The Day Gravity Became Irrelevant

by Ralph Rotten

  “Agreed.” Phelps nodded without disputing their point. “Which is why I have some very excellent people out there working very, very hard on obtaining that invention for ourselves. Excellent people, the best people.”

  There was an uncomfortable silence in the room as they each detected that the President was not quite grasping their concerns. Looking from one to another, all eyes finally settled on Bowles. While they each had varying degrees of influence over Phelps, it was clear that the former newspaper editor was the only one with the ability to truly sway the commander-in-chief.

  “Jeff, we must have unfettered control, not only of the invention, but over the creator as well. We cannot risk allowing this to fall into anyone else’s hands but our own. The problem with our current efforts is that we are by no means the only ones attempting to locate this scientist. The CIA is reporting that they have had agents all around the world, dozens of foreign agents that we have been monitoring, suddenly dropping off the map.”

  “And turning up on American soil.” Nell Portland finished his sentence for him. “We have identified more than a hundred foreign agents, and nearly as many corporate spies, entering our country, presumably with the intent of obtaining this technology.”

  Phelps seemed to sit up a little straighter in his seat at this revelation. “Why haven’t we been arresting these people?”

  “We have. But for every agent we interdict, two more unknowns slip though the system.” Her demeanor stern, the National Security Advisor was all business today. “Part of the problem is sheer volume; there are so many operatives coming over that we cannot keep up with them. As things stand, not only have we arrested agents from Russia, China, and North Korea, but even MI-6 agents, CSIS agents, NSI, ABIN, and the DGSE.”

  “Some of those are our allies.” Bowles whispered the hint to the President. He knew that Phelps likely had no idea who most of those groups are.

  “So you’re saying that our friends and allies are trying to undercut us on this?” His voice a growl, Phelps was finally beginning to understand the scope of the problem. Seeing the nods of his NSC council, it was slowly sinking in that they may not have a lock on this product.

  “Unfettered control.” Again Bowles used the phrase.

  “Unfettered and absolute.” From down the couch, General Hicks used his deep baritone to put a cap on the urgency.

  With the Mustang airborne, Jack felt a little less apprehensive about flying her. Unlike the last fateful time when he had essentially no control over her, this time out the little Ford was fully equipped with an airborne control suite. It had taken some rewiring to do it, but Jack had configured the controls to work much like they did on the ground. The only difference was the new lever on the center console. Like the collective of a helicopter, the short handle was raised to climb, and lowered to descend. Otherwise, the Mustang was controlled by use of the steering wheel and pedals. While it was true that he would have preferred more road testing of the flight control system, it seemed to be working just fine as he flew her south towards Long Beach.

  “Hurry, she’s swinging around to her parking azimuth.” Alexis’ voice was in his ear as she warned him that the daily wind patterns were close to returning the ship to the direction she had pointed since becoming a popular tourist attraction. The brothers had known from conducting a basic weather test over the course of a month that between 0300 and 0400, the winds would favor reinserting the ship into her closed marina.

  “I see it, but where’s that helicopter?” Jack felt slightly flustered. He had intended this to be an in & out operation, retrieving the gravitational disaffinity equipment from the Queen Mary. But the Police chopper that had circled the Marina would simply not relent.

  “It’s heading into the airport for fuel.” Alexis’ voice reassured him the coast was clear as she monitored radio traffic from Long Beach airport.

  Sliding the little car onto the deck, Jack nudged her up under one of the scaffoldings where she would be out of sight. In his ear he could hear as Alexis called out the Queen’s altitude as she descended.

  On the ground, it did not go unnoticed that the ship was finally descending. This was big mo-jo to the guards and police officers below; they had been instructed specifically to make contact with higher echelons if they even suspected the ship was beginning to come down. Within seconds there were three men in uniform making calls to three different numbers.

  The big ocean liner had dropped enough that the keel was just beginning to touch water when the first team arrived. Dressed in yellow hazmat gear, the science team had no desire to contaminate the scene. Their job was to collect the technology without destroying any evidence.

  Feeling the ship begin to settle into the water, Jack finally left the protection of the little red Mustang. Making his way downstairs he found the equipment easily enough. Concealed to blend in with the rest of the utility boxes already there, it would have taken a ship’s engineer to notice the foreign equipment. The camouflage had been used in the event they could not get aboard the ship right away. Fortunately Jamie had determined that there would be a small window of opportunity to recover their devices.

  There was a last bump as the ship finally settled into the water.

  “She’s down, go ahead.” Again Alexis reassured him via the earpiece he wore.

  Wasting no time, Jack had his ratchet out as he began to remove the connector bolts.

  Outside, the science team had already begun moving in on the tin plates. After three days of salivating over the little devices, the men [and one woman] in hazmat suits were blindly focused on that single detail. With their suits fully pressurized, the team slowly worked on the first disc. With a flat basket under the platter, another scientist used a plastic spatula on a long stick to carefully pry the device away from the hull. There was a round of surprise from the scientists when the object fell into the waiting basket so easily.

  Clustering around the newly recovered object, the lead scientist finally used plastic tongs to pick up the platter as they observed it under bright work lights.

  “Holy shit, it was held on with refrigerator magnets.” The shortest of the scientists noted the simple magnets that had been hot-glued to the plate. Leaning in closely, the lead technician squinted to read what was stamped into the metal.

  “For…a…good…time…call…” Inside of his helmet the man made a strange expression.

  “The number is at the bottom.” A woman, barely recognizable inside of her bulky suit, poked a gloved finger at the plate. “Five-five-five-nine-zero-seven-four-six-nine-nine.”

  The group paused to exchange glances. Dumbfounded, they were already beginning to see that this may all have been but a distraction.

  Rushing down to the other end of the ship as fast as their bulky equipment would allow, they had the other platter scraped off in a matter of seconds.

  “I’ll be damned,” The woman said as she plucked the object from the basket. “They really are tin plates. My son used to have one of these, part of his Boy Scout kit I think.”

  The lead scientist was about to correct them, pointing out that the platters may have actually been some type of attenuator antennae for a larger system mounted elsewhere but he was interrupted by the sound of the police helicopter as it roared overhead once again. No doubt, the pilot had cut short his refueling session when he got the call that the Queen was settling down. With Long Beach airport just a few miles to the north, it was a quick jaunt for him to get back on station.

  “I have confirmation, the ship is down.” Speaking into his microphone, the aviator passed the information upstream to his own handlers. “Looks like she’s intact, no signs of visible damage.”

  “Roger that, stay on site while we deploy the post-event teams.” From somewhere far off, the voice in his headphones tasked him.

  The pilot was just about to key his radio in response when he spotted something that stood out. Unsure of what he had just seen, it was just too crazy to say aloud. Kicking the
left rudder to the floor, he wheeled the craft around for another pass.

  “What’s up?” The co-pilot asked as he noticed the abrupt maneuvering.

  “I thought I just saw a puddy-tat.” Preferring to be glib, the pilot had no desire to reveal what he really thought he saw parked on the deck of the Queen Mary.

  With the spotlight scanning the deck on their second pass, they spotted it right away: a candy-apple red Ford Mustang parked under one of the paint scaffolds.

  “You did see a puddy-tat.” Amazed, the co-pilot was so surprised that he forgot to even toggle the cameras.

  On deck, Jack was just slamming the trunk when the spotlight hit him. Using an arm to shield his eyes from the intense light, he could not help but smile. Clambering into the driver’s seat he immediately activated the EMP cannon. Though it would not shut down the helicopter at this range, he knew that the device behaved much like a military grade ECM jammer. It would block their comms, and turn their radar displays into a snow storm. They would be blind and unable to call for backup.

  Being indelicate as he pulled out, the little Mustang banged the nearest scaffold. Once clear, Jack spun the car around and stomped the pedal to the ground. Although the gravitational disaffinity device had the ability to provide locomotion when properly leveraged against the planet’s gravitational field, it worked best at higher altitudes. Jamie had explained that it was like using a fulcrum and crowbar; the longer the lever, the more leverage you could get. Unfortunately, hovering at just a few hundred feet above sea level, the effect was much less pronounced. Even with the little hobbyist jets installed in the trunk, the car seemed sluggish at first. Giving a wave at the helicopter, Jack turned the wheel sharply before diving under the chopper.

  “Where the hell’d he go!” The pilot was thoroughly aggravated by this time. With static filling his headset, and the radar display gone to shit, clearly this guy was playing with him.

  “I think he went thataway.” The co-pilot offered what he could. But with their radar down, the last he saw of the flying car was a glimpse of red before it disappeared into the darkness.

  “Tell me you at least got a picture.” Exhaling slowly, the pilot hoped for the best.

  “No, I did not. Mebbe next time you see a flying car you can let me in on the secret first so’s I’ll be ready to snap a picture.” Defensive, the copilot was miffed at how it had all gone down.

  “You had one job, and you flubbed that.” Shaking his head, the pilot was dismissive of his fellow aviator’s excuse. “You get to make the call, and you can tell them we have bupkis.”

  “Bupkis is better than what we really saw.” Grumbling as he turned away, the copilot considered how he would explain what they had just witnessed.

  Just heading out for her morning run, Jenna got the alert text on her watch. Dialing up the number, she was greeted by Rangi’s ever cheerful disposition.

  “Sister girl, what’s up?” Almost a laugh to his voice, he seemed pleased to get her call, even though it was an hour till dawn.

  “It came down?” She asked, confirming the message she had just read.

  “Oh yeah, she splashed down about fifteen minutes ago. The science team already gathered the platters, but that’s not even close to being the interesting part.” Never skipping a beat, the big man detailed what he had heard when first arriving on the site. “The helicopter pilots said they saw a Ford Mustang parked on the deck. They tried to chase it but the thing just vanished.”

  “Candy-apple red, nineteen sixty-five?” She spoke the words quietly.

  “Yeah, how’d you know that?” This time it was Rangi who was surprised.

  “Just a hunch. Meet me at the office, and say nothing to no one.” Her mind already making plans, Jenna had an idea how to pursue this lead.

  Even with the EMP device jamming any possible radar that could have been tracking him, Jack took a surreptitious route back to a little subdivision still under construction. With a vacant cul-de-sac surrounded by half-built houses, it was the perfect place for him to set down. There would be no traffic cameras, surveillance systems, or prying eyes that could take note of him, just a perfect landing pad where he could transition from air vehicle to land-car. Careful to strictly obey the speed limit the rest of the way home, the inventor had no desire to attract any attention. For all he knew there could already be an all-points-bulletin out for any red Mustangs. Finally sliding the car into the garage, he did not breathe easy until the rolling door was safely closed behind him.

  Standing in the doorway, Jamie watched his brother unloading the equipment that had been packed into the back of the little Mustang. Although they had no immediate use for the antigrav unit, it was his intention to inspect the device to see how it had held up during the three days that it had operated. There was so much he wanted to know; how much fuel remained, were there any leaks in the radial unit, did the micromic emitter suffer any physical degradation? The answers to these questions were paramount to the savant. While they had only lofted an empty ship this time, his future plans involved occupied vessels. He had to be absolutely sure that there would be no surprises before he rode one of the ships himself.

  “You were spotted.” Professor James pointed out the news he had heard over the police scanner.

  “Really?” Jack pretended to be surprised.

  “Really, really.” Jamie took a moment to realize that his brother was being sarcastic. “They will be calling soon.”

  “So.” Jack shrugged haplessly as he noticed his brother’s twitching hands. “Wonder Woman is handling that phone call, isn’t she?”

  “But it is that point along the timeline that things become variable. We need to be ready.” Turning away slowly, it pained the savant that he could not let his brother in on the full plan.

  “Alex, what’s up with him?” Sensing that something was amiss, Jack could tell that his younger sibling was holding back something. His suspicions were only confirmed when the AI remained silent.

  Jenna had spent more than an hour tracking down the source of the photo of the little Ford Mustang as it coasted airborne over the city. Grainy and a little blurred, the photo had been renamed ‘Flubber’. No doubt a reference to an ancient film. Posted on a conspiracy-theorist web site by an anonymous source, there had been only a little blurb beneath the caption. Right away the agent knew that it would take some work to track down the user. While many public forums would give them warrantless access to the IP traffic of their users, she somehow doubted that this particular site would help her without a warrant.

  Realizing her time could be better spent; Jenna assigned Rangi to track down the image’s original owner. Preferring to focus her resources in another direction, she used the photo’s original file creation date to begin searching the police database for any events in the region of Buono’s Pizza Emporium on Pacific Avenue. Surprisingly, there was quite a list. It had been a crazy night for the police with fifteen disorderly conduct calls, four traffic accidents, three domestic violence calls, and a spate of tickets that included drag racing on the highway.

  Rolling up her sleeves, she knew that the list would require good old fashioned police work to dismiss the unrelated calls, but somewhere in there was likely someone who had at least witnessed the event.

  “Mister President.” Martin DeColle stood beside the Resolute desk. “Agent Asanté is on line three.”

  “Asanté?” Showing surprise, Phelps could not remember where he had heard the name, or its relevance to today’s business.

  “He’s the SAIC for the Queen Mary issue over at Homeland Security.” Ever patient, Marty knew that the President often needed reminding of little details.

  “Why’s he calling me?” Gruff in his reply, President Phelps raised an eyebrow.

  “Sir, Marco Asanté is our inside man at DHS, he was instructed to contact you directly…remember?” Marty remained patient, though he was feeling a little threadbare at constantly being forced to remind his boss of such minutia. For a geni
us, he sure seems to forget a lot of stuff, he thought dryly to himself.

  “Oh, yes, of course.” Pretending as if he had known that all along, Phelps was dismissive of his chief-of-staff. Jabbing the button for the speaker-phone, he scowled as he spoke.

  “Agent Asaad, what have you got for me?”

  There was a brief silence at the other end of the line as Marco Asanté swore silently. It bothered him to have his name mispronounced, even by the President.

  “Sir, the Queen Mary has landed.” Walking as he talked, Asanté stared up at the massive ship that now crawled with agents from four different federal agencies.

  “Well, do we have the device?” The President’s voice responded with a brief lag caused by the distance between Long Beach and Washington DC.

  “No, sir, it appears that the inventor came and took it back right under our noses. Literally flew in here in a vintage Ford Mustang, snatched the device, and fled the scene.” Stopping at the main gangway, Marco Asanté watched the forensic scientists come and go along the long boarding ramp. Instinctively his free hand went to his hair, checking to ensure that nothing was out of place.

  “He has a flying car?” Phelps’ voice held a note of incredulity to it as he turned to his chief of staff. “I wanna flying car.”

  “Yes sir, we’ll get you a flying car.” Grimacing as he spoke, DeColle turned his attention to the speaker phone. “Why didn’t he use the same jet pack he used when he installed the things? Never mind that, were you able to track him? We need to make damned sure that device does not fall into any other hands but our own.”

  “Indications are that he used some form of ECM to evade the police helicopter when he fled the scene.” Marco had paused in his details so he could pick a speck of lint off his suit when the President interrupted.