EARTH PLAN

by David Sloma

  On deck, he was almost swept aside by the strong wind and blowing rain. “When did this start?” he gasped, getting the door of the bridge closed behind him.

  “Just a few minutes ago, sir,” one of the sailors said who was manning the controls of the ship.

  “It's like it came out of nowhere. This wasn't predicted.” The captain looked out the windows at the rolling sea and the dark sky.

  “No, it wasn't.”

  “Hmm, slow her down a quarter. This is getting rough.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  The captain braced himself as the ship started to pitch. The sea suddenly became a lot rougher. The decrease in the ship's speed helped some, but it was a losing battle. They couldn't decrease their speed all the way to avoid the waves, as the waves would just keep coming, plus they'd be a sitting duck in the water, tossed around by the storm. But, if the swells were too rough they'd have to turn back.

  I've never seen anything like this, the captain thought. “Carry on. Call me if it changes much. I'll be below,” the Captain said.

  “Aye, captain.”

  The captain hurried back below deck. He burst into the office, dripping water. He stood in the doorway so as not to get the office wet. “The weather's really taken a turn for the worst, out of nowhere.”

  “Yes, we can feel it down here. Not as bad as on the deck, I imagine?” Lang said.

  “No, it's very windy up there and raining, too. It just picked up, wasn't on the forecast at all.”

  “Strange. We didn't see it either,” one of The Four said.

  The leader got up and looked out the porthole. “This was definitely not in the forecast” He turned and looked at Lang and the captain.

  “Do you know what this means?” the captain asked them.

  “It was manufactured,” the leader said.

  “Good God!” Lang said. “Think they did it for us?”

  “I'm certain of it,” the leader said.

  “Wouldn't put it past them.” The captain smiled wryly.

  “An engineered storm?” Charles said. “Can they do such a thing?” He looked at the prof.

  “I've heard about such technology,” the prof said, “but can't say I've seen any hard proof of it. Until now.” He looked at those around the room.

  “You're seeing it now, that's for sure,” the leader said, glancing out the window.

  “Would they really go to these lengths? Could they? I mean, wouldn't it just be easier to take us out with a missile or something?” Charles asked.

  “Easier yes, but anything like that would leave a trail. There would be lots of questions. Only a few people possess weather control technology, so there's less people to keep quiet. They take us out this way, it looks like an accident. They shoot us with a missile or a disintegrator ray, then it doesn't look so innocent,” the leader said.

  The ship pitched hard, causing them to grab the glasses and the bottle to keep them from falling—they missed some glasses, and they smashed on the floor into pieces. Hands went to the sides of tables and to the backs of chairs and walls to steady themselves.

  “Poor ship! This is getting bad!” The captain struggled to his feet and went out the door as the ship continued to move in unexpected ways. He made his way out of the below decks and went to the bridge. By the time he got there he was soaked.

  Back in the office, Charles still had questions. “You mentioned a 'disintegrator ray.' Were you being serious?” He looked at the leader of The Four.

  “He's quite serious,” Lang said.

  “How does it work?” Charles asked.

  “I don't know all the fine details, but it basically pulls apart the molecules of whatever it's aimed upon. The correct term is directed energy weapon,” the leader said.

  “My God, does anyone have that sort of power on Earth right now?” Charles's mouth fell open; he desperately hoped it was not true.

  “They've had it for a while now. Used it on the Twin Towers,” Lang said.

  “That's right,” the leader confirmed.

  “Did you know about this?” Charles turned to the prof.

  “I'd heard rumours, but nothing duplicated. I did hear the theory, yes,” the prof said.

  “No theory. It's well proven,” the leader said.

  “Anyway, we're under attack,” Lang said.

  “Got that right,” one of the other men said.

  “So, how does it work, this ray? Where does it get its power from? It must need a massive power bank?” Charles asked.

  “There was a hurricane off the coast of New York City during 9-11. Somehow, the weapon drew its energy from that, or so it's said. Like I told you, I don't know all the fine details, but I do know such a thing is real and has been used before, at least once. How many other times, I don't know. That's what Dr. Judy Wood says, and I believe her.” The leader took another look out the window.

  “Is the 'copter going to be OK? Should we lash it down?” one of The Four asked.

  “I think that's a good idea. We might need it in one piece. Get your rain gear on, boys,” the leader said.

  “What rain gear?”

  “Figure of speech. Let's do it.” The leader left the office with his three men in tow.

  Charles sat down heavily in a seat and looked at the professor and Lang. “The world is becoming a stranger place all the time.”

  “They don't teach these things in physics class, hmm?” Lang said.

  “No, they don't. And if they did...I don't know what I'd do.” Charles shook his head.

  The prof looked at him. “The more I get into this work, the more I see that it doesn't fit into my old paradigm. I've had to reevaluate my opinion of the world several times already, and acid was just the start of it!” He laughed. “One thing I've learned is to not think you're got it all figured out, because something will happen to show you that you don't, at all. My advice is don't try to understand it all in one go. Give the mind time to breathe!” He pulled out a joint. “Anyone want some?” He showed it to Lang and Charles.

  “Are you nuts?” Lang said.

  The prof shrugged. “I can think of worse ways to go…”

  “Sure,” Charles said.

  “Oh, why not? If we're going to sink and drown, why not do it high.” Lang said.

  “It's how Huxley died,” the prof said, lighting up.

  “Huxley?” Charles asked.

  “Aldus Huxley, author of Brave New World, amoung others.” The prof took a hit and passed the joint to Charles.

  “Oh, right. I think we read him in high school.” Charles took a hit and passed it to Lang.

  “Worth another look at him now, with the added perspective of some more life experience under your belt,” the prof said.

  “Did he really die high?” Charles asked.

  “Yep. On LSD. His wife gave it to him,” the prof said.

  “Nice wife,” Charles said.

  “Very interesting woman in her own right,” Lang said. “She'd have to be to live with someone like Huxley, I'd say. I'm sure he wrote most of his books high, or at least was inspired by his trips to write them. Then, of course, there are the many scientific and technological breakthroughs made by heads.” Lang finished taking a deep huff and passed the diminished joint back to the prof.

  “It's amazing, eh? Well, it just goes to show that my own wild trip on acid where I saw the DNA tampering in early man was not without its precedent!” Charles said.

  The prof passed the smaller joint over to Charles, “Nope. Fascinating stuff. I wish it would happen to me.”

  “Well,” Charles said, puffing and then passing the joint to Lang for one last toke, “when we get out of all this, we'll take some more trips together and see if we can get it to happen.”

  “Sounds good,” the prof said and chuckled.

  Lang finished the joint and stabbed out the end in a coffee cup. “Look at the weather,” he said, getting up and looking out the porthole.

  “It's making you nervous?” Charles
asked.

  “Yeah, it is.” Lang peered out at the swelling sea.

  “Well, not much we can do about it, except ride it out.” Charles stretched out on a chair, kicking out his feet and putting his hands behind his head.

  “Hope Wendy's alright...maybe I should go check on her,” the prof said.

  “Maybe there is something we can do. Do you two know about the power of focused thought?” Lang asked.

  “You mean like prayer?” the prof asked.

  “That's what I mean, in a way. Except, this type of thought involves thinking and feeling for the outcome you want, not petitioning something for assistance, though you can certainly pray to a deity too, if you like. One of the things we've been studying is the effect of our thoughts. They can affect matter, that's been proven; even the elements, too. Though, in this case, I don't think this is a natural storm, either. Still, we should be able to make a change. Want to try?” He looked at them.

  “Sure,” the prof said.

  “What do we do?” Charles asked.

  “Alright. It might help to close your eyes,” Lang said. He sat down and closed his eyes, laying his hands in his lap. “Take three deep breaths to calm your mind and body. Then, imagine the storm growing less intense and moving away from us at the same time. Feel how it will feel when the storm has lessened and moved away, the sense of comfort and relaxation you will feel.”

  The three of them sat with their eyes closed doing this meditation as the rain battered against the windows and the side of the boat, making a harsh rhythm.

  “Now what?” Charles asked.

  “Are you imagining the storm gone?” Lang said.

  “Yes.”

  “Alright,” Lang continued, “keep doing it for a while longer.”

  Charles went back to his imagining.

  A couple of minutes later, the pounding of the rain on the window started to lessen as the wind let up. Charles opened his eyes and saw that the storm was beginning to lift, and the sun was starting to break though. “It's working!” Charles said.

  “Good. I knew it would,” Lang said.

  The prof opened his eyes and saw the sunlight starting to beam in through the window. “Holy shit!” he said. “Mr. Lang, I'm really impressed. This stuff works!”

  “The power of prayer, or more accurately the power of the creative imagination,” Lang said.

  “Whatever it is, and whatever the cause, I'm just glad this storm is lifting. I better go check on my wife, she'd bound to be--”

  The sound of loud scratching came from the bottom of the ship and all three of them—including everything in the room that wasn't fastened down—went flying as the ship lurched.

  It struck something underwater, lost speed as it dragged along, and then finally stopped with a terrible noise coming from the hull.

  Charles, the prof, and Lang got up from the floor where they had been thrown to the carpet—luckily it had been padded.

  “Is everyone OK?” Lang asked, picking up his computer from the floor. It was a tough, military model, so he knew it was probably alright, and it didn't look damaged.

  “I think so,” Charles said, rubbing his head.

  “Yeah,” the prof said, rubbing his elbow.

  “We must have run up on a reef or something. Hope we're not taking on water. You should grab your valuables and head up on the deck, just in case. They might not have power to put out an alarm,” Lang said. He grabbed his computer, put it into its bag, then made his way out of the office, up the metal steps to the deck.

  “I'm going to find my wife,” the prof said and dashed out of the room.

  “Hold up, Mr. Lang!” Charles went after him.

  CHAPTER 47

  Once Lang and Charles got up on the deck a scene of confusion greeted them.

  They were in shallow water, the ship obviously had ridden up on some shoal or reef near a small island. The sky was clear and it was sunny, with the storm receding into the distance from where they had been. The deck of the ship was wet and dripping water everywhere, including the helicopter that was perched dangerously close to the edge of the deck and was teetering, threatening to fall into the sea.

  Several sailors and The Four were on one side of the 'copter pulling on its skids, trying to move it forward. “Ready? One, two, three, pull!” yelled the leader of The Four.

  Then ten or so men managed to move the machine forward an inch or two with each heave. In a matter of minutes, they had it pulled back onto the deck enough that it wasn't going to fall over.

  The captain came down from the control room and took off his hat, wiping the sweat from his eyes. “Did you ever see anything like that?” he gasped, looking at Lang and Charles.

  “The storm just ended, did it?” Lang asked.

  “Yes! Strangest thing I ever saw! Then, by the time we were out of the gale, we were off course. The fog and rain lifted, and there was no time to turn her about before we ran ashore. I'm so embarrassed! This has never happened to me before!” the captain said, close to tears, his face red.

  “Well, don't feel too bad. I think this is probably the first time you've had a storm directed at you,” Lang said.

  “I think you're right,” the captain said. He looked around the deck, then at the island. “The boat took a bit of a beating up here. I don't know about the below decks, yet. How was it when you came up?”

  “Fine. Just things thrown around,” Lang said.

  “No water coming in? No leaks?” the captain asked.

  “Not that we could see,” Lang said, looking at Charles, who shook his head.

  “That's good. I should do down and make an inspection. If she starts to go down, get into one of the lifeboats,” the captain said. He started down the stairway to go below deck.

  “You think it will?” Lang called after him.

  “Probably not. We're stuck on something, but she might take on some water,” the captain yelled back, before disappearing below.

  Lang and Charles stood watching the men pull the 'copter back a little more. Then, a couple of minutes later, the prof and his wife came up the stairs with their bags.

  “Going somewhere?” Charles asked them.

  “We thought we might have to abandon ship,” the prof said.

  “Is it that bad? I heard a big crash! What did we hit, do you think?” she asked.

  “Probably a reef or a shoal,” Lang said.

  “Are we sinking? Should we get in a lifeboat?” Wendy looked around, desperately.

  “I don't know, honey. No one looks in a panic, yet,” said the prof, looking around at the men working on the 'copter. “I think if there was any danger, they would all be abandoning ship. Besides, we didn't see any water coming in. Did you guys?” the prof asked them.

  “Not on the way up,” Lang said.

  “The captain just went below to look for leaks,” Charles said.

  It was about twenty minutes later that the captain came back up to the deck. The others were sitting around by this time, smoking and drinking bottles of water in the sunshine. A few of the sailors were in the control room, trying to get the equipment going.

  “So?” Lang asked the captain, as he padded up to them.

  “A little water in the cargo area, but we plugged up the small holes there. She seems to be holding fast, though I'd hate to see what bigger holes are along the bottom of the hull! If we were able to get her off whatever she's stuck on, she'd probably open right up and sink like a stone with all the water she'd take on in a flash,” the captain said. He pointed at the pack of cigarettes Lang had, and Lang handed them over.

  “Good thing we're not moving, then,” the leader of The Four said.

  “How did this happen, anyway? I thought you had all sorts of instruments on this thing?” Wendy asked. Her husband shot her a harsh look. “What?” she said. “Don't you want to know how we got shipwrecked out here, in the middle of God knows where?”

  The captain sighed. “Mr. Lang was right. This storm was forced on
us, I'm convinced of it. It was no normal storm, in that it carried some very high voltages with it. All our electronics went out. Our manual gear was almost useless with the heavy winds and swells. The fog obscured all visibility. When we got out of the storm and could see again, we were headed straight for this island. There was no time to do anything. It's almost like it was planned this way. I'm sorry I failed you all.” The captain slumped down, sitting on the deck.

  “It's not over, yet,” the leader of The Four said. “We've been in worse jams. We'll get out of this, too. Isn't that right boys?” He looked at his men and they responded with gusto.

  “Well, I'm glad you guys have some optimism. What about that 'copter. It's alright?” the captain asked.

  “Dunno. We haven't fired it up, yet, I flipped on the main computer and it still works. The whole chopper is hardened against EMPs, which is what I suspect we were hit with. Strangely, the radio is out, though. Emergency beacon, too. I'd say we were the victims of sabotage before we even got on this ship. No sense in starting up the engine until we find out where we are, since last I checked we didn't have the fuel to make land from our last position. But seeing as how some of the other systems were sabotaged, it might make sense to see if it will even start up,” the leader said.

  “Maybe we can fly to where we're going from here?” Wendy said, her face brightening.

  “Maybe,” the prof told her, squeezing her hand.

  “Yes, well, the first step is finding out where we are. Let's see if my men have figured that out, yet,” the captain said. He got up and motioned to the leader to follow him. They went up to the control room.

  The captain and the leader poured over a large map and worked out things with a compass and made some calculations. Wendy, the prof, Charles, and Lang tagged along to watch.

  “I make us to be about here,” the captain said as he pointed to a spot on the map. “Way off course, like I thought. Seem right?”

  The leader said, “Yes, but it's no use, we're still way out of range for the fuel we have. We've only got a half tank and we'd need a full tank—and that would be stretching it. We'd never make it to land. No use, unless you feel like ditching in the ocean and swimming the rest of the way.”