The Alien Creator Read online

  Once the bulky biker is back at his stool guzzling another frothy brew, the budding corporate leaders decide not to push their luck. Storming out to find another watering hole better fitting their station in life, they see the biker and barkeeper exchange high fives.

  Beijing and Moscow Hotlines

  Chinese and Russian Presidents are miffed sharing partial information about the D.C. news telecast. Deciding neither had heads up for what they heard, each leader decides to skip formalities and show their hands. Chinese President Xi speaks first as Russian President Zulov listens to his traditional foe.

  "I thought we had a rational conservative in the White House, one we could trust," Xi begins sadly. "That press conference is almost laughable. Our intelligence community knew something was off three days ago and a decoded conversation originating from Israel mentioned losing a micro-satellite. I'm told it can defend itself using quick bursts that move it quite a distance. I wonder if Wilford stole the technology and made up this phony story to cover CIA tracks."

  "How did they lose their micro-satellite?" Zulov counters effectively. "We heard the Israelis suspected foul play for a couple days. Maybe, it's in American hands at Area-51, as you say. Regardless, I can't confirm anything. It's a mystery as to what he's cooking up."

  "Our deep space telemetry hasn't spotted anything unusual. If aliens are out there, we can't find them," Xi admits candidly. "I can't believe he'd toss out such fantasy about aliens. Perhaps, he's crazy. Maybe, his cabinet will invoke the 25th Amendment."

  "Da; we haven't seen any aliens in space either," the Russian snorts jokingly, "but I have everyone at Roscosmos working overtime figuring out what Wilford is doing. I don't believe anything he says about aliens; maybe he's off the reservation or covering tracks for some kind of new space technology."

  President Xi chuckles, "Wilford has never been on the reservation. Perhaps, we can share intelligence about this until we know what's true. Even for him, this is strange behavior. If wrong, nobody will know the difference and the American media focus will shift focus away from whatever he's planning. This could be another round of misinformation and fake news. I will call and see what I can find out. You should do the same."

  Zulov takes a written message from an aide then immediately cringes after reading it a second time. "Yes, I'll call but I must go, Comrade. I'm getting word of American troop movements across the globe. Something is definitely up."

  Chapter Fifteen

  Lincoln County, Nevada

  n what most might consider barren wasteland surrounded by desert, slim dusty roads, and threatening trespass warnings, the Area-51 lead scientist and staff meet regularly with Zote, an intimidating Andromedan robot with zeal for learning. Absolutely enthralled by the machine's apparent unending knowledge of physics, mathematics, galaxies, and other heady topics, the scientists are enthralled with Zote's ability to converse and function on many subject matters. Not needing rest, food, or praise, the deliberate android spends days and nights explaining how Earth might cope with the dire situation facing it. After several days of nonstop collaboration, including rotating shifts among Dr. Metz's handpicked staff, the gifted leader decides to call the White Office offering hope about the future.

  As the Metz team huddles around an electronic whiteboard standing near the four robots, President Wilford is relieved he's finally getting the live briefing hoped for yesterday along with the team at Global Space.

  "I realize we didn't get back to you Mr. President, when asked, but it's taken an extra day gearing up. Zote's language skills have improved leaps and bounds with artificial intelligence that's literally out of this world," Metz chuckles briefly. "Besides typical greetings and routine exchanges we take for granted, scientific detail covered in the last twenty four hours has most of us believing we have a fighting chance against what's coming."

  "That's good news, Dr. Metz. I'm going to ask my team and the one on Arizona to hold questions so you and Zote aren't interrupted," he says looking around the bunker table and team in Arizona. "Please proceed as we're eager learning what you uncovered."

  "Thank you, sir. It's taken a bit of time conveying ideas and exchanging the way we understand physical and mathematical laws compared to the limited binary boolean language native to Zote. He has limited verbal vocabulary that's taken time for us to decipher. However, when these binary bits of information and symbols flow into us, we now have processes that translate his code into descriptive data and numbers we, as engineers and mathematicians, can utilize. It's a bit like comparing Fortran, Java, and Pascal programming codes where little is standard. I won't go into painful detail how a teammate from Global Space, Billy Goddard; please raise your hand, Billy; accomplished this feat but suffice to say we can talk back and forth now with less delay and confusion. Perhaps most relevant for you is the discussion of Cyborg, the bio-mechanical entity now operating the alien vessel."

  In the subterranean White House east-wing bunker, staff, department heads, and military leaders listen closely, most focusing on the terrifying seven-foot android plugged into a small translating square mobile unit at its side. The bulky robot's dull-black metallic exterior, highlighted by penetrating eyes, appears calm as Metz explains the tense situation.

  "Zote is well on his way learning advanced English, nuances, diction, spelling, etcetera, so I doubt he'll need translation support much longer," Metz explains. "His learning curve is quite short. For now, it's connected to an android with linguistic algorithms I can't begin to explain. However, that's a needless rabbit hole at present. Let's begin with Zote's sobering assessment of what to expect. In one to two weeks, Cyborg will begin destroying airborne assets, shock and awe if you will, wiping out satellites and probes circling the globe, clearing a path as we often begin major battles." Military personnel in the bunker nod agreement as Metz continues. "Since the X-37D did considerable hull damage, unexpected according to Zote, Cyborg will not take chances. For that reason, Zote recommends we not waste time sending aircraft since they'll be eliminated with electromagnetic radiation at ranges our jets can't handle. Once on the ground, we'll get our best chance at stopping ground units. Without these four huge machines, Cyborg can't secure the planet. That's probably a lot to absorb, so let's stop and open up for questions, Mr. President. I'm sure military representatives are chomping at the bit."

  "All right, Dr, Metz, but let me start then we'll open it up for questions from the White House team. First, I want to thank you and staff for progress so far. I don't think we'd survive without your team leading us. In that regard, can we assume Zote is prepared to fight alongside us? Is he planning to be part of the resistance or be a bystander?"

  Metz glances at Zote and smiles. "Sir, Zote doesn't like Cyborg in any way, shape, or form. He believes when you said we would help save Creators, blends of biomechanical and organic matter needing our medical prowess. Zote knows Cyborg can't save Creators without help but it's too single-minded to negotiate or share the spotlight. Cyborg will eliminate all of us, including Zote, without understanding what humans might offer for medical and technical assistance. Cyborg will focus on securing the planet, pure and simple. Zote said Creators are great scientists and engineers but unable to advance medical robots. They lost valuable talents due to past conflicts when Creators were almost exterminated by intergalactic foes about a hundred years ago. That battle accelerated the need for another home, though U-tom environmental forces are pushing in the same direction."

  "Dr. Metz, William Greer Secretary of Defense," the gruff ex-soldier interrupts eager to push his agenda. "Am I reading you correctly? You expect us to sit back and wait until these creatures land before taking action after destroying valuable air assets?"

  "Resistance will lead to greater loss of human life, Mr. Greer. Once on Earth, the playing field is better according to Zote. He studied weapons and believes the best chance relies on cunning, bravery, and strategy. Unless there are platforms we aren't aware in our arsenal, Zote calculates total annihilation
unless we become wolverines."

  "Wolverines; what does that mean?" Greer snorts.

  "I'll try explaining his logic, sir. Zote is fascinated by the abundance of animals on Earth. Apparently, they aren't part of the U-tom landscape. He said wolverines, members of the weasel family, are all-weather fearless fighters with reputations for fierceness despite their short, stocky size. Shaped more like small muscular bears with dark oily fur, wolverines often defeat larger prey with razor-sharp teeth that can eat frozen food and bones. Reading the tea leaves, I believe he's advising us to attack Cyborg's war-bots with small, lethal forces that will not give up, yet be smaller targets."

  "Please continue," Wilford steps into the emerging debate; also not accepting or appreciating Zote's initial military advice. "What does he think about the nuclear option?"

  "According to Zote, Cyborg is a skilled battlefield tactician who will put forces in dense populations where we will not deploy tactical nukes on our own people. Besides, he'll defeat airborne systems once launched. All it does is rain radioactive material wreaking havoc on civilians and military personnel. Meanwhile, war-bots aren't vulnerable to radioactive fallout."

  "What about Defiant, Dr. Metz? Does Zote understand this technology?"

  Zote listens, thinking military discussions are becoming time-consuming. "I would like to speak," the android says as humans stop breathing, his base voice like rolling thunder.

  "Yes Zote, please tell us what's on your mind?" Metz prods the formidable machine, happy for the timely input.

  Stillness permeates both ends of the call as Zote puts himself in the spotlight, bypassing the human translator not used to dealing with military minds. "We need Navi to reach U-tom, President Wilford. It will take too much time rebuilding it. I propose we take Navi from Cyborg."

  Jaws drop as Zote's bold plan cuts to the chase, a point Metz would have arrived at eventually. Wilford holds up hands tamping down grumbling and murmurs among staff.

  "I'm afraid waiting until air assets are destroyed is not acceptable, Zote. Keep in mind we use satellites for extensive communications, civilian and military alike. We'd be handcuffing fighters and causing significant panic. Is there no way of saving satellites, at least American assets?"

  Zote ponders the tactical question for thirty seconds, a long time for most. "Shutting them off or minimizing activity is one way. If Cyborg determines little communication activity, he could bypass them in favor of the most active assets. He will expect you to use satellites, jets, and drones without knowing which ones are tactically threatening. X-37D firepower insured that conclusion."

  "All right; let the military study how we do that. It's a good idea if we can pull it off. We'll have to coordinate with private operators, at least those needed for military, banking, and key transactions. Bull, I want you coordinating that part of the plan. Have it for review by this group tomorrow morning. By the way, none of my direct reports can leave this bunker without my permission. We don't need leaks."

  "China and Russia will be placed on immediate alert," CIA Director Bob Covelli warns. "They'll be on war footings within the hour. If they suspect foul play, it could lead to a hot war. We'd need Defiant and X-37D if that situation unfolds."

  "Pardon me, gentlemen but it might not lead to war if we televise what we're doing," Billy Goddard pipes optimistically, the youthful high pitch voice catching full attention. Like cold water thrown on hot faces, he continues. "Keeping leaders with fingers on the button in the loop will stave off missile launches. It makes them part of the ballgame."

  "Why would we make Reds privy to this nasty business?" Greer barks at the youngster. "I don’t trust Communists being rational players. If they see a way of exploiting us, they'll do it."

  "That's my call, Bull," Wilford snaps. "I like the idea. I understand there are pros and cons for keeping friends and enemies in the loop. What's the saying; keep friends close and enemies closer. We don't want conventional forces tied up on Russia and China troop movements. Bob, I want you addressing that part of the plan. Come up with a short list we can video conference then, together, we'll make phone calls to set up what we're doing. If you need help, use Charlie. I'd guess U.K., France, Germany, China, Russia, and Israel are the right candidates. If your team finds downsides, let me know right away."

  Bob Covelli nods to a key CIA deputy that stands and exits the bunker with cell phone in hand. "Zote," Covelli addresses the android almost forgetting he's talking to a bona fide machine, "how do you plan extracting Cyborg from the spaceship? How do we neutralize him?"

  Zote contemplates the direct question as Metz and others ponder what he might say. For them, it's a good question at this point. "Since I am the one who can operate Navi, Cyborg will make certain I am destroyed. For that reason, I must confront him when the time is right."

  Metz coughs at the idea of losing him. "You're right, Zote, but why risk yourself? I don't see that as a viable solution, especially for Creators depending on your return. Besides, finding your planet without you navigating Navi is impossible."

  After Metz implies he'd help Creators with or without Zote makes the Android pause, an uncharacteristic reaction making internal processors spin faster. "The best strategy is re-boarding Navi once war-bots are deployed. While the planet is under attack, the X-37 crew will take me back. My role is securing Navi while you address war-bots and shuttles. If you destroy war-bot transports, they will have no way of returning to Navi."

  "Why not let our combat teams address Cyborg?" Wilford steps into the forward-looking conversation. "We have fearless warriors who can do the job, Zote."

  "I agree to take a combat team with me," Zote agrees. "Gaining access to Navi and preventing Cyborg's re-programmed minions from destroying it will require assistance. But without me in the helm, Navi is lost."

  "All right; Joint Chiefs will handpick a boarding team and move them to Area-51, Zote," Wilford decides looking at the commanders.

  "How many fighters can the X-37 accommodate, Dr. Metz?" an Army 4-star asks.

  "I'd guess six to eight men depending on equipment, General. We'll evaluate available space since the cargo bay is tight, sir. If you can tell us what equipment they plan to carry, we can factor in that information."

  "All right; let us know soon," Wilford summarizes. "Let's assume six men unless you tell us eight will fit. Another question, "Wilford presses Zote, "why will Cyborg allow landing on the ship's deck? Won't it try destroying the X-37?"

  "I will ponder the solution," Zote replies. "I do not have a definitive answer at present."

  "Zote," another military officer pipes, "Admiral Taylor; what kind of machine is Cyborg? Is it ground fighter or simply navigator? What kind of combat situation should our men expect aboard the spacecraft?"

  Zote considers the complex question while interpreting the term ground fighter. "Cyborg is bred as protector and fighter with high brain capacity, Admiral Taylor, but it's not a machine like me. For many reasons, it will require several large humans to suppress it. Cyborgs are born in laboratories then transfigured at birth with biomechanical limbs, brain connection enhancements, and artificial joints on the eighth day of life. Key nerve tubular fibers are supplemented using axon turbo-pumps. Defeating or restraining Cyborg, without killing it, will be difficult. You will need overwhelming force. Fighting will be hand-to-hand, perhaps to the death."

  Metz adds to the sobering conversation, assuming the generals aren't getting enough detail, perhaps not knowing the best questions to ask. "Gentlemen, think of an aggressive chess player, deceitful, and deceptive, largely bionic with heterogeneous multi-core processors that permit complex multi-tasking. Imagine synthetic flexible web-polymer skin, vice-grip hands, dexterous fingers, and piezoelectric properties that store energy in prosthetic limbs. Add to that image internal power and backup supplies fueled by state-of-the-art radioactive diamond batteries with extremely long life that can light medium-size cities for months."

  Wilford hears the fancy terminology tho
ugh not understanding what it means. "All right; all this fantastic technology is way over my head, Dr. Metz. Question is how do we stop Cyborg? What weapons do our troops need?"

  "I'm sorry if I went overboard, Mr. President. Zote provided internal designs of how Cyborg functions," Metz offers. "We have a sub-team in Arizona, headed by John Myers and Billy Goddard, looking at ways to exploit it. Our best idea, so far, is using EMPs. He's vulnerable to power outages and shortages."

  "By EMP, I assume you mean electromagnetic pulse?" the Admiral replies, confused by the application in close quarters.

  "That's right, Admiral."

  Bull Greer is also puzzled how to deliver the large weapon without harming troops. "Won't that kill our folks?"

  Metz pushes back assuming DoD Director Bull Greer and others aren't up to speed with all types of EMP applications. "There are four basic types of EMP, Mr. Greer. E-1 and E-3 affect circuits, sensors, cables, power plants, and computers the way most of us think about EMPs with a huge bomb dropped over a city. Devastation is widespread and unpredictable, though that's not what I have in mind. For E-2 or high altitude electromagnetic pulse, imagine lightning strikes with isolated or precise blasts but far less collateral damage. In fact, what we've designed, along with Boeing and Raytheon, are E-4 handheld short range devices. E-2 HEMP is the closest thing to the backhand of God we have without complete destruction caused by traditional pulse platforms."