Authors: Mark Howard
"Yo, man, that might be border patrol! Like a drone or some shit!" Dominick yelled to Aaron, but regardless, none of them stopped pedalling.
"No way," Aaron replied, "that shit's a stealth fighter!"
Up and down a few more hills, and they were soon on top of it, skidding to a stop about thirty feet away.
"Bro, its got no legs! It's a hovercraft, man!"
If they hadn't seen the exhaust shimmer, they might've thought it wasn't doing anything but sitting there in the desert heat. But even from this close, they heard nothing but the sound of a steady wind.
"Im'a touch it," Dominick decided. Nobody stopped him as he dropped his bike and walked towards it. They all knew this was going to be an Alpha opportunity, but this time there was no race — they were both happy to let Dominick have this one.
"Shit, man, be careful," was all Julio could say as Dominick reached the edge of the vessel, his hair temporarily flattened as he walked through the wash.
Reaching up, his hand inches away, he glanced back at his friends. His look was a mixture of
Should I do this?
and
Check this out, assholes
. Receiving neither encouragement or discouragement from his audience, he moved his fingers forward tentatively, as though it were a live electrical wire, and touched it.
"It's warm!" he yelled back, placing his hand flat against the textured surface. Moving further under the vessel, he gazed up at it with wonder.
"It's got like, little tiles, they're kinda bumpy," he shouted, and reaching the center, he noticed the recessed release handle.
"Dudes, there's a door handle!" he yelled excitedly, "There's nobody in here — otherwise they woulda seen us by now — come on over, let's get in!"
"No way man, this one's all on you," Aaron yelled back, while Julio nodded his head in agreement.
Dominick felt the fear and doubt creeping in. He was used to it — they all were. It was just like when trying out a new trick, or boarding down a new railing, or high diving into the lake. They all had developed the ability to fight these feelings with immediate action, lest they take hold. Mostly, everything turned out fine; ninety percent of the time fear and doubt are useless, they discovered, designed to keep anything new and different out of their life. The ten percent though — that's when they get the dislocated shoulder, or the broken rib, or the concussion. But if that ten percent results in stopping them from what they want to do, then it's all over.
He reached for the handle and pulled.
~ 60 ~
"I
f you can get me the code, I can do the rest. All I need is a general idea of the location," Jess said, as Marilyn, noticing the intense discussion, discreetly delivered the slices of pie.
Noly stared at Jess for a long time, until they had all been served. Then, slowly pulling a table napkin towards him, he unearthed a pen from his front pocket. Snapping it to attention on the Formica, he wrote down two strings of hex codes. As he slowly pushed the napkin across the table to her, she placed her fingers on it as well.
"First one's ID, second one's Unlock. Now, let's eat," he announced with satisfaction, removing his hand from the napkin.
After carefully folding and pocketing the napkin, Jess dug into her blueberry crumble. It was just as good as they told her it would be.
"So, what is your...investment...in all this?" she inquired.
"Well," he replied with a mouthful of cherry pie, "as Star likely told you already, we all got our own reasons. Best to keep it at that. But in general I think I can say we're all tied together with a sense that it's just plain offensive. I mean this has been going on for close to fifty years, this thing."
As they finished their pie, Noly and Star began their own side conversation, and Jess, with a wink from Sag, was smart enough to leave them to it.
"So, how's the weather over there Sag?"
"Jus' fine, hows about yer side?" Sag replied. Oblivious, Noly and Star continued their conversation, eliciting stifled giggles from the third and fourth wheels.
After they had all finished their pie, Noly took care of the bill, of course. Leaving the cafe, Jess noticed a beautifully restored antique car parked out front. It was an early twentieth-century touring car, dark blue, with huge flowing fenders, a split windshield, suicide doors, and a beautiful chrome grill adorned with a hood ornament of a woman in a flowing gown holding a torch. Unlike many restored cars of that era that had been transformed into flaming red, chrome-covered hot rods, this one was taken back to factory mint condition.
"Now, she's a beauty," Jess commented, "Yours?"
"Ayup," Noly answered with pride, "1938 Packard Six Touring Sedan. Thirty-six thousand miles. This was my Dad's car when I was a boy. Tracked her down myself in the eighties and gave it back to him before he passed."
Touched by the story, Jess uttered a precious "
Awww,
" which was promptly ignored by Noly who quickly changed the subject.
"Y'all need a ride?" he offered, levering open one of the rear suicide doors. After quietly tiptoeing past the still-asleep Great Dane, they retrieved their gear from the side of the building and ambled aboard. An audible groan issued from the springs as Star climbed into the front seat, which was politely ignored by all.
Jess was fascinated by this beautiful automobile. The flowing lines, the simple dark colors — it reminded her of the ships. Even when Noly started the car, she could hear the individual clicks of the pistons clattering away under the thin metal hood, just like the cycling of the thrusters on Scout. The ships definitely contained technology far in the future compared to the rest of the world, but then again, there was something very...
old
...about them.
~ 61 ~
N
othing happened. Dominick tried again, harder this time. The handle simply snapped back into place, with no effect.
"Ahhh, it's locked." As he hadn't been immediately electrocuted, they started to approach him.
"Hey, it's buzzing now!" he yelled back to them after a few steps. Although unable to hear the noise from where they were, they knew that that couldn't be a good sign, and stopped in their tracks.
"Dude, it's going to self-destruct!" Aaron shouted.
"Check it out!" yelled Dominick, as he pointed to his hair, which had begun to rise around his head like a gnarly, tangled version of a halo.
The ship's hum rose through the subsonic frequencies, quivering the boy's insides as it cycled faster. Once it had reached a crescendo, it receded into a muffled silence which descended over the area like a wet blanket.
"You gotta get outta there!" Aaron yelled, a moment too late, as the thruster igniters fired. Three circles of red light lit up the rocky ground below each corner, as the half-spheres of swirling amber plasma descended from the ship like bubbles of hot magma. Dominick hit the ground, and covering his head, looked up only once to call out to his friends.
"Guys, come get me!" he screamed, his voice sounding oddly high-pitched, as though through helium. He was utterly unaware that these, his possibly final last words, would become a catch phrase that would haunt him for years to come. For now, though, his friends stood rooted in place, less amused and more terrified, as Dominick began clutching at his throat.
The swirling amber spheres transitioned to blue-white, and a red mars light above Julio's head started to blink, as the ship began to slowly rise. When the ship reached ten feet above the ground, Dominick, still holding his throat, began to rise as well. Suspended in mid-air like Wile E. Coyote, he flailed his legs comically until the strange pull of the ship loosened, dropping him to the scrub below.
Silently accelerating upward, the ship punched a triangular hole through the stratocumulus clouds above, exposing the crystal clear blue sky beyond. Aaron and Julio felt a warm breeze blow past them, but felt no vibration nor heard any engine noise, as the heavy silence lifted and the ambient sounds of the desert returned.
Dominick sat up in the dirt, in a state of shock as his hair slowly returned to his shoulders. Emerging from his reverie, he searched for his friends, only to find two dust trails receding into the distance.
~ 62 ~
T
he horns of the Glenn Miller Orchestra permeated the still heat of the Texas afternoon as Noly's car rounded a low hill.
"You know, my other girl's a Tesla Model S," he informed Jess over the music. "Now that's about as far off from this gal as Big Mama is from a 787. But no matter the age, both of my gals are beautiful inside and out, you can tell the love that went into 'em."
"Now gettin' back down to business," he continued, "the ship you're gonna be looking for, well its been moved out west like I said, to a facility in northern Cali. Somewhere near a dam, inside of a mountain. Where exactly, Sag might know, but it'll be up to y'all to figure."
"So, how do you know all this information anyway?" Jess asked.
Noly waited a few beats to consider his answer before replying.
"Don't suppose you ever heard of the Xerox nine-fourteen, have you young miss?"
"Um, nope, but go on."
"Well, back in the early sixties, it was the height of the cold war — if you remember from your history books. We had U2's up in the air, Cuba was a big threat by proxy, and there was espionage everywhere. What we didn't have, though, was any intel on what the Soviet embassies were collecting and sending back home, from right here in our own backyard. So these folks from the CIA, they were doing recon on these embassies, and noticed that the only non-Soviet personnel allowed inside was the Xerox repairman, who back in the day had to go tune up these newfangled contraptions about once every two weeks."
"See, the Soviets, they never were so much different from us, in that they were just as lazy as we were. They hated tediously hand-copying all their secret documents, and so they found this new wonder machine, the Xerox nine-fourteen, that could do the job for them with the push of a button."
"So what the CIA did is, they got hold of this repairman from Xerox, recruited him for some freelance work — so to speak — and taught him how to install a small film camera, designed to fit in that machine as if it belonged there from day one, as part of the maintenance. And every two weeks he would go in there and unload the negatives of every document they copied, replacing it with a fresh roll."
"That copier repairman, not in a small way neither, helped us win the Cold War."
Jess waited for more, but for the remainder of the ride he was silent. When they reached the absolute middle of nowhere, he finally stopped the car and got out.
"Give her a pat for me, Star," he said, unloading their gear from the fold-out rumble seat in back, "I do miss her somethin' terrible."
"One of these days," Star said, giving him a hug. Maneuvering himself back into the driver's seat, they all waved to him as the clattering beauty slowly turned and made her way back into town. Without any modern point of reference, Jess imagined it was 1938 as she watched him slowly drive off into the distance. When they reached Scout, she thought, she would be able to imagine it was seventy-seven years into the future.
Being full of pie, there wasn't much talk on the hike back. It had gotten hotter, and it seemed to take twice as long going back. They finally reached the spot, but found no ship waiting for them. Jess looked around with concern, but nobody else seemed to be panicking. After pulling a bottle of water from the side pocket of her pack, Star dropped the gear to the dirt and sat on it.
"Guess she had a fright," she remarked casually, taking a long swig. "She'll be back for us."
"What do you mean, a fright?" Jess asked nervously. "How long are we going to be stuck out here?"
Sag, perched on a mound a few yards away, pointed off into the distance. Following his finger, they noticed a single dust trail rising amidst the heat shimmer of the desert.
"Prolly an ATV rider or something. Looks pretty recent, so she should be back within an hour or so," Sag offered.
Having nothing better to do than to wait patiently, Jess let her mind wander across all she had taken in over the last few days, until she came upon something that stuck in her craw.
"Hey, Sag. So, about this remote kill signal you mentioned yesterday. You say they still keep repeating it, hoping Big Mama will come back online someday, right?"
"Yeah, every couple days they blast it out. Why?"
"Have you figured out how it works?"
"Well, sort of. At least the first part. There's a preamble, sorta like
attention, attention,
and then there is a ship identifier, meaning which ship the command is meant for, then there are two following sections which I don't know what they do. But obviously some form of disablement command. It's all in binary strings of hex characters, like the unlock codes."
"Do you know if it's encrypted at all?"
"No, and that's the funny thing about it: I don't think it is. But then, there are so many layers of security to even get to the transmitting apparatus, and such a limited bandwidth on the ELF channel, that I think they figured it probably wasn't worth it. Just like how the Gen II's didn't even need a code to operate, as you discovered. Ignorance, meet arrogance."
Star broke in. "I know where you're goin' with this, you wanna disable their ships. We've talked about that before. Problem is, A, we don't know what the ships codes are. Two, we haven't deciphered what the commands actually do. We assume it disables the ship, but what if there's a self-destruct in there too? We're not about to go killin' folks — not our style. We're more Peace and Love orientated — less chaos and death and all that."
"And finally," Sag added, "the big one is, we don't have the massive antenna arrays to relay an ELF signal around the world. Ain't gonna happen."
Jess sat for a bit, squinted up at the sun, and thought to herself.
"Can't we change the numbers lady?"
"Huh?" Sag responded quizzically.
"The numbers lady. Can't we redirect the ships to listen to another non-ELF frequency that we
can
transmit on?"