Legacy

by Bob Mauldin

  Now he had a decision to make, try for the shuttle, or go back to his bunk. Armed as he was with multiple disks, two guns and terabytes of additional data hidden on various parts of his uniform.

  Now was the time, before someone came back early. He pushed the locker door shut with a faint sound and made directly for the shuttle. To his great relief, no one was aboard and no guards called for him to stop. He slipped into the engine room, slid the door into place, and found his hiding spot. Setting his pack down, he sat on it still completely hidden behind one of the over-sized generators.

  He was still hidden when he heard the returning flight techs, but no one entered the engine room. Soon he heard the sound of Simon’s voice along with several others. The engines began to power up in their pre-launch test, while other systems did the same.

  “Yes, Sally,” the reporter said into the camera, “we are here at Camp David awaiting a historic moment. This is the first time that something will land on Earth that hasn’t first been launched from the Earth. At least,” he continued with a smile on his face as his entire body radiated a palpable sense of excitement, “officially. Stories about Roswell come to mind, crop circles and many other things as well. But none of those have ever been substantiated. Today we will be able to see something land. I must admit that I’m having a bit of trouble believing all this, Sally. It just seems a bit too ... Star Wars-ish. Officials have been very close-mouthed about the situation, except to say that we will be witnessing the first official meeting between this Terran Alliance and representatives from all over the world. What type of craft will land or even how it will land hasn’t been divulged.

  “Historically, the only flying craft that come to Camp David are helicopters. The only thing we have to go on so far are all the films of those small fighter-type craft that buzzed the major cities of the world, putting on the aerial displays that are still causing such a furor in scientific circles. In some cases, those craft came to a complete stop and held position for extended periods of time before moving on.

  “Where we are set up, just outside the main gate, we have as good a view as anyone is going to get of the landing, if it occurs.” The commentator was obviously displeased with not being closer, from his tone of voice, but unsure whether the unexpected restriction was justified or not. He went on. “I’ve had the privilege of being present at two space shuttle landings, and I can tell you that what we have here today is a drastic departure from that type of landing. A shuttle essentially glides into a landing area on runways specially designed for a long rolling stop. The field we have been told to watch is too short by far for anything but a powered landing. And as a pilot, I can say that, considering the area, the angle of descent will be rather steep.

  “Whatever is coming down shortly is going to do so in a manner that very few crafts can manage. Helicopters, VTOL’s like the Osprey, and such. That means ‘vertical take-off and landing’. But a powered space-to-ground craft? Nothing in any arsenal on the planet can do it in the space available, Sally. And we are led to believe from the press release,” he waved a piece of paper at the camera, “that the craft will take off and go back again without refueling.”

  Another voice, another channel. “According to what we’ve been told, the vessel will land shortly after eight AM and we will get our first glimpse of the enigmatic Captain Hawke.”

  Simon laughed as he turned away from the television set up on the Projects Deck. “So, now I’m ‘enigmatic.’“ He turned to the assembled crowd and said, “Well, folks. Let’s go make a deal.” He watched as the rest of the away team filed aboard the small shuttle Daniel Baylor had presented to Galileo so long ago. It hasn’t been that long, has it? he thought. Then, Has it really been two whole years?

  He took Kitty off to one side. “Listen, Kittyn. I can see the worry in your face. I’ve known you too long not to know that you’ve been troubled by this for days. I just don’t know how to reassure you. Nothing I can possibly say would do it. You’re a wife and your man is going into danger. I’d worry too if the situation were reversed.” He smiled deprecatingly, hands out in a helpless gesture. “But the risk is worth it!”

  He looked over his shoulder at the waiting ship, slid his arm up to her shoulders, and drew her to him, letting her head nestle against his chest. “Damn it, I know it sounds vain, Kittyn, but it’s not really,” he said to the air above her head. “But I remember that this is how the U.S. got her independence from Britain. They felt that the distance was so great and the information time-lag so long, that it made no sense to remain so closely affiliated. They believed that their distant shore gave them the right to determine their own destiny.”

  He stroked the back of her neck with his left hand. “And if this works, we’ll do it without having to kill one person, or have one of ours killed. A bloodless secession.”

  He raised his left hand to her head and let the reddish gold hair spill from between his fingers, his eyes devouring the sight. “You know that I can’t do this without you, don’t you?”

  Kitty pushed back in his embrace, looking up angrily. “I hate it that you put this on me, Simon. You’re not asking me if I believe in your vision, you’ve got more than enough who believe in that. You’re asking me if I believe in you. And of course, I believe in you. I have since the day we met. I’d have thought you’d have known that, but ... you’re just a man.” She squeezed him tight for a moment and stepped back. “I just didn’t expect this! And I wish it didn’t have to be you!”

  Simon kissed her, feeling the rapid beat of her heart in the fingertips that lightly stroked her neck. “That’s the best compliment I’ve ever had,” he said as he kept on massaging.

  Chief Hargrove waved to her from the last open bay door. She grabbed the helmet he held out as she swarmed up the boarding ladder, throwing her right leg into the cockpit, feeling the ladder retracting before her weight was fully off of her left. She wormed her way into her flight harness, absently acknowledging the ready status of the ship as the cockpit closed automatically, and settled the helmet onto her head. She had just enough time to realize the name on the helmet read Hawke, K, and give silent thanks to whoever had had the foresight to bring it over from Galileo.

  As she put her helmet on, she became privy to the chatter across the open circuits ... “Flight Leader, this is Flight Control. Telemetry shows Mamba Five occupied, prepped and ready for launch.”

  Kitty heard Shirley reply, “Roger, Flight Control. Confirm Mamba Five occupied. Mamba Five, report your status.”

  Kitty looked down, gave all of her instruments a final check, and reported, “Flight Leader, Mamba Five. Board green and ready for launch.”

  Shirley’s voice came to her again, “Flight Control, this is Flight Leader. Mamba Flight reports all green, ready for launch. Request information on shuttle status.”

  Flight Control reported back, “Galileo Flight Control reports clearing last computer glitch. Shuttle is preparing to leave the bay. Mamba Flight, you are clear to launch in sequence.”

  “Flight Control, this is Flight Leader. Acknowledge clear to launch in sequence. Mamba Flight, this is Flight Leader. Prepare to launch in sequence. Ten-second intervals. Form on me and await further instruction.”

  Kitty immediately felt the distinctive vibration that told her a Mamba had launched. As soon as she felt the fourth one, she began her own internal countdown, and on the mark, took her ship out of the bay. As soon as she slid into open space, her sensors came alive. She found the blips that represented the rest of her flight, moved herself into position, and reported, “Mamba Five, on-station.”

  Kitty looked down at her screens and saw the five small blips of her flight, the larger one of the McCaffrey, and the still larger one of the Galileo. As she watched, a small blip separated itself from the largest one, and Simon’s shuttle headed down at a sedate pace.

  Shirley Dahlquist’s voice came across the intercom, “Mamba Flight, this is Flight Leader. Escort formation. Jo
hnson, take point,” she said to Kitty. “Carpenter, port. Sipes, starboard. Randall, take the rear and watch out for the shuttle’s backwash. Remember to test your controls, people. Those who haven’t flown in atmosphere before.”

  Kitty, appreciative of the fact that Shirley had assigned her the point so that she could assess the situation, led the flight down, keeping their speed well below the levels that Engineering recommended for atmospheric flight. As soon as she felt her ship buck, she reported, “Mamba Five. Atmospheric contact.”

  Both the shuttle pilot, Security Chief Staples, and her flight leader acknowledged, and almost immediately, on an auxiliary circuit, Kitty heard Simon’s voice. “Galway, this is Hawke. Do you copy?”

  Galway’s terse reply. “Galway here.”

  “We’ve just hit atmosphere. We’ll be down shortly. Clear a spot.”

  Galway came back, “If you can land vertically, there’s a well-marked helipad that should be able to take a craft up to about a hundred and fifty feet long.”

  “We’ll use the helipad. Hawke clear.”

  A minute later the shuttle pilot came on. “Mamba Flight, this is Chief Staples. Transferring commercial audio feed to your channel three. Thought you might enjoy it. Shuttle clear.”

  Kitty began testing her ships’ controls as the six Alliance vessels dove deeper into the atmosphere. With one part of her mind, she listened to the chatter on her ship circuit, and with another she listened to the television audio. “Mamba Five. Fifty thousand feet,” she reported.

  Immediately on the heels of her report came another. “Mamba Three. Reporting radar contact.”

  “Mamba Two. Reporting radar lock-on.”

  “Mamba Flight, this is Mamba Leader. Do not, repeat, do not, raise shields at this time. Continue your descent. Take no evasive action. Bogeys approaching from east and west and still below us.”

  Kitty watched the approaching blips as well as her descent and heard Shirley challenge the approaching craft. “United States craft. This is Mamba Flight Leader. We are on approved approach to Camp David at Vice-President Reese’s invitation. Halt your approach and state your intentions.”

  “Mamba Flight, you say. Is there a Captain Simon Hawke with you?” a disembodied voice asked.

  Shirley acknowledged the fact that there was. “Very well then, Mamba Flight, we are your escort.”

  Kitty’s instruments lit up and she reported, “Mamba Five. Reporting radar lock-on.”

  She heard Shirley’s calm voice continue. “Escort Leader, three of my flight report radar lock-on. That’s not good manners. Disengage your targeting systems.”

  “Mamba Flight Leader, this is Escort Leader. Regret to inform you that we cannot do that. To quote from my mission briefing in part, it says, ‘armed with weapons of unknown potential, and to be considered potentially hostile.’“

  “Well, then, I have a surprise for you, Escort Leader,” Shirley shot back. On a separate circuit, she ordered, “Mamba Leader to all ships. On my mark, engage shields for five seconds, then disengage. Three, two, one, mark.”

  After all six ships engaged, then disengaged their shields, Kitty heard Shirley’s voice again. “Okay, Escort Leader, what do you think of that?” The move had made all six ships disappear from the radar screens of the approaching craft, effectively ruining all targeting data and lock-ons.

  “Mamba Flight Leader, I still have my orders.”

  Shirley was silent for several seconds, then said, “That was the simplest thing in our bag of tricks, Escort Leader. Try this one on for size.” Switching to the private channel, she ordered, “Flight Leader to all ships. On my mark, reduce speed to zero and hover. Three, two, one, mark. Reengage your screens and continue your descent. Escort Leader, this is Mamba Flight Leader. Respond.”

  “How the hell did you do th… This is Escort Leader.”

  “You’re just going to have to track us on visual, I’m afraid.” Kitty grinned as she heard the suppressed chuckle in Shirley’s voice. “If you try to lock on one more time, I’ll have to burn out your radar systems, and I don’t want to do something like that to somebody who my mission briefing refers to as a potential ally. So, we’ll just keep our screens up.” Switching back to the private channel, she said, “I know we can’t do that, but he doesn’t.”

  Kitty grinned at Shirley’s audacity and reported, “Twenty thousand feet. Extensive radar sweeps. No lock-on.”

  She listened to the verbal duel between the flight leaders. “Mamba Flight Leader, my orders are to fire on your craft if you make any hostile moves.”

  “Well, you’re going to have to make your own interpretations of our moves,” Shirley said. “We’ve been invited to Camp David, and we’re going straight there, so the only thing you can call hostile will be a deviation from that course. Besides, you aren’t carrying anything that can hurt us.”

  “Mamba Flight Leader, this is Escort Leader. You don’t know what we’re armed with.”

  “Escort Leader, I have a strong suspicion what you are armed with, especially considering the fact that we are flying over densely populated parts of the United States. You’re not going to detonate a nuclear device at this altitude and nothing else you have can do anything to harm us. Our vessels and shields are designed to take minor meteor impacts at a fraction of the speed of light, Escort Leader, so I suggest you back off on the threats.”

  Kitty reported, “Ten thousand feet.”

  Shirley spoke to the U.S. aircraft one more time. “Escort Leader, this is Mamba Flight Leader. I believe you’ve just reached the point of can’t-do-anything-now. We are picking up commercial audio and all three major networks have us on visual. It’s time to put away the brass knuckles and be good little boys. And it’s time for me to go eye-ball the landing site. Bye, guys!”

  With that, Shirley’s Mamba dove for the ground with a speed that astonished even Kitty. From just under ten thousand feet to five hundred feet, in atmosphere, in less than twenty seconds. Kitty watched on her screens as Shirley’s Mamba came to an almost instantaneous halt. A few seconds later, Kitty heard, “Mamba Flight, this is Mamba Leader. The water’s fine. Come on in!”

  Kitty continued to lead the flight down in silence, depending on Shirley to keep control. When she reported the flight to be at five thousand feet, Shirley’s voice came over the speakers, “Mamba Flight level out at five hundred and say hello to your counterparts. Shuttle, you are clear to land.”

  As she led the flight down at a less break-neck pace, Kitty’s attention was caught by the commercial audio band. “Yes, Dan, as you can see, our longest range lenses are finally picking up the vessels as they approach. The one in the center appears to be built along the same general lines as a space shuttle but perhaps a bit smaller, and it appears to be coming in under its own power, as are the other four, which look to be similar to the one that appeared here moments ago and the ones that were involved in all of those aerial displays that took place all around the world recently. One has to wonder at the need for any wings at all, when you see this deadly looking little craft as it just hovers here in the air above us, facing down the five Apache attack helicopters that are circling it.”

  As her ship hit the five hundred foot mark, Kitty said, “Mamba Five, breaking off,” and randomly chose one of the helicopters to pair off against. She found herself almost literally nose-to-nose with an Apache attack helicopter and staring into the hard, cold eyes of its pilot, who smiled very nastily when he realized that the pilot he was facing was a woman. She could see his hands move on the controls through the canopy of his helicopter, and he made his craft dart towards hers: a form of aerial chicken.

  “So, you want to play, big boy,” she said out loud, letting him see her lips move. “Let’s see how you react to this one.” She nosed her craft forward and raised her level enough that his rotor tip would impact the nose of her ship if he did nothing, and she saw him immediately slide backwards, down and off to one side a bit. She follo
wed, keeping the same reduced distance between the two of them and, smiling prettily, saluted him. She watched the storm clouds form on his face, and though she wasn’t a lip-reader, had no trouble recognizing the word “bitch” at the end of the sentence he spat in her direction.

  As no one seemed inclined to comment on the give and take between Kitty and her opposite, she settled down to keeping one eye on him and one on the shuttle as it grounded. With one ear she was listening to TV audio, with the other she was listening to the interplay between Shirley and the shuttle’s pilot, so she wasn’t looking when the unimaginable happened.

  Kitty could never have told who it was who first cried out, “It’s a trap!” And then, “Oh, my God! He’s been shot!” No one would ever be able to delineate the exact sequence of events that transpired over the next few minutes.

  At the first yell, Kitty felt the electric rush of adrenaline flood through her body. At almost the same instant heavy caliber weapons fire began to impact her ship, and she heard the pang of ricocheting slugs as they slewed away. She immediately brought her shields up, and started to turn her ship to see what was happening on the ground, while yells filled her ears, but from the corner of her eye she saw her opposite number slide his craft into her way, smile, and depress a switch. Instantly, two rockets scorched out of the weapons pods mounted on each side of his craft. They impacted directly on the forward shields, dispersing their energy, and knocking her back some fifty yards.

  She saw his eyes go wide in amazement at the fact that her vessel didn’t fall burning from the sky. She smiled sweetly, thumbed off the safety, and fired twin beams of coherent light into his weapons pods. They exploded gratifyingly, cutting the chopper in half. As the wreckage started to fall, the encounter was already a part of her past, and she spun around, eyes riveted on the grounded shuttle. She saw smoke pouring out of the open hatch, a body that could only be Simon’s sprawled at the foot of the ramp, and three camouflage-clad men racing for the shuttle’s open hatch. She instinctively fired her lasers and two of the men went down, the other gaining the relative safety of the shuttle.