The two were a study in contrast. Burnwall was a short thin man, perhaps five foot six inches, but this was not what you noticed when you met him. His bearing, ramrod posture and the quiet strength of absolute authority in his voice marked him immediately as a no-nonsense leader. He had thick brown hair parted on the side and dark brown eyes set in a tanned face with a box chin.
Radin on the other hand, was a jolly, heavyset man with thinning brown hair. He was utterly dependable on duty, but off duty...the women, drinking and brawling were the stuff of legends.
Despite their differences, the two had hit it off and become good friends.
Finally, Professor Floyd Woodworth who was their historian, Jan Anderson the President’s head of PR, Dr. Bradford Donnelly Amular’s top scientist, Secretary of Defense Sally Barrington, Secretary of State Ed Fisher and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff General Apox Yuran were there in person filling out the rest of the conference table.
Woodworth was finishing his report, “So, overall planet morale is high due to the success of the grav-bombs and the placement of the high yield bombs around the ice clouds.”
“Admiral Maximus,” Wicker said, “how many more grav-bomb mines are left to plant?”
Adamarus replied, “Six more, then we head home. About six months to wrap up and then fifteen months travel time.”
Wicker nodded, and turned to Admiral Leewood who was in the final stages of selecting the sight for the construction and eventual loading and lift off of the three ark ships. Wicker consulted his notes. “We’ll be starting surveys of the final candidates within the week, yes, Admiral?”
Leewood replied, “Yes. Personnel will actually start arriving at the candidate sites later today.”
The favorited site was right in the middle of the Eastern Desert where payloads were brought down from orbit. It was between the asteroid landing site and the orbital graveyard where orbiting objects were brought down from space. On the face of it, the location sounded like a perilous one, but the danger was only illusionary. The drops from orbit were controlled and actually quite safe. In addition, they were moving into a slow period where ore drops and space junk reentry would be rare. There was, in reality, little risk.
“Excellent,” Wicker replied, his smile widening. Everything seemed to be going smooth. In fact, too smooth. It won’t last, he thought idly. The president’s smile faded a tiny bit. Yes, it was inevitable. He wondered when the next batch of problems would appear and, from what direction they’d come from. In the not too distant future, he’d remember these idle thoughts.
Chapter Six – The Radford Revolution
“All the time we observe, theorize, make predictions and test them, everything fits and we believe we understand what is happening. Nevertheless, often we eventually find that we were wrong. Maybe we are only seeing half of the story. Maybe we’ve made basic assumptions we don’t even realize we’ve made. Gravity is a case in point. Being inside a galaxy, there is too much matter for us to detect that emptiness also generates gravity and we are completely led in the wrong direction.”
The Loud Named Bugs
Opening Speech to the 23rd Annual Symposium on Quantum Physics
Source: The Archive
T-Minus 168 Years
Amular, 1st Heavy Mobile Artillery, Fort Murray
Often little things become big things and…once in a great while, they become phenomena that surpass all of one’s wildest dreams.
It was late on a Friday and Whitehall was still at the office he maintained on base. He was determined to clear out a box of old paperwork—a mixture of service related items, but also some old personal files.
The General had recently developed a fondness for using his new and larger penis on the prostitutes in the nearby town and he was anxious to finish up.
He picked up the next folder. It was an old one, worn and stained. He read the label: ‘The Bidwell Incident’. Whitehall sighed—he’d held onto this file for what—thirty years now? His hand moved to the left and hovered over the trashcan—just be rid of it, he thought, but he did not drop the file.
‘The Bidwell Incident’—somehow, his rival at the time, Congressman Bidwell, had figured out exactly what Whitehall…well, De Bella back then, had been planning and moved to steal the entire deal from De Bella, not only cutting him out of millions of credits, but embarrassing the hell out of him. De Bella had brainstormed the con for a year…the pieces of the plan had been so complex, widespread, diverse and seemingly unrelated to his ultimate goal. There was no way that anyone could have figured it out, damn it. How had he done it?
Reluctantly, Whitehall’s hand moved to the far right where there was a tray labeled ‘Pending’. It was beyond the ‘Done’ and ‘In Progress’ trays and he almost dropped the file, but…the empty Pending tray contained the sign he’d put there himself, ‘Never Handle a Piece of Paper Twice,’ and again he paused.
“Fuck,” he muttered and, in his mind, heard the computer generated voice he had had to listen to for a year, ‘you are out of character’…and corrected by adding, “it.”
Reluctantly, he picked up his com unit and connected to one of his aides. He talked for several minutes then dropped the file into the In Progress tray and forgot all about it.
Three weeks passed…
Again, in his office on base, his com sounded. “Whitehall here,” he snapped.
He listened, his eyes growing larger by the minute. Finally, “Yes, set up the meeting.”
---
Above the sparkling orb of the planet Amular, The Dry Runner departed from the massive Loud Umbrella Ship. Adamarus had been gone for 16 years and was glad to be home again. He turned the ship toward the North Pole and the Anderson Shipyards. He knew that both Grace and Nero were waiting there to greet him.
Twenty miles away, another Umbrella Ship hung against the stars. He knew from updates he’d received yesterday that it would be departing soon for Hideaway, delivering supplies and personnel. For a moment, he thought of Evelyn, but put her quickly out of his mind as he always did.
Beyond it, barely visible in the distance, a cluster of ships and some kind of orbital dry dock could be seen. Adamarus had no idea what that was about, but there were so many things going on that it was hard to keep track of everything.
His com buzzed. He answered, “Admiral Maximus here.”
“Adamarus,” said President Wicker’s familiar voice, “welcome back—splendid job out there, congratulations. How was the trip back?”
“Hello, sir. As boring as you’d imagine.”
“I understand your lovely wife and son are waiting for you at Anderson.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, I’m sure they’re looking forward to seeing you. Listen, I’m afraid I have some bad news, but some good news too. Which do you want first?”
Adamarus sighed, “Let’s hear the bad news first.”
“I’m afraid you’ll be heading back out almost immediately on a one-year assignment.”
Adamarus couldn’t believe it. He was just getting back from a 16-year trek. He knew it must be important or in some way special for Wicker to ask this of him. Still his voice was somewhat incredulous when he asked, “Okay, what’s the good news?”
“You’ll be working with a certain captain—the youngest captain in the fleet as a matter of fact, your son, Nero.”
Adamarus smiled, “Well, that does sound good, sir.”
“I’d thought you’d like that, but there’s more.”
“More?”
“Your wife will be coming with you as well.”
Adamarus’ smile widened, “You’re not serious.”
“I’m completely serious, Adamarus. Your son’s headed out for the initial testing of some of the Loud weapon improvements—the lower yield grav-bombs. Even though you’re just getting back from an extended assignment, with your recent experience on the higher yield bombs, I’d like you out there with him. I thought if Grace came along, it’d be like a
working vacation for you. Nero and Grace have agreed and are both looking forward to it. You and Grace will be staying in the ambassador’s suite.”
“Outstanding,” Adamarus said enthusiastically.
“Afterwards, you and Grace get that two-year vacation I promised you. Take her wherever you want. Oh, actually…after your assignment with Nero you’ll need to stop over at Anderson a few days first to catch the defensive buildup briefing—it’s the last one so you can’t miss it…then you can start your vacation.”
“That sounds awesome, sir. Thank you,” he said and meant it.
“Perfect. Have to let you go now. I have a damn press conference to do. Say hi to both Grace and Nero when you see them and give them my love.”
“I will, sir.”
The president signed off.
Adamarus returned his attention to the shipyard, which was just coming into view over the horizon and, with a smile, began the approach and docking processes.
---
Amular, the capital city of Axis…
In the Presidential Press Room, the press conference had just ended and President Wicker steeled himself for upcoming questions. The first one was a whopper and, while not really expected in the context of this press conference, which had been the state of the defensive build up, the question was not wholly unrelated and he was always ready for it. In fact, it had been asked many times before and in various ways, but thankfully, it had not been asked for more than a decade.
The reporter hollered above all of the others, “President Wicker, isn’t it true that you have already located the aliens and that you already know that, in fact, they are headed toward Amular?”
His question, seemingly out of nowhere, immediately hushed the room and everyone waited for Wicker to answer.
Wicker had always been superb at responding on the fly to unexpected questions…but this one…this was the one question he dreaded above all others because he could not tell the truth and yet, at the same time, he refused to lie.
He immediately held his hand up and forcefully shook his head no. In reality, this was one of many ways to buy himself a couple of seconds to organize his response while at the same time, seeming to respond immediately.
Wicker leaned forward and pointed outward with each hand. “Look...my first thought is to ask why you would think such a thing, but really, well...that’s stupid.” He waited for the scattered laughter to die down, then lowered his hands and held each side of the podium.
“Okay, let’s talk about this. First, if we had spotted the alien and knew they were headed here...well…” his hands lifted palms up, “we would be compelled to keep it secret...to avoid a panic.” The room went completely silent. He shook his head, “You know this. You would do the same.” A murmuring erupted within the room.
Wicker held up a hand to quiet it. “But in this particular case, you just have to think about it. Unless the aliens have faster than light capability, and the Loud agree with our scientists that traveling faster than the speed of light is not possible, it’s reasonably safe to assume that the aliens, like us, are restricted in that regard. Therefore, the alien can only have traveled so far from the Loud star. Even if their ship were ten times the size of the Loud's Umbrella ship—hell, even if it were a hundred or a thousand times that size—it would be impossible for us or the Loud to detect at their current distance. I’m told we would not be able to detect their presence for at least another 120 years.” Wicker gave the reporter a look and knew he’d satisfied him as well as everyone else. He looked around and casually asked, “Next,” and moved on to another question.
He’d dodged the issue completely only because of the unbelievable realities. They had not spotted a ship, only the effect of something that probably was a ship’s power source—a black hole—whose event horizon was some 13 million times larger than a Loud Umbrella Ship so it could be detected. Nevertheless, Wicker had sidestepped the issue and his response had contained no lies.
However, the timing of this question would come back to haunt him.
---
At that moment, three-and–a-half miles away, a private shuttle set down at the Axis Spaceport.
Whitehall, the only passenger, departed. He wore a gray suit, thinking he was in disguise, though his haircut broadcast military loud and clear.
He grabbed a cab and read off the address. It was a long drive that took him through the middle of the capital. Whitehall frowned and looked down when they passed the Congress Building, his old stomping grounds in his De Bella days. Then they drove out into the suburb, then into the country. Finally, they passed a gated fence and drove down a tree-lined road to a vine-covered mansion that was not in the best shape.
What looked like a teenager in a white smock worn over a white t-shirt and white jeans stood on the porch waving.
The taxi pulled up and the kid walked out to the car and opened Whitehall’s door. “General Whitehall, I assume.”
The General got out and they shook hands. Loud immortality pills or not he looked too young to be a doctor. “Is it Dr. Lithe?”
“Yes, sir,” the lanky kid smiled nervously and awkwardly saluted with his left hand while shaking with his right.
Then Whitehall remembered that ‘prodigy’ had been mentioned in his earlier briefing on this lad. “It’s an honor, doctor.”
The kid blushed. He invited Whitehall in and guided him through the mansion to the back porch. From there, the land fell away and Lithe had a fabulous view of the capital with the spaceport beyond.
They took seats and a servant brought them coffee and cookies. The day was comfortable, a light wind blowing.
Whitehall looked out at the view and took a sip of coffee. He was wondering how he would bring up the subject, but then that problem took care of itself.
Lithe said, “We busted the late Congressman De Bella’s little butt. Oh yes, we did, and a lot of other shits to boot.”
Whitehall’s anger flared but, to his credit, he held his expression, giving nothing away. He was just about to reply when a female voice that seemed to come from everywhere said, “Yes, we surely did, Dr. Lithe.”
Whitehall jumped.
“Oh, Sorry. Alex, meet General Whitehall. General Whitehall, please say hi to Alex. She’s the AI who developed the Happenings program.”
De Bella had always refused to speak to computers as if the computer were a person. De Bella had always spoke to computers as if they were what they were, computers. However, he wasn’t De Bella anymore and he knew that as Whitehall, he did talk to computers like friends.
He had had to get used to Whitehall’s computer, which at first didn’t acknowledge him as Whitehall…a specialist had to fix things. Thus, Whitehall knew how to respond and did so. “Hello, Alex, a pleasure to meet you.”
“Likewise, General Whitehall,” the female voice replied.
Whitehall asked, “What’s a ‘Happenings’ program?”
Lithe took a sip of coffee, considering the question. “Happenings are events. Every event affects everything around it, sending ripples of change outward from the event. The ‘Happenings’ program looks only at events and what effect different events have and, what other events they can cause and the repercussion of those and so on and so on. It also makes a few very basic and logical assumptions about things and/or people. It ignores everything else…like what people say, in fact, everything unless it’s a confirmed fact.” Lithe stopped there, looking at the general.
Whitehall blinked, “It ignores what is said?” he repeated as a question.
“Yes. For instance, De Bella said he was doing this and that for this and that reason…which was BS. The companies involved also said this and that, but the Happenings program only considers facts and made simple baseline logical assumptions like…De Bella, the company, everyone and everything wants to profit somehow.
“This assumption is always true—always. You see, even if a person only wants to feel good from helping someone else, that’s his, her, o
r its profit. Now this is quite rare, so the Happenings program will always assume a more material kind of profit, normally money…but sometimes, protection or safety. ”
Whitehall found it was strange talking about De Bella—talking about himself. Whitehall took a slow breath to calm himself. This was definitely interesting, but what interested him more was another instance where the Happenings program had been used or so it was rumored. “And you say you’ve run it pertaining to our interactions with the Loud?”
Lithe’s expression suddenly became serious…even a little scared, it seemed to Whitehall. “Yes,” Lithe said. “The program ignored everything that has been said, both by the Loud and by the government and focused only on actions, events and facts. It made logical assumptions…”
“What assumptions?” Whitehall interrupted.
Lithe got up and walked around to a table and picked up a PDA and returned to his seat. He started to hand it to Whitehall but then pulled it back. “Speaking of profit like…money and also safety…like my safety…you have the amount we agreed on…to just look at the results?”
“Yes,” Whitehall reached into his coat pocket, pulled out an envelope, and set it between them. “Just to look.”
“And the money to ‘use’?”
Whitehall pulled out another envelope.
“And you understand that this information—the output of the Happenings program—cannot ever be tied back to me in any way?”
“Understood.”
Lithe took the first envelope Whitehall had pulled out and looked inside, performing a quick count, then smiled like a kid at Christmas time. He handed the PDA to Whitehall. “This is the full report. All assumptions…everything is spelled out here. And I guarantee you, you will be knocked on your ass.”
Whitehall frowned. On the PDA was the first page of a large report. He tapped the table of contents and then selected Assumptions. He flipped to one at random. It read ‘Assumption 27: It will be a major expense and effort to man an interstellar space flight no matter what race or level of advancement and therefore it would not be taken without some kind of return on investment.’ Immediately Whitehall’s mind began to challenge this but, after a second, he decided he really knew little about such things. He looked up.
Countdown Amageddon (The Spiral Slayers Book 2) Page 12
