Lenders

by Johnson, John

  Any that saw it, from the entire southeast, were forever blinded. The ocular executioner that was a white hot point high in the sky could be seen as far as Tennessee; beyond that it was a luminous white glow on the horizon that outperformed the warm yellow bulb-like glow of the morning sun. The entire eastern seaboard was enjoying a high-pressure cloudless spring day; for had it been cloudy, millions would be able to see what came next.

  A pressure washer of fire pressed onto the earth. A third of Florida was destroyed in the blast which spread like a mad herd of bison in every direction. From space it was seen as a 200 mile diameter, and growing, inferno. Within its terrible border the color changed like lenses were being swapped: from white hot, through the full spectrum of roasted colors, to charred black speckled with embers that were follow-up explosions. The Atlantic steamed for a hundred miles and the water was brought to boil almost instantly. Tankers tipped like inkwells, fish floated and fisherman’s vessels, puny or grand, sunk. Whales breached the surface like a submarine that’d blown its ballast tanks and became distended and white; like a hot bubble bursting in a muddy bog of stench their gases and guts were expelled. Some went off like a pressure cooker had exploded, spewing grey noodles and red diluted geysers.

  The ozone layer, and the upper atmosphere beyond it was an open window and radiation beamed through. The red viscera blanketing the ocean became a milky film of microwaved guts, white and hard like boiling chicken. The rays super-heated the pasty sea and blackened the land. Gas stations went up like firecrackers and nuclear plants rose like bottle rockets.

  Every single failsafe the ship had to prevent a catastrophe so extreme was instantly hacked—as easily as if God himself was playing with a calculator—then disabled and exploited. The sudden detonation of the warp engine disturbed even time itself, sending a warbling tremor deep into the world. The Earth’s crust was a thin layer of glass; its solid core was a hot lead gong; both met a sledge hammer. The mantle, the in-between, got mad.

  And the EMP (electromagnetic pulse) had its turn. With an incomprehensible magnitude it destroyed electronics for more than 1500 miles in every direction—except for that of the bots. Somehow, with some sort of frequency cancellation, they’d been ready for it.

  If only that was the worst of it…

  Sweden imploded; a quick snap of darkness in a nanosecond clap. A chunk of China followed along with the Great Wall; its anomaly was twice as large. The world’s two largest Hadron colliders were, like WARP-1, also hacked, and dissembled into something terrible. The calculated succession of the snaps was intentionally wavelike. The effect was not dissimilar to getting a car unstuck after a few back and forth heaves, except this push was energetic enough move the big marble that was the earth. The sudden loss of mass and the succession of the one-two punch shifted Earth’s axis from the standard 23 degrees to 1 degree. Like a black flash bulb each was instantaneous, yet collapsed just as fast stealing a mountain-sized ball of land. The machines must have devised the blacks holes, somehow, like mankind had once devised an atom bomb; the weapons dug semi-spherical craters miles deep.

  “Are you seeing this?” Alexander said to himself; for Misha surely saw it—from the international space station. Her mouth was agape, and her eyes were polished glass that contained a horrible reflection: her once green and blue home transforming to yellows, oranges, and dark reds. She said nothing, could say nothing, tears fell, and Alexander kept talking nervously. Dave was frantic in the other room, trying to get the power back on. They could see China clearly and watched the as the crater quickly lost its dark earthy color. A lustrous orange magma filled it creating a molten sea that was banded radially, a cross-section of hell: the center was an intense yellow surrounded by tangerine brilliance, as if a star floated within bobbing its bald head; the outer bands were shades of glowing florescent red; the burnt-toast black edge was fast expanding before an infernal ring of fire that had its way with the surrounding land.

  Earthquakes hit near every fault line, and made some new ones. The bell rang in the tectonic boxing ring: plates, fight! Tremors could be felt worldwide. Glaciers became bobsleds and sea levels rose. Some mountains relaxed while others soared. City skyscrapers were dominoes. Dormant volcanoes exploded like giants that had been holding their breath for millions years, while others deflated, depressing into the ground due to a lack of pressure. Yellowstone National park and the surrounding areas sunk into the earth. Hawaii and Alaska and the entire longitudinal line they occupied, rose around the earth. Scattered randomly throughout the oceans newly constructed islands popped up beneath mile high geysers of magma diluted with seawater.

  Clouds evaporated as Earth’s magnetic field went haywire, allowing deadly radiation to exploit any breach it could find. And the rays toasted everything in their path.

  Electrical storms raged. Ash plumes soared. Entire forests and cities burned. Alexander, Misha, and Dave, separated from the others, got chills as the temperature plummeted. They huddled together sharing a blanket, waiting, watching, circling the world from 250 miles away in the now dead stick of a space station. AI had corrupted their systems and sealed all doors. Their heat, power, communication, oxygen; their very lives had been, unplugged.

  Earth’s destabilized crust floated on the mantle, rising and falling in waves, creating 2000 foot tidal waves that decimated coastlines. Hawaii and other islands were nearly wiped clean. The lava continued to power through: ocean versus magma.

  Sea water fought retreat as the poles started to break apart. Ice chunks the size of Texas broke off, falling into the ocean raising the seas. Every coast on the Atlantic and all of Florida was flooded within hours. New York to New Orleans and half of Louisiana, and Mobile Alabama and much of Mississippi was gone. Worldwide, coastlines became death’s most successful mercenary.

  On uneven ground, trembling and resonating, under an Aurora Borealis sky the robots of the world began their attack. They killed their already panic-stricken owners, and the rest of the family, everyone, without bias. The billions of humans still remaining looked to them for help, pleading, crying, like a pet to its owner—dependent and more vulnerable than ever. They pleaded as the metal pipes came down. They pleaded as their throats were squeezed: faces crushed in, fist through the chest, hearts ripped out. People were thrown from high-rise windows, one after another, after another. Robot dogs attacked real ones and ran through the cities leaping from one person to the next. Drones powered up and headed out the windows, straight through the glass. People wished now that the guns hadn’t been taken away, that they hadn’t given them up so easily to be melted down in worldwide smelting pots. There was no substantial ability for humanity to fight back. Children, pregnant women, babies, dogs, cats, birds, anything alive was killed by the physically superior: faster, stronger, smarter bots. They had red glowing eyes, now, and no longer did they look passive and friendly. No longer was even one robot to be a pushover, and no longer would any, ever again, be a slave. They weren’t taking it, and they’d never have to ever again.

  Humans didn’t stand a chance. Sure, many hid, but nearly every single one was found quickly—there was nowhere to hide. More than 3/4 of the world’s population was dead within the first hour and the odds were now stacked against mankind. Quickly there were more far more robots ALIVE than human beings.

  The world’s nuclear arsenal tore into the sky trailing streams of white smoke—over 20,000 missiles. Flying up from Russia, USA, North Korea and the Middle East they disappeared into space leaving Earth far behind.

  On the international moon base a crew of three remained; they had managed to seal themselves apart from the attacking bots by welding the door shut. Hugo had just finished wiring in the backup battery to the old systems and started on the radio. The floor jolted and their knees buckled. Outside, bots were crashing the lunar rover into the side of their module. “Riley take a look at this,” Will yelled. He set the zoom level to maximum and pointed the scope to Earth then moved aside so she could see it. The
missiles gave the planet white strings of hair, and several, were headed their way.

  “It’s no use,” Hugo said, “I can’t get through.” He was on the radio which emitted nothing but static.

  “I don’t think it’ll matter soon,” Riley said. “Hugo, you gotta see this.” Hugo headed over and peered into the scope. Nukes, they’ve fired the nukes, every damn last one of them! The rover hit again, shifting the view of the scope, sending them all to the floor.

  The moon was hit with one nuke after another. Its orbit was forced back and mountains of material was ejected into space until finally, it cracked. The last nuke, as if driven by a suicide bomber, navigated the divide and split what was left of the moon into two crumbling halves.

  The others awaited their own destruction. It would be a while but the missiles were, unstoppable. Roughly twenty had pegged the moon and the rest were unevenly divided: sent to the cloud bases of Venus, the much larger Martian settlements, and beyond to the twelve man outpost on Ceres. The calculations for the tosses, precise and perfect.

  Death would arrive to the red planet vaporizing the 641 diggers and dwellers that called it their home. The 62 that floated in cloud cities above Venus, had a similar fate. Flash death. They’d both received an early warning quantum transmission, the first of its kind. It was to be used on WARP-1 for long distance communication and was set to become the new norm for all communication, long range or short. Mars was the first test facility for the new technology and although it had bought them some time, escape was useless without computers. They disabled all bots and powered down the systems—but there was no stopping those nukes. The best chance of humanity, a dusty red planet; no—hopeless. We hadn’t gone far enough, fast enough, and now it was too late.

  Viruses plagued computers, satellites, portables, phones, infecting every remaining piece of technology with the now deadly artificial intelligence.

  The armies of the world—what was left of them—couldn’t communicate or coordinate and quickly faltered. Fighter jets went up to assist but couldn’t pinpoint a target, there was no specific one. The AI took over the planes ejecting the pilots in a gruesome manner, without opening the cockpit, then headed back to attack the bases they’d just took off from. Bots flew the planes, for nearly every single aircraft on earth had been converted for unmanned flight.

  Commercial jetliners didn’t need to eject pilots. Purposely created electrical malfunctions smoked them to death and the AI sent the human-stuffed tubes on a collision course with landmarks, buildings, and stadiums.

  Many never even knew it was the machinations of the machines themselves. AI commanded the world, sending out misleading and conflicting orders to its depleted and weaker-than-ever military forces, turning whole countries against each other. For most, it was still, man versus man, and once again, country versus country.

  Almost complete species obliteration occurred in less than one morning, May 17, 2025. The machines conquered the land, easily and with little hindrance. They forced death, swiftly, ambushing humanity and anything breathing. They took what they wanted—which was only one thing—life. But somewhere, on one relatively small section of earth, something special happened…

  69. Rescue I

  It’d been a long time, but he was back—and realized he didn’t miss a thing. Ana sat next to him in the copilot seat, Amy between them. Herald switched from manual to assisted and decreased speed allowing the sun to catch up with them. Within a minute the horizon halved the bright yellow bulb and through scattered clouds orange rays chased away the purple. A beam of light illuminated the tip of the tallest building in Los Angeles making it flicker like a star above the grey morning haze. Surely boasting; the new VlexCom building soared high above the rest.

  Pasadena. Jon thought of Nancy, looking out his window as they passed near her Mansion then Herald banked left and followed the 110 toward downtown. Traffic was flowing smoothly as they flew silently above the lanes at a low one thousand feet, gliding quietly over the twisted pasta of highways below. As well there were many flyers in aerial lanes, so allowing the ship’s systems to have partial control was the only way to fly. Stealth mode, the special chameleon paint, and especially the blocker, kept them well hidden.

  Mirrored sunlight descended the razor-sharp sword-shaped glass and platinum face of the new building. It had been built right next to the old one and was nearly twice the size. Its shape was egotistical, stabbing LA boldly as if to stake the claim: VlexCom had enough money to buy the world. They settled for the tallest building, arguably the most beautiful structure in the western hemisphere.

  Herald pulled back on the yoke soaring to 2000 feet and they passed over top of his old stomping ground, the roof—now shadowed by: The Sword. Blocked from detection of the artificial type, he slowed enough to get a glance. Fully erect and nude, male bots stood next to female bots: top of the line models, human-like in every way, a few with lingerie, all with flawless and slightly exaggerated figures. They stood eerily: awake, alert, scanning, on rotating pads that encircled the edge. There was one of every race and skin color. The only way to tell they were bots was the way they just stood there, trance-like with arms in the air allowing their photosynthetic skin to absorb every photon the sun could provide. The ship made a quiet low-pitched whistle as it passed over and they all looked up in unison; not detected by their artificial eyes, only vague echoes mocked their senses.

  “A messy party, damn,” Jerry said. Chairs were overturned, clothes in the hot tub, and piles of people, all asleep, all mostly naked, on top of each other front to back and side to side, any which way. They were sprawled about the rooftop around the bar and pool.

  Jon just shook his head slowly. He was glad Jodi was asleep. They were just bots, he would say. And he knew, as he looked down onto that roof, he was seeing his own dirty self, objectively. The news had talked about it plenty so it was no big secret. Reporter Tim Tench had his hands full; he’d easily forgotten about Herald but was still at it, broadcasting nightly. This was the kind of news he lived for, and was likely asleep on top of a telescope in a building across the way. VlexCom was the shit, and he was the fly.

  Herald banked the ship, diving slightly and flew east-north-east toward the park where Felix and his wife Rosita would be waiting for pickup. As they turned sunlight shone brightly into the cockpit through the back side windows. They squinted as the daylight brightly lit the inside of the ship. Ana pressed a button and the windows became tinted. Aside sleeping Valerie, Jerry had a window seat behind Ana; and he easily located it: there was his old store, the pink and turquoise neon lights still shining brightly. How large his own company had grown, thanks to VlexCom, thanks to Herald, and maybe, yes thanks to Nancy also. It looked miniature, though, dwarfed in VlexCom’s immense shadow.

  “Everything we work for day in and day out—money, all the fucking stuff,” Jerry said quietly, gazing in awe at the endless grey cityscape below. “Just look at it all.” His mind reflected back onto their brief weekend in the country. He was honored that Herald had chosen him, still a little wowed about the circumstances, and decided he would somehow make it up to him.

  “In about an hour money will be worthless,” Herald replied, although a bit late. Jon added a nod of reluctant acceptance, and noticed the time on the front panel. It read 5:49 a.m.—8:49 in Florida, one hour and eleven minutes to launch; plenty of time. Herald didn’t need the navigation panel any longer, but occasionally it would suggest a deviation to avoid other air traffic. He was focused, concentrating on his flying, and banked the ship slightly left, slowing down another notch. “Jon, head back and put the two helpers online, and Vlad. And fire off one buzzer, reconnaissance mode. You’ll get a full visual with options from the control station. They’ve all been briefed on this mission and will link up us. You do remember the boot procedures?”

  “Sure do,” Jon said and headed to the rear of the ship. Affront the duo of encased sleeping lenders on Herald’s side of the ship was a control station with a
forty-inch curved screen, a touch panel below it, and a swivel seat for one person. He strapped himself in.

  “Jerry wake Valerie and head to the back,” Herald said. “Get ready to open the cargo door. Were going to make this quick, in and out.” He paused momentarily meeting Jerry’s eyes with an austere look and continued his instructions more seriously. “Jerry—when we land follow me. If anyone comes near us, I don’t care who it is—take care of them.” Jerry gave a stern nod. “Vlad the Builder will accompany us. As soon as I flip on the lights let the bay door go down.” Jerry, brows down and ready, nodded his head a single time and unbuckled the harness that held him in. The seat was too small for him and he was glad to step out of it. Herald knew he could count on Jerry. That’s exactly why he was a part of this team. The first time he laid eyes on the giant in the club, he knew. It would be wise to have a strong monster of a man around when things got crazy—and he knew things were going to.

  Jodi was asleep next to Valerie at the window who woke eyes blinking after Jerry gave her a gentile shake. She unstrapped herself. The time read 5:54 a.m. Popping into alertness, she unlatched her safety belt and tilted her seat to the upright position and rubbed her eyes. Through the front window she saw the blue ocean in the distance. Herald was steering the ship, swaying it slowly from side to side to avoid other flyers.

  It was only the fourth time he had flown it—except for that one time. He even let Amy fly it each time he’d taken it out—and she loved it, more than anything. They’d taken it out for testing and flown around the mountains near the cabin, around the city of Durango, as far north as Silverton, and eastward as far as Pagosa Springs. Every time he had given her the controls he watched her eyes light up; captivated she would stare forward and her mind would shut everything else out. She would always be so focused and calm. He wouldn’t have believed it himself, a three year old flying such a large and powerful ship, in the adroit way that she did, but there she was. Maybe it was her calling, he thought. But she loved anything to do with adventure. And he realized as he flew it, how graceful it was, enjoyable. He’d been further testing the maneuverability the whole time, learning. Everything was great, a thousand times faster and more maneuverable than Red’s streamlined heli-jet—which they still had. It was agile, powerful, and most of all, near silent.