“THAI STICK WOULD BE NICE, AND NO STEMS OR SEEDS EITHER. UNDERSTAND?"
“Of course,” he agreed amiably, who had no idea what they were talking about. “Only the finest. Anything else?"
“YES. THREE STRETCH LIMOS. COMPLETE WITH CD PLAYER, WHITE WALLS, AIR CONDITIONING. THE WORKS. PLUS, A FULL TANK OF GAS."
The professor hid a smile. “I think we can manage that. Any particular color?"
“ANYTHING BUT WHITE."
“Done!” he smiled openly now. “So when can we come and take possession of the ship?"
“NEVER."
Sigerson's smile was still friendly, but he had to use will power to make it stay that way. “But I assumed that we were negotiating for the return of the alien craft."
“INCORRECT. WHAT WE WERE NEGOTIATING OVER WAS WHETHER OR NOT MY ASSOCIATES AND I WILL BLAST THIS PLANET INTO RUBBLE."
“Told you so,” Sir John whispered. “Temporary insanity."
Beaming a benign smile, Prof. Rajavur spread his arms wide in an appeal to reason. “But surely you don't plan to live in the ship,” he questioned the hairy youth.
“WHY NOT? IT'S CERTAINLY LARGE ENOUGH. A BIT OF PAINT, SOME POSTERS, AND IT WILL BE MOST COMFORTABLE. ANYTHING THAT WE HAPPEN TO NEED I AM SURE YOU WILL BE HAPPY TO DELIVER PROMPTLY."
Following that statement, a bolt of blue fire spat from the ship and a stand of trees in the park violently disintegrated.
“CORRECT?"
A shaken Rajavur could only nod. “We'll start assembling your tribute immediately."
“DO NOT FORGET THAT PARDON YOU MENTIONED EARLIER."
Automatically, the diplomat corrected him, “You mean amnesty. A person can't be pardoned for a crime unless first he's been convicted."
“NO TRICKS! WE WANT A PARDON!"
“Its yours! It's yours! No problem."
“SIGNED BY THE GOVERNOR."
“In triplicate!” the professor contributed, trying to appease the ganglord.
“THAT'S THE TICKET. OH BY THE WAY, THERE IS ONE MORE THING WE WANT."
Maintaining his poker face, the man sighed. Oh, what now?
“HOW ABOUT SOME LUNCH?"
The leader of the FCT picked up a pencil from the tray near his high security hot lines. He hadn't done anything like this since his college days. “Shoot, I mean, go ahead."
“A PIZZA WITH EVERYTHING, AND I DO MEAN EVERYTHING. FORGET THE MUSHROOMS AND I LEVEL ENGLAND. NO ANCHOVIES AND GOODBYE GERMANY."
* * * *
Trell touched Drill on the arm. “Excuse me, sir, but how far away are these places?” he asked curiously.
“Thousands of miles,” Drill answered, vaguely remembering a geography lesson he had once accidentally attended. “They're other countries."
The alien shook his head. “Then I'm afraid we can't do it, sir. The Proton Cannon only has a range of 100 ship lengths."
“Shut up fool,” Hammer snarled softly. “Do they know that?"
Ah, mighty clever, these humans.
* * * *
“PLUS A CASE OF IMPORTED BEER. COLD, MIND YOU."
There was a changing of personnel on the communications monitor.
“GREETINGS PEOPLE! I, THE MIGHTY DRILL, DO HEREBY DEMAND A DOUBLE ORDER OF RIBS FROM LOUIE'S BAR-B-CHEW OVER ON EAST 42ND STREET. TELL HIM THEY'RE FOR ME. OH YES, ADD A CASE OF CHIVAS REGAL."
Dr. Wu's laser printer started whining at that moment, and with the flick of a finger she put it into hush mode. “At least the alcohol with help cut all that grease from his system,” she commented, as an aside.
“So he dies of a heart attack in 10 years. Who cares? Our problem is living until tomorrow,” Bronson growled. “Wrap it up quick. We've got company coming."
In confusion, Rajavur blinked. Company?
“HELLO, MY NAME IS CHISEL. HEY MA, LOOK! I'M ON TV! I'LL HAVE A TRIPLE CHEESEBURGER, A COLA WITH NO ICE, AND A SMALL FRIES."
* * * *
“That's what you order?” Hammer stormed, brandishing a clenched fist at the boy. “Don't embarrass me, ya creep!"
* * * *
“MAKE THAT LARGE FRIES. OH, AND A BUCKET OF CHICKEN, EXTRA CRISPY, PLEASE. THANK YOU."
Now a new face came on the monitor.
“GREETINGS, DIRTLINGS."
The FCT straightened at their consoles as Trell appeared. So at least one member of the alien crew had survived the transition of power. That explained how an uneducated street gang was operating a starship.
Green and hairless, noted Wu, typing some additional medical notes into her computer file. Some sort of plant life? No, not with those teeth. He was an omnivore. Curious.
Mohad tried to locate the alien's ears, Courtney studied his clothes, Bronson and Nicholi drew diagrams of the control room behind the alien.
“What can we get for you, astronaut?” Rajavur asked in his most gregarious manner.
It seemed obvious that the greeting pleased Trell. Star voyager, he liked the sound of that! “HAVE YOU ANYTHING WITH A DOUBLE BENZENE RING, SLIGHTLY RADIOACTIVE AND ENRICHED WITH ELEMENTAL BERYLLIUM?"
That stopped the professor for a second. “Ah, no. I don't think so. Sorry."
“OH. THEN I'LL JUST HAVE SOME OF THEIR CHICKEN."
Hammer returned. “THAT'S IT FOR NOW. HAVE OUR TRIBUTE READY IN ONE HOUR, OR ELSE."
With a swirl, the monitor reverted back to an aerial shot of the white ship and the steaming lava pool next to it on the ground.
“Well, Wayne?” Prof. Rajavur asked, turning to facing the soldier.
The big man paused to light a fresh cigar. “As you told them,” he puffed contentedly. “No problem. Everybody on Earth heard the demands those yahoos made and are more then anxious to help us in harvesting the ransom."
Briefly, Rajavur considered having the food poisoned, but rejected the notion as implausible. What spacecraft wouldn't have automatic analyzers in the airlock? Heck, NASA did.
“So what's this about company?” he asked.
In response, the American soldier hit a button on his console and the wall monitor switched to an inside view of the front lobby of the United Nations building above them. A squad of NATO soldiers and several plainclothes police officers were herding two humanoid beings in gold uniforms towards the elevator bank.
“The aliens from the cube?” Sir John guessed, as he cleaned the papers off his console, hastily stuffed the documents into a file draw, and locked it shut.
“Yep. Navy SEALS found them hiding in a public bathroom,” General Bronson growled humorlessly. “A military escort is delivering them. They're max security. Should be here any minute."
Skirt billowing about her knees, Dr. Wu pivoted about in her chair. “Then you had better mirror your wall, Nicholi,” she advised.
Wiggling toes in his socks, the general wholeheartedly agreed and flipped a tripbar on his console. The overhead lights dimmed and his bulletproof glass wall silvered over, becoming an effective one-way mirror. Then from a drawer, Nicholi pulled out his personal defense weapon; a stubby pistol stock with a telescopic sight and a coaxial cable attaching it to a jack on his console. In the Command Bunker, .50 Remington machine gun positioned inside a false ceiling was slaved to that pistol, turning as it turned and pointing where it did. One press of the trigger and from diverse angles, 200 steel jacketed rounds a second would annihilate anything in his sights. General Nicholi Nicholi had specific orders not to trust anybody, which he considered moronic. Telling a Russian not to trust a stranger was the height of redundancy.
From his console, Wayne opened the doors that fronted the elevators, and carefully watched to ascertain that only the aliens came inside the antechamber, the rest of the armed escorts returning to their assigned duties. The familiar floor shaking boom of the door as it closed was clearly heard by all, and soon faintly echoing footsteps came down the concrete hallway that led to the Bunker's inner door. On Bronson's command, the steel portal mechanically swung aside, admitting the humanoid beings.
Humans stared at Gees, who
stared right back at them. A historic meeting this. The first peaceful contact between Earth and an alien species. Briefly, the FCT straightened their clothing and hair as the Great Golden Ones walked closer.
The female stood six feet tall, a good 12 inches higher then the male. Both were well proportioned, though Wu noticed a few odd muscle arrangements. Their eyes were large and solid black, seemingly without pupils. But even more striking than that was the color of their skin and hair, which perfectly matched their skintight uniforms; a muted tone of gold. Coming to a halt, the two beings stood stiffly at attention, shoulders ramrod straight, with their hands behind them. General Bronson had the unreasoning urge to tell them at ease.
Prof. Rajavur bowed to the Gees, who did the same to him.
“In the name of the planet Terra, I greet you,” he said sincerely, as the Icelander had done a thousand times before in practice sessions before his bathroom mirror. Then to Mohad he added, “Honestly, I don't suppose they can understand a word of what I'm saying. Mohad, could you enable your computers for inter-Bunker translation?"
“Most certainly,” Dr. Malavade said, and he got busy at the controls.
“There is no need for such complexities,” the female alien said in husky tones. “We have our own translation devices that allow us to converse with any sentient species."
“Excellent, that will certainly facilitate matters,” Rajavur said, recovering nicely from the shock of being addressed directly. With due formality, he introduced his team, using their full rank and titles. The golden beings bowed to each of them in turn.
“I am Avantor,” the female said, gesturing to herself. Then she pointed to the male nearby. “This is my 17."
The FCT's sociologist just couldn't restrain himself any longer. “Forgive me, Avantor,” Sir John gushed. “But is that your name, title or job description?"
“Yes,” she answered obligingly.
Hmm. “And you, sir?” he continued doggedly.
The male proudly threw out his chest and tilted his head to display his fine, wide nostrils. “I am our ship's 17."
Sir John paused a moment before replying, “Of course."
Only pretending to be casual, the two beings strolled about the Command Bunker taking advantage of the opportunity to study its complex facilities.
“How strange,” Avantor said to her assistant. “In here, they exhibit a much higher level of technology then we believed possible. Interesting. Most interesting."
Bronson and Wu exchanged smiles.
“Yes my liege, but who is that man behind the glass wall?” The 17 asked, pointing unerringly at Nicholi. “I see he holds a weapon of some sort. Your guard, I presume?"
The Russian general cursed under his breath, but did not relinquish his grip on the pistol. The phrase “...powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men...” came unbidden into his mind and his finger tightened on the trigger.
Leaning closer, Dr. Wu intently studied the alien's black eyes. “You must see further into the infrared spectrum then we do,” she deduced. “If so, the mirror would only be frosted glass to you."
Seriously displeased by the security breach, Bronson unconsciously began tapping the pistol at his hip. The 17 noticed the motion and prudently stepped between him and the avantor.
“Our physiology is not important,” Avantor said, the circumspect action of her assistant not going unnoticed. “What is important, is that we apprehend the criminals in that starship as soon as possible."
“Yeah, well, we're working on it,” General Bronson grumbled.
“What are your results so far?” she asked.
“Nada, zilch, the magic goose egg."
Avantor blinked. “I do not understand."
Suddenly a light started to flash on his console and Dr. Malavade began to gesture wildly. “Incoming transmission!” he warned the room.
The aliens allowed Sir John to herd them over by Nicholi's mirrored wall where the video cameras on the monitor could not focus on them. Courtney scurried back to his console just in time for the swirling effect to clear.
“AND ANOTHER THING,” Hammer said without any preamble. “WE WANT NEW EPISODES OF STAR TREK PUT ON TV WITH THE ORIGINAL CAST, THE FORMULA FOR COCA-COLA, AMERICA TO BE RENAMED ZIP-A-DEE-DOO-DAH-LAND AND ALTERNATE-SIDE-OF-THE-STREET PARKING IN NEW YORK CITY TO BE SUSPENDED FOREVER. MORE LATER."
Sneaking a peek at the wall monitor, this transmission upset the aliens as much as the humans.
“That was not the Sazinian we seek,” the avantor observed stepping forward to assume a military stance. “Where is Leader Idow?"
“That depends,” Sir John replied, biting a lip. “Are you religious?"
Brusquely, Rajavur took over the conversation. “Idow and most of his crew are dead. The people controlling the ship are the test subjects they brought aboard. A group of young Earth criminals that we call a street gang."
Primitives in control of a starship? Both of the aliens felt their knees go weak and gratefully they accepted the chairs Sir John brought over to them from the kitchen area. The sociologist knew the therapeutic value of sitting down after a terrible shock.
General Bronson agreed with the alien's response and thoughtfully rubbed his prominent jaw. Clearly, things were getting out of hand. “Maybe...” he reflected aloud, glancing towards Nicholi.
“If you are planning on using nuclear missiles,” Avantor interrupted hastily. “I would advise against it."
“Why is that?” Prof. Rajavur asked curiously.
“Because of the simple fact they would not work. Even if you had a fusion bomb powerful enough to penetrate their force shield, nothing could damage the ship itself.” She frowned. “Deflector Plating, you see. Absolutely impervious."
Bronson and Nicholi's ears pricked up at that. Fantastic! It was the ultimate armor. Whatever country controlled the substance could rule the Earth. Then the two generals glanced at each other and nodded. Each would make sure the other received full technical information. There would be no monopoly. The balance of power between their nations would be maintained.
Nonchalantly as an illegal vis par dealer, 17 touched the hand of his commander, the woman's distended nerves made contact with his and telepathically the male asked her: What the Void are you talking about? There is no such thing as Deflector Plating.
17, what is the first law?
To Protect.
And the second?
...ourselves.
Correct. The fusion missiles of these primitives will obliterate All That Glitters, but the blast will also kill us. I say we take the ship by guile, and live to tell our version of the story. Agreed?
“Deflector Plating,” The 17 said heartily. “Toughest thing in the universe. Nothing can harm it."
Drumming fingers on his console, Prof. Rajavur was both delighted and perturbed by this news. In their present situation this Deflector Plating was a major obstacle to overcome, but afterwards, a defense like that could mean an end to the threat of nuclear war. Somehow they must get a sample of the material for analysis, to assure the survival of humanity.
Meanwhile, Dr. Malavade filed his tape recording of the Gee's incredible statement under a triple security seal, and electronically sent a copy of it to every member of the United Nations, and Dr. Wu began to amass notes on the theoretical construction of energy-repellant matter.
Strolling over to the wall monitor, the female Guardian of the Galaxy studied the picture of the huge white ball. “17, can you identify the model of that starship?"
“Affirmative, my liege. It's a Mikon #2, or #3."
“How familiar are you with the Mikon series?"
“Totally,” he replied confidently. “I have the complete blueprint for every spacecraft used by known criminals memorized."
Avantor smiled. “Excellent. How may we enter the ship?"
17 pursed his lips. “Doors and hatches access only from the inside. Mostly they use the teleportation beam, although it is slow."
Her face shifted into a frown. “That's not what I asked."
The golden male squirmed uncomfortably under her stern gaze. “Yes, of course, my liege. I would have to build an override key, but yes, it could be done."
“Splendid.” She turned to the FCT. “Prof. Rajavur, do you have access to any military personnel?"
General Bronson answered instead. “We have our pick of the United States Army, Navy, Marines, Air Force, CIA, FBI, NSA, Secret Service, Green Berets, Delta Force, city, county, state police, National Guard, NATO, French Foreign Legion, the Russian Federal Security Agency, the Pathfinders, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police, InterPol and one guy named Remo. What do you need?"
“What we need is for your street gang to lower that force shield,” she countered. “If only for an instant. The problem is how can we make them perform the desired action."
That was the crux of the matter. A problem indeed. Then a cough sounded from the loudspeaker in the corner and everyone in the bunker turned towards Nicholi as he de-mirrored his wall.
“I know how to make them lower the shield,” he flatly stated. “It is simplicity itself."
THIRTEEN
“You do?” Prof. Rajavur inquired surprised. “How?"
Nicholi swiveled his chair away from his console to face them directly. “It is easy,” he smiled. “What we have to do is—"
“Everybody, shut up,” Dr. Wu ordered, her attention riveted onto the readouts of her console.
Wisely, the beings in the room did so, her uncharacteristic rudeness clearly announcing that something was seriously amiss.
“I don't like this,” Wu said frowning. “My sensors are indicating a mobile radiation source in Central Park."
Resembling melting butter, Avantor frowned. “Impossible,” she stated bluntly. "The All That Glitters is not atom powered."
“I said it was mobile,” Dr. Wu snapped irritably. “It is moving towards the white ship.” She paused, meticulously checking the testimony of her dials again. “Nicholi, I think you'd better alert the troops. There's a Snoopy in the park."
A lightning bolt exploding across the bunker couldn't have produced a more startling reaction than the woman's words.
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