Warp Point

by Darrell Bain

  “So long as those love offerings keep rolling in. It's not that I mind so much preachers asking for donations, but why can't they call them that?"

  “Dan, you know better. ‘Love offering’ sounds so much softer and fuzzier than the crass old term ‘donation’ did. Preachers may be wrong, but they're not stupid. All the smart ones have public relation directors now."

  He shook his head. Religion was a fact of life and seemed to satisfy some need deep in the psyches of most people, but somehow it had never taken hold in him or his wife. He drank more coffee and felt the caffeine begin its morning work, stimulating his thinking and energizing his body.

  Abruptly the anchor came back on. A blinking notation of “Breaking News” began scrolling across the bottom of the screen while the separate windows coalesced into one. “This just in,” the anchor said in a shaky voice. “There has been an explosion at the Kennedy Spaceport in Florida. Preliminary reports indicate an airliner may have been involved.” He paused and looked off screen for a second. “Yes, we have some footage from a local station now. It shows...” His voice trailed off as if he was too astounded to continue. A shaky, obviously amateur video played on the screen. It showed a large commercial airliner in the distance. As it grew in size, it angled down toward a big structure in the foreground. With a start, Dan recognized it as the vehicle assembly building where NASA readied spacecraft for flight. Remorselessly, the airliner came on, then disappeared in a huge explosion of smoke and flame as it hit, completely engulfing the building.

  “Oh my God!” Stacy said. Her voice was hushed as she groped for Dan's comforting arms. “Oh, those poor people."

  “Goddamned raghead fanatics!” The words burst from Dan as he stood up and shouted in a surge of hatred for the Islamic “martyrs” who were causing so much pain and suffering in the world. He felt the calming touch of Stacy's hand on his shoulder and slowly lowered his doubled fist. He put his arm around his wife, seeking comfort from her as much as giving it as they watched the billowing fire and smoke engulfing the assembly building, along with the people and the spacecraft that had been inside.

  “Sit back down, Dan. I know it's early, but I for one, want a shot of brandy in my coffee. This is just so horrible. How can anyone do such a thing?"

  He didn't answer, knowing the question was rhetorical. He released her and slowly eased his body back down to a sitting position. He stared, mesmerized, as the anchor continued to describe the violent scene. Just as Stacy returned with the brandy, the words he was hearing suddenly impacted his conscious mind.

  “Did you hear that?” He asked. “That was an English airliner, bound for Miami. They're saying the pilot called in a mechanical problem while off the coast, then began dropping. I'll bet anything it was the pilot who took over the aircraft and steered it into the assembly building. Oh, goddamn, I hate this shit."

  “Shh. Calm down, honey. You can't do anything about it. Here. Hold out your cup."

  Dan let her top off his coffee with the amber colored liquid. The aroma alone was enough have a calming effect. He sipped and felt the tense muscles of his back begin to loosen . “Thanks, sweetheart. This is just what I need right now. And I'm sorry for exploding like that. There wasn't any sense in it."

  “It's all right, Dan. I feel the same way. You just beat me to it."

  He knew she was saying that just to make him feel better. Ordinarily he was calmer and more level-headed than most men, but there were few things in the world that roused his ire more than having innocent people suffer from political or religious violence.

  Over the next two hours, the story gradually began coming together. One of the innumerable Islamic jihad cults was claiming responsibility. Sometimes it was hard to credit statements from the radical groups, but in this case there seemed to be no doubt. A British television station had received a video from the co-pilot himself, stating that he intended to become a martyr in order to prevent the Great Satan from making first contact with the Holy Messenger. Along with that revelation came a demand that Grand Imam Ashrah must be the first to meet with the Messenger. It wasn't stated whether or not the Imam would consent to a spaceflight. Dan suspected the video had been made without Ashrah's knowledge, although now that the deed was complete, he thought the Grand Imam would support its declaration.

  * * *

  Chapter Four

  Bernardo Chavez, Director of Homeland Security, issued a statement declaring there was no way the disaster at Kennedy Space Center could have been prevented, considering that the co-pilot had been a secret convert to Islam, and was also a martial arts expert. The cockpit recording detailed plainly how he had fooled ground control by claiming the pilot had suffered a heart attack when a red light came on, indicating a fire on board. In reality he had brutally subdued the pilot, perhaps killing him in the process, then steered the big jet into the vehicle assembly building, killing himself and all aboard, as well as inflicting numerous casualties on the ground.

  “While this does indeed present the country with a newly defined threat,” Chavez asserted to a national audience, “now that we know how the calamity occurred, terroristic acts of this nature should be easily prevented. British Prime Minister Hancock has already assured us that much more thorough background checks of British Airways pilots will be undertaken immediately and he has also ordered that a system of clandestine examination of pilots’ personal lives will begin immediately, just as President Berne had been asking for."

  He looked up from his notes then continued. “In this instance the origin of the pilot was British, but there are also many Muslims in America, and it could just as well have been one of our own pilots who carried out this heinous act. We must therefore become more vigilant in scrutinizing the families and social lives of our own pilots as well."

  With that, he left further briefing to an underling and disappeared into the bowels of the new Homeland Security building.

  “Now that really makes me feel safer,” Matt said, disgust evident in his voice and expression. He had caught the first of the broadcast as he entered his office, then listened while he poured coffee.

  Tara waited until Matt drank more of his first cup of coffee of the day, then ventured her own opinion. “Things like this are going to keep on happening so long as the Islamic educational system continues to radicalize their students. In the long run, there's no other solution but to change that."

  Matt ran his fingers through his hair, mussing the careful part and loosening his perennial cowlick. “You're probably right, but most people don't even think about that—or even know how Muslims are being educated in the conservative countries like Saudi Arabia and Iran.” He shook his head. “Damned if I know how it'll all end.” He sipped more his coffee. “Well, maybe our alien guest will change their perspectives somehow, though I'm doubtful. What the radical Muslims really want is to see their own brand of religion back in sway over all the countries that used to make up the Ottoman Empire at its height, then go on from there and try to convert the rest of the world.” As he spoke, he thought to himself that Tara appeared to be remarkably well educated on the subject, especially for someone so young, and whose master's degree was in astronomy.

  Tara's response confirmed his thoughts. “I agree, Matt. I've been studying history and current geopolitics as sort of a sideline since I got my master's degree. It's really an interesting subject, and not just because the Muslims are sitting on top of most of the world's oil. It's such a shame that the radicals seem to be taking over. There's lots of good in the Islamic religion and the Arabic people, but the terrorists have made most of us forget it. And our policies in the Middle East certainly haven't helped matters any."

  Matt nodded agreement. “Yeah, but it's sort of a moot point for us. We can't do much more than watch and see what happens. Just like the spaceship. All we can do is wait for developments. It'll be our military that'll be right on top of it when and if it lands, then we'll probably stop getting any useful data."

  Tara ga
ve him a mournful smile. “I know. It's for sure we'll never be involved, regardless of what happens. Once the spacecraft arrives, there won't be much use for astronomers."

  * * * *

  General Binds was livid, but unable to remonstrate with Bernardo Chavez. Homeland Security intelligence didn't fall within the auspices of the military, and was under the president's protection in any case. President Berne wasn't about to admit how his own appointee's department had failed so abysmally to ferret out the suicide pilot who had effectively stymied an official American spacecraft from meeting the alien in space. Even a court order seizing the few private spacecraft for military use couldn't be obtained and implemented in time. There was only one week remaining until the alien object's arrival date.

  There was one small consolation. Should the craft slow into an Earth orbit, the international space station would be the natural meeting point, and fortune had it that not only was an American in command now, but American astronauts outnumbered the other nationalities aboard. The space station was certainly the largest object in orbit at present and logically, an alien coming into a strange solar system and nearing the only inhabited planet should try making contact with the most obvious symbol of space prowess.

  General Binds was listening cynically to that feeble reasoning from a State Department spokesperson. Finally he held up his hand. “Enough about the space station. Tell me what the Chinese and Russians are going to do."

  The gray haired career diplomat swallowed, avoiding General Binds’ level gaze, emanating from dark brown eyes that glinted as if looking over a gun sight at him.

  “General, the Russians have two spacecraft on their pads, ready to launch. We can only assume they plan on matching orbits with the alien spaceship when it arrives. The Chinese appear to be ready to launch their manned orbiter at any time. Our last intelligence briefing indicated that both nations would hold off until one or two days before arrival in order to maintain a lengthy presence in orbit."

  “Mister Jones, when I asked what they're planning to do, I didn't want a rundown on their manned launch capabilities. Don't you think military intelligence knows that much? I want to know their intentions."

  “General, uh ... I ... that is, they haven't said."

  The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs repressed the impulse to call the State Department's man a blathering dolt. Of course they hadn't said. Hell, Russia and China were sitting in the catbird seat now.

  “All right, Mr. Jones. Thank you. You can leave now."

  General Hawkins stood at the end of the conference table. He was embarrassed for the chairman, but knew General Binds wouldn't leave it at that. And didn't.

  “All right, Chet, how are we coming along with the civilians?"

  “We have two of them on board, sir. The Space Enterprises craft is ready. They agreed to take a military representative, and Spaceflight, Inc. is already running our man through the ropes, getting him trained to go with them."

  General Binds nodded approval. “I guess it's the best we could hope for. It's just too bad Congress has never given approval or funding for the military to develop spaceships. We might have been working Mars and the asteroids by now. However, we can't change reality. Our men will be armed as I requested, won't they?"

  “Yes, sir. The Spaceflight, Inc people didn't like the idea that much, but since we've essentially leased one ship for the duration, they couldn't very well turn us down."

  “Good. I sincerely hope there's no cause for fighting, especially in space, but I'd rather have us ready than completely helpless. Not that much conflict can occur from inside a spaceship.” The general looked around to be certain no one else had made an appearance. “You got a cigarette on you?"

  “Uh, yes sir. I started back, too. This situation is rather nerve-wracking."

  “Give me one, then see that I'm not disturbed for ten minutes or so."

  “Yes, sir.” General Hawkins smiled thinly on his way out. If smoking on government property was the worst that happened from the impending contact, he would be satisfied.

  * * * *

  Matt was following the news very closely, scrutinizing all three forms of media daily: television, newspapers and the web. As the day of first contact neared, he heard about a trend that was just becoming apparent. One of its manifestations had just been advertised on a commercial he saw while he and Tara sat together on the lounger at his home. A new company was touting a “survival kit", consisting of numerous camping items being sold at roughly twice the usual price of buying them separately.

  He had reciprocated Tara's dinner invitation and she had accepted. She showed up at his home in the Woodlands in a becoming spring dress of light green, in keeping with warm air coming in from the gulf. The thin material hugged her breasts and fluttered around her thighs when she walked, as if a light breeze was moving it. The dress went well with her shoulder length dark hair, gathered carelessly behind her neck with a loose green ribbon.

  Matt complimented her on her appearance, drawing a smile of thanks. They had finished his grilled butterfly shrimp and filet with roast potatoes and fried corn on the side, and were working on the second bottle of white zinfadel. While they were sharing the duty of clearing the table and carrying the dishes to the sink, Tara had paused long enough to touch his shoulder, then put her arms around his neck and kiss him, briefly but thoroughly. He had been both surprised and delighted. They were sitting much closer to each other now than before the kiss.

  “It appears that a lot of people think civilization is going to be destroyed,” Tara said, pointing at the screen just as the commercial finished airing.

  “Well, shucks, I suppose it's possible, but I really doubt it. Why would anyone send a spaceship all this way just to destroy us? Anyway, lots of people seem to want civilization to come tumbling down. Don't ask me why, though."

  “Mmm, yes, that's true. But remember, we still haven't had a contact with them, if we can believe our government. I'm not counting all those spurious so-called revelations or thought rays the cults are saying they've received. It'd be laughable if it weren't so pitiful."

  “Well, maybe they don't communicate in any of the frequencies we're listening to,” Matt said.

  “We're going to have a hell of a time talking to them in that case. That's if they want to talk. Anyway, only three more days and we'll know."

  “Maybe. I hope so. More wine?"

  Tara gave him her glass. “One more and that's all."

  A half hour later Tara took matters into her own hands. She could tell that Matt was still uneasy with women in some ways, which she attributed correctly to him having been out of circulation so long. “Matt, does your place have a bedroom?"

  “Uh, yes. I have a guest bedroom."

  “Not what I meant.” Tara stood up and held her hand out to Matt as he rose. She took a deep breath. “Why don't you show me the real one and let's get better acquainted?"

  * * * *

  President Berne was listening to the argument between Secretary of State Octavia Jenson and General Binds.

  The Secretary of State was a small thin woman but her petite body contained a very forceful personality. “General, don't you see, this is a great—no, a fantastic opportunity for all mankind. We do not want our first contact with other intelligent beings to be tinged with our militaristic notions. There is no reason whatsoever for putting our armed forces on such a high alert."

  “With all due respect, Ms. Jenson, you have no idea whether or not we need to be on alert. We've received absolutely no communication of any kind from the spacecraft. If they're so damned intelligent, they should have figured out a way to contact us by now, don't you think?” The general was becoming very tired of this argument.

  “Perhaps they don't communicate in the same manner we do."

  “In that case, they won't know whether we're on alert or not. I will be pleased beyond reason if this turns out to be a peaceful contact, but until then, I say we should be ready for whatever might happen.
"

  They had been going over the same point again and again without agreement.

  President Berne glanced up at the clock on the opposite wall, then back to the two antagonists. “Octavia, I have other pressing matters, so I'm going to have to decide this now. General, I'm authorizing you to put your forces on Defcon Two alert status, but I want to be contacted before any hostile action is taken. Is that clear?"

  “Yes, sir, so long as a line to you remains open in case I have to make a decision in a hurry."

  “There will be. Now if you two will excuse me..."

  * * * *

  General Hawkins got no sleep that night nor the following day. There were simply too many problems to be ironed out in going to the high alert status of Defcon Two, and it was his job to keep the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs from being bothered by minor difficulties or intrusions regarding the approaching object. He was only to notify the general of developments if necessity demanded it and so far it hadn't. The spacecraft's course remained the same and there was still no communication. He shaved and changed uniforms at the Pentagon, using supplies he had long ago learned to keep on hand there. When he finally managed to get home for a few hours’ sleep, there was only thirty six hours left before the anticipated arrival of the alien craft.

  He kissed Kyra and began shedding his uniform. “Anything exciting happening here?"

  “Not really. Dan Saddler called and chatted a bit. We have an invite for a weekend once this spaceship thing is over with."

  “That may be a long time, honey. I'll touch base with him when I wake up. Right now I'm dead for sleep and I have to be back early tomorrow morning. When I leave, don't expect me back for a while, but I'll call you when I get a chance."

  Kyra hugged her husband, wishing they could leave now to visit Dan and Stacy and get out into the country. She hated the hectic confusion and political infighting the alien visitor was causing in the nation's capital; it was worse than an election.

  * * * *

  “One more day,” Dan said, grinning at Stacy as they sat side by side, having their morning coffee and watching the news. The alien spacecraft was the only subject being discussed, regardless of the channel selected.