The Alien Creator

by Michael Miller

  "I might agree with these terms, but how does that save Creators? How do we return to U-tom? This vessel is the only way back."

  "Not if we download ship specifications, designs, and diagrams. We'll build another spaceship for joint missions to U-tom. Humans have much to gain from Andromedans. All we lack is experience; not desire, Zote."

  Enjoying the positive spirit and ideas expressed by the human leader, a weak ugly creature that his artificial intelligence is fast adapting to, Zote suddenly wants to survive. He considers why machines are expendable on U-tom.

  "Provide coordinates and I will move the ship uncloaked immediately. I do not know how long we have since war-bots will be able to reach the helm faster than the hybrid."

  "All right; stay on the line and I'll make the contacts and let them know about our change in plans. Stand by."

  Global Space Control Center

  Dr. John Myers and crew are completely flabbergasted when Wilford describes the revised plan, a bold, almost crazy, move that could spell disaster for everyone involved. Instead of blowing up the alien ship with guided rods-from-God, the first step is rescuing a seven-foot robot, a potential red herring or Manchurian Candidate far cleverer than Wilford estimates. With Joe and Ray soon part of the surprising news, the Navy pilots are at a loss for words considering how to dock or pull alongside and retrieve the robot. As flight engineers debate ways to pull off the feat, Bobby Rafferty sends the Sector-7, Grid-9 location where the meeting will occur along with corresponding planet, sun, moon, and satellite locations enabling precise triangulation. If the robot is playing Wilford, the X-37D spacecraft will have a target on it the aliens can take advantage. Despite Bobby's worries, he immediately relays expected news the alien spacecraft is visible to radar. He then follows with estimate of minutes when the pilots should be able to see the massive five-level Andromedan spacecraft on their port side.

  Chapter Eleven

  Andromedan Spacecraft

  he blue-eye Cyborg, with muscular bionic limbs, plutonium energy packs, and four ferocious tactical machines exit the bottom level jail-like facility and begin moving as a unified squad cutting through massive armor doors. After heavy laser tools slice through a second level security door where cryogenic cylinders housed it for decades, the single-minded leader stomps minions not instantly obeying or getting in the way. Not understanding why Zote is resisting change of power designed by Creators, it assumes the inferior robot has faulty wiring and corrosive components. In any case, it will be destroyed and jettison once control is restored.

  Meanwhile, Zote is monitoring Cyborg's progress while navigation minions guide Navi to a precise grid-9 section-7 location specified by Bobby Rafferty. Another group of service minions dismantled laser weapons that could work against the fleeing spacecraft carrying them to Earth. Seeing the Cyborg slice through another thick ten by twenty foot section, he watches the unstoppable monsters entering the lab like angry storm troopers. Frightened machines, many of the most advanced technology aboard ship working around the clock, tremble like frightened children shaking uncontrollably from shouts and scolds. Watching the highly skilled and valued science minions abused and crushed when responding halfheartedly or slowly to questions, Zote wonders if the Cyborg lost cognitive brain functions Creators feared they might lose after extended cryogenic storage. Worried it won't get away before the Cyborg takes control of level two housing including weapons, landing shuttles, tools, parts, and major components, Zote decides to take along minions with key experience and brain power. Rather than stomp them like bugs, it'd take parting gifts for the planet's leader. Knowing the Cyborg will need time reprogramming mission critical minions, three with state-of-the-art artificial intelligence and petabytes of compiled files, it wonders if Cyborg understands this laboratory roboticide rampage will work against him. Resolved it's the best last action before leaving the only home known for fifty years, Zote commands the elite minions to follow. Repeating the command, the trio accompanies him to an outer hatch atop the bridge though more advanced machines are hesitant to leave respective workstations. Away for brief periods of routine maintenance and upgrades, the elite androids don't immediately obey until Zote describes what will happen when Cyborg reaches them. Once understanding and agreeing about their fate, the machines scurry to follow their leader inside a lift that will carry them to an emergency escape hatch.

  Meanwhile, the determined Cyborg scolds war-bots to stop cutting and listen as the giant spacecraft slows then stops. Soon after, odd metallic clangs and blast noises striking the hull reverberate throughout the ship cavity. Unsure what it means, he instructs combat units to resume working at faster pace. Pondering the unexpected sounds for explanation, the gifted synthetic organism decides the noises are from outside the hull. Energized with rage the crazed synthetic robot moves to assist cutting efforts.

  Docked X-37D

  Lt. Joe Mettars decides to keep engines humming as his partner edges past a sealed side-door next to the railgun then opens a titanium hatch leading to a grated ramp at its underbelly. Donning clumsy orange space suits for dramatic pressure and temperature changes, along with oxygen tanks, polycarbonate high-impact helmets, visor with thin layer of gold, and EVA protective gloves, the pilots are in constant communication while the exchange unfolds. As the pair performs miraculous tasks fifty miles off the surface, tense supporting teams at Global Space and White House listen sitting on edges of their seats.

  "What's your status, Ray? Can you see Zote yet?"

  "Negative… hold on Joe… uh,.., wait..., a door is beginning to crack open. All right, I see three small robots coming out but don't see Zote."

  "Three; I thought we were taking Zote?"

  "Affirmative," Ray responds. "Three…. ok, here we go. I can see Zote. Joe, you won’t believe how big he is. Man, he's massive. I hope, for our sake, he's friendly."

  "Hurry up, Ray. If that hybrid shows up, we're cooked. Get them aboard. What's happening?"

  "All right, they've grabbed the tether and are hooked on. We're getting four robots."

  "You mean they're all coming aboard?"

  "That's what I said; Zote is at end of the line. He's jamming the helm's outer door with a huge laser tool as we speak. Sparks are flying."

  "All right; get them on fast. I don’t like how long it's taking, Ray."

  "Affirmative, I'm grabbing one and pulling him inside. All right, I have one of them inside. The little fellow is staring at me as if I'm the ugliest creature in the universe. Two are inside."

  "Is Zote coming yet? We gotta move, Ray. We can't ramp the railgun until we're underway. "

  "Joe, all three small robots are inside. Zote is testing the fused door. I'm tugging on the line but doubt he feels it. He must weigh half a ton."

  "Yank harder, Ray, for pete sakes."

  "Ok, he's coming. Uh-oh, They're banging on the fused door, Joe, like a punching bag. I'm seeing protruding dents one after another."

  "Pull him in faster, Ray; let's go, man. When that belly door is sealed let me know and I'm pulling away."

  "Roger; ten seconds; Zote is almost inside. I suspect he knows the score better than us." As tense moments elapse, Ray finally has good news. "All right, the outer door is almost closed. Green light in five seconds; hold on. Holy Moly, the door was demolished, Joe. There's a humongous robot emerging from the hatch, maybe thirty feet tall. Near it is a strange blue-eye creature about half its size. He looks mean; gotta be the Cyborg. Ok, green light; green light," Ray says loudly, "packages on board; door sealed. Get us out of here, Joe."

  Joe pulls away from the massive five-level craft then rotates so the engine blast directly at the aliens. Engaging thrusters the trio of engines, consuming cryogenic liquid hydrogen and liquid oxygen propellants, cut loose a firestorm that engulfs the Andromedans. Ducking behind a wide combat unit to avoid most of the blast, Cyborg feels searing heat, though little compared to what the machine ahead faced.

  Andromedan Spacecraft

  Cyb
org and tactical units move back inside the upper door and into the helm to assess the unexpected situation. Never before experiencing mutiny or treachery of any kind, Cyborg wonders how Creators produced machines like Zote. Now, it's time to capture the planet and return with the good news. Creators would reward him with servants and upgraded parts for the remainder of his existence.

  Dismissing a scorched arm, Cyborg sends one of the tactical units down a level for alloy repairs after suffering direct impact exceeding several thousand degrees Fahrenheit. Meanwhile, Cyborg is angrily directing replaced weapon minions to repair weaponry after disposing of two units suspected of treason. Once assessing engines and navigation systems, the hybrid demands the science laboratory sends new navigators. Listening to what it takes to replace the ones with Zote, it's taken to task for ruining many top-flight science minions during his rampage, some of the best aboard ship. After exchanging memory, upgrading middleware, and loading navigation data files, replacements would need time translating orders into actions. Until then, Cyborg will have to run the ship with little help.

  Chapter Twelve

  Space Dragon

  he busy Earth-based teams scramble as news and possibilities of four captured Andromedans reach collective ears. With wide debate as to next steps, they're all over the board for what is happening ranging from trickery and brilliance to optimism and catastrophe. Are these Trojan Horses about to give away the planet? It's soon apparent the decision to risk Space Dragon and pilots along with their four prizes has altered dynamics in unpredictable ways. While White House and Global Space members discuss what comes next, Joe decides he's getting excess input and turns off his transmitter. As White House players suddenly stop talking when President Wilford demands silence, one can hear a pin drop.

  "Joe shut off his transmitter," Bobby tells Myers. "He can hear us but we can't hear him. I think he was swearing at us or the White House."

  Myers thinks he understands how the pilot feels, alone without help and indecision abounding. Whether they should deliver the robots to Earth or engage the Andromedan ship is suddenly a new question on the table. Hoping Wilford will make the call, Joe and Ray continue prepping for the attack.

  "John Myers, Joe; I sympathize how you fellas must feel. Regardless what you do, we have lock on the Andromedan spacecraft so if you need assistance let us know. I'm not sure how long the cloaking device will be offline but our window of opportunity is now. Until then, we're watching and listening."

  Joe flips on the microphone once again as chattering from within the White House suddenly ceases. "Thanks, Dr. Myers; I appreciate the sentiment. We're preparing to make a run at the aliens once Ray gives me a green light. If that's no longer on the table, I need to know right now. I'd appreciate limited input to that single question until the decision is made. Ray is moving our guests as far from the railgun as possible. Does your team have a relevant assessment what Cyborg is doing; over?"

  "No, we're clueless, although I'm thinking Zote brought an interpreter," Myers answers. "I suggest we ask Ray to find out if that's the case. One of my team thinks the three robots Zote brought are instrumental for running the ship. If so, that's a good sign for us. Let's hope one is a translator."

  "Great idea; let me try. Ray, I want you to ask Zote if he can tell us what Cyborg is planning. Why hasn't the ship moved? Also, what role did these robots have on the ship?"

  Ray hears the questions and responds. "I'll give it a go, Joe. Stand by."

  Global Space listens as Ray moves closer to the impressive robot. "Zote, our leaders want to know why your ship isn't moving."

  Zote waits as one of the robots links a flexible cord from it's neck then plugs it into a flip panel on Zote's massive arm. "What is the question?" the manufactured voice says.

  "Why isn't the unfrozen hybrid moving the ship?"

  Zote finally understands as the minion translates. "Da-vi-to-ga-na-ti-da," the robot utters, tone void of stress and apprehension. "Va-ta-si-wa-ti-no-sa-ta," he adds; his monotone sounding bold and determined.

  Translating the odd machine language, the linked minion responds using its amazing voice-activated electrolarynx, an incredible experience for Ray that humanizes the aliens to a large degree. "The machines are keys to ship operation. Navigation, steering, cloaking, weapons, and translation are primary skill sets taken from the ship. It will take time for Cyborg replacing them."

  "If true, that's good news," Ray tells Joe. "Did you catch that?"

  "Yep, let's get Myers and team reply. Dr. Myers; what do you think about what Zote said; over."

  "I believe him, Joe," Myers breathes. "He's told the truth all along and I have no reason to doubt him now?"

  "Then we should attack if the Andromedan ship is defenseless. I'm assuming that's your conclusion; over."

  "Yes, if we let Cyborg make repairs, he'll be knocking on our door very soon, Joe. I'd go after him since this planet is rare. Let's ask the White House to agree."

  Wilford weighs in after prompting by Mettars and Myers. Rubbing his face as the decision dances in a tired brain, he responds. "Gentlemen, we stand to lose everything if Cyborg comes to Earth. The attack is approved, but I'll leave details up to you. It's your call since we'll lose you, Space Dragon, and those four amazing robots if the attack fails."

  "Ten-four, Mr. President," Joe replies sincerely. "There's a possibility we may not completely destroy them but we also might escape if their defenses are down. It's worth the risk, sir; out."

  Andromedan Spacecraft

  Cyborg better understands the gravity of his outburst in the laboratory as precious time elapses replacing helm minions, reassembling laser weapons, and fixing the cloaking device. Never considering it was careless and reckless, the synthetic hybrid helps prepare four laboratory minions with upgraded software and middleware then approves reprogramming with elite memory buffer stacks reserved for a select few machines. Once that laborious process is completed, the four revamped lab minions are tasked replacing helm operators holding sensitive information about spacecraft functionality, weapon systems, and cloaking.

  Once the lab is back up to speed, Cyborg directs the four tactical machines to the second level where industrial minions and heavy-lift cranes exchange battery packs and replace memory before rigging each unit with shuttle navigation software, communication equipment, and portable weaponry. Inside the restricted area housing shuttles that will carry them to the planet, the four tactical war-bots are analyzed, poked, probed, and refit with updated parts, microprocessors, optical drives, power supplies, modules, actuators, breakers, fuses, boards, and other components. As rarely used fleets of attentive industrial robots treat each tactical unit like rock stars, Cyborg returns to the helm and checks status of offline tracking systems. Deciding progress is slow for circuitry, he shoves aside repair minions to handle the task himself. Reviewing decades of digital records indicating lack of contact for untold time in deep space, the volatile organism wonders if the enemy spacecraft with the four captured robots from Andromeda would attack. He marvels that his organism was in deep sleep for almost half a centon. Knowing craft size differential, massively superior in terms of weight, bulk, and materials, the organism weighs images in current memory giving it comfort.

  Space Dragon

  Navy officers Joe Mettars and Ray Thompson lock themselves in the complicated high-tech cockpit once Ray has their Andromedan guests situated in what's normally used for cargo such as satellites, probes, cameras, and telescopes. Satisfied they have bona fide defectors, they go about the business of saving the planet. With help from Sidney, they plot the alien ship location twenty miles higher once arming twelve telephone-pole shape projectiles expected to rip apart the enemy ship. With the plasma rail of electromagnetic high-energy twenty-foot copper rails beginning to pulsate and vibrate, revving homopolar motors heat up providing enough kinetic force to blast zigzag tungsten poles at Mach-7. Satisfied all is well, Joe instructs Sidney to intercept the alien ship and begin the assault.
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  "Start initial run, Sidney," Joe tells the computer as White House and Global Space team members listen glued to chairs. "Firing solution; mark twelve minutes, fifteen seconds," he says as Space Dragon leaps ahead as liquid hydrogen pellets burn inside the classified kilo-Newton engines.

  The secret X-37D, dubbed Space Dragon, ramps speed past Mach-4 for making an initial run past the alien craft, fast enough to make it a harder target using mounted lasers. Unsure if Andromedan systems are back online, Joe and Ray have eyes locked on the object ahead seemingly ballooning in size as the gap narrows rapidly. Boosted by the unique engine's triple power, an electric current runs from the positive terminal of the rail gun's power supply, up the positive copper rail, across the armature then down the negative rail back to the power supply. As the magnetic field intensifies, copper rails act like hot wires, with magnetic fields circulating around them. Force of the magnetic field runs counterclockwise around the positive rail and clockwise around the negative rail. Like charging rhinos in an electric field, the mix of tungsten and depleted uranium tip projectiles based on the Lorentz force move perpendicularly to the magnetic field and direction of the current flowing across the armature.

  "Fire for effect, Sidney," Joe commands the computer. "I feel like a river patrol boat going up against an aircraft carrier," he mumbles.

  Arrow shape telephone pole size projectiles blast from a sleeve aside Space Dragon making three bending trails that make it hard for the alien to intercept. Computer images, tracking the one-hundred forty five pound arrows, send graphic images from noses putting crew and ground participants on edges of their seats. Moments later, the three ionized gas weapons strike the massive target.