The Pattern Ship (The Pattern Universe) (11 page)

Ship was suddenly respectful. Aware it had, or should have anticipated and neutralised the possibility. Complacency was not a normal emotional response for an A.I. even a ‘Seven’, but Ship was unique in that it was an imprint of its Maker, therefore consisted of deeper arrays and a broader awareness. Sometimes a facsimile of sentience crept into its routines. It decided to do a system clean at the first opportunity.

Zeke noticed a slight shimmering as the ship’s colour spectrum seemed to shift.

“Re-position us within directional range of their radar, but on a different heading. We will see if their systems can still detect us,” Zirkos commanded.

The Ship proceeded to ‘D-Jump’ to a new location. They then spent a tense few minutes waiting for a response from the planet below.

“Planet and Orbital radar appears no longer able to fix our position.” Ship announced.

“Monitor and analyse their efforts, Ship, advise if we come under detection again,” Zirkos commanded.

“Affirmative”

“As you can see Zeke, your people are much more advanced in their thinking than I would have credited. Somebody must have taken a big intuitive leap when you disappeared off the planet. We will have to deal with that soon.”

“In the meantime how do you want to proceed?”

Zeke looked bemused by the question. Zirkos decided he had instinctively made the correct choice in letting him decide his own fate. He personally wanted Zeke to stay, but he wanted it to be his decision. He could see him dwelling on everything that had happened.

After a few minutes of pondering he seemed to come to a decision and Zeke looked up at the ceiling.

“Ship?”

“Yes, Zeke”

“Can you rustle up a cup of coffee?”

“Affirmative Zeke, is that with milk and sugar, or plain black?” Ship asked.

“White, three sugars, please Ship.”

Silence for a few seconds. Then a tall white china coffee cup materialised on the table, filled with steaming dark brown contents. The aroma instantly recognisable as a filter coffee blend from his local coffee shop.

“Thank you Ship.”

Zeke smiled wondering briefly if some poor schmuck back on Earth had suddenly seen their fresh coffee disappear from in front of their very eyes.

He took the mug by the handle and drew it up to his mouth, tasted the contents and then grinned at Zirkos.

“A little strong, but perfect tasting coffee. If you don’t mind I would like to stay, especially if Ship can rustle up the occasional burger and fries, even if it has to materialise it from my local takeaway.” Zeke responded.

Zirkos laughed. “Well, I think I would have preferred it if your decision had been based on something a little more profound, like universal peace, or the future of mankind, but I suspect that such mundane things as a beverage, or meal can come high up the list in deciding factors.”

“Exactly!” Zeke affirmed.

They both chuckled. Zirkos already accepting the humans decision to stay and feeling good about the prospect. It would be interesting to see where all of this went, thought Zirkos, although he knew that for some reason, as yet outside of his perception, that these people were important to him in some way.

“So, what do you want me to do around here, then?”

“Do, Zeke?”

“Yes, I’m not going to sit here twiddling my thumbs. I need to be doing something. When you clobbered me in the shop that night doing whatever it was you do with those light beams, I was in the process of stealing the things I needed to create an identity and get myself somewhere to live and a job.”

“Stealing... ah! All right, I understand your meaning Zeke. Yes, we should have need of your involvement shortly although I hadn’t anticipated using you to steal anything. Pod is way too good at that already.” He laughed.

“Firstly, I think we should have a lengthy discussion about your world and mine and what we can do together. There are dangers lurking in space that are going to affect your people sooner, or later.

I believe with your country’s recent space exploration that you will attract attention very soon and you need to be able to protect yourself.”

“Oh, you mean there are non-friendly bugs out there?” Zeke smiled as if only half believing him.

“Ha Ha! “ Zirkos laughed.

“Zeke, you have no idea.”

- 12 -

“You mean they are like a wasp hive, you attack one and they all come after you in a swarm?”

“Yes, the Nubl are a hive mind and are linked to their own nests, if you attack them the others will home in on you and are relentless in pursuit. If you take on a single Nubl you must also be able to handle a massive full-on attack in the event they can steer themselves through a wormhole to your location.”

“Geez! And you think these are going to be making a bee-line, ha-ha! joke, for us as soon as they register our ability to enter into space?”

“Yes, I do, the problem is they have already been here to this solar system, so this is on their path of dispersal. They will revisit it once every two to three hundred of your years. If you imagine that the last visit was before your industrial revolution...”

“...then their next one is about due sometime this century,” Zeke finished.

“Yes, I think that about sums it up.” Zirkos affirmed.

Zeke sat there in thought. Zirkos wondered what he was thinking about.

Zeke started thinking out loud. “So, if we stand any hope of dealing with them when they come, then we have to get the whole world together and work as a team. Do you have ANY idea how impossible that is going to be?”

“Yes, I do. Which is why I need you to become my Ambassador.”

“Your what? Ambassador? How on Earth... aah!, I think I see. Well, actually, no I don’t, tell me what you mean.”

“Zeke, I am just one Alien. I need to forge links with your leaders. There isn’t time to waste on misunderstandings.“

Zirkos explained what he wanted.

“Already I see differences in perception between things you and I talk about. Imagine this at a global level. I need someone with me who will steer things the right way with your leaders.

If you do this we can monitor your health while you are working.”

Zirkos wondered if the job idea meant he should offer money, so he decided to add.

“Payment for your services can be made if you wish to have an ‘official’ job, but you won’t need for anything here. Ship, or I can supply you with just about anything you desire.”

***

The President sat in his armchair pulling on his moustache. His wife and his PR team all said, it was distinguished, but he couldn’t wait until his term finished and he could shave the blasted thing off.

Unusually he was not running for a second term, his first was bad enough. He’d had no idea the difficulties of being the Head of State of the USA would hamstring him so much. He wanted to achieve so much, but because of the politics, the favours owed, allegiances and strength of lobbyists, there was no room for his own personal agendas. As a result he was feeling disenchanted with everything.

He put the report on the threat of China’s continuing economic growth forecast down for the third time in an hour. It was hard reading. It left the USA no room for manoeuvre. Debt to the Chinese banks, by the States, was so high they effectively owned the USA. If the Chinese wanted to foreclose tomorrow there was damn all the government could do about it except declare war.

“There is a way out of the predicament, Mr President,” the voice said.

“Whoa! Who’s that?”

A man came out of the dark shadow of the corner of the President’s private suite, walked slowly towards him and sat opposite on the long backed green leather chesterfield that had sat in that spot for the last two hundred years.

He was tall, rugged, plainly American and he was dressed in a one piece tunic of dark grey. His head was shaved, his complexion was of rude health and lightly coloured, as if he had recently had a holiday in Hawaii. He was relaxed as if perfectly at home.

As he sat, his legs crossed, he leaned back relishing the comfort of the leather as if it was something he had grown fond of and now missed. He then leaned forward as if ready to explain when he noted the President’s attention wandering to the table.

President Garner initially dumbfounded, was too surprised to even reach for his panic button.

“It won’t work, Mr President,” as the Presidents’ hand belatedly moved towards the small hand control that would call in his duty security team with guns unholstered, safety off and aiming to shoot first, explanations second, response.

The President pressed it and waited for the doors to burst open, ready to duck under the coffee table at the first opportunity like he had been taught. Even the body sensors should have picked up the intruders presence, but hadn’t.

Nothing happened.

You don’t get to be President by being stupid, and Garner could see the man wasn’t armed, had not approached him aggressively and showed no threat or hostility towards him. He gauged his need to respond in panic mode and assessed correctly that currently there was no threat, only an unexplained entrance into his private chamber for which someone’s head would roll once this little episode had run its course.

He decided to humour the situation until his sleeping security team woke up to the fact he wasn’t alone.

“What do you want and why are you in my private suite, and just how the fuck did you get in here through the White house security?” he bellowed loud enough to wake the dead.

“That’s a lot of questions Mr President, perhaps if you would allow me, I would like to show you something that might get you and me off on the right foot, so to speak.” Zeke offered quietly.

The President stood, as if to move towards the door. He spoke very loudly.

“I cannot see anything in your hands, you aren’t wearing a jacket and you don’t have a briefcase. What could you possibly have to show me that would stop me from having you thrown into chains ten levels below the Hoover building where the sun never shines.”

“Oh, it’s not here Mr President, it’s somewhere we are going to visit.” With that Zeke walked up close to the President and issued a command to the empty air.

“Ship? Now please!”

Before the President could respond he felt a tingling sensation over the whole of his body. It stymied his intended outburst.

Both were suddenly enveloped in a D-field that in microseconds removed them from the room, and where two seconds later two black suited Agents burst in, guns drawn looking for the President.

“I heard voices, Blayne, I tell you he was talking to someone and I heard the other guys voice like he was in the room,” the smaller, skinny one said.

“Where has the President gone?” The one called Blayne shouted at the other, weaving his gun around the room in a totally ineffective manner seeing as there was nothing to aim at.

“He was here, I spoke to him as he entered just over ninety minutes ago, he hasn’t come out.”

Blayne pressed his throat mike and called out an all points alert.

“White Stag is missing,” he croaked into the mike choking back the disbelief that he was calling this in on his watch.

***

President Garner reeled as he reacted badly to the unexpected change in location. The floor, surroundings, air pressure; all made him disoriented. He had no concept of a ‘de-materialisation’ field for relocating a body so he naturally responded in a highly negative way. He swore like a trooper.

Finding a chair back near him to cling to he used it to help stabilise his balance while he tried to work out what the hell had just happened.

No longer in his darkened lounge, the temperature change alone caused him to awaken to the idea he was some place else. The even light distribution gave him the sense of timelessness as if he had entered a period of perpetual daytime. In a sense he wasn’t far off the mark.

Opposite him in exactly the same position as in his lounge stood the stranger, looking taller now in the clear light.

Garner could see intense alertness in the eyes, he could tell the man was services-trained purely from the stance and attitude, his own background was of similar nature. He was dealing with Military, or ex forces, home-grown terrorists? His imagination was pulling overtime in the absence of explanations.

The stranger introduced himself.

“My name is Zeke Callaghan, your people will be able to check me out when we send you back. You will be going back, Mr President,” he reassured him politely.

“You are not a prisoner, or hostage. You are just a visitor that we needed to talk to and the best way of getting your attention was to bring you here.”

Garner wasn’t ready to concede anything to this man yet. He went to step back to put distance between them and instead came up against a hard surface.

“Where the hell am I, and what the hell do you mean by kidnapping me? He wagged his finger threateningly.

“Currently, you are in a spacecraft above the North Pole” Zeke responded calmly.

He could see the President wasn’t really taking it in. He could well understand the idea of blanking of something totally unbelievable until the mind could either cope with it, or was not given a choice.

“Do you know the penalty for kidnapping the President of the United States of America?” The President ranted on.

The President was plainly rattled and ran off the threat without thinking of the insanity of threatening someone who could just disappear him from his office under the very nose of his Security detail.

“As I said back on Earth, Mr President, it might be easier to just show you.” Zeke offered in a calming manner that he wasn’t sure would be seen as such in a few seconds.

He offered the President a brown paper bag and prepared for the onslaught from the formidable man who was his country’s leader standing in front of him.

“You might need this Mr President” said Zeke not responding to the threat, handing him the bag.

“A barf bag, are you kidding me? umm! Callaghan did you say your name was?”

“Yes, Mr President, if you would like just to watch this wall here for a second?” he indicated the blank wall in front of them.