Part 8

by William (Blue) Berry

General Eberhart knew Mike. The man was NSA, but trustworthy. The “craft” was sending out daughter ships that went within his highest-flying planes ceilings. Unfortunately the highest functional ceiling belonged to the SR-72. An F-16 could handle it, but if there was maneuvering… Besides, missiles could prove useless as the enemy could take out the propulsion system and ignore the warhead. What he wouldn’t give for a highflying A-10. For now he’d have to be satisfied taking pictures.

“Colonel, send a blackbird up there. Tell them at the first sign of trouble to leave.”

“General,” said Colonel Washington, “Shouldn’t we send a fighter escort with it?”

“No,” said the General, “An unarmed recon plane may not provoke them as much as a trigger happy fighter jock could.”

****************************************************


I was going up Weld Street when the BMW in front of me stopped. The passenger side window rolled down and their “friend” leaned in. I looked to drive around the drug deal. In the other lane was a beat up white and bondo colored van with all sorts of antennae creepy-crawling. The reason they were creepy-crawling was the black Lexus sedan with a lady driver who was yapping away on her cell phone and flashing her lights.

Finally the car in front of me finished talking to their “friend” and took off at warp six like the suddenly didn’t like the neighborhood anymore. I don’t own a BMW. My red Hyundai wagon took off at warp two. Five blocks up the hill I parked. The door handle broke and I regretted opening the window to reach the outside door handle. April is the cruelest month but it shouldn’t be bitter (that’s February’s job.:-))

The drizzle felt cold on my neck as I rolled the window back up. After the 80-degree weather last week I put away my winter stuff and refused to admit I was wrong. Goose flesh on my arms admitted it for me.

I got inside where the pilot light was off on the heater but there was no drizzle and logged on. Carl immediately IMed me.

“Did you see the news? Their here.” typed Carl.

“You mean they’re here. Are they the crab guys?” I typed.

“Y” he typed then added “You were wrong; you were wrong! Pthzzzzz!:p”

“How do we prevent them from blowing out the sun?” I asked.

“They can’t. It is impossible,” typed Carl.

“So are the crab guys,” I typed.

“We can just surrender. How many slaves do they need to run their Dorax mines? I’m sure 6 billion is too much. We can empty our prisons. Is the slavery temporary? We can rotate it,” typed Carl.

“You’re forgetting that they might decide to kill the extra 5.5 billion. And it is their decision. Unconditional means that we can’t make conditions.” Then I added, "I gotta run. I promised to look up the state budget to try and find out why it has doubled in ten years. Bye.” Then I noticed my Black Ice icon flashing. I figured it blocked another TCP port probe.

I was surprised to find that it hadn’t blocked a TCP OS finger print (whatever that is) by SATAN’S HELPER. I told it to block the intruder, and yes, forever.

My IM mooed (I’ve personalized the sounds). It was someone calling himself Dood saying, “naughty, naughty.”

My first thought was I don’t know a dude. My second thought was It is SATAN’S HELPER.

I decided to respond. “What are you wearing?” I typed.

After I sent I realized that talking to him was $tupid. I turned off my surge suppressor. (Yeah, I know I should’ve just turned off the modem, but I wasn’t thinking straight.) I was rebooting, without the modem, to run the anti-virus, scan disk, and defrag when the phone rang.

I didn’t get a chance to say “Hello” before he said he was wearing jeans and a Tee shirt but it was cold so he had sweatshirt on too. He must’ve heard my jaw drop because he continued “You’re phone number is your account number with the phone company. Oh, you are paid up with them for several months."

“Dood, I presume,” I asked. I went to the other phone so the nosy neighbors with police scanners can hear this too because secrets are dangerous things that I refuse to keep. He heard the click.

“Are you recording this? Not a good idea. If you destroy the recording after I guess I can allow that.”

“Um, Dood,” I said, “I appreciate the phone bill and stuff but why are you talking to me?”

“Quick and to the point. I think I’m going to like you Bill. By the way Dood is on the keyboards; I’m the lead singer. Call me J MicC. Look out the window,” he said.

“Why should I do that?” I asked. As I checked the locks on my door.

There was a long pause. He hadn’t thought of that. I had time to see if my baseball bat was loaded. “I want you to see where I am.”

“Were are you?” I asked.

“Look out the window and see already,” said J MicC.

“Are you on Summer Street or Weld Street? What am I looking for?” I asked.

“Weld Street. Tell me what you see,” he said.

“Tell me why you want me to see it,” I said.

“Well,” he said, “You’re supposed to.”

I put on my jacket and went down stairs while staying on the cordless phone. The basement had windows. Mrs. Phelps, the 80-year-old widow downstairs was doing her laundry. I made a shhh gesture and she smiled. I’d tell her I was playing a joke on an old college buddy.

I stole a plan from Eddie Murphy. If I needed to get out she could run a distraction for me. Of course, I didn’t have any bananas.

He wouldn’t be looking at basement windows. That white and bondo colored van with the funky antennae was there. It had Washington State plates.

I was felt that I had the initiative (1/3 of a pawn!) and I was ready. “All right, time for the real question. Why me? Oh, don’t park there, when the Jesus loves guns nut has a meeting those people backing out of the driveway will plow into you.”

****************************************************


Tim and JD felt the vibrations in the ground of the doors over the missile silo opening. They could not hear it. They could not hear each other yelling, “Let’s get out of here,” over the sirens and the speaker that yelled “CAUTION; SILO ACTIVE. CAUTION; SILO ACTIVE. CAUTION; SILO ACTIVE.”

JD yelled as he was slipping under the fence, “Its defcon1 like in War Games with Mathew Broderick.” Tim ignored him as he stared down the barrel of the MP’s M-16 and put his hands on his head.

Part 9

by TomM

"Sir, the Blackbird is in position and has tried to
make visual contact with the bogies,but they're not
there."

"What do you mean they're not there? Our radio
telescopes are still tracking them, aren't they? and
the Mt Graham LBT Project?"

"That's confirmed, sir. The Blackbird has a tracking
signal from them and is using that to approach the
bogies' position. According to all sources they should
be in visual range, but there is no contact."

Eberhart turned to the man he knew as "Mike." "I need
to know what's going on here. Let all your people know
that I want answers. Tell that to your counterparts
in the other agencies, as well. We don't have time
for the usual turf wars. We need answers, yesterday."

------------------

"Well, do you have any answers for me?"

"Not yet, but we have a few leads."

" 'Leads' are not answers. I need to know what is
going on."

"Well, two suspicious characters were arrested
attempting to sabotage a missile silo. They don't seem
to be bright enough to be behind this, but we are
detaining them. And we have a few strange reports
from some 'free agents.' "

"What the **** are "free agents' and what do you mean
strange reports?

"In this case, the 'free agents' are computer hackers
who have been 'turned.' They track down other hackers
for us, and help us repair the damage. They discovered
two anomolies they can't account for. The first is in
Portland, Oregon, and the second has been traveling
Eastward along the InterState system, and is now
crawling through the back highways of Massachsetts.

"There are some in the Agency who still think this is
a hoax of some kind, but there is a growing concern
that the aliens have already infiltrated. Either way,
it looks like all of our systems are compromised, and
we can't rely on any of the data."

"You have two hours to pinpoint and apprehend these
'anomalies.' I'm going to dinner, and when I return I
want to hear that these 'anomalies,' and the sabotuers
will be available to me for interrogation first thing
in the morning."

Part 10

by Machiko Jenkins

I was sitting in Starbucks, sipping a hot chocolate and doing some
writing when I got a prickling feeling along the back of my neck. I
looked up, and then looked around. Hrm. No sign of Morgan yet.

I bent my head back over my work, got three words down, then looked
up again. That was a darn annoying feeling.

After a moment, when I went back to my writing, there was a rustle in
the seat next to me. "Don't look up. It's safer for you that way."

I froze for a moment, then deliberately started to raise my head. The
man in question, however, wrapped his arms around me, giving me a
huge hug. "Don't look at me," he hissed. "It has to do with those
crab guys."

I blinked into his chest, idly wondering if Morgan would be so kind
as to show up and help me beat the living daylights out of this
freak. "Okay, I'm not looking at you. Unless you mean to stare at
the counter boy? 'Cause I'm not seeing your face, but your scrawny
chest is kind of taking up my whole field of vision," I finally said,
in a very biting tone.

He was quiet for a long moment, then he started to chuckle. "Oh, I
like you, girl," he laughed. "You have spirit."

"And you'll be needing a doctor to find your testicles after I
relocate them to your stomach, if you don't get your dirty paws off
me." When he released me, I turned back to my writing. "So to what do
I owe this pleasure? And who are you?"

"Don't worry about who I am, girl," he answered. "Turn to your left
and look out over Pioneer Square. They're after me. Well, my sister's
boyfriend and me."

I sighed, but obediently turned and looked. The Square was crawling
with MPs and city police. "What did you and you boyfriend do to your
sister?"

"Donovan is my sister's boyfriend, not mine," he said exasperatedly.

"Whatever."

He sighed in irritation, then placed a copy of the Bible on my
writing. "Here. You might find this to be interesting."

"Listen, buster, let's get some things clear now. I don't know who
you are, or what you want. I don't appreciate being felt up like
that. And I sure am not interested in converting. Please take your
book and go away."

"I wasn't feeling you up, but that's a thought for next time."

"Hey, I wasn't doing anything to you. Go play with your boyfriend and
his sister, okay?"

"Oh, I think you'll like the special message inside the cover." Now
he leaned close, and put his mouth next to my ear. I resisted the
impulse to put my fist into his larynx. "But remember, you don't know
anything." With that, he rose and walked away.

I let out a frustrated sigh, but opened the Bible to see his message.
All I saw, though, was a CD. A CD and a piece of notebook paper.
Making a quick decision, I grabbed them, stuffed them into my
notebook, and shut the Bible again.

Starbucks was overrun with police officers. They were yelling at
everyone to remain where they were; I sighed yet again. Next time,
Morgan, I'm staying home, I thought with irritation.

Soon enough, the MPs had handcuffed and hauled two men out. Both were
skinny and scruffy. The one in the plain black t-shirt had
unremarkable features, and long mud coloured hair. The other was
practically emaciated, dressed in a ripped up Megadeth shirt. He had
the look of a drug abuser, too.

"Ma'am?" a police officer asked politely, sitting down. "I understand
that you had contact with those two gentlemen."

"Not willingly, sir," I answered with equal courtesy. "One of them
sat down, gave me a hug and called me a sister in the eyes of the
Lord, then gave me this." I motioned to the Bible. "I figured him to
be some evangelistic nut."

He pulled out a pad and flipped through it to a fresh page. "What did
he say to you?"

I blinked. "He said that he felt that the Lord had drawn him here to
show him another sister of Christ. He said that he hoped I had found
glory and peace in the presence of the Lord; and that if not, he
hoped I would find it rapidly. Then he put this in front of me and
said that I would enjoy the message on the inside."

The officer - his name plate said he was Sellings - scribbled
everything down. Then he reached over and opened the Bible. "This
message, huh?"

I read it quickly. Death shall have no dominion. Those who are
enslaved shall find freedom and peace in the approaching future.
Those who are free shall become the martyrs. "Exactly!" I nodded
hastily. "See what I mean by evangelistic nut?" I pulled my notebook
over and turned to a fresh page. "Hope you don't mind if I write this
down," I chirped cheerfully as I scrawled it down, "but I'd like to
do some research on this. It'd be great for telling all my friends.
'Yeah, I had this insane guy start babbling about Christianity and
then he gave me a Bible and it had this written in it.' What do you
think, officer?"

The look on his face was priceless. I could see him relegating me to
the category of 'valley girl' in his mind. I had never been happier
to see that my acting abilities hadn't faded. He stared at me, but
pulled a plastic bag out of his pocket and dumped the Bible in it. I
saw the bag was marked as an evidence bag. "What was his name?" he
finally asked me.

I just blinked. "Huh?"

"His name? The one who was evangelising?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was rather terrified of him. I mean, how many
times a day do I get strange men running up and hugging me?" I
blinked at Sellings. "Can I ask why street preachers are getting
arrested these days? Isn't that a bit like the Gestapo?"

He ignored that. "Could you point out which man it was?"

"Sure!" Now I grinned and pointed to empty space. "He was out there,
but your colleagues took off with him!" I definitely saw him mentally
stamp the word 'idiot' across my brow.

"Okay, miss, can I get some personal information about you?" He
started to ask the usual questions; name, address, phone number. As
he wrote the answers down, I closed my notebook and shoved it into my
bag. But the CD fell out and onto the floor. Sellings looked at it,
then at me. I pretended I didn't see his look, and snatched the CD
up, shoving that back into my folder. "What was that?" he asked
mildly.

"A CD."

"What's on it?"

"I'm hoping it's merely the text on my friend's thesis paper. He said
he wrote about why Socrates was reincarnated as Nostradamus, then as
Nietzsche." I smiled innocently at him.

Sellings shook his head, but rose. "Thank you for your time, Miss
Jenkins. We'll be in touch if we need you." When I nodded, he walked
away. You owe me big time, brother of Donovan's girlfriend.

At that moment, Morgan walked into Starbucks. I grabbed my bag, ran
to him, grabbed his arm, and pulled him out, ignoring his protests.
"I have had it with creepy men, Morgan," I growled. "We're going
home. I have a CD to contemplate."

"MJ..."

"What? Don't you want to know if Socrates was indeed reincarnated as
Nostradamus, then as Nietzsche?"

I couldn't help it. The look on his face sent me into spasms of laughter.
--

Part 11

by Mark Morgan

The cop car was a tangle of broken glass and the smell of gasoline.
Fredricks looked out sideways into a blur of evergreens and dirt.
Consciousness faded, and...

...his sister was five years old and he was fourteen; and mom left me in charge and hey! don't play with that; its okay, don't cry, I've got a bandaid always have to watch out for you, little sister..

...Donovan was all charm and sharp suits and smiles and is this your sister you've told me about you didn't tell me she was so beautiful...

...needles in the garbage and don't notice it at all, big brother, it's none of your business she made that clear to you and lose yourself in the program, it's all about the code and not about the needles and the marks on her arms and the pain in her voice;...

...hide from the pain in the light of the machine, the computer spoke to him, the program spoke to him, it was his tight and clean and beautiful and he rode the code and spun it through the compiler and then rode the code again and he was all of them; he was Neo, he was Case, he was Bobby Quine, he was the pure true quill...silicon and cathode rays and they all spoke to him and the moment was beautiful and the program was beautiful...

...always have to watch out for you, little sister, I'm so sorry and I'm sorry little sister I'm sorry he's gone, too I know you loved him and now he's gone to hide in the parties and the nights in California and we'll be okay, I'm sorry I couldn't kill him for you, and it's okay I've got a bandaid...

Consciousness faded back into voices. "What the **** happened here! You men were given strict orders to bring him in unharmed!"

Blur of green and military boots. "Sir! Yes sir! We found them like this! The troopers were supposed to bring him to us and we scrambled when we lost radio contact."

And Fredricks thought: The bogies. Bogies must have hit the cop car with something, trying to keep me away from these goons. Military must think I'm part of the same group as the two silorunners.
The program. They would want the program. Good thing they didn't tell the cops about the program. Hope that girl is curious enough to have a look and give our friends up there another friend down here.

Orders barked in the background as consciousness faded out again to the sound of gunfire and panicking men and strobes of light....

Part 12

by JD

The stockade, Malmstrom Air Force Base. A burly MP watches the two prisoners warily, until a fellow MP enters the cell area.

"These the intruders?"

"Yeah."

"They don't look too smart to me."

"Well, they did try to sneak onto a base, but they're not too bad. More insane than dumb."

"How so?"

"Well, the big one, 'Deke', John Dekins, he likes to quote the most obscure stuff you ever heard of, and the little guy, Tim, just starts singing every so often."

"You're kidding."

"Nope. You need something to take your mind off the situation, I guess. Sometimes I feel like joining him. I hate pulling can duty."

The second MP laughs.

"Oh yeah, you can laugh about it, you're short already. I still got two years. Got plans for when you get out?"

"Yup. Heading for college in September. Electronics."

"Dang."

"Gotta wonder what the Old Man is gonna do with those guys, though."

"Ah, they're just a couple of morons who got drunk and thought they'd have themselves a look-see at the fancy missile silers." This was said in an exaggerated redneck accent. The second MP laughs.

"Oh look, he's starting up again."

Tim sits up on his bunk, looks around for a minute, then begins to sing.

"I saw her again...last night! And you know that I shouldn't...To string her aloooong's just not right. If I couldn't I woooohooouldn't!"

Tim stops, puzzled, when the MPs break up in hysterics. Deke just rolls over and continues to sleep.

---

Col. Thomas F. Deppe, Commander, 341st Space Wing, Malmstrom Air Force Base stared at the stack of paperwork on his desk and sighed, rubbing back what little hair he still had. His superiors had specifically told him that no prisoners were to be released until the crisis situation was resolved. He had two crazy locals who merely had the amazing luck to slip past the sentries and one wacko who was for some reason picked up by police in OREGON, had fallen under attack by unknown assailants, recovered, and brought to the base to be kept until the AIA arrived to question him. Meanwhile, from the noises coming down from NORAD, SR-71s were out hunting bogies that showed up on radar but seemed to be invisible or non-existent. There were no indications of enemy 'music', either. And so he was sitting at DefCon 4, the second-highest level of preparedness, silos active and birds ready to fly, with absolutely no enemies to point them towards...

He sighed, buzzed his secretary, and asked for black coffee and Col. Mitchell, his second-in-command, to be sent in.

---

A cold and dark room. A man in a rumpled black suit stared at the plethora of information coming in on the several monitor screens built into his workstation. Current radio telescope signals, status reports from military bases, news reports, video feeds from surveillance aircraft, anomalous recorded broadcasts, and intelligence data. He reviewed all the information available to him, again and again and again. A serious headache began to form but he continued to study. Hours went by without a conclusion, with no interruption but the calls of nature, which were spent in a small facility built into the room. No-one appeared to bother or interrupt him. The headache grew more and more severe, but he seemed to ignore it.

As the hours (and days, it seemed like) rolled by, new information came in, but with little clarification to the situation. Finally, after watching the five-hundredth cycle of one of his monitors, he spotted something. Quickly activating a control, he rewound the display. There it was again. Excitement began to erupt within him, the headache vanished. It was all so easy, it actually made sense! Everything fell into place, because of the one tiny thing he had overlooked. He shot up from his chair, displaying no sign of the untold time he had spent in it, and rushed for the metal door in the dark side of the room. Gleefully, he grabbed at the handle, but his hand didn't seem to work. Fatigue, the effect of all the time he had spent awake, stressed and focused rushed into his mind like a cresting wave. He stumbled into the wall beside the door, and slid slowly down it. He was still smiling when he fell completely unconscious. It would still be hours before someone came in to check on him.