The Cocoon Trilogy

by David Saperstein

  “They are near,” Ben commented.

  “We’ll see them soon,” Mary answered. She was tired and a little nauseous. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply.

  “You okay, honey?” Ben asked, putting his cool hand on her slightly damp forehead.

  “Just the old morning ills. You’d think that with all that physical processing I had morning sickness would have been fixed.”

  Ben laughed. “I guess the Antareans never have that problem. As far as I know there’s not any nausea in a petri dish.”

  “Very funny,” she answered, smiling weakly. “I’m not sure that isn’t a politically incorrect remark.” She then transferred some of her discomfort to Ben, who stomach became queasy.

  “Thanks,” he said. “You’re all heart, mother.” Mary then cut off the discomfort, satisfied she had distracted him sufficiently. She had wanted to change the subject because when they had tried to contact the Finley’s moments ago, Mary had sensed something underneath Alma’s block. Something private. Something she understood. Fear - the very fear that Mary, who was also a commander, had about the baby growing inside of her. Would it be a baby like Bess Perlman’s? She also wondered if the three healthy babies, born aboard the Watership to Brigade parents, were different from those from parents who were processed as commanders.

  “What is it?” Ben looked at his wife, feeling her block.

  “Just a private woman’s moment.”

  “Why don’t you lie back and take a nap? We’ve got at least a half-hour before we arrive.”

  Amos had left Jack and his friends to watch over the Antarean Probeship, since a Navy or police presence might be cause for suspicion. Jack would sleep aboard the Manta III; and now that Detectives Cummings and Betters had been removed from their surveillance, Phil Doyle brought the Terra Time down to Boca Raton, mooring it alongside the Manta III, thus affording even more protection to the submerged Probeship. Only the old Greek on the fuel barge watched these comings and goings with any interest. No one suspected he was aware of the Probeship’s existence.

  The Navy Skyhawk Raider, piloted by Captain Thomas Walkly, banked for final approach into the Naval air station at Annapolis. They came in low from the north over Chesapeake Bay. Amos Bright thoroughly enjoyed the ride.

  “You’d make an excellent Probeship pilot, Captain,” Amos remarked as they skimmed above the marshes and wetlands.

  “Thank you, sir,” Walkly answered. “I’d sure like to take a crack at that aircraft of yours someday.” He touched down gently on the blacktop runway.

  “Just get older, Captain Walkly, and we’ll see what we can arrange.” A few moments later Amos and the Navy Undersecretary were in a Navy jet helicopter on their way to the Pentagon.

  The President had come to the Pentagon earlier that morning, ostensibly to be briefed on the new DOD weapons procurement budget. That is what the White House press corps had been told. It aroused little interest. In fact there had been little press interest in the activities of the people in the Earthmother group. The only close call had come when Sam Bixby, a veteran White House reporter for the Gannett Newspapers, noticed Alma Finley enter the White House press entrance with Caleb Harris. He’d come over to say hello to Alma, whom he remembered from her days as a news editor in New York. She was older than Sam, a pleasant aging woman, he recalled, with a nice word for everyone.

  When he saw her, she appeared not to have aged. In fact she looked younger and quite beautiful. He’d said hello. She’d been cordial. When he was about to ask her what she was doing in the White House, Caleb Harris, who was not on Bixby’s A-list, whisked Alma away with a weak explanation that “they were late for an appointment.” Bixby’s curiosity had been tweaked and he followed the couple, expecting them to exit the White House and leave the grounds. Instead, after they left the press area they doubled back through the East Wing entrance where they seemed to be expected. That entrance was used for guests and visitors to the Oval Office. Sam Bixby made a mental note to find out if and where Alma worked now, although he had the distinct impression that she had married someone in Boston and retired to Florida several years ago. His efforts were to prove fruitless.

  After a perfunctory budget meeting in Defense Secretary Mersky’s office, the staff was dismissed with the exception of Phillip Margolin. The President, the Secretary and Margolin then took a private elevator, an addition to the Omega Center by the previous secretary, fourteen floors directly down to the main conference room, where Alicia Sanchez and her two assistants were putting the finishing touches on the Earthmother presentation.

  Everyone else arrived within ten minutes of each other. The last to arrive, Amos Bright and Captain Walkly, were delayed in their Navy helicopter by heavy morning air traffic from National Airport before they were finally cleared to descend to the heliport at the Pentagon. Up to the last minute the President and Secretary Mersky argued, as only old friends in those positions could, about whether or not to bring the Secretary of State into the loop on the basis that Amos Bright was an emissary from another planet. He was, as far an anyone knew, the first alien to be officially greeted by a government on Earth.

  Gideon Mersky stubbornly argued against involving the State Department. “They’ll fuss and flutter about with all that time-wasting, ineffective diplomatic crap. Meanwhile we’ve got a spaceship to land and a mess of pregnant octogenarians to handle.” He was adamant. The President eventually bent to his point of view but withheld any final resolution of protocol until the Geriatric Brigade was safely settled in at the Johnson Space Center Hospital in Houston. Secretly, he saw an official greeting of the Antareans as having immense importance for his historical legacy.

  As Amos Bright and Captain Walkly descended in the main elevator, Ben Green informed the President. “Amos Bright is on his way down, Mr. President.” Press Secretary Margo McNeil and the assigned Secret Service agent moved ahead of President Malcolm Teller to the Omega Center’s doorway. Margo had a 35mm Nikon camera with her to record the historic event. The door opened. Captain Walkly preceded Amos Bright into the room. After acknowledging the President he immediately stepped aside. Amos Bright then entered the room. The Antarean commander, a powerful and revered member of his own race, stood face to face with the President of the United States of America. Malcolm Teller stepped forward and extended his hand in greeting. Then, in an extraordinary moment, Amos Bright peeled back the protective humanlike skin covering his own hand, revealing the Antarean’s fragile opaque flesh and four tapered fingers. He extended it in greeting to the President, who gently took it in his own. The combined warmth, wisdom, honesty and genuine respect that flowed from Amos Bright was a sensation that President Teller would never forget. The others in the room sensed the importance of the moment.

  Amos was then introduced to Secretary Mersky, Dr. Khawaja, Caleb Harris, who had come over earlier that morning alone, Margo McNeil and the Margolin–Sanchez–LoCasio–Berlin team. They all then gathered to hear reports on the progress of Operation Earthmother.

  Everything in Florida was secure. Secret Service agent Benton Fuller and FBI Special Agent Gary McGill had Detectives Cummings and Betters in tow and were making the final security arrangements with trusted naval officers under Captain Walkly’s special command. The transport from the Watership to Houston, in the stages previously agreed upon, was in place. They were prepared for any contingency with backup air and water craft. In addition, the captain proudly reported, a highly trained Navy Seal team had been brought in two days ago. Under the guidance of Amos Bright they had inspected the cocoon chambers. They had then plotted and inspected the underwater route that would be used in transporting the cocoons from the Stones to the parked and secured Watership. The Seal team’s new amphibious assault with smaller high-speed boats and helicopters onboard, along with Jack Fischer’s and Phil Doyle’s boats, and the eleven Antareans aboard the Watership supervised by Amos Bright, would transport the nine-hundred forty-one cocoons and load them onto the single Watership
storage tank brought down for the trip back to Antares. The time frame estimate, given good weather and a minimum of ship traffic in the area, was that the operation would take no more than two weeks - seventeen days at the outside. Other members of the Seal team were assigned as security in Houston.

  “We toyed with bringing in a submersible like the Alvin that could handle up to twenty more cocoons per day. It could speed things up a bit,” Captain Walkly concluded, “but that would mean involving more personnel, vessels and equipment. At this point we feel we have an adequate, secure manageable, well-trained and enthusiastic group necessary to aid Mr. Bright in accomplishing his mission.” The President thanked the captain, making a mental note to propose him for promotion to admiral.

  Dr. Khawaja spoke next, outlining how far they had progressed with staffing and outfitting the wing of the Johnson Center’s Space Medicine Hospital in Houston. He circulated copies of a briefing book that contained floor plans, photographs of the four duplex chambers for the non-Earth human parents, and résumés of all the key staff now housed and secreted inside the secure hospital wing.

  A team of medical specialists, along with state-of-the-art incubators complete with life-support systems, were currently being airlifted to Florida. “Led by Dr. Yee, they will be there to meet the Watership with us, Mr. President, and escort our visitors back to Houston,” Dr. Khawaja concluded, “should there be any more pre-mature births.”

  A few moments were spent by the Secret Service agent discussing security for the President’s apartment on the first floor of the hospital. He requested that Benton Fuller be allowed to inspect the facility before the President visited it.

  Mary and Ben Green then communicated their own confidence in the facility and staff and praised Dr. Khawaja and Dr. Yee for their marvelous work.

  All eyes then turned to Phillip Margolin and Alicia Sanchez. The group had been informed that a viable plan, approved by Joe Finley and Amos Bright, had been devised at the Roscoe think tank. Everyone eagerly awaited the presentation that would show them how an alien spacecraft the size of the Watership could be brought down from the moon to the targeted South Florida waters and submerge there undetected by a world bristling with satellite and earthbound detection devices. The moment Defense Secretary Gideon Mersky saw they intended to employ and deploy SSP, the top-secret Solar Screen Program, he was on his feet protesting in the strongest terms.

  “Mr. President, I am appalled.” He turned to Margolin. “How dare you bring top secret material regarding this program to this meeting? We cannot do this. Mr. President, I insist that Mr. Margolin’s presentation cease immediately.” Alicia Sanchez exchanged inquisitive looks with Phillip Margolin, both recalling their directive from the Defense Secretary some weeks ago. Had they misunderstood? Before the President could respond, Margolin confronted his boss.

  “Excuse me, sir,” he began politely, his voice controlled yet as forceful as Mersky’s, “but our Earthmother directive, your directive, never excluded any programs, systems or facilities either operational or under development. SSP comes under that umbrella. I don’t see where we’ve done anything improper.”

  “Idiocy,” Mersky continued, addressing President Teller. “These ‘yuppies’ would have us compromise THE most secret project our military possesses. I’d resign sooner than reveal its existence to our enemies.”

  The Solar Screen Program, SSP, had been one of those far-fetched ideas that had been the brainchild of some long forgotten scientist back in the early days of the ill-fated Space Lab program. The basic theoretical idea was to develop a plasticized metal or ultra-thin metal alloy that might be deployed in space to act as a shield against solar particle bombardment or meteors and other space debris that might someday endanger a space station. It was one of those innocuous items that just slipped along unnoticed into budget after budget. Then, six years ago, two NASA chemists, one involved in ozone layer studies and the other in development of specialized polymers, came upon the previously gathered data and theoretical work on SSP. With new techniques developed for a future Mars exploration program, they made a breakthrough and created a new technology which they called vacuum deployment. Concurrently they developed a high-tensile, seamless polymer shield that could be manufactured by combining chemical and metal molecules on site in the freezing temperature and total vacuum of space. There was theoretically no limit to the size of the shield. All that was required was the proper amounts of raw materials and a curious multi-nozzle spray machine that was fashioned after the web-weaving spinnerets of the Wolf Spider.

  Margolin and Sanchez proposed to install the technology on the shuttle Remembrance to deploy two polymer shields of several square miles, high above the earth, in a configuration angled to mask the movement of the Watership from the moon to South Florida.

  “It’s the only way we have to shield the Watership and one storage tank’s approach and landing,” Dr. Sanchez maintained.

  “It’s out of the question,” Mersky said. “If the Soviet’s or Chinese. . . if even our allies see we have this capability, it will scare the pants off them.”

  “And,” President Teller responded, “if those same people saw a spacecraft and tank enter our atmosphere and land in United States territory, that wouldn’t scare them?”

  “We have to find another way.” Secretary Mersky was adamant.

  “Sir, with all due respect, there is no other way!” Margolin stated firmly.

  “And if I might be permitted to add,” Amos Bright said softly, “there isn’t much time either.”

  As everyone in the room watched, the President silently reached his decision. He accepted the plan and ordered it to proceed.

  The matter was then closed to discussion. The President’s decision was that Remembrance, one of three shuttles standing by, would be readied immediately. The announcement of the SSP test would be made at a presidential press conference to be called as soon as the Watership was safely tucked behind the moon ready to descend to Earth. All he would say is that a new polymer solar screening device was going to be deployed by the shuttle science crew. It would be in two stages. The first screen would be deployed at an altitude of five hundred thirty-one miles and cover an area of sixteen square miles of space. The second screen, thinner and thirty times larger, would be deployed at an altitude of two hundred fifty-nine miles. The screen’s purpose would be announced as an ongoing program to protect the Earth’s delicate ozone layer, which many believed was decaying from our extensive use of fluorocarbons, and thus protect the Earth from the bombardment of harmful ultraviolet waves and particles produced by solar activity.

  Any astute military planner, or for that matter any knowledgeable reporter, would immediately see the potential of those screens as they deployed out over hundreds of square miles of space. Although their stated purpose might make all the sense in the world, it would be obvious they could also be used as a radar and satellite detection shield as well as a deflector of ground and aircraft based radar. They could make satellite launched missiles obsolete. Perhaps all other missiles as well.

  More out of curiosity than concern, Alma Finley tried to reach into Mersky’s mind to track his thought processes as he heard the decision. She discovered herself blocked. Somehow Mersky was learning the commander’s abilities. He would bear watching. Afraid that he might be able to intercept her own telepathy, she kept the discovery to herself, deciding to communicate to the other commanders later.

  The President complimented Margolin and Sanchez on their work. Before he adjourned the meeting, as long as Amos Bright concurred, he gave the final “go” for Operation Earthmother to proceed to landing. Amos Bright was delighted. After a phone call Dr. Sanchez confirmed that the shuttle Remembrance would be ready to launch and deploy the SSP in five days.

  3:15AM on June 12th was set as the Watership landing time and date. Being on the water at night might add some difficulty to the landing, but it would also serve to mask arrival. It was time to bring the expectant mothe
rs and fathers and newborn babies home.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – THE PASSENGER’S DILEMMA

  They crossed through the Martian orbit on schedule. The Parman guides disengaged and the ion accelerator took over. The Antarean flight crew plotted their final approach to Earth, keeping the unusual silhouette of the Watership blocked by the Earth’s moon as they decelerated. The Antarean cocoon recovery team prepared their equipment. The four non Earth-human parent’s living quarters were double-checked and the pregnant Brigade mothers examined for the last time before landing.

  Panatoy, wearing a breathing device containing his planet’s atmosphere, joined his wife Ruth in her cabin. They greeted and touched, embracing one another tenderly. Ruth’s pregnancy, now in its seventh month, was a source of great joy to the tall, blue Subaxian. He stroked her firm, distended belly. A broad, proud smile froze on his blue face. He kissed his mate, as she had taught him, and she in turn stroked the pale bare spot on the base of his spine in an erotic circular motion as he had taught her. His body was warming rapidly, indicating it was time to return to the room next to Ruth’s that had contained Subax atmospheric conditions. They parted physically but were able to see one another and communicate. They alternated visits. Next time, if the doctors allowed it, Ruth Charnofsky would go into his room, where she could, with protective clothing and breathing apparatus, spend time.

  The three other mixed couples were getting ready for arrival on Earth.

  The female of the first couple was an Earth-human named Karen Morano. She was from Mill Valley, California, who had been a widow and the cousin of a couple who lived at the Antares complex in Coral Gables. She happened to be visiting Florida when the Geriatric Brigade was formed. She and her cousins chose to join, leaving their homes and worldly possessions behind. She had no family other than her Florida relatives. Her mate was called Tommachkikla. Everyone called him Tom. He was a short, squat, powerfully built man, quite handsome with a rugged bearded face. His planet, Destero, was in the Axian system near the star called Castor. Its atmosphere is oxygen rich. Its gravity three times that of Earth. The average temperature on the giant planet, in the northern hemisphere where he lived, was 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Tom was a farmer whose spread was situated in a place topographically similar to the Australian outback; open, vast, deserted and lonely. He’d met Karen at the annual gathering on Destero when the Antareans arrived to trade off-planet goods to for protein-rich Destero crops.