The Third Craft

by James Harris

  The plane bucked and pivoted as each blast of wind gusted downward. The sky had turned dark gray. Suddenly, shards of lightning materialized on the horizon. Joe taxied hard down the runway. His instinct was to slow the plane so that it would settle down, not lift up and be blown about. On the other hand, he realized that every second counted if he was to get the plane into the tie-down area before the storm hit full force.

  “Denver Ground, India November Whisky.”

  “India November Whisky, go.”

  “I’m on Echo taxiway heading toward Borden’s Flight School. I need assistance to tie down before the storm.”

  “You’re cutting it awfully close, INW. I’ll call the school and have someone direct you in and assist with the tie down.”

  “India November Whisky,” Joe signed off.

  Fat drops of rain splattered against the weathered and worn Plexiglas windscreen. There were no windshield wipers, of course, and visibility was getting worse. The wind blasted and lifted his right wheel clear off the ground. His left wing was inches from the pavement. The plane threatened to cartwheel over. Joe steered sharply into the wind, and the wheel slammed back down. He trimmed the aircraft as best he could.

  A stab of lightning snapped loudly and hit the ground about a mile or two away. Joe had the nose wheel turned all the way right into the wind. He played with the braking foot pedals alternating left and right to steer the plane through the gusts.

  Then, ahead to his left by an Exxon Fuel Sign, he saw the white and green “Learn to Fly” sign of Borden’s Flight School. He spotted a lone figure standing in the middle of the parking area being buffeted by the winds. His fluorescent orange raingear was whipping about.

  Joe steered toward him. He was a young man, maybe eighteen, and drenched. His flaxen hair was plastered to his forehead. He coaxed Joe forward with a hand signal. He held two bright orange signal cones, one in each hand and waved them forward and back in two parallel straight lines. Joe taxied directly to him, carefully following his movements. When he held out his right arm, Joe eased the plane left. Finally, he crossed both arms. Joe pressed the foot pedals down firmly and the plane jerked to a stop. When he released the brakes, the plane jerked forward again. He jammed the brakes on again with all his weight.

  Joe turned off the engine and lifted the window. The signalman came running over, shielding his eyes from the pelting rain.

  “I can’t hold her,” Joe shouted over the wind. “You need to tie the wings down before I can release the brakes.”

  The young man nodded, and gave thumbs up that he understood. He dropped his signal cones, fished a sodden left tie-down rope from the ground, and latched it onto the left wing under the strut. He did the same thing with the right wing. The plane settled down. The man then attached the tail. Finally, two sets of wheels chocks were jammed into place.

  Joe tentatively released the brakes. There was heavy buffeting, but everything held firmly. He looked out the windscreen and saw the man wave at him to go into the safety of the school, pointing at the door and shouting. Joe shook his head, no. The man shrugged his shoulders and waved goodbye as he turned and raced for shelter.

  The storm had reached its full fury. Streams of black clouds rushed by overhead, dumping tons of water. Above those were towering white and gray cumulous clouds moving much slower. Every twenty seconds, the heavens would split with a flash, followed by almost instantaneous thunder. The light was blinding and the crash of thunder deafening. Joe shrank in his seat, feeling insignificant in this display of nature’s power.

  Hawk was stretched out in his seat and put his head back. “Let’s wait it out.”

  Hours later, Joe awoke with a start. He jerked forward, wondering where he was. His wristwatch read 5:30 and dawn was just breaking. To the east was a dark purple line on the horizon marking the passing of the storm.

  His joints protested his unorthodox night’s sleep. He arched his back to straighten out his spine and cranked his sore neck.

  There was a rap on the door. Kor, disguised under a hood, was there.

  “Dad, how did you figure out where we were?”

  “I have tracer chips on both of you,” he said matter of factly.

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a chip that sends a tracer pulse every sixty seconds. The ship finds you if you are in range.”

  “I never knew about any tracer,” Hawk said.

  “I injected it when you were both in deep meditation back at the farm.”

  “Oh, did you now?” Joe sounded annoyed. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

  “Oversight, I guess. The point is that I found you. Aren’t you glad I did what I did?”

  “I guess,” Hawk said uncertainly. He crossed his arms and looked at Kor.

  The trio walked swiftly toward a large storage building. It was a simple steel-clad twenty-foot structure erected in the late seventies. Parked inside, gleaming silver, was Alpha III. They climbed aboard and headed directly to the bridge.

  Joe glided his hand over a spotless white command chair as he passed by. “It’s like coming home.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way, Joe, because it is home. At least until we can sort out this mess with the queen.

  “We can’t stay in hiding forever,” Hawk said. “We need a plan.”

  “We need troops loyal to us. We have only three infiltrates,” Kor said.

  “Our three against …?” Hawk asked.

  “She may have transitioned as many as five hundred Abishot so far,” Kor said.

  “Five hundred couldn’t take over a planet,” Joe said.

  “It doesn’t take a lot of people to truly control a government. Humans are great followers, you know. They are easily led. I must try to stop the queen from instigating a worldwide religious war. It will kill many millions of inhabitants and last for many centuries. I know, we went through this already on Sargon. This is war. If our side loses, the people of this planet lose. Our only hope is to fight the Abishot and mitigate the damage.”

  “But can we win?” Hawk asked.

  “If we’re bold and attack at the heart of the colony,” Kor said. “There’s a chance.”

  “I agree. We must act soon. We must attack the queen,” Joe said.

  “Attack the queen bee in her hive. All or nothing. The three of us at once. I’ll contact the other three infiltrates and have them converge on Washington. What do you say, boys?”

  “I’m for it,” Hawk said.

  “Me, too. But I gotta eat and use the restroom before I save the world.”

  Kor laughed. “You two go eat in Borden’s pilot lounge.”

  “I’m starved,” Hawk said. He felt his pockets. “Anybody got any money?”

  “I’ve got my credit card,” Joe said.

  “No credit cards! They’ll trace it. Use cash only. Keep your heads down, avoid security cameras, and keep out of the main terminal – they have domestic operatives everywhere.”

  Joe and Hawk jogged across the steamy pavement to the flight school.

  “You fellas looking for the pilots’ café?” the girl behind the counter asked.

  They nodded.

  “Closed for now. You gotta go to the main terminal.” She jerked her head to a set of aluminum double doors with solar-reflective plastic covering the glass.

  Joe and Hawk hesitated. Kor’s warning was clear.

  “Whatcha waitin’ on? It’s not far. Five-minute walk to the main terminal. There’s a connecting sidewalk.”

  “I don’t know,” Joe said, shaking his head. “This isn’t starting off well.”

  Hawk nodded. “I agree. But I’m so damn hungry.”

  “What’s with you guys? Just go. I’ve got work to do.”

  That helped them make up their minds. Inside the terminal there was the noisy din of people. It was like a throbbing, pounding headache without the pain.

  The brothers wolfed down a buffet-style breakfast at the main restaurant. They purchased a carry-on bag and stuffed
it with food and water.

  On the huge overhead TVs the news services repetitively bombarded them with bad news about bad people doing bad things. Snippets of film were shown over, and over, and over again, blowing events out of proportion.

  Hawk looked at his watch. “Let’s head back.”

  As he looked up, his eyes met those of a woman sitting across the room staring at them. She quickly looked down at the pocket novel she was reading. Hawk began a scan of the room.

  “What is it?” Joe asked as he picked up on Hawk’s heightened awareness

  “I think we’re being watched.”

  “The woman reading the paperback?”

  “Yeah. You saw her, too?”

  “Oh yeah. I caught her talking into her lapel.”

  Hawk got up, yawned, and stretched. “Let’s move out. We’ll split up. I’ll meet you back at Bordens.”

  Joe remained behind, watching the woman. She casually rose and followed Hawk.

  There must be more than one agent, Joe thought. She didn’t try to communicate with anyone. There must be at least two watchers.

  He got up and walked along a row of shops. He stopped and bought a paper, quickly turning to study the faces that went by. Nobody looked away. Everyone kept walking and going about their business.

  He went to the restroom. When he came out, no one was in sight.

  Joe caught a long escalator up to the second floor. Three quarters of the way up, he grabbed the rubber railing with one hand and leaped over onto the adjoining down escalator.

  A woman burst out with, “Did you see that, George?” to her companion.

  “Punk!” he said. “Kids these days.”

  A moment later, a man dressed in a blue airport security uniform came running from the second floor. He leaped onto the escalator, taking the steps two at a time. The chase was on.

  Joe reached the bottom, skidding on the polished marble floor. He ran to the side door marked “Mitchell Terminus Private Charter Passengers Only.” He burst through the doors and raced all the way through the small terminal, charging through a second set of doors until he found himself in a passageway joining the main building to the private terminus.

  A few hundred yards away he could see the exit to the flight school. He looked back over his shoulder, waiting for someone to burst through the door. He saw nobody. He began walking through the waiting room. The seating was sparse, but more comfortable than in the regular terminal. People were helping themselves to free coffee, snacks, and magazines. Joe headed toward the exit to the private planes and flight school ahead.

  Suddenly Joe spotted the same woman from the main terminal. She was in this terminal, sitting, quietly waiting for something. Their eyes met. Joe froze, not sure what to do next.

  A moment later, Joe saw Hawk walk out of the men’s bathroom. Joe burst into a run. He grabbed Hawk and pulled him toward the exit. For a moment Hawk was running sideways. The pair of them crashed through the doors and raced down the concrete sidewalk leading to the flight school.

  The twins charged through the school’s double doors and skidded to a stop as the flight school secretary yelled at them.

  “Some people are looking for you two.”

  They headed outside.

  “Hey! Didn’t you hear me? People are looking for you!”

  Joe and Hawk saw two tough-looking military types in mufti examining the Cessna. The female operative shouted, alerting them. The men reached behind their backs and pulled out pistols.

  On the run, Joe pushed and raised both hands as he directed the pulse. The two men flew backward into the thin aluminum cowling of the engine. The guns flew out of their hands and they crumpled to the ground.

  Meanwhile, Hawk spun around and pushed and the exit door suddenly slammed into the face of the female. She slid to the ground, unconscious. Her pistol was halfway out of her purse.

  Hawk hesitated when he saw blood gushing from her nose.

  “Let’s get to the ship,” Joe shouted.

  Kor was waiting anxiously for them.

  “We were followed.”

  “So I gather. I thought I told you boys to lie low.”

  Kor gave a command and the main screen filled up with a massive image of the warehouse. Moments later, the warehouse walls began to fade, as if transparent.

  Joe looked at Hawk and then the two of them looked at Kor in wonder. Neither had previously witnessed the ship’s true capabilities.

  “Watch the monitor, Joe,” Kor said.

  It was a marvel. Only a thin transparent outline of the walls of the warehouse remained. They could see the Cessna and the operatives on the ground, dazed but not seriously hurt.

  “This craft can see through solid objects?”

  “It’s not that difficult,” Kor explained. “Recall your lessons. As you know, objects are not truly solid. They appear to be.”

  Joe’s mind instantly recalled the Learning Pod on transparency. The ship’s computer can visually penetrate one layer of a physical object in order to expose the next layer. Like an X-ray, it’s a matter of mimicking the wave frequency of the object’s molecular structure that causes light reflection. The mimicking wave passes through the initial object and, using the inverse of the frequency (1/x), neutralizes the light-reflection properties. The wall appears invisible. The velocity range of wave radiation is modulated to neutralize the first object and decelerate before striking the target. It decelerates mainly because the radiation strikes multiple air-borne debris. As it slows down, the radiation becomes visible in the range of light. That light reflects off the objects further out.

  The target object, reflecting the light, is therefore seen. The light wave frequency slows with distance, thus penetrating near objects and reflecting off far objects. The wave band diffuses into a broader band of light ray the farther away from the initial source of radiation. Of course, there are multiple pulses of light every microsecond because the differences in distance and frequency are minute. The computer discerns the minute differences and translates that into the visible frequency image for humans.

  The trio watched as a swarm of agents descended on the area.

  Kor spoke to the computer. The view changed to the runways.

  “It’s pretty busy here today,” he said. “Aircraft are departing every two minutes. Watching that lineup on the taxiway, we can predict the next takeoff and fly under the plane to avoid radar detection.”

  “What about visual detection?”

  “Oh, that’s never been a problem in the past. There’s never been a credible visual record.” He looked at his watch. “We lift off in ninety seconds.”

  Seventy seconds later, Kor spoke to the ship’s computer again. Multiple lights flashed from the craft toward the double-steel rolling doors. Smoke exploded from the corners of the doors as the laser rays disintegrated the six door hinges and four bolts that held the large doors together.

  It took four seconds. The corrugated steel doors groaned and then collapsed inward, crashing onto the old concrete floor in a cloud of dust. The smacking of the doors against the concrete sounded as if a massive cannon had detonated.

  The craft burst out of the building and soared toward the runway.

  A Boeing 727 was lifting off. Four seconds to spare. The scout ship banked sharply and slipped beneath the undercarriage of the large aircraft as it began its wheels-up.

  There was silver on silver and reflected glare as the aircraft took off into the late afternoon sun. Even those who saw it were not sure what they’d seen. It was over in six seconds. Both crafts departed DIA without incident.

  CHAPTER69

  As Stell and Amonda returned to Earth in their transporter, Stell was reacquainting himself with his alien form. He hadn’t realized how much he had missed his former body. He was pleased to have his powers back. His intellect and senses were sharper than ever. Stell’s universe was in sync again.

  The transporter flew cloaked straight to Washington and landed on the roof of the cl
andestine headquarters of the NMJIC, the brownstone building on F Street.

  “I sense that the queen is nearby, probably with H,” Amonda said to Stell as they approached H’s office. The door was closed. There was a military guard outside.

  The guard seemed startled to see Amonda in her hooded top and Stell in his alien form, but he was an infiltrate and used to the sight of his own kind. He crossed his right hand over his left chest. “Prince Stell. Master Amonda. Please let me announce you.” He turned and opened the door and went inside.

  The soldier came back out and ushered them inside.

  Most of H’s furniture had been removed, replaced by a large war table. The queen and ten infiltrates were seated. The latter were all recognizable as powerful political players in D.C. Some were highranking Senators. It reminded him of the Abishot warriors on Sargon.

  “It looks like everyone’s here except for the White House Chief of Staff,” Stell said. “You’ve been busy, Mother.”

  His comment was met by slightly uncomfortable laughter. The men at the table turned their eyes to the queen for a response.

  The queen did not acknowledge Stell’s sarcasm. “It’s just part of the plan, Stell. Power through governance. If we control the power brokers in each country, we control the population.”

  She looked around her. “Starting with America, of course.”

  Stell nodded and stood there awkwardly. No one suggested that he or Amonda join them at the table.

  The queen’s half-hidden features managed the semblance of a smile. “Stell, you look as handsome as ever. Just as I remember you. Give us a few minutes to finish, if you will.”

  The queen turned her head slightly to one side. They were dismissed.

  Amonda guided Stell out the door with a sharp squeeze to the elbow. He had been unprepared for this cool reception. He was fuming.

  Amonda looked around. The large partitioned room was buzzing with activity as the spy agency went about its work.