Gandalf

Gandalf popped open another soda and grabbed for his shades; after hours of sitting in front of the monitor his eyes were beginning to water. He considered switching to troglodyte mode - working with the lights off, sunglasses on and the screen inverted to reduce glare, but discarded the idea. He’d wait till morning. In any case, he hardly noticed the strain. In fact, sleep was the farthest item in his mind. Qubits, on the other hand, occupied most of his thought processes.
        So what did he know?
        In classical computation and from a physical point of view a bit can represent two different states, two logical values --- no or yes, false or true, or simply 0 or 1. In digital computers the voltage between the plates in a capacitor represents a bit of information: a charged capacitor denotes bit value 1 and an uncharged capacitor bit value 0. However, if an atom is chosen as a physical bit then quantum mechanics states that apart from the two distinct electronic states the atom can be also prepared in a coherent superposition of the two states. This means that the atom is both in state 0 and state 1 at the same time. Somewhat dense, but so far so good.
        Quantum computing was fueled by the invention of an algorithm by P. Shor that successfully simplified the task of factoring very large numbers, which brought several companies to attention. The public security codes of these companies generally depended on this factoring technique in order to protect their software.
        KISS - Keep it Simple, Stupid. OK, thought Gandalf, the guy that had figured out the PRINT command - Knight Rider - had started with a simple statement.
        Gandalf had an idea. What was one of the simplest computer instructions in any OS? Answer: the very final instruction signaling the processor to shut down, after printing a ‘Good bye’ message to the screen. And he had the PRINT command already decoded.
        "Yes. Black art is under way," muttered Gandalf.

        Area 51 - The Dinosaur Pen

        "Man, these are some heavy runes."
        "Runes?" asked Dr. Richards.
        The young computer tech - hacker, he would prefer - looked up from his chair in front of a terminal. A small group of experts sat around him, soaking up his every move, as in awe.
        "Runes. Stuff that requires heavy wizardry. I mean, some of these guys are top experts. I know some of them," he said matter-of-factly.
        In the tight community of elite hackers, Peter J. Cole was considered one of the best, co-inventor of one of the most popular computing languages and CEO of a multi-million dollar company. His reputation was such that the seal ‘Approved by Cole’ was regarded as a blessing on any software package. Cole had been brought in, seduced by the idea of organizing a world-wide hacking contest on an alien OS, and had set up his headquarters in Area 51’s dino pen - the main computer room of the complex.
        "Check this guy. He just figured out how to unload separate memory addresses. See what the computer is doing?" he said excitedly.
        Richards didn’t see. Actually, he was completely lost. All he understood was that slowly the number of messages being receiving was increasing. From an initial drip to a respectable dribble. He awaited the downpour eagerly.
        The computer beeped again. Cole flicked the mouse and brought the new message on screen.
        "Whoa, there. Someone else just grokked the code. Uh, made sense of it," he translated. "What do we have here?" he muttered. Grabbing the text file, he opened it and read quickly through it.
        "So, Gandalf, let’s see if your baby works." Cole copied the program to another terminal and executed it. The computer printed a large red ‘GANDALF’ to the screen and promptly switched itself off.
        "It’s good," he declared. "Let’s get it on the Net." He opened the text file again, read through it a second time and raised his hand.
        "Wait, wait, wait. Oh boy."

        Lima

        The roar of the ramjets increased as Hyper-X started to roll forward slowly. The Peruvian military had already cleared the runway, jeeps whisking the soldiers away and disappearing from view, presumably urgently needed elsewhere. With combat occurring in Nazca and Lima, and not going well in either case, the airport had to be secured in case of an attack. The airport had been closed hours before and little activity could be seen. Lights from terminal buildings, hangars and other facilities had been turned off, leaving the compound shrouded in darkness. Outside, the storm had that kept Nimitz’s airwing stranded on deck, had finally arrived, stinging rain driving diagonally against the tarmac, noticeably reducing visibility. Rivers poured from corrugated roofs creating large puddles and muddying the grass.
        The transport moved forward slowly under the glare of a single spotlight, passing close to the helicopter that had brought them from Lima. From the half open door of the aircraft, Gonzalez took careful aim. A quick shot and the spotlight blew, leaving the area in total darkness.
        As the aircraft continued to move, the emergency hatch under the cockpit flew open. A dark figure emerged, dropped a dozen feet to the ground and rolled out of the way of the advancing landing gear. The figure immediately rose and ran towards the helicopter, even as other shadows followed.
        Lieutenant Ridge crouched in the cockpit holding the hatch open. In front of him, the British Captain sat quickly on the floor, swung his legs into the open space and pushed out into the night. Another commando followed his movements. When Gonzalez, Gator, both the British and Spanish Captains and the copilot had dropped through the hatch, Ridge closed it.
        "Oh, man. This is going to turn out badly." He looked at the pilot. "Let’s go," he said with resignation. The pilot turned the aircraft into the runway and pushed the throttles forward.
        "Time to call home," he said, shaking his head at Wales.
        On the ground, the five men reached the helicopter silently. Gonzalez stopped by the helicopter and looked around through his NVGs. One hundred yards away, Peruvian soldiers were coming out of hangar to investigate the lighting failure, hunching their bodies against the rain and wind.. Through his green world, he saw a soldier open a fuse box and point a flashlight at it. Gonzalez hoped they’d blame the storm for the damaged spotlight.
        One by one the commandos climbed inside the helicopter, the pilot sitting in the left-hand seat. He quickly scanned the instrument panel and took a deep breath.
        "All right," he mumbled, flicking on the master switch and the main generator. Inside the cabin, instruments, dials and lights came to life, casting a faint glow on the darkened faces of the commandos. He glanced over the panel, found the manifold pressure gauge and grunted in satisfaction. His hand hesitated briefly over the ignition switch. A whine echoed through the night as the turbine spluttered to life, turning the blades slowly. The Peruvians looked up at the helicopter and shrugged, kept checking the spotlight. The turbine pitch increased as the RPMs rose slowly to their maximum allowable setting, seconds dragging by.
        "Come on," wished Weston, the British Captain.
        Gonzalez kept his eyes riveted on the group of Peruvian soldiers. A door burst open and an officer rushed out, stared at the helicopter and started shouting at his troops, galvanizing them into life.
        "Oh-oh," muttered Gonzalez. "Now’s a good time," he shouted over the noise of the turbine. The Peruvian troops dashed towards the helicopter, closing on them quickly. Gonzalez saw muzzle flashed, the detonations reaching him milliseconds later.
        Oh, man, when the shit hit the fan it was going to go ballistic. He trained his laser rifle at the advancing troops and fired at their feet.
        The pilot twisted the throttle on the collective, keeping an eye on the temperature and torque gauges and, holding his breath, pulled the lever up. The helicopter shot up into the sky under full power. He pushed the cyclic forward and felt the helicopter RPM’s drop. Damn, he thought, too much collective. He pushed down on the lever, oblivious to the bullets that tore by the craft.
        The helicopter veered north, dipping low over the airport.

        Keller tore through a hedge and dove behind a large stone parapet. Behind him, the Marines and the civilians ducked as a bolt of plasma obliterated a tree a few yards to their left. The Marines were holding up, falling back on their training automatically but the civilians were terrorized. Keller was afraid they’d break down any minute, bringing trouble to the whole group. Fortunately, heavy rain was pelting around them, covering their tracks, quieting the noise they made and obscuring the moon, giving them added cover. He peered over the parapet and saw nothing. The had lost the Robot weaving through back yards, but something was firing at them.
        "TopCat," he called into his mike.
        "In position. I can see you but not our friend."
        "Keep your eyes open. I’m going to move left. Ready?" Keller stood quickly and took a running jump to his left. A bolt of plasma crossed over him, losing itself in the distance.
        "Got him," said TopCat. "Wait one." He trained his gun on the garden of mansion to his right, across the street and sighted through his scope. A car came into view, bright green in the eerie world of infrared enhanced light. He moved the rifle left; a tree, a driveway leading to a garage and a fence. He sighted back on the car and moved right this time. Another tree and an alien.
        "Our friend the gray," he muttered. He fired once. "Clear," he said into his mike.
        Next, Keller grabbed his radio.
        "Alpha, over," he said. He hoped Ridge would answer quickly.
        "Go ahead, one," came the Lieutenant’s voice loud and clear.
        "What’s the situation at your end?"
        "The Ambassador is safe. Hyper-X is returning home but you have a special pick-up on the way."
        "Say again. Hyper-X has left?"
        "Affirmative. Under orders. Gator is on his way in."
        Suddenly, the southerner’s drawl cut in.
        "We’re right heah, boss. Have y’all out in a flash. Expect us by helo in a few."
        Keller called to the Marines, explaining the situation. The idea was to stay mobile, giving the enemy little chance to pinpoint their position and less opportunity to corner them. So far they had spotted two Robots and a new contraption, a disk of sorts a meter and half in diameter, silver and floating about chest-high. More bad news.
        Maddigan, a block away, kept scanning the area through his scope. Beside him, the Spaniard scrutinized the surroundings. A fleeting shadow moved through Maddigan’s scope, making him jump. He followed the shadow and his throat went dry, the figure disappearing from his line of sight before he could shoot.
        "Boss," he said urgently. "Bad-ass bug heading towards you! From the north."
        Keller’s hairs raised on the back of his neck. He rounded everyone together in a tight circle and cautioned them. Moving now with bugs close by would be reckless. Better to stay put. Minutes dragged by and the only thing that moved was the rain.
        "TopCat, talk to me," instructed Keller.
        "Nothing. We’re going to move south a block."
        Next to him, the Spaniard tapped him on the shoulder.
        "Eh," he whispered. "Look." Maddigan glanced in the direction that Pedro indicated - he had found out that his team mates called him Pachi - and spotted another figure racing past a house.
        "Boss," he said again urgently. "Another one moving your way."
        Directly in front of Keller, twenty feet away on the side of a house, a group of bushes rustled. The Peruvian staff cringed terrified against him and he had to force them away.
        "Down," he hissed. And then to Marines: "Hold your fire." He flicked his NVG on and spotted a figure crouching in the bushes, moving slowly forward.
        "OK," he said. "It’s just a dog." A black Labrador emerged from the foliage and stopped, regarding them. Then it turned and started to growl, ears flat against its head. The bushes exploded as a Chrysalid burst through. It moved incredibly swiftly, bounding by the barking dog, headed towards the group of soldiers and civilians.
        Keller reacted first, opening fire with his laser rifle. The alien ducked wildly and the red blasts missed, destroying the shrubbery behind it. A Marine opened up with his M-16 adding to the noise. The bug was almost upon them when the first laser blast caught it in the shoulder. It reeled but kept moving. Five feet away, bullets and laser shots ripping into its chest it dropped with a horrid shriek. The Lab kept barking insanely.
        "Let’s go!" said Keller.
        
        The second Chrysalid came after them as they were crossing the street, bounding from the shadows. Maddigan saw it from the other side of the road and fired instinctively from his shoulder, dozens of light beams filling the air. The Chrysalid took a hit but kept on relentlessly, closing the distance in great leaps. The Spaniard was already up and running.
        Keller turned and fired from the hip, but the Chrysalid was too close. He braced for the impact.

        Area 51 - The Dinosaur Pen

        Cole poured over the text file, his body hunched over inches from the screen, mumbling softly to himself.
        "Well, Gandalf," he said finally, "seems there’s more to you than meets the eye!"
        Richards kept silent, waiting for the explanation. A second computer expert looked over Cole’s shoulder but failed to see the relevance of what was on the terminal.
        "Up till now," said Cole, relaxing back into his chair, "we’ve been dealing basically with double state qubits. That is, a single quantum bit is doing two things at once. But Gandalf," he continued jabbing a thumb at the screen, "is actually using simultaneous eight character registers."
        Dr. Susan Moore glanced at Richards and raised her shoulders, indicating that she was completely lost. Cole caught the gesture and pivoted the chair, facing both of them.
        "Let me explain. Let’s consider a register composed of three physical bits. In our world it would be able to store in any given moment of time only one out of eight different numbers, that is, the register can be in only one out of eight possible configurations such as 000, 001, 010, 011, 100, 101, 110 or 111.
        "However, a quantum register composed of three qubits can store in a given moment of time all eight numbers in a quantum superposition. Beautiful, isn’t it ?" he asked.
        "So, in theory, the system could compute eight operations at once," said Richards.
        "Correct. And our friend here is printing eight simultaneous messages to the screen, only they’re superimposed, so I only noticed one." Cole threw his head back laughing. "Little devil was actually putting us to the test!"
        Cole turned to the screen and brought up the e-mail program. He copied Gandalf’s address into a new message and typed quickly. Finished, he turned to a tech.
        "OK. Let’s upload it to the Net. Add an explanation of what it’s doing."

        Gandalf’s e-mail program beeped once. He grabbed his mouse and opened the incoming message, his face breaking into a grin. Then his jaw dropped.
        His program bore the ‘Approved by Cole’ signature. Figure trying to outsmart a legend!

        Lima

        Keller winced as the Chrysalid slammed against him, feeling the tremendous force knock him off his feet. He landed on his back, his lungs emptying with a whoosh.
        Panic. An image of the Chrysalid’s abilities flashed before his eyes. The Marine Sergeant splitting open.
        He thrashed with all his might, but the alien was too strong, slimy sinews wrapping around his neck. Above the screams of the Peruvian staff he could hear the horrifying hiss of the Chrysalid in his ear, warm breath on his face, an overpowering stench. He arced his back and tried to liberate himself, but was unable.
        A Marine backed up and raised his M-16, breathing hard.
        "Kill them," shouted the other one. The Marine hesitated, lowering his machine gun. Suddenly, resolve crossed his eyes and he raised his weapon.
        The Spanish commando crashed into him from behind, throwing him to the floor.

        Keller felt a strong blow against his stomach, driving the air from his lungs once again. His body was in full gear, thrashing from side to side violently, fighting the alien with all his strength. Red spots blurred his vision and he could hear the roar of his blood in his ears. His eyes bulged from the effort.
         He thrust his hand under the alien’s head and pushed with all his might, separating their bodies. He felt another blow to his midriff. He looked down in panic and saw a black tentacle retract into the alien’s body and then lash out a second time against his stomach.
        The Plastic-Ceramic suit held.
        Oh my God, he thought, realization dawning instantly. It’s trying to rip into my stomach, leave its egg inside me. Desperation invaded his mind and he redoubled his efforts, the cold hand of fear gripping his soul. He screamed through clenched teeth and dug his fingers into the alien’s jaw, trying to rip it’s head off, but his hands slipped on the slime that covered it’s leathery skin. The Chrysalid was incredibly strong.

        "The fuck you doing, man? We gotta kill them," shouted the Marine. The Spaniard silently dropped to one knee and leveled the laser rifle on the alien. Aim was complicated by the thrashing bodies but he knew he only had seconds. He fired.

        The Chrysalid took three shots in its side, the force flinging it off Keller. The Spaniard continued to fire, stitching the bug with laser bolts. It screamed horribly and emitted a final gurgle as it died.
        "Boss!" Maddigan arrived at a full run. "Everybody. Back up." The group of men moved back a few paces, keeping their weapons trained on the prone figure.
        Keller sat up with a start, breathing heavily. He held his hands to his head and then doubled over.
        "Boss?" asked Maddigan. "You OK?"
        Keller straightened and stood up slowly, sucking air in great gulps. He groped his middle and noted that the suit was cracked slightly open. One more blow and it would have given.
        "Yeah," he panted. "The armor...held...didn’t get...to me."
        "Steady everyone," cautioned Maddigan. Keller dropped to his knees and threw up violently. A few seconds later, he stood up again.
        "I’m all right," he said breathlessly. He looked at the Chrysalid with disgust and shivered. "We’re way open here. Let’s move." He looked at the others, saw the distrust in their eyes, the muzzles of their weapons pointed at him. Maddigan recovered suddenly.
        "Jesus, don’t scare me like that again!" He took three strides to his Captain and lay a hand on his shoulder. He glanced at the dead alien. "Nasty sumbitches," he said.
        Keller recovered quickly. No time to lose.
        "C’mon," he said. "We better move on."

        Cheyenne Mountain

        General Sachs looked incredulously at Hammet.
        "They’ve done what?" he said softly. The type of softly that implied danger.
        Hammet remained quite. He understood a question that was rhetorical when he heard one.
        "Stole a helicopter and opened fire on Peruvian military units?" said Sachs.
        "General, if I may." He removed the cigar from his mouth.
        Sachs moved his head imperceptibly. He had one chance and then all hell would break loose.
        "It was a combat decision and as such I’ll back it all the way. They had troops on the ground and the Peruvians weren’t cooperating. As a matter of fact and from what Lieutenant Ridge informs me, they were openly hostile."
        "You wouldn’t be?" asked the General quietly. "If you had a group of foreign soldiers marching down D.C., stealing helicopters? From my point of view, Colonel, the Peruvians have every right to be pretty pissed off."
        Hammet regarded him with his blue eye, stubbornly holding his gaze.
        "Jesus H. Christ," spat the General finally. Suddenly his phone buzzed. He snatched it angrily.
        "Hold the calls," he barked. He waited for a second, the receiver by his ear, and then looked up at the Colonel. "General Ortega of Peru’s Chief of Staff on the line." He sighed and said: "I’ll take the call."

        Lima

        The group progressed quickly until they found themselves blocked. The avenue continued south for another mile, offering them a glimpse of safety. Against the night sky they could dimly distinguish the color of the police sirens.
        The Robot in their path presented a serious complication.
        Keller cursed his luck. He stopped the group and pointed east, raising a finger. One block east.
        They cut through the front lawn of a large off-yellow house and trotted quickly around its side. And stopped cold.
        The disk hung motionless half a block away. Keller was about to order the group back when the disk fired. The beam commenced on the farther side of the disk, bisected itself in two, each half traveling one hundred and eighty degrees around the perimeter of the disk, finally joining with a bright flash of light in front of them.
        The power of the blast threw them off their feet, disintegrating part of the side of the house behind them. Keller rolled clear of the falling debris and fired his laser from a prone position. Maddigan and the Spanish squaddie added their own firepower, hitting the disk repeatedly with high energy shots.
        A second blast erupted from the alien object, destroying the tree that Keller crouched behind. The tree splintered and fell forward, branches crashing against the ground with a thundering noise. Bits of wood and leaves rained around them as they continued to fire.
        The disk wavered in mid air and exploded.

        Cyberdisk One Non-Functional.
        Last transmission from Remote Scout indicates seven Terran Units Class Eight, danger level increased from medium to high.
        Eliminate at all costs.
        The Tank’s systems upgraded to Mode Two as it raced towards the Terran’s last known position.

        Keller shielded his eyes as the disk blew, counted to three and then rose quickly.
        "Everyone, move," he said loudly.
        The group ran into the next street and kept going east. Better to put some distance between them and the Robot. They raced past another block of houses and into the following street. In the middle of it, a bus lay on its side, glass littering the ground around it, petrol drawing rainbow patterns on the asphalt.
        A dozen bodies lay around the bus, ripped open, blood washing away in the puddles formed by the heavy rain around their broken forms, resembling some sort of grisly satanic ritual.
        "Heads up, guys." He indicate the closest corpse, face contorted in a rictus of terrible pain, chest split open. "Bugs gotta be close."
        As if to lend truth to his words, a dark Chrysalid bounded out of the shadows, crossing parallel to their paths and stopping fifty yards away behind a parked car. Another one followed, closer, hiding behind the trunk of a large tree. Maddigan turned and saw several other aliens creeping towards them, always covered by cars, trees or other large objects. Slowly but surely surrounding them.
        The Spaniard was the first to see the Tank. He yelled a warning and then ducked as Rapid Fire Electromagnetic Guns ripped the ground around him.
        "Behind the bus!" bellowed Keller. He raced behind the overturned vehicle, firing off a dozen shots in the direction of the Robot. He noticed one of Peruvian staff panic and take off towards the protection of a house.
        "No," he yelled. Too late. A Chrysalid jumped from a nearby tree - God, he hadn’t spotted it, thought Keller - landing squarely on the maid’s back. They cowered behind the bus, checking for Chrysalids, as Elerium rounds thumped into the bus, rocking it with each hit.
        "Go to the house," said the Spaniard, pointing to a large house. "I cover you." Keller followed the Spaniard’s gaze and nodded; out here, they were sitting ducks..
        "Let’s go," he shouted and raced into the open. The Spaniard stepped from behind the bus and fired a long stream of shots at the advancing Robot. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted two Chrysalids leaping from the shadows.
        Keller fired at the door, blowing it clear off its hinges and dove into the relative safety of the house. Behind him, the group dashed up the front steps. A Marine cried out as a plasma shot caught him in the arm, blowing it cleanly off. He staggered and tripped, falling on the porch, laying there writhing in agony. The rest of the group managed to make it safely into the house, but Keller saw a Chrysalid already racing towards them. He stepped onto the porch and fired at the alien, catching it squarely in the head. The Chrysalid shrieked horribly, thick green blood splattering against his torn uniform, coming to rest in a heap at his feet. He grabbed the screaming Marine and dragged him inside.
        Keller looked back outside and saw the Spaniard cut down two Chrysalids. He shouted a warning but the Spaniard never noticed the alien that jumped down behind him from the top of the bus. Keller started to fire at the Chrysalid, shouting at the top of his voice.
        Suddenly, the wall around him exploded, as if a huge sewing machine were stitching its side. Maddigan grunted as an Elerium slug from the Tank’s Rapid Fire EM guns hit him in the shoulder, spinning him around. Keller dove to the floor, slugs zinging by his head. Outside, he saw with horror the Spaniard fall under the weight of the Chrysalid.
        "Back. To the back!" yelled Keller.
        He grabbed Maddigan, lifting him up and raced through a door into a living room. The house was deserted, or the occupants hidden and unwilling to make their presence known.
        He whirled at the sound resembling steel clicking together and spotted a Chrysalid appear through the door they had just crossed. Fired from the hip, missed as the alien retreated back. Keller grabbed the radio.
        "Gator, over." The radio cackled to life, static and the racket of the helicopter drowning the Sergeant’s voice.
        "We’re one minute away from the residence. Where are you?"
        "Go south about five blocks, then east four. Bus in the middle of the road. When I hear you, I’ll holler. Hurry, man!"
        "Roger," said the southerner. "Hold tight."
        A plasma shot from the Robot left a gaping hole in the front of the house, ripping furniture apart and tossing lamps and other objects in the air. The room was already nearly demolished. A Chrysalid crashed through a half broken window, tripping on an upturned chair and falling in front of them. It recovered quickly and leaped at them. Keller and the other Marine fired simultaneously a long salvo of shots, light and lead ripping the alien apart.
        "Jesus, man, we’re gonna die," wailed the Marine. "The hell..."
        "Shut up!" bellowed Keller. "Out the back. Chopper should be here any second. Move!"
        The group, or what remained of it crossed another door into a large comfortable room, its farther side occupied by large glass sliding doors that led into a rear garden. Keller, burdened by the weight of Maddigan, fired at the glass, shattering the panes. He grabbed a smoke grenade and tossed it outside, clearly hearing the thumping of the helicopter as it circled above, looking for them.
        "When the helicopter lands, run like hell!" he said.
        Terrorized faces assented dumbly, too shocked to argue.
        The wall on the farther side of the room exploded, chunks of it flying in all directions. A second plasma shot enlarged the hole, giving them a clear view of the Robot on the other side.
        "Outside. Now!" screamed Keller. He hefted Maddigan by his uninjured arm and dragged him out, moving as fast as he could towards the billowing smoke. The Marine, his buddy draped over his shoulders in a fireman’s hold, lumbered after them, the remaining Peruvian, wide eyed in fear, staying close by.
        A bright light illuminated the area as the helicopter descended like a rock towards the landing area. In the last moment, the pilot flared the craft, raising the nose and coming down hard on the landing gear. Four X-COM operatives hustled out, covering the area quickly.
        "Robot," yelled Keller above the racket of the helicopter. "In the house."
        As one man, the X-COM commandos turned their weapons at the house and fired simultaneously through the windows. Wind whipped around them from the helo’s downdraft, driving the rain stinging against their faces. Keller bundled Maddigan and the rest of the group into the helicopter and then yelled to the others above the din.
        As the helicopter rose into the night, Gonzalez continued to lay down suppressive fire on the extraction zone. The Robot stepped out into the garden, but the helicopter was already dipping low over the trees, heading south, leaving Chrysalids to scatter in the night.
        A close call. The Peruvians would have a nasty time clearing the area.

        "Pachi?" asked the Spanish Captain. Pedro Ortiz.
        Keller just shook his head and collapsed on the floor.

Thanks!

X-COM: UFO Defence is copyright 1996 by Microprose Software, Inc. All rights reserved.