The robot quickly walked over and stood directly in front of me. My heart was racing and I was breathing heavily. I was trying to guess which arm of the robot was going to strike me first, but it just stood there looking at me. My previous impression of a robot was a slow, lumbering machine. This robot was quick and obviously quite nimble.
“I came here because the human race is in danger,” I said. “I hope the information here can help save millions of lives.” That’s when it occurred to me; it doesn’t know my language.
The robot continued to stand there. It tipped its head slightly to one side and opened its mouth.
“Carl?”
Panic flooded through my body. How the hell did it know my name?
“How did you…?”
“NETCOMM,” the robot replied. “When you activated the console NETCOMM was also activated. One other node on NETCOMM. We have your voiceprint and language in the system now. How can we be of service to you?”
Relief poured through me like a huge waterfall. Then it dawned on me. All the time we were working with the robot’s head back in the States, it was listening to us, voice printing us and creating files on us, and it never let us know.
“The meteor storm that destroyed the civilization that built you, is coming again, soon,” I said. “I need to know exactly when.”
The robot quickly walked over to the console and began moving different colored symbols around on the display.
“Difficult to be precise,” the robot said. “Based on galactic position and historical records, seventy two to seventy six days before the meteor storm strikes.”
“How long did it last?”
The robot moved some more symbols. “Fifty nine days,” it said.
“Meteor concentration?” I asked.
Again the robot moved some more symbols on the display. “Average of one meteorite strike for every ten square meters.”
That meant that there would be trillions of meteorites hitting the Earth. Nothing would survive.
“Size of the meteorites?” I asked.
“Five millimeters up to 500 millimeters at the largest.”
“Okay,” I said. “That gives us some hope. Can you keep NETCOMM active from this point on?”
“Certainly,” the robot answered.
“I understand that 300 million people perished in the last meteor storm,” I said. “Is that what your records show?”
“No,” the robot replied. “The 300 million people included only the Rama Empire, which was the most advanced, with mining operations on the moon and on Mars. Worldwide, the population was 650 million people. As the meteor storm started, the Royal Rama Family and a thousand faithful followers were flown to the planet Mars. That’s all we had ships to carry. I remained here to guard the technology secured in this facility. For the next four thousand years, they lived on Mars, communicating with me from time to time. Then all communication stopped. There has been nothing since then.”
I looked at Ed, Trent and the guardian. “Mars suffered a cataclysmic event,” I explained. The entire southern part of the planet is heavily pock-marked with huge craters. The northern half is covered with dust and debris, which partially covers some of the structures. Whatever happened either wiped out the people living there or drove them deeply underground. There are signs of underground transit tubes that have become exposed, but so far no signs of any people.”
“Transit tubes?” Trent asked. “Like a subway system?”
“Yes,” I replied. “But more like the tunnel from England to France under the English Channel.”
“If the animals survived, the people could have, too,” Ed added.
I thought for a moment. “If we don’t survive our own meteor storm, we’ll never have the opportunity to find out if they’re still there.” I turned toward the robot. “Thank you,” I said. “We have a lot of work to do. We need to get back.”
The guardian walked over to me and bowed. He took the necklace from around his neck and placed the cord over my head.
“What?” I said. “No, I can’t.”
The medallion was heavier than I thought it would be as it settled onto my chest. The guardian bowed again and spoke. Trent translated. “He says you are the new guardian. He believes you are trustworthy and wants to know if you believe you can find this place again.”
“This isn’t right,” I protested. “I’m not really the person you think I am.”
“The guardian is very wise and perceptive,” Trent replied. “If he thinks you are trustworthy, then you are. Do you think you can find this place again?”
“Yes,” I replied, realizing it was an argument I wasn’t going to win.
The old guardian smiled and patted me on the shoulder and bowed again. I reluctantly bowed in return.
The robot looked at the medallion on my chest and said, “Guardian.”
“Congratulations, my boy,” Trent said. “And the piece of hardware from the old knowledge in your possession, another robot?”
“Just its head, I’m afraid,” I replied.
“I see,” Trent said. “Well it bloody well will have to do, won’t it?”
“I just hope it’s enough,” I replied. I checked my watch. We needed to go. The old guardian showed me the indent in the rock door where the medallion fit. I pressed the medallion into its spot and the massive rock doors slowly swung open. Trent, Ed and the old guardian headed down the path. I stood outside the door and watched the robot as the rock door closed between us. I pulled my iPhone out of my jacket pocket and recorded the GPS location for the cave entrance in longitude, latitude and altitude. I was good to go.
The return journey was uneventful. Trent got off in London when we stopped for fuel. It was just after two in the morning when we landed in Denver. Ed and I were descending the steps of John’s Learjet 45 when I heard sirens. Three black SUV’s came rushing at the plane with red and blue strobes flashing into the darkness. Ed looked over at me. “Remain completely silent,” he said. “Don’t say anything to anybody, don’t trust anyone other than John, and don’t believe anything they say. Remain absolutely silent. You got it?”
“Yeah,” I replied. I took my iPhone out of my pocket and activated my SWIPE program. It uploaded everything to a private secure server, the ‘S’ in SWIPE was for the store part, then it wiped all of the special apps and other data off of the iPhone, the WIPE part. I watched the display as six federal agents rushed from their cars with guns drawn.
“Freeze!”
“Do not move!”
“FBI.”
The display on my iPhone reverted to its initial configuration, just the way it was when it came out of the box. Ed and I slowly raised our hands over our heads and waited. The FBI agents rushed up to us and roughly pushed us up against the railing of the steps and handcuffed each of us. They stuffed both of us into the back seat of an SUV and whisked us off into the night.
I sat alone in the interrogation room for several hours, handcuffed to a large U-bolt sticking up through the metal table. Finally two FBI agents came into the room and sat down on the other side of the small table in the room. I looked up at the mirrored glass facing me and assumed I was not only being watched, but recorded and videographed. It was exactly the same procedure they used on me when I was sent to prison. The lead agent plopped a tablet of lined paper and a pen down on the table.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
I pointed to the pad of paper. He slid it across to me. In big block letters I wrote, LAWYER.
I pushed the pad back over to him. He looked at the pad and smiled.
“You don’t get a lawyer,” he said. “You’re under arrest pursuant to the Patriot Act and the National Defense Authorization Act. You’re a terrorist; you have no rights. We can hold you indefinitely without charges or a trial. You’re toast, so why don’t you talk to us? If you can clear up the questions we have, you can walk out of here and go home.”