The Cocoon Trilogy

by David Saperstein

  It was returned with apologies.

  By the time Captain Walkly had arrived, dressed in jeans, a Grateful Dead T-shirt and torn dirty sneakers, Cummings and Betters had been filled in on most of the operation. It was big, bigger than they had imagined. The old people were “world-class” drug kingpins from Hong Kong. Jack and his friends were involved in the largest narcotic shipment the Federal Drug Enforcement Agency had ever tapped into. It was going down within the next week. From this point on the movements of the old people, Jack, his friends and the submarine operator would be monitored by the feds and the United States Navy. That was where Captain Walkly figured in the operation, which, they were told, was code-named Earthmother. He arrived in time to tell his part of the story.

  “We were worried about you two,” he began, after Midge had brought him a Coors Light and a round of drinks on the house for the others. She began to apologize for Marta again, but Betters told her to forget it and to get lost.

  Walkly continued, “Because the key to the operation is that submarine attached to the bottom of the Manta III.” As he spoke he examined the photos of the Probeship that Cummings and Betters had obtained. “To think that they might have seen the diver who shot these . . .”

  “They didn’t. He’s the best,” Cummings said proudly. He must be, Walkly thought to himself. Amos Bright hadn’t picked him up telepathically.

  “Well, in any case, from here on in we can’t take any chances. You two will stay with us until the operation goes down. I’ve cleared that with your boss.”

  “I don’t know about that…” Betters started to object.

  “That’s it!” Walkly was firm. “I’ve got several ships moving into the area witgh nearly eight hundred men, choppers, sea sleds and a nuclear submarine. Nothing is going to screw this up. Nothing!”

  “Besides,” McGill added, “we need you boys. You’re familiar with both their boats and that chopper pilot of theirs.”

  “Mazuski,” Cummings muttered. “He’s a drunk and a menace.”

  “Well,” Fuller said softly, “after we nail their asses the only thing he’ll be flying is a steel prison cot. Isn’t that right, Captain?” Walkly’s eyes had drifted over to the runway where Marta was now performing.

  “Huh? Oh, sure,” Walkly answered, turning his attention back to the group huddled in the booth. “That’s for damned sure. I need you two aboard the chase boats to make positive ID on that Manta III and the Terra Time. As a matter of fact, I want you men to make the arrests when the time comes.”

  “You really mean that?” Cummings asked. Betters rolled his eyes. He was wary.

  “You guys were on to these rats five years ago, and they slipped out of it.” Fuller sounded sincere. “We know how much heat you took for that mess. You guys deserve this part of the collar. We’ll have our part of it too, as will the Navy.”

  “There’s plenty to go around,” Captain Walkly said as he watched Midge’s pendulous breasts sway and slide to the music. “Plenty . . .”

  Amos Bright came up through the galley of the Manta III and joined Jack, Doyle and Mazuski as they watched the final rays of the sun disappear in the pink and blue cloud-streaked western sky.

  “The cops left and didn’t comeback,” Jack told him.

  “I know. Our people from Washington are with them now.”

  “Does that mean they’re out of the picture?” Phil Doyle asked.

  “In a manner of speaking,” Amos answered. “Let’s just say that the next time we see them it will be under new and different circumstances.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN – THE FACILITY

  Everything appeared normal at the Lyndon B. Johnson Space Center, NASA’s sprawling headquarters and training facility thirty miles southeast of downtown Houston. Since the terrible accident that destroyed the space shuttle Challenger and with it, the lives of seven heroic American astronauts, NASA had a tough struggle to regain the confidence and support of Americans in the space program. New safety programs were initiated and the Johnson Center was now a beehive of activity. It was not uncommon for two or three missions to be in various stages of preparation at one time. The launch schedule of shuttles had reached almost one per month.

  There had always been a space medicine center in Houston. In the mid-1980s a specialized facility had been opened in San Antonio, Texas, with the specific mission of applying the knowledge and experience gained in space medicine to benefit more Earthbound humans. Then, as America prepared to begin manned flights to planets within our solar system, the Johnson Space Medicine Facility was reactivated and expanded. It was in the recently renovated hospital wing of Building 11 that Dr. Khawaja had set up the Operation Earthmother facility designed to accommodate the expectant parents of the Geriatric Brigade.

  Several days before the extraterrestrial guests were scheduled to arrive, the chaos that the twenty-one doctors representing seven specialties, eighteen engineers of various talents, twelve chemists, ten physicists and scores of support people, ranging from hardhat sheet metal and foundry laborers to surgical pediatric nurses could cause as they interacted suddenly calmed.

  Mary and Ben Green had arrived and met with the entire staff in a secure auditorium next to Mission Control. They were the first “aliens” the staff had seen. Everyone was curious. Many of the top scientists and doctors who had been wooed by Dr. Khawaja, Dr. Yee and the President had serious doubts that this operation was what they had been told. Some were convinced there were secret military reasons. For others, the details of Operation Earthmother seemed too fantastic to be true. There were also grumblings of covert political activities being the real reason for the secrecy and security surrounding the project. This undercurrent became acute when four atmospheric temperature-controlled chambers were ordered on a crash basis. Overnight several new engineers, chemists and physicists arrived, taking over most of the second and third floors that had previously been set aside for staff living quarters. No one was told what the new arrival’s mission was, and so rumors persisted.

  But as they listened to the Green’s explain the operation in detail, including the history and travels of the Brigade, the entire group understood they were about to become an extremely privileged group of humans.

  “It was a natural thought, and many of us, scattered across this galaxy had it simultaneously. When we learned that birth on Motherplanet was an important part of the galactic unwritten laws, we experienced oneness with life as we had never felt before. Mary and I are here as witness to the wonderful news that we, Earth-humans are not alone in this galaxy – perhaps the entire universe. We are all part of something wondrous, something alive and ongoing.” Ben Green had captured the audience’s attention. Not one person stirred. They hardly breathed.

  “Earth is our Motherplanet,” Mary told the audience, “and we are coming home to have our young. You have all done a magnificent job. Some months ago, as we all gathered on Antares awaiting the Watership, some of us had serious doubts about how much help we might get upon our return. It was the Antarean leader, Amos Bright, who settled our doubts. He pointed out that we, the Geriatric Brigade, had responded and aided his race without reservation on their voyage to Earth five years ago. He saw no reason why our fellow human beings would not respond in kind and aid us. He was correct. While you do your work here, he is tasked with the responsibility of recovering the cocoons so they may be returned to Antares and reanimated. Many Earth-humans are aiding in that endeavor too.”

  “That which you have done and will do in the weeks and months ahead, will be recorded as one of humanity’s finest moments,” Ben said. “You are hosts to Earth’s first visitors from our galaxy. We are deeply grateful to all of you and we bless you.”

  The Green’s then telepathed to all the other commanders, who in turn singly and collectively reached out to each individual in the audience with thanks. The resultant swell of goodwill and love passed from the commanders to the expectant parents aboard the Watership and beyond, throughout the galaxy, to
all the other members of the Geriatric Brigade.

  And then it was time to get back to work with new purpose.

  The overall plan for the facility was the cooperative brainchild of Dr. Khawaja and the eccentric Sino-American obstetrician-pediatrician Dr. Michelangelo Yee. Dr. Yee, whose seventy-six-year-old arthritic hands were no longer able to perform the delicate fetal surgery he had pioneered, was still the incontestable leader in the exciting new field. He was, as Dr. Khawaja stated, “beyond the leading edge of fetal medicine.”

  The hospital wing for Operation Earthmother was three stories high. Each floor could be sealed off, and sections on each floor could also be isolated by impenetrable, sterile shielding. It contained the most up-to-date medical and environmental technology available.

  Everything was designed to be centered on the moment of birth. The top floor contained examination rooms, including ultrasonic machines and amniocentesis facilities. Dominating the floor were the operating-delivery rooms. They were built in groups of three in the center of which was a pediatric intensive care unit capable of servicing nine infants at a time. Three state-of-the-art incubators, complete with life-support systems and isolation chambers, were available in each pediatric intensive care room. At the completion of delivery the obstetricians would immediately pass the infant into intensive care where it would be tended by a complete medical team. This would free the staff in the delivery room to care for the mother. A geriatrician was attached to the obstetric staff. On the surgical floor there was also an adult intensive care unit with a dozen beds and a complete staff.

  The infant would remain in intensive care while it was tested and evaluated. Blood and other fluid workups would be done in laboratories attached to the unit. Chromosome evaluations would also begin. After a period of stability, and if there were no apparent problems, the infant would be moved to a transitional nursery, where, assuming there were no complications with the mother, the newborn would be joined by its parents. There were three complete units with this configuration on the top floor.

  At the south end of the floor the engineers had broken through to the floor below. They had constructed four atmospheric chambers, each divided in half, much like a duplex apartment. The top portion of the chamber would be prepared to accept the newborn from each of the four mixed matings. The lower portion of the chamber would serve as housing for the non Earth-human parent.

  If the newborn had dominant characteristics of the father, it would be immediately transferred, along with its own pediatric team, to the chamber. The chambers contained breathing apparatus and protective suits for the medical teams. Data regarding gaseous mixtures, temperature, pressure and humidity for the chambers had been supplied by Beam from the Watership. But the engineers and scientists knew that they had to be prepared to adjust these environments once the off-planet father arrived. Then more crucial adjustments would have to be made for the newborn if it was unable to survive under normal Earth conditions. Once the infant was born, the doctors and scientists might have only moments to analyze the situation before they made the decision to move the infant to a suitable environment for survival.

  The second, or middle floor, contained the lower portion of the duplex chambers at one end. Then there were four completely staffed nurseries with a capacity to care for fifty babies. An additional pediatric intensive care unit and several laboratories were on this floor, just in case an emergency arose in the regular nurseries. The rest of the floor was devoted to examination rooms and housing for the Brigade fathers.

  The lower, first floor contained staff living quarters, the kitchen, housing for security people and a special apartment set aside for the President, complete with the communication equipment required to run the country should he decide to make an extended visit.

  The top floor was painted green, the second floor blue and the bottom floor yellow. The special sterile seals, hidden in the walls and controlled by the chief of security, a Secret Service agent assigned by Benton Fuller, were bright red.

  There was one other facility tucked away in the basement of the large hospital wing. Everyone prayed it would never be used. It was the pathology lab.

  CHAPTER TWENTY – THE PLAN

  They gathered in from Houston, Miami, Roscoe and Washington. Operation Earthmother’s first phase was drawing to a close, perhaps more to a climax that would bring the Watership in safely and undetected to Earth, and the expectant parents to the special facility being prepared at the Johnson Space Center.

  The meeting was scheduled to take place at the Omega Conference Center eleven floors below ground at the huge five-sided edifice of American military power, the Pentagon. This top-secret conference and command facility had been originally constructed after the Cuban missile crisis during the administration of John F. Kennedy. It was initially planned as a nerve center and communication switching complex for the President’s military staff and political advisors who might remain in the nation’s capital after a nuclear attack. As time passed, many Secretaries of Defense paraded through the Pentagon, coming and going with administrations, often fading rapidly when their military adventures failed. However, each secretary became enthralled with the Omega Center concept, many of them thinking that perhaps in the event of nuclear war they might be the one high-ranking official remaining to lead the country to victory. And so each somehow managed to appropriate funds to update and improve the center until it now, when it boasted more computer and communication capability than the fabled War Room deep underground at SAC headquarters in Omaha, Nebraska.

  Phillip Margolin and Alicia Sanchez arrived the day before yesterday along with Martin LoCasio and Oscar Berlin, their two NASA staffers. They spent their time setting up the presentation they would make in the Omega Center to the other key members of the Operation Earthmother group.

  The hot, humid early June morning was a harbinger of a typical Washington, D.C. summer that would soon arrive. It was fast approaching that time when the nation’s capital emptied of government functionaries, bureaucrats, legislators and administration staffers and filled proportionately with tourists from the four corners of America and the world who came to observe this fabled seat of power. What they found were monuments, cool empty marble halls, a plethora of statuary ranging from the great to the pitifully insignificant, expensive museums, enormous buildings stuffed with mountains of paper - the flotsam and jetsam of bureaucracy tuned to a fine art, and of course the brutal heat and humidity, the hallmark of a Potomac Basin summer.

  Alma and Joe Finley settled back in the limousine that Secretary Mersky had sent to their hotel to bring them to the meeting. The traffic across the Key Bridge, stretching from the massive Lincoln Monument to the entrance to Arlington National Cemetery, flowed equally - inward toward Washington and outward to Virginia. Above the bridge, high on a bluff in the cemetery, the monument, grave and eternal flame of the slain John F. Kennedy was visible to the two Brigade Commanders.

  “How long ago was it that we visited Kennedy’s grave?” Alma asked.

  “1970. . .Nno ‘71,” Joe recalled.

  “I’m still sad about that. It was a terrible time.” She leaned back into the soft seat and found Joe’s arm waiting there for her.

  “I suppose we wanted. . .we expected so much from him.”

  “A magical time,” she said, rubbing her cheek against his caressing hand.

  “Camelot.” He looked at her and stroked her cheek. “I love you dearly Alma, but I can’t do it. Not yet anyway.”

  After dinner with Caleb Harris, Alma and Joe had returned to the Mayflower Hotel. They stopped for a nightcap in the oak-paneled bar. The conversation came around to Mary Green’s pregnancy. They’d talked for most of the night about it. All the commanders now knew of the normal births on the Watership and were relieved. Alma wanted a baby - the baby she’d never had. She had spent her young life building her career, with no time for marriage or children. Joe had been her first marriage. It was his second. Somewhere he had an ex-wife and
two daughters who’d been alienated from him for decades. His experience with children was distasteful. They had talked about it, but Joe remained noncommittal. Until now.

  “Do you want to tell me why?” she asked, leaving her cheek against his now immobile hand.

  “I’m not sure I can. It goes deep. There are emotions I thought I’d never have to confront again. Darling, I’m sorry. The idea of children… of being able to have children now… I mean, I’m just not sure I want that.”

  “But I do, Joe. I want it very much.”

  “I know. I have to ask you to wait. Please. We have time.” He smiled and looked at her. “Perhaps forever. And there’s so much to do and we’re not so sure that…”

  “You mean why Bess miscarried?”

  “Well, yes. It may have something to do with being commanders. We just don’t know. I want to be sure. I don’t want you to be hurt the way Bess was.” She took his hand in hers.

  “Does that mean you want to have children someday?”

  “If we can. If they will be normal, then, well… yes. With you, for you, yes.” He kissed her hand and then her lips as the limousine exited the parkway and headed toward the Pentagon.

  Mary and Ben Green and Dr. Khawaja landed at Dulles International Airport at nine that morning. They were met by two other limousines; one from the Department of Defense with instructions to take the Greens directly to the Pentagon, and the other the Undersecretary’s private car that would first take him to his office at the newly revamped Department of Public Health and Welfare, and then across to Virginia and the meeting in the Omega room. Since he’d been in Houston for the better part of three weeks, his desk was piled high with documents that required his attention.

  They parted company. As Mary and Ben began their journey to the Pentagon they reached out to communicate with Alma and Joe, but found their fellow commanders were blocking.