Mysterious Black NSA(?) Screens

Below is a screenshot from the following YouTube video I made of a strange event on my old laptop back in 2021:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Y38c59YfAY

I count 4 windows that look like command prompts. They would appear on the screen for less than a second before vanishing, and only when I was connected to or about to connect to the internet. At the time, I'd had that laptop for 7 years and never seen anything like that. I've spent thousands of hours using computers of all sorts for 30+ years, and I'd never seen anything like that until 2021. The screens appeared rarely, and I was lucky I had my camera ready to capture this image. After I uploaded the video to my old laptop, I never saw the screens again. 

As a former NSA employee, I find all of this suspicious, and the most likely explanation seems obvious. 

Hired Raygun - part 6

 

The time came for the next mission. Once more into the breech, as the old saying goes. From the porthole, I could see a armada of warships. Some were bombarding the planet and other were regular troop transports like the one I'd been riding the whole time. I could see beams of plasma and waves of missiles raining down on the surface. Something really big was going down, and I was feeling ill-prepared for it. The briefing was vague and not much more than an introduction to the various vehicles the enemy was using. Their weak points were shown as were the best weapons for attacking them. Given the choice, I'd rather shoot vehicles than droids or anything man-sized. Aim small, miss small, as the old saying goes. It's always easier to hit a larger target, though often harder to destroy them. That's what the grenades and rocket launchers were for. Given that each of us of could only carry so many, that explained why so many of us would be fighting together in the coming battle.

Time to drop. We were going to be planet-side for a while, so our suits were outfitted with various injectors: nutrients, stimulants, and painkillers. Fighting hard without a good meal is a special kind of hell, and another hardship we'd be forced to endure. My companion and I both loaded up with bandoliers of grenades, a rocket launcher, and carried more rockets in backpacks. Otherwise, the only other weapon we carried was the liquid ammo pistol, but neither of us expected to use it. From the briefing, it looked like the enemy consisted only of tracked armored vehicles, which made me wonder why our side didn't have any to send to meet them. Too costly maybe? It was impossible to say, and the answer wouldn't have mattered anyway. Even so, it was stupid to send out armor without infantry or air support. I dreaded encountering either without suitable armament.  

We touched down in the staging area near several other friendly troop ships. A few kilometers in the distance, the battle was raging. The atmosphere of the planet conducted the sound of it well. It seemed to have a thicker atmosphere and higher gravity. For as far as the eye could see in every direction were the ruins of an immense bombed-out city. To my left and right, I could see maybe a hundred or so friendly troopers total. Of course, we weren't told how many of the enemy we faced which I took as another bad sign. The high gravity made our march to the frontline and agonizing trudge. Perhaps the gravity was the reason the enemy stuck to vehicles. It was out of sheer laziness. Why walk when you can ride in style and let the other dumb bastards fumble around. Given the difficulty of movement, it seemed like the best strategy was to find a good hiding place and ambush the tanks as they rolled by.

Various troopers made the "disperse" hand signal, and so I gradually found myself alone. Not too far in front of me were the ruins of a multistory building. I could see windows and holes, so that would give me various options to shoot from. Given the high gravity, relocating wouldn't be easy unless I could improvise something. I figured the best thing would be to wait for a convoy. That way I could disable the lead and rear vehicles and thus trap the ones in the middle. Then it would be easy to destroy the rest of them. I decided to stick to the highest floor I could reach in the hope that the enemy guns couldn't elevate high enough to shoot back at me. You'd be surprised how often tanks and even ships have been destroyed in combat because they couldn't point their guns high or low enough at the enemy. That gave me another idea. After using up the rockets from my perch, I'd try to come at the enemy from street level.  

It was an exhausting climb to the top of the structure, so much so that it would be a serious struggle to retreat even in a dire emergency. I wanted to ration my nutrients and stimulants as I had no idea how long I'd be out in the field. At some point, I'd most likely run out of ammo, in which I'd be forced to either lie low somewhere and wait for the evacuation signal, or make the long, slow journey back to the landing zone in the hope that the empire made an ammo drop from us. We'd been briefed about ammo drops, which was one of the few encouraging bits of news that came before we landed. Another advantage of having the high ground was getting an excellent view of the battlefield. I could see several enemy columns and how fast they were moving. So far, none were headed in my direction, so I decided to prepare a few fighting positions near my vantage point. I put a few grenades from my bandolier near openings on each side of the building. That lightened the load a little and so made it easier for me to move from one to the other.

If the enemy armored vehicles were anything like the ones on earth, the armor on the top would be the thinnest and easiest to penetrate. It occurred to me just then that the high gravity meant I'd need to greatly adjust my usual grenade throw, so I practiced tossing around a few chunks of rubble until I was confident I could hit the top of tank that was just under any of my fighting positions. It was a long wait for a column to roll past me. Though the streets were wide enough, they were choked with rubble, and that made it slow going for the enemy. Gradually, the sound of engines and treads became louder. I peeked out from a hole in a wall and saw a column of five tanks. All had sentry guns of some sort on top that were meticulously scanning for threats in all directions. I had no way of knowing what sort of sensors they had, but I was certain that if I used the rocket launcher, I'd quickly be in their sights.     

 

Grenades it is then, I thought. Good. Fortune favors the brave. I armed one, dropped it onto the top of the lead tank, and scrambled to the next fighting position. I barely made it two steps before the enemy sentry guns were lighting up where I'd just been a moment before. It was at this time I became concerned that a stray or ricocheting bullet would set off my grenade cache at that position. It was a stupid mistake not to move them farther from the opening. C'est la guerre. No plan survives the first 30 seconds of contact with the enemy. The good news was that while they were busy shooting at where I wasn't, I was able to arm another grenade and throw it onto the cupola of the trailing vehicle just as the first grenade exploded. Beautiful. I love it when a plan comes together, I thought. There was a good spot to throw grenades to destroy the other stranded tanks, so I decided now was the time to use the rocket launcher. 

I loaded the launcher and moved down a few floors. Given that my targets were stuck now, I could take my time in finding a good spot to take my shot. Assuming the tanks had crews, I figured the survivors would all be abandoning their vehicles and trying to escape. A few floors down, I found a suitable window and took aim. The rocket took off with a satisfying WOOSH and I immediately dove for cover. I repeated this action on the two remaining vehicles and thus exhausted my rocket ammo. Good riddance. That launcher was heavy as hell in normal gravity. I figured by this point I'd done enough for the cause, and it was time for a little rest. Using the control panel on my right arm, I gave myself a boost of nutrients and stimulants. My water IV was mostly full, so I let that run a little even though it meant I need to take a leak in the near future. Oh well, my own waste was the least of my problems at this point.   

If the enemy attacked my position again, which was likely, they'd attack in greater numbers and destroy the building from a distance. Thus, I had to move. I gathered my grenades and the rocket launcher and moved to the shorter building across the street. Even though the rocket launcher was useless for the time being, I kept it anyway in case I somehow got more ammo for it. Also, I pretty sure I'd get punished if I abandoned an expensive and functional weapon simply because I didn't feel like lugging it around. In retrospect, I really wish they'd just given us a grenade launcher and skipped the rockets. That would have simplified things. In a way, it was nice to know that an interstellar empire could still make boneheaded tactical mistakes like that. Nobody's perfect, no matter where you go in the universe. I made up my mind that I wasn't going to go back for ammo at the LZ until I ran out where I was. As it stood, I had 25 grenades left, and I wasn't sure how I'd use the rest of them.  

My mind would have been so much more at ease had I known 142 was nearby. Instead, most likely, it was fighting its own isolated battle, along with all the others. It made sense for us to split up the way we did, yet it dampened our morale. As it got dark, it became harder to see much of anything. It was against our implicit orders to return to the landing zone, but I decided to make the trek anyway. Distances always seem much longer in the night. As I gazed over the cityscape, the plumes of dozens of fires belched black smoke into the sky. We had hit the enemy hard at least, but at what cost? When I reached the landing zone, to my surprise and relief, there were dozens of jetpack type devices lying about. There were also many crates of extra rockets and grenades. Now this would make finishing off the remaining enemy easy work. It was dangerous to fly at night for various reasons, not the least of which was that flames from the exhaust would make me an easy target against the night sky. 

There must be something about high gravity planets that affects the weather. The sky was mostly overcast with a few stars and moons shining through here and there. Near the ground, a thick fog a few meters thick slowly slid across the ground. I made a few short flights to get the hang of the device. During some down time, we'd watched a training video on how to use the jetpack. It seemed self-explanatory, though the high gravity meant that I'd need to land carefully to avoid injury. At that point, I just wanted to finish the job, get off that awful rock, and have a nice shower. It's always the little things that make bad situations bearable. A little respite here and there goes a long way. I couldn't wait to be back aboard our ship with my partner and enjoying a nice hot meal all the other amenities on board. They were spartan accommodations, yet so much better than being stuck in the midst of a warzone. 

I really hoped 142 and I would survive the battle unscathed, but at that point there was no way of knowing. The enemy is always smarter than you think, and I dreaded whatever hostile surprises laid in store. It was one of those times when a stoic detachment was the only way to stay sane. 

Hired Raygun - part 5

We landed on the resort world, which reminded me of pictures I'd seen of Hawaii, except the colors were all different. The sand was pink, the sky purple, and the ocean was orange. Oddly enough, the atmosphere and other conditions were earthlike enough that I didn't need a spacesuit, nor did my companion. 142 came from a hardier race able to survive in a wide range of conditions. It told me that the planet was somewhat similar to its home world, which was covered in a shallow sea filled with archipelagos. One of the first things I noticed is we didn't have to pay for anything. The locals freely offered us food, drink, and trinkets. I guessed it was a tributary world or protectorate of whatever empire we were fighting for. It made sense that they didn't pay us until our discharge. Giving us any kind of money would reduce the leverage they had over us as well as making it harder for us to escape from them.

The ocean was pleasant enough to swim in. It seemed to be water, but whatever it was, it was safe for humans. I suspected some sort of dissolved mineral accounted for the odd color. It reminded me a bit of a hot spring, except the gentle breeze created mild waves like on a gulf coast. Overall, it was an idyllic place that I gladly could have stayed for months if not for the memories of family and home gnawing at me. The locals, while friendly, were a most bizarre species. As far as I could tell, they were telepathic shapeshifters. Depending on which of us was interacting with them, they would morph so as to resemble me or 142. One of them morphed into a very good imitation of a woman I'd been fantasizing about and beckoned me to follow it into a hut. I admit to being a bit curious, but in the end, I confess no desire to explore whatever strange new world was between the legs it had just grown. 

The creatures had trouble keeping the same shape for more than a few minutes. It was as though it required effort, like holding your breath, and whatever organs were involved had a limited capacity. Their default shape reminded me of an amoeba, and they were about the size of a large tire. Such creatures could be valuable as spies, and I began to wonder if that was the reason their planet had been conquered. Otherwise, their biology and anatomy greatly limited their military value. It seemed likely that whatever envoys had been sent them in the past merely presented them with an ultimatum that they must serve the empire or be annihilated. It was an uncomfortable realization that my employers essentially depended on various forms of slavery to keep their empire going. At least I was lucky enough to be an indentured servant rather than a chattel slave, but I wasn't going to get paid until my discharge, and I had no idea how many years away that was.

I tried to relax and enjoy the unusual luxuries. The food was much better than my usual rations, and the scenery far nicer than the interior of the cramped ship I had spent so many months in. I'd given up on keeping track of the time not long after a boarded the ship. The only thing that really mattered was how many years would go by on earth until my return. To pass the time, when I got tired of the beach, I hiked in the hills and forests around the resort and strolled through the local village. The amoeba people were industrious, and it was interesting to watch them shapeshift into various forms depending on whatever task they were doing. They were particularly adept at stretching themselves out in order to pick fruit from what looked to be trees. On the whole, a peaceful and helpful race. I felt sorry for their predicament as the unpaid servants of whatever mercenaries the empire dumped on their world to look after. 

Our vacation ended without fanfare. When our ship landed and the ramp was lowered, that was our cue to board immediately and leave. I was pleased that I was able to take many photographs of the place and collected a small assortment of baubles that I hoped to bring home as gifts. I was fairly sure that if my memory was wiped or if I got killed, my camera and other personal possessions would be returned to my next of kin. It comforted me that whatever happened next, there was some record of what I had experienced and where I'd been. My companion had likewise collected a few souvenirs. It implied it had made first contact, so to say, with a shapeshifter that impersonated the other gender of its kind. 142 was certainly more adventurous than me. We had spent so much time together and yet I still didn't know whether it was male, female, or whether such terms were even applicable to its species. It was all irrelevant anyway, as the only real rule we had was to look out for each other. 

Sometime later, perhaps a few days, we landed on the planet with the weapons range. It was every bit as harsh and desolate as the resort planet had been lush and pleasant. Dunes of ash gray sand stretched in every direction except for a few large rock outcroppings sporadically dotting the landscape. We were back to wearing our bulky spacesuits as the ambient temperature varied from well below freezing at night to boiling hot during the day. The planet was baked by a trio of red giants whose shapes dominated the daytime sky. As for the weapons range itself, it was located in a rocky field bordered on three sides by cliffs. There were shot up mechanical hulks of various sizes littering the field. Some were larger than any machine I'd ever seen, which made me nervous about whatever enemies we'd be fighting next. This feeling got worse when the teaching droids introduced us to the larger weapons in the arsenal.

     

They handed me some kind of shoulder-fired weapon and indicated that I fire at one of the larger piles of wreckage a few hundred meters away. When I shot, a projectile like a rocket zoomed out and caused a massive explosion when it hit. It looked like a mushroom cloud from a nuclear blast except much smaller. I doubt it was actually a nuclear weapon as our masters were likely vulnerable to radiation poisoning too and didn't want to turn planets into wastelands if they could avoid it. If I had to guess, it was some kind of thermobaric weapon, just much more powerful. I'd heard such devices described as rocket-propelled flamethrowers. The thought of nuclear weapons got me wondering if the empire had ever used them. If they had faster than light travel, then surely, they had atomic bombs and such. Perhaps, just as on earth, there was a kind of stalemate brought on by the threat of mutual assured destruction. 

The next weapon was similar to a hand grenade, except it stuck to surfaces and so could also be used for demolition. It exuded colored smoke which slowly turned from blue to red. It was a convenient way of letting the user know how much time was left until it exploded. They could be thrown or launched from a bazooka-type device. Its blast was immensely powerful, and I was no longer concerned about going up against armored vehicles so long as I had such explosives. I remembered reading about something called an ampule gun. It was used in one of the big wars on earth hundreds of years ago. Basically, it shot a glass bulb full of flaming liquid. It was used against vehicles and area targets. That's what the alien grenades reminded me of. 

So yeah, 142 and I played around some more with the new bang-bang toys for the next few hours. After that, instead of returning to the ship, they told us to bivouac in the wreckage. I guess it was psychological conditioning of some sort. Some of the hulks in the distance were still burning from what we'd shot at them. It was going to be a long night. We didn't have to, but decided to take turns sleeping in shifts, since that's probably what we'd need to do in the real thing. I remember nudging 142 awake. I tried to be gentle, but the guy was a heavy sleeper. When it was my turn, it threw a rock at my leg to wake me up. I didn't blame it for getting rough. Our lives were in each other's hands. Because we were both stuck in our suits for more than a few hours, I and I presume it, had to answer the call of nature several times. This is the sort of thing you don't learn about in war movies or comic books. Sitting in your filth and waiting for the sun to come up.

In this case, we had to wait for all three suns to come up, which took a lot longer than I expected. The ship landed, the gangplank extended, and we trudged aboard. I signaled that 142 could disrobe and shower first. A few more minutes in my soiled power armor wasn't going to kill me. Then it was my turn, and man did that shower feel good. Any fool who blabs about the glory of battle has never felt his pelvis drenched in his own human waste. At least the rations we got afterwards were better than usual. I ate with 142 on purpose as a show of solidarity. We offered each other bites of our rations. Later, for the sake of honesty and comradery, I mentioned that before I did not eat with it because it made annoying sounds while it ate. 142 replied that likewise, I had made disturbing sounds while I ate. Having reached this new and refreshing understanding, we resolved to eat alone from then on.  

Like I said before, it's hard to explain exactly what we said to each other because it was all through pantomime and showing each other pictures on our wrist screens. Even so, for what mattered, our communication was clear enough. I pondered how many times in history where the language barrier had only been partially breached, and yet that was enough to enable all kinds of expeditions and other cross-cultural cooperation. In the late Roman Empire, many of its soldiers either didn't speak Latin at all or only as a second language. The French Foreign Legion all learned French as a foreign language. What I found in my interactions with various aliens was that the most important thing was the desire to understand and be understood. Mutual respect was always the key. 

We had some more downtime before the next mission, but there were many more briefings. It was hard not to get rattled. It was hard to understand who exactly we were up against next, but they certainly were no pushovers. As far as I could tell, they were a mechanical race who originated on a high-gravity planet. Consequently, their war machines were as big and tough as they come. No wonder we'd gotten training on heavy weapons. I wish I could have written a letter home because I had serious doubts about my survival. The both of us spent more time at the ship's range with the lighter weapons, though this was mainly to boost our own morale. We were definitely going to die if we couldn't figure out a way to use the heavy weapons to the greatest advantage against our colossal foes. 

Once more, I asked 142 to join it in prayer. I did my best to explain that I was not religious myself but felt it best to pray anyway. There are no atheists in foxholes, no matter what planet they're on, I guess.