by John Ringo
“The count is up to over a hundred,” the FEMA rep said. “We’ve managed to pick out thirty probable sites. Twenty have been surveyed. Five open gates, one into vacuum which displeased the guys that found it immensely; one of them nearly got sucked in. We sent out muon detectors to two of the ones that weren’t open, all the detectors we had and we’ve got a call in for more. They found inactive, I guess you’d call them, bosons at both. Close enough to the course track.”
“I’ve been trying to refine the course programming,” Robin said. “I’m getting it fined down somewhat. What bugs me is that it seems to be following a uniform sphere, congruent to the gravitational field.”
“It bugs me, too,” Weaver admitted. “And five open gates from twenty bugs me more. Because I think that means the others are ‘available’ and that means that the Titcher can open them.”
“That would be bad,” the FEMA rep said.
“Understatement of the century,” Bill replied. “Maybe of the millennium. How many base tracks are there?”
“Sixteen so far,” Crichton said. “Every now and again a boson takes off on its own merry way. But most of them have been sitting in those sixteen base tracks and most of them have been following a ‘top four.’ ”
“Which track is the Titcher track and is it the same as the Mreee track?”
“The Titcher track is designated track three,” Crichton said. “And, yes, the Mreee gate is on the same track. Disney and one other open, near Miami out in the Everglades are on track one. Boca and the Georgia eruption appear to be six and they’re the only two bosons that have come out of six.”
“Any dead bosons on track three?” Weaver asked.
“Oh, a shit-pot full,” Crichton said. “Sorry ma’am.”
“It’s okay,” Robin said.
“Okay, I’d say that those are a probable threat,” Bill said. “Just a hunch. But I’d say it’s a good area to point the military and local police towards. Open gates I don’t think the Titcher can attack. But closed ones they can and the ones that they’re most likely to be able to touch would be the ones on track three; those are the only ones that have been intentionally opened from the other side. Maybe the bosons on that one are really easy to detect or something; that would explain the Mreee as well. Oh, and maybe Boca, I’ve got no idea what Boca is.”
“I do,” Crichton said. “But it doesn’t help.”
“What?” Weaver asked noticing the pained looks on the faces of Earp and Noue.
“They don’t like the answer,” Crichton said, seriously. “It’s Cthulhu.”
“What?” Weaver said then shook his head. “Come on!”
In the 1920s a series of horror short stories had been written by a writer named Howard Phillips Lovecraft. The stories involved alien beings which had controlled earth in the depths of time and then died out or been driven out by other aliens, leaving the way open for the development of man. The aliens were also reported to be sealed away in remote places, such as the depths of the ocean, and from time to time tried to “awaken.” The best known of the stories was “The Call of Cthulhu” about just such an awakening.
“No, listen to me,” the sergeant snapped, shaking his head. “I’m not saying it’s actually Cthulhu but do you know the reason why H.P. Lovecraft started writing those stories?”
“No,” Weaver admitted. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to buy your logic. On the other hand, say your piece.”
“Lovecraft was a minor student of astrophysical science,” Crichton pointed out, earnestly. “He came to the conclusion that if man ever actually did meet aliens they were going to be so different that there would be no way that man could interact with them. And if they could cross the stars they would be so powerful and so advanced that they would consider us as no more than ants. Total indifference. The ‘evil’ aliens in the Lovecraft stories aren’t evil; they’re indifferent. But their indifference and power, not to mention weirdness, kills us. Just like we kill ants. I’m saying that whatever is in Boca Raton meets the Lovecraftian definition of an alien; a powerful alien being that is indifferent to the secondary effects it is causing. And those secondary effects are not a defense but a function of what it is.”
“That’s it?” Bill asked.
“Yeah,” Crichton said, sighing. “Stupid, huh?”
“Only in presentation,” Bill replied. “Look, you don’t say that ‘it’s Cthulhu.’ You say: ‘I think it’s a Cthulhoid form entity.’ ‘It is Cthulhu’ is both wrong, if you went up and asked it its name I sure hope it wouldn’t answer ‘Cthulhu,’ and a good way to get dismissed as a crackpot.”
“Yeah,” Earp noted. “I had. But that explanation almost makes sense. Why’s it driving people crazy, though?”
“Well, the answer to that is sort of out there,” Crichton said. “But think for a second about a species that finds quantum mechanics logical. I remember my physics professor joking about that and Lovecraft. There’s a game about those stories called Call of Cthulhu and any time you run into one of the monsters you have to roll a sanity check.”
“Never played it,” Weaver said. “But I get what you mean.”
“Anyway, he was always joking that we had to roll SAN check when we got into discussions of quantum mechanics. Now, think about a species that actually finds it logical.”
“Okay,” the physicist said, wincing.
“Did you make your SAN roll?” Crichton said, grinning.
“Barely,” Bill laughed. “I think I lost a couple of points, though.”
“All right. Now think about such a species that is totally logical, like a Vulcan, maybe even higher form sentient, totally sentient that is, it doesn’t have any subconscious. Just pure thought and logic.”
“Okay,” Bill replied.
“Now think about it if it’s a broadcasting telepathic.”
“Oh, hell,” Bill whispered. “Now I see what you mean. Not evil, just totally indifferent and bloody dangerous.”
“Bingo,” Crichton said. “A Cthulhoid entity. Its purpose is probably unknowable at our level.”
“It might not even be a real entity,” Robin suggested. “It might be something along the lines of a probe. All the ‘broadcast’ might be secondary effects from whatever it’s using for analysis of its surroundings.”
“Robin,” Bill said. “Write it up as a theory, post it to the Columbia research net with a suggestion that they try to get some sort of monitors in to see if we can pick up any specific traces of what it’s generating. I refuse to believe that anything is impossible to understand.”
“Even quantum mechanics?” Crichton said, smiling.
“Even quantum mechanics,” Bill answered. “What’s the word from Eustis?”
“The Titcher are in full control of both sides of the gate,” Earp replied. “More units from the 3rd ID have responded but they can’t regain control of the gate. They’ve managed to hold them to a perimeter but they’re taking horrible losses doing it.”
“Drop a nuke on it,” Weaver said.
“From orbit?” Crichton asked. “Only way to be sure?”
“Pretty much,” Weaver replied. “I don’t know if National Command Authority has caught up with what a problem the Titcher are. If we don’t push them back and close up that gate we’re toast. As a species, I mean, not just the United States.”
“They can only fit so much through the gate,” Earp protested. “We can hold them back; we just need to get enough troops in place.”
“And what if they open other ones?” Bill asked. “Besides, what we’re seeing is what they can fit through the gate. We haven’t seen what they’re throwing at the Mreee. I think what we’ve seen is the tip of the iceberg. Once they start growing forces on this side of the gate it’ll be all over but the shouting.” He sighed and rubbed his face. “I think I need to tell Washington how to run the war. Again.” He picked up his cell phone and punched in the number to the national security advisor.
“White House, National
Security Advisor’s Office.”
“This is Dr. Weaver. I need to talk to the NSA.”
“She’s in a meeting at the moment, can I take a message?”
“Ask her to call me back as soon as possible,” Bill said. “And she’ll have to get me authorized a secure link. There’s something she needs to know.” He turned to the three in the room and frowned. “Not one word of this conversation leaves this trailer, understood?”
“Understood,” Crichton said, looking at the other two. The two civilians looked shocked but they nodded their heads.
* * *
“You’re serious?” the NSA asked.
Bill hadn’t had any problems getting into the secure communications trailer. A light colonel had turned up, apparently briefed on the earlier SNAFU and abjectly apologetic. Passes had been tendered, a Humvee carried him over and he’d been ushered into the inner sanctum ahead of a line of officers including a very pissed-off-looking major general.
“Yes, ma’am,” Weaver said. “I would strongly suggest nuking the site and setting up something like a nuclear land mine at all the others.”
The NSA licked her lips and nodded. “Everyone is here right now. I think I can get them all free. Stay there and I’ll try to get them all into the Situation Room.”
Weaver waited patiently until the view changed from the NSA’s empty chair to the Situation Room. It was the same people he’d dealt with on Saturday. The President, the secretary of defense, the NSA and the Homeland Security director. They all looked worn; the director was actually looking haggard.
“Authorizations all straightened out, Doctor?” the SECDEF asked.
“Yes, sir, thank you.”
“Okay, Weaver,” the President said. “Explain why you think I should nuke one of my own cities.”
“Mr. President, what I learned from Mreee makes me think that it’s the best possible option and we can’t wait too long,” Bill said. “The Titcher have a standard method of invasion. They take a bridgehead, establish a terraforming colony and then start replicating themselves from biological material on the far side. The terraforming process involves some sort of biological that eats and destroys all local life, spreading out from the bridgehead. As they get more material, you can think of it as fertilizer, they start building more and more Titcher and larger and larger combat organisms. The Mreee hold them off with those ray guns, which from the sounds of their effect are pretty powerful. We don’t have any, yet, that I know of. Our tanks can just barely damage their worm tanks and from what the Mreee said, the worm tanks are the little weapons. If we don’t stop them, soon, we’ll be looking at Escape from Florida. And, sir, we’ve detected over thirty points that probably can be accessed by the Titcher and more are forming all the time. It might be necessary to nuke them not once, but repeatedly and in multiple different spots.”
The President closed his eyes and leaned forward in his chair, holding his head in his hands.
“I’ll take input from you one at a time,” he said, sitting up and straightening his shoulders. “Homeland Security?”
“I’d like to kick it to the secretary, Mr. President,” the Homeland Security director said. “We can evacuate the area. Most people have left of their own accord. Ten hours, maybe, to ensure evacuation. A clean weapon will minimize fallout. We can survive it. If Dr. Weaver is right, and we’ve gotten the same reports from the Defense and State personnel that have been meeting with the Mreee, then… I don’t see any choice. If they break out in a more populated area… that will be harder. Eustis… is a small town. Break out in Atlanta or Cleveland or Los Angeles and… I’m not sure that bears thinking on.”
“Mr. Secretary?” the President said.
“We have clean weapons,” the secretary said. “Reasonably clean. The fallout isn’t going to be that bad, especially if we can use an airburst, which will be hard because of their defenses. I’d wish we had neutron bombs but… we don’t. We’ve lost nearly a brigade, more including the initial National Guard force, trying, and failing, to hold the perimeter. We don’t have the forces to hold them, at present time, to a ground perimeter. I have been considering Dr. Weaver’s suggestion for the last few hours myself and I have to concur. Delivery, especially airburst delivery, will be… difficult.”
“National Security?” the President said.
“Concur,” was all she said.
The President steepled his fingers and nodded. “Dr. Weaver, thank you for your help. I, obviously, want you to continue with your work. I cannot stress enough the importance of determinating how to control this phenomenon. For your information my decision is affirmative. Means and methods will be left to the Department of Defense in consultation with the Department of Homeland Security. Keep this under your hat until an announcement is made.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Bill replied. “I will.”
The President looked up in annoyance at someone off the camera and Bill saw an officer carry a message form to the secretary of defense. The SECDEF looked at it, nodded and turned back to the camera.
“There’s been another Titcher breakout, this one in the hills of Tennessee,” the SECDEF said. “A team found it looking for one of the inactive bosons. It appears that they are already colonizing. Several hills are covered in what is described as ‘green fungus.’ Doctor Weaver appears to have hit the problem on the head.”
The President grabbed his head again and sighed, angrily.
“Doctor Weaver,” he said, looking the camera right in the eye. “You must figure out how to close these GATES.”
“I will, sir,” Bill said. “I will.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
“I have an authorized launch code, do you concur?” the captain of the USS Nebraska said.
“I concur,” the executive officer said, swallowing hard. They’d already reprogrammed the targeting of the missile.
“I concur,” the navigation officer said, pulling the red key out to hang on a necklace around his neck. The weapons officer was responsible for making sure the weapon launched and followed its track but if the sub didn’t know where it was then it would hit the wrong spot. There’s no such thing as a “near miss” with a nuke. Be off by a fraction and it was going to hit Orlando or Gainesville for sure. They’d checked the course track twice and even gone up to periscope depth for a GPS reading. It still didn’t make him happy to be firing a nuke at Central Florida.
“Concur,” the engineering officer said. He already had his key dangling from his hand.
“Concur,” the weapons officer said. The youngest of the five officers required for launch authorization was silently crying.
“Insert keys,” the captain said. When all five were inserted he continued. “On my count of three, one, two, three,” and they all turned. They actually had a few fractions of seconds to play with but it was best to be sure. Green lights turned red and a klaxon started going off.
“Tube twelve is opened,” the weapons officer said. “Tube twelve is armed and reports ready to fire.” His hand shook over the covered switch.
“I’ll take it,” the captain said. He stepped up behind the weapons officer and lifted up the switch. “Are we targeted?”
“All clear,” the weapons officer said, stepping back from a board he never wanted to see again in his life.
“Firing,” the captain said, flipping the switch downward.
There was a dull rumble and then a shaking sensation as pressurized gas pushed the missile out into the water and then the missile ignited. The sub was moving and it ignited behind them but it still sounded like a depth charge going off close alongside.
“Send message to COMSUBLANT,” the captain said to the communications officer. “1432 hours Zulu, this date, launched one missile from tube twelve. Target Eustis, Florida.”
* * *
It had been necessary to do more than simply clear the area. The Russians were barely a nuclear power anymore but they still maintained a nuclear watch and informing them was a good way to
avoid an accidental WWIII. Then there had been the press, and the United Nations. There had been acrimonious recriminations even before the launch on Tennessee, which, because it was an uninhabited area, had occurred first. Protests had broken out in Washington, New York and San Francisco, not to mention throughout Europe where major riots were reported. The there was the Nuclear Test Ban Treaty which prohibited nuclear testing, especially aboveground. A Presidential Finding had been written covering the fact that this was not a Test but an act of war. The Test Ban Treaty didn’t cover those. Despite that fact, France, China and Pakistan had all immediately stated that they considered the treaty nullified and intended to restart nuclear testing immediately.
The Titcher had engaged the MIRV warheads on the way down. There had been some fear that the nukes might prematurely detonate — the Titcher weapons seemed to form some sort of fusion reaction when they impacted — but that was not the case. Four of the MIRV warheads from the first firing and three in Eustis made it through the Titcher fire and detonated.
“We’ve been asked to warn people, again, not to look in the direction of Eustis,” the anchorman said. He looked haggard and worn from being on camera for most of the last three days. He was doing voice-over for low-light camera which currently showed an open field with a line of pines at the far end, the moon rising in the background. “Our cameras have been specially shielded but anyone looking at the impact from within about fifty miles is going to be flash-blinded. If you experience flash blindness, call your local 911 operator and remain calm. The blindness will pass. Everyone within seventy miles of the event is reminded to please open windows in your home and take pictures off the wall. Secure fragile objects. The military says that the impact will be at any time. All we can do, is wait.”
There was a short, unusual, period of silence on the television and then the screen flashed white. The camera that had been being used for feed was not shielded but New York switched immediately to another which was and the video showed a series of domes of fire. The light must have been blinding; it was bright even through the heavy filters on the camera.