He decided to move on to reviewing the landing protocols since the AI handled everything else until the point when the ship was ready to enter the planet’s atmosphere. Even the process of entry was closely monitored by the AI, though the pilot, that being him now, could override the AI directives as needed. As he pulled up the material, he paused to see if he could detect any changes in his own consciousness or knowledge base. While he’d heard stories of Crenosians consuming the bodies of other Crenosians, he had never partaken in such a practice. He did recall one small sub-culture on his world who’d practiced devouring their dearly departed family members. While he supposed that was an economical way to handle the disposal of the bodies, he was thankful not to have been born on the island. Besides, so far he’d not noticed any discernible changes within himself.
The more he reviewed the material for performing a successful landing, the more his confidence grew that he would have no trouble completing the task, especially with the assistance of the AI. Even while he’d been in sombulance, the AI had started the deceleration of the ship as it passed the fourth planet in the system on its way to the third planet known by its inhabitants as Earth.
Sluneg paused in his studies to glance at the chronograph, then felt a shudder course through his body as he read the small lettering after the 15 that should have read “klegons” but instead read “minutes.” Fifteen minutes until contact with the planet’s atmosphere? But that couldn’t be. He took a moment to calculate the difference between minutes and klegons. A minute was roughly one-twentieth the time of a klegon. Somehow the chronograph had automatically switched to Earth units, and he’d missed that little detail: one that could easily jeopardize the mission, even cost him his life. No more study time. Time to strap in and land this ship in one of the planet’s expansive bodies of water where its cloaking mechanism would keep it hidden from the primary civilization’s detection.
THE BLACK SUV THAT Pat had found parked outside her apartment in Charlotte, North Carolina made its way through the early morning traffic before turning onto I-85. For the next two hours, they traveled on mostly four-lane roads due west, averaging about sixty miles per hour before they pulled into a combination gas station and convenience store.
“Why are we stopping here?” Pat asked.
Shep only shrugged, a confused look on his face. “I don’t know. I’ll be right back.”
“Can you bring me a cup of coffee back while you’re at it?”
Shep nodded but didn’t say anything. He returned a few minutes later with the driver and a hot travel mug with the convenience stores logo on the side.
“Thanks,” Pat said as she took the mug from him. “I’ve always wanted one of these travel mugs. Whenever I drink from it, I’ll think of you.”
Shep stared at her for several seconds as though trying to come up with something clever to say but apparently quick quips back were not his forte. He simply nodded instead.
“What’s up?” Pat asked as Shep climbed into the seat next to her.
“Minor directional issue, ma’am,” Shep replied.
“Does that mean we’re lost?” Pat asked.
“Not anymore,” Shep replied.
But he’d obviously miscalculated the store clerk’s ability to give directions, for they continued to drive around the winding roads of the Blue Ridge Mountains for several more hours, occasionally stopping for a new set of directions. By the third time they stopped, Pat had lost all sense of direction, but asking Shep resulted only in a blank stare and a curt, “Sorry, ma'am, that’s classified.”
Finally, the appearance of the dirt road suggested wherever they were headed, they were probably almost there. At least she hoped so. The bumpy ride was doing nothing to suppress her need to pee. She probably would have done better to pass on the coffee at the first convenience store, but a shot of caffeine had seemed like a good idea at the time. A request to take a trip to the ladies’ room at the last stop might have worked as well, but the urge had only been a hint at the time.
As they wound along the mountain road with the late afternoon shadows lengthening, the trees began to thin, and Pat thought she saw an orange windsock through one of the clearings. An airfield out here in the middle of nowhere? Her guess was verified a minute later as the SUV pulled up to a rickety shack that looked like a good wind would blow it over. But her attention was quickly drawn from the ancient building to two helicopters about fifty yards away. While they were both painted an ominous flat black, the larger one had a double blade with a ramp lowered in the rear. Pat recognized the smaller one as a Black Hawk from a recent newscast she’d seen, then recalled the news had been about two of the copters being shot down by Somalian forces. And why did I have to remember that particular bit of news now? Next to each helicopter stood an armed soldier. As she watched through the SUV’s tinted window, larger copter’s rotors started up, ran for a few seconds then sputtered to a stop. That didn’t sound good, Pat thought. I hope they don’t try to put me in that one.
As they drove up to the shack and stopped, Pat noticed a small band of men standing in a semi-circle staring in the direction of the two helicopters. One of the men was dressed in an olive green flight suit with a helmet cradled in his arms. Was that a Colt-45 strapped to his leg? Pat wondered. The man standing beside him wore a dark blue business suit and sunglasses. Even from this distance, Pat could tell he was in charge. Pat leaned over from the backseat.
“That’s Oliver Stanwick, isn’t it?”
Shep turned in his seat and hesitated for a moment, during which Pat expected his favorite reply, “Sorry, ma’am, that’s classified.” Instead, he nodded. “Yes ma’am, that’s him all right.”
Wow, six whole words. Shep’s becoming downright loquacious, Pat thought, then decided to hazard another question. “What’s he like?”
She thought she could hear the wheels whirling in the young man’s head as he decided whether or not to answer the question. Finally, he replied, “He’s fair and honest, but also not someone to mess with, if you get my drift.”
“Yes, I do,” Pat replied. “Thanks.”
For the first time, Shep broke into a smile. “Good luck, ma’am.” And with that, he opened his door, climbed out, and opened hers. Pat nodded, then grabbed her gear and jumped out. Here goes, she thought, but to where and for what purpose she still didn’t have any idea.
WITH SO LITTLE TIME remaining before entry into the Earth’s atmosphere, Sluneg rushed through a check to be sure all systems were online and functioning properly. That’s when he detected problems in not one but two systems. He first found issues with the ship’s cloaking system. It appeared to be completely offline. How could that be, he wondered. That would mean that instead of stealthily arriving on Earth, he was more likely to have been detected already. So much of the success of his mission depended on it not being identified, at least not until he was well established and his purpose was entirely in gear.
Shistuon! Sluneg swore but continued the systems check, only to find a minute or two later that the navigation system also had issues. How could this be? Everything had checked out perfectly when they’d come out of the wormhole. Then he remembered the log reference to a part of space they’d passed through with a high concentration of debris. He flipped on the exterior cameras to find several damaged areas.
“Shistuon...Shistuon!” Sluneg screamed, his level of confidence plummeting as fast as his ship. He was in the middle of taking several deep breaths when the ship suddenly lurched, throwing him out of the control chair and onto the deck. A new and even more alarming warning blasted through the cabin, accompanied by several flashing lights on the control panel. He tasted blood in his mouth where he’d bitten himself during the fall. What was that? But even as he asked the question, he knew the answer. The ship had collided with something that the dysfunctional nav system hadn’t detected. Not only was he about to enter Earth’s atmosphere fully detectable but also out of control. And there was nothing he could do about it.<
br />
As he pulled himself back into the pilot seat, a series of lights flashed on the panel in front of him, and a moment later he heard, “Autopilot engaged.” The autopilot had reawakened. Maybe all was not lost after all.
“Scanning situation.”
Better be quick about it, Sluneg thought, then took a couple deep breaths to calm himself. Surely if anything could save him and his mission, it would be Crenosian technology. After all, it was the most advanced in the known Universe, right? No doubt even at this very moment it was working out a solution for landing the ship safely with all hands on deck alive and ready to get to work.
“Abort. Repeat, abort!” the autopilot announced.
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Sluneg shouted back. “I can’t abort! We’re coming in hot. An alternative plan, now!”
A micro-second elapsed, then, “Insufficient data for an alternate course of action. Recommend abort immediately.” And with that Sluneg felt the ship shudder as though it might come apart at the seams at any moment.
The damn thing is trying to pull out of our entry path, Sluneg thought. It’ll destroy us for sure. “Abort the abort plan...now, immediately.”
“Abort plan cannot be terminated. Prepare for turbulence,” the autopilot countered.
I stand corrected on my first assessment, Sluneg thought as he frantically glanced around the cabin. Not two systems malfunctioning but three. The autopilot that was supposed to save him was about to get him killed. So much for Crenosian technology. He’d have to take care of matters himself. After all, Crenosian missions always came down to the survival of the fittest, didn’t they?
As he reached this conclusion, his gaze fell on the only possible solution to his most immediate problem. From the increasingly forceful shaking of the ship, he calculated he only had seconds to act before the ship became nothing more than more space debris. He staggered out of his chair and over to the emergency locker where he grabbed the mobile flame extinguisher from its clamps. Steadying himself against the far wall, he took aim then flung the extinguisher across the room with all his might. It struck dead center the bank of lights, resulting in a spray of sparks and a large puff of smoke.
Now he was truly on his own.
AS PAT WALKED UP TO the group of men, she heard the deep, gruff voice of Oliver Stanwick raised in anger, “Hells bells, we were requisitioned two helicopters when, by all rights, we should have at least half a dozen, and on top of that, one of them isn’t even safe to fly. What’s our government coming to?” As he whirled around, he spied Pat approaching.
“Who the hell are you?”
Pat stopped abruptly, memories of her father shouting at her flashing before her eyes for an instant, then she squared her shoulders and replied. “Pat Vogt, reporting for duty as ordered, sir.”
“Where the hell have you been?” Oliver thundered. “You were supposed to be here hours ago.”
We decided to take the scenic route, Pat thought, but before she could say anything, Shep replied from behind her. “That’s on me, sir,” Damn, he walks as quiet as a cat, Pat thought as she turned to glance at him, suddenly appreciative that he was still with her. “We got lost on these back roads for just a bit.”
“I’ll say,” Oliver replied more calmly. “So, you bring me my third and last choice for this assignment and late to boot. What else can go wrong?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Probably quite a few things, sir,” Pat blurted out then smiled in an effort to take the edge off.
Oliver stared back at her for several seconds, then laughed. “Yes, no doubt you’re right, Vogt. Have you been briefed on what’s going on here?”
“No, sir,” Pat replied. “But if I had to guess, we have an unidentified flying object to investigate.”
“That’s correct. Our Colorado station picked it up on radar early this morning shortly before it took out one of our communication satellites, which forced it off its original flight path. We’re pretty sure it landed or crashed somewhere in these damn mountains.” Oliver waved his arms to take in the ridges of tree-lined mountains. “Your job is to find it before some hillbilly stumbles across it on his way to his still.”
“Yes, sir. Will do, sir,” Pat replied. “Who will be my pilot?”
“That would be me,” the tall man in the olive green flight suit replied, stepping forward. “James Stepp, Ms. Vogt.” He held his hand out to shake. “I was your pilot on a couple of your training runs.”
“Yes, I remember you,” Pat replied. You were the one always in heat, she thought, but given they’d be working together on a real mission, she decided it was best not to stir anything up. “Good to see you again. You may as well call me Pat since we’ll be working together.” She glanced over to Oliver. “If that’s all right with you.”
“Sure, I don’t give a damn what you call each other. Just find me that...” He paused as though uncertain how to finish the sentence, then continued. “Hell, may as well call it what it is. Find the damn ship. Can you do that?”
Pat and James stared at the Colonel with shocked looks on their faces. Finally, James spoke up, “If you don’t mind me asking, what leads you to believe it’s a ship?”
“Simple,” Oliver replied. “It’s the only thing that it could be, given its behavior. It came streaking in at some ungodly velocity while at the same time decelerating even though it should have picked up speed as it approached Earth’s gravity field. No, it’s a ship all right. What we don’t know is whether it’s an unmanned drone or there’s someone or something on board. That’s your job, and it looks like you’ll be doing it alone, at least to start.” He waved one hand in the general direction of the helicopters. “It’s too late to head out tonight, so we’ll bunk down here, and you can head out at first light. Maybe by that time Jerry and the mechanic will have the other ‘copter ready to go. If not, you’ll be on your own.”
“I saw a small bed and breakfast a few miles down the road,” Pat started, but Oliver interrupted her.
“When I said we’ll bed own here, I meant just that.” He pointed to the ramshackle building. “There.”
“Really?” Pat asked, then noticing the frown growing on Oliver’s face, “Yes, sir. Looking forward to it.” Looks like another day without a shower, Pat thought, then groaned softly. At least she had some dry shampoo in her gear that might get the smoke smell out of her hair.
SLUNEG STARED AT THE dials in front of him on the control panel. Too fast...way to fast for a safe landing.
It’s vital to the mission and your life that you slow the ship! Another voice said; it was clearly not his own.
Who or what is that? Sluneg thought.
No time, just slow the ship!
But how? Sluneg asked.
Fire the retros! The mystery voice yelled back, growing more forceful with each reply.
Retros? What are you talking about? Sluneg looked around frantically for any clue what the voice was talking about.
The retro rockets, you slow, inept excuse of a Crenosian!
Now, wait just a minute, Sluneg thought but then stopped in mid-sentence. Before him, in the far right corner of the control panel, a strange orange glow highlighted a series of buttons.
Those must be the retro rockets controls, Sluneg thought even as he reached over to press each button in turn. Immediately, he felt a change in the velocity of the ship, and in the next moment, he recognized the mystery voice. It had to be the memories of the dead pilot he’d eaten. So, the old tales were true after all.
The ship continued to streak through the outer layers of Earth’s atmosphere but with a counter force of the retro rockets continuing to slow its speed. It shot across the early morning sky like a blazing meteor with Sluneg inside fighting to keep some semblance of control.
So much for a quiet, clandestine arrival, Sluneg thought. If he came out of this alive, he’d have to move fast to save his precious cargo and himself. The mission would proceed, but he could disregard the original plan. But first things first. He had
to somehow survive the crash landing that appeared imminent. At least it seemed he’d be landing on the dark side of the planet. What little information he knew about the dominant species indicated that most of them went into an inactive period of rest known as sleep during the dark portion of their day. That might at least delay his being detected.
Perhaps I acted too rashly in destroying the autopilot, he thought. But what option did he have? He needed to stop it from destroying the ship with its crazy plan. Once again, he took a couple deep breaths as he attempted to calm himself. Is there anything else I can do to save myself and the mission? he asked without really expecting an answer.
At 20,000 flantoms deploy the atmospheric resistor but only if you speed is under 400 parsonds, came the immediate reply from the now familiar voice along with a lever becoming highlighted on the panel in front of him.
Perfect, Sluneg thought. He watched the gauges until the ship’s velocity dropped to 20,000 then quickly pulled the lever. He breathed a sigh of relief as he felt another lurch. He was strangely comforted to know he wasn’t completely alone. Anything else?
Prepare your body for a hard impact. I recommend you shift into survival form, which will strengthen your body and improve its healing rate.
Of course, Sluneg thought. Why didn’t I think of that?
You are under a great deal of stress. Me, on the other hand, not so much since you’ve already taken my essence within yourself. Now, prepare for impact.
THE NEXT MORNING, PAT and James took off in the Black Hawk shortly after dawn. James had grown up in this part of the country and knew the terrain well. He suggested that Pat let him navigate where “my gut takes me”. Since she’d heard similar comments from her father for most of her life, she decided to trust him. After all, she’d only been to the North Carolina mountains a few times before for short day trips and a weeklong vacation with her family several years ago.
Crash Page 2
