The Alien Creator

by Michael Miller

  Q&A continues for another forty minutes while Metz and senior staff responds to wide ranges of questions. When complete, Wilford ends the meeting wishing them well.

  October Launch, Pre-Dawn

  Early morning of the historic launch, Dr. Metz and professionals staying behind at Area-51 watch as the huge alien spacecraft covering almost two football fields is mechanically lifted to the surface after a series of outer steel doors retract. Akin to opening a giant covered outdoor sports arena, Metz is pleased the clear, star-lit, dry Nevada sky is cooperating. In the distance, he notices fast movers zipping past ensuring the protected airspace stays clear of unauthorized activity. Meanwhile on the ground, hundreds of armored vehicles and military units take wide paths in concentric circles miles away ensuring human traffic are limited to animals and reptiles. Earlier in the day capturing a group of Right Wing conspiracy theorists hoping to take pictures of the unannounced launch whenever it happened are discovered and detained using state-of-the-art drones and ground motion sensors able to distinguish humans from animals. Roughed up and airlifted without debate, the fringe group adds to their paranoia when deposited into a remote Nevada holding area surrounded by armed guards, barbwire, and large German Shepherds.

  Meanwhile, several hundred miles away southeast of the secret base in the Arizona desert embedded in an ultra-secret thousand foot tall butte, Global Space employees initialize contact with Navi guidance systems and personnel using three encrypted satellite feeds. Employees at key workstations include Bobby Rafferty, Senior Telemetry Engineer, Eshan Gupta, Satellite Engineer, and overseer John Myers, Director and lead engineer.

  "Mother Goose, your signal is clear and strong," Bobby Rafferty murmurs into a headset as Myers hovers behind watching camera feeds while listening to speakers linked with Navi.

  "Roger, Baker-3," Navi flight commander Major Derek Bowen replies. "Departing t-minus thirty-seven minutes; on my mark," he responds with Zote standing nearby.

  "Ten-four, Mother Goose, air traffic is clear, nothing to report; over."

  "Ten-four, Baker-3; final system check underway; Mother Goose out."

  Satellite Feeds

  As engineer Bobby Rafferty captures feeds from three advanced Lockheed 2nd-generation KH-10 hexagon spy satellites at different elevations ranging from 160 to 1,200 miles, he calls the boss then points to a spot on the desert floor north of Groom Lake and Tikaboo Valley on Bald Mountain, the tallest range almost 9,400 feet high.

  "What'd ya find, Bobby?" Myers asks once resting a hand on his shoulder.

  "I was moving in for close-up of the launch from three angles when I saw movement on the mountain overlooking the valley, boss. It could be hikers, climbers, or treasure seekers. I hear there's old gold mines up there."

  "I don't believe in coincidences. Let's drill down and get a better look at these treasure hunters."

  "Sure," Rafferty answers as explosions of the relevant spot zooms closer and closer, an almost magical electronic eavesdropping experience.

  Shortly later, both see six clear images moving down the steep, rugged mountain toting large backpacks. "Snap close-ups and facials and send them to Colonel Thomas; coordinates as well."

  "They seemed disciplined like a trained unit, boss. Their clothing isn't familiar and I believe this one," he points at the digital screen, "is carrying satellite communication equipment. That round object is a portable antenna."

  "How far out?" Myers presses.

  "Maybe, ten miles or so; I wonder if they hacked into our communication domes and dishes on the mountain?"

  "I'd assume so and all of them are armed. All right good work, Bobby. I'll call Colonel Thomas; he'll know if they're friendlies."

  Area-51 Launch

  Precisely timed to avoid the more advanced enemy satellites based on North American Aerospace Defense Command (NORAD) live tracking, the enormous alien spaceship lifts off the sandy floor early morning next to Groom Lake, an extremely flat parched clay and alkaline surface. Ascending carrying two-hundred strapped travelers and tons of cargo, the carefully chosen staff includes 150 fighters, 20 engineers, 20 scientists, 8 navigation technicians, and 2 mission leaders. Protected by numerous F-22 and F-35 fighter jets surrounding the large airspace, Zote guides Navi quickly through the clear troposphere and soon disappears in the stratosphere above where commercial jets operate. Once cloaking engages, the clear-code goes to fast-movers protectors far below. Returning to respective air bases, most pilots never see the amazing spaceship.

  Meanwhile, Special Forces Commander Colonel Aaron Thomas, tasked to guard the terrain around Area-51, dispatches ground units aboard two UH-60 Blackhawks carrying twenty Army Rangers on loan from the 75th Regiment. Ordered to find and secure six invaders descending Bald Mountain, a few miles north of Groom Lake, they're armed with M-4s, M-16s, MK-13 bolt action sniper rifles, grenades, extra magazines, and two canteens. When their four-blade rides arrive at the coordinates provided by Global Space, the twenty men descend fast-ropes protected by heat resistant gloves, touching down on steep igneous rocky terrain as mounted 50-caliber chain-guns protect them. Meanwhile at top of the mountain, a Pave-Hawk HH-60 helicopter lands on the peak, depositing technical contractors and specialists that begin searching for unauthorized equipment and evidence of hacked radar domes, microwave relay dishes, and cables.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Navi Spaceship

  n helm of the alien spaceship a hundred miles above Earth, eight flight engineers and technicians, most from Area-51 and Global Space Company, listen and take instructions as steel-blue color seven-foot Zote gives on-the-job training how to operate and maintain the highly automated scientific masterpiece, clear testimony to Creator brain power and ingenuity. Each day will be wake-up calls for physics laws and properties still undiscovered or understood on Earth.

  Each level has assigned leaders, mainly people below age fifty fit enough to make the journey. In the helm controlled by Zote, the android stands near small task-oriented minions that don't argue or second guess their leader along with Dr. Billy Goddard, a youngster with an extraordinary IQ and gift of gab.

  A level below the protruding helm, secured weapons, ammunition, and components are stored in a series of guarded armories, each with prison-like protocols and rigor. Forming the bulk of handheld weapons to be used on the new planet, they're separate from the major systems of war stored on level five including attack helicopters, fast movers, satellites, drones, armor vehicles, artillery, and assortment of explosive ordnance.

  In level three labs, a host of brilliant scientists and engineers are led by Dr. Metz's choice, Dr. Max Abraham, an Israeli-American with an inventive knack out of this world. In research and science labs with distinct segmented work areas, forty engineers and scientists along with dozens of Andromeda minions learn, test, and evaluate Creator inventions.

  Though Cyborg often visits the labs for updates and assistance, it spends most time on level four with fighters preparing for the anticipated war. The terrifying synthetic organism with flexible web-polymer skin, piercing eyes, vice-grip hands, dexterous fingers, and piezoelectric properties, along with hosts of smaller androids, humbles humans with its extensive knowledge and skills.

  While advanced Earth scientists, most feel like prized rookies once overcoming Cyborg's fearsome looks and great brain. Astounded by what they see and hear, they marvel at images and discussions of Creators, much less an implied IQ off human chart. With untold decades ahead of the best Earth technology, the grateful scientists and engineers live and work on what has to be the ultimate sandbox.

  On level four, one-hundred fifty combat volunteers expected to assault the planet and take on hostile threats, will study battle plans and tactics against aliens few can imagine. Though arrival on the new planet in another galaxy is unknown years ahead based on unstable time-fold portals and sketchy distance calculations, they understand many will die if these enemies described by Cyborg are present on arrival. Therefore, their boot camp will be
a lengthy process covering years.

  On a positive note, early on the trip Cyborg explains how they're cosmic brothers due to reliable predictions of galactic collisions less than four million years away. In effect, humans and Andromedans are co-partners in a grand scheme nobody really understands in a secular sense. The hybrid creature explains how the ship's level was refitted and retooled using electronic blueprints and pictures of cryogenic chambers that housed him for decades. The mainly young volunteers from several federal branches of the U.S. Military, Secret Service, and CIA listen closely as Cyborg explains level four characteristics. The confident bionic creature electrifies his captive audience describing the ship's lowest level where communication equipment, war-bots, heavy weapons, drones, aircraft, shuttles, and supporting equipment are stored and staged for rapid deployment near automated cargo bays.

  After finishing one of the days with staggering overviews supported by detailed holograms of the amazing spacecraft, Cyborg decides to ensure the troops understand heavy losses are expected. Like a field commander loving his troops, it moves to the front of the room and stares. Though its appearance is intimidating and scary considering size, fierceness, and presumed strength, the tough warriors wonder how long they'd last in a cage match before the hybrid ends the wasted speculation.

  "You heard rumors about the horror awaiting us," the bionic creature begins," its manufactured voice deep and ghostly. "This is your chance to ask questions as many of us could die on Kelt-3ab," a statement suggesting it'd be on the battlefield with them.

  A tall, athletic Army officer, first in his class at West Point, stands and starts as unit Commanders stand by listening and looking on. "Thanks Cyborg, I'm Captain Stoker Bram. I have a million questions, but can you tell us where we're going. Up to now, it's been classified by the pencil necks and geeks above us and all we get are rumors and gossip."

  Cyborg gives voice commands activating a three-dimension colorful hologram that suddenly appears, seemingly floating in space next to the bionic creature. His openness and examples are appreciated showing and describing his beautiful galaxy.

  "What your scientists call Kelt-3ab, in the constellation Auriga, is a little larger Earth though similar in many ways including atmosphere, water, temperature, and gases sitting on the outer edge of Messier 31 using astrological classifications. It's two point five million light years from Earth, held together by gravitation and electromagnetism, forces we cannot explain or imagine. This map shows where we are heading, Captain," Cyborg explains as the active, rotating, and colorful planetary hologram appears alive. "In order to make the trip reasonable for humans, unlike decades traveling to reach Earth, we will take a shortcut using a time fold or wormhole that bridges the gap, thereby eliminating light years. Once through the vortex, we will stop at this location," Cyborg announces as the touchable split laser beam drills past stars, moons, comets, and other objects to a single planet and begins amplifying detail.

  "Do two suns surround your planet?" a voice calls out. "How does anyone get shut-eye?"

  Cyborg doesn't understand the rhetorical nature of the statement as most soldiers chuckle. Then his answer shocks them. "Andromedans don't sleep on U-tom, Sergeant Tasker," the hybrid says matter of fact after a short delay to catch up on the nuances of English. "Only Creators sleep on this binary star system surrounding U-tom. Unless in labs for repairs and upgrades, we guard, protect, and defend Creators. All synthetic organisms are designed to protect them for what you say is 24x7, 365x," it replies while most wonder how he knew what person shouted from back of the space.

  The body of men and women cease laughing as Cyborg's shocking description registers. "We fought wars for centuries," its bass voice resonates. "My reason for existence is saving Creators from threats. Many robots, androids, and Cyborgs were destroyed fulfilling that sacred duty. Like you, it is duty and honor. The place we head has a long history of war none of us will escape."

  A Delta Warrior senior officer stands and asks the next question, one meant to warm the hearts. "Cyborg, I was told by Dr. Metz before leaving Earth that you know every soldier's name and background on board. Can you verify that's true?"

  The bionic creature's cobalt eyes pivot to Captain Win Jakes then turns to the captive audience once stepping from the stage in intimidating fashion. Scanning the room, Cyborg contemplates the best way to explain what that means as the room of fighters wait.

  "Information about all of you is stored in one of many internal processors including voiceprints, DNA, and family heritage. I know minute details many of you might not know or have forgotten. Corporal Green," Cyborg says pointing to the lowest ranked member of the elite combat force, "Dagot' ee, Corporal; your mother is a proud member of the White Tank Mountain tribe near Mount Baldy in eastern Arizona. You were seven pounds six ounces at birth. Your great-great grandfather, Major John Green of the U.S. 1st Calvary, led a scouting party expedition of 120 federal troops into the White Mountains in July 1869. Seeking to kill or capture Apaches, your mother was rescued by Major Green when interrupting two scalp hunters attacking her along the San Carlos River. Despite severe injuries fighting to the death, your great-great grandfather survived, later marrying your grandmother, Nalin. Ik aa'ye iidenka ashii nadndaal, ei nanlwogo aniile, shiiyii' ii A," Cyborg finishes amazing the forgotten details by the humble youth figuring he's an insignificant cog in a giant wheel.

  After those familiar Apache words of encouragement to the late teen register to the multilingual soldier, Cyborg points to another fighter. "Sergeant Anthony Salerno, Type O-negative blood, six-feet three inches, one hundred ninety two pounds; your grandfather served three tours in Vietnam, a southeast Asian war causing considerable consternation during the 1960s and 1970s. His 5th Special Forces Green Beret company fought with Montagnard mountain people as part of Operation Tailwind in Laotian jungles during 1970. He earned two purple hearts, silver and bronze stars. You were an outstanding wrestler in high school, winning every match before taking the state tournament trophy at 175-pounds in Hayward, California by beating favored Alvin Brocamonte in a close 5-3 decision. Your Class D misdemeanor for public intoxication was expunged from records eight years ago by Judge Anthony Ryker due to a mix up with your twin brother."

  After Cyborg stops moving about the warriors demonstrating deep knowledge of diminutive history of several others, the warriors clap, whistle, and howl as if appreciating a great stage actor plying theater wares. Talking family details about heritages appears to be a winner in their minds, an indication the alien hybrid went beyond the norm. As the handpicked active-duty officers, NCOs, CIA agents, and Secret Service members finally settle down, Cyborg moves back to the front and eyes them like a proud commander ready to take on enemy forces.

  "Now a little background about me," Cyborg pivots, its deep voice resonating. "I was designed and created in a molecular genetics laboratory, byproduct of multiple species captured during wars against Creator's mortal enemies. I have no specific knowledge of ancestry and genetic testing except that these Andromeda ancestors were brutal to my kind beyond human imagination. It compares to what you call the Holocaust. Much of my genetic code was reconstituted by Creators extracting double-strand snippets from what is classified as mixtures of bionic engineering and animal molecules. Reproductive and digestive processes are removed, thereby eliminating natural instincts of humans and animals. My brain is a complex design of high performance central cores with redundant processors. Creators, in their infinite wisdom, took this path to build creations that could counter sinister creatures from unknown corners of the universe. I won't delve deeper into the complex biological and mechanical processes as few appreciate inherent properties of nucleic acid double helix and bionic hybridization. As an example, the entropic flexibility of DNA is consistent with standard polymer physics; that which you see when examining my webbed fiber-enhanced outer skin using powerful microscopes at 1,000 times magnification. The closest concepts you might understand are boride carbon, boride nitride,
and organic polymers such as Kevlar and Teflon." As troops roll eyes from the boring science lesson well past interest and comprehension, Cyborg senses uneasiness and pivots to a topic they care about more than anything. "Let us focus on topics you know more about; that is how to hunt, capture, and destroy our enemies," a statement stirring loud, patriotic cheers. As noise dwindles, "I expect you will see creatures unlike anything you thought possible. Let us now see images of enemies and discuss their capabilities on the battlefield."

  When moving images of what looks like a ferocious monitor lizard, perhaps a thousand pounds, appears on a wall screen, some warriors snicker as if Cyborg is making light. Close up of razor sharp teeth and rotating bulb eyes suggest the scaly creature is studying the terrain pondering options. When standing erect on hind legs and wide feet, sniffing the air, and running toward its prey on two legs at high speed it's more like a cross-country track stars hurdling objects. When realizing this is a bona fide enemy, the room becomes eerily quiet, humbled by the athletic sight of the intelligent creature. Soon, movie of the terrifying predator shows it stomping and ripping apart an android much like Zote.

  Einstein-Rosen Bridge

  Over the next year, the warriors grow antsy and tired from frequent training, most hoping for the expected war on the planet in Andromeda still billions of miles away. Yet, when warning claxons force travelers to strap themselves into designated positions wearing headgear, body armor, and oxygen masks, they instantly forget past concerns when the ship starts vibrating as eerie sounds echo throughout. Although extensively prepared for the horrors of the time fold like dozens of emergency drills, Navi navigators gasp and gulp when the massive twisted spiral of pure hell comes into view. Despite detailed information about electromagnetic effects and centrifugal force that would take control of the ship until passing through it and spitting it out light years away, the massive funnel-shape wormhole is ominous as it pulls matter into a wide, spinning, gobbling mouth.