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Log Entry #41: My Father
🕑 Added 2020-09-16 10:07:15 +0000 UTCIt started simply enough, a great opportunity for our media campaign, too good to miss actually, and then…
We let our guard down, thinking that now that the Ascension was out of their grasp, we were safe. Besides, it was such a remote location, who in their right mind would think that it would be dangerous? Michael even said on a few occasions that I was being paranoid for suggesting more and more security for him. It would seem I was not paranoid enough.
Our enemies certainly did not forget us; they were only waiting for an opportunity to strike.
It was a peaceful and beautiful sight, with Astronauts reuniting with their families on Commander Dax’s ranch. Everybody was kissing and hugging on the porch; one of those priceless moments that you feel privileged to witness. It fills you with hope and makes you feel good about the world. Michael, Elizabeth, Alice, and the team were closer to the transporter, and… Dad…
I had run so many scenarios of how things could have gone differently, how small changes in position would make great variations in the outcome. The sobering conclusion was that in the end, we were lucky… only my father was murdered… it could have been much worse.
I didn’t see the Predator drone until it was too late, even with several satellites in orbit above the location. The reality is that in each minute there are so many crafts in the air that keeping track of them all is close to impossible. It was difficult when civilians had no access to flying machines, but now you can buy one in almost any store, and everyone’s favorite pastime is flying a drone or a variety of radio-controlled aircraft. We are talking about an insane amount of flight paths that needed to be calculated. The FAA doesn’t even bother; they simply placed a ban for them to be flown above four hundred feet (120m) from the ground level.
The remote pilot of that predator was good; he waited for the ideal moment and then dived, firing a Hellfire missile too close to its target for me to have any time to respond… I still tried.
The moment I noticed something wrong, my AI-core was pushed to 100%, and that gave me far more time to analyze the situation. Not that it helped any, just provided me with an understanding that I was helpless to change anything. I thought about throwing a Hammer at it, but that would be far too late, using a transporter to intercept it, it needed some time to lift off… I made dozens of scenarios… and they all proved futile. It is the first time I looked at this ability for my AI-core to stretch time as a curse. I could observe everything in super slow motion, but couldn’t do much to affect events in the real world.
The Hellfire missile has a speed of 995 mph (1,601 km/h), add to that the speed the drone picked up in its descent, and you have a crazy fast killing machine. To my perception, it was moving slow, like a bee in honey, and Michael and the others were pretty much frozen in time.
I did not freeze or panic, I couldn’t stop what was coming but I tried to do everything possible to make my family survive.
The first thing was enabling the Boost in Michael and the others. It wouldn’t have time to properly initiate, but I was playing for milliseconds of time, and even a part of a percentage of changing the variables could mean something. Then I made a recording of a warning to Michael, and played it to him at the speed his brain could interpret, knowing that there was almost no chance for him to hear it in entirety before the missile struck. Then… then I could do nothing but wait.
Waiting is the most difficult thing of all; it is a torture of a particular kind. I refused to slow myself down and let things happen in real-time… I needed to see everything.
Because of that, I saw how—and why—my father died.
In those last moments, I was so filled with pride that Robert Freeman was my father. I guess it is true what they say: human beings show the essence of their nature at that particular time, their true self.
By sheer happenstance, he was the one turned in the right direction to see the missile coming a moment before the others, and he knew there would be no escaping it. Dad saved Elizabeth’s life; he tackled her to the ground, and that made all the difference.
The missile struck a bit away from the center of the group, closer to dad and Liz. The infernal contraption bloomed like a flower from hell, explosives inside igniting and creating a pressure wave of fire, which carried fragments of the casing in all directions. I let myself lose it for a second and I screamed. It was a primal scream from the depth of my soul, carrying within it a mix of pain, fear, hate, and desperation. That was the only second I lost focus, the others needed me to have a clear head, not to panic and rage over the cruelty of fate.
The results were better than I feared and a thousand times worse. That missile is a product of a twisted mind (then again, most of the life-ending weapons are), no matter how much its creators try to justify their work. Weapons are made to end lives; there is no other purpose to them. It is our fault that we are too bloodthirsty to need them. I am no different, Hammers are not exactly benign, and flechettes are not meant to tickle.
Fire, pain, and screams filled the air after that explosion. Once a peaceful and idyllic ranch had turned into a scene from Hell.
Medical nanites were working overtime, and I had many people in need of medical attention. The first results from my sensors were horrifying; Alice has lost both her legs and an arm, and the blood loss needed to be stopped immediately. Most everyone had metal fragments embedded in their bodies and various degrees of burns were something everyone there shared.
Dad did not show any signs of life, he was too close, his body… mangled.
Tyron immediately shot down the drone with his gun, perforating it with enough flechettes one could see the sky through it. That was the advantage of battle-suits, Tyron, Pete, and Al were banged up, suffering from concussions and extensive soft tissue damage, but they were still very much functional.
I needed all the injured in the AutoDocs, ASAP, and I cursed myself for not installing one into the transporters. The objective now was to stabilize their bodies and get them to the Ascension’s Hospital as fast as possible.
I told Tyron and the others to immediately start transferring everybody to the transporter, which only suffered some superficial damage. It lost its camouflage abilities but was otherwise still fully functional. They did as ordered and acted extremely professionally despite the circumstances. The team was in a full battle state of mind, and that particular state does not allow for much talking or thinking, one relies on their training to do what needs to be done.
Michael, Elizabeth, and Alice were unconscious; I had medical readings to show their status.
The Astronauts and their families were a problem. They were not unscathed by the explosion, many of them had bleeding wounds from the missile fragments. The children were terrified, screaming and crying for help. The team placed nano-patches on them all, luckily, there was enough for everyone. None of them were in a critical condition at the moment, but there was a chance that the condition of a few children could get worse if medical treatment wasn’t administered soon.
It took time to transfer them while the panicked mothers wailed for them to call for an ambulance, but Tyron quickly explained that if they wanted the best treatments for their children, they would need to come with us because our medical facilities were far better than anything on Earth. The astronauts were a big help as they had experienced it first-hand.
The Transporter lifted into the air and started at the maximum speed inertial dampeners would allow. The flight control and military radio bands were screaming for identification and penalties for being in their space. On the long-range sensors, I could see a few fighter jets getting ready to intercept us.
Maybe in their dreams, they were not fast enough even to catch a glimpse of it, let alone stop it in any way. Yet, I didn’t know if there would be any additional attacks so a few Hammers were waiting for a command to accelerate to the surface and do their thing. It would be like swatting flies with a bulldozer, but if that was needed, I wouldn’t hesitate. My priorities were very strictly defined, and people in that transporter trumped everything else.
The medical staff in the Ascension’s hospital were already informed about the situation and many of them were waiting inside the landing bay. I tried to shorten a trip as much as I could, without endangering the passengers. Yet, this emptiness inside of me was pulling me in, a pressure of anger that needed a release.
A part of me knew that it was futile, but I tried to revive my father… it was of no use. Even medical nanites have a limit to what they could do. If I could have managed to get him into the AutoDoc a second after the explosion… the results would still be the same.
Alice’s heart stopped twice on the way there, and both times nanites managed to restart it by using their own energy to generate micro-pulses which (like a pacemaker) spasmed the muscles and made it beat again. Her heart was beating again, keeping her brain oxygenated.
Elizabeth was in better condition, but that is in comparison; one collapsed lung, broken bones, and most of her skin charred with third-degree burns.
Michael… he was out, his brain bruised and bleeding. Without nanites, he would be dead by now, not to mention that even his reinforced spine was broken in two places. I know it sounds horrible, but as long as they were alive, I had something to work with. He was in a far worse condition when he fell down the Excalibur’s entrance shaft before this all began.
The transporter finally landed and the medical personnel rushed inside to help. It took a few minutes until everyone was outside and only the smell of blood, burned flesh and hair remained.
They put everybody in the AutoDocs… even dad (it was a standard procedure). I gave the order for his body to be repaired as it was, but it was now just an empty shell.
At some point, I told Ares to find the one who did this, and he went at it like a bloodhound, ripping through the Internet without any mercy. If someone tried to stop his actions they were in for a rude awakening; he was told to wipe their systems after he checked if they were involved or not. What he managed to find was disappointing, but even that revealed that those responsible knew a lot about us. Almost no digital trails and the place from where the drone was flown had been destroyed in a big explosion, a few minutes after the missile detonated.
My father has died, gone from this world… what can one say to that? There was one thing to do, but it was so out there I didn’t even want to contemplate it before I knew it could work. That was for another day, now… it was over. I did everything that was needed for now and was so mentally exhausted that I couldn’t think straight anymore.
I went into my bedroom inside the digital cabin, closed the doors behind me... and cried.
