“We’re getting resistance to do our research. We’re told it’s ‘not in the plan’.”
“I will talk to Ogronivitch. It will be fixed.”
“Thank you,” Walter said. He turned the chair to leave. “You know Pav. The Pyrinni we’re working with like our ideas.”
“Oh?” Brosnick perked up.
“Yeah, they seem amazed. These are things they never thought of.”
Brosnick chuckled. “I’ll get you more researchers as well.”
Walter grinned and floated out of the office.
Major Kenny Rawlings had been flying B2 bombers with Strategic Air Command just over a decade ago. First he was transferred when SAC was sacked. Now he had been retrained and was stuck in a flying saucer. A goddamned flying saucer.
He stood in the observation lounge of the orbital station looking through the window into the gigantic bay. There sat a fleet of flying saucers. Each had a number painted onto its skin. He saw his, number fourteen. He didn't like having that number. He knew there was no number thirteen. Instead his was the thirteenth ship. It didn't matter that they called it a different number. You could dress a dog in a pig suit but it would still be a dog.
He was already in his flight suit. He was early, very early, and decided not to go down into the bay just yet. He could see the bustle as everyone scurried about excited like small children on Christmas morning.
His new unit designation was known as Coalition Exploratory Scouts. Somehow the United States had convinced all the coalition people that the best ones to fly these damned things were bomber pilots. Very few countries had bomber pilots. The ones he liked the best were the Russians. They knew their job and did their job, no mental bullshit.
He commanded a crew of ten men. Seven of them had been attached from the U.S. Air Force to the Scouts and three were landing crew. The gracious Pyrinni had told the Coalition that every star surrounding them had planets and that a good number of those planets were inhabitable by human standards, only they wouldn't say which ones.
The Air Force attached special personnel for landings on these earth-class planets. His landing crew was made up of three Doctors. Their specialties ranged from stuff he couldn't remember from the briefing to being a medical doctor. He didn't care. He felt small, very small, as if his world were being rapidly deconstructed and no one was there to help him put it back together.
“Major.” He could see Captain Donaldson's reflection in the glass. Rawlings grinned. He, too, was in his flight suit.
“Hello Captain,” he turned. “How are you this fine morning?”
“Is it morning?” He looked at his watch. “There's no sun so I can't tell.”
“When I was a Captain I was stationed up north. It was daylight there for sixteen days straight. I got used to it.”
“You’re not going down?”
“No,” Rawlings sat down at a small round table. A waitress walked over to them grinning a broad-toothed grin that looked permanent. “Coffee,” he said, purposely frowning.
Donaldson nodded to her and sat down. “Is Lieutenant Mallowe doing a final check?”
“No,” Rawlings said. “We've time to do a pre-flight. No need to get antsy.”
“But Ken,” Donaldson said, leaning closer, “it's a spaceship.”
“I know,” Rawlings said.
The waitress brought two cups and sat them down. Rawlings picked his up and took a sip while Donaldson upended the sugar container. “That's not good for you,” Rawlings said.
“Nobody ever died from eating sugar,” Donaldson stirred his coffee. “It's all that artificial shit that kills the lab animals.” He took a drink. “How come you're not down there like everybody else?”
“We'll be living in that thing soon enough. No need to rush it.”
“Does it make you nervous?”
“No,” Rawlings took another sip and turned to look out the window. “I'm a military man. I've flown nuclear armed aircraft for most of my adult post academy life. Now I'm an explorer.”
“I wanted to fly jets. I wanted to fly F-16s, maybe try to get onto the space shuttle maybe try to become a test pilot. Getting the chance to go into a spaceship and go, not just to another planet, but to another solar system is incredible. I think I would have sold my soul to have this opportunity.”
“Don't you think this invalidates all the work we've done?”
“What?” Donaldson sipped his coffee, “in the Air Force?”
“No, I mean all the work mankind has done in advancing ourselves. The space shuttle, the push to the moon, the computer technology, the fusion research, high mach aircraft,” Rawlings droned off into his coffee cup.
“I think this gives us a new window. We reached a point by ourselves and now we get a hand up to the next level.”
“This isn't the next level, John. This is far past the next level. This is magic.”
“If you’re some native living naked and using sticks as tools.”
Rawlings grunted and drank more coffee. He thought about ordering some breakfast, stalling the inevitable. Eggs sounded good, runny yellow yolks smeared across hash browns. Yes, with bacon. Rawlings looked for the waitress. He definitely had to have bacon.
The saucer was not very large by aircraft standards, or at least by Rawlings' standards. It was a double-decker, not normal for Pyrinni saucers. The top deck was the flight deck. The second deck was the crew deck and ship's storage. Below that was the engine. Projecting from the underside of the saucer were three heavy legs folded out like an insect's. It was on these legs that the saucer rested. From the bottom there was also part of the hull that folded outward. When closed there was no seam. Rawlings had tried but he couldn't find one. When opened there was a short staircase leading down from an airlock and through the airlock into the second deck.
Principles of Pyrinni space flight seemed complex at first, but when understood became simple, if it didn’t injure your brain. The saucer surfed on the gravity fields created by all the bodies within a solar system. This type of drive could not operate out of system. The farther from the bodies you travel the less power you get so the harder it is to go faster. The closer in the more economical the power so speed is not a problem.
Travel out of the system was handled by the Shift Engines. This was explained to him as taking the body of the ship and making it occupy every single point within a certain radius measured in light years. You then choose which point you want to occupy and then un-occupied the rest of the points. The computer handled that process. Rawlings had never shifted before. He wasn't looking forward to it. During training he had piloted a saucer many times and logged quite a few hours. It flew smooth and calm, like playing a video game.
Rawlings and Donaldson approached the saucer and climbed the stairs. Both airlock doors were open. They entered into a small circular room with a mess on one side and doors set around the perimeter. On each door was a name. A total of eight rooms. Rawlings, Donaldson and First Sergeant Walter Horace had their own.
They stepped in the center of the room. On the floor was a black disc and on the ceiling was another black disc. Rawlings reached up to the low ceiling and grabbed the two hand rails that were there. The disc in the ceiling vanished along with the gravity and he pulled himself through. Donaldson followed.
This room was similar to the one below, only it had no doors leading out of it. There were six chairs set at different intervals throughout the cockpit. A single large window was the wall at one end with two seats before it. He sat in the left seat and Donaldson sat in the right.
The pilot's seat had controls for most of the operation of the ship. Stellar Navigation was a different section and placed at the chair to the pilot's left flank. This was only needed for plotting shift and long interplanetary courses. Rawlings controlled all physical operation of the flying of the ship. The auto pilot on this thing was incredible. He really didn't have to touch anything and felt more like a naval ship captain than a pilot. The copilot also had some
duplication of the pilot's controls. In addition he handled the ship's weapon, a projector set at the top of the ship giving it a three-sixty field of fire. It fired three particle beams in a triangular pattern that surrounded an accelerator that spewed out a high intensity plasma beam. It also created a tube that warped space. They called it a warp-pumped tri-beam plasma gun and its beam travelled faster than the speed of light. That floored Rawlings and he had a hard time wrapping his brain around just how it could do that.
“Gentlemen,” Lieutenant William Mallowe floated up to the flight deck. He was a tight man, just over six feet tall and with a thin frame. He worked out constantly trying to gain weight. He wore a thick black mustache and his dark hair was cut very short. “Been here long?”
“No,” Rawlings said. “Pre-flight check.”
“Yes, sir.” Mallowe sat down at his seat and started the diagnostic program. It ran through its cycles and finished in thirty seconds. “Everything checks. It shows the airlock open and the gear not-stowed.”
“Damn,” Rawlings whispered and looked down at his hands.
“No big deal, Sir,” Mallowe said. “It'll be stowed before we leave.”
“No,” he looked through the window at the rest of the ships. “I want to run through a checklist myself. I want to do a walk around, talk to the ground crew. Ritual.”
“I like it,” Donaldson smiled. “I hated pre-flight. Just jump in and take off. That's the way it should be.”
“You alright, Sir?” Mallowe asked.
“I'm fine, Bill. Just couldn't sleep that's all.”
“I understand. I couldn't either.”
Lieutenant Lawrence Bone floated onto the flight deck, his broad shoulders barely fit through the hole. His smile was thin and surrounded by a clean shaven broad jaw. Twinkling blue eyes were topped by a tassel of blonde-red hair. He was the only officer not an Academy graduate. In his wallet was an old picture of himself and his wife, taken just before she died and before he entered the Air Force. Staring back from the photo was a giant man sporting a huge deep red beard. The pretty petite woman laid in his arms, her arms disappearing around his massive neck. Larry looked like a mountain man, six foot four and had all the bulk that Mallowe wanted. The size had a price. Weight clung to his frame. He was almost always hungry and had to work out non-stop just to maintain at his maximum limit.
“Everyone is here,” Bone said and sat at his chair. “They're stowing their gear.”
“I'll get ours, Sir.” Donaldson stood and stepped onto the disk. He touched the bar on the ceiling and then floated down.
“That thing still bugs me,” Mallowe said.
“Don't worry, Bill,” Bone grinned, when we hit Saturn you'll forget all about it.”
Rawlings watched as one of the ships slowly rose from the deck. He watched it glide to the black wall and vanish through it. He had no idea how any of this stuff worked. He was sure Mallowe didn't either. He couldn't stop thinking about Revelations. Was this the precursor to the Rapture? He was blindly following orders, doing his job. He felt fear. The little ones did look like demons. He started to sweat. Man's dominion over the Earth. Man in stewardship over the animals. Man in God's image. The Earth, the world made for man, for his use. This did not make sense. He couldn’t fit these things into that framework anywhere. Rawlings pulled his cross out that hung from his neck and began rubbing it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand.
A thought hit him. He stopped. He hadn't thought of it before. Maybe these things were Angels. Maybe these Saurians were the demons. He thought, tried to remember. He couldn't recall any scripture that fit that one either.
“Good morning, Sir.”
Rawlings turned to see the rest of the crew aboard the flight deck. He nodded to them and put the cross back under his shirt.
First Sergeant Walter Horace, the radioman, took his seat. He was older than Rawlings by a few years but still able to pass the physical requirements to be in the Scouts. He had served as crew on the B52s when they were still in use. Rawlings knew him then and even worked with him. He was a good man, a good airman.
Sergeant Jesus Molendez was a new position. He was just twenty-six and worked the Pyrinni sensing devices. It wasn't radar and worked nothing like it. Molendez could explain it but the talk passed over Rawlings' understanding. Something about seeing all space at once as if it were just you. It made his brain hurt. In training he liked Molendez. He was glad he was a member of the crew.
An integral part of the crew but not on the bridge was Sergeant Paul Murray, medic. Rawlings had wanted a doctor, but there weren't enough to go around so he got a medic. He wasn't very familiar with Sergeant Murray's skills and abilities, but he had been decorated and that Rawlings liked.
Donaldson came back onto the flight deck and strapped himself into his seat.
“Everything is stowed and secure, Sir,” he said.
“I confirm it,” Mallowe checked his screen.
“Feels weird, but let's go gentlemen.” Rawlings engaged the power grid and watched the line grow to green. He grabbed the stick and pushed the lever to its lowest stetting. They felt no different, but the instruments told them they were floating. Through the window they could see that they were rising.
“Gear up,” Rawlings said and Donaldson flipped the switch resulting in a green light.
“Up,” he said.
Rawlings turned the craft to face the black wall. “First Sergeant,” he spoke over his shoulder, “please tell them we are ready and request permission to take off.”
Horace mumbled into his mouthpiece. He was very good at not having the others hear or understand him and yet those he spoke to heard him clearly.
“We've clearance sir,” Horace said turning in his seat to watch their run to the black wall.
Rawlings knew it wasn't solid. It looked solid. He pressed the stick forward and the wall grew closer. It filled the screen and then they were outside.
They had all been in space before. They trained for their positions, they flew saucer shuttles from Earth to the station. But the sight of their home glowed before them with mystical brilliance, their mother.
“Give me our shakedown course, Lieutenant,” Rawlings stared at his home. A smile snuck to his lips and his eyes watered.
“It's on your console now, Sir,” Bone's deep voice pierced Rawlings' thoughts.
Rawlings looked to his controls and locked the operation system into the navigator’s coordinates. He engaged the drive and the image of Earth sped by in an instant.
“Okay gentlemen,” Bone said. “We've got just over six and a half days until we reach Saturn at a regular speed of thirty light-seconds per hour. Who has a deck of cards?”
Cottattanie moved into the soft room with plush wooden walls. Syntanian stood to meet new Cottattanie. She could tell the difference.
“The reports do not please you?” Cottattanie asked. Syntanian slightly shook her head. The brash immediate business-like attitude never stopped to amaze her. The fact that they didn't know each other meant nothing.
“The humans do not like us to do everything for them. They mistrust us and are suspicious of our intent.”
“They are filled with falsehoods, so they mistrust.”
“We are filled with falsehoods, Cottattanie. We were not going to give them what we agreed.”
“Ignore them.”
“It is not that simple, Cottattanie. The humans will not be used.”
“They have been given a taste. They will want more.”
“But will they fight for us just because of that taste?”
“Give them a bigger taste.”
Cigarette smoke filled the room. President Robertson leaned back in his giant chair with his tie loosened and the first button of his collar undone. He had everyone he needed to speak with at the table. His ulcer burned and he popped a tums to quiet it down.
“Saudi Arabia has pulled away from us and joined the United Arab League,” Porter looked down at the tabl
e, an overfull ashtray sitting before him. He was director of the CIA. He thought his world was complicated before. But after he was ‘educated’ his eyes lit up in a way that shattered his foundation. Now, he was messing with space-men and global conspiracies. He pulled out another cigarette.
“The UAL has a rep on the Coalition Council, Mister President,” Armstrong said.
“The Pyrinni have given every Arab nation an anti-matter reactor,” Harrington explained. “They have also given them the necessary tools to take themselves off an oil standard.”
“The quality of life of the average Arab hasn't increased at all,” Porter said, lighting his cigarette.
“They are in beginning,” Ogronivitch waved some of the smoke away. “Give them time, they will do it themselves.”
“I don't think they can,” Armstrong sat up straighter and looked directly at the President. “Mister President, they are now actively working to erode American Leadership, they want to isolate us in the Coalition Council.”
“As does,” Porter cut in, “the Chinese and the Indians. Right now the Japanese and EU are openly neutral towards us.”
“But we have it that they’ll roll in with us when the time comes,” Harrington said.
“Your contacts?” Porter asked. He didn’t like intelligence channels outside of his purview.
“Da,” Ogronivitch said, leaning in closer to the table. He had dealt with KGB like this man.
“Well there's no love lost between the Japanese and the Chinese,” Costas said.
“Right now,” Plant broke in, his accent slight though noticeable. “We control the space station. All sections respond to me. I have become the director in all but title because I am their link to the Council. I can get more done that way.” He felt odd, an Englishmen in a meeting with the President, but his government was supporting of President Robertson’s ideas. The fact that they and the Russians agreed was an amazing selling point. So there he was, part of the inner sanctum.
“It is because of the Pyrinni, yes?” the President asked.
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