BLOGS

Uncle Reese returned four hours later. During his uncle’s absence Craig absorbed more information from the alien laptop, learning a lot about the Uit. He knew their
tactics from which he gleaned a general idea of the mindset informing their
genocidal behavior. He knew that against strong enemies capable of resisting
them, the Uit were fiercely relentless. The Uit would not stop attacking an
enemy until they either achieved total victory, or were themselves destroyed.
Against weaker opponents, the Uit were no less driven to victory. Stone Age
cultures they happened upon had been as mercilessly scoured from existence as
advanced civilizations.

Craig had a difficult time suppressing the cold disquiet creeping through his body. Human enemies never invoked the clammy fear coating his gut. Maybe it was because
humans, in general, were not mass murderers.
Craig wondered if the Uit predilection for killing was hardwired in
their DNA. Was it cultural? Or perhaps something in the Uit’s experience
drove them down this horrific path, something frightening, unspeakably
malign. Was there a time in the distant
past when the Uit did not perceive a universe of adversaries to be slaughtered
when they looked up into their night sky? If the human race survived this
juggernaut from the stars, would it end up like the Uit? Interestingly, the
possibility of humans emulating the Uit was more frightening to Craig than the
prospect of annihilation at the latter’s hands.

“Just received word that we’re going to have to accelerate our timetable,” Uncle Reese declared upon entering the lab.

Dr. Ling and Dr. Hecht stopped what they were doing to take in the unsettling news.

Dr. Adu barely glanced Reese’s way before returning his focus to the incomprehensible glyphs populating his computer screen.

“The Uit are moving faster than previously estimated, according to our most forward tracking data. We’ve had to revise their ETA to five months, twenty one days.”

Dr. Hecht sighed deeply. “I cannot say that I am happy that we will be meeting the Uit much sooner than anticipated. On the other hand, I am in a hurry to get this
over with. I do not like having a Damocles Sword hovering over me.”

“Agreed. Craig, you’re going to lead the spotters. Get a team together, no more than a dozen or so operators, people you have the utmost confidence in. Your job will be to
observe the Uit observers. After their robot ships attack, the observers will
scan this planet for life signs from orbit and on the ground. Your spotters
will set up surveillance posts on each of this world’s four continental
landmasses. We will also have three low orbiting satellites monitoring the
Uit’s observation craft.”

“Won’t we be detected?” Craig asked.

“Fortunately, the Piron were very generous in giving us the template that has enabled us to develop the means to shield ourselves from Uit sensors.”

Craig turned to Dr. Adu, visibly surprised that the Nigerian scientist actually talks.

Adu’s fingers did a frenetic dance across his computer keyboard as he elaborated.

“My team and I have created a detection-proof composite metal with a metamaterial outer layer.” Adu looked up, meeting Craig’s gaze. “Do you know what a metamaterial is?”

Craig shook his head. “No, but I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

“Metamaterial is a light-bending solid that renders any object it covers invisible to the naked eye. The satellites in orbit have metamaterial hulls.”

“And you’re iron clad certain that the Uit will not see the satellites?” Craig asked with a concerned frown.

Adu’s expression sharpened. “We have followed the Piron’s specs to the tiniest detail. The same composite metal that the satellites are made from will
insulate the bunkers that you and your spotters will occupy. You will also be
wearing field gear woven from detection proof composite fiber. Neither Uit eyes
nor Uit machines will know you exist when they descend to sweep this planet for
life.”

Craig accepted Adu’s assurances, for now. He looked at Uncle Reese. “OK. So my team is to watch the Uit observers. What are we to watch for?”

“Nothing in particular,” Uncle Reese replied. “I imagine that their sweeps will be an extended, tedious affair.” The intelligence director raised a finger of
emphasis. “It is when the observers depart that you and your team should be
most vigilant. In your bunker you will have access to an electronic
astronomical chart that shows Earth’s exact position. When the Uit’s observer
ship departs, watch it closely. If the ship’s course puts it on a heading
toward our solar system, chances are, it will inadvertently stumble upon Earth.
If that happens, Earth’s satellite blanket will do it absolutely no good, and
all of our efforts here will have been for naught.”

“And if the Uit observer ship heads in that direction then what?”

“You will have to destroy it.”

Craig blinked once, twice. “Destroy it. With what?”

“Don’t worry, Craig. The means will be made available to you. The important thing is that you keep your eye on that chart.”

Craig grinned, pinching the bridge of his nose to sooth the sudden throb between his eyes. “You’re telling me not to worry, which always means I should be plenty
worried. You realize that you’re putting the fate of Earth…the entire goddamn
planet in my hands.”

Uncle Reese slid his hands into his pockets. “To put it succinctly, yes.”

“What will the robot ships do if we have to destroy the observer vessel? Will they stop dead in their tracks or something?”

“No. They will turn around and head back home. A robot fleet without observers cannot operate without direction. The Uit high command will assume that the observers
were killed in the course of the attack. Observer casualties are not uncommon.
The Uit will accept these observer losses as par for the course, send
replacement observers, and look elsewhere for signal-emitting planets.”

“According to the Piron data.” Craig was uncomfortable having an operation rely on a single source of intelligence.

Uncle Reese sensed his nephew’s wariness and understood. “If I could have given you more to go on, I would have. I wish there were more than just the information the Piron
has provided us. Perhaps, one day we’ll be able to build the means to gather
our own intelligence first hand and unfiltered.”

Craig relaxed, panning the lab. “Judging from what this project has achieved so far, I have no doubt about that. You people have built things that are supposed to
be on the drawing board. You’re costing tax payers a fortune and they don’t
even know it.”

“This isn’t all coming out of tax payers’ pockets. Multinationals have pooled a hearty share of finances and resources into this effort as well.” Uncle Reese
snickered at the disbelieving wrinkling of his nephew’s brow. “Don’t be so
surprised. Executives are humans, too. They don’t want to die in a blaze of an
alien-wrought bombardment anymore than the average joe. They don’t want to lose
their markets, either. That would be equally devastating.”

Craig readily agreed with the last sentence.

Five months went by. During that time, Craig read and reread the Piron’s data. He familiarized himself with the dazzling technology churned out by Project Illusion’s R&D section while assembling a
team of spotters.

The civilians in the project adopted a dim view of the daily target practice and drills Craig was putting his people through. They didn’t understand that his
soldiers needed constant activity to take their minds off the fact that they
were on barren world millions of light years from home. Craig’s eighteen
operatives were a mix of private contractors and detached duty Special Forces
personnel from five countries. He worked with them all at some point in his
shadowed history. He trusted them implicitly and they trusted him.

Craig also made sure that his spotters were very well armed. Again, the civilians were perplexed, but Uncle Reese didn’t bat an eye when he acceded to his nephew’s
request for a crateload of pressure detonators.

“Explosives? What ever do you need with explosives?” Dr. Hecht queried in gape-eyed amazement. “You’ll only be watching the Uit not blowing them up.”

“Well now, I’ve always felt it’s better to be over prepared than under prepared,” Craig explained with a wink. “You wouldn’t want me to enter into a situation with my
pants down, would you?”

Dabs of red darkened Dr. Hecht’s cheeks. She covered her mouth with a hand to shield an abashed smile. “No, no, I suppose not.”

Nineteen days later. One day remained on the countdown. One day before the Uit were scheduled to appear in the skies over the planet dubbed Sirius. Most of Project Illusion’s staffers were
sequestered within the observatory building, viewing a large overhead scanner.
They waited patiently, nervously, their collective scrutiny split between the
digital time index reading at the bottom of the screen and the screen itself.

Craig entered the observatory, wearing full combat gear. Detection-proof, metamaterial fiber was woven into his gear. His weapons had been specially
manufactured from the material, rendering him practically invisible to anyone
standing within a hundred yards of him. But that was only when the light
bending optics embedded in the metal and fiber of his gear were activated.
Though tempted, Craig did not want to alarm a crowd already restive with the
fear of an alien attack…even if pulling off an invisibility prank would have
distracted Craig from his own roiling fears.

Uncle Reese saw Craig and approached him, wearing a look of concern that was genuinely familial. “Craig. How do you feel?”

“Like I should never have gotten on that copter.” Craig cracked a smile.

Uncle Reese’s grave face lightened. He gave his nephew a clap on the shoulder. “We’ll be evacuating this base when the Uit appear within range of our farthest
probe.”

“You people can leave now,” Craig insisted. “My spotters are in place. We know how to operate the surveillance equipment in the bunkers and most importantly, I’m
prepared to use the surface-to-space missile launcher if I have to.”

Murmurs arose from the staff in reaction to the sudden appearances of blips on the scanner. Craig’s and Uncle Reese’s gazes
were drawn to the screen like metal shavings to magnets.

“I guess you’re right,” Uncle Reese acquiesced. “Now is as good a time as any to get the hell out.”

Twelve black blips representing twelve Uit warships inched across the scanner grid. That those ships were actually travelling at near light velocities was not at
all reflected in the snail like progression of the blips on the screen.

Craig’s insides grew bitingly cold. For months talk of the Uit had been academic. Now, contact with those far ranging killers was real, the promise of devastation heralding
their very imminent and frightful arrival, a very sure fulfillment.

Dr. Ling broke into Craig’s apocalyptic reverie, for which the latter was profoundly grateful. “Craig, once our staff evacuates, I’m going to have to cut the
wormhole link. We can’t chance the Uit detecting any emission that they can
trace back to Earth.”

Craig saw the agony of that decision flickering in Ling’s eyes. The physicist clearly was uncomfortable with the
idea of stranding anyone on this distant world bereft of an immediate escape
route back to home.

“I understand,” Craig assured the physicist with a nonchalant grin. “It has to be done.”

“You know how to use the long range communication equipment in the bunker,” Uncle Reese reminded his nephew. “We’ll be expecting a transmission from you after you’ve
successfully completed your mission. That will alert us to reestablish the
wormhole so we can extract you and your team.”

Craig nodded in understanding.

Dr. Hecht and Dr. Adu appeared on opposite sides of Ling. Dr. Adu carried his inseparable laptop in one hand, a bulging, care worn
brief case in the other. He set the case down and extended a hand to Craig. “My
work here is done.”

Craig clasped the scientist’s hand in a firm shake. He leaned forward slightly, waiting for Dr. Adu to add more to his presumed farewell.

The Nigerian stared at Craig long enough for a certain awkwardness to settle over the scene. Finally, Dr. Adu disengaged, scooped up his case and departed
without comment.

“Right,” Craig muttered.

“I will be the last staff person to leave this base,” said Dr. Hecht. “I am going to be remote operating the vehicles outside.”

The small craft Craig saw parked outside the base upon his first arrival on Sirius was a major part of the sprawling deception that was Project Illusion. Designed by a
team led by Dr. Hecht, the twenty five vehicles were to be launched at the
approaching Uit task force. Each vehicle was armed with air-to-air missiles
modified for space use. Dr. Hecht’s assignment was to remotely guide the
vehicles into space, setting them on an intercept course with the Uit ships.
From that point on, the vehicles’ programming would take over, keeping them on
a steady trajectory until they entered engagement range with the Uit. Upon
entering engagement range, the vehicles would launch missiles, intending to
inflict no damage whatsoever on the Uit ships.

The purpose of the attack was not to halt the Uit. It was not even to slow them down. The aim was to let the Uit think that they were being met with what little resistance
a doomed planet had to offer.

The evacuation siren screamed. The staff filed out of the observatory in quick strides, each face a cloud of worry. Decades of planning and preparation to
reach this point. Yet not a single scientist and engineer could be certain if
they had done enough to avert humanity’s extinction.

“I’m going to oversee the evacuation,” Uncle Reese told Craig.

The two men were locked in each other’s gazes. They didn’t speak, but the brief embrace they shared compensated for the silence. “Good luck,” said Uncle Reese.

Craig chuckled sardonically. “Luck? My luck bailed out months ago. I’m here.”

‎>>>>> S T>>>>>>

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Extract from the first book in the DSNG Sci Fi Triliogy, posted by Author

Introduction:

Presented here are the first 14 pages of the 500-page e-book, available now for download at Amazon.com.

The entire dynamic sci fi series is set in an alternate galaxy, and it is centered upon a man of regal origins.

Prince Azzar Omenus is a super soldier, hailing from planet Avera. He is a man of renowned character, known for his incredible fighting skills and his astute strategies. Yet recently he has been quite introverted as he battles the demons of rejection and disgrace that have plagued his life in this new season. Following a string of chaotic events, it was believed that he was slain in a deep-space conflict, the same battle that eclipsed the life of his father, King Vaygon Omenus. But the Prince later returned after many months to the capital mega state of Avera within a foreign spacecraft, seemingly resurrected from the dead. And when he arrived within the familiar confines of the Imperial Palace walls, he was shocked and dismayed to find his beloved in the arms of his cousin, the same man that was now the new King of Avera. Shortly after that, Azzar was granted the rank of Senior Commanding Officer in the Centura, the Averan military - and it was a demeaning role he was literally forced to accept.

Now Azzar strives to remain focused and discover his true destiny, while unforeseen chaos looms on the galactic horizon. There is an ominous threat emerging from the dark spotted abyss of space like a lethal airborne plague shrouded by the thick blanket of the night. A clandestine villain known as the Overlord has begun to manipulate his interplanetary terrorist faction, the Gorilla rebel militia, causing them to initiate a sadistic plan that will result in wide-spread genocide across the Makuran Galaxy.

Time has been the greatest asset of the conniving Overlord, as his pawns of war have now been secretly set in place. And Prince Azzar has no idea that his very life is now in grave danger due to a devious scheme set to unfold at a starport upon the eldritch moon called Yantos...

Link to the DSNG Series Overview: http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_Wa5ZmL_ju48/TMocWTfPfnI/AAAAAAAAAVo/NYJOP08A-8Q/s1600/DSNG_SCI_FI_SERIES_OVERVIEW_by_DSNG.jpg

The entire series is rated M for Mature Audiences, per violence and sexuality.

______________________________________________________________________________________________

Prologue

DSNGC1>>Week 1, day1

Business Class Cabin,

Starline Airbus 3502GL

En Route to Yantos

Macuran exosphere, Macur

Gamma Sector [12:20am], Makuran Galaxy

With his eyes closed, Phil Nutoko leaned back into the plush embrace of the Astro-AB TypeIII cabin recliner chair he’d sat within for the past 35 hours, as serene jazz music glided into his mind through a sleek Helios Dome5X data phone clipped onto his left ear. This Interplanetary, IP, trip had been a most euphoric journey indeed. The cabin recliner chair was encased in plush synthesized Kataran fur and the microcircuits within the endodermic layer of the chair were programmed to adapt constantly to the moving contours of his body.

Thus, as he leaned back and slightly extended his legs, with silent precision, the Astro-AB TypeIII chair adjusted its back support, gently flexing backwards by about 25 degrees from the horizontal, while the cushion Phil sat upon also tipped slightly downwards, with a similar acute angle.

All business class passengers were privileged with the same seating comforts. In their premier position, the Astro-AB chairs would each have the appearance of an extremely graceful “L,” whose horizontal and vertical parts connected at a curve, rather than at 90 degrees. In addition to having arm rests that were each 7 inches wide, the comfortable chairs’ cushions also had footrests connected to their extreme edge, powered by motion servos and dynamic relay circuits that perceived supported body movements, and simultaneously extended the adjoined footrests to accommodate the passengers’ new position.

Not only did the hi-tech chair provide extremely accurate comfort to the muscles on the dorsal side of his body, but it also gave four posterior massages per hour while subtly releasing hemorium gas unto its entire surface area. The gas engulfed its passenger in an euphoric array of sensual aromas that had a relieving effect upon the mind. As the inhaled gaseous particles were absorbed into the blood stream and gently flooded the nervous system, they erupted as gentle geysers of serenity within the subconscious psyche. The chair was welded to the floor and supported by a block-pyramid arrangement of rectangular slabs, housing an autonomous CPU, operating with a G1 processor.

About 3 minutes ago, Phil had connected to the airbus’ telecom network through his Dome5X data phone and accessed the Interplanetary Network. The IP-Net was a tenth generation Internet system, connecting the seven major planets in the Makuran galaxy in real time. This groundbreaking feat was accomplished by an intricate network established through a myriad of laser-com satellites launched from host planets and spread across the four sectors like a synthetic star cluster, arrayed in a systematic order that placed each satellite in a precise orbital node. Once their data hubs are activated and linked through multiphase, laser-generated, compound carrier wave systems—supported by IP-Net server and data-processing centers within the specific host planets—a multiple planetary data network is assembled, whose integral telecommunication boundaries are virtually nonexistent.

Across the galaxy various small hi-tech devices were currently in vogue, designed to facilitate seamless communications. These ranged from nanotech watches, commonly referred to as comlinks, to data headsets and ear pieces. Extremely expensive ear pieces like Phil’s Helios Dome5X data phone could not only give you audio access to the IP-Net, but also project a 2D-display in real time, in front of his eyes, shown as a small semitransparent screen, about 3 square inches in size.

Since it operated via a G3 processor, through audible voice commands one could access e-mails, news feeds, and download anything desired such as H-DVDs, sitcoms, or even a personal health diagnosis, via intricate IR-scans from meditech satellites. Despite the phenomenal capabilities of commercial comlinks powered by G3s, they were not the optimal product. The helmets worn by the Centura soldiers had much higher level processors, ranging from G5s to G8s.

“Good day, this is your captain speaking,” the voice of the Starline airbus’ human pilot slightly startled Phil, interrupting his thoughts with an upbeat tone.

Vocalizing his desire, Phil said, “Decrease, now.” And this voice command to his Helios Dome5X phone resulted in the diminishing of the volume of the jazz music, so he could hear the instructions being given by the informative voice projected via the overhead speakers in the luxurious cabin. Phil lifted his head slightly, as he blinked, in anticipation of the forthcoming announcement.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please return your seats to the upright position. Prepare to have your safety harnesses automatically activated, as we’re about to descend into Yantos,” the pilot said calmly. “Thanks again for choosing Starline.”

In response to the calm orders, Phil sat up and his Astro chair returned to its primary state. Then he hit a smooth button upon his left armrest, which activated his safety harness, a remote controlled seatbelt mechanism operated by mag-lev motion servos. The metal-tipped connectors ejected from four points on his chair, two on the edge of the seat and two more from the vertical support, and met just in front of his torso, as if drawn there like BlackhawkTZ26 missiles following a precise, curved, laser-com guided trajectory. He could have waited to have this harness automatically activated by the captain’s copilot, but he opted not to.

At first, Phil wondered what the verbal notice would have sounded like, if it had come from the copilot, an intricate AI, responsible for monitoring all the secondary functions of the airbus, such as sequential nitrium combustion, exterior micro-cathodic protection and cabin pressurization… then he shuddered at the thought. The hi-tech minds of sentient master AIs operated via G8 processors, giving them the ability to reason and react at rates that virtually appeared to be FTL. And actually, military grade AIs were outfitted with G10 processors.

Nevertheless, Phil really didn’t trust talking, thinking, sentient machines and he personally preferred the human touch, in all his daily endeavors.

Ah yes, the human touch. Phil took a deep breath and exhaled with a smile. And then he laughed calmly to himself, his relieving gestures remaining insignificant and unnoticed by the other nineteen passengers within the business class cabin. As he felt the huge craft begin to slightly dip in its trajectory, Phil also dived into his mental archives, reminiscing upon a very pleasant recent memory.

About 3 hours ago, Phil had felt the touch of humanoid hands… actually four hands, as he’d made love to an alien air hostess within one of the large luxurious lavatories, located at the extreme posterior end of the cabin, situated behind his seating area. She was a Scalatan, a four-armed busty beauty from planet Scalata, and her unique phenotype was extremely exotic.

She had a skin tone that appeared to be an eloquent blend of crimson and carnation pink. Her facial features were all neatly arrayed, and her alluring eyes were as equally enticing as her sensual full lips. She was bald, except for a grouped mohawk strand that commenced at the frontal part of her head in a “V” formation, and dropped down to the rear of her neck as a bound ponytail. Various circular apertures were arranged on the lower part of her forehead, and she possessed a unique nose that had what looked like horizontal markings painted across it.

This female humanoid didn’t have ears. Instead, like most Scalatans, she had two tentacles which extended from the side of her head, bearing the same color as her skin. They were each about 6 inches in length and had what appeared to be small egg-shaped bulbs at their tip. These bulbs were extra eyes, having eyelids around their entire circumference and opened slits at their apex. As the tentacles glided gracefully, they gave Scalatans the advantage of a panoramic view, allowing them to even have rear vision.

Phil smiled, as he blinked, and then he kept reflecting upon the eldritch female that had taken his breath away and undoubtedly satisfied his lascivious desires.

She wasn’t fat or overweight. She was just… thick, having slender appendages, a small waist, a gentle athletic butt and a large bust. Yatzat… yes, Yatzat… that was her first name. Phil remembered it from the Holographic Projected—HP—nametag that was affixed to her blouse, just above the left half of her huge bosom. He had focused intensely on her voluptuous chest as he’d held her, during their passionate exchange.

And while they’d made love, Phil had noticed a series of three extremely small, dark holes on the inner curve of each of her breasts, which he pondered about. Were they merely aesthetic, or part of her phenotypical make up? Or did they serve a purpose, such as respiration? He wasn’t sure, but he noted that Yatzat had panted constantly during their semi-nude torrid session, often gasping with pleasure, as he moved his hips back and forth, while she whispered pleasant words into his ear, like the popular Scalatan word “kita,” meaning “faster.”

She’d sat on the edge of the large cubico crystalline sink while he stood in front of her, locking her in a close amorous embrace. Cubico is a material that’s similar to marble in composition, but with fifty-times the durability.

Her heels had pointed downwards at her discarded miniskirt and his slumped slacks. And his lips had painted her throat while he’d probed her crevice with his might. Yatzat had passionately woven all her arms across his back, almost like an octopus gently engulfing its prey. It was a moment that filled Phil with excessive excitement and rapacious desires, as he actually felt like he was the octopus and she was his prey.

Phil reflected on how he’d been extremely aroused by the touch of her four arms; she had two regular human-like arms and two others that were smaller—which protruded from her sides, adjacent to her lower ribcage. Each arm had three fingers, yet they displayed the same dexterity as a five-fingered hand. Even after the pair had concluded their lovemaking, Yatzat held onto him and kissed him repeatedly, refusing to let him go. Her constant sensual caress had caused the hairs on the back of his golden-skinned neck to stand.

Like Phil, all true-born Averans have variations of golden skin tones and their anatomy is identical to those of humans, but it’s their genotype that is completely unique.

“Please, don’t leave me yet!” Yatzat had said, yearningly. “I do not wish for this sacred time to end!” her passionate voice was extremely soothing.

Phil simply couldn’t resist her feminine charm… and he’d stayed a while longer. As they kissed deeply and fervently, intermittently pausing to draw in deep breaths through their mouths, he’d found himself calling out her name, in a whispered tone. The “T” at the end of her name was silent, as most female Scalatan names, yielding the pronounced form of “Yatsah.”

There were about twelve Scalatan hostesses onboard this flight, four of whom served within this business cabin. Adorned in matching cream-colored, waist-length suites and miniskirts that fit their contours as tightly as latex gloves, the hostesses all looked professional, while exuding sexuality. They all wore open-toed 3-inch heeled pumps and some had fancy designer chokers, while others wore hats, displaying the Starline logo. Their phenotypes were as diverse as the tastes of the men and women present—some had extremely small waists and curvy butts, while others had large perky breasts that appeared to be yearning for liberation from the tight tube-top blouses beneath their suit’s coat.

But Phil hadn’t noticed any of them, except the one that had winked at him, right after she’d leaned in close to give him a refill of his second glass of Zesto beer, shortly after the flight commenced. That was the first time he’d caught a glimpse of Yatzat’s voluptuous chest, which was gracefully displayed before him as she’d leaned forward. Phil, a young man in his early-30s, was shy and slim, having large eyebrows, a mustache and a singular strip beard, running from the base of his bottom lip to the smooth tip of his chin. He worked as an administrative assistant for the Minister of Alien Relations, back on his home world of Avera.

Geeks like him never got excessive attention from women and it was rare that he would even look at a female, human or alien, directly in the eye, for an extended period. But Yatzat seemed different… she was different. Phil felt like she admired and desired him, or perhaps it was what he chose to believe. She was 5 feet 6 inches tall and he was about 4 inches taller. They appeared to be a perfect match, in terms of their physical size.

He believed that her elated mannerism during their erotic copulating session could not have been something she formulated, solely with deceptive or venal intent. After all, she was the one who’d casually sent him an e-mail through his Dome5X data phone, with her picture and an invitation to meet her in the lavatory for some complimentary mutual fun, if he so desired.

Prior to this trip, he’d heard his boss, Juriah Blaine, occasionally joke with some of his comrades about how easy it was to have intercourse on IP-flights, with fellow traveling diplomats and air hostesses.

“They practically give you anything you ask for on those trips, at no extra charge!” Juriah had bellowed, seated in his Astro hoverchair, while speaking to a fellow Minister seated across from him, on the other side of his broad C-shaped desk.

“But hey, when the female is hot and the sex is free, you really can’t beat that!” Tomi Cantur, the fellow Minister had replied, as both men leaned back in their chairs and laughed in unison, roaring almost uncontrollably. Yet they were oblivious to the fact that Juriah’s elbow had hit the comlink button on his hoverchair’s armrest 3 minutes earlier, allowing Phil to hear the most graphic portions of their conversation.

“Damn…” Phil said to himself in a low tone, “…Just wish the girls back home were as open as these Scalatan chicks.”

Phil kept pondering to himself, silently. At first he tried to deny it, but he couldn’t overstep his conscience, as it dictated to him that “open” wasn’t the best descriptive word; “unchaste” seemed to be a more appropriate term. After all, a complete stranger had just made him an offer for sensual intercourse and he’d received it, without question.

Phil was an Averan, and although he wasn’t a member of the Centura, his people were generally referred to as blood warriors, for their phenomenal combat abilities and relentless fighting spirit. As a military force, the Centura were greatly respected throughout the four sectors of the Makuran galaxy, which was roughly spread over a distance of 20 light years. King Titron Omenus, Prince Azzar Omenus and the other high ranking members of the Centura were literally superhuman soldiers… formally categorized as higher beings, as they possessed the powers of flight, energy shield generation and unique energy pulse projection from their epidermal surfaces.

Phil couldn’t jump more than 3 feet off the ground, let alone fly. However, he did have a striking facial resemblance to Lord Azzar Omenus, a potent member of the royal family.

He wished his phenotypical similarity with the Prince, who was much older than him, would’ve been an incentive for Averan females to desire him, but that was not the case. Phil remembered how he’d attempted to date a female soldier named Asia Avorus, back on Avera, several months ago. After seeing her picture on the IP-Net, he’d envisioned having sensual intercourse with her several times and his lust had driven him to meet her in person.

He’d imagined that she would be his first, and they would live a placid, serene life together. But Asia was in a foul mood the day he met her at Rockfort base and she’d leveled him to the ground with a lighting elbow to his jaw, because he’d kept following her around, still attempting to gain an audience, after she’d given him a verbal rejection.

His vision of intercourse on a bed of silk sheets mounted upon an open terrace within a hovering garden encircled by waterfalls, had come crashing down that day. Only now did it dawn on Phil that he’d just lost his virginity in a restroom, while traveling amidst the cold vacuum of space… to a total stranger whom he would probably never see again. This was not the way he’d envisioned his first time, but it had most certainly exceeded anything he’d experienced in VR-sex rooms, online.

The nighttime flight continued. The Starline airbus was currently breaking through the unseen atmospheric gravity waves of the mesosphere and into stratospheric semitransparent cloud cover, as it approached its dwarfed destination, the Yantos Central Starport. As the craft zoomed closer, the starport would obviously appear to grow larger, like an expanding mighty cobweb with lighted button nodes.

Phil felt a sense of ease and tranquility, as the airbus descended towards Yantos, one of the primary satellites of planet Macur. The observed view of the terraformed moon was a panorama of diverse lights, flickering neon projections and webbed networking transit lines. It was late at night, but the major city below and its residents were definitely awake.

Macuran airspace was not the place to be without the appropriate IP-transit e-code. This code was a type of electronic interplanetary visa, uniquely issued by each planet in the Makuran galaxy. Through the Starline’s telecom system, the pilot has sent the IP-transit e-code to the starport on Yantos, and to the Zarchon United Military HQ on Macur, as a precaution. The eldritch Zarchons who resided on Macur were notoriously renowned for blasting unidentified cruisers out of their airspace, under the directive of their questionable code for “maintaining planetary safety.”

Had the Starline’s master AI not began communicating with the AI located within the Yantos Central Starport dispatch mainframe during the initial take off, the Zero-pods located in Macuran orbit would have sought out the airbus like flies drawn to raw meat within seconds of approaching that airspace and detonated upon the vessel, resulting in a violent collision that excluded any explosions or brilliant arrays of blinding photonic beams.

This is because Zero-pods contained dark vortices at their core: an artificial black hole, mystically embedded within these nano-engineered asteroids. Their impact usually resulted in implausible implosions, rather than phenomenal explosions.

Phil turned his head to the right as he glanced towards the center aisle of the cabin. They were on the third floor of the Starline airbus and the seating arrangement here, within the business class cabin, was extremely well spaced and adequately sparse. The cabin possessed seats for thirty passengers, although only twenty had boarded it. And there were six rows comprised of Astro-AB TypeIII cabin recliner chairs, which were separated into two distinct halves by a 2.5-meter wide aisle. The entire floor of this luxurious cabin was adorned with a carpet of plush, gremoran fur, which almost made you feel like you were walking upon a gentle meadow, with grass as soft as wool.

As Phil looked towards the aisle, from his seat at the rear of the left half of the cabin, he saw two hostesses walking casually from the front to the rear, one behind the other. They both held out warm facial towels, which they were offering to the passengers. Phil’s eyes widened with excitement as the first Scalatan stepped out of his line of sight, to hand a towel to a gentleman in his mid-50s, giving the young Averan a chance to behold the hostess that was forthcoming behind her—the very female he’d recently known, intimately. As their eyes met, Yatzat tilted her head to the side gently, and smiled. Then she winked again and continued on her calm routine, offering towels to the other passengers. She soon approached Phil and a casual conversation began.

“Warm towel, sir?” she asked, in an inviting tone, leaning towards him.

Phil wasn’t used to hearing the term, “sir,” issued in reference to himself. That was what he always used to address his boss, Juriah Blaine, and the other members of the Averan Ministries Executive Board. He briefly pondered what really would make him feel like he was worthy of the noble salutation of “sir.”

“Sir?” Yatzat said, breaking his trend of thought. “Are you all right?”

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Yes, yes I’m fine Yatzat, thanks,” he said. Then she instantly handed him a towel in response.

“Oh, no, no thanks!” he replied, in an upbeat tone. And he wondered if she knew that he still felt quite nervous around her. Yet at this juncture Yatzat had a puzzled look on her face.

“But sir…” she stated, while still extending the towel, “You first said ‘thanks’. Don’t you want the towel?” Yatzat asked, slightly bewildered as she held forth the folded item.

“Oh no!” Phil replied as he waved her off gently. “I meant thanks for asking if I was all right! I don’t want the towel!”

Phil noticed that the pretty hostess was struggling to keep from giggling, amused by his gentle mannerism. Once again, he was captivated by the tempting view of her bountiful cleavage, accentuated by the wonder bra she had on. While still leaning forward, Yatzat was keenly aware of the trance her chest was inducing on him per the focus of his eyes. Yet she didn’t mind.

Then while smiling, she nodded, turned around and walked back to the front of the cabin, where she glided through a hexagonal shaped door, which slid open from left to right, as she returned to the chamber where the four Scalatan hostesses on this level of the airbus resided.

After about 7 minutes, the Starline airbus was descending upon the colossal Yantos Central Starport, on runway H-T12. The brilliant low-end G-thrusters howled in the wind as the large craft descended gracefully. The giant turbines located on the ventral side of the chisel nosed, cuboid-shaped vessel roared; this provided a cushion of turbulent air, which conversely resulted in the stabilization of the airbus, as it struggled against gravity. The six giant-sized laser floodlights whose hubs were seamlessly engrafted into the surface of the runway provided the parameters for the vessel’s gradual descent onto its designated landing position, H-T12.

The Starline’s master AI used refractive laser beams to determine the exact angle to bring in the vessel, providing key assistance to the human pilot, who was maneuvering the large craft downwards via several motion cameras embedded on the crafts ventral side, which focused on the runway, while giving him numeric readings such as distance, avionic balance, current velocity and tangential angle of descent.

The airbus was about 90 meters in length and 20 meters at it highest point. On the port and starboard sides, there were no wings or weapons, just two giant cylindrical thrusters affixed towards the rear of the craft, on either side. In place of giant rubber wheels, the airbus had what could be best described as a trio of massive skis on its base—one at the apex of its ventral side, and the other two located at the rear in a twin-like array. These skis were usually concealed during flight and protracted only when landing sequences were initiated.

Airbuses were advanced IP-vessels, capable of landing on almost any terrain, even aquatic ones. In terms of their size, they were much smaller than armadas and dropships, as their focus was more on the transport of cargo and passengers, rather than payloads of mega blasters, large photon cannons, guided AAMs, advanced Duo-Nukes and Antimatter warheads.

As the airbus met the reinforced concrete surface of the runway with its protruding landing gear, Phil reflected briefly upon this landing experience. In his opinion, the entire descent had been flawless, except for the ten-seconds in which his Dome5X data phone had howled a harsh static blast into his ear, which sent unpleasant sensations into his eardrum and up into his brain. It had occurred during the transition from the lower mesosphere to the stratosphere, roughly 30 miles from the surface of this colonized moon.

Perhaps it was caused by a surge in electromagnetic waves, or an IP-signal overload? Phil wasn’t sure, but he didn’t care.

Right now, he was beginning to refocus upon the reason for his IP-flight to Yantos, as he was scheduled to have a meeting with a member of the Scalatan firm, Mujikkron Inc., to personally present the terms for reestablishing a recently terminated trade agreement between Avera and Scalata, pertaining to various rare, pod bearing eldritch plants, with medicinal properties. Corporate meetings requiring secure communication lines could easily be arranged over the IP-Net, but this small caucus was more of a summit, a 3-day affair, full of leisure events for Phil and the Mujikkron executive, Hong T-khon. It was a common belief that pleasurable times provided the best setting for the delivery of arduous proposals to an obstinate business partner, who would have otherwise displayed an adamant demeanor during a mere comlink call.

“Never trust a Scalatan!” Phil’s father had said repeatedly to him, years ago.

But that was a phrase commonly echoed by the members of the previous generations, when they narrated tales of corruption, venality and duplicity in regards to business ventures that involved Scalatans. Phil believed in the equality of the Averan race with all other races in the Makuran galaxy. He did not support the notion of judging the sons based on the actions of their fathers and he was not one to engage in conversations that derided other humanoids, simply out of ignorance or prejudice. He ardently believed that his 3-day interaction with Hong would verify his beliefs.

But at that moment, as Phil deactivated his safety harness and rose from his comfortable chair, things suddenly started changing.

Instantly, two fairly loud beeps were echoed through the overhead speakers within the business class cabin, followed by a stern stoic voice that made Phil feel extremely uneasy. It was the dry, emotionless voice of the vessel’s master AI, issuing a word of caution that sent thoughts of chaos into the minds of all the affluent passengers present.

“Warning, Warning!” the AI stated. “We have just been boarded unlawfully, please proceed to the front of this business cabin, in a single file, where we can generate a photonic shield to separate you from any…. Gzzzz!”

The robotic voice was drowned in static, and Phil recognized that his Helios phone that hung on his left ear was now off-line…. And from the confused voices that erupted throughout the cabin, the other dignitaries were just realizing the same thing, as they began hustling towards the frontal area, in front of the automated hexagonal door. At that instant, Yatzat rushed out through that door, breaking through the crowd and dashed towards Phil, who was at the rear of the room.

“Sir!” she desperately bellowed and waved frantically, as she approached him. “Please wait! Be still! Just be still!”

The shrillness of her voice implied a sense of desperation and she held a small purse in one of her larger hands. Confused, Phil paused in his steps, as he watched what appeared to happen next in almost slow motion.

Yatzat reached him and attempted to pull him further back, towards the rear of the cabin, which housed the lavatories and two exit doors. Phil was filled with bewilderment as he kept glancing forward, longing to join the rest of the passengers that were converging at the frontal area of the cabin. His lustful desires for Yatzat had held him in place till she reached him, but now he desired to flee with her towards the area he believed would ensure their safety.

But suddenly, the hexagonal door at the aft end of the cabin slid open and a menacing 7-foot giant emerged, clothed in a combination of chest armor plates, bulging shoulder pads, gauntlets and black pants, with several rectangular pouches strapped to his thighs. The glare from his four eyes was cold and ruthless, as he surveyed his targets without moving his head. He was a trained killer whose face was concealed behind a metallic, menacing Gorilla mask… and he held an item in each of his four arms—he was a Scalatan. His left and right gauntleted arms held VWS450 laser riffles, while his smaller hands held a bloody, 6-inch laser-edged dagger and the head of a young man, respectively. That kill was fresh, as crimson blood still dripped from the neck to the ground.

Chains of fear paralyzed the assembled host of passengers that stared at the arriving antagonist. And half a second later screams of terror erupted like sirens.

“My God! Is that the head of the human pilot?” Phil muttered fearfully to himself. “Or is it someone from a lower deck of the…?”

There wasn’t enough time to think as anarchy ensued in the anterior section of the cabin. Suddenly the promised semitransparent photonic shield was activated—barring the crest of the cabin by the hexagonal door from the rest of the stretched enclosure—and Phil watched in complete horror as a mass slaughter ensued. Amidst the yells of pain, the young man watched as heads and limbs exploded in irregular showers of blood and internal organs were spilled to the ground like raw bloody meat tossed out of a crate. The assassin had unleashed a merciless assault upon all of the passengers before him, within the uniquely confined shielded area.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Phil yelled in horror, uncontrollably, while paralyzed with taut cords of fear.

He wasn’t a soldier—he’d never beheld anything like this, a violent bloody massacre of innocent people. Perhaps it was the terror of the moment, but Phil could have sworn that the screams of pain and panic from the victims merged to form a crescendo of unfathomable fear and trepidation. Within seconds, the floor within the section of the cabin demarcated by the photonic shield was a swirling pile of charred, repugnant, bloodied flesh and bone.

The towering assassin had done his job and as the shield dissipated into the air, the giant Scalatan set his merciless gaze upon the lone Averan survivor, standing about 30 feet away at the opposite end of the cabin. When the massacre commenced, the shield had prevented the laser pulses from reaching beyond the kill-zone.

Now the shield was gone and with it, all hope.

Awakened from his trance of dread, Phil turned to run out of the cabin but was shocked to come face to face with Yatzat, who had tears flowing from her eyes.

“What the f…?” Phil gasped, but his words were interrupted by the sound of a small laser gun with a 4-inch long barrel that had just been fired. He felt a surreal pain in the lower left side of his gut, between what was probably his colon and small intestine, just above the intertubercular plane. He glanced down in shock, to see the slightly bloody cavity upon his polo t-shirt that had been made by a bullet not from the assassin but from Yatzat. The purse she’d carried as she raced towards him seconds ago had obviously concealed this compact silver weapon.

Reasoning at a dynamic rate, Phil wondered to himself, “If that’s a laser propelling weapon, why was I struck by a slender bullet?”

“Sir, I’m so, so sorry…” Yatzat whispered sorrowfully, with watering eyes, “…please forgive me!”

Phil barely heard her utter those last saddening words in an emotionally burdened tone, as he dropped lifelessly to the ground. But one final thought flowed through his mind, as he slipped away into what felt like a living realm of utter darkness:

Never trust a Scalatan—never.

___________________________________________________________________________________

Here is the link to the complete 500-page e-book:

http://www.amazon.com/DSNG-CHRONICLES-PRINCES-PRIDE-ebook/dp/B003UHVIDI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1290643655&sr=8-1

Stay tuned for more insights into the sci fi world of DSNG, including images and details on the various alien species. Join the DSNG fanpage via facebook and stay updated on the series!

http://www.facebook.com/pages/The-art-of-Dsng/166224470060382

NOTE: This Sci Fi article was extracted from my main blog. The original complete post was published on September 19, 2010 [ http://dsngsfm.blogspot.com/2010/09/visual-punctuations.html ]

VISUAL PUNCTUATIONS

Consider the two images below, sourced from a book by Ballistic Publishing called Matte Painting 2:

The first digital pic is from Star Wars: Episode 3: Revenge of the Sith, I think. And if you look at it carefully, you can tell that the sense of depth and height that the buildings are established upon are punctuated by the prevalent fog/smog encountered at that altitude. Plus, the radiance reflected upon the durable alloyed building panels from the sun indicate their nearness to the sky as the hours of dusk approach. The seemingly tiny hover transports zooming about also immediately yield a sense of the scale of the skytowers, as these buildings are truly massive. Yes, the structures are massive, because if you look carefully... you can't even see the street below, and neither can you distinctly make out the window panels of the buildings.

In the second digital pic, an outdoor garden terrace is showcased. And per the layout of the scenery, this garden is established at least 10,000 feet above the ground. The painted vicinity illustrates a stretched mountain range, and above this mountain range, the resident sentient species have transformed barren highlands into a flourishing environment. This could easily be a fantasy world [fantasy as a genre is different from sci fi, hopefully we'll get into that distinction in the future]. Yet the presence of a hovercraft towards the left of the image, floating above a building establishment, instantly pushes the pic into the sci fi genre - per the futuristic technology that would be needed to contrive such a vehicle.

Additionally, the tall habitable structures may have been carved out of hard stone and solid rock faces, or they may have been contrived by the hands of droids given construction protocols by their creators to carefully follow. Only the artist who drew the image would be able to fully describe what he had in mind when he tilted his graphite pen to the digital canvas. But regardless of the foundational elements of the buildings or the elevated garden, this image still presents an intriguing sci fi world to behold.

It is noteworthy to consider that the mountainous establishment may actually be covered with an energy dome - creating an engineered habitable environment - which would probably be visible if you zoomed out to behold the entire elevated city. The reason for such an addition would be due to the fact that the availability of oxygen at extreme elevations is strikingly low. In fact, at mountain peaks here on earth, you won't find gardens... you'll find frost, blanketing the spiky peaks. And you won't find butterflies or bunnies scuffling playfully about at those towering frigid locations, since they would have no established constant food source.

That sort of descriptive ecological balance is what I strive to personally consider when I write sci fi stories, and you can constantly see that balance in the DSNG CHRONICLES e-book Trilogy available now at Amazon.com. The dynamic tale is a fusion of action, adventure and romance, set in an alternate galaxy. As a graphic designer, I also write and draw the characters along with their futuristic environments/vehicles. That way, little is left to the imagination, and the audience can see the presented conceptual world in a tangible light.

If you look close enough, you can probably pick out more visual punctuations in the two JPEG images above that help to highlight the fact that sci fi worlds are definitely unique environments, worthy of a second look......

~ Article written by DSNG Artist

Visit my sci fi blog for more interesting archived entries: http://www.dsngsfm.blogspot.com/

And check out Book#1 of the completed DSNG CHRONICLES TRILOGY: http://www.amazon.com/DSNG-CHRONICLES-PRINCES-PRIDE-ebook/dp/B003UHVIDI/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&m=AG56TWVU5XWC2&s=books&qid=1290548263&sr=8-1

An intriguing synopsis of the dynamic series is presented there, in the lengthy product description. Running searches for "DSNG" on Amazon will show you links to the other two books.

Unlike the pristine bleak of the outside, the interior of Research Building A was filled
with people. Most of the occupants wore white lab coats, which was fitting. The
place was set up like a huge laboratory. Level upon level of laboratory space.

Craig had already seen most of the floors thanks to a brisk tour provided by his uncle.
He saw equipment he could not identify, technology he could hardly fathom.

Uncle Reese introduced him to many staff members. Scientists, engineers, technicians. Some
spoke accented English. Others not at all, but their research was
comprehensible to anyone trained in the arcane language of advanced science.
Finally, Craig was taken to an office at the very top floor. There, he met Dr.
Jason Ling, an experimental physicist on leave from a prestigious American
university, and Gretchen Hecht, a PhD mechanical engineer from Germany. A third
person, Dr. Alowole Adu, a materials specialist from Nigeria, was too engrossed
in the mathematical equations filling his laptop screen to acknowledge the new
arrivals.

“As you’ve undoubtedly guessed, we are no longer in the opera house,” Uncle Reese
announced, most understatedly.

Craig’s deadpan expression said, ‘no kidding.’

“We are not even on Earth. We are on a planet called Sirius, which is orbiting a star
called Sirius B. In fact, we are in a triple star system. That explains the
outside brightness, due to the fact that there’s more than one sun…”

Craig held up a hand to slow the data stream. “Wait a minute, this is…now hold on…we’re
not on Earth? How…I don’t get it…”

Craig walked to a tinted window, gazed out upon a desert landscape that extended as
far in all directions as he could make out. He could not accuse anyone of lying
because the evidence of his unearthly surroundings lay sprawled before his very
eyes. And if he could not accept the truth of that parched vista, all he has to
do was look up. “Ok. I won’t dispute my senses. So, the logical question to ask
in a situation like this is, how did we get here?”

“Worm hole,” replied Dr. Ling. “We created an artificial wormhole to bridge the gap
between worlds.”

An occasional reader of Scientific American, Craig was familiar enough with the
concept of wormholes. “You’re telling me that we developed technology to generate
a wormhole, to build all of this on another planet?”

“If by ‘we’ you mean the U.S. government, no, we didn’t do this alone,” clarified Uncle
Reese. "This is a worldwide effort. A very secret effort.”

Craig lifted a brow. “I’m all ears.”

Uncle Reese explained. The more he explained, the more effort it took for Craig to grasp
the reality of it.

It began in 1948, nearly eighty years earlier. A UFO crash-landed in Nevada. It’s a cliched
belief that when UFOs nosedive in the middle of nowhere, they’re usually
piloted by little green or gray large headed aliens who perish in the crash and
their bodies are transported to some ultra secret Area 51 type facility to be
autopsied.

First responders, poring over the crash site, would find no dead bodies inside the UFO.
The vehicle was a car sized probe. What investigators discovered inside the
probe, however, not only confirmed the craft’s extraterrestrial origins; it
scared the hell out of them. The investigators came across some kind of
fold-out video screen that self-activated, displaying the face of an alien. The
creature wasn’t the stereotypical green or gray skinned large headed alien.
It—perhaps it was a he or a she—looked like a cross between a ferret and a
toad. But its looks were irrelevant. The alien referred to itself as a Piron
who hailed from a far off planet of the same name.

Seven thousand Earth years ago, Piron was attacked and all life extinguished from its
surface by an aggressive species called the Uit. The Piron did not go down
without a fight. A few Piron survived the genocidal onslaught to launch hit and
run attacks against Uit ships. Eventually, Piron resistance was crushed, but
not before they gathered volumes of information about their enemy. It remained
a mystery to the Piron why the Uit were so hell bent on exterminating
intelligent life wherever they found it. But the Piron knew plenty about Uit
technology and methods of war. Drawing upon their much diminished tech base,
the Piron built numerous probes, downloaded all of their Uit data into these
machines and sent them into space toward any civilizations in the many paths of
the Uit’s advance.

So far, according to the alien’s precise data, 234 species received the Piron’s
warning. 214 of those species were exterminated. 20 managed to fight the Uit to
a standstill. The remainder achieved the remarkable feat of actually defeating
the Uit militarily. But there remained countless Uit ships plying the
never-ending darkness, searching for life to erase from existence. A group of
those ships were less than a year from Earth.

Craig snatched a few seconds to absorb what his uncle just told him. Anyone else
would have been shaking in his shoes. But Craig was not anyone else. He was a
trained operative.

“I want to see this alien’s video transmission for myself. I assume you have a copy.”

Uncle Reese looked amusedly taken aback. “A copy? We have the original.” He deferred to Dr.
Hecht.

Craig followed the engineer into a smaller room with a table upon which sat the
fold-out video screen described by Uncle Reese. The fold-out’s design was all
fluid angles, glazed with an iridescent coating of amber. The device’s
non-human origin was immediately obvious to Craig. The fold-out roughly
resembled a laptop, except it had no keypad.

Dr. Hecht waved a hand in front of the screen and stepped back as an alien image
materialized. “We have been trying to
figure out what makes this thing tick for decades.”

Craig was not interested in the mechanics of the hardware. The alien face staring back at
him from the device’s small screen fascinated him.

A ferret and a toad. Apt description.

The Piron spoke in perfect unaccented American English. Well, the alien itself was not
speaking English. Its puckered mouth hardly looked flexible enough to form
human words in any language. Some kind of translation program conveyed the
Piron’s speech.

“I’ll, um, leave you in solitude,” Dr. Hecht whispered, retreating quietly from the room.

Craig was not even aware of the engineer’s departure. He was too immersed in the video
recording of an actual alien from another planet.

An hour later, he emerged from the room.

Uncle Reese approached his nephew. “Quite a bit to take in, isn’t it?”

“To say the least.” Craig was subdued about the matter. It wasn’t everyday a person
received news that his planet was targeted for extermination by a pitiless,
genocidal alien species. “Why am I here? And why is this base so far from
home?”

“You are at Ground Zero,” replied Uncle Reese. “We’re hoping that this base will divert the
Uit’s attention from Earth. And if we’re exceptionally skilled and
exceptionally lucky, we will have fooled the Uit into thinking that the planet
we are currently on is Earth.”

Craig’s jaw went slack. “And how do you propose to do that, given all the radio emissions
emanating from Earth that screams our existence to the rest of the universe?
And if the Uit do attack this planet as planned, what makes you think they
won’t make a beeline for Earth afterwards?”

“Our projections, based on the data provided by the Piron, leans heavily in favor of
the Uit not heading toward Earth after they have completed their mission here,”
stated Dr. Hecht. “You see the Uit would have been alerted to the existence of
advanced life in this part of the galaxy at about the time of Christ, which is
when they would have dispatched world-killing ships in our direction. Twelve
years ago, the United States, in concert with twenty-seven nations, established
a satellite network around Earth. The satellites are designed to block all
outgoing emissions from Earth, making us invisible to the universe.” Dr. Hecht
adopted a preening tone. “My father had a significant role to play in the
research that led to the development of those satellites.”

Before Craig could offer his congratulations, Dr. Ling chimed in. “You’re wondering how
we’re going to attract the Uit to this location? Here’s how.” Ling directed Craig’s
attention to a flatscreen next to Dr. Adu’s station. He grabbed a remote and
pointed it at the flatscreen. A picture of a huge white satellite dish appeared
on the screen. “That’s a transceiver array,” he said, sounding infinitely
proud. “We’ve got hundreds of them scattered across the planet, broadcasting
radio emissions. Outside of the paltry few inhabitants staffing this base, the
population of this world is zero. Yet, those transceivers, combined, are
emitting enough signals to fool any extraterrestrial into assuming that this is
a heavily populated planet with a thriving tech base.”

Craig studied the screen for a moment, genuinely impressed. “Ok. Let me get this
straight. With Earth protected by this emissions blackout, the Uit are going to
come here, instead, thinking this
planet is Earth. But how are you going to address the next, biggest problem? I
mean, it’s one thing to use transceivers to masquerade as a populated,
technologically advanced world. But how are you going to fool the Uit when they
take a look at us up close and discover that nothing is here?”

“But that’s exactly what we are counting on,” said Dr. Hecht with a mad scientist grin
lighting up her translucently pale face. “The Uit are not going to take a close
look at us. They are going to attack first. Their ships will launch kinetically-driven
projectiles, each one a forth of a mile in diameter. Those projectiles will
impact this planet, generating such destruction as to make the catastrophe that
wiped out the dinosaurs seem like a brushfire in comparison.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s in the Piron’s data,” answered Uncle Reese. “The Uit changed how they waged war.
They became seriously stretched the farther out their fleets expanded. They
didn’t have enough people to, um, man their ships, so they built robot ships to
extend their operations into more remote parts of the galaxy. A robot task
force will attack a world, destroying every living thing. However, attached to
every task force is a ship with Uit observers on board. Observers inspect the
target world in the aftermath of the robot attack to verify the absence of
life. If the observers detect survivors, they send the robot ships back in to
finish the job.”

“That’s what you expect to happen here,” said Craig. “The robot ships will burn this
planet and these observers you mentioned are not going to find life afterward,
because there was never any life to begin with.”

“Well, no life beyond the single cell variety,” Dr. Hecht qualified with another
hair-raising grin. “But certainly the Uit observers will be left with a very
visible impression that their attack was a resounding success.”

Craig fixed his uncle with a suspicious look. “Devilishly clever plan, Uncle Reese. Why do
I get this irrepressible feeling that you came up with it?”

Uncle Reese’s expression was pure innocence wrapped in a silken shawl of virtue. “Any
ideas I submitted on how to confront the Uit were but a handful among many.”

“But you were given leadership over this project for a reason.”

“Well, up until fifteen years ago, the project’s research concentrated on constructing
weapons powerful enough to repel a Uit vessel. While we were successful in
devising a few highly penetrative directed energy beams, the planners came to
the sobering conclusion that at our current state of technological development,
it would take centuries for Earth to attain the capability to combat an
invasion from space.” Uncle Reese shrugged. “So, I threw out a little suggestion
which some top level people were not too keen on. They called it outlandish.
Other top-level people liked it and pulled strings to set it in motion. In the
end, even the most hard line skeptic had come around to the conclusion that it
would be more feasible, given our military weakness, to misdirect the invaders as opposed to trying to confront them. As a
result, here we are.”

Craig was hardly fooled by his uncle’s slump shouldered display of humility. The man was
a former national security advisor, current head of the blackest agency in the
U.S. government. A ‘little suggestion’ from an individual of Uncle Reese’s
credentials damn near carried the weight
of policy.

“Your role in this operation, Craig, is the most important,” Uncle Reese stressed.

“What exactly is my role, which, by the way, I haven’t volunteered for?”

Uncle Reese arched a brow. “I don’t understand.”

Craig struggled to contain the exasperation rising inside him. “Come on, Uncle Reese,
don’t play ignorant. You shanghaied me.”

Uncle Reese drew back with a look of surprise so convincing it almost had Craig regretting
his harsh words. “Shanghaied you? That’s a terrible accusation. No one forced
you to get on that copter, so I assumed you volunteered.” Uncle Reese glanced
at his watch. “Oh. I have an appointment in a half-hour. Better get back to
Earth. Make yourself comfortable, I’ll return in a few hours to brief you.”

Uncle Reese rushed away, leaving his calculating nephew to wonder if laws on Earth,
prohibiting the killing of a relative, applied offworld.