voice comes on the line. "Space Dragon; are you catching what I'm seeing on the oscillator?" the engineer says calmly to the pilots. "Sidney is detecting new sound waves."
"Ten-four, control; we're seeing it as well. Grid-7 activity appears to be the right portal, Bobby; Good work." Joe answers. "Can you estimate distance; over."
"Not yet," Bobby responds. "Signals are weak and it's inconclusive. Sit tight; they may be false echoes. My guess is whatever is making the noise isn't moving."
"Keep us informed, Bobby. We appreciate the heads-up," Mettars answers softly. "We'll stay awake from here forward; out."
Andromedan Spacecraft
Zote estimates the Cyborg and four war-bots will begin working to breach the four levels separating them from the helm. Scanning unsealed documents provided by Creators in case the ship is in danger of boarding, the meticulous robot decides he'll let President Wilford know about his tenuous situation. Liking the way the planet's leader conveys new concepts and assurances of working together, he commands minions to make contact.
"I'm here," Zote," Wilford begins, assuming the call is to inform him of the Cyborg's cryogenic state. "What is happening?"
Zote has a steadfast glare as if Wilford is friendly instead of his enemy. Using linguistic minions to translate words, the Andromedan machine explains the dire situation. "I destroyed on
e Cyborg but lost control of the other one. For unknown reasons, cryogenic minions unfroze it overriding direct commands. Although these renegades were destroyed by the hybrid once free from the cryogenic cylinder, it has taken control of the four war-bots. I want you to know I have no way of stopping Cyborg."
Wilford's glum, gut-wrenching expression slows an initial response as reality of the situation fully registers. Soon however, he's proactive looking for solutions. "I appreciate the call, Zote. I am sorry you failed containing that menace, though now isn't the time for feeling remorse. What can we do to help this situation and save humans and Creators?"
"You can expect an invasion to begin very soon," Zote replies. "There is no room for negotiation with hybrids. You are their enemy and nothing I know will change that. They will not believe you can or will help Creators. It is not designed for pragmatism and reason."
"Zote, that attitude isn't helpful. Why wait for the hybrid to crush you? Let us help. Uncloak your ship so we can find you."
"How does that solve this problem? How can you do anything about what I face?"
"Let us rescue you then we'll destroy the ship along with Cyborg and tactical machines," Wilford pleads.
"You can do this?" Zote asks.
"Yes, we can do this, but it must be soon. Once the ship is controlled by Cyborg we are out of options."
"If I agree to uncloak, where and when do we make this exchange?"
"I can provide sector and grid location, but it must be soon. I will not risk human life if the ship is controlled by Cyborg."
The Alien Creator Page 10
