Sedona Conspiracy

by James C. Glass

  They were approaching the main parking area, and the jeep slowed. Eric leaned forward, and said loudly, “I saw the van back there. Is there another clinic nearby?”

  Alan turned, but didn’t look at him. “It’s upstairs. There’s another set of elevators.”

  The jeep stopped. Alan got out; pulled the seat forward for Eric to follow him, and the jeep sped away.

  Alan smiled wanly. “Guess we had to throw your dinner in the trash. Aren’t you hungry?”

  Eric thought. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

  “Me too,” said Alan. “Second shift is just finishing up in the mess. Let’s see what they have.”

  They went to an elevator, Alan punched the button for level two, and the doors closed.

  “You’re taking good care of me, Alan,” said Eric.

  “Thanks. Just doing my job.”

  “You forgot your clipboard.”

  Alan smiled. “Yeah. Didn’t need it this time.”

  “Oh, I thought taking notes was your job.”

  The elevator stopped, and the doors opened.

  “I do whatever needs to be done, sir. Let’s eat.”

  They turned left out of the elevator and walked a few yards to the mess hall. A few men in fatigues were sitting at long tables, talking after their meal, and mess was still open. Alan had his tray filled with meat, potatoes and veggies. Eric followed suit, and added a sliver of apple pie. They both got coffee at the end of the line, and sat down at a table away from the other men.

  They ate quickly, and it was Eric who finally broke the silence.

  “There are several questions I’m not asking, Alan, because I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to know the answers. After tomorrow’s test I might be a bit more demanding.”

  “I understand, sir. This has been a rough day for you. If you feel overwhelmed by it and can’t sleep tonight I hope you’ll tell us. You have to be on top of things early in the morning. The flight can be postponed if you’re not ready.”

  “I’m paid to be ready, Alan,” said Eric, “and eventually I will get the answers to my questions.”

  “Yes sir, I’m sure you will.” Alan met Eric’s steady gaze, held it, and Eric knew he was not talking to a soldier who made his living writing notes on a clipboard.

  “You ever been in a firefight, sergeant?”

  Now Alan smiled. “I think you know the answer to that one, sir.”

  “Well keep me alive until the flight test, and maybe your job will get easier.”

  They finished eating, and bussed their dishes. Alan took him back to the elevators, and they went up three levels. There was a long hallway with closed, numbered doors. Alan went to number ten, unlocked the door, and handed the key to Eric. “Someone will come for you at oh-three-hundred, sir. There’s a beer and some snacks in the fridge.”

  “Thanks. See you in the morning?”

  “I expect to be there, sir. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”

  Alan turned, and walked away.

  The room was simple, but not Spartan. There was a TV and a CD player, a selection of music from rock to classical, a few magazines, including Sedona Monthly. He opened the lone beer in the fridge, but left the cold meats and cheese he found there. Music, or sound of any kind, didn’t appeal to him at the moment. He sat down on a sofa, sipped his beer and read the Sedona magazine. There was an ad in there for Nataly’s shop. He suddenly wanted to call her, but there was no telephone. He wanted to tell her about Leon. He wanted to tell her how lousy he felt, how much he missed her, how much he loved her, and—

  Whoa!

  The thought remained. My God, I’m in love with her. I have to tell her before she pushes me away.

  He resolved to call her right after the flight test.

  Eric finished his beer and went to bed near twenty-one-hundred. There was absolute quiet in the room. Eric could hear the rush of blood with each pulse of his heart. He tried not to think about Leon, and failed. He imagined himself sitting with Nataly, her head on his shoulder. He kissed the top of her head, smelled pine, and she looked up at him with eyes a man could drown in.

  He slept. Twice he came awake enough to know he was in a dark room. He’d been talking to Nataly, and John Coulter was there too, laughing about something that made Nataly angry with him. The Golden Man had appeared. Eric had asked him a question, but the man just smiled and didn’t answer. Eric felt uneasy about that, an uncomfortable pit-of-the-stomach reaction that could have been fear. Nataly appeared again, and kissed him, and then he said how much he loved her. She frowned and didn’t answer him, and then he felt something worse than fear.

  He felt despair.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  FLIGHT

  The alarm made a terrible screech that shocked Eric awake. He’d only slept around five hours, but he didn’t feel groggy. He splashed cold water on his face, and used soap to shave with a razor he found in a cupboard. He dressed, and nibbled on some cheese, and at exactly oh-three-hundred there was knocking on his door.

  Two military policemen escorted him to the elevators and down to Sparrow’s bay in the bowels of the base. When he first entered the bay, a cold blast of air shocked him. The bay was dark except at the center of the floor, where Sparrow and a crowd of men were illuminated with deep red light. Eric smelled JP-4, looked up and saw stars twinkling where the ceiling had been rolled to one side.

  Two techs came up to him and he was hustled away from Sparrow to a side room where he spent over an hour being fitted with pressure suit and helmet. The last time he’d had one on was in the back seat of a Blackbird on route to a special killing for Uncle Sam.

  The techs took him back to Sparrow, and fussed with his suit on the way. Techs were swarming over Sparrow, and Dillon was waiting for Eric by one wing, all suited up.

  “Good morning,” said Dillon.

  “A bit early for that,” said Eric.

  “If this was Area 51 I’d be in the air by now.”

  Eric smiled. “Ah, hah. Suspicions confirmed.”

  There were no preliminaries. Eric stepped up onto Sparrow’s wing behind Dillon, but climbed into the cockpit first. The pressure suit seemed to mold his body comfortably to the shape of the seat, and a tech leaned in to buckle his chest harness. Eric put on his helmet, but left the faceplate up. It was already uncomfortably warm in the suit.

  There was a voice inside the helmet. “Radio check, Eric,” it said. It was Rob Hendricks, soon to be their link to home.

  “Roger, Wilco and out,” said Eric.

  “Cute. Well at least you’re awake.”

  Eric wondered if Dillon and the others here for the test had heard about Leon and the firefight at Eric’s house. Nobody had said anything about it yet, and Alan hadn’t been in the bay when Eric arrived.

  Dillon climbed in, and got settled while a tech fussed with him. For a moment, Dillon ignored Eric and studied a few lines of notes on a scrap of paper.

  Eric pointed at it. “Nothing about our startup boards, I hope.”

  Dillon shook his head. “Nope, this is manual stuff, some notes on VTOL sequence. It’s like flying a helicopter until we’ve cleared the bay.”

  The techs finished their fussing, saluted sharply and left. Dillon hit two controls with the flat of his hand and there was the rising pitch of a turbine whine as the canopy closed around them, and they were bathed in deep red light.

  Eric’s heart thumped harder than normal for several beats, and he breathed deeply to calm it. This was no static ground test, but flight in a strange aircraft that might or might not have awesome capabilities and be a deathtrap for its occupants in either case. The fact that Dillon had flown the thing to Mach 1 was little comfort at the moment.

  Dillon looked at him. “Your eyes are getting big. I promise not to kill us until you start throwing all those switches, so if we blow up I can tell everyone it was your fault.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome. Face plates down. Let’s do it.”

&nb
sp; Eric pulled his faceplate down, felt it snap into place as Sparrow rocked beneath him and there was a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. The darkened cockpit above his eye level suddenly lit up in a holographic display of their outside surroundings in wide angle. Dillon’s hand moved slightly on one of several touch plates on the control panel, and they were lifting straight up. The cockpit vibrated softly, and beyond it was the faint whine of conventional turbines.

  “Quiet in here,” said Eric.

  “Virtually soundproof,” said Dillon, and his hand moved again on the touch plate.

  The edges of the opened ceiling passed them, and fell behind, and Sparrow continued to rise for another minute before Dillon’s left hand made a quick motion and Eric was pushed back into his seat.

  “Leveling, going to quarter thrust,” said Dillon, and Eric realized he was talking to flight com without Eric hearing the response.

  Now would not be a good time to lodge a complaint, he decided.

  Dillon pulled Sparrow’s nose up, and went to quarter thrust. It was like the takeoff of a commercial aircraft, and Eric relaxed, even when their climbing attitude began to approach vertical.

  “Half thrust,” said Dillon.

  Not too unpleasant, but unpleasant. Eric breathed deeply, a tightened diaphragm pushing against the invisible weight on his chest. The first, bright stars appeared ahead of them, and Sparrow shuddered.

  “Mach 1, going to eighty-percent,” said Dillon.

  “Ooof,” said Eric, and struggled to breathe, reached out a hand towards the panel in front of him.

  The stars outside got brighter, and a new, green star lit up on the panel. Dillon turned his head towards Eric, his face invisible inside the helmet. “Going to startup sequence—now.”

  Eric threw the first switch on the panel. “One,” he said.

  A new light appeared, but nothing else happened.

  “Two,” said Eric, and threw another switch. The green light went on at the top of the panel by his right knee, as it had on the ground test. It was suddenly quiet in the cockpit. The weight on Eric’s chest fluttered, and then lessened, though Eric knew their acceleration hadn’t changed. The strangeness of it didn’t escape him, but now his hand was poised above the next switch, and somehow he knew what would happen next.”

  Eric threw the switch. “Startup complete, and go to full thrust.”

  Dillon’s left hand pushed a lever forward until it locked in place.

  There was no shudder, no feeling of acceleration. It was as if they were floating, the stars ahead frozen in place, but on the lower left of the holodisplay movement blurred two rows of numbers. Dillon gestured at the screen, changing scales until the indicators could be followed and read.

  “Whoa,” Dillon whispered, then said loudly, “Passing Mach 6 at twenty kilometers, and accelerating. We’re feeling no g forces here, and no vibration. Smoothest ride I’ve ever had. Mach 7, going to 8. Our fuel gauge isn’t showing any change from when we began the startup sequence.”

  “Three more lights just went green on the second panel startup took us to. I didn’t touch a thing,” said Eric.

  For the first time in the flight, Eric heard a reply from the ground.

  “Say again,” said Rob Hendricks.

  “Three lights on the second startup panel went green together without me touching the switches. It happened at Mach 8, I think. There’s one switch left, and a pressure plate with a radiating sun glyph on it. Don’t ask me how I know, but I’m supposed to throw that switch now, and that’s as far as we’re going today.”

  “Mach 10, and climbing,” said Dillon. “We’re at thirty-five kilometers, sir. Have to admit I never thought Sparrow could do it.”

  “So throw that switch, Price,” said Hendricks, “and then we’ll talk about the pressure plate.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about on this flight. We have to figure out how to get home first.” Eric threw the switch without hesitation, and saw Dillon’s body tense in anticipation of something dramatic.

  It was hardly that. There was no change in acceleration as Sparrow continued a vertical climb, now passing Mach 12 at an altitude of forty-four kilometers. A new icon appeared on the holodisplay, just above Eric’s left knee. It showed the globe of planet earth. A light blinked from the western part of North America. Icons below the globe were labeled ‘zoom’ and ‘set’ and ‘enable’. Eric gestured with a finger, and zoomed in on the blinking light, now appearing in a topo map of canyons and buttes.

  “The base,” said Dillon softly.

  “And home,” said Eric. Another gesture, a cursor moved to the blinking light, and Eric gestured to ‘set’ with his finger. The holodisplay flashed bright green, and was quiet again.

  “That’s it. We’re done,” said Eric.

  “Now what? We’re still climbing.”

  “Throttle back completely. Sparrow will do the rest.”

  “More advice from the angels?”

  “More advice from the guys who gave us this thing. If you ask how I’m getting it, I’ll just give you a blank look. Throttle back, and turn us around.”

  “That I can do, but deceleration might require more fuel than what we have left. This speed is way beyond what we expected.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’re okay.”

  “Right. Flight com, Doctor Prices advises we terminate test and come down. We have a new icon on our holoviewer that is giving us the base location, and Price is saying we’ll be brought in automatically. I can use the verniers to turn us around, but we’re now at Mach 13 and fifty-four kilometers. I’m a bit concerned about adequate fuel for a deceleration burn, but Price says it’s not a problem. Please advise.”

  Hendricks’ response was immediate. “Price is correct. Proceed with reorientation at zero throttle.”

  “No arguments? My God,” said Eric, and forgot his mike was on.

  “No need for argument, Doctor Price. I’m getting some advice at my end, too. There’s a Mister Brown standing right next to me. He says you’re doing fine.”

  “Well I could use some extra input right now. My instinct is telling me to enable the base-homing icon when we’re reoriented, then sit back and relax, and that isn’t making any sense to me.”

  There was a pause, then, “Mister Brown didn’t say anything. He just smiled.”

  “Shit,” murmured Eric.

  Dillon throttled back, but there was no sensation of it. It had been like floating in a comfortable womb since completion of the startup sequence. Dillon’s hands played over four pressure plates on the control panel. Stars moved. A crescent moon swept past their view, and then the bright blue panorama of planet Earth with puffy, white clouds off in the far distance at a rapidly approaching terminator. Directly below them it was still dark, but with clusters of lights showing from Phoenix and a fainter band that was probably Los Angeles.

  “Okay, now what?” said Dillon.

  Eric swallowed hard. “We let Sparrow do her job.” He reached out to the base-locator icon with a finger, and touched ‘enable’.

  There was a thump, and Sparrow shuddered.

  “We’re doing a burn,” said Dillon, amazed. A minute later he pointed at the gauges on the holoviewer. “What the hell? We’re down to Mach 3, and no fuel has been used.”

  “And no g forces,” said Eric. Sparrow must have us in some kind of protective field, and we’re not burning conventional fuel, we’re tapping that energy field in her gut. I bet we’ve been using that since startup.”

  Sparrow shuddered again. “Mach One,” said Dillon, “and falling fast. We’ll top out around sixty kilometers.”

  And seconds later they were falling.

  “Phoenix is right where it was a few minutes ago,” said Eric. “We’re not just falling, we’re flying.”

  “I’m not touching anything,” said Dillon.

  “Neither am I. Maybe we could play cards.”

  “You must have enabled a descent program. Look at the drift corrections
on the icon. We’re being guided in, and the engines aren’t even on.”

  “The engines we understand, you mean. Better tell Hendricks.”

  Dillon called in, told Hendricks what was happening.

  “Brown says to just ride her in. Your job is done. He says the next flight will be a simple extension of this one, but you’ll be going to full power.”

  “Whatever that means. Let me talk to him,” said Eric.

  “I can’t. He left here a minute ago.”

  “I want some explanations from someone,” said Dillon. “I’ve been flying this thing on faith alone, and I won’t do it again.”

  “Understood,” said Hendricks, and broke off contact.

  “Can’t blame you,” said Eric. “It was an exceptional risk just taking my word on what to do.”

  “So why did I do it?” said Dillon, and raised his hands. “Look at that. I’m just sitting here, and Sparrow is right on a glide path to the base. Did you know that would happen?”

  “No, I didn’t. I just knew which switches to throw, and when.”

  “That guy Brown, he’s one of the people who brought Sparrow over to us. I met him the day I was oriented. Didn’t say much, just pointed at things, and it seemed enough. Did he brief you?”

  “I think so, I just don’t know how. The one time I met him we talked about other things. Stuff comes to me in my sleep. Could be hypnotic suggestion, but I don’t remember being hypnotized, and I have no idea why I was picked to receive the information. You’re not the only one operating on faith around here. I’ve never flown anything in my life.”

  Dillon looked at the holodisplay. “Not even a vibration. We’re down to four hundred miles an hour at forty thousand feet without a care in the world. God.”

  “Would you really give up the next flight if nobody answers your questions?”

  Dillon chuckled. “Not a chance, but don’t tell anybody that. Twenty thousand feet, and right on approach path, and nobody has told me if I’ll have to bring her in on hover. I should be concerned, but I’m not. Brown said to ride her in, and that’s what I’m doing, and why the hell haven’t those green lights gone off?”