by D F Capps
Clay looked shocked. “No way.”
“Way,” the sandy-haired man said. He stood and walked over to Diane. “I’m Ryan Atkinson, radar intercept operator.” He held out his hand and shook hers. “I’d like to be your scope.”
Admiral Hollis brought his breakfast tray over to the table. “I see you’ve met.”
“Sir, I’d like to be her RIO,” Ryan said, brimming with enthusiasm.
Hollis looked around at the others. “Objections?” No one said anything. “Zadanski?”
She looked around the room. Apparently he wasn’t assigned to anyone yet. “Okay by me.”
“All right. That gives us five operational craft teams.”
Ryan led Diane over to the buffet line.
“Is he always this casual?” she asked Ryan quietly.
“Pretty much. Get your breakfast and we’ll talk.”
She picked a tray from the stack on the right and slid it down the rails in front of the glass with steaming hot food behind it. She selected the scrambled eggs, some corned beef hash, skipped the toast and pancakes—too many carbs—and added a cup of coffee. She sat at the long table across from Ryan.
“So talk,” she said.
“Born and raised in Des Moines, Iowa. Marine Corp Officer Candidate School out of college, equipment and electronic countermeasure officer on an EA-6B Prowler out of Cherry Point, North Carolina. You?”
That was short and to the point, she thought. He must like getting to the bottom line quickly. I like that in a guy.
“Minneapolis–St. Paul, then Annapolis. Flew an F/A-18 Super Hornet off the Ronald Reagan.”
He seemed to be paying close attention. She liked that, too.
“You go to Top Gun?”
This guy knew how the system worked. Another plus.
“Top of my class,” she replied with a slight grin.
“I knew it,” Ryan said with a quick smile as he slapped the tabletop. “I can pick ’em.” He sat back and sipped his coffee as she ate.
This can work, she thought. I have a good feeling about him.
Chapter 14
“We have a special guest,” Hollis said as he ushered the flight teams into the conference room. “Please be seated.”
The conference room was large for being underground, Diane thought. Ten feet from floor to ceiling, she estimated. The band of dark corkboard mounted to the walls around the room was a good workable height. Someone put some thought into its design.
Diane was intrigued by the tall, slender man with the unruly brown hair who stood at the front of the room. He wore gray dress slacks and a light blue dress shirt. The lack of a suit or uniform indicated to her that he wasn’t part of the military or the government bureaucracy. His intelligence seemed to sparkle from his eyes and added to his charisma, which radiated into the room.
“This is Dr. Theodore Shugart,” Hollis said. “He is the director of Ceti Research, the company that is building your fighter craft. Dr. Shugart has two PhDs, one in theoretical physics, the other in advanced material sciences. He is here to tell you about your new fighter craft.”
Dr. Shugart stepped forward. “Please just call me Theo. I hate pretentious titles. I have the first operational manuals for your fighter craft, the X-1000. We are currently making changes to the simulators in order to conform to the actual craft performance. Top speed in the lower atmosphere will be slower than anticipated, but my understanding is that none of you is there yet anyway.
“The repeat firing of the weapons will also be slower. In the simulator you had one particle beam cannon with an unlimited firing rate. The actual craft has two particle beam cannons, but they require a one-second recovery and recharge time. Consequently, you will now have two choices—alternating guns at a half-second separation, or both guns at a one-second firing interval. A new switch is being added to your control sticks for selection.”
Diane raised her hand slightly. “Theo, you said lower atmosphere speed would be slower. What’s our ceiling?” Calling him Theo felt personal, but it also lacked any formal recognition of his position. He smiled back at her.
“The X-1000 is the first fighter craft with both atmospheric and outer space capabilities.”
Outer space, she reminded herself. The U. S. Space Command. It was starting to sink in. Where astronauts went in space capsules, they were going in fighter craft. This was going to be the most advanced and dangerous unit in the military system. She felt surprisingly at home with the idea.
“What about fuel consumption?” she asked.
“Fuel is an Element 115-based antigravity drive, which will have to be replaced every five years under full time use. Originally the fighter craft used the main drive to power both the propulsion and the weapon system. After initial test flights, we determined that a second, smaller fusion reactor needed to be added exclusively for the weapons. That is why you are still working with simulators and not your actual craft.”
“When will the new craft be ready for us to fly?” Helen asked.
Theo nodded and smiled. “Soon, I hope. Still a few more problems to resolve.”
“We can help find and resolve those problems if we can fly them,” Diane said. She found him strangely attractive.
Theo turned to face Hollis.
“You don’t understand,” Hollis said. “Your combat training and experience is more valuable to us. We have already lost seven test pilots in the development process. Keep in mind, when you crash in the simulator, they crashed in real life.”
“I’m afraid he’s right,” Theo said. “When you get to fly your craft for the first time, you’ll see what I mean. It’s a very different experience from flying an aircraft. Our test pilots have paid a very heavy price to bring you the performance levels you will need in combat.”
Hollis said, “Their skill and their lives have gone into the programming for your simulators. When you can fly your craft, engage, and destroy the enemy without crashing, their sacrifice will begin to have meaning. Until then, they will have died for nothing.”
Hollis handed out the manuals. “Take the rest of the day to go through the technical information about your fighter craft. The programming revisions and the physical upgrades to the simulators will not be ready until sometime tomorrow.”
As Diane and Ryan walked out of the conference room, she nudged him and whispered, “Is that some kind of a guilt trip? That their deaths don’t mean anything yet?”
Ryan shook his head. “Hollis isn’t like that. Nobody knows if we’re going to be able to kill a scout saucer yet. Do you happen to know what the average life expectancy of an Abrams M1A1 main battle tank is in full combat?”
“No.” What has that got to do with us? she wondered.
“Four minutes. Do you want to know what our life expectancy is in full combat?”
She stopped, turned, and looked him in the eyes, her heart beating faster.
“Currently two seconds,” he said. “That’s where Hollis is coming from. It’s not guilt—it’s reality.”
Chapter 15
President Andrews stared at the notice on his desk. The Office of Personnel Management was officially admitting they had been hacked, with something in the range of twenty to twenty-five million records being stolen. Of particular concern were the records of investigations required for security clearances for both governmental employees and civilians involved in classified military projects. Conspicuous by their absence were similar reports from other agencies Andrews knew had also been hacked. He drummed his fingers on his desk, considering the massive changes that had to be made.
He stood, walked down the hall, and leaned into Chief of Staff Doug Franks’s office.
“Anything from Charlie?”
Franks looked up from the pile of files on his desk.
“Yes. I was almost on my way to see you.”
Andrews stepped into the office and closed the door.
“Charlie’s group of Tau Cetians in China were successful in penetrating sev
eral of our government databases. It will look like an international hacking incident. He says that from the information collected he can provide us with a list of people in the government, military, and civilian sector who are corrupted and cooperating with the Zeta Greys. That way we know who we can, and more importantly, who we can’t trust.”
“How can they tell?” Andrews asked. “I mean, we have all of that information anyway, right? What can they see that we can’t?”
Franks nodded. “Charlie collected extensive data files on over eight million people, and that’s only here, in the U.S. He’s doing the same thing in Russia and China. While we would love to have all that data, it would take us months if not years to process it and sort out what was important from what wasn’t. Plus, things we would normally take for granted and consider unimportant, his people will flag right away. Keep in mind they’re looking at this with hindsight, so they know what the information means. The Tau Cetians successfully revolted and threw off the Zeta Grey influence and control. If we try to do that without knowing whom we can trust, the whole process is doomed from the start. It won’t work.”
Andrews put his hands on the back of the chair in Franks’s office and thought, I wish this were more of a solution and less of a beginning. “So what, exactly, is this going to give us?”
“At least we’ll know who’s on our side and who isn’t. It doesn’t give us evidence we can use in court. The information was acquired illegally, so even though we find out who’s betraying us, we still can’t charge them and drag them into court. No probable cause, no subpoenas, no warrants. We can’t do it.”
Andrews frowned and looked at the portrait of himself on the wall behind Franks’s desk. “Okay,” Andrews said. “We can’t use the legal court system without more evidence, but there’s another court we can use: the court of public opinion.”
Franks shook his head, and said, “We can’t be tied in any way to leaking this information. That would derail any chance you have of a second term in office.”
He looked at the portrait again, deep in thought about how they could get this information into the public media.
“Charlie could leak the information. That way we aren’t involved. The fact that we also have the files is moot: They were ours to begin with.”
Franks shook his head again. “It’s not the files; it’s the analysis and identification of suspected individuals that’s damaging. That analysis didn’t go through official channels.”
Andrews stared out the window, thinking. “We could use a reporter we trust.”
Franks was being obstinate about the issue, but he was right.
“I hate to disagree, but we can’t. If this comes through a reporter who’s perceived as being on the inside, we take the fall.”
Andrews looked directly at Franks. “Guilt by association.”
Franks nodded. “Exactly. This has to come through someone who’s perceived as being against us: an outsider, but a reporter with a solid ethical reputation. Otherwise it’s not going to be believable.”
Andrews patted the top of the chair and walked a couple of steps to the side, deep in thought. “Anyone in mind?”
“I’ll talk with Stephanie. She may have some ideas.”
Chapter 16
“How’s the Zeta Grey doing?” Charlie asked.
Nurse Donatello smiled at Charlie. He smiled back at her, hearing the private thoughts and sensing the feelings she had for him.
“Doc says there’s some improvement, but it still can’t move on its own.”
She couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“Can you log me in? I need to check on it.” He gave her an appreciative smile.
“Sure,” she said as she typed away at the keyboard. “Doc gave you full access.”
“Thanks.” It felt good to have that kind of an effect on a woman.
“Don’t you need a helmet?” she asked. “Doc always wears one.”
Of course he does, Charlie thought. He needs to. I don’t. “I think it’ll be fine. It’s brain damaged.”
He entered the outer section of the containment chamber, which isolated the creature from outside telepathic communications. He sensed the scattered functioning of the creature’s brain.
Yeah, you can’t process properly, can you?
Charlie put on the bio suit and entered the inner chamber. He stood over the Zeta Grey and probed its thoughts with his mind.
He smiled at the Zeta’s inability to focus its thoughts. That made the job much easier. He leaned directly over the Zeta’s head and stared into its eyes. He followed the optic nerve to the damaged processing center, through the connection to the data storage area, and examined the memories contained within.
That’s disturbing, he thought.
He telepathically extracted the information he needed, stood up, and walked out of the inner chamber. He removed the bio suit, placed it in the decontamination bin, and left.
He knocked on the door jamb to Theo’s office.
“Got a minute?”
Theo waved him in. “I have the latest and greatest version of the telepathic blocking helmet,” he said as he put it on.
Charlie sighed. “Color.” Charlie grabbed a sheet of paper from Theo’s desk and wrote blue on it.
“Red, definitely red,” Theo said.
“Number.” Charlie wrote eighteen on the sheet and projected the number into Theo’s mind.
“Seventy-two,” Theo said, as he took the helmet off.
Charlie handed him the sheet.
Theo grinned. “It’s working.”
Charlie held out his hand. “May I?”
Theo handed the helmet to him.
The second he put the helmet on silence surrounded him for the first time in his life. From the time he was an infant he could hear the thoughts and sense the feelings of every creature around him: people, dogs, cats, birds. Everything had visual images he could see, thoughts he could hear, and feelings he could sense. Now, all of that was absent. He panicked. He yanked the helmet off and stared at Theo.
“This is what your experience is? Isolation? Separation? Loneliness?”
Theo nodded slowly. “You never knew, did you?”
“Well, theoretically, yeah. But this?”
Charlie always felt compassion for other people. This was the first time an Earth human had expressed compassion and empathy for him. He was shocked.
Charlie looked at the helmet. This changed everything he thought he understood about Earth humans. Now he knew what they actually experienced. It was devastating and depressing. He felt as if every last vestige of hope had been sucked out of him.
“One last test.” He put the helmet back on.
“Color.” He projected purple into Theo’s mind. “Number.” He projected fifty-five.
Theo nodded. “Yellow and forty-nine.”
“It works both ways: Just as it should. Now your people stand a fighting chance against the Zetas.”
Charlie kept the helmet on for a few more minutes. He felt lost, drifting, disconnected, and alone. How do people stand this? he wondered. Not knowing, not connected. There aren’t even words to describe exactly how isolated he felt. He pulled off the helmet.
“You don’t feel any different when you wear it?”
Theo shook his head. “No different.”
Charlie looked down at the helmet in his hands. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t understand.”
He handed the helmet back to Theo.
“So, what do you have for me?” Theo said, as he motioned for Charlie to sit.
Charlie sat in the chair, still feeling disoriented from his experience with the helmet.
“I’ve had a chance to do a mind probe of the Zeta Grey in containment. It’s damaged to the extent where it can’t recover, but I did find some interesting things. We’re in a lot more trouble that we thought.”
Chapter 17
At breakfast the next morning, Hollis stood at the head of the long table.
&nbs
p; “The simulators won’t be ready until this evening so I’ve arranged a field trip for you today. I think getting more personally involved in our situation will help us toward a solution. Please dress in civilian clothes. We’ll meet topside at 0800 hours.”
“What’s going on?” Diane whispered to Ryan.
Ryan shrugged. “No idea. First time out of Peregrine Base.”
Just before eight in the morning, Jed Collier began escorting small groups up the elevator and out in front of the mine. Three black SUVs with government plates and drivers were waiting for them. Diane, Ryan, and Glen Simmons climbed into the back of the first vehicle. After the other cars were loaded, Hollis slid into the front seat.
During the six hours in the car, Diane’s mind repeatedly drifted to Theo. She wanted to see him again, this time in a less formal or public setting. She was intrigued by him. He was just so different from anyone she had ever known. He was obviously smart, yet disarmingly humble at the same time.
They arrived at a small home on the north side of Pagosa Springs, Colorado. The building was a white stucco bungalow with a brown roof, surrounded by a chain-link fence. A sign was attached to the fence on the right of the gate:
NO VISITORS
NO SOLICITORS
NO REPORTERS
NO EXCEPTIONS
Diane frowned as she read the sign. She turned to Ryan. He shrugged.
“You know, in broad strokes, what we’re doing,” Hollis said to the flight team. “You’re going to meet a few people who can fill you in on why we’re starting a war and going after the saucers. Listen to what these people have to say. You may ask any questions of them, but just don’t mention anything about what we are doing, or who we actually are.”
“Understood, sir,” they all replied.
“Just for your information, they know me as Inspector Howard, of Homeland Security.”
Hollis led them to the front door and rang the bell. A man answered the door. He was a little shorter than Diane, prematurely bald with a scraggly mustache.
