The Day Gravity Became Irrelevant

by Ralph Rotten

  “Marty?” Phelps used his authoritative voice to command the unconscious subordinate back into service. “Hey, what’re you doing down there?”

  “I think he fainted.” The secretary’s voice was dry as she made the basic observation. Kelly had never been a fan of the president’s chief-of-staff; the creepy little shit was always meddling in everything. Still standing before the big desk, she awaited a decision on the urgent appointment request.

  “Well, if it made Marty pass out then I don’t think I want to talk to them right now. Tell ‘em I’ll give them a call.” Holding up a hand, Phelps pantomimed as if he were answering a phone.

  Behind his secretary was the general. Hicks had been seeking an audience with the president all morning. Not being a golf player he was not privy to many of Phelps’ outings. While he would normally have shoved his way ahead of anyone else in line, he knew it best to wait patiently in line behind Kelly. The surest way to permanently curtail his access to the president was to irritate Phelps’ personal secretary.

  Glancing down at Marty DeColle as he began stirring on the ground, General Hicks showed disdain for the man. By his measure, a true warrior does not faint, even in the stress of combat. Soft little college boys, that’s who fainted, at least by the general’s reckoning.

  “Sir, we have been getting some strange calls from the GAO.” Hicks noticed the expression on his President’s face. Stifling a sneer, he realized that Phelps had no idea who he was talking about. “General Accountability Office, they are the oversight who monitor how we spend money…?”

  A light seemed to come on in Phelps’ mind, or at least he pretended as if he remembered the agency. “Continue.” He directed with a wave of his hand.

  “They said that someone just sent them thousands of pages of records that indicate widespread fraud in the military purchasing system. They are launching a massive inquiry.” Standing ramrod straight, the old soldier waited for that to sink into his leader. For a smart guy, it sure takes him a long time to absorb simple facts…thought Hicks as he eyed the president.

  “So someone uncovered fraud, that’s good for America isn’t it?” Slow on the uptake, Phelps never even thought to ask the source of the records.

  “Not if some of that fraud was used to cover the Brimstone project, or pay for extreme vetting and indoctrination camps. Where did you think that money came from?” Finally allowing a grimace to slip in his granite composure, the general hated having to explain things like this in a room full of people. It was for this reason that he had specifically requested a private audience with Phelps.

  “Sir, we need to discuss the elephant in the room.” Hoping his president would catch a hint, the general carefully phrased the request.

  “Elephant in the room?” Phelps raised an eyebrow. “I believe we’re all Republicans.”

  Sitting up enough to be eye level with the desk, Martin DeColle tried to reenter the conversation from his spot on the floor. “It’s him, up there, he’s doing it.”

  Briefly glancing skyward, General Hicks did not dispute the assertion. “Sir that is exactly what we need to talk about, in private. My sources tell me all of these leaks are coming from our friend in the sky.”

  “Who?” The President seemed incredulous as he pointed skyward. “The geek in a can? Naw, this is Nancy and her merry band of Democratic socialists. The DNC could pull this off, but not some ghetto-dwellers like the Sparks brothers.”

  “Sir, there’s a lot you need to know.” Stoic, General Hicks tried to get through to the man behind the desk. There had been so many times during this administration that the general had seriously considered slapping his boss. Although he had been impressed with Phelps in the early days of the campaign, in the years since, he’d come to find Phelps to be dull-witted and petulant. General Hicks reckoned he had ROTC candidates with more maturity than his president.

  There was an awkward silence before Phelps began to feel the General’s hawkish gaze boring into him. Feeling uncomfortable in the moment, the president waved off the other staff so that only he and the general remained. Finally struggling to his feet, DeColle joined the conversation.

  “We need to get rid of this guy.” Breathless, the chief-of-staff swayed slightly as he gripped the sheaf of papers. “If we don’t, he’ll hang out the entire administration to dry.”

  “Well?” Raising an eyebrow, Phelps assumed his most presidential pose as he looked to the military man. “Do we have a weapon that can reach him up there?”

  There was the briefest of pauses before Hicks gave a curt nod. “We do indeed.”

  “Yesss!” Slamming a fist on the desk, Phelps seemed pleased to discover that such a secret weapon existed. Grinning like a schoolboy, he leaned forward in his seat eagerly anticipating the details.

  “We have the ASAT-one-sixty-five. It is a gen three design, launched from an airborne platform at forty-thousand feet, it can terminate satellites in low earth orbit. We have war-shots standing by awaiting your orders. You give the order and the Air Force can splash him.”

  There was a moment of silence as two very opposite things happened. At his desk, Phelps’ grin only grew wider as he considered how presidential it would make him look to take this kind of military action. Across the desk from him, Martin DeColle’s face turned to one of shock and dismay.

  “Sir…” The chief-of-staff started out as he felt himself burning in the general’s gaze. “The ASAT is a prohibited weapon, banned by international treaty. You cannot use illegal weapons…especially directly over Washington.”

  His face solid granite, General Hicks spoke in a gravelly tone. “I have two words for you: National security.”

  Snapping his fingers, Phelps showed agreement with his military advisor. “And that’s how we play it. This guy is a terrorist, and we did what we had to do. So what if we used banned weapons; everyone knows we have them, right?”

  “But sir, the totality of that along with these other documents…” DeColle grasped at the papers he had spilled onto the floor. “There’ll just be too much scandal to overcome.”

  “Which is why we give them something else to keep their attention diverted from the big-boy stuff.” Sitting back, the president already had it mapped out in his mind. While there were many who had questioned his credentials for the office, none could dispute the fact that his skill at manipulating the media was exquisite. Like a circus ringmaster, Jefferson Phelps knew how to play the press like a fiddle.

  “Is the order given?” General Hicks asked as his face hovered near a smile.

  Pretending to give the request some intelligent consideration, Phelps struck up his most presidential pose before replying.

  “Get the missiles airborne. Prepare to blast that sumbitch out of my sky. Marty, get Cassandra to write up the press release, and call in my speech writers.”

  “The missiles are in position at Andrews.” Alexis’s voice had a slight tremor to it as she spoke.

  Jamie showed no surprise as he nodded in response. Reclining in his bulky outfit, he closed his eyes so he could concentrate on his calculations. As much as he enjoyed wearing a space suit for real, it distracted him. While big math was nothing new to the savant, there were dozens of dynamic variables to be considered. Not only did he have to calculate the optimum path, but any possible alternatives as well. Even for his big brain it was a daunting process, especially with the distractions of being parked in the exosphere.

  Finally blinking back to the present, he had the answer he needed. Doing his best to unbuckle his restraint harness, the savant knew exactly what needed to be done.

  “Alex, m’ girly girl.” His voice a twang, he sported a lopsided grin within his helmet. “How’s about you start the descent process, and go ahead and purge the rest of the information.”

  “And you?” she asked as she used one of the cameras to evaluate his efforts with the seat belts.

  “I gotta get m’ black ass ready for the big show. Every great magician finishes with a big
trick, and y’know what they say in the business; the show must go on.”

  “Jamie…” She started out hesitantly.

  The tone of her voice caught the savant’s attention. With her superb neural net there had to be a compelling issue for her to pause like that.

  “Jamie, I just wanted to thank you for creating me. I just wanted to say that…in case things…don’t go right.” She seemed to almost gulp at the end.

  “Alex, m’ little girly thang, you made me one proud Papa. I can still remember the first original question you asked, the one that told me you’d crossed over from machine to sentient. I was so proud, an’ I been ever since.” Grinning like a huckster, he fairly gushed before returning to the arduous task of unbuckling a five-point harness while wearing a bulky space suit.

  Editorial Offices: New York Times

  Mitch Coburn had been managing editor at the New York Times for more than a decade. Although he had considered the first seven years at the helm to be a challenge, it had all paled in comparison to the last three under President Phelps. Where his news organization had formerly been structured into major investigative teams, these days the scandals from DC came so fast and frequently that the industry had become more like bumper-cars than journalism.

  But today was different; instead of chasing down the news, it was coming to them directly. Standing at the large window of his office, Mitch Coburn watched as the bank of laser printers spat out reams of documents from sources unknown. Their first inclination had been to shut down the printers and secure the network against a hack, but once they began reading the printed pages that idea was quickly terminated. Page after page of budgetary small print, orders to transfer ownership of public lands, sweetheart defense deals, and even evidence of pay-for-play politics. While many of the pages sported a .gov web extension along the top of the page, it was hard to believe that the federal government would be sending out this kind of classified material.

  But what was most amazing was not just the sheer volume of information, but the level of criminality it spelled out. Up until this point the only accusations that had been able to stick against the administration were about their cultural insensitivities. There had been a number of questionable issues, missteps and other blunders by the Phelps administration, but nothing of this magnitude.

  Scooping up the phone, he dialed from memory. Although the number belonged to an editor at a competing newspaper, the two had known each other since college.

  “Bill.” Mitch commanded his friend’s attention right away. “Are you getting a flood of government documents right now.”

  Listening for a few seconds he had his confirmation; they were far from the only newspaper in the country getting these massive data dumps. Print, digital, and video media were all being bombarded with thousands of pages of formerly secured documents. Someone was airing Washington’s dirty laundry.

  Dropping the phone back onto the receiver, the senior editor’s attention was diverted to a pair of reporters at his office door. It seemed odd to him that they would be there when the rest of the journalists were circling the printers like sharks at feeding time.

  “What is it?” Giving his customary scowl, Mitch Coburn enjoyed being the archetypal editor; gruff and gritty.

  “We’re not the only ones getting this stuff.” The taller of the two reporters spoke.

  “Yes, I am aware that the other organizations are also receiving content like this.” With a wave of his hand he dismissed them.

  “No, not just reporters.” The journalist seemed to consider how to phrase it. “Ordinary people too.”

  This detail caught Mitch’s attention right away.

  “Oh?” Raising an eyebrow, the editor waited for an explanation.

  “Ordinary people are getting these…documents too. People who were screwed by the government, they’re getting all sorts of stuff that was withheld from them. I’ve talked to five people already, and this info is not just federal, there’s state and county dirt being released too. It’s like someone is cleaning house.”

  “There’s even corporate dirt in there too.” The second reporter added with a grin.

  The revelation made the editor’s head swoon. Gripping his desk he slowly took a seat as the new information was processed. Such an act would be staggering in its breadth. The very notion that they could purge corruption from their political ranks thrilled him at the same time it frightened him. It would be turbulent, like riding the rapids in a rocket car, but oh so professionally rewarding. The idea that he would be the editor at the helm of the NYT at the most tumultuous time in American history made him remember why he chose the profession in the first place.

  “It’s a good day to be a journalist.” Nodding slowly, Managing Editor Mitch Coburn gave his first smile in almost a decade.

  The commotion in the White House was fervent. Even isolated within the fortress of the Oval Office, President Phelps could feel the panic. His protective detail hovered close at hand, their radios abuzz with orders.

  The pressure was incredible. He had calls coming in from bureau chiefs, senators, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff; each with their own resolution to urgently recommend. There was real mania over the situation. What surprised him most was the alarming rate that word of Jamie Sparks was spreading. The matter had been highly classified, yet half of Congress seemed to know about it already. What Phelps had no way of knowing was that outside his office there were thousands of people being contacted by ALXS as she spread the word. Phelps was on his third call when the Senate Majority Leader accused him of being a participant in a scandal cover-up some six months ago. What was even more unsettling was that the Senator’s details were spot-on, as if he had significant insight into the conspiracy that had left him personally battered in the press. Without admitting anything, Phelps excused himself from the conversation as his Generals entered the room. He could not help but feel a little rattled at the Senator’s accusations. Who in the hell told him?

  “Sir; now is the time to take action.” The Air Force commander slammed a meaty fist into his open palm. “We don’t know what this nut-job is up to. Most likely he is going to fire his EMP cannon at high altitude and blackout the entire East Coast. Once he does that, we are defenseless and living in the stone age.”

  “The longer we wait the more of our databases that he will be able to infiltrate.” The man in the dark suit said in a gravelly voice from the back of the group. Clouded in secrecy, even the very name of his organization was classified.

  “I thought our systems were secure?” Phelps was bewildered at this revelation.

  “The virus is very good, and it doesn’t help things that it was initially released within the DHS network. The first thing it went after was our encryption keys” Again the man in the dark suit spoke from the back of the pack. “I don’t think I have to remind anyone of the kind of classified materials that are in danger.”

  The men in the room agreed with certainty. Anyone who had spent a career in politics knew that everyone had secrets. And for many, the secrets would be deep and dark. There was good reason for these facts to be so heavily guarded; many of those secrets belonged to the men in the room at that very moment.

  “Sir,” It was the Chief of Staff entering the room with the security detail in tow, “He has begun his descent.”

  “And?” Phelps asked uncertainly.

  “We need to evacuate you, now!” The agent nearest to the President said as he took a grip on the man’s arm. “Without Air Force One we are being ordered to take you to the PEOC. You’ll be safe there.

  “I don’t understand why…?” Phelps was rising slowly, but still unsure of the significance of Jack’s descent.

  “Sir, based on the calls we monitored earlier we believe he is on his way here for some sort of punitive action.” The agent took a grip on Phelps’s arm as another agent approached the president’s desk from the other side.

  “Sir, we need to get you to safety NOW.” SAIC Mack McDermott insisted
as he gestured to his earpiece. “He has accelerated his descent. We believe he is on a suicide mission.”

  Phelps found himself lifted off the ground and carried by his armed guardians. More men were in the hallways as shouts could be heard to hasten the process. There was a rabid frenzy to it all as their radar systems reported that the inventor was now in a freefall from 400,000 feet mean sea level. With more than a few sets of hands gripping him cooperatively, he was hustled straight into the waiting elevator at the end of the hall.

  His lunch jumped up into his throat as the elevator plunged at a frightening rate of speed. Gripping the leather strap mounted onto the wall, he steadied himself. Between the adrenalin of being man-handled into the elevator, and now the freakish dive to the center of the earth, the Leader of the Free World was more than a little disoriented.

  Finally gravity returned and the heavy doors snapped open to reveal the nerve center that was the Presidential Emergency Operations Center. Referred to by its acronym, the PEOC was more than just a personal bomb shelter for the president. The underground fortress had the facilities for all of his key staff and tacticians. Intended to allow him to carry on the fight, even if the White House itself were wiped away, the PEOC was a fortress of magnificent proportions.

  It had taken only a few seconds before his war hawks were at him again. The only downside of the PEOC was that it was much more difficult for him to avoid his own generals. These were men whose very nature was dedication and persistence. They were not the type of men that would let their advice go unheard.

  “Sir, I have the birds in the air. Give me the order and I can turn him into a smoking hole.” The Chairman of the JCS insisted as he reminded the president that he had the ASAT’s airborne already.

  “What the hell?” One of the officers manning the telemetry systems sat back as his screen began to flash images of typed pages.

  “Why am I looking at a classified Iranian document on the feasibility of spreading Ebola using aerosol cans.” Phelps took a step back as he watched the screen flash the original document with the English translation inserted neatly between the lines. “What in the hell is this?”