"Puh-de-ve-no-ga," it urges minions to be thorough. "Ve-tu-si-bas-i-ma," a reminder it will not be pleased with mistakes.
As the distant object narrows the gap between them, Cyborg opts testing it once scans show no alien beings on board unlike the previous space object.
"Sa-ta-mu-tama," it commands as a guidance minion obeys, immediately altering course.
Moments later, after seeing the object change directions on collision course, Cyborg barks commands with added fervor. "Puh-de-taki-dom-va-mooka," it decides quickly as control room minions alert the forward particle accelerator team. Immediately, electromagnetic fields engage that begin charging atoms along a predetermined path.
Global Space Company, Arizona
Inside the secret massive granite mountain complex in Arizona's Sonoran Desert, Dr. John Myers reacts as Bobby Rafferty calculates converging positions of the massive CIA satellite and the alien spacecraft. Meanwhile, White House bunker participants and Area-51 engineers listen and watch via the secure end-to-end encrypted broadcast routed through a private fiber-optic network operated by Defense Information Services, part of the U.S. military. Tensions instantly rise as Myers directs satellite engineers standing by to prepare Defiant for combat. After that stunning announcement, Myers then taps Bobby on the shoulder, indicating he should get the X-37D into position. Like a symphony conductor in the middle of a major concert, Myers paces back and forth as he and others watch interactive data screens and perform complex tasks using scientific keyboards the vast majority of computer users wouldn't recognize.
"Time to move, Lt. Mettars; the alien spaceship appears to be taking the bait; over;"
Ray Thompson answers instead of Joe Mettars who is out of his seat handling passenger checks. "Ready, Bobby; standing by for coordinates; over."
"You're three-hundred twenty-seven miles out so we'll have to proceed with haste to these coordinates being sent to Sidney; please acknowledge when received; over."
Anxious moments pass before Joe comes on the line once back in his cockpit seat. "Roger; Sidney confirmed coordinates, Bobby. Engines are revving; expect to be in route in thirty seconds; over."
"Godspeed, gentlemen; Dr. Myers wants to know if your passengers are stable; over."
"Passengers are stable; nothing to report; out," Mettars responds briefly, focusing on engine performance and distance, suddenly not in the mood for needless chitchat.
Andromeda Navi Spaceship
Cyborg is intrigued by the massive size and bulk of the geosynchronous object coming into range. Needing a Delta IV heavy rocket with more than a million pounds of thrust to lift into space, this unique and top-secret tool of war would make enemies drool as numerous huge solar collectors extend. Wingspan of several football fields along with nuclear powered engines boosting energy during maneuvers and firing, the careful Andromedan is hesitant by the object's complexity, though not understanding its purpose and capability. Forty miles above the satellite, it's soon clear based on deeper scans displaying on a liquid hologram this particular object isn't typical of what they've studied so far. Complexity must mean offensive capabilities not yet understood.
As Navi eases into position to destroy the aggressive object seemingly intent on a head-on collision, Cyborg barks commands that cut engines, lowers the cloaking shield, and prepares the forward laser. Soon, effects of pulsating power supplies needed for the weapon rev the mighty particle beam weapon without equal in Andromeda.
Meanwhile, the upgraded multi-ton KH-18B satellite, with advanced laser technology geared to kill Communist ICBMs, prepares its Integrated Fiber Laser Ordnance. More quickly up to full power than Navi, the first shot of the war spits out as a super-hot beam instantly strikes the alien ship like a single bolt of lightning.
X-37D Cargo Hold
Co-pilot Lt. Ray Thompson informs cargo bay travelers they're proceeding to the rendezvous point. Expect a rough ride as Joe navigates in a way that closes the gap and attempts setting the agile spacecraft at rear of the massive alien ship based on input from Zote. He also reports the killer satellite is engaging the alien ship. They have a ringside seat."
"What do you think, Zote?" Army Captain Alvin Beck asks the calm android sitting across the cargo area. "Can we set down without being detected?"
Zote considers the question as Beck's Delta team listens to the unusual exchange. "Odds are sixty-five percent if Defiant stays in the battle long enough."
"Sixty-five percent aren’t great odds," a Delta NCO replies, "but I suppose it's better than I get at the Golden Nugget in Vegas."
Zote doesn't understand the Vegas reference and presses the enlisted man for more detail. "Sergeant Jack, calculated odds are based on vast experience fighting machines within our galaxy. Human brains are variable among your species unlike machines like me. For example, Lt. Mettars is a fearless risk-taker, yet mostly fearful of death for humans around him. Death for machines like me during battle is inconsequential. Every machine is expendable to protect Creators, our reason for existence. Joe Mettar's mentally straining combination of fearlessness and compassion is not part of the Andromeda culture."
Captain Beck frowns at Sergeant Jack before cracking a smile. "Don't tell me you expected an answer we'd understand, Sergeant. But I think what Zote said is hold onto your hat and hope for the best because there's nothing we can do about it."
"Is that what he said, sir?" Sergeant Jack grins. "I was pulling his chain a little; that's all."
After the short exchange with Zote that eases tension among the soldiers, the X-37D begins rattling and twisting as if out of control.
"What's happening?" an NCO shouts as the other soldiers share his concern.
As everyone tries holding onto straps keeping them stable, Zote answers calmly as if the suddenly uncomfortable ride is insignificant. "Lt. Mettars is reversing engines and spinning the ship around. He's trying to ease onto the aft side of Navi before the shield goes up. It is good news indicating Defiant is successful keeping Cyborg's attention. I would raise odds, Sergeant Jack, at this point," the android explains matter of fact.
"What happens once we land?" Sgt. Jack says grabbing straps for dear life. "When do we get off this flying bathtub?"
"Not until four shuttles release to the surface," Captain Beck replies, holding on to secure straps. "Until then, we maintain sound discipline and wait. No movement; hull vibrations might give away our position once the cloak is raised."
Sgt. Jack challenges why we're tiptoeing. "Zote, are these war-bots really unbeatable? Can't we handle them and keep them off the planet? It'd save many lives on Earth."
The android takes time responding, aware it's addressing mortals with short lives and love for other humans. "War-bots are thirty-feet tall made of hardened hexagonal prismatic carbon composites capable of withstanding fierce attacks. Tensile modulus is very strong and they have built-in defensive capabilities, like radar, that sense enemy presence well before getting close. None of the weapons you brought would harm it. All of us would be destroyed if facing them aboard Navi," Zote explains as if the subject is not worth debating. "Creators built them to assure survival against ruthless enemies humans probably cannot imagine. Their only concern is destroying enemies designated by Creators and Cyborg. It will be my challenge shutting off command and control once Cyborg is removed from the equation."
"What if our military can't stop these war-bots?" another NCO asks. "I can't imagine them landing in one of our cities."
Captain Beck steps into the eroding conversation. "Once Cyborg is neutralized Zote will gain control of war-bots if they still stand. We don't know what will be left on Earth when we return, so the sooner we get the job done the better. However, don't shortchange our flyboys and mechanized units. I wouldn’t want to be on the ground when they cut loose."
"What about Cyborg, Zote?" another NCO says. "What are odds we can control it."
"Odds are much better, Sergeant. He will try killing all of us, but if we work as a unit, Cyborg can be
beaten."
"What exactly is Cyborg?" Beck follows. "What are we facing?"
"Cyborg was bred in scientific laboratories," Zote explains. "It's a blend of machine and Creator DNA that makes them unique. Imagine an intelligent bionic creature with multi-tasking central processors transplanted into its brain at an early age. On its exterior Cyborg is a synthetic organism with flexible web-polymer skin, sharp piercing eyes, vice-grip hands, dexterous fingers, and piezoelectric properties. Prosthetic limbs allow energy storage that makes it a fearsome opponent. We must not stop attacking until Cyborg is locked inside a cage or ripped apart."
"Sounds like MMA cage matches. How many of us will it take controlling him, Zote?"
The android's response sends shivers down spines as he utters an eerie reply. "All of us."
Global Space Company, Arizona
Dr. John Myers encourages satellite engineers to split duties handling Defiant's complex navigation system, state-of-the-art cameras, and formidable laser weapon. Though most feel the tide could turn at any moment, sheer skill of the firm's satellite technicians is testimony to their intelligence, training, and dedication. As rapid keyboard strokes pressure Navi with frequent spurts of tactical high-energy plasma striking the massive alien target with amazing precision, its impact is inadequate to kill the spacecraft. Powered to divert vastly smaller ICBMs with sensitive guidance systems without the bulk and strength of Navi, the team feels lucky Cyborg missed on the first two attempts when either stream of pure hell was capable of ending the battle decisively. At relatively close proximity of forty-seven miles, tension ramps in the White House bunker and Area-51 while watching the light show spectacle from several cameras mounted around the massive killer satellite. While most find solace when Bobby reports the X-37D is attempting to land, everyone expects the end of the killer satellite at any moment.
"Keep them busy," Myers barks at the haggard engineers. "We need more time. Maneuver and fire; we need Cyborg to miss again, ladies and gentlemen."
As seconds pass, vivid high-resolution color pictures of various angles from extended solar arms hundreds of yards apart highlight the amazing plasma spectacle unlike anything before seen. Spurts of inexpensive energy zips across space with more precision than bullets.
"Are the Russians and Chinese seeing this," Wilford asks his team in Washington, D.C. Though the question should be for Global Space Company experts monitoring space, Bull Greer answers first.
"You can bet they are, Mr. President. Defiant is now a cat out of the bag. Let's start the next generation when this dirty business is done," he says optimistically. "They'll be making changes to ICBMs; we should take that to the bank."
"I agree," Wilford allows, "but now's not the time to be talking about it. Let's focus; what can we do to help?"
"Mr. President," Myers steps into the untimely conversation. "I'd make sure ground forces are ready for rapid deployment. It appears the X-37D successfully landed on the alien spacecraft. I'm not sure how Joe and Ray managed it but they did, sir."
Chapter Twenty
Global Space Control Room
yborg is respectful of the way the enemy's satellite spits meaningful energy at the ship while maneuvering in odd nonlinear directions, seemingly automated to handle combat situations. Not understanding remote human handlers sitting safely behind keyboards and joysticks inside a Sonoran mountain butte a thousand feet tall, the fearless biomechanical hybrid decides to aim laser power at the object's numerous array of six-foot wings, large gold color solar cells made of gallium arsenide. Assuming the elusive satellite has artificial intelligence allowing it to escape destruction, Cyborg decides to impact what he correctly estimates are power supplies. Soon after, he begins firing powerful plasma bursts blasting apart the satellite's lifeblood.
"Cyborg is redirecting fire at Defiant solar panels," Eshan Gupta announces based on a colorful digital monitor screen showing power meters linked to the main satellite. "Eroding photovoltaic energy is off twelve-point-five percent. Three panels are already offline," he further explains. "Any more damage and laser power will be lost."
Myers listens and immediately reacts. "All right gentlemen, time to change tactics. Move Defiant out of the way. We can't do any more for Space Dragon. They're on their own at this point; God help them. Let's try avoiding more damage."
Fingers dancing across keyboards begin moving Defiant away from Navi, although engineers are uncertain if they can save the damaged satellite. Meanwhile, Bobby Rafferty keeps all informed of Cyborg's location.
"So far, Cyborg isn't pursuing," Bobby tells the listening audience in Washington, D.C, and Area-51. "But Zote said their range is significant. Suggest we keep zigzagging until we know for sure."
"He's deciding if we're worth pursuing," Myers breathes loudly. "Let's hope Cyborg doesn't follow. Fixing solar panels is child's play compared to replacing Defiant."
CIA Director Bob Covelli pipes in as everyone waits for confirmation. "Your team performed well, Dr. Myers, but I'd like to avoid asking Congress for another ten billion dollars hidden inside a DoD budget line item. The less we speak publicly about Defiant the better."
"Cyborg is moving farther away from Defiant," Bobby announces spiritedly. "It's descending; he's coming. Elevation is twenty-seven miles, well into the stratosphere."
Participants grip seat handles as the massive Andromeda ship descends into Earth's second major layer of atmosphere just above the troposphere, still one-hundred forty thousand feet above the planet's surface.
"Put combat teams on alert," Wilford orders his generals. "I think we're about to get our first unwelcome visitor. Do we know where Cyborg is heading yet?" he asks Global Space.
"Not yet, Mr. President," Rafferty answers crisply. "Current trajectory indicates west of the Mississippi heading westerly." As Bobby is about to add further detail, "Wait everyone; I'm seeing a second craft. Confirmed; Cyborg launched a shuttle. Navi leveled off at one hundred thousand feet."
"Soon as you know approximate location, let us know, Bobby."
As sweaty moments tick off, it's clear to Bobby the shuttle picked a location. "Yes, sir; air traffic controllers at airports should be able to see it by now. My guess is Chicago, sir. Coordinates are looking like 41 degrees North 87 degrees West. The Windy City is Cyborg's first target."
"Scramble units in that area, General Moore. Let's get an electronic area map on the board. Put up drones. Where's command and control for Chicago? Who's on the ground?"
"Great Lakes Naval Station in Lake County, Mr. President; Seal teams are standing by," General Moore answers signaling an aide to pass the news to several contacts in the chain of command. "Admiral McKraven is our point of contact."
"What about air power? They're first," Wilford says, emotions running away.
"A-10 and Apache gunships are scrambling onto airfields as we speak at Fort Sheridan and Glenview. Refueling and maintenance will also be available at O'Hare. Crews are staged in all three places."
"Excellent; please get Admiral McKraven on the phone. Let's get an update and emphasize we want to insure Cyborg knows how we treat uninvited intruders regardless of the outcome."
Bobby Rafferty jumps in providing an update nobody wants to hear. "The first shuttle is at ten-thousand feet and descending rapidly; it might be heading toward the Gold Coast, close to Lincoln Park. Revised coordinates are 41.92 degrees North and 87.65 and degrees West. The area is densely populated; maybe a hundred thousand in the immediate vicinity."
"Thanks for the update, Bobby," Wilford replies. "Keep them coming. General Moore, alert the military, local fire stations, Chicago police, and FBI. I think we should blast air raid sirens to keep folks out of the way. We're apt to see plenty of panic otherwise. How long before drones are overhead? Do we have satellite feeds yet?"
X-37D Space Dragon
Maintaining strict sound discipline after shutting off powerful Aerojet Rocketdyne's Kilo-Newton engines, Joe Mettars and Ray Thompson along with six husky Delta soldi
ers, Zote, and minion stay put. Listening closely to strange noises rattling through the modular struts and hydraulic ring clamps beneath the spacecraft, the bulky calm android reassures them the landing went as planned. After the alien ship stabilizes in orbit, Zote describes the first shuttle catapulted from a forward bay with tremendous vibrations.
"The first shuttle is deployed," Zote explains softly, his bass voice eerie and cold. "It will land on the planet shortly and begin operations," it explains as if describing something routine or harmless.
"How long before all the shuttles are released?" Captain Beck whispers back, wondering if he'll be able to tell his children he talked to a giant alien robot aboard a secret U.S. aircraft built at Area-51.
"When we move again, that means war-bot has firm footing and doesn't need Navi support. We must wait until four are gone."
"How long will it take Cyborg to decide each war-bot succeeded? What does it need to see?"
"Not long," Zote murmurs. "War-bot will drop into high population areas where attacking it will be difficult without sizeable human casualties. Once the robot begins moving, Cyborg will advance. It assumes the war-bot is invincible based on what Creators loaded into memory."
The Alien Creator Page 16