Moving Earth

by Dean C. Moore

  The one-on-one fire that then ensued between the scientists at each workstation, and the Kang drone focused just on that workstation, allowed the Kang to assess what each Los Alamos Labs weapon could do, and whether it was worthy of their interest or not. If not, they adjusted the setting on their pulse rifles, and obliterated the scientist firing at them and his work station, or more properly speaking, bore a fat hole through both, the weapon no more impressed by animate matter than inanimate matter.

  The Kang were definitely here for the weapons, to find out what they could do, and take what would assist them in their war effort against the humans.

  Apparently, Cassandra had come to the same assessment, and deciding they had what they needed, stood up, moving into the open. She grew the Medusa-headed snakes she needed to to lash out at each of the Kang combatants spread across the room, at least metaphorically speaking. She obviously had been listening on Leon’s COMMS chatter with Thor. The freshly grown buckyfullerine strands of hair on Cassandra’s head, as each of the eight strands continued their growing, whip-like motions, took off the heads of the eight Kang in the room simultaneously.

  Crumley smiled. “I do appreciate how much this woman saves me on bullets. We can pack so much lighter, you know?”

  Omega Force and Alpha Unit came out of hiding from behind their fortifications on cue. The remaining scientists cheered them, though it was Cassandra that had dispatched the adversaries. Leon did a quick survey of the dead Kang bodies prostrate throughout the hangar—dead not on account of Cassandra’s handiwork but the Los Alamos scientists’ weapons fire.

  “Patent,” Leon said, “have your Alpha Unit teens assess those Las Alamos weapons, to make sure we’re getting the most out of them. But we know all we need to know for now. I’ll get Mother to beam down sufficient printers so we can scan them and replicate them rapid-fire. I’ll have her beam printers to all the Earth’s hot spots under attack with the schematics of these Los Alamos rifles. It’s doubtful any of the other secret installations are as well prepared as Los Alamos to repel alien invasions. They’ll appreciate what weapons we can send them.”

  “And Los Alamos’s toys are easier to explain than ours for the day when this is all over, if we have to pretend we were never here, to say nothing of the Kang’s.” Patent nodded. But his Alpha Unit cadets were not in the custom of awaiting anyone’s approval when it came to playing with new toys. They’d already ripped the ones that had shown any effectiveness against the Kang out of the hands of the shivering scientists, to see what all their features were and to make sense of their technology.

  Omega Force meanwhile was shouldering their weapons to get their hands on the Kang rifles. They didn’t give a damn about the science behind them; they were a bit more results oriented.

  Leon observed the printers beaming in, courtesy of Mother. The Alpha Unit cadets wasted no time sticking the Los Alamos assault rifles inside so they could be scanned and replicated across the planet.

  By all rights, Leon should be duplicating the Kang rifles and sending them out, too, to protect Earth’s installations with the best tech available. But he had to tread carefully there, as Patent had already hinted. Earth’s leadership was still entirely corrupt, and not to be trusted with such largesse. Besides, Mother might well need time to assess the Kang weapons before she could reproduce them, assuming she could break the codes on the materials science involved with their makeup at all.

  “Let’s hope we’re not too late,” Patent said, regrouping beside Leon. “This was a simultaneous assault across the planet, after all. We may just be stocking up the enemy if they’ve already squelched resistance everywhere else they landed.”

  “Our luck can’t be that bad,” Leon said.

  “No, no. This is a good day, relatively speaking,” Patent said, deadly serious.

  TWENTY-THREE

  EARTH

  NORAD HIGH COMMAND

  “General Santos, sir.” Lieutenant Darcy handed him one of the rifles currently being spit out of a computer printer one floor below.

  “We haven’t been breached yet, Lieutenant!” he snapped at her before panning his head to the monitors of the command room, buried well inside the mountain, as with the rest of the NORAD compound. The big screens showed various versions of the truth—all of which he’d like to deny. On one window to the outside world, the alien caste of giants was tunneling through the mountain with their bare hands. They would be inside the compound in another few minutes.

  As to forestalling the inevitable…

  Another monitor showed the ceaseless bombardment being carried out by U.S. fighter jets circling the mountain like raging black hornets. They had tried dropping every possible payload and were currently dumping small-scale tactical nukes. Just big enough to make the land unlivable for a hundred miles in all directions. Fine by him; they could use a little more privacy. But the alien giants were as unimpressed by the nukes as by every other incendiary they’d tried. Christ, if we survive this, we’ll have to report to work in the mornings from now on wearing hazmat suits!

  The other big screen monitor showed the smaller alien caste duking it out with NORAD’s robotic division. The smaller aliens were swarming the ground like red ants, the “black ants” or NORAD robots doing their best to repel them. The robots knew enough to duck the bombardment by jumping out of the way of the direct impacts in the nick of time. And their body armor made them immune to EMP blasts; anything but one of those bombs directly to the face and they were virtually unstoppable.

  Apparently, however, due to gross oversight on someone’s part—and he’d have their asses for it—the robots were not alien-proof.

  About all the humanoid robots could do to them was punch them hard enough to send them flying. But one punch from one of the aliens, and the NORAD robots were severely disabled. The fights did not last long. As to the roving half-tracks and tanks—all autonomous—their .50 caliber weapons, tank turrets, laser weapons, grenade launchers—were about as useless as the bombs the fighters were dropping. About all they could do was push back the alien ascent of the mountain to the entrance door temporarily, buying those inside just enough time to find a pistol and shoot themselves with it, and possibly blow up everything inside before the aliens got their hands on it.

  Those robot troops, the humanoid-shaped models, as much as the drone tanks and half-tracks and ATVs, were made with complex metal polymers that were immune to most anything, just not immune enough.

  General Santos sighed. He was pushing seventy and offered a chance to retire just yesterday. Yesterday would have been a hell of a day to retire. He could have taken up a new job the day after as a private consultant, helping people to avoid death they were sure was forthcoming.

  He’d aged another ten years since the assault began twenty minutes ago.

  “Sir,” Lieutenant Darcy said, trying to pull him out of his reverie and his defeatism, though technically that was his job, snapping others out of their shell shock, implied by the four stars on his shoulders. He’d be happy to recount how he’d earned all four stars to anyone who would listen. Though after today, he doubted anyone would. “These rifles, sir, they can stop the Kang cold.”

  “We don’t have any technology, Lieutenant…”

  “They’re from Los Alamos, sir. And the computer printer is hemorrhaging them out in numbers sufficient to the task.”

  “Since when do we have a computer printer from Los Alamos that can spit out weapons?”

  “We’re looking into that, sir, but honestly, not too hard. We can figure out who to thank later.”

  “How do you know those aliens didn’t send us that computer printer as a Trojan horse?”

  “What choice do we have, sir?”

  There was no arguing her point. He simply nodded as the latest wave of defeatist emotions swept over him.

  “Deploy the new weapon,” Lieutenant Darcy said into her wrist COMMS. No defeatism in her voice. She actually sounded excited. Maybe if he could still secrete
half as much adrenaline as she could without incurring a heart attack or a stroke in the process, he’d feel the same.

  General Santos watched the big screen as the latest robots rushed out with the exotic rifles in hand. It only took one shot with one of those computer-printed weapons to slice through the Kang where other, similar laser weapons had failed. The giants fell as quickly as the regular-sized aliens. Santos had to admit that seeing scores of Kang cut in half in one sweep of a discharging Los Alamos rifle was a gratifying site.

  “Are those human troops on the heels of those robots?” General Santos asked.

  “Special Forces, sir. They’re like fighter pilots who refuse to hand over control of their planes to automation. They don’t fully trust the robots.”

  “I’m not sure I’d be working the job security angle on a day like this, but God bless them.”

  Santos eyed Darcy’s silver skull cap with spikes coming out of it that rotated on turrets, all self-targeting. The cap itself was fed off the lines leading from behind her ears to her waist belt. The buckle, specifically, was a miniature nuclear power pack. The spikes on the cap discharged electrical rays, like a Tesla bulb. The price for wearing the cap was she had to keep her head shaved. Santos doubted she considered it a big price to pay. He wasn’t sure what to think about the next generation on line other than, it was one more reason he should have gotten out when the getting out was good.

  The room shook as a wall exploded.

  General Santos was hacking from the smoke and dust in the air. One of several robots in the room positioned as security for the human high command – one per customer – caught a piece of rebar from the several-foot-thick exploded cement wall before it pierced the general through the heart.

  Lieutenant Darcy wasn’t wasting any time with her computer-printed weapon, dispatching one after another of the aliens pouring in to the command chamber. She had also thought to outfit the robots in the room with the Los Alamos weapons. Those robots were currently saving their butts. The ones they couldn’t target fast enough, Darcy was blowing back with the lightning-like rays from her skullcap, giving the robots time to target the aliens and destroy them.

  Darcy had earned a promotion after today for having the sense to act quickly and to trust in the unknown. As far as Santos was concerned, she could have his job. He trusted her more than the rest of the half-assed generals around here.

  The aliens, despite being defenseless before the Los Alamos weapons, weren’t just sitting there doing their best to be moving targets. They were busy creating some havoc of their own.

  In the last few seconds, all the monitors had gone dark, and banks and banks of computers had gone offline.

  Santos actually felt relieved. Better that than the enemy make off with crucial information.

  But he’d spoken too soon.

  The banks and banks of computer workstations had gone off in quick succession as a result of one of the aliens pulling out some device they’d used to jack into NORAD’s intranet. Even without a USB port or any physical connection, the devices—looking more like ray guns—had evidently ported out what they needed, and that’s why the aliens had shut down the network.

  Santos noted that the ones who had gotten the information they’d come for didn’t exactly retreat so they could escape with it. They stood their ground.

  Lieutenant Darcy, her trim figure filling out her uniform a little too well in his estimation, bent down to retrieve the hacking device that had fallen out of the alien’s hand the instant her weapon caught him.

  “You think it’s possible that thing could have beamed the gathered intel out of here, through miles of earth and rock?” Santos asked, even as blood spewed from his mouth, his gasps punctuating each eruption.

  “It would explain why none of them could be bothered to protect the device or flee with it,” she said, turning it over in her hands. “Should I be worried, sir? I mean, what can they learn from us that really matters if they can hurl meteors better than we can throw rocks?”

  General Santos thought about it. It wasn’t like they were Los Alamos, with access to the really cool toys. Their tech was likely ten years behind the learning curve, if not more, considering how long some of those droid jets buzzing NORAD had been flying, and how long NORAD’s weapons had been stockpiled.

  But NORAD did monitor military satellite communications for the planet—including chatter pertaining to bases that “didn’t exist” should anyone ask. That was as true of their own secret installations as it was of their enemies. And many of those compounds had some cool toys of their own that might well work to repel an alien invasion. Some were buried even more underground than NORAD. Some were in Space, disguised as an innocuous satellite, or, if the tech was too big for that, it was an actual base of operations, and it was cloaked, using technology based on certain Tesla concepts that had only recently been perfected by Los Alamos—though that was just a hopeful rumor, if anyone asked, including most of the generals around here.

  Technically, they didn’t have a space command—if anyone should ask. Or spaceships. Far less a space fleet. And neither did anyone else—on the record. As far as NASA’s space navy went, post-Trump, well, that was more puppet theater or the decoy patrol to keep eyes pointed away from anything truly interesting.

  And the General doubted that what was actually orbiting the earth now was doing much but trying to get out of the way of the asteroids, without surrendering their cloaking that was likely the only thing keeping the ships from disintegrating on impact. They sure as hell couldn’t do anything to repel asteroids.

  All of which begged the ugly question—just what was repelling those asteroids?

  If it weren’t for the energy dome about NORAD, the asteroid bombardment would have taken them out before anyone even knew what hit them. And according to computer analyses, asteroids were being deflected not just over NORAD, but over other key military and strategic locations throughout the US and around the world. Even if whatever was running interference up there couldn’t stop everything.

  So, what was going on in space that not even his security clearance was good enough for? He had access to intel the President didn’t, for Christ’s sake, and not just because the President needed plausible deniability. Because the deep state wasn’t about to let some elected-for-four-to-eight-years-asshole in on things that could jeopardize the stability of the planet.

  Did they have alien benefactors as well as alien aggressors in the sky?

  Or was this some corporate asset that some corporate consortium—which alone could afford such an asset—couldn’t be bothered to let governments in on? Because, after all, since the multi-billionaire oligarchs took over the US government by channeling their influence through Super Pac funds and anonymous organizations to buy every politician who needed buying, putting a quick end to democracy, even he was just another corporate employee. And what CEO tells his employees everything?

  His mind was digressing again; perhaps the privilege of old age. But Lieutenant Darcy’s question begged an answer. And she’d earned one, even if he couldn’t tell her everything. “I’m afraid if that message got out, Lieutenant, a lot more bases will fall, ones far more strategic to the Earth’s defenses than NORAD.”

  Her eyes went wide. The poor, naïve girl actually thought NORAD was still at the top of the food chain. In an age of centralized military power, they well might be. But in a de-centralized age, when only fools created obvious targets that, if taken out, could cripple national and world defenses, they hardly merited even this much attention from the sky gods anymore—barring, of course, what could come from taking a peek at NORAD’s COMMS system.

  “We’re in real trouble now,” Santos said. “Pity that weapon couldn’t have come a bit sooner.”

  His body was turning to stone. What the hell? Had he taken another hit and was just too shell-shocked to feel it? No. He was having a heart-attack. He should know to recognize them by now; this was his third. “I’m ceding control of th
is compound to you, Darcy. If you have… if you have to shoot a few unhappy generals to do the job, feel…feel free. They aren’t worth their weight in water.” General Santos’s final words had come out in gasps, and in a halting manner, like all the others.

  ***

  LOS ALAMOS LABS, NEW MEXICO

  Leon and his team exited the airplane hangar after their confrontation with the Kang that, surprisingly enough, had gone in their favor.

  It was hard to ignore that the energy dome was no longer protecting the Los Alamos compound.

  That was the second time in as many minutes that they were lucky to be alive.

  “What the hell?” he blurted.

  “The protective dome is down, sir, because the Kang have changed targets,” Satellite informed him.

  “No enemy in their right mind would deprioritize taking out this place,” Leon replied, still staring at the skies disbelievingly.

  “I was hacking NORAD, sir,” Satellite explained, “interested in what other installations they might know about that we don’t. Looks like the Kang had the same idea. And now that they have that information, they know where the real threats are to them.”

  Leon groaned. It was going to be a long day. “How long can those compounds withstand this kind of shelling?”

  “Most are far better protected,” Satellite advised. “And the Nautili will continue to do their part. The Nautili are also monitoring all strategic communications on the planet. But…”

  “It’s just a matter of time.” Leon rubbed his forehead. “You know what, I’m done playing whack-a-mole with these guys. I assume Alpha Unit has Natty in hiding somewhere.”

  “We never leave home without our team mascot, sir. That would just be bad luck,” Ariel said. She got on her remote control device and worked the joystick and buttons.