“Time for modification two,” as Eaves activated a second virtual panel. Judging the drift of the building, which was also rising, he told Carter and Price “We’ve got to get under the building and use our anti-gravity-membrane to attract it to us. We’ll act like a magnet and gain control of both structures.
“But its weight will crush us,” Price replied.
“Not if we tell their commander to keep his anti-gravity repulsion on. That should keep the building significantly lighter than normal, right until we cinch up. Then we’ll have to use a pattern of attraction and repulsion to balance the weight while it’s tethered to us. Carter, establish contact with their control room. Price, I need you and your men to mobilize the robots to tie the building down as we near the ground. Let’s go!”
Their plan appeared futile, since the building was about to roll over. There was simply no way the shuttle could respond fast enough to maneuver into position. At least no traditional way.
“Firing starboard thrusters,” called Eaves into the microphone. Until now, there had never been starboard thrusters on a full membrane shuttle. The flames from four thrusters quickly illuminated the outside video monitors as the ship shot eastward. Eaves half-listened on Carter’s conversation with Ground Control and the observation platform and understood the disbelief in their voices. But what else was there to do?
Using a visual approach, the shuttle came up rather sharply under the building. Then Eaves executed a series of commands to the upper anti-gravity-membrane. In what had to be a frightening scene, a ten-story airship, made to resemble a building, began to move directly towards them. Their membranes had made a successful lock on the building. Eaves now fired the rockets at the bow of the shuttle to hold it in place as the building drew nearer, threatening to crash into the shuttle and destroying all forward compartments.
“Execute pulsing maneuvers on the membrane, Mr. Price!” Price initiated the pattern on his own control panel and the pulsing sound was different than anything ever heard on a shuttle, but its effectiveness was immediate as the building slowed its advance and stabilized.
“Now we’ll use the upper twelve-panel array to pull it above us so its weight is distributed evenly over us. Since we’re three times larger than the building platform, I want to center it on our front third, so that no matter what happens we don’t injure our passengers.”
Price acknowledged and helped Eaves with the controls. As the weight of the huge platform connected with the shuttle, both started settling dangerously and Eaves directed maximum power to the lower membranes. “I need more power, Mr. Price.”
Price pushed the cold-fusion reactor past its’ redline and held his breath. They were able to stop the descent and rise farther above the buildings on Park West, including the Dakotas, which was now directly under the shuttle/observation building combo. Looking at his underbelly monitor, Eaves could see hundreds of people streaming from the Dakotas, including most of the competing crews.
A warning siren sounded on the port side. “The rockets are running low on fuel and without them, we’re dead. Can you divert fuel from the starboard rockets?”
“I’ll get on it, Sir.” Price ran from the control room, shouting into his communications device as he went.
“All we need is a three-minute burn,” said Carter anxiously.
At ninety seconds one of the rockets flamed out. Then another. The ship started drifting west again.
“Mr. Price, now would be a really great time for that fuel transfer.”
“Try now, Mr. Eaves.”
Eaves punched the rocket firing control and both rockets flared back to life. It took a ninety second burn to compensate for the drift and to center them over the observation buildings’ mooring locomotives.
“Deploy the robots.”
Outside the aircraft, a small army of robots swarmed up the side of the shuttle and onto the corners of the observation shuttle, snaking cables along the way. Small arc welders flamed as they attached cables to the observation shuttle and then dropped them to the ground where a waiting maintenance crew reattached them. After what seemed an eternity, the surface-to-ship communications port reported, “Cables secure!”
Everyone cheered, including Eaves.
“Jason, instruct the building to float up and away from us. I’ll release our attraction on your word.”
Carter spoke into his headset, then gave Eaves a thumbs-up. The pulsing sound ceased and the building lifted away from the shuttlecraft with a large groan. Eaves fired the starboard rockets and the shuttlecraft slipped out from under the building, into the safety of Central Park. He quickly maneuvered the shuttle in the direction of their landing pod, then cut all the rockets.
“Why are you shutting down the thrusters?” Carter asked.
“We’re going to land this the right way—I don’t want any smart-ass saying we couldn’t.” Now using only the membranes, Eaves brought the shuttle in for a near perfect landing, just twenty-two centimeters off center and less than one meter off square at the corners. As the ship settled onto its paws, Eaves powered down the overheated reactor and, after catching his breath, stood to leave the control room, his uniform dripping in sweat. He’d been so caught up in the crisis, he hadn’t thought about what was coming next, which is why he was startled to be greeted the thunderous applause of the passengers and assembled crew. Then they all charged him, slapping him on the back and congratulating him and Carter. It was one of those rare occasions when Travis Eaves was speechless.
12 – The Second Keswick Rebellion
“The problem with rebellions is that they attract rebellious people,” said Magill a bit desperately. For the second time in his brief diplomatic career he was holed up in the former Royal Palace, now called the Palace of the People. Outside there was gunfire—the old fashioned kind where bullets are propelled by exploding cartridges. While not as dramatic as laser blasts, their victim is every bit as dead if hit in the proper place. Or wounded and maimed if hit elsewhere.
“We’ve got to get Lansing. As shrewd as he is, he underestimated the antipathy of the former Loyalists, and now he’s the one holed up in the palace with an angry mob swarming outside.” Major Wilkerson was, indeed, the right man for the job—because now the job had become military; defending the new governing council. In just a matter of months, well before any long-term changes to the political system could settle in, the general populous had become restive, in part because of the genuine suffering caused by the destruction of their crops from the effects of the nuclear blasts that had left the current harvest ruined by radiation. Hunger was growing, traders from distant quadrants had stopped calling because of the uncertainty of the political situation, and the promised prosperity of the great rebellion had not yet materialized. That it would be improbable-to-impossible for all the promises to be fulfilled in such a short time made little difference, particularly when a group of fanatical Loyalists produced a new heir to throne—the supposed grand-nephew of the King.
Magill shook his head. “The one rule that has to be obeyed in a revolution is that if you’re going to take out a royal family you have to be sure kill all potential heirs. That’s the only way to end the monarchy once and for all. It was a lesson that well served Lenin in the 20th Century Wars back on Earth.”
“Now you’re the one who sounds bloodthirsty,” said Wilkerson, quickly checking around a corner.
“Not bloodthirsty; dismayed. I thought all of that was ancient history and that humans had overcome such things. It’s depressing to think that we act just like the ancient Romans, the Nazis, the Communists, the City Gangs of the 21st Century, and the Separatists of the 22nd. For all our morality we haven’t learned anything!”
“You go ahead and be depressed about history, I’m worried about right now. Are you okay to move out?”
Magill nodded, and followed Wilkerson into the hallway. It sounded as if there was fighting going on some place in the palace, but it wasn’t here. The Unified Governing Coalition
had taken up residence in what had formerly been the king’s cabinet room. That’s where they expected to find Lansing. “We’ve got to get him out to a safe location where he can still tie into the planetary broadcast system,” said Wilkerson. “The thing I do know about revolutions is that they most often go to the side that controls the flow of information.”
Magill had grown so accustomed to his crutches by now that he was easily able to keep up with Wilkerson. “There it is. Stop, Look, Listen. That’s the most basic of commands.” So they stopped, looked at both what was visible and used their personal assistants to scan for traces of heartbeats or other indications of life in the hallway and surrounding corridors, and then they listened. They could hear voices in the Cabinet Room, but nothing to indicate hostility, so they made their way to the door, flashed their security keys, and then stepped in when the door opened automatically.
Not a good move. They stepped through just in time to see someone wearing Loyalist colors slug Lansing in the gut, sending him to the ground. Lansing’s body guard’s lay dead on the floor, blood staining the rich carpet under their bodies. As dismaying as this was to Wilkerson and Magill, it was remarkably energizing to the four assailants, who now turned and attempted to fire on Magill and Wilkerson. But, as skilled as they were, they weren’t fast enough for the Major, who, with the advantage of being the one to open the door, had time to bring his weapon to bear on three of the four, firing his laser in an arc that tore open their bellies, thus sending them gurgling to the floor in agony. The fourth, who was standing close to the door where Magill had entered, was not in the line of fire and he quickly brought his weapon to bear on Wilkerson. Seeing the danger, Magill cried out in a furious shout, “Noooooo….” and lunged for the assailant. The sight of a crippled man with crutches flying through the air was so unnerving that the fellow turned his weapon on Magill. “Not good enough,” shouted Magill as he expertly extended the crutch in his right hand to bat away the weapon. The shock of that maneuver was enough to make the fellow fall back, which meant that Magill’s only recourse at this point, given that his feet had given out from under him, was to fall on top of the would be assassin. Magill started pounding, the Loyalist pounded back, in what was a fairly even match until the fellow managed to get his hands around Magill’s throat. Struggling to free his airway with his right hand, Magill placed his left hand on the throat of his opponent and now it was a fight to see who could hold out for air the longest. Magill struggled desperately, knowing the outcome was life for one and death for the other. He wasn’t at all certain he would be the survivor.
Then Wilkerson shot a piercing green ray, 1/64 of an inch in diameter, directly through the Loyalist’s skull. The light blinded Sean and the heat of the beam instantly cauterized all the blood vessels that were ruptured by the beam so that there was no blood. The hand that had been gripping Magill’s throat loosened immediately, but the hand at the end of Magill’s arm continued to strangle the now dead assailant. “It’s alright Sean,” said Wilkerson quietly. “You can let go now.” The sound of his first name shocked him out of the almost trancelike state he was in, and he recoiled in horror. “What happened!”
“You saved my life. That’s what happened.”
“But, you killed him. You saved me.”
Wilkerson reached down and extended a hand to Sean. “You were willing to die for me. That’s the greatest sacrifice a soldier can make.” He pulled Magill up; the young man was trembling. “It’s alright to feel bad that a man has died. I hope I always feel remorse, even when I know it’s the right thing.” By now Lansing had joined them. He too was shaken.
“I don’t know how they got in. We were alone in here, monitoring the situation outside the palace, when all of a sudden these four just materialized. They must have rehearsed it all because they knew exactly who my guards were, and they killed them before we even realized what was happening!”
“It’s hidden panels and tunnels,” said Magill. “They’re all over this palace. It’s how we made our escape after the royal family was murdered.” By now Wilkerson had handed him his crutch and Sean made his way to a chair where he sat down to take pressure off his feet.
“I suppose more will be coming in a few moments,” said Wilkerson, checking to make sure that his energy pack was fully recharged.
Lansing shook his head. “Not right now. I just got a message that our guard held at the palace gates. We had to turn water cannons on the protesters, but we’ve managed to drive them back. The whole episode was likely a ruse to make it possible for these guys to get in. Once their life monitors winked out the organizers, whoever they are, undoubtedly concluded that it was time to fall back. But this is far from over.”
Just as Wilkerson was about to say something the door burst open and a half dozen men came tumbling in the room. Lansing held up his hands to let them know that he was alive and then stepped between the newcomers and Wilkerson and Magill to protect them from being blasted into eternity. “It’s alright—they’re Kalenden’s who just saved my life!” The leader of the group looked skeptical, but told his men to stand down. “So what happened in here?” asked the man.
“I’ll explain it to you later, if that’s alright. Right now I need to assemble the Council to figure out what to do next. Would you mind seeing to these bodies?”
The man nodded and Lansing motioned for Wilkerson and Magill to follow him to an adjoining room. Sean stood up painfully, but refused help. He quickly followed them out of the room.
Once they had a private place Lansing opened a number of communications links to summon the council. When he was finished he turned to them and said, “We have about twenty minutes. I’d appreciate your thoughts on what’s happening and how we can stabilize things—that is assuming that you want them stabilized.”
Wilkerson turned to Sean. “That’s more a question for Commander Magill. All I know is that we were attacked and we survived. What are your thoughts, Commander?”
Sean bit his lip. “At this point I haven’t heard anything from the Alturians to suggest that they are ready to throw in with the Loyalists, even though they may have natural sympathies that way. They are a hard lot to figure out. The fact that their Royal family told them to support the UCG is likely enough to keep them loyal. But we need to seek them out and find out where they stand for sure. A move back to Royalty could play to their benefit.”
“As all this heated up their ambassador assured me they were firmly on the side of the UCG,” said Lansing. “But who knows what will happen?”
“It also surprises me that the situation could turn so quickly. If I were you I’d do an instant planet-wide poll to see what people are thinking. They can respond to a limited set of questions through the social network and you’ll know pretty quickly how deep this division runs. Your people will have to be careful how they pose the questions since whoever is leading this new rebellion will try to flood the response system with their own supporters to make it look like they have more strength than they really do.”
“Makes good sense,” said Lansing.
“But no matter what it shows,” said Lansing, “as long as there is an aspiring successor to the throne we’ll have trouble.”
“Commander Magill tells me that in the old days you’d just have him killed.” They couldn’t tell if Wilkerson was attempting humor or if he was actually serious.
“Yes, well, that’s not an option. But it is a problem.”
The three of them fell silent. The odds against a peaceful resolution seemed very remote, now.
Magill broke the silence. “What do you know about this grand-nephew?”
“Not much. We have a name and a face. The name is consistent with the royal family and he looks like he could be related.”
“Would it matter if he were illegitimate?”
Lansing raised an eyebrow. “It would make all the difference in the world. We have never recognized a bastard child as a legitimate successor.”
“So, how do you k
now if he is legitimate or not?”
“We don’t. I suppose all that will have to be worked out if this fringe element gains more popular support.”
“But why don’t you just check out his DNA signature?” asked Wilkerson.
Lansing sighed. “Because one of the ways we chose to distinguish ourselves from Alturus and Kalenden is that we never joined the international DNA registry. You’ve got to remember that many of our founding families were considered outcast by the Alturus elite, so they didn’t want to give them any more information they had to. Unlike the two of you, privacy laws keep our records private.”
Magill shook his head. “I wish Captain Jesik were here. He’d have an idea.”
Wilkerson smiled at the thought that Magill didn’t realize what a potential insult that was to Wilkerson’s leadership. “I wish so, too. He’s kind of the perfect blend between us; me the military man, you the political philosopher.”
Magill looked up quickly and stumbled on his words, “I didn’t mean any offense, Major. You’re the best there is…”
Wilkerson waved his hand. “No offense taken. The captain is a remarkably agile thinker.”
“It’s just that he liked to pose dilemmas and have us struggle to find unorthodox solutions. Dilemmas are problems that appear to have no favorable solution since one answer comes at the expense of another.”
Lansing nodded. “Well, I have to get ready for my cabinet meeting…”
“Wait! I have an idea.” Magill’s countenance had fallen as a result of this revelation, not brightened as one would expect.
Assault on Cambriol: The Manhattan Trials Page 23