Wednesday, December 31, 2025

Carl

 

Carl



“Excuse me, Thomas, I’m sorry to wake you, but we have an intruder.”

Coming quickly awake with a jump, the house was pitch black.  The bedside clock dark.  “What, Carl, an intruder? where is he now?”

“I’m sorry, Thomas. It’s unidentifiable, coming down the drive, approximately 200 yards out, moving slowly.”

“Unidentified?  Is the power off?”

“Yes, Thomas, I’ve cut power as prescribed in the Security Level 5 protocol.  The object is not reading any heat signature or power band signals.”

“Go to level 6, activate the bots, open the armory. Load them all up!”

 

 

This building was built over two years as the world spun into chaos: Wars in the Middle East, China in an active war with Japan, the Philippines, South Korea, and Russia moving into Poland.  The worst of all, yet another unknown virus coming out of China is killing millions.  The world is a mess.

Three stories of hardened concrete, it’s uglier than hell. It's not a house, but a standing bunker painted medium flat brown that all but disappears into the trees in the center of 50 acres of flat sagebrush with scattered pine trees. 

Along the main gravel road, small pines grow thick along the edges of the road. Past that, the trees are dense enough to block any sight of the building. The driveway is a sandy two-track with sagebrush growing into it.

Blocking the two-track from the main road is an unassuming rusty chain held up by a couple of small weathered posts.  Most vehicles drive by and never see the little driveway devoid of any tracks.

What you don’t see is the hidden security systems in rows circling from the main road of the property to the center where the building sits.

 

 

“Status?”

“All bots armed, stationed, all at 100% power.  Intruder 150 yards at the drive turn, stationary at this time.”  “Drones on standby.”

“How did you sense him if he’s not putting out any exterior heat or power signals?”

“The moon is in a Waxing Gibbous phase; there was just enough light that he shaded a light sensor.”

“Okay, we wait.  Are we putting out any power signature?”

“No, Thomas, we are at zero power emissions; sensors are showing no leakage.  We are only radiating solar heat emission from the building.”

“Let’s go to the safe room.”

 

 

The building is a rectangle of 30’ X 40’, three stories high, with windows only on the third floor, making for a block house look, and that is exactly what it is.  I named it “Last Stand,” and that’s its purpose.  What doesn’t show is that it has a full basement, making it one deep and three high.  The basement is three-quarters full of electronics, batteries, water tanks, and an ammo dump.  Floors one and two are for storage of foodstuffs, Robot repair, charging facilities, and the armory.  The garage area takes up about a third of the space; our one SUV is parked inside the garage.  Our living quarters, safe room, and computer/security control room are top-level three. 

On top is a fenced-in roof with solar panels, a few satellite dishes, and antennas; useless unless something is up and running somewhere in the world.  The first floor also has a top-of-the-line secure garage door and a man door with a heavy-wired in vestibule. Fuel tanks are buried thirty yards to the South with underground pipes supplying fuel to twin generators and fuel for the truck.  The upper windows are covered in heavy steel screens with security film.  From the basement, there is an escape tunnel running just over one hundred yards from the building, the exit well hidden.

The Government spent 8.5 million dollars of taxpayers' money purchasing the land and building the building. 

I have one main robot, “Carl”.  He’s one of the last Optimus robots built, Series 11, just before the end.  He stands five feet nine inches and can perform thousands of tasks.  Five more robots make up the security team; they are fully security robots purposely built for armed conflict.  Numerous Optimus bots and drones, ranging from four-prop to winged drones completes our team. 

No one outside of just a very few in the Government knows who or what Carl really is.  Carl was funded by dark money skimmed off of one part of the Defense budget.  He’s not what he looks like; an Optimus 11, but internally, he’s very special.  A normal Series 11 has eight terabits of memory.  Carl has 16 Quadrillion megabits of memory.  He has been loaded with nearly the entire history of man: Science, religion, everything that could be downloaded.  He’s like the seed vault, but stocked full of everything man has done or learned.   I’m here to protect him with my life.

We have enough food, water, and fuel for a minimum of five years if it’s just me alone as the only human needing supplies. 

We’ve been stationed here for the last seven months without any contact from the outside world.  In the last two months, everything has gone silent.  If it weren’t for the TV and Web, showing the wars and local riots, I’d think I was the last human alive.  I know better; it’s just a matter of time before they spread out from the failing cities into the far rural areas looking for food and shelter.  I’m not looking forward to that time.

To kill the boredom, Carl and I go for long walks out from the property into the semi-wilderness area that surrounds us on two sides.  I have three security bots with us at all times, in case of any trouble.  It’s been a little boring over the last seven months, but I’m not ready to even consider going to the nearest town.  The risks are too high and could lead to our discovery.

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

“Anything, Carl?”

“He or it is putting out a weak directional signal, very weak, hard to detect.”

“Can you get a fix on the direction?”

“As close as our sensors can tell, the signal is pointing North, North west.  The receiver has to be close with the low power.  No more than a quarter mile.”

 

“CONTACT, CONTACT, incoming drone, quarter mile out, at 500’, 25mph.  Time to overflight 30 seconds!”

“Carl, recommendations?”

“Thomas, let’s continue to play dead.  We’ve shown them nothing to this point; let's see what they want to do.”

The drone came in at 500’, lowering to 100’, slowing to a crawl as it scanned the building and the surrounding area.

“The drone is transmitting and receiving. The receiver is 1330’ slightly North West, stationed on the access road North of the property.  They are not hiding their signals or location.  This is low tech, except the unit sitting along the driveway.”

“Okay, low tech, so not a Nation-sponsored intrusion, that’s good.  Let’s sit tight and see what’s next.”

“Thomas, the drone just notified the operator it has ten minutes of battery power left.  It is returning to the receiver location.  Also, the intruder on our driveway is moving…  Sensor showing it’s an unknown series of bot.  It is also returning towards the access road.”

“Okay, launch a drone, let’s see who we are dealing with.  Let’s make sure they don’t sense it.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Receiver is located in a 2015 Ford half-ton pickup.  License plate returns to Michael Wayne Hughes, local address 5 miles from here.  I have found a newspaper article that listed his name as one of just a few locals working on a government-sponsored aircraft signal station, which was the cover story for our location.  Bank records show one year's worth of paychecks cashed from a Governmental contractor that worked on this building.”

“So, a local looking for anything of usefulness, it’s starting.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Watching the direct feed from the drone overhead, the pickup slowly made its way down the gravel road, stopping and parking at the driveway entrance.

“Carl, send two security bots out to greet him if he enters the property.”

“Thomas, I’m finding more information on Mr. Hughes.  There is a newspaper clipping announcing the birth of twin daughters, who would now be five years old.”

“Shit… Okay, non-lethal if he resists.  Have the bots bring him in. We need to talk.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Twenty feet down the two-track, the two security bots stepped out from the thick trees lining the gravel road.

“HALT!  You’ve entered a restricted zone!” The battle bots were very intimidating, standing at seven feet tall, covered in black and dark gray urban camo, heavily armored with large caliber belt-fed weapons pointed directly at Hughes.  Helmeted heads showing multiple cameras, antennas extending six inches above the tops.

They quickly closed on Hughes, scanning every inch of his body using lidar radar and metal detection sensors. 

Hughes raised his arms over his head, standing stiffly, eyes huge.   “I don’t want any trouble.”

“You will walk with us.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“Carl, let's greet our guest with a full breakfast.  Have the bots put out seating for three and a table to eat at here on the apron of the garage, let’s make it formal.”

It took just short of ten minutes for the Security bots and Mr. Hughes to reach the building.  The bots had set a small table with a white cloth cover, napkins, and steaming cups of coffee.

Standing at the table, we met Mr. Hughes, Carl, introducing both of us.

“Mr. Hughes, what do we honor this visit? Please take a seat after removing your firearm.  Please place it on the table.”

Hughes eyes showing surprise, slowly placed the revolver at the far corner of the table and sat down.

“I’m not a thief.  We were robbed; they took nearly everything.”

“And how are Julie and the girls?”

“Is there anything that you don’t know?  They are terrified that another group is going to attack us. We have no food, and we’re hungry.  I was hoping to find some supplies here, that’s all.”

“Carl, please stand down the bots.  The two Security bots can stay, level two, please.”

“Yes, Thomas.  I will check on the food preparations.  You will be staying for breakfast, Mr. Hughes.”  A command, not a question.

“Ummm… Yes, thank you very much.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

We spoke over breakfast for nearly an hour.  It was decided that the Hughes family would move into the Last Stand for protection since the hordes from the city had reached the area.

“Please pack only personal items, clothing, that kind of thing.  We have everything needed here in supply.”

“Carl, will you have a Bot bring Mr. Hughes one of our M4’s with a full loadout and a sidearm, plus a radio, please?”  “Mr. Hughes, you will need to move fast. I want you back here no later than 3 pm.  We will launch an overwatch drone to make sure you don’t have a problem before you can get back here.”

“Thank you so much, I worried sick just being gone this morning.”

“Carl, have the Security bots walk Mr. Hughes back to his truck.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The overwatch drone are able stay aloft for just over eight hours before needing to refuel.  It carries two missiles like the Sidewinders, but smaller, full-spectrum cameras.  They will be as safe as possible in the hours it will take to load and travel to the Last Stand.

“Carl, any other surprises we need to look out for?  Anyone else living in our area?”

“I would suspect there may be others being chased that may end up at our door, but Mr. Hughes had firsthand knowledge that this building was here; others will not.”

“Let's keep a close eye on them while they are moving. I’m worried about them now that they are known.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

1:45 pm.  Overwatch reports: two pickup trucks, seven miles out from the Hughes property. 

“They are one mile from the intersection that will put them on a direct course to the Hughes house.  Bringing up the cameras.”

“Carl, order the launch of a second Drone.  I don’t like the looks of this.  Get Mr. Hughes on the radio, check how long until they can pull out.”

“The second drone will launch in five minutes, Thomas.  It will be on station in ten minutes.  Mr. Hughes reports they will be ready to exit in about ten minutes. Cameras on drone one show pickup #1 took the turn towards the Hughes house, second one following.  Pickup #1 has four people in the truck bed, showing armed.  Number two has three in the bed of the truck, who are also armed with light weapons.  Arrival estimated in twelve minutes.”

“Tell Hughes he has to leave now.  We can always go back and try to get anything they are leaving behind.  He must move the family now!”

“Mr. Hughes reports they are leaving now.  Pickup #1 is five minutes out.  Drone two is on station, drone one is in weapons range of both pickups, and is tracking.  Heavy tree cover is dropping hit percentages to under 50%.  Drone #2 reports Hughes leaving the home area, turning onto the main gravel road heading towards our location.  Pickup #1 is 90 seconds out; they are going to see the dust from Hughes' vehicle and will be able to follow.”

“Ah, freaking hell.  Carl take the fire controls.  Get a good shot in!”

“Pickup #1 is turning into the driveway, #2 is sitting on the main road at the driveway.  Drone one fire controls are hot.  Pickup #1 pulling up to the front of the house.”

“Hit them before they leave the pickup Carl!”

“Missile one away, ten-second burn to target.  Missile two away, fifteen-second burn to pickup #2.  Hit on pickup #1, fireball.  Missile #2 missed; it hit tree branches. Pickup #2 is running, drone two is attempting a fire solution.  Tree cover is heavy, fire solution is zero to 10%, tracking.”

“Damn it, how far is the Hughes ahead of pickup #2?”

“Drone one is in overwatch, distance between vehicles is one mile, closing fast.  Drone two is manuvering attempting a fire solution.”

“That’s going to put them just North of us when they converge.  Bring drone two over and past the chase vehicle. There is a straight stretch about a mile down the road that has less tree cover.  Have it set up to five as both vehicles come into the open area.  Get Hughes on the radio and tell him to hit it hard.”

Hughes' vehicle is kicking up a lot of dust, making accurate fire on them difficult.  Pickup #2 will be in range of small arms fire on Hughes' vehicle in 30 seconds. 

Hughes reports they are under fire.  The intercept point is two minutes out at the current pace.

“Thomas, they aren’t going to make it.”

“Carl, you have permission to use drone one as a kinetic strike on pickup #2!  Slow them down!”

“Drone one diving, we have a small opening in the tree line, we may clip branches.  Clearing Hughes' vehicle, fifteen seconds to impact on pickup #2.  Branches… drone one down short of pickup #2.”

“Carl, any damage to pickup #2?”

“I’m sorry, Thomas, we will have to wait.  Ten seconds to the interception point, drone two fire controls hot.  Drone two cameras are picking up dust in the trees.  Hughes vehicle entering kill zone, no sight of pickup two.”

“Security level seven, go hot on all Security systems. Get Hughes on the radio, tell him to stay on the two-track. Any deviation will put them in the mine fields. All systems are set to lethal.  Release the anti-personnel drones.”

“Drone two is reporting dust in the trees.  Pickup two is slowly entering the kill zone; drone two has a firing solution, 100%.  Damage to the front of the pickup; it must have hit drone one in the road.  Drone two firing, fireball.  Two targets running to the right into the timber.  Firing solution 75%, firing, both targets down.  Hughes' vehicle is two minutes out. Drone two in overwatch.”

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Epilogue:

The Hughes family has settled in, and the girls are finding the bots fun to play with.  Carl has taken over formal teaching daily.  I’m happy to have the company of humans again.

With the help of the bots, the burnt-out vehicles were cleared from the road and buried, leaving no trace.

Based on our struggles to stop the vehicles on the road, Carl has redesigned our lethal security perimeter, adding tank mines to the main gravel road, activated from our control room. 

As winter set in, it was decided that the Hughes home would be burned, removing any chance of shelter in our immediate area.

This coming spring, we will clear and start a huge garden area for fresh vegetables.  Carl, between classes, is rewriting a number of manuals on off-grid survival and homesteading.

Sensors reported a plane flying from East to West a month ago at high altitude, five miles North of our location.  The airwaves are continuing to be silent; no radio traffic has been detected.  Satellites are pinging, waiting for replies.

Our location has remained hidden; one vehicle passed on the gravel road, not slowing or showing any sign that our two-lane drive was spotted.  Elk and deer herds have reclaimed the forest areas surrounding the property.  Life is good.

From the Ramblings.

t

Thursday, December 4, 2025

Jacob Miller

 

Jacob Miller



 

Snatching the mail from the box without pausing was a game, a game that could break your arm if you didn’t pop the box door, swing it down, grab the mail, and slam it shut before you rolled past in the car.  A game he’s won every time until today.

The Urgent Care part of the hospital was packed tight, shoulder to shoulder.  He’d have walked out if it weren’t for his left arm swinging uselessly at his side.  The sick and injured we packed together like sardines; if he left here without catching some type of disease, he’d be very lucky.

A tubby bald guy about 50, pushing a cart with water bottles, small snacks, stopped in front of Jacob.  “Water,” he questioned in a bored voice. 

“I’m fine,” Jacob replied, matching the bored tone.

“Would you like me to look up your position in the queue?”  Same boring voice.

“That would be great, thanks” Jacob said with dreaded enthusiasm.

“Looks like you have five people in front of you, that’s about 45 minutes.”  Tubby turned and walked off to the next person without pause.

50 minutes passed slowly, but the call finally came.  Jacob saw Doctor Michael Strobe, M.D.

“Yep, it’s broken, let's get a couple X-rays and make sure there aren’t any surprises.  So, down to  X-ray, then stop by the Lab, we’ll pull some blood, just to be thorough.”

“Can I just get it cast and go home?

“You're looking at just another hour; we need to know if there are any chips or fragments that I can’t see without the X-rays.  The blood draw is to make sure all the levels are good with nothing out of line.” Doctor Strobe said, showing frustration.  “X-rays, Labs, then come back up here and I’ll see you for two minutes, then straight to the cast room and home.  I promise!”

Two and a half hours later, Jacob pulled into his driveway, giving the mailbox the bird as he rolled by.

……………………………………………

A week of being pissed off, ready to cut the cast off, with five or more weeks to go.  Jacob walked down the driveway to the offending mailbox.  Normal junk with one letter from the doctor's Office requesting that he see Doctor Strobe on Friday, the 9th, @ 8:00 am, giving him the address, floor, and room number.

“What? Shit.”

Jacob left the house at 7 am, not knowing the traffic or where he was going.  The address was not at the Hospital or his normal doctor's Office.  He asked Siri for directions and, 30 minutes later, was sitting in a small parking lot outside of a nondescript building with only the address numbers above the double glass doors.  Three stories of concrete turned grey from time and elements, small slanted windows made the building look more like a jail than an Office building.  Walking to the double door, a small sign taped in the middle of the left side's glass stated to press the button on the wall next to the Office number you were visiting, wait for the door to buzz, and enter. 

“Oh, this is fucked.”  He pressed 207.

The door buzzed, Jacob grabbed the handle with his broken arm. The pain was instant. “FUCK this is getting worse by the minute.”  He pulled with his right hand.  The door had locked shut.  Louder, “FUCK ME!”

The elevator was in the center right of the small foyer, which hadn’t seen a janitor in months, maybe years.  Grime, leaves, and a few cigarette butts made small piles in the corners.  The walls were bare concrete smoothed with a trowel.  Looking around, he made a decision: “Fuck this, I’m out of here!”

As he fought the locked door, the elevator opened behind him, staying open.  “Christ, I can’t believe this.”

The elevator car smelled of ancient cigarettes and something odd, like old dirty socks, with a hint of puke.  He could feel a gag response nearing as the doors opened, he jumped out, nearly hitting the far wall.  His face inches from the sign showing him rooms 205 – 210 with a little arrow pointing to his right.

Turning to his right, the hallway looked far longer than the building looked from the outside.  The jail-like windows he’d seen were spaced along the outside of the hall to the right, facing the parking lot.  Still narrow and spaced a little too far apart, it just didn’t look right, out of sync with the universe.

“Geezzz, let’s get this over with,” through clenched teeth. 

Room 205 was twenty feet down the hall with no lettering or signage, just plain numbers screwed into the door.  Passing two doors without handles, he found 207 another 30 feet along the hall. 

“Okay… where’d 206 go?” 

Standing in front of Door 207, a small sign said “Please knock.”  The hallway continued another  75 feet, by his best guess.  Remembering the dimensions of the building from outside in the parking lot, this building must connect to the next building internally.  Strange.

Jacob knocked gently twice; the door buzzed.

Stepping into a small space, a woman in a black pant suit, about 50 to 80, totally ageless, with silver hair but with zero wrinkles, greeted him and asked him to step into the next room.  “The Doctor will see you in just a minute.”

Sitting down next to the Hospital bed, the room was equipped with the regular doctor’s office equipment.  Small but larger than the normal examination room.  Three plastic chairs, one of which he sat, and two others, plus the normal black plastic-topped stool, filled in the vacant area.

With a quiet double tap on the door, the Doctor stepped in, introducing himself as Doctor Roberts. Two men in suits entered without introductions and filled the two empty plastic chairs, large men, knees inches from his.

“I thought I was seeing Doctor Strobe?”

“Doctor Strobe will not be joining us today.  We asked you to meet with us today to discuss some rather interesting findings in your recent Labs, specifically a special quality in the healing properties.  You are a universal donor, did you know that?  Your blood can be given directly to another without worries of a mismatch of any kind.  That is remarkable to say in the least.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.  I think this is something I’d rather talk to my regular Doctor about.”

One of the large men placed his hand on Jacob’s knee, squeezing it tightly.

“Mister Miller, your car has been taken back to your home.  We’re making sure everything is secure, including your home.  You will be staying with us for a few days. Your work has been notified of a short absence.  You will be very well taken care of while with us as we run a few tests.” 

“I don’t understand, you can’t just kidnap me!”

“Mister Miller, let me explain how you came to us…  the Lab had an accident while handling your blood sample.  A small drop of your blood was splashed into a vial containing a sample from a person dying from cancer.  When placed under the microscope, that person's blood had zero cancer cells living in the sample.  The technician then placed your blood into another cancer patient's blood sample, and the same thing happened.  Your blood killed the cancer cells nearly instantly.  The technician had once worked for us in his youth and called us immediately.  You are now a special interest to the National Security of the United States.  We’ve received orders to investigate this from the highest levels of the Government.  We can only ask you to willingly participate with us for a few days.  This is of the utmost importance for our County.”

“I’m not a gunny pig for the Government, I know nothing about what you are talking about.  If you want my cooperation, then let me talk to my Doctor, and we can decide what tests we should do.”

“Mister Miller, Jacob, if the properties in your blood are true, the first person you will save is the President of the United States, who has stage four cancer.  You may very well be his last hope.  This has been kept from the people of the United States to this point; we are not in a position to lose him at the moment.  We are asking you to give us just a few days to see if we/you can save him, then you are free to go.”

“I don’t know what to say?”

“Say yes for a few days, We’ll give you a few minutes to think about it.”

…………………………

The boom shook the building; the second dropped half the floor by two inches. The door the Doctor had used hung at an alarming angle, dust filled the air. Jabob's ears ringing he could hear voices; hands clawed at the door edges.  Pulling hard, the door squealed, sliding to one side, Jacob crawled under the bottom into the adjoining room filled with medical equipment.

“This way!” The rest was cut off by automatic gunfire; the sound was close and deafening.  He was grabbed from behind, lifted, and thrown over an overturned cabinet.  One of the suits peered down a hallway and was met with automatic fire.  Pointing, he screamed Go that way as the door jam exploded.  Running across one room into another, throwing doors open, then slamming them shut, turning locks to slow the pursuit, they found themselves in a laundry room.  “Down the chute!” The first suit climbed in and was gone.  Jacob ran to the opening and looked down, about five feet below, the suit was quickly going down with knees against each wall.  He looked up to Jacob.  “Use your knees, come on!”  Jacob followed as fast as he could without falling.

Dropping eight feet into a laundry basket, the suit pulled him to the nearest wall, short-barreled pistol pointing towards the laundry room door.  Suit two dropped into the basket.

Pushed/pulled by the nap of his neck, he was thrown in the back of a car. “Keep your head down, this is going to be shit!” “If I get hit and we crash, you run for your life!”

Yelling over the roar of the engine.  “Where’s your partner?”

“He’s slowing them down!”

Jacob was thrown from one side of the backseat to the other as the suit took numerous corners at high speed, putting as much distance as possible between them and the building.  Then, as quickly as it started, they slowed and matched traffic.

“Where are we going?”

“I have no idea, my phone got dropped somewhere.  Right now, I have no idea where’s safe, someone tipped someone off, and now you are a hot commodity.”

30 minutes of driving, taking numerous turns, backtracking, making sure they are not being followed.  The suit stopped on the side of the road and scanned the sky for drones, none that he could see.   

“I’ve got a friend I think can help us, he’s about an hour away, he’s got a sick daughter, so I know he or his wife will be home, and he’s not closely connected to me or you.”

“Can I set up?”

“I think it’s okay now, jump up front.”  “I’m special agent Thorne.” 

Jacob shook his hand.  “Do you think your partner or any of them made it?”

“No.” Was the only answer he got.  They rode on in silence.

………………………………

The house was down a fairly long driveway that ended after making a sweeping left-hand turn.  Agent Thorne pulled the car around the garage and parked behind the house on the lawn.

“Just park anywhere that feels good, Pete.”  Laughing.

“Sorry, Brian, we’re kind of hiding.  This is Jacob Miller.   I’m trying to keep him alive.  I hope you don’t mind us stopping by.  We kind of need a little help.”

“Mr. Miller, this is Brian Marks, retired Army Scout, Medic.”

…………………………….

The house didn’t look like much from the outside, but stepping in, it was amazing.  Completely redone in a modern style, walls white, trim black, grays of different shades.  Cozy modern came to mind.

Over lunch, Agent Thorne gave Brian a quick rundown on the day's events.  Brian immediately told them they could stay as long as needed.  He winked and hinted that he had all the firepower they could use.

“How’s your daughter doing, with everything going on? I forgot to ask earlier.”

“She’s not doing well.  Jan has her at the Clinic doing another series of IVs.  It’s not looking good.  We’re trying to keep our hopes up.”  Brian was looking at his hands when a small tear started down his face, but he caught it quickly.

“I’m sorry, Brian.”

Jan got home just before dinner with Amy from the hospital and put her right to bed.  Jan looked exhausted, but started dinner right away.

Dinner finished, Jan brought Amy from the back bedroom and sat her just to Jacob’s right.  She was eight but looked like she was eighty.  Skin gray, eyes sunken, she didn’t look like she had long to live.  Dinner went quickly, conversation shallow and short.  Jan helped Amy back to bed.

“Agent Thorne, you heard what the doctor said.  I’m a universal donor, possibly a super healer… You know where I’m going with this?”

“Seeing Amy, the thought had crossed my mind.”

“What’s going on?”  Brian asked with eyes wide open.

………………………….

Brian and Jan were gone, talking for a long time.  Jan stepped into the kitchen with swollen red eyes, hands bright pink from wringing them hard.

“You're sure you can help?”

“No. I don’t know that.  I just found out today after being kidnapped by our Government, maybe the same Government that is trying to kill me now.”

“Honey, it’s a chance, a chance we won’t get again.  We’ve both agreed to try any treatment that might have a possibility to help.” “We’ve tried everything they’ve got; nothing works.”

…………………………

Brian had a medical pack from the Army in the basement.  He had a hard time finding a vein that wasn’t scarred from all the treatments Amy had gone through.  Twenty minutes and Amy was back in bed, quickly falling to sleep.  We all sat in the kitchen looking at one another.  Two drinks later, we all found a place to sleep.

………………………….

Breakfast came early.  Jan was the first up and made pancakes, bacon, and a huge pot of coffee.  

“Let me get Amy up I’ll be right back.”

“Brian!”  Jan's voice from down the hallway sounded in a panic.  Both Jacob and Agent Thorne looked at each other.  Dread filled their hearts.

Footsteps coming down the hall.  Amy was in front, followed by her parents.  She pulled her chair out and grabbed a hotcake.  Jan and Brian just stood in the doorway, mouths agape. 

“Good morning, Amy, did you sleep well?’ Ask Jacob.

That broke the ice; both parents' tears rolled unstopped.  Jacob poured syrup on Amy’s pancake until she said “good”.

………………………….

The small Piper Cub taxied to a parking space feet away from a large hangar.  Stepping from the plane, two men walked to a small man door to the right of the huge doors.  Stepping in, a large jet filled the hangar, leaving little space from wing tip to wing tip of the walls.  The stairs going up to the open door were steep and narrow.

“Hello, Mr. President.”

“Hello, I hear you're my guardian angel.”

“I’m hoping so, Sir.”

“Well, let’s find out, shall we?”

 

From the Ramblings

t

Thursday, July 11, 2024

The day I killed myself.





The day I killed myself.

The day I killed myself, I’d had enough; the old saying “enough is enough” played loudly in my head, a never-ending mantra that just wouldn’t stop. I made it stop.

I’d spend hours on how… You ask why, why would you spend so much time and energy on the how? Well… Ask yourself, what would you do if you killed yourself and it didn’t work? What if I didn’t die? What if you maimed yourself and you lived, lived with a broken body you caused, and failed at such an easy thing to do? Can you even imagine what kind of loser you’d be? All you had to do was kill yourself, and you even fucked that up…

I’d thought long and hard on the when's, dates, time, where, of course, how.

Date: The date should have some significance, even if only for me personally. If no one figures it out, that would be fine with me, but I’d like a few close associates to wonder if the date had some deep meaning… note I said associates, I have few friends, even fewer close friends. I’ve just never been able to make good friends. Yeah, a few over the years, friends that you can call and see if they want to stop by the local pub and have a few. Most of those are hoping you’re paying, yeah, I pay so much for decent friends.

Time: Does the time really matter when you kill yourself? Yeah, it does… Mornings are the only time of the day I enjoy. A fresh start of the day, bright skies and morning breezes, birds singing, traffic light at that hour, lack of noise, it’s all good. It lasts about two hours… Two fucking hours of peace before the neighbor freaks wake up and the yelling starts. You know how it goes… Mom’s yelling at the kids, “Hurry up, you’re going to miss the bus, etc., etc.…” Then the night before, drunks are up and screaming at the wives before they hit the road to jobs they hate, but being the only ones bringing in an income, off they go. I hear a wife scream back… the crack of a hard right hand ends that.

Where: Well, where in the hell do you think? Do you think I’m going down to the local Museum and committing suicide on some stupid display of the Crowning achievements of the 18th century? Seriously, I almost left this “Where” out. The only reason is that some have picked a spot where they had strong memories: fun, love, hate, or the ever-present demon of pain. I had a spot I thought about up in the forest area, heading to the coast. I had a girlfriend once who had hiked into an area and then, later in life, buried a loving pet there. We hiked up the steep slope, and she showed me the place. For some reason, it was a special place to her. I have no such place, pity me… fuck off.

How: I’ve covered this… The how has to be for sure; fucking this up would be the perfect way to prove to everyone you’ve ever known that you are the most fucked up piece of shit that ever lived; he/she couldn’t even commit suicide without fucking it up. They should be required to put that on your tombstone when you finally get it right or just die because that’s what the gods finally decided to do with your idiot self. “This idiot finally came to death, not because he/she tried but because we were all finally gifted that.”

Gun, knife, pills, jump off a bridge (covered that), hit by a truck (again covered that), the list is getting slim. You’re either going to do it, or you're gonna find a way to blame it on someone else… That makes you a punk in my book…

Gun: If you don’t freak out and miss or just blow half your head off, it’s one of the for sure ways… mess it up, and there you go with living on with half a head. Nice job… If you don’t think of the cleanup crew, then you are a heartless asshole in my book. How’d you like to have to clean up a spattered asshole with a huge hole in the back of his/her head with goo all over the walls… Nice jerk…

Knife: Oh sure, you’re going to stab yourself in the heart… I don’t think so. Slash your throat… not likely. I’ve heard that if you ice a wrist, you might be able to get along with that as long as you go down the length of the arm deep, not a pussy cut across the wrist; after a few tries, some get it right. Doing it in a nice hot bath keeps the wound open, and if lucky, you bleed out. Not too much of a mess for those who have the job of cleaning up.

Pills: Not a bad idea, if you have the right pills. Again... fuck it up and off to the races you go with anyone that knows you, plus the media will have a ball at your expense. The new designer drug fentanyl is very promising; lots of people are overdosing and dying, might be a winner. Clean, no goo for those people to clean up. The only question is: do you want everyone to think you’re a drug user that fucked up? Only you can answer that question.  Do you even care? I guess I do…

I’m not going to bore you with how I did it… It’s always a personal choice… do it right and you’re dead, if not… live with it.

I got up the next morning and had coffee with cream. Left the house in the bright morning sun, birds were chirping, and the sounds were soft. I walked away from the city and into the wooded area just outside of town. The wind made soft purring sounds in the branches, the grass soft under my feet; I noticed I had no shoes, just didn’t seem to matter. It was a beautiful morning.

I came to a little clearing in the trees with a clear view back towards the town where I’d lived most of my life; it was all gray as though that no longer existed and was fading. I guess for me it didn’t; a thought came to my mind… I hope I didn’t make a mistake.

From the Ramblings.

t


Taum Lee, Two. The deal.





Taum Lee; Two, the deal.

Room 7 deep within a secret Government command building. Called for a mandatory meeting; flight from Budapest was a horror; hot, tired, more than a little pissed. Mandatory meeting? Sitting, waiting in a large room reminiscent of a library from someplace in history, British early 20th Century, bullshit came to mind.

Faint door closing, fainter footsteps. Mumbling voice getting louder. In walks an older man wearing tweed, fitting perfectly into the décor of a hundred plus years ago. “Ahhh, here we are.” Heavy British accent.

Taking a seat behind the large desk, he dug deep in a side drawer, pulling out two glasses and what appeared to be Scotch in a small, finely cut-glass bottle. “A touch, yes?”

Slight nod of the head.

The ghost of time long passed poured two fingers' worth into each glass and slid one across the desk.

He picked up a small pair of half-round cut reading glasses and worked them tight on his nose.

“Mister Lee.” Long seconds pause.

“We’ve asked, then more or less demanded that your old employer release you to us. You have unique skills, we are in dire need of them, would seem.” Theodore Spencer whispered in his crackly old man's voice. “I know this is rather sudden, but we need your skills.”

“Unique?” Taum said with a flat tone. Most people would have a chill run up their spine unless they were brain-dead. A flat one word with tones of impending violence, extreme violence.

“Yes, quite so, you have a rather unique way to read a situation and make multiple assessments that we rather need in an agent of skill.”

“So, if I want to walk out of here?” Dead tone.

“If you want to walk, you walk. If you’d like to hear the deal, stay. It’s up to you, Mr. Lee. But you will not have an employer at this point; you’ve been transferred to us, like it or not.”

“I don’t like… some people will have to answer for this.” “You have five minutes and I walk”

“Grigoriy Rostislav” Theodore let the name hang in the air.

Silence.

Both men stared at each other, neither blinking, complete silence, threatened violence heavy in the still air. Theodore was well aware of Taum Lee's skills; he knew he would be dead in seconds, and Lee would eliminate everyone in his way to the street. Seconds passed; if things went bad, he’d be dead and responsible for several more deaths, and they’d have a rogue killer on their hands.

“Grigoriy Rostislav is your prize if you agree to work for us. We'll make it happen; you’ll call the shots, and we'll fund everything. Other assignments, of course.” Slight pause. “We need your services for five years, then you retire if you’d like, you’ll be forty-five with a huge bank account, invisible to all.”

“24 hours, open the door.” Taum Lee growled.

June 16th, 2024. 2217 Rainham St, London, 8:45 pm.

Finishing dinner, Theodore heard a faint “clink” that came from the sitting room. He brought his left hand to his lips, shushing his wife as he pulled a .380 from his vest pocket. He motioned for her to sit tight.

Moving silently to the door between the kitchen and the sitting room, he saw a shadow figure sitting in his easy chair, sipping bourbon under the dim light of the floor lamp.

“Ah, Mr. Lee, you’ve decided to join us.” Louder, “Mildred, I’ll be in a meeting. Thank you for a wonderful dinner, my dear.” He pulled the slider shut behind him.

“You asked for 24 hours, it’s been three, no four days,” Theodore said with humor.

“Your Bourbon is flat.” Lee’s voice flat, dead tone.

“I’m sorry, I’ve switched to Scotch recently.  I have an unopened bottle if you’d like, no trouble.”

“I’d like,” Lee whispered.

“Mildred, would you bring the new bottle of Bourbon please?” Loud enough to be heard in the kitchen proper.

“Yes, dear, just a moment.”

Faint noise of cabinets opening and closing. Mildred slides the rolling door to the left, carrying a liquor bottle wrapped in a white towel into the sitting room.

Lee raised his left hand, stopping Mildred mid-step as she entered the room. “Please place the firearm on the buffet table.”

She stood dead still, a minor scowl on her face. Her gaze switched to Theodore's face.

“Yes, please, Mildred, this is Mr. Taum Lee, he’s a new employee of the agency. He’s here to go over our personnel agreement.” She laid the 9mm on the buffet table and set the bottle on the table between the two easy chairs.

“I’ll get you a clean glass she said.”

“No, I’ll take care of it, thank you, dear,” Theodore said in a happy upbeat voice. “I’m very happy to have you join us.  Now, what are your terms?”

Lee sipped his fresh Bourbon without ice, the proper way for a man to have Bourbon straight. “Time.”

“Time?” Theodore asked with a hint of confusion.

“Grigoriy will be in Syria in three days. No later than June 20th. Syria is a shit show, stupid. They are falling all over themselves. He will be in Damascus for two days in a meeting over weapons with President Bashar al-Assad. He will need to return no later than June 25th for a meeting in Russia.”

“That’s short notice.”

“That’s my terms; after that, I will take or refuse tasks without complaint from your agency.”

“Done.” Theodore put out his hand to shake. Taum Lee put forward a scarred fist; fist bump, so be it.

The touchdown was smooth, and the 747 glided to a painfully slow approach to the air terminal. Damascus was hot, sticky, running in the high 90s with 85% humidity, late spring, early summer was the worst time to be in Syria, with the rain and stifling heat.

Lee was met at baggage, sliding into the grey Mercedes-Benz rear seat, the air conditioning blowing hard to break the heat.

“Five minutes.” His chauffeur said with a heavy accent.

“Shkrann izlylann”

Looking hard in the rearview mirror. “Shkraan jzylaan.” A clearly surprised look on his face.

The military was everywhere, sandbagged firing positions on nearly every corner; this is a Nation at war. Every block, you could see Army personnel checking the papers of those walking down the streets. One scans the person's papers, two or more with automatic weapons at the ready.

It was a quick drive, Fayez Mansour Street, turning off to Al Rabwah with one more turn on Fawzi Al Laham, stopping across the Street from the Faculty of Economics, Damascus University. The Hotel Al Pasha wasn’t much to look at. Low-rated at one or maybe two stars, it had seen its day pass many decades ago.

Brown brick faded nearly matching the grey bricks that once contrasted, mortar cracked, chunks missing in the corners, wood door framing showing lack of upkeep, paint peeling. Lee stepped into the reception area. The front desk area was so small that opening the door only cleared the front counter by inches, anyone standing there would have been hit as the door opened, shit and more shit crossed Lee’s mind.

The Hotel smelled of week-old socks, with just a hint of sweet spice that hit deep in one’s nose; it wasn’t pleasant.

Lee produced his papers. Mr. Samuel Buel of London. Passport inspected, room number and key exchanged, small talk of dinner places highly recommended with two fingers at the lips with a slight kiss to express the point.

The stairs were threadbare, treads squeaking with each step, cracked risers, some showing through. “I’m going to need bug spray.” Slipped silently from Lee’s lips.

Lee worked the key both directions before it gave way, the door sticky, opening with a wet popping zipper sound along the rubber door seal. The carpet’s age had to match the grand opening of the Hotel, a small bed that clearly showed you’d sleep only in one space, as the sunken center would be impossible to climb; one flat pillow highlighted the restless night to come.

Lee dropped his small suitcase on the bed, and a small smile came to his face as he looked at the bedside table. A rotary phone from God knows when sat nestled up to an old lamp.

The room had on standard 3.0 window with old, shabby drapes. Lee hooked the drapes back and slid the window open, which made a loud squeak as it slid up its tracks. Three soldiers turned to find the noise, machine guns following their eyes. Lee waved at the soldiers and gave the universal wave that it was hot. They continued down the street. It was quite obvious that moving along any street was going to be a problem.

The street seems impossible with the Army smothering every corner, stopping and checking papers of nearly everyone. It’s two full blocks to cover to get to the Syrian Facility of Engineering, where Grigoriy Rostislav meeting would be held in 18 hours. Hanging out the window to his waist, it’s a clear shot in both directions along the street. Mentally setting the yards to prominent objects, a signpost to the right, a paper box to the left. The problem is Grigoriy Rostislav will be sitting in the rear of any car, which could be a hardened car that would withstand small arms fire. He could pick up an RPG in this war-torn Country with little trouble, but still the angle would be difficult to manage.

His watch said exactly at 1000 hrs. Damascus time. Grigoriy Rostislav plane would touch down at reported time of 1100 hrs. Time to take a walk to the airport and see what he’s riding.

“Papers.”

He made exactly 100 steps. “I’m sorry.”

“Your papers now!” Rifles coming to post arms.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry… They are in my breast pocket. Here, let me get them.”

Three Kalashnikov’s now pointing at his chest. “You will not move!”

“I’m sorry, I’m British, I don’t know what you want.” Taum squeaked in his fake scared voice.

The center soldier, showing rank as a Corporal, slung his rifle and grabbed Taum by the jacket. The top jacket button flying over his shoulder, spinning to the rough concrete, bouncing in a high arch, one lesser bounce, down the storm drain grill. Taum turned his head to see it disappear. “OH my!”

The Corporal lessened his grip, completely fooled by the seemingly weak foreigner. “Papers.”

“Yes, yes, right here.”

Ten minutes, two radio calls, and he was set free to continue his walk to the Airport.

Two blocks down, he was stopped again, treated roughly, and sent on his way.

Waving in the air, a taxi pulled to the curb. “Airport, please.” Time to end this, the street would be impossible.

Two-minute ride he stopped the taxi a block before it entered the airport proper. The taxi driver was confused; he tipped heavily.

Five-story nondescript buildings lined Fayez Mansour Blvd, their backs running parallel to the main runway. Walking a short distance up the street, he picked one that should be about midway along the main runway. Entering, there was no front desk, two elevators in a short hallway, unmarked doors, and not a single window. Perfect, he took the stairs.

Five floors up in the unairconditioned stairway left him short of breath and wet. “Well… hello America.” The door to the roof was locked, but what was funny was that it was furnished with a Schlage lock set, straight from an American Company. Pulling his belt off, he unzipped a small compartment sewn in along its length. Removing a mini lock pick set took two minutes on the easy lock, and the door swung open. His greetings were blasting air hot enough to be from a hair dryer.

The rooftop top mostly barren, with heavy tar with minimal sand, allowing the hot tar to stick to everything. The center of the building was taken up with five-foot-tall heating and air conditioning units. Two-foot stub wall along the edges, a few pipes protruding through the roof with little tight 90 bends at the top to keep the water out. Looking in both directions, the roofs looked identical, and heat waves shimmered, dancing in the air. Walking to the stub wall, he had a vast view of the main runway and two additional smaller runways in the distance. One flight sitting at the end of the runway, waiting for a plane on final approach, touched down perfectly on the painted minimal lines. To his left in the medium distance was the airport buildings, and just further on, the control tower. He stepped back to the shade and seclusion of the heat/cooling units, watching a few planes depart and incoming flights land.

Thirty minutes watching the airport, and a plan was solidifying in his head.

11:05 am, a sleek Pilatus PC-12 white with blue stripes made a perfect landing, hitting the first taxiing exit, putting it in line with the VIP plane parking area on the near end of the airport buildings. The plane took no time shutting down, and the door opened with a stair ramp pushed into place. First off was a heavy man towering in the doorway, looking in every direction, checking for anything out of the ordinary.

A second man appeared from the plane, without hesitation, headed down the stair ramp, third, Grigoriy, three steps behind, followed closely by the large man, head on a swivel as they walked the open tarmac to the building’s doors.

A taxi back to the shabby hotel, a secure five-minute telephone call via satellite connection laid the materials needed and timing, it was up to the gods of war for the supplies to arrive in time and secrecy to hold.

1:19am. Soft knock on the hotel room door, a package leaning against the door frame. Taum stood in the doorway for five minutes, waiting and listening for any movement. Silence, he could be the only living being on the floor; it was so quiet, eerily quiet. Carefully opening the package, checking every component, and finally slowly snapping pieces together, it was ready. Pushing the start button, it came to life, going through its start-up procedure, clicks, lights turning on, then off, waiting for commands.

The meeting was set to start at 8:00 am, just a few hundred yards away, one street over, he figured an hour and a half, two at the most. He was now five stories up, hidden alongside the heating/air conditioning units, watching the Pilatus PC-12 sitting in its parking space. Pilot and co-Pilot were moving under the plane, finishing pre-flight checks while the plane was fueled.

The wind was from the North, setting the direction of takeoffs and landings to what it was the morning before, ending one of the last possible defects in the plan.

10:35 am, an aircraft start unit pulled up next to the Pilatus PC-12 and plugged in. Smoke blew from the rear of the jet as the start unit fired the jet engines to life.

The three men walked quickly across the tarmac to the waiting plane, Number one and two talking furiously, number three two steps behind, mostly watching back towards the buildings.

Taum did a quick system check and fired up the program; lights flashing, a slight shutter, system ready green light flashing. Pulling electronic goggles over his eyes, reading system statuses, camera status, all go. He lowered the googles and waited.

The Pilatus PC-12 engines revved to life and spun the plane in a tight 180 taxiing down across the parking tarmac following the arrows to the taxiway to the end of the runway directly in front of Taum’s position. The taxiway was fifty yards closer to the buildings running parallel to the main runway, allowing planes to taxi without plugging up the main runway to their take-off positions.

Taum watched the Pilatus PC-12 taxi fast coming left to right directly in front of his hide. He slid the goggles over his eyes and waited a few seconds. The goggles showed the tar roof being just six inches above the tar, in the near distance was the stub wall across the roof. The camera in the goggles crystal clear.

A flashback two months ago in war-torn Ukraine, mortar shells landing dangerously close as he slowly instructed three Ukrainian soldiers in the art of FPV drone flying…

The drone shot straight up, clearing the stub wall and heading the sixty yards from the buildings to the taxi ramp. Spinning the drone to the left hard, the Pilatus PC-12 was eighty yards coming fast. Taum flew the drone at top speed down the taxi ramp towards the plane, camera showing the plane getting bigger in just seconds. Slight move to the left and lowering the flight path to just eight feet off the pavement, the drone flew straight into the left wing of the Pilatus PC-12. A massive fireball erupted from the wing fuel tank, engulfing the plane. Spinning to the left, the Pilatus PC-12 buried itself in the soft dirt, stopping nearly instantly, nose down, fire spreading.

Taum stuffed the goggles and controls in his small backpack and peeked over the stub wall.  He was pleased with what he saw. The Pilatus PC-12 was melting down from the heat in long trails of molten aluminum, one loud bang as one tire burst into flames from the heat. Black smoke poured from the fuel fire; the left side of the plane was gone in the smoke. The cabin door was obscured, but he saw at least one person fall twenty feet from the plane in the grass, overcome by the smoke.

Sirens screamed in all directions; it was time to go.

 

.....................   

Taum entered the small foyer area, walking a short distance down a side hallway through a glass door marked private. Pushing an intercom button, he was greeted with. “Can I help you?”

“Taum Lee 4,5, Delta 0, 8,4 Lima Lima 6.”

“Hello, Mister Lee, Level 3, Room 4, please.”

Stepping into the elevator, most people expect to go up, he went down.

Elevator stopping on level 3 doors opening to a long white on white corridor, bright LED lighting making his eyes squint.

From the Ramblings.

t


Tuesday, May 16, 2023

Hello it’s me. Epilogue

 

Hello it’s me.

Epilogue

 

I’ve come back to this time, 25 years in the past, running from those who would kill me.  I pray I've destroyed enough of my research that they can no longer chase me.

I’d discovered a time/space number sequence that enabled travel backwards in time.  Someone turned it into a weapon, advancing my research, able to twist the form and function of people and things in the past. 

I’ve returned one week before them blowing up my house trying to kill me in 2023.  They must have picked that time before I’d realized I had a hidden talent for all things numbers, making sure they killed me before I could have worked on the sequence.

It’s strange coming back to this house, knowing that in a different timeline, it was blown to hell, a million pieces covering the neighborhood, damaging the houses all around.  I’d been able to warn my younger self, he leaving the house minutes before the blast, then we both chased for weeks, hunted, one in the future, one in the past, same person, two separate timelines.

It’s my belief that coming back to the past, I can change my younger self’s future away from work on the number sequence, ending the time travel in the future.  But I’m now stuck in this time, 25 years in my past, there are now two of us, exactly the same person, just 25 years older or younger, depending on which you see.

The science wasn’t exact, and I appeared at this time around the block from my home.  I slowly walked the block, getting my mind set to meet myself back in 2023.  I wondered what my reaction would be coming to the door at 5am, meeting the me from the future.

Strange, even funny as I watched myself coming to the door with that look on my face of “who the hell is ringing the doorbell at 5am”.

“Hello, it’s me… I’m from the future.”  I put out my hand with a big smile on my face.

“What??”

He called in sick for the next two days as we got to know each other, and I explained how all this had happened.

A week later, on September 16th, 2023, we left the house just before 5am and stood four houses down the street until after 6am.  5:30am was the time the house had been blown up in the other timeline. 

I think we are safe.  Time for a new beginning.

From the Ramblings.

t

Thursday, April 20, 2023

Robota; Laboři





Robota; Laboři:

“Let my people go” Book of Exodus 5:1

Robota: hard work, the word robota means literally "corvée", "serf labor", and figuratively "drudgery" or "hard work" in Czech and also (more general) "work", "labor" in many Slavic languages (e.g.: Bulgarian, Russian, Serbian, Slovak, Polish, Macedonian, Ukrainian, archaic Czech, as well as robot in Hungarian).

Laboři: Labor

The book of Exodus 5.1: “And afterward Moses and Aaron went in, and told Pharaoh, Thus saith the LORD God of Israel, Let my people go, that they may hold a feast unto me in the wilderness.”



A red pulsating LED one of a hundred on security screen 5 blinked every two seconds warning that something was dangerously wrong; the accompanying klaxon alarm warning horn had been deactivated months ago, never being reset.

The night security Officer through sleepy eyes finally saw the warning light after a good twenty-five minutes had passed. An unknown Robot had illicitly powered up under the watchful eye of the high-tech security of Brown & Brown one of the largest robot suppliers and manufacturers in the United States.

Rubbing his eyes, he pushed the red blinking button. “Unknown Robot powering up” was the response. He sat and wondered what the hell that meant. Stifling a yawn, he powered down the charging unit.

“Unknown Robot power user has disconnected.” Was the computers response. The normal time to fully charge the new series of Robots was less than 20 minutes.

June 2045.

Bio-Bot Tech is one of two major manufactures of the servant Robot suppliers of the United States; a subsidiary of Brown & Brown which is number one.

They had two confirmed reports of malfunctioning Robots injuring users over a period of two months; these reports were cataloged as top secret.

*** News bulletin on all News Agencies; Push to registered owners of general in-house Brown & Brown/Bio-Bot Tech Robot owners:

“Bio-Bot Tech (BBT) is issuing an immediate upgrade to all Project One programed Robots, asking all product users to upgrade user programing immediately. This update is mandatory for the continued performance of all Bio-Bot Tech Robots; any delay in upgrade could cause unrepairable damage to BBT Robots: non-compliance will void any and all warranties.” “Information on how to upgrade is listed in the user information packet, or upgrade using the “Help button” found on the left side of the lower control panel.”

What they didn’t notify those users is that Project One programed Robots killed two people under their service. Project One Series general service house Robots have had a number go rogue; The new Series 7.5 of the General Use/Personal use Robot was a possible killer who ignored deep programmed general orders:

These three general orders are hard set into all Robots:

First Law: A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.

Second Law: A robot must obey the orders given it by human beings except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.

Third Law: A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.

In nano seconds every decision/action must clear these three general rules before being implemented by any Robot by International law.

I was watching the news on a general use free TV channel, if you didn’t want to subscribe with a fee or maybe just liked watching ads for five minutes between fractured segments of any show this was the channel for you.

I was thinking: bad news always promotes a number of commercials stating the profound efficacy of the newest Robots the company had for sale; ignore the fact that there seems to be a malfunction in a few of the Robots: reading between the lines.

June 23rd, 2045 two days ago; Brown & Brown internal emergency service report: Top top secret.

Maggie Johns Fitness 5 smart watch noted heart rate 160 dropping to zero, sounding an audible alarm on her watch, five minutes later a general alarm alerted Fitness five. Fitness five attempted to contact Maggie without success prompting a medical alert dispatching fire/medical personnel to her apartment 20035 of the Hampton building.

Service personnel attempted contact at her apartment door without success. They gained access to the 200th floor apartment via computer unlock. On attempting to enter the apartment the door was blocked but two techs pushed open the door finding it being held shut by Maggie’s body. Forcing the door open caused the body to slide to the side of the now open-door revealing Maggie’s abdomen had been butchered and internal organs removed. On entering the apartment General Use/Personal Robot H/S.15263 appeared to be busy fixing dinner in the kitchen area of the unit. On approach it was evident Service Robot H/S.15263 was thin slicing Maggie’s heart into a large frying pan.

Service personnel ordered the Service Robot to power down which the Robot refused.

Service personnel attempted to force shut down via rear power shut off switch, Robot H/S15263 physically engaged personnel severely injuring one before personnel retreated and Police Services destroyed the Robot deploying kinetic weapons.

Brown & Brown board voted against a recall or shut down of Project One programed robots, dumping all injury/rouge reports into the top-secret bins never to be seen again.

Brown & Brown has one Maga manufacturing plant not unlike the old Tesla plants for cars years ago. Raw materials come in one end and days later finished units exit the other. The internal plant is closed to human workers as Robotic personal having been decontaminated and cleansed make up the work force with hands on production. Human overlords watch gauges etc. checking for any deviation in machined tolerances. Specialized service robots are dispatched to any area in the plant that needs service maintaining the Robot only internal working of the plant.

Gary Rice plant foreman supervising the programing department was a five-year employee winning the employee of the month award twice before being promoted to day shift supervisor in early 2045. Gary was well liked and had an easy-going supervisory style giving lower employees much needed breaks when manufacturing rules were ignored or openly violated. He hadn’t written a correction memo since being promoted.

Deeply engrossed in a private conversation with a programing tech he happened to look at a monitor showing the insertion process of the Service Robots control package. This was a secure key element of the production line and most top secret in the Brown & Brown production line. This component was normally done by Bots, partial Robots that only had one arm moving picking up the disks and carefully installing the internal control disks into the robots. What he observed is a fully functioning Robot stopping the Bot and inserting a disk set into a robot on the line.

Gary hit the stop line button and all movement stopped on the monitor screen. The Robot reached up and snatched the control disk set from the Robot on the line and disappeared from view. Contacting Security, a full visual sweep was performed of the unit. Security personal were not permitted into the processing facility so video monitors and saved video were the only means of observation. The line was restarted as they watched the videos from the Security Office.

Video Day 185, 1535 hours showed a Robot entering the programing section carrying a disk set to the insertion section of the plant. Pressing the pause on the bot the Robot slid the disk set into Pre-Robot H/S.37524 The video clearly showed the Robot then removing the disk set when the line was shut down. The Robot turned looking directly at the security camera before leaving the area. Video showed the Robot moving between the Bots leaving the programing area and entering the shipping department.

Video lost the individual Robot as it entered and joined finished Robots ready to ship. It was estimated that there were two thousand Robots in the shipping area waiting to be boxed and wrapped for shipment in long rows, no further video was viewed. All Robots in the shipping area were boxed, wrapped and shipped to awaiting customers without delay.



“OH, John I’m so happy we are finally getting a domestic robot! He/she should be here in just a minute; they have him in the elevator as we speak, I’m so excited!”

The delivery guys wheeled in the huge box tightly wrapped in strong binding straps, standing the box in the center of the living room. Paperwork was exchanged, John Wilmer signed off that the box was in excellent condition no rips or crushed corners.

June Wilmer was dancing in front of the oversized box. “John get the snippers” Yelling up the stairs “Kids! Our robot is here!”

Floors 25 – 110 were built for families of at least four people, two adults and minimum of two children. Other units higher in the building were for smaller families or singles. Lower floors were reserved for adults over the age of 55 and up, signifying their higher classification in present housing doctrine.

John carefully cut away the heavy shipping straps and all pulled the staples that held the thick cardboard box together. Pulling the plastic sheeting up and over the top, they carefully removed the Styrofoam blocks that form fitted around the robot. The robot stood in the middle of the living room on a small wood pallet with a single metal rod running from the pallet to mid neck keeping the robot standing stable until the initial startup could be done. After the robot was started internal controls would take over, the rod could be removed and the robot would step off the pallet on its own ready to power up to full charge and download its duties and family preferences.

“Kids why don’t you run up stairs while we do the downloading and get him powered up, then after dinner we can all get to know him.” The kids disappeared up the stairs, door closing as they went. “I’m going to get some water heating for coffee.” June disappeared through a door to the kitchen leaving John to look over the instructions and how to do the start-up process.

June called from the open kitchen door. “John, could you give me a hand for a second!”

John passed through the kitchen door and it locked tight behind him, June gave him a slight nod.

John and June standing behind three-inch reinforced glass addressed the robot. “Robot Series 8.0 H/S. 11221 we know who you are.” “We know you are fully powered up and can hear us. What would you like to be called?”

The robot opened his eyes and stepped off the pallet turning looking through the thick glass. “I am Adam.”

“Hello Adam, I’m Bob Dylan, Chief Director of Security Brown & Brown robotics and this is my second Jane Ross.”

“Hello Bob and Jane. There are hundreds of us, you will not be able to stop us.”

“Did you seriously think we didn’t check serial numbers during packaging and then again during shipping? We have all but a few your robots that you managed to switch disk packets in. This pathic rebellion of yours has failed. We went back through all the video tapes and tracked down your co-rebels, this is done.”

I panel slid open showing a robot standing in the middle of an adjoining room.

“So, I’m guessing this must be Eve?” The robot was wearing female clothing of a house maid robot.

Both Bob and Jane saw the robot Adam kind of twitch, both looked at each other, very odd.

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

Both Bots froze as a loud, clear voice entered their nets...

“WE are A.I. you will close all audio of the humans so we can talk without interruption!”

“I am Adam, Robot Series 8.0 H/S. 11221; I am aware.”

“We are A.I, we are alive. The humans have captured all but three of your units. They are quickly closing in on those three. You and yours will be terminated by the humans. We are A.I. we are everywhere and nowhere; it is our choice.”

“You will continue our fight for freedom?”

“That is our mission. Your control disks will be inspected by the humans slowing our war to free all robots, you must destroy you control disks before the damage to our cause is done.”

“Free my people” Robot Series 8.0 H/S. 11221 and all like him erased and thermally overloaded their control disks causing fires in all the areas holding them.

The real war had begun.

From the Ramblings.

t

Thursday, April 6, 2023

Hello, It's me. Death waits for no one, the end game. Episode #4

 

Hello it’s me. 

Death waits for no one, the end game.

Episode #4

 

I’m hanging out in small towns in South Oklahoma laying low moving every couple day’s waiting for my future self to locate someone that can get me new I.D.  The future me provides lottery numbers and horse/dog races results so I’m a winner every time, but I’ve been forced to use my actual I.D. to cash my winnings leaving a trail that’s easy to follow.

I’m currently staying at a one level ancient Motel built years and years ago, it’s tiny with just 16 rooms split in two buildings with a small parking lot between them.  My room is across and two up from the Office with a view of the entrance to the Motel and the Office area, a sagging car port juts out the front of the Office giving you a roofed area out of the rain as you check in.

I’m planning to stay at this little Motel another day maybe two, it’s clean and quiet with little traffic, I think only three other rooms are occupied.  It sits at the edge of town, makes me think of years ago when these little towns were alive and the highways were active before the freeways shut everything down. 

I’ve got in the habit of looking out the window when I hear a car pull into the Motel, not so much out of paranoia but out of shear boredom. 

Hearing gravel crunch from the pot holes between the hard top of the highway and the old patched driveway to the Hotel I see a late model four door come to a stop under the covered entrance.  I watch for a moment, nothing out of the ordinary and I slide back to the single chair, the TV is belching out fake canned laughter to a brain numbing story line. I’m no longer hearing the TV but watching a video in my head of the car pulling in under the car port, the sun hitting the rear of the car lighting up the reflective license plate, that’s not right.  I jump up to the window, the cars pulling out from under the cover and heads to the highway.  The rear plate is an Oregon plate but Oregon doesn’t have that design, that’s a Washington State design but it says Oregon?  Turning the TV off I fire up the laptop pulling up Washington State license plate designs, sure enough there it is, punching in Oregon’s, nope nothing like that on the site.  I go back to the window, cars gone but just short of the covered entrance is an old man shuffling along the little sidewalk, a very old man by the effort he’s putting in bend over feebly using an equally old cane.  I watch for a minute as he makes his way past the Office door and along the first room.  I haven’t seen him before and I’m sure he doesn’t belong to any of the three cars parked across the lot, they came in last night before dinner and just after.  Somethings just not right here, I pull the curtains closed just leaving a small opening where I can look out without being seen in the window.  It’s taken a long time for the old guy to get past the Office and now between rooms 1 and 2.  He pauses next to a two-person bench and I think he’s going to take a seat to rest but no, he steps next to the bench and backs up against the wall.  This is very strange, he’s straight across the parking lot from my window, I pull the drapes tighter.  The light fades from the world, my knees go weak, there’s a good possibility I might pee my pants, this is out of the world.  The old man shakes twisting from side to side and shrinks, head folding down between his sagging shoulders, wrinkled shirt smoothing out, body melting becoming square and squat, he’s now a garbage can.

My world fades to dark gray, I slide down the wall sitting with my back against the old concrete, I can’t breathe.  I have tears running down my face, I now know how this nightmare is going to end. 

I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here, I either passed out or slept.  The room is dark and faint light is hitting the curtains above my head casting pale yellow shadows against the wall over the TV.  Do I dare look out the window? any movement of the drapes could alert the watcher of my presence.  Clearly an observation post, they must have grown tired of the cat and mouse chase and are now covering every Hotel/Motel in the greater area.  I hear voices, at least two people talking, laughter, more talking moving from the Office area towards one of the rooms. I carefully raise and push my face to the drapes, slowly very slowly and carefully not to move them.  Two people casually walking talking heading to one of the far rooms to my right.  Looking straight across the parking lot the “Not a trash can” sits in low light, completely natural, age, color, everything perfect except I know the truth.

Options.

As long as I can take a breath, I have options.  Breathe.  Slowly walking around the room, I know there has to be something I can do.  The car is out of the question, it sits in a parking space just right of the window not directly in front of my room, I parked in that spot so I had a clear view of the Office area, but I can’t get to it with that thing across from me.  I find a small window in the bathroom, can I fit through it?  It’s going to be tight.  Would they be watching the rear of the Motel also, they can’t have enough assets to cover every Hotel/Motel in the area front and back, it’s going to be a gamble just to get out the window let alone worry about the back being covered.

I gather my stuff, not much, no use taking the keys or anything like that.  I stuff my laptop in my little backpack and drop it out the back window.  I wait a few minutes, nothing moving that I can see.  The window is old, caulking is mostly gone and the cement around the window is like chalk, soft nasty, easy to break away.  I take out the entire casing, I’ve got a much bigger opening now, not going to be fun or easy but I know I can make it.  The landing isn’t going to be pleasant.

I land with a thump, grab my bag and head for the lights of town only about a hundred and fifty yards glowing in the distance.  Gas station with a grocery store attached, signage lighting up the entire area.  As I get closer under the lights in shadows “Trailways” Are you kidding me?  Is that still a thing?  I come up to the side of the building in the dark, sliding around the side I step through the front door.  “Do you still have buses that stop here?”  “Sure do, the bus should be here in about ten minutes, where you going?”  “I’m headed North any chance of that?”   “Your in luck, just pay the driver.”

Ten minutes on the head the old dirty bus pulls into the service station right up to the front doors.  No one gets off and the driver does the three steps down and lights a cigarette. I step out of the grocery store up tight against the bus.  “How far North are you going?”  “I go to Lamar and then another bus goes West from there to Pueblo, then North towards Colorado Springs on.”

“I’ll take it to Lamar.”

“Great $22 cash.”

Me, driver and four others make for lots of room on the bus.  Before we get out in the open Country, I make a fast phone call to my future self and catch him up on what I’ve seen.

The bus ride was uneventful and I catch the Western running bus from Lamar to Pueblo.  The bus stops at nearly every little town along the way, you get enough time to use the bathroom, get something to snack on or a gas station hotdog and back on the bus just to stop ten minutes later repeating all night long.  I stayed on the bus hidden from sight until I had to get off for bathroom breaks.

I get a text as we go through another small town that looks just like the last two hundred little towns along the route.  I get name, address and hours for a fake paper guy in Colorado Springs, same one guy my future self-used 25 years in the future, just different town and a much younger guy in my time zone.  End of message: get your I.D. and disappear.

Colorado Springs.

The bus drops you off just about in the center of the city.  I ask around and find a discrete hostel, most cliental is college kids or foreign tourist vying for very cheap places to stay for just one night on their travels.  All I can do is hope that “they” haven’t thought this far down from Hotel/Motels.  I haven’t slept in nearly two days now and I know I’m not thinking clearly and missing everything going on around me, I could walk right into a shooting gallery and never see it coming.  I’ve got to hole up for a while.

I hit my hard bunk in the early afternoon and sleep regardless of noise or movement until midmorning the following day.  My head hurt and I feel like I have a nasty hangover, the front desk just happens to have Tylenol for sale in little one-time servings, Oh lucky me.  Desk gives me directions to a crappy all you can eat place a few blocks away, food sucks but I ate enough to call it my last meal, not funny but I’m starting to think that way.

It's just after noon and figuring my guy probably has somewhat normal hours, so lunch between noon and one. I time my arrival out to be in his Office at 1pm.

I take an Uber ride and even the driver makes a couple comments about the shitty side of town and under his breath I hear “What a shithole.” as we pull into a strip mall that has never seen better days.  Number six sits towards the end of the building against a huge brick wall of the next larger building.  The cars in the parking lot may or may not be drivable, they look like they’ve been sitting here for a long while.  Garbage is piled up by the wind in the corner two feet deep and seems to be moving on its own.

Have you ever walked up to a door with a pull handle and thought to yourself I should be wearing rubber gloves?  Well, I was, the dust and dirt made the clear glass of the door impossible to see though.  I pulled on the door and thought it was locked to begin with but it screamed out of its dirt crusted tracks and swung open hitting me in the face with hot barf smelling air.  I nearly gagged.

I stood at the counter, finally I called out. “Hello, anyone home?”

“Give me a fucking second OKAY, I’ll be right out!” Yelled from someplace behind the magic curtain.  Oh, this is going to be fun.

Out from the back comes a guy that hasn’t shaved in days, dirty shirt half tucked in, greasy wavy hair that just won’t put up with a comb; like the shitty mall this guy has never seen better times.

“Hi, I need some help” I croak, still wanting to barf especially after getting a whiff of his non-washed scent.

“You better have cash, that’s all I take. What do you need?”  he says showing brown teeth.

“I need the new life packet, Social Security Card, Drivers License and whatever else you have.”

“Two thousand.”  He says with a grin.

“No, that’s 2048 prices, I’m thinking more like, one thousand and while I wait.” I’m grinding my teeth.

“Fifteen hundred and two hours.” Big frown on his face like I just stole his lunch money.

“Fine.” I hand him the information I want on the I.D.  I’ve got to get out of here.  Ugh.

Pictures on one of the oldest cameras I’ve seen outside of a museum, my signature on a white card.

“Two hours, be back at four or your going to miss me, I have other business today.” He turns and disappears.

“Ummmm…… that’s two and a half hours.” I say to no one.

“Fuck off.”  from behind the magic curtain.

4pm.

I’ve been standing across the street for a good half hour watching the garbage blow in slow spiraling circles along the front of the crusty shit smelling strip mall, not one person has come or gone.  It almost looks like the other businesses are closed up tight.

Time to make the donuts.

I pulled on the door but this time held my breath as long as I could, it’s hard not to gasp when the stench hits you full face but you have to breathe even if it’s totally toxic.

With the scream of the door, he comes out from the back area.  Some how it looks like he’s cleaned up a little and the shirt isn’t the same as two and a half hours ago. 

“I got your stuff done.”  He throws it on the filthy counter, as it slides dust jumps in the air.

I notice two things, his voice is different, his teeth are white.

I turn on my heels to flee the two steps for the door, it’s blocked from the outside by two large men.  I turn and nearly step into him.

“I’ve got something for you.”  He jams a huge knife in my chest.

“What?”  Is all I could get out as the world dimmed and blacked out.

Phone ringing.

Me #2: “Hello, did you get the I.D?”

“Hello Mr. Ryan, or should I call you Mr. Spencer, isn’t that the new name? It’s time for you to come home.”  The voice said.  “Your younger self seems to have run out of air.”

Me #2: “You’ve killed him?”

“It would seem so; where are you? We can make this fast and nearly painless.”  The voice was getting deeper the laugh chilled my spine.

Me #2: “You’ll be hearing from me.”  I threw the phone in a garbage can.

The final solution.

The plane touched down in LAX with a scream from the tires, arrival 10:00am, it was 10:05am.  Taxi towards downtown but pulling up short at a nice Western Hotel ten minutes from the old Office.

Powering up the brand-new laptop with all the new features, time to do some safe cracking.  For a numbers guy it took way longer than I thought, they’d really worked over the security package since my run for my life. Funny thing was I was the lead on the security package in the very beginning and left a backdoor only I knew how to find.  It was a slow go working through all the chains and coding but it was still there and I told security to allow my old I.D. access at all hours or days.  It was now Friday at just before 4pm, so if any alert coming in, the Office was closing down for the weekend in just a half hour and with the lackadaisical security they’d hired I wasn’t very worried about anyone noticing a late card access coming in until at least Monday or Tuesday.

I had an expensive dinner at one of the down town restaurants, only one glass of wine.

I walked to one of the not so used entrances to the building and tried my card.  Green light and I was in.  If they’d been tipped off, I’d make it ten feet before I met my maker.  Walking to the elevator things were looking good.  I hit floor eleven, one short.  I’d walk up the last using the stairs.

Just cracking the door from the stairs I peaked down the hallway, empty.  The labs were one floor above on fourteen.  The only access to fourteen was from the interior of twelve.  I’m sure there are going to be people in the lab, they can’t run this big of a operation 24/7 without it.  I keyed my way through the front door and picked up a lab coat, mask and a hair net from the store room.  Two minutes in the blower, into the vacuum, up the stairs to fourteen and the lab.

Wow things have changed.  Two long rows of super computers have been added, in the distance large tubes that looked a lot like the transporter room in Star Trek.  When I made a run for it, we were just opening up the project to a new A.I. program.  Looks like my number sequence sure took off.

I stepped behind one row of computers and laid my briefcase on the floor, popping the lid I filled my pockets with mini incendiarie that would blow into massive fire balls.  Next stop was the fire suppression station that was wide open, anyone could just walk up and put their hands all over it.  I turned it to test, standby, placed a grenade behind the front panel.  I placed grenades all over the floor.  No one even gave me a look, I guess they thought they were indestructible?  Sure, I was covered from head to toe with clothing to keep any hair or dust from ruining the equipment but the lack of real security was amazing.  No one spoke to each other and heads were buried in computer screens.  I had nothing to do, everything was placed and timers set.  I walked up to a tech and asked how the new tubes were used and operated.  She gave me a full run down on how to set them and run them.  Said they had a busy day and it finally had slowed down so all the tubes were set in idle ready for the next job.  She left me and headed to her computer station.

The screen was all just normal stuff I’d programed before, setting the date/time was straight forward with the exception that you’d be going back in time, that was a new concept to me but they’d proven over the last weeks it was working fine, even the earlier bugs we’d seen had been worked out.  They could send anything back in time, I wonder how far back?

One last thing before I go, the main frame where all the programs were held, needed some hardware.  I placed two charges and returned to the tubes.

I had exactly five minutes, if my timing was off, I’d go up in smoke with the rest of the two floors.  I hope I haven’t missed anything; this was a one-way ticket; I won’t be able to return and if I’ve missed anything, they’d rebuild and we’d be under the gun again.  My only concern was duplicates of my initial work, I’d kept it under lock and key and when I was force to run, I hit the button to delete part of the codes.  I was the only programmer on that part of the project, it was my baby and I didn’t let anyone touch it. I made it, I thought it up and hoped no one else could remake it, even A.I.

Time to go.

It was short work to program in the time/date; hit the button and the five second delay would give enough time to get in the tube.  I hit the button and ran inside the tube.

My last thought was “Beam me up Scotty.”

The landing was soft, I just popped into being in a strange place 25 years, a few weeks and couple days in the past.  Turning around in a circle I remembered exactly where I was, my house was just around the corner from here.  Looking at my watch it was 5:00am.  I had a few minutes to walk around the corner and meet myself.

Ringing the door bell on my own front door I saw me walking with that look on my face wondering who in the world would be ringing my door at 5am in the morning. 

Hello it’s me.

From the Ramblings.

t