The Alien Creator

by Michael Miller

  "This is not a drill," a female helmsman announces over loudspeakers at 3 a.m., a time now meaningless for Navi travelers. "Proceed to designated seats and strap in tightly once head, face, and body armor is on. Do it now; the time fold is pulling us sooner than expected."

  Orbital angular momentum, like a corkscrew effect linking galaxies predicted by Albert Einstein in 1916, create instant feelings of dizziness and nausea, despite Dramamine, as immeasurable powers of a fourth speed-time dimension take hold. As the machine barks commands to human navigators capturing information while preventing the ship from hitting dangerous vortex walls applying tremendous bursts of electromagnetic propulsion, all feel powerless despite rigorous training. While avoiding vortex walls, radiation, and contact with exotic matter is the most anyone can do inside the mind numbing ultimate rollercoaster, Zote exudes confidence as control room members incorrectly consider this the android's second trip. Reducing distance to Kelt-3ab by unimaginable light years, steel-blue seven-foot Zote is focusing as the spiraling, twisting view of dark matter makes it impossible for humans to have complete control of faculties. The mysterious substance inside the vortex, filaments comprising 25% of the universe doesn't shine, absorb, or reflect light, thereby making it practically undetectable except through gravity. The web-like superstructure connecting Milky Way and Andromeda, an unpredictable timesaver difficult for the best brains to understand much less explain, is no longer theory as riders contemplate the horrors and majesty of what's happening outside the ship.

  "How fast are we traveling?" Dr. Billy Goddard manages as queasiness and nausea makes him and other helmsmen woozy and unstable, all glad they're strapped tightly.

  With several hard maneuvers, bangs, and rattles, the ship tosses helmeted heads like bobble dolls. "We passed the speed of light moments ago, Billy," Zote responds calmly evaluating various digital gauges. "Time stopped for all practical purposes and speed is accelerating as we pull through."

  Billy shakes cobwebs as others in the helm wonder if the dynamic duo is crazy. "How much time are we saving? I hope taking this worm hole is worth it," Billy frowns as feelings of remorse creeps into everyone's thoughts.

  "Eight earth years is minimal savings at the speed of light. However, we will exceed light speed, thus savings are greater, possibly twelve to twenty years taking the long route."

  "Will Navi hold up?"

  "It held together getting us here, Billy, though I heard you brought duct tape for added insurance," the android answers matter of fact, a tone not indicative of humor as xenon thruster blasts keep the ship clear of vortex walls lined with exotic matter, negative energy density, and negative pressure with unknown consequences.

  Billy grins when realizing the intelligent machine, computers, eyes, and brain focused on the wormhole, isn't serious, perhaps the only person Zote strays from typical factual and meaningful dialogue. He's amazed how the hybrid picks up nondescript dialogue including non-scientific jargon most use without thinking. As the incredible machine quickly learns about unpredictable human emotion and unique personality traits, the youngster responds to the unexpected statements. "Don't knock it unless you try it. Did your study of human history explain how one of the most crucial inventions, that being duct-tape, was invented by Johnson and Johnson during WWII. It's a fascinating story worth reading about human dedication to the use of tape for almost any situation. The only things it's not good for are broken marriages and hair loss. Did you know duct-tape also comes in a variety of colors and widths? If Navi springs leaks, my roll will sell like hotcakes. I could fund retirement with a single roll."

  "Are you through?" Zote asks, focusing on data monitors. "We are one percent through the widest and safest portion of the transporter," the android cautions as others in the helm hope Billy stops the annoying banter.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Year Two

  ttidues and emotions evolve into flaring tempers and mounting personnel problems as months turn into years. Though clearly explained about an unknown intergalactic travel timeline, expected anxiety and boredom, and potential dangers reaching Kelt-3ab, the long time home to Creators, hybrids, and androids, it's evident human spirits need boosting. Most have already forgotten the tumultuous dizzy feelings bouncing inside the wormhole. Seemingly never ending at the time, these aggravating memories are now distant concerns despite weeks to heal mentally. When vessel leaders meet to discuss training, strategy, e.t.a., and general housekeeping items, Billy Goddard suggests they need something to break boredom. Ben Savage, a middle age engineer from M.I.T. with expertise in metallurgy and minerals tosses out ideas to steering committee members. As Commander Richard Jacko, Dr. Billy Goddard, and Dr. Max Abraham listen, it's apparent they have differing views for how to boost sinking spirits.

  "I think we need inter-floor competition," Savage offers. "Americans thrive on competition. It's in their DNA."

  "What kind of competition?" Jacko retorts. "My boys would wipe the floor at anything except Checkers, Chess, and Parcheesi. Are you including contact sports?"

  "It could be anything, but I'm thinking about a round robin tournament where players must be skilled across ten events, sort of a Decathlon. Win at one event but lose at another. It will add to the drama."

  Max Abraham strokes a long beard, "It would have to be a mix of brains and brawn for my level to have any chance. Plus, I don’t want any engineer or scientist hurt by Type-A personalities."

  "Are we talking about Iron Man, Cross Fit, or what, gentlemen?" Jacko clarifies. "I can't imagine an engineer, scientist, or helmsman standing a chance against Soldiers, Sailors, Marines, or Secret Service. My folks train daily; they live for the next fight."

  "That's a good point," Savage counters. "I don’t want anyone getting hurt either. Besides, you forget Cyborg and Zote might want to participate. If they're on my team, then your soldiers would be the ones getting hurt."

  "Your team?" Jacko counters. "Cyborg is on my team, not yours. Just because he's in the lab once in a while doesn't mean you get him. He's a fighter."

  Goddard adds his two cents. "I'd have Zote so I'm afraid to let soldiers take on Zote or Cyborg. I think they should be disqualified from competition. It's not like they're depressed about girlfriends and mothers."

  "Tell you what; how about a cage match format where my soldiers take on Cyborg," Jacko adds enthusiastically. "Then, we can hype the event, take bets, and sell popcorn. That way we'd be taking minds off boredom and keep pencil necks out of harms way."

  "You'd stick your guys in a cage with Cyborg?" Savage counters the Seal. "Are you nuts? It'll kill them."

  "Not if we have refs inside the cage."

  "You'd need six refs, but who'd want to referee when Cyborg or Zote gets angry?" Billy reasons. "One backhand and you're dead. I have no way of knowing how'd they'd respond to direct assaults."

  "Let's table this discussion and ponder options, gentlemen," Savage regains control. "But we need something to get spirits back. We don't know when we'll arrive."

  Billy adds new information that changes the meeting's dynamics. "Zote said we could arrive in six months. Estimates where we exited the time fold were better than we figured."

  "Wow, that's big news; did Zote arrive at that conclusion recently?" Jacko says. "That's the first I heard about it. We need about a month to set up before landing. I'll want a few recon teams on the planet to check things out before committing forces."

  "Matter of fact, he finished calculations about an hour ago," Billy smiles, recalling Zote's explanation of Andromeda's solar system model. "It's not like mapping routes to landmarks like the Grand Canyon. It's more like finding familiar planets and stars until computers solve three-dimensional equations. We don't have GPS or satellites out here with radio beacons. At first, Zote was worried we landed in nearby galaxies Perseus or Pegasus. Either one would have been a disaster for time, especially Perseus."

  "I don’t know about you fellas, but six months will seem like tomorrow to my team," Jack
o grins. "That's almost show time. My boys are itching for a fight."

  "Ok, you have a point; maybe the cage match can wait," Billy argues convincingly, relief to most. "Besides, I'm not sure seeing soldiers tossed around in cage matches is a good thing. It could take six months to heal broken bones and worse."

  Final Preparations

  Months later, leadership and military teams meet and discuss the pending plan of attack. An air of excitement fills the space with most looking forward to getting off the ship, regardless of what lies ahead. At first, they plan circling Kelt-3ba handling initial surveillance at high altitude before human assets deploy. Next steps will focus on drones and aircraft moving over the surface using high-density live pictures fed back to leadership. Finally, several teams would descend to the surface reconnoitering specific areas built for Creators. As Cyborg leads the serious information update, it's apparent the hybrid believes Creators might be dead or hostages after so much time has passed.

  "We could be looking for one to three Creators based on last contact," Cyborg reasons, "and gestation periods are long for them, more than elephants or Emperor penguins to give perspective. Due to this issue, the mission must focus on finding and protecting them from threats and rescuing them if alive. Creator intelligence is so great that it is inconceivable an enemy would intentionally destroy them, but the level of enemy brutality is unpredictable. In fact, I believe their capture was the main goal when alien forces came in past conflicts. Wars to defend them took heavy tolls, almost wiping out Creators and protectors. Keep in mind, their engineering and scientific skills are legendary across Andromeda and would be great benefit to humans. Kelt-3ba is an oasis like Israel in the Middle East or the Garden of Eden in Southern Mesopotamia long ago."

  All are impressed how Cyborg explains and characterizes details in Earthly terms, a culture the bionic hybrid considers weak, though redeemable and useful. Cyborg also mentions Zote's friendship with Bill Goddard, a curious concept not applicable or relevant on Kelt-3ab. Pondering why it hadn't grown close to humans like Zote, Cyborg describes its feelings as one piece of intelligent matter to another, not criticism but statement of fact. Following questions of strategy and timing, Cyborg pivots.

  "After much consideration, I have decided to land with initial recon teams," it declares. "If resistance is beyond our capability, the mission will then focus on pinpointing and engaging enemy forces while we hunt for Creators. If we find them, it will take one like me to explain your role for relocating home in the Milky Way."

  Navy Seal Commander Richard Jacko is surprised by the change and pushes back. "Who will take us back to Earth if you're killed?" he argues forcefully. "That makes no sense, Cyborg; getting us back to Earth is the ultimate goal."

  "Zote is quite capable of getting us back, Commander. It and Billy Goddard are capable navigators on this trip, not me. I believe Creators will form bonds with Billy like Zote."

  "I don't agree risking your skills is a good thing unless our backs are to the wall. You're needed to work with Creators to keep them happy and alive. It's a long way back and you are their primary confidants, not Zote."

  An NCO senses Cyborg's hatred of Creator enemies and asks the best question on the minds of troops. "If Creators are dead or gone from the planet, do we leave without fighting?" Sergeant Alvin Moore asks once standing. "Or do we get payback?"

  Cyborg pauses inordinately while interpreting the brash statement knowing it leads to needless bloodshed and casualties. Not a question among hybrids and machines loyal to Creators, it's answer causes goose bumps. "Payback is my preference, Sergeant Miller, unless it hinders returning to Earth. Your leaders must decide. For me, killing them is the only way I know. Kelt-3ab may be dying years from now, but I would not leave our enemies any measure of victory or satisfaction. For me, to die for Creators is to live forever and there is no substitute for victory."

  "By gosh, he quoted General MacArthur," one officer whispers to others standing nearby.

  "Yeah and the last part was a slogan of the Japanese Army in WWII," Commander Jacko replies. "He's knows our history better than us."

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  D-Day

  overing ten thousand feet above an area on Kelt-3ab determined to be the most likely place to find Creator structures, food supplies, and fresh water, troop morale runs high as feedback from Apaches and drones flying lower and lower illicit no resistance from potential occupying forces. Once determining alien spaceships, after ten days of searching and scanning, aren't in orbit or visible on the planet, it remains to be seen if they're hiding on the surface. Video close-ups of sleek metallic tic-tac shape structures housing Creators appear intact though Cyborg is wary that an expected army of combat machines that would normally protect their private dwellings and laboratories are gone.

  After landing two six-man squads dropped off gently by V-22 Osprey tilt rotor aircrafts, they immediately spread out almost three miles from the target. With Cyborg attached to Alpha team, the eager warriors move slowly, checking for footprints and evidence while awaiting troops staged inside Navi's cargo bays listen to radio chatter and view body helmet cams and drone feedback.

  "Bravo, acknowledge Bravo; over," Captain Alvin Becks says softly in an expensive Iridium satellite radio, the first type of active communication equipment released into low orbit.

  "Bravo, come in Lieutenant," he repeats. "Any signs or contact; over?"

  "Nothing Captain; we're about two miles out. Terrain is rocky so I don't expect we'll find footprints. We'll be above the compound in fifteen minutes; over."

  "Lieutenant, we're proceeding to the compound with your team providing over-watch. Put snipers in designated positions; let us know if that doesn't happen as planned; over."

  "Roger, we'll be there, sir; out."

  Twenty minutes later, the heavily armed men of Alpha squad are at the site overlooking a cleared area with a smooth, flat artificial surface surrounded by thick groves of colorful trees none of the team recognize. While the trees seem like a variety of Coleus with beautiful broad leaves and many branches, they're too tall and massive for known matches. At edge of the woods, Alpha scans with mounted riflescopes and binoculars covering about ten acres, normally a bustling area according to Cyborg.

  Once Captain Beck dispatches a man to accompany the bionic creature, the rest provide cover as the hybrid moves across the compound to a control box next to the main residence. There, it pokes a dexterous piezoelectric finger into a mounted slot that retracts outer doors. Unsuccessful, one cobalt eye allows retinal scanning for backup. Soon however, the hybrid determines power is offline and informs Captain Beck he'll need time to diagnose and rectify the problem. Meanwhile, Alpha team checks with Bravo, advising that part of the team will spread out examining the other seamless tic-tac shape pearl white structures as Cyborg moves to a series of solar generators housed in rectangular boxes complimented by collectors built along two large solar ponds.

  Once restoring solar power feeds, lanky Captain Beck and seven-foot Cyborg enter the stark private dwelling where Creators live and sleep when not in surrounding labs and storage facilities. Inside the modern space fitted with narrow stiff beds, numerous electronic surveillance monitors, and video screens, Beck handles two used cups sitting on a round table, one cup half the size of the other. Standing in what might be mistaken for a kitchen are neat arrays of vials loaded with fluids, medicines, and supplements. Vial labels are odd markings that look like Braille. Beck's helmet cam feeds to Navi crew stir emotions as living quarters of what they've been told are scientific geniuses is fairly bland and boring, nothing like that expected for superstars. Beck points to the length of four beds covered with light thermal blankets, two of which are unused. Moving across the large arc shape great room are tomes of reference materials stacked five-feet high loaded with ultra thin electronic sheets coming alive as Beck picks them up and flips pages.

  Once Cyborg finishes looking for evidence of what happened to Creators, the hybrid
and Beck discuss next steps.

  "Any clue where we can find Creators?" Beck addresses Cyborg.

  "The environment is well preserved and medicines are full," Cyborg reasons. "If gone, it wasn't long ago, maybe hours or days. Two Creators lived in this facility."

  "Can they survive outside this place?"

  "Not long; the synthetic air is purified and the reddish light rejuvenates senses and improves circulation. Since aging is about double the rate of humans, they take great care with internal consumption and clean air. Survival outside is problematic for them in many ways."

  "You said two Creators were here recently based on bedding?" Beck wonders. "It also appears one bed held a small body. Is it a child?"

  "I would guess two were taken from beds, one to two days ago based on supplement supplies. One was young as you say based on bed indentations."

  "Why didn't we see remnants of a battle outside? You said an army of machines normally guard them."

  "I can't explain it, Captain. Any machine would come to protect them during an assault. We need to begin detailed grid searches with more bodies. Twelve men isn't enough."

  "How much daylight is left today? By the way, how long are days on the planet?"

  "Kelt-3ba is larger than Earth but offset by faster rotation. However, daylight is 24X7, Captain. Suns are exactly 180 degrees apart and there is zero axis tilt."

  "All right; are you hearing this conversation, Commander Jacko?" Beck signals above.

  "Affirmative; I have additional search teams prepping in cargo bays as we speak, Captain, and ordered three more drones and Apaches. If they're on the planet, we'll find them. I'll also accelerate launch of two Hexagons."