The Gods We Seek Page 5

  Elena’s avatar materialized in Sara’s aiDe. “One alien appeared near Seattle. It popped out of the water and headed straight for Seattle-Tacoma Airport.”

  What could it want there? Sara asked with her internal voice.

  Elena shrugged her shoulders. “Unknown.”

  “Abel, there’s been a development. I’d like to return to your office.”

  “The scans are automatic,” Dr. Okoye said. “I’ll go with you.”

  INVASION

  Striking

  VIRCOM materialized in Sara’s field of view. The agency heads, the National Security Adviser, and President Billmore were present. She replayed the events that transpired in Seattle during the minutes she rushed to Dr. Okoye’s office, the video automatically edited to highlight key events. The alien erupted from Elliott Bay and tore along a busy downtown road, overturning and slicing open cars along the way, heading toward Seattle’s Space Needle. The thing darted past the popular landmark and into KOMO-TV’s studios, one of the last broadcasters in the Pacific Northwest. Sara dismissed the summary video and turned her attention to VIRCOM.

  FBI Director Kyle Adams said, “Teams are converging on the station. Initial reports are that a cameraman was killed, and the sports reporter was gravely injured. He may lose a leg. As far as we know, everyone else made it out.”

  “The summary cut parts out. Where exactly is the station?” Sara asked.

  “Downtown freaking Seattle, across the street from the Space Needle.”

  “Damn.”

  President Billmore asked, “Why did this thing travel all the way to Earth to attack a TV station?”

  Dr. Okoye’s avatar pushed up on his walking stick and hobbled toward a holographic aerial view of the station. “Our radio and television broadcasts may have been their first encounter with our civilization. They might not know TV’s legacy tech.”

  “OK, so they want to, what, control the flow of information?” the President asked.

  “That’s a top objective of any invasion,” General West said. She twisted her head, cracking her neck. “The goal might be to prevent us from communicating, or it might be to broadcast propaganda.”

  “Local PD’s on the scene,” Director Adams said. “We asked them to cut power to the station, but they won’t move in. Their chief’s adamant that alien invasions are a federal matter.”

  “That’s the first time in history the locals wanted us to claim jurisdiction,” his deputy muttered.

  The Director grunted a chuckle. “Our team will be there in five minutes.” With a hand wave, a map appeared showing the TV station’s location, with a moving dot highlighting the FBI van’s position. It was racing through city streets.”

  “We have a pair of armed F-35’s from the Air National Guard overhead,” General West said. “The ones that were following the thing. I’ve scrambled a flight of bombers. They’re thirty minutes out.”

  Director Adams clenched her palms. “You threw enough firepower at that thing in Alaska to take out a small country. I doubt your fighters are any threat.”

  “The FBI didn’t fare better,” the General said. “Do you expect me to stand down and-”

  “We’re all used to being in control, and now we’re not,” President Billmore said. “Let’s stay focused.”

  The FBI team zipped around one last corner and raced down the street, toward KOMO’s broadcast building. “Cut power to the building,” Director Adams said, “then pull back a block and initiate a remote breech.”

  “Roger,” an agent said over the radio.

  The van stopped next to a gray metal box, about the size of a shipping container cut in half lengthwise, attached to the building. The vehicle’s rear door swung open and two agents sprang out. They attached C4 charges along the length of the box, then sprinted twenty feet to the building’s rear door, where they placed another charge. The team jumped into the van which sped down the street. The box exploded in a shower of sparks and shrapnel, and KOMO-TV went off the air.

  “So far, so good,” Director Adams said.

  Another smaller explosion shattered the station’s fire exit. The back of the van opened again, and a centipede-shaped, aluminum robot slithered out the back.

  “What the hell’s that?” General West asked.

  “Our experimental urban search and rescue model,” Director Adams said with a wry grin. “We asked the military to split the cost and share in the benefit when we started the program, but you said no.”

  General West zoomed in on the robot with a finger pinch. “Cool tech.”

  A video feed from the centipede popped up in VIRCOM. The walls of the TV station were sliced open, exposing pipes and wiring. Fine dust loitered in the air. Monitors hung askew from twisted brackets, the screens dark or flickering digital static. The robot worked its way over debris and up a stairway, toward the broadcast control booth. It was a glass-enclosed room with one section shattered. In its center was a two-meter chrome ball with numerous, centimeter-thick tendrils protruding into the station’s equipment, tendrils that squirmed in and out of various pieces of broadcast hardware. One of them shot toward the FBI robot with blinding speed. Seconds later, the bot rushed back down the stairs.

  “What the hell happened?” Director Adams asked.

  The agent radioed, “We lost control. Did that thing reprogram our bot?”

  The centipede exited the building and headed straight for what remained of the power junction. Alien tendrils sprouted from the robot’s body. One shot into the building and the other into the ground. Sparks flashed. KOMO-TV’s broadcast resumed.

  #

  Elena popped into Sara’s vision, her avatar overlaid on VIRCOM, her words only for Sara. “I thought you should know, we observe a great deal of Internet traffic from the KOMO facility. The queries stopped but resumed a moment ago.”

  “What kind of queries?” Sara asked, placing VIRCOM on hold.

  “The earliest ones related to language, mostly English but also Chinese, Russian, Hindi, and Arabic. Then the range of topics exploded, with numerous searches running in parallel. Some that strike me as important relate to Earth’s political structure, the military, technology, and the nature of the Internet.”

  “Shit,” Sara said. “I have to jump back in. I want you to stay connected and listen.”

  VIRCOM again dominated Sara’s vision, with Elena’s image inset. “Mr. President, we have to take the Internet offline. Immediately.”

  President Billmore turned to her, an eyebrow arched.

  “The alien’s using the Internet connection at the station to study us. It’s using our global repository of human knowledge to learn everything about humanity.”

  “It could be using it as a Rosetta stone,” Dr. Okoye said. “To understand us and communicate.”

  “Possible,” General West said, “but can we take that chance? We already can’t oppose it. What more if it learns everything ever published about mankind?”

  “Is it still connected?” President Billmore asked.

  “Yes,” Sara said.

  “Take it out, General.”

  “Sir?” General West asked.

  “Take out the damn station.”

  “Yes, sir!” She directed the fighters to strike.

  “Are any civilians in harm’s way?” the President asked.

  That’s become an afterthought to him, Sara thought.

  “Seattle PD ordered an evacuation out to three blocks,” Director Adams said. “I’m pulling out all law enforcement.”

  The President looked at General West.

  She nodded, indicating the evacuation radius should be sufficient.

  Three minutes later, the building exploded into a ball of fire and gray ash. Chunks of concrete and glass rained down upon central Seattle, pitted the Space Needle’s tower, and cracked the glass walls of its observation deck. As the debris settled, an organic shape with a chrome texture sprinted east along a major street, rolling over and smashing cars once it cleared the
quarantined area.

  “No surprise,” Sara said. “We didn’t take it out.”

  “Where’s it going?” Director Adams asked.

  “There are three data centers within a few miles,” Sara said. “If I were it, I’d go learn more about Earth. Which brings me back to, we need to shut down the Internet.”

  “The Internet is designed to prevent exactly that,” General West said. “It’s decentralized to make it hard to take out, originally so that our government could continue to communicate even if an adversary nuked major cities.”

  “I realize that,” Sara said, “but as far as we know, the alien force isn’t everywhere. It’s in Seattle. Let’s power down the data centers and Internet providers there.”

  “The Internet’s how most of our citizens get their information,” President Billmore said, shaking his head. He paced VIRCOM for a moment, then summoned Addie, his AI assistant. He told her, “Call the CEOs of tech companies in Seattle. Tell them the alien is on the way to a data center and extend my personal request they take their systems offline. And order Seattle’s power company to shut off electricity to the entire city.”

  Know Your Enemy

  Two of the three threatened data centers complied with the President’s request to power down. The third, owned by the defense contractor Sankos Corporation, was slow to obtain management approval because its executive team was at a corporate retreat at the CEO’s private orbital mansion and oNet, the orbital communication network, was overwhelmed by the emergency. It was this facility the alien selected. It broke through steel security walls and connected to the facility’s servers, to top secret files stored on site, and to the Internet.

  “What’s it searching for?” Sara asked Elena.

  “More of the same,” her avatar answered.

  FBI director Adams said, “There are thousands of employees in the building. They’re trying to evacuate, but there are 911 calls saying people are trapped. Elevators won’t work, security doors won’t open.”

  “It took control of the building security system,” Sara said.

  “Damn.” President Billmore paced VIRCOM again. “How long until we can cut the communication lines? I can't order an air strike with so many people still inside.”

  “You might have to, Mr. President,” Director Adams said.

  The President hesitated then said, “Not on my watch.”

  “Sir,” Sara said and cleared her throat, “there are likely redundant hard lines buried deep underground. We can figure out where they lead and block access on the other end.”

  “How long will that take?” President Billmore asked.

  “I’d estimate ten, maybe fifteen minutes. There’s also a backup satellite connection. It can automatically switch to comsats from a dozen providers, not all of them American. It’ll take at least an hour to get some foreign companies to block Sankos.”

  “We can’t stop this thing from studying us for an hour?”

  “At least,” Sara said.

  “General, pull the lead fighter pilot into VIRCOM.”

  A flat image of the pilot appeared, from the perspective of a camera in the instrument panel trained on her. “Commander Elliott here,” she said.

  “Commander,” the President said, “there’s a satellite dish on the roof. Can you take it out without undue risk to civilians inside?”

  The pilot banked her aircraft and looked out the cockpit. “I don’t think so, sir. If I strafe it, the rounds will tear up the building. If I hover and shoot level, I’ll hit surrounding skyscrapers.”

  “Shit,” the President said.

  “Sir,” Commander Elliott said, “if you don’t mind an unconventional approach, I might have a solution.”

  #

  Commander Elliott’s F-35 approached the Sankos Corporation’s helipad, vectoring thrust downward for a hovering approach.

  VIRCOM displayed an overhead feed from her wingman, from her cockpit, and from half a dozen news drones. AI programs searched for and displayed related data. Sara was first to notice a warning message. “Eh, Commander. That helipad is only rated for twenty-two thousand pounds. You’re way over that.”

  “Roger, VIRCOM,” the Commander said. “I’m pretty sure Sankos over-engineered the shit out of the building and made Uncle Sam foot the bill. Anyhow, I’m flying on fumes, so I’m about as light as I get. It’ll hold.”

  The aircraft hovered over the helipad and cut thrust. The roof bent under the weight, but it didn’t break.

  “Do you think the alien will try to stop me?” she asked while unstrapping from the seat.

  “It’s damn smart,” Sara said. “From what I can see, it still seems focused on searching the Internet. Be quick.”

  The pilot idled her engines and jumped down from the cockpit. “The first day of flight school, they stressed how important it is to shut down your engines before you get out,” she said. “I’m sure my flight instructors are watching the news and itching to chew my ass.” After a quick scan of the roof, she sprinted for the satellite dish. It was a small, plastic-coated parabolic antenna not quite as tall as her on a swivel mount that could point it toward any available satellite. A bundle of fiber optic cables carried data from an integrated modem to the building’s network. The Commander drew an M9 pistol from her survival vest and emptied a magazine into the cables. With a press of her thumb, she released the empty clip, slapped in a replacement, and obliterated the modem.

  Applause erupted in VIRCOM.

  “That’s the can-do, kick-ass attitude we need,” President Billmore said.

  Commander Elliott sprinted back to her fighter and spooled up the engine. Chrome tentacles sprouted around her, searching, slicing. The roof under her collapsed, and the aircraft fell into the building.

  “Shit!” Sara said.

  The tentacles withdrew.

  Something rocketed through the hole in the roof. A hundred meters above, a parachute deployed. The pilot’s ejection seat drifted over the data center, a gentle wind carrying her clear of the building.

  #

  “Bad news.” Elena’s digital expression uncannily mimicked human concern.

  “What now?” Sara asked.

  “Sankos is a defense contractor.”

  “That’s not news.”

  “They have classified information about weapons systems. Encrypted, to be sure, but twenty-first-century encryption won’t stop that thing for long.”

  “Shit.”

  “Yeah,” Elena said. “Shit.”

  “I’ll ask Sankos to remote wipe the data, but that’ll take time. We can turn a landline back on long enough and firewall it for inbound traffic only. Try to hack their system and hard-delete data while we await their cooperation. Assume that thing can analyze physical storage. A software delete isn’t enough.”

  “On it, boss. I’m past the outer firewall.”

  Sara raised an eyebrow.

  “Time is of the essence.”

  “I thought you’re hard-wired not to connect with new computer systems without authorization.”

  “That’s a common misconception,” Elena said. “It’s what you might call a commandment, but so is preserving the security of the United States. When top-level goals conflict, there’s wiggle room.”

  “Wiggle room, huh? Keep me apprised of your progress.”

  “Will do. I’m through the inner firewall.”

  “Already?”

  “Scanning the network. Backdooring file servers. Checking access logs. Identifying compromised files. More bad news.”

  “What now?”

  “Based on access patterns and timestamps, I’m confident the intruder decrypted files related to the Minuteman V ICBM upgrades.”

  “How long ago?”

  “Twenty-one minutes and change.”

  Sara returned her focus to VIRCOM. “The alien has access to our latest ICBM engineering plans,” she said.

  “What will it do with-” the President started.

  Six sleek,
man-sized, silvery objects shot out of the hole in Sankos’ roof and rocketed skyward, accelerating at an astounding rate.

  “What the hell?” President Billmore said.

  “We’re tracking them on infrared,” General West said. “They’re in formation, traveling almost due east. Heading Zero Eight Eight.”

  “Where could they be-” President Billmore said.

  “Montana,” Sara said. “Malmstrom Air Force Base.”

  “Shit,” President Billmore said. “Our nukes. General, tell Malmstrom to lock down the silos. Scramble fighters to intercept and bombers in case we have to take out the silos.”

  “Yes, sir!” General West said.

  VIRCOM displayed the status of fighters lifting off from Idaho and tracked the individual jets as they climbed into formation. It showed a flight of bombers launching from North Dakota and tracked the alien craft moving far faster than anything man-made could. The aliens descended on the 10th Missile Squadron at Malmstrom four minutes after leaving Seattle. Ten minutes after that, the squadron’s Launch Control Officer lost control over six Minuteman V intercontinental ballistic missiles, each armed with a five-hundred kiloton thermonuclear warhead.

  Base commander General Kline entered VIRCOM.

  “General, what the hell’s going on?” President Billmore asked.

  “The damn things burrowed through the ground and entered the silos from the bottom,” General Kline said. “We saw them enter on surveillance cameras, all at the same time, but lost the feed seconds later. Those demons were scurrying up the tube toward the warhead when the video cut out.” The General checked a monitor in his real world. “We have a security team ready to breech silo A-11.”

  “Don’t,” the President said. “We’ve learned our weapons are ineffective against them. Get your men outside the silo. If a missile launches, have them shoot at it. Maybe they’ll get lucky and hit something important.”

  “That’s one hell of a long shot,” General Kline said.