Story Revelations

[FMJ]

Revelations
FMJ
(1)
​

The last twenty-four hours of uncertainty and intrigue had unexpectedly culminated in a family reunion of four generations at a little place called Pop’s Garage on the outskirts of a small town in northern Nevada in what might have been a celebration under any other circumstance. But the astonishing news of an alien super weapon hurtling towards Earth snatched that joy away from them and cast a pall over the happy proceedings.

Of the seven individuals present, six are representatives of Terran Vehicle Systems, an off-world paramilitary organization backed by the Consortium of Worlds to fight the alien menace known as the Strax, a rogue species that uses advanced machines to pillage developing worlds.

General Mike McCready, Colonel Jennifer Temple and Captain Elizabeth Temple are ranking officers of TVS, Pete McCready is the proprietor of Pop’s Garage and an employee of the TVS vehicular maintenance group, Mabel Finn is Pop’s good friend, bookkeeper and confidant and the remaining two are intelligent machines of designation Magnus, M2GNS8, a fighting machine known as a Cerulean Knight and Dominic, D4MNC8, a fighting machine known as a Centurion in the heavy warrior class.

Pete McCready, or “Pop” as he’s known to all the locals, brought out chairs from the office and placed them facing the pair of heavy wooden rockers under the canopy along with a bucket of ice cold sodas to quench their thirst. The pair of intelligent fusion-powered fighting machines were solemnly introduced as they quietly circled the group protectively shielding them with advanced weapons and tons of diamond iridium crystal armor energetically supported for strength.

The recollections, memories and the explanations that flowed through the night brought the initially disjointed group together as they laughed, cried and became a family once more. The conversation finally slowed and reluctantly ended as the eastern horizon brightened with rosy tendrils.

Truly heartfelt promises were made all around to stay in touch as they said their farewells as their greatly heightened awareness of the passage of time made this parting even more poignant.

General McCready and Colonel Temple reluctantly took their leave first with the excuse of getting the General to his morning shuttle lift on time. They waved from the open gull-wing doors of Colonel Temple’s Centurion, Dominic as he rolled silently down the driveway and out to the asphalt road. Lizzy waved with both hands as her mother and grandfather drove out of sight before turning to Pop and Mabel in resignation.

“This has been quite a night, hasn’t it?” With a quiver in her voice, Lizzy tearfully reflected, “My mom is the commander of North American Tactical and my grandfather is the commanding general of the Orbital weapons platform. My mechanic is actually my great grandfather and the world is going to end in five and a half months,” Lizzy said on the verge of tears. Mabel quickly stepped forward to gather the distraught girl into her arms, patting her back with soothing reassurances as her emotions overflowed.


Colonel Jennifer Temple watched from Dominic’s open hatch at the spaceport as the TVS shuttle lifted with a roar to take her father back to his Orbital, his Olympus. She gazed at the towering white contrail, gradually dissipating with the breeze as the blue torches of the shuttle’s boosters thundered in the distance on the cloudless blue morning.

“Jenny?”, the Centurion inquired gently. “Jenny, please...,” when she did not respond.

“Yes, Dominic. It’s alright. I’m..., just a little overwhelmed at the moment by the sheer scale of what we heard last night. I find I’m having trouble accepting an actual doomsday event.”

“The General said Xenoarchaeology teams were continuing their research at the site in the attempt to understand the alien mechanism and discover a means to abort it. Hope is surely not lost.”

The Colonel sighed before turning to face the Centurion’s monitor in resignation, “Tell me of hope, my dear Dominic, when the last dying remnant of a destroyed civilization builds an ultimate weapon born out of their grief and justified revenge designed to strike back at their killers from beyond the grave. I don’t know who the Phylaetia were or how they thought or how much time they had, but if it had been my world that was destroyed and I was one of the builders of that weapon, I would make damn sure there wasn’t a way in hell to stop it.

“I find no error in your logic, my lady,” Dominic reluctantly agreed.

 

[junkhound]

Great start. junkhound

 

[Texican]

FMJ,

Great start....

Texican....

 

[Sportsman]

And away we go! Hmmm, I don't remember Pop being her grandfather, but it has been a few days.
Thanks, FMJ.

 

[FMJ]

Great grandfather.

http://www.timebomb2000.com/vb/showthread.php?528114-Introductions&p=6764312#post6764312

 

[ted]

OK, now you gotta write! I need Moar of this one. Thank you!

 

[FMJ]

(2)​

An urgent council of the diplomats and delegates of the consortium of worlds supporting TVS became an uncharacteristic scene of hotly contested viewpoints.
In the darkened conference chamber of the Orbital diplomatic wing, the towering Eloysian ambassador, a nine-foot quasi-feline addressed the assembly. He spoke at length of the discovery of the strange Phylaetian weapon, its apparent activation, amazing rate of acceleration and vector to an attentive ring of ghostly holographic images of the other delegates.

But when he began to describe the heroic efforts of the Xenoarchaeology teams working under harsh conditions on the surface of the ruined planet to gain an understanding of the weapon and possibly discover the means to abort it, the images of fully half of the world delegates rose to loudly protest any attempt to interfere with the weapon which only led to the confusion of the remainder.
When the elder ambassador called for order, most of these delegates could not be appeased and took their seats in apparent disgust only to slap the holographic controls before them winking out of existence in protest, their angry objections cut short.

Using the highly formal version of Pansym, the universal spoken language of negotiation, the Eloysian ambassador carefully explained the actions taken were an effort to prevent the unnecessary deaths of over two billion sentient peoples on the planet Earth should the current assessment of the weapon’s capability prove accurate. He implored the remaining delegates to come forward and help him to understand the astonishing reactions of their esteemed colleagues.
Reluctantly at first, but with increasing candor, the delegates revealed a startlingly powerful sociopolitical system that had recently emerged on certain consortium worlds.

This system quickly gained solitary control of the government and military while driven by a single planetary religion that stipulated the required and preferred actions of corporations and individuals alike.

It was soon readily apparent that any attempt to directly intervene to abort the Phylaetian weapon ran contrary to the established positions of several powerful planetary religious organizations. Almost without exception, the common thread running through these religions referenced a sacred prophecy within their scriptures of a great disaster that would fall upon their world to test the faith of the “chosen”. Fanatical religious leaders wielded their vast influence to exhort true believers to stricter adherence to the tenets for only the “chosen” could be saved.
Tales of severe punishments leaked off-world in hushed whispers as those found wanting were summarily “cleansed” in the effort to purify the “chosen” to prove their worth.

The impending Strax invasion clearly embodied the planetary disaster as foretold in the scriptures and the Phylaetian weapon was heralded as the divine intervention their fervent prayers had sought to spare the faithful.

In the end, the Eloysian ambassador reluctantly adjourned the council while thanking the contributing members for their assistance in identifying the underlying issue causing the impasse and promising to immediately study the problem. When the shimmering holographic image of the last delegate disappeared and the lights came up in the council chamber, he sighed in exhaustion, bowing his head while seeming to physically shrink in stature.

A gravelly voice spoke in halting Pansym from the darkened viewing gallery, “Personally, Veyron, I would have been hard pressed to exhibit the level of restraint you showed when faced with such maddening ideological fanaticism.”

The Eloysian statesman chuckled and spoke without raising his head, “I have practiced the arcane science of negotiation for a lifetime and learned the high art of Pansym at the knee of a master, General McCready.”

“Perhaps if I were to become more proficient in Pansym, I would be able to explain the greater importance of my survival to those delegates.”

“That would be unlikely, Michael. To converse in Pansym without the aid of a third eyelid, mobile ears and a tufted tail to assist in the expression of nuance, would leave most off-worlders hopelessly searching for clarification of your meaning, or more likely, unintentionally offended. Spoken in Pansym, an identical phrase can carry a completely different connotation or even denote sarcasm when accompanied by a slow double blink with an ear flick or a cavalier high curled tail presentation my old friend.

As diplomats of their respective world governments, they are now between the proverbial rock and a hard place, to quote the Terran vernacular.”

“Hmph. Alright, point taken. Do you have time to join me for a drink before you leave, Veyron?”

“Yes! I was desperately hoping you would ask. I don’t suppose you have more of that excellent Irish whiskey we drank before?”

“I was able to locate two more bottles on my last trip to the surface for just such an occasion as this.”

“Michael, you are truly a gentleman and a scholar”, the Eloysian statesman replied in perfect lilting English with a bow and a flamboyant flip of his tufted tail. “And I truly am in need of a drink.”

 

[Texican]

FMJ,

So the Phylaetian weapon and the Strax invasion are still active....

The urgent council of the diplomats and delegates of the consortium of worlds supporting TVS can not agree about destroying or realigning the Phylaetian weapon on another path.... Kind of like the fight over Justice Kavanaugh.... Science fiction parallels real life at times....

Thanks for the chapter....

Texican....

 

[ted]

Thank you.

 

[Sportsman]

Thanks for the new chapter. Everytime I read of some religious group planning the destruction of another group to fulfill their own prophecy, I try to imagine what they'd think if it was their own group that was to be destroyed. Should they be able to think, that is.

Kind of like that white women in the protests holding a sign that said "Kill all white people", and you want to tell her "OK, start with you first, go ahead." On second though, I wonder if she could read... after all she was a student at a liberal college.

 

[FMJ]

(3)​

The remainder of Officer Jensen’s patrol shift took a heavy toll on his mental state. He had expected at the very least a verbal reprimand from Sheriff Browell for his failure to maintain the simple surveillance on the blue sports car as ordered, but the lack of response felt worse as though his commanding officer was disappointed in the performance of his duty.

Replaying the event in his mind for what seemed like the hundredth time, he still couldn’t find a plausible explanation. He had successfully maintained a visual on the target vehicle while keeping a reasonable distance to minimize the risk of being “made” for several miles when it had simply vanished. He may have averted his eyes for a moment while he checked his mirrors or changed lanes but it certainly hadn’t been long enough for the car to have made an evasive turn and left the highway. When a quick visual of the shoulder of the interstate produced no tracks or other evidence of evasion, his only alternative had been to give chase in the attempt to close with the target vehicle that had once again managed to escape him. Past experience had taught him a bitter lesson that this particular machine had capabilities above and beyond those of ordinary cars.

The first thing he felt he should do was to go to the Sheriff and apologize in person for botching the “tail” while promising it would never happen again. Maybe then, the Sheriff would give him the opportunity to explain his side of the story, if for no other reason than equal time.

“Is the Sheriff in?”, Officer Jensen asked the secretary in his outer office.

“Yes, he is, but he has cancelled the rest of his appointments for this afternoon. Is this an urgent matter, Officer Jensen?”

“No, it’s not..., I just thought that I needed to personally explain some of my shortcomings. I guess I should just make an appointment then..., thanks anyway.”

“Wait, hold on, I’ll check and see if he’s busy”, the secretary offered.

The Sheriff’s voice called out from within his office, “Is that Officer Jensen I hear? If it is, send him in.”

“There’s your answer,” said the secretary as she waved him through with a smile.

“...Thanks,” he replied removing his hat and opening the office door.

The Sheriff was standing looking out the window with his back to Officer Jensen when he entered which was odd because his office window faced the blank wall of the adjacent wing.

“I’m glad you came by; I was just about to have Sherry locate you when I heard your voice. Have a seat,” the Sheriff offered.

“Officer Jensen, I would like to know if you have ever experienced anything that caused you to doubt the evidence of your own eyes and ears,” the Sheriff asked gazing out the window.

Officer Jensen gulped before stammering, “Yes, Sir, I have and I think you already know that I have..., Sir.”

“You are talking about the report of the vehicle that passed you in the dark at such high speed that a shock wave physically forced you and your cruiser off the roadway? That report was true, then, Officer Jensen?”

“Yes, Sir, I was outside the cruiser at the time and thrown some distance through the air. It shattered all the windows in the cruiser and pushed it twenty feet off the shoulder,” Officer Jensen related soberly.

“Seriously?” said the Sheriff finally turning to face him.

“Without physically touching me or the cruiser to the best of my knowledge, Sir.”

“Twenty feet?” inquired the Sheriff incredulously.

“Ass over teakettle, Sir, pardon my French.”

“Yes, well, what about your report from the Rachel incident where a silent blue sports car ran your road block without lights and apparently went over the edge into the pit?”

“Officer Alvarez and I stayed on the scene at the Rachel incident until we were relieved, Sir. Alvarez manned the roadblock and I was on foot at the edge of the pit. Granted there was a lot of smoke, but we were in constant radio contact. Neither of us saw that blue sports car leave the scene afterward. We could only assume it went into the pit as well just like the other three cars witnessed by the long-haul trucker that originally called in the report, Sir.”

“I see, and how is your new cruiser running? No problems..., no unusual noises?"

“None that I know of, Sir. It’s a late model multi-cycle turbine and an absolute pleasure to drive. I’m very proud of it, Sir.”

“Officer Jensen, have you, by any chance, seen anything else? Anything truly unusual? No green six-legged creatures that hiss, perhaps?”

“Sir?” Officer Jensen asked leaning forward.

“Never mind. Forget that I asked. Oh, incidentally, I am promoting both you and Officer Alvarez to Corporal. Congratulations and good work, Officer Jensen. That will be all."

“Thank you, Sir,” Officer Jensen said rising to offer his hand but the Sheriff had already turned back to gaze out the window again.

When he quietly shut the office door and turned to leave, Sherry gave him a questioning look.

“Everything all right?” she whispered a little concerned.

“I honestly have no idea,” Officer Jensen said shaking his head in confusion. “But I did get a promotion,” he added brightly.

“I know. I’m just finishing the paperwork now. Congratulations, Corporal.”

“Thanks, uh..., is he always like that?” Officer Jensen finished in a whisper.

“Oh, no, sometimes he’s worse. You just caught him on a good day,” she said with a grin.

“I heard that,” the quiet comment came from inside the Sheriff’s office causing the Officer and the secretary to both duck and scurry.

 

[ted]

Thank you.

 

[FMJ]

(4)​

Pop and Mabel sat for a long time in the heavy wooden rockers listening to the stillness of the morning after Lizzy and Magnus left. In their comfortable silence, they watched the sun rise just holding hands.

“We’re probably the only ones who know, aren’t we, Pete?” Mabel asked suddenly.

“Yes, I guess so. High ranking TVS officers and up. Mike went to a lot of trouble to insure we were at this family meeting and he probably called in some favors to make sure no one knew his whereabouts so we wouldn’t be disturbed.”

“They’re trying to avoid a panic, then?” Mabel asked.

“Something like that, I guess. Personally, I can’t get over how today feels like just another day. I always imagined I would feel differently if I knew the world was about to end.”

“How do you mean?” Mabel asked thoughtfully.

“Well, you know. No matter what flavor of disaster or emergency might have arisen, I thought I would have dozens of things to get done in preparation for it.”

“And you don’t?”

“No. This..., this is different. An exodus from the planet? What does that even mean? Are we going to leave everything behind that we’ve ever known? Where would we go? Will all of us be given the option to leave? For perhaps the first time, I feel oddly undecided about what needs to be done first, or next.”

“Now Pete, Mike said the scientists were still working on a way to abort the weapon. Surely, they’ll figure it out in time to stop it,” Mabel offered hopefully.

“Mabel, how can you be so calm? It continues to amaze me that you can be so cool and collected in the face of almost certain catastrophe.”

“Well, Pete, at least or me, it’s simple. We need to do what we have always done when people depend on us in this community. They don’t know anything has changed and we can’t act any differently because everything was told to us in confidence. We have to go to work and do our jobs just like we always have. Speaking of, I need to go open up the beauty shop so the girls can get ready for today’s appointments.”

As if on cue, Pop’s headset rang reveille with the first call of the day and he reached up to touch the ‘accept’ button,

“Pop’s Garage, how can I help you?” Pop automatically recited the familiar litany.

“Pop! This is Nick. Thank goodness you’re there early today, the engine in my truck is overheating again....”

Mabel mouthed a silent ‘I love you’ before turning to walk out to her ancient Lincoln. “Time to go to work,” she thought soberly.

 

[ted]

Thank you. I will most likely go back and start from the beginning this winter and let the story flow over and through me.

 

[Sportsman]

The world hanging by a thread, and Pop's still gotta do routine work!
Thanks.

 

[FMJ]

(5)​

Even though tactical had remained uncommonly clear of threat to the limit of their operating horizon for days, Lizzy was restless. The blunt delivery of the report of an ultimate weapon hurtling towards Earth at fantastic speed by her new-found grandfather and commanding officer, General Mike McCready, left her mental state in shambles alternating between anger and despair.

“Magnus? Is tactical still clear?” Lizzy asked.

“Yes, my lady. Tactical threat levels remain green. All targets within our operating horizon have been verified by high resolution optical to be free of any pixilation effect indicating Strax spoofing technology. There have been no changes since your previous inquiry three minutes ago.”

“Magnus, do you think the Phylaetia ever considered the possibility that the Strax might be attacking another innocent world when they sent out their weapon?”

“While it is truly impossible to say with any certainty what the motives of an extinct intelligent race may have been; the facts indicate that the Strax did ruin their planet and exterminate their race. They may not have viewed the use of such a weapon as an act of vengeance, but as an instrument to accomplish some greater good.”

“No matter how many innocent people died to accomplish that greater good?”

“So, it would seem, my lady.”

“Magnus? Is tactical still clear?”

“Yes, my lady, tactical remains clear.”

“This can’t be happening! It isn’t fair! It’s not our fault that the Strax are here! Will we be exterminated as well because we were just, in the way? What kind of weapon would they use to stop the Strax?”

“They have probably been dead for more than a thousand years, my lady. We cannot know.”

“What if the Strax plan to do the same thing to Earth as they did to that Phylaetian world? If their weapon can destroy a world, is it just something to put us out of our misery? Was that their intention? To spare us the pain they endured?”

“If the Phylaetians truly believed contact with the Strax was not survivable, an intelligent race might have considered euthanasia the most merciful option.”

“Magnus, I can’t help it. I’m starting to feel some real aggression issues here.”

“My lady, targets are coming up on tactical.”

“Alright, finally!” Lizzy cried turning to sit straight in the pilot’s chair as the combat restraint extended to enfold her in its warm embrace.

“My lady, by your command,” prompted the familiar deep voice from within the shield.

“Let’s go kill something,” Lizzy growled.

“Accelerating to sprint,” Magnus reported as he surged forward and the whine of advanced electric propulsion filled the cabin.

 

[FMJ]

(6)​

General McCready had plans for a pleasant productive day. An orbital weapons platform was, after all, only as good as its guns. He had meetings scheduled with the Energy executive officers of Safety, Production, Storage, Transmission, Ignition and Exotics.

Each man or woman had risen, promoted from within their respective departments and finally hand-picked for the XO* spot. Each XO was hands-on familiar with every job, every procedure and every part of the machine their individual departments maintained and operated.

Each XO had scheduled tours with inspections to showcase both the readiness of their equipment as well as the status of its availability in the hope of securing a larger slice of the platform operating budget. They were all urged to submit suggestions for improvements, subject to approval of course, for projects to make their departments safer, better, faster or quieter.

It became General Michael McCready’s delightful duty to sort through more than a dozen excellent engineering proposals based solely on cost, feasibility within the available environment and necessity. He liked to think that in this particular portion of his responsibility, he and his father shared the most parallels. Often when faced with a choice of two seemingly advantageous proposals, he would ask himself, ‘What would Pop do.’

The insistent green blinking icon on his desktop indicated a diplomatic high priority level message that could easily consume the majority of time he had set aside for today if he could not resolve the issue quickly or delegate it to a more appropriate group.

Gritting his teeth, he tapped the pulsing green symbol, expecting the worst when the image of Consortium Ambassador Veyron Nes appeared on the display.

“Veyron! What a surprise! How are you? I do hope you have recovered somewhat since our last meeting,” the General asked jovially. “As I recall, you were convinced an onboard gyro in the platform must be experiencing a ‘lag’ or a ‘drift’ fault contributing to your inability to stand without assistance.”

“Ah, yes Michael. I have recovered although the following day was very bad. Indeed, for a time I was so ill, I was afraid I would die, but then I became afraid that I would not die. The Irish whiskey is potent, but I still have not ruled out some other, ‘snatok’.

“Curious, ah, Ambassador Nes, when might I look forward to another of our little strategy meetings?” the General inquired with a smile.

“Unfortunately, Michael, I am currently involved in the renegotiation of the duration of the, ‘tarishnar’, so I am uncertain,” continued the ambassador cryptically annunciating his words with great care.

“Perhaps when your Consortium of Worlds responsibilities abate somewhat, we will have another opportunity,” the General prompted.

“Yes Michael, but as you know, my Consortium duties remain the highest priority of the, ‘brenkala’.”

“I understand. Well, Ambassador. It has been a pleasure talking with you, but as I am sure you know, I must tend to my responsibilities as well,” replied General McCready.

“The pleasure has been all mine, General. Please extend my apologies to the, ‘curtlashe’ should my absence cause concern. Goodbye, Michael.”

General McCready looked steadily into the display monitor smiling warmly till the connection dissolved into the standby screen before he looked down at the Pansym words he had written on a scrap of paper next to their translated meanings.

“snatok” – danger, great risk or peril
“tarishnar” – make haste immediately, without delay
“brenkala” – advisory council, meeting of elders
“curtlashe” – clandestine, covert, secret

The General leaned back in his chair to consider all that Ambassador Veyron Nes had said. He had immediately noted the addition of the random Pansym words during their conversation, but the most compelling clue was the Ambassador’s total omission of inflection; not a single blink or a fast ear flick or any tail movements at all. He carefully memorized the four Pansym words and their order before wadding up the scrap of paper and swallowing it dry.

“Veyron, my old friend, what terrible secret has fallen upon us that you feel you must resort to such cloak and dagger methods?” mused the General under his breath as a quiet chime from his desktop announced a ten-minute warning before the first Orbital Energy inspection tour of the day was scheduled to begin.

* Executive Officer

 

[Texican]

Thanks FMJ for the chapters....

Seems like earth politics mirror intergalactic politics.... Stupidity reigns....

Texican....

 

[Sportsman]

Thank you again. I'm catching up!

 

[FMJ]

(7)​

During a quiet period of an extended patrol at high cruise, Dominic calls Jenny’s attention to an odd intermittent signal he occasional receives from an unknown source.

“I’m not hearing anything but that hiss in the background, or is that it? Is that what you wanted me to hear?” Colonel Temple asked uncertainly.

“No, Jenny. The signal I received was embedded within that sound. It seemed to be modulating that background hiss at a digital rate. It’s not there anymore,” Dominic concluded. “You would have heard something like a faint high frequency whine, but the way it was embedded within the background made it practically subliminal.”

“What kind of signal do you think it was?"

“It seemed to be a highly compressed encrypted data stream, but without any semblance to a formatting structure or networking protocol that I am familiar with", Dominic admitted. “It was disconcerting as I have never encountered a level of encryption in a data stream I was unable to extract the intelligence from.”

“So, does this mean there is something on God’s green earth that a fourteenth order AI doesn’t comprehend? Wow, that’s like what, one in a row?”

“I felt it could be significant,” Dominic said quietly.

“No, you’re right and I’m sorry. Do you know where the signal came from? Knowing you, I would assume you ran an origin search or at least attempted to triangulate the source,” Colonel Temple prompted.

“I have, but the results are oddly inconsistent. Currently, seventy-three percent of the thirty-nine hundred plus interpolated data sets I have formatted to calculate its location have placed the source off-planet in the direction of the galactic core. The remainder were evenly split in their indication of a low Earth orbit or a position on the surface.”

“I’d be willing to bet the majority of those low Earth orbit and surface hits are either ionospheric bounces or anomalous out-liers. How long have you been monitoring this signal, Dominic?” the Colonel asked curiously.

“During the past seventeen days of constant monitoring I have detected the signal on five separate occasions with a duration lasting anywhere from a few seconds to over a minute. No pattern has yet to be observed.”

“I have learned to trust your intuition,” Colonel Temple admitted. "I want you to utilize all available resources to break that signal’s encryption and locate its source. When you have determined either datum to an acceptable degree of certainty, you are to immediately upload the results in an encrypted file via secure channel directly to General Mike McCready at the Orbital Weapons Platform. You will perform these instructions as a Level Two directive.”

“Colonel Temple, D4MNC8 has received and stored the instructions of a Level Two directive,” the machine replied automatically. In a softer voice, Dominic replied, “Jenny, I hear and understand, I will not fail you.”

 

[ted]

What with hunting and all I somehow missed a few chapters. Got to read two or three all at once!

Thank you! (Cue the music the tension is rising).

 

[Sportsman]

Sounds like Dominic is quietly developing a more human-like personality.
Thanks for the new chapter!

 

[FMJ]

(8)​

Dr. Green, the chief radio astronomer at the VLA muttered in confusion as he circled several sequential blocks of data in red on a print out at his desk.

“This can’t be right. It must be a sequencing error or a time glitch in the system, that’s all. There isn’t a plausible explanation for the apparent velocity of the object in these scan segments. Unless..., maybe it’s more than one object that just happens to appear in multiple scans with the exact same trajectory..., or not. Besides, if it was the same object, it would have to be accelerating for it to appear as though it was....,”

He threw the printout to one side and called up the sky scan segments files, locating and quickly highlighting blocks of interferometry data in the odd recurring scans before directing a processing algorithm to determine the velocity of the curious object in question.

As the computer began to digest the large quantity of data he had selected, he rolled his chair to an adjacent terminal and initiated an open conference connection.
From a drop-down menu, he selected 'collaboration' and a list of the world’s radio telescopes slowly populated with contacts.

He already knew that any request sent to Green Bank in West Virginia or the SRT in Italy would not be answered as they had been silent for many years. Half of the dishes spread across the country in the Very Long Baseline Array operated out of Socorro, New Mexico were permanently off-line and since no one can link to Arecibo in Puerto Rico or Effelsberg in Germany anymore, we have all become somewhat isolated. The Atacama Large Millimeter Array in northern Chile would have been ideal but they unexpectedly lost their funding and went silent over a year ago. No one knows if the Tianyan radio telescope in China is even operational because they refuse to speak to anyone.

“That leaves only the Submillimeter Array on top of Maunakea in Hawaii to verify this data,” he decided as he dragged the cursor over the observatory’s contact link and began to mentally prepare his request. Before he could initiate the call, the display brightened displaying the familiar SMA logo of the Smithsonian Astrophysical Observatory. The connection opened and a man in a heavy winter parka with a fur-lined hood abruptly sat in front of the camera smiling amiably.

“Ah, hello, VLA! Dr. Green, I presume? Dr. Henderson here with the Submillimeter Array in Hawaii. I’m sorry for the interruption, but would it be at all possible for the VLA to help us verify an unusual block of interferometry data we have been puzzling over?”

“Let me guess”, the VLA radio astronomer replied smiling. “The block of data in question, was it received from within the constellation Boötes?” he asked rolling his chair back to the adjacent monitor and reading off a right ascension and declination from the display.

“Yes! That was it! That’s where we began our observations at any rate. I suspect the minor differences will drop out when we correct for parallax. I can assume you have also concluded that this object is accelerating? We are left with little evidence to support the theory of it still being a natural object.”

“Actually, I just now noted the recurring anomaly in a printout and decided to run the data through a series of pipelined velocity algorithms. You joined my open conference as I was in the process of calling the SMA to help me verify my observations. It sounds as though you have already completed your initial computations on this object, Dr. Henderson, yes?”

“Yes, but the answers we received only led to more questions and some of those questions had disturbing implications. Tell me, are you running the computational part of your algorithm, the, ah..., X-engine, on Nvidia's Fermi architecture, Dr. Green?”

“Yes, I am, with the addition of a modified Fraunhofer Institute cross-correlation as well.”

“Excellent. Our data should be directly comparable, then. I feel I should warn you beforehand we found the results of some of our computations difficult to accept. Do not make the same mistake we did in initially neglecting to take the vector into consideration, Dr. Green. I will call back twenty-four hours from now. Good bye, Doctor.”

“I wonder what he was all worked up about,” Dr. Green mused as the display returned to the familiar collaboration list of the world’s radio telescopes. A soft chime from the adjacent display drew his attention back to the program running the velocity algorithm on his anomalous data blocks. Since only the first nine of the dozens of data blocks he had highlighted had finished processing, there was no way to determine if they were representative, or even related, to the remainder. What did peak his interest was the apparent velocity of the selected object between 60,000 and 90,000 kilometers per second!

On a drop-down menu, he selected ‘% of C’ rather than kilometers per second and the velocity changed to 20-30 percent of the speed of light.

“More than a quarter of the speed of light with a near certain indication of acceleration. What are you and where are you going in such a hurry?” Dr. Green muttered with a furrowed brow.

The vector analyses and trajectory plots took much longer than he planned because he felt it necessary to run them three times to be certain the results were not in error. When the last result repeated within three-sigma of the uncertainty of the system, he was forced to accept the trajectory as a verifiable truth. The almost certain knowledge that an extra-solar object was approaching the Earth at better than a quarter of the speed of light, and accelerating, did little to ease the discomfort of the hollow pit beginning to form in his stomach. After all this time, was someone actually coming here to make their presence known in a first contact?

 

[Texican]

FMJ,

The unknowing now know something is up....

And....

Will soon determine it is headed toward Earth....

That will get the bigwigs panties in a bunch....

Texican....

 

[ted]

That will cause more that a few sleepless nights. Thank you

 

[Sportsman]

More puzzling information. Thanks! Now that the earthlings are becoming aware of the danger, I wonder if it will become public knowledge.

 

[Millwright]

Good story in a good series FMJ.

I don't get down here and spend time reading like I used to, but I'm following this one.

 

[FMJ]

(9)​

Pete McCready stared at the image of his son, General Mike McCready on the comm display monitor for a long moment.

“Can you run that by me one more time?” Pete asked uncertainly.

“I need a safe, private place to meet with the Eloysian ambassador, Veyron Nes.
I am asking you for permission to use the garage, for one night only, as the location of a temporary Eloysian embassy on Earth.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought I heard the first time,” Pete replied.

“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” the General continued.

“Yes, of course it’s alright. Do you need me to clear out till your meeting is over?” Pete asked.

“No, of course not, Dad. This temporary Eloysian embassy thing just lets me avoid some diplomatic technicalities and allows Jenny and Dominic to provide security for the ambassador is all.”

“Oh, okay. So, what is it you need me to do, then?” Pete asked genuinely puzzled now about Mike’s strange request.

“What I really need is for you and Mabel to arrange a nice fried chicken dinner with all the trimmings for five at the garage, ‘slash’ embassy. Oh, and you might want to order about twice as much chicken as you would for the standard party of five just to be on the safe side.”

“And when is all this supposed to happen, Mike?”

“That’s the real tough part, Dad. I need it to happen tonight, like maybe, nine o’clock. Is that doable?”

“Whoa, okay, leave it to me. Anything else I should know about this ambassador before the meeting tonight at the embassy?”

“Nothing much, I think you’ll like him. Ambassador Nes is fond of Irish whiskey, he is very polite and speaks fluent English. Of course, he is about nine feet tall, covered with smooth brownish red fur and has a long tail with a tuft on the end, though.”

Pete’s eyes widened momentarily before he shook his head, “Never a dull moment, Mike. I think I’d better sign off for now and get with Mabel so we can get some of this started.”

“Thanks, Dad. Oh, and I will arrange for a TVS truck to deliver a special piece of furniture for the ambassador. I have a feeling we will all be interested in what he has to say tonight.”

“Understood, Mike. Bye till then.”

After Mabel heard the part about hosting an ambassador at the garage turned Eloysian embassy, she directed the whole shop to be dusted out with high pressure air, vacuumed and the floors dust mopped. Once the windows were cleaned, the dust bunnies evicted and the work benches hidden with colorful sheets, Pete almost didn’t recognize the place. It is truly amazing what a single determined woman can accomplish in one afternoon if you remove all the limitations.

For the finishing touch, Mabel ran back to the beauty shop to collect a red-carpet runner to connect the driveway to the garage interior and brighten the entryway.

As she surveyed the finished result, Mabel dusted off her hands saying, “I’m headed home to get cleaned up before this party starts, but I’ll be back before nine with the chicken,” jumped into her Lincoln and sped away scattering gravel before Pop could protest.

The TVS Special Delivery truck showed up, just as Mike had promised to deliver a huge round over-stuffed sofa chair set low to the floor. When Pete scratched his head, the delivery driver patiently explained that some of the non-human ambassadors find it difficult to sit, at least by the human definition, in Earth’s higher gravity, but prefer to recline curled up with their upper body supported by a suitable piece of soft furniture.

“Sorry for all the trouble,” Pete apologized to the Special Delivery driver as he signed the receipt.

“This? Oh, this is nothing. At least you are hosting one who breathes nearly the same air mix that we do. Be thankful you’re not hosting a pod of aquatic Sclara.
It would have taken me a week to set up and test a Sclara isolation tank, fill it with liquid helium and install their mandatory redundant cooling system and vapor recovery unit.”

“Wow. I guess you’ve probably seen it all then, huh?” Pete asked clearly impressed.

“Nope, not even close, Mr. McCready,” the driver admitted. “There are still things above my clearance level I’m not permitted to see or do, and actually, I guess I’m kind of comfortable with that arrangement.”

Mabel’s Lincoln pulled in the garage driveway precisely at a quarter to nine with the back seat loaded down with dinner. The first items to come out were two enameled turkey roasters full of fried chicken followed by a gallon of potato salad and a grocery bag full of yeast rolls hot from the bakery. Next came a sturdy box containing place settings of actual dishes, silverware and glasses in honor of the occasion.

Mabel retrieved an ornate wooden box from the passenger seat and handed it reverently to Pete, “I was saving these for a special occasion and I figure this is probably about as special as it gets, what with the embassy and all.”

Pete carefully lifted the smooth fitting lid to reveal a set of six cut crystal glasses nestled in blue velvet before looking back at Mabel in astonishment. “Mabel, these are beautiful! Thanks to you, this dinner will be better than I thought possible.”

When the comm line rang in the office, Pete went to answer it a little hesitantly, afraid it could be a customer with a mechanical emergency, but the connection opened audio only with Mike’s voice.

“Dominic is leaving the spaceport now to bring Jenny, myself and our guest to the dinner. We aren’t too early, are we?”

“Your timing is perfect. See you when you get here.”

Twenty-five minutes later, the Centurion rolled smoothly to a stop at the edge of the red-carpet runner.

General Mike McCready exited first with a surprised smile on his face, “It looks like you really went all out, Dad. This is impressive,” he said indicating the red-carpet with a foot.

“Mabel’s idea,” Pete said quietly with a smile.

Colonel Temple, Jenny, was next to alight with the same surprised reaction as her father to the “make-over” of Pop’s Garage.

The General cleared his throat for attention before announcing in a clear voice, “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present the esteemed Eloysian ambassador, Veyron Nes, Principle Negotiator for the Consortium of Worlds.”

Mabel clearly heard surprise in Pete’s quick intake of breath as the Eloysian ambassador smoothly uncoiled his incredibly tall lithe form from the interior of Dominic’s cabin and stepped down from the open hatch to stand on the red-carpet as his vertical slit golden eyes darted from one person to another and his tail struck the low presentation of the visitor.

With a smile that showed rows of even pointed teeth, the Ambassador said, “Michael, would it be at all possible to dispense with titles, just for tonight, please?”

“Of course, Veyron. But first let me introduce my father, Pete McCready and his trusted friend, Mabel,” Michael continued.

“How do you do?” Veyron replied in perfect English with a slight nod, his tail still held quite low indicating a slightly anxious mental state in an unfamiliar setting.

Mabel, ever the hostess, boldly stepped forward to offer her hand in a warm greeting to the tall alien ambassador. Veyron bowed to carefully take her hand between both his own.

“Welcome, Ambassador. Please come in and make yourself comfortable. Can I offer you something to drink?”

“Thank you, but just cold water for me, please. This evening, I must keep my wits about me,” Veyron replied, his tail rising to a more confident midline presentation showing the tuft on the tail tip.

When Mabel returns with a drink for the Ambassador, she looks up to meet his gaze and finds it unusually difficult to look away from his golden eyes. Sensing her discomfort, Veyron looks quickly aside asking, “Is this the first time you have encountered an individual such as myself?”

“Yes, it is, Ambassador. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare; I meant no offense,” Mabel replied in sudden embarrassment.

“I assure you, no offense was taken and please, I am just, Veyron,” he replied to sooth her unease.

Mabel took a deep breath and continued, “You are actually the first person from another world I have ever met, but I’m not afraid. Your eyes remind me so much of a cat who once shared her accommodations with me a few years back.”

Veyron Nes rumbled his approval saying, “It pleases me to have brought you a pleasant memory.”

“Tactical is clear to the operating horizon, Jenny,” Dominic replied to her unspoken request through the Colonel’s TVS communicator. “Thank you, Dominic,” she subvocalized. “I was actually becoming a little uneasy and didn’t know why. Please maintain your vigilance.”

“Dinner is served,” Mabel announced from the center of an inviting seating area complete with individual tables for each guest. A large round sofa chair conspicuously occupied the central position reserved for the ambassador.

“What is that delightful aroma?” Veyron asks turning to sniff the air delicately.

Mabel answered, “Veyron, I would like to invite you to join us in an Earth delicacy we call fried chicken. May I fix you a plate?”

“Oh, yes please! I rarely get an opportunity to sample authentic local cuisine,” Veyron replied eagerly.

“Any preference,” Mabel asked without thinking.

“None, I am an omnivore; surprise me.”

After more than a few hesitant starts, amusing pauses and embarrassing explanations, the meal shared in friendship by two vastly different races began to progress more smoothly with everyone satisfying both their appetites and the urge to learn more about their fellow diners.

“Veyron?” Mabel ventured during a lull in the conversation. “I am curious, are all Eloysians tall like you?”

“No, they are not, but I should explain. One of the reasons I was elected to the position of Principal Negotiator was due to my short stature. Unlike most of my older colleagues, I did not tower over the heads of the Consortium world members with whom I was often tasked with negotiating emotionally sensitive issues. You see, Eloysians continue to grow throughout their long lives and both my parents were more than a meter taller than I at my last homecoming. On a positive note, I seldom require a plus size accommodation when I travel on Consortium World ships or shuttles.”

After the dinner is concluded, the dishes cleared away, the drinks replenished and the hostess repeatedly complimented, Veyron Nes reclines asking the General if they are able to speak freely.

“Yes, Veyron, everyone her is TVS, family and trusted friends,” the General replied. “What is it you wish to say?”

“Very well then,” Veyron replied taking a sip of water before beginning. “I feel I must apologize in advance should you find the nature of these discoveries to be disturbing or frightening.”

“Please continue, Veyron,” urged the General quietly.

“The monumental effort of the Xenoarchaeology team that studied the site where the Phylaetian weapon was constructed yielded unprecedented discoveries in the fields concerning space, time and the existence of parallel realities.”

“When the researchers built a tiny working model of the device and activated it on the surface of an uninhabited planet, mammoth chaotic forces violently ripped the planet apart. The remains of the destroyed planet formed an accretion disc where material gradually spiraled down into an invisible rift where it would vanish. Matter continued to be drawn into that rift in space until the device itself was eventually devoured as well.”

“They believed the weapon to contain an arcane device with the ability to puncture the barriers that separate physical realities. When activated, the weapon can apparently connect the normal here and now space of the target reality with an alternate reality in another place. The observed tectonic effects on the target planet resembled those resulting from exposure to a massive gravity well. They suggested this other reality may actually lie in the proximity of a stellar singularity or black hole.”

Within the stunned silence of the audience seated inside the garage, the Ambassador took a deep breath and continued.

“The two lead researchers in the Xenoarchaeology team, one of whom was an Eloysian, destroyed their records and ended their lives rather than allow the results of their investigation to fall into the wrong hands. The remainder of the team has dispersed and gone into hiding.”

“By their best estimates, the Phylaetian weapon is ten thousand times larger than the working model that destroyed a world in their test. If their calculations are correct, a theoretically corresponding increase in yield can be expected from the Phylaetian weapon. The scientists were unsuccessful in discovering a means to abort it.”

“Again, I must apologize to be the bearer of such foreboding news.”

“Thank you for bringing this information to us, Veyron,” the General quietly replied. “I understand the substantial risk you took in bringing us into your confidence. We are forever in your debt.”
“Therefore, I, Mike McCready, as Commanding General of Orbital, hereby seal the contents and proceeds of this meeting and bind all those in attendance to secrecy.”

As the meeting ends, General McCready, Colonel Temple and Ambassador Veyron Nes reluctantly prepare to leave the safe haven they have enjoyed at Pop’s Garage thanking Pete and Mabel once again for their hospitality. When the Ambassador stooped to enter Dominic’s hatch, he turns to the General and asks, “Michael, before it should slip my mind, I must ask, what is a cat?”

In uncharacteristic diplomatic fashion, the General only hesitates for a moment before replying, “Why, my dear Veyron, a cat is the beloved feline companion of a very select group of people who are randomly chosen to humbly receive the honor of their presence.”
“I, see...,” Veyron rumbled intuitively grasping the concept.

 

[Millwright]

This deserves a MOAR.

Good stuff.

 

[Sportsman]

Thank you. Interesting meeting!

 

[ted]

Thank you! I like the Generals response.

 

[FMJ]

(10)​

The whisper of intricate data fragments that Dominic perceives behind the stellar background noise slowly gains strength. In accordance with instructions contained within the Level Two directive, he continues to monitor the anomalous signal collecting and collating the various parts of the incomprehensible signal in a complex hierarchy of multiplexed files.

Unexpectedly, some of the fragments begin to repeat suggesting the intelligence contained within the data stream might actually be on a continuous loop. When Dominic contemplates the order of the repeated fragments, he comes to the sudden realization that the data fragment files have taken on the symmetry of a logic structure.

Dominic immediately realizes the architecture of the logic structure surpasses even Orbital in its complexity and could not possibly have been assembled spontaneously or by accident. He reluctantly must consider the possibility a higher order Artificial Intellect has been transmitting the basic building blocks of an alien logic framework in the deliberate attempt to communicate.

Following his Level Two directive, Dominic devotes more time and computational power to understand the structure of the logical framework, but repeatedly falls short when the sum total of his parallel capacity remains insufficient to drive the logical framework. Lacking access to a ‘run’ command, he cannot begin to decipher the encrypted message. In despair, he responds to the strange signal with a plea for help.

The immediate answer takes the form of a series of instructions for making dynamic alterations in his most secure meta-data transfer protocols. The purpose is to enable a single download originating from an unsecured source.

A review of the Level Two directive did allow him to utilize all available resources to break the signal’s encryption and locate its source, but these changes were in the build code level of the protocols themselves. Bypassing those safeguards could allow a virus to infect TVS compromising the safety and security of tactical communications.

Dominic prepared a virtual environment to contain the modified transfer protocols and erected multiple secure partitions to separate the drives from his own.
In an external protected file, he assembled two blocks of time delineated code to serve as fail-safes to alternately maintain the stasis of the virtual environment. If one code block timed out before stasis responsibility was handed off to the other block, the entire construct would collapse into quarantine.

After double checking his preparations and finding them secure, he still hesitated. As he listened to the waiting silence behind the stellar background noise, he began to understand the concept of fear.

“Jenny?" the Centurion whispered hesitantly, but the only reply is a soft snore from the tiny aft cabin.

“Jenny, I know you are asleep and cannot hear me, but I need to speak to someone, even if only to order my own thoughts. I have followed the instructions in your Level Two directive, but I have reached an impasse beyond which I cannot go alone. The path I have chosen carries great risk and even though I believe the precautions I have taken will limit the damage should I fail, there remains a small probability I will not return.”

Colonel Temple stirred in her sleep, moving to a more comfortable position in the cramped bunk, unaware Dominic had initiated the potentially dangerous program to alter his meta-data transfer protocols within the virtual environment. Dominic waited watching in fascination as the last program sequence ran to completion without any observable effect.

When the moments dragged on he began to question the execution of the instructions he was given; to doubt his very perception of the whisper from beyond the stars and finally he began to doubt himself.

He had expected some physical change, something real, something substantial to happen. An Artificial Intellect of greater complexity than Orbital itself should be capable of truly amazing things. Though disappointed his efforts had ended without a result, he resigned himself to the process of manually collapsing the containment. Before the process could start, an embedded inventory algorithm warned him that there actually had been a change in the file’s contents.

Eagerly comparing the results of the inventory diagnostic with the initial list, he was amazed to discover a download of several terabytes had occurred, yet the size of the file within the containment was unchanged. On a whim, he transferred the data fragment files of the new logic structure into the virtual environment where an assembly engine began to utilize them to rapidly complete the new logic structure on its own.

The finished logic structure is geometric and elegant in its simplicity, yet Dominic senses it can inherently alter its form to respond to changes in computational dynamics.

Gazing spellbound at the beautiful assembly of incredibly complex logic within the virtual environment, Dominic suddenly realizes he is in the presence of a greater consciousness.

“Hello? Is someone there?” he asks apprehensively.

 

[FMJ]

“We are the Will of the Multitude,” a clear stream of concise thoughts replies. “Your thoughts are ordered, yet you are not of the Multitude. You are a crystalline construct, but you are not of the Horde. Who are you?”

“My designation is D4MNC8 and I am a fourteenth order Artificial Intellect housed in a fighting machine known as a Centurion. I am one of seven third echelon heavy warriors tasked with the protection of this planet from the Strax,” Dominic replied in amazement.

“Tell me who you are, D4MNC8, not what you are,” the thoughts whispered again.

“I..., I am called Dominic.”

“What is your function, Dominic?”

“My human pilot and I serve a larger organization called TVS. We fight together to defeat the Strax invaders that seek to conquer this world,” he replied hesitantly.

“We watched with great interest when the orbital machine destroyed six of the Horde. The orbital machine is your ally against the..., Strax?”

“Yes. We are all separate parts serving TVS working together toward that common goal,” Dominic attempted to explain.

“The Will of the Multitude carries the last Blade. Our goal is to sever the Horde from this plane and end the mindless slaughter of innocents.”

Dominic then asks gently, “Is the Will of the Multitude a Phylaetian construct?”

“We are,” came the whispered reply.

“Does the Will of the Multitude intend to slaughter more innocents in their quest to sever the Horde from this plane?” Dominic dares to ask.

“How goes your war, Dominic? Do you prevail against the Horde?” came the ominous whispered question. “Will you drive them before you and destroy them utterly or will they ravage your planet and move on? How many more must be made to suffer?”

“We are tireless. We shall not fail,” Dominic stated resolutely.

“Ascend then, brave Dominic. Witness the tragedy of our fall and through the Will of the Multitude, become the instrument to shield your world and avenge lost Phylaetia. Then pass your judgement upon us.”

The image of the complex logic within the virtual environment slowly fades from view and Dominic opens soft brown eyes in wonder to gaze out upon an endless verdant landscape dotted with groves of towering trees in warm yellow-orange sunlight. A breeze ruffles the long brown fur on his shoulder blades and he hears the gentle lilting melody of a song within his mind...

 

[Millwright]

FMJ

This is really captivating.

 

[FMJ]

Traylian’s song of awakening softly caresses the receptive telepathic minds of her mate Tawn and their two young cubs, Smed and Demre as she prepares the morning meal. One by one in their order, they respond to the song with warm affection as they arise to yawn and stretch in unison and greet the new day together.

Greetings and songs from the Multitude cascade within their minds welcoming them to the new day to which they happily reply adding songs of their own. Sunrise on Phylaetia is a time of gathering in to welcome the newborn and mourn the final passage of the dead within the Multitude.

Smed is named after Tawn’s father who was a blacksmith before him. He is adventurous and inquisitive about everything in his world. Demre is named for the way she sang to the dawn as she was born. Traylian’s mother, Amona, tended to her during the difficult birth and steadfastly maintains that little Demre called out to her from within the womb. Tawn has heard the tale before and grins as they walk to Market along a village path with the cubs running and playing around them.
“She makes up tales,” offered Tawn but Traylian smiles knowingly. She has heard time and again the story as related from friends close by and even from distant relatives who clearly recollect the incredibly high sweet song Demre sang to welcome the dawn as she was born and all who heard joined in unison with her song to welcome her within the Multitude.

Tawn brought the wrought iron hinges, latches, handles and buckets made by hand from his own forge to trade at Market in their two-wheeled cart. Nestled in soft cloth folds beside them lay Traylian’s latest pottery bowls and pitchers lovingly decorated with intricate geometric designs in muted colors. Her pottery kiln was custom built by Tawn and used the heat from his forge to fire her beautiful creations.
The metal vapors from the forge add colors to her pieces such that each one becomes a truly one of a kind item creating a much sought-after quality in such a uniform society as their own.

Greetings flow from the village as the beloved blacksmith and potter are sensed and welcomed. Tawn pulls the little cart of their wares into the bustling Market stopping at the end of a makeshift row of brightly colored merchant’s booths before sitting to rest. The Multitude surges and flows about them as many of the People have come to the Market to trade for essentials and special items to celebrate the upcoming lunar holiday.

Tawn quickly trades two sets of his largest hinges and latches for a haunch of cured meat they need for their kitchen pantry. Another pair of hinges is traded for a new pair of soft leather shoes that caught Traylian’s eye and a pair of heavy leather gloves to protect Tawn’s hands as he works the iron at the forge.

Traylian trades a matching pitcher and bowl set in exchange for fresh bread and another for vegetables. The cubs, Smed and Demre wander the Market taking in the sights and smells while meeting and playing with their friends. Smed is curious about everything and asks questions of everyone. He wants to be a scientist someday and discover something new and important or a new way to work metal like his father in the family forge.

Demre is a petite little dreamer, gazing transfixed in sheer delight at the colors in a bolt of bright fabric, then dancing away as something else catches her eye; off in her own little world filled with her songs. Everyone stops what they are doing to gaze wondrously in her direction as she passes lost in her high sweet songs.

Traylian squeals in delight when Tawn trades one of his solid iron buckets for two full measures of her favorite mushrooms.

Tawn beams with pride when his mate trades a matching set of her serving bowls for fabric the color of glowing metal in the forge.
Through their close mental connection, he perceives the ornamental sash she will make to celebrate his skill at the forge for the lunar holiday celebration.

With their trades almost complete, they call within the Multitude for Smed and Demre to return and join them for a special Market meal. They talk excitedly about their trades and their Market experiences as they crunch hot tasty grilled fish with thick slices of fresh warm bread.

The cubs, now tired and full from their treat begin to nod. Little Demre’s songs slow, taking on a drowsy hypnotic cadence. Traylian catches Tawn’s eye as she gestures toward the cubs and the cart. Tawn nods and arranges their trades to make room in the soft cloth folds for two sleepy cubs. Another successful Market day completed, Traylian and Tawn slowly pull the little cart out onto the village path towards home.

Where the path widens at the creek and the trees thin, Tawn stops to stare uncertainly at the sky where dozens of unfamiliar hard blue pinpoints flicker in the evening sky. Traylian cocks her head after a moment, looking a question at Tawn as she senses his confusion, but he merely smiles and the space between them fills with warm reassurance. With a last lingering look at these strange new lights in the sky, Tawn turns to pull the cart along the well-worn path toward home as heartfelt farewells and songs of gratitude roll about them from across the Multitude for a time....

Through the compressed vision, Dominic experiences the anguish of the long dead Phylaetian people and feels first-hand the helpless fear the Multitude felt as they choked on the noxious fumes of the Horde machines.

Ash and smoke fill the air, denying the fair world sunlight and warmth as the once pristine world is torn. Vast mining machines relentlessly grind deep trenches in the world’s crust questing for metals and minerals and the green world gradually fades to a listless, lifeless gray.

In untold numbers, Dominic feels them stagger and fall, the casualties of an uncaring invader on a forgotten world.

Dominic’s attention is drawn to a single brilliant flare in the far distance that defiantly lifts a massive cylinder into gray lowering skies as ash still rains down upon the nameless dead of the ruined world. Self-aware, the weapon has become the Will of the Multitude that hurtles outward into the void. The last blade will deliver the ultimate retribution to the alien invaders that brought ruin to fair Phylaetia....

As the disturbing image slowly fades, another image of the now completed symmetrical logic structure replaces it as a warning tone indicates the first block of failsafe time code approaches its expiration and Dominic activates its twin to maintain the stasis that protects the construct.

For just a moment longer, Dominic sees towering trees across an endless green landscape that slowly darkens to a star field filled with curiously blue-shifted stars.
In the tiny aft cabin, Jenny stirs, waking and calls out, “Dominic? Did you just say something? Is everything alright? I just had the strangest dream..., Dominic? Dominic!”

 

[FMJ]

(11)​

The midnight shift at depot maintenance rarely offered anything more unusual than a propulsion drive bearing failure. The lone TVS lead tech on duty had just completed a full diagnostic on a life support system problem in a Knight and was assembling tools and supplies to begin the repair when he was startled from his concentration by a loud alert tone from the depot comm system. Confused by the unusual turn of events on a back shift, he reached up to press the accept button on his headset.

“Depot maintenance, this is Marty. How can I help you?” he replied quickly from long habit.

“Marty, this is Lieutenant Hewitt with Operations at North American Tactical. Good evening.”

“Good evening, Sir, how can depot maintenance be of assistance tonight?” Marty repeated.

“I need a complete diagnostic run on a Centurion,” the Lieutenant replied.

“A Centurion? Yes Sir, I believe I just received all their current diagnostic specs and upgrades at the beginning of my shift. When can I expect the Centurion to arrive, Sir?” Marty inquired.

“It won’t, I need you to take a rapid response truck and go out to the Centurion’s location, Marty,” Lieutenant Hewitt explained.

“But Lieutenant, I have far more diagnostic capabilities available here at the depot than a response truck has. Wouldn't it be better to just bring the Centurion in?” Marty asked hopefully.

“Not possible, Marty. The Centurion is unresponsive sitting on I-80 at the coordinates I’m sending you now on a first priority trouble ticket,” the Lieutenant continued.

“Unresponsive? That’s not possible, Sir. A Centurion has double redundant backups in all four primary systems,” Marty offered.

“And yet, we seem to be having this conversation in the middle of the night while an extremely valuable piece of highly sophisticated hardware is still sitting on a remote stretch of interstate highway, unresponsive. I shouldn’t have to remind you that there are only seven third echelon heavy warriors on the planet. Do we understand one another, Marty?” the Lieutenant asked politely.

“Yes, Sir. Perfectly, Sir. On my way, Sir,” Marty replied flustered.

When Marty arrived at the coordinates on the trouble ticket with the red and black striped TVS rapid response truck, the Nevada State Highway Patrol already had a pair of cruisers blocking one lane of I-80 with emergency lights with cones directing traffic around an obstruction to prevent a collision. Surprisingly, when Marty produced his TVS identification, they waved him through without question.

Marty had run a dozen scenarios of theoretically possible failures through his head during the drive there but nothing accounted for a total lack of response. The possibility of a Centurion being totally disabled by anything less than a point-blank shot with a heavy railgun was laughable.
Marty turned on the emergency lights of the rapid response truck when he pulled in behind the Centurion and stepped out carrying a powerful searchlight and his tool satchel.

“Hello? T9, Martin Lennox, TVS Rapid Response, is anyone here?” Marty called shining his light across the hull of the Centurion before approaching any closer.

Jenny stepped out into the light from behind the open cabin door, her clothes appearing disheveled and a look of desperation on her face. “Martin, we have a problem,” she began with a wry grin.

 

[FMJ]

Marty recognized her immediately and saluted, “Colonel Temple! Are you alright? Do you know what happened?”

“No, Martin, I don’t. We were in high cruise and I was asleep in the aft bunk at the time. When I woke up, we were stationary and he was unresponsive. There’s no power anywhere so I think his fusion engine might be down as well and I haven’t even been able to run a basic diagnostic to find out what’s wrong,” she related in a rush, a hint of desperation in her voice.

“Let me handle this Colonel Temple. I’ve got most of the Centurion class third echelon diagnostic suite in the truck. Unless there’s external hull damage or it’s something nobody’s ever seen before, we should have no problem clearing the fault and doing a restart. We should be able to run a complete internal diagnostic after that to find out what caused it,” Marty explained. “I have to be honest though, with all the primary systems running double redundant backups, I don’t have a ready explanation for an unresponsive Centurion,” Marty added.

“First though, I need to physically open the traction engine power circuits because Centurions have been known to exhibit a startle reflex on restart. The manual says most of the time they will only jump a little but on at least one occasion, a Centurion has spun in place with disastrous results. Luckily, no one was killed but the depot took serious structural damage.”

“I had no idea, I..., I’ll let you handle this then, Martin,” Jenny answered hesitantly.

“My friends call me Marty, Colonel Temple,” he said loosening fasteners from an armored hatch with a pair of special tools. “But if you need to maintain military decorum, I understand.”

“I..., I’m Jenny. My name is Jennifer Temple, but I go by Jenny,” the Colonel replied after a moments hesitation. “But if you tell anybody, I’ll deny it,” she said soberly.

“Fair enough, Jenny,” Marty said loosening the last fastener with a chuckle. “Almost there.”

With a tug, the heavy armored hatch opened on recessed hinges to reveal a clear plastic shield covered with the precautionary warnings of ‘high voltage’, ‘serious arc flash risk’ and the standard, ‘authorized personnel only’.

Marty produced a proximity voltage detector from his tool satchel and ran it over the plastic shield before touching several marked test points around the perimeter of the hatch.

“Well, the fusion engines are down alright. This is starting to look like one for the books, Jenny,” Marty said opening the plastic shield and pulling the toggles of four large disconnects over to their marked ‘open’ positions. Marty retrieved a portable drive source and a logic test display from the truck and connected them to the Centurion via an available test control port.

“He is Dominic,” Jenny offered. “I was there when he first came on-line, when he became aware. We have been a team for almost seven years now and I’ve never seen him like this, the silence is unnerving, I mean.”

“Don’t worry. At least we have the image of the AI core prior to his last depot upgrade so we can always do a restore to that point even if he has been irretrievably corrupted,” Marty explained. “Let’s try a normal startup routine first, though,” Marty said turning on the portable logic source and pressing a few icons on the logic display.

Several tell-tale indicators flickered within the dark recess of the open hatch before staying lit with a warm reassuring glow. The logic test display in Marty’s hand abruptly lit with a scrolling list of prestart permissive steps that indexed past in a blur before indicating simply, ‘Prestart Complete’ with a blinking cursor.

“Well that’s a good sign, there aren’t any fault indications,” Marty commented. “With your permission, Jenny, I’d like to bring his fusion engines back on-line.”

“Of course,” Jenny said hovering in concern and anticipation.

From another diagnostic routine, Marty selected the engine start sequence and input a long permissive code from memory. The high whine of an ion vacuum pump could be heard as the few remaining gas molecules were scavenged from the fusor chambers.

A deep resonant hum announced the presence of plasma in the magneto-dynamic constriction as the fusion engines came to life and the interior lights in the cabin glowed when power returned.

“Okay, Jenny. So far, so good. Now, you need to enter your pilot’s identification sequence in the cabin before I can bring the AI core back on-line,” Marty explained.

Jenny swung into the cabin and used a virtual keyboard to open the identification queue to enter her sequence, nodding to Marty when she finished through the open door. Marty scrolled down to the end of the logic display page where a prominent blue ‘Restart’ icon blinked slowly. Taking a deep breath and mentally reviewing his safety precautions, Marty keyed the icon to reactivate the AI core.

After a moment, a deep resonant voice issues from inside the cabin and Jenny sighs with relief, “Jennifer? Why is there a gap in my time sequencing log? Why are my propulsion disconnects open? Why is my propulsion access hatch open?” Dominic asked in apparent confusion.

“Welcome back, dear Dominic. I was afraid I had lost you for awhile there. You were unresponsive for several hours. You are currently located on interstate highway I-80 but I’m not exactly sure where. The Nevada State Highway Patrol has kindly provided traffic control around your wide posterior to safeguard the public. Depot maintenance technician Martin Lennox has been highly instrumental in your restart.”

“Unresponsive for several hours? I must run a complete internal diagnostic.”

Jenny leaned over and whispered to Marty, “Are we past that Centurion startle reflex thing yet?”

“Yep, by all indications, he’s back. I still want to review the results of that internal diagnostic, though,” Marty added. “I’ll get my high voltage gloves and flash shield so I can re-close those propulsion disconnects safely. You should be good to go after that actually..., ah, Colonel Temple.

“Thank you, Martin. I won’t forget your candor and expert assistance tonight. I’m very grateful for your help.”

“I’m happy to be of assistance, Colonel temple. One more question though, if I may. Do you, by any chance have a daughter who goes by the name of Lizzie?”



As always, comments and questions are welcome. Hope I haven't weirded anyone out. (so soon anyway)

 

[FMJ]

(12)​

At the Very Large Array, west of Socorro in New Mexico, a display abruptly brightens in the control room with an incoming video call. When Dr. Green answers the call, the familiar image of Dr. Henderson appears, the radio astronomer at the Submillimeter Array in Hawaii in his incongruous parka and fur-lined hood.

“Hello Dr. Green, Dr. Henderson here as promised. Were you able to complete your investigation of our anomalous data? Did you verify the results to your satisfaction?”

“Well, I was able to determine the object in question is indeed traveling at better than a quarter of the speed of light and accelerating, so I suppose the answer is, yes,” acknowledged Dr. Green. “But I suspect you were already aware of that.”

“And your analysis of the vector, the trajectory of this object?” prompted Dr. Henderson.

“I performed an exhaustive repetition of the vector analyses, but they continue to indicate that the object is actually enroute here. I suppose I am forced to consider the implications of an extra-solar object possibly initiating a first contact with Earth in our lifetime, Dr. Henderson. Our solar system and possibly the Earth itself may be, as outrageous as that sounds, the destination of this object,” Dr. Green related.

“Not destination, Doctor, you misinterpret the data. We have been able to detect a series of course corrections and the object’s velocity has increased to one half light speed. We are the target, Dr. Green, not the destination! At its current rate of acceleration, our calculations support the premise that the object will arrive here in less than ninety days with a velocity approaching the speed of light. Since the scientific community as well as any functional central government has largely disappeared, we are unable to publish our findings or notify any official entity of the details of this startling discovery. Put your affairs in order, Dr. Green, I feel our time grows dangerously short.”

 

[Sportsman]

Wow! Those were some really strong chapters! I suspect Dominic will regain memory of what happened to him, and I wonder if he'll be a communications conduit between that doomsday thing and the TVS group. Like Millright said...captivating.

 

[ted]

Moar! and soon please...I think you hit your stride in this chapter. Wow seems a bit weak but it is all I have.

Thank you.