“Yes, Sir,” Harrington nodded. “They give what technology they make available to anyone who asks. There are no avenues of control.”
“Mister Ogronivitch,” the President nodded to him. “What is Russia's position?”
“My President is willing support the United States. We are on same side.”
“What about the Japanese?” the President asked.
“We have the Yamamoto,” Plant began. It is technically our ship even though we staff it with a wide representation of different people that are not American.”
“Her Captain is Japanese,” Armstrong said.
“He studied in the U.S.,” Costas explained.
“He may be Japanese but he knows where his orders come from. I have confidence in Matsuotso's abilities,” Robertson said.
There fell a silence in the room.
“So, it seems clear then,” the President sat up. “Can we continue without the Pyrinni?”
“I don't think we can,” Armstrong said. “We need them to keep giving us their technology.”
“I think we can, Sir,” Plant said. “Doctor Brosnick tells me that any researcher worth his weight dislikes dealing with the Pyrinni. They feel that they hold back, that they have to play a game of twenty questions until they get the answer they need. He’s confident that his men have learned enough. They want to work on their own.
“Can we?” the President looked directly at Plant.
“Yes, Sir we can.” Plant grinned. “In fact sir we can have our own ships with our own technology in ten years’ time.”
“We can't wait ten years,” Porter said his face flushing red.
“Yes we can, Bob.” President Robertson looked directly to his CIA director. “But we need to get rid of the Coalition.”
“That we can do,” Costas said. “The only problem is the three Chinese space cruisers in orbit.”
“Is the station safe?” Porter asked. “Will they blow it up if we try to take control?”
“They can't,” Plant smiled.
“Mister Ogronivitch?” the President asked.
“We have one ship, it is too in orbit waiting for orders.”
The problem that faces us, gentlemen,” the President leaned onto the table, resting his elbows before him, “is that we have no rules. You can't play a game if there aren't any rules. So we replace the players, tear up the game and write the rules. This will not be an alliance. It will be a Union. The Earth Union. Everyone that’s involved in this decision, every country, will have a seat on the ruling council of the Union.”
“They will not like this,” Armstrong said.
“We will practically run the Union, Gerry,” the President said, smiling at his old friend.
“Sounds like a coup,” Armstrong said.
“It is, in a way,” Potter said.
“We could, Mister President,” Costas said. “It wouldn't be very hard. We've got the Scout corps filled with mostly U.S. and Russian Federation personnel. Each saucer is a fighter and fast as hell.”
“I don't want to start a war General,” the President said.
“You might anyway, Sir,” Plant pulled out a cigarette of his own.
All he could see was wall. Gunnery Sergeant Beatty clutched the armrests of his seat and stared at the antiseptic white walls. He felt ill. He had never experience a weightless environment before. The rocky space shuttle ride didn't help matters either.
He looked around him. Thirty of his men, all dressed in stupid orange overalls, sat around him in the passenger pod in the space shuttle's cargo bay. The news said that this thing was obsolete. But then so was he. A smile grew across his face when he thought that. They were both still being used, treasured antiques in a modern society.
The green light that glowed at the front end of the pod began flashing and the entire platoon felt a jar. They waited, watching. After what seemed at least ten hours the door opened and one of the shuttle crew stuck his head through.
“We're docked now,” he said. “Collect your equipment at the aft end of the bay and come forward. You'll be weightless going through the connector but be ready. As soon as you step inside the station there'll be gravity.” He pulled himself out of the pod and left the door opened.
Beatty unhooked himself from the chair and floated out. “You heard 'em, move your asses,” he barked and watched them fly past to the end of the room. He waited and was the last to pull his oversized duffel from the stowage section of the pod.
He grabbed it and kicked back to the front. He was off target and went into the seats. It was amazing. He stopped himself from hitting the seats with his hand, just reached out and grabbed it. He then pulled hard and propelled himself to the door. He floated through and pulled his duffel after him. He was in a 'T' connector. To the right he could see out into a large flexible tube. Through this tube he saw his men travelling to the station. The tube was translucent white. He pulled himself into it. He couldn't see out and was both glad and a little disappointed. He had made parachute jumps more times than he could remember but had never been this high before.
He float-crawled along the tube until he reached a receiving bay. As soon and he climbed out head first he fell to the deck. He was a little shaky but confident that none of his men saw it.
Groups of them huddled together talking. Major Barnes was there with another man. They were chatting while Beatty’s crew milled about and acted like they were in school.
“Let go your butts and fall in,” Beatty yelled and pushed some men into one area of the bay. They quickly shuffled and then a line formed. A line of tight and strong men, disciplined and very good.
“Hello Gunney,” Barnes smiled and extended his hand.
Beatty shook his hand. Barnes wasn't in uniform so he didn't salute. The whole situation was odd.
“This is Robert Plant,” Barnes said. “He’s the Brit that runs the station.”
Beatty shook the man’s hand. It was a good firm handshake.
“I've an empty cargo bay set up for your men,” Plant said.
“Yes, sir.”
“You'll be kept under wraps until needed,” Barnes said.
“I understand sir. My men and I have been training in a landside mock-up. We'll have no problems.”
“I know you won't, Gunney. Follow me.”
They left the receiving bay and walked down back access halls. Nobody saw them. They really didn't exist.
They turned, climbed down a ladder and entered a large bay. There were huge clamshell doors on one side and another smaller double door on the other.
“Don't worry, Gunney,” Plant said, noticing Beatty eyeing the huge doors. “The computer won't allow the doors to open if it detects people in here. Not even on purpose.”
“Yes, sir.”
“In those crates are the cots and mess for your men. There is a bathroom connected to this bay. It's through that door,” Plant motioned to a smaller door set in the same wall that they had entered from. “In the crates is a shower and connectors along the same wall.”
“Yes, sir. We'll be fine until we're called.”
“I leave you to it, then.” Plant left the way he had come and the door closed behind him.
Barnes pulled out two cigars and handed Beatty one.
Beatty grinned and accepted it. He gave his Major a look.
“It’s okay Gunney,” Barnes said. “We can smoke here.”
Beatty grinned. Barnes clipped the ends of both cigars. Beatty pulled out his zippo and lit the Major’s first, then his.
“Interesting work,” Barnes said.
“I don’t question, sir,” Beatty took a deep puff. He loved those things. His wife got him to quit. And by quit that meant he never smoked around her. She knew.
Barnes clapped him on the shoulder, grinned, and left the bay.
“You know the drill,” Beatty puffed on his cigar. “I want to see this place set up in less than thirty minutes.” He couldn't help smiling as the men hustled to the end of the bay
and began breaking open the crates. He found a corner and sat down, opening his own duffel. He pulled the AIWS rifle out of his bag and checked the sight. It was black and beautiful. He thought them awkward at first, but then he didn't like the M16 when it took over for the M14 either. But when he slammed the sixty round magazine into the stock and felt the weight looks didn't matter.
First Sergeant Walter Horace sat on the flight deck staring at the rings. He felt as if he were floating, as if God were touching his heart. A tear weld up in the corner of his eye and he didn't stop it from rolling down his cheek. He felt bigger than he was, as if he was filling the entire cabin. His attention light flashed and he put the headset on, tuning the tachyon antennae to face the relay station.
“Go ahead,” he spoke into he mike.
“New Orders, give receipt code,” the voice said, as clear as if he were on the telephone, well most phones anyway. Horace typed in the access code and received transmission. He printed it up and dropped down to the crew deck.
Molendez and Wong were squatting across a chessboard deep in study. Murray rested in one of the loungers that pulled from the wall with headphones on and his eye intently and purposefully shut. Horace walked to the Major's cabin and knocked on the door.
“Yes,” the voice came.
Horace pulled the cloth door aside and handed the paper into the cramped space.
Rawlings stood, dressed in sweat pants and a t-shirt, and stepped into the common are.
“Listen everybody,” he yelled. The other cabin doors opened and the entire crew climbed out of their cabin. “Saucer Eight has been reported lost. It landed on a planet in the Centauri Trinary system, Alpha Centauri A. The last reporting was them landing to investigate. Report reads that they saw clouds and water. That was last contact.”
He handed the paper to Bone when he walked to him, wearing boxer shorts and nothing else except Air Force issue socks.
“Exact Coordinates are there,” Rawlings told him. “Go plot one and engage us.”
“It'll take some time to get there, a few hours at least,” Bone said.
“Get to it, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.” Bone stepped on the disk and floated up to the flight deck.
“Alright everybody, it’s time to get ready for some action,” Rawlings said. “I want everybody in standard uniform and at their stations five minutes before Shift-Out.” He turned and went back into his cabin.
“Major,” Bone's voice came across the intercom into Rawlings' cabin.
“Go ahead.”
“It'll take one hour and seven minutes.”
“Good. Call me then.” He turned the small light above his face off and dozed.
The crew was dressed in dark blue jump suits, each staring out the front window. They felt full, over full as if they had just eaten Thanksgiving dinner and forced themselves to eat too much. They felt nondescript and then felt intense hunger. Before their eyes gleamed countless stars. To their left burned an intense yellow sun. The glass of their window immediately tinted and defrocked reducing the intensity of the sun's glare. Before them they saw, in full, a planet, slowly rolling and glowing blue. It looked like home.
Rawlings operated his controls and brought them into a polar orbit.
“Sergeant Molendez begin scanning for saucer eight,” Rawlings ordered.
Molendez stuck his head into foam eye coverings connected to his panel. He stared at them and then looked up at the screens before him. He had eight screens, each with a different graphic. It wasn't hard to read, rather easy in fact. He typed into the computer and told it to look for the saucers tachyon emitter. He felt that it would be easy to find and not reproducible on anything else.
They orbited for thirty-three minutes before Molendez's panel beeped at him. On one of the screens showed a computer animated view of the ground below them and a flashing blip on the spot it was found. In the margin read the coordinates, listed in longitude and latitude giving for the planet's true north.
“I've got it, Major. I'm giving your panel the coordinates now.”
Rawlings responded and dropped into the planet's atmosphere.
“We're not the first but it still feels amazing,” Donaldson said.
They stopped and hovered above the ground, a brown-yellow grassy plain. Below them was a saucer identical to theirs. The long plain was edged to the east side by brown rough trees and the sky held a light blue hue. The saucer flew around the perimeter of the cleared plain at a radius of a hundred meters. It then came back and landed next to the saucer with a giant number eight painted on its skin.
“Sensors give me a breathable atmosphere,” Molendez said as if he didn't believe it. “We've got a lower oxygen content twenty five degrees Centigrade and about two thirds gee, but survivable.”
“You don't sound convinced,” Mallowe said.
“Sir,” Molendez looked back. “Do you know the odds of having something like this happen?”
“Maybe it's the norm, Sergeant,” Rawlings said grinning. He found something that fit. Dominion over the beasts the scriptures said. Over all beasts everywhere. He stood.
“Anything Walt?” Rawlings looked at his First Sergeant.
“No, sir, not on any channel.”
“We go over then.”
“What about quarantine?” Molendez asked. “The computer hasn't finished scanning for bugs. They could have gotten infected by something that killed them all. Some bacteria or something.”
“Then scan, we'll go out in suits.”
“Excuse me, Major,” Doctor Balletore stuck his bald head up through the disc. He, like the rest of the landing team, was dressed in an orange jump suit to show their different relationship. They weren't military but NASA. “My team and I are in our field now, you gentlemen can wait here until we call.”
“My ship, Doctor,” Rawlings grinned. He felt ecstatic. He understood human destiny. They said at first the rapture would come in ninety-four, when it didn't they said they were wrong. Then they chose oh-one. When it didn't come they said they were wrong. He found the rapture. Man's dominion over all the beasts on every planet, made by God for man.
“Your orders, Major,” Balletore grinned back. “Don't worry, if it's safe you'll all get to come out.”
“I don't think so, Doctor,” Captain Donaldson said. “We're here on a mission, a specific mission, we go as a military unit. Your team stays on board.”
“Walt,” Rawlings said as he motioned to the floor, “you, Molendez and Murray suit up in the space-suits. Do a walk-around and scan. Take the carbines with you.”
“The suit fingers won't go through the guards, Major,” Horace unbuckled himself from his seat and stood. “We'll be doing it unarmed.”
“Major,” Molendez said, “all we need to do is wait a few minutes and the computer can tell us if it's dangerous or not. We don't need to go out in the suits.”
“They would have done that,” Balletore said.
“The scan would have been negative then,” Molendez said. “So would the scans we make in the suits. And if it isn't a bug, but some life-form then the suits would do nothing except make us slow moving targets.”
“Do you get life on your scan, Sergeant?” Rawlings asked.
“Yes, sir, the soil is full of micro-organisms.”
“Okay,” Rawlings looked out the window at the terrain. It looked almost as sparse as Edwards. “Walt, you break out all the M16A2s and the vests. We'll go out together and we'll go out armed.”
“Yes sir,” he looked directly at the doctor and dropped down the disc when Balletore moved his head.
“We'll take the hand sensors and the portable computer. I want the door locked.”
“Yes, Major,” Donaldson dropped down the disc. The rest of the crew dropped down after him, followed by Rawlings last.
“I'm not sure I approve of this, Major,” Balletore said. Horace handed Rawlings a carbine and a vest. He put the vest on and pulled a magazine from the pocket in the front of the
vest, shoved into the weapon and worked the bolt. Donaldson came from his cabin with a large revolver in his hand, cylinder opened.
“Forty one magnum, eight and three quarter's inch barrel. He loaded six individual rounds and holstered it. “A gift from my mom.” He smiled at Molendez.
“Here, sir,” Horace handed him a carbine. “You ladies finished primping?” He grinned. “If I don't get my butt outside and light up a stogie I'm going to shoot somebody.”
“I hope we don't have to,” Wong said.
“Skittish, Chester?” Murray smiled, his oversized medic back strapped to his upper back.
“I don't want to have to kill some new animal species because we charged into its den or something. I would rather stay back and study it.”
“I would too doc,” Donaldson walked over to the airlock. “But there always has to be that first step, that first explorer who walks blindly just to see what's there. If we have to defend ourselves we have to.”
“But you hope not,” Doctor Blue looked awkwardly at Donaldson. “You seem to be enjoying this for a pacifist.”
“Are you a pacifist, John?” Rawlings smiled at the younger man. “I thought you were a fighter pilot.”
Donaldson pressed the code and opened the interior airlock door. “I'm an explorer now.” He walked in and pressed the outer stud.
The huge door opened sliding into the bulkhead. The outer skin floated down to the ground, stairs leading to the hard packed dirt.
Donaldson stepped down first and walked away from the saucer. He looked up to the sky and pulled his cap closer to his eyes. The sunlight was brighter than normal, the sky an odd shade of blue, so light it was just a touch away from white.
“Lower pressure here folks,” Molendez said following Rawlings and Horace out. “You'll breathe heavier but you won't work as hard.”
“I fell light,” Bone said.
“You are,” Wong patted him on the back. “I could pick you up.”
“Right,” he grinned.
“The door’s open,” Donaldson called from the other saucer. He waved them over.
Horace cocked his carbine. The others followed his lead. He gingerly stepped onto the stairs and entered followed by Donaldson.
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