by Rob Buckman
Devon noticed several of the New Zealand girls giving him the eye and smiled to himself. At 5’ 9” and 165 pounds his neat trim body was like a magnet to girls, but Devon wondered if he knew how to handle one of the supposedly teenage girls from here. He suspected Devlin was in for a little surprise if he tried his usual Irish charm on them.
“You should know Dad, but I thought Mother said it was the Pizza delivery man?” He laughed. Devon looked abashed and nodded.
“You could be right,” he scratched the back of his neck with the tip of his pipe, looking thoughtful, “but I still say you look like the bloody milkman.” Devlin smiled in return and shook his head.
Both father and son knew very well that his wife and Devlin’s mother had never been unfaithful a day in her life until she passed away during a pneumonia epidemic.
The group introduced themselves around the coffee table, each taking their preferred drink, and something the Brits hadn’t seen. Donuts, which they fell in love with the moment they tried them.
“So,” Devon said, rubbing his hands together, “where do we start?”
“Well, you are the expert, Devon, you tell us.”
Scott heard later that the first day turned into a shouting match, which Devon won. There was no blood spilt so he strayed out of it. Two days later Devon and his crew lifted into orbit, heading for the moon. As expected, there was a pile of report stacked on his desk when he came in, and one look made him groan. Two hours later Brock and Pete found he'd barely scratched the surface, both grinning from ear to ear.
"What are you two idiots grinning about, this isn't funny.” Snapped grumpily.
"Oh, were not grinning about that, although it is funny."
"What's funny about it?"
"Well, if you will go hob knobbing with Royalty and such, instead of staying here doing your work, these things will happen.” Pete observed, sitting down and relaxing.
"Har har, very funny."
"I agree with Pete. While you were having fun in foreign climes, we on the other hand have solved two of the great mysteries of the solar system."
"Alright you two," Scott said, leaning back and reaching for his coffee cup, "stop patting yourself on the back and tell me."
"Do you want to tell him, or shall I?” Pete asked.
"By all means, you tell him, it was you who found it."
"Thank you kind sir, I shall."
"Bud Abbot and Lou Costello would be proud of you two, but if we can cut the comedy routine and get to the point?” There was a dangerous note in his voice.
"We found out where the aliens go when they vanish at Solar North.” He said beaming.
"Very informative, so?"
"We took the alien warship apart, right down to the last nut and bolt.”
“Although much of it was damaged beyond recognition, we did manage to get the navigation system functioning, and an unusual devise we found in the engine room." Scott refilled his coffee mug and took out three glasses, pouring a liberal amount of whisky the PM sent him in each glass. Brock and Pete took theirs sniffing suspiciously. Each took a belt and sighed with pleasure.
"Now tell me the good news."
"If we hadn't taken the ship apart we'd never have found it, you know.” Pete said thoughtfully. "I suspect that was the reason the mother ship came back to try to destroy her."
"What did you find Pete?"
"First, I have to tell you about the nav system. When we cranked it up, we downloaded a ton of data, but the moment we saw it, we knew they were star charts."
"That's not the half of it." Brock interjected.
"Shut up, who's telling this story?"
"Then hurry up for Christ sake!"
"What we couldn't figure out was that there was no real distance scale on the damn things, nor any calculation for Galactic drift.”
“Yeah, it’s a bitch when you don’t have anything to measure it against that we understand, like sidereal time, or any information on how they got from one system to another. You just don't point your ship at the star you want to go to and press the accelerator."
"Any fool knows that, so?"
"That's where the devise comes in, you don't have to. It all came together when we looked at one particular chart of this arm of the Galaxy and a detailed one of this system. It turned out there is a point at Solar North where it’s possible to... I suppose you say move, from one point in the Galaxy to another."
"And this mysterious device makes that possible?"
"So it would seem."
"Any idea yet how?"
"Haven't a clue."
"So we don't have to invent a FTL drive, or get passed the light speed barrier?"
"Nope!"
"Thank God for small mercies!"
"I'll drink to that, if you would deign to offer us a refill that is.” Scott refilled the glasses and he and Brock toasted the Pete's success.
"What about the second surprise?"
"We should really let Doc Chase tell you about that.” Brock said. Scott hit his communicator, changing frequencies.
"Chase! Get your skinny white ass over to my office now!” He yelled. They sat there sipping their drinks, taking bets on how long it would take him. Scott won by betting three minutes.
"What the hell has your panty hose all in an uproar!” Chase yelled, barging through the door.
"Drink Doctor?” Scott asked, handing him a glass. Chase grabbed the glass without looking at the contents, took a swallow, coughed looked at the glass, then at Scott.
"Well, that's better. Thanks for the call.” He finished his drink, slammed the glass on the desk, and started to leave.
"Hold it Chase. I believe you have some news for me?"
"Read the damn report."
"Grouchy isn't he?” Brock commented.
"Chase, sit down and have another."
"Since you asked nicely, I will."
"All right, talk!” Scott said, refilling his glass.
"Good whisky, where did you highjack it from?"
"PM's private stock, now give."
"I suppose these two clowns have told you the secret?"
"Only the one they found, what's yours."
"You remember me telling you that I thought one of those aliens spoke our language?"
"Yes, what of it."
"Well, I was wrong, he didn't need to.” Chase reached into his pocket and pulled and small silver whitish object out of his pocket and threw it on the desk.
"What is it?” Scott asked, picking up the silver dollar size medallion.
"As best as I can describe it, it’s a universal language translator. The whole time we were talking, there were four of these disks in the observation room, in among the equipment and personal effects we took off the aliens. This sucker knew exactly what we were talking about the whole time."
"This is it?"
"Oh, no. I finally found the other half in the body of one the dead.” He pulled a small box out of his shirt pocket and handed it over. "It's made of sort of plastic material, totally compatible with any bio system. That's why I didn't pick it up on X-ray."
"All right then, the question is, can we duplicate it and implant it in our people?” He asked.
"There you have me. I'm running experiment at the moment to see if I can grow this," he said, holding up the box, “and electronics is taking a careful look at that.” He pointed to the disk. "The answer to your question is up in the air at the moment." Scott sat there, digesting the information. Three major elements to a larger puzzled had just fallen into place, but how they fitted into the whole picture was yet to be seen.
"With the help of the Brits we are well on our way to building a fleet now, so we'd better get this information over to them, and start trying to duplicate and test this devise as soon as possible."
"Agreed, the next time they come, I’d like to follow them home and introduce myself.” Brock's voice left no doubt, as to just how he would do that.
“How are we coming on arrange
ments to get men and supplies up to the construction site?"
"Well in hand Skipper. We start ferrying the first group up to the moon tomorrow."
"Any trouble with the Government?"
"None so far and no progress locating the traitor."
"Not surprising, but keep working on it. Any major problems come up while I’ve been away?” He asked, looking round the group. All three shook their heads. "What about the list of naval cadet trainees?"
"We put the word out, and have one hundred and forty people so far."
"Good, have them ready to leave by the end of the week.” After that, they each had one more and took off to their separate duties. Scott went back to his reports.
Later that evening, Scott put a call through by the newly installed holo-phone to the PM to update him on ship construction progress. In many ways, it was a great improvement over the old video-conference calling he use to do. It looked and felt as if they were in the same room together, almost sitting side by side chatting like old friends in the comfort of each other’s own study. There was a sociological aspect to the meeting as well, each taking comfort in their surroundings, familiar items, without the power play overtones so prevalent in one or the other being in the others office.
“Well, that’s it in a nutshell, Prime Minister.” Scott, said, concluding his briefing.
“Excellent, that takes care of the official business, so let’s drop on the titles, Scott.”
“Thank you, sir,” Scott smiled, “but I feel a certain amount of formality should be observed.
“I understand.” Just then, Scott heard a knock at the door and looked around. The reception was so clear that for a moment he thought the knock had come at his door until he saw the door on the opposite side in the PM’s study open and a man in a naval uniform enter. “I took the liberty of asking Admiral Kennings to join us, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Obviously, the PM had something else on his mind.
“Good evening, General Scott, how are you this evening?”
“Well, Admiral, and you?”
“Could be better, what with our normal abysmal English weather to contend with.” He chuckled as he sat and accepted a drink for the PM’s steward.
“You’ll have to move your office to New Zealand, Admiral, it positively balmy compared to England.” The Admiral toasted Scott’s suggestion and took a hefty sip.
“I couldn’t agree more.”
“It's in the nature of that suggestion that I asked the Admiral to join us.” The PM interjected.
“How so, sir? Scott asked, suppressing a puzzled frown that started to cross his face. The PM looked at Admiral Kennings. Kennings for his part looked a little uncomfortable for a moment, as if he wasn’t sure how to broach the situation. He took another sip of the drink and cleared his throat.
“First, let me say that what I about to outline is in no way a reflection of your efforts to take this fight to the enemy.”
“I understand that, Admiral, and I take no offense at anything you say.”
“Glad to hear is, although I’m sure you might at some time during this discussion.” Scott nodded, wondering privately where this was going. He decided to let the Admiral run with the ball and see where it went before saying anything.
“I think I should recap a little history first, to put things in perspective, so to speak.”
“You have the floor, Admiral. Go for it.” Scott smiled to take any bite in the statement, but the Admiral took no offense.
“From the records, we know that Sir Winston Churchill or Mr. Churchill as he was then known that sooner or later England would have to take the fight to the enemy. This was in 1941, before you Americans got involved militarily.”
“I read that somewhere, but go on.”
“The problem was that no one had any idea of how to put a million man army on the enemy beach, with all the supplies, equipment, fuel, and food to prosecute a war against Germany.”
“I can imagine. Not an easy task even now.”
“No it isn’t,” Admiral Kennings nodded in agreement before continuing, “in that light, he formed a committee to look into the ramifications of such a venture. Their mandate was to explore all possibilities, and come up with a recommendation to him as to what was needed.”
“I think I see where this is leading, but go on.”
“The committee looked at the invasion from both ends, the details, and the big picture, so to speak, what the overall objectives were, and what the soldier on the ground needed to get him there and fight.”
“I can imagine that in 1940 much of the equipment and weapons hadn’t even been invented, such as a good landing craft.”
“Exactly, and that’s what the committee recommended to Churchill. They also looked at what the Allies role would be in a post-war Europe, their long range goals.” Scott saw the ramification of what Admiral Kenning was driving at, and he had to admit, it was something he’d overlooked.
“The PM,” Admiral Kenning nodded to Patrick, “did the same thing as Churchill.”
“I see. And what did the committee recommend?” Scott asked.
“I’ll send you a condensed version of their report so you can review all of their recommendations.” Scott heard a note of something in the PM’s voice. Not caution exactly, or uncertainty, but something.
“What aren’t you telling me?” He smiled at both of them, hoping to put them at ease. The PM and the Admiral looked at each other for a moment.
“It comes down to a question of what we, you in your capacity as the leader of the New Zealand contingent, and myself as a spokesman for his majesty, need to do about the so called world council after we defeat the aliens.” The PM seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, as if he’d just put down a heavy load, and maybe he had.
“Yes, I see what you mean.” Scott had toyed with several ideas of what to do ‘after’, but as yet hadn’t formulated a plan. “I’m pleased that you have so much confidence in my, or I should say, our ability to defeat these aliens.” He chuckled.
“Defeat or not, that’s a question for the future. What concerned the committee was the 'what if', and what to do ‘after’ we win.”
“If and when that happens, collectivity we will be the defacto power on this planet.” The PM said softly, as if waiting for the other shoe, or in this case, boot to drop.
“Gentlemen, if you think that I owe any allegiance to this world government, put your mind at ease, I do not!” Scott almost growled the last words. A look of relief pasted over both their faces, and they relaxed.
“Now comes the tough question, Scott.”
“Where do my loyalties lay?” He asked the question for them.
“Exactly.” Scott sat back and sipped his drink, pondering the question. It wasn’t as if it wasn’t a question he hadn’t asked himself before, he had, many times, and until now, he thought he had the answer, and said so.
“Until England and Japan came into the picture, I thought I had the answer to that question. Now I’m not so sure.”
“And your thinking before?” The PM asked softly.
“To find a place for my people, and any who wanted to join us, where we could live our lives in safety, and not be subject to the idiotic, half baked political and social philosophy of this so called world government.” Scott saw both of them nod, as if in completed agreement, but whether with him of each other he didn’t know.
“Then, on that point at least we see eye to eye, General Scott.” The PM didn’t bother hiding the touch of iron, or bitterness in his statement.
“But?” Scott asked.
“It’s a question of how we can bring your vision and ours together.”
“I don’t see where that is any difficulty.” The PM smiled slightly.
“In the near future, both our countries will have the power, and ships to pretty much do whatever we wish, how then will we deal with each other in the future, if we don’t come to some agreement now. We almost went down
that road once before.”
“We did,” Scott felt a little confused. He had some idea what the PM was talking about, but the last statement lost him.
“Just after the First World War, America had a Navy almost equal to that of England. This, as you can imagine, worried the Admiralty. They then considered what to do about it. One thought was to find an excuse to start a war with the US and destroy this fledging fleet before is became a serious threat to our interest.”