“That would be me,” Bill said.
She reached a hand out to shake. “Hannah Botha,” she said, then looked at Jordan. Answering his unspoken question, “Yeah, my dad was a racist Afrikaner who fled South Africa. I’m a Hayeker, born and raised.”
Jordan shrugged. “Hey, we all come from somewhere.”
Bill didn’t quite understand the byplay and decided to let it slip.
“I take it you’re here to get us to the maglev?”
“Yeah, the station’s right on the other side of the terminal, but Commandant Lewis wanted eyes on the ground, so to speak.”
“I’m beginning to think the old man doesn’t trust us,” Matt said.
“Well, not like any of us know how to read a map or anything,” Bill agreed.
Hannah chuckled, and said, “Follow me.”
“Give us a sec,” Bill said, extracting a magazine from his ammo pouch, then loading his rifle. The other two did the same. Then Bill loaded his PDW and strapped it back in place. “Now I’m ready.”
They soon arrived at the maglev train station. It was almost two hours until their train departed, so Hannah offered to give them a quick tour of Jongen. They left their survival equipment at the courtesy counter, and carrying only their rifles, hopped in a jeep she had parked in the terminal lot.
As far as cities went, it was quite small, about half the size of Milton. Not many cities were that big on Hayek, a planet with a population of barely over forty million, most of whom had crossed over from Earth less than twenty years ago. Everything still looked new. Bill was surprised that there was even a maglev in Eurasia.
“It was one of the first things put in after the initial seaports were developed,” Hannah told them. “Nuclear’s far less polluting than airplanes, so I guess Parallel wanted to make sure enough infrastructure was developed fast to avoid having a bunch of planes polluting the air.
“We’ve only got lines on the mainland right now, and mostly just here in the Canton of Constant. This line runs down to Buffett, a port on the coast of Marseilles at the mouth of the Rhône River, with stops along the way, including your stop at Guerin. They’re putting another line to the English Channel, which should be done in another year or so.”
“That fast?” Bill asked, surprised.
“Oh, yeah. Lots of indentured servants paying off their passage to Hayek are employed by Parallel to build the maglev infrastructure. That’s what my dad did. Average time to pay off is four years, but some bust their butt and get out in three. All depends on how bad you want it, I guess.”
It was Bill’s first real experience hearing about the indentured servants. He knew passage to Hayek from the U.S. was pricey, about $100,000 per person, and had he wondered how people were able to afford it. He found out after he made the crossover that some worked for the company that actually controlled the gates, Parallel, Inc., parent company of the Corps of Discovery. He had always wondered what those people did to pay their passage and now knew.
The time had come to return to the station and complete the next leg of their journey.
Thanking Hannah, the three boarded the train and were soon watching forested country with small farms flash by at 600 kilometers per hour. Bill felt a sense of disconnect, having traveled through this part of France on Earth. Seeing smaller farms, few towns and mostly forest reinforced just how different Hayek and Earth were.
In a bit over an hour, with just enough time to have lunch in the dining car, the train arrived in Guerin.
As with every other stop along the two-day journey, the trio was met by an Explorer at the terminal. This time, though, Bill knew her.
“Mindy!” he practically yelled. The two embraced. Mindy had been the pilot and crew commander of Bill’s first survey on Zion. A dark-haired woman in her mid-thirties, she was an excellent pilot.
“So, you flying the 415?” he asked.
“Yep. But, being short of pilots, I’m dragooning yours.” She turned to the other two. “Jordan, good to see you again.” After giving him a brief hug, she turned to Matt. “You must be Matt Green.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Good. You’re gonna be my co-pilot, along with whatever scut-puppy stuff Bill has you doing. I’m Mindy Hubert, and I’ll be doing the main flying.” She looked at Bill and added, “and working under you. How’d that happen?
Bill shrugged. “Karma?”
Mindy laughed, then led them out of the station. “I’ve got a Kenji waiting; the airfield isn’t all that close.”
Once they were on the road in the truck-turned-jitney, she said, “Had there been any type of road out there, even a dirt path, I’m sure we’d be hauling this stuff in a truck. As it is, no road, so we fly. Besides, that’ll just give us a head start on getting to the second crash site.”
Five minutes later they were at the airfield and boarding the CL-415. As Bill climbed in, he stopped and looked around. He knew that the planes were practically identical, but he could have sworn it was the same seaplane he had run remote sensing platforms on in the Carib on Zion.
“Is this Zebra 21?” he asked, calling the plane by its former call sign.
“Yep, same plane, different designation though. It’s Romeo 21 now.”
There were a couple of other Explorers in the cabin. “Boys, this is Bill Clark,” Mindy said to them. “He’ll be leading this little foray. The other two are Jordan Washington and Matt Green.”
The two Explorers introduced themselves as gate operators. The tall East Asian guy was Ken Tanaka, and the shorter Hispanic-looking gal was Estela Cruz.
Everyone got settled in, Bill at his former workstation. Within minutes Mindy had clearance from the field and they were airborne.
With less than twenty kilometers to go, the flight to Grand Lac de Laffrey was so short that Mindy never took the plane above the tops of the surrounding mountains. The seaplane soon settled on the calm waters of the small lake. From take-off to landing took less than five minutes.
To think, that trip took us four days, Bill thought, remembering the time spent walking through a forest, making rafts, and floating downriver. Was that really less than a year ago?
As Mindy slowed the plane, she called back to Bill, “Where’d you say the Monarch was?” Her voice was somewhat tinny over the intercom system.
“On the long beach on the east side of the lake.”
Mindy maneuvered the plane toward the beach Bill had indicated. Soon, they were stopped. “Okay, let’s get it tied down to a tree and get the gate equipment out,” she said, after shutting down the engines.
Bill remembered his last walk into the frigid waters of the lake, so he was glad they had a small inflatable boat. Bill and Jordan got the boat inflated and out the door. With Jordan holding the rope that held the boat steady, Bill climbed aboard the small craft, then helped the gate operators load equipment into it.
It took several trips before they had all the equipment necessary to create a gate big enough to bring the survey plane through, and to clear enough space to park the plane once it was on Hayek. The forest, as on Planet 42, extended practically to the lake’s shore. And since it was nearly as wild, being on Hayek’s frontier, somebody had to keep watch. That meant fewer hands to do the work.
Several hours were spent clearing space for the Monarch’s fuselage. The goal was to separate the wings from it, which allowed for a much smaller gate. Bill, having no experience with chainsaws, took over the watch, the snarling of the saws assaulting his ears. He still wasn’t used to the cacophony of civilization.
It was dusk when they finished.
“No sense going over in the dark,” Bill said. “Let’s call it a day.” He turned to Mindy. “How’s the bird set up for overnighting?”
“All prepped. We’ve got enough for two weeks operation.”
“What about sleeping spaces? We’ve got six people, but only four racks.”
“Rotate every night, is what I’m thinking.”
“That works. W
e’ll go by teams. Pilots are one team, gate ops another, and the really cool guys the third,” Bill said with a grin.
“Wait a minute,” Matt argued, also grinning. “What about you and Jordan? You didn’t identify your team.”
“Shut up, Matt,” Jordan said. “And what say we get aboard before the night hunters come out.”
The team climbed aboard the inflatable and went back to the seaplane.
Supper consisted of flight rats and the daily tot. Flight rats contained a pre-made entree and a dessert. These differed from field rations in their variety, contents, and weight. Flight rations were for use in airplanes with amenities such as microwaves. While edible cold, they were better warmed, and the packaging was designed to allow for microwaving. These came in sealed dishes and included an accessory packet with coffee or tea, sugar, and a non-dairy creamer. As flight crews could carry condiments and spices, none were provided, nor were any utensils. Flight rations were broken down into breakfast and lunch/supper meals. Most were vegetarian, but some had fish or meat.
The daily tot was a holdover from the British and U.S. Navies. Rum in the British Navy and usually whiskey, which was cheaper than rum, in the U.S. Navy. The Corps had revived this practice.
Everyone was up early. Breakfast consisted of more flight rats, and as soon as everyone was done eating dawn had broken.
Stepping out of the 415, Bill wasn’t surprised to feel the cold spring air. It stung his nostrils as he breathed in. This close to the mountains, all the cold, heavy air flowed down into the valley. Not as cold as the Great Plains, he thought, basking in the relative warmth of the rising sun.
Once ashore, the gate operators got the generator started and prepped the gate for opening.
Bill had tried to get some information out of them the night before on how the gate operated but was completely shut down. Apparently gate operators, all of whom held PhDs in physics, were heavily recruited and had better lives than what they could have found on Earth, both in terms of money, academic freedom, and actual freedom. Of course, one of the downsides was that they were never allowed to return to Earth, even for visits or family deaths.
Before the sun had gotten too high, Cruz announced that they were live. “Gate’s open, and I can see your plane just a hundred meters down the beach.”
“Okay folks, listen up,” Bill announced. “Matt, Jordan, and I are going through to get the plane. First thing is to see if we can find the EMP bomb. If we find it, great. We’ll pass it through to you, Mindy.
“Regarding getting the plane back, we’ll dump the avgas in the lake first and then Matt and I’ll tow it back.” At the shocked looks, he said, “Yeah, I know. Pollution. But, don’t worry. We’ll light it up and burn it off before we leave.
“Jordan,” he went on, “I want you providing watch. We were lucky last time I was here. No wild animals. But we’ve also got to watch out for the hominids. You see a predator, don’t hesitate. Take it out. You see a hominid, you make the call. I’m not gonna hamstring you; I trust your judgment.
“When we get the plane back, pass the chainsaws through and we’ll cut the wings off. Wings go through first, then the fuselage. Put the wings in the forest, and keep room for the fuselage. Any questions?”
There were none.
Bill didn’t bother stripping off his boots, sock, or pants like the last time he was in the lake. Rather, he just stepped through the gate, immediately assessed for threats, then walked around the gate and out of sight.
Stepping up onto the beach, he waited for the other two who joined him almost immediately. The walk to the plane didn’t take long. The area looked the same as it had before, only with less green vegetation.
Searching around where he thought Meri had tossed the bomb, he soon found it under a shrub.
Pulling a pair of surgical gloves on, he said, “I’m gonna take this back to Mindy. Matt, you get the plane untied from the tree. If you’ve gotta cut the rope to do so, fine. But be sure to get all the rope. I want this place sterile.” With that, he made his way back to the gate.
An hour later, the wings and fuselage of 42/2 were back on Hayek. As the last order of business, Bill took a survival flare and shot it into the lake where the avgas was floating. As expected, it went up with a whumph, the concussion and heat wave washing over Bill as the gate closed.
Bill inspected the plane. The crash seat parachutes were still onboard. Rather than inspecting them himself, he removed them, wearing surgical gloves, and stored them in the same locker on Romeo 21 where Mindy had placed the bomb. He locked the locker and put the only key in his pocket. As far as he could tell, only three people had touched the bomb since it was planted: Meri, him, and Mindy, the latter two wearing gloves. I doubt they’ll find anything, he thought, but no sense taking chances.
Looking at their handiwork lying on the beach in pieces, Bill said, “Good job. Now, let’s get that second bird.”
Airborne within minutes, Bill pulled his tablet out and tied in with the plane’s WiFi, which hooked into the local internet system. He sent a message updating Commandant Lewis.
He then sent an e-mail to Meri letting her know they had made the first recovery and were back on Hayek, safe and sound.
The flight south took them to the port at the mouth of the Rhône River, Buffet. The CL-415 had been lightly loaded with fuel when it left Guerin; it wasn’t safe to land on water, or even land, with full tanks. The next leg of the journey would take longer, so now the tanks were filled. The flight was over 3,500 kilometers and expected to take almost twelve hours. Thanks to modifications to the fuel capacity, the plane would be able to make it without having to stop for refueling en route.
While eating lunch in the airfield’s small cafe after the plane was fueled, Bill and Mindy talked about the next leg and pored over flight charts. Finding no airfields between them and their destination, they decided to Remain Over Night at the small airfield rather than attempt the long flight in the dark.
“No sense spending the rest of the day and all night flying after having gotten up early,” he told the crew. “Dinner can be done on the local, but be back by 2000 hours. We stay on the plane tonight. I want to be wheels up before dawn, which is 0715. That means we’re wheels up at 0645. So, plan on being up no later than 0600 hours.”
Sunrise the next morning was seen through the plane’s port windows at cruising altitude. As with all long flights, there was really nothing to do if you weren’t flying the plane, so Bill read and watched movies. The lack of connection to the internet, being so far from civilization, left out the option of emailing his wife, or anyone else for that matter.
The day droned on,. Finally, after a butt-numbing eleven-hour flight, they arrived over their destination. Below, Bill could see a rough field hacked into the mostly treeless savanna.
Mindy’s voice came over the intercom, “Flight attendants prepare for landing. Ladies and gentlemen, please put your seat trays up, if you have any, your seats in the upright position, and fasten your seat belts, as you might need them.” Bill chuckled at the dry humor. It seemed most Corps pilots had the same shtick in one form or another.
The approach was direct and soon they were on the ground and parked next to a Caribou on the dirt runway.
Stepping out of the craft, Bill was assaulted by the heat and humidity of the Sudanian Savanna. After spending a winter on the high plains and spring in northern latitudes, to be thrown into the African heat was a shock to his system. It was apparent the others felt it, too.
As he approached the small group of Explorers on the field, he could see that they were the same engineers that had built the field on Planet 42 for their rescue, along with Brad Maeda and his co-pilot.
“Bill, my boy. Glad to see you,” Ken Schmitt said, taking Bill’s hand. “Welcome to hell.”
“Thanks, Ken. Hot enough for it. Thanks for prepping the field.” This was directed to all the engineers.
“Hey, our pleasure. Boss wants it, we do it. Anytime, anyw
here, anyhow, that’s our motto.”
“Great, so where’s the crash site?”
Ken pointed to a spot with a flagged stake. “If I’m correct, right there. We’ll know as soon as your crew gets the gate open.”
“Gotcha. Well let’s get them going. Do you have a flitter around?”
“Got one in the ‘bou. What’re you thinking about?”
“Once we go through I want to fly around and see what we can find.”
Jordan piped up. “Uh, hey Bill. Maybe you’re not the best one to do that. How much time you got in a flitter?”
Bill had to admit, not much.
“Well, I’ve probably got the most time in one here, so if you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be the one doing the survey.”
“Got me there. We’ll discuss it in the morning, and I’ll tell you what I want.”
Darkness was fast approaching, so Bill suggested they call it a night. They buckled down for more delicious flight rats and a tot in the planes.
After getting Tanaka and Cruz oriented the next morning, and watching them begin setting up the gate, Bill called Jordan over. As they walked toward the Caribou where the flitter was stored, Bill told Jordan what he was thinking.
“If they didn’t go down with the Monarch, odds are they parachuted out. And if their chutes were sabotaged like ours, odds are they came down pretty damn fast. I’m betting nobody survived. You tracking?”
“Yeah,” Jordan said. “Major suckage.”
“Yep. Anyhow, once we determine if they were heading north or south, I’ll want you to backtrack and see if you can spot anything. Run a standard search pattern. Look for parachutes. Even after this much time, I doubt they’re completely buried in sand or covered with vegetation. You should be able to spot something. Just look for colors out of the ordinary.”
Jordan nodded.
They extracted the flitter from the back of the Caribou and unfolded the propeller shrouds. Jordan climbed into the single-seat passenger compartment and started the flitter up, raising a cloud of dust. Bill could smell the African dust as the cloud rose.
The Corps of Discovery Trilogy Box Set: Books 1-3: A multiverse series of alternate history Page 55
