Billy swallows hard when considering the extreme pressure to pick the right path, a high-risk strategy without safe options. Aided by high-speed mainframe supercomputers operating in excess of 200 mips, Zote and Cyborg watch a dozen rockets, many times more powerful than similar ordinance, zooming at the massive target. As the small team performs, Abraham remains quiet strapped in the captain's chair considering how much trust he has in their collective abilities. The idea of two aliens being critical to their future doesn't factor.
"First asset reaches the surface in twenty-four seconds," Zote advises the reduced helm crew.
"Thanks, Zote; I'm watching. How much time do we have between splashes?"
"First six-pack is forty-five seconds to two-minutes apart, Billy. The second rail gun packet lags by three minutes and fifteen seconds," the robot answers with typical precision.
"As rockets hit, I'll begin making adjustments to our course until we find the right one."
"Five seconds, Billy," Zote responds.
"The first rocket exploded," Cyborg relays calmly as exploding rail gun projectiles are visible from afar by light refractions and multitudes of brilliant colors. "Adjust 0.31752 degrees starboard, Billy. Six-point-three seconds to the next impact."
Once the second arrow-shape projectile explodes on impact in dramatic fashion, timeline between decisions weighs on Billy's mind. With precious moments and seconds to adjust course as the massive vortex nears, Abraham uses a brief window of time to ease his navigator, a young capable scientist able to make course corrections better than others applying for this pivotal role.
"Good job, Billy. We're going to make it."
One after another, the rockets explode after making contact with the violent white hole surface. Down to three remaining projectiles in play, it's abundantly clear they'll soon be hitting the surface, unable to avoid a catastrophic collision. When Zote announces the next to last rocket from the second pack of six guided projectiles successfully entered the white hole portion of the time fold without exploding, hope suddenly rebounds.
"Maneuver zero-point-five degrees starboard, Billy. Maximize thrust," Zote says.
"Roger; adjusting zero-point-five degrees. Engines are rising to maximum power."
"Impact in ten seconds," Cyborg adds casually.
Dr. Abraham squeezes armrests as eyes bulge with dramatic view of the swirling colorful white hole's power on display. The collision shakes the vessel as most wonder if they’re about to disintegrate. Losing most of it's speed despite tremendous thrust, Zote analyzes forward progress. As Abraham wonders if they made it through the surface, he's relieved when the robot relays the news.
"Navi is zero-point-two thousand miles beneath the surface and rising. Penetration was successful. Cut engine power to one-third; shutting down boosters."
"Great job, team," Abraham mutters, his voice shaky and full of emotion. Wiping moist eyes, he's back on the intercom with a bit more bounce in his voice.
"Attention crew, I have an update," he says proudly. "Navi has successfully broken though the white hole's surface. In less than an hour, we'll enter the wormhole's connecting tunnel before emerging into the black side of the time fold. We passed light speed moments ago, a necessary condition to survive inside the black hole side that will work to halt momentum. Despite powerful thrusters and engines, Navi's speed slowed by ninety-percent due to the white hole's powerful effect. However, we generated enough momentum to break through. Engine power and unnecessary systems were taken offline moments ago along with boosters. Once you hear ramping engines again, that'll signal an approach into the black hole side. Before entering that dangerous phase, we'll boost speed to ensure we escape gravitational pull. Please remain strapped in until I make the announcement. I don’t care if you need to urinate or scratch your back, stay strapped in seats. Any sudden and unpredictable movements could toss you around like ragdolls. Nobody will be there to help until we escape the black hole's pull. When Navi begins that leg, heavy vibration and loud shuttering due to violent effects of the gravitational field will indicate the last leg to the Milky Way; Abraham out."
Global Space Company, Arizona Desert
Telemetry understudy engineer, Joey Lemon, gets back to his desk half alert after another bathroom run thinking where he'll take his girlfriend on the weekend. Wishing the night shift would move faster, he plans significant sack time once showering and drinking a couple beers. Scratching an itchy scalp, yawning, and rubbing hands over a scratchy face, he blinks and rubs eyes when a blue light bleeps on a receiver dedicated to deep space assets. Realizing the signal hadn't been active for many years, he decides to ping the signal's source wondering if the telemetry transponder might have issues. Dialing a 3-digit number across the large floor, he asks a technician on call to run diagnostics.
Thirty minutes later, the technician lets Bobby know the equipment passed muster. He should let him know if the signal reoccurs.
"What's the signal from, Tom?" Bobby manages after a wide yawn. "Is it a satellite or probe?"
"I don’t know yet, but it's an L-band transponder; let me check files. The code isn't one I've seen in years. I'll look it up and get back to you. It may not be American."
"Thanks Tom; it's probably an anomaly but I'm not aware of any foreign asset that can operate that far out. Can you tell where the signal originated?"
"Sector-7, Grid-9 is all I have so far. I can run software to estimate distance if that's worthwhile."
"It can't hurt; Bobby'll flag me if I'm not on top of captured signals. It's the first time I've seen this particular transponder flash. Maybe aliens are finally invading. I could use some action to keep me awake."
"Right Joey, your boss is a real stickler. I'd let him know if it were me. I'll talk to you later."
Navi Spaceship
Still strapped in seats, most are sweating and dizzy along with vomit and soiled clothing as the giant ship bounces like a pinball. Not knowing if they made it through yet, the crew is antsy with some speculating and worrying about the current issue. Meanwhile, helm crew focuses on slowing momentum due to the powerful gravitational force. About to update travelers, Abraham hesitates when a nervous exchange between Billy and Zote makes him hesitate.
"Speed is at forty-seven percent and declining. We need more power. What else can be done?" Billy says fending off nausea with Dramamine.
Zote and Cyborg consider the straightforward question while Abraham decides Billy's concerns are more than he's letting on.
"Penny for your thoughts, Billy?" Abraham presses his navigator. "Give it to me straight."
"Boosters and engines are at maximum, Dr. Abraham. I'm concerned about break-out force. We're out of the vortex but I fear it could pull us back inside."
"Diverting solar cells, thermoelectric generators, and dry cell batteries are untapped power resources," Cyborg offers. "I can proceed to level four and make necessary connections."
"Can you do it without help?" Abraham addresses the hybrid. "I can ask for volunteers."
"Risking humans isn't necessary. I will handle the task without risking humans."
"Approved, proceed to level four and make it happen. How long will it take?"
"Thirty-six minutes once at the breaker panels."
"Is that soon enough, Billy?"
"I can't say, but let's get moving. I suggest we shut down all power use except life-support. Time is wasting and I estimate we have a half million miles before escaping the jaws of this vortex. If power drops below 25%, we'll be pulled back inside."
Global Space Company, Telemetry
Bobby Rafferty, Senior Telemetry Engineer, awakens when his protégé rings during middle of the night in Arizona's Sonoran Desert. Reaching for the phone with decided edginess, he snaps at the employee.
"What can't wait until morning, Joey? I hope you have something big, kid."
"Right, I think it could be," Joey cowers.
"You think; what is it? Is Yoda in the building signing autographs?"<
br />
"Sector-7, Grid-9," Joey breathes, hoping that's enough information to end the silly, sarcastic rant.
Suddenly interested, Bobby calms. "What about Sector-7, Grid-9?"
"Telemetry picked up a new signal then it dropped. It was on for thirty-seven seconds."
"Who said it was from Sector-7, Grid-9? Was it double-checked by system technicians?"
"Tom's the one who calculated location. What's special about that particular address?"
"It's our last point of contact with Navi before disappearing. We believe that's a time portal location."
"Portal to where?"
"Only God knows and maybe the Navi crew if it's them."
"Are you coming over soon?"
"Yeah, I'll be there in thirty minutes. If you see the signal again, send a text. I'm not sure why the signal stopped. Since it's new, we have to assume they're out of the time fold moving closer, so stay vigilant."
"Do you really think it’s Navi? I thought you gave up hope. Didn't you say…."
"I didn't give up anything," Bobby snarls, not liking the assumption despite past statements to that effect. "Power could be low or magnetic effect of the time fold could be distorting signals. Otherwise, they may be shutting down unnecessary systems after exiting the vortex. What's was the signal band?"
"L-band is what Tom said. Is that significant?"
"That's Navi's transponder band," Bobby sighs, relieved by the confirmation.
"What about Russians or Chinese assets?" Joey counters.
"No way; they can't get that far in deep space with current technology? We couldn't either, for that matter, without the Andromeda spaceship and everyone uses S- and Ka-band as of three years ago."
"Ok boss, I'm at my workstation. I'll text if we get anything new."
"Tell satellite and probe techies and engineers to be there in an hour. If they argue, say Myers authorized it. Meanwhile, I'll let the Director know what's up. He doesn't like graveyard shift calls any more than me. Get the big coffee urn cranking. It could be a long shift."
Epilogue
Navi Helm
n the atypically quiet helm with skeleton crew members Billy, Zote, and Abraham awaiting progress from Cyborg, tension begins rising. Not wanting to wait any longer for the energy transfer to happen, Abraham decides to press Cyborg after Billy's stressed update. With the ship wavering as they try breaking free of the gravitational pull, Billy's voice wavers.
"Power supply is thirty-seven percent," the young engineer informs the boss.
"Ok, let's ask Cyborg where we stand." Pressing a call button on his chair, he waits for the hybrid. "Cyborg, we're at thirty-seven percent power. Where are we with the power transfer? Bobby thinks we have twelve percent margin before losing ground."
Time passes as the response doesn't come as expected. After thirty seconds, Abraham calls again. "Status Cyborg; report in."
More time without reply sends alarm bells in Abraham's brain. "It's possible he's incapacitated, possibly electrocuted. Check the systems, Billy. Is the transfer happening on your instruments?"
"Not yet, but I doubt Cyborg made mistakes. My guess is he's unable to call. The sequence is complex to avoid sabotage. Humans aren't the only paranoid ones in this world."
"Should we send someone to check?" Billy asks.
"Yeah, it's worth the risk. I'll ask Commander Jocko for a volunteer."
Once Jocko agrees, he decides to handle the task himself instead of risking subordinates, younger men with long lives ahead. Without telling Abraham of the change, the Navy Seal unhooks harnesses and begins making his way across the cargo bays to find the right secured room down a narrow hall. After several bangs against walls and floors due to wild gyrations of Navi, the fearless soldier arrives at the door limping and bleeding from head and leg wounds.
"I'm at the locked door," Jocko signals to Abraham. "What's the code to the room?" he asks wiping blood from his brow. "It's not open."
"I asked for a volunteer, not you Commander. Are you harmed?"
"What's the code? Time is wasting," Jocko snaps as blood drips while hanging on to a rail added for human safety.
"Here we go; code is 3--6--1--4--1--6--3," Abraham says slowly.
"All right, that worked," Jocko responds then falls into the air-conditioned room after more vessel gyrations. Crawling across the room after heaving stomach contents on metal floor grates, he spots Cyborg with massive arms stretched between two levers, apparently unable to move.
"Cyborg isn't moving. He's standing between two levers, but he's not moving; face is stiff, eyes are fried; maybe dead. What do I do? If electrocuted, I can't touch him."
"You need to break the connection. There must have been a voltage arc. Can you find something to break grips without touching him? I believe Cyborg's hybrid body is preventing arc fault breakers to engage."
"Do what? How do I do that without lighting me up?"
"I don't know but we're running out of time. Can you find a fork truck?"
"Not in here; it's not big enough. I could take a running start and try tackling him but that's an all or nothing venture with his weight."
"Your choice, Commander; all I can say is we're near the end of our rope. We need about twenty percent more power or we're heading back and probably spinning out of control."
"Ok, I have an idea." Jockco breathes, wiping a sweaty, bloody brow and spitting blood. Eyes welling, he struggles getting off the cold hard floor and moving backward. There he stumbles until in position for the longest possible running distance. Moving a tool cart in front of him for extra oomph, he aims at Cyborg thinking about his family.
Moments later, Billy feels a tremendous surge and sings out as power levels jump. "It's working; Jocko did it; we're gaining speed, Dr. Abraham."
"Commander Jocko; status report," Abraham murmurs as Goddard enjoys the moment. Once clear he's isn't going to respond upon several attempts, Abraham closes eyes as Zote wonders about the opposing human emotions on display, a tale of two cities that's difficult understanding for an android.
Global Space, Telemetry
As anxious team members huddle behind engineers Bobby and Joey managing an array of telemetry equipment, including feeds from satellites, probes, orbiters, antenna, recorders, hyperspectral imagers, telescopes, and computers, they grow antsy due to the wait. Most wonder why they hadn't seen another signal from the spaceship? Was it destroyed or obliterated in an instant? Did it retract into the vortex? Is it out of power and listless, dying a slow death? Was it a ghost signal or an echo that will not repeat? A wide range of questions and speculation go unanswered.
"Why aren't we getting a response? I've tried pinging for almost two hours," Joey whines.
"If communications systems are off, we can't make contact. Once regaining power, we'll find them. I can feel it," Bobby assures the team. "It's possible breaking from the time fold isn't easy."
"How can we be sure it's Navi?"
"By doing what we're doing; that's how. Let's keep searching for them."
"How long has it been, Bobby?"
"Almost a decade; I lost count," he sighs as happy memories dance on his brain.
Two days later with most workers back to normal routines, Joey and Bobby maintain vigilance despite the lack of response. As they doze and snooze at respective workstations, the blue signal starts pulsating. Though neither sees it, a coworker walking past their area spots the signal and shakes Joey's shoulder.
"What's up, Jenny?" he asks trying to open heavy eyelids.
Pointing at the signal, she smiles. "I thought you might want to be awake for this."
"Bobby! Bobby! Wake up," he exclaims once understanding what happened. "The signal is back," Joey yells eyes gaping.
ds
The Alien Creator Page 30
