The Alien Creator Page 7

  Global Space Company, Arizona Butte

  "This is Dr. John Myers, Mr. Brody," he tells the President's Chief of Staff on a cell phone. "I need to get through to the President. The alien vessel reappeared for several seconds in a sector far closer than where they were last time we talked."

  Brody hears what's said at face value and takes immediate action. "We'll call back on a secure line in ten minutes. Have your staff present so we can discuss options. Do you have updates on how to find the spacecraft?"

  "Yes, one of my team has a solution and based on what he's showed us, nobody can find fault with his logic. It's simple and brilliant."

  "Ok, let's add that topic to the agenda. We'll talk soon, John."

  Chapter Six

  White House East Wing Bunker

  atching video and audio through to the Emergency Operations Bunker are teams from Global Space Company and Area-51. Along with the usual core group from Washington D.C., Wilford elevated the pilots to be on future calls. Once Chief of Staff Charles Brody corrals meeting attendees and introduces new faces, he nods to the President.

  "Thanks, Charlie. Troubling news is the alien spacecraft is moving closer, perhaps penetrating the thermosphere by now," President Wilford begins. "We're assuming this planet will meet their needs and probably why they're moving closer. Plant food appears to be a big deal for Creators, suggesting they aren't carnivores or machines. Dr. Myers, if you can fill us in on where you think they are now, we'll start there."

  "Mr. President, thank you. I'm going to turn over part of our time to staff member, Dr. Billy Goddard. He'll talk about how we might find them. Until then, here's what we know. About two hours ago, telemetry picked them up for a couple seconds moving at an accelerated speed. They bypassed dozens of assets suggesting enough samples of our deep space capabilities. I'm thinking they're moving toward the mesosphere to begin collecting precise data on land mass, water supplies, and plant life. Once close to Earth, we'll share potential options we've studied when appropriate."

  "All right," Wilford agrees. "How close does that put them in miles?"

  "Maybe four hundred miles or less, sir," Myers replies succinctly.

  "Zote said he'd let us know when changing of the guard occurs with this frozen creature," Wilford adds. "That could suggest they're near a decision but haven't unfrozen this semi-organic creature who's supposed to take charge. Let's get updates from Global Space on use of our new satellites. I think it's safe saying Defiant can no longer be kept secret. Bob, please do the honors since they officially belong to you."

  Robert Covelli, CIA Director, cringes at the thought of sharing KH-18B upgrades under program Defiant." Up until now, any mention of this secret program was grounds for termination, arrest, and incarceration. With your lead, Mr. President, I'll assume everyone on the call gets a get-out-of-jail card," the Director smiles.

  Wilford nods as Bob continues, not amused by the challenge.

  "Ok then, Defiant is upgraded multi-ton KH-18B satellites with advanced laser technology geared to kill ICBMs and other space objects deemed hostile. The design dates back to the initial star wars initiative during the Reagan years. The updated weapon system, with early uses for destroying land mines and IEDs, is IFLO that stands for Integrated Fiber Laser Ordnance. To give an example of what it can do, imagine a small beach ball placed atop the Empire State Building. Now imagine a laser burst fired from the top of Mt. McKinley three-thousand miles away in Alaska that hits the ball dead center. The beam or pulse is super-hot and extremely fast, traveling past the speed of light. When cutting loose the target is struck almost instantly despite the great distance. There's little time for reaction."

  "How can it travel faster than light, Bob?" Bull Greer, Dod Chairman snarls. "What about Einstein's theory of special relativity? Is that science debunked?"

  "Don't ask me to explain physics, Bull, but I've seen it work. Perhaps a scientist on the call can explain it if necessary," Covelli suggests.

  "Let's not get bogged down in science, gentlemen," Wilford interrupts. "I don't know how televisions work but they do. That's enough for our purposes."

  "I can explain it in layman terms," Billy Goddard says, his voice uneven and high.

  "Who's speaking?" Wilford asks, annoyed after his last comment about not bogging down in science.

  "Billy Goddard, sir," the youngster waves his hand.

  "Ok Billy, give it a shot," Wilford smiles at his staff, most intrigued by the youth's floppy hair, untrimmed beard, and casual attire. "You have a minute, son."

  "Right; the basic principle, gentlemen, is correct about steady beams of light but not light pulses. In general, laser pulses, like flashbulbs, are ultra-fast events assisted by optical mirrors and crystals of semiconductor Gallium Selenide. Also, light pulses, not steady beams, move in velocity groups of waves moving at various speeds. Since we're not in a vacuum on Earth, the refractive index is a function of wavelength which is indicative of dispersive mediums. If you're struggling with this explanation, imagine the next generation of quantum computing chips with pulse laser speed."

  Greer frowns at Wilford, "Forget I asked; it was a needless question in retrospect but if that's an explanation for laymen I'm stupid," he shakes a throbbing head.

  "Thanks, Billy," Jack chuckles briefly. "Most of us still don't have a clue to what you said but, as I said before, long as it works, we're fine. Now, let's move on. How do we find these creatures, Dr. Myers?"

  "That's another question for Billy," he gulps on heels of the last fiasco hoping the next explanation is less painful for the White House crew. "Give them both guns, Billy," Myers grins, thinking without his team the world is in deep trouble.

  "Thanks, boss; this is a little more complicated than FTL, gentlemen," the teenager begins using a term most aren't conversant. "Cloaking technology is a way of diffusing or scattering signals over a broader spectrum. Our latest guess is their hull's meta-materials are absorbing or bending electromagnetic radiation giving the appearance of not being there. It's works like microwaves; the spaceship is there but we simply can't see it with existing radar. In this case, their shielding device covers about 180 degrees."

  "I think we all guessed that much, Billy," Myers prompts his budding star. "Tell us specifically how we find them."

  "Right boss; imagine lighting a room just enough so that shadows, or in this instance cloaking, causes visual problems. Once 360-degree lighting is on, no matter how small or large the light source, shadows dissipate and disappear. Imagine isotropic radiation without preferred direction. Our issue is placing signal energy bursts around and behind the alien ship when approaching. To do that, we've come up with isotropic radiators using numerous cryogenic transducers placed around the ship as the most practical solution?"

  "Dumb it way down for me, Billy," Wilford says rescuing East Wing Bunker attendees struggling to keep up. "What are you telling us to do?"

  "Yes, sir; I'm thinking we use rods-from-God and hot air balloons to encircle them. We'll retrofit caps of the arrows and replace ionized gas particle modules then purposely miss the target. The balloons provide additional points of reference so we get three-hundred sixty degree view. Once in place, we can effectively guide what's left of armed rods using GPS. It should be done quickly once the assets are in place since we can't assume the aliens won't figure out the trap is built concentrically and vacate in a flash."

  "What do you mean by what's left of our satellites?" Greer snarls. "We've got dozens of them."

  "In war simulations, Mr. Greer, the aliens will fire rapidly and furiously once figuring out we can find them. The battle will last a matter of minutes. A concentric circle approach makes it harder figuring which target to hit first. It's will feel like the moment in chess suddenly realizing you're checkmated."

  "What if the rods can't destroy their ship?" Bull presses, a man who never played chess.

  "Making it so they can't return home is a minimum requirement," Billy explains optimistically. "Creators ne
ed them to return home and lead the way back based on what Zote told us."

  "What if they decide to destroy Earth?" Greer snaps.

  Dr. Myers steps in. "Gentlemen, Earth is unique so it's an ace up our sleeve. It's too valuable to destroy and everyone knows it. It's taken fifty years to find us. Worse case is for them landing and eliminating humans so they can rebuild their ship and return home at some point. Their timelines are long term focused."

  "Worse case is right," Wilford shrugs. "All right, it is what it is. I hope this will work, Billy, whatever it is you explained. What's next? When is the X-37D armed and ready for take-off? I want the families there ahead of time and Defiant satellites will be ready in two days according to Bob."

  "The schedule is tight," Dr. Metz cautions. "Retrofit of the rods, as Billy described, will require detailed specifications if what we agree is the plan. I'm not crazy about taking firepower away from Ray and Joe. Hitting the spaceship may not be straightforward regardless if we can see them or not."

  "What do you think, Dr. Myers?" Wilford presses the Global Space leader. "Is Billy's plan going to work?" Wilford presses the little known director sitting inside a thousand foot tall desert butte.

  "We've been over the plans numerous times, sir. We can't find another way of encircling the craft and eliminating cloaking. We must assume Zote hasn't faced encirclement."

  "All right," Wilford concludes, "this is the plan unless we prove it can't work. Our timeline has no tolerance for second-guessing. Make it happen, fellows."

  "Roger; I'll be sending Dr. Metz plans to reconfigure nose cones for twelve rockets with cryogenic transducers," Myers announces.

  "Twelve rockets?" Metz whines. "That's two random packages of six left to destroy the target."

  "We've calculated triangulation angles," Myers answers calmly. "The circle of death is less accurate if gaps exceed thirty degrees, plus or minus one standard deviation. That means we need a minimum of twelve points. Projectiles must counter-balance losses once Zote figures out he's under attack from all sides."

  "All right; we'll check your calculations when we get them, Dr. Myers. Ray and Joe are depending on us being right."

  "All right; let's reconvene when we have definitive launch plans for Ray and Joe," Wilford redirects the meeting. "But we need them parked behind one of the KH-18s within the next two to three days."

  "Understood, Mr. President," Metz agrees.

  "Who's handing weather balloon launches?" Billy jumps into the conversation and setting off the President.

  "Right, who has the scoop on these balloons?" Wilford snarls. "Are we sure we need weather balloons to pull this off?"

  "NASA balloons are what complete the circle, Mr. President, along with rail gun projectiles. But NASA has to get the transducers by tomorrow in order to install them on time," Billy further explains. "They're standing by. We should have enough copies later today, though we'll have to abbreviate normal electronic calibration, stress testing, and voltage measurements."

  "Wait a minute; copies of what?" Wilford snaps leaning over and asking Bob Covelli about transducers. Getting a clueless shrug from the Director, he asks Billy. "Billy, you mean we don't have these transducers ready to install?"

  "No, sir, but we snagged a nifty 3D-Replicator and got it working late last night. Programming took most of the night, sir. It makes a copy every two hours since these cryogenic transducers are rather large buggers with high internal complexity."

  "That's great foresight, Billy," Wilford praises the youngster though unsure what he explained. "Whatever it is we're talking about, I'm happy you were able to get it on time."

  "Yes sir; cryogenic transducers convert electrical signals we'll use to pinpoint the aliens. Dr. Myers had to spend forty thousand bucks to get it. In fact, we had to send a Delta team to confiscate it and Blackhawk to reach us in pitch black atop the desert butte last night. It was an exciting night, sir," Billy adds as Myers tries tamping down the excess information he didn't want sharing in open format.

  "What's Billy talking about?" Wilford chastises staff and generals. "I've not heard a word about any cloak and dagger activity."

  Once Covelli, Greer, and Myers tap dance explaining short timelines, the need for secrecy, and valid objections expressed by the manufacturer, Wilford eases off. "I'm not pleased being kept in the dark but I'll let it go this time. Next time, I'll bust chops," the President says before pausing for effect. "All right, enough of that. Good work, Dr. Myers and team," Wilford nods while frowning at staff. It's apparent being in the dark about any critical step gets his goat more than usual. "Next time, you get Willy to wake me in case we hit snags," he points to seat-shifting directors. After long penetrating stares he means it, Wilford finally relents. "Ok, let's review mobile air assets focusing on first strike capabilities if they make it to Earth."

  Alien Spaceship

  Zote announces to cryogenic mechanical staff handling frozen cryotank cylinders he might make a pivotal decision awakening a Supreme hybrid very soon. The cybernetic organism, despite its short life span, could be to handle the landing process and quell expected resistance. He commands them to review processes for the delicate thawing of organic tissue that relies on magnetic nanoparticles of silica-coated iron oxide. Warning service minions of penalties if thawing hybrids happens too quickly, Zote growls at the cryogenic team to be thorough during the tricky process never needed before on this journey. Repeating the message, puh-de-ve-no-ga, Zote ensures the machines understand the call for accuracy. While potential for shattered tissue ranks highest on the list, it's closely followed by failure of internal organs, inorganic membranes, mechanical pumps, and limbs. Finally, hybrid brains not safely restored after extended periods in liquid nitrogen can lead to insane, almost maniacal behavior, thereby endangering the ship and mission. As final safety precautions developed by Creator protocol, Zote would not open the cryogenic outer entrance, thereby releasing the hybrid to roam the ship, unless confident his organic brain is fully restored. He'd test the hybrid with questions of logic and mental stability before releasing him to the ship where nothing on board, except for one of four combat models, could stop him. If all else fails, a deadly gas could enter the chamber, thereby ending the threat. How Creators thought of every contingency impresses Zote while waiting for the external environment team to finish review of surface suitability and plant life.

  Giving the cryogenic team the necessary impetus to begin reviewing their steps, similar to dry runs, the ship's guidance minions in the bridge trip alarms that Zote must return. When the tall android robot arrives several minutes later, he wonders if the minions, guiding the ship, might have panicked.

  "Dov-ni-ka-ti," he tells them once hearing their first explanation, verbal slaps they badly overreacted. "Wu-si-mi-dee," Zote murmurs, his tone less than friendly.

  As a lead minion with higher brain processing points to dozens of nonthreatening objects in their path on a giant grid screen, he decides to open another communication with the planet's leader. As White House staff, Area-51, and Global Space members scramble to gather for the unexpected call, Zote realizes this may be the last time he talks to humans, a weak but reasonable species he figures are malleable.

  "Minions have concerns," Zote begins, his tone ominous and foreboding, "about several objects released from the surface heading our direction."

  "What's your concern?" Wilford asks his nemesis. "If it has anything to do with the balloons we're sending up, don't be concerned, Zote. This is for scheduled atmospheric evaluations approved long ago. I chose not to impede their scientific work since it's weather related taking samples of air quality at higher elevations."

  "Are weapons on these balloons? Any ways you try impeding our progress are hostile acts that will be repelled with deadly consequences. Do you understand?"

  "Yes, but also aggression on your part will not go unchecked, Zote. Regardless, these balloons have weather and temperature equipment that will not harm your ship."

  "Why
so many weather balloons? Is your equipment rudimentary?"

  "Tests are numerous including temperatures, ozone layers, wind speeds, pressures, and classified experiments. Most balloons are lost in space so we send up extra equipment. It's not efficient but our technology isn't sophisticated like yours, Zote."

  The robot takes the comment as signs it's a superior entity. "What do your scientists want to know about the atmosphere?"

  "It's mostly internal political debates about global weather changes, Zote. Don't worry; in a couple days these balloons will be gone. More will be launched tomorrow, so don't worry. It's a seasonal event."

  Taking an uncomfortable long time understanding descriptions by translators about politics and high elevation weather balloon testing, Zote loses patience. "If any balloon shows indications I don't understand, they'll be destroyed. Do you understand?"

  "Right, though shooting defenseless balloons seems like an extreme reaction. Do you have a new timeframe for unfreezing the hybrid?" Wilford sneaks into the discussion, pivoting from the topic of balloons. "I thought that may be why you're calling."

  "I expect to decide very soon. It will be bad for humans when the hybrid assumes command."

  "Let's hope you decide to handle business alone, Zote. Sending combat units won't end well for either of us. We don't want a fight, but we're also not intimidated. This planet belongs to us."