Wings of Steele - Flight of Freedom (Book2)

by Burger, Jeffrey

  “I remember reading about Blue Book,” said Dan, “though it was a little before my time...”

  Chase nodded, “Yeah, mine too. But I always found it interesting so I'd studied it in some depth, but not as much as Jack. He'd studied this stuff pretty heavily - he could actually tell you about specific investigations. Here's an interesting little factoid for you, there were over twelve-and-a-half thousand UFO investigations fielded by Blue Book... and not one had any indications of extraterrestrial origins, according to the reports. Misidentifications of natural phenomenon.”

  “So all those people saw weather balloons and swamp gas..? That's horseshit.”

  Chase shrugged, “Of course it was. But here's the angle, if you're keeping secrets, keeping your citizens in the dark, you're also keeping the enemy in the dark...”

  “The Russians?”

  “Exactly. They've never trusted us and we've never trusted them. Information is power and disinformation is just as useful. Now, here's where it gets downright creepy... after a redesign, Project Blue Book was born in 1952, as a major program...”

  “OK...”

  “The NSA was born the same year, four months later.”

  “You're shitting me.”

  “Nope.” Chase reached back behind him into the small cooler, pulling out a chilled bottle. “Want another beer?”

  “Or two, or three...” nodded Dan.

  “So,” continued Chase, handing him another frosty bottle, “ever hear the stories of families disappearing after being interviewed by the Air Force investigators?”

  “Yeah, whole families disappearing overnight...”

  “By the men in black suits...”

  Dan Murphy took a couple swallows of beer. “The NSA? I thought the disappearances were just stories...”

  “Not according to Jack. All real. But as media became more prevalent, more probing, more investigative, some of those things became more difficult for the NSA to pull off, so they changed their tactics to include intimidation and ridicule. Discrediting a witness became commonplace and easily effective. By 1970 when they closed Blue Book, it was partly because they had such a reduction in reports; it was a waste in funding.”

  “Nobody wanted to subject themselves to the harassment and embarrassment...”

  “Right.” Chase set his sunglasses on top of his head as the sun slipped below the horizon, the sky decorated with alternate splashes of gold and orange. “People had lost their jobs, families, friends... who wanted to have to deal with that? The government had conditioned its citizens to simply keep their mouths shut. So in 1970 the NSA took over for Blue Book, except they never gave it a name, it just stayed under the umbrella of a national security investigation.” He took another pull off his beer. “Now here's another odd coupling, DARPA and NASA, both born in 1958.”

  “Dude, you're giving me a headache...”

  “Should I stop?”

  “No, you're just scaring the crap out of me.”

  Chase chuckled. “OK, so, the NSA is the key component of the US intelligence community, pretty much the pinnacle of the DoD. They handle all national security concerns for code breaking, cryptography, communications and intelligence. They get fed information and communication from all branches of the military, the CIA, FBI, CSS, DARPA... and a few more I'm probably forgetting. They have ears and eyes everywhere. They can listen to any phone call or read any email on the planet.”

  “You're joking...”

  “I wish,” replied Chase.

  “DARPA, that's the agency with the creepy logo of the all-seeing-eye over the pyramid that watches the entire planet, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “But what's their connection with NASA? I thought NASA was a civilian space exploration program...”

  “Well that's the public face. The dark side of NASA is the launch and control of all the satellites used by the CIA, NSA, Air Force Space Command, and the Central Security Service. NASA's in it hip-deep with all the rest of them.”

  “Jesus...”

  “About a year before Blue Book closed its doors, a privately funded, non-profit was born, in '69, called MUFON - Mutual UFO Network. It was created to give people a place to report their sightings without government oppression and they worked to keep reports out of government hands. The NSA didn't see it as much of a threat, and for the most part left it alone because at the time it didn't have any credibility, but secretly monitored their communications as a national security measure. The NSA fell to quiet observation and monitoring, doing little to interfere, and the MUFON investigators did some pretty good work and continued to grow for a couple of decades before coming to the attention of a billionaire named Robert Bigelow...”

  Dan raised an eyebrow, “Why does that name sound familiar?”

  “The guy initially made his money in hotels, but he's had a serious interest in UFO information and technology. I'm not sure when or how that interest developed, but he ended up buying a piece of property out in the Utah desert called Skinwalker Ranch.”

  “Man that's a pretty creepy name...”

  “No shit, right? That ranch had been a hotbed of sightings and experiences and he wanted it for research. He also paid a sizable funding into MUFON, acting as a benefactor, but sucked a ton of information out of them in the process... Rumors say it included UFO technology.”

  “What was his end game?”

  “ His research funded by a DoD grant, and Bigelow Aerospace, founded in 1999...”

  “Holy shit,” breathed Dan.

  “Yeah,” nodded Chase, “he is now supposed to be the go-to guy for UFO reports and sightings. The government refers inquiries directly to him. His facility builds modular orbital facilities and commercial space stations.”

  “He has his own space station? In orbit?”

  “From what I understand, yeah. He basically became a privatized NASA, that did what NASA couldn't. He's stupid-rich, with big-boy funding and Top Secret clearance. This is not only secret alien technology dangerous - beyond Top Secret dangerous, beyond national security dangerous, but billion dollar business dangerous. Danny-boy, I know this is hard, but you've got to stop digging, stop pushing... These are not people to be fucked with - it won't end well. I know you'd like to do right by Caroline, but do her right by staying alive for all of those around you, who depend on you. For the NSA to have gone after Caroline in such a public way was a total divergence from their behavior over the past twenty years. It was not a predictable outcome.”

  Dan Murphy took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, “Yeah, It's hard,” his voice wavered, “I'm a cop and I still couldn't protect her...” he picked at the label on his long neck. “What kills me is it wasn't a criminal, a murderer, but my own fucking government. How do you protect against that? How do you make them pay for what they've done?”

  “I don't have an answer for that, Dan. When you say they, you're covering a huge cast of characters and players. The people you're talking about have clearances well above Top Secret, they're out of reach.” Chase stared at the half-empty bottle in his hands. “We see it happen in so many other countries... governments manipulating their citizens, silencing their voices... but we never expect it to happen here. But it does. Hell, Steele's family is a prime example of the crap that they're capable of dishing out...”

  “Above Top Secret? I thought Top Secret was the highest level...”

  “Nah,” countered Chase, “there's thirty-three levels.”

  “What?”

  Chase nodded. “The three standard levels are; Confidential, Secret and Top Secret. Then there are thirty other levels under the Top Secret umbrella, spread out laterally, specific and compartmentalized. Sound familiar to something else we know?”

  Dan's eyes widened. “Yeah. Like... Masonry...” he almost whispered.

  “Right. And additional levels achieved have more to do with your choice of direction, of specialty, allowing you to branch in any direction. There was a lot of Masonic influence in government back
then; presidents, cabinet members, upper echelon military... It affected a lot of facets of our government.”

  “I wish it played a bigger part nowadays, we might know who to trust.”

  “Too many liberals interfering, diluting the integrity, muddying the truth with their revised morals.”

  Dan Murphy rubbed his forehead. “Man, my head hurts. I think I need to change the subject.”

  “Fine by me. Feel like getting a pizza? I'm starving.”

  “Sounds good to me, my stomach's growling too.” They stood up and brushed off the sand. “So this whole shitstorm started when Steele disappeared... you knew him better than I did, what happened, exactly? Do you know?”

  “Jack got caught up in some secret CIA op that went south. He wasn't a player, he was just transport. Had no idea he was in the shit, until it hit the fan. When it fell apart, it went downhill fast and hard. Somehow he managed to pull himself out of it...”

  “But how did the NSA get involved in a CIA snafu?”

  “Well, he was on the run when his plane disappeared, so did two F-18s off the Shenandoah. Over the Triangle.”

  “Shit. As in the Triangle?”

  “Yeah. They disappeared because they were pulled aboard an alien ship and when it departed, it took them with, out into space...”

  “Alien abduction? So we're back to the UFOs and the NSA then.”

  Chase shrugged, “You can't tell me you don't believe, you saw one, for fuck's sake. I didn't get to see it, but after spending some time with his parents, I have no doubts.”

  “Yeah, I did... though I wish I hadn't.” Dan Murphy drained his bottle. “I see that damn thing every time I close my eyes.”

  “You might get to see another one...”

  “What?”

  “According to his mom and dad, Jack's sister left them a note the night she was picked up, basically it said they'd be back.”

  “Holy shit... I don't know if I want to be around for that or not. Wait, but why? If he's really out there, why would he be coming back?”

  “For his parents. Maybe to settle a score,” smiled Chase. “He couldn't make it back himself, to pick up Lisa. The ship that showed up was another ship from his fleet...”

  “Fleet?”

  “Yeah. And his dad told me that ship was only about a third the size of Jack's ship.”

  Dan grinned, “You're so full of crap...”

  “No joke. Brother Jack has himself a carrier.”

  Dan frowned and shook his head, “Carrier of what?”

  “Of fighter craft. Like an aircraft carrier in space...”

  “Please tell me you're shitting me...”

  “On the level,” replied Chase. “He's the Captain. And the F-18 pilots that disappeared at the same time are part of the crew.”

  “How... How...” Dan's mind reeled; he couldn't think to formulate a complete thought.

  “Personally,” continued Chase, “I'd love to see one in person.”

  “No you wouldn't. Believe me when I tell you, you absolutely, positively, do not...”

  CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR

  MISSILE FRIGATE, REVENGE : ABOUT FACE

  Much smaller than the Freedom's bridge, the Revenge's bridge could almost be considered cozy. Almost. Sitting in the command chair, Brian was reviewing the atmospheric report and live weather map of the surface, watching the storms slowly break up and dissipate.

  “Freedom's shuttle is away, Lieutenant. Miss Alité's on her way back to home base.”

  “Thank you Ms. Raulya.” Brian let out a low sigh of relief. For some reason, Alité's transition in his head from Princess to Queen was more complicated than he had anticipated. Maybe it was the realization that she was the Monarch of an entire planet. The Princess title seemed to be just that, a title, it didn't have any tangibility. But Queen had suddenly become more substantial, more imposing. He worked to push it out of his mind. OK, back to work. “Take us back down to the surface, Mr. Ragnaar.”

  “Aye sir, plotting course to Rem One's last known position.”

  Raulya turned in her seat, “Red Flight is departing the Freedom now, they'll rendezvous with us over the second continent to begin the search pattern.”

  “Have we picked up any signals now that the weather's cleared?”

  “No, sir,” she replied. “No comms, no EPRBs.”

  Brian didn't like the sound of that. A bird down, no locator beacon, no comms, no emergency broadcasts... There was no good news there. We need a break.

  ■ ■ ■

  The cruisers, Archer and Bowman, with the corvette, UFW77, were spread out across the system, patrolling. The Freedom maintained station near the planet where she could monitor her patrol flights across the system as well as the search craft in the planet's atmosphere. The bold GOD jumps of the transport ships in Veloria's atmosphere had Admiral Kelarez convinced the pirates were too accustomed to free rein in the system and was concerned they might not give it up so easily. He'd put out an encrypted message requesting reinforcements in Veloria Prime as well as the neighboring systems in case they were being used as a staging area. Whether he would get that support, or if there were any ships in reach, was still in question.

  Myomerr turned from the Freedom's tactical station, “Commander, Red Flight departing to rendezvous with the Revenge. Blue Flight launching, White Flight prepping for launch.”

  “We've routed Zulu One with Red Flight?”

  “Aye, Commander. Zulu One is in Red's formation.”

  “Understood.” The floor vibrated as two Lancias of Blue Flight catapulted from the Freedom's launch tubes. Commander Paul Smiley rose from the command chair, “You've got the bridge Walt, I need to head down to the flight tower...”

  “Right-O. Will you be taking a flight?”

  “I'm not expecting to, but I'm gonna suit up just in case. We're a little short handed for flight leaders so I'm putting myself on the roster for Yellow Flight. Keep me apprised...”

  “Of course.”

  ■ ■ ■

  From the cockpit of his Cyclone, Lieutenant Mike Warren glanced left and right, checking on the other members in Red Flight. “Red Flight entering atmosphere in; three, two, one...” The Cyclones buffeted some as they penetrated the outer layer, their formation wavering. “And we have penetration. How you doing back there, Zulu One?”

  “Right on your six, Lieutenant.”

  “Atta boy, Fidos, but keep it loose.” Ensign Fidos was one of the Freedom's new pilots, untested in combat, but who'd proved himself to be reliable and steady-handed. Mike chose him for the gunship because he'd have the assistance of two other crew members and gun turrets if things got a little thick. “How're we doing on time, Santine?”

  “Right on schedule...”

  ■ ■ ■

  Lisa stood in front of the steamed mirror in the bathroom, towel draped across her shoulders examining her naked body. The hot shower had felt good and helped some, but she still felt like she'd played through a pro football game. As the football. A slight change in hue from purple towards the blue spectrum and she figured she'd probably be able to pass as a Smurf in a pinch. Good thing she had been wearing a helmet...

  “Good morning, dearie!” Helen's voice was almost musical, but Lisa yelped in surprise, trying to cover herself up with the towel, eliciting an uncontrolled whimper as her muscles protested loudly over the sudden movement. “Oh, for goodness sakes girl, you'd think I've never seen your type of equipment before. I have two grown daughters of my own... Of course neither one of them had ever been so purple, but that's beside the point, isn't it.” It wasn't so much a question as a statement. She set a little silver tray on the vanity with a pitcher and glass of pale pink liquid and pulled a little glass tub of yellow cream from her apron pocket. When she unscrewed the lid, it filled the room with a flowery scent that reminded Lisa of Jasmine. “You might as well unclench, sweetie, this is going to help you...”

  Lisa relaxed some, “That smells wonderful, what is it?”
<
br />   “Extract from the flowers of the Pattahoolia tree... it increases circulation, so it will relax your muscles, reduce pain and help the bruising go away faster.” She took Lisa's towel away and threw it on the floor, “That is just going to be in the way. Here drink this...” Helen handed her a glass of the pale pink juice and pulled out the small chair from the vanity, sitting her sizable bottom gingerly on it. Taking a dollop of the cream from the little container she rubbed it between her hands and began firmly but carefully massaging it into Lisa's bruised body. “My goodness, child, did you manage to hit every branch on the way down?”

  Lisa noted the cream went on coolly and warmed some, her skin feeling electrified as Helen massaged it in with grandmotherly care. The juice wasn't a citrus, but had a taste like grapefruit without the tang, sweeter like it was mixed with papaya. “This is yummy, what's it called?”

  “Pattahoolia fruit, of course.”

  “Of course.” Lisa drank the juice with introspection, wondering why it felt less uncomfortable for an old woman, a stranger, to be massaging her bruised body than her actual mother. Would she ever let her mother do this? she wondered. Not as an adult... at least not while she was capable of doing it herself. Did she look that much like a lost puppy? Looking in the mirror, she'd have to say yes. The crisscrossing patterns of bruises had joined forces overnight, conspiring to take over, blending together, spreading out. She had bruises on top of bruises. If that was even possible.

  Helen gave her a playful tug on her hair, “OK, I think that's all of them. I've laid some clothes out for you,” she said, rising from the chair, “but give yourself a few moments for the cream to soak in before you get dressed. I washed that flimsy little white bodysuit you had on, but that outer thing - well, I wouldn't know how to get clean... it looked like someone used you as a plow to dig up a field,” she chuckled, her turquoise eyes sparkling. “Jenitee's clothes should fit you fine, you're about the same size, her work pants should be able to carry all the things you had with you.”

  “I can't thank you enough...”