"How bad will it be for people on the planet?" one NCO says to Zote. "I feel bad sitting around doing nothing about it."
Zote better understands the human element based on mathematical, scientific, and unusual personal conversations with Dr. Billy Goddard, the teen whiz-kid from Global Space lent to Dr. Metz at Area-51. With revised thoughts about human quality, Zote's artificial intelligence adapts quickly to the friendly, honest approach by the gifted teenager able to communicate in unexpected ways using whiteboards, freehand drawings, and complex equations.
"War-bots are single-minded machines without moral compasses and feelings, Sergeant. They do not negotiate, hesitate, or show mercy. These fearless warriors will destroy threats based on Cyborg's explicit instructions. Heavy human losses are likely as we wait. This is why once Cyborg is alone and defeated, I can override war-bot instructions. Until then, we cannot communicate with Earth as that will give away our location. If your military defeats them or renders shuttles unusable for extraction, odds will improve."
Chicago Gold Coast
When the alien shuttle becomes visible to families and friends in the sky enjoying lakeside Lincoln Park on a clear sunny day, home to nearby restaurants, comedy clubs, bars, Steppenwolf Theater, and other entertainment spots, most park users don't seem concerned for their safety. Interrupting baseball games, flying Frisbees, dog walkers, lovers, and picnics, a gathering curious crowd watches overhead as an elongated oval-shape craft hovers then descends with powerful blasts of gaseous substances pouring from a black underbody. Many figure it's a military drone or futuristic military prototype malfunctioning due to mechanical problems instead of landing at a secret location out of public view. As the crowd backs away when the agile craft finds an adequate space and sets down on the lawn, burning grass and bushes around it, the anxious throng instantly quiets when loud shuttle engines shut down. Soon however, two mounted cops, riding large brown geldings, gallop across the lawn waving and encouraging people to escape.
Soon after, a wide forty-foot door retracts and thick ramp extends. Remaining Lincoln Park spectators and cops freeze and gasp when a tall ominous machine appears in the opening and emerges from the implausible craft. The huge robot, filling the doorway, has a large metallic skull and wide limbs along with piercing eyes and thick frame. While the majority of gawkers are already running for safety from the startling machine dragging grandparents, girlfriends, wives, children, and pets, the fearsome robot eyes the two mounted cops and cuts loose with bursts of explosive projectiles mounted on its extended arm. Instantly, the brave first responders, hoping to shield awestruck civilians, explode into flying bloody fragments, a horrifying scene shocking senses. Scrambling, tripping, and screaming, many with reddish warm, dripping fragments sticking to skin, hair, and clothing, the war-bot continues destroying its targets, many fifty yards or more away.
Meanwhile, Admiral McKraven and team decide the war-bot is far enough from the shuttle to begin another phase of the operation. As an Army Tarhe Pratt and Whitney twin-engine six-blade rotor aerial crane hovers over the alien shuttle in Lincoln Park, a couple combat engineers scramble grabbing heavy, thick extended twisted wire cables hooking them around the oval-shape shuttle. Struggling to get the thick wires in place, troops move back when the crane begins lifting. Cables strain and stretch as the shuttle begins lifting off the ground as the powerful crane revs engines to maximum capacity.
Chapter Twenty-One
White House PEOC
eports pour in on radio and television newscasts and telephone calls to authorities. Though unaffected cities and people take WGN and WLS sensational helicopter broadcasts half-heartedly considering gravity of the situation, many question if the cry-wolf, mostly disrespectful media is overstating the situation. Nonetheless, President Wilford and team gasp when dramatic live pictures of the enormous Andromeda robot blasting humans, animals, and statues, seems unbiased with its destructive power. Flying bodies, automobiles, and pets are shocking images to watch.
"Lord, have mercy on us. Who built this devil? It's killing everything moving," Wilford sighs heavily. "We can't let this carnage continue. How far out is airpower, General? Let's hit it before the damn thing moves farther into the city."
"A-10s are closing over Lake Michigan. ETA is less than three minutes," General Moore replies succinctly, his emotion almost undetectable. "Turn on set number-six," he instructs an aide in the bunker. "Soon, forward mounted cameras on a Thunderbolt squadron fill portions of the PEOC bunker's large video screen showing the pilot's perspectives. Only a hundred feet off calm lake water, the lead fighter pilot is one of several lining up for an initial wave using the jet's lethal Gatling gun.
The veteran pilot, guiding the famed gray single-seat twin turbofan straight-wing jet, nicknamed Warthog and Bathtub, easily finds the thirty-foot target marked by rising smoke, explosions, debris, and bodies sprawled on the ground. Dipping lower to treetop levels that lessen stray rounds and improve accuracy, Major Paul Johnson activates the Avenger 30-mm rotary seven-barrel weapon, and sharply angles at the target less than a hundred feet high at two-hundred miles an hour. Loaded with armor-piercing shells housed in a six-foot diameter drum that immediately smoke the air around the armored jet, two thousand devastating lightweight aluminum rounds coated by smaller caliber depleted uranium cores blast the alien robot. Striking it numerous times, the towering alien machine appears angry, dazed, and impacted by the formidable weapon able to destroy buildings and tanks.
Once the first Thunderbolt of the lengthy formation waiting over Lake Michigan banks away from Lincoln Park, a bolt of energy blasts its wing and sends it spiraling and twisting toward the ground. Major Johnson struggles mightily regaining control thanks to redundant systems as panel instruments suggest substantial damage. Though the famed jet aircraft often returned during battles riddled with bullet holes, this time its wing is melted and burning. Meanwhile, the White House switches attention to a second A-10 taking a similar route. Listening to base commander, Admiral McKraven, and the second pilot exchanging concerns about impact of the initial strike, the second jet rattles and shakes when an unexpected jolt hits the aircraft while Captain Drake descends to make his run. Damaging the left G.E. turbofan engine leaving the agile fighter also burning and smoking, the befuddled officer retreats, suggesting they switch armaments to the Hydra 70-mm air-to-surface rockets with safer range of eight thousand yards.
Alien Spacecraft
Deciding the first shuttle landed as planned, Cyborg orders helm minions to the next location. Pointing at a particular coordinate on the holographic screen showing the continent below, the minion redirects the massive ship. Next, ordering the second shuttle to be ready for deployment, outer bay doors open as the giant spacecraft moves over a series of mountains in Utah.
Space Dragon
Lt. Joe Mettars and Lt. Ray Thompson grimace as the alien spacecraft's movement suggests a successful initial deployment and probable extensive damage to civilians. In the cargo bay, Captain Alvin Beck is the first to address Zote as they get underway.
"Zote, I assume this means the shuttle deployed as planned?"
The android considers a reply, one lesson learned about human frailty from Billy Goddard. Able to download, understand, and rapidly interpret inputs from Webster's dictionary, thesaurus, along with mathematical and scientific reference books plucked from cyberspace, the robot speaks with clarity and purpose. Speech, supported by almost instant diction text to speech transcriptions, gives the android unique advantages. "Captain, Cyborg is proceeding to the next location. It has no reason to worry about war-bots based on what Creators designed. They have no match in Andromeda."
"Do you think the war-bots will kill unarmed innocent civilians? It seems odd even for aliens," Beck presses.
"War-bots do not make distinctions for civilians and military, Captain. Cyborg programmed them to kill every living object until instructions make them stop. It is the fastest way of dominating hostile forces."
"Cyborg may think that way, Zote, but you don't know Americans like me," Beck advises scanning faces of NCOs sitting around them. "We'll never concede one foot of territory. We'll die before that happens."
"I share your heroic sentiment, Captain. Cyborg must be stopped; it is the only logical way of saving Creators."
"What exactly are Creators?" perhaps the toughest NCO says to Zote. Rugged features, bulky arms, and battle scars suggest he's not a newcomer to conflict, pain, and suffering. "They sound like your god," Sergeant Todd breathes, stroking a rough beard.
"God isn't how I would describe Creators, Sergeant Todd. Your God is mythical, a mysterious being without scientific form and substance. God's existence is based on faith that he exists. Creators are real entities without parents, like humans. They are unlike humans in shape and appearance, but they are a caring species. I see Cyborgs and war-bots as laboratory products made from necessity, much as humans produce weapons of mass destruction. However, Creators are highly skilled scientists and engineers able to develop bio-engineered machines like Cyborg. Without Creators, we have no chance of existence. Creators with medical skills are targets for destruction by our enemies, thus Cyborg and war-bots were built to ensure survival of the species. "
"If Creators are so smart, Zote, why do they have short life spans? Why don't they create better forms of themselves?"
"Machines are different, Sergeant Todd. Creating life isn't manufactured or designed in laboratories. I do not know how Creators started or why they live short lives. Reasons could be similar to variants for dogs and giant tortoises or sharks and whales. Do humans understand why one species survives ten years and another eighty years?"
Todd wipes his chin, admiring references to vastly different life spans for Earth's amazing variety of animal species. "I believe God started all life, Zote. It's proven by irreducible complexity composed of several interacting parts. Yet, removal of a single part causes these enclosed systems to cease functioning, thus illustrating someone or something intelligent beyond human understanding designed the components."
"I understand your words, Sergeant Todd, but how does it relate to Creators?"
"It's the reason some open-mind surgeons and scientists believe in God, Zote. Someone or something had to create humans, a creator in fact. Many choose to believe our creator is God because there isn't another rational explanation. Detractors don't have logic on their side relying on unproven randomness and odds that are overly staggering to accept. Their ideas are more farfetched than belief in a supreme being. In fact, I believe our God created your Creators."
"I admit not knowing how Creators came to be, Sergeant Todd. They simply exist, but how does irreducible complexity fit? I am surprised by your interest in this topic as a soldier."
"My philosophy is God, Country, and family, Zote. Without that order in life, we have chaos, not randomness. Without this precise, often misstated, cosmic order of priorities, we'd have nothing. Irreducible complexity fits since it effectively demolishes arguments of evolution. Science cannot explain why one system in humans is nothing without essential parts, yet these parts cannot exist alone. Essentially, these parts could not have evolved from simple to complex. For example, eyes could not have evolved any more than its parts such as the retina, iris, and pupil."
"What other parts of human bodies make up these irreducible complexities?" the curious robot responds as interest runs high while databanks search cyberspace. Perhaps, it will learn more about Creators that can help them survive longer.
As a couple soldiers nod off, bored by the heady exchange, others seem amused by the strange sharing of ideas by the alien robot and American soldier familiarly called Professor. During down time on base, Sergeant Todd is docile and friendly, usually with his nose in a textbook or science journal. On the battlefield, he's a fearless warrior often worrying compatriots if he has a death wish.
"Besides eyes, I've read that human tears, bacteria cell appendages, and proteins are examples of irreducible complexity, Zote. For example, bacterial flagellum is about two micrometers with four essential parts. I'm not an expert, but it's why humans have motion and senses using rotary engines made of these microscopic pieces shaped like propellers, rings, joints, drives, stators, and rotors. Yet, each tiny part, by itself, is useless and if pulled from the system renders the whole system meaningless. For example without tears, we have eyes that will not properly function and human emotions that run out of control. Humans cannot survive without either of them."
"If Creators are made by God, Sergeant Todd, why do Creators not know and teach this? Data registers have no references to God."
"I don't know why but when we see Creators I'll ask them and explain what I know, Zote. I'm looking forward to helping them survive. It's possible Creators don't share all they know. Did you know a bowhead whale can grow to be one-hundred tons and live two-hundred years despite a thousand time more cells than human? That's an example where complexity works in their favor."
Zote appreciates the husky warrior's arguments and spur-of-the moment examples. He marvels how exceptional humans, like Todd, make a difference by putting their lives on the line. "It would be my pleasure introducing you to Creators, Sergeant Todd. Humans like you and Billy Goddard are appreciated and welcome once we gain control of Navi."
"Hoorah," Captain Beck whispers, "that's the spirit, Zote." A slight smile from Todd acknowledges the stunning connection made with an alien that seems to think and feel like humans more than an artificial intelligent machine.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Great Lakes Naval Station
eports pouring in from the inner city battlefield indicate no progress slowing the alien menace in Chicago after several runs by A-10s resulting in disabled jets returning to base or dropping into Lake Michigan to avoid civilian casualties. Ending airstrikes due to limited impact, the battlefield expert, Admiral McKraven, dials the White House with revised plans seeking immediate approval.
"Go ahead, Admiral; the staff is listening."
"Mr. President, I'm seeking permission to change battlefield tactics. Airstrikes are not the answer at this point," the harried Admiral begins. "After the first effective run, we aren't getting close enough."
"What change are you recommending, Admiral?"
"I want to drop in several combat platoons that will surround and attack the robot, sir."
"All right, what will that do for us? It seems to me you're right the A-10's proved ineffective, much as I hate to admit it. What about the request to use air-to-surface rockets?"
"Civilian casualties will be too high with rockets, at this point. If we can get it in the open, then we can try that as last resort, sir. After the first run, the machine adapted. It must have sensors or artificial intelligence that hones in quickly, perhaps based on sound waves. Major Johnson said he hurt it, but then the robot immediately adjusted tactics. I'd like to try hit and run stealth tactics from multiple directions."
"What do you plan to hit it with? What will Seals use that could work against this spreading menace?"
"We'll take anti-material rifles, Stingers, grenade launchers, thermite charges, and anti-armor weapons, sir. Blackhawks and Apaches will handle insertions, support, and extractions. We figure the war-bot adjusts tactics quickly so we'll have to strike and move."
"How many men are you proposing?"
"Three Seal platoons, sir; that's forty-eight men with operating units of four when they hit the ground running. Small teams will be harder to predict and eliminate."
"When can these platoons be on site?"
"They're prepping now, sir, but we need approval to operate in one of our cities. Keep in mind, civilians will be at risk and likely be killed, possibly by friendly fire."
"FBI, cops, and civilians are dying in droves as we speak, Admiral. Is this your leadership team's best guess based on what we know?"
"Yes, sir, short of dropping heavy payloads."
"Hold on, Admiral; let's get input from DoD and
Joint Chiefs? Stay on the line. I want you to hear their comments."
"Yes, sir."
Alien Spacecraft
Cyborg picks a second location west of Chicago in Salt Lake City to dispatch another shuttle. With success of the first deployment, the confident Andromedan assumes the four war-bots will suffice bringing reluctant aliens to heel. About twenty miles above the Wasatch and Oquirrh mountains, the bio-mechanical warrior releases the second terror in the unique valley to quell the population using force and ferocity beyond human comprehension. The sleek oval-shape shuttle plants hydraulic pads in middle of the prehistoric pluvial Lake Bonneville and resulting salt bed remnant marked by ancient shoreline water levels a thousand feet high. Immediately, the crowded and bustling area is marked by sheer terror and panic as citizens and visitors scurry for safety, the remote location authorities didn't expect.
Exiting from an extended thick-gauge metallic ramp in middle of a vast parking lot owned by the Mormon Church at Temple Square, the large terrifying and surprisingly mobile war-bot steps outside, immediately firing lethal spits of energy once on flat ground. Automobiles, trucks, and squad cars are the first casualties followed soon by screaming families and visitors near restaurants, churches, museums, and convention centers. The burning, smoke-filled scene is horrific as the thirty-foot menace makes its presence known and seemingly unimpressed with local resistance. Television cameras catching the action from traffic helicopter crews suffer immediate consequence, wrongly assuming the robot doesn't see them or far enough away. Spiraling and spinning out of control before hitting the ground in massive fireballs, other television aircraft from WGN and ABC divert or steer clear as police, firefighters, and EMTs escort survivors away. Often, it's fruitless as lasers zap everything in the robot's path.
The Alien Creator Page 17
