The Vostok Revelation

CHAPTER ELEVEN

November 2339. 1000 Hours. Jefferson Township, Wyoming Territory, Northwest Region, North American Rocky Mountains

The buried boxcar that served as the primary communications hub for the Washington, the Adams, and the Jefferson enclaves was kept at a near-freezing temperature. Samuel Davis, clothed in thermal undergarments, flannel outer-garments, and wrapped in a layered synthetic polymer parka, relished the warmth from the coffee he was drinking as the green progress bar slowly crept from left to right across the center of his screen.

While he wasn’t authorized to know the identity of the agents who regularly sent in data, he could, by examining the list of routers traversed by the incoming packets, deduce where the incoming packet stream originated. This transmission, the one that had him ordered to sit in this icebox freezing his ass off, came from the belly of the beast, Utopia City.

Like everyone in Jefferson, Samuel was more than a little concerned about the Federation’s decision to re-route Utopia City, the planets governing body, deep into the southern hemisphere. Altering the City’s global migratory schedule, a schedule determined several years in advance to accommodate regional ceremonies, ethnic festivals and official events in its Unity Square, was a political maelstrom. Even with months of advance notification dozens of events would be disrupted or canceled and hundreds of thousands of voters would become disappointed with their leadership, something the Federation worked strenuously to avoid. The fact that Serrano chose to do this underscored the magnitude of whatever was happening in the southern hemisphere.

After seven excruciatingly long minutes the download completed. Davis unplugged the computer’s storage drive, placed it in its security enclosure, dropped it into the breast pocket of his parka, and began the climb up the metal ladder to the dilapidated compressor house that acted as its disguise.

November 2339. 1030 Hours. Washington Township, Colorado Territory, Midwest Region, North American Rocky Mountains

Dennis Parker, Executive of the American Republic, sat in his office surrounded by his most trusted aides and his best, but less trusted, technician, nineteen year old Jerome “Jerry” Warncke. The gangling dark haired young man, without a whisker of facial hair growth, was an immature pain in the ass despite being a genius when it came to anything related to computers. It was Warncke’s ability to merge the older equipment they were forced to use with the newer acquired technology of the Federation, providing the Republic with some of the speed and convenience of a modern communications network, which kept him out of jail.

“What the hell does all this stuff mean, Chuck?” Parker’s antique Victorian-style plumb high-backed leather chair creaked loudly as he leaned back deeply to scrutinize the papers in his hands.

“Jerry decrypted only part of the file so far,” Charles “Chuck” O’Brian, the official head of the Republics intelligence team, said with a nod toward the youngster as he moved toward the small refrigerator beside the door. “I haven’t had time to go over it all. First blush…” Chuck took five beers from the fridge and began distributing them as he spoke, “it looks like the Fed hauled ass south because they believe an alien, some ‘thing’ not of Earth, climbed up from beneath the ice in Antarctica.”

Executive Parker grinned knowingly toward Chuck as he popped the cap on his beer bottle, “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“No, not this time,” Chuck interrupted his smirk with a sip of his beer. He took another draw from the bottle, “I wish I had.”

“Mr. Executive, if I may, “ interrupted Kathy Westbrook, the chestnut haired forty-three year old woman who had assumed the role of Chief Science Advisor from the recently deceased Dan Chesterfield. “Having gone over more than just the Director’s departmental summations I don’t think we should be taking this so lightly. Even if the Federation is wrong about an alien life form they have come across something highly advanced in Antarctica. If you look at the reports from Bennett and Schmitt you will see that a sample was acquired from the ‘entity’ while it was idle. This sample, a liquid, was determined to be a concentrated soup of silicone molecules, carbon molecules, and several million nanites or microscopic machines; machines we can manufacture but not nearly to the degree to allow for they sentient behavior the Fed is reporting.”

“Sentient behavior?” Executive Parker rested his beer on his desk.

“Yes, Sir. If the acquired information is to be believed, the entity can manipulate its form at will. First, it tunneled up from more than two miles of packed ice and snow, then it assumed the form of a column among the ruins of an old Russian coring station, it expelled pieces of itself which defied gravity and flew away, and then changed into a self-propelled sled-like craft and raced off. A dozen Federation drones tracked the sled by using its negative signature until it drove into the South Pacific Ocean. Its whereabouts at this time are unknown; the ‘entity’ has been entirely off grid for close to 24 hours.”

“Negative signature?”

“It is speculated that the entity is absorbing the entire spectrum of visible light. By absorbing everything in the 400 to 700 nanometer range it presents to our eyes, and our technology, a pure black image. The only way to see and track this type of object is against a contrasting background.”

“That’s not entirely true,” Jerry said from a slumped down position in his upholstered leather chair behind everyone. “Just because everything we make is based on our senses doesn’t necessarily mean we can’t detect something that isn’t. If it absorbs the entire visible light spectrum we only need to flood an area with a range of light in the 400 and 700 nanometer range and look for a spot of missing reality, even at night.”

“Is that do-able, Kat?” Parker asked his Chief of Science, his chair complaining as he straightened up and placed his beer on his desk.

“Yes sir, it is.”

“Except that we’re more than 15,000 kilometers from where this thing was, we have no idea where it is or where it’s going, and we do not have the equipment or logistical capability to move the equipment even if we had it.”

“Chuck’s right,“ Executive Parker laced his fingers as his forearms surrounded the beer bottle on his desk. “At this point we are in no position to act. I want surveillance maintained from Utopia City and more regular reports informing us about what the Feds are up to.”