by E. N. Abel
Commander Wright, sitting in a spare seat on the bridge, could not stop gawking. The sphere raced through the landscape with more than three kilometers per second, closely following the terrain in a hair-raising manner.
''No inertia,'' had been the laconic explanation of the oriental-looking pilot while he watched the computer run the ship.
''But at this speed ...'' the American had objected, just to be silenced with another laconic remark from the pilot.
''Sir, we are nearly not moving at all ... in outer space this baby can reach LS1 in a day.'' The man turned towards the speechless commander: ''LS1, you know, speed-of-light?'' Turning back to his control, he continued: ''And don't worry about the sonic boom: there is none. The deflector disrupts our sound trail.''
With that, Wright kept his mouth shut and watched mountains and valleys rush by on the front monitor in frantic sequence.
''ETA twenty seconds,'' the computer said in an austere female voice.
Mike, sitting beside Acar, touched the intercom control: ''Now hear this: we are landing in ... ten seconds. Security at the ready!''
From down below he heard Snider bellow back ''Security ready!''
''Landing procedures,'' Acar announced, his fingers flying over the controls. ''Five to go ... four ... three ...'' He grabbed the joystick.
The sphere shot through a mountain valley into the open and decelerated with breath-taking speed, one second at Mach Ten, the next just drifting along. It swung towards a township left of a bigger City. In two more seconds it was over, and the little ship was floating over an illuminated landing pad between tall buildings. At two meters height the movement stopped.
''Stardust has landed,'' Acar announced coolly. ''Anchoring is out, docking procedure complete.''
''Begin disembarkation.''
They heard the opening of the air lock four meters below them, felt a slight pressure change and cold, fresh mountain air stream up the elevator shaft.
The American commander saw his taped up Major being floated down to waiting paramedics on the monitor.
People started rushing to and from the ship, carrying boxes, air tanks and jerrycans. Throwing everything towards the air lock.
''Your turn, Commander,'' Mike announced and pointed towards the lift.
Wright unbuckled and started to move towards the tube, then turned and addressed Mike: ''For what it's worth, I'm sorry about your wife.''
''Thank you,'' was all Mike could manage. The American disappeared in the opening, only to appear on the outside cameras a few seconds later. Two CERN guards were waiting for him.
Next Marcel approached Mike: ''What now?''
''You need to go back, my friend. You are the guardian of a mighty secret. Remember that.'' Mike got up, embraced the man. ''Thank you for your help. Thank you for keeping me on track. And thank you for recovering Ellie.''
Dupont could only nod, returned the embrace, then walked to the lift, jumped in, was gone. He also appeared on the outside cameras, floated down, then moved quickly to a middle aged man and a woman standing a bit off to the side.
Michael needed a second, then he recognised Colonel Leclerc and Kaiser's assistant McNamara, the Security Chief and the director's assistant. He switched on the external speaker system: ''Hello Colonel, hello Miss McNamara.''
''MacMillan!'' Leclerc shouted towards the floating ball, then pointed to Andrea beside him ''She has something for you. Permission to come aboard?''
''Of course. Permission granted.''
When Andrea started walking, Mike saw that she carried a box the size of a wine carton. She quickly moved under the sphere, kicked off and floated right into the air lock - as if she had done this all her life.
Listening to his radio, Leclerc suddenly waved his arms to get Mike's attention.
''Colonel?''
''Incoming from the north and the south, at least a dozen jets. Eurofighters and F-22's. Closing in on Geneva. ETA five minutes.''
''OK, thanks. We'll talk later.''
''Loading procedure finished,'' Snider called that moment from below. ''Shutting airlock ... airlock closed, ship sealed.''
Acar Doganer had waited for that: ''Take-off in one.'' He grinned, said: ''ONE!'' and pulled the joystick back. The sphere jumped upwards, went super-sonic in a heartbeat and pushed for her maximal atmospheric travel speed.
When the jets reached CERN's compound, the landing lights were off and the place empty. Slowing down they did a low pass over the area. Suddenly the threat receivers went off in all cockpits. Totally surprised, the fighter pilots realised that someone was pointing laser- or radar-guided anti-aircraft weaponry at them.
Immediately the planes split, turned north, speeding towards the nearest Swiss border which they had violated so blatantly. A military battle would not take place tonight, but a political one would start tomorrow, that much was certain: the repercussions of this stunt would echo across the Atlantic.
At CERN Leclerc took a deep breath, spoke a quiet command into his radio. Ten men, hidden behind walls and windows, deactivated their missiles. This little demonstration would make the wolves more careful: a Stinger up a fighter's ass could really ruin a pilot's day.
Chapter 68
Beijing
Thursday, 10.11.2016
It was a session like Xao had never attended before. The full central committee had been assembled, accompanied by their ministerial aides and advisors. Xao had known beforehand that this would be a tricky conference; the committee members had been bombarded with adverse news for weeks: economical troubles, social unrest and disciplinary problems in the military. China was huge, and there was plenty of potential for conflicts. And now this: the hope of getting their grip on a revolutionary technology had vanished, the valued prize had slipped through their fingers, the secret of antimatter production was now beyond reach.
The ministers were furious: again China had been pushed aside by the forsaken Gweilo - the Americans - and beaten by hours. The anger washed across them like a wave in a swimming pool, until the Head of the Department of Commerce, a Song Xiaopang, held up his hand and spoke out loud.
''Comrades.''
That was unexpected; the man usually commented on his own issues only. It took a moment until silence had settled around the large table. ''As you know I'm just an economics specialist,'' Song picked up, ''so please excuse me if I ask a stupid question.'' He looked at the chairman, got a nod. Everybody was listening now. ''You all say that the secret of antimatter production is lost, yes? Because those people were able to escape.'' The group made some indifferent noises as an answer. ''Now, if that is so, nobody can produce that material anymore, right?'' Again a consensual murmur arose. ''But our esteemed Head of Intelligence,'' he gestured towards Xao, ''reported that CERN still produces it. And in quantities. How can that be?''
A moment of silence hung over the table, with everybody looking at Xao. Feeling challenged, he answered: ''That's not a stupid question, Comrade. CERN has been able to create antimatter for quite some time now, but in tiniest quantities only and at horrendous costs. That all changed when that unknown group handed them a device that can generate artificial gravity. With such a technology a whole new way of creating antimatter has been opened, one up to now only known in theory - simply because nobody could produce artificial gravity. With that mysterious device this is now possible: CERN could build a very cheap machine - we heard of just fifty thousand Euros - place that device into its heart and produce antimatter in great amounts - kilograms instead of micrograms. And, as our field officer reports, it's even a very simple process.''
''Thank you, comrade General. Now, this machine, does anybody understand how it works?''
Again Xao felt showed up: ''No, that seems to be the last - and core - secret held by that group. CERN wasn't able to understand the device. They even destroyed a smaller one trying to analyse it.'' While offering the answer, an idea where his colleague was heading began to sneak up on him; he didn't like it.
''We all agree that this new technology will shift the proportion of power on this planet, change the equation, yes?''
A consensual muttering came from the group.
''Do you think that China will be a prime beneficiary of that technology?'' Song pressed on.
''No,'' Xao had to admit, ''I would expect the Americans to be the first nation to use it on a large scale.''
There it was again: western superiority - feared and hated. Although a worn out mantra, this statement always caused adverse feelings. Recited at the right moment it could create majorities in this room.
''Now, let's say CERN loses the device, like, someone stole it. How would that equation look then?'' Song pressed on.
''The production method is retrievable - lots of people worked on the project and one will certainly talk, so the power would be shifted to the new owner.''
The chairman joined in: ''So what do you suggest?''
''Well, I think it's obvious: if we can't have it, why not make sure nobody else gets it? At least not in the near future.'' Song Xiao Pang made an open hand gesture. ''See, it is known now that such a way exists. With proper funding our own scientists will discover the secrets of that device's principles in due time, and by themselves. We can put more money into solving that puzzle than any other nation. More than the Americans, more than the Europeans, more than the Russians.'' He ticked off his fingers. ''And money usually produces results. So, if we can't benefit from this machine and this groups' knowledge - why not clear the table and assure a level playing field. Make everybody start anew.''
The almighties around the table stayed silent, thinking it through.
''And how exactly do you want to level the playing field?'' the chairman finally asked.
''Let's steal the device.''
The chairman furrowed his brows: ''You mean an operation in Switzerland? To snatch that thing?''
''Yes.''
''I was told the device self-destructs if taken from CERN's compound,'' Xao pointed out.
''I remember, you told us.'' Song was dismissive. ''In the end that doesn't matter, it still would be out of the equation.''
''Maybe,'' Xao temporized, thinking that it mattered to him: an agent might lose his life over this. ''But as long as that group is still around, they can always produce a new one and hand it to whomever they fancy.''
''Exactly.''
''And?''
''Can we destroy their spaceship somehow?''
''You mean kill them? While they are in space?'' the chairman asked, unbelieving.
''Yes.''
''I have no idea.'' The chairman shrugged his shoulders, then turned to the Defence minister: ''Can we?''
''I have to ask, too,'' the spoken-to replied. ''As we heard, the spaceship is on a one thousand kilometer orbit. On flat land that would be within easy range of an intermediate-range missile.'' He turned to his ministerial-aid, an Army General sitting behind him: ''What do you say?''
The officer, by chance also head of the strategic command, had a better idea: ''A mid-range missile may not work, but we can use one of our ICBM's, a DF-31A. They are built to fly through the stratosphere, so one can surely reach that ship. It just has to be refitted - we wouldn't need eight warheads - one is plenty. With a 500-kiloton payload we wouldn't have to get so close. A little reprogramming would be necessary, though. As an extra bonus, we would even get a very nice feasibility test.''
An agreeing murmur sounded up round the table.
''Besides that, the world will know what we are capable off,'' the Defence minister concluded, nailing the coffin shut.
Xao felt his skin crawl. He was no stranger to violence, but this discussion was completely derailing. This was cold-war talk. Stealing stuff from a neutral nation in broad daylight, right under the eyes of an ever alert world, calculating the death of agents as acceptable losses, shooting intercontinental missiles around ... had they lost their minds?
''Comrades,'' he stood up, ''this is a very, very serious scenario.'' Turning to Song, he went on: ''Do you have any idea what will happen, if we act as you suggest? Even if we succeed? We may be able to carry out the snatching operation in a deniable way, but launching an ICBM will be discovered immediately - the orbit is full of satellites watching for exactly such an event - and everybody will know who is behind it!''
''I've heard hours and hours of bragging at this table about how strong we are,'' Song retorted. ''Now, are we, or are we not? Can we protect our essential national interests, or do we have to kowtow to the American Gweilo again and again? Do you have any idea what a renewed American industry based on such technology will do to us? We needed nearly three decades to bring them down to their knees, and now that they are down ...''
The General suddenly understood. That was the gist of the matter: the Chinese economy had taken a few troublesome turns during the last year and Song's ministry had developed no idea how to correct that course. Now this man wanted to use the situation at hand to distract from his ministerial problems. Causing a huge political crisis in the middle of an economical one: after such a stunt the central committee would need months to clean up the debris and find no time to stomp on the department of Commerce. Obviously he had underestimated his colleague.
''Comrades, ministers, this is dangerous talk!'' Xao said, now clearly agitated, trying to get his party colleagues away from that track. ''There would be gravest consequences for such a course of action! Launching ICBMs unannounced could provoke a nuclear counter-strike! There are other possible outcomes: imagine our man gets caught alive in Geneva or we actually fire a missile - and miss! Please, comrades! Consider!''
But it was too late, he could see it in the eyes of the others: Song had proposed a simple solution to a highly complex problem - a problem that made them feel inadequate and threatened - a solution they could all understand: level the playing field. Xao leaned back. In a few minutes he would get his orders, and the commander of the strategic forces his. If this backfired, all hell would break loose. It would change China's fate.
The General took a deep breath. He was a brilliant strategist, always planning ahead, for all possible outcomes. Identified risks and chances. That was his speciality, had become his second nature. He faded out the others, began thinking about dangers and opportunities of the suggested course of actions. One thing he knew for certain: the higher the risks, the bigger the reward.
This was the way of the world.
Chapter 69
Earth Orbit
Thursday, 10.11.2016
Mike entered the bridge exactly on time for the shift change, but, after a short 'wait' hand-signal for the XO, he passed the Captain's seat and headed straight for the communications console. Reyd was on duty, and, upon registering someone approaching, looked up. Mike stepped beside her and handed her a strip of paper.
''Please connect me to this phone number and route it to my communicator.'' He held up his box.
''Ireland?'' she asked, looking confused. Then it dawned on her and she paled. ''Yes, Captain, at once.''
After a nod to Snider, Mike went back into the lift, drifted up one level and entered the empty mess room. He sat down, put the communicator on the table. A few moments later he heard a dial tone, then someone picked up the phone.
''Yes?'' a cautious female voice asked.
''Mom, this is Mike,'' MacMillan said to his mother-in-law, ''please sit ... I have very bad news.'' And after a silent count to ten he continued: ''Ellie is dead. She was killed yesterday evening.'' He had to swallow hard, then went on with a wavering voice. ''Ellie is dead, Mom. And she sacrificed herself to save us all.''
Chapter 70
Earth Orbit
Sunday,13.11.2016
Margaret Hamilton was sitting in the small cubicle viewed as a mess hall and stirring her cappuccino. Some considerate soul had been thoughtful enough to bring a modern coffee machine on board, one of those 'can-do-it-all' models, and this dream of a machine could produce a reasonably good cappuccino - thereby sec
uring itself a firm first place on the sphere's favourite gadgets list by vote of the female crew.
Margaret took the first sip, when Marlene Chandler entered, now officially promoted to Navigator First - NAV-One. She also went for the coffee maker and ordered a - cappuccino. Adding sugar and taking her cup over to the table, she joined the ship's doctor. It only took one look.
'' We've had three days of peace. Nobody shot at us. So why the long face?'' Marlene asked her companion in a playful undertone.
''Have you watched Mike lately?'' Margaret replied, reserved.
''Only every minute I'm on the bridge.''
''And?''
''He's holding up, but with superhuman effort.''
''Yes, I have the same impression,'' Margaret said over the rim of her coffee cup.
''Where does this strength come from?''
''Iraq, Afghanistan, Iran.'' was the laconic answer.
''War?'' Marlene, never having had any military training, was opposed to violence of any kind. Soldiers were people to mistrust. And now she had ended up with a spaceship full of them.
''Combat. Special Forces. Mike was the youngest soldier since the seventies who was recommended for a CMH.''
''A what?''
''Congressional Medal of Honour. You don't get those for nothing. Didn't get it conferred, though. Don't know why.''
Marlene felt uneasy with the topic and returned to the original track: ''How long do you think he can keep up?''
''As long as he needs to. He has survived far more horrendous situations than this one. But ...''
''Ellie's loss is eating him up.''
''Yes.''
''Can you do something about it?''
''No. Not really.'' The doctor sounded somehow ... inconclusive.
''But ... ?''
Margaret hesitated, then went on: ''You know the saying: There is only one way to comfort a widow? ''