by John Ringo
Richard examined the “brain tube” of the alien bot that Helena had acquired for him. The twinning bot did not have a brain tube yet, but it did have a nucleus. Assuming that the biological analogy held, then a higher function organ would develop first in a fetus. This led him to the conclusion that the brain tube was not a first order function and that its “mother” was performing that function — whatever that was — for it.
He soon came to the realization that the government’s second guess was closer — communications. When does a fetus’s vocal cords develop? The electron microscopy and X ray data in the government report led him to the conclusion that there were pseudorandom semiconductor and unlike metal junctions. These junctions only appeared to be random. After several fractal pattern overlays Richard discovered that there was a methodology to the junctions. They were logic gates. In fact, the logic gates of the tube shaped device appeared much like the circuitry — but on a much smaller and more complex scale — of a transceiver system.
The tube was a solid-state software ultra-wideband transceiver — it had to be. That is where that spread spectrum signal must have come from. Without having a powered and operational bot to study there was no way to really be certain. But, it looked like the type of device that might have created those odd signals that he had detected with his spectrum analyzer the day the bots attacked the cabin.
Those signals were spread spectrum and centered about 1.420 gigahertz — the so-called famous 21 centimeter line from radio astronomy and SETI circles. Did that mean anything? Richard was formulating that in the back of his mind.
The government had been monitoring the bots’ signals for some time and a more detailed analysis of them was in their report. The fact that the center portion of their communications systems was around the band that hydrogen emitted and that astronomers thought would be the band that one day aliens would broadcast a message to us in could be just a coincidence. Horton thought it could be significant but none of the scientists and engineers from the government program had much to offer on that regard. He would think on that later. Right now he had more imminent and pressing matters; the bots were coming and he needed to find a way to stop them.
From the size of the microscopic conductor tube running from the power block of the bot’s interior to the transceiver tube it didn’t look like the bot was designed to transmit anything at large distances or at high bandwidths. At the same time there did not appear to be large receiver amplifiers within the thing’s systems either. That told Richard that the bots were not receiving direct detailed data downloads from these mechanized central city locations that were discussed in the government reports. Not unless the other pieces of the bot like the motivator ball, the power section and so on had some sort of magical communication system. But Richard did not believe that to be the case. His theory was that the bots communicated large data dumps through physical contact and/or short-range dissemination of instructions. There was also the possibility of the DNA including built-in hardwired instructions.
It was possible that operating instruction upgrades were installed each time these things flew to some central city location or since they were analogous to biological cells, perhaps when they reached a particular cellular density they would evolve. He was speculating there.
One thing he was not speculating on was the main reason for the transceiver tube. He knew what it was, or at least he thought he did. But he needed some live ones to find out for certain. So he decided to “acquire” some more of them. The government reports told him all he needed to know to lure them. The bots liked radio. Something about radio attracted them; he had been right all along about that. The government analysis of the alien spread spectrum signal emissions also showed that the frequency shifting pulses were not truly randomly shifting in frequency. There was a method to the transmissions. In fact, they followed a 256 bit encryption sequence. That told Richard plenty. Unfortunately, what it told him was that without the key it wouldn’t be likely they would decrypt the sequence by a simple hacker password dictionary attack. That is, continually insert all the passwords possible from a to z — not likely.
So, the government report suggested that they would attack the encryption algorithms themselves. Richard thought they might have luck there. After all they had the might of the CIA and the NSA with them, but a 256 bit encryption method was damned near impossible to break without the key. One note on one of the mirror sites said that hackers across the U.S. had combined forces to crack the code using a distributed system. They might even beat the government.
Richard had a different idea. He needed to watch the bots when they started “handshaking” and talking to each other. The handshaking was a simple process of passing binary code back and forth between the computer and the bot. Understanding an alien language was not necessary at this level of coding, only simple instructions would be needed. These instructions were to turn on or off certain functions and algorithms. It was simple ones and zeroes — math universal to all computers — that any code writer could understand. There was something about this handshaking that told the bots not to eat each other and therefore they must be passing the encryption key code. If he could watch them closely while they interacted with each other, he might be able to copy the encryption sequence without having to understand it. It was a long shot, perhaps. But he had used similar approaches to crack credit card company computers.
Chapter 23
“We have lost all contact with Manhattan Island, Mr. President,” Dr. Vicki Johnson said calmly. The National Security Advisor had been with the current administration since before the President was governor of Oklahoma and they were good friends. Vicki feared that even speaking candidly as his friend now would not be enough to convince him what they should do. “General Mitchell and I think it’s time to—”
“No! We’re not going to nuke New York City!” The President pounded the conference table in the War Room. He looked at his friend in the eyes and shook his head. “I don’t care if that entire map of the world turns red. We’re not nuking our own cities.” He pointed to the continuously updated world map that showed the occupied areas in red. All of New York City including the outer boroughs were under bot control.
“Sir,” General Mitchell sighed. “It might slow them down. We laced the major cities with enough HE, fuel air bombs, and nukes to vaporize them. We might wipe out millions of the bots. But we would have to do it now before we lost communications with the bombs or before the bots eat them or render them useless.”
“What about our new fighters and bombers?” the President asked.
General Mitchell shrugged. “Sir, it’s likely that there are nowhere near enough to support an all-out attack against the bots. There are just not enough of them. We will use them to support evacs and defense of the redoubts.”
“Did it slow them down in China and in Russia and across the Asian continent? No, it didn’t. If we ever take back our country, I don’t want it to be so radioactive that we can’t move back in.”
“Then, uh, sir, what are your orders?” the general asked.
“We wait.” President Colby hung his head and then leaned back in his chair. “That is all we do. We wait and hope the redoubt scientists figure out what to do.”
* * *
Ronny Guerrero and Roger Reynolds were poring over the current intel data on the New York invasion hoping for some insight into stopping the alien machines. They were having very little luck. The two men had once only known each other through brief customer-to-contractor acquaintance and interaction. But over the last three years they had become coworkers, then friends, and now refugee scientists in a redoubt city hoping to find a way to stop the Von Neumann probes.
“I don’t see any patterns, Rog. But what I do see is more of the same,” Ronny said in his soft Cuban accent.
“What do you mean, Ronny?” Roger looked up from his laptop for a second.
“They land in a tubule and spread. Nothing different. We can expect a tu
bule to jump from New York City to some other major city soon.” Ronny scribbled some notes on a pad in front of him and tapped wildly at a calculator. “See, following exponential growth, I’d say in a few more days we’ll lose another city.”
“Yeah, I was guessing that but hadn’t run the simulation yet. I’ll get Traci to work out the sims for the President in a bit.”
“Good idea. But, what to do now? We need a strategy at least.”
“Well, I guess we sort of have a strategy. I mean hide and survive as long as we can until we can figure out a way to stop them is a strategy. It’s a tactical approach that we’re completely lacking.”
“Ah, yes. Should we try to defend the cities, blow them up, or let them fall?” Ronny nodded in agreement.
“Yeah. Well, of course the President’s tactic is to let them fall. Perhaps he’s right.”
* * *
“I hate it, but you’re goddamned right we should let the cities be.” Sergeant Cady wiped the sweat off his forehead and continued loading the ceramic ammo into the composite troop buggy. “What the hell does it matter if they’re evacuated?”
“I agree, Top.” Shane Gries nodded. “We aren’t gonna beat them by shooting them one on one. There ain’t enough bullets. I think the President is doing the right thing here.”
“Yeah, but I still hate it.”
“Me, too.”
* * *
The pickup truck loaded with what appeared to be everything the family owned had barely made it up the old logging road. The recon bots had stolen the gate weeks before so there was nothing stopping them from driving up the hill to the cabin or to the mine entrance.
It beat all Richard had ever seen. Were these people living in a vacuum? The Internet was all abuzz about how the bots eat metal and how you should stay away from metal and so on. But here was a young man in his late twenties, his wife of about the same age, a toddler maybe three years old, and an infant parading around in an old beat-up extended cab Toyota Tundra that was loaded down with everything from camping gear, mountain bikes, and firearms to strollers, baby gear and kitchen utensils, and cases and cases of canned goods, bottled water, baby food. Even a microwave and television set. There was probably a kitchen sink in it somewhere.
Their approach had tripped some of the fiber-optic sensor cable Richard had stretched out down the road for early warning of visitors, so he and Helena had walked up the mine shaft main tunnel to meet them. Richard hoped he could convince them to leave. He didn’t need any liabilities or distractions from his work. His hope was that they were just lost and needed directions. The fact that these two adults were driving around with these kids and knowing those bots were out there made his skin crawl with fear and anger. He scratched at the nape of his neck and then just shook his head. Helena made no particular telltale signs of being upset that anybody except the man who had been living with her for the past couple of years would notice. She was pissed.
The young man parked the truck about twenty meters from the mine entrance and seemed a little nervous when he saw the odd couple coming out of the mine shaft entrance. To the young man, the old man approaching them appeared to be in his late forties to early fifties, was average size and had a wiry build with graying hair and graying beard. He guessed the woman was in her early to mid-twenties, could tell she had a light complexion since she was wearing cut-off jeans and a tank top; her milky white arms and legs revealed she spent little time in the sun, and her long dark hair suggested a slight “gothic” appearance. What frightened him most was the fact that the young woman was carrying a large homemade club in her left hand and from the looks of the dings in it she had used it on something before.
“Don’t worry honey, I’ll take care of this,” he told his wife.
“Well, whatever. I’ve got to mix the baby a bottle. It’s been nearly three hours since she’s eaten anything.” She shushed the baby and bounced her in her arms. The toddler was strapped in a car seat in the back of the pickup’s extended cab. He was screaming bloody murder.
“Hello.” The young man approached Richard and Helena and smiled timidly.
“ ’Ello,” Helena smiled and nodded at the children. “Look Richard, dey have a beebee with dem,” she said rolling the “r” in Richard.
“Uh huh. Hello, what can I do for you? You are on private property, you know,” Richard didn’t like where this was going. Why weren’t these idiots at a shelter?
“I’m Jeff and that’s my wife Sara Jo. The one in the back screamin’ there is little Jeff, Jr. and the one screamin’ in the front is Precious Anne. We’ve been traveling for a long time. All the way down from Myrtle Beach and we haven’t seen anybody. I took a wrong turn a few miles back, I guess. Where are we?” He offered Richard his hand.
“You are outside Spartanburg about twenty miles or so.” Richard shook his hand guardedly. “You must be really lost to have wound up here. Where you headed?”
“Uh, we were headed to the national park down west of Greenville. Heard there was a campsite for refugees down there. I took that cutoff road at the bottom of the mountain thinking it would make the trip shorter. Guess not,” Jeff said.
“Vwhy you vait til now to go to a shelter? Goddamned bots in New York and dem lovely babies don need in dat truck.” Helena seemed concerned about the truck and from her experience she had every reason to be. “Don you know de tings eat trucks!”
“What, eat trucks…” Jeff looked confused. “Hey, you ain’t from around here are you?”
“Da. I fuckin’ live here.”
“Sorry, uh, I’m just uh… tired… lost and…” He yawned and covered his mouth. Then he stretched. “Oh man, and the guy on the C.B. a while ago said…”
“C.B.!” Richard noticed the antenna on the truck. “You been talking on that thing!?”
“Uh, mostly I just listen to it, but I just told this fella that I was lost and nearly out of gas and—”
“Goddamn dummies don listen to de news.” Helena looked at Richard who was already in a sprint to the truck. She followed him, “Right! De babies.”
“Hey! Wait a minute!” Jeff said, startled and angry.
“Miss, you have to get these kids out of this vehicle right now. If you just used that radio they’ll be coming.” He held the rear door open and started unstrapping the screaming and kicking toddler. Jeff ran behind Richard and started to grab him around the neck in a barroom chokehold but Helena poked him pretty hard in the stomach with her club. Jeff let go of Richard’s neck and gasped for air as he fell backwards on his ass.
“Hey!” Sara Jo screamed.
“Lady, you must get out of de damn truck now or dose goddamn tings’ll eat it with you and your babies in it.”
With a hundred thuds and the sound of screeching metal on metal, alien robotic machines attached themselves to the truck like a swarm of angry bees. Helena pulled Sara Jo and Precious through the passenger side doorway of the vehicle just as the seat cushion springs flew through the windshield into the underbelly of a cloud of bots. Metal fragments, plastic, rubber, vinyl, glass, automotive fluids of all sorts, and dirt and leaves were flung around them in a whirlwind of debris and noise. Once, the truck’s horn even honked. The metal from the canned goods popped open and the various foodstuffs contained within them were flung aside as discarded useless waste to the bots. The gooey mess flew around them, splattering everything in the whirlwind’s path.
Richard held the toddler under his bodyweight although the little tyke was kicking, screaming, and biting at him. But he was afraid if the kid got up a piece of flying debris would decapitate the little guy. Helena and Sara Jo used their bodies to shield Precious, who was also screaming the most gut-wrenching screeches. Between the children’s screams and the hellacious noise the bots made destroying the truck, it was difficult to concentrate on anything but holding still. And the horrific sound was something along the lines of crossing an overcrowded preschool at recess with a monster truck rally.
As quickly as
the bots had appeared they were flying away. Two of the bots were lagging behind and hovering about two feet above the ground flying sluggishly and waiting for something. They had both gathered enough raw materials from the truck and now were both twinning.
“Helena! Look!” Richard pointed to the twinning probe nearest to her.
Helena rose to her feet quickly, grabbing her club in a homerun hitter’s stance, and knocked the boomerang-shaped probe skittering in a shower of sparks across the ground like a stone skipping on a pond. The boomerang-shaped machine twisted and twirled across the road as it bounced and landed in a briar patch on the far side. She spun and jumped the six feet or so over a pile of truck rubble to the second twinning probe and commenced smashing it.
“Goddamn alien tings coulda killed dese babies!” She bashed it again. That particular bot was for certain dead. “Goddamn it you all to hell!”
The first bot she had batted out of the park was skittering around and around, tangled up in the thick briars on the side of the old logging road and could not seem to break free. She started toward it to pound it some more.
“No! Helena, wait. I want it alive!” Richard grabbed a torn canvas duffle bag and some other material made of nylon that was left over from the remains of Jeff’s tent. Richard rushed across the road, tossing the material in front of him, and tackled the bot, wrapping it in the bag. That didn’t work worth a damn. The bot threw him and the bag head over heels deeper into the briar patch, scratching him from head to toe. “Shit!”