Jennings' Folly

by Thomas C. Stone

  “So,” I continued, “the second thing I learned is to always be armed.”

  Grandpaw smiled and took a bite of his purple melon. He didn’t ask me any more questions and we ate the remainder of our meal talking about the boat trip that was just hours away.

  I managed to sleep for an hour before it was time to get up and go. I don’t know if Grandpaw slept or not, probably not, but in any case, he was his usual irascible self.

  I met them in the lobby loaded like a pack animal with hunting gear. Kaliis was likewise loaded down but he wore an exoskeleton that gave the little guy the strength of twenty men. Dressed in dark green trousers, matching felt hat, and a grey shirt, Papaw carried nothing. Instead, a porter loaded the old man’s gear into a waiting cab. “Come on,” he said, leading us to the car.

  Loading the cab took longer than the drive to the boat which to me, at first sight, looked more like a ship. “It’s so big,” I said, “are we going on that?”

  Cars and trucks drove across wide, steel planks onto the open lower deck of the ship.

  “It’s called a ferry,” Kaliis informed me, “and it is designed to carry both vehicular and pedestrian traffic.”

  “This is going to be so much fun! My first boat ride on the ocean.”

  Papaw paid a steward to carry our gear aboard and we walked across a metal gangplank with rails. After assuring our things were properly stored, the three of us found a booth in the third deck lounge that afforded privacy with a view. With a long, low, loud toot, the ferry pulled away from the dock.

  Within minutes of our departure, the motion of the boat rocked me to sleep and I missed my first ride in a boat on the ocean.

  Chapter 15

  Kaliis shook me awake as the ferry crossed the manmade harbor at the base of a series of foothills that successively attained greater altitude and so lent a natural support to the rail gun. Towering over the landscape, the gently curving line was supported by a gridworks that was majestically pleasing to the eye. The entire apparatus looked like a trillion dollar artist’s monument to ski jumps.

  As aesthetically pleasing as the structure was, it housed the means by which we were to travel to the opposite side of the continent and I was curious to have a good look. Naturally, Kaliis had given me the run-down on how a rail gun operated, but I still wasn’t prepared for the immensity of the structure. The base began at a circular three-story building located on the edge of the protected harbor. There were other buildings around it but you could tell they were functionaries attending to the greater project. The building stretched away at a slight incline that was held up by a series of concrete and steel supports that grew longer and higher as the incline of the ramp increased. It was all enclosed, so one couldn’t see the rails. Kaliis had told me the system operated optimally in a vacuum so that once the “bullet” was loaded, the area along the rails, the “barrel”, was sucked free of air.

  Basically, a rail gun is one big electrical circuit with three parts: a power supply, a pair of parallel rails and something to accelerate. In this case, it’s something very much like an aerodynamic, flyable artillery shell, only much bigger; big enough, in fact, to hold differing cargoes, including and especially, people.

  The power supply initially comes from a matched series of generators built into the hillside, but that just works to kick-start everything. Once the process is started, the rail gun builds up its own charge which is temporarily stored in four large, round buildings, two on each side of the base.

  The rails are lengths of copper that stretch the entire length of the gun, two and three quarter miles. They don’t have to be strong enough to bear weight because the bullet floats between them on a plasma field.

  The bullet is where Papaw, Kaliis and I will buckle in and be shot through the atmosphere. I was looking forward to it.

  Kaliis, however, was having misgivings. He held his hands over his mid-section but it didn’t prevent sounds from escaping. “Pardon me,” he said for the third time.

  Papaw asked what was the problem and Kaliis admitted he was uneasy about the flight.

  “They have a one hundred per cent success rate,” said Grandpaw. “Their safety record is well-documented. Besides, you have plenty of flight time.”

  “That’s space flight time I have. It’s not the same thing. We are about to allow someone we don’t know, a team of people we don’t know, to close us up in a metal cylinder and accelerate us to over six times the speed of sound and then, launch us halfway across Dreidel. To make things even more complicated, we have to rely on a pilot I’ve never met to steer us into the landing site.”

  Grandpaw assured him it would be all right and reminded him of the urgency of their journey. “These people need us. Their town is infested. Security has broken down. We’re not going to have to look very hard to find lizards.”

  “At this moment,” said Kaliis, “I would rather face scores of the slithering pestilence than have myself entombed and blasted into kingdom come.”

  Both Papaw and I stopped short. “Kingdom come?” Papaw asked.

  “It’s what Liza says,” explained the alien.

  “You just need something to do,” observed Papaw. He commenced to load Kaliis with bags, literally hanging bags by straps from the exoskeleton until he could no longer find another spot. Kaliis bore the load and walked off the ferry that way, which worked in his favor because it hid him from gawkers. I carried two bags and a porter carried the two heaviest equipment bags. More than once I heard Papaw mutter under his breath that he was “getting too old for this crap.” Pardon my language but that’s what he said, not me.

  It really didn’t matter about our luggage further than the end of the gangplank because as soon as we stepped ashore, there was someone to take any and all bags. They knew who we were and what we were doing.

  A young woman carrying a PDA and wearing a Braithwaite logo on her left breast pocket introduced herself us Dia-luk Reknird. “Call me Dia,” she said as she guided us into the building. “I’m your liaison. I’ll be with you through the process. I’ll see to it your bags are stowed properly and answer any questions you might have. Her eyes rested on Kaliis for a moment and she seemed to want to ask something, but thought better of it. While the baggage handlers went off in one direction with the luggage, Dia led our group in another direction. It was all very hurried but also pulled off with a precision efficiency.

  Coordinating with a couple of desk jockeys, Dia approved our identities and associated flight plan. Each of us was handed a simple paper ticket with a bar code auto-stenciled across one end.

  At one point, we had to stand in queue for a retina scan and I saw Kaliis’ spindly knees knocking together. I told him to stop. He looked at me, shrugged, and farted, but his knees quit knocking.

  There were other passengers but not many, and none were headed to our ultimate destination at Mandalatown. Even so, for every passenger, there seemed to be three attendants. The screening area was abuzz with activity.

  When we were finished checking in, Dia directed us up a wide corridor that ended at a checkpoint. Guards stood before a sign that displayed a large red and yellow diamond. In its center was the 3D representation of a hand with the palm out.

  “This is as far as I can go,” said Dia. “Show your passes and they’ll let you through. Bear to the left and you’ll see the port side gate – it’s one of two umbilicals on either side of the vehicle used for ingress. There are signs pointing the way. Have a successful trip!”

  We showed our passes, as directed, and stepped through a mass detector under the watchful eyes of two more guards who waved us through. We walked to the left and stepped onto a portable platform that led to the open portside hatch of the bullet. A flight attendant took our passes, scanned them again, and then pointed us to our seats with an endearing smile.

  I had expected something like a crash seat with crossed straps and buckles as well as a helmet, but that turned out to not be necessary as Kaliis revealed another factoid
about the rail gun. As we made our way to our seats, he said, “This particular rail gun is unique in that it also utilizes technology of a quantum nature supplied from energy sources discovered by men your grandfather was acquainted with earlier in his career.”

  “Coupla nitwits,” the old man mumbled.

  I glanced at Papaw but fell back into listening to Kaliis as I sat down.

  “Be that as it may,” Kaliis continued, “this particular rail gun can accelerate a load far greater than any other rail gun because the projectile generates a stasis field…”

  “A force field,” I said.

  “Not exactly,” countered Kaliis. “The acceleration for this ride is far more than anyone could survive without using a stasis field. Once we begin moving, the interior is free of annoying, outside acceleratory forces, except in the beginning for the take-off. It’s a smooth ride, so I hear, but the incline changes and someone could fall. That’s why they want you strapped in for the launch.” Kaliis pointed at my seat. The restraint was a simple belt and buckle.

  Otherwise, the chair was plush, soft, and wide. Before sitting, I gave the compartment a quick once over. I spotted the comfort room and remarked that the layout was similar to those I’d seen in videos of commercial airliners.

  “Only a limited number of ways to stuff a turkey,” said Papaw, who sat in his seat with a great sigh of relief.

  When all the passengers had been seated, the hatches were shut and sealed and the umbilicals were withdrawn. A hum started up, like hidden air blowers pushing air through vents. I glanced at Papaw but his head was back and his eyes were shut.

  There was an initial bump as the bullet began to move but the ride was so smooth, it was impossible to guess how fast we were going until the floor started to rise at an angle and I knew we were close. And all I could hear was a slight hum.

  There were no windows or ports, but there were strategically placed flatscreens that snapped on after we had left the ground behind. They showed a light blue sky streaked with white clouds that opened to show a brown and gray and green mosaic of landscape.

  Kaliis looked at me and commented that the experience had been “somewhat anticlimactic. Perhaps they’ll serve canapés.”

  To Kaliis’ delight, we were all served a light meal, a snack, really, and the attendant just had time to pick up the refuse before the pilot announced we were beginning our approach into the Lufthansa Complex. “And thank you,” he added, “for flying with BRG Airways.”

  I asked Kaliis what BRG stood for.

  “Braithwaite Rail Gun.”

  Papaw slept through his snack, but woke up when the pilot announced our final approach to the runway.

  As the craft descended, our pilot applied air brakes and guided us to a safe landing at the airstrip. The three flight attendants stood lined up at the one open hatch and thanked the passengers as they debarked. Led by a BRG Airways company rep, we walked through an umbilical that connected to the terminal’s main concourse. Changing signs printed in dozens of languages gave directions to various destinations, vehicle rentals, cargo pickup, maintenance offices, and so on. We were taken to a place where our luggage was waiting and that is where we met Genoa Carmen.

  He stood apart from the other passengers and service personnel. Genoa was a negro; tall, thin, dressed in a black leather jacket, black turtleneck, black cowboy boots, and jeans. Additionally, he wore shades. In his hand was a neatly printed placard that said, “Jennings Party”.

  Papaw introduced himself. Genoa responded with a nod and summarily took charge of moving our bags to his waiting vehicle, an idling van parked in the drive outside. It was hot and dusty in New Botswana but we sat under air conditioning as Genoa drove us out of the airport. He pointed in the distance to the spectre of another rail gun ramp. “That’s where you go to catch your ride home,” he commented. It looked just like the ramp from which we’d launched except no seaside complex. Instead, we were surrounded by desert and mountains. I wondered why anyone would want to live there.

  “I will be your driver,” Genoa continued, “for however long you remain with us.”

  Papaw asked for up to date information on the infestation. “How bad is the problem?” he asked.

  Genoa answered honestly. “Very bad. Mandalatown has been abandoned but there are those who are still trapped or missing. We go in every day and look for survivors. Yesterday we found an entire family locked inside their basement. They had been there for a week.”

  “Estimates on the numbers of lizards?”

  “Mr. Gomez will have that information for you. We’re headed to his compound now. It overlooks Mandalatown.”

  We drove a little over two hours, bouncing along sandy ruts that at times were completely covered by dirt and dust. Finally, we motored up a rise and Mandalatown came into view. Genoa turned off the main road and drove up a private drive that took us up a substantial hill, dead-ending at a well-kept, contemporary, two-story house. A tall fence surrounded the complex, which took up the entire hilltop. As I got out of the van, I noticed robotic machine guns set at strategic locations as well as a number of armed guards lazing in the shade.

  A short, round man stepped from the veranda and came toward us. “I am Salvatore Gomez,” he said, extending his hand to Papaw for a traditional handshake. Papaw took it and squeezed although I knew he didn’t like the male ritual. He just didn’t care to touch strangers. I can’t say that I do, either. He nodded at me and didn’t know what to do with Kaliis so he offered us food and drink that Papaw turned down. “Let’s get to business,” he suggested.

  The situation in Mandalatown was much worse than had been initially described. “If that’s the case, why don’t you just pull back and we’ll nuke it. I’ve got a little neutron unit that will be perfect. No damage besides a hundred yard circle at ground zero, it’ll kill everything and leave the buildings except, like I said, at ground zero.”

  “No, no, we can’t do that,” insisted Gomez.

  “Why not?”

  “There’s too much at stake.”

  “More survivors?”

  “Not exactly,” said Gomez. The mayor glanced at two of his men who were within earshot. “Walk with me,” he said and we followed as he passed through the house until we entered a room with a splendid view of Mandalatown.

  He turned and looked at Grandpaw. “You are, of course, aware of the main occupation of the residents of Mandalatown, or perhaps I should say the ex-residents, because the truth is, most are now refugees seeking shelter in colonial towns elsewhere.” Gomez dismissively lifted the back of his hand.

  Grandpaw nodded and said yes.

  I didn’t know the answer and whispered to Kaliis who whispered back one simple word that explained everything. “Gold mining,” he said.

  “Yes,” said Gomez, “I could order in a nuke, but I would prefer to get my gold out first. Of course, maybe a nuke isn’t required. That’s why I wanted a professional to go in and evaluate the situation. They say you’re the best.” Gomez looked doubtfully at Kaliis and me.

  “I probably am,” said Grandpaw. He raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes and looked at Mandalatown. “Not a very big place.” He put the glasses down. “How many men are you going to insist I take with me?”

  “After you insure my gold is safe, I’ll send three to tote it out. For your preliminary survey, I’d like you to take two men, just to keep you honest.”

  “I don’t need anybody to help me stay honest,” Papaw said, “but they can come along if they know how to take care of themselves.”

  Gomez went to the door and called for “Riki? Alonzo? Come in here.”

  Two men came in, one large, muscular, with a turban, and the other a younger version of the Mayor. “This is Alonzo,” said Gomez. Alonzo neither nodded nor acknowledged anyone else in the room. The quiet type. Fine with me. The Mayor turned to the clone and introduced Riki as his son.

  That got Grandpaw’s attention.

  “Whoa,” he said, “that
could be a problem.”

  “No problem,” said Gomez. “My son knows where you are going. He will lead you there.”

  “I don’t like the idea of being responsible for your son. I’ll take the big guy…” Papaw jerked a thumb toward Alonzo, “but I would prefer leaving your boy.”

  Riki spoke for the first time. He had a high, nasal voice that was unnerving, like fingernails across slate. “In the rear with the gear, eh?” he said.

  “No disrespect intended,” Papaw said, “but you don’t look like the type for this kind of work.”

  Laughter came from both Gomez and his son. “And your crew?” Gomez asked. “A girl and a… well, I don’t know what that is,” he said, referring to Kaliis.

  “They’ve killed lizards,” Papaw said dryly, “have you?”

  Gomez spread his hands. “Here we are, seemingly at an impasse over such a small thing while the crux of the matter has yet to be understood.”

  “Enlighten me,” said Papaw.

  “You believe you came here to kill lizards, yes?”

  Grandpaw didn’t say anything but of course that’s why we came.

  “But I want you to get my gold for me. The thing is, you’ll have to kill a lot of lizards to get to it. My son, as I previously explained, knows what you need to know to get there and secure the area so that I can send in others to load the metal.”

  Riki’s annoying voice filled the air. “And besides all that, I’m a damn good shot.

  Grandpaw sighed. “Well, I suppose we’ll find out.”

  Chapter 16

  After going over maps of the area, we donned our gear and checked our equipment prior to climbing back inside the van.

  Grandpaw sat beside me and spoke in a low voice. “I am sorry,” he said.

  “For what?”

  “For getting you into this.”