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THE BABE - WITH TEETH
I later found out her name was Barbara LeFang. I met her last week in, well you know, one of those bars. Business had been great and I wanted to celebrate. Honest, I had only a couple drinks when she walked by my table. Little did I know she would drastically alter my life when she sat down at the bar near me. Most of the women at this remote outpost on Apodia Five were missing a tooth or two from fights in bars just like this one. I oughta know, I’m the only dentist in this section of the galaxy and I’ve seen some pretty horrible mouths– especially on women. Why women get into so many bar fights here is a mystery, but they do, at least ten times as many as men according to the stats. The news junkies here are big on stats. Go figure!
Barbara was different. Had all her pearly whites neat and straight. And yes, I was celebrating! Lately I’d had a run of major rebuilds on mouths busted up in local bar fights and my cash box was overflowing. Yes, cash! Mostly hard cash at that. No CCs or DCs here, no credit or credits of any kind, no checks or IOUs. Even paper money, registered Centuars, are discounted at least fifty percent. Coin of the realm, gold, platinum or even diamonds for major purchases is the rule. Sure, It’s a bit archaic, but this far from civilization no one trusts anyone. Everyone caries a Waxtal analyzer to check on coin quality and value. A small price to pay to prevent being cheated.
My little sign, Dentist, Reasonable Fees was on the table in front of me. It was about the best way I had found to advertize my services. Just after I saw her eyeing my sign, she took her fresh drink from the bar and ambled over to my table.
“May I join you?”
What could I say but, “Of course. Any particular reason?”
“I saw your sign and thought you might be interested in what I do.”
“Yea? What’s that?”
“Let’s say I’m a dental hygienist looking for a dentist to hire me.”
“A dental hygienist? Lady, most of my clients are lucky just to have teeth, especially the females. About all I do is rebuild busted mouths. My operating room hasn’t seen a prophy in fifteen years.”
“I’m a very special kind of dental hygienist. Do preventive care you might say. I can help your clients to not lose their teeth in the first place, fights not withstanding.”
“If my clients don’t lose their teeth, I’m out of business. Right off the top, I don’t like your preventive care.”
“How much do you think you could charge if you promised . . . no guaranteed their teeth would be beautiful permanently and you would never have to rebuild their mouth again?”
“Aw, c’mon now. No one would believe that.”
“Even if you could prove it to them . . . convincingly?”
“How in hell could you prove that?”
“Very easily. I can do it right away if you’re game.”
“Lady, I have no idea what kind of con you’re trying to pull, but I’m not buying.”
“Even if I took one of your patients and made their smile beautiful and indestructible?”
By this time I was getting tired of her little game, yet I was still curious. “What’s it gonna cost me?”
“You provide me with your worst patient in your office and I will do a single demo for absolutely nothing. Free!”
“And if I fall for it . . . if it actually works?”
“I want fifty percent of all your fees my services provide.”
I couldn’t believe I was actually going to let her work on one of my patients. “OK! I’ll let you do a demonstration and if I like it we have a deal.”
“How soon can we get started?”
“How about tomorrow morning at nine? I have a patient in mind, Lowiece Grenby. She has already had three rebuilds and now needs a fourth scheduled for that time. She only has about five real teeth in her mouth. The rest are all bridges and crowns, a really shaky situation.”
“I’ll be at your office at seven as it will take me some time to set up my equipment. Is that OK?”
“No problem!”
As soon as we agreed, she left. I was wondering just what kind of scam I had gotten myself into. I just had to find out. Curiosity certainly killed more than cats.
Next morning at seven she was at my office with a small truck and a large black piece of equipment that looked very ominous. It took us fifteen minutes to muscle it into the building and into my spare treatment room.
“What do we do now? Where’s the power cord?”
“It has its own power supply. Doesn’t need a cord.”
“OK! How do we work this thing?”
“We don’t! . . . I do!”
“OK! So how do you work it?”
She opened the front, bottom-hinged panel and there was a chair and a gadget that looked like a large space helmet only without a visor, with a large cable attached to the obvious rear of the device. The cable led to a box under the chair.
“Now! All we need is your patient.”
“I figure the helmet thing goes over the patient’s head, but what’s inside?”
She picked it up, turned it over and pulled out what looked like one of those form-fitting mouth guards attached to the inside of the helmet with another stout cable. She smiled as she told me, “This is the business end of my system. The patient places it in their mouth and holds it firmly. I place the helmet over their head, fasten the straps and turn it on. In about half an hour they have a nice new set of indestructible teeth in place.”
“That’s all there is to it? You’ve got to be kidding.”
“That’s it! . . . Job over . . . I get paid . That is every time after this demo I use my machine . . . I get paid.”
“How do I know it will work?”
“Simple! . . . Just try to damage or remove one of her new teeth.”
“Ha! One crunch with my forceps and your job will be wrecked,”
“Ha yourself. More likely your forceps will be wrecked.”
“We’ll find out soon enough. Miss Grenby should be here shortly.”
When we introduced Miss Grenby to Barbara, my new hygienist her smile showed that about half of her teeth were missing. When we ushered her into the room she looked a bit apprehensively at the strange chair we asked her to occupy.
“Don’t worry! It’s a new technique I’m sure you will like . . . a lot!” I assured her.
Barbara explained, “Here! Put this piece in your mouth and bite down hard. It will immediately reshape to fit your mouth and existing teeth. And don’t worry! This will not hurt a bit. . . . Really!”
“Go ahead Lowiece! It’s OK!”
Once she bit down on the mouth piece she relaxed noticeably. She did not move or utter a sound as Barbara placed the helmet over her head and fastened the straps. She sat motionless and uncomplaining, very unusual compared with her usual stream of questions and non-stop chatter.
“The system uses a powerful tranquilizing system.” Barbara explained as she stepped back. “Now, let’s leave the room. Just consider that as an X-Ray machine and stay away from it as it does its job.”
“What about Lowiece? Isn’t it dangerous to her?”
“Like X-Ray, emanations from the machine are perfectly harmless at low doses, but can accumulate and do considerable damage over repeated and long term exposure.”
“That I can understand, but what kind of emanations?”
“Even if you were a particle physicist I would have a hard time explaining it to you. Let’s just say it’s doing some serious quantum gyrations and leave it at that.”
With that I began to worry a bit. What in hell was I putting my patient through? “You’re sure . . . absolutely sure that this will not harm Miss Grenby?”
“Not in the least. In fact, she will probably feel better than she has in her entire life.”
“I’m still quite skeptical you know.”
“In about half an hour you will be both surprised and reassured. Why don’t we just sit back and relax ‘til it’s over? Just remember our bargain.”
The emphasis she placed on those last words concerned me a bit. In fact, I was getting more nervous as each minute ticked by. By time it was over I was almost a basket case.
As Barbara headed for the patient she grinned broadly and remarked, “Bargain time!” as she pressed the remote control and turned the machine off.
Lowiece began to move in the chair as Barbara lifted the helmet off. Lowiece was bright eyed and animated as the cable was unplugged from the mouthpiece.
Barbara explained, “The mouthpiece has formed closely around her teeth as you can see. I will peel it off slowly and you will see a new and completely indestructible set of teeth.”
I was amazed as was Lowiece when she looked in the mirror. “I can’t believe it!” she exclaimed with a broad smile. “My teeth have never looked so great!”
After several minutes of shared amazement . . . I was more amazed then Lowiece. I checked her mouth and it was flawless.
“Now for the acid test.” Barbara said smiling as she led us into the other treatment room and motioned for Lowiece to sit in the chair. “Dr. Dunning will now demonstrate the indestructibility of your teeth.”
“What do you want me to do.”
“Forceps, you idiot. Try to pull one of her teeth.”
“I couldn’t do that.”
“You will, or I will. Take your pick. I said this was a demo so try to prove me wrong.”
Reluctantly I took out a set of forceps and proceeded to try to remove an upper central. I was very gentle at first, but when Lowiece said she was feeling no pain I tried harder and harder. Now I have done literally thousands of extractions and when I braced my other arm against her forehead and wrenched with all my might it not only didn’t budge, but Lowiece said it didn’t hurt a bit.
“Now, do you believe me?” Barbara said with a smile. “Let me show you something.”
With that she took the forceps from my hand and belted Lowiece directly in the mouth with all the force in her considerably strong arms. Other than her head snapping back a bit from the blow it was as if nothing happened. No blood! No broken teeth! No pain! This was far more than I had bargained for. Lowiece was delighted as she began realizing just what this meant.
“Wow! Doc, your new machine is a marvel. I can’t wait to tell everyone of my friends. My enemies will find out about it soon enough.”
“Now Lowiece, don’t be too hasty.” I said sounding like an old school teacher.
“It will take some time for you to get used to your new mouth so be cautious.” Barbara warned.
Several days later and after we had repolarized numerous other patients we learned that Lowiece had nearly killed a woman in a bar fight after the woman hit her in the mouth with a beer bottle. The news announcer expressed amazement at her lack of injury from the bottle and the fight that ensued.
After that publicity my practice grew by leaps and bounds. Even though I raised my fees to triple what I had been charging I could hardly keep up with the new patients. Or should I say Barbara could hardly keep up. All I had to do was rake in the loot. When a patient asked her last name, I realized I had never done so. I was not surprised by, LeFang, the big tooth, as she certainly made it big in the tooth business.
Six months later most of the personnel at the outpost on Apodia Five, about nine hundred individuals, had been made indestructible. Oh yes, after treatment their entire bodies became indestructible, not just their mouths. I, of course, was among those treated. Barbara finally admitted to me that her machine not only regenerated mouth and tooth tissue, nerves, dentin, enamel and all, but it also changed the very atomic structure of each atom in the body. Quantum repolarization she called it. Roughly the energy expended in a blow is reversed or bounced back into the matter of the striking object. That’s about all I could fathom, but the result is obvious . . . indestructibility.
Then the ship arrived. It was just a small ship, with room for no more than a few hundred individuals and it had only a crew of five. When they disembarked we received a shock. The five crew members reported to Barbara, saluted (at least that’s what it looked like) and proceeded with her to outpost Commander Quelter’s quarters. We were all escorted to the compound around his quarters for an announcement. The announcement from the commander:
“To every member of Apodia Five. All but a few of us have been repolarized as you know. The rest will soon be given the same treatment. I have been informed that in spite of what it may seem, we are not indestructible. I repeat, we are not indestructible. The weapon each of the crew of the ship, Freedom holds will instantly depolarize anyone struck by its Q-Ray. Though the repaired parts of their bodies will remain, they will no longer be indestructible. We are all now to be trained for an armed force that will, according to the crew, begin systematically conquering the entire galaxy. Those who are willing to join this force will be accepted as comrades. Those who do not will be eliminated. Do I make myself clear?”
Commander Quelter was visibly shaken as he spoke. The resounding “Yes!” throughout the compound was obviously driven by fear, not enthusiasm.
“Great!” Quelter continued. “About half of us will board Freedom in just ten hours. The rest will remain here for the second ship which will arrive a few hours after the first one leaves. Don’t take anything with you as everything needed will be provided aboard ship. Now, those of you who are notified to be in the first group, do what you will, but be at the ship at 0200 sharp. We intend to leave at 0300 on the dot. See you aboard.”
It took me almost an hour, but I managed to get to talk to Barbara.
“Can you tell me what this is all about?”
“Well, I suppose since you were so helpful, I’ll give you a special job. You can repolarize the remaining members of the outpost. That means you’ll be on the second ship.”
“But why? What’s it all about, conquering the entire galaxy?”
“Doc, don’t concern yourself about it. Being indestructible, I doubt we’ll see much real combat. It should be a piece of cake.”
“But your guys have those depolarizing weapons. Suppose some others have them as well?”
“Impossible! Now I’ve got to go. Conquests to plan and all that rot. You understand.”
“I guess.” was all I got out before she turned and hurried off toward the commander’s building.
By the time I had finished repolarizing the rest of our little army . . . these were for free, it was just a half hour before Freedom was to lift off. I walked around my office and looked longingly one final time at the store of precious metals in my safe. I could have lived like a king, passed through my wistful mind. Oh well, easy come, easy go. I locked my safe– yea, stupid, useless effort that it was– and stepped out my door for the last time to head for the launch pad where we were to board the second ship. As I walked down the mostly deserted street a shadow fell over me. It was far too early for the second ship and the first one wasn’t to leave for at least fifteen minutes, but that shadow was definitely caused by something big . . . something very big.
One blinding, silent red flash, then another and I stumbled to the ground from what seemed like a physical impact. My knee started bleeding. For me at least, physical normalcy had returned.
It was about six months later and I was entertaining friends at that same bar. I was the new owner- all that gold and platinum you know– we were discussing how wrong Barbara had been about depolarization, and how the federation starship had turned us all back to normal, destroyed the repolarization machine and hauled Barbara and her buddies off to the hoosgow, all without a single fatality. I had to defend my being the only one to have profited from the venture. In my defense I did have to remind them that the whole incident had put Apodia Five on the galactic map and we were being inundated with tourists which meant huge profits for the locals. We even got a federation bank and useable credit cards. The bar fights between women almost ceased completely and the new dentist, Dr. Gleason– I sold him my practice– wasn’t making out so well. There went the neighborhood.
Howard Johnson - July 16, 2007
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THE LOOP
Shaar slowly became more and more aware of herself. "What's happening?" she thought as a wave of unease flowed through her mind just as she realized she had arms and legs. Her mind was so sluggish. Like trying to run in a dense gravity field.
Shaar tried to move, but couldn't quite remember how to make a limb respond, or why she should. This whole experience was starting to feel familiar which was comforting. "It'll be all right," she thought. "I'll figure this out in a moment or two." If only she could remember where or who she was. Then it all came back with a flash and she screamed.
As the scream died in her throat and her mind climbed back into sanity, Shaar once more evaluated her situation and options. She had lived this same deja vu so many times. Fear filled, thoughts of insanity again flashed through her mind and were gone. Furiously, she fought for control and immediate action. Her hands scrambled for the computer console as plans and actions found order and demands in her mind.
The time loop reconstituted her body and ship to exactly what and where it was when she began the test. Her memory alone continued in linear time, each rerun starting where the last one had completed. No matter how many physical records she made during a loop they were all gone when the next one started. Computer memory, log book, note pads, camera images, voice recordings, even computer programs all returned to the precise condition they were in when she first reached the point of no escape. The only thing that did not return to the start was her memory. Each loop lasted precisely two hours, thirteen minutes and eleven point nine seconds, the exact time it first took her ship to go from the point of no escape to the event horizon of the black hole.
By this time she knew the drill precisely. She would be mentally alert until about thirty seconds before the end. During those thirty seconds her senses would grow duller and her mind would “fuzz” out until she lost all mental faculties. She became a consciousness with no input, no memory and no senses - a mental black hole. The reverse of the process at the start of the next loop brought on a massive surge of unbelievable fear as her senses and memory returned. Each time her hands whitened as the surge of fear closed her grip on the console a bit harder. Immortality in an unending cycle of a bit more than two hours at a time promised a maddening future. She often thought of suicide, but feared the outcome when she would be reconstituted in the next cycle.
Incredibly it was not the same experience each time, just the same point of restart. She tried countless strategies to break out of the loop using the main jump drives in every conceivable configuration. Frustration gripped her a bit more at each failure. It was doubly frustrating to realize that no matter how much power she used, the fuel charge was always back to 89% when a new loop began. She wondered if she was really cycling in universal time and if each new start was actually the same as the last. If so, how could her memory be linear? Her mind crawled with question of how and why she could remember clearly actions she took twenty, fifty or several hundred loops previous?
She tried sleeping once, but it had been an emotional disaster of thinking just why her memory continued for all of the two hundred and seventy-four time circles since the first. Shaar decided she didn’t need sleep, being in effect rejuvenated every few hours.
She thought about Kiaho and their daughter Minia’i and cried. Shaar volunteering for this dangerous mission was her response to the pain of their tragic deaths. She was given a fifty-fifty chance of survival by the engineers and physicists who designed this entire program to further black hole research. Theoretically, she was to “sling shot” around the black hole right at the point of no escape and be able to make it back. Things do not always go as planned and in the few minutes it was supposed to take the ship to “slingshot” around the black hole while avoiding the event horizon, disaster took control. Unexpected forces overwhelmed everything she did to hold the carefully calculated trajectory. Instead, she spiraled from the point of no return and into the event horizon in an almost infinite number of circumnavigations, each one a bit faster than the last. The hopelessness of her efforts in this gravity maelstrom ate at her mental control as she spiraled in to what she knew would be her doom. The first recycle started a growing mix of wonder, incredulity, frustration, fear and a thousand other emotional blasts which, by this time, ricocheted through her brain creating stabs of pain at each impact.
At the current moment she fought for mind control to train herself in setting up the computer to search for a way to break the loop. Each time she managed to be a bit faster, to get a bit farther. Infinitesimal hope grew and overpowered the demons of failure that dogged her as she drove her mind faster and faster. Maybe this next time she would succeed. Hope was all she had along with a generous dose of determination and grit. Holding all this information in her memory and planning for the next rerun was all she could do. She was learning and gaining, but the damning fear of impossibility clawed at her vitals.
She was now working at a frenetic pace, knowing the end of the current loop would soon engulf her in the unknown. Mostly, she was memorizing what she was doing so her effort would go faster and farther next time. Still, fear stalked her every step, no matter how she tried to empty it from her mind. The gnawing fear of being caught in this loop forever was a very real terror hiding just below the surface, ready to engulf her. She would prefer death, but even that might prove impossible.
Thoughts of what she might find if ever she broke out of the loop also plagued her. Would her world still exist? Maybe she would come out in a distant time and place. Even the death that type of scenario ensured would be preferable to living forever in an infinite time trap.
She was slowly making headway with her programming and training. If she could time a strong blast from the main control thrusters. close to the start of the loop, maybe it would move the ship far enough out from the event horizon that the main jump drive would work into the originally planned trajectory. Unfortunately, She would have to complete the entire sequence very close to the beginning of a loop. This meant coming out of that state of bare consciousness quick enough to enter the program from memory and execute it within the first minute or so. Each time she missed, she spent the two plus hours driving herself, training her mind and body to enter the program quickly without mistakes. She was desperately practicing entering the program when a slight fuzziness heralded the end of the current loop. Shaar wasn’t ready for that yet. “Damn!” she cursed, quickly faded into nothingness and became a bare consciousness once more.
Shaar slowly became more and more aware of herself. "What's happening?" she thought as a wave of unease flowed through her mind just as she realized she had arms and legs. Her mind was so sluggish. Like trying to run in a dense gravity field.
Shaar tried to move, but couldn't quite remember how to make a limb respond, or why she should. This whole experience was starting to feel familiar which was comforting. "It'll be all right," she thought. "I'll figure this out in a moment or two." If only she could remember where or who she was. Then it all came back with a flash and she screamed.
Howard Johnson - January 19, 2007
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THE GREAT ONE
And the priest said to me, “Pray to the Great One and he will guide and protect you. In our homeland, he alone withstood the terrible time of destruction.” So I prayed to the Great One, to the all-powerful visage of the one standing in the sacred cave temple and my very prayers were answered. Indeed, I walked through battles unscathed. No harm fell upon me or mine. Triumphantly did I walk over my enemies who fell before me.
And the priest said further, “Follow the way of the Great One and all things will be yours. The very land will do your bidding and all the creatures thereof will be servants unto you.” So I did follow the way of the Great One as ordained by the great and powerful words of the priests. My land did become fruitful and the great and the small creatures of the land paid homage to me and did my bidding. My days were full of joyful toil and my nights did ring with laughter and rest with quiet peace.
One day I asked of the priests, “Why giveth the Great One these things of joy and pleasure to me?” And the priests answered, “Do not question; only pray, obey and follow the way of the Great One and you will be always happy.” But sadly, my heart was troubled. Question after question bred only more questions and I became obsessed with finding the answers. I sought among the people, asking of them the answers to my questions. Even those who had been my friends turned from me saying, “Do not ask these questions! We are not to know!”
And it finally came to pass that I made the long pilgrimage to the sacred cave of the Great One to ask the questions. Had not he protected me in battle and destroyed my enemies? Had he not done as the priests and the people said and given me more even than I asked from the land and the creatures? Surely, the Great One would answer the simple quest of a loyal follower. I entered the sacred cave and walked among the worshipers. As I finally stood before the Great One in his temple, my very knees shook. He stood so powerfully tall in his beautiful bright reds and quiet blues. His four green eyes shown brightly from his orange forehead, high as the tallest trees in the forest. His upper two arms crossed powerfully on his broad chest while his lower arms held the sacred symbols. Cradled in his crossed legs was the Pot of Plenty with its golden brown cover gleaming in the dim light. “Surely the all-powerful Great One would be pleased to answer my simple request,” I thought.
Then in quiet, careful tones I began asking all the questions of my mind and heart and soul. I waited resolutely for the answers. Being patient and obedient, I knelt and meditated while the Great One pondered my questions. After some time, the silence weighed heavily on me and I again asked the troubling questions. Once more I knelt and patiently waited the answers.
The darkness came and then the light and yet again the darkness, yet still no answering words came from the Great One. I asked and waited again and again with less and less patience each time. “Perhaps the Great One is asleep,” I thought suddenly, though his green eyes shone brightly in the dim light of the temple in the cave. I crept slowly to the altar and thrust my staff to strike the Great One gently on the knee to awaken him. Several times did I tap his knee, each time more vigorously than before. Growing bold with eagerness and anxiety I vaulted onto the altar and shouted to the Great One, “Awake! Awake! Your loyal servant seeks of you some answers to his quest!”
The silence bore down on me like a black, enveloping cloud of fear, stirring me to more desperate and violent action. I screamed again and again and beat mightily upon the Great One with my staff in growing madness. The people fled from the temple in terror as a thunderous rumble filled the high-walled room and I was engulfed in a blinding cloud of reddish dust. I realized I had seen my staff pass into the Great One’s body at my last savage blow. A large crack shot upward in blackness to his face in the instant before I was blinded by the red brown cloud. Quickly as the rumble began it ceased. Had the terrible sound been the Great One’s answer? I stood in fear and trembling as the reddish dust settled slowly and quietly to the floor of the temple, my eyes locked closed in fright. Would the Great One destroy me for this insolence?
When finally the silence bore too heavily upon me, I slowly opened my eyes. Suddenly, a new terror struck; the Great One was gone! My eyes opened wide to survey the frightening scene. In the growing light I could see the altar clearly, but there was nothing behind it. Looking down at my feet I saw potsherds strewn deeply about the altar and the floor of the temple. Behind the altar where the Great One had been was a great pile of broken pottery of many colors. Suddenly, I stood transfixed. There, midst the potsherds, glowing green and unmistakable, was an eye of the Great One. Overcoming my fear, I jumped to the floor behind the altar and picked it up. It was common brown pottery covered with bright green glaze. There, on the floor, leaning against the back of the altar was a large brass plaque with words engraved in the ancient and long forgotten tongue I had once seen before, but could not understand.
The words on plaque:
“The largest piece of fired pottery ever created. This piece designed and fabricated by the East Liverpool Pottery Combine, East Liverpool, Ohio. Made for the Great Lakes Exposition - August 23, 1935.”
Howard Johnson - April 1967
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CHARLES MILLER - "C"
Dr. Charles Botkin dropped his lean frame into the window seat of the 757. Headed home for a visit, he looked forward to seeing the farm and his family again. As the plane flew east from Los Angeles toward Chicago, the loquacious Charlie was soon engaged in animated conversation with the young woman in the next seat. After the usual exchange of destinations, reasons for traveling, and a little idle chit chat, Charlie started telling her about the uncle he was named for.
“I’ve run across a very difficult technical problem I hope my uncle can help solve. That’s the main reason for my trip.”
“Are you a student? I believe you said you were at Cal Tech.”
The youthful-looking Charlie chuckled. “Actually, I’m sort of a grad student,” he replied. Charlie found strangers treated him more openly as a student than as a professor and much less explaining was needed. “I have a wonderful uncle who has a unique way of looking at things and may be able to help.”
‘Crazy’ Charlie, as his friends called him, was sort of a maverick genius. He graduated from Purdue at seventeen with degrees in Physics and Math. He then went to Cal Tech for his doctorate and has been there ever since. A genuine wild card, an unconventional thinker and personality, and a capable rock musician, his hair and dress make you think of him as anything but a serious scientist. One of the pioneers in the application of quantum physics to cosmology, he was a world renown leader in his field by the time he reached twenty-seven.
“And you’re going clear back to Indiana just to see him? He must really be someone special.”
“Actually, my mother named me for him, and he is definitely special. To all but a hand full of people, my uncle Charlie is an eccentric old man with a checkered past, a tendency to tell tall tales, and a very unlikely source of acceptable knowledge. We all call him “C” and I was probably seven before I knew his real name. He’s my mother’s older brother and considered a real maverick by the entire family except my mom and me. My mom told me all about his life before I knew him. According to her, he married a beautiful young woman who left him after four years to pursue a career as a movie actress. Mildly successful, she had small roles in many pictures. C never tried marriage again although he had several long term relationships which eventually went sour. Everyone suspected he never got over his first love. After that, he embarked on a nomadic life of searching. He did so many offbeat things in his life he was hard to define in a few words. He made a great deal of money on one venture, only to lose it all on another, ill-fated one. After that he worked hard to pay his debts and managed to build himself a small fortune. He gave a portion of this to my parents so they could acquire some additional land adjoining the farm. In his late forties he embarked on a six-year trip through the far east which completely exhausted his remaining fortune. When he found himself stranded and out of money in the Philippines, my folks scraped up enough money for his ticket home. With no place to live, he stayed on the farm for several months with my folks. I had just started school when he came to live with us.”
“My, he sounds like a wild one.”
“Not wild, but certainly a wanderer. He soon built a neat little cabin next to a pond in a wooded area on the farm. The woods and the pond remained relatively undisturbed since loggers cut all the useable timber back in the late eighteen hundreds. It was 1979 and I was fascinated and delighted to help C build his cabin. During the next few years I spent many wonderful times listening to stories of Uncle C’s adventures around the world. One of C’s passions was his life-long collection of books which completely filled the shelves on two walls of the main room of the cabin. There were texts on a wide variety of subjects from Astronomy to Zoology, several sets of encyclopedias and quite a bit of fiction, from the classics to Jules Verne and several modern authors. Stacks of National Geographic and several scientific magazines filled the lower shelves on one wall of the room. All had been stored carefully at the farm until he built his cabin. I read constantly from those books and magazines.”
“Sounds like a wonderful experience. He must care for you a great deal.”
“And I for him. That’s for sure,” Charlie said just a bit misty eyed. After a moment of wistful remembering, Charlie continued. “C has a great workshop too. It is the largest of the three rooms in the cabin. He has tools fitting many trades. When I was little, one corner of his workbench was devoted to the assembly of one of the new computers that were just beginning to hit the electronic hobbyist market. I was fascinated by this new gadget and worked on it with C every chance I had. By my ninth birthday, I was a bonafide computer whiz.”
“Is that what you’re studying, computers? I’m fascinated by them, but only use one at work. I haven’t a clue how they work. It’s all magic to me. Are you going back for help on some computer problem?”
“No, I use computers, but my work is with basic physics.”
“Wow! That’s another complete mystery to me.”
“A lot of it is still a mystery, even to the experts, but we’re learning.”
“Is your uncle an expert in physics?”
“Sort of. He’s hard to describe. He’s done just about everything and been all over the world. He even spent a year as a preacher for a nearby evangelical, nondenominational Christian church. This led to a short career as a DJ and talk show host on a local radio station. His offbeat views from all over the spectrum soon earned the animosity of a great many listeners, so he was fired in spite of the fact that his audience quickly grew to huge proportions for the local area. His short-lived, local-celebrity status was a mixed blessing as it earned him a reputation as ‘that crazy old coot who lives in a cabin in the woods.’ His meager odd job income barely covered his living expenses; including fuel for the old pickup he drove. I remember many family discussions about that when I would come home from school for a visit.”
“When you were in college?”
“Actually I was in a military school, a grade school, when this was going on.”
“Were you in the miltary?”
“No, it was a private school for boys which taught military discipline. I’m not much on that.”
“I can tell that by your clothes. Apparently the military part didn’t stick.”
“I was very grateful for the wonderful education I received there. I merely endured the military discipline. Actually, what I learned about discipline helped my scientific education. There’s a lot of discipline in physics.”
“Please go on about your uncle. He sounds like a fascinating person.”
“That he is. Just after I graduated from high school and before leaving for college, C sat me down and shared with me his concern about the unusual knowledge he possessed. There were many things he knew about, but had no idea how he gained the knowledge. Before, when I asked him how he knew so much about so many things he would answer, ‘Just my insatiable curiosity, I guess.’ This time it was different. He told me he was often frightened and upset when he would explain some strange or unusual phenomenon and realize he had no way of knowing how he knew about it. I always thought he had picked up all that information from reading and from his travels. He explained that was part of it, but why was it he ‘knew’ certain scientific discoveries or theories before the discovery was made or the theory written. That’s why I’m going to see him. I always thought he was just being modest until one time when I made a really new discovery during my research only to realize my uncle C had explained the same thing to me accurately, many years before. That realization really startled me.”
“I can see why. Are you sure it wasn’t just one of those déjà vu experiences? They can be really scary.”
“I know what you mean, but no. It couldn’t have been. I had written documentation from years before that I found and compared with my research. They were an exact match. It’s very mysterious.”
“Well, I hope he can help you out with your new problem.”
The look on her face and her body language told Charlie she was through talking so he settled back and let his mind wander back to when C told him an amazing tale. Frequently he had relived that special time almost verbatim, trying to make sense of what C said. It was just before he first headed out for college. He was visiting Uncle C at his cabin and helping him repair a TV set. Once more his mind slipped back to that time and he virtually relived the experience as he asked C the question that started it all.
* * *
“You were going to tell me something secret before I went off to college? Well, I’ll be leaving in a few days so how about it? Will you share your big secret now?”
Uncle C leaned back on his stool and looked Charlie in the eyes. “I did promise that didn’t I? I tell you what, let’s finish this TV and go sit on the sofa. This story needs a really private place with no distractions because I want you to think hard about what I will tell you.”
They finished and tested the TV in about fifteen minutes and went into the main room.. On the way, C opened the fridge for a pair of cool drinks to accompany the tale. When he sat down on the sofa, C leaned back and looked off into space for a few minutes while Charlie sat and watched him in rapt expectation.
“I’m going to tell you about something that happened to me a long time ago, something I never told your mother or anyone else still alive for that matter. This is for your ears only and I hope it will remain between us. You are the one person on this earth whom I know will hear this story without prejudice. After you hear it, you can ask anything you want. I won’t have many answers for you, but it may explain how so many of our little talks have gone where they have.”
Charlie remembered looking at his uncle in wonder and amazement. They had spoken of so many things, he couldn’t imagine what new marvel was about to be revealed. Totally enthralled, almost enchanted, he waited, eagerly expectant.
Finally C began, “I was walking the few blocks home from grade school for lunch one cold, crisp, blue skied, January day in 1935. As I passed the Buhrs’ house, about half way home, I happened to look up and notice a shiny object through the naked branches of a wintering tree. At first I though it to be a new kind of balloon caught in the branches, but as I took a few more steps I realized it was above the tree and almost overhead, far from the winter sun hanging low in the southern sky. I was fascinated, for this was an exciting new wonder for a very inquisitive second grader still in the intoxicating time of life when new things were constantly being discovered. I leaned against the concrete wall separating the Buhrs’ yard from the alley, right where Mrs. Buhr would place food for wandering depression beggars.
“The object seemed to be round and approximately the same apparent size as the full moon in the sky. It was unbelievably shiny, almost like a mirror, yet I saw no reflection. Transfixed, I watched it for a very long time for a small boy, probably almost a minute at which point it began to move toward the west. It accelerated rapidly and disappeared over the western horizon just a few moments after it started moving. As soon as it was gone, I ran home excitedly to tell my mother and find out from her what I had seen. This was at a time when people ran outside to look when an airplane flew over and my favorite was the new Douglas DC3. This object was most certainly not like any airplane I had ever seen before.
“When I arrived home for lunch my mother was very angry, ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick!’ I was astonished and didn’t even get a chance to ask her about the marvelous shiny object when she said, ‘You’ll go without lunch young man. Now hurry back or you’ll be late for school.’ I couldn’t understand how I could possibly be late. I had a full hour at least for lunch and school was just five minutes away. I only stopped to watch the strange object for a few minutes. What had happened to the missing time?
“I remember nothing of the rest of the day until I came home and my mother again questioned me about why I was so late. I asked her about the object I had seen, but she thought it was just another of the ‘stories’ I used to invent to liven up my life and amaze others. I had discovered the price you pay and the pain of what happens when you become a ‘story’ teller and people learn not to believe you. Every single person who heard my story laughed at me and ridiculed my tale except one, my grandfather. A story teller himself, he listened attentively to my tale and wondered with me just what the object was and what happened to the missing hour.
“I was so humiliated at every attempt made to find out about the object I finally gave up. Since then I told no one else about my experience. My grandfather and I discussed it a number of times over a number of years, often when we were fishing together on the lake. I was probably fifteen the last time we talked about it. It was our little secret.
“When I was in junior high school, I began to experience a very strange phenomenon which has continued unabated to this day. In Mr. Armstrong’s science class I discovered that I understood a great deal about things I had not read about or had not been explained to me by anyone. For me, this started a fascination for things of science that would last my entire life. I also found that I knew the answers to many questions I should not have known. My classmate and buddy, Fred Hunziker who sat next to me, was utterly amazed at my knowledge. Even Mr. Armstrong was flabbergasted to the point where he quit letting me answer questions in class. Another classmate, a very bright girl, told me she thought I knew more about science than our teacher. They began calling me ‘the brain’ and not always in a complimentary fashion.
“Your aunt Matty, who was six years older and ahead of me in school, brought home her chemistry book and let me have it. In my mind, I can still see the diagrams in that book of atoms with electrons in circular orbits about a solid, compact nucleus. I knew those diagrams were wrong, but, of course, my sister thought I was nuts when I asked her about it. I was crushed, but what could I say? She was a high school senior and far wiser than I about absolutely everything. That book piqued my interest in chemistry which then led to my selection of chemistry for my college studies. It was many years later when I read a nearly exact description of the indefinite ‘cloud’ structure of electrons about a tighter cloud of protons and neutrons, the nucleus, that I had tried to explain to my sister. It seemed this was the latest concept of atomic structure, developed many years after I tried to explain the very same concept to my sister as a boy of twelve.
“There are many other concepts of our physical world that I ‘know’ without any idea from where the knowledge came. I keep searching and reading to gain confirmation of many of these things. For example, I ‘know’ or at least can conceptualize, an understanding of our universe that has yet to be discovered or explained by anyone. I envision a roughly spherical shape for the universe. At the surface of this shape, all mass would be to one side of any point on the surface. The center of mass of this universe would be roughly at the center. Light, warped by this center of mass, does not escape from the universe. The true speed of light is a factor of its distance from this center of mass. Our measurement of light speed is a function of our own distance from this center of mass. Light passing near or through this center of mass is moving much faster than when it passes us. Likewise light, on reaching the limit of the universe, slows and finally ‘falls’ back in the same way one celestial body orbits another, controlled by the force of gravity. The gravitationally limiting surface of the universe acts, in effect, as a kind of mirror, returning light and holding it within the gravitational grasp of the universe.
“The first time I heard a ‘flying saucer’ or UFO story I thought immediately of my childhood experience. The experience was so clearly described by so many of these tales. The ridicule heaped on those who saw a UFO caused me to rethink my experience and continue not to talk about it to anyone. The first time I heard an ‘abduction’ story, I thought about that missing hour so long ago and of the things I ‘know’ that I have no reason to know.
“I have no conclusions nor do I make any claims other than those I have just described. The mystery to me is now greater than ever and I surely will not have an answer in my lifetime. I search and ask in every way I know how, yet the mystery only continues to deepen. If there are others with similar experiences I would like to meet them, yet I hesitate even admitting what I experienced. I am still a bit apprehensive about any ridicule that might come and destroy even my own knowledge. I tell you this now because you know and understand me. Besides, I am nearing the end of my life and have so very much less to fear than when I was younger. You can decide for yourself, if the story is for real or just the ravings of a crackpot. A discovery that confirmed the view of the universe I described would most certainly change the acceptance of my story now wouldn’t it?”
“Would it ever!” Charlie replied, then asked, “What do you think it was?” Charlie was utterly amazed, barely grasping the implications of the story, but never doubting a single word his uncle spoke.
“I gave up speculating on that years ago.” C replied. “I only know what I just told you. No more than that, but no less either. Many years later, when the first UFO stories began appearing, I thought I might find an answer, but soon realized all I would do would be to make a fool of myself if I came forward with my story. It’s plain to me that whatever or whoever they are, they have a purpose to their activities. I’ve wondered for years what that purpose might be without ever coming up with anything logical. I can’t even determine if it bodes good or bad for humanity. It’s a real mystery. Why would they imbue a small child with advanced knowledge? I’m convinced that is what happened to me so long ago. There must have been others who received similar treatment. Though I’ve searched my whole life, I’ve never found another person who shared my experience. I’ve met and spoken with people who reported sightings and abductions, but none were anything like mine. In fact, I find myself doubting the truth of their stories just like everyone else.”
“The truth is just like the proverbial needle in the haystack isn’t it?”
“That’s almost an understatement. Over the years I’ve had many incidents where the announcement of a new discovery was something I already ‘knew.’ Did I really ‘know’ it or was that a trick of the mind, a déjà vu experience? I’ve pondered that question many times. Once, while talking with a group of engineers about a particular metallurgical problem, I posed a solution to them. It was a solution that I didn’t have to think about. I just ‘knew’ it. Several months later, the specific problem was actually solved by the method I proposed. One of the engineers from that group contacted me and asked how I had come up with the exact solution. He knew I was not a metallurgist and wondered how I knew that particular answer to a problem no one else could solve. I was at a complete loss to explain it. Had my lack of knowledge in the field let me think outside the limits imposed by an expert understanding? Was my solution one of those serendipitous ‘aha’ experiences we all have on occasion, or had I actually ‘known’ the answer? I don’t know and certainly would not claim to even understand where the answer came from.
“There are only two concepts that I feel certain were placed in my mind by an extraordinary process. The understanding of the true nature of the particles in the atom and the general makeup of the universe with the gravitational effect on light and other electromagnetic waves or particles. The first was only postulated by particle physicists many years after I knew and described it. The second seems only to be a theory in my mind. No theory I have read about is even remotely similar. I don’t even know if it’s correct and I certainly have no idea how to prove it.”
Charlie determined he would set that as one of his goals, to prove or disprove C’s theory about the universe. It would prove to be a daunting task.
* * *
Charlie was brought abruptly back to reality as the woman next to him shook his arm.
“Wake up! Raise your seat back and fasten your safety belt.”
“What? Oh yes! Thanks! I guess I went to sleep.”
“You sure did. You’ve been sound asleep for at least an hour. Never moved a muscle.”
It took him a few minutes to reorient from the where-am-I, what-time-is-it daze. By the time the plane arrived at the gate he was fully awake. He walked through O’Hare terminal toward his next flight still thinking about his Uncle C. One more quick jaunt in the small commuter airplane to South Bend and his folks would be there to pick him up. He hoped C would be with them.
* * *
As he walked down the steps from the small plane that brought him from Chicago to South Bend, he noticed his folks were not waiting there. That was very unusual. He hoped nothing was wrong. He walked to the baggage carousel, waited for and picked up his luggage and still no one appeared. He really began to worry as he walked outside. After waiting about ten minutes, he started to go inside and call home. Just as he turned to go back in, his mother’s car pulled up to the curb. She was the only one in the car.
“Where’s everyone?” he asked as he placed his bags on the rear seat. Even when he sat down in the front seat, his mother stared straight ahead and said not a thing. “What’s wrong, Mom?” he asked again, sensing something was very wrong in deed.
“It’s your uncle C.” she said through tears. “He’s disappeared. We drove out to his cabin to see if he wanted to come with us to pick you up and he was nowhere to be found. His door was standing open and last night’s supper was still sitting on the table, uneaten. Ralph was sitting on the porch, whining and you know he always takes that little dog with him wherever he goes. I’m afraid something terrible has happened.”
“I’m sure he’ll turn up. Maybe he walked somewhere.”
“No! He just disappeared. His pickup was still there and with Ralph on the porch we just knew something strange had happened. Your dad stayed there to search for him while I came to pick you up. Maybe he’ll have found him by time we get back.”
On the way home, Edith drove much faster than usual. “Slow down Mom! I know you’re in a hurry to get back, but lets not add an accident to today’s problems.”
“I’m sorry! I didn’t realize I was driving so fast. I’m just worried to death about C.”
“I know. I’m concerned myself. Does he usually go off without telling you where he was going?”
“Never! Even when we’re away he’ll leave a note on the door about where he’s going and when he’ll be back. He’s real good about that.”
“I’m sure it’s something simple. Maybe a friend of his came over and picked him up.”
“Not a chance. Anyone driving would have to go right by on the driveway. We’d have heard them no matter when they went by. Besides that, how do you explain the uneaten meal on the table. C would never have left the place like that under ordinary circumstances. He usually eats at about dark this time of year so you know he must have left between six-thirty and seven.”
“What were you doing about that time? Were you home?”
“We were eating dinner about then ourselves. There was one strange thing, the lightning flash. We saw a bright, sustained flash of lightning. You know how sometimes, when it’s dark out, a lightning flash lights up the whole sky for almost a second and you can see everything, even in the pitch black?”
“Yes, I know exactly what you mean. You must have had a thunderstorm last evening.”
“That’s just it. We didn’t! After that flash, your dad and I went outside to close the windows on the car and saw the sky was crystal clear. That’s when we heard Ralph barking. Also, there was no thunder. We decided it was just an unusually bright flash of lightning from so far in the distance, we couldn’t hear the thunder. We thought Ralph was barking at some strange dog or critter. You know how he carries on when something’s around the cabin. What else could we think?”
“It sounds very strange to me. As soon as I get home, I’m going to check the neighbors to see if anyone else saw that flash.” Charlie commented. It was unusually quiet in the car during the rest of the trip home. Charlie was hoping C would be there waiting when they arrived.
As they crested the rise in the road just north of the farm, they could see two sheriff cars parked in the driveway. Ray was standing in the back yard with two deputies and they were all looking back toward the woods where C’s cabin was hidden. The two deputies were friends of the Botkins and long time members of the local sheriff’s department As soon as the car was parked, Charlie and his mother stepped out and walked quickly over to where the men were standing.
“What have you found?” Charlie asked as soon as he joined them.
“Absolutely nothing.” his dad replied, obviously distressed. “I called Pete and John here to see if they could find anything I might have missed.”
“We looked over everything and couldn’t find anything suspicious.” Pete said. “Wherever he went, C didn’t leave a trace. Normally we don’t make missing person reports until the individual has been missing for at least twenty-four hours, but this seemed unusual. We high-tailed it out here as soon as Ray called. John and I combed the area carefully for more than an hour and found nothing, nothing at all.”
“We called for some dogs to come out to track him in case he walked off somewhere and can’t make it back.” John added. “They’ll soon be here. Pete is going to stay and work with the dogs. I’ve got to get back right away, but I leave you in good hands. If he’s here, those dogs will find him.”
After John drove away, Charlie took his bags up to his room. When he came down, his Mom, Dad and Pete were sitting in the living room talking about C’s possible whereabouts. After a while, a truck drove up in the driveway. It was the dogs and their handler, Tara Bailey. Tara was a well known dog trainer and breeder who had two hounds that were often used by law enforcement all over the northern part of the state. Ken Bailey, her husband was a veterinarian and together they had an animal hospital, training center and boarding kennel in the next county about thirty miles away. All four of them went outside to greet her.
After talking to Tara for a few minutes, Pete said. “She asks that none of you go with us to the cabin. The less people around, the better the dogs work. We’ll drive the truck back to the cabin and release the dogs there. Is there any article of clothing you can remember him wearing recently? We’ll need something to give them his scent.”
Edith thought for a moment and then said, “He puts his dirty clothes in a hamper in his bathroom closet. He hasn’t brought them up to wash for a while so there should be plenty there.”
“That’s perfect. I’m sure the hounds can get a good scent from those clothes.” Pete answered.
“Where did you leave Ralph?” Edith asked her husband.
“I think we left him inside the cabin.” Ray answered, then added, “You’d best leave his little dog inside. He’ll be friendly enough to you folks, but he wouldn’t take kindly to a couple of hounds poking around his property.”
“We’ll see to it he’s okay and kept out of the way.” Pete remarked as he stepped into the truck with Tara.
— THE DOGS GET BUFFALOED —
“How about some details, Pete? When John called, all he said was someone disappeared and asked me to get the hounds here as soon as I could.” Tara said as she guided the truck carefully down the bumpy lane toward the cabin.
“The missing man is Charles Miller. Everyone calls him “C” around here. He’s an unusual, somewhat eccentric old man about seventy-five, the brother of the woman at the house. I’ll say one thing, the man can build or repair just about anything. You’ll see what I mean when we get to his cabin. He built it all by himself about sixteen years ago. It’s a neat little place. Just perfect for a man living alone.”
“Sounds like an interesting man.” Tara commented. “Do we turn here?” she asked as they reached the end of the lane as it crossed a tiny, dry streambed.
“Just follow the stream right into the woods. You can see where he’s driven his truck over the years. It’s a bit bumpy, but just high enough above the streambed to be out of the water in the spring and early summer when the stream runs.”
Shortly after they entered the woods, the trail made an abrupt right turn and led about fifty feet to a cleared area by the cabin. As they stepped out of the truck they heard Ralph inside barking furiously. He knew there were strangers outside and was giving them what for. As they walked up to the door, Tara asked. “He’s not a biter is he?”
“He was very friendly when we were out here an hour or so ago. I’m sure he’ll be okay.”
Tara crouched down as she entered and extended her hand along the floor, palm up in a friendly gesture. The little dog immediately stopped barking, came over and sniffed her hand, his tail wagging furiously. He was genuinely happy to see them. He did not like to be left alone. “That’s a good boy.” Tara said sweetly as she patted him lovingly. Her pats were soon rewarded with several doggie kisses. Ralph was very friendly. After putting Ralph at ease, she retrieved several shirts from the hamper to use for the scent. “Why don’t you stay inside and keep the little guy company while I work my dogs? If he can be kept from barking he won’t distract the hounds and it will make my job easier.”
“OK! Only give me a call if you find anything. Use your two-way. I see you have one. Just set it to our standard frequency.”
Tara closed the door behind her and headed for the rear of the truck. She opened the small door and released the two hounds who proceeded to bound happily around for a few moments, glad to be out of their confinement. Soon they were back at her side knowing full well what their job was. They carefully sniffed the shirt Tara held out then sat down to announce they were ready. Her hounds were very well trained. She didn’t need to run them on leashes as they knew not to outrun their handler, waiting patiently at times so she could catch up. She directed them to the porch where she wanted to start the search. Hand signals were her method of directing the dogs who worked in relative silence.
As soon as she gave them the signal to begin, they headed off the porch, trailed about fifty feet to the center of the clearing where they began circling. Several times they started off on a track only to stop and return after twenty or thirty feet. These were obviously old, cold tracks. After returning to the porch several times and looking for other tracks, the dogs returned to the center of the clearing and sat down. There was no ambiguity to their message. The track ended right there in the center of the clearing and it was the only fresh track the dogs could find. She had them try several more times with the same result. It could indicate several things. There was no way of determining which direction the short track was laid down. It could have been from the house to the clearing or the reverse. It indicated that C had either walked from a vehicle parked in the clearing to the cabin, or walked the other way, from the cabin to a vehicle. There was no other possibility. Tara examined the ground for tire tracks or other markings around where the track ended. Other than what looked like a single, very faint set of footprints in the soft ground, she found nothing. She took a marker flag from the truck and stuck it in the earth to mark the spot. Knowing they would stay nearby, she let the dogs roam freely as she headed for the cabin to tell Pete what she found.
“Did you forget something?” Pete asked as she entered the cabin so soon after leaving.
“No, but the dogs did find the end of a very short trail in the middle of the clearing,” Tara replied.
“What do we do now?” Pete asked.
“I marked the spot where the track ends. I let the dogs roam to see if they could find something else. When we drive back to the house I’ll let them search the way back and around the house. Maybe they’ll find something there. I think we should take this little guy with us. He’s not very happy being left alone, I can tell.” She called Ralph over to her. When she picked him up he gave a low growl to let her know he didn’t like it. He would endure the indignity peacefully after she reassured him with soft words and a gentle touch and headed for the door. Tara really knew how to handle dogs.
As soon as she walked outside, the two hounds romped over to investigate this little pooch their master held. A few words and a hand command and the two hounds sat peacefully while Tara took Ralph and placed him in an empty kennel in the back of the truck. Signaling them to begin tracking again, Tara got in the truck with Pete and they headed back, following the dogs as they searched back and forth across the streamside driveway and then the lane. When they reached the house, the dogs criss-crossed the entire yard, pausing several times by C’s pickup where there was an obvious, but weak scent. It had been several days since C had driven the pickup and he had last walked to the house on Friday, so all the tracks were fairly old and weak. The dogs followed tracks up to the house and the truck, but it was apparent these too were old tracks. Tara retrieved Ralph from his cage in the truck and carried him into the house. He never made a sound, resting peacefully in her arms.
“I didn’t think this little guy should be left alone in the cabin. Is it okay to bring him in?” she asked Edith as she stood in the doorway.
“Certainly,” Edith answered with a smile as she opened the door for them. “C brought him here often. He knows his way around. We even have a bed for him and food and water bowls. He can stay with us ‘til we find C. Incidently, what did your dogs find?”
As they walked into the living room, Tara relayed what happened with the dogs and how she marked the end of the scent trail in the clearing. “That’s in case anyone else wants to look for signs of what happened. I couldn’t see any indication of tire tracks or anything other than that single set of very faint footprints. There were tire tracks near the cabin where cars were parked and from there to the drive, but nowhere else in the clearing. If your brother walked anywhere other than that one scent trail, the dogs would have found it. There’s been no rain to wash the scent away and the one scent track we did find was fresh and definite. He had to have walked that track one direction or the other within the last twenty-four hours. The dogs told me that in no uncertain terms.”
Ray looked puzzled. “That’s very strange. It looks almost like he disappeared into thin air, right at that spot. Since that is impossible we must try to come up with something else, something that makes sense.”
“I sure don’t know what that could be,” Pete commented. If it wasn’t a wheeled vehicle, it would have to have been a helicopter, but no chopper could have set down in that clearing? It’s far too small.”
Charlie replied. “The only way a chopper could have picked him up would be on the end of a cable lift, dropped down from above the trees.”
“We surely would have heard any chopper hovering over the trees at that time of night,” Ray commented.
“I don’t know about that,” Pete said. “The military have birds that can hover almost silently. They make some noise when they fly fairly fast, but at slow speeds and while hovering, they are very quiet. You wouldn’t have heard them from here. The cabin is nearly half mile away isn’t it?”
“At least,” Charlie answered. “But what would the military want with C? He’s never even been in the service as far as I know. He traveled all over the Pacific rim for a number of years, and he’s done some contract work with the Navy out there, but that was nearly twenty years ago. I can’t imagine what the military would want with him. Anyway, they could have just driven up in a car and gotten him.”
“A good point,” Pete replied. “It certainly is a mystery. It still looks like the only way he could have been taken away. There was certainly no sign of a scuffle anywhere. I looked carefully for those signs, particularly where the scent trail and footprints ended. Those footprints were very hard to see. Tara noticed them while watching the dogs sniffing at several of them. They were very slight indentations spaced as normal walking prints would be. We couldn’t even be sure which direction they headed, but one fairly complete print in some softer ground toward the porch showed they were headed away from the cabin. We looked very carefully and found no other prints of any kind within ten or twelve feet of the end of the marker Tara placed.”
“What about your own footprints?” Ray asked. “Couldn’t they have covered or obliterated other footprints?”
“A good point,” Pete replied. “One of the most important aspects about inspecting a crime scene is how to do so without destroying evidence. We get extensive training on how to walk slowly and carefully to avoid areas we believe may contain clues. I can assure you, there were no other footprints around that marker. We can’t really consider that a crime scene, but we did treat it in the same careful manner.”
“My dogs were the only ones who left prints in the area, and the ground is quite hard, so I doubt they left much of a mark,” Tara commented. “It would take a person considerably over a hundred pounds to leave any mark on that ground. I’m a hundred and forty and I hardly left a print where I walked.”
“So that leaves us without a clue,” Charlie said. “Your dogs found very significant information, but it merely added to the mystery. C couldn’t have just evaporated into thin air, but that’s just what it looks like so far. Where do we go from here?”
“Well, I have to go write a report,” Pete said resignedly. “I don’t look forward to that, seeing as we have no conclusions with any merit to write down. I hate to leave things so unresolved, but I think we all need to get on with things. I’ll do some checking in a couple of areas including the nearest military bases, but I am at a loss as to how to proceed from here. So far we have generated a lot of questions and no answers. I’m really sorry folks, but that’s the reality of it all. If you think of anything else, please call me.”
Tara stood up. “I’m sorry we didn’t find more, but I must gather up my wandering hounds and head for the barn. I hope you find him and soon. I’d like very much to know the answer, so please call me when you learn anything new. I’ll leave my card for you.”
After Pete and Tara left, Charlie and his folks sat in the living room and talked about the last twenty-four hours. The last time either of his folks actually saw C was on Friday evening when he joined them for dinner. He usually walked up to the house two or three times a week and also stopped in whenever he went off in his pickup. Charlie thought the meal left on C’s table could have been from Saturday, until he asked his dad.
“No, it couldn’t have been from Saturday or the meat would have smelled. In this warm weather it was okay after about eighteen hours, but another 24 and it would have smelled bad,” his dad explained. “That was the first thing I checked. He definitely fixed his dinner Sunday evening and never ate it.”
“Did he seem worried or preoccupied Friday during dinner?” Charlie asked. “Was anything bothering him, anything at all?”
“No, nothing. He was his usual happy self. He talked about your coming visit to which he was really looking forward. You know he thinks you are the greatest scientist in the world, don’t you?” His mother told him.
“And I think he’s about the greatest uncle and friend a young man could have,” Charlie said with worry in his voice. “I really hope and pray nothing’s happened to him. Run through Sunday evening again, very carefully. Try to remember even the slightest thing that happened out of the ordinary, no matter how insignificant.”
They talked about the strange lightning flash and Ralph barking, but that was all they could remember that was unusual in any way. Then his mother said, “We missed our favorite Sunday evening TV show. Apparently the satellite signal got messed up. Remember Ray, you tried adjusting the dish? No matter where you searched there was no signal. You finally shut it off to silence that awful hiss so we could eat our meal in peace. Right after that we saw that unusual lightning flash with no thunder. Half an hour later we tried the TV again and everything was okay.”
“That’s very significant,” Charlie said softly, then asked. “Was there anything else strange that evening? Think real hard. It’s very important. Dad, did you see anything at all unusual when you went outside?”
“I noticed it was very quiet. The only sound I heard was Ralph barking constantly. If I hadn’t gone outside I probably wouldn’t have heard him. I certainly didn’t see anything unusual, at least nothing I remember. After that I went in to eat and nothing unusual happened. We watched TV for a while and went to bed. We discovered C was missing when we stopped out to see if he wanted to go with us to meet your plane. You know the rest.”
“I’ve got to get hold of Matty and tell her about C,” Edith said. “She’ll be worried sick. I think I’ll ask her to come over. I’d like to tell her in person what we know. Her whole family will take the news hard. What will we do when this hits the news? I hate to think of how some of the local news people will treat it. I hope they don’t come out and want to go over C’s cabin.”
When his mother mentioned C’s cabin, Charlie remembered the new portable PC his uncle showed him during their last visit. He wondered if C had entered in it anything that might throw some light on what happened. He explained to his folks he was going to get the computer from C’s cabin and see if he could find anything that might help.
Charlie grabbed a flashlight as he walked out to the cabin. As he headed for the door, he called Ralph to join him for the trek. Ralph bounded eagerly out the door and trotted along in front of Charlie as he made his way to the cabin. As they entered the clearing, Ralph put his nose to the ground, found the end of the old scent trail, sat down next to the yellow marker Tara had placed in the ground and began to howl. Charlie flashed the light all around the clearing and nearby woods, but could see nothing. He called Ralph who stopped howling, but stayed firmly where he sat. “OK, ole buddy, you stay there. I’m going inside,” he said to the dog as he turned and headed into the cabin.
Once inside he went straight to the workshop to get the PC. When he turned on the lights he noticed it was not on the desk where C had shown it to him. The printer and scanner were there with their cables among the organized clutter of the workshop, but the PC was gone. Maybe C had taken it with him. He continued searching back in the main room. The PC was nowhere to be seen. He next went into the tiny bedroom where he opened the closet that covered an entire wall. There were many things in the closet, but no computer. As he started to leave the bedroom, he noticed C’s briefcase on the floor behind the open door. Next to the briefcase was a shipping box all sealed and seemingly ready for shipment. The box was about twice the size of the briefcase and had a label with “Charlie Botkin” written in C’s printing. He picked up the box and examined it. There was nothing else written on the box, no address, just his name. He placed it carefully on the bed, took out the pocket knife C had given him many years before, and cut the box open.
It contained the computer and a note in C’s handwriting dated Sunday, September 23, 2001. He sat down on the bed and read the note.
“Dear Charlie, It is early Sunday morning as I write this note. Since you are reading it, I am either gone or dead as I plan to destroy it if I’m still okay when you arrive. Some very strange things have happened the last few days. I’ve been having dreams about the past like I never had before. They’ve been almost like TV shows where I am reliving that experience when I was seven and saw that strange object. I’ve had that same dream at least four times in the last few days. I never dreamt about that before in my entire life. I wonder why now? During the same time, I have felt really weird at times. I know I told you about those spells I used to have once or twice a year where bright, twinkling purple and orange lines like C shaped embattlements would interfere with my sight. Well, they have recently been coming more and more often. When they do, I feel dizzy and light headed and my heart seems to beat very erratically for a few minutes. Then things go back to normal. A couple of times I thought I might be having a heart attack, but it would go away and I would feel fine again. I have an appointment with Doc Markley for a physical next week, but until then I plan on taking it easy. Ralph must be noticing something as well. He follows me around and stays right by me when we’re outside. That’s unusual as he normally heads off for a jaunt in the woods when we go out. This morning I had one of those ‘spells’ and when I sat down on the couch, Ralph sat down on the floor facing me and let out a howl. He has never done that before! He must sense something. I have no idea what is happening, but it is very strange indeed.
“I’ve logged those spells once I noticed they seemed to be coming more and more often. The results startled me as the time between spells has been decreasing steadily by about one third each cycle. Projecting this forward, the time between spells will virtually disappear at about seven this evening. I have absolutely no idea what this means, but there must be some significance. I’m not in fear, but I have a really strange, sad feeling about this. Each time a spell comes, I have an overpowering feeling of sadness which makes no sense at all. I look at Ralph and almost burst into tears as he looks back at me. Maybe I just have an unusual hormone imbalance. Hopefully it will pass and things will return to normal.
“I want you to take the computer. Consider it a gift. Take the briefcase as well. Tell your mother and dad and your aunt Matty I love them dearly and thank them for being such a wonderful part of my life. Share with them whatever of this note you feel is appropriate. I love you very much. You have been the son I never had. I am so very proud of you, what you’ve done and of the man you have become. Keep that spirit of adventure and hunger for knowledge alive all through your life. Hopefully you will live a full one.
“In the briefcase and also in the ‘Charlie’ directory of the computer you will find a collection of sayings, poetry, essays, letters and miscellaneous quotes and writings I have saved over the years. These are ideas, happenings, experiences and concepts that have been of great value to me and tell about the man I tried to be. I hate to give advice, as you know, so consider this collection of words as a sharing for you to use as you see fit. I finish this note with a quote from Alfred Adler that I applied liberally to my life. It may explain a great deal. ‘There is only one danger I find in life, one may take too many precautions.’”
The note was signed, “With love and respect, C.” After finishing the note, he sat there on the bed, tears streaming down his face. Charlie knew he would never see his uncle again. He sat on C’s bed for a longtime, staring into space and recalling memories of times with his uncle. He missed C terribly and now there was a big empty place in his heart which would hurt for a very long time. This was the first loss of someone close, Charlie had ever experienced and he knew he wasn’t handling it very well. He dreaded sharing the note with his folks and Matty, but he knew he must. He also knew he must convince them C was not coming back. The only troubling thing was, what had actually happened? Not knowing that answer would be maddening, but he was now thoroughly convinced they would never know.
It was after ten when Charlie heard the door to the cabin open. It was his father. “Are you okay son?” Ray asked. “We were beginning to worry when you didn’t come back. When Ralph showed up at our door we thought maybe something else happened so I came to find out.”
“I found this note from C,” Charlie replied, holding the paper in his hand. “I don’t think we’ll ever find him. He’s gone, and not under his own power. Right now I feel really tired. Let’s get back to the house. It’s late so let’s hold off examining and talking about the note until tomorrow.”
Charlie left the computer and briefcase where they sat and headed out the door. He put his arm around his dad and the two of them headed home. For once his dad didn’t stiffen at his touch, but responded by placing his arm around Charlie. It was a powerful, loving message that warmed Charlie’s heart.
When they reached the house his mom opened the door saying, “Is everything all right? We were really worried.”
“Yes, everything’s okay,” Ray answered as they went inside. Neither of them mentioned the note to Edith. They would tell her about that tomorrow.
Howard Johnson - March 2001
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE MASK
Alexis carefully slid the package into her leather purse, slung its strap over her shoulder, and casually walked around the corner into the heart of the spaceport and up to the customs desk. The fat albino behind the desk looked up from his monitor to stare at her, his right hand sliding slowly out of sight and down by his side, not unnoticed by her.
"Ah, Miss Stereo, back so soon?"
From behind her, a familiar voice shouted, "Alexis! Don't!"
Alexis spun around, “Schad! Where have you been? I’ve been worried something had happened to abort our trip. We’re you afraid I was about to retrieve my stuff from customs and cancel our flight?”
“Something like that. I ... I ... took the wrong shuttle and had a frantic time getting back as soon as I did. My com quit working so I couldn’t contact you.”
Ignoring Schad’s lame comment, Alexis turned back quickly and glared at the albino as she spit out, “Touch that alarm button and you’ll have more trouble than you can imagine.”
The albino quickly raised both hands, palms forward. “Just why did you think I was going to hit the alarm, Miss Snotty?”
“Enough of the swazzo crap you fat slob! I’m not blind. I gave you enough cash to cover any contingency and you took it. It’s all recorded right here.” Alexis snarled, patting her AV. “One wrong move on your part and you’ll spend a long time rotting in the Ranko penal colony.”
The albino’s pink eyes quickly morphed from arrogance to radiated fear. A bit of drool ran down his chin from a loose, shivering lower lip. “I’m sorry. I’ll do as you told me. It’s just that I didn’t expect you back so soon. You told me you were leaving on the two-ten and it’s now past three.”
“So you figured something went wrong and started to turn me in and keep the cash. Definitely not a good thought!”
Whirling back to face Schad, Alexis narrowed her eyes. Something was not right and she knew it. She noticed two obvious security cops moving towards them, trying to appear casual. “How in hell could you have taken the wrong shuttle?” she snapped trying to decide, run, fight or wait for a better opportunity. Suddenly reality hit her like an LK blast. “You bastard!” she shouted at Schad. “You pulled a switch and turned me in for the reward.”
As one of the cops pulled his Galbo blaster, she dove at Schad and in a single motion, pulled him in front of her, grabbed the LK from her leg and rolled into firing position. The Galbo cut Schad in two as the stutter from her tiny LK knocked down the cop who had fired and leveled the other one before he could raise his weapon.
Back on her feet and running at the end of her move, Alexis headed for the neutral zone at the end of the terminal. Galbos didn’t work within the force field there, but her LK did. She would be safe for the moment. It would take the two cops about an hour to recover and by that time she would be long gone. Fortunately, running in the Ranko space port was quite common and drew little attention. The bloody mess that had been Schad and the two unconscious cops drew all of the attention. People had hardly noticed a small woman in a dark blue Cirec suit running from the mayhem as many others nearby had done the same when the excitement hit. The tiny LK, hardly visible in her palm, didn’t signal any threat.
As she approached the neutral zone, Alexis slowed down to a trot and chanced a look back. No one was even looking in her direction as a police shuttle streaked toward the gathering crowd, PA blaring and ordering people out of the way. Numerous guards on foot were hustling toward the scene and moving gawkers out of the way.
“So far so good.” She muttered under her breath. “Now, if I can just get aboard one of the outbounds before that damned albino spills his guts.”
She quickly scanned outbound flights and chose the one headed for Stentor Seven. It was only about two hundred yards from the neutral zone. She was sure she could make it before all hell broke loose in the main port. If her fake ID chip cleared the security scanner she would be home free. The contraband ancient Telurian mask in her purse was another matter. It was the reason for the whole setup with Schad. Worth several hundred million on the open artifact market it was her ticket to freedom she was to have split with Schad after he smuggled it through security - his specialty.
“How in hell am I going to get this past security?” she wondered as she neared the gate. She smiled as suddenly a clever plan crossed her mind. After stopping for few moments in one of the Icom booths she made an adjustment to her purse and threw the now empty mask packaging into the trash vac.
As she entered the security scanner, the operator, an attractive young blonde commented, “What an unusual purse. Where did you get it?” as she opened the purse and examined the contents.
Alexis tried to appear casual as the inspector closed the purse and put it on the “passed” counter. “It was a gift from a very dear friend.” she commented sweetly. “I have no idea where he got it, but I do like it.” Then she had another idea. “Incidently, would you be a dear? His wife is a real vindictive bitch and may have found out about it. If anyone comes looking for me tell them I’m on the flight to Aldebaran Three, over there. Her brother is a security cop and I don’t need the hassle.”
“I know what you mean.” she answered with a wink. “Angry wives can be a real bummer.”
Her ID chip cleared, Alexis picked up the purse and headed for the flight at a rapid walk. “So far so good!” she thought. Once the boarding shuttle cleared the terminal she would be home free.
Taking a window seat she watched the security gate she had just cleared. Suddenly two security cops ran up to the blonde pointing and talking rapidly. “Good girl!” she said out loud as the blonde pointed to the other boarding shuttle and the cops took off at a run. The shuttle doors spun shut just before they got there. The Blonde looked at her shuttle and gave a thumbs up. “Sometimes you need a little impromptu luck to complete even a good plan.” Alexis thought as she leaned back in her seat for the short hop to the IS craft.
As the shuttle lifted off she began dreaming of happy times on Stentor Seven with the fortune the mask would bring on the open market. She wouldn’t even have to share it with Schad as planned. The Telurian mask stared up at her and seemed almost to smile in spite of the Zepok fasteners that held it seamlessly flush on the front of her purse.
Howard Johnson - November 4, 2006
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE SWITCH
Timothy O'Brien never expected to find himself in such circumstances. Whoever would? He paused on the narrow path on the side of the gray granite mountain, the wind pressing on his backside as if it wished to push him to his death on the ragged rocks half a kilometer below. A sound caught his attention over the rush of wind..... a sound that made him shudder and heightened his fear responses. “How could they have found him?”
The sound was now unmistakable. Vordanay thrusters had a unique noise profile and the only units that used these old but effective thrusters were Old Earth military police RG vehicles. Relatively hard to handle in Earth gravity, RG vehicles would be fast and quite maneuverable in the light gravity of Stentor 7 where he had hidden successfully for nearly seven years.
Tim looked for a place to hide, but saw none. In a panic he started running down the path as fast as he could. The light gravity stretched his running steps to nearly thirty feet, but he had to plan a landing place for every huge step. One misstep and he would be off the path with only 30,000 feet of air between him and the rocks at the base of the huge cliff. His mind raced trying to find an answer, but none was forthcoming. When he came to a slight curvature to the right on the almost flat and vertical granite face of the mountain he shortened his paces to stay on the path.
On his third huge step he misjudged and missed the path by several feet. Suddenly he was hurtling away from the cliff at a slight angle and beginning to drop. Even in the low gravity of Stentor 7 he would be falling fast enough to be smashed to pieces after falling for 30,000 feet. For a moment he wondered if terminal velocity would be low enough to let him land without being killed. That was his only hope so he spread his arms and loosened his shirt to slow his fall.
Suddenly he realized the sound of the Vordanays was coming closer. “They’ve spotted me.” he muttered to himself as he tried to look in the direction of the sound. Shit!” he said out loud. “Even if I survive the fall, they’ll have me. They’re in my blind spot above and to my rear.” Bang! Something flat and very heavy hit him with considerable force and he was knocked unconscious.
When he came to Tim realized he was out of the wind and in the vehicle with the Vordanay thrusters. He opened his eyes and looked into the face of his bride of six weeks, Enid. She had her finger to her lips, the universal request for silence so he complied lying still and quiet. Enid pulled a Gleary laser pistol, leveled it at his head and said, “He’s coming to. I’ve got him covered.” to the pilot. Looking at me she snarled, “Lie still and don’t move.”
I was devastated! My sweet lady had sold me out and was collecting the 400,000 credit reward for my capture. Something was not right. This was impossible. Then I noticed her little finger was frantically waving in front of the pistol. The safety switch, right where her finger was pointing, was on. With the safety on it was as harmless as a toy.
The pilot said, “Lady, I have no idea what you have against this guy, but I sure appreciate your help. We’d never have caught him without your tip. He’s in for some very rough treatment when we get him back to Earth. I’d rather have just blasted him when we found him and only had to return the body. Now he’ll get prisoner treatment and that means a lot more work for me.”
“I have my reasons for wanting him alive. You can’t possibly know why.” Enid said, winking at me. “I’m sure not going to tell you, Jack.”
“I can say one thing,” Jack remarked, smiling. “I’m sure glad you’re on my side. I’d hate to have you working against me.”
I had no idea what was going on, but that safety was certainly reassuring.
Jack glanced over his shoulder. “Watch him closely. He’s the only one ever to escape our holding center. Incidently, how are you going to get us past security here at the terminal? He destroyed his ID chip and mine’s very specific.”
“You leave that up to me. I’ve got connections.” Enid said, smiling knowingly.
“Well, you got me in so I suppose You can get us out OK. We’re approaching the terminal now.”
“Remember what I told you.” Enid ordered. “Set her down outside the confinement zone so we can change clothes. When we walk into the zone, security will think it’s Tim covering you, the renegade Earth agent, and let all of us through. Once through security we’ll be in International territory and your jurisdiction will take precedence. Then we split the reward, you can retire here like you planned to and I’ll have my revenge. Tim will be shipped back to Earth and after that, who cares.”
“Lady, I sure wouldn’t want you working against me. You have a very devious mind.”
“If you only knew.” Enid thought to herself as they started the set down sequence.
As soon as we landed, Enid ordered, “Come back and cuff him to the hand rail. Then you’ll be able to change clothes without danger. I’ll sit back here and cover you.” Then she moved to a seat in the rear of the vehicle. It took about ten minutes for us to change clothes, everything including underwear which I thought a bit much.
Jack turned around and went to the front to retrieve his own pistol before getting out. As he did I noticed Enid releasing the safety and cranking the control on her pistol up to max. As soon as jack turned around, one blast from her Gleary caught Jack center chest. He was dead before hitting the floor. In an instant, Enid handed me her pistol, took a knife out of her pocket and began slashing Jack’s chest open.
“What the hell?” I shouted. “He’s already dead!”
With a flourish Enid held up a small ID chip. “This is the key to the success of our mission. You are now a free man with a new identity no one can crack. All we have to do is get this inside your chest, a minor inconvenience.” With that she took the pistol out of my hand, cut the power to half and seared closed the open wound on Jack’s chest Then she hit his face with enough wide laser spray to make it unrecognizable. She handed me the pistol as sirens of approaching security announced a tense visit shortly. In a single motion Enid grabbed Jack’s pistol, set the control on low and blasted my left shoulder enough to burn Jacks uniform and sear my skin a bit.
“Sorry about that.” she muttered as she replaced the pistol in his hand.
As soon as she stepped back the door was jerked open and two uniformed officers of Stentor 7 security entered, pistols drawn. “Don’t anyone move. Touch the trigger on that pistol and you’ll be fried.” one said to Tim who immediately dropped it on the floor.
“He’s a security agent from Earth.” Enid panted, feigning fright. “His prisoner managed to grab one of his pistols and burned him. Jack had no choice but to terminate him. Scan him with your ID reader you’ll get his ID. That one probably doesn’t have an ID, but check him anyway.”
“Both of you stay still while we check this out. You know you’re on sovereign Stentor soil and your special privileges don’t amount to anything.” He said looking at Tim.
With that he activated his scanner and read the ID chip in Tim’s breast pocket. “Jack Evans, EAPD 17685 it says. It also says you’re retired. What’s that all about?”
“He’s a bit dazed after being zapped. This was his last assignment. It was planned to get him here to Stentor 7 to end his stint and he planned to retire here. I’m his fiancé and can probably answer most of your questions. Can’t you get him some medical attention?”
Getting into the act and thinking about the bloody ID chip in his breast pocket Tim protested, “I don’t need a medic. It’s just a slight burn. He shot before turning up the power and mostly missed me anyway. I didn’t miss him.”
“You sure didn’t” the second officer muttered. “Even his mother wouldn’t recognize him now. How are we going to be sure of who he was?”
“The word of a field agent of the Earth Allied Police Department should be good enough for that. Besides, We still have to ship the body back to Earth on the next flight.” Enid remarked. “That will save you a whole lot of paperwork. All you have to do is move us inside and we can do the rest.”
By nightfall of Stentor’s thirty hour day, Tim and Enid were sitting at the table in her apartment. Enid explained the entire plan and how she had arranged so much.
“My position at Nebson Security Research gave me not only the information, but enabled me to
pull this off. Did you know it was Jack Evans that offed your brother? That’s why he wanted you so badly. Poetic justice don’t you think?”
“I have one comment.”
“Oh? What’s that?”
“To quote one Jack Evans, “I’m sure glad you’re on my side. I’d hate to have you working against me.”
Enid grinned.
Howard Johnson - November 16, 2006
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
NO BOMB NEEDED
Abdu Rahman answered the door to his small, rented Chicago house. It was Fedex with a package from Germany. He grinned as he signed the papers for the lanky, hawk-nosed deliveryman. The package contents were the main essentials for his project and the only item he couldn’t purchase locally. Shaking with excitement, he took the package into the bathroom and placed it on the counter next to the sink. Thoughts of the next steps in his project and the deadline just four weeks away raced through his mind. “At last, I can do my part,” he thought as he headed for the kitchen.
He opened the refrigerator and removed several of the five-pound packages of hamburger which completely filled the inside. “How proud my father will be,” he thought as he picked up the large, heavy-gauge plastic trash bag from the kitchen counter, tucked it under his arm and headed back for the bathroom. Placing the bag and the packages of hamburger on the counter he directed his attention to the bathtub. After checking the silicon sealant he used to completely seal the drain he turned on the hot water. When the tub was about half full, he unfolded the trash bag into the tub and ran several gallons of water into it. Next, he opened one of the packages of meat and emptied it into the trash bag with the water. The pungent smell of the warmed meat assailed his nose. After ten days in the frig it was beginning to spoil. “Excellent,” he thought as he picked up a second package and dumped it into the bag.
A few trips to the kitchen and all one-hundred pounds of meat were now in the bag supported by the water in the tub. He secured the top of the bag to the wall above the tub with duct tape to keep it free and away from the slurry of meat inside. The next step would be tricky. Very carefully Abdu opened the Fedex package and removed the plastic bottle from the bubble wrap. He glanced at the short piece of garden hose he had placed on the floor by the tub, checking to make sure it would be within reach. Then he carefully carried the bottle filled with a thick, grayish brown liquid to the tub. To calm his now jumpy nerves, he paused, holding the bottle above the bag opening. “Now for the really tricky part,” he thought as he gingerly unscrewed the bottle cap and removed the seal. Slowly and carefully he lowered the bottle into the bag, inverted it and dumped the contents into the meat slurry. When the bottle was empty, he dropped it into the bag.
Immediately Abdu turned to the sink and carefully washed his hands with disinfectant soap. He breathed a sigh of relief as he dried his hands to prepare for the next step. Picking up the seven-foot section of garden hose cut from the one he had purchased, he thrust the cut end slightly inside the bag opening and held it there as he wrapped the bag tightly around the hose. Then he used duct tape to completely seal the bag to the hose so the only opening would be the other end of the hose. Raising the open end of the hose near the vent above the bathtub, he fastened the hose to the wall with duct tape in numerous places. The vent fan would remove the noxious fumes soon to be generated in the bag as the meat decomposed. He then turned on the new vent fan he had installed in the ceiling. Now there would be four weeks of waiting as the evil brew cooked and ripened.
During this period, Abdu did a bit more shopping at the local plumbing supply store. He purchased two six-foot pieces of metal covered, high-pressure hose with standard, female hose connections on each end, and two tap-in saddle valves with hose connections. These saddle valves were the kind which cut their own entry hole into the pipe with a sharp, hardened point on the tip of the valve stem. He also bought a small high-pressure pump, the kind that power the water jets used to strip paint. Abdu smiled as he paid the bill, “Only $486.00, “he commented smugly to himself. “Add that to the twenty dollars at the hardware store and three month’s rent and it comes to about $2,000. Who says weapons have to cost billions?” He was very pleased.
Once back at the house, he went about connecting and testing the new equipment. After replacing the aerator on the bathroom sink faucet with a hose adapter, he connected the high pressure hose between the adapter and the pump on the floor. A short suction hose cut from the other end of the garden hose was also attached to the pump. The open end of the garden hose was placed in a bucket of water Abdu had placed on the floor. “Now to try it out,” he said as he opened the cold water faucet of the sink. The sound of the sudden flow of water into the high pressure hose stopped as soon as the hose filled. The positive displacement pump acted like a closed valve and prevented the water from flowing through the suction hose.
“So far so good,” he mumbled as he reached to plug the power cable of the pump into the wall socket. The pump immediately whirred into life, then objected loudly and strenuously as the check valve in the meter stopped the back flow. He immediately pulled the plug to stop the pump and headed for the basement with the other metal hose and the two saddle valves. “Now to bypass the meter and its check valve,” he murmured under his breath as he walked down the stairs.
After turning on the naked light bulb, he laid the hose and valves on the floor next to the water meter. “How very simple,” he thought as he fastened the first valve upstream from the water meter. When it was securely in place, he carefully twisted the valve handle driving the point through the pipe wall. He watched as he slowly and carefully cracked the valve open. A trickle of water brought a lusty, “Allah be praised,” from his lips. After installing and testing the downstream valve he carefully connected the metal hose between the two valves and opened them completely. When he saw there were no leaks, he headed back to the bathroom.
“Now it should work,” he remarked to himself as he once again plugged the power cable of the pump into the wall socket. The pump spun once more, groaning a bit noisily as its pressure fought the system pressure. Soon, the higher pressure of the pump drove the water from the bucket into the faucet and then into the water system. “Praises be to Allah! It works!” Abdu shouted as the bucket slowly emptied. He pulled the plug, refilled the bucket and tried it again. Several tests later, he shut off the faucet, disconnected the hoses and moved pump and hoses to the end of the room. Now all he could do was wait.
As he sat watching the TV news for any signal that would cancel his project, he thought of how easy it had been to gain access to the details of the Chicago water system. It pleased him that it took only three months to find and rent a small house fed almost directly by the main water line near the treatment plant. He was particularly pleased since he was allowed six months by his cell leader at the cell meeting where the project was given to the members. At the meeting, all members had been forbidden any further contact with any member of the cell until the project was completed. For the rest of the project, Abdu was on his own.
As he continued watching, the news shifted to a panel of defense experts discussing the costs associated with the “Star Wars” missile defense system. When the spokesman stated, “Only about a hundred billion dollars to keep America safe,” Abdu laughed out loud. “Stupid American infidels with your useless expensive toys,” he snarled at the TV. “Wait until you learn what we have in store for you.”
On the appointed day, Abdu awoke early. He was so excited he could not sleep. His hands trembled as he put on his clothes. It was Wednesday, November 21, 2001, the day before America’s Thanksgiving Day. On this date, numerous other of his jihad cell would be doing exactly what Abdu was doing, hidden inside small, unobtrusive homes in quiet neighborhoods in large cities all over the US. He hated having to wait until eleven o’clock. The time went excruciatingly slow. To help pass the time he again checked everything. He checked the bypass hose in the basement, then the rig in the bathroom. He connected the pump to the faucet, stuck the suction hose into the water-filled bucket, and repeated the test done earlier. When everything worked, he went to the living room, sat down in front of the TV to watch the news. He jumped from channel to channel, watching carefully for an interview with the code words which would abort the project. “Allah! Don’t let those words come,” he said repeatedly while watching.
When the clock finally reached eleven and with no words to abort, he headed for the bathroom. Placing a disinfectant soaked face mask securely over his face. He opened the door. Moving swiftly now, he took a knife, slit the plastic bag and emptied the contents into the tub with the water. The putrid smell of the reddish brown, foamy mass assailed his nostrils even through the mask almost driving him out of the room. He held his breath as he lifted the now empty, dripping bag from the tub and placed it in the bucket on the floor. After securing the suction hose in the tub he turned on the pump and watched as the pump groaned and began to pump the foul mess into the water system. He made certain everything was working properly before shutting the door. All that remained to be done was to check the pump periodically to be certain it continued to pump. With the suction side restricted, it took several hours to empty the tub. As soon as the tub was empty, Abdu shut off the pump, closed the bathroom door, took his belongings and headed for the international terminal at O’Hare airport. As he boarded the international flight that would take him to Yemen he smiled smugly to himself, certain his efforts would help destroy America.
EPILOG
The next few days
The evil biological soup flowed through the house pipes, the street junction and into the large main under the street which served a major section of Chicago. Mixing with the flow downstream from the treatment plant, the reddish brown color soon disappeared as it was diluted by the large amounts of water flowing in the main.
A mile or so downstream on the tainted main, Beth Sosa drew some water to mix formula for her two-month-old daughter, Maria. It was early Thanksgiving day and many of her family would be coming for dinner. Not far away Alan Black drew water to make coffee for himself and his brother Carl who lived with him. Across the street, Adrian Melchior mixed concentrated orange juice with tap water for his family’s breakfast. It would be months before the deadly prions in their bloodstreams would complete their relentless rage of doom.
May, 2007
It was May when the CDC first realized something was wrong. Reports of a strange neurological disorder of small children began coming in from all over the country. Slowly at first, but then in growing number, infants and small children were losing control of their limbs and those walking were starting to fall down. In July, ten-month-old Maria Sosa of Chicago died of the disease. By September, the death toll was rising and the first older children and adults were beginning to show signs of the disease. In November, Beth Sosa, the two Black brothers and Adrian Melchior died. They would be the first known victims of a mysterious neurologic disease which was soon claiming thousands of victims in large cities all over the nation. Then came a sobering announcement from the CDC.
“The symptoms of this new disease are exactly the same as for variant Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease (vCJD), a type of Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE). BSE is a transmissible, neuro-degenerative, fatal brain disease of cattle. The disease has a long incubation period, but ultimately is fatal within weeks to months of its onset. BSE, commonly called mad-cow disease, first came to the attention of the scientific community in November 1986 with the appearance in cattle of a newly-recognized form of neurological disease in the United Kingdom (UK).
“BSE is associated with a transmissible agent. The agent affects the brain and spinal cord of cattle and lesions are characterized by sponge-like changes visible with an ordinary microscope. The agent is highly stable, resisting freezing, drying and heating at normal cooking temperatures, even those used for pasteurization and sterilization.
“vCJD was first reported in March 1996 in the UK. In contrast to the classical forms of CJD, vCJD has affected younger patients, has a relatively longer duration of illness (median of 14 months as opposed to 4.5 months) and is strongly linked to exposure, probably through food, to BSE. Recent studies have confirmed that vCJD is distinct from sporadic and acquired CJD.
“The larger the infected person, the slower the disease progresses. As of this date, there is no known cure once the agent has been ingested. The disease is always fatal.”
2008 & 2009
By mid 2008, the disease had decimated the US and spread to Canada and Mexico. More than a hundred million were dead and the disease showed no sign of slowing down. Deaths soon overwhelmed disposal facilities and city streets became littered with the dead and dying. All warm-blooded life was affected which added more decaying flesh to the streets and fields everywhere as birds and small mammals quickly succumbed. Then began a series of events unforseen by the terrorists. It began appearing in isolated areas all over the globe, first in Europe, then Africa, Asia, South America and even Australia. It seemed to be transmitted in bottled drinks, then foods and finally even by air. The year 2009 saw the disease in every corner of the globe and no one was left to even try to stop it. Decaying birds and mammals covered every continent. The sea was littered with bloated decaying cetaceans as porpoises and finally the whales began to succumb. Reptiles, sharks, bony fishes and other cold-blooded life forms did not contract the disease.
Final Note
On July 8, 2013 the last human died. Mammals larger than humans lasted a bit longer, but by 2015 the last whale died and the earth was free of all bird and mammalian life.
NOTE: All basic facts used in this story - science, medical and otherwise - are as possible and factual as the author’s research could find.
Howard Johnson - October 2001
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FRANCIS LANE, MD
It was early evening and Doctor Francis Lane sat quietly on his patio with his wife, Oona, enjoying an after-dinner drink and gazing down at the pond in front of their home in Hilo, Hawaii. He drank in the lovely view before him. Lush tropical plants crowded the edge of the pond both on land and in the water. Several Hawaiian geese, or Nenes, glided across the surface, along with numerous ducks. White wading birds dotted the edge wherever the vegetation was sparse. The pond was fed by a small stream which flowed in at one end and out over a concrete spillway at the other. The stream continued into a large culvert under the main road and them meandered off on the other side. To the east of the pond and the bordering street was a small hillside where their home merged into the lush vegetation.
Though the house was rather large, it didn’t stand out but merged into and became part of the hillside. Looking up the slope from the street, all that could be seen was the edge of the hipped roof and the upper part of some huge picture windows. It seemed almost a wilderness, undisturbed by human invasion. From the cul-de-sac in front of the house, the driveway curved to the left and upward, disappearing behind the sloping front yard as it turned toward the three-car garage beneath the house and hidden by the slope of the yard. There was a doorway to the right of the garage doors and a stone walkway that climbed lazily up a slope between the garage and the mound which hid it. Walls on both sides of the walkway were faced with flat, casually stacked lava slabs. Plants grew profusely, drooping down the irregular stone walls and nearly closing the view to the sky above. At the top of the walkway there was a surprisingly large patio overlooking the yard, pond and cul-de-sac. The patio and main entrence to the house could not be seen from the street or driveway below. Line-of-sight from the street made the house roof appear to come nearly to the ground at the edge of the patio. The view west from the patio was breathtakingly beautiful.
The main entrance to the house consisted of two huge glass doors centered between two equally large glass windows. It was a wall of clear glass. When the doors slid apart, the house opened itself to the outdoors and immediately became part of it.
Just beyond the patio and hidden by a wall of vines growing on a broad trellis was a pool with a lanai. Entrance to the pool was through a two-gated arch in the trellis which almost hid the pool from view. The pool-side lanai was ideal for casual entertaining with several wrought iron tables and chairs mixed in with beach loungers. Like the entrance patio, it could not be seen from the road below. A glass wall opened from the large recreation room to the pool area exactly like the patio wall. On the far wall of the room was a huge picture of a football running-back exploding through a group of would-be tacklers.
Beyond the recreation room, the house tumbled up a gentle slope, half a floor at a time for a total of four levels, including the garage. It was as spectacular inside as it was out with the clever, tasteful blending of art and decorations reflecting the four cultures of the owners with a decidedly local Hawaiian flavor.
As Dr. Lane continued looking silently to the west, Oona followed her husband’s gaze toward the pond and the sun now beginning to drop behind the mountain. She finally remarked, “It’s such a beautiful scene. I never get tired of it. I can’t imagine a more lovely place to live.”
“It certainly is spectacular. A far cry from where I originally lived,” Francis commented as he thought of how he came to be here at this point in his life.
* * *
Francis Lane had not always been so fortunate. He grew up in the inner city of Detroit during the late fifties and early sixties. His father, an ethnic Chinese, had been a math teacher in Beijing, China who escaped to the West from Czechoslovakia while on a cultural exchange there. After a long wait in England and then Canada he was admitted into the US as Charles Chang. He came to live with relatives in Detroit and worked as a cook in a Chinese restaurant in the city. His mother, Louanne, an inner city African American, was a waitress in the restaurant. Less than a year after his birth, both parents died horribly when the restaurant was fire-bombed one evening, shortly after closing.
Francis, named by his mother, was brought up by his maternal grandmother, Annabel Lane. She lived in a neat, clean little house which stood in contrast to the row of dilapidated old houses that populated the rest of the block. Annabel worked as a cleaning lady for an office building downtown to supplement the small pension she received as the widow of a soldier killed in World War II. There were five other family members living in Annabel’s house: her brother and his wife, two daughters and an elderly uncle. Annabel ruled the household with a firm, but gentle hand. Everyone was expected to do their part in keeping the house clean, neat and in good repair. Theirs was the only yard on the block with grass and a neat flower garden in front with a productive vegetable garden in the back.
Under Annabel’s firm guidance, Francis grew into an honest, capable young man and an excellent student at school. With a great deal of effort she finally convinced his Chinese relatives to accept him and teach him something of their very different culture. He spent each Saturday with the family of a cousin of his father’s who lived in a Chinese neighborhood not too far from Annabel’s home. The blending of the two cultures gave Francis a unique vantage point for growth and learning which fed his insatiable appetite for knowledge. It also created inner conflicts which led to growing problems as he matured. Knowing both cultures, yet not accepted by either outside of his two families, Francis felt isolated in spite of his happy, outgoing personality. A brilliant student in a difficult school, he was frequently involved in scuffles over name calling. Just a week after his high school graduation, he was seriously injured in a brawl with several gang members. After a short hospital stay, he completed his recovery at home with Annabel nursing him back to health.
“Now Francis, you’d best tell your grandma Annabel what this is all about,” she asked repeatedly as she tended his injuries. “I know somethin’ o’ what goes on in the streets ’round here and I don’t want you dead. Who was it and why’d they beat you?”
“Grandma, you don’t want to know.”
“I’ve lived in this house for almost fifty years and seen some pretty bad things goin’ on in the neighborhood. Grandma Annabel knows how to keep her yap shut when it needs to be. . . Tell me what this is all about and maybe I can help. . . I won’t do anythin’ without your okay. . . I can’t help if’n I don’t know what you’re up against. . . Talk to me chile. . . It was that Ahmed and his bunch wasn’t it. I hear the rumors. Why’d they beat you?”
Francis finally opened up. “They beat me because I refused to be a runner for their drugs. They wanted me to hook up with some people in the Chinese community. They figured I could get to people they couldn’t.”
“Did you talk to any relations in Chinatown?”
“Nah! I don’t want to get involved. Sooner or later I’d get caught or killed.”
“Won’t they come after you again? Why don’ you go to the police?”
“They’re sure to kill me if they think I ever talked to the police. I’ve got to get out of Detroit as soon as possible. They’ll kill me if I stay and refuse to run drugs for them. I have absolutely no choice about that.”
“Where you gonna go an’ how you gonna live? What about that scholarship to college? Wouldn’t you be safe away at school?”
“If I take that scholarship they’ll know where I am and come after me sooner or later. I just can’t take that chance. If I head to the west coast and hide my tracks they’ll have a hard time finding me. Hopefully, they’ll give up after a while.”
“You crazy! I’m afraid you’ll get into trouble what with no friends, no money and all. How you gonna live?”
“Grandma, you taught me to always try to be a decent person. You did a really good job. I won’t do anything to get into trouble. You can count on it.”
“Bless you chile. You know how proud I am of you. I still don’ want you to go, but where you thinkin’ ‘bout?”
“I thought I might try Chinatown in San Francisco. I’m obviously part Chinese and know enough of the language to pass. I’ll make out okay. I’ll keep in touch somehow.”
“I still don’ like it. You get healed up an’ we’ll talk some mo’ ‘bout Ahmed and his gang.”
Several weeks after he recovered from the beating, Annabel found a long, loving goodbye note on her grandson’s pillow. He left during the night with a plan that started a chain of events leading to many changes in his life.
Francis was both frightened and fiercely angry with the three who had beaten him. His desire for revenge and flight west were combined in his plan. The leader and local drug boss, Ahmed, had been a classmate of Francis. Ahmed made quite a bit of money in a short period of time and was building his organization with relentless force. Those who opposed him either disappeared or were found beaten to death. Francis was alive only because Ahmed believed he could still get him as a courier. The group had taken over an abandoned house several miles away from Annabel’s. There were seven of them in the house who drove around in two very fast cars kept in the back yard. Around the yard was a six foot high, chain-link fence with a locked gate. There were always at least two members on guard, one in an upper front window, the other in the rear.
Word among students at the high school was that the drugs were kept in the basement near the front of the house. Ahmed supposedly kept most of his cash in his favorite of the two cars, a black, high performance Camaro. He frequently bragged about his car, once telling Francis about it’s hidden ignition lock beneath the shifter cover. With this sketchy knowledge, Francis made his plan.
About four in the morning, dressed completely in black, he crept up to the fence in the very back, lugging a suitcase filled with clothing and a satchel filled with tools. He took a large bolt cutter from the satchel and opened the fence with a hole big enough for him to quickly move through. He then crawled through the hole and crept silently up to the Camaro. He remembered about the door wiring from his auto shop training in school. He slid under the car to a position beneath the front of the driver’s door where he could reach the inside lighting wire harness. Using small diagonal cutters he snipped the wire to the door switch, slowly opened the door, reached inside, and felt carefully for the ignition lock under the shifter cover. His heart stopped as he heard the loud click of the solenoid as it snapped into place. He knew the car was now ready to roll. Next he felt for and found the starter button which replaced the key switch in the dash. The exact location of the switch would need to be known for later. He placed the suitcase in the back of the Camaro, left the door unlatched and crept slowly toward the fence.
The bolt cutter made quick work of the fence, creating a hole directly in front of the Camaro and big enough for it to drive through. He hoped it would give him room to run in quickly, start the car and get out with a minimum of problems. Next, he headed for the front of the house, pleased that the lookout had not seen or heard anything. As he approached the side of the porch he heard snoring. One of the gang was sleeping on a couch right under the open window to the porch. He would have to be very quiet. Taking the gallon jug of kerosene he brought, he slowly poured it across the edge of the wooden porch floor, hoping it would spread evenly across the porch. By the dim light of the one street light at the end of the block he could see the reflection on the shiny surface of the kerosene as it ran to the middle of the porch and began to puddle there. Perfect, he thought to himself. The porch sags in the middle. Taking a large rag from the satchel, he spread it out on the porch in the kerosene. He then placed nearly a dozen shotgun shells on the rag, spreading them evenly and facing the porch wall. After pouring the rest of the kerosene over the rag and shells he carefully closed the satchel, grasped it tightly in his left hand and prepared for a rapid, silent escape to the rear. With his right hand he took a lighter from his pocket and started to light the rag.
Before he could snap the lighter, a car spun around the corner and sped up the street toward the house. His heart pounded as he moved away from the porch and flattened himself against the ground. The lights shone brightly on the side of the house as the car approached. Thankfully, it sped on past the house into the night. The sentry on the second floor leaned out the window and cursed the car as it sped by. Francis could see him clearly by the light of the nearby streetlight. He hugged the ground, remaining immobile until the lookout withdrew from the window. He thought he would never leave. When he finally disappeared inside, Francis crept back to the edge of the porch and again prepared to light the rag. The porch roof hid the entire porch from the sentry, but as soon as the fire was lit, its reflections would be seen.
After lighting the corner of the rag, he moved quickly away to the rear to be out of the light, pausing for a moment to make sure the rag caught fire. Seeing the porch corner post glowing orange from the light of the burning rag, he moved silently back toward the opening in the fence where he paused to try to catch a glimpse of the rear lookout. By then the nearby house was glowing in the light of the expanding flames. Suddenly, the shout “fire!” came from the front lookout. By now Francis could see the rear lookout peering intently in his direction. As the light of the fire on nearby houses brightened the area, he remained motionless while wondering, have I been seen?
The loud bang of the first shell to explode took the lookout out of the window toward the sound of the explosion. The lookout gone, Francis headed straight for the Camaro. Showtime! It seemed to take forever to cover the thirty or so feet from the hole in the fence to the door of the Camaro. Several more of the shells went off before he reached the door. Throwing the satchel in the back, he jumped into the drivers seat and pushed the starter button. Damn! Nothing happened! He pressed it several times more. Absolute silence! By now he could hear shouts from the house. Have I been seen, he wondered once more as his mind screamed for action. Try the ignition lock again. He felt under the cover for the lock switch and snapped it off and back on. Still the starter button produced silence. Maybe the ignition lock was sticking. Holding down the starter button, he flipped the switch off and on quickly. Each time he did so the starter jumped and fell silent. Then it dawned on him. The damned lock was left on for a fast start and I have been turning it off! As soon as he flipped the switch once and pressed the starter button, the Camaro’s engine exploded into life. He slammed it into gear, turned on the headlights and vaulted toward the fence. As he zipped through the fence, the crack - crack of bullets hitting the Camaro’s rear window sounded. Why didn’t the glass break, he thought for an instant.
By the time he hit the end of the quarter mile alley, a pair of headlights sprung up behind him near the growing glow of the now blazing house. They were in pursuit. He had planned his escape route very carefully. At the end of the alley he took a left, then three blocks and a right, three more blocks and a left would take him to Livernois. A right turn on Livernois and about a mile of main thoroughfare would take him past a police station. If they were still behind him as he went down Livernois he would drive normally by the station, hoping his followers would not. If he could get the police in the chase he should be able to get away. Just past the station was a short side street that curved to the left and ended at another where you could head back to Livernois or go in the opposite direction. There was a narrow, enclosed alleyway off that street which led to a doorway in the rear of a small manufacturing plant. With the windowless building above and on both sides of the alleyway, it seemed to be a hole in the building not large enough for a car. It actually was a footpath to the rear door and was just wide enough for a car. Even in the daylight it was dark and hidden. At night it would be the perfect hiding place for a black car.
By the time he reached Livernois and headed for the station, his pursuers were a good half mile behind. There were more cars than he expected on the road. As he slowed to normal speed approaching the station he could see them gaining rapidly. They were moving at a very high speed once on the straight, wide road. It seemed to take forever to get to the station. As he passed, he could see several policemen outside on the station steps. In a sudden inspiration he honked and waved as he passed. During the time he took to drive the single block to the side street, the other car covered the distance to the station. They were only a block away when he turned off and headed for the alley. At the speed they were traveling, they would not be able to negotiate the turn into the side street. That should give him time to dive into his hiding spot. As he approached the alley, he heard the loud screech of tires as brakes were applied in a panic stop. As he drove into the alley and up to the door, he turned off the lights, killed the ignition and stepped out of the car into the pitch blackness. The sound of tires spinning in reverse told him they had indeed missed the corner. More burning rubber as the car spun into the side street and accelerated past the alley. They missed his hiding place completely and continued. He could hear their engine as the car accelerated away on the next street. His plan worked. As he turned to examine the Camaro more closely, the wail of sirens filled the night air. Two police cruisers sped past the alley, chasing his pursuers. He smiled to himself at the astonishing success of his plans.
Taking a small flashlight out of his satchel, he stepped to the rear to inspect the trunk of the car. As he turned the light on the back of the car, he noticed several bullet holes in the trunk. There were several marks on the rear window where bullets must have hit and glanced off. Bullet-proof glass, he thought to himself with a smile. Shining the light on one of the holes, he noticed something immediately behind the hole. The bullet had penetrated the sheet metal of the rear only to be stopped by a heavy steel plate behind the sheet metal. It was an armored car! There was no place for a key to the trunk. It must be opened by a latch on the inside. He remembered how several boys had worked on hidden trunk latches in auto shop class at school. He spent fifteen fruitless minutes trying to find the latch.
The rear seat upholstery had four large upholstered buttons, two on each side. After fruitlessly examining the floor, roof and sides both inside and out for a pull ring or lever, Francis began feeling around the buttons. The upper ones did not move as easily and freely as the others. After pulling and pushing one button he finally twisted it and “click” the trunk latch advertised its opening. Stepping to the back he took hold of the trunk lid and tried to move it. Nothing happened. Maybe that wasn’t the latch after all. Going back inside, he reached for the button to twist it again. It was then he noticed the seat back seemed loose. An easy pull and the left seat back came down revealing a compartment more than a foot deep behind the seat. A repeat effort on the other side revealed a similar compartment,. Both were empty.
There was obviously several feet of space between the back of these two compartments and the rear of the trunk. He couldn’t find a single seam in either one. How do you get to that space? The money had to be hidden there. As he closed the compartments he noticed the rear seat was split to match the backs. It, too, had the large buttons on the front panel of each side. Twisting one brought the same “click”he heard from the seat back buttons. Lifting the seat revealed a thin, black briefcase in a compartment just large enough to hold it. Under the other seat was another identical briefcase.
He gasped as he opened the first briefcase. It was packed with neat bundles of one hundred dollar bills. He had no idea how much. Opening the other revealed about half as many bills. The rumors among students at school had been correct. Apparently, Ahmed couldn’t keep things to himself and had to brag about them. He thought as he placed the cases back in their compartments and closed the seat. The next few moments he sat in the car trying to decide his next course of action. He had planned to drive the car west to Chicago, and if he found the money, dump it there and buy another plain older car to drive on to the west coast. San Francisco was his goal. Although he was rather dark for Chinese he did have strong Chinese features and planned to get lost in Chinatown. The problem was the bullet holes in the trunk. A high performance, late model Camaro with bullet holes in the trunk driven by a young black man would be an invitation for every policeman he passed. How could he hide the holes?
Suddenly inspired, he dove under the dash. With his flashlight he spotted several wiring harnesses held together with shiny, black electrical tape. It took him about ten minutes to peel six short strips of tape and place them carefully over the bullet holes. It didn’t look bad, rather like a few scratches on an otherwise smooth black rear panel. As he sat down to decide when to leave his hiding place he turned on the ignition lock and then the radio to see if he could catch any news. It wasn’t an ordinary radio. It was a police band radio set to the local police frequency. He was startled to hear reports about the end of a chase where five black teenagers were killed when their car went through a filling station and struck a parked dump truck at very high speed while trying to elude police. It happened about ten miles away. The driver of the car was identified as a local drug dealer named Ahmed.
What a waste. Francis thought. Ahmed had been such a bright kid in grade school with me. Too bad he turned that good mind into the wrong direction. Relieved of the fear of being chased across the country by Ahmed, Francis headed west, deciding to drive the Camaro all the way to San Francisco.
By the end of the week it took to make the trip, many things happened. A number of Detroit charities received anonymous cash donations of ten thousand dollars in boxes sent by First Class Mail. The Chinese community received a donation of fifty thousand for their proposed youth center. Annabel’s church received a fifty thousand dollar donation earmarked to be used for youth programs. Annabel was the treasurer of her church and would administer the donation. She had no idea about the source of the funds. There were a string of five and ten thousand dollar donations to youth charities in inner cities across the country.
There were many bank accounts opened in small town banks from just west of Chicago to just east of Reno Nevada by one Charles Chang who explained he would be moving there soon and wanted to have a local account. Francis Lane had become Charles Chang and was using his dead father’s social security number on all these bank accounts. He noticed he was accepted as Chinese without question when he gave his name as Chang. The forty or so bank accounts totaled in excess of one hundred thousand dollars. Annabel had taught him well about bank accounts and squirreling away money.
In Cheyenne, he stayed long enough to have the holes in the rear of the car fixed and the car painted metallic silver. He explained the holes saying some hunters were shooting at a bill board not realizing his car was behind it. They payed him cash to have it fixed. His explanation was greeted with, “We have those kinds of problems with crazy city hunters all the time.” To avoid obvious questions, he asked that the holes merely be filled from the outside, smoothed and then painted. He didn’t want anyone poking around and trying to open the trunk. When asked about the steel plate in the trunk he explained he added it to provide two hundred pounds in the rear to balance the power of the engine for slippery streets during Michigan winters. That seemed to make sense to the body man.
By the time he reached San Francisco there was about fifty thousand dollars left in one of the briefcases. Once there, he found a small furnished apartment above an import store and moved in. He asked about a job at the import store when he noticed a posting on the back of the front door. The owner, who was his landlord, said he was holding the job for a relative soon coming from China. When he asked if he could fill the job temporarily until the relative arrived he was put off for a few days. He tried again, asking to be able to work enough to earn his rent.
After a lengthy discussion in Chinese with his wife, he turned to Francis saying, “You start job next Monday. I pay you five dollar an hour. You pay me rent as usual. okay?”
Francis agreed quickly with a broad smile. Apparently his persistence paid off. Francis decided to do something about the car soon after his arrival. He wanted to find out what was in the space between the rear seat compartments and the steel plate at the back. He opened both compartments and searched for a way to get behind them. While banging on the back of the compartment he realized there was a steel plate there as well. There was more than two feet of space between the two steel plates. He decided access was only possible through the bottom of the trunk. While on the ground and looking at the trunk bottom, he found a tire well on one side and gas tank on the other. He had missed something.
Again he went inside and opened the rear compartments. Examining them carefully, he discovered a one quarter inch threaded hole at the very top, outside edge of the rear panel, flush with the carpet covering the back of the compartment. Suddenly, Francis remembered the two wing screws in the glove compartment. He reached over and removed them, screwing one into this threaded hole. When he tightened the wing screw it went in all the way and just kept on turning. As he continued to turn the screw, he realized it was beginning to come out bringing a three eighths inch round rod with it. Withdrawn completely the rod was about twenty inches long. Checking the other side he discovered the same threaded hole at the extreme left top. Again, screwing in the wing screws brought out the three eighths inch rod. With both rods withdrawn, it was clear that the trunk lid was now free. Stepping out of the car, he took hold of the edge of the trunk lid which moved a little. Then he remembered the other objects in the glove compartment, two heavy plastic handles. From their shape it was obvious they were used to lift the trunk lid. Taking the two handles and placing them on either side of the trunk and engaging the thin graspers with the side edges of the trunk, he lifted the lid straight up, the only way it would move. As he raised the lid, he could see four more steel rods protruding down from the lid. He lifted the heavy trunk lid until the rods came free from their guide holes and placed it carefully on the ground.
Peering down into the now open trunk he found two soft brown leather zippered bags. As he lifted the bags from the trunk, he realized one was empty. Opening the other one, he found several plastic bags with white powder. He had been transporting a large quantity of drugs! After a moment of panic he wished he had dumped the car a long time ago. Leaving the two bags on the ground, he replaced the trunk lid and closed it with the locking rods. After the seats were back in place, he picked up the two brown bags and headed for his apartment where he flushed the contents of the plastic bags down the toilet. He then went to the dumpster behind the restaurant next door where he dumped the brown bags and covered them with trash. He hoped no one had noticed.
He knew he had to get rid of the car as soon as he could. He thought about abandoning it but realized it could be traced back to him through the body shop where he had it painted. He had to find a way to obliterate the car completely with no trace and as soon as possible. It had to be done with no help from another person. He had to find a way to dump it in the ocean in a secluded spot where it would never be found. After studying maps, he found several promising spots. Checking each of them out, he selected one not far from the Golden Gate bridge. Roadway construction of some kind had made a narrow, dirt road sloping down to the edge of a cliff which dropped straight into the water. Late that night he removed the temporary wooden barrier and stood on the dirt road while the Camaro rolled over the cliff into oblivion. Taking a branch from a nearby brush pile, he obliterated the Camaro’s tracks from the edge of the cliff to well beyond where he replaced the barrier. He then walked nearly a mile to where he caught a bus to make his way back to Chinatown.
Francis Lane, now Charles Chang, would work hard to establish himself in Chinatown away from the dangers of Detroit gangs. He called Annabel to let her know he was safe and would talk to her often in the coming years. He did not tell her about the car, the money, or what happened the night he left. She told him Ahmed and his friends died in an accident, but several others had asked about him. She told them she had no idea where he was but suggested he might have gone to New York. Annabel was no fool and would keep his whereabouts to herself. Francis was grateful he had such a grandmother.
It took him nearly a year to be accepted into the Chinese community. By his twentieth birthday he was given a party by the family who owned the Import store where he worked. Shortly after this he changed jobs, working in a hospital where he took training as a medical technician. After several years he became an emergency room technician in the hospital. He stayed there, enjoying the work and the people for the next five years.
Francis thought hard about his future and finally decided to go back to school and try to get a college degree. He phoned Annabel to ask her help in getting his records for college entrance. She was thrilled when he said the University of Michigan would probably be his best bet. With her assistance, Francis enrolled at Ann Arbor the following fall under his own name. The decade since his departure gave him a good separation from the past. No one had asked about him for at least five years.
Francis finished his undergraduate work in just three years, graduating with honors. Accepted into the U of M medical school he worked hard and by his 36th birthday he had begun his internship at Detroit City Hospital. During his education, the many Charles Chang accounts across the country had been transferred one-by-one to a bank in Ann Arbor and used to pay for his schooling. By the time his internship was completed there were just three left totaling less than ten thousand dollars. The drug money had been put to good use. About this time Annabel grew gravely ill.
She smiled proudly at Francis from her bed on her last day. “Doctor Francis Lane! What a beautiful sound for a name. I am so proud of you!” she said softly.
Francis knew he was losing his greatest life asset. With Annabel gone and his Chinese cousins moved away from Detroit he decided to make a major move. The one cousin with whom he kept contact over the years now lived to Hilo, Hawaii. On a hunch he called her to ask about coming out for a visit. Dee Chang was a jolly woman of about forty who never married. Yes, she would be delighted to see him. Francis sold his car and other possessions, arranged for Annabel’s house to be titled to her church for use as a youth hostel, and left for Hilo with all his remaining things packed in two suitcases.
With no openings for new doctors available anywhere on the islands, Francis applied for a job as an EMT at the University Hospital Trauma Center in Hilo. Two years later he was given the next opening as staff physician. During that time he met and married Oona Lee, a nurse at the center. He would remain there for many years, earning a reputation as an excellent physician. He also gained the community’s respect as an active supporter and promoter of youth programs aimed at troubled young people.
Howard Johnson - January, 2000
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TIME TRAP
Alexis carefully slid the package into her leather purse, slung its strap over her shoulder, and casually walked around the corner into the heart of the spaceport and up to the customs desk. The fat albino behind the desk looked up from his monitor to stare at her, his right hand sliding slowly out of sight and down by his side, not unnoticed by her.
"Ah, Miss Stereo, back so soon?"
From behind her, a familiar voice shouted, "Alexis! Don't!"
Turning she saw Dr. Stanford out of breath from running to catch her. “What do you mean, don’t?”
“Just don’t!” Dr. Stanford stammered through gasping breaths as he almost stumbled up to her side.
“You said it yourself, I have to go back 24 hours to stop the release of that RESO Virus or the whole planet will be dead, and ... and as soon as possible.”
“They were . . . wrong! The RESO virus is . . . harmless and didn’t cause the deaths . . . another experimental virus the two women . . . had in their bodies was triggered by the RESO . . . The medical team found it and destroyed it . . . easily before there were any more deaths. . . . But the TCD is not harmless . . . There are some unusual side effects if it is used on a large scale.” Dr. Stanford blurted out between gasps for air.
Alexis paled. “What’s wrong with the time collapse driver anyway? I already triggered it before slipping the package into my purse. It’s set to cycle 24 hours back at precisely eleven o’clock, just a few moments from now and we both know it can’t be stopped.”.
The albino pulled up what he had been reaching for and leveled a Galbo blaster at Alexis. “I’ve been waiting for you to return with that gadget. I saw it in the security scan and knew I wanted it. It will be my ticket out of this Hell-hole.”
“You jerk!” Alexis snarled. “The damned thing will be useless to you. The start mechanism requires my hand print before it will fire.”
“Hand over the purse and we’ll see about that. Those scabs in the Telurian black market think they can reverse engineer anything. They pay highly for any new or unusual device.”
“You don’t know what you’re getting into.” Alexis stalled and held her purse tightly.
“And I don’t give a crap! Give it to me or I might pop the trigger on this Galbo and you know what it can do.”
“Let him have it, Alexis, it doesn’t work right anyway.”
“What do you mean it doesn’t work right?”
“Miss Stereo, Give me the damned purse, NOW! Otherwise, you and the Doctor here will be splattered all over the customs office and I’ll take your purse out of your dead hand.”
Reluctantly Alexis handed over the purse. The albino took it and disappeared through a door into the bowels of the spaceport.
“OK Doctor. What’s wrong with that expensive little gadget?”
Dr. Stanford finally caught his breath and explained, “We have only tested it on small bursts of power - ten or twenty seconds worth. We didn’t notice any problems and it only warped a small section of space. Gravity waves from that small disturbance quickly leveled out and no harm was done. We decided upping the power to warp enough space for a person would work the same”
Alexis looked puzzled. “So what’s the big deal? We’ll have a little blip and everything will be OK.”
“That’s not exactly correct.”
“So, what does happen?”
“We have theorized that a large enough gravitational disturbance could cause a cascading G-Wave effect that would create a major rift in the space-time continuum. The entire universe could be pulled through that rift in an instant and revert back to whatever time it was set to.”
“That little box could do the whole universe?” Alexis shuddered as she said it.
“Yes . . . Theoretically.”
Just then there was an instantaneous change, completely absent of sensory information.
Alexis looked at the clock on her desk. It was precisely11:00am and she needed to hurry to get to the meeting on time. The meeting at the Stanford Gravitation Field Experimental Station was to discuss results of the testing of the new, portable TCD unit.
At about the same, time in the University hospital research facility nearby, the RESO virus was about to be tested on human volunteers. The Replicating Exchanging Self Organizing virus would search out all nonstandard DNA cells in a person’s body and replace the faulty DNA with the correctly sequenced DNA. It was not only a cure for cancer, but many other diseases caused by aberrations in cell DNA. The promise and possibilities were staggering in their depth and breadth. Two women with advanced cancers were selected from thousands of volunteers. It’s creator, Dr Chan Ling estimated it would take thirteen hours for the virus to convert all nonstandard DNA. Once that was done, it would disappear when all non-standard DNA, its food in effect, disappeared. No trace of the virus would survive. One volunteer was injected with one type of RESO virus. The other with a slightly different strain.
“Now all we have to do is wait.” Dr. Chan murmured as the two women got up to return to their rooms in the hospital section.
Three hours later both women were dead, their bodies riddled with a very rapidly developing cancer. Seemingly, the RESO virus had not destroyed itself, but had invaded every living cell in or touching the women. Near panic gripped the staff when they realized the gravity of the situation. The entire wing of the hospital was sealed off, but it was too late.
Searching frantically for a viable solution, Dr. Chan remembered that his friend, Dr James Stanford, had been working on a time warping device using gravity waves. “Get me Dr Stanford at the Stanford Gravitation Field Experimental station.” He shouted at one of his assistants as they rushed toward the office.
In less than half an hour he had explained the situation to Dr. Stanford who promised to see if his equipment might be useful in providing a solution. Soon he was explaining how the new and very powerful TCD could send someone back twenty four hours. This might enable them to stop the release of the RESO virus.
Dr. Stanford was coaching one of his assistants, Alexis. “Set this digital readout to 24.00, indicate hours and then press your hand against the actuator. The nuclear distorter will start building up G-pressure and in about ten minutes it will fire a monstrous G-wave that should bang you back 24 hours instantaneously.”
Alexis thought for a moment. As Dr, Stanford’s assistant she knew there were some very special location and time constraints. “When and where do I do this?”
Dr. Stanford took out a map. “The best place is inside the spaceport . . . here, in this open area.” He pointed as he spoke.
“I’ll have to go through security. What do you suppose they’ll do when they see this device?”
“Tell them it’s a new medical device using nuclear power. Dr. Chan would confirm that should they get testy.”
“I suppose I’d better get going.”
“The sooner the better.”
Half an hour later she stood by the security scanner and waited as the TCD unit was put through without incident. “That was easy.” she muttered to herself as she picked up the TCD.
Alexis carefully slid the package into her leather purse, slung its strap over her shoulder, and casually walked around the corner into the heart of the spaceport and up to the customs desk. The fat albino behind the desk looked up from his monitor to stare at her, his right hand sliding slowly out of sight and down by his side, not unnoticed by her.
"Ah, Miss Stereo, back so soon?"
From behind her, a familiar voice shouted, "Alexis! Don't!"
Howard Johnson - November 5, 2006
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
TOYS ARE US
March 11, 2002
Corporal Lance Mugambi sat studying the color display screen in front of him. His hands were on the keyboard of a Gunslinger remote controller. He and about a hundred other newly trained weapon operators, dubbed gunslingers from the weapon they used, were aboard a refitted AWACs plane high above the mountains of Afghanistan. He was deeply engrossed in the scene on the display. In one window was a video taken by a tiny Sky Eye TV camera mounted on a small Super Chopper deployed from a much modified Tomahawk cruise missile far below them. In another window, a photo map of the mountainous terrain was displayed. A bright yellow dot moved slowly over the map indicating the exact position of the tiny helicopter as it was taking the video being shown.
“Damn! There it is,” shouted the Corporal as an Al-Qaeda training camp suddenly appeared on the display. It was in a canyon among the mountains. “Look at those guys running for cover. They must think it’s an attack,” he reported to his group of four as they watched the scene unfolding on their screens.
“Now, they’re firing,” another gunslinger remarked as bright flashes and puffs of white smoke appeared on their screens. “They waste lots of ammo shooting at tiny things they can barely see. I wonder just what they think is happening.”
“There’s one with a Stinger missile,” another remarked. “Is he actually going to fire it at our choppers? This should be interesting.”
“Wasting a $20,000 missile to attack a $300 drone helicopter is great for our side,” the Corporal commented. “Shoot, damn you, shoot.”
They all cheered as a bright flash and smoke trail erupted when the stinger burst into action. “Anyone hit?” someone asked. There was no answer. A moment later another one was fired from the camp.
“They got mine,” another called out when his screen went black. “No - wait - it might be okay.” The scene on his screen suddenly reappeared, tumbled wildly before it slowed and then stabilized. “It still looks like I’m going down. The ground’s coming up too fast.” Indeed the ground rushed up to meet the camera and the screen went blank. He immediately switched to an alternate camera on another Super Chopper of his assigned group of four. One of the four green active camera indicator lights on his screen was now red.
“Anyone else get a red light?” the Corporal asked. Silence indicated a negative response. “Great! So far the score is our $300 to their $40,000. At this rate we’ll bankrupt them in a hurry. Now, let’s get on with the mission. We need at least three head counts to plan tonight’s attack. Also, use your cursors to pinpoint any possible military target. Don’t forget objects like buildings, vehicles, gun emplacements, caves, deep ravines or anyplace they can hide. We don’t want to miss anything. Don’t worry about major roads or bridges. We’ve already got a handle on them and they should be destroyed by smart bombs within an hour or so. First we isolate them in their camps; then we eliminate them.”
* * *
Zalmi looked up at the sound of the Tomahawk missile as it blasted by the camp and immediately disappeared over the hill to the north. No one even had time to raise a gun toward the missile. “Wakil! Wakil!” Zalmi shouted to his partner in the lookout station. “The Americans! They have come calling and we must repel them.”
Wakil cranked the ancient siren to arouse the camp which immediately burst into action. Soldiers with weapons poured out of buildings and took positions among the rocks. The fifty or so trainees were rushed from the conditioning field into a deep cave in the rocky hill to the east of the camp. Some were given weapons and posted in the rocks outside the cave entrance. Unnoticed were sixteen tiny helicopters dropped from the Tomahawk far down the valley to the south of the camp.
“I don’t like the silence,” Zalmi said to his partner. “Maybe that was just a missile headed north. If it was aimed at us, it missed.”
“The stupid Americans. They’ll probably blow up some mountainside. That’s all there is north of us where it headed.”
They both laughed. Suddenly Zalmi cupped his hand to his ear. “Listen! Do you hear that? It sounds like a swarm of bees far in the distance.”
Wakil frowned. “I don’t hear a thing. - Wait! Now I hear it. It does sound like bees. I wonder what it could be?”
After about five minutes the sound level suddenly jumped as the flight of tiny helicopters topped the rise a mile or so to the south and descended toward the camp. Zalmi grabbed an ancient pair of binoculars and pointed them toward the growing, high-pitched din.
“What is it?” Wakil asked. “What do you see?”
“Nothing at all. Clear sky and no dust on the ground.”
The tiny, low-flying helicopters were impossible to see at this distance, even with binoculars. Their sound, enhanced deliberately to create confusion, grew to an intense, almost painful level as they neared the camp.
“You must be blind! Give me those so I can see our enemy.” Wakil grabbed the binoculars from Zalmi just as the noisy choppers passed over their outpost a few hundred feet above their heads. The size of a small bird, the tiny choppers were still nearly impossible to see. This was especially so when most of them reached their observation area with the sun directly behind them.
Zalmi watched as wild gunfire erupted from the many automatic weapons in the hands of his fellow Afghans. A few took aim, most simply fired at random into the air. Like Zalmi, many of these hardened fighters were confused and disorganized. “In the name of Allah, what is this?” he shouted to Wakil, a look of near panic on his face.
Wakil was angrily emptying his AK47 into the air and couldn’t hear. The unmistakable flash and roar of a hand-held Stinger missile rent the air as it blasted off from a few feet away. Zalmi followed its corkscrew, smoke-defined path as it disappeared high in the sky. A second missile was fired only to explode almost immediately a few hundred feet in the air. Zalmi watched a tiny black dot descend from the area of the explosion. It fell slowly at first and then picked up speed as it headed for the rocks about thirty feet from his post. It struck the ground and exploded with much less force than a hand grenade. The self-destruct mechanism in the tiny, fragile chopper blew it to thousands of tiny bits when it hit the ground.
Zalmi climbed down from the observation tower and rushed over to examine the site of the explosion. He soon picked up a tiny piece of green plastic and showed it to Wakil who followed him to help in the inspection. “What could it have been?” he said, turning the tiny flat object over in his palm. “This tiny piece of plastic is all I can find. Look for yourself.”
Wakil examined the ground and came up with two tiny metal screws, the type used to fasten to plastic. “This is all I’ve found so far. What can it be?”
While the unearthly din roared above them, Zalmi left to check with Colonel Mustapha, the camp commander. Wakil climbed back up the ladder to man the observation post. Zalmi went in person as once more the ancient telephone connection failed to work. As he arrived at the headquarters building, Colonel Mustapha ordered a cease fire and sent a boy to check the camp for casualties.
“What have you to report?” the colonel asked of Zalmi.
“Here’s all we could find from the site, sir,” he said as he handed the small piece of plastic and the two screws to the colonel. “There was a very small explosion when the object hit. It was the size of a blackbird and fell quite slowly so it must have been very light. Do you have any idea what this is all about?”
At this point a young boy ran up impatient with news for the colonel. “Spit it out, child. What did you discover?”
“There are no casualties, sir,” he answered quickly. “No one was killed. No one was injured except a few who fell on the rocks while rushing to their posts. Sir, what is that terrible noise?”
“We’ll tell everyone about it when we have all the details. Go, spread the word to look for any unusual objects on the ground and bring them here to the headquarters building. Go!” Turning back to Zalmi, he said, “Continue your report.”
“Wakil and I examined the spot where the object exploded and found nothing but the three objects I gave you. That certainly was not a bomb. It was much less powerful than a hand grenade. I doubt it would even cause injury unless it exploded in contact with a person. We were less than thirty feet from the explosion and nothing reached our post.”
Colonel Mustapha looked puzzled. “That is very strange. Return to your post and try to find more pieces.”
Zalmi was returning to his post when he noticed the sound seemed to be dying down. Reaching the observation post, he found Wakil searching the sky with the binoculars.
“They’re definitely moving away,” Wakil said as he put down the glasses. “I can no longer even see the tiny black dots. The source of the sound seems to be moving north toward the mountains.”
They watched their northern view for some time after the buzzing faded away. Suddenly there were a number of tiny bright flashes high in the mountains. They heard no sounds from the distant explosions.
* * *
“Let’s get them out of there,” Corporal Mogumbi ordered. “Head them for that high mountain peak and destroy them so no one can get their hands on them. We’ve got thousands more waiting to be used.”
“I almost hate to destroy them that way,” an eighteen year old gunslinger said as he headed his four Super Choppers north into the mountains.
At twenty thousand feet immediately above raged peaks, the remaining fifteen tiny Super Choppers were self destructed into thousands of indistinguishable pieces the size of sand grains which rained down over a broad area of the deserted mountains.
* * *
It had been many hours since the tiny Super Choppers surveyed the terrorist camps, the sun had set and it was quite dark. Wakil and Zalmi were watching from their posts in the wind swept silence. Suddenly, two large explosions created a flash from several miles to the south and the camp went dark as the explosions cut the power. The flashes and ensuing smoke were clearly visible from their post. Twenty seconds later the unmistakable rumble of the distant explosions reached the camp. Zalmi reached for the battered phone to report to the colonel as the generator kicked in and the emergency lighting came up.
“Praise to Allah!” Zalmi uttered as the phone worked. When Seargent Mahkmud, the colonel’s aid answered, Zalmi reported, “Two explosions about two miles south of us, sir. We saw the flashes and there’s lots of flames and smoke. It appears to be at the location of the camp entrance in the valley below us.”
“I’ll check with the guard post,” the seargent replied.
A few minutes later the phone buzzed. It was the seargent. “We’ve lost contact with the guard post. The phone is dead. I’m sending a weapon carrier and men to see what’s happened. I’m also sending all men to their defense positions. Keep your eyes open for anything unusual. This may be the Americans.”
They watched the lights of the weapon carrier wind its way down toward the guard post until it went out of sight. About twenty minutes later, it returned. Zalmi could see by the outside lights that there were only four men on board as the carrier returned to the headquarters building. He waited tense and expectant until the phone rang.
“They’ve destroyed the bridge and a large portion of the roadway above the bridge. The guard post has completely disappeared with the roadway collapse. All direct communications lines were severed as well as the power lines. Our only means of communication is now by radio and we’re having problems with that. Many radio stations have become silent. We now expect an air attack so the lookouts will be doubled at the next changeover.”
* * *
Far out of sight and missile range of those below, the modified AWACs plane was at 50,000 feet for the entire operation. As it turned slowly toward home base, the mission leader, Captain John Mook, rose to speak to the entire group. “That was a job well done. If phase two and three go as well, our terrorist enemies will loose about half of their members. The twenty battle groups of between four and five men on this aircraft used the Super Choppers for phase one of project WellCo. This one aircraft holds all airborne members of phase one surveillance. The entire project depended on the success of our mission and you all performed well. As you know, members of the entire WellCo project have been branded WellCo Warriors. At this point in time there is talk your existence will be kept secret permanently. Though your exploits remain unknown and unexplained, the results of your efforts will be a major historical event.” At this point, an aide handed Captain Mook several papers.
“Here’s a report on the last part of phase one. Laser guided and other smart bombs have destroyed much of their communications network, at least the major installations, and isolated most of the training camps. The cruise missiles that delivered our choppers struck at hardened targets after the chopper drops. Damage assessment will come in about two hours from pictures taken by Eye Spy aircraft dropped with the smart bombs and from the cruise missiles. So far it’s even better than we hoped.”
With that a cheer went up from the men.
“There’s more,” Mook said. “The results of your own efforts. Of the twenty possible camps we surveyed, four were small, seemingly peaceful villages, three had been training camps in the past, but were abandoned completely some time before our mission. We now have detailed pictures and plots of the other thirteen, including personnel counts and weapon assessments. As the result of your efforts, phase two will start at about midnight local time. Fortunately, the weather is holding clear.”
As the men began to celebrate, Captain Mook held up his hand for silence.
“Hold on for a minute. After I give you the numbers and the response from our enemies, you can celebrate as long as you want. Just don’t damage the aircraft. Now for the numbers. Eight modified Tomahawk cruise missiles deployed 324 Super Choppers at twenty locations over literally thousands of square miles of rugged terrain. Seven of the choppers failed to respond after they were dropped and are assumed to have been damaged in the drop and self-destroyed. During the mission, five of the choppers were damaged by ground fire and six destroyed themselves; we assume from hitting an object like a hill or building. The enemy fired a total of forty-one stinger missiles at them, destroying only eighteen. Apparently one stinger took out two choppers and twenty-four missed completely. As far as we can tell, all Super Choppers were then destroyed by their fail-safe self-destruct mechanism after completing their mission. In our operation, the enemy spent about $820,000 in stinger missiles to destroy $5,400 in our hardware that would have self-destructed later anyway. The total cost of the hardware expended in our mission was only about $96,000. Who says a high tech war has to be expensive?
“Now, the news. These are the first reports from the Taliban in Kabul, which, incidently, has not yet been attacked, at least not by us. ‘Armed forces of the evil satanic Americans attacked the peaceful citizens of Afghanistan with bombs and troops. Raining death and destruction on Kabul and other cities, the Americans have killed and maimed thousands of innocent civilians including women and children. Their soldiers attacked many of our peaceful youth camps killing mostly civilians. Brave Afghan soldiers repulsed the Americans, inflicting massive losses. Cowardly American blood flowed deep in the streets at these camps as our fighters defended Islam. All attacks were repulsed and not a single American soldier is left alive on our soil.’ At least that last statement is true,” he added with a smile. “Okay men, we can relax and wait for the second wave.”
* * *
Zalmi was awakened by the sound of a series of small explosions quite different from gunfire. Vaulting from his cot fully clothed, he grabbed his AK47 and headed for his post. He was running toward the observation tower when a huge explosion came from the cave. He turned to see the whole camp lighted by the billowing flames as fuel stored in the cave burned, amplifying the explosion. Frozen in place for the moment, he saw the headquarters building disintegrated in a white blast that knocked him flat on the ground. As he crawled to retrieve his weapon, he saw his barracks go the way of the headquarters. During the time it took him to crawl to the ditch beneath his post all the rest of the buildings in the camp exploded. Just as he dropped into the ditch a ball of fire erupted above his head. He huddled deep, covering his head with his AK47 as debris from the exploding observation tower rained down all around him.
“Praise Allah!” he remarked as the rain of debris stopped and he found himself unhurt.
The silence after the final explosion was interrupted at first by moans and cries of the wounded, then by shouted commands, “Go to the rocks! Go to the rocks!”
Zalmi vaulted out of the ditch and headed for the rocky hillside just east of the camp where the rocky terrain would provide excellent cover. At the top of the ditch he stumbled over another soldier. It was his friend, Wakil, who had not been so lucky. A large timber from the tower had impaled his chest. Zalmi hesitated for a moment, then realizing Wakil was beyond help, he ran for the rocks. As he ran, he saw many others heading the same way, black figures outlined in smoky silhouette against the yellow flames. Some ran alone; some were helping wounded comrades. He finally dropped into the shadow of a large rock and leaned against it while regaining his breath. After a few minutes he concentrated on staying hidden while listening for commands. All he could hear was the crackling of the flames and the moans and cries of the wounded. Suddenly he heard a high-pitched buzz from high above. It grew louder and louder until finally a voice from the sky spoke in his own tongue, Pushto.
“Lay down your weapons and come to the center of the camp. Anyone who does not obey will be killed.” The voice was answered with several bursts of AK47 fire from the rocks to his south. This was immediately followed by a number of streaks of fire high overhead. The streaks went straight to where the AK47 fire originated and were followed by several small explosions.
After a few moments’ silence, the voice spoke again, “Resistance is futile. Throw down your weapons and gather in the center of the camp. Those who do not will be killed. Bring your wounded with you and they will be cared for.”
Another round of gunfire from the rocks was followed by the same small streaks in the sky and then the small explosions. The same scenario repeated three more times until there was no more AK47 fire. Everyone stayed where they were in the rocks.
After about five minutes of silence the voice spoke again, “All who remain hidden in the rocks will be killed. We will start killing in ten minutes if you do not throw down your weapons and move to the center of the camp.”
Zalmi was quite unnerved by this voice in the sky. His thoughts raced wildly about. Should I follow their order? Will I be killed if I don’t? Will others shoot me if I do? How can they know where I am? For the moment he chose to stay put and wait.
The voice again boomed out, “We can see all of you clearly. We have the means to search out each of you and kill you if you hold a weapon. Each one of your soldiers that fired on us was killed. If you do not throw down your weapon and head for the camp as directed we will start killing in five minutes. Any soldier raising a weapon against those who choose to surrender will be killed before he can fire.”
Suddenly Zalmi noticed two soldiers walking toward the center of the camp. Almost as soon as they appeared several small explosions burst in the rocks.
Again came the voice, “The three who raised their weapons to fire at those surrendering were killed. In three minutes, all who hold weapons will be killed. We can and will do what we say.”
Hearing this, Zalmi threw his AK47 out from his hiding place. Many more soldiers now walked toward the center of the camp, empty arms held high above their heads. Zalmi soon followed. Despite the Islamic fundamentalist promise of instant paradise, Zalmi wanted to live.
* * *
Far above the camp, the mission command plane circled. Twenty gunslingers worked their keyboards to control eighty attack Super Choppers. Each little helicopter carried eight Rattler Anti-Personnel rockets the size of a pocket pen as well as a tiny Sky Eye TV camera. The camp below was displayed in twenty sections, each section controlled by a single Gunslinger keyboard. Mission Commander, Captain Wesley Charron spoke in Pushto over the speaker in a Super Chopper hovering several hundred feet over the targeted camp. As he spoke, the gunslingers watched their screens as bright green images of men moved in their fields of view. When an image raised and fired his weapon, the gunslinger clicked on the image immediately sending a RAP rocket on its body heat-detecting path to terminate the enemy soldier with a small, shaped charge.
“I count eighty-three without weapons gathered in the middle of the camp,” Captain Charron announced. “I don’t think any more are coming in, so you know the routine. Don’t target any man unless you’re certain he’s holding a weapon. Okay, fire!”
* * *
As the group waited in the middle of the camp, a number of small explosions among the rocks were followed by an eerie calm. The sounds from the still burning buildings, the steady buzz from the sky and the low rumble of voices of the soldiers were all that could be heard.
Suddenly the voice boomed out, “Thank you for following our directions. Now please face east and sit on the ground. A rescue mission is on its way to carry you out and treat your wounded. You will not be harmed if you follow our orders.”
In about half-an-hour, the sound of fast-moving helicopters came from the south. Within a few minutes, two attack helicopters disgorged twenty armed troops who secured the camp. Soon after, two more large troop carrier helicopters set down. A contingent of five men approached the prisoners and stopped about thirty feet away, while armed guards flanked them on both sides.
Once again, the voice boomed from the hovering chopper. “Form a single line and approach our delegation one at a time. The first to be processed will be provided with stretchers to bring in the wounded. You will not be harmed if you cooperate and do as you are told. Any sign of resistance will be met with lethal force.”
The careful processing of the eighty or so prisoners through metal detectors and onto the troop carriers took nearly three hours. When told to give up all knives and metal objects before going through the detector, many argued they were valuable family heirlooms. In spite of promises they would be returned later, a few scuffles broke out and were quickly and efficiently subdued with the resistors placed in handcuffs and leg irons. One zealot broke for the interrogators with a raised knife. He was cut down before getting within ten feet of his intended victims. After the excitement cooled down, a ground search of the area found eleven wounded men who were loaded on stretchers and placed aboard the helicopter with the medical team.
For the last time, Captain Charron’s voice boomed from above the camp. Now speaking in English, he said, “The mission is now complete. Let’s head for home.”
* * *
In a secret meeting room at Andrews Air Force base, five men waited at a table. As Andy Wells approached to take his seat, the men all stood up and applauded. This was the same group he met in this same room at the beginning of the project on September 13, 2001. He still knew only one of the men, his old friend and partner in the project, Dusty Adams. The other four included two men in uniform and two civilian representatives of the President. As always, no one wore a name tag, decorations, emblems of rank or service branch identifications. When finally the applause quieted, one of the uniformed men spoke, “Welcome Andrew. Please be seated.”
One of the two civilians arose to speak. “The President and his cabinet are positively ecstatic. Accordingly, I bring congratulations to you all. The results of our first attack on world terrorism are even better than we had hoped. All objectives were met. Other than those who may have been in the camps, there was not one civilian casualty. The only casualties we suffered were three minor injuries caused by falls as our men exited their aircraft in the dark after the mission. The mission was so successful, the President has ordered a hold on the second attack until the effects on the terrorist organizations and their supporters can be assessed. Because of our success at destroying their communications infrastructure, the news from Afghanistan is slow coming in, so we have adopted a wait-and-see attitude for the present.”
Tuning to Andy, he said, “Before we begin, here is a letter from the President of The United States thanking you for your help. I believe you will be quite pleased with what it says.”
Everyone waited silently as Andy read the letter.
Dear Mr. Wells:
Thanks to your unique talent and the unprecedented success you have helped us achieve, we now have an outstanding initial victory over the terrorists and their supporters. When your original project was cancelled eight years ago, you left government service to start your own company. Who would have guessed that in just a few months your reinstated project could produce unique weapons, invaluable in this new kind of war. Your country has a friend of mine to thank for telling me about your cancelled project. That was a most fortunate bit of information from a trusted friend. That you took your weapons technology and converted it into peaceful civilian use building an extremely successful toy company in a very competitive business, gives testimony to your talents.
Unfortunately, your specific efforts and the many useful products you provided will go unheralded for security reasons. Rest assured, however, the nation will know the results of your efforts and you will be accordingly rewarded. I counted on you, your country counted on you, all of humanity counted on you and you let no one down. We all thank you from the bottom of our hearts.
Who would have guessed that the thousands of young people who grew up playing electronic games using Welco Toy Company Gunslinger keyboards would use those skills to control the military versions of America’s most popular toys in one of the nation’s most successful military operations.
The President of the United States.
Howard Johnson - October 2001
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THE HIKE
Timothy O'Brien never expected to find himself in such circumstances. Whoever would? He paused on the narrow path on the side of the gray granite mountain, the wind pressing on his backside as if it wished to push him to his death on the ragged rocks half a kilometer below. A sound caught his attention over the rush of wind.....
At first he thought he knew what it was, a small animal moving through the bushes on the ledge just below where he stood, but as it grew louder he realized it was coming from above. It sounded like many irregular hoofbeats, the sound a herd of horses or even buffalo would make running in a panic. He leaned harder against the rock away from the sheer drop on the other side of the path as the sound grew louder and louder. Suddenly he was horrified when he realized he cause of the sound. It was an avalanche of rock plummeting down the mountainside above him.
He realized how exposed he was on the narrow ledge with no protection above. Thinking quickly in that time slowing pace of near panic, Tim remembered passing a deep indent in the path with a substantial protective overhang. He hurried back toward the safe haven as quickly as he dared on the narrow path. If only he could make it in time. Small rocks, dislodged by the vibrations from the approaching mass of plummeting rock began pelting him as he ran. “God! How far back was that spot?” he thought as he rounded bend after bend without seeing the safe haven.
Finally! There it was on the opposite side of a deep ravine that cut back into the mountain. He immediately knew it was much too far to reach in time. Then he noticed a narrow break in the rocks just beneath the path about fifteen feet in front of him. By then the small rocks dislodged by the earth-shaking deluge far above were falling more often and getting bigger. One hit his arm and drew blood - then another. He ran to the edge above the break looking for a way to get himself into the crack. It would be very difficult. One slip and he would drop to the jagged rocks below. A huge boulder bounced on the path a few feet from where he clung and he knew the main part of the avalanche would soon be smashing into him.
Grabbing a small rock hand hold on the edge of the path he rolled over the edge and into the crack. Suddenly he was dangling in space inside the crack, supported only by the handhold. He searched the sides of the crack for another handhold or foot support. The sides of the crack were smooth. Then he realized the crack narrowed both downward and inward. If he could swing far enough in he would be able to jam himself into the crack and hold himself there by pressing against the sides. After swinging several times to gain momentum he prayed and let go as he swung inward. Just as he let go a huge piece of rock smashed on the rock he had just been holding, smashing it and a piece of the path into small pieces, showering the area with small, jagged projectiles. He was now deep inside the crack, but slipping downward. He dropped at least twenty feet before he was able to stem his fall by jamming his legs against one wall and his back the other. He was about ten feet inside the crack and under the path when the massive avalanche crashed onto the path where he had stood just moments before.
The mountain shook, dust filled the air and the sound was deafening as the main part of the avalanche thundered by just a few feet from his refuge. Suddenly he couldn’t breath because of dust whirled at him by the air blast from the avalanche. He used his free hand to pull his shirt out and over his face as a filter to keep the dust out of his lungs and eyes. Breathing was difficult, but not impossible and the shirt kept the choking dust out. “How long would the thundering continue?” he wondered. Then he felt himself slipping and pressed harder with his legs, jamming himself tighter. “Would the thundering never stop?” he wondered. Suddenly everything began quieting down. The thundering was rapidly moving down the mountain and the dust was settling. He slowly eased his shirt off his face and surveyed the scene before him. There was still a pall of fine dust in the air and an occasional small rock plunged off the shelf above him, but at least he was still alive. Looking up about thirty feet he noticed the crack was now open at the top. The avalanche had obliterated the path that capped the crack. He wondered how much of the path still traversed the mountainside and if he could use it to get down the mountain.
His legs were beginning to ache from pressing so hard against the sides of the crack. He would have to move into the narrower section of the crack and jam himself in so he could rest his legs or they would eventually give out. It took him about fifteen minutes to move far enough into the crack so he could wedge his hips and rest his legs. As he relaxed a bit he began examining his body. Blood oozed from several cuts on his arms and legs and when he wiped his forehead his hand came away quite bloody. Fortunately he was not losing much blood, just a bloody mess of small cuts and abrasions.
As he rested, Tim considered his predicament and options. “At least Alicia wasn’t with me so she was safe. By now she would be frantic and asking for help. Surely the avalanche was big enough and near enough to alert people back at the lodge and Alicia would be after them to find me. Well, I might as well start finding a way out. Any help is surely hours away.”
With that thought Tim decided he should work his way up the crack, keeping to the narrowest part so he could rest periodically. After about an hour he was only five feet below the open top of the crack. Unfortunately the crack narrowed at that point in such a way that his only way up was out beneath an overhang with a long drop below. One slip and he would fall at least a hundred feet. He decided to rest for awhile to prepare for the exertion he was about to have to make.
Fortunately his hiking boots were very strong so he decided to use them to grip the narrow portion of the crack as he worked his way out almost upside down. He jammed one boot into the crack and swung the other around and jammed it into the crack about three feet ahead of the other. Four maneuvers like that and he should be able to reach the top with his hands and pull himself up. It would be difficult, but doable. Each maneuver took him farther away from the wall, hanging above a huge drop. If he missed . . . well he just couldn’t. After the fourth maneuver his feet were jammed into the crack just a foot from the top. He would rest again for the final move where he would fold his body forward and reach for the top with his right hand. Once he had a hold he could release his farthest foot and pull himself onto the path. It had taken him nearly three hours to get this far and he wasn’t taking any more chances than he had to.
After resting for about fifteen minutes, Tim started making his move. He bent forward as far as he could and reached for the edge. It was just a few inches out of his reach. Carefully he repositioned his feet to get a bit closer. Once more he bent up and reached for the edge. A third try provided a precarious hold as his fingers finally caught the edge. He worked his hand around the edge until he found a decent hold and began to release his left foot for the final move. Once it was released there was no way to put it back. He would be holding on by one foot jammed into the crack and a very precarious hold on rather smooth rock with his right hand. He couldn’t move far enough into the narrow part of the crack to jam his torso without releasing his other foot. That would leave him dangling with but one tenuous hand hold as he swung his other hand up to search for another hold. If there wasn’t one, he was done for and he couldn’t see where he had to reach.
He took a deep breath, released his other foothold and quickly reached over the edge of the crack with his left hand searching with his fingers for any projection or small opening he could catch with even one finger. With his elbows over the edge of the crack he held for an instant, but knew he must find a hold or he would slip off the edge. Frantically his fingers probed the smooth surface searching in vain for anything to hold. Suddenly his right hand began losing its grip and began slowly sliding toward the edge. He was losing it, “Damn!” he said out loud. In a few seconds he would be waiting for that crushing pain as his body hit the rocks below. He thought of Alicia. “Damn! I hate losing!”
As his slipping gained speed it seemed as if time was slowing down. Was he imagining things or had he heard a voice from above him. His left arm suddenly slipped off and he hung for a moment with one hand. As his grip began ever so slowly to slip he knew it was all over. He was astonished when he didn’t fall. Something had snapped around his wrist just before his hand could slip over the side. He looked up to see two faces above him Jack had grabbed Tim’s hand just before it disappeared from sight. He had ropes and was secured by them to others on the path.
“Hang on there ole buddy.” Jack said as he reached down with his other hand and grabbed Tim’s left. Slowly they pulled him up over the edge to safety. As soon as he was safely on the ledge Alicia was sobbing and holding him like she would never let go.
Back at the lodge, showered, cleaned and patched up, Tim sat with Alicia and his friends and ran through the days adventure. Alicia wouldn’t let him out of her arms.
Jack reported, “This gal of yours was a whirlwind when we heard the avalanche. It was less than a mile from the lodge and when we heard it she shouted, ‘Tim!’ and got us going right away. We were headed up the mountain before the avalanche stopped, I swear.”
Rory added. “She ran up that mountain like a mountain goat. We had a hard time keeping up with her.”
“Don’t you ever go anywhere like that without me.” Alicia ordered, her dark eyes flashing.
“I don’t plan to.” Tim smiled thinking what a lucky guy he was.
Howard Johnson - October 17, 2006
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
THE GOLD FEATHER
Draxel leaned back in the shuttle seat and waited for the ship to fill with passengers. He watched fascinated as a tall redhead slithered down the aisle. From the snakelike way she moved he was sure she was a rare, homo sentient from the old earth. He knew about this advanced human sub-species, but had never even seen one. Her simple, reddish-amber dress clung to her like a second skin, moving silkily just enough to show it was not attached. He imagined her sinuous body moving against his. He was startled from his mental pleasure as she flowed into the seat beside him. He had never seen anyone whose body moved so smoothly. She seemed almost not to have joints in her limbs. When she was settled in her seat, she turned and looked directly at him while fluid words emanated from the fullest, reddest lips he had ever seen.
“I’m Leura Clauson. Who are you please?”
Her directness and musical voice surprised him more than her exotic appearance. “Uh Draxel, Draxel Sil. Call me Drax.” He was terribly uncomfortable, unnerved and completely off guard. He was sure his words betrayed him..
“Have you been to Stentor Seven before?” her silky voice chanted softly in his ear. “ I’ve never even been to the Vegan system.”
“Been there several times.” The barely detectable smell of her sweet breath was like warm milk. She wore a perfume that hung on the edge of his awareness. He knew it was there, but as soon as he thought about it, it was gone. Drax had never experienced such a woman. He was in very unfamiliar territory trying desperately to find a mental footing. “I’m going on my first vacation in years. Are you on vacation?” He was really struggling.
“No, I’m a botanist on a research project. I plan to study plants growing in the low gravity and artificially controlled atmosphere.” The lilt of her speech enthralled him. It wasn’t really an accent, just different and very musical.
“A scientist! I’m impressed!” He smiled, thinking that was the understatement of his life. “How long will you stay? On your project, I mean.”
“At least one earth year. My grant may be renewed for an additional year. It’s my first major assignment. What was that little smile about?”
He was amazed at her perception. “Just a little private joke, on me.”
“A secret?”
“No just a laugh at myself.” Her directness, too, surprised him.
“Tell me.”
He was a tiny bit irritated. “Let’s say it’s just something I’d rather not tell someone I’ve just met.”
“What’s your profession?” Discarding his irritation, she switched subjects fluidly.
“I’m a gravity propulsion engineer. Do design work on the propulsion systems on craft like this one we’re on.” That was his usual cover story to hide his real job, internal security for the Eegis project. “This vacation is long overdue. Stentor Seven is a marvelous place to visit.”
“Tell me about it. I’ve seen the digirecords, but those are really quite sterile. No beauty or poetry. You said you’ve been there?”
“Yes, and it certainly is beautiful, spectacularly beautiful.”
The shuttle’s engine hum increased and it rose slowly from the pad to start the two-hour trip. The motion was quite noticeable, but would disappear as soon as they cleared the atmosphere and the main drive kicked in.
“How did it come to be? The records were very sketchy about the planet’s origins.”
Drax was beginning to be more comfortable, since he was now on familiar territory. “When our people first visited here six hundred years ago it was a small, sterile planet about the half the mass of your earth’s moon. It’s just the right distance from the red dwarf star, Stentor. Our scientists used focused gravity beams to tow huge ice planetesimals in from the nearby ring. They were used to create oceans and an atmosphere which were then adjusted for human habitation. Since then, many life forms were introduced and soon flourished. The combination of optimal rotation rate and distance from the star, along with our introduced controls and lots of tweaking over the hundreds of years since the project started, resulted in a semi-tropical paradise covering the entire surface.”
“It sounds wonderful.”
“Because of the low gravity, plants grow to immense size and spectacular beauty. That, I trust will be the focus of your research project.”
“You are correct. Please tell me more.”
“In this gravity there are stable mountains rising seventy thousand feet with sheer cliffs and unbelievable waterfalls. The muted sounds of the slow waterfalls and of the unusual rivers are like a chorus of musical mumbles. Waves on the oceans can be huge, yet they seem to roll in slow motion. The surf is spectacular with thirty foot breakers tumbling slowly and gently onto the sand. In order to have adequate surface pressure, the atmosphere is kept many times deeper than on your home planet. Clouds can be hundreds of miles high and the winds are always gentle.”
“I can see why it’s such a popular vacation spot.” He was beginning to grow accustomed to her soft, musical speech.
“Buildings are constructed in ways unimaginable on planets with normal gravity. Giant overhangs, huge spans, delightfully fragile overhead structures with plazas, walkways and open spaces.”
“How about the weather?”
“The weather is marvelous. Mostly sunny and warm with fractal-like white clouds moving slowly across a deep blue sky. Then there’s the rain, the unbelievable warm rain. Because of the low gravity, raindrops fall slowly, congealing into large blobs which grow to near tennis ball size before they are blown apart by the air as they fall through it. It’s a most delightful feeling to be softly pelted by the big blobs of warm water.”
“I heard about the rain. I can hardly wait to experience it. I want to run through it.”
Draxel decided he would like to see that, but wouldn’t mention it. Her next comment blew him away.
“If the chance comes up, could we run through the rain together? I’d really like that.”
It was said so innocently, so matter-of-factly, he was speechless. “Uh - yeah - sure, “ he struggled for composure. “That sounds like a great idea.”
After a silent pause to calm his imagination, he continued his description. “There is no snow on Stentor Seven. But if you like the ocean, you are in for a spectacular treat. Watercraft of all kinds ride very high in the water as they move, skimming over the surface with little effort. Man powered craft like kayaks can fly over the waves, and sailing, even with a light breeze is a totally new experience. Becoming airborne is the rule in all but the biggest craft. Many a sailor has experienced the thrill of being taken aloft for hundreds of feet by sail alone.”
“I love sailing. My father taught me when I was very young. It’s one physical thing I can do very well.”
Drax made a mental note, then continued. “Scuba diving is another thrilling sport. Dives to a thousand feet or more are easily attainable. Underwater cliffs have abundant sea life with gorgeous colors. There are no man-threatening species in the ocean. There is no danger of the bends under any normal diving conditions no matter how fast one rises to the surface.”
“It sounds like a real paradise. I hope I can spend my leisure time enjoying a few of the adventures you describe. Would you be able to show me some while you’re on vacation? I don’t mean to interfere with your plans, but I know no one else there.”
Drax’s good fortune was beginning to overwhelm him. “Why, yes! I would be delighted. I have no specific plans at all.”
“Wonderful. I won’t have much to do for the first few weeks so you can show me around. I’m certain there are many new things to experience.”
“The list of marvelous opportunities is unending: flying with manual power, rock or tree climbing, biking almost vertical slopes or through dense jungle trails, diving into the ocean from unbelievable heights, deep sea fishing, rafting down softly running rivers with fantastic fall slopes.”
“It all sounds so exciting,” she sang just as the main drive took over and the hum and vibrations ceased. They finally cleared the atmosphere and were on their way.
They shared much for the next hour. Drax couldn’t believe how easily he talked with her about his family and friends. She drew pleasant experiences out of his memory. Memories he hadn’t spoken of for years. She shared her experiences as a child and about growing up. There was an unusual quality to her stories. They were very softly emotional. Drax could almost feel her joys and pains as she described them.
After a rather long pause in their conversation he realized she had fallen asleep. To his pleasure she leaned her head against his shoulder, snuggling down against him several times during the flight. He started examining her closely. Her hair was extremely fine, grew very close together on her scalp and was very red with no hint of a color change near the roots. If it was dyed it was an absolutely perfect job. She turned a bit and put her hand ever so gently on his right arm. Her pale amber skin was baby soft and flawless. When he touched her hand it felt like satin: smooth, silky and almost frictionless. By now Drax was sure she was one of those rare advanced humans he had heard so many rumors about. He decided she was far too perfect to be a normal person. The “scentars” as they were called were reported to have unusual emotional abilities. He noticed a gold pin high on her dress, the only adornment she wore of any kind. It appeared to be a feather, about an inch long and quite fragile. It looked like a real feather, but very tiny and reddish gold in color. He thought it strange he hadn’t noticed it before.
A slight bump was followed by vibrations and the hum of the landing drive. Leura sat upright without the slightest hint she had been asleep. “We must be arriving.”
Drax looked almost blankly at her. “You slept the last hour almost without moving. I sure wish I could do that.”
“Just concentrate on pleasant thoughts and close your eyes. You’ll go right to sleep.”
Drax smiled at her simplistic, almost naive, reply. “What’s that pin your wearing? It’s quite beautiful.”
“A gift. My mother gave it to me when I completed my studies. It’s the only jewelry I ever wear. It’s supposed to signify fidelity.”
“That’s one I never heard before.”
“Actually it’s a special kind of fidelity. Fidelity to a common, usually treasured experience with someone you love. My mother loved me very much, and I her. It’s about the wonderful life we spent together before I left home. That experience will never happen again.”
“ That’s really beautiful, sad, but beautiful.” Drax felt undeniably and strangely sad as he spoke.
“Yes, I gave her a similar pin. It’s a family custom. We both knew we would never see each other again.”
Drax was shocked. “Why not?”
Her voice had changed almost painfully. “It’s a bit complicated. We just knew our paths would never cross again.”
The sadness became almost overpowering. “How can you be so sure?”
Leura had the tiniest look of sadness for just an instant. “Please, I’d rather not talk about it any more.”
Suddenly Drax experienced an intense change from sadness to terrible anxiety. It almost overwhelmed him and then, just as suddenly, it was gone and he felt fine. “What was that all about?” he said out loud in reaction, but really to himself.
“What was what all about?” her flawless silky voice had returned.
“Sorry. I just had a very strange feeling for an instant and it startled me.”
Once more she shifted mental gears smoothly. “Would you be able to help me find my hotel? This is all so new to me and I’m a bit nervous about going there alone.”
With his luggage scheduled to be delivered to his hotel, Drax was quite free to go where he wished. “I’d be pleased to.”
“You’re sure it won’t be an inconvenience?”
“Positively. I’d love to see you to your hotel.” Once again he could hardly believe his good fortune.
The air car dropped them at level 196 of the hotel. It landed smoothly on the cantilevered plaza. Leura picked up the one small bag she carried and led Drax down the outside walkway to her room.
“I’ve never been up this high in the hotel. How’d you manage such a room? I thought the upper floors were reserved for foreign dignitaries?”
“And foreign botanists.” Leura hand-printed the door which slid soundlessly into the wall. It closed silently behind them after they walked inside.
Drax was dumbfounded. The room was decorated in shades of the exact same colors as Leura’s dress and hair. “This can’t be an accident. How’d you get your room decorated to match - you?”
She laughed in that lyrical way, He decided it was almost like a flute or muted violin. “I plan on being here for at least a year so they let me have my choice of decoration. Do you like it?”
“It takes some getting used to, but it certainly is beautiful.” Once more he smiled as an intense feeling of warmth and pleasure flowed through his entire body. “Wow!”
Leura stepped lightly to the entrance, turned on some very unfamiliar, but sensual music and switched the glass outside wall from clear to one way. They could see the beauty of Stentor Seven stretched out before them, but no one outside could see in. Suddenly he became aware of her delicate perfume, just on the edge of his senses. She walked over to him and looked straight into his eyes. Once more the warm milk-like smell of her breath seemed to intoxicate him. She reached up and gently placed her wrists on his shoulders. Her hands hung loosely, just touching his back. He hated the shirt that lay between her hands and his skin.
“Now, Mr. Sil, I want us to dance together. Is that okay?”
Drax felt he was now completely out of his league. What the hell is happening? he wondered to himself as she slipped her silky fingers around his neck, took his hand and moved to the music.
As he looked directly into her eyes, he realized they were a dark blue with just a hint of red to the black of her huge pupils. “Pull the little ring at the back of my collar,” her soft voice commanded. When he did so her dress changed from the amber-red to an iridescent blue-green. She began slithering rhythmically against him to the hypnotic beat and sound of the strange music. The sensation penetrated him as his whole body seemed to flush with warmth.
“Now, dear Drax, I want to show you my appreciation for what you are going to do for me.”
She pulled him gently into the bed where cool, satin sheets caressed his skin. He could hardly tell the difference between those sheets and her silky dress. Drax was almost terrified, completely out of control and enjoying every delicious moment.
“Lay on your stomach. I want to give you a massage,” she whispered.
Drax was still speechless, but he complied. Her long, slender fingers were soon working up and down his spine, around his shoulder blades and neck and finally down the back of his legs. He had never felt so good in his entire life. Just when he felt his body had turned completely to jelly, she stopped the massage and began dragging her fingers lightly over his bare arms. Suddenly he realized her lips were moving up and down the back of his neck. The stimulation to his skin was ecstatic. Finally, she stopped and lay down on her stomach beside him.
“My turn.”
Drax was flabbergasted. “What do you want me to do?”
“Just do to me what I did to you. Don’t you think that’s fair?”
He remembered a line from the distant past and uttered it under his breath, “Resistance is futile.”
He began in the middle of her back. The fabric of her dress seemed just like a second skin. Unbelievably soft and silky, it moved smoothly to his touch. She had no taught muscles. After he massaged her for quite a while she rolled over on her back and looked up at him.
“Tickle me please. Slide your fingertips slowly and gently over my skin. Just barely touch me. Just like I did to you. You liked that didn’t you?”
“I prayed you’d never stop.”
“Do it until I can’t stand it any more. Then we can weep together.”
“Weep? What do you mean, weep?”
“Weep for joy. Ultimate joy.”
“I have no idea what you mean, but I’m game. Joy sounds pretty good right now.”
“You’re doing wonderfully. When both of us are completely out of our minds with joy, then we will weep.”
Drax felt like he would explode. Every touch of his fingertips on her drove him to new heights of ecstatic pressure. After what seemed like hours Leura rose slowly, slid over beside him and began brushing his hands and arms with her fingers as he continued touching her. Finally, he could stand it no longer so he stopped moving his hands.
Leura sensed the change and rolled ever so slowly onto her back pulling Drax down with her.
Those dark blue eyes bored into his and her soft voice sung quietly, “Weep my love. Weep for all time,” - - - Her voice trailed off into silence. The room seemed to explode, a long, delicious explosion of complete abandon. Drax lost his sense of gravity as he seemed to float in the midst of the continuing soundless explosion. He had never before felt such sensations of pleasure. The center of his being seemed to separate from his head and float through his body. He was in his arm, then hand, foot, leg, abdomen and back to his head in rapid succession. Intense feelings ricocheted between joy and melancholy, pleasure and despondency, never remaining for long in any single state.
After what seemed an eternity, Drax heard Leura’s near whisper. “Thanks dear Drax. Thanks for life and love.” He opened his eyes and looked at her for an instant. He was surprised to see a narrow stream of tears running from the corners of her eyes. His eyes again closed and he drifted once more in complete, all-engulfing, feeling-filled silence.
After what seemed an eternity, he realized normal gravity had suddenly returned. He reached for her. All his grasping hands found was a slightly damp, rumpled cotton sheet. “Wait a minute,” he thought. Suddenly things didn’t seem right. “What happened to the satin . . .” He opened his eyes to a bright, sunlit window in a beige room. He was alone and in a different bed in a different hotel. Outside, the sun was rising over the unmistakable skyline of Cleveland Ohio. “How can this be?” he thought. Slowly, reality crept back into his senses.
“My God! I almost forgot who I was.” He checked his watch and saw he had barely enough time to get to his breakfast meeting with the NASA engineer who was working with him on the Eegis project. He dressed quickly, grabbed his suit coat and headed for the dining room. Jack Conrad was waiting as he walked in.
“Right on time. I like people who are punctual.”
“I almost wasn’t. You wouldn’t believe the wild dream I had last night or rather this morning. At least, I think it was a dream. It seemed so unbelievably real.”
“Sometimes dreams can be very real.”
“This one sure was.” Drax shook his head, still bewildered. “Well, let’s get down to business. That’s reality.”
“Certainly.” Jack paused and gazed intently at Drax’s jacket. “What’s that pin you have on? You weren’t wearing it yesterday.”
Drax glanced down at his lapel. Firmly attached was a tiny gold feather.
Howard Johnson - 2004
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LYRIEL'S DECISION
A threat and a menace are not the same thing.. A threat is the mere possibility of danger or something without danger that may have the appearance of danger for a time. It can usually be dealt with or avoided by clever counter action. A menace, on the other hand, is a real danger that must be dealt with and is as certain as the rising of the sun. Though empty threat it may seem, beware the true menace that hides under the cunning mask of a threat.
Lyriel, leader and the oldest of the five in the control group at Far Station 322, was alone in her quarters and deep in troubled thought. The New Life Project she headed had gone terribly wrong. As usual, she would have to make the final decision to try one last time to redirect the project or terminate it and start over. The other four were divided, two on a side as usual. The project that seemed so promising had suddenly posed a threat which soon burgeoned into a serious menace to her sector and maybe even the entire galaxy.
A Muerr, Lyriel was by far the largest of the group and the farthest from her home planet. Despite her large physical size, Lyriel did not dominate the group, but worked diligently, almost gently, at leadership. The other four included two Fallons, Farcos and the only other female in the group, Shremon; Stagus, a Thrack and Llalimeno, a Torbun. The Fallons usually took positions opposing each other, rarely agreeing on anything and arguing constantly. Stagus was loud, aggressive and stubborn while Llalimeno was almost the opposite: quiet, thoughtful and open minded, but not easily swayed once he took a position. Now the four were deeply entrenched, two to a position leaving Lyriel to resolve the situation.
Finally deciding on an action, Lyriel stood up and popped her communicator. “Everyone to the observation deck immediately. Let’s have one more go at a solution we can all live with.” She belted her tunic, pushed back her long reddish hair and headed for the meeting. The door to the lift swished open to reveal Farcos and Shremon standing opposite each other, staring in cold silence. Their black eyes and gray faces were tightly framed by their straight, black hair. As she stepped silently onto the lift, Lyriel smiled as she thought of these two having sex and wondered how they did it. They looked like clones with no obvious differences showing through the skin-tight coverings that could hardly be called clothes. Their ID patches were the only method of telling them apart. Even their voices were identical.
“After you,” Lyriel said softly when the door of the lift opened, extending her hand to indicate the door. Usually talkative, the Fallons stalked off the lift, side-by-side in cold steely silence. As she followed them down the hall Lyriel thought to herself, “This is going to be a very difficult meeting.”
They took their seats in front of ULDI’s display screen and waited for the others. Almost a sixth member of the group, the computer, was an interactive, free thinking entity called by the acronym for its Unlimited Logic Database Interface. Lyriel knew there was no point in trying conversation so she proceeded to set up project simulations on her input console. Before it swished open, the muffled sound of a loud angry voice penetrated the door. Stagus was about to enter.
“What the hell are we doing now?” The small, but burly Thrack bellowed as he entered. “I say terminate the damned project so we can get started again with a clean slate. We’ve wasted far too much time in endless bickering already. I see no reason to waste any more time.” Stagus had a loud, booming voice despite his small body. He plopped his compact frame firmly in his seat, crossing his arms defiantly. His long, scraggly white hair hung over the back of the seat completing the caricature of the stubborn, bellicose die-hard; an immovable object.
“Now Stagus, try to see another viewpoint,” Llalimeno said quietly, but firmly. The tall slender Torbun constantly tried to persuade his companion to be more open, usually without success. He almost slithered into his seat, his body flexing as he adjusted to the seat’s contour. The pale blue skin of his hairless head was in contrast to the ample hair of the other four. His pale blue head turned brilliant blue on those rare occasions when his emotions got hold of him. As usual, it was quite pale indicating he was in control.
Lyriel gazed up at the information on the display. “Let’s go over this once more to see if we can find a way to avoid termination.”
“Damned waste of time!” Stagus muttered.
Lyriel stood up, turned and towered threateningly over the smaller Thrack. She was quite angry. “I’ve had my fill of your closed-minded, non-helpful attitude and comments. If you’ve nothing constructive to offer, keep silent!” she demanded. “And don’t answer!” Though physical violence was not her way, the threat was there and at three times Stagus’ size, the threat worked. The rest of the group registered surprise and submission at this unusual, for Lyriel, display. She returned to her console and the business at hand.
“Let me review the situation. As I do, listen thoughtfully for anything we may have missed in our previous efforts. Try an open-minded approach. I know this is difficult for some of you, but do it anyway. I would like your acknowledgment that you will at least try to put aside any strong feelings and consider things carefully and objectively. Rather than answer by voice, please stand to indicate your agreement to this simple request.”
To Lyriel’s surprise, Farcos stood up immediately, followed by Llalimeno. Shremon, surprised at Farcos’ quick move, glared steadily at him for a moment before finally rising. After several tense moments, Stagus finally and slowly got out of his seat.
Lyriel smiled when Stagus finally rose. “Thank you all, now let’s get at it. Please resume sitting and I will review the situation. When we found this planet, we discovered it had been seeded with life by natural processes. The life was quite normal in every respect, save one. The evolution of new life forms was quite rapid, about a thousand times faster than on any other known planet. We knew it was only a matter of time before intelligent life evolved so we watched and waited. After several species with dawning intelligence were wiped out by rapidly evolving microscopic forms, we decided to try intervention and the ‘New Life Project’ was created.”
“We know all that. I think we would have been better off if we let things take their natural course,” Farcos commented in his shrill voice. “Our interference created the problem in the first place. We should terminate it right now, before it gets beyond our control.”
“I agree completely, do it now,” Stagus added in an uncommonly subdued, almost reticent comment as he looked directly at Lyriel. Her threat had dampened his usual fervor.
Lyriel was livid, but gave a controlled response. “None of that now. You both agreed to keep an open mind and I intend to hold you to that agreement.”
“Let’s hear the rest of the review. We might have missed something. It might trigger an idea in someone so we can solve the problem,” thoughtful Llalimeno commented. Shremon remained silent, staring blankly at the display.
“Please don’t interrupt unless you have something constructive to say,” Lyriel said firmly, then resumed the review, following the outline on the display in front of them. “The next time a reasonably intelligent form appeared, we created this project and helped evolution by tinkering with the DNA of several of the most intelligent creatures. The end result was a bipedal creature, quite similar to us physically. A bipedal omnivore and tool user that stumbled along for a while before it suddenly learned the skills of an effective predator and exploded over most of the planet. Tool use, language, clothing and growing intelligence rapidly changed the creature into a highly organized, pack animal living in family groups that steadily grew in size and power. When written language and then the tools of science appeared we moved our station from its orbit around the planet and tethered it on the edge of their moon to hide it yet permit our direct observations. I arrived at Far Station 322 shortly after it was moved to the moon. With me came two more scout craft and the station complement was increased from three to five. Llalimeno and I are the only two remaining from that first contingent of five. We increased our surveillance with the new scout craft and stopped all direct contact. About this same time we began calling them the Leutra, after the extinct inhabitants of that planet. The Leutra were beginning to look at the sky with better and better telescopes and we knew it would not be long before we must move the station again.”
“That’s about the time we two Fallons came aboard relieving those horrid Kleps.” Shremon commented. She was clearly repulsed by the Hairy Kleps with their ugly eating habits. The Fallons were almost antiseptic with their personal habits, even eating in private. They avoided any gathering where food or drink was available. “Our first scouting mission analyzed the Leutra’s great preoccupation with reproduction. That was when the problem we are facing now was first predicted.”
“Correct!” Lyriel said, regaining control of the review. “Their knowledge and technology grew at an unbelievable rate. We believe that their very short lives and rapid development were one effect of the high rate of evolution. It took a long time for us to realize everything about life on this planet was moving at an unbelievable rate of change. They had terrible wars, plagues and were set upon by rapidly evolving microscopic life forms, but still their numbers steadily increased. When they began conquering the diseases that were holding their numbers to a slow rate of growth, the rate exploded unbelievably. That caught us off guard and we instigated a number of control factors, primarily new diseases they had trouble fighting and were specific to the Leutra. It wasn’t difficult considering the rapid normal rate of evolution of the planet’s tiniest life forms. We tweaked the DNA of a few bacteria and viruses thinking we could use that to keep a balance of populations of the many interesting life forms that had evolved. We had slowed the explosive growth of their population, but only for a short period. With amazing speed and efficiency they found cures and preventive measures for these diseases while engaging in several major wars. They developed machines that flew, created fission and fusion weapons, and had the beginnings of space travel. About the time they began flying rockets we moved the station away from their moon and placed it in its present position, matching the planet’s own orbit and hiding behind its star, 180 degrees away.”
“It’s their damned preoccupation with procreation that is the problem,” Stagus boomed, finally unable to hold back. “As intelligent as they have become, and with the knowledge they have, why can’t they control their population growth? They certainly have the technology to do so. They’ve already far outstripped all other large animal species in numbers and the creature mix has become terribly lopsided. They recently reached the limit of growth of their food supply and now starve by the millions. Yet, they remain so passionately involved in reproduction they can’t see, or won’t even consider it will ultimately lead to their destruction. Any Thrack with half a brain could see that and insist that such madness be stopped. They have evolved into a high enough intelligence level to be considered for contact and possible membership in the union, but they are still controlled far too much by instincts. Loosed on the union as they are now with their present knowledge, and particularly with their unusually rapid life processes, they would soon reproduce themselves into numeric control of the entire galaxy. I can’t see us letting that happen. It would be genocide for all other intelligent species.”
“Stagus is right,” Shremon began. “Historically, look at those few planets with dominant intelligent species who’s uncontrolled population growth created similar problems. Animal life on every single one I have studied eventually lost diversity, leaving only a very few species which eventually went extinct. There was even one planet where the intelligent species, a pure predator, eventually became its only remaining food supply. Horror stories of the resulting cannibalism are legion. Thankfully, they didn’t achieve hyper-space travel or gain membership in the union before going extinct.”
Lyriel was pleased the group was loosening their entrenched minds and beginning to open up a bit. “Good points, but are there any new ideas of what we can do to turn around the direction the Leutra are headed? They will surely learn the means of hyper-space travel and even Trias Teleportation in the very near future. We cannot let them expand beyond their planet as they are. In their hands, TT technology would create a huge menace. We need a means to change them, and very soon. The alternative is to annihilate the species and start over. That would be a terrible setback to the project, not to mention the elimination of a very promising species.”
Llalimeno unfolded his sinuous form from his seat and stood up. Torbuns use so much body language with their long, lithe bodies they rarely spoke while seated. “Unfortunately, legal limitations on our actions prevent us from using some methods directly. Couldn’t we develop a means to get them to take action themselves? What they need is a major cultural, emotional shift. Are their decisions so instinctively controlled, so emotionally charged, so illogical, that we cannot find a method to cause them to overcome their passionate, illogical preoccupation with reproduction?”
“It seems to me, their tremendous drive is what caused their rapid development in the first place,” Farcos brought up. “If we can’t find a way to get them to greatly reduce or eliminate that reproductive drive without reducing it in other areas, the whole reason for the project will be lost. So far, we haven’t a clue as to how that can be accomplished legally. We pushed the legal envelope long ago when our first DNA tweak resulted in the Leutra. I see no reason we can’t push the legal envelope again. Can’t we bypass a few of those bureaucratic limitations to get the results we seek?”
In a rare moment of harmony with her fellow, Shremon agreed, “A little legal latitude and we might find a workable answer. For such an advanced intelligence, they are still almost totally controlled by instincts. This is very unusual. Most advanced, intelligent species learn to think logically rather than emotionally. The Leutra think they are so far above the other species on their planet and that they alone have overcome instincts, replacing emotion with rationality for decision making. How wrong they are.”
“They are even less rational than some of the species that live in their oceans,” Lyriel remarked as she again took control of the discussion. “We must be wary of ignoring our legal limitations. If we find a method that ‘pushes the legal envelope’ as you’ve said, we had best examine it thoroughly and have immutable evidence of its effectiveness. With that caveat I’m open to new and innovative ideas.”
Stagus stood up smiling. “Let’s merely inform them by using their visual communication system that unless they limit their population immediately they will be destroyed. Llalimeno could be our spokesperson. One look at that bald, blue head would scare them into compliance.”
After everyone finished laughing, Llalimeno, his head a brilliant blue, stood up and looked at Stagus. “I doubt my visage could instill one quarter the fear as would one look at your ugly pink face and scraggly white hair.”
After several moments of accusations, shouts and curses, Lyriel stood and raised her hands in a command of silence. “I believe we have just demonstrated we, too, are subject to instinctive, emotional behavior at times. Let’s not condemn a species that exhibits similar lack of control in a different behavioral arena. Now, I am going to demand effort. Stagus and Shremon will work together as will Farcos and Llalimeno. Go wherever you wish to work. I’ll give you two hours to come up with one or more new concepts for possible development into a solution. Push the envelope if necessary, but thoughtfully. Whatever we do, we had better have unimpeachable reasons behind it. We will be judged by results, not effort. I will work on one of my own, so when we reassemble here there should be at least three new concepts. It’s 07:13 now so I will expect you all back here at 09:40. That gives you twenty-seven minutes to leave, return and do as you wish. Now, get to it.”
Lyriel left no room for questions or argument. With some shuffling about and a few grumbles, the two teams arranged for their places to work and left the room. Lyriel remained on the observation deck, her favorite place on the station. For a few moments she sat in silence, looking at the huge display screen. “ULDI! Show me the current full view of Leutra.”
A view of the planet from the observation camera in another part of the planet’s orbit soon filled the display. She marveled at its beauty. A bit larger than her home, Muerr, it was bright blue with patches of tan, green and white. Muerr had more than twice the land area and about a third of the oceans. There was much less greenery on Muerr since most of the planet was desiccated deserts. Located closer to the center of the galaxy, and at the trailing edge of the next arm, Muerr orbited a star almost identical to this one and at about the same distance away. The two planets were near twins with similar atmospheres, temperatures and life forms. Life on Muerr was limited to the oceans, the islands in the oceans, and the edges of the three continents where rain fell. Unlike Leutra, there were vast areas of Muerr in the continental interiors where no rain ever fell and no life existed. She knew the Leutra well from data gathered by their manned research vessels and unmanned scout craft over many years. Once the Leutra developed electronic communication, including video transmission, the bulk of their knowledge was obtained from the Leutra themselves.
She continued musing about the focus of the project. Forbidden from having direct contact of any kind once the Leutra developed written records, they became observers only. Persistent reminders of earlier contacts were part of the lore of many Leutra cultures, coming from oral records repeated through many generations. Lyriel was amused every time a Leutran reference was made to the grossly changed, but unmistakable information about those contacts. No harm had been done. Sightings of their research and scout craft was another matter. Though there were few actual sightings, the Leutra expanded those with creative imagination and outright fabrication into a mostly discredited phenomenon. The research craft, used to examine and experiment with Leutra individuals directly, created the most problems. Their use was discontinued some twenty years earlier when it was feared the sophistication of Leutra weapons and surveillance technology might result in confirmed detection or even capture of one. The much smaller, faster and more maneuverable scout craft continued in use. Her reflections of the past completed, Lyriel set to work on another possible answer to their dilemma.
By the time ULDI reminded her at 09:20, she new she had less than twenty minutes to gather her thoughts for the meeting. She expanded on an unusual idea that passed through her mind on several different earlier occasions. Pleased with the results when it was provisionally approved by ULDI’s legal program, she thought, This might actually work. Usually quite punctual, the other four would begin returning about 09:35.
Lyriel commanded the computer, “ULDI! Clear the display. Access none of my latest Leutra project without my voice activation.” She was now prepared. If any new proposal seemed superior to hers, she would not reveal her work, but support one of the others. Smiling to herself she thought, There are some privileges of command.
As usual, the rumble of Stagus’ voice announced his arrival before the door opened. “I still say the only thing that will work is to change their culture. Any plague or other partial annihilation will only put off the inevitable, and we’re running out of time,” Stagus argued as he and Shremon entered.
“Let’s see what the rest think,” Shremon replied. “Your idea will most certainly not pass the legality test.” Shortly after she took her seat, the other two entered and seated themselves without comment. Lyriel noticed Llalimeno’s head was quite blue.
“Lyriel rose and faced the group. “I’m sure you’ve transferred your work to ULDI, but let’s hear verbal reports first. Shremon, from what I heard as you and Stagus entered I take it you did not come to an agreement. What a surprise,” she remarked sarcastically. “Tell us what you think.”
Shremon seldom agreed with Stagus, or any one else for that matter, including her fellow Fallon. “The Thrack has no idea how hard it would be to change their culture, even if we could find a way to skirt the legalities of such action. ULDI! Display SF22 statistics.”
A table of items and related numbers immediately appeared on the screen.
“This list of Leutra diseases includes all those the Leutra currently hold in their arsenals of biological weapons. It lists the lethal effectiveness as a percent of the total population, the probable rate of growth for outbreaks under several conditions and the probable time before the Leutra could stop an outbreak. After selection of the best prospect, we could modify some of our supply of the selected organism and use them to reduce the population to an acceptable level. This would buy us time to find a way to get them to regulate their own population and restore balance to the planet’s life forms. A reduction to about half a billion Leutra would seem most practical.”
Lyriel commanded, “ULDI! What is the probable length of time after activation of SF22 that the Leutra would develop hyper space capabilities?”
ULDI answered almost immediately, while displaying the same information at the bottom of the display. “Roughly two hundred standard years if the disease terminated scientists likely to be in that field in the same proportion as the general populace. It is more likely that particular group’s termination rate would be closer to one third of that of the general populace resulting in a projection of only eighty standard years.”
“That’s far too short a time for us to do anything indirectly about their culture,” Stagus commented, sneering. “If we create a carefully controlled decrease in their food supply, the resulting starvation would reduce the population substantially and maybe teach them how important it is to control their numbers. Combine that with efforts to directly change their culture, so they themselves would stabilize the population at some desired level where the balance of life forms on the planet would be more stable, and in accord with Union standards.”
“Your interference in their cultures would not pass a legality test,” Shremon countered.
“Let’s find out just how illegal it is. Stagus, ask ULDI the legality question,” Lyriel requested.
Stagus was hesitant, but finally did as he was asked. “ULDI! Test the legality of ST279.”
ULDI replied immediately, “In its present form, ST279 is too vague for a legal opinion. It is necessary for you to define the level and method of changes to their cultures to obtain an opinion.”
“Damned, stupid machine!” Stagus muttered. “I thought maybe working together we could come up with an acceptable method.”
“Possibly,” Lyriel replied. “ULDI!” How long would a major culture change, as proposed in ST279, take to be accomplished by the Leutra, given we found an acceptable method to trigger it.”
“Approximately two hundred standard years.”
“ULDI! Could we reduce that to fifty standard years?” Stagus asked.
After a few minutes ULDI replied, “No answer to that question is possible without additional data about the method and application.”
“You knew that was coming,” Lyriel commented. She looked at Farcos and Llalimeno. “How about you? Did you come to any consensus?”
Nodding to Llalimeno, Farcos stood up to announce their results. “We feel another genetic tweak to the Leutra would be the best solution. We could introduce a modified virus or bacteria that would reduce their numbers to an acceptable level while modifying the remaining Leutra to more tolerable levels of reproductive drive. I believe it is a hormone they call testosterone that drives their reproductive excesses. A substantial reduction in their ability to produce testosterone should have the desired effect. It would have the side effect of modifying their aggressive nature as well.”
Stagus butted in. “That would never pass the legality test!”
Llalimeno, his head only slightly bluer than usual sneered at Stagus. “Is the Thrack now substituting his legal expertise for ULDI’s? ULDI! Please provide an opinion of the legality and viability of FL229.”
Farcos and Llalimeno both smiled in satisfaction as ULDI reported. “FL229 in its present form is just barely legal. I would need more details to be certain. Genetic manipulation is not a very exact science and never will be. The results of this procedure could result in the extinction of the Leutra.”
Noting the dissatisfaction of Stagus and Shremon, Lyrial stood and addressed them all quite formally. “You have heard three proposals, all of which use various methods to reduce their numbers. One proposal would use genetic modification to reduce their reproductive drive, a questionable and risky process. According to ULDI, each one has questionable legality as proposed. Now, before we discuss and vote, I would like to present a proposal of my own.”
Stagus immediately and angrily stood. “Don’t the articles of our charter specifically state a leader can not make a proposal? I don’t see how we can legally even listen to a proposal from you.”
Lyriel smiled as she gazed patronizingly at Stagus. “ULDI! Under what circumstance is it permissible for a leader to make a proposal? Please provide and display reference.”
“Should the members of the New Life Project fail to agree upon the solution to a problem, and be hopelessly deadlocked, the leader may make a proposal. Article four, section three,” ULDI spat out displaying the reference on the screen.
Greatly chagrined, Stagus muttered a few expletives as he sat down, then remarked sarcastically, “All right, let’s hear this proposal from our glorious leader.”
“Thank you Stagus,” Lyrial replied, ignoring the sarcasm. “I propose we give them a history book.”
After a long silence as the four displayed baffled looks, Llalimeno spoke. “A history book? What kind of a history book?”
“That’s crazy! How could a book accomplish anything?” Farcos asked with a still puzzled demeanor.
Lyriel laughed. “Let me explain my proposal. We have the complete records of this planet since the first promising creatures evolved. ULDI could convert those records using the languages and style of the Leutra into a book entitled, ‘The True History of Planet Earth.’ The history could be extrapolated through their extinction. We could plant it in the form of a manuscript by a famous, but deceased writer. ULDI could create such a book using the literary style of the famous author. We could then TT it to an appropriate place where it would be found and then published.”
Stagus was soon back complaining. “That’s ridiculous. How could such a book have any effect? The Leutra would consider it fiction, ignoring the obvious.”
Llalimeno slithered to a stand, his visage a pale blue indicating satisfaction as he stabbed at Stagus verbally. “I can’t understand how an individual with so little insight or imagination could become a member of this project. I can see how such a book could be a truly innovative solution. Certainly we could devise a way to word it so it would be believed. My only question is, would it have the desired effect?”
Lyriel had anticipated just such a question. “ULDI! Please report on the efficacy and legality of proposal LY83.”
“The book proposed in LY38 is quite legal as described. Since I would be creating the book, the legality of the entire proposal would be assured. Analysis of the psychological effect and resulting action of the Leutra show a 50% to 80% success probability.”
Shremon stood and questioned, “How can we ensure the book’s message will be taken seriously?”
“You all know about supernova EMX356, that caused a major evacuation in nearby sector 8 of the galaxy,” Lyriel reported to heads nodding in agreement. “Its light will arrive here in just three years. We will place the precise location, date and time of the explosion in the book. That, together with the many other confirmable facts, should make them patently aware of its accuracy. Then if they don’t change their current course and control their population, we will have to terminate them and start over.”
A four hour deliberation of the details continued during which time all came to agreement except Stagus who doggedly stood his ground.
Finally, he struggled to his feet, hands held high in resignation and spoke softly, almost apologetically. “I hate to admit it, but that may be the only realistic, workable option. Let’s start on it right away. Just remember, the book is Lyriel’s idea and should be recorded in the record books as her decision. If it works, she’ll get the credit.”
Lyriel smiled triumphantly at Stagus’ desperate attempt not to appear totally defeated. “And if it doesn’t, I’ll get the blame, Right?”
Howard Johnson 2005
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A MATTER OF DEDICATION
Onas awoke to the warmth of sunlight on his face and animal noises some distance away. He was half hanging, half-lying, and almost upside down in a tree, about twenty feet up. He had no memory of how he had gotten there, but imagined it was painful. Trailing away from him up into the higher branches were several parallel lines of nanocord, and far above him in the forest canopy, the remnants of his gliderchute.
A drop of sweat formed at his chin and ran the length of his jaw toward his ear. His right cheek burned; that was not a good sign, and his right eye was half stuck shut. His right foot was tangled in the cord, and when he exerted himself to free his leg, an intense pain shot up his back and he nearly blacked out. It was coming back to him now... the sharp crack, the look up at the collapsing wing and then his GC folded and helicoptered him down to a soft crash into the forest. He was at least two miles from the long river sandbar he and Eyalon were supposed to land on and set up the geo-research station.
A sudden lurch downward and Onas realized the GC was beginning to slip from its hold in the branches of the canopy. He watched fascinated and unable to do anything as the branch holding the GC bent and then finally broke dropping him the last few feet to the ground. Before he could move the GC broke free and headed straight down at him from at least a hundred feet up. He raised his arms instinctively to ward off the blow and watched as the broken wing caught the air and spun away from him at the very last minute.
Damn! That was close! He remarked to himself as he tried slowly to get up. When it didn’t hurt too much he rolled over and got to his hands and knees. The GC wreckage was right in front of him and what he saw was a shocker. The main composite member had been cut apart neatly, like with a knife. The secondary member had unexploded red primer cord wrapped around it. Some son-of-a-bitch tried to kill me! He realized as he traced the primer cord to a tiny device taped to the composite brace. About three inches of the broken primer cord dangled nearby, broken away from the switch before it could be fired. That had doubtless saved his life. The device was a simple pressure switch set to fire the primer cord well below the drop height and at least half a mile above the jungle. If all the primer cord had fired, the GC would have blown apart and he would have plunged to his death. The loud crack was the primer cord going off and cutting the main member in half. All things considered, the Gods had been kind to Onas.
He sat there for a while amidst his scattered test equipment and tried to decide who would want him dead. Mentally he replayed the last crew meeting aboard Mother looking for clues. Captain Fogarty, the flight commander in charge of everything except the research station itself, was nearing retirement and their relationship had been jovial from the start. Kropa, the young flight engineer and second in command of the ship, was on his first deep space assignment. Reserved and seeming a bit self absorbed, he still didn’t impress Onas as the kind to indulge in any intrigue. He was too intent on furthering his career at this point. Greg, the data manager, about fifty, was rather a geeky, reserved man. Like most people who manage and record numbers, he could be curt in conversation and strongly opinionated when on a subject he knew. He certainly new numbers and data tracking. Arrianna, the assistant data tracker was not very friendly with anyone. A very plain and introverted woman of about thirty-five, she rarely spoke to anyone unless it was absolutely necessary. She made it plain that anything other than business in which she was involved was strictly off-limits. During the meeting her only participation was to ask for direct authority to download and record all data from the research station once it was in place. At that meeting everyone else had lots to say, even Greg.
Eyalon was the only one who had crossed swords with Onas. They had often been at odds since the project began. Second in command of the research station to Onas, Eyalon was overtly envious. They had several clashes over minor things in the configuration and operation of the research station, the last was an angry exchange about the division of actions and responsibilities during the two month operation of the station on the sandbar. It ended with Onas putting his leadership stamp on the situation by telling Eyalon, “that’s the way it is going to be.” Eyalon stomped out of the meeting grumbling things unintelligible. That was less than two hours before their scheduled drop. There were two more in the crew of eight, Salus, a grumpy old guy in charge of ship maintenance and Pirie, the steward, cook, and comedian of the group, also handled communications. Pirie always had something to say, usually a joke, but his cooking was definitely first class. He didn’t get on too well with Salus, but then Salus didn’t get on too well with anyone.
Onas knew Eyalon had the time, the knowledge, and maybe they anger to rig the GC for his demise. Since neither he nor Eyalon knew which GC they would be taking until drop time, he could have rigged both GCs and easily disabled the one he was using long before the pressure switch fired the primer cord. Onas thought since Eyalon needed to retrieve his part of the equipment to set up the geo-station, he was probably looking for his body right now.
Before standing, Onas took out the emergency medical kit and applied self sealing aid packs to his hip and his cheek. A cold crush-pack soon relieved his swollen right eye, but it would be a while before he would be able to see clearly. When standing didn’t bring on any searing pain, he decided he was OK to gather the equipment for the geo-station and head for the sandbar.
He had been walking for about an hour when he saw the unmistakable yellow and red of Eyalon’s GC wing on the ground up ahead. Before he got to the wing he had to take back his suspicions about Eyalon whose crumpled body lay on the ground still attached by nanocord to the remains of the GC. It was obvious from the wreckage that the primer cord on his GC had all fired and ripped it completely apart.
“Sorry for the bad things I thought about you, old man.” He said quietly. “Whoever did you is still alive and aboard Mother. They also think I’m dead and that’s to our advantage. I promise to make that bastard pay.”
Onas immediately changed plans. He began setting up the research station and rain canopy on the bank of the river under the trees, not out on the sand bar. He wasn’t about to let anyone on Mother know he was still alive. He could conduct the experiments and take all the readings just as well in safety from prying eyes. Onas grinned as he mused, The first com reports are due in two hours, just before sunset. I wonder what will happen when their call goes unanswered.?
Onas began thinking about the planet and the project. Raza three was a very unusual planet. About twenty percent larger than earth it nonetheless had only about eighty percent of the earth’s mass and gravity. This was because it had a very tiny iron core inside a huge mass of much lighter rocky material. There was no tectonic movements of the surface so it was very smooth and quite level . About ninety percent of the surface was covered with a shallow ocean at most a few hundred feet deep. The land was flat as well and because of the warm temperatures it was very wet. Broken rain clouds moved constantly bringing alternating rain and sunshine in irregular periods. It rained constantly at the highest elevations– about five hundred feet above sea level. The only thing that sculpted the landscape were huge, slow moving rivers running from the highlands to the sea. Their flood plains were the only land not covered with a dense jungle canopy of trees. Virtually no sunlight reached the jungle floor so it was smooth and easily traversed on foot.
Raza three rotated once every 27 hours and thirteen minutes, approximately. For this reason, the program clock reset every 27 hours and thirteen minutes at about midnight, Raza three time. This kept ground station time in sync with the planet’s natural rhythm. The ship’s clock remained on Earth time so there were two reference clocks on the bridge, one for each kind of time. The planet had a huge moon about a third it’s size. The two actually rotated around a point somewhere between them but much closer to Raza three. The research project was to determine if gravitational distortion– tides in the rocks– was generating the heat that kept the planet warm. It was much warmer than it should have been considering its atmosphere, surface conditions and distance from the star, Raza.
Its atmosphere, nearly twice the depth of earth’s, held a much higher percentage of carbon dioxide, 2.5% and oxygen, 23.2%. Nitrogen, argon and the other rarer gases were each a lower percentage of the total than earth’s. There was also a sizeable portion of methane. The carbon dioxide was strong enough to just make it noticeable with a slight, sharp stinging sensation when one breathed in. The surface air pressure was just a bit more then Earth’s at sea level. He had to know all this to properly set up the instruments. By the time for check in, Onas had everything up and running and plugged into the data storage banks. He did not connect the data relay as that would have given him away.
Suddenly the speaker on the com unit barked out, “Baby one are you there? This is Mother. Come in.”
The message was repeated several times, each repeat a bit more urgent than the last. The voice on the other end was that of Pirie, the com guy. Finally, almost pleading he said, “You guys aren’t fooling around are you? Please respond.”
“Onas?... Eyalon?... This is your captain speaking. Report back... now!”
Onas would liked to have seen their faces at that moment. The guilty party would have stood out like a neon sign on a dark night. They would have to send someone down to find out what was going on, but that couldn’t be done until morning. Onas wondered if the killer would be the one to come down. He settled down in his sleeper for the night, knowing he would be ready in the morning.
Almost hourly through the night the com unit broke the silence with, “Baby one are you OK? This is Mother. Please respond.” Onas couldn’t shut it off as that would be a dead give away that someone was alive. He just turned the volume way down.
At eight in the morning the message changed. “We’re dropping out of orbit and will fly by and release a rescue party to see what’s been going on. He should be on the sandbar in about two hours. Make sure your com units are on so we can find you.” Onas wondered if this flight would be blown apart as the first two. Only now everyone would be watching. Also, this would be a military GC, not a civilian one and launched from a secure spot on the ship. He checked his com unit, carried it back into the forest and set it on the ground some distance away. He wondered about the rescue mission. Would the killer be on it? Surely they would bring a new pickup rig, balloon and all, to lift the nanocord to where Mother could catch it as she flew by and lift whatever was attached to the end of the cord up into her belly as she flew away.
He camouflaged the research setup with branches and leaves as best he could and waited, hidden from sight in a small hollow of an old tree stump. He watched as Mother flew slowly by, wings fully extended at about twenty thou and released the GC. He followed the mottled green glider as it circled slowly and descended to the sand bar. Who was piloting the craft but lieutenant by-the-book himself, Kropa. Well, of course. That would be his job. He tied down the GC and spoke on his com unit. It came through soft, but clear on his unit, “I’m on the sand bar and there is absolutely nothing here. What do I do now?”
“Start a search pattern of semi-circles on the windward side of the river you idiot! Just like I explained before we dropped you.” Captain Fogarty always said it like it was.
“Yes sir!” Kropa clipped off immediately as he turned and waded through the shallow river to the shore about two hundred yards downstream from where the setup was hidden.
After about forty minutes his voice came on the com a bit unsteady, “I found Eyalon sir. He’s dead!”
“Dead? Where? How’d it happen?” Fogarty was obviously quite shocked, at least as shocked as one with so many years on military service can become.
“I don’t know, sir! It looks like he crashed into the treetops and fell to his death from there. It’s a 100 foot drop at least.”
“Is there anything strange or out of place at the crash site?”
“I’m examining the wreckage right now. I’ll send images.... It looks awfully broken up.”
Damn! Please don’t look at those broken members too closely.
“He must have hit the trees going very fast.” Kropa told him. I can’t believe how broken up the GC is.”
Just as I was congratulating myself Kropa added, “There is something strange though.”
“What’s that?” the captain queried.
“It’s just that I can’t find the research equipment, or his com unit. It’s all gone.”
“Damn! Damn! Damn!” Onas cursed under his breath realizing his mistake.
“I know it was attached to his GC right on the main member. Wait a minute. Most of that piece was completely destroyed in the crash. That stuff’s likely to be anywhere within a few hundred feet.”
“Well find it, Damn it, and let me know when you do.”
“Yes sir!”
Now much relieved, Onas worked his way to near where Kropa stood examining the wreckage. Setting his LK on stun he placed his finger on his lips to indicate silence and stepped into view leveling the weapon. Kropa froze, started to speak, and then stopped as Onas waved his weapon at his lips with the universal sign for silence.
“Turn off the mike on your com unit– carefully and moving slowly.” Onas whispered.
A slight click on his unit and Onas knew he had complied. He then stepped over to Kropa and relieved him of both of his weapons, holstered his LK and said, “Welcome to the deadly forest.”
“What in Hell is going on here?” Kropa asked when he felt free to speak.
“That’s exactly what I would like to know. Let me tell you what I do know.”
As he led Kropa back to the setup Onas explained most of what happened. When he finished, Kropa sat dumbfounded.
”Who in Hell would want both of you dead?”
“That’s precisely what I’d like to know and I hope it isn’t you. Incidently, you’d better call in and report you found the missing equipment in working order and my dead body just like Eyalon’s. I don’t want anyone on Mother to know I’m alive just yet. That would be too helpful to our killer. So far it looks like an accident. Only you, me and the killer knows otherwise. That should be a great help in catching him.”
After Kropa’s report the captain asked him, “Do you think you could set up that station and take those readings? The instructions are all there in the computer.”
“I don’t know, sir.” After Onas’ emphatic affirmative head shaking, he added, “but I’d like to give it a try.”
“Good boy!” Onas muttered softly.
“I’ll give you all the help I can from here, lieutenant. I’m sure we can pull it off and make this mission a success. I’d hate to lose two of my crew and go home with nothing for it.” Captain Fogarty said before clicking off the com unit.
Kropa was at least sharp enough to understand the realities of the situation. Now we had to take and record all the readings while finding and catching a murderer who for all we knew was fully capable of killing both of us, maybe by just leaving us here to starve to death.
At this point I returned both his weapons to Kropa who looked at them curiously, then me and said, “Sir?”
“Hell, Kropa, that wasn’t being too risky. I shorted out the charge on both weapons before giving them to you. If you were the killer you would have tried to use at least one of them and I would have known.”
“Maybe I suspected that and am waiting for them to be recharged to use later.” He remarked with a broad grin.
“Not a chance! Your eyes would have betrayed you to this old one-time psychologist. I watched them very carefully when I handed you your weapons. I’d have known instantly.”
Kropa heaved a sigh of relief. Onas was beginning to genuinely like this young man. Something about him just struck a chord. “How about we do a little run down on the five remaining crew? Let’s rate them as possible murderers and look for motive.” Onas suggested.
An hour later they had made little progress but had the following list of facts:
1. It was not personal, but rather was directed at the project. This was quite obvious from the fact that both science officers were to be killed.
2. Captain Fogarty was placed at the bottom of the suspect list for lack of motive. The other four were equal possibilities, but nowhere was there a shred of evidence as to a motive.
3. All had roughly equal ability to obtain the primer cord, pressure guage and tape used on both GCs.
4. All had equal access to the staging area where the GCs were probably fixed to crash and kill their fliers.
5. No one of the suspects knew Onas was alive. That was their greatest asset.
“It’s not much to go on, sir.” Kropa said, looking dejected.
“No, but it is a start. Now we’ll have to develop a plan. We scheduled almost sixty days to finish the project and can use all that time to do that and find our killer.”
The first few weeks went without incident. When it came time to send the collected data, Onas coached Kropa. “You’ll have to convert the data to a transmission format on your own. If I did it I’m sure Those data geeks would quickly realize it was not the work of a junior military officer.”
“How am I going to do that?”
“Just tell me what you’re doing and I’ll let you know if it will be OK.”
“It seems kinda like an inventory report. I’ve done lots of those.”
“Exactly! You’ll do just fine.” Onas smiled as he kept to himself that he was storing all the raw data on digicards just in case. If one or both of the data geeks wanted to sabotage the project he had a backup.
Just after the end of the seventh week Onas called Kropa over. “We’re almost done here so we’d better get things ready for pickup. It’s fortunate that the balloon pickup systems on even the badly damaged GCs were intact. That means we will have to get Mother to make three runs, each one protected against sabotage. As we decided, you’ll go up on the first lift. It’s definitely the safest. You’ll tell them you are sending the instruments up first. along with some very fragile samples. Call for the pickup now.”
“Won’t they be suspicious when I show up in place of the equipment?” Kropa asked as he contacted Mother on the com unit.
“I’m counting on you disrupting their plans. If we actually sent the equipment up first I’m sure there would be a fatal failure on your lift. Make sure you note as much as you can how everyone reacts. Tell them you have to make a military report to Captain Fogarty and then get Fogarty to take you to his cabin for a private talk. You know what to tell him.”
Just then the com unit barked, “Are you ready for pickup?”
“Soon as I get the balloon up.” Kropa replied. “This will be the equipment and some fragile samples so treat them gently.”
“We’ll be there in about forty minutes. We’re already out of orbit and flying.”
“Wasn’t that Greg, the data geek?” Kropa asked.
“Wonder why he’s manning the com?” Onas questioned. “I thought Pirie would be doing that.”
“He should be, especially during flight operations. I hope this isn’t an indicator of trouble.”
“Too late to worry about that now. Just be sure you get to the captain as soon as you’re aboard.”
“What about the others while I’m talking to the Captain?”
“There’s not much they could do at that point. Fogarty will be conducting a wide circle to make the second pickup pass. Ask him to secure the rest of the crew in quarters so you and he can make the pickups without interruption. We don’t want any of them to have access to any part of the pickup system or loading bay until I’m aboard.”
With the balloon carrying the pickup line high above him, Kropa got ready to crouch into lift position in the pickup capsule while Onas stood behind the equipment ready to duck under the cover as Mother flew by.
As the hum of Mother’s air drives picked up she showed up just above the horizon over the river. As Kropa crouched for pickup, Onas shouted, “Pray man! Pray the lift gets you to Mother.”
The catcher fork extending from Mother’s belly picked up the balloon line which stretched, drew tight and then snatched the capsule containing Kropa up into the air to be retrieved by the recovery winch. Onas was pleased to see the capsule taken aboard without incident before Mother flew out of sight.
Aboard Mother, Greg and Arrianna were manning the retrieval equipment. When Kropa stepped out of the capsule both registered extreme surprise.
“I thought you were sending the equipment up first.” Greg remarked. “Why the swich?”
“Last minute change of plans.” Kropa reported. “Right now I have to report to Captain Fogarty. Military protocol you know.”
“This is a scientific expedition, Kropa.” Greg remarked. “First order of business is the data. Where is it?”
“Coming on the next pickup.”
“How can there be another pickup? You’re up here!” Arrianna asked in her most sarcastic tone of voice.
“I rigged the other pickup balloons to deploy as soon as the previous one is picked up. It was really quite simple. Now I must report to the captain.” That said he stepped into the lift before they could complain and headed for the bridge.
Captain Fogarty was incredulous at the tale Kropa unfolded. “That Onas is both lucky and resourceful. I don’t know that I can confine everyone to quarters without a known emergency. In the mean time lets get Mother into another pickup turn.”
“Why were the two data processors manning the catch lift? Where is the rest of the crew?” Kropa was puzzled.
“They offered to do it and I saw no reason not to allow it. Now it is an obviously different situation. My bet is on those two as the culprits. That Arrianna will do just about anything Greg orders so he’s got to be the man behind the plot. I’d sure like to know what it’s all about. Makes no sense to me.”
“Me either, but Eyalon’s death was definitely murder so it must be serious.”
“We’ll be lined up to recover the equipment in about ten minutes. I’ll send Salus down with you to the recovery bay and try locking the others in quarters. Get moving!”
“Yes sir!”
When Salus arrived at the bay they were about two minutes out. Kropa moved one of the mobile cargo cranes against the lift door just in case.
‘What the hell’s that about?” Salus asked.
“We don’t need any unwanted company. I’ll explain after this pickup.”
“OK lieutenent.”
“Drop the catcher now.” Kropa ordered.
Salus pulled down the lever and the winch lowered the catcher.
Kropa tapped his com unit and said, “Captain. The catcher is down and locked.”
Some ten minutes later the Captain said, “Got it!... Raise it up.... I’ll start a new circle and the third capsule should be picked up in about twenty minutes.”
It took about five minutes for the winch to bring the equipment capsule aboard. As soon as it was tied down Salus lowered the pickup cable catch for the next pass.
Once more Kropa used his com to speak to the Captain. “The catcher is down and locked.”
And again after ten minutes the Captain said, “Got him! Pull him aboard and then all of you report to the bridge. We still have a serious problem to deal with.”
“Roger, Captain. We’ll have him aboard in about three minutes.”
Before Onas was up, the door to the lift opened and Greg and Arrianna tried to move the crane that blocked them. Somehow they managed to release the lock on the crane wheels, push the crane aside and step into the recovery bay.
“What’s going on here?” Greg asked curtly. Why were you trying to keep us out?”
“Captains orders!” Kropa answered lamely positioning himself between Greg and the winch controls as the two moved between him and the lift winch. “This is now a military project and you are to return to your quarters.”
Greg replied, “Not while I’m here. This is a scientific project and in the absence of the leader and his second in command, I am in charge.”
Kropa tapped his com unit on and hoped Onas could hear him. “You, Greg are no longer in charge. There’s been a murder and until that is solved, military law prevails and you are under the Captain’s command.”
With that Arrianna pulled out a Galbo blaster and leveled it at Kropa.
Greg looked surprised. “Arrianna! Put that away! You never mentioned any violence.”
“Shut up, Greg. This is a whole lot bigger than any of your petty little data thefts. I’m running this show and don’t you forget it.”
Kropa inched his hand toward his LK holster, but she could cut him in two before he could raise it and he was quite sure she would. “What the hell are you two up to?” he asked. Behind them the capsule holding Onas was coming aboard.
“Saving our planet.” Arrianna shouted. “Saving our planet from alien invasion. Our organization is dedicated to preventing any material from any alien planet from reaching Earth. My assignment was to scuttle this project by any means possible.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Greg asked, a bewildered look on his face.
Salus grabbed for his weapon but before he could aim it Arrianna cut him in half with a blast from the Galbo. Kropa took this opportunity to dive behind a bulkhead. The last thing he saw before he dropped to the floor was Onas stepping out of the capsule holding an LK at the ready.
Onas stepped out of the capsule just as Salas was blown apart. He was out in the open with no cover nearby. He hit both data geeks with a wide spread from his LK knowing that would stun them for only a moment. In that moment he ran and dove behind the loading dock bulkhead putting three feet of steel between he and the deadly Galbo. Finding one of the round barrel covers he hurled it toward the opening in the bulkhead where it was immediately vaporized by a blast from Arrianna’s Galbo. In that same instant, Kropa rose and knocked Arrianna down with his LK. Her Galbo clattered to the floor. Before he could get off another shot, she rolled over, grabbed the Galbo and grabbed Greg, holding the Galbo against his neck.
“Drop your weapons and step out or I’ll blast Greg.” She shouted.
Onas called out, “We’re not that stupid you damned bitch. Go ahead, kill him. While you’re doing that we’ll both hit you with our Lks– at full power.”
After a short silence Arrianna began moving toward the door to the lift. Kropa was out of her line of sight, and Onas couldn’t fire without hitting Greg. He tapped his com. “Captain! Arriana killed Salus and is using Greg as a shield so she can get to the lift. She’s not inside yet. Can you do a complete lockdown– right now!”
Almost instantly the lockdown siren went off and all doors locked and the lift was immobilized. Unfortunately Arriana and Greg got inside the lift just as lockdown occurred and the lift doors were not completely blaster proof. Thinking quickly, Kropa rolled a heavy mobile cargo crane up against the lift door and locked it in place. It left just enough room for a thin person to squeeze between the crane and the door frame. He positioned himself right beside the door.
Onas ran over to the other side, took the same position there and asked, “Captain, reverse the lockdown– right now and be prepared to lock it again on my word, Now!”
As the door opened, Arriana pushed Greg out in front of her. Onas shouted, “Now!” grabbed Greg and jerked him through the narrow space. Arrianna burned a hole in the crane, but missed Greg then pulled back inside the lift. The door closed with her inside.
“Captain? I got Greg and Arriana’s back locked inside the lift.”
Behind the crane the door to the lift began to turn red, then yellow, and almost white. Arriana’s Galbo was at work. Suddenly the door melted away. A badly burned Arrianna fell through the doorway, incinerated by the intense heat from the Galbo in such a confined space. She was dead before she hit the floor.
A few minutes after they informed the captain what happened they heard the captain say resignedly, “Use the walkway and both of you get up here right away and tell me just what in the hell is going on. I hate being totally ignorant about what’s happening on my ship.”
Onas replied. “Right away, Captain, but first let me say you have one helluva second in command. I’d sure recommend a promotion for this man, and I plan to put that in writing.”
Kropa blushed!
Howard Johnson - February 2007
Tuesday, July 17, 2007
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