by Byron Craft
“book,” he answered excitedly, completing the professor’s sentence. “I’d LMAO if we could make that happen.”
Noah getting fired up added, “The Naval Weapons Center artificial intelligence quantum computer system is the only one on the planet that could pull this off. I can do bots,” he said thinking out loud. “They’ll infiltrate blobs, Binary Large Objects, manipulating stored databases. And worms to crawl across systems, exploiting vulnerabilities which can, in turn, be used to exploit other systems.”
“Exploit the web through externally accessible vulnerabilities utilizing digital user interaction,” jumped in Cac with unbridled enthusiasm.
“With the AI power they have here we could produce our own army, an army of bots executing commands, messages, oh wow, performing automated tasks, and online searches to implant info automatically with no human intervention. I can program them to web spider multiplying as they fetch, analyze and infiltrate.”
“We’d be double geeking, screen-ager!” Cac countered, fervently joining in on the concept.
“Triple-geeking to the tenth power,” replied Ironwood without missing a beat emulating their jargon. “A friend of mine did some work for Malcolm Darby.”
“Darby is the wealthiest and most influential dude in the world, Boss.”
“Just so,” he answered less amused at his top tech’s reply than usual. “While in his office my friend noticed an opened, albeit empty, desk drawer. Inked into the bottom was Darby’s backdoor code to Sphere. I have since acquired it from my friend. Ironwood’s iPhone rested on the conference table next to him. He touched the screen a few times, and Cac’s phone chirped.
The robo-tech geek removed a smartphone from his top pocket, opened the forwarded message with an index finger and stared in disbelief. Characters and numbers displayed on the touchscreen; MD2020/sesame. “Holy crap! Is this the black box backdoor, the compiler code?”
Ironwood nodded the affirmative.
“With this, the Coney's would be toast. We could easily manage all media seamlessly, embedding posts to align content development with social media metrics and create compelling subject matter that cannot be challenged; the entire worldwide public network.”
“Once the idea grabs hold, it will take more than a little thing like the truth to dislodge it,” Ironwood wisely submitted.
“Wait a minute, Boss. We are talking text here! Got to have more than that. We’ll need pictures, video if we are going to pull this off.”
“I am sorry,” replied Kenneth/Faren, “the negatives have deteriorated beyond use over the years, but I do have these.” He produced a large manila envelope, opened it, and tossed several photos onto the center of the round conference table.
Cac scooped them up and exclaimed, “Kodachrome! So old school, I love it.”
“When I was in the midst of the turmoil, while Yath-Notep was rising, my wife was on our back porch taking photos with my Nikon.”
There were six photographs in all. Cac slowly leafed through them, his jaw imitating an opened trap door. Noah rose from his chair and peered over his shoulder. Suddenly, between them, a bond was developing. “Will you look at this,” whispered Cac to his geek sidekick.
“He’s damn ugly,” Noah responded.
In one of the glossy 8x10’s was a thing that if it weren’t for the photographic evidence, no human would begin to describe it. At the edge of a jagged chasm, a monstrous knobby shape reared up. Luminous disc-like eyes appeared above a rounded bulk. Another photo depicted a giant three-fingered hand reaching toward a blackened sky. The rest of the pics presented varying shots of a lip-less mouth, groups of tentacles, and a flock of baby-sized winged demonic shapes swarming around the massive form.
Cac let out a slow, soft whistle as he passed some of the pics along. “I can make these do,” he offered.
“How?” Noah asked his new friend.
“I can make high-res copies. From there I can digitize and make him move, anything you want; hell I could make him do the Macarena!”
“Can you fool the news media with your faux video?” Ironwood prodded.
“Piece of pie.”
“That’s cake, young man,” corrected Kenneth Wolfe.
“Whatever,” he answered staring at a photo in hand. Rising to the occasion with motorized help, Cac gestured courteously in Ironwood's direction, suggesting but not exactly duplicating, a military salute. “This is so Wag the Dog. It’s on like Donkey Kong!”
“Gucci,” added Noah.
Chapter 21
- Aftermath -
When the Elder Beings left, a great war ensued. It took thirty-six hours for the NWC’s quantum computer to ravage the internet. Sphere was the strategic first, hacked with a video crafted to appear originating from Germany's online news service, Der Spiegel. Faren worked with Cac and Noah to create the audiovisual effect. They toiled for days, with very little rest, over the computer-generated imagery plus Faren addressing every detail from memory. Cac would later compliment him declaring that he would have made, “an excellent Hollywood director.”
The resulting faux newsfeed was picked up by every social media site with the AP and UPI, in turn, re-broadcasting it as “Breaking News.” In America it was the lead story on the six o’clock news, then the eleven o’clock news, subsequently transmitted by every cable and satellite network. Billions of people, all over the globe, watched and listened as a ball of electrical energy, under an evening sky, rolled through a glade alighting on an earthen knoll. A violent tremor shook the surrounding area, and in the center of the knoll, a pit opened. There was a fluttering followed by dark shapes. Small black things raced out of the earth, resembling rats pouring out of a hole. There were hordes of them; dozens, fifty, hundreds!
A bulkhead of topsoil and burnt brush angled upward, the dirt and dead plant life tobogganed off the slope. Broken metal bands, as thick as a man, and a slab of granite as big as a house came into view. A five-sided stone door perched momentarily at a right angle next to the crater, and then it toppled from an upward shove cascading down the hill.
From the chasm a monstrous shape reached up pulling, tugging and tearing at the ground. A giant three-fingered hand groped. A rounded bulk larger than the opening squeezed up glistening like wet leather. Luminous eyes stared at the unsuspecting viewing public. A lip-less mouth quivered, then slapped, and tentacles writhed. It bore the many tentacles beneath its great staring eyes, and from it, there seeped a miasma of pure evil. The mass rose higher and higher until its slimy body protracted out of the hole with a loud sucking sound. More of the rat-sized demons swarmed out of the depths, taking to the air on invisible wings, encircling the creature. The disc-like eyes did not blink; oily skin stretched tautly over a hairless head. A wattle bulge hung below its face, with slits on the sides that opened and closed continuously. The thing’s mouth, if that is what it was, extended nearly the width of the face and when it opened the world witnessed rows of serrated teeth.
The mountainous form, outside the pit, wallowed in the tall grass and spread its limbs toward the heavens. Its mouth of razor sharp teeth yawned in twisted mockery issuing a thundering voice. It was deep, musical and as powerful as a full orchestra filled with foul intent. Above the hideous creature, a gargantuan funnel developed within the night sky. It churned and churned becoming larger with every second. At the very center of the conduit was a faint answering cry. The cry began to rise in volume, a faint bulbous octopoid face appeared at the core, and then the image went dark. A low voice, speaking German, overridden by a voiceover in English, announced that the remote broadcast from Valsbach, Germany terminated and all attempts to re-connect had failed.
“I've binge watched this newsfeed at least twenty times, and I can't detect anything fake about it,” said Gideon pushing the power button on the remote. The flat screen TV went dark.
“I can’t fault it either,” Ironwood agreed. “They did an awesome job creating it.”
“Isn’t it illegal to post somet
hing like that?” Amy asked, outwardly uncomfortable.
“The media did the posting and re-postings, what we did was a hack, and that is definitely illegal.” Ironwood spotted the worried look on her face. “It is the least I can do, Amy. Although I would rather not, I am willing to do jail time to save this planet.”
“Providing you are ever found out,” Gideon added with a smile.
“Cac is darn good at covering his tracks. Let’s hope no web forensics traces its origins.” Professor Ironwood leaned back in his easy chair. His living room was unusually quiet. Even though they were aware that the news broadcast was a total fabrication, Amy and Pemba were still visibly troubled by it.
Gideon broke the silence holding up his smartphone; a video was playing on it. “Have you seen this?” he asked holding back the laughter. “It’s from HUN. A tourist claims that he just flew in from overseas and witnessed the whole thing!”
Jessica Esterhazy from HUN was holding a microphone up to a young man covered in tattoos and facial piercings.
“It was Gawdawful! Bigger’n a barn, made of squirming ropes. The thing was sort of egg-shaped and humongous, badonka humongous!” He stretched his arm out wide, “More than anything I'd ever seen. Dozens of badonka fat arms. Great bulgin’ eyes all over it, a humongous mother of a mouth with half a face on top. Everything was tossin’ open and shut.”
“What color was it? asked Jessica.
“All grey, kind of blue or purple . . .”
She stepped away and closer to the camera. “Proof positive? Only time will tell. Mr. Gaffney is our first eyewitness to this horribly unusual event since receiving the newsfeed from Deutschland. This is Jessica Esterhazy for HUN.”
Gideon tapped the home button on the phone and returned it to his pocket.
“Is he delusional?” posed Pemba openly amazed by the broadcast.
“Perhaps,” answered the Professor, “more than likely he was after his fifteen minutes of fame.”
***
It was a bloodbath, both red and green. Bullets tore through the rampaging shoggoths oozing greenish-yellow ichor with no effect. They could heal and regenerate, in the daylight, as fast as the ammo discharged. In the evening, when no solar energy feed could be had, the synthetic lifeforms refueled on any unfortunate human and animal life that became their prey. The frontal assault was hopeless until the Deutsches Heer, Germany’s armed forces, produced military surplus flamethrowers hidden from the past in an old underground Nazi bunker. Berlin was the first offensive with the rest of the civilized world soon to follow. A massive force of manhandled firesticks overwhelmed and incinerated the shoggoth foes. Grotesque squeals emanated from them, as their gelatinous bodies rapidly melted, each resembling the amplified sound a pig makes as its throat is cut.
It all started when the Elder Beings left their earthly bonds. It later was believed that once the cone-shaped beings witnessed the faux video of the fake news about the counterfeit cry of Cthulhu that the exodus took place. A day and a half after the “Breaking News,” in occupied cities, the aliens exited their habitats and aimed skyward with their three big eyes for hours on end. In the end they emitted their odd twittering and clicking that terminated with screeching whistles louder than a police siren. They did not go gently into the night. The Elder Beings remained motionless for a good long time until strong winds or courageous bystanders pushed them over. The shells of the once Great Race slowly flattened against the ground like collapsing tents. Lifeless sacks of alien flesh fell prey to the environment. Dogs ran howling after only a brief nibble of the cadavers. Ravens were the single creatures that saw fit to feed on the remains. Each Elder locale became a grand necropolis of alien dead.
Not all Elder Beings carcasses were left to the elements. Several efforts were made to conserve some of them. Months later, and after several attempts at preservation, tourists visiting the Smithsonian Institute were able to scrutinize a taxidermized Elder Being in a simulated habitat.
The grief of the Elder enthusiasts, the Star Children, in some instances, was devastating. Few committed suicide, others, disenchanted, searched for new cults to join, fewer still returned to a normal life, as normal as that type of person could have. While, one burnoose skirted groupie tried to emulate the Great Race, in a public demonstration, by inflating himself with a high-pressure air hose inserted in his abdomen. The results were most climactic.
All hell broke loose once the Elder Beings departed. The shoggoths, unfettered from their masters’ mental control, regarded humans with murderous vengeance. The NWC defense perimeter was the best prepared. The Marines’ platoon fortification let loose with a wall of fire incinerating every raging shoggoth before one resident of Darwin was ever in danger. Instant worldwide communication supplied the means to exterminate the threat, and all that eventually remained of the shoggoths were the towers.
Berlin, for some unfathomable reason, through a parliamentary republic appropriation, contracted a private sector demolition company to dismantle the tower. Not only was the attempt quickly proven to be fruitless it also became deadly. Track hoes, bulldozers, and chainsaws were employed to disassemble the shoggoth tower, and like all shoggoths, it regrew and self-repaired. Sections that were removed and sequestered from rejoining the mass gave off a lethal stench that was highly infectious causing a painful death to a large part of the local population. In Paris, a similar catastrophe occurred when it was attempted to implode their tower like an aging Las Vegas casino. A dark sickness assailed and prevailed in the City of Light and the capital of Germany that the news media christened “a modern day black plague” quickly blaming every seat of power in Europe.
The Brits were more resourceful. The London Fire Brigade (LFB) filled the tanks of their pumper trucks with a petrol and oil mixture. The high-pressure hoses of the fire engines saturated the multistoried tower with the mix. London’s Fire Chief, standing at a safe distance, shot the flammable drenched shoggoth tower with a flare gun. “The results were glorious,” reported the Sunday Times and likened it to a “Guy Fawkes celebration.”
“Beautiful,” commented Ironwood later, “I couldn’t have said it better myself.”
Resourcefulness was not lacking in Darwin either. The entire population of the small desert town, forty-five in all, tore down the abandoned Inyo Register Newspaper building, piling the wooden debris around the base of the original shoggoth tower, and set it ablaze. The creosote infused structural timbers burned brightly, and the tower became a colossal candle inversely melting to the ground.
Chapter 22
- Deep State -
The 1950 Willys-Overland Jeepster sped down the tunnel. The top was down, Gideon sat shotgun with Pemba in the back, only room in the small car for two in the front. She steadied herself holding on to the rear of Ironwood’s seat as he drove. The sixty plus-year-old ancestor of the American Jeep had been completely restored on the outside. However, the drivetrain was anything but antique. The original four-cylinder engine and three-speed standard transmission had been upgraded to a 4.0 liter six with a five-speed manual trans found in today’s Wranglers and Cherokees. The refinements combined with a reinforced suspension, to handle the package, enabled the little Jeepster to fly along the subterranean roadway at tremendous speed.
Mounted beneath the Jeepster’s dashboard was an aftermarket air conditioner. There were no roll-up windows in the little convertible, and the plastic side curtains had been removed when the top was folded back. “No need for the AC,” Ironwood claimed shouting over the motor noise, “it’s cool enough down here.”
Ironwood glanced to his right and noticed a troubled expression on Gideon’s face. “What’s the problem, Gideon?” raising his voice above the road noise.
“I am responsible for all of this, the resurrection of the Elder Beings and the shoggoth bloodbath,” he answered, leaning in Ironwood’s direction. “The world turned upside down, and innocent lives lost because of me.”
“Nonsense.” Gideon was at Ironwood�
�s elbow, there was no need to shout, which made their conversation more self-contained. “You are stressing over matters which you never had control.”
“That’s bull; I caused the pointy things to awake. If it weren’t for that, they wouldn’t have made those creatures and the towers. The world would be better off.”
“Not at all, you are overlooking one important element.”
“What?”
“Neville Stream. If we had not gone down here when we did, the Congressman would have had a field day releasing them all, instituting his twisted plan, and we would be amongst the casualties. No Gideon, we have become the spoilers armed with the knowledge of the aliens and their vulnerabilities.”
Gideon straightened in his seat and leaned back. Ironwood thought he glimpsed some of his concern dwindling.
Ironwood’s “hare and hounds,” the torn strips of newsprint he left to mark their trail when they last traversed the tunnels, now became a paper chase. The narrow ribbons of paper danced in the wake of the Jeepster sailing over the windshield. Pemba held up her right hand touching the bits newspaper as they flittered through her fingers.
Entering the tunnels, once again through the access of the Victor Nash’s old mining shack, was a last-minute decision. They would never have been alerted to Neville Stream’s next move if it hadn’t had been for Mavis Blister. The Octogenarian’s mode of transportation was a white 1959 Cadillac. She loved her Caddy and told everyone that had the fortune to view it, after removing the canvas protecting cover, that she, “had it since new and it is a doozy.” The auto was practically mint except for one cracked bullet-shaped taillight. She had just turned off Olancha Darwin Road onto Highway CA-190 to journey to Ridgecrest for her monthly shopping when she saw him. “The young man staggered to the edge of the asphalt and fell face forward,” she later told them. Old lady Blister managed to get the heatstroke weary man to his feet and onto the back seat of her car. Mavis forfeited her shopping spree and returned to Darwin.