It was fortunate there were so few persons on that first voyage. It allowed his father to compensate the others with enough money and other considerations in order to keep the secret. Two had since died, two more were still employed as vice presidents on the production side of Wannstead Industries, and the other was retired.
From that first successful voyage, even though that ship hadn't been designed to land on a planet like the ones that followed, the fortune left to him by his father multiplied almost logarithmically. He was still in his early thirties when he negotiated the agreements that changed the political and military distribution of power on Earth and set mankind on its way to the stars. It hadn't been easy. It took almost two years of haggling before he pulled all the parties into far-reaching agreements.
It hadn't turned out all to his liking, but with his own country and other major nations clamoring and threatening war if not given access to the technology invented and developed by his father, his choices had been limited. Nevertheless he negotiated ceaselessly, ruthlessly and with the almost certain knowledge of what failure would mean-driving him until he got most of what he wanted. Access to the stars was hard to beat as a bargaining chip. Nations that could afford them were allowed to purchase interstellar space ships, along with a very strict international treaty agreement to keep manufacture of the ships in the United States for a period of twenty years.
The United Nations was reformed; its bloated bureaucracy cut mercilessly down to a slimmer and more efficient version of its former self, and the veto was abolished. The most ticklish negotiating point had been giving the U.N. a source of tax income in order for it to purchase its own ships, and allowing it to form a modest military force drawn from many nations in order to protect the colonies discovered by its ships. He hoped it would be enough to keep tempers in check when major nations began competing for newly discovered worlds suitable for colonization. It was the best he could do and fortunately, although earth-like planets weren't all that common, enough had been found to keep squabbling to a minimum. Theoretically, any inhabitable planets discovered were open to colonization by anyone, but the financial burden of the starships meant that nations owning them tended to dominate the worlds they discovered. Along with those agreements came a promise of non-interference with any colonies established by Wannstead Industries. It was just that, though. A promise. It had held so far, though, perhaps because he hadn't been very forthcoming with the exact location of the two star systems where Wannstead colonies were established.
And last of all he had convinced Congress to scrap the labyrinthine tax laws in favor of a flat tax with a mild escalation for high incomes. That step had been possible only when he convinced a majority of the members of both houses how much money the sale of starships and goods from colony worlds would add to the nation's coffers during the years when the country held a monopoly on starship manufacture.
He didn't expect that bargaining point to last and it hadn't. Congress was gradually returning to its old habits of using taxes to form social policies, or anything else to get votes for the party in power. Damned if he intended to see anything like that happen on Xanadu, not with the alien city to be exploited, not if he could get the Navy to back up his claim to colonization rights even if he did have to share any alien technology discovered. He had done what he could for Earth and the United States and, surprisingly, it actually turned out to be greater than anything he expected, if not all that he'd hoped for.
Perhaps the recordings of the two earth-like planets besides Xanadu brought back by that first test flight had much to do with it, even if no one knew they were far removed from the ones observed in the Bolt Cluster, including Xanadu-the one he hadn't reported. He didn't want anyone else even close to there. Most amusingly, the United States and a good portion of the rest of the world still thought of him as a great statesman, one of the giants of history. He supposed he was, in a way. He had, after all, figured out a system of expanding mankind's reach to the stars without the savage competition and wars over territory which nations had been prone to since humans first came down from the trees. So far, at least. He often wondered, though, what the public would think of him if they knew how long he'd been keeping Xanadu to himself and his cohorts. His statesmanlike stature would probably suffer a bit, he thought. Or more than a bit.
It wasn't perfect but it wasn't a bad system he'd fought for and won. All that bargaining led to the present day grouping of exploration by the United Nations on the one hand and individual nations on the other, with colonies formed under U.N. auspices coming under its jurisdiction and the U.N. also having a relatively benign role in keeping the peace between those established by the various nations. He was allowed ships of his own to conduct exploration, although even with his almost inestimable wealth he could afford very few. Of those, the fourth had now apparently been lost.
Luckily, Wannstead Industries owned a colony world that was returning some of the Wannstead investment, and the other was very promising. That planet's population was growing rapidly, fueled by his own small fleet of interstellar ships and driven by his own ideas of what kind of persons should hold power and status, and how governments should function. His own son had set up the selection committee for immigrants for their two colonies which were not in the Bolt Cluster. Those helped to throw off suspicion since it would have looked peculiar not to have colonized a world after insisting on permission to do so.
He intended the Wannstead colonies to be a reservoir of all the best humanity held within itself, a place of individual freedom with its concomitant responsibility, even if the Xanadu enigma was never cracked. Eventually, if he lived long enough or his son did, he intended for them and perhaps others to be the leaders of a star-spanning peaceful confederation of worlds that were all governed along the same principles.
In the meantime, the vast unfinished alien city of Xanadu was apparently in pristine condition, although they had been unable to tell whether it had been built recently or if the robotic machinery had been simply maintaining its unfinished glory for untold millennia. He had at first thought it was the latter until his ships began vanishing. After that he began thinking the city might have been completed between the first visit and the next. Regardless, if word of its existence and its advanced technology ever got out, it would lead to war between competing nations just as surely as competition for petroleum had led to a seemingly endless series of conflicts on Earth until alternative sources of energy were developed. Even the U.N. would not be able to stop it. He knew that as certainly as he knew politicians first and foremost looked after their own interests. It was the principal reason behind all his political and financial maneuvers and the source of the eternal worry that filled his days and led to nightmares at night.
He rubbed his temples, trying to ease the strain he always felt when thinking about the situation he'd created and the hopes he had nurtured for so long. Now the United States Navy would have to see what it could find out, with a star ship enhanced by DARPA at the famed Skunk Works in Palmdale, California.
He picked up the handset of his phone and began calling the numbers of men and women he knew, ones he could trust. It was the first part of negotiations he knew would go on for days or weeks. After that it would be out of his hands and out of the purview of Wannstead Industries. It made him feel sad in a way but also relieved, although he did intend to ask the Navy to try finding out what had happened to his people if they managed to overcome the Xanadu enigma.
Wannstead looked at a picture of the Xanadu city while sipping a scotch. He scratched his head and meticulously looked at the image. Something in the photo of the city bugged Olson Wannstead. He couldn't put his finger on it, kind of like the Mona Lisa's smile, but the enigma of that city seemed much colder than a smile. What was this strange looking place? Who lived there? Why weren't the ships coming back? What new technologies were there for the taking? Only the Space Navy had a chance at answering those questions.
Chapter Two: Skunk Work Sp
ace Work
The essence of war is violence. Moderation in war is imbecility.
-Admiral John Arbuthnot Fisher
It wasn't unusual for Admiral Gene Mullins to meet with the Secretary of the Navy but it was a rare occasion when he went to her office without knowing what the meeting was going to be about. Today he didn't have even a hint. Mullins didn't really trust a man or woman who didn't drink, and the Navy Secretary was known to have some really good brandy. With that in mind, and a long day almost finished, the Admiral walked into the Secretary's surprisingly austere office, the one she used for real business rather than the one depicting her status.
"That will be all, Martin," Georgeanne Smith said, dismissing her admin assistant. "Thank you."
"Yes ma'am," he said and departed, though not without throwing a curious glance over his shoulder. Her assistant was almost always present at her briefings.
"Admiral, thanks for coming. I'm sorry I didn't give you more warning." She smiled at him which let him know he wasn't on the carpet about anything.
"I'm always happy to see you, Ma'am," Admiral Gene Aloysis Mullins answered.
"And I know a fib when I hear one, Gene, but never mind. Have a seat. Pour yourself some coffee first if you like." She glanced up at a clock on the wall of the simple office, a wide departure from the usual Washington opulence in the abodes of politicians at her level. It contained little more than sufficient furniture for three or four guests to sit in bare comfort, her desk, and a little alcove where her ever-present coffeepot lived. "It's after five. Add a bit of brandy if you like."
"Thank you, George. I believe I will." What with fighting a weight problem he knew he didn't need it, but decided to indulge anyway. This appeared to be a meeting of significance.
"Make one for me while you're at it. It's been a long day."
Mullins poured some Germain Robin XO Brandy into their coffees (adding a little extra into his) while he wondered even more why he was there. Georgeanne Smith was one of the few politicians he respected. Her reputation was such that she had been carried over from the previous administration, a rarity in the brutal partisanship of high-level politics. He placed her cup on the coffee table when he noted she was coming from behind her desk to sit with him rather than at her desk. Curiouser and curiouser, he thought.
Once comfortable, George, as she liked to be called, crossed her legs and sipped at the brandy-laced coffee while eyeing her visitor. Even at fifty, she was slim and had great looking legs. Her short dark hair and green eyes veiled a smart, tough woman. She seemed to be thinking about how to approach a subject, staring at a painting of an ocean sunset on her wall.
Mullins waited comfortably, sipping his coffee-brandy. He knew it was no use hurrying her.
"Gene, before we go any further, I need to let you know that what we talk about is strictly Navy business. The other members of the Joint Chiefs are unaware of exactly what I'm going to tell you and the President wants it kept that way. This stays with the Navy."
"My lips are sealed."
George smiled. "They'd better be, or you and I both will be in trouble. Okay, first I want to show you a couple of photos. You can examine the whole recording later if you wish, but for now this will do." She brought out two page-sized photos. One showed part of a world from space, with what looked like an artificial construct in view. The other showed a closer view, faintly fuzzy from being seen through atmosphere. It disclosed what looked like a city but one never seen on Earth. It consisted of mostly spires and domes arranged in a great thick circle around a smaller central area of vegetation. One small portion of the city close to the edge appeared to be unfinished, with spires and domes and rectangular edifices obviously in various stages of construction. From there to the arc was nothing other than a deep evacuation, a clear sign that much of the finished part of the alien metropolis was built underground as well as above.
"What ...I mean where is this? A recent discovery?"
"It was found by the first exploration ship Wannstead ever sent out in an area they're calling the Bolt Cluster. They've kept it a secret since then."
"Is it what it looks like?"
"Yes," she nodded. "It is indeed an alien city."
"Is it occupied?"
"We don't know. They didn't come close enough to detect living organisms if there are any. The main sign of possible habitation is the amount of activity associated with construction, as near as we can tell."
"You mean they didn't land?"
"That first ship couldn't land. Remember? And they were very cautious and stayed well away from the planet."
"Oh, yeah. But how about later?"
Smith smiled wryly. "Wannstead has sent four of their own ships there over the last couple of decades. The first three didn't come back and the fourth one they sent recently is more than a month overdue. They aren't expecting it to return, either."
Mullins stared at her for a moment. He nodded, more to himself than her. "So now they want the Navy to have a crack at it."
"Right you are. They have no more money to expend on the enigma, so Olson Wannstead very quietly got an appointment with the President and told him about it, along with a suggestion that we keep it just as secret as possible. President Jenson agreed, with good reason, I think. Can you imagine the hullabaloo if this got out?"
"God, yes. Every country with the capability would want to go zooming off to see, and if one country lost a ship they'd blame another. We'd wind up in a war and probably the alien city would get a nuke popped on it eventually."
"That was Wannstead's reasoning."
"Okay, I'm with you so far. But what makes him think the Navy will do any better than their ships? Oh, wait. Never mind. He must have heard the musings of what's going on at DARPA."
"I hope musing is all he's heard. Their programs are supposed to be so black they have to use flashlights to get around the place. But you're right. Wannstead's new C class interstellar ships are just now being made available. Wannstead has already delivered the first one to Palmdale and DARPA is working on it now."
Mullins sipped at his coffee, savoring the bite of the brandy. "So let me see if we're straight. The Navy fixes up this new ship into a super-duper fighting machine and we send it to the Bolt Cluster to slay whatever dragon is guarding the treasure. Right?"
"Right. Now your mission is to pick the captain and crew for the ship. Start with the captain and work down. We need to get the senior officers involved with its renovation as soon as possible."
"I can see why! Okay, I can handle that. How many assistants can I bring to the job?"
"As many as you want to, so long as they don't know what they're doing."
He laughed. "Zinged me, didn't you? Fine. I'll cook up some kind of story for them to keep curiosity down. Anything else?"
"No, just let me know when you've got the crew ready."
"Can I recall some of the officers who aren't on active duty?"
"I suppose so. Are you thinking of any in particular?"
"Just one so far, but there may be others."
"Suits. Well, that's all I had, Gene. I'll let you get started first thing tomorrow."
"I may start this evening," he said, rising to his feet at her signal of dismissal.
***
Navy Captain Trent Keane leaned over the conference room table in an office at the administrative center of the famed Lockheed Skunk Works, Palmdale, California. An aerospace physicist and a weapons specialist sat at the table on each side of his chair, and Fred Jergens, a young electronics whiz and design engineer who was well versed in quantum engineering, leaned across the table from the other side. He had to brush back his long shaggy dark hair in order to see. His hair wasn't a political or personality statement, Keane thought. He gauged him as one of the types who just hated to take time off for haircuts. Keane was still reeling from being called back from leave and told he was being reassigned as Captain of the first of Wannstead's newest line of ships. Then to top it off, he'd been sent
to the Skunk Works where the ship was undergoing a radical upgrade.
"It's quite an improvement over the standard design," Jergens stated emphatically, pointing to a spot on a hard copy printout. "Quantum indeterminism, my ass. That's the excuse Wannstead claims for some ships being faster than others but that's a load of crap. We can't get into the drive mechanism to see how he makes his own ships, but we know the ones he sells to us are speedier than those going to the U.N. and other nations. If we tried opening it up, we'd probably blow up half of California, so we went at the problem from a different angle. See here, where the gravity generator couples with the drive, we were able to enhance the flow of quantum shifting so that it's almost twice as fast as regular ships, and that also makes it faster than those Wannstead's sells to us or those they keep for their own use. His engineers probably did something like this but I'll bet they didn't go near as far as we did, not unless they learned how to control the quantum flux at the high end of thrust like we have."
Interstellar ship captains had to know a little of the theory behind the quantum drive, but most of what Jergens was telling him was more akin to Greek than English, and Keane didn't know a word of Greek. He liked the concept, though, and Jergens was reputed to be one of the best electronics design engineers in the business.
Alien Enigma Page 2
