These Few Brave Souls

by Rodney Manchester

  "You seem to forget that they have already killed over 7 million people," General Easterly replied tightly.

  "Accidently," said the Secretary sagely.

  General Easterly drew in a breath for a loud and ungentlemenly retort when the President, aware of the explosive nature of this turn in the meeting, interrupted again. "Paul, I am cognizant of your point of view, however, I will not subjugate the United States to this alien race. I have decided that the alternatives to military action are not acceptable."

  "But Mr. President," exclaimed the Secretary, "think about what you're doing! You will be attacking and KILLING an advanced race when your own experts have told you their actions were accidental." Paul's features became animated with his obvious belief and attempt to sell his point of view.

  "Accidental, possibly. But their representative was clear. Cooperate or die. The American People won't accept that. I won't accept that. I repeat, the alternatives are NOT acceptable." The President glowered at the Secretary of Health and Human Services.

  "Not acceptable! The continuance of life is not acceptable? My God, they represent a culture that is highly advanced, that could teach us so much. We need them!!" The Secretary's outburst caused the stress level in the room to ascend into an almost palatable region. The air was electric with tension.

  "Not as their servants, we don't," the President replied hotly. "The conditions of their demands on us are too much. They would take from us our most precious commodity. Liberty. We would survive at their whim and leisure, and pay each and every day with their oppression."

  "What oppression? They would leave us alone as long as we left them alone."

  "That supposition is questionable, but for the sake of argument, I'll accept it for now," the President paused to collect his thoughts.

  "As long as we left them alone. But what would that cost. As Americans, the cost so far is light. Only a few sailors, but over seven million Peruvians are also dead, but they don't vote here so we can't count them, right. Wrong! They are, or were, people. Human Beings, just like us. And what if the Aliens decide to live in New York, or Boston. Do we just quietly move to please them? What if they don't want us to expand into space, or they think our technology is too advanced? Do we meekly accept their judgment because they're 'Culturally Superior’? No Mr. Secretary, oppression can come in many forms and guises. Some are obvious, like repressive regimes. Others are more subtle, like the constraints of Political Correctness. These aliens have already placed a human being under their direct thought control. Do you understand those implications? The worst form of oppression is the most subtle. Contain your thinking because they might know.

  "Mr. Secretary, the American people elected me to take responsibility for our Nation, to choose the correct direction when we face a turn, and to have the courage to cross the Rubicon when we must! We are, right now, faced with that Rubicon."

  The President arose from his chair and directly faced Paul Leya. His thumbs were hooked under the table and his knuckles were white with tension above it as he leaned forward. "I have carefully considered all points of view and each direction of travel. I have decided that reasonable military action is necessary for the survival of our nation as we know it! General Easterly," the President turned and looked at his Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, making a visible effort to calm down. "What options have you to place before me?"

  Secretary of Health and Human Services stood angrily, his face twisted with frustration. He leaned over the table and jabbed his finger in the direction of the President, barely inches short of striking him. He ignored the movement in his peripheral vision and he began shouting as spittle sprayed over the table and into the President's face. "You will answer to the American people Mr. Steve Bermin!" Passion laced each word with venom as he continued. "They will not allow you to KILL in their name! I will prevent you from betraying their trust!" He abruptly turned to the door and strode toward it.

  The President of the United States turned to the visibly anxious Secret Service man approaching the Secretary from behind. "Arrest Mr. Leya," he ordered in a composed, firm voice. "Detain him quietly, pending Psychiatric evaluation. I think it best that he be held without publicity until his condition improves. Mr. Kenyon," he turned to face the deputy Secretary of Health and Human Services seated against the wall, "you will serve as acting Secretary until such time as a replacement is named."

  The Secretary was forced against the wall and handcuffed while the remainder of the room watched in stunned silence. He began to shout obscenities and incoherent noises as he was dragged from the room struggling wildly. The door closed with a pneumatic hiss as the President returned his attention to the table. The momentary silence that followed was the loudest he had ever heard.

  "That was unfortunate," he finally said as he wiped his face with his handkerchief. "I hope that this incident doesn't prevent anyone from voicing an opinion, especially an opposing one. I am well aware of the fact that as President, I set the tone of any meeting and when I express an opinion, the discussion tends to go in that direction. Our Nation, indeed, the world, is faced with decisions that, once made, will shape the Earth in ways we cannot even begin to realize. I need you people, particularly now. We are charting unknown territory and I want ALL ideas to be voiced. Especially contrary opinions. Paul's mistake was the belief that he knew what was best AND that he would act upon his beliefs, regardless of what I thought. I fully admit that I'm not infallible, but, as the President, the responsibility is mine and mine alone.

  "Now, General, I believe you were about to tell us of a plan your staff developed."

  Thirty-five minutes later, following an animated discussion, the President authorized the first steps to be taken.

  CHAPTER 35

  32°43’44.10”N 1°51’55.98”W

  Near Bouafra, Morocco

  Quethia conferred with her sisters Wemar and Mayluth over the startling information that the local inhabitants had some small degree of sentience. She scanned the immediate area around her new home with sensors aboard one of her patrol craft and discovered that she had some visitors on a nearby hill.

  Interesting.

  Once some maintenance work was completed, she decided she had to meet up with some of these creatures.

  On the Plateau

  Near Bouafra, Morocco

  After carefully circling the UFO to the west, M squadron climbed the hill from the south side out of sight of the strange craft, advancing to the edge overlooking the UFO Park, as it became evident that there was more than one space ship, they counted seven in total. One significantly larger than the others.

  The crumbling edge of the plateau led to a gradual slope of increasing grade. The UFO’s were a mere two hundred meters to the northwest and about 30 meters below. All together an excellent location for observation of the other worldly vehicles.

  Major Mumsford set three observation posts and kept the majority of his team to the south, below the crest of the plateau, minimizing the risk of counter observation by the aliens.

  He pointed his satellite dish to the south, about a third of the way up until he heard the contact tone and began typing on the portable keyboard.

  “Hold in place and report movement,” were his orders. For now.

  UFO Park

  Taklimakan Desert, China

  Mayluth was deep in thought. These creatures might be nearby despite the sterilization process her new home just went through. Quethia had some apparently watching her, so it was simple prudence for Mayluth to send one of her patrol craft out to scout the area.

  But that was a mere distraction compared to her upcoming reunion with her mate. In the Kajan culture, males were nameless, only obtaining their mates name after they mated. Males were mentally shapeless, gaining their intelligence from their mate. True, they had some innate intelligence to begin with, but the mating process injected a chemical that acted like a key that turned on their brain’s higher function. Once joined, the two became a pair, virtu
ally inseparable. The separation forced by colonization was difficult at best. The emotional pain was survivable, but extremely distracting and left the Kajan emotionally drained. Her mates return to her was a single recurring thought that dominated her thinking. For now.

  VMA-513

  TAV-8A Harrier Jump Jet

  Christopher Jorgenson was awed by the beauty of the Pacific Ocean as seen from thirty-five thousand feet. There was nothing but blue beneath them for as far as you could see. The sky was clear and the sun's reflection off the blue background was almost as painful as looking directly at it.

  The loneliness of this isolation struck him suddenly as he realized how alone they were. Still, the magnificence of his surroundings tended to submerge his other feelings. He was tremendously excited about his ride in a jet fighter, yet after several hours he had become bored. After all, without the gadgets, it's just another airplane ride.

  The ships first appeared as a specks on the horizon. They grew noticeably larger as the jet dropped in altitude as it approached. The largest vessel seemed to be some sort of floating dry dock with a canvas covering something in the center.

  The Harrier settled to a hover over a platform in the stern of the vessel and gradually settled down onto the platform. Wind whipped sailors hurried out from behind protective barriers to assist in parking the plane, then chaining it to the deck. A ladder assembly on wheels was rolled up to the cockpit and they deplaned.

  They entered the ship proper through a hatch equipped with a dogging wheel. They removed their headgear and Christopher followed an orderly through a maze of interconnecting passageways until he stood before a door guarded by an impeccably turned out Marine PFC. His accompanying orderly announced his presence inside and he was allowed to pass through the door.

  Inside what was obviously the ship's Captains quarters, he found a stateroom of spartan furnishings. The only item of luxury was a mahogany desk of obvious quality, behind which sat the Commanding Officer of the vessel.

  "Mr. Jorgenson, I'm Captain Franklin, skipper of the Coronado. Welcome aboard sir." The Captain extended his hand in a firm handshake.

  "Thank you, Captain. I can't begin to tell you how excited I am to be here."

  "Well then, I won't keep you. The rest of your team is already here so I'll let you get right to work. Willy" he said, motioning to his orderly who brought Christopher to the cabin, "show Mr. Jorgenson to his bunk and then show him our cargo."

  "My team?" Christopher asked.

  "Yes," Captain Franklin said. "There are two others who arrived earlier this morning."

  "Well, this should be interesting," Christopher said, shaking his head. "Okay Willy, let’s go."

  "Yes sir."

  "Again, welcome aboard."

  "Thank you, Captain."

  Thirty minutes later he approached the UFO with the apprehension of a man about to experience the moment of a lifetime.

  As he entered the canvas tent in place over the strange craft, he was struck by the amount of light reflected off of it. The silvery sheen seemed almost to amplify the ambient light, making it quite bright where logic said it should be dark. The craft was about forty-five feet long and triangular shaped with a rounded nose. The metal was smooth and appeared to be seamless along its length. He studied the surface as he moved slowly to the rear. His heart beat painfully hard as thoughts of the crafts origins passed through his mind. He found himself to be trembling with excitement and anticipation.

  The rear of the craft was flat with a fine grid or screen covering what he assumed to be the engines. On the lower right corner of the screen was a darkened patch where the missile apparently struck to shoot it down. There was no obvious damage other than the metal being several shades darker in color. The metal skin transitioned from the body to the screen smoothly, without a seam. He tried to look through the screen, but all he could see was an indistinguishable form.

  He found the remainder of his 'team' on the other side, speaking quietly between themselves. He walked over to them and introduced himself.

  "Hello there. I'm Christopher Jorgenson. I suppose I'm the computer expert."

  A woman looked up at him and smiled absently as she said "I'm Sarah Von Framden. I'm propulsion systems from JPL." She was thirty-ish and tall with brown, shiny hair framing an oval face. Her figure was not enhanced by the orange smock worn over what looked like a pair of denim overalls.

  Chris nodded his head at her and looked at the man next to her. "Captain Trenton H. Winnecker, US Air Force," he said.

  "Air Force?" Christopher questioned. "Aren't you the guy who says that these things don't exist?" he said with a chuckle.

  It was immediately evident that Trenton H. Winnecker, Captain, USAF, did not have a sense of humor. Ignoring his comment, he said, "Our problem at this stage is to open the Vehicle. These items on the Vehicle's skin appear to be some sort of fastening device. This ship has a rather complete machine shop and a Master Chief who is a tool and die maker just assured us that he could make a tool to fit this fastener within an hour after he took a mold. He left with the mold about an hour ago so we'll shortly see if we can't remove them." Trenton was a tall man who looked to spend too much time behind a desk. His thick glasses made his eyes appear to bulge slightly and they made it disconcerting to look him in the eye as the contour line of his face was distorted through the lens.

  Christopher took a close look at the body of the Vehicle, as it seemed to be named, and saw a smooth cornered rectangular seam surrounding a number of slightly indented fastening heads. The speed at which this vehicle traveled seemed to require countersunk fasteners. Protruding heads would quickly turn into hot spots and disrupt the air stream over the body.

  Seconds later, a rustling behind him marked the Chief's entrance under the canvas. He proudly held a shiny 'L' shaped device in his left hand, obviously the tool just manufactured. He walked to the fastener and placed it over the bulging head and said "which way, clock-wise or clounterclock-wise?"

  The four exchanged glances and Christopher spoke first. "Counterclock wise. It's the way we do it and the odds are fifty-fifty."

  The others nodded and the Chief attached a torque wrench device to the tool. "I'll try 90 ft. lbs. That's a reasonable torque for a steel bolt this size." He motioned for Trenton's help in holding the tool on the fastener and began to apply pressure slowly. At seventy-two ft. lbs. they heard a loud snap and the fastener turned freely. Chief Murdock nearly suffered a heart attack when the noise erupted. When it continued to turn rather than fall off in his hand, his heart began to return to normal. "Just like aluminum. Them bolts do the same break away noise after being heated and cooled a lot. Scary when they come loose though."

  The remaining seventeen fasteners, or bolts, each broke loose with the same loud snap very near the seventy-five ft. lbs. mark. The pattern of bolts marked the outline of an entrance or inspection hatch. The four of them each donned an oxygen mask and bottle in case the craft came from a planet with a hazardous atmosphere and had some trapped inside. Chris and Sarah stood by the hatch with suction devices to catch a sample of the interior gasses and Chief Murdock and Captain Winnecker attached handles to the hatch using suction cups.

  Murdock said "Ready?"

  The other three nodded their heads collectively and the pair began to pull against the hatch.

  Suddenly, the interior of the Vehicle explosively decompressed, hurling the hatch directly against Captain Winnecker's chest. The force of the expulsion ripped the handle from Chief Murdock's grasp, twisting the hatch scant moments before impact with Winnecker's chest, forcing the edge into his flesh. Bright red liquid pumped freely onto the steel deck and Murdock began to yell through his mask.

  "Corpsman, corpsman. Man down in the dock."

  The air in the dock reverberated with the loud speaker's amplified call for medical help.

  Christopher knelt beside the motionless body of Captain Winnecker and felt his neck for a pulse. The now massive puddle of blood had st
opped flowing from the gash in his chest. He looked up at Chief Murdock and said "Nothing." It sounded nasally through the oxygen mask.

  Chief Murdock held his wrist which was cocked at an unnatural angle. "Goddamn sir. I should have thought about that."

  "We all should have, Chief. We all should have." Christopher's curiosity momentarily took over from the horror of the dead man at his feet and he looked into the now open craft.

  He had expected a remotely piloted vehicle and he was not disappointed. The open hatch revealed a large crawl space running along the entire axis of the vehicle. The crawl space seemed to be lined with what appeared to be fiber optic cables and ceramic junction boxes. The floor was covered with a black, non-slip covering.

  Sarah Von Framden took one look at the dead man on the deck and turned toward the open hatch and climbed inside. So much for her concern for fellow human beings.

  Corpsmen arrived and checked Winnecker. They then brought a black plastic bag and placed him inside. The zipper made the worst noise that Christopher had ever heard.

  Christopher Jorgenson had a headache that pounded within his skull. His muscles felt cramped and stiff from inaction as hour upon hour passed while he was balled up within the Vehicle. He was sorting and labeling glass cable and connections as he began the preliminary work to decipher the complex computer system before him.

  Sarah Von Framden was in what appeared to be an auxiliary crawl space in the rear of the Vehicle. She had found the engines and was as deep in thought as Christopher was.

  General Westbrook slowly walked toward The Vehicle. He examined it carefully, not sure of what he was looking for, but aware that this was unlike anything he had ever seen. He noted the blackened area to the rear where the missiles impacted and then he tried unsuccessfully to look through the screen covering the engines. He approached the open hatch and peered inside. He found himself looking at what appeared to be a circuit board shaped item that apparently served as some sort of junction box. A man was contorted into what must have been an incredibly uncomfortable position.