The Third Craft

by James Harris

  “Either way, it is war. The first casualties will be the ground troops.”

  “You are not planning to do this alone, are you?”

  “Indeed I am. I can work faster that way. Besides, I have taken lives before. You haven’t.”

  It wasn’t true, but it was what Joe needed to hear.

  Kor stood up and took command of the craft. “There’s no argument, Joe. I’m going to drop you off in Boulder.”

  He mouthed a command and the craft leaped up and then arched down toward the planet in a slow turn. The heat and anti-grav shields kicked in as the hull temperature began to surge and the internal pressure soared.

  Ten minutes later, they landed softly on the university grounds close to home. There was a burst of acrid smoke when the hull scorched the long grass as the craft drifted gently to a stop.

  The portal door slid open.

  Kor put his spindly hand on Joe’s shoulder. “I’ll take good care of this baby for you. Tell your brother what’s happening. I’ve got some nasty work ahead of me, son. Goodbye for now.”

  The ship hovered for a moment and then flashed off into the night.

  CHAPTER68

  Stell and Amonda drove west about a mile toward the Potomac River through Bolling Air Force Base’s narrow winding roads. They stopped in front of a slightly run-down, twenty-foot high warehouse.

  They walked through the dusty front entrance of the building. In front of them was an empty office with fake wood paneling. They walked through to the warehouse at the back. In the middle of the floor was a gleaming Class II Transporter.

  “Ready to go?” Amonda asked.

  “Now’s as good a time as any.”

  “You get the doors.”

  After Stell had locked the front door and opened the large garagestyle door at the rear of the building, he jumped aboard the hovering transporter and took the twin command chair beside Amonda. “We haven’t done this in years, have we?” he said, managing a smile.

  “I’ve triangulated the co-ordinates of the Kennedy Space Center in Florida, our present position, and the historical orbit trajectory of the orbiter Atlantis. We can join the orbit and match the velocity easily enough. This vessel should be able to locate the crypt’s homing beacon fairly quickly once we are in orbit.”

  The vessel slipped away from the ground and headed toward space. Amonda piloted the craft at about MACH 10 from Bolling. Twenty minutes later, they were orbiting the Earth.

  “The crypt auto-jettisoned,” Stell explained. “before the ship entered Earth’s atmosphere.”

  “Doesn’t matter. We’re relying on the Atlantis. We have approximate co-ordinates.”

  Three hours later there was a flash of light on the forward monitor followed by a pinging sound.

  “We’ve picked up the electronic transmitter beacon,” Amonda said. “Enlarge,” she told the ship’s computer. “Enlarge again. There, at eleven o’clock.”

  “I see the crypt,” Stell said.

  “I’ve got a lock,” Amonda said, touching a light on the control panel. “Scan target device for function.”

  “Device is a cryogenetic crypt from Sargon,” responded the computer. “It contains the remains of one live and functioning human. The human is in a state of suspended animation. Device identifies itself as the cryocrypt of Stell, Lord Prince of the House of Abishot.”

  “Dock with target crypt,” Amonda commanded.

  “Acknowledged. Docking in six minutes.”

  “Transporters may be bulky and slow, but they’re useful at snagging payloads,” Amonda said to Stell.

  “The crypt is heavy. Do you think we can snag and load it? We can’t load it on board, it’s too big.”

  “We can always haul it below us or beside us by attaching it to the fuselage.”

  “Let’s do that. I have no space gear with me.”

  Amonda nodded. “We don’t need human assistance, Stell,” she said, touching the panel again to communicate to the ship’s computer. “Computer, prepare for side-by-side fusion to hull. Snag the device and transport it alongside using the side-docking method. Fuse to the port side of the vessel.”

  “Acknowledged. Capture and fuse to hull, port side.”

  “Transport payload to Gamma III. Encrypt and enable access codes to Gamma III after snag.

  Moderate velocity, use judgment.”

  “Acknowledged. Final destination is Gamma III with outside payload.”

  Amonda took her hands off the control panel and observed the screen. The small craft picked up speed, then allowed the speed to bleed off before gliding up beside the crypt. It fired its retro thruster to match the orbiter’s velocity. The crypt bumped sideways into the transporter. It was magnetically captured against the fuselage of the transporter.

  Once the payload was secure, the vessel arched away from Earth’s orbit and selected a trajectory orbit toward the moon.

  The trajectory chosen enabled them to access the moon in four hours. The transporter slid behind the shadow of the moon, where the magnificent Gamma III star cruiser idled hidden from Earth’s probing eyes.

  The transporter swooped toward the blue-white hull of Gamma III. The launch door winked open and swallowed up the craft and its precious cargo.

  Once inside, Amonda and Stell stepped from the craft. The crypt was wedged neatly beside the transporter.

  Stell shivered. “God it’s cold in here. I never thought to bring extra clothing.”

  Amonda went to a nearby storage closet where she knew there was spare thermo clothing regulated to the body’s own heat requirements. She held up the garments. “We have some clothing, but I am afraid your body is too large. Activate your protective aura.”

  “I have. I can manage an hour or so before I have a problem maintaining my body temperature.”

  “Let’s get started right away. A service Bot is on the way to help transport the crypt to level II, where we have a well-equipped transitioning lab. We will perform the operation there.”

  The Bot appeared as they talked. It had eight spidery arms. Four arms were deployed to lift the crypt and the remaining four were used for locomotion and balance.

  Amonda released the magnetic hold from the hull and the crypt detached, drifting slowly. The Bot managed the device easily in the low artificial gravity.

  Once inside the lab, Amonda made preparations for the transition. The Bot gently removed Stell’s body from the crypt after the cryogenic mechanism had warmed it. The frozen body was pliable enough for movement. The Bot placed it into a transition chamber.

  The chamber flooded with light green fluid. The fluid was carefully warmed from below freezing to above freezing in gentle increments. The body had to thaw at a specific rate that would not cause tissue to burn or deteriorate.

  Amonda looked over at him as he stretched out on the operating chair. “We’ll be a while,” she said. “I have asked for a room air temperature of seventy degrees. Is that suitable for your body?”

  “It’s perfect. How long before we begin?”

  “Stell’s body has to be ready. That will take another six hours. Once we confirm that we are medically viable, we’ll transfer your mind into the crypt-orb. We will check out the orb for errors and then download your mind back into Stell’s organic brain. I will continually monitor your progress.”

  She smiled at Stell as she came closer to the contoured chair where he lay. “How do you feel? How about getting some rest? I’ll waken you when it’s time.”

  Stell nodded wearily. He just wanted this thing over and done with. Amonda bent over him and gently placed her hands on his head. She sang a gentle song about rushing streams, flowing grasses, and waving trees. Her voice became a soft echo. Her eyes were the pools of infinity itself. Stell lost consciousness.

  Two days passed.

  “It’s time. Awake, my brother.”

  Stell stirred, and then sat bolt upright. “I had the most peculiar dream.”

  “Really?”

  “Ye
s, I dreamt that I was back on Sargon. Kor and I were young. As we were long ago. We were playing some silly game, like tag. I was having fun. I was laughing and racing around.

  “Then suddenly a dark cloud covered the light. It became dark and scary. Kor cried out for me to run, but a black arm came down out of nowhere and struck him down. He tumbled over and over, and then lay still. Then the dark shadow slowly started coming toward me. I sensed row upon row of needle-sharp teeth. It was some kind of monster. It meant to eat me, to consume me! It wanted all of me for itself.

  “Kor jumped on its back and screamed for me to run. The monster fought him off easily, and he was thrown to the ground once again. He jumped up, grabbed my hand, and pulled. ‘Come on, run,’ he screamed.

  “I tried to, but my legs were glued to the ground. Kor yanked my arm, dragging me, and we managed to start running. But I held him back. I couldn’t run fast enough. He refused to leave me, though, and we both ran in slow motion away from this dark monster.”

  “Then what?”

  “Then you woke me.”

  “Lucky for you I was there, or the monster would have eaten you.”

  “Yes, Amonda, you saved me from the monster.”

  An awkward silence was broken by Amonda.

  “Everything is ready for the transitioning. It will be over soon. You’ll see. You’ll be your old self again.” She touched his face and smiled.

  “Farewell, Amonda. I hope all goes well.”

  “It will. Trust me. The next conversation we have will be with your old body.”

  Stell reached out his hand and touched her arm. “I trust you.”

  “Thank you, brother. Now relax. You don’t have to move. I can operate the device where you lie.”

  A lid, suspended from the ceiling, slowly closed on the lounger holding Stell. Amonda touched his head and sang a song of peace.

  Kor was positively merciless in hunting down and dispensing with the invading infiltrates.

  Many of them were high-ranking diplomats, whose bodyguards proved useless. Kor’s supreme power overcame them all.

  “My former strength in the Gift has reappeared,” Kor said to Joe and Hawk several weeks later as the trio walked swiftly toward a large storage building. “I am going to need all of it. Much has happened. War between the two Houses has become official. The queen means to claim this planet for the House of Abishot.”

  Joe laughed. “Claim this planet? Are you nuts? We have billions of people, governments, armies, air forces …” He looked over at his brother in shared disbelief.

  Kor smiled. “They have already begun. She means to kill us all. We stand in her way. As a matter of fact, it seems that we are all that stands in her way to world domination. That’s why you two must leave Boulder. You’re no longer safe, you’re a target. There are too many of the infiltrates out there. The government no longer has the power to protect you. The queen is defying them.”

  “Leave Boulder?” Hawk said.

  “They are coming for you,” Kor replied.

  “We’ll take the Cessna. Where will we meet?” Joe said.

  “I’ll find you, don’t worry.”

  Joe and Hawk screeched to a stop in the flight school parking lot and climbed out. Joe walked swiftly to the counter. His Cessna aircraft had been refueled. When he was paying for the fuel he asked for a quick weather briefing. A front was coming in from the west. That required IFR and Joe didn’t have IFR.

  “What’s the window?”

  “You plan on outrunning the weather?” she asked.

  Joe grew testy. “If I have to.”

  “Got a jet? You can’t outrun this front. That Cessna’s too slow.”

  “What’s the window?”

  She looked at him and shrugged. “It’ll be here in forty minutes traveling from the northwest to the southeast at eighty knots. I give you ten minutes of flying time, unless you are traveling southeast, then you have an hour maybe, if the winds don’t shift.”

  “What’s southeast?”

  “Nothing but mountains. Denver’s due south. That’s your best bet if you plan to be insane.”

  “Denver it is,” Joe said. “I’ll sign off on a local flight plan to Denver.”

  “I guess,” the woman said dubiously. “You’re the pilot.”

  Joe was already out the door. He yanked open the pilot door of the Cessna 150. Hawk was already strapped in and going through the checklist.

  Joe rushed through his preflight. He taxied to the run-up area, did his final checks, and lined up for departure on runway number 32 facing into the wind. It was not a busy airport and departure was granted right away.

  He rolled out and taxied into position at the beginning of the runway. On hearing that he was clear to take off, he checked the approach. There were no incoming aircraft. He applied full throttle, crossed over the stenciled number “32,” and roared down the runway. Seconds later, when the aircraft had reached fifty-five knots, he pulled the nose upward and lifted off the ground.

  Joe banked the aircraft left after reaching maneuvering height of four hundred feet AGL and steered a heading of one eight zero. He flew directly toward Denver with the storm on his tail.

  He didn’t have on-board radar, but he could feel the pressure of the storm. He looked over his right shoulder and saw the deep brown and white-capped clouds of the approaching storm front. His instinct was to fly the aircraft in the opposite direction, but common sense reminded him that the storm was approaching faster than his plane could fly. Denver was the only alternative.

  Joe felt the wind begin to push his aircraft off course. He compensated by doubling up on the directional angle he had calculated to approach Denver. He crabbed the aircraft on a course of two ten degrees. That heading pointed his nose almost into the storm in order to be pushed back on the true course.

  Ordinarily, that would have worked. But the intensity of this storm was severe. It was constantly pushing Joe on and off course.

  He dialed up some IFR instruments. Even though he wasn’t rated IFR, he knew how to fly on instruments. He knew this was going to be rough going. He picked up Denver’s Omni beacon signal and steered an indirect course to the airport.

  The aircraft crabbed the rest of the way to Denver. By the time he was in position to land, the conditions had deteriorated to IFR. Joe dialed up his avionics to the radio frequency of Denver. He checked out the ATIS at 119.02 for the local landing conditions and active runway. On his second radio, he dialed up Denver Tower at 120.2. He gave his call sign, aircraft type, VFR flight plan, altitude, and distance from the zone. He also informed the tower of his intention to land.

  “India November Whisky, you are not approved for landing. You are flying VFR. Are you requesting a change to IFR?”

  “Denver Tower, Negative on the IFR flight plan. I am VFR to Denver from Boulder. I have the airport in sight. I ask for landing instructions.”

  Joe was lying. He did not have a visual sighting, but he knew from his instruments where he was.

  “India November Whisky, you must have great eyes. Didn’t you hear the ATIS? This airport does not have VFR visibility. The ceiling is too low to land safely. You are not approved, repeat not approved, for landing, due to weather conditions. You need to file an en route IFR and wait your turn. We have traffic in your vicinity.”

  “That’s a negative, Tower. I am not IFR rated, and I cannot go to an alternate airport. I cannot abort my landing. I am inbound for landing on runway two seven.”

  “India November Whisky, you are not approved. Turn an immediate 180 and vacate the runway flight path and the zone. Go to an alternative airport.”

  “This is India November Whisky. I’m lined up on the ILS for 27. I am landing this aircraft. In this weather there’s no alternative airport close by.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation. “Are you declaring an emergency?”

  “Yes … no … maybe. My emergency is that I don’t have an IFR rating and I’m landing immediately.”
/>   “Very funny. Are you declaring an emergency?”

  “Will that get me landed?”

  “Of course.”

  Just then, some low-level cloud cleared and the landing field actually came into view.

  “OK then, Denver Tower. I have the airport in sight, I really do. I am landing VFR. Cancel my IFR request. Cancel the emergency. Request final for runway two seven, no delay.”

  “You are a pain, India November Whisky. But this weather front is bad. Final for two seven approved. Stand by for clearance for landing.”

  The controller came on again in two seconds. “India November Whisky, we have you in sight. You are cleared to land two seven. Follow the Cherokee on final. Make it snappy. This break in the cloud cover isn’t going to last.”

  “I have the traffic in sight,” Joe said evenly. “Will follow the Cherokee. Cleared to land two seven. Thanks.”

  “Welcome. Now go away. Denver ground is 124.7. Have a nice day.”

  A few minutes later, Joe brought the small plane in for a rough landing.

  Sudden crosswinds pitched the small airplane about. Her wings rocked dangerously close to the ground as he fought the gusts. He landed on one wheel and immediately smacked the other wheel down and throttled back to 1000 RPM while nudging the brakes and pushing the nose alternately up and down to prevent the light aircraft from becoming airborne again.

  This is where his plan ended. Some plan! Just get out of Boulder. Not much of a plan.

  Joe never felt so alone and exposed. How would their father find them in this weather.

  Denver Ground had directed him to a holding area for visiting aircraft and refueling. It was about a mile from the main terminal.

  It was a long taxi. The tarmac was bumpy because the asphalt had cracked in the heat and split over time. Joe fought the wheel as a starboard wind grew and grew. He turned the wheel hard right to offset his ailerons in order to reduce the wind sheer.

  The small aircraft was buffeted savagely as the storm descended on the area. Every bump on the uneven pavement pitched the plane upward. The wings would then catch the wind and the plane would lift off the ground momentarily like a kite that caught air. It was impossible to steer a straight line down the taxiway. Joe was concerned he would be blown off the pavement onto the grass.