The Day Gravity Became Irrelevant

by Ralph Rotten

  “I have identified two more potential agents.” Alexis interrupted his giggling as she filled the left-most monitor with credentials for two seemingly innocuous men. “Based on their recent travel patterns I believe the first to be a member of MI-6, and the other is Russian.”

  “Hmmm.” Jackie seemed pleased at the results. After 3 days of levitating the Queen Mary they had been able to identify 15 highly probable foreign agents, twelve highly probable corporate agents, and another 22 possibles. But it is worthy to note that with Alexis’ superb logic system, even the probables had a 69.99% chance of being actual foreign agents based on travel history, origin, and credit card records. In his calculations, Jamie had come to the conclusion that the crowds around the Queen Mary would be the best place to spot these people of ill intent. After all, the first thing any spy or agent would do is go to the scene, to witness the event for themselves, and to confirm first-hand that it was not some YouTube prank or a simple illusion. But once they watched the groaning steel hull swing overhead, there was no denying that the event was indeed bonafide.

  “Add them to the files. They will be dealt with in time, but only after they have been used to their full extent.” Nodding, the savant knew that they would each play their role soon enough.

  “Car’s ready.” Jack leaned through the door frame to update his brother. “We still on for tonight?”

  In his own mind Jamie’s first thought was to correct his brother. The next step in the plan was to occur at 0330hrs, which was technically tomorrow morning. But the brothers had debated the topic before, and although Jamie was undeniably right in his assertion, there was no reasoning with Jack. By the elder brother’s definition, 3am was the middle of the night. Morning did not start until at least 0500. Knowing that it was pointless to correct his brother, Jamie simply nodded in agreement.

  Once Jack was gone, no doubt to work on the next steps of the plan, Jamie changed the feed on his primary monitor. As much as he enjoyed watching the government’s efforts to study the platters, there was serious work to do.

  As distasteful as he had found them at first glance, Jamie had found the prison interrogators to be an interesting group of people. Preferring to call themselves Researchers, these specialists at information extraction lived in a close-knit community on the edge of the main facility.

  At first glance they seemed like a tight group. Most had served together in the various conflicts of the last decade and regarded one another as brothers [and sisters] in arms, fighting the good fight against terror and villainy. While this closeness seemed impenetrable at first, Jamie knew from experience that even real brothers were prone to conflict and disagreement. Despite their shining professional service, perfect uniforms, and unflinching beliefs in what they did, these were humans, and as anyone who studied homo sapiens knew, their relationships would be rife with fractures. It was these that Jamie intended to exploit.

  With half of the available drones tasked to watching the Researchers during their off-duty hours, the savant had come to learn a great many things about these people. Studying them intently, Jamie had actually begun to enjoy watching them. Like a live-action soap opera, he looked forward to examining the previous night’s footage. With Alexis highlighting the good parts, he was able to focus on the interactions between them while avoiding the slow parts.

  “Well, well, well. Don Devon you are a very baaaad boy, aren’t you. Tsk, tsk, tsk.” A plastic smile spreading across his face, Professor Jamie knew he would find the dirt he needed. It was basic human nature, and the researchers were by no means angels.

  Jenna had been scanning documentation for hours; poring through every bit of fake news, relevant internet memes, conspiracy theory sites, and social media. After studying the scraps of evidence they had thus far, she had run into a brick wall. It was this dead end that had forced her to become creative as she scanned thousands of pictures posted on the internet. The logic was that the Queen Mary was likely not the first time the inventor(s) had levitated objects in public. While her theory was paper thin, she really had little else to investigate. Whoever had floated the Queen had left her almost no leads to follow.

  She was surprised at the number of objects that people had used Photoshop to levitate on the internet; ships, skyscrapers, and trains that thundered through the sky. People had been imaginative, that much was sure as the images seemed to blur on her screen.

  It was the photo of a candy-apple red Mustang that caught her eye. It stood out because the photo quality was poor, like someone had snapped it with their cellphone while driving past at 45mph. All of the fakes were so sharp and professionally edited, but this one looked different. Angle was all wrong to make out the license plate. The Mustang looked like a 66, maybe a 65? Squinting slightly she could make out one of the street signs. Googling the name, she found that there was a wide variety of streets of that name or similar within the region. It could be half a dozen places.

  But then she noticed the Pizzeria, barely in the photo, just off to one side. Buono’s Pizza. She’d eaten at one of those before; they made a pretty excellent thin-crust. But how many of those were there?

  Another internet search and she determined that there was only one Buono’s Pizzeria on Pacific. Throwing the jpeg into a folder, she continued through the endless photos of flying objects.

  Rangi flopped on the couch in the corner of her office. The old sofa had begun to take on a strange odor as the foam decomposed. It was an old couch, and Jenna had slept on it many a night. Pretending to not notice the musty odor, Rangi flashed that broad grin of his, showing off a mouth full of crooked teeth.

  “So what have you done for me lately?” Sitting back, Jenna eyed the big man.

  “Well, Homeless Security reported that they have three leads on guys who wore hoodies when they visited the Queen Mary in the last month. Betcha they have HRT go kick in their doors.” Again he flashed his maw full of crooked teeth. It was as if he was completely oblivious to the ivory train-wreck in his mouth.

  “Yeah, but what have YOU done for me lately?” Still unimpressed, Jenna chewed on the end of a pencil. It was a habit of hers, rendering the erasers useless in the process.

  “Well, I…” He paused as the cellphone on her desk chimed.

  Glancing at the number, Jenna raised a brow. “I gotta take this. It’s the CEO of the company that manages the Queen Mary.”

  Sitting forward, Rangi was all ears. They had been trying to track down someone in charge for two days. At this point they still had not talked to anyone who could be considered owner or representative of the owner.

  Phone transcript: Agent Jaramillo to Albert Landry

  CEO Landry Enterprises Global

  Agent Jaramillo: Mister Landry, Thank you for returning my call. I am contacting you about filing criminal charges over the theft of the Queen Mary.

  Albert Landry: Charges? What in the hell for? We didn’t do anything illegal.

  Agent Jaramillo: Well sir, someone has taken your property from you, or made it unavailable to you, and that is the legal definition of theft.

  Albert Landry: Oh, you mean charges against the feller who raised the Queen. Actually I talked to them folks this morning and we have no problem between us.

  Agent Jaramillo: Excuse? Someone contacted you about the levitation of your ship?

  Albert Landry: Well, someone who identified themselves as such, a very nice little lady named… [sound of fingers snapping] …Alexis. She said she represented the gentlemen who levitated the ship and said they would be willing to compensate me for any lost revenues.

  Agent Jaramillo: So they offered to pay you off if you did not pursue charges?

  Albert Landry: What? No, the idea of charges never even entered the conversation. She was concerned that I may be caught paying penalties on the construction teams that are supposed to be refittin’ her instead ‘a sittin’ idle like they’se doing right now. Damned union shops, I’m getting’ scalped for late fees with these people. She offered to
cover those kinds of losses.

  Agent Jaramillo: And how did you reply to her offer?

  Albert Landry: Are you kidding? I told her to keep their money, they done us a big, damned favor by makin’ her float. They sure did! Like hell I’d wanna press charges. In fact I asked ‘em to do it again! But next time with paying customers aboard.

  Agent Jaramillo: So you do not wish to pursue civil or criminal charges at this time?

  Albert Landry: Now or ever. We are getting so much free press from this. It’s like money from Heaven.

  Agent Jaramillo: Sir, let me remind you that your ship could have been destroyed had his invention failed.

  Albert Landry: Are you kidding? That would have been the best thing. That damned ship has been nothing but a floating bankruptcy for the last eleven managing corporations; and I was about to be the twelfth. Them ol’ boys saved m’ bacon! So if you think I would do anything to keep ‘em from levitating that hunk of debt you can guess again. My phone has been ringing off the hook all morning by people who would pay a half million dollars for a weekend amongst the clouds in the Queen. As my Granddaddy used to say; Good money is where you find it.

  Hanging up the phone, Jenna looked sideways at her counterpart who stretched out on the couch. Raising one eyebrow, she was still a little shocked at the conversation.

  “The CEO of the managing company says he does not want to press charges. Apparently the whole thing has been a boon.” Looking at the phone one last time before she dropped it onto the desk, Jenna could only shake her head.

  “So that means that the only law this guy is technically breaking is…some FAA regulation about tethering a balloon more than three hundred feet off the ground without a permit. Ha!” It amused Rangi to admit that whoever was behind it had been extremely careful. “Mebbe we should call the FAA and see if they have a permit on file to tether a balloon.”

  “Naw, Mister Landry said they contacted him, so dump his phones and see who called him. And don’t mention this to any of those guys at homeland security. Those jags practically live in FISA court so they can pull a warrant on the database…” She snapped her fingers to illustrate just how quickly their parent organization could get data from the NSA’s Database. For Jenna it was a multi-stage process, but for DHS it was as if they owned the whole candy store. She had no desire to have the Department of Homeland Security scoop her on her own lead.

  “Okie dokey.” Rangi acknowledged her order before stretching out on the stinky little couch. “Don’t forget you got that thing at fifteen hundred.”

  “What thing?” Initially surprised, Jenna struggled to remember what he was talking about.

  “The daily SAIC briefing.” Snapping his fingers, Rangi reminded her of the obligations of her latest promotion. “You wanted to be the senior case agent, so you gotta take the meetings if you wanna keep your corner office.”

  Jenna sniffed at that as a tiny smile crept across her face. “I’m still waiting for the corner office.”

  They both laughed as each glanced around at her little office in the bowels of the building. Jenna had never really minded her windowless office; it meant less distractions.

  “Alright, I got my conference call to make. Mucky-muck stuff, way above your pay grade. Get out.” Pretending to shoo the big Samoan from her office, Jenna kept a straight face for all of ten seconds.

  “I always knew that the fame would go to your head.” Pretending to cast her a disparaging look, Rangi hovered over her desk. “Play nice with the other children, no picking on the other agents.”

  Frowning as if it was a near impossibility, Jenna played along. “I dunno Mister Lopamaua, the other kids are mean to me.”

  Bumping fists before departing, Rangi was singing a little ditty before he was out the door. Turning away, Jenna enabled her ear-piece so she could at least work hands-free during the conference call.

  Normally the National Security Council met in one of the main conference rooms of the west wing of the White House, but today they had been specifically brought into the oval office by decree of the commander-in-chief. While he himself rarely attended the meetings, Phelps had been urged by his staff to join the discussion. In typical Jefferson Phelps fashion, rather than walking the fifty meters from his office to the Roosevelt conference room, the President had instead made the twelve members uproot themselves and come to him. It did not bother Phelps in the least to inconvenience the council members. After all, he was the President, and they were his loyal minions.

  Even after his secretary brought in extra chairs, it was still crowded on the couches as the entire council tried to fit a dozen members, the President, and a bevy of aides and other assorted support staff. In the end, only Phelps and the 12 NSC members were seated, with the rest of the staff left to stand and watch. Oblivious to this inconvenience, the President had actually delayed the start of the meeting for a quick photo-op. Having seen the people standing uncomfortably behind their masters, it had just seemed so picturesque to him, like something you would see in the King’s chambers. Having long considered himself democratic royalty, it seemed only fitting to have the White House archivist snap a few pictures first.

  “Sir.” Sitting to the President’s immediate left was his chief political advisor. Under previous administrations the spot had been held by the Director of Intelligence, but for reasons that defied logic, Phelps had replaced the DNI with one of his political wonks. Known for his fiery talk that bordered on anti-Semitic, Carson Bowles had risen to his current position as editor for a far-right newspaper. Though clearly not qualified for the spot he now held, Bowles nonetheless had the President’s trust and admiration.

  “Well, Carson, what was so urgent that needed my personal intervention?” Sitting back, Phelps wanted to soak in the glory of the moment. It pleased him that they had unanimously requested his presence at this meeting.

  “It’s the Queen Mary.” Nodding seriously, Carson Bowles often handled the talking when the President was in the room. “Jeff, we have been studying the potential for this new technology, and we think that it is significant enough to create an entirely new world paradigm.”

  “Meaning…?” Phelps asked as he gestured for them to continue.

  With four gold stars gleaming on each shoulder, General ‘Wild Bill’ Hicks had been bursting to speak since they first entered the oval office. As a career soldier he had recognized the potential of this new invention almost immediately.

  “Sir, we need that technology, and we simply cannot risk allowing it to fall into enemy hands. The results would be catastrophic.” His voice a deep gravel, General Hicks made his point known. Hawkish in his demeanor, he cast a hard look at the civilians around him.

  “Jeff,” Bowles never missed a chance to address the President by his first name. Being the only one in the room permitted to do so, he enjoyed reminding the others that he was on a first name basis with the leader of the free world. “This is a matter is national security, of the utmost importance. If we don’t get this technology, America could cease to exist as we know it. Whatever nation owns this technology will rule the planet for the next thirty years or more. I cannot understate the importance of our obtaining this technology for ourselves.”

  Shrugging, Phelps did not understand his concern. “I already have people, good people, some of the brightest in the business world out there ready to negotiate for this invention.”

  “Sir, if I may.” His deep voice cutting in, General Hicks sat ramrod straight in his seat. “We need unfettered control of this device. Licensing the rights leaves the door open for our competitors and enemies to obtain it. I cannot stress enough how important this is to the security of America. If they can levitate the Queen Mary, then it’s a safe bet that they can levitate an aircraft carrier or battle ship…or even tanks. Not only that, but you saw the video on the docks; that man has a wearable unit that essentially allows him to fly. What if the Chinese got hold of that technology? We could find ourselves facing a flying army of almos
t two billion Chinamen.”

  Nodding in agreement, Phelps remained silent. Though the urgency on their faces told him this was serious, he was not sure how much more could be done. Already he had a significant portion of his federal police force assigned to this quest, and millions of dollars earmarked for licensing of the technology. What more did they want.

  “Unfettered control.” Bowles repeated the phrase for clarity. “Absolute and unfettered ownership of the device.”

  Again shrugging, Phelps considered the matter to be handled already. “Look, after I offer this guy a pallet of cash, his eyes’ll bug out of his scientist head and we will own it. I fail to see the problem.”

  Clearing her throat at the far end of the couches, Nell Portland knew it was her turn to speak. As the National Security Advisor, it was her place to reveal what her people had been turning up.

  “Mister President, allow me to lay out a scenario for you. Imagine that we do successfully negotiate with this man for the technology, he agrees, gives us the plans to the Deathstar, and takes his pallet of cash to the bank. What happens if North Korean agents snatch him in the middle of the night? The answer is that they will torture him, or her, until they reveal their secrets. Then the next thing we know we have a rogue nation, run by a mad man, with the most powerful technology since the invention of the atomic bomb. If this technology can loft the Queen Mary, it can easily loft a nuclear bomb, or a dirty bomb, or even a biological weapon. There are endless scenarios associated with this problem, and none of them work out well for us.”

  There was a long pause before General Hicks took his turn. “Mister President, even if one of our allies gets hold of this invention, it would put them in the worldwide driver’s seat, and America would just become another has-been nation like Rome or Greece. Without this technology, we will cease to exist as the sole super power on this planet. We could literally find ourselves taking orders from Mother England again.”