Project Columbus: Omnibus
Project Columbus, Books 1 through 5
Copyright © 2014 by J.C. Rainier
Published: 12 September 2014
ISBN: 978-1-939817-10-5
Publisher: Oakenbrand Press
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format.
Columbus: Flight
Project Columbus, Book 1
By J.C. Rainier
Original Publication: 12 September 2012
Dr David Benedict
Lead Astrophysics Researcher, Project Columbus
16 August 2014, 19:45
PCRL Compound near Laramie, WY
Dr. Benedict looked out of the control tower windows, high above the grounds of the complex. Smoke hung thick in the air to the west, pocked with gouts of flame from the burning wreckage of trucks and buildings.
Blood and fire, thought Dr. Benedict, Only appropriate for what I am doing.
As the fires continued to burn, bleeding into the dying crimson sunset as night began to fall over the dark mountains, he turned back to the launch control stations in the tower. He knelt down over the lifeless body of Sergeant Henderson. There was no doubt to the doctor that the Marine never saw his end coming. A brave and strong man he was, dutiful and honorable. Benedict momentarily reflected on what a loss it was, being unable to include Henderson in his plans.
But your duty and honor were too strong. You would never have let me do this, and in doing so, your peoples’ future would have been destroyed. Benedict spoke in a muttered prayer, “Lord, take this child unto Heaven. Bless him and his family, for they have done no wrong.”
Benedict then rose and moved swiftly to the control stations. The massive rocket-powered transports loomed beyond like a giant steel grove. Staccato gunfire once again rattled from outside the compound, adding to his urgency. The scientist scanned the screens of each of the four computers quickly as he checked the guidance systems one more time. He paused, as the corner of his eye caught a glimpse of the Colt he had used to murder Henderson.
Did I have to become a murderer? Benedict began to think deeply. I know it’s fitting that I am a traitor. Are traitors and patriots the same thing? Are they mutually exclusive? Or is it all a matter of history’s perspective?
He reached for the Colt and traced his fingers along the barrel. Benedict Arnold, he mused. The destiny of my name. And I never would have dreamed it, not in a million years.
Truly, he had never meant for this to happen. He reflected on the events that lead up to his act of treason.
Dr. David Benedict was actually a humble man. His fifty eight years on Earth had seen many major political and world events happen. But early in life, the Apollo program had made a big impact on him, and he knew that his future was going to be that of discovery and exploration. He closed his eyes. Memories came rushing back, causing a moment of serenity.
His mind called up images of his mother who tried her best to provide for him, of serving in the Army to pay for college, and of his graduation from the University of Minnesota.
I had ideals back then, far beyond JFK, Apollo, and the Space Shuttles.
A loud blast from an RPG exploding inside the compound brought him back to his senses, and his hands went back to their work over the keyboards laid out in a compulsively neat line in front of him.
“C’mon, David. If the guidance calculations are wrong, even just a little bit…” he trailed off. I wonder who is at our doorstep?
Outside, on the tarmac just to the east, he saw hundreds of terrified civilians streaming from the compound, like birds scattered by a fox. Clustered near the rag-tag transports and the compound were solders in blue flight suits and green fatigues. Their mouths yelled orders that Dr. Benedict could not possibly hear. A silent symphony of chaos.
And about to understand what cattle feel like.
His stare snapped back to the dizzying star field presented on the third screen. Earth was highlighted by a tiny blue dot, and overlapping colored parabolas emanated forth. His fingers repeatedly clicked keys as he entered calculations and alternated between the lines that represented each sleeper ship. As the gunfire and explosions became more intense, he wove the projections into one solid white line. Dr. Benedict sighed, and hit the “enter” key with great deliberation. Once again he closed his eyes.
We could have seen it coming. We should have seen it coming. We weren’t invincible. But I was just a scientist, and the enemy was the political machine. Did they know they were the enemy?
If only they had more time to work. If only they could have made Faster than Light travel possible. As it was, the margin for error was far too slim, and he had to thank the government for that.
An explosion rocked the control tower, and David’s feet came out from under him. His world went dark, and his ears rang.
Has the government figured out what I am doing? Have the Chinese made it this far east? Or do we have other guests?
America had been fighting wars for too long. Her economy was on its last legs. If ever there was a time to seize opportunity, it was two years ago. America’s soldiers were just returning from the Middle East, and a drawn out war would have been disastrous. Yet that is exactly what she got. Even the use of nuclear weapons by both sides did not end the war.
David realized his eyes were open, looking up at the ceiling of the darkened control tower. He could hear a low rumble that started to crescendo in volume.
The boosters. Maybe there’s hope for America yet.
He could see the inside of the tower again as an orange glow from outside the window clearly lit his surroundings. He picked himself off the floor, shook the shattered bits of glass from his sweater, and moved to the eastern window. He watched the rockets of his transport fleet burn trails into the sky. Three were already airborne, another had just lifted off, and the remaining six lit up with great flares of fire beneath their Atlas rocket boosters, scorching the nearly empty tarmac; a few scattered corpses smoldered where they lay on the ground.
Dr. Benedict stepped one more time to his consoles, only one of which remained powered on. The battery back up unit did not have much time left, he knew.
I hope they can get clear.
He punched up a command on the terminal, and a stopped timer appeared on the screen. 5 minutes. That’s all I can give them. One last time, he pressed “enter”, and the timer started counting down. He nervously paced back to the window.
Another massive explosion rocked the control tower, and a burst of flame illuminated the compound. More gunfire followed, and a propane tank on the side of the compound building burst open aflame, hurtling debris across the grounds.
Now he could see seven trails of fire and smoke extending into the sky. The remaining three transports lifted their massive bodies off of the ground in a final, almost choreographed push. David watched as tracer fire ripped into the compound, missing the rockets beyond.
“Come on, fly! Fly and leave this world of deceit and death behind!” David yelled.
He could see the tracers inching nearer and nearer to the rockets as they screamed into the sky. David gasped in horror as he saw one of his transports raked along the side by a burst of machine gun fire. He held his breath.
No fire. No fire, they missed the Atlas booster. They hit the hull. Dear Lord, I pray that the hull is not breached. I pray for the men and women to remain safe on their long journey.
David glanced back at the timer. 3 minutes remaining. He reached into his pocket for
his lighter and a cigarette. His hands trembled as he lit his last smoke. He drew a deep puff and walked over to the console and picked up his Colt. From downstairs, he could hear the voices of the invaders. Listening closely, he tried to pick out the intonation of their voices, trying to discern their identity.
Chinese, he thought. David looked one last time to the window at the dying light from the rocket boosters. Godspeed, my children. And watch over them, Tadashi, my old friend.
Dr. Benedict knelt behind the console and aimed his pistol at the doorway. He could hear the invaders’ footsteps getting closer.
You’re not the only ones who use nukes. And I’ll be damned if my life’s work ends in your hands. I am a patriot, not a traitor!
Dr. Benedict saw a shadow move in the doorway. He squeezed the trigger over and over, and his gun sent round after round into the doorway. The shadow dropped, and then he saw a muzzle flash in front of him. The doctor felt the slug rip into his chest. The cigarette fell from his mouth, and he fell backwards. He gasped for air, but couldn’t seem to come up with any. He could barely see the screen of his console, yet he twisted his mouth into a smile as he watched the clock count down from 3. 2. 1…
1st Lt Haruka Kimura
USAF
16 August 2014, 20:10
Transport W04
BRRZT. BRRZT. BRRZT. BRRZT.
Warning lights flashed in tempo with the alarm buzzer. The walls of the dim cockpit took on a faint red pulsing glow, throbbing with each pulse and squawk. Lieutenant Haruka Kimura looked at the console on her right and scanned each warning light and gauge quickly. “Captain, we’ve lost lateral thrusters five, six, and seven. Generator two has no reading, general system failure warnings in sections four, eight through eleven, and thirteen.”
The transport groaned and rolled hard to the right. The three crew members pitched with the stricken craft, their harnesses biting their chests but keeping them seated at the controls. Haruka grunted, and looked to her left at Captain Bartrand. She watched as the captain gritted his teeth, and delicately manipulated his pitch thruster controls, keeping the nose stabilized.
“She’s sluggish!” He shouted. “We must have caught some fire on the way up. Kimura, keep off of lateral one through four. Full burn on eight. We need 90 more seconds before we can dump the dead weight. Mancini, check with the sleepers, emergency alert request.”
Haruka centered and locked her left control pair. She could feel her hands start to get clammy, but she gripped her rightmost control and deftly opened up throttle to the thruster. Nothing happened.
“M-M-MAYDAY, MAYDAY.” Lieutenant Mancini stuttered nervously into his headset’s boom. “Whiskey Zero Four, MAYDAY. We’re hit, I repeat, we’re hit. Requesting emergency status check from all sleeper ships.” Haruka could clearly hear every word in a split-second echo from her headset’s speaker.
Silence met them. The weight of gravity against the rockets’ thrust, and the roll of the transport were starting to take their toll on Kimura. Her vision started to narrow.
No. You can’t black out. Not now. She reached to her console and switched off the blaring alarm.
“Sixty seconds. Kimura, ready on booster separation,” barked Bartrand.
Slowly, transport Whiskey Zero Four started to ease off of its roll. The forces on the occupants lessened, but Haruka kept firm pressure on her thruster control. She watched as Bartrand eased off of the pitch control. Another massive vibration rocked the transport, and the nose started to dip. The captain once again eased onto his control, and carefully see-sawed the transport back to its original path.
Suddenly, the radio crackled to life. “Whiskey Zero Four, this is Raphael Control. We are ready for you. Any dock, proceed when ready.” The male controller’s voice was precise and calm, but Haruka knew they were not clear yet.
“F-fifteen seconds to booster separation,” yelled Bartrand, his voice starting to crack. Gravity started to slack, and Haruka could see clearly once more. The clock display on the lieutenant’s console ticked off the seconds. She turned a key on her console, and four missile switches illuminated red. “Separation in 5. 4. 3. 2. 1. Mark.”
On cue, Kimura flipped all four switches. Once again the transport groaned, then heaved suddenly.
BRRZT. BRRZT. BRRZT. BRRZT.
Again the alarm rang in the cockpit. Kimura looked at the indicators, as the right roll they had been in stopped and the star field before them started to slowly pitch upward. Then the heavy ship began rolling hard to the left. Feverishly punching a sequence of buttons on her console, she backed off of her right thrusters, and quickly unlocked and fired her left thrusters. Moments later, the roll stopped. Captain Bartrand squeezed the pitch thrusters. His knuckles were as white as snow, and sweat began to stain his flight suit. He corrected the movement of the transport’s nose, and once more the star field leveled out.
He stared at her, panic evident in his blue eyes. “What the hell was that?”
“Number four booster failed to separate. I forced the fuel shutoff switch as fast as I could, Captain. We still have general system failures in sections four and eight, and no reading on generator two. There’s still nothing from thrusters five, six, and seven.” Her gut felt like it was rising within her. How much longer can we hold her together? She backed off of the thruster control, and alternated sides, short bursts back and forth bringing the roll to neutral. Once more, she switched off the alarm.
“Mancini,” barked Bartrand, “Reboot the secondary control system. I’ll take the radio.”
“Yes sir.” Lieutenant Mancini unbuckled his harness and pushed, nearly weightless, to a console at the back of the cockpit. Haruka watched as Marco Mancini buckled his squat frame into the empty rear console station.
Hall should be there right now. But the damned fool wanted to play hero when the transports came under attack on the ground. She could see in her mind the features of the young engineer’s smiling face, the way he looked out of place with his short crew cut. He had been a pretty boy; but a boy, not a man. Heroes get themselves killed; didn’t anyone ever tell you that, Hall?
“There’s our ride.” Bartrand pointed out of the front of the cockpit, to a great mass of gray metal in front of them, dull and barely lit by the light reflected from the moon. “Damn it, we need those thrusters back to make it.” The captain nervously shot a glance over his shoulder. “Hurry, Mancini!”
They both watched as the giant sleeper ship Raphael became more prominent in their view. She’s huge. Reading the specifications are one thing, but being so close is just… humbling. Then she saw the shining white silhouette of a transport, slowly spinning lifeless off the ventral starboard side of Raphael. One of yesterday’s transports, no doubt.
“Reboot complete, Captain.” Mancini said.
“Locking thruster control and switching to secondary feed, Captain.” Haruka centered and locked her controls, then quickly keyed a new set of commands into her console. The machine processed for a moment. “Secondary thruster control enabled, running system check.”
BRRZT. BRRZT. BRRZT. BRRZT.
Bertrand closed his eyes and grimaced. “What now, Kimura?”
“General system failure sections four and eight. Thruster seven failure. I have a reading from generator two, but it’s fluctuating badly.” She looked up, and grinned. “But hey, we’ve got two thrusters back.”
The captain opened his eyes and ignored her attempted humor. “Can we eject that damned booster already?”
She looked at the radar screen between and did some quick mental math. She shook her head. “Negative, Captain. We might throw the booster into the stern of Raphael.”
“Damn it. Crippled, and dragging a bomb at our side,” Bartrand said. He grabbed his controller. Haruka could see the color start to drain from his face. “This is going to be fun.”
If your idea of fun includes exploding and killing hundreds of people, you’re right, Captain. The lieutenant could feel the sweat rolling down her brow
and back. Her hands were already slick with sweat themselves, but she unlocked her thruster controls, took a deep breath, and prepared herself.
“Raphael Control, this is Whiskey Zero Four, emergency approach. Heading for dock one.”
Bertrand spoke into his headset. “Firing retro rockets to slow approach.”
“Acknowledged, Whiskey Zero Four. Assistance teams will be waiting, dock one.”
As Captain Bertrand throttled up the retro rockets, the damaged transport once again groaned, and Haruka could see their view drift left as they began to fishtail. Deftly, she fired several bursts from her newly functional thrusters, and brought their momentum back to center. She pushed further, and then reversed thrust to the left to bring them once more to the centerline of Raphael’s belly.
No room for error. She knew that with the added width of the stuck booster, there was precious little space to maneuver without hitting one of the sleeper’s supply pods. And Raphael’s docks only had a limited reach and flexibility, so she couldn’t deviate more than a couple feet from the centerline or they would be unable to seal the airlock. Once again her vision started to narrow. She was suddenly aware of the adrenaline taking over her body, and she pulled her hands back from the thrusters to keep from inadvertently sending the ship careening to destruction.
She could barely hear the rockets burning to slow their forward movement. She could, in fact, no longer hear Bartrand. She could only stay focused on the beacon lights ahead, guiding her to their destination. They continued to creep closer, but at a slower pace. Haruka could tell by the clustering that the transport was listing slightly to the right, so she placed her hands back on the controls and gingerly gave two bursts in an alternating pattern from each side, and Whiskey Zero Four was righted again. The last beacon light passed over the canopy and out of sight.
She glanced at Bartrand and saw him completely frozen, fixated out into space, staring at another abandoned transport. She gasped. He has pitch control, he has to land us.
Project Columbus: Omnibus Page 1
