“I would gather together all the leaders of other ssuch organizations, and sstart to prepare for a war to ssave your people from extinction, or a fate worse than that,” Latt said simply.
“But from what you have said,” Secretary Sebastian interjected. “We are no match for these aliens. What chance do we have of defeating them?”
“If you have others like Isaac, who can turn a utility/power room into a working sspaceship, I think we will ssucceed, whatever the odds!” Latt grinned at Professor Hardy, who shook his head modestly in denial of the importance of his role in their escape.
“All I had was the idea,” Isaac protested vehemently; “Latt is the one with all the super technological knowledge in his fabulous brain.”
“Wait a minute,” Major Gregor Ulrique protested, “I still don’t see that we have proof of the existence of these aliens, let alone their hostile intentions; all we have in one large box that, admittedly, or at least as far we can determine from the existing radar records, came from space, but only flies downwards, and an unidentified man who claims he is from another planet, but has no idea where that planet is. Perhaps this whole thing is the work of several scientists, trying to obtain funding for research and development for space exploration any way they can.”
“Good grief, Major!” Ruth exclaimed, “I suppose that from your viewpoint the only real proof will be when these aliens return en masse and turn their anti-personnel weapon on, so they can dispose of most of us. Perhaps you’ll be one of the ‘fortunate few’ spared so that you can live out most of the rest of your mercifully short life slaving eighteen hours a day producing the alien food which almost killed us when we were trapped on Mars.”
“It’s worsse than that. After watching Isaac, Ruth and Terry ssuffer from one meal, I expect that over half those who are forced to eat the Controllers’ food will die within eight days,” Latt concluded quickly, supporting and building on Ruth’s statement.
“Okay,” Gregor began testily. “So what do these ‘Controllers’ look like? Nobody bothered to tell us that, despite hours of interrogation. Probably little green men!”
“Do we have to take any more of this abuse?” Isaac jumped up. “I returned here with high hopes for the defence of Earth, our home. I object to being called a liar by this, this–”
“Professor Hardy,” the Marshal intervened hastily. “I appreciate your point. I believe Major Ulrique is merely trying to do his job.” He stood up. “As you are already on your feet, let’s move to the hangar in which your ‘flying Railcar’ is stored and see if perhaps the cold hard facts before our eyes will make this seem less incredible.”
The meeting was reconvened in the cavernous hangar a few minutes later, where several impressively armed Base personnel were in evidence, moving around or standing at entrances. The hangar doors had been hastily patched up with sturdy plywood sheets to provide security and warmth in the cool autumn nights, and the broken pieces of door and aircraft had been collected and placed in storage, for future reference. Wonderloaf, or the Railcar, still partly overshadowed by the damaged Hercules, looked very strange, and the assembled V.I.P.s came to a collective halt as the tableau unfolded before their eyes.
Even Isaac and Ruth found the image to be very compelling, as the flood-lit hangar was far brighter than the feeble sunlight that had shone on their strange craft when it had been attached to the laboratory and the smaller sleep domes, on Mars. The dark Hybralloy looked so much stronger than the painted aluminium of the aircraft, and the rear doorway showed a tantalising glimpse of the long and narrow interior, still illuminated by the pyramidal light fixtures along the walls inside.
“Once again, we apologise for the damage to this plane and the one piloted by Flight Officer Morton,” Isaac stated diplomatically. “The equipment is within, of course…”
The group followed Professor Hardy’s lead and filed through the airlock doorways. Once inside the strange structure that had at least carried them safely, if not surely, across the millions of miles from Mars, Latt led them to the front and restored the power to some of the undamaged Inducers.
“Artificial-gravity,” he stated flatly. “Does ssuch technology exist on Earth?”
As no one replied, he adjusted several Gravity Inducers to reduce the effective gravity within the confines of the craft. Several of the military personnel exchanged worried glances as they felt the sensation of being in an elevator that was constantly accelerating downwards. “As you can ssee,” Latt waved vaguely at the view of the damaged Hercules clearly visible through the open front end of the craft. “We are not moving, but the perceived gravity has been reduced.” He switched off the Inducers, and several sighs were heard as the uncomfortable sensation disappeared.
“What’s this?” Franklin Ludlow picked up a small, strangely shaped object that he had found on the left hand chair.
“Careful!” Isaac said as he saw that the minister had his thumb near the firing button of the laser. “Let me take that.” He hastily removed the weapon and placed it back down on the chair, where Latt immediately pocketed it.
“What is it?” Colonel Bayard asked.
“I think I can provide a convincing answer, sir,” began Flying Officer Morton. “Professor Hardy, Latt, why don’t you demonstrate the power of that device out here?” He climbed easily out the shattered front end.
Ruth noticed that he was going a bit bald at the back; a little patch of pale skin showed at the crown of his head, as he negotiated his way over the damaged nose of the ‘Wonderloaf’. Makes him seem even more the solid, reliable type – just what we need on our side! The irregular boundary of the remaining sloped forward section had a few pieces of his aircraft – bits of plexiglass and seat padding – still embedded in the jagged Transplyous still attached around the edge, in what seemed to her to be a whimsical melding of technologies.
Harold looked back in, and was pleased to see the others felt obligated to follow his lead, despite the difficulty some of the older men experienced in making such a move.
“Now, Latt,” he began, once the group had all reassembled outside the front end of the Railcar, talking as if they were working on a maintenance crew together. “This patch of concrete here has been subject to crumbling, as have several other areas within the hangar.” He pointed at the rather worn floor of the old building. “It should have been torn out and fixed, but the inevitable disruption which would be caused by the use of pneumatic drills – that’s an air-driven, mechanical hammer device – has meant that the job has not yet been done.”
Latt got the idea easily enough, and directed the laser at the area almost casually. The brilliant white beam stabbed downwards, burrowing into the worn concrete. The assembled dignitaries hastily shielded their eyes. Within moments he had drawn a circular groove of indeterminate depth around the patch, then he started to divide the disk-shaped portion into several smaller bits. Scanning across each section, Latt vaporized the rock-like substance with a speed that was hard for the spectators to believe. Two minutes later, the area was slightly dusty, but a hole several feet deep was revealed as the dust settled. He adjusted the power level and inscribed his name in letters half an inch deep in the marginally better concrete beside the hole, then turned and grinned at Isaac.
I guess you don’t get much opportunity to create your own graffiti on a planet like Rhaal, Isaac chuckled quietly to himself. You probably don’t even have a period of adolescence, just go straight to being an adult. He looked at Latt strangely, suddenly noticing that his new friend looked a great deal younger than he had looked on Mars. I wonder: how old is he, anyway?
After a long period of increasingly uncomfortable silence, Marshal Gifford turned to Latt and Isaac. “I will get our good friends from Professor Hardy’s country to join us up here as soon as possible. Then you can get started.” He looked at Major Ulrique as if to dare him to disagree, but the intelligence officer wisely refrained from any further comments, which he now realized might jeopardize his standin
g with his superior officer, and perhaps his career.
Chapter Thirteen
Unity, our greatest triumph, comes out of our greatest tragedy – Idahnian
Professor Weylin Conroy watched surreptitiously over the seat-backs in front of him as General T. Dwayne Spiner’s deep voice carried back clearly, despite the theoretically subdued but constant roar of the military jet’s engines.
“Funds are already committed,” the General explained irritably to the hapless aide seated across the aisle from his massive bulk. “What programs do you suggest that I cancel to allow a token allocation to be made to this experimental technology, if I deem it to be prudent?”
Professor Conroy could not hear the response from the quieter aide, but he could imagine the consternation this latest situation would cause. All the meticulously developed plans would have to be juggled to allow for such an unexpected but potential-laden event. He sighed and tilted his business-class chair to ease the discomfort in the small of his back. Weylin knew that the return of his most famous student to the free world would be an event worth thorough investigation, especially when it was associated so uncharacteristically with some kind of secret experimental aircraft, and the simultaneous reappearance of his wealthy industrialist friend Terrance Stadt. Whatever could Isaac have been doing, to attract the attention of an unnamed but definitely unfriendly nation, and then escape but turn up rather inconveniently in Canada instead of his own country?
He smiled as the General’s booming voice floated back once again, this time pointing out with exasperation that the development of a mobile laser system for the Air Force depended on the new integrated circuit technology that the aide had unwisely chosen as suitable for deletion, and that it was clearly essential and even a fool could… Weylin Conroy turned and watched the clouds floating far below. Can’t remember the last time I travelled this far west without the routine of a landing in Denver. Weylin tapped idly with his slender fingers on the plastic covering on the inside of the window module of the C-40B – a military version of the 737-700 Boeing Business Jet – as he waited for the slight reduction in frequency of the sound from the twin engines, which would be the first sign of their descent towards what he still referred to as the Royal Canadian Air Force Base at Cold Lake, Alberta.
At the back of the plane, several rows behind the nearest passengers, Patrick Rhee, Deputy Chief of Operations for the FBI, scowled at the LCD page before him and high-lighted another paragraph with the ease of much practice. The report from Major Edward Baynes (retired) was long and full of detail, but none of it made much sense to the world-wise Pat Rhee. He looked at the photographs laid out on the fold-out table before him; one was of the now-infamous Citadel as it was first discovered by the cameras of the US Air Force, looking peaceful but strangely out of place against the Maine coastline, another was of the crater where a top-of-the-line M1 tank had once crouched, ready to pounce. This was the one that worried him the most. However this was done, whether by mass-hallucination or whatever, the potential for destruction is very real. He pulled out a series of shots showing the damage to the Getaway, the remains of the mangled F-15 Eagle, and the USS Chicago, and scratched his ear lobe unconsciously. The damage to the nuclear submarine was particularly disturbing to his security and dollar-conscious mind.
Pat checked over his shoulder to ensure that the flight attendants were still resting in the galley (even though they were military personnel, not civilian) then pulled out the biggest print of all from a large manila envelope. This one was of a series of shots taken from one of the surveillance cameras that had been trained on the strange structure. The forty consecutive views showed Citadel rising from the ground and passing over one tank in its hop towards the stranded youths known as Richard Fletcher and Karen Amer.
Pat studied it silently for a long time, then slipped the next sheet on top. The first three frames showed the battlements dropping from the sides and then there were several essentially blank frames until the motor drives on the camera realigned pointing upwards to provide a view of the object disappearing into the sky high above. The fortieth frame showed a dot barely discernible, despite the extreme magnification, which he had been assured had been used by the cameraman.
He shook his head and put both sheets back into his slim grey case on the seat next to him. Extensive analysis had not shown any evidence of tampering, and the light conditions around the black bulk were perfectly matched with the surroundings. If this is a fake… He closed his lap-top computer down with a sigh as the plane started its descent, and he considered the alternatives for the fourth or fifth time since this had all started just over a week before. Hearing their story direct from this returning scientist, his wife and friend should be revealing, Pat decided. Perhaps they will be able to suggest a connection between these two events, and I’ll be able to do something more positive than just writing reports. Then there’s this ‘Latt’, who might just be our first truly illegal ‘alien’…
***
Latt stepped back and stretched, feeling the muscles in his back complaining intensely after the previous day and a half of working on the demonstration hover-fly pad.
“That sshould fix it!”
“It looks like the original electric chair,” Isaac chuckled as he surveyed the odd assortment of springs, wires and components, including, most importantly, a brace of Gravity Inducers on servo-driven swivels, all of which were mounted in a framework of light steel tubing that supported a very comfortable but secure-looking armchair.
The reference was lost on Latt, but Terry, on his first trip out from the hospital since the stump of his arm had started to heal, laughed quietly from his wheelchair.
“If it works, I want you to make me one; they haven’t found me an electric wheelchair yet, and although I’d like to borrow Ruth on a permanent basis as my private chauffeur, so that I don’t just go around in circles, she tells me she wants to spend Friday evenings with her husband.” He looked up at her smiling face, framed, as always in gorgeous curls. “I can’t think why!”
“Terry, I’ll be your chauffeur on any other night – isn’t that enough?” She knelt down by the big right hand wheel of his chair, and stared into his eyes with a melodramatic intensity that made Latt do a double-take before he realised she was faking it.
Flying Officer Morton, who had been assigned to oversee events, ostensibly to keep the number of personnel ‘in the know’ to a minimum, but more probably as a means to calm the increasingly agitated Major Ulrique, whilst simultaneously maintaining an acceptable level of co-operation between the mostly U.S. ‘visitors’ and the completely Canadian ‘locals’, shook his head at the antics of his new friends, making his short, curly hair bounce slightly.
“I think you did me a big favour when you destroyed my CF-18; now I have what I always missed from my life - humour, with a sting like last summer’s mosquitoes, and I am about to witness the modern-day equivalent of a flying carpet, made out of pieces of a Wonderloaf!”
“Martian Railcar!” Terry corrected. “And I hear those mosquitoes can get mighty big. It’s a shame you can’t train them, ‘cos I hear that, pound for pound, they can lift as much weight as one of these here Inducers.”
“You need an atmosphere, even for our superior, Canadian ‘moskies’,” Harold stated with great solemnity. “So there’s no future in that plan.”
“Ssometime after we beat the Controllers,” Latt began. “I’m going to ssit down and find out what all these obscure references mean, but for now I think we all should–”
“Isaac! Professor Isaac Hardy!” A tall, thin man had walked into the hanger and called out cheerfully from the far end. “My! This is a surprise, a very pleasant surprise; I thought you had–”
“Surprise, indeed!” Isaac interrupted. “If there’s to be any of this waving of arms here, it should be by me, Professor Conroy! When I first heard that the President’s Chief Scientific Advisor was coming, I assumed that the post was still occupied by Nathan Blackwell.
Don’t tell me something happened to that man; I thought you told me he was too mean to be vulnerable to mere sickness.” By this point Isaac had walked half way across the hangar floor and was meeting his former university lecturer beneath the farther wing of the Hercules that had been damaged during the arrival of the ‘Wonderloaf’. They shook hands and then embraced briefly, thumping each other heartily on the back.
“I was right about that; he never used any of his sick leave benefits in all the time I knew him. He died in some kind of industrial accident; I haven’t heard all the details yet, just some mishandled explosives, I believe, and he happened to be too close. My appointment as his replacement was only made official yesterday.” The newly-arrived Professor stepped back and adjusted his glasses on his nose. “When I heard about your sudden and mysterious disappearance I was most perturbed. When I was informed of your equally sudden and mysterious return I just had to check it all out for myself. Let me look at you – truly the seasoned international traveller now!”
“Far further than that, but hardly seasoned,” Isaac said. “On the contrary, I found out that hanging upside down over Mars is not my first choice of leisure activities!”
“Mars? A little disconcerting, my protégé?” Weylin Conroy raised his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead heavily as he absorbed the startling statement and concluded, after a moment’s hesitation, that Isaac was not joking. “My background information was, shall we say, ‘less than specific’.” He looked behind the loose assembly of people and equipment, and saw the long lines of the ‘Railcar’, butted up close to the damaged transport aircraft. He hesitated, as his immediate conclusion was enough to raise his pulse significantly, and he resisted the impulse he had to approach closer, as he evaluated the situation adeptly.
“But you must introduce me to your associates here, and, if I am not mistaken, I sense an atmosphere of excitement indicative of an impending demonstration!”
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