Alex Q - The Becoming

Nate lay on his back on the cold kitchen floor, surprised how good he felt under the circumstances. They were on the run from the authorities, after all. A couple of days ago his life was normal and, well, a tad boring. His dad always said people could handle the big things; it was the mundane that sent them crazy. Nate was scared, and not just for himself. He turned his head. Karen’s hair partly hid her face, and her eyelids fluttered under his breath.

“We need to move, baby,” he said, brushing the hair from her eyes.

“Wasn’t me who got us down here,” she said, sitting up to gather her clothes. “OK. Maybe there’s a clothes dryer in the basement. I’ll check it out.”

“Good thinking. I’ll take a look around the house.”

A quick look upstairs confirmed the house was empty, and the tell-tale letters on the doormat told Nate the occupants were away. Checking a calendar on the side of the refrigerator, he saw the 14th was circled in red and the words ‘back to work’ were scrawled across the top of the circle. The family living here would return from vacation in two days.

They showered, put on their dried clothes and fixed a quick meal from cans found in the kitchen cupboards.

“You said you wanted to go to your apartment, Nate. Is it wise?”

“This is the way I figure it. One, we could do nothing at Cybertronix. Basically, we were prisoners. I don’t know where Boyd’s heavies were going to take us, but I’m damn sure it wasn’t home. Two, we need somewhere to hide out and think this thing through. It could be we’re missing something important. Three, Boyd would think we would be stupid to go to my apartment. It’s too obvious, so that’s where we go.”

“He’s pretty sharp. He might think that’s exactly why we would go there.”

“It’s a bit of a gamble, I know. Besides, he’ll cover as many locations as possible, plus he’ll rely heavily on auto-surveillance, which we’ve mostly got covered with Alex’s help. I’m guessing my apartment will have low priority.”

“One thing for sure, we can’t use cards to pay for anything. We’ll have to go on foot.”

Nate shook his head. “Too far, Karen, and there’s too many open roads. With what’s at stake here, you can bet your life there are teams scouring the streets with our descriptions. Another reason I need to go home; I have stuff there we can barter for favors if we need to.”

“Let’s take a look in the garage, see what rides this family has,” she said. Nate smiled appreciatively. This girl kept her cool, and she was smart too.

Nate knew they couldn’t use the two auto-drives they found in the garage. Pre-programmed destinations were computed through Quadnet, and anyway, they were thumbprint secured. They were about to return to the house when he saw a vaguely familiar shape in the shadows. Pulling off the dust cover, he called out, “We’ve got our ride!”

The emergency meeting convened at NASA was unprecedented, including as it did the Administrator, Harry J. Packard, his deputies, and Chiefs of the eight Staff Offices. Each person received the same call from the White House, a call which stressed that this was not a request, but a direct order from the President. The barely audible hum of the air conditioning was punctuated with low-level conversation between the attendees.

Bob Tindon, Science Chief of Staff, had flown over from a conference in Brussels and was jet-lagged, although the trip only lasted three and a half hours these days. Alan Roe, Engineering, who was fishing in Florida, reluctantly dragged himself back for yet another meeting, although he acknowledged this one felt different. The President of the United States had never called them all together, not during his tenure. A disembodied voice announced the beginning of the meeting. “Ladies and Gentlemen, the President.”

The holo-form of a graying middle-aged man appeared in the chair at the far end of the table. His face was lined with the responsibility of his position and he wore the same casual clothes familiar to all viewers of his regular TV show Breakfast With The President. Upright and alert, Clayton B. James took the time to look at each man and woman seated around the table.

“Thank you, Harry, for expediting this meeting.” He nodded toward the Chief Administrator. “Let’s get right into it. I’m a simple country boy, so I need some advice from the specialists.”

They smiled at his well-known country boy routine. He had a mind like a steel trap, but he knew how to put people at ease.

“Harry, for those folks who just flew in, why don’t you run through it one more time.”

“Yes, Mr President.” An expanded holo-form cube sprang upwards out of the table top. “Some hours ago our deep space section detected a trajectory deviation for the returning Deep Pluto Nine probe. Tracking confirmed it’s going to sling-shot around Jupiter, a maneuver which it will complete in under one hour’s time. A short time later Operations confirmed the deviation was due to a course correction booster malfunction, or so they thought.” A buzz went around the room.

“Have they changed their ideas about the cause?” the President asked. The Administrator looked over at the Engineering Chief.

“Alan Roe, sir, Engineering. The consensus among my people is that a malfunction is not likely. The chances of an accidental boost resulting in a perfectly coordinated planetary sling-shot maneuver are in the order of billions to one.”

“And what exactly is a planetary sling-shot move?”

“If I may, Mr President. Bob Tindon, Science. It’s a procedure we regularly program into our probe trajectories as a means of minimizing the quantity of on-board fuel required for deep space travel. Basically, a probe’s speed is matched to the gravitational pull of a planet, so the planet almost pulls it down; almost, but not quite. Its speed is such that it is catapulted away from the planet in another direction at a much faster speed.”

“So the mass of the probe, the size of the planet, their relative speeds and positions are all critical.”

“That’s exactly right, sir.”

“But accidents do happen,” the President said.

The Administrator continued. “We were entertaining the possibility until we extrapolated the probe’s new course after the sling-shot, sir. DP9 is going to rendezvous with an asteroid on a near-Earth fly-by trajectory, a rendezvous impossible without the planetary slingshot move.”

“How big is this rock? Is the probe going to land on the thing?”

“DP9 can’t land anywhere, sir. Its boosters are low power and correctional only. We believe this is why the slingshot was needed.”

“You’re saying this was planned?”

“It’s the only conclusion we’ve come to so far, Mr President.”

“How big is this … what did you call it earlier?”

“We call it Scion 6 for short, sir,” Bob Tindon said, “It’s nearly a hundred miles across.”

“When you briefed me earlier, Harry, you said it was scheduled to pass within two hundred thousand miles of Earth. My guess is that it’s not going to do that now, is it?”

The 3D image inside the holo-cube showed an animated representation of the trajectories of DP9, Scion 6 and planet Earth.

“No, sir. If there is no change in parameters, after the impact with the probe the asteroid known as Scion 6 will land in the Pacific Ocean.” Thirteen solemn faces stared at each other across the table.

“But Scion 6 is massive, and what’s the mass of DP 9, three hundred pounds or so?” the President asked.

“Two hundred ninety-two pounds, but at the velocity the probe is traveling Scion 6′s flight path will deviate from its original course by one arc-second. It’s thirty-five million miles away, sir. It’s enough to put us on collision course.”

“Spell it out, Harry. What are we looking at here?”

“We’re double-checking the data, sir.”

“Harry. What’s going to happen?”

“We’re looking at an extinction event, sir. It will be the end of the human race in three and half days.”

The President rested his chin on both hands before sitting upright and clearing his throat.

“If God wills it, then that’s what it will be, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit gazing into the sky waiting for a big rock to fall on my head.” The gloomy mood in the room instantly lifted.

“You people are the best at what you do. If there’s a solution, I know you’re going to find it. Harry, please keep me informed; you have a direct line. Anything you need, you’ll get it, and thank you all.” The holo-form flickered and disappeared.

The Administrator stood. “You heard the President. Let’s look at it this from every angle. I hardly have to say it, but nobody goes home and all outside contact is restricted. We’ll meet again in five hours. Let’s go, people.”

Six thousand miles way the Administrator of the Russian Federal Space Agency was saying the same thing to his team, including telling them they were the best in the world at what they did.

“Are you sure you can drive this old thing?” Karen asked.

Nate sat astride the ancient gas engine motorcycle and pushed the starter. The engine roared to life. “This old thing is an 1100cc Honda Shadow. Dad had one when I was a kid, back in the days when you could get Jap bikes in the US. It isn’t speed limited like the auto-drives around today and it’s legal with the right papers. It’ll go well over a hundred miles an hour.” Nate handed her a helmet.

“If you say so, though I’d be a whole lot happier if AI was steering it.”

One of the neighbors on Breckenwood Drive looked up from his magazine to see the garage door over at Number 693 swing open. Jason Spencer’s classic motorcycle shot out onto the road with its rear wheel skidding on the gravel and roared off towards the city. That’s strange, I thought the Spencers were on vacation. Being a good neighbor, he picked up the phone and called it in.

Within minutes, a suburban task force carrier deposited a dozen masked soldiers outside the house. NSA agents scoured every room, while a SWAT team swept the grounds. After conferring briefly with his men, the Team Leader called Boyd.

“They were here, sir. Yes, sir – I’ll check it out and send it over.” Locating the home security console in the utility room, he reached into the control panel and disconnected the local video cube drive.

Nate took the Skyway to Potts District and cut across the old rail depot, stopping the engine on waste ground three hundred yards to the rear of his apartment building. They sat in the shadows, watching for anything that didn’t belong, namely a black Dynoglide sedan. The coast looked clear enough, but most of the street across the front of the block was out of view.

“We’ll go in the back way. Follow me,” Nate said.

After a few minutes of uneventful walking, they were at the rear entrance. Nate stood in front of the door face recognition camera, but the door stayed firmly shut.

“Quadnet doesn’t see you anymore, remember?”

“Shit! You’re right, I forgot.” He stepped back and craned his head back to take in the rusting fire escape ladder. “Looks like we’ll have to do it the hard way and climb to the third floor. Can you make it OK?”

“Faster than you, buddy.” Karen reached out to grab the first rung.

“That’s OK, you go first and I’ll watch your rear.” Jeez, how I love this woman.

Nate eye’s appeared over the sill as he peered cautiously through his apartment window. It seemed normal inside, which is to say messy. It didn’t look as though anyone else had been there since he left, but then a pro wouldn’t leave tell-tale signs. The sliding window was firmly locked, and there were no outside controls.

“We need to break the window,” Nate said.

“Yes, good idea. And we could go around banging on all your neighbor’s doors in case they don’t hear the glass break.”

“Have you got a better idea?”

“Try this.” Karen took off her ring and handed it to him. “It’s graphenium diamond; it should cut it.”

At Nate’s questioning look she shrugged, “It works in the movies.”

He dragged the diamond across the glass, and a high pitched scratching sound put his teeth on edge. This is going to work. Turning the ring, he etched a circle.

“Here goes,” he said. Taking of a sneaker, he hit the window. Nothing happened. He hit it again.

“Move over, let me have a go.” Karen exhaled sharply and hit the circle with her elbow at lightning speed. The circle of glass popped out.

“What the f— How the hell did you do that?”

“Karate,” Karen said, smiling sweetly.

“Remind me not to get into an argument with you.” Once inside, Nate checked the rooms and returned.

“Looks just like I left it.”

“So what do we do now?”

“We eat, gather some things that might be useful and head off on the Honda to the Retro Café. If we can get there, we’ve a chance of staying off the grid and buying some more time. The owner hates connectivity. See what you can find in the refrigerator and I’ll get my gear. We need to get out of here before the clones find us.”

“You don’t honestly believe they’re clones, do you?”

“No, I don’t, although they could be I suppose. I call them the clones because they’re all so damn samey. It’s like any government employee surrenders the right to individuality. Musn’t stand out, chaps,” he said, lapsing into an unconvincing English accent to make his point.

Nate found his backpack in the bedroom at the end of the entrance hall and began filling it. He scooped up three Class Five Quad-cube drives and packed them together with his old WiFi laptop. Opening a shoe box, he took out a package wrapped in brown waxed paper. He hesitated, not sure if we wanted to carry a weapon and make a bad situation possibly worse. The package contained a working pistol replica, created on a 3D printer for an old college project years ago. Better check with Karen to see what she thought.

“Karen?” he called out, “Karen?” Getting no answer, he grabbed the bag and returned to the kitchen. “That pizza sure smells—”

She was standing in the middle of the room with a gun pointing at her head.