U-10

Perimeter guards escorted Cruneval into the massive hangar where the new Seeker was housed. Without power to its special mirror skin, the aircraft looked like a C-17 cargo plane covered with gray plastic saucers.

When power was applied to the special laminated plates covering the aircraft, it took on a mirror finish that made the plane seem to disappear. Radar and anti-aircraft missiles wouldn’t lock onto the craft, rendering it the ultimate stealth fighter. Robust VTOL engines and over-sized fuel tanks enabled the craft to hover in one location for at least three hours.

The pilot, co-pilot and Commander of the mercenary contingent assigned to SEED came to attention as Cruneval neared them.

“Is she ready for lift off?”

“Yes, Sir,” the pilot, Collins, replied. “All pre-flight checklists are complete. All we need is a destination. We can leave when you’re ready.”

“Armaments?”

“She’s loaded for bear,” Commander Matthews, replied. “The DARPA people even let us have a couple of the latest supersonic cruise missiles that can be reprogrammed in-flight.”

“Excellent, excellent,” Cruneval mumbled as his thoughts shifted to the benefits of the orange capsules in his pocket. “How about nuclear capability?”

“Sir?” Matthews asked.

“Do we have weaponry that is nuclear capable?” Cruneval repeated with irritation.

“No protocol has been initiated allowing a nuclear option, Sir.”

“Consider the protocol activated,” Cruneval growled.

“Sir, with all due respect, we can’t deploy nuclear armaments over US soil without a direct order from the President,” the astonished Collins exclaimed.

Cruneval’s angry voice was almost matched by the red blotches darkening his pallid skin. Strutting to the cringing Collins, he shouted, “I don’t have time for that idiot to run my needs up a flagpole to see which way the political wind is blowing!”

Frustrated, Cruneval asked, “What about a MOAB? I know we have one of those in inventory.

“It will take the better part of an hour to remove the MOAB from safe-storage, inspect and calibrate it. Another fifteen minutes to load,” Matthews replied.

“You have thirty minutes. It can be inspected and calibrated after liftoff.”

“Sir, what is our destination?” the co-pilot, Hoover, asked. “I’ll start preparing the flight plan.”

“SEED Headquarters has been compromised. We’re going to root out the aliens by any means necessary,” Cruneval replied.

Sir, a Mother of All Bombs will demolish the building and all its sublevels. Do you have permission to take such drastic action?” Matthews asked.

Angered by the question, Cruneval grabbed fistfuls of the man’s shirt and blustered, “Get the plane loaded and take me to the SEED building, or I’ll find people who will . . . And you can ask God for permission if you’re lucky enough to meet him.”

Shoving the man away, Cruneval stalked toward the Seeker.

“I think I’ll start prepping the MOAB,” Matthews whispered.

***

“One floor to go,” Wraith whispered as she walked to the stairwell entrance to the third floor. “Looks clear,” she said as she peered through the small window in the door.

“The nanobots are programmed to find and repair weaknesses. By now, her body has been modified to its ideal state of health,” Koritt said.

“You mean you’re Insectoid ideal state of health,” Ty replied.

“Of course. The nanobots will eradicate her Human physical and mental weaknesses, remodeling her with superior Insectoid characteristics,” Koritt explained. Ty thought he sensed a hint of pride in Koritt’s voice.

“What can the U-10 produce to reverse the nanobot changes?” Ty asked.

“I fear there is nothing to reverse what’s happened to her,” Koritt replied. “The moment you gave her the pill, the changes became an irreversible process.”

“You never said that,” Ty growled. “When I told everyone you were going to make something to cure her, you didn’t contradict me.”

“I never agreed with you,” Koritt answered. “My purpose is to help her understand the gifts she’s been given.”

“What if she’s not happy with her gifts?” Wraith asked.

“I don’t understand,” Koritt responded in a bewildered tone. “Who wouldn’t want their body and mind upgraded toward ideal?”

“We’re getting nowhere,” Ty said with exasperation. “Let’s find her and deal with the situation then.”

Easing open the door, they stalked into the third floor hallway.

***

Lincoln was eating her fourth bowl of oatmeal when she heard footsteps in the corridor.

Flicking off the wall switch, she grabbed her pistol and glided into the living room. Selecting a dark corner behind her couch next to the sliding glass door leading onto a balcony, she leaped over the couch and crouched. The afternoon sun shining through the glass toward the entry door would blind her attackers.

Realizing the dented entry door with its broken hinge would act as a beacon indicating where she was hiding, Lincoln tensed for the coming confrontation. For an instant, she wondered why she wouldn’t welcome being found and helped. As if something was fighting for control of her thoughts, she felt a dull pain flash across her forehead. Her eyes cleared and took on a determined glint, and her grip on the pistol tightened.

Whispers in the hallway focused her attention. Her hearing had sharpened to the point she could understand words as well as the intakes of breath as the speakers approached the entry door.

“This is the only door with signs of entry,” a female voice whispered. “How do you want to handle this?”

“The condition of the door indicates her physical strength has been augmented. Her bones will have been modified in density to match. We must be cautious.”

The last voice was odd. It consisted of chirps, trills and guttural burrs. Lincoln realized she was listening to Koritt in his native tongue without the need for her suit translator. As she was marveling at her new found ability to understand the alien language, another voice spoke.

“She’s still Lincoln Frost. Born Human with Human feelings, thoughts and emotions. If we ram the door, she will feel like she’s being attacked. What would you do under the same circumstances, Wraith?”

“Shoot first and ask questions later.”

“That’s what I thought. I say we knock in a polite way and ask if we can come in.”

“Despite your hopes,” Koritt said. “She’s no longer Human. She’s an unpredictable hybrid; a danger to everyone except me.”

Lincoln furrowed her brow when she heard Koritt’s description. “What did he mean I’m not Human?”

“I don’t believe that. I’m not going to treat her like some kind of freak,” Ty responded.

A moment later, there was a rapping on the door.

“You’re out of your mind,” Wraith warned.

“Lincoln Frost. It’s Ty Lavender. Can I come in?”

Lincoln’s grip tightened on her pistol, and she pointed it at the door. She felt like answering Ty, but again the dull pain flashed across her forehead and her thoughts blurred for an instant. Fighting back tears, she cleared her eyes with her finger tips and re-gripped the pistol with both hands.

“Lincoln, I’m opening the door. Don’t shoot.”

The door creaked open with a small squeal from the twisted hinge. Ty poked his head through the opening followed by his shoulder. His eyes were slitted as they tried to adjust to the glare.

Lincoln’s finger began to squeeze the trigger. There was no way she could miss such an easy shot. Something wasn’t right. Why was she going to shoot Ty? She was alive because of him. Her aim wavered, and a splitting headache made her wince. The pain was intense, and she squeezed her eyes shut. Spikes of light shot across her closed eyes, and a wave of nausea almost made her vomit. Something was in her mind telling her to shoot, to protect herself. She didn’t feel right.

Squinting against the sunlight, Ty waited for his eyes to adjust. He heard a faint rustle from across the room. As his pupils adapted to the glare, he realized something was hiding behind a couch on the other side of the room.

Pushing the door wider, Ty spotted Lincoln in the corner behind the couch. She was retching in silence and seemed oblivious to him.

“Lincoln, it’s Ty. What’s wrong?”

He began shoving the door hard, trying to open it enough to slither through. A scream from the corner focused his attention on her. Her pistol was aimed at his head. Her free hand was rubbing her forehead. Her eyes glinted with purpose one moment and looked distracted the next. The pistol fired, and the slug buried itself in the wall, centimeters from Ty’s face. Ducking behind the door, Ty felt Wraith grab him. Just as he turned to face her, noting the concern in her eyes, he heard another anguished scream and something metallic thumped against the door.

“Ty, help me,” Lincoln whimpered.

“I’m okay,” Ty assured Wraith with a smile. “She missed.”

“You’re an idiot,” Wraith growled as he turned back to the door, squeezing through the opening.

Lincoln’s pistol lay next to the door. Ty could see the top of her head behind the couch. Rushing to her side, he grasped her wrists and tried to pull her hands away from her face. It was like trying to move iron bars in a jail cell. Her arms appeared normal, but her strength was alarming. Realizing he was getting nowhere, Ty decided to talk.

“Lincoln, we’re here to help you. It’s okay.” Ty wasn’t used to talking in a soothing voice. His normal tone was anything but mild and reassuring; however, Lincoln responded. Her weeping increased, and she hugged him. Ty was just getting used to her warm tears on the side of his neck when Koritt stepped up and stuck something on the back of her neck.

With a sigh, Lincoln collapsed. Not sure what to do, Ty continued holding her limp body until Wraith prompted, “Bring her out and put her on the couch. Let Koritt work some of his magic.”

“What did you do?” Ty asked as he drug Lincoln around the couch and settled her on it.

“Just a sedative. Good for at least two hours. She doesn’t look different,” he burred. Even through the computer translation, Ty could detect disappointment in the cricket’s voice.

“Stop describing and start helping,” Ty said.

“I already told you there is no way to reverse the changes made by the nanobots,” Koritt said as he examined Frost’s eyes with a small flashlight. “Look at her pupils.”

Ty saw the star shaped pupils and the red dots in her irises. Frowning, he said, “She asked for help. That means her brain and thoughts are intact. Right?”

“Maybe,” Koritt responded. “Or the bots haven’t completed their work.”

“She’s fighting whatever the nanobots are trying to do,” Ty said, holding her limp hand. “We need to get her out of here. Maybe if we zap the bots with an MRI or a CAT scan, they’ll stop working.”

“They’re designed to work in environments where radiation is always present. Your primitive machines won’t affect them.”

“We’ve got to try something,” Ty growled.

“Let’s start by getting her out of here and back to Elvis,” Wraith said. “I bet he has medical knowledge and a better idea of how to deal with bot tech.”

“She’s right,” Ty replied. “Let’s go.”

Putting Lincoln over his shoulder, Ty headed for the stairwell. Koritt looked at Wraith and shook his head as he glided after Ty. With an expression alternating between worry and disgust, Wraith followed them.

***

Once the alien grenade did its thing, Ty’s squad met no resistance as they made their way to the downed spaceship. It was apparent that anyone who survived the curtain of death wanted nothing to do with the people who unleashed it.

Watching the spaceship and its surroundings from a nearby line of trees and brush, they marveled that damage to the outside of the ship appeared minimal. Hashtag wasn’t so sure the computer network housing Elvis was unharmed. The EMP that caused the crash was wicked powerful, and if Elvis was hurt, the probability of liftoff plummeted to zero.

“How do you want to do this, Fisheye?” Sasquatch asked.

“Since we don’t dare use one of the nice anti-personnel grenades Koritt conjured, I guess we’ll have to take back the ship by force,” Fisheye replied.

“Why not just radio Elvis and order him to do something?” Psycho asked. “He has to have some way to repel boarders.”

“I tried,” Hashtag said. “When the antennas sheared off in the crash, our ability to communicate with him from outside the ship vanished.”

“There’s no way to know how many guards we’re up against,” Roadkill said. “The only good thing we can count on is there won’t be any booby traps. Too much danger of hurting something valuable in the ship.”

“That’s what I like about you,” Psycho grinned. “Always something positive to say.”

“Cut the chatter,” Fisheye warned. “They’ll have the ramp guarded since it’s the only way into the thing as far as they know. We’ll board through the cargo hatch we used in the canyon. Move.”

***

Everyone thought Fisheye’s plan was brilliant. The cargo hatch access point in the keel of the ship wasn’t easy to find from inside it. The probability it could be used to enter the ship undetected was in their favor.

Working their way around the downed spacecraft was no problem. The bushy landscape and scattered trees offered enough cover for them to sneak up to the port without being seen.

The problem presenting itself was the result of the crash. The craft had cut a furrow some three meters deep when it plowed into the field. To get near the hatch, they had to descend into the ditch and somehow reach the hull four meters above them. Even if they had a ladder, there was no visible access panel to open the hatch. To make matters worse, once in the ditch, there was no cover in the event they were spotted by the SEED guards.

“Never considered we couldn’t reach the hatch,” Fisheye said.

“Yeah. Even if we could get to it, there’s no cover. They’ll pick us off. I don’t fancy being a fish in a barrel,” Roadkill muttered.

“We don’t have a choice now. The ramp is the only access available,” Sasquatch grumbled.

The cargo hatch began sliding open. There wasn’t a sound until a robotic arm appeared. With a soft whirr, it extended toward them. The end of the arm was an open, tri-fingered claw that looked large enough to handle a cow. The glassy eye of a camera lens stared at them, moving every so often as if it was inspecting a row of vegetables. Hashtag thought of HAL from the 2001 Space Odyssey film. Everyone except him snapped their weapons toward the contraption. Hashtag was sure someone was going to shoot until Elvis spoke in a stage whisper.

“It’s about time you returned. There are five humans taking inventory inside me. They haven’t damaged anything, but their presence is annoying.”

“Elvis? You okay?” Hashtag gushed as the others lowered their weapons.

“Certainly. Nothing a reboot couldn’t resolve. You made the correct decision to access the ship via the cargo hatch. The ramp is guarded, and entry there could result in injury or death.”

“I don’t mean to be snippy,” Sasquatch said, “but don’t you have some kind of protocol for handling unwanted boarders?”

“Yeah,” Psycho blurted. “What the big guy asked.”

“I am not programmed to make autonomous decisions. Everything I do has to be authorized by a crew member. My programmers have a strict rule against artificial intelligence. Anything that might lead to intelligence uncontrolled by the Coalition is banned. That is why the planet Earth must be cleansed. The genetic experiment raising the intelligence level of Humans is a clear violation of Galactic Coalition edicts.”

“Then how does your programming logic apply to us?” Hashtag asked. “We’re Humans.”

“No, you are crew members. As such, regardless of your genetic heritage, you are recognized members of the Galactic Coalition,” Elvis responded.

“You mean just because we’re wearing these twinkling blue suits, we’re seen as Coalition crew members?” Fisheye asked.

“Yes,” Elvis replied although Hashtag sensed a moment of hesitation in the response.

He wanted to probe Elvis’ logic, but Fisheye was focused on retaking the ship.

“Everyone climb the arm. We’re wasting time,” Fisheye ordered.

“I have a faster method,” Elvis said and the claw grabbed Psycho, lifted him through the hatch and dropped him on the deck. Pushing him against a rack of shelves like a box of spare parts, the arm withdrew and grabbed Sasquatch. In moments, the entire squad stood in the cargo hold - unnerved but unharmed.

“A little warning next time you have an urge to help,” Hashtag scolded. “We’re not used to your efficiency.”

“Yeah,” Psycho muttered. “You scared me so much, my scream turned into a squeak. I’m still shaking.”

“Don’t whine like infants,” Elvis replied as the cargo door slid shut.

Trying to tamp down the thrill in his gut from being picked up by the mechanical arm, Hashtag asked, “Elvis, what methods do you have to eliminate boarders?”

“Oxygen deprivation, anesthetic gas, gravity negation, electrocution . . .”

“Stop,” Hashtag ordered. “You said gravity negation?”

“Yes. The unexpected loss of gravity can be quite effective. Even individuals with experience in gravity-neutral environments require a few minutes to let their bodies adjust to its absence.”

“Are crew members immune from the effects?” Roadkill asked. “It would be pointless to force us to operate under the same conditions as our enemies.”

“Crewmembers will not be affected,” Elvis said.

“Elvis, instead of removing gravity, could you increase it?” Hashtag asked.

“Yes, I can increase the relative gravity affecting non-crew members by any multiple you choose.”

“Excellent. Open the hatch and guide us to the nearest non-crew member,” Hashtag ordered.

“I don’t get it,” Roadkill said. “Electrocution sounds better.”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to deal with the smell or the bodies,” Hashtag replied.

“Just how will turning up the gravity help?” Psycho asked as he checked the bullets in his weapon’s clip. “I understand electrocution, knockout gas and bullets. What’s gravity got to do with anything?”

“Man, what if your long-gun weighed 90 kilograms all at once? What if your body gained 180 kilograms in one second? How would you react?” Hashtag asked, annoyed by the man’s ignorance of basic scientific principles.

Psycho sneered at the criticism and was moving to grab Hashtag by the front of his shirt when Fisheye said, “Stop it. We’re a team. Act like it.”

When Psycho’s frown didn’t go away, Fisheye said, “We can always fall back on sure things like electrocution and bullets if Hashtag’s gravity trick doesn’t work.”

Satisfied to see a slight nod from Psycho, he looked at Hashtag. “The gravity idea is a go, but if it doesn’t do what’s necessary, we’re going to use methods we know will work.”

“How is the gravity modification accomplished? Hashtag asked.

“All interior surfaces of the ship are constructed of a material that conducts gravity waves. Think of the reactions of a primitive electromagnet. Opposite poles attract and like poles push apart,” Elvis responded.

“I learned that in junior high school. Tell me something I don’t know,” Hashtag said.

“Millennia ago, Coalition scientists discovered that gravity in some materials reacts to modulated dark matter energy in much the same way as an electromagnetic field. The discovery led to the standardized use of the material from which this ship is constructed. With computer manipulation of energy flows through the bulkheads, decks and overheads, a stable gravity field can be created and maintained.”

“So we’re standing in a giant electromagnet,” Sasquatch offered. “Sounds simple enough.”

“A bullet is faster and more reliable,” Psycho said and slid the bolt on his weapon.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Elvis said.

Without warning, Psycho began sliding toward the nearest bulkhead and flattened against it. His body seemed to shrivel and gave the impression it was trying to blend with the obdurate metal wall. All the air in his lungs whistled through his lips. The extra ammo clips for his weapon broke off his belt bindings and thumped against the bulkhead. His mouth didn’t move, but everyone thought they heard a faint groan, “help me”.

“Okay, Elvis, point made. Let him go,” Hashtag said.

Psycho fell to the deck drooling and gasping. It took him several deep breaths to at last wheeze, “Holy Damn! That’s gravity?”

“What do you think now? Is it better than bullets?” Hashtag asked.

Struggling to his feet, coughing and panting, eyes blearing with tears, Psycho muttered a weak, “Yes, you damn clown. Gravity’s the winner.”

“Where’s our first victim, Elvis?” Hashtag asked.

***

The first SEED guard they spotted was searching the crew quarters. Personal items were strewn everywhere, drawers askew, cabinets open, boxes dumped. The search was haphazard, designed to locate obvious alien tech as fast as possible.

“Elvis, with a slow and steady increase of force, pin that Bogie to the port bulkhead with ten G’s,” Hashtag ordered.

“Complying.”

The guard, wearing the name tag, Whitt, was tapping the bottom of a dresser drawer trying to find a hidden panel when he felt something pulling him. Twisting around to confront what he thought was an attacker, he lost his balance and stumbled. Flailing his arms, he started sliding across the metal deck like it was greased. Thumping against the bulkhead, he tried to push away from it, but his strength was not up to the task. Breathing became difficult and his heart pounded like it did when he ran ten kilometers.

Trying to scream for help, the only sound he made was a rasping wheeze. A grinning face appeared next to his. It moved without hesitation, acting like it was unaffected by the crushing weight.

“Gravity is an angry mistress,” Psycho said. “Believe me, I know.”

Patting the top of Whitt’s head and mussing his hair a bit, Psycho continued, “Rest assured I will take it easy on you once you black out.”

Whitt’s vision got blurry, and his lungs were screaming for air when he passed out.

“I think you’re enjoying the gravity thing more than you thought you would,” Hashtag chuckled as Elvis returned a normal one G to Whitt’s body, and it dropped in a heap.

“Never let it be said I can’t learn new tricks,” Psycho replied as Sasquatch helped him disarm Whitt and tie him with multiple zip-restraints.

“Elvis, where’s our next victim?” Fisheye asked.

***

The other SEED guards were captured without complications. Other than headaches, a few bruises and one broken finger, no one was killed and there was no damage to the ship.

Sasquatch, Roadkill and Psycho dragged the SEED guards down the ramp and dumped them in the ditch furrowed during the crash. They walked into the crew area aft of the control room as Hashtag was going over a damage control checklist with Elvis. Fisheye was staring out the starboard viewport fuming about his inability to contact Ty.

“It will require fifteen minutes to repair the sheared antenna array once I’m airborne,” Elvis said. “Until they are operational, I will not be able to establish contact with Koritt, Ty or Wraith.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Hashtag asked.

“Yes, there is a sealed container labeled XMH-002F in the cargo bay in shelf partition 32-3. I need it connected to the feeder hoses in Compartment 2B.”

“That’s it? Nothing more?” Roadkill asked. “What’s it do?”

“The substance in the container is liquified hull material. I will form the new antenna array by molding it in forms embedded in the vacuum area between my outer and inner hulls. Once the new array is complete, I will use specialized robotic manipulators to remove the broken equipment and install the new. Quite simple,” Elvis answered.

“I wish we were still using our old molar comms,” Fisheye groused. “At least they worked when needed.”

“We have to get back to the building. Ty may be trying to contact us now,” Roadkill said.

“Yeah, and I don’t think that SEED guy, Cruneval, is sitting around twiddling his thumbs,” Sasquatch said.

They all felt a sudden vibration. Looking out the viewports, they watched as the spaceship rose off the ground and hovered.

“Ramp closed,” Elvis said. “Please retrieve the container so I can make repairs as soon as possible.”

“Come with me, Roadkill,” Fisheye said. “The rest of you keep a lookout for SEED reinforcements. Sensors might be down, but we still have our eyes and ears.”

“Why did your builders put all your communications and sensor array in the same location?” Hashtag asked. “It’s an obvious weak point that would be exploited by an enemy.”

“I’ll have to admit the EMP burst that brought me down is so ‘old school’, my designers never considered it a real threat in modern warfare,” Elvis replied. “I also admit the use of gravity as a weapon to repel boarders is an interesting defensive twist. I dare say the technique will be adopted as a standard.”

“Seemed an obvious choice to me,” Hashtag said.

“You have just emphasized why the Human intelligence experiment is such a danger and banned by the Coalition,” Elvis said. “The ability to repurpose standard tech into a weapon heretofore unrealized is remarkable. It appears the Human survival instinct was enhanced as well as its intelligence.”

“A Human named Darwin described it as survival of the fittest,” Hashtag replied. “I guess he knew what he was talking about.”

***

Twenty-nine minutes after Cruneval set a deadline to load the MOAB, the Seeker’s engines began warming.

“About time,” he muttered as he left his cabin and headed to the command center.

The aisle leading to the cockpit was bustling with activity. Stations for communication, navigation, weaponry control, drone management and counter-measures were busy going over preflight checklists.

Drumming his fingers on a cabinet, Cruneval signaled for attention. He had considered the wording of his lies with the care of a politician pandering to sycophants.

“This mission is search and destroy. You are not to hesitate in the performance of your duties. Don’t worry about damaging SEED Headquarters. The alien intruders occupying the building are part of an expeditionary force whose goal is the destruction of Earth. We will do whatever is necessary to protect our planet. Are you with me?”

“Yes, Sir!” all replied with resounding enthusiasm.

“Good. If you have a shot, take it. No mercy,” Cruneval said and marched into his Ready Room.

Turning on the bank of screens covering the bulkhead across from his desk, he settled into his seat, slipped into his shoulder and lap harness and adjusted his earbud. The plane might have to make some quick maneuvers, and he didn’t want to be embarrassed by getting thrown out of his chair. At last, the VTOL engines roared, and the Seeker shuddered as it lifted off the tarmac.

Collins voice sounded in his earbud, “We are airborne. Only a few minutes to target.”

***

“We have a problem,” Sasquatch said and pointed.

“I don’t see anything,” Psycho replied.

“There’s something moving across the clouds. It’s hard to pinpoint. Don’t focus on anything. Just scan the sky back and forth and look for anything out of place,” Sasquatch said.

“I think I see what you mean,” Hashtag exclaimed. “There, coming this way,” he said and pointed.

The odd phenomena, more like a blur, passed a half kilometer away on a course that would take it to the SEED Building.

“The thing reminds me of the VTOL plane we crashed in the canyon,” Hashtag said. “It’s my guess that Cruneval character is going to try and take his building back.”

“The container of hull material was just connected. Fifteen minutes to full functionality,” Elvis said as Fisheye and Roadkill jogged into the Control area.

“What’s going on?” Fisheye asked.

“Looks like our ’ol buddy, Cruneval, is going after our people,” Psycho replied.

“Can you make the repairs during combat?” Hashtag asked.

“Yes, but it is not recommended,” Elvis replied. “Unanticipated maneuvers could disrupt installation of the array.”

“We can’t just sit here for the next fifteen minutes,” Roadkill fumed. “Our friends can’t fight that invisible nightmare.”

“Without the sensor array, my weapons won’t be able to lock on the enemy,” Elvis warned.

“They won’t know that. All we have to do is keep them busy until your repairs are complete,” Fisheye said.

“Very well. Moving to engage,” Elvis replied.