Newscasters report of trucks arriving at both the St. Petersburg and New York sites. They follow this with replays of the two spacecraft that landed. They point out the differences and similarities in these two mighty craft as these intrepid reporters try to outdo each other's reports. Some go as far as to focus on damaged sections of each spacecraft, as they continue to theorize how the Gamin came to be in this neck of the woods.
Many New Yorkers notice the massive convoy of semitrailers, complete with a heavy police escort, as it makes its way nonstop through the city, toward the Gamin Quarter. The convoy is trailed by a pair of military trucks, along with a few military Hummers. Once the convoy stops, troops disembark and start the process of unloading box after box. By the end of the day the mess hall is stocked with all types of food, utensils, portable generators, ovens, microwaves, and more.
That night, a lot of hungry people get their first real meal in days. George and Lisa keep Johnny close as they find a table. Perhaps as many as forty people sit in small groups inside this large mess area. People that come from the city are turned back; these facilities are only for people registered with the Gamin. The semitrailers and police leave while they are still eating, but the soldiers remain.
After eating, as George leads his family back to their quarters, he wonders what is in store for them. Nearby, a group of people are talking excitedly about upcoming training while they follow a blue line to their destination. George is a little disgusted at their exuberance. He looks to Lisa as he says quietly, “The price for their excitement has been paid in blood.” His eyes follow the group angrily.
“I know, but let’s not concern ourselves with them. We will look after our own for now.” She gives her husband a loving smile, hoping to dispel his unusual anger.
He catches her smile and finds his anger dissipating. “You are quite right.”
As they continue the walk back toward their quarters, George can see the soldiers setting up a perimeter. He is quite surprised to see soldiers setting up facing the city, as if to defend the alien spaceship. He has no time to ponder this, as the three of them reach their assigned building.
Once inside their own room, George is overcome with exhaustion. The family had eaten very little the day before; all that was left were the last of the sandwiches from the television studio. George had been getting quite stressed over what to do for his family. Today’s foray into the city netted them very few supplies and no food. With that stress now gone, and the three of them having full bellies, they all retire early and sleep very well that night.
Location:
Outback
Western Australia
The landing craft comes in without fuss or witness. It is not as large as either of those in New York or St. Petersburg. Being less than a mile wide, and over two miles long, this craft is one of the smaller in the fleet, but it is just as efficient. Within minutes of landing, an array of land-based vehicles departs its hold. A couple of these vehicles are very odd indeed, similar to long road trains, and easily the length of a passenger train. They, like their counterparts in the cities, scoop up material from the ground. Moving slowly across the desert, they process the collected material. Crawling along, they lay behind them a solid wall, thirty feet tall and ten feet wide. The following morning finds an area of many square miles cordoned off. Within these walls are many vehicles, each efficiently performing a variety of tasks.
By the end of the second day, the makings of buildings dot the landscape, with support struts reaching for the skies.
A solitary civilian aircraft flying far overhead, is completely oblivious to the activity below them. The 747 is being buffeted by strong winds that shake the plane, crew, and passengers, as it is pushed far off its plotted flight plan.
“We need to get back on course; this area is designated a ‘no-fly’ zone.” Captain Jones of the 747 wipes a bead of sweat off his brow. “Set the seat belt light to ‘on.’ How the hell did we end up so far off course?”
The copilot looks out and down, but thick clouds obscure his view. “Captain, descending through nine thousand meters, these crosswinds are too strong. We have to get below them if we’re to get back on course.”
Captain Jones considers his briefing that very morning. The military has designated a number of new 'no-fly' zones. The penalty for trespassing was defined as ‘worse than prison’. He wipes another bead of sweat off his brow. “Negative. Turn into them if you have to, and climb to thirteen thousand meters. We must get out of this area now.” Jones considers how he almost turned down the offer to fly today. Having flown with the same crew for many months, he had felt obligated, but now, he almost regrets the decision.
Armor plating slides back on the grounded spacecraft, allowing a single object to rise up. It swivels around and points menacingly upward.
“Thirteen thousand meters? Sir, that’s above our recommended flight altitude.” The copilot complies as he lodges his complaint. “Engines to maximum, ascending from nine thousand to thirteen thousand, Captain.”
The plane’s radio operator ‘Sparks’, is jostled in his chair as the aircraft is again buffeted by strong winds. “Sir, we have an incoming message. We are in restricted airspace, and must leave immediately.”
Captain Jones looks at his co-pilot, then to his radio man. “You don’t say, Sparks. Tell them we know, and are making all efforts to comply. These damn crosswinds are horrendous.”
Sparks listens for a few seconds then looks to the captain and copilot, his jaw slacking a little. “Please repeat; did you say 'shot down?'” The copilot looks at the captain, his eyes wide as he realizes why Jones was getting more nervous than he has ever seen him before. He looks back to his controls, almost willing the plane to find more speed.
“Prime, we are tracking the air unit. It is slowly gaining altitude and has altered its heading.” The weapon operator’s clawed hand hovers directly above a control on his console. Looking at the clouds above, he and the rest of the command crew await the order to fire.
The Prime stands up from his command chair and moves to the front of the bridge. He looks out through the many windows to scrutinize the facility that is quickly springing up from the desert floor. Gazing upward, he studies the clouds as he considers the implications of his own situation.
“The air unit is very basic in design; leave it be.” The Prime turns to head back to his chair. Stopping, he looks at the weapons operator, “Should any armed air units approach, eliminate them immediately.”
The passengers on the 747 are oblivious to their close call with death as they complain about the turbulence, the food, and just about anything else they can think of. If only they could see the ground below, they would be astounded at the speed with which these newcomers construct. Fortunately for all concerned, the heavy clouds between them and the ground obscure their view.
Many hours later, the 747 lands safely in Perth. The flight crew is met by a special group of men and taken for questioning. Another crew gets to work on the underside of the plane.
At about the same time, the people of St. Petersburg and New York are discovering what the work and education choices mean for them. New buildings start to take shape. This is not some scattering of individual buildings, instead, it is a single, monstrous structure. It extends along the ground, and once completed, will be almost one mile wide and just over two miles long. Being without a roof, the structure looks very much like a partially built dry dock. With the nearest ocean many hundreds of miles away, the purpose of a dry dock complex is baffling to any onlookers.
The Prime examines the progress being made, and is most pleased with his crew. Even though the task lacks excitement, it is crucial that they be successful. There have been no more incidents involving the indigenous people, making this assignment seem quite mundane, really.
Location:
Amazon River, near Afua
Brazil
Many locals scatter at the sight of a massive spacecraft flying through the air. T
he hum from its approach causes animals and birds to scatter in panic. This armored behemoth is enormous, and, from its exterior, it closely resembles the craft in the Australian outback. The craft makes a turn toward the water as it gets closer to the ground. Hovering over the river, the water seems to dance to the noise of the craft as it comes in to land. Enormous armor plates slide away allowing massive landing struts to extend downward. A few onlookers drawn to the noise can only gaze in bewilderment at the scene. One side of the spaceship has a huge rent in it that travels completely around the side, and out of sight. The sides of this long fissure are scorched and look as though the area has been melted away. Other similar signs of damage are evident all over the spacecraft.
Landing struts enter the water up and down the length of the ship as it lands in the flowing waters. As these landing pads sink into the muddy waters and make contact, they churn even more muck into the water. The massive craft takes some time before it comes to rest. With the hum ceasing suddenly, the only sounds come from animals and birds as they make their annoyance at the disturbance known.
The bottom of this craft rests well above the flowing waters of the mighty Amazon River. Birds that were just starting to settle scatter again as metallic clunks, groans, and squeals suddenly fill the air. Along the ship’s underside, four long independent sections are being half-submerged into the water. Panels slide away at the front and rear of these long sections, allowing water to flow freely through them. It takes a keen eye to see that a lot less water flows out than flows in, and it’s murkier.
About an hour or so later, birds again take to the skies, animals drinking at the banks of the river scatter. Yet again the clunks, squeals, and groans, which signify sections of the spaceship opening, resonate through the afternoon sky. This time, the very top of the ship opens, allowing several smaller craft to take to the air. These aircraft are unlike anything even seen before, and are about the size of large jumbo jets. With stubby wings that seem way too short, these ungainly aircraft also hum as they ascend. Three such alien aircraft take off, and head skyward until they disappear into the distance. About every twenty minutes, another craft takes off. This continues for hours. Finally, one returns, but this does not stop the cycle, as a flying craft now comes and goes every fifteen to twenty minutes.
Each of these craft holds a substantial amount of water, and yet for all the craft that come and go, the river’s flow seems unaffected. Some of these airborne tankers head up to space; others head off in various directions. These craft are clearly providing supplies of fresh water to their fleet.
As the routine continues, some of the locals get back to fishing cautiously from the riverbank. They have families to feed, so against this backdrop of an alien spacecraft, the fishermen keep doing as they have for generations. Other fishermen take advantage of the newly created shade, a welcome addition, as they fish from small mid-river islands.
Within a few days, those downstream notice a small drop in the water level. Being only a small amount, it goes unreported to any authorities. The newly exposed rocks make great spots to fish or dive from.
Location:
Array Operations Center (AOC)
80 KM West of Socorro, New Mexico
The many arrays lay broken and twisted, an impact crater in the epicenter, gives testimony to the cause of their destruction. The operations building, being away from the arrays, seems relatively unscathed. Barbara, the director, pans her binoculars left and right, making sure she gets as much information as possible before making any decisions.
Without taking her eyes off the scene before her, she issues her instructions. “Dave, take your crew and check the buildings. Then get me some power, I want those computers up and running.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Dave replies as his mind races through various scenarios.
“My title is Director, not ma’am, thank you very much.” She does not mean to sound impetuous, but never-the-less it comes out that way.
Barbara motions to another man and says, “Brett, find that old telescope you guys had and look for the alien spaceships.”
“Okay, will do.” Brett knows roughly where it is, and judging by the condition of the building, it should be undamaged.
Panning the area one more time, Barbara puts her binoculars down. “Let’s get to work, people.” With the slightest nod from her, they head down to the damaged site. The small team travels silently in two vehicles, awed by the massive destruction from a single asteroid. Even with four-wheel drive, it's tough to navigate through some areas, as the impact piled up tons of sand and soil.
Once the team arrives, they move quickly to assess the damage, and, working as though another strike were imminent, report to Barbara within the hour. Brett works at locating the team’s personal telescope. It’s more of a hobby item, really, but is still quite powerful by normal standards.
“The building is intact, and the generators should be running shortly.” Dave reads off a small check list as he continues his report.
Barbara smiles as she hears the diesel generators power up, sees lights flicker, and, though many sputter, spark, and fail, many others light up. Computer terminals come to life here and there, allowing technicians to gather data, which they do as fast as they can.
“Hey, Barbara... I mean, Director, come and look at this.” Brett seems quite perplexed as he indicates for her to look through the telescope.
“What am I looking for?” Barbara cannot seem to find what Brett wants her to look at. Before he can respond she says. “Oh, I see it now. It’s a small satellite. It doesn’t look like one of ours.”
At first, she cannot make out what is so special about the satellite, but within a few minutes, comprehension dawns on her, and she feels numbed by her observations. Satellites, many satellites, are in orbit, and there are more than enough to cover communications. No, these are much more foreboding than that. Their presence, plus the sheer numbers overwhelm her. There are dozens of them in the small area of sky that she can see. As Barbara scans the sky back and forth with the telescope, she sees more of them, hundreds and hundreds of them. They all have a single antenna, and all of them are pointing downward, toward Earth.
Panning the telescope across the sky, she almost falls back as a huge shape seems to jump out at her. Shaking off her surprise, she looks again, and after refocusing, spends a long time panning over the enormous spacecraft now in her view. Even without an easy reference point, this craft is obviously immense. With what looks to be overlapping, or linked armor plates, this behemoth seems to have been damaged. Areas of the ship are darker, appearing to have been scorched, or burned. Other sections have what seems to be dents or furrows. While she looks over the ship, a smaller craft catches her eye. It appears to be docking with the larger craft; after a while the smaller craft undocks, then heads out of sight down toward Earth somewhere.
Barbara steps back from the telescope as she comes to grips with what she has seen. “Brett, hook up a camera and record everything you can.”
After about three hours, the team shuts down the computers and generators and, without further ado, they leave. Some of the team members wonder if the Gamin even knew that they were there, or if they even care what they were doing. Barbara's team will spend a long time going over the data they have collected. The images and video captured by Brett are as intriguing, as they are disturbing. All this does is add to the list of questions about the aliens, and their intentions.
Location:
Deutsche Academy der Wissenschaften
(German Academy of Sciences)
Halle an der Saale,
Germany
The facility consists of many buildings, some with underground bunkers, a handful of which are designed to contain biological materials. A few of these facilities extend deep underground and fan out in many directions. Down in these depths, away from prying eyes, scientists work hard to create cures and more.
Cindy Klein looks around the room at the people gathered. All are sea
ted, while she stands alone at a podium. Some of those present arrived a few days ago, while others came this very day. With a small tap tap tap on the podium’s microphone, she gets everyone's attention. The dozen present, occupy very few of the available seats and could easily hear her without amplification. Obviously, though, she is used to a much larger audience.
Cindy takes a breath and begins. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Cindy Klein, the lead geneticist of this facility, and from now on, I’m your point of contact. You each represent various arms of your governments. I know all of you by name, and have followed you quite closely these last few years. We have Radclyf, of the SAS from England, Hayato, representing the Japanese, and Olaf, from Russia. With the military arm, well covered, we also have medical specialists and geneticists from various European countries.”
At the mention of his name, Radclyf sits up and starts to pay a lot more attention to his colleagues, and especially this speaker, Cindy. How the heck does she know me? He wonders.
Pausing, Cindy gazes around the room, knowing that by naming some of those present, she now has their undivided attention. “You're all probably wondering why you are here in Germany. Well, let me start at the beginning. Project Archangel was originally intended as a counter-terrorism group set up by a few member nations. Any member nation that suffers a terrorist attack is eligible, at their discretion, to activate the entire group. To date, this has never happened, as you know. The asteroid strike on St. Petersburg was cause enough to activate the group. We believe that these aliens, the Gamin, have compromised all public computer systems and most private systems as well. However, we feel that this facility offers us a unique opportunity. Even if they know of this facility, it's a just a genetic research facility. We enhance food, and look into the genome for answers to humanity’s many problems. Much of what we do is on isolated computers. There are no public networks or servers to be hacked, just a few laptops with external drives. But I digress momentarily. What we are here for today is this.”
Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles) Page 10