Voyage

by C. Paul Lockman

  We finally got things wrapped and I was pursued by a cloud of journalists (if that isn’t too charitable a description for the cable-news, ADHD parasites who claim to bring impartial information to the public) down the hallways and into the lobby. I slid in my earpiece. “Senator Beasley’s office”, Hal quickly informed me. I bid the crowed a cheery farewell, promised to keep them updated throughout the day, and slid past the uniformed guards into the complex of hallways which would, via some tunnels and an elevator, take me to Beasley’s quiet, dignified Senate hideout.

  Evelyn was waiting in his ante-room. I exchanged quick pleasantries with the old man and he left us to it. Something told me he knew what the meeting was about, perhaps in yet more detail than I did. He had a nose for these things.

  I closed the door. Evelyn didn’t even wait for me to sit. “They’re going to attack Dvalin.”

  For the first time since waking up on a hotel bed suspended over an infinity of nothing, a hundred years of my own life ago, my blood ran cold.

  “The President has issued an Air Tasking Order. I’m risking my life telling you that much. But there’s more.” She opened a folder of data and, ignoring her for 90 seconds, I read the four thousand works and absorbed a half-dozen tables of figures.

  “Dvalin is the most dangerous object in the solar system. Perched precariously” (don’t you just love that alliterative gem?!) “above our planet like a breeze block ready to be dropped from a highway overpass, this asteroid could deliver a devastating blow to humanity so severe as to imperil the survival of the species. In a way more urgent than any other threat the United States, or mankind has ever faced, Dvalin represents a clear and present danger to global security, to US interests around the world, and to the future of life on earth.”

  “What’s Orange Hammer?” I just wanted to hear another human say it. The report read like an evil, paranoid Hal had concocted it. This cannot be real.

  ”A total nuclear commitment, ripple-firing the whole arsenal – submarines, ICBMs, everything.”

  “But that’s completely fucking insane… most of the rockets won’t even reach GEO… unless they’re modified?” Evelyn was nodding, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “Oh Christ, they’ve been planning this for months…”

  Booster stages would loft the nuclear payloads all the way out to Dvalin, where they would detonate on impact. The rock would be fragmented, leaving a thousand-mile cloud of debris; apparently they were prepared to do without the services of GEO, which would be a minefield for centuries. And God knew where the fragments would re-enter, as they inevitably would. We’d be experiencing giant meteor showers for generations; some of the pieces would be too big to burn up, and would impact the earth. But perhaps they reasoned a hundred tiny impacts was a price worth paying for the chance to shoot the big, rabid dog before it bit anyone. I was as close to tears as I had been since childhood.

  I stared out of the window onto the neighbouring office buildings. There was a sense of urgency so tremendous I couldn’t even devote time to being angry with the paranoid maniacs with whom I was now at war. If I felt anything for them, in those terrible moments, it was probably pity; yes, I pitied their narrow-mindedness, their bunker mentality, their doctrinal idiocy.

  “I thought we had time?” I asked, pleadingly. “The President hasn’t made his speech yet… doesn’t he have to bring together his own support for a military move? I mean, I’ve got friends in governments around the world… Kings and Princesses on speed-dial…. The UN? I mean… they can’t just act unilaterally like this…”

  Evelyn was quiet for a moment and then motioned to a photo of Senator Beasley seated, grinning, in the cockpit of an F-15 which had been donated to a museum he had opened, back in Montana. The inscription underneath read ‘This aircraft fought for freedom in skies over Iraq and Afghanistan, 2003-2021’.

  She wiped away a very genuine tear. “Unilateral is just how they like it”.

  Captain Evelyn Tanner would become world famous for being by my side when I uttered the immortal words: “Hal… bring me the Phoenix”. At the time, of course, she made no sense of it. A hundred million miles away, computers blinked into wakefulness, navigation systems warmed up, and reaction thrusters began firing in sequence. Phoenix was coming back to life. A roar began, echoing through the empty ship, and her superstructure began to vibrate with new energies as the ship’s engines throttled up.

  There was very little time. Orange Hammer was scheduled to commence in only a few minutes; the rockets would need time to reach the extreme altitude required to impact Dvalin, perhaps half an hour. But no rocket in the US inventory was equipped for light-speed. “Hal, I’m going to wait for the Cruiser on the National Mall. I think it is time.”

  Chapter XLIII: A Stroll on the Mall

  Liz and Joe had been part of the crowd in the Dirksen hallway after the hearing, and had stood among the collective sighs of disappointment as I disappeared behind the scenes. “Just ten seconds”, Liz was repeating. “He could have done that even without thinking”.

  Joe had a word with the uniformed guard but he wasn’t saying a thing, and he didn’t know where I was going, anyway. Access to Beasley’s office was tough, and a press pass wouldn’t cut it. They stalked around the building’s exits, hoping for a sign of my limo (at least that was consistent) for nearly an hour, but I had either remained inside or had left by another route.

  “There are tunnels all over Capitol Hill”, a photo-journalist type was reminding those around him in the scrum by the exit. Capitol Police were doing their best to retain order among the ill-disciplined rabble which passed for the press corps. “He’s probably well away by now. Anyone know which hotel he’s been staying at?”

  Others chimed in with opinions. Then a gaunt figure in a black overcoat, a head taller than everyone else, spoke up. “He can just vanish from one place, and reappear in another. I seen it.” Two or three heads turned quizzically. “They call it Re-localizing”. There were some snorts of laughter.

  “Like teleportation?” Joe asked.

  The figure looked at him intently. His face was sallow and pale, as though he was in the late stages of some terminal disease. “Yeah… just up and disappears.” Joe moved over to speak with him while others, despairing of yet another weirdo with cranky theories, focused on the vehicle exit or argued with the Capitol Police.

  “And who is they?” he wanted to know. Joe spent more time than Liz would have liked on such topics – the net was just jammed with them – and if she were honest, it got on her nerves.

  The tall, pale man tapped the side of his nose and then pointed cryptically to the sky.

  *****

  USS Virginia, SSBN-781, Ballistic Missile Submarine

  Mid-Atlantic

  The vessel rested just under the surface, hatches opening in a carefully-planned sequence. From beneath came a huge jolt, shaking the giant warship, as the first Trident IV missile shot skyward from its tubular container. The rocket motor ignited in a bright yellow flash and the stout missile began its noisy climb through low, grey cloud, disappearing from view within moments. A second missile, then a third, penetrated the smoke pall left by its predecessors. More followed, every few seconds, sending shudders through the Virginia. Her crewmen, privately stunned by this extraordinary order but duty-bound to obey, yet more explicitly so given the unique lethality of their cargo, felt each rocking off the ship as her weapons flew heavenward. Empty, yet satisfied, the submarine banked steeply, glided silently through the newly calmed ocean, and headed for home.

  *****

  Washington, DC

  Senator Beasley’s Office, Dirksen Senate Office Building

  Twelve minutes had passed since my initial order to Hal, and the Phoenix must have been well on its way, I knew. Evelyn had made numerous calls, trying to figure out what was going on, but the USAF senior command was in lock-down during the missile firings and it was impossible to learn more.

  “They’ll be coming for you”, sh
e warned. “Destroying Dvalin won’t be enough for them. Does anyone know you’re here?”

  Beasley burst in, sweating and as close to panic as ever I’d seen him. “There’s a National Guard unit trying to force its way through security”, he gasped. “Malcolm was shot trying to stop them… they say they’re under orders… I tried to get through to their commander but…” I put a hand on his shoulder as he wheezed, shirt dishevelled and white side-parting uncharacteristically out of place.

  Evelyn tended to him while I opened up the channel to Hal once more. “I think it is time to go. Do you have what I need, Hal?”

  “Ready”, he said simply.

  In the middle of Beasley’s office was a large, Asian coffee table in splendid teak wood, decorated with dragon carvings and tasteful karst-mountain scenes. At its centre, which I watched carefully, a blue sphere appeared, hovering inches above the table. Beasley stopped gasping for a moment and watched, transfixed by the sapphire globe which rotated slowly, as though it were a tiny model of an gaseous, alien planet. The blue became darker, richer, less opaque. Finally, the shape formed into a conventional plastic container, still spherical but with a line across its equator. I took the three steps forward, reached for the sphere, flipped open its lid and brought out its cargo – a much smaller sphere, about the size of a mini snooker ball. I held it in my hand and smiled a knowing smile. The plastic sphere fell abruptly onto the table, tipped over onto its side, and then simply vanished.

  Evelyn and Beasley were agape, our terrible trials momentarily forgotten. “There are a lot of things”, I offered, “which I need to explain. But I know you’ll forgive me if I choose to explain them not only to you”, I said, heading for the door and motioning for them to join me, “but to everyone on earth”.

  It was Beasley who spoke first. “What… is that?” He was still fixated on the object in my hand. “Where…?”

  I unfolded my palm and let them gaze on it for a while. The same dark, rich blue colour and somehow… it was impossible to ignore… somehow there was motion at its centre, like a tiny minnow, stirring… or a miniature weather system, raining back its own moisture onto a central point.

  “This is the most important object you’ve ever seen with your own eyes”, I said, enclosing my other hand over its blue glow. “It is our passage to the next stage of the project. I want you both to come with me, to take part. Do you think I can ask that of you?”

  The ageing senator from Montana struggled to comprehend, looked me in the eye. “Jesus…”

  ‘Chris, trust me. I’ve so much to show you, to show everyone.” Evelyn had her hand on my shoulder, staring into the blue ball.

  “I’m ready… I think right now I’d follow you anywhere”, she confessed. “My boss is going to kill me but… “

  I opened my hands once more and stroked the blue ball with my right fingertips. A thin film of a blue liquid collected there, hanging in tiny droplets. I put my thumb and index finger together and simply flicked a droplet at Chris Beasley’s shirt. Instantly, as though it had been there all along, a blue semi-spherical haze appeared, clearing his head by a few feet and extending symmetrically all around him. I touched the edge of the haze and it extended to cover the area where I was standing. Evelyn stood with her mouth open, barely able to contemplate what her eyes were telling her. Another precise flicking motion, and the force-field encompassed her, now extending almost throughout Beasley’s office.

  “This is a protective decision matrix. Think of it like an energy field into which only those to whom I give permission may enter. Nothing may pass into this field without my willing it to. I suspect we’ll find it very useful, very soon”.

  I was right. There was a commotion outside, three gunshots rang out, and the heavy wooden doors to Beasley’s office burst open. A group of ten or twelve guardsmen in dark-green camo uniforms began shouting all at once, pointing long-barrelled weapons at us. Beasley had his hands in the air, calling for calm. Two more shots rang out – this was the unit commander, a stocky, blonde-haired macho type, brandishing a service pistol which he had fired into the ceiling.

  “You are all under arrest by Presidential order. You will put your hands up and turn around. My men are under orders to kill anyone who prevents your arrest.” Several of the troopers behind him were staring at the blue shield, which appeared from the outside like a thin, gossamer curtain.

  “Is Malcolm alive?” Beasley yelled, but the guard captain ignored him. “He has a family, God damn it!” The captain aimed his pistol directly at Beasley’s head.

  “Hands up, turn around, or this will get real ugly”. He paused for a moment. “And if that blue thing, whatever it is, looks like harming my men, you’ll all die in a second”.

  I took a deep breath, put my arm round first Beasley, then Evelyn, and led them with me, line abreast, towards the door. The field followed us, inching forward. The captain’s pistol, in his outstretched hand, met the edge of the shield as it advanced and he gasped in discomfort as it nudged him aside, first his hand, and then his feet, the shield moving steadily across the wood floor. Forced back, he raced into a position behind his men, aimed his pistol and yelled “fire!”

  The noise outside the sphere was intense; the percussive rattle of cartridges being expended, their supersonic boom and the heavy clatter of empty casings on the floor, but no harm came to us. The bullets left their barrels, flew through the air, met the blue shield and were absorbed by it without fuss or apparent impact. We were reaching the doorway and the troopers would soon be forced back.

  The captain organized the retreat and led them to a second firing position in the hallway. Turning slowly, we continued, arm in arm now, watching as the shield brushed aside the spent casings and the troopers, uncomprehending and scared, fired hundreds of rounds into the shield. I glanced across at Chris Beasley, his wizened face cracked into a broad smile, and at Evelyn, whose tentative steps were becoming more confident.

  Together, we picked up the pace, from an uncertain shuffle to a purposeful stride. More soldiers arrived, and were brushed aside, their empty cartridges littering the floor of the office building. We reached the front entrance, where only two days earlier I had walked through to open the hearings, to find a giant mob of police, SWAT teams, more guardsmen and, I could see beyond a hastily-erected cordon manned by yet more uniformed men, a huge crowd of people, journalists included. I headed for them.

  The shield, perhaps fifteen feet across and nine high, followed us impeccably. First the ranks of police were brushed away, stumbling back as if pressed by a painful barb or a stinging nettle; then their vehicles, tyres squealing on the tarmac as hand-brakes were overcome. Hal was in my ear, urging haste, but I was determined there would be no casualties – if I moved too fast, a thrown car or a rebounding cop was certain to cause injury. The gunfire seemed to have lessened, and the security people were starting to simply back off. As I reached the crowd I noticed a camera team who were fixed on us. I came to a halt. Time to get this show on the road.

  “Who is your reporter?” I asked, looking straight at him. A stunned, white girl with short, black hair, dressed in an inexpensive trouser suit, raised her hand. “Great. I’d like you to come with me. You’ll be perfectly safe. Your cameraman should continue filming from the outside, and you can report from within. Is that OK?”

  Liz nearly puked in a rush of adrenaline, nervousness and excitement. “OK!” She made her way to the front of the crowd and approached the edge of the shield, which hung around us, continuing to deflect sniper fire from the roofs of nearby buildings – it didn’t ping off the shield, it just simply failed to get through it. “Joe?” she waved over her shoulder.

  “Gotcha, Liz. I’ll be with you all the way”.

  I brought my thumb and index finger together once more and with a strong flicking motion, spattered a tiny globule of blue matter onto her lapel. The shield bulged, encompassing her, and I motioned her to join the three of us at its centre.

  “We’re
going for a walk to the Mall.” Among my quotes, this one has pride of place for some. Amiable, understated, packed with dramatic irony, I wouldn’t mind if they put it on my tomb stone. Not that I ever plan on needing one.

  Our pace was dictated mostly by Beasley, who was sixty but was motoring along pretty well. Liz spent a few minutes in a stunned silence, as might be expected, and was only now beginning to compose herself. I tried to put her at her ease. “Ready to earn a Pulitzer?”

  She chuckled slightly, nervously. “Want to start telling me what’s going on? How are we just pushing past these cops like that?” As she asked this, a SWAT van was being propelled steadily in front of the shield, nudged inch by inch as we walked, leaving long, black tire tracks on Constitution Ave. We could hear little of what was going on outside; the bullet impacts registered neither aurally nor visually and the blue shield acted as a sonic barrier, which was just fine, as the din outside must have been unbelievable.

  “In 2006”, I began, “the earth was visited, and not for the first time, by a hyper-advanced alien civilization originating from a planet called Takanli”. Beasley stopped dead in the road but I urged him on. Evelyn was grinning – some of this she suspected, other parts were becoming clearer as the level of the shield’s technology became obvious. “I was, well… how do I put this?” ‘Abducted’ seemed too stern, too invasive a word. ‘Borrowed’ might be better. “I was co-opted by a science team and sent across interstellar space to Takanli for the purposes of study. We learned a lot about each other”.