by Mich Moore
did not say anything. "I see. And what about the nuclear missiles? I take it that these are different from our current arsenal."
"Very." That was the French minister, Pierre Laurent. "Almost all conventional missiles are Uranium based. It has high instability and at the business end high levels of negative radiation. We've got a working prototype on board now that uses a gold alloy as fissile material. It consumes more energy but the blast dispersal is far less toxic."
"How much less?"
"About eighty percent less."
He whistled. "I like that number."
Tennyson glanced out the cockpit window again. "They remind me of birds." While Chambers was speaking to the others with an expression of supreme satisfaction on his grizzled face, the prime minister performed some simple math problem in his head. "So these craft have a full-thrust horizontal range of approximately thirty-five million kilometers—"
Chambers interrupted him. "Pardon me, sir. Horizontal meaning from one point on the earth to another if one were flying along the curve of the earth."
"And a low-thrust vertical range of seventy million kilometers."
"Yes," Chambers responded. "Vertical range meaning from a point at sea level on the earth to another point straight up from that point."
Tennyson did some quick mental calculations. "Seventy-two million kilometers." His jaw dropped. "Archangel can theoretically reach Venus."
Chambers nodded.
"For heaven's sake. Can they save us? Can they win this war for us?"
"In a roundabout way, yes, we think so," Laurent replied with utter confidence.
Tennyson was almost glowing with pride on the inside. After three years of suffering utter futility, his people were finally talking like winners.
Matthew Grodin, the American secretary of defense, nudged his way to the front of the group. "Mr. Prime Minister, what Archangel is designed to do is to provide the G5 contingent with a greatly needed boost to our military and civilian deep-space maneuvers. Whoever ... whatever ... our enemy ultimately turns out to be, it doesn't seem to be interested in engaging us in direct confrontation in the air."
"They knocked out our satellites after the Los Angeles fire, remember?"
Grodin countered. "But they were back on within three days and we haven't had another incident since."
"So you're thinking that that was just a screw up?"
"Or a show of force. We may never know. Whichever the case, we're vulnerable here on earth; establishing a permanent presence elsewhere is the next logical step. Archangel will assist us in accomplishing this, one hundred percent guaranteed."
Tennyson's happy face turned into a frown. "So we abandon our planet." That thought, while hardly new, now struck him with a particular vengeance. Only a coward would give up and run. Could he leave his home behind? Could he turn his back on England? On the earth itself?
His heart began to sink as he returned to the flight engineer's chair.
Grodin pressed on. "Sir, the strategy is that we get to a higher vantage point and then plot our best options for Venus and for Home Earth. But first we launch Archangel. If those structures on Venus are real and not naturally occurring, we may need an initial contact force with both peacemaking and peace keeping abilities. Archangel will give you that and more, sir."
But the chief officer of the United Kingdom still looked glum.
Laurent gently placed his hand on the prime minister's shoulder. "Mr. Prime Minister, if you'll look out your window at four o'clock, please." Tennyson moodily complied. As he watched, a dark, smudged line dropped out of a shallow sheet of cirrus clouds. As Fox8 rocketed through the air, the smudge's speed increased until it was directly off their starboard wing. The new angle provided a better view of the object. It was dark gray, nearly flat and quite long. As it moved closer to the airplane, a hump could be seen protruding above its center. At a distance of approximately five kilometers from the BAe, the side that faced them dipped precipitously as a dark gray moon began its slow ascent above it. Only it wasn't a moon. As it grew larger and larger, it was plain to see that it was the aircraft itself, an impossibly huge disc shaped liked a perfect circle, slowly tipping over onto its rim until it was flying perpendicular to the earth. The object was easily two kilometers in diameter.
Tennyson lost control of himself and throttled his armrests. "My God, what is that? Is it Advance South???" He was practically shouting at them.
Chambers quickly stepped up to stand beside his good friend. "It's okay, William. It's ours."
The air marshal allowed his words to sink into the prime minister's brain. "Its official name is the Docking Disc. It represents the first intra-solar spaceship. It can shuttle Archangel to the new earth so that they don't have to burn fuel going out. It can assist with overseeing contact and dialog protocols should that prove necessary. And it will be able to help with offensive strategy for the Archangels once they arrive on Venus—again, if the need is there. The Disc will also serve as a service and repair station for the Archangels and future missions."
Tennyson still had his armrests by their throats but appeared calmer. "Is it armed?"
"Uh," Grodin replied diplomatically, "with all due respect sir, that information is unavailable at this time."
Tennyson visibly relaxed. "It's one of ours." He laughed, a bit embarrassed. "My apologies, gentleman. I guess that I got a little carried away." Tennyson brought out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. "It's one of ours," he muttered again to himself. "Thank God. Thank God."
"Thank Sir Frederick Fields and his crack staff at Gresko," Lord McCool said with unabashed pride. "The Docking Disc is his brainchild."
Tennyson chuckled and put away his rag. "Next time I see him, I'll do just that." The men watched the spacecraft seemingly stretching itself against the sky. "So," Tennyson said, now seeing the monstrous flying disc with clear and unafraid eyes. "We're finally in the flying saucer business." There were odd depressions and protrusions at regular intervals. Laurent handed him a pair of binoculars. Although it had appeared as smooth as an airliner from a distance, up close he could see its true nature. The outer skin appeared thick and pebbled, such as one might find on an avocado. The dimples and swellings were actually small hills on the aircraft's terrain.
"The surface is quite dramatic," he noted.
"Deep space is hostile. You need a thick yet flexible skin to navigate through it all."
Tennyson smiled to himself. "Much like Parliament."
Tennyson adjusted his eyes until he could make out a rosette of images painted near the Disc's center. There were five flags there representing the G5—the Union Jack, the Stars and Stripes, the French tricolor, the Australian National Flag, and the Canadian Maple Leaf. The achingly familiar graphics helped to offset the Disc's utterly alien design. There were three words written in block letters below the flags. Tennyson read them aloud. "HMS Tennyson."
He smiled to himself. "Yes. Very nice."
He stared into space. And then the meaning of the words struck him full force. He looked again. "Oh, my."
A large pile of tears threatened to spill down onto his cheeks.
"Thank you," he whispered. Someone handed him a handkerchief to wipe his face. "Please tell His Majesty that I am humbled by his graciousness."
"Of course."
Tennyson addressed Laurent. "You say that it's fully automated. No crew. How's it going to be able to assist the Archangels?"
"No live crew," Grodin gently corrected him.
Tennyson's scalp scooted forward. "Oh, so you mean computers?"
"Not quite," the secretary said. "More like 'ghosts within the machine.' I'm sorry, but most of the moving parts on the Disc are classified, sir. But we actually do have a full crew aboard. By law, both the Disc and the Archangels must be under human command at all times. There are seven astronauts inside the Disc now who have been training with the Archangels and the Disc for almost three years. Four are from NASA, two are from the ESA, and there's a mission specialist
from the JSA. The NASA community has been with Archangel since its very beginnings, and we feel comfortable giving them the reins for the time being."
The Disc slowly returned to straight and level flying and became a long, thin smudge again.
Laurent continued. "Phase I will be the initial contact with New Earth. If we get to Phase II, actually planting a small landing party, the Disc will be carrying the G5 team leaders and their families, along with the royal families and their staffs—" The captain and the co-pilot began to fidget in their seats. As commoners with no real money, they and their families would be going absolutely nowhere when the Earth really hit the skids. Laurent was either ignorant or indifferent to that fact "—ninety percent of the ship is designed to carry supplies—compressed oxygen, water and food."
Tennyson was nodding, but his mind was jumping through time. He was thinking ahead. Way ahead. To a time when they would not be even entertaining the thought of invading another world and possibly subjugating its citizens. To a time when there would be a lasting peace and reconciliation on Home Earth again—when men of different creeds, colors and beliefs could truly commit themselves to sharing the tiny paradise riding on the backwaters of the Milky Way. And how did Archangel fit into the picture? Could this one weapon, bearing the name of an ancient but comforting symbol from their religious past, be the progenitor of that desperately hoped for future? Here? On this earth? During this lifetime?
