by Bob Mauldin
Heart pounding and face drained of blood, Lucy flopped into a chair. “What have I gotten myself into? I can’t face all those people!”
Lloyd Pike peeked around a curtain edge. “You don’t have to face all those people, Captain. That’s what you have staff for. And even we don’t have to face all of them. Some reporters will be satisfied to get a statement from anyone in uniform. We’ll set up a press conference for them. The rest will be refused admittance. Most of those will shake out into a few categories—volunteer candidates, glad-handers, and denouncers. We’ll have the embassy handle those, but we do need to find people to fill those positions. The embassies will operate as public relations, as well as screening out most of the troublemakers. And we can hand out daily press releases to anyone -interested.”
Lucy had only a few minutes for reflection before Commander Kimura stuck her head into the room. “Captain, the baron and baroness have arrived and are on the way up.”
The announcement eased some of the tension in Lucy’s neck and shoulders. “Show them right in, please.” Shock after shock to a person’s system could cause premature aging, and Lucy felt like she was a hundred years old as she hauled herself up out of her chair. “Diana, bring another setting for the baroness, please,” she said and busied herself moving a few items around on her desk until she heard the outer door open.
A murmur of voices preceded the trio into the room. “Simon will be pleased, Baron,” Lucy said, smiling broadly. “I truly think he will. Please sit down. Coffee?” When both guests nodded their assent, she motioned for Diana to serve.
Thirteen days had passed since the “Debacle at Camp David,” as the news was now calling it. And the fact that so many had died was still causing Lucy grief—the four from the Alliance, three if Simon really was alive, and the dozens from the U.S. military, not to mention the civilian representatives of various nations on hand to meet Simon. And of course, the vice-president. And yet, almost all the things Simon and Kitty had worked for were coming to pass. It was the speed that was dizzying.
These thoughts chased the smile from her face, and the baroness noticed. “What causes you such discomfort, Lady Lucille? You’ve won much this day, I think.”
Lucy looked down into her coffee and swirled the liquid around. “It’s the cost, Your Grace. So many died when it wasn’t necessary.”
“Who says it wasn’t necessary, Captain?” The older woman leaned forward and carefully placed the coffee cup on the table between them. “I’m not trying to belittle any of the people who died on either side that day, Captain. Each person was important to someone. “But at times like these it sometimes takes a... galvanizing action to get Joe Common off his couch and away from his comforts. Manfred and I have seen two such events in the recent past. First was the ship being found, and the second was that most unfortunate event at Camp David. Both of those events are tied directly to you, Captain, and unfortunately, that makes you a focus. Now, things are going to start happening around you.”
“I hope you mean the Terran Alliance when you say ‘you,’ Your Grace,” Lucy protested. “Because when Simon comes back aboard...”
“Stop right there!” The baroness seemed to puff up to twice her not inconsiderable size. “First, we will dispense with the ‘Your Grace’ nonsense. You call my husband Freddie, and you can call me Maggie. And I’ll call you Lucy, in informal settings of course.”
“Second,” interrupted the baron, “is the fact that it was you who spoke to the ambassadors from several nations in my library just four days ago. And it was you who stood before a special session of the United Nations Security Council just two days before that. Your face is the one being shown on television and magazines.”
“Magazines!” The blood drained from Lucy’s face for the second time in one morning. Had she not already been sitting, she would have fallen down. “What magazines?” The same feeling settled into the pit of her stomach that had been there the day she’d learned of the loss of Simon and Kitty, and the fact that she recognized the feeling as fear didn’t help.
The baron handed her two publications, and her face leapt out at her from the glossy cover of Time. Obviously a still taken from one of her transmissions, it was undeniably her. The other was a different matter entirely. She stared in horror at the cover of a supermarket tabloid, seeing herself in front of a fanciful spaceship with a headline that read, “Space Aliens Arrive to Eat Your Young!”
“The world now perceives you as the head of this organization, Lucy,” the baron said gently, “for good or ill. I remember the pictures of Simon getting off that shuttle, shown so many times. Mostly, though, for me, and I’m sure most of humanity, his face—his persona if you will—has been overshadowed by the carnage that followed. I’m afraid he’ll become associated with those images, and he’ll forever be scarred by the stigma of being ‘that poor guy,’ or some such equally unflattering thought.
“You, on the other hand,” he continued, “have appeared as the voice of reason, not to mention having renewed promises to the world about the dispensation of your technology. Did you know that the food processors that were first shown and then given away have become indispensable in most third-world countries already? Any place there’s a natural disaster, the processors arrive and fresh food and water appear as if by magic, thanks to the largess of the Terran Alliance. Whether you know it or not, you’ve already saved many more lives than were lost at Camp David, and one day the world will remember. I’m afraid that, to all intents and purposes, you are the head of your Alliance, Lucy, with all the good and ill that goes with it.”
Lucy’s mouth moved but no sound came out. Commander Kimura managed to look unimpressed. Lieutenant Ross and the baron grinned as the turn of events made itself clear to Lucy.
The baroness looked concerned. “Are you going to be all right, my dear?”
Lucy finally got enough air into her lungs to spare for talking. “I... I think so. This can’t be real. What will Simon think? Freddie, Your Gr... Maggie, I’m sorry, but I need to think... I think.” Her voice trailed off. “Commander, uh, Kimura will see that you get home. If you’ll forgive me?”
Before leaving, the baron placed the two magazines on Lucy’s desk, and she quickly forgot about them as her mind turned over the possible futures. Behind her, Lieutenant Ross’s face was split by a grin that, fortunately, Lucy never saw.
Director Stanton heard the frustration in his agent’s voice.
“Sir, we can’t keep this quiet forever. Too many people already know, and it will leak, sooner rather than later. We need to get these two back to a secure location.”
Ever mindful of his own years as a field operative, Richard Stanton chose his words with care. “I appreciate the input from someone on the scene, Agent Wilson, but we’ve come under a certain amount of... pressure here. Somehow, the State Department has become aware of your packages, one in particular. It’s imperative that they be delivered without undue attention. Therefore, you will keep them under wraps until further notice. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” The answer was squeezed out from between thinned lips as Agent Wilson’s white-knuckled hand threatened to crush the handset.
“You have the resources of an entire ALERT team at your disposal, Agent. Use them. Find a safe house if you think that’s what’s necessary. All you need to do is stay low-profile for a few days. Get me a number and I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
“It’s been two days!” Gayle yelled. “Don’t we have anything to go on?”
“Yes, we do, Gayle, so settle down a bit.”
The four Firsters and the first group of about forty second-wavers had become the cadre around which all else was being built. As two members of that group, Gayle and Lucy had grown close over the past few years, close enough that Lucy recognized the frustration flowing out of the diminutive woman. Gayle finally quit pacing and sat down in a chair while Lucy perched on the arm of another opposite her distraught friend.
“I told you we found out we have an ‘in’ with the Aurora PD—a young patrolman. Apparently, he’s been to a couple of Brandt and Collier’s meetings but didn’t get recruited out of sheer bad luck. Or, in this case, good luck. He actually leaked the information to some of Brandt’s people that the government had a high security prisoner they claimed was Simon before Dr. Jeffers did. But not by much.”
Lucy got up and began walking in circles. “Now you’ve got me pacing, damn it!” Stopping in front of Gayle, she sat down on the edge of the coffee table. “They just moved faster than we did. We’re new at this, Gayle, so they have the advantage. But they have to come out sometime. Brandt says his guy inside the station claims they’re going to fly ‘em out in the next few days. We need to watch the airport. Collier can get people in there to keep watch on all the private and leased aircraft. Do you want in?”
“Want in? Hell, yes, I want in. I’ve got to do something to help.” The little blonde’s smile was strained as she gestured expansively. “I find it ironic that we have all this shit and none of it will do us any good.”
“Oh, ye of little faith!” Lucy said with a feral grin. She walked around behind Gayle and laid her left hand on Gayle’s right shoulder. Waving her right hand dramatically, she said, “Imagine if you will, a clear August morning. A small private plane leaves a crowded airport and heads east over the Great Plains. About an hour into the flight...”
Three years of building contacts allowed Tim Brandt to be at the Denver International Airport the morning a black limousine stopped at the county jail and then headed in his direction. Luck allowed him to masquerade as the anonymous baggage handler who just happened to look over as two orange-jump-suited figures were hustled aboard a particular jet. Speaking quietly into a two-way radio, he reported to Gayle, who called Lucy aboard the Galileo. The result of that call almost wrecked the Lear jet as it neared the Mississippi River.
Lucy had been waiting for Brandt’s call. She’d put everything else into the hands of her staff and worked solely on the preparations for the rescue mission, and she’d nearly gone crazy in the interim. Everything hinged on Brandt’s inside man being real, and too much was riding on it for Lucy to be comfortable. Tiger and Cheetah Flights were standing by. Hawke Flight, with a temporary addition to bring it up to full strength, was also on standby. Each flight was on an eight-hour rotation so no one crew would be too tired to fly the ultimate mission. The Galileo’s command shuttle was also pressed into service, with three crews on rotation. The entire mission could have ships en route to Earth on a mere ten minutes’ notice.
Lucy kept herself apprised of every aspect of the situation that she could. Keeping in touch with Baron von Schlenker kept her up to speed on what was happening with the U.S. State Department. So far, nothing. No group or Agency claimed to know anything about Simon or Agent Daniels. Families of Alliance personnel were being released as quietly as they’d been rounded up. Her hurried trip downside assured her that her parents were fine, although a full explanation, as well as effusive apologies, were required before she was allowed to leave the house.
August 13th dawned clear and crisp over Denver as a three-vehicle convoy rolled through the airport gates and into a restricted area that led directly up to a plane set apart from the others on the tarmac.
“Status?” Agent Wilson demanded after he stretched his six-foot-four frame back into shape after the ride.
“Fuel tanks are topped off, flight plan filed, all systems green, sir. We’re ready to move,” the pilot responded.
“No signs of anything out of the ordinary,” the head of the ALERT team’s security detachment said. “No one has been near this plane since we set down except us and the refueling truck, and the plane was buttoned up at the time. We’ve just finished a sweep for bugs or intruders. Negative on both counts.”
“Very good, Agent Davis. Transfer the prisoners immediately.” To the pilot he said, “Start her up and notify the tower. I want us wheels up within the half hour, understand? If they give you any trouble about cutting the line, just invoke national security. If they still give you trouble, call me.”
Agent Wilson didn’t need to be called. He sat in the passenger compartment and stared at his prisoners as he slammed back his third cup of coffee. Daniels, still dressed in the orange jumpsuit provided by the Aurora PD, elected not to notice as Wilson moved around the cabin. Simon, dressed similarly, followed suit.
The modified Lear jet flew east at a respectable percentage of the speed of sound. Federal black-budget appropriations had provided Agent Wilson and his ALERT team with the funds to revamp the craft after it had been confiscated in a drug sting. Milspec engines, built to military specifications, allowed the refurbished jet to take off or land at the smallest airports. They also allowed a higher cruising speed, of which the pilot was taking full advantage.
About six hundred miles into the flight, the pilot, a veteran of the 1980s Latin American drug wars, sat bolt-upright as the speeding jet was slammed by a gigantic fist. Being seated at the front of the aircraft was the only thing that allowed him to get any kind of assessment of his predicament. From the corner of his eye, he’d seen... something pass his windows, headed east at a speed that was quite literally impossible for any type of craft he was familiar with.
“Unidentified aircraft! You are interfering with official United States business! Veer off! I say, veer off!”
The order to veer off was totally unnecessary as the vessel had disappeared into the distance. Still, he had to say something. “St. Louis Control, this is Flight seven-one-seven out of Denver. I wish to report a craft headed east after passing my position. Approximate speed...”
Agent Wilson landed in the co-pilot’s seat, making violent slashing motions across his throat. When the pilot let go of the transmit button, Wilson said, “You will call no more attention to this flight. Is that clear? Say whatever you have to, but get those people off the air. Now!”
“Uh, St. Louis Control, this is Flight seven-one-seven. The object headed east appears to have been a meteor. Sorry, guys,” the pilot finished lamely.
“Just as well, seven-one-seven, we have nothing showing on our screens here.” Enduring the good-natured ribbing that inevitably followed, the pilot glowered at Agent Wilson.
“I don’t care how pissed you are. This mission stays...”
The pilot suddenly rolled the ship to starboard and dove for the ground. “Anyone not strapped in better get that way fast! We’ve got company!”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Wilson screamed. “What company?”
The pilot, all blood drained from his face, stared out the front of the cockpit and asked, “How can it do that?”
Wilson’s eyes followed the pilot’s, and his mind seemed to freeze. After a few seconds that felt like an eternity, he looked down at the instrument panel. The pilot noticed and said, “Six hundred and fifty miles an hour. And he’s doing it backwards!”
Lucy strode into the Galileo’s Flight Control and tersely demanded, “Update?”
Andrew Belkin, Chief of Flight Services and de facto head of all flight operations, answered, “We just got word of their takeoff, ma’am. Since we had no way to tell until they were airborne, we were waiting to see which planes went where. My bet was on the fastest eastbound craft headed on the most direct route to the Washington area. I won the pool when this one,” he said, pointing at an eastbound blip, “transmitted a message ending with Wilson’s name.”
Alerted to her own brusqueness by Chief Belkin’s tone of voice, Lucy softened her approach. “Sorry, Chief. Just on edge, I guess. Good work.”
The chief said, “That’s your pigeon, Captain.” He pointed at a blip headed east appreciably faster than some of the others headed the same way. “Has to be. Larger engines. Probably military grade. Just gotta get there, ASAP.”
Lucy’s heart was in her throat. What if they were wrong? She stared at the offending light
as it mocked her. “Captain? Your orders?”
Lucy’s thoughts went to the pilots sitting in their crafts, waiting to launch. “Chief,” she said in resignation, “if you’re wrong, I’ll be in such deep shit...” Taking a deep breath, she said, “Begin the operation, Chief. You have control.”
Instantly, the ex-traffic controller said, “Tiger Flight, Cheetah Flight, Hawke Flight, launch, launch, launch. Recon One, launch, launch, launch.” Lucy shivered as possible outcomes ran through her head.
The five pilots of Tiger Flight had lost the toss and would stay in reserve, along with Hawke Flight, while Cheetah Flight would take the brunt of any response that might be mounted against the rescue mission. Recon One was the Galileo’s command shuttle and would be overseeing the operation, as well as handling the transfer of Simon and Daniels. Jamming all local radio signals would be part of Recon One’s responsibility as well. Since the Mambas’ communications system operated on another level of the radiated spectrum, their signals wouldn’t be affected.
The five pilots of Cheetah Flight, like their counterparts in Tiger, were veterans of the battle in the asteroid belt. The destruction of the alien ship not long after Orion Base had gone online had provided them with the mystique of “combat experience,” so Captain Chapman offered their services to the mission.
Cheetah Flight, winners of the coin toss, climbed into their ships and, in concert with Recon One, launched from the projects deck where they’d been waiting. Tiger Flight, designated as blockers and backup, launched immediately afterward and formed on the rest of the ships.
Marsha Kane sat at the comm console of Recon One. “Okay, people, you’ve studied the satellite maps, and all the data has been loaded into your onboard computers. Tiger Flight, move out. One and Two, you are east and west traffic-blockers respectively. Three, Four and Five, you are assigned to aerial interdiction of any traffic not designated as ‘target.’”