The F-51 was, for all its abilities, not capable of orbit without a carrier plane, but no matter; this was a sub-orbital delivery mission. The ship accelerated to Mach 16 as it passed over eastern California, ascending to the peak of its parabolic arc as it spanned the ‘flyover states’ in a matter of minutes. Stealth characteristics would have kept the F-51 safe on mission for which she had been designed – an atomic penetration raid against China or North Korea – but this payload was much more unusual.
It was a stealth helicopter, four generations removed from the AH-64 Apache and representing a quantum leap in both rotary-wing technology and low-observable materials. Designed for covert insertions at night, the H-90 Coyote was as fast, as silent and as capable as any warplane in the world. In fact, the H-90 could have been ferried direct to the carrier (or even ferried itself, on autopilot) using drone refueling, but the F-51 ‘express mail’ option was much faster. And time, they knew, was of the essence.
Winched out of the payload bay and set on her own landing pad, the H-90 was being hurriedly unwrapped by technicians who were peeling off reams of protective plastic. Within minutes, they knew, the Coyote would be ready to fly. Tanner and Mackie exchanged a glance and headed below. Mackie took final, desperate drags on his smoke as the tall, black major led the way.
“So, do you find yourself doing a lot of this kind of thing?” Tanner asked conversationally as they walked across the now-deserted flight deck.
Mackie kept up the brisk pace as they approached the chopper. “You know, major, once we’ve gotten ourselves airborne, I’ll tell you all about it.” He was right, she noted; this is business time. Focus, major.
The onboard computer, which cared little for international boundaries and treaty agreements, accepted their flight plan without complaint. A light rain began as the rotors started to turn, and Tanner was fascinated to see the droplets fall from the chopper’s windshield as if pulled downward and away by some invisible force. “Piezoelectric Torlon-glass,” Mackie confided. “They really did think of everything.” For all its high-tech gadgetry, however, the Coyote still featured a control column Sikorsky would have recognized. Mackie checked his gauges, throttled up and allowed the chopper to lift off the deck of the Paul Revere.
“Now normally,” Mackie said as they ascended, “we’d do a couple circles of the carrier so they could check us out. Especially when, you know, our bird just arrived from outer space. But we’re a little short on time today, so let’s do some miles instead.” The test pilot, relishing the power of his craft and, just maybe, keen to impress the attractive Air Force officer in the co-pilot’s seat, was soon pushing the collective to maximum. The Coyote shot skyward like a fighter-plane, gaining both speed and altitude so quickly that Tanner was amazed to look back and find Paul Revere a mere speck in the distance. “We’ll hit our maximum cruise speed up at 27,000ft. I just hope the Irish and the Brits don’t mind us dropping by.”
Darkness fell suddenly as they flew east at over 250 mph. The cockpit was dimly lit, but even that wouldn’t last; Mackie figured on going completely dark and switching to night-vision systems as they approached the ‘enemy’ coast. Their first landfall would be the southern coast of Ireland, but that was half an hour away.
“You wanted to ask me a coupla things?” Mackie reminded her.
Tanner adjusted the helmet mic so she would be quiet in Mackie’s ear. “Just about your background. I didn’t get the chance to read much about you.”
Mackie grinned. “I don’t know if you have that kind of access, major. I’ve done some pretty rare shit.”
Tanner found that she liked him, despite his craggy features, his occasional bouts of arrogance, and that anachronistic smoking habit. He was authentic. He’d flown everything, everywhere, in every imaginable conditions. Who better, then, to pull off something truly unique like this? Something which lay at the meeting point of three armed services, two governments, the world’s largest corporation and an enduring, interstellar mystery?
It was Mackie who asked the next question. “Want to tell me a little bit about our pick-up? What’s the package?”
Tanner couldn’t resist her own riposte. “I don’t know if you have access, Commander Mackie. This mission involves some pretty rare shit.”
The pilot burst out laughing. “OK, you got me there. But just a little background? Anything?”
Tanner brought a file from her satchel. “You remember that rich dude with all the space hardware?”
“The mighty ‘Paul’? Yeah. I heard something about him dragging a new moon into orbit. He sounds about as crazy as a rat in a tin shit-house. What about him?”
Evelyn took a breath. “He’s in trouble. I guess he disappeared after that conference on Dvalin went south. No one knows where, but after about three weeks we got a signal from him.”
“What kind of signal? Was he on vacation or something?”
“Not exactly. He said his computer had picked up a transmission from a spacecraft which was about to arrive in Earth orbit.”
“Well, how about that?” Mackie whistled. “Friends of his. maybe?” The public reaction to Paul’s story varied widely. Although accepted as the truth by all but a hard core of conspiracy theorists, Paul’s journey to Takanli and beyond had polarized opinion; some worried that he was an interlocutor for an alien power, a mole sent to weaken Earth’s defenses before an über-violent Independence Day denouement, while others welcomed him as an intermediary, or an ambassador, or some kind of interstellar prophet. Or the reincarnation of Elvis. It depended on who you asked.
“Well, that’s how the Larssen appeared, originally,” Tanner explained. “He was led to expect the arrival of a science ship from Takanli, but it was some kind of double-cross.”
Mackie’s eyebrows raised; this was sounding like a game of deep space poker, which was much more his scene. “Oh yeah? So who’s really on their way in?”
“The Larssen apparently carried only one passenger. Some mastermind named Julius.”
“Who’s this cat?”
“An evil renegade. It’s hard to describe. He’s furious that people have been traveling through time, disrupting events and changing outcomes.”
Mackie pondered this for a second. “Well, isn’t it dangerous to go around altering the past?”
“It can be. His concern, though, is with the principle of the thing. He believes God made history perfectly, and to challenge that perfection is a sin which must be punished.”
Mackie gawked at her. “How the fuck do you punish someone who can travel through time? I mean, he could just jump forward to the end of his jail sentence, or something, right?”
“The punishment is the destruction of your journey. That way, time can be brought back into alignment with God’s plan. The alternative reality is pinched off. It can never happen.”
The pilot thought about this as he handed over the NV goggles. “We’re approaching the coast. Put these on. Then tell me more.” Below them, no lights were visible through the night-time cloud; sleeping Irish coastal villages remained unaware of their flight, as did local radar operators. “Getting no feedback on the HAVOC radar, so no one knows we’re here yet. Let’s try to keep it that way.”
“I thought the Brits were in on the plan?”
Mackie made some adjustments to the chopper’s controls, and they both heard a slight lowering of the rotor’s pitch. “Only a couple of people. If the wrong dude sees us coming, he might decide we’re a Chinese nuke, or something crazy, and see if he can brighten his shift by shooting us down. Pretty weird, don’t you think, given that Paul’s English?”
“He’s Welsh,” Tanner replied quickly. As he would have thanked me for reminding you. “And anyway, the British government is careful not to appear to favor him too much. Paul’s too colorful a character for any elected official to truly hitch his wagon to the Dvalin horse. They’re also worried in case traditional businesses will freak out if Paul does something crazy, and withdraw their support for the
ruling party in Westminster.”
“You mean, their cash, come election time?”
She chuckled. “For a grease-monkey test pilot, Commander, you’re politically astute.”
The H-90 Coyote and her two passengers passed south of Wexford and proceeded at speed across the Irish sea. It was a pitch-black night, all the better to hide their approach, but Mackie was on edge, his eyes scanning instruments and radar receivers, wary of the slightest ‘ping’ by British radar.
He punched three buttons in sequence, and then asked, “So tell me about this alternative reality?”
“Huh?”
“The one the evil mastermind wants to destroy,” Mackie clarified.
Evelyn fumbled for quite the right words. “Well… you’re living in it.”
Mackie did not need to feign confusion. “I am?”
“As of summer 2003, according to Paul, the world was headed for certain disaster. He claims we had begun an unstoppable process which would result in a ravaged planet, a terrified, diseased population, poisoned oceans and air, the whole smash.”
“Jesus,” he whistled. “Sounds like a downer.”
“The ultimate downer,” Evelyn agreed. “He told me that he saw the news from the 2040s, and that by that point, we were totally fucked. Nuclear exchanges, new and untreatable illnesses, huge regional wars and a toothless UN which was powerless to act.”
“Got to say, bits of that sound familiar, already,” Mackie countered.
Evelyn turned to look at him through her NV goggles. “Really? How can you say that when we’ve got free electricity for almost everyone? When we’ve seen corporate control eroded, and when education is skyrocketing?” Mackie knew she was right. His only son, Bob Jr., was on a full-ride scholarship at U-Penn, something which was so rare as to be unthinkable only years earlier. The extra money had brought new skills, world-class research and huge improvements in teaching. Mackie cherished his son’s emails, which showed just how fully his son’s enormous potential was being realized.
Mackie conceded the point. “So, Julius is coming here to do what, exactly?”
“That’s what Paul went to find out. He met Julius in orbit and the crazy asshole explained his plan.”
“To do what?”
She breathed deeply. “To destroy our reality.”
Mackie engaged the autopilot and sat back, staring at her. “Get the fuck out of here. How can anyone destroy all of this?”
“By ensuring that it never begins. Julius is planning to destroy the science ship from Takanli which picks Paul up in 2003. He’ll never get to Takanli. We’ll never get Dvalin and all its resources, our kids won’t go to fantastic schools, and planet Earth will crumble under our weight.”
Mackie grimaced. “So this guy shows up from who-knows-where and announces the end of reality. What do we do?”
We get Paul some serious help. That’s what we do. She smiled, remembering that wonderful introduction as they boarded the asteroid. Welcome to Dvalin, everyone. My name is Hal. Senator Beasley’s heart attack had somewhat spoiled their arrival, but given that he was doing handstands half an hour later, the experience had retained its gloriously insane sheen.
“Solving big problems like this requires a lot of computational power. Hal’s had a brilliant idea for an upgrade.”
They crossed the Welsh coast at over 250 mph but, as much of their sonic energy was radiated upward, they were effectively inaudible at anything above skyscraper height. Mackie asked for silence, the better to focus on navigating the nimble chopper down through the valleys which would lead them to their landing zone. The Coyote descended through thick layers of cloud and into a heavy rain shower. Perfect, though Mackie. We’re invisible and damned near silent, it’s the middle of the night no one knows we’re here, and it’s raining like a burst pipe. Copacetic.
Their landing zone was, of course, the hilltop from which Paul had been abducted, thirty-one years earlier, the one to which he had returned with the plan to save Earth. It remained bare, and absent the temple which would not be built until years later, so Mackie had plenty of room to gently set down the decelerating chopper. There was a slight bump, and they were in Wales. It was the country’s smallest ever illegal invasion.
“OK, Major Tanner. Beasley tells me we can just leave this rig right here. I think he’s out of his fucking mind, but I’ve known the man since flight school and he’s hardly ever wrong.” Evelyn suppressed a grin; he’s never wrong now that he’s running on Takanli technology. I wonder if he has to dumb himself down, to avoid intimidating the people he works with? She thought back, once more, to the awful, panicked moment of his heart attack. Was that really just three weeks ago? Craziness.
They disembarked, grabbed their personal gear and set off down the hill. It was just before 2am and Snowdonia was pitch black and dead quiet. Both intruders were pleased to have jackets; the Welsh winter brought temperatures below freezing, although the rain had largely stopped within half an hour of their arrival. Below them, the lake was as flat as glass and completely silent. “Paul crashed his spacecraft, the Phoenix, into this lake,” she explained, “when he returned from Takanli.”
Mackie glanced over at the still body of water. “40 years asleep and 120 light-years later, and he makes a perfect splashdown. Not bad for a rookie.”
“We’re following the same route he took, except we have to skip the welcome breakfast. His car should be just here.” The pair skirted the lake, treading briskly along the path which led away from the water’s edge and through a gate, into the parking area.
It was not the trusty VW Golf of 30 years earlier, but a slightly newer vehicle which waited for them, a 2012 Vauxhall Ampera. “He likes his antiques,” quipped Mackie as he purposefully took the driver’s seat.
“Er, Commander. You ever driven on the left before?”
The pilot stared at her for a second. “It’s 2am! Who’s gonna know?!” It required only a moment of Evelyn’s most withering look for him to relent and slide sheepishly into the passenger seat. “She’s yours to fly. I’ll handle navigation.”
Evelyn had the route memorized, but she let him help. Pilots are at their least tolerable when bored, she knew, but he was right about the traffic; 2am in January was not peak time for Snowdonia’s roads. Twenty minutes later, after some brief arguments about directions, they pulled up outside Paul’s three-bedroom suburban home. The street was deserted but, to Mackie’s consternation, well lit by streetlights.
“How come there are no protestors camped out here? Journalists? Photographers?”
Evelyn tapped on the living room window, very softly. “You know how many people in the world have this address?”
“How many?”
“Three. You, me and Beasley. Nobody else knows where he lives, and it stays that way. Capice?”
Mackie nodded his agreement. There was a soft click and the front door swung open. He followed Tanner into the house, which was extraordinarily neat, as if maintained by a team of servants. The fittings were polished, the kitchen floor fairly gleamed, and the living room, into which they stepped, was spotless. “So, where’s the package?”
“Good morning, Commander Mackie,” came a voice out of nowhere. “I am Hal, supercomputer to the stars. Or, if you prefer, ‘the package’.”
“Ho-ly fuck!” he nearly yelled. “I thought they were kidding about you!” Tanner located the black box in the corner of the room, looking quite innocent among Paul’s stereo equipment. His green power bar swished to and fro.
“Believe me, Commander Mackie, the only joke here is that I still need the help of humans to do my work. I take it you’re ready to leave?”
He glanced at Tanner. “Is he always like this?”
Before she could answer, Hal interjected. “Oh yes. I’m an irascible, short-tempered, obstinate lump of technology. I exist only to slow you down, Commander. In fact, it would be faster not to bring me along at all.”
“Calm down, sweetie,” said Tanner, giggling
. “I see you’ve lost none of your contempt for inefficiency.” She picked up the machine, unplugged three wires from ports on its underside, and carried Hal out to the car.
“Oh, it’s not contempt, major. I simply don’t understand it. And,” this was to Mackie, “are you quite sure driving is the best way to transport the planet’s most powerful mind? I could easily have created sufficient confusion at Air Traffic Control for you to have landed three hundred yards away on the school sports field. This cannot be the most efficient way.”
Tanner grew up with brothers, and knew when to put her foot down. “Hal, my darling, we’re here to help you, and to help Paul. Ultimately, we’re all trying to save the planet. So, informative though your observations are, just stow them, OK?”
She strapped the machine into the car’s back seat and got them going. “Never ignore a lady in uniform, Hal,” Mackie advised. “Or you’ll get a real lesson in power.”
The trip back to the chopper was smooth. Mackie balked at having to tote the thirty-pound computer up the side of a mountain, but choice words of encouragement from Tanner, and more pointedly from Hal, got them to the top. Bob got the rotors going while Tanner strapped Hal in, once more. “Kinda like having a wheelchair passenger, huh?”
“Commander?”
“Yes, Hal?”
“Once this journey is over, and my mission is accomplished, I think we should have a long talk.”
***
The chopper flew quietly over sleeping countryside. Mackie avoided major roads or towns, nudging the stick slightly every few seconds, guiding the racing helicopter along its route. He was learning a great deal from the ever-voluble Hal.
“You see, as soon as I got word that the Larssen was arriving, I was suspicious. There’s just no way,” Hal explained, “that Takanli would send a vessel without prior warning. At the very least, Dr. Falik, or Carpash, or even Garlidan would have moved heaven and earth to get a message to Paul. It was a callous act of deception, without which Julius would have been prevented from approaching.”
Clarion: The Sequel to Voyage (Paul's Travels) Page 7