Ray’s comfort was short-lived, as his suspicions bubbled to the surface again. Perhaps this president was a smarter political animal than Ray believed and was just playing along with him, gathering information that could be used against him later. Ray watched and waited, trying to appear to accept the situation without question, but inwardly remaining skeptical of the man’s motives.
Rogers continued, oblivious to any outward signs of Ray’s suspicions. “The news I have to give you may not be terribly pleasant. We have spent several years measuring the incredibly powerful mental wave patterns of these Rockoids. It appears they can communicate by telepathy. It may very well be that your mind has somehow tapped into those patterns and is in sync with them. I can’t say how, but you may be sharing thoughts with one of these Rockoids.
“My scientific teams will try to figure out a real answer for you, if one is available. In any case, much of what you’ve seen and heard in your dreams is true.”
Ray’s mind filled itself with all sorts of contradictory thoughts, feeling both curious and disgusted to know he was reading the thoughts of an alien creature. What of his personal experiences and innermost thoughts? Was this other creature sharing them too?
Even stranger was the feeling of intense empathy with the Rockoid woman. She was alien, maybe their enemy, but Ray couldn’t control his feelings.
And her face: so indescribably beautiful he couldn’t help but have his fantasies about her. These contradictions confused him.
Sometimes when he thought of Zanther, he felt he could see into her heart, where he saw only compassion and deepest under-standing. The look on her face; he could see she was one used to command. Perhaps she was a military leader of some sort…maybe he could contact her and arrange…No, that’s crazy…I really am going insane.
Rogers interrupted Ray’s train of thought. “As you can see, you know secrets never disclosed beyond the inner circles of the Alliance government and military. The information you have provided for us is extremely valuable. I would very much like for you to continue to help us. Unfortunately, we know no way of returning you to your own time. We have not perfected any method of time travel, although we have reason to believe the technology does exist, somewhere in the universe.”
That pronounced hardly shocked Ray. He had already given up hope he would ever return to the past.
He also wondered about his girlfriend; he had hoped that relationship would turn serious, and she did seem to like him a lot. No doubt she gave him up for lost quickly enough and found someone else. Ray wanted to feel sad, but instead he felt almost numb.
There was the glorious face of Zanther! Ray could see it again, for a second, almost as if she were there in the president’s office watching them. He resisted the urge to turn around and check.
Finally Ray had to ask the question gnawing at his mind.
“Mr. President, look I know the laws in your century are different from mine, but why haven’t I been arrested for what I did to that Area 51 laboratory? In my time, I’d be in irons now.” Ray managed a weak chuckle.
“Rest assured, our laws are quite as stringent as yours, if not more so, in our century. As you might gather, the statute of limitations has long since past. We couldn’t charge you for your crimes if we wanted to, and you may not believe this…”
Yeah, you can say that again!
“You were drawn to Area 51 for reasons we do not understand. It is more important for us to understand why, rather than punish you for something we think was really beyond your control.”
“Listen, nothing personal, Mr. President. But I did get here somehow,” he protested. “Isn’t there a way to reverse this process? I still have a life waiting for back in the twenty-first century.”
“I honestly don’t know. We haven’t done much experimentation in time travel. It has some nasty consequences, we fear. How do you account for someone who might change the past and all the events those changes affect? We’re proceeding very cautiously.”
“I guess I’m stuck here, eh?” Ray felt surprised there wasn’t a trace of sadness in his voice. In fact, he seemed almost exhilarated at the turn of events. His past life had become almost boring, routine. Writing computer games had become a long, dreary, exhausting process. Even though it proved profitable, it was a profession he’d stumbled into accidentally, a consequence of his awful dreams. He was ready to try something new—although this wasn’t quite the sort of “new” something he had expected.
The president didn’t hesitate to spell out Ray’s choices. “You have two options, Captain Perkins. One is to become a normal civilian and blend into our labor force and way of life. If you take that path, we will have to erase portions of your memory because you represent a great security risk based on the things you know. We will have to retrain you to a new profession that matches your specific skills. That step can be risky, though. You may lose important portions of your identity as well….”
“Ouch! That’s not very encouraging!”
“You worked in intelligence. You know that all governments have leaks, and sometimes information gets into the wrong hands. Let me tell you there are means to get that information that are both painful and thorough. Nobody could withstand those attempts without proper preconditioning.
“You have a second choice, though. This is the one I hope you will accept. We’d like you to take a position in the Alliance military forces and work with us to deal with the impending arrival of the Rockoids. Your special insights will be valuable, indeed.”
Ray didn’t feel very comfortable at the threat of having his memory altered. Even if he accepted the alternative, could he possibly achieve the lofty goals this president set for him; could he possibly survive the training? Would he just die off in the process, lost in some staged accident and eliminated before he became a real threat to this Alliance?
Damn, I’ve got to stop being so paranoid! Why can’t I just think people actually want to help me?
Rogers appeared to be the gracious host, accepting his guest’s delay at reaching a decision—and it wasn’t long in coming.
Ray smiled. “I suppose I really don’t have a choice here….”
Rogers just nodded, giving a smug smile of his own in return.
“It won’t be easy, though. Any member of our military forces must attend the Alliance naval academy for four years. In addition, you have a couple of centuries of history to catch up on. We need to acclimate you to our time and our way of life. It’s going to be difficult, very difficult. We need to accelerate the training program so you can complete your studies in weeks rather than months. I’ve examined the historical records of your military experience, and I think you have a good chance of getting through the training with success.”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll do my best.”
What choice did I have? Join them or have my mind vaporized!
“Excellent! I wish I could speak with you further, but I have some urgent appointments with my security staff. I’ll be checking on your progress in the weeks to come and maybe we’ll get together for another conference. Right now, we have to pack you off to London. It’s getting late, and you have a long training session awaiting you there, tomorrow morning.”
Ray sighed. He knew it would be a waste of time to hold out any hope for some extended rest and relaxation now.
As he left Rogers’ office, an almost silly thought came to his mind: I never did get to finish that peach pie!
* * *
The military situation was considered normal at the Mars and Europa colonies. A low-level alert remained in force, due to the reports of the presence of Rockoid ships in Alliance space.
Millions of inhabitants, who had journeyed to these worlds from across the Alliance, went about their daily routines, working, playing, eating, and sleeping, unconcerned that they might be the targets of an attack by aliens.
The two colonies were quite similar in size and construction. All were marvels of twenty-third-century technology. Severa
l large cities were spread across the two worlds, encased in huge domes, made of a clear but impenetrable alloy composed of special minerals discovered on a far-off Alliance world. Each city was completely self-contained, with atmosphere and artificial gravity fields created by fusion generators.
Inside the domes, every effort was made to make the residents feel at home. To provide maximum comfort and security for a variety of species, they opted to fashion the cities after the typical small New England town of mid-twentieth-century Earth. There was a central shopping district in each, where one could also find the town hall.
The local government consisted of a board of elected representatives of the inhabitants called “selectmen.” Day-to-day affairs were overseen by a city manager, a hired hand working under the governor of the colony, who in turn reported directly to the main solar system authorities on Earth.
Sprawling shopping centers were located at the outskirts of each city, with merchandise imported from across the galaxy, to serve the needs of the diverse population.
Hovercars were employed for regional transport. Huge oval tunnels had been dug beneath the surfaces of Mars and Europa to connect one city to the next.
An immense central spaceport served the needs of travelers from other planets. Ships from both Earth’s solar system and the Alliance worlds arrived there regularly. Although the colonies were designed for heavy industry, a growing number of tourists cherished the duty-free shops, red-light districts, and casinos set up by the local governments to keep their citizens from becoming bored with their daily routines.
The major income generators, though, were not tourism. The huge amounts of money spent to build these colonies came from industrialists who set up vast mines to extract the bountiful harvest of a hundred and one minerals.
As more and more minerals were recovered from the bowels of these worlds, the civilian work force was increasingly allocated toward local manufacturing. The specialty was transportation; spaceships on Mars and hovercars on Europa.
By far, the largest manufacturer was RECOM, the Alliance’s number one military contractor. RECOM’s Martian shipyard/outfitting facility had not only given a boost to the colony’s income, but also increased the population by more than five times in the first seven years of its existence.
However, the Alliance’s efforts to disarm its military after the end of the Jintorian wars struck RECOM hard. Production quotas dropped precipitously. A freeze was placed on hiring and many older workers were encouraged to take early retirement. The future didn’t look terribly bright, as the need for instruments of war seemed to lessen with each passing day.
That all changed with the arrival of the Rockoid spaceships. The local RECOM plant managers had a mid-level security clearance because they needed to keep abreast of the military requirements for their hardware. They knew what was coming, and, despite the clear danger to friends and family, inwardly hoped a war in space would help revitalize their plants and restore their lucrative bonuses.
For now, the lives of the residents of Mars and Europa continued as if nothing was amiss. Adults went to work, children to school; religious services were still held every week or at whatever time was appropriate to a particular religion. For some unaccountable reason, though, attendance at religious services began to increase. Maybe the populace sensed something was coming that would require them to secure their faith.
If the threat that existed at the edge of Alliance space was real, their way of life would soon change—forever.
Chapter 10
The London skyline easily conveyed the impression the city was totally different from the one Ray recalled. He was amazed when he saw the futuristic scenery. In fact, he noticed Gotlieb had to fly a bit higher since some of the buildings were so tall. This city was far more inviting than Brussels if twenty-third-century architecture was in the realm of one’s expertise. In fact, none of the city’s major historic monuments remained, having largely been destroyed in the Third World War or demolished for reconstruction purposes later on.
He did not get the chance to admire the London skyline much longer, for the two men soon reached the city’s center. Gotlieb’s hovercar swooped down toward the ground and stopped at a parking stall in front of a large rectangular building with some sort of fighter plane on top of it.
“Here we are, old man!” announced Gotlieb.
The seat belts released, the doors opened and they stepped out. Ray stared at the large building with astonishment.
He thought the Alliance Naval Academy would be something spectacular, a showpiece of the latest in architecture and construction techniques. Instead, the building had the classic design of a twentieth-first-century university, with a few transparent elevators at the four rounded corners of the structure.
The architecture itself was traditional, emphasizing large gray spires and enormous glass windows that revealed the classrooms within. Dull and drab was a fitting label.
Ray looked long and hard for a signpost to indicate the purpose of the structure, but found none. There were no signs anywhere.
They walked into the academy and down a plain, long hallway with tiled floors and large, nondescript oil paintings, until they stopped at a door on the right end of the hall.
“Enjoy your training session, old man. I’m sure you’ll like your teacher. She’s a good friend of mine.”
“What’s her name?”
“She’s Major Jennifer Grant; she won’t mind if you call her Jennifer. Now I have to run. See you later, old man.”
“See you later, David.” Ray realized he just called Gotlieb by his first name. Strange the person who arrested him upon first meeting him could perhaps, some day, become his friend.
Strange indeed.
Gotlieb walked quietly and briskly out the front entrance. Ray heard the soft rumble of Gotlieb’s hovercar in the distance, and the whine of its accelerators as it sped away. Ray waited until Gotlieb was gone before he walked inside the room where his education in modern military lore was to begin.
There were several dozen beige-colored metal chairs and desks with cushion-like armrests placed in orderly fashion about the rear two-thirds of the room. Some sort of headgear and a panel with strange dials and instruments on them were placed at each desk.
A large viewscreen hung from the rear wall.
At a desk in the center of the room, Major Grant stared at a small screen resembling a computer monitor.
As he got closer, he took a careful look at the woman’s face. She had a strong likeness to his girlfriend, Patricia, having the same warm, penetrating blue eyes, perfect red lips, and beautiful light red hair; and, yes, the same tall, lithe, shapely physique.
Ray felt Major Grant might have been mistaken for Patricia’s sister. On closer examination the illusion became all the more certain. For now, though, Ray thought he’d keep their strong likeness to himself.
He asked, as casually as he could, “Excuse me, Major Grant?”
She looked up, saw Ray, and smiled. She got up and shook his hand vigorously, evincing the impression of great physical strength.
Ray regarded her with curiosity and perhaps a bit of lust. The Major definitely looked like she worked out and he didn’t fail to notice his heart beating just a bit faster and his breath becoming a little deeper.
“Ah, Captain Perkins, it’s so nice to finally meet you. How are you doing?”
“Pretty well, Pat—er, ah, I mean, Major Grant.”
He immediately realized his mistake, but it was too late. He didn’t know why he said it.
Jennifer didn’t seem to notice his discomfiture, just the comment. “Nice to hear you’re doing okay, but my name’s Jennifer, not Pat.”
“It’s just…you look a lot like someone I used to know…
that’s all.”
“Who was this person? A friend?” She didn’t even try to hide the gleam in her dazzling eyes.
“She was my girlfriend, actually.” Ray trailed off for a second; he continued, w
ith some hesitation and sadness in his voice. “We were becoming close, I think, when all this happened.”
Ray didn’t dwell on that any further, nor did he bring up the subject of the Rockoid woman who seemed to consume his thoughts more and more as time went on.
“I’m so sorry to hear what you’re going through. I couldn’t even imagine the pain you must be experiencing from all this,” said Jennifer sympathetically.
“I’m really trying not to think about it too much. I realize there’s nothing you or anyone else can do. Let’s just get on with this session, and the rest of my life.”
Major Grant paused for a second and looked into Ray’s blue eyes, trying to convey her understanding of the situation. She
had experienced her own episodes of lost love and tragedy in her lifetime, but didn’t feel it appropriate to talk about it, at least not then.
“All right Captain Perkins,” she smiled, a genuine smile and not professional at all. “Are you ready for the training session?” The Major’s mood went from sympathetic to official.
“Sure. Are you just going to teach me with books, lectures or something like that?”
“It’s combination of the two. You see, the educational process has, if I understand my history correctly, changed a lot. We find it’s more efficient to feed the information right to your brain, without having it filtered by sights, sounds and the level of your concentration.”
She barely paused before continuing her explanation with practiced efficiency.
“The headgear you see at the desks don’t just educate you. They let you experience the lessons in three dimensions, so they really become a part of you.”
She must have rehearsed this spiel. Ray could barely repress a smile as Major Grant continued.
“Normally, we’d have a few years to educate you, but time is short. We’re going to have to cram that information into your head in the next thirty days.”
“Now that sounds damned near impossible!” Ray smiled. “Back home my teachers couldn’t do it in sixteen years.”
Attack of the Rockoids Page 12