“But they won’t cling to the theory forever. People like Sara Cummings will make people ditch Hitchcook’s theory.”
“Given this situation, is it wise for us to increase the size of the milking fleets?” Gibbs asked. “Bigger fleets pose higher risk of detection.”
“Let’s increase the sizes of our fleets and get the operation over and done with. If the Earth’s superpowers discover our milkmaids, we’ll launch our backup plan.”
Gibbs nodded.
“How’s the recruitment going?” Cruz asked.
“The recruitment is going on smoothly.”
“You and Ford must expedite the transit of the recruits to the spaceports.”
“We’ll do our best.”
Cruz leaned his head toward his boyhood friend. “I don’t want your best, Tlyer. I want your utmost.”
“We’ll do our utmost.”
Cruz scowled. “I think those fucking space agencies and satellite companies are trying to screw us up. They fucking replayed a video clip.”
“But we told them to simply paste an hour-old picture over our milking spots during milking sessions. Did you talk to them?”
“Yes.” Cruz rose from his seat and paced about the room, his hands thrust in his pockets. “I told them there would be consequences if they repeat that stunt again.”
“Did they give any reason as to why they replayed the video clip?”
“They’re saying that since there was a storm in the area, they decided not to paste a still image to avoid raising suspicions.”
“How would pasting a still picture raise suspicions?”
“When there’s a storm, weathermen expect to see clouds and winds moving and the companies say they feared weathermen would get suspicious if they pasted a still picture of the storm.”
“They’re bullshitting us,” Gibbs said. “They could’ve just pasted a picture captured before the storm. Our milking points cover only a speck of the Earth. They could simply paste a tiny patch over part of the storm to cover the milking point.”
“I know they’re bullshitting us and I gave them a strong warning. If they fall out of line, we’ll have to be ruthless.”
“Cummings’ theory will make a good number of experts scrutinize satellite images of the Earth,” Gibbs said. “Why can’t the companies simply turn the cameras of their satellites away from our ships?”
“They claim that not all of their satellites have cameras that can be quickly turned from the ground.”
“Do you believe them?”
“I don’t know,” Cruz mused. “Maybe they’re bullshitting us. That’s why we’ve to watch them closely.”
“The Earth is not under twenty-four/seven satellite surveillance. Satellites only see where their cameras are pointed at and areas not covered by geostationary satellites are not always under satellite surveillance. We could study the movements of the satellites that cover these areas and send in our ships when the satellites are away from our milking points.”
“That’s easier said than done. Such a method can result in a pileup of ships while we wait for satellites to move away from the milking points. I think the space agencies and the imagery companies won’t cross us again. I made it clear that there will be grave consequences if they do.”
“What about military reconnaissance satellites? We’ve got no control over military recon satellites.”
“Yes, we don’t have any control over the NRO and their intelligence satellites, but the upside is that the military people don’t take pictures of Earth willy-nilly like the NASA and ESA guys. The NRO and other military surveillance agencies concentrate on areas that they perceive as strategic. Our milking points are not in areas perceived as potential sources of military threats to the United States, Russia and the other superpowers. Unless something drastically changes in the world’s geopolitics, our milking points will be away from scrutiny by the military.”
“But won’t our contacts at the space agencies and satellite companies tip off the NRO?”
“I’m sure they won’t do that,” Cruz assured. “I told them that we will be ruthless if they report the matter to intelligence agencies. I told them that if the NRO or any intelligence agency finds out, we’ll assume that they tipped them off.”
“But wouldn’t it be wise to stop milking Earth’s atmosphere for a while and milk Venus instead? The NRO might decide to direct their surveillance satellites onto the milking point that the GEMA woman discovered.”
“Venus doesn’t have oxygen.”
“But it has lots of carbon dioxide, which we could split into carbon and oxygen, or we could let plants take in the carbon dioxide and release oxygen when we grow forests on EU.”
“Our milkmaids are designed to harvest oxygen. Your plan will require modifying the milkmaids to harvest carbon dioxide. It’ll take us time to modify all the milkmaids.”
“In my own opinion, that will be worthwhile. It’ll remove the risk of being seen by military spy telescopes.”
“I don’t think they’ll do that,” Cruz said. “Military people are trained to respond to military threats, not to some hysterical woman whining about aliens. But as a precautionary measure, I’ve ordered our milking fleets to stop using the milking point that she discovered. We’re just about to win this war. The Earth is suffocating and we can’t loosen our stranglehold.”
Gibbs nodded. “You’re right. We can’t afford to loosen our stranglehold.”
“I’m leaving for E Utopia Saturday next week,” Cruz said, his gray eyes trained on his glass of whiskey. “Our operation has reached a critical stage and I need to go and see if E Utopia is ready for the evacuation of the chosen ones.”
Gibbs visualized himself having a picnic with his wife and kids on unpolluted E Utopia. “You’re right. It’s about time we evacuate our chosen ones from here.”
“We promised to evacuate the loved ones of the pioneers and we must deliver,” Cruz said soberly. “Otherwise our space force will mutiny. The pioneers are in this project because they believe their families will be safe. We can’t risk disappointing them. I was supposed to go to EU tomorrow but I have to wait for the UN summit. I want to hear how the world leaders will respond to Cummings’ space force proposal.”
“I don’t think they will adopt the proposal.” Gibbs sucked his whiskey. “The world leaders believe that sand reduction and UVL plants are the answer to El Monstruo and they want to use all available resources in that direction. Only people like Sara Cummings who believe in aliens think that the Earth’s environmental problems have an external source. The rest of the world is concentrating on reducing pollution and reversing the effects of the hypothetical oxygen-sucking undersea volcanoes.”
“You’re right, they won’t adopt her proposal. But I want to be at the summit just to make sure.”
“Even if they were to adopt her proposal, it would take them months to begin working on the space force. Governments are bureaucratic by nature. They’ll have to consult with their parliaments and senates before they can do this kind of thing. Some will even wait for next year’s budget.”
“I hope you’ll keep everything under control while I’m on EU.”
“I’ll keep everything under control.”
“I hope you won’t mess up anything as you messed up the elimination of Sara Cummings.”
“I’ll be more careful,” Gibbs promised. “Do you still want us to delete her?”
“If you failed to delete her when she was alone and unsuspecting, what makes you think you can delete her now when she’s guarded in the Russian embassy?”
“She might come out soon. She probably thinks we can no longer touch her now that she held a press conference and told the world about our intention to eliminate her.”
If she gets out in the next few days, kill her and make it look like suicide. The whole world will think she succumbed to her nervous breakdown.”
“I can arrange that.”
“Don’t make mistakes,” Cruz warn
ed.
“There won’t be any mistakes this time, Sam. I promise.”
Gibbs was two years older than Cruz. When they were small boys, Gibbs decided where they went and what games they played. It was Gibbs’ love for animals and plants that inspired Cruz to become a conservationist. As the boys grew up, their roles reversed and Cruz became dominant pal.
“Good. The harvesting fleets are saying that it’s now taking too long for them to fill the tanks of their milkmaids during milking missions. The low level of oxygen in the Earth’s atmosphere is also forcing them to milk at lower attitudes, increasing the risk of detection by Earth’s powers.”
“Is there a way to fix this?” Gibbs asked, worry etched on his face. “The longer the milkmaids take to fill their tanks and the lower their milking altitude the more they expose themselves.”
“I have a way to mitigate the problem,” Cruz said.
“I’m listening.”
“It’s simple. I’m going to pledge seven billion dollars to the construction of standalone UVL plants around the world.”
“How will that help?”
“The UVL plants will release oxygen into the atmosphere. This won’t increase the density of the atmosphere’s air since the oxygen will be made from atmospheric carbon dioxide, but it will increase the concentration of oxygen in the air, making the job of our harvesting fleets easier.” The gap between the corners of his mouth increased in an impish smile. “And it will increase the rate of the decline of the atmosphere’s carbon dioxide levels.” The smile widened as he imagined the famine that would devastate the Earth when plants died because of lack of carbon dioxide needed for photosynthesis.
“That’s a brilliant plan,” Gibbs said blithesomely.
“Besides, funding the construction of UVL plants will make us the darlings of the world,” Cruz boomed, pleased with his own deviousness. “The people of the world will think that I’m building the UVL plants to provide oxygen for them when in actual fact I am doing so to produce oxygen for my new planet.”
“And that will take the world’s eyes away from the activities taking place at our spaceports,” Gibbs added. “The Bolivian and Congolese governments won’t raise eyebrows if we launch ten space shuttles a day from our Bolivian and Congolese spaceports.”
“I bet other organizations will also contribute to the fund. This will give hope to the people of the world and make them concentrate more on oxygenating the atmosphere than on looking outside the Earth for answers.”
“That will win us this cold war,” Gibbs said with a sycophantic giggle.
Cruz raised his glass. “To success.”
“To success,” Gibbs echoed, raising his glass.
* * *
After Sara’s press conference, the ambassador ordered his staff to serve Sara and George some brunch. Although the food was delicious, Sara only ate a tiny portion. The thought that her dog was probably hungry took away her appetite. She couldn’t feast whilst Snoopy was starving. Ironically, she hoped Snoopy was hungry. If the dog was hungry, it meant he was still alive. George, on the other hand, ate his food like a hungry wolf.
When he had eaten his fill, he put his right hand on Sara’s left hand. “Darling, eat your food. You need all your strength to fight your enemies.”
“I’m worried about Snoopy.”
“Starving yourself won’t help him.” George squeezed her hand. “Maybe someone rescued Snoopy.”
“Thanks for everything, George. To think that I spent the last three years hating you.”
“That’s water under the bridge now,” he said. “The most important thing is that we’re together now. Nothing, not even your enemies can separate us.”
“I love you, George,” she said soulfully.
“I love you too, Sah. Please eat some more. I spent a long time fantasizing about your sexy body and I don’t want you to dent it with malnutrition.”
She smiled and shoved a spoonful into her mouth. She ate four more mouthfuls before she told him that she was full.
“That’s much better.”
The short, bored-eyed young midget entered the lobby.
“Doctor Cummings, you have a visitor, your assistant, Nzue Nguema. The ambassador told me to ask you if you want us to let Mr. Nguema in.”
“Please let him in,” Sara said. “Thank you.”
The young midget left the lobby and returned with Nzue moments later. Sara sprang to her feet and almost lost her balance in a fit of joy when she saw her dog.
“Snoopy!” she squealed.
The dog pulled the leash from Nzue’s grip and ran to Sara. She crouched and took off the canine’s breathing machine.
“Snoopy, I missed you,” she crooned, rubbing her hands on the dog’s neck.
The let out joyful whimpering sounds.
“He must be hungry,” Sara said.
“I don’t think so,” Nzue opined. “I fed him.”
“Thank you, Nzue. Did you give him water?”
“Yes. The batteries of his breathing machine were dangerously low but I replaced them. Here is the spare battery pack.”
“Thank you, Nzue. Snoopy must have stayed in the sun long enough to recharge the batteries. Please sit down.”
Nzue sat next to George, facing Sara. She was happy to see her dog but she wasn’t sure how she felt about seeing Nzue. She knew that either Nzue or Wong, or both of them, had betrayed her.
“This is my boyfriend George,” she said. “George, this is my colleague, Nzue.”
“I’m pleased to meet you, George.”
“Pleased to meet you,” George echoed.
“What happened, Sara?”
“Someone tried to kill me. He would have succeeded if it wasn’t for George. Is everyone else okay at work?”
“Everyone is fine.”
“I’ve seen Wong’s interview. Nzue, do you think I’ve gone nuts?”
“No, Sara. I don’t think you have gone nuts. How long will you stay here?”
“I don’t know. I’ll only leave the embassy when I feel safe outside.”
“Does this mean you’ll miss the summit?”
“Yes. I don’t think I’ll make it to the summit.”
“So how do you plan to fight the people who are after you?”
“I haven’t yet come up with a plan.” She wasn’t going to tell Nzue anything until she was sure that he wasn’t a mole.
“I’ll continue looking at satellite images,” Nzue said. “If I find anything interesting, I’ll let you know.”
Sara put her legs astride her dog and gently pressed her knees against his ribs. “Thanks for your support, Nzue. Do not try to help me in any way because it might get you killed.”
“I’ll be fine, Sara,” the African said. “The police have assigned two cops to protect me.”
“But you must be careful,” George said. “Two cops won’t be much help against a sniper.”
“I’ll be careful. If you need me, just call, Sara.”
The midget returned. “Doctor Cummings, there are two men from the United Nations Department of Safety and Security waiting outside. They say they have been sent by the UN Secretary-General. Do you want to talk to them?”
“Bring them in, please.”
The midget shuffled out of the lobby.
“See you, Sara.”
“See you, Nzue. Thanks for saving my dog.
“Goodbye, George.”
“Goodbye, Nzue.”
Nzue walked out of the lobby and met Woodgate and Pires.
“Mr. Nzue Nguema,” Pires said. “You managed to get here before us.”
“What took you so long?”
“We got lost,” Woodgate said. “You know how it is driving in a foreign city.”
“Goodbye, gentlemen.”
“Goodbye, Mr. Nzue. Don’t forget to contact us if you stumble upon any new information.”
“I won’t forget, Mr. Woodgate.”
Nzue walked toward the gate and the two men entered the
lobby of the embassy’s ceremonial building.
“Doctor Cummings,” the little Russian said. “I present to you James Woodgate and Didier Pires from the UN Department of Safety and Security.”
“Thank you very much. What should I call you?”
“You can call me Kazimir.” This time the young midget did not leave the lobby. He was under orders to listen to the verbal exchange between Sara and the two UN officials.”
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Sara said.
“I’ve watched you many times on TV,” Woodgate said with a winsome smile, extending a hand toward Sara. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Doctor Cummings.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you too,” Sara said, shaking Woodgate’s hand.
Pires took Sara’s hand as soon as Woodgate let it go. “How are you, Doctor Cummings?”
“I’m fine and you?”
“Fine too.”
“I’m James Woodgate, Under Secretary-General for Safety and Security and this is my colleague, Didier Pires, Assistant Secretary-General for Safety and Security. As you might have guessed, we’re here in connection with the attempt on your life. Doctor Cummings, the United Nations takes seriously the safety of its staff members. I want to assure you that we shall do everything humanly possible to uncover the truth. We want to ask you a few questions.”
“You’re free to ask anything.”
“We watched your press conference on TV,” Didier Pires said. “Do you suspect that NASA, ESA and some commercial satellite imagery companies are involved in the plot to assassinate you?”
“Yes. I’ve good reason to believe that some people connected to the two space agencies and six companies tried to kill me. Something happened over the Indian Ocean and some people at NASA, ESA and the six companies didn’t want the world to find out what happened. It cannot be a coincidence that soon after I made this discovery, a hit man was dispatched after me.”
“What do you think happened in the skies above the Indian Ocean?” Woodgate asked.
“Sorry,” Sara said with an apologetic smile. “I forgot to ask you to sit down. Please sit down, gentlemen.”
“Thank you,” the two UN security chiefs chorused before they sat opposite Sara.
“I also forgot to introduce my boyfriend George,” Sara said. “I’m alive today because of him.”
The E Utopia Project Page 11
